Lovely Ilonka

There was once a king's son who told his father that he wished to marry.

'No, no!' said the king; 'you must not be in such a hurry. Wait till you
have done some great deed. My father did not let me marry till I had won
the golden sword you see me wear.'

The prince was much disappointed, but he never dreamed of disobeying his
father, and he began to think with all his might what he could do. It
was no use staying at home, so one day he wandered out into the world to
try his luck, and as he walked along he came to a little hut in which he
found an old woman crouching over the fire.

'Good evening, mother. I see you have lived long in this world; do you
know anything about the three bulrushes?'

'Yes, indeed, I've lived long and been much about in the world, but I
have never seen or heard anything of what you ask. Still, if you will
wait till to-morrow I may be able to tell you something.'

Well, he waited till the morning, and quite early the old woman appeared
and took out a little pipe and blew in it, and in a moment all the crows
in the world were flying about her. Not one was missing. Then she asked
if they knew anything about the three bulrushes, but not one of them
did.

The prince went on his way, and a little further on he found another hut
in which lived an old man. On being questioned the old man said he knew
nothing, but begged the prince to stay overnight, and the next morning
the old man called all the ravens together, but they too had nothing to
tell.

The prince bade him farewell and set out. He wandered so far that he
crossed seven kingdoms, and at last, one evening, he came to a little
house in which was an old woman.

'Good evening, dear mother,' said he politely.

'Good evening to you, my dear son,' answered the old woman. 'It is
lucky for you that you spoke to me or you would have met with a horrible
death. But may I ask where are you going?'

'I am seeking the three bulrushes. Do you know anything about them?'

'I don't know anything myself, but wait till to-morrow. Perhaps I can
tell you then.' So the next morning she blew on her pipe, and lo!
and behold every magpie in the world flew up. That is to say, all the
magpies except one who had broken a leg and a wing. The old woman sent
after it at once, and when she questioned the magpies the crippled one
was the only one who knew where the three bulrushes were.

Then the prince started off with the lame magpie. They went on and on
till they reached a great stone wall, many, many feet high.

'Now, prince,' said the magpie, 'the three bulrushes are behind that
wall.'

The prince wasted no time. He set his horse at the wall and leaped over
it. Then he looked about for the three bulrushes, pulled them up and
set off with them on his way home. As he rode along one of the bulrushes
happened to knock against something. It split open and, only think! out
sprang a lovely girl, who said: 'My heart's love, you are mine and I am
yours; do give me a glass of water.'

But how could the prince give it her when there was no water at hand?
So the lovely maiden flew away. He split the second bulrush as an
experiment and just the same thing happened.

How careful he was of the third bulrush! He waited till he came to a
well, and there he split it open, and out sprang a maiden seven times
lovelier than either of the others, and she too said: 'My heart's love,
I am yours and you are mine; do give me a glass of water.'

This time the water was ready and the girl did not fly away, but she
and the prince promised to love each other always. Then they set out for
home.

They soon reached the prince's country, and as he wished to bring his
promised bride back in a fine coach he went on to the town to fetch one.
In the field where the well was, the king's swineherds and cowherds were
feeding their droves, and the prince left Ilonka (for that was her name)
in their care.

Unluckily the chief swineherd had an ugly old daughter, and whilst the
prince was away he dressed her up in fine clothes, and threw Ilonka into
the well.

The prince returned before long, bringing with him his father and mother
and a great train of courtiers to escort Ilonka home. But how they all
stared when they saw the swineherd's ugly daughter! However, there was
nothing for it but to take her home; and, two days later, the prince
married her, and his father gave up the crown to him.

But he had no peace! He knew very well he had been cheated, though he
could not think how. Once he desired to have some water brought him from
the well into which Ilonka had been thrown. The coachman went for it
and, in the bucket he pulled up, a pretty little duck was swimming.
He looked wonderingly at it, and all of a sudden it disappeared and he
found a dirty looking girl standing near him. The girl returned with him
and managed to get a place as housemaid in the palace.

Of course she was very busy all day long, but whenever she had a little
spare time she sat down to spin. Her distaff turned of itself and her
spindle span by itself and the flax wound itself off; and however much
she might use there was always plenty left.

When the queen--or, rather, the swineherd's daughter--heard of this,
she very much wished to have the distaff, but the girl flatly refused
to give it to her. However, at last she consented on condition that she
might sleep one night in the king's room. The queen was very angry, and
scolded her well; but as she longed to have the distaff she consented,
though she gave the king a sleeping draught at supper.

Then the girl went to the king's room looking seven times lovelier than
ever. She bent over the sleeper and said: 'My heart's love, I am yours
and you are mine. Speak to me but once; I am your Ilonka.' But the king
was so sound asleep he neither heard nor spoke, and Ilonka left the
room, sadly thinking he was ashamed to own her.

Soon after the queen again sent to say that she wanted to buy the
spindle. The girl agreed to let her have it on the same conditions as
before; but this time, also, the queen took care to give the king a
sleeping draught. And once more Ilonka went to the king's room and spoke
to him; whisper as sweetly as she might she could get no answer.

Now some of the king's servants had taken note of the matter, and warned
their master not to eat and drink anything that the queen offered him,
as for two nights running she had given him a sleeping draught. The
queen had no idea that her doings had been discovered; and when, a few
days later, she wanted the flax, and had to pay the same price for it,
she felt no fears at all.

At supper that night the queen offered the king all sorts of nice things
to eat and drink, but he declared he was not hungry, and went early to
bed.

The queen repented bitterly her promise to the girl, but it was too late
to recall it; for Ilonka had already entered the king's room, where he
lay anxiously waiting for something, he knew not what. All of a sudden
he saw a lovely maiden who bent over him and said: 'My dearest love, I
am yours and you are mine. Speak to me, for I am your Ilonka.'

At these words the king's heart bounded within him. He sprang up and
embraced and kissed her, and she told him all her adventures since the
moment he had left her. And when he heard all that Ilonka had suffered,
and how he had been deceived, he vowed he would be revenged; so he gave
orders that the swineherd, his wife and daughter should all be hanged;
and so they were.

The next day the king was married, with great rejoicings, to the fair
Ilonka; and if they are not yet dead--why, they are still living.






Lucky Luck

Once upon a time there was a king who had an only son. When the lad was
about eighteen years old his father had to go to fight in a war against
a neighbouring country, and the king led his troops in person. He bade
his son act as Regent in his absence, but ordered him on no account to
marry till his return.

Time went by. The prince ruled the country and never even thought of
marrying. But when he reached his twenty-fifth birthday he began to
think that it might be rather nice to have a wife, and he thought so
much that at last he got quite eager about it. He remembered, however,
what his father had said, and waited some time longer, till at last it
was ten years since the king went out to war. Then the prince called his
courtiers about him and set off with a great retinue to seek a bride. He
hardly knew which way to go, so he wandered about for twenty days, when,
suddenly, he found himself in his father's camp.

The king was delighted to see his son, and had a great many questions
to ask and answer; but when he heard that instead of quietly waiting
for him at home the prince was starting off to seek a wife he was very
angry, and said: 'You may go where you please but I will not leave any
of my people with you.'

Only one faithful servant stayed with the prince and refused to part
from him. They journeyed over hill and dale till they came to a place
called Goldtown. The King of Goldtown had a lovely daughter, and the
prince, who soon heard about her beauty, could not rest till he saw her.

He was very kindly received, for he was extremely good-looking and had
charming manners, so he lost no time in asking for her hand and her
parents gave her to him with joy. The wedding took place at once, and
the feasting and rejoicings went on for a whole month. At the end of
the month they set off for home, but as the journey was a long one they
spent the first evening at an inn. Everyone in the house slept, and only
the faithful servant kept watch. About midnight he heard three crows,
who had flown to the roof, talking together.

'That's a handsome couple which arrived here tonight. It seems quite a
pity they should lose their lives so soon.'

'Truly,' said the second crow; 'for to-morrow, when midday strikes, the
bridge over the Gold Stream will break just as they are driving over
it. But, listen! whoever overhears and tells what we have said will be
turned to stone up to his knees.'

The crows had hardly done speaking when away they flew. And close upon
them followed three pigeons.

'Even if the prince and princess get safe over the bridge they will
perish,' said they; 'for the king is going to send a carriage to meet
them which looks as new as paint. But when they are seated in it a
raging wind will rise and whirl the carriage away into the clouds. Then
it will fall suddenly to earth, and they will be killed. But anyone who
hears and betrays what we have said will be turned to stone up to his
waist.'

With that the pigeons flew off and three eagles took their places, and
this is what they said:

'If the young couple does manage to escape the dangers of the bridge
and the carriage, the king means to send them each a splendid gold
embroidered robe. When they put these on they will be burnt up at once.
But whoever hears and repeats this will turn to stone from head to
foot.'

Early next morning the travellers got up and breakfasted. They began to
tell each other their dreams. At last the servant said:

'Gracious prince, I dreamt that if your Royal Highness would grant all
I asked we should get home safe and sound; but if you did not we should
certainly be lost. My dreams never deceive me, so I entreat you to
follow my advice during the rest of the journey.'

'Don't make such a fuss about a dream,' said the prince; 'dreams are but
clouds. Still, to prevent your being anxious I will promise to do as you
wish.'

With that they set out on their journey.

At midday they reached the Gold Stream. When they got to the bridge the
servant said: 'Let us leave the carriage here, my prince, and walk
a little way. The town is not far off and we can easily get another
carriage there, for the wheels of this one are bad and will not hold out
much longer.'

The prince looked well at the carriage. He did not think it looked so
unsafe as his servant said; but he had given his word and he held to it.

They got down and loaded the horses with the luggage. The prince and
his bride walked over the bridge, but the servant said he would ride the
horses through the stream so as to water and bathe them.

They reached the other side without harm, and bought a new carriage in
the town, which was quite near, and set off once more on their travels;
but they had not gone far when they met a messenger from the king who
said to the prince: 'His Majesty has sent your Royal Highness this
beautiful carriage so that you may make a fitting entry into your own
country and amongst your own people.'

The prince was so delighted that he could not speak. But the servant
said: 'My lord, let me examine this carriage first and then you can get
in if I find it is all right; otherwise we had better stay in our own.'

The prince made no objections, and after looking the carriage well
over the servant said: 'It is as bad as it is smart'; and with that
he knocked it all to pieces, and they went on in the one that they had
bought.

At last they reached the frontier; there another messenger was waiting
for them, who said that the king had sent two splendid robes for the
prince and his bride, and begged that they would wear them for their
state entry. But the servant implored the prince to have nothing to do
with them, and never gave him any peace till he had obtained leave to
destroy the robes.

The old king was furious when he found that all his arts had failed;
that his son still lived and that he would have to give up the crown to
him now he was married, for that was the law of the land. He longed to
know how the prince had escaped, and said: 'My dear son, I do indeed
rejoice to have you safely back, but I cannot imagine why the beautiful
carriage and the splendid robes I sent did not please you; why you had
them destroyed.'

'Indeed, sire,' said the prince, 'I was myself much annoyed at their
destruction; but my servant had begged to direct everything on the
journey and I had promised him that he should do so. He declared that we
could not possibly get home safely unless I did as he told me.'

The old king fell into a tremendous rage. He called his Council together
and condemned the servant to death.

The gallows was put up in the square in front of the palace. The servant
was led out and his sentence read to him.

The rope was being placed round his neck, when he begged to be allowed
a few last words. 'On our journey home,' he said, 'we spent the first
night at an inn. I did not sleep but kept watch all night.' And then he
went on to tell what the crows had said, and as he spoke he turned to
stone up to his knees. The prince called to him to say no more as he had
proved his innocence. But the servant paid no heed to him, and by the
time his story was done he had turned to stone from head to foot.

Oh! how grieved the prince was to lose his faithful servant! And what
pained him most was the thought that he was lost through his very
faithfulness, and he determined to travel all over the world and never
rest till he found some means of restoring him to life.

Now there lived at Court an old woman who had been the prince's nurse.
To her he confided all his plans, and left his wife, the princess, in
her care. 'You have a long way before you, my son,' said the old woman;
'you must never return till you have met with Lucky Luck. If he cannot
help you no one on earth can.'

So the prince set off to try to find Lucky Luck. He walked and walked
till he got beyond his own country, and he wandered through a wood for
three days but did not meet a living being in it. At the end of the
third day he came to a river near which stood a large mill. Here he
spent the night. When he was leaving next morning the miller asked him:
'My gracious lord, where are you going all alone?'

And the prince told him.

'Then I beg your Highness to ask Lucky Luck this question: Why is it
that though I have an excellent mill, with all its machinery complete,
and get plenty of grain to grind, I am so poor that I hardly know how to
live from one day to another?'

The prince promised to inquire, and went on his way. He wandered about
for three days more, and at the end of the third day saw a little town.
It was quite late when he reached it, but he could discover no light
anywhere, and walked almost right through it without finding a house
where he could turn in. But far away at the end of the town he saw a
light in a window. He went straight to it and in the house were three
girls playing a game together. The prince asked for a night's lodging
and they took him in, gave him some supper and got a room ready for him,
where he slept.

Next morning when he was leaving they asked where he was going and he
told them his story. 'Gracious prince,' said the maidens, 'do ask Lucky
Luck how it happens that here we are over thirty years old and no lover
has come to woo us, though we are good, pretty, and very industrious.'

The prince promised to inquire, and went on his way.

Then he came to a great forest and wandered about in it from morning to
night and from night to morning before he got near the other end. Here
he found a pretty stream which was different from other streams as,
instead of flowing, it stood still and began to talk: 'Sir prince, tell
me what brings you into these wilds? I must have been flowing here a
hundred years and more and no one has ever yet come by.'

'I will tell you,' answered the prince, 'if you will divide yourself so
that I may walk through.'

The stream parted at once, and the prince walked through without wetting
his feet; and directly he got to the other side he told his story as he
had promised.

'Oh, do ask Lucky Luck,' cried the brook, 'why, though I am such a
clear, bright, rapid stream I never have a fish or any other living
creature in my waters.'

The prince said he would do so, and continued his journey.

When he got quite clear of the forest he walked on through a lovely
valley till he reached a little house thatched with rushes, and he went
in to rest for he was very tired.

Everything in the house was beautifully clean and tidy, and a cheerful
honest-looking old woman was sitting by the fire.

'Good-morning, mother,' said the prince.

'May Luck be with you, my son. What brings you into these parts?'

'I am looking for Lucky Luck,' replied the prince.

'Then you have come to the right place, my son, for I am his mother. He
is not at home just now, he is out digging in the vineyard. Do you go
too. Here are two spades. When you find him begin to dig, but don't
speak a word to him. It is now eleven o'clock. When he sits down to
eat his dinner sit beside him and eat with him. After dinner he will
question you, and then tell him all your troubles freely. He will answer
whatever you may ask.'

With that she showed him the way, and the prince went and did just as
she had told him. After dinner they lay down to rest.

All of a sudden Lucky Luck began to speak and said: 'Tell me, what sort
of man are you, for since you came here you have not spoken a word?'

'I am not dumb,' replied the young man, 'but I am that unhappy prince
whose faithful servant has been turned to stone, and I want to know how
to help him.'

'And you do well, for he deserves everything. Go back, and when you
get home your wife will just have had a little boy. Take three drops of
blood from the child's little finger, rub them on your servant's wrists
with a blade of grass and he will return to life.'

'I have another thing to ask,' said the prince, when he had thanked him.
'In the forest near here is a fine stream but not a fish or other living
creature in it. Why is this?'

'Because no one has ever been drowned in the stream. But take care, in
crossing, to get as near the other side as you can before you say so, or
you may be the first victim yourself.'

'Another question, please, before I go. On my way here I lodged
one night in the house of three maidens. All were well-mannered,
hard-working, and pretty, and yet none has had a wooer. Why was this?'

'Because they always throw out their sweepings in the face of the sun.'

'And why is it that a miller, who has a large mill with all the best
machinery and gets plenty of corn to grind is so poor that he can hardly
live from day to day?'

'Because the miller keeps everything for himself, and does not give to
those who need it.'

The prince wrote down the answers to his questions, took a friendly
leave of Lucky Luck, and set off for home.

When he reached the stream it asked if he brought it any good news.
'When I get across I will tell you,' said he. So the stream parted; he
walked through and on to the highest part of the bank. He stopped and
shouted out:

'Listen, oh stream! Lucky Luck says you will never have any living
creature in your waters until someone is drowned in you.'

The words were hardly out of his mouth when the stream swelled and
overflowed till it reached the rock up which he had climbed, and dashed
so far up it that the spray flew over him. But he clung on tight, and
after failing to reach him three times the stream returned to its proper
course. Then the prince climbed down, dried himself in the sun, and set
out on his march home.

He spent the night once more at the mill and gave the miller his answer,
and by-and-by he told the three sisters not to throw out all their
sweepings in the face of the sun.

The prince had hardly arrived at home when some thieves tried to ford
the stream with a fine horse they had stolen. When they were half-way
across, the stream rose so suddenly that it swept them all away. From
that time it became the best fishing stream in the country-side.

The miller, too, began to give alms and became a very good man, and in
time grew so rich that he hardly knew how much he had.

And the three sisters, now that they no longer insulted the sun, had
each a wooer within a week.

When the prince got home he found that his wife had just got a fine
little boy. He did not lose a moment in pricking the baby's finger till
the blood ran, and he brushed it on the wrists of the stone figure,
which shuddered all over and split with a loud noise in seven parts and
there was the faithful servant alive and well.

When the old king saw this he foamed with rage, stared wildly about,
flung himself on the ground and died.

The servant stayed on with his royal master and served him faithfully
all the rest of his life; and, if neither of them is dead, he is serving
him still.






The Hairy Man

Somewhere or other, but I don't know where, there lived a king who owned
two remarkably fine fields of rape, but every night two of the rape
heaps were burnt down in one of the fields. The king was extremely angry
at this, and sent out soldiers to catch whoever had set fire to the
ricks; but it was all of no use--not a soul could they see. Then he
offered nine hundred crowns to anyone who caught the evil-doer, and at
the same time ordered that whoever did not keep proper watch over the
fields should be killed; but though there were a great many people, none
seemed able to protect the fields.

The king had already put ninety-nine people to death, when a little
swineherd came to him who had two dogs; one was called 'Psst,' and the
other 'Hush'; and the boy told the king that he would watch over the
ricks.

When it grew dark he climbed up on the top of the fourth rick, from
where he could see the whole field. About eleven o'clock he thought he
saw someone going to a rick and putting a light to it. 'Just you wait,'
thought he, and called out to his dogs: 'Hi! Psst, Hush, catch him!'
But Psst and Hush had not waited for orders, and in five minutes the man
was caught.

Next morning he was brought bound before the king, who was so pleased
with the boy that he gave him a thousand crowns at once. The prisoner
was all covered with hair, almost like an animal; and altogether he was
so curious to look at that the king locked him up in a strong room and
sent out letters of invitation to all the other kings and princes asking
them to come and see this wonder.

That was all very well; but the king had a little boy of ten years old
who went to look at the hairy man also, and the man begged so hard to be
set free that the boy took pity on him. He stole the key of the strong
room from his mother and opened the door. Then he took the key back, but
the hairy man escaped and went off into the world.

Then the kings and princes began to arrive one after another, and all
were most anxious to see the hairy man; but he was gone! The king nearly
burst with rage and with the shame he felt. He questioned his wife
sharply, and told her that if she could not find and bring back the
hairy man he would put her in a hut made of rushes and burn her there.
The queen declared she had had nothing to do with the matter; if her son
had happened to take the key it had not been with her knowledge.

So they fetched the little prince and asked him all sorts of questions,
and at last he owned that he had let the hairy man out. The king ordered
his servants to take the boy into the forest and to kill him there, and
to bring back part of his liver and lungs.

There was grief all over the palace when the king's command was known,
for he was a great favourite. But there was no help for it, and they
took the boy out into the forest. But the man was sorry for him, and
shot a dog and carried pieces of his lungs and liver to the king, who
was satisfied, and did not trouble himself any more.

The prince wandered about in the forest and lived as best he could for
five years. One day he came upon a poor little cottage in which was an
old man. They began to talk, and the prince told his story and sad fate.
Then they recognised each other, for the old fellow was no other than
the hairy man whom the prince had set free, and who had lived ever since
in the forest.

The prince stayed here for two years; then he wished to go further. The
old man begged him hard to stay, but he would not, so his hairy friend
gave him a golden apple out of which came a horse with a golden mane,
and a golden staff with which to guide the horse. The old man also gave
him a silver apple out of which came the most beautiful hussars and a
silver staff; and a copper apple from which he could draw as many foot
soldiers as ever he wished, and a copper staff. He made the prince swear
solemnly to take the greatest care of these presents, and then he let
him go.

The boy wandered on and on till he came to a large town. Here he took
service in the king's palace, and as no one troubled themselves about
him he lived quietly on.

One day news was brought to the king that he must go out to war. He was
horribly frightened for he had a very small army, but he had to go all
the same.

When they had all left, the prince said to the housekeeper:

'Give me leave to go to the next village--I owe a small bill there, and
I want to go and pay it'; and as there was nothing to be done in the
palace the housekeeper gave him leave.

When he got beyond the town he took out his golden apple, and when the
horse sprang out he swung himself into the saddle. Then he took the
silver and the copper apples, and with all these fine soldiers he joined
the king's army.

The king saw them approach with fear in his heart, for he did not know
if it might not be an enemy; but the prince rode up, and bowed low
before him. 'I bring your Majesty reinforcements,' said he.

The king was delighted, and all dread of his enemy at once disappeared.
The princesses were there too, and they were very friendly with the
prince and begged him to get into their carriage so as to talk to them.
But he declined, and remained on horseback, as he did not know at what
moment the battle might begin; and whilst they were all talking together
the youngest princess, who was also the loveliest, took off her ring,
and her sister tore her handkerchief in two pieces, and they gave these
gifts to the prince.

Suddenly the enemy came in sight. The king asked whether his army or the
prince's should lead the way; but the prince set off first and with his
hussars he fought so bravely that only two of the enemy were left alive,
and these two were only spared to act as messengers.

The king was overjoyed and so were his daughters at this brilliant
victory. As they drove home they begged the prince to join them, but he
would not come, and galloped off with his hussars.

When he got near the town he packed his soldiers and his fine horse all
carefully into the apple again, and then strolled into the town. On his
return to the palace he was well scolded by the housekeeper for staying
away so long.

Well, the whole matter might have ended there; but it so happened that
the younger princess had fallen in love with the prince, as he had with
her. And as he had no jewels with him, he gave her the copper apple and
staff.

One day, as the princesses were talking with their father, the younger
one asked him whether it might not have been their servant who had
helped him so much. The king was quite angry at the idea; but, to
satisfy her, he ordered the servant's room to be searched. And there,
to everyone's surprise, they found the golden ring and the half of the
handkerchief. When these were brought to the king he sent for the prince
at once and asked if it had been he who had come to their rescue.

'Yes, your Majesty, it was I,' answered the prince.

'But where did you get your army?'

'If you wish to see it, I can show it you outside the city walls.'

And so he did; but first he asked for the copper apple from the younger
princess, and when all the soldiers were drawn up there were such
numbers that there was barely room for them.

The king gave him his daughter and kingdom as a reward for his aid, and
when he heard that the prince was himself a king's son his joy knew no
bounds. The prince packed all his soldiers carefully up once more, and
they went back into the town.

Not long after there was a grand wedding; perhaps they may all be alive
still, but I don't know.




To Your Good Health!

Long, long ago there lived a king who was such a mighty monarch that
whenever he sneezed every one in the whole country had to say 'To your
good health!' Every one said it except the shepherd with the staring
eyes, and he would not say it.

The king heard of this and was very angry, and sent for the shepherd to
appear before him.

The shepherd came and stood before the throne, where the king sat
looking very grand and powerful. But however grand or powerful he might
be the shepherd did not feel a bit afraid of him.

'Say at once, "To my good health!"' cried the king.

'To my good health!' replied the shepherd.

'To mine--to mine, you rascal, you vagabond!' stormed the king.

'To mine, to mine, your Majesty,' was the answer.

'But to mine--to my own,' roared the king, and beat on his breast in a
rage.

'Well, yes; to mine, of course, to my own,' cried the shepherd, and
gently tapped his breast.

The king was beside himself with fury and did not know what to do, when
the Lord Chamberlain interfered:

'Say at once--say this very moment: "To your health, your Majesty"; for
if you don't say it you'll lose your life, whispered he.

'No, I won't say it till I get the princess for my wife,' was the
shepherd's answer. Now the princess was sitting on a little throne
beside the king, her father, and she looked as sweet and lovely as a
little golden dove. When she heard what the shepherd said she could not
help laughing, for there is no denying the fact that this young shepherd
with the staring eyes pleased her very much; indeed he pleased her
better than any king's son she had yet seen.

But the king was not as pleasant as his daughter, and he gave orders to
throw the shepherd into the white bear's pit.

The guards led him away and thrust him into the pit with the white bear,
who had had nothing to eat for two days and was very hungry. The door of
the pit was hardly closed when the bear rushed at the shepherd; but when
it saw his eyes it was so frightened that it was ready to eat itself. It
shrank away into a corner and gazed at him from there, and, in spite of
being so famished, did not dare to touch him, but sucked its own paws
from sheer hunger. The shepherd felt that if he once removed his eyes
off the beast he was a dead man, and in order to keep himself awake he
made songs and sang them, and so the night went by.

Next morning the Lord Chamberlain came to see the shepherd's bones, and
was amazed to find him alive and well. He led him to the king, who fell
into a furious passion, and said: 'Well, you have learned what it is to
be very near death, and now will you say "To my good health"?'

But the shepherd answered: 'I am not afraid of ten deaths! I will only
say it if I may have the princess for my wife.'

'Then go to your death,' cried the king; and ordered him to be thrown
into the den with the wild boars. The wild boars had not been fed for a
week, and when the shepherd was thrust into their don they rushed at him
to tear him to pieces. But the shepherd took a little flute out of the
sleeve of his jacket and began to play a merry tune, on which the wild
boars first of all shrank shyly away, and then got up on their hind legs
and danced gaily. The shepherd would have given anything to be able to
laugh, they looked so funny; but he dared not stop playing, for he knew
well enough that the moment he stopped they would fall upon him and tear
him to pieces. His eyes were of no use to him here, for he could not
have stared ten wild boars in the face at once; so he kept on playing,
and the wild boars danced very slowly, as if in a minuet, then by
degrees he played faster and faster till they could hardly twist and
turn quickly enough, and ended by all falling over each other in a heap,
quite exhausted and out of breath.

Then the shepherd ventured to laugh at last; and he laughed so long
and so loud that when the Lord Chamberlain came early in the morning,
expecting to find only his bones, the tears were still running down his
cheeks from laughter.

As soon as the king was dressed the shepherd was again brought before
him; but he was more angry than ever to think the wild boars had not
torn the man to bits, and he said: 'Well, you have learned what it feels
to be near ten deaths, now say "To my good health!"'

But the shepherd broke in with, 'I do not fear a hundred deaths, and I
will only say it if I may have the princess for my wife.'

'Then go to a hundred deaths!' roared the king, and ordered the shepherd
to be thrown down the deep vault of scythes.

The guards dragged him away to a dark dungeon, in the middle of which
was a deep well with sharp scythes all round it. At the bottom of the
well was a little light by which one could see if anyone was thrown in
whether he had fallen to the bottom.

When the shepherd was dragged to the dungeons he begged the guards to
leave him alone a little while that he might look down into the pit of
scythes; perhaps he might after all make up his mind to say 'To your
good health' to the king. So the guards left him alone and he stuck up
his long stick near the well, hung his cloak round the stick and put his
hat on the top. He also hung his knapsack up inside the cloak so that it
might seem to have some body within it. When this was done he called out
to the guards and said that he had considered the matter but after all
he could not make up his mind to say what the king wished. The guards
came in, threw the hat and cloak, knapsack and stick all down the well
together, watched to see how they put out the light at the bottom and
came away, thinking that now there really was an end of the shepherd.
But he had hidden in a dark corner and was laughing to himself all the
time.

Quite early next morning came the Lord Chamberlain, carrying a lamp and
he nearly fell backwards with surprise when he saw the shepherd alive
and well. He brought him to the king, whose fury was greater than ever,
but who cried:

'Well, now you have been near a hundred deaths; will you say: "To your
good health"?'

But the shepherd only gave the same answer:

'I won't say it till the princess is my wife.'

'Perhaps after all you may do it for less,' said the king, who saw that
there was no chance of making away with the shepherd; and he ordered the
state coach to be got ready, then he made the shepherd get in with him
and sit beside him, and ordered the coachman to drive to the silver
wood. When they reached it he said: 'Do you see this silver wood? Well,
if you will say, "To your good health," I will give it to you.'

The shepherd turned hot and cold by turns, but he still persisted:

'I will not say it till the princess is my wife.'

The king was much vexed; he drove further on till they came to a
splendid castle, all of gold, and then he said:

'Do you see this golden castle? Well, I will give you that too, the
silver wood and the golden castle, if only you will say that one thing
to me: "To your good health."'

The shepherd gaped and wondered and was quite dazzled, but he still
said:

'No; I will not say it till I have the princess for my wife.'

This time the king was overwhelmed with grief, and gave orders to drive
on to the diamond pond, and there he tried once more.

'Do you see this diamond pond? I will give you that too, the silver
wood and the golden castle and the diamond pond. You shall have them
all--all--if you will but say: "To your good health!"'

The shepherd had to shut his staring eyes tight not to be dazzled with
the brilliant pond, but still he said:

'No, no; I will not say it till I have the princess for my wife.'

Then the king saw that all his efforts were useless, and that he might
as well give in, so he said:

'Well, well, it's all the same to me--I will give you my daughter to
wife; but, then, you really and truly must say to me: "To your good
health."'

'Of course I'll say it; why should I not say it? It stands to reason
that I shall say it then.'

At this the king was more delighted than anyone could have believed.
He made it known all through the country that there were to be great
rejoicings, as the princess was going to be married. And everyone
rejoiced to think that the princess, who had refused so many royal
suitors, should have ended by falling in love with the staring-eyed
shepherd.

There was such a wedding as had never been seen. Everyone ate and drank
and danced. Even the sick were feasted, and quite tiny new-born children
had presents given them.

But the greatest merry-making was in the king's palace; there the best
bands played and the best food was cooked; a crowd of people sat down to
table, and all was fun and merry-making.

And when the groomsman, according to custom, brought in the great boar's
head on a big dish and placed it before the king so that he might carve
it and give everyone a share, the savoury smell was so strong that the
king began to sneeze with all his might.

'To your very good health,' cried the shepherd before anyone else, and
the king was so delighted that he did not regret having given him his
daughter.

In time, when the old king died, the shepherd succeeded him. He made a
very good king and never expected his people to wish him well against
their wills; but, all the same, everyone did wish him well, for they all
loved him.






The Story of the Seven Simons

Far, far away, beyond all sorts of countries, seas and rivers, there
stood a splendid city where lived King Archidej, who was as good as he
was rich and handsome. His great army was made up of men ready to obey
his slightest wish; he owned forty times forty cities, and in each city
he had ten palaces with silver doors, golden roofs, and crystal windows.
His council consisted of the twelve wisest men in the country, whose
long beards flowed down over their breasts, each of whom was as learned
as a whole college. This council always told the king the exact truth.

Now the king had everything to make him happy, but he did not enjoy
anything because he could not find a bride to his mind.

One day, as he sat in his palace looking out to sea, a great ship sailed
into the harbour and several merchants came on shore. Said the king to
himself: 'These people have travelled far and beheld many lands. I will
ask them if they have seen any princess who is as clever and as handsome
as I am.'

So he ordered the merchants to be brought before him, and when they came
he said: 'You have travelled much and visited many wonders. I wish to
ask you a question, and I beg you to answer truthfully.

'Have you anywhere seen or heard of the daughter of an emperor, king,
or a prince, who is as clever and as handsome as I am, and who would be
worthy to be my wife and the queen of my country?'

The merchants considered for some time. At last the eldest of them said:
'I have heard that across many seas, in the Island of Busan, there is a
mighty king, whose daughter, the Princess Helena, is so lovely that she
can certainly not be plainer than your Majesty, and so clever that the
wisest greybeard cannot guess her riddles.'

'Is the island far off, and which is the way to it?'

'It is not near,' was the answer. 'The journey would take ten years, and
we do not know the way. And even if we did, what use would that be? The
princess is no bride for you.'

'How dare you say so?' cried the king angrily.

'Your Majesty must pardon us; but just think for a moment. Should you
send an envoy to the island he will take ten years to get there and ten
more to return--twenty years in all. Will not the princess have grown
old in that time and have lost all her beauty?'

The king reflected gravely. Then he thanked the merchants, gave them
leave to trade in his country without paying any duties, and dismissed
them.

After they were gone the king remained deep in thought. He felt puzzled
and anxious; so he decided to ride into the country to distract his
mind, and sent for his huntsmen and falconers. The huntsmen blew their
horns, the falconers took their hawks on their wrists, and off they all
set out across country till they came to a green hedge. On the other
side of the hedge stretched a great field of maize as far as the eye
could reach, and the yellow ears swayed to and fro in the gentle breeze
like a rippling sea of gold.

The king drew rein and admired the field. 'Upon my word,' said he,
'whoever dug and planted it must be good workmen. If all the fields in
my kingdom were as well cared for as this, there would be more bread
than my people could eat.' And he wished to know to whom the field
belonged.

Off rushed all his followers at once to do his bidding, and found a
nice, tidy farmhouse, in front of which sat seven peasants, lunching
on rye bread and drinking water. They wore red shirts bound with gold
braid, and were so much alike that one could hardly tell one from
another.

The messengers asked: 'Who owns this field of golden maize?' And the
seven brothers answered: 'The field is ours.'

'And who are you?'

'We are King Archidej's labourers.'

These answers were repeated to the king, who ordered the brothers to
be brought before him at once. On being asked who they were, the eldest
said, bowing low:

'We, King Archidej, are your labourers, children of one father and
mother, and we all have the same name, for each of us is called Simon.
Our father taught us to be true to our king, and to till the ground,
and to be kind to our neighbours. He also taught each of us a different
trade which he thought might be useful to us, and he bade us not neglect
our mother earth, which would be sure amply to repay our labour.'

The king was pleased with the honest peasant, and said: 'You have done
well, good people, in planting your field, and now you have a golden
harvest. But I should like each of you to tell me what special trades
your father taught you.'

'My trade, O king!' said the first Simon, 'is not an easy one. If you
will give me some workmen and materials I will build you a great white
pillar that shall reach far above the clouds.'

'Very good,' replied the king. 'And you, Simon the second, what is your
trade?'

'Mine, your Majesty, needs no great cleverness. When my brother has
built the pillar I can mount it, and from the top, far above the clouds,
I can see what is happening: in every country under the sun.'

'Good,' said the king; 'and Simon the third?'

'My work is very simple, sire. You have many ships built by learned men,
with all sorts of new and clever improvements. If you wish it I will
build you quite a simple boat--one, two, three, and it's done! But my
plain little home-made ship is not grand enough for a king. Where other
ships take a year, mine makes the voyage in a day, and where they would
require ten years mine will do the distance in a week.'

'Good,' said the king again; 'and what has Simon the fourth learnt?'

'My trade, O king, is really of no importance. Should my brother build
you a ship, then let me embark in it. If we should be pursued by an
enemy I can seize our boat by the prow and sink it to the bottom of the
sea. When the enemy has sailed off, I can draw it up to the top again.'

'That is very clever of you,' answered the king; 'and what does Simon
the fifth do?'

'My work, your Majesty, is mere smith's work. Order me to build a smithy
and I will make you a cross-bow, but from which neither the eagle in the
sky nor the wild beast in the forest is safe. The bolt hits whatever the
eye sees.'

'That sounds very useful,' said the king. 'And now, Simon the sixth,
tell me your trade.'

'Sire, it is so simple I am almost ashamed to mention it. If my brother
hits any creature I catch it quicker than any dog can. If it falls into
the water I pick it up out of the greatest depths, and if it is in a
dark forest I can find it even at midnight.'

The king was much pleased with the trades and talk of the six brothers,
and said: 'Thank you, good people; your father did well to teach you all
these things. Now follow me to the town, as I want to see what you can
do. I need such people as you about me; but when harvest time comes I
will send you home with royal presents.'

The brothers bowed and said: 'As the king wills.' Suddenly the king
remembered that he had not questioned the seventh Simon, so he turned to
him and said: 'Why are you silent? What is your handicraft?'

And the seventh Simon answered: 'I have no handicraft, O king; I have
learnt nothing. I could not manage it. And if I do know how to do
anything it is not what might properly be called a real trade--it is
rather a sort of performance; but it is one which no one--not the king
himself--must watch me doing, and I doubt whether this performance of
mine would please your Majesty.'

'Come, come,' cried the king; 'I will have no excuses, what is this
trade?'

'First, sire, give me your royal word that you will not kill me when I
have told you. Then you shall hear.'

'So be it, then; I give you my royal word.'

Then the seventh Simon stepped back a little, cleared his throat, and
said: 'My trade, King Archidej, is of such a kind that the man who
follows it in your kingdom generally loses his life and has no hopes of
pardon. There is only one thing I can do really well, and that is--to
steal, and to hide the smallest scrap of anything I have stolen. Not
the deepest vault, even if its lock were enchanted, could prevent my
stealing anything out of it that I wished to have.'

When the king heard this he fell into a passion. 'I will not pardon
you, you rascal,' he cried; 'I will shut you up in my deepest dungeon on
bread and water till you have forgotten such a trade. Indeed, it would
be better to put you to death at once, and I've a good mind to do so.'

'Don't kill me, O king! I am really not as bad as you think. Why, had I
chosen, I could have robbed the royal treasury, have bribed your judges
to let me off, and built a white marble palace with what was left.
But though I know how to steal I don't do it. You yourself asked me my
trade. If you kill me you will break your royal word.'

'Very well,' said the king, 'I will not kill you. I pardon you. But from
this hour you shall be shut up in a dark dungeon. Here, guards! away
with him to the prison. But you six Simons follow me and be assured of
my royal favour.'

So the six Simons followed the king. The seventh Simon was seized by the
guards, who put him in chains and threw him in prison with only bread
and water for food. Next day the king gave the first Simon carpenters,
masons, smiths and labourers, with great stores of iron, mortar, and the
like, and Simon began to build. And he built his great white pillar
far, far up into the clouds, as high as the nearest stars; but the other
stars were higher still.

Then the second Simon climbed up the pillar and saw and heard all that
was going on through the whole world. When he came down he had all sorts
of wonderful things to tell. How one king was marching in battle against
another, and which was likely to be the victor. How, in another place,
great rejoicings were going on, while in a third people were dying of
famine. In fact there was not the smallest event going on over the earth
that was hidden from him.

Next the third Simon began. He stretched out his arms, once, twice,
thrice, and the wonder-ship was ready. At a sign from the king it was
launched, and floated proudly and safely like a bird on the waves.
Instead of ropes it had wires for rigging, and musicians played on them
with fiddle bows and made lovely music. As the ship swam about, the
fourth Simon seized the prow with his strong hand, and in a moment it
was gone--sunk to the bottom of the sea. An hour passed, and then the
ship floated again, drawn up by Simon's left hand, while in his right he
brought a gigantic fish from the depth of the ocean for the royal table.

Whilst this was going on the fifth Simon had built his forge and
hammered out his iron, and when the king returned from the harbour the
magic cross-bow was made.

His Majesty went out into an open field at once, looked up into the sky
and saw, far, far away, an eagle flying up towards the sun and looking
like a little speck.

'Now,' said the king, 'if you can shoot that bird I will reward you.'

Simon only smiled; he lifted his cross-bow, took aim, fired, and the
eagle fell. As it was falling the sixth Simon ran with a dish, caught
the bird before it fell to earth and brought it to the king.

'Many thanks, my brave lads,' said the king; 'I see that each of you is
indeed a master of his trade. You shall be richly rewarded. But now rest
and have your dinner.'

The six Simons bowed and went to dinner. But they had hardly begun
before a messenger came to say that the king wanted to see them. They
obeyed at once and found him surrounded by all his court and men of
state.

'Listen, my good fellows,' cried the king, as soon as he saw them. 'Hear
what my wise counsellors have thought of. As you, Simon the second,
can see the whole world from the top of the great pillar, I want you to
climb up and to see and hear. For I am told that, far away, across many
seas, is the great kingdom of the Island of Busan, and that the daughter
of the king is the beautiful Princess Helena.'

Off ran the second Simon and clambered quickly up the pillar. He gazed
around, listened on all sides, and then slid down to report to the king.

'Sire, I have obeyed your orders. Far away I saw the Island of Busan.
The king is a mighty monarch, but full of pride, harsh and cruel. He
sits on his throne and declares that no prince or king on earth is good
enough for his lovely daughter, that he will give her to none, and
that if any king asks for her hand he will declare war against him and
destroy his kingdom.'

'Has the king of Busan a great army?' asked King Archidej; 'is his
country far off?'

'As far as I could judge,' replied Simon, 'it would take you nearly ten
years in fair weather to sail there. But if the weather were stormy
we might say twelve. I saw the army being reviewed. It is not so very
large--a hundred thousand men at arms and a hundred thousand knights.
Besides these, he has a strong bodyguard and a good many cross-bowmen.
Altogether you may say another hundred thousand, and there is a picked
body of heroes who reserve themselves for great occasions requiring
particular courage.'

The king sat for some time lost in thought. At last he said to the
nobles and courtiers standing round: 'I am determined to marry the
Princess Helena, but how shall I do it?'

The nobles, courtiers and counsellors said nothing, but tried to hide
behind each other. Then the third Simon said:

'Pardon me, your Majesty, if I offer my advice. You wish to go to the
Island of Busan? What can be easier? In my ship you will get there in a
week instead of in ten years. But ask your council to advise you what
to do when you arrive--in one word, whether you will win the princess
peacefully or by war?'

But the wise men were as silent as ever.

The king frowned, and was about to say something sharp, when the Court
Fool pushed his way to the front and said: 'Dear me, what are all you
clever people so puzzled about? The matter is quite clear. As it seems
it will not take long to reach the island why not send the seventh
Simon? He will steal the fair maiden fast enough, and then the king,
her father, may consider how he is going to bring his army over here--it
will take him ten years to do it!---no less! What do you think of my
plan?'

'What do I think? Why, that your idea is capital, and you shall be
rewarded for it. Come, guards, hurry as fast as you can and bring the
seventh Simon before me.'

Not many minutes later, Simon the seventh stood before the king, who
explained to him what he wished done, and also that to steal for the
benefit of his king and country was by no means a wrong thing, though it
was very wrong to steal for his own advantage.

The youngest Simon, who looked very pale and hungry, only nodded his
head.

'Come,' said the king, 'tell me truly. Do you think you could steal the
Princess Helena?'

'Why should I not steal her, sire? The thing is easy enough. Let my
brother's ship be laden with rich stuffs, brocades, Persian carpets,
pearls and jewels. Send me in the ship. Give me my four middle brothers
as companions, and keep the two others as hostages.'

When the king heard these words his heart became filled with longing,
and he ordered all to be done as Simon wished. Every one ran about to do
his bidding; and in next to no time the wonder-ship was laden and ready
to start.

The five Simons took leave of the king, went on board, and had no sooner
set sail than they were almost out of sight. The ship cut through the
waters like a falcon through the air, and just a week after starting
sighted the Island of Busan. The coast appeared to be strongly guarded,
and from afar the watchman on a high tower called out: 'Halt and anchor!
Who are you? Where do you come from, and what do you want?'

The seventh Simon answered from the ship: 'We are peaceful people. We
come from the country of the great and good King Archidej, and we bring
foreign wares--rich brocades, carpets, and costly jewels, which we wish
to show to your king and the princess. We desire to trade--to sell, to
buy, and to exchange.'

The brothers launched a small boat, took some of their valuable goods
with them, rowed to shore and went up to the palace. The princess sat
in a rose-red room, and when she saw the brothers coming near she called
her nurse and other women, and told them to inquire who and what these
people were, and what they wanted.

The seventh Simon answered the nurse: 'We come from the country of the
wise and good King Archidej,' said he, 'and we have brought all sorts
of goods for sale. We trust the king of this country may condescend
to welcome us, and to let his servants take charge of our wares. If he
considers them worthy to adorn his followers we shall be content.'

This speech was repeated to the princess, who ordered the brothers to
be brought to the red-room at once. They bowed respectfully to her and
displayed some splendid velvets and brocades, and opened cases of pearls
and precious stones. Such beautiful things had never been seen in the
island, and the nurse and waiting women stood bewildered by all the
magnificence. They whispered together that they had never beheld
anything like it. The princess too saw and wondered, and her eyes could
not weary of looking at the lovely things, or her fingers of stroking
the rich soft stuffs, and of holding up the sparkling jewels to the
light.

'Fairest of princesses,' said Simon. 'Be pleased to order your
waiting-maids to accept the silks and velvets, and let your women trim
their head-dresses with the jewels; these are no special treasures.
But permit me to say that they are as nothing to the many coloured
tapestries, the gorgeous stones and ropes of pearls in our ship. We did
not like to bring more with us, not knowing what your royal taste might
be; but if it seems good to you to honour our ship with a visit, you
might condescend to choose such things as were pleasing in your eyes.'

This polite speech pleased the princess very much. She went to the
king and said: 'Dear father, some merchants have arrived with the most
splendid wares. Pray allow me to go to their ship and choose out what I
like.'

The king thought and thought, frowned hard and rubbed his ear. At last
he gave consent, and ordered out his royal yacht, with 100 cross-bows,
100 knights, and 1,000 soldiers, to escort the Princess Helena.

Off sailed the yacht with the princess and her escort. The brothers
Simon came on board to conduct the princess to their ship, and, led by
the brothers and followed by her nurse and other women, she crossed the
crystal plank from one vessel to another.

The seventh Simon spread out his goods, and had so many curious
and interesting tales to tell about them, that the princess forgot
everything else in looking and listening, so that she did not know that
the fourth Simon had seized the prow of the ship, and that all of a
sudden it had vanished from sight, and was racing along in the depths of
the sea.

The crew of the royal yacht shouted aloud, the knights stood still with
terror, the soldiers were struck dumb and hung their heads. There was
nothing to be done but to sail back and tell the king of his loss.

How he wept and stormed! 'Oh, light of my eyes,' he sobbed; 'I am indeed
punished for my pride. I thought no one good enough to be your husband,
and now you are lost in the depths of the sea, and have left me alone!
As for all of you who saw this thing--away with you! Let them be put in
irons and lock them up in prison, whilst I think how I can best put them
to death!'

Whilst the King of Busan was raging and lamenting in this fashion,
Simon's ship was swimming like any fish under the sea, and when the
island was well out of sight he brought it up to the surface again. At
that moment the princess recollected herself. 'Nurse,' said she, 'we
have been gazing at these wonders only too long. I hope my father won't
be vexed at our delay.'

She tore herself away and stepped on deck. Neither the yacht nor the
island was in sight! Helena wrung her hands and beat her breast. Then
she changed herself into a white swan and flew off. But the fifth Simon
seized his bow and shot the swan, and the sixth Simon did not let it
fall into the water but caught it in the ship, and the swan turned into
a silver fish, but Simon lost no time and caught the fish, when, quick
as thought, the fish turned into a black mouse and ran about the ship.
It darted towards a hole, but before it could reach it Simon sprang upon
it more swiftly than any cat, and then the little mouse turned once more
into the beautiful Princess Helena.

Early one morning King Archidej sat thoughtfully at his window gazing
out to sea. His heart was sad and he would neither eat nor drink. His
thoughts were full of the Princess Helena, who was as lovely as a dream.
Is that a white gull he sees flying towards the shore, or is it a sail?
No, it is no gull, it is the wonder-ship flying along with billowing
sails. Its flags wave, the fiddlers play on the wire rigging, the anchor
is thrown out and the crystal plank laid from the ship to the pier. The
lovely Helena steps across the plank. She shines like the sun, and the
stars of heaven seem to sparkle in her eyes.

Up sprang King Archidej in haste: 'Hurry, hurry,' he cried. 'Let us
hasten to meet her! Let the bugles sound and the joy bells be rung!'

And the whole Court swarmed with courtiers and servants. Golden carpets
were laid down and the great gates thrown open to welcome the princess.

King Archidej went out himself, took her by the hand and led her into
the royal apartments.

'Madam,' said he, 'the fame of your beauty had reached me, but I had not
dared to expect such loveliness. Still I will not keep you here against
your will. If you wish it, the wonder-ship shall take you back to your
father and your own country; but if you will consent to stay here, then
reign over me and my country as our queen.'

What more is there to tell? It is not hard to guess that the princess
listened to the king's wooing, and their betrothal took place with great
pomp and rejoicings.

The brothers Simon were sent again to the Island of Busan with a letter
to the king from his daughter to invite him to their wedding. And the
wonder-ship arrived at the Island of Busan just as all the knights and
soldiers who had escorted the princess were being led out to execution.

Then the seventh Simon cried out from the ship: 'Stop! stop! I bring a
letter from the Princess Helena!'

The King of Busan read the letter over and over again, and ordered the
knights and soldiers to be set free. He entertained King Archidej's
ambassadors hospitably, and sent his blessing to his daughter, but he
could not be brought to attend the wedding.

When the wonder-ship got home King Archidej and Princess Helena were
enchanted with the news it brought.

The king sent for the seven Simons. 'A thousand thanks to you, my brave
fellows,' he cried. 'Take what gold, silver, and precious stones you
will out of my treasury. Tell me if there is anything else you wish for
and I will give it you, my good friends. Do you wish to be made nobles,
or to govern towns? Only speak.'

Then the eldest Simon bowed and said: 'We are plain folk, your Majesty,
and understand simple things best. What figures should we cut as nobles
or governors? Nor do we desire gold. We have our fields which give us
food, and as much money as we need. If you wish to reward us then grant
that our land may be free of taxes, and of your goodness pardon the
seventh Simon. He is not the first who has been a thief by trade and he
will certainly not be the last.'

'So be it,' said the king; 'your land shall be free of all taxes, and
Simon the seventh is pardoned.'

Then the king gave each brother a goblet of wine and invited them to the
wedding feast. And what a feast that was!






The Language of Beasts

Once upon a time a man had a shepherd who served him many years
faithfully and honestly. One day, whilst herding his flock, this
shepherd heard a hissing sound, coming out of the forest near by, which
he could not account for. So he went into the wood in the direction of
the noise to try to discover the cause. When he approached the place
he found that the dry grass and leaves were on fire, and on a tree,
surrounded by flames, a snake was coiled, hissing with terror.

The shepherd stood wondering how the poor snake could escape, for
the wind was blowing the flames that way, and soon that tree would be
burning like the rest. Suddenly the snake cried: 'O shepherd! for the
love of heaven save me from this fire!'

Then the shepherd stretched his staff out over the flames and the snake
wound itself round the staff and up to his hand, and from his hand
it crept up his arm, and twined itself about his neck. The shepherd
trembled with fright, expecting every instant to be stung to death, and
said: 'What an unlucky man I am! Did I rescue you only to be destroyed
myself?' But the snake answered: 'Have no fear; only carry me home to my
father who is the King of the Snakes.' The shepherd, however, was much
too frightened to listen, and said that he could not go away and leave
his flock alone; but the snake said: 'You need not be afraid to leave
your flock, no evil shall befall them; but make all the haste you can.'

So he set off through the wood carrying the snake, and after a time he
came to a great gateway, made entirely of snakes intertwined one with
another. The shepherd stood still with surprise, but the snake round his
neck whistled, and immediately all the arch unwound itself.

'When we are come to my father's house,' said his own snake to him, 'he
will reward you with anything you like to ask--silver, gold, jewels,
or whatever on this earth is most precious; but take none of all these
things, ask rather to understand the language of beasts. He will refuse
it to you a long time, but in the end he will grant it to you.'

Soon after that they arrived at the house of the King of the Snakes, who
burst into tears of joy at the sight of his daughter, as he had given
her up for dead. 'Where have you been all this time?' he asked, directly
he could speak, and she told him that she had been caught in a forest
fire, and had been rescued from the flames by the shepherd. The King of
the Snakes, then turning to the shepherd, said to him: 'What reward will
you choose for saving my child?'

'Make me to know the language of beasts,' answered the shepherd, 'that
is all I desire.'

The king replied: 'Such knowledge would be of no benefit to you, for if
I granted it to you and you told any one of it, you would immediately
die; ask me rather for whatever else you would most like to possess, and
it shall be yours.'

But the shepherd answered him: 'Sir, if you wish to reward me for saving
your daughter, grant me, I pray you, to know the language of beasts. I
desire nothing else'; and he turned as if to depart.

Then the king called him back, saying: 'If nothing else will satisfy
you, open your mouth.' The man obeyed, and the king spat into it, and
said: 'Now spit into my mouth.' The shepherd did as he was told, then
the King of the Snakes spat again into the shepherd's mouth. When they
had spat into each other's mouths three times, the king said:

'Now you know the language of beasts, go in peace; but, if you value
your life, beware lest you tell any one of it, else you will immediately
die.'

So the shepherd set out for home, and on his way through the wood he
heard and understood all that was said by the birds, and by every living
creature. When he got back to his sheep he found the flock grazing
peacefully, and as he was very tired he laid himself down by them to
rest a little. Hardly had he done so when two ravens flew down and
perched on a tree near by, and began to talk to each other in their own
language: 'If that shepherd only knew that there is a vault full of gold
and silver beneath where that lamb is lying, what would he not do?' When
the shepherd heard these words he went straight to his master and told
him, and the master at once took a waggon, and broke open the door of
the vault, and they carried off the treasure. But instead of keeping it
for himself, the master, who was an honourable man, gave it all up to
the shepherd, saying: 'Take it, it is yours. The gods have given it to
you.' So the shepherd took the treasure and built himself a house. He
married a wife, and they lived in great peace and happiness, and he was
acknowledged to be the richest man, not only of his native village, but
of all the country-side. He had flocks of sheep, and cattle, and horses
without end, as well as beautiful clothes and jewels.

One day, just before Christmas, he said to his wife: 'Prepare everything
for a great feast, to-morrow we will take things with us to the farm
that the shepherds there may make merry.' The wife obeyed, and all was
prepared as he desired. Next day they both went to the farm, and in the
evening the master said to the shepherds: 'Now come, all of you, eat,
drink, and make merry. I will watch the flocks myself to-night in your
stead.' Then he went out to spend the night with the flocks.

When midnight struck the wolves howled and the dogs barked, and the
wolves spoke in their own tongue, saying:

'Shall we come in and work havoc, and you too shall eat flesh?' And
the dogs answered in their tongue: 'Come in, and for once we shall have
enough to eat.'

Now amongst the dogs there was one so old that he had only two teeth
left in his head, and he spoke to the wolves, saying: 'So long as I have
my two teeth still in my head, I will let no harm be done to my master.'

All this the master heard and understood, and as soon as morning dawned
he ordered all the dogs to be killed excepting the old dog. The farm
servants wondered at this order, and exclaimed: 'But surely, sir, that
would be a pity?'

The master answered: 'Do as I bid you'; and made ready to return home
with his wife, and they mounted their horses, her steed being a mare.
As they went on their way, it happened that the husband rode on ahead,
while the wife was a little way behind. The husband's horse, seeing
this, neighed, and said to the mare: 'Come along, make haste; why are
you so slow?' And the mare answered: 'It is very easy for you, you carry
only your master, who is a thin man, but I carry my mistress, who is so
fat that she weights as much as three.' When the husband heard that he
looked back and laughed, which the wife perceiving, she urged on the
mare till she caught up with her husband, and asked him why he laughed.
'For nothing at all,' he answered; 'just because it came into my head.'
She would not be satisfied with this answer, and urged him more and more
to tell her why he had laughed. But he controlled himself and said: 'Let
me be, wife; what ails you? I do not know myself why I laughed.' But the
more he put her off, the more she tormented him to tell her the cause of
his laughter. At length he said to her: 'Know, then, that if I tell it
you I shall immediately and surely die.' But even this did not quiet
her; she only besought him the more to tell her.

Meanwhile they had reached home, and before getting down from his horse
the man called for a coffin to be brought; and when it was there he
placed it in front of the house, and said to his wife:

'See, I will lay myself down in this coffin, and will then tell you why
I laughed, for as soon as I have told you I shall surely die.' So he lay
down in the coffin, and while he took a last look around him, his old
dog came out from the farm and sat down by him, and whined. When the
master saw this, he called to his wife: 'Bring a piece of bread to give
to the dog.' The wife brought some bread and threw it to the dog, but he
would not look at it. Then the farm cock came and pecked at the bread;
but the dog said to it: 'Wretched glutton, you can eat like that when
you see that your master is dying?' The cock answered: 'Let him die, if
he is so stupid. I have a hundred wives, which I call together when I
find a grain of corn, and as soon as they are there I swallow it myself;
should one of them dare to be angry, I would give her a lesson with my
beak. He has only one wife, and he cannot keep her in order.'

As soon as the man understood this, he got up out of the coffin, seized
a stick, and called his wife into the room, saying: 'Come, and I will
tell you what you so much want to know'; and then he began to beat her
with the stick, saying with each blow: 'It is that, wife, it is that!'
And in this way he taught her never again to ask why he had laughed.




The Boy Who Could Keep A Secret

Once upon a time there lived a poor widow who had one little boy. At
first sight you would not have thought that he was different from a
thousand other little boys; but then you noticed that by his side hung
the scabbard of a sword, and as the boy grew bigger the scabbard grew
bigger too. The sword which belonged to the scabbard was found by the
little boy sticking out of the ground in the garden, and every day he
pulled it up to see if it would go into the scabbard. But though it
was plainly becoming longer and longer, it was some time before the two
would fit.

However, there came a day at last when it slipped in quite easily. The
child was so delighted that he could hardly believe his eyes, so he
tried it seven times, and each time it slipped in more easily than
before. But pleased though the boy was, he determined not to tell anyone
about it, particularly not his mother, who never could keep anything
from her neighbours.

Still, in spite of his resolutions, he could not hide altogether that
something had happened, and when he went in to breakfast his mother
asked him what was the matter.

'Oh, mother, I had such a nice dream last night,' said he; 'but I can't
tell it to anybody.'

'You can tell it to me,' she answered. 'It must have been a nice dream,
or you wouldn't look so happy.'

'No, mother; I can't tell it to anybody,' returned the boy, 'till it
comes true.'

'I want to know what it was, and know it I will,' cried she, 'and I will
beat you till you tell me.'

But it was no use, neither words nor blows would get the secret out of
the boy; and when her arm was quite tired and she had to leave off, the
child, sore and aching, ran into the garden and knelt weeping beside his
little sword. It was working round and round in its hole all by itself,
and if anyone except the boy had tried to catch hold of it, he would
have been badly cut. But the moment he stretched out his hand it stopped
and slid quietly into the scabbard.

For a long time the child sat sobbing, and the noise was heard by the
king as he was driving by. 'Go and see who it is that is crying so,'
said he to one of his servants, and the man went. In a few minutes he
returned saying: 'Your Majesty, it is a little boy who is kneeling there
sobbing because his mother has beaten him.'

'Bring him to me at once,' commanded the monarch, 'and tell him that it
is the king who sends for him, and that he has never cried in all his
life and cannot bear anyone else to do so.' On receiving this message
the boy dried his tears and went with the servant to the royal carriage.
'Will you be my son?' asked the king.

'Yes, if my mother will let me,' answered the boy. And the king bade the
servant go back to the mother and say that if she would give her boy to
him, he should live in the palace and marry his prettiest daughter as
soon as he was a man.

The widow's anger now turned into joy, and she came running to the
splendid coach and kissed the king's hand. 'I hope you will be more
obedient to his Majesty than you were to me,' she said; and the boy
shrank away half-frightened. But when she had gone back to her cottage,
he asked the king if he might fetch something that he had left in the
garden, and when he was given permission, he pulled up his little sword,
which he slid into the scabbard.

Then he climbed into the coach and was driven away.

After they had gone some distance the king said: 'Why were you crying so
bitterly in the garden just now?'

'Because my mother had been beating me,' replied the boy.

'And what did she do that for?' asked the king again.

'Because I would not tell her my dream.'

'And why wouldn't you tell it to her?'

'Because I will never tell it to anyone till it comes true,' answered
the boy.

'And won't you tell it to me either?' asked the king in surprise.

'No, not even to you, your Majesty,' replied he.

'Oh, I am sure you will when we get home,' said the king smiling, and he
talked to him about other things till they came to the palace.

'I have brought you such a nice present,' he said to his daughters, and
as the boy was very pretty they were delighted to have him and gave him
all their best toys.

'You must not spoil him,' observed the king one day, when he had been
watching them playing together. He has a secret which he won't tell to
anyone.'

'He will tell me,' answered the eldest princess; but the boy only shook
his head.

'He will tell me,' said the second girl.

'Not I,' replied the boy.

'He will tell me,' cried the youngest, who was the prettiest too.

'I will tell nobody till it comes true,' said the boy, as he had said
before; 'and I will beat anybody who asks me.'

The king was very sorry when he heard this, for he loved the boy dearly;
but he thought it would never do to keep anyone near him who would not
do as he was bid. So he commanded his servants to take him away and not
to let him enter the palace again until he had come to his right senses.

The sword clanked loudly as the boy was led away, but the child said
nothing, though he was very unhappy at being treated so badly when he
had done nothing. However, the servants were very kind to him, and their
children brought him fruit and all sorts of nice things, and he soon
grew merry again, and lived amongst them for many years till his
seventeenth birthday.

Meanwhile the two eldest princesses had become women, and had married
two powerful kings who ruled over great countries across the sea.
The youngest one was old enough to be married too, but she was very
particular, and turned up her nose at all the young princes who had
sought her hand.

One day she was sitting in the palace feeling rather dull and lonely,
and suddenly she began to wonder what the servants were doing, and
whether it was not more amusing down in their quarters. The king was at
his council and the queen was ill in bed, so there was no one to stop
the princess, and she hastily ran across the gardens to the houses where
the servants lived. Outside she noticed a youth who was handsomer than
any prince she had ever seen, and in a moment she knew him to be the
little boy she had once played with.

'Tell me your secret and I will marry you,' she said to him; but the boy
only gave her the beating he had promised her long ago, when she asked
him the same question. The girl was very angry, besides being hurt, and
ran home to complain to her father.

'If he had a thousand souls, I would kill them all,' swore the king.

That very day a gallows was built outside the town, and all the people
crowded round to see the execution of the young man who had dared to
beat the king's daughter. The prisoner, with his hands tied behind
his back, was brought out by the hangman, and amidst dead silence his
sentence was being read by the judge when suddenly the sword clanked
against his side. Instantly a great noise was heard and a golden coach
rumbled over the stones, with a white flag waving out of the window.
It stopped underneath the gallows, and from it stepped the king of the
Magyars, who begged that the life of the boy might be spared.

'Sir, he has beaten my daughter, who only asked him to tell her his
secret. I cannot pardon that,' answered the princess's father.

'Give him to me, I'm sure he will tell me the secret; or, if not, I have
a daughter who is like the Morning Star, and he is sure to tell it to
her.'

The sword clanked for the third time, and the king said angrily: 'Well,
if you want him so much you can have him; only never let me see his face
again.' And he made a sign to the hangman. The bandage was removed from
the young man's eyes, and the cords from his wrists, and he took his
seat in the golden coach beside the king of the Magyars. Then the
coachman whipped up his horses, and they set out for Buda.

The king talked very pleasantly for a few miles, and when he thought
that his new companion was quite at ease with him, he asked him what was
the secret which had brought him into such trouble. 'That I cannot tell
you,' answered the youth, 'until it comes true.'

'You will tell my daughter,' said the king, smiling.

'I will tell nobody,' replied the youth, and as he spoke the sword
clanked loudly. The king said no more, but trusted to his daughter's
beauty to get the secret from him.

The journey to Buda was long, and it was several days before they
arrived there. The beautiful princess happened to be picking roses in
the garden, when her father's coach drove up.

'Oh, what a handsome youth! Have you brought him from fairyland?' cried
she, when they all stood upon the marble steps in front of the castle.

'I have brought him from the gallows,' answered the king; rather vexed
at his daughter's words, as never before had she consented to speak to
any man.

'I don't care where you brought him from,' said the spoilt girl. 'I will
marry him and nobody else, and we will live together till we die.'

'You will tell another tale,' replied the king, 'when you ask him his
secret. After all he is no better than a servant.'

'That is nothing to me,' said the princess, 'for I love him. He will
tell his secret to me, and will find a place in the middle of my heart.'

But the king shook his head, and gave orders that the lad was to be
lodged in the summer-house.

One day, about a week later, the princess put on her finest dress, and
went to pay him a visit. She looked so beautiful that, at the sight of
her, the book dropped from his hand, and he stood up speechless. 'Tell
me,' she said, coaxingly, 'what is this wonderful secret? Just whisper
it in my ear, and I will give you a kiss.'

'My angel,' he answered, 'be wise, and ask no questions, if you wish to
get safely back to your father's palace; I have kept my secret all these
years, and do not mean to tell it now.'

However, the girl would not listen, and went on pressing him, till at
last he slapped her face so hard that her nose bled. She shrieked with
pain and rage, and ran screaming back to the palace, where her father
was waiting to hear if she had succeeded. 'I will starve you to death,
you son of a dragon,' cried he, when he saw her dress streaming with
blood; and he ordered all the masons and bricklayers in the town to come
before him.

'Build me a tower as fast as you can,' he said, 'and see that there is
room for a stool and a small table, and for nothing else. The men set
to work, and in two hours the tower was built, and they proceeded to the
palace to inform the king that his commands were fulfilled. On the way
they met the princess, who began to talk to one of the masons, and when
the rest were out of hearing she asked if he could manage to make a hole
in the tower, which nobody could see, large enough for a bottle of wine
and some food to pass through.

'To be sure I can,' said the mason, turning back, and in a few minutes
the hole was bored.

At sunset a large crowd assembled to watch the youth being led to the
tower, and after his misdeeds had been proclaimed he was solemnly walled
up. But every morning the princess passed him in food through the hole,
and every third day the king sent his secretary to climb up a ladder
and look down through a little window to see if he was dead. But the
secretary always brought back the report that he was fat and rosy.

'There is some magic about this,' said the king.

This state of affairs lasted some time, till one day a messenger arrived
from the Sultan bearing a letter for the king, and also three canes. 'My
master bids me say,' said the messenger, bowing low, 'that if you cannot
tell him which of these three canes grows nearest the root, which in the
middle, and which at the top, he will declare war against you.

The king was very much frightened when he heard this, and though he took
the canes and examined them closely, he could see no difference between
them. He looked so sad that his daughter noticed it, and inquired the
reason.

'Alas! my daughter,' he answered, 'how can I help being sad? The Sultan
has sent me three canes, and says that if I cannot tell him which of
them grows near the root, which in the middle, and which at the top, he
will make war upon me. And you know that his army is far greater than
mine.'

'Oh, do not despair, my father,' said she. 'We shall be sure to find out
the answer'; and she ran away to the tower, and told the young man what
had occurred.

'Go to bed as usual,' replied he, 'and when you wake, tell your father
that you have dreamed that the canes must be placed in warm water. After
a little while one will sink to the bottom; that is the one that grows
nearest the root. The one which neither sinks nor comes to the surface
is the cane that is cut from the middle; and the one that floats is from
the top.'

So, the next morning, the princess told her father of her dream, and by
her advice he cut notches in each of the canes when he took them out of
the water, so that he might make no mistake when he handed them back to
the messenger. The Sultan could not imagine how he had found out, but he
did not declare war.

The following year the Sultan again wanted to pick a quarrel with the
king of the Magyars, so he sent another messenger to him with three
foals, begging him to say which of the animals was born in the morning,
which at noon, and which in the evening. If an answer was not ready in
three days, war would be declared at once. The king's heart sank when he
read the letter. He could not expect his daughter to be lucky enough to
dream rightly a second time, and as a plague had been raging through
the country, and had carried off many of his soldiers, his army was even
weaker than before. At this thought his face became so gloomy that his
daughter noticed it, and inquired what was the matter.

'I have had another letter from the Sultan,' replied the king, 'and
he says that if I cannot tell him which of three foals was born in the
morning, which at noon, and which in the evening, he will declare war at
once.'

'Oh, don't be cast down,' said she, 'something is sure to happen'; and
she ran down to the tower to consult the youth.

'Go home, idol of my heart, and when night comes, pretend to scream out
in your sleep, so that your father hears you. Then tell him that you
have dreamt that he was just being carried off by the Turks because he
could not answer the question about the foals, when the lad whom he
had shut up in the tower ran up and told them which was foaled in the
morning, which at noon, and which in the evening.'

So the princess did exactly as the youth had bidden her; and no sooner
had she spoken than the king ordered the tower to be pulled down, and
the prisoner brought before him.

'I did not think that you could have lived so long without food,' said
he, 'and as you have had plenty of time to repent your wicked conduct,
I will grant you pardon, on condition that you help me in a sore strait.
Read this letter from the Sultan; you will see that if I fail to answer
his question about the foals, a dreadful war will be the result.'

The youth took the letter and read it through. 'Yes, I can help you,'
replied he; 'but first you must bring me three troughs, all exactly
alike. Into one you must put oats, into another wheat, and into the
third barley. The foal which eats the oats is that which was foaled in
the morning; the foal which eats the wheat is that which was foaled at
noon; and the foal which eats the barley is that which was foaled at
night.' The king followed the youth's directions, and, marking the
foals, sent them back to Turkey, and there was no war that year.

Now the Sultan was very angry that both his plots to get possession of
Hungary had been such total failures, and he sent for his aunt, who was
a witch, to consult her as to what he should do next.

'It is not the king who has answered your questions,' observed the aunt,
when he had told his story. 'He is far too stupid ever to have done
that! The person who has found out the puzzle is the son of a poor
woman, who, if he lives, will become King of Hungary. Therefore, if you
want the crown yourself, you must get him here and kill him.'

After this conversation another letter was written to the Court of
Hungary, saying that if the youth, now in the palace, was not sent
to Turkey within three days, a large army would cross the border. The
king's heart was sorrowful as he read, for he was grateful to the lad
for what he had done to help him; but the boy only laughed, and bade the
king fear nothing, but to search the town instantly for two youths just
like each other, and he would paint himself a mask that was just like
them. And the sword at his side clanked loudly.

After a long search twin brothers were found, so exactly resembling
each other that even their own mother could not tell the difference. The
youth painted a mask that was the precise copy of them, and when he had
put it on, no one would have known one boy from the other. They set out
at once for the Sultan's palace, and when they reached it, they were
taken straight into his presence. He made a sign for them to come near;
they all bowed low in greeting. He asked them about their journey; they
answered his questions all together, and in the same words. If one sat
down to supper, the others sat down at the same instant. When one got
up, the others got up too, as if there had been only one body between
them. The Sultan could not detect any difference between them, and he
told his aunt that he would not be so cruel as to kill all three.

'Well, you will see a difference to-morrow,' replied the witch, 'for one
will have a cut on his sleeve. That is the youth you must kill.' And one
hour before midnight, when witches are invisible, she glided into the
room where all three lads were sleeping in the same bed. She took out
a pair of scissors and cut a small piece out of the boy's coat-sleeve
which was hanging on the wall, and then crept silently from the room.
But in the morning the youth saw the slit, and he marked the sleeves of
his two companions in the same way, and all three went down to breakfast
with the Sultan. The old witch was standing in the window and pretended
not to see them; but all witches have eyes in the backs of their heads,
and she knew at once that not one sleeve but three were cut, and they
were all as alike as before. After breakfast, the Sultan, who was
getting tired of the whole affair and wanted to be alone to invent some
other plan, told them they might return home. So, bowing low with one
accord, they went.

The princess welcomed the boy back joyfully, but the poor youth was not
allowed to rest long in peace, for one day a fresh letter arrived from
the Sultan, saying that he had discovered that the young man was a very
dangerous person, and that he must be sent to Turkey at once, and alone.
The girl burst into tears when the boy told her what was in the letter
which her father had bade her to carry to him. 'Do not weep, love of
my heart,' said the boy, 'all will be well. I will start at sunrise
to-morrow.'

So next morning at sunrise the youth set forth, and in a few days he
reached the Sultan's palace. The old witch was waiting for him at the
gate, and whispered as he passed: 'This is the last time you will ever
enter it.' But the sword clanked, and the lad did not even look at her.
As he crossed the threshold fifteen armed Turks barred his way, with the
Sultan at their head. Instantly the sword darted forth and cut off the
heads of everyone but the Sultan, and then went quietly back to its
scabbard. The witch, who was looking on, saw that as long as the youth
had possession of the sword, all her schemes would be in vain, and tried
to steal the sword in the night, but it only jumped out of its scabbard
and sliced off her nose, which was of iron. And in the morning, when the
Sultan brought a great army to capture the lad and deprive him of his
sword, they were all cut to pieces, while he remained without a scratch.

Meanwhile the princess was in despair because the days slipped by, and
the young man did not return, and she never rested until her father let
her lead some troops against the Sultan. She rode proudly before them,
dressed in uniform; but they had not left the town more than a mile
behind them, when they met the lad and his little sword. When he told
them what he had done they shouted for joy, and carried him back in
triumph to the palace; and the king declared that as the youth had shown
himself worthy to become his son-in-law, he should marry the princess
and succeed to the throne at once, as he himself was getting old, and
the cares of government were too much for him. But the young man said he
must first go and see his mother, and the king sent him in state, with a
troop of soldiers as his bodyguard.

The old woman was quite frightened at seeing such an array draw up
before her little house, and still more surprised when a handsome young
man, whom she did not know, dismounted and kissed her hand, saying:
'Now, dear mother, you shall hear my secret at last! I dreamed that I
should become King of Hungary, and my dream has come true. When I was
a child, and you begged me to tell you, I had to keep silence, or the
Magyar king would have killed me. And if you had not beaten me nothing
would have happened that has happened, and I should not now be King of
Hungary.'






The Prince And The Dragon

Once upon a time there lived an emperor who had three sons. They were
all fine young men, and fond of hunting, and scarcely a day passed
without one or other of them going out to look for game.

One morning the eldest of the three princes mounted his horse and set
out for a neighbouring forest, where wild animals of all sorts were to
be found. He had not long left the castle, when a hare sprang out of a
thicket and dashed across the road in front. The young man gave chase
at once, and pursued it over hill and dale, till at last the hare took
refuge in a mill which was standing by the side of a river. The prince
followed and entered the mill, but stopped in terror by the door, for,
instead of a hare, before him stood a dragon, breathing fire and flame.
At this fearful sight the prince turned to fly, but a fiery tongue
coiled round his waist, and drew him into the dragon's mouth, and he was
seen no more.

A week passed away, and when the prince never came back everyone in the
town began to grow uneasy. At last his next brother told the emperor
that he likewise would go out to hunt, and that perhaps he would find
some clue as to his brother's disappearance. But hardly had the castle
gates closed on the prince than the hare sprang out of the bushes as
before, and led the huntsman up hill and down dale, till they reached
the mill. Into this the hare flew with the prince at his heels, when,
lo! instead of the hare, there stood a dragon breathing fire and flame;
and out shot a fiery tongue which coiled round the prince's waist, and
lifted him straight into the dragon's mouth, and he was seen no more.

Days went by, and the emperor waited and waited for the sons who never
came, and could not sleep at night for wondering where they were and
what had become of them. His youngest son wished to go in search of his
brothers, but for long the emperor refused to listen to him, lest he
should lose him also. But the prince prayed so hard for leave to make
the search, and promised so often that he would be very cautious and
careful, that at length the emperor gave him permission, and ordered the
best horse in the stables to be saddled for him.

Full of hope the young prince started on his way, but no sooner was
he outside the city walls than a hare sprang out of the bushes and ran
before him, till they reached the mill. As before, the animal dashed in
through the open door, but this time he was not followed by the prince.
Wiser than his brothers, the young man turned away, saying to himself:
'There are as good hares in the forest as any that have come out of it,
and when I have caught them, I can come back and look for you.'

For many hours he rode up and down the mountain, but saw nothing, and at
last, tired of waiting, he went back to the mill. Here he found an old
woman sitting, whom he greeted pleasantly.

'Good morning to you, little mother,' he said; and the old woman
answered: 'Good morning, my son.'

'Tell me, little mother,' went on the prince, 'where shall I find my
hare?'

'My son,' replied the old woman, 'that was no hare, but a dragon who has
led many men hither, and then has eaten them all.' At these words the
prince's heart grew heavy, and he cried, 'Then my brothers must have
come here, and have been eaten by the dragon!'

'You have guessed right,' answered the old woman; 'and I can give you no
better counsel than to go home at once, before the same fate overtakes
you.'

'Will you not come with me out of this dreadful place?' said the young
man.

'He took me prisoner, too,' answered she, 'and I cannot shake off his
chains.'

'Then listen to me,' cried the prince. 'When the dragon comes back,
ask him where he always goes when he leaves here, and what makes him so
strong; and when you have coaxed the secret from him, tell me the next
time I come.'

So the prince went home, and the old woman remained in the mill, and as
soon as the dragon returned she said to him:

'Where have you been all this time--you must have travelled far?'

'Yes, little mother, I have indeed travelled far.' answered he. Then the
old woman began to flatter him, and to praise his cleverness; and
when she thought she had got him into a good temper, she said: 'I have
wondered so often where you get your strength from; I do wish you would
tell me. I would stoop and kiss the place out of pure love!' The dragon
laughed at this, and answered:

'In the hearthstone yonder lies the secret of my strength.'

Then the old woman jumped up and kissed the hearth; whereat the dragon
laughed the more, and said:

'You foolish creature! I was only jesting. It is not in the hearthstone,
but in that tall tree that lies the secret of my strength.' Then the
old woman jumped up again and put her arms round the tree, and kissed it
heartily. Loudly laughed the dragon when he saw what she was doing.

'Old fool,' he cried, as soon as he could speak, 'did you really believe
that my strength came from that tree?'

'Where is it then?' asked the old woman, rather crossly, for she did not
like being made fun of.

'My strength,' replied the dragon, 'lies far away; so far that you could
never reach it. Far, far from here is a kingdom, and by its capital city
is a lake, and in the lake is a dragon, and inside the dragon is a wild
boar, and inside the wild boar is a pigeon, and inside the pigeon a
sparrow, and inside the sparrow is my strength.' And when the old woman
heard this, she thought it was no use flattering him any longer, for
never, never, could she take his strength from him.

The following morning, when the dragon had left the mill, the prince
came back, and the old woman told him all that the creature had said. He
listened in silence, and then returned to the castle, where he put on
a suit of shepherd's clothes, and taking a staff in his hand, he went
forth to seek a place as tender of sheep.

For some time he wandered from village to village and from town to town,
till he came at length to a large city in a distant kingdom, surrounded
on three sides by a great lake, which happened to be the very lake in
which the dragon lived. As was his custom, he stopped everybody whom he
met in the streets that looked likely to want a shepherd and begged them
to engage him, but they all seemed to have shepherds of their own, or
else not to need any. The prince was beginning to lose heart, when a man
who had overheard his question turned round and said that he had better
go and ask the emperor, as he was in search of some one to see after his
flocks.

'Will you take care of my sheep?' said the emperor, when the young man
knelt before him.

'Most willingly, your Majesty,' answered the young man, and he listened
obediently while the emperor told him what he was to do.

'Outside the city walls,' went on the emperor, 'you will find a large
lake, and by its banks lie the richest meadows in my kingdom. When you
are leading out your flocks to pasture, they will all run straight to
these meadows, and none that have gone there have ever been known to
come back. Take heed, therefore, my son, not to suffer your sheep to go
where they will, but drive them to any spot that you think best.'

With a low bow the prince thanked the emperor for his warning, and
promised to do his best to keep the sheep safe. Then he left the palace
and went to the market-place, where he bought two greyhounds, a hawk,
and a set of pipes; after that he took the sheep out to pasture. The
instant the animals caught sight of the lake lying before them, they
trotted off as fast as their legs would go to the green meadows lying
round it. The prince did not try to stop them; he only placed his hawk
on the branch of a tree, laid his pipes on the grass, and bade the
greyhounds sit still; then, rolling up his sleeves and trousers, he
waded into the water crying as he did so: 'Dragon! dragon! if you are
not a coward, come out and fight with me!' And a voice answered from the
depths of the lake:

'I am waiting for you, O prince'; and the next minute the dragon reared
himself out of the water, huge and horrible to see. The prince sprang
upon him and they grappled with each other and fought together till the
sun was high, and it was noonday. Then the dragon gasped:

'O prince, let me dip my burning head once into the lake, and I will
hurl you up to the top of the sky.' But the prince answered, 'Oh, ho! my
good dragon, do not crow too soon! If the emperor's daughter were only
here, and would kiss me on the forehead, I would throw you up higher
still!' And suddenly the dragon's hold loosened, and he fell back into
the lake.

As soon as it was evening, the prince washed away all signs of the
fight, took his hawk upon his shoulder, and his pipes under his arm, and
with his greyhounds in front and his flock following after him he set
out for the city. As they all passed through the streets the people
stared in wonder, for never before had any flock returned from the lake.

The next morning he rose early, and led his sheep down the road to the
lake. This time, however, the emperor sent two men on horseback to ride
behind him, with orders to watch the prince all day long. The horsemen
kept the prince and his sheep in sight, without being seen themselves.
As soon as they beheld the sheep running towards the meadows, they
turned aside up a steep hill, which overhung the lake. When the shepherd
reached the place he laid, as before, his pipes on the grass and bade
the greyhounds sit beside them, while the hawk he perched on the branch
of the tree. Then he rolled up his trousers and his sleeves, and waded
into the water crying:

'Dragon! dragon! if you are not a coward, come out and fight with me!'
And the dragon answered:

'I am waiting for you, O prince,' and the next minute he reared himself
out of the water, huge and horrible to see. Again they clasped each
other tight round the body and fought till it was noon, and when the sun
was at its hottest, the dragon gasped:

'O prince, let me dip my burning head once in the lake, and I will hurl
you up to the top of the sky.' But the prince answered:

'Oh, ho! my good dragon, do not crow too soon! If the emperor's daughter
were only here, and would kiss me on the forehead, I would throw you up
higher still!' And suddenly the dragon's hold loosened, and he fell back
into the lake.

As soon as it was evening the prince again collected his sheep, and
playing on his pipes he marched before them into the city. When he
passed through the gates all the people came out of their houses to
stare in wonder, for never before had any flock returned from the lake.

Meanwhile the two horsemen had ridden quickly back, and told the emperor
all that they had seen and heard. The emperor listened eagerly to their
tale, then called his daughter to him and repeated it to her.

'To-morrow,' he said, when he had finished, 'you shall go with the
shepherd to the lake, and then you shall kiss him on the forehead as he
wishes.'

But when the princess heard these words, she burst into tears, and
sobbed out:

'Will you really send me, your only child, to that dreadful place, from
which most likely I shall never come back?'

'Fear nothing, my little daughter, all will be well. Many shepherds have
gone to that lake and none have ever returned; but this one has in these
two days fought twice with the dragon and has escaped without a wound.
So I hope to-morrow he will kill the dragon altogether, and deliver this
land from the monster who has slain so many of our bravest men.'

Scarcely had the sun begun to peep over the hills next morning, when
the princess stood by the shepherd's side, ready to go to the lake.
The shepherd was brimming over with joy, but the princess only wept
bitterly. 'Dry your tears, I implore you,' said he. 'If you will just do
what I ask you, and when the time comes, run and kiss my forehead, you
have nothing to fear.'

Merrily the shepherd blew on his pipes as he marched at the head of his
flock, only stopping every now and then to say to the weeping girl at
his side:

'Do not cry so, Heart of Gold; trust me and fear nothing.' And so they
reached the lake.

In an instant the sheep were scattered all over the meadows, and the
prince placed his hawk on the tree, and his pipes on the grass, while he
bade his greyhounds lie beside them. Then he rolled up his trousers and
his sleeves, and waded into the water, calling:

'Dragon! dragon! if you are not a coward, come forth, and let us have
one more fight together.' And the dragon answered: 'I am waiting for
you, O prince'; and the next minute he reared himself out of the water,
huge and horrible to see. Swiftly he drew near to the bank, and the
prince sprang to meet him, and they grasped each other round the body
and fought till it was noon. And when the sun was at its hottest, the
dragon cried:

'O prince, let me dip my burning head in the lake, and I will hurl you
to the top of the sky.' But the prince answered:

'Oh, ho! my good dragon, do not crow too soon! If the emperor's daughter
were only here, and she would kiss my forehead, I would throw you higher
still.'

Hardly had he spoken, when the princess, who had been listening, ran
up and kissed him on the forehead. Then the prince swung the dragon
straight up into the clouds, and when he touched the earth again, he
broke into a thousand pieces. Out of the pieces there sprang a wild boar
and galloped away, but the prince called his hounds to give chase, and
they caught the boar and tore it to bits. Out of the pieces there sprang
a hare, and in a moment the greyhounds were after it, and they caught
it and killed it; and out of the hare there came a pigeon. Quickly the
prince let loose his hawk, which soared straight into the air, then
swooped upon the bird and brought it to his master. The prince cut open
its body and found the sparrow inside, as the old woman had said.

'Now,' cried the prince, holding the sparrow in his hand, 'now you shall
tell me where I can find my brothers.'

'Do not hurt me,' answered the sparrow, 'and I will tell you with all my
heart.' Behind your father's castle stands a mill, and in the mill are
three slender twigs. Cut off these twigs and strike their roots with
them, and the iron door of a cellar will open. In the cellar you will
find as many people, young and old, women and children, as would fill a
kingdom, and among them are your brothers.'

By this time twilight had fallen, so the prince washed himself in the
lake, took the hawk on his shoulder and the pipes under his arm, and
with his greyhounds before him and his flock behind him, marched gaily
into the town, the princess following them all, still trembling
with fright. And so they passed through the streets, thronged with a
wondering crowd, till they reached the castle.

Unknown to anyone, the emperor had stolen out on horseback, and had
hidden himself on the hill, where he could see all that happened. When
all was over, and the power of the dragon was broken for ever, he rode
quickly back to the castle, and was ready to receive the prince with
open arms, and to promise him his daughter to wife. The wedding took
place with great splendour, and for a whole week the town was hung with
coloured lamps, and tables were spread in the hall of the castle for all
who chose to come and eat. And when the feast was over, the prince
told the emperor and the people who he really was, and at this everyone
rejoiced still more, and preparations were made for the prince and
princess to return to their own kingdom, for the prince was impatient to
set free his brothers.

The first thing he did when he reached his native country was to hasten
to the mill, where he found the three twigs as the sparrow had told him.
The moment that he struck the root the iron door flew open, and from the
cellar a countless multitude of men and women streamed forth. He bade
them go one by one wheresoever they would, while he himself waited by
the door till his brothers passed through. How delighted they were to
meet again, and to hear all that the prince had done to deliver them
from their enchantment. And they went home with him and served him
all the days of their lives, for they said that he only who had proved
himself brave and faithful was fit to be king.






Little Wildrose

Once upon a time the things in this story happened, and if they had not
happened then the story would never have been told. But that was the
time when wolves and lambs lay peacefully together in one stall, and
shepherds dined on grassy banks with kings and queens.

Once upon a time, then, my dear good children, there lived a man. Now
this man was really a hundred years old, if not fully twenty years more.
And his wife was very old too--how old I do not know; but some said she
was as old as the goddess Venus herself. They had been very happy all
these years, but they would have been happier still if they had had any
children; but old though they were they had never made up their minds to
do without them, and often they would sit over the fire and talk of how
they would have brought up their children if only some had come to their
house.

One day the old man seemed sadder and more thoughtful than was common
with him, and at last he said to his wife: 'Listen to me, old woman!'

'What do you want?' asked she.

'Get me some money out of the chest, for I am going a long journey--all
through the world--to see if I cannot find a child, for my heart aches
to think that after I am dead my house will fall into the hands of a
stranger. And this let me tell you: that if I never find a child I shall
not come home again.'

Then the old man took a bag and filled it with food and money, and
throwing it over his shoulders, bade his wife farewell.

For long he wandered, and wandered, and wandered, but no child did he
see; and one morning his wanderings led him to a forest which was so
thick with trees that no light could pass through the branches. The old
man stopped when he saw this dreadful place, and at first was afraid to
go in; but he remembered that, after all, as the proverb says: 'It is
the unexpected that happens,' and perhaps in the midst of this black
spot he might find the child he was seeking. So summoning up all his
courage he plunged boldly in.

How long he might have been walking there he never could have told you,
when at last he reached the mouth of a cave where the darkness seemed a
hundred times darker than the wood itself. Again he paused, but he felt
as if something was driving him to enter, and with a beating heart he
stepped in.

For some minutes the silence and darkness so appalled him that he stood
where he was, not daring to advance one step. Then he made a great
effort and went on a few paces, and suddenly, far before him, he saw
the glimmer of a light. This put new heart into him, and he directed his
steps straight towards the faint rays, till he could see, sitting by it,
an old hermit, with a long white beard.

The hermit either did not hear the approach of his visitor, or pretended
not to do so, for he took no notice, and continued to read his book.
After waiting patiently for a little while, the old man fell on his
knees, and said: 'Good morning, holy father!' But he might as well have
spoken to the rock. 'Good morning, holy father,' he said again, a little
louder than before, and this time the hermit made a sign to him to
come nearer. 'My son,' whispered he, in a voice that echoed through
the cavern, 'what brings you to this dark and dismal place? Hundreds of
years have passed since my eyes have rested on the face of a man, and I
did not think to look on one again.'.

'My misery has brought me here,' replied the old man; 'I have no child,
and all our lives my wife and I have longed for one. So I left my home,
and went out into the world, hoping that somewhere I might find what I
was seeking.'

Then the hermit picked up an apple from the ground, and gave it to him,
saying: 'Eat half of this apple, and give the rest to your wife, and
cease wandering through the world.'

The old man stooped and kissed the feet of the hermit for sheer joy,
and left the cave. He made his way through the forest as fast as the
darkness would let him, and at length arrived in flowery fields,
which dazzled him with their brightness. Suddenly he was seized with a
desperate thirst, and a burning in his throat. He looked for a stream
but none was to be seen, and his tongue grew more parched every moment.
At length his eyes fell on the apple, which all this while he had been
holding in his hand, and in his thirst he forgot what the hermit had
told him, and instead of eating merely his own half, he ate up the old
woman's also; after that he went to sleep.

When he woke up he saw something strange lying on a bank a little way
off, amidst long trails of pink roses. The old man got up, rubbed his
eyes, and went to see what it was, when, to his surprise and joy, it
proved to be a little girl about two years old, with a skin as pink and
white as the roses above her. He took her gently in his arms, but she
did not seem at all frightened, and only jumped and crowed with delight;
and the old man wrapped his cloak round her, and set off for home as
fast as his legs would carry him.

When they were close to the cottage where they lived he laid the child
in a pail that was standing near the door, and ran into the house,
crying: 'Come quickly, wife, quickly, for I have brought you a daughter,
with hair of gold and eyes like stars!'

At this wonderful news the old woman flew downstairs, almost tumbling
down ill her eagerness to see the treasure; but when her husband led
her to the pail it was perfectly empty! The old man was nearly beside
himself with horror, while his wife sat down and sobbed with grief and
disappointment. There was not a spot round about which they did not
search, thinking that somehow the child might have got out of the pail
and hidden itself for fun; but the little girl was not there, and there
was no sign of her.

'Where can she be?' moaned the old man, in despair. 'Oh, why did I ever
leave her, even for a moment? Have the fairies taken her, or has some
wild beast carried her off?' And they began their search all over again;
but neither fairies nor wild beasts did they meet with, and with sore
hearts they gave it up at last and turned sadly into the hut.

And what had become of the baby? Well, finding herself left alone in a
strange place she began to cry with fright, and an eagle hovering near,
heard her, and went to see what the sound came from. When he beheld
the fat pink and white creature he thought of his hungry little ones
at home, and swooping down he caught her up in his claws and was soon
flying with her over the tops of the trees. In a few minutes he reached
the one in which he had built his nest, and laying little Wildrose (for
so the old man had called her) among his downy young eaglets, he flew
away. The eaglets naturally were rather surprised at this strange
animal, so suddenly popped down in their midst, but instead of beginning
to eat her, as their father expected, they nestled up close to her and
spread out their tiny wings to shield her from the sun.

Now, in the depths of the forest where the eagle had built his nest,
there ran a stream whose waters were poisonous, and on the banks of
this stream dwelt a horrible lindworm with seven heads. The lindworm had
often watched the eagle flying about the top of the tree, carrying food
to his young ones and, accordingly, he watched carefully for the moment
when the eaglets began to try their wings and to fly away from the
nest. Of course, if the eagle himself was there to protect them even the
lindworm, big and strong as he was, knew that he could do nothing; but
when he was absent, any little eaglets who ventured too near the ground
would be sure to disappear down the monster's throat. Their brothers,
who had been left behind as too young and weak to see the world, knew
nothing of all this, but supposed their turn would soon come to see the
world also. And in a few days their eyes, too, opened and their wings
flapped impatiently, and they longed to fly away above the waving
tree-tops to mountain and the bright sun beyond. But that very midnight
the lindworm, who was hungry and could not wait for his supper, came out
of the brook with a rushing noise, and made straight for the tree. Two
eyes of flame came creeping nearer, nearer, and two fiery tongues were
stretching themselves out closer, closer, to the little birds who were
trembling and shuddering in the farthest corner of the nest. But just
as the tongues had almost reached them, the lindworm gave a fearful cry,
and turned and fell backwards. Then came the sound of battle from the
ground below, and the tree shook, though there was no wind, and roars
and snarls mixed together, till the eaglets felt more frightened
than ever, and thought their last hour had come. Only Wildrose was
undisturbed, and slept sweetly through it all.

In the morning the eagle returned and saw traces of a fight below the
tree, and here and there a handful of yellow mane lying about, and here
and there a hard scaly substance; when he saw that he rejoiced greatly,
and hastened to the nest.

'Who has slain the lindworm?' he asked of his children; there were so
many that he did not at first miss the two which the lindworm had eaten.
But the eaglets answered that they could not tell, only that they had
been in danger of their lives, and at the last moment they had been
delivered. Then the sunbeam had struggled through the thick branches and
caught Wildrose's golden hair as she lay curled up in the corner, and
the eagle wondered, as he looked, whether the little girl had brought
him luck, and it was her magic which had killed his enemy.

'Children,' he said, 'I brought her here for your dinner, and you have
not touched her; what is the meaning of this?' But the eaglets did not
answer, and Wildrose opened her eyes, and seemed seven times lovelier
than before.

From that day Wildrose lived like a little princess. The eagle flew
about the wood and collected the softest, greenest moss he could find to
make her a bed, and then he picked with his beak all the brightest and
prettiest flowers in the fields or on the mountains to decorate it. So
cleverly did he manage it that there was not a fairy in the whole of the
forest who would not have been pleased to sleep there, rocked to and fro
by the breeze on the treetops. And when the little ones were able to fly
from their nest he taught them where to look for the fruits and berries
which she loved.

So the time passed by, and with each year Wildrose grew taller and more
beautiful, and she lived happily in her nest and never wanted to go out
of it, only standing at the edge in the sunset, and looking upon the
beautiful world. For company she had all the birds in the forest, who
came and talked to her, and for playthings the strange flowers which
they brought her from far, and the butterflies which danced with her.
And so the days slipped away, and she was fourteen years old.

One morning the emperor's son went out to hunt, and he had not ridden
far, before a deer started from under a grove of trees, and ran
before him. The prince instantly gave chase, and where the stag led he
followed, till at length he found himself in the depths of the forest,
where no man before had trod.

The trees were so thick and the wood so dark, that he paused for a
moment and listened, straining his ears to catch some sound to break
a silence which almost frightened him. But nothing came, not even the
baying of a hound or the note of a horn. He stood still, and wondered if
he should go on, when, on looking up, a stream of light seemed to flow
from the top of a tall tree. In its rays he could see the nest with the
young eaglets, who were watching him over the side. The prince fitted
an arrow into his bow and took his aim, but, before he could let fly,
another ray of light dazzled him; so brilliant was it, that his bow
dropped, and he covered his face with his hands. When at last he
ventured to peep, Wildrose, with her golden hair flowing round her, was
looking at him. This was the first time she had seen a man.

'Tell me how I can reach you?' cried he; but Wildrose smiled and shook
her head, and sat down quietly.

The prince saw that it was no use, and turned and made his way out of
the forest. But he might as well have stayed there, for any good he was
to his father, so full was his heart of longing for Wildrose. Twice
he returned to the forest in the hopes of finding her, but this time
fortune failed him, and he went home as sad as ever.

At length the emperor, who could not think what had caused this change,
sent for his son and asked him what was the matter. Then the prince
confessed that the image of Wildrose filled his soul, and that he would
never be happy without her. At first the emperor felt rather distressed.
He doubted whether a girl from a tree top would make a good empress;
but he loved his son so much that he promised to do all he could to find
her. So the next morning heralds were sent forth throughout the whole
land to inquire if anyone knew where a maiden could be found who lived
in a forest on the top of a tree, and to promise great riches and a
place at court to any person who should find her. But nobody knew. All
the girls in the kingdom had their homes on the ground, and laughed at
the notion of being brought up in a tree. 'A nice kind of empress she
would make,' they said, as the emperor had done, tossing their heads
with disdain; for, having read many books, they guessed what she was
wanted for.

The heralds were almost in despair, when an old woman stepped out of the
crowd and came and spoke to them. She was not only very old, but she was
very ugly, with a hump on her back and a bald head, and when the heralds
saw her they broke into rude laughter. 'I can show you the maiden who
lives in the tree-top,' she said, but they only laughed the more loudly.

'Get away, old witch!' they cried, 'you will bring us bad luck'; but the
old woman stood firm, and declared that she alone knew where to find the
maiden.

'Go with her,' said the eldest of the heralds at last. 'The emperor's
orders are clear, that whoever knew anything of the maiden was to come
at once to court. Put her in the coach and take her with us.'

So in this fashion the old woman was brought to court.

'You have declared that you can bring hither the maiden from the wood?'
said the emperor, who was seated on his throne.

'Yes, your Majesty, and I will keep my word,' said she.

'Then bring her at once,' said the emperor.

'Give me first a kettle and a tripod,' asked the old w omen, and the
emperor ordered them to be brought instantly. The old woman picked them
up, and tucking them under her arm went on her way, keeping at a little
distance behind the royal huntsmen, who in their turn followed the
prince.

Oh, what a noise that old woman made as she walked along! She chattered
to herself so fast and clattered her kettle so loudly that you would
have thought that a whole campful of gipsies must be coming round the
next corner. But when they reached the forest, she bade them all wait
outside, and entered the dark wood by herself.

She stopped underneath the tree where the maiden dwelt and, gathering
some dry sticks, kindled a fire. Next, she placed the tripod over it,
and the kettle on top. But something was the matter with the kettle. As
fast as the old woman put it where it was to stand, that kettle was sure
to roll off, falling to the ground with a crash.

It really seemed bewitched, and no one knows what might have happened
if Wildrose, who had been all the time peeping out of her nest, had not
lost patience at the old woman's stupidity, and cried out: 'The tripod
won't stand on that hill, you must move it!'

'But where am I to move it to, my child?' asked the old woman, looking
up to the nest, and at the same moment trying to steady the kettle with
one hand and the tripod with the other.

'Didn't I tell you that it was no good doing that,' said Wildrose, more
impatiently than before. 'Make a fire near a tree and hang the kettle
from one of the branches.'

The old woman took the kettle and hung it on a little twig, which broke
at once, and the kettle fell to the ground.

'If you would only show me how to do it, perhaps I should understand,'
said she.

Quick as thought, the maiden slid down the smooth trunk of the tree, and
stood beside the stupid old woman, to teach her how things ought to be
done. But in an instant the old woman had caught up the girl and swung
her over her shoulders, and was running as fast as she could go to the
edge of the forest, where she had left the prince. When he saw them
coming he rushed eagerly to meet them, and he took the maiden in his
arms and kissed her tenderly before them all. Then a golden dress was
put on her, and pearls were twined in her hair, and she took her seat in
the emperor's carriage which was drawn by six of the whitest horses in
the world, and they carried her, without stopping to draw breath, to the
gates of the palace. And in three days the wedding was celebrated, and
the wedding feast was held, and everyone who saw the bride declared that
if anybody wanted a perfect wife they must go to seek her on top of a
tree.






Tiidu The Piper

Once upon a time there lived a poor man who had more children than
bread to feed them with. However, they were strong and willing, and soon
learned to make themselves of use to their father and mother, and when
they were old enough they went out to service, and everyone was very
glad to get them for servants, for they worked hard and were always
cheerful. Out of all the ten or eleven, there was only one who gave his
parents any trouble, and this was a big lazy boy whose name was Tiidu.
Neither scoldings nor beatings nor kind words had any effect on him, and
the older he grew the idler he got. He spent his winters crouching close
to a warm stove, and his summers asleep under a shady tree; and if he
was not doing either of these things he was playing tunes on his flute.

One day he was sitting under a bush playing so sweetly that you might
easily have mistaken the notes for those of a bird, when an old man
passed by. 'What trade do you wish to follow, my son?' he asked in a
friendly voice, stopping as he did so in front of the youth.

'If I were only a rich man, and had no need to work,' replied the boy,
'I should not follow any. I could not bear to be anybody's servant, as
all my brothers and sisters are.'

The old man laughed as he heard this answer, and said: 'But I do not
exactly see where your riches are to come from if you do not work for
them. Sleeping cats catch no mice. He who wishes to become rich must
use either his hands or his head, and be ready to toil night and day, or
else--'

But here the youth broke in rudely:

'Be silent, old man! I have been told all that a hundred times over;
and it runs off me like water off a duck's back. No one will ever make a
worker out of me.'

'You have one gift,' replied the old man, taking no notice of this
speech, 'and if you would only go about and play the pipes, you would
easily earn, not only your daily bread, but a little money into the
bargain. Listen to me; get yourself a set of pipes, and learn to play on
them as well as you do on your flute, and wherever there are men to hear
you, I promise you will never lack money.'

'But where am I to get the pipes from?' asked the youth.

'Blow on your flute for a few days,' replied the old man, 'and you will
soon be able to buy your pipes. By-and-by I will come back again and see
if you have taken my advice, and whether you are likely to grow rich.'
And so saying he went his way.

Tiidu stayed where he was a little longer, thinking of all the old man
had told him, and the more he thought the surer he felt that the old
man was right. He determined to try whether his plan would really bring
luck; but as he did not like being laughed at he resolved not to tell
anyone a word about it. So next morning he left home--and never came
back! His parents did not take his loss much to heart, but were rather
glad that their useless son had for once shown a little spirit, and they
hoped that time and hardship might cure Tiidu of his idle folly.

For some weeks Tiidu wandered from one village to another, and proved
for himself the truth of the old man's promise. The people he met were
all friendly and kind, and enjoyed his flute-playing, giving him his
food in return, and even a few pence. These pence the youth hoarded
carefully till he had collected enough to buy a beautiful pair of pipes.
Then he felt himself indeed on the high road to riches. Nowhere could
pipes be found as fine as his, or played in so masterly a manner.
Tiidu's pipes set everybody's legs dancing. Wherever there was a
marriage, a christening, or a feast of any kind, Tiidu must be there, or
the evening would be a failure. In a few years he had become so noted a
piper that people would travel far and wide to hear him.

One day he was invited to a christening where many rich men from the
neighbouring town were present, and all agreed that never in all their
lives had they heard such playing as his. They crowded round him, and
praised him, and pressed him to come to their homes, declaring that it
was a shame not to give their friends the chance of hearing such music.
Of course all this delighted Tiidu, who accepted gladly, and left their
houses laden with money and presents of every kind; one great lord
clothed him in a magnificent dress, a second hung a chain of pearls
round his neck, while a third handed him a set of new pipes encrusted
in silver. As for the ladies, the girls twisted silken scarves round his
plumed hat, and their mothers knitted him gloves of all colours, to keep
out the cold. Any other man in Tiidu's place would have been contented
and happy in this life; but his craving for riches gave him no rest,
and only goaded him day by day to fresh exertions, so that even his own
mother would not have known him for the lazy boy who was always lying
asleep in one place or the other.

Now Tiidu saw quite clearly that he could only hope to become rich by
means of his pipes, and set about thinking if there was nothing he could
do to make the money flow in faster. At length he remembered having
heard some stories of a kingdom in the Kungla country, where musicians
of all sorts were welcomed and highly paid; but where it was, or how
it was reached, he could not recollect, however hard he thought. In
despair, he wandered along the coast, hoping to see some ship or sailing
boat that would take him where he wished to go, and at length he reached
the town of Narva, where several merchantmen were lying at anchor. To
his great joy, he found that one of them was sailing for Kungla in a few
days, and he hastily went on board, and asked for the captain. But the
cost of the passage was more than the prudent Tiidu cared to pay, and
though he played his best on his pipes, the captain refused to lower his
price, and Tiidu was just thinking of returning on shore when his usual
luck flew to his aid. A young sailor, who had heard him play, came
secretly to him, and offered to hide him on board, in the absence of the
captain. So the next night, as soon as it was dark, Tiidu stepped softly
on deck, and was hidden by his friend down in the hold in a corner
between two casks. Unseen by the rest of the crew the sailor managed to
bring him food and drink, and when they were well out of sight of land
he proceeded to carry out a plan he had invented to deliver Tiidu
from his cramped quarters. At midnight, while he was keeping watch and
everyone else was sleeping, the man bade his friend Tiidu follow him on
deck, where he tied a rope round Tiidu's body, fastening the other end
carefully to one of the ship's ropes. 'Now,' he said, 'I will throw you
into the sea, and you must shout for help; and when you see the sailors
coming untie the rope from your waist, and tell them that you have swum
after the ship all the way from shore.'

At first Tiidu did not much like this scheme, for the sea ran high,
but he was a good swimmer, and the sailor assured him that there was no
danger. As soon as he was in the water, his friend hastened to rouse
his mates, declaring that he was sure that there was a man in the sea,
following the ship. They all came on deck, and what was their surprise
when they recognised the person who had bargained about a passage the
previous day with the captain.

'Are you a ghost, or a dying man?' they asked him trembling, as they
stooped over the side of the ship.

'I shall soon indeed be a dead man if you do not help me,' answered
Tiidu, 'for my strength is going fast.'

Then the captain seized a rope and flung it out to him, and Tiidu held
it between his teeth, while, unseen by the sailors; he loosed the one
tied round his waist.

'Where have you come from?' said the captain, when Tiidu was brought up
on board the ship.

'I have followed you from the harbour,' answered he, 'and have been
often in sore dread lest my strength should fail me. I hoped that by
swimming after the ship I might at last reach Kungla, as I had no money
to pay my passage.' The captain's heart melted at these words, and he
said kindly: 'You may be thankful that you were not drowned. I will land
you at Kungla free of payment, as you are so anxious to get there. So he
gave him dry clothes to wear, and a berth to sleep in, and Tiidu and his
friend secretly made merry over their cunning trick.

For the rest of the voyage the ship's crew treated Tiidu as something
higher than themselves, seeing that in all their lives they had never
met with any man that could swim for as many hours as he had done. This
pleased Tiidu very much, though he knew that he had really done nothing
to deserve it, and in return he delighted them by tunes on his pipes.
When, after some days, they cast anchor at Kungla, the story of his
wonderful swim brought him many friends, for everybody wished to hear
him tell the tale himself. This might have been all very well, had not
Tiidu lived in dread that some day he would be asked to give proof of
his marvellous swimming powers, and then everything would be found out.
Meanwhile he was dazzled with the splendour around him, and more than
ever he longed for part of the riches, about which the owners seemed to
care so little.

He wandered through the streets for many days, seeking some one who
wanted a servant; but though more than one person would have been glad
to engage him, they seemed to Tiidu not the sort of people to help him
to get rich quickly. At last, when he had almost made up his mind that
he must accept the next place offered him, he happened to knock at the
door of a rich merchant who was in need of a scullion, and gladly agreed
to do the cook's bidding, and it was in this merchant's house that he
first learned how great were the riches of the land of Kungla. All the
vessels which in other countries are made of iron, copper, brass, or
tin, in Kungla were made of silver, or even of gold. The food was cooked
in silver saucepans, the bread baked in a silver oven, while the dishes
and their covers were all of gold. Even the very pigs' troughs were of
silver too. But the sight of these things only made Tiidu more covetous
than before. 'What is the use of all this wealth that I have constantly
before my eyes,' thought he, 'if none of it is mine? I shall never grow
rich by what I earn as a scullion, even though I am paid as much in a
month as I should get elsewhere in a year.'

By this time he had been in his place for two years, and had put by
quite a large sum of money. His passion of saving had increased to such
a pitch that it was only by his master's orders that he ever bought any
new clothes, 'For,' said the merchant, 'I will not have dirty people in
my house.' So with a heavy heart Tiidu spent some of his next month's
wages on a cheap coat.

One day the merchant held a great feast in honour of the christening of
his youngest child, and he gave each of his servants a handsome garment
for the occasion. The following Sunday, Tiidu, who liked fine clothes
when he did not have to pay for them, put on his new coat, and went for
a walk to some beautiful pleasure gardens, which were always full of
people on a sunny day. He sat down under a shady tree, and watched the
passers-by, but after a little he began to feel rather lonely, for he
knew nobody and nobody knew him. Suddenly his eyes fell on the figure of
an old man, which seemed familiar to him, though he could not tell when
or where he had seen it. He watched the figure for some time, till at
length the old man left the crowded paths, and threw himself on the soft
grass under a lime tree, which stood at some distance from where Tiidu
was sitting. Then the young man walked slowly past, in order that he
might look at him more closely, and as he did so the old man smiled, and
held out his hand.

'What have you done with your pipes?' asked he; and then in a moment
Tiidu knew him. Taking his arm he drew him into a quiet place and told
him all that had happened since they had last met. The old man shook his
head as he listened, and when Tiidu had finished his tale, he said: 'A
fool you are, and a fool you will always be! Was there ever such a piece
of folly as to exchange your pipes for a scullion's ladle? You could
have made as much by the pipes in a day as your wages would have come
to in half a year. Go home and fetch your pipes, and play them here, and
you will soon see if I have spoken the truth.'

Tiidu did not like this advice--he was afraid that the people would
laugh at him; and, besides, it was long since he had touched his
pipes--but the old man persisted, and at last Tiidu did as he was told.

'Sit down on the bank by me,' said the old man, when he came back, 'and
begin to play, and in a little while the people will flock round you.'
Tiidu obeyed, at first without much heart; but somehow the tone of the
pipes was sweeter than he had remembered, and as he played, the crowd
ceased to walk and chatter, and stood still and silent round him. When
he had played for some time he took off his hat and passed it round, and
dollars, and small silver coins, and even gold pieces, came tumbling
in. Tiidu played a couple more tunes by way of thanks, then turned to
go home, hearing on all sides murmurs of 'What a wonderful piper! Come
back, we pray you, next Sunday to give us another treat.'

'What did I tell you?' said the old man, as they passed through the
garden gate. 'Was it not pleasanter to play for a couple of hours on
the pipes than to be stirring sauces all day long? For the second time
I have shown you the path to follow; try to learn wisdom, and take the
bull by the horns, lest your luck should slip from you! I can be your
guide no longer, therefore listen to what I say, and obey me. Go every
Sunday afternoon to those gardens; and sit under the lime tree and play
to the people, and bring a felt hat with a deep crown, and lay it on the
ground at your feet, so that everyone can throw some money into it.
If you are invited to play at a feast, accept willingly, but beware of
asking a fixed price; say you will take whatever they may feel inclined
to give. You will get far more money in the end. Perhaps, some day,
our paths may cross, and then I shall see how far you have followed my
advice. Till then, farewell'; and the old man went his way.

As before, his words came true, though Tiidu could not at once do
his bidding, as he had first to fulfil his appointed time of service.
Meanwhile he ordered some fine clothes, in which he played every Sunday
in the gardens, and when he counted his gains in the evening they were
always more than on the Sunday before. At length he was free to do as
he liked, and he had more invitations to play than he could manage to
accept, and at night, when the citizens used to go and drink in the inn,
the landlord always begged Tiidu to come and play to them. Thus he grew
so rich that very soon he had his silver pipes covered with gold, so
that they glistened in the light of the sun or the fire. In all Kungla
there was no prouder man than Tiidu.

In a few years he had saved such a large sum of money that he was
considered a rich man even in Kungla, where everybody was rich. And then
he had leisure to remember that he had once had a home, and a family,
and that he should like to see them both again, and show them how well
he could play. This time he would not need to hide in the ship's hold,
but could hire the best cabin if he wished to, or even have a vessel
all to himself. So he packed all his treasures in large chests, and sent
them on board the first ship that was sailing to his native land, and
followed them with a light heart. The wind at starting was fair, but it
soon freshened, and in the night rose to a gale. For two days they ran
before it, and hoped that by keeping well out to sea they might be able
to weather the storm, when, suddenly, the ship struck on a rock, and
began to fill. Orders were given to lower the boats, and Tiidu with
three sailors got into one of them, but before they could push away from
the ship a huge wave overturned it, and all four were flung into the
water. Luckily for Tiidu an oar was floating near him, and with its help
he was able to keep on the surface of the water; and when the sun rose,
and the mist cleared away, he saw that he was not far from shore. By
hard swimming, for the sea still ran high, he managed to reach it, and
pulled himself out of the water, more dead than alive. Then he flung
himself down on the ground and fell fast asleep.

When he awoke he got up to explore the island, and see if there were any
men upon it; but though he found streams and fruit trees in abundance,
there was no trace either of man or beast. Then, tired with his
wanderings he sat down and began to think.

For perhaps the first time in his life his thoughts did not instantly
turn to money. It was not on his lost treasures that his mind dwelt, but
on his conduct to his parents: his laziness and disobedience as a boy;
his forgetfulness of them as a man. 'If wild animals were to come and
tear me to pieces,' he said to himself bitterly, 'it would be only what
I deserve! My gains are all at the bottom of the sea--well! lightly won,
lightly lost--but it is odd that I feel I should not care for that if
only my pipes were left me.' Then he rose and walked a little further,
till he saw a tree with great red apples shining amidst the leaves,
and he pulled some down, and ate them greedily. After that he stretched
himself out on the soft moss and went to sleep.

In the morning he ran to the nearest stream to wash himself, but to his
horror, when he caught sight of his face, he saw his nose had grown the
colour of an apple, and reached nearly to his waist. He started back
thinking he was dreaming, and put up his hand; but, alas! the dreadful
thing was true. 'Oh, why does not some wild beast devour me?' he cried
to himself; 'never, never, can I go again amongst my fellow-men! If only
the sea had swallowed me up, how much happier it had been for me!' And
he hid his head in his hands and wept. His grief was so violent, that it
exhausted him, and growing hungry he looked about for something to eat.
Just above him was a bough of ripe, brown nuts, end he picked them and
ate a handful. To his surprise, as he was eating them, he felt his nose
grow shorter and shorter, and after a while he ventured to feel it
with his hand, and even to look in the stream again! Yes, there was no
mistake, it was as short as before, or perhaps a little shorter. In his
joy at this discovery Tiidu did a very bold thing. He took one of the
apples out of his pocket, and cautiously bit a piece out of it. In an
instant his nose was as long as his chin, and in a deadly fear lest
it should stretch further, he hastily swallowed a nut, and awaited the
result with terror. Supposing that the shrinking of his nose had only
been an accident before! Supposing that that nut and no other was able
to cause its shrinking! In that case he had, by his own folly, in not
letting well alone, ruined his life completely. But, no! he had guessed
rightly, for in no more time than his nose had taken to grow long did it
take to return to its proper size. 'This may make my fortune,' he said
joyfully to himself; and he gathered some of the apples, which he put
into one pocket, and a good supply of nuts which he put into the other.
Next day he wove a basket out of some rushes, so that if he ever left
the island he might be able to carry his treasures about.

That night he dreamed that his friend the old man appeared to him and
said: 'Because you did not mourn for your lost treasure, but only for
your pipes, I will give you a new set to replace them.' And, behold! in
the morning when he got up a set of pipes was lying in the basket. With
what joy did he seize them and begin one of his favourite tunes; and as
he played hope sprang up in his heart, and he looked out to sea, to try
to detect the sign of a sail. Yes! there it was, making straight for
the island; and Tiidu, holding his pipes in his hand, dashed down to the
shore.

The sailors knew the island to be uninhabited, and were much surprised
to see a man standing on the beach, waving his arms in welcome to them.
A boat was put off, and two sailors rowed to the shore to discover how
he came there, and if he wished to be taken away. Tiidu told them the
story of his shipwreck, and the captain promised that he should come on
board, and sail with them back to Kungla; and thankful indeed was Tiidu
to accept the offer, and to show his gratitude by playing on his pipes
whenever he was asked to do so.

They had a quick voyage, and it was not long before Tiidu found himself
again in the streets of the capital of Kungla, playing as he went along.
The people had heard no music like his since he went away, and they
crowded round him, and in their joy gave him whatever money they had in
their pockets. His first care was to buy himself some new clothes, which
he sadly needed, taking care, however, that they should be made after a
foreign fashion. When they were ready, he set out one day with a small
basket of his famous apples, and went up to the palace. He did not have
to wait long before one of the royal servants passed by and bought all
the apples, begging as he did so that the merchant should return and
bring some more. This Tiidu promised, and hastened away as if he had a
mad bull behind him, so afraid was he that the man should begin to eat
an apple at once.

It is needless to say that for some days he took no more apples back to
the palace, but kept well away on the other side of the town, wearing
other clothes, and disguised by a long black beard, so that even his own
mother would not have known him.

The morning after his visit to the castle the whole city was in an
uproar about the dreadful misfortune that had happened to the Royal
Family, for not only the king but his wife and children, had eaten of
the stranger's apples, and all, so said the rumour, were very ill. The
most famous doctors and the greatest magicians were hastily summoned to
the palace, but they shook their heads and came away again; never had
they met with such a disease in all the course of their experience.
By-and-bye a story went round the town, started no one knew how, that
the malady was in some way connected with the nose; and men rubbed their
own anxiously, to be sure that nothing catching was in the air.

Matters had been in this state for more than a week when it reached the
ears of the king that a man was living in an inn on the other side
of the town who declared himself able to cure all manner of diseases.
Instantly the royal carriage was commanded to drive with all speed and
bring back this magician, offering him riches untold if he could restore
their noses to their former length. Tiidu had expected this summons,
and had sat up all night changing his appearance, and so well had he
succeeded that not a trace remained either of the piper or of the apple
seller. He stepped into the carriage, and was driven post haste to the
king, who was feverishly counting every moment, for both his nose and
the queen's were by this time more than a yard long, and they did not
know where they would stop.

Now Tiidu thought it would not look well to cure the royal family by
giving them the raw nuts; he felt that it might arouse suspicion. So he
had carefully pounded them into a powder, and divided the powder up into
small doses, which were to be put on the tongue and swallowed at once.
He gave one of these to the king and another to the queen, and told them
that before taking them they were to get into bed in a dark room and not
to move for some hours, after which they might be sure that they would
come out cured.

The king's joy was so great at this news that he would gladly have given
Tiidu half of his kingdom; but the piper was no longer so greedy of
money as he once was, before he had been shipwrecked on the island. If
he could get enough to buy a small estate and live comfortably on it for
the rest of his life, that was all he now cared for. However, the king
ordered his treasure to pay him three times as much as he asked, and
with this Tiidu went down to the harbour and engaged a small ship to
carry him back to his native country. The wind was fair, and in ten days
the coast, which he had almost forgotten, stood clear before him. In
a few hours he was standing in his old home, where his father, three
sisters, and two brothers gave him a hearty welcome. His mother and his
other brothers had died some years before.

When the meeting was over, he began to make inquiries about a small
estate that was for sale near the town, and after he had bought it the
next thing was to find a wife to share it with him. This did not take
long either; and people who were at the wedding feast declared that the
best part of the whole day was the hour when Tiidu played to them on the
pipes before they bade each other farewell and returned to their homes.






Paperarelloo

Once upon a time there lived a king and a queen who had one son. The
king loved the boy very much, but the queen, who was a wicked woman,
hated the sight of him; and this was the more unlucky for, when he was
twelve years old, his father died, and he was left alone in the world.

Now the queen was very angry because the people, who knew how bad she
was, seated her son on the throne instead of herself, and she
never rested till she had formed a plan to get him out of the way.
Fortunately, however, the young king was wise and prudent, and knew her
too well to trust her.

One day, when his mourning was over, he gave orders that everything
should be made ready for a grand hunt. The queen pretended to be greatly
delighted that he was going to amuse himself once more, and declared
that she would accompany him. 'No, mother, I cannot let you come,' he
answered; 'the ground is rough, and you are not strong.' But he might as
well have spoken to the winds: when the horn was sounded at daybreak the
queen was there with the rest.

All that day they rode, for game was plentiful, but towards evening the
mother and son found themselves alone in a part of the country that was
strange to them. They wandered on for some time, without knowing where
they were going, till they met with a man whom they begged to give them
shelter. 'Come with me,' said the man gladly, for he was an ogre, and
fed on human flesh; and the king and his mother went with him, and he
led them to his house. When they got there they found to what a dreadful
place they had come, and, falling on their knees, they offered him great
sums of money, if he would only spare their lives. The ogre's heart was
moved at the sight of the queen's beauty, and he promised that he would
do her no harm; but he stabbed the boy at once, and binding his body on
a horse, turned him loose in the forest.

The ogre had happened to choose a horse which he had bought only the day
before, and he did not know it was a magician, or he would not have been
so foolish as to fix upon it on this occasion. The horse no sooner had
been driven off with the prince's body on its back than it galloped
straight to the home of the fairies, and knocked at the door with its
hoof. The fairies heard the knock, but were afraid to open till they
had peeped from an upper window to see that it was no giant or ogre who
could do them harm. 'Oh, look, sister!' cried the first to reach the
window, 'it is a horse that has knocked, and on its back there is bound
a dead boy, the most beautiful boy in all the world!' Then the fairies
ran to open the door, and let in the horse and unbound the ropes which
fastened the young king on its back. And they gathered round to admire
his beauty, and whispered one to the other: 'We will make him alive
again, and will keep him for our brother.' And so they did, and for many
years they all lived together as brothers and sisters.

By-and-by the boy grew into a man, as boys will, and then the oldest of
the fairies said to her sisters: 'Now I will marry him, and he shall
be really your brother.' So the young king married the fairy, and they
lived happily together in the castle; but though he loved his wife he
still longed to see the world.

At length this longing grew so strong on him that he could bear it no
more; and, calling the fairies together, he said to them: 'Dear wife and
sisters, I must leave you for a time, and go out and see the world. But
I shall think of you often, and one day I shall come back to you.'

The fairies wept and begged him to stay, but he would not listen, and
at last the eldest, who was his wife, said to him: 'If you really will
abandon us, take this lock of my hair with you; you will find it useful
in time of need.' So she cut off a long curl, and handed it to him.

The prince mounted his horse, and rode on all day without stopping once.
Towards evening he found himself in a desert, and, look where he would,
there was no such thing as a house or a man to be seen. 'What am I to do
now?' he thought. 'If I go to sleep here wild beasts will come and eat
me! Yet both I and my horse are worn out, and can go no further.' Then
suddenly he remembered the fairy's gift, and taking out the curl he said
to it: 'I want a castle here, and servants, and dinner, and everything
to make me comfortable tonight; and besides that, I must have a stable
and fodder for my horse.' And in a moment the castle was before him just
as he had wished.

In this way he travelled through many countries, till at last he came
to a land that was ruled over by a great king. Leaving his horse outside
the walls, he clad himself in the dress of a poor man, and went up
to the palace. The queen, who was looking out of the window, saw him
approaching, and filled with pity sent a servant to ask who he was and
what he wanted. 'I am a stranger here,' answered the young king, 'and
very poor. I have come to beg for some work.' 'We have everybody we
want,' said the queen, when the servant told her the young man's reply.
'We have a gate-keeper, and a hall porter, and servants of all sorts
in the palace; the only person we have not got is a goose-boy. Tell him
that he can be our goose-boy if he likes.' The youth answered that he
was quite content to be goose-boy; and that was how he got his nickname
of Paperarello. And in order that no one should guess that he was any
better than a goose-boy should be, he rubbed his face and his rags over
with mud, and made himself altogether such a disgusting object that
every one crossed over to the other side of the road when he was seen
coming.

'Do go and wash yourself, Paperarello!' said the queen sometimes, for he
did his work so well that she took an interest in him. 'Oh, I should not
feel comfortable if I was clean, your Majesty,' answered he, and went
whistling after his geese.

It happened one day that, owing to some accident to the great flour
mills which supplied the city, there was no bread to be had, and the
king's army had to do without. When the king heard of it, he sent for
the cook, and told him that by the next morning he must have all the
bread that the oven, heated seven times over, could bake. 'But, your
Majesty, it is not possible,' cried the poor man in despair. 'The mills
have only just begun working, and the flour will not be ground till
evening, and how can I heat the oven seven times in one night?' 'That
is your affair,' answered the King, who, when he took anything into his
head, would listen to nothing. 'If you succeed in baking the bread you
shall have my daughter to wife, but if you fail your head will pay for
it.'

Now Paperarello, who was passing through the hall where the king was
giving his orders, heard these words, and said: 'Your Majesty, have no
fears; I will bake your bread.' 'Very well,' answered the king; 'but
if you fail, you will pay for it with your head!' and signed that both
should leave his presence.

The cook was still trembling with the thought of what he had escaped,
but to his surprise Paperarello did not seem disturbed at all, and when
night came he went to sleep as usual. 'Paperarello,' cried the other
servants, when they saw him quietly taking off his clothes, 'you cannot
go to bed; you will need every moment of the night for your work.
Remember, the king is not to be played with!'

'I really must have some sleep first,' replied Paperarello, stretching
himself and yawning; and he flung himself on his bed, and was fast
asleep in a moment. In an hour's time, the servants came and shook him
by the shoulder. 'Paperarello, are you mad?' said they. 'Get up, or you
will lose your head.' 'Oh, do let me sleep a little more, answered he.
And this was all he would say, though the servants returned to wake him
many times in the night.

At last the dawn broke, and the servants rushed to his room, crying:
'Paperarello! Paperarello! get up, the king is coming. You have baked no
bread, and of a surety he will have your head.'

'Oh, don't scream so,' replied Paperarello, jumping out of bed as
he spoke; and taking the lock of hair in his hand, he went into the
kitchen. And, behold! there stood the bread piled high--four, five, six
ovens full, and the seventh still waiting to be taken out of the oven.
The servants stood and stared in surprise, and the king said: 'Well
done, Paperarello, you have won my daughter.' And he thought to himself:
'This fellow must really be a magician.'

But when the princess heard what was in store for her she wept bitterly,
and declared that never, never would she marry that dirty Paperarello!
However, the king paid no heed to her tears and prayers, and before many
days were over the wedding was celebrated with great splendour, though
the bridegroom had not taken the trouble to wash himself, and was as
dirty as before.

When night came he went as usual to sleep among his geese, and the
princess went to the king and said: 'Father, I entreat you to have that
horrible Paperarello put to death.' 'No, no!' replied her father, 'he is
a great magician, and before I put him to death, I must first find out
the secret of his power, and then--we shall see.'

Soon after this a war broke out, and everybody about the palace was very
busy polishing up armour and sharpening swords, for the king and his
sons were to ride at the head of the army. Then Paperarello left his
geese, and came and told the king that he wished to go to fight also.
The king gave him leave, and told him that he might go to the stable and
take any horse he liked from the stables. So Paperarello examined
the horses carefully, but instead of picking out one of the splendid
well-groomed creatures, whose skin shone like satin, he chose a poor
lame thing, put a saddle on it, and rode after the other men-at-arms who
were attending the king. In a short time he stopped, and said to them:
'My horse can go no further; you must go on to the war without me, and
I will stay here, and make some little clay soldiers, and will play at a
battle.' The men laughed at him for being so childish, and rode on after
their master.

Scarcely were they out of sight than Paperarello took out his curl, and
wished himself the best armour, the sharpest sword, and the swiftest
horse in the world, and the next minute was riding as fast as he could
to the field of battle. The fight had already begun, and the enemy was
getting the best of it, when Paperarello rode up, and in a moment the
fortunes of the day had changed. Right and left this strange knight
laid about him, and his sword pierced the stoutest breast-plate, and the
strongest shield. He was indeed 'a host in himself,' and his foes fled
before him thinking he was only the first of a troop of such warriors,
whom no one could withstand. When the battle was over, the king sent for
him to thank him for his timely help, and to ask what reward he should
give him. 'Nothing but your little finger, your Majesty,' was
his answer; and the king cut off his little finger and gave it to
Paperarello, who bowed and hid it in his surcoat. Then he left the
field, and when the soldiers rode back they found him still sitting in
the road making whole rows of little clay dolls.

The next day the king went out to fight another battle, and again
Paperarello appeared, mounted on his lame horse. As on the day before,
he halted on the road, and sat down to make his clay soldiers; then a
second time he wished himself armour, sword, and a horse, all sharper
and better than those he had previously had, and galloped after the
rest. He was only just in time: the enemy had almost beaten the king's
army back, and men whispered to each other that if the strange knight
did not soon come to their aid, they would be all dead men. Suddenly
someone cried: 'Hold on a little longer, I see him in the distance; and
his armour shines brighter, and his horse runs swifter, than yesterday.'
Then they took fresh heart and fought desperately on till the knight
came up, and threw himself into the thick of the battle. As before, the
enemy gave way before him, and in a few minutes the victory remained
with the king.

The first thing that the victor did was to send for the knight to thank
him for his timely help, and to ask what gift he could bestow on him in
token of gratitude. 'Your Majesty's ear,' answered the knight; and as
the king could not go back from his word, he cut it off and gave it to
him. Paperarello bowed, fastened the ear inside his surcoat and rode
away. In the evening, when they all returned from the battle, there he
was, sitting in the road, making clay dolls.

On the third day the same thing happened, and this time he asked for the
king's nose as the reward of his aid. Now, to lose one's nose, is worse
even than losing one's ear or one's finger, and the king hesitated as to
whether he should comply. However, he had always prided himself on being
an honourable man, so he cut off his nose, and handed it to Paperarello.
Paperarello bowed, put the nose in his surcoat, and rode away. In the
evening, when the king returned from the battle, he found Paperarello
sitting in the road making clay dolls. And Paperarello got up and said
to him: 'Do you know who I am? I am your dirty goose-boy, yet you have
given me your finger, and your ear, and your nose.'

That night, when the king sat at dinner, Paperarello came in, and laying
down the ear, and the nose, and the finger on the table, turned and
said to the nobles and courtiers who were waiting on the king: 'I am the
invincible knight, who rode three times to your help, and I also am a
king's son, and no goose-boy as you all think.' And he went away and
washed himself, and dressed himself in fine clothes and entered the hall
again, looking so handsome that the proud princess fell in love with
him on the spot. But Paperarello took no notice of her, and said to the
king: 'It was kind of you to offer me your daughter in marriage, and for
that I thank you; but I have a wife at home whom I love better, and it
is to her that I am going. But as a token of farewell, I wish that your
ear, and nose, and finger may be restored to their proper places.' So
saying, he bade them all goodbye, and went back to his home and his
fairy bride, with whom he lived happily till the end of his life.






The Gifts Of The Magician

Once upon a time there was an old man who lived in a little hut in the
middle of a forest. His wife was dead, and he had only one son, whom he
loved dearly. Near their hut was a group of birch trees, in which some
black-game had made their nests, and the youth had often begged his
father's permission to shoot the birds, but the old man always strictly
forbade him to do anything of the kind.

One day, however, when the father had gone to a little distance to
collect some sticks for the fire, the boy fetched his bow, and shot at a
bird that was just flying towards its nest. But he had not taken proper
aim, and the bird was only wounded, and fluttered along the ground. The
boy ran to catch it, but though he ran very fast, and the bird seemed to
flutter along very slowly, he never could quite come up with it; it was
always just a little in advance. But so absorbed was he in the chase
that he did not notice for some time that he was now deep in the forest,
in a place where he had never been before. Then he felt it would be
foolish to go any further, and he turned to find his way home.

He thought it would be easy enough to follow the path along which he had
come, but somehow it was always branching off in unexpected directions.
He looked about for a house where he might stop and ask his way, but
there was not a sign of one anywhere, and he was afraid to stand still,
for it was cold, and there were many stories of wolves being seen in
that part of the forest. Night fell, and he was beginning to start at
every sound, when suddenly a magician came running towards him, with
a pack of wolves snapping at his heels. Then all the boy's courage
returned to him. He took his bow, and aiming an arrow at the largest
wolf, shot him through the heart, and a few more arrows soon put the
rest to flight. The magician was full of gratitude to his deliverer, and
promised him a reward for his help if the youth would go back with him
to his house.

'Indeed there is nothing that would be more welcome to me than a night's
lodging,' answered the boy; 'I have been wandering all day in the
forest, and did not know how to get home again.

'Come with me, you must be hungry as well as tired,' said the magician,
and led the way to his house, where the guest flung himself on a bed,
and went fast asleep. But his host returned to the forest to get some
food, for the larder was empty.

While he was absent the housekeeper went to the boy's room and tried
to wake him. She stamped on the floor, and shook him and called to him,
telling him that he was in great danger, and must take flight at once.
But nothing would rouse him, and if he did ever open his eyes he shut
them again directly.

Soon after, the magician came back from the forest, and told the
housekeeper to bring them something to eat. The meal was quickly ready,
and the magician called to the boy to come down and eat it, but he
could not be wakened, and they had to sit down to supper without him.
By-and-by the magician went out into the wood again for some more
hunting, and on his return he tried afresh to waken the youth. But
finding it quite impossible, he went back for the third time to the
forest.

While he was absent the boy woke up and dressed himself. Then he came
downstairs and began to talk to the housekeeper. The girl had heard
how he had saved her master's life, so she said nothing more about his
running away, but instead told him that if the magician offered him the
choice of a reward, he was to ask for the horse which stood in the third
stall of the stable.

By-and-by the old man came back and they all sat down to dinner. When
they had finished the magician said: 'Now, my son, tell me what you will
have as the reward of your courage?'

'Give me the horse that stands in the third stall of your stable,'
answered the youth. 'For I have a long way to go before I get home, and
my feet will not carry me so far.'

'Ah! my son,' replied the magician, 'it is the best horse in my stable
that you want! Will not anything else please you as well?'

But the youth declared that it was the horse, and the horse only, that
he desired, and in the end the old man gave way. And besides the horse,
the magician gave him a zither, a fiddle, and a flute, saying: 'If you
are in danger, touch the zither; and if no one comes to your aid, then
play on the fiddle; but if that brings no help, blow on the flute.'

The youth thanked the magician, and fastening his treasures about him
mounted the horse and rode off. He had already gone some miles when,
to his great surprise, the horse spoke, and said: 'It is no use your
returning home just now, your father will only beat you. Let us visit a
few towns first, and something lucky will be sure to happen to us.'

This advice pleased the boy, for he felt himself almost a man by this
time, and thought it was high time he saw the world. When they entered
the capital of the country everyone stopped to admire the beauty of the
horse. Even the king heard of it, and came to see the splendid creature
with his own eyes. Indeed, he wanted directly to buy it, and told the
youth he would give any price he liked. The young man hesitated for a
moment, but before he could speak, the horse contrived to whisper to
him:

'Do not sell me, but ask the king to take me to his stable, and feed me
there; then his other horses will become just as beautiful as I.'

The king was delighted when he was told what the horse had said,
and took the animal at once to the stables, and placed it in his own
particular stall. Sure enough, the horse had scarcely eaten a mouthful
of corn out of the manger, when the rest of the horses seemed to have
undergone a transformation. Some of them were old favourites which the
king had ridden in many wars, and they bore the signs of age and of
service. But now they arched their heads, and pawed the ground with
their slender legs as they had been wont to do in days long gone by. The
king's heart beat with delight, but the old groom who had had the care
of them stood crossly by, and eyed the owner of this wonderful creature
with hate and envy. Not a day passed without his bringing some story
against the youth to his master, but the king understood all about the
matter and paid no attention. At last the groom declared that the
young man had boasted that he could find the king's war horse which had
strayed into the forest several years ago, and had not been heard of
since. Now the king had never ceased to mourn for his horse, so this
time he listened to the tale which the groom had invented, and sent for
the youth. 'Find me my horse in three days,' said he, 'or it will be the
worse for you.'

The youth was thunderstruck at this command, but he only bowed, and went
off at once to the stable.

'Do not worry yourself,' answered his own horse. 'Ask the king to give
you a hundred oxen, and to let them be killed and cut into small pieces.
Then we will start on our journey, and ride till we reach a certain
river. There a horse will come up to you, but take no notice of him.
Soon another will appear, and this also you must leave alone, but when
the third horse shows itself, throw my bridle over it.'

Everything happened just as the horse had said, and the third horse was
safely bridled. Then the other horse spoke again: 'The magician's raven
will try to eat us as we ride away, but throw it some of the oxen's
flesh, and then I will gallop like the wind, and carry you safe out of
the dragon's clutches.'

So the young man did as he was told, and brought the horse back to the
king.

The old stableman was very jealous, when he heard of it, and wondered
what he could do to injure the youth in the eyes of his royal master.
At last he hit upon a plan, and told the king that the young man had
boasted that he could bring home the king's wife, who had vanished many
months before, without leaving a trace behind her. Then the king bade
the young man come into his presence, and desired him to fetch the queen
home again, as he had boasted he could do. And if he failed, his head
would pay the penalty.

The poor youth's heart stood still as he listened. Find the queen? But
how was he to do that, when nobody in the palace had been able to do
so! Slowly he walked to the stable, and laying his head on his horse's
shoulder, he said: 'The king has ordered me to bring his wife home
again, and how can I do that when she disappeared so long ago, and no
one can tell me anything about her?'

'Cheer up!' answered the horse, 'we will manage to find her. You have
only got to ride me back to the same river that we went to yesterday,
and I will plunge into it and take my proper shape again. For I am the
king's wife, who was turned into a horse by the magician from whom you
saved me.'

Joyfully the young man sprang into the saddle and rode away to the banks
of the river. Then he threw himself off, and waited while the horse
plunged in. The moment it dipped its head into the water its black skin
vanished, and the most beautiful woman in the world was floating on the
water. She came smiling towards the youth, and held out her hand, and
he took it and led her back to the palace. Great was the king's surprise
and happiness when he beheld his lost wife stand before him, and in
gratitude to her rescuer he loaded him with gifts.

You would have thought that after this the poor youth would have been
left in peace; but no, his enemy the stableman hated him as much as
ever, and laid a new plot for his undoing. This time he presented
himself before the king and told him that the youth was so puffed up
with what he had done that he had declared he would seize the king's
throne for himself.

At this news the king waxed so furious that he ordered a gallows to be
erected at once, and the young man to be hanged without a trial. He was
not even allowed to speak in his own defence, but on the very steps of
the gallows he sent a message to the king and begged, as a last favour,
that he might play a tune on his zither. Leave was given him, and taking
the instrument from under his cloak he touched the strings. Scarcely had
the first notes sounded than the hangman and his helper began to dance,
and the louder grew the music the higher they capered, till at last they
cried for mercy. But the youth paid no heed, and the tunes rang out more
merrily than before, and by the time the sun set they both sank on the
ground exhausted, and declared that the hanging must be put off till
to-morrow.

The story of the zither soon spread through the town, and on the
following morning the king and his whole court and a large crowd of
people were gathered at the foot of the gallows to see the youth hanged.
Once more he asked a favour--permission to play on his fiddle, and this
the king was graciously pleased to grant. But with the first notes, the
leg of every man in the crowd was lifted high, and they danced to the
sound of the music the whole day till darkness fell, and there was no
light to hang the musician by.

The third day came, and the youth asked leave to play on his flute. 'No,
no,' said the king, 'you made me dance all day yesterday, and if I do
it again it will certainly be my death. You shall play no more tunes.
Quick! the rope round his neck.'

At these words the young man looked so sorrowful that the courtiers said
to the king: 'He is very young to die. Let him play a tune if it will
make him happy.' So, very unwillingly, the king gave him leave; but
first he had himself bound to a big fir tree, for fear that he should be
made to dance.

When he was made fast, the young man began to blow softly on his flute,
and bound though he was, the king's body moved to the sound, up and
down the fir tree till his clothes were in tatters, and the skin nearly
rubbed off his back. But the youth had no pity, and went on blowing,
till suddenly the old magician appeared and asked: 'What danger are you
in, my son, that you have sent for me?'

'They want to hang me,' answered the young man; 'the gallows are all
ready and the hangman is only waiting for me to stop playing.'

'Oh, I will put that right,' said the magician; and taking the gallows,
he tore it up and flung it into the air, and no one knows where it came
down. 'Who has ordered you to be hanged?' asked he.

The young man pointed to the king, who was still bound to the fir; and
without wasting words the magician took hold of the tree also, and
with a mighty heave both fir and man went spinning through the air, and
vanished in the clouds after the gallows.

Then the youth was declared to be free, and the people elected him for
their king; and the stable helper drowned himself from envy, for, after
all, if it had not been for him the young man would have remained poor
all the days of his life.






The Strong Prince

Once upon a time there lived a king who was so fond of wine that he
could not go to sleep unless he knew he had a great flaskful tied to his
bed-post. All day long he drank till he was too stupid to attend to his
business, and everything in the kingdom went to rack and ruin. But one
day an accident happened to him, and he was struck on the head by a
falling bough, so that he fell from his horse and lay dead upon the
ground.

His wife and son mourned his loss bitterly, for, in spite of his faults,
he had always been kind to them. So they abandoned the crown and forsook
their country, not knowing or caring where they went.

At length they wandered into a forest, and being very tired, sat down
under a tree to eat some bread that they had brought with them. When
they had finished the queen said: 'My son, I am thirsty; fetch me some
water.'

The prince got up at once and went to a brook which he heard gurgling
near at hand. He stooped and filled his hat with the water, which he
brought to his mother; then he turned and followed the stream up to
its source in a rock, where it bubbled out clear and fresh and cold. He
knelt down to take a draught from the deep pool below the rock, when he
saw the reflection of a sword hanging from the branch of a tree over his
head. The young man drew back with a start; but in a moment he climbed
the tree, cutting the rope which held the sword, and carried the weapon
to his mother.

The queen was greatly surprised at the sight of anything so splendid in
such a lonely place, and took it in her hands to examine it closely.
It was of curious workmanship, wrought with gold, and on its handle was
written: 'The man who can buckle on this sword will become stronger than
other men.' The queen's heart swelled with joy as she read these words,
and she bade her son lose no time in testing their truth. So he fastened
it round his waist, and instantly a glow of strength seemed to run
through his veins. He took hold of a thick oak tree and rooted it up as
easily as if it had been a weed.

This discovery put new life into the queen and her son, and they
continued their walk through the forest. But night was drawing on, and
the darkness grew so thick that it seemed as if it could be cut with a
knife. They did not want to sleep in the wood, for they were afraid of
wolves and other wild beasts, so they groped their way along, hand in
hand, till the prince tripped over something which lay across the path.
He could not see what it was, but stooped down and tried to lift it.
The thing was very heavy, and he thought his back would break under the
strain. At last with a great heave he moved it out of the road, and as
it fell he knew it was a huge rock. Behind the rock was a cave which it
was quite clear was the home of some robbers, though not one of the band
was there.

Hastily putting out the fire which burned brightly at the back, and
bidding his mother come in and keep very still, the prince began to pace
up and down, listening for the return of the robbers. But he was very
sleepy, and in spite of all his efforts he felt he could not keep awake
much longer, when he heard the sound of the robbers returning, shouting
and singing as they marched along. Soon the singing ceased, and
straining his ears he heard them discussing anxiously what had become of
their cave, and why they could not see the fire as usual. 'This must
be the place,' said a voice, which the prince took to be that of the
captain. 'Yes, I feel the ditch before the entrance. Someone forgot to
pile up the fire before we left and it has burnt itself out! But it is
all right. Let every man jump across, and as he does so cry out "Hop! I
am here." I will go last. Now begin.'

The man who stood nearest jumped across, but he had no time to give the
call which the captain had ordered, for with one swift, silent stroke
of the prince's sword, his head rolled into a corner. Then the young man
cried instead, 'Hop! I am here.'

The second man, hearing the signal, leapt the ditch in confidence, and
was met by the same fate, and in a few minutes eleven of the robbers lay
dead, and there remained only the captain.

Now the captain had wound round his neck the shawl of his lost wife,
and the stroke of the prince's sword fell harmless. Being very cunning,
however, he made no resistance, and rolled over as if he were as dead as
the other men. Still, the prince was no fool, and wondered if indeed he
was as dead as he seemed to be; but the captain lay so stiff and stark,
that at last he was taken in.

The prince next dragged the headless bodies into a chamber in the cave,
and locked the door. Then he and his mother ransacked the place for some
food, and when they had eaten it they lay down and slept in peace.

With the dawn they were both awake again, and found that, instead of
the cave which they had come to the night before, they now were in a
splendid castle, full of beautiful rooms. The prince went round all
these and carefully locked them up, bidding his mother take care of the
keys while he was hunting.

Unfortunately, the queen, like all women, could not bear to think that
there was anything which she did not know. So the moment that her son
had turned his back, she opened the doors of all the rooms, and peeped
in, till she came to the one where the robbers lay. But if the sight
of the blood on the ground turned her faint, the sight of the robber
captain walking up and down was a greater shock still. She quickly
turned the key in the lock, and ran back to the chamber she had slept
in.

Soon after her son came in, bringing with him a large bear, which he had
killed for supper. As there was enough food to last them for many days,
the prince did not hunt the next morning, but, instead, began to explore
the castle. He found that a secret way led from it into the forest; and
following the path, he reached another castle larger and more splendid
than the one belonging to the robbers. He knocked at the door with
his fist, and said that he wanted to enter; but the giant, to whom the
castle belonged, only answered: 'I know who you are. I have nothing to
do with robbers.'

'I am no robber,' answered the prince. 'I am the son of a king, and I
have killed all the band. If you do not open to me at once I will break
in the door, and your head shall go to join the others.'

He waited a little, but the door remained shut as tightly as before.
Then he just put his shoulder to it, and immediately the wood began
to crack. When the giant found that it was no use keeping it shut, he
opened it, saying: 'I see you are a brave youth. Let there be peace
between us.'

And the prince was glad to make peace, for he had caught a glimpse of
the giant's beautiful daughter, and from that day he often sought the
giant's house.

Now the queen led a dull life all alone in the castle, and to amuse
herself she paid visits to the robber captain, who flattered her till at
last she agreed to marry him. But as she was much afraid of her son,
she told the robber that the next time the prince went to bathe in
the river, he was to steal the sword from its place above the bed,
for without it the young man would have no power to punish him for his
boldness.

The robber captain thought this good counsel, and the next morning, when
the young man went to bathe, he unhooked the sword from its nail and
buckled it round his waist. On his return to the castle, the prince
found the robber waiting for him on the steps, waving the sword above
his head, and knowing that some horrible fate was in store, fell on his
knees and begged for mercy. But he might as well have tried to squeeze
blood out of a stone. The robber, indeed, granted him his life, but
took out both his eyes, which he thrust into the prince's hand, saying
brutally:

'Here, you had better keep them! You may find them useful!'

Weeping, the blind youth felt his way to the giant's house, and told him
all the story.

The giant was full of pity for the poor young man, but inquired
anxiously what he had done with the eyes. The prince drew them out of
his pocket, and silently handed them to the giant, who washed them well,
and then put them back in the prince's head. For three days he lay in
utter darkness; then the light began to come back, till soon he saw as
well as ever.

But though he could not rejoice enough over the recovery of his eyes, he
bewailed bitterly the loss of his sword, and that it should have fallen
to the lot of his bitter enemy.

'Never mind, my friend,' said the giant, 'I will get it back for you.'
And he sent for the monkey who was his head servant.

'Tell the fox and the squirrel that they are to go with you, and fetch
me back the prince's sword,' ordered he.

The three servants set out at once, one seated on the back of the
others, the ape, who disliked walking, being generally on top. Directly
they came to the window of the robber captain's room, the monkey sprang
from the backs of the fox and the squirrel, and climbed in. The room was
empty, and the sword hanging from a nail. He took it down, and buckling
it round his waist, as he had seen the prince do, swung himself down
again, and mounting on the backs of his two companions, hastened to
his master. The giant bade him give the sword to the prince, who girded
himself with it, and returned with all speed to the castle.

'Come out, you rascal! come out, you villain!' cried he, 'and answer
to me for the wrong you have done. I will show you who is the master in
this house!'

The noise he made brought the robber into the room. He glanced up to
where the sword usually hung, but it was gone; and instinctively he
looked at the prince's hand, where he saw it gleaming brightly. In his
turn he fell on his knees to beg for mercy, but it was too late. As he
had done to the prince, so the prince did to him, and, blinded, he was
thrust forth, and fell down a deep hole, where he is to this day. His
mother the prince sent back to her father, and never would see her
again. After this he returned to the giant, and said to him:

'My friend, add one more kindness to those you have already heaped on
me. Give me your daughter as my wife.'

So they were married, and the wedding feast was so splendid that there
was not a kingdom in the world that did not hear of it. And the prince
never went back to his father's throne, but lived peacefully with his
wife in the forest, where, if they are not dead, they are living still.






The Treasure Seeker

Once, long ago, in a little town that lay in the midst of high hills and
wild forests, a party of shepherds sat one night in the kitchen of the
inn talking over old times, and telling of the strange things that had
befallen them in their youth.

Presently up spoke the silver-haired Father Martin.

'Comrades,' said he, 'you have had wonderful adventures; but I will tell
you something still more astonishing that happened to myself. When I was
a young lad I had no home and no one to care for me, and I wandered from
village to village all over the country with my knapsack on my back;
but as soon as I was old enough I took service with a shepherd in the
mountains, and helped him for three years. One autumn evening as we
drove the flock homeward ten sheep were missing, and the master bade me
go and seek them in the forest. I took my dog with me, but he could find
no trace of them, though we searched among the bushes till night fell;
and then, as I did not know the country and could not find my way home
in the dark, I decided to sleep under a tree. At midnight my dog became
uneasy, and began to whine and creep close to me with his tail between
his legs; by this I knew that something was wrong, and, looking about, I
saw in the bright moonlight a figure standing beside me. It seemed to be
a man with shaggy hair, and a long beard which hung down to his knees.
He had a garland upon his head, and a girdle of oak-leaves about his
body, and carried an uprooted fir-tree in his right hand. I shook like
an aspen leaf at the sight, and my spirit quaked for fear. The strange
being beckoned with his hand that I should follow him; but as I did not
stir from the spot he spoke in a hoarse, grating voice: "Take courage,
fainthearted shepherd. I am the Treasure Seeker of the mountain. If you
will come with me you shall dig up much gold."

'Though I was still deadly cold with terror I plucked up my courage and
said: "Get away from me, evil spirit; I do not desire your treasures."

'At this the spectre grinned in my face and cried mockingly:

'"Simpleton! Do you scorn your good fortune? Well, then, remain a
ragamuffin all your days."

'He turned as if to go away from me, then came back again and said:
"Bethink yourself, bethink yourself, rogue. I will fill your knapsack--I
will fill your pouch."

'"Away from me, monster," I answered, "I will have nothing to do with
you."

'When the apparition saw that I gave no heed to him he ceased to urge
me, saying only: "Some day you will rue this," and looked at me sadly.
Then he cried: "Listen to what I say, and lay it well to heart, it may
be of use to you when you come to your senses. A vast treasure of gold
and precious stones lies in safety deep under the earth. At twilight and
at high noon it is hidden, but at midnight it may be dug up. For seven
hundred years have I watched over it, but now my time has come; it is
common property, let him find it who can. So I thought to give it into
your hand, having a kindness for you because you feed your flock upon my
mountain."

'Thereupon the spectre told me exactly where the treasure lay, and how
to find it. It might be only yesterday so well do I remember every word
he spoke.

'"Go towards the little mountains," said he, "and ask there for the
Black King's Valley, and when you come to a tiny brook follow the stream
till you reach the stone bridge beside the saw-mill. Do not cross the
bridge, but keep to your right along the bank till a high rock stands
before you. A bow-shot from that you will discover a little hollow like
a grave. When you find this hollow dig it out; but it will be hard work,
for the earth has been pressed down into it with care. Still, work away
till you find solid rock on all sides of you, and soon you will come to
a square slab of stone; force it out of the wall, and you will stand at
the entrance of the treasure house. Into this opening you must crawl,
holding a lamp in your mouth. Keep your hands free lest you knock your
nose against a stone, for the way is steep and the stones sharp. If it
bruises your knees never mind; you are on the road to fortune. Do not
rest till you reach a wide stairway, down which you will go till you
come out into a spacious hall, in which there are three doors; two of
them stand open, the third is fastened with locks and bolts of iron. Do
not go through the door to the right lest you disturb the bones of the
lords of the treasure. Neither must you go through the door to the left,
it leads to the snake's chamber, where adders and serpents lodge; but
open the fast-closed door by means of the well-known spring-root, which
you must on no account forget to take with you, or all your trouble will
be for naught, for no crowbar or mortal tools will help you. If you want
to procure the root ask a wood-seller; it is a common thing for hunters
to need, and it is not hard to find. If the door bursts open suddenly
with great crackings and groanings do not be afraid, the noise is caused
by the power of the magic root, and you will not be hurt. Now trim your
lamp that it may not fail you, for you will be nearly blinded by the
flash and glitter of the gold and precious stones on the walls and
pillars of the vault; but beware how you stretch out a hand towards the
jewels! In the midst of the cavern stands a copper chest, in that
you will find gold and silver, enough and to spare, and you may help
yourself to your heart's content. If you take as much as you can carry
you will have sufficient to last your lifetime, and you may return three
times; but woe betide you if you venture to come a fourth time. You
would have your trouble for your pains, and would be punished for your
greediness by falling down the stone steps and breaking your leg. Do
not neglect each time to heap back the loose earth which concealed the
entrance of the king's treasure chamber."

'As the apparition left off speaking my dog pricked up his ears and
began to bark. I heard the crack of a carter's whip and the noise
of wheels in the distance, and when I looked again the spectre had
disappeared.'

So ended the shepherd's tale; and the landlord who was listening with
the rest, said shrewdly:

'Tell us now, Father Martin, did you go to the mountain and find what
the spirit promised you; or is it a fable?'

'Nay, nay,' answered the graybeard. 'I cannot tell if the spectre
lied, for never a step did I go towards finding the hollow, for two
reasons:--one was that my neck was too precious for me to risk it in
such a snare as that; the other, that no one could ever tell me where
the spring-root was to be found.'

Then Blaize, another aged shepherd, lifted up his voice.

"Tis a pity, Father Martin, that your secret has grown old with you.
If you had told it forty years ago truly you would not long have been
lacking the spring-root. Even though you will never climb the mountain
now, I will tell you, for a joke, how it is to be found. The easiest
way to get it is by the help of a black woodpecker. Look, in the spring,
where she builds her nest in a hole in a tree, and when the time comes
for her brood to fly off block up the entrance to the nest with a hard
sod, and lurk in ambush behind the tree till the bird returns to feed
her nestlings. When she perceives that she cannot get into her nest she
will fly round the tree uttering cries of distress, and then dart off
towards the sun-setting. When you see her do this, take a scarlet cloak,
or if that be lacking to you, buy a few yards of scarlet cloth,
and hurry back to the tree before the woodpecker returns with the
spring-root in her beak. So soon as she touches with the root the sod
that blocks the nest, it will fly violently out of the hole. Then spread
the red cloth quickly under the tree, so that the woodpecker may think
it is a fire, and in her terror drop the root. Some people really light
a fire and strew spikenard blossoms in it; but that is a clumsy method,
for if the flames do not shoot up at the right moment away will fly the
woodpecker, carrying the root with her."

The party had listened with interest to this speech, but by the time it
was ended the hour was late, and they went their ways homeward, leaving
only one man who had sat unheeded in a corner the whole evening through.

Master Peter Bloch had once been a prosperous innkeeper, and a
master-cook; but he had gone steadily down in the world for some time,
and was now quite poor.

Formerly he had been a merry fellow, fond of a joke, and in the art of
cooking had no equal in the town. He could make fish-jelly, and quince
fritters, and even wafer-cakes; and he gilded the ears of all his
boars' heads. Peter had looked about him for a wife early in life, but
unluckily his choice fell upon a woman whose evil tongue was well known
in the town. Ilse was hated by everybody, and the young folks would go
miles out of their way rather than meet her, for she had some ill-word
for everyone. Therefore, when Master Peter came along, and let himself
be taken in by her boasted skill as a housewife, she jumped at his
offer, and they were married the next day. But they had not got home
before they began to quarrel. In the joy of his heart Peter had tasted
freely of his own good wine, and as the bride hung upon his arm he
stumbled and fell, dragging her down with him; whereupon she beat him
soundly, and the neighbours said truly that things did not promise
well for Master Peter's comfort. Even when the ill-matched couple were
presently blessed with children, his happiness was but short lived, the
savage temper of his quarrelsome wife seemed to blight them from the
first, and they died like little kids in a cold winter.

Though Master Peter had no great wealth to leave behind him, still
it was sad to him to be childless; and he would bemoan himself to his
friends, when he laid one baby after another in the grave, saying: 'The
lightning has been among the cherry-blossoms again, so there will be no
fruit to grow ripe.'

But, by-and-by, he had a little daughter so strong and healthy that
neither her mother's temper nor her father's spoiling could keep her
from growing up tall and beautiful. Meanwhile the fortunes of the family
had changed. From his youth up, Master Peter had hated trouble; when he
had money he spent it freely, and fed all the hungry folk who asked him
for bread. If his pockets were empty he borrowed of his neighbours, but
he always took good care to prevent his scolding wife from finding out
that he had done so. His motto was: 'It will all come right in the end';
but what it did come to was ruin for Master Peter. He was at his wits'
end to know how to earn an honest living, for try as he might ill-luck
seemed to pursue him, and he lost one post after another, till at last
all he could do was to carry sacks of corn to the mill for his wife, who
scolded him well if he was slow about it, and grudged him his portion of
food.

This grieved the tender heart of his pretty daughter, who loved him
dearly, and was the comfort of his life.

Peter was thinking of her as he sat in the inn kitchen and heard
the shepherds talking about the buried treasure, and for her sake he
resolved to go and seek for it. Before he rose from the landlord's
arm-chair his plan was made, and Master Peter went home more joyful and
full of hope than he had been for many a long day; but on the way
he suddenly remembered that he was not yet possessed of the magic
spring-root, and he stole into the house with a heavy heart, and threw
himself down upon his hard straw bed. He could neither sleep nor rest;
but as soon as it was light he got up and wrote down exactly all that
was to be done to find the treasure, that he might not forget anything,
and when it lay clear and plain before his eyes he comforted himself
with the thought that, though he must do the rough work for his wife
during one more winter at least, he would not have to tread the path to
the mill for the rest of his life. Soon he heard his wife's harsh
voice singing its morning song as she went about her household affairs,
scolding her daughter the while. She burst open his door while he was
still dressing: 'Well, Toper!' was her greeting, 'have you been drinking
all night, wasting money that you steal from my housekeeping? For shame,
drunkard!'

Master Peter, who was well used to this sort of talk, did not disturb
himself, but waited till the storm blew over, then he said calmly:

'Do not be annoyed, dear wife. I have a good piece of business in hand
which may turn out well for us.'

'You with a good business?' cried she, 'you are good for nothing but
talk!'

'I am making my will,' said he, 'that when my hour comes my house may be
in order.'

These unexpected words cut his daughter to the heart; she remembered
that all night long she had dreamed of a newly dug grave, and at this
thought she broke out into loud lamentations. But her mother only cried:
'Wretch! have you not wasted goods and possessions, and now do you talk
of making a will?'

And she seized him like a fury, and tried to scratch out his eyes. But
by-and-by the quarrel was patched up, and everything went on as before.
From that day Peter saved up every penny that his daughter Lucia gave
him on the sly, and bribed the boys of his acquaintance to spy out a
black woodpecker's nest for him. He sent them into the woods and fields,
but instead of looking for a nest they only played pranks on him. They
led him miles over hill and vale, stock and stone, to find a raven's
brood, or a nest of squirrels in a hollow tree, and when he was angry
with them they laughed in his face and ran away. This went on for
some time, but at last one of the boys spied out a woodpecker in the
meadow-lands among the wood-pigeons, and when he had found her nest in
a half-dead alder tree, came running to Peter with the news of his
discovery. Peter could hardly believe his good fortune, and went quickly
to see for himself if it was really true; and when he reached the tree
there certainly was a bird flying in and out as if she had a nest in
it. Peter was overjoyed at this fortunate discovery, and instantly set
himself to obtain a red cloak. Now in the whole town there was only
one red cloak, and that belonged to a man of whom nobody ever willingly
asked a favour--Master Hammerling the hangman. It cost Master Peter
many struggles before he could bring himself to visit such a person, but
there was no help for it, and, little as he liked it, he ended by making
his request to the hangman, who was flattered that so respectable a man
as Peter should borrow his robe of office, and willingly lent it to him.

Peter now had all that was necessary to secure the magic root; he
stopped up the entrance to the nest, and everything fell out exactly as
Blaize had foretold. As soon as the woodpecker came back with the root
in her beak out rushed Master Peter from behind the tree and displayed
the fiery red cloak so adroitly that the terrified bird dropped the root
just where it could be easily seen. All Peter's plans had succeeded, and
he actually held in his hand the magic root--that master-key which would
unlock all doors, and bring its possessor unheard-of luck. His thoughts
now turned to the mountain, and he secretly made preparations for his
journey. He took with him only a staff, a strong sack, and a little box
which his daughter Lucia had given him.

It happened that on the very day Peter had chosen for setting out, Lucia
and her mother went off early to the town, leaving him to guard the
house; but in spite of that he was on the point of taking his departure
when it occurred to him that it might be as well first to test the
much-vaunted powers of the magic root for himself. Dame Ilse had a
strong cupboard with seven locks built into the wall of her room, in
which she kept all the money she had saved, and she wore the key of it
always hung about her neck. Master Peter had no control at all of the
money affairs of the household, so the contents of this secret hoard
were quite unknown to him, and this seemed to be a good opportunity for
finding out what they were. He held the magic root to the keyhole, and
to his astonishment heard all the seven locks creaking and turning, the
door flew suddenly wide open, and his greedy wife's store of gold pieces
lay before his eyes. He stood still in sheer amazement, not knowing
which to rejoice over most--this unexpected find, or the proof of the
magic root's real power; but at last he remembered that it was quite
time to be starting on his journey. So, filling his pockets with the
gold, he carefully locked the empty cupboard again and left the house
without further delay. When Dame Ilse and her daughter returned they
wondered to find the house door shut, and Master Peter nowhere to be
seen. They knocked and called, but nothing stirred within but the house
cat, and at last the blacksmith had to be fetched to open the door. Then
the house was searched from garret to cellar, but no Master Peter was to
be found.

'Who knows?' cried Dame Ilse at last, 'the wretch may have been idling
in some tavern since early morning.'

Then a sudden thought startled her, and she felt for her keys. Suppose
they had fallen into her good-for-nothing husband's hands and he had
helped himself to her treasure! But no, the keys were safe in their
usual place, and the cupboard looked quite untouched. Mid-day came,
then evening, then midnight, and still no Master Peter appeared, and the
matter became really serious. Dame Ilse knew right well what a torment
she had been to her husband, and remorse caused her the gloomiest
forebodings.

'Ah! Lucia,' she cried, 'I greatly fear that your father has done
himself a mischief.' And they sat till morning weeping over their own
fancies.

As soon as it was light they searched every corner of the house again,
and examined every nail in the wall and every beam; but, luckily, Master
Peter was not hanging from any of them. After that the neighbours went
out with long poles to fish in every ditch and pond, but they found
nothing, and then Dame Ilse gave up the idea of ever seeing her husband
again and very soon consoled herself, only wondering how the sacks of
corn were to be carried to the mill in future. She decided to buy
a strong ass to do the work, and having chosen one, and after some
bargaining with the owner as to its price, she went to the cupboard
in the wall to fetch the money. But what were her feelings when she
perceived that every shelf lay empty and bare before her! For a moment
she stood bewildered, then broke into such frightful ravings that Lucia
ran to her in alarm; but as soon as she heard of the disappearance of
the money she was heartily glad, and no longer feared that her father
had come to any harm, but understood that he must have gone out into the
world to seek his fortune in some new way.

About a month after this, someone knocked at Dame Ilse's door one day,
and she went to see if it was a customer for meal; but in stepped
a handsome young man, dressed like a duke's son, who greeted her
respectfully, and asked after her pretty daughter as if he were an old
friend, though she could not remember having ever set eyes upon him
before.

However, she invited him to step into the house and be seated while he
unfolded his business. With a great air of mystery he begged permission
to speak to the fair Lucia, of whose skill in needlework he had heard so
much, as he had a commission to give her. Dame Ilse had her own opinion
as to what kind of commission it was likely to be--brought by a young
stranger to a pretty maiden; however, as the meeting would be under her
own eye, she made no objection, but called to her industrious daughter,
who left off working and came obediently; but when she saw the stranger
she stopped short, blushing, and casting down her eyes. He looked at her
fondly, and took her hand, which she tried to draw away, crying:

'Ah! Friedlin, why are you here? I thought you were a hundred miles
away. Are you come to grieve me again?'

'No, dearest girl,' answered he; 'I am come to complete your happiness
and my own. Since we last met my fortune has utterly changed; I am
no longer the poor vagabond that I was then. My rich uncle has died,
leaving me money and goods in plenty, so that I dare to present myself
to your mother as a suitor for your hand. That I love you I know well;
if you can love me I am indeed a happy man.'

Lucia's pretty blue eyes had looked up shyly as he spoke, and now a
smile parted her rosy lips; and she stole a glance at her mother to see
what she thought about it all; but the dame stood lost in amazement to
find that her daughter, whom she could have declared had never been out
of her sight, was already well acquainted with the handsome stranger,
and quite willing to be his bride. Before she had done staring, this
hasty wooer had smoothed his way by covering the shining table with gold
pieces as a wedding gift to the bride's mother, and had filled Lucia's
apron into the bargain; after which the dame made no difficulties, and
the matter was speedily settled.

While Ilse gathered up the gold and hid it away safely, the lovers
whispered together, and what Friedlin told her seemed to make Lucia
every moment more happy and contented.

Now a great hurry-burly began in the house, and preparations for the
wedding went on apace. A few days later a heavily laden waggon drove up,
and out of it came so many boxes and bales that Dame Ilse was lost in
wonder at the wealth of her future son-in-law. The day for the wedding
was chosen, and all their friends and neighbours were bidden to the
feast. As Lucia was trying on her bridal wreath she said to her mother:
'This wedding-garland would please me indeed if father Peter could lead
me to the church. If only he could come back again! Here we are rolling
in riches while he may be nibbling at hunger's table.' And the very idea
of such a thing made her weep, while even Dame Ilse said:

'I should not be sorry myself to see him come back--there is always
something lacking in a house when the good man is away.'

But the fact was that she was growing quite tired of having no one to
scold. And what do you think happened?

On the very eve of the wedding a man pushing a wheelbarrow arrived at
the city gate, and paid toll upon a barrel of nails which it contained,
and then made the best of his way to the bride's dwelling and knocked at
the door.

The bride herself peeped out of the window to see who it could be, and
there stood father Peter! Then there was great rejoicing in the house;
Lucia ran to embrace him, and even Dame Ilse held out her hand in
welcome, and only said: 'Rogue, mend your ways,' when she remembered the
empty treasure cupboard. Father Peter greeted the bridegroom, looking
at him shrewdly, while the mother and daughter hastened to say all
they knew in his favour, and appeared to be satisfied with him as a
son-in-law. When Dame Ilse had set something to eat before her husband,
she was curious to hear his adventures, and questioned him eagerly as to
why he had gone away.

'God bless my native place,' said he. 'I have been marching through the
country, and have tried every kind of work, but now I have found a job
in the iron trade; only, so far, I have put more into it than I have
earned by it. This barrel of nails is my whole fortune, which I wish to
give as my contribution towards the bride's house furnishing.'

This speech roused Dame Ilse to anger, and she broke out into such
shrill reproaches that the bystanders were fairly deafened, and Friedlin
hastily offered Master Peter a home with Lucia and himself, promising
that he should live in comfort, and be always welcome. So Lucia had her
heart's desire, and father Peter led her to the church next day, and
the marriage took place very happily. Soon afterwards the young people
settled in a fine house which Friedlin had bought, and had a garden and
meadows, a fishpond, and a hill covered with vines, and were as happy as
the day was long. Father Peter also stayed quietly with them, living, as
everybody believed, upon the generosity of his rich son-in law. No one
suspected that his barrel of nails was the real 'Horn of Plenty,' from
which all this prosperity overflowed.

Peter had made the journey to the treasure mountain successfully,
without being found out by anybody. He had enjoyed himself by the way,
and taken his own time, until he actually reached the little brook in
the valley which it had cost him some trouble to find. Then he pressed
on eagerly, and soon came to the little hollow in the wood; down he
went, burrowing like a mole into the earth; the magic root did its work,
and at last the treasure lay before his eyes. You may imagine how gaily
Peter filled his sack with as much gold as he could carry, and how
he staggered up the seventy-seven steps with a heart full of hope and
delight. He did not quite trust the gnome's promises of safety, and
was in such haste to find himself once more in the light of day that
he looked neither to the right nor the left, and could not afterwards
remember whether the walls and pillars had sparkled with jewels or not.

However, all went well--he neither saw nor heard anything alarming; the
only thing that happened was that the great iron-barred door shut with
a crash as soon as he was fairly outside it, and then he remembered
that he had left the magic root behind him, so he could not go back for
another load of treasure. But even that did not trouble Peter much; he
was quite satisfied with what he had already. After he had faithfully
done everything according to Father Martin's instructions, and pressed
the earth well back into the hollow, he sat down to consider how he
could bring his treasure back to his native place, and enjoy it there,
without being forced to share it with his scolding wife, who would
give him no peace if she once found out about it. At last, after
much thinking, he hit upon a plan. He carried his sack to the nearest
village, and there bought a wheelbarrow, a strong barrel, and a quantity
of nails. Then he packed his gold into the barrel, covered it well with
a layer of nails, hoisted it on to the wheelbarrow with some difficulty,
and set off with it upon his homeward way. At one place upon the road
he met a handsome young man who seemed by his downcast air to be in some
great trouble. Father Peter, who wished everybody to be as happy as he
was himself, greeted him cheerfully, and asked where he was going, to
which he answered sadly:

'Into the wide world, good father, or out of it, where ever my feet may
chance to carry me.'

'Why out of it?' said Peter. 'What has the world been doing to you?'

'It has done nothing to me, nor I to it,' he replied. 'Nevertheless
there is not anything left in it for me.'

Father Peter did his best to cheer the young man up, and invited him to
sup with him at the first inn they came to, thinking that perhaps hunger
and poverty were causing the stranger's trouble. But when good food was
set before him he seemed to forget to eat. So Peter perceived that what
ailed his guest was sorrow of heart, and asked him kindly to tell him
his story.

'Where is the good, father?' said he. 'You can give me neither help nor
comfort.'

'Who knows?' answered Master Peter. 'I might be able to do something
for you. Often enough in life help comes to us from the most unexpected
quarter.'

The young man, thus encouraged, began his tale.

'I am,' said he, 'a crossbow-man in the service of a noble count, in
whose castle I was brought up. Not long ago my master went on a journey,
and brought back with him, amongst other treasures, the portrait of a
fair maiden so sweet and lovely that I lost my heart at first sight of
it, and could think of nothing but how I might seek her out and marry
her. The count had told me her name, and where she lived, but laughed at
my love, and absolutely refused to give me leave to go in search of her,
so I was forced to run away from the castle by night. I soon reached the
little town where the maiden dwelt; but there fresh difficulties awaited
me. She lived under the care of her mother, who was so severe that she
was never allowed to look out of the window, or set her foot outside the
door alone, and how to make friends with her I did not know. But at last
I dressed myself as an old woman, and knocked boldly at her door. The
lovely maiden herself opened it, and so charmed me that I came near
forgetting my disguise; but I soon recovered my wits, and begged her
to work a fine table-cloth for me, for she is reported to be the best
needlewoman in all the country round. Now I was free to go and see her
often under the presence of seeing how the work was going oil, and one
day, when her mother had gone to the town, I ventured to throw off my
disguise, and tell her of my love. She was startled at first; but I
persuaded her to listen to me, and I soon saw that I was not displeasing
to her, though she scolded me gently for my disobedience to my master,
and my deceit in disguising myself. But when I begged her to marry me,
she told me sadly that her mother would scorn a penniless wooer, and
implored me to go away at once, lest trouble should fall upon her.

'Bitter as it was to me, I was forced to go when she bade me, and I have
wandered about ever since, with grief gnawing at my heart; for how can
a masterless man, without money or goods, ever hope to win the lovely
Lucia?'

Master Peter, who had been listening attentively, pricked up his ears
at the sound of his daughter's name, and very soon found out that it was
indeed with her that this young man was so deeply in love.

'Your story is strange indeed,' said he. 'But where is the father of
this maiden--why do you not ask him for her hand? He might well take
your part, and be glad to have you for his son-in-law.'

'Alas!' said the young man, 'her father is a wandering good-for-naught,
who has forsaken wife and child, and gone off--who knows where? The wife
complains of him bitterly enough, and scolds my dear maiden when she
takes her father's part.'

Father Peter was somewhat amused by this speech; but he liked the young
man well, and saw that he was the very person he needed to enable him
to enjoy his wealth in peace, without being separated from his dear
daughter.

'If you will take my advice,' said he, 'I promise you that you shall
marry this maiden whom you love so much, and that before you are many
days older.'

'Comrade,' cried Friedlin indignantly, for he thought Peter did but jest
with him, 'it is ill done to mock at an unhappy man; you had better find
someone else who will let himself be taken in with your fine promises.'
And up he sprang, and was going off hastily, when Master Peter caught
him by the arm.

'Stay, hothead!' he cried; 'it is no jest, and I am prepared to make
good my words.'

Thereupon he showed him the treasure hidden under the nails, and
unfolded to him his plan, which was that Friedlin should play the part
of the rich son-in-law, and keep a still tongue, that they might enjoy
their wealth together in peace.

The young man was overjoyed at this sudden change in his fortunes, and
did not know how to thank father Peter for his generosity. They took
the road again at dawn the next morning, and soon reached a town, where
Friedlin equipped himself as a gallant wooer should. Father Peter filled
his pockets with gold for the wedding dowry, and agreed with him that
when all was settled he should secretly send him word that Peter might
send off the waggon load of house plenishings with which the rich
bridegroom was to make such a stir in the little town where the bride
lived. As they parted, father Peter's last commands to Friedlin were to
guard well their secret, and not even to tell it to Lucia till she was
his wife.

Master Peter long enjoyed the profits of his journey to the mountain,
and no rumour of it ever got abroad. In his old age his prosperity was
so great that he himself did not know how rich he was; but it was always
supposed that the money was Friedlin's. He and his beloved wife lived in
the greatest happiness and peace, and rose to great honour in the town.
And to this day, when the citizens wish to describe a wealthy man, they
say: 'As rich as Peter Bloch's son-in-law!'




The Cottager And His Cat

Once upon a time there lived an old man and his wife in a dirty,
tumble-down cottage, not very far from the splendid palace where the
king and queen dwelt. In spite of the wretched state of the hut, which
many people declared was too bad even for a pig to live in, the old man
was very rich, for he was a great miser, and lucky besides, and would
often go without food all day sooner than change one of his beloved gold
pieces.

But after a while he found that he had starved himself once too often.
He fell ill, and had no strength to get well again, and in a few days he
died, leaving his wife and one son behind him.

The night following his death, the son dreamed that an unknown man
appeared to him and said: 'Listen to me; your father is dead and your
mother will soon die, and all their riches will belong to you. Half of
his wealth is ill-gotten, and this you must give back to the poor from
whom he squeezed it. The other half you must throw into the sea. Watch,
however, as the money sinks into the water, and if anything should swim,
catch it and keep it, even if it is nothing more than a bit of paper.'

Then the man vanished, and the youth awoke.

The remembrance of his dream troubled him greatly. He did not want to
part with the riches that his father had left him, for he had known all
his life what it was to be cold and hungry, and now he had hoped for a
little comfort and pleasure. Still, he was honest and good-hearted, and
if his father had come wrongfully by his wealth he felt he could never
enjoy it, and at last he made up his mind to do as he had been bidden.
He found out who were the people who were poorest in the village, and
spent half of his money in helping them, and the other half he put in
his pocket. From a rock that jutted right out into the sea he flung it
in. In a moment it was out of sight, and no man could have told the
spot where it had sunk, except for a tiny scrap of paper floating on
the water. He stretched down carefully and managed to reach it, and
on opening it found six shillings wrapped inside. This was now all the
money he had in the world.

The young man stood and looked at it thoughtfully. 'Well, I can't do
much with this,' he said to himself; but, after all, six shillings were
better than nothing, and he wrapped them up again and slipped them into
his coat.

He worked in his garden for the next few weeks, and he and his mother
contrived to live on the fruit and vegetables he got out of it, and then
she too died suddenly. The poor fellow felt very sad when he had laid
her in her grave, and with a heavy heart he wandered into the forest,
not knowing where he was going. By-and-by he began to get hungry, and
seeing a small hut in front of him, he knocked at the door and asked if
they could give him some milk. The old woman who opened it begged him
to come in, adding kindly, that if he wanted a night's lodging he might
have it without its costing him anything.

Two women and three men were at supper when he entered, and silently
made room for him to sit down by them. When he had eaten he began to
look about him, and was surprised to see an animal sitting by the fire
different from anything he had ever noticed before. It was grey in
colour, and not very big; but its eyes were large and very bright, and
it seemed to be singing in an odd way, quite unlike any animal in the
forest. 'What is the name of that strange little creature?' asked he.
And they answered, 'We call it a cat.'

'I should like to buy it--if it is not too dear,' said the young man;
'it would be company for me.' And they told him that he might have it
for six shillings, if he cared to give so much. The young man took out
his precious bit of paper, handed them the six shillings, and the next
morning bade them farewell, with the cat lying snugly in his cloak.

For the whole day they wandered through meadows and forests, till in the
evening they reached a house. The young fellow knocked at the door
and asked the old man who opened it if he could rest there that night,
adding that he had no money to pay for it. 'Then I must give it to you,'
answered the man, and led him into a room where two women and two men
were sitting at supper. One of the women was the old man's wife, the
other his daughter. He placed the cat on the mantel shelf, and they all
crowded round to examine this strange beast, and the cat rubbed itself
against them, and held out its paw, and sang to them; and the women were
delighted, and gave it everything that a cat could eat, and a great deal
more besides.

After hearing the youth's story, and how he had nothing in the world
left him except his cat, the old man advised him to go to the palace,
which was only a few miles distant, and take counsel of the king, who
was kind to everyone, and would certainly be his friend. The young man
thanked him, and said he would gladly take his advice; and early next
morning he set out for the royal palace.

He sent a message to the king to beg for an audience, and received a
reply that he was to go into the great hall, where he would find his
Majesty.

The king was at dinner with his court when the young man entered, and
he signed to him to come near. The youth bowed low, and then gazed in
surprise at the crowd of little black creatures who were running about
the floor, and even on the table itself. Indeed, they were so bold that
they snatched pieces of food from the King's own plate, and if he drove
them away, tried to bite his hands, so that he could not eat his food,
and his courtiers fared no better.

'What sort of animals are these?' asked the youth of one of the ladies
sitting near him.

'They are called rats,' answered the king, who had overheard the
question, 'and for years we have tried some way of putting an end to
them, but it is impossible. They come into our very beds.'

At this moment something was seen flying through the air. The cat was on
the table, and with two or three shakes a number of rats were lying
dead round him. Then a great scuffling of feet was heard, and in a few
minutes the hall was clear.

For some minutes the King and his courtiers only looked at each other in
astonishment. 'What kind of animal is that which can work magic of this
sort?' asked he. And the young man told him that it was called a cat,
and that he had bought it for six shillings.

And the King answered: 'Because of the luck you have brought me, in
freeing my palace from the plague which has tormented me for many years,
I will give you the choice of two things. Either you shall be my Prime
Minister, or else you shall marry my daughter and reign after me. Say,
which shall it be?'

'The princess and the kingdom,' said the young man.

And so it was.






The Prince Who Would Seek Immortality

Once upon a time, in the very middle of the middle of a large kingdom,
there was a town, and in the town a palace, and in the palace a king.
This king had one son whom his father thought was wiser and cleverer
than any son ever was before, and indeed his father had spared no pains
to make him so. He had been very careful in choosing his tutors and
governors when he was a boy, and when he became a youth he sent him to
travel, so that he might see the ways of other people, and find that
they were often as good as his own.

It was now a year since the prince had returned home, for his father
felt that it was time that his son should learn how to rule the kingdom
which would one day be his. But during his long absence the prince
seemed to have changed his character altogether. From being a merry and
light-hearted boy, he had grown into a gloomy and thoughtful man. The
king knew of nothing that could have produced such an alteration.
He vexed himself about it from morning till night, till at length an
explanation occurred to him--the young man was in love!

Now the prince never talked about his feelings--for the matter of that
he scarcely talked at all; and the father knew that if he was to come to
the bottom of the prince's dismal face, he would have to begin. So one
day, after dinner, he took his son by the arm and led him into another
room, hung entirely with the pictures of beautiful maidens, each one
more lovely than the other.

'My dear boy,' he said, 'you are very sad; perhaps after all your
wanderings it is dull for you here all alone with me. It would be much
better if you would marry, and I have collected here the portraits
of the most beautiful women in the world of a rank equal to your own.
Choose which among them you would like for a wife, and I will send an
embassy to her father to ask for her hand.'

'Alas! your Majesty,' answered the prince, 'it is not love or marriage
that makes me so gloomy; but the thought, which haunts me day and night,
that all men, even kings, must die. Never shall I be happy again till
I have found a kingdom where death is unknown. And I have determined to
give myself no rest till I have discovered the Land of Immortality.

The old king heard him with dismay; things were worse than he thought.
He tried to reason with his son, and told him that during all these
years he had been looking forward to his return, in order to resign his
throne and its cares, which pressed so heavily upon him. But it was
in vain that he talked; the prince would listen to nothing, and the
following morning buckled on his sword and set forth on his journey.

He had been travelling for many days, and had left his fatherland behind
him, when close to the road he came upon a huge tree, and on its topmost
bough an eagle was sitting shaking the branches with all his might. This
seemed so strange and so unlike an eagle, that the prince stood still
with surprise, and the bird saw him and flew to the ground. The moment
its feet touched the ground he changed into a king.

'Why do you look so astonished?' he asked.

'I was wondering why you shook the boughs so fiercely,' answered the
prince.

'I am condemned to do this, for neither I nor any of my kindred can die
till I have rooted up this great tree,' replied the king of the eagles.
'But it is now evening, and I need work no more to-day. Come to my house
with me, and be my guest for the night.'

The prince accepted gratefully the eagle's invitation, for he was tired
and hungry. They were received at the palace by the king's beautiful
daughter, who gave orders that dinner should be laid for them at
once. While they were eating, the eagle questioned his guest about
his travels, and if he was wandering for pleasure's sake, or with any
special aim. Then the prince told him everything, and how he could never
turn back till he had discovered the Land of Immortality.

'Dear brother,' said the eagle, 'you have discovered it already, and it
rejoices my heart to think that you will stay with us. Have you not just
heard me say that death has no power either over myself or any of my
kindred till that great tree is rooted up? It will take me six hundred
years' hard work to do that; so marry my daughter and let us all live
happily together here. After all, six hundred years is an eternity!'

'Ah, dear king,' replied the young man, 'your offer is very tempting!
But at the end of six hundred years we should have to die, so we should
be no better off! No, I must go on till I find the country where there
is no death at all.'

Then the princess spoke, and tried to persuade the guest to change his
mind, but he sorrowfully shook his head. At length, seeing that his
resolution was firmly fixed, she took from a cabinet a little box which
contained her picture, and gave it to him saying:

'As you will not stay with us, prince, accept this box, which will
sometimes recall us to your memory. If you are tired of travelling
before you come to the Land of Immortality, open this box and look at
my picture, and you will be borne along either on earth or in the air,
quick as thought, or swift as the whirlwind.'

The prince thanked her for her gift, which he placed in his tunic, and
sorrowfully bade the eagle and his daughter farewell.

Never was any present in the world as useful as that little box, and
many times did he bless the kind thought of the princess. One evening it
had carried him to the top of a high mountain, where he saw a man with a
bald head, busily engaged in digging up spadefuls of earth and throwing
them in a basket. When the basket was full he took it away and returned
with an empty one, which he likewise filled. The prince stood and
watched him for a little, till the bald-headed man looked up and said to
him: 'Dear brother, what surprises you so much?'

'I was wondering why you were filling the basket,' replied the prince.

'Oh!' replied the man, 'I am condemned to do this, for neither I nor any
of my family can die till I have dug away the whole of this mountain and
made it level with the plain. But, come, it is almost dark, and I shall
work no longer.' And he plucked a leaf from a tree close by, and from a
rough digger he was changed into a stately bald-headed king. 'Come home
with me,' he added; 'you must be tired and hungry, and my daughter will
have supper ready for us.' The prince accepted gladly, and they went
back to the palace, where the bald-headed king's daughter, who was still
more beautiful than the other princess, welcomed them at the door and
led the way into a large hall and to a table covered with silver dishes.
While they were eating, the bald-headed king asked the prince how he had
happened to wander so far, and the young man told him all about it, and
how he was seeking the Land of Immortality. 'You have found it already,'
answered the king, 'for, as I said, neither I nor my family can die
till I have levelled this great mountain; and that will take full eight
hundred years longer. Stay here with us and marry my daughter. Eight
hundred years is surely long enough to live.'

'Oh, certainly,' answered the prince; 'but, all the same, I would rather
go and seek the land where there is no death at all.'

So next morning he bade them farewell, though the princess begged him to
stay with all her might; and when she found that she could not persuade
him she gave him as a remembrance a gold ring. This ring was still more
useful than the box, because when one wished oneself at any place one
was there directly, without even the trouble of flying to it through the
air. The prince put it on his finger, and thanking her heartily, went
his way.

He walked on for some distance, and then he recollected the ring and
thought he would try if the princess had spoken truly as to its powers.
'I wish I was at the end of the world,' he said, shutting his eyes, and
when he opened them he was standing in a street full of marble palaces.
The men who passed him were tall and strong, and their clothes were
magnificent. He stopped some of them and asked in all the twenty-seven
languages he knew what was the name of the city, but no one answered
him. Then his heart sank within him; what should he do in this strange
place if nobody could understand anything? he said. Suddenly his eyes
fell upon a man dressed after the fashion of his native country, and he
ran up to him and spoke to him in his own tongue. 'What city is this, my
friend?' he inquired.

'It is the capital city of the Blue Kingdom,' replied the man, 'but the
king himself is dead, and his daughter is now the ruler.'

With this news the prince was satisfied, and begged his countryman to
show him the way to the young queen's palace. The man led him through
several streets into a large square, one side of which was occupied by a
splendid building that seemed borne up on slender pillars of soft green
marble. In front was a flight of steps, and on these the queen was
sitting wrapped in a veil of shining silver mist, listening to the
complaints of her people and dealing out justice. When the prince
came up she saw directly that he was no ordinary man, and telling her
chamberlain to dismiss the rest of her petitioners for that day, she
signed to the prince to follow her into the palace. Luckily she had been
taught his language as a child, so they had no difficulty in talking
together.

The prince told all his story and how he was journeying in search of
the Land of Immortality. When he had finished, the princess, who had
listened attentively, rose, and taking his arm, led him to the door of
another room, the floor of which was made entirely of needles, stuck so
close together that there was not room for a single needle more.

'Prince,' she said, turning to him, 'you see these needles? Well, know
that neither I nor any of my family can die till I have worn out these
needles in sewing. It will take at least a thousand years for that. Stay
here, and share my throne; a thousand years is long enough to live!'

'Certainly,' answered he; 'still, at the end of the thousand years I
should have to die! No, I must find the land where there is no death.'

The queen did all she could to persuade him to stay, but as her words
proved useless, at length she gave it up. Then she said to him: 'As you
will not stay, take this little golden rod as a remembrance of me. It
has the power to become anything you wish it to be, when you are in
need.'

So the prince thanked her, and putting the rod in his pocket, went his
way.

Scarcely had he left the town behind him when he came to a broad river
which no man might pass, for he was standing at the end of the world,
and this was the river which flowed round it. Not knowing what to do
next, he walked a little distance up the bank, and there, over his head,
a beautiful city was floating in the air. He longed to get to it, but
how? neither road nor bridge was anywhere to be seen, yet the city drew
him upwards, and he felt that here at last was the country which he
sought. Suddenly he remembered the golden rod which the mist-veiled
queen had given him. With a beating heart he flung it to the ground,
wishing with all his might that it should turn into a bridge, and
fearing that, after all, this might prove beyond its power. But no,
instead of the rod, there stood a golden ladder, leading straight up to
the city of the air. He was about to enter the golden gates, when there
sprang at him a wondrous beast, whose like he had never seen. 'Out sword
from the sheath,' cried the prince, springing back with a cry. And the
sword leapt from the scabbard and cut off some of the monster's heads,
but others grew again directly, so that the prince, pale with terror,
stood where he was, calling for help, and put his sword back in the
sheath again.

The queen of the city heard the noise and looked from her window to see
what was happening. Summoning one of her servants, she bade him go and
rescue the stranger, and bring him to her. The prince thankfully obeyed
her orders, and entered her presence.

The moment she looked at him, the queen also felt that he was no
ordinary man, and she welcomed him graciously, and asked him what had
brought him to the city. In answer the prince told all his story, and
how he had travelled long and far in search of the Land of Immortality.

'You have found it,' said she, 'for I am queen over life and over death.
Here you can dwell among the immortals.'

A thousand years had passed since the prince first entered the city,
but they had flown so fast that the time seemed no more than six months.
There had not been one instant of the thousand years that the prince was
not happy till one night when he dreamed of his father and mother. Then
the longing for his home came upon him with a rush, and in the morning
he told the Queen of the Immortals that he must go and see his father
and mother once more. The queen stared at him with amazement, and cried:
'Why, prince, are you out of your senses? It is more than eight hundred
years since your father and mother died! There will not even be their
dust remaining.'

'I must go all the same,' said he.

'Well, do not be in a hurry,' continued the queen, understanding that
he would not be prevented. 'Wait till I make some preparations for your
journey.' So she unlocked her great treasure chest, and took out two
beautiful flasks, one of gold and one of silver, which she hung round
his neck. Then she showed him a little trap-door in one corner of the
room, and said: 'Fill the silver flask with this water, which is below
the trap-door. It is enchanted, and whoever you sprinkle with the water
will become a dead man at once, even if he had lived a thousand years.
The golden flask you must fill with the water here,' she added, pointing
to a well in another corner. 'It springs from the rock of eternity; you
have only to sprinkle a few drops on a body and it will come to life
again, if it had been a thousand years dead.'

The prince thanked the queen for her gifts, and, bidding her farewell,
went on his journey.

He soon arrived in the town where the mist-veiled queen reigned in her
palace, but the whole city had changed, and he could scarcely find his
way through the streets. In the palace itself all was still, and he
wandered through the rooms without meeting anyone to stop him. At
last he entered the queen's own chamber, and there she lay, with her
embroidery still in her hands, fast asleep. He pulled at her dress, but
she did not waken. Then a dreadful idea came over him, and he ran to
the chamber where the needles had been kept, but it was quite empty. The
queen had broken the last over the work she held in her hand, and with
it the spell was broken too, and she lay dead.

Quick as thought the prince pulled out the golden flask, and sprinkled
some drops of the water over the queen. In a moment she moved gently,
and raising her head, opened her eyes.

'Oh, my dear friend, I am so glad you wakened me; I must have slept a
long while!'

'You would have slept till eternity,' answered the prince, 'if I had not
been here to waken you.'

At these words the queen remembered about the needles. She knew now that
she had been dead, and that the prince had restored her to life. She
gave him thanks from her heart for what he had done, and vowed she would
repay him if she ever got a chance.

The prince took his leave, and set out for the country of the
bald-headed king. As he drew near the place he saw that the whole
mountain had been dug away, and that the king was lying dead on the
ground, his spade and bucket beside him. But as soon as the water from
the golden flask touched him he yawned and stretched himself, and slowly
rose to his feet. 'Oh, my dear friend, I am so glad to see you,' cried
he, 'I must have slept a long while!'

'You would have slept till eternity if I had not been here to waken
you,' answered the prince. And the king remembered the mountain, and the
spell, and vowed to repay the service if he ever had a chance.

Further along the road which led to his old home the prince found the
great tree torn up by its roots, and the king of the eagles sitting dead
on the ground, with his wings outspread as if for flight. A flutter ran
through the feathers as the drops of water fell on them, and the eagle
lifted his beak from the ground and said: 'Oh, how long I must have
slept! How can I thank you for having awakened me, my dear, good
friend!'

'You would have slept till eternity if I had not been here to waken
you'; answered the prince. Then the king remembered about the tree, and
knew that he had been dead, and promised, if ever he had the chance, to
repay what the prince had done for him.

At last he reached the capital of his father's kingdom, but on reaching
the place where the royal palace had stood, instead of the marble
galleries where he used to play, there lay a great sulphur lake, its
blue flames darting into the air. How was he to find his father and
mother, and bring them back to life, if they were lying at the bottom
of that horrible water? He turned away sadly and wandered back into
the streets, hardly knowing where he was going; when a voice behind him
cried: 'Stop, prince, I have caught you at last! It is a thousand years
since I first began to seek you.' And there beside him stood the old,
white-bearded, figure of Death. Swiftly he drew the ring from his
finger, and the king of the eagles, the bald-headed king, and the
mist-veiled queen, hastened to his rescue. In an instant they had seized
upon Death and held him tight, till the prince should have time to reach
the Land of Immortality. But they did not know how quickly Death could
fly, and the prince had only one foot across the border, when he felt
the other grasped from behind, and the voice of Death calling: 'Halt!
now you are mine.'

The Queen of the Immortals was watching from her window, and cried to
Death that he had no power in her kingdom, and that he must seek his
prey elsewhere.

'Quite true,' answered Death; 'but his foot is in my kingdom, and that
belongs to me!'

'At any rate half of him is mine,' replied the Queen, 'and what good can
the other half do you? Half a man is no use, either to you or to me! But
this once I will allow you to cross into my kingdom, and we will decide
by a wager whose he is.'

And so it was settled. Death stepped across the narrow line that
surrounds the Land of Immortality, and the queen proposed the wager
which was to decide the prince's fate. 'I will throw him up into the
sky,' she said, 'right to the back of the morning star, and if he falls
down into this city, then he is mine. But if he should fall outside the
walls, he shall belong to you.'

In the middle of the city was a great open square, and here the queen
wished the wager to take place. When all was ready, she put her foot
under the foot of the prince and swung him into the air. Up, up, he
went, high amongst the stars, and no man's eyes could follow him. Had
she thrown him up straight? the queen wondered anxiously, for, if not,
he would fall outside the walls, and she would lose him for ever. The
moments seemed long while she and Death stood gazing up into the air,
waiting to know whose prize the prince would be. Suddenly they both
caught sight of a tiny speck no bigger than a wasp, right up in the
blue. Was he coming straight? No! Yes! But as he was nearing the city,
a light wind sprang up, and swayed him in the direction of the wall.
Another second and he would have fallen half over it, when the queen
sprang forward, seized him in her arms, and flung him into the castle.
Then she commanded her servants to cast Death out of the city, which
they did, with such hard blows that he never dared to show his face
again in the Land of Immortality.







The Stone-Cutter

Once upon a time there lived a stone-cutter, who went every day to
a great rock in the side of a big mountain and cut out slabs for
gravestones or for houses. He understood very well the kinds of stones
wanted for the different purposes, and as he was a careful workman
he had plenty of customers. For a long time he was quite happy and
contented, and asked for nothing better than what he had.

Now in the mountain dwelt a spirit which now and then appeared to
men, and helped them in many ways to become rich and prosperous. The
stone-cutter, however, had never seen this spirit, and only shook his
head, with an unbelieving air, when anyone spoke of it. But a time was
coming when he learned to change his opinion.

One day the stone-cutter carried a gravestone to the house of a rich
man, and saw there all sorts of beautiful things, of which he had never
even dreamed. Suddenly his daily work seemed to grow harder and heavier,
and he said to himself: 'Oh, if only I were a rich man, and could sleep
in a bed with silken curtains and golden tassels, how happy I should
be!'

And a voice answered him: 'Your wish is heard; a rich man you shall be!'

At the sound of the voice the stone-cutter looked round, but could see
nobody. He thought it was all his fancy, and picked up his tools and
went home, for he did not feel inclined to do any more work that day.
But when he reached the little house where he lived, he stood still with
amazement, for instead of his wooden hut was a stately palace filled
with splendid furniture, and most splendid of all was the bed, in every
respect like the one he had envied. He was nearly beside himself with
joy, and in his new life the old one was soon forgotten.

It was now the beginning of summer, and each day the sun blazed more
fiercely. One morning the heat was so great that the stone-cutter could
scarcely breathe, and he determined he would stay at home till the
evening. He was rather dull, for he had never learned how to amuse
himself, and was peeping through the closed blinds to see what was going
on in the street, when a little carriage passed by, drawn by servants
dressed in blue and silver. In the carriage sat a prince, and over his
head a golden umbrella was held, to protect him from the sun's rays.

'Oh, if I were only a prince!' said the stone-cutter to himself, as the
carriage vanished round the corner. 'Oh, if I were only a prince, and
could go in such a carriage and have a golden umbrella held over me, how
happy I should be!'

And the voice of the mountain spirit answered: 'Your wish is heard; a
prince you shall be.'

And a prince he was. Before his carriage rode one company of men and
another behind it; servants dressed in scarlet and gold bore him along,
the coveted umbrella was held over his head, everything heart could
desire was his. But yet it was not enough. He looked round still for
something to wish for, and when he saw that in spite of the water he
poured on his grass the rays of the sun scorched it, and that in spite
of the umbrella held over his head each day his face grew browner and
browner, he cried in his anger: 'The sun is mightier than I; oh, if I
were only the sun!'

And the mountain spirit answered: 'Your wish is heard; the sun you shall
be.'

And the sun he was, and felt himself proud in his power. He shot his
beams above and below, on earth and in heaven; he burnt up the grass in
the fields and scorched the faces of princes as well as of poorer folk.
But in a short time he began to grow tired of his might, for there
seemed nothing left for him to do. Discontent once more filled his soul,
and when a cloud covered his face, and hid the earth from him, he cried
in his anger: 'Does the cloud hold captive my rays, and is it mightier
than I? Oh, that I were a cloud, and mightier than any!'

And the mountain spirit answered: 'Your wish is heard; a cloud you shall
be!'

And a cloud he was, and lay between the sun and the earth. He caught the
sun's beams and held them, and to his joy the earth grew green again
and flowers blossomed. But that was not enough for him, and for days and
weeks he poured forth rain till the rivers overflowed their banks, and
the crops of rice stood in water. Towns and villages were destroyed by
the power of the rain, only the great rock on the mountain side remained
unmoved. The cloud was amazed at the sight, and cried in wonder: 'Is the
rock, then, mightier than I? Oh, if I were only the rock!'

And the mountain spirit answered: 'Your wish is heard; the rock you
shall be!

And the rock he was, and gloried in his power. Proudly he stood, and
neither the heat of the sun nor the force of the rain could move him.
'This is better than all!' he said to himself. But one day he heard a
strange noise at his feet, and when he looked down to see what it could
be, he saw a stone-cutter driving tools into his surface. Even while he
looked a trembling feeling ran all through him, and a great block broke
off and fell upon the ground. Then he cried in his wrath: 'Is a mere
child of earth mightier than a rock? Oh, if I were only a man!'

And the mountain spirit answered: 'Your wish is heard. A man once more
you shall be!'

And a man he was, and in the sweat of his brow he toiled again at his
trade of stone-cutting. His bed was hard and his food scanty, but he
had learned to be satisfied with it, and did not long to be something
or somebody else. And as he never asked for things he had not got, or
desired to be greater and mightier than other people, he was happy at
last, and heard the voice of the mountain spirit no longer.






The Gold-Bearded Man

Once upon a time there lived a great king who had a wife and one son
whom he loved very much. The boy was still young when, one day, the king
said to his wife: 'I feel that the hour of my death draws near, and I
want you to promise that you will never take another husband but will
give up your life to the care of our son.'

The queen burst into tears at these words, and sobbed out that she would
never, never marry again, and that her son's welfare should be her first
thought as long as she lived. Her promise comforted the troubled heart
of the king, and a few days after he died, at peace with himself and
with the world.

But no sooner was the breath out of his body, than the queen said to
herself, 'To promise is one thing, and to keep is quite another.' And
hardly was the last spadeful of earth flung over the coffin than she
married a noble from a neighbouring country, and got him made king
instead of the young prince. Her new husband was a cruel, wicked man,
who treated his stepson very badly, and gave him scarcely anything to
eat, and only rags to wear; and he would certainly have killed the boy
but for fear of the people.

Now by the palace grounds there ran a brook, but instead of being a
water-brook it was a milk-brook, and both rich and poor flocked to it
daily and drew as much milk as they chose. The first thing the new king
did when he was seated on the throne, was to forbid anyone to go near
the brook, on pain of being seized by the watchmen. And this was purely
spite, for there was plenty of milk for everybody.

For some days no one dared venture near the banks of the stream, but at
length some of the watchmen noticed that early in the mornings, just at
dawn, a man with a gold beard came down to the brook with a pail, which
he filled up to the brim with milk, and then vanished like smoke before
they could get near enough to see who he was. So they went and told the
king what they had seen.

At first the king would not believe their story, but as they persisted
it was quite true, he said that he would go and watch the stream that
night himself. With the earliest streaks of dawn the gold-bearded man
appeared, and filled his pail as before. Then in an instant he had
vanished, as if the earth had swallowed him up.

The king stood staring with eyes and mouth open at the place where the
man had disappeared. He had never seen him before, that was certain; but
what mattered much more was how to catch him, and what should be done
with him when he was caught? He would have a cage built as a prison for
him, and everyone would talk of it, for in other countries thieves were
put in prison, and it was long indeed since any king had used a cage. It
was all very well to plan, and even to station a watchman behind every
bush, but it was of no use, for the man was never caught. They would
creep up to him softly on the grass, as he was stooping to fill his
pail, and just as they stretched out their hands to seize him, he
vanished before their eyes. Time after time this happened, till the king
grew mad with rage, and offered a large reward to anyone who could tell
him how to capture his enemy.

The first person that came with a scheme was an old soldier who promised
the king that if he would only put some bread and bacon and a flask of
wine on the bank of the stream, the gold-bearded man would be sure to
eat and drink, and they could shake some powder into the wine, which
would send him to sleep at once. After that there was nothing to do but
to shut him in the cage.

This idea pleased the king, and he ordered bread and bacon and a flask
of drugged wine to be placed on the bank of the stream, and the watchers
to be redoubled. Then, full of hope, he awaited the result.

Everything turned out just as the soldier had said. Early next morning
the gold-bearded man came down to the brook, ate, drank, and fell sound
asleep, so that the watchers easily bound him, and carried him off to
the palace. In a moment the king had him fast in the golden cage, and
showed him, with ferocious joy, to the strangers who were visiting his
court. The poor captive, when he awoke from his drunken sleep, tried
to talk to them, but no one would listen to him, so he shut himself up
altogether, and the people who came to stare took him for a dumb man of
the woods. He wept and moaned to himself all day, and would hardly touch
food, though, in dread that he should die and escape his tormentors, the
king ordered his head cook to send him dishes from the royal table.

The gold-bearded man had been in captivity about a month, when the king
was forced to make war upon a neighbouring country, and left the palace,
to take command of his army. But before he went he called his stepson to
him and said:

'Listen, boy, to what I tell you. While I am away I trust the care of my
prisoner to you. See that he has plenty to eat and drink, but be careful
that he does not escape, or even walk about the room. If I return and
find him gone, you will pay for it by a terrible death.'

The young prince was thankful that his stepfather was going to the war,
and secretly hoped he might never come back. Directly he had ridden
off the boy went to the room where the cage was kept, and never left it
night and day. He even played his games beside it.

One day he was shooting at a mark with a silver bow; one of his arrows
fell into the golden cage.

'Please give me my arrow,' said the prince, running up to him; but the
gold-bearded man answered:

'No, I shall not give it to you unless you let me out of my cage.'

'I may not let you out,' replied the boy, 'for if I do my stepfather
says that I shall have to die a horrible death when he returns from the
war. My arrow can be of no use to you, so give it to me.'

The man handed the arrow through the bars, but when he had done so he
begged harder than ever that the prince would open the door and set
him free. Indeed, he prayed so earnestly that the prince's heart was
touched, for he was a tender-hearted boy who pitied the sorrows of other
people. So he shot back the bolt, and the gold-bearded man stepped out
into the world.

'I will repay you a thousand fold for that good deed.' said the man, and
then he vanished. The prince began to think what he should say to the
king when he came back; then he wondered whether it would be wise to
wait for his stepfather's return and run the risk of the dreadful death
which had been promised him. 'No,' he said to himself, 'I am afraid to
stay. Perhaps the world will be kinder to me than he has been.'

Unseen he stole out when twilight fell, and for many days he wandered
over mountains and through forests and valleys without knowing where he
was going or what he should do. He had only the berries for food, when,
one morning, he saw a wood-pigeon sitting on a bough. In an instant he
had fitted an arrow to his bow, and was taking aim at the bird, thinking
what a good meal he would make off him, when his weapon fell to the
ground at the sound of the pigeon's voice:

'Do not shoot, I implore you, noble prince! I have two little sons at
home, and they will die of hunger if I am not there to bring them food.'

And the young prince had pity, and unstrung his bow.

'Oh, prince, I will repay your deed of mercy, said the grateful
wood-pigeon.

'Poor thing! how can you repay me?' asked the prince.

'You have forgotten,' answered the wood-pigeon, 'the proverb that runs,
"mountain and mountain can never meet, but one living creature can
always come across another."' The boy laughed at this speech and went
his way.

By-and-by he reached the edge of a lake, and flying towards some rushes
which grew near the shore he beheld a wild duck. Now, in the days that
the king, his father, was alive, and he had everything to eat he could
possibly wish for, the prince always had wild duck for his birthday
dinner, so he quickly fitted an arrow to his bow and took a careful aim.

'Do not shoot, I pray you, noble prince!' cried the wild duck; 'I have
two little sons at home; they will die of hunger if I am not there to
bring them food.'

And the prince had pity, and let fall his arrow and unstrung his bow.

'Oh, prince! I will repay your deed of mercy,' exclaimed the grateful
wild duck.

'You poor thing! how can you repay me?' asked the prince.

'You have forgotten,' answered the wild duck, 'the proverb that runs,
"mountain and mountain can never meet, but one living creature can
always come across another."' The boy laughed at this speech and went
his way.

He had not wandered far from the shores of the lake, when he noticed a
stork standing on one leg, and again he raised his bow and prepared to
take aim.

'Do not shoot, I pray you, noble prince,' cried the stork; 'I have two
little sons at home; they will die of hunger if I am not there to bring
them food.'

Again the prince was filled with pity, and this time also he did not
shoot.

'Oh, prince, I will repay your deed of mercy,' cried the stork.

'You poor stork! how can you repay me?' asked the prince.

'You have forgotten,' answered the stork, 'the proverb that runs,
"mountain and mountain can never meet, but one living creature can
always come across another."'

The boy laughed at hearing these words again, and walked slowly on. He
had not gone far, when he fell in with two discharged soldiers.

'Where are you going, little brother?' asked one.

'I am seeking work,' answered the prince.

'So are we,' replied the soldier. 'We can all go together.'

The boy was glad of company and they went on, and on, and on, through
seven kingdoms, without finding anything they were able to do. At length
they reached a palace, and there was the king standing on the steps.

'You seem to be looking for something,' said he.

'It is work we want,' they all answered.

So the king told the soldiers that they might become his coachmen; but
he made the boy his companion, and gave him rooms near his own. The
soldiers were dreadfully angry when they heard this, for of course they
did not know that the boy was really a prince; and they soon began to
lay their heads together to plot his ruin.

Then they went to the king.

'Your Majesty,' they said, 'we think it our duty to tell you that your
new companion has boasted to us that if he were only your steward he
would not lose a single grain of corn out of the storehouses. Now, if
your Majesty would give orders that a sack of wheat should be mixed with
one of barley, and would send for the youth, and command him to separate
the grains one from another, in two hours' time, you would soon see what
his talk was worth.'

The king, who was weak, listened to what these wicked men had told him,
and desired the prince to have the contents of the sack piled into two
heaps by the time that he returned from his council. 'If you succeed,'
he added, 'you shall be my steward, but if you fail, I will put you to
death on the spot.'

The unfortunate prince declared that he had never made any such boast as
was reported; but it was all in vain. The king did not believe him, and
turning him into an empty room, bade his servants carry in the huge sack
filled with wheat and barley, and scatter them in a heap on the floor.

The prince hardly knew where to begin, and indeed if he had had a
thousand people to help him, and a week to do it in, he could never have
finished his task. So he flung himself on the ground in despair, and
covered his face with his hands.

While he lay thus, a wood-pigeon flew in through the window.

'Why are you weeping, noble prince?' asked the wood-pigeon.

'How can I help weeping at the task set me by the king. For he says, if
I fail to do it, I shall die a horrible death.'

'Oh, there is really nothing to cry about,' answered the wood-pigeon
soothingly. 'I am the king of the wood-pigeons, whose life you spared
when you were hungry. And now I will repay my debt, as I promised.' So
saying he flew out of the window, leaving the prince with some hope in
his heart.

In a few minutes he returned, followed by a cloud of wood-pigeons, so
dense that it seemed to fill the room. Their king showed them what they
had to do, and they set to work so hard that the grain was sorted into
two heaps long before the council was over. When the king came back
he could not believe his eyes; but search as he might through the
two heaps, he could not find any barley among the wheat, or any wheat
amongst the barley. So he praised the prince for his industry and
cleverness, and made him his steward at once.

This made the two soldiers more envious still, and they began to hatch
another plot.

'Your Majesty,' they said to the king, one day, as he was standing on
the steps of the palace, 'that fellow has been boasting again, that if
he had the care of your treasures not so much as a gold pin should ever
be lost. Put this vain fellow to the proof, we pray you, and throw the
ring from the princess's finger into the brook, and bid him find it. We
shall soon see what his talk is worth.'

And the foolish king listened to them, and ordered the prince to be
brought before him.

'My son,' he said, 'I have heard that you have declared that if I made
you keeper of my treasures you would never lose so much as a gold pin.
Now, in order to prove the truth of your words, I am going to throw the
ring from the princess's finger into the brook, and if you do not find
it before I come back from council, you will have to die a horrible
death.'

It was no use denying that he had said anything of the kind. The king
did not believe him; in fact he paid no attention at all, and hurried
off, leaving the poor boy speechless with despair in the corner.
However, he soon remembered that though it was very unlikely that he
should find the ring in the brook, it was impossible that he should find
it by staying in the palace.

For some time the prince wandered up and down peering into the bottom of
the stream, but though the water was very clear, nothing could he see of
the ring. At length he gave it up in despair, and throwing himself down
at the foot of the tree, he wept bitterly.

'What is the matter, dear prince?' said a voice just above him, and
raising his head, he saw the wild duck.

'The king of this country declares I must die a horrible death if I
cannot find the princess's ring which he has thrown into the brook,'
answered the prince.

'Oh, you must not vex yourself about that, for I can help you,' replied
the bird. 'I am the king of the wild ducks, whose life you spared,
and now it is my turn to save yours.' Then he flew away, and in a few
minutes a great flock of wild ducks were swimming all up and down the
stream looking with all their might, and long before the king came back
from his council there it was, safe on the grass beside the prince.

At this sight the king was yet more astonished at the cleverness of his
steward, and at once promoted him to be the keeper of his jewels.

Now you would have thought that by this time the king would have been
satisfied with the prince, and would have left him alone; but people's
natures are very hard to change, and when the two envious soldiers
came to him with a new falsehood, he was as ready to listen to them as
before.

'Gracious Majesty,' said they, 'the youth whom you have made keeper of
your jewels has declared to us that a child shall be born in the palace
this night, which will be able to speak every language in the world and
to play every instrument of music. Is he then become a prophet, or a
magician, that he should know things which have not yet come to pass?'

At these words the king became more angry than ever. He had tried to
learn magic himself, but somehow or other his spells would never work,
and he was furious to hear that the prince claimed a power that he did
not possess. Stammering with rage, he ordered the youth to be brought
before him, and vowed that unless this miracle was accomplished he would
have the prince dragged at a horse's tail until he was dead.

In spite of what the soldiers had said, the boy knew no more magic than
the king did, and his task seemed more hopeless than before. He lay
weeping in the chamber which he was forbidden to leave, when suddenly he
heard a sharp tapping at the window, and, looking up, he beheld a stork.

'What makes you so sad, prince?' asked he.

'Someone has told the king that I have prophesied that a child shall be
born this night in the palace, who can speak all the languages in the
world and play every musical instrument. I am no magician to bring these
things to pass, but he says that if it does not happen he will have me
dragged through the city at a horse's tail till I die.'

'Do not trouble yourself,' answered the stork. 'I will manage to find
such a child, for I am the king of the storks whose life you spared, and
now I can repay you for it.'

The stork flew away and soon returned carrying in his beak a baby
wrapped in swaddling clothes, and laid it down near a lute. In an
instant the baby stretched out its little hands and began to play a tune
so beautiful that even the prince forgot his sorrows as he listened.
Then he was given a flute and a zither, but he was just as well able
to draw music from them; and the prince, whose courage was gradually
rising, spoke to him in all the languages he knew. The baby answered him
in all, and no one could have told which was his native tongue!

The next morning the king went straight to the prince's room, and saw
with his own eyes the wonders that baby could do. 'If your magic can
produce such a baby,' he said, 'you must be greater than any wizard that
ever lived, and shall have my daughter in marriage.' And, being a king,
and therefore accustomed to have everything the moment he wanted it,
he commanded the ceremony to be performed without delay, and a splendid
feast to be made for the bride and bridegroom. When it was over, he said
to the prince:

'Now that you are really my son, tell me by what arts you were able to
fulfil the tasks I set you?'

'My noble father-in-law,' answered the prince, 'I am ignorant of all
spells and arts. But somehow I have always managed to escape the death
which has threatened me.' And he told the king how he had been forced to
run away from his stepfather, and how he had spared the three birds, and
had joined the two soldiers, who had from envy done their utmost to ruin
him.

The king was rejoiced in his heart that his daughter had married a
prince, and not a common man, and he chased the two soldiers away with
whips, and told them that if they ever dared to show their faces across
the borders of his kingdom, they should die the same death he had
prepared for the prince.






Tritill, Litill, And The Birds

Once upon a time there lived a princess who was so beautiful and so good
that everybody loved her. Her father could hardly bear her out of his
sight, and he almost died of grief when, one day, she disappeared, and
though the whole kingdom was searched through and through, she could
not be found in any corner of it. In despair, the king ordered a
proclamation to be made that whoever could bring her back to the palace
should have her for his wife. This made the young men start afresh on
the search, but they were no more successful than before, and returned
sorrowfully to their homes.

Now there dwelt, not far from the palace, an old man who had three sons.
The two eldest were allowed by their parents to do just as they liked,
but the youngest was always obliged to give way to his brothers. When
they were all grown up, the eldest told his father that he was tired
of leading such a quiet life, and that he meant to go away and see the
world.

The old people were very unhappy at the thought that they must part with
him, but they said nothing, and began to collect all that he would
want for his travels, and were careful to add a pair of new boots. When
everything was ready, he bade them farewell, and started merrily on his
way.

For some miles his road lay through a wood, and when he left it he
suddenly came out on a bare hillside. Here he sat down to rest, and
pulling out his wallet prepared to eat his dinner.

He had only eaten a few mouthfuls when an old man badly dressed passed
by, and seeing the food, asked if the young man could not spare him a
little.

'Not I, indeed!' answered he; 'why I have scarcely enough for myself. If
you want food you must earn it.' And the beggar went on.

After the young man had finished his dinner he rose and walked on for
several hours, till he reached a second hill, where he threw himself
down on the grass, and took some bread and milk from his wallet. While
he was eating and drinking, there came by an old man, yet more wretched
than the first, and begged for a few mouthfuls. But instead of food he
only got hard words, and limped sadly away.

Towards evening the young man reached an open space in the wood, and by
this time he thought he would like some supper. The birds saw the food,
and flew round his head in numbers hoping for some crumbs, but he threw
stones at them, and frightened them off. Then he began to wonder where
he should sleep. Not in the open space he was in, for that was bare and
cold, and though he had walked a long way that day, and was tired, he
dragged himself up, and went on seeking for a shelter.

At length he saw a deep sort of hole or cave under a great rock, and
as it seemed quite empty, he went in, and lay down in a corner. About
midnight he was awakened by a noise, and peeping out he beheld a
terrible ogress approaching. He implored her not to hurt him, but to
let him stay there for the rest of the night, to which she consented, on
condition that he should spend the next day in doing any task which she
might choose to set him. To this the young man willingly agreed, and
turned over and went to sleep again. In the morning, the ogress bade him
sweep the dust out of the cave, and to have it clean before her return
in the evening, otherwise it would be the worse for him. Then she left
the cave.

The young man took the spade, and began to clean the floor of the cave,
but try as he would to move it the dirt still stuck to its place. He
soon gave up the task, and sat sulkily in the corner, wondering what
punishment the ogress would find for him, and why she had set him to do
such an impossible thing.

He had not long to wait, after the ogress came home, before he knew what
his punishment was to be! She just gave one look at the floor of the
cave, then dealt him a blow on the head which cracked his skull, and
there was an end of him.

Meanwhile his next brother grew tired of staying at home, and let his
parents have no rest till they had consented that he also should be
given some food and some new boots, and go out to see the world. On his
road, he also met the two old beggars, who prayed for a little of his
bread and milk, but this young man had never been taught to help other
people, and had made it a rule through his life to keep all he had to
himself. So he turned a deaf ear and finished his dinner.

By-and-by he, too, came to the cave, and was bidden by the ogress to
clean the floor, but he was no more successful than his brother, and his
fate was the same.

Anyone would have thought that when the old people had only one son left
that at least they would have been kind to him, even if they did not
love him. But for some reason they could hardly bear the sight of him,
though he tried much harder to make them comfortable than his brothers
had ever done. So when he asked their leave to go out into the world
they gave it at once, and seemed quite glad to be rid of him. They felt
it was quite generous of them to provide him with a pair of new boots
and some bread and milk for his journey.

Besides the pleasure of seeing the world, the youth was very anxious to
discover what had become of his brothers, and he determined to trace, as
far as he could, the way that they must have gone. He followed the road
that led from his father's cottage to the hill, where he sat down to
rest, saying to himself: 'I am sure my brothers must have stopped here,
and I will do the same.'

He was hungry as well as tired, and took out some of the food his
parents had given him. He was just going to begin to eat when the old
man appeared, and asked if he could not spare him a little. The young
man at once broke off some of the bread, begging the old man to sit down
beside him, and treating him as if he was an old friend. At last the
stranger rose, and said to him: 'If ever you are in trouble call me, and
I will help you. My name is Tritill.' Then he vanished, and the young
man could not tell where he had gone.

However, he felt he had now rested long enough, and that he had better
be going his way. At the next hill he met with the second old man, and
to him also he gave food and drink. And when this old man had finished
he said, like the first: 'If you ever want help in the smallest thing
call to me. My name is Litill.'

The young man walked on till he reached the open space in the wood,
where he stopped for dinner. In a moment all the birds in the world
seemed flying round his head, and he crumbled some of his bread for
them and watched them as they darted down to pick it up. When they had
cleared off every crumb the largest bird with the gayest plumage said to
him: 'If you are in trouble and need help say, "My birds, come to me!"
 and we will come.' Then they flew away.

Towards evening the young man reached the cave where his brothers had
met their deaths, and, like them, he thought it would be a good place
to sleep in. Looking round, he saw some pieces of the dead men's clothes
and of their bones. The sight made him shiver, but he would not move
away, and resolved to await the return of the ogress, for such he knew
she must be.

Very soon she came striding in, and he asked politely if she would give
him a night's lodging. She answered as before, that he might stay on
condition that he should do any work that she might set him to next
morning. So the bargain being concluded, the young man curled himself up
in his corner and went to sleep.

The dirt lay thicker than ever on the floor of the cave when the young
man took the spade and began his work. He could not clear it any more
than his brothers had done, and at last the spade itself stuck in
the earth so that he could not pull it out. The youth stared at it
in despair, then the old beggar's words flashed into his mind, and he
cried: 'Tritill, Tritill, come and help me!'

And Tritill stood beside him and asked what he wanted. The youth told
him all his story, and when he had finished, the old man said: 'Spade
and shovel do your duty,' and they danced about the cave till, in a
short time, there was not a speck of dust left on the floor. As soon as
it was quite clean Tritill went his way.

With a light heart the young man awaited the return of the ogress. When
she came in she looked carefully round, and then said to him: 'You did
not do that quite alone. However, as the floor is clean I will leave
your head on.'

The following morning the ogress told the young man that he must take
all the feathers out of her pillows and spread them to dry in the sun.
But if one feather was missing when she came back at night his head
should pay for it.'

The young man fetched the pillows, and shook out all the feathers, and
oh! what quantities of them there were! He was thinking to himself,
as he spread them out carefully, how lucky it was that the sun was so
bright and that there was no wind, when suddenly a breeze sprang up,
and in a moment the feathers were dancing high in the air. At first the
youth tried to collect them again, but he soon found that it was no use,
and he cried in despair: 'Tritill, Litill, and all my birds, come and
help me!'

He had hardly said the words when there they all were; and when the
birds had brought all the feathers back again, Tritill, and Litill, and
he, put them away in the pillows, as the ogress had bidden him. But one
little feather they kept out, and told the young man that if the ogress
missed it he was to thrust it up her nose. Then they all vanished,
Tritill, Litill, and the birds.

Directly the ogress returned home she flung herself with all her weight
on the bed, and the whole cave quivered under her. The pillows were soft
and full instead of being empty, which surprised her, but that did not
content her. She got up, shook out the pillow-cases one by one, and
began to count the feathers that were in each. 'If one is missing I will
have your head,' said she, and at that the young man drew the feather
from his pocket and thrust it up her nose, crying 'If you want your
feather, here it is.'

'You did not sort those feathers alone,' answered the ogress calmly;
'however, this time I will let that pass.'

That night the young man slept soundly in his corner, and in the morning
the ogress told him that his work that day would be to slay one of her
great oxen, to cook its heart, and to make drinking cups of its horns,
before she returned home 'There are fifty oxen,' added she, 'and
you must guess which of the herd I want killed. If you guess right,
to-morrow you shall be free to go where you will, and you shall choose
besides three things as a reward for your service. But if you slay the
wrong ox your head shall pay for it.'

Left alone, the young man stood thinking for a little. Then he called:
'Tritill, Litill, come to my help!'

In a moment he saw them, far away, driving the biggest ox the youth had
ever seen. When they drew near, Tritill killed it, Litill took out its
heart for the young man to cook, and both began quickly to turn the
horns into drinking cups. The work went merrily on, and they talked
gaily, and the young man told his friends of the payment promised him
by the ogress if he had done her bidding. The old men warned him that
he must ask her for the chest which stood at the foot of her bed, for
whatever lay on the top of the bed, and for what lay under the side of
the cave. The young man thanked them for their counsel, and Tritill and
Litill then took leave of him, saying that for the present he would need
them no more.

Scarcely had they disappeared when the ogress came back, and found
everything ready just as she had ordered. Before she sat down to eat the
bullock's heart she turned to the young man, and said: 'You did not do
that all alone, my friend; but, nevertheless, I will keep my word, and
to-morrow you shall go your way.' So they went to bed and slept till
dawn.

When the sun rose the ogress awoke the young man, and called to him to
choose any three things out of her house.

'I choose,' answered he, 'the chest which stands at the foot of your
bed; whatever lies on the top of the bed, and whatever is under the side
of the cave.'

'You did not choose those things by yourself, my friend,' said the
ogress; 'but what I have promised, that will I do.'

And then she gave him his reward.

'The thing which lay on the top of the bed' turned out to be the lost
princess. 'The chest which stood at the foot of the bed' proved full of
gold and precious stones; and 'what was under the side of the cave' he
found to be a great ship, with oars and sails that went of itself as
well on land as in the water. 'You are the luckiest man that ever was
born,' said the ogress as she went out of the cave as usual.

With much difficulty the youth put the heavy chest on his shoulders and
carried it on board the ship, the princess walking by his side. Then he
took the helm and steered the vessel back to her father's kingdom. The
king's joy at receiving back his lost daughter was so great that he
almost fainted, but when he recovered himself he made the young man tell
him how everything had really happened. 'You have found her, and you
shall marry her,' said the king; and so it was done. And this is the end
of the story.






The Three Robes

Long, long ago, a king and queen reigned over a large and powerful
country. What their names were nobody knows, but their son was called
Sigurd, and their daughter Lineik, and these young people were famed
throughout the whole kingdom for their wisdom and beauty.

There was only a year between them, and they loved each other so much
that they could do nothing apart. When they began to grow up the king
gave them a house of their own to live in, with servants and carriages,
and everything they could possibly want.

For many years they all lived happily together, and then the queen fell
ill, and knew that she would never get better.

'Promise me two things,' she said one day to the king; 'one, that if
you marry again, as indeed you must, you will not choose as your wife a
woman from some small state or distant island, who knows nothing of the
world, and will be taken up with thoughts of her grandeur. But rather
seek out a princess of some great kingdom, who has been used to courts
all her life, and holds them at their true worth. The other thing I have
to ask is, that you will never cease to watch over our children, who
will soon become your greatest joy.'

These were the queen's last words, and a few hours later she was dead.
The king was so bowed down with sorrow that he would not attend even to
the business of the kingdom, and at last his Prime Minister had to tell
him that the people were complaining that they had nobody to right their
wrongs. 'You must rouse yourself, sir,' went on the minister, 'and put
aside your own sorrows for the sake of your country.'

'You do not spare me,' answered the king; 'but what you say is just, and
your counsel is good. I have heard that men say, likewise, that it will
be for the good of my kingdom for me to marry again, though my heart
will never cease to be with my lost wife. But it was her wish also;
therefore, to you I entrust the duty of finding a lady fitted to share
my throne; only, see that she comes neither from a small town nor a
remote island.'

So an embassy was prepared, with the minister at its head, to visit the
greatest courts in the world, and to choose out a suitable princess. But
the vessel which carried them had not been gone many days when a thick
fog came on, and the captain could see neither to the right nor to the
left. For a whole month the ship drifted about in darkness, till at
length the fog lifted and they beheld a cliff jutting out just in front.
On one side of the cliff lay a sheltered bay, in which the vessel was
soon anchored, and though they did not know where they were, at any rate
they felt sure of fresh fruit and water.

The minister left the rest of his followers on board the ship, and
taking a small boat rowed himself to land, in order to look about him
and to find out if the island was really as deserted as it seemed.

He had not gone far, when he heard the sound of music, and, turning
in its direction, he saw a woman of marvellous beauty sitting on a low
stool playing on a harp, while a girl beside her sang. The minister
stopped and greeted the lady politely, and she replied with
friendliness, asking him why he had come to such an out-of-the way
place. In answer he told her of the object of his journey.

'I am in the same state as your master,' replied the lady; 'I was
married to a mighty king who ruled over this land, till Vikings
 came and slew him and put all the people to death. But I
managed to escape, and hid myself here with my daughter.'

And the daughter listened, and said softly to her mother: 'Are you
speaking the truth now?'

'Remember your promise,' answered the mother angrily, giving her a pinch
which was unseen by the minister.

'What is your name, madam?' asked he, much touched by this sad story.

'Blauvor,' she replied 'and my daughter is called Laufer'; and then she
inquired the name of the minister, and of the king his master. After
this they talked of many things, and the lady showed herself learned
in all that a woman should know, and even in much that men only were
commonly taught. 'What a wife she would make for the king,' thought the
minister to himself, and before long he had begged the honour of her
hand for his master. She declared at first that she was too unworthy to
accept the position offered her, and that the minister would soon repent
his choice; but this only made him the more eager, and in the end he
gained her consent, and prevailed on her to return with him at once to
his own country.

The minister then conducted the mother and daughter back to the ship;
the anchor was raised, the sails spread, and a fair wind was behind
them.

Now that the fog had lifted they could see as they looked back that,
except just along the shore, the island was bare and deserted and not
fit for men to live in; but about that nobody cared. They had a quick
voyage, and in six days they reached the land, and at once set out for
the capital, a messenger being sent on first by the minister to inform
the king of what had happened.

When his Majesty's eyes fell on the two beautiful women, clad in dresses
of gold and silver, he forgot his sorrows and ordered preparations for
the wedding to be made without delay. In his joy he never remembered to
inquire in what kind of country the future queen had been found. In fact
his head was so turned by the beauty of the two ladies that when the
invitations were sent by his orders to all the great people in the
kingdom, he did not even recollect his two children, who remained shut
up in their own house!

After the marriage the king ceased to have any will of his own and
did nothing without consulting his wife. She was present at all his
councils, and her opinion was asked before making peace or war. But when
a few months had passed the king began to have doubts as to whether the
minister's choice had really been a wise one, and he noticed that his
children lived more and more in their palace and never came near their
stepmother.

It always happens that if a person's eyes are once opened they see a
great deal more than they ever expected; and soon it struck the king
that the members of his court had a way of disappearing one after the
other without any reason. At first he had not paid much attention to the
fact, but merely appointed some fresh person to the vacant place. As,
however, man after man vanished without leaving any trace, he began to
grow uncomfortable and to wonder if the queen could have anything to do
with it.

Things were in this state when, one day, his wife said to him that it
was time for him to make a progress through his kingdom and see that his
governors were not cheating him of the money that was his due. 'And
you need not be anxious about going,' she added, 'for I will rule the
country while you are away as carefully as you could yourself.'

The king had no great desire to undertake this journey, but the queen's
will was stronger than his, and he was too lazy to make a fight for it.
So he said nothing and set about his preparations, ordering his finest
ship to be ready to carry him round the coast. Still his heart was
heavy, and he felt uneasy, though he could not have told why; and the
night before he was to start he went to the children's palace to take
leave of his son and daughter.

He had not seen them for some time, and they gave him a warm welcome,
for they loved him dearly and he had always been kind to them. They
had much to tell him, but after a while he checked their merry talk and
said:

'If I should never come back from this journey I fear that it may not
be safe for you to stay here; so directly there are no more hopes of my
return go instantly and take the road eastwards till you reach a high
mountain, which you must cross. Once over the mountain keep along by the
side of a little bay till you come to two trees, one green and the other
red, standing in a thicket, and so far back from the road that without
looking for them you would never see them. Hide each in the trunk of one
of the trees and there you will be safe from all your enemies.'

With these words the king bade them farewell and entered sadly into
his ship. For a few days the wind was fair, and everything seemed going
smoothly; then, suddenly, a gale sprang up, and a fearful storm of
thunder and lightning, such as had never happened within the memory of
man. In spite of the efforts of the frightened sailors the vessel was
driven on the rocks, and not a man on board was saved.

That very night Prince Sigurd had a dream, in which he thought his
father appeared to him in dripping clothes, and, taking the crown from
his head, laid it at his son's feet, leaving the room as silently as he
had entered it.

Hastily the prince awoke his sister Lineik, and they agreed that their
father must be dead, and that they must lose no time in obeying his
orders and putting themselves in safety. So they collected their jewels
and a few clothes and left the house without being observed by anyone.


They hurried on till they arrived at the mountain without once looking
back. Then Sigurd glanced round and saw that their stepmother was
following them, with an expression on her face which made her uglier
than the ugliest old witch. Between her and them lay a thick wood, and
Sigurd stopped for a moment to set it on fire; then he and his sister
hastened on more swiftly than before, till they reached the grove with
the red and green trees, into which they jumped, and felt that at last
they were safe.

Now, at that time there reigned over Greece a king who was very rich
and powerful, although his name has somehow been forgotten. He had two
children, a son and a daughter, who were more beautiful and accomplished
than any Greeks had been before, and they were the pride of their
father's heart.

The prince had no sooner grown out of boyhood than he prevailed on his
father to make war during the summer months on a neighbouring nation,
so as to give him a chance of making himself famous. In winter, however,
when it was difficult to get food and horses in that wild country, the
army was dispersed, and the prince returned home.

During one of these wars he had heard reports of the Princess Lineik's
beauty, and he resolved to seek her out, and to ask for her hand in
marriage. All this Blauvor, the queen, found out by means of her black
arts, and when the prince drew near the capital she put a splendid dress
on her own daughter and then went to meet her guest.

She bade him welcome to her palace, and when they had finished supper
she told him of the loss of her husband, and how there was no one left
to govern the kingdom but herself.

'But where is the Princess Lineik?' asked the prince when she had ended
her tale.

'Here,' answered the queen, bringing forward the girl, whom she had
hitherto kept in the background.

The prince looked at her and was rather disappointed. The maiden was
pretty enough, but not much out of the common.

'Oh, you must not wonder at her pale face and heavy eyes,' said the
queen hastily, for she saw what was passing in his mind. 'She has never
got over the loss of both father and mother.'

'That shows a good heart,' thought the prince; 'and when she is happy
her beauty will soon come back.' And without any further delay he begged
the queen to consent to their betrothal, for the marriage must take
place in his own country.

The queen was enchanted. She had hardly expected to succeed so soon, and
she at once set about her preparations. Indeed she wished to travel with
the young couple, to make sure that nothing should go wrong; but here
the prince was firm, that he would take no one with him but Laufer, whom
he thought was Lineik.

They soon took leave of the queen, and set sail in a splendid ship; but
in a short time a dense fog came on, and in the dark the captain steered
out of his course, and they found themselves in a bay which was quite
strange to all the crew. The prince ordered a boat to be lowered, and
went on shore to look about him, and it was not long before he noticed
the two beautiful trees, quite different from any that grew in Greece.
Calling one of the sailors, he bade him cut them down, and carry them on
board the ship. This was done, and as the sky was now clear they put out
to sea, and arrived in Greece without any more adventures.

The news that the prince had brought home a bride had gone before them,
and they were greeted with flowery arches and crowns of coloured lights.
The king and queen met them on the steps of the palace, and conducted
the girl to the women's house, where she would have to remain until her
marriage. The prince then went to his own rooms and ordered that the
trees should be brought in to him.

The next morning the prince bade his attendants bring his future bride
to his own apartments, and when she came he gave her silk which she was
to weave into three robes--one red, one green, and one blue--and these
must all be ready before the wedding. The blue one was to be done first
and the green last, and this was to be the most splendid of all, 'for I
will wear it at our marriage,' said he.

Left alone, Laufer sat and stared at the heap of shining silk before
her. She did not know how to weave, and burst into tears as she thought
that everything would be discovered, for Lineik's skill in weaving was
as famous as her beauty. As she sat with her face hidden and her body
shaken by sobs, Sigurd in his tree heard her and was moved to pity.
'Lineik, my sister,' he called, softly, 'Laufer is weeping; help her, I
pray you.'

'Have you forgotten the wrongs her mother did to us' answered Lineik,
'and that it is owing to her that we are banished from home?'

But she was not really unforgiving, and very soon she slid quietly out
of her hiding-place, and taking the silk from Laufer's hands began to
weave it. So quick and clever was she that the blue dress was not only
woven but embroidered, and Lineik was safe back in her tree before the
prince returned.

'It is the most beautiful work I have ever seen,' said he, taking up a
bit. 'And I am sure that the red one will be still better, because the
stuff is richer,' and with a low bow he left the room.

Laufer had hoped secretly that when the prince had seen the blue dress
finished he would have let her off the other two; but when she found she
was expected to fulfil the whole task, her heart sank and she began to
cry loudly. Again Sigurd heard her, and begged Lineik to come to her
help, and Lineik, feeling sorry for her distress, wove and embroidered
the second dress as she had done the first, mixing gold thread and
precious stones till you could hardly see the red of the stuff. When it
was done she glided into her tree just as the prince came in.

'You are as quick as you are clever,' said he, admiringly. 'This looks
as if it had been embroidered by the fairies! But as the green robe must
outshine the other two I will give you three days in which to finish it.
After it is ready we will be married at once.'

Now, as he spoke, there rose up in Laufer's mind all the unkind things
that she and her mother had done to Lineik. Could she hope that they
would be forgotten, and that Lineik would come to her rescue for the
third time? And perhaps Lineik, who had not forgotten the past either,
might have left her alone, to get on as best she could, had not Sigurd,
her brother, implored her to help just once more. So Lineik again slid
out of her tree, and, to Laufer's great relief, set herself to work.
When the shining green silk was ready she caught the sun's rays and the
moon's beams on the point of her needle and wove them into a pattern
such as no man had ever seen. But it took a long time, and on the third
morning, just as she was putting the last stitches into the last flower
the prince came in.

Lineik jumped up quickly, and tried to get past him back to her tree;
but the folds of the silk were wrapped round her, and she would have
fallen had not the prince caught her.

'I have thought for some time that all was not quite straight here,'
said he. 'Tell me who you are, and where you come from?'

Lineik then told her name and her story. When she had ended the prince
turned angrily to Laufer, and declared that, as a punishment for her
wicked lies, she deserved to die a shameful death.

But Laufer fell at his feet and begged for mercy. It was her mother's
fault, she said: 'It was she, and not I, who passed me off as the
Princess Lineik. The only lie I have ever told you was about the robes,
and I do not deserve death for that.'

She was still on her knees when Prince Sigurd entered the room.
He prayed the Prince of Greece to forgive Laufer, which he did,
on condition that Lineik would consent to marry him. 'Not till my
stepmother is dead,' answered she, 'for she has brought misery to all
that came near her.' Then Laufer told them that Blauvor was not the wife
of a king, but an ogress who had stolen her from a neighbouring palace
and had brought her up as her daughter. And besides being an ogress she
was also a witch, and by her black arts had sunk the ship in which the
father of Sigurd and Lineik had set sail. It was she who had caused
the disappearance of the courtiers, for which no one could account, by
eating them during the night, and she hoped to get rid of all the people
in the country, and then to fill the land with ogres and ogresses like
herself.

So Prince Sigurd and the Prince of Greece collected an army swiftly,
and marched upon the town where Blauvor had her palace. They came so
suddenly that no one knew of it, and if they had, Blauvor had eaten most
of the strong men; and others, fearful of something they could not tell
what, had secretly left the place. Therefore she was easily captured,
and the next day was beheaded in the market-place. Afterwards the two
princes marched back to Greece.

Lineik had no longer any reason for putting off her wedding, and married
the Prince of Greece at the same time that Sigurd married the princess.
And Laufer remained with Lineik as her friend and sister, till they
found a husband for her in a great nobleman; and all three couples lived
happily until they died.







The Six Hungry Beasts

Once upon a time there lived a man who dwelt with his wife in a little
hut, far away from any neighbours. But they did not mind being alone,
and would have been quite happy, if it had not been for a marten, who
came every night to their poultry yard, and carried off one of their
fowls. The man laid all sorts of traps to catch the thief, but instead
of capturing the foe, it happened that one day he got caught himself,
and falling down, struck his head against a stone, and was killed.

Not long after the marten came by on the look out for his supper. Seeing
the dead man lying there, he said to himself: 'That is a prize, this
time I have done well'; and dragging the body with great difficulty to
the sledge which was waiting for him, drove off with his booty. He
had not driven far when he met a squirrel, who bowed and said:
'Good-morning, godfather! what have you got behind you?'

The marten laughed and answered: 'Did you ever hear anything so strange?
The old man that you see here set traps about his hen-house, thinking
to catch me but he fell into his own trap, and broke his own neck. He is
very heavy; I wish you would help me to draw the sledge.' The squirrel
did as he was asked, and the sledge moved slowly along.

By-and-by a hare came running across a field, but stopped to see what
wonderful thing was coming. 'What have you got there?' she asked, and
the marten told his story and begged the hare to help them pull.

The hare pulled her hardest, and after a while they were joined by a
fox, and then by a wolf, and at length a bear was added to the company,
and he was of more use than all the other five beasts put together.
Besides, when the whole six had supped off the man he was not so heavy
to draw.

The worst of it was that they soon began to get hungry again, and the
wolf, who was the hungriest of all, said to the rest:

'What shall we eat now, my friends, as there is no more man?'

'I suppose we shall have to eat the smallest of us,' replied the bear,
and the marten turned round to seize the squirrel who was much smaller
than any of the rest. But the squirrel ran up a tree like lightning,
and the marten remembering, just in time, that he was the next in size,
slipped quick as thought into a hole in the rocks.

'What shall we eat now?' asked the wolf again, when he had recovered
from his surprise.

'We must eat the smallest of us,' repeated the bear, stretching out
a paw towards the hare; but the hare was not a hare for nothing, and
before the paw had touched her, she had darted deep into the wood.

Now that the squirrel, the marten, and the hare had all gone, the fox
was the smallest of the three who were left, and the wolf and the bear
explained that they were very sorry, but they would have to eat him.
Michael, the fox, did not run away as the others had done, but smiled
in a friendly manner, and remarked: 'Things taste so stale in a valley;
one's appetite is so much better up on a mountain.' The wolf and the
bear agreed, and they turned out of the hollow where they had been
walking, and chose a path that led up the mountain side. The fox trotted
cheerfully by his two big companions, but on the way he managed to
whisper to the wolf: 'Tell me, Peter, when I am eaten, what will you
have for your next dinner?'

This simple question seemed to put out the wolf very much. What would
they have for their next dinner, and, what was more important still, who
would there be to eat it? They had made a rule always to dine off the
smallest of the party, and when the fox was gone, why of course, he was
smaller than the bear.

These thoughts flashed quickly through his head, and he said hastily:

'Dear brothers, would it not be better for us to live together as
comrades, and everyone to hunt for the common dinner? Is not my plan a
good one?'

'It is the best thing I have ever heard,' answered the fox; and as they
were two to one the bear had to be content, though in his heart he would
much have preferred a good dinner at once to any friendship.

For a few days all went well; there was plenty of game in the forest,
and even the wolf had as much to eat as he could wish. One morning the
fox as usual was going his rounds when he noticed a tall, slender
tree, with a magpie's nest in one of the top branches. Now the fox was
particularly fond of young magpies, and he set about making a plan by
which he could have one for dinner. At last he hit upon something which
he thought would do, and accordingly he sat down near the tree and began
to stare hard at it.

'What are you looking at, Michael?' asked the magpie, who was watching
him from a bough.

'I'm looking at this tree. It has just struck me what a good tree it
would be to cut my new snow-shoes out of.' But at this answer the magpie
screeched loudly, and exclaimed: 'Oh, not this tree, dear brother, I
implore you! I have built my nest on it, and my young ones are not yet
old enough to fly.'

'It will not be easy to find another tree that would make such good
snow-shoes,' answered the fox, cocking his head on one side, and gazing
at the tree thoughtfully; 'but I do not like to be ill-natured, so
if you will give me one of your young ones I will seek my snow-shoes
elsewhere.'

Not knowing what to do the poor magpie had to agree, and flying back,
with a heavy heart, he threw one of his young ones out of the nest. The
fox seized it in his mouth and ran off in triumph, while the magpie,
though deeply grieved for the loss of his little one, found some comfort
in the thought that only a bird of extraordinary wisdom would have
dreamed of saving the rest by the sacrifice of the one. But what do you
think happened? Why, a few days later, Michael the fox might have been
seen sitting under the very same tree, and a dreadful pang shot through
the heart of the magpie as he peeped at him from a hole in the nest.

'What are you looking at?' he asked in a trembling voice.

'At this tree. I was just thinking what good snowshoes it would make,'
answered the fox in an absent voice, as if he was not thinking of what
he was saying.

'Oh, my brother, my dear little brother, don't do that,' cried the
magpie, hopping about in his anguish. 'You know you promised only a few
days ago that you would get your snow-shoes elsewhere.'

'So I did; but though I have searched through the whole forest, there
is not a single tree that is as good as this. I am very sorry to put you
out, but really it is not my fault. The only thing I can do for you is
to offer to give up my snow-shoes altogether if you will throw me down
one of your young ones in exchange.'

And the poor magpie, in spite of his wisdom, was obliged to throw
another of his little ones out of the nest; and this time he was not
able to console himself with the thought that he had been much cleverer
than other people.

He sat on the edge of his nest, his head drooping and his feathers all
ruffled, looking the picture of misery. Indeed he was so different from
the gay, jaunty magpie whom every creature in the forest knew, that a
crow who was flying past, stopped to inquire what was the matter. 'Where
are the two young ones who are not in the nest?' asked he.

'I had to give them to the fox,' replied the magpie in a quivering
voice; 'he has been here twice in the last week, and wanted to cut down
my tree for the purpose of making snow-shoes out of it, and the only way
I could buy him off was by giving him two of my young ones.'

Oh, you fool,' cried the crow, 'the fox was only trying to frighten you.
He could not have cut down the tree, for he has neither axe nor knife.
Dear me, to think that you have sacrificed your young ones for nothing!
Dear, dear! how could you be so very foolish!' And the crow flew away,
leaving the magpie overcome with shame and sorrow.

The next morning the fox came to his usual place in front of the tree,
for he was hungry, and a nice young magpie would have suited him very
well for dinner. But this time there was no cowering, timid magpie to do
his bidding, but a bird with his head erect and a determined voice.

'My good fox,' said the magpie putting his head on one side and looking
very wise--'my good fox, if you take my advice, you will go home as fast
as you can. There is no use your talking about making snow-shoes out of
this tree, when you have neither knife nor axe to cut it down with!'

'Who has been teaching you wisdom?' asked the fox, forgetting his
manners in his surprise at this new turn of affairs.

'The crow, who paid me a visit yesterday,' answered the magpie.

'The crow was it?' said the fox, 'well, the crow had better not meet me
for the future, or it may be the worse for him.'

As Michael, the cunning beast, had no desire to continue the
conversation, he left the forest; but when he came to the high road he
laid himself at full length on the ground, stretching himself out, just
as if he was dead. Very soon he noticed, out of the corner of his eye,
that the crow was flying towards him, and he kept stiller and stiffer
than ever, with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. The crow, who
wanted her supper very badly, hopped quickly towards him, and was
stooping forward to peck at his tongue when the fox gave a snap, and
caught him by the wing. The crow knew that it was of no use struggling,
so he said:

'Ah, brother, if you are really going to eat me, do it, I beg of you, in
good style. Throw me first over this precipice, so that my feathers may
be strewn here and there, and that all who see them may know that your
cunning is greater than mine.' This idea pleased the fox, for he had
not yet forgiven the crow for depriving him of the young magpies, so
he carried the crow to the edge of the precipice and threw him over,
intending to go round by a path he knew and pick him up at the bottom.
But no sooner had the fox let the crow go than he soared up into the
air, and hovering just out of teach of his enemy's jaws, he cried with a
laugh: 'Ah, fox! you know well how to catch, but you cannot keep.'

With his tail between his legs, the fox slunk into the forest. He did
not know where to look for a dinner, as he guessed that the crow would
have flown back before him, and put every one on their guard. The
notion of going to bed supperless was very unpleasant to him, and he was
wondering what in the world he should do, when he chanced to meet with
his old friend the bear.

This poor animal had just lost his wife, and was going to get some one
to mourn over her, for he felt her loss greatly. He had hardly left his
comfortable cave when he had come across the wolf, who inquired where he
was going. 'I am going to find a mourner,' answered the bear, and told
his story.

'Oh, let me mourn for you,' cried the wolf.

'Do you understand how to howl?' said the bear.

'Oh, certainly, godfather, certainly,' replied the wolf; but the bear
said he should like to have a specimen of his howling, to make sure that
he knew his business. So the wolf broke forth in his song of lament:
'Hu, hu, hu, hum, hoh,' he shouted, and he made such a noise that the
bear put up his paws to his ears, and begged him to stop.

'You have no idea how it is done. Be off with you,' said he angrily.

A little further down the road the hare was resting in a ditch, but when
she saw the bear, she came out and spoke to him, and inquired why he
looked so sad. The bear told her of the loss of his wife, and of his
search after a mourner that could lament over her in the proper style.
The hare instantly offered her services, but the bear took care to ask
her to give him a proof of her talents, before he accepted them. 'Pu,
pu, pu, pum, poh,' piped the hare; but this time her voice was so small
that the bear could hardly hear her. 'That is not what I want,' he said,
'I will bid you good morning.'

It was after this that the fox came up, and he also was struck with
the bear's altered looks, and stopped. 'What is the matter with you,
godfather?' asked he, 'and where are you going?'

'I am going to find a mourner for my wife,' answered the bear.

'Oh, do choose me,' cried the fox, and the bear looked at him
thoughtfully.

'Can you howl well?' he said.

'Yes, beautifully, just listen,' and the fox lifted up his voice and
sang weeping: 'Lou, lou, lou! the famous spinner, the baker of good
cakes, the prudent housekeeper is torn from her husband! Lou, lou, lou!
she is gone! she is gone!'

'Now at last I have found some one who knows the art of lamentation,'
exclaimed the bear, quite delighted; and he led the fox back to his
cave, and bade him begin his lament over the dead wife who was lying
stretched out on her bed of grey moss. But this did not suit the fox at
all.

'One cannot wail properly in this cave,' he said, 'it is much too damp.
You had better take the body to the storehouse. It will sound much finer
there.' So the bear carried his wife's body to the storehouse, while
he himself went back to the cave to cook some pap for the mourner. From
time to time he paused and listened for the sound of wailing, but he
heard nothing. At last he went to the door of the storehouse, and called
to the fox:

'Why don't you howl, godfather? What are you about?'

And the fox, who, instead of weeping over the dead bear, had been
quietly eating her, answered:

'There only remain now her legs and the soles of her feet. Give me five
minutes more and they will be gone also!'

When the bear heard that he ran back for the kitchen ladle, to give
the traitor the beating he deserved. But as he opened the door of the
storehouse, Michael was ready for him, and slipping between his legs,
dashed straight off into the forest. The bear, seeing that the traitor
had escaped, flung the ladle after him, and it just caught the tip of
his tail, and that is how there comes to be a spot of white on the tails
of all foxes.






How The Beggar Boy Turned Into Count Piro

Once upon a time there lived a man who had only one son, a lazy, stupid
boy, who would never do anything he was told. When the father was dying,
he sent for his son and told him that he would soon be left alone in
the world, with no possessions but the small cottage they lived in and a
pear tree which grew behind it, and that, whether he liked it or not, he
would have to work, or else he would starve. Then the old man died.

But the boy did not work; instead, he idled about as before, contenting
himself with eating the pears off his tree, which, unlike other pear
trees before or since, bore fruit the whole year round. Indeed, the
pears were so much finer than any you could get even in the autumn, that
one day, in the middle of the winter, they attracted the notice of a fox
who was creeping by.

'Dear me; what lovely pears!' he said to the youth. 'Do give me a basket
of them. It will bring you luck!'

'Ah, little fox, but if I give you a basketful, what am I to eat?' asked
the boy.

'Oh, trust me, and do what I tell you,' said the fox; 'I know it will
bring you luck.' So the boy got up and picked some of the ripest pears
and put them into a rush basket. The fox thanked him, and, taking the
basket in his mouth, trotted off to the king's palace and made his way
straight to the king.

'Your Majesty, my master sends you a few of his best pears, and begs you
will graciously accept them,' he said, laying the basket at the feet of
the king.

'Pears! at this season?' cried the king, peering down to look at them;
'and, pray, who is your master?'

'The Count Piro,' answered the fox.

'But how does he manage to get pears in midwinter?' asked the king.

'Oh, he has everything he wants,' replied the fox; 'he is richer even
than you are, your Majesty.'

'Then what can I send him in return for his pears?' said the king.

'Nothing, your Majesty, or you would hurt his feelings,' answered the
fox.

'Well, tell him how heartily I thank him, and how much I shall enjoy
them.' And the fox went away.

He trotted back to the cottage with his empty basket and told his tale,
but the youth did not seem as pleased to hear as the fox was to tell.

'But, my dear little fox,' said he, 'you have brought me nothing in
return, and I am so hungry!'

'Let me alone,' replied the fox; 'I know what I am doing. You will see,
it will bring you luck.'

A few days after this the fox came back again.

'I must have another basket of pears,' said he.

'Ah, little fox, what shall I eat if you take away all my pears?'
answered the youth.

'Be quiet, it will be all right,' said the fox; and taking a bigger
basket than before, he filled it quite full of pears. Then he picked it
up in his mouth, and trotted off to the palace.

'Your Majesty, as you seemed to like the first basket of pears, I have
brought you some more,' said he, 'with my master, the Count Piro's
humble respects.'

'Now, surely it is not possible to grow such pears with deep snow on the
ground?' cried the king.

'Oh, that never affects them,' answered the fox lightly; 'he is rich
enough to do anything. But to-day he sends me to ask if you will give
him your daughter in marriage?'

'If he is so much richer than I am,' said the king, 'I shall be obliged
to refuse. My honour would not permit me to accept his offer.'

'Oh, your Majesty, you must not think that,' replied the fox; 'and do
not let the question of a dowry trouble you. The Count Piro would not
dream of asking anything but the hand of the princess.'

'Is he really so rich that he can do without a dowry?' asked the king.

'Did I not tell your Majesty that he was richer than you?' answered the
fox reproachfully.

'Well, beg him to come here, that we may talk together,' said the king.

So the fox went back to the young man and said: 'I have told the king
that you are Count Piro, and have asked his daughter in marriage.'

'Oh, little fox, what have you done?' cried the youth in dismay; 'when
the king sees me he will order my head to be cut off.'

'Oh, no, he won't!' replied the fox; 'just do as I tell you.' And he
went off to the town, and stopped at the house of the best tailor.

'My master, the Count Piro, begs that you will send him at once the
finest coat that you have in your shop,' said the fox, putting on his
grandest air, 'and if it fits him I will call and pay for it to-morrow!
Indeed, as he is in a great hurry, perhaps it might be as well if I took
it round myself.' The tailor was not accustomed to serve counts, and
he at once got out all the coats he had ready. The fox chose out a
beautiful one of white and silver, bade the tailor tie it up in a
parcel, and carrying the string in his teeth, he left the shop, and went
to a horse-dealer's, whom he persuaded to send his finest horse round to
the cottage, saying that the king had bidden his master to the palace.

Very unwillingly the young man put on the coat and mounted the horse,
and rode up to meet the king, with the fox running before him.

'What am I to say to his Majesty, little fox?' he asked anxiously; 'you
know that I have never spoken to a king before.'

'Say nothing,' answered the fox, 'but leave the talking to me. "Good
morning, your Majesty," will be all that is necessary for you.'

By this time they had reached the palace, and the king came to the door
to receive Count Piro, and led him to the great hall, where a feast was
spread. The princess was already seated at the table, but was as dumb as
Count Piro himself.

'The Count speaks very little,' the king said at last to the fox, and
the fox answered: 'He has so much to think about in the management of
his property that he cannot afford to talk like ordinary people.' The
king was quite satisfied, and they finished dinner, after which Count
Piro and the fox took leave.

The next morning the fox came round again.

'Give me another basket of pears,' he said.

'Very well, little fox; but remember it may cost me my life,' answered
the youth.

'Oh, leave it to me, and do as I tell you, and you will see that in the
end it will bring you luck,' answered the fox; and plucking the pears he
took them up to the king.

'My master, Count Piro, sends you these pears,' he said, 'and asks for
an answer to his proposal.'

'Tell the count that the wedding can take place whenever he pleases,'
answered the king, and, filled with pride, the fox trotted back to
deliver his message.

'But I can't bring the princess here, little fox?' cried the young man
in dismay.

'You leave everything to me,' answered the fox; 'have I not managed
well so far?'

And up at the palace preparations were made for a grand wedding, and the
youth was married to the princess.

After a week of feasting, the fox said to the king: 'My master wishes to
take his young bride home to his own castle.'

'Very well, I will accompany them,' replied the king; and he ordered his
courtiers and attendants to get ready, and the best horses in his stable
to be brought out for himself, Count Piro and the princess. So they all
set out, and rode across the plain, the little fox running before them.

He stopped at the sight of a great flock of sheep, which was feeding
peacefully on the rich grass. 'To whom do these sheep belong?' asked he
of the shepherd. 'To an ogre,' replied the shepherd.

'Hush,' said the fox in a mysterious manner. 'Do you see that crowd
of armed men riding along? If you were to tell them that those sheep
belonged to an ogre, they would kill them, and then the ogre would kill
you! If they ask, just say the sheep belong to Count Piro; it will be
better for everybody.' And the fox ran hastily on, as he did not wish to
be seen talking to the shepherd.

Very soon the king came up.

'What beautiful sheep!' he said, drawing up his horse. 'I have none so
fine in my pastures. Whose are they?'

'Count Piro's,' answered the shepherd, who did not know the king.

'Well, he must be a very rich man,' thought the king to himself, and
rejoiced that he had such a wealthy son-in-law.

Meanwhile the fox had met with a huge herd of pigs, snuffling about the
roots of some trees.

'To whom do these pigs belong?' he asked of the swineherd.

'To an ogre,' replied he.

'Hush!' whispered the fox, though nobody could hear him; 'do you see
that troop of armed men riding towards us? If you tell them that the
pigs belong to the ogre they will kill them, and then the ogre will kill
you! If they ask, just say that the pigs belong to Count Piro; it will
be better for everybody.' And he ran hastily on.

Soon after the king rode up.

'What fine pigs!' he said, reining in his horse. 'They are fatter than
any I have got on my farms. Whose are they?'

'Count Piro's,' answered the swineherd, who did not know the king; and
again the king felt he was lucky to have such a rich son-in-law.

This time the fox ran faster than before, and in a flowery meadow he
found a troop of horses feeding. 'Whose horses are these?' he asked of
the man who was watching them.

'An ogre's,' replied he.

'Hush!' whispered the fox, 'do you see that crowd of armed men coming
towards us? If you tell them the horses belong to an ogre they will
drive them off, and then the ogre will kill you! If they ask, just say
they are Count Piro's; it will be better for everybody.' And he ran on
again.

In a few minutes the king rode up.

'Oh, what lovely creatures! how I wish they were mine!' he exclaimed.
'Whose are they?'

Count Piro's,' answered the man, who did not know the king; and the
king's heart leapt as he thought that if they belonged to his rich
son-in-law they were as good as his.

At last the fox came to the castle of the ogre himself. He ran up the
steps, with tears falling from his eyes, and crying:

'Oh, you poor, poor people, what a sad fate is yours!'

'What has happened?' asked the ogre, trembling with fright.

'Do you see that troop of horsemen who are riding along the road? They
are sent by the king to kill you!'

'Oh, dear little fox, help us, we implore you!' cried the ogre and his
wife.

'Well, I will do what I can,' answered the fox. 'The best place is for
you both to hide in the big oven, and when the soldiers have gone by I
will let you out.'

The ogre and ogress scrambled into the oven as quick as thought, and the
fox banged the door on them; just as he did so the king came up.

'Do us the honour to dismount, your Majesty,' said the fox, bowing low.
'This is the palace of Count Piro!'

'Why it is more splendid than my own!' exclaimed the king, looking round
on all the beautiful things that filled the hall. But why are there no
servants?'

'His Excellency the Count Piro wished the princess to choose them for
herself,' answered the fox, and the king nodded his approval. He then
rode on, leaving the bridal pair in the castle. But when it was dark and
all was still, the fox crept downstairs and lit the kitchen fire, and
the ogre and his wife were burned to death. The next morning the fox
said to Count Piro:

'Now that you are rich and happy, you have no more need of me; but,
before I go, there is one thing I must ask of you in return: when I die,
promise me that you will give me a magnificent coffin, and bury me with
due honours.'

'Oh, little, little fox, don't talk of dying,' cried the princess,
nearly weeping, for she had taken a great liking to the fox.

After some time the fox thought he would see if the Count Piro was
really grateful to him for all he had done, and went back to the castle,
where he lay down on the door-step, and pretended to be dead. The
princess was just going out for a walk, and directly she saw him lying
there, she burst into tears and fell on her knees beside him.

'My dear little fox, you are not dead,' she wailed; 'you poor, poor
little creature, you shall have the finest coffin in the world!'

'A coffin for an animal?' said Count Piro. 'What nonsense! just take him
by the leg and throw him into the ditch.'

Then the fox sprang up and cried: 'You wretched, thankless beggar; have
you forgotten that you owe all your riches to me?'

Count Piro was frightened when he heard these words, as he thought that
perhaps the fox might have power to take away the castle, and leave him
as poor as when he had nothing to eat but the pears off his tree. So he
tried to soften the fox's anger, saying that he had only spoken in joke,
as he had known quite well that he was not really dead. For the sake
of the princess, the fox let himself be softened, and he lived in the
castle for many years, and played with Count Piro's children. And when
he actually did die, his coffin was made of silver, and Count Piro and
his wife followed him to the grave.






The Rogue And The Herdsman

In a tiny cottage near the king's palace there once lived an old man,
his wife, and his son, a very lazy fellow, who would never do a stroke
of work. He could not be got even to look after their one cow, but left
her to look after herself, while he lay on a bank and went to sleep in
the sun. For a long time his father bore with him, hoping that as he
grew older he might gain more sense; but at last the old man's patience
was worn out, and he told his son that he should not stay at house in
idleness, and must go out into the world to seek his fortune.

The young man saw that there was no help for it, and he set out with
a wallet full of food over his shoulder. At length he came to a large
house, at the door of which he knocked.

'What do you want?' asked the old man who opened it. And the youth told
him how his father had turned him out of his house because he was so
lazy and stupid, and he needed shelter for the night.

'That you shall have,' replied the man; 'but to-morrow I shall give you
some work to do, for you must know that I am the chief herdsman of the
king.'

The youth made no answer to this. He felt, if he was to be made to work
after all, that he might as well have stayed where he was. But as he did
not see any other way of getting a bed, he went slowly in.

The herdsman's two daughters and their mother were sitting at supper,
and invited him to join them. Nothing more was said about work, and when
the meal was over they all went to bed.

In the morning, when the young man was dressed, the herdsman called to
him and said:

'Now listen, and I will tell you what you have to do.'

'What is it?' asked the youth, sulkily.

'Nothing less than to look after two hundred pigs,' was the reply.

'Oh, I am used to that,' answered the youth.

'Yes; but this time you will have to do it properly,' said the herdsman;
and he took the youth to the place where the pigs were feeding, and told
him to drive them to the woods on the side of the mountain. This the
young man did, but as soon as they reached the outskirts of the mountain
they grew quite wild, and would have run away altogether, had they not
luckily gone towards a narrow ravine, from which the youth easily drove
them home to his father's cottage.

'Where do all these pigs come from, and how did you get them?' asked the
old man in surprise, when his son knocked at the door of the hut he had
left only the day before.

'They belong to the king's chief herdsman,' answered his son. 'He gave
them to me to look after, but I knew I could not do it, so I drove them
straight to you. Now make the best of your good fortune, and kill them
and hang them up at once.'

'What are you talking about?' cried the father, pale with horror. 'We
should certainly both be put to death if I did any such thing.'

'No, no; do as I tell you, and I will get out of it somehow,' replied
the young man. And in the end he had his way. The pigs were killed,
and laid side by side in a row. Then he cut off the tails and tied them
together with a piece of cord, and swinging the bundle over his back,
he returned to the place where they should have been feeding. Here there
was a small swamp, which was just what he wanted, and finding a large
stone, he fastened the rope to it, and sank it in the swamp, after which
he arranged the tails carefully one by one, so that only their points
were seen sticking out of the water. When everything was in order, he
hastened home to his master with such a sorrowful face that the herdsman
saw at once that something dreadful had happened.

'Where are the pigs?' asked he.

'Oh, don't speak of them!' answered the young man; 'I really can hardly
tell you. The moment they got into the field they became quite mad, and
each ran in a different direction. I ran too, hither and thither, but as
fast as I caught one, another was off, till I was in despair. At last,
however, I collected them all and was about to drive them back, when
suddenly they rushed down the hill into the swamp, where they vanished
completely, leaving only the points of their tails, which you can see
for yourself.'

'You have made up that story very well,' replied the herdsman.

'No, it is the real truth; come with me and I'll prove it.' And they
went together to the spot, and there sure enough were the points of
the tails sticking up out of the water. The herdsman laid hold of the
nearest, and pulled at it with all his might, but it was no use, for
the stone and the rope held them all fast. He called to the young man to
help him, but the two did not succeed any better than the one had done.

'Yes, your story was true after all; it is a wonderful thing,' said the
herdsman. 'But I see it is no fault of yours, and I must put up with
my loss as well as I can. Now let us return home, for it is time for
supper.

Next morning the herdsman said to the young man: 'I have got some other
work for you to do. To-day you must take a hundred sheep to graze; but
be careful that no harm befalls them.'

'I will do my best,' replied the youth. And he opened the gate of the
fold, where the sheep had been all night, and drove them out into the
meadow. But in a short time they grew as wild as the pigs had done, and
scattered in all directions. The young man could not collect them, try
as he would, and he thought to himself that this was the punishment for
his laziness in refusing to look after his father's one cow.

At last, however, the sheep seemed tired of running about, and then
the youth managed to gather them together, and drove them, as before,
straight to his father's house.

'Whose sheep are these, and what are they doing here?' asked the old man
in wonder, and his son told him. But when the tale was ended the father
shook his head.

'Give up these bad ways and take them back to your master,' said he.

'No, no,' answered the youth; 'I am not so stupid as that! We will kill
them and have them for dinner.'

'You will lose your life if you do,' replied the father.

'Oh, I am not sure of that!' said the son, 'and, anyway, I will have my
will for once.' And he killed all the sheep and laid them on the grass.
But he cut off the head of the ram which always led the flock and had
bells round its horns. This he took back to the place where they should
have been feeding, for here he had noticed a high rock, with a patch of
green grass in the middle and two or three thick bushes growing on the
edge. Up this rock he climbed with great difficulty, and fastened the
ram's head to the bushes with a cord, leaving only the tips of the horns
with the bells visible. As there was a soft breeze blowing, the bushes
to which the head was tied moved gently, and the bells rang. When all
was done to his liking he hastened quickly back to his master.

'Where are the sheep?' asked the herdsman as the young man ran panting
up the steps.

'Oh! don't speak of them,' answered he. 'It is only by a miracle that I
am here myself.'

'Tell me at once what has happened,' said the herdsman sternly.

The youth began to sob, and stammered out: 'I--I hardly know how to tell
you! They--they--they were so--so troublesome--that I could not manage
them at all. They--ran about in--in all directions, and I--I--ran after
them and nearly died of fatigue. Then I heard a--a noise, which I--I
thought was the wind. But--but--it was the sheep, which, be--before my
very eyes, were carried straight up--up into the air. I stood watching
them as if I was turned to stone, but there kept ringing in my ears the
sound of the bells on the ram which led them.'

'That is nothing but a lie from beginning to end,' said the herdsman.

'No, it is as true as that there is a sun in heaven,' answered the young
man.

'Then give me a proof of it,' cried his master.

'Well, come with me,' said the youth. By this time it was evening and
the dusk was falling. The young man brought the herdsman to the foot of
the great rock, but it was so dark you could hardly see. Still the sound
of sheep bells rang softly from above, and the herdsman knew them to be
those he had hung on the horns of his ram.

'Do you hear?' asked the youth.

'Yes, I hear; you have spoken the truth, and I cannot blame you for what
has happened. I must bear the loss as best as I can.'

He turned and went home, followed by the young man, who felt highly
pleased with his own cleverness.

'I should not be surprised if the tasks I set you were too difficult,
and that you were tired of them,' said the herdsman next morning; 'but
to-day I have something quite easy for you to do. You must look after
forty oxen, and be sure you are very careful, for one of them has
gold-tipped horns and hoofs, and the king reckons it among his greatest
treasures.'

The young man drove out the oxen into the meadow, and no sooner had they
got there than, like the sheep and the pigs, they began to scamper in
all directions, the precious bull being the wildest of all. As the youth
stood watching them, not knowing what to do next, it came into his head
that his father's cow was put out to grass at no great distance; and he
forthwith made such a noise that he quite frightened the oxen, who were
easily persuaded to take the path he wished. When they heard the cow
lowing they galloped all the faster, and soon they all arrived at his
father's house.

The old man was standing before the door of his hut when the great herd
of animals dashed round a corner of the road, with his son and his own
cow at their head.

'Whose cattle are these, and why are they here?' he asked; and his son
told him the story.

'Take them back to your master as soon as you can,' said the old man;
but the son only laughed, and said:

'No, no; they are a present to you! They will make you fat!'

For a long while the old man refused to have anything to do with such a
wicked scheme; but his son talked him over in the end, and they killed
the oxen as they had killed the sheep and the pigs. Last of all they
came to the king's cherished ox.

The son had a rope ready to cast round its horns, and throw it to the
ground, but the ox was stronger than the rope, and soon tore it in
pieces. Then it dashed away to the wood, the youth following; over
hedges and ditches they both went, till they reached the rocky pass
which bordered the herdsman's land. Here the ox, thinking itself safe,
stopped to rest, and thus gave the young man a chance to come up with
it. Not knowing how to catch it, he collected all the wood he could
find and made a circle of fire round the ox, who by this time had fallen
asleep, and did not wake till the fire had caught its head, and it was
too late for it to escape. Then the young man, who had been watching,
ran home to his master.

'You have been away a long while,' said the herdsman. 'Where are the
cattle?'

The young man gasped, and seemed as if he was unable to speak. At last
he answered:

'It is always the same story! The oxen are--gone--gone!'

'G-g-gone?' cried the herdsman. 'Scoundrel, you lie!'

'I am telling you the exact truth,' answered the young man. 'Directly
we came to the meadow they grew so wild that I could not keep them
together. Then the big ox broke away, and the others followed till they
all disappeared down a deep hole into the earth. It seemed to me that I
heard sounds of bellowing, and I thought I recognised the voice of the
golden horned ox; but when I got to the place from which the sounds had
come, I could neither see nor hear anything in the hole itself, though
there were traces of a fire all round it.'

'Wretch!' cried the herdsman, when he had heard this story, 'even if you
did not lie before, you are lying now.'

'No, master, I am speaking the truth. Come and see for yourself.'

'If I find you have deceived me, you are a dead man, said the herdsman;
and they went out together.

'What do you call that?' asked the youth. And the herdsman looked and
saw the traces of a fire, which seemed to have sprung up from under the
earth.

'Wonder upon wonder,' he exclaimed, 'so you really did speak the truth
after all! Well, I cannot reproach you, though I shall have to pay
heavily to my royal master for the value of that ox. But come, let us
go home! I will never set you to herd cattle again, henceforward I will
give you something easier to do.'

'I have thought of exactly the thing for you,' said the herdsman as they
walked along, 'and it is so simple that you cannot make a mistake. Just
make me ten scythes, one for every man, for I want the grass mown in one
of my meadows to-morrow.'

At these words the youth's heart sank, for he had never been trained
either as a smith or a joiner. However, he dared not say no, but smiled
and nodded.

Slowly and sadly he went to bed, but he could not sleep, for wondering
how the scythes were to be made. All the skill and cunning he had shown
before was of no use to him now, and after thinking about the scythes
for many hours, there seemed only one way open to him. So, listening
to make sure that all was still, he stole away to his parents, and told
them the whole story. When they had heard everything, they hid him where
no one could find him.

Time passed away, and the young man stayed at home doing all his parents
bade him, and showing himself very different from what he had been
before he went out to see the world; but one day he said to his father
that he should like to marry, and have a house of his own.

'When I served the king's chief herdsman,' added he, 'I saw his
daughter, and I am resolved to try if I cannot win her for my wife.'

'It will cost you your life, if you do,' answered the father, shaking
his head.

'Well, I will do my best,' replied his son; 'but first give me the sword
which hangs over your bed!'

The old man did not understand what good the sword would do, however he
took it down, and the young man went his way.

Late in the evening he arrived at the house of the herdsman, and knocked
at the door, which was opened by a little boy.

'I want to speak to your master,' said he.

'So it is you?' cried the herdsman, when he had received the message.
'Well, you can sleep here to-night if you wish.'

'I have come for something else besides a bed,' replied the young man,
drawing his sword, 'and if you do not promise to give me your youngest
daughter as my wife I will stab you through the heart.'

What could the poor man do but promise? And he fetched his youngest
daughter, who seemed quite pleased at the proposed match, and gave the
youth her hand.

Then the young man went home to his parents, and bade them get ready
to welcome his bride. And when the wedding was over he told his
father-in-law, the herdsman, what he had done with the sheep, and pigs,
and cattle. By-and-by the story came to the king's ears, and he thought
that a man who was so clever was just the man to govern the country; so
he made him his minister, and after the king himself there was no one so
great as he.






Eisenkopf

Once upon a time there lived an old man who had only one son, whom he
loved dearly; but they were very poor, and often had scarcely enough to
eat. Then the old man fell ill, and things grew worse than ever, so he
called his son and said to him:

'My dear boy, I have no longer any food to give you, and you must go
into the world and get it for yourself. It does not matter what work you
do, but remember if you do it well and are faithful to your master, you
will always have your reward.'

So Peter put a piece of black bread in his knapsack, and strapping it
on his back, took a stout stick in his hand, and set out to seek his
fortune. For a long while he travelled on and on, and nobody seemed to
want him; but one day he met an old man, and being a polite youth, he
took off his hat and said: 'Good morning,' in a pleasant voice. 'Good
morning,' answered the old man; 'and where are you going?'

'I am wandering through the country trying to get work,' replied Peter.

'Then stay with me, for I can give you plenty,' said the old man, and
Peter stayed.

His work did not seem hard, for he had only two horses and a cow to see
after, and though he had been hired for a year, the year consisted of
but three days, so that it was not long before he received his wages. In
payment the old man gave him a nut, and offered to keep him for another
year; but Peter was home-sick; and, besides, he would rather have been
paid ever so small a piece of money than a nut; for, thought he, nuts
grow on every tree, and I can gather as many as I like. However, he did
not say this to the old man, who had been kind to him, but just bade him
farewell.

The nearer Peter drew to his father's house the more ashamed he felt at
having brought back such poor wages. What could one nut do for him? Why,
it would not buy even a slice of bacon. It was no use taking it home, he
might as well eat it. So he sat down on a stone and cracked it with his
teeth, and then took it out of his mouth to break off the shell. But
who could ever guess what came out of that nut? Why, horses and oxen
and sheep stepped out in such numbers that they seemed as if they would
stretch to the world's end! The sight gave Peter such a shock that he
wrung his hands in dismay. What was he to do with all these creatures,
where was he to put them? He stood and gazed in terror, and at this
moment Eisenkopf came by.

'What is the matter, young man?' asked he.

'Oh, my friend, there is plenty the matter,' answered Peter. 'I have
gained a nut as my wages, and when I cracked it this crowd of beasts
came out, and I don't know what to do with them all!'

'Listen to me, my son,' said Eisenkopf. 'If you will promise never to
marry I will drive them all back into the nut again.'

In his trouble Peter would have promised far harder things than this,
so he gladly gave the promise Eisenkopf asked for; and at a whistle from
the stranger the animals all began crowding into the nut again, nearly
tumbling over each other in their haste. When the last foot had got
inside, the two halves of the shell shut close. Then Peter put it in his
pocket and went on to the house.

No sooner had he reached it than he cracked his nut for the second time,
and out came the horses, sheep, and oxen again. Indeed Peter thought
that there were even more of them than before. The old man could not
believe his eyes when he saw the multitudes of horses, oxen and sheep
standing before his door.

'How did you come by all these?' he gasped, as soon as he could speak;
and the son told him the whole story, and of the promise he had given
Eisenkopf.

The next day some of the cattle were driven to market and sold, and with
the money the old man was able to buy some of the fields and gardens
round his house, and in a few months had grown the richest and most
prosperous man in the whole village. Everything seemed to turn to gold
in his hands, till one day, when he and his son were sitting in the
orchard watching their herds of cattle grazing in the meadows, he
suddenly said: 'Peter, my boy, it is time that you were thinking of
marrying.'

'But, my dear father, I told you I can never marry, because of the
promise I gave to Eisenkopf.'

'Oh, one promises here and promises there, but no one ever thinks of
keeping such promises. If Eisenkopf does not like your marrying, he will
have to put up with it all the same! Besides, there stands in the stable
a grey horse which is saddled night and day; and if Eisenkopf should
show his face, you have only got to jump on the horse's back and ride
away, and nobody on earth can catch you. When all is safe you will come
back again, and we shall live as happily as two fish in the sea.'

And so it all happened. The young man found a pretty, brown-skinned girl
who was willing to have him for a husband, and the whole village came
to the wedding feast. The music was at its gayest, and the dance at its
merriest, when Eisenkopf looked in at the window.

'Oh, ho, my brother! what is going on here? It has the air of being a
wedding feast. Yet I fancied--was I mistaken?--that you had given me a
promise that you never would marry.' But Peter had not waited for the
end of this speech. Scarcely had he seen Eisenkopf than he darted like
the wind to the stable and flung himself on the horse's back. In another
moment he was away over the mountain, with Eisenkopf running fast behind
him.

On they went through thick forests where the sun never shone, over
rivers so wide that it took a whole day to sail across them, up hills
whose sides were all of glass; on they went through seven times seven
countries till Peter reined in his horse before the house of an old
woman.

'Good day, mother,' said he, jumping down and opening the door.

'Good day, my son,' answered she, 'and what are you doing here, at the
world's end?'

'I am flying for my life, mother, flying to the world which is beyond
all worlds; for Eisenkopf is at my heels.'

'Come in and rest then, and have some food, for I have a little dog who
will begin to howl when Eisenkopf is still seven miles off.'

So Peter went in and warmed himself and ate and drank, till suddenly the
dog began to howl.

'Quick, my son, quick, you must go,' cried the old woman. And the
lightning itself was not quicker than Peter.

'Stop a moment,' cried the old woman again, just as he was mounting his
horse, 'take this napkin and this cake, and put them in your bag where
you can get hold of them easily.' Peter took them and put them into his
bag, and waving his thanks for her kindness, he was off like the wind.

Round and round he rode, through seven times seven countries, through
forests still thicker, and rivers still wider, and mountains still more
slippery than the others he had passed, till at length he reached a
house where dwelt another old woman.

'Good day, mother,' said he.

'Good day, my son! What are you seeking here at the world's end?'

'I am flying for my life, mother, flying to the world that is beyond all
worlds, for Eisenkopf is at my heels.'

'Come in, my son, and have some food. I have a little dog who will begin
to howl when Eisenkopf is still seven miles off; so lie on this bed and
rest yourself in peace.'

Then she went to the kitchen and baked a number of cakes, more than
Peter could have eaten in a whole month. He had not finished a quarter
of them, when the dog began to howl.

'Now, my son, you must go,' cried the old woman 'but first put these
cakes and this napkin in your bag, where you can easily get at them.' So
Peter thanked her and was off like the wind.

On he rode, through seven times seven countries, till he came to the
house of a third old woman, who welcomed him as the others had done. But
when the dog howled, and Peter sprang up to go, she said, as she gave
him the same gifts for his journey: 'You have now three cakes and three
napkins, for I know that my sisters have each given you one. Listen to
me, and do what I tell you. Ride seven days and nights straight before
you, and on the eighth morning you will see a great fire. Strike it
three times with the three napkins and it will part in two. Then ride
into the opening, and when you are in the middle of the opening, throw
the three cakes behind your back with your left hand.'

Peter thanked her for her counsel, and was careful to do exactly all the
old woman had told him. On the eighth morning he reached a fire so large
that he could see nothing else on either side, but when he struck it
with the napkins it parted, and stood on each hand like a wall. As he
rode through the opening he threw the cakes behind him. From each cake
there sprang a huge dog, and he gave them the names of World's-weight,
Ironstrong, and Quick-ear. They bayed with joy at the sight of him,
and as Peter turned to pat them, he beheld Eisenkopf at the edge of the
fire, but the opening had closed up behind Peter, and he could not get
through.

'Stop, you promise-breaker,' shrieked he; 'you have slipped through my
hands once, but wait till I catch you again!'

Then he lay down by the fire and watched to see what would happen.

When Peter knew that he had nothing more to fear from Eisenkopf, he rode
on slowly till he came to a small white house. Here he entered and found
himself in a room where a gray-haired woman was spinning and a beautiful
girl was sitting in the window combing her golden hair. 'What brings you
here, my son?' asked the old woman.

'I am seeking for a place, mother,' answered Peter.

'Stay with me, then, for I need a servant,' said the old woman.

'With pleasure, mother,' replied he.

After that Peter's life was a very happy one. He sowed and ploughed all
day, except now and then when he took his dogs and went to hunt. And
whatever game he brought back the maiden with the golden hair knew how
to dress it.

One day the old woman had gone to the town to buy some flour, and Peter
and the maiden were left alone in the house. They fell into talk, and
she asked him where his home was, and how he had managed to come through
the fire. Peter then told her the whole story, and of his striking the
flames with the three napkins as he had been told to do. The maiden
listened attentively and wondered in herself whether what he said was
true. So after Peter had gone out to the fields, she crept up to his
room and stole the napkins and then set off as fast as she could to the
fire by a path she knew of over the hill.

At the third blow she gave the flames divided, and Eisenkopf, who had
been watching and hoping for a chance of this kind, ran down the opening
and stood before her. At this sight the maiden was almost frightened
to death, but with a great effort she recovered herself and ran home as
fast as her legs would carry her, closely pursued by Eisenkopf. Panting
for breath she rushed into the house and fell fainting on the floor; but
Eisenkopf entered behind her, and hid himself in the kitchen under the
hearth.

Not long after, Peter came in and picked up the three napkins which the
maiden had dropped on the threshold. He wondered how they got there, for
he knew he had left them in his room; but what was his horror when he
saw the form of the fainting girl lying where she had dropped, as still
and white as if she had been dead. He lifted her up and carried her
to her bed, where she soon revived, but she did not tell Peter about
Eisenkopf, who had been almost crushed to death under the hearth-stone
by the body of World's-weight.

The next morning Peter locked up his dogs and went out into the forest
alone. Eisenkopf, however, had seen him go, and followed so closely at
his heels that Peter had barely time to clamber up a tall tree, where
Eisenkopf could not reach him. 'Come down at once, you gallows bird,' he
cried. 'Have you forgotten your promise that you never would marry?'

'Oh, I know it is all up with me,' answered Peter, 'but let me call out
three times.'

'You can call a hundred times if you like,' returned Eisenkopf, 'for now
I have got you in my power, and you shall pay for what you have done.'

'Iron-strong, World's-weight, Quick-ear, fly to my help!' cried Peter;
and Quick-ear heard, and said to his brothers: 'Listen, our master is
calling us.'

'You are dreaming, fool,' answered World's-weight; 'why he has not
finished his breakfast.' And he gave Quick-ear a slap with his paw, for
he was young and needed to be taught sense.

'Iron-strong, World's-weight, Quick-ear, fly to my help!' cried Peter
again.

This time World's-weight heard also, and he said, 'Ah, now our master is
really calling.'

'How silly you are!' answered Iron-strong; 'you know that at this hour
he is always eating.' And he gave World's-weight a cuff, because he was
old enough to know better.

Peter sat trembling on the tree dreading lest his dogs had never heard,
or else that, having heard, they had refused to come. It was his last
chance, so making a mighty effort he shrieked once more:

'Iron-strong, World's-weight, Quick-ear, fly to my help, or I am a dead
man!'

And Iron-strong heard, and said: 'Yes, he is certainly calling, we must
go at once.' And in an instant he had burst open the door, and all three
were bounding away in the direction of the voice. When they reached the
foot of the tree Peter just said: 'At him!' And in a few minutes there
was nothing left of Eisenkopf.

As soon as his enemy was dead Peter got down and returned to the house,
where he bade farewell to the old woman and her daughter, who gave him
a beautiful ring, all set with diamonds. It was really a magic ring, but
neither Peter nor the maiden knew that.

Peter's heart was heavy as he set out for home. He had ceased to love
the wife whom he had left at his wedding feast, and his heart had gone
out to the golden-haired girl. However, it was no use thinking of that,
so he rode forward steadily.

The fire had to be passed through before he had gone very far, and when
he came to it, Peter shook the napkins three times in the flames and a
passage opened for trim. But then a curious thing happened; the three
dogs, who had followed at his heels all the way, now became three cakes
again, which Peter put into his bag with the napkins. After that he
stopped at the houses of the three old women, and gave each one back her
napkin and her cake.

'Where is my wife?' asked Peter, when he reached home.

'Oh, my dear son, why did you ever leave us? After you had vanished, no
one knew where, your poor wife grew more and more wretched, and would
neither eat nor drink. Little by little she faded away, and a month ago
we laid her in her grave, to hide her sorrows under the earth.'

At this news Peter began to weep, for he had loved his wife before he
went away and had seen the golden-haired maiden.

He went sorrowfully about his work for the space of half a year, when,
one night, he dreamed that he moved the diamond ring given him by the
maiden from his right hand and put it on the wedding finger of the left.
The dream was so real that he awoke at once and changed the ring from
one hand to the other. And as he did so guess what he saw? Why, the
golden-haired girl standing before him. And he sprang up and kissed her,
and said: 'Now you are mine for ever and ever, and when we die we will
both be buried in one grave.'

And so they were.






The Death Of Abu Nowas And Of His Wife

Once upon a time there lived a man whose name was Abu Nowas, and he was
a great favourite with the Sultan of the country, who had a palace in
the same town where Abu Nowas dwelt.

One day Abu Nowas came weeping into the hall of the palace where the
Sultan was sitting, and said to him: 'Oh, mighty Sultan, my wife is
dead.'

'That is bad news,' replied the Sultan; 'I must get you another wife.'
And he bade his Grand Vizir send for the Sultana.

'This poor Abu Nowas has lost his wife,' said he, when she entered the
hall.

'Oh, then we must get him another,' answered the Sultana; 'I have a
girl that will suit him exactly,' and clapped her hands loudly. At this
signal a maiden appeared and stood before her.

'I have got a husband for you,' said the Sultana.

'Who is he?' asked the girl.

'Abu Nowas, the jester,' replied the Sultana.

'I will take him,' answered the maiden; and as Abu Nowas made no
objection, it was all arranged. The Sultana had the most beautiful
clothes made for the bride, and the Sultan gave the bridegroom his
wedding suit, and a thousand gold pieces into the bargain, and soft
carpets for the house.

So Abu Nowas took his wife home, and for some time they were very
happy, and spent the money freely which the Sultan had given them, never
thinking what they should do for more when that was gone. But come to an
end it did, and they had to sell their fine things one by one, till at
length nothing was left but a cloak apiece, and one blanket to cover
them. 'We have run through our fortune,' said Abu Nowas, 'what are we
to do now? I am afraid to go back to the Sultan, for he will command
his servants to turn me from the door. But you shall return to your
mistress, and throw yourself at her feet and weep, and perhaps she will
help us.'

'Oh, you had much better go,' said the wife. 'I shall not know what to
say.'

'Well, then, stay at home, if you like,' answered Abu Nowas, 'and I will
ask to be admitted to the Sultan's presence, and will tell him, with
sobs, that my wife is dead, and that I have no money for her burial.
When he hears that perhaps he will give us something.'

'Yes, that is a good plan,' said the wife; and Abu Nowas set out.

The Sultan was sitting in the hall of justice when Abu Nowas entered,
his eyes streaming with tears, for he had rubbed some pepper into them.
They smarted dreadfully, and he could hardly see to walk straight, and
everyone wondered what was the matter with him.

'Abu Nowas! What has happened?' cried the Sultan.

'Oh, noble Sultan, my wife is dead,' wept he.

'We must all die,' answered the Sultan; but this was not the reply for
which Abu Nowas had hoped.

'True, O Sultan, but I have neither shroud to wrap her in, nor money
to bury her with,' went on Abu Nowas, in no wise abashed by the way the
Sultan had received his news.

'Well, give him a hundred pieces of gold,' said the Sultan, turning to
the Grand Vizir. And when the money was counted out Abu Nowas bowed low,
and left the hall, his tears still flowing, but with joy in his heart.

'Have you got anything?' cried his wife, who was waiting for him
anxiously.

'Yes, a hundred gold pieces,' said he, throwing down the bag, 'but that
will not last us any time. Now you must go to the Sultana, clothed in
sackcloth and robes of mourning, and tell her that your husband, Abu
Nowas, is dead, and you have no money for his burial. When she hears
that, she will be sure to ask you what has become of the money and the
fine clothes she gave us on our marriage, and you will answer, "before
he died he sold everything."'

The wife did as she was told, and wrapping herself in sackcloth went up
to the Sultana's own palace, and as she was known to have been one of
Subida's favourite attendants, she was taken without difficulty into the
private apartments.

'What is the matter?' inquired the Sultana, at the sight of the dismal
figure.

'My husband lies dead at home, and he has spent all our money, and sold
everything, and I have nothing left to bury him with,' sobbed the wife.

Then Subida took up a purse containing two hundred gold pieces, and
said: 'Your husband served us long and faithfully. You must see that he
has a fine funeral.'

The wife took the money, and, kissing the feet of the Sultana, she
joyfully hastened home. They spent some happy hours planning how they
should spend it, and thinking how clever they had been. 'When the Sultan
goes this evening to Subida's palace,' said Abu Nowas, 'she will be sure
to tell him that Abu Nowas is dead. "Not Abu Nowas, it is his wife," he
will reply, and they will quarrel over it, and all the time we shall be
sitting here enjoying ourselves. Oh, if they only knew, how angry they
would be!'

As Abu Nowas had foreseen, the Sultan went, in the evening after his
business was over, to pay his usual visit to the Sultana.


'Poor Abu Nowas is dead!' said Subida when he entered the room.

'It is not Abu Nowas, but his wife who is dead,' answered the Sultan.

'No; really you are quite wrong. She came to tell me herself only a
couple of hours ago,' replied Subida, 'and as he had spent all their
money, I gave her something to bury him with.'

'You must be dreaming,' exclaimed the Sultan. 'Soon after midday Abu
Nowas came into the hall, his eyes streaming with tears, and when I
asked him the reason he answered that his wife was dead, and they had
sold everything they had, and he had nothing left, not so much as would
buy her a shroud, far less for her burial.'

For a long time they talked, and neither would listen to the other, till
the Sultan sent for the door-keeper and bade him go instantly to the
house of Abu Nowas and see if it was the man or his wife who was dead.
But Abu Nowas happened to be sitting with his wife behind the latticed
window, which looked on the street, and he saw the man coming, and
sprang up at once. 'There is the Sultan's door-keeper! They have sent
him here to find out the truth. Quick! throw yourself on the bed and
pretend that you are dead.' And in a moment the wife was stretched out
stiffly, with a linen sheet spread across her, like a corpse.

She was only just in time, for the sheet was hardly drawn across her
when the door opened and the porter came in. 'Has anything happened?'
asked he.

'My poor wife is dead,' replied Abu Nowas. 'Look! she is laid out here.'
And the porter approached the bed, which was in a corner of the room,
and saw the stiff form lying underneath.

'We must all die,' said he, and went back to the Sultan.

'Well, have you found out which of them is dead?' asked the Sultan.

'Yes, noble Sultan; it is the wife,' replied the porter.

'He only says that to please you,' cried Subida in a rage; and calling
to her chamberlain, she ordered him to go at once to the dwelling of Abu
Nowas and see which of the two was dead. 'And be sure you tell the truth
about it,' added she, 'or it will be the worse for you.'

As her chamberlain drew near the house, Abu Nowas caught sight of him.
'There is the Sultana's chamberlain,' he exclaimed in a fright. 'Now it
is my turn to die. Be quick and spread the sheet over me.' And he laid
himself on the bed, and held his breath when the chamberlain came in.
'What are you weeping for?' asked the man, finding the wife in tears.

'My husband is dead,' answered she, pointing to the bed; and the
chamberlain drew back the sheet and beheld Abu Nowas lying stiff and
motionless. Then he gently replaced the sheet and returned to the
palace.

'Well, have you found out this time?' asked the Sultan.

'My lord, it is the husband who is dead.'

'But I tell you he was with me only a few hours ago,' cried the Sultan
angrily. 'I must get to the bottom of this before I sleep! Let my golden
coach be brought round at once.'

The coach was before the door in another five minutes, and the Sultan
and Sultana both got in. Abu Nowas had ceased being a dead man, and was
looking into the street when he saw the coach coming. 'Quick! quick!' he
called to his wife. 'The Sultan will be here directly, and we must both
be dead to receive him.' So they laid themselves down, and spread the
sheet over them, and held their breath. At that instant the Sultan
entered, followed by the Sultana and the chamberlain, and he went up
to the bed and found the corpses stiff and motionless. 'I would give a
thousand gold pieces to anyone who would tell me the truth about this,'
cried he, and at the words Abu Nowas sat up. 'Give them to me, then,'
said he, holding out his hand. 'You cannot give them to anyone who needs
them more.'

'Oh, Abu Nowas, you impudent dog!' exclaimed the Sultan, bursting into
a laugh, in which the Sultana joined. 'I might have known it was one of
your tricks!' But he sent Abu Nowas the gold he had promised, and let us
hope that it did not fly so fast as the last had done.






Motiratika

Once upon a time, in a very hot country, a man lived with his wife in
a little hut, which was surrounded by grass and flowers. They were
perfectly happy together till, by-and-by, the woman fell ill and refused
to take any food. The husband tried to persuade her to eat all sorts
of delicious fruits that he had found in the forest, but she would
have none of them, and grew so thin he feared she would die. 'Is there
nothing you would like?' he said at last in despair.

'Yes, I think I could eat some wild honey,' answered she. The husband
was overjoyed, for he thought this sounded easy enough to get, and he
went off at once in search of it.

He came back with a wooden pan quite full, and gave it to his wife. 'I
can't eat that,' she said, turning away in disgust. 'Look! there are
some dead bees in it! I want honey that is quite pure.' And the man
threw the rejected honey on the grass, and started off to get some
fresh. When he got back he offered it to his wife, who treated it as
she had done the first bowlful. 'That honey has got ants in it: throw it
away,' she said, and when he brought her some more, she declared it was
full of earth. In his fourth journey he managed to find some that she
would eat, and then she begged him to get her some water. This took him
some time, but at length he came to a lake whose waters were sweetened
with sugar. He filled a pannikin quite full, and carried it home to his
wife, who drank it eagerly, and said that she now felt quite well. When
she was up and had dressed herself, her husband lay down in her place,
saying: 'You have given me a great deal of trouble, and now it is my
turn!'

'What is the matter with you?' asked the wife.

'I am thirsty and want some water,' answered he; and she took a large
pot and carried it to the nearest spring, which was a good way off.
'Here is the water,' she said to her husband, lifting the heavy pot from
her head; but he turned away in disgust.

'You have drawn it from the pool that is full of frogs and willows;
you must get me some more.' So the woman set out again and walked still
further to another lake.

'This water tastes of rushes,' he exclaimed, 'go and get some fresh.'
But when she brought back a third supply he declared that it seemed made
up of water-lilies, and that he must have water that was pure, and not
spoilt by willows, or frogs, or rushes. So for the fourth time she put
her jug on her head, and passing all the lakes she had hitherto tried,
she came to another, where the water was golden like honey. She stooped
down to drink, when a horrible head bobbed up on the surface.

'How dare you steal my water?' cried the head.

'It is my husband who has sent me,' she replied, trembling all over.
'But do not kill me! You shall have my baby, if you will only let me
go.'

'How am I to know which is your baby?' asked the Ogre.

'Oh, that is easily managed. I will shave both sides of his head, and
hang some white beads round his neck. And when you come to the hut you
have only to call "Motikatika!" and he will run to meet you, and you can
eat him.'

'Very well,' said the ogre, 'you can go home.' And after filling the pot
she returned, and told her husband of the dreadful danger she had been
in.

Now, though his mother did not know it, the baby was a magician and he
had heard all that his mother had promised the ogre; and he laughed to
himself as he planned how to outwit her.

The next morning she shaved his head on both sides, and hung the white
beads round his neck, and said to him: 'I am going to the fields to
work, but you must stay at home. Be sure you do not go outside, or some
wild beast may eat you.'

'Very well,' answered he.

As soon as his mother was out of sight, the baby took out some magic
bones, and placed them in a row before him. 'You are my father,' he told
one bone, 'and you are my mother. You are the biggest,' he said to
the third, 'so you shall be the ogre who wants to eat me; and you,' to
another, 'are very little, therefore you shall be me. Now, then, tell me
what I am to do.'

'Collect all the babies in the village the same size as yourself,'
answered the bones; 'shave the sides of their heads, and hang white
beads round their necks, and tell them that when anybody calls
"Motikatika," they are to answer to it. And be quick for you have no
time to lose.'

Motikatika went out directly, and brought back quite a crowd of babies,
and shaved their heads and hung white beads round their little black
necks, and just as he had finished, the ground began to shake, and the
huge ogre came striding along, crying: 'Motikatika! Motikatika!'

'Here we are! here we are!' answered the babies, all running to meet
him.

'It is Motikatika I want,' said the ogre.

'We are all Motikatika,' they replied. And the ogre sat down in
bewilderment, for he dared not eat the children of people who had done
him no wrong, or a heavy punishment would befall him. The children
waited for a little, wondering, and then they went away.

The ogre remained where he was, till the evening, when the woman
returned from the fields.

'I have not seen Motikatika,' said he.

'But why did you not call him by his name, as I told you?' she asked.

'I did, but all the babies in the village seemed to be named
Motikatika,' answered the ogre; 'you cannot think the number who came
running to me.'

The woman did not know what to make of it, so, to keep him in a good
temper, she entered the hut and prepared a bowl of maize, which she
brought him.

'I do not want maize, I want the baby,' grumbled he 'and I will have
him.'

'Have patience,' answered she; 'I will call him, and you can eat him at
once.' And she went into the hut and cried, 'Motikatika!'

'I am coming, mother,' replied he; but first he took out his bones, and,
crouching down on the ground behind the hut, asked them how he should
escape the ogre.

'Change yourself into a mouse,' said the bones; and so he did, and the
ogre grew tired of waiting, and told the woman she must invent some
other plan.

'To-morrow I will send him into the field to pick some beans for me, and
you will find him there, and can eat him.'

'Very well,' replied the ogre, 'and this time I will take care to have
him,' and he went back to his lake.

Next morning Motikatika was sent out with a basket, and told to pick
some beans for dinner. On the way to the field he took out his bones and
asked them what he was to do to escape from the ogre. 'Change yourself
into a bird and snap off the beans,' said the bones. And the ogre chased
away the bird, not knowing that it was Motikatika.

The ogre went back to the hut and told the woman that she had deceived
him again, and that he would not be put off any longer.

'Return here this evening,' answered she, 'and you will find him in bed
under this white coverlet. Then you can carry him away, and eat him at
once.'

But the boy heard, and consulted his bones, which said: 'Take the red
coverlet from your father's bed, and put yours on his,' and so he did.
And when the ogre came, he seized Motikatika's father and carried him
outside the hut and ate him. When his wife found out the mistake, she
cried bitterly; but Motikatika said: 'It is only just that he should be
eaten, and not I; for it was he, and not I, who sent you to fetch the
water.'






Niels And The Giants

On one of the great moors over in Jutland, where trees won't grow
because the soil is so sandy and the wind so strong, there once lived
a man and his wife, who had a little house and some sheep, and two sons
who helped them to herd them. The elder of the two was called Rasmus,
and the younger Niels. Rasmus was quite content to look after sheep, as
his father had done before him, but Niels had a fancy to be a hunter,
and was not happy till he got hold of a gun and learned to shoot. It was
only an old muzzle-loading flint-lock after all, but Niels thought it a
great prize, and went about shooting at everything he could see. So much
did he practice that in the long run he became a wonderful shot, and was
heard of even where he had never been seen. Some people said there was
very little in him beyond this, but that was an idea they found reason
to change in the course of time.

The parents of Rasmus and Niels were good Catholics, and when they were
getting old the mother took it into her head that she would like to go
to Rome and see the Pope. The others didn't see much use in this, but
she had her way in the end: they sold all the sheep, shut up the house,
and set out for Rome on foot. Niels took his gun with him.

'What do you want with that?' said Rasmus; 'we have plenty to carry
without it.' But Niels could not be happy without his gun, and took it
all the same.

It was in the hottest part of summer that they began their journey, so
hot that they could not travel at all in the middle of the day, and they
were afraid to do it by night lest they might lose their way or fall
into the hands of robbers. One day, a little before sunset, they came to
an inn which lay at the edge of a forest.

'We had better stay here for the night,' said Rasmus.

'What an idea!' said Niels, who was growing impatient at the slow
progress they were making. 'We can't travel by day for the heat, and we
remain where we are all night. It will be long enough before we get to
Rome if we go on at this rate.'

Rasmus was unwilling to go on, but the two old people sided with Niels,
who said, 'The nights aren't dark, and the moon will soon be up. We can
ask at the inn here, and find out which way we ought to take.'

So they held on for some time, but at last they came to a small opening
in the forest, and here they found that the road split in two. There was
no sign-post to direct them, and the people in the inn had not told them
which of the two roads to take.

'What's to be done now?' said Rasmus. 'I think we had better have stayed
at the inn.'

'There's no harm done,' said Niels. 'The night is warm, and we can wait
here till morning. One of us will keep watch till midnight, and then
waken the other.'

Rasmus chose to take the first watch, and the others lay down to sleep.
It was very quiet in the forest, and Rasmus could hear the deer and
foxes and other animals moving about among the rustling leaves. After
the moon rose he could see them occasionally, and when a big stag came
quite close to him he got hold of Niels' gun and shot it.

Niels was wakened by the report. 'What's that?' he said.

'I've just shot a stag,' said Rasmus, highly pleased with himself.

'That's nothing,' said Niels. 'I've often shot a sparrow, which is a
much more difficult thing to do.'

It was now close on midnight, so Niels began his watch, and Rasmus went
to sleep. It began to get colder, and Niels began to walk about a little
to keep himself warm. He soon found that they were not far from the edge
of the forest, and when he climbed up one of the trees there he could
see out over the open country beyond. At a little distance he saw a
fire, and beside it there sat three giants, busy with broth and beef.
They were so huge that the spoons they used were as large as spades, and
their forks as big as hay-forks: with these they lifted whole bucketfuls
of broth and great joints of meat out of an enormous pot which was set
on the ground between them. Niels was startled and rather scared at
first, but he comforted himself with the thought that the giants were
a good way off, and that if they came nearer he could easily hide among
the bushes. After watching them for a little, however, he began to get
over his alarm, and finally slid down the tree again, resolved to get
his gun and play some tricks with them.

When he had climbed back to his former position, he took good aim, and
waited till one of the giants was just in the act of putting a large
piece of meat into his mouth. Bang! went Niels' gun, and the bullet
struck the handle of the fork so hard that the point went into the
giant's chin, instead of his mouth.

'None of your tricks,' growled the giant to the one who sat next him.
'What do you mean by hitting my fork like that, and making me prick
myself?'

'I never touched your fork,' said the other. 'Don't try to get up a
quarrel with me.'

'Look at it, then,' said the first. 'Do you suppose I stuck it into my
own chin for fun?'

The two got so angry over the matter that each offered to fight the
other there and then, but the third giant acted as peace-maker, and they
again fell to their eating.

While the quarrel was going on, Niels had loaded the gun again, and
just as the second giant was about to put a nice tit-bit into his mouth,
bang! went the gun again, and the fork flew into a dozen pieces.

This giant was even more furious than the first had been, and words were
just coming to blows, when the third giant again interposed.

'Don't be fools,' he said to them; 'what's the good of beginning to
fight among ourselves, when it is so necessary for the three of us to
work together and get the upper hand over the king of this country. It
will be a hard enough task as it is, but it will be altogether hopeless
if we don't stick together. Sit down again, and let us finish our meal;
I shall sit between you, and then neither of you can blame the other.'

Niels was too far away to hear their talk, but from their gestures he
could guess what was happening, and thought it good fun.

'Thrice is lucky,' said he to himself; 'I'll have another shot yet.'

This time it was the third giant's fork that caught the bullet, and
snapped in two.

'Well,' said he, 'if I were as foolish as you two, I would also fly into
a rage, but I begin to see what time of day it is, and I'm going off
this minute to see who it is that's playing these tricks with us.'

So well had the giant made his observations, that though Niels climbed
down the tree as fast as he could, so as to hide among the bushes, he
had just got to the ground when the enemy was upon him.

'Stay where you are,' said the giant, 'or I'll put my foot on you, and
there won't be much of you left after that.'

Niels gave in, and the giant carried him back to his comrades.

'You don't deserve any mercy at our hands,' said his captor 'but as you
are such a good shot you may be of great use to us, so we shall spare
your life, if you will do us a service. Not far from here there stands a
castle, in which the king's daughter lives; we are at war with the king,
and want to get the upper hand of him by carrying off the princess, but
the castle is so well guarded that there is no getting into it. By our
skill in magic we have cast sleep on every living thing in the castle,
except a little black dog, and, as long as he is awake, we are no better
off than before; for, as soon as we begin to climb over the wall, the
little dog will hear us, and its barking will waken all the others
again. Having got you, we can place you where you will be able to shoot
the dog before it begins to bark, and then no one can hinder us from
getting the princess into our hands. If you do that, we shall not only
let you off, but reward you handsomely.'

Niels had to consent, and the giants set out for the castle at once.
It was surrounded by a very high rampart, so high that even the giants
could not touch the top of it. 'How am I to get over that?' said Niels.

'Quite easily,' said the third giant; 'I'll throw you up on it.'

'No, thanks,' said Niels. 'I might fall down on the other side, or break
my leg or neck, and then the little dog wouldn't get shot after all.'

'No fear of that,' said the giant; 'the rampart is quite wide on the
top, and covered with long grass, so that you will come down as softly
as though you fell on a feather-bed.'

Niels had to believe him, and allowed the giant to throw him up. He came
down on his feet quite unhurt, but the little black dog heard the dump,
and rushed out of its kennel at once. It was just opening its mouth to
bark, when Niels fired, and it fell dead on the spot.

'Go down on the inside now,' said the giant, 'and see if you can open
the gate to us.'

Niels made his way down into the courtyard, but on his way to the outer
gate he found himself at the entrance to the large hall of the castle.
The door was open, and the hall was brilliantly lighted, though there
was no one to be seen. Niels went in here and looked round him: on the
wall there hung a huge sword without a sheath, and beneath it was a
large drinking-horn, mounted with silver. Niels went closer to look at
these, and saw that the horn had letters engraved on the silver rim:
when he took it down and turned it round, he found that the inscription
was:--

     Whoever drinks the wine I hold
     Can wield the sword that hangs above;
     Then let him use it for the right,
     And win a royal maiden's love.

Niels took out the silver stopper of the horn, and drank some of the
wine, but when he tried to take down the sword he found himself unable
to move it. So he hung up the horn again, and went further in to the
castle. 'The giants can wait a little,' he said.

Before long he came to an apartment in which a beautiful princess lay
asleep in a bed, and on a table by her side there lay a gold-hemmed
handkerchief. Niels tore this in two, and put one half in his pocket,
leaving the other half on the table. On the floor he saw a pair of
gold-embroidered slippers, and one of these he also put in his pocket.
After that he went back to the hall, and took down the horn again.
'Perhaps I have to drink all that is in it before I can move the sword,'
he thought; so he put it to his lips again and drank till it was quite
empty. When he had done this, he could wield the sword with the greatest
of ease, and felt himself strong enough to do anything, even to fight
the giants he had left outside, who were no doubt wondering why he had
not opened the gate to them before this time. To kill the giants, he
thought, would be using the sword for the right; but as to winning
the love of the princess, that was a thing which the son of a poor
sheep-farmer need not hope for.

When Niels came to the gate of the castle, he found that there was a
large door and a small one, so he opened the latter.

'Can't you open the big door?' said the giants; 'we shall hardly be able
to get in at this one.'

'The bars are too heavy for me to draw,' said Niels; 'if you stoop a
little you can quite well come in here.' The first giant accordingly
bent down and entered in a stooping posture, but before he had time to
straighten his back again Niels made a sweep with the sword, and oft
went the giant's head. To push the body aside as it fell was quite easy
for Niels, so strong had the wine made him, and the second giant as he
entered met the same reception. The third was slower in coming, so Niels
called out to him: 'Be quick,' he said, 'you are surely the oldest of
the three, since you are so slow in your movements, but I can't wait
here long; I must get back to my own people as soon as possible.' So the
third also came in, and was served in the same way. It appears from the
story that giants were not given fair play!

By this time day was beginning to break, and Niels thought that his
folks might already be searching for him, so, instead of waiting to see
what took place at the castle, he ran off to the forest as fast as he
could, taking the sword with him. He found the others still asleep, so
he woke them up, and they again set out on their journey. Of the night's
adventures he said not a word, and when they asked where he got the
sword, he only pointed in the direction of the castle, and said, 'Over
that way.' They thought he had found it, and asked no more questions.

When Niels left the castle, he shut the door behind him, and it closed
with such a bang that the porter woke up. He could scarcely believe
his eyes when he saw the three headless giants lying in a heap in the
courtyard, and could not imagine what had taken place. The whole castle
was soon aroused, and then everybody wondered at the affair: it was soon
seen that the bodies were those of the king's great enemies, but how
they came to be there and in that condition was a perfect mystery. Then
it was noticed that the drinking-horn was empty and the sword gone,
while the princess reported that half of her handkerchief and one of her
slippers had been taken away. How the giants had been killed seemed a
little clearer now, but who had done it was as great a puzzle as before.
The old knight who had charge of the castle said that in his opinion
it must have been some young knight, who had immediately set off to the
king to claim the hand of the princess. This sounded likely, but the
messenger who was sent to the Court returned with the news that no one
there knew anything about the matter.

'We must find him, however,' said the princess; 'for if he is willing to
marry me I cannot in honour refuse him, after what my father put on the
horn.' She took council with her father's wisest men as to what ought to
be done, and among other things they advised her to build a house beside
the highway, and put over the door this inscription:--'Whoever will tell
the story of his life, may stay here three nights for nothing.' This was
done, and many strange tales were told to the princess, but none of the
travellers said a word about the three giants.

In the meantime Niels and the others tramped on towards Rome. Autumn
passed, and winter was just beginning when they came to the foot of
a great range of mountains, towering up to the sky. 'Must we go over
these?' said they. 'We shall be frozen to death or buried in the snow.'

'Here comes a man,' said Niels; 'let us ask him the way to Rome.' They
did so, and were told that there was no other way.

'And is it far yet?' said the old people, who were beginning to be worn
out by the long journey. The man held up his foot so that they could see
the sole of his shoe; it was worn as thin as paper, and there was a hole
in the middle of it.

'These shoes were quite new when I left Rome,' he said, 'and look at
them now; that will tell you whether you are far from it or not.'

This discouraged the old people so much that they gave up all thought of
finishing the journey, and only wished to get back to Denmark as quickly
as they could. What with the winter and bad roads they took longer to
return than they had taken to go, but in the end they found themselves
in sight of the forest where they had slept before.

'What's this?' said Rasmus. 'Here's a big house built since we passed
this way before.'

'So it is,' said Peter; 'let's stay all night in it.'

'No, we can't afford that,' said the old people; 'it will be too dear
for the like of us.'

However, when they saw what was written above the door, they were
all well pleased to get a night's lodging for nothing. They were well
received, and had so much attention given to them, that the old people
were quite put out by it. After they had got time to rest themselves,
the princess's steward came to hear their story.

'You saw what was written above the door,' he said to the father. 'Tell
me who you are and what your history has been.'

'Dear me, I have nothing of any importance to tell you,' said the old
man, 'and I am sure we should never have made so bold as to trouble you
at all if it hadn't been for the youngest of our two sons here.'

'Never mind that,' said the steward; 'you are very welcome if you will
only tell me the story of your life.'

'Well, well, I will,' said he, 'but there is nothing to tell about it.
I and my wife have lived all our days on a moor in North Jutland, until
this last year, when she took a fancy to go to Rome. We set out with our
two sons but turned back long before we got there, and are now on our
way home again. That's all my own story, and our two sons have lived
with us all their days, so there is nothing more to be told about them
either.'

'Yes there is,' said Rasmus; 'when we were on our way south, we slept in
the wood near here one night, and I shot a stag.'

The steward was so much accustomed to hearing stories of no importance
that he thought there was no use going further with this, but reported
to the princess that the newcomers had nothing to tell.

'Did you question them all?' she said.

'Well, no; not directly,' said he; 'but the father said that none of
them could tell me any more than he had done.'

'You are getting careless,' said the princess; 'I shall go and talk to
them myself.'

Niels knew the princess again as soon as she entered the room, and was
greatly alarmed, for he immediately supposed that all this was a device
to discover the person who had run away with the sword, the slipper and
the half of the handkerchief, and that it would fare badly with him if
he were discovered. So he told his story much the same as the others did
(Niels was not very particular), and thought he had escaped all further
trouble, when Rasmus put in his word. 'You've forgotten something,
Niels,' he said; 'you remember you found a sword near here that night I
shot the stag.'

'Where is the sword?' said the princess.

'I know,' said the steward, 'I saw where he laid it down when they came
in;' and off he went to fetch it, while Niels wondered whether he
could make his escape in the meantime. Before he had made up his
mind, however, the steward was back with the sword, which the princess
recognised at once.

'Where did you get this?' she said to Niels.

Niels was silent, and wondered what the usual penalty was for a poor
sheep-farmer's son who was so unfortunate as to deliver a princess and
carry off things from her bed-room.

'See what else he has about him,' said the princess to the steward,
and Niels had to submit to be searched: out of one pocket came a
gold-embroidered slipper, and out of another the half of a gold-hemmed
handkerchief.

'That is enough,' said the princess; 'now we needn't ask any more
questions. Send for my father the king at once.'

'Please let me go,' said Niels; 'I did you as much good as harm, at any
rate.'

'Why, who said anything about doing harm?' said the princess. 'You must
stay here till my father comes.'

The way in which the princess smiled when she said this gave Niels some
hope that things might not be bad for him after all, and he was yet more
encouraged when he thought of the words engraver on the horn, though the
last line still seemed too good to be true. However, the arrival of the
king soon settled the matter: the princess was willing and so was Niels,
and in a few days the wedding bells were ringing. Niels was made an earl
by that time, and looked as handsome as any of them when dressed in all
his robes. Before long the old king died, and Niels reigned after him;
but whether his father and mother stayed with him, or went back to
the moor in Jutland, or were sent to Rome in a carriage and four,
is something that all the historians of his reign have forgotten to
mention.




Shepherd Paul

Once upon a time a shepherd was taking his flock out to pasture, when he
found a little baby lying in a meadow, left there by some wicked person,
who thought it was too much trouble to look after it. The shepherd was
fond of children, so he took the baby home with him and gave it plenty
of milk, and by the time the boy was fourteen he could tear up oaks
as if they were weeds. Then Paul, as the shepherd had called him, grew
tired of living at home, and went out into the world to try his luck.

He walked on for many miles, seeing nothing that surprised him, but in
an open space of the wood he was astonished at finding a man combing
trees as another man would comb flax.

'Good morning, friend,' said Paul; 'upon my word, you must be a strong
man!'

The man stopped his work and laughed. 'I am Tree Comber,' he answered
proudly; 'and the greatest wish of my life is to wrestle with Shepherd
Paul.'

'May all your wishes be fulfilled as easily, for I am Shepherd Paul,
and can wrestle with you at once,' replied the lad; and he seized Tree
Comber and flung him with such force to the ground that he sank up
to his knees in the earth. However, in a moment he was up again, and
catching hold of Paul, threw him so that he sank up to his waist; but
then it was Paul's turn again, and this time the man was buried up to
his neck. 'That is enough,' cried he; 'I see you are a smart fellow, let
us become friends.'

'Very good,' answered Paul, and they continued their journey together.

By-and-by they reached a man who was grinding stones to powder in his
hands, as if they had been nuts.

'Good morning,' said Paul politely; 'upon my word, you must be a strong
fellow!'

'I am Stone Crusher,' answered the man, and the greatest wish of my life
is to wrestle with Shepherd Paul.'

'May all your wishes be as easily fulfilled, for I am Shepherd Paul, and
will wrestle with you at once,' and the sport began. After a short time
the man declared himself beaten, and begged leave to go with them; so
they all three travelled together.

A little further on they came upon a man who was kneading iron as if
it had been dough. 'Good morning,' said Paul, 'you must be a strong
fellow.'

'I am Iron Kneader, and should like to fight Shepherd Paul,' answered
he.

'Let us begin at once then,' replied Paul; and on this occasion also,
Paul got the better of his foe, and they all four continued their
journey.

At midday they entered a forest, and Paul stopped suddenly. 'We three
will go and look for game,' he said, 'and you, Tree Comber, will stay
behind and prepare a good supper for us.' So Tree Comber set to work to
boil and roast, and when dinner was nearly ready, a little dwarf with
a pointed beard strolled up to the place. 'What are you cooking?' asked
he, 'give me some of it.'

'I'll give you some on your back, if you like,' answered Tree Comber
rudely. The dwarf took no notice, but waited patiently till the dinner
was cooked, then suddenly throwing Tree Comber on the ground, he ate
up the contents of the saucepan and vanished. Tree Comber felt rather
ashamed of himself, and set about boiling some more vegetables, but
they were still very hard when the hunters returned, and though they
complained of his bad cooking, he did not tell them about the dwarf.

Next day Stone Crusher was left behind, and after him Iron Kneader, and
each time the dwarf appeared, and they fared no better than Tree Comber
had done. The fourth day Paul said to them: 'My friends, there must be
some reason why your cooking has always been so bad, now you shall go
and hunt and I will stay behind.' So they went off, amusing themselves
by thinking what was in store for Paul.

He set to work at once, and had just got all his vegetables simmering in
the pot when the dwarf appeared as before, and asked to have some of the
stew. 'Be off,' cried Paul, snatching up the saucepan as he spoke. The
dwarf tried to get hold of his collar, but Paul seized him by the
beard, and tied him to a big tree so that he could not stir, and went
on quietly with his cooking. The hunters came back early, longing to see
how Paul had got on, and, to their surprise, dinner was quite ready for
them.

'You are great useless creatures,' said he, 'who couldn't even outwit
that little dwarf. When we have finished supper I will show you what I
have done with him!' But when they reached the place where Paul had left
the dwarf, neither he nor the tree was to be seen, for the little fellow
had pulled it up by the roots and run away, dragging it after him. The
four friends followed the track of the tree and found that it ended in
a deep hole. 'He must have gone down here,' said Paul, 'and I will go
after him. See! there is a basket that will do for me to sit in, and a
cord to lower me with. But when I pull the cord again, lose no time in
drawing the basket up.'

And he stepped into the basket, which was lowered by his friends.

At last it touched the ground and he jumped out and looked about him. He
was in a beautiful valley, full of meadows and streams, with a splendid
castle standing by. As the door was open he walked in, but a lovely
maiden met him and implored him to go back, for the owner of the castle
was a dragon with six heads, who had stolen her from her home and
brought her down to this underground spot. But Paul refused to listen to
all her entreaties, and declared that he was not afraid of the dragon,
and did not care how many heads he had; and he sat down calmly to wait
for him.

In a little while the dragon came in, and all the long teeth in his six
heads chattered with anger at the sight of the stranger.

'I am Shepherd Paul,' said the young man, 'and I have come to fight you,
and as I am in a hurry we had better begin at once.'

'Very good,' answered the dragon. 'I am sure of my supper, but let us
have a mouthful of something first, just to give us an appetite.'

Whereupon he began to eat some huge boulders as if they had been cakes,
and when he had quite finished, he offered Paul one. Paul was not fond
of boulders, but he took a wooden knife and cut one in two, then
he snatched up both halves in his hands and threw them with all his
strength at the dragon, so that two out of the six heads were smashed
in. At this the dragon, with a mighty roar, rushed upon Paul, but he
sprang on one side, and with a swinging blow cut off two of the other
heads. Then, seizing the monster by the neck, he dashed the remaining
heads against the rock.

When the maiden heard that the dragon was dead, she thanked her
deliverer with tears in her eyes, but told him that her two younger
sisters were in the power of dragons still fiercer and more horrible
than this one. He vowed that his sword should never rest in its sheath
till they were set free, and bade the girl come with him, and show him
the way.

The maiden gladly consented to go with him, but first she gave him a
golden rod, and bade him strike the castle with it. He did so, and it
instantly changed into a golden apple, which he put in his pocket. After
that, they started on their search.

They had not gone far before they reached the castle where the second
girl was confined by the power of the dragon with twelve heads, who had
stolen her from her home. She was overjoyed at the sight of her sister
and of Paul, and brought him a shirt belonging to the dragon, which made
every one who wore it twice as strong as they were before. Scarcely had
he put it on when the dragon came back, and the fight began. Long and
hard was the struggle, but Paul's sword and his shirt helped him, and
the twelve heads lay dead upon the ground.

Then Paul changed the castle into an apple, which he put into his
pocket, and set out with the two girls in search of the third castle.

It was not long before they found it, and within the walls was the third
sister, who was younger and prettier than either of the other two. Her
husband had eighteen heads, but when he quitted the lower regions for
the surface of the earth, he left them all at home except one, which he
changed for the head of a little dwarf, with a pointed beard.

The moment that Paul knew that this terrible dragon was no other than
the dwarf whom he had tied to the tree, he longed more than ever to fly
at his throat. But the thought of the eighteen heads warned him to be
careful, and the third sister brought him a silk shirt which would make
him ten times stronger than he was before.

He had scarcely put it on, when the whole castle began to shake
violently, and the dragon flew up the steps into the hall.

'Well, my friend, so we meet once more! Have you forgotten me? I am
Shepherd Paul, and I have come to wrestle with you, and to free your
wife from your clutches.'

'Ah, I am glad to see you again,' said the dragon. 'Those were my two
brothers whom you killed, and now your blood shall pay for them.' And he
went into his room to look for his shirt and to drink some magic wine,
but the shirt was on Paul's back, and as for the wine, the girl had
given a cupful to Paul and then had allowed the rest to run out of the
cask.

At this the dragon grew rather frightened, but in a moment had
recollected his eighteen heads, and was bold again.

'Come on,' he cried, rearing himself up and preparing to dart all his
heads at once at Paul. But Paul jumped underneath, and gave an upward
cut so that six of the heads went rolling down. They were the best heads
too, and very soon the other twelve lay beside them. Then Paul changed
the castle into an apple, and put it in his pocket. Afterwards he and
the three girls set off for the opening which led upwards to the earth.

The basket was still there, dangling from the rope, but it was only big
enough to hold the three girls, so Paul sent them up, and told them to
be sure and let down the basket for him. Unluckily, at the sight of the
maidens' beauty, so far beyond anything they had ever seen, the friends
forgot all about Paul, and carried the girls straight away into a far
country, so that they were not much better off than before. Meanwhile
Paul, mad with rage at the ingratitude of the three sisters, vowed he
would be revenged upon them, and set about finding some way of getting
back to earth. But it was not very easy, and for months, and months, and
months, he wandered about underground, and, at the end, seemed no nearer
to fulfilling his purpose than he was at the beginning.

At length, one day, he happened to pass the nest of a huge griffin,
who had left her young ones all alone. Just as Paul came along a cloud
containing fire instead of rain burst overhead, and all the little
griffins would certainly have been killed had not Paul spread his cloak
over the nest and saved them. When their father returned the young ones
told him what Paul had done, and he lost no time in flying after Paul,
and asking how he could reward him for his goodness.

'By carrying me up to the earth,' answered Paul; and the griffin agreed,
but first went to get some food to eat on the way, as it was a long
journey.

'Now get on my back,' he said to Paul, 'and when I turn my head to the
right, cut a slice off the bullock that hangs on that side, and put it
in my mouth, and when I turn my head to the left, draw a cupful of wine
from the cask that hangs on that side, and pour it down my throat.'

For three days and three nights Paul and the griffin flew upwards, and
on the fourth morning it touched the ground just outside the city where
Paul's friends had gone to live. Then Paul thanked him and bade him
farewell, and he returned home again.

At first Paul was too tired to do anything but sleep, but as soon as
he was rested he started off in search of the three faithless ones, who
almost died from fright at the sight of him, for they had thought he
would never come back to reproach them for their wickedness.

'You know what to expect,' Paul said to them quietly. 'You shall never
see me again. Off with you!' He next took the three apples out of his
pocket and placed them all in the prettiest places he could find; after
which he tapped them with his golden rod, and they became castles again.
He gave two of the castles to the eldest sisters, and kept the other
for himself and the youngest, whom he married, and there they are living
still.






How The Wicked Tanuki Was Punished

The hunters had hunted the wood for so many years that no wild animal
was any more to be found in it. You might walk from one end to the other
without ever seeing a hare, or a deer, or a boar, or hearing the cooing
of the doves in their nest. If they were not dead, they had flown
elsewhere. Only three creatures remained alive, and they had hidden
themselves in the thickest part of the forest, high up the mountain.
These were a grey-furred, long-tailed tanuki, his wife the fox, who was
one of his own family, and their little son.

The fox and the tanuki were very clever, prudent beasts, and they also
were skilled in magic, and by this means had escaped the fate of their
unfortunate friends. If they heard the twang of an arrow or saw the
glitter of a spear, ever so far off, they lay very still, and were
not to be tempted from their hiding-place, if their hunger was ever so
great, or the game ever so delicious. 'We are not so foolish as to risk
our lives,' they said to each other proudly. But at length there came
a day when, in spite of their prudence, they seemed likely to die of
starvation, for no more food was to be had. Something had to be done,
but they did not know what.

Suddenly a bright thought struck the tanuki. 'I have got a plan,' he
cried joyfully to his wife. 'I will pretend to be dead, and you must
change yourself into a man, and take me to the village for sale. It will
be easy to find a buyer, tanukis' skins are always wanted; then buy
some food with the money and come home again. I will manage to escape
somehow, so do not worry about me.'

The fox laughed with delight, and rubbed her paws together with
satisfaction. 'Well, next time I will go,' she said, 'and you can sell
me.' And then she changed herself into a man, and picking up the stiff
body of the tanuki, set off towards the village. She found him rather
heavy, but it would never have done to let him walk through the wood and
risk his being seen by somebody.

As the tanaki had foretold, buyers were many, and the fox handed him
over to the person who offered the largest price, and hurried to get
some food with the money. The buyer took the tanuki back to his house,
and throwing him into a corner went out. Directly the tanaki found he
was alone, he crept cautiously through a chink of the window, thinking,
as he did so, how lucky it was that he was not a fox, and was able to
climb. Once outside, he hid himself in a ditch till it grew dusk, and
then galloped away into the forest.

While the food lasted they were all three as happy as kings; but there
soon arrived a day when the larder was as empty as ever. 'It is my turn
now to pretend to be dead,' cried the fox. So the tanuki changed himself
into a peasant, and started for the village, with his wife's body
hanging over his shoulder. A buyer was not long in coming forward, and
while they were making the bargain a wicked thought darted into the
tanuki's head, that if he got rid of the fox there would be more food
for him and his son. So as he put the money in his pocket he whispered
softly to the buyer that the fox was not really dead, and that if he did
not take care she might run away from him. The man did not need twice
telling. He gave the poor fox a blow on the head, which put an end to
her, and the wicked tanuki went smiling to the nearest shop.

In former times he had been very fond of his little son; but since he
had betrayed his wife he seemed to have changed all in a moment, for he
would not give him as much as a bite, and the poor little fellow would
have starved had he not found some nuts and berries to eat, and he
waited on, always hoping that his mother would come back.

At length some notion of the truth began to dawn on him; but he was
careful to let the old tanuki see nothing, though in his own mind he
turned over plans from morning till night, wondering how best he might
avenge his mother.

One morning, as the little tanuki was sitting with his father, he
remembered, with a start, that his mother had taught him all she knew of
magic, and that he could work spells as well as his father, or perhaps
better. 'I am as good a wizard as you,' he said suddenly, and a cold
chill ran through the tanuki as he heard him, though he laughed, and
pretended to think it a joke. But the little tanaki stuck to his point,
and at last the father proposed they should have a wager.

'Change yourself into any shape you like,' said he, 'and I will
undertake to know you. I will go and wait on the bridge which leads over
the river to the village, and you shall transform yourself into anything
you please, but I will know you through any disguise.' The little tanuki
agreed, and went down the road which his father had pointed out. But
instead of transforming himself into a different shape, he just hid
himself in a corner of the bridge, where he could see without being
seen.

He had not been there long when his father arrived and took up his place
near the middle of the bridge, and soon after the king came by, followed
by a troop of guards and all his court.

'Ah! he thinks that now he has changed himself into a king I shall
not know him,' thought the old tanuki, and as the king passed in his
splendid carriage, borne by his servants, he jumped upon it crying: 'I
have won my wager; you cannot deceive me.' But in reality it was he who
had deceived himself. The soldiers, conceiving that their king was being
attacked, seized the tanuki by the legs and flung him over into the
river, and the water closed over him.

And the little tanoki saw it all, and rejoiced that his mother's death
had been avenged. Then he went back to the forest, and if he has not
found it too lonely, he is probably living there still.






The Crab And The Monkey

There was once a crab who lived in a hole on the shady side of a
mountain. She was a very good housewife, and so careful and industrious
that there was no creature in the whole country whose hole was so neat
and clean as hers, and she took great pride in it.

One day she saw lying near the mouth of her hole a handful of cooked
rice which some pilgrim must have let fall when he was stopping to eat
his dinner. Delighted at this discovery, she hastened to the spot, and
was carrying the rice back to her hole when a monkey, who lived in some
trees near by, came down to see what the crab was doing. His eyes shone
at the sight of the rice, for it was his favourite food, and like the
sly fellow he was, he proposed a bargain to the crab. She was to give
him half the rice in exchange for the kernel of a sweet red kaki fruit
which he had just eaten. He half expected that the crab would laugh in
his face at this impudent proposal, but instead of doing so she only
looked at him for a moment with her head on one side and then said that
she would agree to the exchange. So the monkey went off with his rice,
and the crab returned to her hole with the kernel.

For some time the crab saw no more of the monkey, who had gone to pay a
visit on the sunny side of the mountain; but one morning he happened to
pass by her hole, and found her sitting under the shadow of a beautiful
kaki tree.

'Good day,' he said politely, 'you have some very fine fruit there! I am
very hungry, could you spare me one or two?'

'Oh, certainly,' replied the crab, 'but you must forgive me if I cannot
get them for you myself. I am no tree-climber.'

'Pray do not apologise,' answered the monkey. 'Now that I have your
permission I can get them myself quite easily.' And the crab consented
to let him go up, merely saying that he must throw her down half the
fruit.

In another moment he was swinging himself from branch to branch, eating
all the ripest kakis and filling his pockets with the rest, and the poor
crab saw to her disgust that the few he threw down to her were either
not ripe at all or else quite rotten.

'You are a shocking rogue,' she called in a rage; but the monkey took no
notice, and went on eating as fast as he could. The crab understood that
it was no use her scolding, so she resolved to try what cunning would
do.

'Sir Monkey,' she said, 'you are certainly a very good climber, but now
that you have eaten so much, I am quite sure you would never be able
to turn one of your somersaults.' The monkey prided himself on turning
better somersaults than any of his family, so he instantly went head
over heels three times on the bough on which he was sitting, and all the
beautiful kakis that he had in his pockets rolled to the ground. Quick
as lightning the crab picked them up and carried a quantity of them into
her house, but when she came up for another the monkey sprang on her,
and treated her so badly that he left her for dead. When he had beaten
her till his arm ached he went his way.

It was a lucky thing for the poor crab that she had some friends to come
to her help or she certainly would have died then and there. The wasp
flew to her, and took her back to bed and looked after her, and then he
consulted with a rice-mortar and an egg which had fallen out of a nest
near by, and they agreed that when the monkey returned, as he was
sure to do, to steal the rest of the fruit, that they would punish him
severely for the manner in which he had behaved to the crab. So the
mortar climbed up to the beam over the front door, and the egg lay
quite still on the ground, while the wasp set down the water-bucket in a
corner. Then the crab dug itself a deep hole in the ground, so that not
even the tip of her claws might be seen.

Soon after everything was ready the monkey jumped down from his tree,
and creeping to the door began a long hypocritical speech, asking pardon
for all he had done. He waited for an answer of some sort, but none
came. He listened, but all was still; then he peeped, and saw no one;
then he went in. He peered about for the crab, but in vain; however, his
eyes fell on the egg, which he snatched up and set on the fire. But in
a moment the egg had burst into a thousand pieces, and its sharp shell
struck him in the face and scratched him horribly. Smarting with pain he
ran to the bucket and stooped down to throw some water over his head. As
he stretched out his hand up started the wasp and stung him on the nose.
The monkey shrieked and ran to the door, but as he passed through down
fell the mortar and struck him dead. 'After that the crab lived happily
for many years, and at length died in peace under her own kaki tree.






The Horse Gullfaxi And The Sword Gunnfoder

Many many years ago there lived a king and queen who had one only son,
called Sigurd. When the little boy was only ten years old the queen, his
mother, fell ill and died, and the king, who loved her dearly, built a
splendid monument to his wife's memory, and day after day he sat by it
and bewailed his sad loss.

One morning, as he sat by the grave, he noticed a richly dressed lady
close to him. He asked her name and she answered that it was Ingiborg,
and seemed surprised to see the king there all alone. Then he told her
how he had lost his queen, and how he came daily to weep at her grave.
In return, the lady informed him that she had lately lost her husband,
and suggested that they might both find it a comfort if they made
friends.

This pleased the king so much that he invited her to his palace, where
they saw each other often; and after a time he married her.

After the wedding was over he soon regained his good spirits, and used
to ride out hunting as in old days; but Sigurd, who was very fond of his
stepmother, always stayed at home with her.

One evening Ingiborg said to Sigurd: 'To-morrow your father is going out
hunting, and you must go with him.' But Sigurd said he would much rather
stay at home, and the next day when the king rode off Sigurd refused to
accompany him. The stepmother was very angry, but he would not listen,
and at last she assured him that he would be sorry for his disobedience,
and that in future he had better do as he was told.

After the hunting party had started she hid Sigurd under her bed, and
bade him be sure to lie there till she called him.

Sigurd lay very still for a long while, and was just thinking it was no
good staying there any more, when he felt the floor shake under him as
if there were an earthquake, and peeping out he saw a great giantess
wading along ankle deep through the ground and ploughing it up as she
walked.

'Good morning, Sister Ingiborg,' cried she as she entered the room, 'is
Prince Sigurd at home?'

'No,' said Ingiborg; 'he rode off to the forest with his father this
morning.' And she laid the table for her sister and set food before her.
After they had both done eating the giantess said: 'Thank you, sister,
for your good dinner--the best lamb, the best can of beer and the best
drink I have ever had; but--is not Prince Sigurd at home?'

Ingiborg again said 'No'; and the giantess took leave of her and went
away. When she was quite out of sight Ingiborg told Sigurd to come out
of his hiding-place.

The king returned home at night, but his wife told him nothing of what
had happened, and the next morning she again begged the prince to go
out hunting with his father. Sigurd, however, replied as before, that he
would much rather stay at home.

So once more the king rode off alone. This time Ingiborg hid Sigurd
under the table, and scolded him well for not doing as she bade him.
For some time he lay quite still, and then suddenly the floor began to
shake, and a giantess came along wading half way to her knees through
the ground.

As she entered the house she asked, as the first one had done: 'Well,
Sister Ingiborg, is Prince Sigurd at home?'

'No,' answered Ingiborg,' he rode off hunting with his father this
morning'; and going to the cupboard she laid the table for her sister.
When they had finished their meal the giantess rose and said: 'Thank you
for all these nice dishes, and for the best lamb, the best can of beer
and the nicest drink I have ever had; but--is Prince Sigurd really not
at home?'

'No, certainly not!' replied Ingiborg; and with that they took leave of
each other.

When she was well out of sight Sigurd crept from under the table, and
his stepmother declared that it was most important that he should not
stay at home next day; but he said he did not see what harm could come
of it, and he did not mean to go out hunting, and the next morning, when
the king prepared to start, Ingiborg implored Sigurd to accompany his
father. But it was all no use, he was quite obstinate and would not
listen to a word she said. 'You will have to hide me again,' said he,
so no sooner had the king gone than Ingiborg hid Sigurd between the wall
and the panelling, and by-and-by there was heard once more a sound like
an earthquake, as a great giantess, wading knee deep through the ground,
came in at the door.

'Good day, Sister Ingiborg!' she cried, in a voice like thunder; 'is
Prince Sigurd at home?'

'Oh, no,' answered Ingiborg, 'he is enjoying himself out there in the
forest. I expect it will be quite dark before he comes back again.'

'That's a lie!' shouted the giantess. And they squabbled about it till
they were tired, after which Ingiborg laid the table; and when the
giantess had done eating she said: 'Well, I must thank you for all these
good things, and for the best lamb, the best can of beer and the best
drink I have had for a long time; but--are you quite sure Prince Sigurd
is not at home?'

'Quite,' said Ingiborg. 'I've told you already that he rode off with his
father this morning to hunt in the forest.'

At this the giantess roared out with a terrible voice: 'If he is near
enough to hear my words, I lay this spell on him: Let him be half
scorched and half withered; and may he have neither rest nor peace till
he finds me.' And with these words she stalked off.

For a moment Ingiborg stood as if turned to stone, then she fetched
Sigurd from his hiding-place, and, to her horror, there he was, half
scorched and half withered.

'Now you see what has happened through your own obstinacy,' said she;
'but we must lose no time, for your father will soon be coming home.'

Going quickly into the next room she opened a chest and took out a ball
of string and three gold rings, and gave them to Sigurd, saying: 'If you
throw this ball on the ground it will roll along till it reaches some
high cliffs. There you will see a giantess looking out over the rocks.
She will call down to you and say: "Ah, this is just what I wanted!
Here is Prince Sigurd. He shall go into the pot to-night"; but don't be
frightened by her. She will draw you up with a long boat-hook, and you
must greet her from me, and give her the smallest ring as a present.
This will please her, and she will ask you to wrestle with her. When you
are exhausted, she will offer you a horn to drink out of, and though she
does not know it, the wine will make you so strong that you will easily
be able to conquer her. After that she will let you stay there all
night. The same thing will happen with my two other sisters. But, above
all, remember this: should my little dog come to you and lay his paws on
you, with tears running down his face, then hurry home, for my life will
be in danger. Now, good-bye, and don't forget your stepmother.'

Then Ingiborg dropped the ball on the ground, and Sigurd bade her
farewell.

That same evening the ball stopped rolling at the foot of some high
rocks, and on glancing up, Sigurd saw the giantess looking out at the
top.

'Ah, just what I wanted!' she cried out when she saw him; 'here is
Prince Sigurd. He shall go into the pot to-night. Come up, my friend,
and wrestle with me.'

With these words she reached out a long boat hook and hauled him up the
cliff. At first Sigurd was rather frightened, but he remembered what
Ingiborg had said, and gave the giantess her sister's message and the
ring.

The giantess was delighted, and challenged him to wrestle with her.
Sigurd was fond of all games, and began to wrestle with joy; but he was
no match for the giantess, and as she noticed that he was getting faint
she gave him a horn to drink out of, which was very foolish on her part,
as it made Sigurd so strong that he soon overthrew her.

'You may stay here to-night,' said she; and he was glad of the rest.

Next morning Sigurd threw down the ball again and away it rolled for
some time, till it stopped at the foot of another high rock. Then he
looked up and saw another giantess, even bigger and uglier than the
first one, who called out to him: 'Ah, this is just what I wanted! Here
is Prince Sigurd. He shall go into the pot to-night. Come up quickly and
wrestle with me.' And she lost no time in hauling him up.

The prince gave her his stepmother's message and the second largest
ring. The giantess was greatly pleased when she saw the ring, and at
once challenged Sigurd to wrestle with her.

They struggled for a long time, till at last Sigurd grew faint; so she
handed him a horn to drink from, and when he had drunk he became so
strong that he threw her down with one hand.

On the third morning Sigurd once more laid down his ball, and it rolled
far away, till at last it stopped under a very high rock indeed, over
the top of which the most hideous giantess that ever was seen looked
down.

When she saw who was there she cried out: 'Ah, this is just what I
wanted! Here comes Prince Sigurd. Into the pot he goes this very night.
Come up here, my friend, and wrestle with me.' And she hauled him up
just as her sisters had done.

Sigurd then gave her his stepmother's message and the last and largest
ring. The sight of the red gold delighted the giantess, and she
challenged Sigurd to a wrestling match. This time the fight was fierce
and long, but when at length Sigurd's strength was failing the giantess
gave him something to drink, and after he had drunk it he soon brought
her to her knees. 'You have beaten me,' she gasped, so now, listen to
me. 'Not far from here is a lake. Go there; you will find a little girl
playing with a boat. Try to make friends with her, and give her this
little gold ring. You are stronger than ever you were, and I wish you
good luck.'

With these words they took leave of each other, and Sigurd wandered on
till he reached the lake, where he found the little girl playing with
a boat, just as he had been told. He went up to her and asked what her
name was.

She was called Helga, she answered, and she lived near by.

So Sigurd gave her the little gold ring, and proposed that they should
have a game. The little girl was delighted, for she had no brothers or
sisters, and they played together all the rest of the day.

When evening came Sigurd asked leave to go home with her, but Helga at
first forbade him, as no stranger had ever managed to enter their house
without being found out by her father, who was a very fierce giant.

However, Sigurd persisted, and at length she gave way; but when they
came near the door she held her glove over him and Sigurd was at once
transformed into a bundle of wool. Helga tucked the bundle under her arm
and threw it on the bed in her room.

Almost at the same moment her father rushed in and hunted round in every
corner, crying out: 'This place smells of men. What's that you threw on
the bed, Helga?'

'A bundle of wool,' said she.

'Oh, well, perhaps it was that I smelt,' said the old man, and troubled
himself no more.

The following day Helga went out to play and took the bundle of wool
with her under her arm. When she reached the lake she held her glove
over it again and Sigurd resumed his own shape.

They played the whole day, and Sigurd taught Helga all sorts of games
she had never even heard of. As they walked home in the evening she
said: 'We shall be able to play better still to-morrow, for my father
will have to go to the town, so we can stay at home.'

When they were near the house Helga again held her glove over Sigurd,
and once more he was turned into a bundle of wool, and she carried him
in without his being seen.

Very early next morning Helga's father went to the town, and as soon
as he was well out of the way the girl held up her glove and Sigurd was
himself again. Then she took him all over the house to amuse him, and
opened every room, for her father had given her the keys before he left;
but when they came to the last room Sigurd noticed one key on the bunch
which had not been used and asked which room it belonged to.'

Helga grew red and did not answer.

'I suppose you don't mind my seeing the room which it opens?' asked
Sigurd, and as he spoke he saw a heavy iron door and begged Helga to
unlock it for him. But she told him she dared not do so, at least if she
did open the door it must only be a very tiny chink; and Sigurd declared
that would do quite well.

The door was so heavy, that it took Helga some time to open it, and
Sigurd grew so impatient that he pushed it wide open and walked in.
There he saw a splendid horse, all ready saddled, and just above it
hung a richly ornamented sword on the handle of which was engraved
these words: 'He who rides this horse and wears this sword will find
happiness.'

At the sight of the horse Sigurd was so filled with wonder that he was
not able to speak, but at last he gasped out: 'Oh, do let me mount him
and ride him round the house! Just once; I promise not to ask any more.'

'Ride him round the house!' cried Helga, growing pale at the mere idea.
'Ride Gullfaxi! Why father would never, never forgive me, if I let you
do that.'

'But it can't do him any harm,' argued Sigurd; 'you don't know how
careful I will be. I have ridden all sorts of horses at home, and have
never fallen off not once. Oh, Helga, do!'

'Well, perhaps, if you come back directly,' replied Helga, doubtfully;
'but you must be very quick, or father will find out!'

But, instead of mounting Gullfaxi, as she expected, Sigurd stood still.

'And the sword,' he said, looking fondly up to the place where it hung.
'My father is a king, but he has not got any sword so beautiful as that.
Why, the jewels in the scabbard are more splendid than the big ruby in
his crown! Has it got a name? Some swords have, you know.'

'It is called "Gunnfjoder," the "Battle Plume,"' answered Helga, 'and
"Gullfaxi" means "Golden Mane." I don't suppose, if you are to get on
the horse at all, it would matter your taking the sword too. And if you
take the sword you will have to carry the stick and the stone and the
twig as well.'

'They are easily carried,' said Sigurd, gazing at them with scorn; 'what
wretched dried-up things! Why in the world do you keep them?'

'Bather says that he would rather lose Gullfaxi than lose them,' replied
Helga, 'for if the man who rides the horse is pursued he has only to
throw the twig behind him and it will turn into a forest, so thick that
even a bird could hardly fly through. But if his enemy happens to know
magic, and can throw down the forest, the man has only to strike the
stone with the stick, and hailstones as large as pigeons' eggs will rain
down from the sky and will kill every one for twenty miles round.'

Having said all this she allowed Sigurd to ride 'just once' round the
house, taking the sword and other things with him. But when he had
ridden round, instead of dismounting, he suddenly turned the horse's
head and galloped away.

Soon after this Helga's father came home and found his daughter in
tears. He asked what was the matter, and when he heard all that had
happened, he rushed off as fast as he could to pursue Sigurd.

Now, as Sigurd happened to look behind him he saw the giant coming after
him with great strides, and in all haste he threw the twig behind him.
Immediately such a thick wood sprang up at once between him and his
enemy that the giant was obliged to run home for an axe with which to
cut his way through.

The next time Sigurd glanced round, the giant was so near that he almost
touched Gullfaxi's tail. In an agony of fear Sigurd turned quickly in
his saddle and hit the stone with the stick. No sooner had he done this
than a terrible hailstorm burst behind, and the giant was killed on the
spot.

But had Sigurd struck the stone without turning round, the hail would
have driven right into his face and killed him instead.

After the giant was dead Sigurd rode on towards his own home, and on the
way he suddenly met his stepmother's little dog, running to meet him,
with tears pouring down its face. He galloped on as hard as he could,
and on arriving found nine men-servants in the act of tying Queen
Ingiborg to a post in the courtyard of the palace, where they intended
to burn her.

Wild with anger Prince Sigurd sprang from his horse and, sword in hand,
fell on the men and killed them all. Then he released his stepmother,
and went in with her to see his father.

The king lay in bed sick with sorrow, and neither eating nor drinking,
for he thought that his son had been killed by the queen. He could
hardly believe his own eyes for joy when he saw the prince, and Sigurd
told him all his adventures.

After that Prince Sigurd rode back to fetch Helga, and a great feast was
made which lasted three days; and every one said no bride was ever seen
so beautiful as Helga, and they lived happily for many, many years, and
everybody loved them.






The Story Of The Sham Prince, Or The Ambitious Tailor

Once upon a time there lived a respectable young tailor called Labakan,
who worked for a clever master in Alexandria. No one could call
Labakan either stupid or lazy, for he could work extremely well and
quickly--when he chose; but there was something not altogether right
about him. Sometimes he would stitch away as fast as if he had a red-hot
needle and a burning thread, and at other times he would sit lost in
thought, and with such a queer look about him that his fellow-workmen
used to say, 'Labakan has got on his aristocratic face today.'

On Fridays he would put on his fine robe which he had bought with the
money he had managed to save up, and go to the mosque. As he came back,
after prayers, if he met any friend who said 'Good-day,' or 'How are
you, friend Labakan?' he would wave his hand graciously or nod in a
condescending way; and if his master happened to say to him, as he
sometimes did, 'Really, Labakan, you look like a prince,' he was
delighted, and would answer, 'Have you noticed it too?' or 'Well, so I
have long thought.'

Things went on like this for some time, and the master put up with
Labakan's absurdities because he was, on the whole, a good fellow and a
clever workman.

One day, the sultan's brother happened to be passing through Alexandria,
and wanted to have one of his state robes altered, so he sent for the
master tailor, who handed the robe over to Labakan as his best workman.

In the evening, when every one had left the workshop and gone home, a
great longing drove Labakan back to the place where the royal robe hung.
He stood a long time gazing at it, admiring the rich material and the
splendid embroidery in it. At last he could hold out no longer. He felt
he must try it on, and lo! and behold, it fitted as though it had been
made for him.

'Am not I as good a prince as any other?' he asked himself, as he
proudly paced up and down the room. 'Has not the master often said that
I seemed born to be a prince?'

It seemed to him that he must be the son of some unknown monarch, and at
last he determined to set out at once and travel in search of his proper
rank.

He felt as if the splendid robe had been sent him by some kind fairy,
and he took care not to neglect such a precious gift. He collected all
his savings, and, concealed by the darkness of the night, he passed
through the gates of Alexandria.

The new prince excited a good deal of curiosity where ever he went, for
his splendid robe and majestic manner did not seem quite suitable to a
person travelling on foot. If anyone asked questions, he only replied
with an important air of mystery that he had his own reasons for not
riding.

However, he soon found out that walking made him ridiculous, so at last
he bought a quiet, steady old horse, which he managed to get cheap.

One day, as he was ambling along upon Murva (that was the horse's name),
a horseman overtook him and asked leave to join him, so that they might
both beguile the journey with pleasant talk. The newcomer was a bright,
cheerful, good-looking young man, who soon plunged into conversation and
asked many questions. He told Labakan that his own name was Omar, that
he was a nephew of Elfi Bey, and was travelling in order to carry out a
command given him by his uncle on his death bed. Labakan was not quite
so open in his confidences, but hinted that he too was of noble birth
and was travelling for pleasure.

The two young men took a fancy to each other and rode on together. On
the second day of their journey Labakan questioned Omar as to the orders
he had to carry out, and to his surprise heard this tale.

Elfi Bey, Pacha of Cairo, had brought up Omar from his earliest
childhood, and the boy had never known his parents. On his deathbed Elfi
Bey called Omar to him, and then told him that he was not his nephew,
but the son of a great king, who, having been warned of coming dangers
by his astrologers, had sent the young prince away and made a vow not to
see him till his twenty-second birthday.

Elfi Bey did not tell Omar his father's name, but expressly desired him
to be at a great pillar four days' journey east of Alexandria on the
fourth day of the coming month, on which day he would be twenty-two
years old. Here he would meet some men, to whom he was to hand a dagger
which Elfi Bey gave him, and to say 'Here am I for whom you seek.'

If they answered: 'Praised be the Prophet who has preserved you,' he was
to follow them, and they would take him to his father.

Labakan was greatly surprised and interested by this story, but after
hearing it he could not help looking on Prince Omar with envious eyes,
angry that his friend should have the position he himself longed so much
for. He began to make comparisons between the prince and himself, and
was obliged to confess that he was a fine-looking young man with very
good manners and a pleasant expression.

At the same time, he felt sure that had he been in the prince's place
any royal father might have been glad to own him.

These thoughts haunted him all day, and he dreamt them all night. He
woke very early, and as he saw Omar sleeping quietly, with a happy smile
on his face, a wish arose in his mind to take by force or by cunning the
things which an unkind fate had denied him.

The dagger which was to act as a passport was sticking in Omar's girdle.
Labakan drew it gently out, and hesitated for a moment whether or not to
plunge it into the heart of the sleeping prince. However, he shrank from
the idea of murder, so he contented himself with placing the dagger in
his own belt, and, saddling Omar's swift horse for himself, was many
miles away before the prince woke up to realise his losses.

For two days Labakan rode on steadily, fearing lest, after all, Omar
might reach the meeting place before him. At the end of the second day
he saw the great pillar at a distance. It stood on a little hill in
the middle of a plain, and could be seen a very long way off. Labakan's
heart beat fast at the sight. Though he had had some time in which to
think over the part he meant to play his conscience made him rather
uneasy. However, the thought that he must certainly have been born to be
a king supported him, and he bravely rode on.

The neighbourhood was quite bare and desert, and it was a good thing
that the new prince had brought food for some time with him, as two days
were still wanting till the appointed time.

Towards the middle of the next day he saw a long procession of horses
and camels coming towards him. It halted at the bottom of the hill, and
some splendid tents were pitched. Everything looked like the escort of
some great man. Labakan made a shrewd guess that all these people had
come here on his account; but he checked his impatience, knowing that
only on the fourth day could his wishes be fulfilled.

The first rays of the rising sun woke the happy tailor. As he began to
saddle his horse and prepare to ride to the pillar, he could not help
having some remorseful thoughts of the trick he had played and the
blighted hopes of the real prince. But the die was cast, and his vanity
whispered that he was as fine looking a young man as the proudest king
might wish his son to be, and that, moreover, what had happened had
happened.

With these thoughts he summoned up all his courage sprang on his horse,
and in less than a quarter of an hour was at the foot of the hill. Here
he dismounted, tied the horse to a bush, and, drawing out Prince Omar's
dagger climbed up the hill.

At the foot of the pillar stood six men round a tall and stately person.
His superb robe of cloth of gold was girt round him by a white cashmere
shawl, and his white, richly jewelled turban showed that he was a man of
wealth and high rank.

Labakan went straight up to him, and, bending low, handed him the
dagger, saying: 'Here am I whom you seek.'

'Praised be the Prophet who has preserved you! replied the old man with
tears of joy. 'Embrace me, my dear son Omar!'

The proud tailor was deeply moved by these solemn words, and with
mingled shame and joy sank into the old king's arms.

But his happiness was not long unclouded. As he raised his head he saw a
horseman who seemed trying to urge a tired or unwilling horse across the
plain.

Only too soon Labakan recognised his own old horse, Murva, and the real
Prince Omar, but having once told a lie he made up his mind not to own
his deceit.

At last the horseman reached the foot of the hill. Here he flung himself
from the saddle and hurried up to the pillar.

'Stop!' he cried, 'whoever you may be, and do not let a disgraceful
impostor take you in. My name is Omar, and let no one attempt to rob me
of it.'

This turn of affairs threw the standers-by into great surprise. The old
king in particular seemed much moved as he looked from one face to the
other. At last Labakan spoke with forced calmness, 'Most gracious lord
and father, do not let yourself be deceived by this man. As far as I
know, he is a half-crazy tailor's apprentice from Alexandria, called
Labakan, who really deserves more pity than anger.'

These words infuriated the prince. Foaming with rage, he tried to press
towards Labakan, but the attendants threw themselves upon him and held
him fast, whilst the king said, 'Truly, my dear son, the poor fellow is
quite mad. Let him be bound and placed on a dromedary. Perhaps we may be
able to get some help for him.'

The prince's first rage was over, and with tears he cried to the king,
'My heart tells me that you are my father, and in my mother's name I
entreat you to hear me.'

'Oh! heaven forbid!' was the reply. 'He is talking nonsense again. How
can the poor man have got such notions into his head?'

With these words the king took Labakan's arm to support him down the
hill. They both mounted richly caparisoned horses and rode across the
plain at the head of their followers.

The unlucky prince was tied hand and foot, and fastened on a dromedary,
a guard riding on either side and keeping a sharp look-out on him.

The old king was Sached, Sultan of the Wachabites. For many years he
had had no children, but at length the son he had so long wished for
was born. But the sooth-sayers and magicians whom he consulted as to the
child's future all said that until he was twenty-two years old he stood
in danger of being injured by an enemy. So, to make all safe, the sultan
had confided the prince to his trusty friend Elfi Bey, and deprived
himself of the happiness of seeing him for twenty-two years. All this
the sultan told Labakan, and was much pleased by his appearance and
dignified manner.

When they reached their own country they were received with every
sign of joy, for the news of the prince's safe return had spread
like wildfire, and every town and village was decorated, whilst the
inhabitants thronged to greet them with cries of joy and thankfulness.
All this filled Labakan's proud heart with rapture, whilst the
unfortunate Omar followed in silent rage and despair.

At length they arrived in the capital, where the public rejoicings were
grander and more brilliant than anywhere else. The queen awaited them
in the great hall of the palace, surrounded by her entire court. It was
getting dark, and hundreds of coloured hanging lamps were lit to turn
night into day.

The brightest hung round the throne on which the queen sat, and which
stood above four steps of pure gold inlaid with great amethysts. The
four greatest nobles in the kingdom held a canopy of crimson silk over
the queen, and the Sheik of Medina fanned her with a peacock-feather
fan.

In this state she awaited her husband and her son. She, too, had not
seen Omar since his birth, but so many dreams had shown her what he
would look like that she felt she would know him among a thousand.

And now the sound of trumpets and drums and of shouts and cheers outside
announced the long looked for moment. The doors flew open, and between
rows of low-bending courtiers and servants the king approached the
throne, leading his pretended son by the hand.

'Here,' said he, 'is he for whom you have been longing so many years.'

But the queen interrupted him, 'That is not my son!' she cried. 'That is
not the face the Prophet has shown me in my dreams!'

Just as the king was about to reason with her, the door was thrown
violently open, and Prince Omar rushed in, followed by his keepers,
whom he had managed to get away from. He flung himself down before the
throne, panting out, 'Here will I die; kill me at once, cruel father,
for I cannot bear this shame any longer.'

Everyone pressed round the unhappy man, and the guards were about to
seize him, when the queen, who at first was dumb with surprise, sprang
up from her throne.

'Hold!' cried she. 'This and no other is the right one; this is the one
whom my eyes have never yet seen, but whom my heart recognises.'

The guards had stepped back, but the king called to them in a furious
voice to secure the madman.

'It is I who must judge,' he said in tones of command; 'and this matter
cannot be decided by women's dreams, but by certain unmistakable signs.
This one' (pointing to Labakan) 'is my son, for it was he who brought me
the token from my friend Elfi--the dagger.'

'He stole it from me,' shrieked Omar; 'he betrayed my unsuspicious
confidence.'

But the king would not listen to his son's voice, for he had always been
accustomed to depend on his own judgment. He let the unhappy Omar be
dragged from the hall, whilst he himself retired with Labakan to his
own rooms, full of anger with the queen his wife, in spite of their many
years of happy life together.

The queen, on her side, was plunged in grief, for she felt certain that
an impostor had won her husband's heart and taken the place of her real
son.

When the first shock was over she began to think how she could manage
to convince the king of his mistake. Of course it would be a difficult
matter, as the man who declared he was Omar had produced the dagger as a
token, besides talking of all sorts of things which happened when he
was a child. She called her oldest and wisest ladies about her and asked
their advice, but none of them had any to give. At last one very clever
old woman said: 'Did not the young man who brought the dagger call him
whom your majesty believes to be your son Labakan, and say he was a
crazy tailor?'

'Yes,' replied the queen; 'but what of that?'

'Might it not be,' said the old lady, 'that the impostor has called
your real son by his own name? If this should be the case, I know of a
capital way to find out the truth.'

And she whispered some words to the queen, who seemed much pleased, and
went off at once to see the king.

Now the queen was a very wise woman, so she pretended to think she might
have made a mistake, and only begged to be allowed to put a test to the
two young men to prove which was the real prince.

The king, who was feeling much ashamed of the rage he had been in with
his dear wife, consented at once, and she said: 'No doubt others would
make them ride or shoot, or something of that sort, but every one learns
these things. I wish to set them a task which requires sharp wits and
clever hands, and I want them to try which of them can best make a
kaftan and pair of trousers.'

The king laughed. 'No, no, that will never do. Do you suppose my son
would compete with that crazy tailor as to which could make the best
clothes? Oh, dear, no, that won't do at all.'

But the queen claimed his promise, and as he was a man of his word the
king gave in at last. He went to his son and begged that he would humour
his mother, who had set her heart on his making a kaftan.

The worthy Labakan laughed to himself. 'If that is all she wants,'
thought he, 'her majesty will soon be pleased to own me.'

Two rooms were prepared, with pieces of material, scissors, needles and
threads, and each young man was shut up in one of them.

The king felt rather curious as to what sort of garment his son would
make, and the queen, too, was very anxious as to the result of her
experiment.

On the third day they sent for the two young men and their work. Labakan
came first and spread out his kaftan before the eyes of the astonished
king. 'See, father,' he said; 'see, my honoured mother, if this is not a
masterpiece of work. I'll bet the court tailor himself cannot do better.

The queen smiled and turned to Omar: 'And what have you done, my son?'

Impatiently he threw the stuff and scissors down on the floor. 'I have
been taught how to manage a horse, to draw a sword, and to throw a lance
some sixty paces, but I never learnt to sew, and such a thing would have
been thought beneath the notice of the pupil of Elfi Bey, the ruler of
Cairo.'

'Ah, true son of your father,' cried the queen; 'if only I might embrace
you and call you son! Forgive me, my lord and husband,' she added,
turning to the king, 'for trying to find out the truth in this way.
Do you not see yourself now which is the prince and which the tailor?
Certainly this kaftan is a very fine one, but I should like to know what
master taught this young man how to make clothes.'

The king sat deep in thought, looking now at his wife and now at
Labakan, who was doing his best to hide his vexation at his own
stupidity. At last the king said: 'Even this trial does not satisfy me;
but happily I know of a sure way to discover whether or not I have been
deceived.'

He ordered his swiftest horse to be saddled, mounted, and rode off alone
into a forest at some little distance. Here lived a kindly fairy called
Adolzaide, who had often helped the kings of his race with her good
advice, and to her he betook himself.

In the middle of the forest was a wide open space surrounded by great
cedar trees, and this was supposed to be the fairy's favourite spot.
When the king reached this place he dismounted, tied his horse to the
tree, and standing in the middle of the open place said: 'If it is true
that you have helped my ancestors in their time of need, do not despise
their descendant, but give me counsel, for that of men has failed me.'

He had hardly finished speaking when one of the cedar trees opened, and
a veiled figure all dressed in white stepped from it.

'I know your errand, King Sached,' she said; 'it is an honest one, and
I will give you my help. Take these two little boxes and let the two
men who claim to be your son choose between them. I know that the real
prince will make no mistake.'

She then handed him two little boxes made of ivory set with gold and
pearls. On the lid of each (which the king vainly tried to open) was an
inscription in diamonds. On one stood the words 'Honour and Glory,' and
on the other 'Wealth and Happiness.'

'It would be a hard choice,' thought the king as he rode home.

He lost no time in sending for the queen and for all his court, and when
all were assembled he made a sign, and Labakan was led in. With a proud
air he walked up to the throne, and kneeling down, asked:

'What does my lord and father command?'

The king replied: 'My son, doubts have been thrown on your claim to that
name. One of these boxes contains the proofs of your birth. Choose for
yourself. No doubt you will choose right.'

He then pointed to the ivory boxes, which were placed on two little
tables near the throne.

Labakan rose and looked at the boxes. He thought for some minutes, and
then said: 'My honoured father, what can be better than the happiness of
being your son, and what nobler than the riches of your love. I choose
the box with the words "Wealth and Happiness."'

'We shall see presently if you have chosen the right one. For the
present take a seat there beside the Pacha of Medina,' replied the king.

Omar was next led in, looking sad and sorrowful. He threw himself down
before the throne and asked what was the king's pleasure. The king
pointed out the two boxes to him, and he rose and went to the tables. He
carefully read the two mottoes and said: 'The last few days have shown
me how uncertain is happiness and how easily riches vanish away. Should
I lose a crown by it I make my choice of "Honour and Glory."'

He laid his hand on the box as he spoke, but the king signed to him to
wait, and ordered Labakan to come to the other table and lay his hand on
the box he had chosen.

Then the king rose from his throne, and in solemn silence all present
rose too, whilst he said: 'Open the boxes, and may Allah show us the
truth.'

The boxes were opened with the greatest ease. In the one Omar had chosen
lay a little gold crown and sceptre on a velvet cushion. In Labakan's
box was found--a large needle with some thread!

The king told the two young men to bring him their boxes. They did so.
He took the crown in his hand, and as he held it, it grew bigger and
bigger, till it was as large as a real crown. He placed it on the head
of his son Omar, kissed him on the forehead, and placed him on his right
hand. Then, turning to Labakan, he said: 'There is an old proverb, "The
cobbler sticks to his last." It seems as though you were to stick to
your needle. You have not deserved any mercy, but I cannot be harsh on
this day. I give you your life, but I advise you to leave this country
as fast as you can.'

Full of shame, the unlucky tailor could not answer. He flung himself
down before Omar, and with tears in his eyes asked: 'Can you forgive me,
prince?'

'Go in peace,' said Omar as he raised him.

'Oh, my true son!' cried the king as he clasped the prince in his arms,
whilst all the pachas and emirs shouted, 'Long live Prince Omar!'

In the midst of all the noise and rejoicing Labakan slipped off with his
little box under his arm. He went to the stables, saddled his old horse,
Murva, and rode out of the gate towards Alexandria. Nothing but the
ivory box with its diamond motto was left to show him that the last few
weeks had not been a dream.

When he reached Alexandria he rode up to his old master's door. When he
entered the shop, his master came forward to ask what was his pleasure,
but as soon as he saw who it was he called his workmen, and they all
fell on Labakan with blows and angry words, till at last he fell, half
fainting, on a heap of old clothes.

The master then scolded him soundly about the stolen robe, but in vain
Labakan told him he had come to pay for it and offered three times its
price. They only fell to beating him again, and at last pushed him out
of the house more dead than alive.

He could do nothing but remount his horse and ride to an inn. Here he
found a quiet place in which to rest his bruised and battered limbs and
to think over his many misfortunes. He fell asleep fully determined to
give up trying to be great, but to lead the life of an honest workman.

Next morning he set to work to fulfil his good resolutions. He sold his
little box to a jeweller for a good price, bought a house and opened a
workshop. Then he hung up a sign with, 'Labakan, Tailor,' over his door,
and sat down to mend his own torn clothes with the very needle which had
been in the ivory box.

After a while he was called away, and when he went back to his work he
found a wonderful thing had happened! The needle was sewing away all by
itself and making the neatest little stitches, such as Labakan had never
been able to make even at his best.

Certainly even the smallest gift of a kind fairy is of great value, and
this one had yet another advantage, for the thread never came to an end,
however much the needle sewed.

Labakan soon got plenty of customers. He used to cut out the clothes,
make the first stitch with the magic needle, and then leave it to do the
rest. Before long the whole town went to him, for his work was both so
good and so cheap. The only puzzle was how he could do so much, working
all alone, and also why he worked with closed doors.

And so the promise on the ivory box of 'Wealth and Happiness' came true
for him, and when he heard of all the brave doings of Prince Omar, who
was the pride and darling of his people and the terror of his enemies,
the ex-prince thought to himself, 'After all, I am better off as a
tailor, for "Honour and Glory" are apt to be very dangerous things.'




The Colony Of Cats

Long, long ago, as far back as the time when animals spoke, there lived
a community of cats in a deserted house they had taken possession of not
far from a large town. They had everything they could possibly desire
for their comfort, they were well fed and well lodged, and if by any
chance an unlucky mouse was stupid enough to venture in their way, they
caught it, not to eat it, but for the pure pleasure of catching it. The
old people of the town related how they had heard their parents speak
of a time when the whole country was so overrun with rats and mice
that there was not so much as a grain of corn nor an ear of maize to be
gathered in the fields; and it might be out of gratitude to the cats who
had rid the country of these plagues that their descendants were allowed
to live in peace. No one knows where they got the money to pay for
everything, nor who paid it, for all this happened so very long ago.
But one thing is certain, they were rich enough to keep a servant; for
though they lived very happily together, and did not scratch nor fight
more than human beings would have done, they were not clever enough to
do the housework themselves, and preferred at all events to have some
one to cook their meat, which they would have scorned to eat raw. Not
only were they very difficult to please about the housework, but most
women quickly tired of living alone with only cats for companions,
consequently they never kept a servant long; and it had become a saying
in the town, when anyone found herself reduced to her last penny: 'I
will go and live with the cats,' and so many a poor woman actually did.

Now Lizina was not happy at home, for her mother, who was a widow, was
much fonder of her elder daughter; so that often the younger one fared
very badly, and had not enough to eat, while the elder could have
everything she desired, and if Lizina dared to complain she was certain
to have a good beating.

At last the day came when she was at the end of her courage and
patience, and exclaimed to her mother and sister:

'As you hate me so much you will be glad to be rid of me, so I am going
to live with the cats!'

'Be off with you!' cried her mother, seizing an old broom-handle from
behind the door. Poor Lizina did not wait to be told twice, but ran off
at once and never stopped till she reached the door of the cats' house.
Their cook had left them that very morning, with her face all scratched,
the result of such a quarrel with the head of the house that he had very
nearly scratched out her eyes. Lizina therefore was warmly welcomed,
and she set to work at once to prepare the dinner, not without many
misgivings as to the tastes of the cats, and whether she would be able
to satisfy them.

Going to and fro about her work, she found herself frequently hindered
by a constant succession of cats who appeared one after another in the
kitchen to inspect the new servant; she had one in front of her
feet, another perched on the back of her chair while she peeled the
vegetables, a third sat on the table beside her, and five or six others
prowled about among the pots and pans on the shelves against the wall.
The air resounded with their purring, which meant that they were pleased
with their new maid, but Lizina had not yet learned to understand
their language, and often she did not know what they wanted her to do.
However, as she was a good, kindhearted girl, she set to work to pick
up the little kittens which tumbled about on the floor, she patched
up quarrels, and nursed on her lap a big tabby--the oldest of the
community--which had a lame paw. All these kindnesses could hardly fail
to make a favourable impression on the cats, and it was even better
after a while, when she had had time to grow accustomed to their strange
ways. Never had the house been kept so clean, the meats so well served,
nor the sick cats so well cared for. After a time they had a visit from
an old cat, whom they called their father, who lived by himself in a
barn at the top of the hill, and came down from time to time to inspect
the little colony. He too was much taken with Lizina, and inquired, on
first seeing her: 'Are you well served by this nice, black-eyed little
person?' and the cats answered with one voice: 'Oh, yes, Father Gatto,
we have never had so good a servant!'

At each of his visits the answer was always the same; but after a time
the old cat, who was very observant, noticed that the little maid had
grown to look sadder and sadder. 'What is the matter, my child has any
one been unkind to you?' he asked one day, when he found her crying in
her kitchen. She burst into tears and answered between her sobs: 'Oh,
no! they are all very good to me; but I long for news from home, and I
pine to see my mother and my sister.'

Old Gatto, being a sensible old cat, understood the little servant's
feelings. 'You shall go home,' he said, 'and you shall not come back
here unless you please. But first you must be rewarded for all your kind
services to my children. Follow me down into the inner cellar, where you
have never yet been, for I always keep it locked and carry the key away
with me.'

Lizina looked round her in astonishment as they went down into the
great vaulted cellar underneath the kitchen. Before her stood the big
earthenware water jars, one of which contained oil, the other a liquid
shining like gold. 'In which of these jars shall I dip you?' asked
Father Gatto, with a grin that showed all his sharp white teeth, while
his moustaches stood out straight on either side of his face. The little
maid looked at the two jars from under her long dark lashes: 'In the oil
jar,' she answered timidly, thinking to herself: 'I could not ask to be
bathed in gold.'

But Father Gatto replied: 'No, no; you have deserved something better
than that.' And seizing her in his strong paws he plunged her into the
liquid gold. Wonder of wonders! when Lizina came out of the jar she
shone from head to foot like the sun in the heavens on a fine summer's
day. Her pretty pink cheeks and long black hair alone kept their natural
colour, otherwise she had become like a statue of pure gold. Father
Gatto purred loudly with satisfaction. 'Go home,' he said, 'and see
your mother and sisters; but take care if you hear the cock crow to turn
towards it; if on the contrary the ass brays, you must look the other
way.'

The little maid, having gratefully kissed the white paw of the old cat,
set off for home; but just as she got near her mother's house the cock
crowed, and quickly she turned towards it. Immediately a beautiful
golden star appeared on her forehead, crowning her glossy black hair.
At the same time the ass began to bray, but Lizina took care not to look
over the fence into the field where the donkey was feeding. Her
mother and sister, who were in front of their house, uttered cries of
admiration and astonishment when they saw her, and their cries became
still louder when Lizina, taking her handkerchief from her pocket, drew
out also a handful of gold.

For some days the mother and her two daughters lived very happily
together, for Lizina had given them everything she had brought away
except her golden clothing, for that would not come off, in spite of all
the efforts of her sister, who was madly jealous of her good fortune.
The golden star, too, could not be removed from her forehead. But all
the gold pieces she drew from her pockets had found their way to her
mother and sister.

'I will go now and see what I can get out of the pussies,' said Peppina,
the elder girl, one morning, as she took Lizina's basket and fastened
her pockets into her own skirt. 'I should like some of the cats' gold
for myself,' she thought, as she left her mother's house before the sun
rose.

The cat colony had not yet taken another servant, for they knew they
could never get one to replace Lizina, whose loss they had not yet
ceased to mourn. When they heard that Peppina was her sister, they all
ran to meet her. 'She is not the least like her,' the kittens whispered
among themselves.

'Hush, be quiet!' the older cats said; 'all servants cannot be pretty.'

No, decidedly she was not at all like Lizina. Even the most reasonable
and large-minded of the cats soon acknowledged that.

The very first day she shut the kitchen door in the face of the
tom-cats who used to enjoy watching Lizina at her work, and a young and
mischievous cat who jumped in by the open kitchen window and alighted on
the table got such a blow with the rolling-pin that he squalled for an
hour.

With every day that passed the household became more and more aware of
its misfortune.

The work was as badly done as the servant was surly and disagreeable;
in the corners of the rooms there were collected heaps of dust; spiders'
webs hung from the ceilings and in front of the window-panes; the beds
were hardly ever made, and the feather beds, so beloved by the old and
feeble cats, had never once been shaken since Lizina left the house.
At Father Gatto's next visit he found the whole colony in a state of
uproar.

'Caesar has one paw so badly swollen that it looks as if it were
broken,' said one. 'Peppina kicked him with her great wooden shoes on.
Hector has an abscess in his back where a wooden chair was flung at him;
and Agrippina's three little kittens have died of hunger beside their
mother, because Peppina forgot them in their basket up in the attic.
There is no putting up with the creature--do send her away, Father
Gatto! Lizina herself would not be angry with us; she must know very
well what her sister is like.'

'Come here,' said Father Gatto, in his most severe tones to Peppina. And
he took her down into the cellar and showed her the same two great
jars that he had showed Lizina. 'In which of these shall I dip you?' he
asked; and she made haste to answer: 'In the liquid gold,' for she was
no more modest than she was good and kind.

Father Gatto's yellow eyes darted fire. 'You have not deserved it,' he
uttered, in a voice like thunder, and seizing her he flung her into
the jar of oil, where she was nearly suffocated. When she came to the
surface screaming and struggling, the vengeful cat seized her again
and rolled her in the ash-heap on the floor; then when she rose, dirty,
blinded, and disgusting to behold, he thrust her from the door, saying:
'Begone, and when you meet a braying ass be careful to turn your head
towards it.'

Stumbling and raging, Peppina set off for home, thinking herself
fortunate to find a stick by the wayside with which to support herself.
She was within sight of her mother's house when she heard in the meadow
on the right, the voice of a donkey loudly braying. Quickly she turned
her head towards it, and at the same time put her hand up to her
forehead, where, waving like a plume, was a donkey's tail. She ran home
to her mother at the top of her speed, yelling with rage and despair;
and it took Lizina two hours with a big basin of hot water and two cakes
of soap to get rid of the layer of ashes with which Father Gatto had
adorned her. As for the donkey's tail, it was impossible to get rid of
that; it was as firmly fixed on her forehead as was the golden star on
Lizina's. Their mother was furious. She first beat Lizina unmercifully
with the broom, then she took her to the mouth of the well and lowered
her into it, leaving her at the bottom weeping and crying for help.

Before this happened, however, the king's son in passing the mother's
house had seen Lizina sitting sewing in the parlour, and had been
dazzled by her beauty. After coming back two or three times, he at last
ventured to approach the window and to whisper in the softest voice:
'Lovely maiden, will you be my bride?' and she had answered: 'I will.'

Next morning, when the prince arrived to claim his bride, he found her
wrapped in a large white veil. 'It is so that maidens are received from
their parents' hands,' said the mother, who hoped to make the king's son
marry Peppina in place of her sister, and had fastened the donkey's tail
round her head like a lock of hair under the veil. The prince was young
and a little timid, so he made no objections, and seated Peppina in the
carriage beside him.

Their way led past the old house inhabited by the cats, who were all at
the window, for the report had got about that the prince was going to
marry the most beautiful maiden in the world, on whose forehead shone a
golden star, and they knew that this could only be their adored Lizina.
As the carriage slowly passed in front of the old house, where cats
from all parts of world seemed to be gathered a song burst from every
throat:

     Mew, mew, mew! Prince, look quick behind you!
     In the well is fair Lizina,
     And you've got nothing but Peppina.

When he heard this the coachman, who understood the cat's language
better than the prince, his master, stopped his horses and asked:

'Does your highness know what the grimalkins are saying?' and the song
broke forth again louder than ever.

With a turn of his hand the prince threw back the veil, and discovered
the puffed-up, swollen face of Peppina, with the donkey's tail twisted
round her head. 'Ah, traitress!' he exclaimed, and ordering the horses
to be turned round, he drove the elder daughter, quivering with rage, to
the old woman who had sought to deceive him. With his hand on the hilt
of his sword he demanded Lizina in so terrific a voice that the mother
hastened to the well to draw her prisoner out. Lizina's clothing and her
star shone so brilliantly that when the prince led her home to the king,
his father, the whole palace was lit up. Next day they were married, and
lived happy ever after; and all the cats, headed by old Father Gatto,
were present at the wedding.




How To Find Out A True Friend

Once upon a time there lived a king and queen who longed to have a son.
As none came, one day they made a vow at the shrine of St. James that
if their prayers were granted the boy should set out on a pilgrimage as
soon as he had passed his eighteenth birthday. And fancy their delight
when one evening the king returned home from hunting and saw a baby
lying in the cradle.

All the people came crowding round to peep at it, and declared it was
the most beautiful baby that ever was seen. Of course that is what they
always say, but this time it happened to be true. And every day the boy
grew bigger and stronger till he was twelve years old, when the king
died, and he was left alone to take care of his mother.

In this way six years passed by, and his eighteenth birthday drew near.
When she thought of this the queen's heart sank within her, for he was
the light of her eyes' and how was she to send him forth to the unknown
dangers that beset a pilgrim? So day by day she grew more and more
sorrowful, and when she was alone wept bitterly.

Now the queen imagined that no one but herself knew how sad she was, but
one morning her son said to her, 'Mother, why do you cry the whole day
long?'

'Nothing, nothing, my son; there is only one thing in the world that
troubles me.'

'What is that one thing?' asked he. 'Are you afraid your property is
badly managed? Let me go and look into the matter.'

This pleased the queen, and he rode off to the plain country, where his
mother owned great estates; but everything was in beautiful order, and
he returned with a joyful heart, and said, 'Now, mother, you can be
happy again, for your lands are better managed than anyone else's I have
seen. The cattle are thriving; the fields are thick with corn, and soon
they will be ripe for harvest.'

'That is good news indeed,' answered she; but it did not seem to make
any difference to her, and the next morning she was weeping and wailing
as loudly as ever.

'Dear mother,' said her son in despair, 'if you will not tell me what is
the cause of all this misery I shall leave home and wander far through
the world.'

'Ah, my son, my son,' cried the queen, 'it is the thought that I must
part from you which causes me such grief; for before you were born we
vowed a vow to St. James that when your eighteenth birthday was passed
you should make a pilgrimage to his shrine, and very soon you will be
eighteen, and I shall lose you. And for a whole year my eyes will never
be gladdened by the sight of you, for the shrine is far away.'

'Will it take no longer than that to reach it?' said he. 'Oh, don't be
so wretched; it is only dead people who never return. As long as I am
alive you may be sure I will come back to you.'

After this manner he comforted his mother, and on his eighteenth
birthday his best horse was led to the door of the palace, and he took
leave of the queen in these words, 'Dear mother, farewell, and by the
help of fate I shall return to you as soon as I can.'

The queen burst into tears and wept sore; then amidst her sobs she drew
three apples from her pocket and held them out, saying, 'My son, take
these apples and give heed unto my words. You will need a companion in
the long journey on which you are going. If you come across a young man
who pleases you beg him to accompany you, and when you get to an inn
invite him to have dinner with you. After you have eaten cut one of
these apples in two unequal parts, and ask him to take one. If he takes
the larger bit, then part from him, for he is no true friend to you. But
if he takes the smaller bit treat him as your brother, and share with
him all you have.' Then she kissed her son once more, and blessed him,
and let him go.

The young man rode a long way without meeting a single creature, but at
last he saw a youth in the distance about the same age as himself, and
he spurred his horse till he came up with the stranger, who stopped and
asked:

'Where are you going, my fine fellow?'

'I am making a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. James, for before I was
born my mother vowed that I should go forth with a thank offering on my
eighteenth birthday.'

'That is my case too,' said the stranger, 'and, as we must both travel
in the same direction, let us bear each other company.'

The young man agreed to this proposal, but he took care not to get on
terms of familiarity with the new comer until he had tried him with the
apple.

By-and-by they reached an inn, and at sight of it the king's son said,
'I am very hungry. Let us enter and order something to eat.' The other
consented, and they were soon sitting before a good dinner.

When they had finished the king's son drew an apple from his pocket,
and cut it into a big half and a little half, and offered both to the
stranger, who took the biggest bit. 'You are no friend of mine,' thought
the king's son, and in order to part company with him he pretended to be
ill and declared himself unable to proceed on his journey.

'Well, I can't wait for you,' replied the other; 'I am in haste to push
on, so farewell.'

'Farewell,' said the king's son, glad in his heart to get rid of him so
easily. The king's son remained in the inn for some time, so as to let
the young man have a good start; them he ordered his horse and rode
after him. But he was very sociable and the way seemed long and dull by
himself. 'Oh, if I could only meet with a true friend,' he thought, 'so
that I should have some one to speak to. I hate being alone.'

Soon after he came up with a young man, who stopped and asked him,
'Where are you going, my fine fellow?' The king's son explained the
object of his journey, and the young man answered, as the other had
done, that he also was fulfilling the vow of his mother made at his
birth.

'Well, we can ride on together,' said the king's son, and the road
seemed much shorter now that he had some one to talk to.

At length they reached an inn, and the king's son exclaimed, 'I am very
hungry; let us go in and get something to eat.'

When they had finished the king's son drew an apple out of his pocket
and cut it in two; he held the big bit and the little bit out to his
companion, who took the big bit at once and soon ate it up. 'You are no
friend of mine,' thought the king's son, and began to declare he felt so
ill he could not continue his journey. When he had given the young man a
good start he set off himself, but the way seemed even longer and duller
than before. 'Oh, if I could only meet with a true friend he should be
as a brother to me,' he sighed sadly; and as the thought passed through
his mind, he noticed a youth going the same road as himself.

The youth came up to him and said, 'Which way are you going, my fine
fellow?' And for the third time the king's son explained all about his
mother's vow. Why, that is just like me,' cried the youth.

'Then let us ride on together,' answered the king's son.

Now the miles seemed to slip by, for the new comer was so lively and
entertaining that the king's son could not help hoping that he indeed
might prove to be the true friend.

More quickly than he could have thought possible they reached an inn by
the road-side, and turning to his companion the king's son said, 'I am
hungry; let us go in and have something to eat.' So they went in and
ordered dinner, and when they had finished the king's son drew out of
his pocket the last apple, and cut it into two unequal parts, and held
both out to the stranger. And the stranger took the little piece, and
the heart of the king's son was glad within him, for at last he had
found the friend he had been looking for. 'Good youth,' he cried, 'we
will be brothers, and what is mine shall be thine, and what is thine
shall be mine. And together we will push on to the shrine, and if one
of us dies on the road the other shall carry his body there.' And the
stranger agreed to all he said, and they rode forward together.

It took them a whole year to reach the shrine, and they passed through
many different lands on their way. One day they arrived tired and
half-starved in a big city, and said to one another, 'Let us stay here
for a little and rest before we set forth again.' So they hired a small
house close to the royal castle, and took up their abode there.

The following morning the king of the country happened to step on to his
balcony, and saw the young men in the garden, and said to himself, 'Dear
me, those are wonderfully handsome youths; but one is handsomer than
the other, and to him will I give my daughter to wife;' and indeed the
king's son excelled his friend in beauty.

In order to set about his plan the king asked both the young men to
dinner, and when they arrived at the castle he received them with the
utmost kindness, and sent for his daughter, who was more lovely than
both the sun and moon put together. But at bed-time the king caused the
other young man to be given a poisoned drink, which killed him in a few
minutes, for he thought to himself, 'If his friend dies the other will
forget his pilgrimage, and will stay here and marry my daughter.'

When the king's son awoke the next morning he inquired of the servants
where his friend had gone, as he did not see him. 'He died suddenly last
night,' said they, 'and is to be buried immediately.'

But the king's son sprang up, and cried, 'If my friend is dead I can
stay here no longer, and cannot linger an hour in this house.'

'Oh, give up your journey and remain here,' exclaimed the king, 'and you
shall have my daughter for your wife.' 'No,' answered the king's son,
'I cannot stay; but, I pray you, grant my request, and give me a good
horse, and let me go in peace, and when I have fulfilled my vow then I
will return and marry your daughter.'

So the king, seeing no words would move him, ordered a horse to be
brought round, and the king's son mounted it, and took his dead friend
before him on the saddle, and rode away.

Now the young man was not really dead, but only in a deep sleep.

When the king's son reached the shrine of St. James he got down from his
horse, took his friend in his arms as if he had been a child, and laid
him before the altar. 'St. James,' he said, 'I have fulfilled the vow my
parents made for me. I have come myself to your shrine, and have brought
my friend. I place him in your hands. Restore him to life, I pray, for
though he be dead yet has he fulfilled his vow also.' And, behold! while
he yet prayed his friend got up and stood before him as well as ever.
And both the young men gave thanks, and set their faces towards home.

When they arrived at the town where the king dwelt they entered the
small house over against the castle. The news of their coming spread
very soon, and the king rejoiced greatly that the handsome young prince
had come back again, and commanded great feasts to be prepared, for in a
few days his daughter should marry the king's son. The young man himself
could imagine no greater happiness, and when the marriage was over they
spent some months at the court making merry.

At length the king's son said, 'My mother awaits me at home, full of
care and anxiety. Here I must remain no longer, and to-morrow I will
take my wife and my friend and start for home.' And the king was content
that he should do so, and gave orders to prepare for their journey.

Now in his heart the king cherished a deadly hate towards the poor young
man whom he had tried to kill, but who had returned to him living, and
in order to do him hurt sent him on a message to some distant spot. 'See
that you are quick,' said he, 'for your friend will await your return
before he starts.' The youth put spurs to his horse and departed,
bidding the prince farewell, so that the king's message might be
delivered the sooner. As soon as he had started the king went to
the chamber of the prince, and said to him, 'If you do not start
immediately, you will never reach the place where you must camp for the
night.'

'I cannot start without my friend,' replied the king's son.

'Oh, he will be back in an hour,' replied the king, 'and I will give him
my best horse, so that he will be sure to catch you up.' The king's son
allowed himself to be persuaded and took leave of his father-in-law, and
set out with his wife on his journey home.

Meanwhile the poor friend had been unable to get through his task in the
short time appointed by the king, and when at last he returned the king
said to him,

'Your comrade is a long way off by now; you had better see if you can
overtake him.'

So the young man bowed and left the king's presence, and followed after
his friend on foot, for he had no horse. Night and day he ran, till at
length he reached the place where the king's son had pitched his tent,
and sank down before him, a miserable object, worn out and covered with
mud and dust. But the king's son welcomed him with joy, and tended him
as he would his brother.

And at last they came home again, and the queen was waiting and watching
in the palace, as she had never ceased to do since her son had rode
away. She almost died of joy at seeing him again, but after a little she
remembered his sick friend, and ordered a bed to be made ready and the
best doctors in all the country to be sent for. When they heard of the
queen's summons they flocked from all parts, but none could cure him.
After everyone had tried and failed a servant entered and informed the
queen that a strange old man had just knocked at the palace gate and
declared that he was able to heal the dying youth. Now this was a holy
man, who had heard of the trouble the king's son was in, and had come to
help.

It happened that at this very time a little daughter was born to the
king's son, but in his distress for his friend he had hardly a thought
to spare for the baby. He could not be prevailed on to leave the sick
bed, and he was bending over it when the holy man entered the room. 'Do
you wish your friend to be cured?' asked the new comer of the king's
son. 'And what price would you pay?'

'What price?' answered the king's son; 'only tell me what I can do to
heal him.'

'Listen to me, then,' said the old man. 'This evening you must take your
child, and open her veins, and smear the wounds of your friend with her
blood. And you will see, he will get well in an instant.'

At these words the king's son shrieked with horror, for he loved the
baby dearly, but he answered, 'I have sworn that I would treat my friend
as if he were my brother, and if there is no other way my child must be
sacrificed.'

As by this time evening had already fallen he took the child and opened
its veins, and smeared the blood over the wounds of the sick man, and
the look of death departed from him, and he grew strong and rosy once
more. But the little child lay as white and still as if she had been
dead. They laid her in the cradle and wept bitterly, for they thought
that by the next morning she would be lost to them.

At sunrise the old man returned and asked after the sick man.

'He is as well as ever,' answered the king's son.

'And where is your baby?'

'In the cradle yonder, and I think she is dead,' replied the father
sadly.

'Look at her once more,' said the holy man, and as they drew near the
cradle there lay the baby smiling up at them.

'I am St. James of Lizia,' said the old man, 'and I have come to help
you, for I have seen that you are a true friend. From henceforward live
happily, all of you, together, and if troubles should draw near you send
for me, and I will aid you to get through them.'

With these words he lifted his hand in blessing and vanished.

And they obeyed him, and were happy and content, and tried to make the
people of the land happy and contented too.






Clever Maria

There was once a merchant who lived close to the royal palace, and had
three daughters. They were all pretty, but Maria, the youngest, was the
prettiest of the three. One day the king sent for the merchant, who was
a widower, to give him directions about a journey he wished the good
man to take. The merchant would rather not have gone, as he did not
like leaving his daughters at home, but he could not refuse to obey the
king's commands, and with a heavy heart he returned home to say farewell
to them. Before he left, he took three pots of basil, and gave one to
each girl, saying, 'I am going a journey, but I leave these pots. You
must let nobody into the house. When I come back, they will tell me what
has happened.' 'Nothing will have happened,' said the girls.

The father went away, and the following day the king, accompanied by two
friends, paid a visit to the three girls, who were sitting at supper.
When they saw who was there, Maria said, 'Let us go and get a bottle of
wine from the cellar. I will carry the key, my eldest sister can take
the light, while the other brings the bottle.' But the king replied,
'Oh, do not trouble; we are not thirsty.' 'Very well, we will not
go,' answered the two elder girls; but Maria merely said, 'I shall go,
anyhow.' She left the room, and went to the hall where she put out the
light, and putting down the key and the bottle, ran to the house of a
neighbour, and knocked at the door. 'Who is there so late?' asked the
old woman, thrusting her head out of the window.

'Oh, let me in,' answered Maria. 'I have quarrelled with my eldest
sister, and as I do not want to fight any more, I have come to beg you
to allow me to sleep with you.'

So the old woman opened the door and Maria slept in her house. The king
was very angry at her for playing truant, but when she returned home
the next day, she found the plants of her sisters withered away, because
they had disobeyed their father. Now the window in the room of the
eldest overlooked the gardens of the king, and when she saw how fine and
ripe the medlars were on the trees, she longed to eat some, and begged
Maria to scramble down by a rope and pick her a few, and she would draw
her up again. Maria, who was good-natured, swung herself into the garden
by the rope, and got the medlars, and was just making the rope fast
under her arms so as to be hauled up, when her sister cried: 'Oh, there
are such delicious lemons a little farther on. You might bring me one or
two.' Maria turned round to pluck them, and found herself face to face
with the gardener, who caught hold of her, exclaiming, 'What are you
doing here, you little thief?' 'Don't call me names,' she said, 'or you
will get the worst of it,' giving him as she spoke such a violent push
that he fell panting into the lemon bushes. Then she seized the cord and
clambered up to the window.

The next day the second sister had a fancy for bananas and begged so
hard, that, though Maria had declared she would never do such a thing
again, at last she consented, and went down the rope into the king's
garden. This time she met the king, who said to her, 'Ah, here you are
again, cunning one! Now you shall pay for your misdeeds.'

And he began to cross-question her about what she had done. Maria denied
nothing, and when she had finished, the king said again, 'Follow me to
the house, and there you shall pay the penalty.' As he spoke, he started
for the house, looking back from time to time to make sure that Maria
had not run away. All of a sudden, when he glanced round, he found she
had vanished completely, without leaving a trace of where she had gone.
Search was made all through the town, and there was not a hole or corner
which was not ransacked, but there was no sign of her anywhere. This so
enraged the king that he became quite ill, and for many months his life
was despaired of.

Meanwhile the two elder sisters had married the two friends of the
king, and were the mothers of little daughters. Now one day Maria stole
secretly to the house where her elder sister lived, and snatching up the
children put them into a beautiful basket she had with her, covered
with flowers inside and out, so that no one would ever guess it held two
babies. Then she dressed herself as a boy, and placing the basket on her
head, she walked slowly past the palace, crying as she went:

'Who will carry these flowers to the king, who lies sick of love?'

And the king in his bed heard what she said, and ordered one of his
attendants to go out and buy the basket. It was brought to his bedside,
and as he raised the lid cries were heard, and peeping in he saw two
little children. He was furious at this new trick which he felt had been
played on him by Maria, and was still looking at them, wondering how he
should pay her out, when he was told that the merchant, Maria's father,
had finished the business on which he had been sent and returned home.
Then the king remembered how Maria had refused to receive his visit, and
how she had stolen his fruit, and he determined to be revenged on her.
So he sent a message by one of his pages that the merchant was to come
to see him the next day, and bring with him a coat made of stone, or
else he would be punished. Now the poor man had been very sad since he
got home the evening before, for though his daughters had promised that
nothing should happen while he was away, he had found the two elder
ones married without asking his leave. And now there was this fresh
misfortune, for how was he to make a coat of stone? He wrung his hands
and declared that the king would be the ruin of him, when Maria suddenly
entered. 'Do not grieve about the coat of stone, dear father; but take
this bit of chalk, and go to the palace and say you have come to measure
the king.' The old man did not see the use of this, but Maria had so
often helped him before that he had confidence in her, so he put the
chalk in his pocket and went to the palace.

'That is no good,' said the king, when the merchant had told him what he
had come for.

'Well, I can't make the coat you want,' replied he.

'Then if you would save your head, hand over to me your daughter Maria.'

The merchant did not reply, but went sorrowfully back to his house,
where Maria sat waiting for him.

'Oh, my dear child, why was I born? The king says that, instead of the
coat, I must deliver you up to him.'

'Do not be unhappy, dear father, but get a doll made, exactly like
me, with a string attached to its head, which I can pull for "Yes" and
"No."'

So the old man went out at once to see about it.

The king remained patiently in his palace, feeling sure that this time
Maria could not escape him; and he said to his pages, 'If a gentleman
should come here with his daughter and ask to be allowed to speak with
me, put the young lady in my room and see she does not leave it.'

When the door was shut on Maria, who had concealed the doll under her
cloak, she hid herself under the couch, keeping fast hold of the string
which was fastened to its head.

'Senhora Maria, I hope you are well,' said the king when he entered the
room. The doll nodded. 'Now we will reckon up accounts,' continued he,
and he began at the beginning, and ended up with the flower-basket, and
at each fresh misdeed Maria pulled the string, so that the doll's head
nodded assent. 'Who-so mocks at me merits death,' declared the king when
he had ended, and drawing his sword, cut off the doll's head. It fell
towards him, and as he felt the touch of a kiss, he exclaimed, 'Ah,
Maria, Maria, so sweet in death, so hard to me in life! The man who
could kill you deserves to die!' And he was about to turn his sword on
himself, when the true Maria sprung out from under the bed, and flung
herself into his arms. And the next day they were married and lived
happily for many years.






The Magic Kettle

Right in the middle of Japan, high up among the mountains, an old man
lived in his little house. He was very proud of it, and never tired of
admiring the whiteness of his straw mats, and the pretty papered walls,
which in warm weather always slid back, so that the smell of the trees
and flowers might come in.

One day he was standing looking at the mountain opposite, when he heard
a kind of rumbling noise in the room behind him. He turned round, and in
the corner he beheld a rusty old iron kettle, which could not have seen
the light of day for many years. How the kettle got there the old man
did not know, but he took it up and looked it over carefully, and when
he found that it was quite whole he cleaned the dust off it and carried
it into his kitchen.

'That was a piece of luck,' he said, smiling to himself; 'a good kettle
costs money, and it is as well to have a second one at hand in case of
need; mine is getting worn out, and the water is already beginning to
come through its bottom.'

Then he took the other kettle off the fire, filled the new one with
water, and put it in its place.

No sooner was the water in the kettle getting warm than a strange thing
happened, and the man, who was standing by, thought he must be dreaming.
First the handle of the kettle gradually changed its shape and became a
head, and the spout grew into a tail, while out of the body sprang four
paws, and in a few minutes the man found himself watching, not a kettle,
but a tanuki! The creature jumped off the fire, and bounded about the
room like a kitten, running up the walls and over the ceiling, till the
old man was in an agony lest his pretty room should be spoilt. He cried
to a neighbour for help, and between them they managed to catch the
tanuki, and shut him up safely in a wooden chest. Then, quite exhausted,
they sat down on the mats, and consulted together what they should do
with this troublesome beast. At length they decided to sell him, and
bade a child who was passing send them a certain tradesman called Jimmu.

When Jimmu arrived, the old man told him that he had something which he
wished to get rid of, and lifted the lid of the wooden chest, where
he had shut up the tanuki. But, to his surprise, no tanuki was there,
nothing but the kettle he had found in the corner. It was certainly very
odd, but the man remembered what had taken place on the fire, and did
not want to keep the kettle any more, so after a little bargaining about
the price, Jimmu went away carrying the kettle with him.

Now Jimmu had not gone very far before he felt that the kettle was
getting heavier and heavier, and by the time he reached home he was so
tired that he was thankful to put it down in the corner of his room, and
then forgot all about it. In the middle of the night, however, he was
awakened by a loud noise in the corner where the kettle stood, and
raised himself up in bed to see what it was. But nothing was there
except the kettle, which seemed quiet enough. He thought that he must
have been dreaming, and fell asleep again, only to be roused a second
time by the same disturbance. He jumped up and went to the corner, and
by the light of the lamp that he always kept burning he saw that the
kettle had become a tanuki, which was running round after his tail.
After he grew weary of that, he ran on the balcony, where he turned
several somersaults, from pure gladness of heart. The tradesman was
much troubled as to what to do with the animal, and it was only towards
morning that he managed to get any sleep; but when he opened his eyes
again there was no tanuki, only the old kettle he had left there the
night before.

As soon as he had tidied his house, Jimmu set off to tell his story to
a friend next door. The man listened quietly, and did not appear so
surprised as Jimmu expected, for he recollected having heard, in his
youth, something about a wonder-working kettle. 'Go and travel with
it, and show it off,' said he, 'and you will become a rich man; but be
careful first to ask the tanuki's leave, and also to perform some magic
ceremonies to prevent him from running away at the sight of the people.'

Jimmu thanked his friend for his counsel, which he followed exactly. The
tanuki's consent was obtained, a booth was built, and a notice was hung
up outside it inviting the people to come and witness the most wonderful
transformation that ever was seen.

They came in crowds, and the kettle was passed from hand to hand, and
they were allowed to examine it all over, and even to look inside. Then
Jimmu took it back, and setting it on the platform, commanded it to
become a tanuki. In an instant the handle began to change into a head,
and the spout into a tail, while the four paws appeared at the sides.
'Dance,' said Jimmu, and the tanuki did his steps, and moved first on
one side and then on the other, till the people could not stand still
any longer, and began to dance too. Gracefully he led the fan dance, and
glided without a pause into the shadow dance and the umbrella dance, and
it seemed as if he might go on dancing for ever. And so very likely
he would, if Jimmu had not declared he had danced enough, and that the
booth must now be closed.

Day after day the booth was so full it was hardly possible to enter it,
and what the neighbour foretold had come to pass, and Jimmu was a rich
man. Yet he did not feel happy. He was an honest man, and he thought
that he owed some of his wealth to the man from whom he had bought
the kettle. So, one morning, he put a hundred gold pieces into it, and
hanging the kettle once more on his arm, he returned to the seller of
it. 'I have no right to keep it any longer,' he added when he had ended
his tale, 'so I have brought it back to you, and inside you will find a
hundred gold pieces as the price of its hire.'

The man thanked Jimmu, and said that few people would have been as
honest as he. And the kettle brought them both luck, and everything went
well with them till they died, which they did when they were very old,
respected by everyone.





                      The Brown Fairy Book




What the Rose did to the Cypress 


Once upon a time a great king of the East, named Saman-lalposh,  had
three brave and clever sons--Tahmasp, Qamas, and Almas-ruh-baksh. 
One day, when the king was sitting in his hall of audience, his eldest
son, Prince Tahmasp, came before him, and after greeting his father with
due respect, said: 'O my royal father! I am tired of the town; if you
will give me leave, I will take my servants to-morrow and will go into
the country and hunt on the hill-skirts; and when I have taken some game
I will come back, at evening-prayer time.' His father consented, and
sent with him some of his own trusted servants, and also hawks, and
falcons, hunting dogs, cheetahs and leopards.

At the place where the prince intended to hunt he saw a most beautiful
deer. He ordered that it should not be killed, but trapped or captured
with a noose. The deer looked about for a place where he might escape
from the ring of the beaters, and spied one unwatched close to the
prince himself. It bounded high and leaped right over his head, got out
of the ring, and tore like the eastern wind into the waste. The prince
put spurs to his horse and pursued it; and was soon lost to the sight of
his followers. Until the world-lighting sun stood above his head in the
zenith he did not take his eyes off the deer; suddenly it disappeared
behind some rising ground, and with all his search he could not find any
further trace of it. He was now drenched in sweat, and he breathed
with pain; and his horse's tongue hung from its mouth with thirst.
He dismounted and toiled on, with bridle on arm, praying and casting
himself on the mercy of heaven. Then his horse fell and surrendered its
life to God. On and on he went across the sandy waste, weeping and with
burning breast, till at length a hill rose into sight. He mustered his
strength and climbed to the top, and there he found a giant tree whose
foot kept firm the wrinkled earth, and whose crest touched the very
heaven. Its branches had put forth a glory of leaves, and there were
grass and a spring underneath it, and flowers of many colours.

Gladdened by this sight, he dragged himself to the water's edge, drank
his fill, and returned thanks for his deliverance from thirst.

He looked about him and, to his amazement, saw close by a royal seat.
While he was pondering what could have brought this into the merciless
desert, a man drew near who was dressed like a faqir, and had bare head
and feet, but walked with the free carriage of a person of rank. His
face was kind, and wise and thoughtful, and he came on and spoke to the
prince.

'O good youth! how did you come here? Who are you? Where do you come
from?'

The prince told everything just as it had happened to him, and then
respectfully added: 'I have made known my own circumstances to you, and
now I venture to beg you to tell me your own. Who are you? How did you
come to make your dwelling in this wilderness?'

To this the faqir replied: 'O youth! it would be best for you to have
nothing to do with me and to know nothing of my fortunes, for my story
is fit neither for telling nor for hearing.' The prince, however,
pleaded so hard to be told, that at last there was nothing to be done
but to let him hear.

'Learn and know, O young man! that I am King Janangir  of Babylon,
and that once I had army and servants, family and treasure; untold
wealth and belongings. The Most High God gave me seven sons who grew up
well versed in all princely arts. My eldest son heard from travellers
that in Turkistan, on the Chinese frontier, there is a king named
Quimus, the son of Timus, and that he has an only child, a daughter
named Mihr-afruz,  who, under all the azure heaven, is unrivalled for
beauty. Princes come from all quarters to ask her hand, and on one and
all she imposes a condition. She says to them: "I know a riddle; and
I will marry anyone who answers it, and will bestow on him all my
possessions. But if a suitor cannot answer my question I cut off his
head and hang it on the battlements of the citadel." The riddle she asks
is, "What did the rose do to the cypress?"

'Now, when my son heard this tale, he fell in love with that unseen
girl, and he came to me lamenting and bewailing himself. Nothing that I
could say had the slightest effect on him. I said: "Oh my son! if there
must be fruit of this fancy of yours, I will lead forth a great army
against King Quimus. If he will give you his daughter freely, well
and good; and if not, I will ravage his kingdom and bring her away by
force." This plan did not please him; he said: "It is not right to lay a
kingdom waste and to destroy a palace so that I may attain my desire.
I will go alone; I will answer the riddle, and win her in this way."
 At last, out of pity for him, I let him go. He reached the city of King
Quimus. He was asked the riddle and could not give the true answer; and
his head was cut off and hung upon the battlements. Then I mourned him
in black raiment for forty days.

After this another and another of my sons were seized by the same
desire, and in the end all my seven sons went, and all were killed. In
grief for their death I have abandoned my throne, and I abide here in
this desert, withholding my hand from all State business and wearing
myself away in sorrow.'

Prince Tahmasp listened to this tale, and then the arrow of love for
that unseen girl struck his heart also. Just at this moment of his
ill-fate his people came up, and gathered round him like moths round a
light. They brought him a horse, fleet as the breeze of the dawn; he set
his willing foot in the stirrup of safety and rode off. As the days
went by the thorn of love rankled in his heart, and he became the very
example of lovers, and grew faint and feeble. At last his confidants
searched his heart and lifted the veil from the face of his love, and
then set the matter before his father, King Saman-lal-posh. 'Your son,
Prince Tahmasp, loves distractedly the Princess Mihr-afruz, daughter of
King Quimus, son of Timus.' Then they told the king all about her and
her doings. A mist of sadness clouded the king's mind, and he said to
his son: 'If this thing is so, I will in the first place send a courier
with friendly letters to King Quimus, and will ask the hand of his
daughter for you. I will send an abundance of gifts, and a string of
camels laden with flashing stones and rubies of Badakhsham In this way
I will bring her and her suite, and I will give her to you to be your
solace. But if King Quimus is unwilling to give her to you, I will pour
a whirlwind of soldiers upon him, and I will bring to you, in this way,
that most consequential of girls.' But the prince said that this plan
would not be right, and that he would go himself, and would answer the
riddle. Then the king's wise men said: 'This is a very weighty matter;
it would be best to allow the prince to set out accompanied by some
persons in whom you have confidence. Maybe he will repent and come
back.' So King Saman ordered all preparations for the journey to be
made, and then Prince Tahmasp took his leave and set out, accompanied
by some of the courtiers, and taking with him a string of two-humped and
raven-eyed camels laden with jewels, and gold, and costly stuffs.

By stage after stage, and after many days' journeying, he arrived at the
city of King Quimus. What did he see? A towering citadel whose foot kept
firm the wrinkled earth, and whose battlements touched the blue heaven.
He saw hanging from its battlements many heads, but it had not the least
effect upon him that these were heads of men of rank; he listened to no
advice about laying aside his fancy, but rode up to the gate and on into
the heart of the city. The place was so splendid that the eyes of the
ages have never seen its like, and there, in an open square, he found
a tent of crimson satin set up, and beneath it two jewelled drums with
jewelled sticks. These drums were put there so that the suitors of the
princess might announce their arrival by beating on them, after which
some one would come and take them to the king's presence. The sight of
the drums stirred the fire of Prince Tahmasp's love. He dismounted,
and moved towards them; but his companions hurried after and begged him
first to let them go and announce him to the king, and said that then,
when they had put their possessions in a place of security, they
would enter into the all important matter of the princess. The prince,
however, replied that he was there for one thing only; that his first
duty was to beat the drums and announce himself as a suitor, when he
would be taken, as such, to the king, who would then give him proper
lodgment. So he struck upon the drums, and at once summoned an officer
who took him to King Quimus.

When the king saw how very young the prince looked, and that he was
still drinking of the fountain of wonder, he said: 'O youth! leave aside
this fancy which my daughter has conceived in the pride of her beauty.
No one can answer er her riddle, and she has done to death many men who
had had no pleasure in life nor tasted its charms. God forbid that your
spring also should be ravaged by the autumn winds of martyrdom.' All his
urgency, however, had no effect in making the prince withdraw. At length
it was settled between them that three days should be given to pleasant
hospitality and that then should follow what had to be said and done.
Then the prince went to his own quarters and was treated as became his
station.

King Quimus now sent for his daughter and for her mother, Gulrukh, 
and talked to them. He said to Mibrafruz: 'Listen to me, you cruel
flirt! Why do you persist in this folly? Now there has come to ask your
hand a prince of the east, so handsome that the very sun grows modest
before the splendour of his face; he is rich, and he has brought gold
and jewels, all for you, if you will marry him. A better husband you
will not find.'

But all the arguments of father and mother were wasted, for her only
answer was: 'O my father! I have sworn to myself that I will not marry,
even if a thousand years go by, unless someone answers my riddle, and
that I will give myself to that man only who does answer it.'

The three days passed; then the riddle was asked: 'What did the rose do
to the cypress?' The prince had an eloquent tongue, which could split a
hair, and without hesitation he replied to her with a verse: 'Only the
Omnipotent has knowledge of secrets; if any man says, "I know" do not
believe him.'

Then a servant fetched in the polluted, blue-eyed headsman, who asked:
'Whose sun of life has come near its setting?' took the prince by the
arm, placed him upon the cloth of execution, and then, all merciless
and stony hearted, cut his head from his body and hung it on the
battlements.

The news of the death of Prince Tahmasp plunged his father into despair
and stupefaction. He mourned for him in black raiment for forty days;
and then, a few days later, his second son, Prince Qamas, extracted from
him leave to go too; and he, also, was put to death. One son only now
remained, the brave, eloquent, happy-natured Prince Almas-ruh-bakhsh.
One day, when his father sat brooding over his lost children, Almas came
before him and said: 'O father mine! the daughter of King Quimus has
done my two brothers to death; I wish to avenge them upon her.' These
words brought his father to tears. 'O light of your father!' he cried,
'I have no one left but you, and now you ask me to let you go to your
death.'

'Dear father!' pleaded the prince, 'until I have lowered the pride of
that beauty, and have set her here before you, I cannot settle down or
indeed sit down off my feet.'

In the end he, too, got leave to go; but he went a without a following
and alone. Like his brothers, he made the long journey to the city of
Quimus the son of Timus; like them he saw the citadel, but he saw there
the heads of Tahmasp and Qamas. He went about in the city, saw the tent
and the drums, and then went out again to a village not far off. Here he
found out a very old man who had a wife 120 years old, or rather more.
Their lives were coming to their end, but they had never beheld face of
child of their own. They were glad when the prince came to their house,
and they dealt with him as with a son. He put all his belongings into
their charge, and fastened his horse in their out-house. Then he asked
them not to speak of him to anyone, and to keep his affairs secret. He
exchanged his royal dress for another, and next morning, just as the sun
looked forth from its eastern oratory, he went again into the city.
He turned over in his mind without ceasing how he was to find out the
meaning of the riddle, and to give them a right answer, and who could
help him, and how to avenge his brothers. He wandered about the city,
but heard nothing of service, for there was no one in all that land who
understood the riddle of Princess Mihr-afruz.

One day he thought he would go to her own palace and see if he could
learn anything there, so he went out to her garden-house. It was a very
splendid place, with a wonderful gateway, and walls like Alexander's
ramparts. Many gate-keepers were on guard, and there was no chance of
passing them. His heart was full of bitterness, but he said to himself:
'All will be well! it is here I shall get what I want.' He went round
outside the garden wall hoping to find a gap, and he made supplication
in the Court of Supplications and prayed, 'O Holder of the hand of the
helpless! show me my way.'

While he prayed he bethought himself that he could get into the garden
with a stream of inflowing water. He looked carefully round, fearing to
be seen, stripped, slid into the stream and was carried within the great
walls. There he hid himself till his loin cloth was dry. The garden was
a very Eden, with running water amongst its lawns, with flowers and the
lament of doves and the jug-jug of nightingales. It was a place to steal
the senses from the brain, and he wandered about and saw the house, but
there seemed to be no one there. In the forecourt was a royal seat of
polished jasper, and in the middle of the platform was a basin of purest
water that flashed like a mirror. He pleased himself with these sights
for a while, and then went back to the garden and hid himself from the
gardeners and passed the night. Next morning he put on the appearance
of a madman and wandered about till he came to a lawn where several
pert-faced girls were amusing themselves. On a throne, jewelled and
overspread with silken stuffs, sat a girl the splendour of whose beauty
lighted up the place, and whose ambergris and attar perfumed the whole
air. 'That must be Mihrafruz,' he thought, 'she is indeed lovely.' Just
then one of the attendants came to the water's edge to fill a cup, and
though the prince was in hiding, his face was reflected in the water.
When she saw this image she was frightened, and let her cup fall into
the stream, and thought, 'Is it an angel, or a peri, or a man?' Fear and
trembling took hold of her, and she screamed as women scream. Then some
of the other girls came and took her to the princess who asked: 'What is
the matter, pretty one?'

'O princess! I went for water, and I saw an image, and I was afraid.'
So another girl went to the water and saw the same thing, and came back
with the same story. The princess wished to see for herself; she rose
and paced to the spot with the march of a prancing peacock. When she
saw the image she said to her nurse: 'Find out who is reflected in
the water, and where he lives.' Her words reached the prince's ear, he
lifted up his head; she saw him and beheld beauty such as she had never
seen before. She lost a hundred hearts to him, and signed to her nurse
to bring him to her presence. The prince let himself be persuaded to go
with the nurse, but when the princess questioned him as to who he was
and how he had got into her garden, he behaved like a man out of his
mind--sometimes smiling, sometimes crying, and saying: 'I am hungry,' Or
words misplaced and random, civil mixed with the rude.

'What a pity!' said the princess, 'he is mad!' As she liked him she
said: 'He is my madman; let no one hurt him.' She took him to her house
and told him not to go away, for that she would provide for all his
wants. The prince thought, 'It would be excellent if here, in her very
house, I could get the answer to her riddle; but I must be silent, on
pain of death.'

Now in the princess's household there was a girl called Dil-aram ;
she it was who had first seen the image of the prince. She came to love
him very much, and she spent day and night thinking how she could make
her affection known to him. One day she escaped from the princess's
notice and went to the prince, and laid her head on his feet and said:
'Heaven has bestowed on you beauty and charm. Tell me your secret; who
are you, and how did you come here? I love you very much, and if you
would like to leave this place I will go with you. I have wealth equal
to the treasure of the miserly Qarun.' But the prince only made answer
like a man distraught, and told her nothing. He said to himself, 'God
forbid that the veil should be taken in vain from my secret; that
would indeed disgrace me.' So, with streaming eyes and burning breast,
Dil-aram arose and went to her house and lamented and fretted.

Now whenever the princess commanded the prince's attendance, Dil-aram,
of all the girls, paid him attention and waited on him best. The
princess noticed this, and said: 'O Dil-aram! you must take my madman
into your charge and give him whatever he wants.' This was the very
thing Dilaram had prayed for. A little later she took the prince
into a private place and she made him take an oath of secrecy, and she
herself took one and swore, 'By Heaven! I will not tell your secret.
Tell me all about yourself so that I may help you to get what you want.'
The prince now recognised in her words the perfume of true love, and he
made compact with her. 'O lovely girl! I want to know what the rose
did to the cypress. Your mistress cuts off men's heads because of this
riddle; what is at the bottom of it, and why does she do it?' Then
Dil-aram answered: 'If you will promise to marry me and to keep me
always amongst those you favour, I will tell you all I know, and I will
keep watch about the riddle.'

'O lovely girl,' rejoined he, 'if I accomplish my purpose, so that I
need no longer strive for it, I will keep my compact with you. When I
have this woman in my power and have avenged my brothers, I will make
you my solace.'

'O wealth of my life and source of my joy!' responded Dil-aram, 'I do
not know what the rose did to the cypress; but so much I know that the
person who told Mihr-afruz about it is a negro whom she hides under her
throne. He fled here from Waq of the Caucasus--it is there you must make
inquiry; there is no other way of getting at the truth.'On hearing these
words, the prince said to his heart, 'O my heart! your task will yet
wear away much of your life.'

He fell into long and far thought, and Dil-aram looked at him and said:
'O my life and my soul! do not be sad. If you would like this woman
killed, I will put poison into her cup so that she will never lift her
head from her drugged sleep again.'

'O Dil-aram! such a vengeance is not manly. I shall not rest till I have
gone to Waq of the Caucasus and have cleared up the matter.' Then
they repeated the agreement about their marriage, and bade one another
goodbye.

The prince now went back to the village, and told the old man that he
was setting out on a long journey, and begged him not to be anxious, and
to keep safe the goods which had been entrusted to him.

The prince had not the least knowledge of the way to Waq of the
Caucasus, and was cast down by the sense of his helplessness. He was
walking along by his horse's side when there appeared before him an old
man of serene countenance, dressed in green and carrying a staff,
who resembled Khizr.  The prince thanked heaven, laid the hands of
reverence on his breast and salaamed. The old man returned the greeting
graciously, and asked: 'How fare you? Whither are you bound? You look
like a traveller.'

'O revered saint! I am in this difficulty: I do not know the way to Waq
of the Caucasus.' The old man of good counsel looked at the young prince
and said: 'Turn back from this dangerous undertaking. Do not go; choose
some other task! If you had a hundred lives you would not bring one out
safe from this journey.' But his words had no effect on the prince's
resolve. 'What object have you,' the old man asked, 'in thus consuming
your life?'

'I have an important piece of business to do, and only this journey
makes it possible. I must go; I pray you, ill God's name, tell me the
way.'

When the saint saw that the prince was not to be moved, he said:
'Learn and know, O youth! that Waq of Qaf is in the Caucasus and is a
dependency of it. In it there are jins, demons, and peris. You must go
on along this road till it forks into three; take neither the right hand
nor the left, but the middle path. Follow this for a day and a night.
Then you will come to a column on which is a marble slab inscribed with
Cufic characters. Do what is written there; beware of disobedience.'
Then he gave his good wishes for the journey and his blessing, and the
prince kissed his feet, said good-bye, and, with thanks to the Causer of
Causes, took the road.

After a day and a night he saw the column rise in silent beauty to the
heavens. Everything was as the wise old man had said it would be, and
the prince, who was skilled in all tongues, read the following Cufic
inscription: 'O travellers! be it known to you that this column has been
set up with its tablet to give true directions about these roads. If
a man would pass his life in ease and pleasantness, let him take the
right-hand path. If he take the left, he will have some trouble, but
he will reach his goal without much delay. Woe to him who chooses the
middle path! if he had a thousand lives he would not save one; it is
very hazardous; it leads to the Caucasus, and is an endless road. Beware
of it!'

The prince read and bared his head and lifted his hands in supplication
to Him who has no needs, and prayed, 'O Friend of the traveller! I, Thy
servant, come to Thee for succour. My purpose lies in the land of Qaf
and my road is full of peril. Lead me by it.' Then he took a handful of
earth and cast it on his collar, and said: 'O earth! be thou my grave;
and O vest! tee thou my winding-sheet!' Then he took the middle road
and went along it, day after day, with many a silent prayer, till he saw
trees rise from the weary waste of sand. They grew in a garden, and he
went up to the gate and found it a slab of beautifully worked marble,
and that near it there lay sleeping, with his head on a stone, a negro
whose face was so black that it made darkness round him. His upper lip,
arched like an eyebrow, curved upwards to his nostrils and his lower
hung down like a camel's. Four millstones formed his shield, and on a
box-tree close by hung his giant sword. His loin-cloth was fashioned
of twelve skins of beasts, and was bound round his waist by a chain of
which each link was as big as an elephant's thigh.

The prince approached and tied up his horse near the negro's head. Then
he let fall the Bismillah from his lips, entered the garden and walked
through it till he came to the private part, delighting in the great
trees, the lovely verdure, and the flowery borders. In the inner garden
there were very many deer. These signed to him with eye and foot to
go back, for that this was enchanted ground; but he did not understand
them, and thought their pretty gestures were a welcome. After a while he
reached a palace which had a porch more splendid than Caesar's, and was
built of gold and silver bricks. In its midst was a high seat, overlaid
with fine carpets, and into it opened eight doors, each having opposite
to it a marble basin.

Banishing care, Prince Almas walked on through the garden, when suddenly
a window opened and a girl, who was lovely enough to make the moon
writhe with jealousy, put out her head. She lost her heart to the good
looks of the prince, and sent her nurse to fetch him so that she might
learn where he came from and how he had got into her private garden
where even lions and wolves did not venture. The nurse went, and was
struck with amazement at the sun-like radiance of his face; she salaamed
and said: 'O youth! welcome! the lady of the garden calls you; come!' He
went with her and into a palace which was like a house in Paradise, and
saw seated on the royal carpets of the throne a girl whose brilliance
shamed the shining sun. He salaamed; she rose, took him by the hand and
placed him near her. 'O young man! who are you? Where do you come from?
How did you get into this garden?' He told her his story from beginning
to end, and Lady Latifa  replied: 'This is folly! It will make you
a vagabond of the earth, and lead you to destruction. Come, cease such
talk! No one can go to the Caucasus. Stay with me and be thankful, for
here is a throne which you can share with me, and in my society you can
enjoy my wealth. I will do whatever you wish; I will bring here King
Qulmus and his daughter, and you can deal with them as you will.'

'O Lady Latifa,' he said, 'I have made a compact with heaven not to sit
down off my feet till I have been to Waq of Qaf and have cleared up this
matter, and have taken Mihrafruz from her father, as brave men take,
and have put her in prison. When I have done all this I will come
back to you in state and with a great following, and I will marry you
according to the law.' Lady Latifa argued and urged her wishes, but in
vain; the prince was not to be moved. Then she called to the cupbearers
for new wine, for she thought that when his head was hot with it he
might consent to stay. The pure, clear wine was brought; she filled a
cup and gave to him. He said: 'O most enchanting sweetheart! it is the
rule for the host to drink first and then the guest.' So to make him
lose his head, she drained the cup; then filled it again and gave him.
He drank it off, and she took a lute from one of the singers and played
upon it with skill which witched away the sense of all who heard. But
it was all in vain; three days passed in such festivities, and on the
fourth the prince said: 'O joy of my eyes! I beg now that you will bid
me farewell, for my way is long and the fire of your love darts flame
into the harvest of my heart. By heaven's grace I may accomplish my
purpose, and, if so, I will come back to you.'

Now she saw that she could not in any way change his resolve, she told
her nurse to bring a certain casket which contained, she said, something
exhilarating which would help the prince on his journey. The box was
brought, and she divided off a portion of what was within and gave it to
the prince to eat. Then, and while he was all unaware, she put forth her
hand to a stick fashioned like a snake; she said some words over it and
struck him so sharply on the shoulder that he cried out; then he made a
pirouette and found that he was a deer.

When he knew what had been done to him he thought, 'All the threads of
affliction are gathered together; I have lost my last chance!' He
tried to escape, but the magician sent for her goldsmith, who, coming,
overlaid the deer-horns with gold and jewels. The kerchief which that
day she had had in her hand was then tied round its neck, and this freed
it from her attentions.

The prince-deer now bounded into the garden and at once sought some way
of escape. It found none, and it joined the other deer, which soon made
it their leader. Now, although the prince had been transformed into the
form of a deer, he kept his man's heart and mind. He said to himself,
'Thank heaven that the Lady Latifa has changed me into this shape, for
at least deer are beautiful.' He remained for some time living as a deer
amongst the rest, but at length resolved that an end to such a life must
be put ill some way. He looked again for some place by which he could
get out of the magic garden. Following round the wall he reached a lower
part; he remembered the Divine Names and flung himself over, saying,
'Whatever happens is by the will of God.' When he looked about he found
that he was in the very same place he had jumped from; there was the
palace, there the garden and the deer! Eight times he leaped over the
wall and eight times found himself where he had started from; but after
the ninth leap there was a change, there was a palace and there was a
garden, but the deer were gone.

Presently a girl of such moon-like beauty opened a window that the
prince lost to her a hundred hearts. She was delighted with the
beautiful deer, and cried to her nurse: 'Catch it! if you will I will
give you this necklace, every pearl of which is worth a kingdom.' The
nurse coveted the pearls, but as she was three hundred years old she
did not know how she could catch a deer. However, she went down into the
garden and held out some grass, but when she went near the creature ran
away. The girl watched with great excitement from the palace window, and
called: 'O nurse, if you don't catch it, I will kill you!' 'I am killing
myself,' shouted back the old woman. The girl saw that nurse tottering
along and went down to help, marching with the gait of a prancing
peacock. When she saw the gilded horns and the kerchief she said: 'It
must be accustomed to the hand, and be some royal pet!' The prince had
it in mind that this might be another magician who could give him some
other shape, but still it seemed best to allow himself to be caught. So
he played about the girl and let her catch him by the neck. A leash was
brought, fruits were given, and it was caressed with delight. It was
taken to the palace and tied at the foot of the Lady Jamila's raised
seat, but she ordered a longer cord to be brought so that it might be
able to jump up beside her.

When the nurse went to fix the cord she saw tears falling from its
eyes, and that it was dejected and sorrowful 'O Lady Jamila! this is
a wonderful deer, it is crying; I never saw a deer cry before.' Jamila
darted down like a flash of lightning, and saw that it was so. It rubbed
its head on her feet and then shook it so sadly that the girl cried for
sympathy. She patted it and said: 'Why are you sad, my heart? Why do you
cry, my soul? Is it because I have caught you? I love you better than my
own life.' But, spite of her comforting, it cried the more. Then Jamila
said: 'Unless I am mistaken, this is the work of my wicked sister
Latifa, who by magic art turns servants of God into beasts of the
field.' At these words the deer uttered sounds, and laid its head on her
feet. Then Jamila was sure it was a man, and said: 'Be comforted, I will
restore you to your own shape.' She bathed herself and ordered the deer
to be bathed, put on clean raiment, called for a box which stood in an
alcove, opened it and gave a portion of what was in it to the deer to
eat. Then she slipped her hand under her carpet and produced a stick to
which she said something. She struck the deer hard, it pirouetted and
became Prince Almas.

The broidered kerchief and the jewels lay upon the ground. The prince
prostrated himself in thanks to heaven and Jamila, and said: 'O
delicious person! O Chinese Venus! how shall I excuse myself for giving
you so much trouble? With what words can I thank you?' Then she
called for a clothes-wallet and chose out a royal dress of honour.
Her attendants dressed him in it, and brought him again before the
tender-hearted lady. She turned to him a hundred hearts, took his hand
and seated him beside her, and said: 'O youth! tell me truly who you are
and where you come from, and how you fell into the power of my sister.'

Even when he was a deer the prince had much admired Jamila now he
thought her a thousand times more lovely than before. He judged that in
truth alone was safety, and so told her his whole story. Then she asked:
'O Prince Almas-ruh-bakhsh, do you still wish so much to make this
journey to Waq of Qaf? What hope is there in it? The road is dangerous
even near here, and this is not yet the borderland of the Caucasus.
Come, give it up! It is a great risk, and to go is not wise. It would
be a pity for a man like you to fall into the hands of jins and demons.
Stay with me, and I will do whatever you wish.'

'O most delicious person!' he answered, 'you are very generous, and the
choice of my life lies in truth in your hands; but I beg one favour of
you. If you love me, so do I too love you. If you really love me, do not
forbid me to make this journey, but help me as far as you can. Then it
may be that I shall succeed, and if I return with my purpose fulfilled I
will marry you according to the law, and take you to my own country,
and we will spend the rest of our lives together in pleasure and good
companionship. Help me, if you can, and give me your counsel.'

'O very stuff of my life,' replied Jamila 'I will give you things that
are not in kings' treasuries, and which will be of the greatest use to
you. First, there are the bow and arrows of his Reverence the Prophet
Salih. Secondly, there is the Scorpion of Solomon (on whom be peace),
which is a sword such as no king has; steel and stone are one to it; if
you bring it down on a rock it will not be injured, and it will cleave
whatever you strike. Thirdly, there is the dagger which the sage Timus
himself made; this is most useful, and the man who wears it would not
bend under seven camels' loads. What you have to do first is to get
to the home of the Simurgh,  and to make friends with him. If he
favours you, he will take you to Waq of Qaf; if not, you will never get
there, for seven seas are on the way, and they are such seas that if
all the kings of the earth, and all their wazirs, and all their wise men
considered for a thousand years, they would not be able to cross them.'

'O most delicious person! where is the Simurgh's home? How shall I get
there?'

'O new fruit of life! you must just do what I tell you, and you must use
your eyes and your brains, for if you don't you will find yourself at
the place of the negroes, who are a bloodthirsty set; and God forbid
they should lay hands on your precious person.'

Then she took the bow and quiver of arrows, the sword, and the dagger
out of a box, and the prince let fall a Bismillah, and girt them all
on. Then Jamila of the houri-face, produced two saddle-bags of ruby-red
silk, one filled with roasted fowl and little cakes, and the other with
stones of price. Next she gave him a horse as swift as the breeze of the
morning, and she said: 'Accept all these things from me; ride till you
come to a rising ground, at no great distance from here, where there is
a spring. It is called the Place of Gifts, and you must stay there one
night. There you will see many wild beasts--lions, tigers, leopards,
apes, and so on. Before you get there you must capture some game. On the
long road beyond there dwells a lion-king, alla if other beasts did not
fear him they would ravage the whole country and let no one pass. The
lion is a red transgressor, so when he comes rise and do him reverence;
take a cloth and rub the dust and earth from his face, then set the game
you have taken before him, well cleansed, and lay the hands of respect
on your breast. When he wishes to eat, take your knife and cut pieces of
the meat and set them before him with a bow. In this way you will enfold
that lion-king in perfect friendship, and he will be most useful to you,
and you will be safe from molestation by the negroes. When you go on
from the Place of Gifts, be sure you do not take the right-hand road;
take the left, for the other leads by the negro castle, which is
known as the Place of Clashing Swords, and where there are forty negro
captains each over three thousand or four thousand more. Their chief is
Taramtaq.  Further on than this is the home of the Simurgh.'

Having stored these things in the prince's memory, she said: 'You will
see everything happen just as I have said.' Then she escorted him a
little way; they parted, and she went home to mourn his absence.

Prince Almas, relying on the Causer of Causes, rode on to the Place of
Gifts and dismounted at the platform. Everything happened just as Jamila
had foretold; when one or two watches of the night had passed, he saw
that the open ground around him was full of such stately and splendid
animals as he had never seen before. By-and-by, they made way for a
wonderfully big lion, which was eighty yards from nose to tail-tip,
and was a magnificent creature. The prince advanced and saluted it;
it proudly drooped its head and forelocks and paced to the platform.
Seventy or eighty others were with it, and now encircled it at a little
distance. It laid its right paw over its left, and the prince took the
kerchief Jamila had given him for the purpose, and rubbed the dust and
earth from its face; then brought forward the game he had prepared, and
crossing his hands respectfully on his breast stood waiting before it.
When it wished for food he cut off pieces of the meat and put them in
its mouth. The serving lions also came near and the prince would have
stayed his hand, but the king-lion signed to him to feed them too. This
he did, laying the meat on the platform. Then the king-lion beckoned the
prince to come near and said: 'Sleep at ease; my guards will watch.'.
So, surrounded by the lion-guard, he slept till dawn, when the king lion
said good-bye, and gave him a few of his own hairs and said: 'When you
are in any difficulty, burn one of these and I will be there.' Then it
went off into the jungle.

Prince Almas immediately started; he rode till he came to the parting of
the ways. He remembered quite well that the right-hand way was short and
dangerous, but he bethought himself too that whatever was written on his
forehead would happen, and took the forbidden road. By-and-by he saw a
castle, and knew from what Jamila had told him that it was the Place of
Clashing Swords. He would have liked to go back by the way ho had
come, but courage forbade, and he said, 'What has been preordained from
eternity will happen to me,' and went on towards the castle. He was
thinking of tying his horse to a tree which grew near the gate when a
negro came out and spied him. 'Ha!' said the wretch to himself, 'this is
good; Taram-taq has not eaten man-meat for a long time, and is craving
for some. I will take this creature to him.' He took hold of the
prince's reins, and said: 'Dismount, man-child! Come to my master. He
has wanted to eat man-meat this long time back.' 'What nonsense are
you saying?' said the prince, and other such words. When the negro
understood that he was being abused, he cried: 'Come along! I will put
you into such a state that the birds of the air will weep for you.' Then
the prince drew the Scorpion of Solomon and struck him--struck him on
the leathern belt and shore him through so that the sword came out
on the other side. He stood upright for a little while, muttered some
words, put out his hand to seize the prince, then fell in two and
surrendered his life.

There was water close at hand, and the prince made his ablution, and
then said: 'O my heart! a wonderful task lies upon you.' A second negro
came out of the fort, and seeing what had been done, went back and told
his chief. Others wished to be doubled, and went out, and of every one
the Scorpion of Solomon made two. Then Taram-taq sent for a giant negro
named Chil-maq, who in the day of battle was worth three hundred, and
said to him: 'I shall thank you to fetch me that man.'

Chil-maq went out, tall as a tower, and bearing a shield of eight
millstones, and as he walked he shouted: 'Ho! blunder-head! by what
right do you come to our country and kill our people? Come! make two of
me.' As the prince was despicable in his eyes, he tossed aside his club
and rushed to grip him with his hands. He caught him by the collar,
tucked him under his arm and set off with him to Taram-taq. But the
prince drew the dagger of Timus and thrust it upwards through the
giant's armpit, for its full length. This made Chil-maq drop him and
try to pick up his club; but when he stooped the mighty sword shore him
through at the waist.

When news of his champion's death reached Taram-taq he put himself at
the head of an army of his negroes and led them forth. Many fell before
the magic sword, and the prince laboured on in spite of weakness and
fatigue till he was almost worn out. In a moment of respite from attack
he struck his fire-steel and burned a hair of the king-lion; and he had
just succeeded in this when the negroes charged again and all but
took him prisoner. Suddenly from behind the distant veil of the desert
appeared an army of lions led by their king. 'What brings these scourges
of heaven here?' cried the negroes. They came roaring up, and put fresh
life into the prince. He fought on, and when he struck on a belt the
wearer fell in two, and when on a head he cleft to the waist. Then the
ten thousand mighty lions joined the fray and tore in pieces man and
horse.

Taram-taq was left alone; he would have retired into his fort, but the
prince shouted: 'Whither away, accursed one? Are you fleeing before me?'
At these defiant words the chief shouted back, 'Welcome, man! Come here
and I will soften you to wax beneath my club.' Then he hurled his
club at the prince's head, but it fell harmless because the prince had
quickly spurred his horse forward. The chief, believing he had hit him,
was looking down for him, when all at once he came up behind and cleft
him to the waist and sent him straight to hell.

The king-lion greatly praised the dashing courage of Prince Almas. They
went together into the Castle of Clashing Swords and found it adorned
and fitted in princely fashion. In it was a daughter of Taram taq, still
a child She sent a message to Prince Almas saying, 'O king of the world!
choose this slave to be your handmaid. Keep her with you; where you
go, there she will go!' He sent for her and she kissed his feet and
received the Mussulman faith at his hands. He told her he was going a
long journey on important business, and that when he came back he
would take her and her possessions to his own country, but that for the
present she must stay in the castle. Then he made over the fort and all
that was in it to the care of the lion, saying: 'Guard them, brother!
let no one lay a hand on them.' He said goodbye, chose a fresh horse
from the chief's stable and once again took the road.

After travelling many stages and for many days, he reached a plain of
marvellous beauty and refreshment. It was carpeted with flowers--roses,
tulips, and clover; it had lovely lawns, and amongst them running water.
This choicest place of earth filled him with wonder. There was a tree
such as he had never seen before; its branches were alike, but it bore
flowers and fruit of a thousand kinds. Near it a reservoir had been
fashioned of four sorts of stone--touchstone, pure stone, marble, and
loadstone. In and out of it flowed water like attar. The prince felt
sure this must be the place of the Simurgh.' he dismounted, turned his
horse loose to graze, ate some of the food Jamila had given him, drank
of the stream and lay down to sleep.

He was still dozing when he was aroused by the neighing and pawing of
his horse. When he could see clearly he made out a mountain-like
dragon whose heavy breast crushed the stones beneath it into putty. He
remembered the Thousand Names of God and took the bow of Salih from its
case and three arrows from their quiver. He bound the dagger of Timus
firmly to his waist and hung the scorpion of Solomon round his neck.
Then he set an arrow on the string and released it with such force
that it went in at the monster's eye right up to the notch. The dragon
writhed on itself, and belched forth an evil vapour, and beat the ground
with its head till the earth quaked. Then the prince took a second arrow
and shot into its throat. It drew in its breath and would have sucked
the prince into its maw, but when he was within striking distance he
drew his sword and, having committed himself to God, struck a mighty
blow which cut the creature's neck down to the gullet. The foul vapour
of the beast and horror at its strangeness now overcame the prince, and
he fainted. When he came to himself he found that he was drenched in the
gore of the dead monster. He rose and thanked God for his deliverance.

The nest of the Simurgh was in the wonderful tree above him, and in it
were young birds; the parents were away searching for food. They always
told the children, before they left them, not to put their heads out of
the nest; but, to-day, at the noise of the fight below, they looked down
and so saw the whole affair. By the time the dragon had been killed they
were very hungry and set up a clamour for food. The prince therefore cut
up the dragon and fed them with it, bit by bit, till they had eaten the
whole. He then washed himself and lay down to rest, and he was still
asleep when the Simurgh came home. As a rule, the young birds raised a
clamour of welcome when their parents came near, but on this day they
were so full of dragon-meat that they had no choice, they had to go to
sleep.

As they flew nearer, the old birds saw the prince lying under the tree
and no sign of life in the nest. They thought that the misfortune which
for so many earlier years had befallen them had again happened and that
their nestlings had disappeared. They had never been able to find out
the murderer, and now suspected the prince. 'He has eaten our children
and sleeps after it; he must die,' said the father-bird, and flew back
to the hills and clawed up a huge stone which he meant to let fall on
the prince's head. But his mate said, 'Let us look into the nest
first for to kill an innocent person would condemn us at the Day of
Resurrection.' They flew nearer, and presently the young birds woke and
cried, 'Mother, what have you brought for us?' and they told the whole
story of the fight, and of how they were alive only by the favour of the
young man under the tree, and of his cutting up the dragon and of their
eating it. The mother-bird then remarked, 'Truly, father! you were about
to do a strange thing, and a terrible sin has been averted from you.'
Then the Simurgh flew off to a distance with the great stone and dropped
it. It sank down to the very middle of the earth.

Coming back, the Simurgh saw that a little sunshine fell upon the prince
through the leaves, and it spread its wings and shaded him till he woke.
When he got up he salaamed to it, who returned his greeting with joy and
gratitude, and caressed him and said: 'O youth, tell me true! who are
you, and where are you going? And how did you cross that pitiless desert
where never yet foot of man had trod?' The prince told his story from
beginning to end, and finished by saying: 'Now it is my heart's wish
that you should help me to get to Waq of the Caucasus. Perhaps, by your
favour, I shall accomplish my task and avenge my brothers.' In reply the
Simurgh.' first blessed the deliverer of his children, and then went on:
'What you have done no child of man has ever done before; you assuredly
have a claim on all my help, for every year up till now that dragon has
come here and has destroyed my nestlings, and I have never been able to
find who was the murderer and to avenge myself. By God's grace you have
removed my children's powerful foe. I regard you as a child of my
own. Stay with me; I will give you everything you desire, and I will
establish a city here for you, and will furnish it with every requisite;
I will give you the land of the Caucasus, and will make its princes
subject to you. Give up the journey to Waq, it is full of risk, and the
jins there will certainly kill you.' But nothing could move the prince,
and seeing this the bird went on: 'Well, so be it! When you wish to set
forth you must go into the plain and take seven head of deer, and must
make water-tight bags of their hides and keep their flesh in seven
portions. Seven seas lie on our way--I will carry you over them; but
if I have not food and drink we shall fall into the sea and be drowned.
When I ask for it you must put food and water into my mouth. So we shall
make the journey safely.'

The prince did all as he was told, then they took flight; they crossed
the seven seas, and at each one the prince fed the Simurgh When they
alighted on the shore of the last sea, it said: 'O my son! there lies
your road; follow it to the city. Take thee three feathers of mine,
and, if you are in a difficulty, burn one and I will be with you in the
twinkling of an eye.'

The prince walked on in solitude till he reached the city. He went in
and wandered about through all quarters, and through bazaars and lanes
and squares, in the least knowing from whom he could ask information
about the riddle of Mihr-afruz. He spent seven days thinking it over
in silence. From the first day of his coming he had made friends with a
young cloth-merchant, and a great liking had sprung up between them. One
day he said abruptly to his companion: 'O dear friend! I wish you would
tell me what the rose did to the cypress, and what the sense of the
riddle is.' The merchant started, and exclaimed: 'If there were not
brotherly affection between us, I would cut off your head for asking me
this!' 'If you meant to kill me,' retorted the prince, 'you would still
have first to tell me what I want to know.' When the merchant saw that
the prince was in deadly earnest, he said: 'If you wish to hear the
truth of the matter you must wait upon our king. There is no other way;
no one else will tell you. I have a well-wisher at the Court, named
Farrukh-fal,  and will introduce you to him.' 'That would be
excellent,' cried the prince. A meeting was arranged between Farrukhfal
and Almas, and then the amir took him to the king's presence and
introduced him as a stranger and traveller who had come from afar to sit
in the shadow of King Sinaubar.

Now the Simurgh had given the prince a diamond weighing thirty misqals,
and he ordered this to the king, who at once recognised its value, and
asked where it had been obtained. 'I, your slave, once had riches and
state and power; there are many such stones in my country. On my way
here I was plundered at the Castle of Clashing Swords, and I saved this
one thing only, hidden in my bathing-cloth.' In return for the diamond,
King Sinaubar showered gifts of much greater value, for he remembered
that it was the last possession of the prince. He showed the utmost
kindness and hospitality, and gave his wazir orders to instal the
prince in the royal guest-house. He took much pleasure in his
visitor's society; they were together every day and spent the time most
pleasantly. Several times the king said: 'Ask me for something, that I
may give it you.'One day he so pressed to know what would pleasure the
prince, that the latter said: 'I have only one wish, and that I will
name to you in private.' The king at once commanded every one to
withdraw, and then Prince Almas said: 'The desire of my life is to
know what the rose did to the cypress, and what meaning there is in the
words.' The king was astounded. 'In God's name! if anyone else had said
that to me I should have cut off his head instantly.' The prince heard
this in silence, and presently so beguiled the king with pleasant talk
that to kill him was impossible.

Time flew by, the king again and again begged the prince to ask some
gift of him, and always received this same reply: 'I wish for your
Majesty's welfare, what more can I desire?' One night there was a
banquet, and cupbearers carried round gold and silver cups of sparkling
wine, and singers with sweetest voices contended for the prize. The
prince drank from the king's own cup, and when his head was hot with
wine he took a lute from one of the musicians and placed himself on the
carpet border and sang and sang till he witched away the sense of all
who listened. Applause and compliments rang from every side. The king
filled his cup and called the prince and gave it him and said: 'Name
your wish! it is yours.' The prince drained off the wine and answered:
'O king of the world! learn and know that I have only one aim in life,
and this is to know what the rose did to the cypress.'

'Never yet,' replied the king, 'has any man come out from that question
alive. If this is your only wish, so be it; I will tell you. But I will
do this on one condition only, namely, that when you have heard you will
submit yourself to death.' To this the prince agreed, and said: 'I set
my foot firmly on this compact.'

The king then gave an order to an attendant; a costly carpet overlaid
with European velvet was placed near him, and a dog was led in by a
golden and jewelled chain and set upon the splendid stuffs. A band of
fair girls came in and stood round it in waiting.

Then, with ill words, twelve negroes dragged in a lovely woman, fettered
on hands and feet and meanly dressed, and they set her down on the bare
floor. She was extraordinarily beautiful, and shamed the glorious sun.
The king ordered a hundred stripes to be laid on her tender body; she
sighed a long sigh. Food was called for and table-cloths were spread.
Delicate meats were set before the dog, and water given it in a royal
cup of Chinese crystal. When it had eaten its fill, its leavings were
placed before the lovely woman and she was made to eat of them. She wept
and her tears were pearls; she smiled and her lips shed roses. Pearls
and flowers were gathered up and taken to the treasury.

'Now,' said the king, 'you have seen these things and your purpose is
fulfilled.' 'Truly,' said the prince, 'I have seen things which I have
not understood; what do they mean, and what is the story of them? Tell
me and kill me.'

Then said the king: 'The woman you see there in chains is my wife; she
is called Gul, the Rose, and I am Sinaubar, the Cypress. One day I was
hunting and became very thirsty. After great search I discovered a well
in a place so secret that neither bird nor beast nor man could find it
without labour. I was alone, I took my turban for a rope and my cap for
a bucket. There was a good deal of water, but when I let down my rope,
something caught it, and I could not in any way draw it back. I shouted
down into the well: "O! servant of God! whoever you are, why do you deal
unfairly with me? I am dying of thirst, let go! in God's name." A cry
came up in answer, "O servant of God! we have been in the well a long
time; in God's name get us out!" After trying a thousand schemes, I drew
up two blind women. They said they were peris, and that their king had
blinded them in his anger and had left them in the well alone.

'"Now," they said, "if you will get us the cure for our blindness we
will devote ourselves to your service, and will do whatever you wish."

'"What is the cure for your blindness?"

'"Not far from this place," they said, "a cow comes up from the great
sea to graze; a little of her dung would cure us. We should be eternally
your debtors. Do not let the cow see you, or she will assuredly kill
you."

'With renewed strength and spirit I went to the shore. There I watched
the cow come up from the sea, graze, and go back. Then I came out of
my hiding, took a little of her dung and conveyed it to the peris. They
rubbed it on their eyes, and by the Divine might saw again.

'They thanked heaven and me, and then considered what they could do to
show their gratitude to me. "Our peri-king," they said, "has a daughter
whom he keeps under his own eye and thinks the most lovely girl on
earth. In good sooth, she has not her equal! Now we will get you into
her house and you must win her heart, and if she has an inclination
for another, you must drive it out and win her for yourself. Her mother
loves her so dearly that she has no ease but in her presence, and she
will give her to no one in marriage. Teach her to love you so that she
cannot exist without you. But if the matter becomes known to her mother
she will have you burned in the fire. Then you must beg, as a last
favour, that your body may be anointed with oil so that you may burn the
more quickly and be spared torture. If the peri-king allows this favour,
we two will manage to be your anointers, and we will put an oil on
you such that if you were a thousand years in the fire not a trace of
burning would remain."

'In the end the two peris took me to the girl's house. I saw her
sleeping daintily. She was most lovely, and I was so amazed at the
perfection of her beauty that I stood with senses lost, and did not
know if she were real or a dream. When at last I saw that she was a real
girl, I returned thanks that I, the runner, had come to my goal, and
that I, the seeker, had found my treasure.

'When the peri opened her eyes she asked in affright: "Who are you? Have
you come to steal? How did you get here? Be quick! save yourself from
this whirlpool of destruction, for the demons and peris. who guard me
will wake and seize you."

'But love's arrow had struck me deep, and the girl, too, looked kindly
on me. I could not go away. For some months I remained hidden in her
house. 'We did not dare to let her mother know of our love. Sometimes
the girl was very sad and fearful lest her mother should come to know.
One day her father said to her: "Sweetheart, for some time I have
noticed that your beauty is not what it was. How is this? Has sickness
touched you? Tell me that I may seek a cure." Alas! there was now no way
of concealing the mingled delight and anguish of our love; from secret
it became known. I was put in prison and the world grew dark to my rose,
bereft of her lover.

'The peri-king ordered me to be burnt, and said: "Why have you, a man,
done this perfidious thing in my house?" His demons and peris. collected
amber-wood and made a pile, and would have set me on it, when I
remembered the word of life which the two peris. I had rescued had
breathed into my ear, and I asked that my body might be rubbed with oil
to release me the sooner from torture. This was allowed, and those two
contrived to be the anointers. I was put into the fire and it was kept
up for seven days and nights. By the will of the Great King it left no
trace upon me. At the end of a week the pert-king ordered the ashes to
be cast upon the dust-heap, and I was found alive and unharmed.

'Peris who had seen Gul consumed by her love for me now interceded with
the king, and said: "It is clear that your daughter's fortunes are bound
up with his, for the fire has not hurt him. It is best to give him the
girl, for they love one another. He is King of Waq of Qaf, and you will
find none better."

'To this the king agreed, and made formal marriage between Gul and me.
You now know the price I paid for this faithless creature. O prince!
remember our compact.'

'I remember,' said the prince; 'but tell me what brought Queen Gul to
her present pass?'

'One night,' continued King Sinaubar, 'I was aroused by feeling Gul's
hands and feet, deadly cold, against my body. I asked her where she had
been to get so cold, and she said she had had to go out. Next morning,
when I went to my stable I saw that two of my horses, Windfoot and
Tiger, were thin and worn out. I reprimanded the groom and beat him. He
asked where his fault lay, and said that every night my wife took one
or other of these horses and rode away, and came back only just before
dawn. A flame kindled in my heart, and I asked myself where she could go
and what she could do. I told the groom to be silent, and when next Gul
took a horse from the stable to saddle another quickly and bring it to
me. That day I did not hunt, but stayed at home to follow the matter up.
I lay down as usual at night and pretended to fall asleep. When I seemed
safely off Gul got up and went to the stable as her custom was. That
night it was Tiger's turn. She rode off on him, and I took Windfoot and
followed. With me went that dog you see, a faithful friend who never
left me.

'When I came to the foot of those hills which lie outside the city I saw
Gul dismount and go towards a house which some negroes have built there.
Over against the door was a high seat, and on it lay a giant negro,
before whom she salaamed. He got up and beat her till she was marked
with weals, but she uttered no complaint. I was dumfounded, for once
when I had struck her with a rose stalk she had complained and fretted
for three days! Then the negro said to her: "How now, ugly one and
shaven head! Why are you so late, and why are you not wearing wedding
garments?" She answered him: "That person did not go to sleep quickly,
and he stayed at home all day, so that I was not able to adorn myself. I
came as soon as I could." In a little while he called her to sit beside
him; but this was more than I could bear. I lost control of myself
and rushed upon him. He clutched my collar and we grappled in a death
struggle. Suddenly she came behind me, caught my feet and threw me.
While he held me on the ground, she drew out my own knife and gave it
to him. I should have been killed but for that faithful dog which seized
his throat and pulled him down and pinned him to the ground. Then I
got up and despatched the wretch. There were four other negroes at the
place; three I killed and the fourth got away, and has taken refuge
beneath the throne of Mihr-afruz, daughter of King Quimus. I took Gul
back to my palace, and from that time till now I have treated her as a
dog is treated, and I have cared for my dog as though it were my wife.
Now you know what the rose did to the cypress; and now you must keep
compact with me.'

'I shall keep my word,' said the prince; 'but may a little water be
taken to the roof so that I may make my last ablution?'

To this request the king consented. The prince mounted to the roof,
and, getting into a corner, struck his fire-steel and burned one of the
Sirurgh's feathers in the flame. Straightway it appeared, and by the
majesty of its presence made the city quake. It took the prince on its
back and soared away to the zenith.

After a time King Sinaubar said: 'That young man is a long time on the
roof; go and bring him here.' But there was no sign of the prince upon
the roof; only, far away in the sky, the Simurgh was seen carrying him
off. When the king heard of his escape he thanked heaven that his hands
were clean of this blood.

Up and up flew the Simurgh, till earth looked like an egg resting on an
ocean. At length it dropped straight down to its own place, where
the kind prince was welcomed by the young birds and most hospitably
entertained. He told the whole story of the rose and the cypress, and
then, laden with gifts which the Simurgh had gathered from cities
far and near, he set his face for the Castle of Clashing Swords.
The king-lion came out to meet him; he took the negro chief's
daughter---whose name was also Gul--in lawful marriage, and then marched
with her and her possessions and her attendants to the Place of Gifts.
Here they halted for a night, and at dawn said good-bye to the king-lion
and set out for Jamila's country.

When the Lady Jamila heard that Prince Almas was near, she went out,
with many a fair handmaid, to give him loving reception. Their meeting
was joyful, and they went together to the garden-palace. Jamila summoned
all her notables, and in their presence her marriage with the prince was
solemnised. A few days later she entrusted her affairs to her wazir, and
made preparation to go with the prince to his own country. Before she
started she restored all the men whom her sister, Latifa, had bewitched,
to their own forms, and received their blessings, and set them forward
to their homes. The wicked Latifa herself she left quite alone in her
garden-house. When all was ready they set out with all her servants and
slaves, all her treasure and goods, and journeyed at ease to the city of
King Quimus.

When King Quimus heard of the approach of such a great company, he sent
out his wazir to give the prince honourable meeting, and to ask what had
procured him the favour of the visit. The prince sent back word that he
had no thought of war, but he wrote: 'Learn and know, King Quimus,
that I am here to end the crimes of your insolent daughter who has
tyrannously done to death many kings and kings sons, and has hung their
heads on your citadel. I am here to give her the answer to her riddle.'
Later on he entered the city, beat boldly on the drums, and was
conducted to the presence.

The king entreated him to have nothing to do with the riddle, for that
no man had come out of it alive. 'O king!' replied the prince, 'it is to
answer it that I am here; I will not withdraw.'

Mihr-afruz was told that one man more had staked his head on her
question, and that this was one who said he knew the answer. At the
request of the prince, all the officers and notables of the land were
summoned to hear his reply to the princess. All assembled, and the king
and his queen Gul-rakh, and the girl and the prince were there.

The prince addressed Mihr-afruz: 'What is the question you ask?'

'What did the rose do to the cypress?' she rejoined.

The prince smiled, and turned and addressed the assembly.

'You who are experienced men and versed in affairs, did you ever know or
hear and see anything of this matter?'

'No!' they answered, 'no one has ever known or heard or seen aught about
it; it is an empty fancy.'

'From whom, then, did the princess hear of it? This empty fancy it is
that has done many a servant of God to death!'

All saw the good sense of his words and showed their approval. Then he
turned to the princess: 'Tell us the truth, princess; who told you of
this thing? I know it hair by hair, and in and out; but if I tell you
what I know, who is there that can say I speak the truth? You must
produce the person who can confirm my words.'

Her heart sank, for she feared that her long-kept secret was now to be
noised abroad. But she said merely: 'Explain yourself.'

'I shall explain myself fully when you bring here the negro whom you
hide beneath your throne.'

Here the king shouted in wonderment: 'Explain yourself, young man! What
negro does my daughter hide beneath her throne?'

'That,' said the prince, 'you will see if you order to be brought here
the negro who will be found beneath the throne of the princess.'

Messengers were forthwith despatched to the garden house, and after
awhile they returned bringing a negro whom they had discovered in a
secret chamber underneath the throne of Mihr-afruz, dressed in a dress
of honour, and surrounded with luxury. The king was overwhelmed with
astonishment, but the girl had taken heart again. She had had time to
think that perhaps the prince had heard of the presence of the negro,
and knew no more. So she said haughtily: 'Prince! you have not answered
my riddle.'

'O most amazingly impudent person,' cried he, 'do you not yet repent?'

Then he turned to the people, and told them the whole story of the rose
and the cypress, of King Sinaubar and Queen Gul. When he came to the
killing of the negroes, he said to the one who stood before them: 'You,
too, were present.'

'That is so; all happened as you have told it!'

There was great rejoicing in the court and all through the country over
the solving of the riddle, and because now no more kings and princes
would be killed. King Quimus made over his daughter to Prince Almas, but
the latter refused to marry her, and took her as his captive. He then
asked that the heads should be removed from the battlements and given
decent burial. This was done. He received from the king everything that
belonged to Mihr-afruz; her treasure of gold and silver; her costly
stuffs and carpets; her household plenishing; her horses and camels; her
servants and slaves.

Then he returned to his camp and sent for Dil-aram, who came bringing
her goods and chattels, her gold and her jewels. When all was ready,
Prince Almas set out for home, taking with him Jamila, and Dil-aram
and Gul, daughter of Taram-taq, and the wicked Mihr-afruz, and all
the belongings of the four, packed on horses and camels, and in carts
without number.

As he approached the borders of his father's country word of his coming
went before him, and all the city came forth to give him welcome. King
Saman-lal-posh--Jessamine, wearer of rubies--had so bewept the loss of
his sons that he was now blind. When the prince had kissed his feet
and received his blessing, he took from a casket a little collyrium of
Solomon, which the Simurgh had given him, and which reveals the hidden
things of earth, and rubbed it on his father's eyes. Light came, and the
king saw his son.

Mihr-afruz was brought before the king, and the prince said: 'This is
the murderer of your sons; do with her as you will.' The king fancied
that the prince might care for the girl's beauty, and replied: 'You have
humbled her; do with her as you will.'

Upon this the prince sent for four swift and strong horses, and had the
negro bound to each one of them; then each was driven to one of the four
quarters, and he tore in pieces like muslin.

This frightened Mihr-afruz horribly, for she thought the same thing
might be done to herself. She cried out to the prince: 'O Prince Almas!
what is hardest to get is most valued. Up till now I have been subject
to no man, and no man had had my love. The many kings and kings sons who
have died at my hands have died because it was their fate to die
like this. In this matter I have not sinned. That was their fate from
eternity; and from the beginning it was predestined that my fate should
be bound up with yours.'

The prince gave ear to the argument from pre-ordainment, and as she was
a very lovely maiden he took her too in lawful marriage. She and Jamila,
set up house together, and Dil-aram and Gul set up theirs; and the
prince passed the rest of his life with the four in perfect happiness,
and in pleasant and sociable entertainment.

Now has been told what the rose did to the cypress.

Finished, finished, finished!




Footnotes:

[Footnote 1: Translated from two Persian MSS. in the possession of
the British Museum and the India Office, and adapted, with some
reservations, by Annette S. Beveridge.]


























Ball-carrier and the Bad One


Far, far in the forest there were two little huts, and in each of
them lived a man who was a famous hunter, his wife, and three or four
children. Now the children were forbidden to play more than a short
distance from the door, as it was known that, away on the other side of
the wood near the great river, there dwelt a witch who had a magic ball
that she used as a means of stealing children.

Her plan was a very simple one, and had never yet failed. When she
wanted a child she just flung her ball in the direction of the child's
home, and however far off it might be, the ball was sure to reach it.
Then, as soon as the child saw it, the ball would begin rolling slowly
back to the witch, just keeping a little ahead of the child, so that he
always thought that he could catch it the next minute. But he never did,
and, what was more, his parents never saw him again.

Of course you must not suppose that all the fathers and mothers who
had lost children made no attempts to find them, but the forest was so
large, and the witch was so cunning in knowing exactly where they were
going to search, that it was very easy for her to keep out of the way.
Besides, there was always the chance that the children might have been
eaten by wolves, of which large herds roamed about in winter.

One day the old witch happened to want a little boy, so she threw
her ball in the direction of the hunters' huts. A child was standing
outside, shooting at a mark with his bow and arrows, but the moment he
saw the ball, which was made of glass whose blues and greens and whites,
all frosted over, kept changing one into the other, he flung down his
bow, and stooped to pick the ball up. But as he did so it began to roll
very gently downhill. The boy could not let it roll away, when it was so
close to him, so he gave chase. The ball seemed always within his grasp,
yet he could never catch it; it went quicker and quicker, and the boy
grew more and more excited. That time he almost touched it--no, he
missed it by a hair's breadth! Now, surely, if he gave a spring he
could get in front of it! He sprang forward, tripped and fell, and found
himself in the witch's house!

'Welcome! welcome! grandson!' said she; 'get up and rest yourself, for
you have had a long walk, and I am sure you must be tired!' So the boy
sat down, and ate some food which she gave him in a bowl. It was quite
different from anything he had tasted before, and he thought it was
delicious. When he had eaten up every bit, the witch asked him if he had
ever fasted.

'No,' replied the boy, 'at least I have been obliged to sometimes, but
never if there was any food to be had.'

'You will have to fast if you want the spirits to make you strong and
wise, and the sooner you begin the better.'

'Very well,' said the boy, 'what do I do first?'

'Lie down on those buffalo skins by the door of the hut,' answered she;
and the boy lay down, and the squirrels and little bears and the birds
came and talked to him.

At the end of ten days the old woman came to him with a bowl of the same
food that he had eaten before.

'Get up, my grandson, you have fasted long enough. Have the good spirits
visited you, and granted you the strength and wisdom that you desire?'

'Some of them have come, and have given me a portion of both,' answered
the boy, 'but many have stayed away from me.'

'Then,' said she, 'you must fast ten days more.'

So the boy lay down again on the buffalo skins, and fasted for ten days,
and at the end of that time he turned his face to the wall, and fasted
for twenty days longer. At length the witch called to him, and said:

'Come and eat something, my grandson.' At the sound of her voice the boy
got up and ate the food she gave him. When he had finished every scrap
she spoke as before: 'Tell me, my grandson, have not the good spirits
visited you all these many days that you have fasted?'

'Not all, grandmother,' answered he; 'there are still some who keep away
from me and say that I have not fasted long enough.'

'Then you must fast again,' replied the old woman, 'and go on fasting
till you receive the gifts of all the good spirits. Not one must be
missing.'

The boy said nothing, but lay down for the third time on the buffalo
skins, and fasted for twenty days more. And at the end of that time the
witch thought he was dead, his face was so white and his body so still.
But when she had fed him out of the bowl he grew stronger, and soon was
able to sit up.

'You have fasted a long time,' said she, 'longer than anyone ever fasted
before. Surely the good spirits must be satisfied now?'

'Yes, grandmother,' answered the boy, 'they have all come, and have
given me their gifts.'

This pleased the old woman so much that she brought him another basin of
food, and while he was eating it she talked to him, and this is what she
said: 'Far away, on the other side of the great river, is the home of
the Bad One. In his house is much gold, and what is more precious even
than the gold, a little bridge, which lengthens out when the Bad One
waves his hand, so that there is no river or sea that he cannot cross.
Now I want that bridge and some of the gold for myself, and that is the
reason that I have stolen so many boys by means of my ball. I have tried
to teach them how to gain the gifts of the good spirits, but none of
them would fast long enough, and at last I had to send them away
to perform simple, easy little tasks. But you have been strong and
faithful, and you can do this thing if you listen to what I tell you!
When you reach the river tie this ball to your foot, and it will take
you across--you cannot manage it in any other way. But do not be afraid;
trust to the ball, and you will be quite safe!'

The boy took the ball and put it in a bag. Then he made himself a club
and a bow, and some arrows which would fly further than anyone else's
arrows, because of the strength the good spirits had given him. They had
also bestowed on him the power of changing his shape, and had increased
the quickness of his eyes and ears so that nothing escaped him. And in
some way or other they made him understand that if he needed more help
they would give it to him.

When all these things were ready the boy bade farewell to the witch and
set out. He walked through the forest for several days without seeing
anyone but his friends the squirrels and the bears and the birds, but
though he stopped and spoke to them all, he was careful not to let them
know where he was going.

At last, after many days, he came to the river, and beyond it he noticed
a small hut standing on a hill which he guessed to be the home of the
Bad One. But the stream flowed so quickly that he could not see how he
was ever to cross it, and in order to test how swift the current really
was, he broke a branch from a tree and threw it in. It seemed hardly
to touch the water before it was carried away, and even his magic sight
could not follow it. He could not help feeling frightened, but he hated
giving up anything that he had once undertaken, and, fastening the ball
on his right foot, he ventured on the river. To his surprise he was
able to stand up; then a panic seized him, and he scrambled up the bank
again. In a minute or two he plucked up courage to go a little further
into the river, but again its width frightened him, and a second time he
turned back. However, he felt rather ashamed of his cowardice, as it was
quite clear that his ball could support him, and on his third trial he
got safely to the other side.

Once there he replaced the ball in the bag, and looked carefully round
him. The door of the Bad One's hut was open, and he saw that the ceiling
was supported by great wooden beams, from which hung the bags of gold
and the little bridge. He saw, too, the Bad One sitting in the midst of
his treasures eating his dinner, and drinking something out of a horn.
It was plain to the boy that he must invent some plan of getting the Bad
One out of the way, or else he would never be able to steal the gold or
the bridge.

What should he do? Give horrible shrieks as if he were in pain? But the
Bad One would not care whether he were murdered or not! Call him by his
name? But the Bad One was very cunning, and would suspect some trick. He
must try something better than that! Then suddenly an idea came to him,
and he gave a little jump of joy. 'Oh, how stupid of me not to think of
that before!' said he, and he wished with all his might that the Bad One
should become very hungry--so hungry that he could not wait a moment for
fresh food to be brought to him. And sure enough at that instant the
Bad One called out to his servant, 'You did not bring food that would
satisfy a sparrow Fetch some more at once, for I am perfectly starving.'
Then, without giving the woman time to go to the larder, he got up from
his chair, and rolled, staggering from hunger, towards the kitchen.

Directly the door had closed on the Bad One the boy ran in, pulled down
a bag of gold from the beam, and tucked it under his left arm. Next he
unhooked the little bridge and put it under his right. He did not try to
escape, as most boys of his age would have done, for the wisdom put into
his mind by the good spirits taught him that before he could reach the
river and make use of the bridge the Bad One would have tracked him by
his footsteps and been upon him. So, making himself very small and
thin, he hid himself behind a pile of buffalo skins in the corner, first
tearing a slit through one of them, so that he could see what was going
on.

He had hardly settled himself when the servant entered the room, and,
as she did so, the last bag of gold on the beam fell to the ground--for
they had begun to fall directly the boy had taken the first one. She
cried to her master that someone had stolen both the bag and the bridge,
and the Bad One rushed in, mad with anger, and bade her go and seek for
footsteps outside, that they might find out where the thief had gone. In
a few minutes she returned, saying that he must be in the house, as she
could not see any footsteps leading to the river, and began to move all
the furniture in the room, without discovering Ball Carrier.

'But he must be here somewhere,' she said to herself, examining for the
second time the pile of buffalo skins; and Ball-Carrier, knowing that he
could not possibly escape now, hastily wished that the Bad One should be
unable to eat any more food at present.

'Ah, there is a slit in this one,' cried the servant, shaking the skin;
'and here he is.' And she pulled out Ball-Carrier, looking so lean and
small that he would hardly have made a mouthful for a sparrow.

'Was it you who took my gold and bridge?' asked the Bad One.

'Yes,' answered Ball-Carrier, 'it was I who took them.'

The Bad One made a sign to the woman, who inquired where he had hidden
them. He lifted his left arm where the gold was, and she picked up a
knife and scraped his skin so that no gold should be left sticking to
it.

'What have you done with the bridge?' said she. And he lifted his right
arm, from which she took the bridge, while the Bad One looked on, well
pleased. 'Be sure that he does not run away,' chuckled he. 'Boil some
water, and get him ready for cooking, while I go and invite my friends
the water-demons to the feast.'

The woman seized Ball-Carrier between her finger and thumb, and was
going to carry him to the kitchen, when the boy spoke:

'I am very lean and small now,' he said, 'hardly worth the trouble of
cooking; but if you were to keep me two days, and gave me plenty of
food, I should get big and fat. As it is, your friends the water-demons
would think you meant to laugh at them, when they found that I was the
feast.'

'Well, perhaps you are right,' answered the Bad One; 'I will keep you
for two days.' And he went out to visit the water-demons.

Meanwhile the servant, whose name was Lung Woman, led him into a little
shed, and chained him up to a ring in the wall. But food was given
him every hour, and at the end of two days he was as fat and big as a
Christmas turkey, and could hardly move his head from one side to the
other.

'He will do now,' said the Bad One, who came constantly to see how he
was getting on. 'I shall go and tell the water-demons that we expect
them to dinner to-night. Put the kettle on the fire, but be sure on no
account to taste the broth.'

Lung-Woman lost no time in obeying her orders. She built up the fire,
which had got very low, filled the kettle with water, and passing a
rope which hung from the ceiling through the handle, swung it over
the flames. Then she brought in Ball-Carrier, who, seeing all these
preparations, wished that as long as he was in the kettle the water
might not really boil, though it would hiss and bubble, and also, that
the spirits would turn the water into fat.

The kettle soon began to sing and bubble, and Ball Carrier was lifted
in. Very soon the fat which was to make the sauce rose to the surface,
and Ball-Carrier, who was bobbing about from one side to the other,
called out that Lung-Woman had better taste the broth, as he though that
some salt should be added to it. The servant knew quite well that her
master had forbidden her to do any thing of the kind, but when once
the idea was put into her head, she found the smell from the kettle so
delicious that she unhooked a long ladle from the wall and plunged it
into the kettle.

'You will spill it all, if you stand so far off,' said the boy; 'why
don't you come a little nearer?' And as she did so he cried to the
spirits to give him back his usual size and strength and to make the
water scalding hot Then he gave the kettle a kick, which upset all the
boiling water upon her, and jumping over her body he seized once more
the gold and the bridge, picked up his club and bow and arrows, and
after setting fire to the Bad One's hut, ran down to the river, which he
crossed safely by the help of the bridge.

The hut, which was made of wood, was burned to the ground before the Bad
One came back with a large crowd of water-demons. There was not a sign
of anyone or anything, so he started for the river, where he saw Ball
Carrier sitting quietly on the other side. Then the Bad One knew what
had happened, and after telling the water demons that there would be no
feast after all, he called to Ball-Carrier, who was eating an apple.

'I know your name now,' he said, 'and as you have ruined me, and I am
not rich any more, will you take me as your servant?'

'Yes, I will, though you have tried to kill me,' answered Ball-Carrier,
throwing the bridge across the water as he spoke. But when the Bad One
was in the midst of the stream, the boy wished it to become small; and
the Bad One fell into the water and was drowned, and the world was rid
of him.






How Ball-carrier Finished His Task


After Ball-Carrier had managed to drown the Bad One so that he could not
do any more mischief, he forgot the way to his grandmother's house, and
could not find it again, though he searched everywhere. During this time
he wandered into many strange places, and had many adventures; and one
day he came to a hut where a young girl lived. He was tired and hungry
and begged her to let him in and rest, and he stayed a long while, and
the girl became his wife. One morning he saw two children playing in
front of the hut, and went out to speak to them. But as soon as they saw
him they set up cries of horror and ran away. 'They are the children of
my sister who has been on a long journey,' replied his wife, 'and now
that she knows you are my husband she wants to kill you.'

'Oh, well, let her try,' replied Ball-Carrier. 'It is not the first time
people have wished to do that. And here I am still, you see!'

'Be careful,' said the wife, 'she is very cunning.' But at this moment
the sister-in-law came up.

'How do you do, brother-in-law? I have heard of you so often that I am
very glad to meet you. I am told that you are more powerful than any man
on earth, and as I am powerful too, let us try which is the strongest.'

'That will be delightful,' answered he. 'Suppose we begin with a short
race, and then we will go on to other things.'

'That will suit me very well,' replied the woman, who was a witch. 'And
let us agree that the one who wins shall have the right to kill the
other.'

'Oh, certainly,' said Ball-Carrier;' and I don't think we shall find a
flatter course than the prairie itself--no one knows how many miles it
stretches. We will run to the end and back again.'

This being settled they both made ready for the race, and Ball-Carrier
silently begged the good spirits to help him, and not to let him fall
into the hands of this wicked witch.

'When the sun touches the trunk of that tree we will start,' said she,
as they both stood side by side. But with the first step Ball-Carrier
changed himself into a wolf and for a long way kept ahead. Then
gradually he heard her creeping up behind him, and soon she was in
front. So Ball-Carrier took the shape of a pigeon and flew rapidly past
her, but in a little while she was in front again and the end of the
prairie was in sight. 'A crow can fly faster than a pigeon,' thought he,
and as a crow he managed to pass her and held his ground so long that
he fancied she was quite beaten. The witch began to be afraid of it too,
and putting out all her strength slipped past him. Next he put on the
shape of a hawk, and in this form he reached the bounds of the prairie,
he and the witch turning homewards at the moment.

Bird after bird he tried, but every time the witch gained on him and
took the lead. At length the goal was in sight, and Ball-Carrier knew
that unless he could get ahead now he would be killed before his own
door, under the eyes of his wife. His eyes had grown dim from fatigue,
his wings flapped wearily and hardly bore him along, while the witch
seemed as fresh as ever. What bird was there whose flight was swifter
than his? Would not the good spirits tell him? Ah, of course he knew;
why had he not thought of it at first and spared himself all that
fatigue? And the next instant a humming bird, dressed in green and blue,
flashed past the woman and entered the house. The witch came panting up,
furious at having lost the race which she felt certain of winning; and
Ball-Carrier, who had by this time changed back into his own shape,
struck her on the head and killed her.

For a long while Ball-Carrier was content to stay quietly at home with
his wife and children, for he was tired of adventures, and only did
enough hunting to supply the house with food. But one day he happened to
eat some poisonous berries that he had found in the forest, and grew so
ill that he felt he was going to die.

'When I am dead do not bury me in the earth,' he said, 'but put me over
there, among that clump of trees.' So his wife and her three children
watched by him as long as he was alive, and after he was dead they took
him up and laid the body on a platform of stakes which they had prepared
in the grove. And as they returned weeping to the hut they caught
a glimpse of the ball rolling away down the path back to the old
grandmother. One of the sons sprang forward to stop it, for Ball-Carrier
had often told them the tale of how it had helped him to cross the
river, but it was too quick for him, and they had to content themselves
with the war club and bow and arrows, which were put carefully away.

By-and-by some travellers came past, and the chief among them asked
leave to marry Ball-Carrier's daughter. The mother said she must have a
little time to think over it, as her daughter was still very young; so
it was settled that the man should go away for a month with his friends,
and then come back to see if the girl was willing.

Now ever since Ball-Carrier's death the family had been very poor, and
often could not get enough to eat. One morning the girl, who had had
no supper and no breakfast, wandered off to look for cranberries, and
though she was quite near home was astonished at noticing a large hut,
which certainly had not been there when last she had come that way.
No one was about, so she ventured to peep in, and her surprise was
increased at seeing, heaped up in one corner, a quantity of food of all
sorts, while a little robin redbreast stood perched on a beam looking
down upon her.

'It is my father, I am sure,' she cried; and the bird piped in answer.

From that day, whenever they wanted food they went to the hut, and
though the robin could not speak, he would hop on their shoulders and
let them feed him with the food they knew he liked best.

When the man came back he found the girl looking so much prettier and
fatter than when he had left her, that he insisted that they should be
married on the spot. And the mother, who did not know how to get rid of
him, gave in.

The husband spent all his time in hunting, and the family had never had
so much meat before; but the man, who had seen for himself how poor they
were, noticed with amazement that they did not seem to care about it, or
to be hungry. 'They must get food from somewhere,' he thought, and one
morning, when he pretended to be going out to hunt, he hid in a thicket
to watch. Very soon they all left the house together, and walked to the
other hut, which the girl's husband saw for the first time, as it was
hid in a hollow. He followed, and noticed that each one went up to the
redbreast, and shook him by the claw; and he then entered boldly and
shook the bird's claw too. The whole party afterwards sat down to
dinner, after which they all returned to their own hut.

The next day the husband declared that he was very ill, and could not
eat anything; but this was only a presence so that he might get what he
wanted. The family were all much distressed, and begged him to tell them
what food he fancied.

'Oh! I could not eat any food,' he answered every time, and at each
answer his voice grew fainter and fainter, till they thought he would
die from weakness before their eyes.

'There must be some thing you could take, if you would only say what it
is,' implored his wife.

'No, nothing, nothing; except, perhaps--but of course that is
impossible!'

'No, I am sure it is not,' replied she; 'you shall have it, I
promise--only tell me what it is.'

'I think--but I could not ask you to do such a thing. Leave me alone,
and let me die quietly.'

'You shall not die,' cried the girl, who was very fond of her husband,
for he did not beat her as most girls' husbands did. 'Whatever it is, I
will manage to get it for you.'

'Well, then, I think, if I had that--redbreast, nicely roasted, I could
eat a little bit of his wing!'

The wife started back in horror at such a request; but the man turned
his face to the wall, and took no notice, as he thought it was better to
leave her to herself for a little.

Weeping and wringing her hands, the girl went down to her mother. The
brothers were very angry when they heard the story, and declared that,
if any one were to die, it certainly should not be the robin. But all
that night the man seemed getting weaker and weaker, and at last, quite
early, the wife crept out, and stealing to the hut, killed the bird, and
brought him home to her husband.

Just as she was going to cook it her two brothers came in. They cried
out in horror at the sight, and, rushing out of the hut, declared they
would never see her any more. And the poor girl, with a heavy heart,
took the body of the redbreast up to her husband.

But directly she entered the room the man told her that he felt a great
deal better, and that he would rather have a piece of bear's flesh, well
boiled, than any bird, however tender. His wife felt very miserable to
think that their beloved redbreast had been sacrificed for nothing, and
begged him to try a little bit.

'You felt so sure that it would do you good before,' said she, 'that I
can't help thinking it would quite cure you now.' But the man only flew
into a rage, and flung the bird out of the window. Then he got up and
went out.

Now all this while the ball had been rolling, rolling, rolling to the
old grandmother's hut on the other side of the world, and directly it
rolled into her hut she knew that her grandson must be dead. Without
wasting any time she took a fox skin and tied it round her forehead, and
fastened another round her waist, as witches always do when they leave
their own homes. When she was ready she said to the ball: 'Go back the
way you came, and lead me to my grandson.' And the ball started with the
old woman following.

It was a long journey, even for a witch, but, like other things, it
ended at last; and the old woman stood before the platform of stakes,
where the body of Ball-Carrier lay.

'Wake up, my grandson, it is time to go home,' the witch said. And
Ball-Carrier stepped down oft the platform, and brought his club and bow
and arrows out of the hut, and set out, for the other side of the world,
behind the old woman.

When they reached the hut where Ball-Carrier had fasted so many years
ago, the old woman spoke for the first time since they had started on
their way.

'My grandson, did you ever manage to get that gold from the Bad One?'

'Yes, grandmother, I got it.'

'Where is it?' she asked.

'Here, in my left arm-pit,' answered he.

So she picked up a knife and scraped away all the gold which had stuck
to his skin, and which had been sticking there ever since he first stole
it. After she had finished she asked again:

'My grandson, did you manage to get that bridge from the Bad One?'

'Yes, grandmother, I got that too,' answered he.

'Where is it?' she asked, and Ball-Carrier lifted his right arm, and
pointed to his arm-pit.

'Here is the bridge, grandmother,' said he.

Then the witch did something that nobody in the world could have guessed
that she would do. First, she took the gold and said to Ball-carrier:

'My grandson, this gold must be hidden in the earth, for if people think
they can get it when they choose, they will become lazy and stupid. But
if we take it and bury it in different parts of the world they will have
to work for it if they want it, and then will only find a little at a
time.' And as she spoke, she pulled up one of the poles of the hut, and
Ball-Carrier saw that underneath was a deep, deep hole, which seemed to
have no bottom. Down this hole she poured all the gold, and when it was
out of sight it ran about all over the world, where people that dig hard
sometimes find it. And after that was done she put the pole back again.

Next she lifted down a spade from a high shelf, where it had grown quite
rusty, and dug a very small hole on the opposite side of the hut--very
small, but very deep.

'Give me the bridge,' said she, 'for I am going to bury it here. If
anyone was to get hold of it, and find that they could cross rivers and
seas without any trouble, they would never discover how to cross them
for themselves. I am a witch, and if I had chosen I could easily have
cast my spells over the Bad One, and have made him deliver them to
you the first day you came into my hut. But then you would never have
fasted, and never have planned how to get what you wanted, and never
have known the good spirits, and would have been fat and idle to the end
of your days. And now go; in that hut, which you can just see far away,
live your father and mother, who are old people now, and need a son to
hunt for them. You have done what you were set to do, and I need you no
more.'

Then Ball-Carrier remembered his parents and went back to them.






The Bunyip


Long, long ago, far, far away on the other side of the world, some young
men left the camp where they lived to get some food for their wives and
children. The sun was hot, but they liked heat, and as they went they
ran races and tried who could hurl his spear the farthest, or was
cleverest in throwing a strange weapon called a boomerang, which always
returns to the thrower. They did not get on very fast at this rate, but
presently they reached a flat place that in time of flood was full of
water, but was now, in the height of summer, only a set of pools, each
surrounded with a fringe of plants, with bulrushes standing in the
inside of all. In that country the people are fond of the roots of
bulrushes, which they think as good as onions, and one of the young men
said that they had better collect some of the roots and carry them back
to the camp. It did not take them long to weave the tops of the willows
into a basket, and they were just going to wade into the water and pull
up the bulrush roots when a youth suddenly called out: 'After all, why
should we waste our time in doing work that is only fit for women and
children? Let them come and get the roots for themselves; but we will
fish for eels and anything else we can get.'

This delighted the rest of the party, and they all began to arrange
their fishing lines, made from the bark of the yellow mimosa, and to
search for bait for their hooks. Most of them used worms, but one, who
had put a piece of raw meat for dinner into his skin wallet, cut off a
little bit and baited his line with it, unseen by his companions.

For a long time they cast patiently, without receiving a single bite;
the sun had grown low in the sky, and it seemed as if they would have to
go home empty-handed, not even with a basket of roots to show; when
the youth, who had baited his hook with raw meat, suddenly saw his line
disappear under the water. Something, a very heavy fish he supposed,
was pulling so hard that he could hardly keep his feet, and for a few
minutes it seemed either as if he must let go or be dragged into the
pool. He cried to his friends to help him, and at last, trembling with
fright at what they were going to see, they managed between them to land
on the bank a creature that was neither a calf nor a seal, but something
of both, with a long, broad tail. They looked at each other with horror,
cold shivers running down their spines; for though they had never beheld
it, there was not a man amongst them who did not know what it was--the
cub of the awful Bunyip!

All of a sudden the silence was broken by a low wail, answered by
another from the other side of the pool, as the mother rose up from her
den and came towards them, rage flashing from her horrible yellow eyes.
'Let it go! let it go!' whispered the young men to each other; but the
captor declared that he had caught it, and was going to keep it. 'He had
promised his sweetheart,' he said, 'that he would bring back enough meat
for her father's house to feast on for three days, and though they could
not eat the little Bunyip, her brothers and sisters should have it to
play with.' So, flinging his spear at the mother to keep her back, he
threw the little Bunyip on to his shoulders, and set out for the camp,
never heeding the poor mother's cries of distress.

By this time it was getting near sunset, and the plain was in shadow,
though the tops of the mountains were still quite bright. The youths had
all ceased to be afraid, when they were startled by a low rushing sound
behind them, and, looking round, saw that the pool was slowly rising,
and the spot where they had landed the Bunyip was quite covered. 'What
could it be?' they asked one of another; 'there was not a cloud in the
sky, yet the water had risen higher already than they had ever known it
do before.' For an instant they stood watching as if they were frozen,
then they turned and ran with all their might, the man with the Bunyip
running faster than all. When he reached a high peak over-looking all
the plain he stopped to take breath, and turned to see if he was safe
yet. Safe! why only the tops of the trees remained above that sea of
water, and these were fast disappearing. They must run fast indeed if
they were to escape. So on they flew, scarcely feeling the ground as
they went, till they flung themselves on the ground before the holes
scooped out of the earth where they had all been born. The old men were
sitting in front, the children were playing, and the women chattering
together, when the little Bunyip fell into their midst, and there was
scarcely a child among them who did not know that something terrible
was upon them. 'The water! the water!' gasped one of the young men; and
there it was, slowly but steadily mounting the ridge itself. Parents and
children clung together, as if by that means they could drive back
the advancing flood; and the youth who had caused all this terrible
catastrophe, seized his sweetheart, and cried: 'I will climb with you
to the top of that tree, and there no waters can reach us.' But, as he
spoke, something cold touched him, and quickly he glanced down at his
feet. Then with a shudder he saw that they were feet no longer, but
bird's claws. He looked at the girl he was clasping, and beheld a great
black bird standing at his side; he turned to his friends, but a flock
of great awkward flapping creatures stood in their place He put up his
hands to cover his face, but they were no more hands, only the ends of
wings; and when he tried to speak, a noise such as he had never heard
before seemed to come from his throat, which had suddenly become narrow
and slender. Already the water had risen to his waist, and he found
himself sitting easily upon it, while its surface reflected back the
image of a black swan, one of many.

Never again did the swans become men; but they are still different from
other swans, for in the night-time those who listen can hear them talk
in a language that is certainly not swan's language; and there are even
sounds of laughing and talking, unlike any noise made by the swans whom
we know.

The little Bunyip was carried home by its mother, and after that the
waters sank back to their own channels. The side of the pool where
she lives is always shunned by everyone, as nobody knows when she may
suddenly put out her head and draw him into her mighty jaws. But people
say that underneath the black waters of the pool she has a house filled
with beautiful things, such as mortals who dwell on the earth have no
idea of. Though how they know I cannot tell you, as nobody has ever seen
it.






Father Grumbler



Once upon a time there lived a man who had nearly as many children as
there were sparrows in the garden. He had to work very hard all day
to get them enough to eat, and was often tired and cross, and abused
everything and everybody, so that people called him 'Father Grumbler.'

By-and-by he grew weary of always working, and on Sundays he lay a long
while in bed, instead of going to church. Then after a time he found it
dull to sit so many hours by himself, thinking of nothing but how to pay
the rent that was owing, and as the tavern across the road looked bright
and cheerful, he walked in one day and sat down with his friends. 'It
was just to chase away Care,' he said; but when he came out, hours and
hours after, Care came out with him.

Father Grumbler entered his house feeling more dismal than when he left
it, for he knew that he had wasted both his time and his money.

'I will go and see the Holy Man in the cave near the well,' he said
to himself, 'and perhaps he can tell me why all the luck is for other
people, and only misfortunes happen to me.' And he set out at once for
the cave.

It was a long way off, and the road led over mountains and through
valleys; but at last he reached the cave where the Holy Man dwelt, and
knocked at the door.

'Who is there?' asked a voice from within.

'It is I, Holy Man, Father Grumbler, you know, who has as many children
as sparrows in the garden.'

'Well, and what is it that you want?'

'I want to know why other people have all the luck, and only misfortunes
happen to me!'

The Holy Man did not answer, but went into an inner cave, from which he
came out bearing something in his hand. 'Do you see this basket?' said
he. 'It is a magical basket, and if you are hungry you have only got to
say: "Little basket, little basket, do your duty," and you will eat the
best dinner you ever had in your life. But when you have had enough, be
sure you don't forget to cry out: "That will do for to-day." Oh!--and
one thing more--you need not show it to everybody and declare that I
have give it to you. Do you understand?'

Father Grumbler was always accustomed to think of himself as so unlucky
that he did not know whether the Holy Man was not playing a trick upon
him; but he took the basket without being polite enough to say either
'Thank you,' or 'Good-morning,' and went away. However, he only
waited till he was out of sight of the cave before he stooped down and
whispered: 'Little basket, little basket, do your duty.'

Now the basket had a lid, so that he could not see what was inside, but
he heard quite clearly strange noises, as if a sort of scuffling was
going on. Then the lid burst open, and a quantity of delicious little
white rolls came tumbling out one after the other, followed by a stream
of small fishes all ready cooked. What a quantity there were to be sure!
The whole road was covered with them, and the banks on each side were
beginning to disappear. Father Grumbler felt quite frightened at the
torrent, but at last he remembered what the Holy Man had told him,
and cried at the top of his voice: 'Enough! enough! That will do for
to-day!' And the lid of the basket closed with a snap.

Father Grumbler sighed with relief and happiness as he looked around
him, and sitting down on a heap of stones, he ate till he could eat no
more. Trout, salmon, turbot, soles, and a hundred other fishes whose
names he did not know, lay boiled, fried, and grilled within reach of
his hands. As the Holy Man had said, he had never eaten such a dinner;
still, when he had done, he shook his head, and grumbled; 'Yes, there is
plenty to eat, of course, but it only makes me thirsty, and there is not
a drop to drink anywhere.'

Yet, somehow, he could never tell why, he looked up and saw the tavern
in front of him, which he thought was miles, and miles, and miles away.

'Bring the best wine you have got, and two glasses, good mother,' he
said as he entered, 'and if you are fond of fish there is enough here to
feed the house. Only there is no need to chatter about it all over
the place. You understand? Eh?' And without waiting for an answer he
whispered to the basket: 'Little basket, little basket, do your duty.'
The innkeeper and his wife thought that their customer had gone suddenly
mad, and watched him closely, ready to spring on him if he became
violent; but both instinctively jumped backwards, nearly into the fire,
as rolls and fishes of every kind came tumbling out of the basket,
covering the tables and chairs and the floor, and even overflowing into
the street.

'Be quick, be quick, and pick them up,' cried the man. 'And if these are
not enough, there are plenty more to be had for the asking.'

The innkeeper and his wife did not need telling twice. Down they went on
their knees and gathered up everything they could lay hands on. But busy
though they seemed, they found time to whisper to each other:

'If we can only get hold of that basket it will make our fortune!'

So they began by inviting Father Grumbler to sit down to the table,
and brought out the best wine in the cellar, hoping it might loosen his
tongue. But Father Grumbler was wiser than they gave him credit for, and
though they tried in all manner of ways to find out who had given him
the basket, he put them off, and kept his secret to himself. Unluckily,
though he did not SPEAK, he did drink, and it was not long before he
fell fast asleep. Then the woman fetched from her kitchen a basket, so
like the magic one that no one, without looking very closely, could tell
the difference, and placed it in Father Grumbler's hand, while she hid
the other carefully away.

It was dinner time when the man awoke, and, jumping up hastily, he set
out for home, where he found all the children gathered round a basin of
thin soup, and pushing their wooden bowls forward, hoping to have the
first spoonful. Their father burst into the midst of them, bearing his
basket, and crying:

'Don't spoil your appetites, children, with that stuff. Do you see this
basket? Well, I have only got to say, "Little basket, little basket,
do your duty," and you will see what will happen. Now you shall say it
instead of me, for a treat.'

The children, wondering and delighted, repeated the words, but nothing
happened. Again and again they tried, but the basket was only a basket,
with a few scales of fish sticking to the bottom, for the innkeeper's
wife had taken it to market the day before.

'What is the matter with the thing?' cried the father at last, snatching
the basket from them, and turning it all over, grumbling and swearing
while he did so, under the eyes of his astonished wife and children, who
did not know whether to cry or to laugh.

'It certainly smells of fish,' he said, and then he stopped, for a
sudden thought had come to him.

'Suppose it is not mine at all; supposing--Ah, the scoundrels!'

And without listening to his wife and children, who were frightened at
his strange conduct and begged him to stay at home, he ran across to the
tavern and burst open the door.

'Can I do anything for you, Father Grumbler?' asked the innkeeper's wife
in her softest voice.

'I have taken the wrong basket--by mistake, of course,' said he. 'Here
is yours, will you give me back my own?'

'Why, what are you talking about?' answered she. 'You can see for
yourself that there is no basket here.'

And though Father Grumbler DID look, it was quite true that none was to
be seen.

'Come, take a glass to warm you this cold day,' said the woman, who
was anxious to keep him in a good temper, and as this was an invitation
Father Grumbler never refused, he tossed it off and left the house.

He took the road that led to the Holy Man's cave, and made such haste
that it was not long before he reached it.

'Who is there?' said a voice in answer to his knock.

'It is me, it is me, Holy man. You know quite well. Father Grumbler, who
has as many children as sparrows in the garden.'

'But, my good man, it was only yesterday that I gave you a handsome
present.'

'Yes, Holy Man, and here it is. But something has happened, I don't know
what, and it won't work any more.'

'Well, put it down. I will go and see if I can find anything for you.'

In a few minutes the Holy Man returned with a cock under his arm.

'Listen to me,' he said, 'whenever you want money, you only have to say:
"Show me what you can do, cock," and you will see some wonderful
things. But, remember, it is not necessary to let all the world into the
secret.'

'Oh no, Holy Man, I am not so foolish as that.'

'Nor to tell everybody that I gave it to you,' went on the Holy Man. 'I
have not got these treasures by the dozen.'

And without waiting for an answer he shut the door.

As before, the distance seemed to have wonderfully shortened, and in a
moment the tavern rose up in front of Father Grumbler. Without stopping
to think, he went straight in, and found the innkeeper's wife in the
kitchen making a cake.

'Where have you come from, with that fine red cock in your basket,'
asked she, for the bird was so big that the lid would not shut down
properly.

'Oh, I come from a place where they don't keep these things by the
dozen,' he replied, sitting down in front of the table.

The woman said no more, but set before him a bottle of his favourite
wine, and soon he began to wish to display his prize.

'Show me what you can do, cock,' cried he. And the cock stood up and
flapped his wings three times, crowing 'coquerico' with a voice like
a trumpet, and at each crow there fell from his beak golden drops, and
diamonds as large as peas.

This time Father Grumbler did not invite the innkeeper's wife to pick up
his treasures, but put his own hat under the cock's beak, so as to
catch everything he let fall; and he did not see the husband and wife
exchanging glances with each other which said, 'That would be a splendid
cock to put with our basket.'

'Have another glass of wine?' suggested the innkeeper, when they had
finished admiring the beauty of the cock, for they pretended not to have
seen the gold or the diamonds. And Father Grumbler, nothing loth, drank
one glass after another, till his head fell forward on the table, and
once more he was sound asleep. Then the woman gently coaxed the cock
from the basket and carried it off to her own poultry yard, from which
she brought one exactly like it, and popped it in its place.

Night was falling when the man awoke, and throwing proudly some grains
of gold on the table to pay for the wine he had drunk, he tucked the
cock comfortably into his basket and set out for home.

His wife and all the children were waiting for him at the door, and as
soon as she caught sight of him she broke out:

'You are a nice man to go wasting your time and your money drinking in
that tavern, and leaving us to starve! Aren't you ashamed of yourself?'

'You don't know what you are talking of,' he answered. 'Money? Why, I
have gold and diamonds now, as much as I want. Do you see that cock?
Well, you have only to say to him, "Show me what you can do, cock," and
something splendid will happen.'

Neither wife nor children were inclined to put much faith in him after
their last experience; however, they thought it was worth trying, and
did as he told them. The cock flew round the room like a mad thing,
and crowed till their heads nearly split with the noise; but no gold or
diamonds dropped on the brick floor--not the tiniest grain of either.

Father Grumbler stared in silence for an instant, and then he began to
swear so loudly that even his family, accustomed as they were to his
language, wondered at him.

At last he grew a little quieter, but remained as puzzled as ever.

'Can I have forgotten the words? But I KNOW that was what he said! And
I saw the diamonds with my own eyes!' Then suddenly he seized the cock,
shut it into the basket, and rushed out of the house.

His heavy wooden shoes clattered as he ran along the road, and he made
such haste that the stars were only just beginning to come out when he
reached the cave of the Holy Man.

'Who is that knocking?' asked a voice from within.

'It is me! It is me! Holy Man! you know! Father--'

'But, my good fellow, you really should give some one else a chance.
This is the third time you have been--and at such an hour, too!'

'Oh, yes, Holy Man, I know it is very late, but you will forgive me!
It is your cock--there is something the matter. It is like the basket.
Look!'

'THAT my cock? THAT my basket? Somebody has played you a trick, my good
man!'

'A trick?' repeated Father Grumbler, who began to understand what had
happened. 'Then it must have been those two--'

'I warned you not to show them to anybody,' said the Holy Man. 'You
deserve--but I will give you one more chance.' And, turning, he unhooked
something from the wall.

'When you wish to dust your own jacket or those of your friends,' he
said, 'you have only got to say, "Flack, flick, switch, be quick," and
you will see what happens. That is all I have to tell you.' And, smiling
to himself, the Holy Man pushed Father Grumbler out of the cave.

'Ah, I understand now,' muttered the good man, as he took the road
home; 'but I think I have got you two rascals!' and he hurried on to the
tavern with his basket under his arm, and the cock and the switch both
inside.

'Good evening, friends!' he said, as he entered the inn. 'I am very
hungry, and should be glad if you would roast this cock for me as soon
as possible. THIS cock and no other--mind what I say,' he went on. 'Oh,
and another thing! You can light the fire with this basket. When you
have done that I will show you something I have in my bag,' and, as he
spoke, he tried to imitate the smile that the Holy Man had given HIM.

These directions made the innkeeper's wife very uneasy. However, she
said nothing, and began to roast the cock, while her husband did his
best to make the man sleepy with wine, but all in vain.

After dinner, which he did not eat without grumbling, for the cock was
very tough, the man struck his hand on the table, and said: 'Now listen
to me. Go and fetch my cock and my basket, at once. Do you hear?'

'Your cock, and your basket, Father Grumbler? But you have just--'

'MY cock and MY basket!' interrupted he. 'And, if you are too deaf and
too stupid to understand what that means, I have got something which
may help to teach you.' And opening the bag, he cried: 'Flack, flick,
switch, be quick.'

And flack! flick! like lightening a white switch sprang out of the bag,
and gave such hearty blows to the innkeeper and his wife, and to Father
Grumbler into the bargain, that they all jumped as high as feathers when
a mattress is shaken.

'Stop! stop! make it stop, and you shall have back your cock and
basket,' cried the man and his wife. And Father Grumbler, who had no
wish to go on, called out between his hops: 'Stop then, can't you? That
is enough for to-day!'

But the switch paid no attention, and dealt out its blows as before, and
MIGHT have been dealing them to this day, if the Holy Man had not heard
their cries and come to the rescue. 'Into the bag, quick!' said he, and
the switch obeyed.

'Now go and fetch me the cock and the basket,' and the woman went
without a word, and placed them on the table.

'You have all got what you deserved,' continued the Holy Man, 'and I
have no pity for any of you. I shall take my treasures home, and perhaps
some day I may find a man who knows how to make the best of the chances
that are given to him. But that will never be YOU,' he added, turning to
Father Grumbler.






The Story of the Yara



Down in the south, where the sun shines so hotly that everything and
everybody sleeps all day, and even the great forests seem silent, except
early in the morning and late in the evening--down in this country there
once lived a young man and a maiden. The girl had been born in the town,
and had scarcely ever left it; but the young man was a native of another
country, and had only come to the city near the great river because he
could find no work to do where he was.

A few months after his arrival, when the days were cooler, and the
people did not sleep so much as usual, a great feast was held a little
way out of the town, and to this feast everyone flocked from thirty
miles and more. Some walked and some rode, some came in beautiful golden
coaches; but all had on splendid dresses of red or blue, while wreaths
of flowers rested on their hair.

It was the first time that the youth had been present on such an
occasion, and he stood silently aside watching the graceful dances
and the pretty games played by the young people. And as he watched,
he noticed one girl, dressed in white with scarlet pomegranates in her
hair, who seemed to him lovelier than all the rest.

When the feast was over, and the young man returned home, his manner was
so strange that it drew the attention of all his friends.

Through his work next day the youth continued to see the girl's face,
throwing the ball to her companions, or threading her way between them
as she danced. At night sleep fled from him, and after tossing for
hours on his bed, he would get up and plunge into a deep pool that lay a
little way in the forest.

This state of things went on for some weeks, then at last chance
favoured him. One evening, as he was passing near the house where she
lived, he saw her standing with her back to the wall, trying to beat off
with her fan the attacks of a savage dog that was leaping at her throat.
Alonzo, for such was his name, sprang forward, and with one blow of
his fist stretched the creature dead upon the road. He then helped the
frightened and half-fainting girl into the large cool verandah where her
parents were sitting, and from that hour he was a welcome guest in the
house, and it was not long before he was the promised husband of Julia.

Every day, when his work was done, he used to go up to the house,
half hidden among flowering plants and brilliant creepers, where
humming-birds darted from bush to bush, and parrots of all colours, red
and green and grey, shrieked in chorus. There he would find the maiden
waiting for him, and they would spend an hour or two under the stars,
which looked so large and bright that you felt as if you could almost
touch them.

'What did you do last night after you went home?' suddenly asked the
girl one evening.

'Just the same as I always do,' answered he. 'It was too hot to sleep,
so it was no use going to bed, and I walked straight of to the forest
and bathed in one of those deep dark pools at the edge of the river. I
have been there constantly for several months, but last night a strange
thing happened. I was taking my last plunge, when I heard--sometimes
from one side, and sometimes from another--the sound of a voice singing
more sweetly than any nightingale, though I could not catch any words. I
left the pool, and, dressing myself as fast as I could, I searched
every bush and tree round the water, as I fancied that perhaps it was my
friend who was playing a trick on me, but there was not a creature to be
seen; and when I reached home I found my friend fast asleep.'

As Julia listened her face grew deadly white, and her whole body
shivered as if with cold. From her childhood she had heard stories of
the terrible beings that lived in the forests and were hidden under
the banks of the rivers, and could only be kept off by powerful charms.
Could the voice which had bewitched Alonzo have come from one of these?
Perhaps, who knows, it might be the voice of the dreaded Yara herself,
who sought young men on the eve of their marriage as her prey.

For a moment the girl sat choked with fear, as these thoughts rushed
through her; then she said: 'Alonzo, will you promise something?'

'What is that?' asked he.

'It is something that has to do with our future happiness.'

'Oh! it is serious, then? Well, of course I promise. Now tell me!'

'I want you to promise,' she answered, lowering her voice to a whisper,
'never to bathe in those pools again.'

'But why not, queen of my soul; have I not gone there always, and
nothing has harmed me, flower of my heart?'

'No; but perhaps something will. If you will not promise I shall go mad
with fright. Promise me.'

'Why, what is the matter? You look so pale! Tell me why you are so
frightened?'

'Did you not hear the song?' she asked, trembling.

'Suppose I did, how could that hurt me? It was the loveliest song I ever
heard!'

'Yes, and after the song will come the apparition; and after that--
after that--'

'I don't understand. Well--after that?'

'After that--death.'

Alonzo stared at her. Had she really gone mad? Such talk was very unlike
Julia; but before he could collect his senses the girl spoke again:

'That is the reason why I implore you never to go there again; at any
rate till after we are married.'

'And what difference will our marriage make?'

'Oh, there will be no danger then; you can go to bathe as often as you
like!'

'But tell me why you are so afraid?'

'Because the voice you heard--I know you will laugh, but it is quite
true--it was the voice of the Yara.'

At these words Alonzo burst into a shout of laughter; but it sounded
so harsh and loud that Julia shrank away shuddering. It seemed as if he
could not stop himself, and the more he laughed the paler the poor girl
became, murmuring to herself as she watched him:

'Oh, heaven! you have seen her! you have seen her! what shall I do?'

Faint as was her whisper, it reached the ears of Alonzo, who, though he
still could not speak for laughing, shook his head.

'You may not know it, but it is true. Nobody who has not seen the
Yara laughs like that.' And Julia flung herself on the ground weeping
bitterly.

At this sight Alonzo became suddenly grave, and kneeling by her side,
gently raised her up.

'Do not cry so, my angel,' he said, 'I will promise anything you please.
Only let me see you smile again.'

With a great effort Julia checked her sobs, and rose to her feet.

'Thank you,' she answered. 'My heart grows lighter as you say that! I
know you will try to keep your word and to stay away from the forest.
But--the power of the Yara is very strong, and the sound of her voice is
apt to make men forget everything else in the world. Oh, I have seen it,
and more than one betrothed maiden lives alone, broken-hearted. If ever
you should return to the pool where you first heard the voice, promise
me that you will at least take this with you.' And opening a curiously
carved box, she took out a sea-shell shot with many colours, and sang a
song softly into it. 'The moment you hear the Yara's voice,' said she,
'put this to your ear, and you will hear my song instead. Perhaps--I do
not know for certain--but perhaps, I may be stronger than the Yara.'

It was late that night when Alonzo returned home. The moon was shining
on the distant river, which looked cool and inviting, and the trees of
the forest seemed to stretch out their arms and beckon him near. But the
young man steadily turned his face in the other direction, and went home
to bed.

The struggle had been hard, but Alonzo had his reward next day in the
joy and relief with which Julia greeted him. He assured her that having
overcome the temptation once the danger was now over; but she, knowing
better than he did the magic of the Yara's face and voice, did not fail
to make him repeat his promise when he went away.

For three nights Alonzo kept his word, not because he believed in the
Yara, for he thought that the tales about her were all nonsense, but
because he could not bear the tears with which he knew that Julia would
greet him, if he confessed that he had returned to the forest. But, in
spite of this, the song rang in his ears, and daily grew louder.

On the fourth night the attraction of the forest grew so strong that
neither the thought of Julia nor the promises he had made her could hold
him back. At eleven o'clock he plunged into the cool darkness of the
trees, and took the path that led straight to the river. Yet, for the
first time, he found that Julia's warnings, though he had laughed at her
at the moment, had remained in his memory, and he glanced at the bushes
with a certain sense of fear which was quite new to him.

When he reached the river he paused and looked round for a moment to
make sure that the strange feeling of some one watching him was fancy,
and he was really alone. But the moon shone brightly on every tree, and
nothing was to be seen but his own shadow; nothing was to be heard but
the sound of the rippling stream.

He threw off his clothes, and was just about to dive in headlong, when
something--he did not know what--suddenly caused him to look round. At
the same instant the moon passed from behind a cloud, and its rays fell
on a beautiful golden-haired woman standing half hidden by the ferns.

With one bound he caught up his mantle, and rushed headlong down the
path he had come, fearing at each step to feel a hand laid on his
shoulder. It was not till he had left the last trees behind him, and
was standing in the open plain, that he dared to look round, and then
he thought a figure in white was still standing there waving her arms
to and fro. This was enough; he ran along the road harder than ever, and
never paused till he was save in his own room.

With the earliest rays of dawn he went back to the forest to see whether
he could find any traces of the Yara, but though he searched every clump
of bushes, and looked up every tree, everything was empty, and the only
voices he heard were those of parrots, which are so ugly that they only
drive people away.

'I think I must be mad,' he said to himself, 'and have dreamt all that
folly'; and going back to the city he began his daily work. But either
that was harder than usual, or he must be ill, for he could not fix his
mind upon it, and everybody he came across during the day inquired if
anything had happened to give him that white, frightened look.

'I must be feverish,' he said to himself; 'after all, it is rather
dangerous to take a cold bath when one is feeling so hot.' Yet he knew,
while he said it, that he was counting the hours for night to come, that
he might return to the forest.

In the evening he went as usual to the creeper-covered house. But he
had better have stayed away, as his face was so pale and his manner so
strange, that the poor girl saw that something terrible had occurred.
Alonzo, however, refused to answer any of her questions, and all she
could get was a promise to hear everything the next day.

On pretence of a violent headache, he left Julia much earlier than usual
and hurried quickly home. Taking down a pistol, he loaded it and put it
in his belt, and a little before midnight he stole out on the tips of
his toes, so as to disturb nobody. Once outside he hastened down the
road which led to the forest.

He did not stop till he had reached the river pool, when holding the
pistol in his hand, he looked about him. At every little noise--the
falling of a leaf, the rustle of an animal in the bushes, the cry of a
night-bird--he sprang up and cocked his pistol in the direction of the
sound. But though the moon still shone he saw nothing, and by and by
a kind of dreamy state seemed to steal over him as he leant against a
tree.

How long he remained in this condition he could not have told, but
suddenly he awoke with a start, on hearing his name uttered softly.

'Who is that?' he cried, standing upright instantly; but only an echo
answered him. Then his eyes grew fascinated with the dark waters of the
pool close to his feet, and he looked at it as if he could never look
away.

He gazed steadily into the depths for some minutes, when he became aware
that down in the darkness was a bright spark, which got rapidly bigger
and brighter. Again that feeling of awful fear took possession of
him, and he tried to turn his eyes from the pool. But it was no use;
something stronger than himself compelled him to keep them there.

At last the waters parted softly, and floating on the surface he saw
the beautiful woman whom he had fled from only a few nights before. He
turned to run, but his feet were glued to the spot.

She smiled at him and held out her arms, but as she did so there came
over him the remembrance of Julia, as he had seen her a few hours
earlier, and her warnings and fears for the very danger in which he now
found himself.

Meanwhile the figure was always drawing nearer, nearer; but, with a
violent effort, Alonzo shook off his stupor, and taking aim at her
shoulder he pulled the trigger. The report awoke the sleeping echoes,
and was repeated all through the forest, but the figure smiled still,
and went on advancing. Again Alonzo fired, and a second time the bullet
whistled through the air, and the figure advanced nearer. A moment more,
and she would be at his side.

Then, his pistol being empty, he grasped the barrel with both hands, and
stood ready to use it as a club should the Yara approach and closer. But
now it seemed her turn to feel afraid, for she paused an instant while
he pressed forward, still holding the pistol above his head, prepared to
strike.

In his excitement he had forgotten the river, and it was not till the
cold water touched his feet that he stood still by instinct. The Yara
saw that he was wavering, and suffering herself to sway gently backwards
and forwards on the surface of the river, she began to sing. The song
floated through the trees, now far and now near; no one could tell
whence it came, the whole air seemed full of it. Alonzo felt his senses
going and his will failing. His arms dropped heavily to his side, but in
falling struck against the sea shell, which, as he had promised Julia,
he had always carried in his coat.

His dimmed mind was just clear enough to remember what she had said, and
with trembling fingers, that were almost powerless to grasp, he drew it
out. As he did so the song grew sweeter and more tender than before,
but he shut his ears to it and bent his head over the shell. Out of its
depths arose the voice of Julia singing to him as she had sung when she
gave him the shell, and though the notes sounded faint at first, they
swelled louder and louder till the mist which had gathered about him was
blown away.

Then he raised his head, feeling that he had been through strange
places, where he could never wander any more; and he held himself erect
and strong, and looked about him. Nothing was to be seen but the shining
of the river, and the dark shadows of the trees; nothing was to be heard
but the hum of the insects, as they darted through the night.






The Cunning Hare



In a very cold country, far across the seas, where ice and snow cover
the ground for many months in the year, there lived a little hare,
who, as his father and mother were both dead, was brought up by his
grandmother. As he was too young, and she was too old, to work, they
were very poor, and often did not have enough to eat.

One day, when the little fellow was hungrier than usual, he asked his
grandmother if he might go down to the river and catch a fish for their
breakfast, as the thaw had come and the water was flowing freely again.
She laughed at him for thinking that any fish would let itself be caught
by a hare, especially such a young one; but as she had the rheumatism
very badly, and could get no food herself, she let him go. 'If he does
not catch a fish he may find something else,' she said to herself. So
she told her grandson where to look for the net, and how he was to set
it across the river; but just as he was starting, feeling himself quite
a man, she called him back.

'After all, I don't know what is the use of your going, my boy! For even
if you should catch a fish, I have no fire to cook it with.'

'Let me catch my fish, and I will soon make you a fire,' he answered
gaily, for he was young, and knew nothing about the difficulties of
fire-making.

It took him some time to haul the net through bushes and over fields,
but at length he reached a pool in the river which he had often heard
was swarming with fish, and here he set the net, as his grandmother had
directed him.

He was so excited that he hardly slept all night, and at the very first
streak of dawn he ran as fast as ever he could down to the river. His
heart beat as quickly as if he had had dogs behind him, and he hardly
dared to look, lest he should be disappointed. Would there be even one
fish? And at this thought the pangs of hunger made him feel quite sick
with fear. But he need not have been afraid; in every mesh of the net
was a fine fat fish, and of course the net itself was so heavy that
he could only lift one corner. He threw some of the fish back into the
water, and buried some more in a hole under a stone, where he would be
sure to find them. Then he rolled up the net with the rest, put it on
his back and carried it home. The weight of the load caused his back to
ache, and he was thankful to drop it outside their hut, while he rushed
in, full of joy, to tell his grandmother. 'Be quick and clean them!' he
said, 'and I will go to those people's tents on the other side of the
water.'

The old woman stared at him in horror as she listened to his proposal.
Other people had tried to steal fire before, and few indeed had come
back with their lives; but as, contrary to all her expectations, he had
managed to catch such a number of fish, she thought that perhaps there
was some magic about him which she did not know of, and did not try to
hinder him.

When the fish were all taken out, he fetched the net which he had laid
out to dry, folded it up very small, and ran down to the river, hoping
that he might find a place narrow enough for him to jump over; but he
soon saw that it was too wide for even the best jumper in the world. For
a few moments he stood there, wondering what was to be done, then there
darted into his head some words of a spell which he had once heard a
wizard use, while drinking from the river. He repeated them, as well as
he could remember, and waited to see what would happen. In five minutes
such a grunting and a puffing was heard, and columns of water rose into
the air, though he could not tell what had made them. Then round the
bend of the stream came fifteen huge whales, which he ordered to place
themselves heads to tails, like stepping stones, so that he could jump
from one to the other till he landed on the opposite shore. Directly he
got there he told the whales that he did not need them any more, and sat
down in the sand to rest.

Unluckily some children who were playing about caught sight of him, and
one of them, stealing softly up behind him, laid tight hold of his
ears. The hare, who had been watching the whales as they sailed down the
river, gave a violent start, and struggled to get away; but the boy held
on tight, and ran back home, as fast as he could go.

'Throw it in the pot,' said the old woman, as soon as he had told his
story; 'put it in that basket, and as soon as the water boils in the pot
we will hang it over the fire!'

'Better kill it first,' said the old man; and the hare listened,
horribly frightened, but still looking secretly to see if there was no
hole through which he could escape, if he had a chance of doing so. Yes,
there was one, right in the top of the tent, so, shaking himself, as if
with fright, he let the end of his net unroll itself a little.

'I wish that a spark of fire would fall on my net,' whispered he; and
the next minute a great log fell forward into the midst of the tent,
causing every one to spring backwards. The sparks were scattered in
every direction, and one fell on the net, making a little blaze. In an
instant the hare had leaped through the hole, and was racing towards
the river, with men, women, and children after him. There was no time to
call back the whales, so, holding the net tight in his mouth, he wished
himself across the river. Then he jumped high into the air, and landed
safe on the other side, and after turning round to be sure that there
was no chance of anyone pursuing him, trotted happily home to his
grandmother.

'Didn't I tell you I would bring you fire?' said he, holding up his net,
which was now burning briskly.

'But how did you cross the water?' inquired the old woman.

'Oh, I just jumped!' said he. And his grandmother asked him no more
questions, for she saw that he was wiser than she.





The Turtle and His Bride



There was once a turtle who lived among a great many people of different
kinds, in a large camp near a big river which was born right up amongst
the snows, and flowed straight away south till it reached a sea where
the water was always hot.

There were many other turtles in the camp, and this turtle was kind and
pleasant to them all, but he did not care for any of them very much, and
felt rather lonely.

At last he built himself a hut, and filled it with skins for seats, and
made it as comfortable as any hut for miles round; and when it was quite
finished he looked about among the young women to see which of them he
should ask to be his wife.

It took him some time to make up his mind, for no turtle likes being
hurried, but at length he found one girl who seemed prettier and more
industrious than the rest, and one day he entered her home, and said:
'Will you marry me?'

The young woman was so surprised at this question that she dropped
the beaded slipper she was making, and stared at the turtle. She felt
inclined to laugh--the idea was so absurd; but she was kind-hearted and
polite, so she looked as grave as she could, and answered:

'But how are you going to provide for a family? Why, when the camp
moves, you will not even be able to keep up with the rest!'

'I can keep up with the best of them,' replied the turtle, tossing his
head. But though he was very much offended he did not let the girl see
it, and begged and, prayed her so hard to marry him that, at last, she
consented, very unwillingly.

'You will have to wait till the spring, though,' she said; 'I must make
a great many slippers and dresses for myself, as I shall not have much
time afterwards.'

This did not please the turtle; but he knew it was no use talking, so
all he answered was:

'I shall go to war and take some captives, and I shall be away several
months. And when I return I shall expect you to be ready to marry me.'

So he went back to his hut, and at once set about his preparations. The
first thing he did was to call all his relations together, and ask them
if they would come with him and make war on the people of a neighbouring
village. The turtles, who were tired of doing nothing, agreed at once,
and next day the whole tribe left the camp. The girl was standing at
the door of her hut as they passed, and laughed out loud--they moved
so slowly. Her lover, who was marching at the head, grew very angry at
this, and cried out:

'In four days from now you will be weeping instead of laughing, because
there will be hundreds of miles between you and me.'

'In four days,' replied the girl--who only promised to marry him in
order to get rid of him--'in four days you will hardly be out of sight.'

'Oh, I did not mean four days, but four YEARS,' answered the turtle,
hastily; 'whatever happens I shall be back by then.'

The army marched on, till one day, when they felt as if they must have
got half round the earth, though they were scarcely four miles from the
camp, they found a large tree lying across their path. They looked at it
with dismay, and the oldest among them put their heads together to see
what was to be done.

'Can't we manage to get past by the top?' asked one.

'Why, it would take us YEARS,' exclaimed another. 'Just look at all
those tall green branches, spreading in every direction. If once we got
entangled in THEM, we should never get out again!'

'Well then, let us go round by the bottom,' said a third.

'How are we to do that, when the roots have made a deep hole, and above
that is a high bank?' replied a fourth. 'No; the only way I can think
of, is to burn a large hole in the trunk.' And this they did, but the
trunk was very thick, and would not burn through.

'It is no use, we must give it up,' they agreed at last. 'After all,
nobody need ever know! We have been away such a long while that we
might easily have had all sorts of adventures.' And so the whole company
turned homewards again.

They took even longer to go back than they had to come, for they were
tired and footsore with their journey. When they drew near the camp
they plucked up their courage, and began to sing a war-song. At this the
villagers came flocking to see what spoils the turtles had won, but, as
they approached, each turtle seized some one by the wrist, exclaiming:
'You are our spoils; you are our prisoners!'

'Now that I have got you I will keep you,' said the leader, who had
happened to seize his betrothed.

Everybody was naturally very angry at this behaviour, and the girl most
of all, and in her secret heart she determined to have her revenge. But,
just at present, the turtles were too strong, so the prisoners had to
put on their smartest slippers and their brightest clothes, and dance a
war dance while the turtles sang. They danced so long that it seemed as
if they would never stop, till the turtle who was leading the singing
suddenly broke into a loud chant:

Whoever comes here, will die, will die!

At this all the dancers grew so frightened that they burst through
the ring of their captors, and ran back to the village, the turtles
following--very slowly. On the way the chief turtle met a man, who said
to him:

'That woman who was to have been your wife has married another man!'

'Is that true?' said the turtle. 'Then I must see him.'

But as soon as the villager was out of sight the turtle stopped, and
taking a bundle containing fringes and ornaments from his back, he hung
them about him, so that they rattled as he walked. When he was quite
close to the hut where the woman lived, he cried out:

'Here I am to claim the woman who promised to be my wife.'

'Oh, here is the turtle,' whispered the husband hurriedly; 'what is to
be done now?'

'Leave that to me; I will manage him,' replied the wife, and at that
moment the turtle came in, and seized her by the wrist. 'Come with me,'
he said sternly.

'You broke your promise,' answered she. 'You said you would be back
soon, and it is more than a year since you went! How was I to know that
you were alive?'

At her words the husband took courage, and spoke hastily:

'Yes, you promised you would go to war and bring back some prisoners,
and you have not done it.'

'I DID go, and made many prisoners,' retorted the turtle angrily,
drawing out his knife. 'Look here, if she won't be MY wife, she sha'n't
be YOURS. I will cut her in two; and you shall have one half, and I the
other.'

'But half a woman is no use to me,' answered the man. 'If you want
her so much you had better take her.' And the turtle, followed by his
relations, carried her off to his own hut.

Now the woman saw she would gain nothing by being sulky, so she
pretended to be very glad to have got rid of her husband; but all
the while she was trying to invent a plan to deliver herself from the
turtle. At length she remembered that one of her friends had a large
iron pot, and when the turtle had gone to his room to put away his
fringes, she ran over to her neighbour's and brought it back. Then she
filled it with water and hung it over the fire to boil. It was just
beginning to bubble and hiss when the turtle entered.

'What are you doing there?' asked he, for he was always afraid of things
that he did not understand.

'Just warming some water,' she answered. 'Do you know how to swim?'

'Yes, of course I do. What a question! But what does it matter to you?'
said the turtle, more suspicious than ever.

'Oh, I only thought that after your long journey you might like to wash.
The roads are so muddy, after the winter's rains. I could rub your shell
for you till it was bright and shining again.

'Well, I AM rather muddy. If one is fighting, you know, one cannot stop
to pick one's way. I should certainly be more comfortable if my back was
washed.'

The woman did not wait for him to change his mind. She caught him up
by his shell and popped him straight into the pot, where he sank to the
bottom, and died instantly.

The other turtles, who were standing at the door, saw their leader
disappear, and felt it was their duty as soldiers to follow him;
and, springing into the pot, died too. All but one young turtle, who,
frightened at not seeing any of his friends come out again, went as fast
as he could to a clump of bushes, and from there made his way to the
river. His only thought was to get away as far as possible from that
dreadful hut; so he let the river carry him where it was going itself,
and at last, one day, he found himself in the warm sea, where, if he is
not dead, you may meet him still.






How Geirald The Coward Was Punished



Once upon a time there lived a poor knight who had a great many
children, and found it very hard to get enough for them to eat. One
day he sent his eldest son, Rosald, a brave and honest youth, to the
neighbouring town to do some business, and here Rosald met a young man
named Geirald, with whom he made friends.

Now Geirald was the son of a rich man, who was proud of the boy, and had
all his life allowed him to do whatever he fancied, and, luckily for the
father, he was prudent and sensible, and did not waste money, as many
other rich young men might have done. For some time he had set his heart
on travelling into foreign countries, and after he had been talking
for a little while to Rosald, he asked if his new friend would be his
companion on his journey.

'There is nothing I should like better,' answered Rosald, shaking his
head sorrowfully; 'but my father is very poor, and he could never give
me the money.'

'Oh, if that is your only difficulty, it is all right,' cried Geirald.
'My father has more money than he knows what to do with, and he will
give me as much as I want for both of us; only, there is one thing you
must promise me, Rosald, that, supposing we have any adventures, you
will let the honour and glory of them fall to me.'

'Yes, of course, that is only fair,' answered Rosald, who never cared
about putting himself forward. 'But I cannot go without telling my
parents. I am sure they will think me lucky to get such a chance.'

As soon as the business was finished, Rosald hastened home. His parents
were delighted to hear of his good fortune, and his father gave him his
own sword, which was growing rusty for want of use, while his mother saw
that his leather jerkin was in order.

'Be sure you keep the promise you made to Geirald,' said she, as she
bade him good-bye, 'and, come what may, see that you never betray him.'

Full of joy Rosald rode off, and the next day he and Geirald started off
to seek adventures. To their disappointment their own land was so well
governed that nothing out of the common was very likely to happen,
but directly they crossed the border into another kingdom all seemed
lawlessness and confusion.

They had not gone very far, when, riding across a mountain, they caught
a glimpse of several armed men hiding amongst some trees in their path,
and remembered suddenly some talk they had heard of a band of twelve
robbers who lay in wait for rich travellers. The robbers were more like
savage beasts than men, and lived somewhere at the top of the mountain
in caves and holes in the ground. They were all called 'Hankur,' and
were distinguished one from another by the name of a colour--blue, grey,
red, and so on, except their chief, who was known as Hankur the Tall.
All this and more rushed into the minds of the two young men as they saw
the flash of their swords in the moonlight.

'It is impossible to fight them--they are twelve to two,' whispered
Geirald, stopping his horse in the path. 'We had much better ride back
and take the lower road. It would be stupid to throw away our lives like
this.'

'Oh, we can't turn back,' answered Rosald, 'we should be ashamed to look
anyone in the face again! And, besides, it is a grand opportunity to
show what we are made of. Let us tie up our horses here, and climb up
the rocks so that we can roll stones down on them.'

'Well, we might try that, and then we shall always have our horses,'
said Geirald. So they went up the rocks silently and carefully.

The robbers were lying all ready, expecting every moment to see their
victims coming round the corner a few yards away, when a shower of huge
stones fell on their heads, killing half the band. The others sprang up
the rock, but as they reached the top the sword of Rosald swung round,
and one man after another rolled down into the valley. At last the chief
managed to spring up, and, grasping Rosald by the waist, flung away
his sword, and the two fought desperately, their bodies swaying always
nearer the edge. It seemed as if Rosald, being the smaller of the two,
MUST fall over, when, with his left hand, he drew the robber's sword out
of its sheath and plunged it into his heart. Then he took from the
dead man a beautiful ring set with a large stone, and put it on his own
finger.

The fame of this wonderful deed soon spread through the country, and
people would often stop Geirald's horse, and ask leave to see the
robber's ring, which was said to have been stolen from the father of the
reigning king. And Geirald showed them the ring with pride, and listened
to their words of praise, and no one would ever have guessed anyone else
had destroyed the robbers.

In a few days they left the kingdom and rode on to another, where they
thought they would stop through the remainder of the winter, for Geirald
liked to be comfortable, and did not care about travelling through ice
and snow. But the king would only grant them leave to stop on condition
that, before the winter was ended, they should give him some fresh proof
of the courage of which he had heard so much. Rosald's heart was glad at
the king's message, and as for Geirald, he felt that as long as Rosald
was there all would go well. So they both bowed low and replied that it
was the king's place to command and theirs to obey.

'Well, then,' said his Majesty, 'this is what I want you to do: In the
north-east part of my kingdom there dwells a giant, who has an iron
staff twenty yards long, and he is so quick in using it, that even fifty
knights have no chance against him. The bravest and strongest young
men of my court have fallen under the blows of that staff; but, as you
overcame the twelve robbers so easily, I feel that I have reason to hope
that you may be able to conquer the giant. In three days from this you
will set out.'

'We will be ready, your Majesty,' answered Rosald; but Geirald remained
silent.

'How can we possibly fight against a giant that has killed fifty
knights?' cried Geirald, when they were outside the castle. 'The king
only wants to get rid of us! He won't think about us for the next three
days--that is one comfort--so we shall have plenty of time to cross the
borders of the kingdom and be out of reach.'

'We mayn't be able to kill the giant, but we certainly can't run away
till we have tried,' answered Rosald. 'Besides, think how glorious it
will be if we DO manage to kill him! I know what sort of weapon I shall
use. Come with me now, and I will see about it.' And, taking his friend
by the arm, he led him into a shop where he bought a huge lump of solid
iron, so big that they could hardly lift it between them. However, they
just managed to carry it to a blacksmith's where Rosald directed that it
should be beaten into a thick club, with a sharp spike at one end. When
this was done to his liking he took it home under his arm.

Very early on the third morning the two young men started on their
journey, and on the fourth day they reached the giant's cave before he
was out of bed. Hearing the sound of footsteps, the giant got up and
went to the entrance to see who was coming, and Rosald, expecting
something of the sort, struck him such a blow on the forehead that he
fell to the ground. Then, before he could rise to his feet again, Rosald
drew out his sword and cut off his head.

'It was not so difficult after all, you see,' he said, turning to
Geirald. And placing the giant's head in a leathern wallet which was
slung over his back, they began their journey to the castle.

As they drew near the gates, Rosald took the head from the wallet and
handed it to Geirald, whom he followed into the king's presence.

'The giant will trouble you no more,' said Geirald, holding out the
head. And the king fell on his neck and kissed him, and cried joyfully
that he was the 'bravest knight in all the world, and that a feast
should be made for him and Rosald, and that the great deed should be
proclaimed throughout the kingdom.' And Geirald's heart swelled with
pride, and he almost forgot that it was Rosald and not he, who had slain
the giant.

By-and-by a whisper went round that a beautiful lady who lived in the
castle would be present at the feast, with twenty-four lovely maidens,
her attendants. The lady was the queen of her own country, but as her
father and mother had died when she was a little girl, she had been left
in the care of this king who was her uncle.

She was now old enough to govern her own kingdom, but her subjects did
not like being ruled by a woman, and said that she must find a husband
to help her in managing her affairs. Prince after prince had offered
himself, but the young queen would have nothing to say to any of them,
and at last told her ministers that if she was to have a husband at all
she must choose him for herself, as she would certainly not marry any of
those whom they had selected for her. The ministers replied that in that
case she had better manage her kingdom alone, and the queen, who knew
nothing about business, got things into such a confusion that at last
she threw them up altogether, and went off to her uncle.

Now when she heard how the two young men had slain the giant, her heart
was filled with admiration of their courage, and she declared that if a
feast was held she would certainly be present at it.

And so she was; and when the feast was over she asked the king, her
guardian, if he would allow the two heroes who had killed the robbers
and slain the giant to fight a tourney the next day with one of her
pages. The king gladly gave his consent, and ordered the lists to be
made ready, never doubting that two great champions would be eager for
such a chance of adding to their fame. Little did he guess that Geirald
had done all he could to persuade Rosald to steal secretly out of the
castle during the night, 'for,' said he, 'I don't believe they are pages
at all, but well-proved knights, and how can we, so young and untried,
stand up against them?'

'The honour will be all the higher if we gain the day,' answered Rosald;
but Geirald would listen to nothing, and only declared that he did not
care about honour, and would rather be alive than have every honour in
the world heaped upon him. Go he would, and as Rosald had sworn to give
him his company, he must come with him.

Rosald was much grieved when he heard these words, but he knew that it
was useless attempting to persuade Geirald, and turned his thoughts to
forming some plan to prevent this disgraceful flight. Suddenly his
face brightened. 'Let us change clothes,' he said, 'and I will do the
fighting, while you shall get the glory. Nobody will ever know.' And to
this Geirald readily consented.

Whether Geirald was right or not in thinking that the so-called page was
really a well-proved knight, it is certain that Rosald's task was a very
hard one. Three times they came together with a crash which made their
horses reel; once Rosald knocked the helmet off his foe, and received in
return such a blow that he staggered in his saddle. Shouts went up
from the lookers-on, as first one and then the other seemed gaining
the victory; but at length Rosald planted his spear in the armour
which covered his adversary's breast and bore him steadily backward.
'Unhorsed! unhorsed!' cried the people; and Rosald then himself
dismounted and helped his adversary to rise.

In the confusion that followed it was easy for Rosald to slip away and
return Geirald his proper clothes. And in these, torn and dusty with the
fight, Geirald answered the king's summons to come before him.

'You have done what I expected you to do,' said he, 'and now, choose
your reward.'

'Grant me, sire, the hand of the queen, your niece,' replied the
young man, bowing low, 'and I will defend her kingdom against all her
enemies.'

'She could choose no better husband,' said the king, 'and if she
consents I do.' And he turned towards the queen, who had not been
present during the fight, but had just slipped into a seat by his right
hand. Now the queen's eyes were very sharp, and it seemed to her that
the man who stood before her, tall and handsome though he might be, was
different in many slight ways, and in one in particular, from the man
who had fought the tourney. How there could be any trickery she could
not understand, and why the real victor should be willing to give up his
prize to another was still stranger; but something in her heart warned
her to be careful. She answered: 'You may be satisfied, uncle, but I am
not. One more proof I must have; let the two young men now fight against
each other. The man I marry must be the man who killed the robbers and
the giant, and overcame my page.' Geirald's face grew pale as he heard
these words. He knew there was no escape from him now, though he did not
doubt for one moment that Rosald would keep his compact loyally to the
last. But how would it be possible that even Rosald should deceive the
watchful eyes of the king and his court, and still more those of the
young queen whom he felt uneasily had suspected him from the first?

The tourney was fought, and in spite of Geirald's fears Rosald managed
to hang back to make attacks which were never meant to succeed, and to
allow strokes which he could easily have parried to attain their end. At
length, after a great show of resistance, he fell heavily to the ground.
And as he fell he knew that it was not alone the glory that was his
rightfully which he gave up, but the hand of the queen that was more
precious still.

But Geirald did not even wait to see if he was wounded; he went straight
to the wall where the royal banner waved and claimed the reward which
was now his.

The crowd of watchers turned towards the queen, expecting to see her
stoop and give some token to the victor. Instead, to the surprise
of everyone, she merely smiled gracefully, and said that before she
bestowed her hand one more test must be imposed, but this should be the
last. The final tourney should be fought; Geirald and Rosald should meet
singly two knights of the king's court, and he who could unhorse his foe
should be master of herself and of her kingdom. The combat was fixed to
take place at ten o'clock the following day.

All night long Geirald walked about his room, not daring to face
the fight that lay in front of him, and trying with all his might to
discover some means of escaping it. All night long he moved restlessly
from door to window; and when the trumpets sounded, and the combatants
rode into the field, he alone was missing. The king sent messengers
to see what had become of him, and he was found, trembling with fear,
hiding under his bed. After that there was no need of any further proof.
The combat was declared unnecessary, and the queen pronounced herself
quite satisfied, and ready to accept Rosald as her husband.

'You forgot one thing,' she said, when they were alone. 'I recognized
my father's ring which Hankur the Tall had stolen, on the finger of your
right hand, and I knew that it was you and not Geirald who had slain the
robber band. I was the page who fought you, and again I saw the ring on
your finger, though it was absent from his when he stood before me to
claim the prize. That was why I ordered the combat between you, though
your faith to your word prevented my plan being successful, and I had
to try another. The man who keeps his promise at all costs to himself is
the man I can trust, both for myself and for my people.'

So they were married, and returned to their own kingdom, which they
ruled well and happily. And many years after a poor beggar knocked at
the palace gates and asked for money, for the sake of days gone by--and
this was Geirald.






Habogi



Once upon a time there lived two peasants who had three daughters, and,
as generally happens, the youngest was the most beautiful and the best
tempered, and when her sisters wanted to go out she was always ready to
stay at home and do their work.

Years passed quickly with the whole family, and one day the parents
suddenly perceived that all three girls were grown up, and that very
soon they would be thinking of marriage.

'Have you decided what your husband's name is to be?' said the father,
laughingly, to his eldest daughter, one evening when they were all
sitting at the door of their cottage. 'You know that is a very important
point!'

'Yes; I will never wed any man who is not called Sigmund,' answered she.

'Well, it is lucky for you that there are a great many Sigmunds in
this part of the world,' replied her father, 'so that you can take your
choice! And what do YOU say?' he added, turning to the second.

'Oh, I think that there is no name so beautiful as Sigurd,' cried she.

'Then you won't be an old maid either,' answered he. 'There are seven
Sigurds in the next village alone! And you, Helga?'

Helga, who was still the prettiest of the three, looked up. She also had
her favourite name, but, just as she was going to say it, she seemed to
hear a voice whisper: 'Marry no one who is not called Habogi.'

The girl had never heard of such a name, and did not like it, so she
determined to pay no attention; but as she opened her mouth to tell her
father that her husband must be called Njal, she found herself answering
instead: 'If I do marry it will be to no one except Habogi.'

'Who IS Habogi?' asked her father and sisters; 'We never heard of such a
person.'

'All I can tell you is that he will be my husband, if ever I have one,'
returned Helga; and that was all she would say.

Before very long the young men who lived in the neighbouring villages
or on the sides of the mountains, had heard of this talk of the three
girls, and Sigmunds and Sigurds in scores came to visit the little
cottage. There were other young men too, who bore different names,
though not one of them was called 'Habogi,' and these thought that they
might perhaps gain the heart of the youngest. But though there was more
than one 'Njal' amongst them, Helga's eyes seemed always turned another
way.

At length the two elder sisters made their choice from out of the
Sigurds and the Sigmunds, and it was decided that both weddings should
take place at the same time. Invitations were sent out to the friends
and relations, and when, on the morning of the great day, they were all
assembled, a rough, coarse old peasant left the crowd and came up to the
brides' father.

'My name is Habogi, and Helga must be my wife,' was all he said. And
though Helga stood pale and trembling with surprise, she did not try to
run away.

'I cannot talk of such things just now,' answered the father, who could
not bear the thought of giving his favourite daughter to this horrible
old man, and hoped, by putting it off, that something might happen. But
the sisters, who had always been rather jealous of Helga, were secretly
pleased that their bridegrooms should outshine hers.

When the feast was over, Habogi led up a beautiful horse from a field
where he had left it to graze, and bade Helga jump up on its splendid
saddle, all embroidered in scarlet and gold. 'You shall come back
again,' said he; 'but now you must see the house that you are to live
in.' And though Helga was very unwilling to go, something inside her
forced her to obey.

The old man settled her comfortably, then sprang up in front of her as
easily as if he had been a boy, and, shaking the reins, they were soon
out of sight.

After some miles they rode through a meadow with grass so green that
Helga's eyes felt quite dazzled; and feeding on the grass were a
quantity of large fat sheep, with the curliest and whitest wool in the
world.

'What lovely sheep! whose are they?' cried Helga.

'Your Habogi's,' answered he, 'all that you see belongs to him; but the
finest sheep in the whole herd, which has little golden bells hanging
between its horns, you shall have for yourself.'

This pleased Helga very much, for she had never had anything of her own;
and she smiled quite happily as she thanked Habogi for his present.

They soon left the sheep behind them, and entered a large field with
a river running through it, where a number of beautiful grey cows were
standing by a gate waiting for a milk-maid to come and milk them.

'Oh, what lovely cows!' cried Helga again; 'I am sure their milk must be
sweeter than any other cows. How I should like to have some! I wonder to
whom they belong?'

'To your Habogi,' replied he; 'and some day you shall have as much milk
as you like, but we cannot stop now. Do you see that big grey one, with
the silver bells between her horns? That is to be yours, and you can
have her milked every morning the moment you wake.'

And Helga's eyes shone, and though she did not say anything, she thought
that she would learn to milk the cow herself.

A mile further on they came to a wide common, with short, springy turf,
where horses of all colours, with skins of satin, were kicking up their
heels in play. The sight of them so delighted Helga that she nearly
sprang from her saddle with a shriek of joy.

'Whose are they?' Oh! whose are they?' she asked. 'How happy any man
must be who is the master of such lovely creatures!'

'They are your Habogi's,' replied he, 'and the one which you think the
most beautiful of all you shall have for yourself, and learn to ride
him.'

At this Helga quite forgot the sheep and the cow.

'A horse of my own!' said she. 'Oh, stop one moment, and let me see
which I will choose. The white one? No. The chestnut? No. I think, after
all, I like the coal-black one best, with the little white star on his
forehead. Oh, do stop, just for a minute.'

But Habogi would not stop or listen. 'When you are married you will have
plenty of time to choose one,' was all he answered, and they rode on two
or three miles further.

At length Habogi drew rein before a small house, very ugly and
mean-looking, and that seemed on the point of tumbling to pieces.

'This is my house, and is to be yours,' said Habogi, as he jumped down
and held out his arms to lift Helga from the horse. The girl's heart
sank a little, as she thought that the man who possessed such wonderful
sheep, and cows, and horses, might have built himself a prettier place
to live in; but she did not say so. And, taking her arm, he led her up
the steps.

But when she got inside, she stood quite bewildered at the beauty of all
around her. None of her friends owned such things, not even the miller,
who was the richest man she knew. There were carpets everywhere, thick
and soft, and of deep rich colours; and the cushions were of silk, and
made you sleepy even to look at them; and curious little figures in
china were scattered about. Helga felt as if it would take her all her
life to see everything properly, and it only seemed a second since she
had entered the house, when Habogi came up to her.

'I must begin the preparations for our wedding at once,' he said; 'but
my foster-brother will take you home, as I promised. In three days he
will bring you back here, with your parents and sisters, and any guests
you may invite, in your company. By that time the feast will be ready.'

Helga had so much to think about, that the ride home appeared very
short. Her father and mother were delighted to see her, as they did not
feel sure that so ugly and cross-looking a man as Habogi might not have
played her some cruel trick. And after they had given her some supper
they begged her to tell them all she had done. But Helga only told them
that they should see for themselves on the third day, when they would
come to her wedding.

It was very early in the morning when the party set out, and Helga's
two sisters grew green with envy as they passed the flocks of sheep,
and cows, and horses, and heard that the best of each was given to Helga
herself; but when they caught sight of the poor little house which was
to be her home their hearts grew light again.

'I should be ashamed of living in such a place,' whispered each to the
other; and the eldest sister spoke of the carved stone over HER doorway,
and the second boasted of the number of rooms SHE had. But the moment
they went inside they were struck dumb with rage at the splendour of
everything, and their faces grew white and cold with fury when they
saw the dress which Habogi had prepared for his bride--a dress that
glittered like sunbeams dancing upon ice.

'She SHALL not look so much finer than us,' they cried passionately to
each other as soon as they were alone; and when night came they stole
out of their rooms, and taking out the wedding-dress, they laid it in
the ash-pit, and heaped ashes upon it. But Habogi, who knew a little
magic, and had guessed what they would do, changed the ashes into roses,
and cast a spell over the sisters, so that they could not leave the spot
for a whole day, and every one who passed by mocked at them.

The next morning when they all awoke the ugly tumble-down house had
disappeared, and in its place stood a splendid palace. The guests' eyes
sought in vain for the bridegroom, but could only see a handsome young
man, with a coat of blue velvet and silver and a gold crown upon his
head.

'Who is that?' they asked Helga.

'That is my Habogi,' said she.





How the Little Brother Set Free His Big Brothers



In a small hut, right in the middle of the forest, lived a man, his
wife, three sons and a daughter. For some reason, all the animals seemed
to have left that part of the country, and food grew very scarce; so,
one morning, after a night of snow, when the tracks of beasts might be
easily seen, the three boys started off to hunt.

They kept together for some time, till they reached a place where the
path they had been following split into two, and one of the brothers
called his dog and went to the left, while the others took the trail to
the right. These had not gone far when their dogs scented a bear, and
drove him out from the thicket. The bear ran across a clearing, and the
elder brother managed to place an arrow right in his head.

They both took up the bear, and carried it towards home, meeting the
third at the spot where they had parted from him. When they reached home
they threw the bear down on the floor of the hut saying,

'Father, here is a bear which we killed; now we can have some dinner.'

But the father, who was in a bad temper, only said:

'When I was a young man we used to get two bears in one day.'

The sons were rather disappointed at hearing this, and though there was
plenty of meat to last for two or three days, they started off early in
the morning down the same trail that they had followed before. As they
drew near the fork a bear suddenly ran out from behind a tree, and took
the path on the right. The two elder boys and their dogs pursued him,
and soon the second son, who was also a good shot, killed him instantly
with an arrow. At the fork of the trail, on their way home, they met
the youngest, who had taken the left-hand road, and had shot a bear for
himself. But when they threw the two bears triumphantly on the floor of
the hut their father hardly looked at them, and only said:

'When I was a young man I used to get three bears in one day.'

The next day they were luckier than before, and brought back three
bears, on which their father told them that HE had always killed four.
However, that did not prevent him from skinning the bears and cooking
them in a way of his own, which he thought very good, and they all ate
an excellent supper.

Now these bears were the servants of the great bear chief who lived in
a high mountain a long way off. And every time a bear was killed his
shadow returned to the house of the bear chief, with the marks of his
wounds plainly to bee seen by the rest.

The chief was furious at the number of bears the hunters had killed, and
determined that he would find some way of destroying them. So he called
another of his servants, and said to him:

'Go to the thicket near the fork, where the boys killed your brothers,
and directly they or the dogs see you return here as fast as ever you
can. The mountain will open to let you in, and the hunters will follow
you. Then I shall have them in my power, and be able to revenge myself.'

The servant bowed low, and started at once for the fork, where he hid
himself in the bushes.

By-and-by the boys came in sight, but this time there were only two of
them, as the youngest had stayed at home. The air was warm and damp, and
the snow soft and slushy, and the elder brother's bowstring hung loose,
while the bow of the younger caught in a tree and snapped in half. At
that moment the dogs began to bark loudly, and the bear rushed out
of the thicket and set off in the direction of the mountain. Without
thinking that they had nothing to defend themselves with, should the
bear turn and attack them, the boys gave chase. The bear, who knew quite
well that he could not be shot, sometimes slackened his pace and let the
dogs get quite close; and in this way the elder son reached the mountain
without observing it, while his brother, who had hurt his foot, was
still far behind.

As he ran up, the mountain opened to admit the bear, and the boy, who
was close on his heels, rushed in after him, and did not know where he
was till he saw bears sitting on every side of him, holding a council.
The animal he had been chasing sank panting in their midst, and the boy,
very much frightened, stood still, letting his bow fall to the ground.

'Why are you trying to kill all my servants?' asked the chief. 'Look
round and see their shades, with arrows sticking in them. It was I who
told the bear to-day how he was to lure you into my power. I shall take
care that you shall not hurt my people any more, because you will become
a bear yourself.'

At this moment the second brother came up--for the mountain had been
left open on purpose to tempt him also--and cried out breathlessly:
'Don't you see that the bear is lying close to you? Why don't you shoot
him?' And, without waiting for a reply, pressed forward to drive his
arrow into the heart of the bear. But the elder one caught his raised
arm, and whispered: 'Be quiet! can't you tell where you are?' Then the
boy looked up and saw the angry bears about him. On the one side were
the servants of the chief, and on the other the servants of the chief's
sister, who was sorry for the two youths, and begged that their lives
might be spared. The chief answered that he would not kill them, but
only cast a spell over them, by which their heads and bodies should
remain as they were, but their arms and legs should change into those of
a bear, so that they would go on all fours for the rest of their lives.
And, stooping over a spring of water, he dipped a handful of moss in
it and rubbed it over the arms and legs of the boys. In an instant the
transformation took place, and two creatures, neither beast nor human
stood before the chief.

Now the bear chief of course knew that the boys' father would seek
for his sons when they did not return home, so he sent another of his
servants to the hiding-place at the fork of the trail to see what would
happen. He had not waited long, when the father came in sight, stooping
as he went to look for his sons' tracks in the snow. When he saw the
marks of snow-shoes along the path on the right he was filled with joy,
not knowing that the servant had made some fresh tracks on purpose to
mislead him; and he hastened forward so fast that he fell headlong into
a pit, where the bear was sitting. Before he could pick himself up the
bear had quietly broken his neck, and, hiding the body under the snow,
sat down to see if anyone else would pass that way.

Meanwhile the mother at home was wondering what had become of her two
sons, and as the hours went on, and their father never returned, she
made up her mind to go and look for him. The youngest boy begged her to
let him undertake the search, but she would not hear of it, and told him
he must stay at home and take care of his sister. So, slipping on her
snow-shoes, she started on her way.

As no fresh snow had fallen, the trail was quite easy to find, and she
walked straight on, till it led her up to the pit where the bear was
waiting for her. He grasped her as she fell and broke her neck, after
which he laid her in the snow beside her husband, and went back to tell
the bear chief.

Hour after hour dragged heavily by in the forest hut, and at last the
brother and sister felt quite sure that in some way or other all the
rest of the family had perished. Day after day the boy climbed to the
top of a tall tree near the house, and sat there till he was almost
frozen, looking on all sides through the forest openings, hoping that he
might see someone coming along. Very soon all the food in the house was
eaten, and he knew he would have to go out and hunt for more. Besides,
he wished to seek for his parents.

The little girl did not like being left alone in the hut, and cried
bitterly; but her brother told her that there was no use sitting down
quietly to starve, and that whether he found any game or not he would
certainly be back before the following night. Then he cut himself some
arrows, each from a different tree, and winged with the feathers of four
different birds. He then made himself a bow, very light and strong, and
got down his snow-shoes. All this took some time, and he could not start
that day, but early next morning he called his little dog Redmouth, whom
he kept in a box, and set out.

After he had followed the trail for a great distance he grew very
tired, and sat upon the branch of a tree to rest. But Redmouth barked so
furiously that the boy thought that perhaps his parents might have been
killed under its branches, and stepping back, shot one of his arrows at
the root of the tree. Whereupon a noise like thunder shook it from top
to bottom, fire broke out, and in a few minutes a little heap of ashes
lay in the place where it had stood.

Not knowing quite what to make of it all, the boy continued on the
trail, and went down the right-hand fork till he came to the clump of
bushes where the bears used to hide.

Now, as was plain by his being able to change the shape of the two
brothers, the bear chief knew a good deal of magic, and he was quite
aware that the little boy was following the trail, and he sent a very
small but clever bear servant to wait for him in the bushes and to try
to tempt him into the mountain. But somehow his spells could not have
worked properly that day, as the bear chief did not know that Redmouth
had gone with his master, or he would have been more careful. For the
moment the dog ran round the bushes barking loudly, the little bear
servant rushed out in a fright, and set out for the mountains as fast as
he could.

The dog followed the bear, and the boy followed the dog, until the
mountain, the house of the great bear chief, came in sight. But along
the road the snow was so wet and heavy that the boy could hardly get
along, and then the thong of his snow-shoes broke, and he had to stop
and mend it, so that the bear and the dog got so far ahead that he could
scarcely hear the barking. When the strap was firm again the boy spoke
to his snow-shoes and said:

'Now you must go as fast as you can, or, if not, I shall lose the dog as
well as the bear.' And the snow-shoes sang in answer that they would run
like the wind.

As he came along, the bear chief's sister was looking out of the window,
and took pity on this little brother, as she had on the two elder ones,
and waited to see what the boy would do, when he found that the bear
servant and the dog had already entered the mountain.

The little brother was certainly very much puzzled at not seeing
anything of either of the animals, which had vanished suddenly out of
his sight. He paused for an instant to think what he should do next,
and while he did so he fancied he heard Redmouth's voice on the opposite
side of the mountain. With great difficulty he scrambled over steep
rocks, and forced a path through tangled thickets; but when he reached
the other side the sound appeared to start from the place from which he
had come. Then he had to go all the way back again, and at the very top,
where he stopped to rest, the barking was directly beneath him, and he
knew in an instant where he was and what had happened.

'Let my dog out at once, bear chief!' cried he. 'If you do not, I shall
destroy your palace.' But the bear chief only laughed, and said nothing.
The boy was very angry at his silence, and aiming one of his arrows at
the bottom of the mountain, shot straight through it.

As the arrow touched the ground a rumbling was heard, and with a roar a
fire broke out which seemed to split the whole mountain into pieces.
The bear chief and all his servants were burnt up in the flames, but his
sister and all that belonged to her were spared because she had tried to
save the two elder boys from punishment.

As soon as the fire had burnt itself out the little hunter entered
what was left of the mountain, and the first thing he saw was his two
brothers--half bear, half boy.

'Oh, help us! help us!' cried they, standing on their hind legs as they
spoke, and stretching out their fore-paws to him.

'But how am I to help you?' asked the little brother, almost weeping.
'I can kill people, and destroy trees and mountains, but I have no power
over men.' And the two elder brothers came up and put their paws on his
shoulders, and they all three wept together.

The heart of the bear chief's sister was moved when she saw their
misery, and she came gently up behind, and whispered:

'Little boy, gather some moss from the spring over there, and let your
brothers smell it.'

With a bound all three were at the spring, and as the youngest plucked a
handful of wet moss, the two others sniffed at it with all their might.
Then the bearskin fell away from them, and they stood upright once more.

'How can we thank you? how can we thank you?' they stammered, hardly
able to speak; and fell at her feet in gratitude. But the bear's sister
only smiled, and bade them go home and look after the little girl, who
had no one else to protect her.

And this the boys did, and took such good care of their sister that, as
she was very small, she soon forgot that she had ever had a father and
mother.






The Sacred Milk of Koumongoe



Far way, in a very hot country, there once lived a man and woman who had
two children, a son named Koane and a daughter called Thakane.

Early in the morning and late in the evenings the parents worked hard
in the fields, resting, when the sun was high, under the shade of some
tree. While they were absent the little girl kept house alone, for her
brother always got up before the dawn, when the air was fresh and cool,
and drove out the cattle to the sweetest patches of grass he could find.

One day, when Koane had slept later than usual, his father and mother
went to their work before him, and there was only Thakane to be seen
busy making the bread for supper.

'Thakane,' he said, 'I am thirsty. Give me a drink from the tree
Koumongoe, which has the best milk in the world.'

'Oh, Koane,' cried his sister, 'you know that we are forbidden to touch
that tree. What would father say when he came home? For he would be sure
to know.'

'Nonsense,' replied Koane, 'there is so much milk in Koumongoe that he
will never miss a little. If you won't give it to me, I sha'n't take the
cattle out. They will just have to stay all day in the hut, and you know
that they will starve.' And he turned from her in a rage, and sat down
in the corner.

After a while Thakane said to him: 'It is getting hot, had you better
drive out the cattle now?'

But Koane only answered sulkily: 'I told you I am not going to drive
them out at all. If I have to do without milk, they shall do without
grass.'

Thakane did not know what to do. She was afraid to disobey her parents,
who would most likely beat her, yet the beasts would be sure to suffer
if they were kept in, and she would perhaps be beaten for that too. So
at last she took an axe and a tiny earthen bowl, she cut a very small
hole in the side of Koumongoe, and out gushed enough milk to fill the
bowl.

'Here is the milk you wanted,' said she, going up to Koane, who was
still sulking in his corner.

'What is the use of that?' grumbled Koane; 'why, there is not enough to
drown a fly. Go and get me three times as much!'

Trembling with fright, Thakane returned to the tree, and struck it a
sharp blow with the axe. In an instant there poured forth such a stream
of milk that it ran like a river into the hut.

'Koane! Koane!' cried she, 'come and help me to plug up the hole. There
will be no milk left for our father and mother.' But Koane could not
stop it any more than Thakane, and soon the milk was flowing through the
hut downhill towards their parents in the fields below.

The man saw a white stream a long way off, and guessed what had
happened.

'Wife, wife,' he called loudly to the woman, who was working at a little
distance: 'Do you see Koumongoe running fast down the hill? That is some
mischief of the children's, I am sure. I must go home and find out what
is the matter.' And they both threw down their hoes and hurried to the
side of Koumongoe.

Kneeling on the grass, the man and his wife made a cup of their hands
and drank the milk from it. And no sooner had they done this, than
Koumongoe flowed back again up the hill, and entered the hut.

'Thakane,' said the parents, severely, when they reached home panting
from the heat of the sun, 'what have you been doing? Why did Koumongoe
come to us in the fields instead of staying in the garden?'

'It was Koane's fault,' answered Thakane. 'He would not take the cattle
to feed until he drank some of the milk from Koumongoe. So, as I did not
know what else to do, I gave it to him.'

The father listened to Thakane's words, but made no answer. Instead,
he went outside and brought in two sheepskins, which he stained red
and sent for a blacksmith to forge some iron rings. The rings were then
passed over Thakane's arms and legs and neck, and the skins fastened on
her before and behind. When all was ready, the man sent for his servants
and said:

'I am going to get rid of Thakane.'

'Get rid of your only daughter?' they answered, in surprise. 'But why?'

'Because she has eaten what she ought not to have eaten. She has touched
the sacred tree which belongs to her mother and me alone.' And, turning
his back, he called to Thakane to follow him, and they went down the
road which led to the dwelling of an ogre.

They were passing along some fields where the corn was ripening, when a
rabbit suddenly sprang out at their feet, and standing on its hind legs,
it sang:

Why do you give to the ogre Your child, so fair, so fair?

'You had better ask her,' replied the man, 'she is old enough to give
you an answer.'

Then, in her turn, Thakane sang:

I gave Koumongoe to Koane, Koumongoe to the keeper of beasts; For
without Koumongoe they could not go to the meadows: Without Koumongoe
they would starve in the hut; That was why I gave him the Koumongoe of
my father.

And when the rabbit heard that, he cried: 'Wretched man! it is you whom
the ogre should eat, and not your beautiful daughter.'

But the father paid no heed to what the rabbit said, and only walked on
the faster, bidding Thakane to keep close behind him. By-and-by they met
with a troop of great deer, called elands, and they stopped when they
saw Thakane and sang:

Why do you give to the ogre Your child, so fair, so fair?

'You had better ask her, replied the man, 'she is old enough to give you
an answer.'

Then, in her turn, Thakane sang:

I gave Koumongoe to Koane, Koumongoe to the keeper of beasts; For
without Koumongoe they could not go to the meadows: Without Koumongoe
they would starve in the hut; That was why I gave him the Koumongoe of
my father.

And the elands all cried: 'Wretched man! it is you whom the ogre should
eat, and not your beautiful daughter.'

By this time it was nearly dark, and the father said they could travel
no further that night, and must go to sleep where they were. Thakane was
thankful indeed when she heard this, for she was very tired, and found
the two skins fastened round her almost too heavy to carry. So, in spite
of her dread of the ogre, she slept till dawn, when her father woke her,
and told her roughly that he was ready to continue their journey.

Crossing the plain, the girl and her father passed a herd of gazelles
feeding. They lifted their heads, wondering who was out so early, and
when they caught sight of Thakane, they sang:

Why do you give to the ogre Your child, so fair, so fair?

'You had better ask her, replied the man, 'she is old enough to answer
for herself.'

Then, in her turn, Thakane sang:

I gave Koumongoe to Koane, Koumongoe to the keeper of beasts; For
without Koumongoe they could not go to the meadows: Without Koumongoe
they would starve in the hut; That was why I gave him the Koumongoe of
my father.

And the gazelles all cried: 'Wretched man! it is you whom the ogre
should eat, and not your beautiful daughter.'

At last they arrived at the village where the ogre lived, and they went
straight to his hut. He was nowhere to be seen, but in his place was his
son Masilo, who was not an ogre at all, but a very polite young man. He
ordered his servants to bring a pile of skins for Thakane to sit on, but
told her father he must sit on the ground. Then, catching sight of the
girl's face, which she had kept down, he was struck by its beauty, and
put the same question that the rabbit, and the elands, and the gazelles
had done.

Thakane answered him as before, and he instantly commanded that she
should be taken to the hut of his mother, and placed under her care,
while the man should be led to his father. Directly the ogre saw him he
bade the servant throw him into the great pot which always stood ready
on the fire, and in five minutes he was done to a turn. After that the
servant returned to Masilo and related all that had happened.

Now Masilo had fallen in loved with Thakane the moment he saw her. At
first he did not know what to make of this strange feeling, for all his
life he had hated women, and had refused several brides whom his parents
had chosen for him. However, they were so anxious that he should marry,
that they willingly accepted Thakane as their daughter-in-law, though
she did bring any marriage portion with her.

After some time a baby was born to her, and Thakane thought it was the
most beautiful baby that ever was seen. But when her mother-in-law saw
it was a girl, she wrung her hands and wept, saying:

'O miserable mother! Miserable child! Alas for you! why were you not a
boy!'

Thakane, in great surprise, asked the meaning of her distress; and the
old woman told her that it was the custom in that country that all the
girls who were born should be given to the ogre to eat.

Then Thakane clasped the baby tightly in her arms, and cried:

'But it is not the customer in MY country! There, when children die,
they are buried in the earth. No one shall take my baby from me.'

That night, when everyone in the hut was asleep, Thakane rose, and
carrying her baby on her back, went down to a place where the river
spread itself out into a large lake, with tall willows all round the
bank. Here, hidden from everyone, she sat down on a stone and began to
think what she should do to save her child.

Suddenly she heard a rustling among the willows, and an old woman
appeared before her.

'What are you crying for, my dear?' said she.

And Thakane answered: 'I was crying for my baby--I cannot hide her for
ever, and if the ogre sees her, he will eat her; and I would rather she
was drowned than that.'

'What you say is true,' replied the old woman. 'Give me your child, and
let me take care of it. And if you will fix a day to meet me here I will
bring the baby.'

Then Thakane dried her eyes, and gladly accepted the old woman's offer.
When she got home she told her husband she had thrown it in the river,
and as he had watched her go in that direction he never thought of
doubting what she said.

On the appointed day, Thakane slipped out when everybody was busy, and
ran down the path that led to the lake. As soon as she got there, she
crouched down among the willows, and sang softly:

Bring to me Dilah, Dilah the rejected one, Dilah, whom her father Masilo
cast out!

And in a moment the old woman appeared holding the baby in her arms.
Dilah had become so big and strong, that Thakane's heart was filled with
joy and gratitude, and she stayed as long as she dared, playing with her
baby. At last she felt she must return to the village, lest she should
be missed, and the child was handed back to the old woman, who vanished
with her into the lake.

Children grow up very quickly when they live under water, and in less
time than anyone could suppose, Dilah had changed from a baby to a
woman. Her mother came to visit her whenever she was able, and one day,
when they were sitting talking together, they were spied out by a man
who had come to cut willows to weave into baskets. He was so surprised
to see how like the face of the girl was to Masilo, that he left his
work and returned to the village.

'Masilo,' he said, as he entered the hut, 'I have just beheld your wife
near the river with a girl who must be your daughter, she is so like
you. We have been deceived, for we all thought she was dead.'

When he heard this, Masilo tried to look shocked because his wife had
broken the law; but in his heart he was very glad.

'But what shall we do now?' asked he.

'Make sure for yourself that I am speaking the truth by hiding among the
bushes the first time Thakane says she is going to bathe in the river,
and waiting till the girl appears.'

For some days Thakane stayed quietly at home, and her husband began
to think that the man had been mistaken; but at last she said to her
husband: 'I am going to bathe in the river.'

'Well, you can go,' answered he. But he ran down quickly by another
path, and got there first, and hid himself in the bushes. An instant
later, Thakane arrived, and standing on the bank, she sang:

Bring to me Dilah, Dilah the rejected one, Dilah, whom her father Masilo
cast out!

Then the old woman came out of the water, holding the girl, now tall and
slender, by the hand. And as Masilo looked, he saw that she was indeed
his daughter, and he wept for joy that she was not lying dead in the
bottom of the lake. The old woman, however, seemed uneasy, and said to
Thakane: 'I feel as if someone was watching us. I will not leave the
girl to-day, but will take her back with me'; and sinking beneath the
surface, she drew the girl after her. After they had gone, Thakane
returned to the village, which Masilo had managed to reach before her.

All the rest of the day he sat in a corner weeping, and his mother who
came in asked: 'Why are you weeping so bitterly, my son?'

'My head aches,' he answered; 'it aches very badly.' And his mother
passed on, and left him alone.

In the evening he said to his wife: 'I have seen my daughter, in the
place where you told me you had drowned her. Instead, she lives at the
bottom of the lake, and has now grown into a young woman.'

'I don't know what you are talking about,' replied Thakane. 'I buried my
child under the sand on the beach.'

Then Masilo implored her to give the child back to him; but she would
not listen, and only answered: 'If I were to give her back you would
only obey the laws of your country and take her to your father, the
ogre, and she would be eaten.'

But Masilo promised that he would never let his father see her, and that
now she was a woman no one would try to hurt her; so Thakane's heart
melted, and she went down to the lake to consult the old woman.

'What am I to do?' she asked, when, after clapping her hands, the old
woman appeared before her. 'Yesterday Masilo beheld Dilah, and ever
since he has entreated me to give him back his daughter.'

'If I let her go he must pay me a thousand head of cattle in exchange,'
replied the old woman. And Thakane carried her answer back to Masilo.

'Why, I would gladly give her two thousand!' cried he, 'for she
has saved my daughter.' And he bade messengers hasten to all the
neighbouring villages, and tell his people to send him at once all the
cattle he possessed. When they were all assembled he chose a thousand of
the finest bulls and cows, and drove them down to the river, followed by
a great crowd wondering what would happen.

Then Thakane stepped forward in front of the cattle and sang:

Bring to me Dilah, Dilah the rejected one, Dilah, whom her father Masilo
cast out!

And Dilah came from the waters holding out her hands to Masilo and
Thakane, and in her place the cattle sank into the lake, and were driven
by the old woman to the great city filled with people, which lies at the
bottom.






The Wicked Wolverine



One day a wolverine was out walking on the hill-side, when, on turning a
corner, he suddenly saw a large rock.

'Was that you I heard walking about just now?' he asked, for wolverines
are cautious animals, and always like to know the reasons of things.

'No, certainly not,' answered the rock; 'I don't know how to walk.'

'But I SAW you walking,' continued the wolverine.

'I am afraid that you were not taught to speak the truth,' retorted the
rock.

'You need not speak like that, for I have SEEN you walking,' replied the
wolverine, 'though I am quite sure that you could never catch ME!'
and he ran a little distance and then stopped to see if the rock was
pursuing him; but, to his vexation, the rock was still in the same
place. Then the wolverine went up close, and struck the rock a blow with
his paw, saying: 'Well, will you catch me NOW?'

'I can't walk, but I can ROLL,' answered the rock.

And the wolverine laughed and said: 'Oh, that will do just as well'; and
began to run down the side of the mountain.

At first he went quite slowly, 'just to give the rock a chance,' he
thought to himself; but soon he quickened his pace, for he found that
the rock was almost at his heels. But the faster the wolverine ran, the
faster the rock rolled, and by-and-by the little creature began to get
very tired, and was sorry he had not left the rock to itself. Thinking
that if he could manage to put on a spurt he would reach the forest
of great trees at the bottom of the mountain, where the rock could not
come, he gathered up all his strength, and instead of running he leaped
over sticks and stones, but, whatever he did, the rock was always close
behind him. At length he grew so weary that he could not even see where
he was going, and catching his foot in a branch he tripped and fell. The
rock stopped at once, but there came a shriek from the wolverine:

'Get off, get off! can't you see that you are on my legs?'

'Why did you not leave me alone?' asked the rock. 'I did not want to
move--I hate moving. But you WOULD have it, and I certainly sha'n't move
now till I am forced to.'

'I will call my brothers,' answered the wolverine. 'There are many of
them in the forest, and you will soon see that they are stronger than
you.' And he called, and called, and called, till wolves and foxes
and all sorts of other creatures all came running to see what was the
matter.

'How DID you get under that rock?' asked they, making a ring round him;
but they had to repeat their question several times before the wolverine
would answer, for he, like many other persons, found it hard to confess
that he had brought his troubles on himself.

'Well, I was dull, and wanted someone to play with me,' he said at last,
in sulky voice, 'and I challenged the rock to catch me. Of course I
thought I could run the fastest; but I tripped, and it rolled on me. It
was just an accident.'

'It serves you right for being so silly,' said they; but they pushed and
hauled at the rock for a long time without making it move an inch.

'You are no good at all,' cried the wolverine crossly, for it was
suffering great pain, 'and if you cannot get me free, I shall see what
my friends the lightning and thunder can do.' And he called loudly to
the lightning to come and help him as quickly as possible.

In a few minutes a dark cloud came rolling up the sky, giving out such
terrific claps of thunder that the wolves and the foxes and all the
other creatures ran helter-skelter in all directions. But, frightened
though they were, they did not forget to beg the lightning to take off
the wolverine's coat and to free his legs, but to be careful not to hurt
him. So the lightning disappeared into the cloud for a moment to gather
up fresh strength, and then came rushing down, right upon the rock,
which it sent flying in all directions, and took the wolverine's coat so
neatly that, though it was torn into tiny shreds, the wolverine himself
was quite unharmed.

'That was rather clumsy of you,' said he, standing up naked in his
flesh. 'Surely you could have split the rock without tearing my coat
to bits!' And he stooped down to pick up the pieces. It took him a long
time, for there were a great many of them, but at last he had them all
in his hand.

'I'll go to my sister the frog,' he thought to himself, 'and she will
sew them together for me'; and he set off at once for the swamp in which
his sister lived.

'Will you sew my coat together? I had an unlucky accident, and it is
quite impossible to wear,' he said, when he found her.

'With pleasure,' she answered, for she had always been taught to be
polite; and getting her needle and thread she began to fit the pieces.
But though she was very good-natured, she was not very clever, and she
got some of the bits wrong. When the wolverine, who was very particular
about his clothes, came to put it on, he grew very angry.

'What a useless creature you are!' cried he. 'Do you expect me to go
about in such a coat as that? Why it bulges all down the back, as if
I had a hump, and it is so tight across the chest that I expect it to
burst every time I breathe. I knew you were stupid, but I did not think
you were as stupid as that.' And giving the poor frog a blow on her
head, which knocked her straight into the water, he walked off in a rage
to his younger sister the mouse.

'I tore my coat this morning,' he began, when he had found her sitting
at the door of her house eating an apple. 'It was all in little bits,
and I took it to our sister the frog to ask her to sew it for me. But
just look at the way she has done it! You will have to take it to pieces
and fit them together properly, and I hope I shall not have to complain
again.' For as the wolverine was older than the mouse, he was accustomed
to speak to her in this manner. However, the mouse was used to it and
only answered: 'I think you had better stay here till it is done, and if
there is any alteration needed I can make it.' So the wolverine sat down
on a heap of dry ferns, and picking up the apple, he finished it without
even asking the mouse's leave.

At last the coat was ready, and the wolverine put it on.

'Yes, it fits very well,' said he, 'and you have sewn it very neatly.
When I pass this way again I will bring you a handful of corn, as
a reward'; and he ran off as smart as ever, leaving the mouse quite
grateful behind him.

He wandered about for many days, till he reached a place where food was
very scarce, and for a whole week he went without any. He was growing
desperate, when he suddenly came upon a bear that was lying asleep. 'Ah!
here is food at last!' thought he; but how was he to kill the bear, who
was so much bigger than himself? It was no use to try force, he must
invent some cunning plan which would get her into his power. At last,
after thinking hard, he decided upon something, and going up to the
bear, he exclaimed: 'Is that you, my sister?'

The bear turned round and saw the wolverine, and murmuring to herself,
so low that nobody could hear, 'I never heard before that I had a
brother,' got up and ran quickly to a tree, up which she climbed. Now
the wolverine was very angry when he saw his dinner vanishing in front
of him, especially as HE could not climb trees like the bear, so he
followed, and stood at the foot of the tree, shrieking as loud as he
could, 'Come down, sister; our father has sent me to look for you! You
were lost when you were a little girl and went out picking berries, and
it was only the other day that we heard from a beaver where you were.'
At these words, the bear came a little way down the tree, and the
wolverine, seeing this, went on:

'Are you not fond of berries? I am! And I know a place where they
grow so thick the ground is quite hidden. Why, look for yourself! That
hillside is quite red with them!'

'I can't see so far,' answered the bear, now climbing down altogether.
'You must have wonderfully good eyes! I wish I had; but my sight is very
short.'

'So was mine till my father smashed a pailful of cranberries, and rubbed
my eyes with them,' replied the wolverine. 'But if you like to go and
gather some of the berries I will do just as he did, and you will soon
be able to see as far as me.'

It took the bear a long while to gather the berries, for she was slow
about everything, and, besides, it made her back ache to stoop. But
at last she returned with a sackful, and put them down beside the
wolverine. 'That is splendid, sister!' cried the wolverine. 'Now lie
flat on the ground with your head on this stone, while I smash them.'

The bear, who was very tired, was only too glad to do as she was bid,
and stretched herself comfortably on the grass.

'I am ready now,' said the wolverine after a bit; 'just at first you
will find that the berries make your eyes smart, but you must be careful
not to move, or the juice will run out, and then it will have to be done
all over again.'

So the bear promised to lie very still; but the moment the cranberries
touched her eyes she sprang up with a roar.

'Oh, you mustn't mind a little pain,' said the wolverine, 'it will soon
be over, and then you will see all sorts of things you have never dreamt
of.' The bear sank down with a groan, and as her eyes were full of
cranberry juice, which completely blinded her, the wolverine took up a
sharp knife and stabbed her to the heart.

Then he took off the skin, and, stealing some fire from a tent, which
his sharp eyes had perceived hidden behind a rock, he set about roasting
the bear bit by bit. He thought the meat was the best he ever had
tasted, and when dinner was done he made up his mind to try that same
trick again, if ever he was hungry.

And very likely he did!






The Husband of the Rat's Daughter



Once upon a time there lived in Japan a rat and his wife who came of an
old and noble race, and had one daughter, the loveliest girl in all the
rat world. Her parents were very proud of her, and spared no pains to
teach her all she ought to know. There was not another young lady in the
whole town who was as clever as she was in gnawing through the hardest
wood, or who could drop from such a height on to a bed, or run away so
fast if anyone was heard coming. Great attention, too, was paid to her
personal appearance, and her skin shone like satin, while her teeth were
as white as pearls, and beautifully pointed.

Of course, with all these advantages, her parents expected her to make a
brilliant marriage, and, as she grew up, they began to look round for a
suitable husband.

But here a difficulty arose. The father was a rat from the tip of his
nose to the end of his tail, outside as well as in, and desired that his
daughter should wed among her own people. She had no lack of lovers, but
her father's secret hopes rested on a fine young rat, with moustaches
which almost swept the ground, whose family was still nobler and more
ancient than his own. Unluckily, the mother had other views for her
precious child. She was one of those people who always despise their
own family and surroundings, and take pleasure in thinking that they
themselves are made of finer material than the rest of the world. 'HER
daughter should never marry a mere rat,' she declared, holding her head
high. 'With her beauty and talents she had a right to look for someone a
little better than THAT.'

So she talked, as mothers will, to anyone that would listen to her. What
the girl thought about the matter nobody knew or cared--it was not the
fashion in the rat world.

Many were the quarrels which the old rat and his wife had upon the
subject, and sometimes they bore on their faces certain marks which
looked as if they had not kept to words only.

'Reach up to the stars is MY motto,' cried the lady one day, when she
was in a greater passion than usual. 'My daughter's beauty places her
higher than anything upon earth,' she cried; 'and I am certainly not
going to accept a son-in-law who is beneath her.'

'Better offer her in marriage to the sun,' answered her husband
impatiently. 'As far as I know there is nothing greater than he.'

'Well, I WAS thinking of it,' replied the wife, 'and as you are of the
same mind, we will pay him a visit to-morrow.'

So the next morning, the two rats, having spent hours in making
themselves smart, set out to see the sun, leading their daughter between
them.

The journey took some time, but at length they came to the golden palace
where the sun lived.

'Noble king,' began the mother, 'behold our daughter! She is so
beautiful that she is above everything in the whole world. Naturally, we
wish for a son-in-law who, on his side, is greater than all. Therefore
we have come to you.'

'I feel very much flattered,' replied the sun, who was so busy that he
had not the least wish to marry anybody. 'You do me great honour by your
proposal. Only, in one point you are mistaken, and it would be wrong of
me to take advantage of your ignorance. There is something greater
than I am, and that is the cloud. Look!' And as he spoke a cloud spread
itself over the sun's face, blotting out his rays.

'Oh, well, we will speak to the cloud,' said the mother. And turning to
the cloud she repeated her proposal.

'Indeed I am unworthy of anything so charming,' answered the cloud; 'but
you make a mistake again in what you say. There is one thing that is
even more powerful than I, and that is the wind. Ah, here he comes, you
can see for yourself.'

And she DID see, for catching up the cloud as he passed, he threw it on
the other side of the sky. Then, tumbling father, mother and daughter
down to the earth again, he paused for a moment beside them, his foot on
an old wall.

When she had recovered her breath, the mother began her little speech
once more.

'The wall is the proper husband for your daughter,' answered the wind,
whose home consisted of a cave, which he only visited when he was not
rushing about elsewhere; 'you can see for yourself that he is greater
than I, for he has power to stop me in my flight.' And the mother, who
did not trouble to conceal her wishes, turned at once to the wall.

Then something happened which was quite unexpected by everyone.

'I won't marry that ugly old wall, which is as old as my grandfather,'
sobbed the girl, who had not uttered one word all this time. 'I would
have married the sun, or the cloud, or the wind, because it was my duty,
although I love the handsome young rat, and him only. But that horrid
old wall--I would sooner die!'

And the wall, rather hurt in his feelings, declared that he had no claim
to be the husband of so beautiful a girl.

'It is quite true,' he said, 'that I can stop the wind who can part the
clouds who can cover the sun; but there is someone who can do more than
all these, and that is the rat. It is the rat who passes through me, and
can reduce me to powder, simply with his teeth. If, therefore, you want
a son-in-law who is greater than the whole world, seek him among the
rats.'

'Ah, what did I tell you?' cried the father. And his wife, though for
the moment angry at being beaten, soon thought that a rat son-in-law was
what she had always desired.

So all three returned happily home, and the wedding was celebrated three
days after.





The Mermaid and the Boy



Long, long ago, there lived a king who ruled over a country by the sea.
When he had been married about a year, some of his subjects, inhabiting
a distant group of islands, revolted against his laws, and it became
needful for him to leave his wife and go in person to settle their
disputes. The queen feared that some ill would come of it, and implored
him to stay at home, but he told her that nobody could do his work for
him, and the next morning the sails were spread, and the king started on
his voyage.

The vessel had not gone very far when she ran upon a rock, and stuck so
fast in a cleft that the strength of the whole crew could not get her
off again. To make matters worse, the wind was rising too, and it was
quite plain that in a few hours the ship would be dashed to pieces and
everybody would be drowned, when suddenly the form of a mermaid was seen
dancing on the waves which threatened every moment to overwhelm them.

'There is only one way to free yourselves,' she said to the king,
bobbing up and down in the water as she spoke, 'and that is to give me
your solemn word that you will deliver to me the first child that is
born to you.'

The king hesitated at this proposal. He hoped that some day he might
have children in his home, and the thought that he must yield up the
heir to his crown was very bitter to him; but just then a huge wave
broke with great force on the ship's side, and his men fell on their
knees and entreated him to save them.

So he promised, and this time a wave lifted the vessel clean off the
rocks, and she was in the open sea once more.

The affairs of the islands took longer to settle than the king had
expected, and some months passed away before he returned to his palace.
In his absence a son had been born to him, and so great was his joy that
he quite forgot the mermaid and the price he had paid for the safety of
his ship. But as the years went on, and the baby grew into a fine big
boy, the remembrance of it came back, and one day he told the queen
the whole story. From that moment the happiness of both their lives was
ruined. Every night they went to bed wondering if they should find his
room empty in the morning, and every day they kept him by their sides,
expecting him to be snatched away before their very eyes.

At last the king felt that this state of things could not continue, and
he said to his wife:

'After all, the most foolish thing in the world one can do is to keep
the boy here in exactly the place in which the mermaid will seek him.
Let us give him food and send him on his travels, and perhaps, if the
mermaid ever blocs come to seek him, she may be content with some other
child.' And the queen agreed that his plan seemed the wisest.

So the boy was called, and his father told him the story of the voyage,
as he had told his mother before him. The prince listened eagerly, and
was delighted to think that he was to go away all by himself to see
the world, and was not in the least frightened; for though he was now
sixteen, he had scarcely been allowed to walk alone beyond the palace
gardens. He began busily to make his preparations, and took off his
smart velvet coat, putting on instead one of green cloth, while he
refused a beautiful bag which the queen offered him to hold his food,
and slung a leather knapsack over his shoulders instead, just as he had
seen other travellers do. Then he bade farewell to his parents and went
his way.

All through the day he walked, watching with interest the strange birds
and animals that darted across his path in the forest or peeped at him
from behind a bush. But as evening drew on he became tired, and looked
about as he walked for some place where he could sleep. At length he
reached a soft mossy bank under a tree, and was just about to stretch
himself out on it, when a fearful roar made him start and tremble all
over. In another moment something passed swiftly through the air and a
lion stood before him.

'What are you doing here?' asked the lion, his eyes glaring fiercely at
the boy.

'I am flying from the mermaid,' the prince answered, in a quaking voice.

'Give me some food then,' said the lion, 'it is past my supper time, and
I am very hungry.'

The boy was so thankful that the lion did not want to eat him, that he
gladly picked up his knapsack which lay on the ground, and held out some
bread and a flask of wine.

'I feel better now,' said the lion when he had done, 'so now I shall go
to sleep on this nice soft moss, and if you like you can lie down beside
me.' So the boy and the lion slept soundly side by side, till the sun
rose.

'I must be off now,' remarked the lion, shaking the boy as he spoke;
'but cut off the tip of my ear, and keep it carefully, and if you are
in any danger just wish yourself a lion and you will become one on the
spot. One good turn deserves another, you know.'

The prince thanked him for his kindness, and did as he was bid, and the
two then bade each other farewell.

'I wonder how it feels to be a lion,' thought the boy, after he had gone
a little way; and he took out the tip of the ear from the breast of his
jacket and wished with all his might. In an instant his head had swollen
to several times its usual size, and his neck seemed very hot and heavy;
and, somehow, his hands became paws, and his skin grew hairy and yellow.
But what pleased him most was his long tail with a tuft at the end,
which he lashed and switched proudly. 'I like being a lion very much,'
he said to himself, and trotted gaily along the road.

After a while, however, he got tired of walking in this unaccustomed
way--it made his back ache and his front paws felt sore. So he wished
himself a boy again, and in the twinkling of an eye his tail disappeared
and his head shrank, and the long thick mane became short and curly.
Then he looked out for a sleeping place, and found some dry ferns, which
he gathered and heaped up.

But before he had time to close his eyes there was a great noise in the
trees near by, as if a big heavy body was crashing through them. The boy
rose and turned his head, and saw a huge black bear coming towards him.

'What are you doing here?' cried the bear.

'I am running away from the mermaid,' answered the boy; but the bear
took no interest in the mermaid, and only said: 'I am hungry; give me
something to eat.'

The knapsack was lying on the ground among the fern, but the prince
picked it up, and, unfastening the strap, took out his second flask
of wine and another loaf of bread. 'We will have supper together,' he
remarked politely; but the bear, who had never been taught manners, made
no reply, and ate as fast as he could. When he had quite finished, he
got up and stretched himself.

'You have got a comfortable-looking bed there,' he observed. 'I really
think that, bad sleeper as I am, I might have a good night on it. I can
manage to squeeze you in,' he added; 'you don't take up a great deal of
room.' The boy was rather indignant at the bear's cool way of talking;
but as he was too tired to gather more fern, they lay down side by side,
and never stirred till sunrise next morning.

'I must go now,' said the bear, pulling the sleepy prince on to his
feet; 'but first you shall cut off the tip of my ear, and when you are
in any danger just wish yourself a bear and you will become one. One
good turn deserves another, you know.' And the boy did as he was bid,
and he and the bear bade each other farewell.

'I wonder how it feels to be a bear,' thought he to himself when he had
walked a little way; and he took out the tip from the breast of his coat
and wished hard that he might become a bear. The next moment his body
stretched out and thick black fur covered him all over. As before, his
hands were changed into paws, but when he tried to switch his tail
he found to his disgust that it would not go any distance. 'Why it
is hardly worth calling a tail!' said he. For the rest of the day he
remained a bear and continued his journey, but as evening came on the
bear-skin, which had been so useful when plunging through brambles in
the forest, felt rather heavy, and he wished himself a boy again. He was
too much exhausted to take the trouble of cutting any fern or seeking
for moss, but just threw himself down under a tree, when exactly
above his head he heard a great buzzing as a bumble-bee alighted on a
honeysuckle branch. 'What are you doing here?' asked the bee in a cross
voice; 'at your age you ought to be safe at home.'

'I am running away from the mermaid,' replied the boy; but the bee, like
the lion and the bear, was one of those people who never listen to
the answers to their questions, and only said: 'I am hungry. Give me
something to eat.'

The boy took his last loaf and flask out of his knapsack and laid them
on the ground, and they had supper together. 'Well, now I am going to
sleep,' observed the bee when the last crumb was gone, 'but as you are
not very big I can make room for you beside me,' and he curled up his
wings, and tucked in his legs, and he and the prince both slept soundly
till morning. Then the bee got up and carefully brushed every scrap of
dust off his velvet coat and buzzed loudly in the boy's ear to waken
him.

'Take a single hair from one of my wings,' said he, 'and if you are in
danger just wish yourself a bee and you will become one. One good turn
deserves another, so farewell, and thank you for your supper.' And
the bee departed after the boy had pulled out the hair and wrapped it
carefully in a leaf.

'It must feel quite different to be a bee from what it does to be a lion
or bear,' thought the boy to himself when he had walked for an hour or
two. 'I dare say I should get on a great deal faster,' so he pulled out
his hair and wished himself a bee.

In a moment the strangest thing happened to him. All his limbs seemed
to draw together, and his body to become very short and round; his head
grew quite tiny, and instead of his white skin he was covered with the
richest, softest velvet. Better than all, he had two lovely gauze wings
which carried him the whole day without getting tired.

Late in the afternoon the boy fancied he saw a vast heap of stones a
long way off, and he flew straight towards it. But when he reached the
gates he saw that it was really a great town, so he wished himself back
in his own shape and entered the city.

He found the palace doors wide open and went boldly into a sort of
hall which was full of people, and where men and maids were gossiping
together. He joined their talk and soon learned from them that the king
had only one daughter who had such a hatred to men that she would never
suffer one to enter her presence. Her father was in despair, and had
had pictures painted of the handsomest princes of all the courts in the
world, in the hope that she might fall in love with one of them; but it
was no use; the princess would not even allow the pictures to be brought
into her room.

'It is late,' remarked one of the women at last; 'I must go to my
mistress.' And, turning to one of the lackeys, she bade him find a bed
for the youth.

'It is not necessary,' answered the prince, 'this bench is good enough
for me. I am used to nothing better.' And when the hall was empty he
lay down for a few minutes. But as soon as everything was quiet in the
palace he took out the hair and wished himself a bee, and in this shape
he flew upstairs, past the guards, and through the keyhole into the
princess's chamber. Then he turned himself into a man again.

At this dreadful sight the princess, who was broad awake, began to
scream loudly. 'A man! a man!' cried she; but when the guards rushed in
there was only a bumble-bee buzzing about the room. They looked under
the bed, and behind the curtains, and into the cupboards, then came
to the conclusion that the princess had had a bad dream, and bowed
themselves out. The door had scarcely closed on them than the bee
disappeared, and a handsome youth stood in his place.

'I knew a man was hidden somewhere,' cried the princess, and screamed
more loudly than before. Her shrieks brought back the guards, but though
they looked in all kinds of impossible places no man was to be seen, and
so they told the princess.

'He was here a moment ago--I saw him with my own eyes,' and the guards
dared not contradict her, though they shook their heads and whispered to
each other that the princess had gone mad on this subject, and saw a
man in every table and chair. And they made up their minds that--let her
scream as loudly as she might--they would take no notice.

Now the princess saw clearly what they were thinking, and that in future
her guards would give her no help, and would perhaps, besides, tell some
stories about her to the king, who would shut her up in a lonely tower
and prevent her walking in the gardens among her birds and flowers. So
when, for the third time, she beheld the prince standing before her, she
did not scream but sat up in bed gazing at him in silent terror.

'Do not be afraid,' he said, 'I shall not hurt you'; and he began to
praise her gardens, of which he had heard the servants speak, and the
birds and flowers which she loved, till the princess's anger softened,
and she answered him with gentle words. Indeed, they soon became so
friendly that she vowed she would marry no one else, and confided to
him that in three days her father would be off to the wars, leaving his
sword in her room. If any man could find it and bring it to him he would
receive her hand as a reward. At this point a cock crew, and the youth
jumped up hastily saying: 'Of course I shall ride with the king to
the war, and if I do not return, take your violin every evening to the
seashore and play on it, so that the very sea-kobolds who live at the
bottom of the ocean may hear it and come to you.'

Just as the princess had foretold, in three days the king set out for
the war with a large following, and among them was the young prince, who
had presented himself at court as a young noble in search of adventures.
They had left the city many miles behind them, when the king suddenly
discovered that he had forgotten his sword, and though all his
attendants instantly offered theirs, he declared that he could fight
with none but his own.

'The first man who brings it to me from my daughter's room,' cried he,
'shall not only have her to wife, but after my death shall reign in my
stead.'

At this the Red Knight, the young prince, and several more turned their
horses to ride as fast as the wind back to the palace. But suddenly a
better plan entered the prince's head, and, letting the others pass him,
he took his precious parcel from his breast and wished himself a lion.
Then on he bounded, uttering such dreadful roars that the horses were
frightened and grew unmanageable, and he easily outstripped them, and
soon reached the gates of the palace. Here he hastily changed himself
into a bee, and flew straight into the princess's room, where he became
a man again. She showed him where the sword hung concealed behind a
curtain, and he took it down, saying as he did so: 'Be sure not to
forget what you have promised to do.'

The princess made no reply, but smiled sweetly, and slipping a golden
ring from her finger she broke it in two and held half out silently to
the prince, while the other half she put in her own pocket. He kissed
it, and ran down the stairs bearing the sword with him. Some way off he
met the Red Knight and the rest, and the Red Knight at first tried to
take the sword from him by force. But as the youth proved too strong for
him, he gave it up, and resolved to wait for a better opportunity.

This soon came, for the day was hot and the prince was thirsty.
Perceiving a little stream that ran into the sea, he turned aside, and,
unbuckling the sword, flung himself on the ground for a long drink.
Unluckily, the mermaid happened at that moment to be floating on the
water not very far off, and knew he was the boy who had been given her
before he was born. So she floated gently in to where he was lying, she
seized him by the arm, and the waves closed over them both. Hardly had
they disappeared, when the Red Knight stole cautiously up, and could
hardly believe his eyes when he saw the king's sword on the bank. He
wondered what had become of the youth, who an hour before had guarded
his treasure so fiercely; but, after all, that was no affair of his! So,
fastening the sword to his belt, he carried it to the king.

The war was soon over, and the king returned to his people, who welcomed
him with shouts of joy. But when the princess from her window saw that
her betrothed was not among the attendants riding behind her father, her
heart sank, for she knew that some evil must have befallen him, and
she feared the Red Knight. She had long ago learned how clever and how
wicked he was, and something whispered to her that it was he who would
gain the credit of having carried back the sword, and would claim her as
his bride, though he had never even entered her chamber. And she could
do nothing; for although the king loved her, he never let her stand in
the way of his plans.

The poor princess was only too right, and everything came to pass
exactly as she had foreseen it. The king told her that the Red Knight
had won her fairly, and that the wedding would take place next day, and
there would be a great feast after it.

In those days feasts were much longer and more splendid than they are
now; and it was growing dark when the princess, tired out with all she
had gone through, stole up to her own room for a little quiet. But the
moon was shining so brightly over the sea that it seemed to draw her
towards it, and taking her violin under her arm, she crept down to the
shore.

'Listen! listen! said the mermaid to the prince, who was lying stretched
on a bed of seaweeds at the bottom of the sea. 'Listen! that is your old
love playing, for mermaids know everything that happens upon earth.'

'I hear nothing,' answered the youth, who did not look happy. 'Take me
up higher, where the sounds can reach me.'

So the mermaid took him on her shoulders and bore him up midway to the
surface. 'Can you hear now?' she asked.

'No,' answered the prince, 'I hear nothing but the water rushing; I must
go higher still.'

Then the mermaid carried him to the very top. 'You must surely be able
to hear now?' said she.

'Nothing but the water,' repeated the youth. So she took him right to
the land.

'At any rate you can hear now?' she said again.

'The water is still rushing in my ears,' answered he; 'but wait a
little, that will soon pass off.' And as he spoke he put his hand into
his breast, and seizing the hair wished himself a bee, and flew straight
into the pocket of the princess. The mermaid looked in vain for him, and
coated all night upon the sea; but he never came back, and never more
did he gladden her eyes. But the princess felt that something strange
was about her, though she knew not what, and returned quickly to the
palace, where the young man at once resumed his own shape. Oh, what joy
filled her heart at the sight of him! But there was no time to be lost,
and she led him right into the hall, where the king and his nobles were
still sitting at the feast. 'Here is a man who boasts that he can do
wonderful tricks,' said she, 'better even than the Red Knight's! That
cannot be true, of course, but it might be well to give this impostor a
lesson. He pretends, for instance, that he can turn himself into a
lion; but that I do not believe. I know that you have studied the art
of magic,' she went on, turning to the Red Knight, 'so suppose you just
show him how it is done, and bring shame upon him.'

Now the Red Knight had never opened a book of magic in his life; but he
was accustomed to think that he could do everything better than other
people without any teaching at all. So he turned and twisted himself
about, and bellowed and made faces; but he did not become a lion for all
that.

'Well, perhaps it is very difficult to change into a lion. Make yourself
a bear,' said the princess. But the Red Knight found it no easier to
become a bear than a lion.

'Try a bee,' suggested she. 'I have always read that anyone who can do
magic at all can do that.' And the old knight buzzed and hummed, but he
remained a man and not a bee.

'Now it is your turn,' said the princess to the youth. 'Let us see if
you can change yourself into a lion.' And in a moment such a fierce
creature stood before them, that all the guests rushed out of the hall,
treading each other underfoot in their fright. The lion sprang at the
Red Knight, and would have torn him in pieces had not the princess held
him back, and bidden him to change himself into a man again. And in a
second a man took the place of the lion.

'Now become a bear,' said she; and a bear advanced panting and
stretching out his arms to the Red Knight, who shrank behind the
princess.

By this time some of the guests had regained their courage, and returned
as far as the door, thinking that if it was safe for the princess
perhaps it was safe for them. The king, who was braver than they, and
felt it needful to set them a good example besides, had never left
his seat, and when at a new command of the princess the bear once more
turned into a man, he was silent from astonishment, and a suspicion of
the truth began to dawn on him. 'Was it he who fetched the sword?' asked
the king.

'Yes, it was,' answered the princess; and she told him the whole story,
and how she had broken her gold ring and given him half of it. And the
prince took out his half of the ring, and the princess took out hers,
and they fitted exactly. Next day the Red Knight was hanged, as he
richly deserved, and there was a new marriage feast for the prince and
princess.






Pivi and Kabo



When birds were men, and men were birds, Pivi and Kabo lived in an
island far away, called New Claledonia. Pivi was a cheery little bird
that chirps at sunset; Kabo was an ugly black fowl that croaks in the
darkness. One day Pivi and Kabo thought that they would make slings, and
practice slinging, as the people of the island still do. So they went to
a banyan tree, and stripped the bark to make strings for their slings,
and next they repaired to the river bank to find stones. Kabo stood on
the bank of the river, and Pivi went into the water. The game was for
Kabo to sling at Pivi, and for Pivi to dodge the stones, if he could.
For some time he dodged them cleverly, but at last a stone from Kabo's
sling hit poor Pivi on the leg and broke it. Down went Pivi into the
stream, and floated along it, till he floated into a big hollow bamboo,
which a woman used for washing her sweet potatoes.

'What is that in my bamboo?' said the woman. And she blew in at one end,
and blew little Pivi out at the other, like a pea from a pea-shooter.

'Oh!' cried the woman, 'what a state you are in! What have you been
doing?'

'It was Kabo who broke my leg at the slinging game,' said Pivi.

'Well, I am sorry for you,' said the woman; 'will you come with me, and
do what I tell you?'

'I will!' said Pivi, for the woman was very kind and pretty. She took
Pivi into a shed where she kept her fruit laid him on a bed of mats,
and made him as comfortable as she could, and attended to his broken leg
without cutting off the flesh round the bone, as these people usually
do.

'You will be still, won't you, Pivi?' she said. 'If you hear a little
noise you will pretend to be dead. It is the Black Ant who will come and
creep from your feet up to your head. Say nothing, and keep quiet, won't
you, Pivi?'

'Certainly, kind lady,' said Pivi, 'I will lie as still as can be.'

'Next will come the big Red Ant--you know him?'

'Yes, I know him, with his feet like a grasshopper's.'

'He will walk over your body up to your head. Then you must shake all
your body. Do you understand, Pivi?'

'Yes, dear lady, I shall do just as you say.'

'Very good,' said the woman, going out and shutting the door.

Pivi lay still under his coverings, then a tiny noise was heard, and the
Black Ant began to march over Pivi, who lay quite still. Then came the
big Red Ant skipping along his body, and then Pivi shook himself all
over. He jumped up quite well again, he ran to the river, he looked into
the water and saw that he was changed from a bird into a fine young man!

'Oh, lady,' he cried, 'look at me now! I am changed into a man, and so
handsome!'

'Will you obey me again?' said the woman.

'Always; whatever you command I will do it,' said Pivi, politely.

'Then climb up that cocoa-nut tree, with your legs only, not using your
hands,' said the woman.

Now the natives can run up cocoa-nut trees like squirrels, some using
only one hand; the girls can do that. But few can climb without using
their hands at all.

'At the top of the tree you will find two cocoa-nuts. You must not throw
them down, but carry them in your hands; and you must descend as you
went up, using your legs only.'

'I shall try, at least,' said Pivi. And up he went, but it was very
difficult, and down he came.

'Here are your cocoa-nuts,' he said, presenting them to the woman.

'Now, Pivi, put them in the shed where you lay, and when the sun sets to
cool himself in the sea and rise again not so hot in the dawn you must
go and take the nuts.'

All day Pivi played about in the river, as the natives do, throwing
fruit and silvery showers of water at each other. When the sun set he
went into the hut. But as he drew near he heard sweet voices talking and
laughing within.

'What is that? People chattering in the hut! Perhaps they have taken my
cocoa-nuts,' said Pivi to himself.

In he went, and there he found two pretty, laughing, teasing girls. He
hunted for his cocoanuts, but none were there.

Down he ran to the river. 'Oh, lady, my nuts have been stolen!' he
cried.

'Come with me, Pivi, and there will be nuts for you,' said the woman.

They went back to the hut, where the girls were laughing and playing.

'Nuts for you?' said the woman, 'there are two wives for you, Pivi, take
them to your house.'

'Oh, good lady,' cried Pivi, 'how kind you are!'

So they were married and very happy, when in came cross old Kabo.

'Is this Pivi?' said he. 'Yes, it is--no, it isn't. It is not the same
Pivi--but there is a kind of likeness. Tell me, are you Pivi?'

'Oh, yes!' said Pivi. 'But I am much better looking, and there are my
two wives, are they not beautiful?'

'You are mocking me, Pivi! Your wives? How? Where did you get them? You,
with wives!'

Then Pivi told Kabo about the kind woman, and all the wonderful things
that had happened to him.

'Well, well!' said Kabo, 'but I want to be handsome too, and to have
pretty young wives.'

'But how can we manage that?' asked Pivi.

'Oh, we shall do all the same things over again--play at slinging, and,
this time, you shall break my leg, Pivi!'

'With all the pleasure in life,' said Pivi, who was always ready to
oblige.

So they went slinging, and Pivi broke Kabo's leg, and Kabo fell into the
river, and floated into the bamboo, and the woman blew him out, just as
before. Then she picked up Kabo, and put him in the shed, and told him
what to do when the Black Ant came, and what to do when the Red Ant
came. But he didn't!

When the Black Ant came, he shook himself, and behold, he had a twisted
leg, and a hump back, and was as black as the ant.

Then he ran to the woman.

'Look, what a figure I am!' he said; but she only told him to climb the
tree, as she had told Pivi.

But Kabo climbed with both hands and feet, and he threw down the nuts,
instead of carrying them down, and he put them in the hut. And when he
went back for them there he found two horrid old black hags, wrangling,
and scolding, and scratching! So back he went to Pivi with his two
beautiful wives, and Pivi was very sorry, but what could he do? Nothing,
but sit and cry.

So, one day, Kabo came and asked Pivi to sail in his canoe to a place
where he knew of a great big shell-fish, enough to feed on for a week.
Pivi went, and deep in the clear water they saw a monstrous shell-fish,
like an oyster, as big as a rock, with the shell wide open.

'We shall catch it, and dry it, and kipper it,' said Pivi, 'and give a
dinner to all our friends!'

'I shall dive for it, and break it off the rock,' said Kabo, 'and then
you must help me to drag it up into the canoe.'

There the shell-fish lay and gaped, but Kabo, though he dived in, kept
well out of the way of the beast.

Up he came, puffing and blowing: 'Oh, Pivi,' he cried, 'I cannot move
it. Jump in and try yourself!'

Pivi dived, with his spear, and the shell-fish opened its shell wider
yet, and sucked, and Pivi disappeared into its mouth, and the shell shut
up with a snap!

Kabo laughed like a fiend, and then went home.

'Where is Pivi?' asked the two pretty girls. Kabo pretended to cry, and
told how Pivi had been swallowed.

'But dry your tears, my darlings,' said Kabo, 'I will be your husband,
and my wives shall be your slaves. Everything is for the best, in the
best of all possible worlds.'

'No, no!' cried the girls, 'we love Pivi. We do not love anyone else. We
shall stay at home, and weep for Pivi!'

'Wretched idiots!' cried Kabo; 'Pivi was a scoundrel who broke my leg,
and knocked me into the river.'

Then a little cough was heard at the door, and Kabo trembled, for he
knew it was the cough of Pivi!

'Ah, dear Pivi!' cried Kabo, rushing to the door. 'What joy! I was
trying to console your dear wives.'

Pivi said not one word. He waved his hand, and five and twenty of
his friends came trooping down the hill. They cut up Kabo into little
pieces. Pivi turned round, and there was the good woman of the river.

'Pivi,' she said, 'how did you get out of the living tomb into which
Kabo sent you?'

'I had my spear with me,' said Pivi. 'It was quite dry inside the shell,
and I worked away at the fish with my spear, till he saw reason to open
his shell, and out I came.' Then the good woman laughed; and Pivi and
his two wives lived happy ever afterwards.

[Moncelon. Bulletin de la Societe d'Anthropologie. Series iii. vol. ix.,
pp. 613-365.]




The Elf Maiden



Once upon a time two young men living in a small village fell in love
with the same girl. During the winter, it was all night except for an
hour or so about noon, when the darkness seemed a little less dark, and
then they used to see which of them could tempt her out for a sleigh
ride with the Northern Lights flashing above them, or which could
persuade her to come to a dance in some neighbouring barn. But when the
spring began, and the light grew longer, the hearts of the villagers
leapt at the sight of the sun, and a day was fixed for the boats to be
brought out, and the great nets to be spread in the bays of some islands
that lay a few miles to the north. Everybody went on this expedition,
and the two young men and the girl went with them.

They all sailed merrily across the sea chattering like a flock of
magpies, or singing their favourite songs. And when they reached the
shore, what an unpacking there was! For this was a noted fishing ground,
and here they would live, in little wooden huts, till autumn and bad
weather came round again.

The maiden and the two young men happened to share the same hut with
some friends, and fished daily from the same boat. And as time went on,
one of the youths remarked that the girl took less notice of him
than she did of his companion. At first he tried to think that he was
dreaming, and for a long while he kept his eyes shut very tight to what
he did not want to see, but in spite of his efforts, the truth managed
to wriggle through, and then the young man gave up trying to deceive
himself, and set about finding some way to get the better of his rival.

The plan that he hit upon could not be carried out for some months; but
the longer the young man thought of it, the more pleased he was with it,
so he made no sign of his feelings, and waited patiently till the
moment came. This was the very day that they were all going to leave the
islands, and sail back to the mainland for the winter. In the bustle
and hurry of departure, the cunning fisherman contrived that their boat
should be the last to put off, and when everything was ready, and the
sails about to be set, he suddenly called out:

'Oh, dear, what shall I do! I have left my best knife behind in the hut.
Run, like a good fellow, and get it for me, while I raise the anchor and
loosen the tiller.'

Not thinking any harm, the youth jumped back on shore and made his way
up the steep hank. At the door of the hut he stopped and looked back,
then started and gazed in horror. The head of the boat stood out to sea,
and he was left alone on the island.

Yes, there was no doubt of it--he was quite alone; and he had nothing to
help him except the knife which his comrade had purposely dropped on
the ledge of the window. For some minutes he was too stunned by the
treachery of his friend to think about anything at all, but after a
while he shook himself awake, and determined that he would manage to
keep alive somehow, if it were only to revenge himself.

So he put the knife in his pocket and went off to a part of the island
which was not so bare as the rest, and had a small grove of trees. From
one of these he cut himself a bow, which he strung with a piece of cord
that had been left lying about the huts.

When this was ready the young man ran down to the shore and shot one or
two sea-birds, which he plucked and cooked for supper.

In this way the months slipped by, and Christmas came round again. The
evening before, the youth went down to the rocks and into the copse,
collecting all the drift wood the sea had washed up or the gale had
blown down, and he piled it up in a great stack outside the door, so
that he might not have to fetch any all the next day. As soon as his
task was done, he paused and looked out towards the mainland, thinking
of Christmas Eve last year, and the merry dance they had had. The night
was still and cold, and by the help of the Northern Lights he could
almost sea across to the opposite coast, when, suddenly, he noticed a
boat, which seemed steering straight for the island. At first he could
hardly stand for joy, the chance of speaking to another man was so
delightful; but as the boat drew near there was something, he could not
tell what, that was different from the boats which he had been used to
all his life, and when it touched the shore he saw that the people
that filled it were beings of another world than ours. Then he hastily
stepped behind the wood stack, and waited for what might happen next.

The strange folk one by one jumped on to the rocks, each bearing a load
of something that they wanted. Among the women he remarked two young
girls, more beautiful and better dressed than any of the rest, carrying
between them two great baskets full of provisions. The young man peeped
out cautiously to see what all this crowd could be doing inside the
tiny hut, but in a moment he drew back again, as the girls returned,
and looked about as if they wanted to find out what sort of a place the
island was.

Their sharp eyes soon discovered the form of a man crouching behind
the bundles of sticks, and at first they felt a little frightened, and
started as if they would run away. But the youth remained so still,
that they took courage and laughed gaily to each other. 'What a strange
creature, let us try what he is made of,' said one, and she stooped down
and gave him a pinch.

Now the young man had a pin sticking in the sleeve of his jacket, and
the moment the girl's hand touched him she pricked it so sharply that
the blood came. The girl screamed so loudly that the people all ran out
of their huts to see what was the matter. But directly they caught sight
of the man they turned and fled in the other direction, and picking up
the goods they had brought with them scampered as fast as they could
down to the shore. In an instant, boat, people, and goods had vanished
completely.

In their hurry they had, however, forgotten two things: a bundle of keys
which lay on the table, and the girl whom the pin had pricked, and who
now stood pale and helpless beside the wood stack.

'You will have to make me your wife,' she said at last, 'for you have
drawn my blood, and I belong to you.'

'Why not? I am quite willing,' answered he. 'But how do you suppose we
can manage to live till summer comes round again?'

'Do not be anxious about that,' said the girl; 'if you will only marry
me all will be well. I am very rich, and all my family are rich also.'

Then the young man gave her his promise to make her his wife, and the
girl fulfilled her part of the bargain, and food was plentiful on the
island all through the long winter months, though he never knew how
it got there. And by-and-by it was spring once more, and time for the
fisher-folk to sail from the mainland.

'Where are we to go now?' asked the girl, one day, when the sun seemed
brighter and the wind softer than usual.

'I do not care where I go,' answered the young man; 'what do you think?'

The girl replied that she would like to go somewhere right at the other
end of the island, and build a house, far away from the huts of the
fishing-folk. And he consented, and that very day they set off in search
of a sheltered spot on the banks of a stream, so that it would be easy
to get water.

In a tiny bay, on the opposite side of the island they found the very
thing, which seemed to have been made on purpose for them; and as they
were tired with their long walk, they laid themselves down on a bank of
moss among some birches and prepared to have a good night's rest, so
as to be fresh for work next day. But before she went to sleep the girl
turned to her husband, and said: 'If in your dreams you fancy that you
hear strange noises, be sure you do not stir, or get up to see what it
is.'

'Oh, it is not likely we shall hear any noises in such a quiet place,'
answered he, and fell sound asleep.

Suddenly he was awakened by a great clatter about his ears, as if all
the workmen in the world were sawing and hammering and building close to
him. He was just going to spring up and go to see what it meant, when
he luckily remembered his wife's words and lay still. But the time till
morning seemed very long, and with the first ray of sun they both rose,
and pushed aside the branches of the birch trees. There, in the very
place they had chosen, stood a beautiful house--doors and windows, and
everything all complete!

'Now you must fix on a spot for your cow-stalls,' said the girl, when
they had breakfasted off wild cherries; 'and take care it is the proper
size, neither too large nor too small.' And the husband did as he was
bid, though he wondered what use a cow-house could be, as they had no
cows to put in it. But as he was a little afraid of his wife, who knew
so much more than he, he asked no questions.

This night also he was awakened by the same sounds as before, and in the
morning they found, near the stream, the most beautiful cow-house that
ever was seen, with stalls and milk-pails and stools all complete,
indeed, everything that a cow-house could possibly want, except the
cows. Then the girl bade him measure out the ground for a storehouse,
and this, she said, might be as large as he pleased; and when the
storehouse was ready she proposed that they should set off to pay her
parents a visit.

The old people welcomed them heartily, and summoned their neighbours,
for many miles round, to a great feast in their honour. In fact, for
several weeks there was no work done on the farm at all; and at length
the young man and his wife grew tired of so much play, and declared
that they must return to their own home. But, before they started on the
journey, the wife whispered to her husband: 'Take care to jump over the
threshold as quick as you can, or it will be the worse for you.'

The young man listened to her words, and sprang over the threshold like
an arrow from a bow; and it was well he did, for, no sooner was he on
the other side, than his father-in-law threw a great hammer at him,
which would have broken both his legs, if it had only touched them.

When they had gone some distance on the road home, the girl turned to
her husband and said: 'Till you step inside the house, be sure you do
not look back, whatever you may hear or see.'

And the husband promised, and for a while all was still; and he thought
no more about the matter till he noticed at last that the nearer he drew
to the house the louder grew the noise of the trampling of feet behind
him. As he laid his hand upon the door he thought he was safe, and
turned to look. There, sure enough, was a vast herd of cattle, which had
been sent after him by his father-in-law when he found that his daughter
had been cleverer than he. Half of the herd were already through the
fence and cropping the grass on the banks of the stream, but half still
remained outside and faded into nothing, even as he watched them.

However, enough cattle were left to make the young man rich, and he and
his wife lived happily together, except that every now and then the girl
vanished from his sight, and never told him where she had been. For
a long time he kept silence about it; but one day, when he had been
complaining of her absence, she said to him: 'Dear husband, I am bound
to go, even against my will, and there is only one way to stop me. Drive
a nail into the threshold, and then I can never pass in or out.'

And so he did.






How Some Wild Animals Became Tame Ones



Once upon a time there lived a miller who was so rich that, when he was
going to be married, he asked to the feast not only his own friends but
also the wild animals who dwelt in the hills and woods round about. The
chief of the bears, the wolves, the foxes, the horses, the cows, the
goats, the sheep, and the reindeer, all received invitations; and as
they were not accustomed to weddings they were greatly pleased and
flattered, and sent back messages in the politest language that they
would certainly be there.

The first to start on the morning of the wedding-day was the bear, who
always liked to be punctual; and, besides, he had a long way to go, and
his hair, being so thick and rough, needed a good brushing before it was
fit to be seen at a party. However, he took care to awaken very early,
and set off down the road with a light heart. Before he had walked very
far he met a boy who came whistling along, hitting at the tops of the
flowers with a stick.

'Where are you going?' said he, looking at the bear in surprise, for he
was an old acquaintance, and not generally so smart.

'Oh, just to the miller's marriage,' answered the bear carelessly. 'Of
course, I would much rather stay at home, but the miller was so anxious
I should be there that I really could not refuse.'

'Don't go, don't go!' cried the boy. 'If you do you will never come
back! You have got the most beautiful skin in the world--just the kind
that everyone is wanting, and they will be sure to kill you and strip
you of it.'

'I had not thought of that,' said the bear, whose face turned white,
only nobody could see it. 'If you are certain that they would be so
wicked--but perhaps you are jealous because nobody has invited you?'

'Oh, nonsense!' replied the boy angrily, 'do as you see. It is your
skin, and not mine; I don't care what becomes of it!' And he walked
quickly on with his head in the air.

The bear waited until he was out of sight, and then followed him slowly,
for he felt in his heart that the boy's advice was good, though he was
too proud to say so.

The boy soon grew tired of walking along the road, and turned off into
the woods, where there were bushes he could jump and streams he could
wade; but he had not gone far before he met the wolf.

'Where are you going?' asked he, for it was not the first time he had
seen him.

'Oh, just to the miller's marriage,' answered the wolf, as the bear had
done before him. 'It is rather tiresome, of course--weddings are always
so stupid; but still one must be good-natured!'

'Don't go!' said the boy again. 'Your skin is so thick and warm, and
winter is not far off now. They will kill you, and strip it from you.'

The wolf's jaw dropped in astonishment and terror. 'Do you really think
that would happen?' he gasped.

'Yes, to be sure, I do,' answered the boy. 'But it is your affair, not
mine. So good-morning,' and on he went. The wolf stood still for a few
minutes, for he was trembling all over, and then crept quietly back to
his cave.

Next the boy met the fox, whose lovely coat of silvery grey was shining
in the sun.

'You look very fine!' said the boy, stopping to admire him, 'are you
going to the miller's wedding too?'

'Yes,' answered the fox; 'it is a long journey to take for such a thing
as that, but you know what the miller's friends are like--so dull and
heavy! It is only kind to go and amuse them a little.'

'You poor fellow,' said the boy pityingly. 'Take my advice and stay
at home. If you once enter the miller's gate his dogs will tear you in
pieces.'

'Ah, well, such things have occurred, I know,' replied the fox gravely.
And without saying any more he trotted off the way he had come.

His tail had scarcely disappeared, when a great noise of crashing
branches was heard, and up bounded the horse, his black skin glistening
like satin.

'Good-morning,' he called to the boy as he galloped past, 'I can't wait
to talk to you now. I have promised the miller to be present at his
wedding-feast, and they won't sit down till I come.'

'Stop! stop!' cried the boy after him, and there was something in his
voice that made the horse pull up. 'What is the matter?' asked he.

'You don't know what you are doing,' said the boy. 'If once you go there
you will never gallop through these woods any more. You are stronger
than many men, but they will catch you and put ropes round you, and you
will have to work and to serve them all the days of your life.'

The horse threw back his head at these words, and laughed scornfully.

'Yes, I am stronger than many men,' answered he, 'and all the ropes in
the world would not hold me. Let them bind me as fast as they will, I
can always break loose, and return to the forest and freedom.'

And with this proud speech he gave a whisk of his long tail, and
galloped away faster than before.

But when he reached the miller's house everything happened as the boy
had said. While he was looking at the guests and thinking how much
handsomer and stronger he was than any of them, a rope was suddenly
flung over his head, and he was thrown down and a bit thrust between his
teeth. Then, in spite of his struggles, he was dragged to a stable, and
shut up for several days without any food, till his spirit was broken
and his coat had lost its gloss. After that he was harnessed to a
plough, and had plenty of time to remember all he had lost through not
listening to the counsel of the boy.

When the horse had turned a deaf ear to his words the boy wandered idly
along, sometimes gathering wild strawberries from a bank, and sometimes
plucking wild cherries from a tree, till he reached a clearing in
the middle of the forest. Crossing this open space was a beautiful
milk-white cow with a wreath of flowers round her neck.

'Good-morning,' she said pleasantly, as she came up to the place where
the boy was standing.

'Good-morning,' he returned. 'Where are you going in such a hurry?'

'To the miller's wedding; I am rather late already, for the wreath took
such a long time to make, so I can't stop.'

'Don't go,' said the boy earnestly;' when once they have tasted your
milk they will never let you leave them, and you will have to serve them
all the days of your life.'

'Oh, nonsense; what do you know about it?' answered the cow, who always
thought she was wiser than other people. 'Why, I can run twice as fast
as any of them! I should like to see anybody try to keep me against my
will.' And, without even a polite bow, she went on her way, feeling very
much offended.

But everything turned out just as the boy had said. The company had
all heard of the fame of the cow's milk, and persuaded her to give them
some, and then her doom was sealed. A crowd gathered round her, and held
her horns so that she could not use them, and, like the horse, she was
shut in the stable, and only let out in the mornings, when a long rope
was tied round her head, and she was fastened to a stake in a grassy
meadow.

And so it happened to the goat and to the sheep.

Last of all came the reindeer, looking as he always did, as if some
serious business was on hand.

'Where are you going?' asked the boy, who by this time was tired of wild
cherries, and was thinking of his dinner.

'I am invited to the wedding,' answered the reindeer, 'and the miller
has begged me on no account to fail him.'

'O fool!' cried the boy, 'have you no sense at all? Don't you know that
when you get there they will hold you fast, for neither beast nor bird
is as strong or as swift as you?'

'That is exactly why I am quite safe,' replied the reindeer. 'I am so
strong that no one can bind me, and so swift that not even an arrow can
catch me. So, goodbye for the present, you will soon see me back.'

But none of the animals that went to the miller's wedding ever came
back. And because they were self-willed and conceited, and would not
listen to good advice, they and their children have been the servants of
men to this very day.






Fortune and the Wood-Cutter



Several hundreds of years ago there lived in a forest a wood-cutter and
his wife and children. He was very poor, having only his axe to depend
upon, and two mules to carry the wood he cut to the neighbouring town;
but he worked hard, and was always out of bed by five o'clock, summer
and winter.

This went on for twenty years, and though his sons were now grown
up, and went with their father to the forest, everything seemed to
go against them, and they remained as poor as ever. In the end the
wood-cutter lost heart, and said to himself:

'What is the good of working like this if I never am a penny the richer
at the end? I shall go to the forest no more! And perhaps, if I take to
my bed, and do not run after Fortune, one day she may come to me.'

So the next morning he did not get up, and when six o'clock struck, his
wife, who had been cleaning the house, went to see what was the matter.

'Are you ill?' she asked wonderingly, surprised at not finding him
dressed. 'The cock has crowed ever so often. It is high time for you to
get up.'

'Why should I get up?' asked the man, without moving.

'Why? to go to the forest, of course.'

'Yes; and when I have toiled all day I hardly earn enough to give us one
meal.'

'But what can we do, my poor husband?' said she. 'It is just a trick of
Fortune's, who would never smile upon us.'

'Well, I have had my fill of Fortune's tricks,' cried he. 'If she wants
me she can find me here. But I have done with the wood for ever.'

'My dear husband, grief has driven you mad! Do you think Fortune will
come to anybody who does not go after her? Dress yourself, and saddle
the mules, and begin your work. Do you know that there is not a morsel
of bread in the house?'

'I don't care if there isn't, and I am not going to the forest. It is no
use your talking; nothing will make me change my mind.'

The distracted wife begged and implored in vain; her husband persisted
in staying in bed, and at last, in despair, she left him and went back
to her work.

An hour or two later a man from the nearest village knocked at her door,
and when she opened it, he said to her: 'Good-morning, mother. I have
got a job to do, and I want to know if your husband will lend me your
mules, as I see he is not using them, and can lend me a hand himself?'

'He is upstairs; you had better ask him,' answered the woman. And the
man went up, and repeated his request.

'I am sorry, neighbour, but I have sworn not to leave my bed, and
nothing will make me break my vow.'

'Well, then, will you lend me your two mules? I will pay you something
for them.'

'Certainly, neighbour. Take them and welcome.'

So the man left the house, and leading the mules from the stable, placed
two sacks on their back, and drove them to a field where he had found
a hidden treasure. He filled the sacks with the money, though he knew
perfectly well that it belonged to the sultan, and was driving them
quietly home again, when he saw two soldiers coming along the road. Now
the man was aware that if he was caught he would be condemned to death,
so he fled back into the forest. The mules, left to themselves, took the
path that led to their master's stable.

The wood-cutter's wife was looking out of the window when the mules drew
up before the door, so heavily laden that they almost sank under their
burdens. She lost no time in calling her husband, who was still lying in
bed.

'Quick! quick! get up as fast as you can. Our two mules have returned
with sacks on their backs, so heavily laden with something or other that
the poor beasts can hardly stand up.'

'Wife, I have told you a dozen times already that I am not going to get
up. Why can't you leave me in peace?'

As she found she could get no help from her husband the woman took a
large knife and cut the cords which bound the sacks on to the animals'
backs. They fell at once to the ground, and out poured a rain of gold
pieces, till the little court-yard shone like the sun.

'A treasure!' gasped the woman, as soon as she could speak from
surprise. 'A treasure!' And she ran off to tell her husband.

'Get up! get up!' she cried. 'You were quite right not to go to the
forest, and to await Fortune in your bed; she has come at last! Our
mules have returned home laden with all the gold in the world, and it is
now lying in the court. No one in the whole country can be as rich as we
are!'

In an instant the wood-cutter was on his feet, and running to the court,
where he paused dazzled by the glitter of the coins which lay around
him.

'You see, my dear wife, that I was right,' he said at last. 'Fortune
is so capricious, you can never count on her. Run after her, and she is
sure to fly from you; stay still, and she is sure to come.'






The Enchanted Head



Once upon a time an old woman lived in a small cottage near the sea with
her two daughters. They were very poor, and the girls seldom left the
house, as they worked all day long making veils for the ladies to wear
over their faces, and every morning, when the veils were finished, the
other took them over the bridge and sold them in the city. Then she
bought the food that they needed for the day, and returned home to do
her share of veil-making.

One morning the old woman rose even earlier than usual, and set off
for the city with her wares. She was just crossing the bridge when,
suddenly, she knocked up against a human head, which she had never
seen there before. The woman started back in horror; but what was her
surprise when the head spoke, exactly as if it had a body joined on to
it.

'Take me with you, good mother!' it said imploringly; 'take me with you
back to your house.'

At the sound of these words the poor woman nearly went mad with terror.
Have that horrible thing always at home? Never! never! And she turned
and ran back as fast as she could, not knowing that the head was
jumping, dancing, and rolling after her. But when she reached her own
door it bounded in before her, and stopped in front of the fire, begging
and praying to be allowed to stay.

All that day there was no food in the house, for the veils had not been
sold, and they had no money to buy anything with. So they all sat silent
at their work, inwardly cursing the head which was the cause of their
misfortunes.

When evening came, and there was no sign of supper, the head spoke, for
the first time that day:

'Good mother, does no one ever eat here? During all the hours I have
spent in your house not a creature has touched anything.'

'No,' answered the old woman, 'we are not eating anything.'

'And why not, good mother?'

'Because we have no money to buy any food.'

'Is it your custom never to eat?'

'No, for every morning I go into the city to sell my veils, and with the
few shillings I get for them I buy all we want. To-day I did not cross
the bridge, so of course I had nothing for food.'

'Then I am the cause of your having gone hungry all day?' asked the
head.

'Yes, you are,' answered the old woman.

'Well, then, I will give you money and plenty of it, if you will only do
as I tell you. In an hour, as the clock strikes twelve, you must be on
the bridge at the place where you met me. When you get there call out
"Ahmed," three times, as loud as you can. Then a negro will appear, and
you must say to him: "The head, your master, desires you to open the
trunk, and to give me the green purse which you will find in it."'

'Very well, my lord,' said the old woman, 'I will set off at once for
the bridge.' And wrapping her veil round her she went out.

Midnight was striking as she reached the spot where she had met the head
so many hours before.

'Ahmed! Ahmed! Ahmed!' cried she, and immediately a huge negro, as tall
as a giant, stood on the bridge before her.

'What do you want?' asked he.

'The head, your master, desires you to open the trunk, and to give me
the green purse which you will find in it.'

'I will be back in a moment, good mother,' said he. And three minutes
later he placed a purse full of sequins in the old woman's hand.

No one can imagine the joy of the whole family at the sight of all this
wealth. The tiny, tumble-down cottage was rebuilt, the girls had new
dresses, and their mother ceased selling veils. It was such a new thing
to them to have money to spend, that they were not as careful as they
might have been, and by-and-by there was not a single coin left in the
purse. When this happened their hearts sank within them, and their faces
fell.

'Have you spent your fortune?' asked the head from its corner, when it
saw how sad they looked. 'Well, then, go at midnight, good mother, to
the bridge, and call out "Mahomet!" three times, as loud as you can. A
negro will appear in answer, and you must tell him to open the trunk,
and to give you the red purse which he will find there.'

The old woman did not need twice telling, but set off at once for the
bridge.

'Mahomet! Mahomet! Mahomet!' cried she, with all her might; and in an
instant a negro, still larger than the last, stood before her.

'What do you want?' asked he.

'The head, your master, bids you open the trunk, and to give me the red
purse which you will find in it.'

'Very well, good mother, I will do so,' answered the negro, and, the
moment after he had vanished, he reappeared with the purse in his hand.

This time the money seemed so endless that the old woman built herself a
new house, and filled it with the most beautiful things that were to
be found in the shops. Her daughters were always wrapped in veils that
looked as if they were woven out of sunbeams, and their dresses shone
with precious stones. The neighbours wondered where all this sudden
wealth had sprung from, but nobody knew about the head.

'Good mother,' said the head, one day, 'this morning you are to go to
the city and ask the sultan to give me his daughter for my bride.'

'Do what?' asked the old woman in amazement. 'How can I tell the sultan
that a head without a body wishes to become his son-in-law? They will
think that I am mad, and I shall be hooted from the palace and stoned by
the children.'

'Do as I bid you,' replied the head; 'it is my will.'

The old woman was afraid to say anything more, and, putting on her
richest clothes, started for the palace. The sultan granted her an
audience at once, and, in a trembling voice, she made her request.

'Are you mad, old woman?' said the sultan, staring at her.

'The wooer is powerful, O Sultan, and nothing is impossible to him.'

'Is that true?'

'It is, O Sultan; I swear it,' answered she.

'Then let him show his power by doing three things, and I will give him
my daughter.'

'Command, O gracious prince,' said she.

'Do you see that hill in front of the palace?' asked the sultan.

'I see it,' answered she.

'Well, in forty days the man who has sent you must make that hill
vanish, and plant a beautiful garden in its place. That is the first
thing. Now go, and tell him what I say.'

So the old woman returned and told the head the sultan's first
condition.

'It is well,' he replied; and said no more about it.

For thirty-nine days the head remained in its favourite corner. The old
woman thought that the task set before was beyond his powers, and
that no more would be heard about the sultan's daughter. But on the
thirty-ninth evening after her visit to the palace, the head suddenly
spoke.

'Good mother,' he said, 'you must go to-night to the bridge, and when
you are there cry "Ali! Ali! Ali!" as loud as you can. A negro will
appear before you, and you will tell him that he is to level the hill,
and to make, in its place, the most beautiful garden that ever was
seen.'

'I will go at once,' answered she.

It did not take her long to reach the bridge which led to the city, and
she took up her position on the spot where she had first seen the head,
and called loudly 'Ali! Ali! Ali.' In an instant a negro appeared before
her, of such a huge size that the old woman was half frightened; but his
voice was mild and gentle as he said: 'What is it that you want?'

'Your master bids you level the hill that stands in front of the
sultan's palace and in its place to make the most beautiful garden in
the world.'

'Tell my master he shall be obeyed,' replied Ali; 'it shall be done this
moment.' And the old woman went home and gave Ali's message to the head.

Meanwhile the sultan was in his palace waiting till the fortieth day
should dawn, and wondering that not one spadeful of earth should have
been dug out of the hill.

'If that old woman has been playing me a trick,' thought he, 'I will
hang her! And I will put up a gallows to-morrow on the hill itself.'

But when to-morrow came there was no hill, and when the sultan opened
his eyes he could not imagine why the room was so much lighter than
usual, and what was the reason of the sweet smell of flowers that filled
the air.

'Can there be a fire?' he said to himself; 'the sun never came in at
this window before. I must get up and see.' So he rose and looked out,
and underneath him flowers from every part of the world were blooming,
and creepers of every colour hung in chains from tree to tree.

Then he remembered. 'Certainly that old woman's son is a clever
magician!' cried he; 'I never met anyone as clever as that. What shall I
give him to do next? Let me think. Ah! I know.' And he sent for the old
woman, who by the orders of the head, was waiting below.

'Your son has carried out my wishes very nicely,' he said. 'The garden
is larger and better than that of any other king. But when I walk across
it I shall need some place to rest on the other side. In forty days
he must build me a palace, in which every room shall be filled with
different furniture from a different country, and each more magnificent
than any room that ever was seen.' And having said this he turned round
and went away.

'Oh! he will never be able to do that,' thought she; 'it is much more
difficult than the hill.' And she walked home slowly, with her head
bent.

'Well, what am I to do next?' asked the head cheerfully. And the old
woman told her story.

'Dear me! is that all? why it is child's play,' answered the head; and
troubled no more about the palace for thirty-nine days. Then he told the
old woman to go to the bridge and call for Hassan.

'What do you want, old woman?' asked Hassan, when he appeared, for he
was not as polite as the others had been.

'Your master commands you to build the most magnificent palace that ever
was seen,' replied she; 'and you are to place it on the borders of the
new garden.'

'He shall be obeyed,' answered Hassan. And when the sultan woke he saw,
in the distance, a palace built of soft blue marble, resting on slender
pillars of pure gold.

'That old woman's son is certainly all-powerful,' cried he; 'what shall
I bid him do now?' And after thinking some time he sent for the old
woman, who was expecting the summons.

'The garden is wonderful, and the palace the finest in the world,' said
he, 'so fine, that my servants would cut but a sorry figure in it. Let
your son fill it with forty slaves whose beauty shall be unequalled, all
exactly like each other, and of the same height.'

This time the king thought he had invented something totally impossible,
and was quite pleased with himself for his cleverness.

Thirty-nine days passed, and at midnight on the night of the last the
old woman was standing on the bridge.

'Bekir! Bekir! Bekir!' cried she. And a negro appeared, and inquired
what she wanted.

'The head, your master, bids you find forty slaves of unequalled beauty,
and of the same height, and place them in the sultan's palace on the
other side of the garden.'

And when, on the morning of the fortieth day, the sultan went to the
blue palace, and was received by the forty slaves, he nearly lost his
wits from surprise.

'I will assuredly give my daughter to the old woman's son,' thought he.
'If I were to search all the world through I could never find a more
powerful son-in-law.'

And when the old woman entered his presence he informed her that he was
ready to fulfil his promise, and she was to bid her son appear at the
palace without delay.

This command did not at all please the old woman, though, of course, she
made no objections to the sultan.

'All has gone well so far,' she grumbled, when she told her story to
the head,' but what do you suppose the sultan will say, when he sees his
daughter's husband?'

'Never mind what he says! Put me on a silver dish and carry me to the
palace.'

So it was done, though the old woman's heart beat as she laid down the
dish with the head upon it.

At the sight before him the king flew into a violent rage.

'I will never marry my daughter to such a monster,' he cried. But the
princess placed her head gently on his arm.

'You have given your word, my father, and you cannot break it,' said
she.

'But, my child, it is impossible for you to marry such a being,'
exclaimed the sultan.

'Yes, I will marry him. He had a beautiful head, and I love him
already.'

So the marriage was celebrated, and great feasts were held in the
palace, though the people wept tears to think of the sad fate of their
beloved princess. But when the merry-making was done, and the young
couple were alone, the head suddenly disappeared, or, rather, a body
was added to it, and one of the handsomest young men that ever was seen
stood before the princess.

'A wicked fairy enchanted me at my birth,' he said, 'and for the rest of
the world I must always be a head only. But for you, and you only, I am
a man like other men.'

'And that is all I care about,' said the princess.

.




The Sister of the Sun



A long time ago there lived a young prince whose favourite playfellow
was the son of the gardener who lived in the grounds of the palace. The
king would have preferred his choosing a friend from the pages who were
brought up at court; but the prince would have nothing to say to them,
and as he was a spoilt child, and allowed his way in all things, and the
gardener's boy was quiet and well-behaved, he was suffered to be in the
palace, morning, noon, and night.

The game the children loved the best was a match at archery, for the
king had given them two bows exactly alike, and they would spend whole
days in trying to see which could shoot the highest. This is always very
dangerous, and it was a great wonder they did not put their eyes out;
but somehow or other they managed to escape.

One morning, when the prince had done his lessons, he ran out to call
his friend, and they both hurried off to the lawn which was their usual
playground. They took their bows out of the little hut where their toys
were kept, and began to see which could shoot the highest. At last they
happened to let fly their arrows both together, and when they fell to
earth again the tail feather of a golden hen was found sticking in one.
Now the question began to arise whose was the lucky arrow, for they were
both alike, and look as closely as you would you could see no difference
between them. The prince declared that the arrow was his, and the
gardener's boy was quite sure it was HIS--and on this occasion he was
perfectly right; but, as they could not decide the matter, they went
straight to the king.

When the king had heard the story, he decided that the feather belonged
to his son; but the other boy would not listen to this and claimed the
feather for himself. At length the king's patience gave way, and he said
angrily:

'Very well; if you are so sure that the feather is yours, yours it shall
be; only you will have to seek till you find a golden hen with a feather
missing from her tail. And if you fail to find her your head will be the
forfeit.'

The boy had need of all his courage to listen silently to the king's
words. He had no idea where the golden hen might be, or even, if he
discovered that, how he was to get to her. But there was nothing for it
but to do the king's bidding, and he felt that the sooner he left the
palace the better. So he went home and put some food into a bag, and
then set forth, hoping that some accident might show him which path to
take.

After walking for several hours he met a fox, who seemed inclined to be
friendly, and the boy was so glad to have anyone to talk to that he sat
down and entered into conversation.

'Where are you going?' asked the fox.

'I have got to find a golden hen who has lost a feather out of her
tail,' answered the boy; 'but I don't know where she lives or how I
shall catch her!'

'Oh, I can show you the way!' said the fox, who was really very
good-natured. 'Far towards the east, in that direction, lives a
beautiful maiden who is called "The Sister of the Sun." She has three
golden hens in her house. Perhaps the feather belongs to one of them.'

The boy was delighted at this news, and they walked on all day together,
the fox in front, and the boy behind. When evening came they lay down to
sleep, and put the knapsack under their heads for a pillow.

Suddenly, about midnight, the fox gave a low whine, and drew nearer to
his bedfellow. 'Cousin,' he whispered very low, 'there is someone coming
who will take the knapsack away from me. Look over there!' And the boy,
peeping through the bushes, saw a man.

'Oh, I don't think he will rob us!' said the boy; and when the man drew
near, he told them his story, which so much interested the stranger that
he asked leave to travel with them, as he might be of some use. So when
the sun rose they set out again, the fox in front as before, the man and
boy following.

After some hours they reached the castle of the Sister of the Sun, who
kept the golden hens among her treasures. They halted before the gate
and took counsel as to which of them should go in and see the lady
herself.

'I think it would be best for me to enter and steal the hens,' said the
fox; but this did not please the boy at all.

'No, it is my business, so it is right that I should go,' answered he.

'You will find it a very difficult matter to get hold of the hens,'
replied the fox.

'Oh, nothing is likely to happen to me,' returned the boy.

'Well, go then,' said the fox, 'but be careful not to make any mistake.
Steal only the hen which has the feather missing from her tail, and
leave the others alone.'

The man listened, but did not interfere, and the boy entered the court
of the palace.

He soon spied the three hens strutting proudly about, though they were
really anxiously wondering if there were not some grains lying on the
ground that they might be glad to eat. And as the last one passed by
him, he saw she had one feather missing from her tail.

At this sight the youth darted forward and seized the hen by the neck
so that she could not struggle. Then, tucking her comfortably under his
arm, he made straight for the gate. Unluckily, just as he was about
to go through it he looked back and caught a glimpse of wonderful
splendours from an open door of the palace. 'After all, there is no
hurry,' he said to himself; 'I may as well see something now I AM here,'
and turned back, forgetting all about the hen, which escaped from under
his arm, and ran to join her sisters.

He was so much fascinated by the sight of all the beautiful things which
peeped through the door that he scarcely noticed that he had lost the
prize he had won; and he did not remember there was such a thing as a
hen in the world when he beheld the Sister of the Sun sleeping on a bed
before him.

For some time he stood staring; then he came to himself with a start,
and feeling that he had no business there, softly stole away, and was
fortunate enough to recapture the hen, which he took with him to the
gate. On the threshold he stopped again. 'Why should I not look at the
Sister of the Sun?' he thought to himself; 'she is asleep, and will
never know.' And he turned back for the second time and entered the
chamber, while the hen wriggled herself free as before. When he had
gazed his fill he went out into the courtyard and picked up his hen who
was seeking for corn.

As he drew near the gate he paused. 'Why did I not give her a kiss?'
he said to himself; 'I shall never kiss any woman so beautiful.' And he
wrung his hands with regret, so that the hen fell to the ground and ran
away.

'But I can do it still!' he cried with delight, and he rushed back to
the chamber and kissed the sleeping maiden on the forehead. But, alas!
when he came out again he found that the hen had grown so shy that she
would not let him come near her. And, worse than that, her sisters began
to cluck so loud that the Sister of the Sun was awakened by the noise.
She jumped up in haste from her bed, and going to the door she said to
the boy:

'You shall never, never, have my hen till you bring me back my sister
who was carried off by a giant to his castle, which is a long way off.'

Slowly and sadly the youth left the palace and told his story to his
friends, who were waiting outside the gate, how he had actually held the
hen three times in his arms and had lost her.

'I knew that we should not get off so easily,' said the fox, shaking
his head; 'but there is no more time to waste. Let us set off at once in
search of the sister. Luckily, I know the way.'

They walked on for many days, till at length the fox, who, as usual, was
going first, stopped suddenly.

'The giant's castle is not far now,' he said, 'but when we reach it you
two must remain outside while I go and fetch the princess. Directly I
bring her out you must both catch hold of her tight, and get away
as fast as you can; while I return to the castle and talk to the
giants--for there are many of them--so that they may not notice the
escape of the princess.'

A few minutes later they arrived at the castle, and the fox, who had
often been there before, slipped in without difficulty. There were
several giants, both young and old, in the hall, and they were all
dancing round the princess. As soon as they saw the fox they cried out:
'Come and dance too, old fox; it is a long time since we have seen you.'

So the fox stood up, and did his steps with the best of them; but after
a while he stopped and said:

'I know a charming new dance that I should like to show you; but it can
only be done by two people. If the princess will honour me for a few
minutes, you will soon see how it is done.'

'Ah, that is delightful; we want something new,' answered they, and
placed the princess between the outstretched arms of the fox. In one
instant he had knocked over the great stand of lights that lighted
the hall, and in the darkness had borne the princess to the gate. His
comrades seized hold of her, as they had been bidden, and the fox was
back again in the hall before anyone had missed him. He found the giants
busy trying to kindle a fire and get some light; but after a bit someone
cried out:

'Where is the princess?'

'Here, in my arms,' replied the fox. 'Don't be afraid; she is quite
safe.' And he waited until he thought that his comrades had gained a
good start, and put at least five or six mountains between themselves
and the giants. Then he sprang through the door, calling, as he went:
'The maiden is here; take her if you can!'

At these words the giants understood that their prize had escaped, and
they ran after the fox as fast as their great legs could carry them,
thinking that they should soon come up with the fox, who they supposed
had the princess on his back. The fox, on his side, was far too clever
to choose the same path that his friends had taken, but would in and out
of the forest, till at last even HE was tired out, and fell fast asleep
under a tree. Indeed, he was so exhausted with his day's work that he
never heard the approach of the giants, and their hands were already
stretched out to seize his tail when his eyes opened, and with a
tremendous bound he was once more beyond their reach. All the rest of
the night the fox ran and ran; but when bright red spread over the
east, he stopped and waited till the giants were close upon him. Then he
turned, and said quietly: 'Look, there is the Sister of the Sun!'

The giants raised their eyes all at once, and were instantly turned into
pillars of stone. The fox then made each pillar a low bow, and set off
to join his friends.

He knew a great many short cuts across the hills, so it was not long
before he came up with them, and all four travelled night and day till
they reached the castle of the Sister of the Sun. What joy and feasting
there was throughout the palace at the sight of the princess whom they
had mourned as dead! and they could not make enough of the boy who had
gone through such dangers in order to rescue her. The golden hen was
given to him at once, and, more than that, the Sister of the Sun told
him that, in a little time, when he was a few years older, she would
herself pay a visit to his home and become his wife. The boy could
hardly believe his ears when he heard what was in store for him, for his
was the most beautiful princess in all the world; and however thick the
darkness might be, it fled away at once from the light of a star on her
forehead.

So the boy set forth on his journey home, with his friends for company;
his heart full of gladness when he thought of the promise of the
princess. But, one by one, his comrades dropped off at the places where
they had first met him, and he was quite alone when he reached his
native town and the gates of the palace. With the golden hen under his
arm he presented himself before the king, and told his adventures, and
how he was going to have for a wife a princess so wonderful and unlike
all other princesses, that the star on her forehead could turn night
into day. The king listened silently, and when the boy had done, he said
quietly: 'If I find that your story is not true I will have you thrown
into a cask of pitch.'

'It is true--every word of it,' answered the boy; and went on to tell
that the day and even the hour were fixed when his bride was to come and
seek him.

But as the time drew near, and nothing was heard of the princess, the
youth became anxious and uneasy, especially when it came to his ears
that the great cask was being filled with pitch, and that sticks were
laid underneath to make a fire to boil it with. All day long the boy
stood at the window, looking over the sea by which the princess must
travel; but there were no signs of her, not even the tiniest white sail.
And, as he stood, soldiers came and laid hands on him, and led him up
to the cask, where a big fire was blazing, and the horrid black pitch
boiling and bubbling over the sides. He looked and shuddered, but there
was no escape; so he shut his eyes to avoid seeing.

The word was given for him to mount the steps which led to the top of
the cask, when, suddenly, some men were seen running with all their
might, crying as they went that a large ship with its sails spread was
making straight for the city. No one knew what the ship was, or whence
it came; but the king declared that he would not have the boy burned
before its arrival, there would always be time enough for that.

At length the vessel was safe in port, and a whisper went through the
watching crowd that on board was the Sister of the Sun, who had come to
marry the young peasant as she had promised. In a few moments more she
had landed, and desired to be shown the way to the cottage which her
bridegroom had so often described to her; and whither he had been led
back by the king's order at the first sign of the ship.

'Don't you know me?' asked the Sister of the Sun, bending over him where
he lay, almost driven out of his senses with terror.

'No, no; I don't know you,' answered the youth, without raising his
eyes.

'Kiss me,' said the Sister of the Sun; and the youth obeyed her, but
still without looking up.

'Don't you know me NOW?' asked she.

'No, I don't know you--I don't know you,' he replied, with the manner of
a man whom fear had driven mad.

At this the Sister of the Sun grew rather frightened, and beginning at
the beginning, she told him the story of his meeting with her, and
how she had come a long way in order to marry him. And just as she had
finished in walked the king, to see if what the boy had said was really
true. But hardly had he opened the door of the cottage when he was
almost blinded by the light that filled it; and he remembered what
he had been told about the star on the forehead of the princess. He
staggered back as if he had been struck, then a curious feeling took
hold of him, which he had never felt before, and falling on his knees
before the Sister of the Sun, he implored her to give up all thought of
the peasant boy, and to share his throne. But she laughed, and said she
had a finer throne of her own, if she wanted to sit on it, and that she
was free to please herself, and would have no husband but the boy whom
she would never have seen except for the king himself.

'I shall marry him to-morrow,' ended she; and ordered the preparations
to be set on foot at once.

When the next day came, however, the bridegroom's father informed the
princess that, by the law of the land, the marriage must take place in
the presence of the king; but he hoped his majesty would not long
delay his arrival. An hour or two passed, and everyone was waiting
and watching, when at last the sound of trumpets was heard and a grand
procession was seen marching up the street. A chair covered with velvet
had been made ready for the king, and he took his seat upon it, and,
looking round upon the assembled company, he said:

'I have no wish to forbid this marriage; but, before I can allow it to
be celebrated, the bridegroom must prove himself worthy of such a bride
by fulfilling three tasks. And the first is that in a single day he must
cut down every tree in an entire forest.

The youth stood aghast as the king's words. He had never cut down a tree
in his life, and had not the least idea how to begin. And as for a
whole forest--! But the princess saw what was passing in his mind, and
whispered to him:

'Don't be afraid. In my ship you will find an axe, which you must carry
off to the forest. When you have cut down one tree with it just say:
"So let the forest fall," and in an instant all the trees will be on the
ground. But pick up three chips of the tree you felled, and put them in
your pocket.'

And the young man did exactly as he was bid, and soon returned with the
three chips safe in his coat.

The following morning the princess declared that she had been thinking
about the matter, and that, as she was not a subject of the king, she
saw no reason why she should be bound by his laws; and she meant to be
married that very day. But the bridegroom's father told her that it was
all very well for her to talk like that, but it was quite different for
his son, who would pay with his head for any disobedience to the king's
commands. However, in consideration of what the youth had done the day
before, he hoped his majesty's heart might be softened, especially as
he had sent a message that they might expect him at once. With this the
bridal pair had to be content, and be as patient as they could till the
king's arrival.

He did not keep them long, but they saw by his face that nothing good
awaited them.

'The marriage cannot take place,' he said shortly, 'till the youth has
joined to their roots all the trees he cut down yesterday.'

This sounded much more difficult than what he had done before, and he
turned in despair to the Sister of the Sun.

'It is all right,' she whispered encouragingly. 'Take this water and
sprinkle it on one of the fallen trees, and say to it: "So let all the
trees of the forest stand upright," and in a moment they will be erect
again.'

And the young man did what he was told, and left the forest looking
exactly as it had done before.

Now, surely, thought the princess, there was no longer any need to put
off the wedding; and she gave orders that all should be ready for the
following day. But again the old man interfered, and declared that
without the king's permission no marriage could take place. For
the third time his majesty was sent for, and for the third time he
proclaimed that he could not give his consent until the bridegroom
should have slain a serpent which dwelt in a broad river that flowed at
the back of the castle. Everyone knew stories of this terrible serpent,
though no one had actually seen it; but from time to time a child
strayed from home and never came back, and then mothers would forbid the
other children to go near the river, which had juicy fruits and lovely
flowers growing along its banks.

So no wonder the youth trembled and turned pale when he heard what lay
before him.

'You will succeed in this also,' whispered the Sister of the Sun,
pressing his hand, 'for in my ship is a magic sword which will cut
through everything. Go down to the river and unfasten a boat which lies
moored there, and throw the chips into the water. When the serpent
rears up its body you will cut off its three heads with one blow of your
sword. Then take the tip of each tongue and go with it to-morrow morning
into the king's kitchen. If the king himself should enter, just say to
him: "Here are three gifts I offer you in return for the services you
demanded of me!" and throw the tips of the serpent's tongues at him, and
hasten to the ship as fast as your legs will carry you. But be sure you
take great care never to look behind you.'

The young man did exactly what the princess had told him. The three
chips which he flung into the river became a boat, and, as he steered
across the stream, the serpent put up its head and hissed loudly. The
youth had his sword ready, and in another second the three heads were
bobbing on the water. Guiding his boat till he was beside them, he
stooped down and snipped off the ends of the tongues, and then rowed
back to the other bank. Next morning he carried them into the royal
kitchen, and when the king entered, as was his custom, to see what he
was going to have for dinner, the bridegroom flung them in his face,
saying: 'Here is a gift for you in return for the services you asked of
me.' And, opening the kitchen door, he fled to the ship. Unluckily
he missed the way, and in his excitement ran backwards and forwards,
without knowing whither he was going. At last, in despair, he looked
round, and saw to his amazement that both the city and palace had
vanished completely. Then he turned his eyes in the other direction,
and, far, far away, he caught sight of the ship with her sails spread,
and a fair wind behind her.

This dreadful spectacle seemed to take away his senses, and all day
long he wandered about, without knowing where he was going, till, in
the evening, he noticed some smoke from a little hut of turf near by. He
went straight up to it and cried: 'O mother, let me come in for pity's
sake!' The old woman who lived in the hut beckoned to him to enter, and
hardly was he inside when he cried again: 'O mother, can you tell me
anything of the Sister of the Sun?'

But the woman only shook her head. 'No, I know nothing of her,' said
she.

The young man turned to leave the hut, but the old woman stopped him,
and, giving him a letter, begged him to carry it to her next eldest
sister, saying: 'If you should get tired on the way, take out the letter
and rustle the paper.'

This advice surprised the young man a good deal, as he did not see how
it could help him; but he did not answer, and went down the road without
knowing where he was going. At length he grew so tired he could walk
no more; then he remembered what the old woman had said. After he had
rustled the leaves only once all fatigue disappeared, and he strode over
the grass till he came to another little turf hut.

'Let me in, I pray you, dear mother,' cried he. And the door opened in
front of him. 'Your sister has sent you this letter,' he said, and added
quickly: 'O mother! can you tell me anything of the Sister of the Sun?'

'No, I know nothing of her,' answered she. But as he turned hopelessly
away, she stopped him.

'If you happen to pass my eldest sister's house, will you give her this
letter?' said she. 'And if you should get tired on the road, just take
it out of your pocket and rustle the paper.'

So the young man put the letter in his pocket, and walked all day over
the hills till he reached a little turf hut, exactly like the other two.

'Let me in, I pray you, dear mother,' cried he. And as he entered he
added: 'Here is a letter from your sister and--can you tell me anything
of the Sister of the Sun?'

'Yes, I can,' answered the old woman. 'She lives in the castle on the
Banka. Her father lost a battle only a few days ago because you had
stolen his sword from him, and the Sister of the Sun herself is almost
dead of grief. But, when you see her, stick a pin into the palm of her
hand, and suck the drops of blood that flow. Then she will grow calmer,
and will know you again. Only, beware; for before you reach the castle
on the Banka fearful things will happen.'

He thanked the old woman with tears of gladness for the good news she
had given him, and continued his journey. But he had not gone very
far when, at a turn of the road, he met with two brothers, who were
quarrelling over a piece of cloth.

'My good men, what are you fighting about?' said he. 'That cloth does
not look worth much!'

'Oh, it is ragged enough,' answered they, 'but it was left us by our
father, and if any man wraps it round him no one can see him; and we
each want it for our own.'

'Let me put it round me for a moment,' said the youth, 'and then I will
tell you whose it ought to be!'

The brothers were pleased with this idea, and gave him the stuff;
but the moment he had thrown it over his shoulder he disappeared as
completely as if he had never been there at all.

Meanwhile the young man walked briskly along, till he came up with two
other men, who were disputing over a table-cloth.

'What is the matter?' asked he, stopping in front of them.

'If this cloth is spread on a table,' answered they, 'the table is
instantly covered with the most delicious food; and we each want to have
it.'

'Let me try the table-cloth,' said the youth, 'and I will tell you whose
it ought to be.'

The two men were quite pleased with this idea, and handed him the cloth.
He then hastily threw the first piece of stuff round his shoulders and
vanished from sight, leaving the two men grieving over their own folly.

The young man had not walked far before he saw two more men standing
by the road-side, both grasping the same stout staff, and sometimes one
seemed on the point of getting it, and sometimes the other.

'What are you quarrelling about? You could cut a dozen sticks from the
wood each just as good as that!' said the young man. And as he spoke the
fighters both stopped and looked at him.

'Ah! you may think so,' said one, 'but a blow from one end of this stick
will kill a man, while a touch from the other end will bring him back to
life. You won't easily find another stick like that!'

'No; that is true,' answered the young man. 'Let me just look at it, and
I will tell you whose it ought to be.'

The men were pleased with the idea, and handed him the staff.

'It is very curious, certainly,' said he; 'but which end is it that
restores people to life? After all, anyone can be killed by a blow from
a stick if it is only hard enough!' But when he was shown the end he
threw the stuff over his shoulders and vanished.

At last he saw another set of men, who were struggling for the
possession of a pair of shoes.

'Why can't you leave that pair of old shoes alone?' said he. 'Why, you
could not walk a yard in them!'

'Yes, they are old enough,' answered they; 'but whoever puts them on and
wishes himself at a particular place, gets there without going.'

'That sounds very clever,' said the youth. 'Let me try them, and then I
shall be able to tell you whose they ought to be.'

The idea pleased the men, and they handed him the shoes; but the moment
they were on his feet he cried:

'I wish to be in the castle on the Banka!' And before he knew it, he was
there, and found the Sister of the Sun dying of grief. He knelt down by
her side, and pulling a pin he stuck it into the palm of her hand, so
that a drop of blood gushed out. This he sucked, as he had been told to
do by the old woman, and immediately the princess came to herself, and
flung her arms round his neck. Then she told him all her story, and what
had happened since the ship had sailed away without him. 'But the
worst misfortune of all,' she added, 'was a battle which my father lost
because you had vanished with his magic sword; and out of his whole army
hardly one man was left.'

'Show me the battle-field,' said he. And she took him to a wild heath,
where the dead were lying as they fell, waiting for burial. One by one
he touched them with the end of his staff, till at length they all stood
before him. Throughout the kingdom there was nothing but joy; and
THIS time the wedding was REALLY celebrated. And the bridal pair lived
happily in the castle on the Banka till they died.






The Prince and the Three Fates



Once upon a time a little boy was born to a king who ruled over a great
country through which ran a wide river. The king was nearly beside
himself with joy, for he had always longed for a son to inherit his
crown, and he sent messages to beg all the most powerful fairies to come
and see this wonderful baby. In an hour or two, so many were gathered
round the cradle, that the child seemed in danger of being smothered;
but the king, who was watching the fairies eagerly, was disturbed to see
them looking grave. 'Is there anything the matter?' he asked anxiously.

The fairies looked at him, and all shook their heads at once.

'He is a beautiful boy, and it is a great pity; but what IS to happen
WILL happen,' said they. 'It is written in the books of fate that he
must die, either by a crocodile, or a serpent, or by a dog. If we could
save him we would; but that is beyond our power.'

And so saying they vanished.

For a time the king stood where he was, horror-stricken at what he had
heard; but, being of a hopeful nature, he began at once to invent plans
to save the prince from the dreadful doom that awaited him. He instantly
sent for his master builder, and bade him construct a strong castle on
the top of a mountain, which should be fitted with the most precious
things from the king's own palace, and every kind of toy a child could
wish to play with. And, besides, he gave the strictest orders that a
guard should walk round the castle night and day.

For four or five years the baby lived in the castle alone with his
nurses, taking his airings on the broad terraces, which were surrounded
by walls, with a moat beneath them, and only a drawbridge to connect
them with the outer world.

One day, when the prince was old enough to run quite fast by himself,
he looked from the terrace across the moat, and saw a little soft fluffy
ball of a dog jumping and playing on the other side. Now, of course, all
dogs had been kept from him for fear that the fairies' prophecy should
come true, and he had never even beheld one before. So he turned to the
page who was walking behind him, and said:

'What is that funny little thing which is running so fast over there?'

'That is a dog, prince,' answered the page.

'Well, bring me one like it, and we will see which can run the faster.'
And he watched the dog till it had disappeared round the corner.

The page was much puzzled to know what to do. He had strict orders to
refuse the prince nothing; yet he remembered the prophecy, and felt that
this was a serious matter. At last he thought he had better tell the
king the whole story, and let him decide the question.

'Oh, get him a dog if he wants one,' said the king, 'he will only cry
his heart out if he does not have it.' So a puppy was found, exactly
like the other; they might have been twins, and perhaps they were.

Years went by, and the boy and the dog played together till the boy grew
tall and strong. The time came at last when he sent a message to his
father, saying:

'Why do you keep me shut up here, doing nothing? I know all about the
prophecy that was made at my birth, but I would far rather be killed at
once than live an idle, useless life here. So give me arms, and let me
go, I pray you; me and my dog too.'

And again the king listened to his wishes, and he and his dog were
carried in a ship to the other side of the river, which was so broad
here it might almost have been the sea. A black horse was waiting for
him, tied to a tree, and he mounted and rode away wherever his fancy
took him, the dog always at his heels. Never was any prince so happy as
he, and he rode and rode till at length he came to a king's palace.

The king who lived in it did not care about looking after his country,
and seeing that his people lived cheerful and contented lives. He spent
his whole time in making riddles, and inventing plans which he had much
better have let alone. At the period when the young prince reached the
kingdom he had just completed a wonderful house for his only child, a
daughter. It had seventy windows, each seventy feet from the ground,
and he had sent the royal herald round the borders of the neighbouring
kingdoms to proclaim that whoever could climb up the walls to the window
of the princess should win her for his wife.

The fame of the princess's beauty had spread far and wide, and there
was no lack of princes who wished to try their fortune. Very funny the
palace must have looked each morning, with the dabs of different colour
on the white marble as the princes were climbing up the walls. But
though some managed to get further than others, nobody was anywhere near
the top.

They had already been spending several days in this manner when the
young prince arrived, and as he was pleasant to look upon, and civil to
talk to, they welcomed him to the house, which had been given to them,
and saw that his bath was properly perfumed after his long journey.
'Where do you come from?' they said at last. 'And whose son are you?'

But the young prince had reasons for keeping his own secret, and he
answered:

'My father was master of the horse to the king of my country, and after
my mother died he married another wife. At first all went well, but as
soon as she had babies of her own she hated me, and I fled, lest she
should do me harm.'

The hearts of the other young men were touched as soon as they heard
this story, and they did everything they could think of to make him
forget his past sorrows.

'What are you doing here?' said the youth, one day.

'We spend our whole time climbing up the walls of the palace, trying
to reach the windows of the princess,' answered the young men; 'but, as
yet, no one has reached within ten feet of them.'

'Oh, let me try too,' cried the prince; 'but to-morrow I will wait and
see what you do before I begin.

So the next day he stood where he could watch the young men go up, and
he noted the places on the wall that seemed most difficult, and made up
his mind that when his turn came he would go up some other way.

Day after day he was to be seen watching the wooers, till, one morning,
he felt that he knew the plan of the walls by heart, and took his
place by the side of the others. Thanks to what he had learned from the
failure of the rest, he managed to grasp one little rough projection
after another, till at last, to the envy of his friends, he stood on the
sill of the princess's window. Looking up from below, they saw a white
hand stretched forth to draw him in.

Then one of the young men ran straight to the king's palace, and said:
'The wall has been climbed, and the prize is won!'

'By whom?' cried the king, starting up from his throne; 'which of the
princes may I claim as my son-in-law?'

'The youth who succeeded in climbing to the princess's window is not a
prince at all,' answered the young man. 'He is the son of the master
of the horse to the great king who dwells across the river, and he fled
from his own country to escape from the hatred of his stepmother.'

At this news the king was very angry, for it had never entered his head
that anyone BUT a prince would seek to woo his daughter.

'Let him go back to the land whence he came,' he shouted in wrath; 'does
he expect me to give my daughter to an exile?' And he began to smash the
drinking vessels in his fury; indeed, he quite frightened the young man,
who ran hastily home to his friends, and told the youth what the king
had said.

Now the princess, who was leaning from her window, heard his words and
bade the messenger go back to the king her father and tell him that she
had sworn a vow never to eat or drink again if the youth was taken from
her. The king was more angry than ever when he received this message,
and ordered his guards to go at once to the palace and put the
successful wooer to death; but the princess threw herself between him
and his murderers.

'Lay a finger on him, and I shall be dead before sunset,' said she; and
as they saw that she meant it, they left the palace, and carried the
tale to her father.

By this time the king's anger was dying away, and he began to consider
what his people would think of him if he broke the promise he had
publicly given. So he ordered the princess to be brought before him,
and the young man also, and when they entered the throne room he was
so pleased with the noble air of the victor that his wrath quite melted
away, and he ran to him and embraced him.

'Tell me who you are?' he asked, when he had recovered himself a little,
'for I will never believe that you have not royal blood in your veins.'

But the prince still had his reasons for being silent, and only told the
same story. However, the king had taken such a fancy to the youth that
he said no more, and the marriage took place the following day, and
great herds of cattle and a large estate were given to the young couple.

After a little while the prince said to his wife: 'My life is in the
hands of three creatures--a crocodile, a serpent, and a dog.'

'Ah, how rash you are!' cried the princess, throwing her arms round his
neck. 'If you know that, how can you have that horrid beast about you? I
will give orders to have him killed at once.'

But the prince would not listen to her.

'Kill my dear little dog, who had been my playfellow since he was a
puppy?' exclaimed he. 'Oh, never would I allow that.' And all that the
princess could get from him was that he would always wear a sword, and
have somebody with him when he left the palace.

When the prince and princess had been married a few months, the prince
heard that his stepmother was dead, and his father was old and ill, and
longing to have his eldest son by his side again. The young man could
not remain deaf to such a message, and he took a tender farewell of his
wife, and set out on his journey home. It was a long way, and he was
forced to rest often on the road, and so it happened that, one night,
when he was sleeping in a city on the banks of the great river, a huge
crocodile came silently up and made its way along a passage to the
prince's room. Fortunately one of his guards woke up as it was trying
to steal past them, and shut the crocodile up in a large hall, where a
giant watched over it, never leaving the spot except during the night,
when the crocodile slept. And this went on for more than a month.

Now, when the prince found that he was not likely to leave his father's
kingdom again, he sent for his wife, and bade the messenger tell her
that he would await her coming in the town on the banks of the great
river. This was the reason why he delayed his journey so long, and
narrowly escaped being eaten by the crocodile. During the weeks that
followed the prince amused himself as best he could, though he counted
the minutes to the arrival of the princess, and when she did come, he at
once prepared to start for the court. That very night, however, while he
was asleep, the princess noticed something strange in one of the corners
of the room. It was a dark patch, and seemed, as she looked, to grow
longer and longer, and to be moving slowly towards the cushions on
which the prince was lying. She shrank in terror, but, slight as was the
noise, the thing heard it, and raised its head to listen. Then she saw
it was the long flat head of a serpent, and the recollection of the
prophecy rushed into her mind. Without waking her husband, she glided
out of bed, and taking up a heavy bowl of milk which stood on a table,
laid it on the floor in the path of the serpent--for she knew that no
serpent in the world can resist milk. She held her breath as the snake
drew near, and watched it throw up its head again as if it was smelling
something nice, while its forky tongue darted out greedily. At length
its eyes fell upon the milk, and in an instant it was lapping it so fast
that it was a wonder the creature did not choke, for it never took
its head from the bowl as long as a drop was left in it. After that it
dropped on the ground and slept heavily. This was what the princess had
been waiting for, and catching up her husband's sword, she severed the
snake's head from its body.

The morning after this adventure the prince and princess set out for the
king's palace, but found when they reached it, that he was already dead.
They gave him a magnificent burial, and then the prince had to examine
the new laws which had been made in his absence, and do a great deal of
business besides, till he grew quite ill from fatigue, and was obliged
to go away to one of his palaces on the banks of the river, in order to
rest. Here he soon got better, and began to hunt, and to shoot wild duck
with his bow; and wherever he went, his dog, now grown very old, went
with him.

One morning the prince and his dog were out as usual, and in chasing
their game they drew near the bank of the river. The prince was running
at full speed after his dog when he almost fell over something that
looked like a log of wood, which was lying in his path. To his surprise
a voice spoke to him, and he saw that the thing which he had taken for a
branch was really a crocodile.

'You cannot escape from me,' it was saying, when he had gathered his
senses again. 'I am your fate, and wherever you go, and whatever you do,
you will always find me before you. There is only one means of shaking
off my power. If you can dig a pit in the dry sand which will remain
full of water, my spell will be broken. If not death will come to you
speedily. I give you this one chance. Now go.'

The young man walked sadly away, and when he reached the palace he
shut himself into his room, and for the rest of the day refused to see
anyone, not even his wife. At sunset, however, as no sound could be
heard through the door, the princess grew quite frightened, and made
such a noise that the prince was forced to draw back the bolt and let
her come in. 'How pale you look,' she cried, 'has anything hurt you?
Tell me, I pray you, what is the matter, for perhaps I can help!'

So the prince told her the whole story, and of the impossible task given
him by the crocodile.

'How can a sand hole remain full of water?' asked he. 'Of course, it
will all run through. The crocodile called it a "chance"; but he might
as well have dragged me into the river at once. He said truly that I
cannot escape him.'

'Oh, if that is all,' cried the princess, 'I can set you free myself,
for my fairy godmother taught me to know the use of plants and in the
desert not far from here there grows a little four-leaved herb which
will keep the water in the pit for a whole year. I will go in search of
it at dawn, and you can begin to dig the hole as soon as you like.

To comfort her husband, the princess had spoken lightly and gaily; but
she knew very well she had no light task before her. Still, she was
full of courage and energy, and determined that, one way or another, her
husband should be saved.

It was still starlight when she left the palace on a snow-white donkey,
and rode away from the river straight to the west. For some time she
could see nothing before her but a flat waste of sand, which became
hotter and hotter as the sun rose higher and higher. Then a dreadful
thirst seized her and the donkey, but there was no stream to quench it,
and if there had been she would hardly have had time to stop, for
she still had far to go, and must be back before evening, or else
the crocodile might declare that the prince had not fulfilled his
conditions. So she spoke cheering words to her donkey, who brayed in
reply, and the two pushed steadily on.

Oh! how glad they both were when they caught sight of a tall rock in the
distance. They forgot that they were thirsty, and that the sun was hot;
and the ground seemed to fly under their feet, till the donkey stopped
of its own accord in the cool shadow. But though the donkey might rest
the princess could not, for the plant, as she knew, grew on the very top
of the rock, and a wide chasm ran round the foot of it. Luckily she had
brought a rope with her, and making a noose at one end, she flung it
across with all her might. The first time it slid back slowly into the
ditch, and she had to draw it up, and throw it again, but at length the
noose caught on something, the princess could not see what, and had to
trust her whole weight to this little bridge, which might snap and let
her fall deep down among the rocks. And in that case her death was as
certain as that of the prince.

But nothing so dreadful happened. The princess got safely to the other
side, and then became the worst part of her task. As fast as she put
her foot on a ledge of the rock the stone broke away from under her, and
left her in the same place as before. Meanwhile the hours were passing,
and it was nearly noon.

The heart of the poor princess was filled with despair, but she would
not give up the struggle. She looked round till she saw a small stone
above her which seemed rather stronger than the rest, and by only
poising her foot lightly on those that lay between, she managed by a
great effort to reach it. In this way, with torn and bleeding hands, she
gained the top; but here such a violent wind was blowing that she
was almost blinded with dust, and was obliged to throw herself on the
ground, and feel about after the precious herb.

For a few terrible moments she thought that the rock was bare, and that
her journey had been to no purpose. Feel where she would, there was
nothing but grit and stones, when, suddenly, her fingers touched
something soft in a crevice. It was a plant, that was clear; but was it
the right one? See she could not, for the wind was blowing more fiercely
than ever, so she lay where she was and counted the leaves. One, two,
three--yes! yes! there were four! And plucking a leaf she held it safe
in her hand while she turned, almost stunned by the wind, to go down the
rock.

When once she was safely over the side all became still in a moment, and
she slid down the rock so fast that it was only a wonder that she did
not land in the chasm. However, by good luck, she stopped quite close
to her rope bridge and was soon across it. The donkey brayed joyfully at
the sight of her, and set off home at his best speed, never seeming to
know that the earth under his feet was nearly as hot as the sun above
him.

On the bank of the great river he halted, and the princess rushed up to
where the prince was standing by the pit he had digged in the dry sand,
with a huge water pot beside it. A little way off the crocodile lay
blinking in the sun, with his sharp teeth and whity-yellow jaws wide
open.

At a signal from the princess the prince poured the water in the hole,
and the moment it reached the brim the princess flung in the four-leaved
plant. Would the charm work, or would the water trickle away slowly
through the sand, and the prince fall a victim to that horrible monster?
For half an hour they stood with their eyes rooted to the spot, but the
hole remained as full as at the beginning, with the little green leaf
floating on the top. Then the prince turned with a shout of triumph, and
the crocodile sulkily plunged into the river.

The prince had escape for ever the second of his three fates!

He stood there looking after the crocodile, and rejoicing that he was
free, when he was startled by a wild duck which flew past them, seeking
shelter among the rushes that bordered the edge of the stream. In
another instant his dog dashed by in hot pursuit, and knocked heavily
against his master's legs. The prince staggered, lost his balance and
fell backwards into the river, where the mud and the rushes caught him
and held him fast. He shrieked for help to his wife, who came running;
and luckily brought her rope with her. The poor old dog was drowned, but
the prince was pulled to shore. 'My wife,' he said, 'has been stronger
than my fate.'






The Fox and the Lapp



Once upon a time a fox lay peeping out of his hole, watching the road
that ran by at a little distance, and hoping to see something that might
amuse him, for he was feeling very dull and rather cross. For a long
while he watched in vain; everything seemed asleep, and not even a
bird stirred overhead. The fox grew crosser than ever, and he was just
turning away in disgust from his place when he heard the sound of feet
coming over the snow. He crouched eagerly down at the edge of the road
and said to himself: 'I wonder what would happen if I were to pretend to
be dead! This is a man driving a reindeer sledge, I know the tinkling
of the harness. And at any rate I shall have an adventure, and that is
always something!'

So he stretched himself out by the side of the road, carefully choosing
a spot where the driver could not help seeing him, yet where the
reindeer would not tread on him; and all fell out just as he had
expected. The sledge-driver pulled up sharply, as his eyes lighted on
the beautiful animal lying stiffly beside him, and jumping out he threw
the fox into the bottom of the sledge, where the goods he was carrying
were bound tightly together by ropes. The fox did not move a muscle
though his bones were sore from the fall, and the driver got back to his
seat again and drove on merrily.

But before they had gone very far, the fox, who was near the edge,
contrived to slip over, and when the Laplander saw him stretched out on
the snow he pulled up his reindeer and put the fox into one of the other
sledges that was fastened behind, for it was market-day at the nearest
town, and the man had much to sell.

They drove on a little further, when some noise in the forest made the
man turn his head, just in time to see the fox fall with a heavy thump
on to the frozen snow. 'That beast is bewitched!' he said to himself,
and then he threw the fox into the last sledge of all, which had a cargo
of fishes. This was exactly what the cunning creature wanted, and he
wriggled gently to the front and bit the cord which tied the sledge
to the one before it so that it remained standing in the middle of the
road.

Now there were so many sledges that the Lapp did not notice for a long
while that one was missing; indeed, he would have entered the town
without knowing if snow had not suddenly begun to fall. Then he got down
to secure more firmly the cloths that kept his goods dry, and going to
the end of the long row, discovered that the sledge containing the fish
and the fox was missing. He quickly unharnessed one of his reindeer and
rode back along the way he had come, to find the sledge standing safe in
the middle of the road; but as the fox had bitten off the cord close to
the noose there was no means of moving it away.

The fox meanwhile was enjoying himself mightily. As soon as he had
loosened the sledge, he had taken his favourite fish from among the
piles neatly arranged for sale, and had trotted off to the forest with
it in his mouth. By-and-by he met a bear, who stopped and said: 'Where
did you find that fish, Mr. Fox?'

'Oh, not far off,' answered he; 'I just stuck my tail in the stream
close by the place where the elves dwell, and the fish hung on to it of
itself.'

'Dear me,' snarled the bear, who was hungry and not in a good temper,
'if the fish hung on to your tail, I suppose he will hang on to mine.'

'Yes, certainly, grandfather,' replied the fox, 'if you have patience to
suffer what I suffered.'

'Of course I can,' replied the bear, 'what nonsense you talk! Show me
the way.'

So the fox led him to the bank of a stream, which, being in a warm
place, had only lightly frozen in places, and was at this moment
glittering in the spring sunshine.

'The elves bathe here,' he said, 'and if you put in your tail the fish
will catch hold of it. But it is no use being in a hurry, or you will
spoil everything.'

Then he trotted off, but only went out of sight of the bear, who stood
still on the bank with his tail deep in the water. Soon the sun set and
it grew very cold and the ice formed rapidly, and the bear's tail was
fixed as tight as if a vice had held it; and when the fox saw that
everything had happened just as he had planned it, he called out loudly:

'Be quick, good people, and come with your bows and spears. A bear has
been fishing in your brook!'

And in a moment the whole place was full of little creatures each one
with a tiny bow and a spear hardly big enough for a baby; but both
arrows and spears could sting, as the bear knew very well, and in his
fright he gave such a tug to his tail that it broke short off, and he
rolled away into the forest as fast as his legs could carry him. At this
sight the fox held his sides for laughing, and then scampered away in
another direction. By-and-by he came to a fir tree, and crept into a
hole under the root. After that he did something very strange.

Taking one of his hind feet between his two front paws, he said softly:

'What would you do, my foot, if someone was to betray me?'

'I would run so quickly that he should not catch you.'

'What would you do, mine ear, if someone was to betray me?'

'I would listen so hard that I should hear all his plans.'

'What would you do, my nose, if someone was to betray me?'

'I would smell so sharply that I should know from afar that he was
coming.'

'What would you do, my tail, if someone was to betray me?'

'I would steer you so straight a course that you would soon be beyond
his reach. Let us be off; I feel as if danger was near.'

But the fox was comfortable where he was, and did not hurry himself to
take his tail's advice. And before very long he found he was too late,
for the bear had come round by another path, and guessing where his
enemy was began to scratch at the roots of the tree. The fox made
himself as small as he could, but a scrap of his tail peeped out, and
the bear seized it and held it tight. Then the fox dug his claws into
the ground, but he was not strong enough to pull against the bear, and
slowly he was dragged forth and his body flung over the bear's neck. In
this manner they set out down the road, the fox's tail being always in
the bear's mouth.

After they had gone some way, they passed a tree-stump, on which a
bright coloured woodpecker was tapping.

'Ah! those were better times when I used to paint all the birds such gay
colours,' sighed the fox.

'What are you saying, old fellow?' asked the bear.

'I? Oh, I was saying nothing,' answered the fox drearily. 'Just carry me
to your cave and eat me up as quick as you can.'

The bear was silent, and thought of his supper; and the two continued
their journey till they reached another tree with a woodpecker tapping
on it.

'Ah! those were better times when I used to paint all the birds such gay
colours,' said the fox again to himself.

'Couldn't you paint me too?' asked the bear suddenly.

But the fox shook his head; for he was always acting, even if no one was
there to see him do it.

'You bear pain so badly,' he replied, in a thoughtful voice, 'and
you are impatient besides, and could never put up with all that is
necessary. Why, you would first have to dig a pit, and then twist ropes
of willow, and drive in posts and fill the hole with pitch, and, last of
all, set it on fire. Oh, no; you would never be able to do all that.'

'It does not matter a straw how hard the work is,' answered the bear
eagerly, 'I will do it every bit.' And as he spoke he began tearing up
the earth so fast that soon a deep pit was ready, deep enough to hold
him.

'That is all right,' said the fox at last, 'I see I was mistaken in you.
Now sit here, and I will bind you.' So the bear sat down on the edge
of the pit, and the fox sprang on his back, which he crossed with the
willow ropes, and then set fire to the pitch. It burnt up in an instant,
and caught the bands of willow and the bear's rough hair; but he did not
stir, for he thought that the fox was rubbing the bright colours into
his skin, and that he would soon be as beautiful as a whole meadow of
flowers. But when the fire grew hotter still he moved uneasily from one
foot to the other, saying, imploringly: 'It is getting rather warm, old
man.' But all the answer he got was: 'I thought you would never be able
to suffer pain like those little birds.'

The bear did not like being told that he was not as brave as a bird,
so he set his teeth and resolved to endure anything sooner than speak
again; but by this time the last willow band had burned through, and
with a push the fox sent his victim tumbling into the grass, and ran
off to hide himself in the forest. After a while he stole cautiously and
found, as he expected, nothing left but a few charred bones. These he
picked up and put in a bag, which he slung over his back.

By-and-by he met a Lapp driving his team of reindeer along the road, and
as he drew near, the fox rattled the bones gaily.

'That sounds like silver or gold,' thought the man to himself. And he
said politely to the fox:

'Good-day, friend! What have you got in your bag that makes such a
strange sound?'

'All the wealth my father left me,' answered the fox. 'Do you feel
inclined to bargain?'

'Well, I don't mind,' replied the Lapp, who was a prudent man, and did
not wish the fox to think him too eager; 'but show me first what money
you have got.'

'Ah, but I can't do that,' answered the fox, 'my bag is sealed up. But
if you will give me those three reindeer, you shall take it as it is,
with all its contents.'

The Lapp did not quite like it, but the fox spoke with such an air that
his doubts melted away. He nodded, and stretched out his hand; the fox
put the bag into it, and unharnassed the reindeer he had chosen.

'Oh, I forgot!' he exclaimed, turning round, as he was about to drive
them in the opposite direction, 'you must be sure not to open the bag
until you have gone at least five miles, right on the other side of
those hills out there. If you do, you will find that all the gold and
silver has changed into a parcel of charred bones.' Then he whipped up
his reindeer, and was soon out of sight.

For some time the Lapp was satisfied with hearing the bones rattle,
and thinking to himself what a good bargain he had made, and of all the
things he would buy with the money. But, after a bit, this amusement
ceased to content him, and besides, what was the use of planning when
you did not know for certain how rich you were? Perhaps there might be a
great deal of silver and only a little gold in the bag; or a great deal
of gold, and only a little silver. Who could tell? He would not, of
course, take the money out to count it, for that might bring him bad
luck. But there could be no harm in just one peep! So he slowly broke
the seal, and untied the strings, and, behold, a heap of burnt bones lay
before him! In a minute he knew he had been tricked, and flinging
the bag to the ground in a rage, he ran after the fox as fast as his
snow-shoes would carry him.

Now the fox had guessed exactly what would happen, and was on the look
out. Directly he saw the little speck coming towards him, he wished that
the man's snow-shoes might break, and that very instant the Lapp's shoes
snapped in two. The Lapp did now know that this was the fox's work, but
he had to stop and fetch one of his other reindeer, which he mounted,
and set off again in pursuit of his enemy. The fox soon heard him
coming, and this time he wished that the reindeer might fall and break
its leg. And so it did; and the man felt it was a hopeless chase, and
that he was no match for the fox.

So the fox drove on in peace till he reached the cave where all his
stores were kept, and then he began to wonder whom he could get to help
him kill his reindeer, for though he could steal reindeer he was too
small to kill them. 'After all, it will be quite easy,' thought he,
and he bade a squirrel, who was watching him on a tree close by, take a
message to all the robber beasts of the forest, and in less than half an
hour a great crashing of branches was heard, and bears, wolves, snakes,
mice, frogs, and other creatures came pressing up to the cave.

When they heard why they had been summoned, they declared themselves
ready each one to do his part. The bear took his crossbow from his neck
and shot the reindeer in the chin; and, from that day to this, every
reindeer has a mark in that same spot, which is always known as the
bear's arrow. The wolf shot him in the thigh, and the sign of his arrow
still remains; and so with the mouse and the viper and all the rest,
even the frog; and at the last the reindeer all died. And the fox did
nothing, but looked on.

'I really must go down to the brook and wash myself,' said he (though he
was perfectly clean), and he went under the bank and hid himself behind
a stone. From there he set up the most frightful shrieks, so that the
animals fled away in all directions. Only the mouse and the ermine
remained where they were, for they thought that they were much too small
to be noticed.

The fox continued his shrieks till he felt sure that the animals must
have got to a safe distance; then he crawled out of his hiding-place and
went to the bodies of the reindeer, which he now had all to himself. He
gathered a bundle of sticks for a fire, and was just preparing to cook
a steak, when his enemy, the Lapp, came up, panting with haste and
excitement.

'What are you doing there?' cried he; 'why did you palm off those bones
on me? And why, when you had got the reindeer, did you kill them?'

'Dear brother,' answered the fox with a sob, 'do not blame me for
this misfortune. It is my comrades who have slain them in spite of my
prayers.'

The man made no reply, for the white fur of the ermine, who was
crouching with the mouse behind some stones, had just caught his eye.
He hastily seized the iron hook which hung over the fire and flung it at
the little creature; but the ermine was too quick for him, and the hook
only touched the top of its tail, and that has remained black to this
day. As for the mouse, the Lapp threw a half-burnt stick after him,
and though it was not enough to hurt him, his beautiful white skin was
smeared all over with it, and all the washing in the world would not
make him clean again. And the man would have been wiser if he had let
the ermine and the mouse alone, for when he turned round again he found
he was alone.

Directly the fox noticed that his enemy's attention had wandered from
himself he watched his chance, and stole softly away till he had reached
a clump of thick bushes, when he ran as fast as he could, till he
reached a river, where a man was mending his boat.

'Oh, I wish, I wish, I had a boat to mend too!' he cried, sitting up on
his hind-legs and looking into the man's face.

'Stop your silly chatter!' answered the man crossly, 'or I will give you
a bath in the river.'

'Oh, I wish, I do wish, I had a boat to mend,' cried the fox again, as
if he had not heard. And the man grew angry and seized him by the tail,
and threw him far out in the stream close to the edge of an island;
which was just what the fox wanted. He easily scrambled up, and sitting
on the top, he called: 'Hasten, hasten, O fishes, and carry me to
the other side!' And the fishes left the stones where they had been
sleeping, and the pools where they had been feeding, and hurried to see
who could get to the island first.

'I have won,' shouted the pike. 'Jump on my back, dear fox, and you will
find yourself in a trice on the opposite shore.'

'No, thank you,' answered the fox, 'your back is much too weak for me. I
should break it.'

'Try mine,' said the eel, who had wriggled to the front.

'No, thank you,' replied the fox again, 'I should slip over your head
and be drowned.'

'You won't slip on MY back,' said the perch, coming forward.

'No; but you are really TOO rough,' returned the fox.

'Well, you can have no fault to find with ME,' put in the trout.

'Good gracious! are YOU here?' exclaimed the fox. 'But I'm afraid to
trust myself to you either.'

At this moment a fine salmon swam slowly up.

'Ah, yes, you are the person I want,' said the fox; 'but come near, so
that I may get on your back, without wetting my feet.'

So the salmon swam close under the island, and when he was touching it
the fox seized him in his claws and drew him out of the water, and put
him on a spit, while he kindled a fire to cook him by. When everything
was ready, and the water in the pot was getting hot, he popped him
in, and waited till he thought the salmon was nearly boiled. But as he
stooped down the water gave a sudden fizzle, and splashed into the fox's
eyes, blinding him. He started backwards with a cry of pain, and sat
still for some minutes, rocking himself to and fro. When he was a little
better he rose and walked down a road till he met a grouse, who stopped
and asked what was the matter.

'Have you a pair of eyes anywhere about you?' asked the fox politely.

'No, I am afraid I haven't,' answered the grouse, and passed on.

A little while after the fox heard the buzzing of an early bee, whom a
gleam of sun had tempted out.

'Do you happen to have an extra pair of eyes anywhere?' asked the fox.

'I am sorry to say I have only those I am using,' replied the bee. And
the fox went on till he nearly fell over an asp who was gliding across
the road.

'I should be SO glad if you would tell me where I could get a pair of
eyes,' said the fox. 'I suppose you don't happen to have any you could
lend me?'

'Well, if you only want them for a short time, perhaps I could manage,'
answered the asp; 'but I can't do without them for long.'

'Oh, it is only for a very short time that I need them,' said the fox;
'I have a pair of my own just behind that hill, and when I find them I
will bring yours back to you. Perhaps you will keep these till them.'
So he took the eyes out of his own head and popped them into the head of
the asp, and put the asp's eyes in their place. As he was running off he
cried over his shoulder: 'As long as the world lasts the asps' eyes will
go down in the heads of foxes from generation to generation.'

And so it has been; and if you look at the eyes of an asp you will see
that they are all burnt; and though thousands and thousands of years
have gone by since the fox was going about playing tricks upon everybody
he met, the asp still bears the traces of the day when the sly creature
cooked the salmon.






Kisa the Cat



Once upon a time there lived a queen who had a beautiful cat, the colour
of smoke, with china-blue eyes, which she was very fond of. The cat was
constantly with her, and ran after her wherever she went, and even sat
up proudly by her side when she drove out in her fine glass coach.

'Oh, pussy,' said the queen one day, 'you are happier than I am! For you
have a dear kitten just like yourself, and I have nobody to play with
but you.'

'Don't cry,' answered the cat, laying her paw on her mistress's arm.
'Crying never does any good. I will see what can be done.'

The cat was as good as her word. As soon as she returned from her drive
she trotted off to the forest to consult a fairy who dwelt there, and
very soon after the queen had a little girl, who seemed made out of snow
and sunbeams. The queen was delighted, and soon the baby began to take
notice of the kitten as she jumped about the room, and would not go to
sleep at all unless the kitten lay curled up beside her.

Two or three months went by, and though the baby was still a baby, the
kitten was fast becoming a cat, and one evening when, as usual, the
nurse came to look for her, to put her in the baby's cot, she was
nowhere to be found. What a hunt there was for that kitten, to be sure!
The servants, each anxious to find her, as the queen was certain to
reward the lucky man, searched in the most impossible places. Boxes were
opened that would hardly have held the kitten's paw; books were taken
from bookshelves, lest the kitten should have got behind them, drawers
were pulled out, for perhaps the kitten might have got shut in. But it
was all no use. The kitten had plainly run away, and nobody could tell
if it would ever choose to come back.

Years passed away, and one day, when the princess was playing ball in
the garden, she happened to throw her ball farther than usual, and it
fell into a clump of rose-bushes. The princess of course ran after it
at once, and she was stooping down to feel if it was hidden in the long
grass, when she heard a voice calling her: 'Ingibjorg! Ingibjorg!' it
said, 'have you forgotten me? I am Kisa, your sister!'

'But I never HAD a sister,' answered Ingibjorg, very much puzzled; for
she knew nothing of what had taken place so long ago.

'Don't you remember how I always slept in your cot beside you, and how
you cried till I came? But girls have no memories at all! Why, I could
find my way straight up to that cot this moment, if I was once inside
the palace.'

'Why did you go away then?' asked the princess. But before Kisa could
answer, Ingibjorg's attendants arrived breathless on the scene, and were
so horrified at the sight of a strange cat, that Kisa plunged into the
bushes and went back to the forest.

The princess was very much vexed with her ladies-in-waiting for
frightening away her old playfellow, and told the queen who came to her
room every evening to bid her good-night.

'Yes, it is quite true what Kisa said,' answered the queen; 'I should
have liked to see her again. Perhaps, some day, she will return, and
then you must bring her to me.'

Next morning it was very hot, and the princess declared that she must
go and play in the forest, where it was always cool, under the big shady
trees. As usual, her attendants let her do anything she pleased, and
sitting down on a mossy bank where a little stream tinkled by, soon fell
sound asleep. The princess saw with delight that they would pay no
heed to her, and wandered on and on, expecting every moment to see some
fairies dancing round a ring, or some little brown elves peeping at
her from behind a tree. But, alas! she met none of these; instead, a
horrible giant came out of his cave and ordered her to follow him. The
princess felt much afraid, as he was so big and ugly, and began to be
sorry that she had not stayed within reach of help; but as there was no
use in disobeying the giant, she walked meekly behind.

They went a long way, and Ingibjorg grew very tired, and at length began
to cry.

'I don't like girls who make horrid noises,' said the giant, turning
round. 'But if you WANT to cry, I will give you something to cry for.'
And drawing an axe from his belt, he cut off both her feet, which he
picked up and put in his pocket. Then he went away.

Poor Ingibjorg lay on the grass in terrible pain, and wondering if she
should stay there till she died, as no one would know where to look for
her. How long it was since she had set out in the morning she could not
tell--it seemed years to her, of course; but the sun was still high in
the heavens when she heard the sound of wheels, and then, with a great
effort, for her throat was parched with fright and pain, she gave a
shout.

'I am coming!' was the answer; and in another moment a cart made its way
through the trees, driven by Kisa, who used her tail as a whip to urge
the horse to go faster. Directly Kisa saw Ingibjorg lying there, she
jumped quickly down, and lifting the girl carefully in her two front
paws, laid her upon some soft hay, and drove back to her own little hut.

In the corner of the room was a pile of cushions, and these Kisa
arranged as a bed. Ingibjorg, who by this time was nearly fainting from
all she had gone through, drank greedily some milk, and then sank back
on the cushions while Kisa fetched some dried herbs from a cupboard,
soaked them in warm water and tied them on the bleeding legs. The pain
vanished at once, and Ingibjorg looked up and smiled at Kisa.

'You will go to sleep now,' said the cat, 'and you will not mind if I
leave you for a little while. I will lock the door, and no one can hurt
you.' But before she had finished the princess was asleep. Then Kisa
got into the cart, which was standing at the door, and catching up the
reins, drove straight to the giant's cave.

Leaving her cart behind some trees, Kisa crept gently up to the open
door, and, crouching down, listened to what the giant was telling his
wife, who was at supper with him.

'The first day that I can spare I shall just go back and kill her,' he
said; 'it would never do for people in the forest to know that a mere
girl can defy me!' And he and his wife were so busy calling Ingibjorg
all sorts of names for her bad behaviour, that they never noticed Kisa
stealing into a dark corner, and upsetting a whole bag of salt into the
great pot before the fire.

'Dear me, how thirsty I am!' cried the giant by-and-by.

'So am I,' answered the wife. 'I do wish I had not taken that last
spoonful of broth; I am sure something was wrong with it.'

'If I don't get some water I shall die,' went on the giant. And rushing
out of the cave, followed by his wife, he ran down the path which led to
the river.

Then Kisa entered the hut, and lost no time in searching every hole till
she came upon some grass, under which Ingibjorg's feet were hidden, and
putting them in her cart, drove back again to her own hut.

Ingibjorg was thankful to see her, for she had lain, too frightened to
sleep, trembling at every noise.

'Oh, is it you?' she cried joyfully, as Kisa turned the key. And the cat
came in, holding up the two neat little feet in their silver slippers.

'In two minutes they shall be as tight as they ever were!' said
Kisa. And taking some strings of the magic grass which the giant had
carelessly heaped on them, she bound the feet on to the legs above.

'Of course you won't be able to walk for some time; you must not expect
THAT,' she continued. 'But if you are very good, perhaps, in about a
week, I may carry you home again.'

And so she did; and when the cat drove the cart up to the palace gate,
lashing the horse furiously with her tail, and the king and queen saw
their lost daughter sitting beside her, they declared that no reward
could be too great for the person who had brought her out of the giant's
hands.

'We will talk about that by-and-by,' said the cat, as she made her best
bow, and turned her horse's head.

The princess was very unhappy when Kisa left her without even bidding
her farewell. She would neither eat nor drink, nor take any notice of
all the beautiful dresses her parents bought for her.

'She will die, unless we can make her laugh,' one whispered to the
other. 'Is there anything in the world that we have left untried?'

'Nothing except marriage,' answered the king. And he invited all the
handsomest young men he could think of to the palace, and bade the
princess choose a husband from among them.

It took her some time to decide which she admired the most, but at last
she fixed upon a young prince, whose eyes were like the pools in the
forest, and his hair of bright gold. The king and the queen were greatly
pleased, as the young man was the son of a neighbouring king, and they
gave orders that a splendid feast should be got ready.

When the marriage was over, Kisa suddenly stood before them, and
Ingibjorg rushed forward and clasped her in her arms.

'I have come to claim my reward,' said the cat. 'Let me sleep for this
night at the foot of your bed.'

'Is that ALL?' asked Ingibjorg, much disappointed.

'It is enough,' answered the cat. And when the morning dawned, it was no
cat that lay upon the bed, but a beautiful princess.

'My mother and I were both enchanted by a spiteful fairy,' said she,
'we could not free ourselves till we had done some kindly deed that had
never been wrought before. My mother died without ever finding a chance
of doing anything new, but I took advantage of the evil act of the giant
to make you as whole as ever.'

Then they were all more delighted than before, and the princess lived
in the court until she, too, married, and went away to govern one of her
own.






The Lion and the Cat



Far away on the other side of the world there lived, long ago, a lion
and his younger brother, the wild cat, who were so fond of each other
that they shared the same hut. The lion was much the bigger and stronger
of the two--indeed, he was much bigger and stronger than any of the
beasts that dwelt in the forest; and, besides, he could jump father and
run faster than all the rest. If strength and swiftness could gain him a
dinner he was sure never to be without one, but when it came to cunning,
both the grizzly bear and the serpent could get the better of him, and
he was forced to call in the help of the wild cat.

Now the young wild cat had a lovely golden ball, so beautiful that you
could hardly look at it except through a piece of smoked glass, and he
kept it hidden in the thick fur muff that went round his neck. A very
large old animal, since dead, had given it to him when he was hardly
more than a baby, and had told him never to part with it, for as long as
he kept it no harm could ever come near him.

In general the wild cat did not need to use his ball, for the lion was
fond of hunting, and could kill all the food that they needed; but now
and then his life would have been in danger had it not been for the
golden ball.

One day the two brothers started to hunt at daybreak, but as the cat
could not run nearly as fast as the lion, he had quite a long start. At
least he THOUGHT it was a long one, but in a very few bounds and springs
the lion reached his side.

'There is a bear sitting on that tree,' he whispered softly. 'He is only
waiting for us to pass, to drop down on my back.'

'Ah, you are so big that he does not see I am behind you,' answered the
wild cat. And, touching the ball, he just said: 'Bear, die!' And the
bear tumbled dead out of the tree, and rolled over just in front of
them.

For some time they trotted on without any adventures, till just as they
were about to cross a strip of long grass on the edge of the forest, the
lion's quick ears detected a faint rustling noise.

'That is a snake,' he cried, stopping short, for he was much more afraid
of snakes than of bears.

'Oh, it is all right,' answered the cat. 'Snake, die!' And the snake
died, and the two brothers skinned it. They then folded the skin up into
a very small parcel, and the cat tucked it into his mane, for snakes'
skins can do all sorts of wonderful things, if you are lucky enough to
have one of them.

All this time they had had no dinner, for the snake's flesh was not
nice, and the lion did not like eating bear--perhaps because he never
felt sure that the bear was REALLY dead, and would not jump up alive
when his enemy went near him. Most people are afraid of SOME thing, and
bears and serpents were the only creatures that caused the lion's heart
to tremble. So the two brothers set off again and soon reached the side
of a hill where some fine deer were grazing.

'Kill one of those deer for your own dinner,' said the boy-brother, 'but
catch me another alive. I want him.'

The lion at once sprang towards them with a loud roar, but the deer
bounded away, and they were all three soon lost to sight. The cat waited
for a long while, but finding that the lion did not return, went back to
the house where they lived.

It was quite dark when the lion came home, where his brother was sitting
curled up in one corner.

'Did you catch the deer for me?' asked the boy-brother, springing up.

'Well, no,' replied the man-brother. 'The fact is, that I did not get up
to them till we had run half way across the world and left the wind
far behind us. Think what a trouble it would have been to drag it here!
So--I just ate them both.'

The cat said nothing, but he did not feel that he loved his big brother.
He had thought a great deal about that deer, and had meant to get on his
back to ride him as a horse, and go to see all the wonderful places
the lion talked to him about when he was in a good temper. The more he
thought of it the more sulky he grew, and in the morning, when the lion
said that it was time for them to start to hunt, the cat told him that
he might kill the bear and snake by himself, as HE had a headache, and
would rather stay at home. The little fellow knew quite well that the
lion would not dare to go out without him and his ball for fear of
meeting a bear or a snake.

The quarrel went on, and for many days neither of the brothers spoke to
each other, and what made them still more cross was, that they could get
very little to eat, and we know that people are often cross when they
are hungry. At last it occurred to the lion that if he could only steal
the magic ball he could kill bears and snakes for himself, and then the
cat might be as sulky as he liked for anything that it would matter.
But how was the stealing to be done? The cat had the ball hung round his
neck day and night, and he was such a light sleeper that it was useless
to think of taking it while he slept. No! the only thing was to get him
to lend it of his own accord, and after some days the lion (who was not
at all clever) hit upon a plan that he thought would do.

'Dear me, how dull it is here!' said the lion one afternoon, when the
rain was pouring down in such torrents that, however sharp your eyes or
your nose might be, you could not spy a single bird or beast among the
bushes. 'Dear me, how dull, how dreadfully dull I am. Couldn't we have a
game of catch with that golden ball of yours?'

'I don't care about playing catch, it does not amuse me,' answered
the cat, who was as cross as ever; for no cat, even to this day, ever
forgets an injury done to him.

'Well, then, lend me the ball for a little, and I will play by myself,'
replied the lion, stretching out a paw as he spoke.

'You can't play in the rain, and if you did, you would only lose it in
the bushes,' said the cat.

'Oh, no, I won't; I will play in here. Don't be so ill-natured.' And
with a very bad grace the cat untied the string and threw the golden
ball into the lion's lap, and composed himself to sleep again.

For a long while the lion tossed it up and down gaily, feeling that,
however sound asleep the boy-brother might LOOK, he was sure to have one
eye open; but gradually he began to edge closer to the opening, and at
last gave such a toss that the ball went up high into the air, and he
could not see what became of it.

'Oh, how stupid of me!' he cried, as the cat sprang up angrily, 'let us
go at once and search for it. It can't really have fallen very far.'
But though they searched that day and the next, and the next after that,
they never found it, because it never came down.

After the loss of his ball the cat refused to live with the lion any
longer, but wandered away to the north, always hoping he might meet
with his ball again. But months passed, and years passed, and though he
travelled over hundreds of miles, he never saw any traces of it.

At length, when he was getting quite old, he came to a place unlike any
that he had ever seen before, where a big river rolled right to the foot
of some high mountains. The ground all about the river bank was damp
and marshy, and as no cat likes to wet its feet, this one climbed a
tree that rose high above the water, and thought sadly of his lost ball,
which would have helped him out of this horrible place. Suddenly he saw
a beautiful ball, for all the world like his own, dangling from a branch
of the tree he was on. He longed to get at it; but was the branch strong
enough to bear his weight? It was no use, after all he had done, getting
drowned in the water. However, it could do no harm, if he was to go a
little way; he could always manage to get back somehow.

So he stretched himself at full length upon the branch, and wriggled his
body cautiously along. To his delight it seemed thick and stout. Another
movement, and, by stretching out his paw, he would be able to draw the
string towards him, when the branch gave a loud crack, and the cat made
haste to wriggle himself back the way he had come.

But when cats make up their minds to do anything they generally DO it;
and this cat began to look about to see if there was really no way of
getting at his ball. Yes! there was, and it was much surer than the
other, though rather more difficult. Above the bough where the ball was
hung was another bough much thicker, which he knew could not break with
his weight; and by holding on tight to this with all his four paws, he
could just manage to touch the ball with his tail. He would thus be able
to whisk the ball to and fro till, by-and-by, the string would become
quite loose, and it would fall to the ground. It might take some time,
but the lion's little brother was patient, like most cats.

Well, it all happened just as the cat intended it should, and when the
ball dropped on the ground the cat ran down the tree like lightning,
and, picking it up, tucked it away in the snake's skin round his neck.
Then he began jumping along the shore of the Big Water from one place to
another, trying to find a boat, or even a log of wood, that would take
him across. But there was nothing; only, on the other side, he saw two
girls cooking, and though he shouted to them at the top of his voice,
they were too far off to hear what he said. And, what was worse, the
ball suddenly fell out of its snake's skin bag right into the river.

Now, it is not at all an uncommon thing for balls to tumble into rivers,
but in that case they generally either fall to the bottom and stay
there, or else bob about on the top of the water close to where they
first touched it. But this ball, instead of doing either of these
things, went straight across to the other side, and there one of the
girls saw it when she stooped to dip some water into her pail.

'Oh! what a lovely ball!' cried she, and tried to catch it in her pail;
but the ball always kept bobbing just out of her reach.

'Come and help me!' she called to her sister, and after a long while
they had the ball safe inside the pail. They were delighted with their
new toy, and one or the other held it in her hand till bedtime came, and
then it was a long time before they could make up their minds where it
would be safest for the night. At last they locked it in a cupboard in
one corner of their room, and as there was no hole anywhere the ball
could not possibly get out. After that they went to sleep.

In the morning the first thing they both did was to run to the cupboard
and unlock it, but when the door opened they started back, for, instead
of the ball, there stood a handsome young man.

'Ladies,' he said, 'how can I thank you for what you have done for me?
Long, long ago, I was enchanted by a wicked fairy, and condemned to keep
the shape of a ball till I should meet with two maidens, who would take
me to their own home. But where was I to meet them? For hundreds of
years I have lived in the depths of the forest, where nothing but wild
beasts ever came, and it was only when the lion threw me into the sky
that I was able to fall to earth near this river. Where there is a
river, sooner or later people will come; so, hanging myself on a tree, I
watched and waited. For a moment I lost heart when I fell once more into
the hands of my old master the wild cat, but my hopes rose again as I
saw he was making for the river bank opposite where you were standing.
That was my chance, and I took it. And now, ladies, I have only to say
that, if ever I can do anything to help you, go to the top of that high
mountain and knock three times at the iron door at the north side, and I
will come to you.'

So, with a low bow, he vanished from before them, leaving the maidens
weeping at having lost in one moment both the ball and the prince.






Which was the Foolishest?



In a little village that stood on a wide plain, where you could see
the sun from the moment he rose to the moment he set, there lived two
couples side by side. The men, who worked under the same master, were
quite good friends, but the wives were always quarrelling, and the
subject they quarrelled most about was--which of the two had the
stupidest husband.

Unlike most women--who think that anything that belongs to them must be
better than what belongs to anyone else--each thought her husband the
more foolish of the two.

'You should just see what he does!' one said to her neighbour. 'He puts
on the baby's frock upside down, and, one day, I found him trying to
feed her with boiling soup, and her mouth was scalded for days after.
Then he picks up stones in the road and sows them instead of potatoes,
and one day he wanted to go into the garden from the top window, because
he declared it was a shorter way than through the door.'

'That is bad enough, of course,' answered the other; 'but it is really
NOTHING to what I have to endure every day from MY husband. If, when
I am busy, I ask him to go and feed the poultry, he is certain to give
them some poisonous stuff instead of their proper food, and when I visit
the yard next I find them all dead. Once he even took my best bonnet,
when I had gone away to my sick mother, and when I came back I found he
had given it to the hen to lay her eggs in. And you know yourself that,
only last week, when I sent him to buy a cask of butter, he returned
driving a hundred and fifty ducks which someone had induced him to take,
and not one of them would lay.'

'Yes, I am afraid he IS trying,' replied the first; 'but let us put them
to the proof, and see which of them is the most foolish.'

So, about the time that she expected her husband home from work, she got
out her spinning-wheel, and sat busily turning it, taking care not even
to look up from her work when the man came in. For some minutes he stood
with his mouth open watching her, and as she still remained silent, he
said at last:

'Have you gone mad, wife, that you sit spinning without anything on the
wheel?'

'YOU may think that there is nothing on it,' answered she, 'but I can
assure you that there is a large skein of wool, so fine that nobody can
see it, which will be woven into a coat for you.'

'Dear me!' he replied, 'what a clever wife I have got! If you had not
told me I should never have known that there was any wool on the wheel
at all. But now I really do seem to see something.'

The woman smiled and was silent, and after spinning busily for an hour
more, she got up from her stoop, and began to weave as fast as she
could. At last she got up, and said to her husband: 'I am too tired to
finish it to-night, so I shall go to bed, and to-morrow I shall only
have the cutting and stitching to do.'

So the next morning she got up early, and after she had cleaned her
house, and fed her chickens, and put everything in its place again, she
bent over the kitchen table, and the sound of her big scissors might
be heard snip! snap! as far as the garden. Her husband could not see
anything to snip at; but then he was so stupid that was not surprising!

After the cutting came the sewing. The woman patted and pinned and fixed
and joined, and then, turning to the man, she said:

'Now it is ready for you to try on.' And she made him take off his coat,
and stand up in front of her, and once more she patted an pinned and
fixed and joined, and was very careful in smoothing out every wrinkle.

'It does not feel very warm,' observed the man at last, when he had
borne all this patiently for a long time.

'That is because it is so fine,' answered she; 'you do not want it to be
as thick as the rough clothes you wear every day.'

He DID, but was ashamed to say so, and only answered: 'Well, I am sure
it must be beautiful since you say so, and I shall be smarter than
anyone in the whole village. "What a splendid coat!" they will exclaim
when they see me. But it is not everybody who has a wife as clever as
mine.'

Meanwhile the other wife was not idle. As soon as her husband entered
she looked at him with such a look of terror that the poor man was quite
frightened.

'Why do you stare at me so? Is there anything the matter?' asked he.

'Oh! go to bed at once,' she cried; 'you must be very ill indeed to look
like that!'

The man was rather surprised at first, as he felt particularly well that
evening; but the moment his wife spoke he became quite certain that he
had something dreadful the matter with him, and grew quite pale.

'I dare say it would be the best place for me,' he answered, trembling;
and he suffered his wife to take him upstairs, and to help him off with
his clothes.

'If you sleep well during the might there MAY be a chance for you,' said
she, shaking her head, as she tucked him up warmly; 'but if not--' And
of course the poor man never closed an eye till the sun rose.

'How do you feel this morning?' asked the woman, coming in on tip-toe
when her house-work was finished.

'Oh, bad; very bad indeed,' answered he; 'I have not slept for a moment.
Can you think of nothing to make me better?'

'I will try everything that is possible,' said the wife, who did not in
the least wish her husband to die, but was determined to show that he
was more foolish that the other man. 'I will get some dried herbs and
make you a drink, but I am very much afraid that it is too late. Why did
you not tell me before?'

'I thought perhaps the pain would go off in a day or two; and, besides,
I did not want to make you unhappy,' answered the man, who was by this
time quite sure he had been suffering tortures, and had borne them like
a hero. 'Of course, if I had had any idea how ill I really was, I should
have spoken at once.'

'Well, well, I will see what can be done,' said the wife, 'but talking
is not good for you. Lie still, and keep yourself warm.'

All that day the man lay in bed, and whenever his wife entered the room
and asked him, with a shake of the head, how he felt, he always replied
that he was getting worse. At last, in the evening, she burst into
tears, and when he inquired what was the matter, she sobbed out:

'Oh, my poor, poor husband, are you really dead? I must go to-morrow and
order your coffin.'

Now, when the man heard this, a cold shiver ran through his body, and
all at once he knew that he was as well as he had ever been in his life.

'Oh, no, no!' he cried, 'I feel quite recovered! Indeed, I think I shall
go out to work.'

'You will do no such thing,' replied his wife. 'Just keep quite quiet,
for before the sun rises you will be a dead man.'

The man was very frightened at her words, and lay absolutely still while
the undertaker came and measured him for his coffin; and his wife gave
orders to the gravedigger about his grave. That evening the coffin was
sent home, and in the morning at nine o'clock the woman put him on a
long flannel garment, and called to the undertaker's men to fasten down
the lid and carry him to the grave, where all their friends were waiting
them. Just as the body was being placed in the ground the other woman's
husband came running up, dressed, as far as anyone could see, in no
clothes at all. Everybody burst into shouts of laughter at the sight of
him, and the men laid down the coffin and laughed too, till their sides
nearly split. The dead man was so astonished at this behaviour, that he
peeped out of a little window in the side of the coffin, and cried out:

'I should laugh as loudly as any of you, if I were not a dead man.'

When they heard the voice coming from the coffin the other people
suddenly stopped laughing, and stood as if they had been turned into
stone. Then they rushed with one accord to the coffin, and lifted the
lid so that the man could step out amongst them.

'Were you really not dead after all?' asked they. 'And if not, why did
you let yourself be buried?'

At this the wives both confessed that they had each wished to prove that
her husband was stupider than the other. But the villagers declared that
they could not decide which was the most foolish--the man who allowed
himself to be persuaded that he was wearing fine clothes when he was
dressed in nothing, or the man who let himself be buried when he was
alive and well.

So the women quarrelled just as much as they did before, and no one ever
knew whose husband was the most foolish.





Asmund and Signy



Long, long ago, in the days when fairies, witches, giants and ogres
still visited the earth, there lived a king who reigned over a great and
beautiful country. He was married to a wife whom he dearly loved, and
had two most promising children--a son called Asmund, and a daughter who
was named Signy.

The king and queen were very anxious to bring their children up well,
and the young prince and princess were taught everything likely to
make them clever and accomplished. They lived at home in their father's
palace, and he spared no pains to make their lives happy.

Prince Asmund dearly loved all outdoor sports and an open-air life, and
from his earliest childhood he had longed to live entirely in the forest
close by. After many arguments and entreaties he succeeded in persuading
the king to give him two great oak trees for his very own.

'Now,' said he to his sister, 'I will have the trees hollowed out, and
then I will make rooms in them and furnish them so that I shall be able
to live out in the forest.'

'Oh, Asmund!' exclaimed Signy, 'what a delightful idea! Do let me come
too, and live in one of your trees. I will bring all my pretty things
and ornaments, and the trees are so near home we shall be quite safe in
them.'

Asmund, who was extremely fond of his sister, readily consented,
and they had a very happy time together, carrying over all their pet
treasures, and Signy's jewels and other ornaments, and arranging them in
the pretty little rooms inside the trees.

Unfortunately sadder days were to come. A war with another country broke
out, and the king had to lead his army against their enemy. During his
absence the queen fell ill, and after lingering for some time she died,
to the great grief of her children. They made up their minds to live
altogether for a time in their trees, and for this purpose they had
provisions enough stored up inside to last them a year.

Now, I must tell you, in another country a long way off, there reigned a
king who had an only son named Ring. Prince Ring had heard so much about
the beauty and goodness of Princess Signy that he determined to marry
her if possible. So he begged his father to let him have a ship for the
voyage, set sail with a favourable wind, and after a time landed in the
country where Signy lived.

The prince lost no time in setting out for the royal palace, and on his
way there he met such a wonderfully lovely woman that he felt he had
never seen such beauty in all his life. He stopped her and at once asked
who she was.

'I am Signy, the king's daughter,' was the reply.

Then the prince inquired why she was wandering about all by herself, and
she told him that since her mother's death she was so sad that whilst
her father was away she preferred being alone.

Ring was quite deceived by her, and never guessed that she was not
Princess Signy at all, but a strong, gigantic, wicked witch bent on
deceiving him under a beautiful shape. He confided to her that he had
travelled all the way from his own country for her sake, having fallen
in love with the accounts he had heard of her beauty, and he then and
there asked her to be his wife.

The witch listened to all he said and, much pleased, ended by accepting
his offer; but she begged him to return to his ship for a little while
as she wished to go some way further into the forest, promising to join
him later on.

Prince Ring did as she wished and went back to his ship to wait, whilst
she walked on into the forest till she reached the two oak trees.

Here she resumed her own gigantic shape, tore up the trees by their
roots, threw one of them over her back and clasped the other to her
breast, carried them down to the shore and waded out with them to the
ship.

She took care not to be noticed as she reached the ship, and directly
she got on board she once more changed to her former lovely appearance
and told the prince that her luggage was now all on board, and that they
need wait for nothing more.

The prince gave orders to set sail at once, and after a fine voyage
landed in his own country, where his parents and his only sister
received him with the greatest joy and affection.

The false Signy was also very kindly welcomed. A beautiful house was got
ready for her, and Prince Ring had the two oaks planted in the garden
just in front of her windows so that she might have the pleasure of
seeing them constantly. He often went to visit the witch, whom he
believed to be Princess Signy, and one day he asked: 'Don't you think we
might be married before long?'

'Yes,' said she, quite pleased, 'I am quite ready to marry you whenever
you like.'

'Then,' replied Ring, 'let us decide on this day fortnight. And see, I
have brought you some stuff to make your wedding-dress of.' So saying
he gave her a large piece of the most beautiful brocade, all woven over
with gold threads, and embroidered with pearls and other jewels.

The prince had hardly left her before the witch resumed her proper shape
and tore about the room, raging and storming and flinging the beautiful
silk on the floor.

'What was SHE to do with such things?' she roared. 'SHE did not know how
to sew or make clothes, and she was sure to die of starvation into the
bargain if her brother Ironhead did not come soon and bring her some raw
meat and bones, for she really could eat nothing else.'

As she was raving and roaring in this frantic manner part of the floor
suddenly opened and a huge giant rose up carrying a great chest in his
arms. The witch was enchanted at this sight, and eagerly helped her
brother to set down and open the chest, which was full of the ghastly
food she had been longing for. The horrid pair set to and greedily
devoured it all, and when the chest was quite empty the giant put it on
his shoulder and disappeared as he had come, without leaving any trace
of his visit.

But his sister did not keep quiet for long, and tore and pulled at the
rich brocade as if she wanted to destroy it, stamping about and shouting
angrily.

Now, all this time Prince Asmund and his sister sat in their trees just
outside the window and saw all that was going on.

'Dear Signy,' said Asmund, 'do try to get hold of that piece of brocade
and make the clothes yourself, for really we shall have no rest day or
night with such a noise.'

'I will try,' said Signy; 'it won't be an easy matter, but it's worth
while taking some trouble to have a little peace.'

So she watched for an opportunity and managed to carry off the brocade
the first time the witch left her room. Then she set to work, cutting
out and sewing as best she could, and by the end of six days she had
turned it into an elegant robe with a long train and a mantle. When it
was finished she climbed to the top of her tree and contrived to throw
the clothes on to a table through the open window.

How delighted the witch was when she found the clothes all finished! The
next time Prince Ring came to see her she gave them to him, and he paid
her many compliments on her skilful work, after which he took leave of
her in the most friendly manner. But he had scarcely left the house when
the witch began to rage as furiously as ever, and never stopped till her
brother Ironhead appeared.

When Asmund saw all these wild doings from his tree he felt he could no
longer keep silence. He went to Prince Ring and said: 'Do come with
me and see the strange things that are happening in the new princess's
room.'

The prince was not a little surprised, but he consented to hide himself
with Asmund behind the panelling of the room, from where they could see
all that went on through a little slit. The witch was raving and roaring
as usual, and said to her brother:

'Once I am married to the king's son I shall be better off than now.
I shall take care to have all that pack of courtiers put to death, and
then I shall send for all my relations to come and live here instead.
I fancy the giants will enjoy themselves very much with me and my
husband.'

When Prince Ring heard this he fell into such a rage that he ordered the
house to be set on fire, and it was burnt to the ground, with the witch
and her brother in it.

Asmund then told the prince about the two oak trees and took him to see
them. The prince was quite astonished at them and at all their contents,
but still more so at the extreme beauty of Signy. He fell in love with
her at once, and entreated her to marry him, which, after a time, she
consented to do. Asmund, on his side, asked for the hand of Prince
Ring's sister, which was gladly granted him, and the double wedding was
celebrated with great rejoicings.

After this Prince Asmund and his bride returned to his country to live
with the king his father. The two couples often met, and lived happily
for many, many years. And that is the end of the story.






Rubezahl



Over all the vast under-world the mountain Gnome Rubezahl was lord; and
busy enough the care of his dominions kept him. There were the endless
treasure chambers to be gone through, and the hosts of gnomes to be
kept to their tasks. Some built strong barriers to hold back the fiery
vapours to change dull stones to precious metal, or were hard at work
filling every cranny of the rocks with diamonds and rubies; for Rubezahl
loved all pretty things. Sometimes the fancy would take him to leave
those gloomy regions, and come out upon the green earth for a while, and
bask in the sunshine and hear the birds sing. And as gnomes live many
hundreds of years he saw strange things. For, the first time he came up,
the great hills were covered with thick forests, in which wild animals
roamed, and Rubezahl watched the fierce fights between bear and bison,
or chased the grey wolves, or amused himself by rolling great rocks down
into the desolate valleys, to hear the thunder of their fall echoing
among the hills. But the next time he ventured above ground, what was
his surprise to find everything changed! The dark woods were hewn down,
and in their place appeared blossoming orchards surrounding cosy-looking
thatched cottages; for every chimney the blue smoke curled peacefully
into the air, sheep and oxen fed in the flowery meadows, while from
the shade of the hedges came the music of the shepherd's pipe. The
strangeness and pleasantness of the sight so delighted the gnome that
he never thought of resenting the intrusion of these unexpected guests,
who, without saying 'by your leave' or 'with your leave,' had made
themselves so very much at home upon is hills; nor did he wish to
interfere with their doings, but left them in quiet possession of their
homes, as a good householder leaves in peace the swallows who have
built their nests under his eaves. He was indeed greatly minded to make
friends with this being called 'man,' so, taking the form of an old
field labourer, he entered the service of a farmer. Under his care all
the crops flourished exceedingly, but the master proved to be wasteful
and ungrateful, and Rubezahl soon left him, and went to be shepherd to
his next neighbour. He tended the flock so diligently, and knew so well
where to lead the sheep to the sweetest pastures, and where among the
hills to look for any who strayed away, that they too prospered under
his care, and not one was lost or torn by wolves; but this new master
was a hard man, and begrudged him his well-earned wages. So he ran away
and went to serve the judge. Here he upheld the law with might and main,
and was a terror to thieves and evildoers; but the judge was a bad man,
who took bribes, and despised the law. Rubezahl would not be the tool of
an unjust man, and so he told his master, who thereupon ordered him to
be thrown in prison. Of course that did not trouble the gnome at all,
he simply got out through the keyhole, and went away down to his
underground palace, very much disappointed by his first experience of
mankind. But, as time went on, he forgot the disagreeable things that
had happened to him, and thought he would take another look at the upper
world.

So he stole into the valley, keeping himself carefully hidden in copse
or hedgerow, and very soon met with an adventure; for, peeping through a
screen of leaves, he saw before him a green lawn where stood a charming
maiden, fresh as the spring, and beautiful to look upon. Around her upon
the grass lay her young companions, as if they had thrown themselves
down to rest after some merry game. Beyond them flowed a little brook,
into which a waterfall leapt from a high rock, filling the air with its
pleasant sound, and making a coolness even in the sultry noontide. The
sight of the maiden so pleased the gnome that, for the first time,
he wished himself a mortal; and, longing for a better view of the gay
company, he changed himself into a raven and perched upon an oaktree
which overhung the brook. But he soon found that this was not at all a
good plan. He could only see with a raven's eyes, and feel as a raven
feels; and a nest of field-mice at the foot of the tree interested him
far more than the sport of the maidens. When he understood this he flew
down again in a great hurry into the thicket, and took the form of a
handsome young man--that was the best way--and he fell in love with the
girl then and there. The fair maiden was the daughter of the king of
the country, and she often wandered in the forest with her play fellows
gathering the wild flowers and fruits, till the midday heat drove the
merry band to the shady lawn by the brook to rest, or to bathe in the
cool waters. On this particular morning the fancy took them to wander
off again into the wood. This was Master Rubezahl's opportunity.
Stepping out of his hiding-place he stood in the midst of the little
lawn, weaving his magic spells, till slowly all about him changed, and
when the maidens returned at noon to their favourite resting-place they
stood lost in amazement, and almost fancied that they must be dreaming.
The red rocks had become white marble and alabaster; the stream that
murmured and struggled before in its rocky bed, flowed in silence now in
its smooth channel, from which a clear fountain leapt, to fall again in
showers of diamond drops, now on this side now on that, as the wandering
breeze scattered it.

Daisies and forget-me-nots fringed its brink, while tall hedges of roses
and jasmine ringed it round, making the sweetest and daintiest bower
imaginable. To the right and left of the waterfall opened out a
wonderful grotto, its walls and arches glittering with many-coloured
rock-crystals, while in every niche were spread out strange fruits and
sweetmeats, the very sight of which made the princess long to taste
them. She hesitated a while, however, scarcely able to believe her eyes,
and not knowing if she should enter the enchanted spot or fly from it.
But at length curiosity prevailed, and she and her companions explored
to their heart's content, and tasted and examined everything, running
hither and thither in high glee, and calling merrily to each other.

At last, when they were quite weary, the princess cried out suddenly
that nothing would content her but to bathe in the marble pool, which
certainly did look very inviting; and they all went gaily to this new
amusement. The princess was ready first, but scarcely had she slipped
over the rim of the pool when down--down--down she sank, and vanished in
its depths before her frightened playmates could seize her by so much as
a lock of her floating golden hair!

Loudly did they weep and wail, running about the brink of the pool,
which looked so shallow and so clear, but which had swallowed up their
princess before their eyes. They even sprang into the water and tried
to dive after her, but in vain; they only floated like corks in the
enchanted pool, and could not keep under water for a second.

They saw at last that there was nothing for it but to carry to the king
the sad tidings of his beloved daughter's disappearance. And what great
weeping and lamentation there was in the palace when the dreadful news
was told! The king tore his robes, dashed his golden crown from his
head, and hid his face in his purple mantle for grief and anguish at the
loss of the princess. After the first outburst of wailing, however, he
took heart and hurried off to see for himself the scene of this strange
adventure, thinking, as people will in sorrow, that there might be some
mistake after all. But when he reached the spot, behold, all was
changed again! The glittering grotto described to him by the maidens had
completely vanished, and so had the marble bath, the bower of jasmine;
instead, all was a tangle of flowers, as it had been of old. The king
was so much perplexed that he threatened the princess's playfellows with
all sorts of punishments if they would not confess something about her
disappearance; but as they only repeated the same story he presently put
down the whole affair to the work of some sprite or goblin, and tried to
console himself for his loss by ordering a grand hunt; for kings cannot
bear to be troubled about anything long.

Meanwhile the princess was not at all unhappy in the palace of her
elfish lover.

When the water-nymphs, who were hiding in readiness, had caught her and
dragged her out of the sight of her terrified maidens, she herself had
not had time to be frightened. They swam with her quickly by strange
underground ways to a palace so splendid that her father's seemed but
a poor cottage in comparison with it, and when she recovered from
her astonishment she found herself seated upon a couch, wrapped in a
wonderful robe of satin fastened with a silken girdle, while beside her
knelt a young man who whispered the sweetest speeches imaginable in her
ear. The gnome, for he it was, told her all about himself and his great
underground kingdom, and presently led her through the many rooms
and halls of the palace, and showed her the rare and wonderful things
displayed in them till she was fairly dazzled at the sight of so much
splendour. On three sides of the castle lay a lovely garden with masses
of gay, sweet flowers, and velvet lawns all cool and shady, which
pleased the eye of the princess. The fruit trees were hung with golden
and rosy apples, and nightingales sang in every bush, as the gnome and
the princess wandered in the leafy alleys, sometimes gazing at the moon,
sometimes pausing to gather the rarest flowers for her adornment. And
all the time he was thinking to himself that never, during the hundreds
of years he had lived, had he seen so charming a maiden. But the
princess felt no such happiness; in spite of all the magic delights
around her she was sad, though she tried to seem content for fear of
displeasing the gnome. However, he soon perceived her melancholy, and in
a thousand ways strove to dispel the cloud, but in vain. At last he said
to himself: 'Men are sociable creatures, like bees or ants. Doubtless
this lovely mortal is pining for company. Who is there I can find for
her to talk to?'

Thereupon he hastened into the nearest filed and dug up a dozen or so
of different roots--carrots, turnips, and radishes--and laying them
carefully in an elegant basket brought them to the princess, who sat
pensive in the shade of the rose-bower.

'Loveliest daughter of earth,' said the gnome, 'banish all sorrow; no
more shall you be lonely in my dwelling. In this basket is all you need
to make this spot delightful to you. Take this little many-coloured
wand, and with a touch give to each root the form you desire to see.'

With this he left her, and the princess, without an instant's delay,
opened the basket, and touching a turnip, cried eagerly: 'Brunhilda,
my dear Brunhilda! come to me quickly!' And sure enough there was
Brunhilda, joyfully hugging and kissing her beloved princess, and
chattering as gaily as in the old days.

This sudden appearance was so delightful that the princess could hardly
believe her own eyes, and was quite beside herself with the joy of
having her dear playfellow with her once more. Hand in hand they
wandered about the enchanted garden, and gathered the golden apples from
the trees, and when they were tired of this amusement the princess led
her friend through all the wonderful rooms of the palace, until at last
they came to the one in which were kept all the marvellous dresses and
ornaments the gnome had given to his hoped-for bride. There they
found so much to amuse them that the hours passed like minutes.
Veils, girdles, and necklaces were tried on and admired, the imitation
Brunhilda knew so well how to behave herself, and showed so much taste
that nobody would ever have suspected that she was nothing but a turnip
after all. The gnome, who had secretly been keeping an eye upon them,
was very pleased with himself for having so well understood the heart of
a woman; and the princess seemed to him even more charming than before.
She did not forget to touch the rest of the roots with her magic wand,
and soon had all her maidens about her, and even, as she had two tiny
radishes to spare, her favourite cat, and her little dog whose name was
Beni.

And now all went cheerfully in the castle. The princess gave to each of
the maidens her task, and never was mistress better served. For a whole
week she enjoyed the delight of her pleasant company undisturbed. They
all sang, they danced, they played from morning to night; only the
princess noticed that day by day the fresh young faces of her maidens
grew pale and wan, and the mirror in the great marble hall showed her
that she alone still kept her rosy bloom, while Brunhilda and the
rest faded visibly. They assured her that all was well with them; but,
nevertheless, they continued to waste away, and day by day it became
harder to them to take part in the games of the princess, till at last,
one fine morning, when the princess started from bed and hastened out to
join her gay playfellows, she shuddered and started back at the sight of
a group of shrivelled crones, with bent backs and trembling limbs, who
supported their tottering steps with staves and crutches, and coughed
dismally. A little nearer to the hearth lay the once frolicsome Beni,
with all four feet stretched stiffly out, while the sleek cat seemed too
weak to raise his head from his velvet cushion.

The horrified princess fled to the door to escape from the sight of this
mournful company, and called loudly for the gnome, who appeared at once,
humbly anxious to do her bidding.

'Malicious Sprite,' she cried, 'why do you begrudge me my playmates
--the greatest delight of my lonely hours? Isn't this solitary life in
such a desert bad enough without your turning the castle into a hospital
for the aged? Give my maidens back their youth and health this very
minute, or I will never love you!'

'Sweetest and fairest of damsels,' cried the gnome, 'do not be angry;
everything that is in my power I will do--but do not ask the impossible.
So long as the sap was fresh in the roots the magic staff could keep
them in the forms you desired, but as the sap dried up they withered
away. But never trouble yourself about that, dearest one, a basket of
fresh turnips will soon set matters right, and you can speedily call up
again every form you wish to see. The great green patch in the garden
will prove you with a more lively company.'

So saying the gnome took himself off. And the princess with her magic
wand touched the wrinkled old women, and left them the withered roots
they really were, to be thrown upon the rubbish heap; and with light
feet skipped off across to the meadow to take possession of the freshly
filled basket. But to her surprise she could not find it anywhere. Up
and down the garden she searched, spying into every corner, but not a
sign of it was to be found. By the trellis of grape vines she met the
gnome, who was so much embarrassed at the sight of her that she became
aware of his confusion while he was still quite a long way off.

'You are trying to tease me,' she cried, as soon as she saw him. 'Where
have you hidden the basket? I have been looking for it at least an
hour.'

'Dear queen of my heart,' answered he, 'I pray you to forgive my
carelessness. I promised more than I could perform. I have sought all
over the land for the roots you desire; but they are gathered in, and
lie drying in musty cellars, and the fields are bare and desolate, for
below in the valley winter reigns, only here in your presence spring
is held fast, and wherever your foot is set the gay flowers bloom. Have
patience for a little, and then without fail you shall have your puppets
to play with.'

Almost before the gnome had finished, the disappointed princess turned
away, and marched off to her own apartments, without deigning to answer
him.

The gnome, however, set off above ground as speedily as possible,
and disguising himself as a farmer, bought an ass in the nearest
market-town, and brought it back loaded with sacks of turnip, carrot,
and radish seed. With this he sowed a great field, and sent a vast army
of his goblins to watch and tend it, and to bring up the fiery rivers
from the heart of the earth near enough to warm and encourage the
sprouting seeds. Thus fostered they grew and flourished marvellously,
and promised a goodly crop.

The princess wandered about the field day by day, no other plants or
fruits in all her wonderful garden pleased her as much as these roots;
but still her eyes were full of discontent. And, best of all, she loved
to while away the hours in a shady fir-wood, seated upon the bank of a
little stream, into which she would cast the flowers she had gathered
and watch them float away.

The gnome tried hard by every means in his power to please the princess
and win her love, but little did he guess the real reason of his lack
of success. He imagined that she was too young and inexperienced to care
for him; but that was a mistake, for the truth was that another image
already filled her heart. The young Prince Ratibor, whose lands joined
her father's, had won the heart of the princess; and the lovers had
been looking forward to the coming of their wedding-day when the
bride's mysterious disappearance took place. The sad news drove Ratibor
distracted, and as the days went on, and nothing could be heard of the
princess, he forsook his castle and the society of men, and spent his
days in the wild forests, roaming about and crying her name aloud to the
trees and rocks. Meanwhile, the maiden, in her gorgeous prison, sighed
in secret over her grief, not wishing to arouse the gnome's suspicions.
In her own mind she was wondering if by any means she might escape from
her captivity, and at last she hit upon a plan.

By this time spring once more reigned in the valley, and the gnome sent
the fires back to their places in the deeps of the earth, for the roots
which they had kept warm through all the cruel winter hand now come to
their full size. Day by day the princess pulled up some of them, and
made experiments with them, conjuring up now this longed-for person, and
now that, just for the pleasure of seeing them as they appeared; but she
really had another purpose in view.

One day she changed a tiny turnip into a bee, and sent him off to bring
her some news of her lover.

'Fly, dear little bee, towards the east,' said she, 'to my beloved
Ratibor, and softly hum into his ear that I love him only, but that I
am a captive in the gnome's palace under the mountains. Do not forget
a single word of my greeting, and bring me back a message from my
beloved.'

So the bee spread his shining wings and flew away to do as he was
bidden; but before he was out of sight a greedy swallow made a snatch at
him, and to the great grief of the princess her messenger was eaten up
then and there.

After that, by the power of the wonderful wand she summoned a cricket,
and taught him this greeting:

'Hop, little cricket, to Ratibor, and chirp in his ear that I love him
only, but that I am held captive by the gnome in his palace under the
mountains.'

So the cricket hopped off gaily, determined to do his best to deliver
his message; but, alas! a long-legged stork who was prancing along the
same road caught him in her cruel beak, and before he could say a word
he had disappeared down her throat.

These two unlucky ventures did not prevent the princess from trying once
more.

This time she changed the turnip into a magpie.

'Flutter from tree to tree, chattering bird,' said she, 'till you come
to Ratibor, my love. Tell him that I am a captive, and bid him come with
horses and men, the third day from this, to the hill that rises from the
Thorny Valley.'

The magpie listened, hopped awhile from branch to branch, and then
darted away, the princess watching him anxiously as far as she could
see.

Now Prince Ratibor was still spending his life in wandering about the
woods, and not even the beauty of the spring could soothe his grief.

One day, as he sat in the shade of an oak tree, dreaming of his lost
princess, and sometimes crying her name aloud, he seemed to hear another
voice reply to his, and, starting up, he gazed around him, but he could
see no one, and he had just made up his mind that he must be mistaken,
when the same voice called again, and, looking up sharply, he saw a
magpie which hopped to and fro among the twigs. Then Ratibor heard with
surprise that the bird was indeed calling him by name.

'Poor chatterpie,' said he; 'who taught you to say that name, which
belongs to an unlucky mortal who wishes the earth would open and swallow
up him and his memory for ever?'

Thereupon he caught up a great stone, and would have hurled it at the
magpie, if it had not at that moment uttered the name of the princess.

This was so unexpected that the prince's arm fell helplessly to his side
at the sound, and he stood motionless.

But the magpie in the tree, who, like all the rest of his family, was
not happy unless he could be for ever chattering, began to repeat the
message the princess had taught him; and as soon as he understood it,
Prince Ratibor's heart was filed with joy. All his gloom and misery
vanished in a moment, and he anxiously questioned the welcome messenger
as to the fate of the princess.

But the magpie knew no more than the lesson he had learnt, so he soon
fluttered away; while the prince hurried back to his castle to gather
together a troop of horsemen, full of courage for whatever might befall.

The princess meanwhile was craftily pursuing her plan of escape. She
left off treating the gnome with coldness and indifference; indeed,
there was a look in her eyes which encouraged him to hope that she might
some day return his love, and the idea pleased him mightily. The next
day, as soon as the sun rose, she made her appearance decked as a bride,
in the wonderful robes and jewels which the fond gnome had prepared for
her. Her golden hair was braided and crowned with myrtle blossoms, and
her flowing veil sparkled with gems. In these magnificent garments she
went to meet the gnome upon the great terrace.

'Loveliest of maidens,' he stammered, bowing low before her, 'let me
gaze into your dear eyes, and read in them that you will no longer
refuse my love, but will make me the happiest being the sun shines
upon.'

So saying he would have drawn aside her veil; but the princess only held
it more closely about her.

'Your constancy has overcome me,' she said; 'I can no longer oppose
your wishes. But believe my words, and suffer this veil still to hide my
blushes and tears.'

'Why tears, beloved one?' cried the gnome anxiously; 'every tear of
yours falls upon my heart like a drop of molten gold. Greatly as I
desire your love, I do not ask a sacrifice.'

'Ah!' cried the false princess, 'why do you misunderstand my tears? My
heart answers to your tenderness, and yet I am fearful. A wife cannot
always charm, and though YOU will never alter, the beauty of mortals
is as a flower that fades. How can I be sure that you will always be as
loving and charming as you are now?'

'Ask some proof, sweetheart,' said he. 'Put my obedience and my patience
to some test by which you can judge of my unalterable love.'

'Be it so,' answered the crafty maiden. 'Then give me just one proof of
your goodness. Go! count the turnips in yonder meadow. My wedding feast
must not lack guests. They shall provide me with bride-maidens too. But
beware lest you deceive me, and do not miss a single one. That shall be
the test of your truth towards me.'

Unwilling as the gnome was to lose sight of his beautiful bride for a
moment, he obeyed her commands without delay, and hurried off to begin
his task. He skipped along among the turnips as nimble as a grasshopper,
and had soon counted them all; but, to be quite certain that he had made
no mistake, he thought he would just run over them again. This time, to
his great annoyance, the number was different; so he reckoned them for
the third time, but now the number was not the same as either of the
previous ones! And this was hardly to be wondered at, as his mind was
full of the princess's pretty looks and words.

As for the maiden, no sooner was her deluded lover fairly out of sight
than she began to prepare for flight. She had a fine fresh turnip hidden
close at hand, which she changed into a spirited horse, all saddled and
bridled, and, springing upon its back, she galloped away over hill and
dale till she reached the Thorny Valley, and flung herself into the arms
of her beloved Prince Ratibor.

Meanwhile the toiling gnome went through his task over and over again
till his back ached and his head swam, and he could no longer put two
and two together; but as he felt tolerably certain of the exact number
of turnips in the field, big and little together, he hurried back eager
to prove to his beloved one what a delightful and submissive husband
he would be. He felt very well satisfied with himself as he crossed the
mossy lawn to the place where he had left her; but, alas! she was no
longer there.

He searched every thicket and path, he looked behind every tree, and
gazed into every pond, but without success; then he hastened into the
palace and rushed from room to room, peering into every hole and
corner and calling her by name; but only echo answered in the marble
halls--there was neither voice nor footstep.

Then he began to perceive that something was amiss, and, throwing off
the mortal form that encumbered him, he flew out of the palace, and
soared high into the air, and saw the fugitive princess in the far
distance just as the swift horse carried her across the boundary of his
dominions.

Furiously did the enraged gnome fling two great clouds together, and
hurl a thunderbolt after the flying maiden, splintering the rocky
barriers which had stood a thousand years. But his fury was vain, the
thunderclouds melted away into a soft mist, and the gnome, after flying
about for a while in despair, bewailing to the four winds his unhappy
fate, went sorrowfully back to the palace, and stole once more through
every room, with many sighs and lamentations. He passed through the
gardens which for him had lost their charm, and the sight of the
princess's footprints on the golden sand of the pathway renewed his
grief. All was lonely, empty, sorrowful; and the forsaken gnome resolved
that he would have no more dealings with such false creatures as he had
found men to be.

Thereupon he stamped three times upon the earth, and the magic palace,
with all its treasures, vanished away into the nothingness out of which
he had called it; and the gnome fled once more to the depths of his
underground kingdom.

While all this was happening, Prince Ratibor was hurrying away with his
prize to a place of safety. With great pomp and triumph he restored the
lovely princess to her father, and was then and there married to her,
and took her back with him to his own castle.

But long after she was dead, and her children too, the villagers would
tell the tale of her imprisonment underground, as they sat carving wood
in the winter nights.





Story Of The King Who Would Be Stronger Than Fate



Once upon a time, far away in the east country, there lived a king who
loved hunting so much that, when once there was a deer in sight, he was
careless of his own safety. Indeed, he often became quite separated from
his nobles and attendants, and in fact was particularly fond of lonely
adventures. Another of his favourite amusements was to give out that he
was not well, and could not be seen; and then, with the knowledge only
of his faithful Grand Wazeer, to disguise himself as a pedlar, load a
donkey with cheap wares, and travel about. In this way he found out
what the common people said about him, and how his judges and governors
fulfilled their duties.

One day his queen presented him with a baby daughter as beautiful as the
dawn, and the king himself was so happy and delighted that, for a
whole week, he forgot to hunt, and spent the time in public and private
rejoicing.

Not long afterwards, however, he went out after some deer which were to
be found in a far corner of his forests. In the course of the beat his
dogs disturbed a beautiful snow-white stag, and directly he saw it the
king determined that he would have it at any cost. So he put the spurs
to his horse, and followed it as hard as he could gallop. Of course all
his attendants followed at the best speed that they could manage; but
the king was so splendidly mounted, and the stag was so swift, that,
at the end of an hour, the king found that only his favourite hound and
himself were in the chase; all the rest were far, far behind and out of
sight.

Nothing daunted, however, he went on and on, till he perceived that he
was entering a valley with great rocky mountains on all sides, and that
his horse was getting very tired and trembled at every stride. Worse
than all evening was already drawing on, and the sun would soon set.
In vain had he sent arrow after arrow at the beautiful stag. Every shot
fell short, or went wide of the mark; and at last, just as darkness
was setting in, he lost sight altogether of the beast. By this time his
horse could hardly move from fatigue, his hound staggered panting along
beside him, he was far away amongst mountains where he had never been
before, and had quite missed his way, and not a human creature or
dwelling was in sight.

All this was very discouraging, but the king would not have minded if he
had not lost that beautiful stag. That troubled him a good deal, but
he never worried over what he could not help, so he got down from his
horse, slipped his arm through the bridle, and led the animal along the
rough path in hopes of discovering some shepherd's hut, or, at least, a
cave or shelter under some rock, where he might pass the night.

Presently he heard the sound of rushing water, and made towards it. He
toiled over a steep rocky shoulder of a hill, and there, just below him,
was a stream dashing down a precipitous glen, and, almost beneath his
feet, twinkling and flickering from the level of the torrent, was a dim
light as of a lamp. Towards this light the king with his horse and hound
made his way, sliding and stumbling down a steep, stony path. At the
bottom the king found a narrow grassy ledge by the brink of the stream,
across which the light from a rude lantern in the mount of a cave shed
a broad beam of uncertain light. At the edge of the stream sat an old
hermit with a long white beard, who neither spoke nor moved as the
king approached, but sat throwing into the stream dry leaves which lay
scattered about the ground near him.

'Peace be upon you,' said the king, giving the usual country salutation.

'And upon you peace,' answered the hermit; but still he never looked up,
nor stopped what he was doing.

For a minute or two the king stood watching him. He noticed that the
hermit threw two leaves in at a time, and watched them attentively.
Sometimes both were carried rapidly down by the stream; sometimes only
one leaf was carried off, and the other, after whirling slowly round and
round on the edge of the current, would come circling back on an eddy to
the hermit's feet. At other times both leaves were held in the backward
eddy, and failed to reach the main current of the noisy stream.

'What are you doing?' asked the king at last, and the hermit replied
that he was reading the fates of men; every one's fate, he said, was
settled from the beginning, and, whatever it were, there was no escape
from it. The king laughed.

'I care little,' he said, 'what my fate may be; but I should be curious
to know the fate of my little daughter.'

'I cannot say,' answered the hermit.

'Do you not know, then?' demanded the king.

'I might know,' returned the hermit, 'but it is not always wisdom to
know much.'

But the king was not content with this reply, and began to press the old
man to say what he knew, which for a long time he would not do. At last,
however, the king urged him so greatly that he said:

'The king's daughter will marry the son of a poor slave-girl called
Puruna, who belongs to the king of the land of the north. There is no
escaping from Fate.'

The king was wild with anger at hearing these words, but he was also
very tired; so he only laughed, and answered that he hoped there would
be a way out of THAT fate anyhow. Then he asked if the hermit could
shelter him and his beasts for the night, and the hermit said 'Yes';
so, very soon the king had watered and tethered his horse, and, after a
supper of bread and parched peas, lay down in the cave, with the hound
at his feet, and tried to go to sleep. But instead of sleeping he only
lay awake and thought of the hermit's prophecy; and the more he thought
of it the angrier he felt, until he gnashed his teeth and declared that
it should never, never come true.

Morning came, and the king got up, pale and sulky, and, after learning
from the hermit which path to take, was soon mounted and found his way
home without much difficulty. Directly he reached his palace he wrote a
letter to the king of the land of the north, begging him, as a favour,
to sell him his slave girl Puruna and her son, and saying that, if he
consented, he would send a messenger to receive them at the river which
divided the kingdoms.

For five days he awaited the reply, and hardly slept or ate, but was as
cross as could be all the time. On the fifth day his messenger returned
with a letter to say that the king of the land of the north would not
sell, but he would give, the king the slave girl and her son. The king
was overjoyed. He sent for his Grand Wazeer and told him that he was
going on one of his lonely expeditions, and that the Wazeer must invent
some excuse to account for his absence. Next he disguised himself as an
ordinary messenger, mounted a swift camel, and sped away to the place
where the slave girl was to be handed over to him. When he got there he
gave the messengers who brought her a letter of thanks and a handsome
present for their master and rewards for themselves; and then without
delay he took the poor woman and her tiny baby-boy up on to his camel
and rode off to a wild desert.

After riding for a day and a night, almost without stopping, he came to
a great cave where he made the woman dismount, and, taking her and the
baby into the cave, he drew his sword and with one blow chopped her
head off. But although his anger made him cruel enough for anything so
dreadful, the king felt that he could not turn his great sword on the
helpless baby, who he was sure must soon die in this solitary place
without its mother; so he left it in the cave where it was, and,
mounting his camel, rode home as fast as he could.

Now, in a small village in his kingdom there lived an old widow who
had no children or relations of any kind. She made her living mostly by
selling the milk of a flock of goats; but she was very, very poor, and
not very strong, and often used to wonder how she would live if she
got too weak or ill to attend to her goats. Every morning she drove the
goats out into the desert to graze on the shrubs and bushes which grew
there, and every evening they came home of themselves to be milked and
to be shut up safely for the night.

One evening the old woman was astonished to find that her very best
nanny-goat returned without a drop of milk. She thought that some
naughty boy or girl was playing a trick upon her and had caught the goat
on its way home and stolen all the milk. But when evening after evening
the goat remained almost dry she determined to find out who the thief
was. So the next day she followed the goats at a distance and watched
them while they grazed. At length, in the afternoon, the old woman
noticed this particular nanny-goat stealing off by herself away from the
herd and she at once went after her. On and on the goat walked for
some way, and then disappeared into a cave in the rocks. The old woman
followed the goat into the cave and then, what should she see but the
animal giving her milk to a little boy-baby, whilst on the ground
near by lay the sad remains of the baby's dead mother! Wondering and
frightened, the old woman thought at last that this little baby might
be a son to her in her old age, and that he would grow up and in time
to come be her comfort and support. So she carried home the baby to her
hut, and next day she took a spade to the cave and dug a grave where she
buried the poor mother.

Years passed by, and the baby grew up into a find handsome lad, as
daring as he was beautiful, and as industrious as he was brave. One
day, when the boy, whom the old woman had named Nur Mahomed, was about
seventeen years old, he was coming from his day's work in the fields,
when he saw a strange donkey eating the cabbages in the garden which
surround their little cottage. Seizing a big stick, he began to beat
the intruder and to drive him out of his garden. A neighbour passing by
called out to him--'Hi! I say! why are you beating the pedlar's donkey
like that?'

'The pedlar should keep him from eating my cabbages,' said Nur Mahomed;
'if he comes this evening here again I'll cut off his tail for him!'

Whereupon he went off indoors, whistling cheerfully. It happened that
this neighbour was one of those people who make mischief by talking too
much; so, meeting the pedlar in the 'serai,' or inn, that evening, he
told him what had occurred, and added: 'Yes; and the young spitfire said
that if beating the donkey would not do, he would beat you also, and cut
your nose off for a thief!'

A few days later, the pedlar having moved on, two men appeared in the
village inquiring who it was who had threatened to ill-treat and to
murder an innocent pedlar. They declared that the pedlar, in fear of his
life, had complained to the king; and that they had been sent to bring
the lawless person who had said these things before the king himself.
Of course they soon found out about the donkey eating Nur Mahomed's
cabbages, and about the young man's hot words; but although the lad
assured them that he had never said anything about murdering anyone,
they replied they were ordered to arrest him, and bring him to take his
trial before the king. So, in spite of his protests, and the wails of
his mother, he was carried off, and in due time brought before the king.
Of course Nur Mahomed never guessed that the supposed pedlar happened to
have been the king himself, although nobody knew it.

But as he was very angry at what he had been told, he declared that he
was going to make an example of this young man, and intended to teach
him that even poor travelling pedlars could get justice in HIS country,
and be protected from such lawlessness. However, just as he was going to
pronounce some very heavy sentence, there was a stir in the court, and
up came Nur Mahomed's old mother, weeping and lamenting, and begging to
be heard. The king ordered her to speak, and she began to plead for the
boy, declaring how good he was, and how he was the support of her old
age, and if he were put in prison she would die. The king asked her who
she was. She replied that she was his mother.

'His mother?' said the king; 'you are too old, surely, to have so young
a son!'

Then the old woman, in her fright and distress, confessed the whole
story of how she found the baby, and how she rescued and brought him up,
and ended by beseeching the king for mercy.

It is easy to guess how, as the story came out, the king looked blacker
and blacker, and more and more grim, until at last he was half fainting
with rage and astonishment. This, then, was the baby he had left to die,
after cruelly murdering his mother! Surely fate might have spared him
this! He wished he had sufficient excuse to put the boy to death, for
the old hermit's prophecy came back to him as strongly as ever; and yet
the young man had done nothing bad enough to deserve such a punishment.
Everyone would call him a tyrant if he were to give such an order--in
fact, he dared not try it!

At length he collected himself enough to say:--'If this young man will
enlist in my army I will let him off. We have need of such as him, and
a little discipline will do him good.' Still the old woman pleaded that
she could not live without her son, and was nearly as terrified at the
idea of his becoming a soldier as she was at the thought of his being
put in prison. But at length the king--determined to get the youth into
his clutches--pacified her by promising her a pension large enough to
keep her in comfort; and Nur Mahomed, to his own great delight, was duly
enrolled in the king's army.

As a soldier Nur Mahomed seemed to be in luck. He was rather surprised,
but much pleased, to find that he was always one of those chosen when
any difficult or dangerous enterprise was afoot; and, although he had
the narrowest escapes on some occasions, still, the very desperateness
of the situations in which he found himself gave him special chances
of displaying his courage. And as he was also modest and generous, he
became a favourite with his officers and his comrades.

Thus it was not very surprising that, before very long, he became
enrolled amongst the picked men of the king's bodyguard. The fact is,
that the king had hoped to have got him killed in some fight or another;
but, seeing that, on the contrary, he throve on hard knocks, he was now
determined to try more direct and desperate methods.

One day, soon after Nur Mahomed had entered the bodyguard, he was
selected to be one of the soldiers told off to escort the king through
the city. The procession was marching on quite smoothly, when a man,
armed with a dagger, rushed out of an alley straight towards the king.
Nur Mahomed, who was the nearest of the guards, threw himself in the
way, and received the stab that had been apparently intended for the
king. Luckily the blow was a hurried one, and the dagger glanced on is
breastbone, so that, although he received a severe wound, his youth and
strength quickly got the better of it. The king was, of course, obliged
to take some notice of this brave deed, and as a reward made him one of
his own attendants.

After this the strange adventures the young man passed through were
endless. Officers of the bodyguard were often sent on all sorts of
secret and difficult errands, and such errands had a curious way of
becoming necessary when Nur Mahomed was on duty. Once, while he was
taking a journey, a foot-bridge gave way under him; once he was attacked
by armed robbers; a rock rolled down upon him in a mountain pass; a
heavy stone coping fell from a roof at his feet in a narrow city alley.
Altogether, Nur Mahomed began to think that, somewhere or other, he had
made an enemy; but he was light-hearted, and the thought did not much
trouble him. He escaped somehow every time, and felt amused rather than
anxious about the next adventure.

It was the custom of that city that the officer for the day of the
palace guards should receive all his food direct from the king's
kitchen. One day, when Nur Mahomed's turn came to be on duty, he was
just sitting down to a delicious stew that had been sent in from
the palace, when one of those gaunt, hungry dogs, which, in eastern
countries, run about the streets, poked his nose in at the open
guard-room door, and looked at Nur Mahomed with mouth watering and
nostrils working. The kind-hearted young man picked out a lump of meat,
went to the door, and threw it outside to him. The dog pounced upon
it, and gulped it down greedily, and was just turning to go, when it
staggered, fell, rolled over, and died. Nur Mahomed, who had been lazily
watching him, stood still for a moment, then he came back whistling
softly. He gathered up the rest of his dinner and carefully wrapped it
up to carry away and bury somewhere; and then he sent back the empty
plates.

How furious the king was when, at the next morning's durbar, Nur
Mahomed appeared before him fresh, alert and smiling as usual. He was
determined, however, to try once more, and bidding the young man come
into his presence that evening, gave orders that he was to carry a
secret despatch to the governor of a distant province. 'Make your
preparations at once,' added he, 'and be ready to start in the morning.
I myself will deliver you the papers at the last moment.'

Now this province was four or five days' journey from the palace, and
the governor of it was the most faithful servant the king had. He could
be silent as the grave, and prided himself on his obedience. Whilst he
was an old and tried servant of the king's, his wife had been almost a
mother to the young princess ever since the queen had died some years
before. It happened that, a little before this time, the princess had
been sent away for her health to another remote province; and whilst she
was there her old friend, the governor's wife, had begged her to come
and stay with them as soon as she could.

The princess accepted gladly, and was actually staying in the governor's
house at the very time when the king made up his mind to send Nur
Mahomed there with the mysterious despatch.

According to orders Nur Mahomed presented himself early the next morning
at the king's private apartments. His best horse was saddled, food
placed in is saddle-bag, and with some money tied up in his waist-band,
he was ready to start. The king handed over to him a sealed packet,
desiring him to give it himself only into the hands of the governor,
and to no one else. Nur Mahomed hid it carefully in his turban, swung
himself into the saddle, and five minutes later rode out of the city
gates, and set out on his long journey.

The weather was very hot; but Nur Mahomed thought that the sooner his
precious letter was delivered the better; so that, by dint of riding
most of each night and resting only in the hottest part of the day, he
found himself, by noon on the third day, approaching the town which was
his final destination.

Not a soul was to be seen anywhere; and Nur Mahomed, stiff, dry,
thirsty, and tired, looked longingly over the wall into the gardens, and
marked the fountains, the green grass, the shady apricot orchards, and
giant mulberry trees, and wished he were there.

At length he reached the castle gates, and was at once admitted, as he
was in the uniform of the king's bodyguard. The governor was resting,
the soldier said, and could not see him until the evening. So Nur
Mahomed handed over his horse to an attendant, and wandered down into
the lovely gardens he had seen from the road, and sat down in the shade
to rest himself. He flung himself on his back and watched the birds
twittering and chattering in the trees above him. Through the branches
he could see great patches of sky where the kites wheeled and circled
incessantly, with shrill whistling cried. Bees buzzed over the flowers
with a soothing sound, and in a few minutes Nur Mahomed was fast asleep.

Every day, through the heat of the afternoon, the governor, and his wife
also, used to lie down for two or three hours in their own rooms, and
so, for the matter of that, did most people in the palace. But the
princess, like many other girls, was restless, and preferred to wander
about the garden, rather than rest on a pile of soft cushions. What a
torment her stout old attendants and servants sometime thought her when
she insisted on staying awake, and making them chatter or do something,
when they could hardly keep their eyes open! Sometimes, however, the
princess would pretend to go to sleep, and then, after all her women had
gladly followed her example, she would get up and go out by herself, her
veil hanging loosely about her. If she was discovered her old hostess
scolded her severely; but the princess only laughed, and did the same
thing next time.

This very afternoon the princess had left all her women asleep, and,
after trying in vain to amuse herself indoors, she had slipped out
into the great garden, and rambled about in all her favourite nooks
and corners, feeling quite safe as there was not a creature to be seen.
Suddenly, on turning a corner, she stopped in surprise, for before her
lay a man fast asleep! In her hurry she had almost tripped over him. But
there he was, a young man, tanned and dusty with travel, in the uniform
of an officer of the king's guard. One of the few faults of this lovely
princess was a devouring curiosity, and she lived such an idle life that
she had plenty of time to be curious. Out of one of the folds of this
young man's turban there peeped the corner of a letter! She wondered
what the letter was--whom it was for! She drew her veil a little closer,
and stole across on tip-toe and caught hold of the corner of the letter.
Then she pulled it a little, and just a little more! A great big seal
came into view, which she saw to be her father's, and at the sight of
it she paused for a minute half ashamed of what she was doing. But the
pleasure of taking a letter which was not meant for her was more than
she could resist, and in another moment it was in her hand. All at once
she remembered that it would be death to this poor officer if he lost
the letter, and that at all hazards she must put it back again. But this
was not so easy; and, moreover, the letter in her hand burnt her with
longing to read it, and see what was inside. She examined the seal. It
was sticky with being exposed to the hot sun, and with a very little
effort it parted from the paper. The letter was open and she read it!
And this was what was written:

'Behead the messenger who brings this letter secretly and at once. Ask
no questions.'

The girl grew pale. What a shame! she thought. SHE would not let a
handsome young fellow like that be beheaded; but how to prevent it
was not quite clear at the moment. Some plan must be invented, and she
wished to lock herself in where no one could interrupt her, as might
easily happen in the garden. So she crept softly to her room, and took
a piece of paper and wrote upon it: 'Marry the messenger who brings
this letter to the princess openly at once. Ask no questions.' And even
contrived to work the seals off the original letter and to fix them to
this, so that no one could tell, unless they examined it closely, that
it had ever been opened. Then she slipped back, shaking with fear and
excitement, to where the young officer still lay asleep, thrust the
letter into the fold so his turban, and hurried back to her room. It was
done!

Late in the afternoon Nur Mahomed woke, and, making sure that the
precious despatch was still safe, went off to get ready for his audience
with the governor. As soon as he was ushered into his presence he
took the letter from his turban and placed it in the governor's hands
according to orders. When he had read it the governor was certainly a
little astonished; but he was told in the letter to 'ask no questions,'
and he knew how to obey orders. He sent for his wife and told her to get
the princess ready to be married at once.

'Nonsense!' said his wife, 'what in the world do you mean?'

'These are the king's commands,' he answered; 'go and do as I bid
you. The letter says "at once," and "ask no questions." The marriage,
therefore, must take place this evening.'

In vain did his wife urge every objection; the more she argued, the more
determined was her husband. 'I know how to obey orders,' he said,
'and these are as plain as the nose on my face!' So the princess was
summoned, and, somewhat to their surprise, she seemed to take the news
very calmly; next Nur Mahomed was informed, and he was greatly startled,
but of course he could but be delighted at the great and unexpected
honour which he thought the king had done him. Then all the castle
was turned upside down; and when the news spread in the town, THAT
was turned upside down too. Everybody ran everywhere, and tried to do
everything at once; and, in the middle of it all, the old governor went
about with his hair standing on end, muttering something about 'obeying
orders.'

And so the marriage was celebrated, and there was a great feast in the
castle, and another in the soldiers' barracks, and illuminations all
over the town and in the beautiful gardens. And all the people declared
that such a wonderful sight had never been seen, and talked about it to
the ends of their lives.

The next day the governor despatched the princess and her bridegroom to
the king, with a troop of horsemen, splendidly dressed, and he sent a
mounted messenger on before them, with a letter giving the account of
the marriage to the king.

When the king got the governor's letter, he grew so red in the face
that everyone thought he was going to have apoplexy. They were all very
anxious to know what had happened, but he rushed off and locked himself
into a room, where he ramped and raved until he was tired. Then, after
awhile, he began to think he had better make the best of it, especially
as the old governor had been clever enough to send him back his
letter, and the king was pretty sure that this was in the princess's
handwriting. He was fond of his daughter, and though she had behaved
badly, he did not wish to cut HER head off, and he did not want people
to know the truth because it would make him look foolish. In fact, the
more he considered the matter, the more he felt that he would be wise
to put a good face on it, and to let people suppose that he had really
brought about the marriage of his own free will.

So, when the young couple arrived, the king received them with all
state, and gave his son-in-law a province to govern. Nur Mahomed soon
proved himself as able and honourable a governor as he was a brave
soldier; and, when the old king died, he became king in his place, and
reigned long and happily.

Nur Mahomed's old mother lived for a long time in her 'son's' palace,
and died in peace. The princess, his wife, although she had got her
husband by a trick, found that she could not trick HIM, and so she never
tried, but busied herself in teaching her children and scolding her
maids. As for the old hermit, no trace of him was ever discovered; but
the cave is there, and the leaves lie thick in front of it unto this
day.






Story of Wali Dad the Simple-Hearted



Once upon a time there lived a poor old man whose name was Wali Dad
Gunjay, or Wali Dad the Bald. He had no relations, but lived all by
himself in a little mud hut some distance from any town, and made his
living by cutting grass in the jungle, and selling it as fodder for
horses. He only earned by this five halfpence a day; but he was a simple
old man, and needed so little out of it, that he saved up one halfpenny
daily, and spent the rest upon such food and clothing as he required.

In this way he lived for many years until, one night, he thought that he
would count the money he had hidden away in the great earthen pot under
the floor of his hut. So he set to work, and with much trouble he pulled
the bag out on to the floor, and sat gazing in astonishment at the heap
of coins which tumbled out of it. What should he do with them all? he
wondered. But he never thought of spending the money on himself, because
he was content to pass the rest of his days as he had been doing for
ever so long, and he really had no desire for any greater comfort or
luxury.

At last he threw all the money into an old sack, which he pushed under
his bead, and then, rolled in his ragged old blanket, he went off to
sleep.

Early next morning he staggered off with his sack of money to the shop
of a jeweller, whom he knew in the town, and bargained with him for a
beautiful little gold bracelet. With this carefully wrapped up in
his cotton waistband he went to the house of a rich friend, who was
a travelling merchant, and used to wander about with his camels and
merchandise through many countries. Wali Dad was lucky enough to find
him at home, so he sat down, and after a little talk he asked the
merchant who was the most virtuous and beautiful lady he had ever met
with. The merchant replied that the princess of Khaistan was renowned
everywhere as well for the beauty of her person as for the kindness and
generosity of her disposition.

'Then,' said Wali Dad, 'next time you go that way, give her this little
bracelet, with the respectful compliments of one who admires virtue far
more than he desires wealth.'

With that he pulled the bracelet from his waistband, and handed it
to his friend. The merchant was naturally much astonished, but said
nothing, and made no objection to carrying out his friend's plan.

Time passed by, and at length the merchant arrived in the course of his
travels at the capital of Khaistan. As soon as he had opportunity he
presented himself at the palace, and sent in the bracelet, neatly packed
in a little perfumed box provided by himself, giving at the same time
the message entrusted to him by Wali Dad.

The princess could not think who could have bestowed this present on
her, but she bade her servant to tell the merchant that if he would
return, after he had finished his business in the city, she would give
him her reply. In a few days, therefore, the merchant came back, and
received from the princess a return present in the shape of a camel-load
or rich silks, besides a present of money for himself. With these he set
out on his journey.

Some months later he got home again from his journeyings, and proceeded
to take Wali Dad the princess's present. Great was the perplexity of the
good man to find a camel-load of silks tumbled at his door! What was he
to do with these costly things? But, presently, after much thought, he
begged the merchant to consider whether he did not know of some young
prince to whom such treasures might be useful.

'Of course,' cried the merchant, greatly amused; 'from Delhi to Baghdad,
and from Constantinople to Lucknow, I know them all; and there lives
none worthier than the gallant and wealthy young prince of Nekabad.'

'Very well, then, take the silks to him, with the blessing of an old
man,' said Wali Dad, much relieved to be rid of them.

So, the next time that the merchant journeyed that way he carried the
silks with him, and in due course arrived at Nekabad, and sought an
audience of the prince. When he was shown into his presence he produced
the beautiful gift of silks that Wali Dad had sent, and begged the young
man to accept them as a humble tribute to his worth and greatness. The
prince was much touched by the generosity of the giver, and ordered,
as a return present, twelve of the finest breed of horses for which his
country was famous to be delivered over to the merchant, to whom also,
before he took his leave, he gave a munificent reward for his services.

As before, the merchant at last arrived at home; and next day, he set
out for Wali Dad's house with the twelve horses. When the old man saw
them coming in the distance he said to himself: 'Here's luck! a troop
of horses coming! They are sure to want quantities of grass, and I
shall sell all I have without having to drag it to market.' Thereupon
he rushed off and cut grass as fast he could. When he got back, with
as much grass as he could possibly carry, he was greatly discomfited to
find that the horses were all for himself. At first he could not think
what to do with them, but, after a little, a brilliant idea struck him!
He gave two to the merchant, and begged him to take the rest to the
princess of Khaistan, who was clearly the fittest person to possess such
beautiful animals.

The merchant departed, laughing. But, true to his old friend's request,
he took the horses with him on his next journey, and eventually
presented them safely to the princess. This time the princess sent for
the merchant, and questioned him about the giver. Now, the merchant was
usually a most honest man, but he did not quite like to describe Wali
Dad in his true light as an old man whose income was five halfpence a
day, and who had hardly clothes to cover him. So he told her that his
friend had heard stories of her beauty and goodness, and had longed to
lay the best he had at her feet. The princess then took her father into
her confidence, and begged him to advise her what courtesy she might
return to one who persisted in making her such presents.

'Well,' said the king, 'you cannot refuse them; so the best thing you
can do is to send this unknown friend at once a present so magnificent
that he is not likely to be able to send you anything better, and so
will be ashamed to send anything at all!' Then he ordered that, in
place of each of the ten horses, two mules laden with silver should be
returned by her.

Thus, in a few hours, the merchant found himself in charge of a splendid
caravan; and he had to hire a number of armed men to defend it on the
road against the robbers, and he was glad indeed to find himself back
again in Wali Dad's hut.

'Well, now,' cried Wali Dad, as he viewed all the wealth laid at his
door, 'I can well repay that kind prince for his magnificent present of
horses; but to be sure you have been put to great expenses! Still,
if you will accept six mules and their loads, and will take the rest
straight to Nekabad, I shall thank you heartily.'

The merchant felt handsomely repaid for his trouble, and wondered
greatly how the matter would turn out. So he made no difficulty about
it; and as soon as he could get things ready, he set out for Nekabad
with this new and princely gift.

This time the prince, too, was embarrassed, and questioned the merchant
closely. The merchant felt that his credit was at stake, and whilst
inwardly determining that he would not carry the joke any further, could
not help describing Wali Dad in such glowing terms that the old man
would never have known himself had he heard them. The prince, like the
king of Khaistan, determined that he would send in return a gift that
would be truly royal, and which would perhaps prevent the unknown giver
sending him anything more. So he made up a caravan on twenty splendid
horses caparisoned in gold embroidered cloths, with fine morocco saddles
and silver bridles and stirrups, also twenty camels of the best breed,
which had the speed of race-horses, and could swing along at a trot
all day without getting tired; and, lastly, twenty elephants, with
magnificent silver howdahs and coverings of silk embroidered with
pearls. To take care of these animals the merchant hired a little army
of men; and the troop made a great show as they travelled along.

When Wali Dad from a distance saw the cloud of dust which the caravan
made, and the glitter of its appointments, he said to himself: 'By
Allah! here's a grand crowd coming! Elephants, too! Grass will be
selling well to-day!' And with that he hurried off to the jungle and cut
grass as fast as he could. As soon as he got back he found the caravan
had stopped at his door, and the merchant was waiting, a little
anxiously, to tell him the news and to congratulate him upon his riches.

'Riches!' cried Wali Dad, 'what has an old man like me with one foot in
the grave to do with riches? That beautiful young princess, now! She'd
be the one to enjoy all these fine things! Do you take for yourself two
horses, two camels, and two elephants, with all their trappings, and
present the rest to her.'

The merchant at first objected to these remarks, and pointed out to Wali
Dad that he was beginning to feel these embassies a little awkward. Of
course he was himself richly repaid, so far as expenses went; but still
he did not like going so often, and he was getting nervous. At length,
however he consented to go once more, but he promised himself never to
embark on another such enterprise.

So, after a few days' rest, the caravan started off once more for
Khaistan.

The moment the king of Khaistan saw the gorgeous train of men and beasts
entering his palace courtyard, he was so amazed that he hurried down
in person to inquire about it, and became dumb when he heard that
these also were a present from the princely Wali Dad, and were for the
princess, his daughter. He went hastily off to her apartments, and said
to her: 'I tell you what it is, my dear, this man wants to marry you;
that is the meaning of all these presents! There is nothing for it but
that we go and pay him a visit in person. He must be a man of immense
wealth, and as he is so devoted to you, perhaps you might do worse than
marry him!'

The princess agreed with all that her father said, and orders were
issued for vast numbers of elephants and camels, and gorgeous tents
and flags, and litters for the ladies, and horses for the men, to be
prepared without delay, as the king and princess were going to pay a
visit to the great and munificent prince Wali Dad. The merchant, the
king declared, was to guide the party.

The feelings of the poor merchant in this sore dilemma can hardly be
imagined. Willingly would he have run away; but he was treated with so
much hospitality as Wali Dad's representative, that he hardly got an
instant's real peace, and never any opportunity of slipping away. In
fact, after a few days, despair possessed him to such a degree that he
made up his mind that all that happened was fate, and that escape was
impossible; but he hoped devoutly some turn of fortune would reveal
to him a way out of the difficulties which he had, with the best
intentions, drawn upon himself.

On the seventh day they all started, amidst thunderous salutes from
the ramparts of the city, and much dust, and cheering, and blaring of
trumpets.

Day after day they moved on, and every day the poor merchant felt more
ill and miserable. He wondered what kind of death the king would invent
for him, and went through almost as much torture, as he lay awake nearly
the whole of every night thinking over the situation, as he would have
suffered if the king's executioners were already setting to work upon
his neck.

At last they were only one day's march from Wali Dad's little mud home.
Here a great encampment was made, and the merchant was sent on to tell
Wali Dad that the King and Princess of Khaistan had arrived and were
seeking an interview. When the merchant arrived he found the poor old
man eating his evening meal of onions and dry bread, and when he told
him of all that had happened he had not the heart to proceed to load
him with the reproaches which rose to his tongue. For Wali Dad was
overwhelmed with grief and shame for himself, for his friend, and for
the name and honour of the princess; and he wept and plucked at his
beard, and groaned most piteously. With tears he begged the merchant to
detain them for one day by any kind of excuse he could think of, and to
come in the morning to discuss what they should do.

As soon as the merchant was gone Wali Dad made up his mind that there
was only one honourable way out of the shame and distress that he had
created by his foolishness, and that was--to kill himself. So, without
stopping to ask any one's advice, he went off in the middle of the night
to a place where the river wound along at the base of steep rocky cliffs
of great height, and determined to throw himself down and put an end
to his life. When he got to the place he drew back a few paces, took a
little run, and at the very edge of that dreadful black gulf he stopped
short! He COULD not do it!

From below, unseen in the blackness of the deep night shadows, the water
roared and boiled round the jagged rocks--he could picture the place
as he knew it, only ten times more pitiless and forbidding in the
visionless darkness; the wind soughed through the gorge with fearsome
sighs, and rustlings and whisperings, and the bushes and grasses that
grew in the ledges of the cliffs seemed to him like living creatures
that danced and beckoned, shadowy and indistinct. An owl laughed 'Hoo!
hoo!' almost in his face, as he peered over the edge of the gulf, and
the old man threw himself back in a perspiration of horror. He was
afraid! He drew back shuddering, and covering his face in his hands he
wept aloud.

Presently he was aware of a gentle radiance that shed itself before him.
Surely morning was not already coming to hasten and reveal his disgrace!
He took his hands from before his face, and saw before him two lovely
beings whom his instinct told him were not mortal, but were Peris from
Paradise.

'Why do you weep, old man?' said one, in a voice as clear and musical as
that of the bulbul.

'I weep for shame,' replied he.

'What do you here?' questioned the other.

'I came here to die,' said Wali Dad. And as they questioned him, he
confessed all his story.

Then the first stepped forward and laid a hand upon his shoulder,
and Wali Dad began to feel that something strange--what, he did not
know--was happening to him. His old cotton rags of clothes were changed
to beautiful linen and embroidered cloth; on his hard, bare feet were
warm, soft shoes, and on his head a great jewelled turban. Round his
neck there lay a heavy golden chain, and the little old bent sickle,
which he cut grass with, and which hung in his waistband, had turned
into a gorgeous scimetar, whose ivory hilt gleamed in the pale light
like snow in moonlight. As he stood wondering, like a man in a dream,
the other peri waved her hand and bade him turn and see; and, lo! before
him a noble gateway stood open. And up an avenue of giant place trees
the peris led him, dumb with amazement. At the end of the avenue, on the
very spot where his hut had stood, a gorgeous palace appeared, ablaze
with myriads of lights. Its great porticoes and verandahs were occupied
by hurrying servants, and guards paced to and fro and saluted him
respectfully as he drew near, along mossy walks and through sweeping
grassy lawns where fountains were playing and flowers scented the air.
Wali Dad stood stunned and helpless.

'Fear not,' said one of the peris; 'go to your house, and learn that God
rewards the simple-hearted.'

With these words they both disappeared and left him. He walked on,
thinking still that he must be dreaming. Very soon he retired to rest in
a splendid room, far grander than anything he had ever dreamed of.

When morning dawned he woke, and found that the palace, and himself, and
his servants were all real, and that he was not dreaming after all!

If he was dumbfounded, the merchant, who was ushered into his presence
soon after sunrise, was much more so. He told Wali Dad that he had not
slept all night, and by the first streak of daylight had started to seek
out his friend. And what a search he had had! A great stretch of wild
jungle country had, in the night, been changed into parks and gardens;
and if it had not been for some of Wali Dad's new servants, who found
him and brought him to the palace, he would have fled away under the
impression that his trouble had sent him crazy, and that all he saw was
only imagination.

Then Wali Dad told the merchant all that had happened. By his advice he
sent an invitation to the king and princess of Khaistan to come and be
his guests, together with all their retinue and servants, down to the
very humblest in the camp.

For three nights and days a great feast was held in honour of the royal
guests. Every evening the king and his nobles were served on golden
plates and from golden cups; and the smaller people on silver plates and
from silver cups; and each evening each guest was requested to keep the
places and cups that they had used as a remembrance of the occasion.
Never had anything so splendid been seen. Besides the great dinners,
there were sports and hunting, and dances, and amusements of all sorts.

On the fourth day the king of Khaistan took his host aside, and asked
him whether it was true, as he had suspected, that he wished to marry
his daughter. But Wali Dad, after thanking him very much for the
compliment, said that he had never dreamed of so great an honour, and
that he was far too old and ugly for so fair a lady; but he begged the
king to stay with him until he could send for the Prince of Nekabad, who
was a most excellent, brave, and honourable young man, and would surely
be delighted to try to win the hand of the beautiful princess.

To this the king agreed, and Wali Dad sent the merchant to Nekabad, with
a number of attendants, and with such handsome presents that the prince
came at once, fell head over ears in love with the princess, and married
her at Wali Dad's palace amidst a fresh outburst of rejoicings.

And now the King of Khaistan and the Prince and Princess of Nekabad,
each went back to their own country; and Wali Dad lived to a good
old age, befriending all who were in trouble and preserving, in his
prosperity, the simple-hearted and generous nature that he had when he
was only Wali Dad Gunjay, the grass cutter.






Tale of a Tortoise and of a Mischievous Monkey



Once upon a time there was a country where the rivers were larger, and
the forests deeper, than anywhere else. Hardly any men came there, and
the wild creatures had it all to themselves, and used to play all sorts
of strange games with each other. The great trees, chained one to the
other by thick flowering plants with bright scarlet or yellow blossoms,
were famous hiding-places for the monkeys, who could wait unseen, till a
puma or an elephant passed by, and then jump on their backs and go for
a ride, swinging themselves up by the creepers when they had had enough.
Near the rivers huge tortoises were to be found, and though to our eyes
a tortoise seems a dull, slow thing, it is wonderful to think how clever
they were, and how often they outwitted many of their livelier friends.

There was one tortoise in particular that always managed to get the
better of everybody, and many were the tales told in the forest of his
great deeds. They began when he was quite young, and tired of staying at
home with his father and mother. He left them one day, and walked off
in search of adventures. In a wide open space surrounded by trees he met
with an elephant, who was having his supper before taking his evening
bath in the river which ran close by. 'Let us see which of us two is
strongest,' said the young tortoise, marching up to the elephant. 'Very
well,' replied the elephant, much amused at the impertinence of the
little creature; 'when would you like the trial to be?'

'In an hour's time; I have some business to do first,' answered the
tortoise. And he hastened away as fast as his short legs would carry
him.

In a pool of the river a whale was resting, blowing water into the air
and making a lovely fountain. The tortoise, however, was too young and
too busy to admire such things, and he called to the whale to stop, as
he wanted to speak to him. 'Would you like to try which of us is the
stronger?' said he. The whale looked at him, sent up another fountain,
and answered: 'Oh, yes; certainly. When do you wish to begin? I am quite
ready.'

'Then give me one of your longest bones, and I will fasten it to my leg.
When I give the signal, you must pull, and we will see which can pull
the hardest.'

'Very good,' replied the whale; and he took out one of his bones and
passed it to the tortoise.

The tortoise picked up the end of the bone in his mouth and went back
to the elephant. 'I will fasten this to your leg,' said he, 'in the same
way as it is fastened to mine, and we must both pull as hard as we can.
We shall soon see which is the stronger.' So he wound it carefully
round the elephant's leg, and tied it in a firm knot. 'Now!' cried he,
plunging into a thick bush behind him.

The whale tugged at one end, and the elephant tugged at the other, and
neither had any idea that he had not the tortoise for his foe. When the
whale pulled hardest the elephant was dragged into the water; and when
the elephant pulled the hardest the whale was hauled on to the land.
They were very evenly matched, and the battle was a hard one.

At last they were quite tired, and the tortoise, who was watching, saw
that they could play no more. So he crept from his hiding-place, and
dipping himself in the river, he went to the elephant and said: 'I see
that you really are stronger than I thought. Suppose we give it up for
to-day?' Then he dried himself on some moss and went to the whale and
said: 'I see that you really are stronger than I thought. Suppose we
give it up for to-day?'

The two adversaries were only too glad to be allowed to rest, and
believed to the end of their days that, after all, the tortoise was
stronger than either of them.

A day or two later the young tortoise was taking a stroll, when he met
a fox, and stopped to speak to him. 'Let us try,' said he in a careless
manner, 'which of us can lie buried in the ground during seven years.'

'I shall be delighted,' answered the fox, 'only I would rather that you
began.'

'It is all the same to me,' replied the tortoise; 'if you come round
this way to-morrow you will see that I have fulfilled my part of the
bargain.'

So he looked about for a suitable place, and found a convenient hole at
the foot of an orange tree. He crept into it, and the next morning the
fox heaped up the earth round him, and promised to feed him every day
with fresh fruit. The fox so far kept his word that each morning when
the sun rose he appeared to ask how the tortoise was getting on. 'Oh,
very well; but I wish you would give me some fruit,' replied he.

'Alas! the fruit is not ripe enough yet for you to eat,' answered the
fox, who hoped that the tortoise would die of hunger long before the
seven years were over.

'Oh dear, oh dear! I am so hungry!' cried the tortoise.

'I am sure you must be; but it will be all right to-morrow,' said the
fox, trotting off, not knowing that the oranges dropped down the hollow
trunk, straight into the tortoise's hole, and that he had as many as he
could possibly eat.

So the seven years went by; and when the tortoise came out of his hole
he was as fat as ever.

Now it was the fox's turn, and he chose his hole, and the tortoise
heaped the earth round, promising to return every day or two with a nice
young bird for his dinner. 'Well, how are you getting on?' he would ask
cheerfully when he paid his visits.

'Oh, all right; only I wish you had brought a bird with you,' answered
the fox.

'I have been so unlucky, I have never been able to catch one,' replied
the tortoise. 'However, I shall be more fortunate to-morrow, I am sure.'

But not many to-morrows after, when the tortoise arrived with his usual
question: 'Well, how are you getting on?' he received no answer, for the
fox was lying in his hole quite still, dead of hunger.

By this time the tortoise was grown up, and was looked up to throughout
the forest as a person to be feared for his strength and wisdom. But he
was not considered a very swift runner, until an adventure with a deer
added to his fame.

One day, when he was basking in the sun, a stag passed by, and stopped
for a little conversation. 'Would you care to see which of us can run
fastest?' asked the tortoise, after some talk. The stag thought the
question so silly that he only shrugged his shoulders. 'Of course, the
victor would have the right to kill the other,' went on the tortoise.
'Oh, on that condition I agree,' answered the deer; 'but I am afraid you
are a dead man.'

'It is no use trying to frighten me,' replied the tortoise. 'But I
should like three days for training; then I shall be ready to start when
the sun strikes on the big tree at the edge of the great clearing.'

The first thing the tortoise did was to call his brothers and his
cousins together, and he posted them carefully under ferns all along the
line of the great clearing, making a sort of ladder which stretched for
many miles. This done to his satisfaction, he went back to the starting
place.

The stag was quite punctual, and as soon as the sun's rays struck the
trunk of the tree the stag started off, and was soon far out of the
sight of the tortoise. Every now and then he would turn his head as
he ran, and call out: 'How are you getting on?' and the tortoise who
happened to be nearest at that moment would answer: 'All right, I am
close up to you.'

Full of astonishment, the stag would redouble his efforts, but it was no
use. Each time he asked: 'Are you there?' the answer would come: 'Yes,
of course, where else should I be?' And the stag ran, and ran, and ran,
till he could run no more, and dropped down dead on the grass.

And the tortoise, when he thinks about it, laughs still.

But the tortoise was not the only creature of whose tricks stories were
told in the forest. There was a famous monkey who was just as clever and
more mischievous, because he was so much quicker on his feet and
with his hands. It was quite impossible to catch him and give him the
thrashing he so often deserved, for he just swung himself up into a
tree and laughed at the angry victim who was sitting below. Sometimes,
however, the inhabitants of the forest were so foolish as to provoke
him, and then they got the worst of it. This was what happened to the
barber, whom the monkey visited one morning, saying that he wished to be
shaved. The barber bowed politely to his customer, and begging him to
be seated, tied a large cloth round his neck, and rubbed his chin with
soap; but instead of cutting off his beard, the barber made a snip
at the end of his tail. It was only a very little bit and the monkey
started up more in rage than in pain. 'Give me back the end of my tail,'
he roared, 'or I will take one of your razors.' The barber refused to
give back the missing piece, so the monkey caught up a razor from the
table and ran away with it, and no one in the forest could be shaved for
days, as there was not another to be got for miles and miles.

As he was making his way to his own particular palm-tree, where the
cocoanuts grew, which were so useful for pelting passers-by, he met a
woman who was scaling a fish with a bit of wood, for in this side of the
forest a few people lived in huts near the river.

'That must be hard work,' said the monkey, stopping to look; 'try my
knife--you will get on quicker.' And he handed her the razor as he
spoke. A few days later he came back and rapped at the door of the hut.
'I have called for my razor,' he said, when the woman appeared.

'I have lost it,' answered she.

'If you don't give it to me at once I will take your sardine,' replied
the monkey, who did not believe her. The woman protested she had not got
the knife, so he took the sardine and ran off.

A little further along he saw a baker who was standing at the door,
eating one of his loaves. 'That must be rather dry,' said the monkey,
'try my fish'; and the man did not need twice telling. A few days later
the monkey stopped again at the baker's hut. 'I've called for that
fish,' he said.

'That fish? But I have eaten it!' exclaimed the baker in dismay.

'If you have eaten it I shall take this barrel of meal in exchange,'
replied the monkey; and he walked off with the barrel under his arm.

As he went he saw a woman with a group of little girls round her,
teaching them how to dress hair. 'Here is something to make cakes for
the children,' he said, putting down his barrel, which by this time he
found rather heavy. The children were delighted, and ran directly to
find some flat stones to bake their cakes on, and when they had made and
eaten them, they thought they had never tasted anything so nice. Indeed,
when they saw the monkey approaching not long after, they rushed to meet
him, hoping that he was bringing them some more presents. But he took
no notice of their questions, he only said to their mother: 'I've called
for my barrel of meal.'

'Why, you gave it to me to make cakes of!' cried the mother.

'If I can't get my barrel of meal, I shall take one of your children,'
answered the monkey. 'I am in want of somebody who can bake my bread
when I am tired of fruit, and who knows how to make cocoanut cakes.'

'Oh, leave me my child, and I will find you another barrel of meal,'
wept the mother.

'I don't WANT another barrel, I want THAT one,' answered the monkey
sternly. And as the woman stood wringing her hands, he caught up the
little girl that he thought the prettiest and took her to his home in
the palm tree.

She never went back to the hut, but on the whole she was not much to
be pitied, for monkeys are nearly as good as children to play with,
and they taught her how to swing, and to climb, and to fly from tree to
tree, and everything else they knew, which was a great deal.

Now the monkey's tiresome tricks had made him many enemies in the
forest, but no one hated him so much as the puma. The cause of their
quarrel was known only to themselves, but everybody was aware of the
fact, and took care to be out of the way when there was any chance
of these two meeting. Often and often the puma had laid traps for the
monkey, which he felt sure his foe could not escape; and the monkey
would pretend that he saw nothing, and rejoice the hidden puma's heart
by seeming to walk straight into the snare, when, lo! a loud laugh would
be heard, and the monkey's grinning face would peer out of a mass of
creepers and disappear before his foe could reach him.

This state of things had gone on for quite a long while, when at last
there came a season such as the oldest parrot in the forest could never
remember. Instead of two or three hundred inches of rain falling, which
they were all accustomed to, month after month passed without a cloud,
and the rivers and springs dried up, till there was only one small pool
left for everyone to drink from. There was not an animal for miles round
that did not grieve over this shocking condition of affairs, not one at
least except the puma. His only thought for years had been how to get
the monkey into his power, and this time he imagined his chance had
really arrived. He would hide himself in a thicket, and when the monkey
came down to drink--and come he must--the puma would spring out and
seize him. Yes, on this occasion there could be no escape!

And no more there would have been if the puma had had greater patience;
but in his excitement he moved a little too soon. The monkey, who was
stooping to drink, heard a rustling, and turning caught the gleam of two
yellow, murderous eyes. With a mighty spring he grasped a creeper which
was hanging above him, and landed himself on the branch of a tree;
feeling the breath of the puma on his feet as the animal bounded from
is cover. Never had the monkey been so near death, and it was some time
before he recovered enough courage to venture on the ground again.

Up there in the shelter of the trees, he began to turn over in his head
plans for escaping the snares of the puma. And at length chance helped
him. Peeping down to the earth, he saw a man coming along the path
carrying on his head a large gourd filled with honey.

He waited till the man was just underneath the tree, then he hung from
a bough, and caught the gourd while the man looked up wondering, for he
was no tree-climber. Then the monkey rubbed the honey all over him, and
a quantity of leaves from a creeper that was hanging close by; he stuck
them all close together into the honey, so that he looked like a walking
bush. This finished, he ran to the pool to see the result, and, quite
pleased with himself, set out in search of adventures.

Soon the report went through the forest that a new animal had appeared
from no one knew where, and that when somebody had asked his name, the
strange creature had answered that it was Jack-in-the-Green. Thanks to
this, the monkey was allowed to drink at the pool as often as he liked,
for neither beast nor bird had the faintest notion who he was. And if
they made any inquiries the only answer they got was that the water of
which he had drunk deeply had turned his hair into leaves, so that they
all knew what would happen in case they became too greedy.

By-and-by the great rains began again. The rivers and streams filled up,
and there was no need for him to go back to the pool, near the home of
his enemy, the puma, as there was a large number of places for him to
choose from. So one night, when everything was still and silent, and
even the chattering parrots were asleep on one leg, the monkey stole
down softly from his perch, and washed off the honey and the leaves, and
came out from his bath in his own proper skin. On his way to breakfast
he met a rabbit, and stopped for a little talk.

'I am feeling rather dull,' he remarked; 'I think it would do me good to
hunt a while. What do you say?'

'Oh, I am quite willing,' answered the rabbit, proud of being spoken to
by such a large creature. 'But the question is, what shall we hunt?'

'There is no credit in going after an elephant or a tiger,' replied the
monkey stroking his chin, 'they are so big they could not possibly get
out of your way. It shows much more skill to be able to catch a small
thing that can hide itself in a moment behind a leaf. I'll tell you
what! Suppose I hunt butterflies, and you, serpents.'

The rabbit, who was young and without experience, was delighted with
this idea, and they both set out on their various ways.

The monkey quietly climbed up the nearest tree, and ate fruit most of
the day, but the rabbit tired himself to death poking his nose into
every heap of dried leaves he saw, hoping to find a serpent among them.
Luckily for himself the serpents were all away for the afternoon, at a
meeting of their own, for there is nothing a serpent likes so well for
dinner as a nice plump rabbit. But, as it was, the dried leaves were all
empty, and the rabbit at last fell asleep where he was. Then the monkey,
who had been watching him, fell down and pulled his ears, to the rage of
the rabbit, who vowed vengeance.

It was not easy to catch the monkey off his guard, and the rabbit waited
long before an opportunity arrived. But one day Jack-in-the-Green was
sitting on a stone, wondering what he should do next, when the rabbit
crept softly behind him, and gave his tail a sharp pull. The monkey gave
a shriek of pain, and darted up into a tree, but when he saw that it was
only the rabbit who had dared to insult him so, he chattered so fast in
his anger, and looked so fierce, that the rabbit fled into the nearest
hole, and stayed there for several days, trembling with fright.

Soon after this adventure the monkey went away into another part of
the country, right on the outskirts of the forest, where there was
a beautiful garden full of oranges hanging ripe from the trees. This
garden was a favourite place for birds of all kinds, each hoping to
secure an orange for dinner, and in order to frighten the birds away and
keep a little fruit for himself, the master had fastened a waxen figure
on one of the boughs.

Now the monkey was as fond of oranges as any of the birds, and when he
saw a man standing in the tree where the largest and sweetest oranges
grew, he spoke to him at once. 'You man,' he said rudely, 'throw me
down that big orange up there, or I will throw a stone at you.' The wax
figure took no notice of this request, so the monkey, who was easily
made angry, picked up a stone, and flung it with all his force. But
instead of falling to the ground again, the stone stuck to the soft wax.

At this moment a breeze shook the tree, and the orange on which the
monkey had set his heart dropped from the bough. He picked it up and
ate it every bit, including the rind, and it was so good he thought he
should like another. So he called again to the wax figure to throw him
an orange, and as the figure did not move, he hurled another stone,
which stuck to the wax as the first had done. Seeing that the man was
quite indifferent to stones, the monkey grew more angry still, and
climbing the tree hastily, gave the figure a violent kick. But like the
two stones his leg remained stuck to the wax, and he was held fast. 'Let
me go at once, or I will give you another kick,' he cried, suiting the
action to the word, and this time also his foot remained in the grasp
of the man. Not knowing what he did, the monkey hit out, first with one
hand and then with the other, and when he found that he was literally
bound hand and foot, he became so mad with anger and terror that in his
struggles he fell to the ground, dragging the figure after him. This
freed his hands and feet, but besides the shock of the fall, they had
tumbled into a bed of thorns, and he limped away broken and bruised,
and groaning loudly; for when monkeys ARE hurt, they take pains that
everybody shall know it.

It was a long time before Jack was well enough to go about again; but
when he did, he had an encounter with his old enemy the puma. And this
was how it came about.

One day the puma invited his friend the stag to go with him and see a
comrade, who was famous for the good milk he got from his cows. The stag
loved milk, and gladly accepted the invitation, and when the sun began
to get a little low the two started on their walk. On the way they
arrived on the banks of a river, and as there were no bridges in those
days it was necessary to swim across it. The stag was not fond of
swimming, and began to say that he was tired, and thought that after
all it was not worth going so far to get milk, and that he would return
home. But the puma easily saw through these excuses, and laughed at him.

'The river is not deep at all,' he said; 'why, you will never be off
your feet. Come, pluck up your courage and follow me.'

The stag was afraid of the river; still, he was much more afraid of
being laughed at, and he plunged in after the puma; but in an instant
the current had swept him away, and if it had not borne him by accident
to a shallow place on the opposite side, where he managed to scramble up
the bank, he would certainly have been drowned. As it was, he scrambled
out, shaking with terror, and found the puma waiting for him. 'You had a
narrow escape that time,' said the puma.

After resting for a few minutes, to let the stag recover from his
fright, they went on their way till they came to a grove of bananas.

'They look very good,' observed the puma with a longing glance, 'and I
am sure you must be hungry, friend stag? Suppose you were to climb the
tree and get some. You shall eat the green ones, they are the best and
sweetest; and you can throw the yellow ones down to me. I dare say they
will do quite well!' The stag did as he was bid, though, not being used
to climbing, it gave him a deal of trouble and sore knees, and besides,
his horns were continually getting entangled in the creepers. What was
worse, when once he had tasted the bananas, he found them not at all to
his liking, so he threw them all down, green and yellow alike, and let
the puma take his choice. And what a dinner he made! When he had QUITE
done, they set forth once more.

The path lay through a field of maize, where several men were working.
As they came up to them, the puma whispered: 'Go on in front, friend
stag, and just say "Bad luck to all workers!"' The stag obeyed, but the
men were hot and tired, and did not think this a good joke. So they set
their dogs at him, and he was obliged to run away as fast as he could.

'I hope your industry will be rewarded as it deserves,' said the puma as
he passed along; and the men were pleased, and offered him some of their
maize to eat.

By-and-by the puma saw a small snake with a beautiful shining skin,
lying coiled up at the foot of a tree. 'What a lovely bracelet that
would make for your daughter, friend stag! said he. The stag stooped and
picked up the snake, which bit him, and he turned angrily to the puma.
'Why did you not tell me it would bite?' he asked.

'Is it my fault if you are an idiot?' replied the puma.

At last they reached their journey's end, but by this time it was late,
and the puma's comrade was ready for bed, so they slung their hammocks
in convenient places, and went to sleep. But in the middle of the night
the puma rose softly and stole out of the door to the sheep-fold, where
he killed and ate the fattest sheep he could find, and taking a bowl
full of its blood, he sprinkled the sleeping stag with it. This done, he
returned to bed.

In the morning the shepherd went as usual to let the sheep out of the
fold, and found one of them missing. He thought directly of the puma,
and ran to accuse him of having eaten the sheep. 'I, my good man? What
had put it into your head to think of such a thing? Have I got any blood
about me? If anyone has eaten a sheep it must be my friend the stag.'
Then the shepherd went to examine the sleeping stag, and of course he
saw the blood. 'Ah! I will teach you how to steal!' cried he, and he hit
the stag such a blow on his skull that he died in a moment. The noise
awakened the comrade above, and he came downstairs. The puma greeted him
with joy, and begged he might have some of the famous milk as soon as
possible, for he was very thirsty. A large bucket was set before the
puma directly. He drank it to the last drop, and then took leave.

On his way home he met the monkey. 'Are you fond of milk?' asked he.
'I know a place where you get it very nice. I will show you it if
you like.' The monkey knew that the puma was not so good-natured for
nothing, but he felt quite able to take care of himself, so he said he
should have much pleasure in accompanying his friend.

They soon reached the same river, and, as before, the puma remarked:
'Friend monkey, you will find it very shallow; there is no cause for
fear. Jump in and I will follow.'

'Do you think you have the stag to deal with?' asked the monkey,
laughing. 'I should prefer to follow; if not I shall go no further. The
puma understood that it was useless trying to make the monkey do as he
wished, so he chose a shallow place and began to swim across. The monkey
waited till the puma had got to the middle, then he gave a great spring
and jumped on his back, knowing quite well that the puma would be afraid
to shake him off, lest he should be swept away into deep water. So in
this manner they reached the bank.

The banana grove was not far distant, and here the puma thought he would
pay the monkey out for forcing him to carry him over the river. 'Friend
monkey, look what fine bananas,' cried he. 'You are fond of climbing;
suppose you run up and throw me down a few. You can eat the green ones,
which are the nicest, and I will be content with the yellow.'

'Very well,' answered the monkey, swinging himself up; but he ate all
the yellow ones himself, and only threw down the green ones that were
left. The puma was furious and cried out: 'I will punch your head for
that.' But the monkey only answered: 'If you are gong to talk such
nonsense I won't walk with you.' And the puma was silent.

In a few minutes more they arrived at the field were the men were
reaping the maize, and the puma remarked as he had done before: 'Friend
monkey, if you wish to please these men, just say as you go by: "Bad
luck to all workers."

'Very well,' replied the monkey; but, instead, he nodded and smiled,
and said: 'I hope your industry may be rewarded as it deserves.' The men
thanked him heartily, let him pass on, and the puma followed behind him.

Further along the path they saw the shining snake lying on the moss.
'What a lovely necklace for your daughter,' exclaimed the puma. 'Pick it
up and take it with you.'

'You are very kind, but I will leave it for you,' answered the monkey,
and nothing more was said about the snake.

Not long after this they reached the comrade's house, and found him just
ready to go to bed. So, without stopping to talk, the guests slung their
hammocks, the monkey taking care to place his so high that no one could
get at him. Besides, he thought it would be more prudent not to fall
asleep, so he only lay still and snored loudly. When it was quite dark
and no sound was to be heard, the puma crept out to the sheep-fold,
killed the sheep, and carried back a bowl full of its blood with which
to sprinkle the monkey. But the monkey, who had been watching out of the
corner of his eye, waited until the puma drew near, and with a violent
kick upset the bowl all over the puma himself.

When the puma saw what had happened, he turned in a great hurry to leave
the house, but before he could do so, he saw the shepherd coming, and
hastily lay down again.

'This is the second time I have lost a sheep,' the man said to the
monkey; 'it will be the worse for the thief when I catch him, I can tell
you.' The monkey did not answer, but silently pointed to the puma who
was pretending to be asleep. The shepherd stooped and saw the blood, and
cried out: 'Ah! so it is you, is it? then take that!' and with his stick
he gave the puma such a blow on the head that he died then and there.

Then the monkey got up and went to the dairy, and drank all the milk
he could find. Afterwards he returned home and married, and that is the
last we heard of him.





The Knights of the Fish



Once upon a time there lived an old cobbler who worked hard at his trade
from morning till night, and scarcely gave himself a moment to eat. But,
industrious as he was, he could hardly buy bread and cheese for himself
and his wife, and they grew thinner and thinner daily.

For a long while whey pretended to each other that they had no appetite,
and that a few blackberries from the hedges were a great deal nicer
than a good strong bowl of soup. But at length there came a day when
the cobbler could bear it no longer, and he threw away his last, and
borrowing a rod from a neighbour he went out to fish.

Now the cobbler was as patient about fishing as he had been about
cobbling. From dawn to dark he stood on the banks of the little stream,
without hooking anything better than an eel, or a few old shoes, that
even he, clever though he was, felt were not worth mending. At length
his patience began to give way, and as he undressed one night he said to
himself: 'Well, I will give it one more chance; and if I don't catch a
fish to-morrow, I will go and hang myself.'

He had not cast his line for ten minutes the next morning before he drew
from the river the most beautiful fish he had ever seen in his life.
But he nearly fell into the water from surprise, when the fish began to
speak to him, in a small, squeaky voice:

'Take me back to your hut and cook me; then cut me up, and sprinkle me
over with pepper and salt. Give two of the pieces to your wife, and bury
two more in the garden.'

The cobbler did not know what to make of these strange words; but he was
wiser than many people, and when he did not understand, he thought it
was well to obey. His children wanted to eat all the fish themselves,
and begged their father to tell them what to do with the pieces he
had put aside; but the cobbler only laughed, and told them it was no
business of theirs. And when they were safe in bed he stole out and
buried the two pieces in the garden.

By and by two babies, exactly alike, lay in a cradle, and in the garden
were two tall plants, with two brilliant shields on the top.

Years passed away, and the babies were almost men. They were tired of
living quietly at home, being mistaken for each other by everybody
they saw, and determined to set off in different directions, to seek
adventures.

So, one fine morning, the two brothers left the hut, and walked together
to the place where the great road divided. There they embraced and
parted, promising that if anything remarkable had happened to either, he
would return to the cross roads and wait till his brother came.

The youth who took the path that ran eastwards arrived presently at a
large city, where he found everybody standing at the doors, wringing
their hands and weeping bitterly.

'What is the matter?' asked he, pausing and looking round. And a man
replied, in a faltering voice, that each year a beautiful girl was
chosen by lot to be offered up to a dreadful fiery dragon, who had a
mother even worse than himself, and this year the lot had fallen on
their peerless princess.

'But where IS the princess?' said the young man once more, and again the
man answered him: 'She is standing under a tree, a mile away, waiting
for the dragon.'

This time the Knight of the Fish did not stop to hear more, but ran
off as fast as he could, and found the princess bathed in tears, and
trembling from head to foot.

She turned as she heard the sound of his sword, and removed her
handkerchief from his eyes.

'Fly,' she cried; 'fly while you have yet time, before that monster sees
you.'

She said it, and she mean it; yet, when he had turned his back, she felt
more forsaken than before. But in reality it was not more than a few
minutes before he came back, galloping furiously on a horse he had
borrowed, and carrying a huge mirror across its neck.

'I am in time, then,' he cried, dismounting very carefully, and placing
the mirror against the trunk of a tree.

'Give me your veil,' he said hastily to the princess. And when she had
unwound it from her head he covered the mirror with it.

'The moment the dragon comes near you, you must tear off the veil,'
cried he; 'and be sure you hide behind the mirror. Have no fear; I shall
be at hand.'

He and his horse had scarcely found shelter amongst some rocks, when the
flap of the dragon's wings could be plainly heard. He tossed his head
with delight at the sight of her, and approached slowly to the place
where she stood, a little in front of the mirror. Then, still looking
the monster steadily in the face, she passed one hand behind her back
and snatched off the veil, stepping swiftly behind the tree as she did
so.

The princess had not known, when she obeyed the orders of the Knight of
the Fish, what she expected to happen. Would the dragon with snaky locks
be turned to stone, she wondered, like the dragon in an old story her
nurse had told her; or would some fiery spark dart from the heart of
the mirror, and strike him dead? Neither of these things occurred, but,
instead, the dragon stopped short with surprise and rage when he saw a
monster before him as big and strong as himself. He shook his mane with
rage and fury; the enemy in front did exactly the same. He lashed his
tail, and rolled his red eyes, and the dragon opposite was no whit
behind him. Opening his mouth to its very widest, he gave an awful
roar; but the other dragon only roared back. This was too much, and
with another roar which made the princess shake in her shoes, he flung
himself upon his foe. In an instant the mirror lay at his feet broken
into a thousand pieces, but as every piece reflected part of himself,
the dragon thought that he too had been smashed into atoms.

It was the moment for which the Knight of the Fish had watched and
waited, and before the dragon could find out that he was not hurt at
all, the young man's lance was down his throat, and he was rolling,
dead, on the grass.

Oh! what shouts of joy rang through the great city, when the youth
came riding back with the princess sitting behind him, and dragging the
horrible monster by a cord. Everybody cried out that the king must give
the victor the hand of the princess; and so he did, and no one had ever
seen such balls and feasts and sports before. And when they were all
over the young couple went to the palace prepared for them, which was so
large that it was three miles round.

The first wet day after their marriage the bridegroom begged the bride
to show him all the rooms in the palace, and it was so big and took so
long that the sun was shining brightly again before they stepped on to
the roof to see the view.

'What castle is that out there,' asked the knight; 'it seems to be made
of black marble?'

'It is called the castle of Albatroz,' answered the princess. 'It is
enchanted, and no one that has tried to enter it has ever come back.'

Her husband said nothing, and began to talk of something else; but
the next morning he ordered his horse, took his spear, called his
bloodhound, and set off for the castle.

It needed a brave man to approach it, for it made your hair stand on
end merely to look at it; it was as dark as the night of a storm, and
as silent as the grave. But the Knight of the Fish knew no fear, and had
never turned his back on an enemy; so he drew out his horn, and blew a
blast.

The sound awoke all the sleeping echoes in the castle, and was repeated
now loudly, now softly; now near, and now far. But nobody stirred for
all that.

'Is there anyone inside?' cried the young man in his loudest voice;
'anyone who will give a knight hospitality? Neither governor, nor
squire, not even a page?'

'Not even a page!' answered the echoes. But the young man did not heed
them, and only struck a furious blow at the gate.

Then a small grating opened, and there appeared the tip of a huge nose,
which belonged to the ugliest old woman that ever was seen.

'What do you want?' said she.

'To enter,' he answered shortly. 'Can I rest here this night? Yes or
No?'

'No, No, No!' repeated the echoes.

Between the fierce sun and his anger at being kept waiting, the Knight
of the Fish had grown so hot that he lifted his visor, and when the old
woman saw how handsome he was, she began fumbling with the lock of the
gate.

'Come in, come in,' said she, 'so fine a gentleman will do us no harm.'

'Harm!' repeated the echoes, but again the young man paid no heed.

'Let us go in, ancient dame,' but she interrupted him.

'You must call me the Lady Berberisca,' she answered, sharply; 'and this
is my castle, to which I bid you welcome. You shall live here with me
and be my husband.' But at these words the knight let his spear fall, so
surprised was he.

'I marry YOU? why you must be a hundred at least!' cried he. 'You are
mad! All I desire is to inspect the castle and then go.' As he spoke he
heard the voices give a mocking laugh; but the old woman took no notice,
and only bade the knight follow her.

Old though she was, it seemed impossible to tire her. There was no room,
however small, she did not lead him into, and each room was full of
curious things he had never seen before.

At length they came to a stone staircase, which was so dark that you
could not see your hand if you held it up before your face.

'I have kept my most precious treasure till the last,' said the old
woman; 'but let me go first, for the stairs are steep, and you might
easily break your leg.' So on she went, now and then calling back to
the young man in the darkness. But he did not know that she had slipped
aside into a recess, till suddenly he put his foot on a trap door which
gave way under him, and he fell down, down, as many good knights had
done before him, and his voice joined the echoes of theirs.

'So you would not marry me!' chuckled the old witch. 'Ha! ha! Ha! ha!'

Meanwhile his brother had wandered far and wide, and at last he wandered
back to the same great city where the other young knight had met with so
many adventures. He noticed, with amazement, that as he walked through
the streets the guards drew themselves up in line, and saluted him, and
the drummers played the royal march; but he was still more bewildered
when several servants in livery ran up to him and told him that the
princess was sure something terrible had befallen him, and had made
herself ill with weeping. At last it occurred to him that once more he
had been taken for his brother. 'I had better say nothing,' thought he;
'perhaps I shall be able to help him after all.'

So he suffered himself to be borne in triumph to the palace, where the
princess threw herself into his arms.

'And so you did go to the castle?' she asked.

'Yes, of course I did,' answered he.

'And what did you see there?'

'I am forbidden to tell you anything about it, until I have returned
there once more,' replied he.

'Must you really go back to that dreadful place?' she asked wistfully.
'You are the only man who has ever come back from it.'

'I must,' was all he answered. And the princess, who was a wise woman,
only said: 'Well, go to bed now, for I am sure you must be very tired.'

But the knight shook his head. 'I have sworn never to lie in a bed as
long as my work in the castle remains standing.' And the princess again
sighed, and was silent.

Early next day the young man started for the castle, feeling sure that
some terrible thing must have happened to his brother.

At the blast of his horn the long nose of the old woman appeared at the
grating, but the moment she caught sight of his face, she nearly fainted
from fright, as she thought it was the ghost of the youth whose bones
were lying in the dungeon of the castle.

'Lady of all the ages,' cried the new comer, 'did you not give
hospitality to a young knight but a short time ago?'

'A short time ago!' wailed the voices.

'And how have you ill-treated him?' he went on.

'Ill-treated him!' answered the voices. The woman did not stop to hear
more; she turned to fly; but the knight's sword entered her body.

'Where is my brother, cruel hag?' asked he sternly.

'I will tell you,' said she; 'but as I feel that I am going to die I
shall keep that piece of news to myself, till you have brought me to
life again.'

The young man laughed scornfully. 'How do you propose that I should work
that miracle?'

'Oh, it is quite easy. Go into the garden and gather the flowers of the
everlasting plant and some of dragon's blood. Crush them together and
boil them in a large tub of water, and then put me into it.'

The knight did as the old witch bade him, and, sure enough, she came out
quite whole, but uglier than ever. She then told the young man what had
become of his brother, and he went down into the dungeon, and brought
up his body and the bodies of the other victims who lay there, and when
they were all washed in the magic water their strength was restored to
them.

And, besides these, he found in another cavern the bodies of the girls
who had been sacrificed to the dragon, and brought them back to life
also.

As to the old witch, in the end she died of rage at seeing her prey
escape her; and at the moment she drew her last breath the castle of
Albatroz fell into ruins with a great noise.






COMMENCING WITH THE FIRST NIGHT, AND ENDING WITH PART OF THE THIRD.

THE STORY OF THE MERCHANT AND THE JINNEE.


It has been related to me, O happy King, said Shahrazad, that there was
a certain merchant who had great wealth, and traded extensively with
surrounding countries; and one day he mounted his horse, and journeyed
to a neighbouring country to collect what was due to him, and, the heat
oppressing him, he sat under a tree, in a garden, and put his
hand into his saddle-bag, and ate a morsel of bread and a date
which were among his provisions. Having eaten the date, he threw aside
the stone, and immediately there appeared before him an
'Efreet, of enormous height, who, holding a drawn sword in his hand,
approached him, and said, Rise, that I may kill thee, as thou hast
killed my son. The merchant asked him, How have I killed thy son? He
answered, When thou atest the date, and threwest aside the stone, it
struck my son upon the chest, and, as fate had decreed against
him, he instantly died.



The merchant, on hearing these words, exclaimed, Verily to God
we belong, and verily to Him we must return! There is no strength nor
power but in God, the High, the Great! If I killed him, I did it not
intentionally, but without knowing it; and I trust in thee that thou
wilt pardon me.--The Jinnee answered, Thy death is indispensable, as
thou hast killed my son:--and so saying, he dragged him, and threw him
on the ground, and raised his arm to strike him with the sword. The
merchant, upon this, wept bitterly, and said to the Jinnee, I commit my
affair unto God, for no one can avoid what He hath decreed:--and he
continued his lamentation, repeating the following verses:--

  Time consists of two days; this, bright; and that, gloomy: and life,
    of two moieties; this, safe; and that, fearful.
  Say to him who hath taunted us on account of misfortunes, Doth fortune
    oppose any but the eminent?
  Dost thou not observe that corpses float upon the sea, while
    the precious pearls remain in its furthest depths?
  When the hands of time play with us, misfortune is imparted to us by
    its protracted kiss.
  In the heaven are stars that cannot be numbered; but none is eclipsed
    save the sun and the moon.
  How many green and dry trees are on the earth; but none is assailed
    with stones save that which beareth fruit!
  Thou thoughtest well of the days when they went well with thee,
    and fearedst not the evil that destiny was bringing.

--When he had finished reciting these verses, the Jinnee said to him,
Spare thy words, for thy death is unavoidable.

Then said the merchant, Know, O 'Efreet, that I have debts to pay, and I
have much property, and children, and a wife, and I have pledges also in
my possession: let me, therefore, go back to my house, and give to every
one his due, and then I will return to thee: I bind myself by a vow and
covenant that I will return to thee, and thou shalt do what thou wilt;
and God is witness of what I say.--Upon this, the Jinnee accepted his
covenant, and liberated him; granting him a respite until the expiration
of the year.

The merchant, therefore, returned to his town, accomplished all that was
upon his mind to do, paid every one what he owed him, and informed his
wife and children of the event which had befallen him; upon hearing
which, they and all his family and women wept. He appointed a guardian
over his children, and remained with his family until the end of the
year; when he took his grave-clothes under his arm, bade
farewell to his household and neighbours, and all his relations, and
went forth, in spite of himself; his family raising cries of
lamentation, and shrieking.

He proceeded until he arrived at the garden before mentioned; and it was
the first day of the new year; and as he sat, weeping for the calamity
which he expected soon to befall him, a sheykh, advanced in
years, approached him, leading a gazelle with a chain attached to its
neck. This sheykh saluted the merchant, wishing him a long life, and
said to him, What is the reason of thy sitting alone in this place,
seeing that it is a resort of the Jinn? The merchant therefore informed
him of what had befallen him with the 'Efreet, and of the cause of his
sitting there; at which the sheykh, the owner of the gazelle, was
astonished, and said, By Allah, O my brother, thy faithfulness is great,
and thy story is wonderful! if it were engraved upon the intellect, it
would be a lesson to him who would be admonished!--And he sat down by
his side, and said, By Allah, O my brother, I will not quit this place
until I see what will happen unto thee with this 'Efreet. So he sat
down, and conversed with him. And the merchant became almost senseless;
fear entered him, and terror, and violent grief, and excessive anxiety.
And as the owner of the gazelle sat by his side, lo, a second sheykh
approached them, with two black hounds, and inquired of them, after
saluting them, the reason of their sitting in that place, seeing that it
was a resort of the Jann: and they told him the story from
beginning to end. And he had hardly sat down when there approached them
a third sheykh, with a dapple mule; and he asked them the same question,
which was answered in the same manner.



Immediately after, the dust was agitated, and became an enormous
revolving pillar, approaching them from the midst of the desert; and
this dust subsided, and behold, the Jinnee, with a drawn sword in his
hand; his eyes casting forth sparks of fire. He came to them, and
dragged from them the merchant, and said to him, Rise, that I may kill
thee, as thou killedst my son, the vital spirit of my heart. And the
merchant wailed and wept; and the three sheykhs also manifested their
sorrow by weeping and crying aloud and wailing: but the first sheykh,
who was the owner of the gazelle, recovering his self-possession, kissed
the hand of the 'Efreet, and said to him, O thou Jinnee, and crown of
the kings of the Jann, if I relate to thee the story of myself and this
gazelle, and thou find it to be wonderful, and more so than the
adventure of this merchant, wilt thou give up to me a third of thy
claim to his blood? He answered, Yes, O sheykh; if thou relate to me the
story, and I find it to be as thou hast said, I will give up to thee a
third of my claim to his blood.




THE STORY OF THE FIRST SHEYKH AND THE GAZELLE.

Then said the sheykh, Know, O 'Efreet, that this gazelle is the daughter
of my paternal uncle, and she is of my flesh and my blood. I
took her as my wife when she was young, and lived with her
about thirty years; but I was not blessed with a child by her; so I took
to me a concubine slave, and by her I was blessed with a male
child, like the rising full moon, with beautiful eyes, and
delicately-shaped eyebrows, and perfectly-formed limbs; and he grew up
by little and little until he attained the age of fifteen years. At this
period, I unexpectedly had occasion to journey to a certain city, and
went thither with a great stock of merchandise.

Now my cousin, this gazelle, had studied enchantment and
divination from her early years; and during my absence, she transformed
the youth above mentioned into a calf; and his mother, into a
cow; and committed them to the care of the herdsman: and when
I returned, after a long time, from my journey, I asked after my son and
his mother, and she said, Thy slave is dead, and thy son hath fled, and
I know not whither he is gone. After hearing this, I remained for the
space of a year with mourning heart and weeping eye, until the Festival
of the Sacrifice; when I sent to the herdsman, and ordered
him to choose for me a fat cow; and he brought me one, and it was my
concubine, whom this gazelle had enchanted. I tucked up my skirts and
sleeves, and took the knife in my hand, and prepared myself
to slaughter her; upon which she moaned and cried so violently that I
left her, and ordered the herdsman to kill and skin her: and he did so,
but found in her neither fat nor flesh, nor anything but skin and bone;
and I repented of slaughtering her, when repentance was of no avail. I
therefore gave her to the herdsman, and said to him, Bring me a fat
calf: and he brought me my son, who was transformed into a calf. And
when the calf saw me, he broke his rope, and came to me, and fawned upon
me, and wailed and cried, so that I was moved with pity for him; and I
said to the herdsman, Bring me a cow, and let this--



Here Shahrazad perceived the light of morning, and discontinued the
recitation with which she had been allowed thus far to proceed. Her
sister said to her, How excellent is thy story! and how pretty! and how
pleasant! and how sweet!--but she answered, What is this in comparison
with that which I will relate to thee in the next night, if I live, and
the King spare me! And the King said, By Allah, I will not kill her
until I hear the remainder of her story. Thus they pleasantly passed the
night until the morning, when the King went forth to his hall of
judgment, and the Wezeer went thither with the grave-clothes under his
arm: and the King gave judgment, and invested and displaced, until the
close of the day, without informing the Wezeer of that which had
happened; and the minister was greatly astonished. The court was then
dissolved; and the King returned to the privacy of his palace.

[On the second and each succeeding night, Shahrazad continued so to
interest King Shahriyar by her stories as to induce him to defer putting
her to death, in expectation that her fund of amusing tales would soon
be exhausted; and as this is expressed in the original work in nearly
the same words at the close of every night, such repetitions will in the
present translation be omitted.

When the sheykh, continued Shahrazad, observed the tears of the calf,
his heart sympathized with him, and he said to the herdsman, Let this
calf remain with the cattle.--Meanwhile, the Jinnee wondered at this
strange story; and the owner of the gazelle thus proceeded.

O lord of the kings of the Jann, while this happened, my cousin, this
gazelle, looked on, and said, Slaughter this calf; for he is fat: but I
could not do it; so I ordered the herdsman to take him back; and he took
him and went away. And as I was sitting, on the following day, he came
to me, and said, O my master, I have to tell thee something that thou
wilt be rejoiced to hear; and a reward is due to me for bringing good
news. I answered, Well:--and he said, O merchant, I have a
daughter who learned enchantment in her youth from an old woman in our
family; and yesterday, when thou gavest me the calf, I took him to her,
and she looked at him, and covered her face, and wept, and then laughed,
and said, O my father, hath my condition become so degraded in thy
opinion that thou bringest before me strange men?--Where,
said I, are any strange men? and wherefore didst thou weep and laugh?
She answered, This calf that is with thee is the son of our master, the
merchant, and the wife of our master hath enchanted both him and his
mother; and this was the reason of my laughter; but as to the reason of
my weeping, it was on account of his mother, because his father had
slaughtered her.--And I was excessively astonished at this; and scarcely
was I certain that the light of morning had appeared when I hastened to
inform thee.



When I heard, O Jinnee, the words of the herdsman, I went forth with
him, intoxicated without wine, from the excessive joy and happiness that
I received, and arrived at his house, where his daughter welcomed me,
and kissed my hand; and the calf came to me, and fawned upon me. And I
said to the herdsman's daughter, Is that true which thou hast said
respecting this calf? She answered, Yes, O my master; he is verily thy
son, and the vital spirit of thy heart.--O maiden, said I, if thou wilt
restore him, all the cattle and other property of mine that thy father
hath under his care shall be thine. Upon this, she smiled, and said, O
my master, I have no desire for the property unless on two conditions:
the first is, that thou shalt marry me to him; and the second, that I
shall enchant her who enchanted him, and so restrain her; otherwise, I
shall not be secure from her artifice. On hearing, O Jinnee, these her
words, I said, And thou shalt have all the property that is under the
care of thy father besides; and as to my cousin, even her blood shall be
lawful to thee. So, when she heard this, she took a cup, and filled it
with water, and repeated a spell over it, and sprinkled with it the
calf, saying to him, If God created thee a calf, remain in this form,
and be not changed; but if thou be enchanted, return to thy original
form, by permission of God, whose name be exalted!--upon which he shook,
and became a man; and I threw myself upon him, and said, I conjure thee
by Allah that thou relate to me all that my cousin did to thee and to
thy mother. So he related to me all that had happened to them both; and
I said to him, O my son, God hath given thee one to liberate thee, and
to avenge thee:--and I married to him, O Jinnee, the herdsman's
daughter; after which, she transformed my cousin into this gazelle. And
as I happened to pass this way, I saw this merchant, and asked him what
had happened to him; and when he had informed me, I sat down to see the
result.--This is my story. The Jinnee said, This is a wonderful tale;
and I give up to thee a third of my claim to his blood.

The second sheykh, the owner of the two hounds, then advanced, and said
to the Jinnee, If I relate to thee the story of myself and these hounds,
and thou find it to be in like manner wonderful, wilt thou remit to me,
also, a third of thy claim to the blood of this merchant? The Jinnee
answered, Yes.


THE STORY OF THE SECOND SHEYKH AND THE TWO BLACK HOUNDS.

Then said the sheykh, Know, O lord of the kings of the Jann, that these
two hounds are my brothers. My father died, and left to us three
thousand pieces of gold; to
sell and buy. But one of my brothers made a journey, with a stock of
merchandise, and was absent from us for the space of a year with the
caravans; after which, he returned destitute. I said to him, Did I not
advise thee to abstain from travelling? But he wept, and said, O my
brother, God, to whom be ascribed all might and glory, decreed this
event; and there is no longer any profit in these words: I have nothing
left. So I took him up into the shop, and then went with him to the
bath, and clad him in a costly suit of my own clothing; after which, we
sat down together to eat; and I said to him, O my brother, I will
calculate the gain of my shop during the year, and divide it, exclusive
of the principal, between me and thee. Accordingly, I made the
calculation, and found my gain to amount to two thousand pieces of gold;
and I praised God, to whom be ascribed all might and glory, and rejoiced
exceedingly, and divided the gain in two equal parts between myself and
him.--My other brother then set forth on a journey; and after a year,
returned in the like condition; and I did unto him as I had done to the
former.

After this, when we had lived together for some time, my brothers again
wished to travel, and were desirous that I should accompany them; but I
would not. What, said I, have ye gained in your travels, that I should
expect to gain? They importuned me; but I would not comply with their
request; and we remained selling and buying in our shops a whole year.
Still, however, they persevered in proposing that we should travel, and
I still refused, until after the lapse of six entire years, when at last
I consented, and said to them, O my brothers, let us calculate what
property we possess. We did so, and found it to be six thousand pieces
of gold: and I then said to them, We will bury half of it in the earth,
that it may be of service to us if any misfortune befall us, in which
case each of us shall take a thousand pieces, with which to
traffic. Excellent is thy advice, said they. So I took the
money and divided it into two equal portions, and buried three thousand
pieces of gold; and of the other half, I gave to each of them a thousand
pieces. We then prepared merchandise, and hired a ship, and embarked our
goods, and proceeded on our voyage for the space of a whole month, at
the expiration of which we arrived at a city, where we sold our
merchandise; and for every piece of gold we gained ten.





And when we were about to set sail again, we found, on the shore of the
sea, a maiden clad in tattered garments, who kissed my hand, and said to
me, O my master, art thou possessed of charity and kindness? If so, I
will requite thee for them. I answered, Yes, I have those qualities,
though thou requite me not. Then said she, O my master, accept me as thy
wife, and take me to thy country; for I give myself to thee:
act kindly towards me; for I am one who requires to be treated with
kindness and charity, and who will requite thee for so doing; and let
not my present condition at all deceive thee. When I heard these words,
my heart was moved with tenderness towards her, in order to the
accomplishment of a purpose of God, to whom be ascribed all might and
glory; and I took her, and clothed her, and furnished for her a place in
the ship in a handsome manner, and regarded her with kind and respectful
attention.

We then set sail; and I became most cordially attached to my wife, so
that, on her account, I neglected the society of my brothers, who, in
consequence, became jealous of me, and likewise envied me my wealth, and
the abundance of my merchandise; casting the eyes of covetousness upon
the whole of the property. They therefore consulted together to kill me,
and take my wealth; saying, Let us kill our brother, and all the
property shall be ours:--and the devil made these actions to seem fair
in their eyes; so they came to me while I was sleeping by the side of my
wife, and took both of us up, and threw us into the sea. But as soon as
my wife awoke, she shook herself, and became transformed into a
Jinneeyeh. She immediately bore me away, and placed me upon
an island, and, for a while, disappeared. In the morning, however, she
returned, and said to me, I am thy wife, who carried thee, and rescued
thee from death, by permission of God, whose name be exalted. Know that
I am a Jinneeyeh: I saw thee, and my heart loved thee for the sake of
God; for I am a believer in God and his Apostle, God bless and save
him! I came to thee in the condition in which thou sawest me,
and thou didst marry me; and see, I have rescued thee from drowning. But
I am incensed against thy brothers, and I must kill them.--When I heard
her tale, I was astonished, and thanked her for what she had done;--But,
said I, as to the destruction of my brothers, it is not what I desire. I
then related to her all that had happened between myself and them from
first to last; and when she had heard it, she said, I will, this next
night, fly to them, and sink their ship, and destroy them. But I said, I
conjure thee by Allah that thou do it not; for the author of the proverb
saith, O thou benefactor of him who hath done evil, the action that he
hath done is sufficient for him:--besides, they are at all
events my brothers. She still, however, said, They must be killed;--and
I continued to propitiate her towards them: and at last she lifted me
up, and soared through the air, and placed me on the roof of my
house.



Having opened the doors, I dug up what I had hidden in the earth; and
after I had saluted my neighbours, and bought merchandise, I opened my
shop. And in the following night, when I entered my house, I found these
two dogs tied up in it; and as soon as they saw me, they came to me, and
wept, and clung to me; but I knew not what had happened until
immediately my wife appeared before me, and said, These are thy
brothers. And who, said I, hath done this unto them? She answered, I
sent to my sister and she did it; and they shall not be restored until
after the lapse of ten years. And I was now on my way to her, that she
might restore them, as they have been in this state ten years, when I
saw this man, and, being informed of what had befallen him, I determined
not to quit the place until I should have seen what would happen between
thee and him.--This is my story.--Verily, said the Jinnee, it is a
wonderful tale; and I give up to thee a third of the claim that I had to
his blood on account of his offence.

Upon this, the third sheykh, the owner of the mule, said to the
Jinnee, As to me, break not my heart if I relate to thee
nothing more than this:--




THE STORY OF THE THIRD SHEYKH AND THE MULE.


The mule that thou seest was my wife: she became enamoured of a black
slave; and when I discovered her with him, she took a mug of water, and,
having uttered a spell over it, sprinkled me, and transformed me into a
dog. In this state, I ran to the shop of a butcher, whose daughter saw
me, and, being skilled in enchantment, restored me to my original form,
and instructed me to enchant my wife in the manner thou beholdest.--And
now I hope that thou wilt remit to me also a third of the merchant's
offence. Divinely was he gifted who said,

  Sow good, even on an unworthy soil; for it will not be lost wherever
    it is sown.

When the sheykh had thus finished his story, the Jinnee shook with
delight, and remitted the remaining third of his claim to the merchant's
blood. The merchant then approached the sheykhs, and thanked them, and
they congratulated him on his safety; and each went his way.

But this, said Shahrazad, is not more wonderful than the story of the
fisherman. The King asked her, And what is the story of the fisherman?
And she related it as follows:--




NOTES TO CHAPTER FIRST.

NOTE 1. The words "in a garden" are omitted in my original; but they are
required by the sequel. I may here remark, that, in future, when I find
trifling insertions of this kind to be requisite in my translation, I
shall not deem it necessary to mention them in a note.

NOTE 2. An Eastern traveller often makes a long journey with no other
encumbrance than a well-filled pair of saddle-bags: in one bag he puts
his provisions; and in the other, such articles of clothing as he may
require in addition to those in which he sets out, including a spare
shirt, and perhaps no other clean linen: for he is as indifferent with
regard to this comfort as he is careful respecting his _personal_
cleanliness.

NOTE 3. Perhaps no reader of this work will require to be told that the
date has not a _shell_. I only make this remark on account of an error
in the old translation.--As dates are very nutritious, and are preserved
by being merely dried in the sun, they are an excellent article of
provision for travellers.

NOTE 4. The merchant was culpably careless: before throwing aside the
date-stone with sufficient force to kill a Jinnee who happened to be
near him (though at the time invisible), he should have asked permission
by the exclamation "Destoor!" as explained in a note appended to the
Introduction.

NOTE 5.--_On Fate and Destiny._ The belief in fate and destiny ("el-aa
wa-l-adar") exercises a most powerful influence upon the actions and
character of the Muslims; and it is therefore highly important that the
reader of the present work should be acquainted with the notions which
these people entertain respecting such matters of faith. I use two words
(perhaps the best that our language affords) to express corresponding
Arabic terms, which some persons regard as synonymous, but others
distinguish by different shades of meaning. On what I consider the best
authority, the word which I render "fate" respects the decrees of God in
a general sense; while that which I translate "destiny" relates to the
particular applications of those decrees. In such senses these terms are
here to be understood when separately employed.

Many Muslims hold that fate is, in some respects, absolute and
unchangeable; in others, admitting of alteration; and almost all of them
_act_, in many of the affairs of life, as if this were their belief. In
the former case, it is called "el-aa el-Mokam:" in the latter,
"el-aa el-Mubram" (which term, without the explanation here given,
might be regarded as exactly synonymous with the former). Hence, the
Prophet, it is said, prayed to be preserved from the latter, as knowing
that it might be changed; and in allusion to this changeable fate, God,
we are told, says, "God will cancel what He pleaseth, and confirm;"
while, on the contrary, the fate which is termed "Mokam" is appointed
"destiny" decreed by God.

Many doctors have argued, that destiny respects only the _final state_
of a certain portion of men (believers and unbelievers); and that, in
general, man is endowed with free will, which he should exercise
according to the laws of God and his own conscience and judgment,
praying to God for a blessing on his endeavours, or imploring the
intercession of the Prophet, or of any of the saints, in his favour, and
propitiating them by offering alms or sacrifices in their names; relying
upon God for the result, which he may then, and then only, attribute to
fate or destiny. They hold, therefore, that it is criminal to attempt
resistance to the will when its dictates are conformable with the laws
of God and our natural consciences and prudence, and so passively to
await the fulfilment of God's decrees.--The doctrine of the ur-an and
the Traditions respecting the decrees of God, or fate and destiny,
appears, however, to be, that they are altogether absolute and
unchangeable,--written, in the beginning of the creation, on the
"Preserved Tablet," in heaven; that God hath predestined every event and
action, evil as well as good; at the same time commanding and approving
good, and forbidding and hating evil; and that the "cancelling"
mentioned in the preceding paragraph relates (as the context seems to
shew) to the abrogation of former scriptures, or revelations; not of
fate. But still it must be held that He hath not predestined the _will_;
though He sometimes inclines it to good, and the Devil sometimes
inclines it to evil. It is asked, then, If we have the power to will,
but not the power to perform otherwise than as God hath predetermined,
how can we be regarded as responsible beings? The answer to this is,
that our actions are judged good or evil according to our intentions, if
we have faith: good actions or intentions, it should be added, only
increase, and do not cause, our happiness, if we are believers; and evil
actions or intentions only increase our misery if we are unbelievers or
irreligious: for the Muslim holds that he is to be admitted into heaven
only by the mercy of God, on account of his faith; and to be rewarded in
proportion to his good works.

The Prophet's assertions on the subject of God's decrees are considered
of the highest importance as explanatory of the ur-an.--"Whatever is in
the universe," said he, "is by the order of God."--"God hath
pre-ordained five things on his servants; the duration of life, their
actions, their dwelling-places, their travels, and their
portions."--"There is not one among you whose sitting-place is not
written by God, whether in the fire or in paradise."--Some of the
Companions of the Prophet, on hearing the last-quoted saying, asked him,
"O Prophet, since God hath appointed our places, may we confide in this,
and abandon our religious and moral duties?" He answered, "No: because
the happy will do good works, and those who are of the miserable will do
bad works."--The following of his sayings further illustrate this
subject.--"When God hath ordered a creature to die in any particular
place, He causeth his wants to direct him to that place."--A Companion
asked, "O Prophet of God, inform me respecting charms, and the medicines
which I swallow, and shields which I make use of for protection, whether
they prevent any of the orders of God." Moammad answered, "These also
are by the order of God." "There is a medicine for every pain:
then, when the medicine reaches the pain, it is cured by the order of
God."--When a Muslim, therefore, feels an inclination to make use
of medicine for the cure of a disease, he should do so, in the hope of
its being predestined that he shall be so cured.

On the predestination of diseases, I find the following curious
quotation and remark in a manuscript work, by Es-Suyooee, in my
possession.--"El-aleemee says, 'Communicable or contagious diseases are
six: small-pox, measles, itch or scab, foul breath or putridity,
melancholy, and pestilential maladies; and diseases engendered are also
six: leprosy, hectic, epilepsy, gout, elephantiasis, and phthisis.' But
this does not contradict the saying of the Prophet, 'There is no
transition of diseases by contagion or infection, nor any omen that
brings evil:' for the transition here meant is one occasioned by the
disease itself; whereas the effect is of God, who causes pestilence to
spread when there is intercourse with the diseased."--A Bedawee
asked the Prophet, "What is the condition of camels which stay in the
deserts? verily, you might say, they are deer, in health and in
cleanness of skin; then they mix with mangy camels, and they become
mangy also." Moammad said, "What made the first camel mangy?"

Notwithstanding, however, the arguments which have been here adduced,
and many others that might be added, declaring or implying the
unchangeable nature of all God's decrees, I have found it to be the
opinion of my own Muslim friends, that God may be induced, by
supplication, to change certain of his decrees; at least, those
regarding degrees of happiness or misery in this world and the next; and
that such is the general opinion, appears from a form of prayer which is
repeated in the mosques on the eve of the middle (or fifteenth day) of
the month of Shaaban; when it is believed that such portions of God's
decrees as constitute the destinies of all living creatures for the
ensuing year, are confirmed and fixed. In this prayer it is said, "O
God, if Thou _hast recorded_ me in thine abode, upon 'the Original of
the Book' , miserable, or unfortunate, or scanted
in my sustenance, _cancel_, O God, of thy goodness, my misery, and
misfortune, and scanty allowance of sustenance, and confirm me, in thine
abode, upon the Original of the Book, as happy, and provided for, and
directed to good," &c.

The Arabs in general constantly have recourse both to charms and
medicines, not only for the cure, but also for the prevention of
diseases. They have, indeed, a strange passion for medicine, which shows
that they do not consider fate as altogether unconditional. Nothing can
exceed the earnestness with which they often press a European traveller
for a dose; and the more violent the remedy, the better are they
pleased. The following case will serve as an example:--Three
donkey-drivers, conveying the luggage of two British travellers from
Boola to Cairo, opened a bottle which they observed in a basket, and
finding it to contain, as they had suspected, brandy, emptied it down
their throats: but he who had the last, on turning up the bottle, got
the tail of a scorpion into his mouth; and, looking through the bottle,
to his great horror, saw that it contained a number of these reptiles,
with tarantulas, vipers, and beetles. Thinking that they had poisoned
themselves, but not liking to rely upon fate, they persuaded a man to
come to me for medicine. He introduced the subject by saying, "O
Efendee, do an act of kindness: there are three men poisoned; in your
mercy give them medicine, and save their lives:" and then he related the
whole affair, without concealing the theft. I replied, that they did not
deserve medicine; but he urged that, by giving it, I should obtain an
immense reward. "Yes," said I; "'he who saveth a soul alive shall be as
if he had saved the lives of all mankind.'" I said this to try the
feeling of the applicant, who, expressing admiration of my knowledge,
urged me to be quick, lest the men should die; thus showing himself to
be no unconditional fatalist. I gave him three strong doses of tartar
emetic; and he soon came back to thank me, saying that the medicine was
most admirable, for the men had hardly swallowed it, when they almost
vomited their hearts and livers, and everything else in their bodies.

From a distrust in faith, some Muslims even shut themselves up during
the prevalence of plague; but this practice is generally condemned. A
Syrian friend of mine, who did so, nearly had his door broken open by
his neighbours. Another of my friends, one of the most distinguished of
the 'Ulama, confessed to me his conviction of the lawfulness of
quarantine, and argued well in favour of it; but said that he dared not
openly avow such an opinion. "The Apostle of God," said he, "God bless
and save him! hath commanded that we should not enter a city where there
is pestilence, nor go out from it. Why did he say, 'Enter it
not?'--because, by so doing, we should expose ourselves to the disease.
Why did he say, 'Go not out from it?'--because, by so doing, we should
carry the disease to others. The Prophet was tenderly considerate of our
welfare: but the present Muslims in general are like bulls [brute
beasts]; and they hold the meaning of this command to be, Go not into a
city where there is pestilence, because this would be rashness; and go
not out from it, because this would be distrusting God's power to save
you from it."

Many of the vulgar and ignorant among modern Muslims, believe that the
unchangeable destinies of every man are written upon his head, in what
are termed the sutures of the skull.

NOTE 6. The paragraph thus commencing, and the verses comprised in it,
are translated from the Calcutta edition of the first two hundred
nights.

NOTE 7. It is a common custom for a Muslim, on a military expedition, or
during a long journey, especially in the desert, to carry his
grave-linen with him; for he is extremely careful that he may be buried
according to the law. It seems to be implied in our tale, that the
merchant hoped that the Jinnee, or some passing traveller, would wash,
shroud, and bury him.

NOTE 8. It is thus that the Arab women generally do on the occasion of a
funeral.

NOTE 9.--_On the title of_ Sheykh. "Sheykh" is an appellation which
literally signifies "an elder," or "an aged person," and in this sense
it is here used; but it is also commonly employed as synonymous with our
appellation of "Mister;" and particularly applied to a learned man, or a
reputed saint. In every case, it is a title of respect, and never given
to any but a Muslim.

NOTE 10. "Jann" is here used as synonymous with "Jinn."

NOTE 11. A cousin (the daughter of a paternal uncle) is often chosen as
a wife, on account of the tie of blood, which is likely to attach her
more strongly to her husband; or on account of an affection conceived in
early years. The various customs relating to marriage, I shall describe
on a future occasion.

NOTE 12. A bride is called young, by the Arabs, when she is about twelve
years of age. In the Calcutta edition of the first two hundred nights,
the wife in this tale is said to have been of this age when she was
first married.

NOTE 13.--_On Slaves._ A slave, among Muslims, is either a person taken
captive in war, or carried off by force, and being at the time of
capture an infidel; or the offspring of a female slave by another slave,
or by any man who is not her owner, or by her owner, if he does not
acknowledge himself to be the father: but the offspring of a male slave
by a free woman is free. A person who embraces the Mohammadan faith
after having been made a slave, does not by this act become free, unless
he flees from a foreign infidel master to a Muslim country, and there
becomes a Mohammadan. A person cannot have as a slave one whom he
acknowledges to be within the prohibited degrees of marriage.--The
slaves of the Arabs are mostly from Abyssinia and the Negro countries: a
few, mostly in the houses of wealthy individuals, are from Georgia and
Circassia.

Slaves have no civil liberty; but are entirely under the authority of
their owners, whatever may be the religion, sex, or age, of the latter;
and can possess no property, unless by the owner's permission. The owner
is entire master, while he pleases, of the person and goods of his
slave; and of the offspring of his female slave, which, if begotten by
him or presumed to be so, he may recognise as his own legitimate child,
or not: the child, if recognised by him, enjoys the same privileges as
the offspring of a free wife; and if not recognised by him, is his
slave. The master may even kill his own slave with impunity for any
offence; and he incurs but a slight punishment (as imprisonment for a
period at the discretion of the judge) if he kills him wantonly. He may
give away or sell his slaves, excepting in some cases which will be
mentioned; and may marry them to whom he will, but not separate them
when married. A slave, however, according to most of the doctors, cannot
have more than two wives at the same time. Unemancipated slaves, at the
death of their master, become the property of his heirs; and when an
emancipated slave dies, leaving no male descendants or collateral
relations, the former master is the heir; or, if he be dead, his heirs
inherit the slave's property. As a slave enjoys less advantages than a
free person, the law, in some cases, ordains that his punishment for an
offence shall be half of that to which the free is liable to the same
offence, or even less than half: if it be a fine, or pecuniary
compensation, it must be paid by the owner, to the amount, if necessary,
of the value of the slave, or the slave must be given in compensation.

The owner, but not the part-owner, may cohabit with any of his female
slaves who is a Mohammadan, a Christian, or a Jewess, if he has not
married her to another man; but not with two or more who are sisters, or
who are related to each other in any of the degrees which would prevent
their both being his wives at the same time if they were free: after
having so lived with one, he must entirely relinquish such intercourse
with her before he can do the same with another who is so related to
her. He cannot have this intercourse with a pagan slave. A Christian or
Jew may have slaves, but not enjoy the privilege above mentioned with
one who is a Mohammadan. The master must wait a certain period
(generally from a month to three months) after the acquisition of a
female slave, before he can have such intercourse with her. If he find
any fault in her within three days, he is usually allowed to return her.

When a man, from being the husband, becomes the master, of a slave, the
marriage is dissolved, and he cannot continue to live with her but as
her master, enjoying, however, all a master's privileges; unless he
emancipates her; in which case he may again take her as his wife with
her consent. In like manner, when a woman, from being the wife, becomes
the possessor, of a slave, the marriage is dissolved, and cannot be
renewed unless she emancipates him, and he consents to the re-union.

Complete and immediate emancipation is sometimes granted to a slave
gratuitously, or for a future pecuniary compensation. It is conferred by
means of a written document, or by a verbal declaration (expressed in
the words, "Thou art free," or some similar phrase) in the presence of
two witnesses, or by returning the certificate of sale obtained from the
former owner. Future emancipation is sometimes covenanted to be granted
on the fulfilment of certain conditions; and more frequently, to be
conferred on the occasion of the owner's death. In the latter case, the
owner cannot sell the slave to whom he has made this promise: and, as he
cannot alienate by will more than one-third of the whole property that
he leaves, the law ordains that, if the value of the said slave exceeds
that portion, the slave must obtain and pay the additional sum. When a
female slave has borne a child to her master, and he acknowledges the
child to be his own, he cannot sell this slave, and she becomes free on
his death.

Abyssinian and white female slaves are kept by many men of the middle
and higher classes, and often instead of wives, as requiring less
expense, and being more subservient; but they are generally indulged
with the same luxuries as free ladies; their vanity is gratified by
costly dresses and ornaments, and they rank high above free servants; as
do also the male slaves. Those called Abyssinians appear to be a mixed
race between negroes and whites; and are from the territories of the
Gallas. They are mostly kidnapped and sold by their own countrymen. The
negro female slaves, as few of them have considerable personal
attractions (which is not the case with the Abyssinians, many of whom
are very beautiful), are usually employed only in cooking, and other
menial offices. The female slaves of the higher classes are often
instructed in plain needlework and embroidery, and sometimes in music
and dancing. Formerly, many of them possessed sufficient literary
accomplishments to quote largely from esteemed poems, or even to compose
extemporary verses, which they would often accompany with the lute. The
condition of many concubine slaves is happy; and that of many, quite the
contrary. These, and all other slaves of either sex, are generally
treated with kindness; but at first they are usually importuned, and not
unfrequently used with much harshness, to induce them to embrace the
Mohammadan faith; which almost all of them do. Their services are
commonly light: the usual office of the male white slave, who is called
"memlook," is that of a page, or a military guard. Eunuchs are employed
as guardians of the women; but only in the houses of men of high rank,
or of great wealth: on account of the important and confidential office
which they fill, they are generally treated in public with especial
consideration. I used to remark, in Cairo, that few persons saluted me
with a more dignified and consequential air than these pitiable but
self-conceited beings. Most of them are Abyssinians or Negroes. Indeed,
the slaves in general take too much advantage of the countenance of
their masters, especially when they belong to men in power. The master
is bound to afford his slaves proper food and clothing, or to let them
work for their own support, or to sell, give away, or liberate them. It
is, however, considered disgraceful for him to sell a slave who has been
long in his possession; and it seldom happens that a master emancipates
a female slave, without marrying her to some man able to support her, or
otherwise providing for her.

The Prophet strongly enjoined the duty of kindness to slaves. "Feed your
memlooks," said he, "with food of that which ye eat, and clothe them
with such clothing as ye wear; and command them not to do that which
they are unable."--These precepts are generally attended to, either
entirely or in a great degree. Some other sayings of the Prophet on this
subject well deserve to be mentioned; as the following:--"He who beats
his slave without fault, or slaps him on the face, his atonement for
this is freeing him."--"A man who behaves ill to his slave will not
enter into paradise."--"Whoever is the cause of separation between
mother and child, by selling or giving, God will separate him from his
friends on the day of resurrection."--"When a slave wishes well to his
master, and worships God well, for him are double rewards."--It is
related of 'Othman, "that he twisted the ear of a memlook belonging to
him, on account of disobedience, and afterwards, repenting of it,
ordered him to twist _his_ ear in like manner: but he would not. 'Othman
urged him, and the memlook advanced, and began to wring it by little and
little. He said to him, 'Wring it hard; for I cannot endure the
punishment of the day of judgment .' The memlook
answered, 'O my master, the day that thou fearest, I also fear.'"--"It
is related also of Zeyn-el-'Abideen, that he had a memlook who seized a
sheep, and broke its leg; and he said to him, 'Why didst thou this?' He
answered, 'To provoke thee to anger.' 'And I,' said he, 'will provoke to
anger him who taught thee; and he is Iblees: go, and be free, for the
sake of God.'"--Many similar anecdotes might be added; but the
general assertions of travellers in the East are more satisfactory
evidence in favour of the humane conduct of most Muslims to their
slaves.

It sometimes happens, though rarely, that free girls are sold as
slaves. A remarkable instance is related in the "Mir-at
ez-Zeman."--Faimeh, surnamed Ghareeb, a slave of the Khaleefeh
El-Moataim, the son of Haroon, was a poetess, accomplished in singing
and calligraphy, and extremely beautiful. Her mother was an orphan; and
Jaafar, the famous Wezeer of Haroon Er-Rasheed, took her as his wife;
but his father, Yaya, reproached him for marrying a woman whose father
and mother were unknown, and he therefore removed her from his own
residence to a neighbouring house, where he frequently visited her; and
she bore him a daughter, the above-mentioned Ghareeb, and died. Jaafar
committed her infant to the care of a Christian woman, to nurse; and, on
the overthrow of his family, this woman sold her young charge as a
slave. El-Emeen, the successor of Er-Rasheed, bought her of a man named
Sumbul, but never paid her price; and when he was killed, she returned
to her former master; but on the arrival of El-Ma-moon at Baghdad, she
was described to him, and he compelled Sumbul to sell her to him. This
Sumbul loved her so passionately, that he died of grief at her loss. On
the death of El-Ma-moon, his successor, El-Moataim, bought her for a
hundred thousand dirhems, and emancipated her. The historian adds, that
she composed several well-known airs and verses.

NOTE 14. An Arab who is married to his cousin generally calls her by
this appellation rather than that of wife, as the tie of blood is, to
him, in every respect, stronger than that of matrimony.

NOTE 15.--_On Magic._ The Arabs and other Mohammadans enjoy a remarkable
advantage over _us_ in the composition of works of fiction: in the
invention of incidents which _we_ should regard as absurd in the
extreme, _they_ cannot be accused by their countrymen of exceeding the
bounds of probability. A case similar to that here described was related
to me as a fact, in Cairo. A person in that city, I was told, was
suddenly surprised by the disappearance of his brother, and by finding,
in his place, an ass: but this animal increased his astonishment, and
that of every person who beheld him, by manifesting a sagacity
singularly opposed to the proverbial dulness of the generality of his
species. Yet, strange as it may seem, it was not imagined that this
brute was the lost man in a transformed state, till, one day, an old
woman, seeing him, quickly covered her face, and declared the fact. She
discovered this by her knowledge of magic; and, by her skill in this
art, she agreed to restore the enchanted person to his proper shape.
Having collected a number of herbs, she boiled them in a large vessel;
and when the decoction had cooled, she took the vessel, and, muttering a
certain spell, threw its contents over the animal, endeavouring to do so
in such a manner that every part of it should be wetted. Every part of
it _was_ wetted, excepting one hind-foot; and, accordingly, it was
restored to the original human form, with the exception of one foot,
which remained like that of an ass.

An implicit belief in magic is entertained by almost all Muslims; and
he, among them, who denies its truth, they regard as a freethinker, or
an infidel. Some are of opinion that it ceased on the mission of
Moammad; but these are comparatively few. Many of the most learned
Muslims, to the present age, have deeply studied it; and a much greater
number of persons of inferior education (particularly school-masters)
have, more or less, devoted their time and talents to the pursuit of
this knowledge. Recourse is had to it for the discovery of hidden
treasures, for alchymical purposes, for the acquisition of the knowledge
of futurity, to procure offspring, to obtain the affection of a beloved
object, to effect cures, to guard against the influence of the evil eye,
to afflict or kill an enemy or a rival, and to attain various other
objects of desire.

There are two descriptions of magic; one is spiritual, and regarded by
all but freethinkers as true; the other, natural, and denounced by the
more religious and enlightened as deceptive.

chiefly depends upon the virtues of certain names of God, and passages
from the ur-an, and the agency of Angels and Jinn, or Genii. It is of
two kinds: High and Low ("'Ilwee" and "Suflee"), or Divine and Satanic
("Ramanee," _i. e._ relating to "the Compassionate" , and
"Sheyanee").

1. Divine magic is regarded as a sublime science, and is studied only by
good men, and practised only for good purposes. Perfection in this
branch of magic consists in the knowledge of "the most great name" of
God ("el-Ism el Aaam"); but this knowledge is imparted to none but the
peculiar favourites of Heaven. By virtue of this name, which was
engraved on his seal-ring, Suleyman (or Solomon) subjected to his
dominion the Jinn and the birds and the winds, as mentioned in a former
note. By pronouncing it, his minister Aaf, also, transported, in an
instant, to the presence of his sovereign, in Jerusalem, the throne of
the Queen of Sheba. But this was a small miracle to effect by such
means; for, by uttering this name, a man may even raise the dead. Other
names of the Deity, commonly known, are believed to have particular
efficacies when uttered or written; as also are the names of the
Prophet; and Angels and good Jinn are said to be rendered subservient to
the purposes of divine magic by means of certain invocations. Of such
names and invocations, together with words unintelligible to the
uninitiated in this science, passages from the ur-an, mysterious
combinations of numbers, and peculiar diagrams and figures, are chiefly
composed written charms employed for good purposes. Enchantment, when
used for benevolent purposes, is regarded by the vulgar as a branch of
lawful or divine magic; but not so by the learned; and the same remark
applies to the science of divination.

2. Satanic magic, as its name implies, is a science depending on the
agency of the Devil and the inferior evil Jinn, whose services are
obtained by means similar to those which propitiate, or render
subservient, the good Jinn. It is condemned by the Prophet and all good
Muslims, and only practised for bad purposes.--Enchantment, which is
termed "es-Ser," is almost universally acknowledged to be a branch of
satanic magic; but some few persons assert (agreeably with several tales
in this work), that it _may_ be, and by some _has_ been, studied with
good intentions, and practised by the aid of good Jinn; consequently,
that there is such a science as _good_ enchantment, which is to be
regarded as a branch of _divine_ or _lawful_ magic. The metamorphoses
are said to be generally effected by means of spells, or invocations to
Jinn, accompanied by the sprinkling of water or dust, &c., on the object
to be transformed. Persons are said to be enchanted in various ways:
some, paralyzed, or even deprived of life; others, affected with
irresistible passion for certain objects; others, again, rendered
demoniacs; and some, transformed into brutes, birds, &c. The evil eye is
believed to enchant in a very powerful and distressing manner. This was
acknowledged even by the Prophet. Diseases and death are often
attributed to its influence. Amulets, which are mostly written charms,
of the kind above described, are worn by many Muslims with the view of
counteracting, or preserving from, enchantment; and for the same
purpose, many ridiculous ceremonies are practised.--Divination, which is
termed "el-Kihaneh," is pronounced, on the highest authority, to be a
branch of satanic magic; though not believed to be so by all Muslims.
According to an assertion of the Prophet, what a fortune-teller says may
sometimes be true; because one of the Jinn steals away the truth, and
carries it to the magician's ear: for the Angels come down to the region
next the earth (the lowest heaven), and mention the works that have been
pre-ordained in heaven; and the Devils (or evil Jinn) listen to what the
Angels say, and hear the orders predestined in heaven, and carry them to
the fortune-tellers. It is on such occasions that shooting-stars are
hurled at the Devils. It is said that "the diviner obtains the
services of the Sheyan by magic arts, and by names , and by
the burning of perfumes, and he informs him of secret things: for the
Devils, before the mission of the Apostle of God," it is added, "used to
ascend to heaven, and hear words by stealth." That the evil Jinn
are believed still to ascend sufficiently near to the lowest heaven to
hear the conversation of the Angels, and so to assist magicians, appears
from the former quotation, and is asserted by all Muslims. The discovery
of hidden treasures, before alluded to, is one of the objects for which
divination is most studied.--The mode of divination called "arb
el-Mendel" is by some supposed to be effected by the aid of evil Jinn;
but the more enlightened of the Muslims regard it as a branch of natural
magic. Some curious performances of this kind, by means of a fluid
mirror of ink, have been described in my "Account of the Manners and
Customs of the Modern Egyptians," and in No. 117 of the "Quarterly
Review."

There are certain modes of divination which cannot properly be classed
under the head of spiritual magic, but require a place between the
account of this science and that of natural magic.--The most important
of these branches of Kihaneh is Astrology, which is called "'Ilm
en-Nujoom." This is studied by many Muslims in the present day; and its
professors are often employed by the Arabs to determine a fortunate
period for laying the foundation of a building, commencing a journey,
&c.; but more frequently by the Persians and Turks. The Prophet
pronounced astrology to be a branch of magic.--Another branch of
Kihaneh is Geomancy, called "arb er-Raml;" a mode of divination from
certain marks made on sand (whence its appellation), or on paper; and
said to be chiefly founded on astrology.--The science called "ez-Zijr,"
or "el-'Eyafeh," is a third branch of Kihaneh; being divination or
auguration chiefly from the motions and positions, or postures, of
birds, or of gazelles and other beasts of the chase. Thus, what was
termed a "Sane," that is, such an animal standing or passing with its
right side towards the spectator, was esteemed among the Arabs as of
good omen; and a "Bare," or an animal of this kind with its left side
towards the spectator, was held as inauspicious.--"El-iyafeh,"
under which term are included Chiromancy and its kindred sciences, is a
fourth branch of Kihaneh.--"Et-Tefa-ul," or the taking an omen,
particularly a good one, from a name or words accidentally heard or
seen, or chosen from a book, belongs to the same science. The taking a
"fal," or omen, from the ur-an is generally held to be lawful.--Various
trifling events are considered as ominous. For instance, a Sulan
quitting his palace with his troops, a standard happened to strike a
"thureiya" (a cluster of lamps, so called from resembling the Pleiades),
and broke them: he drew from this an evil omen, and would have
relinquished the expedition; but one of his chief officers said
to him, "O our lord, thy standards have reached the Pleiades;"--and,
being relieved by this remark, he proceeded, and returned
victorious.--The interpretation of dreams, "Taabeer el-Menamat,"
must also be classed among the branches of this science. According to
the Prophet, it is the only branch of divination worthy of dependance.
"Good dreams," said he, "are one of the parts of prophecy," and "nothing
else of prophecy remains." "Good dreams are from God; and false dreams,
from the Devil." "When any one of you has a bad dream, spit three times
over your left shoulder, and seek protection with God from the Devil
thrice; and turn from the side on which the dream was, to the
other." This rule is observed by many Muslims. Dreams are generally
so fully relied upon by them as to be sometimes the means of deciding
contested points in history and science. The sight, in a dream, of
anything green or white, or of water, is considered auspicious; anything
black or red, or fire, inauspicious.--The distinction of fortunate and
unfortunate days should also here be mentioned. Thursday and Friday,
especially the latter, are considered fortunate; Monday and Wednesday,
doubtful; Sunday, Tuesday, and Saturday, especially the last,
unfortunate. It is said that there are seven evil days in every 
month; namely, the third, on which abeel (or Cain) killed Habeel
(Abel); the fifth, on which God cast down Adam from paradise, and
afflicted the people of Yoonus (Jonas), and on which Yoosuf (or Joseph)
was cast into the well; the thirteenth, on which God took away the
wealth of Eiyoob (or Job), and afflicted him, and took away the kingdom
from Suleyman (or Solomon), and on which the Jews killed the prophets;
the sixteenth, on which God exterminated and buried the people of Loo
(or Lot), and transformed three hundred Christians into swine, and Jews
into apes, and on which the Jews sawed asunder Zekereeya (or Zachariah);
the twenty-first, on which Pharaoh was born, and on which he was
drowned, and on which his nation was afflicted with the plagues; the
twenty-fourth, on which Numrood (or Nimrod) killed seventy women,
and cast El-Khaleel (or Abraham) into the fire, and on which was
slaughtered the camel of ale; and the twenty-fifth, on which the
suffocating wind was sent upon the people of Hood.

persons of the more enlightened classes of Muslims as altogether a
deceptive art, no more worthy of respect than legerdemain; but it seems
to be nearly allied to enchantment; for it is said to effect, in
appearance, the most wonderful transformations, and to cause the most
extraordinary visions; affecting the senses and imagination in a manner
similar to opium. This and other drugs are supposed, by some persons, to
be the chief means by which such illusions are caused; and perfumes,
which are generally burnt in these performances, may operate in a
similar manner. As such things are employed in performances of the kind
called "arb el-Mendel," before mentioned, these feats are regarded by
many as effected by natural magic, notwithstanding what has been said
above respecting the services of evil Jinn being procured by means of
perfumes.--Alchymy ("el-Keemiya") is a branch of natural magic. It is
studied by many Muslims of the present day, and by some of considerable
talents and attainments.

The most celebrated of the magicians who have gained notoriety in Egypt
during the course of the last hundred years, was the sheykh Amad
adoomeh, who flourished somewhat more than sixty years ago--I write in
1837. Several persons of Cairo, men of intelligence and of good
education, have related to me various most marvellous stories of his
performances, on the authority of eye-witnesses whom they considered
veracious; but a more credible account of this magician I have found in
the work of an excellent historian of Modern Egypt. This author mentions
the sheykh adoomeh as an aged man, of venerable appearance, who derived
his origin from the town of Semennood, in the Delta, and who acquired a
very great and extensive celebrity for his attainments in spiritual and
natural magic, and for holding converse, face to face, with Jinn, and
causing them to appear to other persons, even to the blind, as men
acquainted with him informed the historian. His contemporaries, says
this writer, entertained various opinions respecting him; but, among
them, a famous grammarian and general scholar, the sheykh asan
El-Kafrawee, regarded him as a first-rate saint, who performed evident
miracles; this learned man pronouncing as such the effects of "his
legerdemain and natural magic." His fame he describes as having
increased until he was induced to try an unlucky experiment. A Memlook
chief, Yoosuf Bey, saw some magic characters written on the body of one
of his female slaves, and, exasperated by jealousy, commanded her, with
a threat of instant death, to tell him who had done this. She confessed
that a woman had taken her to the sheykh adoomeh, and that he had
written this charm to attract to her the Bey's love. Upon hearing this,
he instantly sent some attendants to seize the magician, and to put him
to death, and throw him into the Nile; which was done. But the
manner in which the seizure was made, as related to me by one of my
friends, deserves to be mentioned. Several persons, one after another,
endeavoured to lay hold upon him; but every arm that was stretched forth
for this purpose was instantly paralyzed, through a spell muttered by
the magician; until a man behind him thrust a gag into his mouth, and so
stopped his enchantments.

Of the stories related to me of adoomeh's miracles, the following will
serve as a specimen:--In order to give one of his friends a treat, he
took him to the distance of about half an hour's walk into the desert on
the north of Cairo; here they both sat down, upon the pebbly and sandy
plain, and, the magician having uttered a spell, they suddenly found
themselves in the midst of a garden, like one of the gardens of
paradise, abounding with flowers and fruit-trees of every kind,
springing up from a soil clothed with verdure brilliant as the emerald,
and irrigated by numerous streamlets of the clearest water. A repast of
the most delicious viands and fruits and wines was spread before them by
invisible hands; and they both ate to satiety, taking copious draughts
of the various wines. At length, the magician's guest sank into a deep
sleep; and when he awoke, he found himself again in the pebbly and sandy
plain, with adoomeh still by his side.--The reader will probably
attribute this vision to a dose of opium or some similar drug; and such
I suppose to have been the means employed; for I cannot doubt the
integrity of the narrator, though he would not admit such an
explanation; regarding the whole as an affair of magic, effected by the
operation of Jinn, like similar relations in the present work.

It may be remarked that most of the enchantments described in this work
are said to be performed by _women_; and reputed _witches_ appear to
have been much more numerous in all countries than _wizards_. This fact
the Muslims readily explain by a saying of their Prophet:--That women
are deficient in sense and religion:--whence they argue that they are
more inclined than men to practise what is unlawful.

NOTE 16.--_On the Two Grand Festivals._ The Muslims observe two grand
'Eeds, or Festivals, in every year. The first of these immediately
follows Ramaan, the month of abstinence, and lasts three days: it is
called the Minor Festival. The other, which is called the Great
Festival, commences on the tenth of Zu-l-ejjeh, the day when the
pilgrims, halting on their return from Mount 'Arafat to Mekkeh, in the
Valley of Mine (vulgarly called Muna), perform their sacrifice: the
observance of this festival also continues three days, or four.

Early in the first morning, on each of these festivals, the Muslim is
required to perform a lustration of his whole person, as on the mornings
of Friday; and on the first morning of the Minor Festival, he should
break his fast with a few dates or some other light food; but on the
Great Festival, he abstains from food until he has acquitted himself of
the religious duties now to be mentioned. Soon after sunrise, on the
first day of each festival, the men, dressed in new or in their best
clothes, repair to the mosque, or to a particular place appointed for
the performance of the prayers of the 'Eed. On going thither, they
should repeat, frequently, "God is most great!"--this, on the Minor
Festival, they should do inaudibly: on the other, aloud. The
congregation, having assembled, repeat the prayers of two rek'ahs; after
which, the Khaeeb recites a khubeh; _i. e._ an exhortation and a
prayer. On each of these festivals, in the mosque, or place of prayer,
and in the street, and at each other's houses, friends congratulate and
embrace one another; generally paying visits for this purpose; and the
great receive visits from their dependants. The young, on these
occasions, kiss the right hand of the aged; and servants or dependants
do the same to their masters or superiors, unless the latter be of high
rank, in which case they kiss the end of the hanging sleeve, or the
skirt of the outer garment. Most of the shops are closed, excepting
those at which eatables and sweet drinks are sold; but the streets are
filled with people in their holiday clothes.

On the Minor Festival, which, as it terminates an arduous fast, is
celebrated with more rejoicing than the other, servants and other
dependants receive presents of new articles of clothing from their
masters or patrons; and the servant receives presents of small sums of
money from his master's friends, whom, if they do not visit his master,
he goes to congratulate; as well as from any former master, to whom he
often takes a plateful of kaks. These are sweet cakes, or biscuits, of
an annular form, composed of flour and butter, with a little 'ajameeyeh
(which is a thick paste consisting of butter, honey, a little flour, and
some spices) inside. They are also often sent as presents on this
occasion by other people. Another custom required of the faithful on
this festival is the giving of alms.

On the Great Festival, after the prayers of the congregation, every one
who can afford it performs, with his own hand, or by that of a deputy, a
sacrifice of a ram, he-goat, cow or buffalo, or she-camel; part of the
meat of which he eats, and part he gives to the poor, or to his friends
or dependants. The ram or goat should be at least one year old; the cow
or buffalo, two years; and the camel, five years; and the victim should
not have any considerable mutilation or infirmity. A cow or buffalo, or
a camel, is a sufficient sacrifice for seven persons. The clothes which
were put on new at the former festival are generally worn on this
occasion; and the presents which are given to servants and others are
usually somewhat less.

On each of the two festivals it is also customary, especially with the
women, to visit the tombs of relations. The party generally take with
them a palm-branch, and place it, broken in several pieces, or merely
its leaves, upon the tomb or monument; or some, instead of this, place
sweet basil or other flowers. They also usually provide themselves with
sweet cakes, bread, dates, or some other kind of food, to distribute to
the poor. But their first duty, on arriving at the tomb, is to recite
the Fateah (the opening Chapter of the ur-an), or to employ a person
to recite previously a longer chapter; generally the thirty-sixth (or
Soorat Ya-Seen); or even the whole of the book: or sometimes the
visiters recite the Fateah, and, after having hired a person to perform
a longer recitation, go away before he commences. The women often stay
all the days of the festival in the cemeteries, either in tents, or in
houses of their own, erected there for their reception on these and
other occasions. The tent of each party surrounds the tomb which is the
object of their visit. In the outskirts of the cemeteries, swings and
whirligigs are erected; and story-tellers, dancers, and jugglers, amuse
the populace.

NOTE 17.--_On the Mode of Slaughtering of Animals for Food._ In the old
translation, the sheykh is described as preparing to slaughter the cow
with a _mallet_. This is a mistake of a serious nature; as the flesh of
the victim, if so killed, would be legally unclean. The Muslims are
required to slaughter animals for food in a particular manner. Sheep,
goats, cows or bulls, and buffaloes, must be killed by cutting the
throat, at the part next the head, or any other part; dividing the
windpipe, gullet, and carotid arteries. The camel is to be slaughtered
by _stabbing_ the throat at the part next the breast. Poultry, also,
must be killed by cutting the throat; and so must every tame animal of
which the flesh is lawful food. The slaughterer, in every case, must be
a Muslim, a Christian, or a Jew; of either sex. On commencing the
operation, he must say, "In the name of God! God is most great!"--or at
least, "In the name of God!"--but not add, "the Compassionate, the
Merciful"--for an obvious reason. Birds or beasts of the chase may be
killed by an arrow, a dog, a hawk, &c.; but the name of God must be
uttered at the time of discharging the arrow, or slipping the dog, &c.
When the beast or bird is not killed at once by the arrow, &c., it must
be slaughtered as soon as possible, in the same manner as sheep and
poultry: the law, as well as humanity, requires this.

NOTE 18.--_On the Influence of Eloquence and Tales upon the Arabs._ The
main incident upon which this work is founded, the triumph of the
fascination of the tongue over a cruel and unjust determination which
nothing else could annul, might be regarded, by persons unacquainted
with the character and literature of the Arabs, as a contrivance too
improbable in its nature; but such is not the case. Perhaps there are no
other people in the world who are such enthusiastic admirers of
literature, and so excited by romantic tales, as those above named.
Eloquence, with them, is lawful magic: it exercises over their minds an
irresistible influence. "I swear by God," said their Prophet, "verily
abuse of infidels in verse is worse to them than arrows." This, of
course, alludes to _Arab_ unbelievers.

In the purest, or Heroic Age of Arabic literature, which was anterior to
the triumph of the Mohammadan religion, the conquest which the love of
eloquence could achieve over the sanguinary and vindictive feelings of
the Arabs was most remarkably exemplified in the annual twenty days'
fair of 'Oka, or 'Okah. Respecting this fair, I shall here insert a
few particulars borrowed from an author who is at present devoting
talents of the very highest order to the study and illustration of the
history and literature of the early Arabs, and to whose conversation and
writings I must acknowledge myself indebted for most valuable
information, which will often be of great utility to me in this
undertaking, as well as in every branch of my Arabic studies.

The fair of 'Oka "was not only a great mart opened annually to all the
tribes of Arabia; but it was also a literary congress, or rather a
general concourse of virtues, of glory and of poetry, whither the
hero-poets resorted to celebrate their exploits in rhyming verse, and
peacefully to contend for every kind of honour. This fair was held in
the district of Mekkeh, between E-aif and Nakhleh, and was opened at
the new moon of Zu-l-aadeh; that is to say, at the commencement of a
period of three sacred months, during which all war was suspended, and
homicide interdicted.... How is it possible to conceive that men whose
wounds were always bleeding, who had always acts of vengeance to
execute, vengeances to dread, could at a certain epoch impose silence
upon their animosities, so as tranquilly to sit by a mortal enemy? How
could the brave who required the blood of a father, a brother, or a son,
according to the phraseology of the desert and of the Bible, who
long, perhaps, had pursued in vain the murderer,--meet him, accost him
peacefully at 'Oka, and only assault with cadences and rhymes him whose
presence alone seemed to accuse him of impotence or cowardice,--him whom
he was bound to slay, under pain of infamy, after the expiration of the
truce? In fine, how could he hear a panegyric celebrating a glory
acquired at his own expense, and sustain the fire of a thousand looks,
and yet appear unmoved? Had the Arabs no longer any blood in their veins
during the continuance of the fair?--These questions, so
embarrassing, ... were determined , during the age of
Arab paganism, in a manner the most simple and most refined.--At the
fair of 'Oka, the heroes were masked .--In the recitations
and improvisations, the voice of the orator was aided by that of a
rhapsodist or crier, who was stationed near him, and repeated his words.
There is a similar office in the public prayers: it is that of the
muballigh (transmitter), who is employed to repeat in a loud voice what
is said in a lower tone by the Imam. These two facts have been revealed
to me by the same manuscript which I am translating, and upon which I am
commenting. The use of the mask  might, however, be either
adopted or dispensed with, _ad libitum_; as is proved by the narratives
of a great number of quarrels begun and ended at 'Oka.... It was in
this congress of the Arab poets (and almost every warriour was a poet at
the age which I am considering) that the dialects of Arabia became fused
into a magic language, the language of the ejaz, which Moammad made
use of to subvert the world; for the triumph of Moammad is nothing else
than the triumph of speech."--The ur-an is regarded by the Arabs
as an everlasting miracle, surpassing all others, appealing to the
understanding of every generation by its inimitable eloquence. A
stronger proof of the power of language over their minds could hardly be
adduced; unless it be their being capable of receiving as a credible
fact the tradition that both genii and men were attracted by the
eloquent reading of David, when he recited the Psalms; that the wild
beasts and the birds were alike fascinated; and that sometimes there
were borne out from his assembly as many as four hundred corpses of men
who died from the excessive delight with which he thus inspired
them. It may be added that the recitation, or chanting, of the
ur-an is a favourite means of amusing the guests at modern private
festivities.

In what may be termed the Middle Age of Arabic literature, commencing
from the triumph of the Mohammadan religion, and extending to the
foundation of the Empire of Baghdad, the power of eloquence over the
educated classes of the Arabs probably increased in proportion as it
became less familiar to them: for, early in this age, they began to
simplify their spoken language in consequence of their intercourse with
strangers, who could not generally acquire the difficult, old dialect of
their conquerors: this, therefore, then began to be confined to literary
compositions. That such a change took place at this period appears from
several anecdotes interspersed in Arabic works. The Khaleefeh El-Weleed
(who reigned near the close of the first century of the Flight), the son
of 'Abd-El-Melik, spoke so corrupt a dialect that he often could not
make himself understood by the Arabs of the desert. A ridiculous
instance of the mistakes occasioned by his use of the simplified
language which is now current is related by Abu-l-Fida. The same author
adds, that the father and predecessor of this prince was a man of
eloquence, and that he was grieved by the corrupt speech of his son,
which he considered as a defect that incapacitated him to be a future
ruler of the Arabs, as they were still great admirers of purity of
speech, though so large a proportion of them spoke a corrupt dialect;
wherefore, he sent him to a house to be instructed by a grammarian; but
after the youth had remained there a long time, he returned to his
father more ignorant than before. Vulgarisms, however, would sometimes
escape from the mouth of 'Abd-El-Melik himself; yet, so sensible was he
to eloquence, that, when a learned man, with whom he was conversing,
elegantly informed him of an error of this kind, he ordered his mouth to
be filled with jewels. "These," said his courteous admonisher, "are
things to be treasured up; not to be expended:"--and for this delicate
hint, he was further rewarded with thirty thousand pieces of silver, and
several costly articles of apparel.--It may be aptly added, that
this Khaleefeh was, in the beginning of his reign, an unjust monarch;
and as he thus bore some slight resemblance to our Shahriyar, so was he
reclaimed to a sense of his duty by means somewhat similar. Being, one
night, unable to sleep, he called for a person to tell him a story for
his amusement. "O Prince of the Faithful," said the man thus bidden,
"there was an owl in El-Moil, and an owl in El-Barah; and the owl of
El-Moil demanded in marriage, for her son, the daughter of the owl of
El-Barah: but the owl of El-Barah said, 'I will not, unless thou give
me, as her dowry, a hundred desolate farms.' 'That I cannot do,' said
the owl of El-Moil, 'at present; but if our sovereign (may God, whose
name be exalted, preserve him!) live one year, I will give thee what
thou desirest.'"--This simple fable sufficed to rouse the prince from
his apathy, and he thenceforward applied himself to fulfil the duties of
his station.

In the most flourishing age of Arabic poetry and general literature and
science, commencing from the foundation of the Empire of Baghdad, and
extending to the conquest of Egypt by the 'Osmanlee Turks, the influence
of eloquent and entertaining language upon the character of the Arab
sovereigns was particularly exemplified. A few illustrative anecdotes
may here be inserted.

It is related by El-Ama'ee, that Haroon Er-Rasheed, at a grand fete
which he was giving, ordered the poet Abu-l-'Atahiyeh to depict, in
verse, the voluptuous enjoyments of his sovereign. The poet began
thus:--

  "Live long in safe enjoyment of thy desires, under the shadow
     of lofty palaces!"

"Well said!" exclaimed Er-Rasheed: "and what next?"

  "May thy wishes be abundantly fulfilled, whether at eventide
     or in the morning!"

"Well!" again said the Khaleefeh: "then what next?"

  "But when the rattling breath struggles in the dark cavity
     of the chest.
   Then shalt thou know surely, that thou hast been only in
     the midst of illusions."

--Er-Rasheed wept; and Fal, the son of Yaya, said, "The Prince of the
Faithful sent for thee to divert him, and thou hast plunged him into
grief." "Suffer him," said the prince; "for he hath beheld us in
blindness, and it displeased him to increase it."

The family of the Barmekees (one of the most brilliant ornaments of
which was the Wezeer Jaafar, who has been rendered agreeably familiar to
us by the many scenes in which he is introduced in the present work)
earned a noble and enduring reputation by their attachment to
literature, and the magnificent rewards they conferred on learned men.
It was peculiarly hard, therefore, that literature contributed to their
melancholy overthrow. Poets were employed by their enemies to compose
songs artfully pointed against them, to be sung before the prince to
whom they owed their power. Of one of these songs, the following lines
formed a part:--

  "Would that Hind had fulfilled the promises she made us, and healed
     the disease under which we suffer!
   That she had once, at least, acted for herself! for imbecile, indeed,
     is he who doth not so."

"Yea! By Allah! Imbecile!" exclaimed the Khaleefeh, on hearing these
verses: his jealousy was roused; and his vengeance soon after fell
heavily upon his former favourites.

One of the Khaleefehs having invited the poets of his day to his palace,
a Bedawee, carrying a water-jar to fill at the river, followed them, and
entered with them. The Khaleefeh, seeing this poor man with the jar on
his shoulder, asked him what brought him thither. He returned for answer
these words:--

  "Seeing that this company had girded on the saddles
   To repair to thy overflowing river, I came with my jar."

The Khaleefeh, delighted with his answer, gave orders to fill his jar
with gold.

In the present declining age of Arabian learning (which may be said to
have commenced about the period of the conquest of Egypt by the
'Osmanlees), literary recreations still exert a magic influence upon the
Arabs. Compositions of a similar nature to the tales of a Thousand and
One Nights (though regarded by the learned as idle stories unworthy of
being classed with their literature) enable numbers of professional
story-tellers to attract crowds of delighted listeners to the
coffee-shops of the East; and now that the original of the present work
is printed, and to be purchased at a moderate price, it will probably
soon, in a great measure, supersede the romances of Aboo-Zeyd, E-ahir,
and 'Antar. As a proof of the powerful fascinations with which the tales
of a Thousand and One Nights affect the mind of a highly-enlightened
Muslim, it may be mentioned that the latest native historian of Modern
Egypt, the sheykh 'Abd-Er-Raman El-Jabartee, so delighted in their
perusal that he took the trouble of refining the language of a copy of
them which he possessed, expunging or altering whatever was grossly
offensive to morality without the somewhat redeeming quality of wit, and
adding many facetie of his own, and of other literati. What has become
of this copy, I have been unable, though acquainted with several of his
friends, to discover.

NOTE 19. It is a common custom among the Muslims to give a present to a
person who brings good tidings. The word (bisharah) which I render "a
reward for bringing good news," literally signifies merely "good news;"
but it is often used, as in this case, in the former sense.

NOTE 20. A Mohammadan woman is not allowed to show her face to any men
excepting certain near relations and others whom the law prohibits her
from marrying. Who these are will be mentioned in a future note,
descriptive of the general laws and ceremonies of marriage. Respectable
females consider it a great disgrace to be seen unveiled by any men but
those above alluded to.

NOTE 21.--_On the_ Deenar _and_ Dirhem. The standards of gold and
silver coin, among the Arabs, were the deenar and the dirhem: therefore,
in this work, I call the former "a piece of gold," and the latter "a
piece of silver." Their values have varied considerably at different
periods; but in the present work, we shall sufficiently approximate to
the truth, if we understand the average value of the former to be about
ten shillings or half a guinea; and that of the latter, about sixpence.

NOTE 22.--_Description of Shops._ In Eastern cities, most of the great
thoroughfare-streets, and many others, have a row of shops along each
side, not communicating with the superstructures; which latter are
divided into separate lodgings, inhabited by different families, and
seldom by the persons who rent the shops beneath. These streets are
called, in Arabic, "Soos;" and are generally termed by us, "Bazars." A
whole street of this description, or a portion of such a street,
commonly contains only or chiefly shops appropriated to a particular
trade; and is called the Soo of that trade. In general, the shop is a
small recess or cell, about six or seven feet high, and between three
and four feet wide, the floor of which is even with the top of a raised
seat of stone or brick, called "maabah," between two and three feet
high, and about the same in breadth; upon which the shopkeeper usually
sits. The front of the shop is furnished with shutters; which, when
closed, at night, are secured by a wooden lock. Several of the
engravings in this work will convey a better notion of shops of
different kinds than a more detailed description.

NOTE 23. Distrust in his governors and relations and acquaintance often
induces an Arab to hide his money under the paved floor of a room, or in
some other place, in his house.

NOTE 24. These words, "I give myself to thee," uttered by a woman to a
man, even without the presence of witnesses, if they cannot be easily
procured, render her his lawful wife, if he replies that he accepts her,
and gives her a dowry.

NOTE 25. I have substituted "Jinneeyeh" (agreeably with the Calcutta
edition of the first two hundred nights, and because the context
requires it) for "'Efreeteh," which signifies a powerful and evil female
genie.--The tale to which this note refers may be illustrated by the
following anecdote, which was related to me by a Persian with whom I was
acquainted in Cairo, named Abu-l-asim, a native of Geelan, then
superintendent of the Basha's Printing-office at Boola.

One of this person's countrymen, whom he asserted to be a man of
indubitable veracity, was sitting on the roof of a house which he had
hired, overlooking the Ganges, and was passing the closing hour of the
day, according to his usual custom, smoking his Persian pipe, and
feasting his eyes by gazing at the beautiful forms of Indian maidens
bathing in the river, when he beheld among them one so lovely that his
heart was overpowered with desire to have her for his wife. At nightfall
she came to him, and told him that she had observed his emotion, and
would consent to become his wife; but on the condition that he should
never admit another female to take or share her place, and that she
should only be with him in the night-time. They took the marriage-vow to
each other, with none for their witness but God; and great was his
happiness, till, one evening, he saw again, among a group of girls in
the river, another who excited in him still more powerful emotions. To
his surprise, this very form stood before him at the approach of night.
He withstood the temptation, mindful of his marriage-vow: she used every
allurement; but he was resolute. His fair visiter then told him that she
was his wife; that she was a Jinneeyeh; and that she would always
thenceforward visit him in the form of any female whom he might chance
to prefer.

NOTE 26. This form of benediction is almost always added when the
Prophet is mentioned in a book by any of his followers, and often also
in conversation.

NOTE 27. Perhaps it is needless to explain this proverb by the words of
the Bible--"Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord." (Romans,
xii. 19.) For the honour of the Muslims I must say that this maxim is
often observed by them, excepting in cases to which the law of
retaliation applies.

NOTE 28. The houses in Arabian countries generally have flat roofs, upon
which, in the summer, some of the inhabitants often sleep: the interior,
therefore, is as accessible from the roof as from the common entrance.

NOTE 29. I here steer a middle course between my usual standard
copy--which gives the story of the third sheykh more fully than I have
done--and the Calcutta edition of the first two hundred nights, which
omits it altogether, as does also the copy from which the old
translation was made, perhaps on account of its uninteresting nature.






   ur-an, ch. xiii. v. 39.

   "El-Insan el-Kamil," by 'Abd-El-Kereem El-Jeelee, quoted
  by El-Is-aee, in his account of Ibraheem Basha el-Matool.

   Mishkat el-Maabee, vol. i. pp. 26-34.

   Ibid.

   Idem, vol. ii. p. 373.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil wa-Murshid el-Mutaahhil, section 7.

   Mishkat el-Maabee, vol. ii. p. 381.

   For a translation of the whole of this prayer, see
  "Modern Egyptians," vol. ii. ch, xii.

   ur-an, ch. v. v. 35.

   See "Modern Egyptians," vol. ii. ch. xv.

   These degrees of relationship will be explained when I
  describe the customs relating to marriage.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil wa-Murshid el-Mutaahhil, section 9.

   Mishkat el-Maabee, vol. ii. pp. 140 and 141.

   Nuzhet El-Mutaammil, &c., _loco laudato_.

   See "Modern Egyptians," vol. i. ch. vii.

   Events of the year 227.

   ur-an, ch. xxvii. v. 40; and Commentary of the Jelaleyn.

   See "Mishat el-Maabee," vol. ii. p. 374.

   Idem, vol ii. pp. 384, et seqq.

   Account of the early Arabs, in the "Mir-at ez-Zeman."

   During his last residence in Egypt, Mr. Lane thought he
  had discovered a clue to the means employed in these
  performances, but he afterwards found that there were cases
  which remained to him inexplicable.--ED.

   Mishkat el-Maabee, _loco laudato_.

   Mir-at ez-Zeman, _loco laudato_.

   El-Is-aee, in his account of the reign of El-Moataim,
  the son of Haroon.

   Mishkat el-Maabee, vol. ii. p. 388.

   Vulgarly pronounced Nemrood.

   El-Is-aee, close of his account of the reign of
  El-Emeen.

   El-Jabartee's Modern Egyptian History (MS. in my
  possession); account of the death of Yoosuf Bey, in the year of
  the Flight 1191; and account of the death of the sheykh asan
  El-Kafrawee, in the year 1202.

   Hence it has been called by many travellers, and even by
  some learned Orientalists, the Great Feast; but it is never so
  called by the Arabs.

   Mishkat el-Maabee, vol. ii. p. 424.

   Genesis ix. 5.

   Lettres sur l'Histoire des Arabes avant l'Islamisme, par
  Fulgence Fresnel. Paris, 1836, pp. 31, et seqq.

   El-Is-haee.

   El-Is-aee.

   Idem.

   Fakhr-ed-Deen, in De Sacy's Chrestomathie Arabe, vol. i.
  p. 3 of the Arabic Text: 2nd edition.

   Ibn-Khaldoon, _ubi supra_, vol. i. p. 124 of the Arabic
  text.

   albet el-Kumeyt (MS. in my possession), chap. vii.

   The maabah, with the picturesque Arab architecture of
  which it forms a part, is fast disappearing from Egypt. In
  Cairo and Alexandria, Moammad 'Alee ordered that the maabahs
  in the thoroughfare-streets should be removed, or reduced to
  about a foot in width; and interdicted the erection of new
  meshrebeeyehs (projecting windows of lattice-work), although he
  allowed the old ones to remain.--ED.





COMMENCING WITH PART OF THE THIRD NIGHT, AND ENDING WITH PART OF THE
NINTH.

THE STORY OF THE FISHERMAN.

There was a certain fisherman, advanced in age, who had a wife and three
children; and though he was in indigent circumstances, it was his custom
to cast his net, every day, no more than four times. One day he went
forth at the hour of noon to the shore of the sea, and put down his
basket, and cast his net, and waited until it was motionless in the
water, when he drew together its strings, and found it to be heavy: he
pulled, but could not draw it up: so he took the end of the cord, and
knocked a stake into the shore, and tied the cord to it. He then
stripped himself, and dived round the net, and continued to pull until
he drew it out: whereupon he rejoiced, and put on his clothes; but when
he came to examine the net, he found in it the carcass of an ass. At the
sight of this he mourned, and exclaimed, There is no strength nor power
but in God, the High, the Great! This is a strange piece of
fortune!--And he repeated the following verse:--

  O thou who occupiest thyself in the darkness of night, and in peril!
    Spare thy trouble; for the support of Providence is not obtained
    by toil!

He then disencumbered his net of the dead ass, and wrung it out; after
which he spread it, and descended into the sea, and--exclaiming, In the
name of God!--cast it again, and waited till it had sunk and was still,
when he pulled it, and found it more heavy and more difficult to raise
than on the former occasion. He therefore concluded that it was full of
fish: so he tied it, and stripped, and plunged and dived, and pulled
until he raised it, and drew it upon the shore; when he found in it only
a large jar, full of sand and mud; on seeing which, he was troubled in
his heart, and repeated the following words of the poet:--

  O angry fate, forbear! or, if thou wilt not forbear, relent!
  Neither favour from fortune do I gain, nor profit from the work
    of my hands,
  I came forth to seek my sustenance, but have found it to be exhausted.
  How many of the ignorant are in splendour! and how many of the wise,
    in obscurity!

So saying, he threw aside the jar, and wrung out and cleansed his net;
and, begging the forgiveness of God for his impatience, returned to the
sea the third time, and threw the net, and waited till it had sunk and
was motionless: he then drew it out, and found in it a quantity of
broken jars and pots.

Upon this, he raised his head towards heaven, and said, O God, Thou
knowest that I cast not my net more than four times; and I have now cast
it three times! Then--exclaiming, In the name of God!--he cast the net
again into the sea, and waited till it was still; when he attempted to
draw it up, but could not, for it clung to the bottom. And he exclaimed,
There is no strength nor power but in God!--and stripped himself again,
and dived round the net, and pulled it until he raised it upon the
shore; when he opened it, and found in it a bottle of brass,
filled with something, and having its mouth closed with a stopper of
lead, bearing the impression of the seal of our lord Suleyman.
At the sight of this, the fisherman was rejoiced, and said, This I
will sell in the copper-market; for it is worth ten pieces of gold.
He then shook it, and found it to be heavy, and said, I must open it,
and see what is in it, and store it in my bag; and then I will
sell the bottle in the copper-market. So he took out a knife, and
picked at the lead until he extracted it from the bottle. He then laid
the bottle on the ground, and shook it, that its contents might pour
out; but there came forth from it nothing but smoke, which ascended
towards the sky, and spread over the face of the earth; at which he
wondered excessively. And after a little while, the smoke collected
together, and was condensed, and then became agitated, and was converted
into an 'Efreet, whose head was in the clouds, while his feet rested
upon the ground: his head was like a dome: his hands were
like winnowing forks; and his legs, like masts: his mouth
resembled a cavern: his teeth were like stones; his nostrils, like
trumpets; and his eyes, like lamps; and he had dishevelled
and dust-coloured hair.



When the fisherman beheld this 'Efreet, the muscles of his sides
quivered, his teeth were locked together, his spittle dried up, and he
saw not his way. The 'Efreet, as soon as he perceived him, exclaimed,
There is no deity but God: Suleyman is the Prophet of God. O Prophet of
God, slay me not; for I will never again oppose thee in word, or rebel
against thee in deed!--O Marid, said the fisherman, dost thou say,
Suleyman is the Prophet of God? Suleyman hath been dead a thousand and
eight hundred years; and we are now in the end of time. What is thy
history, and what is thy tale, and what was the cause of thy entering
this bottle? When the Marid heard these words of the fisherman, he said,
There is no deity but God! Receive news, O fisherman!--Of what, said the
fisherman, dost thou give me news? He answered, Of thy being instantly
put to a most cruel death. The fisherman exclaimed, Thou deservest, for
this news, O master of the 'Efreets, the withdrawal of protection from
thee, O thou remote! Wherefore wouldst thou kill me? and what
requires thy killing me, when I have liberated thee from the bottle, and
rescued thee from the bottom of the sea, and brought thee up upon the
dry land?--The 'Efreet answered, Choose what kind of death thou wilt
die, and in what manner thou shalt be killed.--What is my offence, said
the fisherman, that this should be my recompense from thee? The 'Efreet
replied, Hear my story, O fisherman.--Tell it then, said the fisherman,
and be short in thy words; for my soul hath sunk down to my feet.

Know then, said he, that I am one of the heretical Jinn: I rebelled
against Suleyman the son of Daood: I and akhr the Jinnee;
and he sent to me his Wezeer, Aaf the son of Barkhiya, who came upon me
forcibly, and took me to him in bonds, and placed me before him: and
when Suleyman saw me, he offered up a prayer for protection against me,
and exhorted me to embrace the faith, and to submit to his authority;
but I refused; upon which he called for this bottle, and confined me in
it, and closed it upon me with the leaden stopper, which he stamped with
the Most Great Name: he then gave orders to the Jinn, who carried me
away, and threw me into the midst of the sea. There I remained a hundred
years; and I said in my heart, Whosoever shall liberate me, I will
enrich him for ever:--but the hundred years passed over me, and no one
liberated me: and I entered upon another hundred years; and I said,
Whosoever shall liberate me, I will open to him the treasures of the
earth;--but no one did so: and four hundred years more passed over me,
and I said, Whosoever shall liberate me, I will perform for him three
wants:--but still no one liberated me. I then fell into a violent rage,
and said within myself, Whosoever shall liberate me now, I will kill
him; and only suffer him to choose in what manner he will die. And lo,
now thou hast liberated me, and I have given thee thy choice of the
manner in which thou wilt die.

When the fisherman had heard the story of the 'Efreet, he exclaimed, O
Allah! that I should not have liberated thee but in such a time as this!
Then said he to the 'Efreet, Pardon me, and kill me not, and so may God
pardon thee; and destroy me not, lest God give power over thee to one
who will destroy thee. The Marid answered, I must positively kill thee;
therefore choose by what manner of death thou wilt die. The fisherman
then felt assured of his death; but he again implored the 'Efreet,
saying, Pardon me by way of gratitude for my liberating thee.--Why,
answered the 'Efreet, I am not going to kill thee but for that very
reason, because thou hast liberated me.--O Sheykh of the 'Efreets, said
the fisherman, do I act kindly towards thee, and dost thou recompense me
with baseness? But the proverb lieth not that saith,--

  We did good to them, and they returned us the contrary; and such,
    by my life, is the conduct of the wicked.
  Thus he who acteth kindly to the undeserving is recompensed in
    the same manner as the aider of Umm-'Amir.



The 'Efreet, when he heard these words, answered by saying, Covet not
life, for thy death is unavoidable. Then said the fisherman within
himself, This is a Jinnee, and I am a man; and God hath given me sound
reason; therefore, I will now plot his destruction with my art and
reason, like as he hath plotted with his cunning and perfidy. So he said
to the 'Efreet, Hast thou determined to kill me? He answered, Yes. Then
said he, By the Most Great Name engraved upon the seal of Suleyman, I
will ask thee one question; and wilt thou answer it to me truly? On
hearing the mention of the Most Great Name, the 'Efreet was agitated,
and trembled, and replied, Yes; ask, and be brief. The fisherman then
said, How wast thou in this bottle? It will not contain thy hand or thy
foot; how then can it contain thy whole body?--Dost thou not believe
that I was in it? said the 'Efreet. The fisherman answered, I will never
believe thee until I see thee in it. Upon this, the 'Efreet shook, and
became converted again into smoke, which rose to the sky, and then
became condensed, and entered the bottle by little and little, until it
was all enclosed; when the fisherman hastily snatched the sealed leaden
stopper, and, having replaced it in the mouth of the bottle, called out
to the 'Efreet, and said, Choose in what manner of death thou wilt die.
I will assuredly throw thee here into the sea, and build me a house on
this spot; and whosoever shall come here, I will prevent his fishing in
this place, and will say to him, Here is an 'Efreet, who, to any person
that liberates him, will propose various kinds of death, and then give
him his choice of one of them. On hearing these words of the fisherman,
the 'Efreet endeavoured to escape; but could not, finding himself
restrained by the impression of the seal of Suleyman, and thus
imprisoned by the fisherman as the vilest and filthiest and least of
'Efreets. The fisherman then took the bottle to the brink of the sea.
The 'Efreet exclaimed, Nay! nay!--to which the fisherman answered, Yea,
without fail! yea, without fail! The Marid then addressing him with a
soft voice and humble manner, said, What dost thou intend to do with me,
O fisherman? He answered, I will throw thee into the sea; and if thou
hast been there a thousand and eight hundred years, I will make thee to
remain there until the hour of judgment. Did I not say to thee, Spare
me, and so may God spare thee; and destroy me not, lest God destroy
thee? But thou didst reject my petition, and wouldest nothing but
treachery; therefore God hath caused thee to fall into my hand, and I
have betrayed thee.--Open to me, said the 'Efreet, that I may confer
benefits upon thee. The fisherman replied, Thou liest, thou accursed! I
and thou are like the Wezeer of King Yoonan and the sage
Dooban.--What, said the 'Efreet, was the case of the Wezeer of
King Yoonan and the sage Dooban, and what is their story? The fisherman
answered as follows:--


THE STORY OF KING YOONAN AND THE SAGE DOOBAN.

Know, O 'Efreet, that there was, in former times, in the country of the
Persians, a monarch who was called King Yoonan, possessing great
treasures and numerous forces, valiant, and having troops of every
description; but he was afflicted with leprosy, which the physicians and
sages had failed to remove; neither their potions, nor powders, nor
ointments were of any benefit to him; and none of the physicians was
able to cure him. At length there arrived at the city of this king a
great sage, stricken in years, who was called the sage Dooban: he was
acquainted with ancient Greek, Persian, modern Greek, Arabic, and Syriac
books, and with medicine and astrology, both with respect to their
scientific principles and the rules of their practical applications for
good and evil; as well as the properties of plants, dried and fresh,
the injurious and the useful: he was versed in the wisdom of the
philosophers, and embraced a knowledge of all the medical and other
sciences.

After this sage had arrived in the city, and remained in it a few days,
he heard of the case of the King, of the leprosy with which God had
afflicted him, and that the physicians and men of science had failed to
cure him. In consequence of this information, he passed the next night
in deep study; and when the morning came, and diffused its light, and
the sun saluted the Ornament of the Good, he attired himself in
the richest of his apparel, and presented himself before the King.
Having kissed the ground before him, and offered up a prayer for the
continuance of his power and happiness, and greeted him in the best
manner he was able, he informed him who he was, and said, O King, I have
heard of the disease which hath attacked thy person, and that many of
the physicians are unacquainted with the means of removing it; and I
will cure thee without giving thee to drink any potion, or anointing
thee with ointment. When King Yoonan heard his words, he wondered, and
said to him, How wilt thou do this? By Allah, if thou cure me, I will
enrich thee and thy children's children, and I will heap favours upon
thee, and whatever thou shalt desire shall be thine, and thou shalt be
my companion and my friend.--He then bestowed upon him a robe of
honour, and other presents, and said to him, Wilt thou cure me of
this disease without potion or ointment? He answered, Yes; I will cure
thee without any discomfort to thy person. And the King was extremely
astonished, and said, O Sage, at what time, and on what day, shall that
which thou hast proposed to me be done? Hasten it, O my Son.--He
answered, I hear and obey.



He then went out from the presence of the King, and hired a house, in
which he deposited his books, and medicines, and drugs. Having done
this, he selected certain of his medicines and drugs, and made a
goff-stick, with a hollow handle, into which he introduced them; after
which he made a ball for it, skilfully adapted; and on the following
day, after he had finished these, he went again to the King, and kissed
the ground before him, and directed him to repair to the horse-course,
and to play with the ball and goff-stick. The King, attended by his
Emeers and Chamberlains and Wezeers, went thither, and, as soon as he
arrived there, the sage Dooban presented himself before him, and handed
to him the goff-stick, saying, Take this goff-stick, and grasp it thus,
and ride along the horse-course, and strike the ball with it with all
thy force, until the palm of thy hand and thy whole body become moist
with perspiration, when the medicine will penetrate into thy hand, and
pervade thy whole body; and when thou hast done this, and the medicine
remains in thee, return to thy palace, and enter the bath, and
wash thyself, and sleep: then shalt thou find thyself cured: and peace
be on thee. So King Yoonan took the goff-stick from the sage, and
grasped it in his hand, and mounted his horse; and the ball was thrown
before him, and he urged his horse after it until he overtook it, when
he struck it with all his force; and when he had continued this exercise
as long as was necessary, and bathed and slept, he looked upon his skin,
and not a vestige of the leprosy remained: it was clear as white silver.
Upon this he rejoiced exceedingly; his heart was dilated, and he was
full of happiness.

On the following morning he entered the council-chamber, and sat upon
his throne; and the Chamberlains and great officers of his court came
before him. The sage Dooban also presented himself; and when the King
saw him, he rose to him in haste, and seated him by his side. Services
of food were then spread before them, and the sage ate with the King,
and remained as his guest all the day; and when the night
approached, the King gave him two thousand pieces of gold, besides
dresses of honour and other presents, and mounted him on his own horse,
and so the sage returned to his house. And the King was
astonished at his skill; saying, This man hath cured me by an external
process, without anointing me with ointment: by Allah, this is
consummate science; and it is incumbent on me to bestow favours and
honours upon him, and to make him my companion and familiar friend as
long as I live. He passed the night happy and joyful on account of his
recovery, and when he arose, he went forth again, and sat upon his
throne; the officers of his court standing before him, and the Emeers
and Wezeers sitting on his right hand and on his left; and he called for
the sage Dooban, who came, and kissed the ground before him; and the
King rose, and seated him by his side, and ate with him, and greeted him
with compliments: he bestowed upon him again a robe of honour and other
presents, and, after conversing with him till the approach of night,
gave orders that five other robes of honour should be given to him, and
a thousand pieces of gold; and the sage departed, and returned to his
house.



Again, when the next morning came, the King went as usual to his
council-chamber, and the Emeers and Wezeers and Chamberlains surrounded
him. Now there was, among his Wezeers, one of ill aspect, and of evil
star; sordid, avaricious, and of an envious and malicious
disposition; and when he saw that the King had made the sage Dooban his
friend, and bestowed upon him these favours, he envied him this
distinction, and meditated evil against him; agreeably with the adage
which saith, There is no one void of envy;--and another, which
saith, Tyranny lurketh in the soul: power manifesteth it, and weakness
concealeth it. So he approached the King, and kissed the ground before
him, and said, O King of the age, thou art he whose goodness extendeth
to all men, and I have an important piece of advice to give thee: if I
were to conceal it from thee, I should be a base-born wretch: therefore,
if thou order me to impart it, I will do so. The King, disturbed by
these words of the Wezeer, said, What is thy advice? He answered, O
glorious King, it hath been said, by the ancients, He who looketh not to
results, fortune will not attend him:--now I have seen the King in a way
that is not right; since he hath bestowed favours upon his enemy, and
upon him who desireth the downfall of his dominion: he hath treated him
with kindness, and honoured him with the highest honours, and admitted
him to the closest intimacy: I therefore fear, for the King, the
consequence of this conduct.--At this the King was troubled, and his
countenance changed; and he said, Who is he whom thou regardest as mine
enemy, and to whom I shew kindness? He replied, O King, if thou hast
been asleep, awake! I allude to the sage Dooban.--The King said, He is
my intimate companion, and the dearest of men in my estimation; for he
restored me by a thing that I merely held in my hand, and cured me of my
disease which the physicians were unable to remove, and there is not now
to be found one like to him in the whole world, from west to east.
Wherefore, then, dost thou utter these words against him? I will, from
this day, appoint him a regular salary and maintenance, and give him
every month a thousand pieces of gold; and if I gave him a share of my
kingdom it were but a small thing to do unto him. I do not think that
thou hast said this from any other motive than that of envy. If I did
what thou desirest, I should repent after it, as the man repented who
killed his parrot.




THE STORY OF THE HUSBAND AND THE PARROT.

There was a certain merchant, of an excessively jealous disposition,
having a wife endowed with perfect beauty, who had prevented him from
leaving his home; but an event happened which obliged him to make a
journey; and when he found his doing so to be indispensable, he went to
the market in which birds were sold, and bought a parrot, which he
placed in his house to act as a spy, that, on his return, she might
inform him of what passed during his absence; for this parrot was
cunning and intelligent, and remembered whatever she heard. So,
when he had made his journey, and accomplished his business, he
returned, and caused the parrot to be brought to him, and asked her
respecting the conduct of his wife. She answered, Thy wife has a lover,
who visited her every night during thy absence:--and when the man heard
this, he fell into a violent rage, and went to his wife, and gave her a
severe beating.

The woman imagined that one of the female slaves had informed him of
what had passed between her and her paramour during his absence: she
therefore called them together, and made them swear; and they all swore
that they had not told their master anything of the matter; but
confessed that they had heard the parrot relate to him what had passed.
Having thus established, on the testimony of the slaves, the fact of the
parrot's having informed her husband of her intrigue, she ordered one of
these slaves to grind with a hand-mill under the cage, another to
sprinkle water from above, and a third to move a mirror from side to
side, during the next night on which her husband was absent; and on the
following morning, when the man returned from an entertainment at which
he had been present, and inquired again of the parrot what had passed
that night during his absence, the bird answered, O my master, I could
neither see nor hear anything, on account of the excessive darkness, and
thunder, and lightning, and rain. Now this happened during summer: so he
said to her, What strange words are these? It is now summer, when
nothing of what thou hast described ever happens.--The parrot, however,
swore by Allah the Great that what she had said was true; and that it
had so happened: upon which the man, not understanding the case, nor
knowing the plot, became violently enraged, and took out the bird from
the cage, and threw her down upon the ground with such violence that he
killed her.

But after some days, one of his female slaves informed him of the truth;
yet he would not believe it, until he saw his wife's paramour going out
from his house; when he drew his sword, and slew the traitor by
a blow on the back of his neck: so also did he to his treacherous wife;
and thus both of them went, laden with the sin which they had committed,
to the fire; and the merchant discovered that the parrot had informed
him truly of what she had seen; and he mourned grievously for her loss.

When the Wezeer heard these words of King Yoonan, he said, O King of
great dignity, what hath this crafty sage--this man from whom nought but
mischief proceedeth--done unto me, that I should be his enemy, and speak
evil of him, and plot with thee to destroy him? I have informed thee
respecting him in compassion for thee, and in fear of his despoiling
thee of thy happiness; and if my words be not true, destroy me, as the
Wezeer of Es-Sindibad was destroyed.--The King asked, How was that? And
the Wezeer thus answered:--


THE STORY OF THE ENVIOUS WEZEER AND THE PRINCE AND THE GHOOLEH.

The King above mentioned had a son who was ardently fond of the
chase; and he had a Wezeer whom he charged to be always with this
son wherever he went. One day the son went forth to hunt, and his
father's Wezeer was with him; and as they rode together, they saw a
great wild beast; upon which the Wezeer exclaimed to the Prince, Away
after this wild beast! The King's son pursued it until he was out of the
sight of his attendants, and the beast also escaped from before his eyes
in the desert; and while the Prince wandered in perplexity, not knowing
whither to direct his course, he met in his way a damsel, who was
weeping. He said to her, Who art thou?--and she answered, I am a
daughter of one of the kings of India; I was in the desert, and slumber
overtook me, and I fell from my horse in a state of insensibility, and
being thus separated from my attendants, I lost my way. The Prince, on
hearing this, pitied her forlorn state, and placed her behind him on his
horse; and as they proceeded, they passed by a ruin, and the
damsel said to him, O my master, I would alight here for a little while.
The Prince therefore lifted her from his horse at this ruin; but she
delayed so long to return, that he wondered wherefore she had loitered
so, and entering after her, without her knowledge, perceived that she
was a Ghooleh, and heard her say, My children, I have brought you
to-day a fat young man:--on which they exclaimed, Bring him in to us, O
mother! that we may fill our stomachs with his flesh. When the Prince
heard their words, he felt assured of destruction; the muscles of his
sides quivered, and fear overcame him, and he retreated. The Ghooleh
then came forth, and, seeing that he appeared alarmed and fearful, and
that he was trembling, said to him, Wherefore dost thou fear? He
answered, I have an enemy of whom I am in fear. The Ghooleh said, Thou
assertest thyself to be the son of the King. He replied, Yes.--Then,
said she, wherefore dost thou not give some money to thine enemy, and so
conciliate him? He answered, He will not be appeased with money, nor
with anything but life; and therefore do I fear him: I am an injured
man. She then said to him, If thou be an injured man, as thou affirmest,
beg aid of God against thine oppressor, and He will avert from thee his
mischievous design, and that of every other person whom thou fearest.
Upon this, therefore, the Prince raised his head towards heaven, and
said, O thou who answerest the distressed when he prayeth to Thee, and
dispellest evil, assist me, and cause mine enemy to depart from me; for
Thou art able to do whatsoever Thou wilt!--and the Ghooleh no sooner
heard his prayer, than she departed from him. The Prince then returned
to his father, and informed him of the conduct of the Wezeer; upon which
the King gave orders that the minister should be put to death.




CONTINUATION OF THE STORY OF KING YOONAN AND THE SAGE DOOBAN.

And thou, O King, continued the Wezeer of King Yoonan, if thou trust in
this sage, he will kill thee in the foulest manner. If thou continue to
bestow favours upon him, and to make him thine intimate companion, he
will plot thy destruction. Dost thou not see that he hath cured thee of
the disease by external means, by a thing that thou heldest in thy hand?
Therefore thou art not secure against his killing thee by a thing that
thou shalt hold in the same manner.--King Yoonan answered, Thou hast
spoken truth: the case is as thou hast said, O faithful Wezeer: it is
probable that this sage came as a spy to accomplish my death; and if he
cured me by a thing I held in my hand, he may destroy me by a thing that
I may smell: what then, O Wezeer, shall be done respecting him? The
Wezeer answered, Send to him immediately, and desire him to come hither;
and when he is come, strike off his head, and so shalt thou avert from
thee his evil design, and be secure from him. Betray him before he
betray thee.--The King said, Thou hast spoken right.

Immediately, therefore, he sent for the sage, who came, full of joy, not
knowing what the Compassionate had decreed against him, and
addressed the King with these words of the poet:--

  If I fail any day to render thee due thanks, tell me for whom I have
    composed my verse and prose.
  Thou hast loaded me with favours unsolicited, bestowed without delay
    on thy part, or excuse.
  How then should I abstain from praising thee as thou deservest,
    and lauding thee both with my heart and voice?
  Nay, I will thank thee for thy benefits conferred upon me: they are
    light upon my tongue, though weighty to my back.

Knowest thou, said the King, wherefore I have summoned thee? The sage
answered, None knoweth what is secret but God, whose name be exalted!
Then said the King, I have summoned thee that I may take away thy life.
The sage, in the utmost astonishment at this announcement, said, O King,
wherefore wouldst thou kill me, and what offence hath been committed by
me? The King answered, It hath been told me that thou art a spy, and
that thou hast come hither to kill me: but I will prevent thee by
killing thee first:--and so saying, he called out to the executioner,
Strike off the head of this traitor, and relieve me from his
wickedness,--Spare me, said the sage, and so may God spare thee; and
destroy me not, lest God destroy thee.--And he repeated these words
several times, like as I did, O 'Efreet; but thou wouldst not let me go,
desiring to destroy me.



King Yoonan then said to the sage Dooban, I shall not be secure unless
I kill thee; for thou curedst me by a thing that I held in my hand, and
I have no security against thy killing me by a thing that I may smell,
or by some other means.--O King, said the sage, is this my recompense
from thee? Dost thou return evil for good?--The King answered, Thou must
be slain without delay. When the sage, therefore, was convinced that the
King intended to put him to death, and that his fate was inevitable, he
lamented the benefit that he had done to the undeserving. The
executioner then advanced, and bandaged his eyes, and, having drawn his
sword, said, Give permission. Upon this the sage wept, and said again,
Spare me, and so may God spare thee; and destroy me not, lest God
destroy thee! Wouldst thou return me the recompense of the
crocodile?--What, said the King, is the story of the crocodile? The sage
answered, I cannot relate it while in this condition; but I
conjure thee by Allah to spare me, and so may He spare thee. And he wept
bitterly. Then one of the chief officers of the King arose, and said, O
King, give up to me the blood of this sage; for we have not seen him
commit any offence against thee; nor have we seen him do aught but cure
thee of thy disease, which wearied the other physicians and sages. The
King answered, Ye know not the reason wherefore I would kill the sage:
it is this, that if I suffered him to live, I should myself inevitably
perish; for he who cured me of the disease under which I suffered by a
thing that I held in my hand, may kill me by a thing that I may smell;
and I fear that he would do so, and would receive an appointment on
account of it; seeing that it is probable he is a spy who hath come
hither to kill me; I must therefore kill him, and then shall I feel
myself safe.--The sage then said again, Spare me, and so may God spare
thee; and destroy me not, lest God destroy thee.

But he now felt certain, O 'Efreet, that the King would put him to
death, and that there was no escape for him; so he said, O King, if my
death is indispensable, grant me some respite, that I may return to my
house, and acquit myself of my duties, and give directions to my family
and neighbours to bury me, and dispose of my medical books; and among my
books is one of most especial value, which I offer as a present to thee,
that thou mayest treasure it in thy library.--And what, said the King,
is this book? He answered, It contains things not to be enumerated; and
the smallest of the secret virtues that it possesses is this; that, when
thou hast cut off my head, if thou open this book, and count three
leaves, and then read three lines on the page to the left, the head will
speak to thee, and answer whatever thou shalt ask. At this the King was
excessively astonished, and shook with delight, and said to him, O Sage,
when I have cut off thy head will it speak? He answered, Yes, O King;
and this is a wonderful thing.

The King then sent him in the custody of guards; and the sage descended
to his house, and settled all his affairs on that day; and on the
following day he went up to the court: and the Emeers and Wezeers, and
Chamberlains and Deputies, and all the great officers of the state, went
thither also: and the court resembled a flower-garden. And when
the sage had entered, he presented himself before the King, bearing an
old book, and a small pot containing a powder: and he sat down, and
said, Bring me a tray. So they brought him one; and he poured out the
powder into it, and spread it. He then said, O King, take this book, and
do nothing with it until thou hast cut off my head; and when thou hast
done so, place it upon this tray, and order some one to press it down
upon the powder; and when this is done, the blood will be stanched: then
open the book. As soon as the sage had said this, the King gave orders
to strike off his head; and it was done. The King then opened the book,
and found that its leaves were stuck together; so he put his finger to
his mouth, and moistened it with his spittle, and opened the first leaf,
and the second, and the third; but the leaves were not opened without
difficulty. He opened six leaves, and looked at them; but found upon
them no writing. So he said, O Sage, there is nothing written in it. The
head of the sage answered, Turn over more leaves. The King did so; and
in a little while, the poison penetrated into his system; for the book
was poisoned; and the King fell back, and cried out, The poison hath
penetrated into me!--and upon this, the head of the sage Dooban repeated
these verses:--

  They made use of their power, and used it tyrannically; and soon
    it became as though it never had existed.
  Had they acted equitably, they had experienced equity; but they
    oppressed; wherefore fortune oppressed them with calamities
    and trials.
  Then did the case itself announce to them, This is the reward of
    your conduct, and fortune is blameless.

And when the head of the sage Dooban had uttered these words, the King
immediately fell down dead.




CONTINUATION OF THE STORY OF THE FISHERMAN.

Now, O 'Efreet, continued the fisherman, know that if King Yoonan had
spared the sage Dooban, God had spared him; but he refused, and desired
his destruction; therefore God destroyed him: and thou, O 'Efreet, if
thou hadst spared me, God had spared thee, and I had spared thee; but
thou desiredst my death; therefore will I put thee to death imprisoned
in this bottle, and will throw thee here into the sea. The Marid, upon
this, cried out, and said, I conjure thee by Allah, O fisherman, that
thou do it not: spare me in generosity, and be not angry with me for
what I did; but if I have done evil, do thou good, according to the
proverb,--O thou benefactor of him who hath done evil, the action that
he hath done is sufficient for him:--do not therefore as Umameh did to
'Atikeh.--And what, said the fisherman, was their case? The 'Efreet
answered, This is not a time for telling stories, when I am in this
prison; but when thou liberatest me, I will relate to thee their
case. The fisherman said, Thou must be thrown into the sea, and
there shall be no way of escape for thee from it; for I endeavoured to
propitiate thee, and humbled myself before thee, yet thou wouldest
nothing but my destruction, though I had committed no offence to deserve
it, and had done no evil to thee whatever, but only good, delivering
thee from thy confinement; and when thou didst thus unto me, I perceived
that thou wast radically corrupt: and I would have thee know, that my
motive for throwing thee into this sea, is, that I may acquaint with thy
story every one that shall take thee out, and caution him against thee,
that he may cast thee in again: thus shalt thou remain in this sea to
the end of time, and experience varieties of torment.--The 'Efreet then
said, Liberate me, for this is an opportunity for thee to display
humanity; and I vow to thee that I will never do thee harm; but, on the
contrary, will do thee a service that shall enrich thee for ever.

Upon this the fisherman accepted his covenant that he would not hurt
him, but that he would do him good; and when he had bound him by oaths
and vows, and made him swear by the Most Great Name of God, he opened to
him; and the smoke ascended until it had all come forth, and then
collected together, and became, as before, an 'Efreet of hideous form.
The 'Efreet then kicked the bottle into the sea. When the fisherman saw
him do this, he made sure of destruction, and said, This is no sign of
good:--but afterwards he fortified his heart, and said, O 'Efreet, God,
whose name be exalted, hath said, Perform the covenant, for the covenant
shall be inquired into:--and thou has covenanted with me, and
sworn that thou wilt not act treacherously towards me; therefore, if
thou so act, God will recompense thee; for He is jealous; He respiteth,
but suffereth not to escape; and remember that I said to thee as said
the sage Dooban to King Yoonan, Spare me, and so may God spare thee.

The 'Efreet laughed, and, walking on before him, said, O fisherman,
follow me. The fisherman did so, not believing in his escape, until they
had quitted the neighbourhood of the city, and ascended a mountain, and
descended into a wide desert tract, in the midst of which was a lake of
water. Here the 'Efreet stopped, and ordered the fisherman to cast his
net and take some fish; and the fisherman, looking into the lake, saw in
it fish of different colours, white and red and blue and yellow; at
which he was astonished; and he cast his net, and drew it in, and found
in it four fish, each fish of a different colour from the others, at the
sight of which he rejoiced. The 'Efreet then said to him, Take them to
the Sulan, and present them to him, and he will give thee
what will enrich thee; and for the sake of God accept my excuse, for, at
present, I know no other way of rewarding thee, having been in the sea a
thousand and eight hundred years, and not seen the surface of the earth
until now: but take not fish from the lake more than once each day: and
now I commend thee to the care of God.--Having thus said, he struck the
earth with his feet, and it clove asunder, and swallowed him.



The fisherman then went back to the city, wondering at all that had
befallen him with the 'Efreet, and carried the fish to his house; and he
took an earthen bowl, and, having filled it with water, put the fish
into it; and they struggled in the water: and when he had done this, he
placed the bowl upon his head, and repaired to the King's palace, as the
'Efreet had commanded him, and, going up unto the King, presented to him
the fish; and the King was excessively astonished at them, for he had
never seen any like them in the course of his life; and he said, Give
these fish to the slave cook-maid. This maid had been sent as a present
to him by the King of the Greeks, three days before; and he had not yet
tried her skill. The Wezeer, therefore, ordered her to fry the fish, and
said to her, O maid, the King saith unto thee, I have not reserved my
tear but for the time of my difficulty:--to-day, then, gratify us by a
specimen of thy excellent cookery, for a person hath brought these fish
as a present to the Sulan. After having thus charged her, the Wezeer
returned, and the King ordered him to give the fisherman four hundred
pieces of gold: so the Wezeer gave them to him; and he took them in his
lap, and returned to his home and his wife, joyful and happy, and bought
what was needful for his family.



Such were the events that befell the fisherman: now we must relate what
happened to the maid.--She took the fish, and cleaned them, and arranged
them in the frying-pan, and left them until one side was cooked, when
she turned them upon the other side; and lo, the wall of the kitchen
clove asunder, and there came forth from it a damsel of tall stature,
smooth-cheeked, of perfect form, with eyes adorned with
kol, beautiful in countenance, and with heavy, swelling
hips; wearing a koofeeyeh interwoven with blue silk; with
rings in her ears, and bracelets on her wrists, and rings set with
precious jewels on her fingers; and in her hand was a rod of Indian
cane: and she dipped the end of the rod in the frying-pan, and said, O
fish, are ye remaining faithful to your covenant? At the sight of this,
the cook-maid fainted. The damsel then repeated the same words a second
and a third time; after which the fish raised their heads from the
frying-pan, and answered, Yes, yes. They then repeated the following
verse:--

  If thou return, we return; and if thou come, we come; and if thou
    forsake, we verily do the same.

And upon this the damsel overturned the frying-pan, and departed by the
way she had entered, and the wall of the kitchen closed up again. The
cook-maid then arose, and beheld the four fish burnt like charcoal; and
she exclaimed, In his first encounter his staff broke!--and as she sat
reproaching herself, she beheld the Wezeer standing at her head; and he
said to her, Bring the fish to the Sulan:--and she wept, and informed
him of what had happened.



The Wezeer was astonished at her words, and exclaimed, This is indeed a
wonderful event;--and he sent for the fisherman, and when he was
brought, he said to him, O fisherman, thou must bring to us four fish
like those which thou broughtest before. The fisherman accordingly went
forth to the lake, and threw his net, and when he had drawn it in he
found in it four fish as before; and he took them to the Wezeer, who
went with them to the maid, and said to her, Rise, and fry them in my
presence, that I may witness this occurrence. The maid, therefore,
prepared the fish, and put them in the frying-pan, and they had remained
but a little while, when the wall clove asunder, and the damsel
appeared, clad as before, and holding the rod; and she dipped the end of
the rod in the frying-pan, and said, O fish, O fish, are ye remaining
faithful to your old covenant? Upon which they raised their heads, and
answered as before; and the damsel overturned the frying-pan with the
rod, and returned by the way she had entered, and the wall closed up
again.

The Wezeer then said, This is an event which cannot be concealed from
the King:--so he went to him, and informed him of what had happened in
his presence; and the King said, I must see this with my own eyes. He
sent, therefore, to the fisherman, and commanded him to bring four fish
like the former; granting him a delay of three days. And the fisherman
repaired to the lake, and brought the fish thence to the King, who
ordered again that four hundred pieces of gold should be given to him;
and then, turning to the Wezeer, said to him, Cook the fish thyself here
before me. The Wezeer answered, I hear and obey. He brought the
frying-pan, and, after he had cleaned the fish, threw them into it; and
as soon as he had turned them, the wall clove asunder, and there came
forth from it a negro, in size like a bull, or like one of the tribe of
'Ad, having in his hand a branch of a green tree; and he said,
with a clear but terrifying voice, O fish, O fish, are ye remaining
faithful to your old covenant? Upon which they raised their heads, and
answered as before, Yes, yes:

  If thou return, we return; and if thou come, we come; and if thou
    forsake, we verily do the same.

The black then approached the frying-pan, and overturned it with the
branch, and the fish became like charcoal, and he went away as he had
come.

When he had thus disappeared from before their eyes, the King said, This
is an event respecting which it is impossible to keep silence, and there
must, undoubtedly, be some strange circumstance connected with these
fish. He then ordered that the fisherman should be brought before him,
and when he had come, he said to him, Whence came these fish? The
fisherman answered, From a lake between four mountains behind this
mountain which is without thy city. The King said to him, How many days'
journey distant? He answered, O our lord the Sulan, a
journey of half-an-hour. And the Sulan was astonished, and ordered his
troops to go out immediately with him and the fisherman, who began to
curse the 'Efreet. They proceeded until they had ascended the mountain,
and descended into a wide desert tract which they had never before seen
in their whole lives; and the Sulan and all the troops wondered at the
sight of this desert, which was between four mountains, and at the fish,
which were of four colours, red and white and yellow and blue. The King
paused in astonishment, and said to the troops, and to the other
attendants who were with him, Hath any one of you before seen this lake
in this place? They all answered, No. Then said the King, By Allah, I
will not enter my city, nor will I sit upon my throne, until I know the
true history of this lake, and of its fish. And upon this he ordered
his people to encamp around these mountains; and they did so. He then
called for the Wezeer, who was a well-informed, sensible, prudent, and
learned man; and when he had presented himself before him, he said to
him, I desire to do a thing with which I will acquaint thee; and it is
this:--I have resolved to depart alone this night, to seek for
information respecting this lake and its fish: therefore, sit thou at
the door of my pavilion, and say to the Emeers and Wezeers and
Chamberlains, The Sulan is sick, and hath commanded me not to allow any
person to go in unto him:--and acquaint no one with my intention.

The Wezeer was unable to oppose his design; so the King disguised
himself, and slung on his sword, and withdrew himself from the midst of
his troops. He journeyed the whole of the night, until the morning, and
proceeded until the heat became oppressive to him: he then paused to
rest; after which he again proceeded the remainder of the day and the
second night until the morning, when there appeared before him, in the
distance, something black, at the sight of which he rejoiced, and said,
Perhaps I shall there find some person who will inform me of the history
of the lake and its fish. And when he approached this black object, he
found it to be a palace built of black stones, and overlaid with iron;
and one of the leaves of its doors was open, and the other shut. The
King was glad, and he stood at the door, and knocked gently, but heard
no answer; he knocked a second and a third time, but again heard no
answer: then he knocked a fourth time, and with violence; but no one
answered. So he said, It is doubtless empty:--and he took courage, and
entered from the door into the passage, and cried out, saying, O
inhabitants of the palace, I am a stranger and a traveller! have ye any
provision? And he repeated these words a second and a third time; but
heard no answer. And upon this he fortified his heart, and emboldened
himself, and proceeded from the passage into the midst of the palace;
but he found no one there, and only saw that it was furnished, and that
there was, in the centre of it, a fountain with four lions of red gold,
which poured forth the water from their mouths, like pearls and jewels:
around this were birds; and over the top of the palace was extended a
net which prevented their flying out. At the sight of these objects he
was astonished, and he was grieved that he saw no person there whom he
could ask for information respecting the lake, and the fish, and the
mountains, and the palace. He then sat down between the doors,
reflecting upon these things; and as he thus sat, he heard a voice of
lamentation from a sorrowful heart, chanting these verses:--

  O fortune, thou pitiest me not, nor releasest me! See my heart is
    straitened between affliction and peril!
  Will not you  have compassion on the mighty whom love
    hath abased, and the wealthy who is reduced to indigence?
  We were jealous even of the zephyr which passed over you: but when
    the divine decree is issued, the eye becometh blind!
  What resource hath the archer when, in the hour of conflict,
    he desireth to discharge the arrow, but findeth his bow-string
    broken.
  And when troubles are multiplied upon the noble-minded, where shall
    he find refuge from fate and from destiny?

When the Sulan heard this lamentation, he sprang upon his feet, and,
seeking the direction whence it proceeded, found a curtain suspended
before the door of a chamber; and he raised it, and beheld behind it a
young man sitting on a couch raised to the height of a cubit from the
floor. He was a handsome youth, well-shaped, and of eloquent speech,
with shining forehead, and rosy cheek, marked with a mole resembling
ambergris. The King was rejoiced at seeing him, and saluted him; and the
young man (who remained sitting, and was clad with a vest of silk,
embroidered with gold, but who exhibited traces of grief) returned his
salutation, and said to him, O my master, excuse my not rising.--O
youth! said the King, inform me respecting the lake, and its fish of
various colours, and respecting this palace, and the reason of thy being
alone in it, and of thy lamentation. When the young man heard these
words, tears trickled down his cheeks, and he wept bitterly.
And the King was astonished, and said to him, What causeth thee to weep,
O youth? He answered, How can I refrain from weeping, when this is my
state?--and so saying, he stretched forth his hand, and lifted up the
skirts of his clothing; and lo, half of him, from his waist to the soles
of his feet, was stone; and from his waist to the hair of his head, he
was like other men. He then said, Know, O King, that the story of the
fish is extraordinary; if it were engraved upon the intellect, it would
be a lesson to him who would be admonished:--and he related as
follows:--




THE STORY OF THE YOUNG KING OF THE BLACK ISLANDS.

My father was king of the city which was here situate: his name was
Mamood, and he was lord of the Black Islands, and of the four
mountains. After a reign of seventy years, he died, and I succeeded to
his throne; whereupon I took as my wife the daughter of my uncle; and
she loved me excessively, so that when I absented myself from her, she
would neither eat nor drink till she saw me again. She remained under my
protection five years. After this, she went one day to the bath; and I
had commanded the cook to prepare the supper, and entered this palace,
and slept in my usual place. I had ordered two maids to fan
me; and one of them sat at my head, and the other at my feet; but
I was restless, because my wife was not with me; and I could not sleep.
My eyes were closed, but my spirit was awake; and I heard the maid at my
head say to her at my feet, O Mes'oodeh, verily our lord is
unfortunate in his youth, and what a pity is it that it should be passed
with our depraved, wicked mistress!--Perdition to unfaithful wives!
replied the other: but (added she) such a person as our lord, so endowed
by nature, is not suited to this profligate woman, who passes every
night absent from his bed.--Verily, rejoined she at my head, our lord is
careless in not making any inquiry respecting her.--Wo to thee! said the
other: hath our lord any knowledge of her conduct, or doth she leave him
to his choice? Nay, on the contrary, she contriveth to defraud him by
means of the cup of wine which he drinketh every night before he
sleepeth, putting benj into it; in consequence of which he
sleepeth so soundly that he knoweth not what happeneth, nor whither she
goeth, nor what she doeth; for, after she hath given him the wine to
drink, she dresseth herself, and goeth out from him, and is absent until
daybreak, when she returneth to him, and burneth a perfume under his
nose, upon which he awaketh from his sleep.



When I heard this conversation of the maids, the light became darkness
before my face, and I was hardly conscious of the approach of night,
when my cousin returned from the bath. The table was prepared, and we
ate, and sat a while drinking our wine as usual. I then called for the
wine which I was accustomed to drink before I lay down to sleep, and she
handed to me the cup; but I turned away, and, pretending to drink it as
I was wont to do, poured it into my bosom, and immediately lay down:
upon which she said, Sleep on; I wish that thou wouldst never wake
again! By Allah, I abhor thee, and abhor thy person, and my soul is
weary of thy company!--She then arose, and attired herself in the most
magnificent of her apparel, and, having perfumed herself, and slung on a
sword, opened the door of the palace, and went out. I got up
immediately, and followed her until she had quitted the palace, and
passed through the streets of the city, and arrived at the city-gates,
when she pronounced some words that I understood not; whereupon the
locks fell off, and the gates opened, and she went out, I still
following her, without her knowledge. Thence she proceeded to a space
among the mounds, and arrived at a strong edifice, in which
was a ubbeh constructed of mud, with a door, which she
entered. I then climbed upon the roof of the ubbeh, and, looking down
upon her through an aperture, saw that she was visiting a black slave,
whose large lips, one of which overlapped the other, gathered up the
sand from the pebbly floor, while he lay, in a filthy and wet condition,
upon a few stalks of sugar-cane.

She kissed the ground before this slave; and he raised his head towards
her, and said, Wo to thee! Wherefore hast thou remained away until this
hour? The other blacks have been here drinking wine, and each of them
has gone away with his mistress; and I refused to drink on thy
account.--She answered, O my master, and beloved of my heart, knowest
thou not that I am married to my cousin, and that I abhor every man who
resembles him, and hate myself while I am in his company? If I did not
fear to displease thee, I would reduce the city to ruins, so that the
owl and the raven should cry in it, and would transport its stones
beyond Mount af.--Thou liest, thou infamous woman, replied
the slave; and I swear by the generosity of the blacks (and if I speak
not truth, may our valour be as the valour of the whites), that if thou
loiter as thou hast now done till this hour, I will no longer give thee
my company, nor approach thy person, thou faithless one! Dost thou
inconvenience me for the sake of thine own pleasure, thou filthy wretch,
and vilest of the whites?--When I heard (continued the King) their
words, and witnessed what passed between them, the world became dark
before my face, and I knew not where I was.--My cousin still stood
weeping, and abasing herself before him, and said, O my beloved, and
treasure of my heart, there remaineth to me none but thee for whom I
care, and if thou cast me off, alas for me! O my beloved! O light of
mine eye!--Thus she continued to weep, and to humble herself before him,
until he became pacified towards her; upon which she rejoiced, and
arose, and, having disrobed herself, said to him, O my master, hast
thou here anything that thy maid may eat? He answered, Uncover the
dough-pan; it contains some cooked rats' bones: eat of them,
and pick them; and take this earthen pot: thou wilt find in it some
booah to drink. So she arose, and ate and drank, and washed
her hands; after which she lay down by the side of the slave, upon the
stalks of sugar-cane, and covered herself with his tattered clothes and
rags.



When I saw her do this, I became unconscious of my existence, and,
descending from the roof of the ubbeh, entered, and took the sword from
the side of my cousin, with the intention of killing them both. I struck
the slave upon his neck, and thought that he was killed; but the blow,
which I gave with the view of severing his head, only cut the gullet and
skin and flesh; and when I thought that I had killed him, he uttered a
loud snore, upon which my cousin started up, and as soon as I had gone,
took the sword, and returned it to its scabbard, and came back to the
city and to the palace, and lay down again in my bed, in which she
remained until the morning.

On the following day, I observed that my cousin had cut off her hair,
and put on the apparel of mourning; and she said to me, O my
cousin, blame me not for what I do; for I have received news that my
mother is dead, and that my father hath been slain in a holy war, and
that one of my two brothers hath died of a poisonous sting, and the
other by the fall of a house: it is natural, therefore, that I should
weep and mourn. On hearing these words, I abstained from upbraiding her,
and said, Do what seemeth fit to thee; for I will not oppose thee.
Accordingly, she continued mourning and weeping and wailing a whole
year; after which she said to me, I have a desire to build for myself,
in thy palace, a tomb, with a ubbeh, that I may repair thither alone to
mourn, and I will call it the House of Lamentations. I
replied, Do what thou seest fit. So she built for herself a house for
mourning, with a ubbeh in the middle of it, like the tomb of a
saint; after which she removed thither the slave, and there
she lodged him. He was in a state of excessive weakness, and unable to
render her any service, though he drank wine; and from the day on which
I had wounded him, he had never spoken; yet he remained alive, because
the appointed term of his life had not expired. My cousin every day
visited him in this tomb early and late, to weep and mourn over him, and
took to him wine to drink, and boiled meats; and thus she continued to
do, morning and evening, until the expiration of the second year, while
I patiently suffered her, till one day, I entered her apartment
unawares, and found her weeping, and slapping her face, and repeating
these verses:--

  I have lost my existence among mankind since your absence;
    for my heart loveth none but you.
  Take my body, then, in mercy, to the place where you are laid;
    and there bury me by your side:
  And if, at my grave, you utter my name, the moaning of my bones
    shall answer to your call.

As soon as she had finished the recitation of these verses, I said to
her, holding my drawn sword in my hand, This is the language of those
faithless women who renounce the ties of affinity, and regard not lawful
fellowship!--and I was about to strike her with the sword, and had
lifted up my arm to do so, when she rose--for she knew that it was I who
had wounded the slave--and, standing before me, pronounced some words
which I understood not, and said, May God, by means of my enchantment,
make thee to be half of stone, and half of the substance of
man!--whereupon I became as thou seest, unable to move, neither dead nor
alive; and when I had been reduced to this state, she enchanted the city
and its markets and fields. The inhabitants of our city were of four
classes; Muslims, and Christians, and Jews, and Magians; and she
transformed them into fish: the white are the Muslims; the red, the
Magians; the blue, the Christians; and the yellow, the Jews. She
transformed, also, the four islands into four mountains, and placed them
around the lake; and from that time she has continued every day to
torture me, inflicting upon me a hundred lashes with a leathern whip,
until the blood flows from my wounds; after which she puts on my upper
half a vest of hair-cloth, beneath these garments.--Having said thus,
the young man wept, and ejaculating the following verses:--

  Give me patience, O Allah, to bear what Thou decreest! I will be
    patient, if so I may obtain thine approval.
  I am straitened, indeed, by the calamity that hath befallen me:
    but the Family of the favoured Prophet shall intercede
    for me!

Upon this, the King, looking towards the young man, said to him, O
youth, thou hast increased my anxiety. And where (he added) is this
woman?--The young man answered, She is in the tomb where the slave is
lying, in the ubbeh; and every day, before she visits him, she strips
me of my clothing, and inflicts upon me a hundred lashes with the whip,
while I weep and cry out, unable to move so as to repulse her. After
thus torturing me, she repairs early to the slave, with the wine and
boiled meat.--By Allah, O youth, said the King, I will do thee an act of
kindness for which I shall be remembered, and a favour which historians
shall record in a biography after me.

He then sat and conversed with him until the approach of night, upon
which he arose, and waited till the first dawn of day, when he took off
his clothes, and slung on his sword, and went to the place where the
slave lay. After remarking the candles and lamps, and perfumes and
ointments, he approached the slave, and with a blow of his sword slew
him: he then carried him on his back, and threw him into a well which he
found in the palace, and, returning to the ubbeh, clad himself with the
slave's clothes, and lay down with the drawn sword by his side. Soon
after, the vile enchantress went to her cousin, and, having pulled off
his clothes, took the whip, and beat him, while he cried, Ah! it is
enough for me to be in this state! Have pity on me then!--Didst thou
shew pity to me, she exclaimed, and didst thou spare my lover?--She then
put on him the hair-cloth vest and his outer garments, and repaired to
the slave with a cup of wine, and a bowl of boiled meat. Entering the
tomb, she wept and wailed, exclaiming, O my master, answer me! O my
master, speak to me!--and poured forth her lamentation in the words of
this verse:--

  How long shall this aversion and harshness continue? Sufficient
    is the evil which my passion hath brought upon me!

Then, weeping as before, she exclaimed again, O my master, answer me,
and speak to me! Upon this the King, speaking in a low voice, and
adapting his tongue to the pronunciation of the blacks, ejaculated, Ah!
Ah! there is no strength nor power but in God! On hearing these words,
she screamed with joy, and fell down in a swoon; and when she recovered,
she exclaimed, Possibly my master is restored to health! The King, again
lowering his voice, as if from weakness, replied, Thou profligate
wretch, thou deservest not that I should address thee.--Wherefore? said
she. He answered, Because all the day long thou tormentest thy husband,
while he calleth out, and imploreth the aid of God, so that thou hast
prevented my sleeping from the commencement of darkness until morning:
thy husband hath not ceased to humble himself, and to imprecate
vengeance upon thee, till he hath distracted me; and had it not been for
this, I had recovered my strength: this it is which hath prevented my
answering thee.--Then, with thy permission, she replied, I will liberate
him from his present sufferings.--Liberate him, said the King, and give
us ease.



She replied, I hear and obey;--and immediately arose, and went out from
the ubbeh to the palace, and, taking a cup, filled it with water, and
pronounced certain words over it, upon which it began to boil like a
cauldron. She then sprinkled some of it upon her cousin, saying, By
virtue of what I have uttered, be changed from thy present state to that
in which thou wast at first!--and instantly he shook, and stood upon his
feet, rejoicing in his liberation, and exclaimed, I testify that there
is no deity but God, and that Moammad is God's Apostle; God bless and
save him! She then said to him, Depart, and return not hither, or I will
kill thee:--and she cried out in his face: so he departed from before
her, and she returned to the ubbeh, and said, O my master, come forth
to me that I may behold thee. He replied, with a weak voice, What hast
thou done? Thou hast relieved me from the branch, but hast not relieved
me from the root.--O my beloved, she said, and what is the root? He
answered, The people of this city, and of the four islands: every night,
at the middle hour, the fish raise their heads, and imprecate vengeance
upon me and upon thee; and this is the cause that preventeth the return
of vigour to my body; therefore, liberate them, and come, and take my
hand, and raise me; for vigour hath already in part returned to me.



On hearing these words of the King, whom she imagined to be the slave,
she said to him with joy, O my master, on my head and my eye! In the
name of Allah!--and she sprang up, full of happiness, and
hastened to the lake, where, taking a little of its water, she
pronounced over it some unintelligible words, whereupon the fish became
agitated, and raised their heads, and immediately became converted into
men as before. Thus was the enchantment removed from the inhabitants of
the city, and the city became repeopled, and the market-streets
re-erected, and every one returned to his occupation: the mountains also
became changed into islands as they were at the first. The enchantress
then returned immediately to the King, whom she still imagined to be the
slave, and said to him, O my beloved, stretch forth thy honoured hand,
that I may kiss it.--Approach me, said the King in a low voice. So she
drew near to him; and he, having his keen-edged sword ready in his hand,
thrust it into her bosom, and the point protruded from her back: he then
struck her again, and clove her in twain, and went forth.

He found the young man who had been enchanted waiting his return, and
congratulated him on his safety; and the young prince kissed his hand,
and thanked him. The King then said to him, Wilt thou remain in thy
city, or come with me to my capital?--O King of the age, said the young
man, dost thou know the distance that is between thee and thy city? The
King answered, Two days and a half.--O King, replied the young man, if
thou hast been asleep, awake: between thee and thy city is a distance of
a year's journey to him who travelleth with diligence; and thou camest
in two days and a half only because the city was enchanted: but, O King,
I will never quit thee for the twinkling of an eye. The King rejoiced at
his words, and said, Praise be to God, who hath in his beneficence given
thee to me: thou art my son; for during my whole life, I have never been
blest with a son:--and they embraced each other, and rejoiced
exceedingly. They then went together into the palace, where the King who
had been enchanted informed the officers of his court that he was about
to perform the holy pilgrimage: so they prepared for him everything that
he required; and he departed with the Sulan; his heart burning with
reflections upon his city, because he had been deprived of the sight of
it for the space of a year.

He set forth, accompanied by fifty memlooks, and provided
with presents, and they continued their journey night and day for a
whole year, after which they drew near to the city of the Sulan, and
the Wezeer and the troops, who had lost all hope of his return, came
forth to meet him. The troops, approaching him, kissed the ground before
him, and congratulated him on his safe return; and he entered the city,
and sat upon the throne. He then acquainted the Wezeer with all that had
happened to the young King; on hearing which, the Wezeer congratulated
the latter, also, on his safety; and when all things were restored to
order, the Sulan bestowed presents upon a number of his subjects, and
said to the Wezeer, Bring to me the fisherman who presented to me the
fish. So he sent to this fisherman, who had been the cause of the
restoration of the inhabitants of the enchanted city, and brought him;
and the King invested him with a dress of honour, and inquired of him
respecting his circumstances, and whether he had any children. The
fisherman informed him that he had a son and two daughters; and the
King, on hearing this, took as his wife one of the daughters, and the
young prince married the other. The King also conferred upon the
son the office of treasurer. He then sent the Wezeer to the city of the
young prince, the capital of the Black Islands, and invested him with
its sovereignty, despatching with him the fifty memlooks who had
accompanied him thence, with numerous robes of honour to all the Emeers:
and the Wezeer kissed his hands, and set forth on his journey; while the
Sulan and the young prince remained. And as to the fisherman, he became
the wealthiest of the people of his age; and his daughters continued to
be the wives of the Kings until they died.

But this (added Shahrazad) is not more wonderful than what happened to
the porter.






NOTES TO CHAPTER SECOND.

NOTE 1. The sentiment expressed in this verse is one which is often
heard from the mouth of a Muslim; but generally when, his toil is ended,
and its result seen; though not unfrequently as an excuse for indolence.

NOTE 2. The bottle is here described (by the term "umum") as of a kind
commonly used for sprinkling rose-water, &c., having a spherical or wide
body, with a long and narrow neck. I remember seeing a gilt brass bottle
of this kind, of very beautiful workmanship, for which nearly as much as
ten pieces of gold was demanded.

NOTE 3. The seal of Suleyman, or Solomon, has twice been mentioned in
former notes; in No. 21 of the notes appended to the Introduction, and
in No. 15 of those to the first chapter.

NOTE 4. It is necessary to remark, that this and many other descriptions
in the present work are not designed to be understood in their literal
sense. The reader will often be required to make some allowance for
Oriental hyperbole, and to distinguish between expressions characterised
by this figure, and such as are purely accordant with Eastern grandeur
and magnificence, or with Muslim superstition.

NOTE 5. The end of the winnowing-fork bears a rude resemblance to a
gigantic hand; having several long prongs of wood.

NOTE 6. Instead of "ibree" (a ewer), in the Cairo edition, I read
"abwa" (trumpets), as in other editions.

NOTE 7. This appellation has been mentioned in a former note, as
signifying an evil Jinnee of the most powerful class.

NOTE 8. It is a rule observed in decent society, by the Arabs, to avoid,
as much as possible, the mention of opprobrious epithets, lest any
person present should imagine such epithets to be addressed insidiously
to himself. For this reason, when any malediction or offensive language
is repeated in a story, it is usual with them to designate the object of
such language by this term, which signifies both remote or absent from
the person or persons in whose presence the words are repeated, and
remote from virtue or good. In the present instance, "remote" is an
epithet substituted by Shahrazad for some other of a gross nature, from
respect to the king to whom she is relating the story.

NOTE 9. I read "akhr el-Jinnee" for "akhr el-Jinn."--akhr was an evil
Jinnee, and a terrible enemy of Solomon. His last act of treachery to
that monarch, and his fate, are thus related by commentators on the
ur-an.--Solomon having, through negligence, suffered one of his women
to practise idolatry under his roof, God saw fit to punish him. It was
the custom of this King, on certain occasions, "to intrust his signet,
on which his kingdom depended, with a concubine of his, named
El-Emeeneh. One day, therefore, when she had the ring in her custody, a
devil , named akhr, came to her in the shape of
Solomon, and received the ring from her; by virtue of which he became
possessed of the kingdom, and sat on the throne in the shape which he
had borrowed, making what alterations in the law he pleased. Solomon, in
the meantime, being changed in his outward appearance, and known to none
of his subjects, was obliged to wander about, and beg alms for his
subsistence; till at length, after the space of forty days, which was
the time the image had been worshipped in his house, the devil flew
away, and threw the signet into the sea. The signet was immediately
swallowed by a fish, which being taken and given to Solomon, he found
the ring in its belly; and having by this means recovered the kingdom,
he took akhr, and, tying a great stone to his neck, threw him into the
Lake of Tiberias."

NOTE 10. "Umm-'Amir" is an appellation of the hyena. It is scarcely
necessary to mention, that the proverb here quoted is said to have
originated from the fact of a man's having been devoured by a hyena whom
he had aided against an enemy.

NOTE 11. In some copies, the personage here mentioned is called "Melik
el-Yoonan," that is, "King of Ancient Greece," or--"of the Ancient
Greeks." I have followed the Cairo edition, and that of the first two
hundred nights, printed at Calcutta, in which "Yoonan" is used as the
King's proper name. See also Note 13.

NOTE 12. This is the name of the sage in most copies; but in the Cairo
edition he is called "Rooyan."

NOTE 13. In the Calcutta edition, the king is merely said to have
reigned "in the country of the Persians," as in my translation; but in
the Cairo edition, he is said to have been "in the _city_ of the
Persians, and the country of Rooman;" which may perhaps mean (though
this is hardly allowable) the  Roman, or later Greek, empire;
an unnecessary contradiction. (See Note 22 to Chapter x.) It is
obviously more agreeable with the story to regard him as a Persian King.

NOTE 14. "The Ornament of the Good," or--"of the Comely," is an
appellation of the Arabian prophet, who is related to have said, "The
sun never riseth until it hath saluted me." "The sun's saluting the
Ornament of the Good," or "Comely," is, therefore, a phrase not
unfrequently used by Muslims merely to signify its rising.

NOTE 15.--_On the Rewards of Men of Literature and Science._ It has long
been a common custom of Eastern princes to bestow dresses of honour upon
men of literature and science, as well as upon their great officers and
other servants. These dresses were of different kinds for persons of
different classes or professions. The most usual kind was an ample coat.
With dresses of this description were often given gold-embroidered
turbans; and sometimes, to Emeers (or great military officers),
neck-rings or collars (called os), some of which were set with jewels;
as also, bracelets, and swords ornamented with precious stones, &c.; and
to Wezeers, instead of the o, a necklace of jewels.--The
following striking record will convey an idea of the magnificence of
some of these dresses of honour; or, in other words, of the liberality
of a Muslim prince, and, at the same time, of the very precarious nature
of his favour. A person, chancing to look at a register kept by one of
the officers of Haroon Er-Rasheed, saw in it the following entry:--"Four
hundred thousand pieces of gold, the price of a dress of honour for
Jaafar, the son of Yaya, the Wezeer."--A few days after, he saw beneath
this written,--"Ten eeras, the price of naphtha and reeds, for burning
the body of Jaafar, the son of Yaya."--The eera of Baghdad was
the twentieth part of a deenar, or piece of gold.

Arab princes and other great men have generally been famous for highly
respecting, and liberally rewarding, men of literature and science, and
especially poets. El-Mamoon and many others are well known to us for
their patronage of the learned. Er-Rasheed carried his condescension to
them so far as to pour the water on the hands of a blind man,
Aboo-Mo'awiyeh, one of the most learned persons of his time, previously
to his eating with him, to shew his respect for science. An
anecdote of a Khaleefeh ordering the mouth of a learned man to be filled
with jewels, I have related in a former note. To cram the mouth with
sugar or sweetmeats for a polite or eloquent speech, or piece of poetry,
has been more commonly done; but the usual presents to learned men were,
and are, dresses of honour and sums of money. Ibn-'Obeyd El-Bakhteree,
an illustrious poet and traditionist, who flourished in the reign of
El-Musta'een, is said to have received so many presents, that, after his
death, there were found, among the property which he left, a hundred
complete suits of dress, two hundred shirts, and five hundred
turbans. A thousand pieces of gold were often given, and sometimes
ten, twenty, or thirty, thousand, and even more, for a few verses; nay,
for a single couplet.

The prodigality of Arab princes to men of learning may be exemplified by
the following anecdote:--ammad, surnamed Er-Rawiyeh, or the famous
reciter, having attached himself to the Khaleefeh El-Weleed, the son of
'Abd-el-Melik, and shewn a contrary feeling towards his brother Hisham,
on the accession of the latter fled to El-Koofeh. While there, a letter
arrived from Hisham, commanding his presence at Damascus: it was
addressed to the governor, who, being ordered to treat him with honour,
gave him a purse containing a thousand pieces of gold, and despatched
him with the Khaleefeh's messenger. On his arrival at Damascus, he was
conducted before Hisham, whom he found in a splendid saloon, seated
under a pavilion of red silk, surmounted by a dome of yellow brocade,
attended by two female slaves of beauty unsurpassed, each holding a
crystal ewer of wine. His admission during the presence of members of
the King's areem, the reader will remark as a very unusual and high
honour: the mention of the wine may also surprise him; but this is a
subject upon which much may be said, and which will be considered on a
future occasion. After ammad had given the salutation, and the
Khaleefeh had returned it, the latter told him that he had sent for him
to ask respecting a couplet of which he (the Khaleefeh) could only
remember that it ended with the word "ibree," which signifies "a ewer."
The reciter reflected a while, and the lines occurred to his mind, and
he repeated them. Hisham cried out, in delight, that the lines were
those he meant; drank a cup of wine, and desired one of the female
slaves to hand a cup to ammad. She did so; and the draught, he says,
deprived him of one-third of his reason. The Khaleefeh desired him to
repeat the lines again, and drank a second cup; and ammad was deprived
of another third of his reason in the same manner; and said, "O Prince
of the Faithful, two-thirds of my reason have departed from me." Hisham
laughed, and desired him to ask what he would before the remaining third
should have gone; and the reciter said, "One of these two female
slaves." The Khaleefeh laughed again, and said, "Nay, but both of them
are thine, and all that is upon them, and all that they possess, and,
beside them, fifty thousand pieces of gold."--"I kissed the ground
before him," says ammad, "and drank a third cup, and was unconscious of
what happened after: I did not awake till the close of the night, when I
found myself in a handsome house, surrounded by lighted candles, and the
two female slaves were putting in order my clothes and other things: so
I took possession of the property, and departed, the happiest of the
creatures of God."

A whimsical story is told of a king, who denied to poets those rewards
to which usage had almost given them a claim. This king, whose name is
not recorded, had the faculty of retaining in his memory an ode after
having only once heard it; and he had a memlook who could repeat an ode
that he had twice heard, and a female slave who could repeat one that
she had heard thrice. Whenever a poet came to compliment him with a
panegyrical ode, the King used to promise him that, if he found his
verses to be his original composition, he would give him a sum of money
equal in weight to what they were written upon. The poet, consenting,
would recite his ode; and the King would say, "It is not new; for I have
known it some years;" and would repeat it as he had heard it; after
which he would add, "And this memlook also retains it in his memory;"
and would order the memlook to repeat it; which, having heard it twice,
from the poet and the king, he would do. The King would then say to the
poet, "I have also a female slave who can repeat it;" and on his
ordering her to do so, stationed behind the curtains, she would repeat
what she had thus thrice heard: so the poet would go away empty-handed.
The famous poet El-Ama'ee, having heard of this proceeding, and
guessing the trick, determined upon outwitting the King; and accordingly
composed an ode made up of very difficult words; but this was not his
only preparative measure; another will be presently explained; and a
third was, to assume the dress of a Bedawee, that he might not be known,
covering his face, the eyes only excepted, with a litham (a piece of
drapery) in accordance with a custom of Arabs of the desert. Thus
disguised, he went to the palace, and, having asked permission, entered,
and saluted the King, who said to him, "Whence art thou, O brother of
the Arabs, and what dost thou desire?" The poet answered, "May God
increase the power of the King! I am a poet of such a tribe, and have
composed an ode in praise of our lord the Sulan."--"O brother of the
Arabs," said the King, "hast thou heard of our condition?"--"No,"
answered the poet; "and what is it, O King of the age?"--"It is,"
replied the King, "that if the ode be not thine, we give thee no reward;
and if it be thine, we give thee the weight in money of what it is
written upon."--"How," said El-Ama'ee, "should I assume to myself that
which belongs to another, and knowing, too, that lying before kings is
one of the basest of actions? But I agree to this condition, O our lord
the Sulan." So he repeated his ode. The King, perplexed, and unable to
remember any of it, made a sign to the memlook--but he had retained
nothing; and called to the female slave, but she also was unable to
repeat a word. "O brother of the Arabs," said he, "thou hast spoken
truth, and the ode is thine without doubt: I have never heard it before:
produce, therefore, what it is written upon, and we will give thee its
weight in money, as we have promised."--"Wilt thou," said the poet,
"send one of the attendants to carry it?"--"To carry what?" asked the
King; "is it not upon a paper here in thy possession?"--"No, O our lord
the Sulan," replied the poet; "at the time I composed it I could not
procure a piece of paper upon which to write it, and could find nothing
but a fragment of a marble column left me by my father; so I engraved it
upon this; and it lies in the court of the palace." He had brought it,
wrapped up, on the back of a camel. The King, to fulfil his promise, was
obliged to exhaust his treasury; and to prevent a repetition of this
trick (of which he afterwards discovered El-Ama'ee to have been the
author), in future rewarded the poets according to the usual custom of
kings.

The following case is also related as an exception to the common custom
of great men, with regard to the bestowal of rewards on poets:--"A poet
praised a governor in some verses, and the latter ordered an ass's
barda'ah (or stuffed saddle) and girth to be given to him. The poet went
away with them on his shoulder; and, being asked what he had got,
answered, 'I have praised our honoured lord in the best of my verses,
and he hath bestowed on me some of the most magnificent articles of his
apparel.'"

NOTE 16.--_On the Bath._ The ammam, or bath, is a favourite resort of
both men and women of all classes among the Muslims who can afford the
trifling expense which it requires; and (it is said) not only of human
beings, but also of evil genii; on which account, as well as on that of
decency, several precepts respecting it have been dictated by Moammad.
It is frequented for the purpose of performing certain ablutions
required by the religion, or by a regard for cleanliness, and for its
salutary effects, and for mere luxury.

The following description of a public bath will convey a sufficient
notion of those in private houses, which are on a smaller scale, and
generally consist of only two or three chambers. The public bath
comprises several apartments, with mosaic or tesselated pavements,
composed of white and black marble, and pieces of fine red tile, and
sometimes other materials. The inner apartments are covered with domes,
having a number of small, round, glazed apertures, for the admission of
light. The first apartment is the meslakh, or disrobing room, which has,
in the centre, a fountain of cold water, and, next the walls, wide
benches or platforms, encased with marble. These are furnished with
mattresses and cushions for the higher and middle classes, and with mats
for the poorer sort. The inner division of the building, in the more
regularly planned baths, occupies nearly a square: the central and chief
portion of it is the principal apartment, or ararah, which generally
has the form of a cross. In its centre is a fountain of hot water,
rising from a base encased with marble, which serves as a seat. One of
the angles of the square is occupied by the beyt-owwal, or antechamber
of the ararah: in another, is the fire over which is the boiler; and
each of the other two angles is generally occupied by two small
chambers: in one of these is a tank filled with warm water, which pours
down from a spout in the dome: in the other are two taps, side by side;
one of hot, and the other of cold water, with a small trough beneath,
before which is a seat. The inner apartments are heated by the steam
which rises from the fountain and tanks, and by the contiguity of the
fire; but the beyt-owwal is not so hot as the ararah, being separated
from it by a door. In cold weather, the bather undresses in the former,
which has two or three raised seats, like those of the meslakh.

With a pair of wooden clogs to his feet, and having a large napkin round
his loins, and generally a second wound round his head like a turban, a
third over his chest, and a fourth covering his back, he enters the
ararah, the heat of which causes him immediately to perspire profusely.
An attendant of the bath removes from him all the napkins excepting the
first; and proceeds to crack the joints of his fingers and toes, &c.,
and several of the vertebre of the back and neck; kneads his flesh; and
rubs the soles of his feet with a coarse earthen rasp, and his limbs and
body with a woollen bag which covers his hand as a glove; after which,
the bather, if he please, plunges into one of the tanks. He is then
thoroughly washed with soap and water, and fibres of the palm-tree, and
shaved, if he wish it, in one of the small chambers which contain the
taps of hot and cold water; and returns to the beyt-owwal. Here he
generally reclines upon a mattress, and takes some light refreshment,
while one of the attendants rubs the soles of his feet, and kneads the
flesh of his body and limbs, previously to his resuming his dress. It is
a common custom, now, to take a pipe and a cup of coffee during this
period of rest.

The women are especially fond of the bath, and often have entertainments
there; taking with them fruits, sweetmeats, &c., and sometimes hiring
female singers to accompany them. An hour or more is occupied by the
process of plaiting the hair, and applying the depilatory, &c.; and,
generally, an equal time is passed in the enjoyment of rest, or
recreation, or refreshment. All necessary decorum is observed on these
occasions by most females; but women of the lower orders are often seen
in the bath without any covering. Some baths are appropriated solely to
men; others, only to women; and others, again, to men during the
forenoon, and in the afternoon to women. When the bath is appropriated
to women, a napkin, or some other piece of drapery, is suspended over
the door, to warn men from entering.

Before the time of Moammad, there were no public baths in Arabia; and
he was so prejudiced against them, for the reasons already alluded to,
that he at first forbade both men and women from entering them:
afterwards, however, he permitted men to do so, if for the sake of
cleanliness, on the condition of their having a cloth round the waist;
and women also on account of sickness, child-birth, &c., provided they
had not convenient places for bathing in their houses. But,
notwithstanding this license, it is held to be a characteristic of a
virtuous woman, not to go to a bath even with her husband's permission:
for the Prophet said, "Whatever woman enters a bath, the devil is with
her." As the bath is a resort of the Jinn, prayer should not be
performed in it, nor the ur-an recited. The Prophet said, "All the
earth is given to me as a place of prayer, and as pure, except the
burial-ground and the bath." Hence also, when a person is about to
enter a bath, he should offer up an ejaculatory prayer for protection
against evil spirits; and should place his left foot first over the
threshold.--Infidels have often been obliged to distinguish themselves
in the bath, by hanging a signet to the neck, or wearing anklets, &c.,
lest they should receive those marks of respect which should be paid
only to believers.

NOTE 17.--_On Meals, and the Manner of Eating._ The King (with the sage
as his guest) is here described as eating in the presence of his court,
agreeably with a common custom of Eastern princes and other great men in
the present day; the simple manner in which the meal is served and eaten
occasioning but a slight interruption.

The Muslim takes a light breakfast after the morning-prayers, and dinner
after the noon-prayers; or a single meal instead of these two, before
noon. His principal meal is supper, which is taken after the prayers of
sunset. A man of rank or wealth, when he has no guest, generally eats
alone; his children eat after him, or with his wife or wives. In all his
repasts he is moderate with regard to the quantity which he eats,
however numerous the dishes.

In the times to which most of the tales in the present work relate, it
appears that the dishes were sometimes, I believe generally, placed upon
a round embroidered cloth spread on the floor, and sometimes on a tray,
which was either laid on the floor or upon a small stand or stool. The
last is the mode now always followed in the houses of the higher and
middle classes of the Arabs. The table is usually placed upon a round
cloth, spread in the middle of the floor, or in a corner, next two of
the deewans, or low seats which generally extend along three sides of
the room. It is composed of a large round tray of silver, or of tinned
copper, or of brass, supported by a stool, commonly about fifteen or
sixteen inches high, made of wood, and generally inlaid with
mother-of-pearl and ebony or other wood, or tortoise-shell, &c. When
there are numerous guests, two or more such tables are prepared. The
dishes are of silver, or of tinned copper, or of china. Several of these
are placed upon the tray; and around them are disposed some round, flat
cakes of bread, with spoons of box-wood, ebony, or other material, and,
usually, two or three limes, cut in halves, to be squeezed over certain
of the dishes. When these preparations have been made, each person who
is to partake of the repast receives a napkin; and a servant pours water
over his hands. A basin and ewer of either of the metals first mentioned
are employed for this purpose; the former has a cover with a receptacle
for a piece of soap in its centre, and with numerous perforations
through which the water runs during the act of washing, so that it is
not seen when the basin is brought from one person to another. It is
indispensably requisite to wash at least the right hand before eating
with the fingers anything but dry food; and the mouth, also, is often
rinsed, the water being taken up into it from the right hand. The
company sit upon the floor, or upon cushions, or some of them on the
deewan, either cross-legged, or with the right knee raised: they
retain the napkins before mentioned; or a long napkin, sufficient to
surround the tray, is placed upon their knees; and each person, before
he begins to eat, says, "In the name of God," or "In the name of God,
the Compassionate, the Merciful." The master of the house begins first:
if he did not so, some persons would suspect that the food was poisoned.
The thumb and two fingers of the right hand serve instead of knives and
forks; and it is the usual custom for a person to help himself to a
portion of the contents of a dish by drawing it towards the edge, or
taking it from the edge, with a morsel of bread, which he eats with it:
when he takes too large a portion for a single mouthful, he generally
places it on his cake of bread. He takes from any dish that pleases him;
and sometimes a host hands a delicate morsel with his fingers to one of
his guests. It is not allowable to touch food with the left hand (as it
is used for unclean purposes), excepting in a few cases, when both hands
are required to divide a joint.

Among the more common dishes are the following:--lamb or mutton cut into
small pieces, and stewed with various vegetables, and sometimes with
peaches, apricots, or jujubes, and sugar; cucumbers or small gourds, or
the fruit of the black or white egg-plant, stuffed with rice and minced
meat, &c.; vine-leaves or pieces of lettuce-leaf or cabbage-leaf,
enclosing a similar composition; small morsels of lamb or mutton,
roasted on skewers, and called "kebab;" fowls simply roasted or boiled,
or boned, and stuffed with raisins, pistachio-nuts, crumbled bread, and
parsley; and various kinds of pastry, and other sweets. The repast is
frequently commenced with soup; and is generally ended with boiled rice,
mixed with a little butter, and seasoned with salt and pepper; or after
this, is served a water-melon or other fruit, or a bowl of a sweet drink
composed of water with raisins, and sometimes other kinds of fruit,
boiled in it, and then sugar, and with a little rose-water added to it
when cool. The meat, having generally little fat, is cooked with
clarified butter, and is so thoroughly done that it is easily divided
with the fingers.

A whole lamb, stuffed in the same manner as the fowls above mentioned,
is not a very uncommon dish; but one more extraordinary, of which
'Abd-El-Laeef gives an account as one of the most remarkable that
he had seen in Egypt, I am tempted to describe. It was an enormous pie,
composed in the following manner:--Thirty pounds of fine flour being
kneaded with five pounds and a half of oil of sesame, and divided into
two equal portions, one of these was spread upon a round tray of copper,
about four spans in diameter. Upon this were placed three lambs, stuffed
with pounded meat fried with oil of sesame and ground pistachio-nuts,
and various hot aromatics, such as pepper, ginger, cinnamon, mastic,
coriander-seed, cumin-seed, cardamom, nut , &c. These were
then sprinkled with rose-water infused with musk; and upon the lambs,
and in the remaining spaces, were placed twenty fowls, twenty chickens,
and fifty smaller birds; some of which were baked, and stuffed with
eggs; some, stuffed with meat; and some, fried with the juice of sour
grapes, or that of limes, or some similar acid. To the above were added
a number of small pies; some filled with meat, and others with sugar and
sweetmeats; and sometimes, the meat of another lamb, cut into small
pieces, and some fried cheese. The whole being piled up in the form of a
dome, some rose-water infused with musk and aloes-wood was sprinkled
upon it; and the other half of the paste first mentioned was spread
over, so as to close the whole: it was then baked, wiped with a sponge,
and again sprinkled with rose-water infused with musk.--A dish still
more extraordinary will be described in a note on public Royal feasts.

With respect to clean and unclean meats, the Muslim is subject to nearly
the same laws as the Jew. Swine's flesh, and blood, are especially
forbidden to him; but camel's flesh is allowed. The latter, however,
being of a coarse nature, is never eaten when any other meat can be
obtained, excepting by persons of the lower classes, and by Arabs of the
desert. Of fish, almost every kind is eaten (excepting shell-fish),
usually fried in oil: of game, little; partly in consequence of frequent
doubt whether it have been lawfully killed. The diet consists, in a
great measure, of vegetables, and includes a large variety of pastry. A
very common kind of pastry is a pancake, which is made very thin, and
folded over several times like a napkin; it is saturated with butter,
and generally sweetened with honey or sugar; as is also another common
kind, which somewhat resembles vermicelli.

The usual beverage at meals is water, which is drunk from cooling,
porous, earthen bottles, or from cups of brass or other metal: but in
the houses of the wealthy, sherbet is sometimes served instead of this,
in covered glass cups, each of which contains about three quarters of a
pint. The sherbet is composed of water made very sweet with sugar, or
with a hard conserve of violets or roses or mulberries, &c. After every
time that a person drinks, he says, "Praise be to God;" and each person
of the company says to him, "May it be productive of enjoyment:" to
which he replies, "May God cause thee to have enjoyment." The Arabs
drink little or no water during a meal, but generally take a large
draught immediately after. The repast is quickly finished; and each
person, as soon as he has done, says, "Praise be to God," or "Praise be
to God, the Lord of all creatures." He then washes, in the same manner
as before, but more thoroughly; well lathering his beard, and rinsing
his mouth.

NOTE 18. This mode of shewing honour to a meritorious individual, or
distinguished guest, which is at least as ancient as the time of
Ahasuerus, is still observed in Muslim countries.

NOTE 19. The influence of the stars upon the dispositions and fortunes
of mankind is firmly believed by the generality of Muslims, and is often
a matter of consideration previously to the uniting of two persons in
marriage; though the absurdity of such an opinion is declared in their
law.

NOTE 20.--_On the Distribution of Virtues and Vices among Mankind._ I
have heard Arabs confess that their nation possesses nine-tenths of the
envy that exists among all mankind collectively; but I have not seen any
written authority for this. Ibn-'Abbas assigns nine-tenths of the
intrigue or artifice that exists in the world to the Copts; nine-tenths
of the perfidy, to the Jews; nine-tenths of the stupidity, to the
Maghrabees; nine-tenths of the hardness, to the Turks; and nine-tenths
of the bravery, to the Arabs. According to Kaab-El-Abar, reason and
sedition are most peculiar to Syria; plenty and degradation, to Egypt;
and misery and health, to the Desert. In another account, faith and
modesty are said to be most peculiar to El-Yemen; fortitude and
sedition, to Syria; magnificence, or pride, and hypocrisy, to El-'Era;
wealth and degradation, to Egypt; and poverty and misery, to the
Desert.--Of women, it is said, by Kaab-El-Abar, that the best in the
world (excepting those of the tribe of ureysh mentioned by the Prophet)
are those of El-Barah; and the worst in the world, those of
Egypt.

NOTE 21. In the Cairo edition, King Yoonan is made to say, "I should
repent after it, as King Sindibad repented of killing the falcon;"--and
thus is introduced an indifferent story in the place of that of the
Husband and the Parrot; the former story describing a king as having,
under an erroneous idea, killed a falcon that had prevented his drinking
poison. The latter story I insert in preference, according to the
Calcutta edition of the first two hundred nights, and the edition of
Breslau.

NOTE 22.--_On Miraculously-gifted Birds._ An Arab historian would make
it to appear, that the intelligence and talent ascribed to this parrot
are not nearly so wonderful as those which some birds have been known to
display. He mentions a parrot which recited the Soorat Ya-Seen (or 36th
chapter of the ur-an); and a raven which recited the Soorat es-Sijdeh
(or 32nd chapter), and which, on arriving at the place of prostration
(or verse which should be recited with prostration), would perform that
action, and say, "My body prostrateth itself to Thee, and my heart
confideth in Thee." But these are not the most remarkable cases of the
kind. He affirms that there was a parrot in Cairo which recited the
ur-an from beginning to end. The Basha, he says, desiring to try its
talent, caused a man to recite a chapter of the ur-an in its presence,
and to pass irregularly from one chapter to another, with the view of
leading the bird into error: but, instead of this being the result, the
parrot corrected him!

NOTE 23. But a few years ago, it was a common custom for an Arab
merchant or shopkeeper of the higher class to wear a sword; and this not
only during a journey, but also during his ordinary walks or rides. I
have seen many persons of this description so armed, and with a pair of
pistols stuck in the girdle; though seldom excepting in the former case.
A dagger or case-knife is a weapon now more commonly worn by such
persons, both at home and abroad.

NOTE 24.--_On Hunting and Hawking._ Hunting and hawking, which were
common and favourite diversions of the Arabs, and especially of their
kings and other great men, have now fallen into comparative disuse among
this people. They are, however, still frequently practised by the
Persians, and in a manner the same as they are generally described in
the present work. Sir John Malcolm was informed that these sports were
nowhere found in greater perfection than in the neighbourhood of
Aboo-Shahr, where he witnessed and took part in them: I shall,
therefore, here avail myself of his observations on this subject.

"The huntsmen," he says, "proceed to a large plain, or rather desert,
near the sea-side: they have hawks and greyhounds; the former carried in
the usual manner, on the hand of the huntsman; the latter led in a leash
by a horseman, generally the same who carries the hawk. When the
antelope is seen, they endeavour to get as near as possible; but the
animal, the moment it observes them, goes off at a rate that seems
swifter than the wind: the horsemen are instantly at full speed, having
slipped the dogs. If it is a single deer, they at the same time fly the
hawks; but if a herd, they wait till the dogs have fixed on a particular
antelope. The hawks, skimming along near the ground, soon reach the
deer, at whose head they pounce in succession, and sometimes with a
violence that knocks it over. [They are commonly described as pecking at
the poor creature's eyes until they blind it.] At all events, they
confuse the animal so much as to stop its speed in such a degree that
the dogs can come up with it; and, in an instant, men, horses, dogs, and
hawks, surround the unfortunate deer, against which their united efforts
have been combined. The part of the chase that surprised me most, was
the extraordinary combination of the hawks and the dogs, which
throughout seemed to look to each other for aid. This, I was told, was
the result of long and skilful training.--The antelope is supposed to be
the fleetest quadruped on earth; and the rapidity of the first burst of
the chase I have described is astonishing. The run seldom exceeds three
or four miles, and often is not half so much. A fawn is an easy victory;
the doe often runs a good chase; and the buck is seldom taken. The Arabs
are, indeed, afraid to fly their hawks at the latter, as these fine
birds, in pouncing, frequently impale themselves on its sharp
horns.--The hawks used in this sport are of a species that I have never
seen in any other country. This breed, which is called Cherkh, is not
large, but of great beauty and symmetry.

"Another mode of running down the antelope is practised here, and still
more in the interior of Persia. Persons of the highest rank lead their
own greyhounds in a long silken leash, which passes through the collar,
and is ready to slip the moment the huntsman chooses. The well-trained
dog goes alongside the horse, and keeps clear of him when at full speed,
and in all kinds of country. When a herd of antelopes is seen, a
consultation is held, and the most experienced determine the point
towards which they are to be driven. The field (as an English sportsman
would term it) then disperse, and, while some drive the herd in the
desired direction, those with the dogs take their post on the same line,
at the distance of about a mile from each other; one of the worst dogs
is then slipped at the herd, and from the moment he singles out an
antelope the whole body are in motion. The object of the horsemen who
have greyhounds is to intercept its course, and to slip fresh dogs, in
succession, at the fatigued animal. In rare instances, the second dog
kills. It is generally the third or fourth; and even these, when the
deer is strong, and the ground favourable, often fail. This sport, which
is very exhilarating, was the delight of the late King of Persia, Agha
Moammad Khan, whose taste is inherited by the present sovereign.

"The novelty of these amusements interested me, and I was pleased, on
accompanying a party to a village, about twenty miles from Aboo-Shahr,
to see a species of hawking peculiar, I believe, to the sandy plains of
Persia, on which the obara, a noble species of bustard, is found on
almost bare plains, where it has no shelter but a small shrub called
'geetuck.' When we went in quest of them, we had a party of about
twenty, all well mounted. Two kinds of hawks are necessary for this
sport; the first, the Cherkh (the same which is flown at the antelope),
attacks them on the ground, but will not follow them on the wing; for
this reason, the 'Bhyree,' a hawk well known in India, is flown the
moment the obara rises.--As we rode along in an extended line, the men
who carried the Cherkhs every now and then unhooded and held them up,
that they might look over the plain. The first obara we found afforded
us a proof of the astonishing quickness of sight of one of the hawks: he
fluttered to be loose, and the man who held him gave him a whoop as he
threw him off his hand, and set off at full speed. We all did the same.
At first we only saw our hawk skimming over the plain, but soon
perceived, at a distance of more than a mile, the beautiful speckled
obara, with his head erect and wings outspread, running forward to meet
his adversary. The Cherkh made several unsuccessful pounces, which were
either evaded or repelled by the beak or wings of the obara, which at
last found an opportunity of rising, when a Bhyree was instantly flown,
and the whole party were again at full gallop. We had a flight of more
than a mile, when the obara alighted, and was killed by another Cherkh,
who attacked him on the ground. This bird weighed ten pounds. We killed
several others, but were not always successful, having seen our hawks
twice completely beaten, during the two days we followed this fine
sport."

The hunting of the wild ass is another sport of the Persians and Arabs,
but one of a more difficult nature. This animal is found in Syria, and
in the Nubian deserts, as well as in Arabia and Persia. The more common
kinds of game are gazelles, or antelopes, hares, partridges, the species
of grouse called "aa," quails, wild geese, ducks, &c. Against all of
these, the hawk is generally employed, but assisted in the capture of
gazelles and hares by dogs. The usual arms of the sportsmen, in the
times to which the present work relates, were the bow and arrow, the
cross-bow, the spear, the sword, and the mace. When the game is struck
down, but not killed, by any weapon, its throat is immediately cut. If
merely stunned, and then left to die, its flesh is unlawful food. Some
other laws respecting the killing of game have been mentioned in a
former note; but one has been there omitted which is worthy of remark,
though it is often disregarded; it is, that hunting is allowable only
for the purpose of procuring food, or to obtain the skin of an animal,
or for the sake of destroying ferocious and dangerous beasts. Amusement
is certainly, in general, the main object of the Muslim huntsman, but he
does not, with this view, endeavour to prolong the chase; on the
contrary, he strives to take the game as quickly as possible; for this
purpose, nets are often employed, and the hunting party, forming what is
called the circle of the chase (alat e-eyd), surround the spot in
which the game is found.

"On the eastern frontiers of Syria," says Burckhardt, "are several
places allotted for the hunting of gazelles: these places are called
'masiade' . An open space in the plain, of
about one mile and a half square, is enclosed on three sides by a wall
of loose stones, too high for the gazelles to leap over. In different
parts of this wall, gaps are purposely left, and near each gap a deep
ditch is made on the outside. The enclosed space is situated near some
rivulet or spring to which, in summer, the gazelles resort. When the
hunting is to begin, many peasants assemble, and watch till they see a
herd of gazelles advancing from a distance towards the enclosure, into
which they drive them: the gazelles, frightened by the shouts of these
people, and the discharge of fire-arms, endeavour to leap over the wall,
but can only effect this at the gaps, where they fall into the ditch
outside, and are easily taken, sometimes by hundreds. The chief of the
herd always leaps first: the others follow him one by one. The gazelles
thus taken are immediately killed, and their flesh is sold to the Arabs
and neighbouring Fellas."

NOTE 25. In the Cairo edition, the word "jezeereh" (an island) is
erroneously put for "kharabeh" (a ruin).

NOTE 26. "Ghooleh" is the feminine of "Ghool." The Ghool is a fabulous
being, of which some account has been given in No. 21 of the notes to
the Introduction.

NOTE 27. This epithet of the Deity appears to be used in preference to
others in this instance, in order to imply that God always decrees what
is best for a virtuous man, even when the reverse would seem to us to be
the case. He is here described as appointing that the sage should die a
violent death; but this death, being unmerited, raised him, according to
Mohammadan notions, to the rank of a martyr.

In the edition from which my translation is chiefly made, four poetical
quotations are here inserted on the subject of fate, and the inutility
of anxious forebodings. The first of these is as follows:--

  "O thou who fearest thy fate, be at ease; commit thine affairs
     unto Him who spread out the earth.
   For what is predestined cannot be cancelled; and thou art secure
     from every thing that is not predestined."

NOTE 28.--_The Fable of the Crocodile._ Perhaps the reader may desire to
know what is the story which the sage Dooban declined to relate; I will
therefore supply the omission as well as my memory will allow me. I have
heard this fable differently told by different persons; and it is
sometimes spun out to a considerable length; but the principal points of
it are these:--A crocodile, having crawled far from the Nile, over a
desert tract, found his strength so exhausted by fatigue and thirst,
that he despaired of being able to return to the river. While he was in
this unhappy state, an Arab with his camel approached him, proceeding in
the desired direction; and he appealed to his compassion, entreating
that he would bind him on the back of the camel, and so convey him to
the Nile, and promising that he would afterwards, in return for this
favour, carry him across to the opposite bank. The Arab answered, that
he feared the crocodile would, as soon as he was unbound, turn upon him,
and devour him; but the monster swore so solemnly that he would
gratefully requite the service he requested, that the man was induced to
consent; and, making his camel lie down, bound the crocodile firmly upon
his back, and brought him to the bank of the river. No sooner, however,
was the horrid creature liberated, than, in spite of his vows, he opened
his hideous jaws to destroy his benefactor, who, though he eluded this
danger, was unable to rescue his camel. At this moment a fox drew near
them. The man, accosting this cunning animal, related his tale; and the
crocodile urged in his own excuse, that the man had spitefully bound him
on the back of the camel in such a manner that he had almost killed him.
The fox replied that he could quickly pursue and capture the man, but
that he must act fairly, and first see the whole transaction repeated
before him. The crocodile, assenting, and submitting to have a noose
thrown over his jaws, was again bound on the back of the camel, and
taken to the place whence he was brought; and as soon as this was done,
the man, by the direction of the fox, holding with one hand the halter
of his camel, with the other cut the ropes which secured his burden, and
hasted away with his beast, leaving the ungrateful and treacherous
monster in the same hopeless state in which he had found him.

NOTE 29. This comparison is perfectly just. My first visit to Egypt was
not too late for me to witness such a scene as that which is here
alluded to; but now, throughout the Turkish dominions, the officers of
government are obliged, more or less, to assimilate their style of dress
to that which commonly prevails in Europe; gaudy colours are out of
fashion among them, and silk embroidery is generally preferred to gold:
in Egypt, however, the dress worn by this class of persons has not been
so much altered as in Turkey, still retaining an Oriental character,
though wanting the shawl which was wound round the red cap, and formed
the turban; while the dress worn by other classes has undergone no
change. [This note still applies to the inhabitants of Egypt, with the
exception of the Turks, who have very generally adopted the modern
Turkish, or semi-European dress.--ED.]

NOTE 30. This story of the head speaking after it was cut off is not
without a parallel in the writings of Arab historians. The head of
Sa'eed, the son of Jubeyr, is said to have uttered the words, "There is
no deity but God," after it had been severed from his body by order of
El-ajjaj, who is related to have killed a hundred and twenty thousand
persons of note, besides those whom he slew in war.

NOTE 31. I do not remember to have read or heard the story of Umameh and
'Atikeh, who, as their names import, were two females.

NOTE 32. The words here quoted are part of the 36th verse of the 17th
chapter of the ur-an.

NOTE 33. The title of "Sulan" is higher than that of "Melik" (or King):
a Sulan, properly speaking, being a monarch who has kings or viceroys
under his authority.

NOTE 34.--_On_ Kol, _and the mode of applying it_. Kol is a black
powder, with which most of the Arab, and many other, women blacken the
edges of the eyelids. The most common kind is the smoke-black which is
produced by burning a kind of frankincense. An inferior kind is the
smoke-black produced by burning the shells of almonds. These are
believed to be beneficial to the eyes; but are generally used merely for
the sake of ornament. Among other kinds which are particularly employed
for their beneficial effect upon the eye are several ores of lead,
reduced to a fine powder. Antimony is said to have been, in former
times, the most esteemed kind of kol. The powder is applied by means of
a small probe of wood, ivory, or silver, the end of which is moistened,
and then dipped in the powder, and drawn along the edges of the
eyelids.

NOTE 35. The Koofeeyeh is described in a great Arabic Lexicon (Taj
el-'Aroos) as "a thing worn on the head; so called because of its
roundness:" and this is the only description of it that I have been able
to find. I was told in Cairo, that "koofeeyeh" is the correct
appellation of the head-kerchief commonly called "keffeeyeh:" but this
is a mistake. The latter is a square kerchief, which is worn on the
head, measuring about a yard in each direction, and of various colours,
generally a dull, brownish red, bright green, and yellow, composing
broad and narrow stripes, and having a deep fringe of strings and
tassels along two opposite edges. The most common kind is entirely of
cotton; another, of cotton interwoven with silk; and a third, of silk
interwoven with gold. It is now chiefly worn by the Wahhabees and
several tribes of Bedawees; but the former wear only the first kind, as
they hold articles of dress composed wholly or partly of silk or gold to
be unlawful. In former times it was in common use among the inhabitants
of the towns. It is mostly worn by men, and is doubled diagonally, and
placed over the cap in such a manner that the two corners which are
folded together hang down the back; and the other two corners, in front.
A piece of woollen rope, or a strip of rag, or a turban, is generally
wound round it; and the corners, or those only which usually hang down
in front, are sometimes turned up, and tucked within the upper edge of
the turban. The inhabitants of the towns usually wear the turban over
the keffeeyeh. Burckhardt, who calls this head-kerchief "keffie,"
mentions, that the Bedawees of Mekkeh and El-Yemen tie over it, instead
of the woollen rope which is used by the Northern Bedawees, "a circle
made of wax, tar, and butter, strongly kneaded together: this," he adds,
"is pressed down to the middle of the head, and looks like the airy
crown of a saint. It is about the thickness of a finger; and they take
it off very frequently to press it between their hands, so that its
shape may be preserved." The better kinds of keffeeyeh above
mentioned are worn by some of the Turks, but not in the Arab manner;
being wound tight round the cap.

NOTE 36.--_Anecdote of a Miraculous Fish._ This story of the miraculous
fish reminds me of one of a similar kind which is related as authentic.
A certain just judge of the Israelites, in the time of Solomon, had a
wife who, every time that she brought him his food, used to ejaculate a
prayer that disgrace might befall every unfaithful wife. One day, this
woman having placed before her husband a fried fish, and repeated her
usual ejaculation, the fish leaped from the dish, and fell upon the
floor. This happened three times; and, in consequence of a suspicion
expressed by a devotee, who was consulted respecting the meaning of this
strange event, the judge discovered that a supposed maid, whom he had
purchased as a slave, was a disguised man.

NOTE 37. This comparison is not intended to be understood in its literal
sense, for the smallest of the tribe of 'Ad is said to have been sixty
cubits high: the largest, a hundred! The tribe of 'Ad were a race of
ancient Arabs, who, according to the ur-an and Arab historians, were
destroyed by a suffocating wind, for their infidelity, after their
rejection of the admonitions of the prophet Hood.

NOTE 38. The Arabs generally calculate distances by time. The average
distance of a day's journey is from twenty to twenty-five miles; the
former being the usual rate of caravan-travelling.

NOTE 39.--_On the Privacy of Arab Dwellings._ In a palace, or large
house, there is generally a wide bench of stone, or a wooden couch,
within the outer door, for the accommodation of the door-keeper and
other servants. The entrance-passage leads to an open court, and, for
the sake of preventing persons at the entrance, or a little within it,
from seeing into the court, it usually has two turnings. We may,
therefore, understand the motive of the King in seating himself in the
place here described to have been a desire that he might not, if
discovered, be supposed to be prying impertinently into the interior of
the palace. Respect for the privacy of another's house is a point that
is deemed of so much importance that it is insisted upon in the ur-an,
in these words:--"O ye who have become believers, enter not any houses,
besides your own houses, until ye shall have asked leave, and saluted
their inhabitants; this will be better for you: peradventure ye will be
admonished. And if ye find not in them any person, enter them not, until
leave be granted you; and if it be said unto you, Return, then do ye
return; this will be more decent for you; and God knoweth what ye do.
But it shall be no crime in you that ye enter uninhabited houses wherein
ye may find a convenience." When a visiter finds the door open, and
no servant below, he usually claps his hands as a signal for some
person to come to him; striking the palm of his left hand with the
fingers of the right: and even when leave has been granted him to enter,
it is customary for him, when he has to ascend to an upper apartment, to
repeat several times some ejaculation, such as "Permission!" or, "O
Protector!" (that is, "O protecting God!"), as he goes up, in order that
any female of the family, who may chance to be in the way, may have
notice of his approach, and either retire or veil herself. Sometimes the
servant who precedes him does this in his stead.

NOTE 40. These verses are translated from the Calcutta edition of the
first two hundred nights, as more apposite than those which are inserted
in their place in the edition of Cairo.

NOTE 41. That the reader may not form wrong conceptions of the
characters of many persons portrayed in this work, it is necessary to
observe, that weeping is not regarded by the Arabs as an evidence of an
effeminate disposition, or inconsistent with even a heroic mind; though
the Muslims in general are remarkable for the calmness with which they
endure the heaviest afflictions.

NOTE 42. It is, perhaps, unnecessary to mention, that it is a common
custom of the Orientals, as of other natives of warm climates, to take a
nap in the afternoon. A tradesman is not unfrequently seen enjoying this
luxury in his shop, and seldom, excepting in this case, is it considered
allowable to wake a person.

NOTE 43.--_Description of Arab Fans._ The kind of fan most commonly used
by the Arabs has the form of a small flag. The flap, which is about six
or seven inches in width, and somewhat more in length, is composed of
split palm-leaves of various colours, or some plain and others coloured,
neatly plaited or woven together. The handle is a piece of palm-stick,
about twice the length of the flap. This fan is used by men as well as
women, and for the double purpose of moderating the heat and repelling
the flies, which, in warm weather, are excessively annoying. It is more
effective than the ordinary European fan, and requires less exertion.
Arabian fans of the kind here described, brought from Mekkeh to Cairo as
articles of merchandise, may be purchased in the latter city for a sum
less than a penny each; they are mostly made in the ejaz. Another
kind of fan, generally composed of black ostrich-feathers, of large
dimensions, and ornamented with a small piece of looking-glass on the
lower part of the front, is often used by the Arabs. A kind of fly-whisk
made of palm-leaves is also in very general use. A servant or slave is
often employed to wave it over the master or mistress during a meal or
an afternoon nap.

NOTE 44. Mes'oodeh is the feminine of Mes'ood, a name before explained,
as signifying "happy," or "made happy."

NOTE 45. The word which I have here rendered "wine" namely, "sharab" is
applied to any drink, and particularly to a sweet beverage; but, in the
present case, the context shews that its signification is that which I
have given it. The description of a carousal in the next chapter will
present a more fit occasion for my considering at large the custom of
drinking wine as existing among the Arabs.

NOTE 46.--_On the Use of Hemp to induce Intoxication._ The name of
"benj," or "beng," is now, and, I believe, generally, given to henbane;
but El-azweenee states that the leaves of the garden hemp (inneb
bustanee, or shahdanaj,) are the benj which, when eaten, disorders the
reason. This is an important confirmation of De Sacy's opinion
respecting the derivation of the appellation of "Assassins" from
ashshasheen (hemp-eaters, or persons who intoxicate themselves with
hemp); as the sect which we call "Assassins" are expressly said by the
Arabs to have made frequent use of benj. To this subject I shall
have occasion to revert. I need only add here, that the custom of using
benj, and other narcotics, for purposes similar to that described in
this tale, is said to be not very unfrequently practised in the present
day; but as many Arab husbands are extremely suspicious of the character
of women in general, perhaps there is but little ground for this
assertion.

NOTE 47. Most Eastern cities and towns are partly or wholly surrounded
by mounds of rubbish, close to the walls; and upon these mounds are
thrown the carcasses of camels, horses, and other beasts, to be devoured
by dogs and vultures. Immense mounds of this unsightly description
entirely surrounded the city of Cairo; but those which extended along
its western side, and, in a great measure, screened it from the view of
persons approaching from the Nile, have lately been removed by order of
the present Basha of Egypt. [This note was written in the year 1838, in
the time of Moammad 'Alee.--ED.]

NOTE 48. "ubbeh" generally signifies either a dome or a cupola, or a
building or apartment surmounted by a dome. In the present instance it
is to be understood in the latter sense. It is also applied to a closet,
and to a tent.

NOTE 49. "af" is generally to be understood, as it is in the present
case; to signify the chain of mountains believed, by the Muslims, to
encircle our earth, as mentioned in a former note. It is also the name
of the chain of Caucasus, and hence it has been supposed that the fable
respecting the mountains before mentioned, originated from an early idea
that the chain of Caucasus was the limit of the habitable earth; but it
is possible that the latter mountains may have derived their name from
an imaginary resemblance to the former.

NOTE 50. Rats, though unlawful food to the Muslim, are occasionally
eaten by many of the peasants of the province of Lower Egypt called
El-Boeyreh, on the west of the western branch of the Nile. The
extraordinary abundance of these animals, and mice, throughout Egypt,
gave rise to an absurd fable, which is related by Diodorus Siculus
as a matter worthy of serious consideration:--that these creatures are
generated from the alluvial soil deposited by the Nile. The inundation
drives many of them from the fields to the houses and deserts, and
destroys the rest; but soon after the waters have subsided, vast numbers
of them are seen again, taking refuge in the deep clefts of the parched
soil.

NOTE 51.--_On the Beverage called_ Booah. Booah, or boozeh, is a
favourite beverage of the boatmen, and other persons of the lower class,
in Egypt; and more especially of the Nubians and negroes; as it was,
according to Herodotus and other writers, of the ancient Egyptians.
It is an intoxicating liquor, a kind of beer, most commonly prepared
from barley-bread, crumbled, mixed with water, strained, and left to
ferment. It is also prepared from wheat and from millet in the same
manner. The account of Herodotus has been confirmed by the discovery of
large jars, containing the dregs of the barley-beer in ancient tombs at
Thebes.

NOTE 52.--_On the Apparel, &c., of Mourning._ The wearing of mourning
appears to have been a custom of both sexes among the Arabs in earlier
times, for the black clothing which distinguished the 'Abbasee
Khaleefehs and their officers was originally assumed in testimony of
grief for the death of the Imam Ibraheem Ibn-Moammad. It has, however,
ceased to be worn by men, as indicating a want of resignation to the
decrees of Providence, and is only assumed by women on the occasion of
the death of a husband or near relation, and not for an elderly person.
In the former cases they dye their shirts, head-veils, face-veils, and
handkerchiefs, of a blue or almost black colour, with indigo; and
sometimes, with the same dye, stain their hands and arms as high as the
elbows, and smear the walls of their apartments. They generally abstain
from wearing any article of dress of a bright colour, leave their hair
unbraided, and deck themselves with few or no ornaments. They also cease
to make use of perfumes, kol, and enna; and often turn upside-down the
carpets, mats, cushions, and coverings of the deewans.

NOTE 53. "Houses of Lamentations," erected in burial-grounds for the
accommodation of ladies on the occasions of their visiting the tombs of
their relations, have been mentioned in a former note respecting the two
grand annual festivals.

NOTE 54. The kind of tomb here alluded to is generally a square building
crowned by a dome.

NOTE 55. This passage deserves particular notice, as being one of those
which assist us to form some opinion respecting the period when the
present work, in the states in which it is known to us, was composed or
compiled or remodelled. It is the same in all the copies of the original
work that I have seen, and bears strong evidence of having been written
subsequently to the commencement of the eighth century of the Flight, or
fourteenth of our era, at which period, it appears, the Christians and
Jews were first compelled to distinguish themselves by wearing,
respectively, blue and yellow turbans, in accordance with an order
issued by the Sultan of Egypt, Moammad Ibn-Kala-oon. Thus the
white turban became peculiar to the Muslims.--An eminent German critic
has been unfortunate in selecting the incident of the four fish as
affording an argument in favour of his opinion that the Tales of a
Thousand and One Nights are of Indian origin, on the mere ground that
the same word (_varna_) is used in Sanscrit to signify both "colour" and
"caste."

NOTE 56. The Muslims often implore the intercession of their prophet,
and of various members of his family and other holy persons, though
their ordinary prayers are addressed solely to God. The regard which
they pay to their reputed saints, both living and deceased, as
mediators, is one of the heresies which the Wahhabees most vehemently
condemn.

NOTE 57. This verse, translated from my usual prototype, the Cairo
edition, is there followed by another, which I omit as being inapposite.

NOTE 58. In the first of the notes to the Introduction, I have mentioned
that it is a general custom of the Muslims to repeat this phrase, "In
the name of God!" on commencing every lawful action that is of any
importance; it is, therefore, here employed, as it is in many similar
cases, to express a readiness to do what is commanded or requested; and
is equivalent to saying, "I this instant begin to execute thy orders."

NOTE 59. The condition and offices of memlooks, who are male white
slaves, have been mentioned in the thirteenth note to the first chapter.

NOTE 60. Eastern histories present numerous instances of marriages as
unequal as those here related; the reader, therefore, must not regard
this part of the story as inconsistent.




   Sale's Koran, note to chap. xxxviii.

   El-Mareezee's "Khia;" chapter entitled "Khizanet
  el-Kisawat."

   Fakhr-ed-Deen, in De Sacy's Chrestomathie Arabe, vol. i.
  p. 32 of the Arabic text, 2nd ed.

   Idem, p. 4 of the Arabic text.

   D'Herbelot, art. "Bokhteri."

   albet el-Kumeyt, chapter the seventh (MS. in my
  possession).

   albet el-Kumeyt, chapter the eighth.

   Idem, chapter the seventh.

   A recent traveller has questioned Mr. Lane's authority,
  in the "Modern Egyptians," for the remark that Muslims should
  not pray in the bath. A reference to any well-known collection
  of traditions of the Prophet will, however, prove, by many
  sayings besides that quoted above, that Mr. Lane is in this
  matter strictly accurate.--ED.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil, &c., section the seventh.

   A pious Muslim generally sits at his meals with the right
  knee raised, after the example of the Prophet, who adopted this
  custom in order to avoid too comfortable a posture in eating,
  as tempting to unnecessary gratification.--ED.

   Pp. 180--182, ed. Oxon. 1800.

   See Esther vi. 8 and 9.

   El-Mareezee's "Khia," and El-Is-aee.

   El-Is-aee; reign of the Khaleefeh El-Musta'een, the son
  of El-Moataim.

   Sketches of Persia, vol. i. ch. v. [Mr. Lane has written
  some of the Oriental words in this extract according to his own
  mode.--ED.]

   Notes on the Bedouins and Wahabys, vol. i. pp. 220 et
  seq. 8vo. ed.

   A more full account of this custom is given in my work on
  the Modern Egyptians, vol. i. ch. l.

   Notes on the Bedouins and Wahabys, vol. i. p. 232, 8vo.
  ed.

   Kitab el-'Onwan fee Mekaid en-Niswan.

   Ch. xxiv. vv. 27-29.

   See "Modern Egyptians," vol. ii., close of chap,
  ix.--Since this was written, I have found that El-Idreesee
  applies the term "asheesheeyeh," which is exactly synonymous
  with "ashshasheen," to the "Assassins:" this, therefore,
  decides the question.

   Lib. i. cap. 10.

   Lib. ii. cap. 77.

   El-Mareezee and El-Is-aee.





COMMENCING WITH PART OF THE NINTH NIGHT, AND ENDING WITH PART OF THE
EIGHTEENTH.

THE STORY OF THE PORTER AND THE LADIES OF BAGHDAD, AND OF THE THREE
ROYAL MENDICANTS, &c.

There was a man of the city of Baghdad, who was unmarried, and he was a
porter; and one day, as he sat in the market, reclining against his
crate, there accosted him a female wrapped in an
izar composed of
gold-embroidered silk, with a border of gold lace at each end, who
raised her face-veil, and displayed beneath it a pair of black eyes,
with lids bordered by long lashes, exhibiting a tender expression, and
features of perfect beauty; and she said, with a sweet voice, Bring thy
crate, and follow me.

The porter had scarcely heard her words when he took up his crate, and
he followed her until she stopped at the door of a house, and knocked;
whereupon there came down to her a Christian, and she gave him a piece
of gold, and received for it a quantity of olives, and two large vessels
of wine, which she placed in the crate, saying to the
porter, Take it up, and follow me. The porter exclaimed, This is,
indeed, a fortunate day!--and he took up the crate, and followed her.
She next stopped at the shop of a fruiterer, and bought of him Syrian
apples, and 'Othmanee quinces, and peaches of 'Oman, and
jasmine of Aleppo, and water-lilies of Damascus, and cucumbers of the
Nile, and Egyptian limes, and Sulanee citrons, and sweet-scented
myrtle, and sprigs of the enna-tree, and chamomile, and anemones, and
violets, and pomegranate flowers, and eglantine: all these she put into
the porter's crate, and said to him, Take it up. So he took it up, and
followed her until she stopped at the shop of a butcher, to whom she
said, Cut off ten pounds of meat;--and he cut it off for her, and she
wrapped it in a leaf of a banana-tree, and put it in the crate, and said
again, Take it up, O porter:--and he did so, and followed her. She next
stopped at the shop of a seller of dry fruits, and took some of every
kind of these, and desired the porter to take up his burden. Having
obeyed, he followed her until she stopped at the shop of a confectioner,
where she bought a dish, and filled it with sweets of every kind that he
had, which she put into the crate; whereupon the porter
ventured to say, If thou hadst informed me beforehand, I had brought
with me a mule to carry all these things. The lady smiled at his remark,
and next stopped at the shop of a perfumer, of whom she bought ten kinds
of scented waters; rose-water, and orange-flower-water, and
willow-flower-water, &c.; together with some sugar, and a
sprinkling-bottle of rose-water infused with musk, and some
frankincense, and aloes-wood, and ambergris, and musk, and wax candles;
and, placing all these in the crate, she said, Take up thy crate, and
follow me. He, therefore, took it up, and followed her until she came to
a handsome house, before which was a spacious court. It was a lofty
structure, with a door of two leaves, composed of ebony, overlaid with
plates of red gold.

The young lady stopped at this door, and knocked gently; whereupon both
its leaves were opened, and the porter, looking to see who opened it,
found it to be a damsel of tall stature, high-bosomed, fair and
beautiful, and of elegant form, with a forehead like the bright new
moon, eyes like those of gazelles, eyebrows like the new moon of
Ramaan, cheeks resembling anemones, and a mouth like the
seal of Suleyman: her countenance was like the full moon in
its splendour, and the forms of her bosom resembled two pomegranates of
equal size. When the porter beheld her, she captivated his reason, the
crate nearly fell from his head, and he exclaimed, Never in my life have
I seen a more fortunate day than this! The lady-portress, standing
within the door, said to the cateress and the porter, Ye are
welcome:--and they entered, and proceeded to a spacious
saloon, decorated with various colours, and beautifully
constructed, with carved wood-work, and fountains, and benches of
different kinds, and closets with curtains hanging before them; there
was also in it, at the upper end, a couch of alabaster
inlaid with large pearls and jewels, with a musquito-curtain of red
satin suspended over it, and within this was a young lady with eyes
possessing the enchantment of Babil, and a figure like the
letter Alif, with a face that put to shame the shining sun:
she was like one of the brilliant planets, or rather, one of the most
high-born of the maidens of Arabia. This third lady, rising
from the couch, advanced with a slow and elegant gait to the middle of
the saloon, where her sisters were standing, and said to them, Why stand
ye still? Lift down the burden from the head of this poor
porter:--whereupon the cateress placed herself before him, and the
portress behind him, and, the third lady assisting them, they lifted it
down from his head. They then took out the contents of the crate, and,
having put every thing in its place, gave to the porter two pieces of
gold, saying to him, Depart, O porter.

The porter, however, stood looking at the ladies, and admiring their
beauty and their agreeable dispositions; for he had never seen any more
handsome; and when he observed that they had not a man among them, and
gazed upon the wine, and fruits, and sweet-scented flowers, which were
there, he was full of astonishment, and hesitated to go out; upon which
one of the ladies said to him, Why dost thou not go? dost thou deem thy
hire too little? Then turning to one of her sisters, she said to her,
Give him another piece of gold.--By Allah, O my mistress, exclaimed the
porter, my hire is but two half-dirhems, and I thought not
what ye have given me too little; but my heart and mind were occupied
with reflections upon you and your state, ye being alone, with no man
among you, not one to amuse you with his company; for ye know that the
menareh standeth not firmly but on four walls: now ye have
not a fourth, and the pleasure of women is not complete without men: ye
are three only, and have need of a fourth, who should be a man, a
person of sense, discreet, acute, and a concealer of secrets. We are
maidens, they replied; and fear to impart our secret to him who will not
keep it; for we have read, in a certain history, this verse:--

  Guard thy secret from another: intrust it not: for he who intrusteth
    a secret hath lost it.



--By your existence, said the porter, I am a man of sense, and
trustworthy: I have read various books, and perused histories: I make
known what is fair, and conceal what is foul, and act in accordance with
the saying of the poet:--

  None keepeth a secret but a faithful person: with the best of mankind
    it remaineth concealed.
  A secret is with me as in a house with a lock, whose key is lost,
    and whose door is sealed.

When the ladies heard the verses which he quoted, and the words with
which he addressed them, they said to him, Thou knowest that we have
expended here a considerable sum of money: hast thou then wherewith to
requite us? We will not suffer thee to remain with us unless thou
contribute a sum of money; for thou desirest to sit with us, and to be
our cup-companion, and to gaze upon our beautiful faces.--If friendship
is without money, said the mistress of the house, it is not equivalent
to the weight of a grain:--and the portress added, If thou hast nothing,
depart with nothing:--but the cateress said, O sister, let us suffer
him; for, verily, he hath not been deficient in his services for us this
day: another had not been so patient with us: whatever, therefore, falls
to his share of the expense, I will defray for him.--At this the porter
rejoiced, and exclaimed, By Allah, I obtained my first and only pay this
day from none but thee:--and the other ladies said to him, Sit down:
thou art welcome.

The cateress then arose, and, having tightened her girdle, arranged the
bottles, and strained the wine, and prepared the table by the pool of
the fountain. She made ready all that they required, brought the wine,
and sat down with her sisters; the porter also sitting with them,
thinking he was in a dream. And when they had seated themselves, the
cateress took a jar of wine, and filled the first cup, and drank
it: she then filled another, and handed it to one of her
sisters; and in like manner she did to her other sister; after which she
filled again, and handed the cup to the porter, who, having taken it
from her hand, repeated this verse:--

  I will drink the wine, and enjoy health; for, verily, this beverage
    is a remedy for disease.



The wine continued to circulate among them, and the porter, taking his
part in the revels, dancing and singing with them, and enjoying
the fragrant odours, began to hug and kiss them, while one
slapped him, and another pulled him, and the third beat
him with sweet-scented flowers, till, at length, the wine made sport
with their reason; and they threw off all restraint, indulging
their merriment with as much freedom as if no man had been
present.

Thus they continued until the approach of night, when they
said to the porter, Depart, and shew us the breadth of thy
shoulders;--but he replied, Verily the departure of my soul
from my body were more easy to me than my departure from your company;
therefore suffer us to join the night to the day, and then each of us
shall return to his own, or her own, affairs. The cateress, also, again
interceded for him, saying, By my life I conjure you that ye suffer him
to pass the night with us, that we may laugh at his drolleries, for he
is a witty rogue. So they said to him, Thou shalt pass the night with us
on this condition, that thou submit to our authority, and ask not an
explanation of anything that thou shalt see. He replied, Good.--Rise
then, said they, and read what is inscribed upon the door. Accordingly,
he went to the door, and found the following inscription upon it in
letters of gold, Speak not of that which doth not concern thee, lest
thou hear that which will not please thee:--and he said, Bear witness to
my promise that I will not speak of that which doth not concern me.



The cateress then rose, and prepared for them a repast; and, after they
had eaten a little, they lighted the candles and burnt some aloes-wood.
This done, they sat down again to the table; and, while they were eating
and drinking, they heard a knocking at the door; whereupon, without
causing any interruption to their meal, one of them went to the door,
and, on her return, said, Our pleasure this night is now complete, for I
have found, at the door, three foreigners with shaven
chins, and each of them is blind of the left eye: it is an extraordinary
coincidence. They are strangers newly arrived, and each of
them has a ridiculous appearance: if they come in, therefore, we shall
be amused with laughing at them.--The lady ceased not with these words,
but continued to persuade her sisters until they consented, and said,
Let them enter; but make it a condition with them that they speak not of
that which doth not concern them, lest they hear that which will not
please them. Upon this she rejoiced, and, having gone again to the door,
brought in the three men blind of one eye and with shaven chins, and
they had thin and twisted mustaches. Being mendicants, they saluted and
drew back; but the ladies rose to them, and seated them; and when these
three men looked at the porter, they saw that he was intoxicated; and,
observing him narrowly, they thought that he was one of their own class,
and said, He is a mendicant like ourselves, and will amuse us by his
conversation:--but the porter, hearing what they said, arose, and rolled
his eyes, and exclaimed to them, Sit quiet, and abstain from impertinent
remarks. Have ye not read the inscription upon the door?--The ladies,
laughing, said to each other, Between the mendicants and the porter we
shall find matter for amusement. They then placed before the former some
food, and they ate, and then sat to drink. The portress handed to them
the wine, and, as the cup was circulating among them, the porter said to
them, Brothers, have ye any tale or strange anecdote wherewith to amuse
us? The mendicants, heated by the wine, asked for musical instruments;
and the portress brought them a tambourine of the manufacture of
El-Moil, with a lute of El-'Era, and a Persian harp;
whereupon they all arose; and one took the tambourine; another, the
lute; and the third, the harp: and they played upon these instruments,
the ladies accompanying them with loud songs; and while they were thus
diverting themselves, a person knocked at the door. The portress,
therefore, went to see who was there; and the cause of the knocking was
this.



The Khaleefeh Haroon Er-Rasheed had gone forth this night to see
and hear what news he could collect, accompanied by Jaafar his
Wezeer, and Mesroor his executioner. It was his custom to
disguise himself in the attire of a merchant; and this night, as he went
through the city, he happened to pass, with his attendants, by the house
of these ladies, and hearing the sounds of the musical instruments, he
said to Jaafar, I have a desire to enter this house, and to see who is
giving this concert.--They are a party who have become intoxicated,
replied Jaafar, and I fear that we may experience some ill usage from
them;--but the Khaleefeh said, We must enter, and I would that thou
devise some stratagem by which we may obtain admission to the inmates.
Jaafar therefore answered, I hear and obey:--and he advanced, and
knocked at the door; and when the portress came and opened the door, he
said to her, My mistress, we are merchants from Tabareeyeh, and
have been in Baghdad ten days; we have brought with us merchandise, and
taken lodgings in a Khan; and a merchant invited us to an
entertainment this night: accordingly, we went to his house, and he
placed food before us, and we ate, and sat awhile drinking together,
after which he gave us leave to depart; and going out in the
dark, and being strangers, we missed our way to the Khan: we trust,
therefore, in your generosity that you will admit us to pass the night
in your house; by doing which you will obtain a reward in heaven.--The
portress, looking at them, and observing that they were in the garb of
merchants, and that they bore an appearance of respectability, returned,
and consulted her two companions; and they said to her, Admit them:--so
she returned, and opened to them the door. They said to her, Shall we
enter with thy permission? She answered, Come in. The Khaleefeh,
therefore, entered, with Jaafar and Mesroor; and when the ladies saw
them, they rose to them, and served them, saying, Welcome are our
guests; but we have a condition to impose upon you, that ye speak not of
that which doth not concern you, lest ye hear that which will not please
you. They answered, Good:--and when they had sat down to drink, the
Khaleefeh looked at the three mendicants, and was surprised at observing
that each of them was blind of the left eye; and he gazed upon the
ladies, and was perplexed and amazed at their fairness and beauty. And
when the others proceeded to drink and converse, the ladies brought wine
to the Khaleefeh; but he said, I am a pilgrim;--and drew back
from them. Whereupon the portress spread before him an embroidered
cloth, and placed upon it a China bottle, into which she poured some
willow-flower-water, adding to it a lump of ice, and sweetening it with
sugar, while the Khaleefeh thanked her, and said within himself,
To-morrow I must reward her for this kind action.

The party continued their carousal, and, when the wine took effect upon
them, the mistress of the house arose, and waited upon them; and
afterwards, taking the hand of the cateress, said, Arise, O my sister,
that we may fulfil our debt. She replied, Good. The portress then rose,
and, after she had cleared the middle of the saloon, placed the
mendicants at the further end, beyond the doors; after which, the ladies
called to the porter, saying, How slight is thy friendship! thou art not
a stranger, but one of the family. So the porter arose, and girded
himself, and said, What would ye?--to which one of the ladies answered,
Stand where thou art:--and presently the cateress said to him, Assist
me:--and he saw two black bitches, with chains attached to their necks,
and drew them to the middle of the saloon; whereupon the mistress of the
house arose from her place, and tucked up her sleeve above her wrist,
and, taking a whip, said to the porter, Bring to me one of them.
Accordingly, he dragged one forward by the chain. The bitch whined, and
shook her head at the lady; but the latter fell to beating her upon the
head, notwithstanding her howling, until her arms were tired, when she
threw the whip from her hand, and pressed the bitch to her bosom, and
wiped away her tears, and kissed her head; after which she said to the
porter, Take her back, and bring the other;--and he brought her, and she
did to her as she had done to the first. At the sight of this, the mind
of the Khaleefeh was troubled, and his heart was contracted, and he
winked to Jaafar that he should ask her the reason; but he replied by a
sign, Speak not.



The mistress of the house then looked towards the portress, and said to
her, Arise to perform what thou hast to do. She replied, Good:--and the
mistress of the house seated herself upon a couch of alabaster, overlaid
with gold and silver, and said to the portress and the cateress, Now
perform your parts. The portress then seated herself upon a couch by
her; and the cateress, having entered a closet, brought out from it a
bag of satin with green fringes, and, placing herself before the lady of
the house, shook it, and took out from it a lute; and she tuned its
strings, and sang to it these verses:--

  Restore to my eyelids the sleep which hath been ravished;
    and inform me of my reason, whither it hath fled.
  I discovered, when I took up my abode with love, that slumber had
    become an enemy to my eyes.
  They said, We saw thee to be one of the upright; what, then, hath
    seduced thee? I answered, Seek the cause from his glance.
  Verily I excuse him for the shedding of my blood, admitting that
    I urged him to the deed by vexation.
  He cast his sun-like image upon the mirror of my mind, and its
    reflection kindled a flame in my vitals.

When the portress had heard this song, she exclaimed, Allah
approve thee!--and she rent her clothes, and fell upon the floor in a
swoon; and when her bosom was thus uncovered, the Khaleefeh saw upon her
the marks of beating, as if from mira'ahs and whips; at
which he was greatly surprised. The cateress immediately
arose, sprinkled water upon her face, and brought her another dress,
which she put on. The Khaleefeh then said to Jaafar, Seest thou not this
woman, and the marks of beating upon her? I cannot keep silence
respecting this affair, nor be at rest, until I know the truth of the
history of this damsel, and that of these two bitches. But Jaafar
replied, O our lord, they have made a covenant with us that we shall not
speak excepting of that which concerneth us, lest we hear that which
will not please us.--The cateress then took the lute again, and, placing
it against her bosom, touched the chords with the ends of her fingers,
and thus sang to it:--



  If of love we complain, what shall we say? Or consuming through desire,
    how can we escape?
  Or if we send a messenger to interpret for us, he cannot convey
    the lover's complaint.
  Or if we would be patient, short were our existence after the loss
    of those we love.
  Nought remaineth to us but grief and mourning, and tears streaming
    down our cheeks.
  O you who are absent from my sight, but constantly dwelling within
    my heart!
  Have you kept your faith to an impassioned lover, who, while time
    endureth, will never change?
  Or, in absence, have you forgotten that lover who, on your account,
    is wasting away?
  When the day of judgment shall bring us together, I will beg of
    our Lord a protractive trial.

On hearing these verses of the cateress, the portress again rent her
clothes, and cried out, and fell upon the floor in a swoon; and the
cateress, as before, put on her another dress, after she had sprinkled
some water upon her face.

The mendicants, when they witnessed this scene, said, Would that we had
never entered this house, but rather had passed the night upon the
mounds; for our night hath been rendered foul by an event
that breaketh the back! The Khaleefeh, looking towards them, then said,
Wherefore is it so with you? They answered, Our hearts are troubled by
this occurrence.--Are ye not, he asked, of this house?--No, they
answered; nor did we imagine that this house belonged to any but the man
who is sitting with you:--upon which the porter said, Verily, I have
never seen this place before this night; and I would that I had passed
the night upon the mounds rather than here. They then observed, one to
another, We are seven men, and they are but three women; we will,
therefore, ask them of their history; and if they answer us not
willingly they shall do it in spite of themselves:--and they all agreed
to this, excepting Jaafar, who said, This is not a right determination;
leave them to themselves, for we are their guests, and they made a
covenant with us which we should fulfil: there remaineth but little of
the night, and each of us shall soon go his way. Then, winking to the
Khaleefeh, he said, There remaineth but an hour; and to-morrow we will
bring them before thee, and thou shalt ask them their story. But the
Khaleefeh refused to do so, and said, I have not patience to wait so
long for their history.--Words followed words, and at last they said,
Who shall put the question to them?--and one answered, The porter.



The ladies then said to them, O people, of what are ye talking?--whereupon
the porter approached the mistress of the house, and said to her, O my
mistress, I ask thee, and conjure thee by Allah, to tell us the story of
the two bitches, and for what reason thou didst beat them, and then
didst weep, and kiss them, and that thou acquaint us with the cause of
thy sister's having been beaten with mira'ahs: that is our question,
and peace be on you.--Is this true that he saith of you? inquired the
lady, of the other men; and they all answered, Yes,--excepting Jaafar,
who was silent. When the lady heard their answer, she said, Verily, O
our guests, ye have wronged us excessively; for we made a covenant with
you beforehand, that he who should speak of that which concerned him not
should hear that which would not please him. Is it not enough that we
have admitted you into our house, and fed you with our provisions? But
it is not so much your fault as the fault of her who introduced you to
us.--She then tucked up her sleeve above her wrist, and struck the floor
three times, saying, Come ye quickly!--and immediately the door of a
closet opened, and there came forth from it seven black slaves, each
having in his hand a drawn sword. The lady said to them, Tie behind them
the hands of these men of many words, and bind each of them to
another:--and they did so, and said, O virtuous lady, dost thou permit
us to strike off their heads? She answered, Give them a short respite,
until I shall have inquired of them their histories, before ye behead
them.--By Allah, O my mistress, exclaimed the porter, kill me not for
the offence of others: for they have all transgressed and committed an
offence, excepting me. Verily our night had been pleasant if we had been
preserved from these mendicants, whose presence is enough to convert a
well-peopled city into a heap of ruins!--He then repeated this
couplet:--

  How good is it to pardon one able to resist! and how much more so,
    one who is helpless!
  For the sake of the friendship that subsisted between us, destroy
    not one for the crime of another!

On hearing these words of the porter, the lady laughed after her anger.
Then approaching the men, she said, Acquaint me with your histories, for
there remaineth of your lives no more than an hour. Were ye not persons
of honourable and high condition, or governors, I would
hasten your recompense.--The Khaleefeh said to Jaafar, Wo to thee, O
Jaafar! make known to her who we are; otherwise she will kill us.--It
were what we deserve, replied he.--Jesting, said the Khaleefeh, is not
befitting in a time for seriousness: each has its proper occasion.--The
lady then approached the mendicants, and said to them, Are ye brothers?
They answered, No, indeed; we are only poor foreigners. She
said then to one of them, Wast thou born blind of one eye?--No, verily,
he answered; but a wonderful event happened to me when my eye was
destroyed, and the story of it, if engraved on the understanding, would
serve as a lesson to him who would be admonished. She asked the second
and the third also; and they answered her as the first; adding, Each of
us is from a different country, and our history is wonderful and
extraordinary. The lady then looked towards them and said, Each of you
shall relate his story, and the cause of his coming to our abode, and
then stroke his head, and go his way.

The first who advanced was the porter, who said, O my mistress, I am a
porter; and this cateress loaded me, and brought me hither, and what
hath happened to me here in your company ye know. This is my story; and
peace be on you.--Stroke thy head, then, said she, and go:--but he
replied, By Allah, I will not go until I shall have heard the story of
my companions.--The first mendicant then advanced, and related as
follows:--


THE STORY OF THE FIRST ROYAL MENDICANT.

Know, O my mistress, that the cause of my having shaved my beard, and of
the loss of my eye was this:--My father was a King, and he had a brother
who was also a King, and who resided in another capital. It happened
that my mother gave birth to me on the same day on which the son of my
uncle was born; and years and days passed away until we attained to
manhood. Now, it was my custom, some years, to visit my uncle, and to
remain with him several months; and on one of these occasions my cousin
paid me great honour; he slaughtered sheep for me, and strained the wine
for me, and we sat down to drink; and when the wine had affected us, he
said to me, O son of my uncle, I have need of thine assistance in an
affair of interest to me, and I beg that thou wilt not oppose me in that
which I desire to do. I replied, I am altogether at thy service:--and he
made me swear to him by great oaths, and, rising immediately, absented
himself for a little while, and then returned, followed by a woman
decked with ornaments, and perfumed, and wearing a dress of
extraordinary value. He looked towards me, while the woman stood behind
him, and said, Take this woman, and go before me to the burial-ground
which is in such a place:--and he described it to me, and I knew it. He
then added, Enter the burial-ground, and there wait for me.

I could not oppose him, nor refuse to comply with his request, on
account of the oaths which I had sworn to him; so I took the woman, and
went with her to the burial-ground; and when we had sat there a short
time, my cousin came, bearing a basin of water, and a bag containing
some plaster, and a small adze. Going to a tomb in the midst of the
burial-ground, he took the adze, and disunited the stones, which he
placed on one side; he then dug up the earth with the adze, and
uncovered a flat stone, of the size of a small door, under which there
appeared a vaulted staircase. Having done this he made a sign to the
woman, and said to her, Do according to thy choice:--whereupon she
descended the stairs. He then looked towards me, and said, O son of my
uncle, complete thy kindness when I have descended into this place, by
replacing the trap-door and the earth above it as they were before:
then, this plaster which is in the bag, and this water which is in the
basin, do thou knead together, and plaster the stones of the tomb as
they were, so that no man may know it, and say, This hath been lately
opened, but its interior is old:--for, during the space of a whole year
I have been preparing this, and no one knew it but God: this is what I
would have thee do. He then said to me, May God never deprive thy
friends of thy presence, O son of my uncle!--and, having uttered these
words, he descended the stairs.



When he had disappeared from before my eyes, I replaced the trap-door,
and busied myself with doing as he had ordered me, until the tomb was
restored to the state in which it was at first; after which I returned
to the palace of my uncle, who was then absent on a hunting excursion. I
slept that night, and when the morning came, I reflected upon what had
occurred between me and my cousin, and repented of what I had done for
him, when repentance was of no avail. I then went out to the
burial-ground, and searched for the tomb; but could not discover it. I
ceased not in my search until the approach of night; and, not finding
the way to it, returned again to the palace; and I neither ate nor
drank: my heart was troubled respecting my cousin, since I knew not what
had become of him; and I fell into excessive grief. I passed the night
sorrowful until the morning, and went again to the burial-ground,
reflecting upon the action of my cousin, and repenting of my compliance
with his request; and I searched among all the tombs; but discovered not
that for which I looked. Thus I persevered in my search seven days
without success.

My trouble continued and increased until I was almost mad; and I found
no relief but in departing, and returning to my father; but on my
arrival at his capital, a party at the city-gate sprang upon me and
bound me. I was struck with the utmost astonishment, considering that I
was the son of the Sulan of the city, and that these were the servants
of my father and of myself: excessive fear of them overcame me, and I
said within myself, What hath happened to my father? I asked, of those
who had bound me, the cause of this conduct; but they returned me no
answer, till after a while, when one of them, who had been my servant,
said to me, Fortune hath betrayed thy father, the troops have been false
to him, and the Wezeer hath killed him; and we were lying in wait to
take thee.--They took me, and I was as one dead, by reason of this news
which I had heard respecting my father; and I stood before the Wezeer
who had killed my father.

Now, there was an old enmity subsisting between me and him; and the
cause of it was this:--I was fond of shooting with the cross-bow; and it
happened, one day, that as I was standing on the roof of my palace, a
bird alighted on the roof of the palace of the Wezeer, who was standing
there at the time, and I aimed at the bird; but the bullet missed it,
and struck the eye of the Wezeer, and knocked it out, in accordance with
the appointment of fate and destiny, as the poet hath said:--

  We trod the steps appointed for us: and the man whose steps are
    appointed must tread them.
  He whose death is decreed to take place in one land will not die
    in any land but that.

When I had thus put out the eye of the Wezeer, he could say nothing,
because my father was King of the city. This was the cause of the enmity
between him and me: and when I stood before him, with my hands bound
behind me, he gave the order to strike off my head. I said to him,
Wouldst thou kill me for no offence?--What offence, he exclaimed, could
be greater than this?--and he pointed to the place of the eye which was
put out. I did that, said I, unintentionally. He replied, If thou didst
it unintentionally, I will do the same to thee purposely:--and
immediately he said, Bring him forward to me:--and, when they had done
so, he thrust his finger into my left eye, and pulled it out. Thus I
became deprived of one eye, as ye see me. He then bound me firmly, and
placed me in a chest, and said to the executioner, Take this fellow, and
draw thy sword, and convey him without the city; then put him to death,
and let the wild beasts devour him.

Accordingly, he went forth with me from the city, and, having taken me
out from the chest, bound hand and foot, was about to bandage my eye,
and kill me; whereupon I wept, and exclaimed,--

  How many brothers have I taken as armour! and such they were;
    but to guard my enemies.
  I thought they would be as piercing arrows: and such they were;
    but to enter my heart!

The executioner, who had served my father in the same capacity, and to
whom I had shewn kindnesses, said, on hearing these verses, O my master,
what can I do, being a slave under command?--but presently he added,
Depart with thy life, and return not to this country, lest thou perish,
and cause me to perish with thee. The poet saith,--

  Flee with thy life if thou fearest oppression, and leave the house
    to tell its builder's fate.
  Thou wilt find, for the land that thou quittest, another: but no soul
    wilt thou find to replace thine own.

As soon as he had thus said, I kissed his hands, and believed not in my
safety until I had fled from his presence. The loss of my eye appeared
light to me when I considered my escape from death; and I journeyed to
my uncle's capital, and, presenting myself before him, informed him of
what had befallen my father, and of the manner in which I had lost my
eye: upon which he wept bitterly, and said, Thou hast added to my
trouble and my grief; for thy cousin hath been lost for some days, and I
know not what hath happened to him, nor can any one give me information
respecting him. Then he wept again, until he became insensible; and when
he recovered, he said, O my son, the loss of thine eye is better than
the loss of thy life.

Upon this I could no longer keep silence respecting his son, my cousin;
so I informed him of all that happened to him; and on hearing this news
he rejoiced exceedingly, and said, Shew me the tomb.--By Allah, O my
uncle, I replied, I know not where it is; for I went afterwards several
times to search for it, and could not recognise its place. We, however,
went together to the burial-ground, and, looking to the right and left,
I discovered it; and both I and my uncle rejoiced. I then entered the
tomb with him, and when we had removed the earth, and lifted up the
trap-door, we descended fifty steps, and, arriving at the bottom of the
stairs, there issued forth upon us a smoke which blinded our eyes;
whereupon my uncle pronounced those words which relieve from fear him
who uttereth them,--There is no strength nor power but in God, the High,
the Great!--After this, we proceeded, and found ourselves in a saloon,
filled with flour and grain, and various eatables; and we saw there a
curtain suspended over a couch, upon which my uncle looked, and found
there his son and the woman who had descended with him, lying side by
side, and converted into black charcoal, as if they had been thrown into
a pit of fire. And when he beheld this spectacle, he spat in his son's
face, and exclaimed, This is what thou deservest, O thou wretch! This is
the punishment of the present world, and there remaineth the punishment
of the other world, which will be more severe and lasting!--and he
struck him with his shoes. Astonished at this action, and grieved for my
cousin, seeing him and the damsel thus converted into charcoal, I said,
By Allah, O my uncle, moderate the trouble of thy heart, for my mind is
perplexed by that which hath happened to thy son, and by thinking how it
hath come to pass that he and the damsel are converted into black
charcoal. Dost thou not deem it enough for him to be in this state, that
thou beatest him with thy shoes?

O son of my brother, he replied, this my son was, from his early years,
inflamed with love for his foster-sister, and I used to
forbid him from entertaining this passion for her, and to say within
myself, They are now children, but when they grow older a base act will
be committed by them:--and, indeed, I heard that such had been the case,
but I believed it not. I, however, reprimanded him severely, and said to
him, Beware of so foul an action, which none before thee hath committed,
nor will any commit after thee: otherwise we shall suffer disgrace and
disparagement among the Kings until we die, and our history will spread
abroad with the caravans: have a care for thyself that such an action
proceed not from thee; for I should be incensed against thee, and kill
thee. I then separated him from her, and her from him: but the vile
woman loved him excessively; the Devil got possession of them both; and
when my son saw that I had separated him, he secretly made this place
beneath the earth, and, having conveyed hither the provisions which
thou seest, took advantage of my inadvertence when I had gone out to
hunt, and came hither: but the Truth (whose perfection be
extolled, and whose name be exalted!) was jealously vigilant over them,
and consumed them by fire; and the punishment of the world to come will
be more severe and lasting.--He then wept, and I wept with him; and he
said to me, Thou art my son in his stead.--I remained a while reflecting
upon the world and its vicissitudes, upon the murder of my father by the
Wezeer, and his usurping his throne, and the loss of my eye, and the
strange events which had happened to my cousin, and I wept again.

We then ascended, and, having replaced the trap-door and the earth above
it, and restored the tomb to its former state, returned to our abode;
but scarcely had we seated ourselves when we heard the sounds of drums
and trumpets, warriours galloped about, and the air was filled with dust
raised by the horses' hoofs. Our minds were perplexed, not knowing what
had happened, and the King, asking the news, was answered, The Wezeer of
thy brother hath slain him and his soldiers and guards, and come with
his army to assault the city unawares; and the inhabitants, being unable
to withstand, have submitted to him:--whereupon I said within myself, If
I fall into his hand, he will slay me.--Griefs overwhelmed me, and I
thought of the calamities which had befallen my father and my mother,
and knew not what to do; for if I appeared, the people of the city would
know me, and the troops of my father would hasten to kill and destroy
me. I knew no way of escape but to shave off my beard: so I
shaved it, and, having changed my clothes, departed from the city, and
came hither, to this abode of peace, in the hope that some person would
introduce me to the Prince of the Faithful, the Khaleefeh of the Lord of
all creatures, that I might relate to him my story, and all that had
befallen me. I arrived in this city this night; and as I stood
perplexed, not knowing whither to direct my steps, I saw this mendicant,
and saluted him, and said, I am a stranger. He replied, And I, too, am a
stranger:--and while we were thus addressing each other, our companion,
this third person, came up to us, and saluting us, said, I am a
stranger. We replied, And we, also, are strangers. So we walked on
together, and darkness overtook us, and destiny directed us unto your
abode.--This was the cause of the shaving of my beard, and of the loss
of my eye.

The lady then said to him, Stroke my head, and depart:--but he replied,
I will not depart until I have heard the stories of the others. And
they wondered at his tale; and the Khaleefeh said to Jaafar, Verily I
have never known the like of that which hath happened to this mendicant.



The second mendicant then advanced, and, having kissed the ground,
said,--


THE STORY OF THE SECOND ROYAL MENDICANT.

O my mistress, I was not born with only one eye; but my story is
wonderful, and, if written, would serve as a lesson to him who would be
admonished. I am a King, and son of a King: I read the uran according
to the seven readings, and perused various works under the
tuition of different learned professors of their subjects: I studied the
science of the stars, and the writings of the poets, and
made myself a proficient in all the sciences; so that I surpassed the
people of my age. My hand-writing was extolled among all
the scribes, my fame spread among all countries, and my history among
all Kings; and the King of India, hearing of me, requested my father to
allow me to visit him, sending him various gifts and curious presents,
such as were suitable to Kings. My father, therefore, prepared for me
six ships, and we proceeded by sea for the space of a whole month, after
which we came to land; and, having disembarked some horses which we had
with us in the ship, we loaded ten camels with presents, and commenced
our journey; but soon there appeared a cloud of dust, which rose and
spread until it filled the air before us, and, after a while, cleared a
little, and discovered to us, in the midst of it, sixty horseman like
fierce lions whom we perceived to be Arab highwaymen; and when they saw
us, that we were a small company with ten loads of presents for the King
of India, they galloped towards us, pointing their spears at us. We made
signs to them with our fingers, and said, We are ambassadors to the
honoured King of India; therefore do us no injury:--but they replied, We
are not in his territories, nor under his government. They slew certain
of the young men, and the rest fled. I also fled, after I had received a
severe wound; the Arabs being employed, without further regard to us, in
taking possession of the treasure and presents which we had with us.



I proceeded without knowing whither to direct my course, reduced from a
mighty to an abject state, and journeyed till I arrived at the summit of
a mountain, where I took shelter in a cavern until the next morning. I
then resumed my journey, and arrived at a flourishing city: the winter,
with its cold, had passed away, and the spring had come, with its
flowers; and I rejoiced at my arrival there, being wearied with my
journey, anxious and pallid. My condition being thus changed, I knew not
whither to bend my steps; and, turning to a tailor sitting in his shop,
I saluted him, and he returned my salutation, and welcomed me, and
wished me joy, asking me the reason of my having come thither. I
acquainted him, therefore, with what had befallen me from first to last,
and he was grieved for me, and said, O young man, reveal not thy case,
for I fear what the King of this city might do to thee, since he is the
greatest of thy father's enemies, and hath a debt of blood against him.
He then placed some food and drink before me, and we ate together, and I
conversed with him till night, when he lodged me in a place by his shop,
and brought me a bed and coverlet; and, after I had remained with him
three days, he said to me, Dost thou not know any trade by which to make
gain? I answered, I am acquainted with the law, a student
of sciences, a writer, and an arithmetician.--Thy occupation, he said,
is profitless in our country: there is no one in our city acquainted
with science or writing, but only with getting money. Verily, I replied,
I know nothing but what I have told thee.--Gird thyself, then, said he,
and take an axe and a rope, and cut firewood in the desert, and so
obtain thy subsistence until God dispel thy affliction; but acquaint no
one with thy history, else they will kill thee. He then bought for me an
axe and a rope, and sent me with a party of wood-cutters, giving them a
charge respecting me. Accordingly, I went forth with them, and, cut some
wood, and brought back a load upon my head, and sold it for half a
piece of gold, part of which I expended in food, laying by the
remainder.





Thus I continued for the space of a year, after which I went one day
into the desert, according to my custom, to cut firewood; and, finding
there a tract with abundance of wood, I entered it, and came to a tree,
around which I dug; and as I was removing the earth from its roots, the
axe struck against a ring of brass; and I cleared away the earth from
it, and found that it was affixed to a trap-door of wood, which I
immediately removed. Beneath it appeared a staircase, which I descended;
and at the bottom of this I entered a door, and beheld a palace,
strongly constructed, where I found a lady, like a pearl of high price,
whose aspect banished from the heart all anxiety and grief and
affliction. At the sight of her I prostrated myself in adoration of her
Creator for the fairness and beauty which He had displayed in her
person; and she, looking towards me, said, Art thou a man or a Jinnee? I
answered her, I am a man.--And who, she asked, hath brought thee to this
place, in which I have lived five and twenty years without ever seeing a
human being?--Her words sounded sweetly to me, and I answered her, O my
mistress, God hath brought me to thy abode, and I hope will put an end
to my anxiety and grief:--and I related to her my story from beginning
to end. She was grieved at my case, and wept, and said, I also will
acquaint thee with my story. Know that I am the daughter of the King of
the further parts of India, the lord of the Ebony Island. My father had
married me to the son of my uncle; but on the night of my bridal
festivities, an 'Efreet namad Jarjarees, the son of Rejmoos, the son of
Iblees, carried me off, and, soaring with me through the air, alighted
in this place, to which he conveyed all things necessary for me, such as
ornaments, and garments, and linen, and furniture, and food, and drink;
and once in every ten days he cometh to me, and spendeth a night
here; and he hath appointed with me, that, in case of my
wanting any thing by night or day, I should touch with my hand these
two lines which are inscribed upon the ubbeh, and as soon
as I remove my hand I see him before me. Four days have now passed since
he was last with me, and there remain, therefore, six days before he
will come again; wilt thou then remain with me five days, and depart one
day before his visit?--I answered, Yes; rejoicing at the proposal; and
she arose, and taking me by the hand, conducted me through an arched
door to a small and elegant bath, where I took off my clothes, while she
seated herself upon a mattress. After this, she seated me by her side,
and brought me some sherbet of sugar infused with musk, and
handed it to me to drink: she then placed some food before me, and after
we had eaten and conversed together, she said to me, Sleep, and rest
thyself; for thou art fatigued.

I slept, O my mistress, and forgot all that had befallen me; and when I
awoke, I found her rubbing my feet; upon which I called to
her, and we sat down again and conversed a while; and she said to me, By
Allah, I was straitened in my heart, living here alone, without any
person to talk with me, five and twenty years. Praise be to God who hath
sent thee to me.--I thanked her for her kind expressions; and love of
her took possession of my heart, and my anxiety and grief fled away. We
then sat down to drink together; and I remained by her side all the
night, delighted with her company, for I had never seen her like in my
whole life; and in the morning, when we were both full of joy, I said to
her, Shall I take thee up from this subterranean place, and release thee
from the Jinnee? But she laughed, and replied, Be content, and hold thy
peace; for, of every ten days, one day shall be for the 'Efreet, and
nine for thee. I persisted, however, being overcome with passion: and
said, I will this instant demolish this ubbeh upon which the
inscription is engraved, and let the 'Efreet come, that I may slay him:
for I am predestined to kill 'Efreets. She entreated me to refrain; but,
paying no attention to her words, I kicked the ubbeh with violence;
upon which she exclaimed, The 'Efreet hath arrived! Did I not caution
thee against this? Verily thou hast brought a calamity upon me; but save
thyself, and ascend by the way that thou camest.

In the excess of my fear I forgot my sandals and my axe, and when I had
ascended two steps, turning round to look for them, I saw that the
ground had opened, and there rose from it an 'Efreet of hideous aspect,
who said, Wherefore is this disturbance with which thou hast alarmed me,
and what misfortune hath befallen thee? She answered, No misfortune
hath happened to me, excepting that my heart was contracted, and I
desired to drink some wine to dilate it, and, rising to perform my
purpose, I fell against the ubbeh.--Thou liest, vile woman, he
exclaimed;--and, looking about the palace to the right and left, he saw
the sandals and axe; and said to her, These are the property of none but
a man. Who hath visited thee?--I have not seen them, she answered, until
this instant: probably they caught to thee.--This language, said he, is
absurd, and will have no effect upon me, thou shameless woman!--and, so
saying, he stripped her of her clothing, and tied her down, with her
arms and legs extended, to four stakes, and began to beat her, urging
her to confess what had happened.



For myself, being unable to endure her cries, I ascended the stairs,
overpowered by fear, and, arriving at the top, replaced the trap-door as
it was at first, and covered it over with earth. I repented bitterly of
what I had done, and reflecting upon the lady and her beauty, and how
this wretch was torturing her after she had lived with him five and
twenty years, and that he tortured her only on my account, and
reflecting also upon my father and his kingdom, and how I had been
reduced to the condition of a wood-cutter, I repeated this verse:--

  When fortune bringeth thee affliction, console thyself by remembering
    that one day thou must see prosperity, and another day, difficulty.



Returning to my companion, the tailor, I found him awaiting my return as
if he were placed in a pan upon burning coals. I past last night, said
he, with anxious heart on thy account, fearing for thee from some wild
beast or other calamity. Praise be to God for thy safe return.--I
thanked him for his tender concern for me, and entered my apartment; and
as I sat meditating upon that which had befallen me, and blaming myself
for having kicked the ubbeh, my friend the tailor came in to me, and
said, In the shop is a foreigner, who asks for thee, and he has thy axe
and sandals; he came with them to the wood-cutters, and
said to them, I went out at the time of the call of the Mueddin to
morning-prayer, and stumbled upon these, and know not to whom they
belong: can ye guide me to their owner?--The wood-cutters, therefore,
directed him to thee: he is sitting in my shop; so go out to him and
thank him, and take thy axe and thy sandals.--On hearing these words, my
countenance turned pale, and my whole state became changed; and while I
was in this condition, the floor of my chamber clove asunder, and there
rose from it the stranger, and lo, he was the 'Efreet; he had tortured
the lady with the utmost cruelty; but she would confess nothing: so he
took the axe and the sandals, and said to her, If I am Jarjarees, of the
descendants of Iblees, I will bring the owner of this axe and these
sandals. Accordingly, he came, with the pretence before mentioned, to
the wood-cutters, and, having entered my chamber, without granting me
any delay, seized me, and soared with me through the air: he then
descended, and dived into the earth, and brought me up into the palace
where I was before.

Here I beheld the lady stripped of her clothing, and with blood flowing
from her sides; and tears trickled from my eyes. The 'Efreet then took
hold of her, and said, Vile woman, this is thy lover:--whereupon she
looked at me, and replied, I know him not, nor have I ever seen him
until this instant. The 'Efreet said to her, With all this torture wilt
thou not confess? She answered, Never in my life have I seen him before,
and it is not lawful in the sight of God that I should speak falsely
against him.--Then, said he, if thou know him not, take
this sword and strike off his head. She took the sword, and came to me,
and stood over my head: but I made a sign to her with my eyebrow, while
tears ran down my cheeks. She replied in a similar manner, Thou art he
who hath done all this to me:--I made a sign to her, however, that this
was a time for pardon, conveying my meaning in the manner thus described
by the poet:--

  Our signal in love is the glance of our eyes; and every intelligent
    person understandeth the sign.
  Our eyebrows carry on an intercourse between us: we are silent;
    but love speaketh.

And when she understood me, she threw the sword from her hand, O my
mistress, and the 'Efreet handed it to me, saying, Strike off her head,
and I will liberate thee, and do thee no harm. I replied, Good:--and,
quickly approaching her, raised my hand; but she made a sign as though
she would say, I did no injury to thee:--whereupon my eyes poured with
tears, and, throwing down the sword, I said, O mighty 'Efreet, and
valiant hero, if a woman, deficient in sense and religion,
seeth it not lawful to strike off my head, how is it lawful for me to do
so to her, and especially when I have never seen her before in my life?
I will never do it, though I should drink the cup of death and
destruction.--There is affection between you, said the 'Efreet, and,
taking the sword, he struck off one of the hands of the lady; then, the
other; after this, her right foot; and then, her left foot: thus with
four blows he cut off her four extremities, while I looked on,
expecting my own death. She then made a sign to me with her eye; and the
'Efreet, observing her, exclaimed, Now thou hast been guilty of
incontinence with thine eye!--and, with a blow of his sword, struck off
her head; after which, he turned towards me, and said, O man, it is
allowed us by our law, if a wife be guilty of incontinence, to put her
to death. This woman I carried off on her wedding-night, when she was
twelve years of age, and she was acquainted with no man but me; and I
used to pass one night with her in the course of every ten days in the
garb of a foreigner; and when I discovered of a certainty that she had
been unfaithful to me, I killed her: but as for thee, I am not convinced
that thou hast wronged me with respect to her; yet I must not leave thee
unpunished: choose, therefore, what injury I shall do to thee.



Upon this, O my mistress, I rejoiced exceedingly, and, eager to obtain
his pardon, I said to him, What shall I choose from thy hands?--Choose,
he answered, into what form I shall change thee; either the form of a
dog, or that of an ass, or that of an ape. I replied, in my desire of
forgiveness, Verily, if thou wilt pardon me, God will pardon thee in
recompense for thy shewing mercy to a Muslim who hath done thee no
injury:--and I humbled myself in the most abject manner, and said to
him, Pardon me as the envied man did the envier.--And how was that? said
he. I answered as follows:--


THE STORY OF THE ENVIER AND THE ENVIED.

Know, O my master, that there was a certain man who had a neighbour that
envied him; and the more this person envied him, so much the more did
God increase the prosperity of the former. Thus it continued a long
time; but when the envied man found that his neighbour persisted in
troubling him, he removed to a place where there was a deserted well;
and there he built for himself an oratory, and occupied himself in the
worship of God. Numerous Faeers assembled around him, and
he acquired great esteem, people repairing to him from every quarter,
placing firm reliance upon his sanctity; and his fame reached the ears
of his envious neighbour, who mounted his horse, and went to visit him;
and when the envied man saw him, he saluted him, and payed him the
utmost civility. The envier then said to him, I have come hither to
inform thee of a matter in which thou wilt find advantage, and for which
I shall obtain a recompense in heaven. The envied man replied, May God
requite thee for me with every blessing. Then, said the envier, order
the Faeers to retire to their cells, for the information that I am
about to give thee I would have no one overhear. So he ordered them to
enter their cells; and the envier said to him, Arise, and let us walk
together, and converse; and they walked on until they came to the
deserted well before mentioned, when the envier pushed the envied man
into this well, without the knowledge of any one, and went his way,
imagining that he had killed him.

But this well was inhabited by Jinn, who received him unhurt, and seated
him upon a large stone; and when they had done this, one of them said to
the others, Do ye know this man? They answered, We know him not.--This,
said he, is the envied man who fled from him who envied him, and took up
his abode in this quarter, in the neighbouring oratory, and who
entertaineth us by his zikr and his readings; and when his
envier heard of him, he came hither to him, and, devising a stratagem
against him, threw him down here. His fame hath this night reached the
Sulan of this city, who hath purposed to visit him to-morrow, on
account of the affliction which hath befallen his daughter.--And what,
said they, hath happened to his daughter? He answered, Madness; for
Meymoon, the son of Demdem, hath become inflamed with love for her; and
her cure is the easiest of things. They asked him, What is it?--and he
answered, The black cat that is with him in the oratory hath at the end
of her tail a white spot, of the size of a piece of silver; and from
this white spot should be taken seven hairs, and with these the damsel
should be fumigated, and the Marid would depart from over her head, and
not return to her; so she would be instantly cured. And now it is our
duty to take him out.



When the morning came, the Faeers saw the Sheykh rising out of the
well; and he became magnified in their eyes. And when he entered the
oratory, he took from the white spot at the end of the cat's tail seven
hairs, and placed them in a portfolio by him; and at sunrise the King
came to him, and when the Sheykh saw him, he said to him, O King, thou
hast come to visit me in order that I may cure thy daughter. The King
replied. Yes, O virtuous Sheykh.--Then, said the Sheykh, send some
person to bring her hither; and I trust in God, whose name be exalted,
that she may be instantly cured. And when the King had brought his
daughter, the Sheykh beheld her bound, and, seating her, suspended a
curtain over her, and took out the hairs, and fumigated her with them;
whereupon the Marid cried out from over her head, and left her; and the
damsel immediately recovered her reason, and, veiling her face, said to
her father, What is this, and wherefore didst thou bring me to this
place? He answered her, Thou hast nothing to fear;--and rejoiced
greatly. He kissed the hand of the envied Sheykh, and said to the great
men of his court who were with him, What shall be the recompense of this
Sheykh for that which he hath done? They answered, His recompense should
be that thou marry him to her.--Ye have spoken truly, said
the King:--and he gave her in marriage to him, and thus the Sheykh became
a connection of the King; and after some days the King died, and he was
made King in his place.

And it happened one day that this envied King was riding with his
troops, and he saw his envier approaching; and when this man came before
him he seated him upon a horse with high distinction and honour, and,
taking him to his palace, gave him a thousand pieces of gold, and a
costly dress; after which he sent him back from the city, with
attendants to escort him to his house, and reproached him for
nothing.--Consider, then, O 'Efreet, the pardon of the envied to the
envier, and his kindness to him, notwithstanding the injuries he had
done him.


CONTINUATION OF THE STORY OF THE SECOND ROYAL MENDICANT.

The 'Efreet, when he had heard this story, replied, Lengthen not thy
words to me: as to my killing thee, fear it not; and as to my pardoning
thee, covet it not; but as to my enchanting thee, there is no escape
from it;--and, so saying, he clove the earth asunder, and soared with me
through the sky to such a height that I beheld the world beneath me as
though it were a bowl of water: then, alighting upon a mountain, he took
up a little dust, and, having muttered and pronounced certain words over
it, sprinkled me with it, saying, Quit this form, and take the form of
an ape!--whereupon I became like an ape of a hundred years of age.



When I saw myself changed into this ugly form, I wept for myself, but
determined to be patient under the tyranny of fortune, knowing it to be
constant to no one. I descended from the summit of the mountain, and,
after having journeyed for the space of a month, arrived at the
sea-shore; and, when I had stood there a short time, I saw a vessel in
the midst of the sea, with a favourable wind approaching the land; I
therefore hid myself behind a rock on the beach, and when the ship came
close up, I sprang into the midst of it. But as soon as the persons on
board saw me, one of them cried, Turn out this unlucky brute from the
ship:--another said, Let us kill him:--and a third exclaimed, I will
kill him with this sword. I, however, caught hold of the end of the
sword, and tears flowed from my eyes; at the sight of which the captain
took compassion on me, and said to the passengers, O merchants, this ape
hath sought my aid, and I give it him; he is under my protection; let no
one, therefore, oppose or trouble him. He then treated me with kindness,
and whatever he said to me I understood, and all that he required to be
done I performed as his servant.

We continued our voyage for fifty days with a fair wind, and cast anchor
under a large city containing a population which no one but God, whose
name be exalted, could reckon; and when we had moored our vessel, there
came to us some memlooks from the King of the city, who came on board
the ship, and complimented the merchants on their safe arrival, saying,
Our King greeteth you, rejoicing in your safety, and hath sent to you
this roll of paper, desiring that each of you shall write a line upon
it; for the King had a Wezeer who was an eminent caligraphist, and he is
dead, and the King hath sworn that he will not appoint any person to his
office who cannot write equally well. Though in the form of
an ape, I arose and snatched the paper from their hands; upon which,
fearing that I would tear it and throw it into the sea, they cried out
against me, and would have killed me; but I made signs to them that I
would write, and the captain said to them, Suffer him to write, and if
he scribble we will turn him away; but if he write well I will adopt him
as my son; for I have never seen a more intelligent ape. So I took the
pen, and demanded the ink, and wrote in an epistolary hand this
couplet:--

  Fame hath recorded the virtues of the noble; but no one hath been
    able to reckon thine.
  May God not deprive mankind of such a father; for thou art the parent
    of every excellence.

Then, in a more formal, large hand, I wrote the following verses:--

  There is no writer that shall not perish; but what his hand hath
    written endureth ever.
  Write, therefore, nothing but what will please thee when thou shalt
    see it on the day of resurrection.

Two other specimens I wrote, in two different and smaller hands, and
returned the paper to the memlooks, who took it back to the King; and
when he saw what was written upon it, the hand of no one pleased him
excepting mine; and he said to his attendants, Go to the author of this
hand-writing, put upon him this dress, and mount him upon a mule, and
conduct him, with the band of music before him, to my presence. On
hearing this order, they smiled; and the King was angry with them, and
said, How is it that I give you an order, and ye laugh at me? They
answered, O King, we laugh not at thy words, but because he who wrote
this is an ape, and not a son of Adam: he is with the captain of the
ship newly arrived.

The King was astonished at their words; he shook with delight, and said,
I would purchase this ape. He then sent some messengers to the ship,
with the mule and the dress of honour, saying to them, Ye must clothe
him with this dress, and mount him upon the mule, and bring him hither.
So they came to the ship, and, taking me from the captain, clad me with
the dress; and the people were astonished, and flocked to amuse
themselves with the sight of me. And when they brought me to the King,
and I beheld him, I kissed the ground before him three times, and he
ordered me to sit down: so I sat down upon my knees; and
the persons present were surprised at my polite manners, and especially
the King, who presently ordered his people to retire. They, therefore,
did so; none remaining but the King, and a eunuch, and a young memlook,
and myself. The King then commanded that a repast should be brought; and
they placed before him a service of viands, such as gratified the
appetite and delighted the eye; and the King made a sign to me that I
should eat; whereupon I arose, and, having kissed the ground before him
seven times, sat down to eat with him; and when the table was removed, I
washed my hands, and, taking the ink-case, and pen and paper, I wrote
these two verses:--

  Great is my appetite for thee, O Kunafeh! I cannot
    be happy nor endure without thee.
  Be thou every day and night my food; and may drops of honey not
    be wanting to moisten thee.

Having done this, I arose, and seated myself at a distance; and the
King, looking at what I had written, read it with astonishment, and
exclaimed, Can an ape possess such fluency and such skill in caligraphy?
This is, indeed, a wonder of wonders!--Afterwards, a chess-table was
brought to the King, and he said to me, Wilt thou play? By a motion of
my head I answered, Yes:--and I advanced, and arranged the
pieces. I played with him twice, and beat him; and the King
was perplexed, and said, Were this a man, he would surpass all the
people of his age.

He then said to his eunuch, Go to thy mistress, and say to her, Answer
the summons of the King:--that she may come and gratify her curiosity by
the sight of this wonderful ape. The eunuch, therefore, went, and
returned with his mistress, the King's daughter, who, as soon as she saw
me, veiled her face, and said, O my father, how is it that thou art
pleased to send for me, and suffer strange men to see me?--O my
daughter, answered the King, there is no one here but the young memlook,
and the eunuch who brought thee up, and this ape, with myself, thy
father: from whom, then, dost thou veil thy face?--This ape, said she,
is the son of a King, and the name of his father is Eymar:
he is enchanted, and it was the 'Efreet Jarjarees, a descendant of
Iblees, who transformed him, after having slain his own wife, the
daughter of King Anamoos. This, whom thou supposedst to be an ape, is a
learned and wise man.--The King was amazed at his daughter's words, and,
looking towards me, said, Is it true that she saith of thee? I answered,
by a motion of my head, Yes:--and wept. The King then said to his
daughter, By what means didst thou discover that he was enchanted?--O my
father, she answered, I had with me, in my younger years, an old woman
who was a cunning enchantress, and she taught me the art of enchantment:
I have committed its rules to memory, and know it thoroughly, being
acquainted with a hundred and seventy modes of performing it, by the
least of which I could transport the stones of thy city beyond Mount
af, and make its site to be an abyss of the sea, and convert its
inhabitants into fish in the midst of it.--I conjure thee, then, by the
name of Allah, said her father, to restore this young man, that I may
make him my Wezeer. Is it possible that thou possessedst this
excellence, and I knew it not? Restore him, that I may make him my
Wezeer, for he is a polite and intelligent youth.







She replied, With pleasure:--and, taking a knife upon which were
engraved some Hebrew names, marked with it a circle in the midst of the
palace. Within this she wrote certain names and talismans, and then she
pronounced invocations, and uttered unintelligible words; and soon the
palace around us became immersed in gloom to such a degree, that we
thought the whole world was overspread; and lo, the 'Efreet appeared
before us in a most hideous shape, with hands like winnowing-forks, and
legs like masts, and eyes like burning torches; so that we were
terrified at him. The King's daughter exclaimed, No welcome to thee!--to
which the 'Efreet, assuming the form of a lion, replied, Thou traitress,
how is it that thou hast broken thine oath? Did we not swear that we
would not oppose one another?--Thou wretch, said she, when didst thou
receive an oath?--The 'Efreet, still in the form of a lion, then
exclaimed, Take what awaiteth thee!--and, opening his mouth, rushed upon
the lady: but she instantly plucked a hair from her head and muttered
with her lips, whereupon the hair became converted into a piercing
sword, with which she struck the lion, and he was cleft in twain by the
blow; but his head became changed into a scorpion. The lady immediately
transformed herself into an enormous serpent, and crept after the
execrable wretch in the shape of a scorpion, and a sharp contest ensued
between them; after which, the scorpion became an eagle, and the
serpent, changing to a vulture, pursued the eagle for a length of time.
The latter then transformed himself into a black cat, and the King's
daughter became a wolf, and they fought together long and fiercely, till
the cat, seeing himself overcome, changed himself into a large red
pomegranate, which fell into a pool; but, the wolf pursuing it, it
ascended into the air, and then fell upon the pavement of the palace,
and broke in pieces, its grains becoming scattered, each apart from the
others, and all spread about the whole space of ground enclosed by the
palace. The wolf, upon this, transformed itself into a cock, in order to
pick up the grains, and not leave one of them; but, according to the
decree of fate, one grain remained hidden by the side of the pool of the
fountain. The cock began to cry, and flapped its wings, and made a sign
to us with its beak; but we understood not what it would say. It then
uttered at us such a cry, that we thought the palace had fallen down
upon us; and it ran about the whole of the ground, until it saw the
grain that had lain hid by the side of the pool, when it pounced upon
it, to pick it up; but it fell into the midst of the water, and became
transformed into a fish, and sank into the water; upon which the cock
became a fish of a larger size, and plunged in after the other. For a
while it was absent from our sight; but, at length, we heard a loud cry,
and trembled at the sound; after which, the 'Efreet rose as a flame of
fire, casting fire from his mouth, and fire and smoke from his eyes and
nostrils: the King's daughter also became as a vast body of fire; and we
would have plunged into the water from fear of our being burnt and
destroyed; but suddenly the 'Efreet cried out from within the fire, and
came towards us upon the leewan, blowing fire at our faces.
The lady, however, overtook him, and blew fire in like manner in his
face; and some sparks struck us both from her and from him: her sparks
did us no harm; but one from him struck me in my eye, and destroyed it,
I being still in the form of an ape; and a spark from him reached the
face of the King, and burned the lower half, with his beard and mouth,
and struck out his lower teeth: another spark also fell upon the breast
of the eunuch; who was burnt, and died immediately. We expected
destruction, and gave up all hope of preserving our lives; but while we
were in this state, a voice exclaimed, God is most great! God is most
great! He hath conquered and aided, and abandoned the denier of the
faith of Moammad, the chief of mankind!--The person from
whom this voice proceeded was the King's daughter: she had burnt the
'Efreet; and when we looked towards him, we perceived that he had become
a heap of ashes.





The lady then came to us, and said, Bring me a cup of water:--and when
it was brought to her, she pronounced over it some words which we
understood not, and, sprinkling me with it, said, Be restored, by
virtue of the name of the Truth, and by virtue of the most great name of
God, to thy original form!--whereupon I became a man as I was at first,
excepting that my eye was destroyed. After this, she cried out, The
fire! the fire! O my father, I shall no longer live, for I am
predestined to be killed. Had he been a human being, I had killed him at
the first of the encounter. I experienced no difficulty till the
scattering of the grains of the pomegranate, when I picked them up
excepting the one in which was the life of the Jinnee: had I picked up
that, he had instantly died; but I saw it not, as fate and destiny had
appointed; and suddenly he came upon me, and a fierce contest ensued
between us under the earth, and in the air, and in the water; and every
time that he tried against me a new mode, I employed against him one
more potent, until he tried against me the mode of fire; and rarely does
one escape against whom the mode of fire is employed. Destiny, however,
aided me, so that I burned him first; but I exhorted him previously to
embrace the faith of El-Islam. Now I die; and may God supply my place to
you.--Having thus said, she ceased not to pray for relief from the fire;
and lo, a spark ascended to her breast, and thence to her face; and when
it reached her face, she wept, and exclaimed, I testify that there is no
deity but God, and I testify that Moammad is God's Apostle!--We then
looked towards her, and saw that she had become a heap of ashes by the
side of the ashes of the 'Efreet.

We were plunged into grief on her account, and I wished that I had been
in her place rather than have seen that sweet-faced creature who had
done me this kindness reduced to a heap of ashes: but the decree of God
cannot be averted. The King, on beholding his daughter in this state,
plucked out what remained of his beard, and slapped his face, and rent
his clothes; and I also did the same, while we both wept for her. Then
came the chamberlains and other great officers of the court, who,
finding the King in a state of insensibility, with two heaps of ashes
before him, were astonished, and remained encompassing him until he
recovered from his fit, when he informed them of what had befallen his
daughter with the 'Efreet; and great was their affliction. The women
shrieked, with the female slaves, and continued their mourning seven
days. After this, the King gave orders to build, over the ashes of his
daughter, a great tomb with a dome, and illuminated it with candles and
lamps: but the ashes of the 'Efreet they scattered in the wind, exposing
them to the curse of God. The King then fell sick, and was near unto
death: his illness lasted a month; but after this he recovered his
health, and, summoning me to his presence, said to me, O young man, we
passed our days in the enjoyment of the utmost happiness, secure from
the vicissitudes of fortune, until thou camest to us, when troubles
overcame us. Would that we had never seen thee, nor thy ugly form, on
account of which we have been reduced to this state of privation: for,
in the first place, I have lost my daughter, who was worth a hundred
men; and, secondly, I have suffered this burning, and lost my teeth: my
eunuch also is dead: but it was not in thy power to prevent these
afflictions: the decree of God hath been fulfilled on us and on thee;
and praise be to God that my daughter restored thee, though she
destroyed herself. Now, however, depart, O my son, from my city. It is
enough that hath happened on thy account; but as it was decreed against
us and thee, depart in peace.

So I departed, O my mistress, from his presence; but before I quitted
the city, I entered a public bath, and shaved my beard. I traversed
various regions, and passed through great cities, and bent my course to
the Abode of Peace, Baghdad, in the hope of obtaining an
interview with the Prince of the Faithful, that I might relate to him
all that had befallen me.

The third mendicant then advanced, and thus related his story:--


THE STORY OF THE THIRD ROYAL MENDICANT.

O illustrious lady, my story is not like those of my two companions, but
more wonderful: the course of fate and destiny brought upon them events
against which they could not guard; but as to myself, the shaving of my
beard and the loss of my eye were occasioned by my provoking fate and
misfortune; and the cause was this:--

I was a King, and the son of a King; and when my father died, I
succeeded to his throne, and governed my subjects with justice and
beneficence. I took pleasure in sea-voyages; and my capital was on the
shore of an extensive sea, interspersed with fortified and garrisoned
islands, which I desired, for my amusement, to visit; I therefore
embarked with a fleet of ten ships, and took with me provisions
sufficient for a whole month. I proceeded twenty days, after which there
arose against us a contrary wind; but at daybreak it ceased, and the sea
became calm, and we arrived at an island, where we landed, and cooked
some provisions and ate; after which we remained there two days. We
then continued our voyage; and when twenty days more had passed, we
found ourselves in strange waters, unknown to the captain, and desired
the watch to look out from the mast-head: so he went aloft, and when he
had come down he said to the captain, I saw, on my right hand, fish
floating upon the surface of the water; and looking towards the midst of
the sea, I perceived something looming in the distance, sometimes black,
and sometimes white.

When the captain heard this report of the watch, he threw his turban on
the deck, and plucked his beard, and said to those who were with him,
Receive warning of our destruction, which will befall all of us: not one
will escape! So saying, he began to weep; and all of us in like manner
bewailed our lot. I desired him to inform us of that which the watch had
seen. O my lord, he replied, know that we have wandered from our course
since the commencement of the contrary wind that was followed in the
morning by a calm, in consequence of which we remained stationary two
days: from that period we have deviated from our course for twenty-one
days, and we have no wind to carry us back from the fate which awaits us
after this day: to-morrow we shall arrive at a mountain of black stone,
called loadstone: the current is now bearing us violently towards it,
and the ships will fall in pieces, and every nail in them will fly to
the mountain, and adhere to it; for God hath given to the loadstone a
secret property by virtue of which everything of iron is attracted
towards it. On that mountain is such a quantity of iron as no one
knoweth but God, whose name be exalted; for from times of old great
numbers of ships have been destroyed by the influence of that
mountain. There is, upon the summit of the mountain, a
cupola of brass supported by ten columns, and upon the top of this
cupola is a horseman upon a horse of brass, having in his hand a brazen
spear, and upon his breast suspended a tablet of lead, upon which are
engraved mysterious names and talismans: and as long, O King, as this
horseman remains upon the horse, so long will every ship that approaches
be destroyed, with every person on board, and all the iron contained in
it will cleave to the mountain: no one will be safe until the horseman
shall have fallen from the horse.--The captain then wept bitterly; and
we felt assured that our destruction was inevitable, and every one of us
bade adieu to his friend.



On the following morning we drew near to the mountain; the current
carried us towards it with violence, and when the ships were almost
close to it, they fell asunder, and all the nails, and every thing else
that was of iron, flew from them towards the loadstone. It was near the
close of day when the ships fell in pieces. Some of us were drowned, and
some escaped; but the greater number were drowned, and of those who
saved their lives none knew what became of the others, so stupefied were
they by the waves and the boisterous wind. As for myself, O my mistress,
God, whose name be exalted, spared me on account of the trouble and
torment and affliction that He had predestined to befall me. I placed
myself upon a plank, and the wind and waves cast it upon the mountain;
and when I had landed, I found a practicable way to the summit,
resembling steps cut in the rock: so I exclaimed, In the name of
God!--and offered up a prayer, and attempted the ascent, holding fast by
the notches; and presently God stilled the wind and assisted me in my
endeavours, so that I arrived in safety at the summit. Rejoicing greatly
in my escape, I immediately entered the cupola, and performed the
prayers of two rek'ahs in gratitude to God for my
preservation; after which I slept beneath the cupola, and heard a voice
saying to me, O son of Khaeeb, when thou awakest from thy
sleep, dig beneath thy feet, and thou wilt find a bow of brass, and
three arrows of lead, whereon are engraved talismans: then take the bow
and arrows and shoot at the horseman that is upon the top of the cupola,
and relieve mankind from this great affliction; for when thou hast shot
at the horseman he will fall into the sea; the bow will also fall, and
do thou bury it in its place; and as soon as thou hast done this, the
sea will swell and rise until it attains the summit of the mountain;
and there will appear upon it a boat bearing a man, different from him
whom thou shalt have cast down, and he will come to thee, having an oar
in his hand: then do thou embark with him; but utter not the name of
God; and he will convey thee in ten days to a safe sea, where, on thy
arrival, thou wilt find one who will take thee to thy city. All this
shall be done if thou utter not the name of God.

Awaking from my sleep, I sprang up, and did as the voice had directed. I
shot at the horseman, and he fell into the sea; and the bow having
fallen from my hand, I buried it: the sea then became troubled, and rose
to the summit of the mountain, and when I had stood waiting there a
little while, I beheld a boat in the midst of the sea, approaching me. I
praised God, whose name be exalted, and when the boat came to me, I
found in it a man of brass, with a tablet of lead upon his breast,
engraven with names and talismans. Without uttering a word, I embarked
in the boat, and the man rowed me ten successive days, after which I
beheld the islands of security, whereupon, in the excess of my joy, I
exclaimed, In the name of God! There is no deity but God! God is most
great!--and as soon as I had done this, he cast me out of the boat, and
sank in the sea.



Being able to swim, I swam until night, when my arms and shoulders were
tired, and, in this perilous situation, I repeated the profession of
the faith, and gave myself up as lost; but the sea rose with the
violence of the wind, and a wave like a vast castle threw me upon the
land, in order to the accomplishment of the purpose of God. I ascended
the shore, and after I had wrung out my clothes, and spread them upon
the ground to dry, I slept; and in the morning I put on my clothes
again, and, looking about to see which way I should go, I found a tract
covered with trees, to which I advanced; and when I had walked round it,
I found that I was upon a small island in the midst of the sea; upon
which I said within myself, Every time that I escape from one calamity I
fall into another that is worse:--but while I was reflecting upon my
unfortunate case, and wishing for death, I beheld a vessel bearing a
number of men. I arose immediately, and climbed into a tree; and lo, the
vessel came to the shore, and there landed from it ten black slaves
bearing axes. They proceeded to the middle of the island, and, digging
up the earth, uncovered and lifted up a trap-door, after which they
returned to the vessel, and brought from it bread and flour and
clarified butter and honey and sheep and everything that the wants of an
inhabitant would require, continuing to pass backwards and forwards
between the vessel and the trap-door, bringing loads from the former,
and entering the latter, until they had removed all the stores from the
ship. They then came out of the vessel with various clothes of the most
beautiful description, and in the midst of them was an old sheykh,
enfeebled and wasted by extreme age, leading by the hand a young man
cast in the mould of graceful symmetry, and invested with such perfect
beauty as deserved to be a subject for proverbs. He was like a fresh and
slender twig, enchanting and captivating every heart by his elegant
form. The party proceeded to the trap-door, and, entering it, became
concealed from my eyes.

They remained beneath about two hours, or more; after which, the sheykh
and the slaves came out; but the youth came not with them; and they
replaced the earth, and embarked and set sail. Soon after, I descended
from the tree, and went to the excavation. I removed the earth, and,
entering the aperture, saw a flight of wooden steps, which I descended;
and, at the bottom, I beheld a handsome dwelling-place, furnished with a
variety of silken carpets; and there was the youth, sitting upon a high
mattress, with sweet-smelling flowers and fruits placed before him. On
seeing me, his countenance became pale; but I saluted him, and said, Let
thy mind be composed, O my master: thou hast nothing to fear, O delight
of my eye; for I am a man, and the son of a King, like thyself: fate
hath impelled me to thee, that I may cheer thee in thy solitude. The
youth, when he heard me thus address him, and was convinced that I was
one of his own species, rejoiced exceedingly at my arrival, his colour
returned, and, desiring me to approach him, he said, O my brother, my
story is wonderful: my father is a jeweller: he had slaves who made
voyages by his orders, for the purposes of commerce, and he had dealings
with Kings; but he had never been blest with a son; and he dreamt that
he was soon to have a son, but one whose life would be short; and he
awoke sorrowful. Shortly after, in accordance with the
decrees of God, my mother conceived me, and when her time was complete,
she gave birth to me; and my father was greatly rejoiced: the
astrologers, however, came to him, and said, Thy son will live fifteen
years: his fate is intimated by the fact that there is, in the sea, a
mountain called the Mountain of Loadstone, whereon is a horseman on a
horse of brass, on the former of which is a tablet of lead suspended to
his neck; and when the horseman shall be thrown down from his horse, thy
son will be slain: the person who is to slay him is he who will throw
down the horseman, and his name is King 'Ajeeb, the son of
King Khaeeb. My father was greatly afflicted at this announcement; and
when he had reared me until I had nearly attained the age of fifteen
years, the astrologers came again, and informed him that the horseman
had fallen into the sea, and that it had been thrown down by King
'Ajeeb, the son of King Khaeeb; on hearing which, he prepared for me
this dwelling, and here left me to remain until the completion of the
term, of which there now remain ten days. All this he did from fear lest
King 'Ajeeb should kill me.

When I heard this, I was filled with wonder, and said within myself, I
am King 'Ajeeb, the son of King Khaeeb, and it was I who threw down the
horseman; but, by Allah, I will neither kill him nor do him any injury.
Then said I to the youth, Far from thee be both destruction and harm, if
it be the will of God, whose name be exalted: thou hast nothing to fear:
I will remain with thee to serve thee, and will go forth with thee to
thy father, and beg of him to send me back to my country, for the which
he will obtain a reward. The youth rejoiced at my words, and I sat and
conversed with him until night, when I spread his bed for him, and
covered him, and slept near to his side. And in the morning I brought
him water, and he washed his face, and said to me, May God requite thee
for me with every blessing. If I escape from King 'Ajeeb, I will make my
father reward thee with abundant favours.--Never, I replied, may the day
arrive that would bring thee misfortune. I then placed before him some
refreshments, and after we had eaten together, we passed the day
conversing with the utmost cheerfulness.



I continued to serve him for nine days; and on the tenth day the youth
rejoiced at finding himself in safety, and said to me, O my brother, I
wish that thou wouldst in thy kindness warm for me some water, that I
may wash myself and change my clothes; for I have smelt the odour of
escape from death, in consequence of thy assistance.--With pleasure, I
replied;--and I arose, and warmed the water; after which, he entered a
place concealed from my view, and, having washed himself and changed his
clothes, laid himself upon the mattress to rest after his bath. He then
said to me, Cut up for me, O my brother, a water-melon, and mix its
juice with some sugar:--so I arose, and, taking a melon, brought it upon
a plate, and said to him, Knowest thou, O my master, where is the
knife?--See, here it is, he answered, upon the shelf over my head. I
sprang up hastily, and took it from its sheath, and as I was drawing
back, my foot slipped, as God had decreed, and I fell upon the youth,
grasping in my hand the knife, which entered his body, and he died
instantly. When I perceived that he was dead, and that I had killed him,
I uttered a loud shriek, and beat my face, and rent my clothes, saying,
This is, indeed, a calamity! O what a calamity! O my Lord, I implore thy
pardon, and declare to Thee my innocence of his death! Would that I had
died before him! How long shall I devour trouble after trouble!

With these reflections I ascended the steps, and, having replaced the
trap-door, returned to my first station, and looked over the sea, where
I saw the vessel that had come before, approaching, and cleaving the
waves in its rapid course. Upon this I said within myself, Now will the
men come forth from the vessel, and find the youth slain, and they will
slay me also:--so I climbed into a tree, and concealed myself among its
leaves, and sat there till the vessel arrived and cast anchor, when the
slaves landed with the old sheykh, the father of the youth, and went to
the place, and removed the earth. They were surprised at finding it
moist, and, when they had descended the steps, they discovered the youth
lying on his back, exhibiting a face beaming with beauty, though dead,
and clad in white and clean clothing, with the knife remaining in his
body. They all wept at the sight, and the father fell down in a swoon,
which lasted so long that the slaves thought he was dead. At length,
however, he recovered, and came out with the slaves, who had wrapped the
body of the youth in his clothes. They then took back all that was in
the subterranean dwelling to the vessel, and departed.

I remained, O my mistress, by day hiding myself in a tree, and at night
walking about the open part of the island. Thus I continued for the
space of two months; and I perceived that, on the western side of the
island, the water of the sea every day retired, until, after three
months, the land that had been beneath it became dry. Rejoicing at this,
and feeling confident now in my escape, I traversed this dry tract, and
arrived at an expanse of sand; whereupon I emboldened myself, and
crossed it. I then saw in the distance an appearance of fire, and,
advancing towards it, found it to be a palace, overlaid with plates of
copper, which, reflecting the rays of the sun, seemed from a distance to
be fire: and when I drew near to it, reflecting upon this sight, there
approached me an old sheykh, accompanied by ten young men who were all
blind of one eye, at which I was extremely surprised. As soon as they
saw me, they saluted me, and asked me my story, which I related to them
from first to last; and they were filled with wonder. They then
conducted me into the palace, where I saw ten benches, upon each of
which was a mattress covered with a blue stuff; and each of
the young men seated himself upon one of these benches, while the sheykh
took his place upon a smaller one; after which they said to me, Sit
down, O young man, and ask no question respecting our condition, nor
respecting our being blind of one eye. Then the sheykh arose, and
brought to each of them some food, and the same to me also; and next he
brought to each of us some wine: and after we had eaten, we sat drinking
together until the time for sleep, when the young men said to the
sheykh, Bring to us our accustomed supply:--upon which the sheykh arose,
and entered a closet, from which he brought, upon his head, ten covered
trays. Placing these upon the floor, he lighted ten candles, and stuck
one of them upon each tray; and, having done this, he removed the
covers, and there appeared beneath them ashes mixed with pounded
charcoal. The young men then tucked up their sleeves above the elbow,
and blackened their faces, and slapped their cheeks,
exclaiming, We were reposing at our ease, and our impertinent curiosity
suffered us not to remain so! Thus they did until the morning, when the
sheykh brought them some hot water, and they washed their faces, and put
on other clothes.

On witnessing this conduct, my reason was confounded, my heart was so
troubled that I forgot my own misfortunes, and I asked them the cause of
their strange behaviour; upon which they looked towards me, and said, O
young man, ask not respecting that which doth not concern thee; but be
silent; for in silence is security from error.--I remained with them a
whole month, during which, every night they did the same; and at length
I said to them, I conjure you by Allah to remove this disquiet from my
mind, and to inform me of the cause of your acting in this manner, and
of your exclaiming, We were reposing at our ease, and our impertinent
curiosity suffered us not to remain so!--if ye inform me not, I will
leave you, and go my way; for the proverb saith, When the eye seeth not,
the heart doth not grieve.--On hearing these words, they replied, We
have not concealed this affair from thee but in our concern for thy
welfare, lest thou shouldst become like us, and the same affliction that
hath befallen us happen also to thee. I said, however, Ye must
positively inform me of this matter.--We give thee good advice, said
they, and do thou receive it, and ask us not respecting our case;
otherwise thou wilt become blind of one eye, like us:--but I still
persisted in my request; whereupon they said, O young man, if this
befall thee, know that thou wilt be banished from our company. They then
all arose, and, taking a ram, slaughtered and skinned it, and said to
me, Take this knife with thee, and introduce thyself into the skin of
the ram, and we will sew thee up in it, and go away; whereupon a bird
called the rukh' will come to thee, and, taking thee up by
its talons, will fly away with thee, and set thee down upon a mountain:
then cut open the skin with this knife, and get out, and the bird will
fly away. Thou must arise, as soon as it hath gone, and journey for half
a day, and thou wilt see before thee a lofty palace, encased with red
gold, set with various precious stones, such as emeralds and rubies,
&c.; and if thou enter it thy case will be as ours; for our entrance
into that palace was the cause of our being blind of one eye; and if one
of us would relate to thee all that hath befallen him, his story would
be too long for thee to hear.

They then sewed me up in the skin, and entered their palace; and soon
after, there came an enormous white bird, which seized me, and flew away
with me, and set me down upon the mountain; whereupon I cut open the
skin, and got out; and the bird, as soon as it saw me, flew away. I rose
up quickly, and proceeded towards the palace, which I found to be as
they had described it to me; and when I had entered it, I beheld, at the
upper end of a saloon, forty young damsels, beautiful as so many moons,
and magnificently attired, who, as soon as they saw me, exclaimed,
Welcome! Welcome! O our master and our lord! We have been for a month
expecting thee. Praise be to God who hath blessed us with one who is
worthy of us, and one of whom we are worthy!--After having thus greeted
me, they seated me upon a mattress, and said, Thou art from this day our
master and prince, and we are thy handmaids, and entirely under thy
authority. They then brought to me some refreshments, and, when I had
eaten and drunk, they sat and conversed with me, full of joy and
happiness. So lovely were these ladies, that even a devotee, if he saw
them, would gladly consent to be their servant, and to comply with all
that they would desire. At the approach of night they all assembled
around me, and placed before me a table of fresh and dried fruits, with
other delicacies that the tongue cannot describe, and wine; and one
began to sing, while another played upon the lute. The wine-cups
circulated among us, and joy overcame me to such a degree as to
obliterate from my mind every earthly care, and make me exclaim, This
is indeed a delightful life! I passed a night of such enjoyment as I had
never before experienced; and on the morrow I entered the bath; and,
after I had washed myself, they brought me a suit of the richest
clothing, and we again sat down to a repast.

In this manner I lived with them a whole year; but on the first day of
the new year, they seated themselves around me, and began to weep, and
bade me farewell, clinging to my skirts.--What calamity hath befallen
you? said I. Ye have broken my heart.--They answered, Would that we had
never known thee; for we have associated with many men, but have seen
none like thee. May God, therefore, not deprive us of thy company.--And
they wept afresh. I said to them, I wish that you would acquaint me with
the cause of this weeping.--Thou, they replied, art the cause; yet now,
if thou wilt attend to what we tell thee, we shall never be parted; but
if thou act contrary to it, we are separated from this time; and our
hearts whisper to us that thou wilt not regard our warning.--Inform me,
said I, and I will attend to your directions:--and they replied, If then
thou wouldst inquire respecting our history, know that we are the
daughters of Kings: for many years it hath been our custom to assemble
here, and every year we absent ourselves during a period of forty days;
then returning, we indulge ourselves for a year in feasting and
drinking. This is our usual practice; and now we fear that thou wilt
disregard our directions when we are absent from thee. We deliver to
thee the keys of the palace, which are a hundred in number, belonging to
a hundred closets. Open each of these, and amuse thyself, and eat and
drink, and refresh thyself, excepting the closet that hath a door of red
gold; for if thou open this, the consequence will be a separation
between us and thee. We conjure thee, therefore, to observe our
direction, and to be patient during this period.--Upon hearing this, I
swore to them that I would never open the closet to which they alluded;
and they departed, urging me to be faithful to my promise.



I remained alone in the palace, and at the approach of evening I opened
the first closet, and, entering it, found a mansion like paradise, with
a garden containing green trees loaded with ripe fruits, abounding with
singing birds, and watered by copious streams. My heart was soothed by
the sight, and I wandered among the trees, scenting the fragrance of the
flowers, and listening to the warbling of the birds as they sang the
praises of the One, the Almighty. After admiring the
mingled colours of the apple resembling the hue upon the cheek of a
beloved mistress and the sallow countenance of the perplexed and timid
lover, the sweet-smelling quince diffusing an odour like musk and
ambergris, and the plum shining as the ruby, I retired from this place,
and, having locked the door, opened that of the next closet, within
which I beheld a spacious tract planted with numerous palm-trees, and
watered by a river flowing among rose-trees, and jasmine, and marjoram,
and eglantine, and narcissus, and gilliflower, the odours of which,
diffused in every direction by the wind, inspired me with the utmost
delight. I locked again the door of the second closet, and opened that
of the third. Within this I found a large saloon, paved with marbles of
various colours, and with costly minerals and precious gems, and
containing cages constructed of sandal and aloes-wood with singing birds
within them, and others upon the branches of trees which were planted
there. My heart was charmed, my trouble was dissipated, and I slept
there until the morning. I then opened the door of the fourth closet,
and within this door I found a great building in which were forty
closets with open doors; and, entering these, I beheld pearls, and
rubies, and chrysolites, and emeralds, and other precious jewels such as
the tongue cannot describe. I was astonished at the sight, and said,
Such things as these, I imagine, are not found in the treasury of any
King. I am now the King of my age, and all these treasures, through the
goodness of God, are mine, together with forty damsels under my
authority who have no man to share them with me.

Thus I continued to amuse myself, passing from one place to another,
until thirty-nine days had elapsed, and I had opened the doors of all
the closets excepting that which they had forbidden me to open. My heart
was then disturbed by curiosity respecting this hundredth closet, and
the Devil, in order to plunge me into misery, induced me to open it. I
had not patience to abstain, though there remained of the appointed
period only one day: so I approached the closet, and opened the door;
and when I had entered, I perceived a fragrant odour, such as I had
never before smelt, which intoxicated me so that I fell down insensible,
and remained some time in this state: but at length recovering, I
fortified my heart, and proceeded. I found the floor overspread with
saffron, and the place illuminated by golden lamps and by candles, which
diffused the odours of musk and ambergris; and two large
perfuming-vessels filled with aloes-wood and ambergris, and a perfume
compounded with honey, spread fragrance through the whole place. I saw
also a black horse, of the hue of the darkest night, before which was a
manger of white crystal filled with cleansed sesame, and another,
similar to it, containing rose-water infused with musk: he was saddled
and bridled, and his saddle was of red gold. Wondering at the sight of
him, I said within myself, This must be an animal of extraordinary
qualities;--and, seduced by the Devil, I led him out, and mounted him;
but he moved not from his place: I kicked him with my heel; but still he
moved not: so I took a mira'ah and struck him with it; and as soon as
he felt the blow he uttered a sound like thunder, and, expanding a pair
of wings, soared with me to an immense height through the air, and then
alighted upon the roof of another palace, where he threw me from his
back, and, by a violent blow with his tail upon my face, as I sat on the
roof, struck out my eye, and left me.

In this state I descended from the roof, and below I found the one-eyed
young men before mentioned, who, as soon as they beheld me, exclaimed,
No welcome to thee!--Receive me, said I, into your company:--but they
replied, By Allah, thou shalt not remain with us:--so I departed from
them, with mournful heart and weeping eye, and, God having decreed me a
safe journey hither, I arrived at Baghdad, after I had shaved my beard,
and become a mendicant.


CONTINUATION OF THE STORY OF THE LADIES OF BAGHDAD, &c.

The mistress of the house then looked towards the Khaleefeh and Jaafar
and Mesroor, and said to them, Acquaint me with your histories:--upon
which Jaafar advanced towards her, and related to her the same story
that he had told to the portress before they entered; and when she had
heard it, she liberated them all. They accordingly departed, and when
they had gone out into the street, the Khaleefeh inquired of the
mendicants whither they were going. They answered that they knew not
whither to go: whereupon he desired them to accompany his party; and
then said to Jaafar, Take them home with thee, and bring them before me
to-morrow, and we will see the result. Jaafar, therefore, did as he was
commanded, and the Khaleefeh returned to his palace; but he was unable
to sleep during the remainder of the night.

On the following morning he sat upon his throne, and when his courtiers
had presented themselves before him, and departed, excepting Jaafar, he
said to him, Bring before me the three ladies and the two bitches and
the mendicants. So Jaafar arose, and brought them, and, placing the
ladies behind the curtains, said to them, We have forgiven you on
account of your previous kindness to us, and because ye knew us not; and
now I acquaint you that ye are in the presence of the fifth of the sons
of El-'Abbas, Haroon Er-Rasheed; therefore relate to him nothing but the
truth. And when the ladies heard the words which Jaafar addressed to
them on the part of the Khaleefeh, the eldest of them advanced, and thus
related her story:--


THE STORY OF THE FIRST OF THE THREE LADIES OF BAGHDAD.



O Prince of the Faithful, my story is wonderful; for these two
bitches are my sisters, born to my father, but of another
mother; and I am the youngest of the three. After the death of our
father, who left us five thousand pieces of gold, these my two sisters
married, and when they had resided some time with their husbands, each
of the latter prepared a stock of merchandise, and received from his
wife a thousand pieces of gold, and they all set forth on a journey
together, leaving me here; but after they had been absent four years, my
sisters' husbands lost all their property, and abandoned them in a
strange land, and they returned to me in the garb of beggars. When I
first saw them in this state, I knew them not; and, as soon as I
recognised them, I exclaimed, How is it that ye are in this
condition?--O our sister, they answered, thy inquiry now is of no use:
the Pen hath written what God hath decreed.--I sent them,
therefore, to the bath, and, having clad them in new apparel, said to
them, O my sisters, ye are my elders, and I am young; so ye shall be to
me in the places of my father and mother. The inheritance which I shared
with you God hath blessed; partake then of its increase, for my affairs
are prosperous; and I and ye shall fare alike.--I treated them with the
utmost kindness, and during a whole year they remained with me, and
enriched themselves by the money that I had given them; but after this
period they said to me, It will be more agreeable to us to marry again,
for we can no longer abstain from doing so.--O my sisters, I replied, ye
have seen no happiness in marriage: a good husband in this age is rarely
found, and ye have already had experience of the marriage-state. They,
however, heeded not my words; but married against my consent: yet I gave
them dowries from my own property, and continued to them my protection.
They went to their husbands, and the latter, after they had resided with
them a short time, defrauded them of all that they possessed, and,
setting forth on a journey, left them destitute: so again they returned
to me, and, in a state of nudity, implored my forgiveness, saying, Be
not angry with us; for though thou art younger than we, thou hast more
mature sense; and we promise thee that we will never again mention the
subject of marriage. I replied, Ye are welcome, O my sisters; for I have
no one dearer to me than yourselves:--and I received them, and treated
them with every kindness, and we remained happily together for the space
of a year.

After this I resolved to fit out a vessel for a mercantile
voyage: accordingly, I stocked a large ship with various
goods and necessary provisions, and said to my sisters, Will ye rather
stay at home during my voyage, or will ye go with me?--to which they
answered, We will accompany thee during the voyage, for we cannot endure
to be separated from thee. I therefore took them with me, and we set
sail; but first I divided my property into two equal portions; one of
which I took with me, and the other I concealed, saying within myself,
Perhaps some evil accident may happen to the ship, and our lives may be
prolonged; in which case, when we return we shall find that which will
be of service to us.--We continued our voyage by day and night, till at
length the vessel pursued a wrong course, and the captain knew not
whither to steer. The ship had entered a different sea from that which
we wished to cross, and for some time we knew it not; but for ten days
we had a pleasant wind, and after this, a city loomed before us in the
distance. We asked the captain what was the name of this city; and he
answered, I know it not; I have never seen it till this day, nor have I
ever before in the course of my life navigated this sea: but as we have
come hither in safety, ye have nothing to do but to enter this city and
land your goods, and, if ye find opportunity, sell or exchange there: if
not, we will rest there two days, and take in fresh provisions. So we
entered the port of the city, and the captain landed, and after a while
returned to us, saying, Arise, and go up into the city, and wonder at
that which God hath done unto his creatures, and pray to be preserved
from his anger. And when we had entered the city, we found all its
inhabitants converted into black stones. We were amazed at the sight,
and as we walked through the market-streets, finding the merchandise and
the gold and silver remaining in their original state, we rejoiced, and
said, This must have been occasioned by same wonderful circumstance. We
then separated in the streets, each of us attracted from his companions
by the wealth and stuffs in the shops.

As for myself, I ascended to the citadel, which I found to be a building
of admirable construction; and, entering the King's palace, I found all
the vessels of gold and silver remaining in their places, and the King
himself seated in the midst of his Chamberlains and Viceroys and
Wezeers, and clad in apparel of astonishing richness. Drawing nearer to
him, I perceived that he was sitting upon a throne adorned with pearls
and jewels, every one of the pearls shining like a star: his dress was
embroidered with gold, and around him stood fifty memlooks, attired in
silks of various descriptions, and having in their hands drawn swords.
Stupefied at this spectacle, I proceeded, and entered the saloon of the
areem, upon the walls of which were hung silken curtains; and here I
beheld the Queen, attired in a dress embroidered with fresh pearls, and
having upon her head a diadem adorned with various jewels, and necklaces
of different kinds on her neck. All her clothing and ornaments remained
as they were at first, though she herself was converted into black
stone. Here also I found an open door, and, entering it, I saw a flight
of seven steps, by which I ascended to an apartment paved with marble,
furnished with gold-embroidered carpets, and containing a couch of
alabaster, ornamented with pearls and jewels; but my eyes were first
attracted by a gleam of light, and when I approached the spot whence it
proceeded, I found a brilliant jewel, of the size of an ostrich's egg,
placed upon a small stool, diffusing a light like that of a candle. The
coverings of the couch above mentioned were of various kinds of silk,
the richness of which would surprise every beholder; and I looked at
them with wonder. In this apartment I likewise observed some lighted
candles, and reflected that there must then have been some person there
to light them. I passed thence to another part of the palace, and
continued to explore the different apartments, forgetting myself in the
amazement of my mind at all these strange circumstances, and immersed in
thoughts respecting what I beheld, until the commencement of night, when
I would have departed; but could not find the door: so I returned to the
place in which were the lighted candles, and there I laid myself upon
the couch, and, covering myself with a quilt, repeated some words of the
ur-an, and endeavoured to compose myself to sleep; but I could not. I
continued restless: and at midnight I heard a recitation of the ur-an,
performed by a melodious and soft voice; upon which I arose, and,
looking about, saw a closet with an open door, and I entered it, and
found that it was an oratory: lighted lamps were suspended in it, and
upon a prayer-carpet spread on the floor sat a young man of handsome
aspect. Wondering that he had escaped the fate of the other inhabitants
of the city, I saluted him; and he raised his eyes, and returned my
salutation: and I then said to him, I conjure thee by the truth of that
which thou art reading in the Book of God, that thou answer the question
which I am about to ask thee:--whereupon he smiled, and replied, Do thou
first acquaint me with the cause of thine entrance into this place, and
then I will answer thy question: so I told him my story, and inquired of
him the history of this city. Wait a little, said he;--and he closed the
ur-an, and, having put it in a bag of satin, seated me by his side. As
I now beheld him, his countenance appeared like the full moon, and his
whole person exhibited such perfect elegance and loveliness, that a
single glance at him drew from me a thousand sighs, and kindled a fire
in my heart. I repeated my request that he would give me an account of
the city; and, replying, I hear and obey, he thus addressed me:--



Know that this city belonged to my father and his family and subjects;
and he is the King whom thou hast seen converted into stone; and the
Queen whom thou hast seen is my mother. They were all Magians,
worshipping fire in the place of the Almighty King; and
they swore by the fire and the light, and the shade and the heat, and
the revolving orb. My father had no son, till, in his declining years,
he was blest with me, whom he reared until I attained to manhood. But,
happily for me, there was, in our family, an old woman, far advanced in
age, who was a Muslimeh, believing in God and his Apostle in her heart,
though she conformed with my family in outward observances; and my
father confided in her, on account of the faithfulness and modesty that
he had observed in her character, and shewed her great favour, firmly
believing that she held the same faith as himself; therefore, when I had
passed my infancy, he committed me to her care, saying, Take him, and
rear him, and instruct him in the ordinances of our faith, and educate
him and serve him in the best manner. The old woman accordingly received
me, but took care to instruct me in the faith of El-Islam, teaching me
the laws of purification, and the divine ordinances of ablution,
together with the forms of prayer; after which she made me commit to
memory the whole of the ur-an. She then charged me to keep my faith a
secret from my father, lest he should kill me; and I did so; and a few
days after, the old woman died. The inhabitants of the city had now
increased in their impiety and arrogance, and in their dereliction of
the truth; and while they were in this state, they heard a crier
proclaim with a voice like thunder, so as to be audible to both the near
and the distant, O inhabitants of this city, abstain from the worship of
fire, and worship the Almighty King!--The people were struck with
consternation, and, flocking to my father, the King of the city, said to
him, What is this alarming voice which hath astounded us by its terrible
sound?--but he answered them, Let not the voice terrify you, nor let it
turn you from your faith:--and their hearts inclined to his words; so
they persevered in the worship of fire, and remained obstinate in their
impiety during another year, until the return of the period at which
they had heard the voice the first time. It was then heard a second
time; and again, in the next year, they heard it a third time; but still
they persisted in their evil ways, until, drawing down upon themselves
the abhorrence and indignation of Heaven, one morning, shortly after
daybreak, they were converted into black stones, together with their
beasts and all their cattle. Not one of the inhabitants of the city
escaped, excepting me; and from the day on which this catastrophe
happened, I have continued occupied as thou seest, in prayer, and
fasting, and reading the ur-an: but I have become weary of this
solitary state, having no one to cheer me with his company.

On hearing these words, I said to him, Wilt thou go with me to the city
of Baghdad, and visit its learned men and lawyers, and increase thy
knowledge? If so, I will be thy handmaid, though I am the mistress of my
family, and have authority over a household of men. I have here a ship
laden with merchandise, and destiny hath driven us to this city, in
order that we might become acquainted with these events: our meeting was
predestined.--In this manner I continued to persuade him until he gave
his consent. I slept that night at his feet, unconscious of my state
through excessive joy; and in the morning we rose, and, entering the
treasuries, took away a quantity of the lighter and most valuable of the
articles that they contained, and descended from the citadel into the
city, where we met the slaves and the captain, who were searching for
me. They were rejoiced at seeing me, and, to their questions respecting
my absence, I replied by informing them of all that I had seen, and
related to them the history of the young man, and the cause of the
transmutation of the people of the city, and of all that had befallen
them, which filled them with wonder. But when my two sisters saw me with
the young man, they envied me on his account, and malevolently plotted
against me.

We embarked again, and I experienced the utmost happiness, chiefly owing
to the company of the young man; and after we had waited a while till
the wind was favourable, we spread our sails, and departed. My sisters
sat with me and the young man; and, in their conversation with me, said,
O our sister, what dost thou purpose to do with this handsome youth? I
answered, I desire to take him as my husband:--and, turning to him, and
approaching him, I said, O my master, I wish to make a proposal to thee,
and do not thou oppose it. He replied, I hear and obey:--and I then
looked towards my sisters, and said to them, This young man is all that
I desire, and all the wealth that is here is yours.--Excellent, they
replied, is thy determination:--yet still they designed evil against
me.--We continued our voyage with a favourable wind, and, quitting the
sea of peril, entered the sea of security, across which we proceeded for
some days, until we drew near to the city of El-Barah, the buildings of
which loomed before us at the approach of evening; but as soon as we had
fallen asleep, my sisters took us up in our bed, both myself and the
young man, and threw us into the sea. The youth, being unable to swim,
was drowned: God recorded him among the company of the martyrs;
while I was registered among those whose life was yet to be preserved;
and, accordingly, as soon as I awoke and found myself in the sea, the
providence of God supplied me with a piece of timber, upon which I
placed myself, and the waves cast me upon the shore of an island.



During the remainder of the night I walked along this island, and in the
morning I saw a neck of land, bearing the marks of a man's feet, and
uniting with the main land. The sun having now risen, I dried my clothes
in its rays, and proceeded along the path that I had discovered until I
drew near to the shore upon which stands the city, when I beheld a snake
approaching me, and followed by a serpent which was endeavouring to
destroy it; the tongue of the snake was hanging from its mouth in
consequence of excessive fatigue, and it excited my compassion; so I
took up a stone, and threw it at the head of the serpent, which
instantly died: the snake then extended a pair of wings, and soared
aloft into the sky, leaving me in wonder at the sight. At the time of
this occurrence I had become so fatigued, that I now laid myself down
and slept; but I awoke after a little while, and found a damsel seated
at my feet, and gently rubbing them with her hands; upon which I
immediately sat up, feeling ashamed that she should perform this service
for me, and said to her, Who art thou, and what dost thou want?--How
soon has thou forgotten me! she exclaimed: I am she to whom thou hast
just done a kindness, by killing my enemy: I am the snake whom thou
savedst from the serpent; for I am a Jinneeyeh, and the serpent was a
Jinnee at enmity with me; and none but thou delivered me from him:
therefore, as soon as thou didst this, I flew to the ship from which thy
sisters cast thee, and transported all that it contained to thy house: I
then sunk it; but as to thy sisters, I transformed them by enchantment
into two black bitches; for I knew all that they had done to thee: the
young man, however, is drowned.--Having thus said, she took me up, and
placed me with the two black bitches on the roof of my house: and I
found all the treasures that the ship had contained collected in the
midst of my house: nothing was lost. She then said to me, I swear by
that which was engraved upon the seal of Suleyman, that, if thou do not
inflict three hundred lashes upon each of these bitches every day, I
will come and transform thee in the like manner:--so I replied, I hear
and obey:--and have continued ever since to inflict upon them these
stripes, though pitying them while I do so.

The Khaleefeh heard this story with astonishment, and then said to the
second lady, And what occasioned the stripes of which thou bearest the
marks? She answered as follows:--


THE STORY OF THE SECOND OF THE THREE LADIES OF BAGHDAD.

O Prince of the Faithful, my father, at his death, left considerable
property; and soon after that event I married to one of the wealthiest
men of the age, who, when I had lived with him a year, died, and I
inherited from him eighty thousand pieces of gold, the portion that fell
to me according to the law; with part of which I made for
myself ten suits of clothing, each of the value of a thousand pieces of
gold. And as I was sitting one day, there entered my apartment an old
woman, disgustingly ugly, who saluted me, and said, I have an orphan
daughter whose marriage I am to celebrate this night, and I would have
thee obtain a reward and recompense in heaven by thy being present at
her nuptial festivity; for she is broken-hearted, having none to
befriend her but God, whose name be exalted. She then wept, and kissed
my feet; and, being moved with pity and compassion, I assented, upon
which she desired me to prepare myself, telling me that she would come
at the hour of nightfall and take me; and so saying, she kissed my hand,
and departed.

I arose immediately, and attired myself, and when I had completed my
preparations, the old woman returned, saying, O my mistress, the ladies
of the city have arrived, and I have informed them of thy coming, and
they are waiting with joy to receive thee:--so I put on my outer
garments, and, taking my female slaves with me, proceeded until we
arrived at a street in which a soft wind was delightfully playing, where
we saw a gateway over-arched with a marble vault, admirably constructed,
forming the entrance to a palace which rose from the earth to the
clouds. On our arrival there, the old woman knocked at the
door, and, when it was opened, we entered a carpeted passage,
illuminated by lamps and candles, and decorated with jewels and precious
metals. Through this passage we passed into a saloon of
unequalled magnificence, furnished with mattresses covered with silk,
lighted by hanging lamps and by candles, and having, at its upper end, a
couch of alabaster decorated with pearls and jewels, and canopied by
curtains of satin, from which there came forth a lady beautiful as the
moon, who exclaimed to me, Most welcome art thou, O my sister: thou
delightest me by thy company, and refreshest my heart. She then sat down
again, and said to me, O my sister, I have a brother who hath seen thee
at a festivity: he is a young man, more handsome than myself, and, his
heart being violently inflamed with love of thee, he hath bribed this
old woman to go to thee, and to employ this artifice in order to obtain
for me an interview with thee. He desireth to marry thee according to
the ordinance of God and his Apostle, and in that which is lawful there
is no disgrace.--When I heard these words, and saw myself thus confined
in the house so that I could not escape, I replied, I hear and
obey:--and the lady, rejoicing at my consent, clapped her hands, and
opened a door, upon which there came out from it a young man so
surpassingly handsome, that my heart immediately inclined to him. No
sooner had he sat down than the aee and four witnesses entered, and
saluted us, and proceeded to perform the ceremony of the
marriage-contract between me and the young man; which
having done, they departed; and when they had retired, the young man
looked towards me, and said, May our night be blessed. He then informed
me that he desired to impose a covenant upon me, and, bringing a copy of
the ur-an, said, Swear that thou wilt not indulge a preference, nor at
all incline, to any man but me:--and when I had sworn to this effect, he
rejoiced exceedingly, and embraced me; and the love of him took entire
possession of my heart.

We lived together in the utmost happiness for the space of a month,
after which I begged that he would allow me to go to the bazar, in order
to purchase some stuffs for dress, and, having obtained his permission,
went thither in company with the old woman, and seated myself at the
shop of a young merchant with whom she was acquainted, and whose father,
as she informed me, had died and left him great wealth. She desired him
to shew me his most costly stuffs; and while he was occupied in doing
so, she began to utter various flattering expressions in praise of him;
but I said to her, We have no concern with the praises that thou
bestowest upon him; we desire only to make our purchase, and to return
home. Meanwhile he produced to us what we wanted, and we handed him the
money: he refused, however, to take it, saying, It is an offering of
hospitality to you for your visit this day:--whereupon I said to the old
woman, If he will not take the money, return to him his stuff. But he
would not receive it again, and exclaimed, By Allah, I will take nothing
from you: all this is a present from me for a single kiss, which I shall
value more than the entire contents of my shop.--What will a kiss profit
thee? asked the old woman. Then, turning to me, she said, O my daughter,
thou hast heard what the youth hath said: no harm will befall thee if he
give thee a kiss, and thou shalt take what thou wantest.--Dost thou not
know, said I, that I have taken an oath? She answered, Let him kiss thee
then without thy speaking, and so it will be of no consequence to thee,
and thou shalt take back thy money. Thus she continued to palliate the
matter until I put my head (as it were) into the bag, and consented: so
I covered my eyes, and held the edge of my veil in such a manner as to
prevent the passengers from seeing me, whereupon he put his mouth to my
cheek beneath the veil, but instead of merely kissing me, he lacerated
my cheek by a violent bite. I fell into a swoon from the pain, and the
old woman laid me on her lap till I recovered, when I found the shop
closed, and the old woman uttering expressions of grief, and saying,
What God hath averted would have been a greater calamity; let us return
home, and do thou feign to be ill, and I will come to thee and apply a
remedy that shall cure the wound, and thou wilt quickly be restored.



After remaining there some time longer, I rose, and, in a state of great
uneasiness and fear, returned to the house, and professed myself ill,
upon which my husband came in to me, and said, What hath befallen thee,
O my mistress, during this excursion? I answered, I am not well.--And
what is this wound, said he, that is upon thy cheek, and in the soft
part? I answered, When I asked thy permission, and went out to-day to
purchase some stuff for dress, a camel loaded with firewood drove
against me in the crowd, and tore my veil, and wounded my cheek as thou
seest, for the streets of this city are narrow.--To-morrow,
then, he exclaimed, I will go to the governor, and make a complaint to
him, and he shall hang every seller of firewood in the city.--By Allah,
said I, burden not thyself by an injury to any one; for the truth is,
that I was riding upon an ass, which took fright with me, and I fell
upon the ground, and a stick lacerated my cheek.--If it be so, then, he
replied, I will go to-morrow to Jaafar El-Barmekee, and relate the
matter to him, and he shall kill every ass-driver in this city.--Wilt
thou, said I, kill all those men on my account, when this which befell
me was decreed by God?--Undoubtedly, he answered; and, so saying, he
seized me violently, and then sprang up, and uttered a loud cry, upon
which the door opened, and there came forth from it seven black slaves,
who dragged me from my bed, and threw me down in the middle of the
apartment; whereupon he ordered one of them to hold me by my shoulders
and to sit upon my head; and another, to sit upon my knees and to hold
my feet. A third then came, with a sword in his hand, and said, O my
lord, shall I strike her with the sword, and cleave her in twain, that
each of these may take a half and throw it into the Tigris for the fish
to devour? For such is the punishment of her who is
unfaithful to her oath and to the laws of love.--My husband answered,
Strike her, O Saad:--and the slave, with the drawn sword in
his hand, said, Repeat the profession of the faith, and reflect what
thou wouldst have to be done, that thou mayest give thy testamentary
directions, for this is the end of thy life.--Good slave, I replied,
release me for a while that I may do so:--and I raised my head, and,
weeping as I spoke, addressed my husband with these verses:--

  You render me lovelorn, and remain at ease. You make my wounded
    eyelid to be restless, and you sleep.
  Your abode is between my heart and my eyes; and my heart will not
    relinquish you, nor my tears conceal my passion.
  You made a covenant with me that you would remain faithful;
    but when you had gained possession of my heart you deceived me.
  Will you not pity my love for you and my moaning? Have you yourself
    been secure from misfortunes?
  I conjure you, by Allah, if I die, that you write upon my tombstone,
    This was a slave of love.
  That, perchance, some mourner who hath felt the same flame may pass
    by the lover's grave, and pity her.

But on hearing these verses, and witnessing my weeping, he became more
incensed, and replied in the words of this couplet:--

  I reject not the beloved of my heart from weariness: her own guilty
    conduct is the cause of her punishment.
  She desired that another should share with me her love; but the faith
    of my heart inclineth not to partnership.



I continued to weep, and to endeavour to excite his compassion, saying
within myself, I will humble me before him, and address him with soft
words, that he may at least refrain from killing me, though he take all
that I possess;--but he cried out to the slave, Cleave her in twain; for
she is no longer of any value to us.--So the slave approached me, and I
now felt assured of my death, and committed myself to God; but suddenly
the old woman came and threw herself at my husband's feet, and, kissing
them, exclaimed, O my son, by the care with which I nursed thee, I
conjure thee to pardon this damsel, for she hath committed no offence
that deserveth such a punishment: thou art young, and I fear the effect
of the imprecations that she may utter against thee:--and after she had
thus addressed him, she wept, and continued to importune him, until, at
length, he said, I pardon her, but must cause her to bear upon her
person such marks of her offence as shall last for the remainder of her
life. So saying, he commanded the slaves to strip off my vest, and,
taking a stick cut from a quince-tree, he beat me upon my back and my
sides until I became insensible from the violence of the blows, and
despaired of my life. He then ordered the slaves to take me away as soon
as it was night, accompanied by the old woman, and to throw me into my
house in which I formerly resided. They accordingly executed their
lord's commands, and when they had deposited me in my house, I applied
myself to the healing of my wounds; but, after I had cured myself, my
sides still bore the appearance of having been beaten with mira'ahs. I
continued to apply remedies for four months before I was restored, and
then repaired to view the house in which this event had happened; but I
found it reduced to ruin, and the whole street pulled down; the site of
the house I found occupied by mounds of rubbish, and I knew not the
cause.

Under these circumstances, I went to reside with this my sister, who is
of the same father as myself, and I found with her these two bitches.
Having saluted her, I informed her of all that had befallen me; to which
she replied, Who is secure from the afflictions of fortune? Praise be to
God who terminated the affair with safety to thy life!--She then related
to me her own story, and that of her two sisters, and I remained with
her, and neither of us ever mentioned the subject of marriage.
Afterwards we were joined by this our other sister, the cateress, who
every day goes out to purchase for us whatever we happen to want.


CONCLUSION OF THE STORY OF THE LADIES OF BAGHDAD, &c.

The Kaleefeh was astonished at this story, and ordered it to be recorded
in a book, as an authentic history, and deposited the book in his
library. And he said to the first lady, Knowest thou where the
Jinneeyeh who enchanted thy sisters is to be found? She
answered, O Prince of the Faithful, she gave me a lock of her hair, and
said, When thou desirest my presence, burn a few of these hairs, and I
will be with thee quickly, though I should be beyond Mount af.--Bring
then the hair, said the Khaleefeh. The lady, therefore, produced it; and
the Khaleefeh, taking it, burned a portion of it, and, when the odour
had diffused itself, the palace shook, and they heard a sound of
thunder, and lo, the Jinneeyeh appeared before them. She was a Muslimeh,
and therefore greeted the Khaleefeh by saying, Peace be on thee, O
Khaleefeh of God!--to which he replied, On you be peace, and the mercy
of God, and his blessings!--She then said, Know that this
lady hath conferred on me a benefit for which I am unable to requite
her; for she rescued me from death, by killing my enemy; and I, having
seen what her sisters had done to her, determined to take vengeance upon
them; therefore I transformed them by enchantment into two bitches; and,
indeed, I had wished rather to kill them, fearing lest they should
trouble her; but now, if thou desire their restoration, O Prince of the
Faithful, I will restore them, as a favour to thee and to her; for I am
one of the true believers.--Do so, said the Khaleefeh; and then we will
enter upon the consideration of the affair of the lady who hath been
beaten, and examine her case, and if her veracity be established, I will
take vengeance for her upon him who hath oppressed her. The Jinneeyeh
replied, O Prince of the Faithful, I will guide thee to the discovery of
him who acted thus to this lady, and oppressed her, and took her
property: he is thy nearest relation. She then took a cup of water, and,
having pronounced a spell over it, sprinkled the faces of the two
bitches, saying, Be restored to your original human forms!--whereupon
they became again two young ladies.--Extolled be the perfection of
their Creator! Having done this, the Jinneeyeh said, O
Prince of the Faithful, he who beat the lady is thy son El-Emeen, who
had heard of her beauty and loveliness:--and she proceeded to relate
what had happened. The Khaleefeh was astonished, and exclaimed, Praise
be to God for the restoration of these two bitches which hath been
effected through my means!--and immediately he summoned before him his
son El-Emeen, and inquired of him the history of the lady; and he
related to him the truth. He then sent for aees and witnesses, and the
first lady and her two sisters who had been transformed into bitches he
married to the three mendicants who had related that they were the sons
of Kings; and these he made chamberlains of his court, appointing them
all that they required, and allotting them apartments in the palace of
Baghdad. The lady who had been beaten he restored to his son El-Emeen,
giving her a large property, and ordering that the house should be
rebuilt in a more handsome style. Lastly, the lady-cateress he took as
his own wife; he admitted her at once to his own apartment, and, on the
following day, he appointed her a separate lodging for herself, with
female slaves to wait upon her: he also allotted to her a regular
income; and afterwards built for her a palace.






NOTES TO CHAPTER THIRD.

NOTE 1.--_On the Uses of Palm-sticks in various Manufactures._ The kind
of crate here mentioned is made of jereeds, or palm-sticks, which (being
very soft, and easily cut and punched, in their fresh state, and very
tough, difficult to break, and light, when dry,) are used in a great
variety of manufactures. In making crates or baskets, and stools,
bed-frames, coops, &c., a number of jereeds, being placed an inch or
more apart, are fixed by two, three, or more, thicker ones, placed
transversely. Round holes are punched in the latter, through which the
former are inserted; and the whole becomes light and strong as soon as
it is dry. Chests are made with thick jereeds placed close together, and
others, pared thin, passing transversely through them.

NOTE 2.--_Description of the Veils of Arab Women._ The modern izar or
eezar (for the word is written in two different ways), of Arab women, is
a piece of drapery commonly worn by them when they appear in public. It
is about two yards or more in width (according to the height of the
wearer), and three yards in length: one edge of it being drawn from
behind, over the upper part of the head and the forehead, and secured by
a band sewed inside, the rest hangs down behind and on each side to the
ground, or nearly so, and almost entirely envelops the person; the two
ends being held so as nearly to meet in front. Thus it conceals every
other part of the dress excepting a small portion of a very loose gown
(which is another of the articles of walking or riding apparel), and the
face-veil. It is now generally made of white calico, but a similar
covering of black silk for the married, and of white silk for the
unmarried, is now worn by females of the higher and middle classes, and
is called a "abarah."

It appears that the kind of face-veil mentioned in the same passage (in
Arabic, "inaa,") is a piece of muslin, about a yard or more in length,
and somewhat less in width, a portion of which is placed over the head,
beneath the izar, the rest hanging down in front, to the waist, or
thereabout, and entirely concealing the face. I have often seen Arab
women, particularly those of the Wahhabees, wearing veils of this kind
composed of printed muslin, completely concealing their features, yet of
sufficiently loose fabric to admit of their seeing their way. But the
more common kind of Arab face-veil is a long strip of white muslin, or
of a kind of black crape, covering the whole of the face excepting the
eyes, and reaching nearly to the feet. It is suspended at the top by a
narrow band, which passes up the forehead, and which is sewed, as are
also the two upper corners of the veil, to a band that is tied round the
head. This veil is called "buro'." The black kind is often ornamented
with gold coins, false pearls, &c., attached to the upper part. It is
not so genteel as the white veil, unless for a lady in mourning.

NOTE 3. "El-Moil" is the name of the city which Europeans commonly call
"Mosul," "Mosoul," &c.; a city long famous for its fine stuffs. Hence
our word "muslin," often termed, in Arabic, "Moilee," signifying, "of
the manufacture of El-Moil."

NOTE 4. The wine is mentioned in the Calcutta edition of the first two
hundred nights, but not in the edition of Cairo. The lady went to a
Christian to purchase her wine because Muslims are not allowed to sell
it.

NOTE 5. The "'Othmanee quinces" I suppose to be a kind so called after
some person named 'Othman who introduced it, or was famous for its
culture. The term "Sulanee," applied to the citrons afterwards
mentioned, signifies "imperial."

NOTE 6. A list of these sweets is given in my original, but I have
thought it better to omit the names.

NOTE 7. The "willow-flower-water" is prepared from the sweet-scented
flowers of the Oriental willow, called "ban" and "khilaf" or "khalaf;" a
twig of which is, among the Arabs, a favourite emblem of a graceful
female.

NOTE 8.--_On the Vessels used for Sprinkling and Perfuming._ The
sprinkling-bottle, here called "mirashsh," is more commonly called
"umum," and has been alluded to in a former note, as having a
spherical or wide body, and a long and narrow neck. It is generally
about eight inches high, and of plain or gilt silver, or of fine brass,
or china, or glass; and has a cover pierced with a small hole. This
vessel is used in the houses of the rich to sprinkle a guest or visiter,
before he rises to take his leave, with rose-water; after which
ceremony, a page or servant presents to him a kind of censer, called
"mibkharah," which is generally of one or other of the metals above
mentioned, and about the same height as the umum; and he wafts the
smoke which rises from it towards his face, beard, &c., with the right
hand. The body of the mibkharah, the form of which is nearly globular,
surmounts a stem rising from the centre of a small circular tray; the
upper half is a cover pierced with apertures for the escape of the
smoke; and the lower half, in which some burning charcoal is placed, is
lined, or half filled, with gypsum-plaster. Aloes-wood, previously
moistened, or some other odoriferous substance, is placed upon the
burning coals; and sometimes, in the houses of very wealthy persons,
ambergris is used.

NOTE 9. This description of the outer door of a house in Baghdad is an
obvious absurdity; but none of the copies of the original to which I
have access authorizes my substituting "gilt" for "plated with gold;"
all here agreeing in the use of words which have the latter sense.

NOTE 10. In their eagerness to obtain the earliest possible sight of the
new moon which marks the period of the commencement of the Ramaan, lest
they should not begin their fast as soon as the law requires, the
Muslims often see the crescent one night earlier in this than in any
other month. The comparison of an eyebrow to the new moon of Ramaan
expresses, therefore, its extreme thinness, as well as its arched form.
To reduce its natural thickness, and to give it this form, scissors are
often used.

NOTE 11. "The seal of Suleyman" is a name given by the Arabs to a
six-pointed star formed by two equilateral triangles intersecting each
other, and to the flower which we, also, call "Solomon's seal." I fear
that the reader will not consider the comparison very apposite, unless
the allusion be to a beautiful red berry which, I am informed, is borne
by the flower here mentioned.

NOTE 12.--_Description of Apartments in Arab Houses._ Most of the
descriptions of interior domestic architecture which occur in the
present work, I may aptly illustrate by availing myself of observations
made in Cairo. In the houses of persons of the higher and middle classes
in this city, the different apartments generally resemble each other in
several respects, and are similarly furnished. The greater portion of
the floor is elevated about half a foot, or somewhat more, above the
rest. The higher portion is called "leewan" (a corruption of
"el-eewan"), and the lower, "dura'ah," from the Persian "dar-gah." When
there is but one leewan, the dura'ah occupies the lower end, extending
from the door to the opposite wall. In a handsome house, it is usually
paved with white and black marble, and little pieces of red tile, inlaid
in tasteful and complicated patterns; and if the room is on the
ground-floor, and sometimes in other cases, it has, in the centre, a
fountain which plays into a small, shallow pool, lined with coloured
marbles, &c., like the surrounding pavement. The shoes, or slippers, are
left upon the dura'ah previously to stepping upon the leewan. The
latter is generally paved with common stone, and covered with a mat in
summer, and a carpet over this in winter; and a mattress and cushions
are placed against each of its three walls, composing what is called a
"deewan," or divan. The mattress, which is commonly about three feet
wide, and three or four inches thick, is placed either on the floor or
on a raised frame or a slightly-elevated pavement; and the cushions,
which are usually of a length equal to the width of the mattress, and of
a height equal to half that measure, lean against the wall. Both
mattresses and cushions are stuffed with cotton, and are covered with
printed calico, cloth, or some more expensive stuff. The deewan which
extends along the upper end of the leewan is called the "adr," and is
the most honourable: and the chief place on this seat is the corner
which is to the right of a person facing this end of the room; the other
corner is the next in point of honour; and the intermediate places on
the same deewan are more honourable than those on the two side-deewans.
To a superior, and often to an equal, the master or mistress yields the
chief place. The corners are often furnished with an additional
mattress, of a square form, just large enough for one person, placed
upon the other mattress, and with two additional (but smaller) cushions
to recline against. The walls are, for the most part, plastered and
white-washed, and generally have two or more shallow cupboards, the
doors of which, as well as those of the apartments, are fancifully
constructed with small panels. The windows, which are chiefly composed
of curious wooden lattice-work, serving to screen the inhabitants from
the view of persons without, as also to admit both light and air,
commonly project outwards, and are furnished with mattresses and
cushions. In many houses there are, above these, small windows of
coloured glass, representing bunches of flowers, &c. The ceiling is of
wood, and certain portions of it, which are carved, or otherwise
ornamented by fanciful carpentry, are usually painted with bright
colours, such as red, green, and blue, and sometimes varied with
gilding; but the greater part of the wood-work is generally left
unpainted.

The word in the original text which I translate "saloon," is "a'ah."
This term is applied to a large and lofty apartment, commonly having two
leewans, on opposite sides of the dura'ah. One of these is, in most
instances, larger than the other, and is held to be the more honourable
part. Some a'ahs, containing three leewans, one of these being opposite
the entrance, or four leewans composing the form of a cross with the
dura'ah in the centre, communicate with small chambers or closets, or
have elevated recesses which are furnished in the same manner as the
leewans. That part of the roof which is over the dura'ah rises above
the rest, sometimes to nearly twice the height of the latter, and is
generally surmounted by a lantern of wooden lattice-work to admit the
air.

NOTE 13. In the Cairo edition, the couch is described as being in the
_midst_ of the saloon; but this is inconsistent with what follows.

NOTE 14.--_Of_ Babil, _and the Angels_ Haroot _and_ Maroot. Babil, or
Babel, is regarded by the Muslims as the fountain-head of the science of
magic, which was, and, as most think, still is, taught there to mankind
by two fallen angels, named Haroot and Maroot, who are there
suspended by the feet in a great pit closed by a mass of rock.
According to the account of them generally received as correct, these
two angels, in consequence of their want of compassion for the frailties
of mankind, were rendered, by God, susceptible of human passions, and
sent down upon the earth to be tempted: they both sinned; and, being
permitted to choose whether they would be punished in this life or in
the other, chose the former; but they were sent down not merely to
_experience_ temptation, being also appointed to tempt others by means
of their knowledge of magic; though it appears that they were commanded
not to teach this art to any man "until they had said, Verily we are a
temptation; therefore, be not an unbeliever."--The celebrated
traditionist Mujahid is related to have visited them, under the guidance
of a Jew. Having removed the mass of rock from the mouth of the pit, or
well, they entered. Mujahid had been previously charged by the Jew not
to mention the name of God in their presence; but when he beheld them,
resembling in size two huge mountains, and suspended upside-down, with
irons attached to their necks and knees, he could not refrain from
uttering the forbidden name; whereupon the two angels became so
violently agitated that they almost broke the irons which confined them,
and Mujahid and his guide fled back in consternation.

NOTE 15. The meaning conveyed by this comparison is "tall and slender."

NOTE 16. In the MS. from which the old translation was made, it appears
that this lady is called Zubeydeh (which was the name of the daughter of
Jaafar the son of El-Manoor, and wife of Er-Rasheed); the portress,
afiyeh; and the cateress, Amineh; but no names are given to them in any
of the copies of the original to which I have access.

NOTE 17. Literally, "two nufs." "Nuf," vulgarly pronounced by the
Egyptians "nu," and signifying "half," is the name of a small Egyptian
coin made of a mixture of silver and copper, and now equivalent to
something less than a quarter of a farthing; but this name was
originally given to the half-dirhems which were struck in the reign of
the Sulan El-Mu-eiyad, in the early part of the ninth century of the
Flight, or of the fifteenth of our era. In the Calcutta edition of the
first two hundred nights, and in the edition of Breslau, we read here
"two dirhems," instead of "two nufs." [The coin here mentioned still
bears the name "Mu-eiyadee," or, vulgarly, "Meiyadee." In the latest
coinage, copper has been substituted for the mixed metal. ED.]

NOTE 18. The "menareh" is the tower of a mosque, commonly called by
English writers "minaret," which generally rises from a square base.

NOTE 19. It is a common custom in the East to seal the doors of
store-houses with a lump of clay, lest the lock should be picked.

NOTE 20. I here deviate a little from the Cairo edition, in which the
cateress is described as having drunk three cups of wine successively
before she handed any to her sisters. My reason for this will presently
be seen.

NOTE 21. Thus in two editions. In the Cairo edition, "tukellimuhu" is
put for "telkumuhu."

NOTE 22. _On Wine, Fruits, Flowers, and Music, in Illustration of Arab
Carousals._ I here pass over an extremely objectionable scene, which, it
is to be hoped, would convey a very erroneous idea of the manners of
Arab _ladies_; though I have witnessed, at private festivities in Cairo,
abominable scenes, of which ladies, screened behind lattices, were
spectators. Can the same be said with respect to the previous carousal?
This is a question which cannot be answered in a few words.

The prohibition of wine, or, rather, of fermented and intoxicating
liquors, being one of the most remarkable and important points of the
Mohammadan religion, it might be imagined that the frequent stories in
this work, describing parties of Muslims as habitually indulging in the
use of forbidden beverages, are scandalous misrepresentations of Arab
manners and customs. There are, however, many similar anecdotes
interspersed in the works of Arab historians, which (though many of them
are probably untrue in their application to particular individuals)
could not have been offered to the public by such writers if they were
not of a nature consistent with the customs of a considerable class of
the Arab nation.

In investigating this subject, it is necessary, in the first place, to
state, that there is a kind of wine which Muslims are permitted to
drink. It is properly called "nebeedh" (a name which is _now_ given to
_prohibited_ kinds of wine), and is generally prepared by putting dry
grapes, or dry dates, in water, to extract their sweetness, and
suffering the liquor to ferment slightly, until it acquires a little
sharpness or pungency. The Prophet himself was in the habit of drinking
wine of this kind, which was prepared for him in the first part of the
night; he drank it on the first and second days following; but if any
remained on the morning of the third day, he either gave it to his
servants or ordered it to be poured out upon the ground. Such
beverages have, therefore, been drunk by the strictest of his followers;
and Ibn-Khaldoon strongly argues that nebeedh thus prepared from dates
was the kind of wine used by the Khaleefehs Haroon Er-Rasheed and
El-Ma-moon, and several other eminent men, who have been commonly
accused of habitually and publicly indulging in debauches of wine
properly so called; that is, of inebriating liquors.

Nebeedh, prepared from raisins, is commonly sold in Arab towns, under
the name of "zebeeb," which signifies "raisins." This I have often drunk
in Cairo; but never could perceive that it was in the slightest degree
fermented. Other beverages, to which the name of "nebeedh" has been
applied (though, like zebeeb, no longer called by that name), are also
sold in Arab towns. The most common of these is an infusion of licorice,
and called by the name of the root, "'er-soos." The nebeedh of dates is
sold in Cairo with the dates themselves in the liquor; and in like
manner is that of figs. Under the same appellation of "nebeedh" have
been classed the different kinds of beer now commonly called "boozeh,"
which have been mentioned in former pages. Opium, hemp, &c., are now
more frequently used by the Muslims to induce intoxication or
exhilaration. The young leaves of the hemp are generally used alone, or
mixed with tobacco, for smoking; and the capsules, without the seeds,
enter into the composition of several intoxicating conserves. Some
remarks upon this subject have been inserted in a former note.

By my own experience I am but little qualified to pronounce an opinion
respecting the prevalence of drinking wine among the Arabs; for, never
drinking it myself, I had little opportunity of observing others do so
during my residence among Muslims. I judge, therefore, from the
conversations and writings of Arabs, which justify me in asserting that
the practice of drinking wine in private, and by select parties, is far
from being uncommon among modern Muslims, though certainly more so than
it was before the introduction of tobacco into the East, in the
beginning of the seventeenth century of our era; for this herb, being in
a slight degree exhilarating, and at the same time soothing, and
unattended by the injurious effects that result from wine, is a
sufficient luxury to many who, without it, would have recourse to
intoxicating beverages merely to pass away hours of idleness. The use of
coffee, too, which became common in Egypt, Syria, and other countries,
besides Arabia, a century earlier than tobacco, doubtless tended to
render the habit of drinking wine less general. That it was adopted as a
substitute for wine appears even from its name, "ahweh," an old Arabic
term for wine; whence the Turkish "ahveh," the Italian "caffe," and our
"coffee."

There is an Arabic work of some celebrity, and not of small extent,
entitled "albet el-Kumeyt," apparently written shortly before the
Arabs were in possession of the first of the above-mentioned substitutes
for wine, nearly the whole of which consists of anecdotes and verses
relating to the pleasures resulting from, or attendant upon, the use of
wine; a few pages at the end being devoted to the condemnation of this
practice, or, in other words, to prove the worthlessness of all that
precedes. Of this work I possess a copy, a quarto volume of 464 pages. I
have endeavoured to skim its cream; but found it impossible to do so
without collecting, at the same time, a considerable quantity of most
filthy scum; for it is characterised by wit and humour plentifully
interlarded with the grossest and most revolting obscenity; yet it
serves to confirm what has been above asserted. The mere existence of
such a work (and it is not the only one of the kind), written by a man
of learning, and I believe a aee, a judge, or one holding the
honourable office of a guardian of religion and morality,--written,
too, evidently with pleasure, notwithstanding his assertion to the
contrary,--is a strong argument in favour of the prevalence of the
practice which it paints in the most fascinating colours, and then
condemns. Its author terminates a chapter (the ninth), in which many
well-known persons are mentioned as having been addicted to wine, by
saying, that the Khaleefehs, Emeers, and Wezeers, so addicted, are too
numerous to name in such a work; and by relating a story of a man who
placed his own wife in pledge in the hands of a wine-merchant, after
having expended in the purchase of the forbidden liquor all the property
that he possessed. He excuses himself (in his preface) for writing this
book, by saying that he had been ordered to do so by one whom he could
not disobey; thus giving us a pretty strong proof that a great man in
his time was not ashamed of avowing his fondness for the prohibited
enjoyment. If, then, we admit the respectable authority of Ibn-Khaldoon,
and acquit of the vice of drunkenness those illustrious individuals
whose characters he vindicates, we must still regard most of the
anecdotes relating to the carousals of other persons as being not
without foundation.

One of my friends, who enjoys a high reputation, ranking among the most
distinguished of the 'Ulama of Cairo, is well known to his intimate
acquaintances as frequently indulging in the use of forbidden beverages
with a few select associates. I disturbed him and his companions by an
evening visit on one of these occasions, and was kept waiting within the
street-door while the guests quickly removed everything that would give
me any indication of the manner in which they had been employed; for the
announcement of my (assumed) name, and their knowledge of my abstemious
character, completely disconcerted them. I found them, however, in the
best humour. They had contrived, it appeared, to fill with wine a
_china_ bottle, of the kind used at that season (winter) for water; and
when any one of them asked the servant for water, this bottle was
brought to him; but when I made the same demand, my host told me that
there was a bottle of water on the sill of the window behind that part
of the deewan upon which I was seated. The evening passed away very
pleasantly, and I should not have known how unwelcome was my intrusion
had not one of the guests with whom I was intimately acquainted, in
walking part of the way home with me, explained to me the whole
occurrence. There was with us a third person, who, thinking that my
antipathy to wine was feigned, asked me to stop at his house on my way,
and take a cup of "white coffee," by which he meant brandy.

Another of my Muslim acquaintances in Cairo I frequently met at the
house of a mutual friend, where, though he was in most respects very
bigoted, he was in the habit of indulging in wine. For some time he
refrained from this gratification when I was present; but at length my
presence became so irksome to him, that he ventured to enter into an
argument with me on the subject of the prohibition. The only answer I
could give to his question, "Why is wine forbidden?"--was in the words
of the ur-an, "Because it is the source of more evil than profit."
This suited his purpose, as I intended it should; and he asked, "What
evil results from it?" I answered, "Intoxication and quarrels,
&c."--"Then," said he, "if a man take not enough to intoxicate him there
is no harm;"--and finding that I acquiesced by silence, he added, "I am
in the habit of taking a little; but never enough to intoxicate. Boy,
bring me a glass."--He was the only Muslim, however, whom I have heard
to argue against the absolute interdiction of inebriating liquors.

Histories tell us that some of the early followers of the Prophet
indulged in wine, holding the text above referred to as indecisive; and
that Moammad was at first doubtful upon this subject appears from
another text, in which his followers were told not to come to prayer
when they were drunk, until they should know what they would say;
an injunction somewhat similar to one in the Bible; but when
frequent and severe contentions resulted from their use of wine, the
following more decided condemnation of the practice was pronounced:--"O
ye who have become believers, verily wine and lots and images and
divining-arrows are an abomination of the work of the Devil; therefore,
avoid them, that ye may prosper." This law is absolute: its
violation in the smallest degree is criminal. The punishment ordained by
the law for drinking (or, according to most doctors, for even tasting)
wine or spirits, or inducing intoxication by any other means, on
ordinary occasions, is the infliction of eighty stripes in the case of a
free man, and forty in that of a slave; but if the crime be openly
committed in the course of any day of the month of Ramaan, when others
are fasting, the punishment prescribed is death!

The prohibition of wine hindered many of the Prophet's contemporaries
from embracing his religion. It is said that the famous poet El-Aasha,
who was one of them, delayed to join his cause on this account, until
death prevented him. A person passing by his tomb (at Menfooah, in
El-Yemameh), and observing that it was moist, asked the reason, and was
answered, that the young men of the place, considering him still as
their cup-companion, drank wine over his grave, and poured his cup upon
it. Yet many of the most respectable of the pagan Arabs, like
certain of the Jews and early Christians, abstained totally from wine,
from a feeling of its injurious effects upon morals, and, in their
climate, upon health; or, more especially, from the fear of being led by
it into the commission of foolish and degrading actions. Thus, eys the
son of 'Aim, being one night overcome with wine, attempted to grasp the
moon, and swore that he would not quit the spot where he stood until he
had laid hold of it: after leaping several times with the view of doing
so, he fell flat upon his face; and when he recovered his senses, and
was acquainted with the cause of his face being bruised, he made a
solemn vow to abstain from wine ever after. A similar feeling
operated upon many Muslims more than religious principle. The Khaleefeh
'Abd-El-Melik Ibn-Marwan took pleasure in the company of a slave named
Naeeb, and one day desired him to drink with him. The slave replied, "O
Prince of the Faithful, I am not related to thee, nor have I any
authority over thee, and I am of no rank or lineage: I am a black slave,
and my wit and politeness have drawn me into thy favour: how then shall
I take that which will plunder me of these two qualities; and by what
shall I then propitiate thee?" The Khaleefeh admired and excused
him.

It was the custom of many Muslim princes, as might be inferred from the
above anecdote, to admit the meanest of their dependants to participate
in their unlawful carousals when they could have no better companions;
but poets and musicians were their more common associates on these
occasions; and these two classes, and especially the latter, are in the
present day the most addicted to intoxicating liquors. Few modern Arab
musicians are so well contented with extraordinary payment and mere
sweet sherbet as with a moderate fee and plenty of wine and brandy; and
many of them deem even wine but a sorry beverage.

It was usual with the host and guests at wine-parties to wear dresses of
bright colours, red, yellow, and green; and to perfume their beards
and mustaches with civet, or to have rose-water sprinkled upon them; and
ambergris or aloes-wood, or some other odoriferous substance, placed
upon burning coals in a censer, diffused a delicious fragrance
throughout the saloon of the revels.

The wine, it appears, was rather thick; for it was necessary to strain
it: it was probably sweet, and not strong; for it was drunk in
large quantities. Frequently, perhaps, it was nebeedh of dry raisins
kept longer than the law allows. It was usually kept in a large earthen
vessel, called "denn," high, and small at the bottom, which was partly
imbedded in the earth to keep it upright. The name of this vessel is now
given to a cask of wood; but the kind above mentioned was of earth; for
it was easily broken.--A famous saint, Abu-l-oseyn En-Nooree, seeing a
vessel on the Tigris containing thirty denns belonging to the Khaleefeh
El-Moataid, and being told that they contained wine, took a boat-pole,
and broke them all, excepting one. When brought before the Khaleefeh to
answer for this action, and asked by him, "Who made thee Motesib?"
he boldly answered, "He who made thee Khaleefeh!"--and was
pardoned.--Pitch was used by the Arabs, as it was by the Greeks and
Romans, for the purpose of curing their wine; the interior of the denn
being coated with it. A smaller kind of earthen jar, or amphora,
and a bottle of leather, were also used. The wine
was transferred for the table to glass jugs, or long-spouted ewers.
These and the cups were placed upon a round embroidered cloth spread on
the floor, or upon a round tray. The latter now is in general use, and
is supported on a low stool, described in a former note, as being used
at ordinary meals. The guests sat around, reclining against pillars; or
they sat upon the deewan, and a page or slave handed the cup, having on
his right arm a richly-embroidered napkin: the person after drinking
took the end of this to wipe his lips. The cups are often described as
holding a fluid pound, or little less than an English pint; and this is
to be understood literally, or nearly so: they were commonly of cut
glass; but some were of crystal, or silver, or gold. With these and
the ewers or jugs were placed several saucers, or small dishes, of
fresh and dried fruits; and fans and fly-whisks, of the kinds
described on a former occasion, were used by the guests.

The most common and esteemed fruits in the countries inhabited by the
Arabs may here be mentioned.

The date deserves the first place. The Prophet's favourite fruits
were fresh dates and water-melons; and he ate them both
together. "Honour," said he, "your paternal aunt, the date-palm;
for she was created of the earth of which Adam was formed." It is
said that God hath given this tree as a peculiar favour to the Muslims;
that he hath decreed all the date-palms in the world to them, and they
have accordingly conquered every country in which these trees are found;
and all are said to have derived their origin from the Hejaz. The
palm-tree has several well-known properties that render it an emblem of
a human being; among which are these; that if the head be cut off, the
tree dies; and if a branch be cut off, another does not grow in its
place. Dates are preserved in a moist state by being merely pressed
together in a basket or skin, and thus prepared are called "'ajweh."
There are many varieties of this fruit. The pith or heart of the
palm is esteemed for its delicate flavour.

The water-melon, from what has been said of it above, ought to be
ranked next; and it really merits this distinction. "Whoso eateth," said
the Prophet, "a mouthful of water-melon, God writeth for him a thousand
good works, and cancelleth a thousand evil works, and raiseth him a
thousand degrees; for it came from Paradise;"--and again, "The
water-melon is food and drink, acid and alkali, and a support of life,"
&c. The varieties of this fruit are very numerous.

The banana is a delicious fruit. The Prophet pronounced the
banana-tree to be the only thing on earth that resembles a thing in
Paradise; because it bears fruit both in winter and summer.

The pomegranate is another celebrated fruit. Every pomegranate,
according to the Prophet, contains a fecundating seed from
Paradise.

The other most common and esteemed fruits are the following:--the apple,
pear, quince, apricot, peach, fig, sycamore-fig, grape, lote, jujube,
plum, walnut, almond, hazel-nut, pistachio-nut, orange, Seville-orange,
lime and lemon, citron, mulberry, olive, and sugar-cane.

Of a selection of these fruits consists the dessert which accompanies
the wine; but the table is not complete without a bunch or two of
flowers placed in the midst.

Though the Arabs are far from being remarkable for exhibiting taste in
the planning of their gardens, they are passionately fond of flowers,
and especially of the rose.--The Khaleefeh El-Mutawekkil
monopolized roses for his own enjoyment; saying, "I am the King of
Sulans, and the rose is the king of sweet-scented flowers; therefore
each of us is most worthy of the other for a companion." The rose, in
his time, was seen nowhere but in his palace: during the season of this
flower he wore rose-coloured clothes; and his carpets, &c., were
sprinkled with rose-water. A similar passion for the rose is said
to have distinguished a weaver, in the reign of El-Ma-moon. He was
constantly employed at his loom every day of the year, even during the
congregational prayers of Friday, excepting in the rose-season, when he
abandoned his work, and gave himself up to the enjoyment of wine, early
in the morning and late in the evening, loudly proclaiming his revels by
singing,--

  "The season has become pleasant! The time of the rose has come!
     Take your morning potations, as long as the rose has blossoms
     and flowers!"

When he resumed his work, he made it known by singing aloud,--

  "If my Lord prolong my life until the rose-season, I will take
     again my morning potations: but if I die before it, alas!
     for the loss of the rose and wine!
  "I implore the God of the supreme throne, whose glory be extolled,
     that my heart may continually enjoy the evening potations
     to the day of resurrection."

--The Khaleefeh was so amused with the humour of this man, that he
granted him an annual pension of ten thousand dirhems to enable him to
enjoy himself amply on these occasions.--Another anecdote may be
added to shew the estimation of the rose in the mind of an Arab. It is
said that Row Ibn-atim, the governor of the province of Northern
Africa, was sitting one day, with a female slave, in an apartment of his
palace, when a eunuch brought him a jar full of red and white roses,
which a man had offered as a present. He ordered the eunuch to fill the
jar with silver in return; but his concubine said, "O my lord, thou hast
not acted equitably towards the man; for his present to thee is of two
colours, red and white." The Emeer replied, "Thou hast said truly;" and
gave orders to fill the jar for him with silver and gold (dirhems and
deenars) intermixed.--Some persons preserve roses during the whole
of the year, in the following manner. They take a number of rose-buds,
and fill with them a new earthen jar, and, after closing its mouth with
mud, so as to render it impervious to the air, bury it in the earth.
Whenever they want a few roses, they take out some of these buds, which
they find unaltered, sprinkle a little water upon them, and leave them
for a short time in the air, when they open, and appear as if just
gathered.--The rose is even a subject of miracles. It is related by
Ibn-uteybeh, that there grows in India a kind of rose upon the leaves
of which is inscribed, "There is no deity but God." But I find a
more particular account of this miraculous rose. A person, who professed
to have seen it, said, "I went into India, and I saw, at one of its
towns, a large rose, sweet-scented, upon which was inscribed, in white
characters, 'There is no deity but God; Moammad is God's apostle:
Aboo-Bekr is the very veracious: 'Omar is the discriminator;' and I
doubted of this, whether it had been done by art; so I took one of the
blossoms not yet opened, and in it was the same inscription; and there
were many of the same kind there. The people of that place worshipped
stones, and knew not God, to whom be ascribed might and
glory."--Roses are announced for sale in the streets of Cairo by
the cry of "The rose was a thorn: from the sweat of the Prophet it
blossomed!" in allusion to a miracle recorded of Moammad. "When I was
taken up into heaven," said the Prophet, "some of my sweat fell upon the
earth, and from it sprang the rose; and whoever would smell my scent,
let him smell the rose." In another tradition it is said, "The white
rose was created from my sweat on the night of the Mearaj; and the
red rose, from the sweat of Jebraeel; and the yellow rose, from the
sweat of El-Bura."--The Persians take especial delight in roses;
sometimes spreading them as carpets or beds on which to sit or recline
in their revellings.

But there is a flower pronounced more excellent than the rose; that of
the Egyptian privet, or Lawsonia inermis. Moammad said, "The chief
of the sweet-scented flowers of this world and of the next is the
faghiyeh;" and this was his favourite flower. I approve of his
taste; for this flower, which grows in clusters somewhat like those of
the lilac, has a most delicious fragrance. But, on account of
discrepancies in different traditions, a Muslim may, with a clear
conscience, prefer either of the two flowers next mentioned.

The Prophet said of the violet, "The excellence of the extract of
violets, above all other extracts, is as the excellence of me above all
the rest of the creation: it is cold in summer and hot in winter:" and,
in another tradition, "The excellence of the violet is as the excellence
of El-Islam above all other religions." A delicious sherbet is made
of a conserve of sugar and violet-flowers.

The myrtle is the rival of the violet. "Adam," said the Prophet,
"fell down from Paradise with three things; the myrtle, which is the
chief of sweet-scented flowers in this world; an ear of wheat, which is
the chief of all kinds of food in this world; and pressed dates, which
are the chief of the fruits of this world."

The anemone was monopolized for his own enjoyment by Noaman
Ibn-El-Mundhir (King of El-eereh, and contemporary of Moammad), as the
rose was afterwards by El-Mutawekkil.

Another flower much admired and celebrated in the East is the
gilliflower. There are three principal kinds; the most esteemed is
the yellow, or golden-coloured, which has a delicious scent both by
night and day; the next, the purple, and other dark kinds, which have a
scent only in the night; the least esteemed, the white, which has no
scent. The yellow gilliflower is an emblem of a neglected lover.

The narcissus is very highly esteemed. Galen says, "He who has two
cakes of bread, let him dispose of one of them for some flowers of the
narcissus; for bread is the food of the body, and the narcissus is the
food of the soul." Hippocrates, too, gave a similar opinion.

The following flowers complete the list of those celebrated as most
appropriate to add to the delights of wine:--the jasmine, eglantine,
Seville-orange-flower, lily, sweet-basil, wild thyme, buphthalmum,
chamomile, nenuphar, lotus, pomegranate-flower, poppy, ketmia, crocus or
saffron, safflower, flax, the blossoms of different kinds of bean, and
those of the almond.

A sprig of Oriental willow adds much to the charms of a bunch of
flowers, being the favourite symbol of a graceful female.

But I have not yet mentioned all that contributes to the pleasures of an
Eastern carousal. For the juice of the grape is not fully relished
without melodious sounds. "Wine is as the body; music, as the soul; and
joy is their offspring." All the five senses should be gratified.
For this reason, an Arab toper, who had nothing, it appears, but wine to
enjoy, exclaimed,--

  "Ho! give me wine to drink; and tell me, 'This is wine.'"

For, on drinking, his sight and smell and taste and touch would all be
affected; but it was desirable that his hearing should also be
pleased.

Music was condemned by the Prophet almost as severely as wine. "Singing
and hearing songs," said he, "cause hypocrisy to grow in the heart, like
as water promoteth the growth of corn:"--and musical instruments he
declared to be among the most powerful means by which the Devil seduces
man. An instrument of music is the Devil's mueddin, serving to call men
to his worship, as stated in a former note. Of the hypocrisy of those
attached to music, the following anecdote presents an instance:--A
drunken young man with a lute in his hand was brought one night before
the Khaleefeh 'Abd-El-Melik the son of Marwan, who, pointing to the
instrument, asked what it was, and what was its use. The youth made no
answer; so he asked those around him; but they also remained silent,
till one, more bold than the rest, said, "O Prince of the Faithful,
this is a lute: it is made by taking some wood of the pistachio-tree,
and cutting it into thin pieces, and glueing these together, and then
attaching over them these chords, which, when a beautiful girl touches
them, send forth sounds more pleasant than those of rain falling upon a
desert land; and my wife is separated from me by a triple divorce if
every one in this council is not acquainted with it, and doth not know
it as well as I do, and thou the first of them, O Prince of the
Faithful." The Khaleefeh laughed, and ordered that the young man should
be discharged.

The latter saying of the Prophet, respecting the Devil, suggests to me
the insertion of another anecdote, related of himself by Ibraheem
El-Moilee, the father of Is-a; both of whom were very celebrated
musicians. I give a translation of it somewhat abridged.--"I asked
Er-Rasheed," says Ibraheem, "to grant me permission to spend a day at
home with my female slaves and brothers; and he gave me two thousand
deenars, and appointed the next Saturday for this purpose. I caused the
meats and wine and other necessaries to be prepared, and ordered the
chamberlain to close the door, and admit no one: but while I was
sitting, with my attendants standing in the form of a curved line before
me, there entered, and approached me, a sheykh, reverend and dignified
and comely in appearance, wearing short khuffs, and two soft gowns,
with a alensuweh upon his head, and in his hand a silver-headed
staff; and sweet odours were diffused from his clothes. I was enraged
with the chamberlain for admitting him; but on his saluting me in a very
courteous manner, I returned his salutation, and desired him to sit
down. He then began to repeat to me stories, tales of war, and poetry;
so that my anger was appeased, and it appeared to me that my servants
had not presumed to admit him until acquainted with his politeness and
courteousness; I therefore said to him, 'Hast thou any inclination for
meat?' He answered, 'I have no want of it.'--'And the wine?' said I. He
replied, 'Yes.' So I drank a large cupful, and he did the same, and then
said to me, 'O Ibraheem, wilt thou let us hear some specimen of thy art
in which thou hast excelled the people of thy profession?' I was angry
at his words; but I made light of the matter, and, having taken the lute
and tuned it, I played and sang; whereupon he said, 'Thou hast performed
well, O Ibraheem.' I became more enraged, and said within myself, 'He is
not content with coming hither without permission, and asking me to
sing, but he calls me by my name, and proves himself unworthy of my
conversation.' He then said, 'Wilt thou let us hear more? If so, we will
requite thee.' And I took the lute, and sang, using my utmost care, on
account of his saying, 'we will requite thee.' He was moved with
delight, and said, 'Thou hast performed well, O my master
Ibraheem:'--adding, 'Wilt thou permit thy slave to sing?' I answered,
'As thou pleasest:'--but thinking lightly of his sense to sing after me.
He took the lute, and tuned it; and, by Allah! I imagined that the lute
spoke in his hands with an eloquent Arab tongue. He proceeded to sing
some verses commencing,--

  'My heart is wounded! Who will give me, for it, a heart without
     a wound?'

The narrator continues by saying, that he was struck dumb and motionless
with ecstasy; and that the strange sheykh, after having played and sung
again, and taught him an enchanting air (with which he afterwards
enraptured his patron, the Khaleefeh), vanished. Ibraheem, in alarm,
seized his sword; and was the more amazed when he found that the porter
had not seen the stranger enter or leave the house; but he heard his
voice again, outside, telling him that he was Aboo-Murrah (the
Devil).--Two other anecdotes of a similar kind are related in the
work from which the above is taken.

Ibraheem El-Moilee, his son Is-a, and Mukhari (a pupil of the
former), were especially celebrated among the Arab musicians, and among
the distinguished men of the reign of Haroon Er-Rasheed. Is-a
El-Moilee relates, of his father Ibraheem, that when Er-Rasheed took
him into his service, he gave him a hundred and fifty thousand dirhems,
and allotted him a monthly pension of ten thousand dirhems, besides
occasional presents [one of which is mentioned as amounting to a hundred
thousand dirhems for a single song], and the produce of his (Ibraheem's)
farms: he had food constantly prepared for him; three sheep every day
for his kitchen, besides birds; three thousand dirhems were allowed him
for fruits, perfumes, &c., every month, and a thousand dirhems for his
clothing; "and with all this," says his son, "he died without leaving
more than three thousand deenars, a sum not equal to his debts, which I
paid after his death."--Ibraheem was of Persian origin, and of a
high family. He was commonly called the Nedeem (or cup-companion), being
Er-Rasheed's favourite companion at the wine-table; and his son, who
enjoyed the like distinction with El-Ma-moon, received the same
appellation, as well as that of "Son of the Nedeem." Ibraheem was the
most famous musician of his time, at least till his son attained
celebrity.

Is-a El-Moilee was especially famous as a musician; but he was also a
good poet, accomplished in general literature, and endowed with great
wit. He was honoured above all other persons in the pay of El-Ma-moon,
and enjoyed a long life; but for many years before his death he was
blind.

Mukhari appears to have rivalled his master Ibraheem. The latter, he
relates, took him to perform before Er-Rasheed, who used to have a
curtain suspended between him and the musicians. "Others," he says,
"sang, and he was unmoved; but when I sang, he came forth from behind
the curtain, and exclaimed, 'Young man, hither!' and he seated me upon
the sereer 
The following anecdote (which I abridge a little in translation) shews
his excellence in the art which he professed, and the effect of melody
on an Arab:--"After drinking with the Khaleefeh a whole night, I
asked his permission," says he, "to take the air in the Ruafeh,
which he granted; and while I was walking there, I saw a damsel who
appeared as if the rising sun beamed from her face. She had a basket,
and I followed her. She stopped at a fruiterer's, and bought some fruit;
and observing that I was following her, she looked back and abused me
several times; but still I followed her until she arrived at a great
door, after having filled her basket with fruits and flowers and similar
things. When she had entered, and the door was closed behind her, I sat
down opposite to it, deprived of my reason by her beauty; and knew that
there must be in the house a wine-party. The sun went down upon me while
I sat there; and at length there came two handsome young men on asses,
and they knocked at the door, and when they were admitted I entered with
them; the master of the house thinking that I was their companion, and
they imagining that I was one of his friends. A repast was brought, and
we ate, and washed our hands, and were perfumed. The master of the house
then said to the two young men, 'Have ye any desire that I should call
such a one?' (mentioning a female name). They answered, 'If thou wilt
grant us the favour, well:'--so he called for her, and she came, and lo,
she was the maiden whom I had seen before, and who had abused me. A
servant-maid preceded her, bearing her lute, which she placed in her
lap. Wine was then brought, and she sang while we drank, and shook with
delight. 'Whose air is that?' they asked. She answered, 'Seedee
Mukhari's.' She then sang another air, which, also, she said was mine;
while they drank by pints; she looking aside and doubtfully at me until
I lost my patience, and called out to her to do her best: but in
attempting to do so, singing a third air, she overstrained her voice,
and I said, 'Thou hast made a mistake:'--upon which she threw the lute
from her lap, in anger, so that she nearly broke it; saying, 'Take it
thyself, and let us hear thee.' I answered, 'Well;' and, having taken it
and tuned it perfectly, sang the first of the airs which she had sung
before me; whereupon all of them sprang upon their feet, and kissed my
head. I then sang the second air, and the third; and their reason almost
fled, from ecstasy. The master of the house, after asking his guests,
and being told by them that they knew me not, came to me, and, kissing
my hand, said, 'By Allah, my master, who art thou?' I answered, 'By
Allah, I am the singer Mukhari.'--'And for what purpose,' said he,
kissing both my hands, 'camest thou hither?' I replied, 'As a
spunger;'--and related what had happened with respect to the maiden:
whereupon he looked towards his two companions, and said to them, 'Tell
me, by Allah, do ye not know that I gave for that girl thirty thousand
dirhems, and have refused to sell her?' They answered, 'It is so.' Then
said he, 'I take you as witnesses that I have given her to him.'--'And
we,' said the two friends, 'will pay thee two-thirds of her price.' So
he put me in possession of the girl, and in the evening, when I
departed, he presented me also with rich dresses and other gifts, with
all of which I went away; and as I passed the places where the maiden
had abused me, I said to her, 'Repeat thy words to me;' but she could
not, for shame. Holding the girl's hand, I went with her immediately to
the Khaleefeh, whom I found in anger at my long absence; but when I
related my story to him he was surprised, and laughed, and ordered that
the master of the house and his two friends should be brought before
him, that he might requite them: to the former he gave forty thousand
dirhems; to each of his two friends, thirty thousand; and to me, a
hundred thousand; and I kissed his feet, and departed."

It is particularly necessary for the Arab musician, that he have a
retentive memory, well stocked with choice pieces of poetry, and with
facetious or pleasant anecdotes, interspersed with songs; and that he
have a ready wit, aided by dramatic talent, to employ these materials
with good effect. If, to such qualifications, he adds fair attainments
in the difficult rules of grammar, a degree of eloquence, comic humour,
and good temper, and is not surpassed by many in his art, he is sure to
be a general favourite. Very few Muslims of the higher classes have
condescended to study music, because they would have been despised by
their inferiors for doing so; or because they themselves have despised
or condemned the art. Ibraheem, the son of the Khaleefeh El-Mahdee, and
competitor of El-Ma-moon, was a remarkable exception: he is said to have
been an excellent musician, and a good singer.

In the houses of the wealthy, the vocal and instrumental performers were
usually (as is the case in many houses in the present age) domestic
female slaves, well instructed in their art by hired male or female
professors. In the work before us, these slaves are commonly described
as standing or sitting unveiled in the presence of male guests; but,
from several descriptions of musical entertainments that I have met with
in Arabic works, it appears that, according to the more approved custom
in respectable society, they were concealed on such occasions behind a
curtain, which generally closed the front of an elevated recess. In all
the houses of wealthy Arabs that I have entered, one or each of the
larger saloons has an elevated closet, the front of which is closed by a
screen of wooden lattice-work, to serve as an orchestra for the domestic
or hired female singers and instrumental performers. Of the hired
performers, any further mention is not here required; but of the slaves
and free ladies who supplied their place, a few words must be added, as
very necessary to illustrate the preceding and many other tales in this
work.

To a person acquainted with modern Arabian manners, it must appear
inconsistent with truth to describe such females as exposing their
faces before strange men, unless he can discover in sober histories some
evidence of their having been less strict in this respect than the
generality of Arab females at the present period. I find, however, a
remarkable proof that such was the case in the latter part of the ninth
century of the Flight, and the beginning of the tenth: that is, about
the end of the fifteenth century of our era. The famous historian
Es-Suyooee, who flourished at this period, in his preface to a curious
work on wedlock, written to correct the corrupt manners of his age,
says,--"Seeing that the women of this time deck themselves with the
attire of prostitutes, and walk in the soos (or market-streets), like
female warriours against the religion, and uncover their faces and hands
before men, to incline  hearts to them by evil suggestions, and
play at feasts with young men, thereby meriting the anger of the
Compassionate , and go forth to the public baths and
assemblies, with various kinds of ornaments and perfumes, and with
conceited gait; for the which they shall be congregated in Hell-fire,
for opposing the good, and on account of this their affected gait, while
to their husbands they are disobedient, behaving to them in the reverse
manner, excepting when they fear to abridge their liberty of going
abroad by such conduct; for they are like swine and apes in their
interior nature, though like daughters of Adam in their exterior
appearance; especially the women of this age; not advising their
husbands in matters of religion, but the latter erring in permitting
them to go out to every assembly; sisters of devils and demons, &c.
&c.... I have undertaken the composition of this volume." A more
convincing testimony than this, I think, cannot be required.

The lute (el-'ood) is the only instrument that is generally described as
used at the entertainments which we have been considering. Engravings of
this and other musical instruments are given in my work on the Modern
Egyptians. The Arab viol (called rabab) was commonly used by inferior
performers. (See also Note 26, below.)

The Arab music is generally of a soft and plaintive character, and
particularly that of the most refined description, which is
distinguished by a remarkable peculiarity, the division of tones into
thirds. The singer aims at distinct enunciation of the words, for this
is justly admired; and delights in a trilling style. The airs of songs
are commonly very short and simple, adapted to a single verse, or even
to a single hemistich; but in the instrumental music there is more
variety.

NOTE 23. This is often said to a person whose presence is disagreeable
to his companions.

NOTE 24.--_On the_ alenderees. In the old translation, these three
strangers are called "Calenders;" that is, "alenderees:" but in the
Calcutta edition of the first two hundred nights, and the edition of
Breslau, they are designated as "arendelees," "miserable or ridiculous
beggars;" and in that of Cairo, the term applied to them is "a'aleek,"
or, simply, "paupers," or "mendicants." Some may suppose the right
reading to be "alenderees;" for it was a custom of this order of
Darweeshes to shave their beards: they were forbidden to do so in the
year of the Flight 761, by the Sulan of Egypt (El-Melik en-Nair
El-asan); but whether they afterwards reverted to this habit, I do not
know. The order of the alenderees, however, was not founded until about
the commencement of the fifth century of the Flight, a period long
posterior to that to which the tale relates.

NOTE 25. In the edition of Cairo, they are said to have arrived from
Greece.

NOTE 26.--_On the Persian Harp._ This instrument is called in Arabic
"junk," from the Persian "chang." It has almost fallen into disuse, and
I have never seen it: I am enabled, however, to give two sketches of its
form through the kindness of the  Right Honourable Sir Gore
Ouseley, who has favoured me with drawings made from two of the most
satisfactory representations of it in his rich collection of Oriental
MSS.; the first, about 350 years old; the second 410. The number of
strings, he informs me, vary from 20 to 27.



NOTE 27.--_On the Title and Office of_ Khaleefeh. As most of our best
authors on Oriental subjects have for some years past deviated from our
old general mode of writing this title, substituting (for "Caliph")
"Khalif," "Khalifah," &c., I have taken the same liberty. It cannot be
correctly written, at the same time congenially with our language and
with its orthography in Arabic characters, otherwise than "Khaleefeh" or
"Khaleefah;" and of these two modes I adopt the one which agrees with
the manner in which the title is most generally pronounced by the Arabs.
The meaning of this title is "Successor," or "Vicar;" and it was
originally given to the universal sovereigns of the Muslim Arabs, as
signifying "Successor of the Prophet;" but afterwards, in a more exalted
sense, as "Vicar of God:" the Khaleefeh being the head of the religion
as well as the supreme political governor, or at least arrogating to
himself the right to possess such supremacy, throughout the whole Muslim
world. [The last of the Khaleefehs died in Egypt shortly after the
Turkish conquest of that country, or in the year of the Flight, 950.
After the overthrow of the house of El-'Abbas by Hulagu, certain of its
members obtained an asylum at the court of the Memlook Sulans, and
continued the line of the Khaleefehs, with spiritual, but no temporal,
authority until it ceased in the person of El-Mutawekkil, who delegated
his office to the Sulan Seleem I.; it is consequently held by the
Sulan of Turkey. The Emperors of Morocco, being descendants of the
Prophet, also claim and receive from their subjects the title of
Khaleefeh.

NOTE 28. The stories in which this justly-celebrated man is mentioned
will, I think, be more agreeable to those readers who are unacquainted
with his history, of which, therefore, I shall say nothing.

NOTE 29. Mesroor was a black eunuch, and a favourite servant of
Er-Rasheed. The name signifies "happy."

NOTE 30. "abareeyeh" is the modern name for Tiberias.

NOTE 31.--_Description_ of Khans, or Wekalehs. A Khan is a building
chiefly designed for the accommodation of merchants, and for the
reception of their goods. In Egypt, a building of this kind is generally
called a Wekaleh. I have described it, in a former work, as surrounding
a square or oblong court, and having, on the ground-floor, vaulted
magazines for merchandise, which face the court, and are sometimes used
as shops. Above these are generally lodgings, which are entered from a
gallery extending along each of the four sides of the court; or, in the
place of these lodgings, there are other magazines: and in many khans or
wekalehs which have apartments designed as lodgings, these apartments
are used as magazines. In general, the building has only one common
entrance; the door of which is closed at night, and kept by a porter.

NOTE 32. It is customary for a guest or visiter to ask permission of the
host, or master of the house, before taking his departure. A common form
of speech used on this occasion is, "With your permission, I rise."

NOTE 33. Many Muslims perform the pilgrimage with the view of expiating
their offences, and, at the Kaabeh, or at the tomb of the Prophet, make
a vow to abstain from any glaring infringement of the law of which they
may before have been guilty.

NOTE 34. I learn, from a marginal note in my copy of the original, by
the sheykh Moammad E-Tanawee, that these verses are the composition
of Ibn-Sahl El-Ishbee-lee. Three concluding verses of the same ode, and
a second poetical quotation immediately following, I have passed over.

NOTE 35. In the original there are some errors in this part of the
story, which the sequel requires me to correct. The cateress is
described as having sung three successive songs, accompanying them with
her lute. After the first song, the mistress of the house is said to
have been affected in the manner described in the translation, and to
have exposed to view the marks of beating. The second lady (namely, the
portress) is represented as similarly excited by the second song; and
the third lady (the cateress herself), by the third song. The last also
is said to have exhibited upon her person those marks which, as the
sequel shews, were borne by the second.

NOTE 36. The "mira'ah," vulgarly called "mara'ah," is a portion of the
thicker end of a palm-branch stripped of the leaves. It is often used to
beat a person in sport; but in this case, two or three splits are
usually made in the thicker part of it, to increase the sound of the
blows.

NOTE 37. In the original, "the portress." See Note 35, above.

NOTE 38. Perhaps it is needless to explain that the wish here expressed,
for a protractive trial on the day of judgment, is occasioned by the
longing for reunion, and the fear of separation after that day. The
Muslims usually pray for an easy (and, consequently, a short) reckoning.

NOTE 39. I have omitted the third song of the cateress, and the
description of its effects, mentioned in Note 35.

NOTE 40. See Note 47 to Chapter II.

NOTE 41. It seems to be implied that the lady discovered her guests,
notwithstanding their disguise, to be persons of rank.

NOTE 42. I read "fuarau aajam" for "fuarau-l-hojjam:" the former,
carelessly written (in Arabic characters), might easily be mistaken for
the latter.

NOTE 43. This phrase is used to signify "Recover thy senses;" alluding
to a person's drawing his hand over his head or face after a sleep or
fit.

NOTE 44. The burial-grounds of Eastern cities are generally so
extensive, that, with the varied structures which they contain, they may
aptly be called "Cities of the Dead." It was with difficulty that I
recognised the tomb of the lamented Burckhardt, in the great cemetery on
the north of Cairo, even after I had carefully noticed its place on a
former visit.

NOTE 45. I have ventured to make a slight alteration here; but it is one
which does not in the least affect the consistency of the tale. Marriage
with a foster-sister is as expressly forbidden by the Mohammadan law as
that with a natural sister.

NOTE 46. "The Truth" is one of the ninety-nine names or epithets of God.

NOTE 47. Many an Arab would rather risk the loss of his head than part
with his beard; for the latter is regarded by almost all Muslims with a
superstitious respect; and to shave it off, at least after it has been
suffered to grow for many days, they consider as sinful: this, however,
is sometimes done by religious mendicants, as it is also by some of
those persons who seek, or enjoy, the reputation of sanctity, and who
are, or pretend to be, insane.

NOTE 48. By "the seven readings," we are to understand seven slightly
different modes of reading the ur-an, seldom differing essentially as
to the sense.

NOTE 49. Astrology (not astronomy) is here meant. Though a forbidden
science, it is studied by many Muslims.

NOTE 50. A misplaced diacritical point occasions a wrong reading here,
in the original, which I have corrected.

NOTE 51. The Mohammadan law requires that every man be acquainted with
some art or occupation by which he may, in case of necessity, at least
be able to obtain the means of supporting himself and such of his family
as are dependant upon him, and of fulfilling all his religious as well
as moral duties. Hence it has been a common custom of Muslim princes, in
every age, to learn some useful art; and many of them have distinguished
themselves by displaying exquisite skill in the work of their hands, and
especially in caligraphy, of which the Orientals in general are great
admirers.

NOTE 52. The 'Efreet (as we are told in some editions of the original)
had taken this lady against the consent of his family, and therefore
could not more frequently visit her.

NOTE 53. The term "ubbeh" is often applied to a closet or small chamber
adjoining a saloon; and in this sense it appears to be here used.

NOTE 54.--_On Sherbets._ The Arabs have various kinds of sherbets, or
sweet drinks; the most common of which is merely sugar and water, made
very sweet. The most esteemed kind is prepared from a hard conserve of
violets, made by pounding violet-flowers, and then boiling them with
sugar. Other kinds are prepared from conserves of fruits, &c. The
sherbet is served in covered glass cups, containing from two-thirds to
three-quarters of an English pint; the same which I have described in a
former note as used for wine. These are placed on a round tray, and
covered with a round piece of embroidered silk, or cloth of gold; and on
the right arm of the person who presents the sherbet, is hung a long
napkin with a deep embroidered border of gold and coloured silks at each
end, which is ostensibly offered for the purpose of wiping the lips
after drinking, though the lips are scarcely touched with it.

NOTE 55. The Arabs are very fond of having their feet, and especially
the soles, slowly rubbed with the hand; and this operation, which is one
of the services commonly required of a wife or female slave, is a usual
mode of waking a person.

NOTE 56. Here, and again in the same and a subsequent sentence, for
"kheiyaeen," I read "aabeen." In the Breslau edition, "khaabeen"
is put for the latter. The right reading is obvious.

NOTE 57. Falsehood was _commended_ by the Prophet when it tended to
reconcile persons at enmity with each other, and when practised in order
to please one's wife, or to obtain any advantage in a war with infidels,
though strongly reprobated in other cases.

NOTE 58. Four verses here inserted in the original appear to me to be a
corruption of a couplet which better expresses the same meaning, and
which I have therefore translated in the place of the former. As the
lines to which I allude are particularly pleasing, I may perhaps be
excused if I here introduce the original words, which are as follow:--

  "Isharatuna fi-l-obbi remzu 'oyoonina: wa-kullu lebeebin
     bi-l-isharati yefhamu,
  awajibuna tei-l-awaija beynena: fa-nanu sukootun wa-l-hawa
     yetekellemu."

NOTE 59. This is not meant to disparage the individual lady here
mentioned, but is a saying of the Prophet applied to the sex in general.

NOTE 60. In the edition of Cairo, this story is omitted. I translate it
from the Calcutta edition of the first two hundred nights.

NOTE 61. "Faeer" (which signifies "poor," and is particularly used in
the sense of "poor in the sight of God," or rather, "in need of the
mercy of God") is an appellation commonly given to poor persons who
especially occupy themselves in religious exercises.

NOTE 62. The performances called "zikrs" will be briefly described
towards the close of the next note.

NOTE 63.--_On Muslin Saints, or Devotees._ The tale of the Envied
Sheykh, and several other stories in this work, require that the reader
should be acquainted with the remarkable opinions which the Arabs
entertain with respect to the offices and supernatural powers of their
saints. Such matters form an important part of the mysteries of the
Darweeshes, and are but imperfectly known to the generality of Muslims.

The distinguished individuals above mentioned are known by the common
appellation of "Welees," or particular favourites of God. The more
eminent among them compose a mysterious hierarchical body, whose
government respects the whole human race, infidels as well as believers;
but whose power is often exercised in such a manner that the subjects
influenced by it know not from what person or persons its effects
proceed. The general governor or corypheus of these holy beings is
commonly called the "ub," which literally signifies a "pole," or an
"axis," and is metaphorically used to signify a "chief," either in a
civil or political, or in a spiritual sense. The ub of the saints is
distinguished by other appellations: he is called "ub el-Ghos," or
"---- el-Ghoth" ("the ub of Invocation for Help"), &c.; and simply
"El-Ghos." The orders under the rule of this chief are called
"'Omud (or Owtad), Akhyar, Abdal, Nujaba, and Nuaba:" I name them
according to their precedence. Perhaps to these should be added an
inferior order called "A-ab ed-Darak," which is said to mean
"Watchmen," or "Overseers." The members are not known as such to their
inferior, unenlightened fellow-creatures; and are often invisible to
them. This is more frequently the case with the ub, who, though
generally stationed at Mekkeh, on the roof of the Kaabeh, is never
visible there, nor at any of his other favourite stations or places of
resort; yet his voice is often heard at these places. Whenever he and
the saints under his authority mingle among ordinary men, they are not
distinguished by a dignified appearance, but are always humbly clad.
These, and even inferior saints, are said to perform astonishing
miracles, such as flying in the air, passing unhurt through fire,
swallowing fire, glass, &c., walking upon water, transporting themselves
in a moment of time to immense distances, and supplying themselves and
others with food in desert places. Their supernatural power they are
supposed to obtain by a life of the most exalted piety, and especially
by constant self-denial, accompanied with the most implicit reliance
upon God; by the services of good genii; and, as many believe, by the
knowledge and utterance of "the most great name" of God. A miracle
performed by a saint is distinguished by the term "karameh" from one
performed by a prophet, which is called "moajizeh."

El-Khir and Ilyas (or Elias), of whom I have before had occasion to
speak, are both believed to have been ubs, and the latter is called in
the ur-an an apostle; but it is disputed whether the former was a
prophet or merely a welee. Both are said to have drunk of the Fountain
of Life, and to be in consequence still living; and Ilyas is commonly
believed to invest the successive ubs. The similarity of the miracles
ascribed to the ubs and those performed by Elias or Elijah I have
remarked in a former work. Another miracle, reminding us of the mantle
of Elijah in the hands of his successor, may here be mentioned.--A saint
who was the ub of his time, dying at Toonis (or Tunis), left his
clothes in trust to his attendant, Moammad El-Ashwam, a native of the
neighbouring regency of Tripoli (now called arabulus), who desired to
sell these relics, but was counselled to retain them, and accordingly,
though high prices were bidden for them, made them his own by purchase.
As soon as they became his property, he was affected, we are told, with
a divine ecstasy, and endowed with miraculous powers.

Innumerable miracles are related to have been performed by Muslim
saints, and large volumes are filled with the histories of their
wonderful lives. The author of the work from which the above story is
taken, mentions, as a fact to be relied on, in an account of one of his
ancestors, that, his lamp happening to go out one night while he was
reading alone in the riwa of the Jabart (of which he was the sheykh),
in the great mosque El-Azhar, the forefinger of his right hand emitted a
light which enabled him to continue his reading until his naeeb had
trimmed and lighted another lamp.

From many stories of a similar kind that I have read, I select the
following as a fair specimen: it is related by a very celebrated saint,
Ibraheem El-Khowwa.--"I entered the desert [on pilgrimage to Mekkeh
from El-'Era], and there joined me a man having a belt round his waist,
and I said, 'Who art thou?'--He answered, 'A Christian; and I desire thy
company.' We walked together for seven days, eating nothing; after which
he said to me, 'O monk of the Muslims, produce what thou hast in the way
of refreshment; for we are hungry:' so I said, 'O my God, disgrace me
not before this infidel:' and lo, a tray, upon which were bread and
broiled meat and fresh dates and a mug of water. We ate, and continued
our journey seven days more; and I then said to him, 'O monk of the
Christians, produce what thou hast in the way of refreshment; for the
turn is come to thee:' whereupon he leaned upon his staff; and prayed;
and lo, two trays, containing double that which was on my tray. I was
confounded, and refused to eat: he urged me, saying, 'Eat;' but I did it
not. Then said he, 'Be glad; for I give thee two pieces of good news:
one of them is, that I testify that there is no deity but God, and that
Moammad is God's Apostle: the other, that I said, O God, if there be
worth in this servant, supply me with two trays:--so this is through thy
blessing.' We ate, and the man put on the dress of pilgrimage, and so
entered Mekkeh, where he remained with me a year as a student; after
which he died, and I buried him in  El-Maala." "And God,"
says the author from whom I take this story, "is all-knowing:" _i.e._ He
alone knoweth whether it be strictly true: but this is often added to
the narration of traditions resting upon high authority.--The saint
above mentioned was called "El-Khowwa" (or the maker of palm-leaf
baskets, &c.) from the following circumstance, related by himself.--"I
used," said he, "to go out of the town  and sit by a river on
the banks of which was abundance of palm-leaves; and it occurred to my
mind to make every day five baskets , and to throw them into
the river, for my amusement, as if I were obliged to do so. My time was
so passed for many days: at length, one day, I thought I would walk
after the baskets, and see whither they had gone: so I proceeded a while
along the bank of the river, and found an old woman sitting sorrowful.
On that day I had made nothing. I said to her, 'Wherefore do I see thee
sorrowful?' She answered, 'I am a widow: my husband died leaving five
daughters, and nothing to maintain them; and it is my custom to repair
every day to this river, and there come to me, upon the surface of the
water, five baskets, which I sell, and by means of them I procure food;
but to-day they have not come, and I know not what to do.' Upon hearing
this, I raised my head towards heaven, and said, 'O my God, had I known
that I had more than five children to maintain, I had laboured more
diligently!'" He then took the old woman to his house, and gave her
money and flour, and said to her, "Whenever thou wantest anything, come
hither and take what may suffice you."

An irresistible influence has often been exercised over the minds of
princes and other great men by reputed saints. Many a Muslim Monarch has
thus been incited (as the Kings of Christendom were by Peter the Hermit)
to undertake religious wars, or urged to acts of piety and charity; or
restrained from tyranny by threats of Divine vengeance to be called down
upon his head by the imprecations of a welee. 'Alee, the favourite son
of the Khaleefeh El-Ma-moon, was induced, for the sake of religion, to
flee from the splendour and luxuries of his father's court, and, after
the example of a self-denying devotee, to follow the occupation of a
porter, in a state of the most abject poverty, at El-Barah, fasting all
the day, remaining without sleep at night in a mosque, and walking
barefooted, until, under an accumulation of severe sufferings, he
prematurely ended his days, dying on a mat. The honours which he refused
to receive in life were paid to him after his death: his rank being
discovered by a ring and paper which he left, his corpse was anointed
with camphor and musk and aloes, wrapped in fine linen of Egypt, and so
conveyed to his distressed father at Baghdad.

Self-denial I have before mentioned as one of the most important means
by which to attain the dignity of a welee. A very famous saint,
Esh-Shiblee, is said to have received from his father an inheritance of
sixty millions of deenars (a sum incredible, and probably a mistake for
sixty thousand, or for sixty million dirhems), besides landed property,
and to have expended it all in charity: also, to have thrown into the
Tigris seventy hundred-weight of books, written by his own hand during a
period of twenty years.

Shah El-Karmanee, another celebrated saint, had a beautiful daughter,
whom the Sulan of his country sought in marriage. The holy man required
three days to consider his sovereign's proposal, and in the mean time
visited several mosques, in one of which he saw a young man humbly
occupied in prayer. Having waited till he had finished, he accosted him,
saying, "My son, hast thou a wife?" Being answered, "No," he said, "I
have a maiden, a virtuous devotee, who hath learned the whole of the
ur-an, and is amply endowed with beauty. Dost thou desire her?"--"Who,"
said the young man, "will marry me to such a one as thou hast described,
when I possess no more than three dirhems?"--"_I_ will marry thee to
her," answered the saint: "she is my daughter, and I am Shah the son of
Shujaa El-Karmanee: give me the dirhems that thou hast, that I may buy a
dirhem's worth of bread, and a dirhem's worth of something savoury, and
a dirhem's worth of perfume." The marriage-contract was performed; but
when the bride came to the young man, she saw a stale cake of bread
placed upon the top of his mug; upon which she put on her izar, and went
out. Her husband said, "Now I perceive that the daughter of Shah
El-Karmanee is displeased with my poverty." She answered, "I did not
withdraw from fear of poverty, but on account of the weakness of thy
faith, seeing how thou layest by a cake of bread for the morrow."

One of my friends in Cairo, Abu-l-asim of Geelan, mentioned in a former
note, entertained me with a long relation of the mortifications and
other means which he employed to attain the rank of a welee. These were
chiefly self-denial and a perfect reliance upon Providence. He left his
home in a state of voluntary destitution and complete nudity, to travel
through Persia and the surrounding countries, and yet more distant
regions if necessary, in search of a spiritual guide. For many days he
avoided the habitations of men, fasting from daybreak till sunset, and
then eating nothing but a little grass or a few leaves or wild fruits,
till by degrees he habituated himself to almost total abstinence from
every kind of nourishment. His feet, at first blistered, and cut by
sharp stones, soon became callous; and in proportion to his reduction of
food, his frame, contrary to the common course of nature, became
(according to his own account) more stout and lusty. Bronzed by the sun,
and with his black hair hanging over his shoulders (for he had abjured
the use of the razor), he presented, in his nudity, a wild and frightful
appearance; and on his first approaching a town, was surrounded and
pelted by a crowd of boys; he therefore retreated, and, after the
example of our first parents, made himself a partial covering of leaves;
and this he always after did on similar occasions; never remaining long
enough in a town for his leafy apron to wither. The abodes of mankind he
always passed at a distance, excepting when several days' fast, while
traversing an arid desert, compelled him to obtain a morsel of bread or
a cup of water from the hand of some charitable fellow-creature. One
thing that he particularly dreaded was, to receive relief from a sinful
man, or from a demon in the human form. In passing over a parched and
desolate tract, where for three days he had found nothing to eat, not
even a blade of grass, nor a spring from which to refresh his tongue, he
became overpowered with thirst, and prayed that God would send him a
messenger with a pitcher of water. "But," said he, "let the water be in
a green Baghdahee pitcher, that I may know it be from Thee, and not from
the Devil; and when I ask the bearer to give me to drink, let him pour
it over my head, that I may not too much gratify my carnal desire."--"I
looked behind me," he continued, "and saw a man bearing a green
Baghdahee pitcher of water, and said to him, 'Give me to drink;' and he
came up to me, and poured the contents over my head, and departed! By
Allah it was so!"--Rejoicing in this miracle, as a proof of his having
attained to a degree of wilayeh (or saintship), and refreshed by the
water, he continued his way over the desert, more firm than ever in his
course of self-denial, which, though imperfectly followed, had been the
means of his being thus distinguished. But the burning thirst returned
shortly after, and he felt himself at the point of sinking under it,
when he beheld before him a high hill, with a rivulet running by its
base. To the summit of this hill he determined to ascend, by way of
mortification, before he would taste the water, and this point, with
much difficulty, he reached at the close of the day. Here standing, he
saw approaching, below, a troop of horsemen, who paused at the foot of
the hill, when their chief, who was foremost, called out to him by name,
"O Abu-l-asim! O Geelanee! Come down and drink!"--but, persuaded by
this that he was Iblees with a troop of his sons, the evil Genii, he
withstood the temptation, and remained stationary until the deceiver
with his attendants had passed on, and were out of sight. The sun had
then set; his thirst had somewhat abated; and he only drank a few drops.
Continuing his wanderings in the desert, he found, upon a pebbly plain,
an old man with a long white beard, who accosted him, asking of what he
was in search. "I am seeking," he answered, "a spiritual guide; and my
heart tells me that thou art the guide I seek." "My son," said the old
man, "thou seest yonder a saint's tomb: it is a place where prayer is
answered: go thither, enter it, and seat thyself: neither eat nor drink
nor sleep; but occupy thyself solely, day and night, in repeating
silently, 'La ilaha illa-llah' (There is no deity but God); and
let not any living creature see thy lips move in doing so; for
among the peculiar virtues of these words is this, that they may
be uttered without any motion of the lips. Go, and peace be on
thee."--"Accordingly," said my friend, "I went thither. It was a small
square building, crowned by a cupola; and the door was open. I entered,
and seated myself, facing the niche, and the oblong monument over the
grave. It was evening, and I commenced my silent professions of the
Unity, as directed by my guide; and at dusk I saw a white figure seated
beside me, as if assisting in my devotional task. I stretched forth my
hand to touch it; but found that it was not a material substance; yet
there it was: I saw it distinctly. Encouraged by this vision, I
continued my task for three nights and days without intermission,
neither eating not drinking, yet increasing in strength both of body and
of spirit; and on the third day, I saw written upon the whitewashed
walls of the tomb, and on the ground, and in the air, wherever I turned
my eyes, 'La ilaha illa-llah;' and whenever a fly entered the tomb, it
formed these words in its flight. By Allah it was so! My object was now
fully attained: I felt myself endowed with supernatural knowledge:
thoughts of my friends and acquaintances troubled me not; but I knew
where each of them was, in Persia, India, Arabia, and Turkey, and what
each was doing. I experienced an indescribable happiness. This state
lasted several years; but at length I was insensibly enticed back to
worldly objects: I came to this country; my fame as a caligraphist drew
me into the service of the government; and now see what I am, decked
with pelisses and shawls, and with this thing  on my
breast; too old, I fear, to undergo again the self-denial necessary to
restore me to true happiness, though I have almost resolved to make the
attempt."--Soon after this conversation, he was deprived of his office,
and died of the plague. He was well known to have passed several years
as a wandering devotee; and his sufferings, combined with enthusiasm,
perhaps disordered his imagination, and made him believe that he really
saw the strange sights which he described to me; for there was an
appearance of earnestness and sincerity in his manner, such as I thought
could hardly be assumed by a conscious impostor.

Insanity, however, if not of a very violent and dangerous nature, is
commonly regarded by Muslims as a quality that entitles the subject of
it to be esteemed as a saint; being supposed to be the abstraction of
the mind from worldly affairs, and its total devotion to God. This
popular superstition is a fertile source of imposture; for, a reputation
for sanctity being so easily obtained and supported, there are numbers
of persons who lay claim to it from motives of indolence and
licentiousness, eager to receive alms merely for performing the tricks
of madmen, and greedy of indulging in pleasures forbidden by the law;
such indulgences not being considered in their case as transgressions by
the common people, but rather as indications of holy frenzy. From my own
observation I should say that lunatics or idiots, or impostors,
constitute the majority of the persons reputed to be saints among the
Muslims of the present day; and most of those who are not more than
slightly tinged with insanity are darweeshes.

A reputed saint of this description, in Cairo, in whom persons of some
education put great faith, affected to have a particular regard for me.
He several times accosted me in an abrupt manner, acquainted me with the
state of my family in England, and uttered incoherent predictions
respecting me, all of which communications, excepting one which he
qualified with an "in shaa-llah" (or "if it be the will of God"), I must
confess, proved to be true; but I must also state that he was acquainted
with two of my friends who might have materially assisted him to frame
these predictions, though they protested to me that they had not done
so. The following extract from a journal which I kept in Cairo during my
second visit to Egypt, will convey some idea of this person, who will
serve as a picture of many of his fraternity.--To-day (Nov. 6th, 1834),
as I was sitting in the shop of the Basha's booksellers, a reputed
saint, whom I have often seen here, came and seated himself by me, and
began, in a series of abrupt sentences, to relate to me various matters
respecting me, past, present, and to come. He is called the sheykh 'Alee
El-Leysee. He is a poor man, supported by alms; tall and thin and very
dark, about thirty years of age, and wears nothing at present but a blue
shirt and a girdle, and a padded red cap. "O Efendee," he said, "thou
hast been very anxious for some days. There is a grain of anxiety
remaining in thee yet. Do not fear. There is a letter coming to thee by
sea, that will bring thee good news." He then proceeded to tell me of
the state of my family, and that all were well excepting one, whom he
particularized by description, and who he stated to be then suffering
from an intermittent fever.  "This
affliction," he continued, "may be removed by prayer; and the
excellences of the next night, the night of  the
first Friday of the month of Regeb, of Regeb, the holy Regeb, are very
great. I wanted to ask thee for something to-day; but I feared: I feared
greatly. Thou must be invested with the wilayeh [_i. e._ be made a
welee]: the welees love thee; and the Prophet loves thee. Thou must go
to the sheykh Muafa El-Munadee, and the sheykh El-Bahaee. Thou
must be a welee." He then took my right hand, in the manner commonly
practised in the ceremony which admits a person a darweesh, and repeated
the Fateah (commonly pronounced Fat'ah); after which he added, "I
have admitted thee my darweesh." Having next told me of several
circumstances relating to my family--matters of an unusual nature--with
singular minuteness and truth, he added, "To-night, if it be the will of
God, thou shalt see the Prophet in thy sleep, and El-Khir and the
seyyid El-Bedawee. This is Regeb, and I wanted to ask of thee--but I
feared--I wanted to ask of thee four piastres, to buy meat and bread and
oil and radishes. Regeb! Regeb! I have great offices to do for thee
to-night."--Less than a shilling for all he promised was little enough:
I gave it him for the trouble he had taken; and he uttered many abrupt
prayers for me.--In the following night, however, I saw in my sleep
neither Moammad nor El-Khir nor the seyyid El-Bedawee, unless, like
Nebuchadnezzar, I was unable, on awaking, to remember my dreams.

Some reputed saints of the more respectable class, to avoid public
notice, wear the general dress and manners of their fellow-countrymen,
and betray no love of ostentation in their acts of piety and
self-denial; or live as hermits in desert places, depending solely upon
Providence for their support, and are objects of pious and charitable
visits from the inhabitants of near and distant places, and from casual
travellers. Others distinguish themselves by the habit of a darweesh, or
by other peculiarities, such as a long and loose coat (called dil)
composed of patches of cloth of various colours, long strings of beads
hung upon the neck, a ragged turban, and a staff with shreds of cloth of
different colours attached to the top; or obtain a reputation for
miraculous powers by eating glass, fire, serpents, &c. Some of those who
are insane, and of those who feign to be so, go about, even in crowded
cities, in a state of perfect nudity, and are allowed to commit, with
impunity, acts of brutal sensuality which the law, when appealed to,
should punish with death. Such practices are forbidden by the religion
and law even in the cases of saints; but common and deeply-rooted
superstition prevents their punishment. During the occupation of Egypt
by the French, the Commander-in-chief, Menou, applied to the Sheykhs (or
'Ulama) of the city for their opinion "respecting those persons who were
accustomed to go about in the streets in a state of nudity, crying out
and screaming, and arrogating to themselves the dignity of wilayeh,
relied upon as saints by the generality of the people, neither
performing the prayers of the Muslims nor fasting," asking whether such
conduct was permitted by the religion, or contrary to the law. He was
answered, "Conduct of this description is forbidden, and repugnant to
our religion and law and to our traditions." The French General thanked
them for this answer, and gave orders to prevent such practices in
future, and to seize every one seen thus offending; if insane, to
confine him in the Maristan (or hospital and lunatic asylum); and if not
insane, to compel him either to relinquish his disgusting habits, or to
leave the city.--Of reputed saints of this kind, thus writes an
enlightened poet, El-Bedree El-ejazee:--


  "Would that I had not lived to see every fool esteemed among men
     as a ub!
   Their learned men take him as a patron; nay, even as Lord, in place
     of the Possessor of Heaven's throne.
   Forgetting God, they say, 'Such a one from all mankind can remove
     affliction.'
   When he dies, they make for him a place of visitation, and strangers
     and Arabs hurry thither in crowds:
   Some of them kiss his tomb, and some kiss the threshold of the door,
     and the very dust.
   Thus do the idolaters act towards their images, hoping so to obtain
     their favour."

These lines are quoted by El-Jabartee, in his account of a very
celebrated modern saint, the seyyid 'Alee El-Bekree (events of Rabeea
eth-Thanee, 1214). A brief history of this person will not be here
misplaced, as it will present a good illustration of the general
character and actions of those insane individuals who are commonly
regarded as saints.

The seyyid 'Alee El-Bekree was a mejzoob (or insane person) who was
considered an eminent welee, and much trusted in: for several years he
used to walk naked about the streets of Cairo, with a shaven face,
bearing a long nebboot (or staff), and uttering confused language, which
the people attentively listened to, and interpreted according to their
desires and the exigencies of their states. He was a tall, spare man,
and sometimes wore a shirt and a cotton skull-cap; but he was generally
barefooted and naked. The respect with which he was treated induced a
woman, who was called the sheykhah Ammooneh, to imitate his example
further than decency allowed: she followed him whithersoever he went,
covered at first with her izar (or large cotton veil thrown over the
head and body), and muttering, like him, confused language. Entering
private houses with him, she used to ascend to the areems, and gained
the faith of the women, who presented her with money and clothes, and
spread abroad that the sheykh ('Alee) had looked upon her, and affected
her with religious frenzy, so that she had become a weleeyeh, or female
saint. Afterwards, becoming more insane and intoxicated, she uncovered
her face, and put on the clothing of a man; and thus attired she still
accompanied the sheykh, and the two wandered about, followed by numbers
of children and common vagabonds; some of whom also stripped off their
clothes in imitation of the sheykh, and followed, dancing; their mad
actions being attributed (like those of the woman) to religious frenzy,
induced by his look or touch, which converted them into saints. The
vulgar and young, who daily followed them, consequently increased in
numbers; and some of them, in passing through the market-streets,
snatched away goods from the shops, thus exciting great commotion
wherever they went. When the sheykh sat down in any place, the crowd
stopped, and the people pressed to see him and his mad companions. On
these occasions the woman used to mount upon the maabah of a shop, or
ascend a hillock, and utter disgusting language, sometimes in Arabic,
and sometimes in Turkish, while many persons among her audience would
kiss her hands to derive a blessing. After having persevered for some
time in this course, none preventing them, the party entered one day the
lane leading from the principal street of the city to the house of the
aee, and were seized by a Turkish officer there residing, named Jaafar
Kashif, who, having brought them into his house, gave the sheykh some
food, and drove out the spectators, retaining the woman and the
mejzoobs, whom he placed in confinement: he then liberated the sheykh
'Alee, brought out the woman and the mejzoobs and beat them, sent the
woman to the Maristan, and there confined her, and set at large the
rest, after they had prayed for mercy, and clothed themselves, and
recovered from their intoxication. The woman remained a while confined
in the Maristan, and, when liberated, lived alone as a sheykhah,
believed in by men and women, and honoured as a saint with visits and
festivals.

The seyyid 'Alee, after he had thus been deprived of his companions and
imitators, was constrained to lead a different kind of life. He had a
cunning brother, who, to turn the folly of this saint to a good account,
and fill his own purse (seeing how great faith the people placed in him,
as the Egyptians are prone to do in such a case), confined him in his
house, and clothed him, asserting that he had his permission to do so,
and that he had been invested with the dignity of ub. Thus he
contrived to attract crowds of persons, men and women, to visit him. He
forbade him to shave his beard, which consequently grew to its full
size; and his body became fat and stout from abundance of food and rest;
for, while he went about naked, he was, as before mentioned, of a lean
figure. During that period he used generally to pass the night
wandering, without food, through the streets, in winter and summer.
Having now servants to wait upon him, whether sleeping or waking, he
passed his time in idleness, uttering confused and incoherent words,
and sometimes laughing and sometimes scolding; and in the course of his
idle loquacity he could not but let fall some words applicable to the
affairs of some of his listening visiters, who attributed such
expressions to his supernatural knowledge of the thoughts of their
hearts, and interpreted them as warnings or prophecies. Men and women,
and particularly the wives of the grandees, flocked to him with presents
and votive offerings, which enriched the coffers of his brother; and the
honours which he received ceased not with his death. His funeral was
attended by multitudes from every quarter. His brother buried him in the
mosque of Esh-Sharaibee, in the quarter of the Ezbekeeyeh, made for him
a maoorah (or railed enclosure) and an oblong monument over the grave,
and frequently repaired thither with readers of the ur-an,
munshids to sing odes in his honour, flag-bearers, and other
persons, who wailed and screamed, rubbed their faces against the bars of
the window before his grave, and caught the air of the place in their
hands to thrust it into their bosoms and pockets. Men and women came
crowding together to visit his tomb, bringing votive offerings and wax
candles, and eatables of various kinds to distribute for his sake to the
poor.--The oblong monument over his grave, resembling a large
chest, was covered, when I was in Cairo, with a black stuff ornamented
by a line of words from the ur-an, in white characters, surrounding it.
A servant who accompanied me during my rides and walks used often to
stop as we passed this tomb, and touch the wooden bars of the window
above mentioned with his right hand, which he then kissed to obtain a
blessing.

In most cases greater honour is paid to a reputed saint after his death
than he receives in his life. A small, square, whitewashed building,
crowned with a dome, is generally erected as his tomb, surrounding an
oblong monument of stone, brick, or wood, which is immediately over the
sepulchral vault. At least one such building forms a conspicuous object
close by, or within, almost every Arab village; for the different
villages, and different quarters of every town and city, have their
respective patron saints, whose tombs are frequently visited, and are
the scenes of periodical festivals, generally celebrated once in every
year. The tombs of many very eminent saints are mosques; and some of
these are large and handsome edifices, the monument being under a large
and lofty dome, and surrounded by an enclosure of wooden railings, or of
elegantly-worked bronze. In these buildings also, and in some others,
the monument is covered with silk or cotton stuff ornamented with words
from the ur-an, which form a band around it. Many buildings of the more
simple kind erected in honour of saints, and some of the larger
description, are mere cenotaphs, or cover only some relic of the person
to whom they are dedicated. The tombs and cenotaphs or shrines of saints
are visited by numerous persons, and on frequent occasions; most
commonly on a particular day of the week. The object of the visiter, in
general, is to perform some meritorious act, such as taking bread, or
other food, or money, for the poor, or distributing water to the
thirsty, on account of the saint, to increase his rewards in heaven, and
at the same time to draw down a blessing on himself; or to perform a
sacrifice of a sheep, goat, calf, or other animal, which he has vowed to
offer, if blessed with some specific object of desire, or to obtain
general blessings; or to implore the saint's intercession in some case
of need. The flesh of the devoted animal is given to the poor. The
visiters also often take with them palm-branches, or sprigs of myrtle,
or roses or other flowers, to lay upon the monument, as they do when
they visit the tombs of their relations. The visiter walks round the
monument, or its enclosure, from left to right, or with his left side
towards it (as the pilgrims do round the Kaabeh), sometimes pausing to
touch its four angles or corners with his right hand, which he then
kisses; and recites the opening chapter of the ur-an (the Fat'ah)
standing before one or each of its four sides. Some visiters repeat also
the chapter of Ya-Seen (the 36th), or employ a person to recite this, or
even the whole of the ur-an, for hire.

The reciter afterwards declares that he transfers the merit of this work
to the soul of the deceased saint. Any private petition the visiter
offers up on his own account, imploring a favourable answer for the sake
of the saint, or through his intercession; holding his hands before his
face like an open book, and then drawing them down his face. Many a
visiter, on entering the tomb, kisses the threshold, or touches it with
his right hand, which he then kisses; and, on passing by it, persons
often touch the window, and kiss the hand thus honoured.

The great periodical or annual festivals are observed with additional
ceremonies, and by crowds of visiters. These are called Moolids (more
properly Molids); and are held on the anniversary of the birth of the
saint, or in commemoration of that event. Persons are then hired to
recite the ur-an in and near the tomb, during the day; and others,
chiefly darweeshes, employ themselves during the night in performing
zikrs, which consist in repeating the name of God, or the profession of
his unity, &c., in chorus, accompanying the words by certain motions of
the head, hands, or whole body; munshids, at intervals, singing
religious odes or love songs during these performances, to the
accompaniment of a nay, which is a kind of flute, or the arghool, which
is a double reed-pipe. These moolids are scenes of rejoicing and of
traffic, which men and boys and girls attend, to eat sweatmeats, and
drink coffee and sherbets, or to amuse themselves with swinging, or
turning on a whirligig, or witnessing the feats of conjurers, or the
performances of dancers; and to which tradesmen repair to sell or barter
their goods. The visiters to the great moolids of the seyyid Amad
El-Bedawee, at ana, in the Delta of Egypt, which are great fairs as
well as religious festivals, are almost as numerous as the pilgrims at
Mekkeh. During a moolid, the inhabitants of the houses in the
neighbourhood of the tomb hang lamps before their houses, and spend a
great part of the night listening to the story-tellers at the
coffee-shops, or attending the zikrs.

These latter performances, though so common among the Arabs, are
inconsistent with the spirit of the Mohammadan religion, and especially
with respect to music, which was not employed in religious ceremonies
until after the second century of the Flight. The Imam Aboo-Bekr
E-oosee, being asked whether it were lawful or not to be present with
people who assembled in a certain place, and read a portion of the
ur-an; and, after a munshid had recited some poetry, would dance, and
become excited, and play upon tambourines and pipes,--answered, that
such practices were vain, ignorant, and erroneous; not ordained by the
ur-an or the Traditions of the Prophet, but invented by those
Israelites who worshipped the Golden Calf; that the Prophet and his
companions used to sit so quietly that a bird might alight upon the head
of any one of them and not be disturbed; that it was incumbent on the
Sultan and his vicegerents to prevent such persons from entering the
mosques and other places for these purposes; and that no one who
believed in God and the Last Day should be present with them, or assist
them in their vain performances: such, he asserted, was the opinion of
the Imams of the Muslims. Some eminent doctors, however, have
contended for the lawfulness of these practices.

Of the various orders of darweeshes, to which so many of the reputed
saints belong, it is unnecessary here to say more than that they differ
chiefly in unimportant regulations and rites, such as particular forms
of prayer, and modes of zikr; that some distinguish themselves by
peculiar dresses; and that a few pursue a wandering life, and subsist on
alms.

NOTE 64. The reason of this strange proceeding is not stated in the
Cairo edition, but it is in the two other editions which I have before
me.

NOTE 65. Arab etiquette requires that a person should sit upon his knees
and feet in the presence of one of much higher rank, or of one to whom
he would pay especial honour. He should also, in these cases, cover his
hands with his sleeves.

NOTE 66. Kunafeh is a kind of pastry resembling vermicelli, made of
wheat-flour. It is moistened with clarified butter--then baked, and
sweetened with honey or sugar.

NOTE 67. Chess is played somewhat differently in different parts of the
East. The pieces are generally of very simple forms, as the Muslim is
forbidden by his religion to make an image of anything that has life.

NOTE 68. In my original, and in the Breslau edition, the ape is said to
have been the son of the King of the Ebony Islands; but this is a
mistake; for the latter, as before stated, was the father of the lady
who was carried off by Jarjarees.

NOTE 69. The term "leewan" has been explained in No. 12 of the notes to
this chapter.

NOTE 70. This was, and I believe still is, a common battle-cry of the
Arabs, and more commonly used on the occasion of a victory.

NOTE 71. "Dar es-Selam," "the Abode of Peace," or "of Safety," is a name
often given to Baghdad, as it is also to one of the seven stories or
stages of Paradise.

NOTE 72.--_The Mountain of Loadstone._ Several Arab writers describe
this mountain of loadstone. El azweenee, in his account of minerals,
says that the mine of loadstone is on the shore of the Indian Ocean, and
that if the ships which navigate this sea approach the said mine, and
contain anything of iron, it flies from them like a bird, and adheres to
the mountain; for which reason, it is the general custom to make use of
no iron in the construction of the vessels employed in this
navigation. I think that I have met with a similar story in some
Latin author.

NOTE 73. For an explanation of this term, see what I have said on the
subject of prayer in the first of the notes to the Introduction.

NOTE 74. "Khaeeb" signifies "endowed with plenty."

NOTE 75. The remainder of the story of the Third Royal Mendicant is
almost wholly omitted in the Cairo edition. I translate it chiefly from
the Calcutta edition of the first two hundred nights.

NOTE 76.--_On Dreams._ That Dreams are regarded by the Muslims as being
often true warnings or indications of future events I have mentioned in
a former note. This belief, sanctioned by the Prophet, will be well
illustrated by the following anecdote, which was related to me in Cairo,
shortly after the terrible plague of the year 1835, by the sheykh
Moammad E-anawee, who had taken the trouble of investigating the
fact, and had ascertained its truth.

A tradesman, living in the quarter of El-anafee, in Cairo, dreamt,
during the plague above mentioned, that eleven persons were carried out
from his house to be buried, victims of this disease. He awoke in a
state of the greatest distress and alarm, reflecting that eleven was the
total number of the inhabitants of his house, including himself, and
that it would be vain in him to attempt, by adding one or more members
to his household, to elude the decree of God, and give himself a chance
of escape: so, calling together his neighbours, he informed them of his
dream, and was counselled to submit with resignation to a fate so
plainly foreshewn, and to be thankful to God for the timely notice with
which he had been mercifully favoured. On the following day, one of his
children died; a day or two after, a wife; and the pestilence continued
its ravages among his family until he remained in his house alone. It
was impossible for him now to entertain the slightest doubt of the
entire accomplishment of the warning: immediately, therefore, after the
last death that had taken place among his household, he repaired to a
friend at a neighbouring shop, and, calling to him several other persons
from the adjoining and opposite shops, he reminded them of his dream,
acquainted them with its almost complete fulfilment, and expressed his
conviction that he, the eleventh, should very soon die. "Perhaps," said
he, "I shall die this next night: I beg of you, therefore, for the sake
of God, to come to my house early to-morrow morning, and the next morning
and the next if necessary, and to see if I be dead, and, when dead, that
I be properly buried; for I have no one with me to wash and shroud me.
Fail not to do me this service, which will procure you a recompense in
heaven. I have bought my grave-linen: you will find it in a corner of
the room in which I sleep. If you find the door of the house latched,
and I do not answer to your knocking, break it open."

Soon after sunset he laid himself in his lonely bed, though without any
expectation of closing his eyes in sleep; for his mind was absorbed in
reflections upon the awful entry into another world, and a review of his
past life. As the shades of night gathered around him, he could almost
fancy that he beheld, in one faint object or another in his gloomy
chamber, the dreadful person of the Angel of Death: and at length he
actually perceived a figure gliding in at the door, and approaching his
bed. Starting up in horror, he exclaimed, "Who art thou?"--and a stern
and solemn voice answered, "Be silent! I am 'Azraeel, the Angel of
Death!"--"Alas!" cried the terrified man; "I testify that there is no
deity but God, and I testify that Moammad is God's Apostle! There is no
strength nor power but in God, the High! the Great! To God we belong,
and to Him we must return!"--He then covered himself over with his
quilt, as if for protection, and lay with throbbing heart, expecting
every moment to have his soul torn from him by the inexorable messenger.
But moments passed away, and minutes, and hours; yet without his
experiencing any hope of escape; for he imagined that the Angel was
waiting for him to resign himself, or had left him for a while, and was
occupied in receiving first the souls of the many hundred human beings
who had attained their predestined term in that same night and in the
same city, and the souls of the thousands who were doomed to employ him
elsewhere. Daybreak arrived before his sufferings terminated; and his
neighbours, coming according to their promise, entered his chamber, and
found him still in bed; but observing that he was covered up, and
motionless as a corpse, they doubted whether he were still alive, and
called to him. He answered, with a faint voice, "I am not yet dead; but
the Angel of Death came to me in the dusk of the evening, and I expect
every moment his return, to take my soul: therefore trouble me not; but
see me washed and buried."--"But why," said his friends, "was the
street-door left unlatched?"--"I latched it," he answered, "but the
Angel of Death may have opened it."--"And who," they asked, "is the man
in the court?"--He answered, "I know of no man in the court: perhaps the
Angel who is waiting for my soul has made himself visible to you, and
been mistaken, in the twilight, for a man."--"He is a thief," they said,
"who has gathered together everything in the house that he could carry
away, and has been struck by the plague while doing so, and now lies
dead in the court, at the foot of the stairs, grasping in his hand a
silver candlestick."--The master of the house, after hearing this,
paused for a moment, and then, throwing off his quilt, exclaimed,
"Praise be to God, the Lord of all creatures! That is the eleventh, and
I am safe! No doubt it was that rascal who came to me and said that he
was the Angel of Death. Praise be to God! Praise be to God!"

This man survived the plague, and took pleasure in relating the above
story. The thief had overheard his conversation with his neighbours,
and, coming to his house in the dusk, had put his shoulder to the wooden
lock, and so raised the door and displaced the latch within.--There is
nothing wonderful in the dream, nor in its accomplishment; the plague of
1835 entirely desolated many houses, and was mostly fatal to the young;
and all the inhabitants of the house in question were young excepting
the master.

NOTE 77. "'Ajeeb" signifies "a wonder," or "anything strange or
admirable."

NOTE 78. Blue is the colour of mourning, as before mentioned, in No. 52
of the notes to the second chapter.

NOTE 79. Smearing the face and slapping the cheeks are common practices
of Arab women, especially of the lower orders, on following to the
grave the corpse of a near relation or a husband.

NOTE 80.--_On the_ Rukh'. This fabulous bird is described by many Arab
writers, some of whom assert that it can carry a rhinoceros, while
others ascribe to it powers still more extraordinary. I shall have
occasion to speak of it again in my notes to this work.

NOTE 81. This is explained by No. 30 of the notes to the Introduction.

NOTE 82. I here return to the Cairo edition.

NOTE 83. Some of the incidents described in this story, as the
shipwrecks caused by the image, and the opening of the forbidden closet,
&c., appear to be taken from the romance of Seyf Zu-l-Yezen, of which I
possess a copy, purchased during my second visit to Egypt. This romance,
which has become extremely scarce, is filled with stories of genii and
enchantments of the most extravagant kind. Some of the public
story-tellers in Cairo used, a few years since, to amuse their audiences
by recitations from it. I was not able to discover the period at which
it was composed; but it is said to have been written long before the
Tales of a Thousand and One Nights. I saw once a portion of a copy of
which it appeared, from the hand-writing and the paper, to be three or
four centuries old.

NOTE 84. So in the Calcutta edition of the first two hundred nights, and
in the edition of Breslau.

NOTE 85. Those decrees which are written with "the Pen" on the
"Preserved Tablet" are believed to be unchangeable. "The Pen" is also
the title of one of the chapters of the ur-an, the 68th.

NOTE 86. In all the copies of the original which I have by me, El-Barah
is said to have been the place to which the lady designed to voyage; but
this is inconsistent with the sequel of the story.

NOTE 87. In the old version, two strange errors occur in the passage
corresponding with this: two words in the original, "nar" and "doon,"
having been mistaken for a proper name; and the word "jebbar," which,
applied to God, signifies "almighty," or rather the "Compeller of his
creatures to do whatsoever He willeth," being taken in the sense of
"giant," which it bears in many other cases.

NOTE 88.--_On Martyrs._ The Mohammadan law distinguishes several
different descriptions of martyrs. This honourable title is given to the
soldier who dies in fighting for the faith, or on his way to do so, or
who dies almost immediately after his having been wounded when so
engaged; to a person who innocently meets with his death from the hand
of another; to a victim of the plague, who does not flee from the
disease, or of dysentery; to a person who is drowned; and to one who is
killed by the falling of a wall or any building. It is said that the
souls of martyrs, after quitting their bodies, reside, until the day of
resurrection, in the crops of green birds, which eat of the fruits, and
drink of the waters, of Paradise. Such we are to consider as the first
and lowest state of felicity to which the young prince in this tale was
introduced as the reward of his virtue.

NOTE 89. The share inherited, according to the law, by the wife, or by
the wives conjointly when there are more than one, is one-eighth of what
remains of the property of the deceased after the discharge of his debts
and legacies, if he have left issue; and one-fourth, if he have left no
issue.

NOTE 90. The Arabs, fond of hyperbole, often thus describe a lofty
building.

NOTE 91.--_On the Magnificence of Arab Palaces, &c._ After remarking
upon the preceding sentence as presenting an instance of Oriental
hyperbole, it may be necessary to inform the reader that he needs not
regard this in the same light. The magnificence of the palaces of
Baghdad in the times of the Khaleefehs almost exceeds belief.

In the beginning of the year of the Flight 305 (June, A.D. 917), two
ambassadors from the Greek Emperor (Constantine IX., Porphyrogenitus)
arrived in Baghdad on a mission to the Khaleefeh El-Mutedir, bringing
an abundance of costly presents; and the scenes which they witnessed are
thus described; apparently, however, not without some exaggeration. They
were first received by the Wezeer, who, at the audience which he granted
to them in his garden-palace, displayed on this occasion a degree of
magnificence that had never before been manifested by any of his rank;
pages, memlooks, and soldiers, crowded the avenues and courts of his
mansion, the apartments of which were hung with tapestry of the value of
thirty thousand deenars; and the Wezeer himself was surrounded by
generals and other officers on his right and left and behind his seat,
when the two ambassadors approached him, dazzled by the splendour that
surrounded them, to beg for an interview with the Khaleefeh.
El-Mutedir, having appointed a day on which he would receive them,
ordered that the courts and passages and avenues of his palace should be
filled with armed men, and that all the apartments should be furnished
with the utmost magnificence. A hundred and sixty thousand armed
soldiers were arranged in ranks in the approach to the palace; next to
these were the pages of the closets, and chief eunuchs, clad in silk and
with belts set with jewels, in number seven thousand; four thousand
white, and three thousand black: there were also seven hundred
chamberlains; and beautifully ornamented boats of various kinds were
seen floating upon the Tigris, hard by. The two ambassadors passed first
by the palace of the chief chamberlain, and, astonished at the splendid
ornaments and pages and arms which they there beheld, imagined that this
was the palace of the Khaleefeh; but what they had seen here was
eclipsed by what they beheld in the latter, where they were amazed by
the sight of thirty-eight thousand pieces of tapestry of
gold-embroidered silk brocade, and twenty-two thousand magnificent
carpets. Here also were two menageries of beasts by nature wild, but
tamed by art, and eating from the hands of men: among them were a
hundred lions; each lion with its keeper. They then entered the Palace
of the Tree, enclosing a pond from which rose the Tree: this had
eighteen branches, with leaves of various colours (being artificial),
and with birds of gold and silver (or gilt and silvered) of every
variety of kind and size, perched upon its branches, so constructed that
each of them sang. Thence they passed into the garden, in which were
furniture and utensils not to be enumerated: in the passages leading to
it were suspended ten thousand gilt coats of mail. Being at length
conducted before El-Mutedir, they found him seated on a couch of ebony
inlaid with gold and silver, to the right of which were hung nine
necklaces of jewels, and the like to the left, the jewels of which
outshone the light of day. The two ambassadors paused at the distance of
about a hundred cubits from the Khaleefeh, with the interpreter. Having
left the presence, they were conducted through the palace, and were
shewn splendidly-caparisoned elephants, a giraffe, lynxes, and other
beasts. They were then clad with robes of honour, and to each of them
was brought fifty thousand dirhems, together with dresses and other
presents. It is added, that the ambassadors approached the palace
through a street called "the Street of the Menarehs," in which were a
thousand menarehs, or menarets. It was at the hour of noon; and as they
passed, the mueddins from all these menarehs chanted the call to prayer
at the same time, so that the earth almost quaked at the sound, and the
ambassadors were struck with fear.

The Orientals well understand how to give the most striking effect to
the jewels which they display on their dress, &c., on occasions of
state. Sir John Malcolm, describing his reception by the late King of
Persia, says, "His dress baffled all description. The ground of his
robes was white; but he was so covered with jewels of an extraordinary
size, and their splendour, from his being seated where the rays of the
sun played upon them, was so dazzling, that it was impossible to
distinguish the minute parts which combined to give such amazing
brilliancy to his whole figure."

NOTE 92. As this marriage is described as conducted in an irregular
manner, I need say nothing at present of the ceremonies usually
practised on such an occasion.

NOTE 93. Every person who has visited Eastern cities will bear testimony
to the plausibility of this excuse. I have several times been thrown
down by the wide load of a camel in the streets of Cairo, and seen loads
of firewood scraping the houses on both sides of a street at the same
time.

NOTE 94. Women suspected of infidelity to their husbands have not
unfrequently been thus punished in Egypt in modern times, in violation
of the law.

NOTE 95. "Saad" signifies "happiness," or "prosperity," and also
"happy," or "prosperous."

NOTE 96. Pity is of more important service to the Muslim after death
than during life; for the prayers which it inspires increase his
happiness in futurity, or diminish his misery.

NOTE 97. This allusion to religious faith is peculiarly apt in the mouth
of a Muslim; for the chief dogma of his creed is the denial of any
partnership in the Divine essence. He calls persons of all other
religions "mushriks," or those who attribute partners to God.

NOTE 98. In the original, she is here called an 'Efreeteh, which is an
improper term.

NOTE 99. This salutation and its reply are only to be given by and to
Muslims.

NOTE 100. It is implied by this ejaculation that the two ladies were
admirable beauties, evidences of the perfection of their Creator.






   See ur-an, ch. ii. v. 96.

   See ur-an, ch. ii. v. 96.

   El-azweenee, account of the well of Babil, in "'Ajaib
  el-Makhlooat."

   Mishkat el-Maabee, vol. ii. p. 339.

   De Sacy's Chrestomathie Arabe, vol. i. pp. 125-131,
  Arabic text, 2nd ed.

   That is, a race-course for sallies of wit and eloquence
  on the subject of wine: the word "kumeyt" being used, in
  preference to more than a hundred others that might have been
  employed, as signifying "wine," because it bears also the
  meaning of "a dark bay horse."

   His name is not mentioned in my copy; but D'Herbelot
  states it to have been Shems-ed-Deen Moammad Ibn-Bedr-ed-Deen
  asan, el-aee; and writes his surname "Naouagi," or
  "Naouahi."

   Ch. ii. v. 216.

   Ch. iv. v. 46.

   Leviticus, ch. x. v. 9.

   ur-an, ch. v. v. 92.

   albet el-Kumeyt, ch. ix.

   Idem, khatimeh, or conclusion.

   Ibid.

   Fakhr-ed-Deen, in De Sacy's Chrestomathie Arabe, vol. i.
  p. 23, Arabic text, 2nd ed.

   "While tears of blood trickle from the strainer, the ewer
  beneath it giggles." (E-adr Ibn-El-Wekeel, quoted in the
  albet el-Kumeyt, ch. xiii.)--The strainer is called "rawoo."

   The Motesib is inspector of the markets, the weights and
  measures, and provisions, &c.

   Mir-at ez-Zeman, events of the year 295.

   In Arabic, "baiyeh."

   "Baah."

   "inneeneh."

   "Ibrees."

   The cup, when full, was generally called "kas:" when
  empty, "ada" or "jam." The name of "kas" is now given to a
  small glass used for brandy and liqueurs, and similar to our
  liqueur-glass: the glass or cup used for wine is called, when
  so used, "koobeh:" it is the same as that used for sherbet; but
  in the latter case it is called "ulleh."

   "Nuuldans."

   "Nul."

   "Bela."

   "Ruab."

   Es-Suyooee, account of the fruits of Egypt, in his
  history of that country (MS. in my possession)

   Ibid.

   Es-Suyooee, account of the fruits of Egypt, in his
  history of that country (MS. in my possession).

   El-azweenee (MS. in my possession).

   "Jummar."

   "Bieekh," vulg., "baeekh."

   El-azweenee.

   "Moz."

   Es-Suyooee, _ubi supra_.

   "Rumman".

   Es-Suyooee, _ubi supra_.

   The Arabic names of these fruits are, tuffa (vulg.,
  tiffa), kummetre, safarjal, mishmish, khokh, teen, jummeyz
  (vulg., jemmeyz), 'eneb, nab or sidr, 'onnab (vulg., 'annab),
  ijjas or baroo, joz, loz, bundu, fustu, burtuan, narinj,
  leymoon, utrujj or turunj and kebbad, toot, zeytoon, and aab
  es-sukkar.

   "Ward."

   albet el-Kumeyt, ch. xvii.; and Es-Suyooee, account of
  the flowers of Egypt, in his history of that country.

   albet el-Kumeyt, ch. xvii.

   Ibid.

   Ibid.

   Ibid.

   Es-Suyooee, _ubi supra_.

   The night of the Ascension.

   Gabriel, who accompanied the Prophet.

   The beast on which he rode from Mekkeh to Jerusalem
  previously to his ascension. These traditions are from
  Es-Suyooee, _ubi supra_.

   This flower is called "faghiyeh," and, more commonly,
  "temer el-enne;" or, according to some, the faghiyeh is the
  flower produced by a slip of temer el-enne planted upside
  down, and superior to the flower of the latter planted in the
  natural way.

   Es-Suyooee, _ubi supra_.

   "Benefsej."

   Es-Suyootee.

   "As," or "narseen."

   Es-Suyooee.

   "Shaai." The "adhriyoon," or "adharyoon," is said to be
  a variety of the anemone.

   From the former, or from "noaman" as signifying "blood,"
  the anemone was named "shaai en-noaman."

   "Menthoor," or "kheeree."

   albet el-Kumeyt, ch. xvii.

   "Narjis."

   albet el-Kumeyt, _ubi supra_; Es-Suyooee, _ubi supra_;
  and El-azweenee.

   The Arabic names of these flowers are, yasemeen, nisreen,
  zahr (or zahr narinj), soosan, reean (or aba), nemam, bahar,
  u-howan, neelofar, beshneen, jullanar or julnar, khashkhash,
  khimee, zaafaran, 'ofur, kettan, bailla and leblab, and loz.

   "Ban," and "khilaf" or "khalaf." Both these names are
  applied to the same tree (which, according to Forskal, differs
  slightly from the salix Egyptiaca of Linneus) by the author of
  the albet el-Kumeyt, and by the modern Egyptians.

   albet el-Kumeyt, ch. xiv.

   Idem, ch. xi.

   Mishkat el-Maabee, vol. ii. p. 425.

   albet el-Kumeyt, ch. xiv.

   Soft boots, worn inside the slippers or shoes.

   This is so vaguely described by the Arab lexicographers
  that I cannot obtain a definite notion of its form.

   albet el-Kumeyt, _loco laudato_.

   albet el-Kumeyt, ch. xiv.

   He was born in the year of the Flight 125, and died in
  213, or, according to some, 188.--Abulfede Annales, vol. ii.
  pp. 150 and 675.

   He was born in the year of the Flight 150, and died in
  235.--Idem, adnot., pp. 691 et seq.; and Mir-at ez-Zeman,
  events of the year 235.

   Mir-at ez-Zeman, events of the year 231. He died in this
  year.

   I believe this Khaleefeh was El-Ma-moon.

   A quarter in Baghdad.

   That is, "My master."--ED.

   albet el-Kumeyt, ch. vii.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil wa-Murshid el-Mutaahhil.

   El-Mareezee, in De Sacy's Chrestomathie Arabe, vol. i.
  p. 265, 2nd ed.

   Ibid.

   El-Mareezee, in his "Khia," and his history of the
  Memlook Sulans, translated by Quatremere; El-Is-aee; and
  D'Ohsson, Tableau General de l'Empire Othoman.

   D'Ohsson (vol. i. pp. 315 and 316) asserts the ub to be
  the chief minister of the Ghos; and gives an account somewhat
  different from that which I offer of the orders under his
  authority: but perhaps the Turkish Darweeshes differ from the
  Arab in their tenets on this subject.

   It is said that "the Nuaba are three hundred; the
  Nujaba, seventy; the Abdal, forty; the Akhyar, seven; the
  'Omud, four; the Ghos  is one. The Nuaba
  reside in El-Gharb ; the
  Nujaba, in Egypt; the Abdal, in Syria; the Akhyar travel about
  the earth; the 'Omud, in the corners of the earth; the abode of
  the Ghos is at Mekkeh. In an affair of need, the Nuaba implore
  relief for the people; then, the Nujaba; then, the Abdal; then,
  the Akhyar; then, the 'Omud; and if their prayer be not
  answered, the Ghos implores, and his prayer is answered."
  (El-Is-aee's History, preface.)--This statement, I find,
  rests on the authority of a famous saint of Baghdad, Aboo-Bekr
  El-Kettanee, who died at Mekkeh, in the year of the Flight 322.
  (Mir-at ez-Zeman, events of the year above mentioned.)

   El-Jabartee's History of Modern Egypt, vol. ii., obituary
  of the year 1201 (MS. in my possession).--The appellation of
  "the four ubs" is given in Egypt to the seyyid Amad Rifa'ah,
  the seyyid 'Abd-El-adir El-Geelanee, the seyyid Amad
  El-Bedawee, and the seyyid Ibraheem Ed-Dasooee, the founders
  of the four orders of darweeshes most celebrated among the
  Arabs, called Rifa'eeyeh, adireeyeh, Amedeeyeh, and
  Barahimeh.

   El-Jabartee's History, vol. i., obituary of the year
  1188.

   Mir-at ez-Zeman, events of the year 291.

   Mir-at ez-Zeman, events of the year 291.

   Idem, events of the year 218.

   Idem, events of the year 334.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil, &c., sect. 4.

   These are two very celebrated welees.

   The opening chapter of the ur-an.

   El-Jabartee's History, vol. iii., events of the month of
  Shaaban, 1215 (A.D. 1800-1801).

   Singers of religious odes.

   El-Jabartee's History, vol. ii., obituary of the year
  1207, and events of Rejeb, 1200; and vol. iii., events of
  Rabeea eth-Thanee, 1214.

   El-Is-aee, reign of El-Mutawekkil.

   De Sacy's Chrestomathie Arabe, vol. i. pp. 122, 123, 2nd.
  ed.

   "'Ajaib el-Makhlooat."

   Mir-at ez-Zeman, events of the year above mentioned.

   Sketches of Persia, vol. ii. p. 129.





COMMENCING WITH PART OF THE EIGHTEENTH NIGHT, AND ENDING WITH PART OF
THE TWENTY-FOURTH.

THE STORY OF THE THREE APPLES, &c.

One night, after the adventure above described, the Khaleefeh Haroon
Er-Rasheed said to Jaafar, his Wezeer, We will go down to-night into the
city, and inquire respecting the affairs of those who are at present in
authority, and him against whom any one shall complain we will displace.
Jaafar replied, I hear and obey:--and when the Khaleefeh had gone forth
with him and Mesroor, and they had passed through several of the
market-streets, they proceeded along a lane, and saw there an old man,
with a net and basket upon his head, and a staff in his hand, walking at
his leisure, and reciting these verses:--

  They say to me, Thou shinest among mankind, by thy knowledge,
    like the moonlight night:
  But I answer, Abstain from thus addressing me, since there is no
    knowledge without power:
  For if they would pawn me, and my knowledge with me, and all my papers
    and inkhorn too,
  For one day's food, they would never find the pledge accepted to
    the day of judgment.
  As for the poor, and his condition, and his whole life, how full of
    trouble!
  In the summer he fails to earn his food, and in winter he warms
    himself over the fire-pot.
  The dogs follow him wherever he goes, and any reviler, and he cannot
    repel him.
  If he states his case, and proves himself wronged, the judge will not
    admit his plea.
  Such, then, being the poor man's life, his fittest place is in
    the burial-ground.

The Khaleefeh, when he heard his recitation, said to Jaafar, Observe
this poor man, and consider these verses; for they indicate his
necessity. Then approaching the man, he said to him, O sheykh, what is
thine occupation?--O my master, answered the old man, I am a fisherman,
and have a family to maintain, and I went forth from my house at noon,
and have remained until now, but God hath allotted me nothing wherewith
to obtain food for my household; therefore I have hated myself, and
wished for death.--Wilt thou, said the Khaleefeh, return with us to the
river, and station thyself on the bank of the Tigris, and cast thy net
for my luck? If thou wilt do so I will purchase of thee whatever cometh
up for a hundred pieces of gold.--The fisherman rejoiced when he heard
these words, and said, On my head be your commands: I will return with
you.--So he went again to the river, and cast his net, and, having
waited till it sank, drew the cords, and dragged back the net, and there
came up in it a chest, locked and heavy. When the Khaleefeh saw it, he
felt its weight, and found it to be heavy; and he gave a hundred pieces
of gold to the fisherman, who went away, while Mesroor, assisted by
Jaafar, took up the chest, and conveyed it, in company with the
Khaleefeh, to the palace, where they lighted the candles, and placed the
chest before the Khaleefeh. Jaafar and Mesroor then broke it open, and
they found in it a basket of palm-leaves sewed up with red worsted; and
they cut the threads, and saw within it a piece of carpet, and, lifting
up this, they found beneath it an izar, and when they had
taken up the izar they discovered under it a damsel like molten silver,
killed, and cut in pieces.

When the Khaleefeh beheld this, tears ran down his cheeks, and, looking
towards Jaafar, he exclaimed, O dog of Wezeers, shall people be murdered
in my time, and be thrown into the river, and become burdens upon my
responsibility? By Allah, I must retaliate for this damsel upon him who
killed her, and put him to death!--Then said he to Jaafar, By the truth
of my descent from the Khaleefehs of the sons of El-'Abbas, if thou do
not bring to me him who killed this woman, that I may avenge her upon
him, I will crucify thee at the gate of my palace, together with forty
of thy kinsmen! And the Khaleefeh was enraged.--Grant me,
said Jaafar, a delay of three days.--I grant thee the delay, replied the
Khaleefeh. Jaafar then went forth from his presence, and took his route
through the city, sorrowful, and saying within himself, How shall I
discover him who killed this damsel, that I may take him before the
Khaleefeh? And if I take to him any other person, he will become a
weight upon my conscience. I know not what to do.--For three days he
remained in his house, and on the fourth day the Khaleefeh sent to
summon him, and, when he had presented himself before him, said to him,
Where is the murderer of the damsel?--O Prince of the Faithful, answered
Jaafar, am I acquainted with things hidden from the senses, that I
should know who is her murderer? The Khaleefeh, incensed at this answer,
gave orders to crucify him at the gate of his palace, and commanded a
crier to proclaim through the streets of Baghdad, Whosoever desireth to
amuse himself by seeing the crucifixion of Jaafar El-Barmekee, the
Wezeer of the Khaleefeh, and the crucifixion of his kinsmen, at the gate
of the Khaleefeh's palace, let him come forth and amuse himself.--So the
people came forth from every quarter to see the crucifixion of Jaafar
and his kinsmen; and they knew not the cause of this. The Khaleefeh then
gave orders to set up the crosses; and they did so, and placed the
Wezeer and his kinsmen beneath, to crucify them, and were awaiting the
Khaleefeh's permission, while the people wept for Jaafar and his
relatives.

But while they were thus waiting, a handsome and neatly-dressed young
man came forward quickly through the crowd, and, approaching the Wezeer,
said to him, Safety to thee from this predicament, O chief of Emeers,
and refuge of the poor! It was I who killed the woman whom ye found in
the chest: kill me therefore for her, and retaliate her death upon
me.--When Jaafar heard these words, he rejoiced for his own deliverance,
and grieved for the young man: but while he was speaking to him, lo, an
old sheykh pressed hastily through the crowd to him and the young man,
and, having saluted them, said, O Wezeer, believe not the words of this
young man, for no one killed the damsel but myself; therefore retaliate
her death upon me. The young man, however, said, O Wezeer, this is an
old man, imbecile through age; he knoweth not what he saith: it was I
who killed her; avenge her therefore upon me.--O my son, said the
sheykh, thou art young, and wilt find pleasure in the world; and I am
old, and satiated with the world: I will be a ransom for thee and for
the Wezeer and his kinsmen; and no one killed the damsel but myself: by
Allah, therefore, hasten to retaliate upon me.

On witnessing this scene, the Wezeer was astonished; and he took the
young man and the sheykh to the Khaleefeh, and said, O Prince of the
Faithful, the murderer of the damsel hath come.--Where is he? said the
Khaleefeh. This young man, answered Jaafar, saith, I am the
murderer;--and this sheykh accuseth him of falsehood, and saith, Nay,
but _I_ am the murderer.--The Khaleefeh, looking towards the sheykh and
the young man, said, Which of you killed this damsel? The young man
answered, No one killed her but myself:--and the sheykh said also, No
one killed her but myself. The Khaleefeh therefore said to Jaafar, Take
them both and crucify them.--If the murderer be one, replied Jaafar, to
kill the other would be unjust. The young man then said, By Him who
raised the heavens and spread out the earth, it was I who killed the
damsel:--and he gave an account of the manner of his killing her, and
described what the Khaleefeh had found. The Khaleefeh therefore was
convinced that the young man was he who had killed the damsel; and he
was astonished, and said, What was the cause of thy killing this damsel
unjustly, and of thy confessing the murder without being
beaten, and thy saying, Retaliate her death upon me? The
young man answered as follows:--



Know, O Prince of the Faithful, that this damsel was my wife, and the
daughter of my uncle: this sheykh was her father, and is my uncle. I
married her when she was a virgin, and God blessed me with three male
children by her; and she loved me and served me, and I saw in her no
evil. At the commencement of this month she was attacked by a severe
illness, and I brought to her the physicians, who attended her until her
health returned to her; and I desired them to send her to the bath; but
she said to me, I want something before I enter the bath, for I have a
longing for it.--What is it? said I. She answered, I have a longing for
an apple, to smell it, and take a bite from it. So I went out
immediately into the city, and searched for the apple, and would have
bought it had its price been a piece of gold: but I could not find one.
I passed the next night full of thought, and when the morning came I
quitted my house again and went about to all the gardens, one after
another; yet I found none in them. There met me, however, an old
gardener, of whom I inquired for the apple, and he said to me, O my son,
this is a rare thing, and not to be found here, nor anywhere except in
the garden of the Prince of the Faithful at El-Barah, and preserved
there for the Khaleefeh. I returned therefore to my wife, and my love
for her so constrained me that I prepared myself and journeyed fifteen
days, by night and day, in going and returning, and brought her three
apples which I purchased of the gardener at El-Barah for three pieces
of gold; and, going in, I handed them to her; but she was not pleased by
them, and left them by her side. She was then suffering from a violent
fever, and she continued ill during a period of ten days.

After this she recovered her health, and I went out and repaired to my
shop, and sat there to sell and buy; and while I was thus occupied, at
mid-day there passed by me a black slave, having in his hand an apple,
with which he was playing: so I said to him, Whence didst thou get this
apple, for I would procure one like it?--Upon which he laughed, and
answered, I got it from my sweetheart: I had been absent, and came, and
found her ill, and she had three apples; and she said to me, My
unsuspecting husband journeyed to El-Barah for them, and bought them
for three pieces of gold:--and I took this apple from her.--When I heard
the words of the slave, O Prince of the Faithful, the world became black
before my face, and I shut up my shop, and returned to my house,
deprived of my reason by excessive rage. I found not the third apple,
and said to her, Where is the apple? She answered, I know not whither it
is gone. I was convinced thus that the slave had spoken the truth, and I
arose, and took a knife, and throwing myself upon her bosom, plunged the
knife into her: I then cut off her head and limbs, and put them in the
basket in haste, and covered them with the izar, over which I laid a
piece of carpet: then I put the basket in the chest, and, having locked
this, conveyed it on my mule, and threw it with my own hands into the
Tigris.

And now, continued the young man, I conjure thee by Allah, O Prince of
the Faithful, to hasten my death in retaliation for her murder, as I
dread, otherwise, her appeal for vengeance upon me on the day of
resurrection: for when I had thrown her into the Tigris
without the knowledge of any one, I returned to my house, and found my
eldest boy crying, though he knew not what I had done to his mother: so
I said to him, What maketh thee cry?--and he answered, I took one of
the apples that my mother had, and went down with it into the street to
play with my brothers, and a tall black slave snatched it from me, and
said to me, Whence came this to thee? I answered him, My father made a
journey for it, and brought it from El-Barah, for the sake of my
mother; for she is sick: he bought three apples for three pieces of
gold:--but he took it from me and beat me, and went away with it; and I
am afraid that my mother may beat me on account of the apple.--When I
heard my son's story, I discovered that the slave had forged a lie
against the daughter of my uncle, and found that she had been killed
unjustly; and as I was weeping bitterly for what I had done, this
sheykh, my uncle and her father, came to me, and I informed him of the
event; and he seated himself by me, and wept. We wept until midnight,
and continued our mourning for her five days, ceasing not to the present
day to bewail her death. By the honour of thine ancestors, therefore,
hasten my death, to retaliate her murder upon me.

The Khaleefeh wondered at the young man's story, and said, By Allah, I
will not put to death any but the wicked slave; for the young man is
excusable. Then looking towards Jaafar, he said to him, Bring before me
this wicked slave who hath been the cause of the catastrophe; or, if
thou bring him not, thou shalt be put to death in his stead. So the
Wezeer departed weeping, and saying, Whence shall I bring him? Not every
time that the jar is struck doth it escape being broken! I have no
stratagem to employ in this affair: but He who delivered me in the first
case may deliver me in the second. By Allah, I will not go out from my
house for three days; and the Truth, whose perfection be extolled, will
do what He willeth!--So he remained in his house three days, and on the
fourth day he caused the aee to be brought, and made his testamentary
arrangements; and as he was bidding farewell to his children, and
weeping, lo, the messenger of the Khaleefeh came and said to him, The
Prince of the Faithful is in a most violent rage, and hath sent me to
thee; and he hath sworn that this day shall not pass until thou art put
to death if thou do not bring to him the slave.

On hearing this, Jaafar wept, and his children wept with him; and when
he had bidden them all farewell except his youngest daughter, he
approached her for the same purpose. He loved her more than all his
other children; and he pressed her to his bosom, and wept at the thought
of his separation from her; but, in doing this, he felt something round
in her pocket, and said to her, What is in thy pocket? She answered, O
my father, it is an apple; our slave Reyan brought it, and I
have had it four days; he would not give it me until he had received
from me two pieces of gold.--At this mention of the slave and the
apple, Jaafar rejoiced, and exclaimed, O ready Dispeller of
trouble!--and immediately he ordered that the slave should be
brought before him. He was therefore brought in, and he said to him,
Whence came this apple?--O my master, he answered, I went out five days
ago, and, entering one of the by-streets of the city, I saw some
children playing, and one of them had this apple: and I snatched it from
him, and beat him; and he cried, and said, That belongs to my mother,
and she is sick: she wanted my father to bring her an apple, and he made
a journey to El-Barah, and brought back for her three apples which he
bought for three pieces of gold; and I took this to play with it:--then
he cried again; but, paying no regard to him, I took it away and brought
it hither; and my little mistress bought it of me for two pieces of
gold.--When he heard this story, Jaafar was filled with wonder at
discovering that this distressing event, and the murder of the damsel,
had been occasioned by his slave; and he took the slave and went with
him to the Khaleefeh, who ordered that the story should be committed to
writing, and published.



Jaafar then said to him, Wonder not, O Prince of the Faithful, at his
tale, for it is not more extraordinary than the story of the Wezeer
Noor-ed-Deen, and Shems-ed-Deen, his brother.--What story, said the
Khaleefeh, can be more wonderful than this?--O Prince of the Faithful,
replied Jaafar, I will not relate it to thee unless on the condition
that thou exempt my slave from the punishment of death. The Khaleefeh
said, I give thee his blood:--and Jaafar, thereupon, commenced the
relation of the story as follows:--


THE STORY OF NOOR-ED-DEEN AND HIS SON, AND OF SHEMS-ED-DEEN AND HIS
DAUGHTER.

Know, O Prince of the Faithful, that there was, in Cairo, a
Sulan, just and beneficent, who had a wise and well-informed
Wezeer, possessing a knowledge of the affairs of the world, and of the
art of government. This minister was an aged man, and he had two sons,
like two moons: the name of the elder was Shems-ed-Deen, and that of the
younger, Noor-ed-Deen; and the latter was more distinguished than
the former by handsomeness and comeliness: there was no one in his day
more handsome, so that the fame of his charms spread through the
neighbouring regions, and some of the inhabitants of those parts
travelled to his country merely to obtain a sight of him. And it came to
pass that their father died, and the Sulan mourned for him, and,
turning his regards towards the two sons, took them into his favour,
invested them with robes of honour, and said to them, Ye two are
instated in your father's office:--at which they rejoiced, and kissed
the ground before him. They observed the ceremonies of mourning
for their father during a period of a whole month, and entered upon the
office of Wezeers, each of them discharging the duties of this station
for a week at a time; and whenever the Sulan had a desire to go forth
on a journey, he took one of them with him.

Now it happened, one night, that the Sulan purposed commencing a
journey on the following morning; and it was the turn of the elder
Wezeer to accompany him; and as the two brothers were conversing
together that night, the elder said, O my brother, it is my wish that we
should both marry on one night.--Do, O my brother, as thou desirest,
answered the younger; and I will comply with that which thou shalt say.
So they agreed to do this. The elder then said to his brother, If God so
decree that we obtain the betrothal of two maidens, and accomplish our
marriage on the same night, and they give birth to children on the same
day, and God will that thy wife have a son, and my wife have a daughter,
we will marry them to each other, for they will be cousins.--And what, O
my brother, said Noor-ed-Deen, wilt thou require of my son as the dowry
of thy daughter? He answered, I will require of thy son, as the dowry of
my daughter, three thousand pieces of gold, and three gardens, and three
farms; for if the young man make any other contract than this, it will
not be proper. But when Noor-ed-Deen heard this proposal, he exclaimed,
What is this dowry that thou imposest upon my son? Dost thou not know
that we are two brothers, and that we are both Wezeers, of one dignity?
It were incumbent on thee to offer thy daughter to my son as a free
gift, without any dowry; for thou knowest that the male is more
honourable than the female, and my child is a male, and by him shall our
memory be preserved: not by thy daughter.--What sayest thou of her?
asked his brother.--That our memory will not be preserved by her among
the nobles, answered Noor-ed-Deen. But thou desirest, added he, to act
with me according to the opinion of him who saith, If thou desire to
drive away a person who would buy, demand of him a high price.--I see
thee, replied Shems-ed-Deen, to have committed a fault, in making thy
son more honourable than my daughter: thou art doubtless deficient in
judgment, and destitute of good disposition, seeing that thou mentionest
the partnership in the office of Wezeer, when I admitted thee not to
share it with me excepting in my pity for thee, and that thou mightest
assist me: but talk as thou wilt: since thou hast said this, by Allah, I
will not marry my daughter to thy son, though thou offer me her weight
in gold.--On hearing these words of his brother, Noor-ed-Deen was
enraged, and said, I will not marry my son to thy daughter.--I will not
accept him as a husband for her, replied Shems-ed-Deen; and if I were
not purposing a journey, I would do to thee deeds that should serve as
warnings to others: however, when I return, God will do what He
willeth.--When Noor-ed-Deen heard this, he was full of anger, and became
unconscious of existence: but he concealed his feelings; and each of the
two brothers passed the night apart from the other; and in the morning
the Sulan set out on his journey, and, crossing over to the
island, proceeded towards the Pyramids, accompanied by the
Wezeer Shems-ed-Deen.

Noor-ed-Deen passed that night in a state of the utmost rage; and when
the morning came he arose, and, having performed the morning-prayers,
went to his closet and took out from it a pair of small saddle-bags,
which he filled with gold; and as he reflected upon the words of his
brother, and the contempt which he had shewn him, and the pride that he
had manifested towards him, he repeated these verses:--

  Travel. Thou wilt find a friend in the place of him thou leavest;
    and fatigue thyself; for by labour are the sweets of life
    obtained.
  To a man of intelligence and education there is no glory in a constant
    residence: therefore quit thy native place, and go abroad.
  I have observed that the stagnation of water corrupteth it;
    if it floweth, it becometh sweet; but otherwise, it doth not.
  If the full moon never set, the eye of the contemplative would not
    on every occasion pay regard to it:
  The lions, if they left not the forest, would capture no prey;
    and the arrow, if it quitted not the bow, would not strike the mark:
  The grains of gold upon their native bed are regarded as mere dust;
    and the aloes-wood, where it groweth, is a kind of firewood:
  If exported, it becometh an object of high demand; but if not,
    it attaineth no kind of distinction.

He then ordered one of his young men to saddle for him a dapple mule,
tall, and of quick pace; and he did so, placing upon her a saddle
adorned with gold, with stirrups of Indian steel, and housings of the
velvet of Ipahan; and she resembled a bride displayed before her
husband. He ordered him also to place upon her a carpet of silk, and a
prayer-carpet, and to put the saddle-bags beneath the
latter; and when this was done, he said to the young man and the slaves,
I have a desire to take a ride for my amusement outside the city,
towards the province of alyoob, and shall be absent three nights; and
let none of you follow me, for my heart is contracted.



Having thus said, he mounted his mule in haste, and, taking with him a
small supply of food, departed from the city, turning his face towards
the open country. The hour of noon overtook him not until he entered
the city of Bilbeys, where he alighted to repose himself and rest his
mule, and ate; after which he took from this place what he required for
himself, and some provender for his mule, and, having placed these
provisions upon her, went forth again into the plain, and before noon on
the second following day, he entered Jerusalem. Here he
alighted again, and rested himself and his beast, and ate: he then
placed his saddle-bags under his head, and spread his carpet, and slept,
still overcome by anger. He passed the night in this place; and in the
morning he remounted, and he continued to urge on his mule until he
arrived at Aleppo, where he alighted at a han, and remained
three days to give rest to himself and his mule, and to enjoy the air of
the place: which having done, he determined to prosecute his journey,
and mounted his mule, and went forth. He knew not whither to direct his
course; but travelled on until he arrived at the city of El-Barah; and
scarcely was he aware that the night had overtaken him, when he alighted
there at a Khan, where he took off the saddle-bags from the mule, and
spread the prayer-carpet, committing the mule, with her equipage, to the
care of the door-keeper, and ordering him to walk her about a little.



The door-keeper did so; and it happened that the Wezeer of El-Barah,
sitting at a window of his palace, saw the mule, and, observing her
costly equipage, thought that she must belong to some Wezeer or King;
and as he attentively regarded her he was surprised, and said to one of
his pages, Bring before me that door-keeper. So the page went and
brought him; and the door-keeper, approaching, kissed the ground before
him. The Wezeer, who was an aged person, then said to this man, Who is
the owner of this mule, and what is his appearance?--O my lord, answered
the door-keeper, her owner is a young man of elegant person, of the sons
of the merchants, and of a dignified and grave aspect. On hearing this,
the Wezeer arose, and, mounting his horse, went to the Khan,
and introduced himself to the young man, who, as soon as he saw him
approaching, rose to meet him, and embraced him. The Wezeer, after he
had alighted from his horse, saluted him and welcomed him, and, seating
him by his side, said to him, Whence, O my son, hast thou come; and for
what purpose?--O my lord, answered Noor-ed-Deen, I have come from the
city of Cairo: my father was Wezeer there; and he hath departed to
receive the mercy of God;--and he informed him of all that had happened
to him from first to last, adding, I have determined that I will not
return until I shall have seen all the cities and countries of the
world.--O my son, replied the Wezeer, obey not the suggestions of thy
mind, lest thou expose thyself to destruction; for the countries are
waste, and I fear on thy account the issues of fortune. So saying, he
ordered that the saddle-bags should be placed again on the mule,
together with the carpet of silk and the prayer-carpet, and took
Noor-ed-Deen with him to his house, where he lodged him in an elegant
apartment, and treated him with honour and kindness; and, conceiving a
strong affection for him, said to him, O my son, I have become an old
man, and I have no male child; God, however, hath blessed me with a
daughter who resembleth thee in comeliness, and I have rejected many
persons who have been her suitors: but now, love for thee hath entered
my heart; wilt thou then take my daughter as thy hand-maid to serve
thee, and be her husband? If thou consent to this, I will go up to the
Sulan of El-Barah, and will say to him, This is the son of my
brother;--and I will introduce thee to him, that I may make thee Wezeer
in my place, and I will remain in my house; for I am now
aged.--Noor-ed-Deen, on hearing this proposal of the Wezeer of
El-Barah, hung down his head, and then answered, I hear and obey.



The Wezeer rejoiced at his assent, and ordered his servants to prepare
for him a repast, and to decorate the great saloon which was
furnished for the reception of the chiefs of the Emeers. He then called
together his friends, and invited the great officers of the state, and
the merchants of El-Barah; and when they had come into his presence, he
said to them, I had a brother who was Wezeer in the land of Egypt, and
God blessed him with two sons; and me, as ye know, He hath blessed with
a daughter: now my brother enjoined me to marry my daughter to one of
his sons, and I consented to do so; and when she attained a fit age for
marriage, he sent to me one of his sons, who is this young man here
present. As soon, therefore, as he had come, I desired to perform the
marriage-contract between him and my daughter, and that he should
introduce himself to her here in my house.--Excellently hast thou done!
they replied. They then drank sherbet of sugar, and the pages sprinkled
rose-water upon them, and they departed: after which, the Wezeer ordered
his servants to conduct Noor-en-Deen to the bath, and gave him a suit of
his best clothes, and sent to him the napkins and cups and
perfuming-vessels, and everything else that he required. So when he came
out from the bath, he put on the suit of clothes, and appeared like the
full moon; and he mounted his mule, and, returning to the palace,
alighted and presented himself before the Wezeer, and kissed his hand:
and the Wezeer welcomed him, saying, Arise, and introduce thyself this
night to thy wife; and to-morrow I will go up with thee to the Sulan,
and I pray that God may bless thee with every kind of happiness.
Noor-ed-Deen therefore arose, and went to his wife, the daughter of the
Wezeer.--Thus did it happen to Noor-ed-Deen.

As to his brother, he continued a while journeying with the Sulan, and
when he returned, and found not his brother, he inquired of the servants
respecting him, and they answered, On the day of thy departure with the
Sulan, he mounted his mule, caparisoned as for a procession of state,
and said, I am going towards the province of alyoob, and shall be
absent a day or two days; for my heart is contracted; therefore let none
of you follow me:--and from the day on which he went forth, to the
present day, we have heard no tidings of him. Upon this the heart of
Shems-ed-Deen was troubled at the separation of his brother, and he
grieved excessively for his loss, saying within himself, The cause of
this is nothing else than my having spoken harshly to him in my
conversation on the night before my departure with the Sulan; and
probably his mind was disturbed, and he went on a journey: I must
therefore send after him. He then went up and related this event to the
Sulan, who wrote letters and sent them to his vicegerents in all the
provinces: but Noor-ed-Deen had traversed distant regions during the
absence of his brother with the Sulan: therefore the messengers, when
they had gone with the letters, returned without having obtained any
information respecting him. So Shems-ed-Deen despaired of his brother,
and said, I have enraged my brother by what I said to him concerning the
marriage of the children. Would that I had not done so! This was not
occasioned but by my want of sense and judgment!--And soon after this,
he demanded in marriage the daughter of one of the merchants of Cairo,
and performed the marriage-contract between himself and her, and
introduced himself to her: and it happened that the night when this
event took place was the same night on which Noor-ed-Deen introduced
himself to his wife, the daughter of the Wezeer of El-Barah: this being
in accordance with the will of God, whose name be exalted, that He might
execute his decree upon his creatures.

The event was as they both had said: for it came to pass that the two
wives conceived by them: the wife of Shems-ed-Deen, the Wezeer, of
Egypt, gave birth to a daughter, than whom there was not seen, in that
country, one more beautiful; and the wife of Noor-ed-Deen gave birth to
a son, one more beautiful than whom was not seen in his time: as the
poet hath said:--

  If beauty came to be compared with him, it would hang down its head
    in shame;
  Or if it were said, O beauty, hast thou seen the like?--it would
    answer, The equal of this I have not.

So they named him asan; and on the seventh day after his
birth, they made entertainments and spread repasts such as were fit for
the sons of Kings after which the Wezeer of El-Barah took
with him Noor-ed-Deen, and went up with him to the Sulan; and when he
came into his presence he kissed the ground before him; and
Noor-ed-Deen, being eloquent in tongue, and firm of heart, and comely in
person and in actions, recited these words of the poet:--

  This is he whose justice extendeth to all men, and who hath overrun
    and subdued every region.
  Be thankful for his benefits; for they are not mere benefits;
    but they are strings of jewels on the necks of his people;
  And kiss his fingers; for they are not mere fingers;
    but they are the keys of the supplies of Providence.

The Sulan treated them both with honour, and, having thanked
Noor-ed-Deen for his address, said to his Wezeer, Who is this young man?
The Wezeer therefore related to him his story from beginning to end, and
added, This is the son of my brother.--How is it, said the Sulan, that
he is the son of thy brother, and we have not before heard of him? The
Wezeer answered, O our lord the Sulan, I had a brother who was Wezeer
in the land of Egypt, and he died, leaving two sons: the elder succeeded
to his father's office, as Wezeer, and this his younger son came to me;
and I swore that I would not marry my daughter to any but him: so, when
he came, I married him to her. He is a young man, and I am now aged; my
hearing is impaired, and my judgment faileth: it is my wish, therefore,
that our lord the Sulan would instate him in my office, seeing that he
is the son of my brother and the husband of my daughter, and a person
worthy of the dignity of Wezeer; for he is endowed with knowledge and
judgment.--The Sulan, upon this, looked towards him, and, being pleased
with him, approved of the advice of the Wezeer that he should promote
him to that office; so he bestowed it upon him, and ordered that a
magnificent dress of honour should be given to him, and one of the best
of the mules upon which he was himself accustomed to ride, allotting him
also supplies and salaries; and Noor-ed-Deen kissed the hand of the
Sulan, and descended with his father-in-law to their house, both in
high delight, and saying, Verily the birth of this child is fortunate.
On the following day Noor-ed-Deen went again to the King, and kissed the
ground, and the Sulan ordered him to sit in the place of the Wezeer:
so he sat, and occupied himself with the affairs of his office, and
examined the cases of the people, and their suits, according to the
custom of Wezeers: and the Sulan, observing him, was surprised at his
conduct, and the acuteness of his understanding, and his good judgment.
He attentively considered his qualities, and loved him, and advanced him
in his favour: and when the court was dissolved, Noor-ed-Deen returned
to his house, and related what had passed to his father-in-law, who was
rejoiced at hearing it.



The old Wezeer ceased not to superintend the rearing of the child, who
was named asan, for many days, while Noor-ed-Deen was constantly
occupied with the affairs of his office, so that he left not the Sulan
by day nor by night; and the King increased his salaries and supplies
until his circumstances became ample: he had ships which made voyages
under his orders with merchandise and other things, and he founded
numerous estates, and made water-wheels and gardens. Thus
did he until his son asan was four years of age, when the old Wezeer,
the father of his wife, died; and he conveyed his corpse with great
pomp, and decently deposited it in the earth. He then turned his
thoughts towards the education of his son; and when the child had gained
strength, he brought him a tutor to teach him in his own house, charging
him to instruct him and educate him well; and the tutor did so, and
taught him various useful sciences, after he had passed some years in
learning the ur-an. asan meanwhile increased in loveliness and beauty,
and elegance of person. The tutor continued to educate him in his
father's palace; and from the time that he arrived at adolescence he
went not out of the Wezeer's palace, until his father took him one day,
and, having clad him in one of the richest of his dresses, mounted him
on one of his best mules, and conducted him to the Sulan, and
introduced him. When the King beheld asan Bedr-ed-Deen, the
son of the Wezeer Noor-ed-Deen, he was astonished at his beauty; and the
people, when he passed by them for the first time, going up with his
father to the King, were amazed at his surpassing beauty and loveliness,
and elegance of person. The Sulan, as soon as he saw him, loved him,
and bestowed marks of favour upon him, and said to his father, O Wezeer,
thou must bring him with thee every day. The Wezeer answered, I hear and
obey;--and returned with his son to his abode; and he continued every
day to go up with him to the Sulan until the youth attained the age of
fifteen years.

His father, the Wezeer Noor-ed-Deen, then fell sick, and called him into
his presence, and said to him, O my son, know that this world is a
perishable abode, and the world to come is an everlasting abode. I wish
to give thee some precepts, and do thou understand what I am about to
say to thee, and incline thy heart to it.--And he began to counsel him
respecting the proper mode of conducting himself in society, and the due
management of his affairs; and when he had done so, he reflected upon
his brother and his native place and country, and wept at the thought of
his separation from those he loved; his tears flowing: and he said, O my
son, hear my words. I have a brother in Cairo, and I quitted
him and departed against his will.--He then took a piece of
paper, and wrote upon it all that had happened to him from
first to last, together with the date of his marriage and introduction
to the daughter of the Wezeer, and the date of his arrival at El-Barah
and his interview with its Wezeer; and, having added some strict
admonition, he said to his son, Keep this charge, for the paper on which
it is written containeth an account of thine origin and thy rank and
lineage; and if any evil accident befall thee, repair to Cairo, and
inquire for thine uncle, and salute him, and inform him that I died in a
strange land, ardently desiring that I could see him. Therefore asan
Bedr-ed-Deen took the paper, and, having folded it, and wrapped it in a
piece of waxed cloth, sewed it between the lining and the
outer cloth of his cap, and wept for his father, that he
should be parted from him in his youth.

Noor-ed-Deen then said to his son, I charge thee that thou
be not familiar with any one; for in retirement is security. Divinely
gifted was the poet who said,--

  There is none in thy time whose friendship thou shouldst covet;
    nor any intimate who, when fortune is treacherous, will be
    faithful.
  Live then apart, and rely upon no man: I have given thee,
    in these words, good advice, and sufficient.

Accustom thyself to taciturnity: occupy thyself with thine own affairs,
and use not many words: for the poet saith,--

  Taciturnity is an ornament, and in silence is security: therefore,
    when thou speakest, be not loquacious:
  For if thou repent once of thy silence, thou wilt assuredly repent
    many times of thy speech.

Beware of drinking wine; for it is the source of every kind of mischief.
The poet saith on this subject,--

  I have abandoned wine and those who drink it; and have become
    the friend of such as condemn it.
  Wine leadeth astray from the path of rectitude, and openeth
    the doors to evil.

Hate no man, and oppress none; for oppression is base. The poet saith,--

  Oppress not if thou hast the power to do so; for oppression will
    eventually bring thee repentance:
  Thine eye will sleep while the oppressed, wakeful, will call for
    vengeance upon thee; and the eye of God sleepeth not.

Despise thy wealth, but not thyself: yet bestow not wealth save upon him
who deserveth it. If thou keep it, it will keep thee; but if thou
squander it, it will ruin thee; and then wilt thou need the assistance
of the least of mankind. It hath been said by the poet,--

  When my wealth faileth, no friend assisteth me; but when it aboundeth,
    all men are my friends.
  How many enemies for the sake of wealth have consorted with me!
    And my companion, in the time of want, hath abandoned me!

In this manner he continued to admonish his son asan Bedr-ed-Deen until
his spirit departed. The house became a scene of mourning, and the
Sulan and all the Emeers grieved for him; and they buried him. They
continued their mourning during a period of two months, and the son of
Noor-ed-Deen rode not out nor went to the court nor presented himself
before the Sulan; and the King instated one of the Chamberlains in his
place, and appointed a new Wezeer in the place of his father, and
ordered this Wezeer to put seals upon all the houses of Noor-ed-Deen,
and upon his wealth and all his buildings and other possessions.
So the new Wezeer went with the Chamberlains to the house of the Wezeer
Noor-ed-Deen, to seal its door and to arrest his son asan Bedr-ed-Deen,
and bring him before the Sulan, that he might do to him what his
judgment required. But there was among the troops one of the memlooks of
the deceased Wezeer Noor-ed-Deen; and he could not endure that the son
of his master should be thus treated: he therefore repaired to asan
Bedr-ed-Deen, whom he found with downcast head and mourning heart, on
account of the death of his father, and acquainted him with what had
passed. asan asked him, Will the execution of the order be delayed long
enough for me to enter my house, and take somewhat of my worldly
possessions by which to obtain support during my exile? But the memlook
answered, Save thyself:--and when asan heard these words, he covered
his head with the skirt of his robe, and, going forth on foot, fled of
the city: and he heard the people saying, The Sulan hath sent the new
Wezeer to the house of the deceased Wezeer, to seal his wealth and other
possessions, and to arrest his son asan Bedr-ed-Deen, and bring him
before him that he may put him to death:--and the people were mourning
for him on account of his beauty and loveliness. So when he heard what
they said, he took a course that he had not intended, and, not knowing
whither to go, walked on until destiny urged him to the tomb of his
father.



Entering the burial-ground, he bent his way among the tombs until he
seated himself at that of his father, where he removed his skirt from
over his head. And as he was sitting there, a Jew of El-Barah
approached, and said to him, Wherefore, O my master, do I see thee thus
changed? He answered, I was just now sleeping, and I beheld my father
reproaching me for having failed to visit his tomb: wherefore I rose in
alarm, fearing that the day would pass without my visiting it, and so
the occurrence would distress me. The Jew then said to him, O my master,
thy father despatched some vessels with merchandise, and some of them
have returned; and it is my wish to purchase of thee the cargo of every
vessel that hath arrived for a thousand pieces of gold;--and so saying,
he took out a purse filled with gold, and counted out from it a thousand
pieces, which he paid to asan the son of the Wezeer, and said to him,
Write me a paper, and seal it. So asan took a paper, and wrote upon it,
The writer of this paper, asan Bedr-ed-Deen, the son of the Wezeer
Noor-ed-Deen, hath sold to the Jew such a one the whole cargo of every
one of his father's vessels that hath returned from her voyage, for a
thousand pieces of gold, and hath received the price in advance. And
after he had taken a copy of it, the Jew went away with the
paper; and asan wept, reflecting upon his former state of dignity and
favour. At length the night closed in upon him, and sleep overtook him,
and he remained asleep at his father's tomb until the moon rose when his
head rolled from the tomb, and he lay and slept on his back, his face
shining in the moonlight.



Now the burial-ground was inhabited by believing Jinn; and a Jinneeyeh,
coming forth, saw the face of asan as he lay asleep, and when she
beheld him, was surprised at his beauty and loveliness, and exclaimed,
Extolled be Allah's perfection! This youth is like none but the virgins
of paradise!--She then soared into the air, to perform her accustomed
circuits, and saw an 'Efreet on his flight. She saluted him, and he
returned her salutation; and she said to him, Whence comest thou? He
answered from Cairo:--and she said to him, Wilt thou go with me to
behold the beauty of the youth who is sleeping in the burial-ground? He
replied, Yes. So they went together; and when they had descended into
the burial-ground, she said to him, Hast thou seen in the course of thy
life a person like this?--And the 'Efreet looked upon him, and
exclaimed, Extolled be the perfection of Him unto whom none is to be
compared! But, O my sister, he added, if thou desire, I will relate to
thee what I have seen.--Tell me, she replied: so he said, I have seen a
person resembling this youth in the land of Egypt; and that person is
the daughter of the Wezeer. The King had heard of her, and demanded her
of her father, the Wezeer Shems-ed-Deen, in marriage; but he answered
him, O our lord the Sulan, accept my excuse, and pity my grief; for
thou knowest that my brother Noor-ed-Deen departed from us, and we know
not where he is; and that he shared with me the office of Wezeer; and
the cause of his departure was this, that I was sitting conversing with
him on the subject of marriage, and he was angry with me, and in anger
went away:--and he related to the King all that had passed between them;
adding, This was the cause of his indignation, and I have been under an
oath that I will not marry my daughter to any but the son of my brother
from the day that her mother gave birth to her; and that was about
fifteen years ago: and lately I heard that my brother had married the
daughter of the Wezeer of El-Barah, and obtained a son by her; and I
will not marry my daughter to any but him, in honour of my brother.
After I had heard this, I recorded the date of my marriage, and of my
wife's conception, and of the birth of this daughter: she is intended
for the son of her uncle; and of other maidens there are plenty.--But
when the Sulan heard these words of the Wezeer, he was violently
enraged, and said, How is it that such a one as myself demandeth in
marriage a daughter from one like thee, and thou withholdest her from
him, and excusest thyself by an absurd pretext? By my head, I will not
marry her but to one of less consideration than myself, in scorn of thy
pride!--And the King had a humpbacked groom, with a hump before and a
hump behind; and he ordered him to be brought, and affianced him to the
daughter of the Wezeer, commanding that he should introduce himself to
her this night, and be conducted in pompous procession. I left him in
the midst of the memlooks of the Sulan, who were surrounding him with
lighted candles in their hands, laughing at him and mocking him, at the
door of the bath, while the daughter of the Wezeer was sitting weeping
in the midst of the dye-women
She resembles more than any other person this youth. They have
prohibited her father from going to her; and I have never seen, O my
sister, a more ugly wretch than this humpback: but as to the maiden, she
is more beautiful than this youth.

To this story of the 'Efreet, the Jinneeyeh answered, Thou liest; for
this youth is the most beautiful of the people of his age. But the
'Efreet replied, By Allah, O my sister, the maiden is more beautiful
than he: however, none but he is suited to her; for they resemble each
other, and probably are brother and sister, or cousins; and how will she
be thrown away upon this humpback! She therefore said to him, O my
brother, let us place ourselves beneath him and lift him up and take him
to the maiden of whom thou speakest, and see which of the two is more
beautiful. The 'Efreet answered, I hear and obey: this proposal is
right, and there can be no better determination than this which thou
hast chosen; therefore I will carry him. So he lifted him up, and soared
into the sky, and the Jinneeyeh flew by his side until he descended with
him in the city of Cairo, where he placed him upon a maabah,
and roused him from his sleep.

When, therefore, he awoke, and found that he was not at his father's
tomb in the land of El-Barah, he looked to the right and left, and
perceived that he was in a city that was not El-Barah, and would have
cried out, but the 'Efreet winked to him, and, lighting for him a
candle, said to him, Know that I have brought thee hither, and I desire
to do thee a service for the sake of God: take, therefore, this candle,
and go with it to yonder bath, and mix with the people there, and
proceed with them until thou arrivest at the saloon of the bride; then
go before, and enter the saloon, and fear no one; and when thou hast
entered, station thyself on the right of the humpbacked bridegroom; and
whenever the tire-women and singing-women and dye-women come to thee,
put thy hand into thy pocket: thou wilt find it full of gold, and do
thou take it by the handful and throw it to them; and imagine not that
thou wilt put thy hand in and not find it filled with gold: give
therefore to every one who cometh to thee by the handful, and fear
nothing; but rely upon Him who created thee; for this will not be
through thine own strength or power, but through the strength of God,
and his power.



On hearing these words of the 'Efreet, asan Bedr-ed-Deen said, What is
this event, and what manner of kindness is this? And he went with his
candle to the bath, where he found the humpback mounted on his horse;
and he joined himself to the party, in the same garb in which he had
arrived, and with the same comely appearance; being attired with a
arboosh interwoven
with gold. He proceeded with the pompous train, and every time that the
singing-women stopped for the people to give them money, he put his hand
into his pocket, and found it filled with gold, and took it by the
handful and threw it into the tambourine, for the
singing-women and tire-women, filling the tambourine with pieces of
gold: and the singing-women were amazed, and the people wondered at his
beauty and loveliness. Thus he continued to do until they arrived at the
house of the Wezeer, when the chamberlains drove back the people, and
prevented their entrance; but the singing-women and tire-women said, By
Allah, we will not enter unless this youth enter with us, for he hath
overwhelmed us with his favours, and the bride shall not be displayed
unless he be present:--and upon this they entered with him into the
saloon of the festivity, and seated him, in spite of the humpbacked
bridegroom. All the ladies of the Emeers and Wezeers and Chamberlains
were ranged in two rows, each lady holding a large lighted candle, and
having her head-veil drawn across the lower part of her face: thus they
stood in two rows, to the right and the left, from the foot of the couch
of the bride to the upper end of the leewan that adjoined the chamber
from which the bride was to come forth. And when the ladies beheld asan
Bedr-ed-Deen and his beauty and loveliness, his face shining like the
crescent of the moon, the hearts of all of them inclined to him, and the
female singers said to all the women who were present, Know that this
charming youth hath given us nothing but red gold; therefore fail not to
serve him properly, and obey him in whatever he shall say. The women
crowded round him to gaze at his charms, and their minds were
overpowered by astonishment at his beauty, and each of them wished that
she might be in his bosom for a year or a month or an hour: they removed
the veils from their faces, and their hearts were perplexed, and they
said, Joy to the person to whom this youth belongeth, or to the person
over whom he is lord! Then they imprecated evil upon the humpbacked
groom and him who was the cause of his marriage to that lovely maiden;
and every time that they prayed for blessings upon asan Bedr-ed-Deen,
they imprecated misfortunes upon the humpback.

The singing-women then beat the tambourines, and the tire-women
approached with the daughter of the Wezeer in the midst of them. They
had perfumed her with sweet scents and essences, and clad her, and
adorned her hair and neck with various ornaments, decking her with
garments such as were worn by the ancient monarchs of Persia. Among
these was a loose gown embroidered with red gold, presenting the forms
of wild beasts and birds, hanging down over her other clothes; and round
her neck was a necklace worth thousands, composed of jewels such as
neither a King of El-Yemen nor a Cesar ever collected: she was like the
moon shining in its fourteenth night, and when she approached she
resembled a ooreeyeh. Extolled be the perfection of him who
created her so splendid a being! The women encompassed her, and appeared
like stars; she, in the midst of them, being as the moon when the clouds
have withdrawn from before it. Meanwhile, asan Bedr-ed-Deen remained
sitting, with the company gazing at him; and as the bride approached
with a dignified and graceful gait, the humpbacked groom rose to her, to
kiss her; but she turned aside from him, and went and stood before
asan, the son of her uncle. The company laughed at this; and when they
beheld her turn towards asan Bedr-ed-Deen, and saw him put his hand
into his pocket and take out handfuls of gold and throw it into the
tambourine of the singing-women, they were delighted, and said, We wish
that this bride were thine:--and he smiled. All this time the humpbacked
groom was alone, looking like an ape; and every time that they lighted
his candle it went out again, and he was confounded, and remained
sitting in the dark, full of secret indignation, with all the company
surrounding him, while the lighted candles presented an appearance of
beauty that was most admirable, so that every person of reflection was
amazed at their splendour. But as to the bride, she raised her hands
towards heaven, and said, O Allah, make this to be my husband, and
relieve me from this humpbacked groom!--The tire-women then proceeded to
display the bride in different dresses, to the seventh suit, before
asan Bedr-ed-Deen of El-Barah, the humpbacked groom remaining alone;
and when they had finished this ceremony they gave permission to the
company to depart: so all who were present at the festivity, both women
and children, went out, except asan Bedr-ed-Deen and the humpbacked
groom; after which the tire-women conducted the bride to an inner
chamber, to take off her ornaments and outer robes, and to prepare her
for the bridegroom's visit.

Upon this, the humpbacked groom approached asan Bedr-ed-Deen, and said
to him, O my master, thou hast made us happy by thy company this night,
and overwhelmed us with thy favours; but now wherefore dost thou not
rise and go to thy house without thy being ejected? He answered, In the
name of Allah;--and rose, and went out from the door: but the 'Efreet
met him, and said unto him, Stay, O Bedr-ed-Deen; and when the humpback
retires into the private closet, enter thou and seat thyself in the
bride-chamber; and when the bride cometh, say to her, I am thy husband;
and the King had not recourse to this stratagem from any other motive
than his fearing for thee the effect of the eye; and this
whom thou hast seen is one of our grooms:--then approach her, and
uncover her face, and fear no evil from any one.



While Bedr-ed-Deen was thus conversing with the 'Efreet, lo, the groom
entered the closet, and seated himself; and immediately the 'Efreet rose
before him, from the trough of water that was in the closet,
in the form of a mouse, and cried Zeek!--What brought thee here? said
the humpback. The mouse then increased in size, and became like a cat;
and then increased, and became a dog, and cried, 'Owh! 'Owh! At the
sight of this the groom was terrified, and exclaimed, Get away, thou
unlucky! The dog, however, still increased and swelled until
it became an ass, and brayed in his face, crying, Ha! Ha!--upon which
the groom, in terror, cried out, Come to my aid, O people of the house!
But lo, the ass increased, and became like a buffalo, and, stopping up
the place before him, spoke with the speech of a son of Adam, and said,
Wo be to thee, O humpback! O filthiest of grooms! Upon this the groom
was seized with a colick, and seated himself upon the slabs, and his
teeth knocked together. The 'Efreet then said to him, Hath the earth
become narrow to thee, that thou wouldst marry none but my mistress? But
the groom was silent. Return me an answer, said the 'Efreet, or I will
make thine abode to be in the dust!--By Allah, then answered the groom,
I am not in fault; for they compelled me, and I knew not that she had a
lover among the buffaloes; but now I repent before Allah and before
thee. Then the 'Efreet said, I swear by Allah that if thou depart now
from this place, or utter a word before the sun hath risen, I will slay
thee: and when the sun hath risen go thy way, and never return to this
house. And he seized the humpbacked groom, and, placing his head upside
down upon the slabs, and his feet upwards, said to him, Remain here, and
I will watch thee until sunrise.--Thus did it happen to the humpback.





Now, as to asan Bedr-ed-Deen of El-Barah, he left the humpback and the
'Efreet contending together, and, entering the house, seated himself in
the bride-chamber; and lo, the bride approached, accompanied by an old
woman, who stopped at the door of the chamber, and said, O
Aboo-Shihab, rise, and take thy bride; and I commend thee to
the care of Allah. Then the old woman went away, and the bride, whose
name was Sitt-el-osn, advanced to the upper end of the
chamber. Her heart was broken, and she said within herself, By Allah, I
will not suffer him to caress me though my spirit depart from me! But
when she had proceeded to the upper end of the chamber, she beheld
Bedr-ed-Deen, and said, My beloved, until this hour art thou remaining?
I had said within myself, perhaps thou and the humpbacked groom are to
share me between you.--What, said he, should give the groom access to
thee, and wherefore should he be my partner in the possession of
thee?--Who, then, she asked, is my husband? Thou or he?--O my mistress,
answered Bedr-ed-Deen, we did not this for any other purpose than to
make a jest of him, and that we might laugh at him; for when the
tire-women and the singing-women and thy family beheld thine admirable
beauty, they feared for us the effect of the eye, and thy father hired
him for ten pieces of gold, in order that he might divert from us the
eye; and now he hath departed. When Sitt-el-osn heard these words of
Bedr-ed-Deen, she smiled, and uttered a gentle laugh, and said, By
Allah, thou hast extinguished my fire! Take me then, I conjure thee, and
press me to thy bosom.--And they embraced each other.

Not long after this, the 'Efreet said to the Jinneeyeh, Arise, and place
thyself beneath the youth, and let us convey him back, lest the morning
overtake us; for the time is near. So she advanced towards him, and,
placing herself beneath his skirt, as he lay asleep, took him up, and
flew away with him, in the state in which she found him, clad only in
his shirt, and pursued her flight with the 'Efreet by her side. But God
gave permission to some angels to cast at the 'Efreet a shooting-star of
fire, and he was burnt. The Jinneeyeh, however, escaped unhurt, and
deposited Bedr-ed-Deen in the place over which the shooting-star had
burnt the 'Efreet. She would not pass beyond it, fearing for his safety;
and as destiny had appointed, this place was Damascus: so she placed him
by one of the gates of this city, and flew away.



When daylight therefore came, and the gates were opened, the people,
coming forth, beheld a beautiful youth clad in his shirt, and with a
cotton skull-cap without a turban. In consequence of his having been so
long wakeful, he was now immersed in sleep; and when the people saw him,
some said, Would that he had waited till he had put on his
clothes!--another said, Objects of pity are the children of men of
condition! Probably this youth hath just come forth from his
drinking-place, on account of some business, and intoxication hath
overcome him, and he hath wandered from the place to which he would go
until he arrived at the gate of the city, and, finding it locked, hath
slept here.--They had expressed various opinions respecting him, and
were wondering at his case, when Bedr-ed-Deen awoke. Perceiving that he
was at the gate of a city, and surrounded by men, he was astonished, and
said, Where am I, O good people; and what is the cause of your
assembling around me, and what hath befallen me among you? They
answered, We saw thee at the call to morning-prayer lying at this gate
asleep; and we know nothing more of thy case. Where wast thou sleeping
this last night?--By Allah, O people, he replied, I was sleeping this
last night in Cairo.--On hearing this, one of them said, Dost thou eat
asheesh? Another said, Thou art mad. How couldst thou be
passing the night in Cairo, and be sleeping in the morning at the city
of Damascus?--He said to them, By Allah, O good people, I will tell you
no falsehood: I was last night in the land of Egypt, and the day before
I was at El-Barah. One of them said, This is a wonderful thing! Another
said, This youth is mad. And they clapped their hands at him, and,
conversing together, said, Alas, for his youth! By Allah, there is no
denying his madness!--They then said to him, Return to thy reason. But
he replied, I was yesterday a bridegroom in the land of Egypt.--Probably
thou hast dreamt, said they, and hast seen this of which thou speakest
in thy sleep. And asan was confounded, and said, By Allah, this was not
a dream: and where is the humpbacked groom who was sitting with us, and
the purse of gold that I had? And where are my clothes and my
drawers?--He then rose, and entered the city, and proceeded through its
great thoroughfare-streets and market-streets; and the people crowded
round him and paraded him: so he entered the shop of a cook. Now this
cook was a robber, whom God had caused to repent of his
unlawful actions, and he had opened a cook's shop; and all the people of
Damascus feared him on account of his boldness; therefore, when they saw
that the youth had entered this shop, they left him, being afraid.

When the cook beheld asan Bedr-ed-Deen, and observed his beauty and
comeliness, love for him entered his heart, and he said to him, Whence
art thou, O young man? Relate to me thy story; for thou art become
dearer to me than my soul.--So he related to him all that had happened,
from beginning to end: and the cook said to him, O my master
Bedr-ed-Deen, know that this is a wonderful event and an extraordinary
story; but, O my son, conceal thy case until God dispel thy trouble, and
remain with me in this place; and as I have not a son, I will adopt thee
as such. Bedr-ed-Deen replied, Let it be as thou desirest, O uncle. And
immediately the cook went out to the mart, and bought for Bedr-ed-Deen
costly clothes, and put them on him: he then went to the aee, and made
a declaration that he was his adopted son: so asan
Bedr-ed-Deen became known throughout the city of Damascus as the son of
the cook; and he sat with him in the shop to receive the money, and in
this situation he remained.

Now as to Sitt-el-osn, when daybreak came and she awoke, she found not
asan Bedr-ed-Deen remaining with her, and, imagining that he would soon
return, she sat a while expecting him; and lo, her father came in to
her, troubled at that which had befallen him from the Sulan, and at his
having married his daughter by force to one of his servants, the
humpbacked groom; and he said within himself, I will kill this girl if
she have suffered the wretch to caress her. So he advanced to the
bride-chamber, and, stopping at the door, said, O Sitt-el-osn! She
answered, Well, O my master!--and came forth to him, walking with a
vacillating gait, through joy, and kissed the ground before him; and her
countenance beamed with increased splendour in consequence of her union
with that gazelle. When her father, therefore, saw her in this state, he
exclaimed to her, O thou base creature! art thou delighted with this
groom? On hearing these words of her father, Sitt-el-osn smiled, and
replied, By Allah, it is enough that thou hast done, and that the people
laugh at me, and put me on an equality with this groom, who is not, in
my estimation, of the value of a paring of one of my finger-nails; but
as to my husband--by Allah, I never in the course of my life passed a
night more delightful than that which I have just passed in his company:
therefore jest not with me by mentioning that humpback.--When her father
heard what she said he was filled with rage; his eyes glared so that
little appeared of them but the white, and he said to her, Wo to thee!
What are these words that thou sayest? Verily the humpbacked groom hath
passed the night with thee!--I conjure thee by Allah, she rejoined, that
thou mention him not. May Allah reject him, and reject his father!
Continue not then to mock me by mentioning him; for the groom was only
hired for ten pieces of gold, and he took his hire and departed; and I
came and entered the bride-chamber, and beheld my husband seated, after
the singing-women had displayed me before him; and he threw them red
gold until he had enriched the poor who were present. I have reclined
upon the bosom of my gentle-hearted husband, with the black eyes and the
joined eyebrows.--When her father heard this, the light became darkness
before his face, and he exclaimed to her, O thou abandoned one! What is
this that thou sayest? Where is thy reason?--O my father, she replied,
thou hast broken my heart in pieces! Wherefore dost thou pay no
attention? This of whom I spake is my husband, and he hath retired to
his private closet.

So her father went thither, in a state of astonishment, and, entering
the closet, found the humpbacked groom with his head upon the slabs and
his feet turned upwards; and the Wezeer was confounded at the sight, and
said, Is not this the humpback?--and he spoke to him; but the humpback
returned no answer, thinking that it was the 'Efreet who addressed him.
The Wezeer, therefore, cried out at him with a loud voice, and said to
him, Speak, or I will cut off thy head with this sword! Upon which the
humpback exclaimed, By Allah, O sheykh of the 'Efreets, from the time
that thou placedst me here I have not raised my head: I conjure thee
therefore that thou shew favour to me!--The Wezeer, on hearing the
humpback thus address him, said to him, What sayest thou? I am the
father of the bride, and I am not an 'Efreet.--Then said the humpback,
My life is not in thy hand, nor art thou able to take my soul; so go thy
way before he come to thee who hath treated me in this manner. Ye would
not marry me to any but the mistress of buffaloes and the mistress of
'Efreets! May Allah, then, confound him who married me to her, and
confound him who was the cause of it!--Then did the humpbacked groom
address the Wezeer, the father of the bride, again, saying, Allah
confound him who was the cause of this!--Rise, said the Wezeer, and
depart from this place.--Am I mad, he replied, that I should go with
thee without the permission of the 'Efreet? For he said to me, When the
sun shall have risen go thy way.--Hath the sun then risen or not? For I
cannot depart from my place until the sun hath risen.--Upon this the
Wezeer said to him, Who brought thee to this place? He answered, I came
hither yesterday, and a dust rose from the midst of the water, and cried
out, and increased in bulk until it became of the size of a buffalo, and
said to me words that entered my ear. Leave me, therefore, and go. Allah
confound the bride and him who married me to her!--The Wezeer then
approached him, and dragged him forth, and he went out running, doubting
whether the sun had risen, and went up to the Sulan, and informed him
of that which had happened to him with the 'Efreet.

But as to the Wezeer, the father of the bride, he returned with his
reason perplexed respecting the case of his daughter, and said to her, O
my daughter, reveal to me thy story. She replied, The elegant person
before whom I was displayed remained with me; and if thou believe me
not, see this is his turban, twisted just as it was, upon the
chair, and his drawers are under the bed, and in them is
something wrapped up: I know not what it is. So, when her father heard
this, he entered the bride-chamber, and found the turban of asan
Bedr-ed-Deen, the son of his brother; and taking it up, he turned it
over, and said, This is such a turban as is worn by Wezeers, except that
it is of the Moilee kind. He then observed an amulet sewed
in his red cloth cap; and he unsewed it; and he took the drawers, and
found the purse containing the thousand pieces of gold, and, opening
this, he discovered in it a paper, which, when he had read it he saw to
be a copy of the Jew's contract, with the name of asan Bedr-ed-Deen the
son of Noor-ed-Deen of Cairo; and he found also the thousand pieces of
gold. But when he read the paper he cried aloud and fell down in a
swoon; and as soon as he recovered, and understood the case, he was
astonished, and exclaimed, There is no deity but God, who is able to do
whatsoever He willeth! Then said he, O my daughter, knowest thou who
hath become thy husband? She answered, No.--He is the son of my brother,
said he, and the son of thine uncle; and these thousand pieces of gold
are thy dowry. Extolled be the perfection of God! Would that I knew how
this event hath happened!--Then he opened the amulet that was sewed up,
and found in it a paper written by the hand of his brother Noor-ed-Deen
of Cairo, the father of asan Bedr-ed-Deen: and when he beheld the
hand-writing of his brother he repeated this couplet:--

  I behold their footsteps, and melt with desire, and pour forth
    my tears upon the places they have trodden,
  Begging of Him who hath afflicted me by their separation,
    that He will bless me some day by a reunion.



So saying, he read the paper, and found in it the date of his marriage
to the daughter of the Wezeer of El-Barah, and that of his first
introduction to her, and a record of his age at the time of his death,
and the date of the birth of his son asan Bedr-ed-Deen; and he
wondered, and shook with delight; and, comparing what had happened to
his brother with the events that had happened to himself, he found that
they corresponded exactly: his marriage and the marriage of his brother
agreed in date, and their first visits to their respective wives in like
manner; as also the birth of Bedr-ed-Deen, the son of his brother, and
the birth of his daughter Sitt-el-osn. He took the two papers, and,
going up with them to the Sulan, he acquainted him with all that had
happened from the first of the case to the last; and the King was
astonished, and ordered that the case should be immediately recorded.
The Wezeer then remained in expectation of the son of his brother; but
he met with no tidings of him: so he said, By Allah, I will do a deed
that none hath done before me:--and he took an ink-case and a pen, and
wrote an inventory of the furniture of the house, describing the
money-chest as having been in such a place, and a certain curtain in
such another place, and everything in the house in like manner; and he
folded up the paper, and ordered that all the furniture should be stored
up; and he took the turban with its arboosh, and also the farajeeyeh
and the purse, and kept them himself.

After this, in due time, the daughter of the Wezeer gave birth to a son
like the moon, resembling his father in beauty and symmetry and
splendour and loveliness. They received him from his mother, and
blackened the edges of his eyes with kol, and delivered him
to the nurses, and named him 'Ajeeb. His day was as a month;
and his month, as a year; and when seven years had passed
over him, his grandfather committed him to a schoolmaster, whom he
charged to educate him with great care. He continued at the school four
years, and used to fight with his schoolfellows, and abuse them, saying
to them, Who among you is like me? I am the son of the Wezeer of
Cairo.--So the boys went together to complain to the monitor of that
which they suffered from 'Ajeeb; and the monitor said to them, I will
teach you something to say to him when he cometh, and he shall repent of
his coming to the school; and it is this: to-morrow, when he is come,
seat yourselves around him, and say to one another, By Allah, none shall
play with us at this game excepting him who shall tell us the name of
his mother and that of his father; and he who knoweth not the name of
his mother and that of his father is illegitimate; therefore he shall
not play with us. Accordingly, on the following morning they came to the
school, and 'Ajeeb was there; and the boys surrounded him, and said as
the monitor had directed them, and they all agreed to the proposal; and
one said, My name is Majid, and my mother is 'Alawee, and my father is
'Ezz-ed-Deen:--then another said after the same manner, and another, and
so on, until the turn came to 'Ajeeb; and he said to them, My name is
'Ajeeb, and my mother is Sitt-el-osn, and my father is Shems-ed-Deen,
the Wezeer of Cairo:--and they said to him, By Allah, the Wezeer is not
thy father. 'Ajeeb replied, the Wezeer is my father indeed:--and upon
this the boys laughed at him, and clapped their hands at him, saying,
Thou knowest not who is thy father: get away from us, therefore; for
none shall play with us excepting him who knoweth the name of his
father:--and immediately the boys dispersed from around him, and made a
jest of him. In consequence of this treatment his heart became
contracted, and he was almost choked with crying; and the monitor said
to him, Dost thou really consider as thy father him who is thy
grandfather, the Wezeer, the father of thy mother Sitt-el-osn? Thy
father thou knowest not, nor do we know him; for the Sulan married her
to the humpbacked groom, and the Jinn came and prevented him: so, if
thou know not thy father, they will regard thee among them as
illegitimate. Dost thou not see that the son of the woman who is coveted
as a wife knoweth his father? The Wezeer of Cairo is thy grandfather;
and as to thy father, we know him not, nor dost thou: return therefore
to thy reason.



Upon this, 'Ajeeb went immediately to his mother, Sitt-el-osn, and
complained to her, and wept; and his weeping prevented his speaking: and
when his mother heard his complaint and his crying, her heart was
inflamed for him, and she said to him, O my son, what maketh thee weep?
Tell me thy story.--So he told her what he had heard from the boys and
from the monitor, and said to her, O my mother, who is my father? She
answered him, Thy father is the Wezeer of Cairo. But he said, He is not
my father: tell me not, therefore, what is false; for the Wezeer is thy
father; not mine: who then is my father? If thou do not tell me truly; I
will kill myself with this dagger.--And when his mother heard the
mention of his father, she wept at the allusion to the son of her uncle,
and remembering the amiable qualities of asan Bedr-ed-Deen of
El-Barah, and what had happened to herself and him, she recited an ode
commencing thus:--

  They excited love in my heart, and departed; and far distant hath
    their abode become!
  Reason forsook me when they withdrew, and sleep and patience
    abandoned me.

And she wept and cried out, and her son did the same; and lo, the Wezeer
entered. His heart burned within him when he beheld their state, and he
said to them, What causeth you to weep? She acquainted him therefore
with the treatment that her son had experienced from the other boys of
the school; and he, also, wept, and called to mind what had happened to
his brother and himself and his daughter, and he knew not the mystery of
the case. Then suddenly he arose, and, going up to the council-chamber,
presented himself before the King, and related to him the story, begging
his permission to travel eastwards to the city of El-Barah, that he
might make inquiries respecting the son of his brother; and requesting
also of the Sulan that he would write letters for him to all the
countries through which he might pass, that, if he found the son of his
brother in any place, he might take him away. And he wept before the
Sulan, and the heart of the King was moved with compassion for him, and
he wrote for him letters to all the regions and countries; upon which
the Wezeer rejoiced, and, having offered up a prayer for the Sulan,
took leave of him.

He descended immediately and prepared for the journey, and, taking with
him all that he required, together with his daughter and her son 'Ajeeb,
travelled the first day and the second and the third, and proceeded
until he arrived at the city of Damascus, and beheld it with its trees
and streams celebrated by the poets. He alighted in the open space
called Meydan el-aba; and, when he had pitched his tents, said to his
servants, We will take rest here two days. So the servants entered the
city to gratify their various desires; one to sell, another to buy, a
third to enter the bath, and a fourth to visit the mosque of the
Benee-Umeiyeh, which hath not in the world its equal. 'Ajeeb also
entered the city, accompanied by his eunuch, in order to amuse
themselves; and the eunuch walked behind 'Ajeeb, having in his hand a
whip that would strike down a camel. And when the people of Damascus
beheld 'Ajeeb, and his elegance of form and perfect beauty, and observed
him to be endowed with admirable loveliness, and with kindness of
manner, more bland than the northern zephyr, sweeter than limpid water
to the thirsty, and more pleasant than health to the diseased, they
followed him, running after him in crowds; and some sat waiting in the
streets to see him pass. Thus did they until the slave, as destiny had
ordained, stopped before the shop of 'Ajeeb's father, asan
Bedr-ed-Deen, in which the cook who had acknowledged him as his adopted
son in the presence of the aees and witnesses had established him; and
this cook had died, and left him all his property, together with his
shop.

When the slave stopped there on this day, the servants also stopped with
him: and asan Bedr-ed-Deen beheld his son, and was charmed with him,
observing his extreme beauty: his soul yearned towards him with natural
sympathy, and his heart clung to him. He had just prepared a conserve of
pomegranate-grains, sweetened with sugar; and the affection divinely
inspired increased in him; so he called out in ecstasy, and said, O my
master, O thou who hast captivated my heart and soul, and to whom my
affections are drawn by sympathy! wilt thou come in to me and refresh my
heart and eat of my food? And when he had said this, his eyes overflowed
with involuntary tears, and he reflected upon his past experience and
his condition at the present time. When 'Ajeeb heard the address of his
father, his heart was in like manner drawn towards him by sympathy, and
he looked towards the eunuch, and said to him, Verily my heart is moved
with sympathy for this cook: he seemeth to have parted with a son: come
in with us, therefore, that we may refresh his heart and eat his
offering of hospitality: perhaps God, through our so doing, may
accomplish our union with our father. But the eunuch replied, By Allah,
O my master, it is not proper. How should we, who are of the family of
the Wezeer, eat in the shop of a cook? I will, however, drive away the
people from thee, lest they see thee: otherwise it will be impossible
for thee to enter the shop. On hearing the reply of the eunuch,
Bedr-ed-Deen was surprised, and, looking towards him, while his tears
flowed down his cheeks, said to him, Verily my heart loveth him.--Let us
hear no more of these words, said the eunuch:--and he desired the youth
not to enter: but the father of 'Ajeeb cast his eyes upon the eunuch,
and said, Great sir, wherefore wilt thou not refresh my heart and come
in to me? O thou who resemblest black dust, but whose heart is white! O
thou who hast been described in such and such terms of praise!--so that
the eunuch laughed, and said, What wouldst thou say? Speak, and be
brief.--And Bedr-ed-Deen recited this couplet:--

  Were it not for his accomplishments and admirable faithfulness,
    he had not been invested with authority in the abode of Kings.
  What an excellent guardian for the areem is he! On account
    of his beauty the angels of heaven wait upon him!

This address pleased the eunuch so much that he took the hand of 'Ajeeb,
and entered the cook's shop; and Bedr-ed-Deen ladled out a saucerful of
conserve of pomegranate-grains prepared with almonds and sugar, and the
slave and the youth ate together; Bedr-ed-Deen saying to them, Ye have
delighted me by your company: eat, and may it benefit you! 'Ajeeb then
said to his father, Sit down and eat with us; and perhaps God will unite
us to him whom we desire. And Bedr-ed-Deen said, O my son, hast thou
been afflicted in thy tender years by the separation of those whom thou
lovest?--Yes, O uncle, answered 'Ajeeb: my heart is inflamed by the
absence of one of those who are dear to me: the friend who hath
withdrawn himself from me is my father, and I and my grandfather have
come abroad to search for him through the world; and how do I sigh for
my union with him!--And he wept bitterly; and his father, moved by his
tears, wept with him, reflecting upon his own desolate state, separated
from those he loved, deprived of his father, and far removed from his
mother; and the eunuch was moved with compassion for him.



They all ate together until they were satisfied; after which, the youth
and the slave arose, and quitted the shop of Bedr-ed-Deen, who felt as
if his soul had departed from his body and gone with them. He could not
endure their absence for the twinkling of an eye; so he shut up his shop
and followed them, though ignorant that the youth was his son, and
walked quickly until he came up to them before they had gone out from
the great gate; whereupon the eunuch, looking back at him, said, What
dost thou want, O cook? Bedr-ed-Deen answered, When ye departed from me,
I felt as if my soul had quitted my body, and, having some business in
the suburb, I was desirous of accompanying you to transact my business,
and, after that, to return. But the eunuch was angry, and said to
'Ajeeb, Verily this repast was unlucky: respectful treatment hath become
incumbent on us; and see, he is following us from place to place. 'Ajeeb
therefore looked round, and, seeing the cook, was enraged, and his face
became red; but he said to the eunuch, Suffer him to walk in the public
road of the Muslims; but when we shall have turned from it to our tents,
if he do the same, and we know that he is following us, we will drive
him back. And he hung down his head and went on, with the eunuch behind
him. Bedr-ed-Deen, however, followed them to the Meydan el-aba, and
when they had drawn near to the tents they looked back and saw him
behind them; and 'Ajeeb was angry, fearing that the eunuch might inform
his grandfather, and lest it should be said that he had entered the
cook's shop, and that the cook had followed him. He looked at him till
his eyes met the eye of his father, who had become as a body without a
soul; and he fancied that his eye bore an expression of deceit, and that
he was perhaps a knave: so his anger increased, and he took up a stone,
and threw it at his father, and the stone struck him on the forehead,
and wounded him, and he fell down in a swoon, the blood flowing over his
face. 'Ajeeb went on with the eunuch to the tents; and asan
Bedr-ed-Deen, when he recovered his senses, wiped off the blood, and,
having cut off a piece of linen from his turban, bound up his head with
it, blaming himself, and saying, I wronged the youth when I shut up my
shop and followed him, so he thought I was a deceiver. He then returned
to his shop, and occupied himself with the sale of his meats; and he
yearned with desire for his mother, who was at El-Barah.

The Wezeer, his uncle, remained at Damascus three days, and then
departed to em, and, having entered this town, proceeded thence,
inquiring at every place where he halted in his journey until he had
arrived at Marideen and El-Mosil and Diyar Bekr. He continued his
journey until he arrived at the city of El-Barah, and when he had
entered it and taken up his quarters, he went and presented himself
before the Sulan, who received him with respect and honour, and
inquired the reason of his coming: so he acquainted him with his story,
and informed him that the Wezeer 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen was his brother. The
Sulan ejaculated, God have mercy upon him!--and said, O
aeb, he was my Wezeer, and I loved him much: he died
twelve years ago, and left a son; but we have lost him, and
have heard no tidings of him: his mother, however, is with us, for she
is the daughter of my old Wezeer. On hearing from the King that the
mother of his nephew was alive, the Wezeer Shems-ed-Deen rejoiced, and
said, I am desirous of having an interview with her. And the King gave
him immediate permission to visit her at his brother's house: so he went
thither, and kissed the threshold, and, entering an open court, found a
door over-arched with hard stone inlaid with various kinds of marble of
every colour; and he walked along by the walls of the house, and as he
cast his eyes around upon them he observed the name of his brother
Noor-ed-Deen inscribed on them in characters of gold; and he went to the
name, and kissed it, and wept. He then advanced to the saloon of his
brother's wife, the mother of asan Bedr-ed-Deen of El-Barah. During
the absence of her son she had given herself up to weeping and wailing
night and day; and after she had long suffered from his separation she
made for her son a tomb of marble in the midst of the saloon, where she
wept for him night and day, sleeping nowhere but by this tomb. And when
Shems-ed-Deen arrived at her apartment he heard her voice apostrophizing
the tomb; and while she was thus occupied he entered and saluted her,
and informed her that he was her husband's brother, acquainting her with
what had passed, and revealing to her the particulars of the story. He
told her that her son asan Bedr-ed-Deen had passed a whole night with
his daughter, and disappeared in the morning, and that his daughter had
borne him a son, whom he had brought with him: and when she heard this
news of her son, and that he was perhaps still living, and beheld her
husband's brother, she fell at his feet and kissed them, addressing him
with this couplet:--

  Divinely is he inspired who acquainteth me with their approach;
    for he hath brought information most delightful to be heard.
  If he would be satisfied with that which is cast off,
    I would give him a heart rent in pieces at the hour
    of valediction.

The Wezeer then sent to bring 'Ajeeb; and when he came, his grandmother
rose to him, and embraced him, and wept; but Shems-ed-Deen said to her,
This is not a time for weeping, but rather a time for preparing thyself
to accompany us on our return to the land of Egypt: and perhaps God may
unite us with thy son, my nephew. She replied, I hear and obey:--and,
arising immediately, collected all her property and treasures, and her
female slaves, and forthwith prepared herself: after which the Wezeer,
Shems-ed-Deen, went up again to the Sulan of El-Barah, and took leave
of him; and the King sent with him presents and rarities for the Sulan
of Egypt.



The Wezeer departed without delay, accompanied by his brother's wife,
and continued his journey until he arrived at the city of Damascus,
where he alighted again, and encamped, and said to his attendants, We
will remain at Damascus a week, to buy, for the Sulan, presents and
rarities. 'Ajeeb then said to the eunuch, Boy, I long for a
little diversion: arise, therefore, and let us go to the market of
Damascus, and see what is going on there, and what hath happened to that
cook whose confection we ate and whose head we broke, notwithstanding he
had treated us with kindness: we acted ill towards him. The eunuch
replied, I hear and obey:--and 'Ajeeb went forth with him from the
tents, the tie of blood inciting him to visit his father and they
entered the city, and proceeded to the shop of the cook, whom they found
standing there. It was then near the time of afternoon-prayers; and it
happened that he had again just prepared a confection of
pomegranate-grains; and when they drew near to him, the heart of 'Ajeeb
yearned towards him when he saw him, and he perceived the scar
occasioned by the stone that he had thrown. He said to him, Peace be on
thee! Know that my heart is with thee.--And when Bedr-ed-Deen beheld
him, his affections were engrossed by him, and his heart throbbed with
emotion towards him, and he hung down his head, desiring to adapt his
tongue to speech, and unable to do so: but presently he raised his head,
and, looking towards the youth in an humble and abject manner, recited
these verses:--

  I wished for my beloved; but when I beheld him I was confounded
    and possessed neither tongue nor eye.
  I hung down my head in honour and reverence, and would have hidden
    what I felt; but it would not be concealed.
  I had prepared a volume of expostulation; but when we met
    I remembered not a word.

He then said to them, Refresh ye my heart, and eat of my food; for, by
Allah, as soon as I beheld thee, my heart yearned towards thee, and I
had not followed thee unless I had been deprived of my reason.--By
Allah, replied 'Ajeeb, thou dost indeed love us, and we ate a morsel
with thee; but after it thou keptest close behind us and wouldst have
disgraced us: we will not eat again with thee, therefore, but on the
condition of thy swearing that thou wilt not follow us; and otherwise we
will not come to thee again henceforth; for we are staying at this city
a week, in order that my grandfather may procure presents for the
King.--I bind myself, said Bedr-ed-Deen, to do as ye desire. So 'Ajeeb
entered the shop with the eunuch, and Bedr-ed-Deen placed before them a
saucer filled with the confection of pomegranate-grains; upon which
'Ajeeb said to him, Eat with us; and may God dispel our affliction:--and
Bedr-ed-Deen was delighted, and he ate with them; but he turned not his
eyes from the youth; for his heart and all his faculties were captivated
by him. 'Ajeeb, observing this, said to him, Knowest thou not that I
told thee thou wast a rude doter? Enough of this: continue not to gaze
at my face.--Bedr-ed-Deen, therefore, apologized to him, and began to
put morsels into the mouth of 'Ajeeb, and then did the same to the
eunuch. Afterwards he poured the water upon their hands, and when they
had washed he loosed a napkin of silk from his waist and wiped them with
it. He next sprinkled rose-water upon them from a bottle that was in his
shop, and went out, and returned with two cups of sherbet prepared with
rose-water infused with musk, and, placing these before them, he said,
Complete your kindness. So 'Ajeeb took a cup and drank; and Bedr-ed-Deen
handed the other to the eunuch; and both drank until their stomachs were
full, and gratified their appetites to a degree beyond their usual
habit.



They then departed, and hastened back to the tents, and 'Ajeeb went in
to his grandmother, the mother of his father asan Bedr-ed-Deen; and she
kissed him, and said, Where hast thou been? He answered, In the city.
And she arose, and brought him a saucer of confection of
pomegranate-grains, which happened to be somewhat deficient in
sweetness; and she said to the eunuch, Sit down with thy master. The
eunuch said within himself, By Allah, we have no appetite. He, however,
seated himself, and 'Ajeeb did the same, though satiated with what he
had eaten and drunk, and dipped a morsel of bread in the confection, and
ate it; but it seemed to him insipid, on account of his being thus
cloyed, and he loathed it, and said, What is this nasty dish?--O my
child, said his grandmother, dost thou find fault with my cookery? It
was I who prepared it; and, except thy father, asan Bedr-ed-Deen, there
is none who can cook it as well as myself.--By Allah, O my mistress,
replied 'Ajeeb, This thy dish is not well prepared: we have just now
seen in the city a cook who had prepared a confection of
pomegranate-grains, but its odour was such as to dilate the heart, and
the confection itself, such as to excite appetite in one already
satiated: as to thine, in comparison with his, it is good for nothing.

His grandmother, on hearing this, fell into a violent rage, and turning
towards the eunuch, said to him, Wo to thee! Hast thou corrupted my
child? Thou hast taken him into the shops of the cooks!--The eunuch
feared, and denied, saying, We did not enter the shop, but only passed
by it:--but 'Ajeeb said, By Allah, we entered and ate, and what we ate
was better than this mess of thine. And upon this his grandmother arose,
and informed her husband's brother, and incensed him against the eunuch.
The slave was therefore brought before the Wezeer, and he said to him,
Wherefore didst thou take my child into the cook's shop? The eunuch,
fearing, said again, We did not enter.--Nay, said 'Ajeeb, we did enter,
and ate of a confection of pomegranate-grains until we were satiated,
and the cook gave us to drink sherbet with ice and sugar. The Wezeer's
anger with the eunuch now increased, and he asked him again; but still
he denied. Then said the Wezeer, If thine assertion be true, sit down
and eat before us. The eunuch therefore advanced, and would have eaten;
but he could not; and he threw down the morsel that was in his hand, and
said, O my master, I am satiated since yesterday. And by this the Wezeer
knew that he had eaten in the shop of the cook: so he ordered the female
slaves to throw him down upon the ground, and they did so, and he gave
him a severe beating, while the slave cried for mercy, but still saying,
I am satiated since yesterday! The Wezeer then interrupted the beating,
and said to him, Declare the truth. And at length the eunuch said, Know
that we did enter the shop of the cook while he was cooking
pomegranate-grains, and he ladled out for us some of the confection,
and, by Allah, I never in my life ate any like it, or any more
detestable than this which is before us.

The mother of Bedr-ed-Deen, enraged at this, said, Thou shalt go to this
cook and bring us a saucerful of his confection and shew it to thy
master, that he may say which of the two is the better and the more
delicious.--Well, replied the eunuch: and immediately she gave him a
saucer, and half a piece of gold; and he went to the shop, and said to
the cook, We have laid a wager respecting thy confection at the tent of
our master; for there is a mess of pomegranate-grains cooked by the
family: give us, therefore, for this half-piece of gold, and apply
thyself to prepare it perfectly; for we have received an excruciating
beating on account of thy cookery. Laughing at these words, Bedr-ed-Deen
replied, By Allah, none excelleth in the preparation of this confection
except myself and my mother, and she is now in a distant country. And he
ladled out as much as filled the saucer, and perfected it by the
addition of some musk and rose-water. The eunuch then hastened back with
it to the family; and the mother of asan took it, and, tasting its
delicious flavour, immediately knew who had prepared it, and shrieked,
and fell down in a swoon. The Wezeer was amazed at the event; and they
sprinkled some rose-water upon her, and when she recovered she said, If
my son be yet in the world, no one but he cooked this confection: he is
my son asan Bedr-ed-Deen without doubt: for none but he can prepare
this, except myself, and it was I who taught him to do it.



When the Wezeer heard these words, he rejoiced exceedingly, and
exclaimed, Oh, how I long to behold my brother's son! Will fortune,
indeed, unite us with him? But I look not for our union from any but
God, whose name be exalted!--And he instantly arose, and called out to
his male attendants, saying, Let twenty men of you go to the shop of the
cook, and demolish it, and bind his hands behind him with his turban,
and drag him hither by force, but without any injury to his person. They
replied, Well. The Wezeer then rode immediately to the palace, and,
presenting himself before the Viceroy of Damascus, shewed him the
contents of the letters which he had brought from the Sulan; and the
Viceroy, after kissing them, put them to his head, and said, Who is
thine offender? He answered, A man who is by trade a cook. And instantly
the Viceroy ordered his Chamberlains to repair to his shop; and they
went thither; but found it demolished, and everything that had been in
it broken; for when the Wezeer went to the palace, his servants did as
he had commanded them. They were then waiting his return from the
palace; and Bedr-ed-Deen was saying within himself, What can they have
discovered in the confection, that such an event as this should have
befallen me? And when the Wezeer returned from the Viceroy, and had
received his permission to take his offender and to depart with him, he
entered the encampment, and called for the cook. They brought him,
therefore, with his hands bound behind him with his turban; and when he
saw his uncle he wept bitterly, and said, O my master, what crime have
ye found in me? The Wezeer said to him, Art thou he who cooked the
confection of pomegranate-grains? He answered, Yes: and have ye found in
it anything that requires one's head to be struck off? This, replied the
Wezeer, is the smallest part of thy recompense.--Wilt thou not, said
Bedr-ed-Deen, acquaint me with my crime? The Wezeer answered, Yea,
immediately. And forthwith he called out to the young men, saying, Bring
the camels!

They then took Bedr-ed-Deen, and put him in a chest, and, having locked
him up in it, commenced their journey, and continued on their way till
the approach of night, when they halted and ate, and, taking out
Bedr-ed-Deen, fed him; after which they put him again into the chest,
and in like manner proceeded to another station. Here also they took him
out; and the Wezeer said to him, Art thou he who cooked the confection
of pomegranate grains? He answered, Yes, O my master. And the Wezeer
said, Shackle his feet. And they did so, and restored him to the chest.
They then continued their journey to Cairo; and when they arrived at the
quarter called Er-Reydaneeyeh, the Wezeer commanded to take
out Bedr-ed-Deen again from the chest, and to bring a carpenter, to whom
he said, Make, for this man, a cross.--What, said
Bedr-ed-Deen, dost thou mean to do with it? The Wezeer answered, I will
crucify thee upon it, and nail thee to it, and then parade thee about
the city.--Wherefore, demanded Bedr-ed-Deen, wilt thou treat me
thus?--The Wezeer replied, For thy faulty preparation of the confection
of pomegranate-grains, because thou madest it deficient in
pepper.--Because of its deficiency in pepper, exclaimed Bedr-ed-Deen,
wilt thou do all this to me? Art thou not satisfied with having thus
imprisoned me, and fed me every day with only one meal?--The Wezeer
answered, For its deficiency in pepper, thy recompense shall be nothing
less than death. And Bedr-ed-Deen was amazed, and bewailed his lot, and
remained a while absorbed in reflection. The Wezeer, therefore, said to
him, Of what art thou thinking? He answered, Of imbecile minds, such as
thine; for if thou wert a man of sense thou wouldst not have treated me
in this manner on account of the deficiency of pepper.--It is incumbent
on us, replied the Wezeer, to punish thee, that thou mayest not do the
like again:--to which Bedr-ed-Deen rejoined, The least of the things
thou hast done to me were a sufficient punishment. The Wezeer, however,
said, Thy death is unavoidable.--All this conversation took place while
the carpenter was preparing the cross; and Bedr-ed-Deen was looking on.

Thus they both continued until the approach of night, when
Bedr-ed-Deen's uncle took him and put him again into the chest, saying,
To-morrow shall be thy crucifixion. He then waited until he perceived
that he was asleep; upon which he remounted, and, with the chest borne
before him, entered the city, and repaired to his house: and when he had
arrived there he said to his daughter Sitt-el-osn, Praise be to God who
hath restored to thee the son of thine uncle! Arise, and furnish the
house as it was on the night of the bridal display.--She therefore
ordered her female slaves to do so; and they arose, and lighted the
candles; and the Wezeer brought out the paper upon which he had written
his inventory of the furniture of the house, and read it, and ordered
them to put every thing in its place, so that the beholder would not
doubt that this was the very night of the bridal display. He directed
them to put Bedr-ed-Deen's turban in the place where its owner had
deposited it, and in like manner the trousers, and the purse which was
beneath the mattress, and ordered his daughter to adorn herself as she
was on the bridal night, and to enter the bride-chamber; saying to her,
When the son of thine uncle comes into thy chamber, say to him, Thou
hast loitered since thou withdrewest from me this night:--and request
him to return and converse with thee till day.--Having thus arranged
everything, the Wezeer took out Bedr-ed-Deen from the chest, removed the
shackles from his feet, and stripped him of his outer clothes, leaving
him in his shirt.

All this was done while he was asleep, unconscious of what was passing;
and when he awoke, and found himself in an illuminated vestibule, he
said, within himself, Am I bewildered by dreams, or am I awake? Then
rising, he advanced a little way to an inner door, and looked, and lo,
he was in the house in which the bride had been displayed, and he beheld
the bride-chamber and the couch and his turban and clothes. Confounded
at the sight of these things, he took one step forwards and another
backwards, thinking, Am I asleep or awake? And he began to wipe his
forehead, and exclaimed in his astonishment,



By Allah, this is the dwelling of the bride who was here displayed
before me: and yet I was just now in a chest. And while he was
addressing himself, behold Sitt-el-osn lifted up the corner of the
musquito curtain, and said, O my master, wilt thou not come in? for thou
hast loitered since thou withdrewest from me this night. When he heard
these words he looked at her face, and laughed, and said, Verily, these
appearances are bewildering illusions of a dream! Then entering, he
sighed; and as he reflected upon what had happened to him, he was
perplexed at his situation, and his case seemed involved in obscurity.
Looking at his turban and trousers, and the purse containing the
thousand pieces of gold, he exclaimed, Allah is all-knowing!--but it
seemeth to me that I am bewildered by dreams!--And he was confounded in
the excess of his astonishment. Upon this, therefore, Sitt-el-osn said
to him, Wherefore do I behold thee thus astonished and perplexed? Thou
wast not so in the commencement of the night.--And he laughed, and asked
her, How many years have I been absent from thee?--Allah preserve thee!
she exclaimed. The name of Allah encompass thee! Thou hast
only withdrawn to yonder apartment. What hath passed in thy mind?--On
hearing this he smiled, and replied, Thou hast spoken truth; but when I
withdrew from thee, sleep overcame me, and I dreamt that I was a cook in
Damascus, and that I lived there twelve years; and I
thought that a youth of the sons of the great came to me, accompanied
by a eunuch,--and he proceeded to relate what had happened to him in
consequence of this youth's visit: then drawing his hand over his
forehead, he felt the scar occasioned by the blow, and exclaimed, By
Allah, O my mistress, it seemeth as though it were true; for he struck
me with a stone upon my forehead, and cut it open: it seemeth,
therefore, as though this had really happened when I was awake: but
probably this dream occurred when we were both asleep. I imagined in my
dream that I was transported to Damascus, without arboosh or turban or
trousers, and that I followed the occupation of a cook.--And again, for
a while, he remained utterly confounded. He then said, By Allah, I
imagined that I made a confection of pomegranate-grains containing but
little pepper. Verily I must have been asleep, and in my sleep have seen
all this.--I conjure thee by Allah, said Sitt-el-osn, tell me what more
thou sawest? And he related to her the whole; and added, If I had not
awaked, they would have crucified me upon a wooden cross.--On account of
what? said she. He answered, On account of the deficiency of pepper in
the confection of pomegranate-grains; and I imagined that they
demolished my shop, and broke all my vessels, and put me in a chest, and
brought the carpenter to make a cross of wood; for they intended to
crucify me upon it. Praise be to God, therefore, who caused all this to
occur to me in sleep, and caused it not to happen to me when I was
awake!--Sitt-el-osn, laughing at his words, pressed him to her bosom,
and he in like manner embraced her. Then reflecting again, he said, By
Allah, it seems as if it had happened when I was awake; and I knew not
the reason, nor the truth of the case.--And he composed himself to
sleep, perplexed with his case, and sometimes saying, I saw it in my
sleep,--and other times, I experienced it awake.

Thus he continued until the morning, when his uncle, the Wezeer
Shems-ed-Deen, came in to him, and saluted him; and Bedr-ed-Deen, as
soon as he beheld him, exclaimed, I conjure thee by Allah, tell me art
not thou he who gave orders to bind my hands behind me, and to nail up
my shop, on account of the confection of pomegranate-grains, because it
was deficient in pepper? The Wezeer answered, Know, O my son, that the
truth hath appeared, and what was hidden hath been manifested. Thou art
the son of my brother; and I did not this but to know if thou wert he
who visited my daughter on that night. I was not convinced of this until
I saw that thou knewest the house, and thy turban and trousers and gold,
and the two papers; namely, the one which thou wrotest, and that which
thy father, my brother, wrote: for I had never seen thee before, and
therefore knew thee not; and as to thy mother, I have brought her with
me from El-Barah.--Having thus said, he threw himself upon him, and
wept; and Bedr-ed-Deen, full of astonishment at his uncle's words,
embraced him, and in like manner wept from excess of joy. The Wezeer
then said to him, O my son, the cause of all this was what passed
between me and thy father. And he related to him the circumstances of
their case, and the cause of his father's departure to El-Barah; after
which he sent for 'Ajeeb; and when the father of the youth saw him, he
exclaimed, This is he who threw the stone at me.--This, said the Wezeer,
is thy son. And Bedr-ed-Deen cast himself upon him, and recited the
following verses:--

  Long have I wept on account of our disunion; the tears overflowing
    from my eyelids;
  And I vowed that if Providence should bring us together, I would
    never again mention our separation.
  Joy hath overcome me to such a degree that by its excess it hath
    made me weep.
  O eye, thou hast become so accustomed to tears that thou weepest
    from happiness as from grief.

And when he had uttered these words, his mother, beholding him, threw
herself upon him, and repeated this couplet:--

  Fortune made a vow to torment me incessantly; but thine oath
    hath proved false, O Fortune; therefore expiate it.
  Happiness hath arrived, and the beloved is come to my relief:
    repair then to the messenger of festivity, and hasten.

She afterwards related to him everything that had happened to her; and
he also acquainted her with all that he had suffered; and they offered
up thanks to God for their union. The Wezeer then went up to the Sulan,
and informed him of these occurrences; and the King was astonished, and
ordered that a statement of them should be inserted in the records, to
be preserved to future ages. And the Wezeer resided with his brother's
son, and his own daughter and her son, and with the wife of his brother;
and all of them passed their lives in the enjoyment of the utmost
happiness until they were visited by the terminator of delights, and the
separator of companions.

Such, O Prince of the Faithful, said Jaafar, were the events that
happened to the Wezeer Shems-ed-Deen and his brother Noor-ed-Deen.--By
Allah, exclaimed the Khaleefeh Haroon Er-Rasheed, this story is
wonderful! And he gave one of his own concubines to the young man who
had killed his wife, and appointed him a regular maintenance; and the
young man became one of his companions at the table.




NOTES TO CHAPTER FOURTH.

NOTE 1. From the close of Chapter iii., the order of the tales in this
translation (agreeably with the Cairo edition) differs from that which
is followed in the old version.

NOTE 2. This alludes to the poor man's want of sufficient clothing; for,
in the climate of Baghdad, a person who is not very scantily clad is in
little need of a fire to warm himself.

NOTE 3. My sheykh has remarked, in a marginal note, that these verses
would be appropriate only from the mouth of a learned man complaining of
the unprofitableness of his science with respect to procuring him money;
but perhaps, in writing this, he was actuated by a somewhat over-zealous
regard for the honour of his own profession; for, when a poor man has
acquired a little knowledge, his neighbours are apt to flatter him.

NOTE 4. The "izar" has been described in the second note to Chapter iii.

NOTE 5. Literally, "the sons of thine uncle;" but the meaning is, "thy
kinsmen."

NOTE 6.--_On Bastinading._ In Arabian, and some other Eastern,
countries, it is a common custom, when a person is accused of a crime
before a magistrate, and denies his guilt, to bastinade him, in order to
induce him to confess; and even witnesses, sometimes, are treated in the
same manner. The beating is usually inflicted with a kurbaj (a thong or
whip of hippopotamus' hide hammered into a round form) or with a stick,
and generally on the soles of the feet. For this purpose the feet are
confined by a chain or rope attached at each end to a staff, which is
turned round to tighten it. This is called a "falaah." Two persons (one
on each side) strike alternately; and the punishment is often continued
until the sufferer becomes insensible, and even longer.

NOTE 7.--_Of Sales by Auction._ In many of the soos (market-streets, or
bazars) in Arabian cities, auctions are held on stated days, once or
more frequently in every week. They are conducted by brokers (dellals),
hired either by private persons or by shopkeepers. These brokers carry
the goods up and down the street, announcing the sums bidden, with cries
of "araj," &c.; and the shopkeepers, as well as others, purchase of
them.

NOTE 8. I have before mentioned, that this horrid mode of punishing a
woman suspected of incontinence is not unfrequently practised among the
Arabs. Many similar cases have been mentioned to me in Egypt as having
occurred in that country in the present age; and often the murder is
committed by the father or a brother of the woman, as her relations are
considered as more disgraced than the husband by her crime. The present
tale is probably founded on some particular occurrence of this kind. One
is related as having happened in the reign of the Khaleefeh El-Moataid.
In this case, some limbs of the murdered woman, in two leathern bags,
were brought up from the bed of the Tigris in the net of a
fisherman. [Such barbarity, however, is contrary to law, as is
stated in two former notes.--ED.]

NOTE 9.--_Of the Retaliation of Injuries on the Day of Resurrection._
The "examination being past, and every one's works weighed in a just
balance, that mutual retaliation will follow according to which every
creature will take vengeance one of another, or have satisfaction made
to him for the injuries which he hath suffered. And since there will
then be no other way of returning like for like, the manner of giving
this satisfaction will be, by taking away a proportionable part of the
good works of him who offered the injury, and adding it to those of him
who suffered it. Which being done, if the angels (by whose ministry this
is to be performed) say, 'Lord, we have given to every one his due, and
there remaineth of this person's good works so much as equalleth the
weight of an ant,' God will of his mercy cause it to be doubled unto
him, that he may be admitted into Paradise; but if, on the contrary, his
good works be exhausted, and there remain evil works only, and there be
any who have not yet received satisfaction from him, God will order that
an equal weight of their sins be added unto his, that he may be punished
for them in their stead, and he will be sent to Hell laden with
both."

NOTE 10. "Reyan" is a common proper name of men, now commonly given to
slaves; and the name of the sweet basil in particular (also called
"reean") and of sweet-smelling plants in general. It also signifies
"any favour of God," "the supplies necessary for subsistence," "a son,"
&c.

NOTE 11. This ejaculation is addressed to God.

NOTE 12. In the original, "Mir," _vulg._, "Mar." This is the name
which the Arabs give to Egypt, and which they have also given to its
successive capitals, or seats of government, Memphis, Egyptian Babylon,
El-Fusa, and El-ahireh, or Cairo. It is here applied to Cairo, as
will be shewn by the following note, and by the sequel of the tale,
though this city was not founded until long after the reign of Haroon
Er-Rasheed. I may here remark, that I have not found the name of "Mir"
applied to Cairo in any Arabic work anterior to the conquest of Egypt by
the 'Osmanlee Turks, which happened in the year of the Flight 923 (A.D.
1517). El-Fusa retained this appellation in the time of Es-Suyooee,
who died in the year of the Flight 911, but it ceased to do so before
the time of El-Is-aee, who brought down his history to the month of
Ramaan, 1032 (A.D. 1623). It is probable, therefore, that the name of
"Misr" was transferred to Cairo on the occasion of the
conquest by the Turks. I must not assert, that this observation alone
enables us to form a decided judgment as to the period when this work
was composed, as it may be objected that copyists have perhaps
substituted "Mir" for "El-ahireh;" but I persue the inquiry in the
next note.

NOTE 13.--_On several Evidences of the Period when this Work, in the
states in which it is known to us, was composed or compiled or
remodelled._ The tale here presents another anachronism. The title of
"Sulan," as a prefix, was first borne by Mamood Ibn-Sabuktekeen, in
the year of the Flight 393, just two hundred years after the death of
Haroon Er-Rasheed; and there was no Sulan of Egypt until the year of
the Flight 567 of a little later; the first being the famous
ala-ed-Deen, or Saladin.

I have now given several data upon which to found a reasonable opinion
as to the age when these tales, in the states in which they are known
to us, were composed or compiled or remodelled. First, in Note 55 to
in accordance with the distinction of Muslims, Christians, and Jews, by
the colours of their turbans, which mode of distinction originated in
the beginning of the eighth century of the Flight. Secondly, in the
present note, I have mentioned a fact which affords some reason for
inferring that there had been a long series of Sulans in Egypt before
the age of the writer or writers. In the third place, I must remark,
that all the events described in this work are said to have happened in
ages which, with respect to that of the writer or writers, were
_ancient_, being related to an ancient king; from which I think we may
infer its age to have been at least two centuries posterior to the
period mentioned in the first of these data. Fourthly, in Note 22 to
described in many of these tales agrees, in a most important point of
view, with the manners and morals of the Arabs at the commencement of
the tenth century of the Flight. This I regard as an argument of great
weight, and especially satisfactory as agreeing with the inference just
before drawn. Fifthly, from what I have stated in the note immediately
preceding, I incline to the opinion that few of the copies of this work
now known to us, if any, were written until after the conquest of Egypt
by the Turks, in the year 1517 of our era. This opinion, it should be
remarked, respects especially the _early_ portion of the work, which is
the least likely to have been interpolated, as later parts evidently
have been. At the last-mentioned period, a native of Cairo (in which
city I believe the principal portion of the work to have been written)
might, if about forty years of age, retain a sufficient recollection of
the later Memlook Sulans and of their ministers to describe his kings
and courts without the necessity of consulting the writings of
historians; deriving his knowledge of early times not from the perusal
of any regular record, but only from traditions or from works like the
present.--I should have delayed the insertion of the foregoing remarks,
had I not considered it a point of some importance to suggest to the
reader, as early as possible, that the manners and customs, and in
general even the dresses and dwellings, described in most of the present
tales, are those of a very late period. The lax state of morals which
appears to have prevailed among the Arabs in the time of the writer or
writers probably continued at least until the period when coffee became
a common beverage, about the middle of the tenth century of the Flight
(or near the middle of the sixteenth century of our era), and perhaps
considerably later, until some years after the introduction of tobacco
into the East. The researches of Von Hammer have satisfactorily shewn
that the Thousand and One Nights, in the states in which it is known to
us, is based upon a very old work, in Persian; an Arabic translation of
which bore a similar, or perhaps the same, title as that which we are
considering; but I believe the last to be, in its best features, a very
late production.

NOTE 14. "Shems-ed-Deen" signifies "the Sun of the Religion;" and
"Noor-ed-Deen," "the Light of the Religion."

NOTE 15.--_Customs observed after a Death._ Though the men, in Arabian
countries, make no change in their dress in indication of mourning, they
observe other customs after the death of a relation. By the term here
used in the original for "mourning" ("'aza," the primary signification
of which is "consolation" or "condolence"), an allusion is made to
receiving the visits of condoling friends. On the night immediately
following the burial, several persons are employed to perform
recitations of portions of the ur-an, &c. The most remarkable of these
ceremonies consists in repeating thrice one thousand times, "There is no
deity but God:" one of the performers having a string of a thousand
large beads by means of which to count these repetitions. Some persons
are also hired to perform a recitation of the whole of the ur-an in the
afternoon or evening of the first Thursday after the funeral, and often
on other days; and the merit of these and the former religious acts is
transferred to the soul of the deceased.--These customs I have fully
described in my work on the Modern Egyptians, vol. ii. ch. xv.

NOTE 16. The island here alluded to is that called "Er-Roah," or "The
Garden."

NOTE 17. The prayer-carpet, which resembles a wide hearth-rug, is seldom
used as a covering for the saddle except when the rider is a person of
the learned profession. It is probably mentioned here to shew that
Noor-ed-Deen was an officer of the pen, which was generally the case
with the Wezeers of the Sulans of Egypt.

NOTE 18. Jerusalem is called in the original, and by the modern Arabs,
"El-uds," which signifies "Holiness."

NOTE 19. The Arabic name of Aleppo is "alab."

NOTE 20. An Arab of rank is seldom seen on foot outside the threshold of
his own house, unless it be merely to cross the street.

NOTE 21. The decoration here alluded to consists in furnishing the
apartment with costly carpets, handsome cushions, rich coverings for the
deewans, and coloured lamps, &c.

NOTE 22. This, to some readers, may appear odd: it should therefore be
explained that most articles of Arab clothing are equally suitable to
young and old, thin and stout.

NOTE 23. "asan" signifies "Beautiful" or "Handsome."

NOTE 24.--_On Infancy and Education._ I may avoid an unnecessary
multiplication of notes on the same, or nearly the same, subject, by
availing myself of this occasion to insert here the following
illustrations of numerous passages, in the preceding and subsequent
tales, relating to infancy and education.

In few cases are the Mohammadans so much fettered by the directions of
their Prophet and other religious institutors as in the rearing and
educating of their children. In matters of the most trivial nature,
religious precedents direct their management of the young. One of the
first duties is, to wrap the new-born child in clean white linen, or in
linen of some other colour; but not yellow. After this, some person [not
a female] should pronounce the adan in the ear of the infant,
because the Prophet did so in the ear of El-asan when Fatimeh gave
birth to him; or he should pronounce the adan in the right ear, and the
iameh (which is nearly the same) in the left.

It was formerly a custom of many of the Arabs, and perhaps is still
among some, for the father to give a feast to his friends on seven
successive days after the birth of a son; but that of a daughter was
observed with less rejoicing. The general modern custom is, to give an
entertainment only on the seventh day, which is called "Yom es-Subooa."
On this occasion, the mother, having left her bed, receives her guests;
the child is exhibited to them; and they give presents of gold or silver
coins, which are generally used to decorate the infant's head-dress. The
father entertains his friends in the evening.

On this day, or on the fourteenth, twenty-first, twenty-eighth, or
thirty-fifth day after the birth, several religious ceremonies are
required to be performed; but they are most approved if observed on the
seventh day. One of these is the naming. I believe, however, that it is
a more common custom to give the name almost immediately after the
birth, or about three hours after. Astrologers were often consulted on
this occasion; but the following directions are given on higher
authority, and are generally observed.--"The father should give his son
a good name, ... not a name of self-praise, as Rasheed , Emeen
, &c.... The prophet said, 'The names most approved by God are
'Abd-Allah  and 'Abd-Er-Raman [Servant of the
Compassionate], and such like.' He also said, 'Give my name, but do not
distinguish by my surname of relationship:' but this precept, they say,
respects his own life-time, ... because he was addressed, 'O
Abu-l-asim!' and now it is not disapproved; but some disapprove of
uniting the name and surname, so as to call a person Mohammad and
Abu-l-asim. And if a son be called by the name of a prophet it is not
allowable to abuse or vilify him, unless the person so named be facing
his reproacher, who should say, 'Thou' :
and a child named Moammad or Amad should be  honoured....
The Prophet said, 'There is no people holding a consultation at which
there is present one whose name is Moammad or Amad, but God blesseth
all that assembly:' and again he said, 'Whoever nameth his child by my
name, or by that of any of my children or my companions, from affection
to me or to them, God (whose name be exalted!) will give him in Paradise
what eye hath not seen nor ear heard.' And a son should not be named
King of kings, or Lord of lords; nor should a man take a surname of
relationship from the name of the eldest of his children; nor take any
such surname before a child is born to him."--The custom of naming
children after prophets, or after relations or companions of Moammad,
is very common. No ceremony is observed on account of the naming.

On the same day, however, two practices which I am about to mention are
prescribed to be observed; though, as far as my observations and
inquiries allow me to judge, they are generally neglected by the modern
Muslims. The first of these is a sacrifice. The victim is called
'aeeah. It should be a ram or goat; or two such animals should be
sacrificed for a son, and one for a daughter. This rite is regarded by
Ibn-ambal as absolutely obligatory: he said, "If a father sacrifice not
for his son, and he  die, that son will not intercede for him
on the day of judgment." The founders of the three other principal sects
regard it in different and less important lights, though Mohammad slew
an 'aeeah for himself after his prophetic mission. The person should
say, on slaying the victim, "O God, verily this aeeah is a ransom
for my son such a one; its blood for his blood, and its flesh for his
flesh, and its bone for his bone, and its skin for his skin, and its
hair for his hair. O God, make it a ransom for my son from Hell-fire." A
bone of the victim should not be broken. The midwife should receive
a leg of it. It should be cooked without previously cutting off any
portion of it; and part of it should be given in alms.--After this
should be performed the other ceremony above alluded to, which is this.
It is a sunneh ordinance, incumbent on the father, to shave, or cause to
be shaved, the head of his child, and to give, in alms to the poor, the
weight of the hair in gold or silver. This should also be done for a
proselyte. On the subsequent occasions of shaving the head of a
male child (for the head of the male is frequently shaven), a tuft of
hair is generally left on the crown, and commonly, for several years,
another also over the forehead.

Circumcision is most approved if performed on the same day: but the
observance of this rite is generally delayed until the child has
attained the age of five or six years, and sometimes several years
later. I shall therefore delay mentioning the ceremonies with which it
is celebrated.

The Muslims rightly regard a child as a trust committed by God to its
parents, who, they hold, are responsible for the manner in which they
bring it up, and will be examined on this subject on the day of
judgment. But they further venture to say, that "the first who will lay
hold of a man on the day of judgment will be his wife and children, who
 will present themselves
before God, and say, 'O our Lord, take for us our due from him; for he
taught us not that of which we were ignorant, and he fed us with
forbidden food, and we knew not:' and their due will be taken from
him." By this is meant, that a certain proportion of the good works
which the man may have done, and his children and wife neglected, will
be set down to their account; or that a similar proportion of their evil
works will be transferred to _his_ account.

The mother is enjoined by the law to give suck to her child two full
years, unless she have her husband's consent to shorten the period, or
to employ another nurse. "For suckling the child, a virtuous woman, who
eateth only what is lawful, should be chosen; for the unlawful 
will manifest its evil in the child: as the Prophet ... said, 'Giving
suck altereth the tempers.' But it is recommended by the sunneh that the
mother herself suckle the child; for it is said in a tradition, 'There
is nothing better for a child than its mother's milk.' 'If thou wouldst
try,' it is added,'whether a child be of an ingenuous disposition in its
infancy, or not, order a woman who is not its mother to suckle it after
its mother has done so; and if it drink of the milk of the woman who is
not its mother, it is not of an ingenuous disposition.'"

Children, being regarded by Muslim parents as enviable blessings, are,
to them, objects of the most anxious solicitude. To guard them from the
supposed influence of the envious or evil eye, they have recourse to
various expedients. When they are taken abroad, they are usually clad in
the most slovenly manner, and left unwashed, or even purposely smeared
with dirt; and as a further precaution, a fantastic cap is often put
upon the child's head, or its head-dress is decorated with one or more
coins, a feather, a gay tassel, or a written charm or two sewed up in
leather or encased in gold or silver, or some other appendage to attract
the eye, that so the infant itself may pass unnoticed. If a person
express his admiration of another's child otherwise than by some pious
ejaculation, as, for instance, by praising its Creator (with the
exclamation of "Subana-llah!" or, "Ma shaa-llah!" &c.) or invoking a
blessing on the Prophet, he fills the mind of the parent with
apprehension; and recourse is had to some superstitious ceremony to
counteract the dreaded influence of his envious glance. The children of
the poor are less exposed to this imaginary danger from their
unattractive appearance: they generally have little clothing, or none
whatever, and are extremely dirty. It is partly with the view of
protecting them from the evil eye, that those of the rich are so long
confined to the areem: there they are petted and pampered for several
years; at least until they are of age to go to school; but most of them
are instructed at home.

The children of the Muslims are taught to shew to their fathers a degree
of respect which might be deemed incompatible with the existence of a
tender mutual affection; but I believe that this is not the case. The
child greets the father in the morning by kissing his hand, and then
usually stands before him in a respectful attitude, with the left hand
covered by the right, to receive any order or to await his permission to
depart; but after the respectful kiss, is often taken on the lap. After
the period of infancy, the well-bred son seldom sits in the presence of
his father; but during that period he is generally allowed much
familiarity. A Syrian merchant, who was one of my near neighbours in
Cairo, had a child of exquisite beauty, commonly supposed to be his
daughter, whom, though he was a most bigoted Muslim, he daily took with
him from his private house to his shop. The child followed him, seated
upon an ass, before a black slave; and, until about six years old, was
dressed like most young ladies, but without a face-veil. The father then
thinking that the appearance of taking about with him a daughter of that
age was scandalous, dressed his pet as a boy, and told his friends that
the female attire had been employed as a protection against the evil
eye; girls being less coveted than boys. This indeed is sometimes done;
and it is possible that such might have been the case in this instance;
but I was led to believe that it was not so. A year after, I left
Cairo: while I remained there, I continued to see the child pass my
house as before; but always in boy's clothing.

It is not surprising that the natives of Arabian countries, where a very
trifling expense is required to rear the young, should be generally
desirous of a numerous offspring. A motive of self-interest conduces
forcibly to cherish this feeling in a wife, for she is commonly esteemed
by her husband in proportion to her fruitfulness; and a man is seldom
willing to divorce a wife, or to sell a slave, who has borne him a
child. A similar feeling also induces in both parents a desire to obtain
offspring, and renders them at the same time resigned to the loss of
such of their children as die in tender age. This feeling arises from
their belief of certain services, of greater moment than the richest
blessings this world can bestow, which children who die in infancy are
to render to their parents. The Prophet is related to have said, "The
infant children  shall assemble at the scene of judgment
on the day of the general resurrection, when all creatures shall appear
for the reckoning, and it will be said to the angels, 'Go ye with these
into Paradise:' and they will halt at the gate of Paradise, and it will
be said to them, 'Welcome to the offspring of the Muslims! enter ye
Paradise: there is no reckoning to be made with you:' and they will
reply, 'Yea, and our fathers and our mothers:' but the guardians of
Paradise will say, 'Verily your fathers and your mothers are not with
you because they have committed faults and sins for which they must be
reckoned with and inquired of.' Then they will shriek and cry at the
gate of Paradise with a great cry; and God (whose name be exalted!) and
who is all-knowing respecting them) will say, 'What is this cry?' It
will be answered, 'O our Lord, the children of the Muslims say, We will
not enter Paradise but with our fathers and our mothers.' Whereupon God
(whose name be exalted!) will say 'Pass among them all, and take the
hands of your parents, and introduce them into Paradise.'" The children
who are to have this power are such as are born of believers, and die
without having attained to the knowledge of sin; and according to one
tradition, one such child will introduce his parents into Paradise.
[Such infants only are to enter Paradise; for, of the children who die
in infancy, those of believers alone are they who would believe if they
grew to years of discretion.] On the same authority it is said, "When a
child of the servant  dies, God (whose name be exalted!) saith
to the angels, 'Have ye taken the child of my servant?' They answer,
'Yea.' He saith, 'Have ye taken the child of his heart?' They reply,
'Yea.' He asketh them, 'What did my servant say?' They answer, 'He
praised thee, and said, Verily to God we belong, and verily unto Him we
return!' Then God will say, 'Build for my servant a house in Paradise,
and name it the House of Praise.'" To these traditions, which I find
related as proofs of the advantages of marriage, the following anecdote,
which is of a similar nature, is added. A certain man, who would not
take a wife, awoke one day from his sleep, and demanded to be married,
saying, as his reason, "I dreamt that the resurrection had taken place,
and that I was among the beings collected at the scene of judgment, but
was suffering a thirst that stopped up the passage of my stomach; and
lo, there were youths passing through the assembly, having in their
hands ewers of silver, and cups of gold, and giving drink to one person
after another; so I stretched forth my hand to one of them, and said,
'Give me to drink; for thirst overpowereth me:' but they answered, 'Thou
hast no child among us: we give drink only to our fathers.' I asked
them, 'Who are ye?' They replied, 'We are the deceased infant children
of the Muslims.'" Especial rewards in heaven are promised to
mothers. "When a woman conceives by her husband," said the Prophet, "she
is called in heaven a martyr [_i.e._ she is ranked as a martyr in
dignity]; and her labour in child-bed, and her care for her children,
protect her from Hell-fire.'"

"When the child begins to speak, the father should teach him first the
kelimeh , 'There is no deity but God: [Moammad
is God's apostle:]'--he should dictate this to him seven times. Then he
should instruct him to say, 'Wherefore, exalted be God, the King, the
Truth! There is no deity but He, the Lord of the honourable
throne.' and the
closing words of the ashr, 'He is God, beside whom there is no deity,
the King, the Holy,'" &c.

As soon as a son is old enough, his father should teach him the most
important rules of decent behaviour: placing some food before him, he
should order him to take it with the right hand (the left being employed
for unclean purposes), and to say, on commencing, "In the name of God;"
to eat what is next to him, and not to hurry, nor spill any of the food
upon his person or dress. He should teach him that it is disgusting to
eat much. He should particularly condemn to him the love of gold and
silver, and caution him against covetousness as he would against
serpents and scorpions; and forbid his spitting in an assembly, and
committing any similar breach of good manners, talking much, turning his
back upon another, standing in an indolent attitude, and speaking ill of
any person to another. He should keep him from bad companions, teach him
the ur-an and all requisite divine and prophetic ordinances, and
instruct him in the arts of swimming and archery, and in some virtuous
trade; for trade is a security from poverty. He should also command him
to endure patiently the chastisements of his teacher. In one tradition
it is said, "When a boy attains the age of six years he should be
disciplined; and when he attains to nine years he should be put in a
separate bed; and when he attains to ten years he should be beaten for
 prayer:" in another tradition, "Order your children to pray
at seven  it at ten, and put them
in separate beds."

Circumcision, which has before been mentioned, is generally performed
before the boy is submitted to the instruction of the schoolmaster.
Previously to the performance of this rite, he is, if belonging to the
higher or middle rank of society, usually paraded about the
neighbourhood of his parents' dwelling, gaily attired, chiefly with
female habits and ornaments, but with a boy's turban on his head,
mounted on a horse, preceded by musicians, and followed by a group of
his female relations and friends. This ceremony is observed by the great
with much pomp and with sumptuous feasts. El-Jabartee mentions a fete
celebrated on the occasion of the circumcision of a son of the aee of
Cairo, in the year of the Flight 1179 (A.D. 1766), when the grandees and
chief merchants and 'ulama of the city sent him such abundance of
presents that the magazines of his mansion were filled with rice and
butter and honey and sugar; the great hall, with coffee; and the middle
of the court, with firewood: the public were amused for many days by
players and performers of various kinds; and when the youth was paraded
through the streets he was attended by numerous memlooks with their
richly-caparisoned horses and splendid arms and armour and military
band, and by a number of other youths who, from compliment to him, were
circumcised afterwards with him. This latter custom is usual on such
occasions; and so also is the sending of presents, such as those above
mentioned, by friends, acquaintances, and tradespeople.' At a fete of
this kind, when the Khaleefeh El-Mutedir circumcised five of his sons,
the money that was scattered in presents amounted to six hundred
thousand pieces of gold, or about 300,000. Many orphans were also
circumcised on the same day, and were presented with clothes and pieces
of gold. The Khaleefeh above mentioned was famous for his
magnificence, a proof of which I have given in a former note. At the
more approved entertainments which are given in celebration of a
circumcision, a recital of the whole of the ur-an, or a zikr, is
performed: at some others, male or female public dancers perform in the
court of the house, or in the street before the door.

Few of the children of the Arabs receive much instruction in literature,
and still fewer are taught even the rudiments of any of the higher
sciences; but there are numerous schools in their towns, and one at
least in almost every moderately large village. The former are mostly
attached to mosques and other public buildings, and, together with those
buildings, endowed by princes or other men of rank, or wealthy
tradesmen. In these, the children are instructed either gratis or for a
very trifling weekly payment, which all parents, except those in
indigent circumstances, can easily afford. The schoolmaster generally
teaches nothing more than to read, and to recite by heart the whole of
the ur-an. After committing to memory the first chapter of the sacred
volume, the boy learns the rest in the inverse order of their
arrangement, as they generally decrease in length. Writing and
arithmetic are usually taught by another master; and grammar, rhetoric,
versification, logic, the interpretation of the ur-an, and the whole
system of religion and law, with all other knowledge deemed useful,
which seldom includes the mere elements of mathematics, are attained by
studying at a collegiate mosque, and at no expense; for the professors
receive no pay either from the students, who are mostly of the poorer
classes, or from the funds of the mosque.

The wealthy often employ for their sons a private tutor; and, when he
has taught them to read, and to recite the ur-an, engage for them a
writing-master, and then send them to the college. But among this class,
polite literature is more considered than any other branch of knowledge,
after religion. Such an acquaintance with the works of some of their
favourite poets as enables a man to quote them occasionally in society,
is regarded by the Arabs as essential to a son who is to mix in genteel
company; and to this acquirement is often added some skill in the art of
versification, which is rendered peculiarly easy by the copiousness of
the Arabic language, and by its system of inflection. These
characteristics of their noble tongue (which are remarkably exhibited by
the custom, common among the Arabs, of preserving the same rhyme
throughout a whole poem), while on the one hand they have given an
admirable freedom to the compositions of men of true poetic genius, have
on the other hand mainly contributed to the degradation of Arabic
poetry. To an Arab of some little learning it is almost as easy to speak
in verse as in prose; and hence he often intersperses his prose
writings, and not unfrequently his conversation, with indifferent
verses, of which the chief merit often consists in puns, or in an
ingenious use of several words nearly the same in sound, but differing
in sense. To a reader unacquainted with the Arabic language it is
necessary to explain this custom; otherwise he would imagine that the
author of the present work is merely indulging in a dramatic licence
inconsistent with a true delineation of manners, when he makes a person
suddenly change the style of his speech from prose to verse, and then
revert to the former.

One more duty of a father to a son I should here mention: it is, to
procure for him a wife as soon as he has arrived at a proper age. This
age is decided by some to be twenty years; though many young men marry
at an earlier period. It is said, "When a son has attained the age of
twenty years, his father, if able, should marry him, and then take his
hand, and say, 'I have disciplined thee, and taught thee, and married
thee: I now seek refuge with God from thy mischief in the present world
and the next.'" To enforce this duty, the following tradition is urged:
"When a son attains to the age of puberty, and his father does not marry
him, and yet is able to do so, if the youth commit an improper act in
consequence, the sin of it is between the two,"--or, as in another
report,--"on the father." The same is held to be the case with
respect to a daughter who has attained the age of twelve years.

The female children of the Arabs are seldom taught even to read. Though
they are admissible at the daily schools in which the boys are
instructed, very few parents allow them the benefit of this privilege;
preferring, if they give them any instruction of a literary kind, to
employ a sheykhah (or learned woman) to teach them at home. She
instructs them in the forms of prayer, and teaches them to repeat by
heart a few chapters of the ur-an; very rarely the whole book. Parents
are indeed recommended to withhold from their daughters some portions of
the ur-an; to "teach them the Soorat en-Noor , and
keep from them the Soorat-Yoosuf ; on account of the story
of Zeleekha and Yoosuf in the latter, and the prohibitions and threats
and mention of punishments contained in the former."

Needlework is not so rarely, but yet not generally, taught to Arab
girls: the spindle frequently employs those of the poorer classes; and
some of them learn to weave. The daughters of persons of the middle and
higher ranks are often instructed in the art of embroidery, and in other
ornamental work, which are taught in schools and in private houses.
Singing, and playing upon the lute, which were formerly not uncommon
female accomplishments among the wealthy Arabs, are now almost
exclusively confined, like dancing, to professional performers and a few
of the slaves in the areems of the great: it is very seldom now that
any musical instrument is seen in the hand of an Arab lady, except a
kind of drum called darabukkeh, and a ar (or tambourine), which are
found in many areems, and are beaten with the fingers. Some care,
however, is bestowed by the ladies in teaching their daughters what they
consider an elegant gait and carriage, as well as various alluring and
voluptuous arts with which to increase the attachment of their future
husbands.

NOTE 25.--_Water-wheels._ The water-wheels here mentioned are machines
commonly used for the purpose of irrigating fields and gardens. They are
generally turned by a pair of cows or bulls. They raise the water from a
river or well in a series of earthen pots attached to cords which pass
over a vertical wheel, and pour it into a trough, from which it flows in
narrow channels through the space of ground to be irrigated. A cogged
vertical wheel is attached to the same axis as the former; and this, and
consequently the other also, are turned by means of a larger,
horizontal, cogged wheel. The ground is divided into hollow squares, or
furrows, into each of which in succession the water is admitted.

NOTE 26. "Bedr-ed-Deen" signifies "the Full Moon of the Religion."

NOTE 27. I have here omitted the name of Shems-ed-Deen, and his office;
as asan's knowledge of them would render the sequel of the story too
improbable even to an Arab.

NOTE 28. In the original, this paper is here said to have been written
by asan in accordance with the dictation of his father; but afterwards
it is said to have been written by the latter; and this is more
consistent with the rest of the tale.

NOTE 29. Papers of importance are often wrapped in waxed cloth to
preserve them from wet, which would efface the writing, as the Arab ink
is chiefly composed of smoke-black and gum and water.

NOTE 30. In the original, the cap is not here mentioned; but it is
afterwards.

NOTE 31. This paragraph and the verses interspersed in it are translated
from the Calcutta edition of the first two hundred nights.

NOTE 32. The poet here alluded to is El-Mutanebbee.

NOTE 33. It is a common custom of Eastern kings and governors to avail
themselves of any pretext for seizing upon the property of a deceased
officer who has accumulated much wealth.

NOTE 34. It is implied that he was sitting at the door, or in the court,
of his house.

NOTE 35. His taking a copy is mentioned afterwards in the original; but
not in this place.

NOTE 36. I have designated by the appellation of "dye-women" (from
want-of a better) those females who are employed to apply the enna,
which imparts a deep orange-red dye, to the nails or tips of the
fingers, the palms of the hands, the soles of the feet, &c. Some Arab
ladies, especially on such an occasion as that here described, are
ornamented with this dye in a more fanciful manner. The woman who
applies it is called in Arabic "munaisheh."

NOTE 37. The chief office of the tire-woman (in Arabic, "mashiah") is
to comb and plait the hair. She attends the ladies in the bath; and
hence is also called "bellaneh."

NOTE 38. A "maabah" is a bench of stone or brick, generally between
two and three feet in height, and about the same in width, built against
the front of a shop, and sometimes along the front of a private house.


NOTE 39.--_On Marriage._ Previously to the perusal of the first
description of a nuptial fete that occurs in this work, the reader may
perhaps desire some introductory information, which I shall here
endeavour to convey in such a manner as to make the present note serve
to illustrate many future allusions in these pages, and not merely the
foregoing tale.

Marriage is regarded by the Muslims in general as a positive duty; and
to neglect it, without a sufficient excuse, subjects a man to severe
reproach. "When a servant ," said the Prophet, "marries, verily
he perfects half his religion." He once asked a man, "Art thou
married?" The man answered, "No." "And art thou," said he, "sound and
healthy?" The answer was, "Yes." "Then," said Moammad, "thou art one of
the brothers of the devils; for the most wicked among you are the
unmarried; and the most vile among your dead are the unmarried; moreover
the married are those who are acquitted of filthy conversation; and by
Him in whose hand is my soul, the devil hath not a weapon more effective
against the virtuous, both men and women, than the neglect of
marriage." Some remarks on this subject, and on the advantages of
marriage, have been made in a preceding note on infancy and education.

The number of wives whom a Muslim may have at the same time is four. He
may marry free women, or take concubine slaves, or have of both these
classes. It is the opinion of most persons, I believe, among the more
strictly religious, that a man may not have more than four women,
whether they be wives alone, or concubine slaves alone, or of both
classes together; but the practice of some of the Companions of the
Prophet, who cannot be accused of violating his precepts, affords a
strong argument to the contrary. 'Alee, it is said, "was the most devout
of the Companions; but he had four wives and seventeen concubines
besides, and married, after Faimeh (may God be well pleased with her!),
among all that he married and divorced, more than two hundred women: and
sometimes he included four wives in one contract, and sometimes divorced
four at one time, taking other four in their stead." This may
perhaps be an exaggerated statement: but it is certain that the custom
of keeping an unlimited number of concubines was common among wealthy
Muslims in the first century of the Mohammadan era, and has so
continued. The famous author of the work above quoted urges the example
of Solomon to prove that the possession of numerous concubines is not
inconsistent with piety and good morals; not considering that God made
but one wife for Adam.

It has been mentioned in the first of the notes to this work, that a
Muslim may divorce his wife twice, and each time take her back. This he
may do, even against her wish, during a fixed period, which cannot
extend beyond three months, unless she be _enceinte_, in which latter
case she must wait until the birth of her child before she will be at
liberty to contract a new marriage. During this period the husband is
obliged to maintain her. If he divorce her a third time, or by a triple
sentence, he cannot take her again unless with her own consent, and by a
new contract, and after another marriage has been consummated between
her and another husband, and this husband also has divorced her.

It is not a common custom, especially among the middle ranks, for an
Arab to have more than one wife at the same time; but there are few of
middle age who have not had several different wives at different
periods, tempted to change by the facility of divorce. The case of 'Alee
has been mentioned above. Mugheyreh Ibn-Sheabeh married eighty women in
the course of his life; and several more remarkable instances of
the love of change are recorded by Arab writers: the most extraordinary
case of this kind that I have met with was that of Moammad
Ibn-E-eiyib, the Dyer, of Baghdad, who died in the year of the Flight
423, aged eighty-five years; of whom it is related, on most respectable
authority, that he married more than nine hundred women!--Supposing,
therefore, that he married his first wife when he was fifteen years of
age, he must have had, on the average, nearly thirteen wives _per
annum_. The women, in general, cannot of course marry so many successive
husbands, not only because a woman cannot have more than one husband at
a time, but also because she cannot divorce her husband. There have
been, however, many instances of Arab women who have married a
surprising number of men in rapid succession. Among these may be
mentioned Umm-Kharijeh, who gave occasion to a proverb on this subject.
This woman, who was of the tribe of Bejeeleh, in El-Yemen, married
upwards of forty husbands; and her son Kharijeh knew not who was his
father. She used to contract a marriage in the quickest possible manner:
a man saying to her, "Khibun" (betrothal), she replied, "Nik-un"
(marriage), and thus became his lawful wife. She had a very numerous
progeny; several tribes originating from her.

For the choice of a wife, a man generally relies on his mother, or some
other near female relation, or a professional female betrother (who is
called "khaibeh"); for there are many women who perform this office for
hire. The law allows him to see the face of the female whom he proposes
to marry, previously to his making the contract; but in the present day
this liberty is seldom obtained, except among the lower orders. Unless
in this case, a man is not allowed to see unveiled any woman but his own
wife or slave, and those women to whom the law prohibits his uniting
himself in marriage: nay, according to some, he is not allowed to "see"
his own niece unveiled, though he may not marry her. It should be added,
that a slave may lawfully see the face of his own mistress; but this
privilege is seldom granted in the present day to any slave but a
eunuch. An infringement of the law above mentioned is held to be
extremely sinful in both parties: "The curse of God," said the Prophet,
"is on the seer and the seen:" yet it is very often disregarded in the
case of women of the lower orders.

A man is forbidden, by the ur-an and the Sunneh, to marry his
mother, or other ascendant; daughter, or other descendant; his sister,
or half-sister; the sister of his father or mother or other ascendant;
his niece, or any of her descendants; his foster-mother who has suckled
him five times in the course of the first two years, or a woman related
to him by milk in any of the degrees which would preclude his marriage
with her if she were similarly related to him by consanguinity; the
mother of his wife, even if he has not consummated his marriage with
this wife; the daughter of his wife, if he has consummated his marriage
with the latter (but if he has not done so, and this wife is divorced
from him, or dead, he may marry her daughter); his father's wife, and
his son's wife; and to have at the same time two wives who are sisters,
or aunt and niece: he is forbidden also to marry his unemancipated
slave, or another man's slave if he has already a free wife; and to
marry any woman but one of his own faith, or a Christian, or a Jewess. A
Mohammadan woman, however, may only marry a man of her own faith. An
unlawful intercourse with any woman prevents a man from marrying any of
her relations who would be forbidden to him if she were his wife.

The reader has already seen that a cousin (the daughter of a paternal
uncle) is often chosen as a wife, on account of the tie of blood, which
is likely to attach her more strongly to her husband, or on account of
an affection conceived in early years. Parity of rank is generally much
regarded; and a man is often unable to obtain as his wife the daughter
of one of a different profession or trade, unless an inferior; or a
younger daughter when an elder remains unmarried. A girl is often
married at the age of twelve years, and sometimes at ten, or even nine:
the usual period is between twelve and sixteen years. At the age of
thirteen or fourteen she may be a mother. The young men marry a few
years later.

The most important requisite in a wife is religion. The Prophet said, "A
virtuous wife is better than the world and all that it contains." "A
virtuous wife," said Luman, "is like a crown on the head of a king; and
a wicked wife is like a heavy burden on the back of an old man." Among
the other chief requisites are agreeableness of temper, and beauty of
form (undiminished by any defect or irregularity of features or
members), moderation in the amount of dowry required, and good birth. It
is said, "if thou marry not a virgin,  marry a
divorced woman, and not a widow; for the divorced woman will respect thy
words when thou sayest, 'If there were any good in thee thou hadst not
been divorced;' whereas the widow will say, 'May God have mercy on such
a one! he hath left me to one unsuited to me.'" But according to another
selfish maxim, the woman most to be avoided is she who is divorced from
a man by whom she has had a child; for her heart is with him, and she is
an enemy to the man who marries her after.--Modesty is a requisite
upon which too much stress cannot be laid; but this, to an English
reader, requires some explanation. 'Alee asked his wife Faimeh, "Who is
the best of women?" She answered, "She who sees not men, and whom they
see not." Modesty, therefore, in the opinion of the Muslims, is
most eminently shown by a woman's concealing her person, and restraining
her eyes, from men. "The best rank of men ," said the
Prophet, "is the front; and the best rank of women is the rear:"
that is, those most distant from the men: but better than even these are
the women who pray at home.--Fruitfulness is also a desirable
qualification to be considered in the choice of a wife: "it may be known
in maidens," says the Prophet, "from their relations; because, generally
speaking, kindred are similar in disposition, &c." Lastly,
contentment is to be enumerated among the requisites. It is said, on the
same authority, "Verily the best of women are those that are most
content with little." To obtain a contented and submissive wife,
many men make their selection from among the classes inferior to them in
rank. Others, with a similar view, prefer a concubine slave in the place
of a wife.

The consent of a girl not arrived at the age of puberty is not required:
her father, or, if he is dead, her nearest adult male relation, or a
guardian appointed by will or by the aee, acts as her wekeel, or
deputy, to effect the marriage-contract for her. If of age, she appoints
her own deputy. A dowry is required to legalize the marriage; and the
least dowry allowed by the law is ten dirhems, or drachms of silver;
about five shillings of our money. Moammad married certain of his wives
for a dowry of ten dirhems and the household necessaries, which were a
handmill to grind the corn, a water-jar, and a pillow of skin or leather
stuffed with the fibres of the palm-tree, which are called "leef:" but
some he married for a dowry of five hundred dirhems. With the
increase of wealth and luxury, dowries have increased in amount; but, to
our ideas, they are still trifling; a sum equivalent to about twenty
pounds sterling being a common dowry among Arabs of the middle classes
for a virgin, and half or a third or quarter of that sum for a divorced
woman or a widow. Two-thirds of the sum is usually paid before making
the contract, and the remaining portion held in reserve to be paid to
the woman in case of her divorce or in case of the husband's death. The
father or guardian of a girl under age receives the former portion of
her dowry; but it is considered as her property, and he generally
expends it, with an additional sum from his own purse, in the purchase
of necessary furniture, dress, &c., for her, which the husband can never
take from her against her own wish.

The marriage-contract is generally, in the present day, merely verbal;
but sometimes a certificate is written, and sealed by the aee. The
most approved or propitious period for this act is the month of Showwal:
the most unpropitious, Moarram. The only persons whose presence is
required to perform it are the bridegroom (or his deputy), the bride's
deputy (who is the betrother), two male witnesses, if such can be easily
procured, and the aee or a schoolmaster or some other person to recite
a khubeh, which consists of a few words in praise of God, a form of
blessing on the Prophet, and some passages of the ur-an, respecting
marriage. They all recite the Fat'ah (or opening chapter of the
ur-an), after which the bridegroom pays the money. The latter and the
bride's deputy then seat themselves on the ground, face to face, and
grasp each other's right hand, raising the thumbs, and pressing them
against each other. Previously to the khubeh, the person who recites
this formula places a handkerchief over the two joined hands; and after
the khubeh he dictates to the two contracting parties what they are to
say. The betrother generally uses the following or a similar form of
words: "I betroth to thee my daughter 
such a one 
for a dowry of such an amount." The bridegroom answers, "I accept from
thee her betrothal to myself." This is all that is absolutely necessary;
but the address and reply are usually repeated a second and third time,
and are often expressed in fuller forms of words. The contract is
concluded with the recital of the Fat'ah by all persons present.

This betrothal, or marriage-contract, is often performed several years
before the consummation, when the two parties are yet children; or
during the infancy of the girl; but generally not more than about eight
or ten days before the former event. The household furniture and dress
prepared for the bride are sent by her family to the bridegroom's house,
usually conveyed by a train of camels, two or three or more days before
she is conducted thither.

The feasts and processions which are now to be mentioned are only
observed in the case of a virgin bride; a widow or divorced woman being
remarried in a private manner. I describe them chiefly in accordance
with the usages of Cairo, which appear to me most agreeable, in general,
with the descriptions and allusions in the present work.--The period
most commonly approved for the consummation of marriage is the eve of
Friday, or that of Monday. Previously to this event, the bridegroom once
or twice or more frequently gives a feast to his friends; and for
several nights, his house and the houses of his near neighbours are
usually illuminated by numerous clusters of lamps, or by lanterns,
suspended in front of them; some, to cords drawn across the street. To
these or other cords are also suspended small flags, or square pieces of
silk, each of two different colours, generally red and green. Some say
that the feast or feasts should be given on the occasion of the
contract; others, on the consummation; others, again, on both these
occasions. The usual custom of the people of Cairo is to give a
feast on the night immediately preceding that of the consummation, and
another on the latter night; but some commence their feasts earlier.
Respecting marriage-feasts, the Prophet said, "The first day's feast is
an incumbent duty; and the second day's, a sunneh ordinance; and the
third day's, for ostentation and notoriety:" and he forbade eating at
the feast of the ostentatious. It is a positive duty to accept an
invitation to a marriage-feast or other lawful entertainment; but the
guest is not obliged to eat. The persons invited, and all intimate
friends, generally send presents of provisions of some kind a day or two
before. The Prophet taught that marriage-feasts should be frugal: the
best that _he_ gave was with one goat. He approved of
demonstrations of joy at the celebration of a marriage with songs, and,
according to one tradition, by the beating of deffs (or tambourines);
but in another tradition the latter practice is condemned. The
preferable mode of entertaining the guests is by the performance of a
zikr.

The bride is conducted to the bridegroom's house in the afternoon
immediately preceding the night of consummation. On the day next
preceding that on which she is conducted thither, she goes to the public
bath, accompanied by a number of her female relations and friends. The
procession generally pursues a circuitous route, for the sake of greater
display; and on leaving the house, turns to the right. In Cairo, the
bride walks under a canopy of silk borne by four men, with one of her
near female relations on each side of her. Young unmarried girls walk
before her; these are preceded by the married ladies; and the procession
is headed and closed by a few musicians with drums and hautboys. The
bride wears a kind of pasteboard crown, or cap; and is completely veiled
from the view of spectators by a Kashmeer shawl placed over her crown
and whole person; but some handsome ornaments of the head are attached
externally. The other women are dressed in the best of their
walking-attire. In the case, however, of a bride of high rank, or of
wealth, and often in the case of one belonging to a family of the middle
class, the ladies ride upon high-saddled asses, without music or canopy;
and the bride is only distinguished by a Kashmeer shawl instead of the
usual black silk covering; one or more eunuchs sometimes riding at the
head. In the bath, after the ordinary operations of washing, &c., a
feast is made, and the party are often entertained by female singers.
Having returned in the same manner to her home, the bride's friends
there partake of a similar entertainment with her. Her hands and feet
are then stained with enna, and her eyes ornamented with kol; and her
friends give her small presents of money, and take their leave. "It is a
sunneh ordinance that the bride wash her feet in a clean vessel, and
sprinkle the water in the corners of the chamber, that a blessing may
result from this. She should also brighten her face, and put on the best
of her apparel, and adorn her eyes with kol, and stain [her hands and
feet] with enna ; and she should abstain, during
the first week, from eating anything that contains mustard, and from
vinegar, and sour apples."

The bride is conducted to the house of the bridegroom (on the following
day) in the same manner as to the bath, or with more pomp. In Cairo, the
bridal processions of persons of very high rank are conducted with
singular display. The train is usually headed by buffoons and musicians,
and a water-carrier loaded with a goat's-skin filled with sand and
water, of very great weight, which is often borne for many hours before,
as well as during, the procession, merely to amuse the spectators by
this feat of strength. Then follow (interrupted by groups of male or
female dancers, jugglers, &c.) numerous decorated open waggons, or cars,
each of which contains several members of some particular trade or art
engaged in their ordinary occupations, or one such person with
attendants: in one, for instance, a ahwejee (or ahvejee), with his
assistants and pots and cups and fire, making coffee for the
spectators: in a second, makers of sweetmeats: in a third, makers of
pancakes (faeerehs): in a fourth, silk-lace manufacturers: in a fifth,
a silk-weaver, with his loom: in a sixth, tinners of copper vessels, at
their work: in a seventh, white-washers, whitening over and over again a
wall: in short, almost every manufacture, &c., has its representatives
in a different waggon. El-Jabartee describes a procession of this kind
in which there were upwards of seventy parties of different trades and
arts, each party in a separate waggon, besides buffoons, wrestlers,
dancers, and others; followed by various officers, the eunuchs of the
bride's family, ladies of the areem with their attendants, then the
bride, in a European carriage, a troop of memlooks clad in armour, and a
Turkish band of music. It was a procession of which the like had not
before been seen.

The bride and her party, having arrived at the house, sit down to a
repast. The bridegroom does not yet see her. He has already been to the
bath, and at nightfall he goes in procession with a number of his
friends to a mosque, to perform the night-prayers; he is accompanied by
musicians and singers, or by chanters of lyric odes in praise of the
Prophet; and by men bearing cressets (poles with cylindrical frames of
iron at the top filled with flaming wood); and on his return, most of
his other attendants bear lighted wax candles, and bunches of flowers.

Returned to his house, he leaves his friends in a lower apartment, and
goes up to the bride, whom he finds seated, with a shawl thrown over her
head, so as to conceal her face completely, and attended by one or two
females. The latter he induces to retire, by means of a small present.
He then gives a present of money to the bride, as "the price of
uncovering the face," and having removed the covering (saying, as he
does so, "In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful"), he
beholds her, generally, for the first time. On the occasion of this
first visit, which is called the "dukhool," or "dukhleh," he is
recommended "to perfume himself, and to sprinkle some sugar and almonds
on the head of the bride and on that of each woman with her; this
practice being established by existing usage and by traditions: also,
when he approaches her, he should perform the prayers of two rek'ahs;
and she should do the same if able: then he should take hold of the hair
over her forehead, and say, 'O God, bless me in my wife, and bless my
wife in me! O God, bestow upon me  by her, and bestow upon
her  by me! O God, unite us, as Thou hast united, happily;
and separate us, when Thou separatest, happily!'"

NOTE 40. The arboosh is a woollen skull-cap, of a deep blood-red
colour, having a tassel of dark blue silk attached to the crown. It is
now worn by most Arabs of the higher and middle classes, and by many
others, except in Arabia, where it is not so common. Round it is wound
the muslin or shawl which forms the turban. Within it is worn a cotton
cap. The Turks call it "fes," and "fes."

NOTE 41. The farajeeyeh is a loose robe or coat, now generally made of
cloth, with full and long sleeves extending a little beyond the
extremities of the fingers and without any slit. It is worn chiefly by
persons of the learned professions.

NOTE 42. This is the usual mode in which money is collected for the
singing-women in the present day.

NOTE 43. "ooreeyeh" is the appellation commonly given by the Arabs to a
virgin of Paradise, by French and English writers, termed "Houri;" which
term, in Arabic, converts a female into a male, but is agreeable with
the Persian equivalent of the Arabic "ooreeyeh."

NOTE 44.--_On the Evil Eye._ Some remarks on the "evil eye" have been
made in a former note (No. 24 in the present series), with respect to
children, and the means of counteracting its supposed influence; but I
mention this subject again partly with the view of suggesting to the
reader the necessity of bearing it in mind, as it explains many usages
described, or alluded to, in this work, which would otherwise appear
unaccountable. He may remember a well-known line of Virgil--

  "Nescio quis teneros oculus mihi fascinat agnos,"

which, like many other allusions in works of ancient authors, shews how
long and how extensively this superstition has been entertained. How
deeply it is rooted in the minds of Arabs, even the most religious and
learned, may be inferred from this saying of their Prophet: "The eye has
a complete influence; because verily, if there were a thing to overcome
fate, it most certainly would be a malignant eye." Hence he
permitted charms (which he disallowed in almost every other case) to be
employed for the purpose of counteracting its influence. The
following observation, selected from several of a similar nature in my
work on the Modern Egyptians, aptly illustrates the passage to which
this note immediately refers. "It is a custom among the higher and
middle classes in Cairo, on the occasion of a marriage, to hang
chandeliers in the street before the bridegroom's house; and it often
happens that a crowd is collected to see a very large and handsome
chandelier suspended: in this case, it is a common practice to divert
the attention of the spectators by throwing down and breaking a large
jar, or by some other artifice, lest an envious eye should cause the
chandelier to fall."

NOTE 45. The closet here alluded to, being one in which ablution is
performed, always contains a small trough of water, or a ewer.

NOTE 46. This epithet, "unlucky," is often applied to an 'Efreet. I have
frequently heard it thus used by Arabs.

NOTE 47. "Aboo-Shihab" (literally, Father of a Shooting Star) is a
nickname often given to a devil, and is so employed because devils, or
evil jinnees, are sometimes destroyed by shooting stars hurled at them
by angels; an instance of which occurs in the tale under consideration.

NOTE 48. "Sitt-el-osn" signifies "the Lady of Beauty."

NOTE 49. "asheesh" is the intoxicating hemp, which has been mentioned
in former notes.

NOTE 50. Thus in the Breslau edition, and in the Calcutta edition of the
first two hundred nights; but in the edition of Cairo, the cook is
merely termed a prodigal.

NOTE 51.--_On Adoption._ The Mohammadan law allows the adoption of sons,
provided that the person to be adopted consents to the act, if of age to
judge for himself; also, that he has been deprived of his parents by
death or other means; and that there be such a difference of age between
the two parties as might subsist between a natural father and his son.
The adopted son enjoys the same right of inheritance as the natural son;
but the adoptive father is not prevented by this act from marrying any
relation of his adopted son.

NOTE 52. In the houses of Arabs of the more wealthy classes, there is
usually a chair upon which the turban is placed at night. It is of a
large size, but slight make; the bottom and back being generally of
cane-work; and sometimes it has a kind of canopy constructed over it.
The turban, when placed upon it, is covered with a kerchief of thick
silk stuff, often embroidered or interwoven with gold thread.

NOTE 53. "Moilee" may be understood as meaning either "of the fashion
of El-Moil," or "of muslin:" but the former, according to my sheykh, is
the signification here intended. I think there is nothing peculiar in
the common modern turban of El-Moil.

NOTE 54. This is done under the idea that it strengthens the infant's
eyes.

NOTE 55. "'Ajeeb" signifies "Wonderful."

NOTE 56. The meaning of this is, that he grew in a day as other children
in a month; and in a month, as others in a year.

NOTE 57. The death of the cook is mentioned in the edition of Breslau;
but not in that of Cairo.

NOTE 58. This ejaculation is generally uttered at the mention of a
deceased Muslim.

NOTE 59. "aeb" is a title given to Wezeers, as mentioned in Note 8 to
the Introduction.

NOTE 60. In the original, fifteen. The age of 'Ajeeb has been shewn to
have been little more than eleven at this period; therefore I have
substituted twelve for fifteen. In page 243 I have made a similar
correction, substituting fifteen for eighteen.

NOTE 61. This alludes to a custom common in the East,--that of giving a
present of a dress, or some article of clothing, to a person who has
brought good news.

NOTE 62. The term "boy" is not used here to imply that the eunuch was a
youth; but in the sense in which it is often employed by us; as
synonymous with "servant."

NOTE 63. "Er-Reydaneeyeh" is the name of a tract on the north of Cairo,
where travellers arriving from Syria generally halted. In the original,
by errors in the diacritical points, this name is converted into
"Ez-Zebedaneeyeh."

NOTE 64. The word which I translate "a cross," literally signifies "an
effigy;" but I suppose this term to be employed merely because a cross
bears a rude resemblance to a man with extended arms.

NOTE 65. "The name of Allah encompass thee!" (or, literally, "--be
around thee!") is an ejaculation often used, especially by women,
agreeing exactly with the expression in the first verse of the twentieth
Psalm,--"The name of the God of Jacob defend thee!"--the "name" of God
here signifying his power. "The name of the Lord is a strong tower: the
righteous runneth into it, and is safe." (Proverbs xviii. 10.)

NOTE 66. Here, for a reason given above, I have substituted "twelve" for
"ten."

NOTE 67. In the original, the last of these verses is here omitted, but
my sheykh has supplied it in the margin of my copy, and it occurs
afterwards, in the 75th night, in which the preceding verses, with some
slight variations, are repeated.

NOTE 68.--_On the Expiation of Oaths._ The law clearly allows expiation
for an inconsiderate oath, and, according to vulgar opinion, for the
violation of a deliberate oath. The expiation consists in once
feeding or clothing ten poor men, liberating a Muslim slave or captive,
or fasting three days. An unintentional oath requires no expiation; but
the swearing to a falsehood can only be expiated by deep repentance.

NOTE 69. Hole observes (page 222), that "the discovery of Bedreddin in
the Arabian Nights by the tarts he had made, bears internal evidence of
having been copied from Nella Raja's detection by the same means:" and
he refers to Kindersley's "Specimens of Indian Literature."






   Mir-at ez-Zeman, events of the year 289.

   Sale's Preliminary Discourse, sect. iv.

   The call to prayer, which is chanted from the mad'nehs
  (or menarets) of the mosques. It is as follows:--"God is most
  great!" (four times). "I testify that there is no deity but
  God!" (twice). "I testify that Moammad is God's Apostle!"
  (twice). "Come to prayer!" (twice). "Come to security!"
  (twice). "God is most great!" (twice). "There is no deity but
  God!"

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil wa-Murshid el-Mutaahhil, sect. 9.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil wa-Murshid el-Mutaahhil, sect. 9.

   Compare Exodus xiii. 13; and xii. 46.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil, &c., sect. 9; and Mishkat
  el-Maabee, vol. ii. pp. 315, 316.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil, &c., _loco laudato_.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil, &c., sect. 9.

   Ibid.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil, &c., sect. 2.

   Idem, sect 7.

   ur-an, ch. xxiii. v. 117.

   "God! there is no deity but He," &c., to the words, "He
  is the High, the Great."--Idem, ch. ii. v. 256.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil, &c., sect. 9.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil, &c., sect. 9.

   A similar custom is mentioned in a note appended to the
  account of circumcision in vol. i. ch. ii. of my work on the
  Modern Egyptians.

   Mir-at ez-Zeman, events of the year 302.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil, &c., sect. 9; and Mishkat
  el-Maabee, vol. ii. p. 86.

   Mishkat el-Maabee, ibid.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil, &c., sect. 6.

   See my work on the Modern Egyptians, vol. ii. ch. v.

   Mishkat el-Maabee, vol. ii. p. 79.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil, &c., sect. 1.

   Ibid.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil, &c., sect. 1.

   Mir-at ez-Zeman, events of the year above mentioned.

   Idem, Proverbs of the Arabs: and amoos, _voce_
  "kharaja."

   Ch. iv. vv. 26, 27.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil, &c., sect. 4.

   Idem, sect. 6.

   Mishkat el-Maabee, vol. i. p. 229.

   Idem, vol. i. p. 223.

   Idem, vol. ii. p. 78.

   Idem, vol. ii. p. 79.

   Nuzhet El-Mutaammil, &c., sect. 4.

   Idem, sect. 8.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil, &c., sect. 8.

   Ibid.; and Mishkat el-Maabee, vol. ii. p. 105.

   Mishkat el-Maabee vol. ii. p. 104.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil, &c., _loco laudato_; and Mishkat
  el-Maabee, vol. ii. p. 89.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil, &c., _loco laudato_.

   Account of the Emeer Moammad Agha El-Baroodee, obituary,
  year 1205.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil, &c., sect. 8.

   Mishkat el-Maabee, vol. ii. p. 377.

   Ibid.

   ur-an, ch. v. v. 9.





COMMENCING WITH PART OF THE TWENTY-FOURTH NIGHT, AND ENDING WITH PART OF
THE THIRTY-SECOND.

THE STORY OF THE HUMPBACK.

There was, in ancient times, in the city of El-Barah, a
tailor who enjoyed an ample income, and was fond of sport and merriment.
He was in the habit of going out occasionally with his wife, that they
might amuse themselves with strange and diverting scenes; and one day
they went forth in the afternoon, and, returning home in the
evening, met a humpbacked man, whose aspect was such as to excite
laughter in the angry, and to dispel anxiety and grief: so they
approached him to enjoy the pleasure of gazing at him, and invited him
to return with them to their house, and to join with them in a carousal
that night.

He assented to their proposal; and after he had gone with them to the
house, the tailor went out to the market; night having then approached.
He bought some dried fish, and bread and limes and sweetmeat, and,
returning with them, placed the fish before the humpback and they sat
down to eat; and the tailor's wife took a large piece of fish, and
crammed the humpback with it, and, closing his mouth with her hand,
said, By Allah, thou shalt not swallow it but by gulping it at once, and
I will not give thee time to chew it. He therefore swallowed it; but it
contained a large and sharp bone, which stuck across in his throat, his
destiny having so determined, and he expired. The tailor exclaimed,
There is no strength nor power but in God the High, the Great! Alas,
that this poor creature should not have died but in this manner by our
hands!--Wherefore this idling? exclaimed the woman.--And what can I do?
asked her husband.--Arise she answered, and take him in thy bosom, and
cover him with a silk napkin: I will go out first and do thou follow me,
this very night and say, This is my son, and this is his mother; and we
are going to convey him to the physician, that he may give him some
medicine.

No sooner had the tailor heard these words than he arose, and took the
humpback in his bosom. His wife, accompanying him, exclaimed, O my
child! may Allah preserve thee! Where is the part in which thou feelest
pain; and where hath this small-pox attacked thee?--So every one who saw
them said, They are conveying a child smitten with the small-pox. Thus
they proceeded, inquiring as they went, for the abode of the physician;
and the people directed them to the house of a physician who was a Jew;
and they knocked at the door, and there came down to them a black
slave-girl, who opened the door, and beheld a man carrying (as she
imagined) a child, and attended by its mother; and she said, What is
your business?--We have a child here answered the tailor's wife, and we
want the physician to see him: take, then, this quarter of a piece of
gold, and give it to thy master, and let him come down and see my son;
for he is ill. The girl, therefore, went up, and the tailor's wife,
entering the vestibule, said to her husband, Leave the humpback here,
and let us take ourselves away. And the tailor, accordingly, set him up
against the wall, and went out with his wife.

The slave-girl, meanwhile, went in to the Jew, and said to him, Below,
in the house, is a sick person, with a woman and a man: and they have
given me a quarter of a piece of gold for thee, that thou mayest
prescribe for them what may suit his case. And when the Jew saw the
quarter of a piece of gold, he rejoiced, and, rising in haste, went down
in the dark; and in doing so, his foot struck against the lifeless
humpback. O Ezra! he exclaimed--O Heavens and the Ten Commandments! O
Aaron, and Joshua son of Nun! It seemeth that I have stumbled against
this sick person, and he hath fallen down the stairs and died! And how
shall I go forth with one killed from my house? O Ezra's
ass!--He then raised him, and took him up from the court of
the house to his wife, and acquainted her with the accident.--And why
sittest thou here idle? said she; for if thou remain thus until daybreak
our lives will be lost: let me and thee, then, take him up to the
terrace, and throw him into the house of our neighbour the Muslim; for
he is the steward of the Sulan's kitchen, and often do the cats come to
his house, and eat of the food which they find there; as do
the mice too: and if he remain there for a night, the dogs will come
down to him from the terraces and eat him up entirely. So the
Jew and his wife went up, carrying the humpback, and let him down by his
hands and feet to the pavement; placing him against the wall; which
having done, they descended.

Not long had the humpback been thus deposited when the steward returned
to his house, and opened the door, and, going up with a lighted candle
in his hand, found a son of Adam standing in the corner next the
kitchen; upon which he exclaimed, What is this? By Allah, the thief that
hath stolen our goods is none other than a son of Adam, who taketh what
he findeth of flesh or grease, even though I keep it concealed from the
cats and the dogs; and if I killed all the cats and dogs of the quarter
it would be of no use; for he cometh down from the terraces!--And so
saying, he took up a great mallet, and struck him with it, and then,
drawing close to him, gave him a second blow with it upon the chest,
when the humpback fell down, and he found that he was dead; whereupon he
grieved, and said, There is no strength nor power but in God! And he
feared for himself, and exclaimed, Curse upon the grease and the flesh,
and upon this night, in which the destiny of this man hath been
accomplished by my hand! Then, looking upon him, and perceiving that he
was a humpback, he said, Is it not enough that thou art humpbacked, but
must thou also be a robber, and steal the flesh and the grease? O
Protector, cover me with thy gracious shelter!--And he lifted him upon
his shoulders, and descended, and went forth from his house, towards the
close of the night, and stopped not until he had conveyed him to the
commencement of the market-street, where he placed him upon his feet by
the side of a shop at the entrance of a lane, and there left him and
retired.

Soon after, there came a Christian, the Sulan's broker, who, in a state
of intoxication, had come forth to visit the bath; and he advanced,
staggering, until he drew near to the humpback, when he turned his eyes,
and beheld one standing by him. Now some persons had snatched off his
turban early in the night, and when he saw the humpback
standing there, he concluded that he intended to do the same; so he
clenched his fist, and struck him on the neck. Down fell the humpback
upon the ground, and the Christian called out to the watchman of the
market, while, still in the excess of his intoxication, he
continued beating the humpback, and attempting to throttle him. As he
was thus employed, the watchman came, and, finding the Christian
kneeling upon the Muslim and beating him, said, Arise, and
quit him! He arose, therefore, and the watchman, approaching the
humpback, saw that he was dead, and exclaimed, How is it that the
Christian dareth to kill the Muslim? Then seizing the Christian, he
bound his hands behind him, and took him to the house of the
Walee; the Christian saying within himself, O Heavens! O
Virgin! how have I killed this man? and how quickly did he die from a
blow of the hand!--Intoxication had departed, and reflection had come.

The humpback and the Christian passed the remainder of the night in the
house of the Walee, and the Walee ordered the executioner to proclaim
the Christian's crime, and he set up a gallows, and stationed him
beneath it. The executioner then came, and threw the rope round his
neck, and was about to hang him, when the Sulan's steward pushed
through the crowd, seeing the Christian standing beneath the gallows,
and the people made way for him, and he said to the executioner, Do it
not; for it was I who killed him.--Wherefore didst thou kill him? said
the Walee. He answered, I went into my house last night, and saw that he
had descended from the terrace and stolen my goods; so I struck him with
a mallet upon his chest, and he died, and I carried him out, and
conveyed him to the market-street, where I set him up in such a place,
at the entrance of such a lane. Is it not enough for me to have killed a
Muslim, that a Christian should be killed on my account? Hang, then,
none but me.--The Walee, therefore, when he heard these words, liberated
the Christian broker, and said to the executioner, Hang this man, on the
ground of his confession. And he took off the rope from the neck of the
Christian, and put it round the neck of the steward, and, having
stationed him beneath the gallows, was about to hang him, when the
Jewish physician pushed through the crowd, and called out to the
executioner, saying to him, Do it not; for none killed him but I; and
the case was this: he came to my house to be cured of a disease, and as
I descended to him I struck against him with my foot, and he died: kill
not the steward, therefore; but kill me. So the Walee gave orders to
hang the Jewish physician; and the executioner took off the rope from
the steward's neck, and put it round the neck of the Jew. But, lo, the
tailor came, and, forcing his way among the people, said to the
executioner, Do it not; for none killed him but I; and it happened thus:
I was out amusing myself during the day, and as I was returning at the
commencement of the night, I met this humpback in a state of
intoxication, with a tambourine, and singing merrily; and I stopped to
divert myself by looking at him, and took him to my house. I then bought
some fish, and we sat down to eat, and my wife took a piece of fish and
a morsel of bread, and crammed them into his mouth, and he was choked,
and instantly died. Then I and my wife took him to the house of the Jew,
and the girl came down and opened the door, and while she went up to her
master, I set up the humpback by the stairs, and went away with my wife:
so, when the Jew came down and stumbled against him, he thought that he
had killed him.--And he said to the Jew, Is this true? He answered, Yes.
The tailor, then, looking towards the Walee, said to him, Liberate the
Jew, and hang me. And when the Walee heard this he was astonished at the
case of the humpback, and said, Verily this is an event that should be
recorded in books! And he said to the executioner, Liberate the Jew, and
hang the tailor on account of his own confession. So the executioner led
him forward, saying, Dost thou put forward this and take back that; and
shall we not hang one? And he put the rope round the neck of the tailor.

Now the humpback was the Sulan's buffoon, and the Sulan could not bear
him to be out of his sight; and when the humpback had got drunk, and
been absent that night and the next day until noon, the King inquired
respecting him of some of his attendants, and they answered him, O our
lord, the Walee hath taken him forth dead, and gave orders to hang the
person who killed him, and there came a second and a third person, each
saying, None killed him but I:--and describing to the Walee the cause of
his killing him. When the King, therefore, heard this, he called out to
the Chamberlain, and said to him, Go down to the Walee, and bring them
all hither before me. So the Chamberlain went down, and found that the
executioner had almost put to death the tailor, and he called out to
him, saying, Do it not:--and informed the Walee that the case had been
reported to the King. And he took him, and the humpback borne with him,
and the tailor and the Jew and the Christian and the steward, and went
up with them all to the King; and when the Walee came into the presence
of the King, he kissed the ground, and related to him all that had
happened. And the King was astonished, and was moved with merriment, at
hearing this tale; and he commanded that it should be written in letters
of gold. He then said to those who were present, Have ye ever heard
anything like the story of this humpback? And upon this the Christian
advanced, and said, O King of the age, if thou permit me I will relate
to thee an event that hath occurred to me more wonderful and strange and
exciting than the story of the humpback.--Tell us then thy story, said
the King. And the Christian related as follows:--






THE STORY TOLD BY THE CHRISTIAN BROKER.

Know, O King of the age, that I came to this country with merchandise,
and destiny stayed me among your people. I was born in Cairo, and am one
of its Copts, and there I was brought up. My father was a broker; and
when I had attained to manhood, he died, and I succeeded to his
business; and as I was sitting one day, lo, a young man of most handsome
aspect, and clad in a dress of the richest description, came to me,
riding upon an ass, and, when he saw me, saluted me; whereupon I rose to
him, to pay him honour, and he produced a handkerchief containing some
sesame, and said, What is the value of an ardebb of this? I
answered him, A hundred pieces of silver. And he said to me, Take the
carriers and the measurers, and repair to the Khan of El-Jawalee
in the district of Bab en-Nar: there wilt thou find me. And he
left me and went his way, after having given me the handkerchief with
the sample of the sesame. So I went about to the purchasers; and the
price of each ardebb amounted to a hundred and twenty pieces of silver;
and I took with me four carriers, and went to him. I found him waiting
my arrival; and when he saw me he rose and opened a magazine, and we
measured its contents, and the whole amounted to fifty ardebbs. The
young man then said, Thou shalt have, for every ardebb, ten pieces of
silver as brokerage; and do thou receive the price and keep it in thy
care: the whole sum will be five thousand; and thy share of it, five
hundred: so there will remain for me four thousand and five hundred; and
when I shall have finished the sale of the goods contained in my
store-rooms, I will come to thee and receive it. I replied, It shall be
as thou desirest. And I kissed his hand, and left him. Thus there
accrued to me, on that day, a thousand pieces of silver, besides my
brokerage.

He was absent from me a month, at the expiration of which he came and
said to me, Where is the money? I answered, Here it is, ready. And he
said, Keep it until I come to thee to receive it. And I remained
expecting him; but he was absent from me another month; after which he
came again, and said, Where is the money? Whereupon I arose and saluted
him, and said to him, Wilt thou eat something with us? He, however,
declined, and said, Keep the money until I shall have gone and returned
to receive it from thee. He then departed; and I arose, and prepared for
him the money, and sat expecting him; but again he absented himself from
me for a month, and then came and said, After this day I will receive it
from thee. And he departed, and I made ready the money for him as
before, and sat waiting his return. Again, however, he remained a month
absent from me, and I said within myself, Verily this young man is
endowed with consummate liberality! After the month he came, attired in
rich clothing, and resembling the full moon, appearing as if he had just
come out of the bath, with red cheek and fair forehead, and a mole like
a globule of ambergris. When I beheld him I kissed his hand, and invoked
a blessing upon him, and said to him, O my master, wilt thou not take
thy money?--Have patience with me, he answered, until I shall have
transacted all my affairs, after which I will receive it from thee. And
so saying, he departed; and I said within myself, By Allah, when he
cometh I will entertain him as a guest, on account of the profit which I
have derived from his money; for great wealth hath accrued to me from
it.

At the close of the year he returned, clad in a dress richer than the
former; and I swore to him that he should alight to be my guest.--On the
condition, he replied, that thou expend nothing of my money that is in
thy possession. I said, Well:--and, having seated him, prepared what was
requisite of meats and drinks and other provisions, and placed them
before him, saying, In the name of Allah! And he drew near to the table,
and put forth his left hand, and thus ate with me: so I was surprised at
him; and when we had finished he washed his hand, and I gave
him a napkin with which to wipe it. We then sat down to converse, and I
said, O my master dispel a trouble from my mind. Wherefore didst thou
eat with thy left hand? Probably something paineth thee in thy right
hand?--On hearing these words, he stretched forth his arm from his
sleeve, and behold, it was maimed--an arm without a hand! And
I wondered at this; but he said to me, Wonder not; nor say in thy heart
that I ate with thee with my left hand from a motive of self-conceit;
for rather to be wondered at is the cause of the cutting off of my right
hand. And what, said I, was the cause of it? He answered, thus:--

Know that I am from Baghdad: my father was one of the chief people of
that city; and when I had attained the age of manhood, I heard the
wanderers and travellers and merchants conversing respecting the land of
Egypt, and their words remained in my heart until my father died, when I
took large sums of money, and prepared merchandise consisting of the
stuffs of Baghdad and of El-Moil, and similar precious goods, and,
having packed them up, journeyed from Baghdad; and God decreed me safety
until I entered this your city. And so saying, he wept, and repeated
these verses:--

  The blear-eyed escapeth a pit into which the clear-sighted falleth;
  And the ignorant, an expression by which the shrewd sage is ruined.
  The believer can scarce earn his food, while the impious infidel
    is favoured.
  What art or act can a man devise? It is what the Almighty appointeth!

I entered Cairo, continued the young man, and deposited the stuffs in
the Khan of Mesroor, and, having unbound my packages and put
them in the magazines, gave to the servant some money to buy for us
something to eat, after which I slept a little; and when I arose, I went
to Beyn el-areyn. I then returned, and passed the night;
and in the morning following, I opened a bale of stuff, and said within
myself, I will arise and go through some of the market-streets, and see
the state of the mart. So I took some stuff, and made some of my
servants carry it, and proceeded until I arrived at the eysareeyeh of
Jaharkas, where the brokers came to me, having heard of my
arrival, and took from me the stuff, and cried it about for sale; but
the price bidden amounted not to the prime cost. And upon this the
Sheykh of the brokers said to me, O my master, I know a plan by which
thou mayest profit; and it is this: that thou do as other merchants, and
sell thy merchandise upon credit for a certain period, employing a
scrivener and a witness and a money-changer, and receive a portion of
the profits every Thursday and Monday; so shalt thou make of every piece
of silver two; and besides that, thou wilt be able to enjoy the
amusements afforded by Egypt and its Nile.--The advice is judicious, I
replied: and accordingly I took the brokers with me to the Khan, and
they conveyed the stuffs to the eysareeyeh, where I sold it to the
merchants, writing a bond in their names, which I committed to the
money-changer, and taking from him a corresponding bond. I then returned
to the Khan, and remained there some days; and every day I took for my
breakfast a cup of wine, and had mutton and sweetmeats prepared for me,
until the month in which I became entitled to the receipt of the
profits, when I seated myself every Thursday and Monday at the shops of
the merchants, and the money-changer went with the scrivener and brought
me the money.



Thus did I until one day I went to the bath and returned to the Khan,
and, entering my lodging, took for my breakfast a cup of wine, and then
slept; and when I awoke I ate a fowl, and perfumed myself
with essence, and repaired to the shop of a merchant named Bedr-ed-Deen
the Gardener, who, when he saw me, welcomed me, and conversed
with me a while in his shop; and as we were thus engaged, lo, a female
came and seated herself by my side. She wore a headkerchief inclined on
one side, and the odours of sweet perfumes were diffused from her, and
she captivated my reason by her beauty and loveliness as she raised her
izar and I beheld her black eyes. She saluted Bedr-ed-Deen, and he
returned her salutation, and stood conversing with her; and when I heard
her speech, love for her took entire possession of my heart. She then
said to Bedr-ed-Deen, Hast thou a piece of stuff woven with pure gold
thread? And he produced to her a piece; and she said, May I take it and
go, and then send thee the price? But he answered, It is impossible, O
my mistress; for this is the owner of the stuff, and I owe him a portion
of the profit.--Wo to thee! said she: it is my custom to take of thee
each piece of stuff for a considerable sum of money, giving thee a gain
beyond thy wish, and then to send thee the price.--Yes, he rejoined; but
I am in absolute want of the price this day. And upon this she took the
piece and threw it back to him upon his breast, saying, Verily your
class knows not how to respect any person's rank! And she arose, and
turned away. I felt then as if my soul went with her, and, rising upon
my feet, I said to her, O my mistress, kindly bestow a look upon me, and
retrace thine honoured steps. And she returned, and smiled and said, For
thy sake I return. And she sat opposite me upon the seat of the shop;
and I said to Bedr-ed-Deen, What is the price that thou hast agreed to
give for this piece. He answered, Eleven hundred pieces of silver. And I
said to him, Thy profit shall be a hundred pieces of silver: give me
then a paper, and I will write for thee the price upon it. I then took
the piece of stuff from him, and wrote him the paper with my own hand,
and gave the piece of stuff to the lady, saying to her, Take it and go;
and if thou wilt, bring the price to me in the market; or, if thou wilt,
it shall be my present to thee. She replied, God recompense thee, and
bless thee with my property, and make thee my husband; and may God
accept this prayer!--O my mistress, said I, let this piece of stuff be
thine, and another like it, and permit me to see thy face. And upon this
she raised her veil; and when I beheld her face, the sight drew from me
a thousand sighs, and my heart was entangled by her love, so that I no
longer remained master of my reason. She then lowered the veil again,
and took the piece of stuff, saying, O my master, leave me not desolate.
So she departed, while I continued sitting in the market-street until
past the hour of afternoon-prayer, with wandering mind, overpowered by
love. In the excess of my passion, before I rose I asked the merchant
respecting her; and he answered me, She is a rich lady, the daughter of
a deceased Emeer, who left her great property.

I then took leave of him, and returned to the Khan, and the supper was
placed before me; but, reflecting upon her, I could eat nothing. I laid
myself down to rest; but sleep came not to me, and I remained awake
until the morning, when I arose and put on a suit of clothing different
from that which I had worn the day before; and, having drunk a cup of
wine, and eaten a few morsels as my breakfast, repaired again to the
shop of the merchant, and saluted him, and sat down with him. The lady
soon came, wearing a dress more rich than the former, and attended by a
slave-girl; and she seated herself, and saluted me instead of
Bedr-ed-Deen, and said, with an eloquent tongue which I had never heard
surpassed in softness or sweetness, Send with me some one to receive the
twelve hundred pieces of silver, the price of the piece of
stuff.--Wherefore, said I, this haste? She replied, May we never lose
thee! And she handed to me the price; and I sat conversing with her, and
made a sign to her, which she understood, intimating my wish to visit
her: whereupon she rose in haste, expressing displeasure at my hint. My
heart clung to her, and I followed in the direction of her steps through
the market-street; and lo, a slave-girl came to me, and said, O my
master, answer the summons of my mistress. Wondering at this, I said, No
one here knoweth me.--How soon, she rejoined, hast thou forgotten her!
My mistress is she who was to-day at the shop of the merchant
Bedr-ed-Deen.--So I went with her until we arrived at the
money-changer's; and when her mistress, who was there, beheld
me, she drew me to her side, and said, O my beloved, thou hast wounded
my heart, and love of thee hath taken possession of it; and from the
time that I first saw thee, neither sleep nor food nor drink hath been
pleasant to me. I replied, And more than that do I feel; and the state
in which I am needs no complaint to testify it.--Then shall I visit
thee, O my beloved, she asked, or wilt thou come to me? For our marriage
must be a secret.--I am a stranger, I answered, and have no
place of reception but the Khan; therefore, if thou wilt kindly permit
me to go to thine abode the pleasure will be perfect.--Well, she
replied; but to-night is the eve of Friday, and let nothing be done till
to-morrow, when, after thou hast joined in the prayers, do thou mount
thine ass, and inquire for the abbaneeyeh; and when thou
hast arrived there, ask for the house called the a'ah of
Barakat the Naeeb, known by the surname of Aboo-Shameh; for
there do I reside; and delay not; for I shall be anxiously expecting
thee.

On hearing this I rejoiced exceedingly, and we parted; and I returned to
the Khan in which I lodged. I passed the whole night sleepless, and was
scarcely sure that the daybreak had appeared when I rose and changed my
clothes, and, having perfumed myself with essences and sweet scents,
took with me fifty pieces of gold in a handkerchief, and walked from the
Khan of Mesroor to Bab Zuweyleh, where I mounted an ass, and
said to its owner, Go with me to the abbaneeyeh. And in less than the
twinkling of an eye he set off, and soon he stopped at a by-street
called Darb El-Munairee, when I said to him, Enter the street, and
inquire for the a'ah of the Naeeb. He was absent but a little while,
and, returning, said, Alight.--Walk on before me, said I, to the a'ah.
And he went on until he had led me to the house; whereupon I said to
him, To-morrow come to me hither to convey me back.--In the name of
Allah, he replied: and I handed to him a quarter of a piece of gold, and
he took it and departed. I then knocked at the door, and there came
forth to me two young virgins in whom the forms of womanhood had just
developed themselves, resembling two moons, and they said, Enter; for
our mistress is expecting thee, and she hath not slept last night from
her excessive love for thee. I entered an upper saloon with seven doors:
around it were latticed windows looking upon a garden in which were
fruits of every kind, and running streams and singing birds: it was
plastered with imperial gypsum, in which a man might see his face
reflected: its roof was ornamented with gilding, and
surrounded by inscriptions in letters of gold upon a ground of
ultramarine: it comprised a variety of beauties, and shone in the eyes
of beholders: the pavement was of coloured marbles, having in the midst
of it a fountain, with four snakes of red gold casting forth water from
their mouths like pearls and jewels at the corners of the
pool; and it was furnished with carpets of coloured silk, and
mattresses.



Having entered, I seated myself; and scarcely had I done so when the
lady approached me. She wore a crown set with pearls and
jewels; her hands and feet were stained with enna; and her
bosom was ornamented with gold. As soon as she beheld me she smiled in
my face, and embraced me, saying, Is it true that thou hast come to me,
or is this a dream?--I am thy slave, I answered; and she said, Thou art
welcome. Verily, from the time when I first saw thee, neither sleep hath
been sweet to me, nor hath food been pleasant!--In such case have _I_
been, I replied;--and we sat down to converse; but I hung down my head
towards the ground, in bashfulness; and not long had I thus remained
when a repast was placed before me, consisting of the most exquisite
dishes, as fricandoes and hashes and stuffed fowls. I ate with her until
we were satisfied; when they brought the basin and ewer, and I washed my
hands; after which we perfumed ourselves with rose-water infused with
musk, and sat down again to converse: expressing to each other our
mutual passion; and her love took such possession of me that all the
wealth I possessed seemed worthless in comparison. In this manner we
continued to enjoy ourselves until, night approaching, the female slaves
brought supper and wine, a complete service; and we drank until
midnight. Never in my life had I passed such a night. And when morning
came, I arose, and, having thrown to her the handkerchief containing the
pieces of gold, I took leave of her and went out; but as I
did so she wept, and said, O my master, when shall I see again this
lovely face? I answered her, I will be with thee at the commencement of
the night. And when I went forth, I found the owner of the ass, who had
brought me the day before, waiting for me at the door; and I mounted,
and returned with him to the Khan of Mesroor, where I alighted, and gave
to him half a piece of gold, saying to him, Come hither at sunset. He
replied, On the head be thy command.

I entered the Khan, and ate my breakfast, and then went forth to collect
the price of my stuffs; after which I returned. I had prepared for my
wife a roasted lamb, and purchased some sweetmeat and I now called the
porter, described to him the house, and gave him his hire. Having done
this, I occupied myself again with my business until sunset, when the
owner of the ass came, and I took fifty pieces of gold, and put them
into a handkerchief. Entering the house, I found that they had wiped the
marble and polished the vessels of copper and brass, and filled the
lamps and lighted the candles, and dished the supper and strained the
wine; and when my wife saw me, she threw her arms around my neck, and
said, Thou hast made me desolate by thine absence! The tables were then
placed before us, and we ate until we were satisfied, and the
slave-girls took away the first table, and placed before us the wine;
and we sat drinking, and eating of the dried fruits, and making merry,
until midnight. We then slept until morning, when I arose and handed her
the fifty pieces of gold as before, and left her.

Thus I continued to do for a long time, until I passed the night and
awoke possessing not a piece of silver nor one of gold; and I said
within myself, This is the work of the Devil! And I repeated these
verses:--

  Poverty causeth the lustre of a man to grow dim, like the yellowness
    of the setting sun.
  When absent, he is not remembered among mankind; and when present,
    he shareth not their pleasures.
  In the market-streets he shunneth notice; and in desert places
    he poureth forth his tears.
  By Allah! a man, among his own relations, when afflicted with poverty,
    is as a stranger!



With these reflections I walked forth into Beyn el-areyn, and
proceeded thence to Bab Zuweyleh, where I found the people crowding
together, so that the gate was stopped up by their number; and, as
destiny willed, I saw there a trooper, and, unintentionally pressing
against him, my hand came in contact with his pocket, and I felt it, and
found that it contained a purse; and I caught hold of the purse, and
took it from his pocket. But the trooper felt that his pocket was
lightened, and, putting his hand into it, found nothing; upon which he
looked aside at me, and raised his hand with the mace, and
struck me upon my head. I fell to the ground, and the people surrounded
us, and seized the bridle of the trooper's horse, saying, On account of
the crowd dost thou strike this young man such a blow? But he called out
to them and said, This is a robber! On hearing this I feared. The people
around me said, This is a comely young man, and hath taken nothing.
While some, however, believed this, others disbelieved; and after many
words, the people dragged me along, desiring to liberate me: but, as it
was predestined, there came at this moment the Walee and other
magistrates entering the gate, and, seeing the people surrounding me and
the trooper, the Walee said, What is the news? The trooper answered, By
Allah, O Emeer, this is a robber: I had in my pocket a blue purse
containing twenty pieces of gold; and he took it while I was pressed by
the crowd.--Was any one with thee? asked the Walee. The trooper
answered, No. And the Walee called out to the chief of his servants,
saying, Seize him and search him. So he seized me; and protection was
withdrawn from me; and the Walee said to him, Strip him of all that is
upon him. And when he did so, they found the purse in my clothes: and
the Walee, taking it, counted the money, and found it to be twenty
pieces of gold, as the trooper had said; whereupon he was enraged, and
called out to his attendants, saying, Bring him forward. They,
therefore, brought me before him, and he said to me, O young man, tell
the truth. Didst thou steal this purse?--And I hung down my head towards
the ground, saying within myself, If I answer that I did not steal it,
it will be useless, for he hath produced it from my clothes; and if I
say, I stole it, I fall into trouble. I then raised my head, and said,
Yes, I took it. And when the Walee heard these words, he wondered, and
called witnesses, who presented themselves, and gave their testimony to
my confession.--All this took place at Bab Zuweyleh.--The Walee then
ordered the executioner to cut off my hand; and he cut off my right
hand; but the heart of the trooper was moved with compassion for
me, and he interceded for me that I should not be killed: so the
Walee left me and departed. The people however continued around me, and
gave me to drink a cup of wine; and the trooper gave me the purse,
saying, Thou art a comely youth, and it is not fit that thou shouldst
be a thief. And I took it from him, and addressed him with these
verses:--

  By Allah! good sir, I was not a robber; nor was I a thief, O, best
    of mankind!
  But fortune's vicissitudes overthrew me suddenly, and anxiety
    and trouble and poverty overpowered me.
  I cast it not; but it was the Deity who cast an arrow that threw
    down the kingly diadem from my head.

The trooper then left me and departed, after having given me the purse,
and I went my way; but first I wrapped my hand in a piece of
rag, and put it in my bosom. My condition thus altered, and
my countenance pallid in consequence of my sufferings, I walked to the
a'ah, and, in a disordered state of mind, threw myself upon the bed. My
wife, seeing my complexion thus changed, said to me, What hath pained
thee, and wherefore do I see thee thus altered? I answered her, My head
acheth, and I am not well. And on hearing this she was vexed, and became
ill on my account, and said, Burn not my heart, O my master! Sit up, and
raise thy head, and tell me what hath happened to thee this day; for I
read a tale in thy face.--Abstain from speaking to me, I replied. And
she wept, and said, It seemeth that thou art tired of us; for I see thee
to be conducting thyself in a manner contrary to thy usual habit. Then
she wept again, and continued addressing me, though I made her no reply,
until the approach of night, when she placed some food before me; but I
abstained from it, fearing that she should see me eat with my left hand,
and said, I have no desire to eat at present. She then said again, Tell
me what hath happened to thee this day, and wherefore I see thee anxious
and broken-hearted. I answered, I will presently tell thee at my
leisure. And she put the wine towards me, saying, Take it; for it will
dispel thine anxiety; and thou must drink, and tell me thy story. I
replied, therefore, If it must be so, give me to drink with thy hand.
And she filled a cup and drank it; and then filled it again and handed
it to me, and I took it from her with my left hand, and, while tears ran
from my eyes, I repeated these verses:--

  When God willeth an event to befall a man who is endowed with reason
    and hearing and sight,
  He deafeneth his ears, and blindeth his heart, and draweth his reason
    from him as a hair.
  Till, having fulfilled his purpose against him, He restoreth him
    his reason that he may be admonished.

Having thus said, I wept again; and when she saw me do so, she uttered a
loud cry, and said, What is the reason of thy weeping? Thou hast burned
my heart! And wherefore didst thou take the cup with thy left hand?--I
answered her, I have a boil upon my right hand.--Then put it forth, said
she, that I may open it for thee.--It is not yet, I replied, the proper
time for opening it; and continue not to ask me; for I will not put it
forth at present. I then drank the contents of the cup, and she
continued to hand me the wine until intoxication overcame me, and I
fell asleep in the place where I was sitting; upon which she discovered
that my right arm was without a hand, and, searching me, saw the purse
containing the gold.

Grief, such as none else experienceth, overcame her at the sight; and
she suffered incessant torment on my account until the morning, when I
awoke, and found that she had prepared for me a dish composed of four
boiled fowls, which she placed before me. She then gave me to drink a
cup of wine; and I ate and drank, and put down the purse, and was about
to depart; but she said, Whither wouldst thou go? I answered, To such a
place, to dispel somewhat of the anxiety which oppresseth my heart.--Go
not, said she; but rather sit down again. So I sat down, and she said to
me, Hath thy love of me become so excessive that thou hast expended all
thy wealth upon me, and lost thy hand? I take thee, then, as witness
against me, and God also is witness, that I will never desert thee; and
thou shalt see the truth of my words.--Immediately, therefore, she sent
for witnesses, who came; and she said to them, Write my contract of
marriage to this young man, and bear witness that I have received the
dowry. And they did as she desired them; after which she said, Bear
witness that all my property which is in this chest, and all my memlooks
and female slaves, belong to this young man. Accordingly, they declared
themselves witnesses of her declaration, and I accepted the property,
and they departed after they had received their fees. She then took me
by my hand, and, having led me to a closet, opened a large chest, and
said to me, See what is contained in this chest. I looked, therefore;
and lo, it was full of handkerchiefs; and she said, This is thy
property; which I have received from thee: for every time that thou
gavest me a handkerchief containing fifty pieces of gold, I wrapped it
up, and threw it into this chest: take, then, thy property; for God hath
restored it to thee, and thou art now of high estate. Fate hath
afflicted thee on my account so that thou hast lost thy right hand, and
I am unable to compensate thee: if I should sacrifice my life, it would
be but a small thing, and thy generosity would still have surpassed
mine.--She then added, Now take possession of thy property. So I
received it; and she transferred the contents of her chest to mine,
adding her property to mine which I had given her. My heart rejoiced, my
anxiety ceased, and I approached and kissed her, and made myself merry
by drinking with her; after which she said again, Thou hast sacrificed
all thy wealth and thy hand through love of me, and how can I compensate
thee? By Allah, if I gave my life for love of thee, it were but a small
thing, and I should not do justice to thy claims upon me.--She then
wrote a deed of gift transferring to me all her apparel, and her
ornaments of gold and jewels, and her houses and other possessions; and
she passed that night in grief on my account, having heard my relation
of the accident that had befallen me.

Thus we remained less than a month, during which time she became more
and more infirm and disordered; and she endured no more than fifty days
before she was numbered among the people of the other world. So I
prepared her funeral, and deposited her body in the earth, and having
caused recitations of the ur-an to be performed for her, and given a
considerable sum of money in alms for her sake, returned from the tomb.
I found that she had possessed abundant wealth, and houses and lands,
and among her property were the store-rooms of sesame of which I sold to
thee the contents of one; and I was not prevented from settling with
thee during this period but by my being busied in selling the remainder,
the price of which I have not yet entirely received. Now I desire of
thee that thou wilt not oppose me in that which I am about to say to
thee; since I have eaten of thy food: I give thee the price of the
sesame, which is in thy hands.--This which I have told thee was the
cause of my eating with my left hand.

I replied, Thou hast treated me with kindness and generosity:--and he
then said, Thou must travel with me to my country; for I have bought
merchandise of Cairo and Alexandria. Wilt thou accompany me?--I
answered, Yes;--and promised him that I would be ready by the first day
of the following month. So I sold all that I possessed, and, having
bought merchandise with the produce, travelled with the young man to
this thy country, where he sold his merchandise and bought other in its
stead, after which he returned to the land of Egypt: but it was my lot
to remain here, and to experience that which hath befallen me this night
during my absence from my native country.--Now is not this, O King of
the age, more wonderful than the story of the humpback?

The King replied, Ye must be hanged, all of you!--And upon this, the
Sulan's steward advanced towards the King, and said, If thou permit me,
I will relate to thee a story that I happened to hear just before I
found this humpback; and if it be more wonderful than the events
relating to him, wilt thou grant us our lives?--The King answered, Tell
thy story:--and he began thus:--




THE STORY TOLD BY THE SULAN'S STEWARD.

I was last night with a party who celebrated a recitation of the
ur-an, for which purpose they had assembled the professors
of religion and law; and when these reciters had accomplished their
task, the servants spread a repast, comprising among other dishes a
zirbajeh. We approached, therefore, to eat of the zirbajeh;
but one of the company drew back, and refused to partake of it: we
conjured him; yet he swore that he would not eat of it: and we pressed
him again; but he said, Press me not; for I have suffered enough from
eating of this dish. And when we had finished, we said to him, By Allah,
tell us the reason of thine abstaining from eating of this zirbajeh. He
replied, Because I cannot eat of it unless I wash my hands forty times
with kali, and forty times with cyperus, and forty times with soap;
altogether, a hundred and twenty times. And upon this, the giver of the
entertainment ordered his servants, and they brought water and the other
things which this man required: so he washed his hands as he had
described, and advanced, though with disgust, and, having seated
himself, stretched forth his hand as one in fear, and put it into the
zirbajeh, and began to eat, while we regarded him with the utmost
wonder. His hand trembled, and when he put it forth, we saw that his
thumb was cut off, and that he ate with his four fingers: we therefore
said to him, We conjure thee, by Allah, to tell us how was thy thumb
maimed: was it thus created by God, or hath some accident happened to
it?--O my brothers, he answered, not only have I lost this thumb, but
also the thumb of the other hand; and each of my feet is in like manner
deprived of the great toe: but see ye:--and, so saying, he uncovered the
stump of the thumb of his other hand, and we found it like the right;
and so also his feet, destitute of the great toes. At the sight of this,
our wonder increased, and we said to him, We are impatient to hear thy
story, and thine account of the cause of the amputation of thy thumbs
and great toes, and the reason of thy washing thy hands a hundred and
twenty times. So he said,--

Know that my father was a great merchant, the chief of the merchants of
the city of Baghdad in the time of the Khaleefeh Haroon Er-Rasheed; but
he was ardently addicted to the drinking of wine, and hearing the lute;
and when he died, he left nothing. I buried him, and caused recitations
of the ur-an to be performed for him, and, after I had mourned for him
days and nights, I opened his shop, and found that he had left in it but
few goods, and that his debts were many: however, I induced his
creditors to wait, and calmed their minds, and betook myself to selling
and buying from week to week, and so paying the creditors.

Thus I continued to do for a considerable period, until I had discharged
all the debts and increased my capital; and as I was sitting one day, I
beheld a young lady, than whom my eye had never beheld any more
beautiful, decked with magnificent ornaments and apparel, riding on a
mule, with a slave before her and a slave behind her; and she stopped
the mule at the entrance of the market-street, and entered, followed by
a eunuch, who said to her, O my mistress, enter, but inform no one who
thou art, lest thou open the fire of indignation upon us. The eunuch
then further cautioned her; and when she looked at the shops of the
merchants, she found none more handsome than mine; so, when she arrived
before me, with the eunuch following her, she sat down upon the seat of
my shop, and saluted me; and I never heard speech more charming than
hers, or words more sweet. She then drew aside the veil from her face,
and I directed at her a glance which drew from me a sigh; my heart was
captivated by her love, and I continued repeatedly gazing at her face,
and recited these two verses:--

  Say to the beauty in the dove-coloured veil, Death would indeed
    be welcome to relieve me from thy torment.
  Favour me with a visit, that so I may live. See, I stretch forth
    my hand to accept thy liberality.

And when she had heard my recitation of them, she answered thus:--

  May I lose my heart if it cease to love you! For verily my heart
    loveth none but you.
  If my eye regard any charms but yours, may the sight of you never
    rejoice it after absence!

She then said to me, O youth, hast thou any handsome stuffs?--O my
mistress, I answered, thy slave is a poor man; but wait until the other
merchants open their shops, and then I will bring thee what thou
desirest. So I conversed with her, drowned in the sea of her love, and
bewildered by my passion for her, until the merchants had opened their
shops, when I arose, and procured all that she wanted, and the price of
these stuffs was five thousand pieces of silver: and she handed them all
to the eunuch, who took them; after which, they both went out from the
market-street, and the slaves brought to her the mule, and she mounted,
without telling me whence she was, and I was ashamed to mention the
subject to her: consequently, I became answerable for the price to the
merchants, incurring a debt of five thousand pieces of silver.

I went home, intoxicated with her love, and they placed before me the
supper, and I ate a morsel; but reflections upon her beauty and
loveliness prevented my eating more. I desired to sleep, but sleep came
not to me; and in this condition I remained for a week. The merchants
demanded of me their money; but I prevailed upon them to wait another
week; and after this week, the lady came again, riding upon a mule, and
attended by a eunuch and two other slaves; and, having saluted me, said,
O my master, we have been tardy in bringing to thee the price of the
stuffs: bring now the money-changer, and receive it. So the
money-changer came, and the eunuch gave him the money, and I took it,
and sat conversing with her until the market was replenished, and the
merchants opened their shops, when she said to me, Procure for me such
and such things. Accordingly, I procured for her what she desired of the
merchants, and she took the goods and departed without saying anything
to me respecting the price. When she had gone, therefore, I repented of
what I had done; for I had procured for her what she demanded for the
price of a thousand pieces of gold; and as soon as she had disappeared
from my sight, I said within myself, What kind of love is this? She hath
brought me five thousand pieces of silver, and taken goods for a
thousand pieces of gold!--I feared that the result would be my
bankruptcy, and the loss of the property of others, and said, The
merchants know none but me, and this woman is no other than a cheat, who
hath imposed upon me by her beauty and loveliness: seeing me to be
young, she hath laughed at me, and I asked her not where was her
residence.



I remained in a state of perplexity, and her absence was prolonged more
than a month. Meanwhile the merchants demanded of me their money, and so
pressed me that I offered my possessions for sale, and was on the brink
of ruin; but as I was sitting absorbed in reflection, suddenly she
alighted at the gate of the market-street, and came in to me. As soon as
I beheld her, my solicitude ceased, and I forgot the trouble which I had
suffered. She approached, and addressed me with her agreeable
conversation, and said, Produce the scales, and weigh thy money:--and
she gave me the price of the goods which she had taken, with a surplus;
after which, she amused herself by talking with me, and I almost died
with joy and happiness. She then said to me, Hast thou a wife? I
answered, No: for I am not acquainted with any woman:--and wept. So she
asked me, What causeth thee to weep? And I answered, A thought that hath
come into my mind:--and, taking some pieces of gold, gave them to the
eunuch, requesting him to grant me his mediation in the affair; upon
which he laughed, and said, She is in love with thee more than thou art
with her, and hath no want of the stuffs, but hath done this only from
her love of thee: propose to her, therefore, what thou wilt; for she
will not oppose thee in that which thou wilt say. Now she observed me
giving the pieces of gold to the eunuch, and returned, and resumed her
seat; and I said to her, Shew favour to thy slave, and pardon me for
that which I am about to say. I then acquainted her with the feelings of
my heart, and my declaration pleased her, and she consented to my
proposal, saying, This eunuch will come with my letter; and do thou what
he shall tell thee;--and she arose, and departed.

I went to the merchants, and delivered to them their money, and all
profited except myself; for when she left me I mourned for the
interruption of our intercourse, and I slept not during the whole of the
next night: but a few days after, her eunuch came to me, and I received
him with honour, and asked him respecting his mistress. He answered, She
is sick:--and I said to him, Disclose to me her history. He replied, The
lady Zubeydeh, the wife of Haroon Er-Rasheed, brought up this damsel,
and she is one of her slaves: she had desired of her mistress to be
allowed the liberty of going out and returning at pleasure, and the
latter gave her permission: she continued, therefore, to do so until she
became a chief confident; after which, she spoke of thee to her
mistress, and begged that she would marry her to thee: but her mistress
said, I will not do it until I see this young man, and if he have a
desire for thee, I will marry thee to him. We therefore wish to
introduce thee immediately into the palace; and if thou enter without
any one's having knowledge of thy presence, thou wilt succeed in
accomplishing thy marriage with her; but if thy plot be discovered, thy
head will be struck off. What, then, sayest thou?--I answered, Good: I
will go with thee, and await the event that shall befall me there.--As
soon, then, as this next night shall have closed in, said the eunuch,
repair to the mosque which the lady Zubeydeh hath built on the bank of
the Tigris, and there say thy prayers, and pass the night.--Most
willingly, I replied.

Accordingly, when the time of nightfall arrived, I went to the mosque,
and said my prayers there, and passed the night; and as soon as the
morning began to dawn, I saw two eunuchs approaching in a small boat,
conveying some empty chests, which they brought into the mosque. One of
them then departed, and the other remained; and I looked attentively at
him, and lo, it was he who had been our intermediary: and soon after,
the damsel, my companion, came up to us. I rose to her when she
approached, and embraced her; and she kissed me, and wept: and after we
had conversed together for a little while, she took me and placed me in
a chest, and locked it upon me. The slaves then brought a
quantity of stuffs, and filled with them the other chests, which they
locked, and conveyed, together with the chest in which I was enclosed,
to the boat, accompanied by the damsel; and having embarked them, they
plied the oars, and proceeded to the palace of the honoured lady
Zubeydeh. The intoxication of love now ceased in me, and reflection came
in its place: I repented of what I had done, and prayed God to deliver
me from my dangerous predicament.



Meanwhile, they arrived at the gate of the Khaleefeh, where they landed,
and took out all the chests, and conveyed them into the palace: but the
chief of the door-keepers, who had been asleep when they arrived, was
awoke by the sounds of their voices, and cried out to the damsel,
saying, The chests must be opened, that I may see what is in them:--and
he arose, and placed his hand upon the chest in which I was hidden. My
reason abandoned me, my heart almost burst from my body, and my limbs
trembled; but the damsel said, These are the chests of the lady
Zubeydeh, and if thou open them and turn them over, she will be incensed
against thee, and we shall all perish. They contain nothing but clothes
dyed of various colours, except this chest upon which thou hast put thy
hand, in which there are also some bottles filled with the water of
Zemzem, and if any of the water run out upon the clothes it
will spoil their colours. Now I have advised thee, and it is for thee to
decide: so do what thou wilt.--When he heard, therefore, these words, he
said to her, Take the chests, and pass on:--and the eunuchs immediately
took them up, and, with the damsel, conveyed them into the palace: but
in an instant, I heard a person crying out, and saying, The Khaleefeh!
The Khaleefeh!

I was bereft of my reason, and seized with a colick from excessive fear;
I almost died, and my limbs were affected with a violent shaking. The
Khaleefeh cried out to the damsel, saying to her, What are these chests?
She answered, O my lord (may God exalt thy dominion!), these chests
contain clothes of my mistress Zubeydeh.--Open them, said the
Khaleefeh, that I may see the clothes.--When I heard this, I felt sure
of my destruction. The damsel could not disobey his command; but she
replied, O Prince of the Faithful, there is nothing in these chests but
clothes of the lady Zubeydeh, and she hath commanded me not to open them
to any one. The Khaleefeh, however, said, The chests must be opened, all
of them, that I may see their contents:--and immediately he called out
to the eunuchs to bring them before him. I therefore felt certain that I
was on the point of destruction. They then brought before him chest
after chest, and opened each to him, and he examined the contents; and
when they brought forward the chest in which I was enclosed, I bade
adieu to life, and prepared myself for death; but as the eunuchs were
about to open it, the damsel said, O Prince of the Faithful, verily this
chest containeth things especially appertaining to women; and it is
proper, therefore, that it should be opened before the lady
Zubeydeh:--and when the Khaleefeh heard her words, he ordered the
eunuchs to convey all the chests into the interior of the palace. The
damsel then hastened, and ordered two eunuchs to carry away the chest in
which I was hidden, and they took it to an inner chamber, and went their
way: whereupon she quickly opened it, and made a sign to me to come out:
so I did as she desired, and entered a closet that was before me, and
she locked the door upon me, and closed the chest: and when the eunuchs
had brought in all the chests, and had gone back, she opened the door of
the closet, and said, Thou hast nothing to fear! May God refresh thine
eye! Come forth now, and go up with me, that thou mayest have the
happiness of kissing the ground before the lady Zubeydeh.

I therefore went with her, and beheld twenty other female slaves,
high-bosomed virgins, and among them was the lady Zubeydeh, who was
scarcely able to walk from the weight of the robes and ornaments with
which she was decked. As she approached, the female slaves dispersed
from around her, and I advanced to her, and kissed the ground before
her. She made a sign to me to sit down: so I seated myself before her;
and she began to ask me questions respecting my condition and lineage;
to all of which I gave such answers that she was pleased, and said, By
Allah, the care which we have bestowed on the education of this damsel
hath not been in vain. She then said to me, Know that this damsel is
esteemed by us as though she were really our child, and she is a trust
committed to thy care by God. Upon this, therefore, I again kissed the
ground before her, well pleased to marry the damsel; after which, she
commanded me to remain with them ten days. Accordingly, I continued with
them during this period; but I knew nothing meanwhile of the damsel;
certain of the maids only bringing me my dinner and supper, as my
servants. After this, however, the lady Zubeydeh asked permission of her
husband, the Prince of the Faithful, to marry her maid, and he granted
her request, and ordered that ten thousand pieces of gold should be
given to her.



The lady Zubeydeh, therefore, sent for the aee and witnesses, and
they wrote my contract of marriage to the damsel; and the maids then
prepared sweetmeats and exquisite dishes, and distributed them in all
the apartments. Thus they continued to do for a period of ten more days;
and after the twenty days had passed, they conducted the damsel into the
bath, preparatively to my being introduced to her as her husband. They
then brought to me a repast comprising a basin of zirbajeh sweetened
with sugar, perfumed with rose-water infused with musk, and containing
different kinds of fricandoed fowls and a variety of other ingredients,
such as astonished the mind; and, by Allah, when this repast was
brought, I instantly commenced upon the zirbajeh, and ate of it as much
as satisfied me, and wiped my hand, but forgot to wash it. I remained
sitting until it became dark; when the maids lighted the candles, and
the singing-girls approached with the tambourines, and they continued to
display the bride, and to give presents of gold, until she had
perambulated the whole of the palace; after which, they brought her to
me, and disrobed her; and as soon as I was left alone with her, I threw
my arms around her neck, scarcely believing in our union: but as I did
so, she perceived the smell of the zirbajeh from my hand, and
immediately uttered a loud cry: whereupon the female slaves ran in to
her from every quarter.

I was violently agitated, not knowing what was the matter; and the
slaves who had come in said to her, What hath happened to thee, O our
sister?--Take away from me, she exclaimed to them, this madman, whom I
imagined to be a man of sense!--What indication of my insanity hath
appeared to thee? I asked. Thou madman, said she, wherefore hast thou
eaten of the zirbajeh, and not washed thy hand? By Allah, I will not
accept thee for thy want of sense, and thy disgusting conduct!--And so
saying, she took from her side a whip, and beat me with it
upon my back until I became insensible from the number of the stripes.
She then said to the other maids, Take him to the magistrate of the city
police, that he may cut off his hand with which he ate the zirbajeh
without washing it afterwards. On hearing this, I exclaimed, There is no
strength nor power but in God! Wilt thou cut off my hand on account of
my eating a zirbajeh and neglecting to wash it?--And the maids who were
present entreated her, saying to her, O our sister, be not angry with
him for what he hath done this time. But she replied, By Allah, I must
cut off something from his extremities! And immediately she departed,
and was absent from me ten days: after which, she came again, and said
to me, O thou black-faced! Am I not worthy of thee? How didst thou dare
to eat the zirbajeh and not wash thy hand?--And she called to the maids,
who bound my hands behind me, and she took a sharp razor, and cut off
both my thumbs and both my great toes, as ye see, O companions; and I
swooned away. She then sprinkled upon my wounds some powder, by means of
which the blood was stanched; and I said, I will not eat of a zirbajeh
as long as I live unless I wash my hands forty times with kali and forty
times with cyperus and forty times with soap:--and she exacted of me an
oath that I would not eat of this dish unless I washed my hands as I
have described to you. Therefore, when this zirbajeh was brought, my
colour changed, and I said within myself, This was the cause of the
cutting off of my thumbs and great toes:--so, when ye compelled me, I
said, I must fulfil the oath which I have sworn.

I then said to him (continued the Sulan's steward), And what happened
to thee after that? He answered, When I had thus sworn to her, she was
appeased, and I was admitted into her favour; and we lived happily
together for a considerable time: after which she said, The people of
the Khaleefeh's palace know not that thou hast resided here with me,
and no strange man beside thee hath entered it; nor didst thou enter but
through the assistance of the lady Zubeydeh. She then gave me fifty
thousand pieces of gold, and said to me, Take these pieces of gold, and
go forth and buy for us a spacious house. So I went forth, and purchased
a handsome and spacious house, and removed thither all the riches that
she possessed, and all that she had treasured up, and her dresses and
rarities.--This was the cause of the amputation of my thumbs and great
toes.--So we ate (said the Sulan's steward), and departed; and after
this, the accident with the humpback happened to me: this is all my
story; and peace be on thee.



The King said, This is not more pleasant than the story of the humpback:
nay, the story of the humpback is more pleasant than this; and ye must
all of you be crucified.--The Jew, however, then came forward, and,
having kissed the ground, said, O King of the age, I will relate to thee
a story more wonderful than that of the humpback:--and the King said,
Relate thy story. So he commenced thus:--




THE STORY TOLD BY THE JEWISH PHYSICIAN.

The most wonderful of the events that happened to me in my younger days
was this:--I was residing in Damascus, where I learnt and practised my
art; and while I was thus occupied, one day there came to me a memlook
from the house of the governor of the city: so I went forth with him,
and accompanied him to the abode of the governor. I entered, and beheld,
at the upper end of a saloon, a couch of alabaster overlaid with plates
of gold, upon which was reclining a sick man: he was young; and a person
more comely had not been seen in his age. Seating myself at his head, I
ejaculated a prayer for his restoration; and he made a sign
to me with his eye. I then said to him, O my master, stretch forth to me
thy hand:--whereupon he put forth to me his left hand; and I was
surprised at this, and said within myself, What self-conceit! I felt his
pulse, however, and wrote a prescription for him, and continued to visit
him for a period of ten days, until he recovered his strength; when he
entered the bath, and washed himself, and came forth: and the governor
conferred upon me a handsome dress of honour, and appointed me
superintendent of the hospital of Damascus. But when I went
with him into the bath, which they had cleared of all other visitors for
us alone, and the servants had brought the clothes, and taken away those
which he had pulled off within, I perceived that his right hand had been
cruelly amputated; at the sight of which I wondered, and grieved for
him; and looking at his skin, I observed upon him marks of beating with
mira'ahs, which caused me to wonder more. The young man then turned
towards me, and said, O doctor of the age, wonder not at my case; for I
will relate to thee my story when we have gone out from the bath:--and
when we had gone forth, and arrived at the house, and had eaten some
food, and rested, he said to me, Hast thou a desire to divert thyself in
the supper-room? I answered, Yes:--and immediately he ordered the slaves
to take up thither the furniture, and to roast a lamb and bring us some
fruit. So the slaves did as he commanded them: and when they had brought
the fruit, and we had eaten, I said to him, Relate to me thy story:--and
he replied, O doctor of the age, listen to the relation of the events
which have befallen me.

Know that I am of the children of El-Moil. My paternal grandfather died
leaving ten male children, one of whom was my father: he was the eldest
of them; and they all grew up and married; and my father was blest with
me; but none of his nine brothers was blest with children. So I grew up
among my uncles, who delighted in me exceedingly; and when I had
attained to manhood, I was one day with my father in the chief mosque of
El-Moil. The day was Friday; and we performed the congregational
prayers, and all the people went out, except my father and my uncles,
who sat conversing together respecting the wonders of various countries,
and the strange sights of different cities, until they mentioned Egypt;
when one of my uncles said, The travellers assert, that there is not on
the face of the earth a more agreeable country than Egypt with its
Nile:--and my father added, He who hath not seen Cairo hath
not seen the world: its soil is gold; its Nile is a wonder; its women
are like the black-eyed virgins of Paradise; its houses are palaces; and
its air is temperate; its odour surpassing that of aloes-wood, and
cheering the heart: and how can Cairo be otherwise when it is the
metropolis of the world? Did ye see its gardens in the
evening (he continued), with the shade obliquely extending over them, ye
would behold a wonder, and yield with ecstasy to their attractions.

When I heard these descriptions of Egypt, my mind became wholly engaged
by reflections upon that country; and after they had departed to their
homes, I passed the night sleepless from my excessive longing towards
it, and neither food nor drink was pleasant to me. A few days after, my
uncles prepared to journey thither, and I wept before my father that I
might go with them, so that he prepared a stock of merchandise for me,
and I departed in their company; but he said to them, Suffer him not to
enter Egypt, but leave him at Damascus, that he may there sell his
merchandise.



I took leave of my father, and we set forth from El-Moil, and continued
our journey until we arrived at Aleppo, where we remained some days;
after which we proceeded thence until we came to Damascus; and we beheld
it to be a city with trees and rivers and fruits and birds, as though it
were a paradise, containing fruits of every kind. We took lodgings in
one of the Khans, and my uncles remained there until they had sold and
bought; and they also sold my merchandise, gaining, for every piece of
silver, five, so that I rejoiced at my profit. My uncles then left me,
and repaired to Egypt, and I remained, and took up my abode in a
handsome a'ah, such as the tongue cannot describe; the monthly rent of
which was two pieces of gold.

Here I indulged myself with eating and drinking, squandering away the
money that was in my possession; and as I was sitting one day at the
door of the a'ah, a damsel approached me, attired in clothing of the
richest description, such as I had never seen surpassed in costliness,
and I invited her to come in; whereupon, without hesitation, she
entered; and I was delighted at her compliance, and closed the door upon
us both. She then uncovered her face, and took off her izar, and I found
her to be so surprisingly beautiful that love for her took possession of
my heart: so I went and brought a repast consisting of the most
delicious viands and fruit and everything else that was requisite for
her entertainment, and we ate and sported together; after which, we
drank till we were intoxicated, and fell asleep, and so we remained
until the morning, when I handed her ten pieces of gold; but she swore
that she would not accept them from me, and said, Expect me again, O my
beloved, after three days: at the hour of sunset I will be with thee:
and do thou prepare for us, with these pieces of gold, a repast similar
to this which we have just enjoyed. She then gave me ten pieces of gold,
and took leave of me, and departed, taking my reason with her. And after
the three days had expired, she came again, decked with embroidered
stuffs and ornaments and other attire more magnificent than those which
she wore on the former occasion. I had prepared for her what was
required previously to her arrival; so we now ate and drank and fell
asleep as before; and in the morning she gave me again ten pieces of
gold, promising to return to me after three more days. I therefore made
ready what was requisite, and after the three days she came attired in a
dress still more magnificent than the first and second, and said to me,
O my master, am I beautiful?--Yea, verily, I answered.--Wilt thou give
me leave, she rejoined, to bring with me a damsel more beautiful than
myself, and younger than I, that she may sport with us, and we may make
merry with her? For she hath requested that she may accompany me, and
pass the night in frolicking with us.--And so saying, she gave me twenty
pieces of gold, desiring me to prepare a more plentiful repast, on
account of the lady who was to come with her; after which, she bade me
farewell, and departed.

Accordingly, on the fourth day, I procured what was requisite, as usual,
and soon after sunset she came, accompanied by a female wrapped in an
izar, and they entered, and seated themselves. I was rejoiced, and I
lighted the candles, and welcomed them with joy and exultation. They
then took off their outer garments, and when the new damsel uncovered
her face, I perceived that she was like the full moon: I had never
beheld a person more beautiful. I arose immediately, and placed before
them the food and drink, and we ate and drank, while I continued
caressing the new damsel, and filling the wine-cup for her, and drinking
with her: but the first lady was affected with a secret jealousy.--By
Allah, she said, verily this girl is beautiful! Is she not more charming
than I?--Yea, indeed, I answered.--Soon after this, I fell asleep, and
when I awoke in the morning, I found my hand defiled with blood, and,
opening my eyes, perceived that the sun had risen; so I attempted to
rouse the damsel, my new companion, whereupon her head rolled from her
body. The other damsel was gone, and I concluded, therefore, that she
had done this from her jealousy; and after reflecting a while, I arose,
and took off my clothes, and dug a hole in the a'ah, in which I
deposited the murdered damsel, afterwards covering her remains with
earth, and replacing the marble pavement as it was before. I then
dressed myself again, and, taking the remainder of my money, went forth,
and repaired to the owner of the a'ah, and paid him a year's rent,
saying to him, I am about to journey to my uncles in Egypt.

So I departed to Egypt, where I met with my uncles, and they were
rejoiced to see me. I found that they had concluded the sale of their
merchandise, and they said to me, What is the cause of thy coming? I
answered, I had a longing desire to be with you, and feared that my
money would not suffice me.--For a year I remained with them, enjoying
the pleasures of Egypt and its Nile; and I dipped my hand into the
residue of my money, and expended it prodigally in eating and drinking
until near the time of my uncles' departure, when I fled from them: so
they said, Probably, he hath gone before us, and returned to
Damascus:--and they departed. I then came forth from my concealment, and
remained in Cairo three years, squandering away my money until scarcely
any of it remained: but meanwhile I sent every year the rent of the
a'ah at Damascus to its owner: and after the three years my heart
became contracted, for nothing remained in my possession but the rent
for the year.

I therefore journeyed back to Damascus, and alighted at the a'ah. The
owner was rejoiced to see me, and I entered it, and cleansed it of the
blood of the murdered damsel, and, removing a cushion, I found, beneath
this, the necklace that she had worn that night. I took it up and
examined it, and wept a while. After this I remained in the house two
days, and on the third day I entered the bath, and changed my clothes. I
now had no money left; and I went one day to the market, where (the
Devil suggesting it to me, in order to accomplish the purpose of
destiny) I handed the necklace of jewels to a broker; and he rose to me,
and seated me by his side: then having waited until the market was
replenished, he took it, and announced it for sale secretly, without my
knowledge. The price bidden for it amounted to two thousand pieces of
gold; but he came to me and said, This necklace is of brass, of the
counterfeit manufacture of the Franks, and its price hath amounted to a
thousand pieces of silver. I answered him, Yes; we had made it for a
woman, merely to laugh at her, and my wife has inherited it, and we
desire to sell it: go, therefore, and receive the thousand pieces of
silver. Now when the broker heard this, he perceived that the affair was
suspicious, and went and gave the necklace to the chief of the market,
who took it to the Walee, and said to him, This necklace was stolen from
me, and we have found the thief, clad in the dress of the sons of the
merchants. And before I knew what had happened, the officers had
surrounded me, and they took me to the Walee, who questioned me
respecting the necklace. I told him, therefore, the same story that I
had told to the broker; but he laughed, and said, This is not the
truth:--and instantly his people stripped me of my outer clothing, and
beat me with mira'ahs all over my body, until, through the torture that
I suffered from the blows, I said, I stole it;--reflecting that it was
better I should say I stole it, than confess that its owner was murdered
in my abode; for then they would kill me to avenge her: and as soon as I
had said so, they cut off my hand, and scalded the stump with boiling
oil, and I swooned away. They then gave me to drink some
wine, by swallowing which I recovered my senses; and I took my amputated
hand, and returned to the a'ah; but its owner said to me, Since this
hath happened to thee, leave the a'ah, and look for another abode; for
thou art accused of an unlawful act.--O my master, I replied, give me
two or three days' delay that I may seek for a lodging:--and he assented
to this, and departed and left me. So I remained alone, and sat weeping,
and saying, How can I return to my family with my hand cut off? He who
cut it off knoweth not that I am innocent: perhaps, then, God will bring
about some event for my relief.



I sat weeping violently; and when the owner of the a'ah had departed
from me, excessive grief overcame me, and I was sick for two days; and
on the third day, suddenly the owner of the a'ah came to me, with some
officers of the police, and the chief of the market, and accused me
again of stealing the necklace. So I went out to them, and said, What is
the news?--whereupon, without granting me a moment's delay, they bound
my arms behind me, and put a chain around my neck, saying to me, The
necklace which was in thy possession hath proved to be the property of
the governor of Damascus, its Wezeer and its Ruler: it hath been lost
from the governor's house for a period of three years, and with it was
his daughter.--When I heard these words from them, my limbs trembled,
and I said within myself, They will kill me! My death is inevitable! By
Allah, I must relate my story to the governor; and if he please he will
kill me, or if he please he will pardon me.--And when we arrived at the
governor's abode, and they had placed me before him, and he beheld me,
he said, Is this he who stole the necklace and went out to sell it?
Verily ye have cut off his hand wrongfully.--He then ordered that the
chief of the market should be imprisoned, and said to him, Give to this
person the compensatory fine for his hand, or I will hang
thee and seize all thy property. And he called out to his attendants,
who took him and dragged him away.

I was now left with the governor alone, after they had, by his
permission, loosed the chain from my neck, and untied the cords which
bound my arms; and the governor, looking towards me, said to me, O my
son, tell me thy story, and speak truth. How did this necklace come into
thy possession?--So I replied, O my lord, I will tell thee the
truth:--and I related to him all that had happened to me with the first
damsel, and how she had brought to me the second, and murdered her from
jealousy; on hearing which, he shook his head, and covered his face with
his handkerchief, and wept. Then looking towards me, he said, Know, O my
son, that the elder damsel was my daughter: I kept her closely; and when
she had attained a fit age for marriage, I sent her to the son of her
uncle in Cairo; but he died, and she returned to me, having learnt
habits of profligacy from the inhabitants of that city: so
she visited thee four times; and on the fourth occasion, she brought to
thee her younger sister. They were sisters by the same mother, and much
attached to each other; and when the event which thou hast related
occurred to the elder, she imparted her secret to her sister, who asked
my permission to go out with her; after which the elder returned alone;
and when I questioned her respecting her sister, I found her weeping
for her, and she answered, I know no tidings of her:--but she afterwards
informed her mother, secretly, of the murder which she had committed;
and her mother privately related the affair to me; and she continued to
weep for her incessantly, saying, By Allah, I will not cease to weep for
her until I die. Thy account, O my son, is true; for I knew the affair
before thou toldest it me. See then, O my son, what hath happened: and
now I request of thee that thou wilt not oppose me in that which I am
about to say; and it is this:--I desire to marry thee to my youngest
daughter; for she is not of the same mother as they were: she
is a virgin, and I will receive from thee no dowry, but will assign to
you both an allowance; and thou shalt be to me as an own son.--I
replied, Let it be as thou desirest, O my master. How could I expect to
attain unto such happiness?--The governor then sent immediately a
courier to bring the property which my father had left me (for he had
died since my departure from him), and now I am living in the utmost
affluence.

I wondered, said the Jew, at his history; and after I had remained with
him three days, he gave me a large sum of money; and I left him, to set
forth on a journey; and, arriving in this your country, my residence
here pleased me, and I experienced this which hath happened to me with
the humpback.

The King, when he had heard this story, said, This is not more wonderful
than the story of the humpback, and ye must all of you be hanged, and
especially the tailor, who is the source of all the mischief. But he
afterwards added, O tailor, if thou tell me a story more wonderful than
that of the humpback, I will forgive you your offences. So the tailor
advanced, and said,--






THE STORY TOLD BY THE TAILOR.

Know, O King of the age, that what hath happened to me is more wonderful
than the events which have happened to all the others. Before I met the
humpback, I was, early in the morning, at an entertainment given to
certain tradesmen of my acquaintance, consisting of tailors and
linen-drapers and carpenters and others; and when the sun had risen, the
repast was brought for us to eat; and lo, the master of the house came
in to us, accompanied by a strange and handsome young man, of the
inhabitants of Baghdad. He was attired in clothes of the handsomest
description, and was a most comely person, except that he was lame; and
as soon as he had entered and saluted us, we rose to him; but when he
was about to seat himself, he observed among us a man who was a barber,
whereupon he refused to sit down, and desired to depart from us. We and
the master of the house, however, prevented him, and urged him to seat
himself; and the host conjured him, saying, What is the reason of thy
entering, and then immediately departing?--By Allah, O my master,
replied he, offer me no opposition; for the cause of my departure is
this barber, who is sitting with you. And when the host heard this, he
was exceedingly surprised, and said, How is it that the heart of this
young man, who is from Baghdad, is troubled by the presence of this
barber? We then looked towards him, and said, Relate to us the cause of
thy displeasure against this barber; and the young man replied, O
company, a surprising adventure happened to me with this barber in
Baghdad, my city; and he was the cause of my lameness, and of the
breaking of my leg; and I have sworn that I will not sit in any place
where he is present, nor dwell in any town where he resides: I quitted
Baghdad and took up my abode in this city, and I will not pass the next
night without departing from it.--Upon this, we said to him, We conjure
thee, by Allah, to relate to us thy adventure with him.--And the
countenance of the barber turned pale when he heard us make this
request. The young man then said,--

Know, O good people, that my father was one of the chief merchants of
Baghdad; and God (whose name be exalted!) blessed him with no son but
myself; and when I grew up, and had attained to manhood, my father was
admitted to the mercy of God, leaving me wealth and servants and other
dependants; whereupon I began to attire myself in clothes of the
handsomest description, and to feed upon the most delicious meats. Now
God (whose perfection be extolled!) made me to be a hater of women; and
so I continued, until, one day, I was walking through the streets of
Baghdad, when a party of them stopped my way: I therefore fled from
them, and, entering a by-street which was not a thoroughfare, I reclined
upon a maabah at its further extremity. Here I had been seated but a
short time when, lo, a window opposite the place where I sat was opened,
and there looked out from it a damsel like the full moon, such as I had
never in my life beheld. She had some flowers, which she was watering,
beneath the window; and she looked to the right and left, and then shut
the window, and disappeared from before me. Fire had been shot into my
heart, and my mind was absorbed by her; my hatred of women was turned
into love, and I continued sitting in the same place until sunset, in a
state of distraction from the violence of my passion, when, lo, the
aee of the city came riding along, with slaves before him and servants
behind him, and alighted, and entered the house from which the damsel
had looked out: so I knew that he must be her father.

I then returned to my house, sorrowful; and fell upon my bed, full of
anxious thoughts; and my female slaves came in to me, and seated
themselves around me, not knowing what was the matter with me; and I
acquainted them not with my case, nor returned any answers to their
questions; and my disorder increased. The neighbours, therefore, came
to cheer me with their visits; and among those who visited me was an old
woman, who, as soon as she saw me, discovered my state; whereupon she
seated herself at my head, and, addressing me in a kind manner, said, O
my son, tell me what hath happened to thee? So I related to her my
story, and she said, O my son, this is the daughter of the aee of
Baghdad, and she is kept in close confinement: the place where thou
sawest her is her apartment, and her father occupies a large saloon
below, leaving her alone; and often do I visit her: thou canst obtain an
interview with her only through me: so brace up thy nerves. When I
heard, therefore, what she said, I took courage, and fortified my heart;
and my family rejoiced that day. I rose up firm in limb, and hoping for
complete restoration; and the old woman departed; but she returned with
her countenance changed, and said, O my son, ask not what she did when I
told her of thy case; for she said, If thou abstain not, O ill-omened
old woman, from this discourse, I will treat thee as thou
deservest:--but I must go to her a second time.



On hearing this, my disorder increased: after some days, however, the
old woman came again, and said, O my son, I desire of thee a reward for
good tidings. My soul returned to my body at these words, and I replied,
Thou shalt receive from me everything that thou canst wish. She then
said, I went yesterday to the damsel, and when she beheld me with broken
heart and weeping eye, she said to me, O my aunt, wherefore do I see
thee with contracted heart?--and when she had thus said, I wept, and
answered, O my daughter and mistress, I came to thee yesterday from
visiting a youth who loveth thee, and he is at the point of death on thy
account:--and, her heart being moved with compassion, she asked, Who is
this youth of whom thou speakest? I answered, He is my son, and the
child that is dear to my soul: he saw thee at the window some days ago,
while thou wast watering thy flowers; and when he beheld thy face, he
became distracted with love for thee: I informed him of the conversation
that I had with thee the first time; upon which his disorder increased,
and he took to his pillow: he is now dying, and there is no doubt of his
fate.--And upon this, her countenance became pale, and she said, Is this
all on my account?--Yea, by Allah, I answered; and what dost thou order
me to do?--Go to him, said she; convey to him my salutation, and tell
him that my love is greater than his; and on Friday next, before the
congregational prayers, let him come hither: I will give orders to open
the door to him, and to bring him up to me, and I will have a short
interview with him, and he shall return before my father comes back from
the prayers.

When I heard these words of the old woman, the anguish which I had
suffered ceased; my heart was set at rest, and I gave her the suit of
clothes which I was then wearing, and she departed, saying to me, Cheer
up thy heart. I replied, I have no longer any pain. The people of my
house, and my friends, communicated, one to another, the good news of my
restoration to health, and I remained thus until the Friday, when the
old woman came in to me, and asked me respecting my state: so I informed
her that I was happy and well. I then dressed and perfumed myself, and
sat waiting for the people to go to prayers, that I might repair to the
damsel; but the old woman said to me, Thou hast yet more than ample
time, and if thou go to the bath and shave, especially for the sake of
obliterating the traces of thy disorder, it will be more becoming.--It
is a judicious piece of advice, replied I; but I will shave my head
first, and then go into the bath.



So I sent for a barber to shave my head, saying to the boy, Go to the
market, and bring me a barber, one who is a man of sense, little
inclined to impertinence, that he may not make my head ache by his
chattering. And the boy went, and brought this sheykh, who, on entering,
saluted me; and when I had returned his salutation, he said to me, May
God dispel thy grief and thine anxiety, and misfortunes and sorrows! I
responded, May God accept thy prayer! He then said, Be cheerful, O my
master, for health hath returned to thee. Dost thou desire to be shaved
or to be bled?--for it hath been handed down, on the authority of
Ibn-'Abbas, that the Prophet said, Whoso shorteneth his hair
on Friday, God will avert from him seventy diseases;--and it hath been
handed down also, on the same authority, that the Prophet said, Whoso is
cupped on Friday will not be secure from the loss of sight and from
frequent disease.--Abstain, said I, from this useless discourse, and
come immediately, shave my head, for I am weak. And he arose, and,
stretching forth his hand, took out a handkerchief, and opened it; and
lo, there was in it an astrolabe, consisting of seven plates;
and he took it, and went into the middle of the court, where he raised
his head towards the sun, and looked for a considerable time; after
which he said to me, Know that there have passed, of this our day, which
is Friday, and which is the tenth of afar, of the year
263 of the Flight of the Prophet,--upon whom be the most
excellent of blessings and peace!--and the ascendant star of which,
according to the required rules of the science of computation, is the
planet Mars,--seven degrees and six minutes; and it happeneth
that Mercury hath come in conjunction with that planet; and this
indicateth that the shaving of hair is now a most excellent operation:
and it hath indicated to me, also, that thou desirest to confer a
benefit upon a person: and fortunate is he!--but after that, there is an
announcement that presenteth itself to me respecting a matter which I
will not mention to thee.

By Allah, I exclaimed, thou hast wearied me, and dissipated my mind, and
augured against me, when I required thee only to shave my head: arise,
then, and shave it; and prolong not thy discourse to me. But he replied,
By Allah, if thou knewest the truth of the case, thou wouldst demand of
me a further explication; and I counsel thee to do this day as I direct
thee, according to the calculations deduced from the stars: it is thy
duty to praise God, and not to oppose me; for I am one who giveth thee
good advice, and who regardeth thee with compassion: I would that I were
in thy service for a whole year, that thou mightest do me justice; and I
desire not any pay from thee for so doing.--When I heard this, I said to
him, Verily thou art killing me this day, and there is no escape for
me.--O my master, he replied, I am he whom the people call
E-amit, on account of the paucity of my speech, by which I
am distinguished above my brothers; for my eldest brother is named
El-Baboo; and the second, El-Heddar; and the third, Baba;
and the fourth is named El-Kooz el-Awanee; and the fifth, El-Feshshar;
and the sixth is named Shaali; and the seventh brother is named
E-amit; and he is myself.

Now when this barber thus overwhelmed me with his talk, I felt as if my
gall-bladder had burst, and said to the boy, Give him a quarter of a
piece of gold, and let him depart from me for the sake of Allah: for I
have no need to shave my head. But the barber on hearing what I said to
the boy, exclaimed, What is this that thou hast said, O my lord? By
Allah, I will accept from thee no pay unless I serve thee; and serve
thee I must; for to do so is incumbent on me, and to perform what thou
requirest; and I care not if I receive from thee no money. If thou
knowest not my worth, I know thine; and thy father--may Allah have mercy
upon him!--treated us with beneficence; for he was a man of generosity.
By Allah, thy father sent for me one day, like this blessed day, and
when I went to him, he had a number of his friends with him, and he said
to me, Take some blood from me. So I took the astrolabe, and observed
the altitude for him, and found the ascendant of the hour to be of evil
omen, and that the letting of blood would be attended with trouble: I
therefore acquainted him with this, and he conformed to my wish, and
waited until the arrival of the approved hour, when I took the blood
from him. He did not oppose me; but, on the contrary, thanked me; and in
like manner all the company present thanked me; and thy father gave me
a hundred pieces of gold for services similar to the letting of
blood.--May God, said I, shew no mercy to my father for knowing such a
man as thou!--and the barber laughed, and exclaimed, There is no deity
but God! Moammad is God's Apostle! Extolled be the perfection of Him
who changeth others, but is not changed! I did not imagine thee to be
otherwise than a man of sense; but thou hast talked nonsense in
consequence of thine illness. God hath mentioned, in his Excellent Book,
those who restrain their anger, and who forgive men:--but
thou art excused in every case. I am unacquainted, however, with the
cause of thy haste; and thou knowest that thy father used to do nothing
without consulting me; and it hath been said, that the person to whom
one applies for advice should be trusted: now thou wilt find no one
better acquainted with the affairs of the world than myself, and I am
standing on my feet to serve thee. I am not displeased with thee, and
how then art thou displeased with me? But I will have patience with thee
on account of the favours which I have received from thy father.--By
Allah, said I, thou hast wearied me with thy discourse, and overcome me
with thy speech! I desire that thou shave my head and depart from me.

I gave vent to my rage; and would have risen, even if he had wetted my
head, when he said, I knew that displeasure with me had overcome thee;
but I will not be angry with thee, for thy sense is weak, and thou art a
youth: a short time ago I used to carry thee on my shoulder,
and take thee to the school.--Upon this, I said to him, O my brother, I
conjure thee by Allah, depart from me that I may perform my business,
and go thou thy way. Then I rent my clothes; and when he saw me do this,
he took the razor, and sharpened it, and continued to do so until my
soul almost parted from my body; then advancing to my head, he shaved a
small portion of it; after which he raised his hand, and said, O my
lord, haste is from the Devil;--and he repeated this couplet:--

  Deliberate, and haste not to accomplish thy desire; and be merciful,
    so shalt thou meet with one merciful:
  For there is no hand but God's hand is above it; nor
    oppressor that shall not meet with an oppressor.

O my lord (he then continued), I do not imagine that thou knowest my
condition in society; for my hand lighteth upon the heads of kings and
emeers and wezeers and sages and learned men; and of such a one as
myself hath the poet said,--

  The trades altogether are like a necklace, and this barber is
    the chief pearl of the strings.
  He excelleth all that are endowed with skill, and under his hands
    are the heads of Kings.

--Leave, said I, that which doth not concern thee! Thou hast contracted
my heart, and troubled my mind.--I fancy that thou art in haste, he
rejoined. I replied, Yes! Yes! Yes!--Proceed slowly, said he; for verily
haste is from the Devil, and it giveth occasion to repentance and
disappointment; and he upon whom be blessing and peace hath
said, The best of affairs is that which is commenced with
deliberation:--and, by Allah, I am in doubt as to thine affair: I wish,
therefore, that thou wouldst make known to me what thou art hasting to
do; and may it be good; for I fear it is otherwise.

There now remained, to the appointed time, three hours; and he threw the
razor from his hand in anger, and, taking the astrolabe, went again to
observe the sun; then after he had waited a long time, he returned,
saying, There remain, to the hour of prayer, three hours, neither more
nor less. For the sake of Allah, said I, be silent; for thou hast
crumbled my liver!--and thereupon, he took the razor, and sharpened it
as he had done the first time, and shaved another portion of my head.
Then stopping again, he said, I am in anxiety on account of thy hurry:
if thou wouldst acquaint me with the cause of it, it would be better for
thee; for thou knowest that thy father used to do nothing without
consulting me.

I perceived now that I could not avoid his importunity, and said within
myself, The time of prayer is almost come, and I desire to go before the
people come out from the service: if I delay a little longer, I know not
how to gain admission to her. I therefore said to him, Be quick, and
cease from this chattering and impertinence; for I desire to repair to
an entertainment with my friends. But when he heard the mention of the
entertainment, he exclaimed, The day is a blessed day for me! I
yesterday conjured a party of my intimate friends to come and feast with
me, and forgot to prepare for them anything to eat; and now I have
remembered it. Alas for the disgrace that I shall experience from
them!--So I said to him, Be in no anxiety on this account, since thou
hast been told that I am going to-day to an entertainment; for all the
food and drink that is in my house shall be thine if thou use expedition
in my affair, and quickly finish shaving my head.--May God recompense
thee with every blessing! he replied: describe to me what thou hast for
my guests, that I may know it. I have, said I, five dishes of meat, and
ten fowls fricandoed, and a roasted lamb.--Cause them to be brought
before me, he said, that I may see them. So I had them brought to him,
and he exclaimed, Divinely art thou gifted! How generous is thy soul!
But the incense and perfumes are wanting.--I brought him, therefore, a
box containing nedd and aloes-wood and ambergris and musk,
worth fifty pieces of gold.--The time had now become contracted, like my
own heart; so I said to him, Receive this, and shave the whole of my
head, by the existence of Moammad, God bless and save him! But he
replied, By Allah, I will not take it until I see all that it
contains.--I therefore ordered the boy, and he opened the box to him;
whereupon the barber threw down the astrolabe from his hand, and,
seating himself upon the ground, turned over the perfumes and incense
and aloes-wood in the box until my soul almost quitted my body.



He then advanced, and took the razor, and shaved another small portion
of my head; after which he said, By Allah, O my son, I know not whether
I should thank thee or thank thy father; for my entertainment to-day is
entirely derived from thy bounty and kindness, and I have no one among
my visiters deserving of it; for my guests are, Zeytoon the bath-keeper,
and aleea the wheat-seller, and 'Owkal the bean-seller, and 'Akresheh
the grocer, and omeyd the dustman, and 'Akarish the milk-seller, and
each of these hath a peculiar dance which he performeth, and peculiar
verses which he reciteth; and the best of their qualities is, that they
are like thy servant, the memlook who is before thee; and I, thy slave,
know neither loquacity nor impertinence. As to the bath-keeper, he
saith, If I go not to the feast, it cometh to my house!--and as to the
dustman, he is witty, and full of frolick: often doth he dance, and say,
News, with my wife, is not kept in a chest!--and each of my friends hath
jests that another hath not: but the description is not like the actual
observation. If thou choose, therefore, to come to us, it will be more
pleasant both to thee and to us: relinquish, then, thy visit to thy
friends of whom thou hast told us that thou desirest to go to them; for
the traces of disease are yet upon thee, and probably thou art going to
a people of many words, who will talk of that which concerneth them not;
or probably there will be among them one impertinent person; and thy
soul is already disquieted by disease.--I replied, If it be the will of
God, that shall be on some other day:--but he said, It will be more
proper that thou first join my party of friends, that thou mayest enjoy
their conviviality, and delight thyself with their salt. Act in
accordance with the saying of the poet:--

  Defer not a pleasure when it can be had; for fortune often destroyeth
    our plans.

Upon this I laughed from a heart laden with anger, and said to him, Do
what I require, that I may go in the care of God, whose name be exalted!
and do thou go to thy friends, for they are waiting thine arrival. He
replied, I desire nothing but to introduce thee into the society of
these people; for verily they are of the sons of that class among which
is no impertinent person; and if thou didst but behold them once, thou
wouldst leave all thine own companions.--May God, said I, give thee
abundant joy with them, and I must bring them together here some
day.--If that be thy wish, he rejoined, and thou wilt first attend the
entertainment of thy friends this day, wait until I take this present
with which thou hast honoured me, and place it before my friends, that
they may eat and drink without waiting for me, and then I will return to
thee, and go with thee to thy companions; for there is no false delicacy
between me and my companions that should prevent my leaving them: so I
will return to thee quickly, and repair with thee whithersoever thou
goest.--Upon this I exclaimed, There is no strength nor power but in
God, the High, the Great! Go thou to thy companions, and delight thy
heart with them, and leave me to repair to mine, and to remain with them
this day, for they are waiting my arrival.--But he said, I will not
leave thee to go alone.--The place to which I am going, said I, none can
enter except myself.--I suppose then, he rejoined, that thou hast an
appointment to-day with some female: otherwise, thou wouldst take me
with thee; for I am more deserving than all other men, and will assist
thee to attain what thou desirest. I fear that thou art going to visit
some strange woman, and that thy life will be lost; for in this city of
Baghdad no one can do anything of this kind, especially on such a day
as this; seeing that the Walee of Baghdad is a terrible, sharp
sword.--Wo to thee, O wicked old man! I exclaimed, what are these words
with which thou addressest me?--And upon this, he kept a long silence.

The time of prayer had now arrived, and the time of the
Khubeh was near, when he had finished shaving my head: so I
said to him, Go with this food and drink to thy friends, and I will wait
for thee until thou return, and thou shalt accompany me:--and I
continued my endeavours to deceive him, that he might go away; but he
said to me, Verily thou art deceiving me, and wilt go alone, and
precipitate thyself into a calamity from which there will be no escape
for thee: by Allah! by Allah! then, quit not this spot until I return to
thee and accompany thee, that I may know what will be the result of
thine affair.--I replied, Well: prolong not thine absence from me. And
he took the food and drink and other things which I had given him, but
intrusted them to a porter to convey them to his abode, and concealed
himself in one of the by-streets. I then immediately arose. The mueddins
on the menarehs had chanted the Selam of Friday; and I put on
my clothes, and went forth alone, and, arriving at the by-street,
stopped at the door of the house where I had seen the damsel: and lo,
the barber was behind me, and I knew it not. I found the door open, and
entered; and immediately the master of the house returned from the
prayers, and entered the saloon, and closed the door; and I said within
myself, How did this devil discover me?

Now it happened, just at this time, for the fulfilment of God's purpose
to rend the veil of protection before me, that a female slave belonging
to the master of the house committed some offence, in consequence of
which he beat her, and she cried out; whereupon a male slave came in to
him to liberate her; but he beat him also, and he likewise cried out;
and the barber concluded that he was beating me; so he cried, and rent
his clothes, and sprinkled dust upon his head, shrieking, and calling
for assistance. He was surrounded by people, and said to them, My master
hath been killed in the house of the aee! Then running to my house,
crying out all the while, and with a crowd behind him, he gave the news
to my family; and I knew not what he had done when they approached,
crying, Alas for our master!--the barber all the while being before
them, with his clothes rent, and a number of the people of the city with
them. They continued shrieking, the barber shrieking at their head, and
all of them exclaiming, Alas for our slain!--Thus they advanced to the
house in which I was confined; and when the aee heard of this
occurrence, the event troubled him, and he arose, and opened the door,
and seeing a great crowd, he was confounded, and said, O people, what is
the news? The servants replied, Thou hast killed our master.--O people,
rejoined he, what hath your master done unto me that I should kill him;
and wherefore do I see this barber before you?--Thou hast just now
beaten him with mira'ahs, said the barber; and I heard his cries.--What
hath he done that I should kill him? repeated the aee. And whence, he
added, came he; and whither would he go?--Be not an old man of
malevolence, exclaimed the barber; for I know the story, and the reason
of his entering thy house, and the truth of the whole affair: thy
daughter is in love with him, and he is in love with her; and thou hast
discovered that he had entered thy house, and hast ordered thy young
men, and they have beaten him. By Allah, none shall decide between us
and thee except the Khaleefeh; or thou shalt bring forth to us our
master that his family may take him; and oblige me not to enter and take
him forth from you: haste then thyself to produce him.



Upon this, the aee was withheld from speaking, and became utterly
abashed before the people: but presently he said to the barber, If thou
speak truth, enter thyself, and bring him forth. So the barber advanced,
and entered the house; and when I saw him do so, I sought for a way to
escape; but I found no place of refuge except a large chest which I
observed in the same apartment in which I then was: I therefore entered
this, and shut down the lid, and held in my breath. Immediately after,
the barber ran into the saloon, and, without looking in any other
direction than that in which I had concealed myself, came thither: then
turning his eyes to the right and left, and seeing nothing but the
chest, he raised it upon his head; whereupon my reason forsook me. He
quickly descended with it; and I, being now certain that he would not
quit me, opened the chest, and threw myself upon the ground. My leg was
broken by the fall; and when I came to the door of the house, I found a
multitude of people: I had never seen such a crowd as was there
collected on that day; so I began to scatter gold among them, to divert
them; and while they were busied in picking it up, I hastened through
the by-streets of Baghdad, followed by this barber; and wherever I
entered, he entered after me, crying, They would have plunged me into
affliction on account of my master! Praise be to God who aided me
against them, and delivered my master from their hands! Thou
continuedst, O my master, to be excited by haste for the accomplishment
of thine evil design until thou broughtest upon thyself this event; and
if God had not blessed thee with me, thou hadst not escaped from this
calamity into which thou hast fallen; and they might have involved thee
in a calamity from which thou wouldst never have escaped. Beg,
therefore, of God, that I may live for thy sake, to liberate thee in
future. By Allah, thou hast almost destroyed me by thine evil design,
desiring to go alone: but we will not be angry with thee for thine
ignorance, for thou art endowed with little sense, and of a hasty
disposition.--Art thou not satisfied, replied I, with that which thou
hast done, but wilt thou run after me through the market-streets?--And I
desired for death to liberate me from him; but found it not; and in the
excess of my rage I ran from him, and, entering a shop in the midst of
the market, implored the protection of its owner; and he drove away the
barber from me.

I then seated myself in a magazine belonging to him, and said within
myself, I cannot now rid myself of this barber; but he will be with me
night and day, and I cannot endure the sight of his face. So I
immediately summoned witnesses, and wrote a document, dividing my
property among my family, and appointing a guardian over them, and I
ordered him to sell the house and all the immoveable possessions,
charging him with the care of the old and young, and set forth at once
on a journey in order to escape from this wretch. I then arrived in your
country, where I took up my abode, and have remained a considerable
time; and when ye invited me, and I came unto you, I saw this vile
wretch among you, seated at the upper end of the room. How, then, can my
heart be at ease, or my sitting in your company be pleasant to me, with
this fellow, who hath brought these events upon me, and been the cause
of the breaking of my leg?

The young man still persevered in his refusal to remain with us; and
when we had heard his story, we said to the barber, Is this true which
the young man hath said of thee?--By Allah, he answered, it was through
my intelligence that I acted thus towards him; and had I not done so, he
had perished: myself only was the cause of his escape; and it was
through the goodness of God, by my means, that he was afflicted by the
breaking of his leg instead of being punished by the loss of his life.
Were I a person of many words, I had not done him this kindness; and now
I will relate to you an event that happened to me, that ye may believe
me to be a man of few words, and less of an impertinent than my
brothers; and it was this:--






THE BARBER'S STORY OF HIMSELF

I was living in Baghdad, in the reign of the Prince of the Faithful
El-Muntair bi-llah, who loved the poor and indigent, and
associated with the learned and virtuous; and it happened, one day, that
he was incensed against ten persons, in consequence of which, he ordered
the chief magistrate of Baghdad to bring them to him in a boat. I saw
them, and I said within myself, These persons have assembled for nothing
but an entertainment, and, I suppose, will pass their day in this boat
eating and drinking; and none shall be their companion but
myself:--so I embarked, and mixed myself among them; and when
they had landed on the opposite bank, the guards of the Walee came with
chains, and put them upon their necks, and put a chain upon my neck
also.--Now this, O people, is it not a proof of my generosity, and of my
paucity of speech? For I determined not to speak.--They took us,
therefore, all together, in chains, and placed us before El-Muntair
bi-llah, the Prince of the Faithful; whereupon he gave orders to strike
off the heads of the ten; and the executioner struck off the heads of
the ten, and I remained. The Khaleefeh then turning his eyes, and
beholding me, said to the executioner, Wherefore dost thou not strike
off the heads of all the ten? He answered, I have beheaded every one of
the ten.--I do not think, rejoined the Khaleefeh, that thou hast
beheaded more than nine; and this who is before me is the tenth. But the
executioner replied, By thy beneficence, they are ten.--Count them, said
the Khaleefeh. And they counted them; and lo, they were ten. The
Khaleefeh then looked towards me, and said, What hath induced thee to
be silent on this occasion; and how hast thou become included among the
men of blood?--And when I heard the address of the Prince of the
Faithful, I said to him, Know, O Prince of the Faithful, that I am the
sheykh E-amit (the silent): I possess, of science, a large stock; and
as to the gravity of my understanding, and the quickness of my
apprehension, and the paucity of my speech, they are unbounded: my trade
is that of a barber; and yesterday, early in the morning, I saw these
ten men proceeding to the boat; whereupon I mixed myself with them, and
embarked with them, thinking that they had met together for an
entertainment; but soon it appeared that they were criminals; and the
guards came to them, and put chains upon their necks, and upon my neck
also they put a chain; and from the excess of my generosity I was
silent, and spoke not: my speech was not heard on that occasion, on
account of the excess of my generosity; and they proceeded with us until
they stationed us before thee, and thou gavest the order to strike off
the heads of the ten, and I remained before the executioner, and
acquainted you not with my case. Was not this great generosity which
compelled me to accompany them to slaughter? But throughout my life I
have acted in this excellent manner.

When the Khaleefeh heard my words, and knew that I was of a very
generous character, and of few words, and not inclined to impertinence
as this young man, whom I delivered from horrors, asserteth, he said,
Hast thou brothers? I answered, Yes: six.--And are thy six brothers,
said he, like thyself, distinguished by science and knowledge, and
paucity of speech? I answered, They lived not so as to be like me: thou
hast disparaged me by thy supposition, O Prince of the Faithful, and it
is not proper that thou shouldst compare my brothers to me; for through
the abundance of their speech, and the smallness of their generous
qualities, each of them experienced a defect: the first was lame; the
second, deprived of many of his teeth; the third, blind; the fourth,
one-eyed; the fifth, cropped of his ears; and the sixth had both his
lips cut off: and think not, O Prince of the Faithful, that I
am a man of many words: nay, I must prove to thee that I am of a more
generous character than they; and each of them met with a particular
adventure, in consequence of which he experienced a defect: if thou
please, I will relate their stories to thee.




THE BARBER'S STORY OF HIS FIRST BROTHER.

Know, O Prince of the Faithful, that the first (who was named
El-Baboo) was the lame one. He practised the art of a tailor in
Baghdad, and used to sew in a shop which he hired of a man possessing
great wealth, who lived over the shop, and who had, in the lower part of
his house, a mill. And as my lame brother was sitting in his shop one
day, sewing, he raised his head, and saw a woman like the rising full
moon, at a projecting window of the house, looking at the people passing
by; and as soon as he beheld her, his heart was entangled by her love.
He passed that day gazing at her, and neglecting his occupation, until
the evening; and on the following morning he opened his shop, and sat
down to sew; but every time that he sewed a stitch, he looked towards
the window; and in this state he continued, sewing nothing sufficient to
earn a piece of silver.

On the third day he seated himself again in his place, looking towards
the woman; and she saw him, and, perceiving that he had become enslaved
by her love, laughed in his face, and he, in like manner, laughed in her
face. She then disappeared from before him, and sent to him her
slave-girl, with a wrapper containing a piece of red flowered silk; and
the girl, coming to him, said to him, My mistress saluteth thee, and
desireth thee to cut out for her, with the hand of skill, a shirt of
this piece, and to sew it beautifully. So he answered, I hear and
obey:--and he cut out for her the shirt, and finished the sewing of it
on that day; and on the following day the slave-girl came to him again;
and said to him, My mistress saluteth thee, and saith to thee, How didst
thou pass last night?--for she tasted not sleep, from her passion for
thee.--She then placed before him a piece of yellow satin, and said to
him, My mistress desireth thee to cut out for her, of this piece, two
pairs of trousers, and to make them this day. He replied, I hear and
obey. Salute her with abundant salutations, and say to her, Thy slave is
submissive to thine order, and command him to do whatsoever thou
wilt.--He then busied himself with the cutting out, and used all
diligence in sewing the two pairs of trousers; and presently the woman
looked out at him from the window, and saluted him by a sign, now
casting down her eyes, and now smiling in his face, so that he imagined
he should soon obtain possession of her. After this, she disappeared
from before him, and the slave-girl came to him; so he delivered to her
the two pairs of trousers, and she took them and departed: and when the
night came, he threw himself upon his bed, and remained turning himself
over in restlessness until the morning.

On the following day, the master of the house came to my brother,
bringing some linen, and said to him, Cut out and make this into shirts
for me. He replied, I hear and obey:--and ceased not from his work until
he had cut out twenty shirts by the time of nightfall, without having
tasted food. The man then said to him, How much is thy hire for
this?--but my brother answered not; and the damsel made a sign to him
that he should receive nothing, though he was absolutely in want of a
single copper coin. For three days he continued scarcely eating or
drinking anything, in his diligence to accomplish his work, and when he
had finished it, he went to deliver the shirts.

Now the young woman had acquainted her husband with the state of my
brother's mind, but my brother knew not this; and she planned with her
husband to employ him in sewing without remuneration, and moreover to
amuse themselves by laughing at him: so, when he had finished all the
work that they gave him, they contrived a plot against him, and married
him to their slave-girl; and on the night when he desired to introduce
himself to her, they said to him, Pass this night in the mill, and
to-morrow thou shalt enjoy happiness. My brother, therefore, thinking
that their intention was good, passed the night in the mill alone.
Meanwhile, the husband of the young woman went to the miller, and
instigated him by signs to make my brother turn the mill. The miller,
accordingly, went in to him at midnight, and began to exclaim, Verily
this bull is lazy, while there is a great quantity of wheat, and the
owners of the flour are demanding it: I will therefore yoke him in the
mill, that he may finish the grinding of the flour:--and so saying, he
yoked my brother, and thus he kept him until near morning, when the
owner of the house came, and saw him yoked in the mill, and the miller
flogging him with the whip; and he left him, and retired. After this,
the slave-girl to whom he had been contracted in marriage came to him
early in the morning, and, having unbound him from the mill, said to
him, Both I and my mistress have been distressed by this which hath
befallen thee, and we have participated in the burden of thy sorrow. But
he had no tongue wherewith to answer her, by reason of the severity of
the flogging. He then returned to his house; and lo, the sheykh who had
performed the marriage-contract came and saluted him, saying, May God
prolong thy life! May thy marriage be blessed!--May God not preserve the
liar! returned my brother: thou thousandfold villain! By Allah, I went
only to turn the mill in the place of the bull until the morning.--Tell
me thy story, said the sheykh:--and my brother told him what had
happened to him: upon which the sheykh said, Thy star agreeth not with
hers: but if thou desire that I should change for thee the mode of the
contract, I will change it for another better than it, that thy star may
agree with hers.--See then, replied my brother, if thou hast
any other contrivance to employ.

My brother then left him, and repaired again to his shop, hoping that
somebody might give him some work, with the profit of which he might
obtain his food; and lo, the slave-girl came to him. She had conspired
with her mistress to play him this trick, and said to him, Verily, my
mistress is longing for thee, and she hath gone up to look at thy face
from the window. And my brother had scarcely heard these words when she
looked out at him from the window, and, weeping, said, Wherefore hast
thou cut short the intercourse between us and thee? But he returned her
no answer: so she swore to him that all that had happened to him in the
mill was not with her consent; and when my brother beheld her beauty and
loveliness, the troubles that had befallen him became effaced from his
memory, and he accepted her excuse, and rejoiced at the sight of her. He
saluted her, therefore, and conversed with her, and then sat a while at
his work; after which the slave-girl came to him, and said, My mistress
saluteth thee, and informeth thee that her husband hath determined to
pass this next night in the house of one of his intimate friends;
wherefore, when he hath gone thither, do thou come to her.--Now the
husband of the young woman had said to her, How shall we contrive when
he cometh to thee that I may take him and drag him before the Walee? She
replied, Let me then play him a trick, and involve him in a disgrace for
which he shall be paraded throughout this city as an example to
others:--and my brother knew nothing of the craftiness of women.
Accordingly, at the approach of evening, the slave-girl came to him,
and, taking him by the hand, returned with him to her mistress, who said
to him, Verily, O my master, I have been longing for thee.--Hasten then,
said he, to give me a kiss, first of all. And his words were not
finished, when the young woman's husband came in from his neighbour's
house, and, seizing my brother, exclaimed to him, By Allah, I will not
loose thee but in the presence of the chief magistrate of the police. My
brother humbled himself before him; but, without listening to him, he
took him to the house of the Walee, who flogged him with whips, and
mounted him upon a camel, and conveyed him through the streets of the
city, the people crying out, This is the recompense of him who breaketh
into the areems of others!--and he fell from the camel, and his leg
broke: so he became lame. The Walee then banished him from the city; and
he went forth, not knowing whither to turn his steps: but I, though
enraged, overtook him, and brought him back; and I have taken upon
myself to provide him with meat and drink unto the present day.

The Khaleefeh laughed at my story, and exclaimed, Thou hast spoken
well:--but I replied, I will not accept this honour until thou hast
listened to me while I relate to thee what happened to the rest of my
brothers; and think me not a man of many words.--Tell me, said the
Khaleefeh, what happened to all thy brothers, and grace my ears with
these nice particulars: I beg thee to employ exuberance of diction in
thy relation of these pleasant tales.






THE BARBER'S STORY OF HIS SECOND BROTHER.

So I said, Know, O Prince of the Faithful, that my second brother, whose
name was El-Heddar, was going one day to transact some
business, when an old woman met him, and said to him, O man, stop a
little, that I may propose to thee a thing, which, if it please thee,
thou shalt do for me. My brother, therefore, stopped; and she said to
him, I will guide thee to a thing, and rightly direct thee to it, on the
condition that thy words be not many. So he said, Communicate what thou
hast to tell me:--and she proceeded thus:--What sayest thou of a
handsome house, with running water, and fruit and wine, and a beautiful
face to behold, and a smooth cheek to kiss, and an elegant form to
embrace; and to enjoy all these pleasures without interruption? Now, if
thou wilt act agreeably with the condition that I have imposed upon
thee, thou wilt see prosperity.--When my brother had heard her words, he
said to her, O my mistress, how is it that thou hast sought me out in
preference to all the rest of the creation for this affair; and what is
there in me that hath pleased thee? She replied, Did I not say to thee
that thou must not be a person of many words? Be silent then, and come
with me.

The old woman then went her way, my brother following her, eager to
enjoy the pleasures which she had described to him, until they had
entered a spacious house, when she went up with him to an upper story,
and my brother perceived that he was in a beautiful palace, in which he
beheld four damsels, than whom none more lovely had ever been seen,
singing with voices that would charm a heart as insensible as stone. One
of these damsels drank a cup of wine; and my brother said to her, May it
be attended with health and vigour!--and advanced to wait upon her; but
she prevented his doing so, giving him to drink a cup of wine; and as
soon as he had drunk it, she slapped him on his neck. When he found that
she treated him thus, he went out from the chamber in anger, and with
many words; but the old woman, following him, made a sign to him with
her eye that he should return: so he returned, and seated himself,
without speaking; and upon this, the damsel slapped him again upon the
back of his neck until he became senseless; after which, recovering, he
withdrew again. The old woman, however, overtook him, and said to him,
Wait a little, and thou shalt attain thy wish.--How many times, said he,
shall I wait a little before I attain it? The old woman answered, When
she hath become exhilarated with wine thou shalt obtain her favour. He
therefore returned to his place, and resumed his seat. All the four
damsels then arose, and the old woman directed them to divest my brother
of his outer clothes, and to sprinkle some rose-water upon his face; and
when they had done so, the most beautiful one among them said to him,
May Allah exalt thee to honour! Thou hast entered my abode, and if thou
have patience to submit to my requisitions, thou wilt attain thy
wish.--O my mistress, he replied, I am thy slave, and under thy
authority.--Know then, said she, that I am devotedly fond of frolic, and
he who complieth with my demands will obtain my favour. Then she ordered
the other damsels to sing; and they sang so that their hearers were in
an ecstasy; after which the chief lady said to one of the other damsels,
Take thy master, and do what is required, and bring him back to me
immediately.

Accordingly, she took him away, ignorant of that which she was about to
do; and the old woman came to him, and said, Be patient; for there
remaineth but little to do. He then turned towards the damsel, and the
old woman said to him, Be patient: thou hast almost succeeded, and there
remaineth but one thing, which is, to shave thy beard.--How, said he,
shall I do that which will disgrace me among the people? The old woman
answered, She desireth this only to make thee like a beardless youth,
that there may be nothing on thy face to prick her; for her heart is
affected with a violent love for thee. Be patient, therefore, and thou
shalt attain thy desire.--So my brother patiently submitted to the
damsel's directions: his beard was shaven, and he was shorn also of his
eyebrows and mustaches, and his face was painted red, before the damsel
took him back to the chief lady, who, when she saw him, was at first
frightened at him, and then laughed until she fell backwards, and
exclaimed, O my master, thou hast gained me by these proofs of thine
amiable manners! She then conjured him by her life to arise and dance;
and he did so; and there was not a single cushion in the chamber that
she did not throw at him. In like manner also the other damsels threw at
him various things, such as oranges, and limes, and citrons, until he
fell down senseless from the pelting, while they slapped him incessantly
upon the back of his neck, and cast things in his face. But at length
the old woman said to him, Now thou hast attained thy wish. Know that
there remaineth to thee no more beating, nor doth there remain for thee
to do more than one thing, namely, this: it is her custom, when she is
under the influence of wine, to suffer no one to come near her until she
hath taken off her outer clothes; thou, being prepared in the like
manner, must run after her, and she will run before thee as though she
were flying from thee; but cease not to follow her from place to place
until thou overtake her. He arose, therefore, and did so: the lady ran
before, and as he followed her, she passed from chamber to chamber, and
he still ran after her. At last he heard her utter a slight sound as she
ran before him, and, continuing his pursuit, he suddenly found himself
in the midst of the street.

This street was in the market of the leather-sellers, who were then
crying skins for sale; and when the people there collected saw him in
this condition, almost naked, with shaven beard and eyebrows and
mustaches, and with his face painted red, they shouted at him, and
raised a loud laugh, and some of them beat him with the skins until he
became insensible. They then placed him upon an ass, and conducted him
to the Walee, who exclaimed, What is this?--They answered, This
descended upon us from the house of the Wezeer, in this condition. And
the Walee inflicted upon him a hundred lashes, and banished him from the
city: but I went out after him, and brought him back privately into the
city, and allotted him a maintenance. Had it not been for my generous
disposition, I had not borne with such a person.




THE BARBER'S STORY OF HIS THIRD BROTHER.

As to my third brother (the blind man, Baba), who was also surnamed
uffeh, fate and destiny impelled him one day to a large
house, and he knocked at the door, hoping that its master would answer
him, and that he might beg of him a trifle. The owner called out, Who is
at the door?--but my brother answered not; and then heard him call with
a loud voice, Who is this? Still, however, he returned him no answer;
and he heard the sounds of his footsteps approaching until he came to
the door and opened it, when he said to him, What dost thou desire? My
brother answered, Something for the sake of God, whose name be
exalted!--Art thou blind? said the man; and my brother answered,
Yes.--Then give me thy hand rejoined the master of the house;--so my
brother stretched forth to him his hand, and the man took him into the
house, and led him up from stair-case to stair-case until he had
ascended to the highest platform of the roof: my brother thinking that
he was going to give him some food or money: and when he had arrived at
this highest terrace, of his house, the owner said, What dost thou
desire, O blind man!--I desire something, he answered again, for the
sake of God, whose name be exalted!--May God, replied the man, open to
thee some other way!--What is this! exclaimed my brother: couldst thou
not tell me so when I was below?--Thou vilest of the vile! retorted the
other: why didst thou not ask of me something for the sake of God when
thou heardest my voice the first time, when thou wast knocking at the
door?--What then, said my brother, dost thou mean to do to me?--The man
of the house answered, I have nothing to give thee.--Then take me down
the stairs, said my brother. The man replied, The way is before thee. So
my brother made his way to the stairs, and continued descending until
there remained, between him and the door, twenty steps, when his foot
slipped and he fell, and, rolling down, broke his head.

He went forth, not knowing whither to direct his steps, and presently
there met him two blind men, his companions, who said to him, What hath
happened to thee this day? My brother, therefore, related to them the
event that had just befallen him: and then said to them, O my brothers,
I desire to take a portion of the money now in our possession, to expend
it upon myself.--Now the owner of the house which he had just before
entered had followed him to acquaint himself with his proceedings, and
without my brother's knowledge he walked behind him until the latter
entered his abode; when he went in after him, still unknown. My brother
then sat waiting for his companions; and when they came in to him, he
said to them, Shut the door, and search the room, lest any stranger have
followed us. When the intruder, therefore, heard what he said, he arose,
and clung to a rope that was attached to the ceiling; and the blind men
went feeling about the whole of the chamber, and, finding no one,
returned and seated themselves by my brother, and brought forth their
money, and counted it; and lo, it was more than ten thousand pieces of
silver. Having done this, they laid it in a corner of the room, and each
of them took of the surplus of that sum as much as he wanted, and they
buried the ten thousand pieces of silver in the earth; after which, they
placed before themselves some food, and sat eating; but my brother heard
the sound of a stranger by his side, and said to his friends, Is there a
stranger among us? Then stretching forth his hand, it grasped the hand
of the intruder; whereupon he cried out to his companions, saying, Here
is a stranger!--and they fell upon him with blows until they were tired,
when they shouted out, O Muslims! a thief hath come in upon
us, and desireth to take our property!--and immediately a number of
persons collected around them.

Upon this, the stranger whom they accused of being a thief shut his
eyes, feigned to be blind like themselves, so that no one who saw him
doubted him to be so; and shouted, O Muslims! I demand protection of
Allah and the Sulan! I demand protection of Allah and the Walee! I
demand protection of Allah and the Emeer! for I have important
information to give to the Emeer!--and before they could collect their
thoughts, the officers of the Walee surrounded them and took them all,
including my brother, and conducted them before their master. The Walee
said, What is your story?--and the stranger replied, Hear my words, O
Walee; the truth of our case will not become known to thee but by means
of beating; and if thou wilt, begin by beating me before my
companions. The Walee therefore said, Throw down this man, and flog him
with whips:--and accordingly they threw him down and flogged him; and
when the stripes tortured him, he opened one of his eyes; and after they
had continued the flogging a little longer, he opened his other eye;
upon which the Walee exclaimed, What meaneth this conduct, O thou
villain?--Grant me indemnity, replied the man, and I will acquaint
thee:--and the Walee having granted his request, he said, We four
pretend that we are blind, and, intruding among other people, enter
their houses, and see their women, and employ stratagems to corrupt
them, and to obtain money from them. We have acquired, by these means,
vast gain, amounting to ten thousand pieces of silver; and I said to my
companions, Give me my due, two thousand and five hundred; and they rose
against me and beat me, and took my property. I beg protection,
therefore, of Allah and of thee; and thou art more deserving of my share
than they. If thou desire to know the truth of that which I have said,
flog each of them more than thou hast flogged me, and he will open his
eyes.

So the Walee immediately gave orders to flog them, and the first of them
who suffered was my brother. They continued beating him until he almost
died; when the Walee said to them, O ye scoundrels! do ye deny the
gracious gift of God, feigning yourselves to be blind? My brother
exclaimed, Allah! Allah! Allah! there is none among us who seeth!--They
then threw him down again, and ceased not to beat him until he became
insensible, when the Walee said, Leave him until he shall have
recovered, and then give him a third flogging:--and in the meantime, he
gave orders to flog his companions, to give each of them more than three
hundred stripes; while the seeing man said to them, Open your eyes, or
they will flog you again after this time. Then addressing himself to the
Walee, he said, Send with me some person to bring thee the property; for
these men will not open their eyes, fearing to be disgraced before the
spectators. And the Walee sent with him a man, who brought him the
money; and he took it, and gave to the informer, out of it, two
thousand and five hundred pieces of silver, according to the share which
he claimed, in spite of the others (retaining the rest), and banished
from the city my brother and the two other men; but I went forth, O
Prince of the Faithful, and, having overtaken my brother, asked him
respecting his sufferings; and he acquainted me with that which I have
related unto thee. I then brought him back secretly into the city, and
allotted him a supply of food and drink as long as he lived.

The Khaleefeh laughed at my story, and said, Give him a present, and let
him go:--but I replied, I will receive nothing until I have declared to
the Prince of the Faithful what happened to the rest of my brothers, and
made it manifest to him that I am a man of few words:--whereupon the
Khaleefeh said, Crack our ears, then, with thy ridiculous stories, and
continue to us thy disclosure of vices and misdeeds. So I proceeded
thus:--






THE BARBER'S STORY OF HIS FOURTH BROTHER.

My fourth brother, O Prince of the Faithful, was the one-eyed (named
El-Kooz el-Awanee): he was a butcher in Baghdad, and both sold meat and
reared lambs; and the great and the rich had recourse to him to purchase
of him their meat; so that he amassed great wealth, and became possessor
of cattle and houses. Thus he continued to prosper for a long time; and
as he was in his shop, one day, there accosted him an old man with a
long beard, who handed to him some money, saying, Give me some meat for
it. So he took the money, and gave him the meat; and when the old man
had gone away, my brother looked at the money which he had payed him,
and, seeing that it was of a brilliant whiteness, put it aside by
itself. This old man continued to repair to him during a period of five
months, and my brother always threw his money into a chest by itself;
after which period he desired to take it out for the purpose of buying
some sheep; but on opening the chest, he found all the contents
converted into white paper, clipped round; and he slapped his face, and
cried out; whereupon a number of people collected around him, and he
related to them his story, at which they were astonished.

He then went again, as usual, into his shop, and, having killed a ram,
and hung it up within the shop, he cut off some of the meat, and
suspended it outside, saying within himself, Perhaps now this old man
will come again, and if so, I will seize him:--and very soon after, the
old man approached with his money; upon which my brother arose, and,
laying hold upon him, began to cry out, O Muslims, come to my aid, and
hear what this scoundrel hath done unto me! But when the old man heard
his words, he said to him, Which will be more agreeable to thee--that
thou abstain from disgracing me, or that I disgrace thee, before the
people?--For what wilt thou disgrace me? said my brother. The old man
answered, For thy selling human flesh for mutton.--Thou liest, thou
accursed! exclaimed my brother.--None is accursed, rejoined the old man,
but he who hath a man suspended in his shop. My brother said, If it be
as thou hast asserted, my property and blood shall be lawful to
thee:--and immediately the old man exclaimed, O ye people here
assembled! verily this butcher slaughtereth human beings, and selleth
their flesh for mutton; and if ye desire to know the truth of my
assertion, enter his shop! So the people rushed upon his shop, and
beheld the ram converted into a man, hung up; and they laid hold upon my
brother, crying out against him, Thou infidel! Thou scoundrel!--and
those who had been his dearest friends turned upon him and beat him; and
the old man gave him a blow upon his eye, and knocked it out. The people
then carried the carcass, and took with them my brother, to the chief
magistrate of the police; and the old man said to him, O Emeer, this man
slaughtereth human beings, and selleth their flesh for mutton; and we
have therefore brought him to thee: arise, then, and perform the
requisition of God, whose might and glory be extolled! Upon this, the
magistrate thrust back my brother from him, and, refusing to listen to
what he would have said, ordered that five hundred blows of a staff
should be inflicted upon him, and took all his property. Had it not been
for the great amount of his wealth, he had put him to death.
He then banished him from the city.

My brother, therefore, went forth in a state of distraction, not knowing
what course to pursue; but he journeyed onwards until he arrived at a
great city, where he thought fit to settle as a shoemaker: so he opened
a shop, and sat there working for his subsistence. And one day he went
forth on some business, and, hearing the neighing of horses, he inquired
respecting the cause, and was told that the King was going forth to
hunt; whereupon he went to amuse himself with the sight of the
procession: but the King happening to look on one side, his eye met that
of my brother, and immediately he hung down his head, and exclaimed, I
seek refuge with God from the evil of this day! He then turned aside the
bridle of his horse, and rode back, and all his troops returned with
him; after which, he ordered his pages to run after my brother, and to
beat him; and they did so, giving him so severe a beating that he
almost died; and he knew not the cause. He returned to his abode in a
miserable plight, and afterwards went and related his misfortune to one
of the King's attendants, who laughed at the recital until he fell
backwards, and said to him, O my brother, the King cannot endure the
sight of a one-eyed person, and especially when the defect is that of
the left eye; for in this case, he faileth not to put the
person to death.

When my brother heard these words, he determined to fly from that city;
and forthwith departed from it, and repaired to another city, where
there was no King. Here he remained a long time; and after this, as he
was meditating upon his adventure in the former city, he went out one
day to amuse himself, and heard again the neighing of horses behind him;
upon which he exclaimed, The decree of God hath come to pass! and ran
away, seeking for a place in which to conceal himself; but he found
none, until, continuing his search, he saw a door set up as a barricade:
so he pushed this, and it fell down; and, entering the doorway, he
beheld a long passage, into which he advanced. Suddenly, however, two
men laid hold upon him, and exclaimed, Praise be to God who hath enabled
us to take thee, O thou enemy of God! For these three nights thou hast
suffered us to enjoy neither quiet nor sleep, and we have found no
repose: nay, thou hast given us a foretaste of death!--O men, said my
brother, what hath happened unto you? They answered, Thou keepest a
watch upon us, and desirest to disgrace us, and to disgrace the master
of the house! Is it not enough for thee that thou hast reduced him to
poverty, thou and thy companions? Produce now the knife wherewith thou
threatenest us every night.--And so saying, they searched him, and found
upon his waist the knife with which he cut the shoe-leather.--O men, he
exclaimed, fear God in your treatment of me, and know that my story is
wonderful. They said, What then is thy story? So he related it to them,
in the hope that they would liberate him: but they believed not what he
said; and, instead of shewing him any regard, they beat him, and tore
his clothes; whereupon, his body becoming exposed to their view, they
discovered upon his sides the marks of beating with mira'ahs, and
exclaimed, O wretch! these scars bear testimony to thy guilt. They then
conducted him before the Walee, while he said within himself, I am
undone for my transgressions, and none can deliver me but God, whose
name be exalted! And when he was brought before the Walee, the
magistrate said to him, O thou scoundrel! nothing but a heinous crime
hath occasioned thy having been beaten with mira'ahs:--and he caused a
hundred lashes to be inflicted upon him; after which, they mounted him
upon a camel, and proclaimed before him, This is the recompense of him
who breaketh into men's houses!--But I had already heard of his
misfortunes, and gone forth, and found him; and I accompanied him about
the city while they were making this proclamation, until they left him;
when I took him, and brought him back secretly into Baghdad, and
apportioned him a daily allowance of food and drink.






THE BARBER'S STORY OF HIS FIFTH BROTHER.

My fifth brother (El-Feshshar) was cropped of his ears, O
Prince of the Faithful. He was a pauper, who begged alms by night, and
subsisted upon what he thus acquired by day: and our father was a very
old man, and he fell sick and died, leaving to us seven hundred pieces
of silver, of which each of us took his portion; namely, a hundred
pieces. Now my fifth brother, when he had received his share, was
perplexed, not knowing what to do with it; but while he was in this
state, it occurred to his mind to buy with it all kinds of articles of
glass, and to sell them and make profit; so he bought glass with his
hundred pieces of silver, and put it in a large tray, and sat upon an
elevated place, to sell it, leaning his back against a wall. And as he
sat, he meditated, and said within himself, Verily my whole stock
consisteth of this glass: I will sell it for two hundred pieces of
silver; and with the two hundred I will buy other glass, which I will
sell for four hundred; and thus I will continue buying and selling until
I have acquired great wealth. Then with this I will purchase all kinds
of merchandise and essences and jewels, and so obtain vast gain. After
that, I will buy a handsome house, and memlooks, and horses, and gilded
saddles; and I will eat and drink; and I will not leave in the city a
single female singer but I will have her brought to my house that I may
hear her songs.--All this he calculated with the tray of glass lying
before him.--Then, said he, I will send all the female betrothers to
seek in marriage for me the daughters of Kings and Wezeers; and I will
demand as my wife the daughter of the chief Wezeer; for I
have heard that she is endowed with perfect beauty and surprising
loveliness: and I will give as her dowry a thousand pieces of gold. If
her father consent, my wish is attained; and if he consent not, I will
take her by force, in spite of him: and when I have come back to my
house, I will buy ten young eunuchs, and I will purchase the apparel of
Kings and Sulans, and cause to be made for me a saddle of gold set with
jewels: after which I will ride every day upon a horse, with slaves
behind me and before me, and go about through the streets and
markets to amuse myself, while the people will salute me and pray for
me. Then I will pay a visit to the Wezeer, who is the father
of the maiden, with memlooks behind me and before me, and on my right
hand and on my left; and when he seeth me, he will rise to me, in
humility, and seat me in his own place; and he himself will sit down
below me, because I am his son-in-law. I will then order one
of the servants to bring a purse containing the pieces of gold which
compose the dowry; and he will place it before the Wezeer; and I will
add to it another purse, that he may know my manly spirit and excessive
generosity, and that the world is contemptible in my eye: and when he
addresseth me with ten words, I will answer him with two. And I will
return to my house; and when any person cometh to me from the house of
the Wezeer, I will clothe him with a rich dress: but if any come with a
present, I will return it: I will certainly not accept it.
Then, on the night of the bridal display, I will attire myself in the
most magnificent of my dresses, and sit upon a mattress covered with
silk; and when my wife cometh to me, like the full moon, decked with her
ornaments and apparel, I will command her to stand before me as stands
the timid and the abject; and I will not look at her, on account of the
haughtiness of my spirit and the gravity of my wisdom; so that the maids
will say, O our master and our lord, may we be thy sacrifice! This thy
wife, or rather thy handmaid, awaiteth thy kind regard, and is standing
before thee: then graciously bestow on her one glance; for the posture
hath become painful to her.--Upon this, I will raise my
head, and look at her with one glance, and again incline my head
downwards; and thus I will do until the ceremony of displaying her is
finished; whereupon they will conduct her to the sleeping-chamber; and I
will rise from my place, and go to another apartment, and put on my
night-dress, and go to the chamber in which she is sitting, where I will
seat myself upon the deewan; but I will not look towards her. The
tire-women will urge me to approach her; but I will not hear their
words, and will order some of the attendants to bring a purse containing
five hundred pieces of gold for them, and command them to retire from
the chamber. And when they have gone, I will seat myself by
the side of the bride; but with averted countenance, that she may say,
Verily this is a man of a haughty spirit. Then her mother will come to
me, and will kiss my hands, and say to me, O my master, look upon thy
handmaid with the eye of mercy; for she is submissively standing before
thee. But I will return her no answer. And she will kiss my feet, again
and again, and will say, O my master, my daughter is young, and hath
seen no man but thee; and if she experience from thee repugnance, her
heart will break: incline to her, therefore, and speak to her, and calm
her mind. And upon this I will look at her through the corner of my eye,
and command her to remain standing before me, that she may taste the
savour of humiliation, and know that I am the Sulan of the age. Then
her mother will say to me, O my master, this is thy handmaid: have
compassion upon her, and be gracious to her:--and she will order her to
fill a cup with wine, and to put it to my mouth. So her daughter will
say, O my lord, I conjure thee by Allah that thou reject not the cup
from thy slave; for verily I am thy slave. But I will make her no
reply; and she will urge me to take it, and will say, It must be
drunk:--and will put it to my mouth: and upon this, I will shake my hand
in her face, and spurn her with my foot, and do thus.--So saying, he
kicked the tray of glass, which, being upon a place elevated above the
ground, fell, and all that was in it broke: there escaped nothing: and
he cried out and said, All this is the result of my pride! And he
slapped his face, and tore his clothes; the passengers gazing at him,
while he wept, and exclaimed, Ah! O my grief!







The people were now repairing to perform the Friday-prayers; and some
merely cast their eyes at him, while others noticed him not: but while
he was in this state, deprived of his whole property, and weeping
without intermission, a female approached him, on her way to attend the
Friday-prayers: she was of admirable loveliness; the odour of musk was
diffused from her; under her was a mule with a stuffed saddle covered
with gold-embroidered silk; and with her was a number of servants; and
when she saw the broken glass, and my brother's state and his tears, she
was moved with pity for him, and asked respecting his case. She was
answered, He had a tray of glass, by the sale of which to obtain his
subsistence and it is broken, and he is afflicted as thou seest:--and
upon this, she called to one of the servants, saying, Give what thou
hast with thee to this poor man. So he gave him a purse, and he took it,
and when he had opened it, he found in it five hundred pieces of gold,
whereupon he almost died from excessive joy, and offered up prayers for
his benefactress.

He returned to his house a rich man, and sat reflecting, and lo, a
person knocked at the door: he rose, therefore, and opened it; and
beheld an old woman whom he knew not, and she said to him, O my son,
know that the time of prayer hath almost expired, and I am not prepared
by ablution; wherefore I beg that thou wilt admit me into thy house,
that I may perform it. He replied, I hear and obey;--and, retiring
within, gave her permission to enter; his mind still wandering from joy
on account of the gold; and when she had finished the ablution, she
approached the spot where he was sitting, and there performed the
prayers of two rek'ahs. She then offered up a supplication for my
brother; and he thanked her, and offered her two pieces of gold; but
when she saw this, she exclaimed, Extolled be God's perfection! Verily I
wonder at the person who fell in love with thee in thy beggarly
condition! Take back thy money from me, and if thou want it not, return
it to her who gave it thee when thy glass broke.--O my mother, said he,
how can I contrive to obtain access to her? She answered, O my son, she
hath an affection for thee; but she is the wife of an affluent man; take
then with thee all thy money, and when thou art with her be not
deficient in courteousness and agreeable words; so shalt thou obtain of
her favours and her wealth whatever thou shalt desire. My brother,
therefore, took all the gold, and arose and went with the old woman,
hardly believing what she had told him; and she proceeded, and my
brother behind her, until they arrived at a great door, at which she
knocked; whereupon a Greek damsel came and opened the door, and the old
woman entered, ordering my brother to do the same. He did so, and found
himself in a large house, where he beheld a great furnished chamber,
with curtains hung in it; and, seating himself there, he put down the
gold before him, and placed his turban on his knees; and
scarcely had he done so, when there came to him a damsel, the like of
whom had never been seen, attired in most magnificent apparel. My
brother stood up at her approach; and when she beheld him, she laughed
in his face, and rejoiced at his visit: then going to the door, she
locked it; after which she returned to my brother, and took his hand,
and both of them went together into a private chamber, carpeted with
various kinds of silk, where my brother sat down, and she seated herself
by his side, and toyed with him for a considerable time. She then rose,
saying to him, Move not from this place until I return to thee;--and was
absent from him for a short period;--and as my brother was waiting for
her, there came in to him a black slave, of gigantic stature, with a
drawn sword, the brightness of which dazzled the sight; and he exclaimed
to my brother. Wo to thee! Who brought thee to this place? Thou vilest
of men! Thou misbegotten wretch, and nursling of impurity!--My brother
was unable to make any reply; his tongue was instantly tied; and the
slave laid hold upon him, and stripped him, and struck him more than
eighty blows with the flat of his sword, until he fell sprawling upon
the floor; when he retired from him, concluding that he was dead, and
uttered a great cry, so that the earth trembled, and the place resounded
at his voice, saying, Where is El-Meleeah?--upon which a
girl came to him, holding a handsome tray containing salt; and with this
she forthwith stuffed the flesh-wounds with which my brother's skin was
gashed until they gaped open; but he moved not, fearing the slave would
discover that he was alive, and kill him. The girl then went away, and
the slave uttered another cry, like the first, whereupon the old woman
came to my brother, and, dragging him by the feet to a deep and dark
vault, threw him into it upon a heap of slain. In this place
he remained for two whole days; and God (whose perfection be extolled!)
made the salt to be the means of preserving his life, by stanching the
flow of blood from his veins; so, when he found that he had strength
sufficient to move, he arose, and, opening a shutter in the wall,
emerged from the place of the slain; and God (to whom be ascribed all
might and glory!) granted him his protection. He therefore proceeded in
the darkness, and concealed himself in the passage until the morning,
when the old woman went forth to seek another victim, and my brother,
going out after her, without her knowledge, returned to his house.



He now occupied himself with the treatment of his wounds until he was
restored; and continued to watch for the old woman, and constantly saw
her taking men, one after another, and conducting them to the same
house. But he uttered not a word on the subject; and when his health
returned, and his strength was completely renewed, he took a piece of
rag, and made of it a purse, which he filled with pieces of glass: he
then tied it to his waist, and disguised himself so that no one would
know him, in the dress of a foreigner; and, taking a sword, placed it
within his clothes; and as soon as he saw the old woman, he said to her,
in the dialect of a foreigner, Old woman, hast thou a pair of scales fit
for weighing nine hundred pieces of gold? The old woman answered, I have
a young son, a money-changer, and he hath all kinds of scales; therefore
accompany me to him before he go forth from his abode, that he may weigh
for thee thy gold. So my brother said, Walk on before me:--and she went,
and my brother followed her until she arrived at the door, and knocked;
upon which the girl came out, and laughed in his face; and the old woman
said to her, I have brought you to-day some fat meat. The girl then took
my brother's hand, and conducted him into the house (the same which he
had entered before), and after she had sat with him a short time, she
rose, saying to him, Quit not this place until I return to thee:--and
she retired; and my brother had remained not long after when the slave
came to him with the drawn sword, and said to him, Rise, thou unlucky!
So my brother rose, and, as the slave walked before him, he put his hand
to the sword which was concealed beneath his clothes, and struck the
slave with it, and cut off his head; after which he dragged him by his
feet to the vault, and called out, Where is El-Meleeah? The slave-girl,
therefore, came, having in her hand the tray containing the salt; but
when she saw my brother with the sword in his hand, she turned back and
fled: my brother, however, overtook her, and struck off her head. He
then called out, Where is the old woman?--and she came; and he said to
her, Dost thou know me, O malevolent hag? She answered, No, O my
lord.--I am, said he, the man who had the pieces of gold, and in whose
house thou performedst the ablution and prayedst; after which, devising
a stratagem against me, thou betrayedst me into this place.--The old
woman exclaimed, Fear God in thy treatment of me!--but my brother,
turning towards her, struck her with the sword, and clove her in twain.
He then went to search for the chief damsel, and when she saw him, her
reason fled, and she implored his pardon; whereupon he granted her his
pardon, and said to her, What occasioned thy falling into the hands of
this black? She answered, I was a slave to one of the merchants, and
this old woman used to visit me; and one day she said to me, We are
celebrating a festivity, the like of which no one hath seen, and I have
a desire that thou shouldst witness it. I replied, I hear and obey:--and
arose, and clad myself in the best of my attire, and, taking with me a
purse containing a hundred pieces of gold, proceeded with her
until she entered this house, when suddenly this black took me, and I
have continued with him in this state three years, through the stratagem
of the old witch.--My brother then said to her, Is there any property of
his in the house?--Abundance, she answered; and if thou canst remove it,
do so:--and upon this, he arose and went with her, when she opened to
him chests filled with purses, at the sight of which he was confounded;
and she said to him, Go now, and leave me here, and bring some person to
remove the property. So he went out, and, having hired ten men,
returned; but on his arrival at the door, he found it open, and saw
neither the damsel nor the purses; he found, however, some little money
remaining, and the stuffs. He discovered, therefore, that she had
eluded him; and he took the money that remained, and, opening the
closets, took all the stuffs which they contained, leaving nothing in
the house.

He passed the next night full of happiness; but when the morning came,
he found at the door twenty soldiers, and on his going forth to them,
they laid hold upon him, saying, The Walee summoneth thee. So they took
him, and conducted him to the Walee, who, when he saw him, said to him,
Whence obtainedst thou these stuffs?--Grant me indemnity, said my
brother:--and the Walee gave him the handkerchief of indemnity;
and my brother related to him all that had befallen him with the old
woman from first to last, and the flight of the damsel; adding,--and of
that which I have taken, take thou what thou wilt; but leave me
wherewith to procure my food. The Walee thereupon demanded the whole of
the money and the stuffs; but fearing that the Sulan might become
acquainted with the matter, he retained a portion only, and gave the
rest to my brother, saying to him, Quit this city, or I will hang thee.
My brother replied, I hear and obey:--and went forth to one of the
surrounding cities. Some robbers, however, came upon him, and stripped
and beat him, and cut off his ears; and I, having heard of his
situation, went forth to him, taking to him some clothes; and brought
him back privily into the city, and supplied him with daily food and
drink.






THE BARBER'S STORY OF HIS SIXTH BROTHER

My sixth brother (Shaali), O Prince of the Faithful, had his lips cut
off. He was in a state of extreme poverty, possessing nothing of the
goods of this perishable world; and he went forth one day to seek for
something with which to stay his departing spirit, and on his way he
beheld a handsome house, with a wide and lofty vestibule, at the door of
which were servants, commanding and forbidding; whereupon he inquired of
one of the persons standing there, who answered, This house belongeth to
a man of the sons of the Barmekees. My brother, therefore,
advanced to the door-keepers, and begged them to give him something; and
they said, Enter the door of the house, and thou wilt obtain what thou
desirest of its master. So he entered the vestibule, and proceeded
through it a while until he arrived at a mansion of the utmost beauty
and elegance, having a garden in the midst of it, unsurpassed in beauty
by anything that had ever been seen: its floors were paved with marble,
and its curtains were hanging around. He knew not in which direction to
go; but advanced to the upper extremity, and there he beheld a man of
handsome countenance and beard, who, on seeing my brother, rose to him,
and welcomed him, inquiring respecting his circumstances. He accordingly
informed him that he was in want; and when the master of the house heard
his words, he manifested excessive grief, and, taking hold of his own
clothes, rent them, and exclaimed, Am I in the city, and thou in it
hungry? It is a thing that I cannot endure!--Then promising him every
kind of happiness, he said, Thou must stay and partake of my salt. But
my brother replied, O my master, I have not patience to wait; for I am
in a state of extreme hunger.

Upon this, the master of the house called out, Boy, bring the basin and
ewer!--and he said, O my guest, advance, and wash thy hand. He then
performed the same motions as if he were washing his hand; and called to
his attendants to bring the table; whereupon they began to come and go
as though they were preparing it; after which the master of the house
took my brother, and sat down with him at this imaginary table, and
proceeded to move his hands and lips as if he were eating; saying to my
brother, Eat, and be not ashamed, for thou art hungry, and I know how
thou art suffering from the violence of thy hunger. My brother,
therefore, made the same motions, as if he also were eating, while his
host said to him, Eat, and observe this bread and its whiteness. To
this, my brother at first made no reply; but observed in his own mind,
Verily this is a man who loveth to jest with others:--so he said to him,
O my master, in my life I have never seen bread more beautifully white
than this, or any of sweeter taste:--on which the host rejoined, This
was made by a female slave of mine whom I purchased for five hundred
pieces of gold. He then called out, Boy, bring to us the
sikbaj, the like of which is not found among the dishes of
Kings!--and, addressing my brother, he said, Eat, O my guest; for thou
art hungry, vehemently so, and in absolute want of food. So my brother
began to twist about his mouth, and to chew, as in eating. The master of
the house now proceeded to demand different kinds of viands, one after
another; and, though nothing was brought, he continued ordering my
brother to eat. Next he called out, Boy, place before us the chickens
stuffed with pistachio-nuts:--and said to his guest, Eat of that which
thou hast never tasted the like.--O my master, replied my brother,
verily this dish hath not its equal in sweetness of flavour:--and the
host, thereupon, began to put his hand to my brother's mouth as though
he were feeding him with morsels; and proceeded to enumerate to him the
various different kinds of viands, and to describe their several
excellencies; while his hunger so increased that he longed for a cake of
barley-bread. The master of the house then said to him, Hast thou tasted
anything more delicious than the spices in these dishes?--No, O my
master, answered my brother.--Eat more then, resumed the host; and be
not ashamed.--I have eaten enough of the meats, replied the guest. So
the man of the house called to his attendants to bring the sweets; and
they moved their hands about in the air as if they were bringing them;
whereupon the host said to my brother, Eat of this dish; for it is
excellent; and of these aaif, by my life! and take this one
before the sirup runs from it.--May I never be deprived of thee, O my
master! exclaimed my brother, proceeding to inquire of him respecting
the abundance of musk in the aaif.--This, answered the host, is my
usual custom in my house: they always put for me, in each of the aaif,
a mithal of musk, and half a mithal of ambergris.--All
this time my brother was moving his head and mouth, and rolling about
his tongue between his cheeks, as if he were enjoying the sweets. After
this, the master of the house called out to his attendants, Bring the
dried fruits!--and again they moved about their hands in the air as
though they were doing what he ordered; when he said to my brother, Eat
of these almonds, and of these walnuts, and of these raisins;--and so
on; enumerating the various kinds of dried fruits; and added again, Eat,
and be not ashamed.--O my master, replied my brother, I have had enough,
and have not power to eat anything more:--but the host rejoined, If thou
desire, O my guest, to eat more, and to delight thyself with
extraordinary dainties, by Allah! by Allah! remain not hungry.

My brother now reflected upon his situation, and upon the manner in
which this man was jesting with him, and said within himself, By Allah,
I will do to him a deed that shall make him repent before God of these
actions! The man of the house next said to his attendants, Bring us the
wine:--and, as before, they made the same motions with their hands in
the air as if they were doing what he commanded; after which he
pretended to hand to my brother a cup, saying, Take this cup, for it
will delight thee:--and his guest replied, O my master, this is of thy
bounty:--and he acted with his hand as though he were drinking it.--Hath
it pleased thee? said the host.--O my master, answered my brother, I
have never seen anything more delicious than this wine.--Drink then,
rejoined the master of the house, and may it be attended with benefit
and health:--and he himself pretended to drink, and to hand a second cup
to my brother, who, after he had affected to drink it, feigned himself
intoxicated, and, taking his host unawares, raised his hand until the
whiteness of his arm-pit appeared, and struck him such a slap upon his
neck that the chamber rang at the blow; and this he followed by a second
blow; whereupon the man exclaimed, What is this, thou vilest of the
creation?--O my master, answered my brother, I am thy slave, whom thou
hast graciously admitted into thine abode, and thou hast fed him with
thy provisions, and treated him with old wine, and he hath become
intoxicated, and committed an outrage upon thee; but thou art of too
exalted dignity to be angry with him for his ignorance.

When the master of the house heard these words of my brother, he uttered
a loud laugh, and said to him, Verily for a long time have I made game
of men, and jested with all persons accustomed to joking and rudeness,
but I have not seen among them any who could endure this trick, nor any
who had sagacity to conform to all my actions, except thee: now,
therefore, I pardon thee; and be thou my companion in reality, and never
relinquish me. He then gave orders to bring a number of the dishes above
mentioned, and he and my brother ate together to satisfaction; after
which they removed to the drinking-chamber, where female slaves like so
many moons sang all kinds of melodies, and played on all kinds of
musical instruments. There they drank until intoxication overcame them:
the master of the house treated my brother as a familiar friend, became
greatly attached to him, and clad him with a costly dress; and on the
following morning they resumed their feasting and drinking. Thus they
continued to live for a period of twenty years: the man then died, and
the Sulan seized upon his property, and took possession of
it.

My brother, upon this, went forth from the city, a fugitive; and upon
his way, a party of Arabs came upon him. They made him a
captive; and the man who captured him tortured him with beating, and
said to him, By Allah, purchase thyself of me by wealth, or I will kill
thee:--but my brother, weeping, replied, By Allah, I possess nothing, O
Sheykh of the Arabs; nor do I know the means of obtaining any property:
I am thy captive; I have fallen into thy hands, and do with me what thou
wilt. And immediately the tyrannical Bedawee drew forth from his girdle
a broad-bladed knife (such as, if plunged into the neck of a camel,
would cut it across from one jugular vein to the other), and, taking it
in his right hand, approached my poor brother, and cut off with it his
lips; still urging his demand.--Now this Bedawee had a handsome wife,
who, when he was absent, used to manifest a strong affection for my
brother; though he observed a proper decorum towards her, fearing God
(whose name be exalted!); and it happened, one day, that she had called
him, and seated him with her; but while they were together, lo, her
husband came in upon them; and when he beheld my brother, he exclaimed,
Wo to thee, thou base wretch! Dost thou desire now to corrupt my
wife?--Then drawing his knife, he inflicted upon him another cruel
wound; after which he mounted him upon a camel, and, having cast him
upon a mountain, left him there, and went his way. Some travellers,
however, passed by him, and when they discovered him, they gave him food
and drink, and acquainted me with his case: so I went forth to him, and
conveyed him back into the city, and allotted him a sufficient
maintenance.



Now I have come unto thee, O Prince of the Faithful, continued the
barber, and feared to return to my house without relating to thee these
facts; for to neglect doing so had been an error. Thus thou hast seen
that, although having six brothers, I am of a more upright character
than they.--But when the Prince of the Faithful had heard my story, and
all that I had related to him respecting my brothers, he laughed, and
said, Thou hast spoken truth, O amit (O silent man); thou art a person
of few words, and devoid of impertinence; now, however, depart from this
city, and take up thine abode in another. So he banished me from
Baghdad; and I journeyed through various countries, and traversed many
regions, until I heard of his death, and of the succession of another
Khaleefeh; when, returning to my city, I met with this young man, unto
whom I did the best of deeds, and who, had it not been for me, had been
slain: yet he hath accused me of that which is not in my character; for
all that he hath related of me, with respect to impertinence, and
loquacity, and dulness, and want of taste, is false, O people.


CONTINUATION OF THE STORY TOLD BY THE TAILOR.

The tailor then proceeded thus:--When we heard the story of the barber,
and were convinced of his impertinence and loquacity, and that the young
man had been treated unjustly by him, we seized hold upon him, and put
him in confinement, and, seating ourselves to keep watch over him, ate
and drank; and the feast was finished in the most agreeable manner. We
remained sitting together until the call to afternoon-prayers, when I
went forth, and returned to my house; but my wife looked angrily at me,
and said, Thou hast been all the day enjoying thy pleasure while I have
been sitting at home sorrowful; now if thou go not forth with me and
amuse me for the remainder of the day, thy refusal will be the cause of
my separation from thee. So I took her and went out with her, and we
amused ourselves until nightfall, when, returning home, we met this
humpback, full of drink, and repeating verses; upon which I invited him
to come home with us, and he consented. I then went forth to buy some
fried fish, and having bought it and returned, we sat down to eat; and
my wife took a morsel of bread and a piece of fish, and put them into
his mouth, and choked him, so that he died; whereupon I took him up, and
contrived to throw him into the house of this physician, and he
contrived to throw him into the house of the steward, and the steward
contrived to throw him in the way of the broker.--This is the story of
what happened to me yesterday. Is it not more wonderful than that of the
humpback?


CONTINUATION OF THE STORY OF THE HUMPBACK.

When the King had heard this story, he ordered certain of his
chamberlains to go with the tailor, and to bring the barber; saying to
them, His presence is indispensable, that I may hear his talk, and it
may be the cause of the deliverance of you all: then we will bury this
humpback decently in the earth, for he hath been dead since yesterday;
and we will make him a monument around his grave, since he hath been the
occasion of our acquaintance with these wonderful stories.

The chamberlains and the tailor soon came back, after having gone to the
place of confinement and brought the barber, whom they placed before the
King; and when the King beheld him, he saw him to be an old man, passed
his ninetieth year, of dark countenance, and white beard and eyebrows,
with small ears, and long nose, and a haughty aspect. The King laughed
at the sight of him, and said to him, O silent man, I desire that thou
relate to me somewhat of thy stories.--O King of the age, replied the
barber, what is the occasion of the presence of this Christian and this
Jew and this Muslim, and this humpback lying dead among you; and what is
the reason of this assembly?--Wherefore dost thou ask this? said the
King. The barber answered, I ask it in order that the King may know me
to be no impertinent person, nor one who meddleth with that which doth
not concern him, and that I am free from the loquacity of which they
accuse me: for I am fortunate in my characteristic appellation, since
they have surnamed me E-amit; and, as the poet hath said,--

  Seldom hast thou seen a person honoured with a surname,
    but thou wilt find, if thou search, that his character
    is expressed by it.

The King therefore said, Explain to the barber the case of this
humpback, and what happened to him yesterday evening, and explain to him
also what the Christian hath related, and the Jew and the steward and
the tailor. So they repeated to him the stories of all these persons.

The barber, thereupon, shook his head, saying, By Allah, this is a
wonderful thing! Uncover this humpback, that I may examine him.--And
they did so. He then seated himself at his head, and, taking it up,
placed it upon his lap, and looked at his face, and laughed so violently
that he fell backwards, exclaiming, For every death there is a cause;
and the death of this humpback is most wonderful: it is worthy of being
registered in the records, that posterity may be instructed by this
event!--The King, astonished at his words, said, O amit, explain to us
the reason of thy saying this.--O King, replied the barber, by thy
beneficence, life is yet in the humpback! He then drew forth from his
bosom a pot containing some ointment, and with this he anointed the neck
of the humpback; after which he covered it up until it perspired; when
he took forth an iron forceps, and put it down his throat, and extracted
the piece of fish with its bone, and all the people saw them. The
humpback now sprang upon his feet, and sneezed, and, recovering his
consciousness, drew his hands over his face, and exclaimed, There is no
Deity but God! Moammad is God's Apostle! God bless and save him!--and
all who were present were astonished at the sight, and the King laughed
until he became insensible; as did also the other spectators. The King
exclaimed, By Allah, this accident is wonderful! I have never witnessed
anything more strange!--and added, O Muslims! O assembly of soldiers!
have ye ever in the course of your lives seen any one die and after
that come to life? But had not God blessed him with this barber, the
humpback had been to-day numbered among the people of the other world;
for the barber hath been the means of restoring him to life.--They
replied, This is indeed a wonderful thing!

The King then gave orders to record this event; and when they had done
so, he placed the record in the royal library; and he bestowed dresses
of honour upon the Jew and the Christian and the steward; upon each of
them, a costly dress: the tailor he appointed to be his own tailor,
granting him regular allowances, and reconciling him and the humpback
with each other: the humpback he honoured with a rich and beautiful
dress, and with similar allowances, and appointed him his cup-companion;
and upon the barber also he conferred the like favours, rewarding him
with a costly dress of honour, regular allowances, and a fixed salary,
and appointing him state-barber, and his own cup-companion: so they all
lived in the utmost happiness and comfort until they were visited by the
terminator of delights and the separator of friends.






NOTES TO CHAPTER FIFTH.

NOTE 1. As the story of the Humpback is one of the best in this
collection, and purely Arab, I have been glad to find, in the Calcutta
edition of the first two hundred nights, authority for deviating here
from my usual standard copy, by substituting "El-Barah" for a city of
China. The Breslau edition, in the opening of the story, lays the scene
at "El-Barah _and_ ajar." By the latter, I suppose Kashghar to be
meant.

NOTE 2. In my original, they are said to have gone out early in the
morning; but this is contradicted by the sequel.

NOTE 3. The appeal to Ezra's ass, which alludes to a tradition believed
by the Muslims, as it is mentioned in the ur-an, is omitted in the
Cairo edition. The story is this:--'Ozeyr, or Ezra, "riding on an ass by
the ruins of Jerusalem, after it had been destroyed by the Chaldeans,
doubted in his mind by what means God could raise the city and its
inhabitants again; whereupon God caused him to die, and he remained in
that condition a hundred years; at the end of which, God restored him to
life, and he found a basket of figs and a cruise of wine that he had
with him, not in the least spoiled or corrupted; but his ass was dead,
the bones only remaining; and these, while the Prophet looked on, were
raised and clothed with flesh, becoming an ass again, which, being
inspired with life, began immediately to bray."

NOTE 4. Most Arab cities abound with cats, which are much favoured by
the inhabitants. These animals are often seen leaping across from the
terrace of one house to that of another on the opposite side of a narrow
street; and often has my kitchen in Cairo been robbed by them. They are
said to contribute greatly to the spreading of the plague.

NOTE 5. Occurrences of this kind are said to have often happened in Arab
towns, where dogs, though esteemed unclean by the Muslims, are, like
cats, generally very numerous. Few of them have masters; but they
compose distinct tribes; those of each tribe confining themselves to a
particular quarter or district of the town, and suffering no strange dog
to intrude among them and share with them in the offal thrown out from
the butchers' shops and from private houses; or prowling about the
mounds of rubbish in the environs, and, like the vultures, feeding upon
the carcasses of camels, asses, and other beasts, thrown out by the
inhabitants. I was once told that the master of an English
merchant-vessel, having fallen asleep in a state of intoxication on the
shore of the harbour of Alexandria, at night, was devoured by dogs.

NOTE 6. The snatching of turbans by night is still a frequent practice
of Arab rogues, and one which is often very lucrative; many a turban
being composed of a costly Kashmeer shawl wound round a arboosh, which
latter alone is worth eight or nine shillings, or more, and some also
having money or other valuables secreted in them.

NOTE 7. Watchmen are generally employed to guard by night the soos, or
market-streets, and other districts, in Arab towns. Those in Cairo carry
a nebboot, or long staff, but no lantern. Their usual cries are of a
religious nature; as, "I extol the perfection of the Living King, who
sleepeth not nor dieth!" When they see a passenger approaching, they
call out to him, "Attest the unity of God!" or merely, "Attest the
unity!" and the reply is, "There is no deity but God!" It is supposed
that a person bound on any unlawful undertaking would not dare to utter
these words.

NOTE 8. At the period when this work was composed, the Christians were
distinguished from the Muslims by a black or blue turban, and this was
wound in a peculiar manner.

NOTE 9.--_On the Title and Office of_ Walee. "Walee" is the title given
to the chief magistrate of the police, and was so employed in the time
of El-Mareezee, instead of the older appellation of "aeb
esh-Shurah." The same officer was also called "Mutawellee." It was the
duty of this magistrate to perambulate the streets at night, attended by
a body of his officers, including an executioner; for he often inflicted
capital punishment on criminals immediately after their detection. He
was invested with a degree of despotic power, and often put to death
persons accused of capital crimes without the formalities required by
the law. It was also his duty to superintend the infliction of the
punishments of criminals legally condemned. An officer was employed to
perform the nightly rounds in El-Medeeneh in the reign of Aboo-Bekr; but
it appears that the first regular guard for this purpose was appointed
in the reign of 'Othman.

NOTE 10. The ardebb, thus commonly pronounced, but properly written
irdebb, varies in different places. In Cairo it is very nearly
equivalent to five English bushels.

NOTE 11. In the original, this building is called the Khan of
El-Jawalee; but it evidently should be----of El-Jawalee; and the error
is to be attributed to a copyist. The Khan of El-Jawalee is mentioned by
El-Mareezee, as being situate at a short distance within the
present gate called Bab en-Nar, and by the site of the older gate so
called; and as existing in his time, in the former half of the ninth
century of the Flight. [El-Mareezee also informs us, in his account of
the Medreseh el-Jawaleeyeh, that El-Jawalee's full name was
'Alam-ed-Deen Senjer, and that he was originally a memlook of one
Jawalee (whence his surname), an Emeer of El-Melik e-ahir Beybars. He
died in the year of the Flight 745.--ED.]

NOTE 12. Bab en-Nar (the Gate of Victory, or----of Aid) is the name
of the easternmost of the northern gates of Cairo. It was built in the
reign of the Khaleefeh El-Mustanir, in the year of the Flight 480 (A.
D. 1087-8).

NOTE 13. The words "besides my brokerage," I have inserted as necessary
to make the account correct.

NOTE 14. It has been shewn in a former note that the Arabs consider it
indecorous to eat with the left hand.

NOTE 15. As it is held impolite to shew the hands, unless unavoidably,
in the presence of a person of rank, the sleeve of the cloth coat, or
that of the silk vest which is worn beneath it, is made sufficiently
long to extend a little beyond the ends of the fingers; and so also, in
general, is the sleeve of the shirt worn by persons of the lower orders.

NOTE 16. This building is first called, in the Cairo edition, the Khan
of Suroor; and afterwards,----of Mesroor: the latter is the
appellation given to it in the edition of Breslau; and is the correct
name. The Khan of Mesroor is mentioned by El-Mareezee, as situate
at the southern extremity of Beyn el-areyn (respecting which see the
next note), adjacent to the site of the Great Palace of the Khaleefehs.
There were two Khans of this name near each other. El-Mareezee says,
that, in his earlier days, the greater of these, which appears to be
that here alluded to, was one of the finest and largest Khans in Cairo,
in a most flourishing state, the resort of the chief Syrian merchants,
and the depot of their goods; but that latterly it had declined, and
some portions of it were ruined.

NOTE 17. Beyn el-areyn (which signifies "Between the Two Palaces") is
the name still applied to that part of the principal street of Cairo
which intervenes between the sites of the two famous palaces of the
Khaleefehs.

NOTE 18. A eysareeyeh is a superior kind of soo, consisting of ranges
of shops facing each other. That which is here mentioned (called in the
Cairo edition, the eysereeyeh of Jirjis; in the edition of Breslau, the
eysareeyeh of Jarkash; and in the old English version, erroneously, the
Circassian bezestein) is the eysareeyeh of Jaharkas, which, as I learn
from El-Mareezee, was situate near the centre of what constituted
the old city, on the east of the principal street. It existed in his
time, and was built by the Emeer Fakhr-ed-Deen Jaharkas, in the year of
the Flight 502 (A.D. 1108-9). Ibn-Khallikan, as quoted by
El-Mareezee, says of it, "I have seen a number of merchants who have
traversed various countries, and who say, 'We have not seen in any
country its equal in beauty and greatness, and compactness of
construction.'" He explains also the orthography of the name of
"Jaharkas," and states that it is Persian (Chahar-kas), and signifies
"four persons."

NOTE 19. The Egyptian fowls are much smaller than those of our country,
and one is not too much for one man's breakfast. The eggs are usually
hatched in ovens.

NOTE 20. The appellation of "the Gardener" is here to be understood as a
mere surname derived from the occupation of some ancestor of the
merchant; it being a common custom of the Arabs to retain an appellation
of this kind, however humble.

NOTE 21. El-Mareezee mentions a "soo of the money-changers" as
near to the Khan of Mesroor; and it seems to be the place here alluded
to: the word "soo" being often omitted.

NOTE 22. The lady having offered up a prayer that the young merchant
might be her husband, I have taken the liberty of inserting here a
slight interpolation, which does not detract from the probability or
consistency of the story; but rather the contrary.

NOTE 23.--_On one of the Passages in this Work indicating a very late
Date._ The abbaneeyeh is the name now applied to a portion of a main
street, a little to the west of the lake called Birket el-Feel, in the
southern part of Cairo. It is evidently thus applied in the passage to
which this note relates; but El-Mareezee, writing in the former half of
the ninth century of the Flight, says, "In this our time, bordering
upon it  is a _garden_ called by the name of the
abbaneeyeh, who were a family of Darma the son of 'Amr the son of 'Owf
the son of Thaalebeh the son of Baal the son of 'Amr the son of El-Ghoth
the son of eiyi: so Darma was a minor family of  eiyi,
and the abbaneeyoon  were
a family of Darma; and the people have made a road between the garden of
the abbaneeyeh and the lake." He proceeds to say, that on the _east_ of
the Birket el-Feel there _were_ gardens; but that _houses_ and _streets_
had been built _there_.--Now, in the work before us, the tract which was
a _garden_ in the time of El-Mareezee is mentioned as occupied by
_houses_ and _streets_. Many years must have elapsed since that period
before such could have been the case; and surely at least a century
before the houses could have presented such an appearance as would lead
a writer to imagine them of "ancient times." It may be objected against
an argument drawn from this passage, that it is perhaps an interpolation
of a copyist; but it agrees with many evidences of a late date, and
occurs in at least one other copy (that from which the Breslau edition
is printed), with only this slight difference--that "abbaneeyeh," by
the erroneous addition of a point beneath the first letter, is converted
into "Jebbaneeyeh;" and it should be remarked that the latter copy
varies considerably in other points from that of Cairo. It would imply
that Cairo was almost as extensive a city at the time when this work was
composed or modernized as it is at present; and would account for its
being here called Mir, or Mar; a name which was retained by El-Fusa
at least as late as the commencement of the tenth century of the Flight,
and probably until the year 1517 of our era or a little later, as I have
remarked in a former note.

NOTE 24. "a'ah" is a term generally signifying "a lofty saloon;" but
also often applied to an elegant house.

NOTE 25. "Naeeb" signifies "a chief," "a leader," &c., and has various
applications. In the present instance, the office which it designates is
doubtful, but is evidently of high dignity, as Naeeb of the Shereefs,
the Chief, or Syndic, of the Descendants of the Prophet.

NOTE 26. Bab Zuweyleh (the Gate of Zuweyleh, or, more properly, of
Zaweeleh, which is the name of a tribe) is a gate that was built at the
same period as Bab en-Nar, before mentioned. It marked the southern
limit of Cairo; but is now in the heart of the metropolis. With two
round-fronted towers, each surmounted by a lofty and elegant mad'neh, or
menaret, pertaining to the adjoining great mosque of El-Mueiyad, it
presents a very noble appearance.

NOTE 27. "Imperial gypsum" is a name given to the best kind of plaster
used in Cairo. I have often admired the smoothness of its surface upon
the walls of chambers in some of the older houses in that city; but, I
need hardly say, never saw any that reflected like a mirror.

NOTE 28. In the Cairo edition, "with pearls and jewels at its corners."
The deficiency I have supplied from the edition of Breslau: but I may
here remark, that it would have been more proper to describe the snakes
as _gilt_.

NOTE 29.--_On the Crowns worn by Arab Ladies._ From Eastern drawings and
descriptions, it appears that the kind of crown here mentioned was
generally a circle of jewelled gold (the lower edge of which was
straight; and the upper, fancifully heightened to four or more points)
surrounding the lower part of a dome-shaped cap with a jewel or some
other ornament at the summit. This crown was worn by many Arab ladies of
high rank or great wealth, probably until about two centuries ago.
Another kind of crown is now more generally worn, called a "ur." This
is a round, convex ornament, generally about five inches in diameter,
composed of gold set with a profusion of diamonds, of open work,
representing roses, leaves, &c. It is sewed upon the top of the
arboosh; and is worn by most of the ladies of Cairo, at least in full
dress. An engraving of a crown of this description, and another of one
of a more common kind, may be seen in my work on the Modern Egyptians,
vol. ii. Appendix A.

NOTE 30. It is a common custom of the Arabs to give a present of money
tied up in a corner of an embroidered handkerchief.

NOTE 31. The mace is a weapon still used in the East; but not so
commonly as it was in former times. There was a petty governor in Upper
Egypt during my first visit to that country, who, in his daily rides,
indulged a frequent habit of striking persons with a weapon of this
kind, a tolerably-heavy steel mace; but he did it with a happy knack, so
as never, I believe, to inflict a dangerous wound, unless intentionally.
Maces, like other arms of steel, are often tastefully inlaid with
arabesque ornaments and inscriptions in gold.

NOTE 32.--_On the Punishment of Theft._ The Mohammadan law ordains that
a person who is adult and of sound mind, if he steals an article of the
value of a quarter of a deenar (or piece of gold) from a place to which
he has not ordinary or free access, shall lose his right hand; but this
punishment is not to be inflicted for stealing a free child, or anything
which, in the eye of the law, is of no pecuniary value; as wine, or a
musical instrument; and there are some other cases in which the thief is
not to be so punished. For the second offence, the left foot is to be
cut off; and for the third and subsequent offences, according to the
anafee code, the culprit is to be punished by a long imprisonment; or,
by the Shafe'ee law, for the third offence, he is to lose his left hand;
for the fourth, his right foot; and for further offences, he is to be
flogged or beaten. The punishment is the same for a woman as for a
man.--This law induced a freethinking Muslim to ask, "If the hand is
worth five hundred deenars, [this being the fine for depriving a man of
that member,] why should it be cut off for a quarter of a deenar?" He
was answered, "An honest hand is of great value; but not so is the hand
that hath stolen."--Amputation for theft is now seldom practised:
beating, or some other punishment, is usually inflicted in its stead for
the first, second, and third offence; and, frequently, death for the
fourth.

NOTE 33. Capital punishment in this case would be contrary to the law;
but it is often inflicted upon highway-robbers.

NOTE 34. The meaning is, that the doer is God. An allusion is here
conveyed to a verse (the 17th) in the Soorat el-Anfal (the eighth
chapter of the ur-an)--"Thou didst not cast [the gravel into their
eyes] when thou didst 

NOTE 35. The honour that is due to the human body requires that any
portion disunited from it be decently deposited in the earth.

NOTE 36. As a hair, for instance, is drawn from paste.

NOTE 37. These verses are founded on a tradition of the Prophet.

NOTE 38. _On_ Khatmehs, _or Recitations of the whole of the_ ur-an _at
Private Festivities._ The most approved and common mode of entertaining
guests at modern private festivities among the Arabs is by a Khatmeh,
which is the recitation of the whole of the ur-an. Three or more
persons of the inferior class of the professors of religion and law, who
are called faeehs (vulgarly, fiees), are usually hired for this
purpose. Schoolmasters, and students of the collegiate mosques who
devote themselves to religion and law, are the persons most commonly
thus employed. Their mode of recitation is a peculiar kind of
chanting, which, when well executed, I found very agreeable, at
least for an hour or so: but the guests seldom have to listen to the
chanting of the whole of the ur-an: the reciters usually accomplish the
greater portion of their task, in a somewhat hurried manner, before the
guests have assembled, each of them chanting, in turn, a certain
portion, as a thirtieth part of the whole (called a "juz"), or half of
one of these sections (a "ezb"), or, more commonly, a quarter (ruba).
Afterwards they chant more leisurely, and in a more musical manner; but
still by turns.--These recitations of the whole of the ur-an are
performed on various festive occasions, but are most usual after a
death; the merit of the performance being transferred to the soul of the
deceased.

NOTE 39. The mess termed "zirbajeh," by some called "zurbajeh," from the
Persian "zeerbaj," is a kind of spoon-meat. Some of its ingredients are
described in the sequel of the present story.

NOTE 40.--_On Atonements and other Services for the Dead._ As filial
piety is a general characteristic of the Arabs, and various services are
believed by them to atone for the minor sins of the deceased, and thus
to diminish his misery, or to increase his happiness, it is natural, and
not uncommon, for a son to act in the manner here related. Recitations
of the ur-an are performed for the dead, to whom the merit of these
works is transferred, and a sacrifice is often offered at the tomb after
the burial; the flesh of the victim being distributed to the poor. But a
more important service for the deceased is the payment of his debts; for
it is affirmed by the Prophet, that even martyrdom will not atone for a
debt unpaid.

NOTE 41. A money-changer is very frequently employed to examine the
money which a purchaser offers; and if it be old, to weigh it. The
money-changers are mostly Jews and Christians.

NOTE 42. Some mosques (as the Azhar, for instance, the principal mosque
of Cairo) remain open all night; and many houseless persons sleep in
them, upon the matting which covers the paved floor. Men are also often
seen, at other times, but not at the hours of prayer, lounging, eating,
or working, in the mosques; such practices not being deemed inconsistent
with the high respect which the Muslims pay to these buildings.

NOTE 43. The remainder of this paragraph, and the whole of the next two
paragraphs, being omitted in the edition of Cairo, I translate from the
Calcutta edition of the first two hundred nights, and the edition of
Breslau; but almost entirely from the former.

NOTE 44. The water of the well of Zemzem, in the temple of Mekkeh, is
believed to possess miraculous virtues, and is therefore brought away in
bottles or flasks by many of the pilgrims, to be used when occasion may
require as medicine, or to be sprinkled on grave-linen. A bottle of it
is a common and acceptable present from a pilgrim, and a guest is
sometimes treated with a sip of this holy water.

NOTE 45. A whip is sometimes used in the areem of a great man; and its
being attached to the waist of the damsel here mentioned marks her
authority. It is generally formed of a strip of hippopotamus' hide,
hammered into a round shape; and this kind is called a "kurbaj." I
believe it is seldom used in the areem with severity; but usually for
intimidation. [I once saw some of the ladies of Nazlee Khanim (thus
vulgarly pronounced for Nazloo Khanum) struck with a kurbaj, for too
curiously looking in at the window of an apartment in that lady's
palace, in which I and some friends happened to be, and which overlooked
the private garden. They were speedily driven away by two or three black
eunuchs, who appeared to use their heavy whips indiscriminately and
severely; their excuse for this conduct undoubtedly being, that these
ladies were guilty of a great impropriety in thus shewing themselves to
men; for when riding abroad, it is usual for passengers in the streets
to turn their faces to the wall on the approach of the women of a great
man's household. Moreover, the areem of Nazlee Khanim was well known to
be ruled with an iron hand, and its mistress herself to have acquired
the character of her brutal husband, Moammad Bey, the Defterdar, whose
cruelties are mentioned in the "Modern Egyptians."--ED.]

NOTE 46. It is a universal custom of the Arabs, on visiting the sick, to
say, "May our Lord restore thee!" or, "No evil befall thee!" &c.

NOTE 47. The first hospital built by a Muslim was that of Damascus,
founded by El-Weleed the son of 'Abd-El-Melik, in the eighty-eighth year
of the Flight (A. D. 706-7). The Arabs would deprive St. Ephrem Syrus of
the honour of having been the author of the first institution of this
kind; one of their historians ascribing it to an early Pharaoh, named
Menaiyoosh; another, to Hippocrates.

NOTE 48. The remainder of the paragraph is translated from the Calcutta
edition of the first two hundred nights.

Note 49. "The metropolis of the world," or literally, "the mother of the
world" ("umm ed-dunya"), is a title given to several cities, as well as
to Cairo, by their respective inhabitants. This passage, therefore, and
others of a similar kind, in which even _foreigners_ are made to rank
Egypt and Cairo as superior to every other country and city, strongly
favour the opinion that some of its tales were written, or altered, by
an Egyptian.

NOTE 50. A more ample eulogium upon Egypt and the Nile, but abounding
with such gross errors that I could not confidently offer a translation,
is found in the Breslau edition. It agrees better with the old
translation; which, however, in this place, presents considerable
unauthorized amplifications, and some misconceptions: "Birket el-abash"
(for instance), the name of a lake on the south of Cairo, being mistaken
for Ethiopia.

NOTE 51. For this monthly rent (or about a guinea of our money), a large
and handsome house may be hired at the present day in Cairo.

NOTE 52. After the amputation of the hand for theft, the stump is
usually plunged in boiling pitch or tar, or oil, to stanch the blood.

NOTE 53.--_On Retaliation and Fines for Wounds and Mutilations._
Retaliation for intentional wounds and mutilations is allowed by the
Mohammadan law, like as for murder; "eye for eye," &c.: but a fine
may be accepted instead, which the law allows also for unintentional
injuries. The fine for a member that is single (as the nose) is the
whole price of blood, as for homicide; namely a thousand deenars (about
500_l._) from him who possesses gold; or, from him who possesses
silver, twelve thousand dirhems (about 300_l._); for a member of which
there are two, and not more (as a hand), half the price of blood; for
one of which there are ten (a finger or toe), a tenth of the price of
blood: but the fine of a man for maiming or wounding a woman is half of
that for the same injury to a man; and that of a free person for
injuring a slave varies according to the value of the slave. The fine
for depriving a man of any of his five senses, or dangerously wounding
him, or grievously disfiguring him for life, is the whole price of
blood.

NOTE 54. See No. 20 of the notes to Chapter ii.--"The women of Egypt
have the character of being the most licentious in their feelings of all
females who lay any claim to be considered as members of a civilized
nation; and this character is freely bestowed upon them by their
_countrymen_, even in conversation with foreigners."--In the work
from which the above passage is quoted, I have expatiated upon this
subject more than I need do in the present case.

NOTE 55. The Arabs are generally of opinion that the innate dispositions
of a child are inherited more from the mother than from the father. They
believe that a daughter commonly resembles, in good or evil qualities,
her mother; and a son, his maternal uncle. Hence they often address a
man, "Ya eiyib el-khal!"--"O thou who hast a good maternal uncle!"

NOTE 56. 'Abd-Allah Ibn-'Abbas was one of the most learned of the
companions of his cousin Moammad, and one of the most celebrated of the
relaters of his sayings and actions. He has received the titles of
"Interpreter of the ur-an" and "Sulan of Commentators." He died in the
year of the Flight 68. His father, 'Abbas, the son of 'Abd-El-Mualib,
was paternal uncle of Moammad, and ancestor of the 'Abbasee Khaleefehs.

NOTE 57.--_On the Astrolabe._ The astrolabe is more commonly used by the
Arabs than any other instrument for astronomical observations. It is
generally between four and six inches in diameter. It consists of a
circular plate with a graduated rim, within which fit several thinner
plates, and of a limb, moving on a pivot in the centre, with two sights.
The plates are engraved with complicated diagrams, &c., for various
calculations. The instrument is held by a ring, or by a loop of cord
attached to the ring, during an observation; and thus its own weight
answers the same purpose as the plumb-line of the quadrant (which the
Arabs sometimes use in its stead); the position of the moveable limb
with the sights marking the required altitude.

NOTE 58. afar is the second mouth of the Mohammadan year.

NOTE 59. As different copies vary here as to the date, I have taken the
liberty of putting 263 instead of 763 or 653, in order to avoid a
glaring anachronism. It is probable, however, that the last of these is
the author's date, as it is found both in the old translation, and in
the Breslau edition. The date in the Cairo edition is 763.

NOTE 60. A degree is four minutes; it would have been more proper,
therefore, to have said, eight degrees and two minutes, than seven
degrees and six minutes.

NOTE 61. "E-amit" signifies "the Silent."

NOTE 62. This and the two following names, or rather, surnames, convey
the same meaning. Baboo, Heddar, and Baba (here, in my original,
erroneously written Yaya), signify "Chatterer." "El-Kooz el-Awanee"
(not to be mistaken for "---- ---- Aswanee," with a _soft_ s) seems to
imply that the person thus named was always like a mug, with open mouth,
and insensible as flint to rebuke. The two remaining names are different
in different copies: "Shaali" is perhaps put erroneously for some
other word, as "Shia," "Discord."

NOTE 63. ur-an, ch. iii. v. 128.

NOTE 64. The Arabs generally carry their young children in this manner,
seated astride upon the shoulder.

NOTE 65. This expression is borrowed from the ur-an, ch. xlviii. v. 10.
The meaning is, "there is no power of man, but God's power is superior
to it."

NOTE 66. The Prophet (Moammad) is always alluded to when this form of
benediction is used and the name of the person to whom it is applied is
not mentioned.

NOTE 67. "Nedd" is a perfume composed of ambergris, musk, and aloes
wood; or simply ambergris.

NOTE 68. Two khubehs are recited on the occasion of the congregational
Friday-prayers. It is the first of these which is here alluded to. See
the next note.

NOTE 69.--_On the Congregational Friday-prayers._ The Selam (or
Salutation) of Friday is a form of blessing on the Prophet and his
family and companions, which is chanted by the mueddins from the
mad'nehs (or towers) of the congregational mosques half an hour before
noon. The worshippers begin to assemble in the mosque as soon as they
hear it, and, ranging themselves in rows parallel to, and facing, that
side in which is the niche, that marks the direction of Mekkeh, each
performs, by himself, the prayers of two rek'ahs, which are
supererogatory, and then sits in his place while a reader recites part
or the whole of the 18th chapter of the ur-an. At the call of noon,
they all stand up, and each again performs, separately, the prayers of
two rek'ahs, ordained by the Prophet. A minister, standing at the foot
of the pulpit-stairs, then proposes to bless the Prophet: and
accordingly, a second Selam is chanted by one or more other ministers
stationed on an elevated platform. After this, the former minister, and
the latter after him, repeat the call of noon (which the mueddins have
before chanted from the mad'nehs); and the former enjoins silence. The
chief minister (Khaeeb, or Imam,) has already seated himself on the top
step or platform of the pulpit. He now rises, and recites a khubeh of
praise to God and exhortation to the congregation; and if in a country
or town acquired by arms from unbelievers, he holds a wooden sword,
resting its point on the ground. Each of the congregation next
offers up some private supplication; after which, the Khaeeb recites a
second khubeh, which is always the same, or nearly so; part, of a
similar nature to the first, but chiefly, prayer for the Prophet and his
family, &c., and for the general welfare of the Muslims. This finished,
the Khaeeb or Imam descends from the pulpit, and, stationed before the
niche, after a form of words differing slightly from the call to
prayer has been chanted by the ministers on the elevated platform before
mentioned, recites the divinely-ordained prayers of Friday (two
rek'ahs), while the people do the same silently, keeping time with him
exactly in the various postures. Thus are completed the Friday-prayers;
but some of the congregation remain, and perform the ordinary
divinely-ordained prayers of noon.

NOTE 70. So in the Cairo edition. El-Muntair bi-llah was the
great-grandson of Haroon Er-Rasheed, and acceded to the throne in the
year of the Flight 247 (A.D. 861). A slight anachronism, therefore, is
here presented, unless we suppose that the hero of the story told by
the Sulan's steward was an old man at the period of the misfortune of
the humpback. The reign of El-Muntair was somewhat less than six
months. The copy from which the old translation was made, and the
edition of Breslau, date the adventure of the barber, here related, more
than three centuries and a half later, in the reign of El-Mustair
bi-llah.

NOTE 71. The practice of spunging, or the intrusion of strangers at
entertainments, has long been very prevalent in Arab towns. An instance
has been given towards the close of Note 22 to Chapter iii.

NOTE 72. I have altered the order in which the brothers are described,
and omitted two particulars, to agree with the sequel.

NOTE 73. The next paragraph is translated from the Calcutta edition of
the first two hundred nights; being omitted in the Cairo edition. An
equal portion, later, is wanting in the old translation.

NOTE 74.--_On Augurations with respect to Marriage._ This passage
alludes to an astrological calculation made with the view of determining
by what sign of the zodiac the two persons are influenced who
contemplate becoming man and wife, and thence ascertaining whether they
will agree. This is often done in the present day by adding together the
numerical values of the letters composing his or her name and that of
the mother, and, if I remember right, subtracting from 12 the whole sum
if this is less than 12, or what remains after subtracting, or dividing
by, 12. Thus is obtained the number of the sign. The twelve signs,
commencing with Aries, correspond respectively with the elements of
fire, earth, air, water, fire, earth, and so on; and if the signs of the
two parties indicate the same element, it is inferred that they will
agree; but if they indicate different elements, the inference is, that
the one will be affected by the other in the same manner as the element
of the one is by that of the other: thus, if the element of the man is
fire, and that of the woman, water, he will be subject to her rule.

Among other calculations of the same kind is the following, which my
sheykh has mentioned in a marginal note on this passage, in the copy
from which I translate.--The numerical values of the letters composing
the name of each of the two parties are added together, and one of these
two sums is subtracted from the other: if the remainder is an uneven
number, the inference is unfavourable; but if even, the reverse.

In the present instance, the dupe, knowing that there are various modes
of divining whether he will be happy with his wife, is made to believe
that his fortune depends upon the mode, instead of the result, of the
calculation.

NOTE 75. Here, in my original, "Baba;" but this, as before mentioned,
was the name of the _third_ brother.

NOTE 76. "uffeh," signifying "a basket of palm-leaves," and "a dry
gourd," seems to be here equivalent to "empty-head."

NOTE 77. The blind in Egypt are notorious for their impudence.--It is
related that Moses, while bathing one day in the Nile, saw a blind man
pass by, and, being moved with pity, prayed that God would restore his
sight. His prayer was answered; but as soon as the eyes of the blind man
were opened, he seized the clothes of his benefactor, which were lying
on the bank, and protested that they were his own. Moses, therefore, now
prayed that the thief might be struck blind again; and God, answering
his prayer, said, O Moses, know that I am wiser than thou with respect
to my creatures.--This tradition was related to me in Cairo.

NOTE 78. It is generally thus that an injured Muslim calls others to his
aid.

NOTE 79. Like the natives of Egypt in the period of the Roman
domination, its modern inhabitants, and the Arabs of other
countries (though, I believe, in a less degree), are notorious for their
obstinacy in refusing to pay their taxes until they have been severely
beaten. They well know that, the more readily they pay, the more will be
exacted from them; and are often heard to boast of the number of stripes
which they have received before yielding their money. The same obstinacy
is generally displayed by an Arab accused of any offence; and often,
even by a witness: in either case the man fears that, should he tell at
once all he can, the judge will try whether the stick or the kurbaj
will elicit a further confession.

NOTE 80.--_On the general Corruptness of Muslim Judges._ Khir Bey
(whether he was a judge I do not know), conversing one day with his
friends on the difficulties experienced in the exercise of judicature,
one of the company remarked, "In my opinion, the greatest difficulty
that is met with is, when one of the parties is rich, and the other,
poor."--"In that case," replied Khir Bey, "I find none; for it is clear
that the rich will gain his cause, and the poor will lose: but the great
difficulty is, when the two parties are equally rich and powerful. If
thou, he continued, being a poor man, have a suit against one who is
rich and powerful, beware of applying to the aee; for he will not fail
to condemn thee: my advice is, that thou desist altogether from thy
suit, and rather throw thyself at the feet of thine adversary; for thou
wilt obtain more justice from him than from the aee."--For a
justification of the opinion here expressed, see my work on the Modern
Egyptians, vol. i. ch. iv.

NOTE 81.--_On good and evil Omens._ Of omens I have already treated, in
Note 15 to Chapter i.: but a few words on this subject must be here
added.--It is common to draw a lucky or unlucky omen from the first
object seen on going out in the morning; and according as that object is
pleasant or the contrary, the person says, "my morning is good," or
"---- bad." A one-eyed man is regarded as of evil omen; and especially
one who is blind of the _left_ eye. Many a person is related to have
suffered for having an unlucky countenance.

NOTE 82. The portion of this story comprised in the first paragraph
having been the subject of a specimen of the present publication,
translated from the Calcutta edition of the first two hundred nights,
and printed and distributed when I had not in my possession the copy of
the original which I have taken as my general standard, it is here given
nearly in the same words: I have only made a few slight additions and
alterations derived from a comparison of the two editions. Some of the
notes inserted in the specimen I omit in this place, as they relate to
matters already explained.--Hole remarks (in page 223), that this part
of the Barber's story of his Fifth Brother is derived "from an Indian
fable of the remotest antiquity ... found in the Heeto-pades of
Veeshnoo-Sarma," in which a Brahman "inadvertently breaks his pottery
ware ... with a walking-stick ... in the act of suppressing the
outrageous jealousy of four beautiful but turbulent wives."

NOTE 83. "El-Feshshar" signifies "the Foolish Talker," or "Vain
Boaster." I have substituted this name for "El-'Ashshar," the reading in
my original. In the Arabic characters, the latter differs from the
former in little more than the want of a point, and has no appropriate
meaning. It appears that, in most copies of the original, the barber's
Fifth Brother is surnamed "En-Neshshar," or "the Sawyer," perhaps in
allusion to his incessant loquacity: but this, also, in the Arabic
characters, very nearly resembles "El-Feshshar," which I doubt not to be
the right name.

NOTE 84. There is nothing very extravagant in this hope of the barber's
brother; for in the East, persons frequently rise from very low to very
high stations; and it is remarkable that, notwithstanding their usual
pride, they generally retain the appellation of the trade or craft which
they or their fathers pursued, however ignoble, before their elevation.
It is common for a great man to distinguish himself by adding to his
name the appellation of "the druggist or perfumer," or "the grocer,"
&c.; and he is not a whit the less respected on this account.

NOTE 85. The Eastern grandee rides not at the head or rear of his
attendants, but in the midst of them.

NOTE 86. Persons distinguished by rank or wealth or learning are saluted
by many of the shopkeepers and passengers as they pass through the
streets of Eastern cities, and often greeted with a short ejaculatory
prayer for the continuance of their life and happiness. When a very
great man rides through the streets, most of the shopkeepers rise to
him, and pay their respect to him by inclining the head, and touching
the lips and forehead or turban with the fingers of the right hand.

NOTE 87. See Note 12 to Chapter iii.

NOTE 88. He could scarcely shew his pride more strongly; for it is an
affront to reject a present.

NOTE 89. An Arab lady of high rank seldom makes use of her feet but to
move from one chamber to another; when she goes abroad, she always
rides: to stand for many minutes together is, therefore, fatiguing to
her.

NOTE 90. See the close of Note 39 to Chapter iv.

NOTE 91. This is said either to shew his vulgarity or that the weather
was sultry.

NOTE 92. "El-Meleeah" signifies "the Beautiful:" it is derived from
"mil" (salt, &c.).

NOTE 93. An occurrence of a similar nature, which happened a few years
ago in Cairo, was related to me by one of my friends there.--An old
woman frequented the tomb of a saint in that city, near the eastern gate
called the Bab el-Maroo, to which many women afflicted with disease or
barrenness often resorted to offer up prayers, believing their petitions
would be effectual through the saint's intercession; and she was in the
habit of enticing ladies from this tomb to the house of her husband,
which was near by, under pretence of his serving them with medicines or
with charms. The unsuspecting victim, being desired to go thither alone,
was conducted by the old woman to an upper room, at the end of which the
man was seated; and in walking over the matted floor to approach him,
suddenly fell through a trap-door into a place so deep that the fall
rendered her senseless. In this state, she was put to death; and as
ladies in Cairo always wear valuable ornaments and costly clothes, the
murderers were sure of obtaining considerable spoil.

NOTE 94. This money, we are to understand, was prepared for the purpose
of giving those presents which are customary from a guest at a
marriage-festivity; but the mention of a smaller sum would have been
more proper. It is given to the singing-women and tire-women who, in
great houses, parade the bride through the different apartments, and
display her in different rich suits of attire before the bridegroom.

NOTE 95.--_On the Handkerchief, and Signet, of Indemnity._ Sometimes,
the handkerchief, and sometimes, the signet, or seal-ring, is given as a
pledge of indemnity.--It was a frequent custom of many a chief of the
Memlooks of Egypt (there commonly called "the Ghuzz"), to bastinade men
in the court of his mansion (when he desired to make a show of strict
justice), in order that one of the women of the family, hearing the
cries, might drop a handkerchief from a window, and so the punishment
might soon cease, in respect for the areem, whose protection is often
appealed to by offenders.

NOTE 96. The title of "Sulan" is here, and afterwards, given to the
Khaleefeh; and it has been so employed by a celebrated historian,
El-Mareezee.

NOTE 97. So, apparently, in most copies; but in the Cairo edition, "of
the sons of the Kings." It is said to have been a custom of some of the
Barmekees (the family so renowned for their generosity) to keep open
house during the hours of meals, and to allow no one who applied at such
times for admission to be repulsed.

NOTE 98. "Sikbaj" is a dish composed of meat, wheat-flour, and vinegar.

NOTE 99. "aaif" is a name applied to various kinds of sweet pastry:
particularly to a kind of small pancakes, made of a thin paste of fine
flour and water, about three inches broad, and a sixth of an inch or
less in thickness, baked upon a copper tray over a fire, like kunafeh
(the composition of which is the same), and eaten with honey or sugar:
also to cakes composed of fine flour, treacle or honey, and sesame-oil.
The sirup mentioned in the same sentence is (as my sheykh states in a
marginal note) treacle thickened over the fire.--The proper singular of
aaif, namely, "aeefeh," is seldom used; one of these cakes being
generally called "fard aaif." Sometimes, it appears, they were
perfumed with musk.

NOTE 100. The "mithal" is the weight of a deenar, or a dirhem and a
half,--in Cairo, about 71-1/2 or 72 English grains.

NOTE 101. See above, Note 96.

NOTE 102. By "Arabs," we are here to understand Bedawees, or Arabs of
the Desert, who are termed, by the older writers, "Aarab," or
"Aarabees;" but in my original, as in other late works, "'Arab," which
was the _old_ appellation of the _townspeople_ and _villagers_.




   Sale's Koran; note near the close of chap. ii.

   See De Sacy, Relation de l'Egypte par Abd-allatif, pp.
  381 et seq.; and Quatremere, Histoire des Sultans Mamlouks,
  vol. i. pp. 109 et seq., a work of very great value, especially
  for the notes.

   In his "Khia;" description of the principal street of
  Cairo, and its branches (MS. in my possession).

   In his "Khia;" description of the principal street of
  Cairo, and its branches; and account of the Khans.

   Idem; account of the eysareeyehs; and description of the
  principal street of Cairo, and its branches.

   The orthography of this celebrated name is disputed; and
  I may therefore mention that I have found it written Khall'kan
  in an Arabic MS. of the year of the Flight 843; and in many
  MSS. in which the reduplication of the _l_ is not marked, the
  vowel _a_ is given to the first syllable. According to the
  general opinion of the learned in Cairo, it is Khillikan.

   In his "Khia;" description of the principal street of
  Cairo.

   In his "Khia;" description of the suburbs or environ
  (awaee) of Cairo--[The latest date in that work, as far as I
  am aware, is found in the account of the mosques, in two
  separate places. It is that of the year of the Flight 843 (in
  the edition recently printed at Cairo); and, as El-Mareezee
  died in the year 845, its occurrence is curious as shewing the
  likelihood that he continued the composition of his most
  celebrated work until very near his death. Indeed, it is
  probable that he never finished it; the seventh and last
  section, which is mentioned in the Preface, being wanting in
  all the MSS. This date, in each instance, may be an insertion
  by a later hand; but the author's History of the Sulans of
  Egypt was brought down, it is said by himself, to the year
  preceding his death.--ED.]

   Marginal note, in my copy of the original, by the sheykh
  Mohammad 'Eiyad.

   Marginal note, in my copy of the original, by the sheykh
  Moammad 'Eiyad.

   Idem.

   A specimen of this mode of chanting is given in my work
  on the Modern Egyptians, vol. ii. end of chap. v.

   El-Mareezee's "Khia;" account of the hospitals.

   ur-an, ch. v. v. 49.

   "Modern Egyptians," vol. i. ch. xiii.

   It would not be necessary to remark on this explanation
  of a curious custom if it had not been lately contradicted. Mr.
  Lane derived his information from Arab authors, and from his
  friends in Cairo; but D'Ohsson, also, says, in his Tableau
  General de l'Empire Othoman, Code Religieux, livre ii. ch. iv.
  (and the authority of the works from which he translated will
  hardly be questioned), that the Khaeeb "est meme tenu de
  reciter tout le _Khouthbe_ sur la chaire, _Minnber_, en
  s'appuyant de la main sur la garde d'un sabre, dans tous les
  temples qui ont ete pris avec la ville par la force des armes."
  The writer alluded to thinks that the use of the sword at
  Mekkeh proves Mr. Lane to be in error; whereas the custom is
  observed at Mekkeh because it was taken in war; but not at
  El-Medeeneh because this city was not so taken.--ED.

   The iameh see Note 24 to Chapter iv.

   For a more full account of the Friday-prayers, see my
  work on the Modern Egyptians, vol. i. ch. iii.

   Ammianus Marcellinus, lib. xxii.

   See Note 6 to Chapter iv.

   D'Herbelot, Bibl. Or., article "Cadhi."








COMMENCING WITH PART OF THE THIRTY-SECOND NIGHT, AND ENDING WITH PART OF
THIS THIRTY-SIXTH.

THE STORY OF NOOR-ED-DEEN AND ENEES-EL-JELEES.

There was, in El-Barah, a certain King who loved the poor and indigent,
and regarded his subjects with benevolence; he bestowed of his wealth
upon him who believed in Moammad (God bless and save him!) and was such
as one of the poets who have written of him hath thus described:--

  He used his lances as pens; and the hearts of his enemies, as paper;
    their blood being his ink:
  And hence, I imagine, our forefathers applied to the lance the term
    Khaeeyeh.

The name of this King was Moammad the son of Suleyman Ez-Zeynee; and he
had two Wezeers; one of whom was named El-Mo'een the son of
Sawee; and the other, El-Fal the son of Khaan. El-Fal the
son of Khaan was the most generous of the people of his age, upright in
conduct, so that all hearts agreed in loving him, and the wise complied
with his counsel, and all the people supplicated for him length of life;
for he was a person of auspicious aspect, a preventer of evil
and mischief: but the Wezeer El-Mo'een the son of Sawee hated others,
and loved not good; he was a man of inauspicious aspect; and in the same
degree that the people loved Fal-ed-Deen the son of Khaan, so did they
abhor El-Mo'een the son of Sawee, in accordance with the decree of the
Almighty.

Now the King Moammad the son of Suleyman Ez-Zeynee was sitting one day
upon his throne, surrounded by the officers of his court, and he called
to his Wezeer El-Fal the son of Khaan, and said to him, I desire a
female slave unsurpassed in beauty by any in her age, of perfect
loveliness, and exquisite symmetry, and endowed with all praiseworthy
qualities.--Such as this, replied his courtiers, is not to be found for
less than ten thousand pieces of gold. And the Sulan thereupon called
out to the treasurer, saying, Carry ten thousand pieces of gold to the
house of El-Fal the son of Khaan. So the treasurer did as he
commanded, and the Wezeer departed, after the Sulan had ordered him to
repair every day to the market, and to commission the brokers to procure
what he had described, and had commanded also that no female slave of a
greater price than one thousand pieces of gold should be sold without
having been shewn to the Wezeer.

The brokers, therefore, sold no female slave without shewing her to him,
and he complied with the King's command, and thus he continued to do for
a considerable time, no slave pleasing him: but on a certain day, one of
the brokers came to the mansion of the Wezeer El-Fal, and found that he
had mounted to repair to the palace of the King; and he laid hold upon
his stirrup, and repeated these two verses:--

  O thou who hast reanimated what was rotten in the state! Thou art
    the Wezeer ever aided by Heaven.
  Thou hast revived the noble qualities that were extinct among men.
    May thy conduct never cease to be approved by God!

He then said, O my master, the female slave for the procuring of whom
the noble mandate was issued hath arrived. The Wezeer replied, Bring her
hither to me. So the man returned, and, after a short absence, came
again, accompanied by a damsel of elegant stature, high-bosomed, with
black eyelashes, and smooth cheek, and slender waist, and large hips,
clad in the handsomest apparel; the moisture of her lips was sweeter
than sirup; her figure put to shame the branches of the Oriental willow;
and her speech was more soft than the zephyr passing over the flowers of
the garden; as one of her describers hath thus expressed:--

  Her skin is like silk, and her speech is soft, neither redundant
    nor deficient:
  Her eyes, God said to them, Be,--and they were, affecting men's
    hearts with the potency of wine.
  May my love for her grow more warm each night, and cease not
    until the day of judgment!
  The locks on her brow are dark as night, while her forehead shines
    like the gleam of morning.

When the Wezeer beheld her, she pleased him extremely, and he looked
towards the broker, and said to him, What is the price of this damsel?
The broker answered, The price bidden for her hath amounted to ten
thousand pieces of gold, and her owner hath sworn that this sum doth not
equal the cost of the chickens which she hath eaten, nor the cost of the
dresses which she hath bestowed upon her teachers; for she hath learnt
writing and grammar and lexicology, and the interpretation of the
ur-an, and the fundamentals of law and religion, and medicine, and the
computation of the calendar, and the art of playing upon musical
instruments. The Wezeer then said, Bring to me her master:--and the
broker immediately brought him; and lo, he was a foreigner, who had
lived so long that time had reduced him to bones and skin, as the poet
hath said,--

  How hath time made me to tremble! For time is powerful and severe.
  I used to walk without being weary; but now I am weary and do not walk.

And the Wezeer said to him, Art thou content to receive for this damsel
ten thousand pieces of gold from the Sulan Moammad the son of Suleyman
Ez-Zeynee? The foreigner answered, As she is for the Sulan, it is
incumbent on me to give her as a present to him, without
price. So the Wezeer, upon this, ordered that the money
should be brought, and then weighed the pieces of gold for the
foreigner; after which, the slave-broker addressed the Wezeer, and said,
With the permission of our lord the Wezeer, I will speak.--Impart what
thou hast to say, replied the Wezeer.--It is my opinion, then, said the
broker, that thou shouldst not take up this damsel to the Sulan
to-day; for she hath just arrived from her journey, and the change of
air hath affected her, and the journey hath fatigued her; but rather let
her remain with thee in thy palace ten days, that she may take rest, and
her beauty will improve: then cause her to be taken into the bath, and
attire her in clothes of the handsomest description, and go up with her
to the Sulan: so shalt thou experience more abundant good fortune. And
the Wezeer considered the advice of the slave-broker, and approved it.
He therefore took her into his palace, and gave her a private apartment
to herself, allotting her every day what she required of food and drink
and other supplies, and she continued a while in this state of
enjoyment.



Now the Wezeer El-Fal had a son like the shining full moon, with
brilliant countenance, and red cheek, marked with a mole like a globule
of ambergris, and with grey down. The youth knew not of this damsel, and
his father had charged her, saying, Know that I have purchased thee for
the King Moammad the son of Suleyman Ez-Zeynee, and that I have a son
who hath not left a girl in the quarter without making love to her:
therefore keep thyself concealed from him, and beware of shewing him thy
face, or suffering him to hear thy voice. The damsel replied, I hear and
obey:--and he left her and departed. And it happened, as fate had
ordained, that she went one day into the bath which was in the house,
and, after certain of the female slaves had bathed her, she attired
herself in rich apparel, and her beauty and loveliness increased in
consequence. She then went in to the Wezeer's wife, and kissed her hand,
and she said to her, May it be favourable, O Enees-el-Jelees!
How didst thou find this bath?--O my mistress, she answered, I wanted
nothing but thy presence there. And upon this, the mistress of the house
said to the female slaves, Arise, and let us go into the bath. And they
complied with her command, and went, accompanied by their mistress, who
first charged two young slave-girls to keep the door of the private
apartment in which was Enees-el-Jelees, saying to them, Suffer no one to
go in to the damsel:--and they replied, We hear and obey. But while
Enees-el-Jelees was sitting in her chamber, lo, the Wezeer's son, whose
name was 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen, came in, and asked after his mother and the
family. The two girls answered, They are gone into the bath. Now the
damsel Enees-el-Jelees heard the speech of 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen as she sat
in her chamber, and she said within herself, I wonder what this youth is
like, of whom the Wezeer hath told me that he hath not left a girl in
the quarter without making love to her: by Allah, I have a desire to see
him. She then rose upon her feet, fresh as she was from the bath, and,
approaching the door of the chamber, looked at 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen, and
beheld him to be a youth like the full moon. The sight of him occasioned
her a thousand sighs; and a look from the youth, at her, affected him
also in the same manner. Each was caught in the snare of the other's
love, and the youth approached the two slave-girls, and cried out at
them; whereupon they fled from before him, and stopped at a distance,
looking to see what he would do. He then advanced to the door of the
chamber, and, opening it, went in, and said to the damsel, Art thou she
whom my father hath purchased for me? She answered, Yes. And upon this,
the youth, who was in a state of intoxication, went up to her, and
embraced her, while she, in like manner, threw her arms around his neck,
and kissed him. But the two slave-girls, having seen their young master
enter the chamber of the damsel Enees-el-Jelees, cried out. The youth,
therefore, soon ran forth, and fled for safety, fearing the consequence
of his intrusion; and when the mistress of the house heard the cry of
the two slave-girls, she came out dripping from the bath, saying, What
is the cause of this cry in the house? And when she drew near to the
two slave-girls whom she had placed at the door of the private chamber,
she said to them, Wo to you! What is the matter?--They answered, as soon
as they beheld her, Our master 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen came to us and beat
us, and we fled from him, and he went into the chamber of
Enees-el-Jelees, and when we cried out to thee he fled. The mistress of
the house then went to Enees-el-Jelees, and said to her, What is the
news?--O my mistress, she answered, as I was sitting here, a youth of
handsome person came in to me, and said to me, Art thou she whom my
father hath purchased for me?--And I answered, Yes.--By Allah, O my
mistress, I believed that what he said was true; and he came up to me
and embraced me, and kissed me three times, and he left me overcome by
his love.

Upon this, the mistress of the house wept, and slapped her face, and her
female slaves did the like, fearing for 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen, lest his
father should slay him; and while they were in this state, lo, the
Wezeer came in, and inquired what had happened. His wife said to him,
Swear that thou wilt listen to that which I shall say. He replied, Well.
So she told him what his son had done; and he mourned, and rent his
clothes, and slapped his face, and plucked his beard. His wife then said
to him, Kill not thyself. I will give thee, of my own property, ten
thousand pieces of gold, her price.--But upon this, he raised his head
towards her, and said to her, Wo to thee! I want not her price; but I
fear the loss of my life and my property.--Wherefore, O my master? she
asked.--Knowest thou not, said he, that we have this enemy El-Mo'een the
son of Sawee? When he heareth of this event, he will repair to the
Sulan, and say to him, Thy Wezeer whom thou imaginest to love thee hath
received from thee ten thousand pieces of gold, and purchased therewith
a female slave such as no one hath seen equalled, and when she pleased
him, he said to his son, Take her; for thou art more worthy of her than
the Sulan:--and he took her; and the damsel is now with him.--Then the
King will say, Thou liest. And he will say to the King, With thy
permission, I will break in upon him suddenly, and bring her to thee.
And he will give him permission to do so: he will therefore make a
sudden attack upon the house, and take the damsel, and conduct her into
the presence of the Sulan, and he will question her, and she will not
be able to deny: he will then say, O my lord, I give thee good counsel,
but I am not in favour with thee:--and the Sulan will make an example
of me, and all the people will make me a gazing-stock, and my life will
be lost.--His wife, however, replied, Acquaint no one; for this thing
hath happened privily: commit, therefore, thine affair unto God, in this
extremity. And upon this, the heart of the Wezeer was quieted, and his
mind was relieved.

Such was the case of the Wezeer.--Now as to Noor-ed-Deen, he feared the
result of his conduct, and so passed each day in the gardens, not
returning to his mother until towards the close of the night: he then
slept in her apartment, and rose before morning without being seen by
any one else. Thus he continued to do so for the space of a month, not
seeing the face of his father; and at length his mother said to his
father, O my master, wilt thou lose the damsel and lose the child? For
if it long continue thus with the youth, he will flee his country.--And
what is to be done? said he. She answered, Sit up this night, and when
he cometh, lay hold upon him, and be reconciled to him, and give him the
damsel; for she loveth him, and he loveth her; and I will give thee her
price. So the Wezeer sat up the whole night, and when his son came, he
laid hold upon him, and would have cut his throat; but his
mother came to his succour, and said to her husband, What dost thou
desire to do unto him? He answered her, I desire to slay him. The youth
then said to his father, Am I of so small account in thy estimation? And
upon this, the eyes of his father filled with tears, and he said to him,
O my son, is the loss of my property and my life of small account with
thee?--Listen, O my father, rejoined the youth:--and he implored his
forgiveness. So the Wezeer rose from the breast of his son, and was
moved with compassion for him; and the youth rose, and kissed his
father's hand; and the Wezeer said, O my son, if I knew that thou
wouldst act equitably to Enees-el-Jelees, I would give her to thee.--O
my father, replied the youth, wherefore should I not act equitably
towards her? And his father said, I charge thee, O my son, that thou
take not a wife to share her place, and that thou do her no injury, nor
sell her. He replied, O my father, I swear to thee that I will neither
take a wife to share her place, nor sell her:--and he promised him by
oaths to act as he had said, and took up his abode with the damsel, and
remained with her a year; and God (whose name be exalted!) caused the
King to forget the affair of the female slave; but the matter became
known to El-Mo'een the son of Sawee; yet he could not speak of it, on
account of the high estimation in which the other Wezeer was held by the
Sulan.



After this year had expired, the Wezeer Fal-ed-Deen the son of Khaan
entered the oath, and came out in a state of excessive perspiration, in
consequence of which the external air smote him, so that he became
confined to his bed, and long remained sleepless; and his malady
continued unremittingly; so he called, thereupon, his son 'Alee
Noor-ed-Deen, and when he came before him, said to him, O my son, verily
the means of life are apportioned, and its period is decreed, and every
soul must drink the cup of death. I have nothing with which to charge
thee but the fear of God, and forethought with regard to the results of
thine actions, and that thou conduct thyself kindly to the damsel
Enees-el-Jelees.--O my father, said the youth, who is like unto thee?
Thou hast been celebrated for virtuous actions, and the praying of the
preachers for thee on the pulpits.--O my son, rejoined the Wezeer, I
hope for the approbation of God, whose name be exalted! And then he
pronounced the two professions of the faith, and uttered a
sigh, and was recorded among the company of the blest. And upon this,
the palace was filled with shrieking, and the news reached the ears of
the Sulan, and the people of the city heard of the death of El-Fal the
son of Khaan, and even the boys in the schools wept for
him. His son 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen arose, and prepared his
funeral, and the Emeers and Wezeers and other officers of the state
attended it, and among them was the Wezeer El-Mo'een the Son of Sawee;
and as the procession passed out from the mansion, one of the mourners
recited these verses:--

  I said to the man who was appointed to wash him,--Would that he had
    yielded obedience to my counsel,--
  Put away from him the water, and wash him with the tears of honour,
    shed in lamentation for him:
  And remove these fragrant substances collected for his corpse,
    and perfume him rather with the odours of his praise:
  And order the noble angels to carry him, in honour. Dost thou
    not behold them attending him?
  Cause not men's necks to be strained by bearing him: enough
    are they laden already by his benefits.

'Alee Noor-ed-Deen for a long time remained in a state of violent grief
for the loss of his father; but as he was sitting one day in his
father's house, a person knocked at the door, and he rose up and opened
it, and lo, there was a man who was one of his father's intimate
companions, and he kissed the hand of Noor-ed-Deen, and said to him, O
my master, he who hath left a son like thee hath not died. This is the
destination of the lord of the first and the last among
mankind. O my master, cheer up thy heart, and give over
mourning.--And upon this, 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen arose, and went to the
guest-chamber, and removed thither all that he required, and his
companions came together to him, and he took again his slave. Ten of the
sons of the merchants became his associates, and he gave entertainment
after entertainment, and began to be lavish with presents. His steward,
therefore, came in to him, and said to him, O my master Noor-ed-Deen,
hast thou not heard the saying, He who expendeth and doth not calculate
is reduced to poverty? This profuse expenditure, and these magnificent
presents, will annihilate the property.--But when 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen
heard these words of his steward, he looked at him, and replied, Of all
that thou hast said to me, I will not attend to one word. How excellent
is the saying of the poet:--

  If I be possessed of wealth and be not liberal, may my hand never
    be extended, nor my foot raised!
  Shew me the avaricious who hath attained glory by his avarice,
    and the munificent who hath died through his munificence.

Know, O Steward, he continued, that if there remain in thy hands what
will suffice for my dinner, thou shalt not burden me with anxiety
respecting my supper.--So the steward left him, and went his way; and
'Alee Noor-ed-Deen resumed his habits of extravagant generosity:
whenever any one of his companions said, Verily this thing is
beautiful!--he would reply, It is a present to thee:--and if any said, O
my master, verily such a house is delightful!--he would reply, It is a
present to thee.

He ceased not to give entertainments to his companions from the
commencement of day, one after another, until he had passed in this
manner a whole year; after which, as he was sitting with them, he heard
the slave-girl recite these two verses:--

  Thou thoughtest well of the days when they went well with thee,
    and fearedst not the evil that destiny was bringing.
  Thy nights were peaceful, and thou wast deceived by them:
    in the midst of their brightness there cometh gloom.

And immediately after, a person knocked at the door: so Noor-ed-Deen
rose, and one of his companions followed him without his knowledge; and
when he opened the door, he beheld his steward, and said to him, What is
the news?--O my master, answered the steward, that which I feared on thy
account hath happened to thee.--How is that? asked Noor-ed-Deen. The
steward answered, Know that there remaineth not of thy property in my
hands, anything equivalent to a piece of silver, or less than a piece of
silver; and these are the accounts of thy expenses, and of thy original
property. When 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen heard these words, he hung down his
head towards the ground, and exclaimed, There is no strength nor power
but in God! And the man who had followed him secretly to pry into his
case, as soon as he heard what the steward told him, returned to his
companions, and said to them, See what ye will do; for 'Alee
Noor-ed-Deen hath become a bankrupt. So when Noor-ed-Deen returned to
them, grief appeared to them in his countenance, and immediately one of
them rose, and, looking towards him, said to him, O my master, I desire
that thou wouldst permit me to depart.--Why thus depart to-day? said
Noor-ed-Deen. His guest answered, My wife is to give birth to a child
this night, and it is impossible for me to be absent from her: I desire,
therefore, to go and see her. And he gave him leave. Then another rose,
and said to him, O my master Noor-ed-Deen, I desire to-day to visit my
brother; for he celebrateth the circumcision of his son. Thus each of
them asked leave of him deceitfully, and went his way, until all had
departed.

So 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen remained alone; and he called his slave-girl, and
said to her, O Enees-el-Jelees, seest thou not what hath befallen me?
And he related to her what the steward had told him. She replied, O my
master, for some nights past, I have been anxious to speak to thee of
this affair; but I heard thee reciting these two verses:--

  When fortune is liberal to thee, be thou liberal to all others
    before she escape from thee:
  For liberality will not annihilate thy wealth when she is favourable;
    nor avarice preserve it when she deserteth thee.

And when I heard thee repeat these words, I was silent, and would not
make any remark to thee.--O Enees-el-Jelees, he rejoined, thou knowest
that I have not expended my wealth but on my companions; and I do not
think that they will abandon me without relief.--By Allah, said she,
they will be of no use to thee. But he said, I will immediately arise
and go to them, and knock at their doors: perhaps I shall obtain from
them something which I will employ as a capital wherewith to trade, and
I will cease from diversion and sport. So he arose instantly, and
proceeded without stopping until he arrived at the by-street in which
his ten companions resided; for they all lived in that same street: and
he advanced to the first door, and knocked; and there came forth to him
a slave-girl, who said to him, Who art thou? He answered, Say to thy
master,--'Alee Noor-ed-Deen is standing at the door, and saith to thee,
Thy slave kisseth thy hands, looking for a favour from thee.--And the
girl entered, and acquainted her master; but he called out to her,
saying, Return, and tell him, He is not here.--The girl, therefore,
returned to Noor-ed-Deen, and said to him, My master, Sir, is not here.
And he went on, saying within myself, If this is a knave, and hath
denied himself, another is not. He then advanced to the next door, and
said as he had before; and the second also denied himself; and
Noor-ed-Deen exclaimed,--

  They are gone, who, if thou stoodest at their door, would bestow
    upon thee the bounty thou desirest.

By Allah, he added, I must try all of them: perchance one of them may
stand me in the place of all the others. And he went round to all the
ten; but found not that one of them would open the door, or shew
himself, or even order him a cake of bread; and he recited the following
verses:--

  A man in prosperity resembleth a tree, around which people flock
    as long as it hath fruit;
  But as soon as it hath dropped all that it bore, they disperse
    from beneath it, and seek another.
  Perdition to all the people of this age! for I find not one man
    of integrity among ten.

He then returned to his slave: his anxiety had increased, and she said
to him, O my master, said I not unto thee that they would not profit
thee?--By Allah, he replied, not one of them shewed me his face.--O my
master, rejoined she, sell of the moveables of the house a little at a
time, and expend the produce. And he did so until he had sold all that
was in the house, and there remained nothing in his possession; and
upon this he looked towards Enees-el-Jelees, and said to her, What shall
we do now?--It is my advice, O my master, she answered, that thou arise
immediately, and take me to the market, and sell me; for thou knowest
that thy father purchased me for ten thousand pieces of gold, and
perhaps God may open to thee a way to obtain a part of this price; and
if God have decreed our reunion, we shall meet again. But he replied, O
Enees-el-Jelees, it is not easy for me to endure thy separation for one
hour.--Nor is the like easy to me, said she: but necessity is imperious.
And upon this, he took Enees-el-Jelees, his tears flowing down his
cheeks, and went and delivered her to the broker, saying to him, Know
the value of that which thou art to cry for sale.--O my master
Noor-ed-Deen, replied the broker, noble qualities are held in
remembrance. Is she not Enees-el-Jelees, whom thy father purchased of me
for ten thousand pieces of gold?--He answered, Yes. And the broker
thereupon went to the merchants; but he found that they had not all yet
assembled; so he waited until the rest had come, and the market was
filled with all varieties of female slaves, Turkish and Greek and
Circassian and Georgian and Abyssinian; and when he beheld its crowded
state, he arose and exclaimed, O merchants! O possessors of wealth!
everything that is round is not a nut; nor is everything long, a banana;
nor is everything that is red, meat; nor is everything white, fat; nor
is everything that is ruddy, wine; nor is everything tawny, a date! O
merchants! this precious pearl, whose value no money can equal, with
what sum will ye open the bidding for her?--And one of the merchants
answered, With four thousand and five hundred pieces of
gold.



But, lo, the Wezeer El-Mo'een the son of Sawee was in the market, and,
seeing 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen standing there, he said within himself, What
doth he want here, having nothing left wherewith to purchase female
slaves? Then casting his eyes around, and hearing the broker as he stood
crying in the market with the merchants around him, he said within
himself, I do not imagine anything else than that he hath become a
bankrupt, and come forth with the slave-girl to sell her; and if this be
the case, how pleasant to my heart! He then called the crier, who
approached him, and kissed the ground before him; and the
Wezeer said to him, I desire this female slave whom thou art crying for
sale. The broker, therefore, being unable to oppose his wish, brought
the slave and placed her before him; and when he beheld her, and
considered her charms, her elegant figure and her soft speech, he was
delighted with her, and said to the broker, To what has the bidding for
her amounted? The broker answered, Four thousand and five hundred pieces
of gold. And as soon as the merchants heard this, not one of them could
bid another piece of silver or of gold; but all of them drew back,
knowing the tyrannical conduct of that Wezeer. El-Mo'een the son of
Sawee then looked towards the broker, and said to him, Why standest thou
still? Take away the slave-girl for me at the price of four thousand and
five hundred pieces of gold, and thou wilt have five hundred for
thyself.--So the broker went to 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen, and said to him, O
my master, the slave-girl is lost to thee without price.--How so? said
Noor-ed-Deen. The broker answered, We opened the bidding for her at four
thousand and five hundred pieces of gold; but this tyrant El-Mo'een the
son of Sawee came into the market, and when he beheld the damsel she
pleased him, and he said to me, Ask her owner if he will agree for four
thousand pieces of gold, and five hundred for thee:--and I doubt not but
he knoweth that the slave belongeth to thee; and if he give thee her
price immediately, it will be through the goodness of God; but I know,
from his injustice, that he will write thee an order upon some of his
agents for the money, and then send to them and desire them to give thee
nothing; and every time that thou shalt go to demand it of them, they
will say to thee, To-morrow we will pay thee:--and they will not cease
to promise thee, and to defer from day to day, notwithstanding thy
pride; and when they are overcome by thy importunity they will say, Give
us the written order:--and as soon as they have received the paper from
thee they will tear it in pieces: so thou wilt lose the price of the
slave.

When Noor-ed-Deen, therefore, heard these words of the broker, he said
to him, What is to be done? The broker answered, I will give thee a
piece of advice, and if thou receive it from me, thou wilt have better
fortune.--What is it? asked Noor-ed-Deen.--That thou come to me
immediately, answered the broker, while I am standing in the midst of
the market, and take the slave-girl from me, and give her a blow with
thy hand, and say to her, Wo to thee! I have expiated my oath that I
swore, and brought thee to the market, because I swore to thee that thou
shouldst be exposed in the market, and that the broker should cry thee
for sale.--If thou do this, perhaps the trick will deceive him and the
people, and they will believe that thou tookest her not to the market
but to expiate the oath.--This, replied Noor-ed-Deen, is the right
counsel. So the broker returned into the midst of the market, and,
taking hold of the hand of the slave-girl, made a sign to the Wezeer
El-Mo'een the son of Sawee, saying, O my lord, this is her owner who
hath just come. Then 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen advanced to the broker, and tore
the damsel from him, and struck her with his hand, saying to her, Wo to
thee! I have brought thee to the market for the sake of expiating my
oath. Go home, and disobey me not again. I want not thy price, that I
should sell thee; and if I sold the furniture of the house and
everything else of the kind over and over again, their produce would not
amount to thy price.--But when El-Mo'een the son of Sawee beheld
Noor-ed-Deen, he said to him, Wo to thee! Hast thou anything left to be
sold or bought?--And he would have laid violent hands upon him. The
merchants then looked towards Noor-ed-Deen (and they all loved him), and
he said to them, Here am I before you, and ye have all known his
tyranny.--By Allah, exclaimed the Wezeer, were it not for you, I had
killed him! Then all of them made signs, one to another, with the eye,
and said, Not one of us will interfere between thee and him. And upon
this, 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen went up to the Wezeer, the son of Sawee (and
Noor-ed-Deen was a man of courage), and he dragged the Wezeer from his
saddle, and threw him upon the ground. There was at that spot a
kneading-place for mud, and the Wezeer fell into the midst
of it, and Noor-ed-Deen beat him with his fist, and a blow fell upon his
teeth, by which his beard became dyed with his blood. Now there were
with the Wezeer ten memlooks, and when they saw Noor-ed-Deen treat their
master in this manner, they put their hands upon the hilts of their
swords, and would have fallen upon him and cut him in pieces; but the
people said to them, This is a Wezeer, and this is the son of a Wezeer,
and perhaps they may make peace with each other, and ye will incur the
anger of both of them; or perhaps a blow may fall upon your master, and
ye will all of you die the most ignominious of deaths: it is advisable,
therefore, that ye interfere not between them.--And when 'Alee
Noor-ed-Deen had ceased from beating the Wezeer, he took his slave-girl,
and returned to his house.



The Wezeer, the son of Sawee, then immediately arose, and his dress,
which before was white, was now dyed with three colours, the colour of
mud, and the colour of blood, and the colour of ashes; and
when he beheld himself in this condition, he took a round
mat, and hung it to his neck, and took in his hand two
bundles of coarse grass, and went and stood beneath the
palace of the Sulan, and cried out, O King of the age! I am
oppressed!--So they brought him before the King, who looked at him
attentively, and saw that he was his Wezeer, El-Mo'een the son of Sawee.
He said, therefore, Who hath done thus unto thee?--and the Wezeer cried
and moaned, and repeated these two verses:--

  Shall fortune oppress me while thou existest; and the dogs devour me
    when thou art a lion?
  Shall all else who are dry drink freely from thy tanks, and I thirst
    in thine asylum when thou art as rain?

--O my lord, he continued, thus is every one who loveth thee and serveth
thee: these afflictions always befall him.--And who, said the King
again, hath done thus unto thee?--Know, answered the Wezeer, that I went
forth to-day to the market of the female slaves with the idea of buying
a cook-maid, and saw in the market a slave-girl the like of whom I had
never in my life beheld, and the broker said that she belonged to 'Alee
Noor-ed-Deen. Now our lord the Sulan had given his father ten thousand
pieces of gold to buy for him with it a beautiful female slave, and he
bought that girl, and she pleased him; so he gave her to his son; and
when his father died, the son pursued the path of prodigality, until he
sold all his houses and gardens and utensils; and when he had become a
bankrupt, nothing else remaining in his possession, he took the
slave-girl to the market to sell her, and delivered her to the broker:
so he cried her for sale, and the merchants continued bidding for her
until her price amounted to four thousand pieces of gold; whereupon I
said to myself, I will buy this for our lord the Sulan; for her
original price was from him. I therefore said, O my son, receive her
price, four thousand pieces of gold. But when he heard my words, he
looked at me and replied, O ill-omened old man! I will sell her to the
Jews and the Christians rather than to thee.--I then said to him, I
would not buy her for myself, but for our lord the Sulan, who is our
benefactor. As soon, however, as he had heard these words from me, he
was filled with rage, and dragged me and threw me down from the horse,
notwithstanding my advanced age, and beat me, and ceased not to do so
until he left me in the state in which thou seest me. Nothing exposed me
to all this ill treatment but my coming to purchase this slave-girl for
your majesty.--The Wezeer then threw himself upon the ground, and lay
weeping and trembling.

Now when the Sulan beheld his condition, and had heard his speech, the
vein of anger swelled between his eyes, and he looked towards the
members of his court who were attending him; whereupon forty swordsmen
stood before him, and he said to them, Descend immediately to the house
of 'Alee the son of El-Fal the son of Khaan, and plunder it and
demolish it, and bring hither him and the slave-girl with their hands
bound behind them: drag them along upon their faces, and so bring them
before me. They replied, We hear and obey:--and went forth to repair to
the house of 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen. But there was in the court of the
Sulan a chamberlain named 'Alam-ed-Deen Senjer, who had been one of the
memlooks of El-Fal the son of Khaan, the father of 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen;
and when he heard the order of the Sulan, and saw the enemies prepared
to slay his master's son, it was insupportable to him; so he mounted his
horse, and proceeded to the house of 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen, and knocked at
the door. Noor-ed-Deen came forth to him, and, when he saw him, knew
him, and would have saluted him; but he said, O my master, this is not a
time for salutation, nor for talking. Noor-ed-Deen said, O
'Alam-ed-Deen, what is the news? He replied, Save thyself by flight,
thou and the slave-girl; for El-Mo'een the son of Sawee hath set up a
snare for you, and if ye fall into his hands he will slay you: the
Sulan hath sent to you forty swordsmen, and it is my advice that ye fly
before the evil fall upon you. Then Senjer stretched forth his hand to
Noor-ed-Deen with some pieces of gold, and he counted them, and found
them to be forty pieces; and he said, O my master, receive these, and if
I had with me more, I would give it thee: but this is not a time for
expostulating. And upon this, Noor-ed-Deen went in to the damsel, and
acquainted her with the occurrence, and she was confounded.

The two then went forth immediately from the city, and God let down the
veil of his protection upon them, and they proceeded to the bank of the
river, where they found a vessel ready to sail: the master was standing
in the midst of it, and saying, He who hath anything to do, whether
leave-taking or procuring provisions, or who hath forgotten aught, let
him do what he desireth and return; for we are going. And they all
replied, We have nothing remaining to do, O master. So, upon this, the
master said to his crew, Quick! Loose the rope's end, and pull up the
stake.--And 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen exclaimed, Whither, O master?
He answered, To the Abode of Peace, Baghdad. And Noor-ed-Deen embarked,
and the damsel with him, and they set the vessel afloat, and spread the
sails, and it shot along like a bird with its pair of wings, carrying
them forward with a favourable wind.

Meanwhile, the forty men whom the Sulan had sent came to the house of
'Alee Noor-ed-Deen, and broke open the doors and entered, and searched
all the chambers, but without success; so they demolished the house, and
returned, and acquainted the Sulan, who said, Search for them in every
place where they may be:--and they replied, We hear and obey. The Wezeer
El-Mo'een the son of Sawee then descended to his house, after the Sulan
had invested him with a robe of honour, and had said to him, None shall
take vengeance for thee but myself. And he greeted the King with a
prayer for long life, and his heart was set at ease: and the Sulan gave
orders to proclaim throughout the city, O all ye people! our lord the
Sulan hath commanded that whoever shall meet with 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen,
and bring him to the Sulan, shall be invested with a robe of honour,
and he will give him a thousand pieces of gold; and he who shall conceal
him, or know where he is, and not give information thereof, will merit
the exemplary punishment that shall befall him! So all the people began
to search for him; but could not trace him.--Such was the case with
these people.

Now as to 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen and his slave, they arrived in safety at
Baghdad, and the master of the vessel said to them, This is Baghdad, and
it is a city of security: winter with its cold hath departed from it,
and the spring-quarter hath come with its roses, and its trees are in
blossom, and its waters are flowing. And upon this, 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen
landed with his slave-girl, and gave the master five pieces of gold.
They then walked a little way, and destiny cast them among the gardens,
and they came to a place which they found swept and sprinkled, with long
maabahs, and pots suspended filled with water, and over it was a
covering of trellis-work of canes extending along the whole length of a
lane, at the upper end of which was the gate of a garden; but this was
shut. And Noor-ed-Deen said to the damsel, By Allah, this is a pleasant
place!--and she replied, O my master, let us sit down a while upon one
of these maabahs. So they mounted and seated themselves there, and
they washed their faces and hands, and enjoyed the current of the
zephyr, and slept.--Glory be to Him who sleepeth not!



This garden was called the Garden of Delight, and in it was a palace
called the Palace of Diversion, and it belonged to the Khaleefeh Haroon
Er-Rasheed, who, when his heart was contracted, used to come to this
garden, and enter the palace above mentioned, and there sit. The palace
had eighty latticed windows, and eighty lamps were suspended in it, and
in the midst of it was a great candlestick of gold; and when the
Khaleefeh entered it, he commanded the female slaves to open the
windows, and ordered Is-a the cup-companion to sing with them: so his
heart became dilated, and his anxiety ceased. There was a superintendent
to the garden, an old man, named the sheykh Ibraheem; and it happened
that he went forth once to transact some business, and found there
persons diverting themselves with women of suspicious character,
whereupon he was violently enraged, and having waited until the
Khaleefeh came thither some days after, he acquainted him with this
occurrence, and the Khaleefeh said, Whomsoever thou shalt find at the
gate of the garden, do with him what thou wilt. Now on this day the
sheykh Ibraheem went out to transact an affair of business, and found
the two sleeping at the garden-gate covered with a single izar; and he
said, Do not these two persons know that the Khaleefeh hath given me
permission to kill every one whom I find here? But I will only give
these two a slight beating, that no one may again approach the gate of
the garden. He then cut a green palm-stick, and went forth to them, and
raised his hand until the whiteness of his arm-pit appeared, and was
about to beat them; but he reflected in his mind, and said, O Ibraheem,
how shouldst thou beat them when thou knowest not their case? They may
be two strangers, or of the children of the road, whom
destiny hath cast here. I will therefore uncover their faces, and look
at them.--So he lifted up the izar from their faces, and said, These are
two handsome persons, and it is not proper that I should beat them. And
he covered their faces again, and, approaching the foot of 'Alee
Noor-ed-Deen, began to rub it gently; whereupon Noor-ed-Deen
opened his eyes, and saw that he was an old man; and he blushed, and
drew in his feet, and, sitting up, took the hand of the sheykh Ibraheem
and kissed it; and the sheykh said to him, O my son, whence are ye?--O
my master, he answered, we are strangers.--And a tear gushed from his
eye. The sheykh Ibraheem then said to him, O my son, know that the
Prophet (God bless and save him!) hath enjoined generosity to the
stranger. Wilt thou not arise, O my son, and enter the garden, and
divert thyself in it, that thy heart may be dilated?--O my master, said
Noor-ed-Deen, to whom doth this garden belong? The sheykh answered, O my
son, this garden I inherited from my family. And his design in saying
this was only that they might feel themselves at ease, and enter the
garden. And when Noor-ed-Deen heard his words, he thanked him, and
arose, together with his slave, and, the sheykh Ibraheem preceding them,
they entered the garden.

The gate was arched, and over it were vines with grapes of different
colours; the red, like rubies; and the black, like ebony. They entered a
bower, and found within it fruits growing in clusters and singly, and
the birds were warbling their various notes upon the branches: the
nightingale was pouring forth its melodious sounds; and the turtle-dove
filled the place with its cooing; and the blackbird, in its singing,
resembled a human being; and the ring-dove, a person exhilarated by
wine. The fruits upon the trees, comprising every description that was
good to eat, had ripened; and there were two of each kind: there were
the camphor-apricot, and the almond-apricot, and the apricot of
Khurasan; the plum of a colour like the complexion of beauties; the
cherry delighting the sense of every man; the red, the white, and the
green fig, of the most beautiful colours; and flowers like pearls and
coral; the rose, whose redness put to shame the cheeks of the lovely;
the violet, like sulphur in contact with fire; the myrtle, the
gilliflower, the lavender, and the anemone; and their leaves were
bespangled with the tears of the clouds; the chamomile smiled,
displaying its teeth, and the narcissus looked at the rose with its
negroes' eyes; the citrons resembled round cups; the limes were like
bullets of gold; the ground was carpeted with flowers of every colour,
and the place beamed with the charms of spring; the river murmured by
while the birds sang, and the wind whistled among the trees; the season
was temperate, and the zephyr was languishing.



The sheykh Ibraheem conducted them into the elevated saloon,
and they were charmed with its beauty and the extraordinary elegances
which it displayed, and seated themselves in one of the windows; and
Noor-ed-Deen, reflecting upon his past entertainments, exclaimed, By
Allah, this place is most delightful! It hath reminded me of past
events, and quenched in me an anguish like the fire of the
ghaa.--The sheykh Ibraheem then brought to them some food,
and they ate to satisfaction, and washed their hands, and Noor-ed-Deen,
seating himself again in one of the windows, called to his slave, and
she came to him; and they sat gazing at the trees laden with all kinds
of fruits; after which, Noor-ed-Deen looked towards the sheykh, and said
to him, O sheykh Ibraheem, hast thou not any beverage? For people drink
after eating.--So the sheykh brought him some sweet and cold water: but
Noor-ed-Deen said, This is not the beverage I desire.--Dost thou want
wine? asked the sheykh.--Yes, answered Noor-ed-Deen. The sheykh
exclaimed, I seek refuge with Allah from it! Verily, for thirteen years
I have done nothing of that kind; for the Prophet (God bless and save
him!) cursed its drinker and its presser and its carrier.--Hear from me
two words, said Noor-ed-Deen. The sheykh replied, Say what thou wilt. So
he said, If thou be neither the presser of the wine, nor its drinker,
nor its carrier, will aught of the curse fall upon thee? The sheykh
answered, No.--Then take this piece of gold, rejoined Noor-ed-Deen, and
these two pieces of silver, and mount the ass, and halt at a distance
from the place, and whatsoever man thou findest to buy it, call to him,
and say to him, take these two pieces of silver, and with this piece of
gold buy some wine, and place it upon the ass:--so, in this case, thou
wilt be neither the carrier, nor the presser, nor the buyer; and nothing
will befall thee of that which befalleth the rest.

The sheykh Ibraheem, after laughing at his words, replied, By Allah, I
have never seen one more witty than thou, nor heard speech more sweet.
And Noor-ed-Deen said to him, We have become dependant upon thee, and
thou hast nothing to do but to comply with our wishes: bring us,
therefore, all that we require.--O my son, said the sheykh, my buttery
here is before thee (and it was the store-room furnished for the Prince
of the Faithful): enter it then, and take from it what thou wilt; for it
containeth more than thou desirest. So Noor-ed-Deen entered the
store-room, and beheld in it vessels of gold and silver and crystal,
adorned with a variety of jewels; and he took out such of them as he
desired, and poured the wine into the vessels of earthenware and bottles
of glass; and he and the damsel began to drink, astonished at the beauty
of the things which they beheld. The sheykh Ibraheem then brought to
them sweet-scented flowers, and seated himself at a distance from them;
and they continued drinking, in a state of the utmost delight, until the
wine took effect upon them, and their cheeks reddened, and their eyes
wantoned like those of the gazelle, and their hair hung
down: whereupon the sheykh Ibraheem said, What aileth me
that I am sitting at a distance from them? Why should I not sit by
them? And when shall I be in the company of such as these two, who are
like two moons?--He then advanced, and seated himself at the edge of the
raised portion of the floor; and Noor-ed-Deen said to him, O my master,
by my life I conjure thee to approach and join us. So he went to them;
and Noor-ed-Deen filled a cup, and, looking at the sheykh, said to him,
Drink, that thou mayest know how delicious is its flavour. But the
sheykh Ibraheem exclaimed, I seek refuge with Allah! Verily, for
thirteen years I have done nothing of that kind.--And Noor-ed-Deen,
feigning to pay no attention to him, drank the cup, and threw himself
upon the ground, pretending that intoxication had overcome him.



Upon this, Enees-el-Jelees looked towards the sheykh, and said to him, O
sheykh Ibraheem, see how this man hath treated me.--O my mistress, said
he, what aileth him? She rejoined, Always doth he treat me thus: he
drinketh a while, and then sleepeth, and I remain alone, and find no one
to keep me company over my cup. If I drink, who will serve me? And if I
sing, who will hear me?--The sheykh, moved with tenderness and affection
for her by her words, replied, It is not proper that a cup-companion be
thus. The damsel then filled a cup, and, looking at the sheykh Ibraheem,
said to him, I conjure thee, by my life that thou take it and drink it;
reject it not, but accept it, and refresh my heart. So he stretched
forth his hand, and took the cup, and drank it; and she filled for
him a second time, and handed it to him, saying, O my master, this
remaineth for thee. He replied, By Allah, I cannot drink it: that
which I have drunk is enough for me. But she said, By Allah, it is
indispensable:--and he took the cup, and drank it. She then gave him the
third; and he took it, and was about to drink it, when, lo, Noor-ed-Deen
raised himself, and said to him, O sheykh Ibraheem, what is this? Did I
not conjure thee a while ago, and thou refusedst, and saidst, Verily,
for thirteen years I have not done it?--The sheykh Ibraheem, touched
with shame, replied, By Allah, I am not in fault; for she pressed me.
And Noor-ed-Deen laughed, and they resumed their carousal, and the
damsel, turning her eyes towards her master, said to him, O my master,
drink thou, and do not urge the sheykh Ibraheem; that I may divert thee
with the sight of him. So she began to fill and to hand to her master,
and her master filled and gave to her, and thus they continued to do,
time after time; till at length the sheykh Ibraheem looked towards them
and said, What meaneth this? And what sort of carousal is this?
Wherefore do ye not give me to drink, since I have become your
cup-companion?--At this they both laughed until they became almost
senseless; and then drank, and gave him to drink; and they continued
thus until the expiration of a third of the night, when the damsel said,
O sheykh Ibraheem, with thy permission shall I rise and light one of the
candles which are arranged here?--Rise, he answered; but light not more
than one candle. But she sprang upon her feet, and, beginning with the
first candle, proceeded until she had lighted eighty. She then sat down
again; and presently Noor-ed-Deen said, O sheykh Ibraheem, in what
favour am I held with thee? Wilt thou not allow me to light one of these
lamps?--The sheykh answered, Arise, and light one lamp, and be not thou
also troublesome. So he arose, and, beginning with the first lamp,
lighted all the eighty; and the saloon seemed to dance. And after this,
the sheykh Ibraheem, overcome by intoxication, said to them, Ye are more
frolicksome than I:--and he sprang upon his feet, and opened all the
windows, and sat down again with them, and they continued carousing and
reciting verses; and the place rang with their merriment.

Now God, the All-seeing and All-knowing, who hath appointed a cause to
every event, had decreed that the Khaleefeh should be sitting that night
at one of the windows looking towards the Tigris, by moonlight; and he
looked in that direction, and saw the light of lamps and candles
reflected in the river, and, turning his eyes up towards the palace in
the garden, he beheld it beaming with those candles and lamps, and
exclaimed, Bring hither to me Jaafar El-Barmekee! In the twinkling of an
eye, Jaafar stood before the Prince of the Faithful; and the Khaleefeh
said to him, O dog of Wezeers, dost thou serve me and not acquaint me
with what happeneth in the city of Baghdad?--What, asked Jaafar, is the
occasion of these words? The Khaleefeh answered, If the city of Baghdad
were not taken from me, the Palace of Diversion were not enlivened with
the light of the lamps and candles, and its windows were not opened. Wo
to thee! Who could do these things unless the office of Khaleefeh were
taken from me?--Who, said Jaafar (the muscles of his side quivering
from fear), informed thee that the lamps and candles were lighted in the
Palace of Diversion, and that its windows were opened? The Khaleefeh
replied, Advance hither to me, and look. So Jaafar approached the
Khaleefeh, and, looking towards the garden, beheld the palace as it were
a flame of fire, its light surpassing that of the moon. He desired,
therefore, to make an excuse for the sheykh Ibraheem, the
superintendent, thinking, from what he beheld, that the event might have
occurred through his permission: and accordingly he said, O Prince of
the Faithful, the sheykh Ibraheem last week said to me, O my master
Jaafar, I am desirous of entertaining my children during my life and the
life of the Prince of the Faithful.--And what, said I, is thy design in
saying this? He answered, It is my wish that thou wouldst obtain for me
permission from the Khaleefeh that I may celebrate the circumcision of
my sons in the palace. So I said, Do what thou wilt with respect to the
entertainment of thy sons, and, if God will, I shall have an interview
with the Khaleefeh, and will acquaint him with it. And he left me thus;
and I forgot to acquaint thee.--O Jaafar, said the Khaleefeh, thou wast
guilty of one offence against me, and then thine offence became two: for
thou hast erred in two points: the first, thy not acquainting me with
this affair; and the second, thy not accomplishing the desire of the
sheykh Ibraheem; for he did not come to thee and address thee with these
words but to hint a request for some money by the aid of which to effect
his design, and thou neither gavest him anything nor acquaintedst me
that I might give him.--O Prince of the Faithful, replied Jaafar, I
forgot.



The Khaleefeh then said, By my forefathers, I will not pass the
remainder of my night but with him, for he is a just man, who
frequenteth the sheykhs, and attendeth to the poor, and
favoureth the indigent; and I imagine all his acquaintances are with him
this night; so I must repair to him: perhaps one of them may offer up
for us a prayer productive of good to us in this world and the next; and
probably some advantage may accrue to him from my presence, and he will
receive pleasure from this, together with his friends.--O Prince of the
Faithful, replied Jaafar, the greater part of the night hath passed, and
they are now about to disperse. But the Khaleefeh said, We must go to
them. And Jaafar was silent, and was perplexed in his mind, not knowing
what to do. So the Khaleefeh rose upon his feet, and Jaafar rose and
preceded him, and Mesroor the eunuch went with them. The three walked on
reflecting, and, departing from the palace, proceeded through the
streets, in the attire of merchants; until they arrived at the gate of
the garden above mentioned; and the Khaleefeh, approaching it, found it
open; and he was surprised, and said, See, O Jaafar, how the sheykh
Ibraheem hath left the gate open until this hour, which is not his usual
custom. They then entered, and came to the end of the garden, where they
stopped beneath the palace; and the Khaleefeh said, O Jaafar, I desire
to take a view of them secretly before I go up to them, that I may see
how the sheykhs are occupied in the dispensing of their blessings and
the employment of their miraculous powers; for they have qualities which
distinguish them both in their private retirements and in their public
exercises; and now we hear not their voices, nor discover any indication
of their presence. Having thus said, he looked around, and, seeing a
tall walnut tree, he said, O Jaafar, I would climb this tree (for its
branches are near to the windows) and look at them. And accordingly he
ascended the tree, and climbed from branch to branch until he came to
that which was opposite to one of the windows, and there he sat, and,
looking in through this window of the palace, beheld a damsel and a
young man, like two moons (extolled be the perfection of Him who created
them!); and he saw the sheykh Ibraheem sitting with a cup in his hand,
and saying, O mistress of beauties, drinking unaccompanied by merry
sounds is not pleasant. Hast thou not heard the saying of the poet?--

  Circulate it in the large cup, and in the small; and receive it
    from the hand of the shining moon:
  And drink not without merry sounds; for I have observed that
    horses drink to the sound of whistling.

When the Khaleefeh witnessed this conduct of the sheykh Ibraheem, the
vein of anger swelled between his eyes, and he descended, and said, O
Jaafar, I have never seen anything of the miraculous performances of the
just such as I have beheld this night: ascend, therefore, thyself also,
into this tree, and look, lest the blessings of the just escape
thee.--On hearing the words of the Prince of the Faithful,
Jaafar was perplexed at his situation; and he climbed up into the tree,
and looked, and saw Noor-ed-Deen and the sheykh Ibraheem and the damsel,
and the sheykh Ibraheem had the cup in his hand. As soon as he beheld
this, he made sure of destruction; and he descended, and stood before
the Prince of the Faithful, and the Khaleefeh said, O Jaafar, praise be
to God who hath made us to be of the number of those who follow the
external ordinances of the holy law, and averted from us the sin of
disguising ourselves by the practice of hypocrisy! But Jaafar was unable
to reply, from his excessive confusion. The Khaleefeh then looked
towards him, and said, Who can have brought these persons hither, and
admitted them into my palace? But the like of this young man and this
damsel, in beauty and loveliness and symmetry of form, mine eye hath
never beheld.--Jaafar, now conceiving a hope that the Khaleefeh might be
propitiated, replied, Thou hast spoken truly, O Prince of the Faithful.
And the Khaleefeh said, O Jaafar, climb up with us upon this branch
which is opposite them, that we may amuse ourselves by observing them.
So they both climbed up into the tree, and, looking at them, heard the
sheykh Ibraheem say, O my mistress, I have relinquished decorum by the
drinking of wine; but the pleasure of this is not complete without the
melodious sounds of stringed instruments.--O sheykh Ibraheem, replied
Enees-el-Jelees, by Allah, if we had any musical instrument, our
happiness were perfect. And when the sheykh Ibraheem heard her words, he
rose upon his feet.--The Khaleefeh said to Jaafar, What may he be going
to do? Jaafar replied, I know not.--And the sheykh Ibraheem went away,
and returned with a lute; and the Khaleefeh, looking attentively at it,
saw that it was the lute of Is-a, the cup-companion; and said, By
Allah, if this damsel sing not well, I will crucify you all; but if she
sing well, I will pardon them, and crucify thee. So Jaafar said, O
Allah, let her not sing well!--Why? asked the Khaleefeh.--That thou
mayest crucify all of us, answered Jaafar; and then we shall cheer one
another by conversation. And the Khaleefeh laughed: and the damsel took
the lute, and tuned its strings, and played upon it in a manner that
would melt iron, and inspire an idiot with intellect; after which she
sang with such sweetness that the Khaleefeh exclaimed, O Jaafar, never
in my life have I heard so enchanting a voice as this!--Perhaps, said
Jaafar, the anger of the Khaleefeh hath departed from him?--Yea, he
answered; it hath departed. He then descended with Jaafar from the tree,
and, looking towards him, said, I am desirous of going up to them, to
sit with them, and to hear the damsel sing before me.--O Prince of the
Faithful, replied Jaafar, if thou go up to them, probably they will be
troubled by thy presence; and as to the sheykh Ibraheem, he will
assuredly die of fear. The Khaleefeh therefore said, O Jaafar, thou must
acquaint me with some stratagem by means of which I may learn the truth
of the affair without their knowing that I have discovered them. And he
and Jaafar walked towards the Tigris, reflecting upon this matter; and
lo, a fisherman stood beneath the windows of the palace, and he threw
his net, hoping to catch something by means of which to obtain his
subsistence.--Now the Khaleefeh had, on a former occasion, called to the
sheykh Ibraheem, and said to him, What was that noise that I heard
beneath the windows of the palace?--and he answered, The voices of the
fishermen, who are fishing:--so he said, Go down and forbid them from
coming to this place. They were therefore forbidden to come thither; but
this night there came a fisherman named Kereem, and, seeing the
garden-gate open, he said within himself, This is a time of
inadvertence, and perhaps I may catch some fish on this occasion:--so he
took his net, and threw it into the river, and then recited some verses,
contrasting the condition of the poor fisherman, toiling throughout the
night, with that of the lord of the palace, who, awaking from a pleasant
slumber, findeth the fawn in his possession; and as soon as he had
finished his recitation, lo, the Khaleefeh, unattended, stood at his
head. The Khaleefeh knew him, and exclaimed, O Kereem!--and the
fisherman, hearing him call him by his name, turned towards him; and
when he beheld the Khaleefeh, the muscles of his side quivered, and he
said, By Allah, O Prince of the Faithful, I did not this in mockery of
the mandate; but poverty and the wants of my family impelled me to the
act of which thou art witness. The Khaleefeh replied, Throw thy net for
my luck. And the fisherman advanced, rejoicing exceedingly, and cast the
net, and, having waited until it had attained its limit and become
steady at the bottom, drew it in again, and there came up in it a
variety of fish that could not be numbered.



The Khaleefeh was delighted at this, and said, O Kereem, strip off thy
clothes:--and he did so. He was clad in a jubbeh in which
were a hundred patches of coarse woollen stuff, containing vermin of the
most abominable kind, and among them fleas in such numbers that he might
almost have been transported by their means over the face of the earth;
and he took from his head a turban which for three years he had never
unwound; but when he happened to find a piece of rag he twisted it
around it: and when he had taken off the jubbeh and turban, the
Khaleefeh pulled off from his own person two vests of silk of Alexandria
and Baalabekk, and a melwaah
and said to the fisherman, Take these, and put them on. The Khaleefeh
then put on himself the fisherman's jubbeh and turban, and, having drawn
a litham over his face, said to the fisherman, Go about thy
business;--and he kissed the feet of the Khaleefeh, and thanked him,
reciting these two verses:--

  Thou hast granted me favours beyond my power to acknowledge,
    and completely satisfied all my wants.
  I will thank thee, therefore, as long as I live; and when I die,
    my bones will thank thee in their grave.

But scarcely had he finished his verses, when the vermin overran the
person of the Khaleefeh, and he began to seize them with his right hand
and his left from his neck, and to throw them down; and he exclaimed, O
fisherman, wo to thee! What are these abundant vermin in this jubbeh?--O
my lord, he answered, at present they torment thee; but when a week
shall have passed over thee, thou wilt not feel them, nor think of them.
The Khaleefeh laughed, and said to him, How can I suffer this jubbeh to
remain upon me? The fisherman replied, I wish to tell thee something;
but I am ashamed, through my awe of the Khaleefeh. Impart, said the
Khaleefeh, what thou hast to tell me. So he said to him, It hath
occurred to my mind, O Prince of the Faithful, that thou desirest to
learn the art of fishing, in order that thou mayest be master of a trade
that may profit thee; and if such be thy desire, this jubbeh is suitable
to thee. And the Khaleefeh laughed at his words.

The fisherman then went his way, and the Khaleefeh took the basket of
fish, and, having put upon it a little grass, went with it to Jaafar,
and stood before him; and Jaafar, thinking that he was Kereem the
fisherman, feared for him, and said, O Kereem, what brought thee hither?
Save thyself by flight; for the Khaleefeh is here this night.--And when
the Khaleefeh heard the words of Jaafar, he laughed until he fell down
upon his back. So Jaafar said, Perhaps thou art our lord the Prince of
the Faithful?--Yes, O Jaafar, answered the Khaleefeh, and thou art my
Wezeer, and I came with thee hither, and thou knowest me not. How then
should the sheykh Ibraheem know me when he is drunk? Remain where thou
art until I return to thee.--Jaafar replied, I hear and obey:--and the
Khaleefeh advanced to the door of the palace, and knocked. The sheykh
Ibraheem arose, therefore, and said, Who is at the door? He answered, I,
O sheykh Ibraheem. The sheykh said, Who art thou?--and the Khaleefeh
answered, I am Kereem the fisherman: I heard that there were guests with
thee, and have therefore brought thee some fish; for it is
excellent.--Now Noor-ed-Deen and the damsel were both fond of fish, and
when they heard the mention of it they rejoiced exceedingly, and said, O
my master, open to him, and let him come in to us with the fish which he
hath brought. So the sheykh Ibraheem opened the door, and the Khaleefeh,
in his fisherman's disguise, entered, and began by salutation; and the
sheykh Ibraheem said to him, Welcome to the robber, the thief, the
gambler! Come hither, and shew us the fish which thou hast brought.--He
therefore shewed it to them; and lo, it was alive, and moving; and the
damsel exclaimed, By Allah, O my master, this fish is excellent! I wish
it were fried!--By Allah, said the sheykh Ibraheem, thou hast spoken
truth. Then, addressing the Khaleefeh, he said, O fisherman, I wish thou
hadst brought this fish fried. Arise, and fry it for us, and bring
it.--On the head be thy commands, replied the Khaleefeh: I will fry it,
and bring it.--Be quick, said they, in doing it.

The Khaleefeh therefore arose and ran back to Jaafar, and said, O
Jaafar, they want the fish fried.--O Prince of the Faithful, replied he,
give it me, and I will fry it. But the Khaleefeh said, By the tombs of
my ancestors, none shall fry it but myself; with my own hand will I do
it! He then repaired to the hut of the superintendent, and, searching
there, found in it everything that he required, the frying-pan, and even
the salt, and wild marjoram, and other things. So he approached the
fire-place, and put on the frying-pan, and fried it nicely; and when it
was done, he put it upon a banana-leaf, and having taken from the garden
some limes, he went up with the fish, and placed it before them. The
young man, therefore, and the damsel and the sheykh Ibraheem advanced
and ate; and when they had finished, they washed their hands, and
Noor-ed-Deen said, By Allah, O fisherman, thou hast done us a kindness
this night. Then putting his hand into his pocket, he took forth for him
three pieces of gold, of those which Senjer had presented to him when he
was setting forth on his journey, and said, O fisherman, excuse me; for,
by Allah, if I had known thee before the events that have lately
happened to me, I would have extracted the bitterness of poverty from
thy heart: but take this as accordant with my present circumstances. So
saying, he threw the pieces of gold to the Khaleefeh, who took them, and
kissed them, and put them in his pocket. The object of the
Khaleefeh in doing this was only that he might hear the damsel sing: so
he said to him, Thou hast treated me with beneficence, and abundantly
recompensed me; but I beg of thy unbounded indulgence that this damsel
may sing an air, that I may hear her. Noor-ed-Deen therefore said, O
Enees-el-Jelees! She replied, Yes.--By my life, said he, sing to us
something for the gratification of this fisherman; for he desireth to
hear thee. And when she had heard what her master said, she took the
lute, and tried it with her fingers, after she had twisted its pegs, and
sang to it these two verses:--

  The fingers of many a fawn-like damsel have played upon the lute,
    and the soul hath been ravished by the touch.
  She hath made the deaf to hear her songs; and the dumb hath exclaimed,
    Thou hast excelled in thy singing!



Then she played again, in an extraordinary manner, so as to charm the
minds of her hearers, and sang the following couplet:--

  We are honoured by your visiting our abode, and your splendour
    hath dispelled the darkness of the moonless night:
  It is therefore incumbent upon me to perfume my dwelling with musk
    and rose-water and camphor.

Upon this, the Khaleefeh was affected with violent emotion, and overcome
by ecstasy, so that he was no longer master of himself from excessive
delight; and he began to exclaim, Allah approve thee! Allah approve
thee! Allah approve thee! So Noor-ed-Deen said to him, O fisherman, have
the damsel and her art in striking the chords pleased thee?--Yea, by
Allah! exclaimed the Khaleefeh. And Noor-ed-Deen immediately said, She
is bestowed upon thee as a present from me, the present of a generous
man who will not revoke his gift. And he rose upon his feet, and took a
melwaah, and threw it upon the Khaleefeh in the fisherman's disguise,
ordering him to depart with the damsel. But she looked towards him, and
said, O my master, wilt thou part from me without bidding me farewell?
If we must be separated, pause while I take leave of thee.--And she
recited the following couplet:--

  If you depart from me, still your abode will be in my heart,
    in the recess of my bosom.
  I implore the Compassionate to grant our reunion; and a boon
    such as this, God will grant to whom He pleaseth.

And when she had finished, Noor-ed-Deen thus replied to her:--

  She bade me farewell on the day of separation, saying, while
    she wept from the pain that it occasioned,
  What wilt thou do after my departure?--Say this, I replied,
    unto him who will survive it.

The Khaleefeh, when he heard this, was distressed at the thought of
separating them, and, looking towards the young man, he said to him, O
my master, art thou in fear on account of any crime, or art thou in debt
to any one? Noor-ed-Deen answered, By Allah, O fisherman, a wonderful
event, and an extraordinary adventure, happened to me and this damsel:
if it were engraved on the understanding, it would be a lesson to him
who would be admonished.--Wilt thou not, rejoined the Khaleefeh, relate
to us thy story, and acquaint us with thy case? Perhaps thy doing so may
be productive of relief; for the relief of God is near.--So Noor-ed-Deen
said, Wilt thou hear our story in poetry or in prose?--Prose, answered
the Khaleefeh, is mere talk; and verse, words put together like pearls.
And Noor-ed-Deen hung down his head towards the ground, and then related
his story in a series of verses: but when he had finished, the Khaleefeh
begged him to explain his case more fully. He therefore acquainted him
with the whole of his circumstances from beginning to end; and when the
Khaleefeh understood the affair, he said to him, Whither wouldst thou
now repair? He answered, God's earth is wide. The Khaleefeh then said to
him, I will write for thee a letter which thou shalt convey to the
Sulan Moammad the son of Suleyman Ez-Zeynee, and when he shall have
read it, he will do thee no injury.--Is there in the world, said
Noor-ed-Deen, a fisherman who correspondeth with Kings? Verily this is a
thing that can never be.--Thou hast spoken truly, rejoined the
Khaleefeh; but I will acquaint thee with the cause. Know that I read in
the same school with him, under a master, and I was his monitor; and
after that, prosperity was his lot, and he became a Sulan, while God
made me to be a fisherman: yet I have never sent to request anything of
him, but he hath performed my wish; and if I sent to him every day to
request a thousand things of him, he would do what I asked. When
Noor-ed-Deen, therefore, heard his words, he said to him, Write, that I
may see. And he took an inkhorn and a pen, and wrote (after the phrase,
In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful).--To proceed.--This
letter is from Haroon Er-Rasheed the son of El-Mahdee, to his highness
Moammad the son of Suleyman Ez-Zeynee, who hath been encompassed by my
beneficence, and whom I constituted my viceroy of a portion of my
dominions. I acquaint thee that the bearer of this letter is
Noor-ed-Deen the son of El-Fal the son of Khaan the Wezeer, and on his
arrival in thy presence thou shalt divest thyself of the regal
authority, and seat him in thy place; for I have appointed him to the
office to which I formerly appointed thee: so disobey not my commands:
and peace be on thee.--He then gave the letter to 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen,
who took it and kissed it and put it in his turban, and immediately set
forth on his journey.

The sheykh Ibraheem now looked towards the Khaleefeh in his fisherman's
disguise, and said to him, O most contemptible of fishermen, thou hast
brought us two fish worth twenty half-dirhems, and received
three pieces of gold, and desirest to take the slave also. But when the
Khaleefeh heard these words, he cried out at him, and made a sign to
Mesroor, who immediately discovered himself, and rushed in upon him.
Jaafar, meanwhile, had sent one of the attendants of the garden to the
porter of the palace to demand a suit of clothing of him for the Prince
of the Faithful; and the man went, and brought the dress, and kissed the
ground before the Khaleefeh, who took off and gave to him that with
which he was then clad, and put on this suit. The sheykh Ibraheem was
sitting on a chair: the Khaleefeh paused to see the result: and the
sheykh was astounded, and began to bite the ends of his fingers through
his confusion, saying, Am I asleep or awake? The Khaleefeh then looked
at him, and said, O sheykh Ibraheem, what is this predicament in which
thou art placed? And upon this, the sheykh recovered from his
intoxication, and, throwing himself upon the ground, implored
forgiveness: and the Khaleefeh pardoned him; after which he gave orders
that the damsel should be conveyed to the palace where he resided; and
when she had arrived there, he appropriated to her a separate lodging,
and appointed persons to wait upon her, and said to her, Know that I
have sent thy master as Sulan of El-Barah, and, if God please, I will
despatch to him a dress of honour, and send thee also to him with it.

As to Noor-ed-Deen, he continued his journey until he entered
El-Barah, and went up to the palace of the Sulan, when he uttered a
loud cry, whereupon the Sulan desired him to approach; and when he came
into the presence of the King, he kissed the ground before him, and
produced the letter, and handed it to him. And as soon as the Sulan saw
the superscription in the handwriting of the Prince of the Faithful, he
rose upon his feet, and, having kissed it three times, said, I hear and
pay obedience to God (whose name be exalted!) and to the Prince of the
Faithful. He then summoned before him the four aees, and
the Emeers, and was about to divest himself of the regal office: but,
lo, the Wezeer El-Mo'een the son of Sawee was before him, and the Sulan
gave him the letter of the Prince of the Faithful, and when he saw it,
he rent it in pieces, and put it into his mouth, and chewed it, and
threw it down. The Sulan, enraged, cried, Wo to thee! What hath induced
thee to act thus?--He answered, This man hath had no interview with the
Khaleefeh nor with his Wezeer; but is a young wretch, an artful devil,
who, having met with a paper containing the handwriting of the
Khaleefeh, hath counterfeited it, and written what he desired: wherefore
then shouldst thou abdicate the sovereignty, when the Khaleefeh hath not
sent to thee an envoy with a royal autographical mandate; for if this
affair were true, he had sent with him a Chamberlain or a Wezeer; but he
came alone.--What then is to be done? said the Sulan. The Wezeer
answered, Send away this young man with me, and I will take charge of
him, and despatch him in company with a Chamberlain to the city of
Baghdad; and if his words be true, he will bring us a royal
autographical mandate and diploma of investiture; and if not true, they
will send him back to us with the Chamberlain, and I will take my
revenge upon my offender.

When the Sulan heard what the Wezeer said, it pleased him; and the
Wezeer took him away, and cried out to the pages, who threw
down Noor-ed-Deen, and beat him until he became insensible. He then
ordered to put a chain upon his feet, and called to the jailer; and when
he came, he kissed the ground before him. This jailer was named
uey; and the Wezeer said to him, O uey, I desire that
thou take this person, and cast him into one of the subterranean cells
which are in thy prison, and torture him night and day. The jailer
replied, I hear and obey:--and he put Noor-ed-Deen into the prison, and
locked the door upon him; but after having done this, he gave orders to
sweep a maabah within the door, and furnished it with a prayer-carpet
and a pillow, and seated Noor-ed-Deen upon it, and loosed his chain,
and treated him with kindness. The Wezeer every day sent to him,
commanding him to beat him; and the jailer pretended that he tortured
him, while, on the contrary, he treated him with benignity.

Thus he continued to do for forty days; and on the forty-first day,
there came a present from the Khaleefeh, and when the Sulan saw it, it
pleased him, and he conferred with the Wezeers upon the subject; but one
said, Perhaps this present was designed for the new Sulan. Upon this,
the Wezeer El-Mo'een the son of Sawee remarked, It were proper to have
slain him on his arrival:--and the Sulan exclaimed, Now thou hast
reminded me of him, go down and bring him, and I will strike off his
head. The Wezeer replied, I hear and obey:--and arose, saying, I desire
to proclaim throughout the city, He who wisheth to witness the
decapitation of Noor-ed-Deen 'Alee the son of El-Fal the son of Khaan,
let him come to the palace:--so that all the people may come to behold
it, and I may gratify my heart, and mortify my enviers. The Sulan said,
Do what thou wilt. So the Wezeer descended, full of joy and happiness,
and went to the Walee, and ordered him to make this proclamation; and
when the people heard the crier, they all grieved and wept, even the
boys in the schools, and the tradesmen in their shops; and numbers of
the people strove together to take for themselves places where they
might behold the spectacle, while others repaired to the prison, to
accompany him thence. The Wezeer then went forth, attended by ten
memlooks, to the prison: and uey the jailer said to him, What dost
thou desire, O our lord the Wezeer?--Bring forth to me, said the Wezeer,
this young wretch. The jailer replied, He is in a most miserable state
from the excessive beating that I have inflicted upon him. And he
entered, and found him reciting some verses, commencing thus:--

  Who is there to aid me in my affliction? For my pain hath become
    intense, and my remedy is scarce procurable!

And the jailer pulled off from him his clean clothes, and, having clad
him in two dirty garments, brought him out to the Wezeer. Noor-ed-Deen
then looked at him, and saw that he was his enemy who had incessantly
desired his destruction; and when he beheld him, he wept, and said to
him, Art thou secure from misfortune? Hast thou not heard the saying of
the poet?--

  They made use of their power, and used it tyrannically; and soon
    it became as though it never had existed.

O Wezeer, know that God (whose perfection be extolled, and whose name
be exalted!) is the doer of whatsover He willeth.--O 'Alee, replied the
Wezeer, wouldst thou frighten me by these words? I am now going to
strike off thy head, in spite of the people of El-Barah; and I will pay
no regard to thy counsel; but I will rather attend to the saying of the
poet:--

  Let fortune do whatever it willeth, and bear with cheerful mind
    the effects of fate.

How excellent also is the saying of another poet:--

  He who liveth after his enemy a single day, hath attained
    his desire.

The Wezeer then ordered his pages to convey him on the back of a mule;
whereupon they said to him (being distressed to obey), Suffer us to
stone him and cut him in pieces, though our lives should be sacrificed
in consequence. But he replied, Never do it. Have ye not heard what the
poet hath said:--

  A decreed term is my inevitable lot; and as soon as its days
    have expired, I die.
  If the lions dragged me into their forest, they could not close it
    while aught of it remained.

So they proceeded to proclaim before Noor-ed-Deen, This is the smallest
recompense of him who forgeth a letter from the Khaleefeh to the Sulan.
And they continued to parade him throughout El-Barah until they
stationed him beneath the window of the palace, and in the place of
blood, when the executioner approached him, and said to him,
I am a slave under command; and if thou hast any want, acquaint me with
it, that I may perform it for thee; for there remaineth not of thy life
any more than the period until the Sulan shall put forth his face from
the window. And upon this, Noor-ed-Deen looked to the right and left,
and recited these verses:--

  Is there among you a merciful friend, who will aid me? I conjure
    you by Allah to answer me!
  My life hath passed, and my death is at hand! Is there any who
    will pity me, to obtain my recompense,
  And consider my state, and relieve my anguish, by a draught
    of water that my torment may be lightened?

And the people were excited to tears for him; and the executioner took
some water to hand it to him; but the Wezeer arose from his place, and
struck the ulleh of water with his hand, and broke it, and
called to the executioner, commanding him to strike off his head;
whereupon he bound Noor-ed-Deen's eyes. The people, however, called out
against the Wezeer, and raised a tumultuous cry against him, and many
words passed between them; and while they were in this state, lo, a
dust rose, and filled the sky and the open tracts; and when the Sulan
beheld it, as he sat in the palace, he said to his attendants, See what
is the news. The Wezeer said, After thou shalt first have beheaded this
man. But the Sulan replied, Wait thou until we see what is the news.



Now this dust was the dust of Jaafar, the Wezeer of the Khaleefeh, and
of his attendants; and the cause of their coming was this:--The
Khaleefeh had passed thirty days without remembering the affair of 'Alee
the son of El-Fal the son of Khaan, and no one mentioned it to him,
until he came one night to the private apartment of Enees-el-Jelees, and
heard her lamenting, as she recited, with a soft voice, the saying of
the poet:--

  Thine image  whether distant or near, and my tongue
    never ceaseth to mention thee.

Her lamentation increased, and lo, the Khaleefeh opened the door, and
entered the chamber, and saw Enees-el-Jelees weeping. On beholding the
Khaleefeh, she fell at his feet, and, having kissed them three times,
recited these two verses:--

  O thou of pure origin, and of excellent birth; of ripe-fruitful branch,
    and of unsullied race!
  I remind thee of the promise thy beneficence granted, and far be it
    from thee that thou shouldst forget it.

The Khaleefeh said to her, Who art thou? She answered, I am the present
given to thee by 'Alee the son of El-Fal the son of Khaan; and I
request the fulfilment of the promise which thou gavest me, that thou
wouldst send me to him with the honorary gift; for I have now been here
thirty days, and have not tasted sleep. And upon this, the Khaleefeh
summoned Jaafar El-Barmekee, and said to him, For thirty days I have
heard no news of 'Alee the son of El-Fal the son of Khaan, and I
imagine nothing less than that the Sulan hath killed him: but, by my
head! by the tombs of my ancestors! if any evil event hath happened to
him, I will destroy him who hath been the cause of it, though he be the
dearest of men in my estimation! I desire, therefore, that thou journey
immediately to El-Barah, and bring me an account of the conduct of the
King Moammad the son of Suleyman Ez-Zeynee to 'Alee the son of El-Fal
the son of Khaan.

So Jaafar obeyed his commands, and set forth on his journey, and when he
approached, and saw this tumult and crowd, he said, What is the occasion
of this crowd? They related to him, therefore, the situation in which
they were with regard to Noor-ed-Deen; and when he heard their words, he
hastened to go up to the Sulan, and, having saluted him, acquainted him
with the cause of his coming, and told him, that if any evil event had
happened to 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen, the Khaleefeh would destroy him who was
the cause of it. He then arrested the Sulan, and the Wezeer El-Mo'een
the son of Sawee, and gave orders to liberate 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen, and
enthroned him as Sulan in the place of the Sulan Moammad the son of
Suleyman Ez-Zeynee; after which he remained in El-Barah three days, the
usual period of entertainment; and on the morning of the fourth day,
'Alee Noor-ed-Deen said to Jaafar, I have a longing desire to see the
Prince of the Faithful. So Jaafar said to the King Moammad the son of
Suleyman, Prepare thyself for travelling; for we will perform the
morning-prayers, and depart to Baghdad. He replied, I hear and
obey:--and they performed the morning-prayers, and mounted all together,
with the Wezeer El-Mo'een the son of Sawee, who now repented of what he
had done. As to 'Alee Noor-ed-Deen, he rode by the side of Jaafar: and
they continued their journey until they arrived at Baghdad, the Abode of
Peace.

They then presented themselves before the Khaleefeh, and related to him
the case of Noor-ed-Deen; whereupon the Khaleefeh addressed him, saying,
Take this sword, and strike off with it the head of thine enemy. And he
took it, and approached El-Mo'een the son of Sawee; but he looked at
him, and said to him, I did according to my nature, and do thou
according to thine. And Noor-ed-Deen threw down the sword from his hand,
and, looking towards the Khaleefeh, said, O Prince of the Faithful, he
hath beguiled me. So the Khaleefeh said, Do thou leave him:--and he said
to Mesroor, O Mesroor, advance thou, and strike off his head. Mesroor,
therefore, did so: and upon this, the Khaleefeh said to 'Alee the son of
El-Fal the son of Khakan, Request of me what thou wilt. He replied, O
my lord, I have no want of the sovereignty of El-Barah, and desire
nothing but to have the honour of serving thee.--Most willingly I
assent, said the Khaleefeh:--and he summoned the damsel, and when she
had come before him, he bestowed favours upon them both: he gave to them
one of the palaces of Baghdad, and assigned to them regular allowances,
and made Noor-ed-Deen one of his companions at the table; and he
remained with him until death overtook him.






NOTES TO CHAPTER SIXTH.

NOTE 1. In the old version, the person here named Enees-el-Jelees is
called "The Fair Persian;" but I do not find her so described in any
copy of the original. The name here given to her may be rendered "the
Companion's Cheerer;" "Enees" being a term applied to any person or
thing serving as an agreeable, cheering companion; and "Jelees"
signifying "a companion," or "one in the habit of sitting with another."

NOTE 2. "Khaeeyeh" is derived from "kha," which signifies "writing,"
but which is also the name of a place (Kha Hejer) in the province of
El-Bareyn, a famous mart for spears. Of the figure of speech employed
in the couplet in which this word occurs (considered by the Arabs an
elegant mode of etiology, and called by them "osn et-taaleel") my
sheykh gives the following example in a marginal note:--

  "And the rain fell not but for the purpose of kissing the ground
     before thee."

NOTE 3. "El-Mo'een" signifies "the Aider," or "the Assistant."

NOTE 4. "El-Fal," signifying "the Excellence," is here, as a proper
name, an abbreviation of "Fal-ed-Deen," "the Excellence of the
Religion."

NOTE 5. This phrase (a person of auspicious aspect) is often used
by the modern Arabs and the Turks, and signifies "a virtuous or
beneficent man."

NOTE 6. This answer is not to be understood in its literal sense; it has
become a common form of speech which an Arab often uses for the purpose
of obtaining something more than he would venture to demand.

NOTE 7. "May it be favourable," or "----beneficial," is a compliment
usually addressed to a person who has just been to the bath, and to a
man who has just had his head shaved. The reply is, "May God bestow
favours upon thee."

NOTE 8.--_On the Law respecting Murder and unintentional Homicide._ The
ur-an ordains that murder shall be punished with death; or, rather,
that the free shall die for the free, the slave for the slave, and a
woman for a woman; or that the perpetrator of the crime shall pay, to
the heirs of the person whom he has killed, if they will allow it, a
fine, which is to be divided according to the laws of inheritance.
It also ordains, that unintentional homicide shall be expiated by
freeing a believer from slavery, and paying, to the family of the person
killed, a fine, unless they remit it. But these laws are amplified
and explained by the same book and by the Imams.--A fine is not to be
accepted for murder unless the crime has been attended by some
palliating circumstance. This fine, the price of blood, is a hundred
camels; or a thousand deenars (about 500_l._) from him who possesses
gold; or, from him who possesses silver, twelve thousand dirhems
(about 300_l._). This is for killing a free man; for a woman, half that
sum; for a slave, his or her value, but that must fall short of the
price of blood for the free. A person unable to free a believer must
fast two months as in Ramaan. The accomplices of a murderer are liable
to the punishment of death. By the Sunneh also, a man is obnoxious to
capital punishment for the murder of a woman; and by the anafee law,
for the murder of another man's slave. But he is exempted from this
punishment who kills his own child or other descendant, or his own
slave, or his son's slave, or a slave of whom he is part-owner: so also
are his accomplices: and according to Esh-Shafe'ee, a Muslim, though a
slave, is not to be put to death for killing an infidel, though the
latter be free. A man who kills another in self-defence, or to defend
his property from a robber, is exempt from all punishment. The price of
blood is a debt incumbent on the family, tribe, or association, of which
the homicide is a member. It is also incumbent on the inhabitants of an
enclosed quarter, or the proprietor or proprietors of a field, in which
the body of a person killed by an unknown hand is found; unless the
person has been found killed in his own house.

Hence it appears, that the punishment with which the Wezeer El-Fal
threatened his son is not to be regarded as a grave criminal act;
especially when we consider the nature of the son's offence: for the
slave was the property of the king, and it was not allowable to any
other man even to see her without his permission. Many of the characters
depicted in the present work would seem incongruous in the extreme, if
judged according to European notions of justice and other moral
qualities.

NOTE 9. "The two professions of the faith," "There is no deity but God,"
and "Moammad is God's Apostle," are generally repeated by a dying
Muslim.

NOTE 10. This is said to imply (as my sheykh has remarked in a marginal
note) that El-Fal was a charitable person who bestowed pensions upon
the professors of the ur-an and of science. There are many among the
modern Muslims who do so, and numbers also who found and endow public
schools.

NOTE 11.--_On the Washing, Shrouding, and Burial of the Dead._ The
ceremonies attendant upon death and burial are nearly the same in the
cases of men and women. The face or the head of the dying person is
turned towards the direction of Mekkeh. When the spirit is departing,
the eyes are closed; and then, or immediately after, the women of the
house commence a loud lamentation, in which many of the females of the
neighbourhood generally come to join. Hired female mourners are also
usually employed; each of whom accompanies her exclamations of "Alas for
him!" &c., by beating a tambourine. If possible, the corpse is buried on
the day of the death; but when this cannot be done, the lamentation of
the women is continued during the ensuing night; and a recitation of
several chapters, or of the whole, of the ur-an is performed by one or
more men hired for the purpose.

The washing consists, first, in the performance of the ordinary ablution
which is preparatory to prayer, with the exception of the cleansing of
the mouth and nose; and secondly, in an ablution of the whole body with
warm water and soap, or with water in which some leaves of the lote-tree
have been boiled. The jaw is bound up, the eyes are closed, and the
nostrils &c., are stuffed with cotton; and the corpse is sprinkled with
a mixture of water, pounded camphor, dried and pounded leaves of the
lote-tree, and sometimes other dried and pulverized leaves, &c., and
with rose-water. The ankles are bound together; and the hands placed
upon the breast.

The grave-clothing of a poor man consists of a piece or two of cotton,
or a kind of bag: but the corpse of a man of wealth is generally wrapped
first in muslin; then, in cotton cloth of a thicker texture; next, in a
piece of striped stuff of silk and cotton intermixed, or in a afan (a
long vest) of similar stuff, merely stitched together; and over these is
wrapped a Kashmeer shawl. The colours most approved for the
grave-clothes are white and green. The body thus shrouded is placed in a
bier, which is usually covered with a Kashmeer shawl, and borne on the
shoulders of three or four men, generally friends of the deceased.

There are some slight differences in the funeral-ceremonies observed in
different Arab countries; but a sufficient notion of them will be
conveyed by briefly describing those which prevail in Cairo. The
procession to the tomb is generally headed by a number of poor men,
mostly blind, who, walking two and two, or three and three, together,
chant, in a melancholy tone, the profession (or two professions) of the
faith, mentioned above (in Note 9), or sometimes other words. They are
usually followed by some male relations and friends of the deceased; and
these, by a group of schoolboys, chanting in a higher tone, and one of
them bearing a copy of the ur-an, or of one of its thirty sections,
placed upon a kind of desk formed of palm-sticks, and covered with an
embroidered kerchief. Then follows the bier, borne head-foremost.
Friends of the deceased relieve one another in the office of carrying
it; and casual passengers often take part in this service, which is
esteemed highly meritorious. Behind the bier walk the female mourners,
composing a numerous group, often more than a dozen; or, if of a wealthy
family, they ride. Each of those who belong to the family of the
deceased has a strip of cotton stuff or muslin, generally blue, bound
round her head, over the head-veil, and carries a handkerchief, usually
dyed blue (the colour of mourning), which she sometimes holds over her
shoulders, and at other times twirls with both hands over her head or
before her face, while she cries and shrieks almost incessantly; and the
hired female mourners, accompanying the group, often celebrate the
praises of the deceased in the manner described in the preceding tale,
though this was forbidden by the Prophet.--The funeral-procession of a
man of wealth is sometimes preceded by several camels, bearing bread and
water to give to the poor at the tomb; and closed by the led horses of
some of the attendants, and by a buffalo or other animal to be
sacrificed at the tomb, where its flesh is distributed to the poor, to
atone for some of the minor sins of the deceased.

The bier used for conveying the corpse of a boy or a female has a cover
of wood, over which a shawl is spread; and at the head is an upright
piece of wood: upon the upper part of this, in the case of a boy, is
fixed a turban, with several ornaments of female head-dress; and in the
case of a female, it is similarly decked, but without the turban.

A short prayer is recited over the dead, either in a mosque or in a
place particularly dedicated to this service in, or adjacent to, the
burial-ground. The body is then conveyed, in the same manner as before,
to the tomb. This is a hollow, oblong vault, one side of which faces the
direction of Mekkeh, generally large enough to contain four or more
bodies, and having an oblong monument of stone or brick constructed over
it, with a stela at the head and foot. Upon the former of these two
stele (which is often inscribed with a text from the ur-an, and the
name of the deceased, with the date of his death), a turban, cap, or
other head-dress, is sometimes carved, shewing the rank or class of the
person or persons buried beneath; and in many cases, a cupola supported
by four walls, or by columns, &c., is constructed over the smaller
monument. The body is laid on its right side, or inclined by means of a
few crude bricks, so that the face is turned towards Mekkeh; and a
person is generally employed to dictate to the deceased the answers
which he should give when he is examined by the two angels Munkar and
Nekeer, whom I have mentioned in No. 21 of the Notes to the
Introduction. If the funeral be that of a person of rank or wealth, the
bread and water &c. before mentioned are then distributed to the
poor.

The principal ceremonies observed _after_ the funeral have been
described in Note 15 to Chapter iv.

NOTE 12. "The lord (or chief) of the first and the last among mankind"
is one of the many appellations of honour given by the Muslims to their
Prophet.

NOTE 13. My sheykh remarks, that this is said merely to excite men to
generosity; for literally it is not true, as is shown by the memorable
example of Kaab the son of Mameh, who preferred giving the water with
which he was provided to another, and in consequence himself died of
thirst.

NOTE 14. We are not to understand that such a slave as Enees-el-Jelees
was exposed to the public gaze in a market to which all persons
indiscriminately were admitted (for this would be at variance with
Eastern usages); but in a special mart to which none were allowed access
but persons of wealth who expressed a desire to purchase.

NOTE 15.--_On Kissing the Ground, as a Mode of Obeisance._ This and
several other passages in the present work shew that we are often to
understand the expression "kissing the ground before a person" as
signifying "touching the ground, and then the lips and forehead, or
turban, with the right hand;" and I believe this expression should
_generally_ be so understood. When I wrote the fourteenth note to the
Introduction, I inclined to a contrary opinion, chiefly from
recollecting to have read the following translation of a passage of
El-Mareezee, by the learned De Sacy:--"Ce khalife  ordonna
qu'a l'avenir on ne baiseroit plus la terre devant lui; que personne, en
le saluant dans les marches publiques, ne baiseroit sa main ou son
etrier, parce que cette coutume de se _prosterner_ devant une creature
etoit une invention des Grecs." But on referring to the original, I
find that the words which he renders "cette coutume de se prosterner"
signify literally "the bending towards the ground." I suppose,
therefore, that his deviating from the literal sense in one case was
owing to his adhering to it in another; and not meeting with the proof
which I had fancied to exist of his being right, I venture to differ
from him in this instance, without fear of being suspected of arrogance,
as the kind of obeisance above described is _often_ called "kissing the
ground" both by the Arabs and the Persians. I should add that, except in
the house, I do not remember to have ever seen the ground actually
touched, but nearly so, in making this obeisance, which is still called
"kissing the ground" when thus imperfectly performed.

NOTE 16. By this is meant, a place where mud was kneaded to be employed
in building. The mortar generally used in the construction of Arab
houses is composed of mud in the proportion of one-half, with a fourth
part of lime, and the remaining part of the ashes of straw and rubbish.

NOTE 17. See the note immediately preceding.

NOTE 18. In Arabic, "bursh." This kind of mat, composed of palm-leaves
(and sometimes, I believe, of the coarse grass mentioned in the next
note), is used by the poor to sit upon.

NOTE 19. This kind of grass, called in Arabic "alfeh," and more
properly "alfa" (by botanists, poa multiflora, and poa cynosyroides),
and the "'aool" (or hedysarum alhagi), overspread spontaneously most of
the alluvial tracts in Egypt which are above the reach of the
inundation, and in consequence left uncultivated. The former is used in
the manufacture of coarse mats, and the latter serves as pasture for
camels. The Wezeer, by taking the round mat and the two bundles of
alfa, seems to indicate that he is degraded to a condition as low as
that of a maker of coarse mats. [The practice mentioned in the passage
to which this note refers is aptly illustrated in El-Mareezee's Khia.
In his description of the palaces of the Faimee Khaleefehs, he says,
"There was in the Great Palace a place known by the name of the
Saeefeh, where complainants of injustice used to station themselves;
and it was a custom of the Khaleefeh to sit there every night, for those
of the complainants of injustice who might come to him. When any one,
therefore, was wronged, he would stand under the Saeefeh, and say, in
a loud voice, 'There is no deity but God, Moammad is the Apostle of
God, 'Alee is the Friend (Welee) of God;' and the Khaleefeh would hear
him, and command him to be brought to him, or he would intrust his case
to the Wezeer," &c.--ED.]

NOTE 20. The boats used by the Arabs in the navigation of rivers are
generally moored by means of a rope attached to a stake which is driven
into the bank.

NOTE 21. By "children of the road" are meant "travellers."

NOTE 22. See Note 55 to Chapter iii.

NOTE 23. The word which I render elevated (mo'allaah) is applied to a
structure raised upon columns or pillars, &c.

NOTE 24. The "ghaa" is a tree of a very inflammable nature, which, in
burning, gives out a fierce heat. It grows chiefly in sandy tracts, and
is described as resembling the "athl" (or tamarisk), but as being
smaller than this tree.

NOTE 25.--_On Shaving the Head._ I do not know when the custom of
shaving the head became general among the Arabs of the towns; but from a
remark of Es-Suyooee, I think it was not so common about the
commencement of the tenth century of the Flight (that is, about the
period which this work best illustrates) as it is at present, when it is
almost universal among all classes; for in his time, its legality was
doubted. He writes thus:--"The Iman El-Ghazalee hath said, 'There is no
harm in it in the case of him whose object is cleanliness:' and the
apparent sense of his words is, that it is improper in him who desireth
to beautify himself for any worldly purpose, as is done by people of bad
disposition." It is added in a marginal note in the copy from which
I translate this, "Persons differ respecting the shaving of the head.
The opinion generally prevailing is, that it is improper to him who
wears not a turban, and allowable to him who does wear one, since he has
a substitute:"--"that it is also lawful, unquestionably, in the case of
any disease of the head:"--and "that the hanging of the rosary to the
neck, and the shaving of the head without a legal necessity, are
innovations,"--Haroon Er-Rasheed generally wore the hair of his head
sufficiently long to reach below his ears; but shaved it when he
performed the pilgrimage; and many other Muslims in early times did
the same. Those who shave the head generally leave a small tuft upon the
crown; but most persons of the literary and religious professions, and
many others, disapprove of this tuft.

NOTE 26. By the term "sheykhs" we are here to understand "persons of
sanctity and of learning." See Note 9 to Chapter i.

NOTE 27. By "the shining moon" is meant "the beautiful cup-bearer, whose
face is like the shining moon."

NOTE 28. The Muslims believe that a blessing is derived from witnessing
and hearing the devout exercises, recitations, &c., of holy men.

NOTE 29. The "jubbeh" worn in Eastern countries, is a long outer vest,
with sleeves which reach nearly to the wrist. It is now generally made
of cloth, and is worn by most tradesmen and other persons of the middle
and higher classes. It differs somewhat in form in different countries.

NOTE 30. The "melwaah" is a garment of which I was unable to obtain a
description until I inquired of my friend Mr. Salame, who informed me
that it was the name of a large outer garment which used to be worn over
the farajeeyeh. But I afterwards found it stated in one of the marginal
notes to a later tale, that the term above mentioned is now pronounced
"mellooah," and is applied in the present day to an article of dress of
cloth or other costly material; particularly to a jubbeh; but that it
is also employed, in allusion to a jubbeh, &c., in a contemptuous sense,
or, as I infer, ironically.

NOTE 31. See Note 41 to Chapter iv.

NOTE 32. The "litham" is a piece of drapery with which a Bedawee often
covers the lower part of his face. It frequently prevents his being
recognised by another Arab who might make him a victim of blood-revenge;
and is a means of disguise seldom employed but by Arabs of the desert.

NOTE 33. The meaning is, that the act would speak for itself, and be
long remembered; that the grave of the fisherman would be pointed out as
that of one to whom the Khaleefeh had shewn signal favours.

NOTE 34. It is a common custom of Arabs of the lower orders to put the
money which they receive, especially when it is the first of the day's
gains, to the lips and forehead before depositing it in the pocket; and
the same is sometimes done by persons of the middle class.

NOTE 35. Literally, "twenty nufs." See Note 17 to Chapter iii.

NOTE 36. These are the aees of the four great sects, or persuasions,
of the Sunnee Muslims. See Note 1 to the Introduction.

NOTE 37. The words "and the Wezeer took him away" are omitted in the
Cairo edition.

NOTE 38. "uey" is the diminutive of "i," _vulgo_ "u," a "cat,"
and properly a "he-cat."

NOTE 39. The words which I translate "the place of blood" literally
signify "the place of the stagnation of blood;" and are applied to the
usual place of decapitation, because the blood is left there to soak
into the ground.

NOTE 40. The recompense here alluded to is one to be received at the
final retribution; not in the present life.

NOTE 41. This kind of "ulleh" is a small, porous, earthen bottle, with
a wide mouth. Some specimens of it are figured beneath.




   See De Sacy, Chrestomathie Arabe, vol. ii. pp. 99 and
  120, 2nd ed.

   In Arabic, "maaru kheyrin" (vulg., "maar kheyr"); in
  Turkish, "neek maar."

   Ch. ii. v. 173.

   Ch. iv. v. 34.

   Or, according to some, ten thousand dirhems.

   More than one is unusual; but, at the funeral of Moammad
  'Alee Basha, which I witnessed in Cairo, about eighty buffaloes
  were thus driven in the procession: in the narrow streets of
  the city, however, many of them disappeared, one after another,
  so that few reached the tomb.--ED.

   If the reader desire more detailed information on the
  subject of this note, I refer him to my work on the Modern
  Egyptians, vol. ii. ch. xv.

   Chrestomathie Arabe, vol. i. p. 106; 2nd ed.

   Nuzhet el-Mutaammil wa-Murshid el-Mutaah-hil, sect. 7.

   Elmacini Historia Saracenica, page 120.







COMMENCING WITH PART OF THE THIRTY-SIXTH NIGHT, AND ENDING WITH PART OF
THE FORTY-FOURTH.

THE STORY OF GHANIM THE SON OF EIYOOB, THE DISTRACTED SLAVE OF LOVE.


It hath been told me, O happy King, said Shahrazad, that there was, in
ancient times, a certain merchant of Damascus, possessed of
wealth, who had a son like the moon at the full, of eloquent tongue,
called Ghanim the son of Eiyoob, the Distracted Slave of
Love; and this son had a sister, named Fitneh, on account of
her excessive beauty and loveliness. Their father died, leaving them
large property, among which were a hundred loads of silk and
brocade, and bags of musk, and upon these loads was written,
This is intended for Baghdad:--it having been his desire to journey to
that city.

So, when God (whose name be exalted!) had taken his soul, and some time
had elapsed, his son took these loads, and journeyed with them to
Baghdad.--This was in the time of Haroon Er-Rasheed.--He took leave of
his mother and relations and townspeople before his departure, and went
forth, placing his dependence upon God (whose name be exalted!), and God
decreed him safety, so that he arrived at Baghdad, whither there
travelled in his company a party of merchants. He hired for himself a
handsome house, and furnished it with carpets and cushions, and
suspended curtains in it; and there he deposited those loads, together
with the mules and camels, and remained until he had rested himself; and
the merchants of Baghdad, and its great men, came and saluted him. He
then took a wrapper containing ten pieces of costly stuff, with the
prices written upon them, and went forth with them to the market of the
merchants, who met him and saluted him, treated him with honour and
welcomed him, and seated him at the shop of the Sheykh of the market;
and he sold the pieces, gaining, for every piece of gold, two. So Ghanim
rejoiced; and he proceeded to sell the stuffs by little and little, and
continued to do so for a whole year.

After this, on the first day of the following year, he came to the same
market, but found its gate shut, and, inquiring the cause of this, he
was answered, One of the merchants hath died, and all the rest of them
have gone to walk in his funeral-procession. Wilt thou then, added his
informant, gain a recompense by walking with them?--He
replied, Yes;--and he asked respecting the place of the funeral. So they
guided him thither; and he performed the ablution, and
walked with the other merchants until they arrived at the place of
prayer, where they prayed over the dead. The merchants then walked all
together before the corpse to the burial-ground, Ghanim following them,
until the procession arrived at the burial-ground outside the city, and
they proceeded among the tombs until they came to that in which the
corpse was to be deposited. They found that the family of the deceased
had pitched a tent over the tomb, and placed there the candles and
lamps; and they buried the dead, and the readers sat reciting the ur-an
at the tomb. The merchants sat with them; and so also did Ghanim the son
of Eiyoob; but he was overcome by bashfulness, saying within himself, I
cannot quit them until I have departed with them. They sat listening to
the recitation of the ur-an until the period of nightfall, when the
servants placed before them the supper and sweetmeats, and they ate till
they were satisfied, and washed their hands, and resumed their seats.

The heart of Ghanim was now troubled with reflections upon his
merchandize, and he was fearful of the thieves, and said within himself,
I am a stranger, and suspected of possessing wealth, and if I pass the
night far away from my abode, the thieves will steal the money and the
loads. So, fearing for his property, he arose and went forth from among
the company, asking their leave to depart on account of some business
that he had to transact, and followed the beaten track until he came to
the gate of the city: but it was then midnight, and he found the gate of
the city shut, and saw no one coming or going, and heard not a sound
save the barking of the dogs, and the howling of the wolves; whereupon
he exclaimed, There is no strength nor power but in God! I was in fear
for my property, and came hither on account of it, and have found the
gate shut, and now I have become in fear for my life!--He then returned
to seek for himself a place in which to sleep until the morning: and,
finding a private burial-place enclosed by four walls, with a palm-tree
within it, and a gate-way of hard stone, open, he entered it, and
desired to sleep; but sleep came not to him.

Tremor and gloom overcame him, thus lying among the tombs, and he rose
upon his feet, and, opening the door, looked out, and beheld a light
gleaming in the distance in the direction of the city-gate. He advanced a
few steps, and saw the light approaching in the way which led to the
burial-place in which he was taking refuge; whereupon Ghanim feared for
himself, and hastily closed the door, and climbed up into the palm-tree,
and concealed himself in the midst of its branches. The light continued
to approach the tomb by little and little until it came very near; and
as he looked attentively at it, he perceived three black slaves, two of
whom were bearing a chest, the other having in his hand an adze and a
lantern; and as they drew near, one of the two slaves who were bearing
the chest said, What aileth thee, O awab?--to which the
other of the two replied, What aileth thee, O Kafoor? The
former rejoined, Were we not here at the hour of nightfall, and did we
not leave the door open?--Yes, answered the other: what thou sayest is
true.--See then, resumed the first speaker, it is shut and barred.--Upon
this, the third, who was carrying the adze and light, and whose name was
Bakheet, said, How small is your sense! Know ye not that
the owners of the gardens go forth from Baghdad and repair hither, and,
evening overtaking them, enter this place, and shut the door upon
themselves, through fear, lest the blacks, like ourselves, should take
them and roast them and eat them?--Thou hast spoken truth,
they answered; but there is none among us of less sense than
thyself.--Verily, he replied, ye will not believe me until we enter the
burial-place and find some one in it: and I imagine that, if any one be
in it, and have seen the light, he hath betaken himself to the top of
the palm-tree.



When Ghanim heard these words of the slave, he said within himself, How
cunning is this slave! May Allah disgrace the blacks for their malice
and villainy! There is no strength nor power but in God, the High, the
Great! What will deliver me from this difficulty?--The two who were
bearing the chest then said to him who had the adze, Climb over the
wall, and open to us the door, O Bakheet; for we are fatigued with
carrying the chest upon our necks: and if thou open to us the door, we
will give thee one of the persons whom we take, and we will fry him for
thee excellently, so that not a drop of his fat shall be lost. But he
replied, I am afraid of a thing that my little sense hath suggested to
me: let us throw over the chest behind the door; for it is our deposite.
They said to him, If we throw it, it will break.--I am afraid, he
rejoined, that there may be, within the tomb, robbers who slay men and
steal their property; for when evening overtaketh them they enter these
places to divide what they have taken.--O thou of little sense,
exclaimed the two others; can they enter here?--They then put down the
chest, and climbed up the wall, and descended, and opened the door,
while the third slave, Bakheet, stood waiting for them with the light,
and a basket containing some plaster: after which they seated
themselves, having closed the door; and one of them said, O my brother,
we are tired with walking and taking up and putting down, and opening
the door and shutting it, and it is now midnight, and we have not
strength remaining to open the tomb and to bury the chest; wherefore we
will sit here three hours to rest ourselves, and then rise and
accomplish our business: but each of us shall in the mean time tell his
story, and relate all that hath happened to him from beginning to end.
So the first, who carried the light, told his story; but it was of a
nature unfit to be here repeated; after which, another of
the slaves thus began.


THE STORY OF THE SLAVE KAFOOR.

Know, O my brothers, that I was, at the commencement of my career, a boy
of eight years, and I used to tell one lie to the slave-merchants every
year, so that they fell out with each other in consequence, and the
slave-merchant my master, becoming impatient of me, committed me to the
broker, desiring him to cry, Who will buy this slave with his fault? He
was therefore asked, What is his fault?--and answered, He telleth one
lie every year. And a merchant approached the broker, and said to him,
How much have they bidden for this slave with his fault? He answered,
They have bidden six hundred pieces of silver.--Then thou shalt have
twenty for thyself, replied the merchant. So the broker introduced him
to the slave-merchant, who received from him the money, and the broker
conveyed me to the dwelling of the merchant, and took his brokerage.

The merchant clad me in a dress suitable to my condition, and I
continued with him for the remainder of the year, until the new year
commenced with prosperity. It was a blessed year, plenteous in the
produce of the earth, and the merchants began to give entertainments,
every day one taking his turn to do so, until it was my master's turn to
give an entertainment in a garden within the city. So he went, and the
other merchants also, and he took for them what they required of food
and other provisions, and they sat eating and drinking and carousing
till noon, when my master wanted something from the house, and said, O
slave, mount the mule, and go to the house, and bring, from thy
mistress, such a thing, and return quickly.

I obeyed, therefore, and went to the house; but when I approached it, I
shrieked out, and shed tears; whereupon the people of the quarter
assembled together, old and young; and my master's wife and daughters,
hearing my cry, opened the door, and asked me what was the matter. I
answered them, My master was sitting beneath an old wall, he and his
friends, and it fell upon them; and when I beheld what happened to them,
I mounted the mule, and came in haste to inform you. And when his
children and wife heard these words, they shrieked, and tore their
clothes, and slapped their faces, and the neighbours came to them. Then
my master's wife overturned the furniture of the house, one thing upon
another, and pulled down its shelves, and broke its shutters and its
windows, and smeared its walls with mud and indigo, and said to me, Wo
to thee, O Kafoor! Come hither and help me, and demolish these
cupboards, and smash these vessels and this China-ware.--So I went to
her, and destroyed with her the shelves of the house and all that was
upon them, and its cupboards and what they contained, and went about
over the terraces and through every place until I had laid waste the
whole, crying all the while, Oh my master! My mistress then went forth,
with her face uncovered, and only with her head-veil, and the girls and
boys went with her, saying to me, O Kafoor, walk on before us, and shew
us the place where thy master lieth dead beneath the wall, that we may
take him forth from under the ruins, and carry him in a bier, and bring
him to the house, and convey his corpse in a handsome manner to the
burial. So I walked before them, crying, Oh my master!--and they
followed me with their faces and heads uncovered, crying,
Oh our misfortune! Oh our calamity!--and there was none among the men,
nor among the women, nor among the children, nor a maiden, nor an old
woman,  who did not accompany us; and all of them
slapped themselves in the excess of their lamentation. Thus I went with
them through the city; and the people asking the news, they informed
them of that which they had heard from me; and the people exclaimed,
There is no strength nor power but in God, the High, the Great! We will
go to the Walee, and acquaint him.--And when they arrived before the
Walee, they informed him; and he mounted, and took with him labourers
with axes and baskets, and they followed my footsteps, accompanied by a
crowd of people.

I preceded them, weeping and crying out, and throwing dust upon my head,
and slapping my face; and when I came to the party in the garden, and my
master beheld me, I slapped my face, and exclaimed, Oh my mistress! who
will have pity upon me after my mistress? Would that I had been her
sacrifice!--When my master, therefore, saw me, he was confounded, his
countenance became pale, and he said, What aileth thee, O Kafoor, and
what is this predicament, and what is the news? I answered him, When
thou sentest me to the house to bring thee what thou wantedst, I went
thither and entered the house, and found that the wall of the saloon had
fallen, and that the whole saloon had tumbled down upon my mistress and
her children.--And did not thy mistress, said he, escape? I answered,
No: not one of them escaped; and the first of them that died was my
mistress the elder.--But did my youngest daughter escape? he asked. I
answered, No.--And what, said he, hath become of the mule that I ride:
is she safe?--No, O my master, I answered: for the walls of the house
and the walls of the stable tumbled down upon all that was in the house;
even upon the sheep and the geese and the hens, and all of them became a
mass of flesh beneath the ruins; not one of them escaped. He then said
to me, And thy master the elder? I answered, No: not one escaped; and
now there remains neither house nor inhabitant, nor any trace of them;
and as to the sheep and the geese and the hens, the cats and dogs have
now eaten them.--And when my master heard my words, the light became
darkness before his face, and he was no longer master of his senses nor
of his reason, and was unable to stand upon his feet: he was paralyzed,
and the strength of his back failed him, and he rent his clothes and
plucked his beard and slapped his face and threw his turban from his
head, and ceased not to slap his face until the blood flowed from it:
and he began to cry, Ah! Oh my children! Ah! Oh my wife! Ah! Oh my
misfortune! Unto whom hath happened the like of that which hath happened
to me?--The merchants, also, his companions, joined with him in cries
and lamentations, and were moved with pity for his case, and rent their
clothes; and my master went forth from the garden, beating himself for
the calamity that had  befallen him, and redoubled the
blows upon his face, seeming as though he were drunk.

And as the party thus went out from the gate of the garden, they beheld
a great dust, and heard tumultuous cries, and, looking in that
direction, saw the crowd approaching them. This crowd was the Walee and
his attendants, and a concourse of people who had come to gratify their
curiosity, with the merchant's family behind them, shrieking and crying
with violent lamentation and excessive grief; and the first who accosted
my master were his wife and children. On beholding these, he was
confounded, and laughed, and said to them, How are ye; and what hath
happened to you in the house, and what hath befallen you? And when they
saw him, they exclaimed, Praise be to God for thy safety! And they threw
themselves upon him, and his children clung to him, crying out, Oh our
father! Praise be to God for thy safety, O our father!--and his wife
said to him, Praise be to God who hath shewn us thy face in safety!--and
she was stupified, and her reason fled from her at that which she
beheld. She then said to him, How didst thou escape with thy
friends?--And how, said he, were ye in the house?--We were all well,
they answered, in prosperity and health, and no evil hath befallen our
house, save that thy slave Kafoor came to us with his head uncovered and
his clothes rent, crying out, Oh my master! Oh my master!--and we said
to him, What is the matter, O Kafoor?--and he answered, My master was
sitting under a wall in the garden, and it fell upon him, and he
died.--By Allah, replied my master, he came to me just now, crying, Oh
my mistress! Oh the children of my mistress!--and said, My mistress and
her children are all dead!



He then looked aside, and, seeing me with my turban falling from my
head, while I still cried out and wept violently and threw dust upon my
head, he called out to me: so I approached him, and he said to me, Wo to
thee! O malevolent slave! O misbegotten wretch! O thou of accursed race!
What events hast thou brought about! But, by Allah, I will strip off
thy skin from thy flesh, and cut thy flesh from thy bones!--By Allah,
replied I, thou canst not do to me anything; for thou boughtest me with
my fault, on this condition, the witnesses testifying that thou
boughtest me with my fault, thou knowing it, and it was, that I was
accustomed to tell one lie every year; and this is but half a lie, and
when the year is complete I will tell the other half of it; so it will
be an entire lie. But upon this, he cried out at me, O most accursed of
slaves! is this but half a lie? Nay, it is an exceeding calamity! Depart
from me; for thou art free!--By Allah, I replied, if thou
liberate me, I will not liberate thee until the year be complete, and I
tell the remaining half of the lie; and when I have completed it, then
take me to the market, and sell me as thou boughtest me with my fault,
and liberate me not; for I have no trade by means of which to procure my
subsistence: this is a legal proposition that I have stated to thee,
laid down by the lawyers in the Chapter of Emancipation.--While
we were thus talking, the crowd approached, with the people of the
quarter, women and men, come to mourn, and the Walee with his
attendants: and my master and the other merchants went to the Walee,
and acquainted him with the case, and that this was but half a lie; and
when the people who were present heard this, they were astonished at
this lie, and struck with the utmost wonder; and they cursed and
reviled me; while I stood laughing, and saying, How can my master kill
me when he bought me with this fault?

So when my master went to the house, he found it in a state of ruin (and
it was I who destroyed the greater part, and broke in it things worth a
large sum of money); and his wife said to him, It was Kafoor who broke
the vessels and the China-ware. Upon this, his rage increased, and he
exclaimed, By Allah! in my life I have never seen such a misbegotten
wretch as this slave; yet he calleth it half a lie! What then would have
been the result had it been a whole lie! In that case he had destroyed a
city, or two cities!--Then, in the excess of his rage, he went to the
Walee, who inflicted upon me a severe beating, so that I became
insensible, and swooned away; after which, my master contrived means of
obtaining for me a high price, and I ceased not to excite disturbances
in the places into which I was sold, and was transferred from Emeer to
Emeer and from Grandee to Grandee, by sale and purchase, until I entered
the palace of the Prince of the Faithful, and now my spirit is broken,
and my strength hath failed.


CONTINUATION OF THE STORY OF GHANIM THE SON OF EIYOOB, THE DISTRACTED
SLAVE OF LOVE.

When the other slaves had heard his story, they laughed at it, and said
to him, Verily thou art a villain, the son of a villain: thou hast told
an abominable lie. The first and second then said to the third slave,
Relate to us thy story.--O sons of my uncle, he replied, all that hath
just been related is nonsense: but my story is long, and this is not a
time to tell it; for the morning, O sons of my uncle, is near, and
perhaps it may overtake us with this chest still before us, and we shall
be disgraced among the public, and our lives will be lost; haste then to
work, and when we have finished, and returned home, I will relate to you
my story. So they put down the light, and dug a trench of the size of
the chest between four tombs; Kafoor digging, and awab removing the
earth in baskets, until they had dug to the depth of half a fathom, when
they put the chest into the trench, and replaced the earth over it, and
went forth from the enclosure, and, having closed the gate, disappeared
from before the eyes of Ghanim the son of Eiyoob.

When, therefore, they had left the place vacant unto Ghanim, and he knew
that he was alone, his mind became busied respecting the contents of the
chest, and he said within himself, What can this chest contain? He
waited until daybreak gleamed and shone forth, and then descended from
the palm-tree, and removed the earth with his hand until he had
uncovered the chest and disengaged it, when he took a stone, and struck
with it the lock, and broke it; and lifting up the cover, he looked in,
and beheld a sleeping damsel, stupified with benj, but
still breathing: she was of beautiful and lovely person, and decked with
ornaments of gold, and necklaces of jewels, worth a kingdom, and of a
value that no money would equal. When Ghanim the son of Eiyoob beheld
her, he knew that she had been the object of a plot, and, being
convinced of this, he pulled her up until he had lifted her out of the
chest, and laid her upon her back; and as soon as she scented the
breeze, and the air entered her nostrils and her mouth and throat, she
sneezed, and then was choked, and coughed, whereupon there fell from her
throat a round piece of benj, of such potency that if an elephant smelt
it he would sleep from one night to another. She then opened her eyes,
and, looking round, said, with an eloquent voice, Wo to thee, O wind!
Thou neither satisfiest the thirsty, nor cheerest by thy presence the
satisfied with drink! Where is Zahr-el-Bustan?--But no one answered her.
Then looking aside, she exclaimed, abeeah! Shejeret-ed-Durr!
Noor-el-Huda! Nejmet-e-ub! Art thou awake? Nuzheh!
ulweh! areefeh! Speak ye!--But no one answered her. And she looked
round about her, and exclaimed, Alas for me, that I am transported to
the tombs! O Thou who knowest the secrets of the breasts, and
recompensest on the day of resurrection! who hath brought me from among
the curtains and the veils, and placed me amid four tombs?



While she was saying all this, Ghanim stood still; but he now said to
her, O my mistress, there are neither veils nor palaces nor tombs for
thee here: this is none other than thy slave Ghanim the son of Eiyoob,
whom the King who is omniscient with respect to hidden things hath
impelled hither that he may deliver thee from these troubles, and that
the utmost of thy desires may be accomplished unto thee.--And he was
silent; and when she became convinced of the truth of the case, she
exclaimed, I testify that there is no deity but God, and I testify that
Moammad is God's Apostle! Then looking towards Ghanim, with her hands
placed upon her breast, she said to him, with a sweet voice, O
auspicious youth, who brought me unto this place? For now I have
recovered my senses.--O my mistress, he answered, three eunuchs came
bearing this chest:--and he related to her all that had happened, and
how the evening had overtaken him, so that he became the means of her
preservation, and that otherwise she had died of suffocation; and he
inquired of her respecting her history.--O youth, she replied, praise be
to God who hath cast me into the hands of one like thee! Rise therefore
now, and put me into the chest, and go forth to the road, and as soon as
thou shalt find any one who lets out asses or other beasts, or a
muleteer, hire him to transport this chest, and convey me to thy house;
and when I am in thy abode it will be well, and I will relate to thee my
story, and acquaint thee with my tale, and good fortune will accrue to
thee through my means.--So Ghanim rejoiced, and he went forth into the
desert tract.

The day had begun to gleam, the sun rose in splendour, and the people
come walking forth; and Ghanim hired a man with a mule, and brought him
to the burial-place. He then lifted the chest, after he had put the
damsel into it, and, with his heart smitten by love for her, proceeded
with her, full of joy, for she was a damsel worth ten thousand pieces of
gold, and was decked with ornaments and apparel of enormous value.
Scarcely had he found himself at his house when he put down the chest,
and opened it, and took forth from it the damsel, who looked, and saw
that the place was a handsome dwelling furnished with variegated
carpets, and she observed the gay colours and various embellishments,
and beheld stuffs packed up, and loads of goods, and other property: so
she knew that he was a great merchant, and a man of wealth. She then
uncovered her face, and looked at him, and observed him to be a handsome
young man, and loved him; and she said to him, Bring us something to
eat. He answered her, On the head and the eye be thy commands:--and went
to the market, and bought a roasted lamb, and a dish of sweetmeat, and
procured some dried fruits, and candles and wine, and the requisite
apparatus for perfumes. Then returning to the house, he took in the
things, and when the damsel saw him, she laughed, and kissed him, and
embraced him, and began to caress him, so that the love which he felt
increased, and took entire possession of his heart. They then ate and
drank until the approach of night, and their love was mutual: for they
were both of the same age, and both equal in comeliness; and when the
night approached, the Distracted Slave of Love, Ghanim the son of
Eiyoob, rose and lighted the candles and lamps, and the chamber
glistened: he then brought forth the wine-service, and prepared the
table, and sat down with her; he filling and handing to her, and she
filling and handing to him, while they both toyed and laughed and
recited verses: their gaiety increased, and they were engrossed by
mutual love.--Extolled be the perfection of the Uniter of Hearts!--Thus
they continued until it was near morning, when sleep overcame them, and
each of them slept apart from the other till morning came.

Ghanim the son of Eiyoob then arose, and went forth to the market, and
bought what was requisite of vegetables and meat and wine and other
provisions, and brought them to the house; and he again sat with her to
eat, and they ate until they were satisfied; after which he brought the
wine, and they drank and toyed together till their cheeks reddened and
their eyes became more intensely black; and Ghanim said, O
my mistress, have compassion on the captive of thy love, and him whom
thine eyes have slain. I had remained sound of heart but for thee.--Then
he wept a while; and she replied, O my master, and light of mine eye, By
Allah, I love thee and confide in thee; but I know that thou canst not
be united to me.--And what hindereth? said he. She answered, I will this
night relate to thee my story, that thou mayest accept my excuse. But
they continued thus a whole month; and after this, one night, when
Ghanim was complaining to her of his passion, she said to him, I will
now explain to thee my case, that thou mayest know my dignity, and that
my secret may be revealed to thee, and my excuse become manifest to
thee. He replied, Well. And she took hold of a band which confined a
part of her dress, and said to him, O my master, read what is on this
border. So he took the border in his hand, and looked at it, and found
worked upon it in gold, I am thine, and thou art mine, O descendant of
the Prophet's Uncle. And when he had read this, he let fall
his hand, and said to her, Reveal to me thy history. She answered,
Well:--and thus began:--

Know that I am a favourite slave of the Prince of the Faithful, and my
name is oot-el-uloob. The Prince of the Faithful, after
he had reared me in his palace, and I had grown up, observed my
qualities, and the beauty and loveliness with which my Lord had endowed
me, and loved me excessively: he took me and lodged me in a private
apartment, and appointed me ten female slaves to serve me, and then gave
me those ornaments which thou seest with me. After this, the Khaleefeh
went forth one day on a journey to one of the surrounding provinces, and
the lady Zubeydeh came to one of the female slaves who were in my
service, and said, When thy mistress oot-el-uloob sleepeth, put this
piece of benj into her nose and her drink, and thou shalt receive from
me a sum of money that will satisfy thee. The slave replied, Most
willingly:--and she received the benj from her, rejoicing on account of
the money, and because she had been originally Zubeydeh's slave; and she
insinuated the benj into me, whereupon I fell upon the floor, with my
head bent down to my feet, and seemed to be in another world. And when
she could devise no other stratagem, she put me into that chest, and
privily summoned the black slaves, and, after having given presents to
them and to the door-keepers, sent me with the black slaves on the night
when thou wast reposing at the top of the palm-tree: and they did with
me as thou sawest, and my deliverance was effected through thy means.
Then thou broughtest me unto this place, where thou hast treated me with
the utmost kindness. This is my story; and I know not what hath happened
to the Khaleefeh during my absence. Know, therefore, my dignity; and
divulge not my case.

When Ghanim the son of Eiyoob heard these words of oot-el-uloob, and
discovered that she was the favourite of the Khaleefeh, he drew back, in
his awe of the Khaleefeh, and sat alone at one side of the chamber,
blaming himself, and reflecting upon his situation, perplexed by love of
her to whom he could not be united; and he wept from the violence of his
desire, and the fierceness of his passion and distraction, and began to
complain of fortune and its injustice.--Extolled be the perfection of
Him who causeth the hearts of the generous to be troubled with love, and
endueth not the mean with so much of it as equalleth the weight of a
grain!--And upon this, oot-el-uloob rose to him, and embraced and
kissed him, and, her heart being entirely captivated by his love, she
revealed what she had hidden of the extent of her passion, and encircled
his neck with her arms, and kissed him again; but he withdrew from her
embrace, in his fear of the Khaleefeh. They then conversed a while,
drowned in the sea of mutual love, and so remained until day, when
Ghanim arose, and went forth to the market as usual, and procured what
was requisite, and, returning to the house, found oot-el-uloob
weeping: but as soon as she beheld him, she ceased from her tears, and
smiled, and said to him, Thou hast made me desolate by thine absence, O
beloved of my heart! By Allah, this hour during which thou hast been
away from me hath appeared as a year; for I cannot endure thy
separation; and see, I have thus shewn thee my state, through the
violence of my passion. Arise therefore now, and mind not what hath
happened, but take me as thy wife.--But he replied, I seek refuge with
Allah! This is a thing that cannot be. How should the dog sit in the
place of the lion? What belongeth to my lord is forbidden me to
approach.--He then tore himself from her, and sat apart; and she
increased in love through his refusal.--In this manner they passed three
long months; and whenever she made any advances to him he withdrew from
her, and said, Whatever belongeth to the master is forbidden to the
slave.--Such was the case of the Distracted Slave of Love, Ghanim the
son of Eiyoob.

Meanwhile, Zubeydeh, during the absence of the Khaleefeh, having acted
thus with oot-el-uloob, became perplexed, saying within herself, What
shall I say to the Khaleefeh when he cometh and inquireth respecting
her; and what shall be my answer to him? She then called for an old
woman who resided with her, and acquainted her with her secret, and said
to her, What shall I do, now that oot-el-uloob is no more? The old
woman answered, when she understood the affair, Know, O my mistress,
that the return of the Khaleefeh is near; but I will send to a
carpenter, and desire him to make a wooden image of a corpse, and they
shall dig for it a grave, and thou shalt light candles and lamps around
it, and command every one who is in the palace to wear black,
and order thy female slaves and eunuchs, as soon as they know of the
Khaleefeh's return from his journey, to raise lamentations in the
vestibules, and when he enters and asks the news, they shall answer him,
oot-el-uloob is dead; and may God abundantly compensate thee for the
loss of her!--and from the esteem with which she was regarded by our
mistress, she hath buried her in her own palace. So when he heareth
this, he will weep, and the event will distress him. Then he will cause
the readers to sit up by night at her tomb to perform recitations of the
ur-an: and if he say within himself, Surely the daughter of my uncle,
through her jealousy, hath been led to destroy oot-el-uloob,--or the
distraction of love overpower him, and he give orders to take her forth
from the tomb, fear not from that; for if they dig down to the image in
the form of a human being, and take it forth, shrouded in costly
grave-clothes, and the Khaleefeh desire to remove the grave-clothes from
it, to behold her, do thou prevent him, and the fear of the world to
come will withhold him; and do thou say to him, To behold her corpse
uncovered is unlawful. Then he will believe her death, and will return
her image to its place, and thank thee for thy conduct, and thou shalt
escape, if it please God, from this difficulty.--When the lady Zubeydeh,
therefore, heard what she said, she approved it, and bestowed upon her a
dress of honour, and commanded her to do this, having given her a sum of
money. So the old woman set about the business immediately, and ordered
the carpenter to make for her an image as above described; and when it
was finished, she brought it to the lady Zubeydeh, and she shrouded it,
and lighted the candles and lamps, and spread the carpets around the
tomb, and clad herself in black, ordering the female slaves to do the
same; and the news was spread through the palace, that oot-el-uloob
had died.



Some time after this, the Khaleefeh returned from his journey, and went
up to his palace; but his mind was occupied only with oot-el-uloob;
and seeing the pages and eunuchs and female slaves all clad in black,
his heart was agitated; and when he entered the palace of the lady
Zubeydeh, and beheld her also clad in black, he inquired the reason of
it, and they informed him of the death of oot-el-uloob. Upon hearing
this, he fell down in a swoon; and when he recovered, he asked where was
her tomb; and the lady Zubeydeh answered, Know, O Prince of the
Faithful, that, on account of the esteem in which she was held by me, I
buried her in my palace. So the Khaleefeh, entering the palace in his
travelling-dress, proceeded to visit the tomb of oot-el-uloob, and
found the carpets spread, and the candles and lamps lighted; and when he
beheld this, he thanked her for what she had done. But afterwards he
became perplexed, and wavered a while between belief and disbelief,
until suspicion overcame him, and he gave orders to open the tomb and to
take her out: when, however, he saw the grave-clothes, and was about to
remove them that he might behold her, he feared God (whose name be
exalted!), and the old woman said, Restore her to her place. Then
immediately the Khaleefeh commanded to bring the professors of religion
and law, and the readers, and they performed recitations of the whole of
the ur-an at her tomb, while he sat by the side of it weeping until he
became insensible.

He continued to frequent the tomb for the space of a month; after which
it happened that he entered the areem, after the emeers and wezeers had
dispersed from before him to their houses, and he slept a while, and a
female slave sat at his head, and another at his feet; and after sleep
had overcome him he awoke, and opened his eyes, and heard the damsel who
was at his head say to her who was at his feet, Wo to thee, O
Kheyzuran!--Wherefore, O aeeb? said the other.--Our lord,
rejoined the first, is ignorant of what hath happened; so he sitteth up
by night at a tomb in which there is nothing but a carved image, the
work of the carpenter.--And what then, asked the other damsel, hath
befallen oot-el-uloob? Her companion answered, Know that our mistress
Zubeydeh sent some benj by a female slave, and she stupified her with
it, and when the benj had taken effect upon her, she put her in a chest,
and sent her away with awab and Kafoor, commanding them to throw her
into the tomb. Upon this, Kheyzuran said, Wo to thee, O aeeb! Is not
the lady oot-el-uloob dead?--Heaven preserve her youth from death!
answered aeeb: I heard the lady Zubeydeh say that oot-el-uloob was
with a young merchant named Ghanim of Damascus, and that she had been
with him, including this day, four months; and our lord here weepeth and
passeth sleepless nights at a tomb in which there is no corpse.--Thus
they conversed together, while the Khaleefeh heard their words; and
when they had finished their conversation, and he had become acquainted
with the event, that this tomb was a false one, and that oot-el-uloob
had been with Ghanim the son of Eiyoob for the space of four months, he
was violently incensed, and arose, and summoned the emeers of his court;
whereupon the Wezeer Jaafar El-Barmekee presented himself and kissed the
ground before him, and the Khaleefeh said to him, in anger, Descend, O
Jaafar, with a body of men, and inquire for the house of Ghanim the son
of Eiyoob, and assault it suddenly, and bring him hither with my female
slave oot-el-uloob; and I will assuredly torture him.

Jaafar replied, I hear and obey;--and he went forth with his attendants,
the Walee also accompanying him, and they proceeded until they arrived
at Ghanim's house. Ghanim had just before gone out and brought a pot of
meat, and was about to stretch forth his hand to eat of it with
oot-el-uloob, when she looked out, and found that the house was beset
on all sides, and the Wezeer and the Walee and the officers of violence
and the memlooks with drawn swords were surrounding it as the black
surrounds the pupil of the eye; and upon this she knew that tidings of
her situation had reached the ears of the Khaleefeh her lord, and she
made sure of destruction; her countenance became pale, and her beauty
changed, and, looking towards Ghanim, she said to him, O my beloved,
save thyself!--How shall I do, said he, and whither shall I flee, when
my wealth and means of subsistence are in this house? But she answered,
Delay not, lest thou perish, and thy wealth also be lost.--O my
mistress, and light of mine eye, rejoined he, how can I contrive to go
forth when they are surrounding the house?--Fear not, she answered:--and
she pulled off his clothes, and clad him in worn-out, ragged garments,
and, taking the pot that had contained the meat, placed it upon his
head, and put in it a little bread and a saucer of meat, and said to
him, Go forth by the help of this stratagem, and thou hast nothing to
fear with respect to me, for I know what I am able to do with the
Khaleefeh. When Ghanim, therefore, heard the words of oot-el-uloob,
and the advice which she gave him, he went forth through the midst of
them, bearing the pot, and Providence protected him so that he escaped
from the snares and injuries which menaced him, by the blessing of his
good conscience.

And when the Wezeer Jaafar arrived at the house, he dismounted from his
horse, and entered, and looked at oot-el-uloob, who had adorned
herself, and filled a chest with gold and ornaments and jewels and
rarities, such as were light to carry and of great value; and when
Jaafar came in to her, she rose upon her feet, and kissed the ground
before him, saying to him, O my master, the Pen hath written what God
hath decreed. But Jaafar, when he beheld her situation,
replied, By Allah, O my mistress, he gave me no order but to arrest
Ghanim the son of Eiyoob. And she said, Know that he hath packed up some
bales of merchandise, and gone with them to Damascus, and I know nothing
more than this; and I request thee to take care of this chest for me,
and to convey it to the palace of the Prince of the Faithful. So Jaafar
answered, I hear and obey:--and he took the chest, and gave orders that
it should be conveyed, together with oot-el-uloob, to the palace of
the Khaleefeh, treating her with honour and respect. This took place
after they had plundered the house of Ghanim; and they went to the
Khaleefeh, and Jaafar related to him all that had happened; whereupon
the Khaleefeh appointed to oot-el-uloob a dark chamber, and there
lodged her, commissioning an old woman to serve her; for he imagined
that Ghanim had acted dishonestly towards her.

He then wrote a letter to the Emeer Moammad the son of Suleyman
Ez-Zeynee, who was viceroy of Damascus, containing as follows:--As soon
as this letter cometh to thy hands, thou shalt arrest Ghanim the son of
Eiyoob, and send him unto me.--So when the mandate was brought to him,
he kissed it, and put it upon his head, and caused it to be proclaimed
through the market-street, Whosoever desireth to plunder, let him repair
to the house of Ghanim the son of Eiyoob. And they came to the house,
and found that the mother of Ghanim, and his sister, had made for them a
tomb, and sat by it weeping; and they laid hold upon them, and plundered
the house, and the mother and sister knew not the cause: and when they
brought them before the Sulan, he inquired of them
respecting Ghanim the son of Eiyoob; and they answered him, For the
space of a year we have obtained no tidings of him.--And they restored
them to their place.



In the mean time, Ghanim the son of Eiyoob, the Distracted Slave of
Love, when his wealth had been seized, was perplexed, and began to weep
for himself so as to break his heart. He walked on, and ceased not on
his way to the close of day, suffering from excessive hunger and
fatigue, until he arrived at a village, where he entered a mosque, and
seated himself upon a round mat, and he leaned his back
against one of the walls of the building, and then threw himself down,
under the influence of extreme hunger and weariness. There he remained
until the morning, his heart palpitating from want of food; vermin
attacked his body, his breath became fetid, and he was altogether
changed; and the people of that village, coming to perform the
morning-prayers, found him lying there sick through want of food, yet
exhibiting evident traces of former affluence; and when they approached
him, they found him cold and hungry. They clad him, therefore, with an
old garment having ragged sleeves, and said to him, Whence art thou, O
stranger, and what is the cause of thine infirmity? And Ghanim opened
his eyes and looked at them and wept; but he returned them no answer.
Then one of them, knowing the violence of his hunger, went and brought
him a saucer of honey and two cakes of bread, and he ate, while they sat
around him until the sun rose, when they departed to their several
occupations.--In this state he remained among them for a month, and his
infirmity and disease increased; so the people, commiserating him,
consulted together respecting his case, and agreed to transport him to
the hospital at Baghdad.

Now while they were thus conversing, lo, two women, beggars, came in to
him; and they were his mother and sister; and when he beheld them, he
gave them the bread that was at his head, and they slept by him the next
night; but he knew them not. And on the following day, the people of the
village came to him, bringing a camel, and said to its owner, Convey
this sick person on the camel, and when thou hast arrived at Baghdad,
put him down at the door of the hospital: perhaps he may recover his
health, and thou wilt receive a recompense. He answered them, I hear and
obey. So they brought forth Ghanim the son of Eiyoob from the mosque,
and placed him, with the round mat upon which he was sleeping, on the
camel; and his mother and sister came to look at him among the other
people; but they knew him not. Then observing him attentively, they
said, Verily he resembleth our Ghanim! Can he be this sick person or
not?--But as to Ghanim, he awoke not until he was mounted on the camel,
and he began to weep and moan; and the people of the village saw his
mother and sister weeping for him, though they did not know him. Then
his mother and sister journeyed onwards to Baghdad, while the
camel-driver also proceeded without stopping until he had deposited
Ghanim at the door of the hospital, when he took his camel, and
returned.

Ghanim remained lying there until the morning; and when the people began
to pass along the street, they beheld him. He had become so emaciated
that his form resembled that of a toothpick, and the people ceased not
to gaze at him until the Sheykh of the market came and repelled them
from him, and said, I will gain Paradise by means of this poor person;
for if they take him into the hospital they will kill him in one day. He
then ordered his young men to carry him, and they conveyed him to his
house, where he spread for him a new bed, and put for him a new cushion,
and said to his wife, Serve him faithfully. She replied, On the
head:--and she tucked up her sleeves, and, having heated for him some
water, washed his hands and feet and body, and clothed him in a vest of
one of her female slaves. She then gave him to drink a cup of wine, and
sprinkled rose-water upon him: so he recovered his senses; and he
remembered his beloved, oot-el-uloob, and his anguish increased.--Thus
did it happen to Ghanim.

Now as to oot-el-uloob,--when the Khaleefeh, incensed against her,
had lodged her in the dark chamber, she remained there in the same state
for eighty days; and it happened that the Khaleefeh passed one day by
that place, and heard her reciting verses; and when she had finished her
recitation of them, she exclaimed, O my beloved! O Ghanim! How kind art
thou, and how chaste is thy disposition! Thou hast acted with kindness
unto him who hath injured thee, and hast guarded the honour of him who
hath violated thine, and hast protected his areem and he hath enslaved
both thee and thy family; but thou wilt assuredly stand, with the Prince
of the Faithful, before a Just Judge, and thou wilt obtain justice
against him on the day when the judge shall be God; and the witnesses,
the angels!--And when the Khaleefeh heard her words, and understood her
complaint, he knew that she was injured; and he entered his palace, and
sent the eunuch to her, and when she came before him she hung down her
head, with weeping eye, and sorrowful heart; and he said to her, O
oot-el-uloob, I see that thou complainest of my oppression, and
accusest me of tyranny, and thinkest that I have injured him who hath
acted kindly unto me. Who then is he who hath guarded my honour and I
have violated his; and who hath protected my areem and I have enslaved
his?--She answered him, Ghanim the son of Eiyoob; for he
hath not attempted any dishonest action towards me, by thy beneficence,
O Prince of the Faithful!--Upon this the Khaleefeh exclaimed, There is
no strength nor power but in God!--and then added, O oot-el-uloob,
desire of me what thou wilt, and I will grant thy wish. So she replied,
I desire of thee my beloved, Ghanim the son of Eiyoob. And when he heard
her words, he said, I will cause him to be brought hither, if it be the
will of God, in honour.--O Prince of the Faithful, she rejoined, when
thou shalt have caused him to be brought, wilt thou present me to him?
He answered, When I have had him brought, I will present thee to him,
the present of a generous man who will not revoke his gift. So she said,
O Prince of the Faithful, permit me to search about for him: perhaps God
may unite me with him. And he replied, Do as thou wilt.

Upon this she rejoiced, and went forth, taking with her a thousand
pieces of gold and visited the sheykhs, and gave alms for the sake of
Ghanim: and on the following day she went to the market of
the merchants, and gave to the chief of the market some money, saying to
him, Bestow it in alms upon the strangers. Then again, in the following
week, she went forth, taking with her a thousand pieces of gold, and,
entering the market of the goldsmiths and jewellers, summoned the chief
of the market, and he came, and she gave him the thousand pieces of
gold, and said to him, Bestow it in alms upon the strangers: whereupon
the chief, who was the Sheykh of the market before mentioned, looked at
her, and said to her, Wilt thou go with me to my house, to look at a
young stranger there, and see how elegant he is, and how perfectly
charming? For it is probable that he is Ghanim the son of Eiyoob, the
Distracted Slave of Love.--But the chief had no knowledge of him, and
imagined that he was a poor person involved in debt, whose wealth had
been taken from him, or a lover parted from his beloved. And when she
heard his words, her heart beat, and her affections were engrossed by
him, and she answered, Send with me some one to conduct me to thy house.
So he sent with her a young boy, who conducted her to the house where
the stranger was lodged, and she thanked him for doing so; and when she
entered the house, and saluted the chief's wife, the latter arose, and
kissed the ground before her; for she knew her. Then oot-el-uloob said
to her, Where is the sick person who is with you? And she wept, and
answered, Here he is, O my mistress: but he is of a respectable family,
and exhibiteth traces of former affluence. And oot-el-uloob looked
towards the bed upon which he was lying, and, regarding him narrowly,
beheld him as though he were Ghanim himself; but his condition was
changed, and he had become so emaciated that he resembled a toothpick,
and the truth of his case was disguised from her, so that she did not
discover him to be the person whom she sought; but she was moved with
compassion for him, and she wept, and exclaimed, Verily, strangers are
objects of pity, though they be emeers in their own countries! She then
ordered for him supplies of wine and medicines, and sat at his head a
while, and mounted, and returned to her palace; and she continued to go
forth to every market for the purpose of searching for Ghanim.



Soon after, the chief of the market brought the mother of Ghanim, and
his sister Fitneh, and went with them to oot-el-uloob, and said to
her, O most charitable lady, there have entered our city this day a
woman and a girl of respectable origin, bearing evident traces of former
affluence, but they are clad in garments of hair-cloth, and each of them
hath a wallet hung to her neck, and their eyes are weeping, and their
hearts sorrowful: so I have brought them unto thee, that thou mayest
give them refuge, and preserve them from the disgrace of beggary; for
they are not persons suited to ask alms of the sordid; and if it please
God, we shall enter Paradise by their means.--By Allah, O my master,
she replied, thou hast made me long to behold them! Where are they?
Order them to come in.--So, upon this, Fitneh and her mother came in to
oot-el-uloob, who, when she saw them, and observed that they were both
distinguished by beauty, wept for them, and said, By Allah, they are
persons of an affluent family, and traces of wealth are conspicuous in
their appearance.--O my mistress, replied the chief of the market, we
love the poor and indigent for the sake of future recompense;
and probably the extortioners have oppressed these two persons, and
plundered them of their wealth, and ruined their houses. Then these two
females wept violently, and, remembering Ghanim the son of Eiyoob, the
Distracted Slave of Love, their wailing increased, and oot-el-uloob
wept with them; and the mother of Ghanim exclaimed, We pray God to unite
us with him whom we seek, and he is my son Ghanim the son of Eiyoob.
When oot-el-uloob, therefore, heard these words, she knew that this
woman was the mother of her beloved, and that the other was his sister,
and she wept until she fell down in a swoon; and when she recovered, she
approached them, and said to them, Ye have nothing to fear; for this day
is the first of your prosperity, and the last of your adversity:
therefore grieve not. She then ordered the chief of the market to take
them to his house, and to let his wife conduct them into the bath, and
attire them in handsome clothing, and take care of them, and treat them
with the utmost honour; and she gave him a sum of money.

Then, on the following day, oot-el-uloob mounted and went again to the
house of the chief of the market, and went in to visit his wife, who
rose to her, and kissed the ground before her, and thanked her for her
charity; and she saw that his wife had conducted the mother of Ghanim,
and his sister, to the bath, and taken off their former clothes, and
that the traces of their original affluence had become more conspicuous
in consequence; and she sat a while conversing with them; after which
she asked the wife of the chief of the market respecting the sick person
who was with her. She answered, He is in the same state. And
oot-el-uloob said, Arise, and let us look at him and visit him. So
they both arose, with Ghanim's mother and sister, and went in to him,
and seated themselves by him; and when Ghanim the son of Eiyoob, the
Distracted Slave of Love, heard one of them mention oot-el-uloob,
emaciated as he was in body and limbs, his soul returned to him, and he
raised his head from the pillow, and called out, O oot-el-uloob! She
looked at him, therefore, and knew him, and cried, saying, Yes, O my
beloved! He then said to her, Draw near to me. And she asked him, Art
thou Ghanim the son of Eiyoob, the Distracted Slave of Love? He answered
her, Yes: I am he. And upon this, she fell down in a swoon; and when his
sister and his mother heard their words, they cried out, Oh, our
joy!--and in like manner fainted. And when they recovered,
oot-el-uloob said to Ghanim, Praise be to God who hath united us with
thee and with thy mother and sister! Then, approaching him, she related
to him all that had happened to her with the Khaleefeh, adding, I said
to him, I have declared to thee the truth, O Prince of the
Faithful:--and he believed my words, and approved thee; and he is now
desiring to see thee. And she said to him, The Khaleefeh hath given me
to thee:--whereupon he was filled with the utmost joy: and
oot-el-uloob said to them all, Quit not this place until I come again.

She then arose immediately, and departed to her palace, and removed
thence the chest that she had brought from Ghanim's house, and took
forth from it some pieces of gold, which she gave to the chief of the
market, saying to him, Take these pieces of gold, and buy for each of
them four complete suits of dress of the best kinds of stuff, and twenty
handkerchiefs, and whatever else they require. And after this, she
conducted them to the bath, and gave orders to wash them, and prepared
for them boiled meats, and infusion of galangal, and apple-water, after
they had come forth from the bath and dressed themselves. For three days
she remained with them, feeding them with fowls and with boiled meats,
and giving them sherbet of refined sugar to drink; and after the three
days their spirits returned to them. Then she conducted them again to
the bath, and they came forth, and she changed their clothes, and,
leaving them in the house of the chief of the market, went to the
Khaleefeh, and kissed the ground before him, and related to him the
story, telling him that her master, Ghanim the son of Eiyoob, the
Distracted Slave of Love, had come, and that his mother and sister also
had arrived. When the Khaleefeh, therefore, heard these words of
oot-el-uloob, he said to the eunuchs, Bring hither to me Ghanim. And
Jaafar went down with them to bring him: but oot-el-uloob had gone
before him; and she went in unto Ghanim, and said to him, The Khaleefeh
hath sent to thee to bring thee before him: have a care then to display
eloquence of tongue, and firmness of heart, and sweetness of speech. And
she attired him in a magnificent dress, and gave him pieces of gold in
abundance, saying to him, Bestow plentifully upon the domestics of the
Khaleefeh as thou goest in to him. And lo, Jaafar approached him,
mounted upon his mule, and Ghanim advanced to meet him, and greeted him
with a prayer for long life, kissing the ground before him.

The planet of his prosperity had appeared, and the star of his glory had
risen aloft, and Jaafar took him, and they proceeded until they entered
into the presence of the Prince of the Faithful; and when Ghanim came
before him, he looked towards the wezeers and emeers and chamberlains
and lieutenants and the other officers of the court, and the warriours,
and, being eloquent of tongue, firm of heart, delicate in the style of
his language, and pleasing in the allusions it conveyed, he hung down
his head towards the ground, and then looked towards the Khaleefeh, and
addressed him in a series of complimentary verses. And when he had
finished his recitation, the Khaleefeh was delighted with the graces of
his person, and pleased with the eloquence of his tongue and the
sweetness of his speech; and he said to him, Approach me. He therefore
approached him, and the Khaleefeh said to him, Explain to me thy tale,
and acquaint me with the truth of thy history. So Ghanim sat, and
related to the Khaleefeh all that had happened to him from beginning to
end; and when the Khaleefeh knew that he spoke truth, he bestowed upon
him a dress of honour, and admitted him into his favour, and said to
him, Acquit me of responsibility. And he did so, and said
to him, O Prince of the Faithful, the slave and all that his hands
possess belong to his master:--and the Khaleefeh rejoiced. He then gave
orders to appropriate a palace to him exclusively, and appointed him
abundant pensions and allowances, and removed to him his mother and his
sister. And the Khaleefeh, hearing that his sister Fitneh was, in beauty
(as her name imported), a temptation, demanded her of him in marriage.
Ghanim therefore replied, She is thy handmaid, and I am thy
memlook. And the Khaleefeh thanked him, and gave him a hundred thousand
pieces of gold, and summoned the aee and witnesses, and
they performed the marriage-contract. Then he and Ghanim visited their
wives on the same day, the Khaleefeh going to Fitneh, and Ghanim the son
of Eiyoob to oot-el-uloob; and on the following morning, the Khaleefeh
ordered that all that had happened to Ghanim, from first to last, should
be committed to writing and inserted in the records, that his posterity
might consider it, and wonder at the disposals of destiny, and commit
their affairs unto the Creator of the night and the day.






NOTES TO CHAPTER SEVENTH.

NOTE 1. Damascus is afterwards mentioned in the original as the abode of
this merchant's family; but not here.

NOTE 2. "Ghanim" signifies "a taker of spoil," "a fortunate acquirer of
anything;" and "Eiyoob" is the name which _we_ call "Job."

NOTE 3. "Fitneh" signifies "temptation," "seduction," "disturbance," &c.

NOTE 4. By the term "loads" we are always to understand "camel-loads,"
unless it is otherwise expressed. A camel-load is generally about three
hundred-weights.

NOTE 5. Or vesicles of musk. In the original, "nawafe" is put for
"nawafij."

NOTE 6. A great recompense in the world to come is to be the lot of him
who takes part in a funeral-procession.

NOTE 7. The ablution was necessary to qualify Ghanim for joining in the
prayer over the dead.

NOTE 8. "awab" signifies "rectitude."

NOTE 9. "Kafoor" is the Arabic for "camphor." Instances of antiphrasis
in the names given to black slaves are very common.

NOTE 10. "Bakheet" signifies "fortunate," from "bakht" ("fortune"), a
word borrowed from the Persian.

NOTE 11. I am not sure that this is to be understood as a jest; for I
have been assured, by a slave-dealer and other persons in Cairo, that
sometimes slaves brought to that city are found to be cannibals; and
that a proof lately occurred there; an infant having been eaten by its
black nurse. I was also told that these cannibals are generally
distinguished by an elongation of the os coccygis; or in other words,
that they have tails!

NOTE 12. The story here alluded to is inserted in the original; but,
being extremely objectionable, and too short and simple to be abridged,
I have been compelled to omit it altogether.

NOTE 13. This story is not in the old version; but I think the reader
will consider it worthy of insertion in the present series, as an
amusing illustration of the customs which are often observed by the
Arabs on the occasion of the death of the master of a family. I can bear
testimony to the general correctness of the picture which it presents;
or rather state, that the greatest of the extravagances which it
describes are not unfrequently practised in the present day.

NOTE 14. As the Arab women are much more reluctant to uncover the upper
and back part of the head than they are to shew the face, before strange
men, such a scene as that which is here described is very seldom
witnessed; but I have seen not so unfrequently a woman with her face
uncovered, and besmeared with mud, on her receiving the news of the
sudden death of a near relation.

NOTE 15. This, to some readers, may require explanation. To free a slave
who has no means of providing for himself, and not to grant him any
means to do so, is almost the heaviest punishment that can be inflicted
upon him; and to do this, unless for a heinous crime, is considered
disgraceful.

NOTE 16. This is not just; for as soon as the slave is emancipated he is
legally free, without doubt: but it is inserted in the tale as a
jest.

NOTE 17. See Note 46 to Chapter ii.--This mode of disposing of a rival
in the areem is said to have been not very unfrequently adopted.

NOTE 18. I suspect that the original presents here an error, which I
have endeavoured to correct.--The names which the lady ejaculates are to
be understood as those of female slaves, her attendants.
"Zahr-el-Bustan" signifies "Flower of the Garden;" "abeeah,"
"Beautiful;" "Shejeret-ed-Durr," "Tree of Pearls" (this is the vulgar
mode of pronouncing "Shejer-ed-Durr," which was the name of the wife of
the Sulan E-ale Nejm-ed-Deen, afterwards Queen of Egypt);
"Noor-el-Huda," "Light of Day," or "Light of Guidance;"
"Nejmet-e-ub," "Star of the Morning;" "Nuzheh," "Delight;" "ulweh,"
"Sweet;" and "areefeh," "Elegant."

NOTE 19. From this point, to the relation of the stratagem employed by
Zubeydeh, I omit much that is unsuitable for insertion in the
translation, as approaching to licentiousness.

NOTE 20. Perhaps it is unnecessary to mention, that "the Prophet's
Uncle" here alluded to was El-'Abbas; and that the "descendant" was
Haroon Er-Rasheed.

NOTE 21. "oot-el-uloob" signifies "Food (or Sustenance) of Hearts."

NOTE 22. As black, which was the distinguishing colour of the banners
and dress of the 'Abbasee Khaleefehs, was originally assumed in token of
mourning for such of their relations as were victims of the Umawees, it
may have continued for a long time to be used for a similar purpose: but
the modern colour of mourning among the Arabs is blue; and it is
remarkable that the term which properly signifies "black" is commonly
applied by them to dark blue.--On the subject of mourning, see Note 52
to Chapter ii.

NOTE 23. "Kheyzuran" and "aeeb" signify respectively, "a Cane"
(particularly "Indian Cane"), and "a Rod," or "a long and slender
Branch."

NOTE 24. See note 85 to Chapter iii.

NOTE 25. By "the Sulan" is meant the Viceroy of Damascus, though the
title is improperly used in this sense.

NOTE 26. The account of the disgusting treatment of Ghanim's mother and
sister, which follows in this place in the old version, is not in either
of the copies of the original which I possess, containing this tale.
Hence, and as it is extremely inconsistent with Arab customs and
feelings, I have little doubt of its being an interpolation by some
ignorant copyist.

NOTE 27. See Note 18 to Chapter vi.

NOTE 28, By Ghanim's areem, we are here to understand his mother and
sister; the term "areem" being often used to signify a man's female
relations residing in his house.

NOTE 29. It is implied that she visited the sheykhs (by which are here
meant the devotees) to request the aid of their prayers; and gave alms
for the sake (or in the name) of Ghanim in order to propitiate
Providence in his favour.

NOTE 30.--_On the Charitable Disposition of the Arabs._ Some remarks
which I have made on this subject with reference to the Egyptians, in a
former work, are equally applicable to the Arabs in general.
"Benevolence and charity to the poor are virtues which the Egyptians
possess in an eminent degree, and which are instilled into their hearts
by religion; but from their own profession it appears that they are as
much excited to the giving of alms by the expectation of enjoying
corresponding rewards in heaven, as by pity for the distresses of their
fellow-creatures, or a disinterested wish to do the will of God. It may
be attributed, in some measure, to the charitable disposition of the
inhabitants, that beggars are so numerous in Cairo. The many handsome
Sebeels, or public fountains (buildings erected and endowed for the
gratuitous supply of water to passengers), which are seen in this city,
and the more humble structures of the same kind in the villages and
fields, are monuments of the same virtue." So also the numerous
Khans for the reception of travellers, in countries occupied by the
Arabs, bear testimony to the charity of this people.

NOTE 31. This is often said by an Arab to a person against whom he knows
or fears himself to have committed an offence. The most urgent reason
for doing so may be seen by reverting to No. 9 of the notes to Chapter
iv.

NOTE 32. This compliment has occasioned, in the old version, an error of
the most serious kind, by its having been understood in its literal
sense. Ghanim is made to propose that the Khaleefeh should take his
sister as one of his favourites (_i. e._ concubines); which, as she was
a free woman, would be a crime of the foulest nature.

NOTE 33. We are to understand this sum of money as being Fitneh's
dowry.--Here it may be mentioned, that the Khaleefeh, by marrying
Fitneh, severely punished Zubeydeh: for he thus gave her a wife, instead
of a concubine, as a rival.

NOTE 34.--_On the Passion of Love among the Arabs._ A few remarks on
this subject may be inserted to justify the picture of love presented in
the foregoing tale. That sensual passion is most prevalent among the
Arabs cannot be doubted; but I think it unjust to suppose them generally
incapable of a purer feeling, worthy, if constancy be a sufficient test,
of being termed true love. That they are not so, appears evident to
almost every person who mixes with them in familiar society; for such a
person must have opportunities of being acquainted with many Arabs
sincerely attached to wives whose personal charms have long vanished,
and who have neither wealth nor influence of their own, nor wealthy nor
influential relations, to induce their husbands to refrain from
divorcing them. It very often happens, too, that an Arab is sincerely
attached to a wife possessed, even in the best portion of her age, of
few charms; and that the lasting favourite among two or more wives is
not the most handsome. This opinion, I am sorry to observe, is at
variance, as far as the Arabs of the _towns_ are concerned, with that
entertained by one of the most intelligent and experienced of modern
travellers, who long resided among this people,--the justly-celebrated
Burckhardt: but it is confirmed by numerous facts related by
respectable Arab authors (and therefore not regarded by them as of an
incredible nature), as well as by cases which have fallen under my own
observation. The tale of Leyla and Mejnoon, "the Juliet and Romeo of
Arabia," is too well known to be here repeated; but among many other
anecdotes of strong and constant love, the following may be inserted:--

The Khaleefeh Yezeed the son of 'Abd-El-Melik, it is said, had two
female slaves; one of whom was named abbabeh, and the other, Selameh;
to the former of whom he was most ardently attached: he had purchased
her for a hundred thousand dirhems; and the other, for ten thousand. In
the company of these two females he sometimes shut himself up for three
months together, utterly neglecting the affairs of his people. At
length, being reproved for this conduct by his brother Meslemeh, he
promised to return to his duty: but the two slaves diverted him from his
purpose; and on the following morning, excited by their songs and
caresses, and by wine, he became frantic with pleasure, and danced and
sang like a madman, till a fatal accident put a stop to his joy:
abbabeh, eating a pomegranate, was choked by one of the grains, and
immediately died. The grief of Yezeed was so poignant that he would not
quit the corpse, but continued to kiss and fondle it until it became
putrid. Being then admonished by his attendants that proper respect
required its burial, he consented to commit it to the earth: after five
days, however, his desire again to behold the object of his love induced
him to open the grave, and though the corpse had become hideous, he
declared that it was lovely as ever in his eyes. At the earnest request
of Meslemeh, he ordered the grave to be closed again; but he was unable
to exist when deprived of the sight of the remains of her who was at the
same time his slave and his mistress: he threw himself upon his bed,
speechless; and after lingering seventeen nights, expired, and was
buried by the side of abbabeh. "May God," says the narrator, "have
mercy on them both!"

In the same work from which the above is taken, it is related that
Haroon Er-Rasheed, visiting Suleyman the son of Aboo-Jaafar, one of his
chief officers, saw with him a female slave, named a'eefeh, of
excessive beauty, and being smitten by her charms, demanded her as a
present. His request was granted; but Suleyman from grief at the loss of
his mistress, fell sick; and during his illness was heard to exclaim,--

 "I appeal unto God against the affliction which He hath sent
     upon me through the Khaleefeh.
  The world heareth of his justice; but he is a tyrant in the affair
     of a'eefeh.
  Love of her is fixed in my heart as ink upon the surface of paper."

Er-Rasheed, being informed of his complaint, restored to him his
mistress, and, with her, his peace of mind.--This anecdote is given as a
proof of strong love; but perhaps may not be thought much to the
purpose. The following, from the same work, is more apt.

During the hottest hour of an excessively sultry day, the Khaleefeh
Mo'awiyeh the son of Aboo-Sufyan was sitting in a chamber which was open
on each side to allow free passage to the air, when he beheld a
barefooted Bedawee approaching him. Wondering what could induce this man
to brave the scorching heat, he declared to his attendants that, if he
were come to demand of him any favour or aid or act of justice, his
request should be granted. The Bedawee addressed him, in verse, with a
pathetic appeal for justice against the tyranny of Marwan the son of
El-akam (afterwards Khaleefeh, Mo'awiyeh's fourth successor), by whom
he had been forcibly deprived of his beloved wife, named Soada. The
Khaleefeh requiring a more particular account of his case, he related
the following facts. He had a wife, the daughter of his paternal uncle,
excessively beloved by him, and he possessed a number of camels, which
enabled him to live in comfort; but a year of terrible drought deprived
him of his property, and reduced him to utter want: his friends deserted
him, and his wife was taken away from him by her father. To seek
redress, he repaired to Marwan, the Governor of his district, at
El-Medeeneh, who, having summoned the father of his wife, and herself,
was so smitten by the beauty of the woman that he determined to obtain
her for himself in marriage; to accomplish which, he threw the husband
into prison, and offered the father of the woman a thousand deenars and
ten thousand dirhems for his consent to his marriage with her, promising
to compel her actual husband to divorce her; and this latter object,
having obtained the father's approval, he gained by severely torturing
the unfortunate Bedawee. It would have been vain for the woman to
attempt resistance; and so she became the wife of Marwan.--The oppressed
Bedawee, having related these circumstances, fell down in a swoon, and
lay on the floor senseless, coiled up like a dead snake. As soon as he
recovered, the Khaleefeh wrote a poetical epistle to Marwan, severely
reproaching him for his baseness, and commanding him, on pain of death,
to divorce the woman and send her with his messenger. She was
accordingly divorced and sent, with an answer composed in the same
measure and rhyme, assuring the Khaleefeh that the sight of Soada would
convince him that her charms were irresistible; and this proved too
true. Mo'awiyeh himself no sooner saw her than he coveted the possession
of her, and offered to give the Bedawee, if he would resign her to him,
three virgins from among his female slaves, together with a thousand
deenars, and an ample annual pension. The Bedawee shrieked with dismay,
as though he had received his death-blow; and indignantly rejected the
offer. The Khaleefeh then said to him, "Thou confessest that thou hast
divorced her, and Marwan has married her and acknowledged that he has
divorced her: we will therefore give her her choice: if she desire any
other than thee as her husband we will marry her to him, and if she
prefer thee we will restore her to thee." She however preferred the
destitute Bedawee, and the Khaleefeh gave her up to him, with a present
of ten thousand dirhems.

Numerous instances of unreasonable love are recorded in the writings of
Arabs. It is related that a man fell in love with a female from seeing
the impression of her hand upon a wall; and being unable to obtain
possession of her, died. Many men are said, to have conceived a violent
passion for females seen in dreams: others, again, to have been thus
affected merely by the ear. An author relates his having been acquainted
with an accomplished schoolmaster who lost his heart from hearing a man
sing the praises of a woman named Umm-'Amr, and two days after, shut
himself up in his house to mourn for her death, in consequence of his
hearing the same man sing,--

  "The ass went away with Umm-'Amr; and she returned not, nor did
     the ass return."

But a few anecdotes may be considered as rare exceptions to a general
rule. I think, however, that strong evidences of the existence of true
love among all classes of the Arabs are afforded by their very numerous
tales of fiction descriptive of this passion.


   Marginal note by my sheykh.

   Modern Egyptians, vol. i. ch. xiii.

   I may suffer in public estimation for my differing in opinion from
  this accomplished traveller and most estimable man; but I cannot, on
  that account, abstain from the expression of my dissent. Our difference,
  I think, may be thus explained. He conformed, in a great degree, to the
  habits of the Arabs; but not to such an extent as I consider necessary
  to obtain from them that confidence in his sympathy which would induce
  them to lay open to him their character; and when a man is often treated
  with coldness and reserve, I doubt whether the people from whom he
  experiences such treatment can be judged by him with strict
  impartiality. To be received on terms of equality by Arabs of the more
  polished classes, an undeviating observance of their code of etiquette
  is absolutely indispensable: but Burckhardt, I have been assured, often
  violated this code, by practices harmless enough to our notions, and
  probably, also, in the opinion of the Arabs of the Desert, but extremely
  offensive to the people who enjoyed the least share of his esteem: his
  most intimate acquaintances in Cairo generally refused, in speaking of
  him, to designate him by the title of "sheykh" which he had adopted; and
  yet the heaviest charge that I heard brought against him was his
  frequent habit of _whistling_!--This fact has been mentioned, as
  corroborating an observation of the same kind, by Mr. Urquhart ("Spirit
  of the East," vol. i. pp. 417 and 418), all of whose opinions relating
  to the East, expressed in the work here referred to, and especially
  those regarding the characteristics of the Eastern _mind_, are entitled
  to the highest respect.

[A very remarkable instance, confirming Mr. Lane's opinion of the
existence of true love among the Arabs, occurred during my residence
with him in Cairo. The wife of a man of good birth, and holding a high
position in that city, was accused of carrying on an intrigue while
visiting the tombs of her relations. Her family claimed her in
accordance with the law, and threatened to put her to death, as the law
would undoubtedly have justified them in doing, if the case were proved
against her. Her husband was much attached to her--she was his first and
only wife--and he believed, with reason, that the accusation was false:
at the same time he knew that she would in all likelihood find it
impossible to clear herself in a court of law, where justice is only
accidentally awarded, and had good cause to fear that her male relations
would put her to death without a hearing. He therefore adopted the
extraordinary expedient of taking her secretly to the house of a married
European gentleman of his acquaintance. There she remained concealed for
some time, her husband visiting her daily, and shewing the most perfect
confidence in his friend; while the latter was almost confined to one
room, never venturing into the areem without calling "Permission!" at
every few steps. In the mean time, the indignation of the lady's friends
cooled, and the affair was cleared up. She has since lived in perfect
happiness with her husband.

To any one familiar with Eastern customs and modes of thought, a
stronger proof of sincere love could scarcely be given, than that a man
should thus set aside the strongest prejudices of his nation to save the
honour, and perhaps the life, of his wife, disbelieving a report which,
from its plausibility, might have been accepted without hesitation. The
facilities afforded by the visits to the cemeteries are notorious, and
the state of morals among the women of Egypt unfortunately makes their
defence difficult in a suspicious case.--ED.]


   Kitab el-'Onwan fee Mekaid en-Niswan (MS. in my
  possession).

   This word slightly varied (changed to a'eefih) bears
  another meaning; namely, "his weak one:" the final vowel being
  suppressed by the rule of waf.

   Kitab el-'Onwan, &c.









COMMENCING WITH PART OF THE HUNDRED AND SEVENTH NIGHT, AND
ENDING WITH PART OF THE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVENTH.

THE STORY OF TAJ-EL-MULOOK AND THE LADY DUNYA.


There was, in former times, a city behind the mountains of Ipahan,
called El-Medeeneh el-Khara, and in it resided a King
called the King Suleyman. He was a person of liberality and beneficence,
and justice and integrity, and of a generous and obliging disposition:
travellers repaired to him from every quarter, and his fame spread
throughout all the regions and countries; and he reigned a long time in
glory and security; but he was destitute of children and of wives.

He had a Wezeer who nearly resembled him in his qualities, in liberality
and other endowments; and it came to pass that he sent to this Wezeer
one day, and having summoned him into his presence, said to him, O
Wezeer, my heart is contracted, and my patience is overcome, and my
strength is impaired, because I have neither a wife nor a child: this is
not the usual way of Kings who rule over lords and poor men; for they
rejoice in leaving children, and multiplying by them the number of their
posterity; and the Prophet (God bless and save him!) hath said,
Intermarry, and beget offspring, that ye may increase in number; for I
shall contend for your superiority with the other nations on the day of
resurrection.--What, then, is thy counsel, O Wezeer? Point out to me
what is advisable.--But when the Wezeer heard these words, tears poured
from his eyes, and he replied, Far be it from me, O King of the age,
that I should speak of that which belongeth unto the Compassionate to
decide! Dost thou desire that I should enter the fire of
Hell, through the anger of the Almighty King?--Know, O Wezeer, rejoined
his sovereign, that, if the King purchase a female slave whose rank and
lineage are unknown, he will not be acquainted with her ignoble origin
that he may abstain from her, or the nobility of her extraction that he
may make her his companion: so, if he do this, she may perhaps bear him
a son who may be a hypocrite, a tyrant, a shedder of blood; and she may
resemble a marshy land, the produce of which is worthless, and attaineth
no excellence: her child may be obnoxious to the indignation of his
Lord, not doing what He commandeth him, nor refraining from that which
He forbiddeth him to do. I will never, therefore, be the means of such
an event by purchasing a female slave. I desire, rather, that thou
demand in marriage for me one of the daughters of the Kings, whose
lineage is known, and whose loveliness is celebrated. If, then, thou
wilt point out to me one of good birth and of religion among the
daughters of the Muslim Kings, I will demand her as my wife, and marry
her in the presence of witnesses, that I may thereby obtain the approval
of the Lord of mankind.--The Wezeer replied, Verily God hath
accomplished thy want and given thee thy desire.--How so? asked the
King.--Know, O King, answered the Wezeer, that it hath been told me that
the King Zahr Shah, the sovereign of El-Ar el-Beya, hath
a daughter of astonishing loveliness, whom words cannot describe, whose
equal existeth not in this age, for she is endowed with the most perfect
beauty and symmetry, with black eye, and long hair, and slender waist,
and large hips; when she approacheth she seduceth, and when she turneth
her back she killeth, ravishing the heart and the eye. It is my opinion,
therefore, O King, that thou shouldst send to her father an intelligent
messenger, well-informed, and experienced in the course of events, that
he may courteously ask her in marriage for thee of her father; for she
hath no equal in the distant parts of the earth, nor in the near; so
shalt thou enjoy her lovely face, and the Glorious King shall approve
thy conduct; since it hath been handed down from the Prophet (God bless
and save him!) that he said, There is no monkery in El-Islam.

Upon this, the King was perfectly delighted, his bosom expanded with
joy, and anxiety and grief departed from him; and, addressing his
Wezeer, he said to him, Know, O Wezeer, that no one shall go on this
business but thou, on account of thy consummate wisdom and politeness:
depart, therefore, to thy house, and accomplish what thou hast to do,
and prepare thyself by the morrow, and demand for me in marriage this
damsel with whom thou hast caused my heart to be engrossed, and return
not to me without her. The Wezeer replied, I hear and obey:--and he went
to his house, and gave orders to bring presents suitable to Kings,
consisting of costly jewels and precious rarities, such as were light to
carry and of great value, together with Arab horses, and Davidean coats
of mail, and chests of wealth such as language would fail
to describe. These they placed upon the mules and camels, and the Wezeer
departed, accompanied by a hundred memlooks and a hundred male black
slaves and a hundred female slaves, and the flags and banners were
unfurled over his head. The King charged him to return soon; and after
his departure, the King Suleyman Shah burned with desire, and became
engrossed with love of the damsel night and day. Meanwhile, the Wezeer,
by night and by day traversed the deserts and wastes until there
remained between him and the city to which he was repairing one day's
journey, when he alighted at the bank of a river, and, having summoned
one of his chief officers, ordered him to go quickly to the King Zahr
Shah, and to acquaint him with his approach. He answered, I hear and
obey:--and went quickly to the city; and when he arrived there, it
happened that the King Zahr Shah was sitting in one of the places of
recreation before the gate of the city, and, seeing him as he entered,
knew him to be a stranger, and summoned him before him. So when the
messenger came to him, he informed him of the approach of the Wezeer of
the supreme King Suleyman Shah, the King of El-Ar el-Khara and of the
mountains of Ipahan; and the King Zahr Shah rejoiced, and welcomed the
messenger, and, having conducted him to his palace, said to him, Where
didst thou part from the Wezeer? He answered, I parted from him in the
morning at the bank of such a river, and to-morrow he will arrive and
visit thee: may God continue his favours unto thee, and show mercy unto
thy parents! Zahr Shah then ordered one of his wezeers to
take with him the greater number of his chief officers and chamberlains
and lieutenants and the lords of his court, and to go forth with them to
meet him, in honour of the King Suleyman Shah; for his dominion extended
through the land.

In the mean time, the Wezeer of Suleyman Shah remained where he had
halted until midnight, and then proceeded towards the city; and when the
morning gleamed, and the sun shone upon the hills and the lowlands,
suddenly the Wezeer of the King Zahr Shah, and his chamberlains and the
lords of his court and the chief officers of his kingdom, approached and
joined him at the distance of some leagues from the city. So the Wezeer
of Suleyman Shah felt sure of the accomplishment of his business, and
saluted those who met him; and the latter preceded him until they
arrived at the palace of the King, and passed in before him through the
entrance to the seventh vestibule. This was the place which no one
entered on horseback; for it was near to the King; therefore here the
Wezeer alighted, and he proceeded on foot until he came to a lofty
saloon, at the upper end of which was a couch of alabaster set with
pearls and jewels, having four legs of elephants' tusks, and upon it was
a mattress covered with green satin embroidered with red gold, and over
it was a canopy adorned with pearls and jewels. Upon this couch sat the
King Zahr Shah, and the lords of his court stood in attendance upon him.
And when the Wezeer went in unto him, and stood before him, he composed
his heart, and gave liberty to his tongue, and, displaying the oratory
of wezeers, and uttering the language of the eloquent, addressed the
King with courtesy of manner, and recited a series of complimentary
verses; and when he had finished, the King caused him to draw near,
treated him with the utmost respect, and, seating him by his side,
smiled in his face, and honoured him with a gracious reply. After this,
the attendants brought forward the table in that saloon, and they ate
until they were satisfied, when the attendants removed the table, and
every one who was present went forth, except the chief officers. When
the Wezeer, therefore, saw that they had quitted the hall, he rose and
stood on his feet, and, complimenting the King, kissed the ground
before him, and said, O great King, and dignified sovereign, I have come
unto thee and visited thee on an affair productive of peace and
prosperity and happiness unto thee; and it is this: I have come to thee
as an ambassador to desire in marriage thy daughter, the distinguished
by rank and lineage, from the King Suleyman Shah, who is endowed with
justice and integrity, and graciousness and beneficence, the King of
El-Ar el-Khara and of the mountains of Ipahan, and he hath sent unto
thee many presents and numerous rarities, desiring thine alliance. Dost
thou then wish the same of him?--He then stood silent, waiting for the
answer; and when the King Zahr Shah heard these words, he rose upon his
feet, and modestly kissed the ground; and the persons who were present
wondered at the King's condescension to the ambassador, and their minds
were amazed. The King then offered up praises unto Him who is possessed
of glory and honour, and said, still standing, O exalted Wezeer, and
illustrious lord, hear what I say: we are, unto the King Suleyman Shah,
among the number of his subjects, and shall be ennobled by his affinity:
we covet this distinction; and my daughter is one of his handmaids. This
is my greatest desire; that he may be a means of support to me, and my
reliance.--And he summoned the aees and witnesses, and they bore
witness that the King Suleyman Shah had appointed his Wezeer as his
deputy to effect the marriage, and the King Zahr Shah joyfully
officiated for his daughter in performing the contract; so the aees
concluded the marriage-contract, and offered up a prayer for the
happiness and prosperity of both parties: after which, the Wezeer arose,
and produced the presents and precious rarities, and all the gifts that
he had brought, and offered the whole to the King Zahr Shah.



The King then occupied himself in fitting out his daughter, and in
honourably entertaining the Wezeer; and he feasted at his banquets the
great and the abject, and continued the festivity for a period of two
months, omitting in it nothing that would rejoice the heart and the
eye. And when everything that the bride required was
completed, the King gave orders to carry forth the tents, and they were
pitched outside the city. They packed the stuffs in the chests, and made
ready the Greek and Turkish female slaves; and the King provided the
bride with precious treasures and costly jewels, and made for her a
litter of red gold adorned with pearls and jewels,
appropriating to her use ten mules for the journey. The litter appeared
like a private chamber, and its occupant like one of the beautiful
ooreeyehs, her canopy resembling one of the pavilions of
Paradise. They packed up the treasures and wealth, and placed them upon
the mules and camels, and the King Zahr Shah went with them to the
distance of three leagues, and then bade farewell to his daughter and
the Wezeer and his attendants, and returned home in joy and safety.





The Wezeer proceeded with the King's daughter, and continued his days'
journeys and his route over the wastes, travelling with diligence by
night and day, until there remained between him and his country a
journey of three days; whereupon he sent forward a messenger to the King
Suleyman Shah to inform him of the approach of the bride. So the
messenger hasted in his journey till he arrived in the presence of the
King, and acquainted him with the approach of the bride; and the King
was rejoiced, and bestowed a robe of honour upon the messenger, and
ordered his troops to go forth in grand procession to meet the bride and
her attendants with honour, desiring them to equip themselves in the
gayest manner, and to unfurl the standards over their heads. And they
complied with his commands; and a crier proclaimed through the city,
that no curtained damsel nor honoured lady nor infirm old woman should
fail to go forth to meet the bride. So they all went forth to meet her,
and the chief among them accompanied her to serve her. They decided
together to conduct her towards night to the King's palace, and the
chief officers of the court agreed to decorate the streets, and to stand
while the bride passed by them with the eunuchs and female slaves before
her, she herself being clad in the dress which her father gave her. And
when she approached, the troops surrounded her, ranged on the right and
left, and the litter advanced with her until it drew near to the palace;
and there was no one who did not come forth to see it: the drums were
beaten, and the spears brandished, and the trumpets sounded, and sweet
odours were diffused around, and the standards flapped, and the horses
raced with each other, until they arrived at the gate of the palace,
when the pages advanced with the litter to the entrance of the areem:
the palace was illuminated by its splendour, and its walls shone with
the lustre of its ornaments; and at night the eunuchs opened the doors
of the inner apartment, and stood surrounding the chief entrance. The
bride then came forward among the female slaves, like the moon among the
stars, or the chief pearl among the minor pearls of the string, and she
entered the apartment, where they had placed for her a couch of
alabaster set with pearls and jewels. Upon this she seated herself, and
the King came in to visit her, and God inspired his heart with love for
her, so that his disquietude and trouble ceased.

He remained with her about a month, after which he went forth and sat
upon his throne, and administered justice to his subjects; and towards
daybreak on the morning after the expiration of the ninth month, his
wife gave birth to a male child of an auspicious appearance. When the
King heard of it, he rejoiced exceedingly, and gave a large sum of money
to the bearer of the good tidings; and in his joy he went to the child,
and kissed him between the eyes, wondering at his surpassing beauty. The
midwives took him, and blackened the edges of his eyelids with
kol;
He was nourished on the bosom of indulgence, and reared in the lap of
prosperity, and days and years passed until he attained the age of seven
years; whereupon the King Suleyman Shah summoned the men of learning and
science, and ordered them to instruct his son in writing and science and
polite literature, and they continued to do so for some years, until he
had learnt what was requisite; and when he was acquainted with all that
the King desired, he caused him to be brought from the professors and
teachers, and engaged for him a master to instruct him in horsemanship,
who continued to teach him until his pupil was fourteen years of age.
Whenever the youth went forth on any business, every one who beheld him
was ravished by his beauty, so that they composed verses in his praise,
and even the women of virtue were overcome by love for him, through the
surpassing beauty with which he was endowed. And when he had attained
the age of eighteen years, the grey down appeared upon a mole on his red
cheek, while another mole, like a globule of ambergris, added to these
charms, and he captivated the minds and eyes of his beholders. His
comeliness increased as he became a man, and he had companions and
friends, and every one who enjoyed access to him wished that
Taj-el-Mulook might be Sulan after the death of his father, and that he
might himself be one of his emeers.





Now Taj-el-Mulook became addicted to hunting, and would not desist from
it for a single hour. His father, the King, used to forbid him this
pursuit, fearing, on his account, the perils of the desert and the wild
beasts; but he would not receive his warnings. And it came to pass that
he said to his servants, Take with you provender for ten days. And they
complied with his order; and when he went forth with his followers to
the chase, they proceeded over the desert, and continued their course
for four days, until they came in sight of a verdant tract, where they
beheld wild beasts ranging at large, and trees with ripe fruit, and
springs gushing forth; so he said to his followers, Set here the nets,
and enlarge their circle, and our place of meeting shall be at the
extremity of the circle, at such a spot. They therefore obeyed his
commands: they set the nets, and enlarged their circle, and there
collected within them an abundance and a variety of wild beasts and
gazelles, in such numbers that the wild beasts cried out in fear of
them, and threw themselves in the faces of the horses in their attempts
to escape. So he urged the dogs and the lynxes and the
hawks at them; and they shot the wild beasts with arrows, striking them
in mortal places, and they arrived not at the further extremity of the
circle without having taken, of the wild beasts, a great number; the
rest having fled away. Taj-el-Mulook then alighted at some water, and,
having caused the game to be brought before him, divided it: he
appropriated to his father, Suleyman Shah, the best of the beasts, and
despatched the portion to him; and some he distributed among the
officers of his court.

They passed the night at that place; and in the morning there approached
them a great caravan, comprising black slaves and servants and
merchants. The caravan halted at the water and the verdant tract; and
when Taj-el-Mulook beheld them, he said to one of his companions, Bring
me an account of these people, and ask them wherefore they have halted
in this place. And when the messenger went to them, he said to them,
Inform us who ye are, and return an answer quickly. So they replied, We
are merchants, and have halted here for the sake of rest, for the next
station is distant from us; and we have halted in this place because we
here enjoy tranquillity under the protection of the King Suleyman Shah
and his son; for we know that every one who alighteth in his dominions
is in safety and peace; and we have some precious stuffs which we have
brought on account of his son Taj-el-Mulook. The messenger, therefore,
returned to the King's son, and acquainted him with the truth of the
matter, informing him of what he had heard from the merchants; and the
King's son said, If they have anything which they have brought on my
account, I will not enter the city nor remove from this place until I
cause it to be displayed before me. He then mounted his horse, and
proceeded, his memlooks following him, until he drew near to the
caravan; and the merchants rose to him, and greeted him with prayers for
the divine aid and favour, and the continuance of his glory and his
excellencies. A tent of red satin embroidered with pearls and jewels was
pitched for him, and they spread for him, over a carpet of silk, a royal
carpet, the upper end of which was adorned with emeralds: and
Taj-el-Mulook seated himself, and the memlooks stood waiting upon him;
and he sent to the merchants, commanding them to bring everything that
they had with them. So they approached him with their merchandise, and
he caused all of it to be displayed before him, and took of it what
suited him, and gave them the price.

After this, he mounted, and was about to depart; when, casting a glance
at the caravan, he saw a young man, a comely youth, attired in clean
clothes, of elegant person, with shining forehead and brilliant
countenance; but the charms of this youth had suffered a change, and
paleness had overspread him, in consequence of his separation from the
objects of his affection; great was his groaning and lamentation, and,
with tears flowing from his eyes, he recited these verses:--

  Our separation is protracted, and anxiety and fear are prolonged;
    and tears from my eye, O my friend, are flowing.
  I bade farewell to my heart on the day of parting, and now I am alone,
    without heart, and without hope.
  O my friend, pause with me while I bid her farewell by whose voice
    diseases and infirmities would be cured.

Having thus said, he wept a while, and fell down in a swoon, while
Taj-el-Mulook looked at him, wondering at his case; and when he
recovered, he stared with a bold look, and again recited some verses,
commencing thus:--

  Beware of her eye; for it is enchanting, and none escapeth upon
    whom it is cast.

He then uttered a loud sigh, and a second time swooned; and when
Taj-el-Mulook beheld him in this state, he was perplexed at his case,
and walked towards him; and as soon as he recovered from his fit, he saw
the King's son standing at his head; whereupon he rose upon his feet,
and kissed the ground before him; and Taj-el-Mulook said to him,
Wherefore hast thou not displayed thy merchandise to us?--O my lord, he
answered, my merchandise compriseth nothing suitable to thy highness.
But the King's son said, Thou must positively shew me what thou hast,
and acquaint me with thy circumstances; for I see thee with weeping eye
and mourning heart; and if thou be oppressed, we will put an end to the
oppression that thou sufferest; and if thou be in debt, we will
discharge thy debt; for my heart hath been tormented on thine account
since I first beheld thee.

Then Taj-el-Mulook gave orders to place a chair; and they set for him a
chair of ivory and ebony ornamented with reticulated work of gold and
silk, and they spread for him a silken carpet; and Taj-el-Mulook seated
himself upon the chair, and commanded the young man to sit upon the
carpet, and said to him, Display to me thy merchandise. The young man
replied, O my lord, mention it not unto me; for my merchandise is not
suitable to thee. But Taj-el-Mulook said to him, It must be done:--and
ordered some of his pages to bring it: so they brought it in spite of
him; and when the young man beheld it, his tears flowed, and he wept and
sighed and lamented, and groans rose from his throat. After again
repeating some verses, he opened his merchandise, and displayed it
before Taj-el-Mulook, portion by portion and piece by piece, and took
forth from among it a garment of satin interwoven with gold, worth two
thousand pieces of gold; and when he opened this, there fell from the
midst of it a piece of linen, and the young man, snatching it hastily,
put it beneath him, his reason wandering, and thus exclaimed.--

  When will the tortured heart be healed by thee? The constellation
    of the Pleiades is nearer to me than thou!

Taj-el-Mulook was struck with the utmost wonder at his words, not
knowing the cause of them; and when the young man took the piece of
linen, and put it beneath him, Taj-el-Mulook said to him, What is this
piece of linen? He answered, O my lord, thou hast no interest in this.
But the King's son said, Shew it to me.--O my lord, he replied, I
refrained not from exposing to thee my merchandise but on account of
this; for I cannot allow thee to see it. Taj-el-Mulook, however, said, I
must see it:--and he urged him, and was angry. The young man, therefore,
took it from beneath his knee, and wept and sighed and lamented
exceedingly: so Taj-el-Mulook said to him, I regard thy conduct as not
right: acquaint me then with the cause of thy weeping at beholding this
piece of linen. And when the young man heard the mention of the piece of
linen, he sighed, and said, O my lord, my story is wonderful, and my
case is strange with respect to this piece of linen and her to whom it
belonged, and her who designed these figures and emblems. He then
unfolded the piece of linen; and lo, in it was the figure of a gazelle
worked with silk, and embroidered with red gold, and facing it was the
figure of another gazelle worked with silver, and having upon its neck a
ring of red gold and three aabehs of chrysolite. When
Taj-el-Mulook beheld this, and observed the beauty of its execution, he
exclaimed, Extolled be the perfection of God, who hath taught man that
which he knew not! And his heart was engrossed with desire
to hear the story of this young man; so he said to him, Relate to me the
story of thyself and of her who was the owner of these gazelles. The
young man, therefore, replied,--


THE STORY OF 'AZEEZ AND 'AZEEZEH.

Know, O my lord, that my father was a great merchant, and he was blest
with no child but me. I had a cousin (the daughter of a paternal uncle)
with whom I was brought up in my father's house; for her father had
died, and before his death he had made an agreement with my father that
they should marry me to her: so, when I had attained to manhood, and she
to womanhood, they did not exclude her from me, nor me from her. My
father then spoke to my mother, and said to her, This year we will
perform the marriage-contract of 'Azeez and 'Azeezeh. And
having agreed with my mother to do this, he began to make ready the
provisions for the entertainments.

All this was done while I and my cousin were living together without the
slightest restraint, and ignorant of the circumstance; and she was more
intelligent and more knowing than I. And when my father had made the
preparations for the festivity, and nothing remained but the performance
of the contract, and my union to my cousin, my father proposed that they
should perform the contract after the Friday-prayers: so he repaired to
his friends, the merchants and others, and acquainted them with his
intention; and my mother went and invited her female friends and
relations. And when the Friday came, they washed the saloon which was
appropriated to the guests, and cleansed its marble pavement, and spread
the carpets in our house, and furnished it with everything that was
requisite, after they had decorated its walls with stuffs interwoven
with gold; the people having agreed to pay their compliments to our
family after the Friday-prayers. My father then went and caused
sweetmeats and dishes of sugar to be prepared; and there remained
nothing but the performance of the contract. My mother had sent me to
the bath, and sent after me a new suit of clothes of the richest
description; and on my coming out from the bath, I put on this handsome
suit, which was perfumed; and when I put it on, a delicious odour was
diffused from it, and left a fragrance in the way.



I desired now to repair to the mosque; but, remembering one of my
friends, I returned to search for him, that he might be present at the
ceremony of the contract, saying within myself, I will busy me with this
affair until the time of prayer draws near. I then entered a by-street
which I had never entered before. I was perspiring from the effect of
the bath and the new clothes which I wore, and the moisture dropped from
me while my perfumes diffused their odour; so I seated myself at the
upper end of the street to take rest upon a maabah, and spread beneath
me an embroidered handkerchief that I had with me. The heat became
oppressive to me, and my forehead perspired, and the drops ran down my
face, and I could not wipe the moisture from it with my handkerchief
because it was spread beneath me: I was therefore about to take the
skirt of my farajeeyeh to wipe with it my cheek, when suddenly a white
handkerchief fell upon me from above. This handkerchief was more
delicate to the feel than the zephyr, and the sight of it was more
pleasant than restoration to the diseased; and I took it in my hand,
and, raising my head to see whence it had fallen, my eye met the eye of
the female who owned these gazelles; and lo, she was looking out from a
lattice in a window of brass. My eye never beheld a person more lovely,
and altogether her charms were such as the tongue cannot describe; and
when she saw me looking at her, she put her finger in her mouth, and
then united her middle finger and her fore finger, and placed them upon
her bosom; after which, she drew in her head from the window, and shut
the lattice and withdrew. A fire had been darted into my heart, and the
flame increased; the sight drew from me a thousand sighs, and I was
perplexed; for I heard not anything from her, and understood not what
she meant by her signs. I looked again towards the window; but found it
closed: and I waited until sunset; but heard no sound, nor saw any
person; so, despairing of seeing her again, I rose from my place, and
took the handkerchief with me. I opened it, and the odour of musk was
diffused from it, and I was so exhilarated by the scent that I seemed as
if I were in paradise. I then spread it before me; whereupon there fell
from it a piece of delicate paper, and, opening this, I found it richly
perfumed with exquisite scents, and inscribed with these verses:--

  I sent a letter to complain to him of the pain of my passion,
    in a delicate handwriting (for handwritings are various);
  So my beloved said, Wherefore is thy writing thus delicate
    and minute, so as scarce to be discernible?
  I answered, Because I am wasted and attenuated: so, therefore,
    should the writing of lovers be.

After this, I cast a glance at the beauty of the handkerchief, and
beheld an amatory couplet worked upon one of its two borders,
and another, of a similar kind, on its other border.

When I saw these verses upon the handkerchief, a flame of fire shot into
my heart, and my desire and perplexity increased; and I took the
handkerchief and the paper, and went with them to the house, not knowing
any means of obtaining what I desired, and incapable of discovering how
to proceed properly in my love. I arrived not at the house until a
considerable portion of the night had elapsed, and beheld my cousin
sitting weeping; but when she saw me, she wiped away her tears, and
approached me, and took off from me my outer clothes, and asked me the
cause of my absence. She told me that all the people, the emeers and
grandees, and merchants and others, had assembled in our house, and the
aee and the witnesses had come, and they ate the repast, and remained
a considerable while sitting in expectation of my presence for the
purpose of performing the marriage-contract, and when they despaired of
my coming, they dispersed and went their ways.--Thy father, said she,
was violently enraged on account of this, and swore that he would not
perform our marriage-contract until next year; for he hath expended upon
this festivity a large sum of money. What, she added, hath happened unto
thee this day, that thou hast delayed thy return until now, and that
this hath happened on account of thine absence?

I answered her, Such and such things have happened to me:--and
mentioned to her the handkerchief, acquainting her with the affair from
first to last: and she took the paper and the handkerchief, and read
what was upon them, and her tears ran down upon her cheeks; and she
asked me, What did she say to thee, and of what did she make signs to
thee? I answered, She uttered not a word; but put her finger in her
mouth, and then united it with the middle finger, and placed both
fingers upon her bosom, and pointed to the ground: then she drew in her
head, and closed the lattice, and I saw her not afterwards. She carried
off my heart with her, and I sat until sunset in expectation of her
looking out from the lattice a second time; but she did it not; and when
I despaired of seeing her again, I rose from the place. This is my
story; and I beg of thee to aid me in the trouble in which I am
involved.--Upon this, she raised her head towards me, and said, O son of
my uncle, if thou requiredst mine eye, I would pull it out for thee from
my eyelids; and I must assist thee in the accomplishment of thy desire,
and assist her in like manner; for she is overwhelmed by love for thee,
as thou art by love for her.--And what, said I, is the interpretation of
the signs which she made?--Her putting her finger in her mouth, she
answered, indicateth that thou art in her estimation as her soul to her
body, and that she longeth for thy union with her; and as
to the handkerchief, it is a signal of the lover's salutation to the
beloved; and the paper denoteth that her soul is captivated by thee; and
as to her putting her two fingers upon her bosom, the meaning of it is
as though she said to thee, After two days come hither, that my
affliction may be dissipated by thy countenance. And know,
O son of my uncle, she continued, that she loveth thee and confideth in
thee. This is my interpretation of her signs; and if I had liberty to go
in and out at pleasure, I would effect thy union with her in the
shortest time, and protect you both with my skirt.--When I heard these
words from her, said the young man, I thanked her for what she had said,
and I said within myself, I will wait two days. I then remained two days
in the house, neither going out nor coming in, nor eating nor drinking.
I put my head in the lap of my cousin; and she cheered me by her
conversation, and said to me, Be resolute and of good heart, and dress
thyself, and repair to her at the time appointed. And she arose, and
changed my clothes, and perfumed me with incense.

I then braced up my nerves, and fortified my heart, and went forth, and
proceeded until I entered the by-street, and after I had sat a while
upon the maabah, lo, the lattice opened. I looked towards the damsel,
and when I saw her I fell down in a swoon: then recovering, I summoned
resolution, and took heart, and looked at her a second time; but again I
became insensible; and when I recovered, I saw with her a mirror and a
red handkerchief. Observing me now, she tucked up her sleeves from her
fore arms, and, opening her five fingers, struck her bosom with them
(with the palm and the five fingers): next she raised her hands, and
held forth the mirror from the lattice, and took the red handkerchief,
and retired with it; after which she returned, and let it down from the
lattice towards the street three times, letting it down and raising it,
and then wringing it and twisting it with her hand, and bending down her
head: she then drew it in through the lattice, and closed the lattice,
and departed, without speaking to me one word, but leaving me in
perplexity, not knowing to what she alluded. I remained sitting there
until the hour of nightfall, and went home near midnight.



I found my cousin with her hand placed to her cheek, and her eyelids
pouring forth tears; and upon this, my anxieties and griefs increased,
and I fell down in a corner of the chamber; but she sprang towards me,
and lifted me up, and, having taken off from me my outer clothes, wiped
my face with her sleeve, and asked me what had happened to me. I
related to her, therefore, all that had happened on the part of the
damsel: and she said to me, O son of my uncle, as to her sign with
her hand and five fingers, its interpretation is, Come hither after
five days:--and as to her sign with the mirror, and her putting
forth her head from the lattice [and her actions with the red
handkerchief], the meaning is, Seat thyself at the shop of
the dyer until my messenger shall come to thee.--When I heard her words,
fire burned in my heart, and I replied, By Allah, O daughter of my
uncle, thou sayest truly in this interpretation; for I saw in the
by-street a Jewish dyer. I then wept, and my cousin said, Be resolute,
and firm of heart; for others than thou are troubled with love for a
period of years, and contend with the fierceness of passion, while thou
hast but a week to endure: wherefore then should this impatience
overcome thee? And she proceeded to cheer me with her conversation, and
brought me food; and I took a morsel, and would have eaten it; but I
could not. I abstained from drink and food, and renounced the delights
of sleep, and my complexion became pallid, and my charms became changed;
for I had never known love before that, nor tasted the fervency of that
passion before; and I fell sick, and my cousin became sick on my
account. She occupied herself in relating to me the sufferings of
lovers, in order to enliven me, until I fell asleep; and I used to
awake, and find her sleepless on my account, with her tears flowing upon
her cheeks; and thus I remained until the five days had passed, when my
cousin arose, and heated some water for me, and bathed me with it, and
dressed me, and said to me, Repair to her, and may Allah accomplish thy
wish, and grant thee what thou desirest of thy beloved.

So I went, and walked on until I came to the upper end of the by-street,
and that day was Saturday; so I found the shop of the dyer shut: and I
sat there till the call to afternoon-prayers; and the sun became yellow,
and the call to evening-prayers was chanted; and night commenced, and I
saw no trace of her, nor heard a voice, nor received any message: I
therefore feared for myself, sitting alone; and I rose and walked away,
like one intoxicated, until I entered the house.

There, on going in, I beheld my cousin 'Azeezeh with one of her hands
holding a peg knocked into the wall, and her other hand upon her bosom;
and she was groaning, and reciting verses; but when she had finished her
recitation, she turned her eyes towards me, and beheld me; whereupon she
wiped away her tears and mine with her sleeve, and, smiling in my face,
said to me, O son of my uncle, Allah grant thee enjoyment of that which
He hath given thee! Wherefore hast thou not visited thy beloved this
night?--And when I heard her words, I kicked her with my foot upon her
bosom, and she fell down upon the raised floor, and there was a peg
there, and it wounded her forehead. On looking at her I saw that her
forehead was cut open, and her blood was flowing; yet she was silent,
and uttered not a single letter; but rose immediately, and burned some
tinder of rags, and, having closed with it the wound, tied a bandage
round her head, and wiped away the blood that had flowed upon the
carpet; and it was as though this accident had not occurred. She then
came to me, and, smiling in my face, said to me with a gentle voice, By
Allah, O son of my uncle, I said not this to make a jest of thee or of
her. I was troubled just now by the aching of my head, and with wiping
away the blood: but at the present moment the pain of my head is
alleviated, and that of my forehead: tell me therefore what hath
happened to thee this day.--So I related to her all that had befallen me
through the conduct of that damsel on this day; and after I had done so
I wept; but she said to me, Rejoice at the announcement of the success
of thy desire, and the accomplishment of thy hope. Verily this is a sign
of acceptance: for she absented herself from thee because she desireth
to try thee, and to know whether thou art patient or not, and whether
thou art sincere in thy love of her or not. To-morrow go to her, and
station thyself at thy first place, and see what sign she will make to
thee; for thy happiness is near, and thy sorrow is dissipated.--And she
proceeded to console me; but I ceased not to increase in anxiety and
grief. She then placed the food before me; but I kicked it with my foot,
and the contents of each saucer were scattered about; and I said, Every
one who is in love is insane, and inclineth not to food, nor findeth
pleasure in sleep.--By Allah, O son of my uncle, exclaimed my cousin
'Azeezeh, these are indeed symptoms of love! And her tears flowed, and
she gathered together the fragments of the saucers, and wiped up the
food that was spilt, and sat chatting to me, while I prayed to God that
He would hasten the morning.

And when the morning came, and diffused its light, I repaired to the
damsel, and entered hastily the by-street, where I seated myself upon
the maabah before mentioned; and lo, the window was opened, and she
put forth her head from it, laughing. She then retired, and returned
bringing a mirror, and a bag, and a pot filled with green plants, and
having also in her hand a lamp: and the first thing that she did was
this: she took the mirror in her hand, and put it into the bag: then she
tied it up and threw it back into the chamber. After this, she let down
her hair over her face, and put the lamp upon the top of the green
plants for a moment, and then took all these things and departed with
them, and closed the lattice. My heart was riven by her secret signs and
her obscure intimations, for she addressed me not with a single word,
and my passion grew more violent thereat, and my excitement and
distraction increased.

I retraced my steps with weeping eye and sorrowful heart until I entered
the house, where I saw my cousin sitting with her face to the wall: her
heart was burning with anxiety and grief and jealousy; but her affection
prevented her from acquainting me at all with the passion which she felt
on witnessing my excessive love and distraction. I then looked at her
again, and saw that she had, on her head, two bandages: one of them was
on account of the accident that had happened to her forehead, and the
other was upon her eye, on account of a pain that she suffered in
consequence of the violence of her weeping. She was in a most miserable
case, weeping, and reciting these verses:--

  Wherever thou be, mayst thou be in safety, O thou who departest,
    and yet dwellest in my heart!
  May God be near thee wherever thou goest, to deliver thee from
    vicissitudes and from misfortunes!
  Thou hast gone, and mine eye is cheerless through thine absence,
    and my tears are flowing--O how abundantly!

And when she had ended her recitation, she looked towards me and saw me
as she wept, and she wiped away her tears, and rose to me; but she could
not speak, from the excessive love with which she was affected, and she
remained for some time silent; after which, she said to me, O son of my
uncle, tell me what thou hast experienced from her on this occasion. And
I told her all that had happened to me; whereupon she said to me, Be
patient; for the time of thy union is come, and thou hast attained the
object of thy hopes. As to the sign that she made to thee with the
mirror, and her putting it into the bag, it is equivalent to her saying
to thee, Wait until the sun shall have set:--and as to her letting fall
her hair over her face, it implieth her saying to thee, When night
cometh, and letteth fall its black shade over the light of day, come
hither:--and the sign that she made to thee with the pot containing the
plants meant that she would say to thee, When thou comest, enter the
garden that is behind the by-street:--and the sign which she made to
thee with the lamp denoted her saying to thee, When thou enterest the
garden, to the place where thou findest the lighted lamp do thou repair,
and seat thyself beneath it, and there wait for me; for the love of thee
destroyeth me.--But when I heard these words of my cousin, I cried out
from the excess of my passion, and said, How many times dost thou
promise me, and I go to her and attain not my desire, nor find a true
meaning to thine interpretation? And upon this, my cousin laughed, and
replied, It remaineth for thee to have patience during the rest of this
day, until the daylight is gone, and the night cometh with its deep
darkness, and then shalt thou enjoy thy union and the accomplishment of
thy hopes; and these words are true, without any falsehood. She then
drew near to me, and comforted me with soft words, but dared not bring
me any food, fearing that I should be angry with her, and hoping that I
might incline to her with favour: she only came to me, and took off my
outer clothes: after which she said to me, O son of my uncle, sit with
me that I may converse with thee to amuse thee until the close of the
day, and, if it be the will of God, the night shall not come without thy
being in the company of thy beloved. But I took no notice of her,
waiting for the night, and saying, O Allah, hasten the coming of the
night! And when it arrived, my cousin wept violently, and gave me a
grain of pure musk, saying to me, O son of my uncle, put this grain in
thy mouth, and when thou hast met thy Beloved, and she hath accepted thy
suit, recite to her this verse:--

  O ye lovers, by Allah, inform me, how a youth should act when
    his love is intense.

She then kissed me, and desired me to swear that I would not recite this
verse until my departure from the damsel; and I replied, I hear and
obey.



I went forth at the hour of nightfall, and proceeded until I came to the
garden. I found its gate open, and entered, and beheld a light in the
distance; so I advanced towards it, and when I arrived at it, I found
there a large ma'ad, over which was constructed a dome of
ivory and ebony, and the lamp was suspended in the midst of the dome.
The ma'ad was furnished with silken carpets embroidered with gold and
silver; and there was a great lighted candle in a candlestick of gold
beneath the lamp: in the midst of the chamber was a fountain ornamented
with various designs: by the side of this fountain was a
table of viands covered with a silk napkin, near which was a large china
bottle full of wine, with a cup of crystal adorned with gilding; and by
the side of all these things was a great tray of silver, covered over. I
uncovered it, and beheld in it a variety of fruits, such as figs and
pomegranates and grapes and oranges and citrons of different kinds,
together with various flowers, as roses and jasmine and myrtle and
eglantine and narcissus, and all kinds of sweet scents. I was astonished
at this place, and affected with the utmost delight, and my anxiety and
grief were dissipated; but I found not in this abode any being of the
creatures of God (whose name be exalted!); not even a male or female
slave did I see, nor the person who thus neglected these things. I sat
in this chamber, waiting for the coming of the beloved of my heart,
until the first hour of the night had passed, and the second hour, and
the third; but she came not; and hunger began to torment me violently,
for a long time had elapsed without my eating food, through the excess
of my passion; but when I beheld this place, and my cousin's correct
understanding of the signs made by my beloved became manifest to me, I
felt at ease; yet I still experienced the torment of hunger, and the
savoury odours of the food upon the table had excited my desire on my
arrival there. Feeling secure, therefore, of the attainment of my
object, and longing to eat, I approached the table, and took off the
cover, and found in the midst of it a dish of china containing four
fricandoed fowls seasoned with spices, around which were four saucers;
one containing sweetmeats; and another, conserve of pomegranate-grains;
and a third, balaweh; the
contents of these saucers consisting both of sweet and acid. So I ate of
the aaif, and a piece of meat, and I put my hand to the balaweh and
ate of it as much as was agreeable, and then turned to the sweetmeat and
ate a spoonful, or two, or three, or four, and I ate a portion of a
fowl, and a morsel of another dish: and when I had done this, my stomach
was full, and my joints became loose, and I was too lazy to remain
awake; so I laid my head upon a cushion, after I had washed my hands,
and sleep overcame me, and I knew not what happened to me after this. I
awoke not until the sun scorched me (for some days had passed without my
having tasted sleep); and when I awoke, I found upon my stomach some
salt and charcoal; and I stood up and shook my clothes, and looked to
the right and left, but found no one: I discovered that I had been
sleeping upon the marble pavement without anything spread beneath me,
and I was perplexed in my mind, and mourned greatly; my tears ran down
upon my cheeks, and I lamented for myself.

I then returned to the house, and when I arrived there I found my cousin
striking her hand upon her bosom, and weeping with tears like raining
clouds; but when she beheld me she arose quickly, and wiped away her
tears, and, addressing me with her soft speech, said to me, O son of my
uncle, God hath been gracious to thee in thy passion, since the person
whom thou lovest loveth thee, while _I_ remain weeping and mourning for
the separation of thee who findest fault with me; but may God not
chastise thee on my account! She then smiled in my face with the smile
of one in anger, and caressed me, and took off my outer clothes, and
spread them out, and said, By Allah, these are not the odours of one who
hath enjoyed the company of his beloved! Tell me, then, what hath
happened to thee, O son of my uncle.--And I told her all that had
befallen me; whereupon she smiled a second time with the smile of one in
anger, and said, Verily, my heart is full and in pain! But may the
person who paineth thy heart cease to exist! This woman maketh herself
extravagantly difficult to thee. By Allah, O son of my uncle, I fear
what she may do to thee. Know that the meaning of the salt is, Thou art
drowned in sleep, and seemest insipid, so that the soul regardeth thee
with loathing, and thou requirest to be salted, that the stomach may not
eject thee: thou pretendest that thou art of the number of generous
lovers; but sleep, unto lovers, is forbidden; and thy pretension to love
is false.--Such, however, is her pretension: her love for thee is false,
for when she saw thee sleeping she did not rouse thee; and had her love
for thee been true she would have roused thee.--And as to the charcoal,
the meaning indicated by it is, May God blacken thy face,
since thou hast made false pretensions to love, when thou art only a
child, and hast no care but for eating and drinking and sleeping. This
is the interpretation of her sign; and may Allah (whose name be
exalted!) deliver thee from her.--Now when I heard what she said, I
struck my hand upon my breast, and exclaimed, By Allah, this is the
truth; for I slept; and lovers sleep not: so I have wronged mine own
self. What could have been more injurious to me than eating and
sleeping? And what is to be done?--I then wept exceedingly, and said to
my cousin, Direct me what to do, and have mercy upon me; so may God have
mercy upon thee; otherwise I shall die. My cousin, therefore, having a
very great love for me, replied, On my head and my eye! But, O son of my
uncle, I have told thee several times, that, if I had the privilege of
coming in and going out when I pleased, I would accomplish thy union
with her in the shortest time, and cover you both with my skirt; and
this I would not do but from the desire of obtaining thine approval. If
God permit, I will employ my utmost endeavours to bring you together;
but hear my words, and comply with my directions, and go to that same
place, and seat thyself there: when the hour of nightfall is come, seat
thyself in the place where thou wast, and beware of eating anything; for
eating induceth sleep: have a care then that thou sleep not; for she
will not come to thee until a quarter of the night hath passed: and may
God avert from thee her wickedness!--So, when I heard her words, I
rejoiced, and prayed God to hasten the night; and when night came, I
desired to depart; and my cousin said to me, When thou hast met her,
repeat to her the verse before mentioned, at the time of thy departure.
I replied, On the head and the eye.

And when I went forth and repaired to the garden, I found the place
prepared, in the same state in which I had seen it before; in it was
everything requisite, of food and drink and dried fruits and sweet
scents and other things; and I went up into the ma'ad, and, smelling
the odour of the food, I longed for it. I refrained from it several
times; but at length I could not withstand it: so I arose and went to
the table, and took off its cover, and found a dish of fowls, around
which were four saucers of food of four different kinds; and I ate of
each kind a morsel, and as much as was agreeable of the sweetmeat, and a
piece of meat, and drank some zardeh, and, finding it
pleasant to me, I drank again of it plentifully by the spoonful until I
was satiated and my stomach was full. And after this, my eyelids closed;
so I took a pillow and put it beneath my head, saying, Perhaps I may
recline upon it without sleeping. But I closed my eyes and slept, and
awoke not until the sun had risen, when I found upon my stomach a
play-bone and a ab-stick and a date-stone and a
locust-seed; and there was no furniture nor anything else in the place
and it seemed as if nothing had been there on the preceding night.

I rose, and shook off all these things from me, and went forth enraged,
and, arriving at the house, I found my cousin groaning; and I chid her
and abused her; whereupon she wept, and, having wiped away her tears,
approached and kissed me, and pressed me to her bosom; but I drew back
from her, blaming myself. She then said to me, O son of my uncle, it
seemeth that thou hast slept again this last night. I replied, Yes; and
when I awoke I found a play-bone laid upon my stomach, and a ab-stick
and a date-stone and a locust-seed; and I know not wherefore she did
this. Then I wept, and approached her, and said to her, Explain to me
the meaning of her doing this, and tell me how I shall act, and assist
me in my trouble. She replied, On the head and the eye. As to the
ab-stick , which she placed upon thy stomach, she
meaneth thereby, that thou camest there and thy heart was absent; as
though she would say to thee, Love is not thus; therefore reckon not
thyself among lovers. And as to the date-stone, she
indicated by it, that, if thou wert a lover, thy heart had been burning
with passion, and thou wouldst not taste the delight of sleep; for the
sweetness of love is like a date, which kindleth a fire in the
heart. And as to the locust-seed, she intimated to thee by
it, that the heart of the lover is fatigued; and she would say to thee
thereby, Endure our separation with the patience of Job.--When
I heard this interpretation, fire darted into my heart, and my grief
increased, and I cried out and exclaimed, God had decreed that I should
sleep, on account of my little fortune! I then said to her, O daughter
of my uncle, by my life I conjure thee to contrive for me some stratagem
by means of which I may obtain an interview with her. And I wept.--O
'Azeez, O son of my uncle, she replied, verily my heart is full of
thoughts, and I cannot talk; but go thou to-night to that place, and
beware of sleeping, and so shalt thou attain thy desire. This is my
counsel, and peace be on thee.--I said, If it please God, I will not
sleep; but I will do as thou chargest me. And my cousin arose, and
brought me food, saying to me, Eat now what will satisfy thee, that thou
mayest have no desire remaining. So I ate what satisfied me: and when
night came, my cousin arose, and brought me a superb suit of clothing,
and clad me with it, and conjured me to repeat to the damsel the verse
before mentioned, and cautioned me against sleeping.

I then departed from her, and, having repaired to the garden, went up
into the ma'ad; and I gazed at the garden, and kept opening my eyes
with my fingers, and shaking my head, as the night grew dark. But I
became hungry from watching, and the odours of the food were wafted
towards me, and my hunger in consequence increased: so I went to the
table, and removed its cover, and ate a morsel of every dish, and a
piece of meat, and I went to the bottle of wine, saying within myself, I
will drink a cup:--and I drank it, and then drank the second, and the
third, and so on to the number of ten; and being already stricken by
love, I fell upon the floor as one slain. Thus I remained until day
came, and I awoke, and found myself outside the garden, with a large
sharp knife upon my stomach, and an iron dirhem; and I
trembled with fear, and took them with me and returned to the house.



I found my cousin saying, I am in this house wretched and sorrowful,
with no relief but weeping. And as I entered, I fell down prostrate,
throwing the knife and dirhem from my hand, and fainted; and when I
recovered, I acquainted her with that which had befallen me, and said to
her, I shall not attain my desire. Her grief increased at witnessing my
weeping and my excessive passion, and she said to me, I have failed of
success in cautioning thee against sleeping; for thou wouldst not attend
to my advice: my words profit thee nothing. But I replied, I conjure
thee by Allah that thou explain to me the meaning of the knife and the
iron dirhem. So she said, As to the dirhem, she alluded by it to her
right eye, and intimated that she swore by it, and said,
By the Lord of all creatures, and by my right eye, if thou
come again and sleep I will assuredly slaughter thee with this knife!--I
fear for thee, therefore, O son of my uncle, from her malice; and my
heart is full of grief on thine account, and I cannot talk. If, then,
thou art confident in thyself that, if thou return to her, thou wilt not
sleep, return to her, and beware of sleeping, and so shalt thou attain
thy desire; but if thou know that, shouldst thou go to her again, thou
wilt sleep as usual, and so go to her and sleep, she will slaughter
thee.--What then, said I, is to be done, O daughter of my uncle? I
conjure thee by Allah to help me in this affliction.--She replied, On my
head and my eye: and if thou attend to my words and comply with my
directions thou wilt accomplish thy desire. I said, I will do so. And
she rejoined, When the time of departure cometh I will tell thee. She
then pressed me to her bosom, and laid me on the bed, and continued
gently kneading my limbs until slumber overcame me, and I sank into
sleep; and she took a fan, and, seating herself at my
head, fanned my face until the close of day, when she roused me; and on
my awaking, I found her at my head with the fan in her hand, and weeping
so that her tears had wetted her clothes. But when she saw me that I
had awoke, she wiped away her tears, and brought me some food. I
refrained from it; but she said to me, Did I not tell thee that thou
must attend to my directions? Eat, therefore.--So I ate, and would not
oppose her; and she proceeded to put the food into my mouth, while I
chewed it, until my stomach was full. She then gave me to drink some
infusion of jujubes with sugar, and washed my hands, and
dried them with a handkerchief, and sprinkled some rose-water upon me;
after which I sat with her, in healthy frame; and when the night became
dark, she put on me my clothes, and said, O son of my uncle, watch all
night, and sleep not; for she will not come to thee this night until
near its close; and, if it be the will of God, thou shalt meet her this
night; but forget not my charge. Then she wept, and my heart was pained
for her, on account of her excessive weeping; and I said to her, What is
the charge which thou gavest me? She answered, When thou departest from
her, repeat to her the verse before mentioned.

I then went forth from her full of joy, and proceeded to the garden, and
went up to the ma'ad, satiated with food. I remained sleepless a
quarter of the night, and the night seemed as long to me as though it
were a year; and I continued watching until two thirds of it had passed,
and the cocks crew, and I became violently hungry from watching: so I
went up to the table, and ate until I was satisfied; and my head became
heavy, and I desired to sleep; but suddenly I heard a noise in the
distance; whereupon I arose, and washed my hands and mouth, and roused
myself; and soon after, she came. She was accompanied by ten female
slaves, and she appeared among them like the full moon among the
planets: she was attired in a garment of green satin embroidered with
red gold; and when she saw me, she laughed, and said, How is it that
thou hast remained awake, and that sleep hath not overcome thee? Now
that thou hast passed the night sleepless I am convinced that thou art a
lover; for among the characteristics of lovers is the watching by night
in the resolute endurance of desire.--She then turned towards her female
slaves, and made a sign to them; whereupon they departed from her; and
she approached me, and pressed me to her bosom, and kissed me, and we
conversed together until the morning, when I desired to depart; but she
held me, and said to me, Stop, that I may acquaint thee with something,
and give thee a charge.--So I stopped; and she unfolded a handkerchief,
and, taking forth from it this piece of linen, spread it open before
me; and I found in it the design of the gazelles, as thou seest, and I
admired it exceedingly, and took it; after which I made a promise to her
that I would pay her a visit every night in that garden, and departed
from her, full of joy; but in my joy I forgot the verse which my cousin
had charged me to repeat. And when she gave me the piece of linen
containing the design of the gazelles, she said to me, This is the work
of my sister.--And what, said I, is the name of thy sister? She
answered, Her name is Noor-el-Huda: and do thou take care
of this piece of linen.



After this, when I had taken leave of her and departed, full of joy, I
returned and went in to my cousin, and found her lying down, and when
she saw me she rose, her tears dropping, and approached me, and, kissing
my bosom, said, Hast thou recited the verse as I charged thee? I
answered, I forgot it; and nothing drove it from my mind but the design
of these gazelles. And I threw down the piece of linen before her. She
arose, and then seated herself again, and, in her impatience, shed
tears, and said, O son of my uncle, make a present to me of this piece
of linen. So I gave it her, and she took it and spread it open, and saw
what was in it. And when the time of my departure came, she said, Go,
and may safety attend thee; but when thou retirest from her, recite to
her the verse that I taught thee before, and which thou didst
forget.--Repeat it to me, said I. And she did so.

I then repaired to the garden, and entered the ma'ad. I found the
damsel waiting for me, and when she beheld me she arose and kissed me
and seated me, and we ate and drank, and in the morning I repeated to
her the verse, which was this:--

  O ye lovers, by Allah, inform me, how a youth should act when
    his love is intense.

And when she heard it, her eyes filled with tears, and thus she
replied:--

  He should hide his love, and conceal his secret, and be patient
    under every event, and submissive.

I committed this to memory, and, glad at having done what my cousin
desired, went forth and returned to her. I found her lying down, with my
mother, at her head, weeping for her unhappy state; and when I went in
to her, my mother said to me, Perdition to such a cousin as thou! How
canst thou leave the daughter of thine uncle indisposed and not inquire
respecting her disease?--But my cousin, on beholding me, raised her
head, and sat up, and said to me, O 'Azeez, hast thou repeated to her
the verse that I taught thee? I answered, Yes: and when she heard it,
she wept, and recited to me another verse, which I retain in my
memory.--Let me hear it, said my cousin. And when I had repeated it to
her she wept violently, and recited this other verse:--

  He hath sought to attain a becoming patience; but found nought
    save a heart pining with desire.

She then said to me, When thou goest to her as usual, repeat to her this
verse which thou hast heard. I replied, I hear and obey.

So I went to the garden according to my custom, and when I was about to
return, I recited to the damsel that verse; and when she heard it, tears
poured from her eyes, and she replied,--

  Then, if he have not patience to conceal his secret, I know nothing
    better for him than death.

Retaining this in my memory, I returned to the house; and when I went in
to my cousin, I found her fallen down in a fit, and my mother sitting at
her head; and when my cousin heard my voice, she opened her eyes, and
said, O 'Azeez, hast thou repeated to her the verse? I answered, Yes:
and when she heard it, she wept, and recited to me this other verse. And
I repeated it to her; and as soon as she heard it she fainted again,
and, on her recovering, recited another verse, which was this:--

  We hear and obey, and we die; then convey my salutation to the person
    who hath prevented our union.

At the approach of the following night I went again to the garden as
usual, and found the damsel expecting me; and we ate and drank; and in
the morning, when I was about to depart, I repeated to her what my
cousin had said; whereupon she uttered a loud cry, and was agitated, and
exclaimed, By Allah, she who uttered this verse hath died! She then
wept, and said to me, Wo to thee! Is not she who uttered this verse
related to thee?--I answered, She is the daughter of my paternal
uncle.--Thou liest, replied she: by Allah, if she were the daughter of
thy uncle thou hadst borne her the same love that she bore thee. Thou
art he who hath destroyed her, and may God destroy thee in like manner!
By Allah, if thou hadst told me of thy having a cousin, I had not
admitted thee into my favour.--Verily, said I, she is my cousin, and she
explained to me the signs that thou madest me, and it was she who taught
me how to proceed with thee: I had not obtained access to thee but
through her good management.--And did she know of our affair? said she.
I answered, Yes.--May Allah, she exclaimed, cause thee to bewail thy
youth, as thou hast caused her to bewail hers! She then said to me, Go
and see her.



I departed, therefore, troubled in mind, and proceeded until I came to
our street, when I heard a wailing, and, asking respecting it, was
answered, We found 'Azeezeh lying behind the door, dead. I entered the
house, and when my mother beheld me, she exclaimed, The crime of
destroying her is on thy neck, and may God not pardon thee her blood!
Perdition to such a cousin as thou!--My father then came, and we
prepared her body for interment, and performed the funeral-ceremonies,
and buried her; and we caused recitations of the whole of the ur-an to
be performed at her tomb, and remained there three days, after which I
returned to the house, sorrowing for her. And my mother addressed me,
and said, I desire to know what thou didst to her, so that thou brokest
her heart. I asked her continually, O my son, respecting the cause of
her disorder; but she would not acquaint me with it. I conjure thee,
therefore, by Allah, that thou inform me what thou didst unto her, to
cause her death.--I replied, I did nothing. But she said, May God avenge
her upon thee! for she mentioned to me nothing, but concealed the truth
of her case until she died, still preserving her affection for thee; and
when she died I was with her, and she opened her eyes, and said to me, O
wife of my uncle, may God hold thy son guiltless of my blood, and not
punish him for that which he hath done unto me; and now God transporteth
me from the perishable world to the world of eternity. And I replied, O
my daughter, may God preserve thee, and preserve thy youth! And I asked
her respecting the cause of her disorder: but she answered not. Then she
smiled, and said, O wife of my uncle, if thy son desire to go to the
place which he is accustomed to frequent, tell him to repeat these two
phrases on departing from it:--Fidelity is good, and treachery is
base:--and this I desire in my compassion for him, that I may shew him
compassion in my life and after my death. She then gave me something for
thee, and took an oath of me that I would not give it to thee until I
should see thee weeping for her and lamenting: this thing I have, and
when I see thee in the state that she hath described I will give it to
thee.--I said to her, Shew it me. But she would not.

I then gave myself up to my pleasures, and thought not of the death of
my cousin; for I was unsettled in mind, and wished that I were passing
the whole of every night and day with my beloved; and scarcely had the
next night approached when I repaired again to the garden. I found the
damsel sitting there, burning with impatience to see me; and as soon as
she beheld me, she hastened to me and clung to my neck, and asked me
respecting my cousin. I answered her, She is dead, and we have performed
zikrs and recitations of the ur-an for her, and four
nights have passed since her death, and this is the fifth. When she
heard this, she cried out and wept, and said, Did I not tell thee that
thou hadst killed her? Hadst thou informed me of her, before her death,
I had requited her for the kindness that she hath shewn me; for she hath
been of service to me in giving thee access to me: had it not been for
her, I should not have had an interview with thee, and I fear thou wilt
fall into a calamity on account of her disaster.--I replied, She
acquitted me before her death. And I related to her what my mother had
told me; upon which she exclaimed, By Allah, I conjure thee, when thou
goest to thy mother, learn what it is that she hath.--My mother, said I,
told me, Thy cousin, before she died, charged me saying, If thy son
desire to go to the place which he is accustomed to frequent, tell him
to repeat these two phrases:--Fidelity is good, and treachery is
base.--And when the damsel heard this, she exclaimed, The mercy of God
(whose name be exalted!) be upon her, for she hath saved thee from me: I
was meditating an injury to thee; but now I will not hurt thee nor
trouble thee. And I wondered at this, and said to her, What didst thou
purpose before this to do to me, after mutual love had taken place
between us? She answered, Thou art devoted to me; but thou art young,
and thy mind is free from deceit, and thou knowest not our malice nor
our deceit: were she still in the bonds of life, she would assist thee;
for she is the cause of thy safety, and hath delivered thee from
destruction: and now I charge thee that thou speak not with any female,
nor answer any of our sex, young or old. Beware, beware; for thou art
ignorant of the deceit of women, and their malice: she who used to
interpret the signs to thee is dead; and I fear for thee lest thou fall
into a calamity and find none to deliver thee from it after the death of
thy cousin. O my sorrow for the daughter of thy uncle! Would that I had
known her before her death, that I might have requited her for the
kindness that she hath done me! The mercy of God (whose name be
exalted!) be upon her, for she concealed her secret, and revealed not
what she felt; and but for her, thou wouldst never have had access to
me. And now I have a service to demand of thee.--What is it? said I. She
answered, That thou conduct me to her tomb, that I may visit her at her
grave, and inscribe some verses upon it. I replied, To-morrow, if it be
the will of God, whose name be exalted!--So I remained with her that
night, and frequently she said to me, Would that thou hadst told me of
thy cousin before her death! And I asked her, What is the meaning of
these words which she said--Fidelity is good, and treachery is base? But
she answered me not.



In the morning, therefore, she arose, and, taking a purse containing
some pieces of gold, said to me, Arise, and shew me the tomb, that I may
visit it, and write upon it some verses, and build over it a cupola, and
pray for mercy upon her, and bestow these pieces of gold in alms for her
soul. I replied, I hear and obey. And I walked before her, and she
followed me, and employed herself in giving alms on the way as she went,
and every time that she did so she said, This is an alms for the soul of
'Azeezeh, who concealed her secret until she drank the cup of death, and
revealed not her love. Thus she continued to give of the contents of
the purse, and to say, For the soul of 'Azeezeh,--until we arrived at
the tomb, and the contents of the purse were exhausted; and when she
beheld the tomb, she threw herself upon it, and wept violently. She then
took forth a pointed instrument of steel, and a small mallet, and
engraved upon the stone at the head of the tomb, in small characters,
these verses:--

  I passed by an undistinguished tomb in the midst of a garden,
    with seven anemones upon it;
  And I said, Whose tomb is this? The soil answered, Be respectful,
    for this is the resting-place of a lover.
  So I said, God keep thee, O victim of love, and lodge thee
    in the highest stage of Paradise!
  How miserable are lovers among the creation, when even their tombs
    are covered with vile dust!
  Were I able , I would make of thee a garden, and water it
    with my streaming tears!

She then again wept violently, and arose, and I arose with her; and
after we had returned to the garden, she said to me, I conjure thee by
Allah that thou never forsake me. And I replied, I hear and obey. So I
resumed my visits to her as before, and she treated me with kindness and
honour, and used to ask me respecting the two phrases which my cousin
'Azeezeh had mentioned to my mother, and I repeated them to her. Thus I
remained, eating and drinking, and enjoying her conversation, and
attiring myself in changes of delicate clothing, until I became stout
and fat, and I experienced neither anxiety nor grief nor sorrow, and
forgot my cousin.

I continued drowned in these pleasures for a whole year; and at the
commencement of the new year, I entered the bath, and refreshed myself,
and put on a handsome suit; and after I had gone forth from the bath, I
drank a cup of wine, and smelt the odours of my clothes, which were
richly perfumed with various scents. My heart was unoppressed by
calamities or misfortunes; and when the hour of nightfall came, I
desired to repair to the damsel; but I was intoxicated, and knew not my
way; and, in going to her, intoxication led me aside into a by-street
called the street of the Naeeb: and as I was proceeding
along it, lo, an old woman came, with a lighted candle in one of her
hands, and in her other hand a folded letter. I advanced towards her,
and she, with weeping eye, said to me, O my son, art thou able to read?
I answered her, Yes, my old aunt. And she said, Take this letter, and
read it to me. And she handed me the letter; so I took it from her and
opened it, and read to her its contents, informing her that it was a
letter from the absent, with salutations to the beloved. And when she
heard this, she rejoiced at the good news, and ejaculated a prayer for
me, saying, May God dispel thine anxiety as thou hast dispelled mine!
She then took the letter, and proceeded a few steps; but presently she
returned to me, and, kissing my hand, said, O my lord, may God (whose
name be exalted!) give thee enjoyment of thy youth, and not disgrace
thee. I beg that thou wilt walk with me a few paces, to that door; for I
have told them what thou hast read to me of the letter, and they do not
believe me: come with me, therefore, two steps, and read to them the
letter outside the door, and accept my prayer for thee.--And what, said
I, is the history of this letter? She answered, O my son, this letter
hath come from my son, who hath been absent from us for the space of ten
years; for he journeyed with merchandise, and hath remained abroad
during that period, and we relinquished all hope of his return, thinking
that he was dead: then came to us this letter from him; and he hath a
sister who hath wept for him during his absence night and day; and I
told her that he was in health and prosperity; but she believed me not,
and said to me, Thou must bring me a person to read this letter and to
acquaint me with its contents, that my heart may be set at ease and my
mind comforted.--Thou knowest, O my son, that the loving is prepossessed
with evil anticipations: favour me, therefore, by reading this letter
while thou shalt stand outside the curtain, and his sister shall hear it
within the door, that the recompense of him who accomplisheth a want for
a Muslim, and dispelleth from his mind a trouble, may be thine: for the
Apostle of God (may God bless and save him!) hath said, Whoso dispelleth
from the mind of a sorrowful person one of the troubles of this world,
God will dispel from his mind one of the troubles of the world to
come:--and in another tradition, Whoso dispelleth from the mind of his
brother one of the troubles of this world, God will dispel from his mind
seventy-two of the troubles of the day of resurrection:--and now I have
desired thee, do not disappoint me.--So I replied, I hear and obey:
proceed before me.

She therefore walked before me, and I followed her a little way, until
she arrived at a great door overlaid with copper; and she stopped at
this door, and called out in Persian, and immediately a damsel
approached, with light and nimble step. Her trousers were tucked up to
her knees, and I beheld a pair of legs that confounded the mind and the
eye by their beauty: they were like two columns of alabaster, and
ornamented with anklets of gold set with jewels. The skirts of her outer
clothes were tucked up under her arms, and her sleeves were turned up
from her arms, and I looked at her white wrists, and upon them were two
pairs of bracelets: in her ears were two ear-rings of pearls; and upon
her neck was a necklace of costly jewels; and on her head, a
koofeeyeh, quite new, adorned with precious gems. She had
tucked the skirt of her inner tunic within the band of her trousers, and
appeared as though she had been employed in some active work. And when
she beheld me, she said, with an eloquent and sweet tongue that I had
never heard surpassed in sweetness, O my mother, is this he who hath
come to read the letter? She answered, Yes. And the damsel stretched
forth her hand to me with the letter. There was, between her and the
door, a distance of about half a rod; and I extended my
hand to take the letter from her, and put my head and shoulders within
the door to draw near to her; but before I knew what she was about to
do, the old woman placed her head against my back, and pushed me
forward, while my hand was holding the letter, and I looked around, and
found myself in the midst of the house; that is, within the vestibule.
The old woman entered more quickly than the blinding lightning, and had
nothing to do but to shut the door: and when the damsel beheld me within
the vestibule, she approached me, and pressed me to her bosom, and,
taking me by the hand, unable to extricate myself from her grasp, led
me, preceded by the old woman with the lighted candle, until she had
passed through seven vestibules; after which she conducted me into a
large saloon, with four leewans, in which a horseman might
play at goff. She then seated me, and said to me, Open
thine eye. And I did so, giddy from the violence that I had experienced,
and saw that the whole construction of the saloon was of the most
beautiful alabaster, and all its furniture, including the cushions and
mattresses, of brocade. In it were also two benches of brass, and a
couch of red gold set with pearls and jewels, not suitable to any but a
King like thee.



After this, she said to me, O 'Azeez, which of the two states is the
more agreeable to thee, life or death? I answered her, Life. And she
said, Then if life is more agreeable to thee, marry me.--I dislike,
I replied, marrying such a person as thou. She rejoined, if thou
marry me, thou wilt be secure from the daughter of the crafty
Deleeleh.--And who, said I, is the daughter of the crafty
Deleeleh? She laughed, and answered, How is it that thou knowest her
not, when thou hast now been in her company a year and four months? May
Allah (whose name be exalted!) destroy her. Verily there existeth not
any one more treacherous than she. How many persons hath she killed
before thee, and what deeds hath she done! And how hast thou escaped
from her, without her killing or troubling thee, when thou hast been in
her company all this time?--When I heard her words I wondered extremely,
and said to her, O my mistress, who acquainted thee with her? She
answered, I know her as the age knoweth its calamities; but I desire
that thou inform me of all that thou hast experienced from her, that I
may know the cause of thy safety from her. So I related to her all that
had happened to me with her and with my cousin 'Azeezeh; and she
exclaimed, Allah have mercy upon her!--and her eyes shed tears, and she
struck her hands together, when she heard of the death of my cousin
'Azeezeh, and said, May Allah compensate thee abundantly for the loss of
her, O 'Azeez; for she hath been the cause of thy safety from the
daughter of the crafty Deleeleh; and had it not been for her, thou hadst
perished. After this, she clapped her hands, and said, O
my mother, bring in those who are with thee. And lo, the old woman
approached with four lawful witnesses; and she lighted four candles; and
when the witnesses entered, they saluted me, and seated themselves; and
the damsel covered herself with an izar, and appointed one of the
witnesses to be her deputy in making her contract. So they performed the
marriage-contract, and she affirmed of herself that she had received the
whole of the dowry, both the portion usually paid in advance and the
arrears, and that she was indebted to me in the sum of ten thousand
pieces of silver; after which she gave to the witnesses their fees, and
they departed.

On the following day, I desired to go out; but she approached me
laughing, and said, Dost thou think that going out from the bath is like
entering it? I imagine thou thinkest me to be like the
daughter of the crafty Deleeleh. Beware of entertaining such an idea.
Thou art no other than my husband, according to the ur-an and the
Sunneh; and if thou hast been intoxicated, return to thy reason. Verily
this house in which thou art is not opened but on one day in every year.
Go to the street-door and look.--So I went and looked, and found it
closed and nailed, and returned and told her so; and she said to me, O
'Azeez, we have of flour and grain and fruits and pomegranates and sugar
and meat and sheep and fowls and other provisions what will suffice us
for many years, and from this last night our door will not be opened
until after a year and I know that thou wilt not behold thyself outside
this house until after a year hath expired. Upon this I exclaimed, There
is no strength nor power but in God! And she laughed, and I laughed
also, and complied with her orders, and remained with her until the
twelve months of the year had expired, when I was blest with a son by
her. And on the first day of the following year, I heard the opening of
the door, and lo, men came in with kaaks and flour and
sugar; and I desired to go out; but she said to me, Wait until
nightfall, and as thou camest in, so go forth. I therefore waited until
that hour, and was on the point of going out, in fear and trembling,
when she said to me, By Allah, I will not let thee go until I have made
thee swear to me that thou wilt return this night before the door is
closed. So I promised her to do it; and she made me swear by binding
oaths upon the sword and the ur-an, and by the oath of divorce, that I
would return to her.

I then went forth from her, and repaired to the garden. I found it open
as usual, and was angry, saying within myself, I have been absent from
this place a whole year, and, coming unawares, have found it open as
usual. I wonder if the damsel be still there as heretofore, and I must
enter and see before I go to my mother.--It was then nightfall, and I
entered the garden, and, proceeding to the ma'ad, found the daughter of
the crafty Deleeleh sitting with her head upon her knee and her hand
upon her cheek. Her complexion was changed, and her eyes were sunk, and
when she beheld me she exclaimed, Praise be to God for thy safety!--and
she endeavoured to rise, but fell down through her joy. I was ashamed at
seeing her, and hung down my head; but presently I advanced to her and
kissed her, and said to her, How didst thou know that I was coming to
thee at this time? She answered, I knew it not. By Allah, for a year I
have not tasted sleep; but have sat up every night expecting thee, and
in this state have I been from the day when thou wentest forth from me
and I gave thee the new suit of clothing and thou promisedst me that
thou wouldst return to me. I remained expecting thee, and thou camest
not the first night, nor the second, nor the third: so I still waited in
expectation of thy coming; for such is the way of the lover: and I would
now that thou tell me what hath been the cause of thine absence from me
this year. I therefore told her; and when she knew that I had married,
her countenance became pale. I then said to her, I have come to thee
this night, but must go before the morning. But she exclaimed, Is it not
enough for her to have married thee, and to have employed this stratagem
against thee, and imprisoned thee with her a whole year, that she hath
made thee swear by the oath of divorce that thou wilt return to her
before the morning, and will not allow thee to divert thyself with thy
mother nor with me, and cannot endure thy passing one night with either
of us? What then must be the state of her from whom thou hast been
absent a whole year, though I knew thee before she did! But may Allah
have mercy on 'Azeezeh; for she suffered what none other hath suffered,
and endured with patience that of which none else hath endured the like,
and died through thy oppression. It was she who protected thee from me.
I thought that thou wouldst return, and gave thee liberty, though I was
able to imprison thee, and to destroy thee.



Having thus said, she wept, and became enraged, and looked at me with
the eye of anger; and when I beheld her in this state, the muscles of my
side quivered, and I feared her, and became as the bean upon the fire.
She then cried out, and suddenly ten female slaves came to me, and threw
me upon the floor; and when I fell under their hands, she arose, and,
taking a knife, said, I will slaughter thee as goats are slaughtered,
and this shall be thy least recompense for that which thou hast done
unto thy cousin. When I beheld myself, therefore, beneath her female
slaves, and my cheek was soiled with the dust, and I saw the knife in
her hand, I looked upon death as inevitable. I implored her mercy; but
she only increased in hardness, and ordered the female slaves to bind my
hands behind me; and they did so, and, throwing me upon my back, seated
themselves upon my body, and held my head. Then two of them arose and
took hold of my toes, and two others seated themselves upon my legs;
after which, their mistress arose, with two others of them, and she
ordered them to beat me; whereupon they beat me until I fainted, and my
voice became inaudible; and when I recovered, I said within myself,
Verily my being slaughtered were easier to me than this beating! I
bethought myself of the words of my cousin, when she said, May God avert
from thee her wickedness!--and I cried out and wept until my voice
failed. She then sharpened the knife, and said to the female slaves,
Uncover his throat. But God inspired me to repeat the two phrases which
my cousin had charged me to utter, namely, Fidelity is good, and
treachery is base;--and when she heard this, she cried out and said,
Allah have mercy upon thee, O 'Azeezeh! Would that thy youth had been
spared! Thou hast profited thy cousin during thy life and after thy
death!--Then addressing me, she added, By Allah, thou hast saved thy
life from me by means of these two phrases; but I must cause thee to
bear a mark of my resentment.--So saying, she inflicted upon me a cruel
wound, and I fainted; but when I recovered, the blood had stopped, and
she gave me to drink a cup of wine, and spurned me with her foot.

I rose; but was unable at first to walk: presently, however, I proceeded
by little and little until I arrived at the door of my wife's house. I
found it open, and threw myself within it, in a state of distraction;
and my wife came and took me up and conveyed me to the saloon, where I
fell into a deep sleep; but when I awoke, I found myself laid at the
gate of the garden.

In anguish I rose, and went to my home, and, entering the house, found
my mother weeping for me, and exclaiming, Would that I knew, O my son,
in what land thou art! So I approached her, and threw myself upon her,
and when she beheld me, she saw that I was unwell. Yellowness and
blackness were mingled upon my face; and I remembered my cousin, and the
kindness she had shewn me, and was convinced that she loved me. I wept
for her, and my mother also wept, and then said to me, O my son, thy
father is dead. And upon this, my rage increased, and I wept until I
became insensible; and when I recovered, I looked towards the place
where my cousin was accustomed to sit, and wept again till I fainted
from the violence of my lamentation. I ceased not to weep and wail until
midnight, when my mother said to me, Thy father hath been dead ten days.
But I replied, I think of no one but my cousin; for I deserve what hath
happened to me, because I neglected her when she loved me. She asked me,
therefore, And what hath happened to thee? So I related to her that
which had befallen me; to which she replied, Praise be to God that this
happened to thee and that she did not slaughter thee! She then applied
remedies to my wound until I recovered, and regained my usual strength;
and she said to me, O my son, I will now produce to thee the deposite
with which thy cousin intrusted me; for it is thine, and she made me
swear that I would not produce it to thee until I saw that thou
rememberedst her and mournedst for her, and that thine affections for
another were severed; and now I hope that I find in thee these
dispositions. She therefore arose, and, opening a chest, took forth from
it this piece of linen containing the design of the gazelles, which I
had originally given to her; and when I took it, I found written upon it
some verses complaining of her unrequited love for me, and there fell
from it a paper containing some words of consolation and
counsel.

As soon as I had read and understood this paper, I wept again, and my
mother did the same, and I continued looking at it and weeping until the
approach of night; and in this state I remained for the space of a year;
after which, some merchants of my city, the same whom I am accompanying
in this caravan, prepared for a journey; and my mother suggested to me
that I should fit myself out and go with them, saying to me, Perhaps the
journey will dispel this sorrow which thou sufferest, and thou wilt be
absent a year, or two years, or three, until the caravan returneth, and
thy heart may become dilated. Thus she continued to persuade me, so that
I prepared some merchandise, and journeyed with them; but my tears have
not dried up during my travels; for at every station where we halt I
spread this piece of linen before me, and look at this design, and think
of my cousin, and weep for her as thou seest, since she loved me
excessively, and died through my unkindness; I doing nothing but evil to
her, while she did nothing to me but what was good. When the merchants
return from their journey, I shall return with them, and the period of
my absence will be a complete year; but I still suffer increasing
sorrow; and my sorrow hath been only augmented in consequence of my
passing by the Islands of Camphor and the Castle of Crystal.

These Islands are seven in number, and the sovereign of them is a King
named Shah-Zeman.
and it was told me that it was she who worked the designs of the
gazelles, and that this design which is in my possession was one of her
work; and when I knew this, I became excessively desirous of seeing her:
so, when the caravan entered her country, I went forth and wandered
about the gardens, which contained a profusion of trees. The
superintendent of the gardens was a sheykh advanced in age; and I said
to him, O sheykh, to whom doth this garden belong? He answered, To the
King's daughter, the lady Dunya, and we are beneath her palace; and if
thou desire to amuse thyself, open the private door, and take a view of
the garden and smell the odours of the flowers. So I said to him, Have
the kindness to allow me to sit in this garden until she passeth by,
that I may enjoy a glance at her. The sheykh replied, There will be no
harm in thy doing so. When he said this, therefore, I gave him some
money, saying to him, Buy for us something to eat. And he rejoiced at
receiving the money, and, opening the door, conducted me within; and we
proceeded until we came to a pleasant spot, where he brought me some
delicate fruits, and said to me, Sit here while I go and return to thee.
And he left me and departed, and, after he had been absent a while,
returned bringing a roasted lamb; and we ate until we were satisfied, my
heart longing to behold the lady, and while we were sitting, lo, the
door opened; whereupon he said to me, Rise, and conceal thyself. So I
rose, and hid myself; and a black eunuch put forth his head from the
door, and said, O sheykh, is any one with thee? He answered, No.--Then
close the door, said the eunuch. The sheykh, therefore, closed the door
of the garden; and lo, the lady Dunya came forth. When I beheld her, I
thought that the moon had descended upon the earth; my mind was
confounded, and I desired her as the thirsty longeth for water; and
after a while, she closed the door and departed. I then went forth from
the garden, and repaired to my lodging, knowing that I could not obtain
access to her; and when my companions prepared for departure, I also
prepared myself, and travelled with them towards thy city; and on our
arrival here, we met with thee.--This is my story, and this is what hath
happened unto me; and peace be on thee.




CONTINUATION OF THE STORY OF TAJ-EL-MULOOK AND THE LADY DUNYA.

When Taj-el-Mulook heard this story, his heart became troubled with love
for the lady Dunya. He then mounted his horse, and, taking with him
'Azeez, returned to his father's city, where he assigned to him a house,
and furnished it with everything that he required; after which he left
him, and repaired to his palace. His tears ran down upon his cheeks (for
hearing affecteth as sight and union), and in this state he remained
until his father came in to him, and, finding that his colour was
changed, knew that he was oppressed by anxiety and grief: so he said to
him, O my son, acquaint me with thy case, and tell me what hath happened
to thee to change thy colour. He therefore related to him all that he
had heard of the story of Dunya, and how he had fallen in love with her
from hearsay, without having seen her; whereupon his father said to him,
O my son, her father is a King, and his country is distant from us:
abandon, therefore, this idea, and enter the palace of thy mother; for
in it are five hundred female slaves like so many moons, and whoever of
them pleaseth thee do thou take her; or, if none of them please thee, we
will demand in marriage for thee one of the daughters of the Kings, more
beautiful than the lady Dunya. But he replied, O my father, I desire not
any but her: it was she who worked the design of the gazelles that I
saw, and I must have her, or I will flee into the deserts, and kill
myself on her account.

So his father said, Have patience with me, O my son, that I may send to
her father and demand her of him in marriage, and accomplish for thee
thy wish, like as I did for myself in the case of thy mother; and if he
consent not, I will convulse his kingdom around him, and send against
him an army of which the rear shall be with me when the van is with him.
He then called for the young man 'Azeez, and said to him, O my son,
knowest thou the way? He answered, Yes.--Then I desire of thee, said the
King, that thou journey with my Wezeer. And 'Azeez replied, I hear and
obey, O King of the age. The King, therefore, summoned his Wezeer, and
said to him, Manage for me the affair of my son according to thy
knowledge, and repair to the Islands of Camphor, and demand in marriage
the daughter of their King. He replied, I hear and obey. And
Taj-el-Mulook returned to his apartments, and his malady and impatience
increased: he fell down in a swoon, and recovered not until the morning;
and when the morning arrived, his father came to him, and saw his
complexion more changed, and his sallowness increased; and he exhorted
him to patience, and promised him the accomplishment of his union.

The King then equipped 'Azeez, with his Wezeer, and supplied them with
the presents; and they journeyed days and nights until they beheld the
Islands of Camphor, when they halted on the bank of a river, and the
Wezeer sent forward a messenger from his party to the King, to acquaint
him with their approach; and half a day after the departure of the
messenger, suddenly they saw that the chamberlains of the King, and his
emeers, had advanced to meet them from the distance of a league; and
they met him, and attended them until they went in with them to the
King. They placed before the King the presents, and remained in his
palace four days; and on the fifth day the Wezeer arose and went in to
the King, and, standing before him, delivered to him his message, and
acquainted him with the cause of his coming; but the King was perplexed
how to answer, for his daughter liked not marriage; and he hung down his
head for a while towards the floor; and after this he raised it, and,
looking towards one of the eunuchs, said to him, Go to thy mistress
Dunya, and acquaint her with what thou hast heard, and with the purpose
of the visit of this Wezeer. So the eunuch went, and, after a short
absence, returned to the King, and said to him, O King of the age, when
I went in to the lady Dunya, and acquainted her with what I had heard,
she was violently enraged, and rose against me with a stick, and would
have broken my head; wherefore I fled from her; and she said to me, If
my father force me to marry, him whom I marry I will kill. Her father,
therefore, said to the Wezeer and 'Azeez, Salute ye the King, and inform
him of this, and that my daughter liketh not marriage. Accordingly the
Wezeer returned with his attendants unsuccessful, and they continued
their journey until they went in unto the King, and acquainted him with
what had happened; and upon this he ordered the chiefs to call together
the troops that they might march to war; but the Wezeer said to him, Do
not this; for the King is not in fault: the refusal is on the part of
his daughter, who, when she knew of this proposal, sent to say, If my
father force me to marry, I will kill him whom I marry, and kill myself
after him.

And when the King heard the words of the Wezeer, he feared for his son
Taj-el-Mulook, and said, If I make war upon her father, and obtain
possession of his daughter, she will kill herself. He then acquainted
his son Taj-el-Mulook with the truth of the case; and when the prince
heard it, he said to his father, O my father, I cannot exist without
her: I will therefore go to her, and seek means of obtaining an
interview with her, though I die in the attempt: and I will do nothing
but this. His father said, How wilt thou go to her? He answered, I will
go in the disguise of a merchant.--Then if it must be so, rejoined the
King, take with thee the Wezeer and 'Azeez. He then took forth for him
some money from his treasuries, and prepared for him merchandise at the
price of a hundred thousand pieces of gold, and they both agreed as to
this course; and when night came, Taj-el-Mulook and 'Azeez went to the
abode of the latter, and there passed that night. But the heart of
Taj-el-Mulook was captivated, and neither eating nor rest pleased him:
reflections overwhelmed him, and he was drowned in them; and, longing
for his beloved, he poured forth his tears, and wept violently; and
'Azeez wept with him, reflecting upon his cousin; and they both
continued thus until the morning, when Taj-el-Mulook arose and went in
to his mother. He was equipped for the journey; and she asked him
respecting his state: so he acquainted her with the whole truth; and she
gave him fifty thousand pieces of gold, and bade him farewell, and he
went forth from her, while she offered up prayers for his safety, and
for his union with the object of his love. He then went in to his
father, and asked his permission to depart; and the King granted him
permission, and gave him fifty thousand pieces of gold, and ordered that
a tent should be pitched for him outside the city.



A large tent was therefore pitched for him; and after they had remained
in it two days, they commenced their journey; and Taj-el-Mulook treated
'Azeez with familiar kindness, and said to him, O my brother, I cannot
henceforth part with thee.--And I, replied 'Azeez, am of the like mind,
and desire to die at thy feet; but, O my brother, my heart is troubled
with thoughts of my mother. So Taj-el-Mulook said, When we shall have
attained our wish, all will be well. Now the Wezeer had charged
Taj-el-Mulook to display an air of patience, and 'Azeez occupied himself
with reciting to him verses, and narrating to him histories and tales;
and they continued on their way by night and day for the space of two
months. The length of the journey became wearisome to Taj-el-Mulook; and
the violence of his desire, and his passion and distraction, increased:
so when they drew near to the city, he rejoiced excessively, and his
anxiety and grief ceased.

They entered it in the garb of merchants, the King's son being also clad
in the same manner, and, coming to a place known as the abode of
merchants, which was a large Khan, Taj-el-Mulook said to 'Azeez, Is this
the abode of the merchants? 'Azeez answered, Yes: it is not, however,
the Khan in which I lodged with the caravan that I accompanied; but it
is better than that. So they made their camels lie down, and unloaded,
and, having deposited their goods in the magazines, remained there to
take rest four days. The Wezeer then suggested to them that they should
hire for themselves a large house; to which they assented; and they
hired a spacious house, fitted for festivities. There they took up their
abode; and the Wezeer and 'Azeez studied to devise some stratagem for
the sake of Taj-el-Mulook, who was perplexed, not knowing what to do.
The Wezeer could contrive no other plan than that of his opening for
himself a shop to carry on the trade of a merchant in the market of fine
stuffs: he therefore addressed Taj-el-Mulook and 'Azeez, and said to
them, Know that if we remain in this state we shall not attain our wish;
and a thing hath occurred to my mind which probably may be advisable, if
it be the will of God. So they replied, Do what seemeth fit to thee; for
a blessing attendeth the aged, and especially in thy case, since thou
hast devoted thyself to the management of affairs: therefore give us the
advice which hath suggested itself to thy mind. And he said to
Taj-el-Mulook, It is my opinion that we should hire for thee a shop in
the market of fine stuffs, and that thou shouldst sit in it to sell and
buy; for every person of the higher ranks and of the people in general
standeth in need of such stuffs, and if thou sit in that shop thy affair
will be arranged, if it be the will of God (whose name be exalted!),
especially because of thy comely person; but make 'Azeez thy trusty
attendant, and seat him in the shop to hand to thee the stuffs. And when
Taj-el-Mulook heard these words, he said, This is a judicious
opinion;--and immediately he took forth a suit of merchant's attire,
and clad himself in it, and arose and went forth, followed by his young
men, and gave to one of them a thousand pieces of gold to fit up the
shop.

They proceeded until they arrived at the market of fine stuffs, and when
the merchants saw Taj-el-Mulook, and observed his handsome and comely
person, they were confounded, and began to say, Hath Riwan
opened the gates of Paradise and neglected them, so that this youth of
surprising beauty hath come forth?--and one said, This is probably one
of the angels. And when they went in among the merchants, they inquired
for the shop of the Sheykh of the market. The merchants, therefore,
guided them thither, and they went to him; and as they approached him,
he and the merchants who were with him rose to them, and received them
with honour, especially the excellent Wezeer; for they saw him to be an
aged and venerable man; and observing that he was accompanied by
Taj-el-Mulook and 'Azeez, they said, No doubt this sheykh is the father
of these two young men. The Wezeer then said to them, Who among you is
the Sheykh of the market? They answered, This is he. And the Wezeer,
looking at him and observing him, saw that he was an old man of grave
and respectable aspect, and possessing servants and young men. The
Sheykh of the market greeted them with friendly compliments, and treated
them with great honour, and, having seated them by his side, said to
them, Have ye any business which we may have the happiness of
transacting? The Wezeer answered, Yes: I am an old man, advanced in age,
and I have these two young men: I have travelled with them through all
regions and countries, and have not entered a town without remaining in
it a whole year, that they might amuse themselves with the sight of it
and become acquainted with its inhabitants; and now I have come to this
your town, and have chosen to make a stay in it: I therefore desire of
thee one of the best shops, that I may seat them in it to traffic, and
that they may amuse themselves with the sight of this city, and acquire
the manners of its people, and obtain an experience in buying and
selling and other commercial transactions.

So the Sheykh of the market replied, There will be no harm in doing
so:--and, looking at the two young men, he was delighted with them, and
he arose and stood like a servant before them to wait upon them. And
afterwards he went and prepared for them the shop: it was in the midst
of the market, and there was none larger than it, nor any more handsome
there; for it was spacious and decorated, and contained shelves of
ivory and ebony. He then delivered the keys to the Wezeer (who was also
in the garb of a merchant), and said, God grant that it may be attended
with blessings to thy two sons! And when the Wezeer had
taken the keys of the shop, he went to it, together with the servants,
who deposited in it their goods; and they ordered the servants to remove
thither all the merchandise and stuffs and rarities that they had. These
things were worth treasuries of wealth; and they transported the whole
of them to the shop. They then passed the night, and in the morning the
Wezeer conducted the two young men to the bath, where they washed and
enjoyed themselves to the utmost, after which they returned to their
abode to rest from the fatigue of bathing, and ate and drank; and they
passed the next night in their abode in the most perfect joy and
happiness. And on the following morning they rose from their sleep, and,
having performed the ablution, recited the divinely-ordained prayers,
and drank their morning-beverage; and when daylight came,
and the shops and markets were opened, they went forth from their abode,
and repaired to the market, and opened the shop. The servants had
prepared it for them in the handsomest manner, and spread it with
carpets of silk, and placed in it two mattresses, each of which was
worth a hundred pieces of gold; and upon each mattress they spread a
skin such as Kings sit upon, surrounded with an edge of gold: so
Taj-el-Mulook seated himself upon one mattress, and 'Azeez upon the
other, and the Wezeer sat in the midst of the shop, while the servants
stood before them. The people heard of them, and crowded about them, and
they sold of their merchandise; and the fame of Taj-el-Mulook was spread
through the city, and the report of his handsomeness and comeliness was
blazed throughout it. They continued this life for several days, the
people pressing to them; after which the Wezeer addressed Taj-el-Mulook,
and enjoined him to conceal his case, and, having charged 'Azeez to keep
watch over him, repaired to the house to plan some mode of proceeding
that might be of advantage to them. Meanwhile, Taj-el-Mulook and 'Azeez
sat conversing together; and the former said, Perhaps some one may come
from the lady Dunya.



Thus Taj-el-Mulook passed his time days and nights, and slept not;
desire overpowered him, and he became more and more emaciated and
infirm, renouncing the delight of sleep, and abstaining from drink and
food; but still he was like the full moon: and as he was sitting one
day, lo, an old woman approached and advanced towards him, followed by
two female slaves, and she continued to draw near until she stopped at
his shop. Beholding his graceful person, and his handsome and lovely
aspect, she wondered at his beauty, and said, Extolled be the perfection
of Him who created thee! Extolled be the perfection of Him who hath made
thee a temptation to all creatures!--She ceased not to gaze at him, and
said, This is not a mortal: this is no other than a noble
angel! Then drawing close to him, she saluted him, and he
returned her salutation, and rose to her, standing upon his
feet, and smiled in her face. All this he did at the
hinting of 'Azeez; after which he seated her by his side, and occupied
himself with fanning her until she had rested herself; when she said to
him, O my son! O thou of perfect qualities and graces! art thou of this
country?--Taj-el-Mulook answered her, with an eloquent and sweet and
charming voice, By Allah, O my mistress, in my life I never entered this
country until now; and I have not taken up my abode in it but for the
sake of amusement. And she wished him honour, and welcomed him, and
said, What stuffs hast thou brought with thee? Show me something
beautiful; for the beautiful bringeth not anything but what is
beautiful.--And when Taj-el-Mulook heard her words his heart
palpitated; but he understood not their meaning: so 'Azeez made a sign
to him; and Taj-el-Mulook said to her, I have everything that thou
desirest of stuffs suitable only to Kings and the daughters of Kings.
For whom, then, wouldst thou purchase, that I may display to thee what
will be appropriate?--He desired by this question to learn the meaning
of her words; and she answered, I want some stuff suitable to the lady
Dunya, the daughter of King Shah-Zeman. On hearing the mention of his
beloved, Taj-el-Mulook rejoiced exceedingly, and said to 'Azeez, Bring
me the most magnificent of the goods that are by thee. And 'Azeez gave
him a wrapper, and untied it before her, and Taj-el-Mulook said to her,
Choose what will suit her; for this is such as is not found with any but
me. So the old woman chose some stuff that was worth a thousand pieces
of gold; and said, What is the price of this?--What! said he, shall I
bargain with a person like thee respecting this contemptible thing?
Praise be to God who hath made me acquainted with thee.--And the old
woman exclaimed, I invoke, for thy comely face, the protection of the
Lord of the Daybreak! for verily thy face is comely, and
so are thine actions. Joy be to her who possesseth thee, and especially
if she be endowed with beauty like thee!--Upon this, Taj-el-Mulook
laughed until he fell backwards, and said , O
Accomplisher of desires by the means of wicked old women!
And she said to him, O my son, what is thy name? He answered, My name is
Taj-el-Mulook.--This, she replied, is one of the names of Kings; but
thou art in the garb of the merchants. So 'Azeez said, From the
affection of his family for him, and the high estimation in which they
held him, they gave him this name. And the old woman replied, Thou hast
spoken truth. May God avert from you the evil of the envious, though
hearts be broken by your charms!

She then took the stuff, and departed, confounded by his handsomeness
and loveliness and elegant form; and she proceeded until she went in to
the lady Dunya, when she said to her, O my mistress, I have brought thee
some beautiful stuff.--Shew it me, said the lady. And she replied, O my
mistress, here it is: turn it over, and behold it. And when the lady
Dunya saw it, she said to her, O my nurse, verily this is beautiful
stuff; I have not seen such in our city!--O my mistress, replied the old
woman, the seller of it surpasseth it in beauty. It seemeth as though
Riwan had opened the gates of Paradise and neglected them, and so the
merchant who selleth this stuff had come forth from it. I wish he were
with thee; for he is a temptation to every one who beholdeth him. He
hath come to our city with these stuffs for the sake of amusement.--At
these words of the old woman the lady Dunya laughed, and said, Allah
afflict thee, thou ill-omened old woman! Thou hast spoken nonsense, and
art become insane.--She then added, Give me the stuff that I may examine
it closely. So the old woman handed it to her, and she looked at it
again, and saw that it was but little, and that its price was great; and
she wondered at its beauty; for she had never in her life seen anything
like it. The old woman then said to her, O my mistress, if thou didst
behold its owner, thou wouldst know that he is the handsomest person on
the face of the earth. And the lady Dunya said to her, Didst thou ask
him if he had any want to be performed, that he might acquaint us with
it, and thou mightest accomplish it for him? The old woman, shaking her
head, replied, Allah preserve thy sagacity! By Allah, he hath a want.
And is any person without one?--Go to him, then, said the lady Dunya,
and salute him, and say to him, I have been honoured by thine arrival in
our city, and whatever want thou hast, we will perform it for thee on
the head and the eye.

The old woman, therefore, returned immediately to Taj-el-Mulook, and
when he saw her, his heart leaped with joy, and he rose to her, standing
upon his feet, and, taking her hand, seated her by his side. So when she
had sat and rested herself, she informed him of that which the lady
Dunya had said. On hearing this, he was filled with the utmost joy; his
bosom expanded, and he said within himself, I have accomplished my wish!
He then said to the old woman, Perhaps thou wilt convey to her a letter
from me, and bring me back the answer. She replied, I hear and obey. And
when he heard her reply, he said to 'Azeez, Give me an inkhorn and
paper, and a pen of brass. And 'Azeez having given him these things, he
wrote the following verses:--

  I write to thee a letter, O object of my petition, expressive
    of the torment that I suffer from separation;
  And first, I make known to thee the ardour of my heart; and secondly,
    my desire and eager longing;
  And thirdly, the expiring of my life and patience; and fourthly,
    that all the violence of my love remaineth;
  And fifthly, I ask, When shall I behold thee? and sixthly,
    When shall be the day of our union?

He then added beneath, This letter is from the captive of desire,
incarcerated in the prison of longing expectation, to whom there can be
no liberation but by enjoying an interview, even were it with the
phantom of the object of his hope; for he is enduring a painful torment
from the separation of his beloved.--Then his tears flowed, and he wrote
these two verses:--

  I write unto thee with my tears flowing, and the drops from
    my eyes descending incessantly;
  But I am not despairing of the favour of my Lord: perhaps
    some day our union may take place.

He then folded the letter, and sealed it, and gave it to the old woman,
saying, Convey it to the lady Dunya. She replied, I hear and obey. And
he gave her a thousand pieces of gold, and said, Receive this as a
present from me. So the old woman took it and departed, praying for him.

She stopped not until she went in to the lady Dunya, who, when she
beheld her, said to her, O my nurse, what hath he demanded that we
should do for him?--O my mistress, she answered, he hath sent with me a
letter, and I know not its contents. And she handed the letter to her.
So the lady Dunya took it and read it, and understood its meaning, and
exclaimed, Whence is he, and to what doth he aspire, that this merchant
openeth a correspondence with me? Then slapping her face, she said, Were
it not for my fear of God (whose name be exalted!) I would crucify him
upon his shop. So the old woman said to her, What is in this letter,
that it hath disturbed thy heart? Doth it contain a complaint of
oppression, or a demand for the price of the stuff?--Wo to thee! she
answered: it containeth not that, nor anything but love and affection;
and all this is through thee. Or, if not, how should this devil presume
to employ these words?--O my mistress, replied the old woman, thou art
residing in thy lofty palace, and no one can obtain access to thee; not
even the flying bird. Allah preserve thee from blame and censure! Thou
hast nothing to fear from the barking of dogs. Be not angry with me for
my bringing thee this letter when I knew not its contents: but it is my
opinion that thou shouldst return him an answer, and threaten him in it
with slaughter, and forbid him from employing these vain words; for he
will abstain, and not do so again.--The lady Dunya said, I fear to write
to him, lest he covet me more. But the old woman replied, When he
heareth the threatening, and promise of punishment, he will desist from
his present conduct. So she said, Bring me an inkhorn and paper, and a
pen of brass. And when they had brought them to her, she wrote these
verses:--

  O pretender to love and affliction and sleeplessness, and feelings
    of rapturous passion, and anxiety!
  Dost thou seek for a meeting, O deceived, from a moon? Doth any
    attain from a moon his wish?
  I advise thine abstaining from thy desire: forbear then; for thou
    art exposed to peril.
  If thou again make use of these words, I will visit thee with
    a punishment of the utmost severity.
  By Him who created mankind of clotted blood,
    and who gave light to the sun and the moon!
  If thou repeat the proposal thou hast made, I will assuredly crucify
    thee on the trunk of a tree.



She then folded up the letter, and gave it to the old woman, saying to
her, Deliver it to him, and say to him, Abstain from these words. And
she replied, I hear and obey.

She took the letter, full of joy, and went with it to her
house, where she passed the night; and in the morning she repaired to
the shop of Taj-el-Mulook, whom she found expecting her. As soon as he
beheld her, he almost flew with joy, and when she drew near to him he
rose to her, standing upon his feet, and seated her by his side; and she
took forth the letter, and handed it to him, saying, Read its contents.
She then said to him, The lady Dunya, when she read thy letter, was
enraged; but I coaxed her and jested with her until I made her laugh,
and she was moved with pity for thee, and returned thee an answer. So
Taj-el-Mulook thanked her for this, and, having ordered 'Azeez to give
her a thousand pieces of gold, read the letter, and understood it; and
he wept violently, so that the heart of the old woman was moved with
compassion for him, and his weeping and complaining grieved her. She
said to him, O my son, and what is in this paper, that it hath made
thee weep? He answered, She threateneth me with slaughter and
crucifixion, and forbiddeth my writing to her; but if I write not to
her, my death will be preferable to my life; therefore take a reply to
her letter, and let her do what she will.--By thy youth, replied the old
woman, I must risk my life for thee, and enable thee to attain thy
desire, and accomplish for thee that which is in thy heart. And
Taj-el-Mulook said, Whatsoever thou dost I will requite thee for it; and
it shall be determined by thee; for thou art experienced in the
management of affairs, and skilled in the modes of intrigue, and
everything that is difficult becometh easy to thee; and God is able to
accomplish all things. So he took a paper, and wrote in it these
verses:--

  She threatened me with slaughter. O my bereavement! Slaughter
    would be ease to me, and death is decreed.
  Death is better than life prolonged to the love-smitten who is
    debarred from enjoyment and treated with oppression.
  By Allah, visit a helpless lover; for I am your slave, and the slave
    is in captivity.
  O my mistress, have mercy on me for my passion; for every one who
    loveth the virtuous is excusable.

Having done this, he sighed heavily, and wept until the old woman wept
with him; after which she took the letter from him, and said to him, Be
happy and cheerful; for I must accomplish for thee thy wish.

She then arose, and left him as though he were upon the fire, and
repaired to the lady Dunya, whom she found with a countenance changed by
her anger in consequence of the former epistle of Taj-el-Mulook; and she
handed her the second letter; whereupon her rage increased, and she said
to the old woman, Did I not tell thee that he would covet us more?--And
what is this dog, said the old woman, that he should aspire to thee? The
lady Dunya replied, Go to him, and say to him, If thou write to her
again she will strike off thy head. But the old woman said, Do thou
write this to him in a letter, and I will take it with me, that his fear
may be the greater. So she took a paper, and wrote in it the following
verses:--

  O thou who art heedless of the course of misfortunes, and who canst not
    accomplish thy desired union!
  Dost thou think, O deceived, to attain to Es-Suha, when
    thou canst not reach to the shining moon?
  How then dost thou venture to hope for our union, and to hold in thine
    embrace my javelin-like form?
  Quit, therefore, this project, in fear of my assault on a day
    of adversity when hair shall become gray.

Having folded this letter, she handed it to the old woman, who took it
and repaired with it to Taj-el-Mulook. At the sight of her he rose, and
said, May God never deprive me of the blessing of thy coming! And the
old woman replied, Receive the answer to thy letter. So he took the
paper and read it, and wept violently, and said, I desire now some one
to kill me; for slaughter would be easier to me than this my present
state of suffering. He then took an inkhorn and a pen and paper, and
wrote a letter expressed in these two verses:--

  O my hope, persist not in abandonment and cruelty; but visit
    a lover drowned in desire.
  Think not that I can survive this oppression; for my soul
    departeth at the loss of my beloved.

And he folded the letter, and gave it to the old woman, saying to her, I
have wearied thee to no purpose. And again he ordered 'Azeez to give her
a thousand pieces of gold, and said to her, O my mother, this paper must
be followed by complete union or complete separation.--O my son, she
replied, by Allah, I desire for thee nothing but good fortune: and I
wish she may be with thee; for thou art the shining moon, and she is the
rising sun; and if I do not bring you together, no profit will remain to
me in my life. I have passed my life in the practice of artifice and
deceit, until I have attained the age of ninety years; and how then
should I fail of uniting two persons in opposition to all law?

Then, having bidden him farewell, and soothed his mind, she departed,
and proceeded without stopping to the lady Dunya; but she had hidden the
paper in her hair; and when she sat down with her mistress, she
scratched her head, and said, O my mistress, perhaps thou wilt untwist
my hair; for it is a long time since I have entered the bath. So the
lady Dunya made bare her arms to the elbows, and untwisted the old
woman's hair; whereupon the paper fell from her head; and the lady
Dunya, seeing it, said, What is this paper? The old woman answered, It
seemeth that, when I was sitting at the shop of the merchant, this paper
caught to me: give it me, therefore, that I may return it to him. But
the lady Dunya opened it and read it, and understood its contents, and
exclaimed, This is a trick of thine, and were it not for the fact of thy
having reared me, I would lay violent hands upon thee this moment. God
hath afflicted me by this merchant, and all that I have experienced from
him hath been through thy means. I know not from what country this man
hath come. No one but he could ever use such boldness towards me. I
fear that this affair which hath happened to me may be discovered, and
especially since it relateth to a man who is neither of my family nor of
my equals.--The old woman then addressed her, and said, No one can utter
a word on this subject, through fear of thy power, and of the dignity of
thy father: and there will be no harm in thy returning him an answer.--O
my nurse, replied the lady Dunya, this is a devil. How hath he dared to
use these words, and feared not the power of the Sulan? I am perplexed
respecting his case; for if I give orders to kill him, it will not be
right: and if I leave him, he will increase in his boldness.--Write to
him a letter, rejoined the old woman; and perhaps he will be restrained.
She therefore demanded a paper and an inkhorn and a pen, and wrote to
him the following verses:--



  Though repeatedly rebuked, still gross ignorance inciteth thee.
    How oft shall my hand write verses to forbid thee?
  Thou increasest in eagerness after each prohibition; but I will
    only permit thee to conceal thy secret.
  Conceal then thy love, and never more utter it; for if thou utter it,
    I will not regard thee.
  If thou repeat what thou hast said, the raven of separation will
    announce thy fate:
  In a little time will death overtake thee, and thy resting-place
    be beneath the earth:
  Thou shalt leave thy family, O deceived, in sorrow, when the swords
    of love have prevented thine escape.

Having then folded the paper, she gave it to the old woman, who took it,
and went with it to Taj-el-Mulook, and gave it to him; and when he had
read it, and was convinced that she was hard-hearted, and that he could
not obtain access to her, he complained of his case to the Wezeer, and
desired his prudent counsel. The Wezeer replied, Know that there
remaineth for thee nothing that can be of avail, except thy writing to
her another letter, and invoking retribution upon her. So he said, O my
brother, O 'Azeez, write in my stead, according to thy knowledge. And
'Azeez took the paper, and wrote these verses:--

  O my Lord, by the Five Elders, deliver me; and to her
    who hath afflicted me transfer my anguish!
  For Thou knowest that I am suffering a tormenting flame, and my beloved
    hath oppressed me, and will not pity me.
  How long shall I feel tenderly to her in my affliction! And how long
    shall she tyrannize over my weakness!
  I wander in agonies never ending, and find not a person, O my Lord,
    to assist me.

'Azeez then folded the letter, and handed it to Taj-el-Mulook; and when
he had read it, it pleased him, and he gave it to the old woman.

So she took it, and repaired with it to the lady Dunya, who, as soon as
she had read it, and understood its contents, fell into a violent rage,
and exclaimed, All that hath befallen me hath been through the means of
this ill-omened old woman! And she called out to the female slaves and
eunuchs, and said, Seize this artful old woman, and beat her with your
slippers.--So they fell to beating her with their slippers until she
fainted; and when she recovered, the lady Dunya said to her, O wicked
old woman, were it not for my fear of God (whose name be exalted!) I had
killed thee. She then said to her attendants, Beat her again. And they
beat her again until she fainted; after which she ordered them to throw
her outside the door; and they dragged her along upon her face and threw
her down before the door.



When she recovered, therefore, she rose, and, walking and resting now
and then, arrived at her abode. She waited until the morning, and then
rose and proceeded to Taj-el-Mulook, whom she acquainted with all that
had befallen her; and it vexed him, and he said to her, We are grieved,
O my mother, for that which hath happened to thee: but everything is in
accordance with fate and destiny. She replied, Be happy and cheerful;
for I will not cease my endeavours until I procure thee an interview
with her, and obtain for thee access to this vile woman who hath
tortured me with beating. Taj-el-Mulook then said to her, Acquaint me
with the cause of her hatred of men. She replied, It is in consequence
of her having had a dream.--And what was that dream? he asked. She
answered, She was sleeping one night, and saw a fowler who set his snare
upon the ground, and sprinkled around it some wheat, and then seated
himself near it; and there was not a single bird near it but it came to
that snare. And she saw, among the birds, two pigeons, a male and a
female; and while she was looking at the snare, the foot of the male
bird became entangled in it, and he began to struggle; whereupon all the
other birds flew away from him in alarm; but his mate returned to him,
and flew around over him, and then, alighting upon the snare, while the
fowler was inadvertent, began to peck at the mesh in which was the foot
of the male, and pulled it with her beak, until she liberated his foot;
and she flew away with him. Then, after this, the fowler came and
readjusted the snare, and seated himself at a distance from it; and but
a little while had elapsed when the birds descended, and the snare
caught the female pigeon; upon which all the other birds flew away in
alarm, and among them the male pigeon, who returned not to his mate: so
the fowler came and took the female bird, and killed her. And the lady
Dunya awoke terrified by her dream, and said, Every male is like this,
destitute of good; and men universally are devoid of goodness to
women.--And when the old woman had finished her story to Taj-el-Mulook,
he said to her, O my mother, I wish to obtain one glance at her, though
my death be the consequence: contrive, therefore, some stratagem for me,
that I may see her.--Know, then, said she, that she hath a garden
adjacent to her palace, for her diversion, and she goeth out into it
once in every month, from the private door, and remaineth in it ten
days. The time of her thus going forth to divert herself hath now
arrived, and when she is about to do so I will come to thee and inform
thee, that thou mayest go thither and meet her; and do thou take care
not to quit the garden: for probably, if she behold thy handsome and
comely aspect, her heart will be captivated by love of thee; since love
is the most powerful means of effecting union.

He replied, I hear and obey:--and he arose, and quitted the shop with
'Azeez, and they both, taking with them the old woman, repaired to their
abode, and acquainted her with it; after which, Taj-el-Mulook said to
'Azeez, O my brother, I have no further want of the shop; for I have
accomplished the purpose for which I took it; and I give it to thee,
with all that it containeth, because thou hast come abroad with me, and
absented thyself from thy country. And 'Azeez accepted his present, and
they sat conversing together; Taj-el-Mulook asking him respecting his
strange adventures, and 'Azeez relating what had happened to him. Then,
addressing the Wezeer, they acquainted him with the purpose of
Taj-el-Mulook, and asked him, What is to be done? He answered, Let us go
to the garden. So each of them clad himself in the richest of his
apparel, and they went forth, followed by three memlooks, and repaired
to the garden. They beheld it abounding with trees, and with many
rivulets, and saw the superintendent sitting at the gate. They saluted
him, therefore, and he returned their salutation, and the Wezeer handed
to him a hundred pieces of gold, saying to him, I beg thee to receive
this money, and to buy for us something to eat; for we are strangers,
and I have with me these children whom I wish to divert. So the gardener
took the pieces of gold, and replied, Enter, and divert yourselves; for
the whole of it is your property: and sit down until I return to you
with something for you to eat. He then went to the market, and the
Wezeer and Taj-el-Mulook and 'Azeez entered the garden after the
gardener had departed to the market; and soon the latter returned,
bringing a roasted lamb, which he placed before them. And they ate, and
washed their hands, and sat conversing together; and the Wezeer said,
Inform me respecting this garden: doth it belong to thee, or dost thou
rent it? The sheykh replied, It is not mine, but belongeth to the King's
daughter, the lady Dunya.--And what, said the Wezeer, is thy monthly
salary? He answered, One piece of gold, and no more. And the Wezeer,
taking a view of the garden, beheld there a lofty but old pavilion; and
he said, O sheykh, I desire to perform here a good work by which thou
wilt be reminded of me.--And what good thing dost thou desire to do?
asked the sheykh. The Wezeer said, Take these three hundred pieces of
gold. And when the superintendent heard the mention of the gold, he
replied, O my master, do whatsoever thou wilt. So he took the pieces of
gold; and the Wezeer said to him, If it be the will of God (whose name
be exalted!), we will execute in this place a good work.

They then went forth from him, and returned to their abode, and passed
the next night; and on the morrow, the Wezeer caused a whitewasher to be
brought, and a painter, and an excellent goldsmith; and, having provided
them with all the implements that they required, introduced them into
the garden, and ordered them to whitewash that pavilion and to decorate
it with various kinds of paintings. After which he gave orders to bring
the gold, and the ultramarine pigment, and said to the painter,
Delineate, at the upper end of this saloon, the figure of a fowler, as
though he had set his snare, and a female pigeon had fallen into it, and
had become entangled in it by her bill. And when the painter had
finished his picture on one portion, the Wezeer said to him, Now paint,
on this other portion, as before, and represent the female pigeon in the
snare, and shew that the fowler hath taken her, and put the knife to her
neck; and on the other side paint the figure of a great bird of prey,
that hath captured the male pigeon, and fixed his talons into him. So he
did this; and when he had finished these designs which the Wezeer had
described to him, they took leave of the gardener, and returned to their
abode.

There they sat conversing together; and Taj-el-Mulook said to 'Azeez, O
my brother, recite to me some verses: perhaps my heart may thereby be
dilated, and these troubling reflections may be dispelled, and the flame
that is in my heart be quenched. And upon this, 'Azeez, with charming
modulations, chanted these verses:--

  Ibn-Seena hath asserted that the lover's remedy
    consisteth in melodious sounds,
  And the company of one like his beloved, and the pleasures
    of a dessert and wine and a garden:
  But I have taken another in thy stead to cure myself, and fate
    and contingency aided me:
  Yet I found that love was a mortal disease, for which Ibn-Seena's
    medicine was vain.

Meanwhile, the old woman remained alone in her house; and the lady Dunya
longed to divert herself in the garden; but she used not to go forth
save with the old woman: so she sent to her, and conciliated her, and
soothed her mind, and said to her, I desire to go out into the garden,
to amuse myself with the sight of its trees and fruits, and that my
heart may be dilated by its flowers. The old woman replied, I hear and
obey; but I would first go to my house and dress myself, and I will be
with thee again.--Go, then, to thy house, rejoined the lady Dunya; but
be not long absent from me. The old woman, therefore, went forth from
her, and repaired to Taj-el-Mulook, and said to him, Make ready, and
clothe thyself in the richest of thine apparel, and betake thyself to
the garden, and go in to the gardener and salute him, and then conceal
thyself in the garden. He replied, I hear and obey. And she agreed with
him respecting a sign to be made; after which she returned to the lady
Dunya. And when she had gone, the Wezeer arose, and clad Taj-el-Mulook
in a suit of the most magnificent of the apparel of Kings, worth five
thousand pieces of gold, and girded him with a girdle of gold set with
jewels, and repaired to the garden. On arriving at its gate, they found
the superintendent sitting there; and when he saw Taj-el-Mulook, he rose
to him, standing upon his feet, and, receiving him with reverence and
honour, opened to him the gate, and said to him, Enter, and divert
thyself in the garden. But the gardener knew not that the King's
daughter would enter the garden that day. And when Taj-el-Mulook had
gone in, he waited but a short time, and heard a noise; and before he
knew the cause, the eunuchs and female slaves came forth from the
private door; and as soon as the superintendent beheld them, he went and
acquainted Taj-el-Mulook with their coming, saying to him, O my lord,
what is to be done, now that the King's daughter, the lady Dunya, hath
come? He answered, No harm will befall thee; for I will conceal myself
in some place in the garden. So the gardener charged him to use the
utmost caution in concealing himself, and left him, and departed.





And when the King's daughter, with her female slaves and the old woman,
entered the garden, the old woman said within herself, If the eunuchs be
with us, we shall not attain our wish. So she said to the King's
daughter, O my mistress, I would propose to thee a thing productive of
ease to thy heart. And the lady Dunya replied, Propose what thou wilt.
The old woman therefore said, O my mistress, thou hast no need of these
eunuchs at the present time; nor will thy heart be dilated as long as
they are with us: so dismiss them from us.--Thou hast spoken truly,
replied the lady Dunya:--and she dismissed them; and a little while
after, as she was walking, Taj-el-Mulook beheld her, and gazed at her
beauty and loveliness, while she knew it not; and every time that he
looked at her he fainted, by reason of her surpassing beauty. The old
woman in the meantime led her on by conversation to the pavilion which
the Wezeer had ordered to be painted; and, entering this pavilion, the
lady Dunya took a view of its paintings, and saw the birds and the
fowler and the pigeons; whereupon she exclaimed, Extolled be the
perfection of God! Verily this is the representation of what I beheld in
my dream!--And she continued gazing at the figures of the birds and the
fowler and the snare, full of wonder; and said, O my nurse, I used to
censure men, and hate them; but see the fowler, how he hath killed the
female bird, and the male hath escaped, and desired to return to the
female to liberate her, but the bird of prey hath met him and captured
him. The old woman, however, affected ignorance to her, and proceeded to
divert her with talk until they both approached the place where
Taj-el-Mulook was concealed; upon which she made a sign to him that he
should walk beneath the windows of the pavilion; and while the lady
Dunya stood there, she looked aside, and saw him, and, observing the
beauty of his face, and his elegant form, she said, O my nurse, whence
is this handsome youth? The old woman answered, I know him not; but I
imagine that he is the son of a great King; for he is of the utmost
beauty and loveliness. And the lady Dunya was enraptured with him. The
spells that bound her were dissolved, her reason was overcome by his
beauty and loveliness and his elegant person, and she was affected by
violent love: so she said to the old woman, O my nurse, verily this
young man is handsome. The old woman replied, Thou hast spoken truth, O
my mistress. And she made a sign to the King's son to return to his
house. The fire of desire flamed within him, and his rapture and
distraction became excessive; but he went, and bade farewell to the
superintendent, and departed to his abode, that he might not disobey the
old woman, and acquainted the Wezeer and 'Azeez that she had made a sign
to him to depart. And they both exhorted him to be patient, saying to
him, If the old woman did not know that there was an object to be
attained by thy return, she had not made a sign to thee to do so.

Now to return to the lady Dunya.--Desire overcame her, and her rapture
and distraction increased; so she said to the old woman, I know not how
to obtain an interview with this young man but through thy means. The
old woman exclaimed, I seek refuge with Allah from Satan the accursed!
Thou hast no desire for men; and how, then, have fears affected thee in
consequence of the love of him? But, by Allah, none other than he is
suited to thy youth.--O my nurse, rejoined the lady Dunya, assist me to
obtain an interview with him, and thou shalt receive from me a thousand
pieces of gold, and a dress of the same value: if thou assist me not to
gain him, I shall die inevitably. So the old woman replied, Go thou to
thy palace, and I will devise means to bring you together, and give my
life to satisfy you both. The lady Dunya then returned to her palace,
while the old woman repaired to Taj-el-Mulook; and when he saw her, he
rose to her, and stood, and received her with respect and honour,
seating her by his side; and she said to him, The stratagem hath
succeeded. She then related to him what had occurred between her and
the lady Dunya; and he said to her, When shall be the interview? She
answered, To-morrow. And he gave her a thousand pieces of gold, and a
garment of the same value: and she took them, and departed, and stopped
not until she went in to the lady Dunya, who said to her, O my nurse,
what news hast thou brought from the beloved?--I have discovered his
abode, she answered; and to-morrow I will bring him to thee. And at this
the lady Dunya rejoiced, and gave her a thousand pieces of gold, and a
garment of the same value; and she took them, and returned to her house.

She passed the next night, and in the morning she went forth and
repaired to Taj-el-Mulook, and, having clad him in women's apparel, said
to him, Walk behind me, and incline thy body from side to side as thou
steppest, and proceed not with a hasty pace, nor take
notice of any one who may speak to thee. And after she had thus charged
him, she went forth, and he behind her in his female attire; and she
proceeded to instruct him, on the way, how to act, that he might not
fear. She continued on her way, he following her, until they arrived at
the entrance of the palace, when she entered, and he also after her, and
she passed through successive doors and antechambers until she had
conducted him through seven doors. And when she arrived at the seventh
door, she said to Taj-el-Mulook, Fortify thy heart, and if I call out to
thee, and say to thee, O slave-girl, advance!--be not tardy in thy pace,
but hasten on, and when thou hast entered the antechamber beyond, look
to thy left: thou wilt see a saloon with seven doors; and do thou count
five doors, and enter the sixth; for within it is the object of thy
desire.--And whither goest _thou_? said Taj-el-Mulook. She answered, I
have no place to go to; but perhaps I may wait after thee and speak with
the chief eunuch. She then proceeded, and he followed her, until they
arrived at the door where was the chief eunuch; and he saw with her
Taj-el-Mulook in the attire of a female slave, and said to her, What is
the business of this slave-girl who is with thee? She answered him, The
lady Dunya hath heard that this girl is skilled in different kinds of
work, and she desireth to purchase her. But the eunuch replied, I know
neither slave-girl nor any other person; and no one shall enter without
being searched by me, as the King hath commanded me. Upon this, the old
woman, manifesting anger, said to him, I knew that thou wast a man of
sense and of good manners; and if thou art changed I will acquaint her
with this, and inform her that thou hast offered opposition to her
female slave. She then called out to Taj-el-Mulook, and said to him,
Advance, O slave-girl! And immediately he entered the antechamber, as
she had commanded him, and the eunuch was silent, and said no more. So
Taj-el-Mulook counted five doors, and entered the sixth, and found the
lady Dunya standing expecting him.



As soon as she beheld him, she knew him, and pressed him to her bosom,
and he embraced her in like manner; and the old woman, coming in to
them, contrived a pretext to dismiss the female slaves; after which the
lady Dunya said to her, Be thou keeper of the door. She then remained
alone with Taj-el-Mulook, and they passed the whole night in innocent
dalliance. And on the following morning she closed the
door upon him and the old woman, and entering another apartment, sat
there according to her custom; and her female slaves came to her, and
she transacted their affairs and conversed with them, and then said to
them, Go forth from me now; for I desire to amuse myself in solitude. So
they left her, and she returned to Taj-el-Mulook and the old woman,
taking with her some food for them; and thus they ceased not to do for a
whole month.

As to the Wezeer, however, and 'Azeez, when Taj-el-Mulook had gone to
the palace of the King's daughter and remained all this time, they
concluded that he would never return from it, and that he was inevitably
lost; and 'Azeez said to the Wezeer, O my father, what wilt thou do? The
Wezeer answered, O my son, this affair is one of difficulty, and if we
return not to his father to acquaint him, he will blame us for our
negligence. So they prepared themselves immediately, and journeyed
towards El-Ar el-Khara and El-'Amoodeyn and the royal
residence of the King Suleyman Shah, and traversed the valleys night and
day until they went in and presented themselves before the King Suleyman
Shah; and they informed him of that which had happened to his son, and
that they had learnt no news of him since he had entered the palace of
the King's daughter. On hearing this, he was as though the day of
resurrection had surprised him: his sorrow was intense, and he gave
orders to make a proclamation of war throughout his dominions. He then
sent forth his troops outside the city, and caused the tents to be
pitched for them, and remained in his pavilion until the forces had
assembled from all the quarters of his kingdom. His subjects loved him
for his great justice and beneficence, and he departed with an army that
covered the earth as far as the eye could reach, for the purpose of
demanding his son Taj-el-Mulook.

In the meantime, Taj-el-Mulook and the lady Dunya continued together for
half a year, every day increasing in mutual love; and the love and
distraction and rapture of Taj-el-Mulook so augmented that he opened to
her his mind, and said to her, Know, O beloved of my heart, that the
longer I remain with thee, the more do my distraction and ecstasy and
desire increase; for I have not altogether attained my wish. So she
said, What dost thou wish, O light of my eye, and delight of my heart?
He answered, I desire to acquaint thee with my true history: know, then,
that I am not a merchant, but a King, son of a King, and the name of my
father is the Supreme King Suleyman Shah, who sent the Wezeer as
ambassador to thy father to demand thee for me in marriage; and when the
news came to thee thou refusedst to consent.--He then related to her his
story from first to last; and added, I desire now to repair to my
father, that he may send an ambassador again to thy father, to demand
thee in marriage from him, and so we shall remain at ease.--And when she
heard this, she rejoiced exceedingly: for it coincided with her wish;
and they passed the next night determined upon this proceeding.

But it happened, in accordance with destiny, that sleep overcame them
unusually that night, and they remained until the sun had risen. The
King Shah-Zeman was then upon his royal seat, with the emeers of his
empire before him, and the chief of the goldsmiths presented himself,
having in his hand a large round casket: and he advanced, and, opening
it before the King, took forth from it an elegant box worth a hundred
thousand pieces of gold for the jewels it contained, and rubies and
emeralds, such as no King of the earth could procure. And when the King
saw it, he wondered at its beauty; and he looked towards the chief
eunuch, to whom the affair with the old woman had happened (as above
described), and said to him, O Kafoor, take this box, and
go with it to the lady Dunya. So the eunuch took it, and proceeded until
he arrived at the chamber of the King's daughter, when he found its door
closed, and the old woman sleeping at its threshold, and he exclaimed,
Until this hour are ye sleeping? And when the old woman heard what he
said, she awoke from her sleep, and, in her fear of him, said, Wait
until I bring the key. She then went forth and fled. The eunuch,
therefore, knew that she was alarmed, and he displaced the
door, and, entering the chamber, found the lady Dunya
asleep with Taj-el-Mulook. At the sight of this, he was perplexed at his
case, and was meditating to return to the King, when the lady Dunya
awoke, and found him by her; and she was troubled, and her countenance
became pale, and she said, O Kafoor, veil what God hath veiled. But he
replied, I cannot conceal anything from the King. And he closed the door
upon them, and returned to the King. So the King said to him, Hast thou
given the box to thy mistress? The eunuch answered, Take the box: here
it is. I cannot conceal from thee anything. Know that I beheld, with the
lady Dunya, a handsome young man, sleeping in the same chamber. The King
therefore ordered that they should be both brought before him; and when
they had come into his presence, he said to them, What are these deeds?
And he was violently enraged, and, seizing a dagger, was
about to strike with it Taj-el-Mulook; but the lady Dunya threw her head
upon him, and said to her father, Slay me before him. The King, however,
chid her, and ordered them to convey her back to her chamber. Then
looking towards Taj-el-Mulook, he said to him, Wo to thee! Whence art
thou, and who is thy father, and what hath emboldened thee to act thus
towards my daughter?--Know, O King, answered Taj-el-Mulook, that, if
thou put me to death, thou wilt perish, and thou and all in thy
dominions will repent.--And why so? said the King. He answered, Know
that I am the son of the King Suleyman Shah, and thou wilt not be aware
of the consequence when he will approach thee with his horsemen and his
infantry. And when King Shah-Zeman heard this, he desired to defer
putting him to death; and to imprison him until he should see whether
his assertion were true; but his Wezeer said to him, O King of the age,
it is my advice that thou hasten the execution of this young wretch,
since he hath been guilty of presumption towards the daughters of Kings.
So he said to the executioner, Strike off his head; for he is a traitor.
And the executioner took him, and, having bound him firmly, raised his
hand, and made a sign of consultation to the emeers a first and a second
time, desiring by this that some delay might take place; but the King
called out to him, How long wilt thou consult? If thou do so again I
will strike off thy head.



The executioner, therefore, raised his hand until his arm-pit appeared,
and was about to strike off his head, when loud cries were heard, and,
the people closed their shops. So the King said to the executioner,
Hasten not. And he sent a person to learn the news for him; and the
messenger went, and, soon returning, said to the King, I beheld an army
like the roaring sea agitated with waves; their horses are prancing, and
the earth trembleth beneath them, and I know not wherefore they are
come. And the King was amazed, and feared lest he should be deposed from
his throne. He then said to his Wezeer, Have none of our troops gone
forth to meet this army? But his words were not finished when his
chamberlains came in to him accompanied by the messengers of the
approaching King, and among them was the Wezeer who had been with
Taj-el-Mulook. He commenced by salutation; and the King rose to him,
and, calling them near to him, asked them respecting the cause of their
coming: whereupon the Wezeer advanced from among them, and approached
the King, and said to him, Know that he who hath alighted in thy
territories is a King not like the Kings who have preceded him, nor like
the Sulans of former times.--And who is he? said the King. The Wezeer
answered, He is the lord of justice and security, the fame of whose
magnanimity the caravans have spread abroad, the Sulan Suleyman Shah,
the lord of El-Ar el-Khara and El-'Amoodeyn and the mountains of
Ipahan, who loveth justice and equity, and hateth tyranny and
oppression; and he saith to thee, that his son is in thy dominions and
in thy city, and he is the vital spirit of his heart, and its delight;
and if he find him in safety, it is what he desireth, and thou wilt be
thanked and praised; but if he be not found in thy country, or if any
evil hath befallen him, receive tidings of destruction and of the ruin
of thy territories; for thy country shall become a desert in which the
raven shall croak. Thus I have delivered to thee the message; and peace
be on thee.--When the King Shah-Zeman heard these words of the envoy,
his heart was troubled, and he feared for his kingdom, and called out to
the lords of his empire, and his wezeers and chamberlains and
lieutenants; and when they had come before him he said to them, Wo unto
you! Go down and search for this young man.--But he was under the hand
of the executioner, and his appearance was changed through the fear that
he suffered. The Wezeer then, looking aside, found the King's son upon
the skin of blood, and he recognised him, and arose, and
threw himself upon him. So also did the other messengers: they then
unbound him, and kissed his hands and his feet; whereupon Taj-el-Mulook
opened his eyes, and, recognising the Wezeer and his companion 'Azeez,
fell down in a swoon through the excess of his joy at their presence.

The King Shah-Zeman was perplexed at his situation, and in great fear,
on discovering that the coming of the army was on account of this young
man; and he arose and walked forward to Taj-el-Mulook, and kissed his
head, and, with weeping eyes, said to him, O my son, be not angry with
me: be not angry with the evil-doer for his deed; but have compassion on
my gray hairs, and lay not waste my dominions. And Taj-el-Mulook
approached him, and kissed his hand, saying to him, No harm shall befall
thee; for thou art in my estimation as my father; but beware that no
evil befall my beloved, the lady Dunya.--O my lord, rejoined the King,
fear not for her; for nought but happiness awaiteth her. And he
proceeded to excuse himself to him, and to soothe the mind of the Wezeer
of the King Suleyman Shah, promising him a large sum of money that he
might conceal from the King what he had seen; after which he ordered the
grandees of his empire to take Taj-el-Mulook and to conduct him to the
bath, to clothe him in a suit of the best of royal apparel, and bring
him back quickly. So they did this: they conducted him into the bath,
and, having clad him in the suit which the King Shah-Zeman had allotted
him, brought him back to the hall of audience; and when he came in, the
King rose to him, he and all the lords of his empire, and they all stood
to wait upon him. Then Taj-el-Mulook sat and conversed with his father's
Wezeer and with 'Azeez respecting the events which had happened to him;
and they replied, During that period we went to thy father, and informed
him that thou hadst entered the palace of the King's daughter, and not
come forth from it, and that thy case appeared doubtful to us; and when
he heard this, he made ready the troops, and we came to this country,
and on our arrival have experienced joy and happiness. So he said to
them, Good fortune hath attended your actions, first and last.

The King, in the meantime, had gone into his daughter, the lady Dunya,
and found her weeping for Taj-el-Mulook. She had taken a sword, and put
its hilt to the floor, and its point to the middle of her bosom, and was
leaning over it, saying, I must kill myself, and not live after my
beloved. When her father, therefore, went in to her, and beheld her in
this state, he called out to her, and said, O mistress of the daughters
of Kings, do it not; but have mercy upon thy father and the people of
thy country! Then advancing to her, he said to her, I conjure thee to
abstain, lest evil befall thy father on thy account. And he acquainted
her with the case, telling her that her beloved, the son of the King
Suleyman Shah, desired to celebrate his marriage with her, and adding,
The affair of the betrothal and marriage is committed to thy judgment.
And she smiled, and said to him, Did I not tell thee that he was the son
of a Sulan? I will make him crucify thee upon a piece of wood worth a
couple of pieces of silver. I conjure thee by Allah, he exclaimed, that
thou have mercy upon thy father!--Go to him, she rejoined, and bring him
to me. He replied, On the head and the eye. And he returned from her
quickly, and, going in to Taj-el-Mulook, rejoiced him by what he said.
He then arose with him, and went to her again; and when she beheld
Taj-el-Mulook, she embraced him in the presence of her father, and clung
to him, and said to him, Thou hast made me desolate by thine absence.
Then looking at her father, she said, Can any one act injuriously
towards such a person as this handsome youth, and he a King, a son of a
King? And upon this the King Shah-Zeman went forth, and closed the door
upon them, and, repairing to the Wezeer and the other messengers of the
father of Taj-el-Mulook, ordered them to inform the Sulan Suleyman Shah
that his son was in prosperity and health, and enjoying a life of the
utmost delight. He gave orders also to carry forth provisions and pay to
the troops of the Sulan Suleyman Shah; and after they had conveyed all
that he commanded them to take forth, he brought out a hundred coursers,
and a hundred dromedaries, and a hundred memlooks, and a hundred
concubine slaves, and a hundred male black slaves, and a hundred female
slaves, and sent them all to him as a present.



He then repaired to him, with the lords of his empire, and his chief
attendants, and they proceeded until they arrived outside the city; and
when the Sulan Suleyman Shah became acquainted with this he advanced
some paces to meet him. The Wezeer and 'Azeez had informed him of the
news, and he rejoiced, and exclaimed, Praise be to God who hath granted
my son the accomplishment of his wish! And he embraced the King
Shah-Zeman, and seated him by his side upon the couch, and they
conversed together; after which the attendants placed before; them the
food, and when they had eaten to satisfaction they brought them the
sweetmeats. Soon after, Taj-el-Mulook came, approaching in his rich and
ornamented dress; and when his father beheld him, he rose to him and
kissed him, and all who were present rose to him; and after he had sat
with them a while conversing, the King Suleyman Shah said, I desire to
perform my son's contract of marriage to thy daughter in the presence of
witnesses. And King Shah-Zeman replied, I hear and obey. So he summoned
the aee and witnesses, and they came, and wrote the marriage-contract;
and the troops rejoiced at this. And King Shah-Zeman began to fit out
his daughter.

Then Taj-el-Mulook said to his father, Verily, 'Azeez is a generous
person; he hath performed for me a great service, and wearied himself,
and journeyed with me, and enabled me to attain the object of my search,
ceasing not to exhort me to patience until I accomplished my wish, and
he hath been with us two years separated from his country: it is my
desire, therefore, that we should prepare for him merchandise; for his
country is near. His father replied, Thy opinion is excellent. So they
prepared for him a hundred loads of the most costly stuffs; and
Taj-el-Mulook bade him farewell, saying to him, O my brother, accept
this as a present. And he accepted it, and kissed the ground before him
and before his father. Taj-el-Mulook then mounted his horse, and
proceeded with 'Azeez for the space of three miles; after which, 'Azeez
conjured him to return, and said, Were it not for my mother, I could not
endure thy separation; and by Allah, I entreat thee not to cease
acquainting me with thy state. Having thus said, he bade him farewell,
and repaired to his city. He found that his mother had built for him a
tomb in the midst of the house, and she frequently visited it; and when
he entered the house, he found that she had dishevelled her hair and
spread it upon the tomb, and, with streaming eyes, was reciting these
verses:--

  By Allah, O tomb, have his charms perished; and hath that brilliant
    countenance changed?
  O tomb, thou art neither a garden nor a firmament: how then can
    the full moon and flowers be united in thee?

She then groaned, and recited some other verses; but before she had
finished, 'Azeez went in to her: and when she beheld him, she rose to
him and embraced him, and asked him respecting his long absence: so he
acquainted her with all the events that had happened to him from first
to last, and told her that Taj-el-Mulook had given him, of wealth and
stuffs, a hundred loads; and she rejoiced at this.--Such was the history
of 'Azeez.

Now as to Taj-el-Mulook, he returned to his beloved, the lady Dunya, and
King Shah-Zeman fitted her out for the journey with her husband and her
father-in-law: he sent to them provisions and presents and rarities, and
they loaded their beasts and departed; and King Shah-Zeman accompanied
them three days' journey to bid them farewell. The King Suleyman Shah
then conjured him to return: so he returned; and Taj-el-Mulook and his
father and his wife continued their journey night and day until they
came in sight of their country. The city was decorated for them, and
they entered it; and the King Suleyman Shah sat upon his throne with his
son Taj-el-Mulook by his side; and he gave presents, and liberated the
persons confined in the prisons; after which he celebrated for his son a
second wedding-festivity: the songs and instrumental music were
continued for a whole month, and the tire-women crowded around the lady
Dunya, and she was not tired with the display, nor were they with gazing
at her. Taj-el-Mulook then took up his abode with her, after an
interview with his father and mother together; and they passed a life of
the utmost delight and enjoyment.






NOTES TO CHAPTER EIGHTH.

NOTE 1. The next story to that of Ghanim, in my original, is one of very
great length, comprising the greater part of the forty-fourth night and
extending to the end of the hundred and forty-fifth; but interrupted by
the contents of my eighth chapter, which consists of two stories of a
very different kind, that appear to have been introduced to relieve its
tediousness. With these, it occupies nearly 162 pages, or not much less
than an eighth part of the whole work. It is the story of the King 'Omar
En-Noaman, and his two sons Sharr-kan and his
daughter Nuzhet-ez-Zeman, &c. It is entirely a fiction, professedly
relating to the first century of the Mohammadan era, "before the reign
of the Khaleefeh 'Abd-El-Melik the son of Marwan;" and its main subject
is a war with two Greek Kings. Taken altogether, I deem it unworthy of a
place in the present series of tales; and so much of it depends upon
incidents of a most objectionable nature, that I cannot attempt to
abridge it; but a pleasant tale might be composed from it by
considerable _alterations_.

One of the two stories which I have extracted from it, that of
Taj-el-Mulook and the Lady Dunya, bears apparent indications of a
Persian origin; but in their present state, the manners and customs &c.
which both exhibit are Arab. The scenes of the events narrated in the
story of Taj-el-Mulook are in Persia and, probably, in India; but
imaginary names appear to be given to the several kingdoms mentioned in
it: the kingdom of El-Ar el-Khara ("the Green Country") and
El-'Amoodeyn (which signifies "the Two Columns") is said to include the
mountains of Ipahan, and its locality is thereby sufficiently
indicated: that of El-Ar el-Beya ("the White Country") I suppose to be
in Persia or India: and as to the Islands of Camphor, I fancy we must be
content to consider them vaguely as appertaining to India: the country
in which 'Azeez and 'Azeezeh resided is said to have been near to the
Islands of Camphor; but their story is perfectly Arab.--The Island of
Camphor is also mentioned in the Story of asan of El-Barah.

NOTE 2. "El-Medeeneh el-Khara" signifies "the Green City." See the
above note.

NOTE 3. "The Compassionate" is an epithet here applied to God.

NOTE 4. See the first note in this series.--"Zahr," in Arabic, signifies
"a Flower."

NOTE 5.--_On Coats of Mail, and other Armour worn by the Arabs._ The
Prophet David is said to have been the first person who manufactured
coats of mail; and the cause of his applying himself to the art was
this.--"He used to go forth in disguise; and when he found any people
who knew him not, he approached them and asked them respecting the
conduct of Daood (or David), and they praised him and prayed for him;
but one day as he was asking questions respecting himself as usual, God
sent to him an angel in the form of a human being, who said, 'An
excellent man were Daood if he did not take from the public
treasury:'--whereupon the heart of Daood was contracted, and he begged
of God to render him independent: so He made iron soft to him, and it
became in his hands as thread; and he used to sell a coat of mail for
four thousand , and
with part of this he obtained food for himself, and part he gave in
alms, and with part he fed his family."--Hence an excellent coat of
mail is often called by the Arabs "Daoodee," _i. e._ "Davidean." This
kind of armour is worn by some Arabs of the Desert in the present day;
but the best specimens, I believe, are mostly found in India. Burckhardt
mentions one tribe of Arabs who have about twenty-five; another, two
hundred; and two others, between thirty and forty. "The dora [properly
dira] is," he remarks, "of two sorts, one covering the whole body like a
long gown from the elbow, over the shoulders, down to the knees: this is
the sirgh: the other, called kembaz, covers the body only to the waist;
the arms from the elbows downwards being covered with two pieces of
steel, fitting into each other, with iron fingers. Thus clad, the Arab
completes his armour by putting on his head an iron cap (tas), which is
but rarely adorned with feathers. The price of a coat of mail fluctuates
from two hundred to fifteen hundred piastres.... Those of the best
quality are capable of resisting a ball." The coat of mail is
sometimes worn within the ordinary outer tunic.

NOTE 6. This implies that his parents were dead.

NOTE 7.--_On Public Royal Feasts._ On certain periodical festivals, and
on other occasions (as those of the kind here described), it has long
been, and still is, a custom of Muslim princes to give public feasts to
all classes of their subjects, in the palace. El-Mareezee quotes a
curious account of the feasts which were given on the festival following
Ramaan to the inhabitants of Cairo, by the Faimee Khaleefehs. At
the upper end of a large saloon was placed the sereer (or couch) of the
monarch, upon which he sat with the Wezeer on his right. Upon this seat
was placed a round silver table, with various delicacies, of which they
alone ate. Before it, and extending nearly from the seat to the other
extremity of the saloon, was set up a kind of table or platform (sima)
of painted wood, resembling a number of benches placed together, ten
cubits (or about eighteen or nineteen feet) in width. Along the middle
of this were arranged twenty-one enormous dishes, each containing
twenty-one baked sheep, three years old, and fat; together with fowls,
chickens, and young pigeons, in number three hundred and fifty of each
kind; all of which were piled together in an oblong form, to the height
of the stature of a man, and enclosed with dry sweetmeat. The spaces
between these dishes were occupied by nearly five hundred other dishes
of earthenware; each of which contained seven fowls, and was filled up
with sweetmeats of various kinds. The table was strewn with flowers;
and cakes of bread made of the finest flower were arranged along each
side. There were also two great edifices of sweetmeats, each weighing
seventeen hundred-weights, which were carried thither by porters with
shoulder-poles; and one of these was placed at the commencement, and the
other at the close, of this sumptuous banquet. When the Khaleefeh and
Wezeer had taken their seats upon the couch, the officers of state who
were distinguished by neck-rings or collars, and the inferior
members of the court, seated themselves in the order of their respective
ranks; and when they had eaten, they gave place to others. Two such
feasts, given on the festival after Ramaan and on the "great festival,"
cost four thousand deenars, or about two thousand pounds sterling.--Two
military officers, named Ibn-Faiz and Ed-Deylemee, distinguished
themselves at these feasts in a very remarkable manner. Each of them
used to eat a baked sheep, and ten fowls dressed with sweetmeats, and
ten pounds of sweetmeats besides, and was presented with a quantity of
food carried away from the feast to his house, together with a large sum
of money. One of them had been a prisoner at 'Asalan; and after he had
remained there some time, the person into whose power he had fallen
jestingly told him that if he would eat a calf belonging to him, the
flesh of which weighed several hundred-weights, he would emancipate him.
This feat he accomplished, and thus he obtained his liberation.

Several cases of a similar kind to those just mentioned are instanced in
a late work. One of a man who, as related by Vopiscus, was brought
before the Emperor Maximilian , and who devoured a whole calf,
and was proceeding to eat up a sheep, but was prevented. Another, of a
man who commenced his repast (in the presence of Dr. Boehmen, of
Wittenberg,) by eating a raw sheep and a sucking pig, and, by way of
dessert, swallowed sixty pounds of prunes, stones and all. A third, of
an attendant of the menagerie of the Botanical Garden in Paris, who used
to devour all the offals of the Theatre of Comparative Anatomy, and ate
a dead lion in one day.

NOTE 8.--_On Litters for Travelling._ The kind of litter borne by mules
is generally one resembling the palkee (or palanquin): it is borne by
four of these animals, two before and two behind, or by two only, or
more commonly by two camels, and sometimes by two horses. When borne by
camels, the head of the hindmost of these animals is painfully bent
down, under the vehicle. It is the most comfortable kind of litter; and
two light persons may travel in it. The name generally given to it is
"takhtarawan," or "takht-rawan;" but the term employed in the passage to
which this note refers is "miaffeh," which is often used as a general
name for a camel-litter, and particularly applied to one with a flat
top.--A very common kind of camel-litter, called "musaa," or "eml
musaa," resembles a small square tent, and is chiefly composed of two
long chests, each of which has a high back: these are placed on the
camel in the same manner as a pair of panniers, one on each side; and
the high backs, which are placed outwards, together with a small pole
resting on the camel's pack-saddle, support the covering which forms
what may be called the tent. This vehicle accommodates two persons. It
is generally open at the front; and may also be opened at the back.
Though it appears comfortable, the motion is uneasy; especially when it
is placed upon a camel that has been accustomed to carry heavy burdens:
but camels of easy pace are generally chosen for bearing
litters.--Another kind of litter, called "shibreeyeh," is composed of a
small square platform with an arched covering. This accommodates but one
person; and is placed on the back of the camel: two saarahs (or square
camel-chests), one on each side of the animal, generally form a
foundation for it.--The musaa and shibreeyeh (but particularly the
latter) are also called "hodaj."

NOTE 9. See Note 43 to Chapter iv.

NOTE 10. See Note 54 to Chapter iv.

NOTE 11. "Taj-el-Mulook" signifies "the Crown of the Kings."

NOTE 12. Lynxes were often employed in the chase in Arabian and other
Eastern countries in former times; but I do not know if they are at
present. See Note 24 to Chapter ii.

NOTE 13. By this word are meant "oblong, cylindrical, hollow beads:"
"aabeh" signifying originally "a reed," "cane," &c.

NOTE 14. The words "who hath taught men," &c., are from the ur-an, ch.
xcvi. v. 5.

NOTE 15. "'Azeez" and "'Azeezeh" (masculine and feminine) signify
"Dear," "Excellent," &c.

NOTE 16. The handkerchief is generally oblong, and each of its two ends
is embroidered with a border of coloured silks and gold; the other two
edges being plain.

NOTE 17. My sheykh has remarked in a marginal note, that this sign may
allude to her heart, or to her sighing because she enjoys not the union
she desires (as expressed immediately after); and that the latter is
more probable, as the action is one common with persons in grief.

NOTE 18.--_On Conversing and Corresponding by means of Signs, Emblems,
Metaphors, &c._ Many persons of the instructed classes, and some others,
among the Arabs, often take delight, and shew much ingenuity and
quickness of apprehension, in conversing and corresponding by means of
signs, emblems, &c., or in a conventional, metaphorical, language, not
understood by the vulgar in general, and sometimes not by any except the
parties engaged in the intercourse. In some cases, when the main
metaphor employed is understood, the rest of the conversation becomes
easily intelligible without any previous explanation; and I have
occasionally succeeded in carrying on a conversation of this kind
(though not in cases such as that described in the tale referred to by
this note); but I have more frequently been unsuccessful in attempting
to divine the nature of a topic in which other persons were engaged. One
simple mode of secret conversation or correspondence is by substituting
certain letters for other letters.

Many of the women are said to be adepts in this art, or science, and to
convey messages, declarations of love, &c., by means of fruits, flowers,
and other emblems. The inability of numbers of females in families of
the middle classes to write or read, as well as the difficulty or
impossibility frequently existing of conveying written letters, may have
given rise to such modes of communication. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, in
one of her charming letters from the East, has gratified our curiosity
by a Turkish love-letter of this kind. A specimen of one from an
Arab, with its answer, may be here added.--An Arab lover sent to his
mistress a fan, a bunch of flowers, a silk tassel, some sugar-candy, and
a piece of a chord of a musical instrument; and she returned for answer
a piece of an aloe-plant, three black cumin-seeds, and a piece of a
plant used in washing. His communication is thus interpreted:--The
fan, being called "mirwaah," a word derived from a root which has among
its meanings that of "going to any place in the evening," signified his
wish to pay her an evening visit: the flowers, that the interview should
be in her garden: the tassel, being called "shurrabeh," that they should
have sharab (or wine): the sugar-candy, being termed "sukkar
nebat," and "nebat" also signifying "we will pass the night," denoted
his desire to remain in her company until the morning: and the piece of
a chord, that they should be entertained by music. The interpretation of
her answer is as follows:--The piece of an aloe-plant, which is called
"abbarah" (from "abr," which signifies "patience"--because it will
live for many months together without water), implied that he must wait:
the three black cumin-seeds explained to him that the period of delay
should be three nights: and the plant used in washing informed him that
she should then have gone to the bath, and would meet him.--I have
omitted one symbol in the lady's answer, as it conveys an allusion not
so consistent with European as with Arab notions of female delicacy.

The language of flowers employed by the Turks does not exactly agree
with the system illustrated in the story of 'Azeez and 'Azeezeh; for the
former consists of a collection of words and phrases or sentences which
rhyme with the names of the objects used as the signs. This system
is also employed by the Arabs; but I believe not so commonly as the
other.

A remarkable faculty is displayed by some Arabs in catching the meaning
of secret signs employed in written communications to them; such signs
being often used in political and other intrigues. The following is a
curious instance.--The celebrated poet El-Mutanebbee, having written
some verses in dispraise of Kafoor El-Ikhsheedee the independent
Governor of Egypt, was obliged to flee, and hide himself in a distant
town. Kafoor was informed of his retreat, and desired his secretary to
write to him a letter promising him pardon, and commanding him to
return; but told the writer at the same time, that when the poet came he
would punish him. The secretary was a friend of the poet, and, being
obliged to read the letter to the Prince when he had written it, was
perplexed how to convey to El-Mutanebbee some indication of the danger
that awaited him: he could only venture to do so in the exterior
address; and having written this in the usual form, commencing "In
shaa-llah" (If it be the will of God) "this shall arrive," &c., he put a
small mark of reduplication over the "n" in the first word, which he
thus converted into "Inna;" the filial vowel being understood. The poet
read the letter, and was rejoiced to see a promise of pardon; but on
looking a second time at the address, was surprised to observe the mark
of reduplication over the "n." Knowing the writer to be his friend, he
immediately suspected a secret meaning, and rightly conceived that the
sign conveyed an allusion to a passage in the ur-an commencing with the
word "Inna," and this he divined to be the following:--"Verily the
magistrates are deliberating concerning thee, to put thee to
death." Accordingly, he fled to another town.--Some authors add,
that he wrote a reply, conveying, by a similar sign, to his friend, an
allusion to another passage in the ur-an:--"We will never enter the
country while they remain therein."--It is probable that signs thus
employed were used by many persons to convey allusions to certain words;
and such may have been the case in the above-mentioned instance: if not,
the poet was indeed a wonderful guesser.

NOTE 19. Perhaps it is unnecessary to explain that the actions here
described are those of a dyer, dipping a piece of linen into a red dye,
and then wringing it. The shop of the dyer is generally, like most other
shops, a small chamber or recess open towards the street. Pans
containing the different dyes are imbedded in its floor.

NOTE 20. "Ma'ad" is a name generally given to a chamber in which male
guests or visiters are received, having an open front with two or more
arches, and looking into the court or garden of the house. Its floor is
elevated about ten or more feet above the ground, and the front is
usually towards the north, or nearly so.

NOTE 21. I suppose it to be meant, that these designs were executed in a
kind of mosaic work; for the pool of the fountain is generally
ornamented with black and white marble, and pieces of fine red tile,
inlaid in complicated and tasteful patterns. A view and plan of a
fountain of this kind are inserted in the Introduction to my work on the
Modern Egyptians.

NOTE 22. "Balaweh," from the Turkish "balava," is a name given to a
kind of pastry, which is generally thus prepared:--A paste made of fine
flour with clarified butter is rolled thin, and laid upon a tray: upon
this paste is then spread a composition of clarified butter and blanched
almonds (and sometimes walnuts and currants) beaten small; and over this
is put another layer of paste. Eight of these double layers of paste
with the composition above mentioned between them are placed one upon
another, making the whole about an inch thick. It is baked in an oven;
cut into lozenge-shaped pieces, about three inches long, and two inches
wide; and after it is thus cut, some honey or treacle is poured over.

NOTE 23. See Note 99 to Chapter v.

NOTE 24. It is a general belief of the Muslims that the wicked will rise
to judgment with their faces black; and hence the origin of the
imprecation, "May God blacken thy face!" But it is often used to signify
"May God disgrace thee!" for a person's face is said to be black when he
is in any disgrace; and in the reverse case, it is said to be
white.

NOTE 25. "Zardeh" (which is a Persian word) is a name given to rice
dressed with honey and saffron; but here it appears to be applied to a
sweet drink infused with saffron.

NOTE 26. By the play-bone and the ab-stick an allusion is conveyed to
two games common among the Arabs. The play-bones are used in the same
manner as dice, of which they are probably the origin; and both bear the
same name in the Arabic, in the singular "kaab" or "kaabeh," that is, "a
cube." Of the game of ab I have given a full account in my work on the
Modern Egyptians (vol. ii. ch. iv.). I need only mention here, that the
ab-stick is of a flat form, about a span (or eight inches) in length,
and two-thirds of an inch in breadth, generally formed of a piece of a
palm-branch; one side of which, being cut flat and smooth, is white; the
other, green, or, if not fresh, of a dull yellow colour. Four such
sticks are used in playing the game.

NOTE 27. The more simple interpretation is this:--Idle games are more
suited to thee than affairs of love.

NOTE 28. El-azweenee makes a remark somewhat similar to this at the
close of his account of the date; but the interpretation of the meaning
conveyed by the date-stone in our text is very far-fetched: my sheykh,
in a marginal note, gives one perfectly apposite: the date-stone is
called "nawayeh," and more properly "nawah" and "nawa;" and the last of
these words signifies also "distance," "absence," &c., and is often used
to express the state of one who is far from loving or being a lover: it
implies also, in this case, that, if he slept again, she would cast him
off.

NOTE 29. The locust-fruit, by its dark colour, and the length of time it
remains in a state of preservation after it has been plucked, is
rendered a fit emblem of a heart long enduring separation from the
object of its love.

NOTE 30. "Dirhem," I have before mentioned, is the name of a silver
coin: it is also the name of a weight, very nearly equivalent to
forty-eight English grains; and being here described as of iron, we must
understand it in the latter sense.

NOTE 31. I suppose the iron dirhem to be symbolic of the eye because it
is round, and perhaps likewise because the Arabic term for "iron"
(namely "adeed") has also the signification of "sharp" or "piercing;"
in which sense it is often applied to the sight (as in the ur-an, ch.
l. v. 21). See the next note.

NOTE 32. From this double oath, it seems to me probable, that, by the
circular form of the dirhem, an allusion was meant to God (as being
without beginning or end), and that the matter of which it was composed
(from what I have said in the note immediately preceding), as well as
its form, conveyed the allusion to the eye.

NOTE 33. This gentle kneading or pressing of the limbs, which is one of
the operations performed in the bath, is often practised by the Arabs
for the purpose of inducing sleep.

NOTE 34. This is a kind of nebeedh. (See Note 22 to Chapter iii.) The
same fruit is also stewed with meat. It is called in Arabic "'onnab."

NOTE 35. See Note 18 to Chapter vii.

NOTE 36. It is seen that 'Azeezeh speaks of herself in the masculine
gender in the verses here inserted; but this is in accordance with a
common Arab custom.

NOTE 37.--_On the Ceremony called_ Zikr. Zikrs are very often
performed after a death; the merit of the performance being transferred
to the soul of the deceased.

I have before mentioned these ceremonies (in Note 63 to Chapter iii.);
but in a vague manner; and as it is my object in the present work to
give such illustrations as will satisfy the general reader, without
obliging him to refer to other books, I shall here insert an abridged
extract, descriptive of a zikr, from my Account of the Manners and
Customs of the Modern Egyptians.

The zikkeers (or performers of the zikr), who were about thirty in
number, sat, cross-legged, upon matting extended close to the houses on
one side of the street, in the form of an oblong ring. Within this
ring, along the middle of the matting, were placed three very large wax
candles; each about four feet high, and stuck in a low candlestick. Most
of the zikkeers were Amedee darweeshes, persons of the lower orders,
and meanly dressed: many of them wore green turbans. At one end of the
ring were four munshids (or singers of religious odes), and with them
was a player on the kind of flute called "nay." I procured a small seat
of palm-sticks from a coffee-shop close by, and, by means of a little
pushing, and the assistance of my servant, obtained a place with the
munshids, and sat there to hear a complete act, or "meglis," of the
zikr; which act commenced at about three o'clock (or three hours after
sunset), and continued two hours.

The performers began by reciting the Fat'ah (or opening chapter of the
ur-an) all together; their sheykh, or chief, first exclaiming,
"El-Fat'ah!" They then chanted the following words;--"O God, bless our
lord Moammad among the former generations; and bless our lord Moammad
among the latter generations; and bless our lord Moammad in every time
and period; and bless our lord Moammad in the highest degree, unto the
day of judgment; and bless all the prophets and apostles among the
inhabitants of the heavens and of the earth; and may God (whose name be
blessed and exalted!) be well pleased with our lords and our masters,
those persons of illustrious estimation, Aboo-Bekr and 'Omar and 'Osman
and 'Alee, and with all the favourites of God. God is our sufficiency;
and excellent is the Guardian! There is no strength nor power but in
God, the High, the Great! O God! O our Lord! O Thou liberal of pardon! O
Thou most bountiful of the most bountiful! O God! Amen!"--They were then
silent for three or four minutes; and again recited the Fat'ah; but
silently. This form of prefacing the zikr is commonly used, by almost
all orders of darweeshes in Egypt.

The performers now commenced the zikr. Sitting in the manner above
described, they chanted, in slow measure, "La ilaha illa-llah" ("There
is no deity but God") to the following air:--

[Illustration: Lyrics:

  La i - la - ha illa - l - lah.
  La i - la - ha i - l - la - l - la - h.
  La i - la - ha illa - l - lah.

]

bowing the head and body twice in each repetition of "La ilaha
illa-llah." Thus they continued about a quarter of an hour; and then,
for about the same space of time, they repeated the same words to the
same air, but in a quicker measure, and with correspondingly quicker
motions. In the meantime, the munshids frequently sang, to the same, or
a variation of the same, air, portions of a aeedeh, or of a
muweshsha; an ode of a similar nature to the Song of Solomon, generally
alluding to the Prophet as the object of love and praise; and at
frequent intervals, one of them sang out the word "meded," implying an
invocation for spiritual or supernatural aid.

The zikkeers, after having performed as above described, next repeated
the same words to a different air for about the same length of time;
first, very slowly; then, quickly. The air was as follows:--

[Illustration: Lyrics:

  La i - la - ha illa - l - la - h.
  La i - la - ha illa - l - la - h.
  La i - la - ha illa - l - lah.

]

Then they repeated these words again, to the following air, in the same
manner:--

[Illustration: Lyrics:

  La i - la - ha il - la - l - lah.
  La i - la - ha il - la - l - lah.

]

They next rose, and, standing in the same order in which they had been
sitting, repeated the same words to another air. After which, still
standing, they repeated these words in a very deep and hoarse tone;
laying the principal emphasis upon the word "La" and the first syllable
of the last word "Allah;" and uttering it, apparently, with a
considerable effort: the sound much resembled that which is produced by
beating the rim of a tambourine. Each zikkeer turned his head
alternately to the right and left at each repetition of "La ilaha
illa-llah." One of them, a eunuch, at this part of the zikr, was seized
with an epileptic fit, evidently the result of a high state of religious
excitement; but nobody seemed surprised at it; for occurrences of this
kind at zikrs are not uncommon. All the performers now seemed much
excited; repeating their ejaculations with greater rapidity, violently
turning their heads, and sinking the whole body at the same time: some
of them jumping. The eunuch above mentioned again was seized with fits
several times; and I generally remarked that this happened after one of
the munshids had sung a line or two and exerted himself more than
usually to excite his hearers: the singing was, indeed, to my taste,
very pleasing. The contrast presented by the vehement and distressing
exertions of the performers at the close of the zikr, and their calm
gravity and solemnity of manner at the commencement, was particularly
striking. Money was collected during the performance for the munshids.
The zikkeers receive no pay.

NOTE 38. From the last of these verses it appears that the flowers are
described as _laid_ upon the tomb (in accordance with the custom
mentioned in the last paragraph of Note 16 to Chapter i.), and not as
_planted_ upon it; though this is frequently done in some countries of
the East; the monument being filled with mould, and the whole of its top
open.

NOTE 39. See Note 25 to Chapter v.

NOTE 40. See Note 35 to Chapter ii.

NOTE 41. The "rod" (in Arabic "aabeh") was, according to the Egyptian
measurement, until lately reduced, about twelve English feet and a half.

NOTE 42. See Note 12 to Chapter iii.

NOTE 43. It is common (as my sheykh has remarked) to say, of a very
spacious chamber, that a horseman might gallop in it. The playing at
goff by horsemen has been mentioned in a former tale. It was a common
exercise in Egypt as well as Persia and other Eastern countries.

NOTE 44. "Deleeleh" is an epithet used in modern Arabic as indicative of
artifice, machination, or fraud. It is often employed as a female
nickname.

NOTE 45. From this point to the end of the story of 'Azeez and 'Azeezeh
I omit some portions which are tedious, and others which are more
objectionable.

NOTE 46. Any one may enter the public bath, but none can go out of it,
without paying.

NOTE 47. The "kaak," commonly called "kak," has been described in Note
16 to Chapter i. De Sacy has remarked that our English word "cake" seems
to be from the same origin.

NOTE 48.--_On Oaths._ To explain this passage, I must repeat, with a few
slight additions, some remarks which I have made in a former
publication.--Among a people by whom falsehood, in certain cases,
is not only allowed but commended, oaths of different kinds are
more or less binding. In considering this subject, we should also
remember that oaths may sometimes be expiated. There are some
oaths which, I believe, few Muslims would falsely take; such as saying,
three times, "By God the Great!" (Wa-llahi-l-Aeem), and the oath upon
the mu-af (or copy of the ur-an), saying, "By what this contains of
the word of God!" This latter is rendered more binding by placing a
sword with the sacred volume; and still more so, by the addition of a
cake, or piece, of bread, and a handful of salt. But a form of oath
which is generally yet more to be depended upon is that of saying, "I
impose upon myself divorcement!" (that is, "the divorce of my wife, if
what I say be false"); or, "I impose upon myself interdiction!" which
has a similar meaning ("My wife be unlawful to me!"); or, "I impose upon
myself a triple divorcement!" which binds a man by the irrevocable
divorce of his wife. If a man use any of these three forms of oath
falsely, his wife, if he have but one, is divorced by the oath itself,
if proved to be false, without the absolute necessity of any further
ceremony; and if he have two or more wives, he must, under such
circumstances, choose one of them to put away.

In the case which this note is principally intended to illustrate, the
wife of 'Azeez makes him swear by the sword and the ur-an in the hope
of inducing him to return to her; and by the oath of divorce, to make
the inducement more strong, and that she might be enabled, in case he
did not fulfil his vow, legally to contract another marriage as soon as
she should have waited the period which the law requires.

NOTE 49. The verses I have omitted as they are the same (with the
exception of some slight variations) as the first, second, third, and
fifth, of those commencing at page 185 in this volume; and the contents
of the accompanying paper as being tiresome and in some parts unmeaning.

NOTE 50. See the first note in the present series.

NOTE 51. I have substituted "Shah-Zeman" (signifying "King of the Age")
for Shahraman; the latter being evidently a mistake of a copyist.

NOTE 52. "Dunya" signifies the "world."

NOTE 53. "Riwan," which signifies "approbation," "complacency," &c., is
the name of the Guardian of Paradise.--The meaning of this passage is,
"Surely this handsome young person is one of the Wildan, or Weleeds,
those beautiful youths prepared to wait upon the faithful in Paradise;
and he hath escaped thence through the inadvertence of Riwan." The very
meanest in Paradise is promised eighty thousand of these servants,
besides seventy-two ooreeyehs, &c.

NOTE 54. A compliment of this kind is generally uttered on letting a
shop or house, and on selling an article of dress, &c.; and "God bless
thee!" is usually said in reply. In like manner, a merchant selling
goods to be re-sold says, "May God grant thee a profit upon them!"

NOTE 55. The word thus translated signifies taking a morning-draught of
wine, milk, sherbet, or any other beverage.

NOTE 56. When Zeleekha invited her female friends that they might behold
Yoosuf (or Joseph) and excuse her for inclining to him, at the sight of
him they cut their own hands, and praised God, ejaculating these words,
"This is not a mortal," &c. (ur-an, ch. xii. v. 31).

NOTE 57. To persons more or less above him in rank, the shopkeeper rises
and stands, or merely makes a slight motion as if he were about to rise.

NOTE 58. This is a common invocation, for the protection of a person
from envy, or the evil eye, founded upon the last chapter but one of the
ur-an, in which the believer is desired to "seek refuge with the Lord
of the Daybreak" from various evils, and among these "from the mischief
of the envious." It is very often said to imply admiration of a child,
that the mother may not fear.

NOTE 59. This ejaculation is addressed to God.

NOTE 60. This alludes to one of the stages of the creation of man
explained in the ur-an, ch. xxii. v. 5.

NOTE 61. The old woman is described as being "full of joy" because,
having induced her mistress to answer the letter, she saw a prospect of
continuing the correspondence, and so obtaining additional presents.

NOTE 62. "Es-Suha" is an obscure star in the Greater Bear, at which
people look to try their powers of sight. It is the star 80, by [Greek:
z].

NOTE 63. My sheykh has remarked in a marginal note on the "Five Elders"
or Sheykhs here mentioned, "the known number is the four; namely the
 Khaleefehs; or the Four Welees (eminent saints), the seyyid
El-Bedawee and the seyyid Ed-Dasooee and Er-Rifa'ee and El-Geelanee."
The latter four are often mentioned together as being the saints
generally most esteemed in the present day and the founders of the four
principal orders of Darweeshes.--Who, then, can be meant by "the Five
Elders" I do not know; but I have retained this number as it occurs
again in a variation of the same verses in a subsequent tale, which is
almost exactly the same as that of Taj-el-Mulook.

NOTE 64. "Ibn-Seena" ("Son of Seena") is the true name of the great
physician called by us "Avicenna."

NOTE 65. The gait of Arab ladies is very remarkable: they incline the
lower part of the body from side to side as they step, and with the
hands raised to the level of the bosom they hold the edges of their
outer covering. Their pace is slow, and they look not about them, but
keep their eyes towards the ground in the direction to which they are
going.

NOTE 66. It should be remarked here, that the private room of an Eastern
princess is not to be regarded as a Western bed-room. In the East, a
guest may lay himself down upon a deewan in the presence of another, to
pass the night, without any infringement of decorum.

NOTE 67. See the latter paragraph of the first note in the present
series.

NOTE 68. See Note 9 to Chapter vii.

NOTE 69. The doors in Eastern houses generally turn on two wooden pins;
one fitting into a hole in the lintel; the other, into a hole
immediately behind the threshold; and the latter is very short. It is
therefore often easy to displace a door by raising it a little, which
may be done by means of a projecting wooden lock; and in many cases,
when the door cannot be displaced from its sockets, it may be raised
sufficiently to remove the inner latch from its catch. The doors of the
ancient temples and tombs in Egypt were formed as above described, with
pins, which were often made of bronze.

NOTE 70. I here read "nimsheh" (also written "nimjeh" and "nimjah"--from
the Persian "neemjah") instead of "amsheh." The latter is described by
my sheykh, in a marginal note, as "a strip of leather divided into two,
and tied together and nailed at the upper end to a piece of wood;" but
the use of such an instrument in this case would be ridiculous. The name
of "nimsheh" is often given to a royal dagger.

NOTE 71. As persons are often decapitated in an Eastern palace, a skin
is made use of to receive the head and the blood. I believe it to be
similar to the round skin used by travellers to eat upon; which is
converted into a bag by means of a running string round the edge.

In concluding the present series of notes, I may state my opinion, that
the two stories to which they relate are fully worthy of insertion in
this collection, as extending the picture of _Arab_ life and manners,
whatever may be thought of their _origin_.


   Thus commonly pronounced for "Sharrun kan," signifying
  "an evil hath come into existence." Names of this kind are
  sometimes given by the Arabs not in dispraise, but as prophetic
  of great achievements.

   "Light of the Place."

   "Delight of the Age."

   Mir-at ez-Zeman.

   "Notes on the Bedouins and Wahabys," 8vo. vol. i. pp. 55
  and 56.

   The Dynasty of the Faimee Khaleefehs was founded by
  El-Mahdee in Western Africa, in the year of the Flight 297. His
  third successor, El-Mo'ezz li-deeni-llah, conquered Egypt in
  the year 358, and the seat of his government was transferred to
  Cairo. As they claimed descent from Faimeh, and were of the
  Shiya'ee sect, their possession of the fairest province of the
  orthodox (or 'Abbasee) Khaleefehs forms a strange episode in
  the history of El-Islam.--Their power was overthrown by
  ala-ed-Deen, in the year 567.--ED.

   See Note 15 to Chapter ii.

   "El-Khia:" Account of the Palaces of the Khaleefehs.

   Dr. Millengen's Curiosities of Medical Experience, quoted
  in the Literary Gazette, No. 1043.

   The art here mentioned was first made known to Europeans
  by a Frenchman, M. Du Vigneau, in a work entitled "Secretaire
  Turc, contenant l'Art d'exprimer ses pensees sans se voir, sans
  se parler, et sans s'ecrire:" Paris, 1688: in-12.--Von Hammer
  has also given an interesting paper on this subject in the
  "Mines de l'Orient," No. 1: Vienna, 1809. (Note to Marcel's
  "Contes du Cheykh El-Mohdy," vol. iii. pp. 327 and 328: Paris,
  1833.)

   Called "ghasool el-azrar." In Delile's Flora Egyptiaca,
  the name of ghasool is given to the mesembryanthemum
  nodiflorum, class icosandria, order pentagynia.

   This name is now given to sherbet.

   albet el-Kumeyt, ch. x.--The aloe-plant is called
  "abir," "abr," "ibr," and "abbarah." The second of these
  words signifies "patience;" and so does the root of _all_ of
  them: and the last signifies "very patient." The _reason_ of
  its having these appellations cannot, of course, be _proved_.

   See Marcel, _ubi supra_. He states that Von Hammer's
  vocabulary of flowers and other hieroglyphic objects contains
  120 articles; and that of Du Vigneau, 179; almost all of the
  former being the same as those of the latter.

   Ch. xxviii. v. 19.

  37 5: Ch. v. v. 27.--This anecdote is from the albet
  el-Kumeyt, ch. viii.--[Kafoor was a black eunuch purchased by
  El-Ikhsheed, the first of the virtually-independent dynasty of
  the Ikhsheedeeyeh, which fell before the Faimee Khaleefehs.
  Kafoor was regent of Egypt for upwards of twenty years, during
  the reigns of his master's two sons; and was actual governor
  from the year of the Flight 355 to 357.--ED.]

   Sometimes, also, it means "May God cause thee to
  experience grief!" or "sorrow!" and, used in this sense, it is
  similar to the phrase, often occurring in this work, "the world
  became black before his face."

   The zikr here described was performed near the tomb of a
  saint, for whose sake it was celebrated. The ceremony is often
  performed in a sepulchral mosque, and often in the court, or in
  a chamber, of a private house.

   Marginal note by my sheykh.

   Idem.

   The "Modern Egyptians."

   See Note 57 to Chapter iii.

   As shewn in Note 68 to Chapter iv.




END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.


  LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
  DUKE STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E., AND GREAT WINDMILL STREET, W.







The Shifty Lad



In the land of Erin there dwelt long ago a widow who had an only son.
He was a clever boy, so she saved up enough money to send him to school,
and, as soon as he was old enough, to apprentice him to any trade that
he would choose. But when the time came, he said he would not be bound
to any trade, and that he meant to be a thief.

Now his mother was very sorrowful when she heard of this, but she knew
quite well that if she tried to stop his having his own way he would
only grow more determined to get it. So all the answer she made was that
the end of thieves was hanging at the bridge of Dublin, and then she
left him alone, hoping that when he was older he might become more
sensible.

One day she was going to church to hear a sermon from a great preacher,
and she begged the Shifty Lad, as the neighbours called him from the
tricks he played, to come with her. But he only laughed and declared
that he did not like sermons, adding:

'However, I will promise you this, that the first trade you hear named
after you come out from church shall be my trade for the rest of my
life.'

These words gave a little comfort to the poor woman, and her heart was
lighter than before as she bade him farewell.

When the Shifty Lad thought that the hour had nearly come for the sermon
to be over, he hid himself in some bushes in a little path that led
straight to his mother's house, and, as she passed along, thinking of
all the good things she had heard, a voice shouted close to her ear
'Robbery! Robbery! Robbery!' The suddenness of it made her jump. The
naughty boy had managed to change his voice, so that she did not know
it for his, and he had concealed himself so well that, though she peered
about all round her, she could see no one. As soon as she had turned
the corner the Shifty Lad came out, and by running very fast through
the wood he contrived to reach home before his mother, who found him
stretched out comfortably before the fire.

'Well, have you got any news to tell me?' asked he.

'No, nothing; for I left the church at once, and did not stop to speak
to anyone.'

'Oh, then no one has mentioned a trade to you?' he said in tones of
disappointment.

'Ye--es,' she replied slowly. 'At least, as I walked down the path a
voice cried out "Robbery! Robbery! Robbery!" but that was all.'

'And quite enough too,' answered the boy. 'What did I tell you? That is
going to be my trade.'

'Then your end will be hanging at the bridge of Dublin,' said she. But
there was no sleep for her that night, for she lay in the dark thinking
about her son.

'If he is to be a thief at all, he had better be a good one. And who is
there that can teach him?' the mother asked herself. But an idea came
to her, and she arose early, before the sun was up, and set off for the
home of the Black Rogue, or Gallows Bird, who was such a wonderful thief
that, though all had been robbed by him, no one could catch him.

'Good-morning to you,' said the woman as she reached the place where the
Black Gallows Bird lived when he was not away on his business. 'My son
has a fancy to learn your trade. Will you be kind enough to teach him?'

'If he is clever, I don't mind trying,' answered the Black Gallows Bird;
'and, of course, if ANY one can turn him into a first-rate thief, it
is I. But if he is stupid, it is of no use at all; I can't bear stupid
people.'

'No, he isn't stupid,' said the woman with a sigh. 'So to-night, after
dark, I will send him to you.'

The Shifty Lad jumped for joy when his mother told him where she had
been.

'I will become the best thief in all Erin!' he cried, and paid no heed
when his mother shook her head and murmured something about 'the bridge
of Dublin.'

Every evening after dark the Shifty Lad went to the home of the Black
Gallows Bird, and many were the new tricks he learned. By-and-by he was
allowed to go out with the Bird and watch him at work, and at last there
came a day when his master though that he had grown clever enough to
help in a big robbery.

'There is a rich farmer up there on the hill, who has just sold all his
fat cattle for much money and has bought some lean ones which will cost
him little. Now it happens that, while he has received the money for the
fat cattle, he has not yet paid the price of the thin ones, which he has
in the cowhouse. To-morrow he will go to the market with the money in
his hand, so to-night we must get at the chest. When all is quiet we
will hide in the loft.'

There was no moon, and it was the night of Hallowe'en, and everyone
was burning nuts and catching apples in a tub of water with their hands
tied, and playing all sorts of other games, till the Shifty Lad grew
quite tired of waiting for them to get to bed. The Black Gallows Bird,
who was more accustomed to the business, tucked himself up on the hay
and went to sleep, telling the boy to wake him when the merry-makers had
departed. But the Shifty Lad, who could keep still no longer, crept down
to the cowshed and loosened the heads of the cattle which were tied, and
they began to kick each other and bellow, and made such a noise that the
company in the farmhouse ran out to tie them up again. Then the Shifty
Lad entered the room and picked up a big handful of nuts, and returned
to the loft, where the Black Rogue was still sleeping. At first the
Shifty Lad shut his eyes too, but very soon he sat up, and taking a big
needle and thread from his pocket, he sewed the hem of the Black Gallows
Bird's coat to a heavy piece of bullock's hide that was hanging at his
back.

By this time the cattle were all tied up again, but as the people could
not find their nuts they sat round the fire and began to tell stories.

'I will crack a nut,' said the Shifty Lad.

'You shall not,' cried the Black Gallows Bird; 'they will hear you.'

'I don't care,' answered the Shifty Lad. 'I never spend Hallowe'en yet
without cracking a nut'; and he cracked one.

'Some one is cracking nuts up there,' said one of the merry-makers in
the farmhouse. 'Come quickly, and we will see who it is.'

He spoke loudly, and the Black Gallows Bird heard, and ran out of the
loft, dragging the big leather hide after him which the Shifty Lad had
sewed to his coat.

'He is stealing my hide!' shouted the farmer, and they all darted after
him; but he was too swift for them, and at last he managed to tear the
hide from his coat, and then he flew like a hare till he reached his old
hiding-place. But all this took a long time, and meanwhile the Shifty
Lad got down from the loft, and searched the house till he found the
chest with the gold and silver in it, concealed behind a load of straw
and covered with loaves of bread and a great cheese. The Shifty Lad
slung the money bags round his shoulders and took the bread and the
cheese under his arm, then set out quietly for the Black Rogue's house.

'Here you are at last, you villain!' cried his master in great wrath.
'But I will be revenged on you.'

'It is all right,' replied the Shifty Lad calmly. 'I have brought what
you wanted'; and he laid the things he was carrying down on the ground.

'Ah! you are the better thief,' said the Black Rogue's wife; and the
Black Rogue added:

'Yes, it is you who are the clever boy'; and they divided the spoil and
the Black Gallows Bird had one half and the Shifty Lad the other half.

A few weeks after that the Black Gallows Bird had news of a wedding that
was to be held near the town; and the bridegroom had many friends and
everybody sent him a present. Now a rich farmer who lived up near the
moor thought that nothing was so useful to a young couple when they
first began to keep house as a fine fat sheep, so he bade his shepherd
go off to the mountain where the flock were feeding, and bring him
back the best he could find. And the shepherd chose out the largest and
fattest of the sheep and the one with the whitest fleece; then he tied
its feet together and put it across his shoulder, for he had a long way
to go.

That day, the Shifty Lad happened to be wandering over the moor, when he
saw the man with the sheep on his shoulder walking along the road which
led past the Black Rogue's house. The sheep was heavy and the man was
in no hurry, so he came slowly and the boy knew that he himself could
easily get back to his master before the shepherd was even in sight.

'I will wager,' he cried, as he pushed quickly through the bushes which
hid the cabin--'I will wager that I will steal the sheep from the man
that is coming before he passes here.'

'Will you indeed?' said the Gallows Bird. 'I will wager you a hundred
silver pieces that you can do nothing of the sort.'

'Well, I will try it, anyway,' replied the boy, and disappeared in the
bushes. He ran fast till he entered a wood through which the shepherd
must go, and then he stopped, and taking off one of his shoes smeared it
with mud and set it in the path. When this was done he slipped behind a
rock and waited.

Very soon the man came up, and seeing the shoe lying there, he stooped
and looked at it.

'It is a good shoe,' he said to himself, 'but very dirty. Still, if I
had the fellow, I would be at the trouble of cleaning it'; so he threw
the shoe down again and went on.

The Shifty Lad smiled as he heard him, and, picking up the shoe, he
crept round by a short way and laid the other shoe on the path. A few
minutes after the shepherd arrived, and beheld the second shoe lying on
the path.

'Why, that is the fellow of the dirty shoe!' he exclaimed when he saw
it. 'I will go back and pick up the other one, and then I shall have a
pair of good shoes,' and he put the sheep on the grass and returned to
fetch the shoe. Then the Shifty Lad put on his shoes, and, picking up
the sheep, carried it home. And the Black Rogue paid him the hundred
marks of his wager.

When the shepherd reached the farmhouse that night he told his tale to
his master, who scolded him for being stupid and careless, and bade him
go the next day to the mountain and fetch him a kid, and he would send
that as a wedding gift. But the Shifty Lad was on the look-out, and hid
himself in the wood, and the moment the man drew near with the kid on
his shoulders began to bleat like a sheep, and no one, not even the
sheep's own mother, could have told the difference.

'Why, it must have got its feet loose, and have strayed after all,'
thought the man; and he put the kid on the grass and hurried off in the
direction of the bleating. Then the boy ran back and picked up the kid,
and took it to the Black Gallows Bird.

The shepherd could hardly believe his eyes when he returned from seeking
the sheep and found that the kid had vanished. He was afraid to go home
and tell the same tale that he had told yesterday; so he searched the
wood through and through till night was nearly come. Then he felt that
there was no help for it, and he must go home and confess to his master.

Of course, the farmer was very angry at this second misfortune; but this
time he told him to drive one of the big bulls from the mountain, and
warned him that if he lost THAT he would lose his place also. Again the
Shifty Lad, who was on the watch, perceived him pass by, and when he saw
the man returning with the great bull he cried to the Black Rogue:

'Be quick and come into the wood, and we will try to get the bull also.'

'But how can we do that?' asked the Black Rogue.

'Oh, quite easily! You hide yourself out there and baa like a sheep, and
I will go in the other direction and bleat like a kid. It will be all
right, I assure you.'

The shepherd was walking slowly, driving the bull before him, when he
suddenly heard a loud baa amongst the bushes far away on one side of the
path, and a feeble bleat answering it from the other side.

'Why, it must be the sheep and the kid that I lost,' said he. 'Yes,
surely it must'; and tying the bull hastily to a tree, he went off
after the sheep and the kid, and searched the wood till he was tired. Of
course by the time he came back the two thieves had driven the bull home
and killed him for meat, so the man was obliged to go to his master and
confess that he had been tricked again.

After this the Black Rogue and the Shifty Lad grew bolder and bolder,
and stole great quantities of cattle and sold them and grew quite rich.
One day they were returning from the market with a large sum of money in
their pockets when they passed a gallows erected on the top of a hill.

'Let us stop and look at that gallows,' exclaimed the Shifty Lad. 'I
have never seen one so close before. Yet some say that it is the end of
all thieves.'

There was no one in sight, and they carefully examined every part of it.

'I wonder how it feels to be hanged,' said the Shifty Lad. 'I should
like to know, in case they ever catch me. I'll try first, and then you
can do so.'

As he spoke he fastened the loose cord about his neck, and when it was
quite secure he told the Black Rogue to take the other end of the rope
and draw him up from the ground.

'When I am tired of it I will shake my legs, and then you must let me
down,' said he.

The Black Rogue drew up the rope, but in half a minute the Shifty Lad's
legs began to shake, and he quickly let it down again.

'You can't imagine what a funny feeling hanging gives you,' murmured
the Shifty Lad, who looked rather purple in the face and spoke in an odd
voice. 'I don't think you have every tried it, or you wouldn't have let
me go up first. Why, it is the pleasantest thing I have ever done. I was
shaking my legs from sheer delight, and if you had been there you would
have shaken your legs too.'

'Well, let me try, if it is so nice,' answered the Black Rogue. 'But be
sure you tie the knot securely, for I don't want to fall down and break
my neck.'

'Oh, I will see to that!' replied the Shifty Lad. 'When you are tired,
just whistle, and I'll let you down.'

So the Black Rogue was drawn up, and as soon as he was as high as the
rope would allow him to go the Shifty Lad called to him:

'Don't forest to whistle when you want to come down; but if you are
enjoying yourself as I did, shake your legs.'

And in a moment the Black Rogue's legs began to shake and to kick, and
the Shifty Lad stood below, watching him and laughing heartily.

'Oh, how funny you are! If you could only see yourself! Oh, you ARE
funny! But when you have had enough, whistle and you shall be let down';
and he rocked again with laughter.

But no whistle came, and soon the legs ceased to shake and to kick, for
the Black Gallows Bird was dead, as the Shifty Lad intended he should
be.

Then he went home to the Black Rogue's wife, and told her that her
husband was dead, and that he was ready to marry her if she liked. But
the woman had been fond of the Black Rogue, thief though he was, and she
shrank from the Shifty Lad in horror, and set the people after him,
and he had to fly to another part of the country where none knew of his
doings.

Perhaps if the Shifty Lad's mother knew anything of this, she may have
thought that by this time her son might be tired of stealing, and ready
to try some honest trade. But in reality he loved the tricks and danger,
and life would have seemed very dull without them. So he went on just as
before, and made friends whom he taught to be as wicked as himself, till
they took to robbing the king's storehouses, and by the advice of the
Wise Man the king sent out soldiers to catch the band of thieves.

For a long while they tried in vain to lay hands on them. The Shifty Lad
was too clever for them all, and if they laid traps he laid better ones.
At last one night he stole upon some soldiers while they were asleep in
a barn and killed them, and persuaded the villagers that if THEY did not
kill the other soldiers before morning they would certainly be killed
themselves. Thus it happened that when the sun rose not a single soldier
was alive in the village.

Of course this news soon reached the king's ears, and he was very angry,
and summoned the Wise Man to take counsel with him. And this was the
counsel of the Wise Man--that he should invite all the people in the
countryside to a ball, and among them the bold and impudent thief would
be sure to come, and would be sure to ask the king's daughter to dance
with him.

'Your counsel is good,' said the king, who made his feast and prepared
for his ball; and all the people of the countryside were present, and
the Shifty Lad came with them.

When everyone had eaten and drunk as much as they wanted they went into
the ballroom. There was a great throng, and while they were pressing
through the doorway the Wise Man, who had a bottle of black ointment
hidden in his robes, placed a tiny dot on the cheek of the Shifty Lad
near his ear. The Shifty Lad felt nothing, but as he approached the
king's daughter to ask her to be his partner he caught sight of the
black dot in a silver mirror. Instantly he guessed who had put it
there and why, but he said nothing, and danced so beautifully that the
princess was quite delighted with him. At the end of the dance he bowed
low to his partner and left her, to mingle with the crowd that was
filling the doorway. As he passed the Wise Man he contrived not only to
steal the bottle but to place two black dots on his face, and one on the
faces of twenty other men. Then he slipped the bottle back in the Wise
Man's robe.

By-and-by he went up to the king's daughter again, and begged for the
honour of another dance. She consented, and while he was stooping to
tie the ribbons on his shoe she took out from her pocket another bottle,
which the Wizard had given her, and put a black dot on his cheek. But
she was not as skilful as the Wise Man, and the Shifty Lad felt the
touch of her fingers; so as soon as the dance was over he contrived to
place a second black dot on the faces of the twenty men and two more on
the Wizard, after which he slipped the bottle into her pocket.

At length the ball came to an end, and then the king ordered all the
doors to be shut, and search made for a man with two black dots on his
cheek. The chamberlain went among the guests, and soon found such a man,
but just as he was going to arrest him and bring him before the king his
eye fell on another with the same mark, and another, and another, till
he had counted twenty--besides the Wise Man--on whose face were found
spots.

Not knowing what to do, the chamberlain hurried back with his tale
to the king, who immediately sent for the Wise Man, and then for his
daughter.

'The thief must have stolen your bottle,' said the king to the Wizard.

'No, my lord, it is here,' answered the Wise Man, holding it out.

'Then he must have got yours,' he cried, turning to his daughter.

'Indeed, father, it is safe in my pocket,' replied she, taking it out as
she spoke; and they all three looked at each other and remained silent.

'Well,' said the king at last, 'the man who has done this is cleverer
than most men, and if he will make himself known to me he shall marry
the princess and govern half my kingdom while I am alive, and the whole
of it when I am dead. Go and announce this in the ballroom,' he added to
an attendant, 'and bring the fellow hither.'

So the attendant went into the ballroom and did as the king had bidden
him, when, to his surprise, not one man, but twenty, stepped forward,
all with black dots on their faces.

'I am the person you want,' they all exclaimed at once, and the
attendant, as much bewildered as the chamberlain had been, desired them
to follow him into the king's presence.

But the question was too difficult for the king to decide, so he called
together his council. For hours they talked, but to no purpose, and in
the end they hit upon a plan which they might just as well have thought
of at the beginning.

And this was the plan. A child was to be brought to the palace, and next
the king's daughter would give her an apple. Then the child was to take
the apple and be led into a room where the twenty men with the black
dots were sitting in a ring. And to whomsoever the child gave the apple,
that man should marry the king's daughter.

'Of course,' said the king, 'it may not be the right man, after all, but
then again it MAY be. Anyhow, it is the best we can do.'

The princess herself led the child into the room where the twenty men
were now seated. She stood in the centre of the ring for a moment,
looking at one man after another, and then held out the apple to the
Shifty Lad, who was twisting a shaving of wood round his finger, and had
the mouthpiece of a bagpipe hanging from his neck.

'You ought not to have anything which the others have not got,' said
the chamberlain, who had accompanied the princess; and he bade the
child stand outside for a minute, while he took away the shaving and the
mouthpiece, and made the Shifty Lad change his place. Then he called the
child in, but the little girl knew him again, and went straight up to
him with the apple.

'This is the man whom the child has twice chosen,' said the chamberlain,
signing to the Shifty Lad to kneel before the king. 'It was all quite
fair; we tried it twice over.' In this way the Shifty Lad won the king's
daughter, and they were married the next day.

A few days later the bride and bridegroom were taking a walk together,
and the path led down to the river, and over the river was a bridge.

'And what bridge may this be?' asked the Shifty Lad; and the princess
told him that this was the bridge of Dublin.

'Is it indeed?' cried he. 'Well, now, many is the time that my mother
has said, when I played her a trick, that my end would be that I should
hang on the bridge of Dublin.'

'Oh, if you want to fulfil her prophecies,' laughed the princess, 'you
have only to let me tie my handkerchief round your ankle, and I will
hold you as you hang over the wall of the bridge.'

'That would be fine fun,' said he; 'but you are not strong enough to
hold me up.'

'Oh, yes, I am,' said the princess; 'just try.' So at last he let her
bind the handkerchief round his ankle and hang him over the wall, and
they both laughed and jested at the strength of the princess.

'Now pull me up again,' called he; but as he spoke a great cry arose
that the palace was burning. The princess turned round with a start, and
let go her handkerchief, and the Shifty Lad fell, and struck his head on
a stone, and died in an instant.

So his mother's prophecy had come true, after all.

West Highland Tales.




The False Prince and the True


The king had just awakened from his midday sleep, for it was summer, and
everyone rose early and rested from twelve to three, as they do in hot
countries. He had dressed himself in cool white clothes, and was passing
through the hall on his way to the council chamber, when a number of
young nobles suddenly appeared before him, and one amongst them stepped
forward and spoke.

'Sire, this morning we were all playing tennis in the court, the prince
and this gentleman with the rest, when there broke out some dispute
about the game. The prince lost his temper, and said many insulting
things to the other, who was playing against him, till at length the
gentleman whom you see there struck him violently in the face, so that
the blood ran from his mouth and nose. We were all so horrified at the
sight, that we should most likely have killed the man then and there,
for daring to lay hands on the prince, had not his grandfather the duke
stepped between and commanded us to lay the affair before you.'

The king had listened attentively to the story, and when it was ended he
said:

'I suppose the prince had no arms with him, or else he would have used
them?'

'Yes, sire, he had arms; he always carries a dagger in his belt. But
when he saw the blood pouring from his face, he went to a corner of the
court and began to cry, which was the strangest thing of all.'

On hearing this the king walked to the window and stood for a few
minutes with his back to the room, where the company of young men
remained silent. Then he came back, his face white and stern.

'I tell you,' he said, 'and it is the solemn truth, that I would rather
you had told me that the prince was dead, though he is my only son, than
know that he would suffer such an injury without attempting to avenge
it. As for the gentleman who struck him, he will be brought before my
judges, and will plead his own cause, but I hardly think he can escape
death, after having assaulted the heir to the crown.'

The young man raised his head as if to reply, but the king would not
listen, and commanded his guards to put him under arrest, adding,
however, that if the prisoner wished to visit any part of the city, he
was at liberty to do so properly guarded, and in fifteen days he would
be brought to trial before the highest judges in the land.

The young man left the king's presence, surrounded by soldiers, and
accompanied by many of his friends, for he was a great favourite. By
their advice he spent the fourteen days that remained to him going about
to seek counsel from wise men of all sorts, as to how he might escape
death, but no one could help him, for none could find any excuse for the
blow he had given to the prince.

The fourteenth night had come, and in despair the prisoner went out to
take his last walk through the city. He wandered on hardly knowing
where he went, and his face was so white and desperate that none of his
companions dared speak to him. The sad little procession had passed some
hours in this manner, when, near the gate of a monastery, an old woman
appeared round a corner, and suddenly stood before the young man. She
was bent almost double, and was so wizened and wrinkled that she looked
at least ninety; only her eyes were bright and quick as those of a girl.

'Sir,' she said, 'I know all that has happened to you, and how you are
seeking if in any wise you can save your life. But there is none that
can answer that question save only I myself, if you will promise to do
all I ask.'

At her words the prisoner felt as if a load had all at once been rolled
off him.

'Oh, save me, and I will do anything!' he cried. 'It is so hard to leave
the world and go out into the darkness.'

'You will not need to do that,' answered the old woman, 'you have only
got to marry me, and you will soon be free.'

'Marry you?' exclaimed he, 'but--but--I am not yet twenty, and you
--why, you must be a hundred at least! Oh, no, it is quite impossible.'

He spoke without thinking, but the flash of anger which darted from her
eyes made him feel uncomfortable. However, all she said was:

'As you like; since you reject me, let the crows have you,' and hurried
away down the street.

Left to himself, the full horror of his coming death rushed upon the
young man, and he understood that he had thrown away his sole chance of
life. Well, if he must, he must, he said to himself, and began to run as
fast as he could after the old crone, who by this time could scarcely be
seen, even in the moonlight. Who would have believed a woman past ninety
could walk with such speed? It seemed more like flying! But at length,
breathless and exhausted, he reached her side, and gasped out:

'Madam, pardon me for my hasty words just now; I was wrong, and will
thankfully accept the offer you made me.'

'Ah, I thought you would come to your senses,' answered she, in rather
an odd voice. 'We have no time to lose--follow me at once,' and they
went on silently and swiftly till they stopped at the door of a small
house in which the priest lived. Before him the old woman bade the
prisoner swear that she should be his wife, and this he did in the
presence of witnesses. Then, begging the priest and the guards to leave
them alone for a little, she told the young man what he was to do, when
the next morning he was brought before the king and the judges.

The hall was full to overflowing when the prisoner entered it, and all
marvelled at the brightness of his face. The king inquired if he had any
excuse to plead for the high treason he had committed by striking the
heir to the throne, and, if so, to be quick in setting it forth. With a
low bow the youth made answer in a clear voice:

'O my lord and gracious king, and you, nobles and wise men of the land,
I leave my cause without fear in your hands, knowing that you will
listen and judge rightly, and that you will suffer me to speak to the
end, before you give judgment.

'For four years, you, O king, had been married to the queen and yet had
no children, which grieved you greatly. The queen saw this, and likewise
that your love was going from her, and thought night and day of some
plan that might put an end to this evil. At length, when you were
away fighting in distant countries, she decided what she would do, and
adopted in secret the baby of a poor quarryman, sending a messenger to
tell you that you had a son. No one suspected the truth except a priest
to whom the queen confessed the truth, and in a few weeks she fell ill
and died, leaving the baby to be brought up as became a prince. And now,
if your highness will permit me, I will speak of myself.'

'What you have already told me,' answered the king, 'is so strange that
I cannot imagine what more there is to tell, but go on with your story.'

'One day, shortly after the death of the queen,' continued the young
man, 'your highness was hunting, and outstripped all your attendants
while chasing the deer. You were in a part of the country which you did
not know, so seeing an orchard all pink and white with apple-blossoms,
and a girl tossing a ball in one corner, you went up to her to ask your
way. But when she turned to answer you, you were so struck with her
beauty that all else fled from your mind. Again and again you rode back
to see her, and at length persuaded her to marry you. She only thought
you a poor knight, and agreed that as you wished it, the marriage should
be kept secret.

'After the ceremony you gave her three rings and a charm with a cross
on it, and then put her in a cottage in the forest, thinking to hide the
matter securely.

'For some months you visited the cottage every week; but a rebellion
broke out in a distant part of the kingdom, and called for your
presence. When next you rode up to the cottage, it was empty, and none
could inform you whither your bride had gone. That, sire, I can now
tell you,' and the young man paused and looked at the king, who
coloured deeply. 'She went back to her father the old duke, once your
chamberlain, and the cross on her breast revealed at once who you were.
Fierce was his anger when he heard his daughter's tale, and he vowed
that he would hide her safely from you, till the day when you would
claim her publicly as your queen.

'By and bye I was born, and was brought up by my grandfather in one of
his great houses. Here are the rings you gave to my mother, and here is
the cross, and these will prove if I am your son or not.'

As he spoke the young man laid the jewels at the feet of the king, and
the nobles and the judges pressed round to examine them. The king alone
did not move from his seat, for he had forgotten the hall of justice and
all about him, and saw only the apple-orchard, as it was twenty years
ago, and the beautiful girl playing at ball. A sudden silence round him
made him look up, and he found the eyes of the assembly fixed on him.

'It is true; it is he who is my son, and not the other,' he said with
an effort, 'and let every man present swear to acknowledge him as king,
after my death.'

Therefore one by one they all knelt before him and took the oath, and
a message was sent to the false prince, forbidding him ever again to
appear at court, though a handsome pension was granted him.

At last the ceremony was over, and the king, signing to his newly found
son to follow him, rose and went into another room.

'Tell me how you knew all that,' he said, throwing himself into a carved
chair filled with crimson cushions, and the prince told of his meeting
with the old woman who had brought him the jewels from his mother, and
how he had sworn before a priest to marry her, though he did not want to
do it, on account of the difference in their ages, and besides, he would
rather receive a bride chosen by the king himself. But the king frowned,
and answered sharply:

'You swore to marry her if she saved your life, and, come what may,
you must fulfil your promise.' Then, striking a silver shield that hung
close by, he said to the equerry who appeared immediately:

'Go and seek the priest who lives near the door of the prison, and ask
him where you can find the old woman who visited him last night; and
when you have found her, bring her to the palace.'

It took some time to discover the whereabouts of the old woman, but at
length it was accomplished, and when she arrived at the palace with the
equerry, she was received with royal honours, as became the bride of
the prince. The guards looked at each other with astonished eyes, as the
wizened creature, bowed with age, passed between their lines; but they
were more amazed still at the lightness of her step as she skipped up
the steps to the great door before which the king was standing, with the
prince at his side. If they both felt a shock at the appearance of the
aged lady they did not show it, and the king, with a grave bow, took her
band, and led her to the chapel, where a bishop was waiting to perform
the marriage ceremony.

For the next few weeks little was seen of the prince, who spent all his
days in hunting, and trying to forget the old wife at home. As for the
princess, no one troubled himself about her, and she passed the days
alone in her apartments, for she had absolutely declined the services of
the ladies-in-waiting whom the king had appointed for her.

One night the prince returned after a longer chase than usual, and he
was so tired that he went up straight to bed. Suddenly he was awakened
by a strange noise in the room, and suspecting that a robber might have
stolen in, he jumped out of bed, and seized his sword, which lay ready
to his hand. Then he perceived that the noise proceeded from the next
room, which belonged to the princess, and was lighted by a burning
torch. Creeping softly to the door, he peeped through it, and beheld
her lying quietly, with a crown of gold and pearls upon her head, her
wrinkles all gone, and her face, which was whiter than the snow, as
fresh as that of a girl of fourteen. Could that really be his wife--that
beautiful, beautiful creature?

The prince was still gazing in surprise when the lady opened her eyes
and smiled at him.

'Yes, I really am your wife,' she said, as if she had guessed his
thoughts, 'and the enchantment is ended. Now I must tell you who I am,
and what befell to cause me to take the shape of an old woman.

'The king of Granada is my father, and I was born in the palace which
overlooks the plain of the Vega. I was only a few months old when a
wicked fairy, who had a spite against my parents, cast a spell over
me, bending my back and wrinkling my skin till I looked as if I was a
hundred years old, and making me such an object of disgust to everyone,
that at length the king ordered my nurse to take my away from the
palace. She was the only person who cared about me, and we lived
together in this city on a small pension allowed me by the king.

'When I was about three an old man arrived at our house, and begged my
nurse to let him come in and rest, as he could walk no longer. She saw
that he was very ill, so put him to bed and took such care of him that
by and bye he was as strong as ever. In gratitude for her goodness to
him, he told her that he was a wizard and could give her anything she
chose to ask for, except life or death, so she answered that what she
longed for most in the world was that my wrinkled skin should disappear,
and that I should regain the beauty with which I was born. To this he
replied that as my misfortune resulted from a spell, this was rather
difficult, but he would do his best, and at any rate he could promise
that before my fifteenth birthday I should be freed from the enchantment
if I could get a man who would swear to marry me as I was.

'As you may suppose, this was not easy, as my ugliness was such that
no one would look at me a second time. My nurse and I were almost in
despair, as my fifteenth birthday was drawing near, and I had never so
much as spoken to a man. At last we received a visit from the wizard,
who told us what had happened at court, and your story, bidding me to
put myself in your way when you had lost all hope, and offer to save you
if you would consent to marry me.

'That is my history, and now you must beg the king to send messengers at
once to Granada, to inform my father of our marriage, and I think,' she
added with a smile, 'that he will not refuse us his blessing.'

Adapted from the Portuguese.




The Jogi's Punishment


Once upon a time there came to the ancient city of Rahmatabad a
jogi of holy appearance, who took up his abode
under a tree outside the city, where he would sit for days at a time
fasting from food and drink, motionless except for the fingers that
turned restlessly his string of beads. The fame of such holiness as this
soon spread, and daily the citizens would flock to see him, eager to
get his blessing, to watch his devotions, or to hear his teaching, if
he were in the mood to speak. Very soon the rajah himself heard of the
jogi, and began regularly to visit him to seek his counsel and to ask
his prayers that a son might be vouchsafed to him. Days passed by, and
at last the rajah became so possessed with the thought of the holy man
that he determined if possible to get him all to himself. So he built in
the neighbourhood a little shrine, with a room or two added to it, and a
small courtyard closely walled up; and, when all was ready, besought the
jogi to occupy it, and to receive no other visitors except himself and
his queen and such pupils as the jogi might choose, who would hand down
his teaching. To this the jogi consented; and thus he lived for some
time upon the king's bounty, whilst the fame of his godliness grew day
by day.

Now, although the rajah of Rahmatabad had no son, he possessed a
daughter, who as she grew up became the most beautiful creature that eye
ever rested upon. Her father had long before betrothed her to the son of
the neighbouring rajah of Dilaram, but as yet she had not been married
to him, and lived the quiet life proper to a maiden of her beauty and
position. The princess had of course heard of the holy man and of his
miracles and his fasting, and she was filled with curiosity to see and
to speak to him; but this was difficult, since she was not allowed to go
out except into the palace grounds, and then was always closely guarded.
However, at length she found an opportunity, and made her way one
evening alone to the hermit's shrine.

Unhappily, the hermit was not really as holy as he seemed; for no sooner
did he see the princess than he fell in love with her wonderful beauty,
and began to plot in his heart how he could win her for his wife. But
the maiden was not only beautiful, she was also shrewd; and as soon as
she read in the glance of the jogi the love that filled his soul, she
sprang to her feet, and, gathering her veil about her, ran from the
place as fast as she could. The jogi tried to follow, but he was no
match for her; so, beside himself with rage at finding that he could not
overtake her, he flung at her a lance, which wounded her in the leg. The
brave princess stooped for a second to pluck the lance out of the wound,
and then ran on until she found herself safe at home again. There she
bathed and bound up the wound secretly, and told no one how naughty she
had been, for she knew that her father would punish her severely.

Next day, when the king went to visit the jogi, the holy man would
neither speak to nor look at him.

'What is the matter?' asked the king. 'Won't you speak to me to-day?'

'I have nothing to say that you would care to hear,' answered the jogi.

'Why?' said the king. 'Surely you know that I value all that you say,
whatever it may be.'

But still the jogi sat with his face turned away, and the more the king
pressed him the more silent and mysterious he became. At last, after
much persuasion, he said:

'Let me tell you, then, that there is in this city a creature which,
if you do not put an end to it, will kill every single person in the
place.'

The king, who was easily frightened, grew pale.

'What?' he gasped--'what is this dreadful thing? How am I to know it
and to catch it? Only counsel me and help me, and I will do all that you
advise.'

'Ah!' replied the jogi, 'it is indeed dreadful. It is in the shape of a
beautiful girl, but it is really an evil spirit. Last evening it came to
visit me, and when I looked upon it its beauty faded into hideousness,
its teeth became horrible fangs, its eyes glared like coals of fire,
great claws sprang from its slender fingers, and were I not what I am it
might have consumed me.'

The king could hardly speak from alarm, but at last he said:

'How am I to distinguish this awful thing when I see it?'

'Search,' said the jogi, 'for a lovely girl with a lance wound in her
leg, and when she is found secure her safely and come and tell me, and I
will advise you what to do next.'

Away hurried the king, and soon set all his soldiers scouring the
country for a girl with a lance wound in her left. For two days the
search went on, and then it was somehow discovered that the only person
with a lance wound in the leg was the princess herself. The king,
greatly agitated, went off to tell the jogi, and to assure him that
there must be some mistake. But of course the jogi was prepared for
this, and had his answer ready.

'She is not really your daughter, who was stolen away at her birth, but
an evil spirit that has taken her form,' said he solemnly. 'You can do
what you like, but if you don't take my advice she will kill you all.'
And so solemn he appeared, and so unshaken in his confidence, that the
king's wisdom was blinded, and he declared that he would do whatever the
jogi advised, and believe whatever he said. So the jogi directed him to
send him secretly two carpenters; and when they arrived he set them to
make a great chest, so cunningly jointed and put together that neither
air nor water could penetrate it. There and then the chest was made,
and, when it was ready, the jogi bade the king to bring the princess
by night; and they two thrust the poor little maiden into the chest and
fastened it down with long nails, and between them carried it to the
river and pushed it out into the stream.

As soon as the jogi got back from this deed he called two of his pupils,
and pretended that it had been revealed to him that there should be
found floating on the river a chest with something of great price within
it; and he bade them go and watch for it at such a place far down the
stream, and when the chest came slowly along, bobbing and turning in the
tide, they were to seize it and secretly and swiftly bring it to him,
for he was now determined to put the princess to death himself. The
pupils set off at once, wondering at the strangeness of their errand,
and still more at the holiness of the jogi to whom such secrets were
revealed.

It happened that, as the next morning was dawning, the gallant young
prince of Dilaram was hunting by the banks of the river, with a great
following of wazirs, attendants, and huntsmen, and as he rode he saw
floating on the river a large chest, which came slowly along, bobbing
and turning in the tide. Raising himself in his saddle, he gave an
order, and half a dozen men plunged into the water and drew the chest
out on to the river bank, where every one crowded around to see what
it could contain. The prince was certainly not the least curious among
them; but he was a cautious young man, and, as he prepared to open the
chest himself, he bade all but a few stand back, and these few to draw
their swords, so as to be prepared in case the chest should hold some
evil beast, or djinn, or giant. When all were ready and expectant, the
prince with his dagger forced open the lid and flung it back, and there
lay, living and breathing, the most lovely maiden he had ever seen in
his life.

Although she was half stifled from her confinement in the chest, the
princess speedily revived, and, when she was able to sit up, the prince
began to question her as to who she was and how she came to be shut
up in the chest and set afloat upon the water; and she, blushing and
trembling to find herself in the presence of so many strangers, told him
that she was the princess of Rahmatabad, and that she had been put into
the chest by her own father. When he on his part told her that he
was the prince of Dilaram, the astonishment of the young people was
unbounded to find that they, who had been betrothed without ever having
seen one another, should have actually met for the first time in such
strange circumstances. In fact, the prince was so moved by her beauty
and modest ways that he called up his wazirs and demanded to be married
at once to this lovely lady who had so completely won his heart. And
married they were then and there upon the river bank, and went home to
the prince's palace, where, when the story was told, they were welcomed
by the old rajah, the prince's father, and the remainder of the day was
given over to feasting and rejoicing. But when the banquet was over, the
bride told her husband that now, on the threshold of their married
life, she had more to relate of her adventures than he had given her
the opportunity to tell as yet; and then, without hiding anything, she
informed him of all that happened to her from the time she had stolen
out to visit the wicked jogi.

In the morning the prince called his chief wazir and ordered him to shut
up in the chest in which the princess had been found a great monkey that
lived chained up in the palace, and to take the chest back to the river
and set it afloat once more and watch what became of it. So the monkey
was caught and put into the chest, and some of the prince's servants
took it down to the river and pushed it off into the water. Then they
followed secretly a long way off to see what became of it.

Meanwhile the jogi's two pupils watched and watched for the chest until
they were nearly tired of watching, and were beginning to wonder whether
the jogi was right after all, when on the second day they spied the
great chest coming floating on the river, slowly bobbing and turning in
the tide; and instantly a great joy and exultation seized them, for they
thought that here indeed was further proof of the wonderful wisdom of
their master. With some difficulty they secured the chest, and carried
it back as swiftly and secretly as possible to the jogi's house. As soon
as they brought in the chest, the jogi, who had been getting very cross
and impatient, told them to put it down, and to go outside whilst he
opened the magic chest.

'And even if you hear cries and sounds, however alarming, you must on
no account enter,' said the jogi, walking over to a closet where lay the
silken cord that was to strangle the princess.

And the two pupils did as they were told, and went outside and shut
close all the doors. Presently they heard a great outcry within and the
jogi's voice crying aloud for help; but they dared not enter, for had
they not been told that whatever the noise, they must not come in? So
they sat outside, waiting and wondering; and at last all grew still
and quiet, and remained so for such a long time that they determined
to enter and see if all was well. No sooner had they opened the door
leading into the courtyard than they were nearly upset by a huge monkey
that came leaping straight to the doorway and escaped past them into
the open fields. Then they stepped into the room, and there they saw the
jogi's body lying torn to pieces on the threshold of his dwelling!

Very soon the story spread, as stories will, and reached the ears of the
princess and her husband, and when she knew that her enemy was dead she
made her peace with her father.

From Major Campbell, Feroshepore.




The Heart of a Monkey


A long time ago a little town made up of a collection of low huts stood
in a tiny green valley at the foot of a cliff. Of course the people had
taken great care to build their houses out of reach of the highest tide
which might be driven on shore by a west wind, but on the very edge of
the town there had sprung up a tree so large that half its boughs hung
over the huts and the other half over the deep sea right under the
cliff, where sharks loved to come and splash in the clear water. The
branches of the tree itself were laden with fruit, and every day at
sunrise a big grey monkey might have been seen sitting in the topmost
branches having his breakfast, and chattering to himself with delight.

After he had eaten all the fruit on the town side of the tree the monkey
swung himself along the branches to the part which hung over the water.
While he was looking out for a nice shady place where he might perch
comfortably he noticed a shark watching him from below with greedy eyes.

'Can I do anything for you, my friend?' asked the monkey politely.

'Oh! if you only would thrown me down some of those delicious things,
I should be so grateful,' answered the shark. 'After you have lived on
fish for fifty years you begin to feel you would like a change. And I am
so very, very tired of the taste of salt.'

'Well, I don't like salt myself,' said the monkey; 'so if you will open
your mouth I will throw this beautiful juicy kuyu into it,' and, as he
spoke, he pulled one off the branch just over his head. But it was not
so easy to hit the shark's mouth as he supposed, even when the creature
had turned on his back, and the first kuyu only struck one of his teeth
and rolled into the water. However, the second time the monkey had
better luck, and the fruit fell right in.

'Ah, how good!' cried the shark. 'Send me another, please.' And the
monkey grew tired of picking the kuyu long before the shark was tired of
eating them.

'It is getting late, and I must be going home to my children,' he said,
at length, 'but if you are here at the same time to-morrow I will give
you another treat.'

'Thank you, thank you,' said the shark, showing all his great ugly teeth
as he grinned with delight; 'you can't guess how happy you have made
me,' and he swam away into the shadow, hoping to sleep away the time
till the monkey came again.

For weeks the monkey and the shark breakfasted together, and it was
a wonder that the tree had any fruit left for them. They became fast
friends, and told each other about their homes and their children, and
how to teach them all they ought to know. By and bye the monkey became
rather discontented with his green house in a grove of palms beyond the
town, and longed to see the strange things under the sea which he had
heard of from the shark. The shark perceived this very clearly, and
described greater marvels, and the monkey as he listened grew more and
more gloomy.

Matters were in this state when one day the shark said: 'I really hardly
know how to thank you for all your kindness to me during these weeks.
Here I have nothing of my own to offer you, but if you would only
consent to come home with me, how gladly would I give you anything that
might happen to take your fancy.'

'I should like nothing better,' cried the monkey, his teeth chattering,
as they always did when he was pleased. 'But how could I get there? Not
by water. Ugh! It makes me ill to think of it!'

'Oh! don't let that trouble you,' replied the shark, 'you have only to
sit on my back and I will undertake that not a drop of water shall touch
you.'

So it was arranged, and directly after breakfast next morning the shark
swam close up under the tree and the monkey dropped neatly on his back,
without even a splash. After a few minutes--for at first he felt a
little frightened at his strange position--the monkey began to enjoy
himself vastly, and asked the shark a thousand questions about the fish
and the sea-weeds and the oddly-shaped things that floated past them,
and as the shark always gave him some sort of answer, the monkey never
guessed that many of the objects they saw were as new to his guide as to
himself.

The sun had risen and set six times when the shark suddenly said, 'My
friend, we have now performed half our journey, and it is time that I
should tell you something.'

'What is it?' asked the monkey. 'Nothing unpleasant, I hope, for you
sound rather grave?'

'Oh, no! Nothing at all. It is only that shortly before we left I heard
that the sultan of my country is very ill, and that the only thing to
cure him is a monkey's heart.'

'Poor man, I am very sorry for him,' replied the monkey; 'but you were
unwise not to tell me till we had started.'

'What do you mean?' asked the shark; but the monkey, who now understood
the whole plot, did not answer at once, for he was considering what he
should say.

'Why are you so silent?' inquired the shark again.

'I was thinking what a pity it was you did not tell me while I was still
on land, and then I would have brought my heart with me.'

'Your heart! Why isn't your heart here?' said the shark, with a puzzled
expression.

'Oh, no! Of course not. Is it possible you don't know that when we
leave home we always hang up our hearts on trees, to prevent their being
troublesome? However, perhaps you won't believe that, and will just
think I have invented it because I am afraid, so let us go on to your
country as fast as we can, and when we arrive you can look for my heart,
and if you find it you can kill me.'

The monkey spoke in such a calm, indifferent way that the shark was
quite deceived, and began to wish he had not been in such a hurry.

'But there is no use going on if your heart is not with you,' he said at
last. 'We had better turn back to the town, and then you can fetch it.'

Of course, this was just what the monkey wanted, but he was careful not
to seem too pleased.

'Well, I don't know,' he remarked carelessly, 'it is such a long way;
but you may be right.'

'I am sure I am,' answered the shark, 'and I will swim as quickly as
I can,' and so he did, and in three days they caught sight of the kuyu
tree hanging over the water.

With a sigh of relief the monkey caught hold of the nearest branch and
swung himself up.

'Wait for me here,' he called out to the shark. 'I am so hungry I must
have a little breakfast, and then I will go and look for my heart,' and
he went further and further into the branches so that the shark could
not see him. Then he curled himself up and went to sleep.

'Are you there?' cried the shark, who was soon tired of swimming about
under the cliff, and was in haste to be gone.

The monkey awoke with a start, but did not answer.

'Are you there?' called the shark again, louder than before, and in a
very cross voice.

'Oh, yes. I am here,' replied the monkey; 'but I wish you had not
wakened me up. I was having such a nice nap.'

'Have you got it?' asked the shark. 'It is time we were going.'

'Going where?' inquired the monkey.

'Why, to my country, of course, with your heart. You CAN'T have
forgotten!'

'My dear friend,' answered the monkey, with a chuckle, 'I think you must
be going a little mad. Do you take me for a washerman's donkey?'

'Don't talk nonsense,' exclaimed the shark, who did not like being
laughed at. 'What do you mean about a washerman's donkey? And I wish you
would be quick, or we may be too late to save the sultan.'

'Did you really never hear of the washerman's donkey?' asked the monkey,
who was enjoying himself immensely. 'Why, he is the beast who has no
heart. And as I am not feeling very well, and am afraid to start while
the sun is so high lest I should get a sunstroke, if you like, I will
come a little nearer and tell you his story.'

'Very well,' said the shark sulkily, 'if you won't come, I suppose I may
as well listen to that as do nothing.'

So the monkey began.

'A washerman once lived in the great forest on the other side of the
town, and he had a donkey to keep him company and to carry him wherever
he wanted to go. For a time they got on very well, but by and bye the
donkey grew lazy and ungrateful for her master's kindness, and ran away
several miles into the heart of the forest, where she did nothing but
eat and eat and eat, till she grew so fat she could hardly move.

'One day as she was tasting quite a new kind of grass and wondering if
it was as good as what she had had for dinner the day before, a hare
happened to pass by.

'"Well, that is a fat creature," thought she, and turned out of her path
to tell the news to a lion who was a friend of hers. Now the lion had
been very ill, and was not strong enough to go hunting for himself, and
when the hare came and told him that a very fat donkey was to be found
only a few hundred yards off, tears of disappointment and weakness
filled his eyes.

'"What is the good of telling me that?" he asked, in a weepy voice; "you
know I cannot even walk as far as that palm."

'"Never mind," answered the hare briskly. "If you can't go to your
dinner your dinner shall come to you," and nodding a farewell to the
lion she went back to the donkey.

'"Good morning," said she, bowing politely to the donkey, who lifted her
head in surprise. "Excuse my interrupting you, but I have come on very
important business."

'"Indeed," answered the donkey, "it is most kind of you to take the
trouble. May I inquire what the business is?"

'"Certainly," replied the hare. "It is my friend the lion who has heard
so much of your charms and good qualities that he has sent me to beg
that you will give him your paw in marriage. He regrets deeply that he
is unable to make the request in person, but he has been ill and is too
weak to move."

'"Poor fellow! How sad!" said the donkey. "But you must tell him that
I feel honoured by his proposal, and will gladly consent to be Queen of
the Beasts."

'"Will you not come and tell him so yourself?" asked the hare.

'Side by side they went down the road which led to the lion's house. It
took a long while, for the donkey was so fat with eating she could only
walk very slowly, and the hare, who could have run the distance in about
five minutes, was obliged to creep along till she almost dropped with
fatigue at not being able to go at her own pace. When at last they
arrived the lion was sitting up at the entrance, looking very pale and
thin. The donkey suddenly grew shy and hung her head, but the lion put
on his best manners and invited both his visitors to come in and make
themselves comfortable.

'Very soon the hare got up and said, "Well, as I have another engagement
I will leave you to make acquaintance with your future husband," and
winking at the lion she bounded away.

'The donkey expected that as soon as they were left alone the lion would
begin to speak of their marriage, and where they should live, but as
he said nothing she looked up. To her surprise and terror she saw him
crouching in the corner, his eyes glaring with a red light, and with a
loud roar he sprang towards her. But in that moment the donkey had had
time to prepare herself, and jumping on one side dealt the lion such a
hard kick that he shrieked with the pain. Again and again he struck at
her with his claws, but the donkey could bite too, as well as the lion,
who was very weak after his illness, and at last a well-planted kick
knocked him right over, and he rolled on the floor, groaning with pain.
The donkey did not wait for him to get up, but ran away as fast as she
could and was lost in the forest.

'Now the hare, who knew quite well what would happen, had not gone to do
her business, but hid herself in some bushes behind the cave, where she
could hear quite clearly the sounds of the battle. When all was quiet
again she crept gently out, and stole round the corner.

'"Well, lion, have you killed her?" asked she, running swiftly up the
path.

'"Killed her, indeed!" answered the lion sulkily, "it is she who has
nearly killed me. I never knew a donkey could kick like that, though I
took care she should carry away the marks of my claws."

'"Dear me! Fancy such a great fat creature being able to fight!" cried
the hare. "But don't vex yourself. Just lie still, and your wounds
will soon heal," and she bade her friend, good bye, and returned to her
family.

'Two or three weeks passed, and only bare places on the donkey's back
showed where the lion's claws had been, while, on his side, the lion
had recovered from his illness and was now as strong as ever. He was
beginning to think that it was almost time for him to begin hunting
again, when one morning a rustle was heard in the creepers outside, and
the hare's head peeped through.

'"Ah! there is no need to ask how you are," she said. "Still you mustn't
overtire yourself, you know. Shall I go and bring you your dinner?"

'"If you will bring me that donkey I will tear it in two," cried the
lion savagely, and the hare laughed and nodded and went on her errand.

'This time the donkey was much further than before, and it took longer
to find her. At last the hare caught sight of four hoofs in the air, and
ran towards them. The donkey was lying on a soft cool bed of moss near a
stream, rolling herself backwards and forwards from pleasure.

'"Good morning," said the hare politely, and the donkey got slowly on to
her legs, and looked to see who her visitor could be.

'"Oh, it is you, is it?" she exclaimed. "Come and have a chat. What news
have you got?"

'"I mustn't stay," answered the hare; "but I promised the lion to beg
you to pay him a visit, as he is not well enough to call on you."

'"Well, I don't know," replied the donkey gloomily, "the last time we
went he scratched me very badly, and really I was quite afraid."

'"He was only trying to kiss you," said the hare, "and you bit him, and
of course that made him cross."

'"If I were sure of that," hesitated the donkey.

'"Oh, you may be quite sure," laughed the hare. "I have a large
acquaintance among lions. But let us be quick," and rather unwillingly
the donkey set out.

'The lion saw them coming and hid himself behind a large tree. As the
donkey went past, followed by the hare, he sprang out, and with one blow
of his paw stretched the poor foolish creature dead before him.

'"Take this meat and skin it and roast it," he said to the hare; "but my
appetite is not so good as it was, and the only part I want for myself
is the heart. The rest you can either eat yourself or give away to your
friends."

'"Thank you," replied the hare, balancing the donkey on her back as
well as she was able, and though the legs trailed along the ground she
managed to drag it to an open space some distance off, where she made
a fire and roasted it. As soon as it was cooked the hare took out the
heart and had just finished eating it when the lion, who was tired of
waiting, came up.

'"I am hungry," said he. "Bring me the creature's heart; it is just what
I want for supper."

'"But there is no heart," answered the hare, looking up at the lion with
a puzzled face.

'"What nonsense!" said the lion. "As if every beast had not got a heart.
What do you mean?"

'"This is a washerman's donkey," replied the hare gravely.

'"Well, and suppose it is?"

'"Oh, fie!" exclaimed the hare. "You, a lion and a grown-up person, and
ask questions like that. If the donkey had had a heart would she be here
now? The first time she came she knew you were trying to kill her, and
ran away. Yet she came back a second time. Well, if she had had a heart
would she have come back a second time? Now would she?"

'And the lion answered slowly, "No, she would not."

'So you think I am a washerman's donkey?' said the monkey to the shark,
when the story was ended. 'You are wrong; I am not. And as the sun
is getting low in the sky, it is time for you to begin your homeward
journey. You will have a nice cool voyage, and I hope you will find the
sultan better. Farewell!' And the monkey disappeared among the green
branches, and was gone.

From 'Swahili Tales,' by Edward Steere, LL.D.




The Fairy Nurse


There was once a little farmer and his wife living near Coolgarrow. They
had three children, and my story happened while the youngest was a baby.
The wife was a good wife enough, but her mind was all on her family and
her farm, and she hardly ever went to her knees without falling asleep,
and she thought the time spent in the chapel was twice as long as it
need be. So, friends, she let her man and her two children go before
her one day to Mass, while she called to consult a fairy man about a
disorder one of her cows had. She was late at the chapel, and was sorry
all the day after, for her husband was in grief about it, and she was
very fond of him.

Late that night he was wakened up by the cries of his children calling
out 'Mother! Mother!' When he sat up and rubbed his eyes, there was no
wife by his side, and when he asked the little ones what was become of
their mother, they said they saw the room full of nice little men and
women, dressed in white and red and green, and their mother in the
middle of them, going out by the door as if she was walking in her
sleep. Out he ran, and searched everywhere round the house but, neither
tale nor tidings did he get of her for many a day.

Well, the poor man was miserable enough, for he was as fond of his woman
as she was of him. It used to bring the salt tears down his cheeks
to see his poor children neglected and dirty, as they often were, and
they'd be bad enough only for a kind neighbour that used to look in
whenever she could spare time. The infant was away with a nurse.

About six weeks after--just as he was going out to his work one
morning--a neighbour, that used to mind women when they were ill, came
up to him, and kept step by step with him to the field, and this is what
she told him.

'Just as I was falling asleep last night, I heard a horse's tramp on
the grass and a knock at the door, and there, when I came out, was a
fine-looking dark man, mounted on a black horse, and he told me to get
ready in all haste, for a lady was in great want of me. As soon as I put
on my cloak and things, he took me by the hand, and I was sitting behind
him before I felt myself stirring. "Where are we going, sir?" says I.
"You'll soon know," says he; and he drew his fingers across my eyes,
and not a ray could I see. I kept a tight grip of him, and I little knew
whether he was going backwards or forwards, or how long we were about
it, till my hand was taken again, and I felt the ground under me. The
fingers went the other way across my eyes, and there we were before
a castle door, and in we went through a big hall and great rooms all
painted in fine green colours, with red and gold bands and ornaments,
and the finest carpets and chairs and tables and window curtains, and
grand ladies and gentlemen walking about. At last we came to a bedroom,
with a beautiful lady in bed, with a fine bouncing boy beside her. The
lady clapped her hands, and in came the Dark Man and kissed her and the
baby, and praised me, and gave me a bottle of green ointment to rub the
child all over.

'Well, the child I rubbed, sure enough; but my right eye began to smart,
and I put up my finger and gave it a rub, and then stared, for never
in all my life was I so frightened. The beautiful room was a big, rough
cave, with water oozing over the edges of the stones and through the
clay; and the lady, and the lord, and the child weazened, poverty-bitten
creatures--nothing but skin and bone--and the rich dresses were old
rags. I didn't let on that I found any difference, and after a bit says
the Dark Man, "Go before me to the hall door, and I will be with you in
a few moments, and see you safe home." Well, just as I turned into the
outside cave, who should I see watching near the door but poor Molly.
She looked round all terrified, and says she to me in a whisper, "I'm
brought here to nurse the child of the king and queen of the fairies;
but there is one chance of saving me. All the court will pass the cross
near Templeshambo next Friday night, on a visit to the fairies of Old
Ross. If John can catch me by the hand or cloak when I ride by, and has
courage not to let go his grip, I'll be safe. Here's the king. Don't
open your mouth to answer. I saw what happened with the ointment."

'The Dark Man didn't once cast his eye towards Molly, and he seemed to
have no suspicion of me. When we came out I looked about me, and where
do you think we were but in the dyke of the Rath of Cromogue. I was
on the horse again, which was nothing but a big rag-weed, and I was
in dread every minute I'd fall off; but nothing happened till I found
myself in my own cabin. The king slipped five guineas into my hand as
soon as I was on the ground, and thanked me, and bade me good night. I
hope I'll never see his face again. I got into bed, and couldn't sleep
for a long time; and when I examined my five guineas this morning, that
I left in the table drawer the last thing, I found five withered leaves
of oak--bad luck to the giver!'

Well, you may all think the fright, and the joy, and the grief the
poor man was in when the woman finished her story. They talked and they
talked, but we needn't mind what they said till Friday night came, when
both were standing where the mountain road crosses the one going to
Ross.

There they stood, looking towards the bridge of Thuar, in the dead of
the night, with a little moonlight shining from over Kilachdiarmid. At
last she gave a start, and "By this and by that," says she, "here they
come, bridles jingling and feathers tossing!" He looked, but could see
nothing; and she stood trembling and her eyes wide open, looking down
the way to the ford of Ballinacoola. "I see your wife," says she,
"riding on the outside just so as to rub against us. We'll walk on
quietly, as if we suspected nothing, and when we are passing I'll give
you a shove. If you don't do YOUR duty then, woe be with you!"

Well, they walked on easy, and the poor hearts beating in both their
breasts; and though he could see nothing, he heard a faint jingle and
trampling and rustling, and at last he got the push that she promised.
He spread out his arms, and there was his wife's waist within them, and
he could see her plain; but such a hullabulloo rose as if there was an
earthquake, and he found himself surrounded by horrible-looking things,
roaring at him and striving to pull his wife away. But he made the sign
of the cross and bid them begone in God's name, and held his wife as if
it was iron his arms were made of. Bedad, in one moment everything was
as silent as the grave, and the poor woman lying in a faint in the arms
of her husband and her good neighbour. Well, all in good time she was
minding her family and her business again; and I'll go bail, after the
fright she got, she spent more time on her knees, and avoided fairy men
all the days of the week, and particularly on Sunday.

It is hard to have anything to do with the good people without getting
a mark from them. My brave nurse didn't escape no more than another.
She was one Thursday at the market of Enniscorthy, when what did she see
walking among the tubs of butter but the Dark Man, very hungry-looking,
and taking a scoop out of one tub and out of another. 'Oh, sir,' says
she, very foolish, 'I hope your lady is well, and the baby.' 'Pretty
well, thank you,' says he, rather frightened like. 'How do I look in
this new suit?' says he, getting to one side of her. 'I can't see you
plain at all, sir,' says she. 'Well, now?' says he, getting round her
back to the other side. 'Musha, indeed, sir, your coat looks no
better than a withered dock-leaf.' 'Maybe, then,' says he, 'it will be
different now,' and he struck the eye next him with a switch. Friends,
she never saw a glimmer after with that one till the day of her death.

'Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts,' by Patrick Kennedy.




A Lost Paradise


In the middle of a great forest there lived a long time ago a
charcoal-burner and his wife. They were both young and handsome and
strong, and when they got married, they thought work would never fail
them. But bad times came, and they grew poorer and poorer, and the
nights in which they went hungry to bed became more and more frequent.

Now one evening the king of that country was hunting near the
charcoal-burner's hut. As he passed the door, he heard a sound of
sobbing, and being a good-natured man he stopped to listen, thinking
that perhaps he might be able to give some help.

'Were there ever two people so unhappy!' said a woman's voice. 'Here we
are, ready to work like slaves the whole day long, and no work can we
get. And it is all because of the curiosity of old mother Eve! If she
had only been like me, who never want to know anything, we should all
have been as happy as kings to-day, with plenty to eat, and warm
clothes to wear. Why--' but at this point a loud knock interrupted her
lamentations.

'Who is there?' asked she.

'I!' replied somebody.

'And who is "I"?'

'The king. Let me in.'

Full of surprise the woman jumped up and pulled the bar away from the
door. As the king entered, he noticed that there was no furniture in
the room at all, not even a chair, so he pretended to be in too great
a hurry to see anything around him, and only said 'You must not let me
disturb you. I have no time to stay, but you seemed to be in trouble.
Tell me; are you very unhappy?'

'Oh, my lord, we can find no work and have eaten nothing for two days!'
answered she. 'Nothing remains for us but to die of hunger.'

'No, no, you shan't do that,' cried the king, 'or if you do, it will be
your own fault. You shall come with me into my palace, and you will feel
as if you were in Paradise, I promise you. In return, I only ask one
thing of you, that you shall obey my orders exactly.'

The charcoal-burner and his wife both stared at him for a moment, as
if they could hardly believe their ears; and, indeed, it was not to be
wondered at! Then they found their tongues, and exclaimed together:

'Oh, yes, yes, my lord! we will do everything you tell us. How could we
be so ungrateful as to disobey you, when you are so kind?'

The king smiled, and his eyes twinkled.

'Well, let us start at once,' said he. 'Lock your door, and put the key
in your pocket.'

The woman looked as if she thought this was needless, seeing it was
quite, quite certain they would never come back. But she dared not say
so, and did as the king told her.

After walking through the forest for a couple of miles, they all
three reached the palace, and by the king's orders servants led the
charcoal-burner and his wife into rooms filled with beautiful things
such as they had never even dreamed of. First they bathed in green
marble baths where the water looked like the sea, and then they put on
silken clothes that felt soft and pleasant. When they were ready, one
of the king's special servants entered, and took them into a small hall,
where dinner was laid, and this pleased them better than anything else.

They were just about to sit down to the table when the king walked in.

'I hope you have been attended to properly,' said he, 'and that you will
enjoy your dinner. My steward will take care you have all you want, and
I wish you to do exactly as you please. Oh, by the bye, there is one
thing! You notice that soup-tureen in the middle of the table? Well, be
careful on no account to lift the lid. If once you take off the cover,
there is an end of your good fortune.' Then, bowing to his guests, he
left the room.

'Did you hear what he said?' inquired the charcoal-burner in an
awe-stricken voice. 'We are to have what we want, and do what we please.
Only we must not touch the soup-tureen.'

'No, of course we won't,' answered the wife. 'Why should we wish to?
But all the same it is rather odd, and one can't help wondering what is
inside.'

For many days life went on like a beautiful dream to the
charcoal-burner and his wife. Their beds were so comfortable, they could
hardly make up their minds to get up, their clothes were so lovely they
could scarcely bring themselves to take them off; their dinners were so
good that they found it very difficult to leave off eating. Then outside
the palace were gardens filled with rare flowers and fruits and singing
birds, or if they desired to go further, a golden coach, painted with
wreaths of forget-me-nots and lined with blue satin, awaited their
orders. Sometimes it happened that the king came to see them, and he
smiled as he glanced at the man, who was getting rosier and plumper each
day. But when his eyes rested on the woman, they took on a look which
seemed to say 'I knew it,' though this neither the charcoal-burner nor
his wife ever noticed.

'Why are you so silent?' asked the man one morning when dinner had
passed before his wife had uttered one word. 'A little while ago you
used to be chattering all the day long, and now I have almost forgotten
the sound of your voice.'

'Oh, nothing; I did not feel inclined to talk, that was all!' She
stopped, and added carelessly after a pause, 'Don't you ever wonder what
is in that soup-tureen?'

'No, never,' replied the man. 'It is no affair of ours,' and the
conversation dropped once more, but as time went on, the woman spoke
less and less, and seemed so wretched that her husband grew quite
frightened about her. As to her food, she refused one thing after
another.

'My dear wife,' said the man at last, 'you really must eat something.
What in the world is the matter with you? If you go on like this you
will die.'

'I would rather die than not know what is in that tureen,' she burst
forth so violently that the husband was quite startled.

'Is that it?' cried he; 'are you making yourself miserable because of
that? Why, you know we should be turned out of the palace, and sent away
to starve.'

'Oh no, we shouldn't. The king is too good-natured. Of course he didn't
mean a little thing like this! Besides, there is no need to lift the lid
off altogether. Just raise one corner so that I may peep. We are quite
alone: nobody will ever know.'

The man hesitated: it did seem a 'little thing,' and if it was to make
his wife contented and happy it was well worth the risk. So he took
hold of the handle of the cover and raised it very slowly and carefully,
while the woman stooped down to peep. Suddenly she startled back with a
scream, for a small mouse had sprung from the inside of the tureen, and
had nearly hit her in the eye. Round and round the room it ran, round
and round they both ran after it, knocking down chairs and vases in
their efforts to catch the mouse and put it back in the tureen. In the
middle of all the noise the door opened, and the mouse ran out between
the feet of the king. In one instant both the man and his wife were
hiding under the table, and to all appearance the room was empty.

'You may as well come out,' said the king, 'and hear what I have to
say.'

'I know what it is,' answered the charcoal-burner, hanging his head. The
mouse has escaped.'

'A guard of soldiers will take you back to your hut,' said the king.
'Your wife has the key.'

'Weren't they silly?' cried the grandchildren of the charcoal-burners
when they heard the story. 'How we wish that we had had the chance! WE
should never have wanted to know what was in the soup-tureen!'

From 'Litterature Orale de l'Auvergne,' par Paul Sebillot.




How Brave Walter Hunted Wolves


A little back from the high road there stands a house which is called
'Hemgard.' Perhaps you remember the two beautiful mountain ash trees by
the reddish-brown palings, and the high gate, and the garden with the
beautiful barberry bushes which are always the first to become grown
in spring, and which in summer are weighed down with their beautiful
berries.

Behind the garden there is a hedge with tall aspens which rustle in the
morning wind, behind the hedge is a road, behind the road is a wood, and
behind the wood the wide world.

But on the other side of the garden there is a lake, and beyond the lake
is a village, and all around stretch meadows and fields, now yellow, now
green.

In the pretty house, which has white window-frames, a neat porch and
clean steps, which are always strewn with finely-cut juniper leaves,
Walter's parents live. His brother Frederick, his sister Lotta, old
Lena, Jonah, Caro and Bravo, Putte and Murre, and Kuckeliku.

Caro lives in the dog house, Bravo in the stable, Putte with the
stableman, Murre a little here and a little there, and Kuckeliku lives
in the hen house, that is his kingdom.

Walter is six years old, and he must soon begin to go to school.
He cannot read yet, but he can do many other things. He can turn
cartwheels, stand on his head, ride see-saw, throw snowballs, play ball,
crow like a cock, eat bread and butter and drink sour milk, tear his
trousers, wear holes in his elbows, break the crockery in pieces, throw
balls through the windowpanes, draw old men on important papers, walk
over the flower-beds, eat himself sick with gooseberries, and be well
after a whipping. For the rest he has a good heart but a bad memory,
and forgets his father's and his mother's admonitions, and so often gets
into trouble and meets with adventures, as you shall hear, but first of
all I must tell you how brave he was and how he hunted wolves.

Once in the spring, a little before Midsummer, Walter heard that there
were a great many wolves in the wood, and that pleased him. He was
wonderfully brave when he was in the midst of his companions or at home
with his brothers and sister, then he used often to say 'One wolf is
nothing, there ought to be at least four.'

When he wrestled with Klas Bogenstrom or Frithiof Waderfelt and struck
them in the back, he would say 'That is what I shall do to a wolf!' and
when he shot arrows at Jonas and they rattled against his sheepskin coat
he would say: 'That is how I should shoot you if you were a wolf!'

Indeed, some thought that the brave boy boasted a little; but one must
indeed believe him since he said so himself. So Jonas and Lena used to
say of him 'Look, there goes Walter, who shoots the wolves.' And other
boys and girls would say 'Look, there goes brave Walter, who is brave
enough to fight with four.'

There was no one so fully convinced of this as Walter himself, and one
day he prepared himself for a real wolf hunt. He took with him his drum,
which had holes in one end since the time he had climbed up on it to
reach a cluster of rowan berries, and his tin sabre, which was a little
broken, because he had with incredible courage fought his way through a
whole unfriendly army of gooseberry bushes.

He did not forget to arm himself quite to the teeth with his pop-gun,
his bow, and his air-pistol. He had a burnt cork in his pocket to
blacken his moustache, and a red cock's feather to put in his cap to
make himself look fierce. He had besides in his trouser pocket a clasp
knife with a bone handle, to cut off the ears of the wolves as soon as
he had killed them, for he thought it would be cruel to do that while
they were still living.

It was such a good thing that Jonas was going with corn to the mill, for
Walter got a seat on the load, while Caro ran barking beside them. As
soon as they came to the wood Walter looked cautiously around him to
see perchance there was a wolf in the bushes, and he did not omit to
ask Jonas if wolves were afraid of a drum. 'Of course they are' (that is
understood) said Jonas. Thereupon Walter began to beat his drum with all
his might while they were going through the wood.

When they came to the mill Walter immediately asked if there had been
any wolves in the neighbourhood lately.

'Alas! yes,' said the miller, 'last night the wolves have eaten our
fattest ram there by the kiln not far from here.'

'Ah!' said Walter, 'do you think that there were many?'

'We don't know,' answered the miller.

'Oh, it is all the same,' said Walter. 'I only asked so that I should
know if I should take Jonas with me.

'I could manage very well alone with three, but if there were more, I
might not have time to kill them all before they ran away.'

'In Walter's place I should go quite alone, it is more manly,' said
Jonas.

'No, it is better for you to come too,' said Walter. 'Perhaps there are
many.'

'No, I have not time,' said Jonas, 'and besides, there are sure not to
be more than three. Walter can manage them very well alone.'

'Yes,' said Walter, 'certainly I could; but, you see, Jonas, it might
happen that one of them might bite me in the back, and I should have
more trouble in killing them. If I only knew that there were not more
than two I should not mind, for them I should take one in each hand and
give them a good shaking, like Susanna once shook me.'

'I certainly think that there will not be more than two,' said Jonas,
'there are never more than two when they slay children and rams; Walter
can very well shake them without me.'

'But, you see, Jonas,' said Walter, 'if there are two, it might still
happen that one of them escapes and bites me in the leg, for you see
I am not so strong in the left hand as in the right. You can very well
come with me, and take a good stick in case there are really two. Look,
if there is only one, I shall take him so with both my hands and thrown
him living on to his back, and he can kick as much as he likes, I shall
hold him fast.'

'Now, when I really think over the thing,' said Jonas, 'I am almost sure
there will not be more than one. What would two do with one ram? There
will certainly not be more than one.'

'But you should come with me all the same, Jonas,' said Walter. 'You see
I can very well manage one, but I am not quite accustomed to wolves yet,
and he might tear holes in my new trousers.'

'Well, just listen,' said Jonas, 'I am beginning to think that Walter
is not so brave as people say. First of all Walter would fight against
four, and then against three, then two, and then one, and now Walter
wants help with one. Such a thing must never be; what would people say?
Perhaps they would think that Walter is a coward?'

'That's a lie,' said Walter, 'I am not at all frightened, but it is
more amusing when there are two. I only want someone who will see how I
strike the wolf and how the dust flies out of his skin.'

'Well, then, Walter can take the miller's little Lisa with him. She can
sit on a stone and look on,' said Jonas.

'No, she would certainly be frightened,' said Walter, 'and how would
it do for a girl to go wolf-hunting? Come with me, Jonas, and you shall
have the skin, and I will be content with the ears and the tail.'

'No, thank you,' said Jonas, 'Walter can keep the skin for himself. Now
I see quite well that he is frightened. Fie, shame on him!'

This touched Walter's pride very near. 'I shall show that I am not
frightened,' he said; and so he took his drum, sabre, cock's feather,
clasp-knife, pop-gun and air-pistol, and went off quite alone to the
wood to hunt wolves.

It was a beautiful evening, and the birds were singing in all the
branches. Walter went very slowly and cautiously. At every step he
looked all round him to see if perchance there was anything lurking
behind the stones. He quite thought something moved away there in the
ditch. Perhaps it was a wolf. 'It is better for me to beat the drum a
little before I go there,' thought Walter.

Br-r-r, so he began to beat his drum. Then something moved again. Caw!
caw! a crow flew up from the ditch. Walter immediately regained courage.
'It was well I took my drum with me,' he thought, and went straight on
with courageous steps. Very soon he came quite close to the kiln, where
the wolves had killed the ram. But the nearer he came the more dreadful
he thought the kiln looked. It was so gray and old. Who knew how many
wolves there might be hidden there? Perhaps the very ones which killed
the ram were still sitting there in a corner. Yes, it was not at
all safe here, and there were no other people to be seen in the
neighbourhood. It would be horrible to be eaten up here in the daylight,
thought Walter to himself; and the more he thought about it the uglier
and grayer the old kiln looked, and the more horrible and dreadful it
seemed to become the food of wolves.

'Shall I go back and say that I struck one wolf and it escaped?' thought
Walter. 'Fie!' said his conscience, 'Do you not remember that a lie is
one of the worst sins, both in the sight of God and man? If you tell a
lie to-day and say you struck a wolf, to-morrow surely it will eat you
up.'

'No, I will go to the kiln,' thought Walter, and so he went. But he
did not go quite near. He went only so near that he could see the ram's
blood which coloured the grass red, and some tufts of wool which the
wolves had torn from the back of the poor animal.

It looked so dreadful.

'I wonder what the ram thought when they ate him up,' thought Walter
to himself; and just then a cold shiver ran through him from his collar
right down to his boots.

'It is better for me to beat the drum,' he thought to himself again, and
so he began to beat it. But it sounded horrid, and an echo came out
from the kiln that seemed almost like the howl of a wolf. The drumsticks
stiffened in Walter's hands, and he thought now they are coming...!

Yes, sure enough, just then a shaggy, reddish-brown wolf's head looked
out from under the kiln!

What did Walter do now? Yes, the brave Walter who alone could manage
four, threw his drum far away, took to his heels and ran, and ran as
fast as he could back to the mill.

But, alas! the wolf ran after him. Walter looked back; the wolf was
quicker than he and only a few steps behind him. Then Walter ran faster.
But fear got the better of him, he neither heard nor saw anything more.
He ran over sticks, stones and ditches; he lost drum-sticks, sabre,
bow, and air-pistol, and in his terrible hurry he tripped over a tuft of
grass. There he lay, and the wolf jumped on to him....

It was a gruesome tale! Now you may well believe that it was all over
with Walter and all his adventures. That would have been a pity. But do
not be surprised if it was not quite so bad as that, for the wolf was
quite a friendly one. He certainly jumped on to Walter, but he only
shook his coat and rubbed his nose against his face; and Walter
shrieked. Yes, he shrieked terribly!

Happily Jonas heard his cry of distress, for Walter was quite near the
mill now, and he ran and helped him up.

'What has happened?' he asked. 'Why did Walter scream so terribly?'

'A wolf! A wolf!' cried Walter, and that was all he could say.

'Where is the wolf?' said Jonas. 'I don't see any wolf.'

'Take care, he is here, he has bitten me to death,' groaned Walter.

Then Jonas began to laugh; yes, he laughed so that he nearly burst his
skin belt.

Well, well, was that the wolf? Was that the wolf which Walter was to
take by the neck and shake and throw down on its back, no matter how
much it struggled? Just look a little closer at him: he is your old
friend, your own good old Caro. I quite expect he found a leg of the ram
in the kiln. When Walter beat his drum, Caro crept out, and when Walter
ran away, Caro ran after him, as he so often does when Walter wants to
romp and play.

'Down, Caro! you ought to be rather ashamed to have put such a great
hero to flight!'

Walter got up feeling very foolish.

'Down, Caro!' he said, both relieved and annoyed.

'It was only a dog, then if it had been a wolf I certainly should have
killed him....'

'If Walter would listen to my advice, and boast a little less, and do a
little more,' said Jonas, consolingly. 'Walter is not a coward, is he?'

'I! You shall see, Jonas, when we next meet a bear. You see I like so
much better to fight with bears.'

'Indeed!' laughed Jonas. 'Are you at it again?

'Dear Walter, remember that it is only cowards who boast; a really brave
man never talks of his bravery.'

From Z. Topelius.




The King of the Waterfalls


When the young king of Easaidh Ruadh came into his kingdom, the first
thing he thought of was how he could amuse himself best. The sports that
all his life had pleased him best suddenly seemed to have grown dull,
and he wanted to do something he had never done before. At last his face
brightened.

'I know!' he said. 'I will go and play a game with the Gruagach.' Now
the Gruagach was a kind of wicked fairy, with long curly brown hair, and
his house was not very far from the king's house.

But though the king was young and eager, he was also prudent, and his
father had told him on his deathbed to be very careful in his dealings
with the 'good people,' as the fairies were called. Therefore before
going to the Gruagach the king sought out a wise man of the countryside.

'I am wanting to play a game with the curly-haired Gruagach,' said he.

'Are you, indeed?' replied the wizard. 'If you will take my counsel, you
will play with someone else.'

'No; I will play with the Gruagach,' persisted the king.

'Well, if you must, you must, I suppose,' answered the wizard; 'but if
you win that game, ask as a prize the ugly crop-headed girl that stands
behind the door.'

'I will,' said the king.

So before the sun rose he got up and went to the house of the Gruagach,
who was sitting outside.

'O king, what has brought you here to-day?' asked the Gruagach. 'But
right welcome you are, and more welcome will you be still if you will
play a game with me.'

'That is just what I want,' said the king, and they played; and
sometimes it seemed as if one would win, and sometimes the other, but in
the end it was the king who was the winner.

'And what is the prize that you will choose?' inquired the Gruagach.

'The ugly crop-headed girl that stands behind the door,' replied the
king.

'Why, there are twenty others in the house, and each fairer than she!'
exclaimed the Gruagach.

'Fairer they may be, but it is she whom I wish for my wife, and none
other,' and the Gruagach saw that the king's mind was set upon her, so
he entered his house, and bade all the maidens in it come out one by
one, and pass before the king.

One by one they came; tall and short, dark and fair, plump and thin, and
each said 'I am she whom you want. You will be foolish indeed if you do
not take me.'

But he took none of them, neither short nor tall, dark nor fair, plump
nor thin, till at the last the crop-headed girl came out.

'This is mine,' said the king, though she was so ugly that most men
would have turned from her. 'We will be married at once, and I will
carry you home.' And married they were, and they set forth across a
meadow to the king's house. As they went, the bride stooped and picked
a sprig of shamrock, which grew amongst the grass, and when she stood
upright again her ugliness had all gone, and the most beautiful woman
that ever was seen stood by the king's side.

The next day, before the sun rose, the king sprang from his bed, and
told his wife he must have another game with the Gruagach.

'If my father loses that game, and you win it,' said she, 'accept
nothing for your prize but the shaggy young horse with the stick
saddle.'

'I will do that,' answered the king, and he went.

'Does your bride please you?' asked the Gruagach, who was standing at
his own door.

'Ah! does she not!' answered the king quickly. 'Otherwise I should be
hard indeed to please. But will you play a game to-day?'

'I will,' replied the Gruagach, and they played, and sometimes it seemed
as if one would win, and sometimes the other, but in the end the king
was the winner.

'What is the prize that you will choose?' asked the Gruagach.

'The shaggy young horse with the stick saddle,' answered the king, but
he noticed that the Gruagach held his peace, and his brow was dark as he
led out the horse from the stable. Rough was its mane and dull was its
skin, but the king cared nothing for that, and throwing his leg over the
stick saddle, rode away like the wind.

On the third morning the king got up as usual before dawn, and as soon
as he had eaten food he prepared to go out, when his wife stopped
him. 'I would rather,' she said, 'that you did not go to play with the
Gruagach, for though twice you have won yet some day he will win, and
then he will put trouble upon you.'

'Oh! I must have one more game,' cried the king; 'just this one.' And he
went off to the house of the Gruagach.

Joy filled the heart of the Gruagach when he saw him coming, and without
waiting to talk they played their game. Somehow or other, the king's
strength and skill had departed from him, and soon the Gruagach was the
victor.

'Choose your prize,' said the king, when the game was ended, 'but do not
be too hard on me, or ask what I cannot give.'

'The prize I choose,' answered the Gruagach, 'is that the crop-headed
creature should take thy head and thy neck, if thou dost not get for
me the Sword of Light that hangs in the house of the king of the oak
windows.'

'I will get it,' replied the young man bravely; but as soon as he was
out of sight of the Gruagach he pretended no more, and his face grew
dark and his steps lagging.

'You have brought nothing with you to-night,' said the queen, who was
standing on the steps awaiting him. She was so beautiful that the king
was fain to smile when he looked at her, but then he remembered what had
happened, and his heart grew heavy again.

'What is it? What is the matter? Tell me thy sorrow that I may bear it
with thee, or, it may be, help thee!' Then the king told her everything
that had befallen him, and she stroked his hair the while.

'That is nothing to grieve about,' she said when the tale was finished.
'You have the best wife in Erin, and the best horse in Erin. Only do as
I bid you, and all will go well.' And the king suffered himself to be
comforted.

He was still sleeping when the queen rose and dressed herself, to make
everything ready for her husband's journey; and the first place she went
to was the stable, where she fed and watered the shaggy brown horse and
put the saddle on it. Most people thought this saddle was of wood, and
did not see the little sparkles of gold and silver that were hidden in
it. She strapped it lightly on the horse's back, and then led it down
before the house, where the king waited.

'Good luck to you, and victories in all your battles,' she said, as she
kissed him before he mounted. 'I need not be telling you anything. Take
the advice of the horse, and see you obey it.'

So he waved his hand and set out on his journey, and the wind was not
swifter than the brown horse--no, not even the March wind which raced it
and could not catch it. But the horse never stopped nor looked behind,
till in the dark of the night he reached the castle of the king of the
oak windows.

'We are at the end of the journey,' said the horse, 'and you will find
the Sword of Light in the king's own chamber. If it comes to you without
scrape or sound, the token is a good one. At this hour the king is
eating his supper, and the room is empty, so none will see you. The
sword has a knob at the end, and take heed that when you grasp it, you
draw it softly out of its sheath. Now go! I will be under the window.'

Stealthily the young man crept along the passage, pausing now and then
to make sure that no man was following him, and entered the king's
chamber. A strange white line of light told him where the sword was, and
crossing the room on tiptoe, he seized the knob, and drew it slowly out
of the sheath. The king could hardly breathe with excitement lest it
should make some noise, and bring all the people in the castle running
to see what was the matter. But the sword slid swiftly and silently
along the case till only the point was left touching it. Then a low
sound was heard, as of the edge of a knife touching a silver plate, and
the king was so startled that he nearly dropped the knob.

'Quick! quick!' cried the horse, and the king scrambled hastily through
the small window, and leapt into the saddle.

'He has heard and he will follow,' said the horse; 'but we have a good
start,' And on they sped, on and on, leaving the winds behind them.

At length the horse slackened its pace. 'Look and see who is behind
you,' it said; and the young man looked.

'I see a swarm of brown horses racing madly after us,' he answered.

'We are swifter than those,' said the horse, and flew on again.

'Look again, O king! Is anyone coming now?'

'A swarm of black horses, and one has a white face, and on that horse a
man is seated. He is the king of the oak windows.'

'That is my brother, and swifter still than I,' said the horse, 'and he
will fly past me with a rush. Then you must have your sword ready, and
take off the head of the man who sits on him, as he turns and looks at
you. And there is no sword in the world that will cut off his head, save
only that one.'

'I will do it,' replied the king; and he listened with all his might,
till he judged that the white-faced horse was close to him. Then he sat
up very straight and made ready.

The next moment there was a rushing noise as of a mighty tempest, and
the young man caught a glimpse of a face turned towards him. Almost
blindly he struck, not knowing whether he had killed or only wounded
the rider. But the head rolled off, and was caught in the brown horse's
mouth.

'Jump on my brother, the black horse, and go home as fast as you can,
and I will follow as quickly as I may,' cried the brown horse; and
leaping forward the king alighted on the back of the black horse, but
so near the tail that he almost fell off again. But he stretched out his
arm and clutched wildly at the mane and pulled himself into the saddle.

Before the sky was streaked with red he was at home again, and the queen
was sitting waiting till he arrived, for sleep was far from her eyes.
Glad was she to see him enter, but she said little, only took her harp
and sang softly the songs which he loved, till he went to bed, soothed
and happy.

It was broad day when he woke, and he sprang up saying:

'Now I must go to the Gruagach, to find out if the spells he laid on me
are loose.'

'Have a care,' answered the queen, 'for it is not with a smile as on the
other days that he will greet you. Furiously he will meet you, and will
ask you in his wrath if you have got the sword, and you will reply that
you have got it. Next he will want to know how you got it, and to this
you must say that but for the knob you had not got it at all. Then he
will raise his head to look at the knob, and you must stab him in the
mole which is on the right side of his neck; but take heed, for if you
miss the mole with the point of the sword, then my death and your death
are certain. He is brother to the king of the oak windows, and sure
will he be that the king must be head, or the sword would not be in your
hands.' After that she kissed him, and bade him good speed.

'Didst thou get the sword?' asked the Gruagach, when they met in the
usual place.

'I got the sword.'

'And how didst thou get it?'

'If it had not had a knob on the top, then I had not got it,' answered
the king.

'Give me the sword to look at,' said the Gruagach, peering forward; but
like a flash the king had drawn it from under his nose and pierced the
mole, so that the Gruagach rolled over on the ground.

'Now I shall be at peace,' thought the king. But he was wrong, for when
he reached home he found his servants tied together back to back with
cloths bound round their mouths, so that they could not speak. He
hastened to set them free, and he asked who had treated them in so evil
a manner.

'No sooner had you gone than a great giant came, and dealt with us as
you see, and carried off your wife and your two horses,' said the men.

'Then my eyes will not close nor will my head lay itself down till I
fetch my wife and horses home again,' answered he, and he stopped and
noted the tracks of the horses on the grass, and followed after them
till he arrived at the wood, when the darkness fell.

'I will sleep here,' he said to himself, 'but first I will make a fire,'
And he gathered together some twigs that were lying about, and then took
two dry sticks and rubbed them together till the fire came, and he sat
by it.

The twigs cracked and the flame blazed up, and a slim yellow dog pushed
through the bushes and laid his head on the king's knee, and the king
stroked his head.

'Wuf, wuf,' said the dog. 'Sore was the plight of thy wife and thy
horses when the giant drove them last night through the forest.'

'That is why I have come,' answered the king; and suddenly his heart
seemed to fail him and he felt that he could not go on.

'I cannot fight that giant,' he cried, looking at the dog with a white
face. 'I am afraid, let me turn homewards.'

'No, don't do that,' replied the dog. 'Eat and sleep, and I will watch
over you.' So the king ate and lay down, and slept till the sun waked
him.

'It is time for you to start on your way,' said the dog, 'and if danger
presses, call on me, and I will help you.'

'Farewell, then,' answered the king; 'I will not forget that promise,'
and on he went, and on, and on, till he reached a tall cliff with many
sticks lying about.

'It is almost night,' he thought; 'I will make a fire and rest,' and
thus he did, and when the flames blazed up, the hoary hawk of the grey
rock flew on to a bough above him.

'Sore was the plight of thy wife and thy horses when they passed here
with the giant,' said the hawk.

'Never shall I find them,' answered the king, 'and nothing shall I get
for all my trouble.'

'Oh, take heart,' replied the hawk; 'things are never so bad but what
they might be worse. Eat and sleep and I will watch thee,' and the
king did as he was bidden by the hawk, and by the morning he felt brave
again.

'Farewell,' said the bird, 'and if danger presses call to me, and I will
help you.'

On he walked, and on and on, till as dusk was falling he came to a great
river, and on the bank there were sticks lying about.

'I will make myself a fire,' he thought, and thus he did, and by and
bye a smooth brown head peered at him from the water, and a long body
followed it.

'Sore was the plight of thy wife and thy horses when they passed the
river last night,' said the otter.

'I have sought them and not found them,' answered the king, 'and nought
shall I get for my trouble.'

'Be not so downcast,' replied the otter; 'before noon to-morrow thou
shalt behold thy wife. But eat and sleep and I will watch over thee.' So
the king did as the otter bid him, and when the sun rose he woke and saw
the otter lying on the bank.

'Farewell,' cried the otter as he jumped into the water, 'and if danger
presses, call to me and I will help you.'

For many hours the king walked, and at length he reached a high rock,
which was rent into two by a great earthquake. Throwing himself on the
ground he looked over the side, and right at the very bottom he saw his
wife and his horses. His heart gave a great bound, and all his fears
left him, but he was forced to be patient, for the sides of the rock
were smooth, and not even a goat could find foothold. So he got up
again, and made his way round through the wood, pushing by trees,
scrambling over rocks, wading through streams, till at last he was on
flat ground again, close to the mouth of the cavern.

His wife gave a shriek of joy when he came in, and then burst into
tears, for she was tired and very frightened. But her husband did not
understand why she wept, and he was tired and bruised from his climb,
and a little cross too.

'You give me but a sorry welcome,' grumbled he, 'when I have half-killed
myself to get to you.'

'Do not heed him,' said the horses to the weeping woman; 'put him in
front of us, where he will be safe, and give him food, for he is weary.'
And she did as the horses told her, and he ate and rested, till by and
bye a long shadow fell over them, and their hearts beat with fear, for
they knew that the giant was coming.

'I smell a stranger,' cried the giant, as he entered; but it was dark
inside the chasm, and he did not see the king, who was crouching down
between the feet of the horses.

'A stranger, my lord! no stranger ever comes here, not even the sun!'
and the king's wife laughed gaily as she went up to the giant and
stroked the huge hand which hung down by his side.

'Well, I perceive nothing, certainly,' answered he, 'but it is very odd.
However, it is time that the horses were fed;' and he lifted down
an armful of hay from a shelf of rock and held out a handful to each
animal, who moved forward to meet him, leaving the king behind. As soon
as the giant's hands were near their mouths they each made a snap, and
began to bit them, so that his groans and shrieks might have been heard
a mile off. Then they wheeled round and kicked him till they could
kick no more. At length the giant crawled away, and lay quivering in a
corner, and the queen went up to him.

'Poor thing! poor thing!' she said, 'they seem to have gone mad; it was
awful to behold.'

'If I had had my soul in my body they would certainly have killed me,'
groaned the giant.

'It was lucky indeed,' answered the queen; 'but tell me, where is thy
soul, that I may take care of it?'

'Up there, in the Bonnach stone,' answered the giant, pointing to a
stone which was balanced loosely on an edge of rock. 'But now leave me,
that I may sleep, for I have far to go to-morrow.'

Soon snores were heard from the corner where the giant lay, and then
the queen lay down too, and the horses, and the king was hidden between
them, so that none could see him.

Before the dawn the giant rose and went out, and immediately the queen
ran up to the Bonnach stone, and tugged and pushed at it till it was
quite steady on its ledge, and could not fall over. And so it was in the
evening when the giant came home; and when they saw his shadow, the king
crept down in front of the horses.

'Why, what have you done to the Bonnach stone?' asked the giant.

'I feared lest it should fall over, and be broken, with your soul in
it,' said the queen, 'so I put it further back on the ledge.'

'It is not there that my soul is,' answered he, 'it is on the threshold.
But it is time the horses were fed;' and he fetched the hay, and gave it
to them, and they bit and kicked him as before, till he lay half dead on
the ground.

Next morning he rose and went out, and the queen ran to the threshold
of the cave, and washed the stones, and pulled up some moss and little
flowers that were hidden in the crannies, and by and bye when dusk had
fallen the giant came home.

'You have been cleaning the threshold,' said he.

'And was I not right to do it, seeing that your soul is in it?' asked
the queen.

'It is not there that my soul is,' answered the giant. 'Under the
threshold is a stone, and under the stone is a sheep, and in the sheep's
body is a duck, and in the duck is an egg, and in the egg is my soul.
But it is late, and I must feed the horses;' and he brought them the
hay, but they only bit and kicked him as before, and if his soul had
been within him, they would have killed him outright.

It was still dark when the giant got up and went his way, and then
the king and the queen ran forward to take up the threshold, while
the horses looked on. But sure enough! just as the giant had said,
underneath the threshold was the flagstone, and they pulled and tugged
till the stone gave way. Then something jumped out so suddenly, that it
nearly knocked them down, and as it fled past, they saw it was a sheep.

'If the slim yellow dog of the greenwood were only here, he would soon
have that sheep,' cried the king; and as he spoke, the slim yellow dog
appeared from the forest, with the sheep in his mouth. With a blow from
the king, the sheep fell dead, and they opened its body, only to be
blinded by a rush of wings as the duck flew past.

'If the hoary hawk of the rock were only here, he would soon have that
duck,' cried the king; and as he spoke the hoary hawk was seen hovering
above them, with the duck in his mouth. They cut off the duck's head
with a swing of the king's sword, and took the egg out of its body,
but in his triumph the king held it carelessly, and it slipped from his
hand, and rolled swiftly down the hill right into the river.

'If the brown otter of the stream were only here, he would soon have
that egg,' cried the king; and the next minute there was the brown
otter, dripping with water, holding the egg in his mouth. But beside the
brown otter, a huge shadow came stealing along--the shadow of the giant.

The king stood staring at it, as if he were turned into stone, but the
queen snatched the egg from the otter and crushed it between her two
hands. And after that the shadow suddenly shrank and was still, and they
knew that the giant was dead, because they had found his soul.

Next day they mounted the two horses and rode home again, visiting their
friends the brown otter and the hoary hawk and the slim yellow dog by
the way.

From 'West Highland Tales.'




A French Puck


Among the mountain pastures and valleys that lie in the centre of France
there dwelt a mischievous kind of spirit, whose delight it was to play
tricks on everybody, and particularly on the shepherds and the cowboys.
They never knew when they were safe from him, as he could change himself
into a man, woman or child, a stick, a goat, a ploughshare. Indeed,
there was only one thing whose shape he could not take, and that was a
needle. At least, he could transform himself into a needle, but try as
he might he never was able to imitate the hole, so every woman would
have found him out at once, and this he knew.

Now the hour oftenest chosen by this naughty sprite (whom we will
call Puck) for performing his pranks was about midnight, just when the
shepherds and cowherds, tired out with their long day's work, were sound
asleep. Then he would go into the cowsheds and unfasten the chains that
fixed each beast in its own stall, and let them fall with a heavy clang
to the ground. The noise was so loud that it was certain to awaken the
cowboys, however fatigued they might be, and they dragged themselves
wearily to the stable to put back the chains. But no sooner had they
returned to their beds than the same thing happened again, and so on
till the morning. Or perhaps Puck would spend his night in plaiting
together the manes and tails of two of the horses, so that it would take
the grooms hours of labour to get them right in the morning, while Puck,
hidden among the hay in the loft, would peep out to watch them, enjoying
himself amazingly all the time.

One evening more than eighty years ago a man named William was passing
along the bank of a stream when he noticed a sheep who was bleating
loudly. William thought it must have strayed from the flock, and that he
had better take it home with him till he could discover its owner. So
he went up to where it was standing, and as it seemed so tired that it
could hardly walk, he hoisted it on his shoulders and continued on
his way. The sheep was pretty heavy, but the good man was merciful and
staggered along as best he could under his load.

'It is not much further,' he thought to himself as he reached an avenue
of walnut trees, when suddenly a voice spoke out from over his head, and
made him jump.

'Where are you?' said the voice, and the sheep answered:

'Here on the shoulders of a donkey.'

In another moment the sheep was standing on the ground and William was
running towards home as fast as his legs would carry him. But as he
went, a laugh, which yet was something of a bleat, rang in his ears, and
though he tried not to hear, the words reached him, 'Oh, dear! What fun
I have had, to be sure!'

Puck was careful not always to play his tricks in the same place, but
visited one village after another, so that everyone trembled lest he
should be the next victim. After a bit he grew tired of cowboys and
shepherds, and wondered if there was no one else to give him some sport.
At length he was told of a young couple who were going to the nearest
town to buy all that they needed for setting up house. Quite certain
that they would forget something which they could not do without, Puck
waited patiently till they were jogging along in their cart on their
return journey, and changed himself into a fly in order to overhear
their conversation.

For a long time it was very dull--all about their wedding day next
month, and who were to be invited. This led the bride to her wedding
dress, and she gave a little scream.

'Just think! Oh! how could I be so stupid! I have forgotten to buy the
different coloured reels of cotton to match my clothes!'

'Dear, dear!' exclaimed the young man. 'That is unlucky; and didn't you
tell me that the dressmaker was coming in to-morrow?'

'Yes, I did,' and then suddenly she gave another little scream, which
had quite a different sound from the first. 'Look! Look!'

The bridegroom looked, and on one side of the road he saw a large ball
of thread of all colours--of all the colours, that is, of the dresses
that were tied on to the back of the cart.

'Well, that is a wonderful piece of good fortune,' cried he, as he
sprang out to get it. 'One would think a fairy had put it there on
purpose.'

'Perhaps she has,' laughed the girl, and as she spoke she seemed to hear
an echo of her laughter coming from the horse, but of course that was
nonsense.

The dressmaker was delighted with the thread that was given her. It
matched the stuffs so perfectly, and never tied itself in knots, or
broke perpetually, as most thread did. She finished her work much
quicker than she expected and the bride said she was to be sure to come
to the church and see her in her wedding dress.

There was a great crowd assembled to witness the ceremony, for the young
people were immense favourites in the neighbourhood, and their parents
were very rich. The doors were open, and the bride could be seen from
afar, walking under the chestnut avenue.

'What a beautiful girl!' exclaimed the men. 'What a lovely dress!'
whispered the women. But just as she entered the church and took the
hand of the bridegroom, who was waiting for her, a loud noise was heard.

'Crick! crack! Crick! crack!' and the wedding garments fell to the
ground, to the great confusion of the wearer.

Not that the ceremony was put off for a little thing like that! Cloaks
in profusion were instantly offered to the young bride, but she was so
upset that she could hardly keep from tears. One of the guests, more
curious than the rest, stayed behind to examine the dress, determined,
if she could, to find out the cause of the disaster.

'The thread must have been rotten,' she said to herself. 'I will see if
I can break it.' But search as she would she could find none.

The thread had vanished!

From 'Litterature Orale de l'Auvergne,' par Paul Sebillot.




The Three Crowns


There was once a king who had three daughters. The two eldest were very
proud and quarrelsome, but the youngest was as good as they were bad.
Well, three princes came to court them, and two of them were exactly
like the eldest ladies, and one was just as lovable as the youngest. One
day they were all walking down to a lake that lay at the bottom of the
lawn when they met a poor beggar. The king wouldn't give him anything,
and the eldest princesses wouldn't give him anything, nor their
sweethearts; but the youngest daughter and her true love did give him
something, and kind words along with it, and that was better than all.

When they got to the edge of the lake what did they find but the
beautifullest boat you ever saw in your life; and says the eldest, 'I'll
take a sail in this fine boat'; and says the second eldest, 'I'll take a
sail in this fine boat'; and says the youngest, 'I won't take a sail in
that fine boat, for I am afraid it's an enchanted one.' But the others
persuaded her to go in, and her father was just going in after her, when
up sprung on the deck a little man only seven inches high, and ordered
him to stand back. Well, all the men put their hands to their swords;
and if the same swords were only playthings, they weren't able to draw
them, for all strength that was left their arms. Seven Inches loosened
the silver chain that fastened the boat, and pushed away, and after
grinning at the four men, says he to them. 'Bid your daughters and your
brides farewell for awhile. You,' says he to the youngest, 'needn't
fear, you'll recover your princess all in good time, and you and she
will be as happy as the day is long. Bad people, if they were rolling
stark naked in gold, would not be rich. Good-bye.' Away they sailed, and
the ladies stretched out their hands, but weren't able to say a word.

Well, they weren't crossing the lake while a cat 'ud be lickin' her ear,
and the poor men couldn't stir hand or foot to follow them. They saw
Seven Inches handing the three princesses out of the boat, and letting
them down by a basket into a draw-well, but king nor princes ever saw an
opening before in the same place. When the last lady was out of sight,
the men found the strength in their arms and legs again. Round the lake
they ran, and never drew rein till they came to the well and windlass;
and there was the silk rope rolled on the axle, and the nice white
basket hanging to it. 'Let me down,' says the youngest prince. 'I'll die
or recover them again.' 'No,' says the second daughter's sweetheart, 'it
is my turn first.' And says the other, 'I am the eldest.' So they gave
way to him, and in he got into the basket, and down they let him. First
they lost sight of him, and then, after winding off a hundred perches of
the silk rope, it slackened, and they stopped turning. They waited two
hours, and then they went to dinner, because there was no pull made at
the rope.

Guards were set till next morning, and then down went the second prince,
and sure enough, the youngest of all got himself let down on the third
day. He went down perches and perches, while it was as dark about him
as if he was in a big pot with a cover on. At last he saw a glimmer far
down, and in a short time he felt the ground. Out he came from the big
lime-kiln, and, lo! and behold you, there was a wood, and green fields,
and a castle in a lawn, and a bright sky over all. 'It's in Tir-na-n-Oge
I am,' says he. 'Let's see what sort of people are in the castle.' On he
walked, across fields and lawn, and no one was there to keep him out or
let him into the castle; but the big hall-door was wide open. He went
from one fine room to another that was finer, and at last he reached the
handsomest of all, with a table in the middle. And such a dinner as was
laid upon it! The prince was hungry enough, but he was too mannerly to
eat without being invited. So he sat by the fire, and he did not wait
long till he heard steps, and in came Seven Inches with the youngest
sister by the hand. Well, prince and princess flew into one another's
arms, and says the little man, says he, 'Why aren't you eating?' 'I
think, sir,' says the prince, 'it was only good manner to wait to be
asked.' 'The other princes didn't think so,' says he. 'Each o' them fell
to without leave, and only gave me the rough words when I told them they
were making more free than welcome. Well, I don't think they feel much
hunger now. There they are, good marble instead of flesh and blood,'
says he, pointing to two statues, one in one corner, and the other in
the other corner of the room. The prince was frightened, but he was
afraid to say anything, and Seven Inches made him sit down to dinner
between himself and his bride; and he'd be as happy as the day is long,
only for the sight of the stone men in the corner. Well, that day went
by, and when the next came, says Seven Inches to him, 'Now, you'll have
to set out that way,' pointing to the sun, 'and you'll find the second
princess in a giant's castle this evening, when you'll be tired and
hungry, and the eldest princess to-morrow evening; and you may as well
bring them here with you. You need not ask leave of their masters; and
perhaps if they ever get home, they'll look on poor people as if they
were flesh and blood like themselves.'

Away went the prince, and bedad! it's tired and hungry he was when he
reached the first castle, at sunset. Oh, wasn't the second princess glad
to see him! And what a good supper she gave him. But she heard the giant
at the gate, and she hid the prince in a closet. Well, when he came in,
he snuffed, an' he snuffed, and says he, 'By the life, I smell fresh
meat.' 'Oh,' says the princess, 'it's only the calf I got killed
to-day.' 'Ay, ay,' says he, 'is supper ready?' 'It is,' says she; and
before he rose from the table he ate three-quarters of a calf, and a
flask of wine. 'I think,' says he, when all was done, 'I smell fresh
meat still.' 'It's sleepy you are,' says she; 'go to bed.' 'When will
you marry me?' says the giant. 'You're putting me off too long.' 'St.
Tibb's Eve,' says she. 'I wish I knew how far off that is,' says he; and
he fell asleep, with his head in the dish.

Next day, he went out after breakfast, and she sent the prince to the
castle where the eldest sister was. The same thing happened there; but
when the giant was snoring, the princess wakened up the prince, and they
saddled two steeds in the stables and rode into the field on them. But
the horses' heels struck the stones outside the gate, and up got the
giant and strode after them. He roared and he shouted, and the more he
shouted, the faster ran the horses, and just as the day was breaking he
was only twenty perches behind. But the prince didn't leave the castle
of Seven Inches without being provided with something good. He reined
in his steed, and flung a short, sharp knife over his shoulder, and up
sprung a thick wood between the giant and themselves. They caught the
wind that blew before them, and the wind that blew behind them did not
catch them. At last they were near the castle where the other sister
lived; and there she was, waiting for them under a high hedge, and a
fine steed under her.

But the giant was now in sight, roaring like a hundred lions, and the
other giant was out in a moment, and the chase kept on. For every two
springs the horses gave, the giants gave three, and at last they were
only seventy perches off. Then the prince stopped again, and flung the
second knife behind him. Down went all the flat field, till there was a
quarry between them a quarter of a mile deep, and the bottom filled with
black water; and before the giants could get round it, the prince and
princesses were inside the kingdom of the great magician, where the high
thorny hedge opened of itself to everyone that he chose to let in. There
was joy enough between the three sisters, till the two eldest saw their
lovers turned into stone. But while they were shedding tears for them,
Seven Inches came in, and touched them with his rod. So they were flesh,
and blood, and life once more, and there was great hugging and kissing,
and all sat down to breakfast, and Seven Inches sat at the head of the
table.

When breakfast was over, he took them into another room, where there
was nothing but heaps of gold, and silver, and diamonds, and silks,
and satins; and on a table there was lying three sets of crowns: a gold
crown was in a silver crown, and that was lying in a copper crown.
He took up one set of crowns, and gave it to the eldest princess; and
another set, and gave it to the second youngest princess; and another,
and gave it to the youngest of all; and says he, 'Now you may all go to
the bottom of the pit, and you have nothing to do but stir the basket,
and the people that are watching above will draw you up. But remember,
ladies, you are to keep your crows safe, and be married in them, all
the same day. If you be married separately, or if you be married without
your crowns, a curse will follow--mind what I say.'

So they took leave of him with great respect, and walked arm-in-arm to
the bottom of the draw-well. There was a sky and a sun over them, and
a great high wall, covered with ivy, rose before them, and was so high
they could not see to the top of it; and there was an arch in this wall,
and the bottom of the draw-well was inside the arch. The youngest
pair went last; and says the princess to the prince, 'I'm sure the two
princes don't mean any good to you. Keep these crowns under your cloak,
and if you are obliged to stay last, don't get into the basket, but put
a big stone, or any heavy thing inside, and see what will happen.'

As soon as they were inside the dark cave, they put in the eldest
princess first, and stirred the basket, and up she went. Then the basket
was let down again, and up went the second princess, and then up went
the youngest; but first she put her arms round her prince's neck, and
kissed him, and cried a little. At last it came to the turn of the
youngest prince, and instead of going into the basket he put in a big
stone. He drew on one side and listened, and after the basket was drawn
up about twenty perches, down came it and the stone like thunder, and
the stone was broken into little bits.

Well, the poor prince had nothing for it but to walk back to the castle;
and through it and round it he walked, and the finest of eating and
drinking he got, and a bed of bog-down to sleep on, and long walks he
took through gardens and lawns, but not a sight could he get, high or
low, of Seven Inches. He, before a week, got tired of it, he was so
lonesome for his true love; and at the end of a month he didn't know
what to do with himself.

One morning he went into the treasure room, and took notice of a
beautiful snuff-box on the table that he didn't remember seeing there
before. He took it in his hands and opened it, and out Seven Inches
walked on the table. 'I think, prince,' says he, 'you're getting a
little tired of my castle?' 'Ah!' says the other, 'if I had my princess
here, and could see you now and then, I'd never know a dismal day.'
'Well, you're long enough here now, and you're wanted there above.
Keep your bride's crowns safe, and whenever you want my help, open this
snuff-box. Now take a walk down the garden, and come back when you're
tired.'

The prince was going down a gravel walk with a quickset hedge on each
side, and his eyes on the ground, and he was thinking of one thing
and another. At last he lifted his eyes, and there he was outside of
a smith's gate that he often passed before, about a mile away from the
palace of his betrothed princess. The clothes he had on him were as
ragged as you please, but he had his crowns safe under his old cloak.

Then the smith came out, and says he, 'It's a shame for a strong, big
fellow like you to be lazy, and so much work to be done. Are you any
good with hammer and tongs? Come in and bear a hand, an I'll give you
diet and lodging, and a few pence when you earn them.' 'Never say't
twice,' says the prince. 'I want nothing but to be busy.' So he took the
hammer, and pounded away at the red-hot bar that the smith was turning
on the anvil to make into a set of horse-shoes.

They hadn't been long at work when a tailor came in, and he sat down
and began to talk. 'You all heard how the two princess were loth to
be married till the youngest would be ready with her crowns and her
sweetheart. But after the windlass loosened accidentally when they were
pulling up her bridegroom that was to be, there was no more sign of a
well, or a rope, or a windlass, than there is on the palm of your hand.
So the princes that were courting the eldest ladies wouldn't give
peace or ease to their lovers nor the king till they got consent to the
marriage, and it was to take place this morning. Myself went down out o'
curiousity, and to be sure I was delighted with the grand dresses of
the two brides, and the three crowns on their heads--gold, silver, and
copper, one inside the other. The youngest was standing by mournful
enough, and all was ready. The two bridegrooms came in as proud and
grand as you please, and up they were walking to the altar rails, when
the boards opened two yards wide under their feet, and down they went
among the dead men and the coffins in the vaults. Oh, such shrieks as
the ladies gave! and such running and racing and peeping down as there
was! but the clerk soon opened the door of the vault, and up came the
two princes, their fine clothes covered an inch thick with cobwebs and
mould.

So the king said they should put off the marriage. 'For,' says he, 'I
see there is no use in thinking of it till the youngest gets her three
crowns, and is married with the others. I'll give my youngest daughter
for a wife to whoever brings three crowns to me like the others; and if
he doesn't care to be married, some other one will, and I'll make his
fortune.'

'I wish,' says the smith, 'I could do it; but I was looking at the
crowns after the princesses got home, and I don't think there's a black
or a white smith on the face of the earth that could imitate them.'
'Faint heart never won fair lady,' says the prince. 'Go to the palace
and ask for a quarter of a pound of gold, a quarter of a pound of
silver, and a quarter of a pound of copper. Get one crown for a pattern,
and my head for a pledge, I'll give you out the very things that are
wanted in the morning.' 'Are you in earnest?' says the smith. 'Faith, I
am so,' says he. 'Go! you can't do worse than lose.'

To make a long story short, the smith got the quarter of a pound of
gold, and the quarter of a pound of silver, and the quarter of a pound
of copper, and gave them and the pattern crown to the prince. He shut
the forge door at nightfall, and the neighbours all gathered in the
yard, and they heard him hammering, hammering, hammering, from that to
daybreak; and every now and then he'd throw out through the window bits
of gold, silver, and copper; and the idlers scrambled for them, and
cursed one another, and prayed for the good luck of the workman.

Well, just as the sun was thinking to rise, he opened the door, and
brought out the three crowns he got from his true love, and such
shouting and huzzaing as there was! The smith asked him to go along with
him to the palace, but he refused; so off set the smith, and the whole
townland with him; and wasn't the king rejoiced when he saw the crowns!
'Well,' says he to the smith, 'you're a married man. What's to be done?'
'Faith, your majesty, I didn't make them crowns at all. It was a big
fellow that took service with me yesterday.' 'Well, daughter, will
you marry the fellow that made these crowns?' 'Let me see them first,
father,' said she; but when she examined them she knew them right well,
and guessed it was her true love that sent them. 'I will marry the man
that these crowns came from,' says she.

'Well,' says the king to the elder of the two princes, 'go up to the
smith's forge, take my best coaches, and bring home the bridegroom.' He
did not like doing this, he was so proud, but he could not refuse.
When he came to the forge he saw the prince standing at the door, and
beckoned him over to the coach. 'Are you the fellow,' says he, 'that
made these crowns?' 'Yes,' says the other. 'Then,' says he, 'maybe you'd
give yourself a brushing, and get into that coach; the king wants to see
you. I pity the princess.' The young prince got into the carriage, and
while they were on the way he opened the snuff-box, and out walked Seven
Inches, and stood on his thigh. 'Well,' says he, 'what trouble is on you
now?' 'Master,' says the other, 'please let me go back to my forge, and
let this carriage be filled with paving stones.' No sooner said than
done. The prince was sitting in his forge, and the horses wondered what
was after happening to the carriage.

When they came into the palace yard, the king himself opened the
carriage door, for respect to his new son-in-law. As soon as he turned
the handle, a shower of small stones fell on his powdered wig and his
silk coat, and down he fell under them. There was great fright and some
laughter, and the king, after he wiped the blood from his forehead,
looked very cross at the eldest prince. 'My lord,' says he, 'I'm very
sorry for this accident, but I'm not to blame. I saw the young smith get
into the carriage, and we never stopped a minute since.' 'It's uncivil
you were to him. Go,' says he to the other prince, 'and bring the young
smith here, and be polite.' 'Never fear,' says he.

But there's some people that couldn't be good-natured if they tried, and
not a bit civiller was the new messenger than the old, and when the king
opened the carriage door a second time, it's shower of mud that came
down on him. 'There's no use,' says he, 'going on this way. The fox
never got a better messenger than himself.'

So he changed his clothes, and washed himself, and out he set to the
prince's forge and asked him to sit along with himself. The prince
begged to be allowed to sit in the other carriage, and when they were
half-way he opened his snuff-box. 'Master,' says he, 'I'd wish to be
dressed now according to my rank.' 'You shall be that,' says Seven
Inches. 'And now I'll bid you farewell. Continue as good and kind as you
always were; love your wife; and that's all the advice I'll give you.'
So Seven Inches vanished; and when the carriage door was opened in the
yard, out walks the prince as fine as hands could make him, and the
first thing he did was to run over to his bride and embrace her.

Every one was full of joy but the two other princes. There was not much
delay about the marriages, and they were all celebrated on the one day.
Soon after, the two elder couples went to their own courts, but the
youngest pair stayed with the old king, and they were as happy as the
happiest married couple you ever heard of in a story.

From 'West Highland Tales.'




The Story of a Very Bad Boy


Once upon a time there lived in a little village in the very middle of
France a widow and her only son, a boy about fifteen, whose name was
Antoine, though no one ever called him anything but Toueno-Boueno. They
were very poor indeed, and their hut shook about their ears on windy
nights, till they expected the walls to fall in and crush them, but
instead of going to work as a boy of his age ought to do, Toueno-Boueno
did nothing but lounge along the street, his eyes fixed on the ground,
seeing nothing that went on round him.

'You are very, very stupid, my dear child,' his mother would sometimes
say to him, and then she would add with a laugh, 'Certainly you will
never catch a wolf by the tail.'

One day the old woman bade Antoine go into the forest and collect enough
dry leaves to make beds for herself and him. Before he had finished it
began to rain heavily, so he hid himself in the hollow trunk of a tree,
where he was so dry and comfortable that he soon fell fast asleep. By
and by he was awakened by a noise which sounded like a dog scratching
at the door, and he suddenly felt frightened, why he did not know. Very
cautiously he raised his head, and right above him he saw a big hairy
animal, coming down tail foremost.

'It is the wolf that they talk so much about,' he said to himself, and
he made himself as small as he could and shrunk into a corner.

The wolf came down the inside of the tree, slowly, slowly; Antoine
felt turned to stone, so terrified was he, and hardly dared to breathe.
Suddenly an idea entered his mind, which he thought might save him
still. He remembered to have heard from his mother that a wolf could
neither bend his back nor turn his head, so as to look behind him, and
quick as lightning he stretched up his hand, and seizing the wolf's
tail, pulled it towards him.

Then he left the tree and dragged the animal to his mother's house.

'Mother, you have often declared that I was too stupid to catch a wolf
by the tail. Now see,' he cried triumphantly.

'Well, well, wonders will never cease,' answered the good woman, who
took care to keep at a safe distance. 'But as you really have got him,
let us see if we can't put him to some use. Fetch the skin of the ram
which died last week out of the chest, and we will sew the wolf up in
it. He will make a splendid ram, and to-morrow we will drive him to the
fair and sell him.'

Very likely the wolf, who was cunning and clever, may have understood
what she said, but he thought it best to give no sign, and suffered the
skin to be sewn upon him.

'I can always get away if I choose,' thought he, 'it is better not to
be in a hurry;' so he remained quite still while the skin was drawn over
his head, which made him very hot and uncomfortable, and resisted the
temptation to snap off the fingers or noses that were so close to his
mouth.

The fair was at its height next day when Toueno-Boueno arrived with his
wolf in ram's clothing. All the farmers crowded round him, each offering
a higher price than the last. Never had they beheld such a beautiful
beast, said they, and at last, after much bargaining, he was handed over
to three brothers for a good sum of money.

It happened that these three brothers owned large flocks of sheep,
though none so large and fine as the one they had just bought.

'My flock is the nearest,' observed the eldest brother; 'we will leave
him in the fold for the night, and to-morrow we will decide which
pastures will be best for him.' And the wolf grinned as he listened, and
held up his head a little higher than before.

Early next morning the young farmer began to go his rounds, and the
sheep-fold was the first place he visited. To his horror, the sheep were
all stretched out dead before him, except one, which the wolf had eaten,
bones and all. Instantly the truth flashed upon him. It was no ram that
lay curled up in the corner pretending to be asleep (for in reality he
could bend back and turn his head as much as he liked), but a wolf who
was watching him out of the corner of his eye, and might spring upon him
at any moment. So the farmer took no notice, and only thought that here
was a fine chance of revenging himself on his next brother for a trick
which he had played, and merely told him that the ram would not eat the
grass in that field, and it might be well to drive him to the pasture by
the river, where his own flock was feeding. The second brother eagerly
swallowed the bait, and that evening the wolf was driven down to the
field where the young man kept the sheep which had been left him by
his father. By the next morning they also were all dead, but the second
brother likewise held his peace, and allowed the sheep which belonged
to the youngest to share the fate of the other two. Then they met and
confessed to each other their disasters, and resolved to take the
animal as fast as possible back to Toueno-Boueno, who should get a sound
thrashing.

Antoine was sitting on a plum tree belonging to a neighbour, eating
the ripe fruit, when he saw the three young farmers coming towards him.
Swinging himself down, he flew home to the hut, crying breathlessly,
'Mother, mother, the farmers are close by with the wolf. They have found
out all about it, and will certainly kill me, and perhaps you too. But
if you do as I tell you, I may be able to save us both. Lie down on
the floor, and pretend to be dead, and be sure not to speak, whatever
happens.

Thus when the three brothers, each armed with a whip, entered the hut a
few seconds later, they found a woman extended on the floor, and Toueno
kneeling at her side, whistling loudly into her ears.

'What are you doing now, you rascal?' asked the eldest.

'What am I doing? Oh, my poor friends, I am the most miserable creature
in the world! I have lost the best of mothers, and I don't know what
will become of me,' and he hid his face in his hands and sobbed again.

'But what are you whistling like that for?'

'Well, it is the only chance. This whistle has been known to bring the
dead back to life, and I hoped--' here he buried his face in his hands
again, but peeping between his fingers he saw that the brother had
opened their six eyes as wide as saucers.

'Look!' he suddenly exclaimed with a cry, 'Look! I am sure I felt her
body move! And now her nostrils are twitching. Ah! the whistle has
not lost its power after all,' and stooping down, Toueno whistled more
loudly than before, so that the old woman's feet and hands showed signs
of life, and she soon was able to life her head.

The farmers were so astonished at her restoration, that it was some
time before they could speak. At length the eldest turned to the boy and
said:

'Now listen to me. There is no manner of doubt that you are a young
villain. You sold us a ram knowing full well that it was a wolf, and
we came here to-day to pay you out for it. But if you will give us that
whistle, we will pardon what you have done, and will leave you alone.'

'It is my only treasure, and I set great store by it,' answered the boy,
pretending to hesitate. 'But as you wish for it so much, well, I suppose
I can't refuse,' and he held out the whistle, which the eldest brother
put in his pocket.

Armed with the precious whistle, the three brothers returned home full
of joy, and as they went the youngest said to the others, 'I have such
a good idea! Our wives are all lazy and grumbling, and make our lives a
burden. Let us give them a lesson, and kill them as soon as we get in.
Of course we can restore them to life at once, but they will have had a
rare fright.'

'Ah, how clever you are,' answered the other two. 'Nobody else would
have thought of that.'

So gaily the three husbands knocked down their three wives, who fell
dead to the ground. Then one by one the men tried the whistle, and blew
so loudly that it seemed as if their lungs would burst, but the women
lay stark and stiff and never moved an eyelid. The husbands grew pale
and cold, for they had never dreamed of this, nor meant any harm, and
after a while they understood that their efforts were of no use, and
that once more the boy had tricked them. With stern faces they rose to
their feet, and taking a large sack they retraced their steps to the
hut.

This time there was no escape. Toueno had been asleep, and only opened
his eyes as they entered. Without a word on either side they thrust
him into the sack, and tying up the mouth, the eldest threw it over his
shoulder. After that they all set out to the river, where they intended
to drown the boy.

But the river was a long way off, and the day was very hot, and Antoine
was heavy, heavier than a whole sheaf of corn. They carried him in
turns, but even so they grew very tired and thirsty, and when a little
tavern came in sight on the roadside, they thankfully flung the sack
down on a bench and entered to refresh themselves. They never noticed
that a beggar was sitting in the shade at the end of the bench, but
Toueno's sharp ears caught the sound of someone eating, and as soon as
the farmers had gone into the inn he began to groan softly.

'What is the matter?' asked the beggar, drawing a little nearer. 'Why
have they shut you up, poor boy?'

'Because they wanted to make me a bishop, and I would not consent,'
answered Toueno.

'Dear me,' exclaimed the beggar, 'yet it isn't such a bad thing to be a
bishop.'

'I don't say it is,' replied the young rascal, 'but I should never like
it. However, if you have any fancy for wearing a mitre, you need only
untie the sack, and take my place.'

'I should like nothing better,' said the man, as he stooped to undo the
big knot.

So it was the beggar and not Toueno-Boueno who was flung into the water.

The next morning the three wives were buried, and on returning from the
cemetery, their husbands met Toueno-Boueno driving a magnificent
flock of sheep. At the sight of him the three farmers stood still with
astonishment.

'What! you scoundrel!' they cried at last, 'we drowned you yesterday,
and to-day we find you again, as well as ever!'

'It does seem odd, doesn't it?' answered he. 'But perhaps you don't know
that beneath this world there lies another yet more beautiful and far,
far richer. Well, it was there that you sent me when you flung me into
the river, and though I felt a little strange at first, yet I soon began
to look about me, and to see what was happening. There I noticed that
close to the place where I had fallen, a sheep fair was being held, and
a bystander told me that every day horses or cattle were sold somewhere
in the town. If I had only had the luck to be thrown into the river on
the side of the horse fair I might have made my fortune! As it was, I
had to content myself with buying these sheep, which you can get for
nothing.'

'And do you know exactly the spot in the river which lies over the horse
fair?'

'As if I did not know it, when I have seen it with my own eyes.'

'Then if you do not want us to avenge our dead flocks and our murdered
wives, you will have to throw us into the river just over the place of
the horse fair.'

'Very well; only you must get three sacks and come with me to that rock
which juts into the river. I will throw you in from there, and you will
fall nearly on to the horses' backs.'

So he threw them in, and as they were never seen again, no one ever knew
into which fair they had fallen.

From 'Litterature Orale de L'Auvergne,' par Paul Sebillot.




The Brown Bear of Norway


There was once a king in Ireland, and he had three daughters, and very
nice princesses they were. And one day, when they and their father were
walking on the lawn, the king began to joke with them, and to ask them
whom they would like to be married to. 'I'll have the king of Ulster for
a husband,' says one; 'and I'll have the king of Munster,' says another;
'and,' says the youngest, 'I'll have no husband but the Brown Bear of
Norway.' For a nurse of hers used to be telling her of an enchanted
prince that she called by that name, and she fell in love with him, and
his name was the first name on her tongue, for the very night before she
was dreaming of him. Well, one laughed, and another laughed, and they
joked with the princess all the rest of the evening. But that very night
she woke up out of her sleep in a great hall that was lighted up with
a thousand lamps; the richest carpets were on the floor, and the walls
were covered with cloth of gold and silver, and the place was full of
grand company, and the very beautiful prince she saw in her dreams was
there, and it wasn't a moment till he was on one knee before her, and
telling her how much he loved her, and asking her wouldn't she be his
queen. Well, she hadn't the heart to refuse him, and married they were
the same evening.

'Now, my darling,' says he, when they were left by themselves, 'you
must know that I am under enchantment. A sorceress, that had a beautiful
daughter, wished me for her son-in-law; but the mother got power over
me, and when I refused to wed her daughter she made me take the form of
a bear by day, and I was to continue so till a lady would marry me of
her own free will, and endure five years of great trials after.'

Well, when the princess woke in the morning, she missed her husband from
her side, and spent the day very sadly. But as soon as the lamps were
lighted in the grand hall, where she was sitting on a sofa covered with
silk, the folding doors flew open, and he was sitting by her side the
next minute. So they spent another happy evening, but he warned her that
whenever she began to tire of him, or ceased to have faith in him,
they would be parted for ever, and he'd be obliged to marry the witch's
daughter.

She got used to find him absent by day, and they spent a happy
twelvemonth together, and at last a beautiful little boy was born; and
happy as she was before, she was twice as happy now, for she had her
child to keep her company in the day when she couldn't see her husband.

At last, one evening, when herself, and himself, and her child were
sitting with a window open because it was a sultry night, in flew an
eagle, took the infant's sash in his beak, and flew up in the air with
him. She screamed, and was going to throw herself out the window after
him, but the prince caught her, and looked at her very seriously. She
bethought of what he said soon after their marriage, and she stopped the
cries and complaints that were on her tongue. She spent her days very
lonely for another twelvemonth, when a beautiful little girl was sent to
her. Then she thought to herself she'd have a sharp eye about her this
time; so she never would allow a window to be more than a few inches
open.

But all her care was in vain. Another evening, when they were all so
happy, and the prince dandling the baby, a beautiful greyhound stood
before them, took the child out of the father's hand, and was out of
the door before you could wink. This time she shouted and ran out of
the room, but there were some of the servants in the next room, and all
declared that neither child nor dog passed out. She felt, somehow, as if
it was her husband's fault, but still she kept command over herself, and
didn't once reproach him.

When the third child was born she would hardly allow a window or a door
to be left open for a moment; but she wasn't the nearer to keep the
child to herself. They were sitting one evening by the fire, when a
lady appeared standing by them. The princess opened her eyes in a great
fright and stared at her, and while she was doing so, the lady wrapped
a shawl round the baby that was sitting in its father's lap, and either
sank through the ground with it or went up through the wide chimney.
This time the mother kept her bed for a month.

'My dear,' said she to her husband, when she was beginning to recover,
'I think I'd feel better if I was to see my father and mother and
sisters once more. If you give me leave to go home for a few days I'd
be glad.' 'Very well,' said he, 'I will do that, and whenever you feel
inclined to return, only mention your wish when you lie down at night.'
The next morning when she awoke she found herself in her own old chamber
in her father's palace. She rang the bell, and in a short time she had
her mother and father and married sisters about her, and they laughed
till they cried for joy at finding her safe back again.

In time she told them all that had happened to her, and they didn't know
what to advise her to do. She was as fond of her husband as ever, and
said she was sure that he couldn't help letting the children go; but
still she was afraid beyond the world to have another child torn from
her. Well, the mother and sisters consulted a wise woman that used to
bring eggs to the castle, for they had great faith in her wisdom. She
said the only plan was to secure the bear's skin that the prince was
obliged to put on every morning, and get it burned, and then he couldn't
help being a man night and day, and the enchantment would be at an end.

So they all persuaded her to do that, and she promised she would; and
after eight days she felt so great a longing to see her husband again
that she made the wish the same night, and when she woke three hours
after, she was in her husband's palace, and he himself was watching over
her. There was great joy on both sides, and they were happy for many
days.

Now she began to think how she never minded her husband leaving her in
the morning, and how she never found him neglecting to give her a sweet
drink out of a gold cup just as she was going to bed.

One night she contrived not to drink any of it, though she pretended to
do so; and she was wakeful enough in the morning, and saw her husband
passing out through a panel in the wainscot, though she kept her eyelids
nearly closed. The next night she got a few drops of the sleepy posset
that she saved the evening before put into her husband's night drink,
and that made him sleep sound enough. She got up after midnight, passed
through the panel, and found a Beautiful brown bear's hide hanging in
the corner. Then she stole back, and went down to the parlour fire, and
put the hide into the middle of it till it was all fine ashes. She then
lay down by her husband, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and fell asleep.

If she was to live a hundred years she'd never forget how she wakened
next morning, and found her husband looking down on her with misery and
anger in his face. 'Unhappy woman,' said he, 'you have separated us for
ever! Why hadn't you patience for five years? I am now obliged, whether
I like or no, to go a three days' journey to the witch's castle, and
marry her daughter. The skin that was my guard you have burned it, and
the egg-wife that gave you the counsel was the witch herself. I won't
reproach you: your punishment will be severe without it. Farewell for
ever!'

He kissed her for the last time, and was off the next minute, walking
as fast as he could. She shouted after him, and then seeing there was no
use, she dressed herself and pursued him. He never stopped, nor stayed,
nor looked back, and still she kept him in sight; and when he was on the
hill she was in the hollow, and when he was in the hollow she was on
the hill. Her life was almost leaving her, when, just as the sun was
setting, he turned up a lane, and went into a little house. She crawled
up after him, and when she got inside there was a beautiful little boy
on his knees, and he kissing and hugging him. 'Here, my poor darling,'
says he, 'is your eldest child, and there,' says he, pointing to a woman
that was looking on with a smile on her face, 'is the eagle that carried
him away.' She forgot all her sorrows in a moment, hugging her child,
and laughing and crying over him. The woman washed their feet, and
rubbed them with an ointment that took all the soreness out of their
bones, and made them as fresh as a daisy. Next morning, just before
sunrise, he was up, and prepared to be off, 'Here,' said he to her, 'is
a thing which may be of use to you. It's a scissors, and whatever stuff
you cut with it will be turned into silk. The moment the sun rises, I'll
lose all memory of yourself and the children, but I'll get it at sunset
again. Farewell!' But he wasn't far gone till she was in sight of him
again, leaving her boy behind. It was the same to-day as yesterday:
their shadows went before them in the morning and followed them in the
evening. He never stopped, and she never stopped, and as the sun was
setting he turned up another lane, and there they found their little
daughter. It was all joy and comfort again till morning, and then the
third day's journey commenced.

But before he started he gave her a comb, and told her that whenever she
used it, pearls and diamonds would fall from her hair. Still he had his
memory from sunset to sunrise; but from sunrise to sunset he travelled
on under the charm, and never threw his eye behind. This night they
came to where the youngest baby was, and the next morning, just before
sunrise, the prince spoke to her for the last time. 'Here, my poor
wife,' said he, 'is a little hand-reel, with gold thread that has no
end, and the half of our marriage ring. If you ever get to my house,
and put your half-ring to mine, I shall recollect you. There is a wood
yonder, and the moment I enter it I shall forget everything that ever
happened between us, just as if I was born yesterday. Farewell, dear
wife and child, for ever!' Just then the sun rose, and away he walked
towards the wood. She saw it open before him and close after him, and
when she came up, she could no more get in than she could break
through a stone wall. She wrung her hands and shed tears, but then she
recollected herself, and cried out, 'Wood, I charge you by my three
magic gifts, the scissors, the comb, and the reel--to let me through';
and it opened, and she went along a walk till she came in sight of a
palace, and a lawn, and a woodman's cottage on the edge of the wood
where it came nearest the palace.

She went into the lodge, and asked the woodman and his wife to take her
into their service. They were not willing at first; but she told them
she would ask no wages, and would give them diamonds, and pearls, and
silk stuffs, and gold thread whenever they wished for them, and then
they agreed to let her stay.

It wasn't long till she heard how a young prince, that was just arrived,
was living in the palace of the young mistress. He seldom stirred
abroad, and every one that saw him remarked how silent and sorrowful he
went about, like a person that was searching for some lost thing.

The servants and conceited folk at the big house began to take notice
of the beautiful young woman at the lodge, and to annoy her with their
impudence. The head footman was the most troublesome, and at last she
invited him to come and take tea with her. Oh, how rejoiced he was, and
how he bragged of it in the servants' hall! Well, the evening came, and
the footman walked into the lodge, and was shown to her sitting-room;
for the lodge-keeper and his wife stood in great awe of her, and gave
her two nice rooms for herself. Well, he sat down as stiff as a ramrod,
and was talking in a grand style about the great doings at the castle,
while she was getting the tea and toast ready. 'Oh,' says she to him,
'would you put your hand out at the window and cut me off a sprig or two
of honeysuckle?' He got up in great glee, and put out his hand and head;
and said she, 'By the virtue of my magic gifts, let a pair of horns
spring out of your head, and sing to the lodge.' Just as she wished, so
it was. They sprung from the front of each ear, and met at the back. Oh,
the poor wretch! And how he bawled and roared! and the servants that he
used to be boasting to were soon flocking from the castle, and grinning,
and huzzaing, and beating tunes on tongs and shovels and pans; and he
cursing and swearing, and the eyes ready to start out of his head, and
he so black in the face, and kicking out his legs behind him like mad.

At last she pitied him, and removed the charm, and the horns dropped
down on the ground, and he would have killed her on the spot, only he
was as weak as water, and his fellow-servants came in and carried him up
to the big house. Well, some way or other the story came to the ears of
the prince, and he strolled down that way. She had only the dress of a
countrywoman on her as she sat sewing at the window, but that did not
hide her beauty, and he was greatly puzzled after he had a good look,
just as a body is puzzled to know whether something happened to him when
he was young or if he only dreamed it. Well, the witch's daughter heard
about it too, and she came to see the strange girl; and what did she
find her doing but cutting out the pattern of a gown from brown paper;
and as she cut away, the paper became the richest silk she ever saw. The
witch's daughter looked on with greedy eyes, and, says she, 'What would
you be satisfied to take for that scissors?' 'I'll take nothing,' says
she, 'but leave to spend one night outside the prince's chamber.' Well,
the proud lady fired up, and was going to say something dreadful; but
the scissors kept on cutting, and the silk growing richer and richer
every inch. So she promised what the girl had asked her.

When night came on she was let into the palace and lay down till the
prince was in such a dead sleep that all she did couldn't awake him.
She sung this verse to him, sighing and sobbing, and kept singing it the
night long, and it was all in vain:

Four long years I was married to thee; Three sweet babes I bore to thee;
Brown Bear of Norway, turn to me.

At the first dawn the proud lady was in the chamber, and led her away,
and the footman of the horns put out his tongue at her as she was
quitting the palace.

So there was no luck so far; but the next day the prince passed by again
and looked at her, and saluted her kindly, as a prince might a farmer's
daughter, and passed one; and soon the witch's daughter passed by, and
found her combing her hair, and pearls and diamonds dropping from it.

Well, another bargain was made, and the princess spent another night of
sorrow, and she left the castle at daybreak, and the footman was at his
post and enjoyed his revenge.

The third day the prince went by, and stopped to talk with the strange
woman. He asked her could he do anything to serve her, and she said he
might. She asked him did he ever wake at night. He said that he often
did, but that during the last two nights he was listening to a sweet
song in his dreams, and could not wake, and that the voice was one that
he must have known and loved in some other world long ago. Says she,
'Did you drink any sleepy posset either of these evenings before you
went to bed?' 'I did,' said he. 'The two evenings my wife gave me
something to drink, but I don't know whether it was a sleepy posset or
not.' 'Well, prince,' said she, 'as you say you would wish to oblige me,
you can do it by not tasting any drink to-night.' 'I will not,' says he,
and then he went on his walk.

Well, the great lady came soon after the prince, and found the stranger
using her hand-reel and winding threads of gold off it, and the third
bargain was made.

That evening the prince was lying on his bed at twilight, and his mind
much disturbed; and the door opened, and in his princess walked, and
down she sat by his bedside and sung:

Four long years I was married to thee; Three sweet babes I bore to thee;
Brown Bear of Norway, turn to me.

'Brown Bear of Norway!' said he. 'I don't understand you.' 'Don't you
remember, prince, that I was your wedded wife for four years?' 'I do
not,' said he, 'but I'm sure I wish it was so.' 'Don't you remember our
three babes that are still alive?' 'Show me them. My mind is all a heap
of confusion.' 'Look for the half of our marriage ring, that hangs at
your neck, and fit it to this.' He did so, and the same moment the charm
was broken. His full memory came back on him, and he flung his arms
round his wife's neck, and both burst into tears.

Well, there was a great cry outside, and the castle walls were heard
splitting and cracking. Everyone in the castle was alarmed, and made
their way out. The prince and princess went with the rest, and by the
time all were safe on the lawn, down came the building, and made the
ground tremble for miles round. No one ever saw the witch and her
daughter afterwards. It was not long till the prince and princess had
their children with them, and then they set out for their own palace.
The kings of Ireland and of Munster and Ulster, and their wives, soon
came to visit them, and may every one that deserves it be as happy as
the Brown Bear of Norway and his family.

From 'West Highland Tales.'




Little Lasse


There was once a little boy whose name was Lars, and because he was so
little he was called Little Lasse; he was a brave little man, for he
sailed round the world in a pea-shell boat.

It was summer time, when the pea shells grew long and green in the
garden. Little Lasse crept into the pea bed where the pea stalks rose
high above his cap, and he picked seventeen large shells, the longest
and straightest he could find.

Little Lasse thought, perhaps, that no one saw him; but that was
foolish, for God sees everywhere.

Then the gardener came with his gun over his shoulder, and he heard
something rustling in the pea bed.

'I think that must be a sparrow,' he said. 'Ras! Ras!' but no sparrows
flew out, for Little Lasse had no wings, only two small legs. 'Wait! I
will load my gun and shoot the sparrows,' said the gardener.

Then Little Lasse was frightened, and crept out on to the path.

'Forgive me, dear gardener!' he said. 'I wanted to get some fine boats.'

'Well, I will this time,' said the gardener. 'But another time Little
Lasse must ask leave to go and look for boats in the pea bed.'

'I will,' answered Lasse; and he went off to the shore. Then he opened
the shells with a pin, split them carefully in two, and broke small
little bits of sticks for the rowers' seats. Then he took the peas which
were in the shells and put them in the boats for cargo. Some of the
shells got broken, some remained whole, and when all were ready Lasse
had twelve boats. But they should not be boats, they should be large
warships. He had three liners, three frigates, three brigs and three
schooners. The largest liner was called Hercules, and the smallest
schooner The Flea. Little Lasse put all the twelve into the water, and
they floated as splendidly and as proudly as any great ships over the
waves of the ocean.

And now the ships must sail round the world. The great island over there
was Asia; that large stone Africa; the little island America; the small
stones were Polynesia; and the shore from which the ships sailed out was
Europe. The whole fleet set off and sailed far away to other parts of
the world. The ships of the line steered a straight course to Asia, the
frigates sailed to Africa, the brigs to America, and the schooners to
Polynesia. But Little Lasse remained in Europe, and threw small stones
out into the great sea.

Now, there was on the shore of Europe a real boat, father's own, a
beautiful white-painted boat, and Little Lasse got into it. Father and
mother had forbidden this, but Little Lasse forgot. He thought he should
very much like to travel to some other part of the world.

'I shall row out a little way--only a very little way,' he thought. The
pea-shell boats had travelled so far that they only looked like little
specks on the ocean. 'I shall seize Hercules on the coast of Asia,' said
Lasse, 'and then row home again to Europe.'

He shook the rope that held the boat, and, strange to say, the rope
became loose. Ditsch, ratsch, a man is a man, and so Little Lasse manned
the boat.

Now he would row--and he could row, for he had rowed so often on the
step sat home, when the steps pretended to be a boat and father's big
stick an oar. But when Little Lasse wanted to row there were no oars
to be found in the boat. The oars were locked up in the boat-house, and
Little Lasse had not noticed that the boat was empty. It is not so easy
as one thinks to row to Asia without oars.

What could Little Lasse do now? The boat was already some distance out
on the sea, and the wind, which blew from land, was driving it still
further out. Lasse was frightened and began to cry. But there was no
one on the shore to hear him. Only a big crow perched alone in the birch
tree; and the gardener's black cat sat under the birch tree, waiting to
catch the crow. Neither of them troubled themselves in the least about
Little Lasse, who was drifting out to sea.

Ah! how sorry Little Lasse was now that he had been disobedient and got
into the boat, when father and mother had so often forbidden him to do
so! Now it was too late, he could not get back to land. Perhaps he would
be lost out on the great sea. What should he do?

When he had shouted until he was tired and no one heard him, he put
his two little hands together and said, 'Good God, do not be angry with
Little Lasse.' And then he went to sleep. For although it was daylight,
old Nukku Matti was sitting on the shores of the 'Land of Nod,' and was
fishing for little children with his long fishing rod. He heard the low
words which Little Lasse said to God, and he immediately drew the boat
to himself and laid Little Lasse to sleep on a bed of rose leaves.

Then Nukku Matti said to one of the Dreams, 'Play with Little Lasse, so
that he does not feel lonesome.'

It was a little dream-boy, so little, so little, that he was less than
Lasse himself; he had blue eyes and fair hair, a red cap with a silver
band, and white coat with pearls on the collar. He came to Little Lasse
and said, 'Would you like to sail round the world?'

'Yes,' said Lasse in his sleep, 'I should like to.'

'Come, then,' said the dream-boy, 'and let us sail in your pea-shell
boats. You shall sail in Hercules and I shall sail in The Flea.'

So they sailed away from the 'Land of Nod,' and in a little while
Hercules and The Flea were on the shores of Asia away at the other end
of the world, where the Ice Sea flows through Behring Straits into the
Pacific Ocean. A long way off in the winter mist they could see the
explorer Nordenskiold with his ship Vega trying to find an opening
between the ice. It was so cold, so cold; the great icebergs glittered
strangely, and the huge whales now lived under the ice, for they could
not make a hole through with their awkward heads. All around on the
dreary shore there was snow and snow as far as the eye could see; little
grey men in shaggy skins moved about, and drove in small sledges through
the snow drifts, but the sledges were drawn by dogs.

'Shall we land here?' asked the dream-boy.

'No,' said Little Lasse. 'I am so afraid that the whales would swallow
us up, and the big dogs bite us. Let us sail instead to another part of
the world.'

'Very well,' said the dream-boy with the red cap and the silver band;
'it is not far to America'--and at the same moment they were there.

The sun was shining and it was very warm. Tall palm trees grew in long
rows on the shore and bore coconuts in their top branches. Men red as
copper galloped over the immense green prairies and shot their arrows
at the buffaloes, who turned against them with their sharp horns. An
enormous cobra which had crept up the stem of a tall palm tree threw
itself on to a little llama that was grazing at the foot. Knaps! it was
all over the little llama.

'Shall we land here?' asked the dream-boy.

'No,' said Little Lasse. 'I am so afraid that the buffaloes will butt
us, and the great serpent eat us up. Let us travel to another part of
the world.'

'Very well,' said the dream-boy with the white coat, 'it is only a
little way to Polynesia'--and then they were there.

It was very warm there, as warm as in a hot bath in Finland. Costly
spices grew on the shores: the pepper plant, the cinnamon tree, ginger,
saffron; the coffee plant and the tea plant. Brown people with long ears
and thick lips, and hideously painted faces, hunted a yellow-spotted
tiger among the high bamboos on the shore, and the tiger turned on them
and stuck its claws into one of the brown men. Then all the others took
to flight.

'Shall we land here?' asked the dream-boy.

'No,' said Little Lasse. 'Don't you see the tiger away there by the
pepper plant? Let us travel to another part of the world.'

'We can do so,' said the dream-boy with the blue eyes. 'We are not far
from Africa'--and as he said that they were there.

They anchored at the mouth of a great river where the shores were
as green as the greenest velvet. A little distance from the river an
immense desert stretched away. The air was yellow; the sun shone so hot,
so hot as if it would burn the earth to ashes, and the people were as
black as the blackest jet. They rode across the desert on tall camels;
the lions roared with thirst, and the great crocodiles with their grey
lizard heads and sharp white teeth gaped up out of the river.

'Shall we land here?' asked the dream-boy.

'No,' said Little Lasse. 'The sun would burn us, and the lions and the
crocodiles would eat us up. Let us travel to another part of the world.'

'We can travel back to Europe,' said the dream-boy with the fair hair.
And with that they were there.

They came to a shore where it was all so cool and familiar and friendly.
There stood the tall birch tree with its drooping leaves; at the top sat
the old crow, and at its foot crept the gardener's black cat. Not far
away was a house which Little Lasse had seen before; near the house
there was a garden, and in the garden a pea bed with long pea shells.
An old gardener with a green coat walked about and wondered if the
cucumbers were ripe. Fylax was barking on the steps, and when he saw
Little Lasse he wagged his tail. Old Stina was milking the cows in the
farmyard, and there was a very familiar lady in a check woollen shawl
on her way to the bleaching green to see if the clothes were bleached.
There was, too, a well-known gentleman in a yellow summer coat, with a
long pipe in his mouth; he was going to see if the reapers had cut the
rye. A boy and a girl were running on the shore and calling out, 'Little
Lasse! Come home for bread-and-butter!'

'Shall we land here?' asked the dream-boy, and he blinked his blue eyes
roguishly.

'Come with me, and I shall ask mother to give you some bread-and-butter
and a glass of milk,' said Little Lasse.

'Wait a little,' said the dream-boy. And now Little Lasse saw that the
kitchen door was open, and from within there was heard a low, pleasant
frizzling, like that which is heard when one whisks yellow batter with a
wooden ladle into a hot frying-pan.

'Perhaps we should sail back to Polynesia now?' said the happy
dream-boy.

'No; they are frying pancakes in Europe just now,' said Little Lasse;
and he wanted to jump ashore, but he could not. The dream-boy had tied
him with a chain of flowers, so that he could not move. And now all
the little dreams came about him, thousands and thousands of little
children, and they made a ring around him and sang a little song:

          The world is very, very wide,
               Little Lasse, Lasse,
          And though you've sailed beyond the tide,
          You can never tell how wide
          It is on the other side,
               Lasse, Little Lasse.
          You have found it cold and hot,
               Little Lasse, Lasse;
          But in no land is God not,
               Lasse, Little Lasse.
          Many men live there as here,
          But they all to God are dear,
               Little Lasse, Lasse.
          When His angel is your guide,
               Little Lasse, Lasse,
          Then no harm can e'er betide,
          Even on the other side
               Where the wild beasts wander.
          But tell us now,
               Whene'er you roam,
               Do you not find the best is home
          Of all the lands you've looked upon,
               Lasse, Little Lasse?

When the dreams had sung their song they skipped away, and Nukku Matti
carried Lasse back to the boat. He lay there for a long time quite
still, and he still heard the frying-pan frizzling at home of the fire,
the frizzling was very plain, Little Lasse heard it quite near him; and
so he woke up and rubbed his eyes.

There he lay in the boat, where he had fallen asleep. The wind had
turned, and the boat had drifted out with one wind and drifted in with
another while Little Lasse slept, and what Lasse thought was frizzling
in a frying-pan was the low murmur of the waves as they washed against
the stones on the shore. But he was not altogether wrong, for the clear
blue sea is like a great pan in which God's sun all day makes cakes for
good children.

Little Lasse rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked around him.
Everything was the same as before; the crow in the birch tree, the cat
on the grass, and the pea-shell fleet on the shore. Some of the ships
had foundered, and some had drifted back to land. Hercules had come back
with its cargo from Asia, The Flea had arrived from Polynesia, and the
other parts of the world were just where they were before.

Little Lasse did not know what to think. He had so often been in that
grotto in the 'Land of Nod' and did not know what tricks dreams can
play. But Little Lasse did not trouble his head with such things; he
gathered together his boats and walked up the shore back to the house.

His brother and sister ran to meet him, and called out from the
distance, 'Where have you been so long, Lasse? Come home and get some
bread-and-butter.' The kitchen door stood open, and inside was heard a
strange frizzling.

The gardener was near the gate, watering the dill and parsley, the
carrots and parsnips.

'Well,' he said, 'where has Little Lasse been so long?'

Little Lasse straightened himself up stiff, and answered: 'I have sailed
round the world in a pea-shell boat.'

'Oh!' said the gardener.

He has forgotten Dreamland. But you have not forgotten it; you know that
it exists. You know the beautiful grotto and the bright silver walls
whose lustre never fades, the sparkling diamonds which never grow dim,
the music which never ceases its low, soft murmur through the sweet
evening twilight. The airy fairy fancies of happy Dreamland never grow
old; they, like the glorious stars above us, are always young. Perhaps
you have caught a glimpse of their ethereal wings as they flew around
your pillow. Perhaps you have met the same dream-boy with the blue eyes
and the fair hair, the one who wore the red cap with the silver band and
the white coat with pearls on the collar. Perhaps he has taken you to
see all the countries of the world and the peoples, the cold waste lands
and the burning deserts, the many coloured men and the wild creatures
in the sea and in the woods, so that you may earn many things, but come
gladly home again. Yes, who knows? Perhaps you also have sailed round
the wide world once in a pea-shell boat.

From Z. Topelius.




'Moti'


Once upon a time there was a youth called Moti, who was very big and
strong, but the clumsiest creature you can imagine. So clumsy was he
that he was always putting his great feet into the bowls of sweet milk
or curds which his mother set out on the floor to cool, always smashing,
upsetting, breaking, until at last his father said to him:

'Here, Moti, are fifty silver pieces which are the savings of years;
take them and go and make your living or your fortune if you can.'

Then Moti started off one early spring morning with his thick staff over
his shoulder, singing gaily to himself as he walked along.

In one way and another he got along very well until a hot evening when
he came to a certain city where he entered the travellers' 'serai' or
inn to pass the night. Now a serai, you must know, is generally just a
large square enclosed by a high wall with an open colonnade along the
inside all round to accommodate both men and beasts, and with perhaps
a few rooms in towers at the corners for those who are too rich or too
proud to care about sleeping by their own camels and horses. Moti, of
course, was a country lad and had lived with cattle all his life, and
he wasn't rich and he wasn't proud, so he just borrowed a bed from the
innkeeper, set it down beside an old buffalo who reminded him of home,
and in five minutes was fast asleep.

In the middle of the night he woke, feeling that he had been disturbed,
and putting his hand under his pillow found to his horror that his bag
of money had been stolen. He jumped up quietly and began to prowl around
to see whether anyone seemed to be awake, but, though he managed to
arouse a few men and beasts by falling over them, he walked in the
shadow of the archways round the whole serai without coming across a
likely thief. He was just about to give it up when he overheard two men
whispering, and one laughed softly, and peering behind a pillar, he saw
two Afghan horsedealers counting out his bag of money! Then Moti went
back to bed!

In the morning Moti followed the two Afghans outside the city to the
horsemarket in which they horses were offered for sale. Choosing the
best-looking horse amongst them he went up to it and said:

'Is this horse for sale? may I try it?' and, the merchants assenting, he
scrambled up on its back, dug in his heels, and off they flew. Now Moti
had never been on a horse in his life, and had so much ado to hold on
with both hands as well as with both legs that the animal went just
where it liked, and very soon broke into a break-neck gallop and made
straight back to the serai where it had spent the last few nights.

'This will do very well,' thought Moti as they whirled in at the
entrance. As soon as the horse had arrived at its table it stopped of
its own accord and Moti immediately rolled off; but he jumped up at
once, tied the beast up, and called for some breakfast. Presently the
Afghans appeared, out of breath and furious, and claimed the horse.

'What do you mean?' cried Moti, with his mouth full of rice, 'it's my
horse; I paid you fifty pieces of silver for it--quite a bargain, I'm
sure!'

'Nonsense! it is our horse,' answered one of the Afghans beginning to
untie the bridle.

'Leave off,' shouted Moti, seizing his staff; 'if you don't let my horse
alone I'll crack your skulls! you thieves! I know you! Last night you
took my money, so to-day I took your horse; that's fair enough!'

Now the Afghans began to look a little uncomfortable, but Moti seemed so
determined to keep the horse that they resolved to appeal to the law, so
they went off and laid a complaint before the king that Moti had stolen
one of their horses and would not give it up nor pay for it.

Presently a soldier came to summon Moti to the king; and, when he
arrived and made his obeisance, the king began to question him as to why
he had galloped off with the horse in this fashion. But Moti declared
that he had got the animal in exchange for fifty pieces of silver,
whilst the horse merchants vowed that the money they had on them was
what they had received for the sale of other horses; and in one way and
another the dispute got so confusing that the king (who really thought
that Moti had stolen the horse) said at last, 'Well, I tell you what
I will do. I will lock something into this box before me, and if he
guesses what it is, the horse is his, and if he doesn't then it is
yours.'

To this Moti agreed, and the king arose and went out alone by a
little door at the back of the Court, and presently came back clasping
something closely wrapped up in a cloth under his robe, slipped it into
the little box, locked the box, and set it up where all might see.

'Now,' said the king to Moti, 'guess!'

It happened that when the king had opened the door behind him, Moti
noticed that there was a garden outside: without waiting for the king's
return he began to think what could be got out of the garden small
enough to be shut in the box. 'Is it likely to be a fruit or a flower?
No, not a flower this time, for he clasped it too tight. Then it must
be a fruit or a stone. Yet not a stone, because he wouldn't wrap a dirty
stone in his nice clean cloth. Then it is a fruit! And a fruit without
much scent, or else he would be afraid that I might smell it. Now what
fruit without much scent is in season just now? When I know that I shall
have guessed the riddle!'

As has been said before, Moti was a country lad, and was accustomed
to work in his father's garden. He knew all the common fruits, so he
thought he ought to be able to guess right; but so as not to let it
seem too easy, he gazed up at the ceiling with a puzzled expression, and
looked down at the floor with an air or wisdom and his fingers pressed
against his forehead, and then he said, slowly, with his eyes on the
king,--

'It is freshly plucked! It is round and it is red! It is a pomegranate!'

Now the king knew nothing about fruits except that they were good to
eat; and, as for seasons, he asked for whatever fruit he wanted whenever
he wanted it, and saw that he got it; so to him Moti's guess was like
a miracle, and clear proof not only of his wisdom but of his innocence,
for it was a pomegranate that he had put into the box. Of course when
the king marvelled and praised Moti's wisdom, everybody else did so too;
and, whilst the Afghans went off crestfallen, Moti took the horse and
entered the king's service.

Very soon after this, Moti, who continued to live in the serai, came
back one wet and stormy evening to find that his precious horse had
strayed. Nothing remained of him but a broken halter cord, and no one
knew what had become of him. After inquiring of everyone who was likely
to know, Moti seized the cord and his big staff and sallied out to
look for him. Away and away he tramped out of the city and into the
neighbouring forest, tracking hoof-marks in the mud. Presently it
grew late, but still Moti wandered on until suddenly in the gathering
darkness he came right upon a tiger who was contentedly eating his
horse.

'You thief!' shrieked Moti, and ran up and, just as the tiger, in
astonishment, dropped a bone--whack! came Moti's staff on his head with
such good will that the beast was half stunned and could hardly breathe
or see. Then Moti continued to shower upon him blows and abuse until the
poor tiger could hardly stand, whereupon his tormentor tied the end of
the broken halter round his neck and dragged him back to the serai.

'If you had my horse,' he said, 'I will at least have you, that's fair
enough!' And he tied him up securely by the head and heels, much as he
used to tie the horse; then, the night being far gone, he flung himself
beside him and slept soundly.

You cannot imagine anything like the fright of the people in the
serai, when they woke up and found a tiger--very battered but still
a tiger--securely tethered amongst themselves and their beasts! Men
gathered in groups talking and exclaiming, and finding fault with the
innkeeper for allowing such a dangerous beast into the serai, and all
the while the innkeeper was just as troubled as the rest, and none dared
go near the place where the tiger stood blinking miserably on everyone,
and where Moti lay stretched out snoring like thunder.

At last news reached the king that Moti had exchanged his horse for a
live tiger; and the monarch himself came down, half disbelieving the
tale, to see if it were really true. Someone at last awaked Moti with
the news that his royal master was come; and he arose yawning, and was
soon delightedly explaining and showing off his new possession. The
king, however, did not share his pleasure at all, but called up a
soldier to shoot the tiger, much to the relief of all the inmates of the
serai except Moti. If the king, however, was before convinced that Moti
was one of the wisest of men, he was now still more convinced that he
was the bravest, and he increased his pay a hundredfold, so that our
hero thought that he was the luckiest of men.

A week or two after this incident the king sent for Moti, who on arrival
found his master in despair. A neighbouring monarch, he explained, who
had many more soldiers than he, had declared war against him, and he was
at his wits' end, for he had neither money to buy him off nor soldiers
enough to fight him--what was he to do?

'If that is all, don't you trouble,' said Moti. 'Turn out your men, and
I'll go with them, and we'll soon bring this robber to reason.'

The king began to revive at these hopeful words, and took Moti off to
his stable where he bade him choose for himself any horse he liked.
There were plenty of fine horses in the stalls, but to the king's
astonishment Moti chose a poor little rat of a pony that was used to
carry grass and water for the rest of the stable.

'But why do you choose that beast?' said the king.

'Well, you see, your majesty,' replied Moti, 'there are so many chances
that I may fall off, and if I choose one of your fine big horses I shall
have so far to fall that I shall probably break my leg or my arm, if not
my neck, but if I fall off this little beast I can't hurt myself much.'

A very comical sight was Moti when he rode out to the war. The only
weapon he carried was his staff, and to help him to keep his balance
on horseback he had tied to each of his ankles a big stone that nearly
touched the ground as he sat astride the little pony. The rest of the
king's cavalry were not very numerous, but they pranced along in armour
on fine horses. Behind them came a great rabble of men on foot armed
with all sorts of weapons, and last of all was the king with his
attendants, very nervous and ill at ease. So the army started.

They had not very far to go, but Moti's little pony, weighted with a
heavy man and two big rocks, soon began to lag behind the cavalry,
and would have lagged behind the infantry too, only they were not very
anxious to be too early in the fight, and hung back so as to give Moti
plenty of time. The young man jogged along more and more slowly for some
time, until at last, getting impatient at the slowness of the pony,
he gave him such a tremendous thwack with his staff that the pony
completely lost his temper and bolted. First one stone became untied
and rolled away in a cloud of dust to one side of the road, whilst Moti
nearly rolled off too, but clasped his steed valiantly by its ragged
mane, and, dropping his staff, held on for dear life. Then, fortunately
the other rock broke away from his other leg and rolled thunderously
down a neighbouring ravine. Meanwhile the advanced cavalry had barely
time to draw to one side when Moti came dashing by, yelling bloodthirsty
threats to his pony:

'You wait till I get hold of you! I'll skin you alive! I'll wring your
neck! I'll break every bone in your body!' The cavalry thought that
this dreadful language was meant for the enemy, and were filled with
admiration of his courage. Many of their horses too were quite upset by
this whirlwind that galloped howling through their midst, and in a few
minutes, after a little plunging and rearing and kicking, the whole
troop were following on Moti's heels.

Far in advance, Moti continued his wild career. Presently in his course
he came to a great field of castor-oil plants, ten or twelve feet high,
big and bushy, but quite green and soft. Hoping to escape from the back
of his fiery steed Moti grasped one in passing, but its roots gave
way, and he dashed on, with the whole plant looking like a young tree
flourishing in his grip.

The enemy were in battle array, advancing over the plain, their king
with them confident and cheerful, when suddenly from the front came a
desperate rider at a furious gallop.

'Sire!' he cried, 'save yourself! the enemy are coming!'

'What do you mean?' said the king.

'Oh, sire!' panted the messenger, 'fly at once, there is no time to
lose. Foremost of the enemy rides a mad giant at a furious gallop. He
flourishes a tree for a club and is wild with anger, for as he goes he
cries, "You wait till I get hold of you! I'll skin you alive! I'll wring
your neck! I'll break every bone in your body!" Others ride behind, and
you will do well to retire before this whirlwind of destruction comes
upon you.'

Just then out of a cloud of dust in the distance the king saw Moti
approaching at a hard gallop, looking indeed like a giant compared with
the little beast he rode, whirling his castor-oil plant, which in the
distance might have been an oak tree, and the sound of his revilings and
shoutings came down upon the breeze! Behind him the dust cloud moved
to the sound of the thunder of hoofs, whilst here and there flashed the
glitter of steel. The sight and the sound struck terror into the king,
and, turning his horse, he fled at top speed, thinking that a regiment
of yelling giants was upon him; and all his force followed him as fast
as they might go. One fat officer alone could not keep up on foot with
that mad rush, and as Moti came galloping up he flung himself on the
ground in abject fear. This was too much for Moti's excited pony, who
shied so suddenly that Moti went flying over his head like a sky rocket,
and alighted right on the top of his fat foe.

Quickly regaining his feet Moti began to swing his plant round his head
and to shout:

'Where are your men? Bring them up and I'll kill them. My regiments!
Come on, the whole lot of you! Where's your king? Bring him to me. Here
are all my fine fellows coming up and we'll each pull up a tree by the
roots and lay you all flat and your houses and towns and everything
else! Come on!'

But the poor fat officer could do nothing but squat on his knees with
his hands together, gasping. At last, when he got his breath, Moti sent
him off to bring his king, and to tell him that if he was reasonable his
life should be spared. Off the poor man went, and by the time the troops
of Moti's side had come up and arranged themselves to look as formidable
as possible, he returned with his king. The latter was very humble and
apologetic, and promised never to make war any more, to pay a large sum
of money, and altogether do whatever his conqueror wished.

So the armies on both sides went rejoicing home, and this was really
the making of the fortune of clumsy Moti, who lived long and contrived
always to be looked up to as a fountain of wisdom, valour, and
discretion by all except his relations, who could never understand what
he had done to be considered so much wiser than anyone else.

A Pushto Story.




The Enchanted Deer


A young man was out walking one day in Erin, leading a stout cart-horse
by the bridle. He was thinking of his mother and how poor they were
since his father, who was a fisherman, had been drowned at sea, and
wondering what he should do to earn a living for both of them. Suddenly
a hand was laid on his shoulder, and a voice said to him:

'Will you sell me your horse, son of the fisherman?' and looking up he
beheld a man standing in the road with a gun in his hand, a falcon on
his shoulder, and a dog by his side.

'What will you give me for my horse?' asked the youth. 'Will you give me
your gun, and your dog, and your falcon?'

'I will give them,' answered the man, and he took the horse, and the
youth took the gun and the dog and the falcon, and went home with them.
But when his mother heard what he had done she was very angry, and beat
him with a stick which she had in her hand.

'That will teach you to sell my property,' said she, when her arm was
quite tired, but Ian her son answered her nothing, and went off to his
bed, for he was very sore.

That night he rose softly, and left the house carrying the gun with him.
'I will not stay here to be beaten,' thought he, and he walked and
he walked and he walked, till it was day again, and he was hungry and
looked about him to see if he could get anything to eat. Not very far
off was a farm-house, so he went there, and knocked at the door, and the
farmer and his wife begged him to come in, and share their breakfast.

'Ah, you have a gun,' said the farmer as the young man placed it in a
corner. 'That is well, for a deer comes every evening to eat my corn,
and I cannot catch it. It is fortune that has sent you to me.'

'I will gladly remain and shoot the deer for you,' replied the youth,
and that night he hid himself and watched till the deer came to the
cornfield; then he lifted his gun to his shoulder and was just going
to pull the trigger, when, behold! instead of a deer, a woman with long
black hair was standing there. At this sight his gun almost dropped from
his hand in surprise, but as he looked, there was the deer eating the
corn again. And thrice this happened, till the deer ran away over the
moor, and the young man after her.

On they went, on and on and one, till they reached a cottage which was
thatched with heather. With a bound the deer sprang on the roof, and lay
down where none could see her, but as she did so she called out, 'Go in,
fisher's son, and eat and drink while you may.' So he entered and found
food and wine on the table, but no man, for the house belonged to some
robbers, who were still away at their wicked business.

After Ian, the fisher's son, had eaten all he wanted, he hid himself
behind a great cask, and very soon he heard a noise, as of men coming
through the heather, and the small twigs snapping under their feet.
From his dark corner he could see into the room, and he counted four and
twenty of them, all big, cross-looking men.

'Some one has been eating our dinner,' cried they, 'and there was hardly
enough for ourselves.'

'It is the man who is lying under the cask,' answered the leader. 'Go
and kill him, and then come and eat your food and sleep, for we must be
off betimes in the morning.'

So four of them killed the fisher's son and left him, and then went to
bed.

By sunrise they were all out of the house, for they had far to go. And
when they had disappeared the deer came off the roof, to where the dead
man lay, and she shook her head over him, and wax fell from her ear, and
he jumped up as well as ever.

'Trust me and eat as you did before, and no harm shall happen to you,'
said she. So Ian ate and drank, and fell sound asleep under the cask.
In the evening the robbers arrived very tired, and crosser than they
had been yesterday, for their luck had turned and they had brought back
scarcely anything.

'Someone has eaten our dinner again,' cried they.

'It is the man under the barrel,' answered the captain. 'Let four of you
go and kill him, but first slay the other four who pretended to kill him
last night and didn't because he is still alive.'

Then Ian was killed a second time, and after the rest of the robbers had
eaten, they lay down and slept till morning.

No sooner were their faces touched with the sun's rays than they were up
and off. Then the deer entered and dropped the healing wax on the dead
man, and he was as well as ever. By this time he did not mind what
befell him, so sure was he that the deer would take care of him, and
in the evening that which had happened before happened again--the four
robbers were put to death and the fisher's son also, but because there
was no food left for them to eat, they were nearly mad with rage, and
began to quarrel. From quarrelling they went on to fighting, and fought
so hard that by and bye they were all stretched dead on the floor.

Then the deer entered, and the fisher's son was restored to life, and
bidding him follow her, she ran on to a little white cottage where dwelt
an old woman and her son, who was thin and dark.

'Here I must leave you,' said the deer, 'but to-morrow meet me at
midday in the church that is yonder.' And jumping across the stream, she
vanished into a wood.

Next day he set out for the church, but the old woman of the cottage had
gone before him, and had stuck an enchanted stick called 'the spike of
hurt' in a crack of the door, so that he would brush against it as he
stepped across the threshold. Suddenly he felt so sleepy that he could
not stand up, and throwing himself on the ground he sank into a deep
slumber, not knowing that the dark lad was watching him. Nothing could
waken him, not even the sound of sweetest music, nor the touch of a lady
who bent over him. A sad look came on her face, as she saw it was no
use, and at last she gave it up, and lifting his arm, wrote her name
across the side--'the daughter of the king of the town under the
waves.'

'I will come to-morrow,' she whispered, though he could not hear her,
and she went sorrowfully away.

Then he awoke, and the dark lad told him what had befallen him, and he
was very grieved. But the dark lad did not tell him of the name that was
written underneath his arm.

On the following morning the fisher's son again went to the church,
determined that he would not go to sleep, whatever happened. But in his
hurry to enter he touched with his hand the spike of hurt, and sank down
where he stood, wrapped in slumber. A second time the air was filled
with music, and the lady came in, stepping softly, but though she laid
his head on her knee, and combed his hair with a golden comb, his eyes
opened not. Then she burst into tears, and placing a beautifully wrought
box in his pocket she went her way.

The next day the same thing befell the fisher's son, and this time
the lady wept more bitterly than before, for she said it was the last
chance, and she would never be allowed to come any more, for home she
must go.

As soon as the lady had departed the fisher's son awoke, and the dark
lad told him of her visit, and how he would never see her as long as he
lived. At this the fisher's son felt the cold creeping up to his heart,
yet he knew the fault had not been his that sleep had overtaken him.

'I will search the whole world through till I find her,' cried he, and
the dark lad laughed as he heard him. But the fisher's son took no heed,
and off he went, following the sun day after day, till his shoes were in
holes and his feet were sore from the journey. Nought did he see but
the birds that made their nests in the trees, not so much as a goat or
a rabbit. On and on and on he went, till suddenly he came upon a little
house, with a woman standing outside it.

'All hail, fisher's son!' said she. 'I know what you are seeking; enter
in and rest and eat, and to-morrow I will give you what help I can, and
send you on your way.'

Gladly did Ian the fisher's son accept her offer, and all that day he
rested, and the woman gave him ointment to put on his feet, which healed
his sores. At daybreak he got up, ready to be gone, and the woman bade
him farewell, saying:

'I have a sister who dwells on the road which you must travel. It is a
long road, and it would take you a year and a day to reach it, but put
on these old brown shoes with holes all over them, and you will be there
before you know it. Then shake them off, and turn their toes to the
known, and their heels to the unknown, and they will come home of
themselves.'

The fisher's son did as the woman told him, and everything happened just
as she had said. But at parting the second sister said to him, as she
gave him another pair of shoes:

'Go to my third sister, for she has a son who is keeper of the birds of
the air, and sends them to sleep when night comes. He is very wise, and
perhaps he can help you.'

Then the young man thanked her, and went to the third sister.

The third sister was very kind, but had no counsel to give him, so he
ate and drank and waited till her son came home, after he had sent all
the birds to sleep. He thought a long while after his mother had told
him the young man's story, and at last he said that he was hungry, and
the cow must be killed, as he wanted some supper. So the cow was killed
and the meat cooked, and a bag made of its red skin.

'Now get into the bag,' bade the son, and the young man got in and took
his gun with him, but the dog and the falcon he left outside. The keeper
of the birds drew the string at the top of the bag, and left it to
finish his supper, when in flew an eagle through the open door, and
picked the bag up in her claws and carried it through the air to an
island. There was nothing to eat on the island, and the fisher's son
thought he would die of food, when he remembered the box that the lady
had put in his pocket. He opened the lid, and three tiny little birds
flew out, and flapping their wings they asked,

'Good master, is there anything we can do for thee?'

'Bear me to the kingdom of the king under the waves,' he answered, and
one little bird flew on to his head, and the others perched on each of
his shoulders, and he shut his eyes, and in a moment there he was in
the country under the sea. Then the birds flew away, and the young man
looked about him, his heart beating fast at the thought that here dwelt
the lady whom he had sought all the world over.

He walked on through the streets, and presently he reached the house of
a weaver who was standing at his door, resting from his work.

'You are a stranger here, that is plain,' said the weaver, 'but come in,
and I will give you food and drink.' And the young man was glad, for he
knew not where to go, and they sat and talked till it grew late.

'Stay with me, I pray, for I love company and am lonely,' observed the
weaver at last, and he pointed to a bed in a corner, where the fisher's
son threw himself, and slept till dawn.

'There is to be a horse-race in the town to-day,' remarked the weaver,
'and the winner is to have the king's daughter to wife.' The young
man trembled with excitement at the news, and his voice shook as he
answered:

'That will be a prize indeed, I should like to see the race.'

'Oh, that is quite easy--anyone can go,' replied the weaver. 'I would
take you myself, but I have promised to weave this cloth for the king.'

'That is a pity,' returned the young man politely, but in his heart he
rejoiced, for he wished to be alone.

Leaving the house, he entered a grove of trees which stood behind, and
took the box from his pocket. He raised the lid, and out flew the three
little birds.

'Good master, what shall we do for thee?' asked they, and he answered,
'Bring me the finest horse that ever was seen, and the grandest dress,
and glass shoes.'

'They are here, master,' said the birds, and so they were, and never had
the young man seen anything so splendid.

Mounting the horse he rode into the ground where the horses were
assembling for the great race, and took his place among them. Many
good beasts were there which had won many races, but the horse of the
fisher's son left them all behind, and he was first at the winning post.
The king's daughter waited for him in vain to claim his prize, for
he went back to the wood, and got off his horse, and put on his old
clothes, and bade the box place some gold in his pockets. After that
he went back to the weaver's house, and told him that the gold had been
given him by the man who had won the race, and that the weaver might
have it for his kindness to him.

Now as nobody had appeared to demand the hand of the princess, the king
ordered another race to be run, and the fisher's son rode into the field
still more splendidly dressed than he was before, and easily distanced
everybody else. But again he left the prize unclaimed, and so it
happened on the third day, when it seemed as if all the people in
the kingdom were gathered to see the race, for they were filled with
curiosity to know who the winner could be.

'If he will not come of his own free will, he must be brought,' said the
king, and the messengers who had seen the face of the victor were sent
to seek him in every street of the town. This took many days, and when
at last they found the young man in the weaver's cottage, he was so
dirty and ugly and had such a strange appearance, that they declared he
could not be the winner they had been searching for, but a wicked robber
who had murdered ever so many people, but had always managed to escape.

'Yes, it must be the robber,' said the king, when the fisher's son was
led into his presence; 'build a gallows at once and hang him in the
sight of all my subjects, that they may behold him suffer the punishment
of his crimes.'

So the gallows was built upon a high platform, and the fisher's son
mounted the steps up to it, and turned at the top to make the speech
that was expected from every doomed man, innocent or guilt. As he spoke
he happened to raise his arm, and the king's daughter, who was there at
her father's side, saw the name which she had written under it. With
a shriek she sprang from her seat, and the eyes of the spectators were
turned towards her.

'Stop! stop!' she cried, hardly knowing what she said. 'If that man
is hanged there is not a soul in the kingdom but shall die also.' And
running up to where the fisher's son was standing, she took him by the
hand, saying,

'Father, this is no robber or murderer, but the victor in the three
races, and he loosed the spells that were laid upon me.'

Then, without waiting for a reply, she conducted him into the palace,
and he bathed in a marble bath, and all the dirt that the fairies had
put upon him disappeared like magic, and when he had dressed himself in
the fine garments the princess had sent to him, he looked a match for
any king's daughter in Erin. He went down into the great hall where she
was awaiting him, and they had much to tell each other but little
time to tell it in, for the king her father, and the princes who were
visiting him, and all the people of the kingdom were still in their
places expecting her return.

'How did you find me out?' she whispered as they went down the passage.

'The birds in the box told me,' answered he, but he could say no more,
as they stepped out into the open space that was crowded with people.
There the princes stopped.

'O kings!' she said, turning towards them, 'if one of you were killed
to-day, the rest would fly; but this man put his trust in me, and had
his head cut off three times. Because he has done this, I will marry him
rather than one of you, who have come hither to wed me, for many kings
here sought to free me from the spells, but none could do it save Ian
the fisher's son.'

From 'Popular Tales of the West Highlands.'




A Fish Story


Perhaps you think that fishes were always fishes, and never lived
anywhere except in the water, but if you went to Australia and talked to
the black people in the sandy desert in the centre of the country, you
would learn something quite different. They would tell you that long,
long ago you would have met fishes on the land, wandering from place to
place, and hunting all sorts of animals, and if you consider how fishes
are made, you will understand how difficult this must have been and how
clever they were to do it. Indeed, so clever were they that they might
have been hunting still if a terrible thing had not happened.

One day the whole fish tribe came back very tired from a hunting
expedition, and looked about for a nice, cool spot in which to pitch
their camp. It was very hot, and they thought that they could not find
a more comfortable place than under the branches of a large tree which
grew by the bank of a river. So they made their fire to cook some food,
right on the edge of a steep bank, which had a deep pool of water lying
beneath it at the bottom. While the food was cooking they all stretched
themselves lazily out under the tree, and were just dropping off to
sleep when a big black cloud which they had never noticed spread over
the sun, and heavy drops of rain began to fall, so that the fire was
almost put out, and that, you know, is a very serious thing in savage
countries where they have no matches, for it is very hard to light it
again. To make matters worse, an icy wind began to blow, and the poor
fishes were chilled right through their bodies.

'This will never do,' said Thuggai, the oldest of the fish tribe. 'We
shall die of cold unless we can light the fire again,' and he bade his
sons rub two sticks together in the hope of kindling a flame, but though
they rubbed till they were tired, not a spark could they produce.

'Let me try,' cried Biernuga, the bony fish, but he had no better luck,
and no more had Kumbal, the bream, nor any of the rest.

'It is no use,' exclaimed Thuggai, at last. 'The wood is too wet. We
must just sit and wait till the sun comes out again and dries it.'
Then a very little fish indeed, not more than four inches long and the
youngest of the tribe, bowed himself before Thuggai, saying, 'Ask my
father, Guddhu the cod, to light the fire. He is skilled in magic more
than most fishes.' So Thuggai asked him, and Guddhu stripped some pieces
of bark off a tree, and placed them on top of the smouldering ashes.
Then he knelt by the side of the fire and blew at it for a long while,
till slowly the feeble red glow became a little stronger and the edges
of the bark showed signs of curling up. When the rest of the tribe saw
this they pressed close, keeping their backs towards the piercing wind,
but Guddhu told them they must go to the other side, as he wanted the
wind to fan his fire. By and by the spark grew into a flame, and a merry
crackling was heard.

'More wood,' cried Guddhi, and they all ran and gathered wood and heaped
it on the flames, which leaped and roared and sputtered.

'We shall soon be warm now,' said the people one to another. 'Truly
Guddhu is great'; and they crowded round again, closer and closer.
Suddenly, with a shriek, a blast of wind swept down from the hills
and blew the fire out towards them. They sprang back hurriedly, quite
forgetting where they stood, and all fell down the bank, each tumbling
over the other, till they rolled into the pool that lay below. Oh, how
cold it was in that dark water on which the sun never shone! Then in an
instant they felt warm again, for the fire, driven by the strong wind,
had followed them right down to the bottom of the pool, where it burned
as brightly as ever. And the fishes gathered round it as they had done
on the top of the cliff, and found the flames as hot as before, and that
fire never went out, like those upon land, but kept burning for ever.
So now you know why, if you dive deep down below the cold surface of
the water on a frosty day, you will find it comfortable and pleasant
underneath, and be quite sorry that you cannot stay there.

Australian Folk Tale.




The Wonderful Tune.


Maurice Connor was the king, and that's no small word, of all the pipers
in Munster. He could play jig and reel without end, and Ollistrum's
March, and the Eagle's Whistle, and the Hen's Concert, and odd tunes of
every sort and kind. But he knew one far more surprising than the rest,
which had in it the power to set everything dead or alive dancing.

In what way he learned it is beyond my knowledge for he was mighty
cautious about telling how he came by so wonderful a tune. At the very
first note of that tune the shoes began shaking upon the feet of all how
heard it--old or young, it mattered not--just as if the shoes had the
ague; then the feet began going, going, going from under them, and at
last up and away with them, dancing like mad, whisking here, there, and
everywhere, like a straw in a storm--there was no halting while the
music lasted.

Not a fair, nor a wedding, nor a feast in the seven parishes round, was
counted worth the speaking of without 'blind Maurice and his pipes.'
His mother, poor woman, used to lead him about from one place to another
just like a dog.

Down through Iveragh, Maurice Connor and his mother were taking their
rounds. Beyond all other places Iveragh is the place for stormy coasts
and steep mountains, as proper a spot it is as any in Ireland to get
yourself drowned, or your neck broken on the land, should you prefer
that. But, notwithstanding, in Ballinskellig Bay there is a neat bit of
ground, well fitted for diversion, and down from it, towards the water,
is a clean smooth piece of strand, the dead image of a calm summer's sea
on a moonlight night, with just the curl of the small waves upon it.

Here is was that Maurice's music had brought from all parts a great
gathering of the young men and the young women; for 'twas not every day
the strand of Trafraska was stirred up by the voice of a bagpipe. The
dance began; and as pretty a dance it was as ever was danced. 'Brave
music,' said everybody, 'and well done,' when Maurice stopped.

'More power to your elbow, Maurice, and a fair wind in the bellows,'
cried Paddy Dorman, a hump-backed dancing master, who was there to keep
order. ''Tis a pity,' said he, 'if we'd let the piper run dry after such
music; 'twould be a disgrace to Iveragh, that didn't come on it since
the week of the three Sundays.' So, as well became him, for he was
always a decent man, says he, 'Did you drink, piper?'

'I will, sir,' said Maurice, answering the question on the safe side,
for you never yet knew piper or schoolmaster who refused his drink.

'What will you drink, Maurice?' says Paddy.

'I'm no ways particular,' says Maurice; 'I drink anything, barring
raw water; but if it's all the same to you, Mister Dorman, may be you
wouldn't lend me the loan of a glass of whisky.'

'I've no glass, Maurice,' said Paddy; 'I've only the bottle.'

'Let that be no hindrance,' answered Maurice; 'my mouth just holds a
glass to the drop; often I've tried it sure.'

So Paddy Dorman trusted him with the bottle--more fool was he; and, to
his cost, he found that though Maurice's mouth might not hold more than
the glass at one time, yet, owing to the hole in his throat, it took
many a filling.

'That was no bad whisky neither,' says Maurice, handing back the empty
bottle.

'By the holy frost, then!' says Paddy, ''tis but cold comfort there's in
that bottle now; and 'tis your word we must take for the strength of
the whisky, for you've left us no sample to judge by'; and to be sure
Maurice had not.

Now I need not tell any gentleman or lady that if he or she was to drink
an honest bottle of whisky at one pull, it is not at all the same thing
as drinking a bottle of water; and in the whole course of my life I
never knew more than five men who could do so without being the worse.
Of these Maurice Connor was not one, though he had a stiff head enough
of his own. Don't think I blame him for it; but true is the word that
says, 'When liquor's in sense is out'; and puff, at a breath, out he
blasted his wonderful tune.

'Twas really then beyond all belief or telling the dancing. Maurice
himself could not keep quiet; staggering now on one leg, now on the
other, and rolling about like a ship in a cross sea, trying to humour
the tune. There was his mother, too, moving her old bones as light as
the youngest girl of them all; but her dancing, no, nor the dancing
of all the rest, is not worthy the speaking about to the work that was
going on down upon the strand. Every inch of it covered with all manner
of fish jumping and plunging about to the music, and every moment more
and more would tumble in and out of the water, charmed by the wonderful
tune. Crabs of monstrous size spun round and round on one claw with the
nimbleness of a dancing master, and twirled and tossed their other claws
about like limbs that did not belong to them. It was a sight surprising
to behold. But perhaps you may have heard of Father Florence Conry, as
pleasant a man as one would wish to drink with of a hot summer's day;
and he had rhymed out all about the dancing fishes so neatly that it
would be a thousand pities not to give you his verses; so here they are
in English:

          The big seals in motion,
          Like waves of the ocean,
               Or gouty feet prancing,
          Came heading the gay fish,
          Crabs, lobsters, and cray-fish,
               Determined on dancing.

          The sweet sounds they followed,
          The gasping cod swallow'd--
               'Twas wonderful, really;
          And turbot and flounder,
          'Mid fish that were rounder,
               Just caper'd as gaily.

          John-dories came tripping;
          Dull hake, by their skipping,
               To frisk it seem'd given;
          Bright mackrel went springing,
          Like small rainbows winging
               Their flight up to heaven.

          The whiting and haddock
          Left salt water paddock
               This dance to be put in;
          Where skate with flat faces
          Edged out some old plaices;
               But soles kept their footing.

          Sprats and herrings in powers
          Of silvery showers
               All number out-numbered;
          And great ling so lengthy
          Was there in such plenty
               The shore was encumber'd.

          The scallop and oyster
          Their two shells did roister,
               Like castanets flitting;
          While limpets moved clearly,
          And rocks very nearly
               With laughter were splitting.

Never was such a hullabaloo in this world, before or since; 'twas as if
heaven and earth were coming together; and all out of Maurice Connor's
wonderful tune!

In the height of all these doings, what should there be dancing among
the outlandish set of fishes but a beautiful young woman--as beautiful
as the dawn of day! She had a cocked hat upon her head; from under it
her long green hair--just the colour of the sea--fell down behind,
without hindrance to her dancing. Her teeth were like rows of pearls;
her lips for all the world looked like red coral; and she had a shining
gown pale green as the hollow of the wave, with little rows of purple
and red seaweeds settled out upon it; for you never yet saw a lady,
under the water or over the water, who had not a good notion of dressing
herself out.

Up she danced at last to Maurice, who was flinging his feet from under
him as fast as hops--for nothing in this world could keep still while
that tune of his was going on--and says she to him, chanting it out with
a voice as sweet as honey:

          I'm a lady of honour
               Who live in the sea;
          Come down, Maurice Connor,
               And be married to me.
          Silver plates and gold dishes
               You shall have, and shall be
          The king of the fishes,
               When you're married to me.

Drink was strong in Maurice's head, and out he chanted in return for her
great civility. It is not every lady, may be, that would be after making
such an offer to a blind piper; therefore 'twas only right in him to
give her as good as she gave herself, so says Maurice:

          I'm obliged to you, madam:
               Off a gold dish or plate,
          If a king, and I had 'em,
               I could dine in great state.
          With your own father's daughter
               I'd be sure to agree,
          But to drink the salt water
               Wouldn't do so with me!

The lady looked at him quite amazed, and swinging her head from side to
side like a great scholar, 'Well,' says she, 'Maurice, if you're not a
poet, where is poetry to be found?'

In this way they kept on at it, framing high compliments; one answering
the other, and their feet going with the music as fast as their tongues.
All the fish kept dancing, too; Maurice heard the clatter and was
afraid to stop playing lest it might be displeasing to the fish, and not
knowing what so many of them may take it into their heads to do to him
if they got vexed.

Well, the lady with the green hair kept on coaxing Maurice with soft
speeches, till at last she over persuaded him to promise to marry her,
and be king over the fishes, great and small. Maurice was well fitted
to be their king, if they wanted one that could make them dance; and he
surely would drink, barring the salt water, with any fish of them all.

When Maurice's mother saw him with that unnatural thing in the form of a
green-haired lady as his guide, and he and she dancing down together
so lovingly to the water's edge, through the thick of the fishes, she
called out after him to stop and come back. 'Oh, then,' says she, 'as
if I was not widow enough before, there he is going away from me to be
married to that scaly woman. And who knows but 'tis grandmother I may be
to a hake or a cod--Lord help and pity me, but 'tis a mighty unnatural
thing! And my be 'tis boiling and eating my own grandchild I'll be, with
a bit of salt butter, and I not knowing it! Oh, Maurice, Maurice, if
there's any love or nature left in you, come back to your own ould
mother, who reared you like a decent Christian!' Then the poor woman
began to cry and sob so finely that it would do anyone good to hear her.

Maurice was not long getting to the rim of the water. There he kept
playing and dancing on as if nothing was the matter, and a great
thundering wave coming in towards him ready to swallow him up alive; but
as he could not see it, he did not fear it. His mother it was who saw
it plainly through the big tears that were rolling down her cheeks; and
though she saw it, and her heart was aching as much as ever mother's
heart ached for a son, she kept dancing, dancing all the time for the
bare life of her. Certain it was she could not help it, for Maurice
never stopped playing that wonderful tune of his.

He only turned his ear to the sound of his mother's voice, fearing it
might put him out in his steps, and all the answer he made back was,
'Whisht with you mother--sure I'm going to be king over the fishes down
in the sea, and for a token of luck, and a sign that I'm alive and well,
I'll send you in, every twelvemonth on this day, a piece of burned wood
to Trafraska.' Maurice had not the power to say a word more, for the
strange lady with the green hair, seeing the wave just upon them,
covered him up with herself in a thing like a cloak with a big hood to
it, and the wave curling over twice as high as their heads, burst upon
the strand, with a rush and a roar that might be heard as far as Cape
Clear.

That day twelvemonth the piece of burned wood came ashore in Trafraska.
It was a queer thing for Maurice to think of sending all the way
from the bottom of the sea. A gown or a pair of shoes would have been
something like a present for his poor mother; but he had said it, and
he kept his word. The bit of burned wood regularly came ashore on the
appointed day for as good, ay, and better than a hundred years. The
day is now forgotten, and may be that is the reason why people say how
Maurice Connor has stopped sending the luck-token to his mother. Poor
woman, she did not live to get as much as one of them; for what through
the loss of Maurice, and the fear of eating her own grandchildren, she
died in three weeks after the dance. Some say it was the fatigue that
killed her, but whichever it was, Mrs. Connor was decently buried with
her own people.

Seafaring people have often heard, off the coast of Kerry, on a still
night, the sound of music coming up from the water; and some, who have
had good ears, could plainly distinguish Maurice Connor's voice singing
these words to his pipes--

          Beautiful shore, with thy spreading strand,
          Thy crystal water, and diamond sand;
          Never would I have parted from thee,
          But for the sake of my fair ladie.

From 'Fairy Tales and Traditions of the South of Ireland.'




The Rich Brother and the Poor Brother


There was once a rich old man who had two sons, and as his wife was
dead, the elder lived with him, and helped him to look after his
property. For a long time all went well; the young man got up very early
in the morning, and worked hard all day, and at the end of every week
his father counted up the money they had made, and rubbed his hands with
delight, as he saw how big the pile of gold in the strong iron chest was
becoming. 'It will soon be full now, and I shall have to buy a larger
one,' he said to himself, and so busy was he with the thought of his
money, that he did not notice how bright his son's face had grown, nor
how he sometimes started when he was spoken to, as if his mind was far
away.

One day, however, the old man went to the city on business, which he had
not done for three years at least. It was market day, and he met with
many people he knew, and it was getting quite late when he turned into
the inn yard, and bade an ostler saddle his horse, and bring it round
directly. While he was waiting in the hall, the landlady came up for a
gossip, and after a few remarks about the weather and the vineyards she
asked him how he liked his new daughter-in-law, and whether he had been
surprised at the marriage.

The old man stared as he listened to her. 'Daughter-in-law? Marriage?'
said he. 'I don't know what you are talking about! I've got no
daughter-in-law, and nobody has been married lately, that I ever heard
of.'

Now this was exactly what the landlady, who was very curious, wanted to
find out; but she put on a look of great alarm, and exclaimed:

'Oh, dear! I hope I have not made mischief. I had no idea--or, of
course, I would not have spoken--but'--and here she stopped and fumbled
with her apron, as if she was greatly embarrassed.

'As you have said so much you will have to say a little more,' retorted
the old man, a suspicion of what she meant darting across him; and the
woman, nothing loth, answered as before.

'Ah, it was not all for buying or selling that your handsome son has
been coming to town every week these many months past. And not by the
shortest way, either! No, it was over the river he rode, and across the
hill and past the cottage of Miguel the vine-keeper, whose daughter,
they say, is the prettiest girl in the whole country side, though she is
too white for my taste,' and then the landlady paused again, and glanced
up at the farmer, to see how he was taking it. She did not learn much.
He was looking straight before him, his teeth set. But as she ceased to
talk, he said quietly, 'Go on.'

'There is not much more to tell,' replied the landlady, for she suddenly
remembered that she must prepare supper for the hungry men who always
stopped at the inn on market days, before starting for home, 'but one
fine morning they both went to the little church on top of the hill,
and were married. My cousin is servant to the priest, and she found out
about it and told me. But good-day to you, sir; here is your horse, and
I must hurry off to the kitchen.'

It was lucky that the horse was sure-footed and knew the road, for his
bridle hung loose on his neck, and his master took no heed of the way
he was going. When the farm-house was reached, the man led the animal to
the stable, and then went to look for his son.

'I know everything--you have deceived me. Get out of my sight at once--I
have done with you,' he stammered, choking with passion as he came up to
the young man, who was cutting a stick in front of the door, whistling
gaily the while.

'But, father--'

'You are no son of mine; I have only one now. Begone, or it will be the
worse for you,' and as he spoke he lifted up his whip.

The young man shrank back. He feared lest his father should fall down in
a fit, his face was so red and his eyes seemed bursting from his head.
But it was no use staying: perhaps next morning the old man might listen
to reason, though in his heart the son felt that he would never take
back his words. So he turned slowly away, and walked heavily along a
path which ended in a cave on the side of his hill, and there he sat
through the night, thinking of what had happened.

Yes, he had been wrong, there was no doubt of that, and he did not quite
know how it had come about. He had meant to have told his father all
about it, and he was sure, quite sure, that if once the old man had seen
his wife, he would have forgiven her poverty on account of her great
beauty and goodness. But he had put it off from day to day, hoping
always for a better opportunity, and now this was the end!

If the son had no sleep that night, no more had the father, and as soon
as the sun rose, he sent a messenger into the great city with orders to
bring back the younger brother. When he arrived the farmer did not waste
words, but informed him that he was now his only heir, and would inherit
all his lands and money, and that he was to come and live at home, and
to help manage the property.

Though very pleased at the thought of becoming such a rich man--for the
brothers had never cared much for each other--the younger would rather
have stayed where he was, for he soon got tired of the country, and
longed for a town life. However, this he kept to himself, and made the
best of things, working hard like his brother before him.

In this way the years went on, but the crops were not so good as they
had been, and the old man gave orders that some fine houses he was
building in the city should be left unfinished, for it would take all
the savings to complete them. As to the elder son, he would never even
hear his name mentioned, and died at last without ever seeing his face,
leaving to the younger, as he had promised, all his lands, as well as
his money.

Meanwhile, the son whom he had disinherited had grown poorer and poorer.
He and his wife were always looking out for something to do, and never
spent a penny that they could help, but luck was against them, and at
the time of his father's death they had hardly bread to eat or clothes
to cover them. If there had been only himself, he would have managed
to get on somehow, but he could not bear to watch his children becoming
weaker day by day, and swallowing his pride, at length he crossed the
mountains to his old home where his brother was living.

It was the first time for long that the two men had come face to face,
and they looked at each other in silence. Then tears rose in the eyes of
the elder, but winking them hastily away, he said:

'Brother, it is not needful that I should tell you how poor I am; you
can see that for yourself. I have not come to beg for money, but only
to ask if you will give me those unfinished houses of yours in the city,
and I will make them watertight, so that my wife and children can live
in them, and that will save our rent. For as they are, they profit you
nothing.'

And the younger brother listened and pitied him, and gave him the houses
that he asked for, and the elder went away happy.

For some years things went on as they were, and then the rich brother
began to feel lonely, and thought to himself that he was getting older,
and it was time for him to be married. The wife he chose was very
wealthy, but she was also very greedy, and however much she had, she
always wanted more. She was, besides, one of those unfortunate people
who invariably fancy that the possessions of other people must be better
than their own. Many a time her poor husband regretted the day that he
had first seen her, and often her meanness and shabby ways put him to
shame. But he had not the courage to rule her, and she only got worse
and worse.

After she had been married a few months the bride wanted to go into the
city and buy herself some new dresses. She had never been there before,
and when she had finished her shopping, she thought she would pay a
visit to her unknown sister-in-law, and rest for a bit. The house
she was seeking was in a broad street, and ought to have been very
magnificent, but the carved stone portico enclosed a mean little door
of rough wood, while a row of beautiful pillars led to nothing. The
dwelling on each side were in the same unfinished condition, and water
trickled down the walls. Most people would have considered it a wretched
place, and turned their backs on it as soon as they could, but this lady
saw that by spending some money the houses could be made as splendid as
they were originally intended to be, and she instantly resolved to get
them for herself.

Full of this idea she walked up the marble staircase, and entered
the little room where her sister-in-law sat, making clothes for her
children. The bride seemed full of interest in the houses, and asked
a great many questions about them, so that her new relations liked her
much better than they expected, and hoped they might be good friends.
However, as soon as she reached home, she went straight to her husband,
and told him that he must get back those houses from his brother, as
they would exactly suit her, and she could easily make them into a
palace as fine as the king's. But her husband only told her that she
might buy houses in some other part of the town, for she could not have
those, as he had long since made a gift of them to his brother, who had
lived there for many years past.

At this answer the wife grew very angry. She began to cry, and made such
a noise that all the neighbours heard her and put their heads out of the
windows, to see what was the matter. 'It was absurd,' she sobbed out,
'quite unjust. Indeed, if you came to think of it, the gift was worth
nothing, as when her husband made it he was a bachelor, and since then
he had been married, and she had never given her consent to any such
thing.' And so she lamented all day and all night, till the poor man
was nearly worried to death; and at last he did what she wished, and
summoned his brother in a court of law to give up the houses which, he
said, had only been lent to him. But when the evidence on both sides had
been heard, the judge decided in favour of the poor man, which made the
rich lady more furious than ever, and she determined not to rest until
she had gained the day. If one judge would not give her the houses
another should, and so time after time the case was tried over again,
till at last it came before the highest judge of all, in the city of
Evora. Her husband was heartily tired and ashamed of the whole affair,
but his weakness in not putting a stop to it in the beginning had got
him into this difficulty, and now he was forced to go on.

On the same day the two brothers set out on their journey to the city,
the rich one on horseback, with plenty of food in his knapsack, the poor
one on foot with nothing but a piece of bread and four onions to eat
on the way. The road was hilly and neither could go very fast, and when
night fell, they were both glad to see some lights in a window a little
distance in front of them.

The lights turned out to have been placed there by a farmer, who
had planned to have a particularly good supper as it was his wife's
birthday, and bade the rich man enter and sit down, while he himself
took the horse to the stable. The poor man asked timidly if he might
spend the night in a corner, adding that he had brought his own supper
with him. Another time permission might have been refused him, for the
farmer was no lover of humble folk, but now he gave the elder brother
leave to come in, pointing out a wooden chair where he could sit.

Supper was soon served, and very glad the younger brother was to eat it,
for his long ride had made him very hungry. The farmer's wife, however,
would touch nothing, and at last declared that the only supper she
wanted was one of the onions the poor man was cooking at the fire. Of
course he gave it to her, though he would gladly have eaten it himself,
as three onions are not much at the end of a long day's walk, and soon
after they all went to sleep, the poor man making himself as comfortable
as he could in his corner.

A few hours later the farmer was aroused by the cries and groans of his
wife.

'Oh, I feel so ill, I'm sure I'm going to die,' wept she. 'It was that
onion, I know it was. I wish I had never eaten it. It must have been
poisoned.'

'If the man has poisoned you he shall pay for it,' said her husband, and
seizing a thick stick he ran downstairs and began to beat the poor
man, who had been sound asleep, and had nothing to defend himself
with. Luckily, the noise aroused the younger brother, who jumped up and
snatched the stick from the farmer's hand, saying:

'We are both going to Evora to try a law-suit. Come too, and accuse him
there if he has attempted to rob you or murder you, but don't kill him
now, or you will get yourself into trouble.'

'Well, perhaps you are right,' answered the farmer, 'but the sooner that
fellow has his deserts, the better I shall be pleased,' and without more
words he went to the stables and brought out a horse for himself and
also the black Andalusian mare ridden by the rich man, while the poor
brother, fearing more ill-treatment, started at once on foot.

Now all that night it had rained heavily, and did not seem likely to
stop, and in some places the road was so thick with mud that it was
almost impossible to get across it. In one spot it was so very bad that
a mule laden with baggage had got stuck in it, and tug as he might,
his master was quite unable to pull him out. The muleteer in despair
appealed to the two horseman, who were carefully skirting the swamp at
some distance off, but they paid no heed to his cries, and he began to
talk cheerfully to his mule, hoping to keep up his spirits, declaring
that if the poor beast would only have a little patience help was sure
to come.

And so it did, for very soon the poor brother reached the place,
bespattered with mud from head to foot, but ready to do all he could
to help with the mule and his master. First they set about finding some
stout logs of wood to lay down on the marsh so that they could reach the
mule, for by this time his frantic struggles had broken his bridle, and
he was deeper in than ever. Stepping cautiously along the wood, the poor
man contrived to lay hold of the animal's tale, and with a desperate
effort the mule managed to regain his footing on dry ground, but at the
cost of leaving his tail in the poor man's hand. When he saw this the
muleteer's anger knew no bounds, and forgetting that without the help
given him he would have lost his mule altogether, he began to abuse the
poor man, declaring that he had ruined his beast, and the law would make
him pay for it. Then, jumping on the back of the mule, which was so glad
to be out of the choking mud that he did not seem to mind the loss of
his tail, the ungrateful wretch rode on, and that evening reached the
inn at Evora, where the rich man and the farmer had already arrived for
the night.

Meanwhile the poor brother walked wearily along, wondering what other
dreadful adventures were in store for him.

'I shall certainly be condemned for one or other of them,' thought he
sadly; 'and after all, if I have to die, I would rather choose my own
death than leave it to my enemies,' and as soon as he entered Evora he
looked about for a place suitable for carrying out the plan he had made.
At length he found what he sought, but as it was too late and too dark
for him to make sure of success, he curled himself up under a doorway,
and slept till morning.

Although it was winter, the sun rose in a clear sky, and its rays felt
almost warm when the poor man got up and shook himself. He intended it
to be the day of his death, but in spite of that, and of the fact
that he was leaving his wife and children behind him, he felt almost
cheerful. He had struggled so long, and was so very, very tired; but he
would not have minded that if he could have proved his innocence, and
triumphed over his enemies. However, they had all been too clever for
him, and he had no strength to fight any more. So he mounted the stone
steps that led to the battlements of the city, and stopped for a moment
to gaze about him.

It happened that an old sick man who lived near by had begged to be
carried out and to be laid at the foot of the wall so that the beams of
the rising sun might fall upon him, and he would be able to talk with
his friends as they passed by to their work. Little did he guess that
on top of the battlements, exactly over his head, stood a man who was
taking his last look at the same sun, before going to his death that
awaited him. But so it was; and as the steeple opposite was touched by
the golden light, the poor man shut his eyes and sprang forward. The
wall was high, and he flew rapidly through the air, but it was not the
ground he touched, only the body of the sick man, who rolled over and
died without a groan. As for the other, he was quite unhurt, and was
slowly rising to his feet when his arms were suddenly seized and held.

'You have killed our father, do you see? do you see?' cried two young
men, 'and you will come with us this instant before the judge, and
answer for it.'

'Your father? but I don't know him. What do you mean?' asked the poor
man, who was quite bewildered with his sudden rush through the air, and
could not think why he should be accused of this fresh crime. But he got
no reply, and was only hurried through the streets to the court-house,
where his brother, the muleteer, and the farmer had just arrived, all as
angry as ever, all talking at once, till the judge entered and ordered
them to be silent.

'I will hear you one by one,' he said, and motioned the younger brother
to begin.

He did not take long to state his case. The unfinished houses were his,
left him with the rest of the property by his father, and his brother
refused to give them up. In answer, the poor man told, in a few words,
how he had begged the houses from his brother, and produced the deed of
gift which made him their owner.

The judge listened quietly and asked a few questions; then he gave his
verdict.

'The houses shall remain the property of the man to whom they were
given, and to whom they belong. And as you,' he added, turning to the
younger brother, 'brought this accusation knowing full well it was
wicked and unjust, I order you, besides losing the houses, to pay a
thousand pounds damages to your brother.'

The rich man heard the judge with rage in his heart, the poor man with
surprise and gratitude. But he was not safe yet, for now it was the turn
of the farmer. The judge could hardly conceal a smile at the story,
and inquired if the wife was dead before the farmer left the house, and
received for answer that he was in such a hurry for justice to be done
that he had not waited to see. Then the poor man told his tale, and once
more judgment was given in his favour, while twelve hundred pounds
was ordered to be paid him. As for the muleteer, he was informed very
plainly that he had proved himself mean and ungrateful for the help that
had been given him, and as a punishment he must pay to the poor man a
fine of fifty pounds, and hand him over the mule till his tail had grown
again.

Lastly, there came the two sons of the sick man.

'This is the wretch who killed our father,' they said, 'and we demand
that he should die also.'

'How did you kill him?' asked the judge, turning to the accused, and the
poor man told how he had leaped from the wall, not knowing that anyone
was beneath.

'Well, this is my judgment,' replied the judge, when they had all
spoken: 'Let the accused sit under the wall, and let the sons of the
dead man jump from the top and fall on him and kill him, and if they
will not to this, then they are condemned to pay eight hundred pounds
for their false accusation.'

The young men looked at each other, and slowly shook their heads.

'We will pay the fine,' said they, and the judge nodded.

So the poor man rode the mule home, and brought back to his family
enough money to keep them in comfort to the end of their days.

Adapted from the Portuguese.




The One-Handed Girl


An old couple once lived in a hut under a grove of palm trees, and they
had one son and one daughter. They were all very happy together for many
years, and then the father became very ill, and felt he was going to
die. He called his children to the place where he lay on the floor--for
no one had any beds in that country--and said to his son, 'I have
no herds of cattle to leave you--only the few things there are in the
house--for I am a poor man, as you know. But choose: will you have my
blessing or my property?'

'Your property, certainly,' answered the son, and his father nodded.

'And you?' asked the old man of the girl, who stood by her brother.

'I will have blessing,' she answered, and her father gave her much
blessing.

That night he died, and his wife and son and daughter mourned for him
seven days, and gave him a burial according to the custom of his people.
But hardly was the time of mourning over, than the mother was attacked
by a disease which was common in that country.

'I am going away from you,' she said to her children, in a faint voice;
'but first, my son, choose which you will have: blessing or property.'

'Property, certainly,' answered the son.

'And you, my daughter?'

'I will have blessing,' said the girl; and her mother gave her much
blessing, and that night she died.

When the days of mourning were ended, the brother bade his sister put
outside the hut all that belonged to his father and his mother. So the
girl put them out, and he took them away, save only a small pot and a
vessel in which she could clean her corn. But she had no corn to clean.

She sat at home, sad and hungry, when a neighbour knocked at the door.

'My pot has cracked in the fire, lend me yours to cook my supper in, and
I will give you a handful of corn in return.'

And the girl was glad, and that night she was able to have supper
herself, and next day another woman borrowed her pot, and then another
and another, for never were known so many accidents as befell the
village pots at that time. She soon grew quite fat with all the corn she
earned with the help of her pot, and then one evening she picked up a
pumpkin seed in a corner, and planted it near her well, and it sprang
up, and gave her many pumpkins.

At last it happened that a youth from her village passed through the
place where the girl's brother was, and the two met and talked.

'What news is there of my sister?' asked the young man, with whom things
had gone badly, for he was idle.

'She is fat and well-liking,' replied the youth, 'for the women borrow
her mortar to clean their corn, and borrow her pot to cook it in, and
for al this they give her more food than she can eat.' And he went his
way.

Now the brother was filled with envy at the words of the man, and he set
out at once, and before dawn he had reached the hut, and saw the pot and
the mortar were standing outside. He slung them over his shoulders and
departed, pleased with his own cleverness; but when his sister awoke
and sought for the pot to cook her corn for breakfast, she could find it
nowhere. At length she said to herself,

'Well, some thief must have stolen them while I slept. I will go and see
if any of my pumpkins are ripe.' And indeed they were, and so many that
the tree was almost broken by the weight of them. So she ate what she
wanted and took the others to the village, and gave them in exchange for
corn, and the women said that no pumpkins were as sweet as these, and
that she was to bring every day all that she had. In this way she earned
more than she needed for herself, and soon was able to get another
mortar and cooking pot in exchange for her corn. Then she thought she
was quite rich.

Unluckily someone else thought so too, and this was her brother's wife,
who had heard all about the pumpkin tree, and sent her slave with a
handful of grain to buy her a pumpkin. At first the girl told him that
so few were left that she could not spare any; but when she found that
he belonged to her brother, she changed her mind, and went out to the
tree and gathered the largest and the ripest that was there.

'Take this one,' she said to the slave, 'and carry it back to your
mistress, but tell her to keep the corn, as the pumpkin is a gift.'

The brother's wife was overjoyed at the sight of the fruit, and when she
tasted it, she declared it was the nicest she had ever eaten. Indeed,
all night she thought of nothing else, and early in the morning she
called another slave (for she was a rich woman) and bade him go and ask
for another pumpkin. But the girl, who had just been out to look at her
tree, told him that they were all eaten, so he went back empty-handed to
his mistress.

In the evening her husband returned from hunting a long way off, and
found his wife in tears.

'What is the matter?' asked he.

'I sent a slave with some grain to your sister to buy some pumpkins, but
she would not sell me any, and told me there were none, though I know
she lets other people buy them.'

'Well, never mind now--go to sleep,' said he, 'and to-morrow I will go
and pull up the pumpkin tree, and that will punish her for treating you
so badly.'

So before sunrise he got up and set out for his sister's house, and
found her cleaning some corn.

'Why did you refuse to sell my wife a pumpkin yesterday when she wanted
one?' he asked.

'The old ones are finished, and the new ones are not yet come,' answered
the girl. 'When her slave arrived two days ago, there were only four
left; but I gave him one, and would take no corn for it.'

'I do not believe you; you have sold them all to other people. I shall
go and cut down the pumpkin,' cried her brother in a rage.

'If you cut down the pumpkin you shall cut off my hand with it,'
exclaimed the girl, running up to her tree and catching hold of it. But
her brother followed, and with one blow cut off the pumpkin and her hand
too.

Then he went into the house and took away everything he could find, and
sold the house to a friend of his who had long wished to have it, and
his sister had no home to go to.

Meanwhile she had bathed her arm carefully, and bound on it some healing
leaves that grew near by, and wrapped a cloth round the leaves, and went
to hide in the forest, that her brother might not find her again.

For seven days she wandered about, eating only the fruit that hung from
the trees above her, and every night she climbed up and tucked herself
safely among the creepers which bound together the big branches, so that
neither lions nor tigers nor panthers might get at her.

When she woke up on the seventh morning she saw from her perch smoke
coming up from a little town on the edge of the forest. The sight of
the huts made her feel more lonely and helpless than before. She longed
desperately for a draught of milk from a gourd, for there were no
streams in that part, and she was very thirsty, but how was she to earn
anything with only one hand? And at this thought her courage failed, and
she began to cry bitterly.

It happened that the king's son had come out from the town very early to
shoot birds, and when the sun grew hot he left tired.

'I will lie here and rest under this tree,' he said to his attendants.
'You can go and shoot instead, and I will just have this slave to stay
with me!' Away they went, and the young man fell asleep, and slept long.
Suddenly he was awakened by something wet and salt falling on his face.

'What is that? Is it raining?' he said to his slave. 'Go and look.'

'No, master, it is not raining,' answered the slave.

'Then climb up the tree and see what it is,' and the slave climbed up,
and came back and told his master that a beautiful girl was sitting up
there, and that it must have been her tears which had fallen on the face
of the king's son.

'Why was she crying?' inquired the prince.

'I cannot tell--I did not dare to ask her; but perhaps she would tell
you.' And the master, greatly wondering, climbed up the tree.

'What is the matter with you?' said he gently, and, as she only sobbed
louder, he continued:

'Are you a woman, or a spirit of the woods?'

'I am a woman,' she answered slowly, wiping her eyes with a leaf of the
creeper that hung about her.

'Then why do you cry?' he persisted.

'I have many things to cry for,' she replied, 'more than you could ever
guess.'

'Come home with me,' said the prince; 'it is not very far. Come home to
my father and mother. I am a king's son.'

'Then why are you here?' she said, opening her eyes and staring at him.

'Once every month I and my friends shoot birds in the forest,' he
answered, 'but I was tired and bade them leave me to rest. And you--what
are you doing up in this tree?'

At that she began to cry again, and told the king's son all that had
befallen her since the death of her mother.

'I cannot come down with you, for I do not like anyone to see me,' she
ended with a sob.

'Oh! I will manage all that,' said the king's son, and swinging himself
to a lower branch, he bade his slave go quickly into the town, and bring
back with him four strong men and a curtained litter. When the man
was gone, the girl climbed down, and hid herself on the ground in some
bushes. Very soon the slave returned with the litter, which was placed
on the ground close to the bushes where the girl lay.

'Now go, all of you, and call my attendants, for I do not wish to say
here any longer,' he said to the men, and as soon as they were out of
sight he bade the girl get into the litter, and fasten the curtains
tightly. Then he got in on the other side, and waited till his
attendants came up.

'What is the matter, O son of a king?' asked they, breathless with
running.

'I think I am ill; I am cold,' he said, and signing to the bearers, he
drew the curtains, and was carried through the forest right inside his
own house.

'Tell my father and mother that I have a fever, and want some gruel,'
said he, 'and bid them send it quickly.'

So the slave hastened to the king's palace and gave his message, which
troubled both the king and the queen greatly. A pot of hot gruel was
instantly prepared, and carried over to the sick man, and as soon as the
council which was sitting was over, the king and his ministers went to
pay him a visit, bearing a message from the queen that she would follow
a little later.

Now the prince had pretended to be ill in order to soften his parent's
hearts, and the next day he declared he felt better, and, getting into
his litter, was carried to the palace in state, drums being beaten all
along the road.

He dismounted at the foot of the steps and walked up, a great parasol
being held over his head by a slave. Then he entered the cool, dark room
where his father and mother were sitting, and said to them:

'I saw a girl yesterday in the forest whom I wish to marry, and, unknown
to my attendants, I brought her back to my house in a litter. Give me
your consent, I beg, for no other woman pleases me as well, even though
she has but one hand!'

Of course the king and queen would have preferred a daughter-in-law
with two hands, and one who could have brought riches with her, but they
could not bear to say 'No' to their son, so they told him it should be
as he chose, and that the wedding feast should be prepared immediately.

The girl could scarcely believe her good fortune, and, in gratitude for
all the kindness shown her, was so useful and pleasant to her husband's
parents that they soon loved her.

By and bye a baby was born to her, and soon after that the prince was
sent on a journey by his father to visit some of the distant towns of
the kingdom, and to set right things that had gone wrong.

No sooner had he started than the girl's brother, who had wasted all the
riches his wife had brought him in recklessness and folly, and was now
very poor, chanced to come into the town, and as he passed he heard a
man say, 'Do you know that the king's son has married a woman who has
lost one of her hands?' On hearing these words the brother stopped and
asked, 'Where did he find such a woman?'

'In the forest,' answered the man, and the cruel brother guessed at once
it must be his sister.

A great rage took possession of his soul as he thought of the girl whom
he had tried to ruin being after all so much better off than himself,
and he vowed that he would work her ill. Therefore that very afternoon
he made his way to the palace and asked to see the king.

When he was admitted to his presence, he knelt down and touched the
ground with his forehead, and the king bade him stand up and tell
wherefore he had come.

'By the kindness of your heart have you been deceived, O king,' said he.
'Your son has married a girl who has lost a hand. Do you know why she
had lost it? She was a witch, and has wedded three husbands, and each
husband she has put to death with her arts. Then the people of the town
cut off her hand, and turned her into the forest. And what I say is
true, for her town is my town also.'

The king listened, and his face grew dark. Unluckily he had a hasty
temper, and did not stop to reason, and, instead of sending to the town,
and discovering people who knew his daughter-in-law and could have told
him how hard she had worked and how poor she had been, he believed all
the brother's lying words, and made the queen believe them too. Together
they took counsel what they should do, and in the end they decided that
they also would put her out of the town. But this did not content the
brother.

'Kill her,' he said. 'It is no more than she deserves for daring to
marry the king's son. Then she can do no more hurt to anyone.'

'We cannot kill her,' answered they; 'if we did, our son would assuredly
kill us. Let us do as the others did, and put her out of the town. And
with this the envious brother was forced to be content.

The poor girl loved her husband very much, but just then the baby was
more to her than all else in the world, and as long as she had him with
her, she did not very much mind anything. So, taking her son on her arm,
and hanging a little earthen pot for cooking round her neck, she left
her house with its great peacock fans and slaves and seats of ivory, and
plunged into the forest.

For a while she walked, not knowing whither she went, then by and bye
she grew tired, and sat under a tree to rest and to hush her baby to
sleep. Suddenly she raised her eyes, and saw a snake wriggling from
under the bushes towards her.

'I am a dead woman,' she said to herself, and stayed quite still, for
indeed she was too frightened to move. In another minute the snake had
reached her side, and to her surprise he spoke.

'Open your earthen pot, and let me go in. Save me from sun, and I will
save you from rain,' and she opened the pot, and when the snake had
slipped in, she put on the cover. Soon she beheld another snake coming
after the other one, and when it had reached her it stopped and said,
'Did you see a small grey snake pass this way just now?'

'Yes,' she answered, 'it was going very quickly.'

'Ah, I must hurry and catch it up,' replied the second snake, and it
hastened on.

When it was out of sight, a voice from the pot said:

'Uncover me,' and she lifted the lid, and the little grey snake slid
rapidly to the ground.

'I am safe now,' he said. 'But tell me, where are you going?'

'I cannot tell you, for I do not know,' she answered. 'I am just
wandering in the wood.'

'Follow me, and let us go home together,' said the snake, and the girl
followed his through the forest and along the green paths, till they
came to a great lake, where they stopped to rest.

'The sun is hot,' said the snake, 'and you have walked far. Take your
baby and bathe in that cool place where the boughs of the tree stretch
far over the water.'

'Yes, I will,' answered she, and they went in. The baby splashed and
crowed with delight, and then he gave a spring and fell right in, down,
down, down, and his mother could not find him, though she searched all
among the reeds.

Full of terror, she made her way back to the bank, and called to the
snake, 'My baby is gone!--he is drowned, and never shall I see him
again.'

'Go in once more,' said the snake, 'and feel everywhere, even among the
trees that have their roots in the water, lest perhaps he may be held
fast there.'

Swiftly she went back and felt everywhere with her whole hand, even
putting her fingers into the tiniest crannies, where a crab could hardly
have taken shelter.

'No, he is not here,' she cried. 'How am I to live without him?' But the
snake took no notice, and only answered, 'Put in your other arm too.'

'What is the use of that?' she asked, 'when it has no hand to feel
with?' but all the same she did as she was bid, and in an instant the
wounded arm touched something round and soft, lying between two stones
in a clump of reeds.

'My baby, my baby!' she shouted, and lifted him up, merry and laughing,
and not a bit hurt or frightened.

'Have you found him this time?' asked the snake.

'Yes, oh, yes!' she answered, 'and, why--why--I have got my hand back
again!' and from sheer joy she burst into tears.

The snake let her weep for a little while, and then he said--

'Now we will journey on to my family, and we will all repay you for the
kindness you showed to me.'

'You have done more than enough in giving me back my hand,' replied the
girl; but the snake only smiled.

'Be quick, lest the sun should set,' he answered, and began to wriggle
along so fast that the girl could hardly follow him.

By and bye they arrived at the house in a tree where the snake lived,
when he was not travelling with his father and mother. And he told them
all his adventures, and how he had escaped from his enemy. The father
and mother snake could not do enough to show their gratitude. They made
their guest lie down on a hammock woven of the strong creepers
which hung from bough to bough, till she was quite rested after her
wanderings, while they watched the baby and gave him milk to drink from
the cocoa-nuts which they persuaded their friends the monkeys to crack
for them. They even managed to carry small fruit tied up in their tails
for the baby's mother, who felt at last that she was safe and at peace.
Not that she forgot her husband, for she often thought of him and longed
to show him her son, and in the night she would sometimes lie awake and
wonder where he was.



In this manner many weeks passed by.

And what was the prince doing?

Well, he had fallen very ill when he was on the furthest border of the
kingdom, and he was nursed by some kind people who did not know who he
was, so that the king and queen heard nothing about him. When he was
better he made his way home again, and into his father's palace, where
he found a strange man standing behind the throne with the peacock's
feathers. This was his wife's brother, whom the king had taken into high
favour, though, of course, the prince was quite ignorant of what had
happened.

For a moment the king and queen stared at their son, as if he had been
unknown to them; he had grown so thin and weak during his illness that
his shoulders were bowed like those of an old man.

'Have you forgotten me so soon?' he asked.

At the sound of his voice they gave a cry and ran towards him, and
poured out questions as to what had happened, and why he looked like
that. But the prince did not answer any of them.

'How is my wife?' he said. There was a pause.

Then the queen replied:

'She is dead.'

'Dead!' he repeated, stepping a little backwards. 'And my child?'

'He is dead too.'

The young man stood silent. Then he said, 'Show me their graves.'

At these words the king, who had been feeling rather uncomfortable, took
heart again, for had he not prepared two beautiful tombs for his son to
see, so that he might never, never guess what had been done to his wife?
All these months the king and queen had been telling each other how good
and merciful they had been not to take her brother's advice and to put
her to death. But now, this somehow did not seem so certain.

Then the king led the way to the courtyard just behind the palace, and
through the gate into a beautiful garden where stood two splendid
tombs in a green space under the trees. The prince advanced alone, and,
resting his head against the stone, he burst into tears. His father and
mother stood silently behind with a curious pang in their souls which
they did not quite understand. Could it be that they were ashamed of
themselves?

But after a while the prince turned round, and walking past them in to
the palace he bade the slaves bring him mourning. For seven days no
one saw him, but at the end of them he went out hunting, and helped his
father rule his people. Only no one dared to speak to him of his wife
and son.

At last one morning, after the girl had been lying awake all night
thinking of her husband, she said to her friend the snake:

'You have all shown me much kindness, but now I am well again, and want
to go home and hear some news of my husband, and if he still mourns for
me!' Now the heart of the snake was sad at her words, but he only said:

'Yes, thus it must be; go and bid farewell to my father and mother, but
if they offer you a present, see that you take nothing but my father's
ring and my mother's casket.'

So she went to the parent snakes, who wept bitterly at the thought of
losing her, and offered her gold and jewels as much as she could carry
in remembrance of them. But the girl shook her head and pushed the
shining heap away from her.

'I shall never forget you, never,' she said in a broken voice, 'but the
only tokens I will accept from you are that little ring and this old
casket.'

The two snakes looked at each other in dismay. The ring and the casket
were the only things they did not want her to have. Then after a short
pause they spoke.

'Why do you want the ring and casket so much? Who has told you of them?'

'Oh, nobody; it is just my fancy,' answered she. But the old snakes
shook their heads and replied:

'Not so; it is our son who told you, and, as he said, so it must be. If
you need food, or clothes, or a house, tell the ring and it will find
them for you. And if you are unhappy or in danger, tell the casket and
it will set things right.' Then they both gave her their blessing, and
she picked up her baby and went her way.

She walked for a long time, till at length she came near the town where
her husband and his father dwelt. Here she stopped under a grove of palm
trees, and told the ring that she wanted a house.

'It is ready, mistress,' whispered a queer little voice which made
her jump, and, looking behind her, she saw a lovely palace made of the
finest woods, and a row of slaves with tall fans bowing before the door.
Glad indeed was she to enter, for she was very tired, and, after eating
a good supper of fruit and milk which she found in one of the rooms, she
flung herself down on a pile of cushions and went to sleep with her baby
beside her.

Here she stayed quietly, and every day the baby grew taller and
stronger, and very soon he could run about and even talk. Of course the
neighbours had a great deal to say about the house which had been built
so quickly--so very quickly--on the outskirts of the town, and invented
all kinds of stories about the rich lady who lived in it. And by and
bye, when the king returned with his son from the wars, some of these
tales reached his ears.

'It is really very odd about that house under the palms,' he said to the
queen; 'I must find out something of the lady whom no one ever sees. I
daresay it is not a lady at all, but a gang of conspirators who want to
get possession of my throne. To-morrow I shall take my son and my chief
ministers and insist on getting inside.'

Soon after sunrise next day the prince's wife was standing on a little
hill behind the house, when she saw a cloud of dust coming through the
town. A moment afterwards she heard faintly the roll of the drums that
announced the king's presence, and saw a crowd of people approaching the
grove of palms. Her heart beat fast. Could her husband be among them?
In any case they must not discover her there; so just bidding the ring
prepare some food for them, she ran inside, and bound a veil of golden
gauze round her head and face. Then, taking the child's hand, she went
to the door and waited.

In a few minutes the whole procession came up, and she stepped forward
and begged them to come in and rest.

'Willingly,' answered the king; 'go first, and we will follow you.'

They followed her into a long dark room, in which was a table covered
with gold cups and baskets filled with dates and cocoa-nuts and all
kinds of ripe yellow fruits, and the king and the prince sat upon
cushions and were served by slaves, while the ministers, among whom she
recognised her own brother, stood behind.

'Ah, I owe all my misery to him,' she said to herself. 'From the first
he has hated me,' but outwardly she showed nothing. And when the king
asked her what news there was in the town she only answered:

'You have ridden far; eat first, and drink, for you must be hungry and
thirsty, and then I will tell you my news.'

'You speak sense,' answered the king, and silence prevailed for some
time longer. Then he said:

'Now, lady, I have finished, and am refreshed, therefore tell me, I pray
you, who you are, and whence you come? But, first, be seated.'

She bowed her head and sat down on a big scarlet cushion, drawing her
little boy, who was asleep in a corner, on to her knee, and began to
tell the story of her life. As her brother listened, he would fain have
left the house and hidden himself in the forest, but it was his duty to
wave the fan of peacock's feathers over the king's head to keep off the
flies, and he knew he would be seized by the royal guards if he tried
to desert his post. He must stay where he was, there was no help for
it, and luckily for him the king was too much interested in the tale to
notice that the fan had ceased moving, and that flies were dancing right
on the top of his thick curly hair.

The story went on, but the story-teller never once looked at the prince,
even through her veil, though he on his side never moved his eyes from
her. When she reached the part where she had sat weeping in the tree,
the king's son could restrain himself no longer.

'It is my wife,' he cried, springing to where she sat with the sleeping
child in her lap. 'They have lied to me, and you are not dead after all,
nor the boy either! But what has happened? Why did they lie to me?
and why did you leave my house where you were safe?' And he turned and
looked fiercely at his father.

'Let me finish my tale first, and then you will know,' answered she,
throwing back her veil, and she told how her brother had come to the
palace and accused her of being a witch, and had tried to persuade the
king to slay her. 'But he would not do that,' she continued softly, 'and
after all, if I had stayed on in your house, I should never have met the
snake, nor have got my hand back again. So let us forget all about it,
and be happy once more, for see! our son is growing quite a big boy.'

'And what shall be done to your brother?' asked the king, who was glad
to think that someone had acted in this matter worse than himself.

'Put him out of the town,' answered she.

From 'Swaheli Tales,' by E. Steere.




The Bones of Djulung


In a beautiful island that lies in the southern seas, where chains of
gay orchids bind the trees together, and the days and nights are equally
long and nearly equally hot, there once lived a family of seven sisters.
Their father and mother were dead, and they had no brothers, so the
eldest girl ruled over the rest, and they all did as she bade them. One
sister had to clean the house, a second carried water from the spring
in the forest, a third cooked their food, while to the youngest fell the
hardest task of all, for she had to cut and bring home the wood which
was to keep the fire continually burning. This was very hot and tiring
work, and when she had fed the fire and heaped up in a corner the sticks
that were to supply it till the next day, she often threw herself down
under a tree, and went sound asleep.

One morning, however, as she was staggering along with her bundle on her
back, she thought that the river which flowed past their hut looked so
cool and inviting that she determined to bathe in it, instead of taking
her usual nap. Hastily piling up her load by the fire, and thrusting
some sticks into the flame, she ran down to the river and jumped in. How
delicious it was diving and swimming and floating in the dark forest,
where the trees were so thick that you could hardly see the sun! But
after a while she began to look about her, and her eyes fell on a little
fish that seemed made out of a rainbow, so brilliant were the colours he
flashed out.

'I should like him for a pet,' thought the girl, and the next time the
fish swam by, she put out her hand and caught him. Then she ran along
the grassy path till she came to a cave in front of which a stream fell
over some rocks into a basin. Here she put her little fish, whose name
was Djulung-djulung, and promising to return soon and bring him some
dinner, she went away.

By the time she got home, the rice for their dinner was ready cooked,
and the eldest sister gave the other six their portions in wooden bowls.
But the youngest did not finish hers, and when no one was looking, stole
off to the fountain in the forest where the little fish was swimming
about.

'See! I have not forgotten you,' she cried, and one by one she let
the grains of rice fall into the water, where the fish gobbled them up
greedily, for he had never tasted anything so nice.

'That is all for to-day,' she said at last, 'but I will come again
to-morrow,' and biding him good-bye she went down the path.

Now the girl did not tell her sisters about the fish, but every day she
saved half of her rice to give him, and called him softly in a little
song she had made for herself. If she sometimes felt hungry, no one knew
of it, and, indeed, she did not mind that much, when she saw how the
fish enjoyed it. And the fish grew fat and big, but the girl grew thin
and weak, and the loads of wood felt heavier every day, and at last her
sisters noticed it.

Then they took counsel together, and watched her to see what she did,
and one of them followed her to the fountain where Djulung lived,
and saw her give him all the rice she had saved from her breakfast.
Hastening home the sister told the others what she had witnessed, and
that a lovely fat fish might be had for the catching. So the eldest
sister went and caught him, and he was boiled for supper, but the
youngest sister was away in the woods, and did not know anything about
it.

Next morning she went as usual to the cave, and sang her little song,
but no Djulung came to answer it; twice and thrice she sang, then threw
herself on her knees by the edge, and peered into the dark water, but
the trees cast such a deep shadow that her eyes could not pierce it.

'Djulung cannot be dead, or his body would be floating on the surface,'
she said to herself, and rising to her feet she set out homewards,
feeling all of a sudden strangely tired.

'What is the matter with me?' she thought, but somehow or other she
managed to reach the hut, and threw herself down in a corner, where she
slept so soundly that for days no one was able to wake her.

At length, one morning early, a cock began to crow so loud that
she could sleep no longer and as he continued to crow she seemed to
understand what he was saying, and that he was telling her that Djulung
was dead, killed and eaten by her sisters, and that his bones lay buried
under the kitchen fire. Very softly she got up, and took up the large
stone under the fire, and creeping out carried the bones to the cave
by the fountain, where she dug a hole and buried them anew. And as she
scooped out the hole with a stick she sang a song, bidding the bones
grow till they became a tree--a tree that reached up so high into the
heavens that its leaves would fall across the sea into another island,
whose king would pick them up.

As there was no Djulung to give her rice to, the girl soon became fat
again, and as she was able to do her work as of old, her sisters did not
trouble about her. They never guessed that when she went into the forest
to gather her sticks, she never failed to pay a visit to the tree, which
grew taller and more wonderful day by day. Never was such a tree seen
before. Its trunk was of iron, its leaves were of silk, its flowers of
gold, and its fruit of diamonds, and one evening, though the girl did
not know it, a soft breeze took one of the leaves, and blew it across
the sea to the feet of one of the king's attendants.

'What a curious leaf! I have never beheld one like it before. I must
show it to the king,' he said, and when the king saw it he declared he
would never rest until he had found the tree which bore it, even if he
had to spend the rest of his life in visiting the islands that lay all
round. Happily for him, he began with the island that was nearest, and
here in the forest he suddenly saw standing before him the iron tree,
its boughs covered with shining leaves like the one he carried about
him.

'But what sort of a tree is it, and how did it get here?' he asked of
the attendants he had with him. No one could answer him, but as they
were about to pass out of the forest a little boy went by, and the king
stopped and inquired if there was anyone living in the neighbourhood
whom he might question.

'Seven girls live in a hut down there,' replied the boy, pointing with
his finger to where the sun was setting.

'Then go and bring them here, and I will wait,' said the king, and the
boy ran off and told the sisters that a great chief, with strings of
jewels round his neck, had sent for them.

Pleased and excited the six elder sisters at once followed the boy, but
the youngest, who was busy, and who did not care about strangers, stayed
behind, to finish the work she was doing. The king welcomed the girls
eagerly, and asked them all manner of questions about the tree, but as
they had never even heard of its existence, they could tell him nothing.
'And if we, who live close by the forest, do not know, you may be sure
no one does,' added the eldest, who was rather cross at finding this was
all that the king wanted of them.

'But the boy told me there were seven of you, and there are only six
here,' said the king.

'Oh, the youngest is at home, but she is always half asleep, and is of
no use except to cut wood for the fire,' replied they in a breath.

'That may be, but perhaps she dreams,' answered the king. 'Anyway, I
will speak to her also.' Then he signed to one of his attendants, who
followed the path that the boy had taken to the hut.

Soon the man returned, with the girl walking behind him. And as soon as
she reached the tree it bowed itself to the earth before her, and she
stretched out her hand and picked some of its leaves and flowers and
gave them to the king.

'The maiden who can work such wonders is fitted to be the wife of the
greatest chief,' he said, and so he married her, and took her with him
across the sea to his own home, where they lived happily for ever after.

From 'Folk Lore,' by A. F. Mackenzie.




The Sea King's Gift


There was once a fisherman who was called Salmon, and his Christian name
was Matte. He lived by the shore of the big sea; where else could he
live? He had a wife called Maie; could you find a better name for her?
In winter they dwelt in a little cottage by the shore, but in spring
they flitted to a red rock out in the sea and stayed there the whole
summer until it was autumn. The cottage on the rock was even smaller
than the other; it had a wooden bolt instead of an iron lock to the
door, a stone hearth, a flagstaff, and a weather-cock on the roof.

The rock was called Ahtola, and was not larger than the market-place
of a town. Between the crevices there grew a little rowan tree and four
alder bushes. Heaven only knows how they ever came there; perhaps they
were brought by the winter storms. Besides that, there flourished some
tufts of velvety grass, some scattered reeds, two plants of the yellow
herb called tansy, four of a red flower, and a pretty white one; but the
treasures of the rock consisted of three roots of garlic, which Maie had
put in a cleft. Rock walls sheltered them on the north side, and the
sun shone on them on the south. This does not seem much, but it sufficed
Maie for a herb plot.

All good things go in threes, so Matte and his wife fished for salmon in
spring, for herring in summer, and for cod in winter. When on Saturdays
the weather was fine and the wind favourable, they sailed to the nearest
town, sold their fish, and went to church on Sunday. But it often
happened that for weeks at a time they were quite alone on the rock
Ahtola, and had nothing to look at except their little yellow-brown dog,
which bore the grand name of Prince, their grass tufts, their bushes and
blooms, the sea bays and fish, a stormy sky and the blue, white-crested
waves. For the rock lay far away from the land, and there were no
green islets or human habitations for miles round, only here and there
appeared a rock of the same red stone as Ahtola, besprinkled day and
night with the ocean spray.

Matte and Maie were industrious, hard-working folk, happy and contented
in their poor hut, and they thought themselves rich when they were able
to salt as many casks of fish as they required for winter and yet have
some left over with which to buy tobacco for the old man, and a pound or
two of coffee for his wife, with plenty of burned corn and chicory in it
to give it a flavour. Besides that, they had bread, butter, fish, a beer
cask, and a buttermilk jar; what more did they require? All would have
gone well had not Maie been possessed with a secret longing which never
let her rest; and this was, how she could manage to become the owner of
a cow.

'What would you do with a cow?' asked Matte. 'She could not swim so far,
and our boat is not large enough to bring her over here; and even if we
had her, we have nothing to feed her on.'

'We have four alder bushes and sixteen tufts of grass,' rejoined Maie.

'Yes, of course,' laughed Matte, 'and we have also three plants of
garlic. Garlic would be fine feeding for her.'

'Every cow likes salt herring,' rejoined his wife. 'Even Prince is fond
of fish.'

'That may be,' said her husband. 'Methinks she would soon be a dear cow
if we had to feed her on salt herring. All very well for Prince, who
fights with the gulls over the last morsel. Put the cow out of your
head, mother, we are very well off as we are.'

Maie sighed. She knew well that her husband was right, but she could not
give up the idea of a cow. The buttermilk no longer tasted as good as
usual in the coffee; she thought of sweet cream and fresh butter, and of
how there was nothing in the world to be compared with them.

One day as Matte and his wife were cleaning herring on the shore they
heard Prince barking, and soon there appeared a gaily painted boat with
three young men in it, steering towards the rock. They were students, on
a boating excursion, and wanted to get something to eat.

'Bring us a junket, good mother,' cried they to Maie.

'Ah! if only I had such a thing!' sighed Maie.

'A can of fresh milk, then,' said the students; 'but it must not be
skim.'

'Yes, if only I had it!' sighed the old woman, still more deeply.

'What! haven't you got a cow?'

Maie was silent. This question so struck her to the heart that she could
not reply.

'We have no cow,' Matte answered; 'but we have good smoked herring, and
can cook them in a couple of hours.'

'All right, then, that will do,' said the students, as they flung
themselves down on the rock, while fifty silvery-white herring were
turning on the spit in front of the fire.

'What's the name of this little stone in the middle of the ocean?' asked
one of them.

'Ahtola,' answered the old man.

'Well, you should want for nothing when you live in the Sea King's
dominion.'

Matte did not understand. He had never read Kalevala and knew nothing of
the sea gods of old, but the students proceeded to explain to him.[FN2:
Kalevala is a collection of old Finnish songs about gods and heroes.]

'Ahti,' said they, 'is a mighty king who lives in his dominion of
Ahtola, and has a rock at the bottom of the sea, and possesses besides a
treasury of good things. He rules over all fish and animals of the deep;
he has the finest cows and the swiftest horses that ever chewed grass
at the bottom of the ocean. He who stands well with Ahti is soon a rich
man, but one must beware in dealing with him, for he is very changeful
and touchy. Even a little stone thrown into the water might offend him,
and then as he takes back his gift, he stirs up the sea into a storm
and drags the sailors down into the depths. Ahti owns also the fairest
maidens, who bear the train of his queen Wellamos, and at the sound of
music they comb their long, flowing locks, which glisten in the water.'

'Oh!' cried Matte, 'have your worships really seen all that?'

'We have as good as seen it,' said the students. 'It is all printed in a
book, and everything printed is true.'

'I'm not so sure of that,' said Matte, as he shook his head.

But the herring were now ready, and the students ate enough for six,
and gave Prince some cold meat which they happened to have in the boat.
Prince sat on his hind legs with delight and mewed like a pussy cat.
When all was finished, the students handed Matte a shining silver coin,
and allowed him to fill his pipe with a special kind of tobacco. They
then thanked him for his kind hospitality and went on their journey,
much regretted by Prince, who sat with a woeful expression and whined on
the shore as long as he could see a flip of the boat's white sail in the
distance.

Maie had never uttered a word, but thought the more. She had good ears,
and had laid to heart the story about Ahti. 'How delightful,' thought
she to herself, 'to possess a fairy cow! How delicious every morning and
evening to draw milk from it, and yet have no trouble about the feeding,
and to keep a shelf near the window for dishes of milk and junkets! But
this will never be my luck.'

'What are you thinking of?' asked Matte.

'Nothing,' said his wife; but all the time she was pondering over some
magic rhymes she had heard in her childhood from an old lame man, which
were supposed to bring luck in fishing.

'What if I were to try?' thought she.

Now this was Saturday, and on Saturday evenings Matte never set the
herring-net, for he did not fish on Sunday. Towards evening, however,
his wife said:

'Let us set the herring-net just this once.'

'No,' said her husband, 'it is a Saturday night.'

'Last night was so stormy, and we caught so little,' urged his wife;
'to-night the sea is like a mirror, and with the wind in this direction
the herring are drawing towards land.'

'But there are streaks in the north-western sky, and Prince was eating
grass this evening,' said the old man.

'Surely he has not eaten my garlic,' exclaimed the old woman.

'No; but there will be rough weather by to-morrow at sunset,' rejoined
Matte.

'Listen to me,' said his wife, 'we will set only one net close to the
shore, and then we shall be able to finish up our half-filled cask,
which will spoil if it stands open so long.'

The old man allowed himself to be talked over, and so they rowed out
with the net. When they reached the deepest part of the water, she began
to hum the words of the magic rhyme, altering the words to suit the
longing of her heart:

          Oh, Ahti, with the long, long beard,
               Who dwellest in the deep blue sea,
          Finest treasures have I heard,
               And glittering fish belong to thee.
          The richest pearls beyond compare
               Are stored up in thy realm below,
          And Ocean's cows so sleek and fair
               Feed on the grass in thy green meadow.

          King of the waters, far and near,
               I ask not of thy golden store,
          I wish not jewels of pearl to wear,
               Nor silver either, ask I for,
          But one is odd and even is two,
               So give me a cow, sea-king so bold,
          And in return I'll give to you
               A slice of the moon, and the sun's gold.

'What's that you're humming?' asked the old man.

'Oh, only the words of an old rhyme that keeps running in my head,'
answered the old woman; and she raised her voice and went on:

          Oh, Ahti, with the long, long beard,
               Who dwellest in the deep blue sea,
          A thousand cows are in thy herd,
               I pray thee give one onto me.

'That's a stupid sort of song,' said Matte. 'What else should one beg of
the sea-king but fish? But such songs are not for Sunday.'

His wife pretended not to hear him, and sang and sang the same tune all
the time they were on the water. Matte heard nothing more as he sat and
rowed the heavy boat, while thinking of his cracked pipe and the fine
tobacco. Then they returned to the island, and soon after went to bed.

But neither Matte nor Maie could sleep a wink; the one thought of how he
had profaned Sunday, and the other of Ahti's cow.

About midnight the fisherman sat up, and said to his wife:

'Dost thou hear anything?'

'No,' said she.

'I think the twirling of the weathercock on the roof bodes ill,' said
he; 'we shall have a storm.'

'Oh, it is nothing but your fancy,' said his wife.

Matte lay down, but soon rose again.

'The weathercock is squeaking now,' said he.

'Just fancy! Go to sleep,' said his wife; and the old man tried to.

For the third time he jumped out of bed.

'Ho! how the weather-cock is roaring at the pitch of its voice, as if it
had a fire inside it! We are going to have a tempest, and must bring in
the net.'

Both rose. The summer night was as dark as if it had been October, the
weather-cock creaked, and the storm was raging in every direction. As
they went out the sea lay around them as white as now, and the spray
was dashing right over the fisher-hut. In all his life Matte had never
remembered such a night. To launch the boat and put to sea to rescue the
net was a thing not to be thought of. The fisherman and his wife stood
aghast on the doorstep, holding on fast by the doorpost, while the foam
splashed over their faces.

'Did I not tell thee that there is no luck in Sunday fishing?' said
Matte sulkily; and his wife was so frightened that she never even once
thought of Ahti's cows.

As there was nothing to be done, they went in. Their eyes were heavy for
lack of slumber, and they slept as soundly as if there had not been such
a thing as an angry sea roaring furiously around their lonely dwelling.
When they awoke, the sun was high in the heavens, the tempest had cased,
and only the swell of the sea rose in silvery heavings against the red
rock.

'What can that be?' said the old woman, as she peeped out of the door.

'It looks like a big seal,' said Matte.

'As sure as I live, it's a cow!' exclaimed Maie. And certainly it was a
cow, a fine red cow, fat and flourishing, and looking as if it had been
fed all its days on spinach. It wandered peacefully up and down the
shore, and never so much as even looked at the poor little tufts of
grass, as if it despised such fare.

Matte could not believe his eyes. But a cow she seemed, and a cow she
was found to be; and when the old woman began to milk her, every pitcher
and pan, even to the baler, was soon filled with the most delicious
milk.

The old man troubled his head in vain as to how she came there, and
sallied forth to seek for his lost net. He had not proceeded far when he
found it cast up on the shore, and so full of fish that not a mesh was
visible.

'It is all very fine to possess a cow,' said Matte, as he cleaned the
fish; 'but what are we going to feed her on?'

'We shall find some means,' said his wife; and the cow found the means
herself. She went out and cropped the seaweed which grew in great
abundance near the shore, and always kept in good condition. Every one
Prince alone excepted, thought she was a clever beast; but Prince barked
at her, for he had now got a rival.

From that day the red rock overflowed with milk and junkets, and every
net was filled with fish. Matte and Maie grew fat on this fine living,
and daily became richer. She churned quantities of butter, and he hired
two men to help him in his fishing. The sea lay before him like a big
fish tank, out of which he hauled as many as he required; and the cow
continued to fend for herself. In autumn, when Matte and Maie went
ashore, the cow went to sea, and in spring, when they returned to the
rock, there she stood awaiting them.

'We shall require a better house,' said Maie the following summer; 'the
old one is too small for ourselves and the men.'

'Yes,' said Matte. So he built a large cottage, with a real lock to the
door, and a store-house for fish as well; and he and his men caught such
quantities of fish that they sent tons of salmon, herring, and cod to
Russian and Sweden.

'I am quite overworked with so many folk,' said Maie; 'a girl to help me
would not come amiss.'

'Get one, then,' said her husband; and so they hired a girl.

Then Maie said: 'We have too little milk for all these folk. Now that
I have a servant, with the same amount of trouble she could look after
three cows.'

'All right, then,' said her husband, somewhat provoked, 'you can sing a
song to the fairies.'

This annoyed Maie, but nevertheless she rowed out to sea on Sunday night
and sang as before:

          Oh, Ahti, with the long, long beard,
               Who dwellest in the deep blue sea,
          A thousand cows are in thy herd,
               I pray thee give three unto me.

The following morning, instead of one, three cows stood on the island,
and they all ate seaweed and fended for themselves like the first one.

'Art thou satisfied now?' said Matte to his wife.

'I should be quite satisfied,' said his wife, 'if only I had two
servants to help, and if I had some finer clothes. Don't you know that I
am addressed as Madam?'

'Well, well,' said her husband. So Maie got several servants and clothes
fit for a great lady.

'Everything would now be perfect if only we had a little better dwelling
for summer. You might build us a two-storey house, and fetch soil to
make a garden. Then you might make a little arbour up there to let
us have a sea-view; and we might have a fiddler to fiddle to us of an
evening, and a little steamer to take us to church in stormy weather.'

'Anything more?' asked Matte; but he did everything that his wife
wished. The rock Ahtola became so grand and Maie so grand that all the
sea-urchins and herring were lost in wonderment. Even Prince was fed
on beefsteaks and cream scones till at last he was as round as a butter
jar.

'Are you satisfied now?' asked Matte.

'I should be quite satisfied,' said Maie, 'if only I had thirty cows. At
least that number is required for such a household.'

'Go to the fairies,' said Matte.

His wife set out in the new steamer and sang to the sea-king. Next
morning thirty cows stood on the shore, all finding food for themselves.

'Know'st thou, good man, that we are far too cramped on this wretched
rock, and where am I to find room for so many cows?'

'There is nothing to be done but to pump out the sea.'

'Rubbish!' said his wife. 'Who can pump out the sea?'

'Try with thy new steamer, there is a pump in it.'

Maie knew well that her husband was only making fun of her, but still
her mind was set upon the same subject. 'I never could pump the sea
out,' thought she, 'but perhaps I might fill it up, if I were to make
a big dam. I might heap up sand and stones, and make our island as big
again.'

Maie loaded her boat with stones and went out to sea. The fiddler was
with her, and fiddled so finely that Ahti and Wellamos and all the sea's
daughters rose to the surface of the water to listen to the music.

'What is that shining so brightly in the waves?' asked Maie.

'That is sea foam glinting in the sunshine,' answered the fiddler.

'Throw out the stones,' said Maie.

The people in the boat began to throw out the stones, splash, splash,
right and left, into the foam. One stone hit the nose of Wellamos's
chief lady-in-waiting, another scratched the sea queen herself on the
cheek, a third plumped close to Ahti's head and tore off half of the
sea-king's beard; then there was a commotion in the sea, the waves
bubbled and bubbled like boiling water in a pot.

'Whence comes this gust of wind?' said Maie; and as she spoke the sea
opened and swallowed up the steamer. Maie sank to the bottom like a
stone, but, stretching out her arms and legs, she rose to the surface,
where she found the fiddler's fiddle, and used it as a float. At the
same moment she saw close beside her the terrible head of Ahti, and he
had only half a beard!'

'Why did you throw stones at me?' roared the sea-king.

'Oh, your majesty, it was a mistake! Put some bear's grease on your
beard and that will soon make it grow again.'

'Dame, did I not give you all you asked for--nay, even more?'

'Truly, truly, your majesty. Many thanks for the cows.'

'Well, where is the gold from the sun and the silver from the moon that
you promised me?'

'Ah, your majesty, they have been scattered day and night upon the sea,
except when the sky was overcast,' slyly answered Maie.

'I'll teach you!' roared the sea-king; and with that he gave the fiddle
such a 'puff' that it sent the old woman up like a sky-rocket on to her
island. There Prince lay, as famished as ever, gnawing the carcase of
a crow. There sat Matte in his ragged grey jacket, quite alone, on the
steps of the old hut, mending a net.

'Heavens, mother,' said he, 'where are you coming from at such a
whirlwind pace, and what makes you in such a dripping condition?'

Maie looked around her amazed, and said, 'Where is our two-storey
house?'

'What house?' asked her husband.

'Our big house, and the flower garden, and the men and the maids, and
the thirty beautiful cows, and the steamer, and everything else?'

'You are talking nonsense, mother,' said he. 'The students have quite
turned your head, for you sang silly songs last evening while we were
rowing, and then you could not sleep till early morning. We had stormy
weather during the night, and when it was past I did not wish to waken
you, so rowed out alone to rescue the net.'

'But I've seen Ahti,' rejoined Maie.

'You've been lying in bed, dreaming foolish fancies, mother, and then in
your sleep you walked into the water.'

'But there is the fiddle,' said Maie.

'A fine fiddle! It is only an old stick. No, no, old woman, another time
we will be more careful. Good luck never attends fishing on a Sunday.'

From Z. Topelius.




The Raspberry Worm


'Phew!' cried Lisa.

'Ugh!' cried Aina.

'What now?' cried the big sister.

'A worm!' cried Lisa.

'On the raspberry!' cried Aina.

'Kill it!' cried Otto.

'What a fuss over a poor little worm!' said the big sister scornfully.

'Yes, when we had cleaned the raspberries so carefully,' said Lisa.

'It crept out from that very large one,' put in Aina.

'And supposing someone had eaten the raspberry,' said Lisa.

'Then they would have eaten the worm, too,' said Aina.

'Well, what harm?' said Otto.

'Eat a worm!' cried Lisa.

'And kill him with one bite!' murmured Aina.

'Just think of it!' said Otto laughing.

'Now it is crawling on the table,' cried Aina again.

'Blow it away!' said the big sister.

'Tramp on it!' laughed Otto.

But Lisa took a raspberry leaf, swept the worm carefully on to the
leaf and carried it out into the yard. Then Aina noticed that a sparrow
sitting on the fence was just ready to pounce on the poor little worm,
so she took up the leaf, carried it out into the wood and hid it under a
raspberry bush where the greedy sparrow could not find it. Yes, and
what more is there to tell about a raspberry worm? Who would give three
straws for such a miserable little thing? Yes, but who would not like
to live in such a pretty home as it lives in; in such a fresh fragrant
dark-red cottage, far away in the quiet wood among flowers and green
leaves!

Now it was just dinner time, so they all had a dinner of raspberries
and cream. 'Be careful with the sugar, Otto,' said the big sister; but
Otto's plate was like a snowdrift in winter, with just a little red
under the snow.

Soon after dinner the big sister said: 'Now we have eaten up the
raspberries and we have none left to make preserve for the winter; it
would be fine if we could get two baskets full of berries, then we could
clean them this evening, and to-morrow we could cook them in the big
preserving pan, and then we should have raspberry jam to eat on our
bread!'

'Come, let us go to the wood and pick,' said Lisa.

'Yes, let us,' said Aina. 'You take the yellow basket and I will take
the green one.'

'Don't get lost, and come back safely in the evening,' said the big
sister.

'Greetings to the raspberry worm,' said Otto, mockingly. 'Next time I
meet him I shall do him the honour of eating him up.'

So Aina and Lisa went off to the wood. Ah! how delightful it was there,
how beautiful! It was certainly tiresome sometimes climbing over the
fallen trees, and getting caught in the branches, and waging war with
the juniper bushes and the midges, but what did that matter? The girls
climbed well in their short dresses, and soon they were deep in the
wood.

There were plenty of bilberries and elder berries, but no raspberries.
They wandered on and on, and at last they came... No, it could not be
true!... they came to a large raspberry wood. The wood had been on fire
once, and now raspberry bushes had grown up, and there were raspberry
bushes and raspberry bushes as far as the eye could see. Every bush was
weighted to the ground with the largest, dark red, ripe raspberries,
such a wealth of berries as two little berry pickers had never found
before!

Lisa picked, Aina picked. Lisa ate, Aina ate, and in a little while
their baskets were full.

'Now we shall go home,' said Aina. 'No, let us gather a few more,' said
Lisa. So they put the baskets down on the ground and began to fill their
pinafores, and it was not long before their pinafores were full, too.

'Now we shall go home,' said Lina. 'Yes, now we shall go home,' said
Aina. Both girls took a basket in one hand and held up her apron in the
other and then turned to go home. But that was easier said than done.
They had never been so far in the great wood before, they could not find
any road nor path, and soon the girls noticed that they had lost their
way.

The worst of it was that the shadows of the tress were becoming so long
in the evening sunlight, the birds were beginning to fly home, and the
day was closing in. At last the sun went down behind the pine tops, and
it was cool and dusky in the great wood.

The girls became anxious but went steadily on, expecting that the wood
would soon end, and that they would see the smoke from the chimneys of
their home.

After they had wandered on for a long time it began to grow dark. At
last they reached a great plain overgrown with bushes, and when they
looked around them, they saw, as much as they could in the darkness,
that they were among the same beautiful raspberry bushes from which they
had picked their baskets and their aprons full. Then they were so tired
that they sat down on a stone and began to cry.

'I am so hungry,' said Lisa.

'Yes,' said Aina, 'if we had only two good meat sandwiches now.'

As she said that, she felt something in her hand, and when she looked
down, she saw a large sandwich of bread and chicken, and at the same
time Lisa said: 'How very queer! I have a sandwich in my hand.'

'And I, too,' said Aina. 'Will you dare to eat it?'

'Of course I will,' said Lisa. 'Ah, if we only had a good glass of milk
now!'

Just as she said that she felt a large glass of milk between her
fingers, and at the same time Aina cried out, 'Lisa! Lisa! I have a
glass of milk in my hand! Isn't it queer?'

The girls, however, were very hungry, so they ate and drank with a good
appetite. When they had finished Aina yawned, stretched out her arms and
said: 'Oh, if only we had a nice soft bed to sleep on now!'

Scarcely had she spoken before she felt a nice soft bed by her side, and
there beside Lisa was one too. This seemed to the girls more and more
wonderful, but tired and sleepy as they were, they thought no more about
it, but crept into the little beds, drew the coverlets over their heads
and were soon asleep.

When they awoke the sun was high in the heavens, the wood was beautiful
in the summer morning, and the birds were flying about in the branches
and the tree tops.

At first the girls were filled with wonder when they saw that they had
slept in the wood among the raspberry bushes. They looked at each other,
they looked at their beds, which were of the finest flax covered over
with leaves and moss. At last Lisa said: 'Are you awake, Aina?'

'Yes,' said Aina.

'But I am still dreaming,' said Lisa.

'No,' said Aina, 'but there is certainly some good fairy living among
these raspberry bushes. Ah, if we had only a hot cup of coffee now, and
a nice piece of white bread to dip into it!'

Scarcely had she finished speaking when she saw beside her a little
silver tray with a gilt coffee-pot, two cups of rare porcelain, a sugar
basin of fine crystal, silver sugar tongs, and some good fresh white
bread. The girls poured out the beautiful coffee, put in the cream and
sugar, and tasted it; never in their lives had they drunk such beautiful
coffee.

'Now I should like to know very much who has given us all this,' said
Lisa gratefully.

'I have, my little girls,' said a voice just then from the bushes.

The children looked round wonderingly, and saw a little kind-looking old
man, in a white coat and a red cap, limping out from among the bushes,
for he was lame in his left foot; neither Lisa nor Aina could utter a
word, they were so filled with surprise.

'Don't be afraid, little girls,' he said smiling kindly at them; he
could not laugh properly because his mouth was crooked. 'Welcome to my
kingdom! Have you slept well and eaten well and drunk well?' he asked.

'Yes, indeed we have,' said both the girls, 'but tell us...' and they
wanted to ask who the old man was, but were afraid to.

'I will tell you who I am,' said the old man; 'I am the raspberry king,
who reigns over all this kingdom of raspberry bushes, and I have lived
here for more than a thousand years. But the great spirit who rules over
the woods, and the sea, and the sky, did not want me to become proud of
my royal power and my long life. Therefore he decreed that one day in
every hundred years I should change into a little raspberry worm, and
live in that weak and helpless form from sunrise to sunset. During that
time my life is dependent on the little worm's life, so that a bird can
eat me, a child can pick me with the berries and trample under foot my
thousand years of life. Now yesterday was just my transformation day,
and I was taken with the raspberry and would have been trampled to death
if you had not saved my life. Until sunset I lay helpless in the grass,
and when I was swept away from your table I twisted one of my feet, and
my mouth became crooked with terror; but when evening came and I could
take my own form again, I looked for you to thank you and reward you.
Then I found you both here in my kingdom, and tried to meet you both as
well as I could without frightening you. Now I will send a bird from my
wood to show you the way home. Good-bye, little children, thank you
for your kind hearts; the raspberry king can show that he is not
ungrateful.' The children shook hands with the old man and thanked him,
feeling very glad that they had saved the little raspberry worm. They
were just going when the old man turned round, smiled mischievously with
his crooked mouth, and said: 'Greetings to Otto from me, and tell him
when I meet him again I shall do him the honour of eating him up.'

'Oh, please don't do that,' cried both the girls, very frightened.

'Well, for your sake I will forgive him,' said the old man, 'I am not
revengeful. Greetings to Otto and tell him that he may expect a gift
from me, too. Good-bye.'

The two girls, light of heart, now took their berries and ran off
through the wood after the bird; and soon it began to get lighter in the
wood and they wondered how they could have lost their way yesterday, it
seemed so easy and plain now.

One can imagine what joy there was when the two reached home. Everyone
had been looking for them, and the big sister had not been able to
sleep, for she thought the wolves had eaten them up.

Otto met them; he had a basket in his hand and said: 'Look, here is
something that an old man has just left for you.'

When the girls looked into the basket they saw a pair of most beautiful
bracelets of precious stones, dark red, and made in the shape of a ripe
raspberry and with an inscription: 'To Lisa and Aina'; beside them there
was a diamond breast pin in the shape of a raspberry worm: on it was
inscribed 'Otto, never destroy the helpless!'

Otto felt rather ashamed: he quite understood what it meant, but he
thought that the old man's revenge was a noble one.

The raspberry king had also remembered the big sister, for when she went
in to set the table for dinner, she found eleven big baskets of most
beautiful raspberries, and no one knew how they had come there, but
everyone guessed.

And so there was such a jam-making as had never been seen before, and if
you like to go and help in it, you might perhaps get a little, for they
must surely be making jam still to this very day.

From Z. Topelius.




The Stones of Plouhinec


Perhaps some of you may have read a book called 'Kenneth; or the
Rear-Guard of the Grand Army' of Napoleon. If so, you will remember how
the two Scotch children found in Russia were taken care of by the
French soldiers and prevented as far as possible from suffering from the
horrors of the terrible Retreat. One of the soldiers, a Breton, often
tried to make them forget how cold and hungry they were by telling
them tales of his native country, Brittany, which is full of wonderful
things. The best and warmest place round the camp fire was always
given to the children, but even so the bitter frost would cause them to
shiver. It was then that the Breton would begin: 'Plouhinec is a small
town near Hennebonne by the sea,' and would continue until Kenneth or
Effie would interrupt him with an eager question. Then he forgot how his
mother had told him the tale, and was obliged to begin all over again,
so the story lasted a long while, and by the time it was ended the
children were ready to be rolled up in what ever coverings could be
found, and go to sleep. It is this story that I am going to tell to you.

Plouhinec is a small town near Hennebonne by the sea. Around it
stretches a desolate moor, where no corn can be grown, and the grass is
so coarse that no beast grows fat on it. Here and there are scattered
groves of fir trees, and small pebbles are so thick on the ground that
you might almost take it for a beach. On the further side, the fairies,
or korigans, as the people called them, had set up long long ago two
rows of huge stones; indeed, so tall and heavy were they, that it seemed
as if all the fairies in the world could not have placed them upright.

Not far off them this great stone avenue, and on the banks of the little
river Intel, there lived a man named Marzinne and his sister Rozennik.
They always had enough black bread to eat, and wooden shoes or sabots
to wear, and a pig to fatten, so the neighbours thought them quite rich;
and what was still better, they thought themselves rich also.

Rozennik was a pretty girl, who knew how to make the best of everything,
and she could, if she wished, have chosen a husband from the young men
of Plouhinec, but she cared for none of them except Bernez, whom she had
played with all her life, and Bernez, though he worked hard, was so very
very poor that Marzinne told him roughly he must look elsewhere for a
wife. But whatever Marzinne might say Rozennik smiled and nodded to
him as before, and would often turn her head as she passed, and sing
snatches of old songs over her shoulder.

Christmas Eve had come, and all the men who worked under Marzinne or on
the farms round about were gathered in the large kitchen to eat the
soup flavoured with honey followed by rich puddings, to which they were
always invited on this particular night. In the middle of the table was
a large wooden bowl, with wooden spoons placed in a circle round it, so
that each might dip in his turn. The benches were filled, and Marzinne
was about to give the signal, when the door was suddenly thrown open,
and an old man came in, wishing the guests a good appetite for their
supper. There was a pause, and some of the faces looked a little
frightened; for the new-comer was well known to them as a beggar, who
was also said to be a wizard who cast spells over the cattle, and caused
the corn to grow black, and old people to die, of what, nobody knew.
Still, it was Christmas Eve, and besides it was as well not to offend
him, so the farmer invited him in, and gave him a seat at the table and
a wooden spoon like the rest.

There was not much talk after the beggar's entrance, and everyone was
glad when the meal came to an end, and the beggar asked if he might
sleep in the stable, as he should die of cold if he were left outside.
Rather unwillingly Marzinne gave him leave, and bade Bernez take the
key and unlock the door. There was certainly plenty of room for a dozen
beggars, for the only occupants of the stable were an old donkey and a
thin ox; and as the night was bitter, the wizard lay down between them
for warmth, with a sack of reeds for a pillow.

He had walked far that day, and even wizards get tired sometimes, so in
spite of the hard floor he was just dropping off to sleep, when midnight
struck from the church tower of Plouhinec. At this sound the donkey
raised her head and shook her ears, and turned towards the ox.

'Well, my dear cousin,' said she, 'and how have you fared since last
Christmas Eve, when we had a conversation together?'

Instead of answering at once, the ox eyed the beggar with a long look of
disgust.

'What is the use of talking,' he replied roughly, 'when a
good-for-nothing creature like that can hear all we say?'

'Oh, you mustn't lose time in grumbling,' rejoined the donkey gaily,
'and don't you see that the wizard is asleep?'

'His wicked pranks do not make him rich, certainly,' said the ox, 'and
he isn't even clever enough to have found out what a piece of luck might
befall him a week hence.'

'What piece of luck?' asked the donkey.

'Why, don't you know,' inquired the ox, 'that once very hundred years
the stones on Plouhinec heath go down to drink at the river, and that
while they are away the treasures underneath them are uncovered?'

'Ah, I remember now,' replied the donkey, 'but the stones return so
quickly to their places, that you certainly would be crushed to death
unless you have in your hands a bunch of crowsfoot and of five-leaved
trefoil.'

'Yes, but that is not enough,' said the ox; 'even supposing you get
safely by, the treasure you have brought with you will crumble into dust
if you do not give in exchange a baptised soul. It is needful that a
Christian should die before you can enjoy the wealth of Plouhinec.'

The donkey was about to ask some further questions, when she suddenly
found herself unable to speak: the time allowed them for conversation
was over.

'Ah, my dear creatures,' thought the beggar, who had of course heard
everything, 'you are going to make me richer than the richest men of
Vannes or Lorient. But I have no time to lose; to-morrow I must begin to
hunt for the precious plants.'

He did not dare to seek too near Plouhinec, lest somebody who knew the
story might guess what he was doing, so he went away further towards the
south, where the air was softer and the plants are always green. From
the instant it was light, till the last rays had faded out of the sky,
he searched every inch of ground where the magic plants might grow; he
scarcely gave himself a minute to eat and drink, but at length he found
the crowsfoot in a little hollow! Well, that was certainly a great deal,
but after all, the crowsfoot was of no use without the trefoil, and
there was so little time left.

He had almost give up hope, when on the very last day before it was
necessary that he should start of Plouhinec, he came upon a little
clump of trefoil, half hidden under a rock. Hardly able to breathe from
excitement, he sat down and hunted eagerly through the plant which
he had torn up. Leaf after leaf he threw aside in disgust, and he had
nearly reached the end when he gave a cry of joy--the five-leaved
trefoil was in his hand.

The beggar scrambled to his feet, and without a pause walked quickly
down the road that led northwards. The moon was bright, and for some
hours he kept steadily on, not knowing how many miles he had gone, nor
even feeling tired. By and bye the sun rose, and the world began to
stir, and stopping at a farmhouse door, he asked for a cup of milk and
slice of bread and permission to rest for a while in the porch. Then he
continued his journey, and so, towards sunset on New Year's Eve, he came
back to Plouhinec.

As he was passing the long line of stones, he saw Bernez working with a
chisel on the tallest of them all.

'What are you doing there?' called the wizard, 'do you mean to hollow
out for yourself a bed in that huge column?'

'No,' replied Bernez quietly, 'but as I happened to have no work to do
to-day, I thought I would just carve a cross on this stone. The holy
sign can never come amiss.'

'I believe you think it will help you to win Rozennik,' laughed the old
man.

Bernez ceased his task for a moment to look at him.

'Ah, so you know about that,' replied he; 'unluckily Marzinne wants a
brother-in-law who has more pounds than I have pence.'

'And suppose I were to give you more pounds than Marzinne ever dreamed
of?' whispered the sorcerer glancing round to make sure that no one
overheard him.

'You?'

'Yes, I.'

'And what am I to do to gain the money,' inquired Bernez, who knew quite
well that the Breton peasant gives nothing for nothing.

'What I want of you only needs a little courage,' answered the old man.

'If that is all, tell me what I have got to do, and I will do it,' cried
Bernez, letting fall his chisel. 'If I have to risk thirty deaths, I am
ready.'

When the beggar knew that Bernez would give him no trouble, he told him
how, during that very night, the treasures under the stones would be
uncovered, and how in a very few minutes they could take enough to make
them both rich for life. But he kept silence as to the fate that awaited
the man who was without the crowsfoot and the trefoil, and Bernez
thought that nothing but boldness and quickness were necessary. So he
said:

'Old man, I am grateful, indeed, for the chance you have given me, and
there will always be a pint of my blood at your service. Just let me
finish carving this cross. It is nearly done, and I will join you in the
fir wood at whatever hour you please.'

'You must be there without fail an hour before midnight,' answered the
wizard, and went on his way.

As the hour struck from the great church at Plouhinec, Bernez entered
the wood. He found the beggar already there with a bag in each hand, and
a third slung round his neck.

'You are punctual,' said the old man, 'but we need not start just yet.
You had better sit down and think what you will do when your pockets are
filled with gold and silver and jewels.'

'Oh, it won't take me long to plan out that,' returned Bernez with a
laugh. 'I shall give Rozennik everything she can desire, dresses of all
sorts, from cotton to silk, and good things of all kinds to eat, from
white bread to oranges.'

'The silver you find will pay for all that, and what about the gold?'

'With the gold I shall make rich Rozennik's relations and every friend
of hers in the parish,' replied he.

'So much for the gold; and the jewels?'

'Then,' cried Bernez, 'I will divide the jewels amongst everybody in the
world, so that they may be wealthy and happy; and I will tell them that
it is Rozennik who would have it so.'

'Hush! it is close on midnight--we must go,' whispered the wizard, and
together they crept to the edge of the wood.

With the first stroke of twelve a great noise arose over the silent
heath, and the earth seemed to rock under the feet of the two watchers.
The next moment by the light of the moon they beheld the huge stones
near them leave their places and go down the slope leading to the river,
knocking against each other in their haste. Passing the spot where stood
Bernez and the beggar, they were lost in the darkness. It seemed as if a
procession of giants had gone by.

'Quick,' said the wizard, in a low voice, and he rushed towards the
empty holes, which even in the night shone brightly from the treasures
within them. Flinging himself on his knees, the old man began filling
the wallets he had brought, listening intently all the time for the
return of the stones up the hill, while Bernez more slowly put handfuls
of all he could see into his pockets.

The sorcerer had just closed his third wallet, and was beginning to
wonder if he could carry away any more treasures when a low murmur as of
a distant storm broke upon his ears.

The stones had finished drinking, and were hastening back to their
places.

On they came, bent a little forward, the tallest of them all at their
head, breaking everything that stood in their way. At the sight Bernez
stood transfixed with horror, and said,

'We are lost! They will crush us to death.'

'Not me!' answered the sorcerer, holding up the crowsfoot and the
five-leaved trefoil, 'for these will preserve me. But in order to keep
my riches, I was obliged to sacrifice a Christian to the stones, and
an evil fate threw you in my way.' And as he spoke he stretched out
the magic herbs to the stones, which were advancing rapidly. As
if acknowledging a power greater than theirs, the monstrous things
instantly parted to the right and left of the wizard, but closed their
ranks again as they approached Bernez.

The young man did not try to escape, he knew it was useless, and sank
on his knees and closed his eyes. But suddenly the tall stone that was
leading stopped straight in front of Bernez, so that no other could get
past.

It was the stone on which Bernez had carved the cross, and it was now a
baptized stone, and had power to save him.

So the stone remained before the young man till the rest had taken their
places, and then, darting like a bird to its own hole, came upon the
beggar, who, thinking himself quite safe, was staggering along under the
weight of his treasures.

Seeing the stone approaching, he held out the magic herbs which he
carried, but the baptized stone was no longer subject to the spells
that bound the rest, and passed straight on its way, leaving the wizard
crushed into powder in the heather.

Then Bernez went home, and showed his wealth to Marzinne, who this
time did not refuse him as a brother-in-law, and he and Rozennik were
married, and lived happy for ever after.

From 'Le Royer Breton,' par Emile Souvestre.




The Castle of Kerglas


Peronnik was a poor idiot who belonged to nobody, and he would have died
of starvation if it had not been for the kindness of the village people,
who gave him food whenever he chose to ask for it. And as for a bed,
when night came, and he grew sleepy, he looked about for a heap of
straw, and making a hole in it, crept in, like a lizard. Idiot though he
was, he was never unhappy, but always thanked gratefully those who fed
him, and sometimes would stop for a little and sing to them. For he
could imitate a lark so well, that no one knew which was Peronnik and
which was the bird.

He had been wandering in a forest one day for several hours, and when
evening approached, he suddenly felt very hungry. Luckily, just at
that place the trees grew thinner, and he could see a small farmhouse
a little way off. Peronnik went straight towards it, and found the
farmer's wife standing at the door holding in her hands the large bowl
out of which her children had eaten their supper.

'I am hungry, will you give me something to eat?' asked the boy.

'If you can find anything here, you are welcome to it,' answered she,
and, indeed, there was not much left, as everybody's spoon had dipped
in. But Peronnik ate what was there with a hearty appetite, and thought
that he had never tasted better food.

'It is made of the finest flour and mixed with the richest milk and
stirred by the best cook in all the countryside,' and though he said it
to himself, the woman heard him.

'Poor innocent,' she murmured, 'he does not know what he is saying, but
I will cut him a slice of that new wheaten loaf,' and so she did, and
Peronnik ate up every crumb, and declared that nobody less than the
bishop's baker could have baked it. This flattered the farmer's wife
so much that she gave him some butter to spread on it, and Peronnik was
still eating it on the doorstep when an armed knight rode up.

'Can you tell me the way to the castle of Kerglas?' asked he.

'To Kerglas? are you really going to Kerglas?' cried the woman, turning
pale.

'Yes; and in order to get there I have come from a country so far off
that it has taken me three months' hard riding to travel as far as
this.'

'And why do you want to go to Kerglas?' said she.

'I am seeking the basin of gold and the lance of diamonds which are in
the castle,' he answered. Then Peronnik looked up.

'The basin and the lance are very costly things,' he said suddenly.

'More costly and precious than all the crowns in the world,' replied the
stranger, 'for not only will the basin furnish you with the best food
that you can dream of, but if you drink of it, it will cure you of any
illness however dangerous, and will even bring the dead back to life, if
it touches their mouths. As to the diamond lance, that will cut through
any stone or metal.'

'And to whom do these wonders belong?' asked Peronnik in amazement.

'To a magician named Rogear who lives in the castle,' answered the
woman. 'Every day he passes along here, mounted on a black mare, with
a colt thirteen months old trotting behind. But no one dares to attack
him, as he always carries his lance.'

'That is true,' said the knight, 'but there is a spell laid upon him
which forbids his using it within the castle of Kerglas. The moment he
enters, the basin and lance are put away in a dark cellar which no
key but one can open. And that is the place where I wish to fight the
magician.'

'You will never overcome him, Sir Knight,' replied the woman, shaking
her head. 'More than a hundred gentlemen have ridden past this house
bent on the same errand, and not one has ever come back.'

'I know that, good woman,' returned the knight, 'but then they did not
have, like me, instructions from the hermit of Blavet.'

'And what did the hermit tell you?' asked Peronnik.

'He told me that I should have to pass through a wood full of all sorts
of enchantments and voices, which would try to frighten me and make me
lose my way. Most of those who have gone before me have wandered they
know not where, and perished from cold, hunger, or fatigue.'

'Well, suppose you get through safely?' said the idiot.

'If I do,' continued the knight, 'I shall then meet a sort of fairy
armed with a needle of fire which burns to ashes all it touches. This
dwarf stands guarding an apple-tree, from which I am bound to pluck an
apple.'

'And next?' inquired Peronnik.

'Next I shall find the flower that laughs, protected by a lion whose
mane is formed of vipers. I must pluck that flower, and go on to the
lake of the dragons and fight the black man who holds in his hand the
iron ball which never misses its mark and returns of its own accord to
its master. After that, I enter the valley of pleasure, where some who
conquered all the other obstacles have left their bones. If I can win
through this, I shall reach a river with only one ford, where a lady
in black will be seated. She will mount my horse behind me, and tell me
what I am to do next.'

He paused, and the woman shook her head.

'You will never be able to do all that,' said she, but he bade her
remembered that these were only matters for men, and galloped away down
the path she pointed out.

The farmer's wife sighed and, giving Peronnik some more food, bade him
good-night. The idiot rose and was opening the gate which led into the
forest when the farmer himself came up.

'I want a boy to tend my cattle,' he said abruptly, 'as the one I had
has run away. Will you stay and do it?' and Peronnik, though he loved
his liberty and hated work, recollected the good food he had eaten, and
agreed to stop.

At sunrise he collected his herd carefully and led them to the rich
pasture which lay along the borders of the forest, cutting himself a
hazel wand with which to keep them in order.

His task was not quite so easy as it looked, for the cows had a way of
straying into the wood, and by the time he had brought one back another
was off. He had gone some distance into the trees, after a naughty black
cow which gave him more trouble than all the rest, when he heard the
noise of horse's feet, and peeping through the leaves he beheld the
giant Rogear seated on his mare, with the colt trotting behind. Round
the giant's neck hung the golden bowl suspended from a chain, and in his
hand he grasped the diamond lance, which gleamed like fire. But as soon
as he was out of sight the idiot sought in vain for traces of the path
he had taken.

This happened not only once but many times, till Peronnik grew so used
to him that he never troubled to hide. But on each occasion he saw him
the desire to possess the bowl and the lance became stronger.

One evening the boy was sitting alone on the edge of the forest, when a
man with a white beard stopped beside him. 'Do you want to know the way
to Kerglas?' asked the idiot, and the man answered 'I know it well.'

'You have been there without being killed by the magician?' cried
Peronnik.

'Oh! he had nothing to fear from me,' replied the white-bearded man, 'I
am Rogear's elder brother, the wizard Bryak. When I wish to visit him I
always pass this way, and as even I cannot go through the enchanted wood
without losing myself, I call the colt to guide me.' Stooping down as he
spoke he traced three circles on the ground and murmured some words very
low, which Peronnik could not hear. Then he added aloud:

         Colt, free to run and free to eat.
         Colt, gallop fast until we meet,

and instantly the colt appeared, frisking and jumping to the wizard, who
threw a halter over his neck and leapt on his back.

Peronnik kept silence at the farm about this adventure, but he
understood very well that if he was ever to get to Kerglas he must first
catch the colt which knew the way. Unhappily he had not heard the magic
words uttered by the wizard, and he could not manage to draw the three
circles, so if he was to summon the colt at all he must invent some
other means of doing it.

All day long, while he was herding the cows, he thought and thought how
he was to call the colt, for he felt sure that once on its back he could
overcome the other dangers. Meantime he must be ready in case a chance
should come, and he made his preparations at night, when everyone was
asleep. Remembering what he had seen the wizard do, he patched up an
old halter that was hanging in a corner of the stable, twisted a rope
of hemp to catch the colt's feet, and a net such as is used for snaring
birds. Next he sewed roughly together some bits of cloth to serve as a
pocket, and this he filled with glue and lark's feathers, a string of
beads, a whistle of elder wood, and a slice of bread rubbed over with
bacon fat. Then he went out to the path down which Rogear, his mare, and
the colt always rode, and crumbled the bread on one side of it.

Punctual to their hour all three appeared, eagerly watched by Peronnik,
who lay hid in the bushes close by. Suppose it was useless; suppose the
mare, and not the colt, ate the crumbs? Suppose--but no! the mare and
her rider went safely by, vanishing round a corner, while the colt,
trotting along with its head on the ground, smelt the bread, and began
greedily to lick up the pieces. Oh, how good it was! Why had no one ever
given it that before, and so absorbed was the little beast, sniffing
about after a few more crumbs, that it never heard Peronnik creep up
till it felt the halter on its neck and the rope round its feet, and--in
another moment--some one on its back.

Going as fast as the hobbles would allow, the colt turned into one of
the wildest parts of the forest, while its rider sat trembling at the
strange sights he saw. Sometimes the earth seemed to open in front of
them and he was looking into a bottomless pit; sometimes the trees burst
into flames and he found himself in the midst of a fire; often in the
act of crossing a stream the water rose and threatened to sweep him
away; and again, at the foot of a mountain, great rocks would roll
towards him, as if they would crush him and his colt beneath their
weight. To his dying day Peronnik never knew whether these things were
real or if he only imagined them, but he pulled down his knitted cap so
as to cover his eyes, and trusted the colt to carry him down the right
road.

At last the forest was left behind, and they came out on a wide plain
where the air blew fresh and strong. The idiot ventured to peep out, and
found to his relief that the enchantments seemed to have ended, though
a thrill of horror shot through him as he noticed the skeletons of men
scattered over the plain, beside the skeletons of their horses. And what
were those grey forms trotting away in the distance? Were they--could
they be--wolves?

But vast through the plain seemed, it did not take long to cross, and
very soon the colt entered a sort of shady park in which was standing a
single apple-tree, its branches bowed down to the ground with the weight
of its fruit. In front was the korigan--the little fairy man--holding in
his hand the fiery sword, which reduced to ashes everything it touched.
At the sight of Peronnik he uttered a piercing scream, and raised his
sword, but without appearing surprised the youth only lifted his cap,
though he took care to remain at a little distance.

'Do not be alarmed, my prince,' said Peronnik, 'I am just on my way to
Kerglas, as the noble Rogear has begged me to come to him on business.'

'Begged you to come!' repeated the dwarf, 'and who, then, are you?'

'I am the new servant he has engaged, as you know very well,' answered
Peronnik.

'I do not know at all,' rejoined the korigan sulkily, 'and you may be a
robber for all I can tell.'

'I am so sorry,' replied Peronnik, 'but I may be wrong in calling myself
a servant, for I am only a bird-catcher. But do not delay me, I pray,
for his highness the magician expects me, and, as you see, has lent me
his colt so that I may reach the castle all the quicker.'

At these words the korigan cast his eyes for the first time on the colt,
which he knew to be the one belonging to the magician, and began to
think that the young man was speaking the truth. After examining the
horse, he studied the rider, who had such an innocent, and indeed
vacant, air that he appeared incapable of inventing a story. Still, the
dwarf did not feel quite sure that all was right, and asked what the
magician wanted with a bird-catcher.

'From what he says, he wants one very badly,' replied Peronnik, 'as he
declares that all his grain and all the fruit in his garden at Kerglas
are eaten up by the birds.'

'And how are you going to stop that, my fine fellow?' inquired the
korigan; and Peronnik showed him the snare he had prepared, and remarked
that no bird could possible escape from it.

'That is just what I should like to be sure of,' answered the korigan.
'My apples are completely eaten up by blackbirds and thrushes. Lay your
snare, and if you can manage to catch them, I will let you pass.'

'That is a fair bargain,' and as he spoke Peronnik jumped down and
fastened his colt to a tree; then, stopping, he fixed one end of the net
to the trunk of the apple tree, and called to the korigan to hold the
other while he took out the pegs. The dwarf did as he was bid, when
suddenly Peronnik threw the noose over his neck and drew it close, and
the korigan was held as fast as any of the birds he wished to snare.

Shrieking with rage, he tried to undo the cord, but he only pulled the
knot tighter. He had put down the sword on the grass, and Peronnik had
been careful to fix the net on the other side of the tree, so that it
was now easy for him to pluck an apple and to mount his horse, without
being hindered by the dwarf, whom he left to his fate.

When they had left the plain behind them, Peronnik and his steed found
themselves in a narrow valley in which was a grove of trees, full of
all sorts of sweet-smelling things--roses of every colour, yellow broom,
pink honeysuckle--while above them all towered a wonderful scarlet pansy
whose face bore a strange expression. This was the flower that laughs,
and no one who looked at it could help laughing too. Peronnik's heart
beat high at the thought that he had reached safely the second trial,
and he gazed quite calmly at the lion with the mane of vipers twisting
and twirling, who walked up and down in front of the grove.

The young man pulled up and removed his cap, for, idiot though he was,
he knew that when you have to do with people greater than yourself, a
cap is more useful in the hand than on the head. Then, after wishing all
kinds of good fortune to the lion and his family, he inquired if he was
on the right road to Kerglas.

'And what is your business at Kerglas?' asked the lion with a growl, and
showing his teeth.

'With all respect,' answered Peronnik, pretending to be very frightened,
'I am the servant of a lady who is a friend of the noble Rogear and
sends him some larks for a pasty.'

'Larks?' cried the lion, licking his long whiskers. 'Why, it must be a
century since I have had any! Have you a large quantity with you?'

'As many as this bag will hold,' replied Peronnik, opening, as he spoke,
the bag which he had filled with feathers and glue; and to prove what he
said, he turned his back on the lion and began to imitate the song of a
lark.

'Come,' exclaimed the lion, whose mouth watered, 'show me the birds! I
should like to see if they are fat enough for my master.'

'I would do it with pleasure,' answered the idiot, 'but if I once open
the bag they will all fly away.'

'Well, open it wide enough for me to look in,' said the lion, drawing a
little nearer.

Now this was just what Peronnik had been hoping for, so he held the bag
while the lion opened it carefully and put his head right inside, so
that he might get a good mouthful of larks. But the mass of feathers and
glue stuck to him, and before he could pull his head out again Peronnik
had drawn tight the cord, and tied it in a knot that no man could untie.
Then, quickly gathering the flower that laughs, he rode off as fast as
the colt could take him.

The path soon led to the lake of the dragons, which he had to swim
across. The colt, who was accustomed to it, plunged into the water
without hesitation; but as soon as the dragons caught sight of Peronnik
they approached from all parts of the lake in order to devour him.

This time Peronnik did not trouble to take off his cap, but he threw the
beads he carried with him into the water, as you throw black corn to a
duck, and with each bead that he swallowed a dragon turned on his back
and died, so that the idiot reached the other side without further
trouble.

The valley guarded by the black man now lay before him, and from afar
Peronnik beheld him, chained by one foot to a rock at the entrance, and
holding the iron ball which never missed its mark and always returned
to its master's hand. In his head the black man had six eyes that were
never all shut at once, but kept watch one after the other. At this
moment they were all open, and Peronnik knew well that if the black
man caught a glimpse of him he would cast his ball. So, hiding the colt
behind a thicket of bushes, he crawled along a ditch and crouched close
to the very rock to which the black man was chained.

The day was hot, and after a while the man began to grow sleepy. Two of
his eyes closed, and Peronnik sang gently. In a moment a third eye shut,
and Peronnik sang on. The lid of a fourth eye dropped heavily, and then
those of the fifth and the sixth. The black man was asleep altogether.

Then, on tiptoe, the idiot crept back to the colt which he led over soft
moss past the black man into the vale of pleasure, a delicious garden
full of fruits that dangled before your mouth, fountains running with
wine, and flowers chanting in soft little voices. Further on, tables
were spread with food, and girls dancing on the grass called to him to
join them.

Peronnik heard, and, scarcely knowing what he did drew the colt into a
slower pace. He sniffed greedily the smell of the dishes, and raised his
head the better to see the dancers. Another instant and he would have
stopped altogether and been lost, like others before him, when suddenly
there came to him like a vision the golden bowl and the diamond lance.
Drawing his whistle from his pocket, he blew it loudly, so as to drown
the sweet sounds about him, and ate what was left of his bread and bacon
to still the craving of the magic fruits. His eyes he fixed steadily on
the ears of the colt, that he might not see the dancers.

In this way he was able to reach the end of the garden, and at length
perceived the castle of Kerglas, with the river between them which had
only one ford. Would the lady be there, as the old man had told him?
Yes, surely that was she, sitting on a rock, in a black satin dress, and
her face the colour of a Moorish woman's. The idiot rode up, and took
off his cap more politely than ever, and asked if she did not wish to
cross the river.

'I was waiting for you to help me do so,' answered she. 'Come near, that
I may get up behind you.'

Peronnik did as she bade him, and by the help of his arm she jumped
nimbly on to the back of the colt.

'Do you know how to kill the magician?' asked the lady, as they were
crossing the ford.

'I thought that, being a magician, he was immortal, and that no one
could kill him,' replied Peronnik.

'Persuade him to taste that apple, and he will die, and if that is not
enough I will touch him with my finger, for I am the plague,' answered
she.

'But if I kill him, how am I to get the golden bowl and the diamond
lance that are hidden in the cellar without a key?' rejoined Peronnik.

'The flower that laughs opens all doors and lightens all darkness,' said
the lady; and as she spoke, they reached the further bank, and advanced
towards the castle.

In front of the entrance was a sort of tent supported on poles, and
under it the giant was sitting, basking in the sun. As soon as he
noticed the colt bearing Peronnik and the lady, he lifted his head, and
cried in a voice of thunder:

'Why, it is surely the idiot, riding my colt thirteen months old!'

'Greatest of magicians, you are right,' answered Peronnik.

'And how did you manage to catch him?' asked the giant.

'By repeating what I learnt from your brother Bryak on the edge of the
forest,' replied the idiot. 'I just said--

          Colt, free to run and free to eat,
          Colt, gallop fast until we meet,

and it came directly.'

'You know my brother, then?' inquired the giant. 'Tell me why he sent
you here.'

'To bring you two gifts which he has just received from the country of
the Moors,' answered Peronnik: 'the apple of delight and the woman of
submission. If you eat the apple you will not desire anything else, and
if you take the woman as your servant you will never wish for another.'

'Well, give me the apple, and bid the woman get down,' answered Rogear.

The idiot obeyed, but at the first taste of the apple the giant
staggered, and as the long yellow finger of the woman touched him he
fell dead.

Leaving the magician where he lay, Peronnik entered the palace, bearing
with him the flower that laughs. Fifty doors flew open before him, and
at length he reached a long flight of steps which seemed to lead into
the bowels of the earth. Down these he went till he came to a silver
door without a bar or key. Then he held up high the flower that laughs,
and the door slowly swung back, displaying a deep cavern, which was as
bright as the day from the shining of the golden bowl and the diamond
lance. The idiot hastily ran forward and hung the bowl round his neck
from the chain which was attached to it, and took the lance in his hand.
As he did so, the ground shook beneath him, and with an awful rumbling
the palace disappeared, and Peronnik found himself standing close to the
forest where he led the cattle to graze.

Though darkness was coming on, Peronnik never thought of entering
the farm, but followed the road which led to the court of the duke
of Brittany. As he passed through the town of Vannes he stopped at a
tailor's shop, and bought a beautiful costume of brown velvet and a
white horse, which he paid for with a handful of gold that he had picked
up in the corridor of the castle of Kerglas. Thus he made his way to the
city of Nantes, which at that moment was besieged by the French.

A little way off, Peronnik stopped and looked about him. For miles round
the country was bare, for the enemy had cut down every tree and burnt
every blade of corn; and, idiot though he might be, Peronnik was able
to grasp that inside the gates men were dying of famine. He was still
gazing with horror, when a trumpeter appeared on the walls, and, after
blowing a loud blast, announced that the duke would adopt as his heir
the man who could drive the French out of the country.

On the four sides of the city the trumpeter blew his blast, and the last
time Peronnik, who had ridden up as close as he might, answered him.

'You need blow no more,' said he, 'for I myself will free the town from
her enemies.' And turning to a soldier who came running up, waving his
sword, he touched him with the magic lance, and he fell dead on the
spot. The men who were following stood still, amazed. Their comrade's
armour had not been pierced, of that they were sure, yet he was dead, as
if he had been struck to the heart. But before they had time to recover
from their astonishment, Peronnik cried out:

'You see how my foes will fare; now behold what I can do for my
friends,' and, stooping down, he laid the golden bowl against the mouth
of the soldier, who sat up as well as ever. Then, jumping his horse
across the trench, he entered the gate of the city, which had opened
wide enough to receive him.

The news of these marvels quickly spread through the town, and put fresh
spirit into the garrison, so that they declared themselves able to fight
under the command of the young stranger. And as the bowl restored all
the dead Bretons to life, Peronnik soon had an army large enough to
drive away the French, and fulfilled his promise of delivering his
country.

As to the bowl and the lance, no one knows what became of them, but some
say that Bryak the sorcerer managed to steal them again, and that any
one who wishes to possess them must seek them as Peronnik did.

From 'Le Foyer Breton,' par Emile Souvestre.




The Battle of the Birds


There was to be a great battle between all the creatures of the earth
and the birds of the air. News of it went abroad, and the son of the
king of Tethertown said that when the battle was fought he would be
there to see it, and would bring back word who was to be king. But in
spite of that, he was almost too late, and every fight had been fought
save the last, which was between a snake and a great black raven. Both
struck hard, but in the end the snake proved the stronger, and would
have twisted himself round the neck of the raven till he died had not
the king's son drawn his sword, and cut off the head of the snake at a
single blow. And when the raven beheld that his enemy was dead, he was
grateful, and said:

'For thy kindness to me this day, I will show thee a sight. So come up
now on the root of my two wings.' The king's son did as he was bid, and
before the raven stopped flying, they had passed over seven bens and
seven glens and seven mountain moors.

'Do you see that house yonder?' said the raven at last. 'Go straight
for it, for a sister of mine dwells there, and she will make you right
welcome. And if she asks, "Wert thou at the battle of the birds?" answer
that thou wert, and if she asks, "Didst thou see my likeness?" answer
that thou sawest it, but be sure thou meetest me in the morning at this
place.'

The king's son followed what the raven told him and that night he had
meat of each meat, and drink of each drink, warm water for his feet, and
a soft bed to lie in.

Thus it happened the next day, and the next, but on the fourth meeting,
instead of meeting the raven, in his place the king's son found waiting
for him the handsomest youth that ever was seen, with a bundle in his
hand.

'Is there a raven hereabouts?' asked the king's son, and the youth
answered:

'I am that raven, and I was delivered by thee from the spells that bound
me, and in reward thou wilt get this bundle. Go back by the road thou
camest, and lie as before, a night in each house, but be careful not to
unloose the bundle till thou art in the place wherein thou wouldst most
wish to dwell.'

Then the king's son set out, and thus it happened as it had happened
before, till he entered a thick wood near his father's house. He had
walked a long way and suddenly the bundle seemed to grow heavier; first
he put it down under a tree, and next he thought he would look at it.

The string was easy to untie, and the king's son soon unfastened the
bundle. What was it he saw there? Why, a great castle with an orchard
all about it, and in the orchard fruit and flowers and birds of very
kind. It was all ready for him to dwell in, but instead of being in the
midst of the forest, he did wish he had left the bundle unloosed till he
had reached the green valley close to his father's palace. Well, it was
no use wishing, and with a sigh he glanced up, and beheld a huge giant
coming towards him.

'Bad is the place where thou hast built thy house, king's son,' said the
giant.

'True; it is not here that I wish to be,' answered the king's son.

'What reward wilt thou give me if I put it back in the bundle?' asked
the giant.

'What reward dost thou ask?' answered the king's son.

'The first boy thou hast when he is seven years old,' said the giant.

'If I have a boy thou shalt get him,' answered the king's son, and as he
spoke the castle and the orchard were tied up in the bundle again.

'Now take thy road, and I will take mine,' said the giant. 'And if thou
forgettest thy promise, I will remember it.'

Light of heart the king's son went on his road, till he came to the
green valley near his father's palace. Slowly he unloosed the bundle,
fearing lest he should find nothing but a heap of stones or rags. But
no! all was as it had been before, and as he opened the castle door
there stood within the most beautiful maiden that ever was seen.

'Enter, king's son,' said she, 'all is ready, and we will be married at
once,' and so they were.

The maiden proved a good wife, and the king's son, now himself a king,
was so happy that he forgot all about the giant. Seven years and a day
had gone by, when one morning, while standing on the ramparts, he beheld
the giant striding towards the castle. Then he remembered his promise,
and remembered, too, that he had told the queen nothing about it. Now he
must tell her, and perhaps she might help him in his trouble.

The queen listened in silence to his tale, and after he had finished,
she only said:

'Leave thou the matter between me and the giant,' and as she spoke, the
giant entered the hall and stood before them.

'Bring out your son,' cried he to the king, 'as you promised me seven
years and a day since.'

The king glanced at his wife, who nodded, so he answered:

'Let his mother first put him in order,' and the queen left the hall,
and took the cook's son and dressed him in the prince's clothes, and led
him up to the giant, who held his hand, and together they went out along
the road. They had not walked far when the giant stopped and stretched
out a stick to the boy.

'If your father had that stick, what would he do with it?' asked he.

'If my father had that stick, he would beat the dogs and cats that steal
the king's meat,' replied the boy.

'Thou art the cook's son!' cried the giant. 'Go home to thy mother'; and
turning his back he strode straight to the castle.

'If you seek to trick me this time, the highest stone will soon be the
lowest,' said he, and the king and queen trembled, but they could not
bear to give up their boy.

'The butler's son is the same age as ours,' whispered the queen; 'he
will not know the difference,' and she took the child and dressed him in
the prince's clothes, and the giant let him away along the road. Before
they had gone far he stopped, and held out a stick.

'If thy father had that rod, what would he do with it?' asked the giant.

'He would beat the dogs and cats that break the king's glasses,'
answered the boy.

'Thou art the son of the butler!' cried the giant. 'Go home to thy
mother'; and turning round he strode back angrily to the castle.

'Bring out thy son at once,' roared he, 'or the stone that is highest
will be lowest,' and this time the real prince was brought.

But though his parents wept bitterly and fancied the child was suffering
all kinds of dreadful things, the giant treated him like his own son,
though he never allowed him to see his daughters. The boy grew to be
a big boy, and one day the giant told him that he would have to amuse
himself alone for many hours, as he had a journey to make. So the boy
wandered to the top of the castle, where he had never been before. There
he paused, for the sound of music broke upon his ears, and opening a
door near him, he beheld a girl sitting by the window, holding a harp.

'Haste and begone, I see the giant close at hand,' she whispered
hurriedly, 'but when he is asleep, return hither, for I would speak with
thee.' And the prince did as he was bid, and when midnight struck he
crept back to the top of the castle.

'To-morrow,' said the girl, who was the giant's daughter, 'to-morrow
thou wilt get the choice of my two sisters to marry, but thou must
answer that thou wilt not take either, but only me. This will anger him
greatly, for he wishes to betroth me to the son of the king of the Green
City, whom I like not at all.'

Then they parted, and on the morrow, as the girl had said, the giant
called his three daughters to him, and likewise the young prince to whom
he spoke.

'Now, O son of the king of Tethertown, the time has come for us to part.
Choose one of my two elder daughters to wife, and thou shalt take her to
your father's house the day after the wedding.'

'Give me the youngest instead,' replied the youth, and the giant's face
darkened as he heard him.

'Three things must thou do first,' said he.

'Say on, I will do them,' replied the prince, and the giant left the
house, and bade him follow to the byre, where the cows were kept.

'For a hundred years no man has swept this byre,' said the giant, 'but
if by nightfall, when I reach home, thou has not cleaned it so that a
golden apple can roll through it from end to end, thy blood shall pay
for it.'

All day long the youth toiled, but he might as well have tried to empty
the ocean. At length, when he was so tired he could hardly move, the
giant's youngest daughter stood in the doorway.

'Lay down thy weariness,' said she, and the king's son, thinking he
could only die once, sank on the floor at her bidding, and fell sound
asleep. When he woke the girl had disappeared, and the byre was so clean
that a golden apple could roll from end to end of it. He jumped up in
surprise, and at that moment in came the giant.

'Hast thou cleaned the byre, king's son?' asked he.

'I have cleaned it,' answered he.

'Well, since thou wert so active to-day, to-morrow thou wilt thatch this
byre with a feather from every different bird, or else thy blood shall
pay for it,' and he went out.

Before the sun was up, the youth took his bow and his quiver and set off
to kill the birds. Off to the moor he went, but never a bird was to be
seen that day. At last he got so tired with running to and fro that he
gave up heart.

'There is but one death I can die,' thought he. Then at midday came the
giant's daughter.

'Thou art tired, king's son?' asked she.

'I am,' answered he; 'all these hours have I wandered, and there fell
but these two blackbirds, both of one colour.'

'Lay down thy weariness on the grass,' said she, and he did as she bade
him, and fell fast asleep.

When he woke the girl had disappeared, and he got up, and returned to
the byre. As he drew near, he rubbed his eyes hard, thinking he was
dreaming, for there it was, beautifully thatched, just as the giant had
wished. At the door of the house he met the giant.

'Hast thou thatched the byre, king's son?'

'I have thatched it.'

'Well, since thou hast been so active to-day, I have something else for
thee! Beside the loch thou seest over yonder there grows a fir tree.
On the top of the fir tree is a magpie's nest, and in the nest are five
eggs. Thou wilt bring me those eggs for breakfast, and if one is cracked
or broken, thy blood shall pay for it.'

Before it was light next day, the king's son jumped out of bed and ran
down to the loch. The tree was not hard to find, for the rising sun
shone red on the trunk, which was five hundred feet from the ground to
its first branch. Time after time he walked round it, trying to find
some knots, however small, where he could put his feet, but the bark was
quite smooth, and he soon saw that if he was to reach the top at all, it
must be by climbing up with his knees like a sailor. But then he was a
king's son and not a sailor, which made all the difference.

However, it was no use standing there staring at the fir, at least he
must try to do his best, and try he did till his hands and knees were
sore, for as soon as he had struggled up a few feet, he slid back again.
Once he climbed a little higher than before, and hope rose in his heart,
then down he came with such force that his hands and knees smarted worse
than ever.

'This is no time for stopping,' said the voice of the giant's daughter,
as he leant against the trunk to recover his breath.

'Alas! I am no sooner up than down,' answered he.

'Try once more,' said she, and she laid a finger against the tree and
bade him put his foot on it. Then she placed another finger a little
higher up, and so on till he reached the top, where the magpie had built
her nest.

'Make haste now with the nest,' she cried, 'for my father's breath is
burning my back,' and down he scrambled as fast as he could, but the
girl's little finger had caught in a branch at the top, and she was
obliged to leave it there. But she was too busy to pay heed to this, for
the sun was getting high over the hills.

'Listen to me,' she said. 'This night my two sisters and I will be
dressed in the same garments, and you will not know me. But when my
father says 'Go to thy wife, king's son,' come to the one whose right
hand has no little finger.'

So he went and gave the eggs to the giant, who nodded his head.

'Make ready for thy marriage,' cried he, 'for the wedding shall take
place this very night, and I will summon thy bride to greet thee.' Then
his three daughters were sent for, and they all entered dressed in green
silk of the same fashion, and with golden circlets round their heads.
The king's son looked from one to another. Which was the youngest?
Suddenly his eyes fell on the hand of the middle one, and there was no
little finger.

'Thou hast aimed well this time too,' said the giant, as the king's son
laid his hand on her shoulder, 'but perhaps we may meet some other way';
and though he pretended to laugh, the bride saw a gleam in his eye which
warned her of danger.

The wedding took place that very night, and the hall was filled with
giants and gentlemen, and they danced till the house shook from top to
bottom. At last everyone grew tired, and the guests went away, and the
king's son and his bride were left alone.

'If we stay here till dawn my father will kill thee,' she whispered,
'but thou art my husband and I will save thee, as I did before,' and
she cut an apple into nine pieces, and put two pieces at the head of
the bed, and two pieces at the foot, and two pieces at the door of the
kitchen, and two at the big door, and one outside the house. And when
this was done, and she heard the giant snoring, she and the king's son
crept out softly and stole across to the stable, where she led out the
blue-grey mare and jumped on its back, and her husband mounted behind
her. Not long after, the giant awoke.

 'Are you asleep?' asked he.

'Not yet,' answered the apple at the head of the bed, and the giant
turned over, and soon was snoring as loudly as before. By and bye he
called again.

'Are you asleep?'

'Not yet,' said the apple at the foot of the bed, and the giant was
satisfied. After a while, he called a third time, 'Are you asleep?'

'Not yet,' replied the apple in the kitchen, but when in a few minutes,
he put the question for the fourth time and received an answer from the
apple outside the house door, he guessed what had happened, and ran to
the room to look for himself.

The bed was cold and empty!

'My father's breath is burning my back,' cried the girl, 'put thy hand
into the ear of the mare, and whatever thou findest there, throw it
behind thee.' And in the mare's ear there was a twig of sloe tree, and
as he threw it behind him there sprung up twenty miles of thornwood so
thick that scarce a weasel could go through it. And the giant, who was
striding headlong forwards, got caught in it, and it pulled his hair and
beard.

'This is one of my daughter's tricks,' he said to himself, 'but if I had
my big axe and my wood-knife, I would not be long making a way through
this,' and off he went home and brought back the axe and the wood-knife.

It took him but a short time to cut a road through the blackthorn, and
then he laid the axe and the knife under a tree.

'I will leave them there till I return,' he murmured to himself, but a
hoodie crow, which was sitting on a branch above, heard him.

'If thou leavest them,' said the hoodie, 'we will steal them.'

'You will,' answered the giant, 'and I must take them home.' So he took
them home, and started afresh on his journey.

'My father's breath is burning my back,' cried the girl at midday. 'Put
thy finger in the mare's ear and throw behind thee whatever thou findest
in it,' and the king's son found a splinter of grey stone, and threw it
behind him, and in a twinkling twenty miles of solid rock lay between
them and the giant.

'My daughter's tricks are the hardest things that ever met me,' said
the giant, 'but if I had my lever and my crowbar, I would not be long in
making my way through this rock also,' but as he had got them, he had to
go home and fetch them. Then it took him but a short time to hew his way
through the rock.

'I will leave the tools here,' he murmured aloud when he had finished.

'If thou leavest them, we will steal them,' said a hoodie who was
perched on a stone above him, and the giant answered:

'Steal them if thou wilt; there is no time to go back.'

'My father's breath is burning my back,' cried the girl; 'look in the
mare's ear, king's son, or we are lost,' and he looked, and found a tiny
bladder full of water, which he threw behind him, and it became a
great lock. And the giant, who was striding on so fast, could not stop
himself, and he walked right into the middle and was drowned.

The blue-grey mare galloped on like the wind, and the next day the
king's son came in sight of his father's house.

'Get down and go in,' said the bride, 'and tell them that thou hast
married me. But take heed that neither man nor beast kiss thee, for then
thou wilt cease to remember me at all.'

'I will do thy bidding,' answered he, and left her at the gate. All who
met him bade him welcome, and he charged his father and mother not to
kiss him, but as he greeted them his old greyhound leapt on his neck,
and kissed him on the mouth. And after that he did not remember the
giant's daughter.

All that day she sat on a well which was near the gate, waiting,
waiting, but the king's son never came. In the darkness she climbed up
into an oak tree that shadowed the well, and there she lay all night,
waiting, waiting.

On the morrow, at midday, the wife of a shoemaker who dwelt near the
well went to draw water for her husband to drink, and she saw the shadow
of the girl in the tree, and thought it was her own shadow.

'How handsome I am, to be sure,' said she, gazing into the well, and as
she stopped to behold herself better, the jug struck against the stones
and broke in pieces, and she was forced to return to her husband without
the water, and this angered him.

'Thou hast turned crazy,' said he in wrath. 'Go thou, my daughter, and
fetch me a drink,' and the girl went, and the same thing befell her as
had befallen her mother.

'Where is the water?' asked the shoemaker, when she came back, and as
she held nothing save the handle of the jug he went to the well himself.
He too saw the reflection of the woman in the tree, but looked up to
discover whence it came, and there above him sat the most beautiful
woman in the world.

'Come down,' he said, 'for a while thou canst stay in my house,' and
glad enough the girl was to come.

Now the king of the country was about to marry, and the young men about
the court thronged the shoemaker's shop to buy fine shoes to wear at the
wedding.

'Thou hast a pretty daughter,' said they when they beheld the girl
sitting at work.

'Pretty she is,' answered the shoemaker, 'but no daughter of mine.'

'I would give a hundred pounds to marry her,' said one.

'And I,' 'And I,' cried the others.

'That is no business of mine,' answered the shoemaker, and the young men
bade him ask her if she would choose one of them for a husband, and to
tell them on the morrow. Then the shoemaker asked her, and the girl said
that she would marry the one who would bring his purse with him. So the
shoemaker hurried to the youth who had first spoken, and he came back,
and after giving the shoemaker a hundred pounds for his news, he sought
the girl, who was waiting for him.

'Is it thou?' inquired she. 'I am thirsty, give me a drink from the well
that is yonder.' And he poured out the water, but he could not move from
the place where he was; and there he stayed till many hours had passed
by.

'Take away that foolish boy,' cried the girl to the shoemaker at last,
'I am tired of him,' and then suddenly he was able to walk, and betook
himself to his home, but he did not tell the others what had happened to
him.

Next day there arrived one of the other young men, and in the evening,
when the shoemaker had gone out and they were alone, she said to him,
'See if the latch is on the door.' The young man hastened to do her
bidding, but as soon as he touched the latch, his fingers stuck to it,
and there he had to stay for many hours, till the shoemaker came back,
and the girl let him go. Hanging his head, he went home, but he told no
one what had befallen him.

Then was the turn of the third man, and his foot remained fastened to
the floor, till the girl unloosed it. And thankfully, he ran off, and
was not seen looking behind him.

'Take the purse of gold,' said the girl to the shoemaker, 'I have no
need of it, and it will better thee.' And the shoemaker took it and told
the girl he must carry the shoes for the wedding up to the castle.

'I would fain get a sight of the king's son before he marries,' sighed
she.

'Come with me, then,' answered he; 'the servants are all my friends, and
they will let you stand in the passage down which the king's son will
pass, and all the company too.'

Up they went to the castle, and when the young men saw the girl standing
there, they led her into the hall where the banquet was laid out and
poured her out some wine. She was just raising the glass to drink when a
flame went up out of it, and out of the flame sprang two pigeons, one of
gold and one of silver. They flew round and round the head of the girl,
when three grains of barley fell on the floor, and the silver pigeon
dived down, and swallowed them.

'If thou hadst remembered how I cleaned the byre, thou wouldst have
given me my share,' cooed the golden pigeon, and as he spoke three more
grains fell, and the silver pigeon ate them as before.

'If thou hadst remembered how I thatched the byre, thou wouldst have
given me my share,' cooed the golden pigeon again; and as he spoke three
more grains fell, and for the third time they were eaten by the silver
pigeon.

'If thou hadst remembered how I got the magpie's nest, thou wouldst have
given me my share,' cooed the golden pigeon.

Then the king's son understood that they had come to remind him of what
he had forgotten, and his lost memory came back, and he knew his wife,
and kissed her. But as the preparations had been made, it seemed a pity
to waste them, so they were married a second time, and sat down to the
wedding feast.

From 'Tales of the West Highlands.'




The Lady of the Fountain.


In the centre of the great hall in the castle of Caerleon upon Usk, king
Arthur sat on a seat of green rushes, over which was thrown a covering
of flame-coloured silk, and a cushion of red satin lay under his elbow.
With him were his knights Owen and Kynon and Kai, while at the far
end, close to the window, were Guenevere the queen and her maidens
embroidering white garments with strange devices of gold.

'I am weary,' said Arthur, 'and till my food is prepared I would fain
sleep. You yourselves can tell each other tales, and Kai will fetch you
from the kitchen a flagon of mean and some meat.'

And when they had eaten and drunk, Kynon, the oldest among them, began
his story.

'I was the only son of my father and mother, and much store they set by
me, but I was not content to stay with them at home, for I thought no
deed in all the world was too mighty for me. None could hold me back,
and after I had won many adventures in my own land, I bade farewell
to my parents and set out to see the world. Over mountains, through
deserts, across rivers I went, till I reached a fair valley full of
trees, with a path running by the side of a stream. I walked along that
path all the day, and in the evening I came to a castle in front of
which stood two youths clothed in yellow, each grasping an ivory bow,
with arrows made of the bones of the whale, and winged with peacock's
feathers. By their sides hung golden daggers with hilts of the bones of
the whale.

'Near these young men was a man richly dressed, who turned and went with
me towards the castle, where all the dwellers were gathered in the hall.
In one window I beheld four and twenty damsels, and the least fair of
them was fairer than Guenevere at her fairest. Some took my horse, and
others unbuckled my armour, and washed it, with my sword and spear, till
it all shone like silver. Then I washed myself and put on a vest and
doublet which they brought me, and I and the man that entered with me
sat down before a table of silver, and a goodlier feast I never had.

'All this time neither the man nor the damsels had spoken one word, but
when our dinner was half over, and my hunger was stilled, the man began
to ask who I was. Then I told him my name and my father's name, and why
I came there, for indeed I had grown weary of gaining the mastery over
all men at home, and sought if perchance there was one who could gain
the mastery over me. And at this the man smiled and answered:

'"If I did not fear to distress thee too much, I would show thee what
thou seekest." His words made me sorrowful and fearful of myself, which
the man perceived, and added, "If thou meanest truly what thou sayest,
and desirest earnestly to prove thy valour, and not to boast vainly that
none can overcome thee, I have somewhat to show thee. But to-night thou
must sleep in the this castle, and in the morning see that thou rise
early and follow the road upwards through the valley, until thou
reachest a wood. In the wood is a path branching to the right; go along
this path until thou comest to a space of grass with a mound in the
middle of it. On the top of the mound stands a black man, larger than
any two white men; his eye is in the centre of his forehead and he has
only one foot. He carries a club of iron, and two white men could hardly
lift it. Around him graze a thousand beasts, all of different kinds, for
he is the guardian of that wood, and it is he who will tell thee which
way to go in order to find the adventure thou art in quest of."

'So spake the man, and long did that night seem to me, and before dawn
I rose and put on my armour, and mounted my horse and rode on till I
reached the grassy space of which he had told me. There was the black
man on top of the mound, as he had said, and in truth he was mightier
in all ways than I had thought him to be. As for the club, Kai, it would
have been a burden for four of our warriors. He waited for me to speak,
and I asked him what power he held over the beasts that thronged so
close about him.

'"I will show thee, little man," he answered, and with his club he
struck a stag on the head till he brayed loudly. And at his braying the
animals came running, numerous as the stars in the sky, so that scarce
was I able to stand among them. Serpents were there also, and dragons,
and beasts of strange shapes, with horns in places where never saw I
horns before. And the black man only looked at them and bade them go
and feed. And they bowed themselves before him, as vassals before their
lord.

'"Now, little man, I have answered thy question and showed thee my
power," said he. "Is there anything else thou wouldest know?" Then I
inquired of him my way, but he grew angry, and, as I perceived, would
fain have hindered me; but at the last, after I had told him who I was,
his anger passed from him.

'"Take that path," said he, "that leads to the head of this grassy
glade, and go up the wood till thou reachest the top. There thou wilt
find an open space, and in the midst of it a tall tree. Under the tree
is a fountain, and by the fountain a marble slab, and on the slab a bowl
of silver, with a silver chain. Dip the bowl in the fountain, and throw
the water on the slab, and thou wilt hear a might peal of thunder, till
heaven and earth seem trembling with the noise. After the thunder will
come hail, so fierce that scarcely canst thou endure it and live, for
the hailstones are both large and thick. Then the sun will shine again,
but every leaf of the tree will by lying on the ground. Next a flight
of birds will come and alight on the tree, and never didst thou hear a
strain so sweet as that which they will sing. And at the moment in which
their song sounds sweetest thou wilt hear a murmuring and complaining
coming towards thee along the valley, and thou wilt see a knight in
black velvet bestriding a black horse, bearing a lance with a black
pennon, and he will spur his steed so as to fight thee. If thou turnest
to flee, he will overtake thee. And if thou abidest were thou art, he
will unhorse thee. And if thou dost not find trouble in that adventure,
thou needest not to seek it during the rest of thy life."

'So I bade the black man farewell, and took my way to the top of the
wood, and there I found everything just as I had been told. I went up to
the tree beneath which stood the fountain, and filling the silver bowl
with water, emptied it on the marble slab. Thereupon the thunder came,
louder by far than I had expected to hear it, and after the thunder came
the shower, but heavier by far than I had expected to feel it, for, of a
truth I tell thee, Kai, not one of those hailstones would be stopped by
skin or by flesh till it had reached the bone. I turned my horse's flank
towards the shower, and, bending over his neck, held my shield so that
it might cover his head and my own. When the hail had passed, I looked
on the tree and not a single leaf was left on it, and the sky was blue
and the sun shining, while on the branches were perched birds of very
kind, who sang a song sweeter than any that has come to my ears, either
before or since.

'Thus, Kai, I stood listening to the birds, when lo, a murmuring voice
approached me, saying:

'"O knight, what has brought thee hither? What evil have I done to thee,
that thou shouldest do so much to me, for in all my lands neither man
nor beast that met that shower has escaped alive." Then from the valley
appeared the knight on the black horse, grasping the lance with the
black pennon. Straightway we charged each other, and though I fought
my best, he soon overcame me, and I was thrown to the ground, while the
knight seized the bridle of my horse, and rode away with it, leaving me
where I was, without even despoiling me of my armour.

'Sadly did I go down the hill again, and when I reached the glade where
the black man was, I confess to thee, Kai, it was a marvel that I did
not melt into a liquid pool, so great was my shame. That night I slept
at the castle where I had been before, and I was bathed and feasted, and
none asked me how I had fared. The next morning when I arose I found a
bay horse saddled for me, and, girdling on my armour, I returned to my
own court. The horse is still in the stable, and I would not part with
it for any in Britain.

'But of a truth, Kai, no man ever confessed an adventure so much to his
own dishonour, and strange indeed it seems that none other man have I
ever met that knew of the black man, and the knight and the shower.'

'Would it not be well,' said Owen, 'to go and discover the place?'

'By the hand of my friend,' answered Kai, 'often dost thou utter that
with thy tongue which thou wouldest not make good with thy deeds.'

'In truth,' said Guenevere the queen, who had listened to the tale,
'thou wert better hanged, Kai, than use such speech towards a man like
Owen.'

'I meant nothing, lady,' replied Kai; 'thy praise of Owen is not greater
than mine.' And as he spoke Arthur awoke, and asked if he had not slept
for a little.

'Yes, lord,' answered Owen, 'certainly thou hast slept.'

'Is it time for us to go to meat?'

'It is, lord,' answered Owen.

Then the horn for washing themselves was sounded, and after that the
king and his household sat down to eat. And when they had finished, Owen
left them, and made ready his horse and his arms.

With the first rays of the sun he set forth, and travelled through
deserts and over mountains and across rivers, and all befell him which
had befallen Kynon, till he stood under the leafless tree listening
to the song of the birds. Then he heard the voice, and turning to look
found the knight galloping to meet him. Fiercely they fought till their
lances were broken, and then they drew their swords, and a blow from
Owen cut through the knight's helmet, and pierced his skull.

Feeling himself wounded unto death the knight fled, and Owen pursued him
till they came to a splendid castle. Here the knight dashed across the
bridge that spanned the moat, and entered the gate, but as soon as he
was safe inside, the drawbridge was pulled up and caught Owen's horse in
the middle, so that half of him was inside and half out, and Owen could
not dismount and knew not what to do.

While he was in this sore plight a little door in the castle gate
opened, and he could see a street facing him, with tall houses. Then a
maiden with curling hair of gold looked through the little door and bade
Owen open the gate.

'By my troth!' cried Owen, 'I can no more open it from here than thou
art able to set me free.'

'Well,' said she, 'I will do my best to release thee if thou wilt do
as I tell thee. Take this ring and put it on with the stone inside thy
hand, and close thy fingers tight, for as long as thou dost conceal it,
it will conceal thee. When the men inside have held counsel together,
they will come to fetch thee to thy death, and they will be much grieved
not to find thee. I will stand on the horse block yonder and thou canst
see me though I cannot see thee. Therefore draw near and place thy hand
on my shoulder and follow me wheresoever I go.'

Upon that she went away from Owen, and when the men came out from the
castle to seek him and did not find him they were sorely grieved, and
they returned to the castle.

Then Owen went to the maiden and placed his hand on her shoulder, and
she guided him to a large room, painted all over with rich colours, and
adorned with images of gold. Here she gave him meat and drink, and water
to wash with and garments to wear, and he lay down upon a soft bed, with
scarlet and fur to cover him, and slept gladly.

In the middle of the night he woke hearing a great outcry, and he jumped
up and clothed himself and went into the hall, where the maiden was
standing.

'What is it?' he asked, and she answered that the knight who owned the
castle was dead, and they were bearing his body to the church. Never had
Owen beheld such vast crowds, and following the dead knight was the most
beautiful lady in the world, whose cry was louder than the shout of the
men, or the braying of the trumpets. And Owen looked on her and loved
her.

'Who is she?' he asked the damsel. 'That is my mistress, the countess of
the fountain, and the wife of him whom thou didst slay yesterday.'

'Verily,' said Owen, 'she is the woman that I love best.'

'She shall also love thee not a little,' said the maiden.

Then she left Owen, and after a while went into the chamber of her
mistress, and spoke to her, but the countess answered her nothing.

'What aileth thee, mistress?' inquired the maiden.

'Why hast thou kept far from me in my grief, Luned?' answered the
countess, and in her turn the damsel asked:

'Is it well for thee to mourn so bitterly for the dead, or for anything
that is gone from thee?'

'There is no man in the world equal to him,' replied the countess,
her cheeks growing red with anger. 'I would fain banish thee for such
words.'

'Be not angry, lady,' said Luned, 'but listen to my counsel. Thou
knowest well that alone thou canst not preserve thy lands, therefore
seek some one to help thee.'

'And how can I do that?' asked the countess.

'I will tell thee,' answered Luned. 'Unless thou canst defend the
fountain all will be lost, and none can defend the fountain except a
knight of Arthur's court. There will I go to seek him, and woe betide me
if I return without a warrior that can guard the fountain, as well as he
who kept it before.'

'Go then,' said the countess, 'and make proof of that which thou hast
promised.'

So Luned set out, riding on a white palfrey, on pretence of journeying
to King Arthur's court, but instead of doing that she hid herself for as
many days as it would have taken her to go and come, and then she left
her hiding-place, and went into the countess.

'What news from the court?' asked her mistress, when she had given Luned
a warm greeting.

'The best of news,' answered the maiden, 'for I have gained the object
of my mission. When wilt thou that I present to thee the knight who has
returned with me?'

'To-morrow at midday,' said the countess, 'and I will cause all the
people in the town to come together.'

Therefore the next day at noon Owen put on his coat of mail, and over it
he wore a splendid mantle, while on his feet were leather shoes fastened
with clasps of gold. And he followed Luned to the chamber of her
mistress.

Right glad was the countess to see them, but she looked closely at Owen
and said:

'Luned, this knight has scarcely the air of a traveller.'

'What harm is there in that, lady?' answered Luned.

'I am persuaded,' said the countess, 'that this man and no other chased
the soul from the body of my lord.'

'Had he not been stronger than thy lord,' replied the damsel, 'he could
not have taken his life, and for that, and for all things that are past,
there is no remedy.'

'Leave me, both of you,' said the countess, 'and I will take counsel.'

Then they went out.

The next morning the countess summoned her subjects to meet in the
courtyard of the castle, and told them that now that her husband was
dead there was none to defend her lands.

'So choose you which it shall be,' she said. 'Either let one of you take
me for a wife, or give me your consent to take a new lord for myself,
that my lands be not without a master.'

At her words the chief men of the city withdrew into one corner and took
counsel together, and after a while the leader came forward and said
that they had decided that it was best, for the peace and safety of
all, that she should choose a husband for herself. Thereupon Owen was
summoned to her presence, and he accepted with joy the hand that she
offered him, and they were married forthwith, and the men of the earldom
did him homage.

From that day Owen defended the fountain as the earl before him had
done, and every knight that came by was overthrown by him, and his
ransom divided among his barons. In this way three years passed, and no
man in the world was more beloved than Owen.

Now at the end of the three years it happened that Gwalchmai the knight
was with Arthur, and he perceived the king to be very sad.

'My lord, has anything befallen thee?' he asked.

'Oh, Gwalchmai, I am grieved concerning Owen, whom I have lost these
three years, and if a fourth year passes without him I can live no
longer. And sure am I that the tale told by Kynon the son of Clydno
caused me to lose him. I will go myself with the men of my household to
avenge him if he is dead, to free him if he is in prison, to bring him
back if he is alive.'

Then Arthur and three thousand men of his household set out in quest of
Owen, and took Kynon for their guide. When Arthur reached the castle,
the youths were shooting in the same place, and the same yellow man was
standing by, and as soon as he beheld Arthur he greeted him and invited
him in, and they entered together. So vast was the castle that the
king's three thousand men were of no more account than if they had been
twenty.

At sunrise Arthur departed thence, with Kynon for his guide, and reached
the black man first, and afterwards the top of the wooded hill, with the
fountain and the bowl and the tree.

'My lord,' said Kai, 'let me throw the water on the slab, and receive
the first adventure that may befall.'

'Thou mayest do so,' answered Arthur, and Kai threw the water.

Immediately all happened as before; the thunder and the shower of
hail which killed many of Arthur's men; the song of the birds and the
appearance of the black knight. And Kai met him and fought him, and was
overthrown by him. Then the knight rode away, and Arthur and his men
encamped where they stood.

In the morning Kai again asked leave to meet the knight and to try to
overcome him, which Arthur granted. But once more he was unhorsed, and
the black knight's lance broke his helmet and pierced the skin even to
the bone, and humbled in spirit he returned to the camp.

After this every one of the knights gave battle, but none came out
victor, and at length there only remained Arthur himself and Gwalchmai.

'Oh, let me fight him, my lord,' cried Gwalchmai, as he saw Arthur
taking up his arms.

'Well, fight then,' answered Arthur, and Gwalchmai threw a robe over
himself and his horse, so that none knew him. All that day they fought,
and neither was able to throw the other, and so it was on the next day.
On the third day the combat was so fierce that they fell both to the
ground at once, and fought on their feet, and at last the black knight
gave his foe such a blow on his head that his helmet fell from his face.

'I did not know it was thee, Gwalchmai,' said the black knight. 'Take my
sword and my arms.'

'No,' answered Gwalchmai, 'it is thou, Owen, who art the victor, take
thou my sword'; but Owen would not.

'Give me your swords,' said Arthur from behind them, 'for neither of
you has vanquished the other,' and Owen turned and put his arms round
Arthur's neck.

The next day Arthur would have given orders to his men to make ready to
go back whence they came, but Owen stopped him.

'My lord,' he said, 'during the three years that I have been absent from
thee I have been preparing a banquet for thee, knowing full well that
thou wouldst come to seek me. Tarry with me, therefore, for a while,
thou and thy men.'

So they rode to the castle of the countess of the fountain, and spent
three months in resting and feasting. And when it was time for them to
depart Arthur besought the countess that she would allow Owen to go
with him to Britain for the space of three months. With a sore heart she
granted permission, and so content was Owen to be once more with his old
companions that three years instead of three months passed away like a
dream.

One day Owen sat at meat in the castle of Caerleon upon Usk, when a
damsel on a bay horse entered the hall, and riding straight up to the
place where Owen sat she stooped and drew the ring from off his hand.

'Thus shall be treated the traitor and the faithless,' said she, and
turning her horse's head she rode out of the hall.

At her words Owen remembered all that he had forgotten, and sorrowful
and ashamed he went to his own chamber and made ready to depart. At the
dawn he set out, but he did not go back to the castle, for his heart was
heavy, but he wandered far into wild places till his body was weak and
thin, and his hair was long. The wild beasts were his friends, and he
slept by their side, but in the end he longed to see the face of a man
again, and he came down into a valley and fell asleep by a lake in the
lands of a widowed countess.

Now it was the time when the countess took her walk, attended by her
maidens, and when they saw a man lying by the lake they shrank back in
terror, for he lay so still that they thought he was dead. But when they
had overcome their fright, they drew near him, and touched him, and saw
that there was life in him. Then the countess hastened to the castle,
and brought from it a flask full of precious ointment and gave it to one
of her maidens.

'Take that horse which is grazing yonder,' she said, 'and a suit of
men's garments, and place them near the man, and pour some of this
ointment near his heart. If there is any life in him that will bring it
back. But if he moves, hide thyself in the bushes near by, and see what
he does.'

The damsel took the flask and did her mistress' bidding. Soon the man
began to move his arms, and then rose slowly to his feet. Creeping
forward step by step he took the garments from off the saddle and put
them on him, and painfully he mounted the horse. When he was seated the
damsel came forth and greeted him, and glad was he when he saw her and
inquired what castle that was before him.

'It belongs to a widowed countess,' answered the maiden. 'Her husband
left her two earldoms, but it is all that remains of her broad lands,
for they have been torn from her by a young earl, because she would not
marry him.'

'That is a pity,' replied Owen, but he said no more, for he was too weak
to talk much. Then the maiden guided him to the castle, and kindled a
fire, and brought him food. And there he stayed and was tended for three
months, till he was handsomer than ever he was.

At noon one day Owen heard a sound of arms outside the castle, and he
asked of the maiden what it was.

'It is the earl of whom I spoke to thee,' she answered, 'who has come
with a great host to carry off my mistress.'

'Beg of her to lend me a horse and armour,' said Owen, and the maiden
did so, but the countess laughed somewhat bitterly as she answered:

'Nay, but I will give them to him, and such a horse and armour and
weapons as he has never had yet, though I know not what use they will be
to him. Yet mayhap it will save them from falling into the hands of my
enemies.'

The horse was brought out and Owen rode forth with two pages behind him,
and they saw the great host encamped before them.

'Where is the earl?' said he, and the pages answered:

'In yonder troop where are four yellow standards.'

'Await me,' said Owen, 'at the gate of the castle, and he cried a
challenge to the earl, who came to meet him. Hard did they fight, but
Owen overthrew his enemy and drove him in front to the castle gate and
into the hall.

'Behold the reward of thy blessed balsam,' said he, as he bade the earl
kneel down before her, and made him swear that he would restore all that
he had taken from her.

After that he departed, and went into the deserts, and as he was passing
through a wood he heard a loud yelling. Pushing aside the bushes he
beheld a lion standing on a great mound, and by it a rock. Near the rock
was a lion seeking to reach the mound, and each time he moved out darted
a serpent from the rock to prevent him. Then Owen unsheathed his
sword, and cut off the serpent's head and went on his way, and the lion
followed and played about him, as if he had been a greyhound. And much
more useful was he than a greyhound, for in the evening he brought large
logs in his mouth to kindle a fire, and killed a fat buck for dinner.

Owen made his fire and skinned the buck, and put some of it to roast,
and gave the rest to the lion for supper. While he was waiting for the
meat to cook he heard a sound of deep sighing close to him, and he said:

'Who are thou?'

'I am Luned,' replied a voice from a cave so hidden by bushes and green
hanging plants that Owen had not seen it.

'And what dost thou here?' cried he.

'I am held captive in this cave on account of the knight who married
the countess and left her, for the pages spoke ill of him, and because I
told them that no man living was his equal they dragged me here and said
I should die unless he should come to deliver me by a certain day, and
that is no further than the day after to-morrow. His name is Owen the
son of Urien, but I have none to send to tell him of my danger, or of a
surety he would deliver me.'

Owen held his peace, but gave the maiden some of the meat, and bade her
be of good cheer. Then, followed by the lion, he set out for a great
castle on the other side of the plain, and men came and took his horse
and placed it in a manger, and the lion went after and lay down on the
straw. Hospitable and kind were all within the castle, but so full of
sorrow that it might have been thought death was upon them. At length,
when they had eaten and drunk, Owen prayed the earl to tell him the
reason of their grief.

'Yesterday,' answered the earl, 'my two sons were seized, while thy were
hunting, by a monster who dwells on those mountains yonder, and he vows
that he will not let them go unless I give him my daughter to wife.'

'That shall never be,' said Owen; 'but what form hath this monster?'

'In shape he is a man, but in stature he is a giant,' replied the earl,
'and it were better by far that he should slay my sons than that I
should give up my daughter.'

Early next morning the dwellers in the castle were awakened by a great
clamour, and they found that the giant had arrived with the two young
men. Swiftly Owen put on his armour and went forth to meet the giant,
and the lion followed at his heels. And when the great beast beheld the
hard blows which the giant dealt his master he flew at his throat, and
much trouble had the monster in beating him off.

'Truly,' said the giant, 'I should find no difficulty in fighting thee,
if it were not for that lion.' When he heard that Owen felt shame that
he could not overcome the giant with his own sword, so he took the lion
and shut him up in one of the towers of the castle, and returned to the
fight. But from the sound of the blows the lion knew that the combat
was going ill for Owen, so he climbed up till he reached the top of
the tower, where there was a door on to the roof, and from the tower he
sprang on to the walls, and from the walls to the ground. Then with a
loud roar he leaped upon the giant, who fell dead under the blow of his
paw.

Now the gloom of the castle was turned into rejoicing, and the earl
begged Owen to stay with him till he could make him a feast, but the
knight said he had other work to do, and rode back to the place where he
had left Luned, and the lion followed at his heels. When he came there
he saw a great fire kindled, and two youths leading out the maiden to
cast her upon the pile.

'Stop!' he cried, dashing up to them. 'What charge have you against
her?'

'She boasted that no man in the world was equal to Owen,' said they,
'and we shut her in a cave, and agreed that none should deliver her but
Owen himself, and that if he did not come by a certain day she should
die. And now the time has past and there is no sign of him.'

'In truth he is a good knight, and had he but known that the maid was in
peril he would have come to save her,' said Owen; 'but accept me in his
stead, I entreat you.'

'We will,' replied they, and the fight began.

The youths fought well and pressed hard on Owen, and when the lion saw
that he came to help his master. But the youths made a sign for the
fight to stop, and said:

'Chieftain, it was agreed we should give battle to thee alone, and it is
harder for us to contend with yonder beast than with thee.'

Then Owen shut up the lion in the cave where the maiden had been in
prison, and blocked up the front with stones. But the fight with the
giant had sorely tried him, and the youths fought well, and pressed him
harder than before. And when the lion saw that he gave a loud roar, and
burst through the stones, and sprang upon the youths and slew them. And
so Luned was delivered at the last.

Then the maiden rode back with Owen to the lands of the lady of the
fountain. And he took the lady with him to Arthur's court, where they
lived happily till they died.

From the 'Mabinogion.'




The Four Gifts


In the old land of Brittany, once called Cornwall, there lived a woman
named Barbaik Bourhis, who spent all her days in looking after her farm
with the help of her niece Tephany. Early and late the two might be
seen in the fields or in the dairy, milking cows, making butter, feeding
fowls; working hard themselves and taking care that others worked too.
Perhaps it might have been better for Barbaik if she had left herself a
little time to rest and to think about other things, for soon she grew
to love money for its own sake, and only gave herself and Tephany the
food and clothes they absolutely needed. And as for poor people she
positively hated them, and declared that such lazy creatures had no
business in the world.

Well, this being the sort of person Barbaik was, it is easy to guess at
her anger when one day she found Tephany talking outside the cowhouse to
young Denis, who was nothing more than a day labourer from the village
of Plover. Seizing her niece by the arm, she pulled her sharply away,
exclaiming:

'Are you not ashamed, girl, to waste your time over a man who is as poor
as a rat, when there are a dozen more who would be only too happy to buy
you rings of silver, if you would let them?'

'Denis is a good workman, as you know very well,' answered Tephany, red
with anger, 'and he puts by money too, and soon he will be able to take
a farm for himself.'

'Nonsense,' cried Barbaik, 'he will never save enough for a farm till
he is a hundred. I would sooner see you in your grave than the wife of a
man who carries his whole fortune on his back.'

'What does fortune matter when one is young and strong?' asked Tephany,
but her aunt, amazed at such words, would hardly let her finish.

'What does fortune matter?' repeated Barbaik, in a shocked voice. 'Is it
possible that you are really so foolish as to despise money? If this is
what you learn from Denis, I forbid you to speak to him, and I will have
him turned out of the farm if he dares to show his face here again. Now
go and wash the clothes and spread them out to dry.'

Tephany did not dare to disobey, but with a heavy heart went down the
path to the river.

'She is harder than these rocks,' said the girl to herself, 'yes, a
thousand times harder. For the rain at least can at last wear away the
stone, but you might cry for ever, and she would never care. Talking to
Denis is the only pleasure I have, and if I am not to see him I may as
well enter a convent.'

Thinking these thoughts she reached the bank, and began to unfold the
large packet of linen that had to be washed. The tap of a stick made her
look up, and standing before her she saw a little old woman, whose face
was strange to her.

'You would like to sit down and rest, granny?' asked Tephany, pushing
aside her bundle.

'When the sky is all the roof you have, you rest where you will,'
replied the old woman in trembling tones.

'Are you so lonely, then?' inquired Tephany, full of pity. 'Have you no
friends who would welcome you into their houses?'

The old woman shook her head.

'They all died long, long ago,' she answered, 'and the only friends I
have are strangers with kind hearts.'

The girl did not speak for a moment, then held out the small loaf and
some bacon intended for her dinner.

'Take this,' she said; 'to-day at any rate you shall dine well,' and the
old woman took it, gazing at Tephany the while.

'Those who help others deserve to be helped,' she answered; 'your eyes
are still red because that miser Barbaik has forbidden you to speak to
the young man from Plover. But cheer up, you are a good girl, and I will
give you something that will enable you to see him once every day.'

'You?' cried Tephany, stupefied at discovering that the beggar knew all
about her affairs, but the old woman did not hear her.

'Take this long copper pin,' she went on, 'and every time you stick it
in your dress Mother Bourhis will be obliged to leave the house in order
to go and count her cabbages. As long as the pin is in your dress you
will be free, and your aunt will not come back until you have put it in
its case again.' Then, rising, she nodded to Tephany and vanished.

The girl stood where she was, as still as a stone. If it had not been
for the pin in her hands she would have thought she was dreaming. But by
that token she knew it was no common old woman who had given it to her,
but a fairy, wise in telling what would happen in the days to come. Then
suddenly Tephany's eyes fell on the clothes, and to make up for lost
time she began to wash them with great vigour.

Next evening, at the moment when Denis was accustomed to wait for her in
the shadow of the cowhouse, Tephany stuck the pin in her dress, and at
the very same instant Barbaik took up her sabots or wooden shoes and
went through the orchard and past to the fields, to the plot where the
cabbages grew. With a heart as light as her footsteps, the girl ran from
the house, and spent her evening happily with Denis. And so it was for
many days after that. Then, at last, Tephany began to notice something,
and the something made her very sad.

At first, Denis seemed to find the hours that they were together fly as
quickly as she did, but when he had taught her all the songs he knew,
and told her all the plans he had made for growing rich and a great
man, he had nothing more to say to her, for he, like a great many other
people, was fond of talking himself, but not of listening to any one
else. Sometimes, indeed, he never came at all, and the next evening
he would tell Tephany that he had been forced to go into the town on
business, but though she never reproached him she was not deceived and
saw plainly that he no longer cared for her as he used to do.

Day by day her heart grew heavier and her cheeks paler, and one evening,
when she had waited for him in vain, she put her water-pot on her
shoulder and went slowly down to the spring. On the path in front of her
stood the fairy who had given her the pin, and as she glanced at Tephany
she gave a little mischievous laugh and said:

'Why, my pretty maiden hardly looks happier than she did before, in
spite of meeting her lover whenever she pleases.'

'He has grown tired of me,' answered Tephany in a trembling voice, 'and
he makes excuses to stay away. Ah! granny dear, it is not enough to be
able to see him, I must be able to amuse him and to keep him with me. He
is so clever, you know. Help me to be clever too.'

'Is that what you want?' cried the old woman. 'Well, take this feather
and stick it in your hair, and you will be as wise as Solomon himself.'

Blushing with pleasure Tephany went home and stuck the feather into the
blue ribbon which girls always wear in that part of the country. In
a moment she heard Denis whistling gaily, and as her aunt was safely
counting her cabbages, she hurried out to meet him. The young man was
struck dumb by her talk. There was nothing that she did not seem to
know, and as for songs she not only could sing those from every part of
Brittany, but could compose them herself. Was this really the quiet
girl who had been so anxious to learn all he could teach her, or was it
somebody else? Perhaps she had gone suddenly mad, and there was an evil
spirit inside her. But in any case, night after night he came back, only
to find her growing wiser and wiser. Soon the neighbours whispered their
surprise among themselves, for Tephany had not been able to resist the
pleasure of putting the feather in her hair for some of the people who
despised her for her poor clothes, and many were the jokes she made
about them. Of course they heard of her jests, and shook their heads
saying:

'She is an ill-natured little cat, and the man that marries her will
find that it is she who will hold the reins and drive the horse.'

It was not long before Denis began to agree with them, and as he always
liked to be master wherever he went, he became afraid of Tephany's sharp
tongue, and instead of laughing as before when she made fun of other
people he grew red and uncomfortable, thinking that his turn would come
next.

So matters went on till one evening Denis told Tephany that he really
could not stay a moment, as he had promised to go to a dance that was to
be held in the next village.

Tephany's face fell; she had worked hard all day, and had been counting
on a quiet hour with Denis. She did her best to persuade him to remain
with her, but he would not listen, and at last she grew angry.

'Oh, I know why you are so anxious not to miss the dance,' she said; 'it
is because Aziliez of Pennenru will be there.'

Now Aziliez was the loveliest girl for miles round, and she and Denis
had known each other from childhood.

'Oh yes, Aziliez will be there,' answered Denis, who was quite pleased
to see her jealous, 'and naturally one would go a long way to watch her
dance.'

'Go then!' cried Tephany, and entering the house she slammed the door
behind her.

Lonely and miserable she sat down by the fire and stared into the red
embers. Then, flinging the feather from her hair, she put her head on
her hands, and sobbed passionately.

'What is the use of being clever when it is beauty that men want? That
is what I ought to have asked for. But it is too late, Denis will never
come back.'

'Since you wish it so much you shall have beauty,' said a voice at her
side, and looking round she beheld the old woman leaning on her stick.

'Fasten this necklace round your neck, and as long as you wear it you
will be the most beautiful woman in the world,' continued the fairy.
With a little shriek of joy Tephany took the necklace, and snapping the
clasp ran to the mirror which hung in the corner. Ah, this time she was
not afraid of Aziliez or of any other girl, for surely none could be as
fair and white as she. And with the sight of her face a thought came
to her, and putting on hastily her best dress and her buckled shoes she
hurried off to the dance.

On the way she met a beautiful carriage with a young man seated in it.

'What a lovely maiden!' he exclaimed, as Tephany approached. 'Why, there
is not a girl in my own country that can be compared to her. She, and no
other, shall be my bride.'

The carriage was large and barred the narrow road, so Tephany was
forced, much against her will, to remain where she was. But she looked
the young man full in the face as she answered:

'Go your way, noble lord, and let me go mine. I am only a poor peasant
girl, accustomed to milk, and make hay and spin.'

'Peasant you may be, but I will make you a great lady,' said he, taking
her hand and trying to lead her to the carriage.

'I don't want to be a great lady, I only want to be the wife of Denis,'
she replied, throwing off his hand and running to the ditch which
divided the road from the cornfield, where he hoped to hide. Unluckily
the young man guessed what she was doing, and signed to his attendants,
who seized her and put her in the coach. The door was banged, and the
horses whipped up into a gallop.

At the end of an hour they arrived at a splendid castle, and Tephany,
who would not move, was lifted out and carried into the hall, while
a priest was sent for to perform the marriage ceremony. The young man
tried to win a smile from her by telling of all the beautiful things she
should have as his wife, but Tephany did not listen to him, and looked
about to see if there was any means by which she could escape. It did
not seem easy. The three great doors were closely barred, and the one
through which she had entered shut with a spring, but her feather was
still in her hair, and by its aid she detected a crack in the wooden
panelling, through which a streak of light could be dimly seen. Touching
the copper pin which fastened her dress, the girl sent every one in the
hall to count the cabbages, while she herself passed through the little
door, not knowing whither she was going.

By this time night had fallen, and Tephany was very tired. Thankfully
she found herself at the gate of a convent, and asked if she might stay
there till morning. But the portress answered roughly that it was no
place for beggars, and bade her begone, so the poor girl dragged herself
slowly along the road, till a light and the bark of a dog told her that
she was near a farm.

In front of the house was a group of people; two or three women and
the sons of the farmer. When their mother heard Tephany's request to be
given a bed the good wife's heart softened, and she was just going to
invite her inside, when the young men, whose heads were turned by the
girl's beauty, began to quarrel as to which should do most for her. From
words they came to blows, and the women, frightened at the disturbance,
pelted Tephany with insulting names. She quickly ran down the nearest
path, hoping to escape them in the darkness of the trees, but in an
instant she heard their footsteps behind her. Wild with fear her legs
trembled under her, when suddenly she bethought herself of her necklace.
With a violent effort she burst the clasp and flung it round the neck
of a pig which was grunting in a ditch, and as she did so she heard the
footsteps cease from pursuing her and run after the pig, for her charm
had vanished.

On she went, scarcely knowing where she was going, till she found
herself, to her surprise and joy, close to her aunt's house. For several
days she felt so tired and unhappy that she could hardly get through her
work, and to make matters worse Denis scarcely ever came near her.

'He was too busy,' he said, 'and really it was only rich people who
could afford to waste time in talking.'

As the days went on Tephany grew paler and paler, till everybody noticed
it except her aunt. The water-pot was almost too heavy for her now, but
morning and evening she carried it to the spring, though the effort to
lift it to her shoulder was often too much for her.

'How could I have been so foolish,' she whispered to herself, when she
went down as usual at sunset. 'It was not freedom to see Denis that I
should have asked for, for he was soon weary of me, nor a quick tongue,
for he was afraid of it, nor beauty, for that brought me nothing but
trouble, but riches which make life easy both for oneself and others.
Ah! if I only dared to beg this gift from the fairy, I should be wiser
than before and know how to choose better.'

'Be satisfied,' said the voice of the old woman, who seemed to be
standing unseen at Tephany's elbow. 'If you look in your right-hand
pocket when you go home you will find a small box. Rub your eyes with
the ointment it contains, and you will see that you yourself contain a
priceless treasure.'

Tephany did not in the least understand what she meant, but ran back
to the farm as fast as she could, and began to fumble joyfully in
her right-hand pocket. Sure enough, there was the little box with the
precious ointment. She was in the act of rubbing her eyes with it when
Barbaik Bourhis entered the room. Ever since she had been obliged to
leave her work and pass her time, she did not know why, in counting
cabbages, everything had gone wrong, and she could not get a labourer
to stay with her because of her bad temper. When, therefore, she saw her
niece standing quietly before her mirror, Barbaik broke out:

'So this is what you do when I am out in the fields! Ah! it is no wonder
if the farm is ruined. Are you not ashamed, girl, to behave so?'

Tephany tried to stammer some excuse, but her aunt was half mad with
rage, and a box on the ears was her only answer. At this Tephany, hurt,
bewildered and excited, could control herself no longer, and turning
away burst into tears. But what was her surprise when she saw that each
tear-drop was a round and shining pearl. Barbaik, who also beheld this
marvel, uttered a cry of astonishment, and threw herself on her knees to
pick them up from the floor.

She was still gathering them when the door opened and in came Denis.

'Pearls! Are they really pearls?' he asked, falling on his knees also,
and looking up at Tephany he perceived others still more beautiful
rolling down the girl's cheeks.

'Take care not to let any of the neighbours hear of it, Denis,' said
Barbaik. 'Of course you shall have your share, but nobody else shall get
a single one. Cry on, my dear, cry on,' she continued to Tephany. It
is for your good as well as ours,' and she held out her apron to catch
them, and Denis his hat.

But Tephany could hardly bear any more. She felt half choked at the
sight of their greediness, and wanted to rush from the hall, and though
Barbaik caught her arm to prevent this, and said all sorts of tender
words which she thought would make the girl weep the more, Tephany with
a violent effort forced back her tears, and wiped her eyes.

'Is she finished already?' cried Barbaik, in a tone of disappointment.
'Oh, try again, my dear. Do you think it would do any good to beat her a
little?' she added to Denis, who shook his head.

'That is enough for the first time. I will go into the town and find out
the value of each pearl.'

'Then I will go with you,' said Barbaik, who never trusted anyone and
was afraid of being cheated. So the two went out, leaving Tephany behind
them.

She sat quite still on her chair, her hands clasped tightly together,
as if she was forcing something back. At last she raised her eyes, which
had been fixed on the ground, and beheld the fairy standing in a dark
corner by the hearth, observing her with a mocking look. The girl
trembled and jumped up, then, taking the feather, the pin, and the box,
she held them out to the old woman.

'Here they are, all of them,' she cried; 'they belong to you. Let me
never see them again, but I have learned the lesson that they taught me.
Others may have riches, beauty and wit, but as for me I desire nothing
but to be the poor peasant girl I always was, working hard for those she
loves.'

'Yes, you have learned your lesson,' answered the fairy, 'and now you
shall lead a peaceful life and marry the man you love. For after all it
was not yourself you thought of but him.'

Never again did Tephany see the old woman, but she forgave Denis for
selling her tears, and in time he grew to be a good husband, who did his
own share of work.

From 'Le Foyer Breton,' par E. Souvestre.




The Groac'h of the Isle of Lok


In old times, when all kinds of wonderful things happened in Brittany,
there lived in the village of Lanillis, a young man named Houarn Pogamm
and a girl called Bellah Postik. They were cousins, and as their mothers
were great friends, and constantly in and out of each other's houses,
they had often been laid in the same cradle, and had played and fought
over their games.

'When they are grown up they will marry,' said the mothers; but just as
every one was beginning to think of wedding bells, the two mothers died,
and the cousins, who had no money, went as servants in the same house.
This was better than being parted, of course, but not so good as having
a little cottage of their own, where they could do as they liked, and
soon they might have been heard bewailing to each other the hardness of
their lots.

'If we could only manage to buy a cow and get a pig to fatten,' grumbled
Houarn, 'I would rent a bit of ground from the master, and then we could
be married.'

'Yes,' answered Bellah, with a deep sigh; 'but we live in such hard
times, and at the last fair the price of pigs had risen again.'

'We shall have long to wait, that is quite clear,' replied Houarn,
turning away to his work.

Whenever they met they repeated their grievances, and at length Houarn's
patience was exhausted, and one morning he came to Bellah and told her
that he was going away to seek his fortune.

The girl was very unhappy as she listened to this, and felt sorry that
she had not tried to make the best of things. She implored Houarn not to
leave her, but he would listen to nothing.

'The birds,' he said, 'continue flying until they reach a field of corn,
and the bees do not stop unless they find the honey-giving flowers, and
why should a man have less sense than they? Like them, I shall seek till
I get what I want--that is, money to buy a cow and a pig to fatten. And
if you love me, Bellah, you won't attempt to hinder a plan which will
hasten our marriage.'

The girl saw it was useless to say more, so she answered sadly:

'Well, go then, since you must. But first I will divide with you all
that my parents left me,' and going to her room, she opened a small
chest, and took from it a bell, a knife, and a little stick.

'This bell,' she said, 'can be heard at any distance, however far, but
it only rings to warn us that our friends are in great danger. The knife
frees all it touches from the spells that have been laid on them; while
the stick will carry you wherever you want to go. I will give you the
knife to guard you against the enchantments of wizards, and the bell to
tell me of your perils. The stick I shall keep for myself, so that I can
fly to you if ever you have need of me.'

Then they cried for a little on each other's necks, and Houarn started
for the mountains.

But in those days, as in these, beggars abounded, and through every
village he passed they followed Houarn in crowds, mistaking him for a
gentleman, because there were no holes in his clothes.

'There is no fortune to be made here,' he thought to himself; 'it is a
place for spending, and not earning. I see I must go further,' and he
walked on to Pont-aven, a pretty little town built on the bank of a
river.

He was sitting on a bench outside an inn, when he heard two men who were
loading their mules talking about the Groac'h of the island of Lok.

'What is a Groac'h?' asked he. 'I have never come across one.' And the
men answered that it was the name given to the fairy that dwelt in the
lake, and that she was rich--oh! richer than all the kings in the world
put together. Many had gone to the island to try and get possession of
her treasures, but no one had ever come back.

As he listened Houarn's mind was made up.

'I will go, and return too,' he said to the muleteers. They stared at
him in astonishment, and besought him not to be so mad and to throw away
his life in such a foolish manner; but he only laughed, and answered
that if they could tell him of any other way in which to procure a cow
and a pig to fatten, he would think no more about it. But the men did
not know how this was to be done, and, shaking their heads over his
obstinacy, left him to his fate.

So Houarn went down to the sea, and found a boatman who engaged to take
him to the isle of Lok.

The island was large, and lying almost across it was a lake, with a
narrow opening to the sea. Houarn paid the boatman and sent him away,
and then proceeded to walk round the lake. At one end he perceived a
small skiff, painted blue and shaped like a swan, lying under a clump of
yellow broom. As far as he could see, the swan's head was tucked under
its wing, and Houarn, who had never beheld a boat of the sort, went
quickly towards it and stepped in, so as to examine it the better.
But no sooner was he on board than the swan woke suddenly up; his head
emerged from under his wing, his feet began to move in the water, and in
another moment they were in the middle of the lake.

As soon as the young man had recovered from his surprise, he prepared
to jump into the lake and swim to shore. But the bird had guessed his
intentions, and plunged beneath the water, carrying Houarn with him to
the palace of the Groac'h.

Now, unless you have been under the sea and beheld all the wonders that
lie there, you can never have an idea what the Groac'h's palace was
like. It was all made of shells, blue and green and pink and lilac and
white, shading into each other till you could not tell where one colour
ended and the other began. The staircases were of crystal, and every
separate stair sang like a woodland bird as you put your foot on it.
Round the palace were great gardens full of all the plants that grow in
the sea, with diamonds for flowers.

In a large hall the Groac'h was lying on a couch of gold. The pink and
white of her face reminded you of the shells of her palace, while her
long black hair was intertwined with strings of coral, and her dress
of green silk seemed formed out of the sea. At the sight of her Houarn
stopped, dazzled by her beauty.

'Come in,' said the Groac'h, rising to her feet. 'Strangers and handsome
youths are always welcome here. Do not be shy, but tell me how you found
your way, and what you want.'

'My name is Houarn,' he answered, 'Lanillis is my home, and I am trying
to earn enough money to buy a little cow and a pig to fatten.'

'Well, you can easily get that,' replied she; 'it is nothing to worry
about. Come in and enjoy yourself.' And she beckoned him to follow her
into a second hall whose floors and walls were formed of pearls, while
down the sides there were tables laden with fruit and wines of all
kinds; and as he ate and drank, the Groac'h talked to him and told him
how the treasures he saw came from shipwrecked vessels, and were brought
to her palace by a magic current of water.

'I do not wonder,' exclaimed Houarn, who now felt quite at home--'I do
not wonder that the people on the earth have so much to say about you.'

'The rich are always envied.'

'For myself,' he added, with a laugh, 'I only ask for the half of your
wealth.'

'You can have it, if you will, Houarn,' answered the fairy.

'What do you mean?' cried he.

'My husband, Korandon, is dead,' she replied, 'and if you wish it, I
will marry you.'

The young man gazed at her in surprise. Could any one so rich and so
beautiful really wish to be his wife? He looked at her again, and Bellah
was forgotten as he answered:

'A man would be mad indeed to refuse such an offer. I can only accept it
with joy.'

'Then the sooner it is done the better,' said the Groac'h, and gave
orders to her servants. After that was finished, she begged Houarn to
accompany her to a fish-pond at the bottom of the garden.

'Come lawyer, come miller, come tailor, come singer!' cried she, holding
out a net of steel; and at each summons a fish appeared and jumped into
the net. When it was full she went into a large kitchen and threw them
all into a golden pot; but above the bubbling of the water Houarn seemed
to hear the whispering of little voices.

'Who is it whispering in the golden pot, Groac'h?' he inquired at last.

'It is nothing but the noise of the wood sparkling,' she answered; but
it did not sound the least like that to Houarn.

'There it is again,' he said, after a short pause.

'The water is getting hot, and it makes the fish jump,' she replied; but
soon the noise grew louder and like cries.

'What is it?' asked Houarn, beginning to feel uncomfortable.

'Just the crickets on the hearth,' said she, and broke into a song which
drowned the cries from the pot.

But though Houarn held his peace, he was not as happy as before.
Something seemed to have gone wrong, and then he suddenly remembered
Bellah.

'Is it possible I can have forgotten her so soon? What a wretch I am!'
he thought to himself; and he remained apart and watched the Groac'h
while she emptied the fish into a plate, and bade him eat his dinner
while she fetched wine from her cellar in a cave.

Houarn sat down and took out the knife which Bellah had given him, but
as soon as the blade touched the fish the enchantment ceased, and four
men stood before him.

'Houarn, save us, we entreat you, and save yourself too!' murmured they,
not daring to raise their voices.

'Why, it must have been you who were crying out in the pot just now!'
exclaimed Houarn.

'Yes, it was us,' they answered. 'Like you, we came to the isle of Lok
to seek our fortunes, and like you we consented to marry the Groac'h,
and no sooner was the ceremony over than she turned us into fishes, as
she had done to all our forerunners, who are in the fish-pond still,
where you will shortly join them.'

On hearing this Houarn leaped into the air, as if he already felt
himself frizzling in the golden pot. He rushed to the door, hoping to
escape that way; but the Groac'h, who had heard everything, met him on
the threshold. Instantly she threw the steel net over his head, and the
eyes of a little green frog peeped through the meshes.

'You shall go and play with the rest,' she said, carrying him off to the
fish-pond.

It was at this very moment that Bellah, who was skimming the milk in the
farm dairy, heard the fairy bell tinkle violently.

At the sound she grew pale, for she knew it meant that Houarn was in
danger; and, hastily, changing the rough dress she wore for her work,
she left the farm with the magic stick in her hand.

Her knees were trembling under her, but she ran as fast as she could to
the cross roads, where she drove her stick into the ground, murmuring as
she did so a verse her mother had taught her:

     Little staff of apple-tree,
         Over the earth and over the sea,
     Up in the air be guide to me,
         Everywhere to wander free,

and immediately the stick became a smart little horse, with a rosette
at each ear and a feather on his forehead. He stood quite still while
Bellah scrambled up, then he started off, his pace growing quicker and
quicker, till at length the girl could hardly see the trees and houses
as they flashed past. But, rapid as the pace was, it was not rapid
enough for Bellah, who stooped and said:

'The swallow is less swift than the wind, the wind is less swift than
the lightning. But you, my horse, if you love me, must be swifter than
them all, for there is a part of my heart that suffers--the best part
of my heart that is in danger.'

And the horse heard her, and galloped like a straw carried along by
a tempest till they reached the foot of a rock called the Leap of the
Deer. There he stopped, for no horse or mule that ever was born could
climb that rock, and Bellah knew it, so she began to sing again:

     Horse of Leon, given to me,
         Over the earth and over the sea,
     Up in the air be guide to me,
         Everywhere to wander free,

and when she had finished, the horse's fore legs grew shorter and spread
into wings, his hind legs became claws, feathers sprouted all over his
body, and she sat on the back of a great bird, which bore her to the
summit of the rock. Here she found a nest made of clay and lined with
dried moss, and in the centre a tiny man, black and wrinkled, who gave a
cry of surprise at the sight of Bellah.

'Ah! you are the pretty girl who was to come and save me!'

'To save you!' repeated Bellah. 'But who are you, my little friend?'

'I am the husband of the Groac'h of the isle of Lok, and it is owing to
her that I am here.'

'But what are you doing in this nest?'

'I am sitting on six eggs of stone, and I shall not be set free till
they are hatched.'

On hearing this Bellah began to laugh.

'Poor little cock!' she said, 'and how am I to deliver you?'

'By delivering Houarn, who is in the power of the Groac'h.'

'Ah! tell me how I can manage that, and if I have to walk round the
whole of Brittany on my bended knees I will do it!'

'Well, first you must dress yourself as a young man, and then go and
seek the Groac'h. When you have found her you must contrive to get hold
of the net of steel that hangs from her waist, and shut her up in it for
ever.'

'But where am I to find a young man's clothes?' asked she.

'I will show you,' he replied, and as he spoke he pulled out three of
his red hairs and blew them away, muttering something the while. In the
twinkling of an eye the four hairs changed into four tailors, of whom
the first carried a cabbage, the second a pair of scissors, the third
a needle, and the fourth an iron. Without waiting for orders, they sat
down in the nest and, crossing their legs comfortably, began to prepare
the suit of clothes for Bellah.

With one of the leaves of the cabbage they made her a coat, and another
served for a waistcoat; but it took two for the wide breeches which were
then in fashion. The hat was cut from the heart of the cabbage, and a
pair of shoes from the thick stem. And when Bellah had put them all on
you would have taken her for a gentleman dressed in green velvet, lined
with white satin.

She thanked the little men gratefully, and after a few more
instructions, jumped on the back of her great bird, and was borne away
to the isle of Lok. Once there, she bade him transform himself back into
a stick, and with it in her hand she stepped into the blue boat, which
conducted her to the palace of shells.

The Groac'h seemed overjoyed to see her, and told her that never before
had she beheld such a handsome young man. Very soon she led her visitor
into the great hall, where wine and fruit were always waiting, and
on the table lay the magic knife, left there by Houarn. Unseen by the
Groac'h, Bellah hid it in a pocket of her green coat, and then followed
her hostess into the garden, and to the pond which contained the fish,
their sides shining with a thousand different colours.

'Oh! what beautiful, beautiful creatures!' said she. 'I'm sure I should
never be tired of watching them.' And she sat down on the bank, with
her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, her eyes fixed on the
fishes as they flashed past.

'Would you not like to stay here always?' asked the Groac'h; and Bellah
answered that she desired nothing better.

'Then you have only to marry me,' said the Groac'h. 'Oh! don't say no,
for I have fallen deeply in love with you.'

'Well, I won't say "No,"' replied Bellah, with a laugh, 'but you must
promise first to let me catch one of those lovely fish in your net.'

'It is not so easy as it looks,' rejoined the Groac'h, smiling, 'but
take it, and try your luck.'

Bellah took the net which the Groac'h held out, and, turning rapidly,
flung it over the witch's head.

'Become in body what you are in soul!' cried she, and in an instant the
lovely fairy of the sea was a toad, horrible to look upon. She struggled
hard to tear the net asunder, but it was no use. Bellah only drew it
the tighter, and, flinging the sorceress into a pit, she rolled a great
stone across the mouth, and left her.

As she drew near the pond she saw a great procession of fishes advancing
to meet her, crying in hoarse tones:

'This is our lord and master, who has saved us from the net of steel and
the pot of gold!'

'And who will restore you to your proper shapes,' said Bellah, drawing
the knife from her pocket. But just as she was going to touch the
foremost fish, her eyes fell on a green frog on his knees beside her,
his little paws crossed over his little heart. Bellah felt as if fingers
were tightening round her throat, but she managed to cry:

'Is this you, my Houarn? Is this you?'

'It is I,' croaked the little frog; and as the knife touched him he was
a man again, and, springing up, he clasped her in his arms.

'But we must not forget the others,' she said at last, and began to
transform the fishes to their proper shapes. There were so many of them
that it took quite a long time. Just as she had finished there arrived
the little dwarf from the Deer's Leap in a car drawn by six cockchafers,
which once had been the six stone eggs.

'Here I am!' he exclaimed. 'You have broken the spell that held me, and
now come and get your reward,' and, dismounting from his chariot, he led
them down into the caves filled with gold and jewels, and bade Bellah
and Houarn take as much as they wanted.

When their pockets were full, Bellah ordered her stick to become a
winged carriage, large enough to bear them and the men they had rescued
back to Lanillis.

There they were married the next day, but instead of setting up
housekeeping with the little cow and pig to fatten that they had so long
wished for, they were able to buy lands for miles round for themselves,
and gave each man who had been delivered from the Groac'h a small farm,
where he lived happily to the end of his days.

From 'Le Foyer Breton,' par E. Souvestre.




The Escape of the Mouse


Manawyddan the prince and his friend Pryderi were wanderers, for the
brother of Manawyddan had been slain, and his throne taken from him.
Very sorrowful was Manawyddan, but Pryderi was stout of heart, and bade
him be of good cheer, as he knew a way out of his trouble.

'And what may that be?' asked Manawyddan.

'It is that thou marry my mother Rhiannon and become lord of the fair
lands that I will give her for dowry. Never did any lady have more wit
than she, and in her youth none was more lovely; even yet she is good to
look upon.'

'Thou art the best friend that ever a man had,' said Manawyddan. 'Let us
go now to seek Rhiannon, and the lands where she dwells.'

Then they set forth, but the news of their coming ran swifter still, and
Rhiannon and Kieva, wife of Pryderi, made haste to prepare a feast for
them. And Manawyddan found that Pryderi had spoken the truth concerning
his mother, and asked if she would take him for her husband. Right
gladly did she consent, and without delay they were married, and rode
away to the hunt, Rhiannon and Manawyddan, Kieva and Pryderi, and they
would not be parted from each other by night or by day, so great was the
love between them.

One day, when they were returned, they were sitting out in a green
place, and suddenly the crash of thunder struck loudly on their ears,
and a wall of mist fell between them, so that they were hidden one from
the other. Trembling they sat till the darkness fled and the light shone
again upon them, but in the place where they were wont to see cattle,
and herds, and dwellings, they beheld neither house nor beast, nor man
nor smoke; neither was any one remaining in the green place save these
four only.

'Whither have they gone, and my host also?' cried Manawyddan, and they
searched the hall, and there was no man, and the castle, and there was
none, and in the dwellings that were left was nothing save wild beasts.
For a year these four fed on the meat that Manawyddan and Pryderi killed
out hunting, and the honey of the bees that sucked the mountain heather.
For a time they desired nothing more, but when the next year began they
grew weary.

'We cannot spend our lives thus,' said Manawyddan at last, 'let us go
into England and learn some trade by which we may live.' So they
left Wales, and went to Hereford, and there they made saddles, while
Manawyddan fashioned blue enamel ornaments to put on their trappings.
And so greatly did the townsfolk love these saddles, that no others
were bought throughout the whole of Hereford, till the saddlers banded
together and resolved to slay Manawyddan and his companions.

When Pryderi heard of it, he was very wroth, and wished to stay and
fight. But the counsels of Manawyddan prevailed, and they moved by night
to another city.

'What craft shall we follow?' asked Pryderi.

'We will make shields,' answered Manawyddan.

'But do we know anything of that craft?' answered Pryderi.

'We will try it,' said Manawyddan, and they began to make shields, and
fashioned them after the shape of the shields they had seen; and these
likewise they enamelled. And so greatly did they prosper that no man
in the town bought a shield except they had made it, till at length the
shield-makers banded together as the saddlers had done, and resolved to
slay them. But of this they had warning, and by night betook themselves
to another town.

'Let us take to making shoes,' said Manawyddan, 'for there are not any
among the shoemakers bold enough to fight us.'

'I know nothing of making shoes,' answered Pryderi, who in truth
despised so peaceful a craft.

'But I know,' replied Manawyddan, 'and I will teach thee to stitch. We
will buy the leather ready dressed, and will make the shoes from it.

Then straightway he sought the town for the best leather, and for a
goldsmith to fashion the clasps, and he himself watched till it was
done, so that he might learn for himself. Soon he became known as 'The
Maker of Gold Shoes,' and prospered so greatly, that as long as one
could be bought from him not a shoe was purchased from the shoemakers
of the town. And the craftsmen were wroth, and banded together to slay
them.

'Pryderi,' said Manawyddan, when he had received news of it, 'we will
not remain in England any longer. Let us set forth to Dyved.'

So they journeyed until they came to their lands at Narberth. There they
gathered their dogs round them, and hunted for a year as before.

After that a strange thing happened. One morning Pryderi and Manawyddan
rose up to hunt, and loosened their dogs, which ran before them, till
they came to a small bush. At the bush, the dogs shrank away as if
frightened, and returned to their masters, their hair brisling on their
backs.

'We must see what is in that bush,' said Pryderi, and what was in it was
a boar, with a skin as white as the snow on the mountains. And he came
out, and made a stand as the dogs rushed on him, driven on by the men.
Long he stood at bay; then at last he betook himself to flight, and fled
to a castle which was newly built, in a place where no building had ever
been known. Into the castle he ran, and the dogs after him, and long
though their masters looked and listened, they neither saw nor heard
aught concerning dogs or boar.

'I will go into the castle and get tidings of the dogs,' said Pryderi at
last.

'Truly,' answered Manawyddan, 'thou wouldst do unwisely, for whosoever
has cast a spell over this land has set this castle here.'

'I cannot give up my dogs,' replied Pryderi, and to the castle he went.

But within was neither man nor beast; neither boar nor dogs, but only
a fountain with marble round it, and on the edge a golden bowl, richly
wrought, which pleased Pryderi greatly. In a moment he forgot about his
dogs, and went up to the bowl and took hold of it, and his hands
stuck to the bowl, and his feet to the marble slab, and despair took
possession of him.

Till the close of day Manawyddan waited for him, and when the sun was
fast sinking, he went home, thinking that he had strayed far.

'Where are thy friend and thy dogs?' said Rhiannon, and he told her what
had befallen Pryderi.

'A good friend hast thou lost,' answered Rhiannon, and she went up to
the castle and through the gate, which was open. There, in the centre of
the courtyard, she beheld Pryderi standing, and hastened towards him.

'What dost thou here?' she asked, laying her hand on the bowl, and as
she spoke she too stuck fast, and was not able to utter a word. Then
thunder was heard and a veil of darkness descended upon them, and the
castle vanished and they with it.

When Kieva, the wife of Pryderi, found that neither her husband nor
his mother returned to her, she was in such sorrow that she cared not
whether she lived or died. Manawyddan was grieved also in his heart, and
said to her:

'It is not fitting that we should stay here, for he have lost our dogs
and cannot get food. Let us go into England--it is easier for us to live
there.' So they set forth.

'What craft wilt thou follow?' asked Kieva as they went along.

'I shall make shoes as once I did,' replied he; and he got all the
finest leather in the town and caused gilded clasps to be made for the
shoes, till everyone flocked to buy, and all the shoemakers in the
town were idle and banded together in anger to kill him. But luckily
Manawyddan got word of it, and he and Kieva left the town one night and
proceeded to Narberth, taking with him a sheaf of wheat, which he sowed
in three plots of ground. And while the wheat was growing up, he hunted
and fished, and they had food enough and to spare. Thus the months
passed until the harvest; and one evening Manawyddan visited the
furthest of his fields of wheat; and saw that it was ripe.

'To-morrow I will reap this,' said he; but on the morrow when he went to
reap the wheat he found nothing but the bare straw.

Filled with dismay he hastened to the second field, and there the corn
was ripe and golden.

'To-morrow I will reap this,' he said, but on the morrow the ears had
gone, and there was nothing but the bare straw.

'Well, there is still one field left,' he said, and when he looked
at it, it was still fairer than the other two. 'To-night I will watch
here,' thought he, 'for whosoever carried off the other corn will in
like manner take this, and I will know who it is.' So he hid himself and
waited.

The hours slid by, and all was still, so still that Manawyddan well-nigh
dropped asleep. But at midnight there arose the loudest tumult in the
world, and peeping out he beheld a mighty host of mice, which could
neither be numbered nor measured. Each mouse climbed up a straw till
it bent down with its weight, and then it bit off one of the ears, and
carried it away, and there was not one of the straws that had not got a
mouse to it.

Full of wrath he rushed at the mice, but he could no more come up with
them than if they had been gnats, or birds of the air, save one only
which lingered behind the rest, and this mouse Manawyddan came up with.
Stooping down he seized it by the tail, and put it in his glove, and
tied a piece of string across the opening of the glove, so that the
mouse could not escape. When he entered the hall where Kieva was
sitting, he lighted a fire, and hung the glove up on a peg.

'What hast thou there?' asked she.

'A thief,' he answered, 'that I caught robbing me.'

'What kind of a thief may it be which thou couldst put in thy glove?'
said Kieva.

'That I will tell thee,' he replied, and then he showed her how his
fields of corn had been wasted, and how he had watched for the mice.

'And one was less nimble than the rest, and is now in my glove.
To-morrow I will hang it, and I only wish I had them all.'

'It is a marvel, truly,' said she, 'yet it would be unseemly for a man
of thy dignity to hang a reptile such as this. Do not meddle with it,
but let it go.'

'Woe betide me,' he cried, 'if I would not hang them all if I could
catch them, and such as I have I will hang.'

'Verily,' said she, 'there is no reason I should succour this reptile,
except to prevent discredit unto thee.'

'If I knew any cause that I should succour it, I would take thy
counsel,' answered Manawyddan, 'but as I know of none, I am minded to
destroy it.'

'Do so then,' said Kieva.

So he went up a hill and set up two forks on the top, and while he
was doing this he saw a scholar coming towards him, whose clothes were
tattered. Now it was seven years since Manawyddan had seen man or beast
in that place, and the sight amazed him.

'Good day to thee, my lord,' said the scholar.

'Good greeting to thee, scholar. Whence dost thou come?'

'From singing in England; but wherefore dost thou ask?'

'Because for seven years no man hath visited this place.'

'I wander where I will,' answered the scholar. 'And what work art thou
upon?'

'I am about to hang a thief that I caught robbing me!'

'What manner of thief is that?' inquired the scholar. 'I see a creature
in thy hand like upon a mouse, and ill does it become a man of thy rank
to touch a reptile like this. Let it go free.'

'I will not let it go free,' cried Manawyddan. 'I caught it robbing me,
and it shall suffer the doom of a thief.'

'Lord!' said the scholar, 'sooner than see a man like thee at such a
work, I would give thee a pound which I have received as alms to let it
go free.'

'I will not let it go free, neither will I sell it.'

'As thou wilt, lord,' answered the scholar, and he went his way.

Manawyddan was placing the cross-beam on the two forked sticks, where
the mouse was to hang, when a priest rode past.

'Good-day to thee, lord; and what art thou doing?'

'I am hanging a thief that I caught robbing me.'

'What manner of thief, lord?'

'A creature in the form of a mouse. It has been robbing me, and it shall
suffer the doom of a thief.'

'Lord,' said the priest, 'sooner than see thee touch this reptile, I
would purchase its freedom.'

'I will neither sell it nor set it free.'

'It is true that a mouse is worth nothing, but rather than see thee
defile thyself with touching such a reptile as this, I will give thee
three pounds for it.'

'I will not take any price for it. It shall be hanged as it deserves.'

'Willingly, my lord, if it is thy pleasure.' And the priest went his
way.

Then Manawyddan noosed the string about the mouse's neck, and was
about to draw it tight when a bishop, with a great following and horses
bearing huge packs, came by.

'What work art thou upon?' asked the bishop, drawing rein.

'Hanging a thief that I caught robbing me.'

'But is not that a mouse that I see in thine hand?' asked the bishop.

'Yes; that is the thief,' answered Manawyddan.

'Well, since I have come at the doom of this reptile, I will ransom it
of thee for seven pounds, rather than see a man of thy rank touch it.
Loose it, and let it go.'

'I will not let it loose.'

'I will give thee four and twenty pounds to set it free,' said the
bishop.

'I will not set it free for as much again.'

'If thou wilt not set it free for this, I will give thee all the horses
thou seest and the seven loads of baggage.'

'I will not set it free.'

'Then tell me at what price thou wilt loose it, and I will give it.'

'The spell must be taken off Rhiannon and Pryderi,' said Manawyddan.

'That shall be done.'

'But not yet will I loose the mouse. The charm that has been cast over
all my lands must be taken off likewise.'

'This shall be done also.'

'But not yet will I loose the mouse till I know who she is.'

'She is my wife,' answered the bishop.

'And wherefore came she to me?' asked Manawyddan.

'To despoil thee,' replied the bishop, 'for it is I who cast the charm
over thy lands, to avenge Gwawl the son of Clud my friend. And it was I
who threw the spell upon Pryderi to avenge Gwawl for the trick that had
been played on him in the game of Badger in the Bag. And not only was I
wroth, but my people likewise, and when it was known that thou wast come
to dwell in the land, they besought me much to change them into mice,
that they might eat thy corn. The first and the second nights it was
the men of my own house that destroyed thy two fields, but on the third
night my wife and her ladies came to me and begged me to change them
also into the shape of mice, that they might take part in avenging
Gwawl. Therefore I changed them. Yet had she not been ill and slow of
foot, thou couldst not have overtaken her. Still, since she was caught,
I will restore thee Pryderi and Rhiannon, and will take the charm from
off thy lands. I have told thee who she is; so now set her free.'

'I will not set her free,' answered Manawyddan, 'till thou swear that no
vengeance shall be taken for his, either upon Pryderi, or upon Rhiannon,
or on me.'

'I will grant thee this boon; and thou hast done wisely to ask it, for
on thy head would have lit all the trouble. Set now my wife free.'

'I will not set her free till Pryderi and Rhiannon are with me.'

'Behold, here they come,' said the bishop.

Then Manawyddan held out his hands and greeted Pryderi and Rhiannon, and
they seated themselves joyfully on the grass.

'Ah, lord, hast thou not received all thou didst ask?' said the bishop.
'Set now my wife free!'

'That I will gladly,' answered Manawyddan, unloosing the cord from her
neck, and as he did so the bishop struck her with his staff, and she
turned into a young woman, the fairest that ever was seen.

'Look around upon thy land,' said he, 'and thou wilt see it all tilled
and peopled, as it was long ago.' And Manawyddan looked, and saw corn
growing in the fields, and cows and sheep grazing on the hill-side, and
huts for the people to dwell in. And he was satisfied in his soul, but
one more question he put to the bishop.

'What spell didst thou lay upon Pryderi and Rhiannon?'

'Pryderi has had the knockers of the gate of my palace hung about him,
and Rhiannon has carried the collars of my asses around her neck,' said
the bishop with a smile.

From the 'Mabinogion.'




The Believing Husbands


Once upon a time there dwelt in the land of Erin a young man who was
seeking a wife, and of all the maidens round about none pleased him
as well as the only daughter of a farmer. The girl was willing and the
father was willing, and very soon they were married and went to live at
the farm. By and bye the season came when they must cut the peats and
pile them up to dry, so that they might have fires in the winter. So
on a fine day the girl and her husband, and the father and his wife all
went out upon the moor.

They worked hard for many hours, and at length grew hungry, so the young
woman was sent home to bring them food, and also to give the horses
their dinner. When she went into the stables, she suddenly saw the heavy
pack-saddle of the speckled mare just over her head, and she jumped and
said to herself:

'Suppose that pack-saddle were to fall and kill me, how dreadful it
would be!' and she sat down just under the pack-saddle she was so much
afraid of, and began to cry.

Now the others out on the moor grew hungrier and hungrier.

'What can have become of her?' asked they, and at length the mother
declared that she would wait no longer, and must go and see what had
happened.

As the bride was nowhere in the kitchen or the dairy, the old woman went
into the stable, where she found her daughter weeping bitterly.

'What is the matter, my dove?' and the girl answered, between her sobs:

'When I came in and saw the pack-saddle over my head, I thought how
dreadful it would be if it fell and killed me,' and she cried louder
than before.

The old woman struck her hands together: 'Ah, to think of it! if that
were to be, what should I do?' and she sat down by her daughter, and
they both wrung their hands and let their tears flow.

'Something strange must have occurred,' exclaimed the old farmer on the
moor, who by this time was not only hungry, but cross. 'I must go after
them.' And he went and found them in the stable.

'What is the matter?' asked he.

'Oh!' replied his wife, 'when our daughter came home, did she not see
the pack-saddle over her head, and she thought how dreadful it would be
if it were to fall and kill her.'

'Ah, to think of it!' exclaimed he, striking his hands together, and he
sat down beside them and wept too.

As soon as night fell the young man returned full of hunger, and there
they were, all crying together in the stable.

'What is the matter?' asked he.

'When thy wife came home,' answered the farmer, 'she saw the pack-saddle
over her head, and she thought how dreadful it would be if it were to
fall and kill her.'

'Well, but it didn't fall,' replied the young man, and he went off to
the kitchen to get some supper, leaving them to cry as long as they
liked.

The next morning he got up with the sun, and said to the old man and to
the old woman and to his wife:

'Farewell: my foot shall not return to the house till I have found other
three people as silly as you,' and he walked away till he came to the
town, and seeing the door of a cottage standing open wide, he entered.
No man was present, but only some women spinning at their wheels.

'You do not belong to this town,' said he.

'You speak truth,' they answered, 'nor you either?'

'I do not,' replied he, 'but is it a good place to live in?'

The women looked at each other.

'The men of the town are so silly that we can make them believe anything
we please,' said they.

'Well, here is a gold ring,' replied he, 'and I will give it to the one
amongst you who can make her husband believe the most impossible thing,'
and he left them.

As soon as the first husband came home his wife said to him:

'Thou art sick!'

'Am I?' asked he.

'Yes, thou art,' she answered; 'take off thy clothes and lie down.'

So he did, and when he was in his bed his wife went to him and said:

'Thou art dead.'

'Oh, am I?' asked he.

'Thou art,' said she; 'shut thine eyes and stir neither hand nor foot.'

And dead he felt sure he was.

Soon the second man came home, and his wife said to him:

'You are not my husband!'

'Oh, am I not?' asked he.

'No, it is not you,' answered she, so he went away and slept in the
wood.

When the third man arrived his wife gave him his supper, and after that
he went to bed, just as usual. The next morning a boy knocked at the
door, bidding him attend the burial of the man who was dead, and he was
just going to get up when his wife stopped him.

'Time enough,' said she, and he lay still till he heard the funeral
passing the window.

'Now rise, and be quick,' called the wife, and the man jumped out of bed
in a great hurry, and began to look about him.

'Why, where are my clothes?' asked he.

'Silly that you are, they are on your back, of course,' answered the
woman.

'Are they?' said he.

'They are,' said she, 'and make haste lest the burying be ended before
you get there.'

Then off he went, running hard, and when the mourners saw a man coming
towards them with nothing on but his nightshirt, they forgot in their
fright what they were there for, and fled to hide themselves. And the
naked man stood alone at the head of the coffin.

Very soon a man came out of the wood and spoke to him.

'Do you know me?'

'Not I,' answered the naked man. 'I do not know you.'

'But why are you naked?' asked the first man.

'Am I naked? My wife told me that I had all my clothes on,' answered he.

'And my wife told me that I myself was dead,' said the man in the
coffin.

But at the sound of his voice the two men were so terrified that they
ran straight home, and the man in the coffin got up and followed them,
and it was his wife that gained the gold ring, as he had been sillier
than the other two.

From 'West Highland Tales.'




The Hoodie-Crow.


Once there lived a farmer who had three daughters, and good useful girls
they were, up with the sun, and doing all the work of the house. One
morning they all ran down to the river to wash their clothes, when a
hoodie came round and sat on a tree close by.

'Wilt thou wed me, thou farmer's daughter?' he said to the eldest.

'Indeed I won't wed thee,' she answered, 'an ugly brute is the hoodie.'
And the bird, much offended, spread his wings and flew away. But the
following day he came back again, and said to the second girl:

'Wilt thou wed me, farmer's daughter?'

'Indeed I will not,' answered she, 'an ugly brute is the hoodie.' And
the hoodie was more angry than before, and went away in a rage. However,
after a night's rest he was in a better temper, and thought that he
might be more lucky the third time, so back he went to the old place.

'Wilt thou wed me, farmer's daughter?' he said to the youngest.

'Indeed I will wed thee; a pretty creature is the hoodie,' answered she,
and on the morrow they were married.

'I have something to ask thee,' said the hoodie when they were far away
in his own house. 'Wouldst thou rather I should be a hoodie by day and a
man by night, or a man by day and a hoodie by night?'

The girl was surprised at his words, for she did not know that he could
be anything but a hoodie at all times.

Still she said nothing of this, and only replied, 'I would rather thou
wert a man by day and a hoodie by night,' And so he was; and a handsomer
man or a more beautiful hoodie never was seen. The girl loved them both,
and never wished for things to be different.

By and bye they had a son, and very pleased they both were. But in the
night soft music was heard stealing close towards the house, and every
man slept, and the mother slept also. When they woke again it was
morning, and the baby was gone. High and low they looked for it, but
nowhere could they find it, and the farmer, who had come to see his
daughter, was greatly grieved, as he feared it might be thought that he
had stolen it, because he did not want the hoodie for a son-in-law.

The next year the hoodie's wife had another son, and this time a watch
was set at every door. But it was no use. In vain they determined that,
come what might, they would not close their eyes; at the first note of
music they all fell asleep, and when the farmer arrived in the morning
to see his grandson, he found them all weeping, for while they had slept
the baby had vanished.

Well, the next year it all happened again, and the hoodie's wife was so
unhappy that her husband resolved to take her away to another house he
had, and her sisters with her for company. So they set out in a coach
which was big enough to hold them, and had not gone very far when the
hoodie suddenly said:

'You are sure you have not forgotten anything?'

'I have forgotten my coarse comb,' answered the wife, feeling in her
pocket, and as she spoke the coach changed into a withered faggot, and
the man became a hoodie again, and flew away.

The two sisters returned home, but the wife followed the hoodie.
Sometimes she would see him on a hill-top, and then would hasten after
him, hoping to catch him. But by the time she had got to the top of the
hill, he would be in the valley on the other side. When night came, and
she was tired, she looked about for some place to rest, and glad she was
to see a little house full of light straight in front of her, and she
hurried towards it as fast as she could.

At the door stood a little boy, and the sight of him filled her heart
with pleasure, she did not know why. A woman came out, and bade her
welcome, and set before her food, and gave her a soft bed to lie on. And
the hoodie's wife lay down, and so tired was she, that it seemed to her
but a moment before the sun rose, and she awoke again. From hill to hill
she went after the hoodie, and sometimes she saw him on the top; but
when she got to the top, he had flown into the valley, and when she
reached the valley he was on the top of another hill--and so it happened
till night came round again. Then she looked round for some place to
rest in, and she beheld a little house of light before her, and fast she
hurried towards it. At the door stood a little boy, and her heart was
filled with pleasure at the sight of him, she did not know why. After
that a woman bade her enter, and set food before her, and gave her
a soft bed to lie in. And when the sun rose she got up, and left the
house, in search of the hoodie. This day everything befell as on the
two other days, but when she reached the small house, the woman bade her
keep awake, and if the hoodie flew into the room, to try to seize him.

But the wife had walked far, and was very tired, and strive as she
would, she fell sound asleep.

Many hours she slept, and the hoodie entered through a window, and let
fall a ring on her hand. The girl awoke with a start, and leant forward
to grasp him, but he was already flying off, and she only seized a
feather from his wing. And when dawn came, she got up and told the
woman.

'He has gone over the hill of poison,' said she, 'and there you cannot
follow him without horse-shoes on your hands and feet. But I will help
you. Put on this suit of men's clothes, and go down this road till you
come to the smithy, and there you can learn to make horse-shoes for
yourself.'

The girl thanked her, and put on the cloths and went down the road to
do her bidding. So hard did she work, that in a few days she was able
to make the horse-shoes. Early one morning she set out for the hill of
poison. On her hands and feet she went, but even with the horse-shoes
on she had to be very careful not to stumble, lest some poisoned thorns
should enter into her flesh, and she should die. But when at last she
was over, it was only to hear that her husband was to be married that
day to the daughter of a great lord.

Now there was to be a race in the town, and everyone meant to be there,
except the stranger who had come over the hill of poison--everyone, that
is, but the cook, who was to make the bridal supper. Greatly he loved
races, and sore was his heart to think that one should be run without
his seeing it, so when he beheld a woman whom he did not know coming
along the street, hope sprang up in him.

'Will you cook the wedding feast in place of me?' he said, 'and I will
pay you well when I return from the race.'

Gladly she agreed, and cooked the feast in a kitchen that looked into
the great hall, where the company were to eat it. After that she watched
the seat where the bridegroom was sitting, and taking a plateful of the
broth, she dropped the ring and the feather into it, and set if herself
before him.

With the first spoonful he took up the ring, and a thrill ran through
him; in the second he beheld the feather and rose from his chair.

'Who has cooked this feast?' asked he, and the real cook, who had come
back from the race, was brought before him.

'He may be the cook, but he did not cook this feast,' said the
bridegroom, and then inquiry was made, and the girl was summoned to the
great hall.

'That is my married wife,' he declared, 'and no one else will I have,'
and at that very moment the spells fell off him, and never more would he
be a hoodie. Happy indeed were they to be together again, and little did
they mind that the hill of poison took long to cross, for she had to go
some way forwards, and then throw the horse-shoes back for him to put
on. Still, at last they were over, and they went back the way she had
come, and stopped at the three houses in order to take their little sons
to their own home.

But the story never says who had stolen them, nor what the coarse comb
had to do with it.

From 'West Highland Tales.'




The Brownie of the Lake


Once upon a time there lived in France a man whose name was Jalm Riou.
You might have walked a whole day without meeting anyone happier or more
contented, for he had a large farm, plenty of money, and above all, a
daughter called Barbaik, the most graceful dancer and the best-dressed
girl in the whole country side. When she appeared on holidays in her
embroidered cap, five petticoats, each one a little shorter than the
other, and shoes with silver buckles, the women were all filled with
envy, but little cared Barbaik what they might whisper behind her back
as long as she knew that her clothes were finer than anyone else's and
that she had more partners than any other girl.

Now amongst all the young men who wanted to marry Barbaik, the one whose
heart was most set on her was her father's head man, but as his manners
were rough and he was exceedingly ugly she would have nothing to say to
him, and, what was worse, often made fun of him with the rest.

Jegu, for that was his name, of course heard of this, and it made him
very unhappy. Still he would not leave the farm, and look for work
elsewhere, as he might have done, for then he would never see Barbaik at
all, and what was life worth to him without that?

One evening he was bringing back his horses from the fields, and stopped
at a little lake on the way home to let them drink. He was tired with
a long day's work, and stood with his hand on the mane of one of the
animals, waiting till they had done, and thinking all the while of
Barbaik, when a voice came out of the gorse close by.

'What is the matter, Jegu? You mustn't despair yet.'

The young man glanced up in surprise, and asked who was there.

'It is I, the brownie of the lake,' replied the voice.

'But where are you?' inquired Jegu.

'Look close, and you will see me among the reeds in the form of a little
green frog. I can take,' he added proudly, 'any shape I choose, and
even, which is much harder, be invisible if I want to.'

'Then show yourself to me in the shape in which your family generally
appear,' replied Jegu.

'Certainly, if you wish,' and the frog jumped on the back of one of the
horses, and changed into a little dwarf, all dressed in green.

This transformation rather frightened Jegu, but the brownie bade him
have no fears, for he would not do him any harm; indeed, he hoped that
Jegu might find him of some use.

'But why should you take all this interest in me?' asked the peasant
suspiciously.

'Because of a service you did me last winter, which I have never
forgotten,' answered the little fellow. 'You know, I am sure, that
the korigans who dwell in the White Corn
country have declared war on my people, because they say that they are
the friends of man. We were therefore obliged to take refuge in distant
lands, and to hide ourselves at first under different animal shapes.
Since that time, partly from habit and partly to amuse ourselves, we
have continued to transform ourselves, and it was in this way that I got
to know you.'

'How?' exclaimed Jegu, filled with astonishment.

'Do you remember when you were digging in the field near the river,
three months ago, you found a robin redbreast caught in a net?

'Yes,' answered Jegu, 'I remember it very well, and I opened the net and
let him go.'

'Well, I was that robin redbreast, and ever since I have vowed to be
your friend, and as you want to marry Barbaik, I will prove the truth of
what I say by helping you to do so.'

'Ah! my little brownie, if you can do that, there is nothing I won't
give you, except my soul.'

'Then let me alone,' rejoined the dwarf, 'and I promise you that in a
very few months you shall be master of the farm and of Barbaik.'

'But how are you going to do it?' exclaimed Jegu wonderingly.

'That is my affair. Perhaps I may tell you later. Meanwhile you just eat
and sleep, and don't worry yourself about anything.'

Jegu declared that nothing could be easier, and then taking off his hat,
he thanked the dwarf heartily, and led his horses back to the farm.

Next morning was a holiday, and Barbaik was awake earlier than usual, as
she wished to get through her work as soon as possible, and be ready to
start for a dance which was to be held some distance off. She went
first to the cow-house, which it was her duty to keep clean, but to her
amazement she found fresh straw put down, the racks filled with hay, the
cows milked, and the pails standing neatly in a row.

'Of course, Jegu must have done this in the hope of my giving him a
dance,' she thought to herself, and when she met him outside the door
she stopped and thanked him for his help. To be sure, Jegu only replied
roughly that he didn't know what she was talking about, but this answer
made her feel all the more certain that it was he and nobody else.

The same thing took place every day, and never had the cow-house been so
clean nor the cows so fat. Morning and evening Barbaik found her earthen
pots full of milk and a pound of butter freshly churned, ornamented
with leaves. At the end of a few weeks she grew so used to this state of
affairs that she only got up just in time to prepare breakfast.

Soon even this grew to be unnecessary, for a day arrived when, coming
downstairs, she discovered that the house was swept, the furniture
polished, the fire lit, and the food ready, so that she had nothing to
do except to ring the great bell which summoned the labourers from the
fields to come and eat it. This, also, she thought was the work of Jegu,
and she could not help feeling that a husband of this sort would be very
useful to a girl who liked to lie in bed and to amuse herself.

Indeed, Barbaik had only to express a wish for it to be satisfied. If
the wind was cold or the sun was hot and she was afraid to go out lest
her complexion should be spoilt, she need only to run down to the spring
close by and say softly, 'I should like my churns to be full, and my
wet linen to be stretched on the hedge to dry,' and she need never give
another thought to the matter.

If she found the rye bread too hard to bake, or the oven taking too long
to heat, she just murmured, 'I should like to see my six loaves on the
shelf above the bread box,' and two hours after there they were.

If she was too lazy to walk all the way to market along a dirty road,
she would say out loud the night before, 'Why am I not already back from
Morlaix with my milk pot empty, my butter bowl inside it, a pound of
wild cherries on my wooden plate, and the money I have gained in my
apron pocket?' and in the morning when she got up, lo and behold! there
were standing at the foot of her bed the empty milk pot with the butter
bowl inside, the black cherries on the wooden plate, and six new pieces
of silver in the pocket of her apron. And she believed that all this
was owing to Jegu, and she could no longer do without him, even in her
thoughts.

When things had reached this pass, the brownie told the young man that
he had better ask Barbaik to marry him, and this time the girl did not
turn rudely away, but listened patiently to the end. In her eyes he was
as ugly and awkward as ever, but he would certainly make a most useful
husband, and she could sleep every morning till breakfast time, just
like a young lady, and as for the rest of the day, it would not be
half long enough for all she meant to do. She would wear the beautiful
dresses that came when she wished for them, and visit her neighbours,
who would be dying of envy all the while, and she would be able to dance
as much as she wished. Jegu would always be there to work for her and
save for her, and watch over her. So, like a well-brought-up girl,
Barbaik answered that it should be as her father pleased, knowing quite
well that old Riou had often said that after he was dead there was no
one so capable of carrying on the farm.

The marriage took place the following month, and a few days later the
old man died quite suddenly. Now Jegu had everything to see to himself,
and somehow it did not seem so easy as when the farmer was alive. But
once more the brownie stepped in, and was better than ten labourers.
It was he who ploughed and sowed and reaped, and if, as happened,
occasionally, it was needful to get the work done quickly, the brownie
called in some of his friends, and as soon as it was light a host of
little dwarfs might have been seen in the fields, busy with hoe, fork or
sickle. But by the time the people were about all was finished, and the
little fellows had disappeared.

And all the payment the brownie ever asked for was a bowl of broth. From
the very day of her marriage Barbaik had noted with surprise and rage
that things ceased to be done for her as they had been done all the
weeks and months before. She complained to Jegu of his laziness, and he
only stared at her, not understanding what she was talking about. But
the brownie, who was standing by, burst out laughing, and confessed that
all the good offices she spoke of had been performed by him, for the
sake of Jegu, but that now he had other business to do, and it was high
time that she looked after her house herself.

Barbaik was furious. Each morning when she was obliged to get up before
dawn to milk the cows and go to market, and each evening when she had to
sit up till midnight in order to churn the butter, her heart was filled
with rage against the brownie who had caused her to expect a life of
ease and pleasure. But when she looked at Jegu and beheld his red face,
squinting eyes, and untidy hair, her anger was doubled.

'If it had not been for you, you miserable dwarf!' she would say between
her teeth, 'if it had not been for you I should never have married that
man, and I should still have been going to dances, where the young men
would have brought me present of nuts and cherries, and told me that
I was the prettiest girl in the parish. While now I can receive no
presents except from my husband. I can never dance, except with my
husband. Oh, you wretched dwarf, I will never, never forgive you!'

In spite of her fierce words, no one knew better than Barbaik how to
put her pride in her pocket when it suited her, and after receiving an
invitation to a wedding, she begged the brownie to get her a horse to
ride there. To her great joy he consented, bidding her set out for the
city of the dwarfs and to tell them exactly what she wanted. Full of
excitement, Barbaik started on her journey. It was not long, and when
she reached the town she went straight to the dwarfs, who were holding
counsel in a wide green place, and said to them, 'Listen, my friends! I
have come to beg you to lend me a black horse, with eyes, a mouth, ears,
bridle and saddle.'

She had hardly spoken when the horse appeared, and mounting on his back
she started for the village where the wedding was to be held.

At first she was so delighted with the chance of a holiday from the work
which she hated, that she noticed nothing, but very soon it struck
her as odd that as she passed along the roads full of people they all
laughed as they looked at her horse. At length she caught some words
uttered by one man to another. 'Why, the farmer's wife has sold her
horse's tail!' and turned in her saddle. Yes; it was true. Her horse
had no tail! She had forgotten to ask for one, and the wicked dwarfs had
carried out her orders to the letter!

'Well, at any rate, I shall soon be there,' she thought, and shaking
the reins, tried to urge the horse to a gallop. But it was of no use; he
declined to move out of a walk; and she was forced to hear all the jokes
that were made upon her.

In the evening she returned to the farm more angry than ever, and
quite determined to revenge herself on the brownie whenever she had the
chance, which happened to be very soon.

It was the spring, and just the time of year when the dwarfs held their
fete, so one day the brownie asked Jegu if he might bring his friends to
have supper in the great barn, and whether he would allow them to dance
there. Of course, Jegu was only too pleased to be able to do anything
for the brownie, and he ordered Barbaik to spread her best table-cloths
in the barn, and to make a quantity of little loaves and pancakes,
and, besides, to keep all the milk given by the cows that morning. He
expected she would refuse, as he knew she hated the dwarfs, but she said
nothing, and prepared the supper as he had bidden her.

When all was ready, the dwarfs, in new green suits, came bustling in,
very happy and merry, and took their seats at the table. But in a moment
they all sprang up with a cry, and ran away screaming, for Barbaik had
placed pans of hot coals under their feet, and all their poor little
toes were burnt.

'You won't forget that in a hurry,' she said, smiling grimly to herself,
but in a moment they were back again with large pots of water, which
they poured on the fire. Then they joined hands and danced round it,
singing:

          Wicked traitress, Barne Riou,
          Our poor toes are burned by you;
          Now we hurry from your hall--
          Bad luck light upon you all.

That evening they left the country for ever, and Jegu, without their
help, grew poorer and poorer, and at last died of misery, while Barbaik
was glad to find work in the market of Morlaix.

From 'Le Foyer Breton,' par E. Souvestre.




The Winning of Olwen


There was once a king and queen who had a little boy, and they called
his name Kilweh. The queen, his mother, fell ill soon after his birth,
and as she could not take care of him herself she sent him to a woman
she knew up in the mountains, so that he might learn to go out in all
weathers, and bear heat and cold, and grow tall and strong. Kilweh was
quite happy with his nurse, and ran races and climbed hills with the
children who were his playfellows, and in the winter, when the snow
lay on the ground, sometimes a man with a harp would stop and beg for
shelter, and in return would sing them songs of strange things that had
happened in the years gone by.

But long before this changes had taken place in the court of Kilweh's
father. Soon after she had sent her baby away the queen became much
worse, and at length, seeing that she was going to die, she called her
husband to her and said:

'Never again shall I rise from this bed, and by and bye thou wilt take
another wife. But lest she should make thee forget thy son, I charge
thee that thou take not a wife until thou see a briar with two blossoms
upon my grave.' And this he promised her. Then she further bade him
to see to her grave that nothing might grow thereon. This likewise he
promised her, and soon she died, and for seven years the king sent a man
every morning to see that nothing was growing on the queen's grave, but
at the end of seven years he forgot.

One day when the king was out hunting he rode past the place where the
queen lay buried, and there he saw a briar growing with two blossoms on
it.

'It is time that I took a wife,' said he, and after long looking he
found one. But he did not tell her about his son; indeed he hardly
remembered that he had one till she heard it at last from an old woman
whom she had gone to visit. And the new queen was very pleased, and sent
messengers to fetch the boy, and in his father's court he stayed, while
the years went by till one day the queen told him that a prophecy
had foretold that he was to win for his wife Olwen the daughter of
Yspaddaden Penkawr.

When he heard this Kilweh felt proud and happy. Surely he must be a man
now, he thought, or there would be no talk of a wife for him, and his
mind dwelt all day upon his promised bride, and what she would be like
when he beheld her.

'What aileth thee, my son?' asked his father at last, when Kilweh had
forgotten something he had been bidden to do, and Kilweh blushed red as
he answered:

'My stepmother says that none but Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden
Penkawr, shall be my wife.'

'That will be easily fulfilled,' replied his father. 'Arthur the king
is thy cousin. Go therefore unto him and beg him to cut thy hair, and to
grant thee this boon.'

Then the youth pricked forth upon a dapple grey horse of four years old,
with a bridle of linked gold, and gold upon his saddle. In his hand he
bore two spears of silver with heads of steel; a war-horn of ivory was
slung round his shoulder, and by his side hung a golden sword. Before
him were two brindled white-breasted greyhounds with collars of rubies
round their necks, and the one that was on the left side bounded across
to the right side, and the one on the right to the left, and like two
sea-swallows sported round him. And his horse cast up four sods with his
four hoofs, like four swallows in the air about his head, now above, now
below. About him was a robe of purple, and an apple of gold was at each
corner, and every one of the apples was of the value of a hundred cows.
And the blades of grass bent not beneath him, so light were his horse's
feet as he journeyed toward the gate of Arthur's palace.

'Is there a porter?' cried Kilweh, looking round for someone to open the
gate.

'There is; and I am Arthur's porter every first day of January,'
answered a man coming out to him. 'The rest of the year there are other
porters, and among them Pennpingyon, who goes upon his head to save his
feet.'

'Well, open the portal, I say.'

'No, that I may not do, for none can enter save the son of a king or a
pedlar who has goods to sell. But elsewhere there will be food for thy
dogs and hay for thy horse, and for thee collops cooked and peppered,
and sweet wine shall be served in the guest chamber.'

'That will not do for me,' answered Kilweh. 'If thou wilt not open the
gate I will send up three shouts that shall be heard from Cornwall unto
the north, and yet again to Ireland.'

'Whatsoever clamour thou mayest make,' spake Glewlwyd the porter, 'thou
shalt not enter until I first go and speak with Arthur.'

Then Glewlwyd went into the hall, and Arthur said to him:

'Hast thou news from the gate?' and the porter answered:

'Far have I travelled, both in this island and elsewhere, and many
kingly men have I seen; but never yet have I beheld one equal in majesty
to him who now stands at the door.'

'If walking thou didst enter here, return thou running,' replied Arthur,
'and let everyone that opens and shuts the eye show him respect and
serve him, for it is not meet to keep such a man in the wind and rain.'
So Glewlwyd unbarred the gate and Kilweh rode in upon his charger.

'Greeting unto thee, O ruler of this land,' cried he, 'and greeting no
less to the lowest than to the highest.'

'Greeting to thee also,' answered Arthur. 'Sit thou between two of my
warriors, and thou shalt have minstrels before thee and all that belongs
to one born to be a king, while thou remainest in my palace.'

'I am not come,' replied Kilweh, 'for meat and drink, but to obtain a
boon, and if thou grant it me I will pay it back, and will carry thy
praise to the four winds of heaven. But if thou wilt not grant it to me,
then I will proclaim thy discourtesy wherever thy name is known.'

'What thou askest that shalt thou receive,' said Arthur, 'as far as
the wind dries and the rain moistens, and the sun revolves and the sea
encircles and the earth extends. Save only my ship and my mantle, my
word and my lance, my shield and my dagger, and Guinevere my wife.'

'I would that thou bless my hair,' spake Kilweh, and Arthur answered:

'That shall be granted thee.'

Forthwith he bade his men fetch him a comb of gold and a scissors with
loops of silver, and he combed the hair of Kilweh his guest.

'Tell me who thou art,' he said, 'for my heart warms to thee, and I feel
thou art come of my blood.'

'I am Kilweh, son of Kilydd,' replied the youth.

'Then my cousin thou art in truth,' replied Arthur, 'and whatsoever boon
thou mayest ask thou shalt receive.'

'The boon I crave is that thou mayest win for me Olwen, the daughter of
Yspaddaden Penkawr, and this boon I seek likewise at the hands of thy
warriors. From Sol, who can stand all day upon one foot; from Ossol,
who, if he were to find himself on the top of the highest mountain in
the world, could make it into a level plain in the beat of a bird's
wing; from Cluse, who, though he were buried under the earth, could yet
hear the ant leave her nest fifty miles away: from these and from Kai
and from Bedwyr and from all thy mighty men I crave this boon.'

'O Kilweh,' said Arthur, 'never have I heard of the maiden of whom thou
speakest, nor of her kindred, but I will send messengers to seek her if
thou wilt give me time.'

'From this night to the end of the year right willingly will I grant
thee,' replied Kilweh; but when the end of the year came and the
messengers returned Kilweh was wroth, and spoke rough words to Arthur.

It was Kai, the boldest of the warriors and the swiftest of foot--he
would could pass nine nights without sleep, and nine days beneath the
water--that answered him:

'Rash youth that thou art, darest thou speak thus to Arthur? Come with
us, and we will not part company till we have won that maiden, or till
thou confess that there is none such in the world.'

Then Arthur summoned his five best men and bade them go with Kilweh.
There was Bedwyr the one-handed, Kai's comrade and brother in arms, the
swiftest man in Britain save Arthur; there was Kynddelig, who knew the
paths in a land where he had never been as surely as he did those of
his own country; there was Gwrhyr, that could speak all tongues; and
Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar, who never returned till he had gained what
he sought; and last of all there was Menw, who could weave a spell over
them so that none might see them, while they could see everyone.

So these seven journeyed together till they reached a vast open plain in
which was a fair castle. But though it seemed so close it was not until
the evening of the third day that they really drew near to it, and in
front of it a flock of sheep was spread, so many in number that there
seemed no end to them. A shepherd stood on a mound watching over them,
and by his side was a dog, as large as a horse nine winters old.

'Whose is this castle, O herdsmen?' asked the knights.

'Stupid are ye truly,' answered the herdsman. 'All the world knows that
this is the castle of Yspaddaden Penkawr.'

'And who art thou?'

'I am called Custennin, brother of Yspaddaden, and ill has he treated
me. And who are you, and what do you here?'

'We come from Arthur the king, to seek Olwen the daughter of
Yspaddaden,' but at this news the shepherd gave a cry:

'O men, be warned and turn back while there is yet time. Others have
gone on that quest, but none have escaped to tell the tale,' and he rose
to his feet as if to leave them. Then Kilweh held out to him a ring of
gold, and he tried to put it on his finger, but it was too small, so he
placed it in his glove, and went home and gave it to his wife.

'Whence came this ring?' asked she, 'for such good luck is not wont to
befall thee.'

'The man to whom this ring belonged thou shalt see here in the evening,'
answered the shepherd; 'he is Kilweh, son of Kilydd, cousin to king
Arthur, and he has come to seek Olwen.' And when the wife heard that she
knew that Kilweh was her nephew, and her heart yearned after him, half
with joy at the thought of seeing him, and half with sorrow for the doom
she feared.

Soon they heard steps approaching, and Kai and the rest entered into the
house and ate and drank. After that the woman opened a chest, and out of
it came a youth with curling yellow hair.

'It is a pity to hid him thus,' said Gwrhyr, 'for well I know that he
has done no evil.'

'Three and twenty of my sons has Yspaddaden slain, and I have no more
hope of saving this one,' replied she, and Kai was full of sorrow and
answered:

'Let him come with me and be my comrade, and he shall never be slain
unless I am slain also.' And so it was agreed.

'What is your errand here?' asked the woman.

'We seek Olwen the maiden for this youth,' answered Kai; 'does she ever
come hither so that she may be seen?'

'She comes every Saturday to wash her hair, and in the vessel where she
washes she leaves all her rings, and never does she so much as send a
messenger to fetch them.'

'Will she come if she is bidden?' asked Kai, pondering.

'She will come; but unless you pledge me your faith that you will not
harm her I will not fetch her.'

'We pledge it,' said they, and the maiden came.

A fair sight was she in a robe of flame-coloured silk, with a collar of
ruddy gold about her neck, bright with emeralds and rubies. More yellow
was her head than the flower of the broom, and her skin was whiter than
the foam of the wave, and fairer were her hands than the blossoms of
the wood anemone. Four white trefoils sprang up where she trod, and
therefore was she called Olwen.

She entered, and sat down on a bench beside Kilweh, and he spake to her:

'Ah, maiden, since first I heard thy name I have loved thee--wilt thou
not come away with me from this evil place?'

'That I cannot do,' answered she, 'for I have given my word to my father
not to go without his knowledge, for his life will only last till I am
betrothed. Whatever is, must be, but this counsel I will give you. Go,
and ask me of my father, and whatsoever he shall required of thee grant
it, and thou shalt win me; but if thou deny him anything thou wilt not
obtain me, and it will be well for thee if thou escape with thy life.'

'All this I promise,' said he.

So she returned to the castle, and all Arthur's men went after her, and
entered the hall.

'Greeting to thee, Yspaddaden Penkawr,' said they. 'We come to ask thy
daughter Olwen for Kilweh, son of Kilydd.'

'Come hither to-morrow and I will answer you,' replied Yspaddaden
Penkawr, and as they rose to leave the hall he caught up one of the
three poisoned darts that lay beside him and flung it in their midst.
But Bedwyr saw and caught it, and flung it back so hard that it pierced
the knee of Yspaddaden.

'A gentle son-in-law, truly!' he cried, writhing with pain. 'I shall
ever walk the worse for this rudeness. Cursed be the smith who forged
it, and the anvil on which it was wrought!'

That night the men slept in the house of Custennin the herdsman, and the
next day they proceeded to the castle, and entered the hall, and said:

'Yspaddaden Penkawr, give us thy daughter and thou shalt keep her dower.
And unless thou wilt do this we will slay thee.'

'Her four great grandmothers and her four great grandfathers yet live,'
answered Yspaddaden Penkawr; 'it is needful that I take counsel with
them.'

'Be it so; we will go to meat,' but as they turned he took up the second
dart that lay by his side and cast it after them. And Menw caught it,
and flung it at him, and wounded him in the chest, so that it came out
at his back.

'A gentle son-in-law, truly!' cried Yspaddaden, 'the iron pains me like
the bite of a horse-leech. Cursed be the hearth whereon it was heated,
and the smith who formed it!' The third day Arthur's men returned to the
palace into the presence of Yspaddaden.

'Shoot not at me again,' said he, 'unless you desire death. But lift
up my eyebrows, which have fallen over my eyes, that I may see my
son-in-law.' Then they arose, and as they did so Yspaddaden Penkawr took
the third poisoned dart and cast it at them. And Kilweh caught it, and
flung it back, and it passed through his eyeball, and came out on the
other side of his head.

'A gentle son-in-law, truly! Cursed be the fire in which it was forged
and the man who fashioned it!'

The next day Arthur's men came again to the palace and said:

'Shoot not at us any more unless thou desirest more pain than even now
thou hast, but give us thy daughter without more words.'

'Where is he that seeks my daughter? Let him come hither so that I may
see him.' And Kilweh sat himself in a chair and spoke face to face with
him.

'Is it thou that seekest my daughter?'

'It is I,' answered Kilweh.

'First give me thy word that thou wilt do nothing towards me that is not
just, and when thou hast won for me that which I shall ask, then thou
shalt wed my daughter.'

'I promise right willingly,' said Kilweh. 'Name what thou wilt.'

'Seest thou yonder hill? Well, in one day it shall be rooted up and
ploughed and sown, and the grain shall ripen, and of that wheat I will
bake the cakes for my daughter's wedding.'

'It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest deem it
will not be easy,' answered Kilweh, thinking of Ossol, under whose feet
the highest mountain became straightway a plain, but Yspaddaden paid no
heed, and continued:

'Seest thou that field yonder? When my daughter was born nine bushels of
flax were sown therein, and not one blade has sprung up. I require thee
to sow fresh flax in the ground that my daughter may wear a veil spun
from it on the day of her wedding.'

'It will be easy for me to compass this.'

'Though thou compass this there is that which thou wilt not compass. For
thou must bring me the basket of Gwyddneu Garanhir which will give meat
to the whole world. It is for thy wedding feast. Thou must also fetch me
the drinking-horn that is never empty, and the harp that never ceases to
play until it is bidden. Also the comb and scissors and razor that lie
between the two ears of Trwyth the boar, so that I may arrange my hair
for the wedding. And though thou get this yet there is that which thou
wilt not get, for Trwyth the boar will not let any man take from him the
comb and the scissors, unless Drudwyn the whelp hunt him. But no leash
in the world can hold Drudwyn save the leash of Cant Ewin, and no collar
will hold the leash except the collar of Canhastyr.'

'It will be easy for me to compass this, though thou mayest think it
will not be easy,' Kilweh answered him.

'Though thou get all these things yet there is that which thou wilt not
get. Throughout the world there is none that can hunt with this dog save
Mabon the son of Modron. He was taken from his mother when three nights
old, and it is not know where he now is, nor whether he is living or
dead, and though thou find him yet the boar will never be slain save
only with the sword of Gwrnach the giant, and if thou obtain it not
neither shalt thou obtain my daughter.'

'Horses shall I have, and knights from my lord Arthur. And I shall gain
thy daughter, and thou shalt lose thy life.'

The speech of Kilweh the son of Kilydd with Yspaddaden Penkawr was
ended.

Then Arthur's men set forth, and Kilweh with them, and journeyed till
they reached the largest castle in the world, and a black man came out
to meet them.

'Whence comest thou, O man?' asked they, 'and whose is that castle?'

'That is the castle of Gwrnach the giant, as all the world knows,'
answered the man, 'but no guest ever returned thence alive, and none may
enter the gate except a craftsman, who brings his trade.' But little did
Arthur's men heed his warning, and they went straight to the gate.

'Open!' cried Gwrhyr.

'I will not open,' replied the porter.

'And wherefore?' asked Kai.

'The knife is in the meat, and the drink is in the horn, and there is
revelry in the hall of Gwrnach the giant, and save for a craftsman who
brings his trade the gate will not be opened to-night.'

'Verily, then, I may enter,' said Kai, 'for there is no better burnisher
of swords than I.'

'This will I tell Gwrnach the giant, and I will bring thee his answer.'

'Bid the man come before me,' cried Gwrnach, when the porter had told
his tale, 'for my sword stands much in need of polishing,' so Kai passed
in and saluted Gwrnach the giant.

'Is it true what I hear of thee, that thou canst burnish swords?'

'It is true,' answered Kai. Then was the sword of Gwrnach brought to
him.

'Shall it be burnished white or blue?' said Kai, taking a whetstone from
under his arm.

'As thou wilt,' answered the giant, and speedily did Kai polish half the
sword. The giant marvelled at his skill, and said:

'It is a wonder that such a man as thou shouldst be without a
companion.'

'I have a companion, noble sir, but he has no skill in this art.'

'What is his name?' asked the giant.

'Let the porter go forth, and I will tell him how he may know him. The
head of his lance will leave its shaft, and draw blood from the wind,
and descend upon its shaft again.' So the porter opened the gate and
Bedwyr entered.

Now there was much talk amongst those who remained without when the
gate closed upon Bedwyr, and Goreu, son of Custennin, prevailed with the
porter, and he and his companions got in also and hid themselves.

By this time the whole of the sword was polished, and Kai gave it into
the hand of Gwrnach the giant, who felt it and said:

'Thy work is good; I am content.'

Then said Kai:

'It is thy scabbard that hath rusted thy sword; give it to me that I may
take out the wooden sides of it and put in new ones.' And he took the
scabbard in one hand and the sword in the other, and came and stood
behind the giant, as if he would have sheathed the sword in the
scabbard. But with it he struck a blow at the head of the giant, and it
rolled from his body. After that they despoiled the castle of its gold
and jewels, and returned, bearing the sword of the giant, to Arthur's
court.

They told Arthur how they had sped, and they all took counsel together,
and agreed that they must set out on the quest for Mabon the son of
Modron, and Gwrhyr, who knew the languages of beasts and of birds, went
with them. SO they journeyed until they came to the nest of an ousel,
and Gwrhyr spoke to her.

'Tell me if thou knowest aught of Mabon the son of Modron, who was taken
when three nights old from between his mother and the wall.'

And the ousel answered:

'When I first came here I was a young bird, and there was a smith's
anvil in this place. But from that time no work has been done upon it,
save that every evening I have pecked at it, till now there is not so
much as the size of a nut remaining thereof. Yet all that time I have
never once heard of the man you name. Still, there is a race of beasts
older than I, and I will guide you to them.'

So the ousel flew before them, till she reached the stag of Redynvre;
but when they inquired of the stag whether he knew aught of Mabon he
shook his head.

'When first I came hither,' said he, 'the plain was bare save for one
oak sapling, which grew up to be an oak with a hundred branches. All
that is left of that oak is a withered stump, but never once have I
heard of the man you name. Nevertheless, as you are Arthur's men, I will
guide you to the place where there is an animal older than I'; and the
stag ran before them till he reached the owl of Cwm Cawlwyd. But when
they inquired of the owl if he knew aught of Mabon he shook his head.

'When first I came hither,' said he, 'the valley was a wooded glen;
then a race of men came and rooted it up. After that there grew a second
wood, and then a third, which you see. Look at my wings also--are they
not withered stumps? Yet until to-day I have never heard of the man you
name. Still, I will guide you to the oldest animal in the world, and
the one that has travelled most, the eagle of Gwern Abbey.' And he flew
before them, as fast as his old wings would carry him, till he reached
the eagle of Gwern Abbey, but when they inquired of the eagle whether he
knew aught of Mabon he shook his head.

'When I first came hither,' said the eagle, 'there was a rock here, and
every evening I pecked at the stars from the top of it. Now, behold, it
is not even a span high! But only once have I heard of the man you
name, and that was when I went in search of food as far as Llyn Llyw. I
swooped down upon a salmon, and struck my claws into him, but he drew me
down under water till scarcely could I escape him. Then I summoned all
my kindred to destroy him, but he made peace with me, and I took fifty
fish spears from his back. Unless he may know something of the man whom
you seek I cannot tell who may. But I will guide you to the place where
he is.'

So they followed the eagle, who flew before them, though so high was he
in the sky, it was often hard to mark his flight. At length he stopped
above a deep pool in a river.

'Salmon of Llyn Llyw,' he called, 'I have come to thee with an embassy
from Arthur to inquire if thou knowest aught concerning Mabon the son of
Modron.' And the salmon answered:

'As much as I know I will tell thee. With every tide I go up the river,
till I reach the walls of Gloucester, and there have I found such wrong
as I never found elsewhere. And that you may see that what I say is true
let two of you go thither on my shoulders.' So Kai and Gwrhyr went upon
the shoulders of the salmon, and were carried under the walls of the
prison, from which proceeded the sound of great weeping.

'Who is it that thus laments in this house of stone?'

'It is I, Mabon the son of Modron.'

'Will silver or gold bring thy freedom, or only battle and fighting?'
asked Gwrhyr again.

'By fighting alone shall I be set free,' said Mabon.

Then they sent a messenger to Arthur to tell him that Mabon was found,
and he brought all his warriors to the castle of Gloucester and fell
fiercely upon it; while Kai and Bedwyr went on the shoulders of the
salmon to the gate of the dungeon, and broke it down and carried away
Mabon. And he now being free returned home with Arthur.

After this, on a certain day, as Gwythyr was walking across a mountain
he heard a grievous cry, and he hastened towards it. In a little valley
he saw the heather burning and the fire spreading fast towards the
anthill, and all the ants were hurrying to and fro, not knowing whither
to go. Gwythyr had pity on them, and put out the fire, and in gratitude
the ants brought him the nine bushels of flax seed which Yspaddaden
Penkawr required of Kilweh. And many of the other marvels were done
likewise by Arthur and his knights, and at last it came to the fight
with Trwyth the board, to obtain the comb and the scissors and the razor
that lay between his ears. But hard was the boar to catch, and fiercely
did he fight when Arthur's men gave him battle, so that many of them
were slain.

Up and down the country went Trwyth the boar, and Arthur followed after
him, till they came to the Severn sea. There three knights caught his
feet unawares and plunged him into the water, while one snatched the
razor from him, and another seized the scissors. But before they laid
hold of the comb he had shaken them all off, and neither man nor horse
nor dog could reach him till he came to Cornwall, whither Arthur had
sworn he should not go. Thither Arthur followed after him with his
knights, and if it had been hard to win the razor and the scissors, the
struggle for the comb was fiercer still, but at length Arthur prevailed,
and the boar was driven into the sea. And whether he was drowned or
where he went no man knows to this day.

In the end all the marvels were done, and Kilweh set forward, and with
him Goreu, the son of Custennin, to Yspaddaden Penkawr, bearing in their
hands the razor, the scissors and the comb, and Yspaddaden Penkawr was
shaved by Kaw.

'Is thy daughter mine now?' asked Kilweh.

'She is thine,' answered Yspaddaden, 'but it is Arthur and none other
who has won her for thee. Of my own free will thou shouldst never have
had her, for now I must lose my life.' And as he spake Goreu the son of
Custennin cut off his head, as if had been ordained, and Arthur's hosts
returned each man to his own country.


From the 'Mabinogion.'




THE ADVENTURES OF PINOCCHIO

by C. Collodi




Translated from the Italian by Carol Della Chiesa






How it happened that Mastro Cherry, carpenter, found a piece of wood
that wept and laughed like a child.


Centuries ago there lived--

"A king!" my little readers will say immediately.

No, children, you are mistaken. Once upon a time there was a piece of
wood. It was not an expensive piece of wood. Far from it. Just a common
block of firewood, one of those thick, solid logs that are put on the
fire in winter to make cold rooms cozy and warm.

I do not know how this really happened, yet the fact remains that
one fine day this piece of wood found itself in the shop of an old
carpenter. His real name was Mastro Antonio, but everyone called him
Mastro Cherry, for the tip of his nose was so round and red and shiny
that it looked like a ripe cherry.

As soon as he saw that piece of wood, Mastro Cherry was filled with joy.
Rubbing his hands together happily, he mumbled half to himself:

"This has come in the nick of time. I shall use it to make the leg of a
table."

He grasped the hatchet quickly to peel off the bark and shape the wood.
But as he was about to give it the first blow, he stood still with arm
uplifted, for he had heard a wee, little voice say in a beseeching tone:
"Please be careful! Do not hit me so hard!"

What a look of surprise shone on Mastro Cherry's face! His funny face
became still funnier.

He turned frightened eyes about the room to find out where that wee,
little voice had come from and he saw no one! He looked under the
bench--no one! He peeped inside the closet--no one! He searched among
the shavings--no one! He opened the door to look up and down the
street--and still no one!

"Oh, I see!" he then said, laughing and scratching his Wig. "It can
easily be seen that I only thought I heard the tiny voice say the words!
Well, well--to work once more."

He struck a most solemn blow upon the piece of wood.

"Oh, oh! You hurt!" cried the same far-away little voice.

Mastro Cherry grew dumb, his eyes popped out of his head, his mouth
opened wide, and his tongue hung down on his chin.

As soon as he regained the use of his senses, he said, trembling and
stuttering from fright:

"Where did that voice come from, when there is no one around? Might it
be that this piece of wood has learned to weep and cry like a child? I
can hardly believe it. Here it is--a piece of common firewood, good
only to burn in the stove, the same as any other. Yet--might someone be
hidden in it? If so, the worse for him. I'll fix him!"

With these words, he grabbed the log with both hands and started to
knock it about unmercifully. He threw it to the floor, against the walls
of the room, and even up to the ceiling.

He listened for the tiny voice to moan and cry. He waited two
minutes--nothing; five minutes--nothing; ten minutes--nothing.

"Oh, I see," he said, trying bravely to laugh and ruffling up his wig
with his hand. "It can easily be seen I only imagined I heard the tiny
voice! Well, well--to work once more!"

The poor fellow was scared half to death, so he tried to sing a gay song
in order to gain courage.

He set aside the hatchet and picked up the plane to make the wood smooth
and even, but as he drew it to and fro, he heard the same tiny voice.
This time it giggled as it spoke:

"Stop it! Oh, stop it! Ha, ha, ha! You tickle my stomach."

This time poor Mastro Cherry fell as if shot. When he opened his eyes,
he found himself sitting on the floor.

His face had changed; fright had turned even the tip of his nose from
red to deepest purple.




Mastro Cherry gives the piece of wood to his friend Geppetto, who
takes it to make himself a Marionette that will dance, fence, and turn
somersaults.


In that very instant, a loud knock sounded on the door. "Come in," said
the carpenter, not having an atom of strength left with which to stand
up.

At the words, the door opened and a dapper little old man came in.
His name was Geppetto, but to the boys of the neighborhood he was
Polendina, on account of the wig he always wore which was just the
color of yellow corn.



Geppetto had a very bad temper. Woe to the one who called him Polendina!
He became as wild as a beast and no one could soothe him.

"Good day, Mastro Antonio," said Geppetto. "What are you doing on the
floor?"

"I am teaching the ants their A B C's."

"Good luck to you!"

"What brought you here, friend Geppetto?"

"My legs. And it may flatter you to know, Mastro Antonio, that I have
come to you to beg for a favor."

"Here I am, at your service," answered the carpenter, raising himself on
to his knees.

"This morning a fine idea came to me."

"Let's hear it."

"I thought of making myself a beautiful wooden Marionette. It must be
wonderful, one that will be able to dance, fence, and turn somersaults.
With it I intend to go around the world, to earn my crust of bread and
cup of wine. What do you think of it?"

"Bravo, Polendina!" cried the same tiny voice which came from no one
knew where.

On hearing himself called Polendina, Mastro Geppetto turned the color of
a red pepper and, facing the carpenter, said to him angrily:

"Why do you insult me?"

"Who is insulting you?"

"You called me Polendina."

"I did not."

"I suppose you think _I_ did! Yet I KNOW it was you."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

And growing angrier each moment, they went from words to blows, and
finally began to scratch and bite and slap each other.

When the fight was over, Mastro Antonio had Geppetto's yellow wig in his
hands and Geppetto found the carpenter's curly wig in his mouth.

"Give me back my wig!" shouted Mastro Antonio in a surly voice.

"You return mine and we'll be friends."

The two little old men, each with his own wig back on his own head,
shook hands and swore to be good friends for the rest of their lives.

"Well then, Mastro Geppetto," said the carpenter, to show he bore him no
ill will, "what is it you want?"

"I want a piece of wood to make a Marionette. Will you give it to me?"

Mastro Antonio, very glad indeed, went immediately to his bench to get
the piece of wood which had frightened him so much. But as he was about
to give it to his friend, with a violent jerk it slipped out of his
hands and hit against poor Geppetto's thin legs.

"Ah! Is this the gentle way, Mastro Antonio, in which you make your
gifts? You have made me almost lame!"

"I swear to you I did not do it!"

"It was _I_, of course!"

"It's the fault of this piece of wood."

"You're right; but remember you were the one to throw it at my legs."

"I did not throw it!"

"Liar!"

"Geppetto, do not insult me or I shall call you Polendina."

"Idiot."

"Polendina!"

"Donkey!"

"Polendina!"

"Ugly monkey!"

"Polendina!"

On hearing himself called Polendina for the third time, Geppetto lost
his head with rage and threw himself upon the carpenter. Then and there
they gave each other a sound thrashing.

After this fight, Mastro Antonio had two more scratches on his nose,
and Geppetto had two buttons missing from his coat. Thus having settled
their accounts, they shook hands and swore to be good friends for the
rest of their lives.

Then Geppetto took the fine piece of wood, thanked Mastro Antonio, and
limped away toward home.




As soon as he gets home, Geppetto fashions the Marionette and calls it
Pinocchio. The first pranks  of the Marionette.


Little as Geppetto's house was, it was neat and comfortable. It was a
small room on the ground floor, with a tiny window under the stairway.
The furniture could not have been much simpler: a very old chair, a
rickety old bed, and a tumble-down table. A fireplace full of burning
logs was painted on the wall opposite the door. Over the fire, there
was painted a pot full of something which kept boiling happily away and
sending up clouds of what looked like real steam.

As soon as he reached home, Geppetto took his tools and began to cut and
shape the wood into a Marionette.

"What shall I call him?" he said to himself. "I think I'll call him
PINOCCHIO. This name will make his fortune. I knew a whole family of
Pinocchi once--Pinocchio the father, Pinocchia the mother, and Pinocchi
the children--and they were all lucky. The richest of them begged for
his living."

After choosing the name for his Marionette, Geppetto set seriously to
work to make the hair, the forehead, the eyes. Fancy his surprise
when he noticed that these eyes moved and then stared fixedly at him.
Geppetto, seeing this, felt insulted and said in a grieved tone:

"Ugly wooden eyes, why do you stare so?"

There was no answer.

After the eyes, Geppetto made the nose, which began to stretch as soon
as finished. It stretched and stretched and stretched till it became so
long, it seemed endless.

Poor Geppetto kept cutting it and cutting it, but the more he cut, the
longer grew that impertinent nose. In despair he let it alone.

Next he made the mouth.

No sooner was it finished than it began to laugh and poke fun at him.

"Stop laughing!" said Geppetto angrily; but he might as well have spoken
to the wall.

"Stop laughing, I say!" he roared in a voice of thunder.

The mouth stopped laughing, but it stuck out a long tongue.

Not wishing to start an argument, Geppetto made believe he saw nothing
and went on with his work. After the mouth, he made the chin, then the
neck, the shoulders, the stomach, the arms, and the hands.

As he was about to put the last touches on the finger tips, Geppetto
felt his wig being pulled off. He glanced up and what did he see? His
yellow wig was in the Marionette's hand. "Pinocchio, give me my wig!"

But instead of giving it back, Pinocchio put it on his own head, which
was half swallowed up in it.

At that unexpected trick, Geppetto became very sad and downcast, more so
than he had ever been before.

"Pinocchio, you wicked boy!" he cried out. "You are not yet finished,
and you start out by being impudent to your poor old father. Very bad,
my son, very bad!"

And he wiped away a tear.

The legs and feet still had to be made. As soon as they were done,
Geppetto felt a sharp kick on the tip of his nose.

"I deserve it!" he said to himself. "I should have thought of this
before I made him. Now it's too late!"

He took hold of the Marionette under the arms and put him on the floor
to teach him to walk.

Pinocchio's legs were so stiff that he could not move them, and Geppetto
held his hand and showed him how to put out one foot after the other.

When his legs were limbered up, Pinocchio started walking by himself and
ran all around the room. He came to the open door, and with one leap he
was out into the street. Away he flew!

Poor Geppetto ran after him but was unable to catch him, for Pinocchio
ran in leaps and bounds, his two wooden feet, as they beat on the stones
of the street, making as much noise as twenty peasants in wooden shoes.

"Catch him! Catch him!" Geppetto kept shouting. But the people in the
street, seeing a wooden Marionette running like the wind, stood still to
stare and to laugh until they cried.

At last, by sheer luck, a Carabineer happened along, who, hearing all
that noise, thought that it might be a runaway colt, and stood bravely
in the middle of the street, with legs wide apart, firmly resolved to
stop it and prevent any trouble.


Pinocchio saw the Carabineer from afar and tried his best to escape
between the legs of the big fellow, but without success.

The Carabineer grabbed him by the nose (it was an extremely long one and
seemed made on purpose for that very thing) and returned him to Mastro
Geppetto.

The little old man wanted to pull Pinocchio's ears. Think how he felt
when, upon searching for them, he discovered that he had forgotten to
make them!

All he could do was to seize Pinocchio by the back of the neck and take
him home. As he was doing so, he shook him two or three times and said
to him angrily:

"We're going home now. When we get home, then we'll settle this matter!"

Pinocchio, on hearing this, threw himself on the ground and refused to
take another step. One person after another gathered around the two.

Some said one thing, some another.

"Poor Marionette," called out a man. "I am not surprised he doesn't want
to go home. Geppetto, no doubt, will beat him unmercifully, he is so
mean and cruel!"

"Geppetto looks like a good man," added another, "but with boys he's a
real tyrant. If we leave that poor Marionette in his hands he may tear
him to pieces!"

They said so much that, finally, the Carabineer ended matters by setting
Pinocchio at liberty and dragging Geppetto to prison. The poor old
fellow did not know how to defend himself, but wept and wailed like a
child and said between his sobs:

"Ungrateful boy! To think I tried so hard to make you a well-behaved
Marionette! I deserve it, however! I should have given the matter more
thought."

What happened after this is an almost unbelievable story, but you may
read it, dear children, in the chapters that follow.




The story of Pinocchio and the Talking Cricket, in which one sees that
bad children do not like to be corrected by those who know more than
they do.


Very little time did it take to get poor old Geppetto to prison. In
the meantime that rascal, Pinocchio, free now from the clutches of the
Carabineer, was running wildly across fields and meadows, taking one
short cut after another toward home. In his wild flight, he leaped over
brambles and bushes, and across brooks and ponds, as if he were a goat
or a hare chased by hounds.

On reaching home, he found the house door half open. He slipped into
the room, locked the door, and threw himself on the floor, happy at his
escape.

But his happiness lasted only a short time, for just then he heard
someone saying:

"Cri-cri-cri!"

"Who is calling me?" asked Pinocchio, greatly frightened.

"I am!"

Pinocchio turned and saw a large cricket crawling slowly up the wall.

"Tell me, Cricket, who are you?"

"I am the Talking Cricket and I have been living in this room for more
than one hundred years."

"Today, however, this room is mine," said the Marionette, "and if you
wish to do me a favor, get out now, and don't turn around even once."

"I refuse to leave this spot," answered the Cricket, "until I have told
you a great truth."

"Tell it, then, and hurry."

"Woe to boys who refuse to obey their parents and run away from home!
They will never be happy in this world, and when they are older they
will be very sorry for it."

"Sing on, Cricket mine, as you please. What I know is, that tomorrow,
at dawn, I leave this place forever. If I stay here the same thing will
happen to me which happens to all other boys and girls. They are sent to
school, and whether they want to or not, they must study. As for me,
let me tell you, I hate to study! It's much more fun, I think, to chase
after butterflies, climb trees, and steal birds' nests."

"Poor little silly! Don't you know that if you go on like that, you
will grow into a perfect donkey and that you'll be the laughingstock of
everyone?"

"Keep still, you ugly Cricket!" cried Pinocchio.

But the Cricket, who was a wise old philosopher, instead of being
offended at Pinocchio's impudence, continued in the same tone:

"If you do not like going to school, why don't you at least learn a
trade, so that you can earn an honest living?"

"Shall I tell you something?" asked Pinocchio, who was beginning to lose
patience. "Of all the trades in the world, there is only one that really
suits me."

"And what can that be?"

"That of eating, drinking, sleeping, playing, and wandering around from
morning till night."

"Let me tell you, for your own good, Pinocchio," said the Talking
Cricket in his calm voice, "that those who follow that trade always end
up in the hospital or in prison."

"Careful, ugly Cricket! If you make me angry, you'll be sorry!"

"Poor Pinocchio, I am sorry for you."

"Why?"

"Because you are a Marionette and, what is much worse, you have a wooden
head."

At these last words, Pinocchio jumped up in a fury, took a hammer from
the bench, and threw it with all his strength at the Talking Cricket.

Perhaps he did not think he would strike it. But, sad to relate, my dear
children, he did hit the Cricket, straight on its head.

With a last weak "cri-cri-cri" the poor Cricket fell from the wall,
dead!




Pinocchio is hungry and looks for an egg to cook himself an omelet; but,
to his surprise, the omelet flies out of the window.


If the Cricket's death scared Pinocchio at all, it was only for a very
few moments. For, as night came on, a queer, empty feeling at the pit of
his stomach reminded the Marionette that he had eaten nothing as yet.

A boy's appetite grows very fast, and in a few moments the queer, empty
feeling had become hunger, and the hunger grew bigger and bigger, until
soon he was as ravenous as a bear.

Poor Pinocchio ran to the fireplace where the pot was boiling and
stretched out his hand to take the cover off, but to his amazement the
pot was only painted! Think how he felt! His long nose became at least
two inches longer.

He ran about the room, dug in all the boxes and drawers, and even looked
under the bed in search of a piece of bread, hard though it might be,
or a cookie, or perhaps a bit of fish. A bone left by a dog would have
tasted good to him! But he found nothing.

And meanwhile his hunger grew and grew. The only relief poor Pinocchio
had was to yawn; and he certainly did yawn, such a big yawn that his
mouth stretched out to the tips of his ears. Soon he became dizzy and
faint. He wept and wailed to himself: "The Talking Cricket was right. It
was wrong of me to disobey Father and to run away from home. If he were
here now, I wouldn't be so hungry! Oh, how horrible it is to be hungry!"

Suddenly, he saw, among the sweepings in a corner, something round and
white that looked very much like a hen's egg. In a jiffy he pounced upon
it. It was an egg.

The Marionette's joy knew no bounds. It is impossible to describe it,
you must picture it to yourself. Certain that he was dreaming, he turned
the egg over and over in his hands, fondled it, kissed it, and talked to
it:

"And now, how shall I cook you? Shall I make an omelet? No, it is better
to fry you in a pan! Or shall I drink you? No, the best way is to fry
you in the pan. You will taste better."

No sooner said than done. He placed a little pan over a foot warmer full
of hot coals. In the pan, instead of oil or butter, he poured a
little water. As soon as the water started to boil--tac!--he broke the
eggshell. But in place of the white and the yolk of the egg, a little
yellow Chick, fluffy and gay and smiling, escaped from it. Bowing
politely to Pinocchio, he said to him:

"Many, many thanks, indeed, Mr. Pinocchio, for having saved me the
trouble of breaking my shell! Good-by and good luck to you and remember
me to the family!"

With these words he spread out his wings and, darting to the open
window, he flew away into space till he was out of sight.

The poor Marionette stood as if turned to stone, with wide eyes, open
mouth, and the empty halves of the egg-shell in his hands. When he came
to himself, he began to cry and shriek at the top of his lungs, stamping
his feet on the ground and wailing all the while:

"The Talking Cricket was right! If I had not run away from home and if
Father were here now, I should not be dying of hunger. Oh, how horrible
it is to be hungry!"

And as his stomach kept grumbling more than ever and he had nothing
to quiet it with, he thought of going out for a walk to the near-by
village, in the hope of finding some charitable person who might give
him a bit of bread.




Pinocchio falls asleep with his feet on a foot warmer, and awakens the
next day with his feet all burned off.


Pinocchio hated the dark street, but he was so hungry that, in spite of
it, he ran out of the house. The night was pitch black. It thundered,
and bright flashes of lightning now and again shot across the sky,
turning it into a sea of fire. An angry wind blew cold and raised dense
clouds of dust, while the trees shook and moaned in a weird way.

Pinocchio was greatly afraid of thunder and lightning, but the hunger he
felt was far greater than his fear. In a dozen leaps and bounds, he
came to the village, tired out, puffing like a whale, and with tongue
hanging.

The whole village was dark and deserted. The stores were closed, the
doors, the windows. In the streets, not even a dog could be seen. It
seemed the Village of the Dead.

Pinocchio, in desperation, ran up to a doorway, threw himself upon the
bell, and pulled it wildly, saying to himself: "Someone will surely
answer that!"

He was right. An old man in a nightcap opened the window and looked out.
He called down angrily:

"What do you want at this hour of night?"

"Will you be good enough to give me a bit of bread? I am hungry."

"Wait a minute and I'll come right back," answered the old fellow,
thinking he had to deal with one of those boys who love to roam around
at night ringing people's bells while they are peacefully asleep.

After a minute or two, the same voice cried:

"Get under the window and hold out your hat!"

Pinocchio had no hat, but he managed to get under the window just in
time to feel a shower of ice-cold water pour down on his poor wooden
head, his shoulders, and over his whole body.

He returned home as wet as a rag, and tired out from weariness and
hunger.

As he no longer had any strength left with which to stand, he sat down
on a little stool and put his two feet on the stove to dry them.

There he fell asleep, and while he slept, his wooden feet began to burn.
Slowly, very slowly, they blackened and turned to ashes.

Pinocchio snored away happily as if his feet were not his own. At dawn
he opened his eyes just as a loud knocking sounded at the door.

"Who is it?" he called, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

"It is I," answered a voice.

It was the voice of Geppetto.




Geppetto returns home and gives his own breakfast to the Marionette


The poor Marionette, who was still half asleep, had not yet found out
that his two feet were burned and gone. As soon as he heard his Father's
voice, he jumped up from his seat to open the door, but, as he did so,
he staggered and fell headlong to the floor.

In falling, he made as much noise as a sack of wood falling from the
fifth story of a house.

"Open the door for me!" Geppetto shouted from the street.

"Father, dear Father, I can't," answered the Marionette in despair,
crying and rolling on the floor.

"Why can't you?"

"Because someone has eaten my feet."

"And who has eaten them?"

"The cat," answered Pinocchio, seeing that little animal busily playing
with some shavings in the corner of the room.

"Open! I say," repeated Geppetto, "or I'll give you a sound whipping
when I get in."

"Father, believe me, I can't stand up. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I shall have
to walk on my knees all my life."

Geppetto, thinking that all these tears and cries were only other pranks
of the Marionette, climbed up the side of the house and went in through
the window.

At first he was very angry, but on seeing Pinocchio stretched out on the
floor and really without feet, he felt very sad and sorrowful. Picking
him up from the floor, he fondled and caressed him, talking to him while
the tears ran down his cheeks:

"My little Pinocchio, my dear little Pinocchio! How did you burn your
feet?"

"I don't know, Father, but believe me, the night has been a terrible one
and I shall remember it as long as I live. The thunder was so noisy and
the lightning so bright--and I was hungry. And then the Talking Cricket
said to me, 'You deserve it; you were bad;' and I said to him, 'Careful,
Cricket;' and he said to me, 'You are a Marionette and you have a wooden
head;' and I threw the hammer at him and killed him. It was his own
fault, for I didn't want to kill him. And I put the pan on the coals,
but the Chick flew away and said, 'I'll see you again! Remember me to
the family.' And my hunger grew, and I went out, and the old man with a
nightcap looked out of the window and threw water on me, and I came home
and put my feet on the stove to dry them because I was still hungry,
and I fell asleep and now my feet are gone but my hunger isn't!
Oh!--Oh!--Oh!" And poor Pinocchio began to scream and cry so loudly that
he could be heard for miles around.

Geppetto, who had understood nothing of all that jumbled talk, except
that the Marionette was hungry, felt sorry for him, and pulling three
pears out of his pocket, offered them to him, saying:

"These three pears were for my breakfast, but I give them to you gladly.
Eat them and stop weeping."

"If you want me to eat them, please peel them for me."

"Peel them?" asked Geppetto, very much surprised. "I should never have
thought, dear boy of mine, that you were so dainty and fussy about your
food. Bad, very bad! In this world, even as children, we must accustom
ourselves to eat of everything, for we never know what life may hold in
store for us!"

"You may be right," answered Pinocchio, "but I will not eat the pears if
they are not peeled. I don't like them."

And good old Geppetto took out a knife, peeled the three pears, and put
the skins in a row on the table.

Pinocchio ate one pear in a twinkling and started to throw the core
away, but Geppetto held his arm.

"Oh, no, don't throw it away! Everything in this world may be of some
use!"

"But the core I will not eat!" cried Pinocchio in an angry tone.

"Who knows?" repeated Geppetto calmly.

And later the three cores were placed on the table next to the skins.

Pinocchio had eaten the three pears, or rather devoured them. Then he
yawned deeply, and wailed:

"I'm still hungry."

"But I have no more to give you."

"Really, nothing--nothing?"

"I have only these three cores and these skins."

"Very well, then," said Pinocchio, "if there is nothing else I'll eat
them."

At first he made a wry face, but, one after another, the skins and the
cores disappeared.

"Ah! Now I feel fine!" he said after eating the last one.

"You see," observed Geppetto, "that I was right when I told you that one
must not be too fussy and too dainty about food. My dear, we never know
what life may have in store for us!"




Geppetto makes Pinocchio a new pair of feet, and sells his coat to buy
him an A-B-C book.


The Marionette, as soon as his hunger was appeased, started to grumble
and cry that he wanted a new pair of feet.

But Mastro Geppetto, in order to punish him for his mischief, let him
alone the whole morning. After dinner he said to him:

"Why should I make your feet over again? To see you run away from home
once more?"

"I promise you," answered the Marionette, sobbing, "that from now on
I'll be good--"

"Boys always promise that when they want something," said Geppetto.

"I promise to go to school every day, to study, and to succeed--"

"Boys always sing that song when they want their own will."

"But I am not like other boys! I am better than all of them and I always
tell the truth. I promise you, Father, that I'll learn a trade, and I'll
be the comfort and staff of your old age."

Geppetto, though trying to look very stern, felt his eyes fill with
tears and his heart soften when he saw Pinocchio so unhappy. He said
no more, but taking his tools and two pieces of wood, he set to work
diligently.

In less than an hour the feet were finished, two slender, nimble little
feet, strong and quick, modeled as if by an artist's hands.

"Close your eyes and sleep!" Geppetto then said to the Marionette.

Pinocchio closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep, while Geppetto
stuck on the two feet with a bit of glue melted in an eggshell, doing
his work so well that the joint could hardly be seen.

As soon as the Marionette felt his new feet, he gave one leap from the
table and started to skip and jump around, as if he had lost his head
from very joy.

"To show you how grateful I am to you, Father, I'll go to school now.
But to go to school I need a suit of clothes."

Geppetto did not have a penny in his pocket, so he made his son a little
suit of flowered paper, a pair of shoes from the bark of a tree, and a
tiny cap from a bit of dough.

Pinocchio ran to look at himself in a bowl of water, and he felt so
happy that he said proudly:

"Now I look like a gentleman."

"Truly," answered Geppetto. "But remember that fine clothes do not make
the man unless they be neat and clean."

"Very true," answered Pinocchio, "but, in order to go to school, I still
need something very important."

"What is it?"

"An A-B-C book."

"To be sure! But how shall we get it?"

"That's easy. We'll go to a bookstore and buy it."

"And the money?"

"I have none."

"Neither have I," said the old man sadly.

Pinocchio, although a happy boy always, became sad and downcast at these
words. When poverty shows itself, even mischievous boys understand what
it means.

"What does it matter, after all?" cried Geppetto all at once, as he
jumped up from his chair. Putting on his old coat, full of darns and
patches, he ran out of the house without another word.

After a while he returned. In his hands he had the A-B-C book for his
son, but the old coat was gone. The poor fellow was in his shirt sleeves
and the day was cold.

"Where's your coat, Father?"

"I have sold it."

"Why did you sell your coat?"

"It was too warm."

Pinocchio understood the answer in a twinkling, and, unable to restrain
his tears, he jumped on his father's neck and kissed him over and over.




Pinocchio sells his A-B-C book to pay his way into the Marionette
Theater.


See Pinocchio hurrying off to school with his new A-B-C book under
his arm! As he walked along, his brain was busy planning hundreds of
wonderful things, building hundreds of castles in the air. Talking to
himself, he said:

"In school today, I'll learn to read, tomorrow to write, and the day
after tomorrow I'll do arithmetic. Then, clever as I am, I can earn a
lot of money. With the very first pennies I make, I'll buy Father a new
cloth coat. Cloth, did I say? No, it shall be of gold and silver with
diamond buttons. That poor man certainly deserves it; for, after all,
isn't he in his shirt sleeves because he was good enough to buy a
book for me? On this cold day, too! Fathers are indeed good to their
children!"

As he talked to himself, he thought he heard sounds of pipes and drums
coming from a distance: pi-pi-pi, pi-pi-pi. . .zum, zum, zum, zum.

He stopped to listen. Those sounds came from a little street that led to
a small village along the shore.

"What can that noise be? What a nuisance that I have to go to school!
Otherwise. . ."

There he stopped, very much puzzled. He felt he had to make up his mind
for either one thing or another. Should he go to school, or should he
follow the pipes?

"Today I'll follow the pipes, and tomorrow I'll go to school. There's
always plenty of time to go to school," decided the little rascal at
last, shrugging his shoulders.

No sooner said than done. He started down the street, going like the
wind. On he ran, and louder grew the sounds of pipe and drum: pi-pi-pi,
pi-pi-pi, pi-pi-pi . . .zum, zum, zum, zum.

Suddenly, he found himself in a large square, full of people standing in
front of a little wooden building painted in brilliant colors.

"What is that house?" Pinocchio asked a little boy near him.

"Read the sign and you'll know."

"I'd like to read, but somehow I can't today."

"Oh, really? Then I'll read it to you. Know, then, that written in
letters of fire I see the words: GREAT MARIONETTE THEATER.

"When did the show start?"

"It is starting now."

"And how much does one pay to get in?"

"Four pennies."

Pinocchio, who was wild with curiosity to know what was going on inside,
lost all his pride and said to the boy shamelessly:

"Will you give me four pennies until tomorrow?"

"I'd give them to you gladly," answered the other, poking fun at him,
"but just now I can't give them to you."

"For the price of four pennies, I'll sell you my coat."

"If it rains, what shall I do with a coat of flowered paper? I could not
take it off again."

"Do you want to buy my shoes?"

"They are only good enough to light a fire with."

"What about my hat?"

"Fine bargain, indeed! A cap of dough! The mice might come and eat it
from my head!"

Pinocchio was almost in tears. He was just about to make one last offer,
but he lacked the courage to do so. He hesitated, he wondered, he could
not make up his mind. At last he said:

"Will you give me four pennies for the book?"

"I am a boy and I buy nothing from boys," said the little fellow with
far more common sense than the Marionette.

"I'll give you four pennies for your A-B-C book," said a ragpicker who
stood by.

Then and there, the book changed hands. And to think that poor old
Geppetto sat at home in his shirt sleeves, shivering with cold, having
sold his coat to buy that little book for his son!




The Marionettes recognize their brother Pinocchio, and greet him with
loud cheers; but the Director, Fire Eater, happens along and poor
Pinocchio almost loses his life.


Quick as a flash, Pinocchio disappeared into the Marionette Theater. And
then something happened which almost caused a riot.

The curtain was up and the performance had started.

Harlequin and Pulcinella were reciting on the stage and, as usual, they
were threatening each other with sticks and blows.

The theater was full of people, enjoying the spectacle and laughing till
they cried at the antics of the two Marionettes.

The play continued for a few minutes, and then suddenly, without any
warning, Harlequin stopped talking. Turning toward the audience, he
pointed to the rear of the orchestra, yelling wildly at the same time:

"Look, look! Am I asleep or awake? Or do I really see Pinocchio there?"

"Yes, yes! It is Pinocchio!" screamed Pulcinella.

"It is! It is!" shrieked Signora Rosaura, peeking in from the side of
the stage.

"It is Pinocchio! It is Pinocchio!" yelled all the Marionettes, pouring
out of the wings. "It is Pinocchio. It is our brother Pinocchio! Hurrah
for Pinocchio!"

"Pinocchio, come up to me!" shouted Harlequin. "Come to the arms of your
wooden brothers!"

At such a loving invitation, Pinocchio, with one leap from the back of
the orchestra, found himself in the front rows. With another leap,
he was on the orchestra leader's head. With a third, he landed on the
stage.

It is impossible to describe the shrieks of joy, the warm embraces, the
knocks, and the friendly greetings with which that strange company of
dramatic actors and actresses received Pinocchio.

It was a heart-rending spectacle, but the audience, seeing that the play
had stopped, became angry and began to yell:

"The play, the play, we want the play!"

The yelling was of no use, for the Marionettes, instead of going on
with their act, made twice as much racket as before, and, lifting up
Pinocchio on their shoulders, carried him around the stage in triumph.

At that very moment, the Director came out of his room. He had such a
fearful appearance that one look at him would fill you with horror. His
beard was as black as pitch, and so long that it reached from his chin
down to his feet. His mouth was as wide as an oven, his teeth like
yellow fangs, and his eyes, two glowing red coals. In his huge, hairy
hands, a long whip, made of green snakes and black cats' tails twisted
together, swished through the air in a dangerous way.

At the unexpected apparition, no one dared even to breathe. One could
almost hear a fly go by. Those poor Marionettes, one and all, trembled
like leaves in a storm.

"Why have you brought such excitement into my theater;" the huge fellow
asked Pinocchio with the voice of an ogre suffering with a cold.

"Believe me, your Honor, the fault was not mine."

"Enough! Be quiet! I'll take care of you later."

As soon as the play was over, the Director went to the kitchen, where
a fine big lamb was slowly turning on the spit. More wood was needed to
finish cooking it. He called Harlequin and Pulcinella and said to them:

"Bring that Marionette to me! He looks as if he were made of
well-seasoned wood. He'll make a fine fire for this spit."

Harlequin and Pulcinella hesitated a bit. Then, frightened by a look
from their master, they left the kitchen to obey him. A few minutes
later they returned, carrying poor Pinocchio, who was wriggling and
squirming like an eel and crying pitifully:

"Father, save me! I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"




Fire Eater sneezes and forgives Pinocchio, who saves his friend,
Harlequin, from death.


In the theater, great excitement reigned.

Fire Eater (this was really his name) was very ugly, but he was far from
being as bad as he looked. Proof of this is that, when he saw the poor
Marionette being brought in to him, struggling with fear and crying, "I
don't want to die! I don't want to die!" he felt sorry for him and began
first to waver and then to weaken. Finally, he could control himself no
longer and gave a loud sneeze.

At that sneeze, Harlequin, who until then had been as sad as a weeping
willow, smiled happily and leaning toward the Marionette, whispered to
him:

"Good news, brother mine! Fire Eater has sneezed and this is a sign that
he feels sorry for you. You are saved!"

For be it known, that, while other people, when sad and sorrowful, weep
and wipe their eyes, Fire Eater, on the other hand, had the strange
habit of sneezing each time he felt unhappy. The way was just as good as
any other to show the kindness of his heart.

After sneezing, Fire Eater, ugly as ever, cried to Pinocchio:

"Stop crying! Your wails give me a funny feeling down here in my stomach
and--E--tchee!--E--tchee!" Two loud sneezes finished his speech.

"God bless you!" said Pinocchio.

"Thanks! Are your father and mother still living?" demanded Fire Eater.

"My father, yes. My mother I have never known."

"Your poor father would suffer terribly if I were to use you as
firewood. Poor old man! I feel sorry for him! E--tchee! E--tchee!
E--tchee!" Three more sneezes sounded, louder than ever.

"God bless you!" said Pinocchio.

"Thanks! However, I ought to be sorry for myself, too, just now. My good
dinner is spoiled. I have no more wood for the fire, and the lamb
is only half cooked. Never mind! In your place I'll burn some other
Marionette. Hey there! Officers!"

At the call, two wooden officers appeared, long and thin as a yard of
rope, with queer hats on their heads and swords in their hands.

Fire Eater yelled at them in a hoarse voice:

"Take Harlequin, tie him, and throw him on the fire. I want my lamb well
done!"

Think how poor Harlequin felt! He was so scared that his legs doubled up
under him and he fell to the floor.

Pinocchio, at that heartbreaking sight, threw himself at the feet of
Fire Eater and, weeping bitterly, asked in a pitiful voice which could
scarcely be heard:

"Have pity, I beg of you, signore!"

"There are no signori here!"

"Have pity, kind sir!"

"There are no sirs here!"

"Have pity, your Excellency!"

On hearing himself addressed as your Excellency, the Director of the
Marionette Theater sat up very straight in his chair, stroked his long
beard, and becoming suddenly kind and compassionate, smiled proudly as
he said to Pinocchio:

"Well, what do you want from me now, Marionette?"

"I beg for mercy for my poor friend, Harlequin, who has never done the
least harm in his life."

"There is no mercy here, Pinocchio. I have spared you. Harlequin must
burn in your place. I am hungry and my dinner must be cooked."

"In that case," said Pinocchio proudly, as he stood up and flung away
his cap of dough, "in that case, my duty is clear. Come, officers!
Tie me up and throw me on those flames. No, it is not fair for poor
Harlequin, the best friend that I have in the world, to die in my
place!"

These brave words, said in a piercing voice, made all the other
Marionettes cry. Even the officers, who were made of wood also, cried
like two babies.

Fire Eater at first remained hard and cold as a piece of ice; but then,
little by little, he softened and began to sneeze. And after four or
five sneezes, he opened wide his arms and said to Pinocchio:

"You are a brave boy! Come to my arms and kiss me!"

Pinocchio ran to him and scurrying like a squirrel up the long black
beard, he gave Fire Eater a loving kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Has pardon been granted to me?" asked poor Harlequin with a voice that
was hardly a breath.

"Pardon is yours!" answered Fire Eater; and sighing and wagging his
head, he added: "Well, tonight I shall have to eat my lamb only half
cooked, but beware the next time, Marionettes."

At the news that pardon had been given, the Marionettes ran to the stage
and, turning on all the lights, they danced and sang till dawn.




Fire Eater gives Pinocchio five gold pieces for his father, Geppetto;
but the Marionette meets a Fox and a Cat and follows them.


The next day Fire Eater called Pinocchio aside and asked him:

"What is your father's name?"

"Geppetto."

"And what is his trade?"

"He's a wood carver."

"Does he earn much?"

"He earns so much that he never has a penny in his pockets. Just think
that, in order to buy me an A-B-C book for school, he had to sell the
only coat he owned, a coat so full of darns and patches that it was a
pity."

"Poor fellow! I feel sorry for him. Here, take these five gold pieces.
Go, give them to him with my kindest regards."

Pinocchio, as may easily be imagined, thanked him a thousand times. He
kissed each Marionette in turn, even the officers, and, beside himself
with joy, set out on his homeward journey.

He had gone barely half a mile when he met a lame Fox and a blind Cat,
walking together like two good friends. The lame Fox leaned on the Cat,
and the blind Cat let the Fox lead him along.

"Good morning, Pinocchio," said the Fox, greeting him courteously.

"How do you know my name?" asked the Marionette.

"I know your father well."

"Where have you seen him?"

"I saw him yesterday standing at the door of his house."

"And what was he doing?"

"He was in his shirt sleeves trembling with cold."

"Poor Father! But, after today, God willing, he will suffer no longer."

"Why?"

"Because I have become a rich man."

"You, a rich man?" said the Fox, and he began to laugh out loud. The Cat
was laughing also, but tried to hide it by stroking his long whiskers.

"There is nothing to laugh at," cried Pinocchio angrily. "I am very
sorry to make your mouth water, but these, as you know, are five new
gold pieces."

And he pulled out the gold pieces which Fire Eater had given him.

At the cheerful tinkle of the gold, the Fox unconsciously held out his
paw that was supposed to be lame, and the Cat opened wide his two eyes
till they looked like live coals, but he closed them again so quickly
that Pinocchio did not notice.

"And may I ask," inquired the Fox, "what you are going to do with all
that money?"

"First of all," answered the Marionette, "I want to buy a fine new coat
for my father, a coat of gold and silver with diamond buttons; after
that, I'll buy an A-B-C book for myself."

"For yourself?"

"For myself. I want to go to school and study hard."

"Look at me," said the Fox. "For the silly reason of wanting to study, I
have lost a paw."

"Look at me," said the Cat. "For the same foolish reason, I have lost
the sight of both eyes."

At that moment, a Blackbird, perched on the fence along the road, called
out sharp and clear:

"Pinocchio, do not listen to bad advice. If you do, you'll be sorry!"

Poor little Blackbird! If he had only kept his words to himself! In the
twinkling of an eyelid, the Cat leaped on him, and ate him, feathers and
all.

After eating the bird, he cleaned his whiskers, closed his eyes, and
became blind once more.

"Poor Blackbird!" said Pinocchio to the Cat. "Why did you kill him?"

"I killed him to teach him a lesson. He talks too much. Next time he
will keep his words to himself."

By this time the three companions had walked a long distance. Suddenly,
the Fox stopped in his tracks and, turning to the Marionette, said to
him:

"Do you want to double your gold pieces?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want one hundred, a thousand, two thousand gold pieces for your
miserable five?"

"Yes, but how?"

"The way is very easy. Instead of returning home, come with us."

"And where will you take me?"

"To the City of Simple Simons."

Pinocchio thought a while and then said firmly:

"No, I don't want to go. Home is near, and I'm going where Father is
waiting for me. How unhappy he must be that I have not yet returned! I
have been a bad son, and the Talking Cricket was right when he said that
a disobedient boy cannot be happy in this world. I have learned this
at my own expense. Even last night in the theater, when Fire Eater. . .
Brrrr!!!!! . . . The shivers run up and down my back at the mere thought
of it."

"Well, then," said the Fox, "if you really want to go home, go ahead,
but you'll be sorry."

"You'll be sorry," repeated the Cat.

"Think well, Pinocchio, you are turning your back on Dame Fortune."

"On Dame Fortune," repeated the Cat.

"Tomorrow your five gold pieces will be two thousand!"

"Two thousand!" repeated the Cat.

"But how can they possibly become so many?" asked Pinocchio wonderingly.

"I'll explain," said the Fox. "You must know that, just outside the City
of Simple Simons, there is a blessed field called the Field of Wonders.
In this field you dig a hole and in the hole you bury a gold piece.
After covering up the hole with earth you water it well, sprinkle a bit
of salt on it, and go to bed. During the night, the gold piece sprouts,
grows, blossoms, and next morning you find a beautiful tree, that is
loaded with gold pieces."

"So that if I were to bury my five gold pieces," cried Pinocchio with
growing wonder, "next morning I should find--how many?"

"It is very simple to figure out," answered the Fox. "Why, you can
figure it on your fingers! Granted that each piece gives you five
hundred, multiply five hundred by five. Next morning you will find
twenty-five hundred new, sparkling gold pieces."

"Fine! Fine!" cried Pinocchio, dancing about with joy. "And as soon as
I have them, I shall keep two thousand for myself and the other five
hundred I'll give to you two."

"A gift for us?" cried the Fox, pretending to be insulted. "Why, of
course not!"

"Of course not!" repeated the Cat.

"We do not work for gain," answered the Fox. "We work only to enrich
others."

"To enrich others!" repeated the Cat.

"What good people," thought Pinocchio to himself. And forgetting his
father, the new coat, the A-B-C book, and all his good resolutions, he
said to the Fox and to the Cat:

"Let us go. I am with you."




The Inn of the Red Lobster


Cat and Fox and Marionette walked and walked and walked. At last, toward
evening, dead tired, they came to the Inn of the Red Lobster.

"Let us stop here a while," said the Fox, "to eat a bite and rest for
a few hours. At midnight we'll start out again, for at dawn tomorrow we
must be at the Field of Wonders."

They went into the Inn and all three sat down at the same table.
However, not one of them was very hungry.

The poor Cat felt very weak, and he was able to eat only thirty-five
mullets with tomato sauce and four portions of tripe with cheese.
Moreover, as he was so in need of strength, he had to have four more
helpings of butter and cheese.

The Fox, after a great deal of coaxing, tried his best to eat a little.
The doctor had put him on a diet, and he had to be satisfied with a
small hare dressed with a dozen young and tender spring chickens. After
the hare, he ordered some partridges, a few pheasants, a couple of
rabbits, and a dozen frogs and lizards. That was all. He felt ill, he
said, and could not eat another bite.

Pinocchio ate least of all. He asked for a bite of bread and a few nuts
and then hardly touched them. The poor fellow, with his mind on the
Field of Wonders, was suffering from a gold-piece indigestion.

Supper over, the Fox said to the Innkeeper:

"Give us two good rooms, one for Mr. Pinocchio and the other for me and
my friend. Before starting out, we'll take a little nap. Remember to
call us at midnight sharp, for we must continue on our journey."

"Yes, sir," answered the Innkeeper, winking in a knowing way at the Fox
and the Cat, as if to say, "I understand."

As soon as Pinocchio was in bed, he fell fast asleep and began to dream.
He dreamed he was in the middle of a field. The field was full of
vines heavy with grapes. The grapes were no other than gold coins which
tinkled merrily as they swayed in the wind. They seemed to say, "Let him
who wants us take us!"

Just as Pinocchio stretched out his hand to take a handful of them, he
was awakened by three loud knocks at the door. It was the Innkeeper who
had come to tell him that midnight had struck.

"Are my friends ready?" the Marionette asked him.

"Indeed, yes! They went two hours ago."

"Why in such a hurry?"

"Unfortunately the Cat received a telegram which said that his
first-born was suffering from chilblains and was on the point of death.
He could not even wait to say good-by to you."

"Did they pay for the supper?"

"How could they do such a thing? Being people of great refinement, they
did not want to offend you so deeply as not to allow you the honor of
paying the bill."

"Too bad! That offense would have been more than pleasing to me," said
Pinocchio, scratching his head.

"Where did my good friends say they would wait for me?" he added.

"At the Field of Wonders, at sunrise tomorrow morning."

Pinocchio paid a gold piece for the three suppers and started on his way
toward the field that was to make him a rich man.

He walked on, not knowing where he was going, for it was dark, so dark
that not a thing was visible. Round about him, not a leaf stirred. A few
bats skimmed his nose now and again and scared him half to death. Once
or twice he shouted, "Who goes there?" and the far-away hills echoed
back to him, "Who goes there? Who goes there? Who goes. . . ?"

As he walked, Pinocchio noticed a tiny insect glimmering on the trunk of
a tree, a small being that glowed with a pale, soft light.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I am the ghost of the Talking Cricket," answered the little being in a
faint voice that sounded as if it came from a far-away world.

"What do you want?" asked the Marionette.

"I want to give you a few words of good advice. Return home and give the
four gold pieces you have left to your poor old father who is weeping
because he has not seen you for many a day."

"Tomorrow my father will be a rich man, for these four gold pieces will
become two thousand."

"Don't listen to those who promise you wealth overnight, my boy. As a
rule they are either fools or swindlers! Listen to me and go home."

"But I want to go on!"

"The hour is late!"

"I want to go on."

"The night is very dark."

"I want to go on."

"The road is dangerous."

"I want to go on."

"Remember that boys who insist on having their own way, sooner or later
come to grief."

"The same nonsense. Good-by, Cricket."

"Good night, Pinocchio, and may Heaven preserve you from the Assassins."

There was silence for a minute and the light of the Talking Cricket
disappeared suddenly, just as if someone had snuffed it out. Once again
the road was plunged in darkness.




Pinocchio, not having listened to the good advice of the Talking
Cricket, falls into the hands of the Assassins.


"Dear, oh, dear! When I come to think of it," said the Marionette to
himself, as he once more set out on his journey, "we boys are really
very unlucky. Everybody scolds us, everybody gives us advice, everybody
warns us. If we were to allow it, everyone would try to be father and
mother to us; everyone, even the Talking Cricket. Take me, for example.
Just because I would not listen to that bothersome Cricket, who knows
how many misfortunes may be awaiting me! Assassins indeed! At least I
have never believed in them, nor ever will. To speak sensibly, I think
assassins have been invented by fathers and mothers to frighten children
who want to run away at night. And then, even if I were to meet them
on the road, what matter? I'll just run up to them, and say, 'Well,
signori, what do you want? Remember that you can't fool with me! Run
along and mind your business.' At such a speech, I can almost see those
poor fellows running like the wind. But in case they don't run away, I
can always run myself. . ."

Pinocchio was not given time to argue any longer, for he thought he
heard a slight rustle among the leaves behind him.

He turned to look and behold, there in the darkness stood two big black
shadows, wrapped from head to foot in black sacks. The two figures
leaped toward him as softly as if they were ghosts.

"Here they come!" Pinocchio said to himself, and, not knowing where to
hide the gold pieces, he stuck all four of them under his tongue.

He tried to run away, but hardly had he taken a step, when he felt his
arms grasped and heard two horrible, deep voices say to him: "Your money
or your life!"

On account of the gold pieces in his mouth, Pinocchio could not say
a word, so he tried with head and hands and body to show, as best he
could, that he was only a poor Marionette without a penny in his pocket.

"Come, come, less nonsense, and out with your money!" cried the two
thieves in threatening voices.

Once more, Pinocchio's head and hands said, "I haven't a penny."

"Out with that money or you're a dead man," said the taller of the two
Assassins.

"Dead man," repeated the other.

"And after having killed you, we will kill your father also."

"Your father also!"

"No, no, no, not my Father!" cried Pinocchio, wild with terror; but as
he screamed, the gold pieces tinkled together in his mouth.

"Ah, you rascal! So that's the game! You have the money hidden under
your tongue. Out with it!"

But Pinocchio was as stubborn as ever.

"Are you deaf? Wait, young man, we'll get it from you in a twinkling!"

One of them grabbed the Marionette by the nose and the other by the
chin, and they pulled him unmercifully from side to side in order to
make him open his mouth.

All was of no use. The Marionette's lips might have been nailed
together. They would not open.

In desperation the smaller of the two Assassins pulled out a long knife
from his pocket, and tried to pry Pinocchio's mouth open with it.

Quick as a flash, the Marionette sank his teeth deep into the Assassin's
hand, bit it off and spat it out. Fancy his surprise when he saw that it
was not a hand, but a cat's paw.

Encouraged by this first victory, he freed himself from the claws of
his assailers and, leaping over the bushes along the road, ran swiftly
across the fields. His pursuers were after him at once, like two dogs
chasing a hare.

After running seven miles or so, Pinocchio was well-nigh exhausted.
Seeing himself lost, he climbed up a giant pine tree and sat there
to see what he could see. The Assassins tried to climb also, but they
slipped and fell.

Far from giving up the chase, this only spurred them on. They gathered a
bundle of wood, piled it up at the foot of the pine, and set fire to it.
In a twinkling the tree began to sputter and burn like a candle blown by
the wind. Pinocchio saw the flames climb higher and higher. Not wishing
to end his days as a roasted Marionette, he jumped quickly to the ground
and off he went, the Assassins close to him, as before.

Dawn was breaking when, without any warning whatsoever, Pinocchio found
his path barred by a deep pool full of water the color of muddy coffee.

What was there to do? With a "One, two, three!" he jumped clear across
it. The Assassins jumped also, but not having measured their distance
well--splash!!!--they fell right into the middle of the pool. Pinocchio
who heard the splash and felt it, too, cried out, laughing, but never
stopping in his race:

"A pleasant bath to you, signori!"

He thought they must surely be drowned and turned his head to see. But
there were the two somber figures still following him, though their
black sacks were drenched and dripping with water.




The Assassins chase Pinocchio, catch him, and hang him to the branch of
a giant oak tree.


As he ran, the Marionette felt more and more certain that he would have
to give himself up into the hands of his pursuers. Suddenly he saw a
little cottage gleaming white as the snow among the trees of the forest.

"If I have enough breath left with which to reach that little house, I
may be saved," he said to himself.

Not waiting another moment, he darted swiftly through the woods, the
Assassins still after him.

After a hard race of almost an hour, tired and out of breath, Pinocchio
finally reached the door of the cottage and knocked. No one answered.

He knocked again, harder than before, for behind him he heard the steps
and the labored breathing of his persecutors. The same silence followed.

As knocking was of no use, Pinocchio, in despair, began to kick and bang
against the door, as if he wanted to break it. At the noise, a window
opened and a lovely maiden looked out. She had azure hair and a face
white as wax. Her eyes were closed and her hands crossed on her breast.
With a voice so weak that it hardly could be heard, she whispered:

"No one lives in this house. Everyone is dead."

"Won't you, at least, open the door for me?" cried Pinocchio in a
beseeching voice.

"I also am dead."

"Dead? What are you doing at the window, then?"

"I am waiting for the coffin to take me away."

After these words, the little girl disappeared and the window closed
without a sound.

"Oh, Lovely Maiden with Azure Hair," cried Pinocchio, "open, I beg of
you. Take pity on a poor boy who is being chased by two Assass--"

He did not finish, for two powerful hands grasped him by the neck and
the same two horrible voices growled threateningly: "Now we have you!"

The Marionette, seeing death dancing before him, trembled so hard that
the joints of his legs rattled and the coins tinkled under his tongue.

"Well," the Assassins asked, "will you open your mouth now or not? Ah!
You do not answer? Very well, this time you shall open it."

Taking out two long, sharp knives, they struck two heavy blows on the
Marionette's back.

Happily for him, Pinocchio was made of very hard wood and the knives
broke into a thousand pieces. The Assassins looked at each other in
dismay, holding the handles of the knives in their hands.

"I understand," said one of them to the other, "there is nothing left to
do now but to hang him."

"To hang him," repeated the other.

They tied Pinocchio's hands behind his shoulders and slipped the noose
around his neck. Throwing the rope over the high limb of a giant oak
tree, they pulled till the poor Marionette hung far up in space.

Satisfied with their work, they sat on the grass waiting for Pinocchio
to give his last gasp. But after three hours the Marionette's eyes were
still open, his mouth still shut and his legs kicked harder than ever.

Tired of waiting, the Assassins called to him mockingly: "Good-by till
tomorrow. When we return in the morning, we hope you'll be polite enough
to let us find you dead and gone and with your mouth wide open." With
these words they went.

A few minutes went by and then a wild wind started to blow. As it
shrieked and moaned, the poor little sufferer was blown to and fro
like the hammer of a bell. The rocking made him seasick and the noose,
becoming tighter and tighter, choked him. Little by little a film
covered his eyes.

Death was creeping nearer and nearer, and the Marionette still hoped
for some good soul to come to his rescue, but no one appeared. As he was
about to die, he thought of his poor old father, and hardly conscious of
what he was saying, murmured to himself:

"Oh, Father, dear Father! If you were only here!"

These were his last words. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth,
stretched out his legs, and hung there, as if he were dead.




The Lovely Maiden with Azure Hair sends for the poor Marionette, puts
him to bed, and calls three Doctors to tell her if Pinocchio is dead or
alive.


If the poor Marionette had dangled there much longer, all hope would
have been lost. Luckily for him, the Lovely Maiden with Azure Hair once
again looked out of her window. Filled with pity at the sight of the
poor little fellow being knocked helplessly about by the wind, she
clapped her hands sharply together three times.

At the signal, a loud whirr of wings in quick flight was heard and a
large Falcon came and settled itself on the window ledge.

"What do you command, my charming Fairy?" asked the Falcon, bending his
beak in deep reverence (for it must be known that, after all, the Lovely
Maiden with Azure Hair was none other than a very kind Fairy who had
lived, for more than a thousand years, in the vicinity of the forest).

"Do you see that Marionette hanging from the limb of that giant oak
tree?"

"I see him."

"Very well. Fly immediately to him. With your strong beak, break the
knot which holds him tied, take him down, and lay him softly on the
grass at the foot of the oak."

The Falcon flew away and after two minutes returned, saying, "I have
done what you have commanded."

"How did you find him? Alive or dead?"

"At first glance, I thought he was dead. But I found I was wrong, for
as soon as I loosened the knot around his neck, he gave a long sigh and
mumbled with a faint voice, 'Now I feel better!'"

The Fairy clapped her hands twice. A magnificent Poodle appeared,
walking on his hind legs just like a man. He was dressed in court
livery. A tricorn trimmed with gold lace was set at a rakish angle over
a wig of white curls that dropped down to his waist. He wore a jaunty
coat of chocolate-colored velvet, with diamond buttons, and with two
huge pockets which were always filled with bones, dropped there
at dinner by his loving mistress. Breeches of crimson velvet, silk
stockings, and low, silver-buckled slippers completed his costume. His
tail was encased in a blue silk covering, which was to protect it from
the rain.

"Come, Medoro," said the Fairy to him. "Get my best coach ready and set
out toward the forest. On reaching the oak tree, you will find a poor,
half-dead Marionette stretched out on the grass. Lift him up tenderly,
place him on the silken cushions of the coach, and bring him here to
me."

The Poodle, to show that he understood, wagged his silk-covered tail two
or three times and set off at a quick pace.

In a few minutes, a lovely little coach, made of glass, with lining as
soft as whipped cream and chocolate pudding, and stuffed with canary
feathers, pulled out of the stable. It was drawn by one hundred pairs
of white mice, and the Poodle sat on the coachman's seat and snapped his
whip gayly in the air, as if he were a real coachman in a hurry to get
to his destination.

In a quarter of an hour the coach was back. The Fairy, who was waiting
at the door of the house, lifted the poor little Marionette in her arms,
took him to a dainty room with mother-of-pearl walls, put him to bed,
and sent immediately for the most famous doctors of the neighborhood to
come to her.

One after another the doctors came, a Crow, and Owl, and a Talking
Cricket.

"I should like to know, signori," said the Fairy, turning to the three
doctors gathered about Pinocchio's bed, "I should like to know if this
poor Marionette is dead or alive."

At this invitation, the Crow stepped out and felt Pinocchio's pulse, his
nose, his little toe. Then he solemnly pronounced the following words:

"To my mind this Marionette is dead and gone; but if, by any evil
chance, he were not, then that would be a sure sign that he is still
alive!"

"I am sorry," said the Owl, "to have to contradict the Crow, my famous
friend and colleague. To my mind this Marionette is alive; but if, by
any evil chance, he were not, then that would be a sure sign that he is
wholly dead!"

"And do you hold any opinion?" the Fairy asked the Talking Cricket.

"I say that a wise doctor, when he does not know what he is talking
about, should know enough to keep his mouth shut. However, that
Marionette is not a stranger to me. I have known him a long time!"

Pinocchio, who until then had been very quiet, shuddered so hard that
the bed shook.

"That Marionette," continued the Talking Cricket, "is a rascal of the
worst kind."

Pinocchio opened his eyes and closed them again.

"He is rude, lazy, a runaway."

Pinocchio hid his face under the sheets.

"That Marionette is a disobedient son who is breaking his father's
heart!"

Long shuddering sobs were heard, cries, and deep sighs. Think how
surprised everyone was when, on raising the sheets, they discovered
Pinocchio half melted in tears!

"When the dead weep, they are beginning to recover," said the Crow
solemnly.

"I am sorry to contradict my famous friend and colleague," said the Owl,
"but as far as I'm concerned, I think that when the dead weep, it means
they do not want to die."




Pinocchio eats sugar, but refuses to take medicine. When the undertakers
come for him, he drinks the medicine and feels better. Afterwards he
tells a lie and, in punishment, his nose grows longer and longer.


As soon as the three doctors had left the room, the Fairy went to
Pinocchio's bed and, touching him on the forehead, noticed that he was
burning with fever.

She took a glass of water, put a white powder into it, and, handing it
to the Marionette, said lovingly to him:

"Drink this, and in a few days you'll be up and well."

Pinocchio looked at the glass, made a wry face, and asked in a whining
voice: "Is it sweet or bitter?"

"It is bitter, but it is good for you."

"If it is bitter, I don't want it."

"Drink it!"

"I don't like anything bitter."

"Drink it and I'll give you a lump of sugar to take the bitter taste
from your mouth."

"Where's the sugar?"

"Here it is," said the Fairy, taking a lump from a golden sugar bowl.

"I want the sugar first, then I'll drink the bitter water."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes."

The Fairy gave him the sugar and Pinocchio, after chewing and swallowing
it in a twinkling, said, smacking his lips:

"If only sugar were medicine! I should take it every day."

"Now keep your promise and drink these few drops of water. They'll be
good for you."

Pinocchio took the glass in both hands and stuck his nose into it. He
lifted it to his mouth and once more stuck his nose into it.

"It is too bitter, much too bitter! I can't drink it."

"How do you know, when you haven't even tasted it?"

"I can imagine it. I smell it. I want another lump of sugar, then I'll
drink it."

The Fairy, with all the patience of a good mother, gave him more sugar
and again handed him the glass.

"I can't drink it like that," the Marionette said, making more wry
faces.

"Why?"

"Because that feather pillow on my feet bothers me."

The Fairy took away the pillow.

"It's no use. I can't drink it even now."

"What's the matter now?"

"I don't like the way that door looks. It's half open."

The Fairy closed the door.

"I won't drink it," cried Pinocchio, bursting out crying. "I won't drink
this awful water. I won't. I won't! No, no, no, no!"

"My boy, you'll be sorry."

"I don't care."

"You are very sick."

"I don't care."

"In a few hours the fever will take you far away to another world."

"I don't care."

"Aren't you afraid of death?"

"Not a bit. I'd rather die than drink that awful medicine."

At that moment, the door of the room flew open and in came four Rabbits
as black as ink, carrying a small black coffin on their shoulders.

"What do you want from me?" asked Pinocchio.

"We have come for you," said the largest Rabbit.

"For me? But I'm not dead yet!"

"No, not dead yet; but you will be in a few moments since you have
refused to take the medicine which would have made you well."

"Oh, Fairy, my Fairy," the Marionette cried out, "give me that glass!
Quick, please! I don't want to die! No, no, not yet--not yet!"

And holding the glass with his two hands, he swallowed the medicine at
one gulp.

"Well," said the four Rabbits, "this time we have made the trip for
nothing."

And turning on their heels, they marched solemnly out of the room,
carrying their little black coffin and muttering and grumbling between
their teeth.

In a twinkling, Pinocchio felt fine. With one leap he was out of bed and
into his clothes.

The Fairy, seeing him run and jump around the room gay as a bird on
wing, said to him:

"My medicine was good for you, after all, wasn't it?"

"Good indeed! It has given me new life."

"Why, then, did I have to beg you so hard to make you drink it?"

"I'm a boy, you see, and all boys hate medicine more than they do
sickness."

"What a shame! Boys ought to know, after all, that medicine, taken in
time, can save them from much pain and even from death."

"Next time I won't have to be begged so hard. I'll remember those black
Rabbits with the black coffin on their shoulders and I'll take the glass
and pouf!--down it will go!"

"Come here now and tell me how it came about that you found yourself in
the hands of the Assassins."

"It happened that Fire Eater gave me five gold pieces to give to my
Father, but on the way, I met a Fox and a Cat, who asked me, 'Do you
want the five pieces to become two thousand?' And I said, 'Yes.' And
they said, 'Come with us to the Field of Wonders.' And I said, 'Let's
go.' Then they said, 'Let us stop at the Inn of the Red Lobster for
dinner and after midnight we'll set out again.' We ate and went to
sleep. When I awoke they were gone and I started out in the darkness all
alone. On the road I met two Assassins dressed in black coal sacks,
who said to me, 'Your money or your life!' and I said, 'I haven't any
money'; for, you see, I had put the money under my tongue. One of them
tried to put his hand in my mouth and I bit it off and spat it out; but
it wasn't a hand, it was a cat's paw. And they ran after me and I ran
and ran, till at last they caught me and tied my neck with a rope and
hanged me to a tree, saying, 'Tomorrow we'll come back for you and
you'll be dead and your mouth will be open, and then we'll take the gold
pieces that you have hidden under your tongue.'"

"Where are the gold pieces now?" the Fairy asked.

"I lost them," answered Pinocchio, but he told a lie, for he had them in
his pocket.

As he spoke, his nose, long though it was, became at least two inches
longer.

"And where did you lose them?"

"In the wood near by."

At this second lie, his nose grew a few more inches.

"If you lost them in the near-by wood," said the Fairy, "we'll look for
them and find them, for everything that is lost there is always found."

"Ah, now I remember," replied the Marionette, becoming more and more
confused. "I did not lose the gold pieces, but I swallowed them when I
drank the medicine."

At this third lie, his nose became longer than ever, so long that he
could not even turn around. If he turned to the right, he knocked it
against the bed or into the windowpanes; if he turned to the left, he
struck the walls or the door; if he raised it a bit, he almost put the
Fairy's eyes out.

The Fairy sat looking at him and laughing.

"Why do you laugh?" the Marionette asked her, worried now at the sight
of his growing nose.

"I am laughing at your lies."

"How do you know I am lying?"

"Lies, my boy, are known in a moment. There are two kinds of lies, lies
with short legs and lies with long noses. Yours, just now, happen to
have long noses."

Pinocchio, not knowing where to hide his shame, tried to escape from the
room, but his nose had become so long that he could not get it out of
the door.




Pinocchio finds the Fox and the Cat again, and goes with them to sow the
gold pieces in the Field of Wonders.


Crying as if his heart would break, the Marionette mourned for hours
over the length of his nose. No matter how he tried, it would not go
through the door. The Fairy showed no pity toward him, as she was trying
to teach him a good lesson, so that he would stop telling lies, the
worst habit any boy may acquire. But when she saw him, pale with fright
and with his eyes half out of his head from terror, she began to feel
sorry for him and clapped her hands together. A thousand woodpeckers
flew in through the window and settled themselves on Pinocchio's nose.
They pecked and pecked so hard at that enormous nose that in a few
moments, it was the same size as before.

"How good you are, my Fairy," said Pinocchio, drying his eyes, "and how
much I love you!"

"I love you, too," answered the Fairy, "and if you wish to stay with me,
you may be my little brother and I'll be your good little sister."

"I should like to stay--but what about my poor father?"

"I have thought of everything. Your father has been sent for and before
night he will be here."

"Really?" cried Pinocchio joyfully. "Then, my good Fairy, if you are
willing, I should like to go to meet him. I cannot wait to kiss that
dear old man, who has suffered so much for my sake."

"Surely; go ahead, but be careful not to lose your way. Take the wood
path and you'll surely meet him."

Pinocchio set out, and as soon as he found himself in the wood, he
ran like a hare. When he reached the giant oak tree he stopped, for he
thought he heard a rustle in the brush. He was right. There stood the
Fox and the Cat, the two traveling companions with whom he had eaten at
the Inn of the Red Lobster.

"Here comes our dear Pinocchio!" cried the Fox, hugging and kissing him.
"How did you happen here?"

"How did you happen here?" repeated the Cat.

"It is a long story," said the Marionette. "Let me tell it to you. The
other night, when you left me alone at the Inn, I met the Assassins on
the road--"

"The Assassins? Oh, my poor friend! And what did they want?"

"They wanted my gold pieces."

"Rascals!" said the Fox.

"The worst sort of rascals!" added the Cat.

"But I began to run," continued the Marionette, "and they after me,
until they overtook me and hanged me to the limb of that oak."

Pinocchio pointed to the giant oak near by.

"Could anything be worse?" said the Fox.

"What an awful world to live in! Where shall we find a safe place for
gentlemen like ourselves?"

As the Fox talked thus, Pinocchio noticed that the Cat carried his right
paw in a sling.

"What happened to your paw?" he asked.

The Cat tried to answer, but he became so terribly twisted in his speech
that the Fox had to help him out.

"My friend is too modest to answer. I'll answer for him. About an hour
ago, we met an old wolf on the road. He was half starved and begged for
help. Having nothing to give him, what do you think my friend did out
of the kindness of his heart? With his teeth, he bit off the paw of
his front foot and threw it at that poor beast, so that he might have
something to eat."

As he spoke, the Fox wiped off a tear.

Pinocchio, almost in tears himself, whispered in the Cat's ear:

"If all the cats were like you, how lucky the mice would be!"

"And what are you doing here?" the Fox asked the Marionette.

"I am waiting for my father, who will be here at any moment now."

"And your gold pieces?"

"I still have them in my pocket, except one which I spent at the Inn of
the Red Lobster."

"To think that those four gold pieces might become two thousand
tomorrow. Why don't you listen to me? Why don't you sow them in the
Field of Wonders?"

"Today it is impossible. I'll go with you some other time."

"Another day will be too late," said the Fox.

"Why?"

"Because that field has been bought by a very rich man, and today is the
last day that it will be open to the public."

"How far is this Field of Wonders?"

"Only two miles away. Will you come with us? We'll be there in half an
hour. You can sow the money, and, after a few minutes, you will gather
your two thousand coins and return home rich. Are you coming?"

Pinocchio hesitated a moment before answering, for he remembered the
good Fairy, old Geppetto, and the advice of the Talking Cricket. Then
he ended by doing what all boys do, when they have no heart and little
brain. He shrugged his shoulders and said to the Fox and the Cat:

"Let us go! I am with you."

And they went.

They walked and walked for a half a day at least and at last they came
to the town called the City of Simple Simons. As soon as they entered
the town, Pinocchio noticed that all the streets were filled with
hairless dogs, yawning from hunger; with sheared sheep, trembling with
cold; with combless chickens, begging for a grain of wheat; with large
butterflies, unable to use their wings because they had sold all their
lovely colors; with tailless peacocks, ashamed to show themselves; and
with bedraggled pheasants, scuttling away hurriedly, grieving for their
bright feathers of gold and silver, lost to them forever.

Through this crowd of paupers and beggars, a beautiful coach passed now
and again. Within it sat either a Fox, a Hawk, or a Vulture.

"Where is the Field of Wonders?" asked Pinocchio, growing tired of
waiting.

"Be patient. It is only a few more steps away."

They passed through the city and, just outside the walls, they stepped
into a lonely field, which looked more or less like any other field.

"Here we are," said the Fox to the Marionette. "Dig a hole here and put
the gold pieces into it."

The Marionette obeyed. He dug the hole, put the four gold pieces into
it, and covered them up very carefully. "Now," said the Fox, "go to that
near-by brook, bring back a pail full of water, and sprinkle it over the
spot."

Pinocchio followed the directions closely, but, as he had no pail, he
pulled off his shoe, filled it with water, and sprinkled the earth which
covered the gold. Then he asked:

"Anything else?"

"Nothing else," answered the Fox. "Now we can go. Return here within
twenty minutes and you will find the vine grown and the branches filled
with gold pieces."

Pinocchio, beside himself with joy, thanked the Fox and the Cat many
times and promised them each a beautiful gift.

"We don't want any of your gifts," answered the two rogues. "It is
enough for us that we have helped you to become rich with little or no
trouble. For this we are as happy as kings."

They said good-by to Pinocchio and, wishing him good luck, went on their
way.




Pinocchio is robbed of his gold pieces and, in punishment, is sentenced
to four months in prison.


If the Marionette had been told to wait a day instead of twenty minutes,
the time could not have seemed longer to him. He walked impatiently to
and fro and finally turned his nose toward the Field of Wonders.

And as he walked with hurried steps, his heart beat with an excited tic,
tac, tic, tac, just as if it were a wall clock, and his busy brain kept
thinking:

"What if, instead of a thousand, I should find two thousand? Or if,
instead of two thousand, I should find five thousand--or one hundred
thousand? I'll build myself a beautiful palace, with a thousand stables
filled with a thousand wooden horses to play with, a cellar overflowing
with lemonade and ice cream soda, and a library of candies and fruits,
cakes and cookies."

Thus amusing himself with fancies, he came to the field. There he
stopped to see if, by any chance, a vine filled with gold coins was
in sight. But he saw nothing! He took a few steps forward, and still
nothing! He stepped into the field. He went up to the place where he had
dug the hole and buried the gold pieces. Again nothing! Pinocchio became
very thoughtful and, forgetting his good manners altogether, he pulled a
hand out of his pocket and gave his head a thorough scratching.

As he did so, he heard a hearty burst of laughter close to his head. He
turned sharply, and there, just above him on the branch of a tree, sat a
large Parrot, busily preening his feathers.

"What are you laughing at?" Pinocchio asked peevishly.

"I am laughing because, in preening my feathers, I tickled myself under
the wings."

The Marionette did not answer. He walked to the brook, filled his shoe
with water, and once more sprinkled the ground which covered the gold
pieces.

Another burst of laughter, even more impertinent than the first, was
heard in the quiet field.

"Well," cried the Marionette, angrily this time, "may I know, Mr.
Parrot, what amuses you so?"

"I am laughing at those simpletons who believe everything they hear and
who allow themselves to be caught so easily in the traps set for them."

"Do you, perhaps, mean me?"

"I certainly do mean you, poor Pinocchio--you who are such a little
silly as to believe that gold can be sown in a field just like beans
or squash. I, too, believed that once and today I am very sorry for it.
Today (but too late!) I have reached the conclusion that, in order to
come by money honestly, one must work and know how to earn it with hand
or brain."

"I don't know what you are talking about," said the Marionette, who was
beginning to tremble with fear.

"Too bad! I'll explain myself better," said the Parrot. "While you were
away in the city the Fox and the Cat returned here in a great hurry.
They took the four gold pieces which you have buried and ran away as
fast as the wind. If you can catch them, you're a brave one!"

Pinocchio's mouth opened wide. He would not believe the Parrot's words
and began to dig away furiously at the earth. He dug and he dug till
the hole was as big as himself, but no money was there. Every penny was
gone.

In desperation, he ran to the city and went straight to the courthouse
to report the robbery to the magistrate. The Judge was a Monkey, a large
Gorilla venerable with age. A flowing white beard covered his chest and
he wore gold-rimmed spectacles from which the glasses had dropped
out. The reason for wearing these, he said, was that his eyes had been
weakened by the work of many years.

Pinocchio, standing before him, told his pitiful tale, word by word.
He gave the names and the descriptions of the robbers and begged for
justice.

The Judge listened to him with great patience. A kind look shone in his
eyes. He became very much interested in the story; he felt moved; he
almost wept. When the Marionette had no more to say, the Judge put out
his hand and rang a bell.

At the sound, two large Mastiffs appeared, dressed in Carabineers'
uniforms.

Then the magistrate, pointing to Pinocchio, said in a very solemn voice:

"This poor simpleton has been robbed of four gold pieces. Take him,
therefore, and throw him into prison." The Marionette, on hearing this
sentence passed upon him, was thoroughly stunned. He tried to protest,
but the two officers clapped their paws on his mouth and hustled him
away to jail.

There he had to remain for four long, weary months. And if it had not
been for a very lucky chance, he probably would have had to stay there
longer. For, my dear children, you must know that it happened just then
that the young emperor who ruled over the City of Simple Simons had
gained a great victory over his enemy, and in celebration thereof, he
had ordered illuminations, fireworks, shows of all kinds, and, best of
all, the opening of all prison doors.

"If the others go, I go, too," said Pinocchio to the Jailer.

"Not you," answered the Jailer. "You are one of those--"

"I beg your pardon," interrupted Pinocchio, "I, too, am a thief."

"In that case you also are free," said the Jailer. Taking off his cap,
he bowed low and opened the door of the prison, and Pinocchio ran out
and away, with never a look backward.



Freed from prison, Pinocchio sets out to return to the Fairy; but on the
way he meets a Serpent and later is caught in a trap.


Fancy the happiness of Pinocchio on finding himself free! Without saying
yes or no, he fled from the city and set out on the road that was to
take him back to the house of the lovely Fairy.

It had rained for many days, and the road was so muddy that, at times,
Pinocchio sank down almost to his knees.

But he kept on bravely.

Tormented by the wish to see his father and his fairy sister with azure
hair, he raced like a greyhound. As he ran, he was splashed with mud
even up to his cap.

"How unhappy I have been," he said to himself. "And yet I deserve
everything, for I am certainly very stubborn and stupid! I will always
have my own way. I won't listen to those who love me and who have more
brains than I. But from now on, I'll be different and I'll try to become
a most obedient boy. I have found out, beyond any doubt whatever, that
disobedient boys are certainly far from happy, and that, in the long
run, they always lose out. I wonder if Father is waiting for me. Will
I find him at the Fairy's house? It is so long, poor man, since I have
seen him, and I do so want his love and his kisses. And will the Fairy
ever forgive me for all I have done? She who has been so good to me and
to whom I owe my life! Can there be a worse or more heartless boy than I
am anywhere?"

As he spoke, he stopped suddenly, frozen with terror.

What was the matter? An immense Serpent lay stretched across the road--a
Serpent with a bright green skin, fiery eyes which glowed and burned,
and a pointed tail that smoked like a chimney.

How frightened was poor Pinocchio! He ran back wildly for half a mile,
and at last settled himself atop a heap of stones to wait for the
Serpent to go on his way and leave the road clear for him.

He waited an hour; two hours; three hours; but the Serpent was always
there, and even from afar one could see the flash of his red eyes and
the column of smoke which rose from his long, pointed tail.

Pinocchio, trying to feel very brave, walked straight up to him and said
in a sweet, soothing voice:

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Serpent, would you be so kind as to step aside
to let me pass?"

He might as well have talked to a wall. The Serpent never moved.

Once more, in the same sweet voice, he spoke:

"You must know, Mr. Serpent, that I am going home where my father is
waiting for me. It is so long since I have seen him! Would you mind very
much if I passed?"

He waited for some sign of an answer to his questions, but the answer
did not come. On the contrary, the green Serpent, who had seemed, until
then, wide awake and full of life, became suddenly very quiet and still.
His eyes closed and his tail stopped smoking.

"Is he dead, I wonder?" said Pinocchio, rubbing his hands together
happily. Without a moment's hesitation, he started to step over him, but
he had just raised one leg when the Serpent shot up like a spring and
the Marionette fell head over heels backward. He fell so awkwardly that
his head stuck in the mud, and there he stood with his legs straight up
in the air.

At the sight of the Marionette kicking and squirming like a young
whirlwind, the Serpent laughed so heartily and so long that at last he
burst an artery and died on the spot.

Pinocchio freed himself from his awkward position and once more began
to run in order to reach the Fairy's house before dark. As he went, the
pangs of hunger grew so strong that, unable to withstand them, he jumped
into a field to pick a few grapes that tempted him. Woe to him!

No sooner had he reached the grapevine than--crack! went his legs.

The poor Marionette was caught in a trap set there by a Farmer for some
Weasels which came every night to steal his chickens.




Pinocchio is caught by a Farmer, who uses him as a watchdog for his
chicken coop.


Pinocchio, as you may well imagine, began to scream and weep and beg;
but all was of no use, for no houses were to be seen and not a soul
passed by on the road.

Night came on.

A little because of the sharp pain in his legs, a little because of
fright at finding himself alone in the darkness of the field, the
Marionette was about to faint, when he saw a tiny Glowworm flickering
by. He called to her and said:

"Dear little Glowworm, will you set me free?"

"Poor little fellow!" replied the Glowworm, stopping to look at him with
pity. "How came you to be caught in this trap?"

"I stepped into this lonely field to take a few grapes and--"

"Are the grapes yours?"

"No."

"Who has taught you to take things that do not belong to you?"

"I was hungry."

"Hunger, my boy, is no reason for taking something which belongs to
another."

"It's true, it's true!" cried Pinocchio in tears. "I won't do it again."

Just then, the conversation was interrupted by approaching footsteps.
It was the owner of the field, who was coming on tiptoes to see if, by
chance, he had caught the Weasels which had been eating his chickens.

Great was his surprise when, on holding up his lantern, he saw that,
instead of a Weasel, he had caught a boy!

"Ah, you little thief!" said the Farmer in an angry voice. "So you are
the one who steals my chickens!"

"Not I! No, no!" cried Pinocchio, sobbing bitterly. "I came here only to
take a very few grapes."

"He who steals grapes may very easily steal chickens also. Take my word
for it, I'll give you a lesson that you'll remember for a long while."

He opened the trap, grabbed the Marionette by the collar, and carried
him to the house as if he were a puppy. When he reached the yard in
front of the house, he flung him to the ground, put a foot on his neck,
and said to him roughly: "It is late now and it's time for bed. Tomorrow
we'll settle matters. In the meantime, since my watchdog died today, you
may take his place and guard my henhouse."

No sooner said than done. He slipped a dog collar around Pinocchio's
neck and tightened it so that it would not come off. A long iron chain
was tied to the collar. The other end of the chain was nailed to the
wall.

"If tonight it should happen to rain," said the Farmer, "you can sleep
in that little doghouse near-by, where you will find plenty of straw for
a soft bed. It has been Melampo's bed for three years, and it will be
good enough for you. And if, by any chance, any thieves should come, be
sure to bark!"

After this last warning, the Farmer went into the house and closed the
door and barred it.

Poor Pinocchio huddled close to the doghouse more dead than alive from
cold, hunger, and fright. Now and again he pulled and tugged at the
collar which nearly choked him and cried out in a weak voice:

"I deserve it! Yes, I deserve it! I have been nothing but a truant and
a vagabond. I have never obeyed anyone and I have always done as I
pleased. If I were only like so many others and had studied and worked
and stayed with my poor old father, I should not find myself here
now, in this field and in the darkness, taking the place of a farmer's
watchdog. Oh, if I could start all over again! But what is done can't be
undone, and I must be patient!"

After this little sermon to himself, which came from the very depths of
his heart, Pinocchio went into the doghouse and fell asleep.




Pinocchio discovers the thieves and, as a reward for faithfulness, he
regains his liberty.


Even though a boy may be very unhappy, he very seldom loses sleep over
his worries. The Marionette, being no exception to this rule, slept on
peacefully for a few hours till well along toward midnight, when he
was awakened by strange whisperings and stealthy sounds coming from the
yard. He stuck his nose out of the doghouse and saw four slender, hairy
animals. They were Weasels, small animals very fond of both eggs and
chickens. One of them left her companions and, going to the door of the
doghouse, said in a sweet voice:

"Good evening, Melampo."

"My name is not Melampo," answered Pinocchio.

"Who are you, then?"

"I am Pinocchio."

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm the watchdog."

"But where is Melampo? Where is the old dog who used to live in this
house?"

"He died this morning."

"Died? Poor beast! He was so good! Still, judging by your face, I think
you, too, are a good-natured dog."

"I beg your pardon, I am not a dog!"

"What are you, then?"

"I am a Marionette."

"Are you taking the place of the watchdog?"

"I'm sorry to say that I am. I'm being punished."

"Well, I shall make the same terms with you that we had with the dead
Melampo. I am sure you will be glad to hear them."

"And what are the terms?"

"This is our plan: We'll come once in a while, as in the past, to pay
a visit to this henhouse, and we'll take away eight chickens. Of these,
seven are for us, and one for you, provided, of course, that you will
make believe you are sleeping and will not bark for the Farmer."

"Did Melampo really do that?" asked Pinocchio.

"Indeed he did, and because of that we were the best of friends. Sleep
away peacefully, and remember that before we go we shall leave you a
nice fat chicken all ready for your breakfast in the morning. Is that
understood?"

"Even too well," answered Pinocchio. And shaking his head in a
threatening manner, he seemed to say, "We'll talk this over in a few
minutes, my friends."

As soon as the four Weasels had talked things over, they went straight
to the chicken coop which stood close to the doghouse. Digging busily
with teeth and claws, they opened the little door and slipped in. But
they were no sooner in than they heard the door close with a sharp bang.

The one who had done the trick was Pinocchio, who, not satisfied with
that, dragged a heavy stone in front of it. That done, he started to
bark. And he barked as if he were a real watchdog: "Bow, wow, wow! Bow,
wow!"

The Farmer heard the loud barks and jumped out of bed. Taking his gun,
he leaped to the window and shouted: "What's the matter?"

"The thieves are here," answered Pinocchio.

"Where are they?"

"In the chicken coop."

"I'll come down in a second."

And, in fact, he was down in the yard in a twinkling and running toward
the chicken coop.

He opened the door, pulled out the Weasels one by one, and, after tying
them in a bag, said to them in a happy voice: "You're in my hands at
last! I could punish you now, but I'll wait! In the morning you may come
with me to the inn and there you'll make a fine dinner for some hungry
mortal. It is really too great an honor for you, one you do not deserve;
but, as you see, I am really a very kind and generous man and I am going
to do this for you!"

Then he went up to Pinocchio and began to pet and caress him.

"How did you ever find them out so quickly? And to think that Melampo,
my faithful Melampo, never saw them in all these years!"

The Marionette could have told, then and there, all he knew about the
shameful contract between the dog and the Weasels, but thinking of
the dead dog, he said to himself: "Melampo is dead. What is the use of
accusing him? The dead are gone and they cannot defend themselves. The
best thing to do is to leave them in peace!"

"Were you awake or asleep when they came?" continued the Farmer.

"I was asleep," answered Pinocchio, "but they awakened me with their
whisperings. One of them even came to the door of the doghouse and said
to me, 'If you promise not to bark, we will make you a present of one
of the chickens for your breakfast.' Did you hear that? They had the
audacity to make such a proposition as that to me! For you must know
that, though I am a very wicked Marionette full of faults, still I never
have been, nor ever shall be, bribed."

"Fine boy!" cried the Farmer, slapping him on the shoulder in a friendly
way. "You ought to be proud of yourself. And to show you what I think of
you, you are free from this instant!"

And he slipped the dog collar from his neck.




Pinocchio weeps upon learning that the Lovely Maiden with Azure Hair
is dead. He meets a Pigeon, who carries him to the seashore. He throws
himself into the sea to go to the aid of his father.


As soon as Pinocchio no longer felt the shameful weight of the dog
collar around his neck, he started to run across the fields and meadows,
and never stopped till he came to the main road that was to take him to
the Fairy's house.

When he reached it, he looked into the valley far below him and there
he saw the wood where unluckily he had met the Fox and the Cat, and the
tall oak tree where he had been hanged; but though he searched far and
near, he could not see the house where the Fairy with the Azure Hair
lived.

He became terribly frightened and, running as fast as he could, he
finally came to the spot where it had once stood. The little house was
no longer there. In its place lay a small marble slab, which bore this
sad inscription:

     HERE LIES
     THE LOVELY FAIRY WITH AZURE HAIR
     WHO DIED OF GRIEF
     WHEN ABANDONED BY
     HER LITTLE BROTHER PINOCCHIO

The poor Marionette was heartbroken at reading these words. He fell to
the ground and, covering the cold marble with kisses, burst into bitter
tears. He cried all night, and dawn found him still there, though his
tears had dried and only hard, dry sobs shook his wooden frame. But
these were so loud that they could be heard by the faraway hills.

As he sobbed he said to himself:

"Oh, my Fairy, my dear, dear Fairy, why did you die? Why did I not die,
who am so bad, instead of you, who are so good? And my father--where can
he be? Please dear Fairy, tell me where he is and I shall never, never
leave him again! You are not really dead, are you? If you love me, you
will come back, alive as before. Don't you feel sorry for me? I'm so
lonely. If the two Assassins come, they'll hang me again from the giant
oak tree and I will really die, this time. What shall I do alone in the
world? Now that you are dead and my father is lost, where shall I eat?
Where shall I sleep? Who will make my new clothes? Oh, I want to die!
Yes, I want to die! Oh, oh, oh!"

Poor Pinocchio! He even tried to tear his hair, but as it was only
painted on his wooden head, he could not even pull it.

Just then a large Pigeon flew far above him. Seeing the Marionette, he
cried to him:

"Tell me, little boy, what are you doing there?"

"Can't you see? I'm crying," cried Pinocchio, lifting his head toward
the voice and rubbing his eyes with his sleeve.

"Tell me," asked the Pigeon, "do you by chance know of a Marionette,
Pinocchio by name?"

"Pinocchio! Did you say Pinocchio?" replied the Marionette, jumping to
his feet. "Why, I am Pinocchio!"

At this answer, the Pigeon flew swiftly down to the earth. He was much
larger than a turkey.

"Then you know Geppetto also?"

"Do I know him? He's my father, my poor, dear father! Has he, perhaps,
spoken to you of me? Will you take me to him? Is he still alive? Answer
me, please! Is he still alive?"

"I left him three days ago on the shore of a large sea."

"What was he doing?"

"He was building a little boat with which to cross the ocean. For
the last four months, that poor man has been wandering around Europe,
looking for you. Not having found you yet, he has made up his mind to
look for you in the New World, far across the ocean."

"How far is it from here to the shore?" asked Pinocchio anxiously.

"More than fifty miles."

"Fifty miles? Oh, dear Pigeon, how I wish I had your wings!"

"If you want to come, I'll take you with me."

"How?"

"Astride my back. Are you very heavy?"

"Heavy? Not at all. I'm only a feather."

"Very well."

Saying nothing more, Pinocchio jumped on the Pigeon's back and, as he
settled himself, he cried out gayly:

"Gallop on, gallop on, my pretty steed! I'm in a great hurry."

The Pigeon flew away, and in a few minutes he had reached the clouds.
The Marionette looked to see what was below them. His head swam and he
was so frightened that he clutched wildly at the Pigeon's neck to keep
himself from falling.

They flew all day. Toward evening the Pigeon said:

"I'm very thirsty!"

"And I'm very hungry!" said Pinocchio.

"Let us stop a few minutes at that pigeon coop down there. Then we can
go on and be at the seashore in the morning."

They went into the empty coop and there they found nothing but a bowl of
water and a small basket filled with chick-peas.

The Marionette had always hated chick-peas. According to him, they had
always made him sick; but that night he ate them with a relish. As he
finished them, he turned to the Pigeon and said:

"I never should have thought that chick-peas could be so good!"

"You must remember, my boy," answered the Pigeon, "that hunger is the
best sauce!"

After resting a few minutes longer, they set out again. The next morning
they were at the seashore.

Pinocchio jumped off the Pigeon's back, and the Pigeon, not wanting any
thanks for a kind deed, flew away swiftly and disappeared.

The shore was full of people, shrieking and tearing their hair as they
looked toward the sea.

"What has happened?" asked Pinocchio of a little old woman.

"A poor old father lost his only son some time ago and today he built a
tiny boat for himself in order to go in search of him across the ocean.
The water is very rough and we're afraid he will be drowned."

"Where is the little boat?"

"There. Straight down there," answered the little old woman, pointing to
a tiny shadow, no bigger than a nutshell, floating on the sea.

Pinocchio looked closely for a few minutes and then gave a sharp cry:

"It's my father! It's my father!"

Meanwhile, the little boat, tossed about by the angry waters, appeared
and disappeared in the waves. And Pinocchio, standing on a high rock,
tired out with searching, waved to him with hand and cap and even with
his nose.

It looked as if Geppetto, though far away from the shore, recognized his
son, for he took off his cap and waved also. He seemed to be trying to
make everyone understand that he would come back if he were able, but
the sea was so heavy that he could do nothing with his oars. Suddenly a
huge wave came and the boat disappeared.

They waited and waited for it, but it was gone.

"Poor man!" said the fisher folk on the shore, whispering a prayer as
they turned to go home.

Just then a desperate cry was heard. Turning around, the fisher folk saw
Pinocchio dive into the sea and heard him cry out:

"I'll save him! I'll save my father!"

The Marionette, being made of wood, floated easily along and swam like
a fish in the rough water. Now and again he disappeared only to reappear
once more. In a twinkling, he was far away from land. At last he was
completely lost to view.

"Poor boy!" cried the fisher folk on the shore, and again they mumbled a
few prayers, as they returned home.




Pinocchio reaches the Island of the Busy Bees and finds the Fairy once
more.


Pinocchio, spurred on by the hope of finding his father and of being in
time to save him, swam all night long.

And what a horrible night it was! It poured rain, it hailed, it
thundered, and the lightning was so bright that it turned the night into
day.

At dawn, he saw, not far away from him, a long stretch of sand. It was
an island in the middle of the sea.

Pinocchio tried his best to get there, but he couldn't. The waves played
with him and tossed him about as if he were a twig or a bit of straw. At
last, and luckily for him, a tremendous wave tossed him to the very spot
where he wanted to be. The blow from the wave was so strong that, as he
fell to the ground, his joints cracked and almost broke. But, nothing
daunted, he jumped to his feet and cried:

"Once more I have escaped with my life!"

Little by little the sky cleared. The sun came out in full splendor and
the sea became as calm as a lake.

Then the Marionette took off his clothes and laid them on the sand to
dry. He looked over the waters to see whether he might catch sight of
a boat with a little man in it. He searched and he searched, but he saw
nothing except sea and sky and far away a few sails, so small that they
might have been birds.

"If only I knew the name of this island!" he said to himself. "If I even
knew what kind of people I would find here! But whom shall I ask? There
is no one here."

The idea of finding himself in so lonesome a spot made him so sad that
he was about to cry, but just then he saw a big Fish swimming near-by,
with his head far out of the water.

Not knowing what to call him, the Marionette said to him:

"Hey there, Mr. Fish, may I have a word with you?"

"Even two, if you want," answered the fish, who happened to be a very
polite Dolphin.

"Will you please tell me if, on this island, there are places where one
may eat without necessarily being eaten?"

"Surely, there are," answered the Dolphin. "In fact you'll find one not
far from this spot."

"And how shall I get there?"

"Take that path on your left and follow your nose. You can't go wrong."

"Tell me another thing. You who travel day and night through the sea,
did you not perhaps meet a little boat with my father in it?"

"And who is you father?"

"He is the best father in the world, even as I am the worst son that can
be found."

"In the storm of last night," answered the Dolphin, "the little boat
must have been swamped."

"And my father?"

"By this time, he must have been swallowed by the Terrible Shark, which,
for the last few days, has been bringing terror to these waters."

"Is this Shark very big?" asked Pinocchio, who was beginning to tremble
with fright.

"Is he big?" replied the Dolphin. "Just to give you an idea of his size,
let me tell you that he is larger than a five story building and that
he has a mouth so big and so deep, that a whole train and engine could
easily get into it."

"Mother mine!" cried the Marionette, scared to death; and dressing
himself as fast as he could, he turned to the Dolphin and said:

"Farewell, Mr. Fish. Pardon the bother, and many thanks for your
kindness."

This said, he took the path at so swift a gait that he seemed to fly,
and at every small sound he heard, he turned in fear to see whether the
Terrible Shark, five stories high and with a train in his mouth, was
following him.

After walking a half hour, he came to a small country called the Land
of the Busy Bees. The streets were filled with people running to and fro
about their tasks. Everyone worked, everyone had something to do. Even
if one were to search with a lantern, not one idle man or one tramp
could have been found.

"I understand," said Pinocchio at once wearily, "this is no place for
me! I was not born for work."

But in the meantime, he began to feel hungry, for it was twenty-four
hours since he had eaten.

What was to be done?

There were only two means left to him in order to get a bite to eat. He
had either to work or to beg.

He was ashamed to beg, because his father had always preached to him
that begging should be done only by the sick or the old. He had said
that the real poor in this world, deserving of our pity and help, were
only those who, either through age or sickness, had lost the means of
earning their bread with their own hands. All others should work, and if
they didn't, and went hungry, so much the worse for them.

Just then a man passed by, worn out and wet with perspiration, pulling,
with difficulty, two heavy carts filled with coal.

Pinocchio looked at him and, judging him by his looks to be a kind man,
said to him with eyes downcast in shame:

"Will you be so good as to give me a penny, for I am faint with hunger?"

"Not only one penny," answered the Coal Man. "I'll give you four if you
will help me pull these two wagons."

"I am surprised!" answered the Marionette, very much offended. "I wish
you to know that I never have been a donkey, nor have I ever pulled a
wagon."

"So much the better for you!" answered the Coal Man. "Then, my boy, if
you are really faint with hunger, eat two slices of your pride; and I
hope they don't give you indigestion."

A few minutes after, a Bricklayer passed by, carrying a pail full of
plaster on his shoulder.

"Good man, will you be kind enough to give a penny to a poor boy who is
yawning from hunger?"

"Gladly," answered the Bricklayer. "Come with me and carry some plaster,
and instead of one penny, I'll give you five."

"But the plaster is heavy," answered Pinocchio, "and the work too hard
for me."

"If the work is too hard for you, my boy, enjoy your yawns and may they
bring you luck!"

In less than a half hour, at least twenty people passed and Pinocchio
begged of each one, but they all answered:

"Aren't you ashamed? Instead of being a beggar in the streets, why don't
you look for work and earn your own bread?"

Finally a little woman went by carrying two water jugs.

"Good woman, will you allow me to have a drink from one of your jugs?"
 asked Pinocchio, who was burning up with thirst.

"With pleasure, my boy!" she answered, setting the two jugs on the
ground before him.

When Pinocchio had had his fill, he grumbled, as he wiped his mouth:

"My thirst is gone. If I could only as easily get rid of my hunger!"

On hearing these words, the good little woman immediately said:

"If you help me to carry these jugs home, I'll give you a slice of
bread."

Pinocchio looked at the jug and said neither yes nor no.

"And with the bread, I'll give you a nice dish of cauliflower with white
sauce on it."

Pinocchio gave the jug another look and said neither yes nor no.

"And after the cauliflower, some cake and jam."

At this last bribery, Pinocchio could no longer resist and said firmly:

"Very well. I'll take the jug home for you."

The jug was very heavy, and the Marionette, not being strong enough to
carry it with his hands, had to put it on his head.

When they arrived home, the little woman made Pinocchio sit down at a
small table and placed before him the bread, the cauliflower, and
the cake. Pinocchio did not eat; he devoured. His stomach seemed a
bottomless pit.

His hunger finally appeased, he raised his head to thank his kind
benefactress. But he had not looked at her long when he gave a cry of
surprise and sat there with his eyes wide open, his fork in the air, and
his mouth filled with bread and cauliflower.

"Why all this surprise?" asked the good woman, laughing.

"Because--" answered Pinocchio, stammering and stuttering, "because--you
look like--you remind me of--yes, yes, the same voice, the same eyes,
the same hair--yes, yes, yes, you also have the same azure hair she
had--Oh, my little Fairy, my little Fairy! Tell me that it is you! Don't
make me cry any longer! If you only knew! I have cried so much, I have
suffered so!"

And Pinocchio threw himself on the floor and clasped the knees of the
mysterious little woman.




Pinocchio promises the Fairy to be good and to study, as he is growing
tired of being a Marionette, and wishes to become a real boy.


If Pinocchio cried much longer, the little woman thought he would melt
away, so she finally admitted that she was the little Fairy with Azure
Hair.

"You rascal of a Marionette! How did you know it was I?" she asked,
laughing.

"My love for you told me who you were."

"Do you remember? You left me when I was a little girl and now you find
me a grown woman. I am so old, I could almost be your mother!"

"I am very glad of that, for then I can call you mother instead of
sister. For a long time I have wanted a mother, just like other boys.
But how did you grow so quickly?"

"That's a secret!"

"Tell it to me. I also want to grow a little. Look at me! I have never
grown higher than a penny's worth of cheese."

"But you can't grow," answered the Fairy.

"Why not?"

"Because Marionettes never grow. They are born Marionettes, they live
Marionettes, and they die Marionettes."

"Oh, I'm tired of always being a Marionette!" cried Pinocchio
disgustedly. "It's about time for me to grow into a man as everyone else
does."

"And you will if you deserve it--"

"Really? What can I do to deserve it?"

"It's a very simple matter. Try to act like a well-behaved child."

"Don't you think I do?"

"Far from it! Good boys are obedient, and you, on the contrary--"

"And I never obey."

"Good boys love study and work, but you--"

"And I, on the contrary, am a lazy fellow and a tramp all year round."

"Good boys always tell the truth."

"And I always tell lies."

"Good boys go gladly to school."

"And I get sick if I go to school. From now on I'll be different."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise. I want to become a good boy and be a comfort to my father.
Where is my poor father now?"

"I do not know."

"Will I ever be lucky enough to find him and embrace him once more?"

"I think so. Indeed, I am sure of it."

At this answer, Pinocchio's happiness was very great. He grasped the
Fairy's hands and kissed them so hard that it looked as if he had lost
his head. Then lifting his face, he looked at her lovingly and asked:
"Tell me, little Mother, it isn't true that you are dead, is it?"

"It doesn't seem so," answered the Fairy, smiling.

"If you only knew how I suffered and how I wept when I read 'Here
lies--'"

"I know it, and for that I have forgiven you. The depth of your sorrow
made me see that you have a kind heart. There is always hope for boys
with hearts such as yours, though they may often be very mischievous.
This is the reason why I have come so far to look for you. From now on,
I'll be your own little mother."

"Oh! How lovely!" cried Pinocchio, jumping with joy.

"You will obey me always and do as I wish?"

"Gladly, very gladly, more than gladly!"

"Beginning tomorrow," said the Fairy, "you'll go to school every day."

Pinocchio's face fell a little.

"Then you will choose the trade you like best."

Pinocchio became more serious.

"What are you mumbling to yourself?" asked the Fairy.

"I was just saying," whined the Marionette in a whisper, "that it seems
too late for me to go to school now."

"No, indeed. Remember it is never too late to learn."

"But I don't want either trade or profession."

"Why?"

"Because work wearies me!"

"My dear boy," said the Fairy, "people who speak as you do usually end
their days either in a prison or in a hospital. A man, remember,
whether rich or poor, should do something in this world. No one can
find happiness without work. Woe betide the lazy fellow! Laziness is a
serious illness and one must cure it immediately; yes, even from early
childhood. If not, it will kill you in the end."

These words touched Pinocchio's heart. He lifted his eyes to his Fairy
and said seriously: "I'll work; I'll study; I'll do all you tell me.
After all, the life of a Marionette has grown very tiresome to me and I
want to become a boy, no matter how hard it is. You promise that, do you
not?"

"Yes, I promise, and now it is up to you."




Pinocchio goes to the seashore with his friends to see the Terrible
Shark.


In the morning, bright and early, Pinocchio started for school.

Imagine what the boys said when they saw a Marionette enter the
classroom! They laughed until they cried. Everyone played tricks on him.
One pulled his hat off, another tugged at his coat, a third tried to
paint a mustache under his nose. One even attempted to tie strings to
his feet and his hands to make him dance.

For a while Pinocchio was very calm and quiet. Finally, however, he
lost all patience and turning to his tormentors, he said to them
threateningly:

"Careful, boys, I haven't come here to be made fun of. I'll respect you
and I want you to respect me."

"Hurrah for Dr. Know-all! You have spoken like a printed book!" howled
the boys, bursting with laughter. One of them, more impudent than the
rest, put out his hand to pull the Marionette's nose.

But he was not quick enough, for Pinocchio stretched his leg under the
table and kicked him hard on the shin.

"Oh, what hard feet!" cried the boy, rubbing the spot where the
Marionette had kicked him.

"And what elbows! They are even harder than the feet!" shouted another
one, who, because of some other trick, had received a blow in the
stomach.

With that kick and that blow Pinocchio gained everybody's favor.
Everyone admired him, danced attendance upon him, petted and caressed
him.

As the days passed into weeks, even the teacher praised him, for he saw
him attentive, hard working, and wide awake, always the first to come in
the morning, and the last to leave when school was over.

Pinocchio's only fault was that he had too many friends. Among these
were many well-known rascals, who cared not a jot for study or for
success.

The teacher warned him each day, and even the good Fairy repeated to him
many times:

"Take care, Pinocchio! Those bad companions will sooner or later make
you lose your love for study. Some day they will lead you astray."

"There's no such danger," answered the Marionette, shrugging his
shoulders and pointing to his forehead as if to say, "I'm too wise."

So it happened that one day, as he was walking to school, he met some
boys who ran up to him and said:

"Have you heard the news?"

"No!"

"A Shark as big as a mountain has been seen near the shore."

"Really? I wonder if it could be the same one I heard of when my father
was drowned?"

"We are going to see it. Are you coming?"

"No, not I. I must go to school."

"What do you care about school? You can go there tomorrow. With a lesson
more or less, we are always the same donkeys."

"And what will the teacher say?"

"Let him talk. He is paid to grumble all day long."

"And my mother?"

"Mothers don't know anything," answered those scamps.

"Do you know what I'll do?" said Pinocchio. "For certain reasons of
mine, I, too, want to see that Shark; but I'll go after school. I can
see him then as well as now."

"Poor simpleton!" cried one of the boys. "Do you think that a fish of
that size will stand there waiting for you? He turns and off he goes,
and no one will ever be the wiser."

"How long does it take from here to the shore?" asked the Marionette.
"One hour there and back."


"Very well, then. Let's see who gets there first!" cried Pinocchio.

At the signal, the little troop, with books under their arms, dashed
across the fields. Pinocchio led the way, running as if on wings, the
others following as fast as they could.

Now and again, he looked back and, seeing his followers hot and tired,
and with tongues hanging out, he laughed out heartily. Unhappy boy! If
he had only known then the dreadful things that were to happen to him on
account of his disobedience!




The great battle between Pinocchio and his playmates. One is wounded.
Pinocchio is arrested.


Going like the wind, Pinocchio took but a very short time to reach the
shore. He glanced all about him, but there was no sign of a Shark. The
sea was as smooth as glass.

"Hey there, boys! Where's that Shark?" he asked, turning to his
playmates.

"He may have gone for his breakfast," said one of them, laughing.

"Or, perhaps, he went to bed for a little nap," said another, laughing
also.

From the answers and the laughter which followed them, Pinocchio
understood that the boys had played a trick on him.

"What now?" he said angrily to them. "What's the joke?"

"Oh, the joke's on you!" cried his tormentors, laughing more heartily
than ever, and dancing gayly around the Marionette.

"And that is--?"

"That we have made you stay out of school to come with us. Aren't you
ashamed of being such a goody-goody, and of studying so hard? You never
have a bit of enjoyment."

"And what is it to you, if I do study?"

"What does the teacher think of us, you mean?"

"Why?"

"Don't you see? If you study and we don't, we pay for it. After all,
it's only fair to look out for ourselves."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Hate school and books and teachers, as we all do. They are your worst
enemies, you know, and they like to make you as unhappy as they can."

"And if I go on studying, what will you do to me?"

"You'll pay for it!"

"Really, you amuse me," answered the Marionette, nodding his head.

"Hey, Pinocchio," cried the tallest of them all, "that will do. We are
tired of hearing you bragging about yourself, you little turkey cock!
You may not be afraid of us, but remember we are not afraid of you,
either! You are alone, you know, and we are seven."

"Like the seven sins," said Pinocchio, still laughing.

"Did you hear that? He has insulted us all. He has called us sins."

"Pinocchio, apologize for that, or look out!"

"Cuck--oo!" said the Marionette, mocking them with his thumb to his
nose.

"You'll be sorry!"

"Cuck--oo!"

"We'll whip you soundly!"

"Cuck--oo!"

"You'll go home with a broken nose!"

"Cuck--oo!"

"Very well, then! Take that, and keep it for your supper," called out
the boldest of his tormentors.

And with the words, he gave Pinocchio a terrible blow on the head.

Pinocchio answered with another blow, and that was the signal for the
beginning of the fray. In a few moments, the fight raged hot and heavy
on both sides.

Pinocchio, although alone, defended himself bravely. With those two
wooden feet of his, he worked so fast that his opponents kept at a
respectful distance. Wherever they landed, they left their painful mark
and the boys could only run away and howl.

Enraged at not being able to fight the Marionette at close quarters,
they started to throw all kinds of books at him. Readers, geographies,
histories, grammars flew in all directions. But Pinocchio was keen of
eye and swift of movement, and the books only passed over his head,
landed in the sea, and disappeared.

The fish, thinking they might be good to eat, came to the top of the
water in great numbers. Some took a nibble, some took a bite, but no
sooner had they tasted a page or two, than they spat them out with a wry
face, as if to say:

"What a horrid taste! Our own food is so much better!"

Meanwhile, the battle waxed more and more furious. At the noise, a large
Crab crawled slowly out of the water and, with a voice that sounded like
a trombone suffering from a cold, he cried out:

"Stop fighting, you rascals! These battles between boys rarely end well.
Trouble is sure to come to you!"

Poor Crab! He might as well have spoken to the wind. Instead of
listening to his good advice, Pinocchio turned to him and said as
roughly as he knew how:

"Keep quiet, ugly Gab! It would be better for you to chew a few cough
drops to get rid of that cold you have. Go to bed and sleep! You will
feel better in the morning."

In the meantime, the boys, having used all their books, looked around
for new ammunition. Seeing Pinocchio's bundle lying idle near-by, they
somehow managed to get hold of it.

One of the books was a very large volume, an arithmetic text, heavily
bound in leather. It was Pinocchio's pride. Among all his books, he
liked that one the best.

Thinking it would make a fine missile, one of the boys took hold of it
and threw it with all his strength at Pinocchio's head. But instead of
hitting the Marionette, the book struck one of the other boys, who, as
pale as a ghost, cried out faintly: "Oh, Mother, help! I'm dying!" and
fell senseless to the ground.

At the sight of that pale little corpse, the boys were so frightened
that they turned tail and ran. In a few moments, all had disappeared.

All except Pinocchio. Although scared to death by the horror of what
had been done, he ran to the sea and soaked his handkerchief in the cool
water and with it bathed the head of his poor little schoolmate. Sobbing
bitterly, he called to him, saying:

"Eugene! My poor Eugene! Open your eyes and look at me! Why don't you
answer? I was not the one who hit you, you know. Believe me, I didn't
do it. Open your eyes, Eugene? If you keep them shut, I'll die, too.
Oh, dear me, how shall I ever go home now? How shall I ever look at my
little mother again? What will happen to me? Where shall I go? Where
shall I hide? Oh, how much better it would have been, a thousand times
better, if only I had gone to school! Why did I listen to those boys?
They always were a bad influence! And to think that the teacher had told
me--and my mother, too!--'Beware of bad company!' That's what she said.
But I'm stubborn and proud. I listen, but always I do as I wish. And
then I pay. I've never had a moment's peace since I've been born! Oh,
dear! What will become of me? What will become of me?"

Pinocchio went on crying and moaning and beating his head. Again and
again he called to his little friend, when suddenly he heard heavy steps
approaching.

He looked up and saw two tall Carabineers near him.

"What are you doing stretched out on the ground?" they asked Pinocchio.

"I'm helping this schoolfellow of mine."

"Has he fainted?"

"I should say so," said one of the Carabineers, bending to look at
Eugene. "This boy has been wounded on the temple. Who has hurt him?"

"Not I," stammered the Marionette, who had hardly a breath left in his
whole body.

"If it wasn't you, who was it, then?"

"Not I," repeated Pinocchio.

"And with what was he wounded?"

"With this book," and the Marionette picked up the arithmetic text to
show it to the officer.

"And whose book is this?"

"Mine."

"Enough."

"Not another word! Get up as quickly as you can and come along with us."

"But I--"

"Come with us!"

"But I am innocent."

"Come with us!"

Before starting out, the officers called out to several fishermen
passing by in a boat and said to them:

"Take care of this little fellow who has been hurt. Take him home and
bind his wounds. Tomorrow we'll come after him."

They then took hold of Pinocchio and, putting him between them, said to
him in a rough voice: "March! And go quickly, or it will be the worse
for you!"

They did not have to repeat their words. The Marionette walked swiftly
along the road to the village. But the poor fellow hardly knew what
he was about. He thought he had a nightmare. He felt ill. His eyes saw
everything double, his legs trembled, his tongue was dry, and, try as he
might, he could not utter a single word. Yet, in spite of this numbness
of feeling, he suffered keenly at the thought of passing under the
windows of his good little Fairy's house. What would she say on seeing
him between two Carabineers?

They had just reached the village, when a sudden gust of wind blew off
Pinocchio's cap and made it go sailing far down the street.

"Would you allow me," the Marionette asked the Carabineers, "to run
after my cap?"

"Very well, go; but hurry."

The Marionette went, picked up his cap--but instead of putting it on his
head, he stuck it between his teeth and then raced toward the sea.

He went like a bullet out of a gun.

The Carabineers, judging that it would be very difficult to catch him,
sent a large Mastiff after him, one that had won first prize in all the
dog races. Pinocchio ran fast and the Dog ran faster. At so much noise,
the people hung out of the windows or gathered in the street, anxious to
see the end of the contest. But they were disappointed, for the Dog and
Pinocchio raised so much dust on the road that, after a few moments, it
was impossible to see them.




Pinocchio runs the danger of being fried in a pan like a fish


During that wild chase, Pinocchio lived through a terrible moment when
he almost gave himself up as lost. This was when Alidoro (that was the
Mastiff's name), in a frenzy of running, came so near that he was on the
very point of reaching him.

The Marionette heard, close behind him, the labored breathing of the
beast who was fast on his trail, and now and again even felt his hot
breath blow over him.

Luckily, by this time, he was very near the shore, and the sea was in
sight; in fact, only a few short steps away.

As soon as he set foot on the beach, Pinocchio gave a leap and fell into
the water. Alidoro tried to stop, but as he was running very fast, he
couldn't, and he, too, landed far out in the sea. Strange though it may
seem, the Dog could not swim. He beat the water with his paws to hold
himself up, but the harder he tried, the deeper he sank. As he stuck his
head out once more, the poor fellow's eyes were bulging and he barked
out wildly, "I drown! I drown!"

"Drown!" answered Pinocchio from afar, happy at his escape.

"Help, Pinocchio, dear little Pinocchio! Save me from death!"

At those cries of suffering, the Marionette, who after all had a very
kind heart, was moved to compassion. He turned toward the poor animal
and said to him:

"But if I help you, will you promise not to bother me again by running
after me?"

"I promise! I promise! Only hurry, for if you wait another second, I'll
be dead and gone!"

Pinocchio hesitated still another minute. Then, remembering how his
father had often told him that a kind deed is never lost, he swam to
Alidoro and, catching hold of his tail, dragged him to the shore.

The poor Dog was so weak he could not stand. He had swallowed so much
salt water that he was swollen like a balloon. However, Pinocchio, not
wishing to trust him too much, threw himself once again into the sea. As
he swam away, he called out:

"Good-by, Alidoro, good luck and remember me to the family!"

"Good-by, little Pinocchio," answered the Dog. "A thousand thanks for
having saved me from death. You did me a good turn, and, in this world,
what is given is always returned. If the chance comes, I shall be
there."

Pinocchio went on swimming close to shore. At last he thought he had
reached a safe place. Glancing up and down the beach, he saw the opening
of a cave out of which rose a spiral of smoke.

"In that cave," he said to himself, "there must be a fire. So much the
better. I'll dry my clothes and warm myself, and then--well--"

His mind made up, Pinocchio swam to the rocks, but as he started to
climb, he felt something under him lifting him up higher and higher. He
tried to escape, but he was too late. To his great surprise, he found
himself in a huge net, amid a crowd of fish of all kinds and sizes, who
were fighting and struggling desperately to free themselves.

At the same time, he saw a Fisherman come out of the cave, a Fisherman
so ugly that Pinocchio thought he was a sea monster. In place of hair,
his head was covered by a thick bush of green grass. Green was the skin
of his body, green were his eyes, green was the long, long beard that
reached down to his feet. He looked like a giant lizard with legs and
arms.

When the Fisherman pulled the net out of the sea, he cried out joyfully:

"Blessed Providence! Once more I'll have a fine meal of fish!"

"Thank Heaven, I'm not a fish!" said Pinocchio to himself, trying with
these words to find a little courage.

The Fisherman took the net and the fish to the cave, a dark, gloomy,
smoky place. In the middle of it, a pan full of oil sizzled over a
smoky fire, sending out a repelling odor of tallow that took away one's
breath.

"Now, let's see what kind of fish we have caught today," said the Green
Fisherman. He put a hand as big as a spade into the net and pulled out a
handful of mullets.

"Fine mullets, these!" he said, after looking at them and smelling them
with pleasure. After that, he threw them into a large, empty tub.

Many times he repeated this performance. As he pulled each fish out of
the net, his mouth watered with the thought of the good dinner coming,
and he said:

"Fine fish, these bass!"

"Very tasty, these whitefish!"

"Delicious flounders, these!"

"What splendid crabs!"

"And these dear little anchovies, with their heads still on!"

As you can well imagine, the bass, the flounders, the whitefish, and
even the little anchovies all went together into the tub to keep the
mullets company. The last to come out of the net was Pinocchio.

As soon as the Fisherman pulled him out, his green eyes opened wide with
surprise, and he cried out in fear:

"What kind of fish is this? I don't remember ever eating anything like
it."

He looked at him closely and after turning him over and over, he said at
last:

"I understand. He must be a crab!"

Pinocchio, mortified at being taken for a crab, said resentfully:

"What nonsense! A crab indeed! I am no such thing. Beware how you deal
with me! I am a Marionette, I want you to know."

"A Marionette?" asked the Fisherman. "I must admit that a Marionette
fish is, for me, an entirely new kind of fish. So much the better. I'll
eat you with greater relish."

"Eat me? But can't you understand that I'm not a fish? Can't you hear
that I speak and think as you do?"

"It's true," answered the Fisherman; "but since I see that you are a
fish, well able to talk and think as I do, I'll treat you with all due
respect."

"And that is--"

"That, as a sign of my particular esteem, I'll leave to you the choice
of the manner in which you are to be cooked. Do you wish to be fried in
a pan, or do you prefer to be cooked with tomato sauce?"

"To tell you the truth," answered Pinocchio, "if I must choose, I should
much rather go free so I may return home!"

"Are you fooling? Do you think that I want to lose the opportunity to
taste such a rare fish? A Marionette fish does not come very often to
these seas. Leave it to me. I'll fry you in the pan with the others.
I know you'll like it. It's always a comfort to find oneself in good
company."

The unlucky Marionette, hearing this, began to cry and wail and beg.
With tears streaming down his cheeks, he said:

"How much better it would have been for me to go to school! I did listen
to my playmates and now I am paying for it! Oh! Oh! Oh!"

And as he struggled and squirmed like an eel to escape from him, the
Green Fisherman took a stout cord and tied him hand and foot, and threw
him into the bottom of the tub with the others.

Then he pulled a wooden bowl full of flour out of a cupboard and started
to roll the fish into it, one by one. When they were white with it,
he threw them into the pan. The first to dance in the hot oil were the
mullets, the bass followed, then the whitefish, the flounders, and the
anchovies. Pinocchio's turn came last. Seeing himself so near to death
(and such a horrible death!) he began to tremble so with fright that he
had no voice left with which to beg for his life.

The poor boy beseeched only with his eyes. But the Green Fisherman,
not even noticing that it was he, turned him over and over in the flour
until he looked like a Marionette made of chalk.

Then he took him by the head and . . .




Pinocchio returns to the Fairy's house and she promises him that, on the
morrow, he will cease to be a Marionette and become a boy. A wonderful
party of coffee-and-milk to celebrate the great event.


Mindful of what the Fisherman had said, Pinocchio knew that all hope
of being saved had gone. He closed his eyes and waited for the final
moment.

Suddenly, a large Dog, attracted by the odor of the boiling oil, came
running into the cave.

"Get out!" cried the Fisherman threateningly and still holding onto the
Marionette, who was all covered with flour.

But the poor Dog was very hungry, and whining and wagging his tail, he
tried to say:

"Give me a bite of the fish and I'll go in peace."

"Get out, I say!" repeated the Fisherman.

And he drew back his foot to give the Dog a kick.

Then the Dog, who, being really hungry, would take no refusal, turned
in a rage toward the Fisherman and bared his terrible fangs. And at that
moment, a pitiful little voice was heard saying: "Save me, Alidoro; if
you don't, I fry!"

The Dog immediately recognized Pinocchio's voice. Great was his surprise
to find that the voice came from the little flour-covered bundle that
the Fisherman held in his hand.

Then what did he do? With one great leap, he grasped that bundle in his
mouth and, holding it lightly between his teeth, ran through the door
and disappeared like a flash!

The Fisherman, angry at seeing his meal snatched from under his nose,
ran after the Dog, but a bad fit of coughing made him stop and turn
back.

Meanwhile, Alidoro, as soon as he had found the road which led to the
village, stopped and dropped Pinocchio softly to the ground.

"How much I do thank you!" said the Marionette.

"It is not necessary," answered the Dog. "You saved me once, and what is
given is always returned. We are in this world to help one another."

"But how did you get in that cave?"

"I was lying here on the sand more dead than alive, when an appetizing
odor of fried fish came to me. That odor tickled my hunger and I
followed it. Oh, if I had come a moment later!"

"Don't speak about it," wailed Pinocchio, still trembling with fright.
"Don't say a word. If you had come a moment later, I would be fried,
eaten, and digested by this time. Brrrrrr! I shiver at the mere thought
of it."

Alidoro laughingly held out his paw to the Marionette, who shook it
heartily, feeling that now he and the Dog were good friends. Then they
bid each other good-by and the Dog went home.

Pinocchio, left alone, walked toward a little hut near by, where an old
man sat at the door sunning himself, and asked:

"Tell me, good man, have you heard anything of a poor boy with a wounded
head, whose name was Eugene?"

"The boy was brought to this hut and now--"

"Now he is dead?" Pinocchio interrupted sorrowfully.

"No, he is now alive and he has already returned home."

"Really? Really?" cried the Marionette, jumping around with joy. "Then
the wound was not serious?"

"But it might have been--and even mortal," answered the old man, "for a
heavy book was thrown at his head."

"And who threw it?"

"A schoolmate of his, a certain Pinocchio."

"And who is this Pinocchio?" asked the Marionette, feigning ignorance.

"They say he is a mischief-maker, a tramp, a street urchin--"

"Calumnies! All calumnies!"

"Do you know this Pinocchio?"

"By sight!" answered the Marionette.

"And what do you think of him?" asked the old man.

"I think he's a very good boy, fond of study, obedient, kind to his
Father, and to his whole family--"

As he was telling all these enormous lies about himself, Pinocchio
touched his nose and found it twice as long as it should be. Scared out
of his wits, he cried out:

"Don't listen to me, good man! All the wonderful things I have said are
not true at all. I know Pinocchio well and he is indeed a very wicked
fellow, lazy and disobedient, who instead of going to school, runs away
with his playmates to have a good time."

At this speech, his nose returned to its natural size.

"Why are you so pale?" the old man asked suddenly.

"Let me tell you. Without knowing it, I rubbed myself against a newly
painted wall," he lied, ashamed to say that he had been made ready for
the frying pan.

"What have you done with your coat and your hat and your breeches?"

"I met thieves and they robbed me. Tell me, my good man, have you not,
perhaps, a little suit to give me, so that I may go home?"

"My boy, as for clothes, I have only a bag in which I keep hops. If you
want it, take it. There it is."

Pinocchio did not wait for him to repeat his words. He took the bag,
which happened to be empty, and after cutting a big hole at the top and
two at the sides, he slipped into it as if it were a shirt. Lightly clad
as he was, he started out toward the village.

Along the way he felt very uneasy. In fact he was so unhappy that he
went along taking two steps forward and one back, and as he went he said
to himself:

"How shall I ever face my good little Fairy? What will she say when she
sees me? Will she forgive this last trick of mine? I am sure she won't.
Oh, no, she won't. And I deserve it, as usual! For I am a rascal, fine
on promises which I never keep!"

He came to the village late at night. It was so dark he could see
nothing and it was raining pitchforks.

Pinocchio went straight to the Fairy's house, firmly resolved to knock
at the door.

When he found himself there, he lost courage and ran back a few steps.
A second time he came to the door and again he ran back. A third time
he repeated his performance. The fourth time, before he had time to lose
his courage, he grasped the knocker and made a faint sound with it.

He waited and waited and waited. Finally, after a full half hour, a
top-floor window (the house had four stories) opened and Pinocchio saw
a large Snail look out. A tiny light glowed on top of her head. "Who
knocks at this late hour?" she called.

"Is the Fairy home?" asked the Marionette.

"The Fairy is asleep and does not wish to be disturbed. Who are you?"

"It is I."

"Who's I?"

"Pinocchio."

"Who is Pinocchio?"

"The Marionette; the one who lives in the Fairy's house."

"Oh, I understand," said the Snail. "Wait for me there. I'll come down
to open the door for you."

"Hurry, I beg of you, for I am dying of cold."

"My boy, I am a snail and snails are never in a hurry."

An hour passed, two hours; and the door was still closed. Pinocchio, who
was trembling with fear and shivering from the cold rain on his back,
knocked a second time, this time louder than before.

At that second knock, a window on the third floor opened and the same
Snail looked out.

"Dear little Snail," cried Pinocchio from the street. "I have been
waiting two hours for you! And two hours on a dreadful night like this
are as long as two years. Hurry, please!"

"My boy," answered the Snail in a calm, peaceful voice, "my dear boy, I
am a snail and snails are never in a hurry." And the window closed.

A few minutes later midnight struck; then one o'clock--two o'clock. And
the door still remained closed!

Then Pinocchio, losing all patience, grabbed the knocker with both
hands, fully determined to awaken the whole house and street with it.
As soon as he touched the knocker, however, it became an eel and wiggled
away into the darkness.

"Really?" cried Pinocchio, blind with rage. "If the knocker is gone, I
can still use my feet."

He stepped back and gave the door a most solemn kick. He kicked so hard
that his foot went straight through the door and his leg followed almost
to the knee. No matter how he pulled and tugged, he could not pull it
out. There he stayed as if nailed to the door.

Poor Pinocchio! The rest of the night he had to spend with one foot
through the door and the other one in the air.

As dawn was breaking, the door finally opened. That brave little animal,
the Snail, had taken exactly nine hours to go from the fourth floor to
the street. How she must have raced!

"What are you doing with your foot through the door?" she asked the
Marionette, laughing.

"It was a misfortune. Won't you try, pretty little Snail, to free me
from this terrible torture?"

"My boy, we need a carpenter here and I have never been one."

"Ask the Fairy to help me!"

"The Fairy is asleep and does not want to be disturbed."

"But what do you want me to do, nailed to the door like this?"

"Enjoy yourself counting the ants which are passing by."

"Bring me something to eat, at least, for I am faint with hunger."

"Immediately!"

In fact, after three hours and a half, Pinocchio saw her return with
a silver tray on her head. On the tray there was bread, roast chicken,
fruit.

"Here is the breakfast the Fairy sends to you," said the Snail.

At the sight of all these good things, the Marionette felt much better.

What was his disgust, however, when on tasting the food, he found the
bread to be made of chalk, the chicken of cardboard, and the brilliant
fruit of colored alabaster!

He wanted to cry, he wanted to give himself up to despair, he wanted to
throw away the tray and all that was on it. Instead, either from pain or
weakness, he fell to the floor in a dead faint.

When he regained his senses, he found himself stretched out on a sofa
and the Fairy was seated near him.

"This time also I forgive you," said the Fairy to him. "But be careful
not to get into mischief again."

Pinocchio promised to study and to behave himself. And he kept his word
for the remainder of the year. At the end of it, he passed first in all
his examinations, and his report was so good that the Fairy said to him
happily:

"Tomorrow your wish will come true."

"And what is it?"

"Tomorrow you will cease to be a Marionette and will become a real boy."

Pinocchio was beside himself with joy. All his friends and schoolmates
must be invited to celebrate the great event! The Fairy promised to
prepare two hundred cups of coffee-and-milk and four hundred slices of
toast buttered on both sides.

The day promised to be a very gay and happy one, but--

Unluckily, in a Marionette's life there's always a BUT which is apt to
spoil everything.




Pinocchio, instead of becoming a boy, runs away to the Land of Toys with
his friend, Lamp-Wick.


Coming at last out of the surprise into which the Fairy's words had
thrown him, Pinocchio asked for permission to give out the invitations.

"Indeed, you may invite your friends to tomorrow's party. Only remember
to return home before dark. Do you understand?"

"I'll be back in one hour without fail," answered the Marionette.

"Take care, Pinocchio! Boys give promises very easily, but they as
easily forget them."

"But I am not like those others. When I give my word I keep it."

"We shall see. In case you do disobey, you will be the one to suffer,
not anyone else."

"Why?"

"Because boys who do not listen to their elders always come to grief."

"I certainly have," said Pinocchio, "but from now on, I obey."

"We shall see if you are telling the truth."

Without adding another word, the Marionette bade the good Fairy good-by,
and singing and dancing, he left the house.

In a little more than an hour, all his friends were invited. Some
accepted quickly and gladly. Others had to be coaxed, but when they
heard that the toast was to be buttered on both sides, they all ended by
accepting the invitation with the words, "We'll come to please you."

Now it must be known that, among all his friends, Pinocchio had one whom
he loved most of all. The boy's real name was Romeo, but everyone called
him Lamp-Wick, for he was long and thin and had a woebegone look about
him.

Lamp-Wick was the laziest boy in the school and the biggest
mischief-maker, but Pinocchio loved him dearly.

That day, he went straight to his friend's house to invite him to the
party, but Lamp-Wick was not at home. He went a second time, and again a
third, but still without success.

Where could he be? Pinocchio searched here and there and everywhere, and
finally discovered him hiding near a farmer's wagon.

"What are you doing there?" asked Pinocchio, running up to him.

"I am waiting for midnight to strike to go--"

"Where?"

"Far, far away!"

"And I have gone to your house three times to look for you!"

"What did you want from me?"

"Haven't you heard the news? Don't you know what good luck is mine?"

"What is it?"

"Tomorrow I end my days as a Marionette and become a boy, like you and
all my other friends."

"May it bring you luck!"

"Shall I see you at my party tomorrow?"

"But I'm telling you that I go tonight."

"At what time?"

"At midnight."

"And where are you going?"

"To a real country--the best in the world--a wonderful place!"

"What is it called?"

"It is called the Land of Toys. Why don't you come, too?"

"I? Oh, no!"

"You are making a big mistake, Pinocchio. Believe me, if you don't come,
you'll be sorry. Where can you find a place that will agree better with
you and me? No schools, no teachers, no books! In that blessed place
there is no such thing as study. Here, it is only on Saturdays that
we have no school. In the Land of Toys, every day, except Sunday, is a
Saturday. Vacation begins on the first of January and ends on the last
day of December. That is the place for me! All countries should be like
it! How happy we should all be!"

"But how does one spend the day in the Land of Toys?"

"Days are spent in play and enjoyment from morn till night. At night one
goes to bed, and next morning, the good times begin all over again. What
do you think of it?"

"H'm--!" said Pinocchio, nodding his wooden head, as if to say, "It's
the kind of life which would agree with me perfectly."

"Do you want to go with me, then? Yes or no? You must make up your
mind."

"No, no, and again no! I have promised my kind Fairy to become a good
boy, and I want to keep my word. Just see: The sun is setting and I must
leave you and run. Good-by and good luck to you!"

"Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"Home. My good Fairy wants me to return home before night."

"Wait two minutes more."

"It's too late!"

"Only two minutes."

"And if the Fairy scolds me?"

"Let her scold. After she gets tired, she will stop," said Lamp-Wick.

"Are you going alone or with others?"

"Alone? There will be more than a hundred of us!"

"Will you walk?"

"At midnight the wagon passes here that is to take us within the
boundaries of that marvelous country."

"How I wish midnight would strike!"

"Why?"

"To see you all set out together."

"Stay here a while longer and you will see us!"

"No, no. I want to return home."

"Wait two more minutes."

"I have waited too long as it is. The Fairy will be worried."

"Poor Fairy! Is she afraid the bats will eat you up?"

"Listen, Lamp-Wick," said the Marionette, "are you really sure that
there are no schools in the Land of Toys?" "Not even the shadow of one."

"Not even one teacher?"

"Not one."

"And one does not have to study?"

"Never, never, never!"

"What a great land!" said Pinocchio, feeling his mouth water. "What a
beautiful land! I have never been there, but I can well imagine it."

"Why don't you come, too?"

"It is useless for you to tempt me! I told you I promised my good Fairy
to behave myself, and I am going to keep my word."

"Good-by, then, and remember me to the grammar schools, to the high
schools, and even to the colleges if you meet them on the way."

"Good-by, Lamp-Wick. Have a pleasant trip, enjoy yourself, and remember
your friends once in a while."

With these words, the Marionette started on his way home. Turning once
more to his friend, he asked him:

"But are you sure that, in that country, each week is composed of six
Saturdays and one Sunday?"

"Very sure!"

"And that vacation begins on the first of January and ends on the
thirty-first of December?"

"Very, very sure!"

"What a great country!" repeated Pinocchio, puzzled as to what to do.

Then, in sudden determination, he said hurriedly:

"Good-by for the last time, and good luck."

"Good-by."

"How soon will you go?"

"Within two hours."

"What a pity! If it were only one hour, I might wait for you."

"And the Fairy?"

"By this time I'm late, and one hour more or less makes very little
difference."

"Poor Pinocchio! And if the Fairy scolds you?"

"Oh, I'll let her scold. After she gets tired, she will stop."

In the meantime, the night became darker and darker. All at once in the
distance a small light flickered. A queer sound could be heard, soft
as a little bell, and faint and muffled like the buzz of a far-away
mosquito.

"There it is!" cried Lamp-Wick, jumping to his feet.

"What?" whispered Pinocchio.

"The wagon which is coming to get me. For the last time, are you coming
or not?"

"But is it really true that in that country boys never have to study?"

"Never, never, never!"

"What a wonderful, beautiful, marvelous country! Oh--h--h!!"




After five months of play, Pinocchio wakes up one fine morning and finds
a great surprise awaiting him.


Finally the wagon arrived. It made no noise, for its wheels were bound
with straw and rags.

It was drawn by twelve pair of donkeys, all of the same size, but all
of different color. Some were gray, others white, and still others a
mixture of brown and black. Here and there were a few with large yellow
and blue stripes.

The strangest thing of all was that those twenty-four donkeys, instead
of being iron-shod like any other beast of burden, had on their feet
laced shoes made of leather, just like the ones boys wear.

And the driver of the wagon?

Imagine to yourselves a little, fat man, much wider than he was long,
round and shiny as a ball of butter, with a face beaming like an apple,
a little mouth that always smiled, and a voice small and wheedling like
that of a cat begging for food.

No sooner did any boy see him than he fell in love with him, and nothing
satisfied him but to be allowed to ride in his wagon to that lovely
place called the Land of Toys.

In fact the wagon was so closely packed with boys of all ages that it
looked like a box of sardines. They were uncomfortable, they were piled
one on top of the other, they could hardly breathe; yet not one word of
complaint was heard. The thought that in a few hours they would reach a
country where there were no schools, no books, no teachers, made these
boys so happy that they felt neither hunger, nor thirst, nor sleep, nor
discomfort.

No sooner had the wagon stopped than the little fat man turned to
Lamp-Wick. With bows and smiles, he asked in a wheedling tone:

"Tell me, my fine boy, do you also want to come to my wonderful
country?"

"Indeed I do."

"But I warn you, my little dear, there's no more room in the wagon. It
is full."

"Never mind," answered Lamp-Wick. "If there's no room inside, I can sit
on the top of the coach."

And with one leap, he perched himself there.

"What about you, my love?" asked the Little Man, turning politely to
Pinocchio. "What are you going to do? Will you come with us, or do you
stay here?"

"I stay here," answered Pinocchio. "I want to return home, as I prefer
to study and to succeed in life."

"May that bring you luck!"

"Pinocchio!" Lamp-Wick called out. "Listen to me. Come with us and we'll
always be happy."

"No, no, no!"

"Come with us and we'll always be happy," cried four other voices from
the wagon.

"Come with us and we'll always be happy," shouted the one hundred and
more boys in the wagon, all together. "And if I go with you, what will
my good Fairy say?" asked the Marionette, who was beginning to waver and
weaken in his good resolutions.

"Don't worry so much. Only think that we are going to a land where
we shall be allowed to make all the racket we like from morning till
night."

Pinocchio did not answer, but sighed deeply once--twice--a third time.
Finally, he said:

"Make room for me. I want to go, too!"

"The seats are all filled," answered the Little Man, "but to show you
how much I think of you, take my place as coachman."

"And you?"

"I'll walk."

"No, indeed. I could not permit such a thing. I much prefer riding one
of these donkeys," cried Pinocchio.

No sooner said than done. He approached the first donkey and tried to
mount it. But the little animal turned suddenly and gave him such a
terrible kick in the stomach that Pinocchio was thrown to the ground and
fell with his legs in the air.

At this unlooked-for entertainment, the whole company of runaways
laughed uproariously.

The little fat man did not laugh. He went up to the rebellious animal,
and, still smiling, bent over him lovingly and bit off half of his right
ear.

In the meantime, Pinocchio lifted himself up from the ground, and with
one leap landed on the donkey's back. The leap was so well taken that
all the boys shouted,

"Hurrah for Pinocchio!" and clapped their hands in hearty applause.

Suddenly the little donkey gave a kick with his two hind feet and,
at this unexpected move, the poor Marionette found himself once again
sprawling right in the middle of the road.

Again the boys shouted with laughter. But the Little Man, instead of
laughing, became so loving toward the little animal that, with another
kiss, he bit off half of his left ear.

"You can mount now, my boy," he then said to Pinocchio. "Have no fear.
That donkey was worried about something, but I have spoken to him and
now he seems quiet and reasonable."

Pinocchio mounted and the wagon started on its way. While the donkeys
galloped along the stony road, the Marionette fancied he heard a very
quiet voice whispering to him:

"Poor silly! You have done as you wished. But you are going to be a
sorry boy before very long."

Pinocchio, greatly frightened, looked about him to see whence the words
had come, but he saw no one. The donkeys galloped, the wagon rolled
on smoothly, the boys slept (Lamp-Wick snored like a dormouse) and the
little, fat driver sang sleepily between his teeth.

After a mile or so, Pinocchio again heard the same faint voice
whispering: "Remember, little simpleton! Boys who stop studying and turn
their backs upon books and schools and teachers in order to give all
their time to nonsense and pleasure, sooner or later come to grief. Oh,
how well I know this! How well I can prove it to you! A day will come
when you will weep bitterly, even as I am weeping now--but it will be
too late!"

At these whispered words, the Marionette grew more and more frightened.
He jumped to the ground, ran up to the donkey on whose back he had been
riding, and taking his nose in his hands, looked at him. Think how great
was his surprise when he saw that the donkey was weeping--weeping just
like a boy!

"Hey, Mr. Driver!" cried the Marionette. "Do you know what strange thing
is happening here! This donkey weeps."

"Let him weep. When he gets married, he will have time to laugh."

"Have you perhaps taught him to speak?"

"No, he learned to mumble a few words when he lived for three years with
a band of trained dogs."

"Poor beast!"

"Come, come," said the Little Man, "do not lose time over a donkey that
can weep. Mount quickly and let us go. The night is cool and the road is
long."

Pinocchio obeyed without another word. The wagon started again. Toward
dawn the next morning they finally reached that much-longed-for country,
the Land of Toys.

This great land was entirely different from any other place in the
world. Its population, large though it was, was composed wholly of boys.
The oldest were about fourteen years of age, the youngest, eight. In
the street, there was such a racket, such shouting, such blowing of
trumpets, that it was deafening. Everywhere groups of boys were gathered
together. Some played at marbles, at hopscotch, at ball. Others rode on
bicycles or on wooden horses. Some played at blindman's buff, others at
tag. Here a group played circus, there another sang and recited. A few
turned somersaults, others walked on their hands with their feet in the
air. Generals in full uniform leading regiments of cardboard soldiers
passed by. Laughter, shrieks, howls, catcalls, hand-clapping followed
this parade. One boy made a noise like a hen, another like a rooster,
and a third imitated a lion in his den. All together they created such
a pandemonium that it would have been necessary for you to put cotton
in your ears. The squares were filled with small wooden theaters,
overflowing with boys from morning till night, and on the walls of the
houses, written with charcoal, were words like these: HURRAH FOR THE
LAND OF TOYS! DOWN WITH ARITHMETIC! NO MORE SCHOOL!

As soon as they had set foot in that land, Pinocchio, Lamp-Wick, and
all the other boys who had traveled with them started out on a tour of
investigation. They wandered everywhere, they looked into every nook and
corner, house and theater. They became everybody's friend. Who could be
happier than they?

What with entertainments and parties, the hours, the days, the weeks
passed like lightning.

"Oh, what a beautiful life this is!" said Pinocchio each time that, by
chance, he met his friend Lamp-Wick.

"Was I right or wrong?" answered Lamp-Wick. "And to think you did not
want to come! To think that even yesterday the idea came into your head
to return home to see your Fairy and to start studying again! If today
you are free from pencils and books and school, you owe it to me, to
my advice, to my care. Do you admit it? Only true friends count, after
all."

"It's true, Lamp-Wick, it's true. If today I am a really happy boy, it
is all because of you. And to think that the teacher, when speaking of
you, used to say, 'Do not go with that Lamp-Wick! He is a bad companion
and some day he will lead you astray.'"

"Poor teacher!" answered the other, nodding his head. "Indeed I know how
much he disliked me and how he enjoyed speaking ill of me. But I am of a
generous nature, and I gladly forgive him."

"Great soul!" said Pinocchio, fondly embracing his friend.

Five months passed and the boys continued playing and enjoying
themselves from morn till night, without ever seeing a book, or a desk,
or a school. But, my children, there came a morning when Pinocchio awoke
and found a great surprise awaiting him, a surprise which made him feel
very unhappy, as you shall see.




Pinocchio's ears become like those of a Donkey. In a little while he
changes into a real Donkey and begins to bray.


Everyone, at one time or another, has found some surprise awaiting him.
Of the kind which Pinocchio had on that eventful morning of his life,
there are but few.

What was it? I will tell you, my dear little readers. On awakening,
Pinocchio put his hand up to his head and there he found--

Guess!

He found that, during the night, his ears had grown at least ten full
inches!

You must know that the Marionette, even from his birth, had very small
ears, so small indeed that to the naked eye they could hardly be seen.
Fancy how he felt when he noticed that overnight those two dainty organs
had become as long as shoe brushes!

He went in search of a mirror, but not finding any, he just filled a
basin with water and looked at himself. There he saw what he never
could have wished to see. His manly figure was adorned and enriched by a
beautiful pair of donkey's ears.

I leave you to think of the terrible grief, the shame, the despair of
the poor Marionette.

He began to cry, to scream, to knock his head against the wall, but the
more he shrieked, the longer and the more hairy grew his ears.

At those piercing shrieks, a Dormouse came into the room, a fat little
Dormouse, who lived upstairs. Seeing Pinocchio so grief-stricken, she
asked him anxiously:

"What is the matter, dear little neighbor?"

"I am sick, my little Dormouse, very, very sick--and from an illness
which frightens me! Do you understand how to feel the pulse?"

"A little."

"Feel mine then and tell me if I have a fever."

The Dormouse took Pinocchio's wrist between her paws and, after a few
minutes, looked up at him sorrowfully and said: "My friend, I am sorry,
but I must give you some very sad news."

"What is it?"

"You have a very bad fever."

"But what fever is it?"

"The donkey fever."

"I don't know anything about that fever," answered the Marionette,
beginning to understand even too well what was happening to him.

"Then I will tell you all about it," said the Dormouse. "Know then that,
within two or three hours, you will no longer be a Marionette, nor a
boy."

"What shall I be?"

"Within two or three hours you will become a real donkey, just like the
ones that pull the fruit carts to market."

"Oh, what have I done? What have I done?" cried Pinocchio, grasping his
two long ears in his hands and pulling and tugging at them angrily, just
as if they belonged to another.

"My dear boy," answered the Dormouse to cheer him up a bit, "why worry
now? What is done cannot be undone, you know. Fate has decreed that all
lazy boys who come to hate books and schools and teachers and spend all
their days with toys and games must sooner or later turn into donkeys."

"But is it really so?" asked the Marionette, sobbing bitterly.

"I am sorry to say it is. And tears now are useless. You should have
thought of all this before."

"But the fault is not mine. Believe me, little Dormouse, the fault is
all Lamp-Wick's."

"And who is this Lamp-Wick?"

"A classmate of mine. I wanted to return home. I wanted to be obedient.
I wanted to study and to succeed in school, but Lamp-Wick said to me,
'Why do you want to waste your time studying? Why do you want to go to
school? Come with me to the Land of Toys. There we'll never study again.
There we can enjoy ourselves and be happy from morn till night.'"

"And why did you follow the advice of that false friend?"

"Why? Because, my dear little Dormouse, I am a heedless
Marionette--heedless and heartless. Oh! If I had only had a bit of
heart, I should never have abandoned that good Fairy, who loved me
so well and who has been so kind to me! And by this time, I should no
longer be a Marionette. I should have become a real boy, like all these
friends of mine! Oh, if I meet Lamp-Wick I am going to tell him what I
think of him--and more, too!"

After this long speech, Pinocchio walked to the door of the room. But
when he reached it, remembering his donkey ears, he felt ashamed to show
them to the public and turned back. He took a large cotton bag from a
shelf, put it on his head, and pulled it far down to his very nose.

Thus adorned, he went out. He looked for Lamp-Wick everywhere, along the
streets, in the squares, inside the theatres, everywhere; but he was
not to be found. He asked everyone whom he met about him, but no one had
seen him. In desperation, he returned home and knocked at the door.

"Who is it?" asked Lamp-Wick from within.

"It is I!" answered the Marionette.

"Wait a minute."

After a full half hour the door opened. Another surprise awaited
Pinocchio! There in the room stood his friend, with a large cotton bag
on his head, pulled far down to his very nose.

At the sight of that bag, Pinocchio felt slightly happier and thought to
himself:

"My friend must be suffering from the same sickness that I am! I wonder
if he, too, has donkey fever?"

But pretending he had seen nothing, he asked with a smile:

"How are you, my dear Lamp-Wick?"

"Very well. Like a mouse in a Parmesan cheese."

"Is that really true?"

"Why should I lie to you?"

"I beg your pardon, my friend, but why then are you wearing that cotton
bag over your ears?"

"The doctor has ordered it because one of my knees hurts. And you, dear
Marionette, why are you wearing that cotton bag down to your nose?"

"The doctor has ordered it because I have bruised my foot."

"Oh, my poor Pinocchio!"

"Oh, my poor Lamp-Wick!"

An embarrassingly long silence followed these words, during which time
the two friends looked at each other in a mocking way.

Finally the Marionette, in a voice sweet as honey and soft as a flute,
said to his companion:

"Tell me, Lamp-Wick, dear friend, have you ever suffered from an
earache?"

"Never! And you?"

"Never! Still, since this morning my ear has been torturing me."

"So has mine."

"Yours, too? And which ear is it?"

"Both of them. And yours?"

"Both of them, too. I wonder if it could be the same sickness."

"I'm afraid it is."

"Will you do me a favor, Lamp-Wick?"

"Gladly! With my whole heart."

"Will you let me see your ears?"

"Why not? But before I show you mine, I want to see yours, dear
Pinocchio."

"No. You must show yours first."

"No, my dear! Yours first, then mine."

"Well, then," said the Marionette, "let us make a contract."

"Let's hear the contract!"

"Let us take off our caps together. All right?"

"All right."

"Ready then!"

Pinocchio began to count, "One! Two! Three!"

At the word "Three!" the two boys pulled off their caps and threw them
high in air.

And then a scene took place which is hard to believe, but it is all too
true. The Marionette and his friend, Lamp-Wick, when they saw each other
both stricken by the same misfortune, instead of feeling sorrowful and
ashamed, began to poke fun at each other, and after much nonsense, they
ended by bursting out into hearty laughter.

They laughed and laughed, and laughed again--laughed till they
ached--laughed till they cried.

But all of a sudden Lamp-Wick stopped laughing. He tottered and almost
fell. Pale as a ghost, he turned to Pinocchio and said:

"Help, help, Pinocchio!"

"What is the matter?"

"Oh, help me! I can no longer stand up."

"I can't either," cried Pinocchio; and his laughter turned to tears as
he stumbled about helplessly.

They had hardly finished speaking, when both of them fell on all fours
and began running and jumping around the room. As they ran, their arms
turned into legs, their faces lengthened into snouts and their backs
became covered with long gray hairs.

This was humiliation enough, but the most horrible moment was the one
in which the two poor creatures felt their tails appear. Overcome with
shame and grief, they tried to cry and bemoan their fate.

But what is done can't be undone! Instead of moans and cries, they burst
forth into loud donkey brays, which sounded very much like, "Haw! Haw!
Haw!"

At that moment, a loud knocking was heard at the door and a voice called
to them:

"Open! I am the Little Man, the driver of the wagon which brought you
here. Open, I say, or beware!"




Pinocchio, having become a Donkey, is bought by the owner of a Circus,
who wants to teach him to do tricks. The Donkey becomes lame and is sold
to a man who wants to use his skin for a drumhead.


Very sad and downcast were the two poor little fellows as they stood
and looked at each other. Outside the room, the Little Man grew more and
more impatient, and finally gave the door such a violent kick that
it flew open. With his usual sweet smile on his lips, he looked at
Pinocchio and Lamp-Wick and said to them:

"Fine work, boys! You have brayed well, so well that I recognized your
voices immediately, and here I am."

On hearing this, the two Donkeys bowed their heads in shame, dropped
their ears, and put their tails between their legs.

At first, the Little Man petted and caressed them and smoothed down
their hairy coats. Then he took out a currycomb and worked over them
till they shone like glass. Satisfied with the looks of the two little
animals, he bridled them and took them to a market place far away from
the Land of Toys, in the hope of selling them at a good price.

In fact, he did not have to wait very long for an offer. Lamp-Wick was
bought by a farmer whose donkey had died the day before. Pinocchio went
to the owner of a circus, who wanted to teach him to do tricks for his
audiences.

And now do you understand what the Little Man's profession was? This
horrid little being, whose face shone with kindness, went about the
world looking for boys. Lazy boys, boys who hated books, boys who wanted
to run away from home, boys who were tired of school--all these were his
joy and his fortune. He took them with him to the Land of Toys and let
them enjoy themselves to their heart's content. When, after months of
all play and no work, they became little donkeys, he sold them on the
market place. In a few years, he had become a millionaire.

What happened to Lamp-Wick? My dear children, I do not know. Pinocchio,
I can tell you, met with great hardships even from the first day.

After putting him in a stable, his new master filled his manger with
straw, but Pinocchio, after tasting a mouthful, spat it out.

Then the man filled the manger with hay. But Pinocchio did not like that
any better.

"Ah, you don't like hay either?" he cried angrily. "Wait, my pretty
Donkey, I'll teach you not to be so particular."

Without more ado, he took a whip and gave the Donkey a hearty blow
across the legs.

Pinocchio screamed with pain and as he screamed he brayed:

"Haw! Haw! Haw! I can't digest straw!"

"Then eat the hay!" answered his master, who understood the Donkey
perfectly.

"Haw! Haw! Haw! Hay gives me a headache!"

"Do you pretend, by any chance, that I should feed you duck or chicken?"
 asked the man again, and, angrier than ever, he gave poor Pinocchio
another lashing.

At that second beating, Pinocchio became very quiet and said no more.

After that, the door of the stable was closed and he was left alone. It
was many hours since he had eaten anything and he started to yawn from
hunger. As he yawned, he opened a mouth as big as an oven.

Finally, not finding anything else in the manger, he tasted the hay.
After tasting it, he chewed it well, closed his eyes, and swallowed it.

"This hay is not bad," he said to himself. "But how much happier I
should be if I had studied! Just now, instead of hay, I should be eating
some good bread and butter. Patience!"

Next morning, when he awoke, Pinocchio looked in the manger for more
hay, but it was all gone. He had eaten it all during the night.

He tried the straw, but, as he chewed away at it, he noticed to his
great disappointment that it tasted neither like rice nor like macaroni.

"Patience!" he repeated as he chewed. "If only my misfortune might serve
as a lesson to disobedient boys who refuse to study! Patience! Have
patience!"

"Patience indeed!" shouted his master just then, as he came into the
stable. "Do you think, perhaps, my little Donkey, that I have brought
you here only to give you food and drink? Oh, no! You are to help me
earn some fine gold pieces, do you hear? Come along, now. I am going
to teach you to jump and bow, to dance a waltz and a polka, and even to
stand on your head."

Poor Pinocchio, whether he liked it or not, had to learn all these
wonderful things; but it took him three long months and cost him many,
many lashings before he was pronounced perfect.

The day came at last when Pinocchio's master was able to announce an
extraordinary performance. The announcements, posted all around the
town, and written in large letters, read thus:

     GREAT SPECTACLE TONIGHT
     LEAPS AND EXERCISES BY THE GREAT ARTISTS
     AND THE FAMOUS HORSES
     of the
     COMPANY

     First Public Appearance

     of the

     FAMOUS DONKEY

     called

     PINOCCHIO

     THE STAR OF THE DANCE
     ----
     The Theater will be as Light as Day

That night, as you can well imagine, the theater was filled to
overflowing one hour before the show was scheduled to start.

Not an orchestra chair could be had, not a balcony seat, nor a gallery
seat; not even for their weight in gold.

The place swarmed with boys and girls of all ages and sizes, wriggling
and dancing about in a fever of impatience to see the famous Donkey
dance.

When the first part of the performance was over, the Owner and Manager
of the circus, in a black coat, white knee breeches, and patent leather
boots, presented himself to the public and in a loud, pompous voice made
the following announcement:

"Most honored friends, Gentlemen and Ladies!

"Your humble servant, the Manager of this theater, presents himself
before you tonight in order to introduce to you the greatest, the most
famous Donkey in the world, a Donkey that has had the great honor in his
short life of performing before the kings and queens and emperors of all
the great courts of Europe.

"We thank you for your attention!"

This speech was greeted by much laughter and applause. And the applause
grew to a roar when Pinocchio, the famous Donkey, appeared in the circus
ring. He was handsomely arrayed. A new bridle of shining leather with
buckles of polished brass was on his back; two white camellias were tied
to his ears; ribbons and tassels of red silk adorned his mane, which was
divided into many curls. A great sash of gold and silver was fastened
around his waist and his tail was decorated with ribbons of many
brilliant colors. He was a handsome Donkey indeed!

The Manager, when introducing him to the public, added these words:

"Most honored audience! I shall not take your time tonight to tell you
of the great difficulties which I have encountered while trying to tame
this animal, since I found him in the wilds of Africa. Observe, I beg
of you, the savage look of his eye. All the means used by centuries of
civilization in subduing wild beasts failed in this case. I had finally
to resort to the gentle language of the whip in order to bring him to
my will. With all my kindness, however, I never succeeded in gaining my
Donkey's love. He is still today as savage as the day I found him. He
still fears and hates me. But I have found in him one great redeeming
feature. Do you see this little bump on his forehead? It is this bump
which gives him his great talent of dancing and using his feet as nimbly
as a human being. Admire him, O signori, and enjoy yourselves. I let
you, now, be the judges of my success as a teacher of animals. Before
I leave you, I wish to state that there will be another performance
tomorrow night. If the weather threatens rain, the great spectacle will
take place at eleven o'clock in the morning."

The Manager bowed and then turned to Pinocchio and said: "Ready,
Pinocchio! Before starting your performance, salute your audience!"

Pinocchio obediently bent his two knees to the ground and remained
kneeling until the Manager, with the crack of the whip, cried sharply:
"Walk!"

The Donkey lifted himself on his four feet and walked around the ring. A
few minutes passed and again the voice of the Manager called:

"Quickstep!" and Pinocchio obediently changed his step.

"Gallop!" and Pinocchio galloped.

"Full speed!" and Pinocchio ran as fast as he could. As he ran the
master raised his arm and a pistol shot rang in the air.

At the shot, the little Donkey fell to the ground as if he were really
dead.

A shower of applause greeted the Donkey as he arose to his feet. Cries
and shouts and handclappings were heard on all sides.

At all that noise, Pinocchio lifted his head and raised his eyes. There,
in front of him, in a box sat a beautiful woman. Around her neck she
wore a long gold chain, from which hung a large medallion. On the
medallion was painted the picture of a Marionette.

"That picture is of me! That beautiful lady is my Fairy!" said Pinocchio
to himself, recognizing her. He felt so happy that he tried his best to
cry out:

"Oh, my Fairy! My own Fairy!"

But instead of words, a loud braying was heard in the theater, so loud
and so long that all the spectators--men, women, and children, but
especially the children--burst out laughing.

Then, in order to teach the Donkey that it was not good manners to bray
before the public, the Manager hit him on the nose with the handle of
the whip.

The poor little Donkey stuck out a long tongue and licked his nose for a
long time in an effort to take away the pain.

And what was his grief when on looking up toward the boxes, he saw that
the Fairy had disappeared!

He felt himself fainting, his eyes filled with tears, and he wept
bitterly. No one knew it, however, least of all the Manager, who,
cracking his whip, cried out:

"Bravo, Pinocchio! Now show us how gracefully you can jump through the
rings."

Pinocchio tried two or three times, but each time he came near the ring,
he found it more to his taste to go under it. The fourth time, at a look
from his master he leaped through it, but as he did so his hind legs
caught in the ring and he fell to the floor in a heap.

When he got up, he was lame and could hardly limp as far as the stable.

"Pinocchio! We want Pinocchio! We want the little Donkey!" cried the
boys from the orchestra, saddened by the accident.

No one saw Pinocchio again that evening.

The next morning the veterinary--that is, the animal doctor--declared
that he would be lame for the rest of his life.

"What do I want with a lame donkey?" said the Manager to the stableboy.
"Take him to the market and sell him."

When they reached the square, a buyer was soon found.

"How much do you ask for that little lame Donkey?" he asked.

"Four dollars."

"I'll give you four cents. Don't think I'm buying him for work. I want
only his skin. It looks very tough and I can use it to make myself a
drumhead. I belong to a musical band in my village and I need a drum."

I leave it to you, my dear children, to picture to yourself the great
pleasure with which Pinocchio heard that he was to become a drumhead!

As soon as the buyer had paid the four cents, the Donkey changed hands.
His new owner took him to a high cliff overlooking the sea, put a stone
around his neck, tied a rope to one of his hind feet, gave him a push,
and threw him into the water.

Pinocchio sank immediately. And his new master sat on the cliff waiting
for him to drown, so as to skin him and make himself a drumhead.




Pinocchio is thrown into the sea, eaten by fishes, and becomes a
Marionette once more. As he swims to land, he is swallowed by the
Terrible Shark.


Down into the sea, deeper and deeper, sank Pinocchio, and finally, after
fifty minutes of waiting, the man on the cliff said to himself:

"By this time my poor little lame Donkey must be drowned. Up with him
and then I can get to work on my beautiful drum."

He pulled the rope which he had tied to Pinocchio's leg--pulled and
pulled and pulled and, at last, he saw appear on the surface of the
water--Can you guess what? Instead of a dead donkey, he saw a very much
alive Marionette, wriggling and squirming like an eel.

Seeing that wooden Marionette, the poor man thought he was dreaming and
sat there with his mouth wide open and his eyes popping out of his head.

Gathering his wits together, he said:

"And the Donkey I threw into the sea?"

"I am that Donkey," answered the Marionette laughing.

"You?"

"I."

"Ah, you little cheat! Are you poking fun at me?"

"Poking fun at you? Not at all, dear Master. I am talking seriously."

"But, then, how is it that you, who a few minutes ago were a donkey, are
now standing before me a wooden Marionette?"

"It may be the effect of salt water. The sea is fond of playing these
tricks."

"Be careful, Marionette, be careful! Don't laugh at me! Woe be to you,
if I lose my patience!"

"Well, then, my Master, do you want to know my whole story? Untie my leg
and I can tell it to you better."

The old fellow, curious to know the true story of the Marionette's life,
immediately untied the rope which held his foot. Pinocchio, feeling free
as a bird of the air, began his tale:

"Know, then, that, once upon a time, I was a wooden Marionette, just
as I am today. One day I was about to become a boy, a real boy, but on
account of my laziness and my hatred of books, and because I listened to
bad companions, I ran away from home. One beautiful morning, I awoke to
find myself changed into a donkey--long ears, gray coat, even a tail!
What a shameful day for me! I hope you will never experience one like
it, dear Master. I was taken to the fair and sold to a Circus Owner, who
tried to make me dance and jump through the rings. One night, during a
performance, I had a bad fall and became lame. Not knowing what to do
with a lame donkey, the Circus Owner sent me to the market place and you
bought me."

"Indeed I did! And I paid four cents for you. Now who will return my
money to me?"

"But why did you buy me? You bought me to do me harm--to kill me--to
make a drumhead out of me!"

"Indeed I did! And now where shall I find another skin?"

"Never mind, dear Master. There are so many donkeys in this world."

"Tell me, impudent little rogue, does your story end here?"

"One more word," answered the Marionette, "and I am through. After
buying me, you brought me here to kill me. But feeling sorry for me, you
tied a stone to my neck and threw me to the bottom of the sea. That was
very good and kind of you to want me to suffer as little as possible and
I shall remember you always. And now my Fairy will take care of me, even
if you--"

"Your Fairy? Who is she?"

"She is my mother, and, like all other mothers who love their children,
she never loses sight of me, even though I do not deserve it. And today
this good Fairy of mine, as soon as she saw me in danger of drowning,
sent a thousand fishes to the spot where I lay. They thought I was
really a dead donkey and began to eat me. What great bites they took!
One ate my ears, another my nose, a third my neck and my mane. Some went
at my legs and some at my back, and among the others, there was one tiny
fish so gentle and polite that he did me the great favor of eating even
my tail."

"From now on," said the man, horrified, "I swear I shall never again
taste fish. How I should enjoy opening a mullet or a whitefish just to
find there the tail of a dead donkey!"

"I think as you do," answered the Marionette, laughing. "Still, you must
know that when the fish finished eating my donkey coat, which covered
me from head to foot, they naturally came to the bones--or rather, in my
case, to the wood, for as you know, I am made of very hard wood. After
the first few bites, those greedy fish found out that the wood was not
good for their teeth, and, afraid of indigestion, they turned and ran
here and there without saying good-by or even as much as thank you to
me. Here, dear Master, you have my story. You know now why you found a
Marionette and not a dead donkey when you pulled me out of the water."

"I laugh at your story!" cried the man angrily. "I know that I spent
four cents to get you and I want my money back. Do you know what I can
do; I am going to take you to the market once more and sell you as dry
firewood."

"Very well, sell me. I am satisfied," said Pinocchio. But as he spoke,
he gave a quick leap and dived into the sea. Swimming away as fast as he
could, he cried out, laughing:

"Good-by, Master. If you ever need a skin for your drum, remember me."

He swam on and on. After a while, he turned around again and called
louder than before:

"Good-by, Master. If you ever need a piece of good dry firewood,
remember me."

In a few seconds he had gone so far he could hardly be seen. All that
could be seen of him was a very small black dot moving swiftly on the
blue surface of the water, a little black dot which now and then lifted
a leg or an arm in the air. One would have thought that Pinocchio had
turned into a porpoise playing in the sun.

After swimming for a long time, Pinocchio saw a large rock in the middle
of the sea, a rock as white as marble. High on the rock stood a little
Goat bleating and calling and beckoning to the Marionette to come to
her.

There was something very strange about that little Goat. Her coat was
not white or black or brown as that of any other goat, but azure, a deep
brilliant color that reminded one of the hair of the lovely maiden.

Pinocchio's heart beat fast, and then faster and faster. He redoubled
his efforts and swam as hard as he could toward the white rock. He was
almost halfway over, when suddenly a horrible sea monster stuck its head
out of the water, an enormous head with a huge mouth, wide open, showing
three rows of gleaming teeth, the mere sight of which would have filled
you with fear.

Do you know what it was?

That sea monster was no other than the enormous Shark, which has often
been mentioned in this story and which, on account of its cruelty, had
been nicknamed "The Attila of the Sea" by both fish and fishermen.

Poor Pinocchio! The sight of that monster frightened him almost to
death! He tried to swim away from him, to change his path, to escape,
but that immense mouth kept coming nearer and nearer.

"Hasten, Pinocchio, I beg you!" bleated the little Goat on the high
rock.

And Pinocchio swam desperately with his arms, his body, his legs, his
feet.

"Quick, Pinocchio, the monster is coming nearer!"

Pinocchio swam faster and faster, and harder and harder.

"Faster, Pinocchio! The monster will get you! There he is! There he is!
Quick, quick, or you are lost!"

Pinocchio went through the water like a shot--swifter and swifter. He
came close to the rock. The Goat leaned over and gave him one of her
hoofs to help him up out of the water.

Alas! It was too late. The monster overtook him and the Marionette found
himself in between the rows of gleaming white teeth. Only for a moment,
however, for the Shark took a deep breath and, as he breathed, he drank
in the Marionette as easily as he would have sucked an egg. Then he
swallowed him so fast that Pinocchio, falling down into the body of the
fish, lay stunned for a half hour.

When he recovered his senses the Marionette could not remember where he
was. Around him all was darkness, a darkness so deep and so black that
for a moment he thought he had put his head into an inkwell. He listened
for a few moments and heard nothing. Once in a while a cold wind blew
on his face. At first he could not understand where that wind was coming
from, but after a while he understood that it came from the lungs of the
monster. I forgot to tell you that the Shark was suffering from asthma,
so that whenever he breathed a storm seemed to blow.

Pinocchio at first tried to be brave, but as soon as he became convinced
that he was really and truly in the Shark's stomach, he burst into sobs
and tears. "Help! Help!" he cried. "Oh, poor me! Won't someone come to
save me?"

"Who is there to help you, unhappy boy?" said a rough voice, like a
guitar out of tune.

"Who is talking?" asked Pinocchio, frozen with terror.

"It is I, a poor Tunny swallowed by the Shark at the same time as you.
And what kind of a fish are you?"

"I have nothing to do with fishes. I am a Marionette."

"If you are not a fish, why did you let this monster swallow you?"

"I didn't let him. He chased me and swallowed me without even a 'by your
leave'! And now what are we to do here in the dark?"

"Wait until the Shark has digested us both, I suppose."

"But I don't want to be digested," shouted Pinocchio, starting to sob.

"Neither do I," said the Tunny, "but I am wise enough to think that if
one is born a fish, it is more dignified to die under the water than in
the frying pan."

"What nonsense!" cried Pinocchio.

"Mine is an opinion," replied the Tunny, "and opinions should be
respected."

"But I want to get out of this place. I want to escape."

"Go, if you can!"

"Is this Shark that has swallowed us very long?" asked the Marionette.

"His body, not counting the tail, is almost a mile long."

While talking in the darkness, Pinocchio thought he saw a faint light in
the distance.

"What can that be?" he said to the Tunny.

"Some other poor fish, waiting as patiently as we to be digested by the
Shark."

"I want to see him. He may be an old fish and may know some way of
escape."

"I wish you all good luck, dear Marionette."

"Good-by, Tunny."

"Good-by, Marionette, and good luck."

"When shall I see you again?"

"Who knows? It is better not to think about it."




In the Shark's body Pinocchio finds whom? Read this chapter, my
children, and you will know.


Pinocchio, as soon as he had said good-by to his good friend, the Tunny,
tottered away in the darkness and began to walk as well as he could
toward the faint light which glowed in the distance.

As he walked his feet splashed in a pool of greasy and slippery water,
which had such a heavy smell of fish fried in oil that Pinocchio thought
it was Lent.

The farther on he went, the brighter and clearer grew the tiny light. On
and on he walked till finally he found--I give you a thousand guesses,
my dear children! He found a little table set for dinner and lighted by
a candle stuck in a glass bottle; and near the table sat a little old
man, white as the snow, eating live fish. They wriggled so that, now and
again, one of them slipped out of the old man's mouth and escaped into
the darkness under the table.

At this sight, the poor Marionette was filled with such great and sudden
happiness that he almost dropped in a faint. He wanted to laugh, he
wanted to cry, he wanted to say a thousand and one things, but all he
could do was to stand still, stuttering and stammering brokenly. At
last, with a great effort, he was able to let out a scream of joy and,
opening wide his arms he threw them around the old man's neck.

"Oh, Father, dear Father! Have I found you at last? Now I shall never,
never leave you again!"

"Are my eyes really telling me the truth?" answered the old man, rubbing
his eyes. "Are you really my own dear Pinocchio?"

"Yes, yes, yes! It is I! Look at me! And you have forgiven me, haven't
you? Oh, my dear Father, how good you are! And to think that I--Oh, but
if you only knew how many misfortunes have fallen on my head and how
many troubles I have had! Just think that on the day you sold your old
coat to buy me my A-B-C book so that I could go to school, I ran away to
the Marionette Theater and the proprietor caught me and wanted to burn
me to cook his roast lamb! He was the one who gave me the five gold
pieces for you, but I met the Fox and the Cat, who took me to the Inn of
the Red Lobster. There they ate like wolves and I left the Inn alone
and I met the Assassins in the wood. I ran and they ran after me, always
after me, till they hanged me to the branch of a giant oak tree. Then
the Fairy of the Azure Hair sent the coach to rescue me and the doctors,
after looking at me, said, 'If he is not dead, then he is surely alive,'
and then I told a lie and my nose began to grow. It grew and it grew,
till I couldn't get it through the door of the room. And then I went
with the Fox and the Cat to the Field of Wonders to bury the gold
pieces. The Parrot laughed at me and, instead of two thousand gold
pieces, I found none. When the Judge heard I had been robbed, he sent
me to jail to make the thieves happy; and when I came away I saw a fine
bunch of grapes hanging on a vine. The trap caught me and the Farmer put
a collar on me and made me a watchdog. He found out I was innocent when
I caught the Weasels and he let me go. The Serpent with the tail that
smoked started to laugh and a vein in his chest broke and so I went back
to the Fairy's house. She was dead, and the Pigeon, seeing me crying,
said to me, 'I have seen your father building a boat to look for you in
America,' and I said to him, 'Oh, if I only had wings!' and he said to
me, 'Do you want to go to your father?' and I said, 'Perhaps, but how?'
and he said, 'Get on my back. I'll take you there.' We flew all night
long, and next morning the fishermen were looking toward the sea,
crying, 'There is a poor little man drowning,' and I knew it was you,
because my heart told me so and I waved to you from the shore--"

"I knew you also," put in Geppetto, "and I wanted to go to you; but how
could I? The sea was rough and the whitecaps overturned the boat. Then
a Terrible Shark came up out of the sea and, as soon as he saw me in the
water, swam quickly toward me, put out his tongue, and swallowed me as
easily as if I had been a chocolate peppermint."

"And how long have you been shut away in here?"

"From that day to this, two long weary years--two years, my Pinocchio,
which have been like two centuries."

"And how have you lived? Where did you find the candle? And the matches
with which to light it--where did you get them?"

"You must know that, in the storm which swamped my boat, a large ship
also suffered the same fate. The sailors were all saved, but the ship
went right to the bottom of the sea, and the same Terrible Shark that
swallowed me, swallowed most of it."

"What! Swallowed a ship?" asked Pinocchio in astonishment.

"At one gulp. The only thing he spat out was the main-mast, for it
stuck in his teeth. To my own good luck, that ship was loaded with meat,
preserved foods, crackers, bread, bottles of wine, raisins, cheese,
coffee, sugar, wax candles, and boxes of matches. With all these
blessings, I have been able to live happily on for two whole years, but
now I am at the very last crumbs. Today there is nothing left in the
cupboard, and this candle you see here is the last one I have."

"And then?"

"And then, my dear, we'll find ourselves in darkness."

"Then, my dear Father," said Pinocchio, "there is no time to lose. We
must try to escape."

"Escape! How?"

"We can run out of the Shark's mouth and dive into the sea."

"You speak well, but I cannot swim, my dear Pinocchio."

"Why should that matter? You can climb on my shoulders and I, who am a
fine swimmer, will carry you safely to the shore."

"Dreams, my boy!" answered Geppetto, shaking his head and smiling sadly.
"Do you think it possible for a Marionette, a yard high, to have the
strength to carry me on his shoulders and swim?"

"Try it and see! And in any case, if it is written that we must die, we
shall at least die together."

Not adding another word, Pinocchio took the candle in his hand and going
ahead to light the way, he said to his father:

"Follow me and have no fear."

They walked a long distance through the stomach and the whole body of
the Shark. When they reached the throat of the monster, they stopped for
a while to wait for the right moment in which to make their escape.

I want you to know that the Shark, being very old and suffering from
asthma and heart trouble, was obliged to sleep with his mouth open.
Because of this, Pinocchio was able to catch a glimpse of the sky filled
with stars, as he looked up through the open jaws of his new home.

"The time has come for us to escape," he whispered, turning to his
father. "The Shark is fast asleep. The sea is calm and the night is
as bright as day. Follow me closely, dear Father, and we shall soon be
saved."

No sooner said than done. They climbed up the throat of the monster till
they came to that immense open mouth. There they had to walk on tiptoes,
for if they tickled the Shark's long tongue he might awaken--and where
would they be then? The tongue was so wide and so long that it looked
like a country road. The two fugitives were just about to dive into the
sea when the Shark sneezed very suddenly and, as he sneezed, he gave
Pinocchio and Geppetto such a jolt that they found themselves thrown
on their backs and dashed once more and very unceremoniously into the
stomach of the monster.

To make matters worse, the candle went out and father and son were left
in the dark.

"And now?" asked Pinocchio with a serious face.

"Now we are lost."

"Why lost? Give me your hand, dear Father, and be careful not to slip!"

"Where will you take me?"

"We must try again. Come with me and don't be afraid."

With these words Pinocchio took his father by the hand and, always
walking on tiptoes, they climbed up the monster's throat for a second
time. They then crossed the whole tongue and jumped over three rows of
teeth. But before they took the last great leap, the Marionette said to
his father:

"Climb on my back and hold on tightly to my neck. I'll take care of
everything else."

As soon as Geppetto was comfortably seated on his shoulders, Pinocchio,
very sure of what he was doing, dived into the water and started to
swim. The sea was like oil, the moon shone in all splendor, and the
Shark continued to sleep so soundly that not even a cannon shot would
have awakened him.


My father had a small estate in Nottinghamshire, and I was the third
of four sons. He sent me to Cambridge at fourteen years old, and after
studying there three years I was bound apprentice to Mr. Bates, a famous
surgeon in London. There, as my father now and then sent me small sums
of money, I spent them in learning navigation, and other arts useful to
those who travel, as I always believed it would be some time or other my
fortune to do.

Three years after my leaving him my good master, Mr. Bates, recommended
me as ship's surgeon to the "Swallow," on which I voyaged three years.
When I came back I settled in London, and, having taken part of a
small house, I married Miss Mary Burton, daughter of Mr. Edmund Burton,
hosier.

But my good master Bates died two years after; and as I had few friends
my business began to fail, and I determined to go again to sea. After
several voyages, I accepted an offer from Captain W. Pritchard, master
of the "Antelope," who was making a voyage to the South Sea. We set sail
from Bristol, May 4, 1699; and our voyage at first was very prosperous.

But in our passage to the East Indies we were driven by a violent storm
to the north-west of Van Diemen's Land. Twelve of our crew died from
hard labor and bad food, and the rest were in a very weak condition.
On the 5th of November, the weather being very hazy, the seamen spied
a rock within 120 yards of the ship; but the wind was so strong that we
were driven straight upon it, and immediately split. Six of the crew,
of whom I was one, letting down the boat, got clear of the ship, and we
rowed about three leagues, till we could work no longer. We therefore
trusted ourselves to the mercy of the waves; and in about half an hour
the boat was upset by a sudden squall. What became of my companions in
the boat, or those who escaped on the rock or were left in the vessel,
I cannot tell; but I conclude they were all lost. For my part, I swam as
fortune directed me, and was pushed forward by wind and tide; but when
I was able to struggle no longer I found myself within my depth. By this
time the storm was much abated. I reached the shore at last, about eight
o'clock in the evening, and advanced nearly half a mile inland, but
could not discover any sign of inhabitants. I was extremely tired, and
with the heat of the weather I found myself much inclined to sleep. I
lay down on the grass, which was very short and soft, and slept sounder
than ever I did in my life for about nine hours. When I woke, it was
just daylight. I attempted to rise, but could not; for as I happened to
be lying on my back, I found my arms and legs were fastened on each side
to the ground; and my hair, which was long and thick, tied down in the
same manner. I could only look upward. The sun began to grow hot, and
the light hurt my eyes. I heard a confused noise about me, but could
see nothing except the sky. In a little time I felt something alive
and moving on my left leg, which, advancing gently over my breast, came
almost up to my chin, when, bending my eyes downward, I perceived it to
be a human creature, not six inches high, with a bow and arrow in his
hands, and a quiver at his back. In the meantime I felt at least forty
more following the first. I was in the utmost astonishment, and roared
so loud that they all ran back in a fright; and some of them were
hurt with the falls they got by leaping from my sides upon the ground.
However, they soon returned, and one of them, who ventured so far as to
get a full sight of my face, lifted up his hands in admiration. I lay
all this while in great uneasiness; but at length, struggling to get
loose, I succeeded in breaking the strings that fastened my left arm
to the ground; and at the same time, with a violent pull that gave me
extreme pain, I a little loosened the strings that tied down my hair, so
that I was just able to turn my head about two inches. But the creatures
ran off a second time before I could seize them, whereupon there was a
great shout, and in an instant I felt above a hundred arrows discharged
on my left hand, which pricked me like so many needles. Moreover, they
shot another flight into the air, of which some fell on my face, which
I immediately covered with my left hand. When this shower of arrows
was over I groaned with grief and pain, and then, striving again to get
loose, they discharged another flight of arrows larger than the first,
and some of them tried to stab me with their spears; but by good luck
I had on a leather jacket, which they could not pierce. By this time
I thought it most prudent to lie still till night, when, my left
hand being already loose, I could easily free myself; and as for the
inhabitants, I thought I might be a match for the greatest army they
could bring against me if they were all of the same size as him I
saw. When the people observed that I was quiet they discharged no more
arrows, but by the noise I heard I knew that their number was increased;
and about four yards from me, for more than an hour, there was a
knocking, like people at work. Then, turning my head that way as well
as the pegs and strings would let me, I saw a stage set up, about a foot
and a half from the ground, with two or three ladders to mount it. From
this, one of them, who seemed to be a person of quality, made me a long
speech, of which I could not understand a word, though I could tell from
his manner that he sometimes threatened me, and sometimes spoke with
pity and kindness. I answered in few words, but in the most submissive
manner; and, being almost famished with hunger, I could not help showing
my impatience by putting my finger frequently to my mouth, to signify
that I wanted food. He understood me very well, and, descending from the
stage, commanded that several ladders should be set against my sides, on
which more than a hundred of the inhabitants mounted, and walked toward
my mouth with baskets full of food, which had been sent by the King's
orders when he first received tidings of me. There were legs and
shoulders like mutton but smaller than the wings of a lark. I ate
them two or three at a mouthful, and took three loaves at a time. They
supplied me as fast as they could, with a thousand marks of wonder at
my appetite. I then made a sign that I wanted something to drink. They
guessed that a small quantity would not suffice me, and, being a most
ingenious people, they slung up one of their largest hogsheads, then
rolled it toward my hand, and beat out the top. I drank it off at a
draught, which I might well do, for it did not hold half a pint. They
brought me a second hogshead, which I drank, and made signs for more;
but they had none to give me. However, I could not wonder enough at the
daring of these tiny mortals, who ventured to mount and walk upon my
body, while one of my hands was free, without trembling at the very
sight of so huge a creature as I must have seemed to them. After some
time there appeared before me a person of high rank from his Imperial
Majesty. His Excellency, having mounted my right leg, advanced to my
face, with about a dozen of his retinue, and spoke about ten minutes,
often pointing forward, which, as I afterward found, was toward the
capital city, about half a mile distant, whither it was commanded by his
Majesty that I should be conveyed. I made a sign with my hand that was
loose, putting it to the other (but over his Excellency's head, for
fear of hurting him or his train), to show that I desired my liberty.
He seemed to understand me well enough, for he shook his head, though
he made other signs to let me know that I should have meat and drink
enough, and very good treatment. Then I once more thought of attempting
to escape; but when I felt the smart of their arrows on my face and
hands, which were all in blisters and observed likewise that the number
of my enemies increased, I gave tokens to let them know that they might
do with me what they pleased. Then they daubed my face and hands with a
sweet-smelling ointment, which in a few minutes removed all the smarts
of the arrows. The relief from pain and hunger made me drowsy, and
presently I fell asleep. I slept about eight hours, as I was told
afterward; and it was no wonder, for the physicians, by the Emperor's
orders, had mingled a sleeping draught in the hogsheads of wine.

It seems that, when I was discovered sleeping on the ground after my
landing, the Emperor had early notice of it, and determined that I
should be tied in the manner I have related (which was done in the
night, while I slept), that plenty of meat and drink should be sent me,
and a machine prepared to carry me to the capital city. Five hundred
carpenters and engineers were immediately set to work to prepare the
engine. It was a frame of wood, raised three inches from the ground,
about seven feet long and four wide, moving upon twenty-two wheels. But
the difficulty was to place me on it. Eighty poles were erected for this
purpose, and very strong cords fastened to bandages which the workmen
had tied round my neck, hands, body, and legs. Nine hundred of the
strongest men were employed to draw up these cords by pulleys fastened
on the poles, and in less than three hours I was raised and slung
into the engine, and there tied fast. Fifteen hundred of the Emperor's
largest horses, each about four inches and a half high, were then
employed to draw me toward the capital. But while all this was done I
still lay in a deep sleep, and I did not wake till four hours after we
began our journey.

The Emperor and all his Court came out to meet us when we reached the
capital; but his great officials would not suffer his Majesty to risk
his person by mounting on my body. Where the carriage stopped there
stood an ancient temple, supposed to be the largest in the whole
kingdom, and here it was determined that I should lodge. Near the great
gate, through which I could easily creep, they fixed ninety-one chains,
like those which hang to a lady's watch, which were locked to my
left leg with thirty-six padlocks; and when the workmen found it was
impossible for me to break loose, they cut all the strings that bound
me. Then I rose up, feeling as melancholy as ever I did in my life. But
the noise and astonishment of the people on seeing me rise and walk were
inexpressible. The chains that held my left leg were about two yards
long, and gave me not only freedom to walk backward and forward in a
semicircle, but to creep in and lie at full length inside the temple.
The Emperor, advancing toward me from among his courtiers, all most
magnificently clad, surveyed me with great admiration, but kept beyond
the length of my chain. He was taller by about the breadth of my nail
than any of his Court, which alone was enough to strike awe into the
beholders, and graceful and majestic. The better to behold him, I lay
down on my side, so that my face was level with his, and he stood three
yards off. However, I have had him since many times in my hand, and
therefore cannot be deceived. His dress was very simple; but he wore a
light helmet of gold, adorned with jewels and a plume. He held his sword
drawn in his hand, to defend himself if I should break loose; it was
almost three inches long, and the hilt was of gold, enriched with
diamonds. His voice was shrill, but very clear. His Imperial Majesty
spoke often to me, and I answered; but neither of us could understand a
word.




After about two hours the Court retired, and I was left with a strong
guard to keep away the crowd, some of whom had had the impudence to
shoot their arrows at me as I sat by the door of my house. But the
colonel ordered six of them to be seized and delivered bound into my
hands. I put five of them into my coat pocket; and as to the sixth, I
made a face as if I would eat him alive. The poor man screamed terribly,
and the colonel and his officers were much distressed, especially when
they saw me take out my penknife. But I soon set them at ease, for,
cutting the strings he was bound with, I put him gently on the ground,
and away he ran. I treated the rest in the same manner, taking them one
by one out of my pocket; and I saw that both the soldiers and people
were delighted at this mark of my kindness.

Toward night I got with some difficulty into my house, where I lay on
the ground, as I had to do for a fortnight, till a bed was prepared for
me out of six hundred beds of the ordinary measure.

Six hundred servants were appointed me, and three hundred tailors made
me a suit of clothes. Moreover, six of his Majesty's greatest scholars
were employed to teach me their language, so that soon I was able to
converse after a fashion with the Emperor, who often honored me with his
visits. The first words I learned were to desire that he would please
to give me my liberty, which I every day repeated on my knees; but he
answered that this must be a work of time, and that first I must swear a
peace with him and his kingdom. He told me also that by the laws of the
nation I must be searched by two of his officers, and that as this could
not be done without my help, he trusted them in my hands, and whatever
they took from me should be returned when I left the country. I took up
the two officers, and put them into my coat pockets. These gentlemen,
having pen, ink, and paper about them, made an exact list of everything
they saw, which I afterward translated into English, and which ran as
follows:

"In the right coat pocket of the great Man-Mountain we found only one
great piece of coarse cloth, large enough to cover the carpet of your
Majesty's chief room of state. In the left pocket we saw a huge silver
chest, with a silver cover, which we could not lift. We desired that it
should be opened, and one of us stepping into it found himself up to the
mid-leg in a sort of dust, some of which flying into our faces sent us
both into a fit of sneezing. In his right waistcoat pocket we found a
number of white thin substances, folded one over another, about the size
of three men, tied with a strong cable, and marked with black figures,
which we humbly conceive to be writings. In the left there was a sort of
engine, from the back of which extended twenty long poles, with which,
we conjecture, the Man-Mountain combs his head. In the smaller pocket on
the right side were several round flat pieces of white and red metal, of
different sizes. Some of the white, which appeared to be silver, were
so large and heavy that my comrade and I could hardly lift them. From
another pocket hung a huge silver chain, with a wonderful kind of engine
fastened to it, a globe half silver and half of some transparent metal;
for on the transparent side we saw certain strange figures, and thought
we could touch them till we found our fingers stopped by the shining
substance. This engine made an incessant noise, like a water-mill, and
we conjecture it is either some unknown animal, or the god he worships,
but probably the latter, for he told us that he seldom did anything
without consulting it.

"This is a list of what we found about the body of the Man-Mountain, who
treated us with great civility."

I had one private pocket which escaped their search, containing a pair
of spectacles and a small spy-glass, which, being of no consequence to
the Emperor, I did not think myself bound in honor to discover.




My gentleness and good behavior gained so far on the Emperor and his
Court, and, indeed, on the people in general, that I began to have hopes
of getting my liberty in a short time. The natives came by degrees to be
less fearful of danger from me. I would sometimes lie down and let five
or six of them dance on my hand; and at last the boys and girls ventured
to come and play at hide-and-seek in my hair.

The horses of the army and of the royal stables were no longer shy,
having been daily led before me; and one of the Emperor's huntsmen, on a
large courser, took my foot, shoe and all, which was indeed a prodigious
leap. I amused the Emperor one day in a very extraordinary manner. I
took nine sticks, and fixed them firmly in the ground in a square. Then
I took four other sticks, and tied them parallel at each corner, about
two feet from the ground. I fastened my handkerchief to the nine sticks
that stood erect, and extended it on all sides till it was as tight as
the top of a drum; and I desired the Emperor to let a troop of his best
horse, twenty-four in number, come and exercise upon this plain. His
majesty approved of the proposal, and I took them up one by one, with
the proper officers to exercise them. As soon as they got into order
they divided into two parties, discharged blunt arrows, drew their
swords, fled and pursued, and, in short, showed the best military
discipline I ever beheld. The parallel sticks secured them and their
horses from falling off the stage, and the Emperor was so much delighted
that he ordered this entertainment to be repeated several days, and
persuaded the Empress herself to let me hold her in her chair within
two yards of the stage, whence she could view the whole performance.
Fortunately no accident happened, only once a fiery horse, pawing with
his hoof, struck a hole in my handkerchief, and overthrew his rider and
himself. But I immediately relieved them both, and covering the hole
with one hand, I set down the troop with the other as I had taken them
up. The horse that fell was strained in the shoulder; but the rider was
not hurt, and I repaired my handkerchief as well as I could. However,
I would not trust to the strength of it any more in such dangerous
enterprises.

I had sent so many petitions for my liberty that his Majesty at length
mentioned the matter in a full council, where it was opposed by none
except Skyresh Bolgolam, admiral of the realm, who was pleased without
any provocation to be my mortal enemy. However, he agreed at length,
though he succeeded in himself drawing up the conditions on which I
should be set free. After they were read I was requested to swear to
perform them in the method prescribed by their laws, which was to hold
my right foot in my left hand, and to place the middle finger of my
right hand on the crown of my head, and my thumb on the top of my right
ear. But I have made a translation of the conditions, which I here offer
to the public:

"Golbaste Mamarem Evlame Gurdile Shefin Mully Ully Gue, Most Mighty
Emperor of Lilliput, delight and terror of the universe, whose dominions
extend to the ends of the globe, monarch of all monarchs, taller than
the sons of men, whose feet press down to the center, and whose head
strikes against the sun, at whose nod the princes of the earth shake
their knees, pleasant as the spring, comfortable as the summer, fruitful
as autumn, dreadful as winter: His Most Sublime Majesty proposeth to the
Man-Mountain, lately arrived at our celestial dominions, the following
articles, which by a solemn oath he shall be obliged to perform:

"First. The Man-Mountain shall not depart from our dominions without our
license under the great seal.

"Second. He shall not presume to come into our metropolis without our
express order, at which time the inhabitants shall have two hours'
warning to keep within doors.

"Third. The said Man-Mountain shall confine his walks to our principal
high roads, and not offer to walk or lie down in a meadow or field of
corn.

"Fourth. As he walks the said roads he shall take the utmost care not to
trample upon the bodies of any of our loving subjects, their horses or
carriages, nor take any of our subjects into his hands without their own
consent.

"Fifth. If an express requires extraordinary speed the Man-Mountain
shall be obliged to carry in his pocket the messenger and horse a six
days' journey, and return the said messenger (if so required) safe to
our imperial presence.

"Sixth. He shall be our ally against our enemies in the island of
Blefuscu, and do his utmost to destroy their fleet, which is now
preparing to invade us.

"Lastly. Upon his solemn oath to observe all the above articles,
the said Man-Mountain shall have a daily allowance of meat and drink
sufficient for the support of 1,724 of our subjects, with free access to
our royal person, and other marks of our favor. Given at our palace at
Belfaburac, the twelfth day of the ninety-first moon of our reign."

I swore to these articles with great cheerfulness, whereupon my chains
were immediately unlocked, and I was at full liberty.

One morning, about a fortnight after I had obtained my freedom,
Reldresal, the Emperor's secretary for private affairs, came to my
house, attended only by one servant. He ordered his coach to wait at
a distance, and desired that I would give him an hour's audience. I
offered to lie down that he might the more conveniently reach my
ear; but he chose rather to let me hold him in my hand during our
conversation. He began with compliments on my liberty, but he added
that, save for the present state of things at Court, perhaps I might not
have obtained it so soon. "For," he said, "however flourishing we may
seem to foreigners, we are in danger of an invasion from the island of
Blefuscu, which is the other great empire of the universe, almost as
large and as powerful as this of his Majesty. For as to what we have
heard you say, that there are other kingdoms in the world, inhabited
by human creatures as large as yourself, our philosophers are very
doubtful, and rather conjecture that you dropped from the moon, or one
of the stars, because a hundred mortals of your size would soon destroy
all the fruit and cattle of his Majesty's dominions. Besides, our
histories of six thousand moons make no mention of any other regions
than the two mighty empires of Lilliput and Blefuscu, which, as I was
going to tell you, are engaged in a most obstinate war, which began in
the following manner: It is allowed on all hands that the primitive
way of breaking eggs was upon the larger end; but his present Majesty's
grandfather, while he was a boy, going to eat an egg, and breaking it
according to the ancient practice, happened to cut one of his fingers.
Whereupon the Emperor, his father, made a law commanding all his
subjects to break the smaller end of their eggs. The people so highly
resented this law that there have been six rebellions raised on that
account, wherein one emperor lost his life, and another his crown. It is
calculated that eleven hundred persons have at different times suffered
rather than break their eggs at the smaller end. But these rebels,
the Bigendians, have found so much encouragement at the Emperor of
Blefuscu's Court, to which they always fled for refuge, that a bloody
war, as I said, has been carried on between the two empires for
six-and-thirty moons; and now the Blefuscudians have equipped a large
fleet, and are preparing to descend upon us. Therefore his Imperial
Majesty, placing great confidence in your valor and strength, has
commanded me to set the case before you."

I desired the secretary to present my humble duty to the Emperor, and
to let him know that I was ready, at the risk of my life, to defend him
against all invaders.




It was not long before I communicated to his Majesty the plan I formed
for seizing the enemy's whole fleet. The Empire of Blefuscu is an island
parted from Lilliput only by a channel eight hundred yards wide. I
consulted the most experienced seamen on the depth of the channel, and
they told me that in the middle, at high water, it was seventy glumguffs
(about six feet of European measure). I walked toward the coast, where,
lying down behind a hillock, I took out my spy-glass, and viewed the
enemy's fleet at anchor--about fifty men-of-war, and other vessels. I
then came back to my house and gave orders for a great quantity of
the strongest cables and bars of iron. The cable was about as thick as
packthread, and the bars of the length and size of a knitting-needle. I
trebled the cable to make it stronger, and for the same reason twisted
three of the iron bars together, bending the ends into a hook. Having
thus fixed fifty hooks to as many cables, I went back to the coast,
and taking off my coat, shoes, and stockings, walked into the sea in my
leather jacket about half an hour before high water. I waded with what
haste I could, swimming in the middle about thirty yards, till I felt
ground, and thus arrived at the fleet in less than half an hour. The
enemy was so frightened when they saw me that they leaped out of their
ships and swam ashore, where there could not be fewer than thirty
thousand. Then, fastening a hook to the hole at the prow of each ship,
I tied all the cords together at the end. Meanwhile the enemy discharged
several thousand arrows, many of which stuck in my hands and face. My
greatest fear was for my eyes, which I should have lost if I had
not suddenly thought of the pair of spectacles which had escaped the
Emperor's searchers. These I took out and fastened upon my nose, and
thus armed went on with my work in spite of the arrows, many of which
struck against the glasses of my spectacles, but without any other
effect than slightly disturbing them. Then, taking the knot in my hand,
I began to pull; but not a ship would stir, for they were too fast
held by their anchors. Thus the boldest part of my enterprise remained.
Letting go the cord, I resolutely cut with my knife the cables that
fastened the anchors, receiving more than two hundred shots in my face
and hands. Then I took up again the knotted end of the cables to which
my hooks were tied, and with great ease drew fifty of the enemy's
largest men-of-war after me.

When the Blefuscudians saw the fleet moving in order, and me pulling at
the end, they set up a scream of grief and despair that it is impossible
to describe. When I had got out of danger I stopped awhile to pick out
the arrows that stuck in my hands and face, and rubbed on some of
the same ointment that was given me at my arrival. I then took off my
spectacles, and after waiting about an hour, till the tide was a little
fallen, I waded on to the royal port of Lilliput.

The Emperor and his whole Court stood on the shore awaiting me. They saw
the ships move forward in a large half-moon, but could not discern me,
who, in the middle of the channel, was under water up to my neck. The
Emperor concluded that I was drowned, and that the enemy's fleet was
approaching in a hostile manner. But he was soon set at ease, for, the
channel growing shallower every step I made, I came in a short time
within hearing, and holding up the end of the cable by which the fleet
was fastened, I cried in a loud voice: "Long live the most puissant
Emperor of Lilliput!" The Prince received me at my landing with all
possible joy, and made me a Nardal on the spot, which is the highest
title of honor among them.

His Majesty desired that I would take some opportunity to bring all the
rest of his enemy's ships into his ports, and seemed to think of nothing
less than conquering the whole Empire of Blefuscu, and becoming the sole
monarch of the world. But I plainly protested that I would never be the
means of bringing a free and brave people into slavery; and though
the wisest of the Ministers were of my opinion, my open refusal was so
opposed to his Majesty's ambition that he could never forgive me. And
from this time a plot began between himself and those of his Ministers
who were my enemies, that nearly ended in my utter destruction.

About three weeks after this exploit there arrived an embassy from
Blefuscu, with humble offers of peace, which was soon concluded, on
terms very advantageous to our Emperor. There were six ambassadors, with
a train of about five hundred persons, all very magnificent. Having been
privately told that I had befriended them, they made me a visit, and
paying me many compliments on my valor and generosity, invited me
to their kingdom in the Emperor their master's name. I asked them to
present my most humble respects to the Emperor their master, whose
royal person I resolved to attend before I returned to my own country.
Accordingly, the next time I had the honor to see our Emperor I desired
his general permission to visit the Blefuscudian monarch. This he
granted me, but in a very cold manner, of which I afterward learned the
reason.

When I was just preparing to pay my respects to the Emperor of Blefuscu,
a distinguished person at Court, to whom I had once done a great
service, came to my house very privately at night, and without sending
his name desired admission. I put his lordship into my coat pocket, and,
giving orders to a trusty servant to admit no one, I fastened the door,
placed my visitor on the table, and sat down by it. His lordship's face
was full of trouble; and he asked me to hear him with patience, in a
matter that highly concerned my honor and my life.

"You are aware," he said, "that Skyresh Bolgolam has been your mortal
enemy ever since your arrival, and his hatred is increased since
your great success against Blefuscu, by which his glory as admiral is
obscured. This lord and others have accused you of treason, and several
councils have been called in the most private manner on your account.
Out of gratitude for your favors I procured information of the whole
proceedings, venturing my head for your service, and this was the charge
against you:

"First, that you, having brought the imperial fleet of Blefuscu into the
royal port, were commanded by his Majesty to seize all the other ships,
and put to death all the Bigendian exiles, and also all the people of
the empire who would not immediately consent to break their eggs at the
smaller end. And that, like a false traitor to his Most Serene Majesty,
you excused yourself from the service on pretence of unwillingness to
force the consciences and destroy the liberties and lives of an innocent
people.

"Again, when ambassadors arrived from the Court of Blefuscu, like a
false traitor, you aided and entertained them, though you knew them to
be servants of a prince lately in open war against his Imperial Majesty.

"Moreover, you are now preparing, contrary to the duty of a faithful
subject, to voyage to the Court of Blefuscu.

"In the debate on this charge," my friend continued, "his Majesty often
urged the services you had done him, while the admiral and treasurer
insisted that you should be put to a shameful death. But Reldresal,
secretary for private affairs, who has always proved himself your friend
suggested that if his Majesty would please to spare your life and only
give orders to put out both your eyes, justice might in some measure be
satisfied. At this Bolgolam rose up in fury, wondering how the secretary
dared desire to preserve the life of a traitor; and the treasurer,
pointing out the expense of keeping you, also urged your death. But his
Majesty was graciously pleased to say that since the council thought the
loss of your eyes too easy a punishment, some other might afterward be
inflicted. And the secretary, humbly desiring to be heard again, said
that as to expense your allowance might be gradually lessened, so that,
for want of sufficient food you should grow weak and faint, and die in
a few months, when his Majesty's subjects might cut your flesh from your
bones and bury it, leaving the skeleton for the admiration of posterity.

"Thus, through the great friendship of the secretary the affair was
arranged. It was commanded that the plan of starving you by degrees
should be kept a secret; but the sentence of putting out your eyes was
entered on the books. In three days your friend the secretary will come
to your house and read the accusation before you, and point out the
great mercy of his Majesty, that only condemns you to the loss of
your eyes--which, he does not doubt, you will submit to humbly and
gratefully. Twenty of his Majesty's surgeons will attend, to see the
operation well performed, by discharging very sharp-pointed arrows into
the balls of your eyes as you lie on the ground.

"I leave you," said my friend, "to consider what measures you will take;
and, to escape suspicion, I must immediately return, as secretly as I
came."

His lordship did so; and I remained alone, in great perplexity. At first
I was bent on resistance; for while I had liberty I could easily with
stones pelt the metropolis to pieces; but I soon rejected that idea with
horror, remembering the oath I had made to the Emperor, and the favors
I had received from him. At last, having his Majesty's leave to pay
my respects to the Emperor of Blefuscu, I resolved to take this
opportunity. Before the three days had passed I wrote a letter to my
friend the secretary telling him of my resolution; and, without waiting
for an answer, went to the coast, and entering the channel, between
wading and swimming reached the port of Blefuscu, where the people, who
had long expected me, led me to the capital.

His Majesty, with the royal family and great officers of the Court, came
out to receive me, and they entertained me in a manner suited to the
generosity of so great a prince. I did not, however, mention my disgrace
with the Emperor of Lilliput, since I did not suppose that prince would
disclose the secret while I was out of his power. But in this, it soon
appeared, I was deceived.




Three days after my arrival, walking out of curiosity to the northeast
coast of the island, I observed at some distance in the sea something
that looked like a boat overturned. I pulled off my shoes and stockings,
and wading two or three hundred yards, I plainly saw it to be a real
boat, which I supposed might by some tempest have been driven from a
ship. I returned immediately to the city for help, and after a huge
amount of labor I managed to get my boat to the royal port of Blefuscu,
where a great crowd of people appeared, full of wonder at sight of so
prodigious a vessel. I told the Emperor that my good fortune had thrown
this boat in my way to carry me to some place whence I might return to
my native country, and begged his orders for materials to fit it up, and
leave to depart--which, after many kindly speeches, he was pleased to
grant.

Meanwhile the Emperor of Lilliput, uneasy at my long absence (but never
imagining that I had the least notice of his designs), sent a person of
rank to inform the Emperor of Blefuscu of my disgrace; this messenger
had orders to represent the great mercy of his master, who was content
to punish me with the loss of my eyes, and who expected that his brother
of Blefuscu would have me sent back to Lilliput, bound hand and foot,
to be punished as a traitor. The Emperor of Blefuscu answered with many
civil excuses. He said that as for sending me bound, his brother knew
it was impossible. Moreover, though I had taken away his fleet he was
grateful to me for many good offices I had done him in making the peace.
But that both their Majesties would soon be made easy; for I had found
a prodigious vessel on the shore, able to carry me on the sea, which
he had given orders to fit up; and he hoped in a few weeks both empires
would be free from me.

With this answer the messenger returned to Lilliput; and I (though the
monarch of Blefuscu secretly offered me his gracious protection if I
would continue in his service) hastened my departure, resolving never
more to put confidence in princes.

In about a month I was ready to take leave. The Emperor of Blefuscu,
with the Empress and the royal family, came out of the palace; and I lay
down on my face to kiss their hands, which they graciously gave me. His
Majesty presented me with fifty purses of sprugs (their greatest gold
coin) and his picture at full length, which I put immediately into one
of my gloves, to keep it from being hurt. Many other ceremonies took
place at my departure.

I stored the boat with meat and drink, and took six cows and two bulls
alive, with as many ewes and rams, intending to carry them into my own
country; and to feed them on board, I had a good bundle of hay and a bag
of corn. I would gladly have taken a dozen of the natives; but this was
a thing the Emperor would by no means permit, and besides a diligent
search into my pockets, his Majesty pledged my honor not to carry away
any of his subjects, though with their own consent and desire.

Having thus prepared all things as well as I was able, I set sail. When
I had made twenty-four leagues, by my reckoning, from the island of
Blefuscu, I saw a sail steering to the northeast. I hailed her, but
could get no answer; yet I found I gained upon her, for the wind
slackened; and in half an hour she spied me, and discharged a gun. I
came up with her between five and six in the evening, Sept. 26, 1701;
but my heart leaped within me to see her English colors. I put my cows
and sheep into my coat pockets, and got on board with all my little
cargo. The captain received me with kindness, and asked me to tell him
what place I came from last; but at my answer he thought I was raving.
However, I took my black cattle and sheep out of my pocket, which, after
great astonishment, clearly convinced him.

We arrived in England on the 13th of April, 1702. I stayed two months
with my wife and family; but my eager desire to see foreign countries
would suffer me to remain no longer. However, while in England I made
great profit by showing my cattle to persons of quality and others; and
before I began my second voyage I sold them for 600_l_. I left 1500_l_.
with my wife, and fixed her in a good house; then taking leave of her
and my boy and girl, with tears on both sides, I sailed on board the
"Adventure." (1)


(1) Swift.




THE PRINCESS ON THE GLASS HILL


Once upon a time there was a man who had a meadow which lay on the side
of a mountain, and in the meadow there was a barn in which he stored
hay. But there had not been much hay in the barn for the last two years,
for every St. John's eve, when the grass was in the height of its vigor,
it was all eaten clean up, just as if a whole flock of sheep had gnawed
it down to the ground during the night. This happened once, and it
happened twice, but then the man got tired of losing his crop, and
said to his sons--he had three of them, and the third was called
Cinderlad--that one of them must go and sleep in the barn on St. John's
night, for it was absurd to let the grass be eaten up again, blade and
stalk, as it had been the last two years, and the one who went to watch
must keep a sharp look-out, the man said.

The eldest was quite willing to go to the meadow; he would watch the
grass, he said, and he would do it so well that neither man, nor beast,
nor even the devil himself should have any of it. So when evening came
he went to the barn, and lay down to sleep, but when night was drawing
near there was such a rumbling and such an earthquake that the walls and
roof shook again, and the lad jumped up and took to his heels as fast as
he could, and never even looked back, and the barn remained empty that
year just as it had been for the last two.

Next St. John's eve the man again said that he could not go on in this
way, losing all the grass in the outlying field year after year, and
that one of his sons must just go there and watch it, and watch well
too. So the next oldest son was willing to show what he could do. He
went to the barn and lay down to sleep, as his brother had done; but
when night was drawing near there was a great rumbling, and then an
earthquake, which was even worse than that on the former St. John's
night, and when the youth heard it he was terrified, and went off,
running as if for a wager.

The year after, it was Cinderlad's turn, but when he made ready to go
the others laughed at him, and mocked him. "Well, you are just the right
one to watch the hay, you who have never learned anything but how to sit
among the ashes and bake yourself!" said they. Cinderlad, however, did
not trouble himself about what they said, but when evening drew near
rambled away to the outlying field. When he got there he went into the
barn and lay down, but in about an hour's time the rumbling and creaking
began, and it was frightful to hear it. "Well, if it gets no worse than
that, I can manage to stand it," thought Cinderlad. In a little time
the creaking began again, and the earth quaked so that all the hay flew
about the boy. "Oh! if it gets no worse than that I can manage to stand
it," thought Cinderlad. But then came a third rumbling, and a third
earthquake, so violent that the boy thought the walls and roof had
fallen down, but when that was over everything suddenly grew as still
as death around him. "I am pretty sure that it will come again," thought
Cinderlad; but no, it did not. Everything was quiet, and everything
stayed quiet, and when he had lain still a short time he heard something
that sounded as if a horse were standing chewing just outside the barn
door. He stole away to the door, which was ajar, to see what was there,
and a horse was standing eating. It was so big, and fat, and fine a
horse that Cinderlad had never seen one like it before, and a saddle
and bridle lay upon it, and a complete suit of armor for a knight, and
everything was of copper, and so bright that it shone again. "Ha, ha! it
is thou who eatest up our hay then," thought the boy; "but I will stop
that." So he made haste, and took out his steel for striking fire, and
threw it over the horse, and then it had no power to stir from the spot,
and became so tame that the boy could do what he liked with it. So he
mounted it and rode away to a place which no one knew of but himself,
and there he tied it up. When he went home again his brothers laughed
and asked how he had got on.

"You didn't lie long in the barn, if even you have been so far as the
field!" said they.

"I lay in the barn till the sun rose, but I saw nothing and heard
nothing, not I," said the boy. "God knows what there was to make you two
so frightened."

"Well, we shall soon see whether you have watched the meadow or not,"
 answered the brothers, but when they got there the grass was all
standing just as long and as thick as it had been the night before.

The next St. John's eve it was the same thing, once again: neither of
the two brothers dared to go to the outlying field to watch the crop,
but Cinderlad went, and everything happened exactly the same as on the
previous St. John's eve: first there was a rumbling and an earthquake,
and then there was another, and then a third: but all three earthquakes
were much, very much more violent than they had been the year before.
Then everything became still as death again, and the boy heard something
chewing outside the barn door, so he stole as softly as he could to
the door, which was slightly ajar, and again there was a horse standing
close by the wall of the house, eating and chewing, and it was far
larger and fatter than the first horse, and it had a saddle on its back,
and a bridle was on it too, and a full suit of armor for a knight, all
of bright silver, and as beautiful as anyone could wish to see. "Ho,
ho!" thought the boy, "is it thou who eatest up our hay in the night?
but I will put a stop to that." So he took out his steel for striking
fire, and threw it over the horse's mane, and the beast stood there as
quiet as a lamb. Then the boy rode this horse, too, away to the place
where he kept the other, and then went home again.

"I suppose you will tell us that you have watched well again this time,"
 said the brothers.

"Well, so I have," said Cinderlad. So they went there again, and there
the grass was, standing as high and as thick as it had been before, but
that did not make them any kinder to Cinderlad.

When the third St. John's night came neither of the two elder brothers
dared to lie in the outlying barn to watch the grass, for they had been
so heartily frightened the night that they had slept there that they
could not get over it, but Cinderlad dared to go, and everything
happened just the same as on the two former nights. There were three
earthquakes, each worse than the other, and the last flung the boy from
one wall of the barn to the other, but then everything suddenly
became still as death. When he had lain quietly a short time, he heard
something chewing outside the barn door; then he once more stole to the
door, which was slightly ajar, and behold, a horse was standing just
outside it, which was much larger and fatter than the two others he had
caught. "Ho, ho! it is thou, then, who art eating up our hay this time,"
 thought the boy; "but I will put a stop to that." So he pulled out his
steel for striking fire, and threw it over the horse, and it stood as
still as if it had been nailed to the field, and the boy could do just
what he liked with it. Then he mounted it and rode away to the place
where he had the two others, and then he went home again. Then the two
brothers mocked him just as they had done before, and told him that they
could see that he must have watched the grass very carefully that night,
for he looked just as if he were walking in his sleep; but Cinderlad did
not trouble himself about that, but just bade them go to the field and
see. They did go, and this time too the grass was standing, looking as
fine and as thick as ever.

The King of the country in which Cinderlad's father dwelt had a daughter
whom he would give to no one who could not ride up to the top of the
glass hill, for there was a high, high hill of glass, slippery as ice,
and it was close to the King's palace. Upon the very top of this the
King's daughter was to sit with three gold apples in her lap, and the
man who could ride up and take the three golden apples should marry her,
and have half the kingdom. The King had this proclaimed in every church
in the whole kingdom, and in many other kingdoms too. The Princess was
very beautiful, and all who saw her fell violently in love with her,
even in spite of themselves. So it is needless to say that all the
princes and knights were eager to win her, and half the kingdom besides,
and that for this cause they came riding thither from the very end of
the world, dressed so splendidly that their raiments gleamed in the
sunshine, and riding on horses which seemed to dance as they went, and
there was not one of these princes who did not think that he was sure to
win the Princess.

When the day appointed by the King had come, there was such a host of
knights and princes under the glass hill that they seemed to swarm, and
everyone who could walk or even creep was there too, to see who won the
King's daughter. Cinderlad's two brothers were there too, but they would
not hear of letting him go with them, for he was so dirty and black
with sleeping and grubbing among the ashes that they said everyone would
laugh at them if they were seen in the company of such an oaf.

"Well, then, I will go all alone by myself," said Cinderlad.

When the two brothers got to the glass hill, all the princes and knights
were trying to ride up it, and their horses were in a foam; but it was
all in vain, for no sooner did the horses set foot upon the hill than
down they slipped, and there was not one which could get even so much as
a couple of yards up. Nor was that strange, for the hill was as smooth
as a glass window-pane, and as steep as the side of a house. But they
were all eager to win the King's daughter and half the kingdom, so they
rode and they slipped, and thus it went on. At length all the horses
were so tired that they could do no more, and so hot that the foam
dropped from them and the riders were forced to give up the attempt. The
King was just thinking that he would cause it to be proclaimed that the
riding should begin afresh on the following day, when perhaps it might
go better, when suddenly a knight came riding up on so fine a horse that
no one had ever seen the like of it before, and the knight had armor of
copper, and his bridle was of copper too, and all his accoutrements were
so bright that they shone again. The other knights all called out to him
that he might just as well spare himself the trouble of trying to ride
up the glass hill, for it was of no use to try; but he did not heed
them, and rode straight off to it, and went up as if it were nothing at
all. Thus he rode for a long way--it may have been a third part of the
way up--but when he had got so far he turned his horse round and rode
down again. But the Princess thought that she had never yet seen so
handsome a knight, and while he was riding up she was sitting thinking,
"Oh! how I hope he may be able to come up to the top!" And when she saw
that he was turning his horse back she threw one of the golden apples
down after him, and it rolled into his shoe. But when he had come down
from off the hill he rode away, and that so fast that no one knew what
had become of him.

So all the princes and knights were bidden to present themselves before
the King that night, so that he who had ridden so far up the glass hill
might show the golden apple which the King's daughter had thrown down.
But no one had anything to show. One knight presented himself after the
other, and none could show the apple.

At night, too, Cinderlad's brothers came home again and had a long story
to tell about riding up the glass hill. At first, they said, there was
not one who was able to get even so much as one step up, but then came
a knight who had armor of copper, and a bridle of copper, and his armor
and trappings were so bright that they shone to a great distance, and it
was something like a sight to see him riding. He rode one-third of the
way up the glass hill, and he could easily have ridden the whole of it
if he had liked; but he had turned back, for he had made up his mind
that that was enough for once. "Oh! I should have liked to see him too,
that I should," said Cinderlad, who was as usual sitting by the chimney
among the cinders. "You, indeed!" said the brothers, "you look as if you
were fit to be among such great lords, nasty beast that you are to sit
there!"

Next day the brothers were for setting out again, and this time too
Cinderlad begged them to let him go with them and see who rode; but no,
they said he was not fit to do that, for he was much too ugly and dirty.
"Well, well, then I will go all alone by myself," said Cinderlad. So the
brothers went to the glass hill, and all the princes and knights began
to ride again, and this time they had taken care to roughen the shoes of
their horses; but that did not help them: they rode and they slipped as
they had done the day before, and not one of them could get even so far
as a yard up the hill. When they had tired out their horses, so that
they could do no more, they again had to stop altogether. But just as
the King was thinking that it would be well to proclaim that the riding
should take place next day for the last time, so that they might have
one more chance, he suddenly bethought himself that it would be well to
wait a little longer to see if the knight in copper armor would come on
this day too. But nothing was to be seen of him. Just as they were still
looking for him, however, came a knight riding on a steed that was much,
much finer than that which the knight in copper armor had ridden, and
this knight had silver armor and a silver saddle and bridle, and all
were so bright that they shone and glistened when he was a long way off.
Again the other knights called to him, and said that he might just as
well give up the attempt to ride up the glass hill, for it was useless
to try; but the knight paid no heed to that, but rode straight away
to the glass hill, and went still farther up than the knight in copper
armor had gone; but when he had ridden two-thirds of the way up he
turned his horse around, and rode down again. The Princess liked this
knight still better than she had liked the other, and sat longing that
he might be able to get up above, and when she saw him turning back she
threw the second apple after him, and it rolled into his shoe, and as
soon as he had got down the glass hill he rode away so fast that no one
could see what had become of him.

In the evening, when everyone was to appear before the King and
Princess, in order that he who had the golden apple might show it, one
knight went in after the other, but none of them had a golden apple to
show.

At night the two brothers went home as they had done the night before,
and told how things had gone, and how everyone had ridden, but no one
had been able to get up the hill. "But last of all," they said, "came
one in silver armor, and he had a silver bridle on his horse, and a
silver saddle, and oh, but he could ride! He took his horse two-thirds
of the way up the hill, but then he turned back. He was a fine fellow,"
 said the brothers, "and the Princess threw the second golden apple to
him!"

"Oh, how I should have liked to see him too!" said Cinderlad.

"Oh, indeed! He was a little brighter than the ashes that you sit
grubbing among, you dirty black creature!" said the brothers.

On the third day everything went just as on the former days. Cinderlad
wanted to go with them to look at the riding, but the two brothers would
not have him in their company, and when they got to the glass hill there
was no one who could ride even so far as a yard up it, and everyone
waited for the knight in silver armor, but he was neither to be seen nor
heard of. At last, after a long time, came a knight riding upon a horse
that was such a fine one, its equal had never yet been seen. The knight
had golden armor, and the horse a golden saddle and bridle, and these
were all so bright that they shone and dazzled everyone, even while the
knight was still at a great distance. The other princes and knights were
not able even to call to tell him how useless it was to try to ascend
the hill, so amazed were they at sight of his magnificence. He rode
straight away to the glass hill, and galloped up it as if it were no
hill at all, so that the Princess had not even time to wish that he
might get up the whole way. As soon as he had ridden to the top, he took
the third golden apple from the lap of the Princess and then turned his
horse about and rode down again, and vanished from their sight before
anyone was able to say a word to him.

When the two brothers came home again at night they had much to tell of
how the riding had gone off that day, and at last they told about the
knight in the golden armor too. "He was a fine fellow, that was! Such
another splendid knight is not to be found on earth!" said the brothers.

"Oh, how I should have liked to see him too!" said Cinderlad.

"Well, he shone nearly as brightly as the coal-heaps that thou art
always lying raking among, dirty black creature that thou art!" said the
brothers.

Next day all the knights and princes were to appear before the King and
Princess--it had been too late for them to do it the night before--in
order that he who had the golden apple might produce it. They all went
in turn, first princes, and then knights, but none of them had a golden
apple.

"But somebody must have it," said the King, "for with our own eyes we
all saw a man ride up and take it." So he commanded that everyone in the
kingdom should come to the palace, and see if he could show the apple.
And one after the other they all came, but no one had the golden apple,
and after a long, long time Cinderlad's two brothers came likewise. They
were the last of all, so the King inquired of them if there was no one
else in the kingdom left to come.

"Oh! yes, we have a brother," said the two, "but he never got the golden
apple! He never left the cinder-heap on any of the three days."

"Never mind that," said the King; "as everyone else has come to the
palace, let him come too."

So Cinderlad was forced to go to the King's palace.

"Hast thou the golden apple?" asked the King.

"Yes, here is the first, and here is the second, and here is the third,
too," said Cinderlad, and he took all three apples out of his pocket,
and with that drew off his sooty rags, and appeared there before them in
his bright golden armor, which gleamed as he stood.

"Thou shalt have my daughter, and the half of my kingdom, and thou hast
well earned both!" said the King. So there was a wedding, and Cinderlad
got the King's daughter, and everyone made merry at the wedding, for all
of them could make merry, though they could not ride up the glass hill,
and if they have not left off their merry-making they must be at it
still.(1)


(1) Asbjornsen and Moe.




THE STORY OF PRINCE AHMED AND THE FAIRY PARIBANOU


There was a sultan, who had three sons and a niece. The eldest of the
Princes was called Houssain, the second Ali, the youngest Ahmed, and the
Princess, his niece, Nouronnihar.

The Princess Nouronnihar was the daughter of the younger brother of the
Sultan, who died, and left the Princess very young. The Sultan took upon
himself the care of his daughter's education, and brought her up in his
palace with the three Princes, proposing to marry her when she arrived
at a proper age, and to contract an alliance with some neighboring
prince by that means. But when he perceived that the three Princes, his
sons, loved her passionately, he thought more seriously on that affair.
He was very much concerned; the difficulty he foresaw was to make them
agree, and that the two youngest should consent to yield her up to their
elder brother. As he found them positively obstinate, he sent for them
all together, and said to them: "Children, since for your good and
quiet I have not been able to persuade you no longer to aspire to
the Princess, your cousin, I think it would not be amiss if every one
traveled separately into different countries, so that you might not
meet each other. And, as you know I am very curious, and delight in
everything that's singular, I promise my niece in marriage to him that
shall bring me the most extraordinary rarity; and for the purchase of
the rarity you shall go in search after, and the expense of traveling, I
will give you every one a sum of money."

As the three Princes were always submissive and obedient to the Sultan's
will, and each flattered himself fortune might prove favorable to him,
they all consented to it. The Sultan paid them the money he promised
them; and that very day they gave orders for the preparations for their
travels, and took their leave of the Sultan, that they might be the more
ready to go the next morning. Accordingly they all set out at the same
gate of the city, each dressed like a merchant, attended by an officer
of confidence dressed like a slave, and all well mounted and equipped.
They went the first day's journey together, and lay all at an inn, where
the road was divided into three different tracts. At night, when they
were at supper together, they all agreed to travel for a year, and to
meet at that inn; and that the first that came should wait for the rest;
that, as they had all three taken their leave together of the Sultan,
they might all return together. The next morning by break of day, after
they had embraced and wished each other good success, they mounted their
horses and took each a different road.

Prince Houssain, the eldest brother, arrived at Bisnagar, the capital
of the kingdom of that name, and the residence of its king. He went and
lodged at a khan appointed for foreign merchants; and, having learned
that there were four principal divisions where merchants of all sorts
sold their commodities, and kept shops, and in the midst of which
stood the castle, or rather the King's palace, he went to one of these
divisions the next day.

Prince Houssain could not view this division without admiration. It was
large, and divided into several streets, all vaulted and shaded from the
sun, and yet very light too. The shops were all of a size, and all
that dealt in the same sort of goods lived in one street; as also the
handicrafts-men, who kept their shops in the smaller streets.

The multitude of shops, stocked with all sorts of merchandise, as the
finest linens from several parts of India, some painted in the most
lively colors, and representing beasts, trees, and flowers; silks and
brocades from Persia, China, and other places, porcelain both from Japan
and China, and tapestries, surprised him so much that he knew not how to
believe his own eyes; but when he came to the goldsmiths and jewelers he
was in a kind of ecstacy to behold such prodigious quantities of wrought
gold and silver, and was dazzled by the lustre of the pearls, diamonds,
rubies, emeralds, and other jewels exposed to sale.

Another thing Prince Houssain particularly admired was the great number
of rose-sellers who crowded the streets; for the Indians are so great
lovers of that flower that no one will stir without a nosegay in his
hand or a garland on his head; and the merchants keep them in pots in
their shops, that the air is perfectly perfumed.

After Prince Houssain had run through that division, street by street,
his thoughts fully employed on the riches he had seen, he was very much
tired, which a merchant perceiving, civilly invited him to sit down in
his shop, and he accepted; but had not been sat down long before he
saw a crier pass by with a piece of tapestry on his arm, about six feet
square, and cried at thirty purses. The Prince called to the crier,
and asked to see the tapestry, which seemed to him to be valued at an
exorbitant price, not only for the size of it, but the meanness of the
stuff; when he had examined it well, he told the crier that he could
not comprehend how so small a piece of tapestry, and of so indifferent
appearance, could be set at so high a price.

The crier, who took him for a merchant, replied: "If this price seems
so extravagant to you, your amazement will be greater when I tell you I
have orders to raise it to forty purses, and not to part with it under."
 "Certainly," answered Prince Houssain, "it must have something very
extraordinary in it, which I know nothing of." "You have guessed it,
sir," replied the crier, "and will own it when you come to know that
whoever sits on this piece of tapestry may be transported in an instant
wherever he desires to be, without being stopped by any obstacle."

At this discourse of the crier the Prince of the Indies, considering
that the principal motive of his travel was to carry the Sultan, his
father, home some singular rarity, thought that he could not meet with
any which could give him more satisfaction. "If the tapestry," said he
to the crier, "has the virtue you assign it, I shall not think forty
purses too much, but shall make you a present besides." "Sir," replied
the crier, "I have told you the truth; and it is an easy matter to
convince you of it, as soon as you have made the bargain for forty
purses, on condition I show you the experiment. But, as I suppose you
have not so much about you, and to receive them I must go with you to
your khan, where you lodge, with the leave of the master of the shop, we
will go into the back shop, and I will spread the tapestry; and when we
have both sat down, and you have formed the wish to be transported into
your apartment of the khan, if we are not transported thither it shall
be no bargain, and you shall be at your liberty. As to your present,
though I am paid for my trouble by the seller, I shall receive it as a
favor, and be very much obliged to you, and thankful."

On the credit of the crier, the Prince accepted the conditions, and
concluded the bargain; and, having got the master's leave, they went
into his back shop; they both sat down on it, and as soon as the Prince
formed his wish to be transported into his apartment at the khan he
presently found himself and the crier there; and, as he wanted not a
more sufficient proof of the virtue of the tapestry, he counted the
crier out forty pieces of gold, and gave him twenty pieces for himself.

In this manner Prince Houssain became the possessor of the tapestry,
and was overjoyed that at his arrival at Bisnagar he had found so rare
a piece, which he never disputed would gain him the hand of Nouronnihar.
In short, he looked upon it as an impossible thing for the Princes his
younger brothers to meet with anything to be compared with it. It was
in his power, by sitting on his tapestry, to be at the place of meeting
that very day; but, as he was obliged to stay there for his brothers, as
they had agreed, and as he was curious to see the King of Bisnagar and
his Court, and to inform himself of the strength, laws, customs, and
religion of the kingdom, he chose to make a longer abode there, and to
spend some months in satisfying his curiosity.

Prince Houssain might have made a longer abode in the kingdom and
Court of Bisnagar, but he was so eager to be nearer the Princess that,
spreading the tapestry, he and the officer he had brought with him sat
down, and as soon as he had formed his wish were transported to the inn
at which he and his brothers were to meet, and where he passed for a
merchant till they came.

Prince Ali, Prince Houssain's second brother, who designed to travel
into Persia, took the road, having three days after he parted with
his brothers joined a caravan, and after four days' travel arrived at
Schiraz, which was the capital of the kingdom of Persia. Here he passed
for a jeweler.

The next morning Prince Ali, who traveled only for his pleasure, and
had brought nothing but just necessaries along with him, after he had
dressed himself, took a walk into that part of the town which they at
Schiraz called the bezestein.

Among all the criers who passed backward and forward with several sorts
of goods, offering to sell them, he was not a little surprised to see
one who held an ivory telescope in his hand of about a foot in length
and the thickness of a man's thumb, and cried it at thirty purses. At
first he thought the crier mad, and to inform himself went to a shop,
and said to the merchant, who stood at the door: "Pray, sir, is not that
man" (pointing to the crier who cried the ivory perspective glass at
thirty purses) "mad? If he is not, I am very much deceived."

"Indeed, sir," answered the merchant, "he was in his right senses
yesterday; I can assure you he is one of the ablest criers we have, and
the most employed of any when anything valuable is to be sold. And if he
cries the ivory perspective glass at thirty purses it must be worth as
much or more, on some account or other. He will come by presently, and
we will call him, and you shall be satisfied; in the meantime sit down
on my sofa, and rest yourself."

Prince Ali accepted the merchant's obliging offer, and presently
afterward the crier passed by. The merchant called him by his name, and,
pointing to the Prince, said to him: "Tell that gentleman, who asked
me if you were in your right senses, what you mean by crying that ivory
perspective glass, which seems not to be worth much, at thirty purses.
I should be very much amazed myself if I did not know you." The crier,
addressing himself to Prince Ali, said: "Sir, you are not the only
person that takes me for a madman on account of this perspective glass.
You shall judge yourself whether I am or no, when I have told you its
property and I hope you will value it at as high a price as those I have
showed it to already, who had as bad an opinion of me as you.

"First, sir," pursued the crier, presenting the ivory pipe to the
Prince, "observe that this pipe is furnished with a glass at both ends;
and consider that by looking through one of them you see whatever object
you wish to behold." "I am," said the Prince, "ready to make you all
imaginable reparation for the scandal I have thrown on you if you will
make the truth of what you advance appear," and as he had the ivory pipe
in his hand, after he had looked at the two glasses he said: "Show me
at which of these ends I must look that I may be satisfied." The crier
presently showed him, and he looked through, wishing at the same time to
see the Sultan his father, whom he immediately beheld in perfect health,
set on his throne, in the midst of his council. Afterward, as there was
nothing in the world so dear to him, after the Sultan, as the Princess
Nouronnihar, he wished to see her; and saw her at her toilet laughing,
and in a pleasant humor, with her women about her.

Prince Ali wanted no other proof to be persuaded that this perspective
glass was the most valuable thing in the world, and believed that if
he should neglect to purchase it he should never meet again with such
another rarity. He therefore took the crier with him to the khan where
he lodged, and counted him out the money, and received the perspective
glass.

Prince Ali was overjoyed at his bargain, and persuaded himself that,
as his brothers would not be able to meet with anything so rare and
admirable, the Princess Nouronnihar would be the recompense of his
fatigue and trouble; that he thought of nothing but visiting the Court
of Persia incognito, and seeing whatever was curious in Schiraz and
thereabouts, till the caravan with which he came returned back to the
Indies. As soon as the caravan was ready to set out, the Prince joined
them, and arrived happily without any accident or trouble, otherwise
than the length of the journey and fatigue of traveling, at the place of
rendezvous, where he found Prince Houssain, and both waited for Prince
Ahmed.

Prince Ahmed, who took the road of Samarcand, the next day after his
arrival there went, as his brothers had done, into the bezestein, where
he had not walked long but heard a crier, who had an artificial apple
in his hand, cry it at five and thirty purses; upon which he stopped the
crier, and said to him: "Let me see that apple, and tell me what virtue
and extraordinary properties it has, to be valued at so high a rate."
 "Sir," said the crier, giving it into his hand, "if you look at the
outside of this apple, it is very worthless, but if you consider its
properties, virtues, and the great use and benefit it is to mankind, you
will say it is no price for it, and that he who possesses it is master
of a great treasure. In short, it cures all sick persons of the most
mortal diseases; and if the patient is dying it will recover him
immediately and restore him to perfect health; and this is done after
the easiest manner in the world, which is by the patient's smelling the
apple."

"If I may believe you," replied Prince Ahmed, "the virtues of this apple
are wonderful, and it is invaluable; but what ground have I, for all you
tell me, to be persuaded of the truth of this matter?" "Sir," replied
the crier, "the thing is known and averred by the whole city of
Samarcand; but, without going any further, ask all these merchants you
see here, and hear what they say. You will find several of them will
tell you they had not been alive this day if they had not made use of
this excellent remedy. And, that you may better comprehend what it is,
I must tell you it is the fruit of the study and experiments of a
celebrated philosopher of this city, who applied himself all his
lifetime to the study and knowledge of the virtues of plants and
minerals, and at last attained to this composition, by which he
performed such surprising cures in this town as will never be forgot,
but died suddenly himself, before he could apply his sovereign remedy,
and left his wife and a great many young children behind him, in very
indifferent circumstances, who, to support her family and provide for
her children, is resolved to sell it."

While the crier informed Prince Ahmed of the virtues of the artificial
apple, a great many persons came about them and confirmed what he said;
and one among the rest said he had a friend dangerously ill, whose life
was despaired of; and that was a favorable opportunity to show Prince
Ahmed the experiment. Upon which Prince Ahmed told the crier he would
give him forty purses if he cured the sick person.

The crier, who had orders to sell it at that price, said to Prince
Ahmed: "Come, sir, let us go and make the experiment, and the apple
shall be yours; and I can assure you that it will always have the
desired effect." In short, the experiment succeeded, and the Prince,
after he had counted out to the crier forty purses, and he had delivered
the apple to him, waited patiently for the first caravan that should
return to the Indies, and arrived in perfect health at the inn where the
Princes Houssain and Ali waited for him.

When the Princes met they showed each other their treasures, and
immediately saw through the glass that the Princess was dying. They then
sat down on the carpet, wished themselves with her, and were there in a
moment.

Prince Ahmed no sooner perceived himself in Nouronnihar's chamber than
he rose off the tapestry, as did also the other two Princes, and went
to the bedside, and put the apple under her nose; some moments after the
Princess opened her eyes, and turned her head from one side to another,
looking at the persons who stood about her; and then rose up in the bed,
and asked to be dressed, just as if she had waked out of a sound sleep.
Her women having presently informed her, in a manner that showed their
joy, that she was obliged to the three Princes for the sudden recovery
of her health, and particularly to Prince Ahmed, she immediately
expressed her joy to see them, and thanked them all together, and
afterward Prince Ahmed in particular.

While the Princess was dressing the Princes went to throw themselves at
the Sultan their father's feet, and pay their respects to him. But when
they came before him they found he had been informed of their arrival by
the chief of the Princess's eunuchs, and by what means the Princess had
been perfectly cured. The Sultan received and embraced them with the
greatest joy, both for their return and the recovery of the Princess his
niece, whom he loved as well as if she had been his own daughter, and
who had been given over by the physicians. After the usual ceremonies
and compliments the Princes presented each his rarity: Prince Houssain
his tapestry, which he had taken care not to leave behind him in the
Princess's chamber; Prince Ali his ivory perspective glass, and Prince
Ahmed his artificial apple; and after each had commended their present,
when they put it into the Sultan's hands, they begged of him to
pronounce their fate, and declare to which of them he would give the
Princess Nouronnihar for a wife, according to his promise.

The Sultan of the Indies, having heard, without interrupting them, all
that the Princes could represent further about their rarities, and
being well informed of what had happened in relation to the Princess
Nouronnihar's cure, remained some time silent, as if he were thinking
on what answer he should make. At last he broke the silence, and said
to them: "I would declare for one of you children with a great deal of
pleasure if I could do it with justice; but consider whether I can do it
or no. 'Tis true, Prince Ahmed, the Princess my niece is obliged to
your artificial apple for her cure; but I must ask you whether or no
you could have been so serviceable to her if you had not known by Prince
Ali's perspective glass the danger she was in, and if Prince Houssain's
tapestry had not brought you so soon. Your perspective glass, Prince
Ali, informed you and your brothers that you were like to lose the
Princess your cousin, and there you must own a great obligation.

"You must also grant that that knowledge would have been of no service
without the artificial apple and the tapestry. And lastly, Prince
Houssain, the Princess would be very ungrateful if she should not
show her acknowledgment of the service of your tapestry, which was so
necessary a means toward her cure. But consider, it would have been of
little use if you had not been acquainted with the Princess's illness
by Prince Ali's glass, and Prince Ahmed had not applied his artificial
apple. Therefore, as neither tapestry, ivory perspective glass, nor
artificial apple have the least preference one before the other, but, on
the contrary, there's a perfect equality, I cannot grant the Princess to
any one of you; and the only fruit you have reaped from your travels is
the glory of having equally contributed to restore her health.

"If all this be true," added the Sultan, "you see that I must have
recourse to other means to determine certainly in the choice I ought
to make among you; and that, as there is time enough between this and
night, I'll do it to-day. Go and get each of you a bow and arrow, and
repair to the great plain, where they exercise horses. I'll soon come to
you, and declare I will give the Princess Nouronnihar to him that shoots
the farthest."

The three Princes had nothing to say against the decision of the Sultan.
When they were out of his presence they each provided themselves with a
bow and arrow, which they delivered to one of their officers, and went
to the plain appointed, followed by a great concourse of people.

The Sultan did not make them wait long for him, and as soon as he
arrived Prince Houssain, as the eldest, took his bow and arrow and shot
first; Prince Ali shot next, and much beyond him; and Prince Ahmed last
of all, but it so happened that nobody could see where his arrow fell;
and, notwithstanding all the diligence that was used by himself and
everybody else, it was not to be found far or near. And though it was
believed that he shot the farthest, and that he therefore deserved the
Princess Nouronnihar, it was, however, necessary that his arrow
should be found to make the matter more evident and certain; and,
notwithstanding his remonstrance, the Sultan judged in favor of Prince
Ali, and gave orders for preparations to be made for the wedding, which
was celebrated a few days after with great magnificence.

Prince Houssain would not honor the feast with his presence. In short,
his grief was so violent and insupportable that he left the Court, and
renounced all right of succession to the crown, to turn hermit.

Prince Ahmed, too, did not come to Prince Ali's and the Princess
Nouronnihar's wedding any more than his brother Houssain, but did not
renounce the world as he had done. But, as he could not imagine what had
become of his arrow, he stole away from his attendants and resolved to
search after it, that he might not have anything to reproach himself
with. With this intent he went to the place where the Princes Houssain's
and Ali's were gathered up, and, going straight forward from there,
looking carefully on both sides of him, he went so far that at last
he began to think his labor was all in vain; but yet he could not help
going forward till he came to some steep craggy rocks, which were
bounds to his journey, and were situated in a barren country, about four
leagues distant from where he set out.




When Prince Ahmed came pretty nigh to these rocks he perceived an arrow,
which he gathered up, looked earnestly at it, and was in the greatest
astonishment to find it was the same he shot away. "Certainly," said he
to himself, "neither I nor any man living could shoot an arrow so far,"
 and, finding it laid flat, not sticking into the ground, he judged that
it rebounded against the rock. "There must be some mystery in this,"
 said he to himself again, "and it may be advantageous to me. Perhaps
fortune, to make me amends for depriving me of what I thought the
greatest happiness, may have reserved a greater blessing for my
comfort."

As these rocks were full of caves and some of those caves were deep, the
Prince entered into one, and, looking about, cast his eyes on an iron
door, which seemed to have no lock, but he feared it was fastened.
However, thrusting against it, it opened, and discovered an easy
descent, but no steps, which he walked down with his arrow in his
hand. At first he thought he was going into a dark, obscure place, but
presently a quite different light succeeded that which he came out of,
and, entering into a large, spacious place, at about fifty or sixty
paces distant, he perceived a magnificent palace, which he had not then
time enough to look at. At the same time a lady of majestic port and air
advanced as far as the porch, attended by a large troop of ladies, so
finely dressed and beautiful that it was difficult to distinguish which
was the mistress.

As soon as Prince Ahmed perceived the lady, he made all imaginable
haste to go and pay his respects; and the lady, on her part, seeing him
coming, prevented him from addressing his discourse to her first, but
said to him: "Come nearer, Prince Ahmed, you are welcome."

It was no small surprise to the Prince to hear himself named in a place
he had never heard of, though so nigh to his father's capital, and he
could not comprehend how he should be known to a lady who was a stranger
to him. At last he returned the lady's compliment by throwing himself at
her feet, and, rising up again, said to her:

"Madam, I return you a thousand thanks for the assurance you give me of
a welcome to a place where I believed my imprudent curiosity had made
me penetrate too far. But, madam, may I, without being guilty of ill
manners, dare to ask you by what adventure you know me? and how you, who
live in the same neighborhood with me, should be so great a stranger to
me?"

"Prince," said the lady, "let us go into the hall, there I will gratify
you in your request."

After these words the lady led Prince Ahmed into the hall. Then she sat
down on a sofa, and when the Prince by her entreaty had done the same
she said: "You are surprised, you say, that I should know you and not be
known by you, but you will be no longer surprised when I inform you who
I am. You are undoubtedly sensible that your religion teaches you to
believe that the world is inhabited by genies as well as men. I am the
daughter of one of the most powerful and distinguished genies, and my
name is Paribanou. The only thing that I have to add is, that you seemed
to me worthy of a more happy fate than that of possessing the Princess
Nouronnihar; and, that you might attain to it, I was present when you
drew your arrow, and foresaw it would not go beyond Prince Houssain's.
I took it in the air, and gave it the necessary motion to strike against
the rocks near which you found it, and I tell you that it lies in your
power to make use of the favorable opportunity which presents itself to
make you happy."

As the Fairy Paribanou pronounced these last words with a different
tone, and looked, at the same time, tenderly upon Prince Ahmed, with
a modest blush on her cheeks, it was no hard matter for the Prince to
comprehend what happiness she meant. He presently considered that the
Princess Nouronnihar could never be his and that the Fairy Paribanou
excelled her infinitely in beauty, agreeableness, wit, and, as much
as he could conjecture by the magnificence of the palace, in immense
riches. He blessed the moment that he thought of seeking after his arrow
a second time, and, yielding to his love, "Madam," replied he, "should
I all my life have the happiness of being your slave, and the admirer
of the many charms which ravish my soul, I should think myself the most
blessed of men. Pardon in me the boldness which inspires me to ask this
favor, and don't refuse to admit me into your Court, a prince who is
entirely devoted to you."

"Prince," answered the Fairy, "will you not pledge your faith to me,
as well as I give mine to you?" "Yes, madam," replied the Prince, in an
ecstacy of joy; "what can I do better, and with greater pleasure?
Yes, my sultaness, my queen, I'll give you my heart without the least
reserve." "Then," answered the Fairy, "you are my husband, and I am
your wife. But, as I suppose," pursued she, "that you have eaten nothing
to-day, a slight repast shall be served up for you, while preparations
are making for our wedding feast at night, and then I will show you the
apartments of my palace, and you shall judge if this hall is not the
meanest part of it."

Some of the Fairy's women, who came into the hall with them, and guessed
her intentions, went immediately out, and returned presently with some
excellent meats and wines.

When Prince Ahmed had ate and drunk as much as he cared for, the Fairy
Paribanou carried him through all the apartments, where he saw diamonds,
rubies, emeralds and all sorts of fine jewels, intermixed with pearls,
agate, jasper, porphyry, and all sorts of the most precious marbles.
But, not to mention the richness of the furniture, which was
inestimable, there was such a profuseness throughout that the Prince,
instead of ever having seen anything like it, owned that he could not
have imagined that there was anything in the world that could come up to
it. "Prince," said the Fairy, "if you admire my palace so much, which,
indeed, is very beautiful, what would you say to the palaces of the
chief of our genies, which are much more beautiful, spacious, and
magnificent? I could also charm you with my gardens, but we will let
that alone till another time. Night draws near, and it will be time to
go to supper."

The next hall which the Fairy led the Prince into, and where the cloth
was laid for the feast, was the last apartment the Prince had not seen,
and not in the least inferior to the others. At his entrance into it
he admired the infinite number of sconces of wax candles perfumed with
amber, the multitude of which, instead of being confused, were placed
with so just a symmetry as formed an agreeable and pleasant sight. A
large side table was set out with all sorts of gold plate, so finely
wrought that the workmanship was much more valuable than the weight of
the gold. Several choruses of beautiful women richly dressed, and whose
voices were ravishing, began a concert, accompanied with all sorts of
the most harmonious instruments; and when they were set down at table
the Fairy Paribanou took care to help Prince Ahmed to the most delicate
meats, which she named as she invited him to eat of them, and which
the Prince found to be so exquisitely nice that he commended them with
exaggeration, and said that the entertainment far surpassed those of
man. He found also the same excellence in the wines, which neither he
nor the Fairy tasted of till the dessert was served up, which consisted
of the choicest sweetmeats and fruits.

The wedding feast was continued the next day, or, rather, the days
following the celebration were a continual feast.

At the end of six months Prince Ahmed, who always loved and honored the
Sultan his father, conceived a great desire to know how he was, and
that desire could not be satisfied without his going to see; he told the
Fairy of it, and desired she would give him leave.

"Prince," said she, "go when you please. But first, don't take it amiss
that I give you some advice how you shall behave yourself where you are
going. First, I don't think it proper for you to tell the Sultan your
father of our marriage, nor of my quality, nor the place where you have
been. Beg of him to be satisfied in knowing you are happy, and desire
no more; and let him know that the sole end of your visit is to make him
easy, and inform him of your fate."

She appointed twenty gentlemen, well mounted and equipped, to attend
him. When all was ready Prince Ahmed took his leave of the Fairy,
embraced her, and renewed his promise to return soon. Then his horse,
which was most finely caparisoned, and was as beautiful a creature as
any in the Sultan of Indies' stables, was led to him, and he mounted him
with an extraordinary grace; and, after he had bid her a last adieu, set
forward on his journey.

As it was not a great way to his father's capital, Prince Ahmed soon
arrived there. The people, glad to see him again, received him with
acclamations of joy, and followed him in crowds to the Sultan's
apartment. The Sultan received and embraced him with great joy,
complaining at the same time, with a fatherly tenderness, of the
affliction his long absence had been to him, which he said was the more
grievous for that, fortune having decided in favor of Prince Ali his
brother, he was afraid he might have committed some rash action.

The Prince told a story of his adventures without speaking of the Fairy,
whom he said that he must not mention, and ended: "The only favor I
ask of your Majesty is to give me leave to come often and pay you my
respects, and to know how you do."

"Son," answered the Sultan of the Indies, "I cannot refuse you the leave
you ask me; but I should much rather you would resolve to stay with me;
at least tell me where I may send to you if you should fail to come, or
when I may think your presence necessary." "Sir," replied Prince Ahmed,
"what your Majesty asks of me is part of the mystery I spoke to your
Majesty of. I beg of you to give me leave to remain silent on this head,
for I shall come so frequently that I am afraid that I shall sooner be
thought troublesome than be accused of negligence in my duty."

The Sultan of the Indies pressed Prince Ahmed no more, but said to him:
"Son, I penetrate no farther into your secrets, but leave you at your
liberty; but can tell you that you could not do me a greater pleasure
than to come, and by your presence restore to me the joy I have not
felt this long time, and that you shall always be welcome when you come,
without interrupting your business or pleasure."

Prince Ahmed stayed but three days at the Sultan his father's Court, and
the fourth returned to the Fairy Paribanou, who did not expect him so
soon.

A month after Prince Ahmed's return from paying a visit to his father,
as the Fairy Paribanou had observed that the Prince, since the time that
he gave her an account of his journey, his discourse with his father,
and the leave he asked to go and see him often, had never talked of the
Sultan, as if there had been no such person in the world, whereas before
he was always speaking of him, she thought he forebore on her account;
therefore she took an opportunity to say to him one day: "Prince, tell
me, have you forgot the Sultan your father? Don't you remember the
promise you made to go and see him often? For my part I have not forgot
what you told me at your return, and so put you in mind of it, that you
may not be long before you acquit yourself of your promise."

So Prince Ahmed went the next morning with the same attendance as
before, but much finer, and himself more magnificently mounted,
equipped, and dressed, and was received by the Sultan with the same
joy and satisfaction. For several months he constantly paid his visits,
always in a richer and finer equipage.

At last some viziers, the Sultan's favorites, who judged of Prince
Ahmed's grandeur and power by the figure he cut, made the Sultan jealous
of his son, saying it was to be feared he might inveigle himself into
the people's favor and dethrone him.

The Sultan of the Indies was so far from thinking that Prince Ahmed
could be capable of so pernicious a design as his favorites would make
him believe that he said to them: "You are mistaken; my son loves me,
and I am certain of his tenderness and fidelity, as I have given him no
reason to be disgusted."

But the favorites went on abusing Prince Ahmed till the Sultan said: "Be
it as it will, I don't believe my son Ahmed is so wicked as you would
persuade me he is; how ever, I am obliged to you for your good advice,
and don't dispute but that it proceeds from your good intentions."

The Sultan of the Indies said this that his favorites might not know the
impressions their discourse had made on his mind; which had so alarmed
him that he resolved to have Prince Ahmed watched unknown to his grand
vizier. So he sent for a female magician, who was introduced by a back
door into his apartment. "Go immediately," he said, "and follow my son,
and watch him so well as to find out where he retires, and bring me
word."

The magician left the Sultan, and, knowing the place where Prince Ahmed
found his arrow, went immediately thither, and hid herself near the
rocks, so that nobody could see her.

The next morning Prince Ahmed set out by daybreak, without taking leave
either of the Sultan or any of his Court, according to custom. The
magician, seeing him coming, followed him with her eyes, till on a
sudden she lost sight of him and his attendants.

As the rocks were very steep and craggy, they were an insurmountable
barrier, so that the magician judged that there were but two things
for it: either that the Prince retired into some cavern, or an abode of
genies or fairies. Thereupon she came out of the place where she was hid
and went directly to the hollow way, which she traced till she came
to the farther end, looking carefully about on all sides; but,
notwithstanding all her diligence, could perceive no opening, not so
much as the iron gate which Prince Ahmed discovered, which was to be
seen and opened to none but men, and only to such whose presence was
agreeable to the Fairy Paribanou.

The magician, who saw it was in vain for her to search any farther, was
obliged to be satisfied with the discovery she had made, and returned to
give the Sultan an account.

The Sultan was very well pleased with the magician's conduct, and said
to her: "Do you as you think fit; I'll wait patiently the event of your
promises," and to encourage her made her a present of a diamond of great
value.

As Prince Ahmed had obtained the Fairy Paribanou's leave to go to the
Sultan of the Indies' Court once a month, he never failed, and the
magician, knowing the time, went a day or two before to the foot of the
rock where she lost sight of the Prince and his attendants, and waited
there.

The next morning Prince Ahmed went out, as usual, at the iron gate, with
the same attendants as before, and passed by the magician, whom he knew
not to be such, and, seeing her lie with her head against the rock,
and complaining as if she were in great pain, he pitied her, turned his
horse about, went to her, and asked her what was the matter with her,
and what he could do to ease her.

The artful sorceress looked at the Prince in a pitiful manner, without
ever lifting up her head, and answered in broken words and sighs, as
if she could hardly fetch her breath, that she was going to the capital
city, but on the way thither she was taken with so violent a fever that
her strength failed her, and she was forced to lie down where he saw
her, far from any habitation, and without any hopes of assistance.

"Good woman," replied Prince Ahmed, "you are not so far from help as you
imagine. I am ready to assist you, and convey you where you will meet
with a speedy cure; only get up, and let one of my people take you
behind him."

At these words the magician, who pretended sickness only to know where
the Prince lived and what he did, refused not the charitable offer he
made her, and that her actions might correspond with her words she made
many pretended vain endeavors to get up. At the same time two of the
Prince's attendants, alighting off their horses, helped her up, and set
her behind another, and mounted their horses again, and followed the
Prince, who turned back to the iron gate, which was opened by one of his
retinue who rode before. And when he came into the outward court of the
Fairy, without dismounting himself, he sent to tell her he wanted to
speak with her.

The Fairy Paribanou came with all imaginable haste, not knowing what
made Prince Ahmed return so soon, who, not giving her time to ask him
the reason, said: "Princess, I desire you would have compassion on this
good woman," pointing to the magician, who was held up by two of his
retinue. "I found her in the condition you see her in, and promised her
the assistance she stands in need of, and am persuaded that you, out of
your own goodness, as well as upon my entreaty, will not abandon her."

The Fairy Paribanou, who had her eyes fixed upon the pretended sick
woman all the time that the Prince was talking to her, ordered two of
her women who followed her to take her from the two men that held her,
and carry her into an apartment of the palace, and take as much care of
her as she would herself.

While the two women executed the Fairy's commands, she went up to Prince
Ahmed, and, whispering in his ear, said: "Prince, this woman is not so
sick as she pretends to be; and I am very much mistaken if she is not an
impostor, who will be the cause of a great trouble to you. But don't
be concerned, let what will be devised against you; be persuaded that
I will deliver you out of all the snares that shall be laid for you. Go
and pursue your journey."

This discourse of the Fairy's did not in the least frighten Prince
Ahmed. "My Princess," said he, "as I do not remember I ever did or
designed anybody an injury, I cannot believe anybody can have a thought
of doing me one, but if they have I shall not, nevertheless, forbear
doing good whenever I have an opportunity." Then he went back to his
father's palace.

In the meantime the two women carried the magician into a very fine
apartment, richly furnished. First they sat her down upon a sofa, with
her back supported with a cushion of gold brocade, while they made a bed
on the same sofa before her, the quilt of which was finely embroidered
with silk, the sheets of the finest linen, and the coverlet
cloth-of-gold. When they had put her into bed (for the old sorceress
pretended that her fever was so violent she could not help herself in
the least) one of the women went out, and returned soon again with a
china dish in her hand, full of a certain liquor, which she presented to
the magician, while the other helped her to sit up. "Drink this liquor,"
 said she; "it is the Water of the Fountain of Lions, and a sovereign
remedy against all fevers whatsoever. You will find the effect of it in
less than an hour's time."

The magician, to dissemble the better, took it after a great deal of
entreaty; but at last she took the china dish, and, holding back her
head, swallowed down the liquor. When she was laid down again the two
women covered her up. "Lie quiet," said she who brought her the china
cup, "and get a little sleep if you can. We'll leave you, and hope to
find you perfectly cured when we come again an hour hence."

The two women came again at the time they said they should, and found
the magician up and dressed, and sitting upon the sofa. "Oh, admirable
potion!" she said: "it has wrought its cure much sooner than you told me
it would, and I shall be able to prosecute my journey."

The two women, who were fairies as well as their mistress, after they
had told the magician how glad they were that she was cured so soon,
walked before her, and conducted her through several apartments, all
more noble than that wherein she lay, into a large hall, the most richly
and magnificently furnished of all the palace.

Fairy Paribanou sat in this hall on a throne of massive gold, enriched
with diamonds, rubies, and pearls of an extraordinary size, and attended
on each hand by a great number of beautiful fairies, all richly clothed.
At the sight of so much majesty, the magician was not only dazzled, but
was so amazed that, after she had prostrated herself before the throne,
she could not open her lips to thank the Fairy as she proposed. However,
Paribanou saved her the trouble, and said to her: "Good woman, I am glad
I had an opportunity to oblige you, and to see you are able to pursue
your journey. I won't detain you, but perhaps you may not be displeased
to see my palace; follow my women, and they will show it you."

Then the magician went back and related to the Sultan of the Indies all
that had happened, and how very rich Prince Ahmed was since his marriage
with the Fairy, richer than all the kings in the world, and how there
was danger that he should come and take the throne from his father.

Though the Sultan of the Indies was very well persuaded that Prince
Ahmed's natural disposition was good, yet he could not help being
concerned at the discourse of the old sorceress, to whom, when she was
taking her leave, he said: "I thank thee for the pains thou hast taken,
and thy wholesome advice. I am so sensible of the great importance it is
to me that I shall deliberate upon it in council."

Now the favorites advised that the Prince should be killed, but the
magician advised differently: "Make him give you all kinds of wonderful
things, by the Fairy's help, till she tires of him and sends him away.
As, for example, every time your Majesty goes into the field, you are
obliged to be at a great expense, not only in pavilions and tents for
your army, but likewise in mules and camels to carry their baggage. Now,
might not you engage him to use his interest with the Fairy to procure
you a tent which might be carried in a man's hand, and which should be
so large as to shelter your whole army against bad weather?"

When the magician had finished her speech, the Sultan asked his
favorites if they had anything better to propose; and, finding them
all silent, determined to follow the magician's advice, as the most
reasonable and most agreeable to his mild government.

Next day the Sultan did as the magician had advised him, and asked for
the pavilion.

Prince Ahmed never expected that the Sultan his father would have
asked such a thing, which at first appeared so difficult, not to say
impossible. Though he knew not absolutely how great the power of genies
and fairies was, he doubted whether it extended so far as to compass
such a tent as his father desired. At last he replied: "Though it is
with the greatest reluctance imaginable, I will not fail to ask the
favor of my wife your Majesty desires, but will not promise you to
obtain it; and if I should not have the honor to come again to pay you
my respects that shall be the sign that I have not had success. But
beforehand, I desire you to forgive me, and consider that you yourself
have reduced me to this extremity."

"Son," replied the Sultan of the Indies, "I should be very sorry if what
I ask of you should cause me the displeasure of never seeing you more. I
find you don't know the power a husband has over a wife; and yours would
show that her love to you was very indifferent if she, with the power
she has of a fairy, should refuse you so trifling a request as this I
desire you to ask of her for my sake." The Prince went back, and was
very sad for fear of offending the Fairy. She kept pressing him to
tell her what was the matter, and at last he said: "Madam, you may have
observed that hitherto I have been content with your love, and have
never asked you any other favor. Consider then, I conjure you, that
it is not I, but the Sultan my father, who indiscreetly, or at least I
think so, begs of you a pavilion large enough to shelter him, his Court,
and army from the violence of the weather, and which a man may carry in
his hand. But remember it is the Sultan my father asks this favor."

"Prince," replied the Fairy, smiling, "I am sorry that so small a matter
should disturb you, and make you so uneasy as you appeared to me."

Then the Fairy sent for her treasurer, to whom, when she came, she said:
"Nourgihan"--which was her name--"bring me the largest pavilion in my
treasury." Nourgiham returned presently with the pavilion, which she
could not only hold in her hand, but in the palm of her hand when she
shut her fingers, and presented it to her mistress, who gave it to
Prince Ahmed to look at.

When Prince Ahmed saw the pavilion which the Fairy called the largest in
her treasury, he fancied she had a mind to jest with him, and thereupon
the marks of his surprise appeared presently in his countenance; which
Paribanou perceiving burst out laughing. "What! Prince," cried she, "do
you think I jest with you? You'll see presently that I am in earnest.
Nourgihan," said she to her treasurer, taking the tent out of Prince
Ahmed's hands, "go and set it up, that the Prince may judge whether it
may be large enough for the Sultan his father."

The treasurer went immediately with it out of the palace, and carried it
a great way off; and when she had set it up one end reached to the very
palace; at which time the Prince, thinking it small, found it large
enough to shelter two greater armies than that of the Sultan his
father's, and then said to Paribanou: "I ask my Princess a thousand
pardons for my incredulity; after what I have seen I believe there
is nothing impossible to you." "You see," said the Fairy, "that the
pavilion is larger than what your father may have occasion for; for
you must know that it has one property--that it is larger or smaller
according to the army it is to cover."

The treasurer took down the tent again, and brought it to the Prince,
who took it, and, without staying any longer than till the next day,
mounted his horse, and went with the same attendants to the Sultan his
father.

The Sultan, who was persuaded that there could not be any such thing
as such a tent as he asked for, was in a great surprise at the Prince's
diligence. He took the tent and after he had admired its smallness his
amazement was so great that he could not recover himself. When the tent
was set up in the great plain, which we have before mentioned, he found
it large enough to shelter an army twice as large as he could bring into
the field.

But the Sultan was not yet satisfied. "Son," said he, "I have already
expressed to you how much I am obliged to you for the present of the
tent you have procured me; that I look upon it as the most valuable
thing in all my treasury. But you must do one thing more for me, which
will be every whit as agreeable to me. I am informed that the Fairy,
your spouse, makes use of a certain water, called the Water of the
Fountain of Lions, which cures all sorts of fevers, even the most
dangerous, and, as I am perfectly well persuaded my health is dear to
you, I don't doubt but you will ask her for a bottle of that water for
me, and bring it me as a sovereign medicine, which I may make use of
when I have occasion. Do me this other important piece of service, and
thereby complete the duty of a good son toward a tender father."

The Prince returned and told the Fairy what his father had said;
"There's a great deal of wickedness in this demand?" she answered, "as
you will understand by what I am going to tell you. The Fountain of
Lions is situated in the middle of a court of a great castle, the
entrance into which is guarded by four fierce lions, two of which sleep
alternately, while the other two are awake. But don't let that frighten
you: I'll give you means to pass by them without any danger."

The Fairy Paribanou was at that time very hard at work, and, as she had
several clews of thread by her, she took up one, and, presenting it
to Prince Ahmed, said: "First take this clew of thread. I'll tell you
presently the use of it. In the second place, you must have two horses;
one you must ride yourself, and the other you must lead, which must be
loaded with a sheep cut into four quarters, that must be killed to-day.
In the third place, you must be provided with a bottle, which I will
give you, to bring the water in. Set out early to-morrow morning, and
when you have passed the iron gate throw the clew of thread before you,
which will roll till it comes to the gates of the castle. Follow it, and
when it stops, as the gates will be open, you will see the four lions:
the two that are awake will, by their roaring, wake the other two, but
don't be frightened, but throw each of them a quarter of mutton, and
then clap spurs to your horse and ride to the fountain; fill your bottle
without alighting, and then return with the same expedition. The lions
will be so busy eating they will let you pass by them."

Prince Ahmed set out the next morning at the time appointed by the
Fairy, and followed her directions exactly. When he arrived at the
gates of the castle he distributed the quarters of mutton among the
four lions, and, passing through the midst of them bravely, got to the
fountain, filled his bottle, and returned back as safe and sound as he
went. When he had gone a little distance from the castle gates he turned
him about, and, perceiving two of the lions coming after him, he drew
his sabre and prepared himself for defense. But as he went forward he
saw one of them turned out of the road at some distance, and showed by
his head and tail that he did not come to do him any harm, but only to
go before him, and that the other stayed behind to follow, he put his
sword up again in its scabbard. Guarded in this manner, he arrived at
the capital of the Indies, but the lions never left him till they had
conducted him to the gates of the Sultan's palace; after which they
returned the same way they came, though not without frightening all
that saw them, for all they went in a very gentle manner and showed no
fierceness.

A great many officers came to attend the Prince while he dismounted his
horse, and afterward conducted him into the Sultan's apartment, who was
at that time surrounded with his favorites. He approached toward the
throne, laid the bottle at the Sultan's feet, and kissed the rich
tapestry which covered his footstool, and then said:

"I have brought you, sir, the healthful water which your Majesty desired
so much to keep among your other rarities in your treasury, but at the
same time wish you such extraordinary health as never to have occasion
to make use of it."

After the Prince had made an end of his compliment the Sultan placed him
on his right hand, and then said to him: "Son, I am very much obliged
to you for this valuable present, as also for the great danger you have
exposed yourself to upon my account (which I have been informed of by
a magician who knows the Fountain of Lions); but do me the pleasure,"
 continued he, "to inform me by what address, or, rather, by what
incredible power, you have been secured."

"Sir," replied Prince Ahmed, "I have no share in the compliment your
Majesty is pleased to make me; all the honor is due to the Fairy my
spouse, whose good advice I followed." Then he informed the Sultan what
those directions were, and by the relation of this his expedition let
him know how well he had behaved himself. When he had done the Sultan,
who showed outwardly all the demonstrations of great joy, but secretly
became more jealous, retired into an inward apartment, where he sent for
the magician.

The magician, at her arrival, saved the Sultan the trouble to tell her
of the success of Prince Ahmed's journey, which she had heard of before
she came, and therefore was prepared with an infallible means, as she
pretended. This means she communicated to the Sultan who declared it
the next day to the Prince, in the midst of all his courtiers, in these
words: "Son," said he, "I have one thing more to ask of you, after which
I shall expect nothing more from your obedience, nor your interest with
your wife. This request is, to bring me a man not above a foot and a
half high, and whose beard is thirty feet long who carries a bar of
iron upon his shoulders of five hundredweight, which he uses as a
quarterstaff."

Prince Ahmed, who did not believe that there was such a man in the world
as his father described, would gladly have excused himself; but the
Sultan persisted in his demand, and told him the Fairy could do more
incredible things.

The next day the Prince returned to his dear Paribanou, to whom he told
his father's new demand, which, he said, he looked upon to be a thing
more impossible than the two first; "for," added he, "I cannot imagine
there can be such a man in the world; without doubt, he has a mind to
try whether or no I am so silly as to go about it, or he has a design on
my ruin. In short, how can he suppose that I should lay hold of a man
so well armed, though he is but little? What arms can I make use of to
reduce him to my will? If there are any means, I beg you will tell them,
and let me come off with honor this time."

"Don't affright yourself, Prince," replied the Fairy; "you ran a risk in
fetching the Water of the Fountain of Lions for your father, but there's
no danger in finding out this man, who is my brother Schaibar, but is so
far from being like me, though we both had the same father, that he is
of so violent a nature that nothing can prevent his giving cruel marks
of his resentment for a slight offense; yet, on the other hand, is so
good as to oblige anyone in whatever they desire. He is made exactly as
the Sultan your father has described him, and has no other arms than a
bar of iron of five hundred pounds weight, without which he never stirs,
and which makes him respected. I'll send for him, and you shall judge
of the truth of what I tell you; but be sure to prepare yourself against
being frightened at his extraordinary figure when you see him." "What!
my Queen," replied Prince Ahmed, "do you say Schaibar is your brother?
Let him be never so ugly or deformed I shall be so far from being
frightened at the sight of him that, as our brother, I shall honor and
love him."

The Fairy ordered a gold chafing-dish to be set with a fire in it under
the porch of her palace, with a box of the same metal, which was a
present to her, out of which taking a perfume, and throwing it into the
fire, there arose a thick cloud of smoke.

Some moments after the Fairy said to Prince Ahmed: "See, there comes my
brother." The Prince immediately perceived Schaibar coming gravely with
his heavy bar on his shoulder, his long beard, which he held up before
him, and a pair of thick mustachios, which he tucked behind his ears and
almost covered his face; his eyes were very small and deep-set in his
head, which was far from being of the smallest size, and on his head he
wore a grenadier's cap; besides all this, he was very much hump-backed.

If Prince Ahmed had not known that Schaibar was Paribanou's brother,
he would not have been able to have looked at him without fear, but,
knowing first who he was, he stood by the Fairy without the least
concern.

Schaibar, as he came forward, looked at the Prince earnestly enough to
have chilled his blood in his veins, and asked Paribanou, when he first
accosted her, who that man was. To which she replied: "He is my husband,
brother. His name is Ahmed; he is son to the Sultan of the Indies. The
reason why I did not invite you to my wedding was I was unwilling to
divert you from an expedition you were engaged in, and from which I
heard with pleasure you returned victorious, and so took the liberty now
to call for you."

At these words, Schaibar, looking on Prince Ahmed favorably, said: "Is
there anything else, sister, wherein I can serve him? It is enough
for me that he is your husband to engage me to do for him whatever he
desires." "The Sultan, his father," replied Paribanou, "has a curiosity
to see you, and I desire he may be your guide to the Sultan's Court."
 "He needs but lead me the way I'll follow him." "Brother," replied
Paribanou, "it is too late to go to-day, therefore stay till to-morrow
morning; and in the meantime I'll inform you of all that has passed
between the Sultan of the Indies and Prince Ahmed since our marriage."

The next morning, after Schaibar had been informed of the affair, he and
Prince Ahmed set out for the Sultan's Court. When they arrived at the
gates of the capital the people no sooner saw Schaibar but they ran and
hid themselves; and some shut up their shops and locked themselves up in
their houses, while others, flying, communicated their fear to all they
met, who stayed not to look behind them, but ran too; insomuch that
Schaibar and Prince Ahmed, as they went along, found the streets all
desolate till they came to the palaces where the porters, instead
of keeping the gates, ran away too, so that the Prince and Schaibar
advanced without any obstacle to the council-hall, where the Sultan was
seated on his throne, and giving audience. Here likewise the ushers,
at the approach of Schaibar, abandoned their posts, and gave them free
admittance.

Schaibar went boldly and fiercely up to the throne, without waiting to
be presented by Prince Ahmed, and accosted the Sultan of the Indies in
these words: "Thou hast asked for me," said he; "see, here I am; what
wouldst thou have with me?"

The Sultan, instead of answering him, clapped his hands before his eyes
to avoid the sight of so terrible an object; at which uncivil and rude
reception Schaibar was so much provoked, after he had given him the
trouble to come so far, that he instantly lifted up his iron bar and
killed him before Prince Ahmed could intercede in his behalf. All that
he could do was to prevent his killing the grand vizier, who sat not far
from him, representing to him that he had always given the Sultan his
father good advice. "These are they, then," said Schaibar, "who gave him
bad," and as he pronounced these words he killed all the other viziers
and flattering favorites of the Sultan who were Prince Ahmed's enemies.
Every time he struck he killed some one or other, and none escaped but
they who were not so frightened as to stand staring and gaping, and who
saved themselves by flight.

When this terrible execution was over Schaibar came out of the
council-hall into the midst of the courtyard with the iron bar upon his
shoulder, and, looking hard at the grand vizier, who owed his life to
Prince Ahmed, he said: "I know here is a certain magician, who is a
greater enemy of my brother-in-law than all these base favorites I
have chastised. Let the magician be brought to me presently." The grand
vizier immediately sent for her, and as soon as she was brought Schaibar
said, at the time he fetched a stroke at her with his iron bar: "Take
the reward of thy pernicious counsel, and learn to feign sickness
again."

After this he said: "This is not yet enough; I will use the whole town
after the same manner if they do not immediately acknowledge Prince
Ahmed, my brother-in-law, for their Sultan and the Sultan of the
Indies." Then all that were there present made the air echo again
with the repeated acclamations of: "Long life to Sultan Ahmed"; and
immediately after he was proclaimed through the whole town. Schaibar
made him be clothed in the royal vestments, installed him on the throne,
and after he had caused all to swear homage and fidelity to him went
and fetched his sister Paribanou, whom he brought with all the pomp and
grandeur imaginable, and made her to be owned Sultaness of the Indies.

As for Prince Ali and Princess Nouronnihar, as they had no hand in the
conspiracy against Prince Ahmed and knew nothing of any, Prince Ahmed
assigned them a considerable province, with its capital, where they
spent the rest of their lives. Afterwards he sent an officer to Prince
Houssain to acquaint him with the change and make him an offer of which
province he liked best; but that Prince thought himself so happy in his
solitude that he bade the officer return the Sultan his brother thanks
for the kindness he designed him, assuring him of his submission; and
that the only favor he desired of him was to give him leave to live
retired in the place he had made choice of for his retreat.(1)


(1) Arabian Nights.




THE HISTORY OF JACK THE GIANT-KILLER


In the reign of the famous King Arthur there lived in Cornwall a lad
named Jack, who was a boy of a bold temper, and took delight in hearing
or reading of conjurers, giants, and fairies; and used to listen eagerly
to the deeds of the knights of King Arthur's Round Table.

In those days there lived on St. Michael's Mount, off Cornwall, a huge
giant, eighteen feet high and nine feet round; his fierce and savage
looks were the terror of all who beheld him.

He dwelt in a gloomy cavern on the top of the mountain, and used to wade
over to the mainland in search of prey; when he would throw half a dozen
oxen upon his back, and tie three times as many sheep and hogs round his
waist, and march back to his own abode.

The giant had done this for many years when Jack resolved to destroy
him.

Jack took a horn, a shovel, a pickaxe, his armor, and a dark lantern,
and one winter's evening he went to the mount. There he dug a pit
twenty-two feet deep and twenty broad. He covered the top over so as to
make it look like solid ground. He then blew his horn so loudly that the
giant awoke and came out of his den crying out: "You saucy villain! you
shall pay for this I'll broil you for my breakfast!"

He had just finished, when, taking one step further, he tumbled headlong
into the pit, and Jack struck him a blow on the head with his pickaxe
which killed him. Jack then returned home to cheer his friends with the
news.

Another giant, called Blunderbore, vowed to be revenged on Jack if ever
he should have him in his power. This giant kept an enchanted castle in
the midst of a lonely wood; and some time after the death of Cormoran
Jack was passing through a wood, and being weary, sat down and went to
sleep.

The giant, passing by and seeing Jack, carried him to his castle, where
he locked him up in a large room, the floor of which was covered with
the bodies, skulls and bones of men and women.

Soon after the giant went to fetch his brother who was likewise a giant,
to take a meal off his flesh; and Jack saw with terror through the bars
of his prison the two giants approaching.

Jack, perceiving in one corner of the room a strong cord, took courage,
and making a slip-knot at each end, he threw them over their heads, and
tied it to the window-bars; he then pulled till he had choked them. When
they were black in the face he slid down the rope and stabbed them to
the heart.

Jack next took a great bunch of keys from the pocket of Blunderbore,
and went into the castle again. He made a strict search through all
the rooms, and in one of them found three ladies tied up by the hair
of their heads, and almost starved to death. They told him that their
husbands had been killed by the giants, who had then condemned them to
be starved to death because they would not eat the flesh of their own
dead husbands.

"Ladies," said Jack, "I have put an end to the monster and his wicked
brother; and I give you this castle and all the riches it contains, to
make some amends for the dreadful pains you have felt." He then very
politely gave them the keys of the castle, and went further on his
journey to Wales.

As Jack had but little money, he went on as fast as possible. At length
he came to a handsome house. Jack knocked at the door, when there came
forth a Welsh giant. Jack said he was a traveler who had lost his way,
on which the giant made him welcome, and let him into a room where there
was a good bed to sleep in.

Jack took off his clothes quickly, but though he was weary he could not
go to sleep. Soon after this he heard the giant walking backward and
forward in the next room, and saying to himself:

  "Though here you lodge with me this night,
  You shall not see the morning light;
  My club shall dash your brains out quite."


"Say you so?" thought Jack. "Are these your tricks upon travelers? But
I hope to prove as cunning as you are." Then, getting out of bed, he
groped about the room, and at last found a large thick billet of wood.
He laid it in his own place in the bed, and then hid himself in a dark
corner of the room.

The giant, about midnight, entered the apartment, and with his bludgeon
struck many blows on the bed, in the very place where Jack had laid the
log; and then he went back to his own room, thinking he had broken all
Jack's bones.

Early in the morning Jack put a bold face upon the matter, and walked
into the giant's room to thank him for his lodging. The giant started
when he saw him, and began to stammer out: "Oh! dear me; is it you? Pray
how did you sleep last night? Did you hear or see anything in the dead
of the night?"

"Nothing to speak of," said Jack, carelessly; "a rat, I believe, gave me
three or four slaps with its tail, and disturbed me a little; but I soon
went to sleep again."

The giant wondered more and more at this; yet he did not answer a word,
but went to bring two great bowls of hasty-pudding for their breakfast.
Jack wanted to make the giant believe that he could eat as much as
himself, so he contrived to button a leathern bag inside his coat, and
slip the hasty-pudding into this bag, while he seemed to put it into his
mouth.

When breakfast was over he said to the giant: "Now I will show you a
fine trick. I can cure all wounds with a touch; I could cut off my head
in one minute, and the next put it sound again on my shoulders. You
shall see an example." He then took hold of the knife, ripped up the
leathern bag, and all the hasty-pudding tumbled out upon the floor.

"Ods splutter hur nails!" cried the Welsh giant, who was ashamed to be
outdone by such a little fellow as Jack, "hur can do that hurself";
so he snatched up the knife, plunged it into his own stomach, and in a
moment dropped down dead.

Jack, having hitherto been successful in all his undertakings, resolved
not to be idle in future; he therefore furnished himself with a horse,
a cap of knowledge, a sword of sharpness, shoes of swiftness, and an
invisible coat, the better to perform the wonderful enterprises that lay
before him.

He traveled over high hills, and on the third day he came to a large and
spacious forest through which his road lay. Scarcely had he entered the
forest when he beheld a monstrous giant dragging along by the hair
of their heads a handsome knight and his lady. Jack alighted from his
horse, and tying him to an oak tree, put on his invisible coat, under
which he carried his sword of sharpness.

When he came up to the giant he made several strokes at him, but could
not reach his body, but wounded his thighs in several places; and at
length, putting both hands to his sword and aiming with all his might,
he cut off both his legs. Then Jack, setting his foot upon his neck,
plunged his sword into the giant's body, when the monster gave a groan
and expired.

The knight and his lady thanked Jack for their deliverance, and invited
him to their house, to receive a proper reward for his services. "No,"
 said Jack, "I cannot be easy till I find out this monster's habitation."
 So, taking the knight's directions, he mounted his horse and soon after
came in sight of another giant, who was sitting on a block of timber
waiting for his brother's return.

Jack alighted from his horse, and, putting on his invisible coat,
approached and aimed a blow at the giant's head, but, missing his aim,
he only cut off his nose. On this the giant seized his club and laid
about him most unmercifully.

"Nay," said Jack, "if this be the case I'd better dispatch you!" so,
jumping upon the block, he stabbed him in the back, when he dropped down
dead.

Jack then proceeded on his journey, and traveled over hills and dales,
till arriving at the foot of a high mountain he knocked at the door of a
lonely house, when an old man let him in.

When Jack was seated the hermit thus addressed him: "My son, on the top
of this mountain is an enchanted castle, kept by the giant Galligantus
and a vile magician. I lament the fate of a duke's daughter, whom they
seized as she was walking in her father's garden, and brought hither
transformed into a deer."

Jack promised that in the morning, at the risk of his life, he would
break the enchantment; and after a sound sleep he rose early, put on his
invisible coat, and got ready for the attempt.

When he had climbed to the top of the mountain he saw two fiery
griffins, but he passed between them without the least fear of danger,
for they could not see him because of his invisible coat. On the castle
gate he found a golden trumpet, under which were written these lines:

  "Whoever can this trumpet blow
  Shall cause the giant's overthrow."


As soon as Jack had read this he seized the trumpet and blew a shrill
blast, which made the gates fly open and the very castle itself tremble.

The giant and the conjurer now knew that their wicked course was at an
end, and they stood biting their thumbs and shaking with fear. Jack,
with his sword of sharpness, soon killed the giant, and the magician was
then carried away by a whirlwind; and every knight and beautiful lady
who had been changed into birds and beasts returned to their proper
shapes. The castle vanished away like smoke, and the head of the giant
Galligantus was then sent to King Arthur.

The knights and ladies rested that night at the old man's hermitage, and
next day they set out for the Court. Jack then went up to the King, and
gave his Majesty an account of all his fierce battles.

Jack's fame had now spread through the whole country, and at the King's
desire the duke gave him his daughter in marriage, to the joy of all his
kingdom. After this the King gave him a large estate, on which he and
his lady lived the rest of their days in joy and contentment.(1)


(1) Old Chapbook.




THE BLACK BULL OF NORROWAY


     And many a hunting song they sung,
       And song of game and glee;
     Then tuned to plaintive strains their tongue,
       "Of Scotland's luve and lee."
      To wilder measures next they turn
       "The Black, Black Bull of Norroway!"
      Sudden the tapers cease to burn,
       The minstrels cease to play.

            "The Cout of Keeldar," by J. Leyden.


In Norroway, langsyne, there lived a certain lady, and she had three
dochters. The auldest o' them said to her mither: "Mither, bake me a
bannock, and roast me a collop, for I'm gaun awa' to seek my fortune."
 Her mither did sae; and the dochter gaed awa' to an auld witch
washerwife and telled her purpose. The auld wife bade her stay that day,
and gang and look out o' her back door, and see what she could see. She
saw nocht the first day. The second day she did the same, and saw nocht.
On the third day she looked again, and saw a coach-and-six coming along
the road. She ran in and telled the auld wife what she saw. "Aweel,"
 quo' the auld wife, "yon's for you." Sae they took her into the coach,
and galloped aff.

The second dochter next says to her mither: "Mither, bake me a bannock,
and roast me a collop, fur I'm gaun awa' to seek my fortune." Her mither
did sae; and awa' she gaed to the auld wife, as her sister had dune. On
the third day she looked out o' the back door, and saw a coach-and-four
coming along the road. "Aweel," quo' the auld wife, "yon's for you." Sae
they took her in, and aff they set.

The third dochter says to her mither: "Mither, bake me a bannock, and
roast me a collop, for I'm gaun awa' to seek my fortune." Her mither did
sae; and awa' she gaed to the auld witch-wife. She bade her look out
o' her back door, and see what she could see. She did sae; and when she
came back said she saw nocht. The second day she did the same, and saw
nocht. The third day she looked again, and on coming back said to the
auld wife she saw nocht but a muckle Black Bull coming roaring alang the
road. "Aweel," quo' the auld wife, "yon's for you." On hearing this she
was next to distracted wi' grief and terror; but she was lifted up and
set on his back, and awa' they went.

Aye they traveled, and on they traveled, till the lady grew faint wi'
hunger. "Eat out o' my right lug," says the Black Bull, "and drink out
o' my left lug, and set by your leavings." Sae she did as he said, and
was wonderfully refreshed. And lang they gaed, and sair they rade, till
they came in sight o' a very big and bonny castle. "Yonder we maun be
this night," quo' the bull; "for my auld brither lives yonder"; and
presently they were at the place. They lifted her aff his back, and took
her in, and sent him away to a park for the night. In the morning,
when they brought the bull hame, they took the lady into a fine shining
parlor, and gave her a beautiful apple, telling her no to break it till
she was in the greatest strait ever mortal was in in the world, and that
wad bring her o't. Again she was lifted on the bull's back, and after
she had ridden far, and farer than I can tell, they came in sight o' a
far bonnier castle, and far farther awa' than the last. Says the bull
till her: "Yonder we maun be the night, for my second brither lives
yonder"; and they were at the place directly. They lifted her down
and took her in, and sent the bull to the field for the night. In the
morning they took the lady into a fine and rich room, and gave her the
finest pear she had ever seen, bidding her no to break it till she was
in the greatest strait ever mortal could be in, and that wad get her out
o't. Again she was lifted and set on his back, and awa' they went. And
lang they gaed, and sair they rade, till they came in sight o' the far
biggest castle, and far farthest aff, they had yet seen. "We maun be
yonder the night," says the bull, "for my young brither lives yonder";
and they were there directly. They lifted her down, took her in, and
sent the bull to the field for the night. In the morning they took her
into a room, the finest of a', and gied her a plum, telling her no to
break it till she was in the greatest strait mortal could be in, and
that wad get her out o't. Presently they brought hame the bull, set the
lady on his back, and awa' they went.

And aye they gaed, and on they rade, till they came to a dark and ugsome
glen, where they stopped, and the lady lighted down. Says the bull to
her: "Here ye maun stay till I gang and fight the deil. Ye maun seat
yoursel' on that stane, and move neither hand nor fit till I come back,
else I'll never find ye again. And if everything round about ye turns
blue I hae beated the deil; but should a' things turn red he'll hae
conquered me." She set hersel' down on the stane, and by-and-by a' round
her turned blue. O'ercome wi' joy, she lifted the ae fit and crossed it
owre the ither, sae glad was she that her companion was victorious. The
bull returned and sought for but never could find her.

Lang she sat, and aye she grat, till she wearied. At last she rase and
gaed awa', she kedna whaur till. On she wandered till she came to a
great hill o' glass, that she tried a' she could to climb, bat wasna
able. Round the bottom o' the hill she gaed, sabbing and seeking a
passage owre, till at last she came to a smith's house; and the smith
promised, if she wad serve him seven years, he wad make her iron shoon,
wherewi' she could climb owre the glassy hill. At seven years' end she
got her iron shoon, clamb the glassy hill, and chanced to come to the
auld washerwife's habitation. There she was telled of a gallant young
knight that had given in some bluidy sarks to wash, and whaever washed
thae sarks was to be his wife. The auld wife had washed till she was
tired, and then she set to her dochter, and baith washed, and they
washed, and they better washed, in hopes of getting the young knight;
but a' they could do they couldna bring out a stain. At length they set
the stranger damosel to wark; and whenever she began the stains came
out pure and clean, but the auld wife made the knight believe it was her
dochter had washed the sarks. So the knight and the eldest dochter were
to be married, and the stranger damosel was distracted at the thought
of it, for she was deeply in love wi' him. So she bethought her of her
apple, and breaking it, found it filled with gold and precious jewelry,
the richest she had ever seen. "All these," she said to the eldest
dochter, "I will give you, on condition that you put off your marriage
for ae day, and allow me to go into his room alone at night." So
the lady consented; but meanwhile the auld wife had prepared a
sleeping-drink, and given it to the knight, wha drank it, and never
wakened till next morning. The lee-lang night ther damosel sabbed and
sang:

  "Seven lang years I served for thee,
  The glassy hill I clamb for thee,
  The bluidy shirt I wrang for thee;
  And wilt thou no wauken and turn to me?"


Next day she kentna what to do for grief. She then brak the pear, and
found it filled wi' jewelry far richer than the contents o' the apple.
Wi' thae jewels she bargained for permission to be a second night in
the young knight's chamber; but the auld wife gied him anither
sleeping-drink, and he again sleepit till morning. A' night she kept
sighing and singing as before:

"Seven lang years I served for thee," &c. Still he sleepit, and she
nearly lost hope a'thegither. But that day when he was out at the
hunting, somebody asked him what noise and moaning was yon they heard
all last night in his bedchamber. He said he heardna ony noise. But they
assured him there was sae; and he resolved to keep waking that night
to try what he could hear. That being the third night, and the damosel
being between hope and despair, she brak her plum, and it held far the
richest jewelry of the three. She bargained as before; and the auld
wife, as before, took in the sleeping-drink to the young knight's
chamber; but he telled her he couldna drink it that night without
sweetening. And when she gaed awa' for some honey to sweeten it wi', he
poured out the drink, and sae made the auld wife think he had drunk it.
They a' went to bed again, and the damosel began, as before, singing:

  "Seven lang years I served for thee,
  The glassy hill I clamb for thee,
  The bluidy shirt I wrang for thee;
  And wilt thou no wauken and turn to me?"

He heard, and turned to her. And she telled him a' that had befa'en her,
and he telled her a' that had happened to him. And he caused the auld
washerwife and her dochter to be burned. And they were married, and he
and she are living happy till this day, for aught I ken.(1)


(1) Chambers, Popular Traditions of Scotland.




THE RED ETIN


There were ance twa widows that lived on a small bit o' ground, which
they rented from a farmer. Ane of them had twa sons, and the other had
ane; and by-and-by it was time for the wife that had twa sons to send
them away to seeke their fortune. So she told her eldest son ae day to
take a can and bring her water from the well, that she might bake a cake
for him; and however much or however little water he might bring, the
cake would be great or sma' accordingly; and that cake was to be a' that
she could gie him when he went on his travels.

The lad gaed away wi' the can to the well, and filled it wi' water, and
then came away hame again; but the can being broken the maist part of
the water had run out before he got back. So his cake was very sma'; yet
sma' as it was, his mother asked if he was willing to take the half of
it with her blessing, telling him that, if he chose rather to have the
hale, he would only get it wi' her curse. The young man, thinking he
might hae to travel a far way, and not knowing when or how he might get
other provisions, said he would like to hae the hale cake, com of his
mother's malison what like; so she gave him the hale cake, and her
malison alang wi't. Then he took his brither aside, and gave him a
knife to keep till he should come back, desiring him to look at it every
morning, and as lang as it continued to be clear, then he might be sure
that the owner of it was well; but if it grew dim and rusty, then for
certain some ill had befallen him.

So the young man set out to seek his fortune. And he gaed a' that day,
and a' the next day; and on the third day, in the afternoon, he came up
to where a shepherd was sitting with a flock o' sheep. And he gaed up
to the shepherd and asked him wha the sheep belanged to; and the man
answered:


     "The Red Etin of Ireland
       Ance lived in Bellygan,
     And stole King Malcolm's daughter,
       The King of fair Scotland.
     He beats her, he binds her,
       He lays her on a band;
     And every day he dings her
       With a bright silver wand
     Like Julian the Roman
     He's one that fears no man.
     It's said there's ane predestinate
       To be his mortal foe;
     But that man is yet unborn
       And lang may it be so."

The young man then went on his journey; and he had not gone far when he
espied an old man with white locks herding a flock of swine; and he gaed
up to him and asked whose swine these were, when the man answered:

     "The Red Etin of Ireland"--
            (Repeat the verses above.)

Then the young man gaed on a bit farther, and came to another very old
man herding goats; and when he asked whose goats they were, the answer
was:

     "The Red Etin of Ireland"--
            (Repeat the verses again.)

This old man also told him to beware of the next beasts that he should
meet, for they were of a very different kind from any he had yet seen.

So the young man went on, and by-and-by he saw a multitude of very
dreadfu' beasts, ilk ane o' them wi' twa heads, and on every head four
horns. And he was sore frightened, and ran away from them as fast as he
could; and glad was he when he came to a castle that stood on a hillock,
wi' the door standing wide to the wa'. And he gaed into the castle for
shelter, and there he saw an auld wife sitting beside the kitchen fire.
He asked the wife if he might stay there for the night, as he was tired
wi' a lang journey; and the wife said he might, but it was not a good
place for him to be in, as it belanged to the Red Etin, who was a very
terrible beast, wi' three heads, that spared no living man he could get
hold of. The young man would have gone away, but he was afraid of the
beasts on the outside of the castle; so he beseeched the old woman to
conceal him as well as she could, and not to tell the Etin that he was
there. He thought, if he could put over the night, he might get away in
the morning without meeting wi' the beasts, and so escape. But he had
not been long in his hidy-hole before the awful Etin came in; and nae
sooner was he in than he was heard crying:

  "Snouk but and snouk ben,
  I find the smell of an earthly man;
  Be he living, or be he dead,
  His heart this night shall kitchen(1) my bread."


(1) "Kitchen," that is, "season."


The monster soon found the poor young man, and pulled him from his hole.
And when he had got him out he told him that if he could answer him
three questions his life should be spared. The first was: Whether
Ireland or Scotland was first inhabited? The second was: Whether man was
made for woman, or woman for man? The third was: Whether men or
brutes were made first? The lad not being able to answer one of these
questions, the Red Etin took a mace and knocked him on the head, and
turned him into a pillar of stone.

On the morning after this happened the younger brither took out the
knife to look at it, and he was grieved to find it a' brown wi' rust. He
told his mother that the time was now come for him to go away upon
his travels also; so she requested him to take the can to the well for
water, that she might bake a cake for him. The can being broken, he
brought hame as little water as the other had done, and the cake was as
little. She asked whether he would have the hale cake wi' her malison,
or the half wi' her blessing; and, like his brither, he thought it best
to have the hale cake, come o' the malison what might. So he gaed away;
and everything happened to him that had happened to his brother!

The other widow and her son heard of a' that had happened frae a fairy,
and the young man determined that he would also go upon his travels, and
see if he could do anything to relieve his twa friends. So his mother
gave him a can to go to the well and bring home water, that she might
bake him a cake for his journey. And he gaed, and as he was bringing
hame the water, a raven owre abune his head cried to him to look, and
he would see that the water was running out. And he was a young man of
sense, and seeing the water running out, he took some clay and patched
up the holes, so that he brought home enough water to bake a large cake.
When his mother put it to him to take the half-cake wi' her blessing,
he took it in preference to having the hale wi' her malison; and yet the
half was bigger than what the other lads had got a'thegither.

So he gaed away on his journey; and after he had traveled a far way he
met wi' an auld woman, that asked him if he would give her a bit of his
bannock. And he said he would gladly do that, and so he gave her a piece
of the bannock; and for that she gied him a magical wand, that she said
might yet be of service to him if he took care to use it rightly. Then
the auld woman, who was a fairy, told him a great deal that whould
happen to him, and what he ought to do in a' circumstances; and after
that she vanished in an instant out o' his sight. He gaed on a great way
farther, and then he came up to the old man herding the sheep; and when
he asked whose sheep these were, the answer was:

      "The Red Etin of Ireland
        Ance lived in Bellygan,
      And stole King Malcolm's daughter,
        The King of fair Scotland.
      He beats her, he binds her,
        He lays her on a band;
      And every day he dings her
        With a bright silver wand.
      Like Julian the Roman,
      He's one that fears no man,
      But now I fear his end is near,
        And destiny at hand;
      And you're to be, I plainly see,
        The heir of all his land."

(Repeat the same inquiries to the man attending the swine and the man
attending the goats, with the same answer in each case.)


When he came to the place where the monstrous beasts were standing, he
did not stop nor run away, but went boldly through among them. One came
up roaring with open mouth to devour him, when he struck it with his
wand, and laid it in an instant dead at his feet. He soon came to the
Etin's castle, where he knocked, and was admitted. The auld woman that
sat by the fire warned him of the terrible Etin, and what had been the
fate of the twa brithers; but he was not to be daunted. The monster soon
came in, saying:

  "Snouk but and snouk ben,
  I find the smell of an earthly man;
  Be he living, or be he dead,
  His heart shall be kitchen to my bread."

He quickly espied the young man, and bade him come forth on the floor.
And then he put the three questions to him, but the young man had been
told everything by the good fairy, so he was able to answer all the
questions. When the Etin found this he knew that his power was gone. The
young man then took up the axe and hewed off the monster's three heads.
He next asked the old woman to show him where the King's daughters lay;
and the old woman took him upstairs and opened a great many doors, and
out of every door came a beautiful lady who had been imprisoned there by
the Etin; and ane o' the ladies was the King's daughter. She also took
him down into a low room, and there stood two stone pillars that he had
only to touch wi' his wand, when his two friends and neighbors started
into life. And the hale o' the prisoners were overjoyed at their
deliverance, which they all acknowledged to be owing to the prudent
young man. Next day they a' set out for the King's Court, and a gallant
company they made. And the King married his daughter to the young man
that had delivered her, and gave a noble's daughter to ilk ane o' the
other young men; and so they a' lived happily a' the rest o' their
days.(1)


(1) Chambers, Popular Traditions of Scotland.







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.




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:

'Raleo, raleo, 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.




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.




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.




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.




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.'




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.




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.




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.




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.'




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.




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.




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.




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.




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.




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 coupes,'

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 Printaniere. 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. Asbjornsen.




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! I 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) From P. C. Asbjornsen.




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 I 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 I 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 hus-band, 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) Rumanische Marchen ubersetzt 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 ad-mitted 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 vetite 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.

Everyday 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. Asbjornsen.




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 I 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 voila,
     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 Princess 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 hap-pened 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 I 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


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.'




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.




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.'




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.'




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.'




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.




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.




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.




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.




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.'




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.




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.




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.'




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.




'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.




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 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


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.




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.




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?'




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.'




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.




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.




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.




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. Denlin.




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. Asbjornsen.




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 I 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 I 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 'he birds broke out singing:

     'We know a fair maid,
     A fair maiden sleeping;
     Sigurd, be not afraid,
     Sigurd, win thou the maid
     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 Sigard 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.








The Cat's Elopement

[From the Japanische Marchen und Sagen, von David Brauns (Leipzig:
Wilhelm Friedrich).]


Once upon a time there lived a cat of marvellous beauty, with a skin as
soft and shining as silk, and wise green eyes, that could see even in
the dark. His name was Gon, and he belonged to a music teacher, who
was so fond and proud of him that he would not have parted with him for
anything in the world.

Now not far from the music master's house there dwelt a lady who
possessed a most lovely little pussy cat called Koma. She was such a
little dear altogether, and blinked her eyes so daintily, and ate her
supper so tidily, and when she had finished she licked her pink nose so
delicately with her little tongue, that her mistress was never tired of
saying, 'Koma, Koma, what should I do without you?'

Well, it happened one day that these two, when out for an evening
stroll, met under a cherry tree, and in one moment fell madly in love
with each other. Gon had long felt that it was time for him to find a
wife, for all the ladies in the neighbourhood paid him so much attention
that it made him quite shy; but he was not easy to please, and did not
care about any of them. Now, before he had time to think, Cupid had
entangled him in his net, and he was filled with love towards Koma. She
fully returned his passion, but, like a woman, she saw the difficulties
in the way, and consulted sadly with Gon as to the means of overcoming
them. Gon entreated his master to set matters right by buying Koma, but
her mistress would not part from her. Then the music master was asked to
sell Gon to the lady, but he declined to listen to any such suggestion,
so everything remained as before.

At length the love of the couple grew to such a pitch that they
determined to please themselves, and to seek their fortunes together.
So one moonlight night they stole away, and ventured out into an unknown
world. All day long they marched bravely on through the sunshine, till
they had left their homes far behind them, and towards evening they
found themselves in a large park. The wanderers by this time were very
hot and tired, and the grass looked very soft and inviting, and the
trees cast cool deep shadows, when suddenly an ogre appeared in this
Paradise, in the shape of a big, big dog! He came springing towards them
showing all his teeth, and Koma shrieked, and rushed up a cherry tree.
Gon, however, stood his ground boldly, and prepared to give battle, for
he felt that Koma's eyes were upon him, and that he must not run away.
But, alas! his courage would have availed him nothing had his enemy once
touched him, for he was large and powerful, and very fierce. From her
perch in the tree Koma saw it all, and screamed with all her might,
hoping that some one would hear, and come to help. Luckily a servant of
the princess to whom the park belonged was walking by, and he drove off
the dog, and picking up the trembling Gon in his arms, carried him to
his mistress.

So poor little Koma was left alone, while Gon was borne away full of
trouble, not in the least knowing what to do. Even the attention paid
him by the princess, who was delighted with his beauty and pretty ways,
did not console him, but there was no use in fighting against fate, and
he could only wait and see what would turn up.

The princess, Gon's new mistress, was so good and kind that everybody
loved her, and she would have led a happy life, had it not been for a
serpent who had fallen in love with her, and was constantly annoying her
by his presence. Her servants had orders to drive him away as often as
he appeared; but as they were careless, and the serpent very sly, it
sometimes happened that he was able to slip past them, and to frighten
the princess by appearing before her. One day she was seated in her
room, playing on her favourite musical instrument, when she felt
something gliding up her sash, and saw her enemy making his way to kiss
her cheek. She shrieked and threw herself backwards, and Gon, who had
been curled up on a stool at her feet, understood her terror, and with
one bound seized the snake by his neck. He gave him one bite and one
shake, and flung him on the ground, where he lay, never to worry the
princess any more. Then she took Gon in her arms, and praised and
caressed him, and saw that he had the nicest bits to eat, and the
softest mats to lie on; and he would have had nothing in the world to
wish for if only he could have seen Koma again.

Time passed on, and one morning Gon lay before the house door, basking
in the sun. He looked lazily at the world stretched out before him,
and saw in the distance a big ruffian of a cat teasing and ill-treating
quite a little one. He jumped up, full of rage, and chased away the big
cat, and then he turned to comfort the little one, when his heart nearly
burst with joy to find that it was Koma. At first Koma did not know him
again, he had grown so large and stately; but when it dawned upon her
who it was, her happiness knew no bounds. And they rubbed their heads
and their noses again and again, while their purring might have been
heard a mile off.

Paw in paw they appeared before the princess, and told her the story of
their life and its sorrows. The princess wept for sympathy, and promised
that they should never more be parted, but should live with her to the
end of their days. By-and-bye the princess herself got married, and
brought a prince to dwell in the palace in the park. And she told him
all about her two cats, and how brave Gon had been, and how he had
delivered her from her enemy the serpent.

And when the prince heard, he swore they should never leave them, but
should go with the princess wherever she went. So it all fell out as
the princess wished; and Gon and Koma had many children, and so had the
princess, and they all played together, and were friends to the end of
their lives.




How the Dragon Was Tricked

From Griechtsche und Albanesische Marchen, von J. G. von Hahn. (Leipzig:
Engelmann. 1864.)


Once upon a time there lived a man who had two sons but they did not
get on at all well together, for the younger was much handsomer than his
elder brother who was very jealous of him. When they grew older, things
became worse and worse, and at last one day as they were walking through
a wood the elder youth seized hold of the other, tied him to a tree, and
went on his way hoping that the boy might starve to death.

However, it happened that an old and humpbacked shepherd passed the tree
with his flock, and seeing the prisoner, he stopped and said to him,
'Tell me, my son why are you tied to that tree?'

'Because I was so crooked,' answered the young man; 'but it has quite
cured me, and now my back is as straight as can be.'

'I wish you would bind me to a tree,' exclaimed the shepherd, 'so that
my back would get straight.'

'With all the pleasure in life,' replied the youth. 'If you will loosen
these cords I will tie you up with them as firmly as I can.'

This was soon done, and then the young man drove off the sheep, leaving
their real shepherd to repent of his folly; and before he had gone very
far he met with a horse boy and a driver of oxen, and he persuaded them
to turn with him and to seek for adventures.

By these and many other tricks he soon became so celebrated that his
fame reached the king's ears, and his majesty was filled with curiosity
to see the man who had managed to outwit everybody. So he commanded his
guards to capture the young man and bring him before him.

And when the young man stood before the king, the king spoke to him
and said, 'By your tricks and the pranks that you have played on other
people, you have, in the eye of the law, forfeited your life. But on one
condition I will spare you, and that is, if you will bring me the flying
horse that belongs to the great dragon. Fail in this, and you shall be
hewn in a thousand pieces.'

'If that is all,' said the youth, 'you shall soon have it.'

So he went out and made his way straight to the stable where the flying
horse was tethered. He stretched his hand cautiously out to seize the
bridle, when the horse suddenly began to neigh as loud as he could. Now
the room in which the dragon slept was just above the stable, and at
the sound of the neighing he woke and cried to the horse, 'What is the
matter, my treasure? is anything hurting you?' After waiting a little
while the young man tried again to loose the horse, but a second time it
neighed so loudly that the dragon woke up in a hurry and called out
to know why the horse was making such a noise. But when the same thing
happened the third time, the dragon lost his temper, and went down
into the stable and took a whip and gave the horse a good beating. This
offended the horse and made him angry, and when the young man stretched
out his hand to untie his head, he made no further fuss, but suffered
himself to be led quietly away. Once clear of the stable the young man
sprang on his back and galloped off, calling over his shoulder, 'Hi!
dragon! dragon! if anyone asks you what has become of your horse, you
can say that I have got him!'


But the king said, 'The flying horse is all very well, but I want
something more. You must bring me the covering with the little bells
that lies on the bed of the dragon, or I will have you hewn into a
thousand pieces.'

'Is that all?' answered the youth. 'That is easily done.'

And when night came he went away to the dragon's house and climbed up on
to the roof. Then he opened a little window in the roof and let down
the chain from which the kettle usually hung, and tried to hook the bed
covering and to draw it up. But the little bells all began to ring, and
the dragon woke and said to his wife, 'Wife, you have pulled off all the
bed-clothes!' and drew the covering towards him, pulling, as he did so,
the young man into the room. Then the dragon flung himself on the
youth and bound him fast with cords saying as he tied the last knot,
'To-morrow when I go to church you must stay at home and kill him and
cook him, and when I get back we will eat him together.'

So the following morning the dragoness took hold of the young man and
reached down from the shelf a sharp knife with which to kill him. But as
she untied the cords the better to get hold of him, the prisoner caught
her by the legs, threw her to the ground, seized her and speedily cut
her throat, just as she had been about to do for him, and put her body
in the oven. Then he snatched up the covering and carried it to the
king.

The king was seated on his throne when the youth appeared before him and
spread out the covering with a deep bow. 'That is not enough,' said his
majesty; 'you must bring me the dragon himself, or I will have you hewn
into a thousand pieces.'

'It shall be done,' answered the youth; 'but you must give me two years
to manage it, for my beard must grow so that he may not know me.'

'So be it,' said the king.

And the first thing the young man did when his beard was grown was to
take the road to the dragon's house and on the way he met a beggar, whom
he persuaded to change clothes with him, and in the beggar's garments he
went fearlessly forth to the dragon.

He found his enemy before his house, very busy making a box, and
addressed him politely, 'Good morning, your worship. Have you a morsel
of bread?'

'You must wait,' replied the dragon, 'till I have finished my box, and
then I will see if I can find one.'

'What will you do with the box when it is made?' inquired the beggar.

'It is for the young man who killed my wife, and stole my flying horse
and my bed covering,' said the dragon.


'He deserves nothing better,' answered the beggar, 'for it was an ill
deed. Still that box is too small for him, for he is a big man.'

'You are wrong,' said the dragon. 'The box is large enough even for me.'

'Well, the rogue is nearly as tall as you,' replied the beggar, 'and,
of course, if you can get in, he can. But I am sure you would find it a
tight fit.'

'No, there is plenty of room,' said the dragon, tucking himself
carefully inside.

But no sooner was he well in, than the young man clapped on the lid and
called out, 'Now press hard, just to see if he will be able to get out.'

The dragon pressed as hard as he could, but the lid never moved.

'It is all right,' he cried; 'now you can open it.'

But instead of opening it, the young man drove in long nails to make it
tighter still; then he took the box on his back and brought it to the
king. And when the king heard that the dragon was inside, he was so
excited that he would not wait one moment, but broke the lock and lifted
the lid just a little way to make sure he was really there. He was
very careful not to leave enough space for the dragon to jump out, but
unluckily there was just room for his great mouth, and with one snap
the king vanished down his wide red jaws. Then the young man married the
king's daughter and ruled over the land, but what he did with the dragon
nobody knows.




The Goblin and the Grocer

Translated from the German of Hans Andersen.


There was once a hard-working student who lived in an attic, and he had
nothing in the world of his own. There was also a hard-working grocer
who lived on the first floor, and he had the whole house for his own.

The Goblin belonged to him, for every Christmas Eve there was waiting
for him at the grocer's a dish of jam with a large lump of butter in the
middle.

The grocer could afford this, so the Goblin stayed in the grocer's shop;
and this teaches us a good deal. One evening the student came in by the
back door to buy a candle and some cheese; he had no one to send, so he
came himself.


He got what he wanted, paid for it, and nodded a good evening to the
grocer and his wife (she was a woman who could do more than nod; she
could talk).

When the student had said good night he suddenly stood still, reading
the sheet of paper in which the cheese had been wrapped.

It was a leaf torn out of an old book--a book of poetry

'There's more of that over there!' said the grocer 'I gave an old woman
some coffee for the book. If you like to give me twopence you can have
the rest.'

'Yes,' said the student, 'give me the book instead of the cheese. I can
eat my bread without cheese. It would be a shame to leave the book to
be torn up. You are a clever and practical man, but about poetry you
understand as much as that old tub over there!'

And that sounded rude as far as the tub was concerned, but the grocer
laughed, and so did the student. It was only said in fun.

But the Goblin was angry that anyone should dare to say such a thing to
a grocer who owned the house and sold the best butter.

When it was night and the shop was shut, and everyone was in bed except
the student, the Goblin went upstairs and took the grocer's wife's
tongue. She did not use it when she was asleep, and on whatever object
in the room he put it that thing began to speak, and spoke out its
thoughts and feelings just as well as the lady to whom it belonged. But
only one thing at a time could use it, and that was a good thing, or
they would have all spoken together.

The Goblin laid the tongue on the tub in which were the old newspapers.

'Is it true,' he asked, ' that you know nothing about poetry?'

'Certainly not!' answered the tub. 'Poetry is something that is in the
papers, and that is frequently cut out. I have a great deal more in
me than the student has, and yet I am only a small tub in the grocer's
shop.'

And the Goblin put the tongue on the coffee-mill, and how it began to
grind! He put it on the butter-cask, and on the till, and all were
of the same opinion as the waste-paper tub. and one must believe the
majority.

'Now I will tell the student!' and with these words he crept softly up
the stairs to the attic where the student lived.

There was a light burning, and the Goblin peeped through the key-hole
and saw that he was reading the torn book that he had bought in the
shop.


But how bright it was! Out of the book shot a streak of light which grew
into a large tree and spread its branches far above the student. Every
leaf was alive, and every flower was a beautiful girl's head, some with
dark and shining eyes, others with wonderful blue ones. Every fruit was
a glittering star, and there was a marvellous music in the student's
room. The little Goblin had never even dreamt of such a splendid sight,
much less seen it.

He stood on tiptoe gazing and gazing, till the candle in the attic
was put out; the student had blown it out and had gone to bed, but the
Goblin remained standing outside listening to the music, which very
softly and sweetly was now singing the student a lullaby.

'I have never seen anything like this!' said the Goblin. 'I never
expected this! I must stay with the student.'

The little fellow thought it over, for he was a sensible Goblin. Then he
sighed, 'The student has no jam!'

And on that he went down to the grocer again. And it was a good thing
that he did go back, for the tub had nearly worn out the tongue. It had
read everything that was inside it, on the one side, and was just going
to turn itself round and read from the other side when the Goblin came
in and returned the tongue to its owner.

But the whole shop, from the till down to the shavings, from that night
changed their opinion of the tub, and they looked up to it, and had such
faith in it that they were under the impression that when the grocer
read the art and drama critiques out of the paper in the evenings, it
all came from the tub.

But the Goblin could no longer sit quietly listening to the wisdom and
intellect downstairs. No, as soon as the light shone in the evening
from the attic it seemed to him as though its beams were strong ropes
dragging him up, and he had to go and peep through the key-hole. There
he felt the sort of feeling we have looking at the great rolling sea in
a storm, and he burst into tears. He could not himself say why he wept,
but in spite of his tears he felt quite happy. How beautiful it must be
to sit under that tree with the student, but that he could not do; he
had to content himself with the key-hole and be happy there!

There he stood out on the cold landing, the autumn wind blowing through
the cracks of the floor. It was cold--very cold, but he first found it
out when the light in the attic was put out and the music in the wood
died away. Ah! then it froze him, and he crept down again into his warm
corner; there it was comfortable and cosy.

When Christmas came, and with it the jam with the large lump of butter,
ah! then the grocer was first with him.

But in the middle of the night the Goblin awoke, hearing a great noise
and knocking against the shutters--people hammering from outside. The
watchman was blowing his horn: a great fire had broken out; the whole
town was in flames.

Was it in the house? or was it at a neighbour's? Where was it?

The alarm increased. The grocer's wife was so terrified that she took
her gold earrings out of her ears and put them in her pocket in order
to save something. The grocer seized his account books. and the maid her
black silk dress.

Everyone wanted to save his most valuable possession; so did the Goblin,
and in a few leaps he was up the stairs and in the student's room. He
was standing quietly by the open window looking at the fire that was
burning in the neighbour's house just opposite. The Goblin seized the
book lying on the table, put it in his red cap, and clasped it with both
hands. The best treasure in the house was saved, and he climbed out on
to the roof with it--on to the chimney. There he sat, lighted up by the
flames from the burning house opposite, both hands holding tightly on
his red cap, in which lay the treasure; and now he knew what his heart
really valued most--to whom he really belonged. But when the fire was
put out, and the Goblin thought it over--then--

'I will divide myself between the two,' he said. 'I cannot quite give up
the grocer, because of the jam!'

And it is just the same with us. We also cannot quite give up the
grocer--because of the jam.




The House in the Wood

From the German of Grimm.


A poor woodcutter lived with his wife and three daughters in a little
hut on the borders of a great forest.

One morning as he was going to his work, he said to his wife, 'Let our
eldest daughter bring me my lunch into the wood; and so that she shall
not lose her way, I will take a bag of millet with me, and sprinkle the
seed on the path.'

When the sun had risen high over the forest, the girl set out with a
basin of soup. But the field and wood sparrows, the larks and finches,
blackbirds and green finches had picked up the millet long ago, and the
girl could not find her way.

She went on and on, till the sun set and night came on. The trees
rustled in the darkness, the owls hooted, and she began to be very much
frightened. Then she saw in tile distance a light that twinkled between
the trees. 'There must be people living yonder,' she thought, 'who will
take me in for the night,' and she began walking towards it.

Not long afterwards she came to a house with lights in the windows.

She knocked at the door, and a gruff voice called, 'Come in!'

The girl stepped into the dark entrance, and tapped at the door of the
room.

'Just walk in,' cried the voice, and when she opened the door there sat
an old gray-haired man at the table. His face was resting on his hands,
and his white beard flowed over the table almost down to the ground.

By the stove lay three beasts, a hen, a cock, and a brindled cow. The
girl told the old man her story, and asked for a night's lodging.

The man said:

     Pretty cock,
     Pretty hen,
     And you, pretty brindled cow,
     What do you say now?

'Duks,' answered the beasts; and that must have meant, 'We are quite
willing,' for the old man went on, 'Here is abundance; go into the back
kitchen and cook us a supper.'

The girl found plenty of everything in the kitchen, and cooked a good
meal, but she did not think of the beasts.

She placed the full dishes on the table, sat down opposite the
gray-haired man, and ate till her hunger was appeased.

When she was satisfied, she said, 'But now I am so tired, where is a bed
in which I can sleep? '

The beasts answered:

     You have eaten with him,
     You have drunk with him,
     Of us you have not thought,
     Sleep then as you ought!

Then the old man said, 'Go upstairs, and there you will find a bedroom;
shake the bed, and put clean sheets on, and go to sleep.'

The maiden went upstairs, and when she had made the bed, she lay down.

After some time the gray-haired man came, looked at her by the light
of his candle, and shook his head. And when he saw that she was sound
asleep, he opened a trapdoor and let her fall into the cellar.

The woodcutter came home late in the evening, and reproached his wife
for leaving him all day without food.

'No, I did not,' she answered; 'the girl went off with your dinner. She
must have lost her way, but will no doubt come back to-morrow.'

But at daybreak the woodcutter started off into the wood, and this time
asked his second daughter to bring his food.

'I will take a bag of lentils,' said he; 'they are larger than millet,
and the girl will see them better and be sure to find her way.'

At midday the maiden took the food, but the lentils had all gone; as on
the previous day, the wood birds had eaten them all.

The maiden wandered about the wood till nightfall, when she came in
the same way to the old man's house, and asked for food and a night's
lodging.

The man with the white hair again asked the beasts:

     Pretty cock,
     Pretty hen,
     And you, pretty brindled cow,
     What do you say now?

The beasts answered, 'Duks,' and everything happened as on the former
day.

The girl cooked a good meal, ate and drank with the old man, and did not
trouble herself about the animals.

And when she asked for a bed, they replied:

     You have eaten with him
     You have drunk with him,
     Of us you have not thought,

Now sleep as you ought!

And when she was asleep, the old man shook his head over her, and let
her fall into the cellar.

On the third morning the woodcutter said to his wife, 'Send our youngest
child to-day with my dinner. She is always good and obedient, and will
keep to the right path, and not wander away like her sisters, idle
drones!'

But the mother said, 'Must I lose my dearest child too?'

'Do not fear,' he answered; 'she is too clever and intelligent to lose
her way. I will take plenty of peas with me and strew them along; they
are even larger than lentils, and will show her the way.'

But when the maiden started off with the basket on her arm, the wood
pigeons had eaten up the peas, and she did not know which way to go. She
was much distressed, and thought constantly of her poor hungry father
and her anxious mother. At last, when it grew dark, she saw the little
light, and came to the house in the wood. She asked prettily if she
might stay there for the night, and the man with the white beard asked
his beasts again:

     Pretty cock,
     Pretty hen,
     And you, pretty brindled cow,
     What do you say now?

'Duks,' they said. Then the maiden stepped up to the stove where the
animals were lying, and stroked the cock and the hen, and scratched the
brindled cow between its horns.

And when at the bidding of the old man she had prepared a good supper,
and the dishes were standing on the table, she said, 'Shall I have
plenty while the good beasts have nothing? There is food to spare
outside; I will attend to them first.'

Then she went out and fetched barley and strewed it before the cock and
hen, and brought the cow an armful of sweet-smelling hay.

'Eat that, dear beasts,' she said,' and when you are thirsty you shall
have a good drink.'

Then she fetched a bowl of water, and the cock and hen flew on to the
edge, put their beaks in, and then held up their heads as birds do when
they drink, and the brindled cow also drank her fill. When the beasts
were satisfied, the maiden sat down beside the old man at the table and
ate what was left for her. Soon the cock and hen began to tuck their
heads under their wings, and the brindled cow blinked its eyes, so the
maiden said, 'Shall we not go to rest now?'

     Pretty cock,
     Pretty hen,
     And you, pretty brindled cow,
     What do you say now?

The animals said, 'Duks:

     You have eaten with us,
     You have drunk with us,
     You have tended us right,
     So we wish you good night.'

The maiden therefore went upstairs, made the bed and put on clean sheets
and fell asleep. She slept peacefully till midnight, when there was such
a noise in the house that she awoke. Everything trembled and shook; the
animals sprang up and dashed themselves in terror against the wall; the
beams swayed as if they would be torn from their foundations, it seemed
as if the stairs were tumbling down, and then the roof fell in with a
crash. Then all became still, and as no harm came to the maiden she lay
down again and fell asleep. But when she awoke again in broad daylight,
what a sight met her eyes! She was lying in a splendid room furnished
with royal splendour; the walls were covered with golden flowers on a
green ground; the bed was of ivory and the counterpane of velvet, and on
a stool near by lay a pair of slippers studded with pearls. The maiden
thought she must be dreaming, but in came three servants richly dressed,
who asked what were her commands. 'Go,' said the maiden, 'I will get up
at once and cook the old man's supper for him, and then I will feed the
pretty cock and hen and the brindled cow.'

But the door opened and in came a handsome young man, who said, 'I am a
king's son, and was condemned by a wicked witch to live as an old man
in this wood with no company but that of my three servants, who were
transformed into a cock, a hen, and a brindled cow. The spell could only
be broken by the arrival of a maiden who should show herself kind
not only to men but to beasts. You are that maiden, and last night at
midnight we were freed, and this poor house was again transformed into
my royal palace.

As they stood there the king's son told his three servants to go and
fetch the maiden's parents to be present at the wedding feast.

'But where are my two sisters?' asked the maid.

'I shut them up in the cellar, but in the morning they shall be led
forth into the forest and shall serve a charcoal burner until they have
improved, and will never again suffer poor animals to go hungry.'




Uraschimataro and the Turtle

From the Japanische Marchen und Sagen, von David Brauns (Leipzig:
Wilhelm Friedrich).


There was once a worthy old couple who lived on the coast, and supported
themselves by fishing. They had only one child, a son, who was their
pride and joy, and for his sake they were ready to work hard all day
long, and never felt tired or discontented with their lot. This son's
name was Uraschimataro, which means in Japanese, 'Son of the island,'
and he was a fine well-grown youth and a good fisherman, minding neither
wind nor weather. Not the bravest sailor in the whole village dared
venture so far out to sea as Uraschimataro, and many a time the
neighbours used to shake their heads and say to his parents, 'If your
son goes on being so rash, one day he will try his luck once too often,
and the waves will end by swallowing him up.' But Uraschimataro paid no
heed to these remarks, and as he was really very clever in managing a
boat, the old people were very seldom anxious about him.

One beautiful bright morning, as he was hauling his well-filled nets
into the boat, he saw lying among the fishes a tiny little turtle. He
was delighted with his prize, and threw it into a wooden vessel to
keep till he got home, when suddenly the turtle found its voice, and
tremblingly begged for its life. 'After all,' it said, 'what good can
I do you? I am so young and small, and I would so gladly live a little
longer. Be merciful and set me free, and I shall know how to prove my
gratitude.'

Now Uraschimataro was very good-natured, and besides, he could never
bear to say no, so he picked up the turtle, and put it back into the
sea.

Years flew by, and every morning Uraschimataro sailed his boat into the
deep sea. But one day as he was making for a little bay between some
rocks, there arose a fierce whirlwind, which shattered his boat to
pieces, and she was sucked under by the waves. Uraschimataro himself
very nearly shared the same fate. But he was a powerful swimmer, and
struggled hard to reach the shore. Then he saw a large turtle coming
towards him, and above the howling of the storm he heard what it said:
'I am the turtle whose life you once saved. I will now pay my debt and
show my gratitude. The land is still far distant, and without my help
you would never get there. Climb on my back, and I will take you where
you will.' Uraschimataro did not wait to be asked twice, and thankfully
accepted his friend's help. But scarcely was he seated firmly on the
shell, when the turtle proposed that they should not return to the shore
at once, but go under the sea, and look at some of the wonders that lay
hidden there.

Uraschimataro agreed willingly, and in another moment they were deep,
deep down, with fathoms of blue water above their heads. Oh, how quickly
they darted through the still, warm sea! The young man held tight, and
marvelled where they were going and how long they were to travel, but
for three days they rushed on, till at last the turtle stopped before
a splendid palace, shining with gold and silver, crystal and precious
stones, and decked here and there with branches of pale pink coral and
glittering pearls. But if Uraschimataro was astonished at the beauty of
the outside, he was struck dumb at the sight of the hall within, which
was lighted by the blaze of fish scales.

'Where have you brought me?' he asked his guide in a low voice.

'To the palace of Ringu, the house of the sea god, whose subjects we all
are,' answered the turtle. 'I am the first waiting maid of his daughter,
the lovely princess Otohime, whom you will shortly see.'

Uraschimataro was still so puzzled with the adventures that had befallen
him, that he waited in a dazed condition for what would happen next. But
the turtle, who had talked so much of him to the princess that she had
expressed a wish to see him, went at once to make known his arrival.
And directly the princess beheld him her heart was set on him, and she
begged him to stay with her, and in return promised that he should never
grow old, neither should his beauty fade. 'Is not that reward enough?'
she asked, smiling, looking all the while as fair as the sun itself. And
Uraschimataro said 'Yes,' and so he stayed there. For how long? That he
only knew later.

His life passed by, and each hour seemed happier than the last, when
one day there rushed over him a terrible longing to see his parents. He
fought against it hard, knowing how it would grieve the princess, but it
grew on him stronger and stronger, till at length he became so sad that
the princess inquired what was wrong. Then he told her of the longing he
had to visit his old home, and that he must see his parents once more.
The princess was almost frozen with horror, and implored him to stay
with her, or something dreadful would be sure to happen. 'You will never
come back, and we shall meet again no more,' she moaned bitterly. But
Uraschimataro stood firm and repeated, 'Only this once will I leave you,
and then will I return to your side for ever.' Sadly the princess shook
her head, but she answered slowly, 'One way there is to bring you safely
back, but I fear you will never agree to the conditions of the bargain.'

'I will do anything that will bring me back to you,' exclaimed
Uraschimataro, looking at her tenderly, but the princess was silent: she
knew too well that when he left her she would see his face no more. Then
she took from a shelf a tiny golden box, and gave it to Uraschimataro,
praying him to keep it carefully, and above all things never to open it.
'If you can do this,' she said as she bade him farewell, 'your friend
the turtle will meet you at the shore, and will carry you back to me.'

Uraschimataro thanked her from his heart, and swore solemnly to do her
bidding. He hid the box safely in his garments, seated himself on the
back of the turtle, and vanished in the ocean path, waving his hand to
the princess. Three days and three nights they swam through the sea, and
at length Uraschimataro arrived at the beach which lay before his old
home. The turtle bade him farewell, and was gone in a moment.

Uraschimataro drew near to the village with quick and joyful steps.
He saw the smoke curling through the roof, and the thatch where green
plants had thickly sprouted. He heard the children shouting and calling,
and from a window that he passed came the twang of the koto, and
everything seemed to cry a welcome for his return. Yet suddenly he
felt a pang at his heart as he wandered down the street. After all,
everything was changed. Neither men nor houses were those he once knew.
Quickly he saw his old home; yes, it was still there, but it had a
strange look. Anxiously he knocked at the door, and asked the woman who
opened it after his parents. But she did not know their names, and could
give him no news of them.

Still more disturbed, he rushed to the burying ground, the only place
that could tell him what he wished to know. Here at any rate he would
find out what it all meant. And he was right. In a moment he stood
before the grave of his parents, and the date written on the stone
was almost exactly the date when they had lost their son, and he had
forsaken them for the Daughter of the Sea. And so he found that since he
had deft his home, three hundred years had passed by.


Shuddering with horror at his discovery he turned back into the village
street, hoping to meet some one who could tell him of the days of old.
But when the man spoke, he knew he was not dreaming, though he felt as
if he had lost his senses.

In despair he bethought him of the box which was the gift of the
princess. Perhaps after all this dreadful thing was not true. He
might be the victim of some enchanter's spell, and in his hand lay the
counter-charm. Almost unconsciously he opened it, and a purple vapour
came pouring out. He held the empty box in his hand, and as he looked he
saw that the fresh hand of youth had grown suddenly shrivelled, like the
hand of an old, old man. He ran to the brook, which flowed in a clear
stream down from the mountain. and saw himself reflected as in a mirror.
It was the face of a mummy which looked back at him. Wounded to death,
he crept back through the village, and no man knew the old, old man to
be the strong handsome youth who had run down the street an hour before.
So he toiled wearily back, till he reached the shore, and here he sat
sadly on a rock, and called loudly on the turtle. But she never came
back any more, but instead, death came soon, and set him free. But
before that happened, the people who saw him sitting lonely on the shore
had heard his story, and when their children were restless they used to
tell them of the good son who from love to his parents had given up for
their sakes the splendour and wonders of the palace in the sea, and the
most beautiful woman in the world besides.




The Slaying of the Tanuki

From the Japanische Murchen und Sagen.


Near a big river, and between two high mountains, a man and his wife
lived in a cottage a long, long time ago. A dense forest lay all round
the cottage, and there was hardly a path or a tree in the whole wood
that was not familiar to the peasant from his boyhood. In one of his
wanderings he had made friends with a hare, and many an hour the two
passed together, when the man was resting by the roadside, eating his
dinner.

Now this strange friendship was observed by the Tanuki, a wicked,
quarrelsome beast, who hated the peasant, and was never tired of doing
him an ill turn. Again and again he had crept to the hut, and finding
some choice morsel put away for the little hare, had either eaten it if
he thought it nice, or trampled it to pieces so that no one else should
get it, and at last the peasant lost patience, and made up his mind he
would have the Tanuki's blood.

So for many days the man lay hidden, waiting for the Tanuki to come by,
and when one morning he marched up the road thinking of nothing but the
dinner he was going to steal, the peasant threw himself upon him and
bound his four legs tightly, so that he could not move. Then he dragged
his enemy joyfully to the house, feeling that at length he had got the
better of the mischievous beast which had done him so many ill turns.
'He shall pay for them with his skin,' he said to his wife. 'We will
first kill him, and then cook him.' So saying, he hanged the Tanuki,
head downwards, to a beam, and went out to gather wood for a fire.

Meanwhile the old woman was standing at the mortar pounding the rise
that was to serve them for the week with a pestle that made her arms
ache with its weight. Suddenly she heard something whining and weeping
in the corner, and, stopping her work, she looked round to see what it
was. That was all that the rascal wanted, and he put on directly his
most humble air, and begged the woman in his softest voice to loosen his
bonds, which her hurting him sorely. She was filled with pity for him,
but did not dare to set him free, as she knew that her husband would be
very angry. The Tanuki, however, did not despair, and seeing that her
heart was softened, began his prayers anew. 'He only asked to have his
bonds taken from him,' he said. 'He would give his word not to attempt
to escape, and if he was once set free he could soon pound her rice for
her.' 'Then you can have a little rest,' he went on, 'for rice pounding
is very tiring work, and not at all fit for weak women.' These last
words melted the good woman completely, and she unfastened the bonds
that held him. Poor foolish creature! In one moment the Tanuki had
seized her, stripped off all her clothes, and popped her in the mortar.
In a few minutes more she was pounded as fine as the rice; and not
content with that, the Tanuki placed a pot on the hearth and made ready
to cook the peasant a dinner from the flesh of his own wife!

When everything was complete he looked out of the door, and saw the old
man coming from the forest carrying a large bundle of wood. Quick as
lightning the Tanuki not only put on the woman's clothes, but, as he was
a magician, assumed her form as well. Then he took the wood, kindled the
fire, and very soon set a large dinner before the old man, who was very
hungry, and had forgotten for the moment all about his enemy. But when
the Tanuki saw that he had eaten his fill and would be thinking about
his prisoner, he hastily shook off the clothes behind a door and took
his own shape. Then he said to the peasant, 'You are a nice sort of
person to seize animals and to talk of killing them! You are caught in
your own net. It is your own wife that you have eaten, and if you want
to find her bones you have only to look under the floor.' With these
words he turned and made for the forest.

The old peasant grew cold with horror as he listened, and seemed frozen
to the place where he stood. When he had recovered himself a little,
he collected the bones of his dead wife, buried them in the garden, and
swore over the grave to be avenged on the Tanuki. After everything was
done he sat himself down in his lonely cottage and wept bitterly, and
the bitterest thought of all was that he would never be able to forget
that he had eaten his own wife.

While he was thus weeping and wailing his friend the hare passed by,
and, hearing the noise, pricked up his ears and soon recognised the old
man's voice. He wondered what had happened, and put his head in at the
door and asked if anything was the matter. With tears and groans the
peasant told him the whole dreadful story, and the hare, filled with
anger and compassion, comforted him as best he could, and promised to
help him in his revenge. 'The false knave shall not go unpunished,' said
he.

So the first thing he did was to search the house for materials to make
an ointment, which he sprinkled plentifully with pepper and then put in
his pocket. Next he took a hatchet, bade farewell to the old man, and
departed to the forest. He bent his steps to the dwelling of the Tanuki
and knocked at the door. The Tanuki, who had no cause to suspect the
hare, was greatly pleased to see him, for he noticed the hatchet at
once, and began to lay plots how to get hold of it.

To do this he thought he had better offer to accompany the hare, which
was exactly what the hare wished and expected, for he knew all the
Tanuki's cunning, and understood his little ways. So he accepted the
rascal's company with joy, and made himself very pleasant as they
strolled along. When they were wandering in this manner through the
forest the hare carelessly raised his hatchet in passing, and cut down
some thick boughs that were hanging over the path, but at length,
after cutting down a good big tree, which cost him many hard blows, he
declared that it was too heavy for him to carry home, and he must just
leave it where it was. This delighted the greedy Tanuki, who said that
they would be no weight for him, so they collected the large branches,
which the hare bound tightly on his back. Then he trotted gaily to the
house, the hare following after with his lighter bundle.

By this time the hare had decided what he would do, and as soon as they
arrived, he quietly set on fire the wood on the back of the Tanuki. The
Tanuki, who was busy with something else, observed nothing, and only
called out to ask what was the meaning of the crackling that he heard.
'It is just the rattle of the stones which are rolling down the side of
the mountain,' the hare said; and the Tanuki was content, and made no
further remarks, never noticing that the noise really sprang from the
burning boughs on his back, until his fur was in flames, and it was
almost too late to put it out. Shrieking with pain, he let fall the
burning wood from his back, and stamped and howled with agony. But the
hare comforted him, and told him that he always carried with him an
excellent plaster in case of need, which would bring him instant relief,
and taking out his ointment he spread it on a leaf of bamboo, and
laid it on the wound. No sooner did it touch him than the Tanuki leapt
yelling into the air, and the hare laughed, and ran to tell his friend
the peasant what a trick he had played on their enemy. But the old man
shook his head sadly, for he knew that the villain was only crushed for
the moment, and that he would shortly be revenging himself upon them.
No, the only way every to get any peace and quiet was to render the
Tanuki harmless for ever. Long did the old man and the hare puzzle
together how this was to be done, and at last they decided that they
would make two boats, a small one of wood and a large one of clay. Then
they fell to work at once, and when the boats were ready and properly
painted, the hare went to the Tanuki, who was still very ill, and
invited him to a great fish-catching. The Tanuki was still feeling angry
with the hare about the trick he had played him, but he was weak and
very hungry, so he gladly accepted the proposal, and accompanied the
hare to the bank of the river, where the two boats were moored, rocked
by the waves. They both looked exactly alike, and the Tanuki only saw
that one was bigger than the other, and would hold more fish, so he
sprang into the large one, while the hare climbed into the one which was
made of wood. They loosened their moorings, and made for the middle of
the stream, and when they were at some distance from the bank, the hare
took his oar, and struck such a heavy blow at the other boat, that it
broke in two. The Tanuki fell straight into the water, and was held
there by the hare till he was quite dead. Then he put the body in his
boat and rowed to land, and told the old man that his enemy was dead at
last. And the old man rejoiced that his wife was avenged, and he took
the hare into his house, and they lived together all their days in peace
and quietness upon the mountain.




The Flying Trunk

Translated from the German of Hans Andersen.


There was once a merchant who was so rich that he could have paved
the whole street, and perhaps even a little side-street besides, with
silver. But he did not do that; he knew another way of spending his
money. If he spent a shilling he got back a florin-such an excellent
merchant he was till he died.

Now his son inherited all this money. He lived very merrily; he went
every night to the theatre, made paper kites out of five-pound notes,
and played ducks and drakes with sovereigns instead of stones. In this
way the money was likely to come soon to an end, and so it did.

At last he had nothing left but four shillings, and he had no clothes
except a pair of slippers and an old dressing-gown.

His friends did not trouble themselves any more about him; they would
not even walk down the street with him.

But one of them who was rather good-natured sent him an old trunk with
the message, 'Pack up!" That was all very well, but he had nothing to
pack up, so he got into the trunk himself.

It was an enchanted trunk, for as soon as the lock was pressed it could
fly. He pressed it, and away he flew in it up the chimney, high into the
clouds, further and further away. But whenever the bottom gave a little
creak he was in terror lest the trunk should go to pieces, for then he
would have turned a dreadful somersault-just think of it!

In this way he arrived at the land of the Turks. He hid the trunk in a
wood under some dry leaves, and then walked into the town. He could
do that quite well, for all the Turks were dressed just as he was-in a
dressing-gown and slippers.

He met a nurse with a little child.

'Halloa! you Turkish nurse,' said he, 'what is that great castle there
close to the town? The one with the windows so high up?'

'The sultan's daughter lives there,' she replied. 'It is prophesied that
she will be very unlucky in her husband, and so no one is allowed to see
her except when the sultan and sultana are by.'

'Thank you,' said the merchant's son, and he went into the wood, sat
himself in his trunk, flew on to the roof, and crept through the window
into the princess's room.

She was lying on the sofa asleep, and was so beautiful that the young
merchant had to kiss her. Then she woke up and was very much frightened,
but he said he was a Turkish god who had come through the air to see
her, and that pleased her very much.

They sat close to each other, and he told her a story about her eyes.
They were beautiful dark lakes in which her thoughts swam about like
mermaids. And her forehead was a snowy mountain, grand and shining.
These were lovely stories.

Then he asked the princess to marry him, and she said yes at once.

'But you must come here on Saturday,' she said, 'for then the sultan and
the sultana are coming to tea with me. They will be indeed proud that
I receive the god of the Turks. But mind you have a really good story
ready, for my parents like them immensely. My mother likes something
rather moral and high-flown, and my father likes something merry to make
him laugh.'

'Yes, I shall only bring a fairy story for my dowry,' said he, and so
they parted. But the princess gave him a sabre set with gold pieces
which he could use.

Then he flew away, bought himself a new dressing-gown, and sat down
in the wood and began to make up a story, for it had to be ready by
Saturday, and that was no easy matter.

When he had it ready it was Saturday.

The sultan, the sultana, and the whole court were at tea with the
princess.

He was most graciously received.

'Will you tell us a story?' said the sultana; 'one that is thoughtful
and instructive?'

'But something that we can laugh at,' said the sultan.

'Oh, certainly,' he replied, and began: 'Now, listen attentively. There
was once a box of matches which lay between a tinder-box and an old iron
pot, and they told the story of their youth.

'"We used to be on the green fir-boughs. Every morning and evening
we had diamond-tea, which was the dew, and the whole day long we had
sunshine, and the little birds used to tell us stories. We were very
rich, because the other trees only dressed in summer, but we had green
dresses in summer and in winter. Then the woodcutter came, and our
family was split up. We have now the task of making light for the lowest
people. That is why we grand people are in the kitchen."

'"My fate was quite different," said the iron pot, near which the
matches lay.

'"Since I came into the world I have been many times scoured, and have
cooked much. My only pleasure is to have a good chat with my companions
when I am lying nice and clean in my place after dinner."

'"Now you are talking too fast," spluttered the fire.

'"Yes, let us decide who is the grandest!" said the matches.

'"No, I don't like talking about myself," said the pot.

'"Let us arrange an evening's entertainment. I will tell the story of my
life.

'"On the Baltic by the Danish shore-"

'What a beautiful beginning!" said all the plates. "That's a story that
will please us all."

'And the end was just as good as the beginning. All the plates clattered
for joy.

'"Now I will dance," said the tongs, and she danced. Oh! how high she
could kick!

'The old chair-cover in the corner split when he saw her.

'The urn would have sung but she said she had a cold; she could not sing
unless she boiled.

'In the window was an old quill pen. There was nothing remarkable about
her except that she had been dipped too deeply into the ink. But she was
very proud of that.

'"If the urn will not sing," said she, "outside the door hangs a
nightingale in a cage who will sing."

'"I don't think it's proper," said the kettle, "that such a foreign bird
should be heard."

'"Oh, let us have some acting," said everyone. "Do let us!"

'Suddenly the door opened and the maid came in. Everyone was quite
quiet. There was not a sound. But each pot knew what he might have done,
and how grand he was.

'The maid took the matches and lit the fire with them. How they
spluttered and flamed, to be sure! "Now everyone can see," they thought,
"that we are the grandest! How we sparkle! What a light-"

'But here they were burnt out.'

'That was a delightful story!' said the sultana. 'I quite feel myself in
the kitchen with the matches. Yes, now you shall marry our daughter.'

'Yes, indeed,' said the sultan, 'you shall marry our daughter on
Monday.' And they treated the young man as one of the family.

The wedding was arranged, and the night before the whole town was
illuminated.

Biscuits and gingerbreads were thrown among the people, the street boys
stood on tiptoe crying hurrahs and whistling through their fingers. It
was all splendid.

'Now I must also give them a treat,' thought the merchant's son. And
so he bought rockets, crackers, and all the kinds of fireworks you can
think of, put them in his trunk, and flew up with them into the air.

Whirr-r-r, how they fizzed and blazed!

All the Turks jumped so high that their slippers flew above their heads;
such a splendid glitter they had never seen before.

Now they could quite well understand that it was the god of the Turks
himself who was to marry the princess.

As soon as the young merchant came down again into the wood with his
trunk he thought, 'Now I will just go into the town to see how the show
has taken.'

And it was quite natural that he should want to do this.

Oh! what stories the people had to tell!

Each one whom he asked had seen it differently, but they had all found
it beautiful.

'I saw the Turkish god himself,' said one. 'He had eyes like glittering
stars, and a beard like foaming water.'

'He flew away in a cloak of fire,' said another. They were splendid
things that he heard, and the next day was to be his wedding day.

Then he went back into the wood to sit in his trunk; but what had become
of it? The trunk had been burnt. A spark of the fireworks had set it
alight, and the trunk was in ashes. He could no longer fly, and could
never reach his bride.

She stood the whole day long on the roof and waited; perhaps she is
waiting there still.

But he wandered through the world and told stories; though they are not
so merry as the one he told about the matches.




The Snow-man

Translated from the German of Hans Andersen.


'How astonishingly cold it is! My body is cracking all over!' said the
Snow-man. 'The wind is really cutting one's very life out! And how that
fiery thing up there glares!' He meant the sun, which was just setting.
'It sha'n't make me blink, though, and I shall keep quite cool and
collected.'

Instead of eyes he had two large three-cornered pieces of slate in his
head; his mouth consisted of an old rake, so that he had teeth as well.

He was born amidst the shouts and laughter of the boys, and greeted by
the jingling bells and cracking whips of the sledges.

The sun went down, the full moon rose, large, round, clear and
beautiful, in the dark blue sky.

'There it is again on the other side!' said the Snow-man, by which he
meant the sun was appearing again. 'I have become quite accustomed to
its glaring. I hope it will hang there and shine, so that I may be
able to see myself. I wish I knew, though, how one ought to see about
changing one's position. I should very much like to move about. If I
only could, I would glide up and down the ice there, as I saw the boys
doing; but somehow or other, I don't know how to run.'

'Bow-wow!' barked the old yard-dog; he was rather hoarse and couldn't
bark very well. His hoarseness came on when he was a house-dog and used
to lie in front of the stove. 'The sun will soon teach you to run! I saw
that last winter with your predecessor, and farther back still with his
predecessors! They have all run away!'

'I don't understand you, my friend,' said the Snow-man. 'That thing up
there is to teach me to run?' He meant the moon. 'Well, it certainly did
run just now, for I saw it quite plainly over there, and now here it is
on this side.'

'You know nothing at all about it,' said the yard-dog. 'Why, you have
only just been made. The thing you see there is the moon; the other
thing you saw going down the other side was the sun. He will come up
again tomorrow morning, and will soon teach you how to run away down the
gutter. The weather is going to change; I feel it already by the pain in
my left hind-leg; the weather is certainly going to change.'

'I can't understand him,' said the Snow-man; 'but I have an idea that he
is speaking of something unpleasant. That thing that glares so, and then
disappears, the sun, as he calls it, is not my friend. I know that by
instinct.'

'Bow-wow!' barked the yard-dog, and walked three times round himself,
and then crept into his kennel to sleep. The weather really did change.
Towards morning a dense damp fog lay over the whole neighbourhood; later
on came an icy wind, which sent the frost packing. But when the sun
rose, it was a glorious sight. The trees and shrubs were covered with
rime, and looked like a wood of coral, and every branch was thick with
long white blossoms. The most delicate twigs, which are lost among the
foliage in summer-time, came now into prominence, and it was like a
spider's web of glistening white. The lady-birches waved in the wind;
and when the sun shone, everything glittered and sparkled as if it were
sprinkled with diamond dust, and great diamonds were lying on the snowy
carpet.

'Isn't it wonderful?' exclaimed a girl who was walking with a young
man in the garden. They stopped near the Snow-man, and looked at the
glistening trees. 'Summer cannot show a more beautiful sight,' she said,
with her eyes shining.

'And one can't get a fellow like this in summer either,' said the young
man, pointing to the Snow-man. 'He's a beauty!'

The girl laughed, and nodded to the Snow-man, and then they both danced
away over the snow.

'Who were those two?' asked the Snow-man of the yard-dog. 'You have been
in this yard longer than I have. Do you know who they are?'

'Do I know them indeed?' answered the yard-dog. 'She has often stroked
me, and he has given me bones. I don't bite either of them!'

'But what are they?' asked the Snow-man.

'Lovers!' replied the yard-dog. 'They will go into one kennel and gnaw
the same bone!'

'Are they the same kind of beings that we are?' asked the Snow-man.

'They are our masters,' answered the yard-dog. 'Really people who have
only been in the world one day know very little.' That's the conclusion
I have come to. Now I have age and wisdom; I know everyone in the house,
and I can remember a time when I was not lying here in a cold kennel.
Bow-wow!'

'The cold is splendid,' said the Snow-man. 'Tell me some more. But don't
rattle your chain so, it makes me crack!'

'Bow-wow!' barked the yard-dog. 'They used to say I was a pretty little
fellow; then I lay in a velvet-covered chair in my master's house. My
mistress used to nurse me, and kiss and fondle me, and call me her dear,
sweet little Alice! But by-and-by I grew too big, and I was given to the
housekeeper, and I went into the kitchen. You can see into it from where
you are standing; you can look at the room in which I was master, for so
I was when I was with the housekeeper. Of course it was a smaller place
than upstairs, but it was more comfortable, for I wasn't chased about
and teased by the children as I had been before. My food was just as
good, or even better. I had my own pillow, and there was a stove there,
which at this time of year is the most beautiful thing in the world. I
used to creep right under that stove. Ah me! I often dream of that stove
still! Bow-wow!'

'Is a stove so beautiful?' asked the Snow-man. 'Is it anything like me?'

'It is just the opposite of you! It is coal-black, and has a long neck
with a brass pipe. It eats firewood, so that fire spouts out of its
mouth. One has to keep close beside it-quite underneath is the nicest of
all. You can see it through the window from where you are standing.'

And the Snow-man looked in that direction, and saw a smooth polished
object with a brass pipe. The flicker from the fire reached him across
the snow. The Snow-man felt wonderfully happy, and a feeling came over
him which he could not express; but all those who are not snow-men know
about it.

'Why did you leave her?' asked the Snow-man. He had a feeling that such
a being must be a lady. 'How could you leave such a place?'

'I had to!' said the yard-dog. 'They turned me out of doors, and chained
me up here. I had bitten the youngest boy in the leg, because he took
away the bone I was gnawing; a bone for a bone, I thought! But they were
very angry, and from that time I have been chained here, and I have lost
my voice. Don't you hear how hoarse I am? Bow-wow! I can't speak like
other dogs. Bow-wow! That was the end of happiness!'

The Snow-man, however, was not listening to him any more; he was looking
into the room where the housekeeper lived, where the stove stood on its
four iron legs, and seemed to be just the same size as the Snow-man.

'How something is cracking inside me!' he said. 'Shall I never be able
to get in there? It is certainly a very innocent wish, and our innocent
wishes ought to be fulfilled. I must get there, and lean against the
stove, if I have to break the window first!'

'You will never get inside there!' said the yard-dog; 'and if you were
to reach the stove you would disappear. Bow-wow!'

'I'm as good as gone already!' answered the Snow-man. 'I believe I'm
breaking up!'

The whole day the Snow-man looked through the window; towards dusk the
room grew still more inviting; the stove gave out a mild light, not at
all like the moon or even the sun; no, as only a stove can shine, when
it has something to feed upon. When the door of the room was open, it
flared up-this was one of its peculiarities; it flickered quite red upon
the Snow-man's white face.

'I can't stand it any longer!' he said. 'How beautiful it looks with its
tongue stretched out like that!'

It was a long night, but the Snow-man did not find it so; there he
stood, wrapt in his pleasant thoughts, and they froze, so that he
cracked.

Next morning the panes of the kitchen window were covered with ice, and
the most beautiful ice-flowers that even a snow-man could desire, only
they blotted out the stove. The window would not open; he couldn't see
the stove which he thought was such a lovely lady. There was a cracking
and cracking inside him and all around; there was just such a frost as a
snow-man would delight in. But this Snow-man was different: how could he
feel happy?

'Yours is a bad illness for a Snow-man!' said the yard-dog. 'I also
suffered from it, but I have got over it. Bow-wow!' he barked. 'The
weather is going to change!' he added.

The weather did change. There came a thaw.

When this set in the Snow-man set off. He did not say anything, and he
did not complain, and those are bad signs.

One morning he broke up altogether. And lo! where he had stood there
remained a broomstick standing upright, round which the boys had built
him!

'Ah! now I understand why he loved the stove,' said the yard-dog.
'That is the raker they use to clean out the stove! The Snow-man had a
stove-raker in his body! That's what was the matter with him! And now
it's all over with him! Bow-wow!'

And before long it was all over with the winter too! 'Bow-wow!' barked
the hoarse yard-dog.

But the young girl sang:

     Woods, your bright green garments don!
     Willows, your woolly gloves put on!
     Lark and cuckoo, daily sing--     February has brought the spring!
     My heart joins in your song so sweet;
     Come out, dear sun, the world to greet!

And no one thought of the Snow-man.




The Shirt-collar

Translated from the German of Hans Andersen.


There was once a fine gentleman whose entire worldly possessions
consisted of a boot-jack and a hair-brush; but he had the most beautiful
shirt-collar in the world, and it is about this that we are going to
hear a story.

The shirt-collar was so old that he began to think about marrying;
and it happened one day that he and a garter came into the wash-tub
together.

'Hulloa!' said the shirt-collar, 'never before have I seen anything so
slim and delicate, so elegant and pretty! May I be permitted to ask your
name?'

'I shan't tell you,' said the garter.

'Where is the place of your abode?' asked the shirt-collar.

But the garter was of a bashful disposition, and did not think it proper
to answer.

'Perhaps you are a girdle?' said the shirt-collar, 'an under girdle? for
I see that you are for use as well as for ornament, my pretty miss!'

'You ought not to speak to me!' said the garter' 'I'm sure I haven't
given you any encouragement!'

'When anyone is as beautiful as you,' said the shirt-collar, 'is not
that encouragement enough?'

'Go away, don't come so close!' said the garter. 'You seem to be a
gentleman!'

'So I am, and a very fine one too!' said the shirt-collar; 'I possess a
boot-jack and a hair-brush!'

That was not true; it was his master who owned these things; but he was
a terrible boaster.

'Don't come so close,' said the garter. 'I'm not accustomed to such
treatment!'

'What affectation!' said the shirt-collar. And then they were taken out
of the wash-tub, starched, and hung on a chair in the sun to dry, and
then laid on the ironing-board. Then came the glowing iron.

'Mistress widow!' said the shirt-collar, 'dear mistress widow! I am
becoming another man, all my creases are coming out; you are burning a
hole in me! Ugh! Stop, I implore you!'

'You rag!' said the iron, travelling proudly over the shirt-collar, for
it thought it was a steam engine and ought to be at the station drawing
trucks.

'Rag!' it said.

The shirt-collar was rather frayed out at the edge, so the scissors came
to cut off the threads.

'Oh!' said the shirt-collar, 'you must be a dancer! How high you can
kick! That is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen! No man can
imitate you!'

'I know that!' said the scissors.

'You ought to be a duchess!' said the shirt-collar. 'My worldly
possessions consist of a fine gentleman, a boot-jack, and a hair-brush.
If only I had a duchy!'

'What! He wants to marry me?' said the scissors, and she was so angry
that she gave the collar a sharp snip, so that it had to be cast aside
as good for nothing.

'Well, I shall have to propose to the hair-brush!' thought the
shirt-collar. 'It is really wonderful what fine hair you have, madam!
Have you never thought of marrying?'

'Yes, that I have!' answered the hair-brush; 'I'm engaged to the
boot-jack!'

'Engaged!' exclaimed the shirt-collar. And now there was no one he could
marry, so he took to despising matrimony.

Time passed, and the shirt-collar came in a rag-bag to the paper-mill.
There was a large assortment of rags, the fine ones in one heap, and the
coarse ones in another, as they should be. They had all much to tell,
but no one more than the shirt-collar, for he was a hopeless braggart.

'I have had a terrible number of love affairs!' he said. 'They give me
no peace. I was such a fine gentleman, so stiff with starch! I had a
boot-jack and a hair-brush, which I never used! You should just have
seen me then! Never shall I forget my first love! She was a girdle, so
delicate and soft and pretty! She threw herself into a wash-tub for my
sake! Then there was a widow, who glowed with love for me. But I
left her alone, till she became black. Then there was the dancer, who
inflicted the wound which has caused me to be here now; she was very
violent! My own hair-brush was in love with me, and lost all her hair
in consequence. Yes, I have experienced much in that line; but I grieve
most of all for the garter,-I mean, the girdle, who threw herself into a
wash-tub. I have much on my conscience; it is high time for me to become
white paper!'

And so he did! he became white paper, the very paper on which this story
is printed. And that was because he had boasted so terribly about things
which were not true. We should take this to heart, so that it may not
happen to us, for we cannot indeed tell if we may not some day come to
the rag-bag, and be made into white paper, on which will be printed our
whole history, even the most secret parts, so that we too go about the
world relating it, like the shirt-collar.




The Princess in the Chest

Translated from the Danish.


There were once a king and a queen who lived in a beautiful castle, and
had a large, and fair, and rich, and happy land to rule over. From
the very first they loved each other greatly, and lived very happily
together, but they had no heir.

They had been married for seven years, but had neither son nor daughter,
and that was a great grief to both of them. More than once it happened
that when the king was in a bad temper, he let it out on the poor queen,
and said that here they were now, getting old, and neither they nor the
kingdom had an heir, and it was all her fault. This was hard to listen
to, and she went and cried and vexed herself.

Finally, the king said to her one day, 'This can't be borne any longer.
I go about childless, and it's your fault. I am going on a journey and
shall be away for a year. If you have a child when I come back again,
all will be well, and I shall love you beyond all measure, and never
more say an angry word to you. But if the nest is just as empty when I
come home, then I must part with you.'

After the king had set out on his journey, the queen went about in her
loneliness, and sorrowed and vexed herself more than ever. At last her
maid said to her one day, 'I think that some help could be found, if
your majesty would seek it.' Then she told about a wise old woman in
that country, who had helped many in troubles of the same kind, and
could no doubt help the queen as well, if she would send for her. The
queen did so, and the wise woman came, and to her she confided her
sorrow, that she, was childless, and the king and his kingdom had no
heir.

The wise woman knew help for this. 'Out in the king's garden,' said she,
'under the great oak that stands on the left hand, just as one goes out
from the castle, is a little bush, rather brown than green, with hairy
leaves and long spikes. On that bush there are just at this moment three
buds. If your majesty goes out there alone, fasting, before sunrise, and
takes the middle one of the three buds, and eats it, then in six months
you will bring a princess into the world. As soon as she is born, she
must have a nurse, whom I shall provide, and this nurse must live with
the child in a secluded part of the palace; no other person must visit
the child; neither the king nor the queen must see it until it is
fourteen years old, for that would cause great sorrow and misfortune.'

The queen rewarded the old woman richly, and next morning, before the
sun rose, she was down in the garden, found at once the little bush
with the three buds, plucked the middle one and ate it. It was sweet to
taste, but afterwards was as bitter as gall. Six months after this, she
brought into the world a little girl. There was a nurse in readiness,
whom the wise woman had provided, and preparations were made for her
living with the child, quite alone, in a secluded wing of the castle,
looking out on the pleasure-park. The queen did as the wise woman had
told her; she gave up the child immediately, and the nurse took it and
lived with it there.

When the king came home and heard that a daughter had been born to him,
he was of course very pleased and happy, and wanted to see her at once.

The queen had then to tell him this much of the story, that it had been
foretold that it would cause great sorrow and misfortune if either he or
she got a sight of the child until it had completed its fourteenth year.

This was a long time to wait. The king longed so much to get a sight of
his daughter, and the queen no less than he, but she knew that it was
not like other children, for it could speak immediately after it was
born, and was as wise as older folk. This the nurse had told her, for
with her the queen had a talk now and again, but there was no one who
had ever seen the princess. The queen had also seen what the wise woman
could do, so she insisted strongly that her warning should be obeyed.
The king often lost his patience, and was determined to see his
daughter, but the queen always put him off the idea, and so things went
on, until the very day before the princess completed her fourteenth
year.

The king and the queen were out in the garden then, and the king said,
'Now I can't and I won't wait any longer. I must see my daughter at
once. A few hours, more or less, can't make any difference.'

The queen begged him to have patience till the morning. When they had
waited so long, they could surely wait a single day more. But the king
was quite unreasonable. 'No nonsense,' said he; 'she is just as much
mine as yours, and I will see her,' and with that he went straight up to
her room.

He burst the door open, and pushed aside the nurse, who tried to
stop him, and there he saw his daughter. She was the loveliest young
princess, red and white, like milk and blood, with clear blue eyes and
golden hair, but right in the middle of her forehead there was a little
tuft of brown hair.

The princess went to meet her father, fell on his neck and kissed him,
but with that she said, 'O father, father! what have you done now?
to-morrow I must die, and you must choose one of three things: either
the land must be smitten with the black pestilence, or you must have a
long and bloody war, or you must as soon as I am dead, lay me in a plain
wooden chest, and set it in the church, and for a whole year place a
sentinel beside it every night.'

The king was frightened indeed, and thought she was raving, but in order
to please her, he said, 'Well, of these three things I shall choose the
last; if you die, I shall lay you at once in a plain wooden chest, and
have it set in the church, and every night I shall place a sentinel
beside it. But you shall not die, even if you are ill now.'

He immediately summoned all the best doctors in the country, and they
came with all their prescriptions and their medicine bottles, but next
day the princess was stiff and cold in death. All the doctors could
certify to that and they all put their names to this and appended their
seals, and then they had done all they could.

The king kept his promise. The princess's body was lain the same day in
a plain wooden chest, and set in the chapel of the castle, and on that
night and every night after it, a sentinel was posted in the church, to
keep watch over the chest.

The first morning when they came to let the sentinel out, there was no
sentinel there. They thought he had just got frightened and run away,
and next evening a new one was posted in the church. In the morning he
was also gone. So it went every night. When they came in the morning to
let the sentinel out, there was no one there, and it was impossible to
discover which way he had gone if he had run away. And what should they
run away for, every one of them, so that nothing more was over heard
or seen of them, from the hour that they were set on guard beside the
princess's chest?

It became now a general belief that the princess's ghost walked, and ate
up all those who were to guard her chest, and very soon there was no one
left who would be placed on this duty, and the king's soldiers deserted
the service, before their turn came to be her bodyguard. The king then
promised a large reward to the soldier who would volunteer for the post.
This did for some time, as there were found a few reckless fellows,
who wished to earn this good payment. But they never got it, for in the
morning, they too had disappeared like the rest.

So it had gone on for something like a whole year; every night a
sentinel had been placed beside the chest, either by compulsion or of
his own free will, but not a single one of the sentinels was to be seen,
either on the following day or any time thereafter. And so it had also
gone with one, on the night before a certain day, when a merry young
smith came wandering to the town where the king's castle stood. It was
the capital of the country, and people of every king came to it to
get work. This smith, whose name was Christian, had come for that same
purpose. There was no work for him in the place he belonged to, and he
wanted now to seek a place in the capital.

There he entered an inn where he sat down in the public room, and got
something to eat. Some under-officers were sitting there, who were out
to try to get some one enlisted to stand sentry. They had to go in this
way, day after day, and hitherto they had always succeeded in finding
one or other reckless fellow. But on this day they had, as yet, found no
one. It was too well known how all the sentinels disappeared, who were
set on that post, and all that they had got hold of had refused with
thanks. These sat down beside Christian, and ordered drinks, and drank
along with him. Now Christian was a merry fellow who liked good company;
he could both drink and sing, and talk and boast as well, when he got a
little drop in his head. He told these under-officers that he was one of
that kind of folk who never are afraid of anything. Then he was just
the kind of man they liked, said they, and he might easily earn a good
penny, before he was a day older, for the king paid a hundred dollars to
anyone who would stand as sentinel in the church all night, beside his
daughter's chest.

Christian was not afraid of that he wasn't afraid of anything, so they
drank another bottle of wine on this, and Christian went with them up
to the colonel, where he was put into uniform with musket, and all the
rest, and was then shut up in the church, to stand as sentinel that
night.

It was eight o'clock when he took up his post, and for the first hour
he was quite proud of his courage; during the second hour he was well
pleased with the large reward that he would get, but in the third hour,
when it was getting near eleven, the effects of the wine passed off, and
he began to get uncomfortable, for he had heard about this post; that
no one had ever escapeed alive from it, so far as was known. But neither
did anyone know what had become of all the sentinels. The thought of
this ran in his head so much, after the wine was out of it, that he
searched about everywhere for a way of escape, and finally, at eleven
o'clock, he found a little postern in the steeple which was not locked,
and out at this he crept, intending to run away.

At the same moment as he put his foot outside the church door, he saw
standing before him a little man, who said, 'Good evening, Christian,
where are you going?'

With that he felt as if he were rooted to the spot and could not move.

'Nowhere,' said he.

'Oh, yes,' said the little man, 'You were just about to run away, but
you have taken upon you to stand sentinel in the church to-night, and
there you must stay.'

Christian said, very humbly, that he dared not, and therefore wanted to
get away, and begged to be let go.

'No,' said the little one, 'you must remain at your post, but I shall
give you a piece of good advice; you shall go up into the pulpit, and
remain standing there. You need never mind what you see or hear, it will
not be able to do you any harm, if you remain in your place until you
hear the lid of the chest slam down again behind the dead; then all
danger is past, and you can go about the church, wherever you please.'

The little man then pushed him in at the door again, and locked it after
him. Christian made haste to get up into the pulpit, and stood there,
without noticing anything, until the clock struck twelve. Then the lid
of the princess's chest sprang up, and out of it there came something
like the princess, dressed as you see in the picture. It shrieked and
howled, 'Sentry, where are you? Sentry, where are you? If you don't
come, you shall get the most cruel death anyone had ever got.'

It went all round the church, and when it finally caught sight of the
smith, up in the pulpit, it came rushing thither and mounted the steps.
But it could not get up the whole way, and for all that it stretched and
strained, it could not touch Christian, who meanwhile stood and trembled
up in the pulpit. When the clock struck one, the appearance had to go
back into the chest again, and Christian heard the lid slam after it.
After this there was dead silence in the church. He lay down where he
was and fell asleep, and did not awake before it was bright daylight,
and he heard steps outside, and the noise of the key being put into the
lock. Then he came down from the pulpit, and stood with his musket in
front of the princess's chest.

It was the colonel himself who came with the patrol, and he was not a
little surprised when he found the recruit safe and sound. He wanted
to have a report, but Christian would give him none, so he took him
straight up to the king, and announced for the first time that here
was the sentinel who had stood guard in the church over-night. The king
immediately got out of bed, and laid the hundred dollars for him on the
table, and then wanted to question him. 'Have you seen anything?' said
he. 'Have you seen my daughter?' 'I have stood at my post,' said the
young smith, 'and that is quite enough; I undertook nothing more.'
He was not sure whether he dared tell what he had seen and heard, and
besides he was also a little conceited because he had done what no other
man had been able to do, or had had courage for. The king professed to
be quite satisfied, and asked him whether he would engage himself
to stand on guard again the following night. 'No, thank you,' said
Christian, 'I will have no more of that!'

'As you please,' said the king, 'you have behaved like a brave fellow,
and now you shall have your breakfast. You must be needing something to
strengthen you after that turn.'

The king had breakfast laid for him, and sat down at the table with him
in person; he kept constantly filling his glass for him and praising
him, and drinking his health. Christian needed no pressing, but did full
justice both to the food and drink, and not least to the latter. Finally
he grew bold, and said that if the king would give him two hundred
dollars for it, he was his man to stand sentry next night as well.

When this was arranged, Christian bade him 'Good-day,' and went down
among the guards, and then out into the town along with other soldiers
and under-officers. He had his pocket full of money, and treated them,
and drank with them and boasted and made game of the good-for-nothings
who were afraid to stand on guard, because they were frightened that the
dead princess would eat them. See whether she had eaten him! So the day
passed in mirth and glee, but when eight o'clock came, Christian was
again shut up in the church, all alone.

Before he had been there two hours, he got tired of it, and thought only
of getting away. He found a little door behind the altar which was not
locked, and at ten o'clock he slipped out at it, and took to his heels
and made for the beach. He had got half-way thither, when all at once
the same little man stood in front of him and said, 'Good evening,
Christian, where are you going?' 'I've leave to go where I please,'
said the smith, but at the same time he noticed that he could not move a
foot. 'No, you have undertaken to keep guard to-night as well,' said the
little man, 'and you must attend to that.' He then took hold of him, and
however unwilling he was, Christian had to go with him right back to
the same little door that he had crept out at. When they got there, the
little man said to him, 'Go in front of the altar now, and take in your
hand the book that is lying there. There you shall stay till you hear
the lid of the chest slam down over the dead. In that way you will come
to no harm.'

With that the little man shoved him in at the door, and locked it.
Christian then immediately went in front of the altar, and took the
book in his hand, and stood thus until the clock struck twelve, and
the appearance sprang out of the chest. 'Sentry, where are you? Sentry,
where are you?' it shrieked, and then rushed to the pulpit, and right
up into it. But there was no one there that night. Then it howled and
shrieked again,

     My father has set no sentry in,
     War and Pest this night begin.

At the same moment, it noticed the smith standing in front of the altar,
and came rushing towards him. 'Are you there?' it screamed; 'now I'll
catch you.' But it could not come up over the step in front of the
altar, and there it continued to howl, and scream, and threaten, until
the clock struck one, when it had to go into the chest again, and
Christian heard the lid slam above it. That night, however, it had not
the same appearance as on the previous one; it was less ugly.

When all was quiet in the church, the smith lay down before the altar
and slept calmly till the following morning, when the colonel came to
fetch him. He was taken up to the king again, and things went on as the
day before. He got his money, but would give no explanation whether he
had seen the king's daughter, and he would not take the post again,
he said. But after he had got a good breakfast, and tasted well of the
king's wines, he undertook to go on guard again the third night, but he
would not do it for less than the half of the kingdom, he said, for it
was a dangerous post, and the king had to agree, and promise him this.

The remainder of the day went like the previous one. He played
the boastful soldier, and the merry smith, and he had comrades and
boon-companions in plenty. At eight o'clock he had to put on his uniform
again, and was shut up in the church. He had not been there for an hour
before he had come to his senses, and thought, 'It's best to stop now,
while the game is going well.' The third night, he was sure, would be
the worst; he had been drunk when he promised it, and the half of the
kingdom, the king could never have been in earnest about that! So he
decided to leave, without waiting so long as on the previous nights. In
that way he would escape the little man who had watched him before. All
the doors and posterns were locked, but he finally though of creeping
up to a window, and opening that, and as the clock struck nine, he crept
out there. It was fairly high in the wall, but he got to the ground with
no bones broken, and started to run. He got down to the shore without
meeting anyone, and there he got into a boat, and pushed off from land.
He laughed immensely to himself at the thought of how cleverly he had
managed and how he had cheated the little man. Just then he heard a
voice from the shore, 'Good evening, Christian, where are you going?' He
gave no answer. 'To-night your legs will be too short,' he thought, and
pulled at the oars. But he then felt something lay hold of the boat, and
drag it straight in to shore, for all that he sat and struggled with the
oars.

The man then laid hold of him, and said, 'You must remain at your post,
as you have promised,' and whether he liked it or not, Christian had
just to go back with him the whole way to the church.

He could never get in at that window again, Christian said; it was far
too high up.

'You must go in there, and you shall go in there,' said the little man,
and with that he lifted him up on to the window-sill. Then he said to
him: 'Notice well now what you have to do. This evening you must stretch
yourself out on the left-hand side of her chest. The lid opens to the
right, and she comes out to the left. When she has got out of the chest
and passed over you, you must get into it and lie there, and that in
a hurry, without her seeing you. There you must remain lying until day
dawns, and whether she threatens you or entreats you, you must not come
out of it, or give her any answer. Then she has no power over you, and
both you and she are freed.'

The smith then had to go in at the window, just as he came out, and
went and laid himself all his length on the left side of the princess's
chest, close up to it, and there he lay stiff as a rock until the clock
struck twelve. Then the lid sprang up to the right, and the princess
came out, straight over him, and rushed round the church, howling and
shrieking 'Sentry, where are you? Sentry, where are you?' She went
towards the altar, and right up to it, but there was no one there; then
she screamed again,

     My father has set no sentry in,
     War and Pest will now begin.

Then she went round the whole church, both up and down, sighing and
weeping,

     My father has set no sentry in,
     War and Pest will now begin.

Then she went away again, and at the same moment the clock in the tower
struck one.

Then the smith heard in the church a soft music, which grew louder and
louder, and soon filled the whole building. He heard also a multitude of
footsteps, as if the church was being filled with people. He heard
the priest go through the service in front of the altar, and there was
singing more beautiful than he had ever heard before. Then he also heard
the priest offer up a prayer of thanksgiving because the land had been
freed from war and pestilence, and from all misfortune, and the king's
daughter delivered from the evil one. Many voices joined in, and a hymn
of praise was sung; then he heard the priest again, and heard his own
name and that of the princess, and thought that he was being wedded to
her. The church was packed full, but he could see nothing. Then he heard
again the many footsteps as ol' folk leaving the church, while the music
sounded fainter and fainter, until it altogether died away. When it was
silent, the light of day began to break in through the windows.

The smith sprang up out of the chest and fell on his knees and thanked
God. The church was empty, but up in front of the altar lay the
princess, white and red, like a human being, but sobbing and crying, and
shaking with cold in her white shroud. The smith took his sentry coat
and wrapped it round her; then she dried her tears, and took his hand
and thanked him, and said that he had now freed her from all the sorcery
that had been in her from her birth, and which had come over her again
when her father broke the command against seeing her until she had
completed her fourteenth year.

She said further, that if he who had delivered her would take her in
marriage, she would be his. If not, she would go into a nunnery, and he
could marry no other as long as she lived, for he was wedded to her with
the service of the dead, which he had heard.

She was now the most beautiful young princess that anyone could wish to
see, and he was now lord of half the kingdom, which had been promised
him for standing on guard the third nigh. So they agreed that they would
have each other, and love each other all their days.

With the first sunbeam the watch came and opened the church, and not
only was the colonel there, but the king in person, come to see what had
happened to the sentinel. He found them both sitting hand in hand on the
step in front of the altar, and immediately knew his daughter again,
and took her in his arms, thanking God and her deliverer. He made no
objections to what they had arranged, and so Christian the smith held
his wedding with the princess, and got half the kingdom at once, and the
whole of it when the king died.

As for the other sentries, with so many doors and windows open, no doubt
they had run away, and gone into the Prussian service. And as for what
Christian said he saw, he had been drinking more wine than was good for
him.




The Three Brothers

Translated from the German of the Brothers Grimm.


There was once a man who had three sons, and no other possessions
beyond the house in which he lived. Now the father loved his three sons
equally, so that he could not make up his mind which of them should have
the house after his death, because he did not wish to favour any one
more than the others. And he did not want to sell the house, because
it had belonged to his family for generations; otherwise he could have
divided the money equally amongst them. At last an idea struck him, and
he said to his sons: 'You must all go out into the world, and look about
you, and each learn a trade, and then, when you return, whoever can
produce the best masterpiece shall have the house.'

The sons were quite satisfied. The eldest wished to be a blacksmith, the
second a barber, and the third a fencing-master. They appointed a time
when they were to return home, and then they all set out.

It so happened that each found a good master, where he learnt all that
was necessary for his trade in the best possible way. The blacksmith had
to shoe the king's horses, and thought to himself, 'Without doubt the
house will be yours!' The barber shaved the best men in the kingdom,
and he, too, made sure that the house would be his. The fencing-master
received many a blow, but he set his teeth, and would not allow himself
to be troubled by them, for he thought to himself, 'If you are afraid of
a blow you will never get the house.'

When the appointed time had come the three brothers met once more, and
they sat down and discussed the best opportunity of showing off their
skill. Just then a hare came running across the field towards them.
'Look!' said the barber, 'here comes something in the nick of time!'
seized basin and soap, made a lather whilst the hare was approaching,
and then, as it ran at full tilt, shaved its moustaches, without cutting
it or injuring a single hair on its body.

'I like that very much indeed,' said the father. 'Unless the others
exert themselves to the utmost, the house will be yours.'

Soon after they saw a man driving a carriage furiously towards them.
'Now, father, you shall see what I can do!' said the blacksmith, and he
sprang after the carriage, tore off the four shoes of the horse as
it was going at the top of its speed, and shod it with four new ones
without checking its pace.

'You are a clever fellow!' said the father, 'and know your trade as well
as your brother. I really don't know to which of you I shall give the
house.'

Then the third son said, 'Father, let me also show you something;' and,
as it was beginning to rain, he drew his sword and swung it in cross
cuts above his head, so that not a drop fell on him, and the rain fell
heavier and heavier, till at last it was coming down like a waterspout,
but he swung his sword faster and faster, and kept as dry as if he were
under cover.

When the father saw this he was astonished, and said, 'You have produced
the greatest masterpiece: the house is yours.'

Both the other brothers were quite satisfied, and praised him too, and
as they were so fond of each other they all three remained at home and
plied their trades: and as they were so experienced and skilful they
earned a great deal of money. So they lived happily together till they
were quite old, and when one was taken ill and died the two others were
so deeply grieved that they were also taken ill and died too. And so,
because they had all been so clever, and so fond of each other, they
were all laid in one grave.




The Snow-queen

Translated from the German of Hans Andersen by Miss Alma Alleyne.


There was once a dreadfully wicked hobgoblin. One day he was in capital
spirits because he had made a looking-glass which reflected everything
that was good and beautiful in such a way that it dwindled almost to
nothing, but anything that was bad and ugly stood out very clearly and
looked much worse. The most beautiful landscapes looked like boiled
spinach, and the best people looked repulsive or seemed to stand on
their heads with no bodies; their faces were so changed that they could
not be recognised, and if anyone had a freckle you might be sure it
would be spread over the nose and mouth.

That was the best part of it, said the hobgoblin.

But one day the looking-glass was dropped, and it broke into a
million-billion and more pieces.

And now came the greatest misfortune of all, for each of the pieces
was hardly as large as a grain of sand and they flew about all over the
world, and if anyone had a bit in his eye there it stayed, and then he
would see everything awry, or else could only see the bad sides of a
case. For every tiny splinter of the glass possessed the same power that
the whole glass had.

Some people got a splinter in their hearts, and that was dreadful, for
then it began to turn into a lump of ice.

The hobgoblin laughed till his sides ached, but still the tiny bits of
glass flew about.

And now we will hear all about it.

In a large town, where there were so many people and houses that there
was not room enough for everybody to have gardens, lived two poor
children. They were not brother and sister, but they loved each other
just as much as if they were. Their parents lived opposite one another
in two attics, and out on the leads they had put two boxes filled with
flowers. There were sweet peas in it, and two rose trees, which grow
beautifully, and in summer the two children were allowed to take their
little chairs and sit out under the roses. Then they had splendid games.

In the winter they could not do this, but then they put hot pennies
against the frozen window-panes, and made round holes to look at each
other through.

His name was Kay, and hers was Gerda.

Outside it was snowing fast.

'Those are the white bees swarming,' said the old grandmother.

'Have they also a queen bee?' asked the little boy, for he knew that the
real bees have one.

'To be sure,' said the grandmother. 'She flies wherever they swarm
the thickest. She is larger than any of them, and never stays upon the
earth, but flies again up into the black clouds. Often at midnight she
flies through the streets, and peeps in at all the windows, and then
they freeze in such pretty patterns and look like flowers.'

'Yes, we have seen that,' said both children; they knew that it was
true.

'Can the Snow-queen come in here?' asked the little girl.

'Just let her!' cried the boy, 'I would put her on the stove, and melt
her!'

But the grandmother stroked his hair, and told some more stories.

In the evening, when little Kay was going to bed, he jumped on the chair
by the window, and looked through the little hole. A few snow-flakes
were falling outside, and one of the, the largest, lay on the edge of
one of the window-boxes. The snow-flake grew larger and larger till it
took the form of a maiden, dressed in finest white gauze.

She was so beautiful and dainty, but all of ice, hard bright ice.

Still she was alive; her eyes glittered like two clear stars, but there
was no rest or peace in them. She nodded at the window, and beckoned
with her hand. The little boy was frightened, and sprang down from the
chair. It seemed as if a great white bird had flown past the window.

The next day there was a harder frost than before.

Then came the spring, then the summer, when the roses grew and smelt
more beautifully than ever.

Kay and Gerda were looking at one of their picture-books--the clock in
the great church-tower had just struck five, when Kay exclaimed, 'Oh!
something has stung my heart, and I've got something in my eye!'

The little girl threw her arms round his neck; he winked hard with both
his eyes; no, she could see nothing in them.

'I think it is gone now,' said he; but it had not gone. It was one of
the tiny splinters of the glass of the magic mirror which we have heard
about, that turned everything great and good reflected in it small and
ugly. And poor Kay had also a splinter in his heart, and it began to
change into a lump of ice. It did not hurt him at all, but the splinter
was there all the same.

'Why are you crying?' he asked; 'it makes you look so ugly! There's
nothing the matter with me. Just look! that rose is all slug-eaten, and
this one is stunted! What ugly roses they are!'

And he began to pull them to pieces.

'Kay, what are you doing?' cried the little girl.

And when he saw how frightened she was, he pulled off another rose, and
ran in at his window away from dear little Gerda.

When she came later on with the picture book, he said that it was only
fit for babies, and when his grandmother told them stories, he was
always interrupting with, 'But--' and then he would get behind her and
put on her spectacles, and speak just as she did. This he did very well,
and everybody laughed. Very soon he could imitate the way all the people
in the street walked and talked.

His games were now quite different. On a winter's day he would take a
burning glass and hold it out on his blue coat and let the snow-flakes
fall on it.

'Look in the glass, Gerda! Just see how regular they are! They are much
more interesting than real flowers. Each is perfect; they are all made
according to rule. If only they did not melt!'

One morning Kay came out with his warm gloves on, and his little
sledge hung over his shoulder. He shouted to Gerda, 'I am going to the
market-place to play with the other boys,' and away he went.

In the market-place the boldest boys used often to fasten their sledges
to the carts of the farmers, and then they got a good ride.

When they were in the middle of their games there drove into the square
a large sledge, all white, and in it sat a figure dressed in a rough
white fur pelisse with a white fur cap on.

The sledge drove twice round the square, and Kay fastened his little
sledge behind it and drove off. It went quicker and quicker into the
next street. The driver turned round, and nodded to Kay ina friendly
way as if they had known each other before. Every time that Kay tried
to unfasten his sledge the driver nodded again, and Kay sat still once
more. Then they drove out of the town, and the snow began to fall so
thickly that the little boy could not see his hand before him, and on
and on they went. He quickly unfastened the cord to get loose from the
big sledge, but it was of no use; his little sledge hung on fast, and it
went on like the wind.

Then he cried out, but nobody heard him. He was dreadfully frightened.

The snowflakes grew larger and larger till they looked like great white
birds. All at once they flew aside, the large sledge stood still, and
the figure who was driving stood up. The fur cloak and cap were all
of snow. It was a lady, tall and slim, and glittering. It was the
Snow-queen.

'We have come at a good rate,' she said; 'but you are almost frozen.
Creep in under my cloak.'

And she set him close to her in the sledge and drew the cloak over him.
He felt as though he were sinking into a snow-drift.

'Are you cold now?' she asked, and kissed his forehead. The kiss was
cold as ice and reached down to his heart, which was already half a lump
of ice.

'My sledge! Don't forget my sledge!' He thought of that first, and it
was fastened to one of the great white birds who flew behind with the
sledge on its back.

The Snow-queen kissed Kay again, and then he forgot all about little
Gerda, his grandmother, and everybody at home.

'Now I must not kiss you any more,' she said, 'or else I should kiss you
to death.'

Then away they flew over forests and lakes, over sea and land. Round
them whistled the cold wind, the wolves howled, and the snow hissed;
over them flew the black shrieking crows. But high up the moon shone
large and bright, and thus Kay passed the long winter night. In the day
he slept at the Snow-queen's feet.

But what happened to little Gerda when Kay did not come back?

What had become of him? Nobody knew. The other boys told how they had
seen him fasten his sledge on to a large one which had driven out of the
town gate.

Gerda cried a great deal. The winter was long and dark to her.

Then the spring came with warm sunshine. 'I will go and look for Kay,'
said Gerda.

So she went down to the river and got into a little boat that was there.
Presently the stream began to carry it away.

'Perhaps the river will take me to Kay,' thought Gerda. She glided down,
past trees and fields, till she came to a large cherry garden, in which
stood a little house with strange red and blue windows and a straw roof.
Before the door stood two wooden soldiers, who were shouldering arms.

Gerda called to them, but they naturally did not answer. The river
carried the boat on to the land.

Gerda called out still louder, and there came out of the house a very
old woman. She leant upon a crutch, and she wore a large sun-hat which
was painted with the most beautiful flowers.

'You poor little girl!' said the old woman.

And then she stepped into the water, brought the boat in close with her
crutch, and lifted little Gerda out.

'And now come and tell me who you are, and how you came here,' she said.

Then Gerda told her everything, and asked her if she had seen Kay. But
she said he had not passed that way yet, but he would soon come.

She told Gerda not to be sad, and that she should stay with her and take
of the cherry trees and flowers, which were better than any picture-bok,
as they could each tell a story.

She then took Gerda's hand and led her into the little house and shut
the door.

The windows were very high, and the panes were red, blue, and yellow,
so that the light came through in curious colours. On the table were the
most delicious cherries, and the old woman let Gerda eat as many as she
liked, while she combed her hair with a gold comb as she ate.

The beautiful sunny hair rippled and shone round the dear little face,
which was so soft and sweet. 'I have always longed to have a dear little
girl just like you, and you shall see how happy we will be together.'

And as she combed Gerda's hair, Gerda thought less and less about Kay,
for the old woman was a witch, but not a wicked witch, for she only
enchanted now and then to amuse herself, and she did want to keep little
Gerda very much.

So she went into the garden and waved her stick over all the rose bushes
and blossoms and all; they sank down into the black earth, and no one
could see where they had been.

The old woman was afraid that if Gerda saw the roses she would begin to
think about her own, and then would remember Kay and run away.

Then she led Gerda out into the garden. How glorious it was, and what
lovely scents filled the air! All the flowers you can think of blossomed
there all the year round.

Gerda jumped for joy and played there till the sun set behind the
tall cherry trees, and then she slept in a beautiful bed with red silk
pillows filled with violets, and she slept soundly and dreamed as a
queen does on her wedding day.

The next day she played again with the flowers in the warm sunshine, and
so many days passed by. Gerda knew every flower, but although there were
so many, it seemed to her as if one were not there, though she could not
remember which.

She was looking one day at the old woman's sun-hat which had hte painted
flowers on it, and there she saw a rose.

The witch had forgotten to make that vanish when she had made the
other roses disappear under the earth. it was so difficult to think of
everything.

'Why, there are no roses here!' cried Gerda,, and she hunted amongst all
the flowers, but not one was to be found. Then she sat down and cried,
but her tears fell just on the spot where a rose bush had sunk, and when
her warm tears watered the earth, the bush came up in full bloom just
as it had been before. Gerda kissed the roses and thought of the lovely
roses at home, and with them came the thought of little Kay.

'Oh, what have I been doing!' said the little girl. 'I wanted to look
for Kay.'

She ran to the end of the garden. The gate was shut, but she pushed
against the rusty lock so that it came open.

She ran out with her little bare feet. No one came after her. At last
she could not run any longer, and she sat down on a large stone. When
she looked round she saw that the summer was over; it was late autumn.
It had not changed in the beautiful garden, where were sunshine and
flowers all the year round.

'Oh, dear, how late I have made myself!' said Gerda. 'It's autumn
already! I cannot rest!' And she sprang up to run on.

Oh, how tired and sore her little feet grew, and it became colder and
colder.

She had to rest again, and there on the snow in front of her was a large
crow.

It had been looking at her for some time, and it nodded its head and
said, 'Caw! caw! good day.' Then it asked the little girl why she was
alone in the world. She told the crow her story, and asked if he had
seen Kay.

The crow nodded very thoughtfully and said, 'It might be! It might be!'

'What! Do you think you have?' cried the little girl, and she almost
squeezed the crow to death as she kissed him.

'Gently, gently!' said the crow. 'I think--I know I think--it might be
little Kay, but now he has forgotten you for the princess!'

'Does he live with a princess?' asked Gerda.

'Yes, listen,' said the crow.

Then he told her all he knew.

'In the kingdom in which we are now sitting lives a princess who is
dreadfully clever. She has read all the newspapers in the world and has
forgotten them again. She is as clever as that. The other day she came
to the throne, and that is not so pleasant as people think. Then she
began to say, "Why should I not marry?" But she wanted a husband who
could answer when he was spoken to, not one who would stand up stiffly
and look respectable--that would be too dull.

'When she told all the Court ladies, they were delighted. You can
believe every word I say,' said the crow, 'I have a tame sweetheart in
the palace, and she tells me everything.'

Of course his sweetheart was a crow.

'The newspapers came out next morning with a border of hearts round it,
and the princess's monogram on it, and inside you could read that every
good-looking young man might come into the palace and speak to the
princess, and whoever should speak loud enough to be heard would be
well fed and looked after, and the one who spoke best should become the
princess's husband. Indeed,' said the crow, 'you can quite believe me.
It is as true as that I am sitting here.

'Young men came in streams, and there was such a crowding and a mixing
together! But nothing came of it on the first nor on the second day.
They could all speak quite well when they were in the street, but as
soon as they came inside the palace door, and saw the guards in silver,
and upstairs the footmen in gold, and the great hall all lighted up,
then their wits left them! And when they stood in front of the throne
where the princess was sitting, then they could not think of anything to
say except to repeat the last word she had spoken, and she did not much
care to hear that again. It seemed as if they were walking in their
sleep until they came out into the street again, when they could speak
once more. There was a row stretching from the gate of the town up to
the castle.

'They were hungry and thirsty, but in the palace they did not even get a
glass of water.

'A few of the cleverest had brought some slices of bread and butter
with them, but they did not share them with their neighbour, for they
thought, "If he looks hungry, the princess will not take him!"'

'But what about Kay?' asked Gerda. 'When did he come? Was he in the
crowd?'

'Wait a bit; we are coming to him! On the third day a little figure came
without horse or carriage and walked jauntily up to the palace. His eyes
shone as yours do; he had lovely curling hair, but quite poor clothes.'

'That was Kay!' cried Gerda with delight. 'Oh, then I have found him!'
and she clapped her hands.

'He had a little bundle on his back,' said the crow.

'No, it must have been his skates, for he went away with his skates!'

'Very likely,' said the crow, 'I did not see for certain. But I know
this from my sweetheart, that when he came to the palace door and saw
the royal guards in silver, and on the stairs the footmen in gold, he
was not the least bit put out. He nodded to them, saying, "It must be
rather dull standing on the stairs; I would rather go inside!"

'The halls blazed with lights; councillors and ambassadors were walking
about in noiseless shoes carrying gold dishes. It was enough to make one
nervous! His boots creaked dreadfully loud, but he was not frightened.'

'That must be Kay!' said Gerda. 'I know he had new boots on; I have
heard them creaking in his grandmother's room!'

'They did creak, certainly!' said the crow. 'And, not one bit afraid, up
he went to the princess, who was sitting on a large pearl as round as a
spinning wheel. All the ladies-in-waiting were standing round, each with
their attendants, and the lords-in-waiting with their attendants. The
nearer they stood to the door the prouder they were.'

'It must have been dreadful!' said little Gerda. 'And Kay did win the
princess?'

'I heard from my tame sweetheart that he was merry and quick-witted; he
had not come to woo, he said, but to listen to the princess's wisdom.
And the end of it was that they fell in love with each other.'

'Oh, yes; that was Kay!' said Gerda. 'He was so clever; he could do sums
with fractions. Oh, do lead me to the palace!'

'That's easily said!' answered the crow, 'but how are we to manage that?
I must talk it over with my tame sweetheart. She may be able to advise
us, for I must tell you that a little girl like you could never get
permission to enter it.'

'Yes, I will get it!' said Gerda. 'When Kay hears that I am there he
will come out at once and fetch me!'

'Wait for me by the railings,' said the crow, and he nodded his head and
flew away.

It was late in the evening when he came back.

'Caw, caw!' he said, 'I am to give you her love, and here is a little
roll for you. She took it out of the kitchen; there's plenty there,
and you must be hungry. You cannot come into the palace. The guards in
silver and the footmen in gold would not allow it. But don't cry! You
shall get in all right. My sweetheart knows a little back-stairs which
leads to the sleeping-room, and she knows where to find the key.'

They went into the garden, and when the lights in the palace were put
out one after the other, the crow led Gerda to a back-door.

Oh, how Gerda's heart beat with anxiety and longing! It seemed as if she
were going to do something wrong, but she only wanted to know if it were
little Kay. Yes, it must be he! She remembered so well his clever eyes,
his curly hair. She could see him smiling as he did when they were at
home under the rose trees! He would be so pleased to see her, and to
hear how they all were at home.

Now they were on the stairs; a little lamp was burning, and on the
landing stood the tame crow. She put her head on one side and looked at
Gerda, who bowed as her grandmother had taught her.

'My betrothed has told me many nice things about you, my dear young
lady,' she said. 'Will you take the lamp while I go in front? We go this
way so as to meet no one.'

Through beautiful rooms they came to the sleeping-room. In the middle of
it, hung on a thick rod of gold, were two beds, shaped like lilies, one
all white, in which lay the princess, and the other red, in which Gerda
hoped to find Kay. She pushed aside the curtain, and saw a brown neck.
Oh, it was Kay! She called his name out loud, holding the lamp towards
him.

He woke up, turned his head and--it was not Kay!

It was only his neck that was like Kay's, but he was young and handsome.
The princess sat up in her lily-bed and asked who was there.

Then Gerda cried, and told her story and all that the crows had done.

'You poor child!' said the prince and princess, and they praised the
crows, and said that they were not angry with them, but that they must
not do it again. Now they should have a reward.

'Would you like to fly away free?' said the princess, 'or will you have
a permanent place as court crows with what you can get in the kitchen?'

And both crows bowed and asked for a permanent appointment, for they
thought of their old age.

And they put Gerda to bed, and she folded her hands, thinking, as she
fell asleep, 'How good people and animals are to me!'

The next day she was dressed from head to foot in silk and satin.
They wanted her to stay on in the palace, but she begged for a little
carriage and a horse, and a pair of shoes so that she might go out again
into the world to look for Kay.

They gave her a muff as well as some shoes; she was warmly dressed, and
when she was ready, there in front of the door stood a coach of pure
gold, with a coachman, footmen and postilions with gold crowns on.

The prince and princess helped her into the carriage and wished her good
luck.

The wild crow who was now married drove with her for the first three
miles; the other crow could not come because she had a bad headache.

'Good-bye, good-bye!' called the prince and princess; and little Gerda
cried, and the crow cried.

When he said good-bye, he flew on to a tree and waved with his black
wings as long as the carriage, which shone like the sun, was in sight.

They came at last to a dark wood, but the coach lit it up like a torch.
When the robbers saw it, they rushed out, exclaiming, 'Gold! gold!'

They seized the horses, killed the coachman, footmen and postilions, and
dragged Gerda out of the carriage.

'She is plump and tender! I will eat her!' said the old robber-queen,
and she drew her long knife, which glittered horribly.

'You shall not kill her!' cried her little daughter. 'She shall play
with me. She shall give me her muff and her beautiful dress, and she
shall sleep in my bed.'

The little robber-girl was as big as Gerda, but was stronger, broader,
with dark hair and black eyes. She threw her arms round Gerda and said,
'They shall not kill you, so long as you are not naughty. Aren't you a
princess?'

'No,' said Gerda, and she told all that had happened to her, and how
dearly she loved little Kay.

The robber-girl looked at her very seriously, and nodded her head,
saying, 'They shall not kill you, even if you are naughty, for then I
will kill you myself!'

And she dried Gerda's eyes, and stuck both her hands in the beautiful
warm muff.

The little robber-girl took Gerda to a corner of the robbers' camp where
she slept.

All round were more than a hundred wood-pigeons which seemed to be
asleep, but they moved a little when the two girls came up.

There was also, near by, a reindeer which the robber-girl teased by
tickling it with her long sharp knife.

Gerda lay awake for some time.

'Coo, coo!' said the wood-pigeons. 'We have seen little Kay. A white
bird carried his sledge; he was sitting in the Snow-queen's carriage
which drove over the forest when our little ones were in the nest. She
breathed on them, and all except we two died. Coo, coo!'

'What are you saying over there?' cried Gerda. 'Where was the Snow-queen
going to? Do you know at all?'

'She was probably travelling to Lapland, where there is always ice and
snow. Ask the reindeer.'

'There is capital ice and snow there!' said the reindeer. 'One can jump
about there in the great sparkling valleys. There the Snow-queen has
her summer palace, but her best palace is up by the North Pole, on the
island called Spitzbergen.'

'O Kay, my little Kay!' sobbed Gerda.

'You must lie still,' said the little robber-girl, 'or else I shall
stick my knife into you!'

In the morning Gerda told her all that the wood-pigeons had said. She
nodded. 'Do you know where Lapland is?' she asked the reindeer.

'Who should know better than I?' said the beast, and his eyes sparkled.
'I was born and bred there on the snow-fields.'

'Listen!' said the robber-girl to Gerda; 'you see that all the robbers
have gone; only my mother is left, and she will fall asleep in the
afternoon--then I will do something for you!'

When her mother had fallen asleep, the robber-girl went up to the
reindeer and said, 'I am going to set you free so that you can run
to Lapland. But you must go quickly and carry this little girl to the
Snow-queen's palace, where her playfellow is. You must have heard all
that she told about it, for she spoke loud enough!'

The reindeer sprang high for joy. The robber-girl lifted little Gerda
up, and had the foresight to tie her on firmly, and even gave her a
little pillow for a saddle. 'You must have your fur boots,' she said,
'for it will be cold; but I shall keep your muff, for it is so cosy!
But, so that you may not freeze, here are my mother's great fur gloves;
they will come up to your elbows. Creep into them!'

And Gerda cried for joy.

'Don't make such faces!' said the little robber-girl. 'You must look
very happy. And here are two loaves and a sausage; now you won't be
hungry!'

They were tied to the reindeer, the little robber-girl opened the door,
made all the big dogs come away, cut through the halter with her sharp
knife, and said to the reindeer, 'Run now! But take great care of the
little girl.'

And Gerda stretched out her hands with the large fur gloves towards the
little robber-girl and said, 'Good-bye!'

Then the reindeer flew over the ground, through the great forest, as
fast as he could.

The wolves howled, the ravens screamed, the sky seemed on fire.

'Those are my dear old northern lights,' said the reindeer; 'see how
they shine!'

And then he ran faster still, day and night.

The loaves were eaten, and the sausage also, and then they came to
Lapland.

They stopped by a wretched little house; the roof almost touched the
ground, and the door was so low that you had to creep in and out.

There was no one in the house except an old Lapland woman who was
cooking fish over an oil-lamp. The reindeer told Gerda's whole history,
but first he told his own, for that seemed to him much more important,
and Gerda was so cold that she could not speak.

'Ah, you poor creatures!' said the Lapland woman; 'you have still
further to go! You must go over a hundred miles into Finland, for there
the Snow-queen lives, and every night she burns Bengal lights. I will
write some words on a dried stock-fish, for I have no paper, and you
must give it to the Finland woman, for she can give you better advice
than I can.'

And when Gerda was warmed and had had something to eat and drink, the
Lapland woman wrote on a dried stock-fish, and begged Gerda to take care
of it, tied Gerda securely on the reindeer's back, and away they went
again.

The whole night was ablaze with northern lights, and then they came to
Finland and knocked at the Finland woman's chimney, for door she had
none.

Inside it was so hot that the Finland woman wore very few clothes; she
loosened Gerda's clothes and drew off her fur gloves and boots. She laid
a piece of ice on the reindeer's head, and then read what was written on
the stock-fish. She read it over three times till she knew it by heart,
and then put the fish in the saucepan, for she never wasted anything.

Then the reindeer told his story, and afterwards little Gerda's and the
Finland woman blinked her eyes but said nothing.

'You are very clever,' said the reindeer. 'I know. Cannot you give the
little girl a drink so that she may have the strength of twelve men and
overcome the Snow-queen?'

'The strength of twelve men!' said the Finland woman; 'that would not
help much. Little Kay is with the Snow-queen and he likes everything
there very much and thinks it the best place in the world. But that is
because he has a splinter of glass in his heart and a bit in his eye.
If these do not come out, he will never be free, and the Snow-queen will
keep her power over him.'

'But cannot you give little Gerda something so that she can have power
over her?'

'I can give her no greater power than she has already; don't you see
how great it is? Don't you see how men and beasts must help her when she
wanders into the wide world with her bare feet? She is powerful already,
because she is a dear little innocent child. If she cannot by herself
conquer the Snow-queen and take away the glass splinters from little
Kay, we cannot help her! The Snow-queen's garden begins two miles from
here. You can carry the little maiden so far; put her down by the large
bush with red berries growing in the snow. Then you must come back here
as fast as you can.'

Then the Finland woman lifted little Gerda on the reindeer and away he
sped.

'Oh, I have left my gloves and boots behind!' cried Gerda. She missed
them in the piercing cold, but the reindeer did not dare to stop. On he
ran till he came to the bush with red berries. Then he set Gerda down
and kissed her mouth, and great big tears ran down his cheeks, and then
he ran back. There stood poor Gerda, without shoes or gloves in the
middle of the bitter cold of Finland.

She ran on as fast as she could. A regiment of gigantic snowflakes came
against her, but they melted when they touched her, and she went on with
fresh courage.

And now we must see what Kay was doing. He was not thinking of Gerda,
and never dreamt that she was standing outside the palace.

The walls of the palace were built of driven snow, and the doors and
windows of piercing winds. There were more than a hundred halls in
it all of frozen snow. The largest was several miles long; the bright
Northern lights lit them up, and very large and empty and cold and
glittering they were! In the middle of the great hall was a frozen lake
which had cracked in a thousand pieces; each piece was exactly like the
other. Here the Snow-queen used to sit when she was at home.

Little Kay was almost blue and black with cold, but he did not feel it,
for she had kissed away his feelings and his heart was a lump of ice.

He was pulling about some sharp, flat pieces of ice, and trying to fit
one into the other. He thought each was most beautiful, but that was
because of the splinter of glass in his eye. He fitted them into a
great many shapes, but he wanted to make them spell the word 'Love.' The
Snow-queen had said, 'If you can spell out that word you shalt be your
own master. I will give you the whole world and a new pair of skates.'

But he could not do it.

'Now I must fly to warmer countries,' said the Snow-queen. 'I must go
and powder my black kettles!' (This was what she called Mount Etna and
Mount Vesuvius.) 'It does the lemons and grapes good.'

And off she flew, and Kay sat alone in the great hall trying to do his
puzzle.

He sat so still that you would have thought he was frozen.

Then it happened that little Gerda stepped into the hall. The biting
cold winds became quiet as if they had fallen asleep when she appeared
in the great, empty, freezing hall.

She caught sight of Kay; she recognised him, and ran and put her arms
round his neck, crying, 'Kay! dear little Kay! I have found you at
last!'

But he sat quite still and cold. Then Gerda wept hot tears which fell
on his neck and thawed his heart and swept away the bit of the
looking-glass. He looked at her and then he burst into tears. He cried
so much that the glass splinter swam out of his eye; then he knew her,
and cried out, 'Gerda! dear little Gerda! Where have you been so long?
and where have I been?'

And he looked round him.

'How cold it is here! How wide and empty!' and he threw himself on
Gerda, and she laughed and wept for joy. It was such a happy time that
the pieces of ice even danced round them for joy, and when they were
tired and lay down again they formed themselves into the letters that
the Snow-queen had said he must spell in order to become his own master
and have the whole world and a new pair of skates.

And Gerda kissed his cheeks and they grew rosy; she kissed his eyes and
they sparkled like hers; she kissed his hands and feet and he became
warm and glowing. The Snow-queen might come home now; his release--the
word 'Love'--stood written in sparkling ice.

They took each other's hands and wandered out of the great palace; they
talked about the grandmother and the roses on the leads, wherever they
came the winds hushed and the sun came out. When they reached the bush
with red berries there stood the reindeer waiting for them.

He carried Kay and Gerda first to the Finland woman, who warmed them in
her hot room and gave them advice for their journey home.

Then they went to the Lapland woman, who gave them new clothes and
mended their sleigh. The reindeer ran with them until they came to the
green fields fresh with the spring green. Here he said good-bye.

They came to the forest, which was bursting into bud, and out of it came
a splendid horse which Gerda knew; it was the one which had drawn the
gold coach ridden by a young girl with a red cap on and pistols in her
belt. It was the little robber girl who was tired of being at home and
wanted to go out into the world. She and Gerda knew each other at once.

'You are a nice fellow!' she said to Kay. 'I should like to know if you
deserve to be run all over the world!'

But Gerda patted her cheeks and asked after the prince and princess.

'They are travelling about,' said the robber girl.

'And the crow?' asked Gerda.

'Oh, the crow is dead!' answered the robber-girl. 'His tame sweetheart
is a widow and hops about with a bit of black crape round her leg. She
makes a great fuss, but that's all nonsense. But tell me what happened
to you, and how you caught him.'

And Kay and Gerda told her all.

'Dear, dear!' said the robber-girl, shook both their hands, and promised
that if she came to their town she would come and see them. Then she
rode on.

But Gerda and Kay went home hand in hand. There they found the
grandmother and everything just as it had been, but when they went
through the doorway they found they were grown-up.

There were the roses on the leads; it was summer, warm, glorious summer.




The Fir-tree

Translated from the German of Hans Christian Andersen.


There was once a pretty little fir-tree in a wood. It was in a capital
position, for it could get sun, and there was enough air, and all around
grew many tall companions, both pines and firs. It did not heed the warm
sun and the fresh air, or notice the little peasant children who ran
about chattering when they came out to gather wild strawberries and
raspberries. Often they found a whole basketful and strung strawberries
on a straw; they would sit down by the little fir-tree and say, 'What a
pretty little one this is!' The tree did not like that at all.

By the next year it had grown a whole ring taller, and the year after
that another ring more, for you can always tell a fir-tree's age from
its rings.

'Oh! if I were only a great tree like the others!' sighed the little
fir-tree, 'then I could stretch out my branches far and wide and look
out into the great world! The birds would build their nests in my
branches, and when the wind blew I would bow to it politely just like
the others!' It took no pleasure in the sunshine, nor in the birds, nor
in the rose-coloured clouds that sailed over it at dawn and at sunset.
Then the winter came, and the snow lay white and sparkling all around,
and a hare would come and spring right over the little fir-tree, which
annoyed it very much. But when two more winters had passed the fir-tree
was so tall that the hare had to run round it. 'Ah! to grow and grow,
and become great and old! that is the only pleasure in life,' thought
the tree. In the autumn the woodcutters used to come and hew some of the
tallest trees; this happened every year, and the young fir-tree would
shiver as the magnificent trees fell crashing and crackling to the
ground, their branches hewn off, and the great trunks left bare, so that
they were almost unrecognisable. But then they were laid on waggons
and dragged out of the wood by horses. 'Where are they going? What will
happen to them?'

In spring, when the swallows and storks came, the fir-tree asked them,
'Do you know where they were taken? Have you met them?'

The swallows knew nothing of them, but the stork nodded his head
thoughtfully, saying, 'I think I know. I met many new ships as I flew
from Egypt; there were splendid masts on the ships. I'll wager those
were they! They had the scent of fir-trees. Ah! those are grand, grand!'

'Oh! if I were only big enough to sail away over the sea too! What sort
of thing is the sea? what does it look like?'

'Oh! it would take much too long to tell you all that,' said the stork,
and off he went.

'Rejoice in your youth,' said the sunbeams, 'rejoice in the sweet
growing time, in the young life within you.'

And the wind kissed it and the dew wept tears over it, but the fir-tree
did not understand.

Towards Christmas-time quite little trees were cut down, some not as big
as the young fir-tree, or just the same age, and now it had no peace or
rest for longing to be away. These little trees, which were chosen for
their beauty, kept all their branches; they were put in carts and drawn
out of the wood by horses.

'Whither are those going?' asked the fir-tree; 'they are no bigger than
I, and one there was much smaller even! Why do they keep their branches?
Where are they taken to?'

'We know! we know!' twittered the sparrows. 'Down there in the city we
have peeped in at the windows, we know where they go! They attain to the
greatest splendour and magnificence you can imagine! We have looked in
at the windows and seen them planted in the middle of the warm room and
adorned with the most beautiful things-golden apples, sweet-meats, toys
and hundreds of candles.'

'And then?' asked the fir-tree, trembling in every limb with eagerness,
'and then? what happens then?'

'Oh, we haven't seen anything more than that. That was simply
matchless!'

'Am I too destined to the same brilliant career?' wondered the fir-tree
excitedly. 'That is even better than sailing over the sea! I am sick
with longing. If it were only Christmas! Now I am tall and grown-up like
those which were taken away last year. Ah, if I were only in the cart!
If I were only in the warm room with all the splendour and magnificence!
And then? Then comes something better, something still more beautiful,
else why should they dress us up? There must be something greater,
something grander to come--but what? Oh! I am pining away! I really
don't know what's the matter with me!'

'Rejoice in us,' said the air and sunshine, 'rejoice in your fresh youth
in the free air!'

But it took no notice, and just grew and grew; there it stood fresh and
green in winter and summer, and all who saw it said, 'What a beautiful
tree!' And at Christmas-time it was the first to be cut down. The axe
went deep into the pith; the tree fell to the ground with a groan; it
felt bruised and faint. It could not think of happiness, it was sad at
leaving its home, the spot where it had sprung up; it knew, too, that it
would never see again its dear old companions, or the little shrubs
and flowers, perhaps not even the birds. Altogether the parting was not
pleasant.

When the tree came to itself again it was packed in a yard with other
trees, and a man was saying, 'This is a splendid one, we shall only want
this.'

Then came two footmen in livery and carried the fir-tree to a large and
beautiful room. There were pictures hanging on the walls, and near the
Dutch stove stood great Chinese vases with lions on their lids; there
were armchairs, silk-covered sofas, big tables laden with picture-books
and toys, worth hundreds of pounds-at least, so the children said. The
fir-tree was placed in a great tub filled with sand, but no one could
see that it was a tub, for it was all hung with greenery and stood on a
gay carpet. How the tree trembled! What was coming now? On its
branches they hung little nets cut out of coloured paper, each full of
sugarplums; gilt apples and nuts hung down as if they were growing, over
a hundred red, blue, and white tapers were fastened among the branches.
Dolls as life-like as human beings--the fir-tree had never seen any
before were suspended among the green, and right up at the top was fixed
a gold tinsel star; it was gorgeous, quite unusually gorgeous!

'To-night,' they all said, 'to-night it will be lighted!'

'Ah!' thought the tree, 'if it were only evening! Then the tapers would
soon be lighted. What will happen then? I wonder whether the trees will
come from the wood to see me, or if the sparrows will fly against the
window panes? Am I to stand here decked out thus through winter and
summer?'

It was not a bad guess, but the fir-tree had real bark-ache from sheer
longing, and bark-ache in trees is just as bad as head-ache in human
beings.

Now the tapers were lighted. What a glitter! What splendour! The tree
quivered in all its branches so much, that one of the candles caught
the green, and singed it. 'Take care!' cried the young ladies, and they
extinguished it.

Now the tree did not even dare to quiver. It was really terrible! It was
so afraid of losing any of its ornaments, and it was quite bewildered by
all the radiance.

And then the folding doors were opened, and a crowd of children rushed
in, as though they wanted to knock down the whole tree, whilst the older
people followed soberly. The children stood quite silent, but only for
a moment, and then they shouted again, and danced round the tree, and
snatched off one present after another.

'What are they doing?' thought the tree. 'What is going to happen?' And
the tapers burnt low on the branches, and were put out one by one, and
then the children were given permission to plunder the tree. They rushed
at it so that all its boughs creaked; if it had not been fastened by the
gold star at the top to the ceiling, it would have been overthrown.

The children danced about with their splendid toys, and no one looked at
the tree, except the old nurse, who came and peeped amongst the boughs,
just to see if a fig or an apple had been forgotten.

'A story! a story!' cried the children, and dragged a little stout
man to the tree; he sat down beneath it, saying, 'Here we are in the
greenwood, and the tree will be delighted to listen! But I am only going
to tell one story. Shall it be Henny Penny or Humpty Dumpty who fell
downstairs, and yet gained great honour and married a princess?'

'Henny Penny!' cried some; 'Humpty Dumpty!' cried others; there was a
perfect babel of voices! Only the fir-tree kept silent, and thought, 'Am
I not to be in it? Am I to have nothing to do with it?'

But it had already been in it, and played out its part. And the man told
them about Humpty Dumpty who fell downstairs and married a princess. The
children clapped their hands and cried, 'Another! another!' They wanted
the story of Henny Penny also, but they only got Humpty Dumpty. The
fir-tree stood quite astonished and thoughtful; the birds in the wood
had never related anything like that. 'Humpty Dumpty fell downstairs and
yet married a princess! yes, that is the way of the world!' thought the
tree, and was sure it must be true, because such a nice man had told
the story. 'Well, who knows? Perhaps I shall fall downstairs and marry a
princess.' And it rejoiced to think that next day it would be decked out
again with candles, toys, glittering ornaments, and fruits. 'To-morrow
I shall quiver again with excitement. I shall enjoy to the full all my
splendour. To-morrow I shall hear Humpty Dumpty again, and perhaps Henny
Penny too.' And the tree stood silent and lost in thought all through
the night.

Next morning the servants came in. 'Now the dressing up will begin
again,' thought the tree. But they dragged it out of the room, and up
the stairs to the lumber-room, and put it in a dark corner, where no ray
of light could penetrate. 'What does this mean?' thought the tree. 'What
am I to do here? What is there for me to hear?' And it leant against the
wall, and thought and thought. And there was time enough for that, for
days and nights went by, and no one came; at last when some one did
come, it was only to put some great boxes into the corner. Now the tree
was quite covered; it seemed as if it had been quite forgotten.

'Now it is winter out-doors,' thought the fir-tree. 'The ground is hard
and covered with snow, they can't plant me yet, and that is why I am
staying here under cover till the spring comes. How thoughtful they are!
Only I wish it were not so terribly dark and lonely here; not even
a little hare! It was so nice out in the wood, when the snow lay all
around, and the hare leapt past me; yes, even when he leapt over me: but
I didn't like it then. It's so dreadfully lonely up here.'

'Squeak, squeak!' said a little mouse, stealing out, followed by a
second. They sniffed at the fir-tree, and then crept between its boughs.
'It's frightfully cold,' said the little mice. 'How nice it is to be
here! Don't you think so too, you old fir-tree?'

'I'm not at all old,' said the tree; 'there are many much older than I
am.'

'Where do you come from?' asked the mice, 'and what do you know?' They
were extremely inquisitive. 'Do tell us about the most beautiful
place in the world. Is that where you come from? Have you been in the
storeroom, where cheeses lie on the shelves, and hams hang from the
ceiling, where one dances on tallow candles, and where one goes in thin
and comes out fat?'

'I know nothing about that,' said the tree. 'But I know the wood, where
the sun shines, and the birds sing.' And then it told them all about
its young days, and the little mice had never heard anything like that
before, and they listened with all their ears, and said: 'Oh, how much
you have seen! How lucky you have been!'

'I?' said the fir-tree, and then it thought over what it had told them.
'Yes, on the whole those were very happy times.' But then it went on to
tell them about Christmas Eve, when it had been adorned with sweet-meats
and tapers.

'Oh!' said the little mice, 'how lucky you have been, you old fir-tree!'

'I'm not at all old' said the tree. 'I only came from the wood this
winter. I am only a little backward, perhaps, in my growth.'

'How beautifully you tell stories!' said the little mice. And next
evening they came with four others, who wanted to hear the tree's story,
and it told still more, for it remembered everything so clearly and
thought: 'Those were happy times! But they may come again. Humpty dumpty
fell downstairs, and yet he married a princess; perhaps I shall also
marry a princess!' And then it thought of a pretty little birch-tree
that grew out in the wood, and seemed to the fir-tree a real princess,
and a very beautiful one too.

'Who is Humpty Dumpty?' asked the little mice.

And then the tree told the whole story; it could remember every single
word, and the little mice were ready to leap on to the topmost branch
out of sheer joy! Next night many more mice came, and on Sunday even
two rats; but they did not care about the story, and that troubled the
little mice, for now they thought less of it too.

'Is that the only story you know?' asked the rats.

'The only one,' answered the tree. 'I heard that on my happiest evening,
but I did not realise then how happy I was.'

'That's a very poor story. Don't you know one about bacon or tallow
candles? a storeroom story?'

'No,' said the tree.

'Then we are much obliged to you,' said the rats, and they went back to
their friends.

At last the little mice went off also, and the tree said, sighing:
'Really it was very pleasant when the lively little mice sat round and
listened whilst I told them stories. But now that's over too. But now I
will think of the time when I shall be brought out again, to keep up my
spirits.'

But when did that happen? Well, it was one morning when they came to
tidy up the lumber-room; they threw it really rather roughly on the
floor, but a servant dragged it off at once downstairs, where there was
daylight once more.

'Now life begins again!' thought the tree. It felt the fresh air, the
first rays of the sun, and there it was out in the yard! Everything
passed so quickly; the tree quite forgot to notice itself, there was so
much to look at all around. The yard opened on a garden full of flowers;
the roses were so fresh and sweet, hanging over a little trellis,
the lime-trees were in blossom, and the swallows flew about, saying:
'Quirre-virre-vil, my husband has come home;' but it was not the
fir-tree they meant.

'Now I shall live,' thought the tree joyfully, stretching out its
branches wide; but, alas! they were all withered and yellow; and it was
lying in a corner among weeds and nettles. The golden star was still on
its highest bough, and it glittered in the bright sunlight. In the yard
some of the merry children were playing, who had danced so gaily round
the tree at Christmas. One of the little ones ran up, and tore off the
gold star.

'Look what was left on the ugly old fir-tree!' he cried, and stamped on
the boughs so that they cracked under his feet.

And the tree looked at all the splendour and freshness of the flowers in
the garden, and then looked at itself, and wished that it had been left
lying in the dark corner of the lumber-room; it thought of its fresh
youth in the wood, of the merry Christmas Eve, and of the little mice
who had listened so happily to the story of Humpty Dumpty.

'Too late! Too late!' thought the old tree. 'If only I had enjoyed
myself whilst I could. Now all is over and gone.'

And a servant came and cut the tree into small pieces, there was quite
a bundle of them; they flickered brightly under the great copper in
the brew-house; the tree sighed deeply, and each sigh was like a
pistol-shot; so the children who were playing there ran up, and sat in
front of the fire, gazing at it, and crying, 'Piff! puff! bang!' But
for each report, which was really a sigh, the tree was thinking of a
summer's day in the wood, or of a winter's night out there, when the
stars were shining; it thought of Christmas Eve, and of Humpty Dumpty,
which was the only story it had heard, or could tell, and then the tree
had burnt away.

The children played on in the garden, and the youngest had the golden
star on his breast, which the tree had worn on the happiest evening of
its life; and now that was past--and the tree had passed away--and the
story too, all ended and done with.

And that's the way with all stories!

Here our Danish author ends. This is what people call sentiment, and I
hope you enjoy it!




Hans, the Mermaid's Son

Translated from the Danish.


In a village there once lived a smith called Basmus, who was in a very
poor way. He was still a young man, and a strong handsome fellow to
boot, but he had many little children and there was little to be earned
by his trade. He was, however, a diligent and hard-working man, and when
he had no work in the smithy he was out at sea fishing, or gathering
wreckage on the shore.

It happened one time that he had gone out to fish in good weather,
all alone in a little boat, but he did not come home that day, nor the
following one, so that all believed he had perished out at sea. On the
third day, however, Basmus came to shore again and had his boat full
of fish, so big and fat that no one had ever seen their like. There
was nothing the matter with him, and he complained neither of hunger or
thirst. He had got into a fog, he said, and could not find land again.
What he did not tell, however, was where he had been all the time; that
only came out six years later, when people got to know that he had been
caught by a mermaid out on the deep sea, and had been her guest during
the three days that he was missing. From that time forth he went out no
more to fish; nor, indeed, did he require to do so, for whenever he went
down to the shore it never failed that some wreckage was washed up, and
in it all kinds of valuable things. In those days everyone took what
they found and got leave to keep it, so that the smith grew more
prosperous day by day.

When seven years had passed since the smith went out to sea, it happened
one morning, as he stood in the smithy, mending a plough, that a
handsome young lad came in to him and said, 'Good-day, father; my mother
the mermaid sends her greetings, and says that she has had me for six
years now, and you can keep me for as long.'

He was a strange enough boy to be six years old, for he looked as if he
were eighteen, and was even bigger and stronger than lads commonly are
at that age.

'Will you have a bite of bread?' said the smith.

'Oh, yes,' said Hans, for that was his name.

The smith then told his wife to cut a piece of bread for him. She did
so, and the boy swallowed it at one mouthful and went out again to the
smithy to his father.

'Have you got all you can eat?' said the smith.

'No,' said Hans, 'that was just a little bit.'

The smith went into the house and took a whole loaf, which he cut into
two slices and put butter and cheese between them, and this he gave to
Hans. In a while the boy came out to the smithy again.

'Well, have you got as much as you can eat?' said the smith.

'No, not nearly,' said Hans; 'I must try to find a better place than
this, for I can see that I shall never get my fill here.'

Hans wished to set off at once, as soon as his father would make a staff
for him of such a kind as he wanted.

'It must be of iron,' said he, 'and one that can hold out.'

The smith brought him an iron rod as thick as an ordinary staff, but
Hans took it and twisted it round his finger, so that wouldn't do. Then
the smith came dragging one as thick as a waggon-pole, but Hans bent it
over his knee and broke it like a straw. The smith then had to collect
all the iron he had, and Hans held it while his father forged for him a
staff, which was heavier than the anvil. When Hans had got this he said,
'Many thanks, father; now I have got my inheritance.' With this he set
off into the country, and the smith was very pleased to be rid of that
son, before he ate him out of house and home.

Hans first arrived at a large estate, and it so happened that the squire
himself was standing outside the farmyard.

'Where are you going?' said the squire.

'I am looking for a place,' said Hans, 'where they have need of strong
fellows, and can give them plenty to eat.'

'Well,' said the squire, 'I generally have twenty-four men at this time
of the year, but I have only twelve just now, so I can easily take you
on.'

'Very well,' said Hans, 'I shall easily do twelve men's work, but then I
must also have as much to eat as the twelve would.'

All this was agreed to, and the squire took Hans into the kitchen, and
told the servant girls that the new man was to have as much food as the
other twelve. It was arranged that he should have a pot to himself, and
he could then use the ladle to take his food with.

It was in the evening that Hans arrived there, so he did nothing more
that day than eat his supper--a big pot of buck-wheat porridge, which
he cleaned to the bottom and was then so far satisfied that he said he
could sleep on that, so he went off to bed. He slept both well and long,
and all the rest were up and at their work while he was still sleeping
soundly. The squire was also on foot, for he was curious to see how the
new man would behave who was both to eat and work for twelve.

But as yet there was no Hans to be seen, and the sun was already high in
the heavens, so the squire himself went and called on him.

'Get up, Hans,' he cried; 'you are sleeping too long.'

Hans woke up and rubbed his eyes. 'Yes, that's true,' he said, 'I must
get up and have my breakfast.'

So he rose and dressed himself, and went into the kitchen, where he got
his pot of porridge; he swallowed all of this, and then asked what work
he was to have.

He was to thresh that day, said the squire; the other twelve men were
already busy at it. There were twelve threshing-floors, and the twelve
men were at work on six of them--two on each. Hans must thresh by
himself all that was lying upon the other six floors. He went out to the
barn and got hold of a flail. Then he looked to see how the others did
it and did the same, but at hte first stroke he smashed the flail in
pieces. There were several flails hanging there, and Hans took the one
after the other, but they all went the same way, every one flying in
splinters at the first stroke. He then looked round for something else
to work with, and found a pair of strong beams lying near. Next he
caught sight of a horse-hide nailed up on the barn-door. With the beams
he made a flail, using the skin to tie them together. The one beam he
used as a handle, and the other to strike with, and now that was all
right. But the barn was too low, there was no room to swing the flail,
and the floors were too small. Hans, however, found a remedy for
this--he simply lifted the whole roof off the barn, and set it down in
the field beside. He then emptied down all the corn that he could lay
his hands on and threshed away. He went through one lot after another,
and it was ll the same to him what he got hold of, so before midday he
had threshed all the squire's grain, his rye and wheat and barley and
oats, all mixed through each other. When he was finished with this, he
lifted the roof up on the barn again, like setting a lid on a box, and
went in and told the squire that the job was done.

The squire opened his eyes at this announcement; and came out to see
if it was really true. It was true, sure enough, but he was scarcely
delighted with the mixed grain that he got from all his crops. However,
when he saw the flail that Hans had used, and learned how he had made
room for himself to swing it, he was so afraid of the strong fellow,
that he dared not say anything, except that it was a good thing he had
got it threshed; but it had still to be cleaned.

'What does that mean?' asked Hans.

It was explained to him that the corn and the chaff had to be separated;
as yet both were lying in one heap, right up to the roof. Hans began
to take up a little and sift it in his hands, but he soon saw that
this would never do. He soon thought of a plan, however; he opened both
barn-doors, and then lay down at one end and blew, so that all the chaff
flew out and lay like a sand-bank at the other end of the barn, and the
grain was as clean as it could be. Then he reported to the squire that
that job also was done. The squire said that that was well; there was
nothing more for him to do that day. Off went Hans to the kitchen, and
got as much as he could eat; then he went and took a midday nap which
lasted till supper-time.

Meanwhile the squire was quite miserable, and made his moan to his wife,
saying that she must help him to find some means to getting rid of this
strong fellow, for he durst not give him his leave. She sent for the
steward, and it was arranged that next day all the men should go to the
forest for fire-wood, and that they should make a bargain among them,
that the one who came home last with his load should be hanged. They
thought they could easily manage that it would be Hans who would lose
his life, for the others would be early on the road, while Hans would
certainly oversleep himself. In the evening, therefore, the men sat and
talked together, saying that next morning they must set out early to
the forest, and as they had a hard day's work and a long journey before
them, they would, for their amusement, make a compact, that whichever of
them came home last with his load should lose his life on the gallows.
So Hans had no objections to make.

Long before the sun was up next morning, all the twelve men were on
foot. They took all the best horses and carts, and drove off to the
forest. Hans, however, lay and slept on, and the squire said, 'Just let
him lie.'

At last, Hans thought it was time to have his breakfast, so he got up
and put on his clothes. He took plenty of time to his breakfast, and
then went out to get his horse and cart ready. The others had taken
everything that was any good, so that he had a difficulty in scraping
together four wheels of different sizes and fixing them to an old cart,
and he could find no other horses than a pair of old hacks. He did not
know where it lay, but he followed the track of the other carts, and in
that way came to it all right. On coming to the gate leading into the
forest, he was unfortunate enough to break it in pieces, so he took a
huge stone that was lying on the field, seven ells long, and seven ells
broad, and set this in the gap, then he went on and joined the others.
These laughed at him heartily, for they had laboured as hard as they
could since daybreak, and had helped each other to fell trees and put
them on the carts, so that all of these were now loaded except one.

Hans got hold of a woodman's axe and proceeded to fell a tree, but he
destroyed the edge and broke the shaft at the first blow. He therefore
laid down the axe, put his arms round the tree, and pulled it up by the
roots. This he threw upon his cart, and then another and another, and
thus he went on while all the others forgot their work, and stood with
open mouths, gazing at this strange woodcraft. All at once they began to
hurry; the last cart was loaded, and they whipped up their horses, so as
to be the first to arrive home.

When Hans had finished his work, he again put his old hacks into the
cart, but they could not move it from the spot. He was annoyed at this,
and took them out again, twisted a rope round the cart, and all the
trees, lifted the whole affair on his back, and set off home, leading
the horses behind him by the rein. When he reached the gate, he found
the whole row of carts standing there, unable to get any further for the
stone which lay in the gap.

'What!' said Hans, 'can twelve men not move that stone?' With that he
lifted it and threw it out of hte way, and went on with his burden on
his back, and the horses behind him, and arrived at the farm long before
any of the others. The squire was walking about there, looking and
looking, for he was very curious to know what had happened. Finally, he
caught sight of Hans coming along in this fashion, and was so frightened
that he did not know what to do, but he shut the gate and put on the
bar. When Hans reached the gate of the courtyard, he laid down the trees
and hammered at it, but no one came to open it. He then took the trees
and tossed them over the barn into the yard, and the cart after them, so
that every wheel flew off in a different direction.

When the squire saw this, he thought to himself, 'The horses will come
the same way if I don't open the door,' so he did this.

'Good day, master,' said Hans, and put the horses into the stable, and
went into the kitchen, to get something to eat. At length the other men
came home with their loads. When they came in, Hans said to them, 'Do
you remember the bargain we made last night? Which of you is it that's
going to be hanged?' 'Oh,' said they, 'that was only a joke; it didn't
mean anything.' 'Oh well, it doesn't matter, 'said Hans, and there was
no more about it.

The squire, however, and his wife and the steward, had much to say to
each other about the terrible man they had got, and all were agreed that
they must get rid of him in some way or other. The steward said that he
would manage this all right. Next morning they were to clean the well,
and they would use of that opportunity. They would get him down into
the well, and then have a big mill-stone ready to throw down on top of
him--that would settle him. After that they could just fill in the well,
and then escape being at any expense for his funeral. Both the squire
and his wife thought this a splendid idea, and went about rejoicing at
the thought that now they would get rid of Hans.

But Hans was hard to kill, as we shall see. He slept long next morning,
as he always did, and finally, as he would not waken by himself, the
squire had to go and call him. 'Get up, Hans, you are sleeping too
long,' he cried. Hans woke up and rubbed his eyes. 'That's so,' said
he, 'I shall rise and have my breakfast.' He got up then and dressed
himself, while the breakfast stood waiting for him. When he had finished
the whole of this, he asked what he was to do that day. He was told to
help the other men to clean out the well. That was all right, and he
went out and found the other men waiting for him. To these he said that
they could choose whichever task they liked--either to go down into the
well and fill the buckets while he pulled them up, or pull them up, and
he alone would go down to the bottom of the well. They answered that
they would rather stay above-ground, as there would be no room for so
many of them down in the well.

Hans therefore went down alone, and began to clean out the well, but
the men had arranged how they were to act, and immediately each of them
seized a stone from a heap of huge blocks, and threw them down above
him, thinking to kill him with these. Hans, however, gave no more heed
to this than to shout up to them, to keep the hens away from the well,
for they were scraping gravel down on the top of him.

They then saw that they could not kill him with little stones, but they
had still the big one left. The whole twelve of them set to work with
poles and rollers and rolled the big mill-stone to the brink of the
well. It was with the greatest difficulty that they got it thrown down
there, and now they had no doubt that he had got all that he wanted. But
the stone happened to fall so luckily that his head went right through
the hole in the middle of the mill-stone, so that it sat round his neck
like a priest's collar. At this, Hans would stay down no longer. He came
out of the well, with the mill-stone round his neck, ad went straight to
the squire and complained that the other men were trying to make a
fool of him. He would not be their priest, he said; he had too little
learning for that. Saying this, he bent down his head and shook the
stone off, so that it crushed one of the squire's big toes.

The squire went limping in to his wife, and the steward was sent for. He
was told that he must devise some plan for getting rid of this terrible
person. The scheme he had devised before had been of no use, and now
good counsel was scarce.

'Oh, no' said the steward, 'there are good enough ways yet. The squire
can send him this evening to fish in Devilmoss Lake: he will never
escape alive from there, for no one can go there by night for Old Eric.'

That was a grand idea, both the squire and his wife thought, and so
he limped out again to Hans, and said that he would punish his men for
having tried to make a fool of him. Meanwhile, Hans could do a little
job where he would be free from these rascals. He should go out on the
lake and fish there that night, and would then be free from all work on
the following day.

'All right,' said Hans; 'I am well content with that, but I must have
something with me to eat--a baking of bread, a cask of butter, a barrel
of ale, and a keg of brandy. I can't do with less than that.'

The squire said that he could easily get all that, so Hans got all of
these tied up together, hung them over his shoulder on his good staff,
and tramped away to Devilmoss Lake.

There he got into the boat, rowed out upon the lake, and got everything
ready to fish. As he now lay out there in the middle of the lake, and
it was pretty late in the evening, he thought he would have something to
eat first, before starting to work. Just as he was at his busiest with
this, Old Eric rose out of the lake, caught him by the cuff of the neck,
whipped him out of the boat, and dragged him down to the bottom. It was
a lucky thing that Hans had his walking-stick with him that day, and had
just time to catch hold of it when he felt Old Eric's claws in his neck,
so when they got down to the bottom he said, 'Stop now, just wait a
little; here is solid ground.' With that he caught Old Eric by the back
of the neck with one hand, and hammered away on his back with the staff,
till he beat him out as flat as a pancake. Old Eric then began to lament
and howl, begging him just to let him go, and he would never come back
to the lake again.

'No, my good fellow,' said Hans, 'you won't get off until you promise
to bring all the fish in the lake up to the squire's courtyard, before
to-morrow morning.'

Old Eric eagerly promised this, if Hans would only let him go; so Hans
rowed ashore, ate up the rest of his provisions, and went home to bed.

Next morning, when the squire rose and opened his front door, the fish
came tumbling into the porch, and the whole yard was crammed full of
them. He ran in again to his wife, for he could never devise anything
himself, and said to her, 'What shall we do with him now? Old Eric
hasn't taken him. I am certain that all the fish are out of the lake,
for the yard is just filled with them.'

'Yes, that's a bad business,' said she; 'you must see if you can't get
him sent to Purgatory, to demand tribute.' The squire therefore made
his way to the men's quarters, to speak to Hans, and it took him all his
time to push his way along the walls, under the eaves, on account of the
fish that filled the yard. He thanked Hans for having fished so well,
and said that now he had an errand for him, which he could only give to
a trusty servant, and that was to journey to Purgatory, and demand three
years tribute, which, he said, was owing to him from that quarter.

'Willingly,' said Hans; 'but what road do I go, to get there?'

The squire stood, and did not know what to say, and had first to go in
to his wife to ask her.

'Oh, what a fool you are!' said she, 'can't you direct him straight
forward, south through the wood? Whether he gets there or not, we shall
be quit of him.'

Out goes the squire again to Hans.

'The way lies straight forward, south through the wood,' said he.

Hans then must have his provisions for the journey; two bakings of
bread, two casks of butter, two barrels of ale, and two kegs of brandy.
He tied all these up together, and got them on his shoulder hanging on
his good walking-stick, and off he tramped southward.

After he had got through the wood, there was more than one road, and he
was in doubt which of them was the right one, so he sat down and opened
up his bundle of provisions. He found he had left his knife at home, but
by good chance, there was a plough lying close at hand, so he took the
coulter of this to cut the bread with. As he sat there and took his
bite, a man came riding past him.

'Where are you from?' said Hans.

'From Purgatory,' said the man.

'Then stop and wait a little,' said Hans; but the man was in a hurry,
and would not stop, so Hans ran after him and caught the horse by the
tail. This brought it down on its hind legs, and the man went flying
over its head into a ditch. 'Just wait a little,' said Hans; 'I am going
the same way.' He got his provisions tied up again, and laid them on the
horse's back; then he took hold of the reins and said to the man, 'We
two can go along together on foot.'

As they went on their way Hans told the stranger both about the errand
he had on hand and the fun he had had with Old Eric. The other said but
little but he was well acquainted with the way, and it was no long time
before they arrived at the gate. There both horse and rider disappeared,
and Hans was left alone outside. 'They will come and let me in
presently,' he thought to himself; but no one came. He hammered at the
gate; still no one appeared. Then he got tired of waiting, and smashed
at the gate with his staff until he knocked it in pieces and got inside.
A whole troop of little demons came down upon him and asked what he
wanted. His master's compliments, said Hans, and he wanted three years'
tribute. At this they howled at him, and were about to lay hold of him
and drag him off; but when they had got some raps from his walking-stick
they let go again, howled still louder than before, and ran in to Old
Eric, who was still in bed, after his adventure in the lake. They told
him that a messenger had come from the squire at Devilmoss to demand
three years' tribute. He had knocked the gate to pieces and bruised
their arms and legs with his iron staff.

'Give him three years'! give him ten!' shouted Old Eric, 'only don't let
him come near me.'

So all the little demons came dragging so much silver and gold that it
was something awful. Hans filled his bundle with gold and silver coins,
put it on his neck, and tramped back to his master, who was scared
beyond all measure at seeing him again.

But Hans was also tired of service now. Of all the gold and silver
he brought with him he let the squire keep one half, and he was glad
enough, both for the money and at getting rid of Hans. The other half
he took home to his father the smith in Furreby. To him also he said,
'Farewell;' he was now tired of living on shore among mortal men, and
preferred to go home again to his mother. Since that time no one has
ever seen Hans, the Mermaid's son.




Peter Bull

From the Danish.


There once lived in Denmark a peasant and his wife who owned a very good
farm, but had no children. They often lamented to each other that they
had no one of their own to inherit all the wealth that they possessed.
They continued to prosper, and became rich people, but there was no heir
to it all.

One year it happened that they owned a pretty little bull-calf, which
they called Peter. It was the prettiest little creature they had ever
seen--so beautiful and so wise that it understood everything that was
said to it, and so gentle and so full of play that both the man and his
wife came to be as fond of it as if it had been their own child.

One day the man said to his wife, 'I wonder, now, whether our parish
clerk could teach Peter to talk; in that case we could not do better
than adopt him as our son, and let him inherit all that we possess.'

'Well, I don't know,' said his wife, 'our clerk is tremendously learned,
and knows much more than his Paternoster, and I could almost believe
that he might be able to teach Peter to talk, for Peter has a
wonderfully good head too. You might at least ask him about it.'

Off went the man to the clerk, and asked him whether he thought he could
teach a bull-calf that they had to speak, for they wished so much to
have it as their heir.

The clerk was no fool; he looked round about to see that no one could
overhear them, and said, 'Oh, yes, I can easily do that, but you must
not speak to anyone about it. It must be done in all secrecy, and the
priest must not know of it, otherwise I shall get into trouble, as it is
forbidden. It will also cost you something, as some very expensive books
are required.'

That did not matter at all, the man said; they would not care so very
much what it cost. The clerk could have a hundred dollars to begin with
to buy the books. He also promised to tell no one about it, and to bring
the calf round in the evening.

He gave the clerk the hundred dollars on the spot, and in the evening
took the calf round to him, and the clerk promised to do his best with
it. In a week's time he came back to the clerk to hear about the calf
and see how it was thriving. The clerk, however, said that he could not
get a sight of it, for then Peter would long after him and forget all
that he had already learned. He was getting on well with his learning,
but another hundred dollars were needed, as they must have more books.
The peasant had the money with him, so he gave it to the clerk, and went
home again with high hopes.

In another week the man came again to learn what progress Peter had made
now.

'He is getting on very well,' said the clerk.

'I suppose he can't say anything yet?' said the man.

'Oh, yes,' said the clerk, 'he can say "Moo" now.'

'Do you think he will get on with his learning?' asked the peasant.

'Oh, yes,' said the clerk, 'but I shall want another hundred dollars for
books. Peter can't learn well out of the ones that he has got.'

'Well, well,' said the man, 'what must be spent shall be spent.'

So he gave the clerk the third hundred dollars for books, and a cask of
good old ale for Peter. The clerk drank the ale himself, and gave the
calf milk, which he thought would be better for it.

Some weeks passed, during which the peasant did not come round to ask
after the calf, being frightened lest it should cost him another hundred
dollars, for he had begun to squirm a bit at having to part with so much
money. Meanwhile the clerk decided that the calf was as fat as it could
be, so he killed it. After he had got all the beef out of the way he
went inside, put on his black clothes, and made his way to the peasant's
house.

As soon as he had said 'Good-day' he asked, 'Has Peter come home here?'

'No, indeed, he hasn't,' said the man; 'surely he hasn't run away?'

'I hope,' said the clerk, 'that he would not behave so contemptibly
after all the trouble I have had to teach him, and all that I have spent
upon him. I have had to spend at least a hundred dollars of my own money
to buy books for him before I got him so far on. He could say anything
he liked now, so he said to-day that he longed to see his parents
again. I was willing to give him that pleasure, but I was afraid that he
wouldn't be able to find the way here by himself, so I made myself ready
to go with him. When we had got outside the house I remembered that I
had left my stick inside, and went in again to get it. When I came out
again Peter had gone off on his own account. I thought he would be here,
and if he isn't I don't know where he is.'

The peasant and his wife began to lament bitterly that Peter had run
away in this fashion just when they were to have so much joy of him, and
after they had spent so much on his education. The worst of it was that
now they had no heir after all. The clerk comforted them as best he
could; he also was greatly distressed that Peter should have behaved
in such a way just when he should have gained honour from his pupil.
Perhaps he had only gone astray, and he would advertise him at church
next Sunday, and find out where anyone had seen him. Then he bade them
'Good-bye,' and went home nad dined on a good fat veal roast.

Now it so happened that the clerk took in a newspaper, and one day he
chanced to read in its columns of a new merchant who had settled in
a town at some distance, and whose name was 'Peter Bull.' He put the
newspaper in his pocket, and went round to the sorrowing couple who had
lost their heir. He read the paragraph to them, and added, 'I wonder,
now, whether that could be your bull-calf Peter?'

'Yes, of course it is,' said the man; 'who else would it be?'

His wife then spoke up and said, 'You must set out, good man, and see
about him, for it is him, I am perfectly certain. Take a good sum of
money with you, too; for who knows but what he may want some cash now
that he has turned a merchant!'

Next day the man got a bag of money on his back and a sandwich in his
pocket, and his pipe in his mouth, and set out for the town where the
new merchant lived. It was no short way, and he travelled for many days
before he finally arrived there. He reached it one morning, just at
daybreak, found out the right place, and asked if the merchant was at
home. Yes, he was, said the people, but he was not up yet.

'That doesn't matter,' said the peasant, 'for I am his father. Just show
me up to his bedroom.'

He was shown up to the room, and as soon as he entered it, ad caught
sight of the merchant, he recognised him at once. He had the same broad
forehead, the same thick neck, and same red hair, but in other respects
he was now like a human being. The peasant rushed straight up to him
and took a firm hold of him. 'O Peter,' said he, 'what a sorrow you have
caused us, both myself and your mother, by running off like this just
as we had got you well educated! Get up, now, so that I can see you
properly, and have a talk with you.'

The merchant thought that it was a lunatic who had made his way in to
him, and thought it best to take things quietly.

'All right,' said he, 'I shall do so at once.' He got out of bed and
made haste to dress himself.

'Ay,' said the peasant, 'now I can see how clever our clerk is. He
has done well by you, for now you look just like a human being. If one
didn't know it, one would never think that it was you we got from the
red cow; will you come home with me now?'

'No,' said the merchant, 'I can't find time just now. I have a big
business to look after.'

'You could have the farm at once, you know,' said the peasant, 'and we
old people would retire. But if you would rather stay in business, of
course you may do so. Are you in want of anything?'

'Oh, yes,' said the merchant; 'I want nothing so much as money. A
merchant has always a use for that.'

'I can well believe that,' said the peasant, 'for you had nothing at all
to start with. I have brought some with me for that very end.' With
that he emptied his bag of money out upon the table, so that it was all
covered with bright dollars.

When the merchant saw what kind of man he had before him he began to
speak him fair, and invited him to stay with him for some days, so that
they might have some more talk together.

'Very well,' said the peasant, 'but you must call me "Father."'

'I have neither father nor mother alive,' said Peter Bull.

'I know that,' said the man; 'your real father was sold at Hamburg last
Michaelmas, and your real mother died while calving in spring; but my
wife and I have adopted you as our own, and you are our only heir, so
you must call me "Father."'

Peter Bull was quite willing to do so, and it was settled that he should
keep the money, while the peasant made his will and left to him all that
he had, before he went home to his wife, and told her the whole story.

She was delighted to hear that it was true enough about Peter Bull--that
he was no other than their own bull-calf.

'You must go at once and tell the clerk,' said she, 'and pay him the
hundred dollars of his own money that he spent upon our son. He has
earned them well, and more besides, for all the joy he has given us in
having such a son and heir.'

The man agreed with this, and thanked the clerk for all he had done, and
gave him two hundred dollars. Then he sold the farm, and removed with
his wife to the town where their dear son and heir was living. To him
they gave all their wealth, and lived with him till their dying day.




The Bird 'Grip'

Translated from the Swedish.


It happened once that a king, who had a great kingdom and three sons,
became blind, and no human skill or art could restore to him his sight.
At last there came to the palace an old woman, who told him that in the
whole world there was only one thing that could give him back his sight,
and that was to get the bird Grip; his song would open the King's eyes.

When the king's eldest son heard this he offered to bring the bird Grip,
which was kept in a cage by a king in another country, and carefully
guarded as his greatest treasure. The blind king was greatly rejoiced at
his son's resolve, fitted him out in the best way he could, and let him
go. When the prince had ridden some distance he came to an inn, in which
there were many guests, all of whom were merry, and drank and sang and
played at dice. This joyous life pleased the prince so well that he
stayed in the inn, took part in the playing and drinking, and forgot
both his blind father and the bird Grip.

Meanwhile the king waited with both hope and anxiety for his son's
return, but as time went on and nothing was heard of him, the second
prince asked leave to go in search of his brother, as well as to bring
the bird Grip. The king granted his request, and fitted him out in
the finest fashion. But when the prince came to the inn and found his
brother among his merry companions, he also remained there and forgot
both the bird Grip and his blind father.

When the king noticed that neither of his sons returned, although a long
time had passed since the second one set out, he was greatly distressed,
for not only had he lost all hope of getting back his sight, but he had
also lost his two eldest sons. The youngest now came to him, and offered
to go in search of his brothers and to bring the bird Grip; he was quite
certain that he would succeed in this. The king was unwilling to risk
his third son on such an errand, but he begged so long that his father
had at last to consent. This prince also was fitted out in the finest
manner, like his brothers, and so rode away.

He also turned into the same inn as his brothers, and when these saw
him they assailed him with many entreaties to remain with them and share
their merry life. But he answered that now, when he had found them,
his next task was to get the bird Grip, for which his blind father was
longing, and so he had not a single hour to spare with them in the inn.
He then said farewell to his brothers, and rode on to find another inn
in which to pass the night. When he had ridden a long way, and it began
to grow dark, he came to a house which lay deep in the forest. Here he
was received in a very friendly manner by the host, who put his horse
into the stable, and led the prince himself into the guest-chamber,
where he ordered a maid-servant to lay the cloth and set down the
supper. It was now dark, and while the girl was laying the cloth and
setting down the dishes, and the prince had begun to appease his hunger,
he heard the most piteous shrieks and cries from the next room. He
sprang up from the table and asked the girl what those cries were, and
whether he had fallen into a den of robbers. The girl answered that
these shrieks were heard every night, but it was no living being who
uttered them; it was a dead man, who life the host had taken because
he could not pay for the meals he had had in the inn. The host further
refused to bury the dead man, as he had left nothing to pay the expenses
of the funeral, and every night he went and scourged the dead body of
his victim.

When she had said this she lifted the cover off one of the dishes, and
the prince saw that there lay on it a knife and an axe. He understood
then that the host meant to ask him by this what kind of death he
preferred to die, unless he was willing to ransom his life with his
money. He then summoned the host, gave him a large sum for his own life,
and paid the dead man's debt as well, besides paying him for burying the
body, which the murderer now promised to attend to.

The prince, however, felt that his life was not safe in this murderer's
den, and asked the maid to help him to escape that night. She replied
that the attempt to do so might cost her her own life, as the key of the
stable in which the prince's horse stood lay under the host's pillow;
but, as she herself was a prisoner there, she would help him to escape
if he would take her along with him. He promised to do so, and they
succeeded in getting away from the inn, and rode on until they came to
another far away from it, where the prince got a good place for the girl
before proceeding on his journey.

As he now rode all alone through a forest there met him a fox, who
greeted him in a friendly fashion, and asked him where he was going, and
on what errand he was bent. The prince answered that his errand was too
important to be confided to everyone that he met.

'You are right in that,' said the fox, 'for it relates to the bird Grip,
which you want to take and bring home to your blind father; I could help
you in this, but in that case you must follow my counsel.'

The prince thought that this was a good offer, especially as the fox was
ready to go with him and show him the way to the castle, where the bird
Grip sat in his cage, and so he promised to obey the fox's instructions.
When they had traversed the forest together they saw the castle at some
distance. Then the fox gave the prince three grains of gold, one of
which he was to throw into the guard-room, another into the room where
the bird Grip sat, and the third into its cage. He could then take the
bird, but he must beware of stroking it; otherwise it would go ill with
him.

The prince took the grains of gold, and promised to follow the fox's
directions faithfully. When he came to the guard-room of the castle he
threw one of the grains in there, and the guards at once fell asleep.
The same thing happened with those who kept watch in the room beside the
bird Grip, and when he threw the third grain into its cage the bird also
fell asleep. When the prince got the beautiful bird into his hand he
could not resist the temptation to stroke it, whereupon it awoke and
began to scream. At this the whole castle woke up, and the prince was
taken prisoner.

As he now sat in his prison, and bitterly lamented that his own
disobedience had brought himself into trouble, and deprived his father
of the chance of recovering his sight, the fox suddenly stood in front
of him. The prince was very pleased to see it again, and received
with great meekness all its reproaches, as well as promised to be more
obedient in the future, if the fox would only help him out of his fix.
The fox said that he had come to assist him, but he could do no more
than advise the prince, when he was brought up for trial, to answer
'yes' to all the judge's questions, and everything would go well. The
prince faithfully followed his instructions, so that when the judge
asked him whether he had meant to steal the bird Grip he said 'Yes,'
and when the judge asked him if he was a master-thief he again answered
'Yes.'

When the king heard that he admitted being a master-thief, he said that
he would forgive him the attempt to steal the bird if he would go to
the next kingdom and carry off the world's most beautiful princess, and
bring her to him. To this also the prince said 'Yes.'

When he left the castle he met the fox, who went along with him to the
next kingdom, and when they came near the castle there, gave him three
grains of gold--one to throw into the guard-room, another into the
princess's chamber, and the third into her bed. At the same time he
strictly warned him not to kiss the princess. The prince went into the
castle, and did with the grains of gold as the fox had told him, so that
sleep fell upon everyone there; but when he had taken the princess into
his arms he forgot the fox's warning, at the sight of her beauty, and
kissed her. Then both she and all the others in the castle woke; the
prince was taken prisoner, and put into a strong dungeon.

Here the fox again came to him and reproached him with his disobedience,
but promised to help him out of this trouble also if he would answer
'yes' to everything they asked him at his trial. The prince willingly
agreed to this, and admitted to the judge that he had meant to steal the
princess, and that he was a master-thief.

When the king learned this he said he would forgive his offence if he
would go to the next kingdom and steal the horse with the four golden
shoes. To this also the prince said 'Yes.'

When he had gone a little way from the castle he met the fox, and they
continued on their journey together. When they reached the end of it the
prince for the third time received three grains of gold from the fox,
with directions to throw one into the guard-chamber, another into the
stable, and the third into the horse's stall. But the fox told him that
above the horse's stall hung a beautiful golden saddle, which he must
not touch, if he did not want to bring himself into new troubles worse
than those he had escaped from, for then the fox could help him no
longer.

The prince promised to be firm this time. He threw the grains of gold in
the proper places, and untied the horse, but with that he caught
sight of the golden saddle, and thought that none but it could suit so
beautiful a horse, especially as it had golden shoes. But just as he
stretched out his hand to take it he received from some invisible being
so hard a blow on the arm that it was made quite numb. This recalled to
him his promise and his danger, so he led out the horse without looking
at the golden saddle again.

The fox was waiting for him outside the castle, and the prince confessed
to him that he had very nearly given way to temptation this time as
well. 'I know that,' said the fox, 'for it was I who struck you over the
arm.'

As they now went on together the prince said that he could not forget
the beautiful princess, and asked the fox whether he did not think that
she ought to ride home to his father's palace on this horse with the
golden shoes. The fox agreed that this would be excellent; if the prince
would now go and carry her off he would give him three grains of gold
for that purpose. The prince was quite ready, and promised to keep
better command of himself this time, and not kiss her.

He got the grains of gold and entered the castle, where he carried off
the princess, set her on the beautiful horse, and held on his way. When
they came near to the castle where the bird Grip sat in his cage he
again asked the fox for three grains of gold. These he got, and with
them he was successful in carrying off the bird.

He was now full of joy, for his blind father would now recover his
sight, while he himself owned the world's most beautiful princess and
the horse with the golden shoes.

The prince and princess travelled on together with mirth and happiness,
and the fox followed them until they came to the forest where the prince
first met with him.

'Here our ways part,' said the fox. 'You have now got all that your
heart desired, and you will have a prosperous journey to your father's
palace if only you do not ransom anyone's life with money.'

The prince thanked the fox for all his help, promised to give heed to
his warning, said farewell to him, and rode on, with the princess by his
side and the bird Grip on his wrist.

They soon arrived at the inn where the two eldest brothers had stayed,
forgetting their errand. But now no merry song or noise of mirth was
heard from it. When the prince came nearer he saw two gallows erected,
and when he entered the inn along with the princess he saw that all the
rooms were hung with black, and that everything inside foreboded sorrow
and death. He asked the reason of this, and was told that two princes
were to be hanged that day for debt; they had spent all their money in
feasting and playing, and were now deeply in debt to the host, and as
no one could be found to ransom their lives they were about to be hanged
according to the law.

The prince knew that it was his two brothers who had thus forfeited
their lives and it cut him to the heart to think that two princes should
suffer such a shameful death; and, as he had sufficient money with him,
he paid their debts, and so ransomed their lives.

At first the brothers were grateful for their liberty, but when they
saw the youngest brother's treasures they became jealous of his good
fortune, and planned how to bring him to destruction, and then take the
bird Grip, the princess, and the horse with the golden shoes, and convey
them to their blind father. After they had agreed on how to carry out
their treachery they enticed the prince to a den of lions and threw him
down among them. Then they set the princess on horseback, took the bird
Grip, and rode homeward. The princess wept bitterly, but they told her
that it would cost her her life if she did not say that the two brothers
had won all the treasures.

When they arrived at their father's palace there was great rejoicing,
and everyone praised the two princes for their courage and bravery.

When the king inquired after the youngest brother they answered that
he had led such a life in the inn that he had been hanged for debt. The
king sorrowed bitterly over this, because the youngest prince was his
dearest son, and the joy over the treasures soon died away, for the
bird Grip would not sing so that the king might recover his sight, the
princess wept night and day, and no one dared to venture so close to the
horse as to have a look at his golden shoes.

Now when the youngest prince was thrown down into the lions' den he
found the fox sitting there, and the lions, instead of tearing him to
pieces, showed him the greatest friendliness. Nor was the fox angry with
him for having forgot his last warning. He only said that sons who could
so forget their old father and disgrace their royal birth as those had
done would not hesitate to betray their brother either. Then he took the
prince up out of the lion's den and gave him directions what to do now
so as to come by his rights again.

The prince thanked the fox with all his heart for his true friendship,
but the fox answered that if he had been of any use to him he would now
for his own part ask a service of him. The prince replied that he would
do him any service that was in his power.

'I have only one thing to ask of you,' said the fox, 'and that is, that
you should cut off my head with your sword.'

The prince was astonished, and said that he could not bring himself to
cut the had off his truest friend, and to this he stuck in spite of all
the fox's declarations that it was the greatest service he could do him.
At this the fox became very sorrowful, and declared that the prince's
refusal to grant his request now compelled him to do a deed which he was
very unwilling to do--if the prince would not cut off his head, then
he must kill the prince himself. Then at last the prince drew his good
sword and cut off the fox's head, and the next moment a youth stood
before him.

'Thanks,' said he, 'for this service, which has freed me from a spell
that not even death itself could loosen. I am the dead man who lay
unburied in the robber's inn, where you ransomed me and gave me
honourable burial, and therefore I have helped you in your journey.'

With this they parted and the prince, disguising himself as a
horse-shoer, went up to his father's palace and offered his services
there.

The king's men told him that a horse-shoer was indeed wanted at the
palace, but he must be one who could lift up the feet of the horse with
the golden shoes, and such a one they had not yet been able to find. The
prince asked to see the horse, and as soon as he entered the stable the
steed began to neigh in a friendly fashion, and stood as quiet and still
as a lamb while the prince lifted up his hoofs, one after the other, and
showed the king's men the famous golden shoes.

After this the king's men began to talk about the bird Grip, and how
strange it was that he would not sing, however well he was attended to.
The horse-shoer then said that he knew the bird very well; he had seen
it when it sat in its cage in another king's palace, and if it did
not sing now it must be because it did not have all that it wanted. He
himself knew so much about the bird's ways that if he only got to see it
he could tell at once what it lacked.

The king's men now took counsel whether they ought to take the stranger
in before the king, for in his chamber sat the bird Grip along with the
weeping princess. It was decided to risk doing so, and the horse-shoer
was led into the king's chamber, where he had no sooner called the bird
by its name than it began to sing and the princess to smile. Then the
darkness cleared away from the king's eyes, and the more the bird sang
the more clearly did he see, till at last in the strange horse-shoer
he recognised his youngest son. Then the princess told the king how
treacherously his eldest sons had acted, and he had them banished from
his kingdom; but the youngest prince married the princess, and got the
horse with the golden shoes and half the kingdom from his father, who
kept for himself so long as he lived the bird Grip, which now sang with
all its heart to the king and all his court.




Snowflake

Slavonic story. Contes Populaires Slaves, traduits par Louis Leger.
Paris: Leroux, Editeur.


Once upon a time there lived a peasant called Ivan, and he had a wife
whose name was Marie. They would have been quite happy except for one
thing: they had no children to play with, and as they were now old
people they did not find that watching the children of their neighbours
at all made up to them for having one of their own.

One winter, which nobody living will ever forget, the snow lay so deep
that it came up to the knees of even the tallest man. When it had all
fallen, and the sun was shining again, the children ran out into the
street to play, and the old man and his wife sat at their window and
gazed at them. The children first made a sort of little terrace, and
stamped it hard and firm, and then they began to make a snow woman. Ivan
and Marie watched them, the while thinking about many things.

Suddenly Ivan's face brightened, and, looking at his wife, he said,
'Wife, why shouldn't we make a snow woman too?'

'Why not?' replied Marie, who happened to be in a very good temper; 'it
might amuse us a little. But there is no use making a woman. Let us make
a little snow child, and pretend it is a living one.'

'Yes, let us do that,' said Ivan, and he took down his cap and went into
the garden with his old wife.

Then the two set to work with all their might to make a doll out of
the snow. They shaped a little body and two little hands and two little
feet. On top of all they placed a ball of snow, out of which the head
was to be.

'What in the world are you doing?' asked a passer-by.

'Can't you guess?' returned Ivan.

'Making a snow-child,' replied Marie.

They had finished the nose and the chin. Two holes were left for the
eyes, and Ivan carefully shaped out the mouth. No sooner had he done so
than he felt a warm breath upon his cheek. He started back in surprise
and looked--and behold! the eyes of the child met his, and its lips,
which were as red as raspberries, smiled at him!

'What is it?' cried Ivan, crossing himself. 'Am I mad, or is the thing
bewitched?'

The snow-child bent its head as if it had been really alive. It moved
its little arms and its little legs in the snow that lay about it just
as the living children did theirs.

'Ah! Ivan, Ivan,' exclaimed Marie, trembling with joy, 'heaven has sent
us a child at last!' And she threw herself upon Snowflake (for that was
the snow-child's name) and covered her with kisses. And the loose snow
fell away from Snowflake as an egg shell does from an egg, and it was a
little girl whom Marie held in her arms.

'Oh! my darling Snowflake!' cried the old woman, and led her into the
cottage.

And Snowflake grew fast; each hour as well as each day made a
difference, and every day she became more and more beautiful. The old
couple hardly knew how to contain themselves for joy, and thought of
nothing else. The cottage was always full of village children, for they
amused Snowflake, and there was nothing in the world they would not
have done to amuse her. She was their doll, and they were continually
inventing new dresses for her, and teaching her songs or playing with
her. Nobody knew how clever she was! She noticed everything, and could
learn a lesson in a moment. Anyone would have taken her for thirteen
at least! And, besides all that, she was so good and obedient; and
so pretty, too! Her skin was as white as snow, her eyes as blue as
forget-me-nots, and her hair was long and golden. Only her cheeks had no
colour in them, but were as fair as her forehead.

So the winter went on, till at last the spring sun mounted higher in the
heavens and began to warm the earth. The grass grew green in the fields,
and high in the air the larks were heard singing. The village girls met
and danced in a ring, singing, 'Beautiful spring, how came you here?
How came you here? Did you come on a plough, or was it a harrow?' Only
Snowflake sat quite still by the window of the cottage.

'What is the matter, dear child?' asked Marie. 'Why are you so sad? Are
you ill? or have they treated you unkindly?'

'No,' replied Snowflake, 'it is nothing, mother; no one has hurt me; I
am well.'

The spring sun had chased away the last snow from its hiding place under
the hedges; the fields were full of flowers; nightingales sang in the
trees, and all the world was gay. But the gayer grew the birds and the
flowers the sadder became Snowflake. She hid herself from her playmates,
and curled herself up where the shadows were deepest, like a lily
amongst its leaves. Her only pleasure was to lie amid the green willows
near some sparkling stream. At the dawn and at twilight only she seemed
happy. When a great storm broke, and the earth was white with hail, she
became bright and joyous as the Snowflake of old; but when the clouds
passed, and the hail melted beneath the sun, Snowflake would burst into
tears and weep as a sister would weep over her brother.

The spring passed, and it was the eve of St. John, or Midsummer Day.
This was the greatest holiday of the year, when the young girls met in
the woods to dance and play. They went to fetch Snowflake, and said to
Marie: 'Let her come and dance with us.'

But Marie was afraid; she could not tell why, only she could not bear
the child to go. Snowflake did not wish to go either, but they had no
excuse ready. So Marie kissed the girl and said: 'Go, my Snowflake, and
be happy with your friends, and you, dear children, be careful of her.
You know she is the light of my eyes to me.'

'Oh, we will take care of her,' cried the girls gaily, and they ran off
to the woods. There they wore wreaths, gathered nosegays, and sang songs
some sad, some merry. And whatever they did Snowflake did too.

When the sun set they lit a fire of dry grass, and placed themselves in
a row, Snowflake being the last of all. 'Now, watch us,' they said, 'and
run just as we do.'

And they all began to sing and to jump one after another across the
fire.

Suddenly, close behind them, they heard a sigh, then a groan. 'Ah!' They
turned hastily and looked at each other. There was nothing. They
looked again. Where was Snowflake? She has hidden herself for fun, they
thought, and searched for her everywhere. 'Snowflake! Snowflake!' But
there was no answer. 'Where can she be? Oh, she must have gone home.'
They returned to the village, but there was no Snowflake.

For days after that they sought her high and low. They examined every
bush and every hedge, but there was no Snowflake. And long after
everyone else had given up hope Ivan and Marie would wander through the
woods crying 'Snowflake, my dove, come back, come back!' And sometimes
they thought they heard a call, but it was never the voice of Snowflake.

And what had become of her? Had a fierce wild beast seized her and
dragged her into his lair in the forest? Had some bird carried her off
across the wide blue sea?

No, no beast had touched her, no bird had borne her away. With the
first breath of flame that swept over her when she ran with her friends
Snowflake had melted away, and a little soft haze floating upwards was
all that remained of her.




I Know What I Have Learned

From the Danish.


There was once a man who had three daughters, and they were all married
to trolls, who lived underground. One day the man thought that he would
pay them a visit, and his wife gave him some dry bread to eat by the
way. After he had walked some distance he grew both tired and hungry, so
he sat down on the east side of a mound and began to eat his dry bread.
The mound then opened, and his youngest daughter came out of it, and
said, 'Why, father! why are you not coming in to see me?'

'Oh,' said he, 'if I had known that you lived here, and had seen any
entrance, I would have come in.'

Then he entered the mound along with her.

The troll came home soon after this, and his wife told him that her
father was come, and asked him to go and buy some beef to make broth
with.

'We can get it easier than that!' said the troll.

He fixed an iron spike into one of the beams of the roof, and ran his
head against this till he had knocked several large pieces off his head.
He was just as well as ever after doing this, and they got their broth
without further trouble.

The troll then gave the old man a sackful of money, and laden with this
he betook himself homewards. When he came near his home he remembered
that he had a cow about to calve, so he laid down the money on the
ground, ran home as fast as he could, and asked his wife whether the cow
had calved yet.

'What kind of a hurry is this to come home in?' said she. 'No, the cow
has not calved yet.'

'Then you must come out and help me in with a sackful of money,' said
the man.

'A sackful of money?' cried his wife.

'Yes, a sackful of money,' said he. 'Is that so very wonderful?'

His wife did not believe very much what he told her, but she humoured
him, and went out with him.

When they came to the spot where he had left it there was no money
there; a thief had come along and stolen it. His wife then grew angry
and scolded him heartily.

'Well, well!' said he, 'hang the money! I know what I have learned.'

'What have you learned?' said she.

'Ah! I know that,' said the man.

After some time had passed the man had a mind to visit his second eldest
daughter. His wife again gave him some dry bread to eat, and when he
grew tired and hungry he sat down on the east side of a mound and began
to eat it. As he sat there his daughter came up out of the mound, and
invited him to come inside, which he did very willingly.

Soon after this the troll came home. It was dark by that time, and his
wife bade him go and buy some candles.

'Oh, we shall soon get a light,' said the troll. With that he dipped his
fingers into the fire, and they then gave light without being burned in
the least.

The old man got two sacks of money here, and plodded away homewards with
these. When he was very nearly home he again thought of the cow that
was with calf, so he laid down the money, ran home, and asked his wife
whether the cow had calved yet.

'Whatever is the matter with you?' said she. 'You come hurrying as if
the whole house was about to fall. You may set your mind at rest: the
cow has not calved yet.'

The man now asked her to come and help him home with the two sacks of
money. She did not believe him very much, but he continued to assure her
that it was quite true, till at last she gave in and went with him. When
they came to the spot there had again been a thief there and taken the
money. It was no wonder that the woman was angry about this, but the man
only said, 'Ah, if you only knew what I have learned.'

A third time the man set out--to visit his eldest daughter. When he
came to a mound he sat down on the east side of it and ate the dry bread
which his wife had given him to take with him. The daughter then came
out of the mound and invited her father to come inside.

In a little the troll came home, and his wife asked him to go and buy
some fish.

'We can get them much more easily than that,' said the troll. 'Give me
your dough trough and your ladle.'

They seated themselves in the trough, and rowed out on the lake which
was beside the mound. When they had got out a little way the troll said
to his wife, 'Are my eyes green?'

'No, not yet,' said she.

He rowed on a little further and asked again, 'Are my eyes not green
yet?'

'Yes,' said his wife, 'they are green now.'

Then the troll sprang into the water and ladled up so many fish that in
a short time the trough could hold no more. They then rowed home again,
and had a good meal off the fish.

The old man now got three sacks full of money, and set off home with
them. When he was almost home the cow again came into his head, and he
laid down the money. This time, however, he took his wooden shoes and
laid them above the money, thinking that no one would take it after
that. Then he ran home and asked his wife whether the cow had calved. It
had not, and she scolded him again for behaving in this way, but in the
end he persuaded her to go with him to help him with the three sacks of
money.

When they came to the spot they found only the wooden shoes, for a thief
had come along in the meantime and taken all the money. The woman was
very angry, and broke out upon her husband; but he took it all very
quietly, and only said, 'Hang the money! I know what I have learned.'

'What have you learned I should like to know?' said his wife.

'You will see that yet,' said the man.

One day his wife took a fancy for broth, and said to him, 'Oh, go to the
village, and buy a piece of beef to make broth.'

'There's no need of that,' said he; 'we can get it an easier way.' With
that he drove a spike into a beam, and ran his head against it, and in
consequence had to lie in bed for a long time afterwards.

After he had recovered from this his wife asked him one day to go and
buy candles, as they had none.

'No,' he said, 'there's no need for that;' and he stuck his hand into
the fire. This also made him take to bed for a good while.

When he had got better again his wife one day wanted fish, and asked him
to go and buy some. The man, however, wished again to show what he had
learned, so he asked her to come along with him and bring her dough
trough and a ladle. They both seated themselves in this, and rowed upon
the lake. When they had got out a little way the man said, 'Are my eyes
green?'

'No,' said his wife; 'why should they be?'

They rowed a little further out, and he asked again, 'Are my eyes not
green yet?'

'What nonsense is this?' said she; 'why should they be green?'

'Oh, my dear,' said he, 'can't you just say that they are green?'

'Very well,' said she, 'they are green.'

As soon as he heard this he sprang out into the water with the ladle for
the fishes, but he just got leave to stay there with them!




The Cunning Shoemaker

Sicilianische Mahrchen.


Once upon a time there lived a shoemaker who could get no work to do,
and was so poor that he and his wife nearly died of hunger. At last he
said to her, 'It is no use waiting on here--I can find nothing; so I
shall go down to Mascalucia, and perhaps there I shall be more lucky.'

So down he went to Mascalucia, and walked through the streets crying,
'Who wants some shoes?' And very soon a window was pushed up, and a
woman's head was thrust out of it.

'Here are a pair for you to patch,' she said. And he sat down on her
doorstep and set about patching them.

'How much do I owe you?' she asked when they were done.

'A shilling.'

'Here is eighteen pence, and good luck to you.' And he went his way. He
turned into the next street and set up his cry again, and it was not
long before another window was pushed up and another head appeared.

'Here are some shoes for you to patch.'

And the shoemaker sat down on the doorstep and patched them.

'How much do I owe you?' asked the woman when the shoes were finished.

'A florin.'

'Here is a crown piece, and good luck to you.' And she shut the window.

'Well,' thought the shoemaker, 'I have done finely. But I will not go
back to my wife just yet, as, if I only go on at this rate, I shall soon
have enough money to buy a donkey.'

Having made up his mind what was best to do, he stayed in the town a few
days longer till he had four gold pieces safe in his purse. Then he went
to the market and for two of them he bought a good strong donkey, and,
mounting on its back, he rode home to Catania. But as he entered a thick
wood he saw in the distance a band of robbers who were coming quickly
towards him.

'I am lost,' thought he; 'they are sure to take from me all the money
that I have earned, and I shall be as poor as ever I was. What can I
do?' However, being a clever little man and full of spirit, he did not
lose heart, but, taking five florins, he fastened them out of sight
under the donkey's thick mane. Then he rode on.

Directly the robber came up to him they seized him exactly as he had
foretold and took away all his money.

'Oh, dear friends!' he cried, wringing his hands, 'I am only a poor
shoemaker, and have nothing but this donkey left in the world.'

As he spoke the donkey gave himself a shake, and down fell the five
florins.

'Where did that come from?' asked the robbers.

'Ah,' replied the shoemaker, 'you have guessed my secret. The donkey is
a golden donkey, and supplies me with all my money.'

'Sell him to us,' said the robbers. 'We will give you any price you
like.'

The shoemaker at first declared that nothing would induce him to sell
him, but at last he agreed to hand him over to the robbers for fifty
gold pieces. 'But listen to what I tell you,' said he. 'You must each
take it in turn to own him for a night and a day, or else you will all
be fighting over the money.'

With these words they parted, the robbers driving the donkey to their
cave in the forest and the shoemaker returning home, very pleased with
the success of his trick. He just stopped on the way to pick up a good
dinner, and the next day spent most of his gains in buying a small
vineyard.

Meanwhile the robbers had arrived at the cave where they lived, and the
captain, calling them all round him, announced that it as his right to
have the donkey for the first night. His companions agreed, and then he
told his wife to put a mattress in the stable. She asked if he had gone
out of his mind, but he answered crossly, 'What is that to you? Do as
you are bid, and to-morrow I will bring you some treasures.'

Very early the captain awoke and searched the stable, but could find
nothing, and guessed that Master Joseph had been making fun of them.
'Well,' he said to himself, 'if I have been taken in, the others shall
not come off any better.'

So, when one of his men arrived and asked him eagerly how much money he
had got, he answered gaily, 'Oh, comrade, if you only knew! But I shall
say nothing about it till everyone has had his turn!'

One after another they all took the donkey, but no money was forthcoming
for anybody. At length, when all the band had been tricked, they held a
council, and resolved to march to the shoemaker's house and punish him
well for his cunning. Just as before, the shoemaker saw them a long way
off, and began to think how he could outwit them again. When he had hit
upon a plan he called his wife, and said to her, 'Take a bladder and
fill it with blood, and bind it round your neck. When the robbers come
and demand the money they gave me for the donkey I shall shout to you
and tell you to get it quickly. You must argue with me, and decline to
obey me, and then I shall plunge my knife into the bladder, and you must
fall to the ground as if you were dead. There you must lie till I play
on my guitar; then get up and begin to dance.'

The wife made haste to do as she was bid, and there was no time to lose,
for the robbers were drawing very near the house. They entered with a
great noise, and overwhelmed the shoemaker with reproaches for having
deceived them about the donkey.

'The poor beast must have lost its power owing to the change of
masters,' said he; 'but we will not quarrel about it. You shall have
back the fifty gold pieces that you gave for him. 'Aite,' he cried to his
wife, 'go quickly to the chest upstairs, and bring down the money for
these gentlemen.'

'Wait a little,' answered she; 'I must first bake this fish. It will be
spoilt if I leave it now.'

'Go this instant, as you are bid,' shouted the shoemaker, stamping as if
he was in a great passion; but, as she did not stir, he drew his knife,
and stabbed her in the neck. The blood spurted out freely, and she fell
to the ground as if she was dead.

'What have you done?' asked the robbers, looking at him in dismay. 'The
poor woman was doing nothing.'

'Perhaps I was hasty, but it is easily set right,' replied the
shoemaker, taking down his guitar and beginning to play. Hardly had he
struck the first notes than his wife sat up; then got on her feet and
danced.

The robbers stared with open mouths, and at last they said, 'Master
Joseph, you may keep the fifty gold pieces. But tell us what you will
take for your guitar, for you must sell it to us?'

'Oh, that is impossible!' replied the shoemaker, 'for every time I have
a quarrel with my wife I just strike her dead, and so give vent to my
anger. This has become such a habit with me that I don't think I could
break myself of it; and, of course, if I got rid of the guitar I could
never bring her back to life again.'

However, the robbers would not listen to him, and at last he consented
to take forty gold pieces for the guitar.

Then they all returned to their cave in the forest, delighted with their
new purchase, and longing for a chance of trying its powers. But the
captain declared that the first trial belonged to him, and after that
the others might have their turn.

That evening he called to his wife and said, 'What have you got for
supper?'

'Macaroni,' answered she.

'Why have you not boiled a fish?' he cried, and stabber in the neck so
that she fell dead. The captain, who was not in the least angry, seized
the guitar and began to play; but, let him play as loud as he would, the
dead woman never stirred. 'Oh, lying shoemaker! Oh, abominable knave!
Twice has he got the better of me. But I will pay him out!'

So he raged and swore, but it did him no good. The fact remained that he
had killed his wife and could not bring her back again.

The next morning came one of the robbers to fetch the guitar, and to
hear what had happened.

'Well, how have you got on?'

'Oh, splendidly! I stabbed my wife, and then began to play, and now she
is as well as ever.'

'Did you really? Then this evening I will try for myself.'

Of course the same thing happened over again, till all the wives had
been killed secretly, and when there were no more left they whispered to
each other the dreadful tale, and swore to be avenged on the shoemaker.

The band lost no time in setting out for his house, and, as before,
the shoemaker saw them coming from afar. He called to his wife, who was
washing in the kitchen: 'Listen, Aita: when the robbers come and ask for
me say I have gone to the vineyard. Then tell the dog to call me, and
chase him from the house.'

When he had given these directions he ran out of the back door and hid
behind a barrel. A few minutes later the robbers arrived, and called
loudly for the shoemaker.

'Alas! good gentlemen, he is up in the vineyard, but I will send the
dog after him at once. Here! now quickly to the vineyard, and tell your
master some gentlemen are here who wish to speak to him. Go as fast as
you can.' And she opened the door and let the dog out.

'You can really trust the dog to call your husband?' asked the robbers.

'Dear me, yes! He understands everything, and will always carry any
message I give him.'

By-and-bye the shoemaker came in and said, 'Good morning, gentlemen; the
dog tells me you wish to speak to me.'

'Yes, we do,' replied the robber; 'we have come to speak to you about
that guitar. It is your fault that we have murdered all our wives; and,
though we played as you told us, none of them ever came back to life.'

'You could not have played properly,' said the shoemaker. 'It was your
own fault.'

'Well, we will forget all about it,' answered the robbers, 'if you will
only sell us your dog.'

'Oh, that is impossible! I should never get on without him.'

But the robbers offered him forty gold pieces, and at last he agreed to
let them have the dog.

So they departed, taking the dog with them, and when they got back to
their cave the captain declared that it was his right to have the first
trial.

He then called his daughter, and said to her, 'I am going to the inn; if
anybody wants me, loose the dog, and send him to call me.'

About an hour after some one arrived on business, and the girl untied
the dog and said, 'Go to the inn and call my father!' The dog bounded
off, but ran straight to the shoemaker.

When the robber got home and found no dog he thought 'He must have gone
back to his old master,' and, though night had already fallen, he went
off after him.

'Master Joseph, is the dog here?' asked he.

'Ah! yes, the poor beast is so fond of me! You must give him time to get
accustomed to new ways.'

So the captain brought the dog back, and the following morning handed
him over to another of the band, just saying that the animal really
could do what the shoemaker had said.

The second robber carefully kept his own counsel, and fetched the dog
secretly back from the shoemaker, and so on through the whole band. At
length, when everybody had suffered, they met and told the whole story,
and next day they all marched off in fury to the man who had made game
of them. After reproaching him with having deceived them, they tied him
up in a sack, and told him they were going to throw him into the sea.
The shoemaker lay quite still, and let them do as they would.

They went on till they came to a church, and the robbers said, 'The sun
is hot and the sack is heavy; let us leave it here and go in and rest.'
So they put the sack down by the roadside, and went into the church.

Now, on a hill near by there was a swineherd looking after a great herd
of pigs and whistling merrily.

When Master Joseph heard him he cried out as loud as he could, 'I won't;
I won't, I say.'

'What won't you do?' asked the swineherd.

'Oh,' replied the shoemaker. 'They want me to marry the king's daughter,
and I won't do it.'

'How lucky you are!' sighed the swineherd. 'Now, if it were only me!'

'Oh, if that's all!' replied the cunning shoemaker, 'get you into this
sack, and let me out.'

Then the swineherd opened the sack and took the place of the shoemaker,
who went gaily off, driving the pigs before him.

When the robbers were rested they came out of the church, took up the
sack, and carried it to the sea, where they threw it in, and it sank
directly. As they came back they met the shoemaker, and stared at him
with open mouths.

'Oh, if you only knew how many pigs live in the sea,' he cried. 'And the
deeper you go the more there are. I have just brought up these, and mean
to return for some more.'

'There are still some left there?'

'Oh, more than I could count,' replied the shoemaker. 'I will show you
what you must do.' Then he led the robbers back to the shore. 'Now,'
said he, 'you must each of you tie a stone to your necks, so that you
may be sure to go deep enough, for I found the pigs that you saw very
deep down indeed.'

Then the robbers all tied stones round their necks, and jumped in, and
were drowned, and Master Joseph drove his pigs home, and was a rich man
to the end of his days.




The King Who Would Have a Beautiful Wife

Sicilianische Mahrchen.


Fifty years ago there lived a king who was very anxious to get married;
but, as he was quite determined that his wife should be as beautiful as
the sun, the thing was not so easy as it seemed, for no maiden came up
to his standard. Then he commanded a trusty servant to search through
the length and breadth of the land till he found a girl fair enough to
be queen, and if he had the good luck to discover one he was to bring
her back with him.

The servant set out at once on his journey, and sought high and low-in
castles and cottages; but though pretty maidens were plentiful as
blackberries, he felt sure that none of them would please the king.

One day he had wandered far and wide, and was feeling very tired and
thirsty. By the roadside stood a tiny little house, and here he knocked
and asked for a cup of water. Now in this house dwelt two sisters, and
one was eighty and the other ninety years old. They were very poor, and
earned their living by spinning. This had kept their hands very soft and
white, like the hands of a girl, and when the water was passed through
the lattice, and the servant saw the small, delicate fingers, he said to
himself: 'A maiden must indeed be lovely if she has a hand like that.'
And he made haste back, and told the king.

'Go back at once,' said his majesty, 'and try to get a sight of her.'

The faithful servant departed on his errand without losing any time,
and again he knocked at the door of the little house and begged for some
water. As before, the old woman did not open the door, but passed the
water through the lattice.

'Do you live here alone?' asked the man.

'No,' replied she, 'my sister lives with me. We are poor girls, and have
to work for our bread.'

'How old are you?'

'I am fifteen, and she is twenty.'

Then the servant went back to the king, and told him all he knew. And
his majesty answered: 'I will have the fifteen-year-old one. Go and
bring her here.'

The servant returned a third time to the little house and knocked at the
door. In reply to his knock the lattice window was pushed open, and a
voice inquired what it was he wanted.

'The king has desired me to bring back the youngest of you to become his
queen,' he replied.

'Tell his majesty I am ready to do his bidding, but since my birth no
ray of light has fallen upon my face. If it should ever do so I shall
instantly grow black. Therefore beg, I pray you, his most gracious
majesty to send this evening a shut carriage, and I will return in it to
the castle.

When the king heard this he ordered his great golden carriage to be
prepared, and in it to be placed some magnificent robes; and the old
woman wrapped herself in a thick veil, and was driven to the castle.

The king was eagerly awaiting her, and when she arrived he begged her
politely to raise her veil and let him see her face.

But she answered: 'Here the tapers are too bright and the light too
strong. Would you have me turn black under your very eyes?'

And the king believed her words, and the marriage took place without the
veil being once lifted. Afterwards, when they were alone, he raised the
corner, and knew for the first time that he had wedded a wrinkled old
woman. And, in a furious burst of anger, he dashed open the window and
flung her out. But, luckily for her, her clothes caught on a nail in the
wall, and kept her hanging between heaven and earth.

While she was thus suspended, expecting every moment to be dashed to the
ground, four fairies happened to pass by.

'Look, sisters,' cried one, 'surely that is the old woman that the king
sent for. Shall we wish that her clothes may give way, and that she
should be dashed to the ground?'

'Oh no! no!' exclaimed another. 'Let us wish her something good. I
myself will wish her youth.'

'And I beauty.'

'And I wisdom.'

'And I a tender heart.'

So spake the fairies, and went their way, leaving the most beautiful
maiden in the world behind them.

The next morning when the king looked from his window he saw this lovely
creature hanging on the nail. 'Ah! what have I done? Surely I must have
been blind last night!'

And he ordered long ladders to be brought and the maiden to be rescued.
Then he fell on his knees before her, and prayed her to forgive him, and
a great feast was made in her honour.

Some days after came the ninety-year-old sister to the palace and asked
for the queen.

'Who is that hideous old witch?' said the king.

'Oh, an old neighbour of mine, who is half silly,' she replied.

But the old woman looked at her steadily, and knew her again, and said:
'How have you managed to grow so young and beautiful? I should like to
be young and beautiful too.'

This question she repeated the whole day long, till at length the queen
lost patience and said: 'I had my old head cut off, and this new head
grew in its place.'

Then the old woman went to a barber, and spoke to him, saying, 'I will
give you all you ask if you will only cut off my head, so that I may
become young and lovely.'

'But, my good woman, if I do that you will die!'

But the old woman would listen to nothing; and at last the barber took
out his knife and struck the first blow at her neck.

'Ah!' she shrieked as she felt the pain.

'Il faut souffrir pour etre belle,' said the barber, who had been in
France.

And at the second blow her head rolled off, and the old woman was dead
for good and all.




Catherine and Her Destiny

Sicilianische Mahrchen von Laura Gonzenbach. Leipzig, Engelmann, 1870.


Long ago there lived a rich merchant who, besides possessing more
treasures than any king in the world, had in his great hall three
chairs, one of silver, one of gold, and one of diamonds. But his
greatest treasure of all was his only daughter, who was called
Catherine.

One day Catherine was sitting in her own room when suddenly the door
flew open, and in came a tall and beautiful woman holding in her hands a
little wheel.

'Catherine,' she said, going up to the girl, 'which would you rather
have-a happy youth or a happy old age?'

Catherine was so taken by surprise that she did not know what to answer,
and the lady repeated again, 'Which would you rather have-a happy youth
or a happy old age?'

Then Catherine thought to herself, 'If I say a happy youth, then I shall
have to suffer all the rest of my life. No, I would bear trouble now,
and have something better to look forward to.' So she looked up and
replied, 'Give me a happy old age.'

'So be it,' said the lady, and turned her wheel as she spoke, vanishing
the next moment as suddenly as she had come.

Now this beautiful lady was the Destiny of poor Catherine.

Only a few days after this the merchant heard the news that all his
finest ships, laden with the richest merchandise, had been sunk in a
storm, and he was left a beggar. The shock was too much for him. He took
to his bed, and in a short time he was dead of his disappointment.

So poor Catherine was left alone in the world without a penny or a
creature to help her. But she was a brave girl and full of spirit, and
soon made up her mind that the best thing she could do was to go to the
nearest town and become a servant. She lost no time in getting herself
ready, and did not take long over her journey; and as she was passing
down the chief street of the town a noble lady saw her out of the
window, and, struck by her sad face, said to her: 'Where are you going
all alone, my pretty girl?'

'Ah, my lady, I am very poor, and must go to service to earn my bread.'

'I will take you into my service,' said she; and Catherine served her
well.

Some time after her mistress said to Catherine, 'I am obliged to go out
for a long while, and must lock the house door, so that no thieves shall
get in.'

So she went away, and Catherine took her work and sat down at the
window. Suddenly the door burst open, and in came her Destiny.

'Oh! so here you are, Catherine! Did you really think I was going to
leave you in peace?' And as she spoke she walked to the linen press
where Catherine's mistress kept all her finest sheets and underclothes,
tore everything in pieces, and flung them on the floor. Poor Catherine
wrung her hands and wept, for she thought to herself, 'When my lady
comes back and sees all this ruin she will think it is my fault,' and
starting up, she fled through the open door. Then Destiny took all the
pieces and made them whole again, and put them back in the press, and
when everything was tidy she too left the house.

When the mistress reached home she called Catherine, but no Catherine
was there. 'Can she have robbed me?' thought the old lady, and looked
hastily round the house; but nothing was missing. She wondered why
Catherine should have disappeared like this, but she heard no more of
her, and in a few days she filled her place.

Meanwhile Catherine wandered on and on, without knowing very well where
she was going, till at last she came to another town. Just as before,
a noble lady happened to see her passing her window, and called out to
her, 'Where are you going all alone, my pretty girl?'

And Catherine answered, 'Ah, my lady, I am very poor, and must go to
service to earn my bread.'

'I will take you into my service,' said the lady; and Catherine served
her well, and hoped she might now be left in peace. But, exactly as
before, one day that Catherine was left in the house alone her Destiny
came again and spoke to her with hard words: 'What! are you here now?'
And in a passion she tore up everything she saw, till in sheer misery
poor Catherine rushed out of the house. And so it befell for seven
years, and directly Catherine found a fresh place her Destiny came and
forced her to leave it.

After seven years, however, Destiny seemed to get tired of persecuting
her, and a time of peace set in for Catherine. When she had been chased
away from her last house by Destiny's wicked pranks she had taken
service with another lady, who told her that it would be part of her
daily work to walk to a mountain that overshadowed the town, and,
climbing up to the top, she was to lay on the ground some loaves
of freshly baked bread, and cry with a loud voice, 'O Destiny, my
mistress,' three times. Then her lady's Destiny would come and take away
the offering. 'That will I gladly do,' said Catherine.

So the years went by, and Catherine was still there, and every day
she climbed the mountain with her basket of bread on her arm. She was
happier than she had been, but sometimes, when no one saw her, she would
weep as she thought over her old life, and how different it was to the
one she was now leading. One day her lady saw her, and said, 'Catherine,
what is it? Why are you always weeping?' And then Catherine told her
story.

'I have got an idea,' exclaimed the lady. 'To-morrow, when you take the
bread to the mountain, you shall pray my Destiny to speak to yours, and
entreat her to leave you in peace. Perhaps something may come of it!'

At these words Catherine dried her eyes, and next morning, when she
climbed the mountain, she told all she had suffered, and cried, 'O
Destiny, my mistress, pray, I entreat you, of my Destiny that she may
leave me in peace.'

And Destiny answered, 'Oh, my poor girl, know you not your Destiny lies
buried under seven coverlids, and can hear nothing? But if you will come
to-morrow I will bring her with me.'

And after Catherine had gone her way her lady's Destiny went to find
her sister, and said to her, 'Dear sister, has not Catherine suffered
enough? It is surely time for her good days to begin?'

And the sister answered, 'To-morrow you shall bring her to me, and I
will give her something that may help her out of her need.'

The next morning Catherine set out earlier than usual for the mountain,
and her lady's Destiny took the girl by the hand and led her to her
sister, who lay under the seven coverlids. And her Destiny held out
to Catherine a ball of silk, saying, 'Keep this--it may be useful some
day;' then pulled the coverings over her head again.

But Catherine walked sadly down the hill, and went straight to her lady
and showed her the silken ball, which was the end of all her high hopes.

'What shall I do with it?' she asked. 'It is not worth sixpence, and it
is no good to me!'

'Take care of it,' replied her mistress. 'Who can tell how useful it may
be?'

A little while after this grand preparations were made for the king's
marriage, and all the tailors in the town were busy embroidering fine
clothes. The wedding garment was so beautiful nothing like it had ever
been seen before, but when it was almost finished the tailor found that
he had no more silk. The colour was very rare, and none could be found
like it, and the king made a proclamation that if anyone happened to
possess any they should bring it to the court, and he would give them a
large sum.

'Catherine!' exclaimed the lady, who had been to the tailors and seen
the wedding garment, 'your ball of silk is exactly the right colour.
Bring it to the king, and you can ask what you like for it.'

Then Catherine put on her best clothes and went to the court, and looked
more beautiful than any woman there.

'May it please your majesty,' she said, 'I have brought you a ball of
silk of the colour you asked for, as no one else has any in the town.'

'Your majesty,' asked one of the courtiers, 'shall I give the maiden its
weight in gold?'

The king agreed, and a pair of scales were brought; and a handful of
gold was placed in one scale and the silken ball in the other. But lo!
let the king lay in the scales as many gold pieces as he would, the silk
was always heavier still. Then the king took some larger scales, and
heaped up all his treasures on one side, but the silk on the other
outweighed them all. At last there was only one thing left that had not
been put in, and that was his golden crown. And he took it from his head
and set it on top of all, and at last the scale moved and the ball had
founds its balance.

'Where got you this silk?' asked the king.

'It was given me, royal majesty, by my mistress,' replied Catherine.

'That is not true,' said the king, 'and if you do not tell me the truth
I will have your head cut off this instant.'

So Catherine told him the whole story, and how she had once been as rich
as he.

Now there lived at the court a wise woman, and she said to Catherine,
'You have suffered much, my poor girl, but at length your luck has
turned, and I know by the weighing of the scales through the crown that
you will die a queen.'

'So she shall,' cried the king, who overheard these words; 'she shall
die my queen, for she is more beautiful than all the ladies of the
court, and I will marry no one else.'

And so it fell out. The king sent back the bride he had promised to wed
to her own country, and the same Catherine was queen at the marriage
feast instead, and lived happy and contented to the end of her life.




How the Hermit Helped to Win the King's Daughter

Sicilianische Mahrchen


Long ago there lived a very rich man who had three sons. When he felt
himself to be dying he divided his property between them, making them
share alike, both in money and lands. Soon after he died the king set
forth a proclamation through the whole country that whoever could build
a ship that should float both on land and sea should have his daughter
to wife.

The eldest brother, when he heard it, said to the other, 'I think I will
spend some of my money in trying to build that ship, as I should like
to have the king for my father-in-law.' So he called together all the
shipbuilders in the land, and gave them orders to begin the ship without
delay. And trees were cut down, and great preparations made, and in a
few days everybody knew what it was all for; and there was a crowd of
old people pressing round the gates of the yard, where the young man
spent the most of his day.

'Ah, master, give us work,' they said, 'so that we may earn our bread.'

But he only gave them hard words, and spoke roughly to them. 'You are
old, and have lost your strength; of what use are you?' And he drove
them away. Then came some boys and prayed him, "master, give us work,'
but he answered them, 'Of what use can you be, weaklings as you are! Get
you gone!' And if any presented themselves that were not skilled workmen
he would have none of them.

At last there knocked at the gate a little old man with a long white
beard, and said, 'Will you give me work, so that I may earn my bread?'
But he was only driven away like the rest.

The ship took a long while to build, and cost a great deal of money, and
when it was launched a sudden squall rose, and it fell to pieces, and
with it all the young man's hopes of winning the princess. By this time
he had not a penny left, so he went back to his two brothers and
told his tale. And the second brother said to himself as he listened,
'Certainly he has managed very badly, but I should like to see if I
can't do better, and win the princess for my own self.' So he called
together all the shipbuilders throughout the country, and gave them
orders to build a ship which should float on the land as well as on the
sea. But his heart was no softer than his brother's, and every man that
was not a skilled workman was chased away with hard words. Last came the
white-bearded man, but he fared no better than the rest.

When the ship was finished the launch took place, and everything seemed
going smoothly when a gale sprang up, and the vessel was dashed to
pieces on the rocks. The young man had spent his whole fortune on it,
and now it was all swallowed up, was forced to beg shelter from his
youngest brother. When he told his story the youngest said to himself,
'I am not rich enough to support us all three. I had better take my
turn, and if I manage to win the princess there will be her fortune
as well as my own for us to live on.' So he called together all the
shipbuilders in the kingdom, and gave orders that a new ship should be
built. Then all the old people came and asked for work, and he answered
cheerfully, 'Oh, yes, there is plenty for everybody;' and when the boys
begged to be allowed to help he found something that they could do. And
when the old man with the long white beard stood before him, praying
that he might earn his bread, he replied, 'Oh, father, I could not
suffer you to work, but you shall be overseer, and look after the rest.'

Now the old man was a holy hermit, and when he saw how kind-hearted the
youth was he determined to do all he could for him to gain the wish of
his heart.

By-and-bye, when the ship was finished, the hermit said to his young
friend, 'Now you can go and claim the king's daughter, for hte ship will
float both by land and sea.'

'Oh, good father,' cried the young man, 'you will not forsake me? Stay
with me, I pray you, and lead me to the king!'

'If you wish it, I will,' said the hermit, 'on condition that you will
give me half of anything you get.'

'Oh, if that is all,' answered he, 'it is easily promised!' And they set
out together on the ship.

After they had gone some distance they saw a man standing in a thick
fog, which he was trying to put into a sack.

'Oh, good father,' exclaimed the youth, 'what can he be doing?'

'Ask him,' said the old man.

'What are you doing, my fine fellow?'

'I am putting the fog into my sack. That is my business.'

'Ask him if he will come with us,' whispered the hermit.

And the man answered: 'If you will give me enough to eat and drink I
will gladly stay with you.'

So they took him on their ship, and the youth said, as they started off
again, 'Good father, before we were two, and now we are three!'

After they had travelled a little further they met a man who had torn up
half the forest, and was carrying all the trees on his shoulders.

'Good father,' exclaimed the youth, 'only look! What can he have done
that for?'

'Ask him why he has torn up all those trees.'

And the man replied, 'Why, I've merely been gathering a handful of
brushwood.'

'Beg him to come with us,' whispered the hermit.

And the strong man answered: 'Willingly, as long as you give me enough
to eat and drink.' And he came on the ship.

And the youth said to the hermit, 'Good father, before we were three,
and now we are four.'

The ship travelled on again, and some miles further on they saw a man
drinking out of a stream till he had nearly drunk it dry.

'Good father,' said the youth, 'just look at that man! Did you ever see
anybody drink like that?'

'Ask him why he does it,' answered the hermit.

'Why, there is nothing very odd in taking a mouthful of water!' replied
the man, standing up.

'Beg him to come with us.' And the youth did so.

'With pleasure, as long as you give me enough to eat and drink.'

And the youth whispered to the hermit, 'Good father, before we were
four, and now we are five.'

A little way along they noticed another man in the middle of a stream,
who was shooting into the water.

'Good father,' said the youth, 'what can he be shooting at?'

'Ask him,' answered the hermit.

'Hush, hush!' cried the man; 'now you have frightened it away. In the
Underworld sits a quail on a tree, and I wanted to shoot it. That is my
business. I hit everything I aim at.'

'Ask him if he will come with us.'

And the man replied, 'With all my heart, as long as I get enough to eat
and drink.'

So they took him into the ship, and the young man whispered, 'Good
father, before we were five, and now we are six.'

Off they went again, and before they had gone far they met a man
striding towards them whose steps were so long that while one foot was
on the north of the island the other was right down in the south.

'Good father, look at him! What long steps he takes!'

'Ask him why he does it,' replied the hermit.

'Oh, I am only going out for a little walk,' answered he.

'Ask him if he will come with us.'

'Gladly, if you will give me as much as I want to eat and drink,' said
he, climbing up into the ship.

And the young man whispered, 'Good father, before we were six, and
now we are seven.' But the hermit knew what he was about, and why he
gathered these strange people into the ship.

After many days, at last they reached the town where lived the king and
his daughter. They stopped the vessel right in front of the palace, and
the young man went in and bowed low before the king.

'O Majesty, I have done your bidding, and now is the ship built that
can travel over land and sea. Give me my reward, and let me have your
daughter to wife.'

But the king said to himself, 'What! am I to wed my daughter to a man of
whom I know nothing. Not even whether he be rich or poor--a knight or a
beggar.'

And aloud he spake: It is not enough that you have managed to build the
ship. You must find a runner who shall take this letter to the ruler of
the Underworld, and bring me the answer back in an hour.'

'That is not in the bond,' answered the young man.

'Well, do as you like,' replied the king, 'only you will not get my
daughter.'

The young man went out, sorely troubled, to tell his old friend what had
happened.

'Silly boy!' cried the hermit, 'Accept his terms at once. And send off
the long-legged man with the letter. He will take it in no time at all.'

So the youth's heard leapt for joy, and he returned to the king.
'Majesty, I accept your terms. HEre is the messenger who will do what
you wish.'

The king had no choice but to give the man the letter, and he strode
off, making short work of the distance that lay between the palace and
the Underworld. He soon found the ruler, who looked at the letter, and
said to him, 'Wait a little while i write the answer;' but the man was
soo tired with his quick walk that he went sound asleep and forgot all
about his errand.

All this time the youth was anxiously counting the minutes till he
could get back, and stood with his eyes fixed on the road down which his
messenger must come.

'What can be keeping him,' he said to the hermit when the hour was
nearly up. Then the hermit sent for the man who could hit everything he
aimed at, and said to him, 'Just see why the messenger stays so long.'

'Oh, he is sound asleep in the palace of the Underworld. However, I can
wake him.'

Then he drew his bow, and shot an arrow straight into the man's knee.
The messenger awoke with such a start, and when he saw that the hour had
almost run out he snatched up the answer and rushed back with such speed
that the clock had not yet struck when he entered the palace.

Now the young man thought he was sure of his bride, but the king said,
"Still you have not done enough. Before I give you my daughter you must
find a man who can drink half the contents of my cellar in one day.'

'That is not in the bond,' complained the poor youth.

'Well, do as you like, only you will not get my daughter.'

The young man went sadly out, and asked the hermit what he was to do.

'Silly boy!' said he. 'Why, tell the man to do it who drinks up
everything.'

So they sent for the man and said, 'Do you think you are able to drink
half the royal cellar in one day?'

'Dear me, yes, and as much more as you want,' answered he. 'I am never
satisfied.'

The king was not pleased at the young man agreeing so readily, but he
had no choice, and ordered the servant to be taken downstairs. Oh, how
he enjoyed himself! All day long he drank, and drank, and drank, till
instead of half the cellar, he had drunk the whole, and there was not
a cask but what stood empty. And when the king saw this he said to the
youth, 'You have conquered, and I can no longer withhold my daughter.
But, as her dowry, I shall only give so much as one man can carry away.'

'But,' answered he, 'let a man be ever so strong, he cannot carry more
than a hundredweight, and what is that for a king's daughter?'

'Well, do as you like; I have said my say. It is your affair--not mine.'

The young man was puzzled, and did not know what to reply, for, though
he would gladly have married the princess without a sixpence, he had
spent all his money in building the ship, and knew he could not give her
all she wanted. So he went to the hermit and said to him, 'The king will
only give for her dowry as much as a man can carry. I have no money of
my own left, and my brothers have none either.'

'Silly boy! Why, you have only got to fetch the man who carried half the
forest on his shoulders.'

And the youth was glad, and called the strong man, and told him what he
must do. 'Take everything you can, till you are bent double. Never mind
if you leave the palace bare.'

The strong man promised, and nobly kept his word. He piled all he
could see on his back--chairs, tables, wardrobes, chests of gold and
silver--till there was nothing left to pile. At last he took the king's
crown, and put it on the top. He carried his burden to the ship and
stowed his treasures away, and the youth followed, leading the king's
daughter. But the king was left raging in his empty palace, and he
called together his army, and got ready his ships of war, in order that
he might go after the vessel and bring back what had been taken away.

And the king's ships sailed very fast, and soon caught up the little
vessel, and the sailors all shouted for joy. Then the hermit looked out
and saw how near they were, and he said to the youth, 'Do you see that?'

The youth shrieked and cried, 'Ah, good father, it is a fleet of ships,
and they are chasing us, and in a few moments they will be upon us.'

But the hermit bade him call the man who had the fog in his sack, and
the sack was opened and the fog flew out, and hung right round the
king's ships, so that they could see nothing. So they sailed back to the
palace, and told the king what strange things had happened. Meanwhile
the young man's vessel reached home in safety.

'Well, here you are once more' said the hermit; 'and now you can fulfil
the promise you made me to give me the half of all you had.'

'That will I do with all my heart,' answered the youth, and began to
divide all his treasures, putting part on one side for himself and
setting aside the other for his friend. 'Good father, it is finished,'
said he at length; 'there is nothing more left to divide.'

'Nothing more left!' cried the hermit. 'Why, you have forgotten the best
thing of all!'

'What can that be?' asked he. 'We have divided everything.'

'And the king's daughter?' said the hermit.

Then the young man's heart stood still, for he loved her dearly. But he
answered, 'It is well; I have sworn, and I will keep my word,' and drew
his sword to cut her in pieces. When the hermit saw that he held his
honour dearer than his wife he lifted his hand and cried, 'Hold! she
is yours, and all the treasures too. I gave you my help because you had
pity on those that were in need. And when you are in need yourself, call
upon me, and I will come to you.'

As he spoke he softly touched their heads and vanished.

The next day the wedding took place, and the two brothers came to the
house, and they all lived happily together, but they never forgot the
holy man who had been such a good friend.




The Water of Life

Cuentos Populars Catalans, per lo Dr. D. Francisco de S. Maspous y
Labros. Barcelona, 1885.


Three brothers and one sister lived together in a small cottage, and
they loved one another dearly. One day the eldest brother, who had never
done anything but amuse himself from sunrise to sunset, said to the
rest, 'Let us all work hard, and perhaps we shall grow rich, and be able
to build ourselves a palace.'

And his brothers and sister answered joyfully, 'Yes, we will all work!'

So they fell to working with all their might, till at last they became
rich, and were able to build themselves a beautiful palace; and everyone
came from miles round to see its wonders, and to say how splendid it
was. No one thought of finding any faults, till at length an old woman,
who had been walking through the rooms with a crowd of people, suddenly
exclaimed, 'Yes, it is a splendid palace, but there is still something
it needs!'

'And what may that be?'

'A church.'

When they heard this the brothers set to work again to earn some more
money, and when they had got enough they set about building a church,
which should be as large and beautiful as the palace itself.

And after the church was finished greater numbers of people than
ever flocked to see the palace and the church and vast gardens and
magnificent halls.

But one day, as the brothers were as usual doing the honours to their
guests, an old man turned to them and said, 'Yes, it is all most
beautiful, but there is still something it needs!'

'And what may that be?'

'A pitcher of the water of life, a branch of the tree the smell of whose
flowers gives eternal beauty, and the talking bird.'

'And where am I to find all those?'

'Go to the mountain that is far off yonder, and you will find what you
seek.'

After the old man had bowed politely and taken farewell of them the
eldest brother said to the rest, 'I will go in search of the water of
life, and the talking bird, and the tree of beauty.'

'But suppose some evil thing befalls you?' asked his sister. 'How shall
we know?'


'You are right,' he replied; ' I had not thought of that!'

Then they followed the old man, and said to him, 'My eldest brother
wishes to seek for the water of life, and the tree of beauty, and the
talking bird, that you tell him are needful to make our palace perfect.
But how shall we know if any evil thing befall him?'

So the old man took them a knife, and gave it to them, saying, 'Keep
this carefully, and as long as the blade is bright all is well; but if
the blade is bloody, then know that evil has befallen him.'

The brothers thanked him, and departed, and went straight to the palace,
where they found the young man making ready to set out for the mountain
where the treasures he longed for lay hid.

And he walked, and he walked, and he walked, till he had gone a great
way, and there he met a giant.

'Can you tell me how much further I have still to go before I reach that
mountain yonder?'

'And why do you wish to go there?'

'I am seeking the water of life, the talking bird, and a branch of the
tree of beauty.'

'Many have passed by seeking those treasures, but none have ever come
back; and you will never come back either, unless you mark my words.
Follow this path, and when you reach the mountain you will find it
covered with stones. Do not stop to look at them, but keep on your way.
As you go you will hear scoffs and laughs behind you; it will be the
stones that mock. Do not heed them; above all, do not turn round. If you
do you will become as one of them. Walk straight on till you get to the
top, and then take all you wish for.'

The young man thanked him for his counsel, and walked, and walked, and
walked, till he reached the mountain. And as he climbed he heard behind
him scoffs and jeers, but he kept his ears steadily closed to them. At
last the noise grew so loud that he lost patience, and he stooped to
pick up a stone to hurl into the midst of the clamour, when suddenly his
arm seemed to stiffen, and the next moment he was a stone himself!

That day his sister, who thought her brother's steps were long in
returning, took out the knife and found the blade was red as blood. Then
she cried out to her brothers that something terrible had come to pass.

'I will go and find him,' said the second. And he went.

And he walked, and he walked, and he walked, till he met the giant, and
asked him if he had seen a young man travelling towards the mountain.

And the giant answered, 'Yes, I have seen him pass, but I have not seen
him come back. The spell must have worked upon him.'

'Then what can I do to disenchant him, and find the water of life, the
talking bird, and a branch of the tree of beauty?'

'Follow this path, and when you reach the mountain you will find it
covered with stones. Do not stop to look at them, but climb steadily on.
Above all, heed not the laughs and scoffs that will arise on all sides,
and never turn round. And when you reach the top you can then take all
you desire.'

The young man thanked him for his counsel, and set out for the mountain.
But no sooner did he reach it than loud jests and gibes broke out on
every side, and almost deafened him. For some time he let them rail,
and pushed boldly on, till he had passed the place which his brother had
gained; then suddenly he thought that among the scoffing sounds he heard
his brother's voice. He stopped and looked back; and another stone was
added to the number.

Meanwhile the sister left at home was counting the days when her two
brothers should return to her. The time seemed long, and it would be
hard to say how often she took out the knife and looked at its polished
blade to make sure that this one at least was still safe. The blade was
always bright and clear; each time she looked she had the happiness of
knowing that all was well, till one evening, tired and anxious, as she
frequently was at the end of the day, she took it from its drawer, and
behold! the blade was red with blood. Her cry of horror brought her
youngest brother to her, and, unable to speak, she held out the knife!

'I will go,' he said.

So he walked, and he walked, and he walked, until he met the giant, and
he asked, 'Have two young men, making for yonder mountain, passed this
way?'

And the giant answered, 'Yes, they have passed by, but they never came
back, and by this I know that the spell has fallen upon them.'

'Then what must I do to free them, and to get the water of life, and the
talking bird, and the branch of the tree of beauty?'

'Go to the mountain, which you will find so thickly covered with stones
that you will hardly be able to place your feet, and walk straight
forward, turning neither to the right hand nor to the left, and paying
no heed to the laughs and scoffs which will follow you, till you reach
the top, and then you may take all that you desire.'

The young man thanked the giant for his counsel, and set forth to the
mountain. And when he began to climb there burst forth all around him
a storm of scoffs and jeers; but he thought of the giant's words, and
looked neither to the right hand nor to the left, till the mountain top
lay straight before him. A moment now and he would have gained it, when,
through the groans and yells, he heard his brothers' voices. He turned,
and there was one stone the more.


And all this while his sister was pacing up and down the palace, hardly
letting the knife out of her hand, and dreading what she knew she would
see, and what she did see. The blade grew red before her eyes, and she
said, 'Now it is my turn.'

So she walked, and she walked, and she walked till she came to the
giant, and prayed him to tell her if he had seen three young men pass
that way seeking the distant mountain.

'I have seen them pass, but they have never returned, and by this I know
that the spell has fallen upon them.'

'And what must I do to set them free, and to find the water of life, and
the talking bird, and a branch of the tree of beauty?'

'You must go to that mountain, which is so full of stones that your
feet will hardly find a place to tread, and as you climb you will hear
a noise as if all the stones in the world were mocking you; but pay
no heed to anything you may hear, and, once you gain the top, you have
gained everything.'

The girl thanked him for his counsel, and set out for the mountain; and
scarcely had she gone a few steps upwards when cries and screams broke
forth around her, and she felt as if each stone she trod on was a living
thing. But she remembered the words of the giant, and knew not what had
befallen her brothers, and kept her face steadily towards the mountain
top, which grew nearer and nearer every moment. But as she mounted the
clamour increased sevenfold: high above them all rang the voices of her
three brothers. But the girl took no heed, and at last her feet stood
upon the top.

Then she looked round, and saw, lying in a hollow, the pool of the water
of life. And she took the brazen pitcher that she had brought with her,
and filled it to the brim. By the side of the pool stood the tree of
beauty, with the talking bird on one of its boughs; and she caught the
bird, and placed it in a cage, and broke off one of the branches.

After that she turned, and went joyfully down the hill again, carrying
her treasures, but her long climb had tired her out, and the brazen
pitcher was very heavy, and as she walked a few drops of the water spilt
on the stones, and as it touched them they changed into young men and
maidens, crowding about her to give thanks for their deliverance.

So she learnt by this how the evil spell might be broken, and she
carefully sprinkled every stone till there was not one left--only a
great company of youths and girls who followed her down the mountain.

When they arrived at the palace she did not lose a moment in planting
the branch of the tree of beauty and watering it with the water of life.
And the branch shot up into a tree, and was heavy with flowers, and the
talking bird nestled in its branches.

Now the fame of these wonders was noised abroad, and the people flocked
in great numbers to see the three marvels, and the maiden who had won
them; and among the sightseers came the king's son, who would not go
till everything was shown him, and till he had heard how it had all
happened. And the prince admired the strangeness and beauty of the
treasures in the palace, but more than all he admired the beauty and
courage of the maiden who had brought them there. So he went home and
told his parents, and gained their consent to wed her for his wife.

Then the marriage was celebrated in the church adjoining the palace.
Then the bridegroom took her to his own home, where they lived happy for
ever after.




The Wounded Lion

Cuentos Populars Catalans.


There was once a girl so poor that she had nothing to live on, and
wandered about the world asking for charity. One day she arrived at
a thatched cottage, and inquired if they could give her any work. The
farmer said he wanted a cowherd, as his own had left him, and if the
girl liked the place she might take it. So she became a cowherd.

One morning she was driving her cows through the meadows when she heard
near by a loud groan that almost sounded human. She hastened to the spot
from which the noise came, and found it proceeded from a lion who lay
stretched upon the ground.

You can guess how frightened she was! But the lion seemed in such pain
that she was sorry for him, and drew nearer and nearer till she saw he
had a large thorn in one foot. She pulled out the thorn and bound up the
place, and the lion was grateful, and licked her hand by way of thanks
with his big rough tongue.

When the girl had finished she went back to find the cows, but they had
gone, and though she hunted everywhere she never found them; and she had
to return home and confess to her master, who scolded her bitterly, and
afterwards beat her. Then he said, 'Now you will have to look after the
asses.'

So every day she had to take the asses to the woods to feed, until one
morning, exactly a year after she had found the lion, she heard a groan
which sounded quite human. She went straight to the place from which the
noise came, and, to her great surprise, beheld the same lion stretched
on the ground with a deep wound across his face.

This time she was not afraid at all, and ran towards him, washing the
wound and laying soothing herbs upon it; and when she had bound it up
the lion thanked her in the same manner as before.

After that she returned to her flock, but they were nowhere to be
seen. She searched here and she searched there, but they had vanished
completely!

Then she had to go home and confess to her master, who first scolded her
and afterwards beat her. 'Now go,' he ended, 'and look after the pigs!'

So the next day she took out the pigs, and found them such good feeding
grounds that they grew fatter every day.

Another year passed by, and one morning when the maiden was out with her
pigs she heard a groan which sounded quite human. She ran to see what
it was, and found her old friend the lion, wounded through and through,
fast dying under a tree.

She fell on her knees before him and washed his wounds one by one, and
laid healing herbs upon them. And the lion licked her hands and thanked
her, and asked if she would not stay and sit by him. But the girl said
she had her pigs to watch, and she must go and see after them.

So she ran to the place where she had left them, but they had vanished
as if the earth had swallowed them up. She whistled and called, but only
the birds answered her.

Then she sank down on the ground and wept bitterly, not daring to return
home until some hours had passed away.

And when she had had her cry out she got up and searched all up and down
the wood. But it was no use; there was not a sign of the pigs.

At last she thought that perhaps if she climbed a tree she might
see further. But no sooner was she seated on the highest branch than
something happened which put the pigs quite out of her head. This was a
handsome young man who was coming down the path; and when he had almost
reached the tree he pulled aside a rock and disappeared behind it.

The maiden rubbed her eyes and wondered if she had been dreaming. Next
she thought, 'I will not stir from here till I see him come out, and
discover who he is.' Accordingly she waited, and at dawn the next
morning the rock moved to one side and a lion came out.

When he had gone quite out of sight the girl climbed down from the tree
and went to the rock, which she pushed aside, and entered the opening
before her. The path led to a beautiful house. She went in, swept and
dusted the furniture, and put everything tidy. Then she ate a very good
dinner, which was on a shelf in the corner, and once more clambered up
to the top of her tree.

As the sun set she saw the same young man walking gaily down the path,
and, as before, he pushed aside the rock and disappeared behind it.

Next morning out came the lion. He looked sharply about him on all
sides, but saw no one, and then vanished into the forest.

The maiden then came down from the tree and did exactly as she had done
the day before. Thus three days went by, and every day she went and
tidied up the palace. At length, when the girl found she was no nearer
to discovering the secret, she resolved to ask him, and in the evening
when she caught sight of him coming through the wood she came down from
the tree and begged him to tell her his name.

The young man looked very pleased to see her, and said he thought it
must be she who had secretly kept his house for so many days. And he
added that he was a prince enchanted by a powerful giant, but was only
allowed to take his own shape at night, for all day he was forced to
appear as the lion whom she had so often helped; and, more than this,
it was the giant who had stolen the oxen and the asses and the pigs in
revenge for her kindness.

And the girl asked him, 'What can I do to disenchant you?'

But he said he was afraid it was very difficult, because the only way
was to get a lock of hair from the head of a king's daughter, to spin
it, and to make from it a cloak for the giant, who lived up on the top
of a high mountain.

'Very well,' answered the girl, 'I will go to the city, and knock at
the door of the king's palace, and ask the princess to take me as a
servant.'

So they parted, and when she arrived at the city she walked about the
streets crying, 'Who will hire me for a servant? Who will hire me for a
servant?' But, though many people liked her looks, for she was clean and
neat, the maiden would listen to none, and still continued crying, 'Who
will hire me for a servant? Who will hire me for a servant?'

At last there came the waiting-maid of the princess.

'What can you do?' she said; and the girl was forced to confess that she
could do very little.

'Then you will have to do scullion's work, and wash up dishes,' said
she; and they went straight back to the palace.

Then the maiden dressed her hair afresh, and made herself look very neat
and smart, and everyone admired and praised her, till by-and-bye it came
to the ears of the princess. And she sent for the girl, and when she saw
her, and how beautifully she had dressed her hair, the princess told her
she was to come and comb out hers.

Now the hair of the princess was very thick and long, and shone like
the sun. And the girl combed it and combed it till it was brighter than
ever. And the princess was pleased, and bade her come every day and comb
her hair, till at length the girl took courage, and begged leave to cut
off one of the long, thick locks.

The princess, who was very proud of her hair, did not like the idea of
parting with any of it, so she said no. But the girl could not give
up hope, and each day she entreated to be allowed to cut off just one
tress. At length the princess lost patience, and exclaimed, 'You may
have it, then, on condition that you shall find the handsomest prince in
the world to be my bridegroom!'

And the girl answered that she would, and cut off the lock, and wove it
into a coat that glittered like silk, and brought it to the young man,
who told her to carry it straight to the giant. But that she must be
careful to cry out a long way off what she had with her, or else he
would spring upon her and run her through with his sword.

So the maiden departed and climbed up the mountain, but before she
reached the top the giant heard her footsteps, and rushed out breathing
fire and flame, having a sword in one hand and a club in the other. But
she cried loudly that she had brought him the coat, and then he grew
quiet, and invited her to come into his house.

He tried on the coat, but it was too short, and he threw it off, and
declared it was no use. And the girl picked it up sadly, and returned
quite in despair to the king's palace.

The next morning, when she was combing the princess's hair, she begged
leave to cut off another lock. At first the princess said no, but the
girl begged so hard that at length she gave in on condition that she
should find her a prince as bridegroom.

The maiden told her that she had already found him, and spun the lock
into shining stuff, and fastened it on to the end of the coat. And when
it was finished she carried it to the giant.

This time it fitted him, and he was quite pleased, and asked her what
he could give her in return. And she said that the only reward he could
give her was to take the spell off the lion and bring him back to his
own shape.

For a long time the giant would not hear of it, but in the end he gave
in, and told her exactly how it must all be done. She was to kill the
lion herself and cut him up very small; then she must burn him, and cast
his ashes into the water, and out of the water the prince would come
free from enchantment for ever.

But the maiden went away weeping, lest the giant should have deceived
her, and that after she had killed the lion she would find she had also
slain the prince.

Weeping she came down the mountain, and weeping she joined the prince,
who was awaiting her at the bottom; and when he had heard her story he
comforted her, and bade her be of good courage, and to do the bidding of
the giant.

And the maiden believed what the prince told her; and in the morning
when he put on his lion's form she took a knife and slew him, and cut
him up very small, and burnt him, and cast his ashes into the water, and
out of the water came the prince, beautiful as the day, and as glad to
look upon as the sun himself.


Then the young man thanked the maiden for all she had done for him, and
said she should be his wife and none other. But the maiden only wept
sore, and answered that that she could never be, for she had given her
promise to the princess when she cut off her hair that the prince should
wed her and her only.

But the prince replied, 'If it is the princess, we must go quickly. Come
with me.'

So they went together to the king's palace. And when the king and queen
and princess saw the young man a great joy filled their hearts, for they
knew him for the eldest son, who had long ago been enchanted by a giant
and lost to them.

And he asked his parents' consent that he might marry the girl who had
saved him, and a great feast was made, and the maiden became a princess,
and in due time a queen, and she richly deserved all the honours
showered upon her.




The Man Without a Heart


Once upon a time there were seven brothers, who were orphans, and had no
sister. Therefore they were obliged to do all their own housework. This
they did not like at all; so after much deliberation they decided to get
married. There were, unfortunately, no young girls to be found in the
place where they lived; but the elder brothers agreed to go out into the
world and seek for brides, promising to bring back a very pretty wife
for the youngest also if he would meanwhile stay at home and take care
of the house. He consented willingly, and the six young men set off in
good spirits.

On their way they came to a small cottage standing quite by itself in
a wood; and before the door stood an old, old man, who accosted the
brothers saying, 'Hullo, you young fellows! Whither away so fast and
cheerily?'

'We are going to find bonny brides for ourselves, and one for our
youngest brother at home,' they replied.

'Oh! dear youths,' said the old man, 'I am terribly lonely here; pray
bring a bride for me also; only remember, she must be young and pretty.'

'What does a shrivelled old grey thing like that want with a pretty
young bride?' thought the brothers, and went on their way.

Presently they came to a town where were seven sisters, as young and as
lovely as anyone could wish. Each brother chose one, and the youngest
they kept for their brother at home. Then the whole party set out on the
return journey, and again their path led through the wood and past the
old man's cottage.

There he stood before the door, and cried: 'Oh! you fine fellows, what a
charming bride you have brought me!'

'She is not for you, said the young men. 'She is for our youngest
brother, as we promised.'

'What!' said the old man, 'promised! I'll make you eat your promises!'
And with that he took his magic wand, and, murmuring a charm, he touched
both brothers and brides, and immediately they were turned into grey
stones.

Only the youngest sister he had not bewitched. He took her into the
cottage, and from that time she was obliged to keep house for him. She
was not very unhappy, but one thought troubled her. What if the old man
should die and leave her here alone in the solitary cottage deep in the
heart of the wood! She would be as 'terribly lonely' as he had formerly
been.

One day she told him of her fear.


'Don't be anxious,' he said. 'You need neither fear my death nor desire
it, for I have no heart in my breast! However, if I should die, you will
find my wand above the door, and with it you can set free your sisters
and their lovers. Then you will surely have company enough.'

'Where in all the world do you keep your heart, if not in your breast?'
asked the girl.

'Do you want to know everything?' her husband said. 'Well, if you must
know, my heart is in the bed-cover.'

When the old man had gone out about his business his bride passed her
time in embroidering beautiful flowers on the bed quilt to make his
heart happy. The old man was much amused. He laughed, and said to
her: 'You are a good child, but I was only joking. My heart is really
in--in--'

'Now where is it, dear husband?'

'It is in the doorway,' he replied.

Next day, while he was out, the girl decorated the door with gay
feathers and fresh flowers, and hung garlands upon it. And on his return
the old fellow asked what it all meant.

'I did it to show my love for your heart,' said the girl.

And again the old man smiled, saying, 'You are a dear child, but my
heart is not in the doorway.'

Then the poor young bride was very vexed, and said, 'Ah, my dear! you
really have a heart somewhere, so you may die and leave me all alone.'

The old man did his best to comfort her by repeating all he had said
before, but she begged him afresh to tell her truly where his heart was
and at last he told her.

'Far, far from here,' said he, 'in a lonely spot, stands a great church,
as old as old can be. Its doors are of iron, and round it runs a deep
moat, spanned by no bridge. Within that church is a bird which flies up
and down; it never eats, and never drinks, and never dies. No one can
catch it, and while that bird lives so shall I, for in it is my heart.'

It made the little bride quite sad to think she could do nothing to show
her love for the old man's heart. She used to think about it as she sat
all alone during the long days, for her husband was almost always out.

One day a young traveller came past the house, and seeing such a pretty
girl he wished her 'Good day.'

She returned his greeting, and as he drew near she asked him whence he
came and where he was going.


'Alas!' sighed the youth, 'I am very sorrowful. I had six brothers, who
went away to find brides for themselves and one for me; but they have
never come home, so now I am going to look for them.'

'Oh, good friend,' said the girl, 'you need go no farther. Come, sit
down, eat and drink, and afterwards I'll tell you all about it.'

She gave him food, and when he had finished his meal she told him how
his brothers had come to the town where she lived with her sisters, how
they had each chosen a bride, and, taking herself with them, had started
for home. She wept as she told how the others were turned to stone,
and how she was kept as the old man's bride. She left out nothing, even
telling him the story of her husband's heart.

When the young man heard this he said: 'I shall go in search of the
bird. It may be that God will help me to find and catch it.'

'Yes, do go,' she said; 'it will be a good deed, for then you can set
your brothers and my sisters free.' Then she hid the young man, for it
was now late, and her husband would soon be home.

Next morning, when the old man had gone out, she prepared a supply of
provisions for her guest, and sent him off on his travels, wishing him
good luck and success.

He walked on and on till he thought it must be time for breakfast; so
he opened his knapsack, and was delighted to find such a store of good
things. 'What a feast!' he exclaimed; 'will anyone come and share it?'

'Moo-oo,' sounded close behind him, and looking round he saw a great
red ox, which said, 'I have much pleasure in accepting your kind
invitation.'

'I'm delighted to see you. Pray help yourself. All I have is at your
service,' said the hospitable youth. And the ox lay down comfortably,
licking his lips, and made a hearty meal.

'Many thanks to you,' said the animal as it rose up. 'When you are
in danger or necessity call me, even if only by a thought,' and it
disappeared among the bushes.

The young man packed up all the food that was left, and wandered on till
the shortening shadows and his own hunger warned him that it was midday.
he laid the cloth on the ground and spread out his provisions, saying
at the same time: 'Dinner is ready, and anyone who wishes to share it is
welcome.'

Then there was a great rustling in the undergrowth, and out ran a wild
boar, grunting, 'Umph, umph, umph; someone said dinner was ready. Was it
you? and did you mean me to come?'

'By all means. Help yourself to what I have,' said the young traveller.
And the two enjoyed their meal together.

Afterwards the boar got up, saying, 'Thank you; when in need you be you
must quickly call for me,' and he rolled off.

For a long time the youth walked on. By evening he was miles away. He
felt hungry again, and, having still some provisions left, thought he
had better make ready his supper. When it was all spread out he cried as
before, 'Anyone who cares to share my meal is welcome.'

He heard a sound overhead like the flapping of wings, and a shadow was
cast upon the ground. Then a huge griffin appeared, saying: 'I heard
someone giving an invitation to eat; is there anything for me?'

'Why not?' said the youth. 'Come down and take all you want. There won't
be much left after this.'

So the griffin alighted and ate his fill, saying, as he flew away, 'Call
me if you need me.'

'What a hurry he was in!' the youth said to himself. 'He might have been
able to direct me to the church, for I shall never find it alone.'

He gathered up his things, and started to walk a little farther before
resting. He had not gone far when all of a sudden he saw the church!

He soon came to it, or rather to the wide and deep moat which surrounded
it without a single bridge by which to cross.

It was too late to attempt anything now; and, besides, the poor youth
was very tired, so he lay down on the ground and fell fast asleep.

Next morning, when he awoke, he began to wish himself over the moat;
and the thought occurred to him that if only the red ox were there,
and thirsty enough to drink up all the water in the moat, he might walk
across it dry shod.

Scarcely had the thought crossed his brain before the ox appeared and
began to drink up the water.

The grateful youth hastened across as soon as the moat was dry, but
found it impossible to penetrate the thick walls and strong iron doors
of the church.

'I believe that big boar would be of more use here than I am,' he
thought, and lo! at the wish the wild boar came and began to push hard
against the wall. He managed to loosen one stone with his tusks, and,
having made a beginning, stone after stone was poked out till he had
made quite a large hole, big enough to let a man go through.

The young man quickly entered the church, and saw a bird flying about,
but he could not catch it.

'Oh!' he exclaimed, 'if only the griffin were here, he would soon catch
it.'

At these words the griffin appeared, and, seizing the bird, gave it to
the youth, who carried it off carefully, while the griffin flew away.

The young man hurried home as fast as possible, and reached the cottage
before evening. He told his story to the little bride, who, after giving
him some food and drink, hid him with his bird beneath the bed.

Presently the old man came home, and complained of feeling ill. Nothing,
he said, would go well with him any more: his 'heart bird' was caught.

The youth under the bed heard this, and thought, 'This old fellow has
done me no particular harm, but then he has bewitched my brothers and
their brides, and has kept my bride for himself, and that is certainly
bad enough.'

So he pinched the bird, and the old man cried, 'Ah! I feel death
gripping me! Child, I am dying!'

With these words he fell fainting from his chair, and as the youth,
before he knew what he was doing, had squeezed the bird to death, the
old man died also.

Out crept the young man from under the bed, and the girl took the magic
wand (which she found where the old man had told her), and, touching the
twelve grey stones, transformed them at once into the six brothers and
their brides.

Then there was great joy, and kissing and embracing. And there lay the
old man, quite dead, and no magic wand could restore him to life, even
had they wished it.

After that they all went away and were married, and lived many years
happily together.




The Two Brothers

Sicilianische Malirchen. L. Gonzenbach.


Long ago there lived two brothers, both of them very handsome, and both
so very poor that they seldom had anything to eat but the fish which
they caught. One day they had been out in their boat since sunrise
without a single bite, and were just thinking of putting up their lines
and going home to bed when they felt a little feeble tug, and, drawing
in hastily, they found a tiny fish at the end of the hook.

'What a wretched little creature!' cried one brother. 'However, it is
better than nothing, and I will bake him with bread crumbs and have him
for supper.'

'Oh, do not kill me yet!' begged the fish; 'I will bring you good
luck--indeed I will!'

'You silly thing!' said the young man; 'I've caught you, and I shall eat
you.'

But his brother was sorry for the fish, and put in a word for him.

'Let the poor little fellow live. He would hardly make one bite, and,
after all, how do we know we are not throwing away our luck! Put him
back into the sea. It will be much better.'

'If you will let me live,' said the fish, 'you will find on the sands
to-morrow morning two beautiful horses splendidly saddled and bridled,
and on them you can go through the world as knights seeking adventures.'

'Oh dear, what nonsense!' exclaimed the elder; 'and, besides, what proof
have we that you are speaking the truth?'

But again the younger brother interposed: 'Oh, do let him live! You know
if he is lying to us we can always catch him again. It is quite worth
while trying.'

At last the young man gave in, and threw the fish back into the sea; and
both brothers went supperless to bed, and wondered what fortune the next
day would bring.

At the first streaks of dawn they were both up, and in a very few
minutes were running down to the shore. And there, just as the fish had
said, stood two magnificent horses, saddled and bridled, and on their
backs lay suits of armour and under-dresses, two swords, and two purses
of gold.

'There!' said the younger brother. 'Are you not thankful you did not
eat that fish? He has brought us good luck, and there is no knowing how
great we may become! Now, we will each seek our own adventures. If you
will take one road I will go the other.'

'Very well,' replied the elder; 'but how shall we let each other know if
we are both living?'

'Do you see this fig-tree?' said the younger. 'Well, whenever we want
news of each other we have only to come here and make a slit with our
swords in the back. If milk flows, it is a sign that we are well and
prosperous; but if, instead of milk, there is blood, then we are either
dead or in great danger.'

Then the two brothers put on their armour, buckled their swords, and
pocketed their purees; and, after taking a tender farewell of each
other, they mounted their horses and went their various ways.


The elder brother rode straight on till he reached the borders of a
strange kingdom. He crossed the frontier, and soon found himself on
the banks of a river; and before him, in the middle of the stream, a
beautiful girl sat chained to a rock and weeping bitterly. For in this
river dwelt a serpent with seven heads, who threatened to lay waste the
whole land by breathing fire and flame from his nostrils unless the king
sent him every morning a man for his breakfast. This had gone on so long
that now there were no men left, and he had been obliged to send his
own daughter instead, and the poor girl was waiting till the monster got
hungry and felt inclined to eat her.

When the young man saw the maiden weeping bitterly he said to her, 'What
is the matter, my poor girl?'

'Oh!' she answered, 'I am chained here till a horrible serpent with
seven heads comes to eat me. Oh, sir, do not linger here, or he will eat
you too.'

'I shall stay,' replied the young man, 'for I mean to set you free.'

'That is impossible. You do not know what a fearful monster the serpent
is; you can do nothing against him.'

'That is my affair, beautiful captive,' answered he; 'only tell me,
which way will the serpent come?'

'Well, if you are resolved to free me, listen to my advice. Stand a
little on one side, and then, when the serpent rises to the surface, I
will say to him, "O serpent, to-day you can eat two people. But you had
better begin first with the young man, for I am chained and cannot run
away." When he hears this most likely he will attack you.'

So the young man stood carefully on one side, and by-and-bye he heard
a great rushing in the water; and a horrible monster came up to the
surface and looked out for the rock where the king's daughter was
chained, for it was getting late and he was hungry.

But she cried out, 'O serpent, to-day you can eat two people. And you
had better begin with the young man, for I am chained and cannot run
away.'

Then the serpent made a rush at the youth with wide open jaws to swallow
him at one gulp, but the young man leaped aside and drew his sword,
and fought till he had cut off all the seven heads. And when the great
serpent lay dead at his feet he loosed the bonds of the king's daughter,
and she flung herself into his arms and said, 'You have saved me from
that monster, and now you shall be my husband, for my father has made
a proclamation that whoever could slay the serpent should have his
daughter to wife.'

But he answered, 'I cannot become your husband yet, for I have still far
to travel. But wait for me seven years and seven months. Then, if I do
not return, you are free to marry whom you will. And in case you should
have forgotten, I will take these seven tongues with me so that when I
bring them forth you may know that I am really he who slew the serpent.'

So saying he cut out the seven tongues, and the princess gave him a
thick cloth to wrap them in; and he mounted his horse and rode away.

Not long after he had gone there arrived at the river a slave who had
been sent by the king to learn the fate of his beloved daughter. And
when the slave saw the princess standing free and safe before him, with
the body of the monster lying at her feet, a wicked plan came into his
head, and he said, 'Unless you promise to tell your father it was I who
slew the serpent, I will kill you and bury you in this place, and no one
will ever know what befell.'

What could the poor girl do? This time there was no knight to come to
her aid. So she promised to do as the slave wished, and he took up the
seven heads and brought the princess to her father.

Oh, how enchanted the king was to see her again, and the whole town
shared his joy!

And the slave was called upon to tell how he had slain the monster, and
when he had ended the king declared that he should have the princess to
wife.

But she flung herself at her father's feet, and prayed him to delay.
'You have passed your royal word, and cannot go back from it Yet grant
me this grace, and let seven years and seven months go by before you
wed me. When they are over, then I will marry the slave.' And the king
listened to her, and seven years and seven months she looked for her
bridegroom, and wept for him night and day.

All this time the young man was riding through the world, and when the
seven years and seven months were over he came back to the town where
the princess lived--only a few days before the wedding. And he stood
before the king, and said to him: 'Give me your daughter, O king, for
I slew the seven-headed serpent. And as a sign that my words are true,
look on these seven tongues, which I cut from his seven heads, and on
this embroidered cloth, which was given me by your daughter.'

Then the princess lifted up her voice and said, 'Yes, dear father, he
has spoken the truth, and it is he who is my real bridegroom. Yet pardon
the slave, for he was sorely tempted.'

But the king answered, 'Such treachery can no man pardon. Quick, away
with him, and off with his head!'

So the false slave was put to death, that none might follow in his
footsteps, and the wedding feast was held, and the hearts of all
rejoiced that the true bridegroom had come at last.

These two lived happy and contentedly for a long while, when one
evening, as the young man was looking from the window, he saw on a
mountain that lay out beyond the town a great bright light.

'What can it be?' he said to his wife.


'Ah! do not look at it,' she answered, 'for it comes from the house of
a wicked witch whom no man can manage to kill.' But the princess had
better have kept silence, for her words made her husband's heart burn
within him, and he longed to try his strength against the witch's
cunning. And all day long the feeling grew stronger, till the next
morning he mounted his horse, and in spite of his wife's tears, he rode
off to the mountain.

The distance was greater than he thought, and it was dark before he
reached the foot of the mountain; indeed, he could not have found the
road at all had it not been for the bright light, which shone like the
moon on his path. At length he came to the door of a fine castle, which
had a blaze streaming from every window. He mounted a flight of steps
and entered a hall where a hideous old woman was sitting on a golden
chair.

She scowled at the young man and said, 'With a single one of the hairs
of my head I can turn you into stone.'

'Oh, what nonsense!' cried he. 'Be quiet, old woman. What could you
do with one hair?' But the witch pulled out a hair and laid it on his
shoulder, and his limbs grew cold and heavy, and he could not stir.

Now at this very moment the younger brother was thinking of him, and
wondering how he had got on during all the years since they had parted.
'I will go to the fig-tree,' he said to himself, 'to see whether he is
alive or dead.' So he rode through the forest till he came where the
fig-tree stood, and cut a slit in the bark, and waited. In a moment a
little gurgling noise was heard, and out came a stream of blood, running
fast. 'Ah, woe is me!' he cried bitterly. 'My brother is dead or dying!
Shall I ever reach him in time to save his life?' Then, leaping on his
horse, he shouted, 'Now, my steed, fly like the wind!' and they rode
right through the world, till one day they came to the town where the
young man and his wife lived. Here the princess had been sitting every
day since the morning that her husband had left her, weeping bitter
tears, and listening for his footsteps. And when she saw his brother
ride under the balcony she mistook him for her own husband, for they
were so alike that no man might tell the difference, and her heart
bounded, and, leaning down, she called to him, 'At last! at last! how
long have I waited for thee!' When the younger brother heard these words
he said to himself, 'So it was here that my brother lived, and this
beautiful woman is my sister-in-law,' but he kept silence, and let her
believe he was indeed her husband. Full of joy, the princess led him to
the old king, who welcomed him as his own son, and ordered a feast to
be made for him. And the princess was beside herself with gladness, but
when she would have put her arms round him and kissed him he held up
his hand to stop her, saying, 'Touch me not,' at which she marvelled
greatly.

In this manner several days went by. And one evening, as the young man
leaned from the balcony, he saw a bright light shining on the mountain.

'What can that be?' he said to the princess.

'Oh, come away,' she cried; 'has not that light already proved your
bane? Do you wish to fight a second time with that old witch?'

He marked her words, though she knew it not, and they taught him where
his brother was, and what had befallen him. So before sunrise he stole
out early, saddled his horse, and rode off to the mountain. But the way
was further than he thought, and on the road he met a little old man who
asked him whither he was going.

Then the young man told him his story, and added. 'Somehow or other I
must free my brother, who has fallen into the power of an old witch.'

'I will tell you what you must do,' said the old man. 'The witch's power
lies in her hair; so when you see her spring on her and seize her by
the hair, and then she cannot harm you. Be very careful never to let her
hair go, bid her lead you to your brother, and force her to bring him
back to life. For she has an ointment that will heal all wounds, and
even wake the dead. And when your brother stands safe and well before
you, then cut off her head, for she is a wicked woman.'

The young man was grateful for these words, and promised to obey them.
Then he rode on, and soon reached the castle. He walked boldly up the
steps and entered the hall, where the hideous old witch came to meet
him. She grinned horribly at him, and cried out, 'With one hair of my
head I can change you into stone.'

'Can you, indeed?' said the young man, seizing her by the hair. 'You old
wretch! tell me what you have done with my brother, or I will cut your
head off this very instant.' Now the witch's strength was all gone from
her, and she had to obey.

'I will take you to your brother,' she said, hoping to get the better of
him by cunning, 'but leave me alone. You hold me so tight that I cannot
walk.'

'You must manage somehow,' he answered, and held her tighter than ever.
She led him into a large hall filled with stone statues, which once had
been men, and, pointing out one, she said, 'There is your brother.'

The young man looked at them all and shook his head. 'My brother is not
here. Take me to him, or it will be the worse for you.' But she tried
to put him off with other statues, though it was no good, and it was
not until they had reached the last hall of all that he saw his brother
lying on the ground.

'That is my brother,' said he. 'Now give me the ointment that will
restore him to life.'

Very unwillingly the old witch opened a cupboard close by filled with
bottles and jars, and took down one and held it out to the young man.
But he was on the watch for trickery, and examined it carefully, and saw
that it had no power to heal. This happened many times, till at length
she found it was no use, and gave him the one he wanted. And when he
had it safe he made her stoop down and smear it over his brother's face,
taking care all the while never to loose her hair, and when the dead
man opened his eyes the youth drew his sword and cut off her head with
a single blow. Then the elder brother got up and stretched himself, and
said, 'Oh, how long I have slept! And where am I?'

'The old witch had enchanted you, but now she is dead and you are free.
We will wake up the other knights that she laid under her spells, and
then we will go.'

This they did, and, after sharing amongst them the jewels and gold they
found in the castle, each man went his way. The two brothers remained
together, the elder tightly grasping the ointment which had brought him
back to life.

They had much to tell each other as they rode along, and at last the
younger man exclaimed, 'O fool, to leave such a beautiful wife to go and
fight a witch! She took me for her husband, and I did not say her nay.'

When the elder brother heard this a great rage filled his heart, and,
without saying one word, he drew his sword and slew his brother, and his
body rolled in the dust. Then he rode on till he reached his home,
where his wife was still sitting, weeping bitterly. When she saw him
she sprang up with a cry, and threw herself into his arms. 'Oh, how long
have I waited for thee! Never, never must you leave me any more!'

When the old king heard the news he welcomed him as a son, and made
ready a feast, and all the court sat down. And in the evening, when the
young man was alone with his wife, she said to him, 'Why would you not
let me touch you when you came back, but always thrust me away when I
tried to put my arms round you or kiss you?'

Then the young man understood how true his brother had been to him, and
he sat down and wept and wrung his hands because of the wicked murder
that he had done. Suddenly he sprang to his feet, for he remembered the
ointment which lay hidden in his garments, and he rushed to the place
where his brother still lay. He fell on his knees beside the body, and,
taking out the salve, he rubbed it over the neck where the wound was
gaping wide, and the skin healed and the sinews grew strong, and the
dead man sat up and looked round him. And the two brothers embraced each
other, and the elder asked forgiveness for his wicked blow; and they
went back to the palace together, and were never parted any more.




Master and Pupil

From the Danish.


There was once a man who had a son who was very clever at reading, and
took great delight in it. He went out into the world to seek service
somewhere, and as he was walking between some mounds he met a man, who
asked him where he was going.

'I am going about seeking for service,' said the boy.

'Will you serve me?' asked the man.

'Oh, yes; just as readily you as anyone else,' said the boy.

'But can you read?' asked the man.

'As well as the priest,' said the boy.

Then I can't have you,' said the man. 'In fact, I was just wanting a boy
who couldn't read. His only work would be to dust my old books.'

The man then went on his way, and left the boy looking after him.

'It was a pity I didn't get that place,' thought he 'That was just the
very thing for me.'

Making up his mind to get the situation if possible, he hid himself
behind one of the mounds, and turned his jacket outside in, so that the
man would not know him again so easily. Then he ran along behind the
mounds, and met the man at the other end of them.

'Where are you going, my little boy?' said the man, who did not notice
that it was the same one he had met before.

'I am going about seeking for service?' said the boy.

'Will you serve me?' asked the man.

'Oh, yes; just as readily you as anyone else,' said the boy.

'But can you read?' said the man.

'No, I don't know a single letter,' said the boy.

The man then took him into his service, and all the work he had to do
was to dust his master's books. But as he did this he had plenty of time
to read them as well, and he read away at them until at last he was just
as wise as his master--who was a great wizard--and could perform all
kinds of magic. Among other feats, he could change himself into the
shape of any animal, or any other thing that he pleased.

When he had learned all this he did not think it worth while staying
there any longer, so he ran away home to his parents again. Soon after
this there was a market in the next village, and the boy told his mother
that he had learned how to change himself into the shape of any animal
he chose.

'Now,' said he, 'I shall change myself to a horse, and father can take
me to market and sell me. I shall come home again all right.'

His mother was frightened at the idea, but the boy told her that she
need not be alarmed; all would be well. So he changed himself to a
horse, such a fine horse, too, that his father got a high price for it
at the market; but after the bargain was made, and the money paid, the
boy changed again to his own shape, when no one was looking, and went
home.

The story spread all over the country about the fine horse that had been
sold and then had disappeared, and at last the news came to the ears of
the wizard.

'Aha!' said he, 'this is that boy of mine, who befooled me and ran away;
but I shall have him yet.'

The next time that there was a market the boy again changed himself to
a horse, and was taken thither by his father. The horse soon found a
purchaser, and while the two were inside drinking the luck-penny the
wizard came along and saw the horse. He knew at once that it was not an
ordinary one, so he also went inside, and offered the purchaser far more
than he had paid for it, so the latter sold it to him.

The first thing the wizard now did was to lead the horse away to a smith
to get a red-hot nail driven into its mouth, because after that it could
not change its shape again. When the horse saw this it changed itself
to a dove, and flew up into the air. The wizard at once changed himself
into a hawk, and flew up after it. The dove now turned into a gold ring,
and fell into a girl's lap. The hawk now turned into a man, and offered
the girl a great sum of money for the gold ring, but she would not part
with it, seeing that it had fallen down to her, as it were, from Heaven.
However, the wizard kept on offering her more and more for it, until at
last the gold ring grew frightened, and changed itself into a grain of
barley, which fell on the ground. The man then turned into a hen, and
began to search for the grain of barley, but this again changed itself
to a pole-cat, and took off the hen's head with a single snap.

The wizard was now dead, the pole-cat put on human shape, and the youth
afterwards married the girl, and from that time forward let all his
magic arts alone.




The Golden Lion

Sicilianische Mahrchen. L. Gonzenbach.


There was once a rich merchant who had three sons, and when they were
grown up the eldest said to him, 'Father, I wish to travel and see the
world. I pray you let me.'

So the father ordered a beautiful ship to be fitted up, and the young
man sailed away in it. After some weeks the vessel cast anchor before a
large town, and the merchant's son went on shore.

The first thing he saw was a large notice written on a board saying that
if any man could find the king's daughter within eight days he should
have her to wife, but that if he tried and failed his head must be the
forfeit.

'Well,' thought the youth as he read this proclamation, 'that ought not
to be a very difficult matter;' and he asked an audience of the king,
and told him that he wished to seek for the princess.

'Certainly,' replied the king. 'You have the whole palace to search in;
but remember, if you fail it will cost you your head.'

So saying, he commanded the doors to be thrown open, and food and drink
to be set before the young man, who, after he had eaten, began to look
for the princess. But though he visited every corner and chest and
cupboard, she was not in any of them, and after eight days he gave it up
and his head was cut off.

All this time his father and brothers had had no news of him, and were
very anxious. At last the second son could bear it no longer, and said,
'Dear father, give me, I pray you, a large ship and some money, and let
me go and seek for my brother.'

So another ship was fitted out, and the young man sailed away, and was
blown by the wind into the same harbour where his brother had landed.

Now when he saw the first ship lying at anchor his heart beat high,
and he said to himself, 'My brother cannot surely be far off,' and he
ordered a boat and was put on shore.

As he jumped on to the pier his eye caught the notice about the
princess, and he thought, 'He has undertaken to find her, and has
certainly lost his head. I must try myself, and seek him as well as her.
It cannot be such a very difficult matter.' But he fared no better than
his brother, and in eight days his head was cut off.

So now there was only the youngest at home, and when the other two never
came he also begged for a ship that he might go in search of his lost
brothers. And when the vessel started a high wind arose, and blew him
straight to the harbour where the notice was set.

'Oho!' said he, as he read, 'whoever can find the king's daughter shall
have her to wife. It is quite clear now what has befallen my brothers.
But in spite of that I think I must try my luck,' and he took the road
to the castle.

On the way he met an old woman, who stopped and begged.

'Leave me in peace, old woman,' replied he.


'Oh, do not send me away empty,' she said. 'You are such a handsome
young man you will surely not refuse an old woman a few pence.'

'I tell you, old woman, leave me alone.'

'You are in some trouble?' she asked. 'Tell me what it is, and perhaps I
can help you.'

Then he told her how he had set his heart on finding the king's
daughter.

'I can easily manage that for you as long as you have enough money.'

'Oh, as to that, I have plenty,' answered he.

'Well, you must take it to a goldsmith and get him to make it into a
golden lion, with eyes of crystal; and inside it must have something
that will enable it to play tunes. When it is ready bring it to me.'

The young man did as he was bid, and when the lion was made the old
woman hid the youth in it, and brought it to the king, who was so
delighted with it that he wanted to buy it. But she replied, 'It does
not belong to me, and my master will not part from it at any price.'

'At any rate, leave it with me for a few days,' said he; 'I should like
to show it to my daughter.'

'Yes, I can do that,' answered the old woman; 'but to-morrow I must have
it back again. And she went away.

The king watched her till she was quite out of sight, so as to make sure
that she was not spying upon him; then he took the golden lion into his
room and lifted some loose boards from the floor. Below the floor there
was a staircase, which he went down till he reached a door at the
foot. This he unlocked, and found himself in a narrow passage closed by
another door, which he also opened. The young man, hidden in the golden
lion, kept count of everything, and marked that there were in all seven
doors. After they had all been unlocked the king entered a lovely hall,
where the princess was amusing herself with eleven friends. All twelve
girls wore the same clothes, and were as like each other as two peas.

'What bad luck!' thought the youth. 'Even supposing that I managed to
find my way here again, I don't see how I could ever tell which was the
princess.'

And he stared hard at the princess as she clapped her hands with joy and
ran up to them, crying, ' Oh, do let us keep that delicious beast for
to-night; it will make such a nice plaything.'

The king did not stay long, and when he left he handed over the lion to
the maidens, who amused themselves with it for some time, till they got
sleepy, and thought it was time to go to bed. But the princess took the
lion into her own room and laid it on the floor.


She was just beginning to doze when she heard a voice quite close to
her, which made her jump. 'O lovely princess, if you only knew what
I have gone through to find you!' The princess jumped out of bed
screaming, 'The lion! the lion!' but her friends thought it was a
nightmare, and did not trouble themselves to get up.

'O lovely uprincess!' continued the voice, 'fear nothing! I am the son
of a rich merchant, and desire above all things to have you for my wife.
And in order to get to you I have hidden myself in this golden lion.'

'What use is that?' she asked. 'For if you cannot pick me out from among
my companions you will still lose your head.'

'I look to you to help me,' he said. 'I have done so much for you that
you might do this one thing for me.'

'Then listen to me. On the eighth day I will tie a white sash round my
waist, and by that you will know me.'

The next morning the king came very early to fetch the lion, as the old
woman was already at the palace asking for it. When they were safe from
view she let the young man out, and he returned to the king and told him
that he wished to find the princess.

'Very good,' said the king, who by this time was almost tired of
repeating the same words; 'but if you fail your head will be the
forfeit.'

So the youth remained quietly in the castle, eating and looking at all
the beautiful things around him, and every now and then pretending to
be searching busily in all the closets and corners. On the eighth day he
entered the room where the king was sitting. 'Take up the floor in this
place,' he said. The king gave a cry, but stopped himself, and asked,
'What do you want the floor up for? There is nothing there.'

But as all his courtiers were watching him he did not like to make any
more objections, and ordered the floor to be taken up, as the young man
desired. The youth then want straight down the staircase till he reached
the door; then he turned and demanded that the key should be brought.
So the king was forced to unlock the door, and the next and the next and
the next, till all seven were open, and they entered into the hall where
the twelve maidens were standing all in a row, so like that none might
tell them apart. But as he looked one of them silently drew a white sash
from her pocket and slipped it round her waist, and the young man sprang
to her and said, 'This is the princess, and I claim her for my wife.'
And the king owned himself beaten, and commanded that the wedding feast
should be held.

After eight days the bridal pair said farewell to the king, and set
sail for the youth's own country, taking with them a whole shipload of
treasures as the princess's dowry. But they did not forget the old woman
who had brought about all their happiness, and they gave her enough
money to make her comfortable to the end of her days.




The Sprig of Rosemary

Cuentos Populars Catalans, per lo Dr. D. Francisco de S. Maspons y
Labros (Barcelona: Libreria de Don Alvar Verdaguer 1885).


Once upon a time there lived a man with one daughter and he made her
work hard all the day. One morning when she had finished everything he
had set her to do, he told her to go out into the woods and get some dry
leaves and sticks to kindle a fire.

The girl went out, and soon collected a large bundle, and then she
plucked at a sprig of sweet-smelling rosemary for herself. But the
harder she pulled the firmer seemed the plant, and at last, determined
not to be beaten, she gave one great tug, and the rosemary remained in
her hands.

Then she heard a voice close to her saying, 'Well?' and turning she saw
before her a handsome young man, who asked why she had come to steal his
firewood.

The girl, who felt much confused, only managed to stammer out as an
excuse that her father had sent her.

'Very well,' replied the young man; 'then come with me.'

So he took her through the opening made by the torn-up root, and they
travelled till they reached a beautiful palace, splendidly furnished,
but only lighted from the top. And when they had entered he told
her that he was a great lord, and that never had he seen a maiden so
beautiful as she, and that if she would give him her heart they would be
married and live happy for ever after.

And the maiden said 'yes, she would,' and so they were married.

The next day the old dame who looked after the house handed her all the
keys, but pointed her out one that she would do well never to use, for
if she did the whole palace would fall to the ground, and the grass
would grow over it, and the damsel herself would be remembered no more.

The bride promised to be careful, but in a little while, when there was
nothing left for her to do, she began to wonder what could be in the
chest, which was opened by the key. As everybody knows, if we once begin
to think we soon begin to do, and it was not very long before the key
was no longer in the maiden's hand but in the lock of the chest. But the
lock was stiff and resisted all her efforts, and in the end she had to
break it. And what was inside after all? Why, nothing but a serpent's
skin, which her husband, who was, unknown to her, a magician, put on
when he was at work; and at the sight of it the girl was turning away
in disgust, when the earth shook violently under her feet, the palace
vanished as if it had never been, and the bride found herself in the
middle of a field, not knowing where she was or whither to go. She burst
into a flood of bitter tears, partly at her own folly, but more for the
loss of her husband, whom she dearly loved. Then, breaking a sprig of
rosemary off a bush hard by, she resolved, cost what it might, to seek
him through the world till she found him. So she walked and she walked
and she walked, till she arrived at a house built of straw. And she
knocked at the door, and asked if they wanted a servant. The mistress
said she did, and if the girl was willing she might stay. But day by day
the poor maiden grew more and more sad, till at last her mistress begged
her to say what was the matter. Then she told her story--how she was
going through the world seeking after her husband.

And her mistress answered her, 'Where he is, none can tell better than
the Sun, the Moon, and the Wind, for they go everywhere!'

On hearing these words the damsel set forth once more, and walked till
she reached the Golden Castle, where lived the Sun. And she knocked
boldly at the door, saying, 'All hail, O Sun! I have come to ask if, of
your charity, you will help me in my need. By my own fault have I fallen
into these straits, and I am weary, for I seek my husband through the
wide world.'

'Indeed!' spoke the Sun. 'Do you, rich as you are, need help? But though
you live in a palace without windows, the Sun enters everywhere, and he
knows you.'

Then the bride told him the whole story. and did not hide her own
ill-doing. And the Sun listened, and was sorry for her; and though he
could not tell her where to go, he gave her a nut, and bid her open it
in a time of great distress. The damsel thanked him with all her heart,
and departed, and walked and walked and walked, till she came to another
castle, and knocked at the door which was opened by an old woman.

'All hail!' said the girl. 'I have come, of your charity, to ask your
help!'

'It is my mistress, the Moon, you seek. I will tell her of your prayer.'

So the Moon came out, and when she saw the maiden she knew her again,
for she had watched her sleeping both in the cottage and in the palace.
And she spake to her and said:

'Do you, rich as you are, need help?'

Then the girl told her the whole story, and the Moon listened, and
was sorry for her; and though she could not tell her where to find her
husband, she gave her an almond, and told her to crack it when she was
in great need. So the damsel thanked her, and departed, and walked and
walked and walked till she came to another castle. And she knocked at
the door, and said:

'All hail! I have come to ask if, of your charity, you will help me in
my need.'

'It is my lord, the Wind, that you want,' answered the old woman who
opened it. 'I will tell him of your prayer.'

And the Wind looked on her and knew her again, for he had seen her in
the cottage and in the palace, and he spake to her and said:

'Do you, rich as you are, want help?'

And she told him the whole story. And the Wind listened, and was sorry
for her, and he gave her a walnut that she was to eat in time of need.
But the girl did not go as the Wind expected. She was tired and sad, and
knew not where to turn, so she began to weep bitterly. The Wind wept too
for company, and said:

'Don't be frightened; I will go and see if I can find out something.'

And the Wind departed with a great noise and fuss, and in the twinkling
of an eye he was back again, beaming with delight.

'From what one person and another have let fall,' he exclaimed, 'I have
contrived to learn that he is in the palace of the king, who keeps him
hidden lest anyone should see him; and that to-morrow he is to marry the
princess, who, ugly creature that she is, has not been able to find any
man to wed her.'

Who can tell the despair which seized the poor maiden when she heard
this news! As soon as she could speak she implored the Wind to do all
he could to get the wedding put off for two or three days, for it would
take her all that time to reach the palace of the king.

The Wind gladly promised to do what he could, and as he travelled much
faster than the maiden he soon arrived at the palace, where he found
five tailors working night and day at the wedding clothes of the
princess.

Down came the Wind right in the middle of their lace and satin and
trimmings of pearl! Away they all went whiz! through the open windows,
right up into the tops of the trees, across the river, among the dancing
ears of corn! After them ran the tailors, catching, jumping, climbing,
but all to no purpose! The lace was torn, the satin stained, the pearls
knocked off! There was nothing for it but to go to the shops to buy
fresh, and to begin all over again! It was plainly quite impossible that
the wedding clothes could be ready next day.

However, the king was much too anxious to see his daughter married to
listen to any excuses, and he declared that a dress must be put together
somehow for the bride to wear. But when he went to look at the princess,
she was such a figure that he agreed that it would be unfitting for her
position to be seen in such a gown, and he ordered the ceremony and the
banquet to be postponed for a few hours, so that the tailors might take
the dress to pieces and make it fit.

But by this time the maiden had arrived footsore and weary at the
castle, and as soon as she reached the door she cracked her nut and
drew out of it the most beautiful mantle in the world. Then she rang the
bell, and asked:

'Is not the princess to be married to-day?'

'Yes, she is.'

'Ask her if she would like to buy this mantle.'

And when the princess saw the mantle she was delighted, for her wedding
mantle had been spoilt with all the other things, and it was too late to
make another. So she told the maiden to ask what price she would, and it
should be given her.

The maiden fixed a large sum, many pieces of gold, but the princess had
set her heart on the mantle, and gave it readily.

Now the maiden hid her gold in the pocket of her dress, and turned away
from the castle. The moment she was out of sight she broke her almond,
and drew from it the most magnificent petticoats that ever were seen.
Then she went back to the castle, and asked if the princess wished to
buy any petticoats. No sooner did the princess cast her eyes on the
petticoats than she declared they were even more beautiful than the
mantle, and that she would give the maiden whatever price she wanted for
them. And the maiden named many pieces of gold, which the princess paid
her gladly, so pleased was she with her new possessions.

Then the girl went down the steps where none could watch her and
cracked her walnut, and out came the most splendid court dress that any
dressmaker had ever invented; and, carrying it carefully in her arms,
she knocked at the door, and asked if the princess wished to buy a court
dress.

When the message was delivered the princess sprang to her feet with
delight, for she had been thinking that after all it was not much use to
have a lovely mantle and elegant petticoats if she had no dress, and she
knew the tailors would never be ready in time. So she sent at once to
say she would buy the dress, and what sum did the maiden want for it.

This time the maiden answered that the price of the dress was the
permission to see the bridegroom.

The princess was not at all pleased when she heard the maiden's reply,
but, as she could not do without the dress, she was forced to give in,
and contented herself with thinking that after all it did not matter
much.

So the maiden was led to the rooms which had been given to her husband.
And when she came near she touched him with the sprig of rosemary that
she carried; and his memory came back, and he knew her, and kissed her,
and declared that she was his true wife, and that he loved her and no
other.

Then they went back to the maiden's home, and grew to be very old, and
lived happy all the days of their life.




The White Dove

From the Danish.


A king had two sons. They were a pair of reckless fellows, who always
had something foolish to do. One day they rowed out alone on the sea in
a little boat. It was beautiful weather when they set out, but as soon
as they had got some distance from the shore there arose a terrific
storm. The oars went overboard at once, and the little boat was tossed
about on the rolling billows like a nut-shell. The princes had to hold
fast by the seats to keep from being thrown out of the boat.

In the midst of all this they met a wonderful vessel--it was a
dough-trough, in which there sat an old woman. She called to them, and
said that they could still get to shore alive if they would promise her
the son that was next to come to their mother the queen.

'We can't do that,' shouted the princes; 'he doesn't belong to us so we
can't give him away.'

'Then you can rot at the bottom of the sea, both of you,' said the old
woman; 'and perhaps it may be the case that your mother would rather
keep the two sons she has than the one she hasn't got yet.'

Then she rowed away in her dough-trough, while the storm howled still
louder than before, and the water dashed over their boat until it was
almost sinking. Then the princes thought that there was something in
what the old woman had said about their mother, and being, of course,
eager to save their lives, they shouted to her, and promised that she
should have their brother if she would deliver them from this danger. As
soon as they had done so the storm ceased and the waves fell. The boat
drove ashore below their father's castle, and both princes were received
with open arms by their father and mother, who had suffered great
anxiety for them.

The two brothers said nothing about what they had promised, neither at
that time nor later on when the queen's third son came, a beautiful boy,
whom she loved more than anything else in the world. He was brought up
and educated in his father's house until he was full grown, and still
his brothers had never seen or heard anything about the witch to whom
they had promised him before he was born.

It happened one evening that there arose a raging storm, with mist and
darkness. It howled and roared around the king's palace, and in the
midst of it there came a loud knock on the door of the hall where the
youngest prince was. He went to the door and found there an old woman
with a dough- trough on her back, who said to him that he must go with
her at once; his brothers had promised him to her if she would save
their lives.

'Yes,' said he; 'if you saved my brothers' lives, and they promised me
to you, then I will go with you.'

They therefore went down to the beach together, where he had to take his
seat in the trough, along with the witch, who sailed away with him, over
the sea, home to her dwelling.

The prince was now in the witch's power, and in her service. The first
thing she set him to was to pick feathers. 'The heap of feathers that
you see here,' said she, 'you must get finished before I come home in
the evening, otherwise you shall be set to harder work.' He started
to the feathers, and picked and picked until there was only a single
feather left that had not passed through his hands. But then there came
a whirlwind and sent all the feathers flying, and swept them along the
floor into a heap, where they lay as if they were trampled together.
He had now to begin all his work over again, but by this time it only
wanted an hour of evening, when the witch was to be expected home, and
he easily saw that it was impossible for him to be finished by that
time.

Then he heard something tapping at the window pane, and a thin voice
said, 'Let me in, and I will help you.' It was a white dove, which sat
outside the window, and was pecking at it with its beak. He opened the
window, and the dove came in and set to work at once, and picked all
the feathers out of the heap with its beak. Before the hour was past the
feathers were all nicely arranged: the dove flew out at the window, and
at, the same moment the witch came in at the door.

'Well, well,' said she, 'it was more than I would have expected of you
to get all the feathers put in order so nicely. However, such a prince
might be expected to have neat fingers.'

Next morning the witch said to the prince, 'To-day you shall have some
easy work to do. Outside the door I have some firewood lying; you must
split that for me into little bits that I can kindle the fire with. That
will soon be done, but you must be finished before I come home.'

The prince got a little axe and set to work at once. He split and clove
away, and thought that he was getting on fast; but the day wore on until
it was long past midday, and he was still very far from having finished.
He thought, in fact, that the pile of wood rather grew bigger than
smaller, in spite of what he took off it; so he let his hands fall by
his side, and dried the sweat from his forehead, and was ill at ease,
for he knew that it would be bad for him if he was not finished with the
work before the witch came home.

Then the white dove came flying and settled down on the pile of wood,
and cooed and said, 'Shall I help you?'

'Yes,' said the prince, 'many thanks for your help yesterday, and for
what you offer to-day.' Thereupon the little dove seized one piece of
wood after another and split it with its beak. The prince could not take
away the wood as quickly as the dove could split it, and in a short time
it was all cleft into little sticks.

The dove then flew up on his shoulder and sat there and the prince
thanked it, and stroked and caressed its white feathers, and kissed
its little red beak. With that it was a dove no longer, but a beautiful
young maiden, who stood by his side. She told him then that she was a
princess whom the witch had stolen, and had changed to this shape,
but with his kiss she had got her human form again; and if he would be
faithful to her, and take her to wife, she could free them both from the
witch's power.

The prince was quite captivated by the beautiful princess, and was quite
willing to do anything whatsoever to get her for himself.

She then said to him, 'When the witch comes home you must ask her to
grant you a wish, when you have accomplished so well all that she has
demanded of you. When she agrees to this you must ask her straight out
for the princess that she has flying about as a white dove. But just now
you must take a red silk thread and tie it round my little finger, so
that you may be able to recognise me again, into whatever shape she
turns me.'

The prince made haste to get the silk thread tied round her little white
finger; at the same moment the princess became a dove again and flew
away, and immediately after that the old witch came home with her
dough-trough on he back.

'Well,' said she, 'I must say that you are clever at your work, and it
is something, too, that such princely hands are not accustomed to.'

'Since you are so well pleased with my work, said the prince, 'you
will, no doubt, be willing to give me a little pleasure too, and give me
something that I have taken a fancy to.'

'Oh yes, indeed,' said the old woman; 'what is it that you want?'

'I want the princess here who is in the shape of a white dove,' said the
prince.

'What nonsense!' said the witch. 'Why should you imagine that there are
princesses here flying about in the shape of white doves? But if you
will have a princess, you can get one such as we have them.' She then
came to him, dragging a shaggy little grey ass with long ears. 'Will you
have this?' said she; 'you can't get any other princess!'

The prince used his eyes and saw the red silk thread on one of the ass's
hoofs, so he said, 'Yes, just let me have it.'

'What will you do with it?' asked the witch.

'I will ride on it,' said the prince; but with that the witch dragged
it away again, and came back with an old, wrinkled, toothless hag, whose
hands trembled with age. 'You can have no other princess,' said she.
'Will you have her?'

'Yes, I will,' said the prince, for he saw the red silk thread on the
old woman's finger.

At this the witch became so furious that she danced about and knocked
everything to pieces that she could lay her hands upon, so that the
splinters flew about the ears of the prince and princess, who now stood
there in her own beautiful shape.

Then their marriage had to be celebrated, for the witch had to stick
to what she had promised, and he must get the princess whatever might
happen afterwards.

The princess now said to him, 'At the marriage feast you may eat what
you please, but you must not drink anything whatever, for if you do that
you will forget me.'

This, however, the prince forgot on the wedding day, and stretched out
his hand and took a cup of wine; but the princess was keeping watch over
him, and gave him a push with her elbow, so that the wine flew over the
table- cloth.

Then the witch got up and laid about her among the plates and dishes, so
that the pieces flew about their ears, just as she had done when she was
cheated the first time.

They were then taken to the bridal chamber, and the door was shut. Then
the princess said, 'Now the witch has kept her promise, but she will do
no more if she can help it, so we must fly immediately. I shall lay two
pieces of wood in the bed to answer for us when the witch speaks to us.
You can take the flower-pot and the glass of water that stands in the
window, and we must slip out by that and get away.'

No sooner said than done. They hurried off out into the dark night, the
princess leading, because she knew the way, having spied it out while
she flew about as a dove.

At midnight the witch came to the door of the room and called in to
them, and the two pieces of wood answered her, so that she believed they
were there, and went away again. Before daybreak she was at the door
again and called to them, and again the pieces of wood answered for
them. She thus thought that she had them, and when the sun rose the
bridal night was past: she had then kept her promise, and could vent her
anger and revenge on both of them. With the first sunbeam she broke into
the room, but there she found no prince and no princess--nothing but the
two pieces of firewood, which lay in the bed, and stared, and spoke not
a word. These she threw on the floor, so that they were splintered into
a thousand pieces, and off she hastened after the fugitives.

With the first sunbeam the princess said to the prince, 'Look round; do
you see anything behind us?'

'Yes, I see a dark cloud, far away,' said he.

'Then throw the flower-pot over your head,' said she. When this was done
there was a large thick forest behind them.

When the witch came to the forest she could not get through it until she
went home and brought her axe to cut a path.

A little after this the princess said again to the prince, 'Look round;
do you see anything behind us?'

'Yes,' said the prince, 'the big black cloud is there again.'

'Then throw the glass of water over your head,' said she.

When he had done this there was a great lake behind them, and this
the witch could not cross until she ran home again and brought her
dough-trough.

Meanwhile the fugitives had reached the castle which was the prince's
home. They climbed over the garden wall, ran across the garden, and
crept in at an open window. By this time the witch was just at their
heels, but the princess stood in the window and blew upon the witch;
hundreds of white doves flew out of her mouth, fluttered and flapped
around the witch's head until she grew so angry that she turned into
flint, and there she stands to this day, in the shape of a large flint
stone, outside the window.

Within the castle there was great rejoicing over the prince and his
bride. His two elder brothers came and knelt before him and confessed
what they had done, and said that he alone should inherit the kingdom,
and they would always be his faithful subjects.




The Troll's Daughter

From the Danish.


There was once a lad who went to look for a place. As he went along he
met a man, who asked him where he was going. He told him his errand, and
the stranger said, 'Then you can serve me; I am just in want of a lad
like you, and I will give you good wages--a bushel of money the first
year, two the second year, and three the third year, for you must serve
me three years, and obey me in everything, however strange it seems to
you. You need not be afraid of taking service with me, for there is no
danger in it if you only know how to obey.'

The bargain was made, and the lad went home with the man to whom he had
engaged himself. It was a strange place indeed, for he lived in a bank
in the middle of the wild forest, and the lad saw there no other person
than his master. The latter was a great troll, and had marvellous power
over both men and beasts.

Next day the lad had to begin his service. The first thing that the
troll set him to was to feed all the wild animals from the forest. These
the troll had tied up, and there were both wolves and bears, deer and
hares, which the troll had gathered in the stalls and folds in his
stable down beneath the ground, and that stable was a mile long. The
boy, however, accomplished all this work on that day, and the troll
praised him and said that it was very well done.

Next morning the troll said to him, 'To-day the animals are not to be
fed; they don't get the like of that every day. You shall have leave to
play about for a little, until they are to be fed again.'

Then the troll said some words to him which he did not understand, and
with that the lad turned into a hare, and ran out into the wood. He got
plenty to run for, too, for all the hunters aimed at him, and tried to
shoot him, and the dogs barked and ran after him wherever they got wind
of him. He was the only animal that was left in the wood now, for the
troll had tied up all the others, and every hunter in the whole country
was eager to knock him over. But in this they met with no success; there
was no dog that could overtake him, and no marksman that could hit him.
They shot and shot at him, and he ran and ran. It was an unquiet life,
but in the long run he got used to it, when he saw that there was no
danger in it, and it even amused him to befool all the hunters and dogs
that were so eager after him.

Thus a whole year passed, and when it was over the troll called him
home, for he was now in his power like all the other animals. The troll
then said some words to him which he did not understand, and the hare
immediately became a human being again. 'Well, how do you like to serve
me?' said the troll, 'and how do you like being a hare?'

The lad replied that he liked it very well; he had never been able to go
over the ground so quickly before. The troll then showed him the bushel
of money that he had already earned, and the lad was well pleased to
serve him for another year.

The first day of the second year the boy had the same work to do as on
the previous one--namely, to feed all the wild animals in the troll's
stable. When he had done this the troll again said some words to him,
and with that he became a raven, and flew high up into the air. This was
delightful, the lad thought; he could go even faster now than when he
was a hare, and the dogs could not come after him here. This was a great
delight to him, but he soon found out that he was not to be left quite
at peace, for all the marksmen and hunters who saw him aimed at him and
fired away, for they had no other birds to shoot at than himself, as the
troll had tied up all the others.

This, however, he also got used to, when he saw that they could never
hit him, and in this way he flew about all that year, until the troll
called him home again, said some strange words to him, and gave him
his human shape again. 'Well, how did you like being a raven?' said the
troll.

'I liked it very well,' said the lad, 'for never in all my days have I
been able to rise so high.' The troll then showed him the two bushels
of money which he had earned that year, and the lad was well content to
remain in his service for another year.

Next day he got his old task of feeding all the wild beasts. When this
was done the troll again said some words to him, and at these he turned
into a fish, and sprang into the river. He swam up and he swam down, and
thought it was pleasant to let himself drive with the stream. In this
way he came right out into the sea, and swam further and further out. At
last he came to a glass palace, which stood at the bottom of the sea. He
could see into all the rooms and halls, where everything was very grand;
all the furniture was of white ivory, inlaid with gold and pearl. There
were soft rugs and cushions of all the colours of the rainbow, and
beautiful carpets that looked like the finest moss, and flowers and
trees with curiously crooked branches, both green and yellow, white and
red, and there were also little fountains which sprang up from the most
beautiful snail-shells, and fell into bright mussel-shells, and at the
same time made a most delightful music, which filled the whole palace.

The most beautiful thing of all, however, was a young girl who went
about there, all alone. She went about from one room to another, but did
not seem to be happy with all the grandeur she had about her. She walked
in solitude and melancholy, and never even thought of looking at her
own image in the polished glass walls that were on every side of her,
although she was the prettiest creature anyone could wish to see. The
lad thought so too while he swam round the palace and peeped in from
every side.

'Here, indeed, it would be better to be a man than such a poor dumb fish
as I am now,' said he to himself; 'if I could only remember the words
that the troll says when he changes my shape, then perhaps I could help
myself to become a man again.' He swam and he pondered and he thought
over this until he remembered the sound of what the troll said, and then
he tried to say it himself. In a moment he stood in human form at the
bottom of the sea.

He made haste then to enter the glass palace, and went up to the young
girl and spoke to her.

At first he nearly frightened the life out of her, but he talked to
her so kindly and explained how he had come down there that she soon
recovered from her alarm, and was very pleased to have some company to
relieve the terrible solitude that she lived in. Time passed so quickly
for both of them that the youth (for now he was quite a young man, and
no more a lad) forgot altogether how long he had been there.

One day the girl said to him that now it was close on the time when he
must become a fish again--the troll would soon call him home, and he
would have to go, but before that he must put on the shape of the fish,
otherwise he could not pass through the sea alive. Before this, while he
was staying down there, she had told him that she was a daughter of the
same troll whom the youth served, and he had shut her up there to keep
her away from everyone. She had now devised a plan by which they could
perhaps succeed in getting to see each other again, and spending the
rest of their lives together. But there was much to attend to, and he
must give careful heed to all that she told him.

She told him then that all the kings in the country round about were
in debt to her father the troll, and the king of a certain kingdom,
the name of which she told him, was the first who had to pay, and if he
could not do so at the time appointed he would lose his head. 'And he
cannot pay,' said she; 'I know that for certain. Now you must, first of
all, give up your service with my father; the three years are past,
and you are at liberty to go. You will go off with your six bushels
of money, to the kingdom that I have told you of, and there enter the
service of the king. When the time comes near for his debt becoming due
you will be able to notice by his manner that he is ill at ease. You
shall then say to him that you know well enough what it is that is
weighing upon him--that it is the debt which he owes to the troll and
cannot pay, but that you can lend him the money. The amount is six
bushels--just what you have. You shall, however, only lend them to
him on condition that you may accompany him when he goes to make the
payment, and that you then have permission to run before him as a fool.
When you arrive at the troll's abode, you must perform all kinds of
foolish tricks, and see that you break a whole lot of his windows, and
do all other damage that you can. My father will then get very angry,
and as the king must answer for what his fool does he will sentence him,
even although he has paid his debt, either to answer three questions or
to lose his life. The first question my father will ask will be, "Where
is my daughter?" Then you shall step forward and answer "She is at the
bottom of the sea." He will then ask you whether you can recognise her,
and to this you will answer "Yes." Then he will bring forward a whole
troop of women, and cause them to pass before you, in order that you may
pick out the one that you take for his daughter. You will not be able
to recognise me at all, and therefore I will catch hold of you as I go
past, so that you can notice it, and you must then make haste to catch
me and hold me fast. You have then answered his first question. His next
question will be, "Where is my heart?" You shall then step forward again
and answer, "It is in a fish." "Do you know that fish?" he will say,
and you will again answer "Yes." He will then cause all kinds of fish
to come before you, and you shall choose between them. I shall take good
care to keep by your side, and when the right fish comes I will give you
a little push, and with that you will seize the fish and cut it up. Then
all will be over with the troll; he will ask no more questions, and we
shall be free to wed.'

When the youth had got all these directions as to what he had to do when
he got ashore again the next thing was to remember the words which the
troll said when he changed him from a human being to an animal; but
these he had forgotten, and the girl did not know them either. He went
about all day in despair, and thought and thought, but he could not
remember what they sounded like. During the night he could not sleep,
until towards morning he fell into a slumber, and all at once it flashed
upon him what the troll used to say. He made haste to repeat the words,
and at the same moment he became a fish again and slipped out into the
sea. Immediately after this he was called upon, and swam through the sea
up the river to where the troll stood on the bank and restored him to
human shape with the same words as before.

'Well, how do you like to be a fish?' asked the troll.

It was what he had liked best of all, said the youth, and that was no
lie, as everybody can guess.

The troll then showed him the three bushels of money which he had earned
during the past year; they stood beside the other three, and all the six
now belonged to him.

'Perhaps you will serve me for another year yet,' said the troll, 'and
you will get six bushels of money for it; that makes twelve in all, and
that is a pretty penny.'

'No,' said the youth; he thought he had done enough, and was anxious to
go to some other place to serve, and learn other people's ways; but he
would, perhaps, come back to the troll some other time.

The troll said that he would always be welcome; he had served him
faithfully for the three years they had agreed upon, and he could make
no objections to his leaving now.

The youth then got his six bushels of money, and with these he betook
himself straight to the kingdom which his sweetheart had told him of.
He got his money buried in a lonely spot close to the king's palace, and
then went in there and asked to be taken into service. He obtained his
request, and was taken on as stableman, to tend the king's horses.

Some time passed, and he noticed how the king always went about
sorrowing and grieving, and was never glad or happy. One day the king
came into the stable, where there was no one present except the youth,
who said straight out to him that, with his majesty's permission, he
wished to ask him why he was so sorrowful.

'It's of no use speaking about that,' said the king; 'you cannot help
me, at any rate.'

'You don't know about that,' said the youth; ' I know well enough what
it is that lies so heavy on your mind, and I know also of a plan to get
the money paid.'

This was quite another case, and the king had more talk with the
stableman, who said that he could easily lend the king the six bushels
of money, but would only do it on condition that he should be allowed to
accompany the king when he went to pay the debt, and that he should
then be dressed like the king's court fool, and run before him. He would
cause some trouble, for which the king would be severely spoken to, but
he would answer for it that no harm would befall him.

The king gladly agreed to all that the youth proposed, and it was now
high time for them to set out.

When they came to the troll's dwelling it was no longer in the bank, but
on the top of this there stood a large castle which the youth had never
seen before. The troll could, in fact, make it visible or invisible,
just as he pleased, and, knowing as much as he did of the troll's magic
arts, the youth was not at all surprised at this.

When they came near to this castle, which looked as if it was of pure
glass, the youth ran on in front as the king's fool. Heran sometimes
facing forwards, sometimes backwards, stood sometimes on his head, and
sometimes on his feet, and he dashed in pieces so many of the troll's
big glass windows and doors that it was something awful to see, and
overturned everything he could, and made a fearful disturbance.

The troll came rushing out, and was so angry and furious, and abused the
king with all his might for bringing such a wretched fool with him, as
he was sure that he could not pay the least bit of all the damage that
had been done when he could not even pay off his old debt.

The fool, however, spoke up, and said that he could do so quite easily,
and the king then came forward with the six bushels of money which the
youth had lent him. They were measured and found to be correct. This the
troll had not reckoned on, but he could make no objection against it.
The old debt was honestly paid, and the king got his bond back again.

But there still remained all the damage that had been done that day, and
the king had nothing with which to pay for this. The troll, therefore,
sentenced the king, either to answer three questions that he would put
to him, or have his head taken off, as was agreed on in the old bond.

There was nothing else to be done than to try to answer the troll's
riddles. The fool then stationed himself just by the king's side while
the troll came forward with his questions. He first asked, 'Where is my
daughter?'

The fool spoke up and said, 'She is at the bottom of the sea.'

'How do you know that?' said the troll.

'The little fish saw it,' said the fool.

'Would you know her?' said the troll.

'Yes, bring her forward,' said the fool.

The troll made a whole crowd of women go past them, one after the other,
but all these were nothing but shadows and deceptions. Amongst the very
last was the troll's real daughter, who pinched the fool as she went
past him to make him aware of her presence. He thereupon caught her
round the waist and held her fast, and the troll had to admit that his
first riddle was solved.

Then the troll asked again: 'Where is my heart?'

'It is in a fish,' said the fool.

'Would you know that fish?' said the troll.

'Yes, bring it forward,' said the fool.

Then all the fishes came swimming past them, and meanwhile the troll's
daughter stood just by the youth's side. When at last the right fish
came swimming along she gave him a nudge, and he seized it at once,
drove his knife into it, and split it up, took the heart out of it, and
cut it through the middle.

At the same moment the troll fell dead and turned into pieces of flint.
With that a,ll the bonds that the troll had bound were broken; all the
wild beasts and birds which he had caught and hid under the ground were
free now, and dispersed themselves in the woods and in the air.

The youth and his sweetheart entered the castle, which was now theirs,
and held their wedding; and all the kings roundabout, who had been
in the troll's debt, and were now out of it, came to the wedding, and
saluted the youth as their emperor, and he ruled over them all, and kept
peace between them, and lived in his castle with his beautiful empress
in great joy and magnificence. And if they have not died since they are
living there to this day.




Esben and the Witch

From the Danish.


There was once a man who had twelve sons: the eleven eldest were both
big and strong, but the twelfth, whose name was Esben, was only a
little fellow. The eleven eldest went out with their father to field and
forest, but Esben preferred to stay at home with his mother, and so he
was never reckoned at all by the rest, but was a sort of outcast among
them.

When the eleven had grown up to be men they decided to go out into the
world to try their fortune, and they plagued their father to give them
what they required for the journey. The father was not much in favour
of this, for he was now old and weak, and could not well spare them from
helping him with his work, but in the long run he had to give in. Each
one of the eleven got a fine white horse and money for the journey, and
so they said farewell to their father and their home, and rode away.

As for Esben, no one had ever thought about him; his brothers had not
even said farewell to him.

After the eleven were gone Esben went to his father and said, 'Father,
give me also a horse and money; I should also like to see round about me
in the world.'

'You are a little fool,' said his father. 'If I could have let you go,
and kept your eleven brothers at home, it would have been better for me
in my old age.'

'Well, you will soon be rid of me at any rate,' said Esben.

As he could get no other horse, he went into the forest, broke off a
branch, stripped the bark off it, so that it became still whiter than
his brothers' horses, and, mounted on this. rode off after his eleven
brothers.

The brothers rode on the whole day, and towards evening they came to
a great forest, which they entered. Far within the wood they came to a
little house, and knocked at the door. There came an old, ugly, bearded
hag, and opened it, and they asked her whether all of them could get
quarters for the night.

'Yes,' said the old, bearded hag, 'you shall all have quarters for the
night, and, in addition, each of you shall have one of my daughters.'

The eleven brothers thought that they had come to very hospitable
people. They were well attended to, and when they went to bed, each of
them got one of the hag's daughters.

Esben had been coming along behind them, and had followed the same way,
and had also found the same house in the forest. He slipped into this,
without either the witch or her daughters noticing him, and hid himself
under one of the beds. A little before midnight he crept quietly out
and wakened his brothers. He told these to change night-caps with the
witch's daughters. The brothers saw no reason for this, but, to get rid
of Esben's persistence, they made the exchange, and slept soundly again.

When midnight came Esben heard the old witch come creeping along. She
had a broad-bladed axe in her hand, and went over all the eleven beds.
It was so dark that she could not see a hand's breadth before her, but
she felt her way, and hacked the heads off all the sleepers who had the
men's night-caps on--and these were her own daughters. As soon as she
had gone her way Esben wakened his brothers, and they hastily took their
horses and rode off from the witch's house, glad that they had escaped
so well. They quite forgot to thank Esben for what he had done for them.

When they had ridden onwards for some time they reached a king's palace,
and inquired there whether they could be taken into service. Quite
easily, they were told, if they would be stablemen, otherwise the king
had no use for them. They were quite ready for this, and got the task of
looking after all the king's horses.

Long after them came Esben riding on his stick, and he also wanted to
get a place in the palace, but no one had any use for him, and he was
told that he could just go back the way he had come. However, he stayed
there and occupied himself as best he could. He got his food, but
nothing more, and by night he lay just where he could.

At this time there was in the palace a knight who was called Sir Red. He
was very well liked by the king, but hated by everyone else, for he was
wicked both in will and deed. This Sir Red became angry with the eleven
brothers, because they would not always stand at attention for him, so
he determined to avenge himself on them.

One day, therefore, he went to the king, and said that the eleven
brothers who had come to the palace a little while ago, and served as
stablemen, could do a great deal more than they pretended. One day he
had heard them say that if they liked they could get for the king a
wonderful dove which had a feather of gold and a feather of silver time
about. But they would not procure it unless they were threatened with
death.

The king then had the eleven brothers called before him, and said to
them, 'You have said that you can get me a dove which has feathers of
gold and silver time about.'

All the eleven assured him that they had never said anything of the
kind, and they did not believe that such a dove existed in the whole
world.

'Take your own mind of it,' said the king; 'but if you don't get that
dove within three days you shall lose your heads, the whole lot of you.'

With that the king let them go, and there was great grief among them;
some wept and others lamented.

At that moment Esben came along, and, seeing their sorrowful looks, said
to them, 'Hello, what's the matter with you?'

'What good would it do to tell you, you little fool? You can't help us.'

'Oh, you don't know that,' answered Esben. 'I have helped you before.'

In the end they told him how unreasonable the king was, and how he had
ordered them to get for him a dove with feathers of gold and silver time
about.

'Give me a bag of peas' said Esben, 'and I shall see what I can do for
you.'

Esben got his bag of peas; then he took his white stick, and said,

     Fly quick, my little stick, Carry me across the stream.

Straightway the stick carried him across the river and straight into the
old witch's courtyard. Esben had noticed that she had such a dove; so
when he arrived in the courtyard he shook the peas out of the bag, and
the dove came fluttering down to pick them up. Esben caught it at once,
put it into the bag, and hurried off before the witch caught sight of
him; but the next moment she came running, and shouted after him, ' I
Hey is that you, Esben.?'

'Ye--e--s!'

'Is it you that has taken my dove?'

'Ye--e--s!'

'Was it you that made me kill my eleven daughters?'

'Ye--e--s!'

'Are you coming back again?'

'That may be,' said Esben.

'Then you'll catch it,' shouted the witch.

The stick carried Esben with the dove back to the king's palace, and his
brothers were greatly delighted. The king thanked them many times for
the dove, and gave them in return both silver and gold. At this Sir Red
became still more embittered, and again thought of how to avenge himself
on the brothers.

One day he went to the king and told him that the dove was by no means
the best thing that the brothers could get for him; for one day he had
heard them talking quietly among themselves, and they had said that they
could procure a boar whose bristles were of gold and silver time about.

The king again summoned the brothers before him, and asked whether it
was true that they had said that they could get for him a boar whose
bristles were of gold and silver time about.

'No,' said the brothers; they had never said nor thought such a thing,
and they did not believe that there was such a boar in the whole world.

'You must get me that boar within three days,' said the king, 'or it
will cost you your heads.'

With that they had to go. This was still worse than before, they
thought. Where could they get such a marvellous boar? They all went
about hanging their heads; but when only one day remained of the three
Esben came along. When he saw his brothers' sorrowful looks he cried,
'Hallo, what's the matter now?'

'Oh, what's the use of telling you?' said his brothers. 'You can't help
us, at any rate.'

'Ah, you don't know that,' said Esben; 'I've helped you before.'

In the end they told him how Sir Red had stirred up the king against
them, so that he had ordered them to get for him a boar with bristles of
gold and silver time about.

'That's all right,' said Esben; 'give me a sack of malt, and it is not
quite impossible that I may be able to help you.'

Esben got his sack of malt; then he took his little white stick, set
himself upon it, and said,

     Fly quick, my little stick, Carry me across the stream.

Off went the stick with him, and very soon he was again in the witch's
courtyard. There he emptied out the malt, and next moment came the boar,
which had every second bristle of gold and of silver. Esben at once put
it into his sack and hurried off before the witch should catch sight of
him; but the next moment she came running, and shouted after him, 'Hey!
is that you, Esben?'

'Ye--e--s!'

'Is it you that has taken my pretty boar?'

'Ye--e--s!'

'It was also you that took my dove?'

'Ye--e--s!'

'And it was you that made me kill my eleven daughters?'

'Ye--e--s!'

'Are you coming back again?'

'That may be,' said Esben.

'Then you'll catch it,' said the witch.

Esben was soon back at the palace with the boar, and his brothers
scarcely knew which leg to stand on, so rejoiced were they that they
were safe again. Not one of them, however, ever thought of thanking
Esben for what he had done for them.

The king was still more rejoiced over the boar than he had been over the
dove, and did not know what to give the brothers for it. At this Sir
Red was again possessed with anger and envy, and again he went about and
planned how to get the brothers into trouble.

One day he went again to the king and said, 'These eleven brothers have
now procured the dove and the boar, but they can do much more than that;
I know they have said that if they liked they could get for the king a
lamp that can shine over seven kingdoms.'

'If they have said that,' said the king, 'they shall also be made to
bring it to me. That would be a glorious lamp for me.'

Again the king sent a message to the brothers to come up to the palace.
They went accordingly, although very unwillingly, for they suspected
that Sir Red had fallen on some new plan to bring them into trouble.

As soon as they came before the king he said to them,

'You brothers have said that you could, if you liked, get for me a lamp
that can shine over seven kingdoms. That lamp must be mine within three
days, or it will cost you your lives.'

The brothers assured him that they had never said so, and they were sure
that no such lamp existed, but their words were of no avail.

'The lamp!' said the king, 'or it will cost you your heads.'

The brothers were now in greater despair than ever. They did not know
what to do, for such a lamp no one had ever heard of. But just as things
looked their worst along came Esben.

'Something wrong again?' said he. 'What's the matter with you now?'

'Oh, it's no use telling you,' said they. 'You can't help us, at any
rate.'

'Oh, you might at least tell me,' said Esben; 'I have helped you
before.'

In the end they told him that the king had ordered them to bring him a
lamp which could shine over seven kingdoms, but such a lamp no one had
ever heard tell of.

'Give me a bushel of salt,' said Esben, 'and we shall see how matters
go.'

He got his bushel of salt, and then mounted his little white stick, and
said,

     Fly quick, my little stick, Carry me across the stream.

With that both he and his bushel of salt were over beside the witch's
courtyard. But now matters were less easy, for he could not get inside
the yard, as it was evening and the gate was locked. Finally he hit upon
a plan; he got up on the roof and crept down the chimney.

He searched all round for the lamp, but could find it nowhere, for the
witch always had it safely guarded, as it was one of her most precious
treasures. When he became tired of searching for it he crept into the
baking- oven, intending to lie down there and sleep till morning; but
just at that moment he heard the witch calling from her bed to one of
her daughters, and telling her to make some porridge for her. She had
grown hungry, and had taken such a fancy to some porridge. The daughter
got out of bed, kindled the fire, and put on a pot with water in it.

'You mustn't put any salt in the porridge, though,' cried the witch.

'No, neither will I,' said the daughter; but while she was away getting
the meal Esben slipped out of the oven and emptied the whole bushel of
salt into the pot. The daughter came back then and put in the meal, and
after it had boiled a little she took it in to her mother. The witch
took a spoonful and tasted it.

'Uh!' said she; 'didn't I tell you not to put any salt in it, and it's
just as salt as the sea.'

So the daughter had to go and make new porridge, and her mother warned
her strictly not to put any salt in it. But now there was no water in
the house, so she asked her mother to give her the lamp, so that she
could go to the well for more.

'There you have it, then,' said the witch; 'but take good care of it.'

The daughter took the lamp which shone over seven kingdoms, and went out
to the well for water, while Esben slipped out after her. When she was
going to draw the water from the well she set the lamp down on a stone
beside her. Esben watched his chance, seized the lamp, and gave her a
push from behind, so that she plumped head first into the well. Then he
made off with the lamp. But the witch got out of her bed and ran after
him, crying:

'Hey! is that you again, Esben?'

'Ye--e--s!'

'Was it you that took my dove?'

'Ye--e--s!'

'Was it also you that took my boar?'

'Ye--e--s!'

'And it was you that made me kill my eleven daughters?'

'Ye--e--s!'

'And now you have taken my lamp, and drowned my twelfth daughter in the
well?'

'Ye--e--s!'

'Are you coming back again?'

'That may be,' said Esben.

'Then you'll catch it,' said the witch.

It was only a minute before the stick had again landed Esben at the
king's palace, and the brothers were then freed from their distress. The
king gave them many fine presents, but Esben did not get even so much as
thanks from them.

Never had Sir Red been so eaten up with envy as he was now, and he
racked his brain day and night to find something quite impossible to
demand from the brothers.

One day he went to the king and told him that the lamp the brothers had
procured was good enough, but they could still get for him something
that was far better. The king asked what that was.

'It is,' said Sir Red, 'the most beautiful coverlet that any mortal ever
heard tell of. It also has the property that, when anyone touches it, it
sounds so that it can be heard over eight kingdoms.'

'That must be a splendid coverlet,' said the king, and he at once sent
for the brothers.

'You have said that you know of a coverlet, the most beautiful in the
whole world, and which sounds over eight kingdoms when anyone touches
it. You shall procure it for me, or else lose your lives,' said he.

The brothers answered him that they had never said a word about such a
coverlet, did not believe it existed, and that it was quite impossible
for them to procure it. But the king would not hear a word; he drove
them away, telling them that if they did not get it very soon it would
cost them their heads.

Things looked very black again for the brothers, for they were sure
there was no escape for them. The youngest of them, indeed, asked where
Esben was, but the others said that that little fool could scarcely keep
himself in clothes, and it was not to be expected that he could help
them. Not one of them thought it worth while to look for Esben, but he
soon came along of himself.

'Well, what's the matter now?' said he.

'Oh, what's the use of telling you?' said the brothers. 'You can't help
us, at any rate.'

'Ah! who knows that?' said Esben. 'I have helped you before.'

In the end the brothers told him about the coverlet which, when one
touched it, sounded so that it could be heard over eight kingdoms. Esben
thought that this was the worst errand that he had had yet, but he could
not do worse than fail, and so he would make the attempt.

He again took his little white stick, set himself on it, and said,

     Fly quick, my little stick, Carry me across the stream.

Next moment he was across the river and beside the witch's house. It was
evening, and the door was locked, but he knew the way down the chimney.
When he had got into the house, however, the worst yet remained to do,
for the coverlet was on the bed in which the witch lay and slept. He
slipped into the room without either she or her daughter wakening; but
as soon as he touched the coverlet to take it it sounded so that it
could be heard over eight kingdoms. The witch awoke, sprang out of bed,
and caught hold of Esben. He struggled with her, but could not free
himself, and the witch called to her daughter, 'Come and help me; we
shall put him into the little dark room to be fattened. Ho, ho! now I
have him!'

Esben was now put into a little dark hole, where he neither saw sun nor
moon, and there he was fed on sweet milk and nut-kernels. The daughter
had enough to do cracking nuts for him, and at the end of fourteen days
she had only one tooth left in her mouth; she had broken all the rest
with the nuts. In this time however, she had taken a liking to Esben,
and would willingly have set him free, but could not.

When some time had passed the witch told her daughter to go and cut a
finger off Esben, so that she could see whether he was nearly fat enough
yet. The daughter went and told Esben, and asked him what she should do.
Esben told her to take an iron nail and wrap a piece of skin round it:
she could then give her mother this to bite at.

The daughter did so, but when the witch bit it she cried, 'Uh! no, no!
This is nothing but skin and bone; he must be fattened much longer yet.'

So Esben was fed for a while longer on sweet milk and nut-kernels, until
one day the witch thought that now he must surely be fat enough, and
told her daughter again to go and cut a finger off him. By this time
Esben was tired of staying in the dark hole, so he told her to go and
cut a teat off a cow, and give it to the witch to bite at. This the
daughter did, and the witch cried, 'Ah! now he is fat--so fat that one
can scarcely feel the bone in him. Now he shall be killed.'

Now this was just the very time that the witch had to go to Troms
Church, where all the witches gather once every year, so she had no time
to deal with Esben herself. She therefore told her daughter to heat up
the big oven while she was away, take Esben out of his prison, and roast
him in there before she came back. The daughter promised all this, and
the witch went off on her journey.

The daughter then made the oven as hot as could be, and took Esben out
of his prison in order to roast him. She brought the oven spade, and
told Esben to seat himself on it, so that she could shoot him into the
oven. Esben accordingly took his seat on it, but when she had got him to
the mouth of the oven he spread his legs out wide, so that she could not
get him pushed in.

'You mustn't sit like that,' said she.

'How then?' said Esben.

'You must cross your legs,' said the daughter; but Esben could not
understand what she meant by this.

'Get out of the way,' said she, 'and I will show you how to place
yourself.'

She seated herself on the oven spade, but no sooner had she done so than
Esben laid hold of it, shot her into the oven, and fastened the door
of it. Then he ran and seized the coverlet, but as soon as he did so it
sounded so that it could be heard over eight kingdoms, and the witch,
who was at Troms Church, came flying home, and shouted, 'Hey! is that
you again, Esben?'

'Ye--e--s!'

'It was you that made me kill my eleven daughters?'

'Ye--e--s!'

'And took my dove?'

'Ye--e--s!'

'And my beautiful boar?'

'Ye--e--s!'

'And drowned my twelfth daughter in the well, and took my lamp?'

'Ye--e--s!'

'And now you have roasted my thirteenth and last daughter in the oven,
and taken my coverlet?'

'YeAeAs!'

'Are you coming back again?'

'No, never again,' said Esben.

At this the witch became so furious that she sprang into numberless
pieces of flint, and from this come all the flint stones that one finds
about the country.

Esben had found again his little stick, which the witch had taken from
him, so he said,

     Fly quick, my little stick, Carry me across the stream.

Next moment he was back at the king's palace. Here things were in a bad
way, for the king had thrown all the eleven brothers into prison, and
they were to be executed very shortly because they had not brought him
the coverlet. Esben now went up to the king and gave him the coverlet,
with which the king was greatly delighted. When he touched it it could
be heard over eight kingdoms, and all the other kings sat and were angry
because they had not one like it.

Esben also told how everything had happened, and how Sir Red had done
the brothers all the ill he could devise because he was envious of
them. The brothers were at once set at liberty, while Sir Red, for his
wickedness, was hanged on the highest tree that could be found, and so
he got the reward he deserved.

Much was made of Esben and his brothers, and these now thanked him for
all that he had done for them. The twelve of them received as much gold
and silver as they could carry, and betook themselves home to their old
father. When he saw again his twelve sons, whom he had never expected to
see more, he was so glad that he wept for joy. The brothers told him
how much Esben had done, and how he had saved their lives, and from that
time forward he was no longer the butt of the rest at home.




Princess Minon-minette

Bibliotheque des Fees et aes Genies


Once upon a time there lived a young king whose name was Souci, and he
had been brought up, ever since he was a baby, by the fairy Inconstancy.
Now the fairy Girouette had a kind heart, but she was a very trying
person to live with, for she never knew her own mind for two minutes
together, and as she was the sole ruler at Court till the prince grew
up everything was always at sixes and sevens. At first she determined to
follow the old custom of keeping the young king ignorant of the duties
he would have to perform some day; then, quite suddenly, she resigned
the reins of government into his hands; but, unluckily, it was too late
to train him properly for the post. However, the fairy did not think of
that, but, carried away by her new ideas, she hastily formed a Council,
and named as Prime Minister the excellent 'Ditto,' so called because he
had never been known to contradict anybody.

Young Prince Souci had a handsome face, and at the bottom a good deal of
common sense; but he had never been taught good manners, and was shy and
awkward; and had, besides, never learned how to use his brains.

Under these circumstances it is not surprising that the Council did not
get through much work. Indeed, the affairs of the country fell into such
disorder that at last the people broke out into open rebellion, and it
was only the courage of the king, who continued to play the flute while
swords and spears were flashing before the palace gate, that prevented
civil war from being declared.

No sooner was the revolt put down than the Council turned their
attention to the question of the young king's marriage. Various
princesses were proposed to him, and the fairy, who was anxious to
get the affair over before she left the Court for ever, gave it as her
opinion that the Princess Diaphana would make the most suitable wife.
Accordingly envoys were sent to bring back an exact report of the
princess's looks and ways, and they returned saying that she was tall
and well made, but so very light that the equerries who accompanied her
in her walks had to be always watching her, lest she should suddenly be
blown away. This had happened so often that her subjects lived in terror
of losing her altogether, and tried everything they could think of
to keep her to the ground. They even suggested that she should carry
weights in her pockets, or have them tied to her ankles; but this idea
was given up, as the princess found it so uncomfortable. At length it
was decided that she was never to go out in a wind, and in order to make
matters surer still the equerries each held the end of a string which
was fastened to her waist.

The Council talked over this report for some days, and then the king
made up his mind that he would judge for himself, and pretend to be
his own ambassador. This plan was by no means new, but it had often
succeeded, and, anyhow, they could think of nothing better.

Such a splendid embassy had never before been seen in any country.
The kingdom was left in the charge of the Prime Minister, who answered
'Ditto' to everything; but the choice was better than it seemed, for the
worthy man was much beloved by the people, as he agreed with all they
said, and they left him feeling very pleased with themselves and their
own wisdom.

When the king arrived at Diaphana's Court he found a magnificent
reception awaiting him, for, though they pretended not to know who he
was, secrets like this are never hidden. Now the young king had a great
dislike to long ceremonies, so he proposed that his second interview
with the princess should take place in the garden. The princess made
some difficulties, but, as the weather was lovely and very still, she
at last consented to the king's wishes. But no sooner had they finished
their first bows and curtseys than a slight breeze sprung up, and began
to sway the princess, whose equerries had retired out of respect. The
king went forward to steady her, but the wind that he caused only drove
her further away from him. He rushed after her exclaiming, 'O princess!
are you really running away from me?'

'Good gracious, no!' she replied. 'Run a little quicker and you will be
able to stop me, and I shall be for ever grateful. That is what comes
of talking in a garden,' she added in disgust; 'as if one wasn't much
better in a room that was tightly closed all round.'

The king ran as fast as he could, but the wind ran faster still, and in
a moment the princess was whirled to the bottom of the garden, which was
bounded by a ditch. She cleared it like a bird, and the king, who was
obliged to stop short at the edge, saw the lovely Diaphana flying over
the plain, sometimes driven to the right, sometimes to the left, till at
last she vanished out of sight.

By this time the whole court were running over the plain, some on foot
and some on horseback, all hurrying to the help of their princess, who
really was in some danger, for the wind was rising to the force of
a gale. The king looked on for a little, and then returned with his
attendants to the palace, reflecting all the while on the extreme
lightness of his proposed bride and the absurdity of having a wife that
rose in the air better than any kite. He thought on the whole that it
would be wiser not to wait longer, but to depart at once, and he started
on horseback at the very moment when the princess had been found by
her followers, wet to the skin, and blown against a rick. Souci met the
carriage which was bringing her home, and stopped to congratulate her on
her escape, and to advise her to put on dry clothes. Then he continued
his journey.

It took a good while for the king to get home again, and he was rather
cross at having had so much trouble for nothing. Besides which, his
courtiers made fun at his adventure, and he did not like being laughed
at, though of course they did not dare to do it before his face. And
the end of it was that very soon he started on his travels again,
only allowing one equerry to accompany him, and even this attendant he
managed to lose the moment he had left his own kingdom behind him.

Now it was the custom in those days for princes and princesses to be
brought up by fairies, who loved them as their own children, and did not
mind what inconvenience they put other people to for their sakes, for
all the world as if they had been real mothers. The fairy Aveline, who
lived in a country that touched at one point the kingdom of King Souci,
had under her care the lovely Princess Minon-Minette, and had made up
her mind to marry her to the young king, who, in spite of his awkward
manners, which could be improved, was really very much nicer than most
of the young men she was likely to meet.

So Aveline made her preparations accordingly, and began by arranging
that the equerry should lose himself in the forest, after which she took
away the king's sword and his horse while he lay asleep under a tree.
Her reason for this was that she felt persuaded that, finding himself
suddenly alone and robbed of everything, the king would hide his real
birth, and would have to fall back on his powers of pleasing, like other
men, which would be much better for him.

When the king awoke and found that the tree to which he had tied his
horse had its lowest branch broken, and that nothing living was in
sight, he was much dismayed, and sought high and low for his lost
treasure, but all in vain. After a time he began to get hungry, so he
decided that he had better try to find his way out of the forest, and
perhaps he might have a chance of getting something to eat. He had only
gone a few steps when he met Aveline, who had taken the shape of an old
woman with a heavy bundle of faggots on her back. She staggered along
the path and almost fell at his feet, and Souci, afraid that she might
have hurt herself, picked her up and set her on her feet again before
passing on his way. But he was not to be let off so easy.

'What about my bundle?' cried the old woman. 'Where is your politeness?
Really, you seem to have been very nicely brought up! What have they
taught you?'

'Taught me? Nothing,' replied he.

'I can well believe it!' she said. 'You don't know even how to pick up
a bundle. Oh, you can come near; I am cleverer than you, and know how to
pick up a bundle very well.'

The king blushed at her words, which he felt had a great deal of truth
in them, and took up the bundle meekly.

Aveline, delighted at the success of her first experiment, hobbled along
after him, chattering all the while, as old women do.

'I wish,' she said, 'that all kings had done as much once in their
lives. Then they would know what a lot of trouble it takes to get wood
for their fires.'

Souci felt this to be true, and was sorry for the old woman.

'Where are we going to?' asked he.

'To the castle of the White Demon; and if you are in want of work I will
find you something to do.'

'But I can't do anything,' he said, 'except carry a bundle, and I shan't
earn much by that.'

'Oh, you are learning,' replied the old woman, 'and it isn't bad for a
first lesson.' But the king was paying very little attention to her, for
he was rather cross and very tired. Indeed, he felt that he really could
not carry the bundle any further, and was about to lay it down when
up came a young maiden more beautiful than the day, and covered with
precious stones. She ran to them, exclaiming to the old woman,

'Oh, you poor thing! I was just coming after you to see if I could help
you.'

'Here is a young man,' replied the old woman, 'who will be quite ready
to give you up the bundle. You see he does not look as if he enjoyed
carrying it.'

'Will you let me take it, sir?' she asked.

But the king felt ashamed of himself, and held on to it tightly, while
the presence of the princess put him in a better temper.

So they all travelled together till they arrived at a very
ordinary-looking house, which Aveline pointed out as the castle of the
White Demon, and told the king that he might put down his bundle in
the courtyard. The young man was terribly afraid of being recognised by
someone in this strange position, and would have turned on his heel and
gone away had it not been for the thought of Minon-Minette. Still, he
felt very awkward and lonely, for both the princess and the old woman
had entered the castle without taking the slightest notice of the young
man, who remained where he was for some time, not quite knowing what
he had better do. At length a servant arrived and led him up into a
beautiful room filled with people, who were either playing on musical
instruments or talking in a lively manner, which astonished the king,
who stood silently listening, and not at all pleased at the want of
attention paid him.

Matters went on this way for some time. Every day the king fell more and
more in love with Minon-Minette, and every day the princess seemed more
and more taken up with other people. At last, in despair, the prince
sought out the old woman, to try to get some advice from her as to
his conduct, or, anyway, to have the pleasure of talking about
Minon-Minette.

He found her spinning in an underground chamber, but quite ready to tell
him all he wanted to know. In answer to his questions he learned that
in order to win the hand of the princess it was not enough to be born a
prince, for she would marry nobody who had not proved himself faithful,
and had, besides, all those talents and accomplishments which help to
make people happy.

For a moment Souci was very much cast down on hearing this, but then
he plucked up. 'Tell me what I must do in order to win the heart of the
princess, and no matter how hard it is I will do it. And show me how I
can repay you for your kindness, and you shall have anything I can give
you. Shall I bring in your bundle of faggots every day?'

'It is enough that you should have made the offer,' replied the old
woman; and she added, holding out a skein of thread, 'Take this; one
day you will be thankful for it, and when it becomes useless your
difficulties will be past.'

'Is it the skein of my life?' he asked.

'It is the skein of your love's ill-luck,' she said.

And he took it and went away.

Now the fairy Girouette, who had brought up Souci, had an old friend
called Grimace, the protectress of Prince Fluet. Grimace often talked
over the young prince's affairs with Girouette, and, when she decided
that he was old enough to govern his own kingdom, consulted Girouette
as to a suitable wife. Girouette, who never stopped to think or to make
inquiries, drew such a delightful picture of Minon-Minette that
Grimace determined to spare no pains to bring about the marriage, and
accordingly Fluet was presented at court. But though the young man was
pleasant and handsome, the princess thought him rather womanish in some
ways, and displayed her opinion so openly as to draw upon herself and
Aveline the anger of the fairy, who declared that Minon-Minette should
never know happiness till she had found a bridge without an arch and a
bird without feathers. So saying, she also went away.

Before the king set out afresh on his travels Aveline had restored to
him his horse and his sword, and though these were but small consolation
for the absence of the princess, they were better than nothing, for he
felt that somehow they might be the means of leading him back to her.

After crossing several deserts the king arrived at length in a country
that seemed inhabited, but the instant he stepped over the border he
was seized and flung into chains, and dragged at once to the capital.
He asked his guards why he was treated like this, but the only answer he
got was that he was in the territory of the Iron King, for in those days
countries had no names of their own, but were called after their rulers.

The young man was led into the presence of the Iron King, who was seated
on a black throne in a hall also hung with black, as a token of mourning
for all the relations whom he had put to death.

'What are you doing in my country?' he cried fiercely.

'I came here by accident,' replied Souci, 'and if I ever escape
from your clutches I will take warning by you and treat my subjects
differently.'

'Do you dare to insult me in my own court?' cried the king. 'Away with
him to Little Ease!'

Now Little Ease was an iron cage hung by four thick chains in the middle
of a great vaulted hall, and the prisoner inside could neither sit,
nor stand, nor lie; and, besides that, he was made to suffer by turns
unbearable heat and cold, while a hundred heavy bolts kept everything
safe. Girouette, whose business it was to see after Souci, had forgotten
his existence in the excitement of some new idea, and he would not have
been alive long to trouble anybody if Aveline had not come to the rescue
and whispered in his ear, 'And the skein of thread?' He took it up
obediently, though he did not see how it would help him but he tied it
round one of the iron bars of his cage, which seemed the only thing he
could do, and gave a pull. To his surprise the bar gave way at once, and
he found he could break it into a thousand pieces. After this it did
not take him long to get out of his cage, or to treat the closely barred
windows of the hall in the same manner. But even after he had done all
this freedom appeared as far from him as ever, for between him and the
open country was a high wall, and so smooth that not even a monkey could
climb it. Then Souci's heart died within him. He saw nothing for it but
to submit to some horrible death, but he determined that the Iron King
should not profit more than he could help, and flung his precious thread
into the air, saying, as he did so, 'O fairy, my misfortunes are greater
than your power. I am grateful for your goodwill, but take back your
gift!' The fairy had pity on his youth and want of faith, and took care
that one end of the thread remained in his hand. He suddenly felt a
jerk, and saw that the thread must have caught on something, and this
thought filled him with the daring that is born of despair. 'Better,' he
said to himself, 'trust to a thread than to the mercies of a king;' and,
gliding down, he found himself safe on the other side of the wall. Then
he rolled up the thread and put it carefully into his pocket, breathing
silent thanks to the fairy.

Now Minon-Minette had been kept informed by Aveline of the prince's
adventures, and when she heard of the way in which he had been treated
by the Iron King she became furious, and began to prepare for war. She
made her plans with all the secrecy she could, but when great armies are
collected people are apt to suspect a storm is brewing, and of course it
is very difficult to keep anything hidden from fairy godmothers. Anyway,
Grimace soon heard of it, and as she had never forgiven Minon-Minette
for refusing Prince Fluet, she felt that here was her chance of revenge.

Up to this time Aveline had been able to put a stop to many of Grimace's
spiteful tricks, and to keep guard over Minon-Minette, but she had no
power over anything that happened at a distance; and when the princess
declared her intention of putting herself at the head of her army,
and began to train herself to bear fatigue by hunting daily, the fairy
entreated her to be careful never to cross the borders of her dominions
without Aveline to protect her. The princess at once gave her promise,
and all went well for some days. Unluckily one morning, as Minon-Minette
was cantering slowly on her beautiful white horse, thinking a great deal
about Souci and not at all of the boundaries of her kingdom (of which,
indeed, she was very ignorant), she suddenly found herself in front of
a house made entirely of dead leaves, which somehow brought all sorts of
unpleasant things into her head. She remembered Aveline's warning, and
tried to turn her horse, but it stood as still as if it had been marble.
Then the princess felt that she was slowly, and against her will, being
dragged to the ground. She shrieked, and clung tightly to the saddle,
but it was all in vain; she longed to fly, but something outside herself
proved too strong for her, and she was forced to take the path that led
to the House of Dead Leaves.

Scarcely had her feet touched the threshold than Grimace appeared. 'So
here you are at last, Minon-Minette! I have been watching for you a long
time, and my trap was ready for you from the beginning. Come here, my
darling! I will teach you to make war on my friends! Things won't turn
out exactly as you fancied. What you have got to do now is to go on
your knees to the king and crave his pardon, and before he consents to
a peace you will have to implore him to grant you the favour of becoming
his wife. Meanwhile you will have to be my servant.'

From that day the poor princess was put to the hardest and dirtiest
work, and each morning something more disagreeable seemed to await her.
Besides which, she had no food but a little black bread, and no bed but
a little straw. Out of pure spite she was sent in the heat of the day to
look after the geese, and would most likely have got a sunstroke if she
had not happened to pick up in the fields a large fan, with which she
sheltered her face. To be sure, a fan seems rather an odd possession for
a goose girl, but the princess did not think of that, and she forgot
all her troubles when, on opening the fan to use it as a parasol, out
tumbled a letter from her lover. Then she felt sure that the fairy had
not forgotten her, and took heart.

When Grimace saw that Minon-Minette still managed to look as white as
snow, instead of being burnt as brown as a berry, she wondered what
could have happened, and began to watch her closely. The following day,
when the sun was at its highest and hottest, she noticed her draw a fan
from the folds of her dress and hold it before her eyes. The fairy, in a
rage, tried to snatch it from her, but the princess would not let it go.
'Give me that fan at once!' cried Grimace.

'Never while I live!' answered the princess, and, not knowing where
it would be safest, placed it under her feet. In an instant she felt
herself rising from the ground, with the fan always beneath her, and
while Grimace was too much blinded by her fury to notice what was going
on the princess was quickly soaring out of her reach.

All this time Souci had been wandering through the world with his
precious thread carefully fastened round him, seeking every possible
and impossible place where his beloved princess might chance to be. But
though he sometimes found traces of her, or even messages scratched on a
rock, or cut in the bark of a tree, she herself was nowhere to be found.
'If she is not on the earth,' said Souci to himself, 'perhaps she is
hiding somewhere in the air. It is there that I shall find her.' So, by
the help of his thread, he tried to mount upwards, but he could go such
a little way, and hurt himself dreadfully when he tumbled back to earth
again. Still he did not give up, and after many days of efforts and
tumbles he found to his great joy that he could go a little higher and
stay up a little longer than he had done at first, and by-and-bye he
was able to live in the air altogether. But alas! the world of the air
seemed as empty of her as the world below, and Souci was beginning to
despair, and to think that he must go and search the world that lay in
the sea. He was floating sadly along, not paying any heed to where he
was going, when he saw in the distance a beautiful, bright sort of bird
coming towards him. His heart beat fast--he did not know why--and as
they both drew near the voice of the princess exclaimed, 'Behold the
bird without feathers and the bridge without an arch!'

So their first meeting took place in the air, but it was none the less
happy for that; and the fan grew big enough to hold the king as well as
Aveline, who had hastened to give them some good advice. She guided the
fan above the spot where the two armies lay encamped before each other
ready to give battle. The fight was long and bloody, but in the end the
Iron King was obliged to give way and surrender to the princess, who
set him to keep King Souci's sheep, first making him swear a solemn oath
that he would treat them kindly.

Then the marriage took place, in the presence of Girouette, whom
they had the greatest trouble to find, and who was much astonished to
discover how much business had been got through in her absence.




Maiden Bright-eye

From the Danish


Once, upon a time there was a man and his wife who had two children, a
boy and a girl. The wife died, and the man married again. His new
wife had an only daughter, who was both ugly and untidy, whereas her
stepdaughter was a beautiful girl, and was known as Maiden Bright-eye.
Her stepmother was very cruel to her on this account; she had always to
do the hardest work, and got very little to eat, and no attention paid
to her; but to her own daughter she was all that was good. She was
spared from all the hardest of the housework, and had always the
prettiest clothes to wear.

Maiden Bright-eye had also to watch the sheep, but of course it would
never do to let her go idle and enjoy herself too much at this work, so
she had to pull heather while she was out on the moors with them. Her
stepmother gave her pancakes to take with her for her dinner, but she
had mixed the flour with ashes, and made them just as bad as she could.

The little girl came out on the moor and began to pull heather on the
side of a little mound, but next minute a little fellow with a red cap
on his head popped up out of the mound and said:

'Who's that pulling the roof off my house?'

'Oh, it's me, a poor little girl,' said she; 'my mother sent me out
here, and told me to pull heather. If you will be good to me I will give
you a bit of my dinner.'

The little fellow was quite willing, and she gave him the biggest share
of her pancakes. They were not particularly good, but when one is hungry
anything tastes well. After he had got them all eaten he said to her:

'Now, I shall give you three wishes, for you are a very nice little
girl; but I will choose the wishes for you. You are beautiful, and much
more beautiful shall you be; yes, so lovely that there will not be your
like in the world. The next wish shall be that every time you open your
mouth a gold coin shall fall out of it, and your voice shall be like the
most beautiful music. The third wish shall be that you may be married to
the young king, and become the queen of the country. At the same time
I shall give you a cap, which you must carefully keep, for it can save
you, if you ever are in danger of your life, if you just put it on your
head.

Maiden Bright-eye thanked the little bergman ever so often, and drove
home her sheep in the evening. By that time she had grown so beautiful
that her people could scarcely recognise her. Her stepmother asked her
how it had come about that she had grown so beautiful. She told the
whole story--for she always told the truth--that a little man had come
to her out on the moor and had given her all this beauty. She did not
tell, however, that she had given him a share of her dinner.

The stepmother thought to herself, 'If one can become so beautiful by
going out there, my own daughter shall also be sent, for she can well
stand being made a little prettier.'

Next morning she baked for her the finest cakes, and dressed her
prettily to go out with the sheep. But she was afraid to go away there
without having a stick to defend herself with if anything should come
near her.

She was not very much inclined for pulling the heather, as she never was
in the habit of doing any work, but she was only a minute or so at it
when up came the same little fellow with the red cap, and said:

'Who's that pulling the roof off my house?'

'What's that to you?' said she.

'Well, if you will give me a bit of your dinner I won't do you any
mischief,' said he.

'I will give you something else in place of my dinner,' said she. 'I
can easily eat it myself; but if you will have something you can have
a whack of my stick,' and with that she raised it in the air and struck
the bergman over the head with it.

'What a wicked little girl you are!' said he; 'but you shall be none the
better of this. I shall give you three wishes, and choose them for you.
First, I shall say, "Ugly are you, but you shall become so ugly that
there will not be an uglier one on earth." Next I shall wish that every
time you open your mouth a big toad may fall out of it, and your voice
shall be like the roaring of a bull. In the third place I shall wish for
you a violent death.'

The girl went home in the evening, and when her mother saw her she was
as vexed as she could be, and with good reason, too; but it was still
worse when she saw the toads fall out of her mouth and heard her voice.

Now we must hear something about the stepson. He had gone out into the
world to look about him, and took service in the king's palace. About
this time he got permission to go home and see his sister, and when he
saw how lovely and beautiful she was, he was so pleased and delighted
that when he came back to the king's palace everyone there wanted to
know what he was always so happy about. He told them that it was because
he had such a lovely sister at home.

At last it came to the ears of the king what the brother said about his
sister, and, besides that, the report of her beauty spread far and
wide, so that the youth was summoned before the king, who asked him if
everything was true that was told about the girl. He said it was quite
true, for he had seen her beauty with his own eyes, and had heard with
his own ears how sweetly she could sing and what a lovely voice she had.

The king then took a great desire for her, and ordered her brother to
go home and bring her back with him, for he trusted no one better to
accomplish that errand. He got a ship, and everything else that he
required, and sailed home for his sister. As soon as the stepmother
heard what his errand was she at once said to herself, 'This will never
come about if I can do anything to hinder it. She must not be allowed to
come to such honour.'

She then got a dress made for her own daughter, like the finest robe for
a queen, and she had a mask prepared and put upon her face, so that she
looked quite pretty, and gave her strict orders not to take it off until
the king had promised to wed her.

The brother now set sail with his two sisters, for the stepmother
pretended that the ugly one wanted to see the other a bit on her way.
But when they got out to sea, and Maiden Bright-eye came up on deck,
the sister did as her mother had instructed her--she gave her a push and
made her fall into the water. When the brother learned what had happened
he was greatly distressed, and did not know what to do. He could not
bring himself to tell the truth about what had happened, nor did he
expect that the king would believe it. In the long run he decided to
hold on his way, and let things go as they liked. What he had expected
happened--the king received his sister and wedded her at once, but
repented it after the first night, as he could scarcely put down his
foot in the morning for all the toads that were about the room, and when
he saw her real face he was so enraged against the brother that he had
him thrown into a pit full of serpents. He was so angry, not merely
because he had been deceived, but because he could not get rid of the
ugly wretch that was now tied to him for life.

Now we shall hear a little about Maiden Bright-eye When she fell into
the water she was fortunate enough to get the bergman's cap put on
her head, for now she was in danger of her life, and she was at once
transformed into a duck. The duck swam away after the ship, and came to
the king's palace on the next evening. There it waddled up the drain,
and so into the kitchen, where her little dog lay on the hearth-stone;
it could not bear to stay in the fine chambers along with the ugly
sister, and had taken refuge down here. The duck hopped up till it could
talk to the dog.

'Good evening,' it said.

'Thanks, Maiden Bright-eye,' said the dog.

'Where is my brother?'

'He is in the serpent-pit.'

'Where is my wicked sister?'

'She is with the noble king.'

'Alas! alas! I am here this evening, and shall be for two evenings yet,
and then I shall never come again.'

When it had said this the duck waddled off again. Several of the servant
girls heard the conversation, and were greatly surprised at it, and
thought that it would be worth while to catch the bird next evening and
see into the matter a little more closely. They had heard it say that it
would come again.

Next evening it appeared as it had said, and a great many were present
to see it. It came waddling in by the drain, and went up to the dog,
which was lying on the hearth-stone.

'Good evening,' it said.

'Thanks, Maiden Bright-eye,' said the dog.

'Where is my brother?'

'He is in the serpent-pit.'

'Where is my wicked sister?'

'She is with the noble king.'

'Alas! alas! I am here this evening, and shall be for one evening yet,
and then I shall never come again.'

After this it slipped out, and no one could get hold of it. But the
king's cook thought to himself, 'I shall see if I can't get hold of you
to-morrow evening.'

On the third evening the duck again came waddling in by the drain, and
up to the dog on the hearth-stone.

'Good evening,' it said.

'Thanks, Maiden Bright-eye,' said the dog.

'Where is my brother?'

'He is in the serpent-pit.'

'Where is my wicked sister?'

'She is with the noble king.'

'Alas! alas! now I shall never come again.'

With this it slipped out again, but in the meantime the cook had posted
himself at the outer end of the drain with a net, which he threw over it
as it came out. In this way he caught it, and came in to the others with
the most beautiful duck they had ever seen--with so many golden feathers
on it that everyone marvelled. No one, however, knew what was to be
done with it; but after what they had heard they knew that there was
something uncommon about it, so they took good care of it.

At this time the brother in the serpent-pit dreamed that his right
sister had come swimming to the king's palace in the shape of a duck,
and that she could not regain her own form until her beak was cut off.
He got this dream told to some one, so that the king at last came to
hear of it, and had him taken up out of the pit and brought before
him. The king then asked him if he could produce to him his sister as
beautiful as he had formerly described her. The brother said he could if
they would bring him the duck and a knife.

Both of them were brought to him, and he said, 'I wonder how you would
look if I were to cut the point off your beak.'

With this he cut a piece off the beak, and there came a voice which
said, 'Oh, oh, you cut my little finger!'

Next moment Maiden Bright-eye stood there, as lovely and beautiful as he
had seen her when he was home. This was his sister now, he said; and the
whole story now came out of how the other had behaved to her. The wicked
sister was put into a barrel with spikes round it which was dragged
off by six wild horses, and so she came to her end.:But the king was
delighted with Maiden Bright-eye, and immediately made her his queen,
while her brother became his prime minister.




The Merry Wives

From the Danish


There lay three houses in a row, in one of which there lived a tailor,
in another a carpenter, and in the third a smith. All three were
married, and their wives were very good friends. They often talked about
how stupid their husbands were, but they could never agree as to which
of them had the most stupid one; each one stuck up for her own husband,
and maintained that it was he.

The three wives went to church together every Sunday, and had a regular
good gossip on the way, and when they were coming home from church they
always turned into the tavern which lay by the wayside and drank half
a pint together. This was at the time when half a pint of brandy cost
threepence, so that was just a penny from each of them.

But the brandy went up in price, and the taverner said that he must have
fourpence for the half-pint.

They were greatly annoyed at this, for there were only the three of them
to share it, and none of them was willing to pay the extra penny.

As they went home from the church that day they decided to wager with
each other as to whose husband was the most stupid, and the one who, on
the following Sunday, should be judged to have played her husband the
greatest trick should thereafter go free from paying, and each of the
two others would give twopence for their Sunday's half-pint.

Next day the tailor's wife said to her husband, 'I have some girls
coming to-day to help to card my wool there is a great deal to do, and
we must be very busy. I am so annoyed that our watchdog is dead, for in
the evening the young fellows will come about to get fun with the girls,
and they will get nothing done. If we had only had a fierce watchdog he
would have kept them away.'

'Yes,' said the man, 'that would have been a good thing.'

'Listen, good man,' said the wife, 'you must just be the watchdog
yourself, and scare the fellows away from the house.'

The husband was not very sure about this, although otherwise he was
always ready to give in to her.

'Oh yes, you will see it will work all right,' said the wife.

And so towards evening she got the tailor dressed up in a shaggy fur
coat, tied a black woollen cloth round his head, and chained him up
beside the dog's kennel.'

There he stood and barked and growled at everyone that moved in his
neighbourhood. The neighbour wives knew all about this, and were greatly
amused at it.

On the day after this the carpenter had been out at work, and came home
quite merry; but as soon as he entered the house his wife clapped her
hands together and cried, 'My dear, what makes you look like that? You
are ill.'

The carpenter knew nothing about being ill; he only thought that he
wanted something to eat, so he sat down at the table and began his
dinner.

His wife sat straight in front of him, with her hands folded, and shook
her head, and looked at him with an anxious air.

'You are getting worse, my dear,' she said; 'you are quite pale now; you
have a serious illness about you; I can see it by your looks.'

The husband now began to grow anxious, and thought that perhaps he was
not quite well.

'No, indeed,' said she; 'it's high time that you were in bed.'

She then got him to lie down, and piled above him all the bedclothes
she could find, and gave him various medicines, while he grew worse and
worse.

'You will never get over it,' said she; 'I am afraid you are going to
die.'

'Do you think so?' said the carpenter; 'I can well believe it, for I am
indeed very poorly.'

In a little while she said again, 'Ah, now I must part with you. Here
comes Death. Now I must close your eyes.' And she did so.

The carpenter believed everything that his wife said, and so he believed
now that he was dead, and lay still and let her do as she pleased.

She got her neighbours summoned, and they helped to lay him in the
coffin--it was one of those he himself had made; but his wife had bored
holes in it to let him get some air. She made a soft bed under him, and
put a coverlet over him, and she folded his hands over his breast;
but instead of a flower or a psalm-book, she gave him a pint-bottle of
brandy in his hands. After he had lain for a little he took a little
pull at this, and then another and another, and he thought this did
him good, and soon he was sleeping sweetly, and dreaming that he was in
heaven.

Meanwhile word had gone round the village that the carpenter was dead,
and was to be buried next day.

It was now the turn of the smith's wife. Her husband was lying sleeping
off the effects of a drinking bout, so she pulled off all his clothes
and made him black as coal from head to foot, and then let him sleep
till far on in the day.

The funeral party had already met at the carpenter's, and marched oft
towards the church with the coffin, when the smith's wife came rushing
in to her husband.

'Gracious, man,' said she, 'you are lying there yet? You are sleeping
too long. You know you are going to the funeral.'

The smith was quite confused; he knew nothing about any funeral.

'It's our neighbour the carpenter,' said his wife, 'who is to be buried
to-day. They are already half-way to church with him.'

'All right,' said the smith, 'make haste to help me on with my black
clothes.'

'What nonsense!' said his wife, 'you have them on already. Be off with
you now.'

The smith looked down at his person and saw that he was a good deal
blacker than he usually was, so he caught up his hat and ran out after
the funeral. This was already close to the church, and the smith wanted
to take part in carrying the coffin, like a good neighbour. So he ran
with all his might, and shouted after them, 'Hey! wait a little; let me
get a hold of him!'

The people turned round and saw the black figure coming, and thought it
was the devil himself, who wanted to get hold of the carpenter, so they
threw down the coffin and took to their heels.

The lid sprang off the coffin with the shock, and the carpenter woke up
and looked out. He remembered the whole affair; he knew that he was dead
and was going to be buried, and recognising the smith, he said to him,
in a low voice, 'My good neighbour, if I hadn't been dead already, I
should have laughed myself to death now to see you coming like this to
my funeral.'

From that time forth the carpenter's wife drank free of expense every
Sunday, for the others had to admit that she had fooled her husband the
best.




King Lindorm

From the Swedish.


There once lived a king and a queen who ruled over a very great kingdom.
They had large revenues, and lived happily with each other; but, as the
years went past, the king's heart became heavy, because the queen had no
children. She also sorrowed greatly over it, because, although the king
said nothing to her about this trouble, yet she could see that it vexed
him that they had no heir to the kingdom; and she wished every day that
she might have one.

One day a poor old woman came to the castle and asked to speak with the
queen. The royal servants answered that they could not let such a poor
beggar-woman go in to their royal mistress. They offered her a penny,
and told her to go away. Then the woman desired them to tell the queen
that there stood at the palace gate one who would help her secret
sorrow. This message was taken to the queen, who gave orders to bring
the old woman to her. This was done, and the old woman said to her:

'I know your secret sorrow, O queen, and am come to help you in it. You
wish to have a son; you shall have two if you follow my instructions.'

The queen was greatly surprised that the old woman knew her secret wish
so well, and promised to follow her advice.

'You must have a bath set in your room, O queen,' said she, 'and filled
with running water. When you have bathed in this you will find. under
the bath two red onions. These you must carefully peel and eat, and in
time your wish will be fulfilled.'

The queen did as the poor woman told her; and after she had bathed she
found the two onions under the bath. They were both alike in size
and appearance. When she saw these she knew that the woman had been
something more than she seemed to be, and in her delight she ate up one
of the onions, skin and all. When she had done so she remembered that
the woman had told her to peel them carefully before she ate them. It
was now too late for the one of them, but she peeled the other and then
ate it too.

In due time it happened as the woman had said; but the first that the
queen gave birth to was a hideous lindorm, or serpent. No one saw this
but her waiting-woman, who threw it out of the window into the forest
beside the castle. The next that came into the world was the most
beautiful little prince, and he was shown to the king and queen, who
knew nothing about his brother the lindorm.

There was now joy in all the palace and over the whole country on
account of the beautiful prince; but no one knew that the queen's
first-born was a lindorm, and lay in the wild forest. Time passed
with the king, the queen, and the young prince in all happiness and
prosperity, until he was twenty years of his age. Then his parents said
to him that he should journey to another kingdom and seek for himself a
bride, for they were beginning to grow old, and would fain see their son
married. before they were laid in their grave. The prince obeyed, had
his horses harnessed to his gilded chariot, and set out to woo his
bride. But when he came to the first cross-ways there lay a huge and
terrible lindorm right across the road, so that his horses had to come
to a standstill.

'Where are you driving to? ' asked the lindorm with a hideous voice.

'That does not concern you,' said the prince. 'I am the prince, and can
drive where I please.'

'Turn back,' said the lindorm. 'I know your errand, but you shall get no
bride until I have got a mate and slept by her side.'

The prince turned home again, and told the king and the queen what he
had met at the cross-roads; but they thought that he should try again on
the following day, and see whether he could not get past it, so that he
might seek a bride in another kingdom.

The prince did so, but got no further than the first cross-roads; there
lay the lindorm again, who stopped him in the same way as before.

The same thing happened on the third day when the prince tried to get
past: the lindorm said, with a threatening voice, that before the prince
could get a bride he himself must find a mate.

When the king and queen heard this for the third time they could think
of no better plan than to invite the lindorm to the palace, and they
should find him a mate. They thought that a lindorm would be quite well
satisfied with anyone that they might give him, and so they would get
some slave-woman to marry the monster. The lindorm came to the palace
and received a bride of this kind, but in the morning she lay torn in
pieces. So it happened every time that the king and queen compelled any
woman to be his bride.

The report of this soon spread over all the country. Now it happened
that there was a man who had married a second time, and his wife heard
of the lindorm with great delight. Her husband had a daughter by his
first wife who was more beautiful than all other maidens, and so gentle
and good that she won the heart of all who knew her. His second wife,
however, had also a grown-up daughter, who by herself would have
been ugly and disagreeable enough, but beside her good and beautiful
stepsister seemed still more ugly and wicked, so that all turned from
her with loathing.

The stepmother had long been annoyed that her husband's daughter was
so much more beautiful than her own, and in her heart she conceived a
bitter hatred for her stepdaughter. When she now heard that there was in
the king's palace a lindorm which tore in pieces all the women that were
married to him, and demanded a beautiful maiden for his bride, she went
to the king, and said that her stepdaughter wished to wed the lindorm,
so that the country's only prince might travel and seek a bride. At
this the king was greatly delighted, and gave orders that the young girl
should be brought to the palace.

When the messengers came to fetch her she was terribly frightened, for
she knew that it was her wicked stepmother who in this way was aiming at
her life. She begged that she might be allowed to spend another night in
her father's house. This was granted her, and she went to her mother's
grave. There she lamented her hard fate in being given over to the
lindorm, and earnestly prayed her mother for counsel. How long she lay
there by the grave and wept one cannot tell, but sure it is that she
fell asleep and slept until the sun rose. Then she rose up from the
grave, quite happy at heart, and began to search about in the fields.
There she found three nuts, which she carefully put away in her pocket.

'When I come into very great danger I must break one of these,' she said
to herself. Then she went home, and set out quite willingly with the
king's messengers.

When these arrived at the palace with the beautiful young maiden
everyone pitied her fate; but she herself was of good courage, and asked
the queen for another bridal chamber than the one the lindorm had had
before. She got this, and then she requested them to put a pot full of
strong lye on the fire and lay down three new scrubbing brushes. The
queen gave orders that everything should be done as she desired; and
then the maiden dressed herself in seven clean snow-white shirts, and
held her wedding with the lindorm.

When they were left alone in the bridal chamber the lindorm, in a
threatening voice, ordered her to undress herself.

'Undress yourself first!' said she.

'None of the others bade me do that,' said he in surprise.

'But I bid you,' said she.

Then the lindorm began to writhe, and groan, and breathe heavily; and
after a little he had cast his outer skin, which lay on the floor,
hideous to behold. Then his bride took off one of her snow-white shirts,
and cast it on the lindorm's skin. Again he ordered her to undress,
and again she commanded him to do so first. He had to obey, and with
groaning and pain cast off one skin after another, and for each skin the
maiden threw off one of her shirts, until there lay on the floor seven
lindorm skins and six snow-white shirts; the seventh she still had on.
The lindorm now lay before her as a formless, slimy mass, which she with
all her might began to scrub with the lye and new scrubbing brushes.

When she had nearly worn out the last of these there stood before her
the loveliest youth in the world. He thanked her for having saved him
from his enchantment, and told her that he was the king and queen's
eldest son, and heir to the kingdom. Then he asked her whether she would
keep the promise she had made to the lindorm, to share everything with
him. To this she was well content to answer 'Yes.'

Each time that the lindorm had held his wedding one of the king's
retainers was sent next morning to open the door of the bridal chamber
and see whether the bride was alive. This next morning also he peeped
in at the door, but what he saw there surprised him so much that he
shut the door in a hurry, and hastened to the king and queen, who were
waiting for his report. He told them of the wonderful sight he had seen.
On the floor lay seven lindorm skins and six snow-white shirts, and
beside these three worn-out scrubbing brushes, while in the bed a
beautiful youth was lying asleep beside the fair young maiden.

The king and queen marvelled greatly what this could mean; but just then
the old woman who was spoken of in the beginning of the story was again
brought in to the queen. She reminded her how she had not followed her
instructions, but had eaten the first onion with all its skins, on which
account her first-born had been a lindorm. The waiting-woman was then
summoned, and admitted that she had thrown it out through the window
into the forest. The king and queen now sent for their eldest son and
his young bride. They took them both in their arms, and asked him to
tell about his sorrowful lot during the twenty years he had lived in the
forest as a hideous lindorm. This he did, and then his parents had it
proclaimed over the whole country that he was their eldest son, and
along with his spouse should inherit the country and kingdom after them.

Prince Lindorm and his beautiful wife now lived in joy and prosperity
for a time in the palace; and when his father was laid in the grave,
not long after this, he obtained the whole kingdom. Soon afterwards his
mother also departed from this world.

Now it happened that an enemy declared war against the young king; and,
as he foresaw that it would be three years at the least before he could
return to his country and his queen, he ordered all his servants who
remained at home to guard her most carefully. That they might be able to
write to each other in confidence, he had two seal rings made, one for
himself and one for his young queen, and issued an order that no one,
under pain of death, was to open any letter that was sealed with one of
these. Then he took farewell of his queen, and marched out to war.

The queen's wicked stepmother had heard with great grief that her
beautiful stepdaughter had prospered so well that she had not only
preserved her life, but had even become queen of the country. She now
plotted continually how she might destroy her good fortune. While King
Lindorm was away at the war the wicked woman came to the queen,
and spoke fair to her, saying that she had always foreseen that her
stepdaughter was destined to be something great in the world, and
that she had on this account secured that she should be the enchanted
prince's bride. The queen, who did not imagine that any person could be
so deceitful, bade her stepmother welcome, and kept her beside her.

Soon after this the queen had two children, the prettiest boys that
anyone could see. When she had written a letter to the king to tell him
of this her stepmother asked leave to comb her hair for her, as her own
mother used to do. The queen gave her permission, and the stepmother
combed her hair until she fell asleep. Then she took the seal ring off
her neck, and exchanged the letter for another, in which she had written
that the queen had given birth to two whelps.

When the king received. this letter he was greatly distressed, but he
remembered how he himself had lived for twenty years as a lindorm, and
had been freed from the spell by his young queen. He therefore wrote
back to his most trusted retainer that the queen and her two whelps
should be taken care of while he was away.

The stepmother, however, took this letter as well, and wrote a new one,
in which the king ordered that the queen and the two little princes
should be burnt at the stake. This she also sealed with the queen's
seal, which was in all respects like the king's.

The retainer was greatly shocked and grieved at the king's orders,
for which he could discover no reason; but, as he had not the heart to
destroy three innocent beings, he had a great fire kindled, and in this
he burned a sheep and two lambs, so as to make people believe that he
had carried out the king's commands. The stepmother had made these known
to the people, adding that the queen was a wicked sorceress.

The faithful servant, however, told the queen that it was the king's
command that during the years he was absent in the war she should keep
herself concealed in the castle, so that no one but himself should see
her and the little princes.

The queen obeyed, and no one knew but that both she and her children had
been burned. But when the time came near for King Lindorm to return home
from the war the old retainer grew frightened because he had not obeyed
his orders. He therefore went to the queen, and told her everything, at
the same time showing her the king's letter containing the command to
burn her and the princes. He then begged her to leave the palace before
the king returned.

The queen now took her two little sons, and wandered out into the wild
forest. They walked all day without ending a human habitation, and
became very tired. The queen then caught sight of a man who carried some
venison. He seemed very poor and wretched, but the queen was glad to see
a human being, and asked him whether he knew where she and her little
children could get a house over their heads for the night.

The man answered that he had a little hut in the forest, and that she
could rest there; but he also said that he was one who lived entirely
apart from men, and owned no more than the hut, a horse, and a dog, and
supported himself by hunting.

The queen followed him to the hut and rested there overnight with her
children, and when she awoke in the morning the man had already gone out
hunting. The queen then began to put the room in order and prepare food,
so that when the man came home he found everything neat and tidy, and
this seemed to give him some pleasure. He spoke but little, however, and
all that he said about himself was that his name was Peter.

Later in the day he rode out into the forest, and the queen thought that
he looked very unhappy. While he was away she looked about her in the
hut a little more closely, and found a tub full of shirts stained with
blood, lying among water. She was surprised at this, but thought that
the man would get the blood on his shirt when he was carrying home
venison. She washed the shirts, and hung them up to dry, and said
nothing to Peter about the matter.

After some time had passed she noticed that every day he came riding
home from the forest he took off a blood-stained shirt and put on a
clean one. She then saw that it was something else than the blood of the
deer that stained his shirts, so one day she took courage and asked him
about it.

At first he refused to tell her, but she then related to him her own
story, and how she had succeeded in delivering the lindorm. He then told
her that he had formerly lived a wild life, and had finally entered
into a written contract  with the Evil Spirit. Before this contract
had expired he had repented and turned from his evil ways, and withdrawn
himself to this solitude. The Evil One had then lost all power to take
him, but so long as he had the contract he could compel him to meet him
in the forest each day at a certain time, where the evil spirits then
scourged him till he bled.

Next day, when the time came for the man to ride into the forest, the
queen asked him to stay at home and look after the princes, and she
would go to meet the evil spirits in his place. The man was amazed, and
said that this would not only cost her her life, but would also bring
upon him a greater misfortune than the one he was already under. She
bade him be of good courage, looked to see that she had the three nuts
which she had found beside her mother's grave, mounted her horse, and
rode out into the forest. When she had ridden for some time the evil
spirits came forth and said, 'Here comes Peter's horse and Peter's
hound; but Peter himself is not with them.'

Then at a distance she heard a terrible voice demanding to know what she
wanted.

'I have come to get Peter's contract,' said she.

At this there arose a terrible uproar among the evil spirits, and the
worst voice among them all said, 'Ride home and tell Peter that when he
comes to-morrow he shall get twice as many strokes as usual.'

The queen then took one of her nuts and cracked it, and turned her horse
about. At this sparks of fire flew out of all the trees, and the evil
spirits howled as if they were being scourged back to their abode.

Next day at the same time the queen again rode out into the forest;
but on this occasion the spirits did not dare to come so near her. They
would not, however, give up the contract, but threatened both her and
the man. Then she cracked her second nut, and all the forest behind her
seemed to be in fire and flames, and the evil spirits howled even worse
than on the previous day; but the contract they would not give up.

The queen had only one nut left now, but even that she was ready to give
up in order to deliver the man. This time she cracked the nut as soon
as she came near the place where the spirits appeared, and what then
happened to them she could not see, but amid wild screams and howls the
contract was handed to her at the end of a long branch. The queen rode
happy home to the hut, and happier still was the man, who had been
sitting there in great anxiety, for now he was freed from all the power
of the evil spirits.

Meanwhile King Lindorm had come home from the war, and the first
question he asked when he entered the palace was about the queen and the
whelps. The attendants were surprised: they knew of no whelps. The queen
had had two beautiful princes; but the king had sent orders that all
these were to be burned.

The king grew pale with sorrow and anger, and ordered them to summon his
trusted retainer, to whom he had sent the instructions that the queen
and the whelps were to be carefully looked after. The retainer, however,
showed him the letter in which there was written that the queen and her
children were to be burned, and everyone then understood that some great
treachery had been enacted.

When the king's trusted retainer saw his master's deep sorrow he
confessed to him that he had spared the lives of the queen and the
princes, and had only burned a sheep and two lambs, and had kept the
queen and her children hidden in the palace for three years, but had
sent her out into the wild forest just when the king was expected home.
When the king heard this his sorrow was lessened, and he said that he
would wander out into the forest and search for his wife and children.
If he found them he would return to his palace; but if he did not find
them he would never see it again, and in that case the faithful retainer
who had saved the lives of the queen and the princes should be king in
his stead.

The king then went forth alone into the wild forest, and wandered there
the whole day without seeing a single human being. So it went with him
the second day also, but on the third day he came by roundabout ways to
the little hut. He went in there, and asked for leave to rest himself
for a little on the bench. The queen and the princes were there, but she
was poorly clad and so sorrowful that the king did not recognise her,
neither did he think for a moment that the two children, who were
dressed only in rough skins, were his own sons.

He lay down on the bench, and, tired as he was, he soon fell asleep. The
bench was a narrow one, and as he slept his arm fell down and hung by
the side of it.

'My son, go and lift your father's arm up on the bench,' said the queen
to one of the princes, for she easily knew the king again, although
she was afraid to make herself known to him. The boy went and took the
king's arm, but, being only a child, he did not lift it up very gently
on to the bench.

The king woke at this, thinking at first that he had fallen into a den
of robbers, but he decided to keep quiet and pretend that he was asleep
until he should find out what kind of folk were in the house. He lay
still for a little, and, as no one moved in the room, he again let his
arm glide down off the bench. Then he heard a woman's voice say, 'My
son, go you and lift your father's arm up on the bench, but don't do
it so rough!y as your brother did.' Then he felt a pair of little hands
softly clasping his arm; he opened his eyes, and saw his queen and her
children.

He sprang up and caught all three in his arms, and afterwards took them,
along with the man and his horse and his hound, back to the palace with
great joy. The most unbounded rejoicing reigned there then, as well as
over the whole kingdom, but the wicked stepmother was burned.

King Lindorm lived long and happily with his queen, and there are some
who say that if they are not dead now they are still living to this day.




The Jackal, the Dove, and the Panther

Contes populaires des Bassoutos. Recueillis et traduits par E. Jacottet.
Paris: Leroux, Editeur.


There was once a dove who built a nice soft nest as a home for her three
little ones. She was very proud of their beauty, and perhaps talked
about them to her neighbours more than she need have done, till at last
everybody for miles round knew where the three prettiest baby doves in
the whole country-side were to be found.

One day a jackal who was prowling about in search of a dinner came by
chance to the foot of the rock where the dove's nest was hidden away,
and he suddenly bethought himself that if he could get nothing better he
might manage to make a mouthful of one of the young doves. So he shouted
as loud as he could, 'Ohe, ohe, mother dove.'

And the dove replied, trembling with fear, 'What do you want, sir?'

'One of your children,' said he; 'and if you don't throw it to me I will
eat up you and the others as well.'

Now, the dove was nearly driven distracted at the jackal's words; but,
in order to save the lives of the other two, she did at last throw
the little one out of the nest. The jackal ate it up, and went home to
sleep.

Meanwhile the mother dove sat on the edge of her nest, crying bitterly,
when a heron, who was flying slowly past the rock, was filled with pity
for her, and stopped to ask, 'What is the matter, you poor dove?'

And the dove answered, 'A jackal came by, and asked me to give him one
of my little ones, and said that if I refused he would jump on my nest
and eat us all up.'

But the heron replied, 'You should not have believed him. He could never
have jumped so high. He only deceived you because he wanted something
for supper.' And with these words the heron flew off.

He had hardly got out of sight when again the jackal came creeping
slowly round the foot of the rock. And when he saw the dove he cried out
a second time, 'Ohe, ohe, mother dove! give me one of your little ones,
or I will jump on your nest and eat you all up.'

This time the dove knew better, and she answered boldly, 'Indeed, I
shall do nothing of the sort,' though her heart beat wildly with fear
when she saw the jackal preparing for a spring.

However, he only cut himself against the rock, and thought he had better
stick to threats, so he started again with his old cry, 'Mother dove,
mother dove! be quick and give me one of your little ones, or I will eat
you all up.'

But the mother dove only answered as before, 'Indeed, I shall do nothing
of the sort, for I know we are safely out of your reach.'

The jackal felt it was quite hopeless to get what he wanted, and asked,
'Tell me, mother dove, how have you suddenly become so wise?'

'It was the heron who told me,' replied she.

'And which way did he go?' said the jackal.

'Down there among the reeds. You can see him if you look,' said the
dove.

Then the jackal nodded good-bye, and went quickly after the heron. He
soon came up to the great bird, who was standing on a stone on the edge
of the river watching for a nice fat fish. 'Tell me, heron,' said he,
'when the wind blows from that quarter, to which side do you turn?'

'And which side do you turn to?' asked the heron.

The jackal answered, 'I always turn to this side.'

'Then that is the side I turn to,' remarked the heron.

'And when the rain comes from that quarter, which side do you turn to?'

And the heron replied, 'And which side do you turn to?'

'Oh, I always turn to this side,' said the jackal.

'Then that is the side I turn to,' said the heron.

'And when the rain comes straight down, what do you do?'

'What do you do yourself?' asked the heron.

'I do this,' answered the jackal. 'I cover my head with my paws.'

'Then that is what I do,' said the heron. 'I cover my head with my
wings,' and as he spoke he lifted his large wings and spread them
completely over his head.

With one bound the jackal had seized him by the neck, and began to shake
him.

'Oh, have pity, have pity!' cried the heron. 'I never did you any harm.'

'You told the dove how to get the better of me, and I am going to eat
you for it.'

'But if you will let me go,' entreated the heron, 'I will show you the
place where the panther has her lair.'

'Then you had better be quick about it,' said the jackal, holding tight
on to the heron until he had pointed out the panther's den. 'Now you may
go, my friend, for there is plenty of food here for me.'

So the jackal came up to the panther, and asked politely, 'Panther,
would you like me to look after your children while you are out
hunting?'

'I should be very much obliged,' said the panther; 'but be sure you take
care of them. They always cry all the time that I am away.'

So saying she trotted off, and the jackal marched into the cave, where
he found ten little panthers, and instantly ate one up. By-and-bye the
panther returned from hunting, and said to him, 'Jackal, bring out my
little ones for their supper.'

The jackal fetched them out one by one till he had brought out nine, and
he took the last one and brought it out again, so the whole ten seemed
to be there, and the panther was quite satisfied.

Next day she went again to the chase, and the jackal ate up another
little panther, so now there were only eight. In the evening, when she
came back, the panther said, 'Jackal, bring out my little ones!'

And the jackal brought out first one and then another, and the last one
he brought out three times, so that the whole ten seemed to be there.

The following day the same thing happened, and the next and the next and
the next, till at length there was not even one left, and the rest of
the day the jackal busied himself with digging a large hole at the back
of the den.

That night, when the panther returned from hunting, she said to him as
usual, 'Jackal, bring out my little ones.'

But the jackal replied: 'Bring out your little ones, indeed! Why, you
know as well as I do that you have eaten them all up.'

Of course the panther had not the least idea what the jackal meant by
this, and only repeated, 'Jackal, bring out my children.' As she got
no answer she entered the cave, but found no jackal, for he had crawled
through the hole he had made and escaped. And, what was worse, she did
not find the little ones either.

Now the panther was not going to let the jackal get off like that, and
set off at a trot to catch him. The jackal, however, had got a good
start, and he reached a place where a swarm of bees deposited their
honey in the cleft of a rock. Then he stood still and waited till the
panther came up to him: 'Jackal, where are my little ones?' she asked.

And the jackal answered: 'They are up there. It is where I keep school.'

The panther looked about, and then inquired, 'But where? I see nothing
of them.'

'Come a little this way,' said the jackal, 'and you will hear how
beautifully they sing.'

So the panther drew near the cleft of the rock.

'Don't you hear them?' said the jackal; 'they are in there,' and slipped
away while the panther was listening to the song of the children.

She was still standing in the same place when a baboon went by. 'What
are you doing there, panther?'

'I am listening to my children singing. It is here that the jackal keeps
his school.'

Then the baboon seized a stick, and poked it in the cleft of the rock,
exclaiming, 'Well, then, I should like to see your children!'

The bees flew out in a huge swarm, and made furiously for the panther,
whom they attacked on all sides, while the baboon soon climbed up out of
the way, crying, as he perched himself on the branch of a tree, 'I wish
you joy of your children!' while from afar the jackal's voice was heard
exclaiming: 'Sting, her well! don't let her go!'

The panther galloped away as if she was mad, and flung herself into the
nearest lake, but every time she raised her head, the bees stung her
afresh so at last the poor beast was drowned altogether.




The Little Hare

Contes populaires des Bassoutos. Recueillis et traduits par E. Jacottet.
Paris: Leroux, Editeur.


A long, long way off, in a land where water is very scarce, there lived
a man and his wife and several children. One day the wife said to her
husband, 'I am pining to have the liver of a nyamatsane for my dinner.
If you love me as much as you say you do, you will go out and hunt for
a nyamatsane, and will kill it and get its liver. If not, I shall know
that your love is not worth having.'

'Bake some bread,' was all her husband answered, 'then take the crust
and put it in this little bag.'

The wife did as she was told, and when she had finished she said to her
husband, 'The bag is all ready and quite full.'

'Very well,' said he, 'and now good-bye; I am going after the
nyamatsane.'

But the nyamatsane was not so easy to find as the woman had hoped. The
husband walked on and on and on without ever seeing one, and every now
and then he felt so hungry that he was obliged to eat one of the
crusts of bread out of his bag. At last, when he was ready to drop from
fatigue, he found himself on the edge of a great marsh, which bordered
on one side the country of the nyamatsanes. But there were no more
nyamatsanes here than anywhere else. They had all gone on a hunting
expedition, as their larder was empty, and the only person left at
home was their grandmother, who was so feeble she never went out of
the house. Our friend looked on this as a great piece of luck, and made
haste to kill her before the others returned, and to take out her liver,
after which he dressed himself in her skin as well as he could. He had
scarcely done this when he heard the noise of the nyamatsanes coming
back to their grandmother, for they were very fond of her, and never
stayed away from her longer than they could help. They rushed clattering
into the hut, exclaiming, 'We smell human flesh! Some man is here,' and
began to look about for him; but they only saw their old grandmother,
who answered, in a trembling voice, 'No, my children, no! What should
any man be doing here?' The nyamatsanes paid no attention to her, and
began to open all the cupboards, and peep under all the beds, crying
out all the while, 'A man is here! a man is here!' but they could find
nobody, and at length, tired out with their long day's hunting, they
curled themselves up and fell asleep.

Next morning they woke up quite refreshed, and made ready to start
on another expedition; but as they did not feel happy about their
grandmother they said to her, 'Grandmother, won't you come to-day and
feed with us?' And they led their grandmother outside, and all of them
began hungrily to eat pebbles. Our friend pretended to do the same,
but in reality he slipped the stones into his pouch, and swallowed the
crusts of bread instead. However, as the nyamatsanes did not see this
they had no idea that he was not really their grandmother. When they had
eaten a great many pebbles they thought they had done enough for that
day, and all went home together and curled themselves up to sleep. Next
morning when they woke they said, 'Let us go and amuse ourselves by
jumping over the ditch,' and every time they cleared it with a bound.
Then they begged their grandmother to jump over it too, end with a
tremendous effort she managed to spring right over to the other side.
After this they had no doubt at all of its being their true grandmother,
and went off to their hunting, leaving our friend at home in the hut.

As soon as they had gone out of sight our hero made haste to take the
liver from the place where he had hid it, threw off the skin of the old
nyamatsane, and ran away as hard as he could, only stopping to pick up a
very brilliant and polished little stone, which he put in his bag by the
side of the liver.

Towards evening the nyamatsanes came back to the hut full of anxiety to
know how their grandmother had got on during their absence. The first
thing they saw on entering the door was her skin lying on the floor, and
then they knew that they had been deceived, and they said to each other,
'So we were right, after all, and it was human flesh we smelt.' Then
they stooped down to find traces of the man's footsteps, and when they
had got them instantly set out in hot pursuit.

Meanwhile our friend had journeyed many miles, and was beginning to feel
quite safe and comfortable, when, happening to look round, he saw in
the distance a thick cloud of dust moving rapidly. His heart stood still
within him, and he said to himself, 'I am lost. It is the nyamatsanes,
and they will tear me in pieces,' and indeed the cloud of dust was
drawing near with amazing quickness, and the nyamatsanes almost felt as
if they were already devouring him. Then as a last hope the man took the
little stone that he had picked up out of his bag and flung it on the
ground. The moment it touched the soil it became a huge rock, whose
steep sides were smooth as glass, and on the top of it our hero hastily
seated himself. It was in vain that the nyamatsanes tried to climb up
and reach him; they slid down again much faster than they had gone up;
and by sunset they were quite worn out, and fell asleep at the foot of
the rock.

No sooner had the nyamatsanes tumbled off to sleep than the man stole
softly down and fled away as fast as his legs would carry him, and by
the time his enemies were awake he was a very long way off. They sprang
quickly to their feet and began to sniff the soil round the rock, in
order to discover traces of his footsteps, and they galloped after him
with terrific speed. The chase continued for several days and nights;
several times the nyamatsanes almost reached him, and each time he was
saved by his little pebble.

Between his fright and his hurry he was almost dead of exhaustion when
he reached his own village, where the nyamatsanes could not follow him,
because of their enemies the dogs, which swarmed over all the roads. So
they returned home.

Then our friend staggered into his own hut and called to his wife:
'Ichou! how tired I am! Quick, give me something to drink. Then go and
get fuel and light a fire.'

So she did what she was bid, and then her husband took the nyamatsane's
liver from his pouch and said to her, 'There, I have brought you what
you wanted, and now you know that I love you truly.'

And the wife answered, 'It is well. Now go and take out the children, so
that I may remain alone in the hut,' and as she spoke she lifted down an
old stone pot and put on the liver to cook. Her husband watched her for
a moment, and then said, 'Be sure you eat it all yourself. Do not give
a scrap to any of the children, but eat every morsel up.' So the woman
took the liver and ate it all herself.

Directly the last mouthful had disappeared she was seized with such
violent thirst that she caught up a great pot full of water and drank it
at a single draught. Then, having no more in the house, she ran in next
door and said, 'Neighbour, give me, I pray you, something to drink.' The
neighbour gave her a large vessel quite full, and the woman drank it off
at a single draught, and held it out for more.

But the neighbour pushed her away, saying, 'No, I shall have none left
for my children.'

So the woman went into another house, and drank all the water she could
find; but the more she drank the more thirsty she became. She wandered
in this manner through the whole village till she had drunk every
water-pot dry. Then she rushed off to the nearest spring, and swallowed
that, and when she had finished all the springs and wells about she
drank up first the river and then a lake. But by this time she had drunk
so much that she could not rise from the ground.

In the evening, when it was time for the animals to have their drink
before going to bed, they found the lake quite dry, and they had to make
up their minds to be thirsty till the water flowed again and the streams
were full. Even then, for some time, the lake was very dirty, and the
lion, as king of the beasts, commanded that no one should drink till it
was quite clear again.

But the little hare, who was fond of having his own way, and was very
thirsty besides, stole quietly off when all the rest were asleep in
their dens, and crept down to the margin of the lake and drank his fill.
Then he smeared the dirty water all over the rabbit's face and paws, so
that it might look as if it were he who had been disobeying Big Lion's
orders.

The next day, as soon as it was light, Big Lion marched straight for
the lake, and all the other beasts followed him. He saw at once that the
water had been troubled again, and was very angry.

'Who has been drinking my water?' said he; and the little hare gave a
jump, and, pointing to the rabbit, he answered, 'Look there! it must be
he! Why, there is mud all over his face and paws!'

The rabbit, frightened out of his wits, tried to deny the fact,
exclaiming, 'Oh, no, indeed I never did;' but Big Lion would not listen,
and commanded them to cane him with a birch rod.

Now the little hare was very much pleased with his cleverness in causing
the rabbit to be beaten instead of himself, and went about boasting
of it. At last one of the other animals overheard him, and called out,
'Little hare, little hare! what is that you are saying?'

But the little hare hastily replied, 'I only asked you to pass me my
stick.'

An hour or two later, thinking that no one was near him, he said to
himself again, 'It was really I who drank up the water, but I made them
think it was the rabbit.'

But one of the beasts whose ears were longer than the rest caught the
words, and went to tell Big Lion about it. Do you hear what the little
hare is saying?'

So Big Lion sent for the little hare, and asked him what he meant by
talking like that.

The little hare saw that there was no use trying to hide it, so he
answered pertly, 'It was I who drank the water, but I made them think
it was the rabbit.' Then he turned and ran as fast as he could, with all
the other beasts pursuing him.

They were almost up to him when he dashed into a very narrow cleft in
the rock, much too small for them to follow; but in his hurry he had
left one of his long ears sticking out, which they just managed to
seize. But pull as hard as they might they could not drag him out of the
hole, and at last they gave it up and left him, with his ear very much
torn and scratched.

When the last tail was out of sight the little hare crept cautiously
out, and the first person he met was the rabbit. He had plenty of
impudence, so he put a bold face on the matter, and said, 'Well, my good
rabbit, you see I have had a beating as well as you.'

But the rabbit was still sore and sulky, and he did not care to talk, so
he answered, coldly, 'You have treated me very badly. It was really you
who drank that water, and you accused me of having done it.'

'Oh, my good rabbit, never mind that! I've got such a wonderful secret
to tell you! Do you know what to do so as to escape death?'

'No, I don't.'

'Well, we must begin by digging a hole.'

So they dug a hole, and then the little hare said, 'The next thing is to
make a fire in the hole,' and they set to work to collect wood, and lit
quite a large fire.

When it was burning brightly the little hare said to the rabbit,
'Rabbit, my friend, throw me into the fire, and when you hear my fur
crackling, and I call "Itchi, Itchi," then be quick and pull me out.'

The rabbit did as he was told, and threw the little hare into the fire;
but no sooner did the little hare begin to feel the heat of the flames
than he took some green bay leaves he had plucked for the purpose and
held them in the middle of the fire, where they crackled and made a
great noise. Then he called loudly 'Itchi, Itchi! Rabbit, my friend, be
quick, be quick! Don't you hear how my skin is crackling?'

And the rabbit came in a great hurry and pulled him out.

Then the little hare said, 'Now it is your turn!' and he threw the
rabbit in the fire. The moment the rabbit felt the flames he cried out
'Itchi, Itchi, I am burning; pull me out quick, my friend!'

But the little hare only laughed, and said, 'No, you may stay there! It
is your own fault. Why were you such a fool as to let yourself be thrown
in? Didn't you know that fire burns?' And in a very few minutes nothing
was left of the rabbit but a few bones.

When the fire was quite out the little hare went and picked up one of
these bones, and made a flute out of it, and sang this song:

Pii, pii, O flute that I love, Pii, pii, rabbits are but little boys.
Pii, pii, he would have burned me if he could; Pii, pii, but I burned
him, and he crackled finely.

When he got tired of going through the world singing this the little
hare went back to his friends and entered the service of Big Lion. One
day he said to his master, 'Grandfather, shall I show you a splendid way
to kill game?'

'What is it?' asked Big Lion.

'We must dig a ditch, and then you must lie in it and pretend to be
dead.'

Big Lion did as he was told, and when he had lain down the little hare
got up on a wall blew a trumpet and shouted--

Pii, pii, all you animals come and see, Big Lion is dead, and now peace
will be.

Directly they heard this they all came running. The little hare received
them and said, 'Pass on, this way to the lion.' So they all entered into
the Animal Kingdom. Last of all came the monkey with her baby on her
back. She approached the ditch, and took a blade of grass and tickled
Big Lion's nose, and his nostrils moved in spite of his efforts to keep
them still. Then the monkey cried, 'Come, my baby, climb on my back and
let us go. What sort of a dead body is it that can still feel when it
is tickled?' And she and her baby went away in a fright. Then the
little hare said to the other beasts, 'Now, shut the gate of the Animal
Kingdom.' And it was shut, and great stones were rolled against it. When
everything was tight closed the little hare turned to Big Lion and said
'Now!' and Big Lion bounded out of the ditch and tore the other animals
in pieces.

But Big Lion kept all the choice bits for himself, and only gave away
the little scraps that he did not care about eating; and the little hare
grew very angry, and determined to have his revenge. He had long ago
found out that Big Lion was very easily taken in; so he laid his plans
accordingly. He said to him, as if the idea had just come into his head,
'Grandfather, let us build a hut,' and Big Lion consented. And when they
had driven the stakes into the ground, and had made the walls of the
hut, the little hare told Big Lion to climb upon the top while he stayed
inside. When he was ready he called out, 'Now, grandfather, begin,'
and Big Lion passed his rod through the reeds with which the roofs are
always covered in that country. The little hare took it and cried, 'Now
it is my turn to pierce them,' and as he spoke he passed the rod back
through the reeds and gave Big Lion's tail a sharp poke.

'What is pricking me so?' asked Big Lion.

'Oh, just a little branch sticking out. I am going to break it,'
answered the little hare; but of course he had done it on purpose, as he
wanted to fix Big Lion's tail so firmly to the hut that he would not
be able to move. In a little while he gave another prick, and Big Lion
called again, 'What is pricking me so?'

This time the little hare said to himself, 'He will find out what I am
at. I must try some other plan. 'So he called out, 'Grandfather, you had
better put your tongue here, so that the branches shall not touch you.'
Big Lion did as he was bid, and the little hare tied it tightly to the
stakes of the wall. Then he went outside and shouted, 'Grandfather, you
can come down now,' and Big Lion tried, but he could not move an inch.

Then the little hare began quietly to eat Big Lion's dinner right before
his eyes, and paying no attention at all to his growls of rage. When
he had quite done he climbed up on the hut, and, blowing his flute, he
chanted 'Pii, pii, fall rain and hail,' and directly the sky was full of
clouds, the thunder roared, and huge hailstones whitened the roof of
the hut. The little hare, who had taken refuge within, called out again,
'Big Lion, be quick and come down and dine with me.' But there was no
answer, not even a growl, for the hailstones had killed Big Lion.

The little hare enjoyed himself vastly for some time, living comfortably
in the hut, with plenty of food to eat and no trouble at all in getting
it. But one day a great wind arose, and flung down the Big Lion's
half-dried skin from the roof of the hut. The little hare bounded with
terror at the noise, for he thought Big Lion must have come to life
again; but on discovering what had happened he set about cleaning
the skin, and propped the mouth open with sticks so that he could get
through. So, dressed in Big Lion's skin, the little hare started on his
travels.

The first visit he paid was to the hyaenas, who trembled at the sight
of him, and whispered to each other, 'How shall we escape from this
terrible beast?' Meanwhile the little hare did not trouble himself
about them, but just asked where the king of the hyaenas lived, and
made himself quite at home there. Every morning each hyaena thought to
himself, 'To-day he is certain to eat me;' but several days went by,
and they were all still alive. At length, one evening, the little hare,
looking round for something to amuse him, noticed a great pot full of
boiling water, so he strolled up to one of the hyaenas and said, 'Go and
get in.' The hyaena dared not disobey, and in a few minutes was scalded
to death. Then the little hare went the round of the village, saying to
every hyaena he met, 'Go and get into the boiling water,' so that in a
little while there was hardly a male left in the village.

One day all the hyaenas that remained alive went out very early into
the fields, leaving only one little daughter at home. The little hare,
thinking he was all alone, came into the enclosure, and, wishing to
feel what it was like to be a hare again, threw off Big Lion's skin, and
began to jump and dance, singing--

I am just the little hare, the little hare, the little hare; I am just
the little hare who killed the great hyaenas.

The little hyaena gazed at him in surprise, saying to herself, 'What!
was it really this tiny beast who put to death all our best people?'
when suddenly a gust of wind rustled the reeds that surrounded the
enclosure, and the little hare, in a fright, hastily sprang back into
Big Lion's skin.

When the hyaenas returned to their homes the little hyaena said to her
father: 'Father, our tribe has very nearly been swept away, and all this
has been the work of a tiny creature dressed in the lion's skin.'

But her father answered, 'Oh, my dear child, you don't know what you are
talking about.'

She replied, 'Yes, father, it is quite true. I saw it with my own eyes.'

The father did not know what to think, and told one of his friends, who
said, 'To-morrow we had better keep watch ourselves.'

And the next day they hid themselves and waited till the little hare
came out of the royal hut. He walked gaily towards the enclosure, threw
off, Big Lion's skin, and sang and danced as before--

I am just the little hare, the little hare, the little hare, I am just
the little hare, who killed the great hyaenas.

That night the two hyaenas told all the rest, saying, 'Do you know that
we have allowed ourselves to be trampled on by a wretched creature with
nothing of the lion about him but his skin?'

When supper was being cooked that evening, before they all went to bed,
the little hare, looking fierce and terrible in Big Lion's skin, said as
usual to one of the hyaenas 'Go and get into the boiling water.' But the
hyaena never stirred. There was silence for a moment; then a hyaena took
a stone, and flung it with all his force against the lion's skin. The
little hare jumped out through the mouth with a single spring, and fled
away like lightning, all the hyaenas in full pursuit uttering great
cries. As he turned a corner the little hare cut off both his ears,
so that they should not know him, and pretended to be working at a
grindstone which lay there.

The hyaenas soon came up to him and said, 'Tell me, friend, have you
seen the little hare go by?'

'No, I have seen no one.'

'Where can he be?' said the hyaenas one to another. 'Of course, this
creature is quite different, and not at all like the little hare.' Then
they went on their way, but, finding no traces of the little hare,
they returned sadly to their village, saying, 'To think we should have
allowed ourselves to be swept away by a wretched creature like that!'




The Sparrow with the Slit Tongue

From the Japanische Marchen und Sagen.


A long long time ago, an old couple dwelt in the very heart of a high
mountain. They lived together in peace and harmony, although they were
very different in character, the man being good-natured and honest, and
the wife being greedy and quarrelsome when anyone came her way that she
could possibly quarrel with.

One day the old man was sitting in front of his cottage, as he was very
fond of doing, when he saw flying towards him a little sparrow, followed
by a big black raven. The poor little thing was very much frightened and
cried out as it flew, and the great bird came behind it terribly fast,
flapping its wings and craning its beak, for it was hungry and wanted
some dinner. But as they drew near the old man, he jumped up, and beat
back the raven, which mounted, with hoarse screams of disappointment,
into the sky, and the little bird, freed from its enemy, nestled into
the old man's hand, and he carried it into the house. He stroked its
feathers, and told it not to be afraid, for it was quite safe; but as
he still felt its heart beating, he put it into a cage, where it soon
plucked up courage to twitter and hop about. The old man was fond of
all creatures, and every morning he used to open the cage door, and the
sparrow flew happily about until it caught sight of a cat or a rat or
some other fierce beast, when it would instantly return to the cage,
knowing that there no harm could come to it.

The woman, who was always on the look-out for something to grumble at,
grew very jealous of her husband's affection for the bird, and would
gladly have done it some harm had she dared. At last, one morning her
opportunity came. Her husband had gone to the town some miles away down
the mountain, and would not be back for several hours, but before he
left he did not forget to open the door of the cage. The sparrow hopped
about as usual, twittering happily, and thinking no evil, and all the
while the woman's brow became blacker and blacker, and at length her
fury broke out. She threw her broom at the bird, who was perched on a
bracket high up on the wall. The broom missed the bird, but knocked down
and broke the vase on the bracket, which did not soothe the angry woman.
Then she chased it from place to place, and at last had it safe between
her fingers, almost as frightened as on the day that it had made its
first entrance into the hut.

By this time the woman was more furious than ever. If she had dared,
she would have killed the sparrow then and there, but as it was she only
ventured to slit its tongue. The bird struggled and piped, but there was
no one to hear it, and then, crying out loud with the pain, it flew from
the house and was lost in the depths of the forest.

By-and-bye the old man came back, and at once began to ask for his pet.
His wife, who was still in a very bad temper, told him the whole story,
and scolded him roundly for being so silly as to make such a fuss over
a bird. But the old man, who was much troubled, declared she was a bad,
hard-hearted woman, to have behaved so to a poor harmless bird; then he
left the house, and went into the forest to seek for his pet. He walked
many hours, whistling and calling for it, but it never came, and he went
sadly home, resolved to be out with the dawn and never to rest till he
had brought the wanderer back. Day after day he searched and called; and
evening after evening he returned in despair. At length he gave up hope,
and made up his mind that he should see his little friend no more.

One hot summer morning, the old man was walking slowly under the cool
shadows of the big trees, and without thinking where he was going,
he entered a bamboo thicket. As the bamboos became thinner, he found
himself opposite to a beautiful garden, in the centre of which stood
a tiny spick-and-span little house, and out of the house came a lovely
maiden, who unlatched the gate and invited him in the most hospitable
way to enter and rest. 'Oh, my dear old friend,' she exclaimed, 'how
glad I am you have found me at last! I am your little sparrow, whose
life you saved, and whom you took such care of.'

The old man seized her hands eagerly, but no time was given him to ask
any questions, for the maiden drew him into the house, and set food
before him, and waited on him herself.

While he was eating, the damsel and her maids took their lutes, and sang
and danced to him, and altogether the hours passed so swiftly that the
old man never saw that darkness had come, or remembered the scolding he
would get from his wife for returning home so late.

Thus, in dancing and singing, and talking over the days when the maiden
was a sparrow hopping in and out of her cage, the night passed away, and
when the first rays of sun broke through the hedge of bamboo, the
old man started up, thanked his hostess for her friendly welcome, and
prepared to say farewell. 'I am not going to let you depart like that,'
said she; 'I have a present for you, which you must take as a sign of my
gratitude.' And as she spoke, her servants brought in two chests, one
of them very small, the other large and heavy. 'Now choose which of them
you will carry with you.' So the old man chose the small chest, and hid
it under his cloak, and set out on his homeward way.

But as he drew near the house his heart sank a little, for he knew
what a fury his wife would be in, and how she would abuse him for
his absence. And it was even worse than he expected. However, long
experience had taught him to let her storm and say nothing, so he lit
his pipe and waited till she was tired out. The woman was still raging,
and did not seem likely to stop, when her husband, who by this time had
forgotten all about her, drew out the chest from under his cloak, and
opened it. Oh, what a blaze met his eyes! gold and precious stones were
heaped up to the very lid, and lay dancing in he sunlight. At the
sight of these wonders even the scolding tongue ceased, and the woman
approached, and took the stones in her hand, setting greedily aside
those that were the largest and most costly. Then her voice softened,
and she begged him quite politely to tell her where he had spent his
evening, and how he had come by these wonderful riches. So he told her
the whole story, and she listened with amazement, till he came to the
choice which had been given him between the two chests. At this her
tongue broke loose again, as she abused him for his folly in taking
the little one, and she never rested till her husband had described the
exact way which led to the sparrow-princess's house. When she had got it
into her head, she put on her best clothes and set out at once. But in
her blind haste she often missed the path, and she wandered for several
hours before she at length reached the little house. She walked boldly
up to the door and entered the room as if the whole place belonged to
her, and quite frightened the poor girl, who was startled at the sight
of her old enemy. However, she concealed her feelings as well as she
could, and bade the intruder welcome, placing before her food and wine,
hoping that when she had eaten and drunk she might take her leave. But
nothing of the sort.

'You will not let me go without a little present?' said the greedy wife,
as she saw no signs of one being offered her. 'Of course not,' replied
the girl, and at her orders two chests were brought in, as they had been
before. The old woman instantly seized the bigger, and staggering under
the weight of it, disappeared into the forest, hardly waiting even to
say good-bye.

It was a long way to her own house, and the chest seemed to grow heavier
at every step. Sometimes she felt as if it would be impossible for
her to get on at all, but her greed gave her strength, and at last she
arrived at her own door. She sank down on the threshold, overcome with
weariness, but in a moment was on her feet again, fumbling with the lock
of the chest. But by this time night had come, and there was no light in
the house, and the woman was in too much hurry to get to her treasures,
to go and look for one. At length, however, the lock gave way, and
the lid flew open, when, O horror! instead of gold and jewels, she saw
before her serpents with glittering eyes and forky tongues. And they
twined themselves about her and darted poison into her veins, and she
died, and no man regretted her.




The Story of Ciccu

From Sicilianische Mahrchen.


Once upon a time there lived a man who had three sons. The eldest was
called Peppe, the second Alfin, and the youngest Ciccu. They were all
very poor, and at last things got so bad that they really had not enough
to eat. So the father called his sons, and said to them, ' My dear boys,
I am too old to work any more, and there is nothing left for me but to
beg in the streets.'

'No, no!' exclaimed his sons; 'that you shall never do. Rather, if it
must be, would we do it ourselves. But we have thought of a better plan
than that.'

'What is it?' asked the father.

'Well, we will take you in the forest, where you shall cut wood, and
then we will bind it up in bundles and sell it in the town.' So their
father let them do as they said, and they all made their way into the
forest; and as the old man was weak from lack of food his sons took it
in turns to carry him on their backs. Then they built a little hut where
they might take shelter, and set to work. Every morning early the father
cut his sticks, and the sons bound them in bundles, and carried them to
the town, bringing back the food the old man so much needed.

Some months passed in this way, and then the father suddenly fell ill,
and knew that the time had come when he must die. He bade his sons fetch
a lawyer, so that he might make his will, and when the man arrived he
explained his wishes.

'I have,' said he, 'a little house in the village, and over it grows a
fig-tree. The house I leave to my sons, who are to live in it together;
the fig-tree I divide as follows. To my son Peppe I leave the branches.
To my son Alfin I leave the trunk. To my son Ciccu I leave the fruit.
Besides the house and tree, I have an old coverlet, which I leave to
my eldest son. And an old purse, which I leave to my second son. And a
horn, which I leave to my youngest son. And now farewell.'

Thus speaking, he laid himself down, and died quietly. The brothers wept
bitterly for their father, whom they loved, and when they had buried him
they began to talk over their future lives. 'What shall we do now?' said
they. 'Shall we live in the wood, or go back to the village?' And they
made up their minds to stay where they were and continue to earn their
living by selling firewood.

One very hot evening, after they had been working hard all day, they
fell asleep under a tree in front of the hut. And as they slept there
came by three fairies, who stopped to look at them.

'What fine fellows!' said one. 'Let us give them a present.'

'Yes, what shall it be?' asked another.

'This youth has a coverlet over him,' said the first fairy. 'When
he wraps it round him, and wishes himself in any place, he will find
himself there in an instant.'

Then said the second fairy: 'This youth has a purse in his hand. I will
promise that it shall always give him as much gold as he asks for.'

Last came the turn of the third fairy. 'This one has a horn slung round
him. When he blows at the small end the seas shall be covered with
ships. And if he blows at the wide end they shall all be sunk in the
waves.' So they vanished, without knowing that Ciccu had been awake and
heard all they said.

The next day, when they were all cutting wood, he said to his brothers,
'That old coverlet and the purse are no use to you; I wish you would
give them to me. I have a fancy for them, for the sake of old times.'
Now Peppe and Alfin were very fond of Ciccu, and never refused him
anything, so they let him have the coverlet and the purse without a
word. When he had got them safely Ciccu went on, 'Dear brothers, I
am tired of the forest. I want to live in the town, and work at some
trade.'

'O Ciccu! stay with us,' they cried. 'We are very happy here; and who
knows how we shall get on elsewhere?'

'We can always try,' answered Ciccu; 'and if times are bad we can come
back here and take up wood-cutting.' So saying he picked up his bundle
of sticks, and his brothers did the same.


But when they reached the town they found that the market was
overstocked with firewood, and they did not sell enough to buy
themselves a dinner, far less to get any food to carry home. They were
wondering sadly what they should do when Ciccu said, 'Come with me to
the inn and let us have something to eat.' They were so hungry by this
time that they did not care much whether they paid for it or not, so
they followed Ciccu, who gave his orders to the host. 'Bring us three
dishes, the nicest that you have, and a good bottle of wine.'

'Ciccu! Ciccu!' whispered his brothers, horrified at this extravagance,
'are you mad? How do you ever mean to pay for it?'

'Let me alone,' replied Ciccu; 'I know what I am about.' And when they
had finished their dinner Ciccu told the others to go on, and he would
wait to pay the bill.

The brothers hurried on, without needing to be told twice, 'for,'
thought they, 'he has no money, and of course there will be a row.'

When they were out of sight Ciccu asked the landlord how much he owed,
and then said to his purse, 'Dear purse, give me, I pray you, six
florins,' and instantly six florins were in the purse. Then he paid the
bill and joined his brothers.

'How did you manage?' they asked.

'Never you mind,' answered he. 'I have paid every penny,' and no more
would he say. But the other two were very uneasy, for they felt sure
something must be wrong, and the sooner they parted company with Ciccu
the better. Ciccu understood what they were thinking, and, drawing forty
gold pieces from his pocket, he held out twenty to each, saying, 'Take
these and turn them to good account. I am going away to seek my own
fortune.' Then he embraced them, and struck down another road.

He wandered on for many days, till at length he came to the town where
the king had his court. The first thing Ciccu did was to order himself
some fine clothes, and then buy a grand house, just opposite the palace.

Next he locked his door, and ordered a shower of gold to cover the
staircase, and when this was done, the door was flung wide open, and
everyone came and peeped at the shining golden stairs. Lastly the rumour
of these wonders reached the ears of the king, who left his palace to
behold these splendours with his own eyes. And Ciccu received him with
all respect, and showed him over the house.

When the king went home he told such stories of what he had seen that
his wife and daughter declared that they must go and see them too. So
the king sent to ask Ciccu's leave, and Ciccu answered that if the queen
and the princess would be pleased to do him such great honour he would
show them anything they wished. Now the princess was as beautiful as the
sun, and when Ciccu looked upon her his heart went out to her, and he
longed to have her to wife. The princess saw what was passing in his
mind, and how she could make use of it to satisfy her curiosity as to
the golden stairs; so she praised him and flattered him, and put cunning
questions, till at length Ciccu's head was quite turned, and he told her
the whole story of the fairies and their gifts. Then she begged him to
lend her the purse for a few days, so that she could have one made like
it, and so great was the love he had for her that he gave it to her at
once.

The princess returned to the palace, taking with her the purse, which
she had not the smallest intention of ever restoring to Ciccu. Very
soon Ciccu had spent all the money he had by him, and could get no more
without the help of his purse. Of course, he went at once to the king's
daughter, and asked her if she had done with it, but she put him off
with some excuse, and told him to come back next day. The next day it
was the same thing, and the next, till a great rage filled Ciccu's heart
instead of the love that had been there. And when night came he took
in his hand a thick stick, wrapped himself in the coverlet, and wished
himself in the chamber of the princess. The princess was asleep, but
Ciccu seized her arm and pulled her out of bed, and beat her till she
gave back the purse. Then he took up the coverlet, and wished he was
safe in his own house.

No sooner had he gone than the princess hastened to her father and
complained of her sufferings. Then the king rose up in a fury, and
commanded Ciccu to be brought before him. 'You richly deserve death,'
said he, 'but I will allow you to live if you will instantly hand over
to me the coverlet, the purse, and the horn.'

What could Ciccu do? Life was sweet, and he was in the power of the
king; so he gave up silently his ill-gotten goods, and was as poor as
when he was a boy.

While he was wondering how he was to live it suddenly came into his mind
that this was the season for the figs to ripen, and he said to himself,
'I will go and see if the tree has borne well.' So he set off
home, where his brothers still lived, and found them living very
uncomfortably, for they had spent all their money, and did not know
how to make any more. However, he was pleased to see that the fig-tree
looked in splendid condition, and was full of fruit. He ran and fetched
a basket, and was just feeling the figs, to make sure which of them were
ripe, when his brother Peppe called to him, 'Stop! The figs of course
are yours, but the branches they grow on are mine, and I forbid you to
touch them.'

Ciccu did not answer, but set a ladder against the tree, so that he
could reach the topmost branches, and had his foot already on the first
rung when he heard the voice of his brother Alfin: 'Stop! the trunk
belongs to me, and I forbid you to touch it!'

Then they began to quarrel violently, and there seemed no chance that
they would ever cease, till one of them said, 'Let us go before a
judge.' The others agreed, and when they had found a man whom they could
trust Ciccu told him the whole story.

'This is my verdict,' said the judge. 'The figs in truth belong to
you, but you cannot pluck them without touching both the trunk and the
branches. Therefore you must give your first basketful to your brother
Peppe, as the price of his leave to put your ladder against the tree;
and the second basketful to your brother Alfin, for leave to shake his
boughs. The rest you can keep for yourself.'

And the brothers were contented, and returned home, saying one to the
other, 'We will each of us send a basket of figs to the king. Perhaps
he will give us something in return, and if he does we will divide it
faithfully between us.' So the best figs were carefully packed in a
basket, and Peppe set out with it to the castle.

On the road he met a little old man who stopped and said to him, 'What
have you got there, my fine fellow?'

'What is that to you?' was the answer; 'mind your own business.' But
the old man only repeated his question, and Peppe, to get rid of him,
exclaimed in anger, 'Dirt.'

'Good,' replied the old man; 'dirt you have said, and dirt let it be.'

Peppe only tossed his head and went on his way till he got to the
castle, where he knocked at the door. 'I have a basket of lovely figs
for the king,' he said to the servant who opened it, 'if his majesty
will be graciously pleased to accept them with my humble duty.'

The king loved figs, and ordered Peppe to be admitted to his presence,
and a silver dish to be brought on which to put the figs. When Peppe
uncovered his basket sure enough a layer of beautiful purple figs met
the king's eyes, but underneath there was nothing but dirt. 'How dare
you play me such a trick?' shrieked the king in a rage. 'Take him away,
and give him fifty lashes.' This was done, and Peppe returned home, sore
and angry, but determined to say nothing about his adventure. And when
his brothers asked him what had happened he only answered, 'When we have
all three been I will tell you.'

A few days after this more figs were ready for plucking, and Alfin
in his turn set out for the palace. He had not gone far down the road
before he met the old man, who asked him what he had in his basket.

'Horns,' answered Alfin, shortly.

'Good,' replied the old man; 'horns you have said, and horns let it be.'

When Alfin reached the castle he knocked at the door and said to the
servant: 'Here is a basket of lovely figs, if his majesty will be good
enough to accept them with my humble duty.'

The king commanded that Alfin should be admitted to his presence, and a
silver dish to be brought on which to lay the figs. When the basket
was uncovered some beautiful purple figs lay on the top, but underneath
there was nothing but horns. Then the king was beside himself with
passion, and screamed out, 'Is this a plot to mock me? Take him away,
and give him a hundred and fifty lashes!' So Alfin went sadly home, but
would not tell anything about his adventures, only saying grimly, 'Now
it is Ciccu's turn.'

Ciccu had to wait a little before he gathered the last figs on the tree,
and these were not nearly so good as the first set. However, he plucked
them, as they had agreed, and set out for the king's palace. The old man
was still on the road, and he came up and said to Ciccu, 'What have you
got in that basket?'

'Figs for the king,' answered he.

'Let me have a peep,' and Ciccu lifted the lid. 'Oh, do give me one, I
am so fond of figs,' begged the little man.

'I am afraid if I do that the hole will show,' replied Ciccu, but as he
was very good-natured he gave him one. The old man ate it greedily and
kept the stalk in his hand, and then asked for another and another and
another till he had eaten half the basketful. 'But there are not enough
left to take to the king,' murmured Ciccu.

'Don't be anxious,' said the old man, throwing the stalks back into
the basket; 'just go on and carry the basket to the castle, and it will
bring you luck.'

Ciccu did not much like it; however he went on his way, and with a
trembling heart rang the castle bell. 'Here are some lovely figs for
the king,' said he, 'if his majesty will graciously accept them with my
humble duty.'

When the king was told that there was another man with a basket of figs
he cried out, 'Oh, have him in, have him in! I suppose it is a wager!'
But Ciccu uncovered the basket, and there lay a pile of beautiful ripe
figs. And the king was delighted, and emptied them himself on the silver
dish, and gave five florins to Ciccu, and offered besides to take him
into his service. Ciccu accepted gratefully, but said he must first
return home and give the five florins to his brothers.

When he got home Peppe spoke: 'Now we will see what we each have got
from the king. I myself received from him fifty lashes.'

'And I a hundred and fifty,' added Alfin.

'And I five florins and some sweets, which you can divide between you,
for the king has taken me into his service.' Then Ciccu went back to the
Court and served the king, and the king loved him.

The other two brothers heard that Ciccu had become quite an important
person, and they grew envious, and thought how they could put him to
shame. At last they came to the king and said to him, 'O king! your
palace is beautiful indeed, but to be worthy of you it lacks one
thing--the sword of the Man-eater.'

'How can I get it?' asked the king.

'Oh, Ciccu can get it for you; ask him.'

So the king sent for Ciccu and said to him, 'Ciccu, you must at any
price manage to get the sword of the Man-eater.'

Ciccu was very much surprised at this sudden command, and he walked
thoughtfully away to the stables and began to stroke his favourite
horse, saying to himself, 'Ah, my pet, we must bid each other good-bye,
for the king has sent me away to get the sword of the Maneater.' Now
this horse was not like other horses, for it was a talking horse, and
knew a great deal about many things, so it answered, 'Fear nothing, and
do as I tell you. Beg the king to give you fifty gold pieces and leave
to ride me, and the rest will be easy.' Ciccu believed what the horse
said, and prayed the king to grant him what he asked. Then the two
friends set out, but the horse chose what roads he pleased, and directed
Ciccu in everything.

It took them many days' hard riding before they reached the country
where the Man-eater lived, and then the horse told Ciccu to stop a group
of old women who were coming chattering through the wood, and offer them
each a shilling if they would collect a number of mosquitos and tie
them up in a bag. When the bag was full Ciccu put it on his shoulder
and stole into the house of the Man-eater (who had gone to look for his
dinner) and let them all out in his bedroom. He himself hid carefully
under the bed and waited. The Man-eater came in late, very tired with
his long walk, and flung himself on the bed, placing his sword with its
shining blade by his side. Scarcely had he lain down than the mosquitos
began to buzz about and bite him, and he rolled from side to side trying
to catch them, which he never could do, though they always seemed to
be close to his nose. He was so busy over the mosquitos that he did
not hear Ciccu steal softly out, or see him catch up the sword. But the
horse heard and stood ready at the door, and as Ciccu came flying down
the stairs and jumped on his back he sped away like the wind, and never
stopped till they arrived at the king's palace.

The king had suffered much pain in his absence, thinking that if the
Man-eater ate Ciccu, it would be all his fault. And he was so overjoyed
to have him safe that he almost forgot the sword which he had sent him
to bring. But the two brothers did not love Ciccu any better because
he had succeeded when they hoped he would have failed, and one day they
spoke to the king. 'It is all very well for Ciccu to have got possession
of the sword, but it would have been far more to your majesty's honour
if he had captured the Man-eater himself.' The king thought upon these
words, and at last he said to Ciccu, 'Ciccu, I shall never rest until
you bring me back the Man-eater himself. You may have any help you like,
but somehow or other you must manage to do it.' Ciccu felt very much
cast, down at these words, and went to the stable to ask advice of his
friend the horse. 'Fear nothing,' said the horse; 'just say you want me
and fifty pieces of gold.' Ciccu did as he was bid, and the two set out
together.

When they reached the country of the Man-eater, Ciccu made all the
church bells toll and a proclamation to be made. 'Ciccu, the servant of
the king, is dead.' The Man-eater soon heard what everyone was saying,
and was glad in his heart, for he thought, 'Well, it is good news that
the thief who stole my sword is dead.' But Ciccu bought an axe and a
saw, and cut down a pine tree in the nearest wood, and began to hew it
into planks.

'What are you doing in my wood?' asked the Maneater, coming up.


'Noble lord,' answered Ciccu, 'I am making a coffin for the body of
Ciccu, who is dead.'

'Don't be in a hurry,' answered the Man-eater, who of course did not
know whom he was talking to, 'and perhaps I can help you;' and they set
to work sawing and fitting, and very soon the coffin was finished.

Then Ciccu scratched his ear thoughtfully, and cried, 'Idiot that I am!
I never took any measures. How am I to know if it is big enough? But now
I come to think of it, Ciccu was about your size. I wonder if you would
be so good as just to put yourself in the coffin, and see if there is
enough room.'

'Oh, delighted!' said the Man-eater, and laid himself at full length in
the coffin. Ciccu clapped on the lid, put a strong cord round it, tied
it fast on his horse, and rode back to the king. And when the king saw
that he really had brought back the Man-eater, he commanded a huge iron
chest to be brought, and locked the coffin up inside.

Just about this time the queen died, and soon after the king thought he
should like to marry again. He sought everywhere, but he could not hear
of any princess that took his fancy. Then the two envious brothers came
to him and said, 'O king! there is but one woman that is worthy of being
your wife, and that is she who is the fairest in the whole world.'

'But where can I find her?' asked the king

'Oh, Ciccu will know, and he will bring her to you.'

Now the king had got so used to depending on Ciccu, that he really
believed he could do everything. So he sent for him and said, 'Ciccu,
unless within eight days you bring me the fairest in the whole world, I
will have you hewn into a thousand pieces.' This mission seemed to Ciccu
a hundred times worse than either of the others, and with tears in his
eyes he took his way to the stables.

'Cheer up,' laughed the horse; 'tell the king you must have some bread
and honey, and a purse of gold, and leave the rest to me.'

Ciccu did as he was bid, and they started at a gallop.

After they had ridden some way, they saw a swarm of bees lying on the
ground, so hungry and weak that they were unable to fly. 'Get down, and
give the poor things some honey,' said the horse, and Ciccu dismounted.
By-and-bye they came to a stream, on the bank of which was a fish,
flapping feebly about in its efforts to reach the water. 'Jump down, and
throw the fish into the water; he will be useful to us,' and Ciccu did
so. Farther along the hillside they saw an eagle whose leg was caught
in a snare. 'Go and free that eagle from the snare; he will be useful to
us; ' and in a moment the eagle was soaring up into the sky.

At length they came to the castle where the fairest in the world lived
with her parents. Then said the horse, 'You must get down and sit upon
that stone, for I must enter the castle alone. Directly you see me come
tearing by with the princess on my back, jump up behind, and hold her
tight, so that she does not escape you. If you fail to do this, we are
both lost.' Ciccu seated himself on the stone, and the horse went on to
the courtyard of the castle, where he began to trot round in a graceful
and elegant manner. Soon a crowd collected first to watch him and then
to pat him, and the king and queen and princess came with the rest.
The eyes of the fairest in the world brightened as she looked, and she
sprang on the horse's saddle, crying, 'Oh, I really must ride him a
little!' But the horse made one bound forward, and the princess was
forced to hold tight by his mane, lest she should fall off. And as they
dashed past the stone where Ciccu was waiting for them, he swung himself
up and held her round the waist. As he put his arms round her waist, the
fairest in the world unwound the veil from her head and cast it to the
ground, and then she drew a ring from her finger and flung it into the
stream. But she said nothing, and they rode on fast, fast.

The king of Ciccu's country was watching for them from the top of a
tower, and when he saw in the distance a cloud of dust, he ran down
to the steps so as to be ready to receive them. Bowing low before the
fairest in the world, he spoke: 'Noble lady, will you do me the honour
to become my wife?'

But she answered, 'That can only be when Ciccu brings me the veil that I
let fall on my way here.'

And the king turned to Ciccu and said, 'Ciccu, if you do not find the
veil at once, you shall lose your head.'

Ciccu, who by this time had hoped for a little peace, felt his heart
sink at this fresh errand, and he went into the stable to complain to
the faithful horse.

'It will be all right,' answered the horse when he had heard his tale;
'just take enough food for the day for both of us, and then get on my
back.'

They rode back all the way they had come till they reached the place
where they had found the eagle caught in the snare; then the horse bade
Ciccu to call three times on the king of the birds, and when he replied,
to beg him to fetch the veil which the fairest in the world had let
fall.

'Wait a moment,' answered a voice that seemed to come from somewhere
very high up indeed. 'An eagle is playing with it just now, but he will
be here with it in an instant;' and a few minutes after there was a
sound of wings, and an eagle came fluttering towards them with the veil
in his beak. And Ciccu saw it was the very same eagle that he had freed
from the snare. So he took the veil and rode back to the king.

Now the king was enchanted to see him so soon, and took the veil from
Ciccu and flung it over the princess, crying, 'Here is the veil you
asked for, so I claim you for my wife.'

'Not so fast,' answered she. 'I can never be your wife till Ciccu puts
on my finger the ring I threw into the stream. Ciccu, who was standing
by expecting something of the sort, bowed his head when he heard her
words, and went straight to the horse.

'Mount at once,' said the horse; 'this time it is very simple,' and he
carried Ciccu to the banks of the little stream. 'Now, call three times
on the emperor of the fishes, and beg him to restore you the ring that
the princess dropped.

Ciccu did as the horse told him, and a voice was heard in answer that
seemed to come from a very long way off.

'What is your will?' it asked; and Ciccu replied that he had been
commanded to bring back the ring that the princess had flung away, as
she rode past.

'A fish is playing with it just now,' replied the voice; 'however, you
shall have it without delay.'

And sure enough, very soon a little fish was seen rising to the surface
with the lost ring in his mouth. And Ciccu knew him to be the fish that
he had saved from death, and he took the ring and rode back with it to
the king.

'That is not enough,' exclaimed the princess when she saw the ring;
'before we can be man and wife, the oven must be heated for three days
and three nights, and Ciccu must jump in.' And the king forgot how Ciccu
had served him, and desired him to do as the princess had said.

This time Ciccu felt that no escape was possible, and he went to the
horse and laid his hand on his neck. 'Now it is indeed good-bye, and
there is no help to be got even from you,' and he told him what fate
awaited him.

But the horse said, 'Oh, never lose heart, but jump on my back, and make
me go till the foam flies in flecks all about me. Then get down, and
scrape off the foam with a knife. This you must rub all over you, and
when you are quite covered, you may suffer yourself to be cast into the
oven, for the fire will not hurt you, nor anything else.' And Ciccu did
exactly as the horse bade him, and went back to the king, and before the
eyes of the fairest in the world he sprang into the oven.

And when the fairest in the world saw what he had done, love entered
into her heart, and she said to the king, 'One thing more: before I can
be your wife, you must jump into the oven as Ciccu has done.'

'Willingly,' replied the king, stooping over the oven. But on the brink
he paused a moment and called to Ciccu, 'Tell me, Ciccu, how did you
manage to prevent the fire burning you?'

Now Ciccu could not forgive his master, whom he had served so
faithfully, for sending him to his death without a thought, so he
answered, 'I rubbed myself over with fat, and I am not even singed.'

When he heard these words, the king, whose head was full of the
princess, never stopped to inquire if they could be true, and smeared
himself over with fat, and sprang into the oven. And in a moment the
fire caught him, and he was burned up.

Then the fairest in the world held out her hand to Ciccu and smiled,
saying, 'Now we will be man and wife.' So Ciccu married the fairest in
the world, and became king of the country.




Don Giovanni De La Fortuna

Sicilianische Mahrchen


There was once a man whose name was Don Giovanni de la Fortuna, and he
lived in a beautiful house that his father had built, and spent a great
deal of money. Indeed, he spent so much that very soon there was none
left, and Don Giovanni, instead of being a rich man with everything
he could wish for, was forced to put on the dress of a pilgrim, and to
wander from place to place begging his bread.

One day he was walking down a broad road when he was stopped by a
handsome man he had never seen before, who, little as Don Giovanni knew
it, was the devil himself.

'Would you like to be rich,' asked the devil, 'and to lead a pleasant
life?'

'Yes, of course I should,' replied the Don.

'Well, here is a purse; take it and say to it, "Dear purse, give me some
money," and you will get as much as you can want But the charm will only
work if you promise to remain three years, three months, and three days
without washing and without combing and without shaving your beard or
changing your clothes. If you do all this faithfully, when the time is
up you shall keep the purse for yourself, and I will let you off any
other conditions.'

Now Don Giovanni was a man who never troubled his head about the future.
He did not once think how very uncomfortable he should be all those
three years, but only that he should be able, by means of the purse,
to have all sorts of things he had been obliged to do without; so he
joyfully put the purse in his pocket and went on his way. He soon began
to ask for money for the mere pleasure of it, and there was always as
much as he needed. For a little while he even forgot to notice how dirty
he was getting, but this did not last long, for his hair became matted
with dirt and hung over his eyes, and his pilgrim's dress was a mass of
horrible rags and tatters.

He was in this state when, one morning, he happened to be passing a fine
palace; and, as the sun was shining bright and warm, he sat down on the
steps and tried to shake off some of the dust which he had picked up on
the road. But in a few minutes a maid saw him, and said to her master,
'I pray you, sir, to drive away that beggar who is sitting on the steps,
or he will fill the whole house with his dirt.'

So the master went out and called from some distance off, for he was
really afraid to go near the man, 'You filthy beggar, leave my house at
once!'

'You need not be so rude,' said Don Giovanni; 'I am not a beggar, and if
I chose I could force you and your wife to leave your house.'

'What is that you can do?' laughed the gentleman.

'Will you sell me your house?' asked Don Giovanni. 'I will buy it from
you on the spot.'

'Oh, the dirty creature is quite mad!' thought the gentleman. 'I shall
just accept his offer for a joke.' And aloud he said: ' All right;
follow me, and we will go to a lawyer and get him to make a contract.'
And Don Giovanni followed him, and an agreement was drawn up by which
the house was to be sold at once, and a large sum of money paid down in
eight days. Then the Don went to an inn, where he hired two rooms, and,
standing in one of them, said to his purse, ' Dear purse, fill this room
with gold;' and when the eight days were up it was so full you could not
have put in another sovereign.

When the owner of the house came to take away his money Don Giovanni
led him into the room and said: 'There, just pocket what you want.' The
gentleman stared with open mouth at the astonishing sight; but he had
given his word to sell the house, so he took his money, as he was told,
and went away with his wife to look for some place to live in. And Don
Giovanni left the inn and dwelt in the beautiful rooms, where his rags
and dirt looked sadly out of place. And every day these got worse and
worse.

By-and-bye the fame of his riches reached the ears of the king, and, as
he himself was always in need of money, he sent for Don Giovanni, as he
wished to borrow a large sum. Don Giovanni readily agreed to lend him
what he wanted, and sent next day a huge waggon laden with sacks of
gold.

'Who can he be?' thought the king to himself. 'Why, he is much richer
than I!'

The king took as much as he had need of; then ordered the rest to be
returned to Don Giovanni, who refused to receive it, saying, 'Tell his
majesty I am much hurt at his proposal. I shall certainly not take
back that handful of gold, and, if he declines to accept it, keep it
yourself.'

The servant departed and delivered the message, and the king wondered
more than ever how anyone could be so rich. At last he spoke to the
queen: 'Dear wife, this man has done me a great service, and has,
besides, behaved like a gentleman in not allowing me to send back the
money. I wish to give him the hand of our eldest daughter.'

The queen was quite pleased at this idea, and again messenger was sent
to Don Giovanni, offering him the hand of the eldest princess.


'His majesty is too good,' he replied. 'I can only humbly accept the
honour.'

The messenger took back this answer, but a second time returned with the
request that Don Giovanni would present them with his picture, so that
they might know what sort of a person to expect. But when it came, and
the princess saw the horrible figure, she screamed out, 'What! marry
this dirty beggar? Never, never!'

'Ah, child,' answered the king, 'how could I ever guess that the rich
Don Giovanni would ever look like that? But I have passed my royal word,
and I cannot break it, so there is no help for you.'

'No, father; you may cut off my head, if you choose, but marry that
horrible beggar--I never will!'

And the queen took her part, and reproached her husband bitterly for
wishing his daughter to marry a creature like that.

Then the youngest daughter spoke: 'Dear father, do not look so sad. As
you have given your word, I will marry Don Giovanni.' The king fell on
her neck, and thanked her and kissed her, but the queen and the elder
girl had nothing for her but laughs and jeers.

So it was settled, and then the king bade one of his lords go to
Don Giovanni and ask him when the wedding day was to be, so that the
princess might make ready.

'Let it be in two months,' answered Don Giovanni, for the time was
nearly up that the devil had fixed, and he wanted a whole month to
himself to wash off the dirt of the past three years.

The very minute that the compact with the devil had come to an end his
beard was shaved, his hair was cut, and his rags were burned, and day
and night he lay in a bath of clear warm water. At length he felt he was
clean again, and he put on splendid clothes, and hired a beautiful ship,
and arrived in state at the king's palace.

The whole of the royal family came down to the ship to receive him, and
the whole way the queen and the elder princess teased the sister about
the dirty husband she was going to have. But when they saw how handsome
he really was their hearts were filled with envy and anger, so that
their eyes were blinded, and they fell over into the sea and were
drowned. And the youngest daughter rejoiced in the good luck that had
come to her, and they had a splendid wedding when the days of mourning
for her mother and sister were ended.

Soon after the old king died, and Don Giovanni became king. And he was
rich and happy to the end of his days, for he loved his wife, and his
purse always gave him money.







THE YELLOW FAIRY BOOK




THE CAT AND THE MOUSE IN PARTNERSHIP

A cat had made acquaintance with a mouse, and had spoken so much of
the great love and friendship she felt for her, that at last the Mouse
consented to live in the same house with her, and to go shares in the
housekeeping. 'But we must provide for the winter or else we shall
suffer hunger,' said the Cat. 'You, little Mouse, cannot venture
everywhere in case you run at last into a trap.' This good counsel was
followed, and a little pot of fat was bought. But they did not know
where to put it. At length, after long consultation, the Cat said, 'I
know of no place where it could be better put than in the church. No one
will trouble to take it away from there. We will hide it in a corner,
and we won't touch it till we are in want.' So the little pot was placed
in safety; but it was not long before the Cat had a great longing for
it, and said to the Mouse, 'I wanted to tell you, little Mouse, that my
cousin has a little son, white with brown spots, and she wants me to be
godmother to it. Let me go out to-day, and do you take care of the house
alone.'

'Yes, go certainly,' replied the Mouse, 'and when you eat anything
good, think of me; I should very much like a drop of the red christening
wine.'

But it was all untrue. The Cat had no cousin, and had not been asked to
be godmother. She went straight to the church, slunk to the little pot
of fat, began to lick it, and licked the top off. Then she took a walk
on the roofs of the town, looked at the view, stretched herself out in
the sun, and licked her lips whenever she thought of the little pot of
fat. As soon as it was evening she went home again.

'Ah, here you are again!' said the Mouse; 'you must certainly have had
an enjoyable day.'

'It went off very well,' answered the Cat.

'What was the child's name?' asked the Mouse.

'Top Off,' said the Cat drily.

'Topoff!' echoed the Mouse, 'it is indeed a wonderful and curious name.
Is it in your family?'

'What is there odd about it?' said the Cat. 'It is not worse than
Breadthief, as your godchild is called.'

Not long after this another great longing came over the Cat. She said to
the Mouse, 'You must again be kind enough to look after the house alone,
for I have been asked a second time to stand godmother, and as this
child has a white ring round its neck, I cannot refuse.'

The kind Mouse agreed, but the Cat slunk under the town wall to the
church, and ate up half of the pot of fat. 'Nothing tastes better,' said
she, 'than what one eats by oneself,' and she was very much pleased with
her day's work. When she came home the Mouse asked, 'What was this child
called?'

'Half Gone,' answered the Cat.

'Halfgone! what a name! I have never heard it in my life. I don't
believe it is in the calendar.'

Soon the Cat's mouth began to water once more after her licking
business. 'All good things in threes,' she said to the Mouse; 'I have
again to stand godmother. The child is quite black, and has very white
paws, but not a single white hair on its body. This only happens once in
two years, so you will let me go out?'

'Topoff! Halfgone!' repeated the Mouse, 'they are such curious names;
they make me very thoughtful.'

'Oh, you sit at home in your dark grey coat and your long tail,' said
the Cat, 'and you get fanciful. That comes of not going out in the day.'

The Mouse had a good cleaning out while the Cat was gone, and made the
house tidy; but the greedy Cat ate the fat every bit up.

'When it is all gone one can be at rest,' she said to herself, and at
night she came home sleek and satisfied. The Mouse asked at once after
the third child's name.

'It won't please you any better,' said the Cat, 'he was called Clean
Gone.'

'Cleangone!' repeated the Mouse. 'I do not believe that name has been
printed any more than the others. Cleangone! What can it mean?' She
shook her head, curled herself up, and went to sleep.

From this time on no one asked the Cat to stand godmother; but when
the winter came and there was nothing to be got outside, the Mouse
remembered their provision and said, 'Come, Cat, we will go to our pot
of fat which we have stored away; it will taste very good.'

'Yes, indeed,' answered the Cat; 'it will taste as good to you as if
you stretched your thin tongue out of the window.'

They started off, and when they reached it they found the pot in its
place, but quite empty!

'Ah,' said the Mouse,' 'now I know what has happened! It has all come
out! You are a true friend to me! You have eaten it all when you stood
godmother; first the top off, then half of it gone, then----'

'Will you be quiet!' screamed the Cat. 'Another word and I will eat you
up.'

'Clean-gone' was already on the poor Mouse's tongue, and scarcely was it
out than the Cat made a spring at her, seized and swallowed her.

You see that is the way of the world.




THE SIX SWANS

A king was once hunting in a great wood, and he hunted the game so
eagerly that none of his courtiers could follow him. When evening came
on he stood still and looked round him, and he saw that he had quite
lost himself. He sought a way out, but could find none. Then he saw an
old woman with a shaking head coming towards him; but she was a witch.

'Good woman,' he said to her, 'can you not show me the way out of the
wood?'

'Oh, certainly, Sir King,' she replied, 'I can quite well do that, but
on one condition, which if you do not fulfil you will never get out of
the wood, and will die of hunger.'

'What is the condition?' asked the King.

'I have a daughter,' said the old woman, 'who is so beautiful that she
has not her equal in the world, and is well fitted to be your wife; if
you will make her lady-queen I will show you the way out of the wood.'

The King in his anguish of mind consented, and the old woman led him
to her little house where her daughter was sitting by the fire. She
received the King as if she were expecting him, and he saw that she was
certainly very beautiful; but she did not please him, and he could not
look at her without a secret feeling of horror. As soon as he had lifted
the maiden on to his horse the old woman showed him the way, and the
King reached his palace, where the wedding was celebrated.

The King had already been married once, and had by his first wife seven
children, six boys and one girl, whom he loved more than anything in the
world. And now, because he was afraid that their stepmother might not
treat them well and might do them harm, he put them in a lonely castle
that stood in the middle of a wood. It lay so hidden, and the way to it
was so hard to find, that he himself could not have found it out had
not a wise-woman given him a reel of thread which possessed a marvellous
property: when he threw it before him it unwound itself and showed him
the way. But the King went so often to his dear children that the Queen
was offended at his absence. She grew curious, and wanted to know what
he had to do quite alone in the wood. She gave his servants a great deal
of money, and they betrayed the secret to her, and also told her of the
reel which alone could point out the way. She had no rest now till she
had found out where the King guarded the reel, and then she made some
little white shirts, and, as she had learnt from her witch-mother, sewed
an enchantment in each of them.

And when the King had ridden off she took the little shirts and went
into the wood, and the reel showed her the way. The children, who saw
someone coming in the distance, thought it was their dear father coming
to them, and sprang to meet him very joyfully. Then she threw over each
one a little shirt, which when it had touched their bodies changed them
into swans, and they flew away over the forest. The Queen went home
quite satisfied, and thought she had got rid of her step-children; but
the girl had not run to meet her with her brothers, and she knew nothing
of her.

The next day the King came to visit his children, but he found no one
but the girl.

'Where are your brothers?' asked the King.

'Alas! dear father,' she answered, 'they have gone away and left me all
alone.' And she told him that looking out of her little window she had
seen her brothers flying over the wood in the shape of swans, and she
showed him the feathers which they had let fall in the yard, and which
she had collected. The King mourned, but he did not think that the Queen
had done the wicked deed, and as he was afraid the maiden would also be
taken from him, he wanted to take her with him. But she was afraid of
the stepmother, and begged the King to let her stay just one night
more in the castle in the wood. The poor maiden thought, 'My home is no
longer here; I will go and seek my brothers.' And when night came she
fled away into the forest. She ran all through the night and the next
day, till she could go no farther for weariness. Then she saw a little
hut, went in, and found a room with six little beds. She was afraid to
lie down on one, so she crept under one of them, lay on the hard floor,
and was going to spend the night there. But when the sun had set she
heard a noise, and saw six swans flying in at the window. They stood on
the floor and blew at one another, and blew all their feathers off, and
their swan-skin came off like a shirt. Then the maiden recognised her
brothers, and overjoyed she crept out from under the bed. Her brothers
were not less delighted than she to see their little sister again, but
their joy did not last long.

'You cannot stay here,' they said to her. 'This is a den of robbers; if
they were to come here and find you they would kill you.'

'Could you not protect me?' asked the little sister.

'No,' they answered, 'for we can only lay aside our swan skins for a
quarter of an hour every evening. For this time we regain our human
forms, but then we are changed into swans again.'

Then the little sister cried and said, 'Can you not be freed?'

'Oh, no,' they said, 'the conditions are too hard. You must not speak or
laugh for six years, and must make in that time six shirts for us out of
star-flowers. If a single word comes out of your mouth, all your labour
is vain.' And when the brothers had said this the quarter of an hour
came to an end, and they flew away out of the window as swans.

But the maiden had determined to free her brothers even if it should
cost her her life. She left the hut, went into the forest, climbed
a tree, and spent the night there. The next morning she went out,
collected star-flowers, and began to sew. She could speak to no one, and
she had no wish to laugh, so she sat there, looking only at her work.

When she had lived there some time, it happened that the King of the
country was hunting in the forest, and his hunters came to the tree on
which the maiden sat. They called to her and said 'Who are you?'

But she gave no answer.

'Come down to us,' they said, 'we will do you no harm.'

But she shook her head silently. As they pressed her further with
questions, she threw them the golden chain from her neck. But they did
not leave off, and she threw them her girdle, and when this was no use,
her garters, and then her dress. The huntsmen would not leave her alone,
but climbed the tree, lifted the maiden down, and led her to the King.
The King asked, 'Who are you? What are you doing up that tree?'

But she answered nothing.

He asked her in all the languages he knew, but she remained as dumb as
a fish. Because she was so beautiful, however, the King's heart was
touched, and he was seized with a great love for her. He wrapped her up
in his cloak, placed her before him on his horse, and brought her to his
castle. There he had her dressed in rich clothes, and her beauty shone
out as bright as day, but not a word could be drawn from her. He set her
at table by his side, and her modest ways and behaviour pleased him
so much that he said, 'I will marry this maiden and none other in the
world,' and after some days he married her. But the King had a wicked
mother who was displeased with the marriage, and said wicked things of
the young Queen. 'Who knows who this girl is?' she said; 'she cannot
speak, and is not worthy of a king.'

After a year, when the Queen had her first child, the old mother took
it away from her. Then she went to the King and said that the Queen had
killed it. The King would not believe it, and would not allow any harm
to be done her. But she sat quietly sewing at the shirts and troubling
herself about nothing. The next time she had a child the wicked mother
did the same thing, but the King could not make up his mind to believe
her. He said, 'She is too sweet and good to do such a thing as that.
If she were not dumb and could defend herself, her innocence would be
proved.' But when the third child was taken away, and the Queen was
again accused, and could not utter a word in her own defence, the King
was obliged to give her over to the law, which decreed that she must
be burnt to death. When the day came on which the sentence was to be
executed, it was the last day of the six years in which she must not
speak or laugh, and now she had freed her dear brothers from the power
of the enchantment. The six shirts were done; there was only the left
sleeve wanting to the last.

When she was led to the stake, she laid the shirts on her arm, and as
she stood on the pile and the fire was about to be lighted, she looked
around her and saw six swans flying through the air. Then she knew
that her release was at hand and her heart danced for joy. The swans
fluttered round her, and hovered low so that she could throw the shirts
over them. When they had touched them the swan-skins fell off, and her
brothers stood before her living, well and beautiful. Only the youngest
had a swan's wing instead of his left arm. They embraced and kissed
each other, and the Queen went to the King, who was standing by in great
astonishment, and began to speak to him, saying, 'Dearest husband, now
I can speak and tell you openly that I am innocent and have been falsely
accused.'

She told him of the old woman's deceit, and how she had taken the three
children away and hidden them. Then they were fetched, to the great joy
of the King, and the wicked mother came to no good end.

But the King and the Queen with their six brothers lived many years in
happiness and peace.




THE DRAGON OF THE NORTH(2)

(2) 'Der Norlands Drache,' from Esthnische Mahrchen. Kreutzwald.

Very long ago, as old people have told me, there lived a terrible
monster, who came out of the North, and laid waste whole tracts
of country, devouring both men and beasts; and this monster was so
destructive that it was feared that unless help came no living creature
would be left on the face of the earth. It had a body like an ox, and
legs like a frog, two short fore-legs, and two long ones behind, and
besides that it had a tail like a serpent, ten fathoms in length. When
it moved it jumped like a frog, and with every spring it covered half a
mile of ground. Fortunately its habit, was to remain for several years
in the same place, and not to move on till the whole neighbourhood was
eaten up. Nothing could hunt it, because its whole body was covered with
scales, which were harder than stone or metal; its two great eyes shone
by night, and even by day, like the brightest lamps, and anyone who had
the ill luck to look into those eyes became as it were bewitched, and
was obliged to rush of his own accord into the monster's jaws. In this
way the Dragon was able to feed upon both men and beasts without the
least trouble to itself, as it needed not to move from the spot where it
was lying. All the neighbouring kings had offered rich rewards to
anyone who should be able to destroy the monster, either by force
or enchantment, and many had tried their luck, but all had miserably
failed. Once a great forest in which the Dragon lay had been set on
fire; the forest was burnt down, but the fire did not do the monster the
least harm. However, there was a tradition amongst the wise men of the
country that the Dragon might be overcome by one who possessed King
Solomon's signet-ring, upon which a secret writing was engraved. This
inscription would enable anyone who was wise enough to interpret it to
find out how the Dragon could be destroyed. Only no one knew where the
ring was hidden, nor was there any sorcerer or learned man to be found
who would be able to explain the inscription.

At last a young man, with a good heart and plenty of courage, set out to
search for the ring. He took his way towards the sunrising, because he
knew that all the wisdom of old time comes from the East. After some
years he met with a famous Eastern magician, and asked for his advice in
the matter. The magician answered:

'Mortal men have but little wisdom, and can give you no help, but the
birds of the air would be better guides to you if you could learn their
language. I can help you to understand it if you will stay with me a few
days.'

The youth thankfully accepted the magician's offer, and said, 'I cannot
now offer you any reward for your kindness, but should my undertaking
succeed your trouble shall be richly repaid.'

Then the magician brewed a powerful potion out of nine sorts of herbs
which he had gathered himself all alone by moonlight, and he gave the
youth nine spoonfuls of it daily for three days, which made him able to
understand the language of birds.

At parting the magician said to him. 'If you ever find Solomon's ring
and get possession of it, then come back to me, that I may explain the
inscription on the ring to you, for there is no one else in the world
who can do this.'

From that time the youth never felt lonely as he walked along; he always
had company, because he understood the language of birds; and in this
way he learned many things which mere human knowledge could never have
taught him. But time went on, and he heard nothing about the ring. It
happened one evening, when he was hot and tired with walking, and had
sat down under a tree in a forest to eat his supper, that he saw two
gaily-plumaged birds, that were strange to him, sitting at the top of
the tree talking to one another about him. The first bird said:

'I know that wandering fool under the tree there, who has come so far
without finding what he seeks. He is trying to find King Solomon's lost
ring.'

The other bird answered, 'He will have to seek help from the
Witch-maiden,(3) who will doubtless be able to put him on the right
track. If she has not got the ring herself, she knows well enough who
has it.'

(3) Hollenmadchen.


'But where is he to find the Witch-maiden?' said the first bird. 'She
has no settled dwelling, but is here to-day and gone to-morrow. He might
as well try to catch the wind.'

The other replied, 'I do not know, certainly, where she is at present,
but in three nights from now she will come to the spring to wash her
face, as she does every month when the moon is full, in order that
she may never grow old nor wrinkled, but may always keep the bloom of
youth.'

'Well,' said the first bird, 'the spring is not far from here. Shall we
go and see how it is she does it?'

'Willingly, if you like,' said the other.

The youth immediately resolved to follow the birds to the spring, only
two things made him uneasy: first, lest he might be asleep when the
birds went, and secondly, lest he might lose sight of them, since he had
not wings to carry him along so swiftly. He was too tired to keep awake
all night, yet his anxiety prevented him from sleeping soundly, and when
with the earliest dawn he looked up to the tree-top, he was glad to
see his feathered companions still asleep with their heads under their
wings. He ate his breakfast, and waited until the birds should start,
but they did not leave the place all day. They hopped about from one
tree to another looking for food, all day long until the evening, when
they went back to their old perch to sleep. The next day the same thing
happened, but on the third morning one bird said to the other, 'To-day
we must go to the spring to see the Witch-maiden wash her face.' They
remained on the tree till noon; then they flew away and went towards the
south. The young man's heart beat with anxiety lest he should lose sight
of his guides, but he managed to keep the birds in view until they again
perched upon a tree. The young man ran after them until he was quite
exhausted and out of breath, and after three short rests the birds at
length reached a small open space in the forest, on the edge of which
they placed themselves on the top of a high tree. When the youth had
overtaken them, he saw that there was a clear spring in the middle of
the space. He sat down at the foot of the tree upon which the birds
were perched, and listened attentively to what they were saying to each
other.

'The sun is not down yet,' said the first bird; 'we must wait yet awhile
till the moon rises and the maiden comes to the spring. Do you think she
will see that young man sitting under the tree?'

'Nothing is likely to escape her eyes, certainly not a young man, said
the other bird. 'Will the youth have the sense not to let himself be
caught in her toils?'

'We will wait,' said the first bird, 'and see how they get on together.'

The evening light had quite faded, and the full moon was already shining
down upon the forest, when the young man heard a slight rustling sound.
After a few moments there came out of the forest a maiden, gliding over
the grass so lightly that her feet seemed scarcely to touch the ground,
and stood beside the spring. The youth could not turn away his eyes
from the maiden, for he had never in his life seen a woman so beautiful.
Without seeming to notice anything, she went to the spring, looked up
to the full moon, then knelt down and bathed her face nine times, then
looked up to the moon again and walked nine times round the well, and as
she walked she sang this song:

          'Full-faced moon with light unshaded,
           Let my beauty ne'er be faded.
            Never let my cheek grow pale!
        While the moon is waning nightly,
           May the maiden bloom more brightly,
           May her freshness never fail!'

Then she dried her face with her long hair, and was about to go away,
when her eye suddenly fell upon the spot where the young man was
sitting, and she turned towards the tree. The youth rose and stood
waiting. Then the maiden said, 'You ought to have a heavy punishment
because you have presumed to watch my secret doings in the moonlight.
But I will forgive you this time, because you are a stranger and knew no
better. But you must tell me truly who you are and how you came to this
place, where no mortal has ever set foot before.'

The youth answered humbly: 'Forgive me, beautiful maiden, if I have
unintentionally offended you. I chanced to come here after long
wandering, and found a good place to sleep under this tree. At your
coming I did not know what to do, but stayed where I was, because I
thought my silent watching could not offend you.'

The maiden answered kindly, 'Come and spend this night with us. You will
sleep better on a pillow than on damp moss.'

The youth hesitated for a little, but presently he heard the birds
saying from the top of the tree, 'Go where she calls you, but take care
to give no blood, or you will sell your soul.' So the youth went with
her, and soon they reached a beautiful garden, where stood a splendid
house, which glittered in the moonlight as if it was all built out of
gold and silver. When the youth entered he found many splendid chambers,
each one finer than the last. Hundreds of tapers burnt upon golden
candlesticks, and shed a light like the brightest day. At length they
reached a chamber where a table was spread with the most costly dishes.
At the table were placed two chairs, one of silver, the other of gold.
The maiden seated herself upon the golden chair, and offered the silver
one to her companion. They were served by maidens dressed in white,
whose feet made no sound as they moved about, and not a word was spoken
during the meal. Afterwards the youth and the Witch-maiden conversed
pleasantly together, until a woman, dressed in red, came in to remind
them that it was bedtime. The youth was now shown into another room,
containing a silken bed with down cushions, where he slept delightfully,
yet he seemed to hear a voice near his bed which repeated to him,
'Remember to give no blood!'

The next morning the maiden asked him whether he would not like to
stay with her always in this beautiful place, and as he did not answer
immediately, she continued: 'You see how I always remain young and
beautiful, and I am under no one's orders, but can do just what I like,
so that I have never thought of marrying before. But from the moment I
saw you I took a fancy to you, so if you agree, we might be married and
might live together like princes, because I have great riches.'

The youth could not but be tempted with the beautiful maiden's offer,
but he remembered how the birds had called her the witch, and their
warning always sounded in his ears. Therefore he answered cautiously,
'Do not be angry, dear maiden, if I do not decide immediately on this
important matter. Give me a few days to consider before we come to an
understanding.'

'Why not?' answered the maiden. 'Take some weeks to consider if you
like, and take counsel with your own heart.' And to make the time
pass pleasantly, she took the youth over every part of her beautiful
dwelling, and showed him all her splendid treasures. But these treasures
were all produced by enchantment, for the maiden could make anything she
wished appear by the help of King Solomon's signet ring; only none of
these things remained fixed; they passed away like the wind without
leaving a trace behind. But the youth did not know this; he thought they
were all real.

One day the maiden took him into a secret chamber, where a little gold
box was standing on a silver table. Pointing to the box, she said, 'Here
is my greatest treasure, whose like is not to be found in the whole
world. It is a precious gold ring. When you marry me, I will give you
this ring as a marriage gift, and it will make you the happiest of
mortal men. But in order that our love may last for ever, you must give
me for the ring three drops of blood from the little finger of your left
hand.'

When the youth heard these words a cold shudder ran over him, for he
remembered that his soul was at stake. He was cunning enough, however,
to conceal his feelings and to make no direct answer, but he only asked
the maiden, as if carelessly, what was remarkable about the ring?

She answered, 'No mortal is able entirely to understand the power
of this ring, because no one thoroughly understands the secret signs
engraved upon it. But even with my half-knowledge I can work great
wonders. If I put the ring upon the little finger of my left hand, then
I can fly like a bird through the air wherever I wish to go. If I put
it on the third finger of my left hand I am invisible, and I can see
everything that passes around me, though no one can see me. If I put the
ring upon the middle finger of my left hand, then neither fire nor water
nor any sharp weapon can hurt me. If I put it on the forefinger of my
left hand, then I can with its help produce whatever I wish. I can in a
single moment build houses or anything I desire. Finally, as long as I
wear the ring on the thumb of my left hand, that hand is so strong that
it can break down rocks and walls. Besides these, the ring has other
secret signs which, as I said, no one can understand. No doubt it
contains secrets of great importance. The ring formerly belonged to King
Solomon, the wisest of kings, during whose reign the wisest men lived.
But it is not known whether this ring was ever made by mortal hands: it
is supposed that an angel gave it to the wise King.'

When the youth heard all this he determined to try and get possession of
the ring, though he did not quite believe in all its wonderful gifts.
He wished the maiden would let him have it in his hand, but he did not
quite like to ask her to do so, and after a while she put it back into
the box. A few days after they were again speaking of the magic ring,
and the youth said, 'I do not think it possible that the ring can have
all the power you say it has.'

Then the maiden opened the box and took the ring out, and it glittered
as she held it like the clearest sunbeam. She put it on the middle
finger of her left hand, and told the youth to take a knife and try as
hard as he could to cut her with it, for he would not be able to hurt
her. He was unwilling at first, but the maiden insisted. Then he tried,
at first only in play, and then seriously, to strike her with the knife,
but an invisible wall of iron seemed to be between them, and the maiden
stood before him laughing and unhurt. Then she put the ring on her third
finger, and in an instant she had vanished from his eyes. Presently she
was beside him again laughing, and holding the ring between her fingers.

'Do let me try,' said the youth, 'whether I can do these wonderful
things.'

The maiden, suspecting no treachery, gave him the magic ring.

The youth pretended to have forgotten what to do, and asked what finger
he must put the ring on so that no sharp weapon could hurt him?'

'Oh, the middle finger of your left hand,' the maiden answered,
laughing.

She took the knife and tried to strike the youth, and he even tried to
cut himself with it, but found it impossible. Then he asked the maiden
to show him how to split stones and rocks with the help of the ring. So
she led him into a courtyard where stood a great boulder-stone. 'Now,'
she said, 'put the ring upon the thumb of your left hand, and you will
see how strong that hand has become. The youth did so, and found to his
astonishment that with a single blow of his fist the stone flew into a
thousand pieces. Then the youth bethought him that he who does not use
his luck when he has it is a fool, and that this was a chance which once
lost might never return. So while they stood laughing at the shattered
stone he placed the ring, as if in play, upon the third finger of his
left hand.

'Now,' said the maiden, 'you are invisible to me until you take the ring
off again.'

But the youth had no mind to do that; on the contrary, he went farther
off, then put the ring on the little finger of his left hand, and soared
into the air like a bird.

When the maiden saw him flying away she thought at first that he was
still in play, and cried, 'Come back, friend, for now you see I have
told you the truth.' But the young man never came back.

Then the maiden saw she was deceived, and bitterly repented that she had
ever trusted him with the ring.

The young man never halted in his flight until he reached the dwelling
of the wise magician who had taught him the speech of birds. The
magician was delighted to find that his search had been successful,
and at once set to work to interpret the secret signs engraved upon the
ring, but it took him seven weeks to make them out clearly. Then he gave
the youth the following instructions how to overcome the Dragon of the
North: 'You must have an iron horse cast, which must have little wheels
under each foot. You must also be armed with a spear two fathoms long,
which you will be able to wield by means of the magic ring upon your
left thumb. The spear must be as thick in the middle as a large tree,
and both its ends must be sharp. In the middle of the spear you must
have two strong chains ten fathoms in length. As soon as the Dragon has
made himself fast to the spear, which you must thrust through his jaws,
you must spring quickly from the iron horse and fasten the ends of the
chains firmly to the ground with iron stakes, so that he cannot get away
from them. After two or three days the monster's strength will be so
far exhausted that you will be able to come near him. Then you can put
Solomon's ring upon your left thumb and give him the finishing stroke,
but keep the ring on your third finger until you have come close to him,
so that the monster cannot see you, else he might strike you dead with
his long tail. But when all is done, take care you do not lose the ring,
and that no one takes it from you by cunning.'

The young man thanked the magician for his directions, and promised,
should they succeed, to reward him. But the magician answered, 'I have
profited so much by the wisdom the ring has taught me that I desire no
other reward.' Then they parted, and the youth quickly flew home through
the air. After remaining in his own home for some weeks, he heard people
say that the terrible Dragon of the North was not far off, and might
shortly be expected in the country. The King announced publicly that
he would give his daughter in marriage, as well as a large part of his
kingdom, to whosoever should free the country from the monster. The
youth then went to the King and told him that he had good hopes of
subduing the Dragon, if the King would grant him all he desired for the
purpose. The King willingly agreed, and the iron horse, the great spear,
and the chains were all prepared as the youth requested. When all was
ready, it was found that the iron horse was so heavy that a hundred men
could not move it from the spot, so the youth found there was nothing
for it but to move it with his own strength by means of the magic ring.
The Dragon was now so near that in a couple of springs he would be over
the frontier. The youth now began to consider how he should act, for if
he had to push the iron horse from behind he could not ride upon it as
the sorcerer had said he must. But a raven unexpectedly gave him this
advice: 'Ride upon the horse, and push the spear against the ground,
as if you were pushing off a boat from the land.' The youth did so, and
found that in this way he could easily move forwards. The Dragon had his
monstrous jaws wide open, all ready for his expected prey. A few paces
nearer, and man and horse would have been swallowed up by them! The
youth trembled with horror, and his blood ran cold, yet he did not lose
his courage; but, holding the iron spear upright in his hand, he brought
it down with all his might right through the monster's lower jaw. Then
quick as lightning he sprang from his horse before the Dragon had time
to shut his mouth. A fearful clap like thunder, which could be heard for
miles around, now warned him that the Dragon's jaws had closed upon
the spear. When the youth turned round he saw the point of the spear
sticking up high above the Dragon's upper jaw, and knew that the other
end must be fastened firmly to the ground; but the Dragon had got his
teeth fixed in the iron horse, which was now useless. The youth now
hastened to fasten down the chains to the ground by means of the
enormous iron pegs which he had provided. The death struggle of the
monster lasted three days and three nights; in his writhing he beat his
tail so violently against the ground, that at ten miles' distance the
earth trembled as if with an earthquake. When he at length lost power to
move his tail, the youth with the help of the ring took up a stone which
twenty ordinary men could not have moved, and beat the Dragon so hard
about the head with it that very soon the monster lay lifeless before
him.

You can fancy how great was the rejoicing when the news was spread
abroad that the terrible monster was dead. His conqueror was received
into the city with as much pomp as if he had been the mightiest of
kings. The old King did not need to urge his daughter to marry the
slayer of the Dragon; he found her already willing to bestow her hand
upon this hero, who had done all alone what whole armies had tried in
vain to do. In a few days a magnificent wedding was celebrated, at which
the rejoicings lasted four whole weeks, for all the neighbouring kings
had met together to thank the man who had freed the world from their
common enemy. But everyone forgot amid the general joy that they ought
to have buried the Dragon's monstrous body, for it began now to have
such a bad smell that no one could live in the neighbourhood, and
before long the whole air was poisoned, and a pestilence broke out
which destroyed many hundreds of people. In this distress, the King's
son-in-law resolved to seek help once more from the Eastern magician, to
whom he at once travelled through the air like a bird by the help of
the ring. But there is a proverb which says that ill-gotten gains never
prosper, and the Prince found that the stolen ring brought him ill-luck
after all. The Witch-maiden had never rested night nor day until she had
found out where the ring was. As soon as she had discovered by means of
magical arts that the Prince in the form of a bird was on his way to the
Eastern magician, she changed herself into an eagle and watched in the
air until the bird she was waiting for came in sight, for she knew him
at once by the ring which was hung round his neck by a ribbon. Then the
eagle pounced upon the bird, and the moment she seized him in her talons
she tore the ring from his neck before the man in bird's shape had time
to prevent her. Then the eagle flew down to the earth with her prey, and
the two stood face to face once more in human form.

'Now, villain, you are in my power!' cried the Witch-maiden. 'I favoured
you with my love, and you repaid me with treachery and theft. You stole
my most precious jewel from me, and do you expect to live happily as the
King's son-in-law? Now the tables are turned; you are in my power, and I
will be revenged on you for your crimes.'

'Forgive me! forgive me!' cried the Prince; 'I know too well how deeply
I have wronged you, and most heartily do I repent it.'

The maiden answered, 'Your prayers and your repentance come too late,
and if I were to spare you everyone would think me a fool. You have
doubly wronged me; first you scorned my love, and then you stole my
ring, and you must bear the punishment.'

With these words she put the ring upon her left thumb, lifted the young
man with one hand, and walked away with him under her arm. This time
she did not take him to a splendid palace, but to a deep cave in a rock,
where there were chains hanging from the wall. The maiden now chained
the young man's hands and feet so that he could not escape; then she
said in an angry voice, 'Here you shall remain chained up until you die.
I will bring you every day enough food to prevent you dying of hunger,
but you need never hope for freedom any more.' With these words she left
him.

The old King and his daughter waited anxiously for many weeks for the
Prince's return, but no news of him arrived. The King's daughter often
dreamed that her husband was going through some great suffering: she
therefore begged her father to summon all the enchanters and magicians,
that they might try to find out where the Prince was and how he could
be set free. But the magicians, with all their arts, could find out
nothing, except that he was still living and undergoing great suffering;
but none could tell where he was to be found. At last a celebrated
magician from Finland was brought before the King, who had found out
that the King's son-in-law was imprisoned in the East, not by men, but
by some more powerful being. The King now sent messengers to the East to
look for his son-in-law, and they by good luck met with the old magician
who had interpreted the signs on King Solomon's ring, and thus was
possessed of more wisdom than anyone else in the world. The magician
soon found out what he wished to know, and pointed out the place where
the Prince was imprisoned, but said: 'He is kept there by enchantment,
and cannot be set free without my help. I will therefore go with you
myself.'

So they all set out, guided by birds, and after some days came to the
cave where the unfortunate Prince had been chained up for nearly seven
years. He recognised the magician immediately, but the old man did not
know him, he had grown so thin. However, he undid the chains by the
help of magic, and took care of the Prince until he recovered and became
strong enough to travel. When he reached home he found that the old King
had died that morning, so that he was now raised to the throne. And now
after his long suffering came prosperity, which lasted to the end of his
life; but he never got back the magic ring, nor has it ever again been
seen by mortal eyes.

Now, if YOU had been the Prince, would you not rather have stayed with
the pretty witch-maiden?




STORY OF THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES(4)

(4) Andersen.

Many years ago there lived an Emperor who was so fond of new clothes
that he spent all his money on them in order to be beautifully dressed.
He did not care about his soldiers, he did not care about the theatre;
he only liked to go out walking to show off his new clothes. He had a
coat for every hour of the day; and just as they say of a king, 'He is
in the council-chamber,' they always said here, 'The Emperor is in the
wardrobe.'

In the great city in which he lived there was always something going on;
every day many strangers came there. One day two impostors arrived
who gave themselves out as weavers, and said that they knew how to
manufacture the most beautiful cloth imaginable. Not only were the
texture and pattern uncommonly beautiful, but the clothes which were
made of the stuff possessed this wonderful property that they were
invisible to anyone who was not fit for his office, or who was
unpardonably stupid.

'Those must indeed be splendid clothes,' thought the Emperor. 'If I
had them on I could find out which men in my kingdom are unfit for the
offices they hold; I could distinguish the wise from the stupid! Yes,
this cloth must be woven for me at once.' And he gave both the impostors
much money, so that they might begin their work.

They placed two weaving-looms, and began to do as if they were working,
but they had not the least thing on the looms. They also demanded the
finest silk and the best gold, which they put in their pockets, and
worked at the empty looms till late into the night.

'I should like very much to know how far they have got on with the
cloth,' thought the Emperor. But he remembered when he thought about it
that whoever was stupid or not fit for his office would not be able
to see it. Now he certainly believed that he had nothing to fear for
himself, but he wanted first to send somebody else in order to see how
he stood with regard to his office. Everybody in the whole town knew
what a wonderful power the cloth had, and they were all curious to see
how bad or how stupid their neighbour was.

'I will send my old and honoured minister to the weavers,' thought
the Emperor. 'He can judge best what the cloth is like, for he has
intellect, and no one understands his office better than he.'

Now the good old minister went into the hall where the two impostors sat
working at the empty weaving-looms. 'Dear me!' thought the old minister,
opening his eyes wide, 'I can see nothing!' But he did not say so.

Both the impostors begged him to be so kind as to step closer, and asked
him if it were not a beautiful texture and lovely colours. They pointed
to the empty loom, and the poor old minister went forward rubbing his
eyes; but he could see nothing, for there was nothing there.

'Dear, dear!' thought he, 'can I be stupid? I have never thought that,
and nobody must know it! Can I be not fit for my office? No, I must
certainly not say that I cannot see the cloth!'

'Have you nothing to say about it?' asked one of the men who was
weaving.

'Oh, it is lovely, most lovely!' answered the old minister, looking
through his spectacles. 'What a texture! What colours! Yes, I will tell
the Emperor that it pleases me very much.'

'Now we are delighted at that,' said both the weavers, and thereupon
they named the colours and explained the make of the texture.

The old minister paid great attention, so that he could tell the same to
the Emperor when he came back to him, which he did.

The impostors now wanted more money, more silk, and more gold to use in
their weaving. They put it all in their own pockets, and there came no
threads on the loom, but they went on as they had done before, working
at the empty loom. The Emperor soon sent another worthy statesman to
see how the weaving was getting on, and whether the cloth would soon
be finished. It was the same with him as the first one; he looked and
looked, but because there was nothing on the empty loom he could see
nothing.

'Is it not a beautiful piece of cloth?' asked the two impostors, and
they pointed to and described the splendid material which was not there.

'Stupid I am not!' thought the man, 'so it must be my good office for
which I am not fitted. It is strange, certainly, but no one must be
allowed to notice it.' And so he praised the cloth which he did not
see, and expressed to them his delight at the beautiful colours and the
splendid texture. 'Yes, it is quite beautiful,' he said to the Emperor.

Everybody in the town was talking of the magnificent cloth.

Now the Emperor wanted to see it himself while it was still on the
loom. With a great crowd of select followers, amongst whom were both
the worthy statesmen who had already been there before, he went to
the cunning impostors, who were now weaving with all their might, but
without fibre or thread.

'Is it not splendid!' said both the old statesmen who had already been
there. 'See, your Majesty, what a texture! What colours!' And then they
pointed to the empty loom, for they believed that the others could see
the cloth quite well.

'What!' thought the Emperor, 'I can see nothing! This is indeed
horrible! Am I stupid? Am I not fit to be Emperor? That were the most
dreadful thing that could happen to me. Oh, it is very beautiful,' he
said. 'It has my gracious approval.' And then he nodded pleasantly, and
examined the empty loom, for he would not say that he could see nothing.

His whole Court round him looked and looked, and saw no more than the
others; but they said like the Emperor, 'Oh! it is beautiful!' And they
advised him to wear these new and magnificent clothes for the first time
at the great procession which was soon to take place. 'Splendid! Lovely!
Most beautiful!' went from mouth to mouth; everyone seemed delighted
over them, and the Emperor gave to the impostors the title of Court
weavers to the Emperor.

Throughout the whole of the night before the morning on which the
procession was to take place, the impostors were up and were working by
the light of over sixteen candles. The people could see that they were
very busy making the Emperor's new clothes ready. They pretended they
were taking the cloth from the loom, cut with huge scissors in the
air, sewed with needles without thread, and then said at last, 'Now the
clothes are finished!'

The Emperor came himself with his most distinguished knights, and each
impostor held up his arm just as if he were holding something, and said,
'See! here are the breeches! Here is the coat! Here the cloak!' and so
on.

'Spun clothes are so comfortable that one would imagine one had nothing
on at all; but that is the beauty of it!'

'Yes,' said all the knights, but they could see nothing, for there was
nothing there.

'Will it please your Majesty graciously to take off your clothes,' said
the impostors, 'then we will put on the new clothes, here before the
mirror.'

The Emperor took off all his clothes, and the impostors placed
themselves before him as if they were putting on each part of his new
clothes which was ready, and the Emperor turned and bent himself in
front of the mirror.

'How beautifully they fit! How well they sit!' said everybody. 'What
material! What colours! It is a gorgeous suit!'

'They are waiting outside with the canopy which your Majesty is wont
to have borne over you in the procession,' announced the Master of the
Ceremonies.

'Look, I am ready,' said the Emperor. 'Doesn't it sit well!' And he
turned himself again to the mirror to see if his finery was on all
right.

The chamberlains who were used to carry the train put their hands near
the floor as if they were lifting up the train; then they did as if they
were holding something in the air. They would not have it noticed that
they could see nothing.

So the Emperor went along in the procession under the splendid canopy,
and all the people in the streets and at the windows said, 'How
matchless are the Emperor's new clothes! That train fastened to his
dress, how beautifully it hangs!'

No one wished it to be noticed that he could see nothing, for then he
would have been unfit for his office, or else very stupid. None of the
Emperor's clothes had met with such approval as these had.

'But he has nothing on!' said a little child at last.

'Just listen to the innocent child!' said the father, and each one
whispered to his neighbour what the child had said.

'But he has nothing on!' the whole of the people called out at last.

This struck the Emperor, for it seemed to him as if they were right; but
he thought to himself, 'I must go on with the procession now. And the
chamberlains walked along still more uprightly, holding up the train
which was not there at all.




THE GOLDEN CRAB(5)

(5) 'Prinz Krebs,' from Griechische Mahrchen. Schmidt.

Once upon a time there was a fisherman who had a wife and three
children. Every morning he used to go out fishing, and whatever fish he
caught he sold to the King. One day, among the other fishes, he caught
a golden crab. When he came home he put all the fishes together into
a great dish, but he kept the Crab separate because it shone so
beautifully, and placed it upon a high shelf in the cupboard. Now while
the old woman, his wife, was cleaning the fish, and had tucked up her
gown so that her feet were visible, she suddenly heard a voice, which
said:

          'Let down, let down thy petticoat
           That lets thy feet be seen.'

She turned round in surprise, and then she saw the little creature, the
Golden Crab.

'What! You can speak, can you, you ridiculous crab?' she said, for she
was not quite pleased at the Crab's remarks. Then she took him up and
placed him on a dish.

When her husband came home and they sat down to dinner, they presently
heard the Crab's little voice saying, 'Give me some too.' They were all
very much surprised, but they gave him something to eat. When the old
man came to take away the plate which had contained the Crab's dinner,
he found it full of gold, and as the same thing happened every day he
soon became very fond of the Crab.

One day the Crab said to the fisherman's wife, 'Go to the King and tell
him I wish to marry his younger daughter.'

The old woman went accordingly, and laid the matter before the King, who
laughed a little at the notion of his daughter marrying a crab, but did
not decline the proposal altogether, because he was a prudent monarch,
and knew that the Crab was likely to be a prince in disguise. He said,
therefore, to the fisherman's wife, 'Go, old woman, and tell the Crab I
will give him my daughter if by to-morrow morning he can build a wall in
front of my castle much higher than my tower, upon which all the flowers
of the world must grow and bloom.'

The fisherman's wife went home and gave this message.

Then the Crab gave her a golden rod, and said, 'Go and strike with this
rod three times upon the ground on the place which the King showed you,
and to-morrow morning the wall will be there.'

The old woman did so and went away again.

The next morning, when the King awoke, what do you think he saw? The
wall stood there before his eyes, exactly as he had bespoken it!

Then the old woman went back to the King and said to him, 'Your
Majesty's orders have been fulfilled.'

'That is all very well,' said the King, 'but I cannot give away my
daughter until there stands in front of my palace a garden in which
there are three fountains, of which the first must play gold, the second
diamonds, and the third brilliants.'

So the old woman had to strike again three times upon the ground with
the rod, and the next morning the garden was there. The King now gave
his consent, and the wedding was fixed for the very next day.

Then the Crab said to the old fisherman, 'Now take this rod; go and
knock with it on a certain mountain; then a black man(6) will come out
and ask you what you wish for. Answer him thus: ''Your master, the King,
has sent me to tell you that you must send him his golden garment that
is like the sun.'' Make him give you, besides, the queenly robes of gold
and precious stones which are like the flowery meadows, and bring them
both to me. And bring me also the golden cushion.'

(6) Ein Mohr.


The old man went and did his errand. When he had brought the precious
robes, the Crab put on the golden garment and then crept upon the golden
cushion, and in this way the fisherman carried him to the castle, where
the Crab presented the other garment to his bride. Now the ceremony
took place, and when the married pair were alone together the Crab made
himself known to his young wife, and told her how he was the son of the
greatest king in the world, and how he was enchanted, so that he became
a crab by day and was a man only at night; and he could also change
himself into an eagle as often as he wished. No sooner had he said this
than he shook himself, and immediately became a handsome youth, but the
next morning he was forced to creep back again into his crab-shell. And
the same thing happened every day. But the Princess's affection for the
Crab, and the polite attention with which she behaved to him, surprised
the royal family very much. They suspected some secret, but though they
spied and spied, they could not discover it. Thus a year passed away,
and the Princess had a son, whom she called Benjamin. But her mother
still thought the whole matter very strange. At last she said to the
King that he ought to ask his daughter whether she would not like to
have another husband instead of the Crab? But when the daughter was
questioned she only answered:

'I am married to the Crab, and him only will I have.'

Then the King said to her, 'I will appoint a tournament in your honour,
and I will invite all the princes in the world to it, and if any one of
them pleases you, you shall marry him.'

In the evening the Princess told this to the Crab, who said to her,
'Take this rod, go to the garden gate and knock with it, then a black
man will come out and say to you, ''Why have you called me, and what do
you require of me?'' Answer him thus: 'Your master the King has sent me
hither to tell you to send him his golden armour and his steed and the
silver apple.'' And bring them to me.'

The Princess did so, and brought him what he desired.

The following evening the Prince dressed himself for the tournament.
Before he went he said to his wife, 'Now mind you do not say when you
see me that I am the Crab. For if you do this evil will come of it.
Place yourself at the window with your sisters; I will ride by and throw
you the silver apple. Take it in your hand, but if they ask you who I
am, say that you do not know.' So saying, he kissed her, repeated his
warning once more, and went away.

The Princess went with her sisters to the window and looked on at the
tournament. Presently her husband rode by and threw the apple up to her.
She caught it in her hand and went with it to her room, and by-and-by
her husband came back to her. But her father was much surprised that she
did not seem to care about any of the Princes; he therefore appointed a
second tournament.

The Crab then gave his wife the same directions as before, only this
time the apple which she received from the black man was of gold. But
before the Prince went to the tournament he said to his wife, 'Now I
know you will betray me to-day.'

But she swore to him that she would not tell who he was. He then
repeated his warning and went away.

In the evening, while the Princess, with her mother and sisters, was
standing at the window, the Prince suddenly galloped past on his steed
and threw her the golden apple.

Then her mother flew into a passion, gave her a box on the ear, and
cried out, 'Does not even that prince please you, you fool?'

The Princess in her fright exclaimed, 'That is the Crab himself!'

Her mother was still more angry because she had not been told sooner,
ran into her daughter's room where the crab-shell was still lying, took
it up and threw it into the fire. Then the poor Princess cried bitterly,
but it was of no use; her husband did not come back.

Now we must leave the Princess and turn to the other persons in the
story. One day an old man went to a stream to dip in a crust of bread
which he was going to eat, when a dog came out of the water, snatched
the bread from his hand, and ran away. The old man ran after him,
but the dog reached a door, pushed it open, and ran in, the old man
following him. He did not overtake the dog, but found himself above a
staircase, which he descended. Then he saw before him a stately palace,
and, entering, he found in a large hall a table set for twelve persons.
He hid himself in the hall behind a great picture, that he might see
what would happen. At noon he heard a great noise, so that he trembled
with fear. When he took courage to look out from behind the picture,
he saw twelve eagles flying in. At this sight his fear became still
greater. The eagles flew to the basin of a fountain that was there and
bathed themselves, when suddenly they were changed into twelve handsome
youths. Now they seated themselves at the table, and one of them took
up a goblet filled with wine, and said, 'A health to my father!' And
another said, 'A health to my mother!' and so the healths went round.
Then one of them said:

     'A health to my dearest lady,
           Long may she live and well!
       But a curse on the cruel mother
           That burnt my golden shell!'

And so saying he wept bitterly. Then the youths rose from the table,
went back to the great stone fountain, turned themselves into eagles
again, and flew away.

Then the old man went away too, returned to the light of day, and went
home. Soon after he heard that the Princess was ill, and that the only
thing that did her good was having stories told to her. He therefore
went to the royal castle, obtained an audience of the Princess, and told
her about the strange things he had seen in the underground palace. No
sooner had he finished than the Princess asked him whether he could find
the way to that palace.

'Yes,' he answered, 'certainly.'

And now she desired him to guide her thither at once. The old man did
so, and when they came to the palace he hid her behind the great picture
and advised her to keep quite still, and he placed himself behind
the picture also. Presently the eagles came flying in, and changed
themselves into young men, and in a moment the Princess recognised her
husband amongst them all, and tried to come out of her hiding-place; but
the old man held her back. The youths seated themselves at the table;
and now the Prince said again, while he took up the cup of wine:

     'A health to my dearest lady,
           Long may she live and well!
       But a curse on the cruel mother
           That burnt my golden shell!'

Then the Princess could restrain herself no longer, but ran forward and
threw her arms round her husband. And immediately he knew her again, and
said:

'Do you remember how I told you that day that you would betray me?
Now you see that I spoke the truth. But all that bad time is past. Now
listen to me: I must still remain enchanted for three months. Will you
stay here with me till that time is over?'

So the Princess stayed with him, and said to the old man, 'Go back to
the castle and tell my parents that I am staying here.'

Her parents were very much vexed when the old man came back and told
them this, but as soon as the three months of the Prince's enchantment
were over, he ceased to be an eagle and became once more a man, and they
returned home together. And then they lived happily, and we who hear the
story are happier still.




THE IRON STOVE(7)

(7) Grimm.

Once upon a time when wishes came true there was a king's son who was
enchanted by an old witch, so that he was obliged to sit in a large iron
stove in a wood. There he lived for many years, and no one could free
him. At last a king's daughter came into the wood; she had lost her way,
and could not find her father's kingdom again. She had been wandering
round and round for nine days, and she came at last to the iron case. A
voice came from within and asked her, 'Where do you come from, and where
do you want to go?' She answered, 'I have lost my way to my father's
kingdom, and I shall never get home again.' Then the voice from the iron
stove said, 'I will help you to find your home again, and that in a very
short time, if you will promise to do what I ask you. I am a greater
prince than you are a princess, and I will marry you.' Then she grew
frightened, and thought, 'What can a young lassie do with an iron
stove?' But as she wanted very much to go home to her father, she
promised to do what he wished.

He said, 'You must come again, and bring a knife with you to scrape a
hole in the iron.'

Then he gave her someone for a guide, who walked near her and said
nothing, but he brought her in two hours to her house. There was great
joy in the castle when the Princess came back, and the old King fell on
her neck and kissed her. But she was very much troubled, and said, 'Dear
father, listen to what has befallen me! I should never have come home
again out of the great wild wood if I had not come to an iron stove,
to whom I have had to promise that I will go back to free him and marry
him!' The old King was so frightened that he nearly fainted, for she was
his only daughter. So they consulted together, and determined that the
miller's daughter, who was very beautiful, should take her place. They
took her there, gave her a knife, and said she must scrape at the iron
stove. She scraped for twenty-four hours, but did not make the least
impression. When the day broke, a voice called from the iron stove, 'It
seems to me that it is day outside.' Then she answered, 'It seems so to
me; I think I hear my father's mill rattling.'

'So you are a miller's daughter! Then go away at once, and tell the
King's daughter to come.'

Then she went away, and told the old King that the thing inside the
iron stove would not have her, but wanted the Princess. The old King was
frightened, and his daughter wept. But they had a swineherd's daughter
who was even more beautiful than the miller's daughter, and they gave
her a piece of gold to go to the iron stove instead of the Princess.
Then she was taken out, and had to scrape for four-and-twenty hours, but
she could make no impression. As soon as the day broke the voice from
the stove called out, 'It seems to be daylight outside.' Then she
answered, 'It seems so to me too; I think I hear my father blowing his
horn.' 'So you are a swineherd's daughter! Go away at once, and let the
King's daughter come. And say to her that what I foretell shall come to
pass, and if she does not come everything in the kingdom shall fall into
ruin, and not one stone shall be left upon another.' When the Princess
heard this she began to cry, but it was no good; she had to keep her
word. She took leave of her father, put a knife in her belt, and went
to the iron stove in the wood. As soon as she reached it she began to
scrape, and the iron gave way and before two hours had passed she had
made a little hole. Then she peeped in and saw such a beautiful youth
all shining with gold and precious stones that she fell in love with him
on the spot. So she scraped away harder than ever, and made the hole
so large that he could get out. Then he said, 'You are mine, and I am
thine; you are my bride and have set me free!' He wanted to take her
with him to his kingdom, but she begged him just to let her go once more
to her father; and the Prince let her go, but told her not to say more
than three words to her father, then to come back again. So she went
home, but alas! she said MORE THAN THREE WORDS; and immediately the iron
stove vanished and went away over a mountain of glass and sharp swords.
But the Prince was free, and was no longer shut up in it. Then she said
good-bye to her father, and took a little money with her, and went again
into the great wood to look for the iron stove; but she could not find
it. She sought it for nine days, and then her hunger became so great
that she did not know how she could live any longer. And when it was
evening she climbed a little tree and wished that the night would not
come, because she was afraid of the wild beasts. When midnight came she
saw afar off a little light, and thought, 'Ah! if only I could reach
that!' Then she got down from the tree and went towards the light. She
came to a little old house with a great deal of grass growing round, and
stood in front of a little heap of wood. She thought, 'Alas! what am I
coming to?' and peeped through the window; but she saw nothing inside
except big and little toads, and a table beautifully spread with roast
meats and wine, and all the dishes and drinking-cups were of silver.
Then she took heart and knocked. Then a fat toad called out:

          'Little green toad with leg like crook,
           Open wide the door, and look
           Who it was the latch that shook.'

And a little toad came forward and let her in. When she entered they
all bid her welcome, and made her sit down. They asked her how she came
there and what she wanted. Then she told everything that had happened
to her, and how, because she had exceeded her permission only to speak
three words, the stove had disappeared with the Prince; and how she had
searched a very long time, and must wander over mountain and valley till
she found him.

Then the old toad said:

          'Little green toad whose leg doth twist,
           Go to the corner of which you wist,
           And bring to me the large old kist.'

And the little toad went and brought out a great chest. Then they gave
her food and drink, and led her to a beautifully made bed of silk and
samite, on which she lay down and slept soundly. When the day dawned she
arose, and the old toad gave her three things out of the huge chest to
take with her. She would have need of them, for she had to cross a high
glass mountain, three cutting swords, and a great lake. When she had
passed these she would find her lover again. So she was given three
large needles, a plough-wheel, and three nuts, which she was to take
great care of. She set out with these things, and when she came to the
glass mountain which was so slippery she stuck the three needles behind
her feet and then in front, and so got over it, and when she was on the
other side put them carefully away.

Then she reached the three cutting swords, and got on her plough-wheel
and rolled over them. At last she came to a great lake, and, when she
had crossed that, arrived at a beautiful castle. She went in and gave
herself out as a servant, a poor maid who would gladly be engaged. But
she knew that the Prince whom she had freed from the iron stove in the
great wood was in the castle. So she was taken on as a kitchen-maid for
very small wages. Now the Prince was about to marry another princess,
for he thought she was dead long ago.

In the evening, when she had washed up and was ready, she felt in her
pocket and found the three nuts which the old toad had given her. She
cracked one and was going to eat the kernel, when behold! there was a
beautiful royal dress inside it! When the bride heard of this, she came
and begged for the dress, and wanted to buy it, saying that it was not a
dress for a serving-maid. Then she said she would not sell it unless she
was granted one favour--namely, to sleep by the Prince's door. The bride
granted her this, because the dress was so beautiful and she had so few
like it. When it was evening she said to her bridegroom, 'That stupid
maid wants to sleep by your door.'

'If you are contented, I am,' he said. But she gave him a glass of wine
in which she had poured a sleeping-draught. Then they both went to his
room, but he slept so soundly that she could not wake him. The maid wept
all night long, and said, 'I freed you in the wild wood out of the iron
stove; I have sought you, and have crossed a glassy mountain, three
sharp swords, and a great lake before I found you, and will you not hear
me now?' The servants outside heard how she cried the whole night, and
they told their master in the morning.

When she had washed up the next evening she bit the second nut, and
there was a still more beautiful dress inside. When the bride saw it she
wanted to buy it also. But the maid did not want money, and asked that
she should sleep again by the Prince's door. The bride, however, gave
him a sleeping-draught, and he slept so soundly that he heard nothing.
But the kitchen-maid wept the whole night long, and said, 'I have freed
you in a wood and from an iron stove; I sought you and have crossed a
glassy mountain, three sharp swords, and a great lake to find you, and
now you will not hear me!' The servants outside heard how she cried the
whole night, and in the morning they told their master.

And when she had washed up on the third night she bit the third nut,
and there was a still more beautiful dress inside that was made of pure
gold. When the bride saw it she wanted to have it, but the maid would
only give it her on condition that she should sleep for the third
time by the Prince's door. But the Prince took care not to drink
the sleeping-draught. When she began to weep and to say, 'Dearest
sweetheart, I freed you in the horrible wild wood, and from an iron
stove,' he jumped up and said, 'You are right. You are mine, and I am
thine.' Though it was still night, he got into a carriage with her, and
they took the false bride's clothes away, so that she could not follow
them. When they came to the great lake they rowed across, and when they
reached the three sharp swords they sat on the plough-wheel, and on the
glassy mountain they stuck the three needles in. So they arrived at last
at the little old house, but when they stepped inside it turned into
a large castle. The toads were all freed, and were beautiful King's
children, running about for joy. There they were married, and they
remained in the castle, which was much larger than that of the
Princess's father's. But because the old man did not like being left
alone, they went and fetched him. So they had two kingdoms and lived in
great wealth.

          A mouse has run,
           My story's done.




THE DRAGON AND HIS GRANDMOTHER

There was once a great war, and the King had a great many soldiers, but
he gave them so little pay that they could not live upon it. Then three
of them took counsel together and determined to desert.

One of them said to the others, 'If we are caught, we shall be hanged
on the gallows; how shall we set about it?' The other said, 'Do you see
that large cornfield there? If we were to hide ourselves in that, no
one could find us. The army cannot come into it, and to-morrow it is to
march on.'

They crept into the corn, but the army did not march on, but remained
encamped close around them. They sat for two days and two nights in
the corn, and grew so hungry that they nearly died; but if they were to
venture out, it was certain death.

They said at last, 'What use was it our deserting? We must perish here
miserably.'

Whilst they were speaking a fiery dragon came flying through the air. It
hovered near them, and asked why they were hidden there.

They answered, 'We are three soldiers, and have deserted because our pay
was so small. Now if we remain here we shall die of hunger, and if we
move out we shall be strung up on the gallows.'

'If you will serve me for seven years,' said the dragon, I will lead you
through the midst of the army so that no one shall catch you.' 'We have
no choice, and must take your offer,' said they. Then the dragon seized
them in his claws, took them through the air over the army, and set them
down on the earth a long way from it.

He gave them a little whip, saying, 'Whip and slash with this, and as
much money as you want will jump up before you. You can then live as
great lords, keep horses, and drive about in carriages. But after seven
years you are mine.' Then he put a book before them, which he made all
three of them sign. 'I will then give you a riddle,' he said; 'if you
guess it, you shall be free and out of my power.' The dragon then flew
away, and they journeyed on with their little whip. They had as much
money as they wanted, wore grand clothes, and made their way into the
world. Wherever they went they lived in merrymaking and splendour, drove
about with horses and carriages, ate and drank, but did nothing wrong.

The time passed quickly away, and when the seven years were nearly ended
two of them grew terribly anxious and frightened, but the third
made light of it, saying, 'Don't be afraid, brothers, I wasn't born
yesterday; I will guess the riddle.'

They went into a field, sat down, and the two pulled long faces. An old
woman passed by, and asked them why they were so sad. 'Alas! what have
you to do with it? You cannot help us.' 'Who knows?' she answered. 'Only
confide your trouble in me.'

Then they told her that they had become the servants of the Dragon for
seven long years, and how he had given them money as plentifully as
blackberries; but as they had signed their names they were his, unless
when the seven years had passed they could guess a riddle. The old woman
said, 'If you would help yourselves, one of you must go into the wood,
and there he will come upon a tumble-down building of rocks which looks
like a little house. He must go in, and there he will find help.'

The two melancholy ones thought, 'That won't save us!' and they remained
where they were. But the third and merry one jumped up and went into the
wood till he found the rock hut. In the hut sat a very old woman, who
was the Dragon's grandmother. She asked him how he came, and what was
his business there. He told her all that happened, and because she was
pleased with him she took compassion on him, and said she would help
him.

She lifted up a large stone which lay over the cellar, saying, 'Hide
yourself there; you can hear all that is spoken in this room. Only sit
still and don't stir. When the Dragon comes, I will ask him what the
riddle is, for he tells me everything; then listen carefully what he
answers.'

At midnight the Dragon flew in, and asked for his supper. His
grandmother laid the table, and brought out food and drink till he was
satisfied, and they ate and drank together. Then in the course of the
conversation she asked him what he had done in the day, and how many
souls he had conquered.

'I haven't had much luck to-day,' he said, 'but I have a tight hold on
three soldiers.'

'Indeed! three soldiers!' said she. 'Who cannot escape you?'

'They are mine,' answered the Dragon scornfully, 'for I shall only give
them one riddle which they will never be able to guess.'

'What sort of a riddle is it?' she asked.

'I will tell you this. In the North Sea lies a dead sea-cat--that shall
be their roast meat; and the rib of a whale--that shall be their
silver spoon; and the hollow foot of a dead horse--that shall be their
wineglass.'

When the Dragon had gone to bed, his old grandmother pulled up the stone
and let out the soldier.

'Did you pay attention to everything?'

'Yes,' he replied, 'I know enough, and can help myself splendidly.'

Then he went by another way through the window secretly, and in all
haste back to his comrades. He told them how the Dragon had been
outwitted by his grandmother, and how he had heard from his own lips the
answer to the riddle.

Then they were all delighted and in high spirits, took out their whip,
and cracked so much money that it came jumping up from the ground.
When the seven years had quite gone, the Fiend came with his book, and,
pointing at the signatures, said, 'I will take you underground with me;
you shall have a meal there. If you can tell me what you will get for
your roast meat, you shall be free, and shall also keep the whip.'

Then said the first soldier, 'In the North Sea lies a dead sea-cat; that
shall be the roast meat.'

The Dragon was much annoyed, and hummed and hawed a good deal, and asked
the second, 'But what shall be your spoon?'

'The rib of a whale shall be our silver spoon.'

The Dragon-made a face, and growled again three times, 'Hum, hum, hum,'
and said to the third, 'Do you know what your wineglass shall be?'

'An old horse's hoof shall be our wineglass.'

Then the Dragon flew away with a loud shriek, and had no more power over
them. But the three soldiers took the little whip, whipped as much money
as they wanted, and lived happily to their lives end.



THE DONKEY CABBAGE

There was once a young Hunter who went boldly into the forest. He had a
merry and light heart, and as he went whistling along there came an ugly
old woman, who said to him, 'Good-day, dear hunter! You are very merry
and contented, but I suffer hunger and thirst, so give me a trifle.' The
Hunter was sorry for the poor old woman, and he felt in his pocket and
gave her all he could spare. He was going on then, but the old woman
stopped him and said, 'Listen, dear hunter, to what I say. Because of
your kind heart I will make you a present. Go on your way, and in a
short time you will come to a tree on which sit nine birds who have a
cloak in their claws and are quarrelling over it. Then take aim with
your gun and shoot in the middle of them; they will let the cloak fall,
but one of the birds will be hit and will drop down dead. Take the cloak
with you; it is a wishing-cloak, and when you throw it on your shoulders
you have only to wish yourself at a certain place, and in the twinkling
of an eye you are there. Take the heart out of the dead bird and swallow
it whole, and early every morning when you get up you will find a gold
piece under your pillow.'

The Hunter thanked the wise woman, and thought to himself 'These are
splendid things she has promised me, if only they come to pass!' So
he walked on about a hundred yards, and then he heard above him in the
branches such a screaming and chirping that he looked up, and there
he saw a heap of birds tearing a cloth with their beaks and feet,
shrieking, tugging, and fighting, as if each wanted it for himself.
'Well,' said the Hunter, 'this is wonderful! It is just as the old woman
said'; and he took his gun on his shoulder, pulled the trigger, and
shot into the midst of them, so that their feathers flew about. Then the
flock took flight with much screaming, but one fell dead, and the cloak
fluttered down. Then the Hunter did as the old woman had told him: he
cut open the bird, found its heart, swallowed it, and took the cloak
home with him. The next morning when he awoke he remembered the promise,
and wanted to see if it had come true. But when he lifted up his pillow,
there sparkled the gold piece, and the next morning he found another,
and so on every time he got up. He collected a heap of gold, but at
last he thought to himself, 'What good is all my gold to me if I stay
at home? I will travel and look a bit about me in the world.' So he took
leave of his parents, slung his hunting knapsack and his gun round him,
and journeyed into the world.

It happened that one day he went through a thick wood, and when he came
to the end of it there lay in the plain before him a large castle. At
one of the windows in it stood an old woman with a most beautiful maiden
by her side, looking out. But the old woman was a witch, and she said to
the girl, 'There comes one out of the wood who has a wonderful treasure
in his body which we must manage to possess ourselves of, darling
daughter; we have more right to it than he. He has a bird's heart in
him, and so every morning there lies a gold piece under his pillow.'

She told her how they could get hold of it, and how she was to coax it
from him, and at last threatened her angrily, saying, 'And if you do not
obey me, you shall repent it!'

When the Hunter came nearer he saw the maiden, and said to himself, 'I
have travelled so far now that I will rest, and turn into this beautiful
castle; money I have in plenty.' But the real reason was that he had
caught sight of the lovely face.

He went into the house, and was kindly received and hospitably
entertained. It was not long before he was so much in love with the
witch-maiden that he thought of nothing else, and only looked in her
eyes, and whatever she wanted, that he gladly did. Then the old witch
said, 'Now we must have the bird-heart; he will not feel when it is
gone.' She prepared a drink, and when it was ready she poured it in a
goblet and gave it to the maiden, who had to hand it to the hunter.

'Drink to me now, my dearest,' she said. Then he took the goblet, and
when he had swallowed the drink the bird-heart came out of his mouth.
The maiden had to get hold of it secretly and then swallow it herself,
for the old witch wanted to have it. Thenceforward he found no more gold
under his pillow, and it lay under the maiden's; but he was so much in
love and so much bewitched that he thought of nothing except spending
all his time with the maiden.

Then the old witch said, 'We have the bird-heart, but we must also get
the wishing-cloak from him.'

The maiden answered, 'We will leave him that; he has already lost his
wealth!'

The old witch grew angry, and said, 'Such a cloak is a wonderful thing,
it is seldom to be had in the world, and have it I must and will.' She
beat the maiden, and said that if she did not obey it would go ill with
her.

So she did her mother's bidding, and, standing one day by the window,
she looked away into the far distance as if she were very sad.

'Why are you standing there looking so sad?' asked the Hunter.

'Alas, my love,' she replied, 'over there lies the granite mountain
where the costly precious stones grow. I have a great longing to go
there, so that when I think of it I am very sad. For who can fetch them?
Only the birds who fly; a man, never.'

'If you have no other trouble,' said the Hunter, 'that one I can easily
remove from your heart.'

So he wrapped her round in his cloak and wished themselves to the
granite mountain, and in an instant there they were, sitting on it! The
precious stones sparkled so brightly on all sides that it was a pleasure
to see them, and they collected the most beautiful and costly together.
But now the old witch had through her caused the Hunter's eyes to become
heavy.

He said to the maiden, 'We will sit down for a little while and rest; I
am so tired that I can hardly stand on my feet.'

So they sat down, and he laid his head on her lap and fell asleep. As
soon as he was sound asleep she unfastened the cloak from his shoulders,
threw it on her own, left the granite and stones, and wished herself
home again.

But when the Hunter had finished his sleep and awoke, he found that his
love had betrayed him and left him alone on the wild mountain. 'Oh,'
said he, 'why is faithlessness so great in the world?' and he sat down
in sorrow and trouble, not knowing what to do.

But the mountain belonged to fierce and huge giants, who lived on it
and traded there, and he had not sat long before he saw three of them
striding towards him. So he lay down as if he had fallen into a deep
sleep.

The giants came up, and the first pushed him with his foot, and said,
'What sort of an earthworm is that?'

The second said, 'Crush him dead.'

But the third said contemptuously, 'It is not worth the trouble! Let him
live; he cannot remain here, and if he goes higher up the mountain the
clouds will take him and carry him off.'

Talking thus they went away. But the Hunter had listened to their talk,
and as soon as they had gone he rose and climbed to the summit. When he
had sat there a little while a cloud swept by, and, seizing him, carried
him away. It travelled for a time in the sky, and then it sank down and
hovered over a large vegetable garden surrounded by walls, so that he
came safely to the ground amidst cabbages and vegetables. The Hunter
then looked about him, saying, 'If only I had something to eat! I am so
hungry, and it will go badly with me in the future, for I see here
not an apple or pear or fruit of any kind--nothing but vegetables
everywhere.' At last he thought, 'At a pinch I can eat a salad; it does
not taste particularly nice, but it will refresh me.' So he looked about
for a good head and ate it, but no sooner had he swallowed a couple
of mouthfuls than he felt very strange, and found himself wonderfully
changed. Four legs began to grow on him, a thick head, and two long
ears, and he saw with horror that he had changed into a donkey. But as
he was still very hungry and this juicy salad tasted very good to his
present nature, he went on eating with a still greater appetite. At last
he got hold of another kind of cabbage, but scarcely had swallowed it
when he felt another change, and he once more regained his human form.

The Hunter now lay down and slept off his weariness. When he awoke
the next morning he broke off a head of the bad and a head of the good
cabbage, thinking, 'This will help me to regain my own, and to punish
faithlessness.' Then he put the heads in his pockets, climbed the wall,
and started off to seek the castle of his love. When he had wandered
about for a couple of days he found it quite easily. He then browned his
face quickly, so that his own mother would not have known him, and went
into the castle, where he begged for a lodging.

'I am so tired,' he said, 'I can go no farther.'

The witch asked, 'Countryman, who are you, and what is your business?'

He answered, 'I am a messenger of the King, and have been sent to seek
the finest salad that grows under the sun. I have been so lucky as to
find it, and am bringing it with me; but the heat of the sun is so great
that the tender cabbage threatens to grow soft, and I do not know if I
shall be able to bring it any farther.'

When the old witch heard of the fine salad she wanted to eat it, and
said, 'Dear countryman, just let me taste the wonderful salad.'

'Why not?' he answered; 'I have brought two heads with me, and will give
you one.'

So saying, he opened his sack and gave her the bad one. The witch
suspected no evil, and her mouth watered to taste the new dish, so that
she went into the kitchen to prepare it herself. When it was ready she
could not wait till it was served at the table, but she immediately took
a couple of leaves and put them in her mouth. No sooner, however, had
she swallowed them than she lost human form, and ran into the courtyard
in the shape of a donkey.

Now the servant came into the kitchen, and when she saw the salad
standing there ready cooked she was about to carry it up, but on the
way, according to her old habit, she tasted it and ate a couple of
leaves. Immediately the charm worked, and she became a donkey, and ran
out to join the old witch, and the dish with the salad in it fell to
the ground. In the meantime, the messenger was sitting with the lovely
maiden, and as no one came with the salad, and she wanted very much to
taste it, she said, 'I don't know where the salad is.'

Then thought the Hunter, 'The cabbage must have already begun to work.'
And he said, 'I will go to the kitchen and fetch it myself.'

When he came there he saw the two donkeys running about in the
courtyard, but the salad was lying on the ground.

'That's all right,' said he; 'two have had their share!' And lifting the
remaining leaves up, he laid them on the dish and brought them to the
maiden.

'I am bringing you the delicious food my own self,' he said, 'so that
you need not wait any longer.'

Then she ate, and, as the others had done, she at once lost her human
form, and ran as a donkey into the yard.

When the Hunter had washed his face, so that the changed ones might know
him, he went into the yard, saying, 'Now you shall receive a reward for
your faithlessness.'

He tied them all three with a rope, and drove them away till he came to
a mill. He knocked at the window, and the miller put his head out and
asked what he wanted.

'I have three tiresome animals,' he answered, 'which I don't want to
keep any longer. If you will take them, give them food and stabling, and
do as I tell you with them, I will pay you as much as you want.'

The miller replied, 'Why not? What shall I do with them?'

Then the Hunter said that to the old donkey, which was the witch, three
beatings and one meal; to the younger one, which was the servant, one
beating and three meals; and to the youngest one, which was the maiden,
no beating and three meals; for he could not find it in his heart to let
the maiden be beaten.

Then he went back into the castle, and he found there all that he
wanted. After a couple of days the miller came and said that he must
tell him that the old donkey which was to have three beatings and only
one meal had died. 'The two others,' he added, 'are certainly not dead,
and get their three meals every day, but they are so sad that they
cannot last much longer.'

Then the Hunter took pity on them, laid aside his anger, and told the
miller to drive them back again. And when they came he gave them some
of the good cabbage to eat, so that they became human again. Then the
beautiful maiden fell on her knees before him, saying, 'Oh, my dearest,
forgive me the ill I have done you! My mother compelled me to do it;
it was against my will, for I love you dearly. Your wishing-cloak is
hanging in a cupboard, and as for the bird-heart I will make a drink and
give it back to you.'

But he changed his mind, and said, 'Keep it; it makes no difference, for
I will take you to be my own dear true wife.'

And the wedding was celebrated, and they lived happy together till
death.




 THE LITTLE GREEN FROG(8)

(8) Cabinet des Fees.

In a part of the world whose name I forget lived once upon a time two
kings, called Peridor and Diamantino. They were cousins as well as
neighbours, and both were under the protection of the fairies; though it
is only fair to say that the fairies did not love them half so well as
their wives did.

Now it often happens that as princes can generally manage to get their
own way it is harder for them to be good than it is for common people.
So it was with Peridor and Diamantino; but of the two, the fairies
declared that Diamantino was much the worst; indeed, he behaved so badly
to his wife Aglantino, that the fairies would not allow him to live any
longer; and he died, leaving behind him a little daughter. As she was an
only child, of course this little girl was the heiress of the kingdom,
but, being still only a baby, her mother, the widow of Diamantino, was
proclaimed regent. The Queen-dowager was wise and good, and tried her
best to make her people happy. The only thing she had to vex her was
the absence of her daughter; for the fairies, for reasons of their own,
determined to bring up the little Princess Serpentine among themselves.

As to the other King, he was really fond of his wife, Queen Constance,
but he often grieved her by his thoughtless ways, and in order to punish
him for his carelessness, the fairies caused her to die quite suddenly.
When she was gone the King felt how much he had loved her, and his grief
was so great (though he never neglected his duties) that his subjects
called him Peridor the Sorrowful. It seems hardly possible that any
man should live like Peridor for fifteen years plunged in such depth of
grief, and most likely he would have died too if it had not been for the
fairies.

The one comfort the poor King had was his son, Prince Saphir, who was
only three years old at the time of his mother's death, and great care
was given to his education. By the time he was fifteen Saphir had learnt
everything that a prince should know, and he was, besides, charming and
agreeable.

It was about this time that the fairies suddenly took fright lest his
love for his father should interfere with the plans they had made for
the young prince. So, to prevent this, they placed in a pretty little
room of which Saphir was very fond a little mirror in a black frame,
such as were often brought from Venice. The Prince did not notice
for some days that there was anything new in the room, but at last
he perceived it, and went up to look at it more closely. What was his
surprise to see reflected in the mirror, not his own face, but that of
a young girl as lovely as the morning! And, better still, every movement
of the girl, just growing out of childhood, was also reflected in the
wonderful glass.

As might have been expected, the young Prince lost his heart completely
to the beautiful image, and it was impossible to get him out of the
room, so busy was he in watching the lovely unknown. Certainly it was
very delightful to be able to see her whom he loved at any moment he
chose, but his spirits sometimes sank when he wondered what was to be
the end of this adventure.

The magic mirror had been for about a year in the Prince's possession,
when one day a new subject of disquiet seized upon him. As usual, he was
engaged in looking at the girl, when suddenly he thought he saw a second
mirror reflected in the first, exactly like his own, and with the same
power. And in this he was perfectly right. The young girl had only
possessed it for a short time, and neglected all her duties for the sake
of the mirror. Now it was not difficult for Saphir to guess the reason
of the change in her, nor why the new mirror was consulted so often;
but try as he would he could never see the face of the person who was
reflected in it, for the young girl's figure always came between. All he
knew was that the face was that of a man, and this was quite enough to
make him madly jealous. This was the doing of the fairies, and we must
suppose that they had their reasons for acting as they did.

When these things happened Saphir was about eighteen years old, and
fifteen years had passed away since the death of his mother. King
Peridor had grown more and more unhappy as time went on, and at last he
fell so ill that it seemed as if his days were numbered. He was so much
beloved by his subjects that this sad news was heard with despair by the
nation, and more than all by the Prince.

During his whole illness the King never spoke of anything but the Queen,
his sorrow at having grieved her, and his hope of one day seeing her
again. All the doctors and all the water-cures in the kingdom had been
tried, and nothing would do him any good. At last he persuaded them to
let him lie quietly in his room, where no one came to trouble him.

Perhaps the worst pain he had to bear was a sort of weight on his chest,
which made it very hard for him to breathe. So he commanded his servants
to leave the windows open in order that he might get more air. One day,
when he had been left alone for a few minutes, a bird with brilliant
plumage came and fluttered round the window, and finally rested on the
sill. His feathers were sky-blue and gold, his feet and his beak of such
glittering rubies that no one could bear to look at them, his eyes made
the brightest diamonds look dull, and on his head he wore a crown. I
cannot tell you what the crown was made of, but I am quite certain that
it was still more splendid than all the rest. As to his voice I can
say nothing about that, for the bird never sang at all. In fact, he did
nothing but gaze steadily at the King, and as he gazed, the King felt
his strength come back to him. In a little while the bird flew into the
room, still with his eyes fixed on the King, and at every glance the
strength of the sick man became greater, till he was once more as well
as he used to be before the Queen died. Filled with joy at his cure,
he tried to seize the bird to whom he owed it all, but, swifter than a
swallow, it managed to avoid him. In vain he described the bird to
his attendants, who rushed at his first call; in vain they sought the
wonderful creature both on horse and foot, and summoned the fowlers to
their aid: the bird could nowhere be found. The love the people bore
King Peridor was so strong, and the reward he promised was so large,
that in the twinkling of an eye every man, woman, and child had fled
into the fields, and the towns were quite empty.

All this bustle, however, ended in nothing but confusion, and, what
was worse, the King soon fell back into the same condition as he was in
before. Prince Saphir, who loved his father very dearly, was so unhappy
at this that he persuaded himself that he might succeed where the others
had failed, and at once prepared himself for a more distant search.
In spite of the opposition he met with, he rode away, followed by his
household, trusting to chance to help him. He had formed no plan, and
there was no reason that he should choose one path more than another.
His only idea was to make straight for those spots which were the
favourite haunts of birds. But in vain he examined all the hedges and
all the thickets; in vain he questioned everyone he met along the road.
The more he sought the less he found.

At last he came to one of the largest forests in all the world, composed
entirely of cedars. But in spite of the deep shadows cast by the
wide-spreading branches of the trees, the grass underneath was soft and
green, and covered with the rarest flowers. It seemed to Saphir that
this was exactly the place where the birds would choose to live, and
he determined not to quit the wood until he had examined it from end to
end. And he did more. He ordered some nets to be prepared and painted of
the same colours as the bird's plumage, thinking that we are all easily
caught by what is like ourselves. In this he had to help him not only
the fowlers by profession, but also his attendants, who excelled in this
art. For a man is not a courtier unless he can do everything.

After searching as usual for nearly a whole day Prince Saphir began
to feel overcome with thirst. He was too tired to go any farther,
when happily he discovered a little way off a bubbling fountain of the
clearest water. Being an experienced traveller, he drew from his pocket
a little cup (without which no one should ever take a journey), and was
just about to dip it in the water, when a lovely little green frog,
much prettier than frogs generally are, jumped into the cup. Far from
admiring its beauty, Saphir shook it impatiently off; but it was no
good, for quick as lightning the frog jumped back again. Saphir, who was
raging with thirst, was just about to shake it off anew, when the little
creature fixed upon him the most beautiful eyes in the world, and said,
'I am a friend of the bird you are seeking, and when you have quenched
your thirst listen to me.'

So the Prince drank his fill, and then, by the command of the Little
Green Frog, he lay down on the grass to rest himself.

'Now,' she began, 'be sure you do exactly in every respect what I tell
you. First you must call together your attendants, and order them to
remain in a little hamlet close by until you want them. Then go, quite
alone, down a road that you will find on your right hand, looking
southwards. This road is planted all the way with cedars of Lebanon; and
after going down it a long way you will come at last to a magnificent
castle. And now,' she went on, 'attend carefully to what I am going to
say. Take this tiny grain of sand, and put it into the ground as close
as you can to the gate of the castle. It has the virtue both of opening
the gate and also of sending to sleep all the inhabitants. Then go at
once to the stable, and pay no heed to anything except what I tell you.
Choose the handsomest of all the horses, leap quickly on its back, and
come to me as fast as you can. Farewell, Prince; I wish you good
luck,' and with these words the Little Frog plunged into the water and
disappeared.

The Prince, who felt more hopeful than he had done since he left home,
did precisely as he had been ordered. He left his attendants in the
hamlet, found the road the frog had described to him, and followed it
all alone, and at last he arrived at the gate of the castle, which was
even more splendid than he had expected, for it was built of crystal,
and all its ornaments were of massive gold. However, he had no thoughts
to spare for its beauty, and quickly buried his grain of sand in the
earth. In one instant the gates flew open, and all the dwellers inside
fell sound asleep. Saphir flew straight to the stable, and already had
his hand on the finest horse it contained, when his eye was caught by
a suit of magnificent harness hanging up close by. It occurred to
him directly that the harness belonged to the horse, and without ever
thinking of harm (for indeed he who steals a horse can hardly be blamed
for taking his saddle), he hastily placed it on the animal's back.
Suddenly the people in the castle became broad awake, and rushed to the
stable. They flung themselves on the Prince, seized him, and dragged him
before their lord; but, luckily for the Prince, who could only find very
lame excuses for his conduct, the lord of the castle took a fancy to his
face, and let him depart without further questions.

Very sad, and very much ashamed of himself poor Saphir crept back to the
fountain, where the Frog was awaiting him with a good scolding.

'Whom do you take me for?' she exclaimed angrily. 'Do you really believe
that it was just for the pleasure of talking that I gave you the advice
you have neglected so abominably?'

But the Prince was so deeply grieved, and apologised so very humbly,
that after some time the heart of the good little Frog was softened, and
she gave him another tiny little grain, but instead of being sand it was
now a grain of gold. She directed him to do just as he had done before,
with only this difference, that instead of going to the stable which
had been the ruin of his hopes, he was to enter right into the castle
itself, and to glide as fast as he could down the passages till he came
to a room filled with perfume, where he would find a beautiful maiden
asleep on a bed. He was to wake the maiden instantly and carry her off,
and to be sure not to pay any heed to whatever resistance she might
make.

The Prince obeyed the Frog's orders one by one, and all went well for
this second time also. The gate opened, the inhabitants fell sound
asleep, and he walked down the passage till he found the girl on her
bed, exactly as he had been told he would. He woke her, and begged her
firmly, but politely, to follow him quickly. After a little persuasion
the maiden consented, but only on condition that she was allowed first
to put on her dress. This sounded so reasonable and natural that it did
not enter the Prince's head to refuse her request.

But the maiden's hand had hardly touched the dress when the palace
suddenly awoke from its sleep, and the Prince was seized and bound. He
was so vexed with his own folly, and so taken aback at the disaster,
that he did not attempt to explain his conduct, and things would have
gone badly with him if his friends the fairies had not softened the
hearts of his captors, so that they once more allowed him to leave
quietly. However, what troubled him most was the idea of having to meet
the Frog who had been his benefactress. How was he ever to appear before
her with this tale? Still, after a long struggle with himself, he made
up his mind that there was nothing else to be done, and that he deserved
whatever she might say to him. And she said a great deal, for she had
worked herself into a terrible passion; but the Prince humbly implored
her pardon, and ventured to point out that it would have been very hard
to refuse the young lady's reasonable request. 'You must learn to do as
you are told,' was all the Frog would reply.

But poor Saphir was so unhappy, and begged so hard for forgiveness, that
at last the Frog's anger gave way, and she held up to him a tiny diamond
stone. 'Go back,' she said, 'to the castle, and bury this little diamond
close to the door. But be careful not to return to the stable or to the
bedroom; they have proved too fatal to you. Walk straight to the garden
and enter through a portico, into a small green wood, in the midst of
which is a tree with a trunk of gold and leaves of emeralds. Perched on
this tree you will see the beautiful bird you have been seeking so long.
You must cut the branch on which it is sitting, and bring it back to
me without delay. But I warn you solemnly that if you disobey my
directions, as you have done twice before, you have nothing more to
expect either of me or anyone else.'

With these words she jumped into the water, and the Prince, who had
taken her threats much to heart, took his departure, firmly resolved not
to deserve them. He found it all just as he had been told: the portico,
the wood, the magnificent tree, and the beautiful bird, which was
sleeping soundly on one of the branches. He speedily lopped off the
branch, and though he noticed a splendid golden cage hanging close by,
which would have been very useful for the bird to travel in, he left it
alone, and came back to the fountain, holding his breath and walking on
tip-toe all the way, for fear lest he should awake his prize. But what
was his surprise, when instead of finding the fountain in the spot where
he had left it, he saw in its place a little rustic palace built in
the best taste, and standing in the doorway a charming maiden, at whose
sight his mind seemed to give way.

'What! Madam!' he cried, hardly knowing what he said. 'What! Is it you?'

The maiden blushed and answered: 'Ah, my lord, it is long since I first
beheld your face, but I did not think you had ever seen mine.'

'Oh, madam,' replied he, 'you can never guess the days and the hours I
have passed lost in admiration of you.' And after these words they each
related all the strange things that had happened, and the more they
talked the more they felt convinced of the truth of the images they
had seen in their mirrors. After some time spent in the most tender
conversation, the Prince could not restrain himself from asking the
lovely unknown by what lucky chance she was wandering in the forest;
where the fountain had gone; and if she knew anything of the Frog to
whom he owed all his happiness, and to whom he must give up the bird,
which, somehow or other, was still sound asleep.

'Ah, my lord,' she replied, with rather an awkward air, 'as to the Frog,
she stands before you. Let me tell you my story; it is not a long one. I
know neither my country nor my parents, and the only thing I can say for
certain is that I am called Serpentine. The fairies, who have taken
care of me ever since I was born, wished me to be in ignorance as to my
family, but they have looked after my education, and have bestowed on me
endless kindness. I have always lived in seclusion, and for the last two
years I have wished for nothing better. I had a mirror'--here shyness
and embarrassment choked her words--but regaining her self-control,
she added, 'You know that fairies insist on being obeyed without
questioning. It was they who changed the little house you saw before you
into the fountain for which you are now asking, and, having turned me
into a frog, they ordered me to say to the first person who came to the
fountain exactly what I repeated to you. But, my lord, when you stood
before me, it was agony to my heart, filled as it was with thoughts of
you, to appear to your eyes under so monstrous a form. However, there
was no help for it, and, painful as it was, I had to submit. I desired
your success with all my soul, not only for your own sake, but also for
my own, because I could not get back my proper shape till you had become
master of the beautiful bird, though I am quite ignorant as to your
reason for seeking it.'

On this Saphir explained about the state of his father's health, and all
that has been told before.

On hearing this story Serpentine grew very sad, and her lovely eyes
filled with tears.

'Ah, my lord,' she said, 'you know nothing of me but what you have seen
in the mirror; and I, who cannot even name my parents, learn that you
are a king's son.'

In vain Saphir declared that love made them equal; Serpentine would only
reply: 'I love you too much to allow you to marry beneath your rank. I
shall be very unhappy, of course, but I shall never alter my mind. If
I do not find from the fairies that my birth is worthy of you, then,
whatever be my feelings, I will never accept your hand.'

The conversation was at this point, and bid fair to last some time
longer, when one of the fairies appeared in her ivory car, accompanied
by a beautiful woman past her early youth. At this moment the bird
suddenly awakened, and, flying on to Saphir's shoulder (which it never
afterwards left), began fondling him as well as a bird can do. The fairy
told Serpentine that she was quite satisfied with her conduct, and made
herself very agreeable to Saphir, whom she presented to the lady she had
brought with her, explaining that the lady was no other than his Aunt
Aglantine, widow of Diamantino.

Then they all fell into each other's arms, till the fairy mounted her
chariot, placed Aglantine by her side, and Saphir and Serpentine on the
front seat. She also sent a message to the Prince's attendants that
they might travel slowly back to the Court of King Peridor, and that
the beautiful bird had really been found. This matter being comfortably
arranged, she started off her chariot. But in spite of the swiftness
with which they flew through the air, the time passed even quicker for
Saphir and Serpentine, who had so much to think about.

They were still quite confused with the pleasure of seeing each other,
when the chariot arrived at King Peridor's palace. He had had himself
carried to a room on the roof, where his nurses thought that he would
die at any moment. Directly the chariot drew within sight of the castle
the beautiful bird took flight, and, making straight for the dying King,
at once cured him of his sickness. Then she resumed her natural shape,
and he found that the bird was no other than the Queen Constance, whom
he had long believed to be dead. Peridor was rejoiced to embrace his
wife and his son once more, and with the help of the fairies began to
make preparations for the marriage of Saphir and Serpentine, who turned
out to be the daughter of Aglantine and Diamantino, and as much a
princess as he was a prince. The people of the kingdom were delighted,
and everybody lived happy and contented to the end of their lives.




 THE SEVEN-HEADED SERPENT(9)

(9) 'Die Siebenkopfige Schlange,' from Schmidt's Griechische Mahrchen.

Once upon a time there was a king who determined to take a long voyage.
He assembled his fleet and all the seamen, and set out. They went
straight on night and day, until they came to an island which was
covered with large trees, and under every tree lay a lion. As soon as
the King had landed his men, the lions all rose up together and tried
to devour them. After a long battle they managed to overcome the
wild beasts, but the greater number of the men were killed. Those who
remained alive now went on through the forest and found on the other
side of it a beautiful garden, in which all the plants of the world
flourished together.

There were also in the garden three springs: the first flowed with
silver, the second with gold, and the third with pearls. The men
unbuckled their knapsacks and filled them with those precious things. In
the middle of the garden they found a large lake, and when they reached
the edge of it the Lake began to speak, and said to them, 'What men are
you, and what brings you here? Are you come to visit our king?' But they
were too much frightened to answer.

Then the Lake said, 'You do well to be afraid, for it is at your peril
that you are come hither. Our king, who has seven heads, is now asleep,
but in a few minutes he will wake up and come to me to take his bath!
Woe to anyone who meets him in the garden, for it is impossible to
escape from him. This is what you must do if you wish to save your
lives. Take off your clothes and spread them on the path which leads
from here to the castle. The King will then glide over something soft,
which he likes very much, and he will be so pleased with that that he
will not devour you. He will give you some punishment, but then he will
let you go.'

The men did as the Lake advised them, and waited for a time. At noon the
earth began to quake, and opened in many places, and out of the openings
appeared lions, tigers, and other wild beasts, which surrounded the
castle, and thousands and thousands of beasts came out of the castle
following their king, the Seven-headed Serpent. The Serpent glided over
the clothes which were spread for him, came to the Lake, and asked it
who had strewed those soft things on the path? The Lake answered that
it had been done by people who had come to do him homage. The King
commanded that the men should be brought before him. They came humbly on
their knees, and in a few words told him their story. Then he spoke to
them with a mighty and terrible voice, and said, 'Because you have dared
to come here, I lay upon you the punishment. Every year you must bring
me from among your people twelve youths and twelve maidens, that I may
devour them. If you do not do this, I will destroy your whole nation.'

Then he desired one of his beasts to show the men the way out of the
garden, and dismissed them. They then left the island and went back to
their own country, where they related what had happened to them. Soon
the time came round when the king of the beasts would expect the
youths and maidens to be brought to him. The King therefore issued
a proclamation inviting twelve youths and twelve maidens to offer
themselves up to save their country; and immediately many young people,
far more than enough, hastened to do so. A new ship was built, and set
with black sails, and in it the youths and maidens who were appointed
for the king of the beasts embarked and set out for his country. When
they arrived there they went at once to the Lake, and this time the
lions did not stir, nor did the springs flow, and neither did the Lake
speak. So they waited then, and it was not long before the earth quaked
even more terribly than the first time. The Seven-headed Serpent came
without his train of beasts, saw his prey waiting for him, and devoured
it at one mouthful. Then the ship's crew returned home, and the same
thing happened yearly until many years had passed.

Now the King of this unhappy country was growing old, and so was the
Queen, and they had no children. One day the Queen was sitting at the
window weeping bitterly because she was childless, and knew that the
crown would therefore pass to strangers after the King's death. Suddenly
a little old woman appeared before her, holding an apple in her hand,
and said, 'Why do you weep, my Queen, and what makes you so unhappy?'

'Alas, good mother,' answered the Queen, 'I am unhappy because I have no
children.'

'Is that what vexes you?' said the old woman. 'Listen to me. I am a nun
from the Spinning Convent,(10) and my mother when she died left me this
apple. Whoever eats this apple shall have a child.'

(10) Convent Gnothi.


The Queen gave money to the old woman, and bought the apple from her.
Then she peeled it, ate it, and threw the rind out of the window, and it
so happened that a mare that was running loose in the court below ate up
the rind. After a time the Queen had a little boy, and the mare also had
a male foal. The boy and the foal grew up together and loved each other
like brothers. In course of time the King died, and so did the Queen,
and their son, who was now nineteen years old, was left alone. One day,
when he and his horse were talking together, the Horse said to him,
'Listen to me, for I love you and wish for your good and that of the
country. If you go on every year sending twelve youths and twelve
maidens to the King of the Beasts, your country will very soon be
ruined. Mount upon my back: I will take you to a woman who can direct
you how to kill the Seven-headed Serpent.'

Then the youth mounted his horse, who carried him far away to a mountain
which was hollow, for in its side was a great underground cavern. In the
cavern sat an old woman spinning. This was the cloister of the nuns, and
the old woman was the Abbess. They all spent their time in spinning, and
that is why the convent has this name. All round the walls of the cavern
there were beds cut out of the solid rock, upon which the nuns slept,
and in the middle a light was burning. It was the duty of the nuns to
watch the light in turns, that it might never go out, and if anyone of
them let it go out the others put her to death.

As soon as the King's son saw the old Abbess spinning he threw himself
at her feet and entreated her to tell him how he could kill the
Seven-headed Serpent.

She made the youth rise, embraced him, and said, 'Know, my son, that it
is I who sent the nun to your mother and caused you to be born, and with
you the horse, with whose help you will be able to free the world from
the monster. I will tell you what you have to do. Load your horse with
cotton, and go by a secret passage which I will show you, which is
hidden from the wild beasts, to the Serpent's palace. You will find the
King asleep upon his bed, which is all hung round with bells, and
over his bed you will see a sword hanging. With this sword only it is
possible to kill the Serpent, because even if its blade breaks a new one
will grow again for every head the monster has. Thus you will be able
to cut off all his seven heads. And this you must also do in order to
deceive the King: you must slip into his bed-chamber very softly, and
stop up all the bells which are round his bed with cotton. Then take
down the sword gently, and quickly give the monster a blow on his tail
with it. This will make him waken up, and if he catches sight of you he
will seize you. But you must quickly cut off his first head, and then
wait till the next one comes up. Then strike it off also, and so go on
till you have cut off all his seven heads.'

The old Abbess then gave the Prince her blessing, and he set out upon
his enterprise, arrived at the Serpent's castle by following the secret
passage which she had shown him, and by carefully attending to all her
directions he happily succeeded in killing the monster. As soon as
the wild beasts heard of their king's death, they all hastened to the
castle, but the youth had long since mounted his horse and was already
far out of their reach. They pursued him as fast as they could, but they
found it impossible to overtake him, and he reached home in safety. Thus
he freed his country from this terrible oppression.



THE GRATEFUL BEASTS(11)

(11) From the Hungarian. Kletke.

There was once upon a time a man and woman who had three fine-looking
sons, but they were so poor that they had hardly enough food for
themselves, let alone their children. So the sons determined to set out
into the world and to try their luck. Before starting their mother gave
them each a loaf of bread and her blessing, and having taken a tender
farewell of her and their father the three set forth on their travels.

The youngest of the three brothers, whose name was Ferko, was a
beautiful youth, with a splendid figure, blue eyes, fair hair, and a
complexion like milk and roses. His two brothers were as jealous of him
as they could be, for they thought that with his good looks he would be
sure to be more fortunate than they would ever be.

One day all the three were sitting resting under a tree, for the sun
was hot and they were tired of walking. Ferko fell fast asleep, but the
other two remained awake, and the eldest said to the second brother,
'What do you say to doing our brother Ferko some harm? He is so
beautiful that everyone takes a fancy to him, which is more than they do
to us. If we could only get him out of the way we might succeed better.'

'I quite agree with you,' answered the second brother, 'and my advice
is to eat up his loaf of bread, and then to refuse to give him a bit
of ours until he has promised to let us put out his eyes or break his
legs.'

His eldest brother was delighted with this proposal, and the two wicked
wretches seized Ferko's loaf and ate it all up, while the poor boy was
still asleep.

When he did awake he felt very hungry and turned to eat his bread, but
his brothers cried out, 'You ate your loaf in your sleep, you glutton,
and you may starve as long as you like, but you won't get a scrap of
ours.'

Ferko was at a loss to understand how he could have eaten in his sleep,
but he said nothing, and fasted all that day and the next night. But
on the following morning he was so hungry that he burst into tears, and
implored his brothers to give him a little bit of their bread. Then the
cruel creatures laughed, and repeated what they had said the day before;
but when Ferko continued to beg and beseech them, the eldest said at
last, 'If you will let us put out one of your eyes and break one of your
legs, then we will give you a bit of our bread.'

At these words poor Ferko wept more bitterly than before, and bore the
torments of hunger till the sun was high in the heavens; then he could
stand it no longer, and he consented to allow his left eye to be put out
and his left leg to be broken. When this was done he stretched out his
hand eagerly for the piece of bread, but his brothers gave him such a
tiny scrap that the starving youth finished it in a moment and besought
them for a second bit.

But the more Ferko wept and told his brothers that he was dying of
hunger, the more they laughed and scolded him for his greed. So he
endured the pangs of starvation all that day, but when night came his
endurance gave way, and he let his right eye be put out and his right
leg broken for a second piece of bread.

After his brothers had thus successfully maimed and disfigured him for
life, they left him groaning on the ground and continued their journey
without him.

Poor Ferko ate up the scrap of bread they had left him and wept
bitterly, but no one heard him or came to his help. Night came on, and
the poor blind youth had no eyes to close, and could only crawl along
the ground, not knowing in the least where he was going. But when the
sun was once more high in the heavens, Ferko felt the blazing heat
scorch him, and sought for some cool shady place to rest his aching
limbs. He climbed to the top of a hill and lay down in the grass, and as
he thought under the shadow of a big tree. But it was no tree he leant
against, but a gallows on which two ravens were seated. The one was
saying to the other as the weary youth lay down, 'Is there anything the
least wonderful or remarkable about this neighbourhood?'

'I should just think there was,' replied the other; 'many things that
don't exist anywhere else in the world. There is a lake down there below
us, and anyone who bathes in it, though he were at death's door, becomes
sound and well on the spot, and those who wash their eyes with the dew
on this hill become as sharp-sighted as the eagle, even if they have
been blind from their youth.'

'Well,' answered the first raven, 'my eyes are in no want of this
healing bath, for, Heaven be praised, they are as good as ever they
were; but my wing has been very feeble and weak ever since it was shot
by an arrow many years ago, so let us fly at once to the lake that I may
be restored to health and strength again.' And so they flew away.

Their words rejoiced Ferko's heart, and he waited impatiently till
evening should come and he could rub the precious dew on his sightless
eyes.

At last it began to grow dusk, and the sun sank behind the mountains;
gradually it became cooler on the hill, and the grass grew wet with dew.
Then Ferko buried his face in the ground till his eyes were damp with
dewdrops, and in a moment he saw clearer than he had ever done in his
life before. The moon was shining brightly, and lighted him to the lake
where he could bathe his poor broken legs.

Then Ferko crawled to the edge of the lake and dipped his limbs in the
water. No sooner had he done so than his legs felt as sound and strong
as they had been before, and Ferko thanked the kind fate that had led
him to the hill where he had overheard the ravens' conversation. He
filled a bottle with the healing water, and then continued his journey
in the best of spirits.

He had not gone far before he met a wolf, who was limping disconsolately
along on three legs, and who on perceiving Ferko began to howl dismally.

'My good friend,' said the youth, 'be of good cheer, for I can soon heal
your leg,' and with these words he poured some of the precious water
over the wolf's paw, and in a minute the animal was springing about
sound and well on all fours. The grateful creature thanked his
benefactor warmly, and promised Ferko to do him a good turn if he should
ever need it.

Ferko continued his way till he came to a ploughed field. Here he
noticed a little mouse creeping wearily along on its hind paws, for its
front paws had both been broken in a trap.

Ferko felt so sorry for the little beast that he spoke to it in the most
friendly manner, and washed its small paws with the healing water. In
a moment the mouse was sound and whole, and after thanking the kind
physician it scampered away over the ploughed furrows.

Ferko again proceeded on his journey, but he hadn't gone far before a
queen bee flew against him, trailing one wing behind her, which had been
cruelly torn in two by a big bird. Ferko was no less willing to help
her than he had been to help the wolf and the mouse, so he poured some
healing drops over the wounded wing. On the spot the queen bee was
cured, and turning to Ferko she said, 'I am most grateful for your
kindness, and shall reward you some day.' And with these words she flew
away humming, gaily.

Then Ferko wandered on for many a long day, and at length reached
a strange kingdom. Here, he thought to himself, he might as well
go straight to the palace and offer his services to the King of the
country, for he had heard that the King's daughter was as beautiful as
the day.

So he went to the royal palace, and as he entered the door the first
people he saw were his two brothers who had so shamefully ill-treated
him. They had managed to obtain places in the King's service, and when
they recognised Ferko with his eyes and legs sound and well they were
frightened to death, for they feared he would tell the King of their
conduct, and that they would be hung.

No sooner had Ferko entered the palace than all eyes were turned on the
handsome youth, and the King's daughter herself was lost in admiration,
for she had never seen anyone so handsome in her life before. His
brothers noticed this, and envy and jealousy were added to their fear,
so much so that they determined once more to destroy him. They went to
the King and told him that Ferko was a wicked magician, who had come to
the palace with the intention of carrying off the Princess.

Then the King had Ferko brought before him, and said, 'You are accused
of being a magician who wishes to rob me of my daughter, and I condemn
you to death; but if you can fulfil three tasks which I shall set you to
do your life shall be spared, on condition you leave the country; but if
you cannot perform what I demand you shall be hung on the nearest tree.'

And turning to the two wicked brothers he said, 'Suggest something for
him to do; no matter how difficult, he must succeed in it or die.'

They did not think long, but replied, 'Let him build your Majesty in one
day a more beautiful palace than this, and if he fails in the attempt
let him be hung.'

The King was pleased with this proposal, and commanded Ferko to set to
work on the following day. The two brothers were delighted, for they
thought they had now got rid of Ferko for ever. The poor youth himself
was heart-broken, and cursed the hour he had crossed the boundary of
the King's domain. As he was wandering disconsolately about the meadows
round the palace, wondering how he could escape being put to death, a
little bee flew past, and settling on his shoulder whispered in his ear,
'What is troubling you, my kind benefactor? Can I be of any help to you?
I am the bee whose wing you healed, and would like to show my gratitude
in some way.'

Ferko recognised the queen bee, and said, 'Alas! how could you help me?
for I have been set to do a task which no one in the whole world could
do, let him be ever such a genius! To-morrow I must build a palace more
beautiful than the King's, and it must be finished before evening.'

'Is that all?' answered the bee, 'then you may comfort yourself; for
before the sun goes down to-morrow night a palace shall be built unlike
any that King has dwelt in before. Just stay here till I come again and
tell you that it is finished.' Having said this she flew merrily away,
and Ferko, reassured by her words, lay down on the grass and slept
peacefully till the next morning.

Early on the following day the whole town was on its feet, and everyone
wondered how and where the stranger would build the wonderful palace.
The Princess alone was silent and sorrowful, and had cried all night
till her pillow was wet, so much did she take the fate of the beautiful
youth to heart.

Ferko spent the whole day in the meadows waiting the return of the bee.
And when evening was come the queen bee flew by, and perching on his
shoulder she said, 'The wonderful palace is ready. Be of good cheer,
and lead the King to the hill just outside the city walls.' And humming
gaily she flew away again.

Ferko went at once to the King and told him the palace was finished. The
whole court went out to see the wonder, and their astonishment was great
at the sight which met their eyes. A splendid palace reared itself on
the hill just outside the walls of the city, made of the most exquisite
flowers that ever grew in mortal garden. The roof was all of crimson
roses, the windows of lilies, the walls of white carnations, the floors
of glowing auriculas and violets, the doors of gorgeous tulips and
narcissi with sunflowers for knockers, and all round hyacinths and other
sweet-smelling flowers bloomed in masses, so that the air was perfumed
far and near and enchanted all who were present.

This splendid palace had been built by the grateful queen bee, who had
summoned all the other bees in the kingdom to help her.

The King's amazement knew no bounds, and the Princess's eyes beamed with
delight as she turned them from the wonderful building on the delighted
Ferko. But the two brothers had grown quite green with envy, and only
declared the more that Ferko was nothing but a wicked magician.

The King, although he had been surprised and astonished at the way his
commands had been carried out, was very vexed that the stranger should
escape with his life, and turning to the two brothers he said, 'He has
certainly accomplished the first task, with the aid no doubt of his
diabolical magic; but what shall we give him to do now? Let us make it
as difficult as possible, and if he fails he shall die.'

Then the eldest brother replied, 'The corn has all been cut, but it has
not yet been put into barns; let the knave collect all the grain in the
kingdom into one big heap before to-morrow night, and if as much as a
stalk of corn is left let him be put to death.

The Princess grew white with terror when she heard these words; but
Ferko felt much more cheerful than he had done the first time, and
wandered out into the meadows again, wondering how he was to get out of
the difficulty. But he could think of no way of escape. The sun sank to
rest and night came on, when a little mouse started out of the grass
at Ferko's feet, and said to him, 'I'm delighted to see you, my kind
benefactor; but why are you looking so sad? Can I be of any help to you,
and thus repay your great kindness to me?'

Then Ferko recognised the mouse whose front paws he had healed, and
replied, 'Alas I how can you help me in a matter that is beyond any
human power! Before to-morrow night all the grain in the kingdom has
to be gathered into one big heap, and if as much as a stalk of corn is
wanting I must pay for it with my life.'

'Is that all?' answered the mouse; 'that needn't distress you much. Just
trust in me, and before the sun sets again you shall hear that your task
is done.' And with these words the little creature scampered away into
the fields.

Ferko, who never doubted that the mouse would be as good as its word,
lay down comforted on the soft grass and slept soundly till next
morning. The day passed slowly, and with the evening came the little
mouse and said, 'Now there is not a single stalk of corn left in any
field; they are all collected in one big heap on the hill out there.'

Then Ferko went joyfully to the King and told him that all he demanded
had been done. And the whole Court went out to see the wonder, and were
no less astonished than they had been the first time. For in a heap
higher than the King's palace lay all the grain of the country, and not
a single stalk of corn had been left behind in any of the fields. And
how had all this been done? The little mouse had summoned every other
mouse in the land to its help, and together they had collected all the
grain in the kingdom.

The King could not hide his amazement, but at the same time his wrath
increased, and he was more ready than ever to believe the two brothers,
who kept on repeating that Ferko was nothing more nor less than a wicked
magician. Only the beautiful Princess rejoiced over Ferko's success, and
looked on him with friendly glances, which the youth returned.

The more the cruel King gazed on the wonder before him, the more
angry he became, for he could not, in the face of his promise, put the
stranger to death. He turned once more to the two brothers and said,
'His diabolical magic has helped him again, but now what third task
shall we set him to do? No matter how impossible it is, he must do it or
die.'

The eldest answered quickly, 'Let him drive all the wolves of the
kingdom on to this hill before to-morrow night. If he does this he may
go free; if not he shall be hung as you have said.'

At these words the Princess burst into tears, and when the King saw this
he ordered her to be shut up in a high tower and carefully guarded till
the dangerous magician should either have left the kingdom or been hung
on the nearest tree.

Ferko wandered out into the fields again, and sat down on the stump of
a tree wondering what he should do next. Suddenly a big wolf ran up to
him, and standing still said, 'I'm very glad to see you again, my kind
benefactor. What are you thinking about all alone by yourself? If I can
help you in any way only say the word, for I would like to give you a
proof of my gratitude.'

Ferko at once recognised the wolf whose broken leg he had healed, and
told him what he had to do the following day if he wished to escape with
his life. 'But how in the world,' he added, 'am I to collect all the
wolves of the kingdom on to that hill over there?'

'If that's all you want done,' answered the wolf, 'you needn't worry
yourself. I'll undertake the task, and you'll hear from me again before
sunset to-morrow. Keep your spirits up.' And with these words he trotted
quickly away.

Then the youth rejoiced greatly, for now he felt that his life was safe;
but he grew very sad when he thought of the beautiful Princess, and that
he would never see her again if he left the country. He lay down once
more on the grass and soon fell fast asleep.

All the next day he spent wandering about the fields, and toward
evening the wolf came running to him in a great hurry and said, 'I have
collected together all the wolves in the kingdom, and they are waiting
for you in the wood. Go quickly to the King, and tell him to go to the
hill that he may see the wonder you have done with his own eyes. Then
return at once to me and get on my back, and I will help you to drive
all the wolves together.'

Then Ferko went straight to the palace and told the King that he was
ready to perform the third task if he would come to the hill and see it
done. Ferko himself returned to the fields, and mounting on the wolf's
back he rode to the wood close by.

Quick as lightning the wolf flew round the wood, and in a minute many
hundred wolves rose up before him, increasing in number every moment,
till they could be counted by thousands. He drove them all before him on
to the hill, where the King and his whole Court and Ferko's two brothers
were standing. Only the lovely Princess was not present, for she was
shut up in her tower weeping bitterly.

The wicked brothers stamped and foamed with rage when they saw the
failure of their wicked designs. But the King was overcome by a sudden
terror when he saw the enormous pack of wolves approaching nearer and
nearer, and calling out to Ferko he said, 'Enough, enough, we don't want
any more.'

But the wolf on whose back Ferko sat, said to its rider, 'Go on! go
on!' and at the same moment many more wolves ran up the hill, howling
horribly and showing their white teeth.

The King in his terror called out, 'Stop a moment; I will give you half
my kingdom if you will drive all the wolves away.' But Ferko pretended
not to hear, and drove some more thousands before him, so that everyone
quaked with horror and fear.

Then the King raised his voice again and called out, 'Stop! you shall
have my whole kingdom, if you will only drive these wolves back to the
places they came from.'

But the wolf kept on encouraging Ferko, and said, 'Go on! go on!' So he
led the wolves on, till at last they fell on the King and on the wicked
brothers, and ate them and the whole Court up in a moment.

Then Ferko went straight to the palace and set the Princess free, and on
the same day he married her and was crowned King of the country. And the
wolves all went peacefully back to their own homes, and Ferko and his
bride lived for many years in peace and happiness together, and were
much beloved by great and small in the land.




 THE GIANTS AND THE HERD-BOY(12)

(12) From the Bukowniaer. Von Wliolocki.

There was once upon a time a poor boy who had neither father nor mother.
In order to gain a living he looked after the sheep of a great Lord. Day
and night he spent out in the open fields, and only when it was very
wet and stormy did he take refuge in a little hut on the edge of a
big forest. Now one night, when he was sitting on the grass beside his
flocks, he heard not very far from him the sound as of some one crying.
He rose up and followed the direction of the noise. To his dismay and
astonishment he found a Giant lying at the entrance of the wood; he was
about to run off as fast as his legs could carry him, when the Giant
called out: 'Don't be afraid, I won't harm you. On the contrary, I will
reward you handsomely if you will bind up my foot. I hurt it when I was
trying to root up an oak-tree.' The Herd-boy took off his shirt, and
bound up the Giant's wounded foot with it. Then the Giant rose up and
said, 'Now come and I will reward you. We are going to celebrate a
marriage to-day, and I promise you we shall have plenty of fun. Come and
enjoy yourself, but in order that my brothers mayn't see you, put this
band round your waist and then you'll be invisible.' With these words
he handed the Herd-boy a belt, and walking on in front he led him to
a fountain where hundreds of Giants and Giantesses were assembled
preparing to hold a wedding. They danced and played different games till
midnight; then one of the Giants tore up a plant by its roots, and all
the Giants and Giantesses made themselves so thin that they disappeared
into the earth through the hole made by the uprooting of the plant. The
wounded Giant remained behind to the last and called out, 'Herd-boy,
where are you?' 'Here I am, close to you,' was the reply. 'Touch me,'
said the Giant, 'so that you too may come with us under ground.' The
Herd-boy did as he was told, and before he could have believed it
possible he found himself in a big hall, where even the walls were
made of pure gold. Then to his astonishment he saw that the hall was
furnished with the tables and chairs that belonged to his master. In a
few minutes the company began to eat and drink.

The banquet was a very gorgeous one, and the poor youth fell to and ate
and drank lustily. When he had eaten and drunk as much as he could he
thought to himself, 'Why shouldn't I put a loaf of bread in my pocket?
I shall be glad of it to-morrow.' So he seized a loaf when no one was
looking and stowed it away under his tunic. No sooner had he done so
than the wounded Giant limped up to him and whispered softly, 'Herd-boy,
where are you?' 'Here I am,' replied the youth. 'Then hold on to me,'
said the Giant, 'so that I may lead you up above again.' So the Herd-boy
held on to the Giant, and in a few moments he found himself on the earth
once more, but the Giant had vanished. The Herd-boy returned to his
sheep, and took off the invisible belt which he hid carefully in his
bag.

The next morning the lad felt hungry, and thought he would cut off a
piece of the loaf he had carried away from the Giants' wedding feast,
and eat it. But although he tried with all his might, he couldn't cut
off the smallest piece. Then in despair he bit the loaf, and what was
his astonishment when a piece of gold fell out of his mouth and rolled
at his feet. He bit the bread a second and third time, and each time a
piece of gold fell out of his mouth; but the bread remained untouched.
The Herd-boy was very much delighted over his stroke of good fortune,
and, hiding the magic loaf in his bag, he hurried off to the nearest
village to buy himself something to eat, and then returned to his sheep.

Now the Lord whose sheep the Herd-boy looked after had a very lovely
daughter, who always smiled and nodded to the youth when she walked with
her father in his fields. For a long time the Herd-boy had made up his
mind to prepare a surprise for this beautiful creature on her birthday.
So when the day approached he put on his invisible belt, took a sack of
gold pieces with him, and slipping into her room in the middle of the
night, he placed the bag of gold beside her bed and returned to his
sheep. The girl's joy was great, and so was her parents' next day when
they found the sack full of gold pieces. The Herd-boy was so pleased to
think what pleasure he had given that the next night he placed another
bag of gold beside the girl's bed. And this he continued to do for seven
nights, and the girl and her parents made up their minds that it must
be a good Fairy who brought the gold every night. But one night they
determined to watch, and see from their hiding place who the bringer of
the sack of gold really was.

On the eighth night a fearful storm of wind and rain came on while the
Herd-boy was on his way to bring the beautiful girl another bag of gold.
Then for the first time he noticed, just as he reached his master's
house, that he had forgotten the belt which made him invisible. He
didn't like the idea of going back to his hut in the wind and wet, so
he just stepped as he was into the girl's room, laid the sack of
gold beside her, and was turning to leave the room, when his master
confronted him and said, 'You young rogue, so you were going to steal
the gold that a good Fairy brings every night, were you?' The Herd-boy
was so taken aback by his words, that he stood trembling before him,
and did not dare to explain his presence. Then his master spoke. 'As you
have hitherto always behaved well in my service I will not send you to
prison; but leave your place instantly and never let me see your face
again.' So the Herd-boy went back to his hut, and taking his loaf and
belt with him, he went to the nearest town. There he bought himself
some fine clothes, and a beautiful coach with four horses, hired two
servants, and drove back to his master. You may imagine how astonished
he was to see his Herd-boy returning to him in this manner! Then the
youth told him of the piece of good luck that had befallen him, and
asked him for the hand of his beautiful daughter. This was readily
granted, and the two lived in peace and happiness to the end of their
lives.




 THE INVISIBLE PRINCE

Once upon a time there lived a Fairy who had power over the earth, the
sea, fire, and the air; and this Fairy had four sons. The eldest, who
was quick and lively, with a vivid imagination, she made Lord of Fire,
which was in her opinion the noblest of all the elements. To the second
son, whose wisdom and prudence made amends for his being rather dull,
she gave the government of the earth. The third was wild and savage, and
of monstrous stature; and the Fairy, his mother, who was ashamed of
his defects, hoped to hide them by creating him King of the Seas. The
youngest, who was the slave of his passions and of a very uncertain
temper, became Prince of the Air.

Being the youngest, he was naturally his mother's favourite; but this
did not blind her to his weaknesses, and she foresaw that some day he
would suffer much pain through falling in love. So she thought the best
thing she could do was to bring him up with a horror of women; and, to
her great delight, she saw this dislike only increased as he grew older.
From his earliest childhood he heard nothing but stories of princes who
had fallen into all sorts of troubles through love; and she drew
such terrible pictures of poor little Cupid that the young man had no
difficulty in believing that he was the root of all evil.

All the time that this wise mother could spare from filling her son
with hatred for all womenkind she passed in giving him a love of the
pleasures of the chase, which henceforth became his chief joy. For his
amusement she had made a new forest, planted with the most splendid
trees, and turned loose in it every animal that could be found in any of
the four quarters of the globe. In the midst of this forest she built a
palace which had not its equal for beauty in the whole world, and then
she considered that she had done enough to make any prince happy.

Now it is all very well to abuse the God of Love, but a man cannot
struggle against his fate. In his secret heart the Prince got tired of
his mother's constant talk on this subject; and when one day she quitted
the palace to attend to some business, begging him never to go beyond
the grounds, he at once jumped at the chance of disobeying her.

Left to himself the Prince soon forgot the wise counsels of his mother,
and feeling very much bored with his own company, he ordered some of
the spirits of the air to carry him to the court of a neighbouring
sovereign. This kingdom was situated in the Island of Roses, where the
climate is so delicious that the grass is always green and the flowers
always sweet. The waves, instead of beating on the rocks, seemed to die
gently on the shore; clusters of golden bushes covered the land, and the
vines were bent low with grapes.

The King of this island had a daughter named Rosalie, who was more
lovely than any girl in the whole world. No sooner had the eyes of the
Prince of the Air rested on her than he forgot all the terrible woes
which had been prophesied to him ever since he was born, for in one
single moment the plans of years are often upset. He instantly began to
think how best to make himself happy, and the shortest way that occurred
to him was to have Rosalie carried off by his attendant spirits.

It is easy to imagine the feelings of the King when he found that his
daughter had vanished. He wept her loss night and day, and his only
comfort was to talk over it with a young and unknown prince, who had
just arrived at the Court. Alas! he did not know what a deep interest
the stranger had in Rosalie, for he too had seen her, and had fallen a
victim to her charms.

One day the King, more sorrowful than usual, was walking sadly along
the sea-shore, when after a long silence the unknown Prince, who was his
only companion, suddenly spoke. 'There is no evil without a remedy,' he
said to the unhappy father; 'and if you will promise me your daughter in
marriage, I will undertake to bring her back to you.'

'You are trying to soothe me by vain promises,' answered the King. 'Did
I not see her caught up into the air, in spite of cries which would have
softened the heart of any one but the barbarian who has robbed me of
her? The unfortunate girl is pining away in some unknown land, where
perhaps no foot of man has ever trod, and I shall see her no more. But
go, generous stranger; bring back Rosalie if you can, and live happy
with her ever after in this country, of which I now declare you heir.'

Although the stranger's name and rank were unknown to Rosalie's father,
he was really the son of the King of the Golden Isle, which had for
capital a city that extended from one sea to another. The walls, washed
by the quiet waters, were covered with gold, which made one think of the
yellow sands. Above them was a rampart of orange and lemon trees, and
all the streets were paved with gold.

The King of this beautiful island had one son, for whom a life of
adventure had been foretold at his birth. This so frightened his father
and mother that in order to comfort them a Fairy, who happened to be
present at the time, produced a little pebble which she told them to
keep for the Prince till he grew up, as by putting it in his mouth he
would become invisible, as long as he did not try to speak, for if he
did the stone would lose all its virtue. In this way the good fairy
hoped that the Prince would be protected against all dangers.

No sooner did the Prince begin to grow out of boyhood than he longed to
see if the other countries of the world were as splendid as the one in
which he lived. So, under pretence of visiting some small islands that
belonged to his father, he set out. But a frightful storm drove his ship
on to unknown shores, where most of his followers were put to death by
the savages, and the Prince himself only managed to escape by making use
of his magic pebble. By this means he passed through the midst of them
unseen, and wandered on till he reached the coast, where he re-embarked
on board his ship.

The first land he sighted was the Island of Roses, and he went at once
to the court of the King, Rosalie's father. The moment his eyes beheld
the Princess, he fell in love with her like everyone else.

He had already spent several months in this condition when the Prince of
the Air whirled her away, to the grief and despair of every man on the
island. But sad though everybody was, the Prince of the Golden Isle was
perfectly inconsolable, and he passed both days and nights in bemoaning
his loss.

'Alas!' he cried; 'shall I never see my lovely Princess again?' Who
knows where she may be, and what fairy may have her in his keeping? I am
only a man, but I am strong in my love, and I will seek the whole world
through till I find her.'

So saying, he left the court, and made ready for his journey.

He travelled many weary days without hearing a single word of the lost
Princess, till one morning, as he was walking through a thick forest,
he suddenly perceived a magnificent palace standing at the end of a
pine avenue, and his heart bounded to think that he might be gazing on
Rosalie's prison. He hastened his steps, and quickly arrived at the gate
of the palace, which was formed of a single agate. The gate swung
open to let him through, and he next passed successively three courts,
surrounded by deep ditches filled with running water, with birds of
brilliant plumage flying about the banks. Everything around was rare and
beautiful, but the Prince scarcely raised his eyes to all these wonders.
He thought only of the Princess and where he should find her, but in
vain he opened every door and searched in every corner; he neither saw
Rosalie nor anyone else. At last there was no place left for him to
search but a little wood, which contained in the centre a sort of hall
built entirely of orange-trees, with four small rooms opening out of
the corners. Three of these were empty except for statues and wonderful
things, but in the fourth the Invisible Prince caught sight of Rosalie.
His joy at beholding her again was, however, somewhat lessened by seeing
that the Prince of the Air was kneeling at her feet, and pleading his
own cause. But it was in vain that he implored her to listen; she only
shook her head. 'No,' was all she would say; 'you snatched me from
my father whom I loved, and all the splendour in the world can never
console me. Go! I can never feel anything towards you but hate and
contempt.' With these words she turned away and entered her own
apartments.

Unknown to herself the Invisible Prince had followed her, but fearing to
be discovered by the Princess in the presence of others, he made up his
mind to wait quietly till dark; and employed the long hours in writing a
poem to the Princess, which he laid on the bed beside her. This done, he
thought of nothing but how best to deliver Rosalie, and he resolved to
take advantage of a visit which the Prince of the Air paid every year to
his mother and brothers in order to strike the blow.

One day Rosalie was sitting alone in her room thinking of her troubles
when she suddenly saw a pen get up from off the desk and begin to write
all by itself on a sheet of white paper. As she did not know that it was
guided by an invisible hand she was very much astonished, and the moment
that the pen had ceased to move she instantly went over to the table,
where she found some lovely verses, telling her that another shared her
distresses, whatever they might be, and loved her with all his heart;
and that he would never rest until he had delivered her from the hands
of the man she hated. Thus encouraged, she told him all her story, and
of the arrival of a young stranger in her father's palace, whose looks
had so charmed her that since that day she had thought of no one else.
At these words the Prince could contain himself no longer. He took the
pebble from his mouth, and flung himself at Rosalie's feet.

When they had got over the first rapture of meeting they began to make
plans to escape from the power of the Prince of the Air. But this did
not prove easy, for the magic stone would only serve for one person at
a time, and in order to save Rosalie the Prince of the Golden Isle would
have to expose himself to the fury of his enemy. But Rosalie would not
hear of this.

'No, Prince,' she said; 'since you are here this island no longer feels
a prison. Besides, you are under the protection of a Fairy, who always
visits your father's court at this season. Go instantly and seek her,
and when she is found implore the gift of another stone with similar
powers. Once you have that, there will be no further difficulty in the
way of escape.'

The Prince of the Air returned a few days later from his mother's
palace, but the Invisible Prince had already set out. He had, however,
entirely forgotten the road by which he had come, and lost himself for
so long in the forest, that when at last he reached home the Fairy had
already left, and, in spite of all his grief, there was nothing for it
but to wait till the Fairy's next visit, and allow Rosalie to suffer
three months longer. This thought drove him to despair, and he had
almost made up his mind to return to the place of her captivity, when
one day, as he was strolling along an alley in the woods, he saw a
huge oak open its trunk, and out of it step two Princes in earnest
conversation. As our hero had the magic stone in his mouth they imagined
themselves alone, and did not lower their voices.

'What!' said one, 'are you always going to allow yourself to be
tormented by a passion which can never end happily, and in your whole
kingdom can you find nothing else to satisfy you?'

'What is the use,' replied the other, 'of being Prince of the Gnomes,
and having a mother who is queen over all the four elements, if I cannot
win the love of the Princess Argentine? From the moment that I first saw
her, sitting in the forest surrounded by flowers, I have never ceased
to think of her night and day, and, although I love her, I am quite
convinced that she will never care for me. You know that I have in my
palace the cabinets of the years. In the first, great mirrors reflect
the past; in the second, we contemplate the present; in the third, the
future can be read. It was here that I fled after I had gazed on the
Princess Argentine, but instead of love I only saw scorn and contempt.
Think how great must be my devotion, when, in spite of my fate, I still
love on!'

Now the Prince of the Golden Isle was enchanted with this conversation,
for the Princess Argentine was his sister, and he hoped, by means of her
influence over the Prince of the Gnomes, to obtain from his brother
the release of Rosalie. So he joyfully returned to his father's palace,
where he found his friend the Fairy, who at once presented him with
a magic pebble like his own. As may be imagined, he lost no time in
setting out to deliver Rosalie, and travelled so fast that he soon
arrived at the forest, in the midst of which she lay a captive. But
though he found the palace he did not find Rosalie. He hunted high and
low, but there was no sign of her, and his despair was so great that
he was ready, a thousand times over, to take his own life. At last he
remembered the conversation of the two Princes about the cabinets of the
years, and that if he could manage to reach the oak tree, he would be
certain to discover what had become of Rosalie. Happily, he soon found
out the secret of the passage and entered the cabinet of the present,
where he saw reflected in the mirrors the unfortunate Rosalie sitting
on the floor weeping bitterly, and surrounded with genii, who never left
her night or day.

This sight only increased the misery of the Prince, for he did not
know where the castle was, nor how to set about finding it. However,
he resolved to seek the whole world through till he came to the right
place. He began by setting sail in a favourable wind, but his bad luck
followed him even on the sea. He had scarcely lost sight of the land
when a violent storm arose, and after several hours of beating about,
the vessel was driven on to some rocks, on which it dashed itself
to bits. The Prince was fortunate enough to be able to lay hold of a
floating spar, and contrived to keep himself afloat; and, after a long
struggle with the winds and waves, he was cast upon a strange island.
But what was his surprise, on reaching the shore, to hear sounds of the
most heartrending distress, mingled with the sweetest songs which had
ever charmed him! His curiosity was instantly roused, and he advanced
cautiously till he saw two huge dragons guarding the gate of a wood.
They were terrible indeed to look upon. Their bodies were covered with
glittering scales; their curly tails extended far over the land; flames
darted from their mouths and noses, and their eyes would have made the
bravest shudder; but as the Prince was invisible and they did not see
him, he slipped past them into the wood. He found himself at once in a
labyrinth, and wandered about for a long time without meeting anyone; in
fact, the only sight he saw was a circle of human hands, sticking out
of the ground above the wrist, each with a bracelet of gold, on which
a name was written. The farther he advanced in the labyrinth the more
curious he became, till he was stopped by two corpses lying in the
midst of a cypress alley, each with a scarlet cord round his neck and a
bracelet on his arm on which were engraved their own names, and those of
two Princesses.

The invisible Prince recognised these dead men as Kings of two large
islands near his own home, but the names of the Princesses were unknown
to him. He grieved for their unhappy fate, and at once proceeded to bury
them; but no sooner had he laid them in their graves, than their hands
started up through the earth and remained sticking up like those of
their fellows.

The Prince went on his way, thinking about this strange adventure, when
suddenly at the turn of the walk he perceived a tall man whose face was
the picture of misery, holding in his hands a silken cord of the exact
colour of those round the necks of the dead men. A few steps further
this man came up with another as miserable to the full as he himself;
they silently embraced, and then without a word passed the cords round
their throats, and fell dead side by side. In vain the Prince rushed to
their assistance and strove to undo the cord. He could not loosen it; so
he buried them like the others and continued his path.

He felt, however, that great prudence was necessary, or he himself might
become the victim of some enchantment; and he was thankful to slip past
the dragons, and enter a beautiful park, with clear streams and sweet
flowers, and a crowd of men and maidens. But he could not forget
the terrible things he had seen, and hoped eagerly for a clue to the
mystery. Noticing two young people talking together, he drew near
thinking that he might get some explanation of what puzzled him. And so
he did.

'You swear,' said the Prince, 'that you will love me till you die, but I
fear your faithless heart, and I feel that I shall soon have to seek the
Fairy Despair, ruler of half this island. She carries off the lovers
who have been cast away by their mistresses, and wish to have done with
life. She places them in a labyrinth where they are condemned to walk
for ever, with a bracelet on their arms and a cord round their necks,
unless they meet another as miserable as themselves. Then the cord is
pulled and they lie where they fall, till they are buried by the first
passer by. Terrible as this death would be,' added the Prince, 'it would
be sweeter than life if I had lost your love.'

The sight of all these happy lovers only made the Prince grieve the
more, and he wandered along the seashore spending his days; but one day
he was sitting on a rock bewailing his fate, and the impossibility
of leaving the island, when all in a moment the sea appeared to raise
itself nearly to the skies, and the caves echoed with hideous screams.
As he looked a woman rose from the depths of the sea, flying madly
before a furious giant. The cries she uttered softened the heart of
the Prince; he took the stone from his mouth, and drawing his sword
he rushed after the giant, so as to give the lady time to escape. But
hardly had he come within reach of the enemy, than the giant touched him
with a ring that he held in his hand, and the Prince remained immovable
where he stood. The giant then hastily rejoined his prey, and, seizing
her in his arms, he plunged her into the sea. Then he sent some tritons
to bind chains about the Prince of the Golden Isle, and he too felt
himself borne to the depths of the ocean, and without the hope of ever
again seeing the Princess.

Now the giant whom the invisible had so rashly attacked was the Lord
of the Sea, and the third son of the Queen of the Elements, and he had
touched the youth with a magic ring which enabled a mortal to live under
water. So the Prince of the Golden Isle found, when bound in chains by
the tritons, he was carried through the homes of strange monsters
and past immense seaweed forests, till he reached a vast sandy space,
surrounded by huge rocks. On the tallest of the rocks sat the giant as
on a throne.

'Rash mortal,' said he, when the Prince was dragged before him, 'you
have deserved death, but you shall live only to suffer more cruelly. Go,
and add to the number of those whom it is my pleasure to torture.'

At these words the unhappy Prince found himself tied to a rock; but he
was not alone in his misfortunes, for all round him were chained Princes
and Princesses, whom the giant had led captive. Indeed, it was his chief
delight to create a storm, in order to add to the list of his prisoners.

As his hands were fastened, it was impossible for the Prince of the
Golden Isle to make use of his magic stone, and he passed his nights and
days dreaming of Rosalie. But at last the time came when the giant took
it into his head to amuse himself by arranging fights between some
of his captives. Lots were drawn, and one fell upon our Prince, whose
chains were immediately loosened. The moment he was set free, he
snatched up his stone, and became invisible.

The astonishment of the giant at the sudden disappearance of the Prince
may well be imagined. He ordered all the passages to be watched, but it
was too late, for the Prince had already glided between two rocks. He
wandered for a long while through the forests, where he met nothing but
fearful monsters; he climbed rock after rock, steered his way from tree
to tree, till at length he arrived at the edge of the sea, at the foot
of a mountain that he remembered to have seen in the cabinet of the
present, where Rosalie was held captive.

Filled with joy, he made his way to the top of the mountain which
pierced the clouds, and there he found a palace. He entered, and in the
middle of a long gallery he discovered a crystal room, in the midst of
which sat Rosalie, guarded night and day by genii. There was no door
anywhere, nor any window. At this sight the Prince became more puzzled
than ever, for he did not know how he was to warn Rosalie of his return.
Yet it broke his heart to see her weeping from dawn till dark.

One day, as Rosalie was walking up and down her room, she was surprised
to see that the crystal which served for a wall had grown cloudy, as if
some one had breathed on it, and, what was more, wherever she moved
the brightness of the crystal always became clouded. This was enough to
cause the Princess to suspect that her lover had returned. In order
to set the Prince of the Air's mind at rest she began by being very
gracious to him, so that when she begged that her captivity might be a
little lightened she should not be refused. At first the only favour she
asked was to be allowed to walk for one hour every day up and down the
long gallery. This was granted, and the Invisible Prince speedily took
the opportunity of handing her the stone, which she at once slipped
into her mouth. No words can paint the fury of her captor at her
disappearance. He ordered the spirits of the air to fly through all
space, and to bring back Rosalie wherever she might be. They instantly
flew off to obey his commands, and spread themselves over the whole
earth.

Meantime Rosalie and the Invisible Prince had reached, hand in hand,
a door of the gallery which led through a terrace into the gardens. In
silence they glided along, and thought themselves already safe, when
a furious monster dashed itself by accident against Rosalie and the
Invisible Prince, and in her fright she let go his hand. No one can
speak as long as he is invisible, and besides, they knew that the
spirits were all around them, and at the slightest sound they would
be recognised; so all they could do was to feel about in the hope that
their hands might once more meet.

But, alas! the joy of liberty lasted but a short time. The Princess,
having wandered in vain up and down the forest, stopped at last on the
edge of a fountain. As she walked she wrote on the trees: 'If ever the
Prince, my lover, comes this way, let him know that it is here I dwell,
and that I sit daily on the edge of this fountain, mingling my tears
with its waters.'

These words were read by one of the genii, who repeated them to his
master. The Prince of the Air, in his turn making himself invisible, was
led to the fountain, and waited for Rosalie. When she drew near he
held out his hand, which she grasped eagerly, taking it for that of her
lover; and, seizing his opportunity, the Prince passed a cord round her
arms, and throwing off his invisibility cried to his spirits to drag her
into the lowest pit.

It was at this moment that the Invisible Prince appeared, and at the
sight of the Prince of the Genii mounting into the air, holding a silken
cord, he guessed instantly that he was carrying off Rosalie.

He felt so overwhelmed by despair that he thought for an instant of
putting an end to his life. 'Can I survive my misfortunes?' he cried. 'I
fancied I had come to an end of my troubles, and now they are worse than
ever. What will become of me? Never can I discover the place where this
monster will hide Rosalie.'

The unhappy youth had determined to let himself die, and indeed his
sorrow alone was enough to kill him, when the thought that by means
of the cabinets of the years he might find out where the Princess was
imprisoned, gave him a little ray of comfort. So he continued to walk
on through the forest, and after some hours he arrived at the gate of a
temple, guarded by two huge lions. Being invisible, he was able to enter
unharmed. In the middle of the temple was an altar, on which lay a book,
and behind the altar hung a great curtain. The Prince approached the
altar and opened the book, which contained the names of all the lovers
in the world: and in it he read that Rosalie had been carried off by the
Prince of the Air to an abyss which had no entrance except the one that
lay by way of the Fountain of Gold.

Now, as the Prince had not the smallest idea where this fountain was to
be found, it might be thought that he was not much nearer Rosalie than
before. This was not, however, the view taken by the Prince.

'Though every step that I take may perhaps lead me further from her,'
he said to himself, 'I am still thankful to know that she is alive
somewhere.'

On leaving the temple the Invisible Prince saw six paths lying before
him, each of which led through the wood. He was hesitating which to
choose, when he suddenly beheld two people coming towards him, down
the track which lay most to his right. They turned out to be the Prince
Gnome and his friend, and the sudden desire to get some news of his
sister, Princess Argentine, caused the Invisible Prince to follow them
and to listen to their conversation.

'Do you think,' the Prince Gnome was saying, 'do you think that I would
not break my chains if I could? I know that the Princess Argentine will
never love me, yet each day I feel her dearer still. And as if this
were not enough, I have the horror of feeling that she probably loves
another. So I have resolved to put myself out of my pain by means of the
Golden Fountain. A single drop of its water falling on the sand around
will trace the name of my rival in her heart. I dread the test, and yet
this very dread convinces me of my misfortune.'

It may be imagined that after listening to these words the Invisible
Prince followed Prince Gnome like his shadow, and after walking some
time they arrived at the Golden Fountain. The unhappy lover stooped down
with a sigh, and dipping his finger in the water let fall a drop on
the sand. It instantly wrote the name of Prince Flame, his brother. The
shock of this discovery was so real, that Prince Gnome sank fainting
into the arms of his friend.

Meanwhile the Invisible Prince was turning over in his mind how he could
best deliver Rosalie. As, since he had been touched by the Giant's ring,
he had the power to live in the water as well as on land, he at once
dived into the fountain. He perceived in one corner a door leading into
the mountain, and at the foot of the mountain was a high rock on which
was fixed an iron ring with a cord attached. The Prince promptly guessed
that the cord was used to chain the Princess, and drew his sword and cut
it. In a moment he felt the Princess's hand in his, for she had
always kept her magic pebble in her mouth, in spite of the prayers and
entreaties of the Prince of the Air to make herself visible.

So hand in hand the invisible Prince and Rosalie crossed the mountain;
but as the Princess had no power of living under water, she could not
pass the Golden Fountain. Speechless and invisible they clung together
on the brink, trembling at the frightful tempest the Prince of the Air
had raised in his fury. The storm had already lasted many days when
tremendous heat began to make itself felt. The lightning flashed, the
thunder rattled, fire bolts fell from heaven, burning up the forests and
even the fields of corn. In one instant the very streams were dried up,
and the Prince, seizing his opportunity, carried the Princess over the
Golden Fountain.

It took them a long time still to reach the Golden Isle, but at last
they got there, and we may be quite sure they never wanted to leave it
any more.




 THE CROW(13)

(13) From the Polish. Kletke.

Once upon a time there were three Princesses who were all three young
and beautiful; but the youngest, although she was not fairer than the
other two, was the most loveable of them all.

About half a mile from the palace in which they lived there stood a
castle, which was uninhabited and almost a ruin, but the garden which
surrounded it was a mass of blooming flowers, and in this garden the
youngest Princess used often to walk.

One day when she was pacing to and fro under the lime trees, a black
crow hopped out of a rose-bush in front of her. The poor beast was all
torn and bleeding, and the kind little Princess was quite unhappy about
it. When the crow saw this it turned to her and said:

'I am not really a black crow, but an enchanted Prince, who has been
doomed to spend his youth in misery. If you only liked, Princess, you
could save me. But you would have to say good-bye to all your own people
and come and be my constant companion in this ruined castle. There is
one habitable room in it, in which there is a golden bed; there you will
have to live all by yourself, and don't forget that whatever you may see
or hear in the night you must not scream out, for if you give as much as
a single cry my sufferings will be doubled.'

The good-natured Princess at once left her home and her family and
hurried to the ruined castle, and took possession of the room with the
golden bed.

When night approached she lay down, but though she shut her eyes tight
sleep would not come. At midnight she heard to her great horror some one
coming along the passage, and in a minute her door was flung wide open
and a troop of strange beings entered the room. They at once proceeded
to light a fire in the huge fireplace; then they placed a great cauldron
of boiling water on it. When they had done this, they approached the
bed on which the trembling girl lay, and, screaming and yelling all
the time, they dragged her towards the cauldron. She nearly died with
fright, but she never uttered a sound. Then of a sudden the cock crew,
and all the evil spirits vanished.

At the same moment the crow appeared and hopped all round the room with
joy. It thanked the Princess most heartily for her goodness, and said
that its sufferings had already been greatly lessened.

Now one of the Princess's elder sisters, who was very inquisitive, had
found out about everything, and went to pay her youngest sister a visit
in the ruined castle. She implored her so urgently to let her spend the
night with her in the golden bed, that at last the good-natured little
Princess consented. But at midnight, when the odd folk appeared, the
elder sister screamed with terror, and from this time on the youngest
Princess insisted always on keeping watch alone.

So she lived in solitude all the daytime, and at night she would have
been frightened, had she not been so brave; but every day the crow came
and thanked her for her endurance, and assured her that his sufferings
were far less than they had been.

And so two years passed away, when one day the crow came to the Princess
and said: 'In another year I shall be freed from the spell I am under
at present, because then the seven years will be over. But before I
can resume my natural form, and take possession of the belongings of
my forefathers, you must go out into the world and take service as a
maidservant.'

The young Princess consented at once, and for a whole year she served as
a maid; but in spite of her youth and beauty she was very badly treated,
and suffered many things. One evening, when she was spinning flax, and
had worked her little white hands weary, she heard a rustling beside her
and a cry of joy. Then she saw a handsome youth standing beside her; who
knelt down at her feet and kissed the little weary white hands.

'I am the Prince,' he said, 'who you in your goodness, when I was
wandering about in the shape of a black crow, freed from the most awful
torments. Come now to my castle with me, and let us live there happily
together.'

So they went to the castle where they had both endured so much. But when
they reached it, it was difficult to believe that it was the same, for
it had all been rebuilt and done up again. And there they lived for a
hundred years, a hundred years of joy and happiness.




HOW SIX MEN TRAVELLED THROUGH THE WIDE WORLD

There was once upon a time a man who understood all sorts of arts; he
served in the war, and bore himself bravely and well; but when the war
was over, he got his discharge, and set out on his travels with three
farthings of his pay in his pocket. 'Wait,' he said; 'that does not
please me; only let me find the right people, and the King shall yet
give me all the treasures of his kingdom.' He strode angrily into the
forest, and there he saw a man standing who had uprooted six trees as
if they were straws. He said to him, 'Will you be my servant and travel
with me?'

'Yes,' he answered; 'but first of all I will take this little bundle
of sticks home to my mother,' and he took one of the trees and wound
it round the other five, raised the bundle on his shoulders and bore it
off. Then he came back and went with his master, who said, 'We two ought
to be able to travel through the wide world!' And when they had gone a
little way they came upon a hunter, who was on his knees, his gun on his
shoulder, aiming at something. The master said to him, 'Hunter, what are
you aiming at?'

He answered, 'Two miles from this place sits a fly on a branch of an
oak; I want to shoot out its left eye.'

'Oh, go with me,' said the man; 'if we three are together we shall
easily travel through the wide world.'

The hunter agreed and went with him, and they came to seven windmills
whose sails were going round quite fast, and yet there was not a breath
of wind, nor was a leaf moving. The man said, 'I don't know what is
turning those windmills; there is not the slightest breeze blowing.' So
he walked on with his servants, and when they had gone two miles they
saw a man sitting on a tree, holding one of his nostrils and blowing out
of the other.

'Fellow, what are you puffing at up there?' asked the man.

He replied, 'Two miles from this place are standing seven windmills;
see, I am blowing to drive them round.'

'Oh, go with me,' said the man; 'if we four are together we shall easily
travel through the wide world.'

So the blower got down and went with him, and after a time they saw a
man who was standing on one leg, and had unstrapped the other and
laid it near him. Then said the master, 'You have made yourself very
comfortable to rest!'

'I am a runner,' answered he; 'and so that I shall not go too quickly,
I have unstrapped one leg; when I run with two legs, I go faster than a
bird flies.'

'Oh, go with me; if we five are together, we shall easily travel through
the wide world.' So he went with him, and, not long afterwards, they met
a man who wore a little hat, but he had it slouched over one ear.

'Manners, manners!' said the master to him; 'don't hang your hat over
one ear; you look like a madman!'

'I dare not,' said the other, 'for if I were to put my hat on straight,
there would come such a frost that the very birds in the sky would
freeze and fall dead on the earth.'

'Oh, go with me,' said the master; 'if we six are together, we shall
easily travel through the wide world.

Now the Six came to a town in which the King had proclaimed that whoever
should run with his daughter in a race, and win, should become her
husband; but if he lost, he must lose his head. This was reported to
the man who declared he would compete, 'but,' he said, 'I shall let my
servant run for me.'

The King replied, 'Then both your heads must be staked, and your head
and his must be guaranteed for the winner.'

When this was agreed upon and settled, the man strapped on the runner's
other leg, saying to him, 'Now be nimble, and see that we win!' It was
arranged that whoever should first bring water out of a stream a long
way off, should be the victor. Then the runner got a pitcher, and the
King's daughter another, and they began to run at the same time; but in
a moment, when the King's daughter was only just a little way off,
no spectator could see the runner, and it seemed as if the wind had
whistled past. In a short time he reached the stream, filled his
pitcher with water, and turned round again. But, half way home, a great
drowsiness came over him; he put down his pitcher, lay down, and fell
asleep. He had, however, put a horse's skull which was lying on the
ground, for his pillow, so that he should not be too comfortable and
might soon wake up.

In the meantime the King's daughter, who could also run well, as well
as an ordinary man could, reached the stream, and hastened back with her
pitcher full of water. When she saw the runner lying there asleep, she
was delighted, and said, 'My enemy is given into my hands!' She emptied
his pitcher and ran on.

Everything now would have been lost, if by good luck the hunter had not
been standing on the castle tower and had seen everything with his sharp
eyes.

'Ah,' said he, 'the King's daughter shall not overreach us;' and,
loading his gun, he shot so cleverly, that he shot away the horse's
skull from under the runner's head, without its hurting him. Then the
runner awoke, jumped up, and saw that his pitcher was empty and the
King's daughter far ahead. But he did not lose courage, and ran back
to the stream with his pitcher, filled it once more with water, and was
home ten minutes before the King's daughter arrived.

'Look,' said he, 'I have only just exercised my legs; that was nothing
of a run.'

But the King was angry, and his daughter even more so, that she should
be carried away by a common, discharged soldier. They consulted together
how they could destroy both him and his companions.

'Then,' said the King to her, 'I have found a way. Don't be frightened;
they shall not come home again.' He said to them, 'You must now make
merry together, and eat and drink,' and he led them into a room which
had a floor of iron; the doors were also of iron, and the windows were
barred with iron. In the room was a table spread with delicious food.
The King said to them, 'Go in and enjoy yourselves,' and as soon as
they were inside he had the doors shut and bolted. Then he made the cook
come, and ordered him to keep up a large fire under the room until the
iron was red-hot. The cook did so, and the Six sitting round the table
felt it grow very warm, and they thought this was because of their good
fare; but when the heat became still greater and they wanted to go out,
but found the doors and windows fastened, then they knew that the King
meant them harm and was trying to suffocate them.

'But he shall not succeed,' cried he of the little hat, 'I will make a
frost come which shall make the fire ashamed and die out!' So he put his
hat on straight, and at once there came such a frost that all the heat
disappeared and the food on the dishes began to freeze. When a couple of
hours had passed, and the King thought they must be quite dead from the
heat, he had the doors opened and went in himself to see.

But when the doors were opened, there stood all Six, alive and well,
saying they were glad they could come out to warm themselves, for the
great cold in the room had frozen all the food hard in the dishes. Then
the King went angrily to the cook, and scolded him, and asked him why he
had not done what he was told.

But the cook answered, 'There is heat enough there; see for yourself.'
Then the King saw a huge fire burning under the iron room, and
understood that he could do no harm to the Six in this way. The King
now began again to think how he could free himself from his unwelcome
guests. He commanded the master to come before him, and said, 'If you
will take gold, and give up your right to my daughter, you shall have as
much as you like.'

'Oh, yes, your Majesty,' answered he, 'give me as much as my servant can
carry, and I will give up your daughter.'

The King was delighted, and the man said, 'I will come and fetch it in
fourteen days.'

Then he called all the tailors in the kingdom together, and made them
sit down for fourteen days sewing at a sack. When it was finished, he
made the strong man who had uprooted the trees take the sack on his
shoulder and go with him to the King. Then the King said, 'What a
powerful fellow that is, carrying that bale of linen as large as a house
on his shoulder!' and he was much frightened, and thought 'What a lot of
gold he will make away with!' Then he had a ton of gold brought, which
sixteen of the strongest men had to carry; but the strong man seized it
with one hand, put it in the sack, saying, 'Why don't you bring me more?
That scarcely covers the bottom!' Then the King had to send again and
again to fetch his treasures, which the strong man shoved into the sack,
and the sack was only half full.

'Bring more,' he cried, 'these crumbs don't fill it.' So seven thousand
waggons of the gold of the whole kingdom were driven up; these the
strong man shoved into the sack, oxen and all.

'I will no longer be particular,' he said, 'and will take what comes, so
that the sack shall be full.'

When everything was put in and there was not yet enough, he said, 'I
will make an end of this; it is easy to fasten a sack when it is not
full.' Then he threw it on his back and went with his companions.

Now, when the King saw how a single man was carrying away the wealth
of the whole country he was very angry, and made his cavalry mount
and pursue the Six, and bring back the strong man with the sack. Two
regiments soon overtook them, and called to them, 'You are prisoners!
lay down the sack of gold or you shall be cut down.'

'What do you say?' said the blower, 'we are prisoners? Before that, you
shall dance in the air!' And he held one nostril and blew with the other
at the two regiments; they were separated and blown away in the blue sky
over the mountains, one this way, and the other that. A sergeant-major
cried for mercy, saying he had nine wounds, and was a brave fellow, and
did not deserve this disgrace. So the blower let him off, and he came
down without hurt. Then he said to him, 'Now go home to the King, and
say that if he sends any more cavalry I will blow them all into the
air.'

When the King received the message, he said, 'Let the fellows go; they
are bewitched.' Then the Six brought the treasure home, shared it among
themselves, and lived contentedly till the end of their days.




 THE WIZARD KING(14)

(14) From Les fees illustres.

In very ancient times there lived a King, whose power lay not only in
the vast extent of his dominions, but also in the magic secrets of which
he was master. After spending the greater part of his early youth in
pleasure, he met a Princess of such remarkable beauty that he at once
asked her hand in marriage, and, having obtained it, considered himself
the happiest of men.

After a year's time a son was born, worthy in every way of such
distinguished parents, and much admired by the whole Court. As soon as
the Queen thought him strong enough for a journey she set out with him
secretly to visit her Fairy godmother. I said secretly, because the
Fairy had warned the Queen that the King was a magician; and as from
time immemorial there had been a standing feud between the Fairies and
the Wizards, he might not have approved of his wife's visit.

The Fairy godmother, who took the deepest interest in all the Queen's
concerns, and who was much pleased with the little Prince, endowed him
with the power of pleasing everybody from his cradle, as well as with
a wonderful ease in learning everything which could help to make him
a perfectly accomplished Prince. Accordingly, to the delight of his
teachers, he made the most rapid progress in his education, constantly
surpassing everyone's expectations. Before he was many years old,
however, he had the great sorrow of losing his mother, whose last words
were to advise him never to undertake anything of importance without
consulting the Fairy under whose protection she had placed him.

The Prince's grief at the death of his mother was great, but it
was nothing compared to that of the King, his father, who was quite
inconsolable for the loss of his dear wife. Neither time nor reason
seemed to lighten his sorrow, and the sight of all the familiar faces
and things about him only served to remind him of his loss. He therefore
resolved to travel for change, and by means of his magic art was able
to visit every country he came to see under different shapes, returning
every few weeks to the place where he had left a few followers.

Having travelled from land to land in this fashion without finding
anything to rivet his attention, it occurred to him to take the form of
an eagle, and in this shape he flew across many countries and arrived
at length in a new and lovely spot, where the air seemed filled with the
scent of jessamine and orange flowers with which the ground was thickly
planted. Attracted by the sweet perfume he flew lower, and perceived
some large and beautiful gardens filled with the rarest flowers, and
with fountains throwing up their clear waters into the air in a hundred
different shapes. A wide stream flowed through the garden, and on it
floated richly ornamented barges and gondolas filled with people dressed
in the most elegant manner and covered with jewels.

In one of these barges sat the Queen of that country with her only
daughter, a maiden more beautiful than the Day Star, and attended by
the ladies of the Court. No more exquisitely lovely mortal was ever seen
than this Princess, and it needed all an eagle's strength of sight to
prevent the King being hopelessly dazzled. He perched on the top of a
large orange tree, whence he was able to survey the scene and to gaze at
pleasure on the Princess's charms.

Now, an eagle with a King's heart in his breast is apt to be bold,
and accordingly he instantly made up his mind to carry off the lovely
damsel, feeling sure that having once seen her he could not live without
her.

He waited till he saw her in the act of stepping ashore, when, suddenly
swooping down, he carried her off before her equerry in attendance had
advanced to offer her his hand. The Princess, on finding herself in an
eagle's talons, uttered the most heart-breaking shrieks and cries; but
her captor, though touched by her distress, would not abandon his lovely
prey, and continued to fly through the air too fast to allow of his
saying anything to comfort her.

At length, when he thought they had reached a safe distance, he began
to lower his flight, and gradually descending to earth, deposited
his burden in a flowery meadow. He then entreated her pardon for his
violence, and told her that he was about to carry her to a great kingdom
over which he ruled, and where he desired she should rule with him,
adding many tender and consoling expressions.

For some time the Princess remained speechless; but recovering herself
a little, she burst into a flood of tears. The King, much moved, said,
'Adorable Princess, dry your tears. I implore you. My only wish is to
make you the happiest person in the world.'

'If you speak truth, my lord,' replied the Princess, 'restore to me the
liberty you have deprived me of. Otherwise I can only look on you as my
worst enemy.'

The King retorted that her opposition filled him with despair, but that
he hoped to carry her to a place where all around would respect her, and
where every pleasure would surround her. So saying, he seized her once
more, and in spite of all her cries he rapidly bore her off to the
neighbourhood of his capital. Here he gently placed her on a lawn, and
as he did so she saw a magnificent palace spring up at her feet. The
architecture was imposing, and in the interior the rooms were handsome
and furnished in the best possible taste.

The Princess, who expected to be quite alone, was pleased at finding
herself surrounded by a number of pretty girls, all anxious to wait on
her, whilst a brilliantly-coloured parrot said the most agreeable things
in the world.

On arriving at this palace the King had resumed his own form, and
though no longer young, he might well have pleased any other than this
Princess, who had been so prejudiced against him by his violence that
she could only regard him with feelings of hatred, which she was at
no pains to conceal. The King hoped, however, that time might not only
soften her anger, but accustom her to his sight. He took the precaution
of surrounding the palace with a dense cloud, and then hastened to his
Court, where his prolonged absence was causing much anxiety.

The Prince and all the courtiers were delighted to see their beloved
King again, but they had to submit themselves to more frequent absences
than ever on his part. He made business a pretext for shutting himself
up in his study, but it was really in order to spend the time with the
Princess, who remained inflexible.

Not being able to imagine what could be the cause of so much obstinacy
the King began to fear, lest, in spite of all his precautions, she might
have heard of the charms of the Prince his son, whose goodness, youth
and beauty, made him adored at Court. This idea made him horribly
uneasy, and he resolved to remove the cause of his fears by sending the
Prince on his travels escorted by a magnificent retinue.

The Prince, after visiting several Courts, arrived at the one where the
lost Princess was still deeply mourned. The King and Queen received him
most graciously, and some festivities were revived to do him honour.

One day when the Prince was visiting the Queen in her own apartments he
was much struck by a most beautiful portrait. He eagerly inquired whose
it was, and the Queen, with many tears, told him it was all that was
left her of her beloved daughter, who had suddenly been carried off, she
knew neither where nor how.

The Prince was deeply moved, and vowed that he would search the world
for the Princess, and take no rest till he had found and restored her to
her mother's arms. The Queen assured him of her eternal gratitude,
and promised, should he succeed, to give him her daughter in marriage,
together with all the estates she herself owned.

The Prince, far more attracted by the thoughts of possessing the
Princess than her promised dower, set forth in his quest after taking
leave of the King and Queen, the latter giving him a miniature of her
daughter which she was in the habit of wearing. His first act was
to seek the Fairy under whose protection he had been placed, and he
implored her to give him all the assistance of her art and counsel in
this important matter.

After listening attentively to the whole adventure, the Fairy asked
for time to consult her books. After due consideration she informed the
Prince that the object of his search was not far distant, but that it
was too difficult for him to attempt to enter the enchanted palace where
she was, as the King his father had surrounded it with a thick cloud,
and that the only expedient she could think of would be to gain
possession of the Princess's parrot. This, she added, did not
appear impossible, as it often flew about to some distance in the
neighbourhood.

Having told the Prince all this, the Fairy went out in hopes of seeing
the parrot, and soon returned with the bird in her hand. She promptly
shut it up in a cage, and, touching the Prince with her wand,
transformed him into an exactly similar parrot; after which, she
instructed him how to reach the Princess.

The Prince reached the palace in safety, but was so dazzled at first by
the Princess's beauty, which far surpassed his expectations, that he
was quite dumb for a time. The Princess was surprised and anxious, and
fearing the parrot, who was her greatest comfort, had fallen ill, she
took him in her hand and caressed him. This soon reassured the Prince,
and encouraged him to play his part well, and he began to say a thousand
agreeable things which charmed the Princess.

Presently the King appeared, and the parrot noticed with joy how much
he was disliked. As soon as the King left, the Princess retired to her
dressing-room, the parrot flew after her and overheard her lamentations
at the continued persecutions of the King, who had pressed her to
consent to their marriage. The parrot said so many clever and tender
things to comfort her that she began to doubt whether this could indeed
be her own parrot.

When he saw her well-disposed towards him, he exclaimed: 'Madam, I
have a most important secret to confide to you, and I beg you not to be
alarmed by what I am about to say. I am here on behalf of the Queen your
mother, with the object of delivering your Highness; to prove which,
behold this portrait which she gave me herself.' So saying he drew forth
the miniature from under his wing. The Princess's surprise was great,
but after what she had seen and heard it was impossible not to indulge
in hope, for she had recognised the likeness of herself which her mother
always wore.

The parrot, finding she was not much alarmed, told her who he was, all
that her mother had promised him and the help he had already received
from a Fairy who had assured him that she would give him means to
transport the Princess to her mother's arms.

When he found her listening attentively to him, he implored the Princess
to allow him to resume his natural shape. She did not speak, so he drew
a feather from his wing, and she beheld before her a Prince of such
surpassing beauty that it was impossible not to hope that she might owe
her liberty to so charming a person.

Meantime the Fairy had prepared a chariot, to which she harnessed two
powerful eagles; then placing the cage, with the parrot in it,
she charged the bird to conduct it to the window of the Princess's
dressing-room. This was done in a few minutes, and the Princess,
stepping into the chariot with the Prince, was delighted to find her
parrot again.

As they rose through the air the Princess remarked a figure mounted on
an eagle's back flying in front of the chariot. She was rather alarmed,
but the Prince reassured her, telling her it was the good Fairy to
whom she owed so much, and who was now conducting her in safety to her
mother.

That same morning the King woke suddenly from a troubled sleep. He
had dreamt that the Princess was being carried off from him, and,
transforming himself into an eagle, he flew to the palace. When he
failed to find her he flew into a terrible rage, and hastened home to
consult his books, by which means he discovered that it was his son
who had deprived him of this precious treasure. Immediately he took the
shape of a harpy, and, filled with rage, was determined to devour his
son, and even the Princess too, if only he could overtake them.

He set out at full speed; but he started too late, and was further
delayed by a strong wind which the Fairy raised behind the young couple
so as to baffle any pursuit.

You may imagine the rapture with which the Queen received the daughter
she had given up for lost, as well as the amiable Prince who had rescued
her. The Fairy entered with them, and warned the Queen that the Wizard
King would shortly arrive, infuriated by his loss, and that nothing
could preserve the Prince and Princess from his rage and magic unless
they were actually married.

The Queen hastened to inform the King her husband, and the wedding took
place on the spot.

As the ceremony was completed the Wizard King arrived. His despair at
being so late bewildered him so entirely that he appeared in his natural
form and attempted to sprinkle some black liquid over the bride and
bridegroom, which was intended to kill them, but the Fairy stretched out
her wand and the liquid dropped on the Magician himself. He fell down
senseless, and the Princess's father, deeply offended at the cruel
revenge which had been attempted, ordered him to be removed and locked
up in prison.

Now as magicians lose all their power as soon as they are in prison, the
King felt himself much embarrassed at being thus at the mercy of
those he had so greatly offended. The Prince implored and obtained his
father's pardon, and the prison doors were opened.

No sooner was this done than the Wizard King was seen in the air under
the form of some unknown bird, exclaiming as he flew off that he would
never forgive either his son or the Fairy the cruel wrong they had done
him.

Everyone entreated the Fairy to settle in the kingdom where she now was,
to which she consented. She built herself a magnificent palace, to which
she transported her books and fairy secrets, and where she enjoyed the
sight of the perfect happiness she had helped to bestow on the entire
royal family.




 THE NIXY(15)

(15) From the German. Kletke.

There was once upon a time a miller who was very well off, and had as
much money and as many goods as he knew what to do with. But sorrow
comes in the night, and the miller all of a sudden became so poor
that at last he could hardly call the mill in which he sat his own. He
wandered about all day full of despair and misery, and when he lay down
at night he could get no rest, but lay awake all night sunk in sorrowful
thoughts.

One morning he rose up before dawn and went outside, for he thought his
heart would be lighter in the open air. As he wandered up and down on
the banks of the mill-pond he heard a rustling in the water, and when he
looked near he saw a white woman rising up from the waves.

He realised at once that this could be none other than the nixy of the
mill-pond, and in his terror he didn't know if he should fly away or
remain where he was. While he hesitated the nixy spoke, called him by
his name, and asked him why he was so sad.

When the miller heard how friendly her tone was, he plucked up heart and
told her how rich and prosperous he had been all his life up till now,
when he didn't know what he was to do for want and misery.

Then the nixy spoke comforting words to him, and promised that she would
make him richer and more prosperous than he had ever been in his life
before, if he would give her in return the youngest thing in his house.

The miller thought she must mean one of his puppies or kittens, so
promised the nixy at once what she asked, and returned to his mill full
of hope. On the threshold he was greeted by a servant with the news that
his wife had just given birth to a boy.

The poor miller was much horrified by these tidings, and went in to
his wife with a heavy heart to tell her and his relations of the fatal
bargain he had just struck with the nixy. 'I would gladly give up all
the good fortune she promised me,' he said, 'if I could only save my
child.' But no one could think of any advice to give him, beyond taking
care that the child never went near the mill-pond.

So the boy throve and grew big, and in the meantime all prospered with
the miller, and in a few years he was richer than he had ever been
before. But all the same he did not enjoy his good fortune, for he could
not forget his compact with the nixy, and he knew that sooner or later
she would demand his fulfilment of it. But year after year went by, and
the boy grew up and became a great hunter, and the lord of the land took
him into his service, for he was as smart and bold a hunter as you would
wish to see. In a short time he married a pretty young wife, and lived
with her in great peace and happiness.

One day when he was out hunting a hare sprang up at his feet, and ran
for some way in front of him in the open field. The hunter pursued it
hotly for some time, and at last shot it dead. Then he proceeded to
skin it, never noticing that he was close to the mill-pond, which from
childhood up he had been taught to avoid. He soon finished the skinning,
and went to the water to wash the blood off his hands. He had hardly
dipped them in the pond when the nixy rose up in the water, and seizing
him in her wet arms she dragged him down with her under the waves.

When the hunter did not come home in the evening his wife grew very
anxious, and when his game bag was found close to the mill-pond she
guessed at once what had befallen him. She was nearly beside herself
with grief, and roamed round and round the pond calling on her husband
without ceasing. At last, worn out with sorrow and fatigue, she fell
asleep and dreamt that she was wandering along a flowery meadow, when
she came to a hut where she found an old witch, who promised to restore
her husband to her.

When she awoke next morning she determined to set out and find the
witch; so she wandered on for many a day, and at last she reached the
flowery meadow and found the hut where the old witch lived. The poor
wife told her all that had happened and how she had been told in a dream
of the witch's power to help her.

The witch counselled her to go to the pond the first time there was a
full moon, and to comb her black hair with a golden comb, and then to
place the comb on the bank. The hunter's wife gave the witch a handsome
present, thanked her heartily, and returned home.

Time dragged heavily till the time of the full moon, but it passed at
last, and as soon as it rose the young wife went to the pond, combed
her black hair with a golden comb, and when she had finished, placed the
comb on the bank; then she watched the water impatiently. Soon she heard
a rushing sound, and a big wave rose suddenly and swept the comb off the
bank, and a minute after the head of her husband rose from the pond and
gazed sadly at her. But immediately another wave came, and the head sank
back into the water without having said a word. The pond lay still and
motionless, glittering in the moonshine, and the hunter's wife was not a
bit better off than she had been before.

In despair she wandered about for days and nights, and at last, worn out
by fatigue, she sank once more into a deep sleep, and dreamt exactly the
same dream about the old witch. So next morning she went again to the
flowery meadow and sought the witch in her hut, and told her of her
grief. The old woman counselled her to go to the mill-pond the next
full moon and play upon a golden flute, and then to lay the flute on the
bank.

As soon as the next moon was full the hunter's wife went to the
mill-pond, played on a golden flute, and when she had finished placed it
on the bank. Then a rushing sound was heard, and a wave swept the flute
off the bank, and soon the head of the hunter appeared and rose up
higher and higher till he was half out of the water. Then he gazed sadly
at his wife and stretched out his arms towards her. But another rushing
wave arose and dragged him under once more. The hunter's wife, who had
stood on the bank full of joy and hope, sank into despair when she saw
her husband snatched away again before her eyes.

But for her comfort she dreamt the same dream a third time, and betook
herself once more to the old witch's hut in the flowery meadow. This
time the old woman told her to go the next full moon to the mill-pond,
and to spin there with a golden spinning-wheel, and then to leave the
spinning-wheel on the bank.

The hunter's wife did as she was advised, and the first night the moon
was full she sat and spun with a golden spinning-wheel, and then left
the wheel on the bank. In a few minutes a rushing sound was heard in the
waters, and a wave swept the spinning-wheel from the bank. Immediately
the head of the hunter rose up from the pond, getting higher and higher
each moment, till at length he stepped on to the bank and fell on his
wife's neck.

But the waters of the pond rose up suddenly, overflowed the bank where
the couple stood, and dragged them under the flood. In her despair the
young wife called on the old witch to help her, and in a moment the
hunter was turned into a frog and his wife into a toad. But they were
not able to remain together, for the water tore them apart, and when the
flood was over they both resumed their own shapes again, but the hunter
and the hunter's wife found themselves each in a strange country, and
neither knew what had become of the other.

The hunter determined to become a shepherd, and his wife too became a
shepherdess. So they herded their sheep for many years in solitude and
sadness.

Now it happened once that the shepherd came to the country where the
shepherdess lived. The neighbourhood pleased him, and he saw that the
pasture was rich and suitable for his flocks. So he brought his sheep
there, and herded them as before. The shepherd and shepherdess became
great friends, but they did not recognise each other in the least.

But one evening when the moon was full they sat together watching their
flocks, and the shepherd played upon his flute. Then the shepherdess
thought of that evening when she had sat at the full moon by the
mill-pond and had played on the golden flute; the recollection was too
much for her, and she burst into tears. The shepherd asked her why she
was crying, and left her no peace till she told him all her story. Then
the scales fell from the shepherd's eyes, and he recognised his wife,
and she him. So they returned joyfully to their own home, and lived in
peace and happiness ever after.




THE GLASS MOUNTAIN(16)

(16) From the Polish. Kletke.

Once upon a time there was a Glass Mountain at the top of which stood
a castle made of pure gold, and in front of the castle there grew an
apple-tree on which there were golden apples.

Anyone who picked an apple gained admittance into the golden castle, and
there in a silver room sat an enchanted Princess of surpassing fairness
and beauty. She was as rich too as she was beautiful, for the cellars of
the castle were full of precious stones, and great chests of the finest
gold stood round the walls of all the rooms.

Many knights had come from afar to try their luck, but it was in vain
they attempted to climb the mountain. In spite of having their horses
shod with sharp nails, no one managed to get more than half-way up, and
then they all fell back right down to the bottom of the steep slippery
hill. Sometimes they broke an arm, sometimes a leg, and many a brave man
had broken his neck even.

The beautiful Princess sat at her window and watched the bold knights
trying to reach her on their splendid horses. The sight of her always
gave men fresh courage, and they flocked from the four quarters of the
globe to attempt the work of rescuing her. But all in vain, and for
seven years the Princess had sat now and waited for some one to scale
the Glass Mountain.

A heap of corpses both of riders and horses lay round the mountain, and
many dying men lay groaning there unable to go any farther with their
wounded limbs. The whole neighbourhood had the appearance of a vast
churchyard. In three more days the seven years would be at an end,
when a knight in golden armour and mounted on a spirited steed was seen
making his way towards the fatal hill.

Sticking his spurs into his horse he made a rush at the mountain, and
got up half-way, then he calmly turned his horse's head and came down
again without a slip or stumble. The following day he started in the
same way; the horse trod on the glass as if it had been level earth,
and sparks of fire flew from its hoofs. All the other knights gazed in
astonishment, for he had almost gained the summit, and in another moment
he would have reached the apple-tree; but of a sudden a huge eagle rose
up and spread its mighty wings, hitting as it did so the knight's horse
in the eye.

The beast shied, opened its wide nostrils and tossed its mane, then
rearing high up in the air, its hind feet slipped and it fell with its
rider down the steep mountain side. Nothing was left of either of them
except their bones, which rattled in the battered golden armour like dry
peas in a pod.

And now there was only one more day before the close of the seven years.
Then there arrived on the scene a mere schoolboy--a merry, happy-hearted
youth, but at the same time strong and well-grown. He saw how many
knights had broken their necks in vain, but undaunted he approached the
steep mountain on foot and began the ascent.

For long he had heard his parents speak of the beautiful Princess who
sat in the golden castle at the top of the Glass Mountain. He listened
to all he heard, and determined that he too would try his luck. But
first he went to the forest and caught a lynx, and cutting off the
creature's sharp claws, he fastened them on to his own hands and feet.

Armed with these weapons he boldly started up the Glass Mountain.

The sun was nearly going down, and the youth had not got more than
half-way up. He could hardly draw breath he was so worn out, and his
mouth was parched by thirst. A huge black cloud passed over his head,
but in vain did he beg and beseech her to let a drop of water fall on
him. He opened his mouth, but the black cloud sailed past and not as
much as a drop of dew moistened his dry lips.

His feet were torn and bleeding, and he could only hold on now with his
hands. Evening closed in, and he strained his eyes to see if he could
behold the top of the mountain. Then he gazed beneath him, and what a
sight met his eyes! A yawning abyss, with certain and terrible death at
the bottom, reeking with half-decayed bodies of horses and riders! And
this had been the end of all the other brave men who like himself had
attempted the ascent.

It was almost pitch dark now, and only the stars lit up the Glass
Mountain. The poor boy still clung on as if glued to the glass by his
blood-stained hands. He made no struggle to get higher, for all his
strength had left him, and seeing no hope he calmly awaited death.
Then all of a sudden he fell into a deep sleep, and forgetful of his
dangerous position, he slumbered sweetly. But all the same, although he
slept, he had stuck his sharp claws so firmly into the glass that he was
quite safe not to fall.

Now the golden apple-tree was guarded by the eagle which had overthrown
the golden knight and his horse. Every night it flew round the Glass
Mountain keeping a careful look-out, and no sooner had the moon emerged
from the clouds than the bird rose up from the apple-tree, and circling
round in the air, caught sight of the sleeping youth.

Greedy for carrion, and sure that this must be a fresh corpse, the bird
swooped down upon the boy. But he was awake now, and perceiving the
eagle, he determined by its help to save himself.

The eagle dug its sharp claws into the tender flesh of the youth, but he
bore the pain without a sound, and seized the bird's two feet with his
hands. The creature in terror lifted him high up into the air and began
to circle round the tower of the castle. The youth held on bravely. He
saw the glittering palace, which by the pale rays of the moon looked
like a dim lamp; and he saw the high windows, and round one of them a
balcony in which the beautiful Princess sat lost in sad thoughts. Then
the boy saw that he was close to the apple-tree, and drawing a small
knife from his belt, he cut off both the eagle's feet. The bird rose up
in the air in its agony and vanished into the clouds, and the youth fell
on to the broad branches of the apple-tree.

Then he drew out the claws of the eagle's feet that had remained in his
flesh, and put the peel of one of the golden apples on the wound, and
in one moment it was healed and well again. He pulled several of the
beautiful apples and put them in his pocket; then he entered the castle.
The door was guarded by a great dragon, but as soon as he threw an apple
at it, the beast vanished.

At the same moment a gate opened, and the youth perceived a courtyard
full of flowers and beautiful trees, and on a balcony sat the lovely
enchanted Princess with her retinue.

As soon as she saw the youth, she ran towards him and greeted him as her
husband and master. She gave him all her treasures, and the youth became
a rich and mighty ruler. But he never returned to the earth, for only
the mighty eagle, who had been the guardian of the Princess and of the
castle, could have carried on his wings the enormous treasure down to
the world. But as the eagle had lost its feet it died, and its body was
found in a wood on the Glass Mountain.

. . . . . . .

One day when the youth was strolling about in the palace garden with the
Princess, his wife, he looked down over the edge of the Glass Mountain
and saw to his astonishment a great number of people gathered there. He
blew his silver whistle, and the swallow who acted as messenger in the
golden castle flew past.

'Fly down and ask what the matter is,' he said to the little bird, who
sped off like lightning and soon returned saying:

'The blood of the eagle has restored all the people below to life. All
those who have perished on this mountain are awakening up to-day, as
it were from a sleep, and are mounting their horses, and the whole
population are gazing on this unheard-of wonder with joy and amazement.'




 ALPHEGE, OR THE GREEN MONKEY

Many years ago there lived a King, who was twice married. His first
wife, a good and beautiful woman, died at the birth of her little son,
and the King her husband was so overwhelmed with grief at her loss that
his only comfort was in the sight of his heir.

When the time for the young Prince's christening came the King chose
as godmother a neighbouring Princess, so celebrated for her wisdom and
goodness that she was commonly called 'the Good Queen.' She named the
baby Alphege, and from that moment took him to her heart.

Time wipes away the greatest griefs, and after two or three years the
King married again. His second wife was a Princess of undeniable beauty,
but by no means of so amiable a disposition as the first Queen. In due
time a second Prince was born, and the Queen was devoured with rage at
the thought that Prince Alphege came between her son and the throne. She
took care however to conceal her jealous feelings from the King.

At length she could control herself no longer, so she sent a trusty
servant to her old and faithful friend the Fairy of the Mountain, to beg
her to devise some means by which she might get rid of her stepson.

The Fairy replied that, much as she desired to be agreeable to the Queen
in every way, it was impossible for her to attempt anything against the
young Prince, who was under the protection of some greater Power than
her own.

The 'Good Queen' on her side watched carefully over her godson. She was
obliged to do so from a distance, her own country being a remote one,
but she was well informed of all that went on and knew all about the
Queen's wicked designs. She therefore sent the Prince a large and
splendid ruby, with injunctions to wear it night and day as it would
protect him from all attacks, but added that the talisman only retained
its power as long as the Prince remained within his father's dominions.
The Wicked Queen knowing this made every attempt to get the Prince out
of the country, but her efforts failed, till one day accident did what
she was unable to accomplish.

The King had an only sister who was deeply attached to him, and who was
married to the sovereign of a distant country. She had always kept up
a close correspondence with her brother, and the accounts she heard of
Prince Alphege made her long to become acquainted with so charming a
nephew. She entreated the King to allow the Prince to visit her, and
after some hesitation which was overruled by his wife, he finally
consented.

Prince Alphege was at this time fourteen years old, and the handsomest
and most engaging youth imaginable. In his infancy he had been placed
in the charge of one of the great ladies of the Court, who, according
to the prevailing custom, acted first as his head nurse and then as his
governess. When he outgrew her care her husband was appointed as his
tutor and governor, so that he had never been separated from this
excellent couple, who loved him as tenderly as they did their only
daughter Zayda, and were warmly loved by him in return.

When the Prince set forth on his travels it was but natural that this
devoted couple should accompany him, and accordingly he started with
them and attended by a numerous retinue.

For some time he travelled through his father's dominions and all went
well; but soon after passing the frontier they had to cross a desert
plain under a burning sun. They were glad to take shelter under a group
of trees near, and here the Prince complained of burning thirst. Luckily
a tiny stream ran close by and some water was soon procured, but no
sooner had he tasted it than he sprang from his carriage and disappeared
in a moment. In vain did his anxious followers seek for him, he was
nowhere to be found.

As they were hunting and shouting through the trees a black monkey
suddenly appeared on a point of rock and said: 'Poor sorrowing people,
you are seeking your Prince in vain. Return to your own country and know
that he will not be restored to you till you have for some time failed
to recognise him.'

With these words he vanished, leaving the courtiers sadly perplexed; but
as all their efforts to find the Prince were useless they had no choice
but to go home, bringing with them the sad news, which so greatly
distressed the King that he fell ill and died not long after.

The Queen, whose ambition was boundless, was delighted to see the crown
on her son's head and to have the power in her own hands. Her hard rule
made her very unpopular, and it was commonly believed that she had
made away with Prince Alphege. Indeed, had the King her son not been
deservedly beloved a revolution would certainly have arisen.

Meantime the former governess of the unfortunate Alphege, who had lost
her husband soon after the King's death, retired to her own house with
her daughter, who grew up a lovely and most loveable girl, and both
continued to mourn the loss of their dear Prince.

The young King was devoted to hunting, and often indulged in his
favourite pastime, attended by the noblest youths in his kingdom.

One day, after a long morning's chase he stopped to rest near a brook in
the shade of a little wood, where a splendid tent had been prepared
for him. Whilst at luncheon he suddenly spied a little monkey of the
brightest green sitting on a tree and gazing so tenderly at him that
he felt quite moved. He forbade his courtiers to frighten it, and the
monkey, noticing how much attention was being paid him, sprang from
bough to bough, and at length gradually approached the King, who offered
him some food. The monkey took it very daintily and finally came to the
table. The King took him on his knees, and, delighted with his capture,
brought him home with him. He would trust no one else with its care, and
the whole Court soon talked of nothing but the pretty green monkey.

One morning, as Prince Alphege's governess and her daughter were alone
together, the little monkey sprang in through an open window. He had
escaped from the palace, and his manners were so gentle and caressing
that Zayda and her mother soon got over the first fright he had given
them. He had spent some time with them and quite won their hearts by
his insinuating ways, when the King discovered where he was and sent to
fetch him back. But the monkey made such piteous cries, and seemed so
unhappy when anyone attempted to catch him, that the two ladies begged
the King to leave him a little longer with them, to which he consented.

One evening, as they sat by the fountain in the garden, the little
monkey kept gazing at Zayda with such sad and loving eyes that she and
her mother could not think what to make of it, and they were still more
surprised when they saw big tears rolling down his cheeks.

Next day both mother and daughter were sitting in a jessamine bower in
the garden, and they began to talk of the green monkey and his strange
ways. The mother said, 'My dear child, I can no longer hide my feelings
from you. I cannot get the thought out of my mind that the green monkey
is no other than our beloved Prince Alphege, transformed in this strange
fashion. I know the idea sounds wild, but I cannot get it out of my
heart, and it leaves me no peace.'

As she spoke she glanced up, and there sat the little monkey, whose
tears and gestures seemed to confirm her words.

The following night the elder lady dreamt that she saw the Good Queen,
who said, 'Do not weep any longer but follow my directions. Go into
your garden and lift up the little marble slab at the foot of the great
myrtle tree. You will find beneath it a crystal vase filled with a
bright green liquid. Take it with you and place the thing which is at
present most in your thoughts into a bath filled with roses and rub it
well with the green liquid.'

At these words the sleeper awoke, and lost no time in rising and
hurrying to the garden, where she found all as the Good Queen had
described. Then she hastened to rouse her daughter and together they
prepared the bath, for they would not let their women know what they
were about. Zayda gathered quantities of roses, and when all was ready
they put the monkey into a large jasper bath, where the mother rubbed
him all over with the green liquid.

Their suspense was not long, for suddenly the monkey skin dropped off,
and there stood Prince Alphege, the handsomest and most charming of
men. The joy of such a meeting was beyond words. After a time the ladies
begged the Prince to relate his adventures, and he told them of all his
sufferings in the desert when he was first transformed. His only comfort
had been in visits from the Good Queen, who had at length put him in the
way of meeting his brother.

Several days were spent in these interesting conversations, but at
length Zayda's mother began to think of the best means for placing the
Prince on the throne, which was his by right.

The Queen on her side was feeling very anxious. She had felt sure from
the first that her son's pet monkey was no other than Prince Alphege,
and she longed to put an end to him. Her suspicions were confirmed by
the Fairy of the Mountain, and she hastened in tears to the King, her
son.

'I am informed,' she cried, 'that some ill-disposed people have raised
up an impostor in the hopes of dethroning you. You must at once have him
put to death.'

The King, who was very brave, assured the Queen that he would soon
punish the conspirators. He made careful inquiries into the matter, and
thought it hardly probable that a quiet widow and a young girl would
think of attempting anything of the nature of a revolution.

He determined to go and see them, and to find out the truth for himself;
so one night, without saying anything to the Queen or his ministers, he
set out for the palace where the two ladies lived, attended only by a
small band of followers.

The two ladies were at the moment deep in conversation with Prince
Alphege, and hearing a knocking so late at night begged him to keep out
of sight for a time. What was their surprise when the door was opened to
see the King and his suite.

'I know,' said the King, 'that you are plotting against my crown and
person, and I have come to have an explanation with you.'

As she was about to answer Prince Alphege, who had heard all, came
forward and said, 'It is from me you must ask an explanation, brother.'
He spoke with such grace and dignity that everyone gazed at him with
mute surprise.

At length the King, recovering from his astonishment at recognising the
brother who had been lost some years before, exclaimed, 'Yes, you are
indeed my brother, and now that I have found you, take the throne to
which I have no longer a right.' So saying, he respectfully kissed the
Prince's hand.

Alphege threw himself into his arms, and the brothers hastened to the
royal palace, where in the presence of the entire court he received
the crown from his brother's hand. To clear away any possible doubt, he
showed the ruby which the Good Queen had given him in his childhood. As
they were gazing at it, it suddenly split with a loud noise, and at the
same moment the Wicked Queen expired.

King Alphege lost no time in marrying his dear and lovely Zayda, and
his joy was complete when the Good Queen appeared at his wedding. She
assured him that the Fairy of the Mountain had henceforth lost all
power over him, and after spending some time with the young couple,
and bestowing the most costly presents on them, she retired to her own
country.

King Alphege insisted on his brother sharing his throne, and they all
lived to a good old age, universally beloved and admired.




 FAIRER-THAN-A-FAIRY

Once there lived a King who had no children for many years after his
marriage. At length heaven granted him a daughter of such remarkable
beauty that he could think of no name so appropriate for her as
'Fairer-than-a-Fairy.'

It never occurred to the good-natured monarch that such a name was
certain to call down the hatred and jealousy of the fairies in a body on
the child, but this was what happened. No sooner had they heard of this
presumptuous name than they resolved to gain possession of her who bore
it, and either to torment her cruelly, or at least to conceal her from
the eyes of all men.

The eldest of their tribe was entrusted to carry out their revenge. This
Fairy was named Lagree; she was so old that she only had one eye and one
tooth left, and even these poor remains she had to keep all night in a
strengthening liquid. She was also so spiteful that she gladly devoted
all her time to carrying out all the mean or ill-natured tricks of the
whole body of fairies.

With her large experience, added to her native spite, she found but
little difficulty in carrying off Fairer-than-a-Fairy. The poor child,
who was only seven years old, nearly died of fear on finding herself
in the power of this hideous creature. However, when after an hour's
journey underground she found herself in a splendid palace with lovely
gardens, she felt a little reassured, and was further cheered when she
discovered that her pet cat and dog had followed her.

The old Fairy led her to a pretty room which she said should be hers, at
the same time giving her the strictest orders never to let out the fire
which was burning brightly in the grate. She then gave two glass bottles
into the Princess's charge, desiring her to take the greatest care of
them, and having enforced her orders with the most awful threats in case
of disobedience, she vanished, leaving the little girl at liberty to
explore the palace and grounds and a good deal relieved at having only
two apparently easy tasks set her.

Several years passed, during which time the Princess grew accustomed to
her lonely life, obeyed the Fairy's orders, and by degrees forgot all
about the court of the King her father.

One day, whilst passing near a fountain in the garden, she noticed
that the sun's rays fell on the water in such a manner as to produce
a brilliant rainbow. She stood still to admire it, when, to her great
surprise, she heard a voice addressing her which seemed to come from the
centre of its rays. The voice was that of a young man, and its sweetness
of tone and the agreeable things it uttered, led one to infer that its
owner must be equally charming; but this had to be a mere matter of
fancy, for no one was visible.

The beautiful Rainbow informed Fairer-than-a-Fairy that he was young,
the son of a powerful king, and that the Fairy, Lagree, who owed his
parents a grudge, had revenged herself by depriving him of his natural
shape for some years; that she had imprisoned him in the palace, where
he had found his confinement hard to bear for some time, but now, he
owned, he no longer sighed for freedom since he had seen and learned to
love Fairer-than-a-Fairy.

He added many other tender speeches to this declaration, and the
Princess, to whom such remarks were a new experience, could not help
feeling pleased and touched by his attentions.

The Prince could only appear or speak under the form of a Rainbow, and
it was therefore necessary that the sun should shine on water so as to
enable the rays to form themselves.

Fairer-than-a-Fairy lost no moment in which she could meet her lover,
and they enjoyed many long and interesting interviews. One day, however,
their conversation became so absorbing and time passed so quickly that
the Princess forgot to attend to the fire, and it went out. Lagree, on
her return, soon found out the neglect, and seemed only too pleased to
have the opportunity of showing her spite to her lovely prisoner. She
ordered Fairer-than-a-Fairy to start next day at dawn to ask Locrinos
for fire with which to relight the one she had allowed to go out.

Now this Locrinos was a cruel monster who devoured everyone he came
across, and especially enjoyed a chance of catching and eating any young
girls. Our heroine obeyed with great sweetness, and without having been
able to take leave of her lover she set off to go to Locrinos as to
certain death. As she was crossing a wood a bird sang to her to pick up
a shining pebble which she would find in a fountain close by, and to use
it when needed. She took the bird's advice, and in due time arrived at
the house of Locrinos. Luckily she only found his wife at home, who was
much struck by the Princess's youth and beauty and sweet gentle manners,
and still further impressed by the present of the shining pebble.

She readily let Fairer-than-a-Fairy have the fire, and in return for
the stone she gave her another, which, she said, might prove useful some
day. Then she sent her away without doing her any harm.

Lagree was as much surprised as displeased at the happy result of this
expedition, and Fairer-than-a Fairy waited anxiously for an opportunity
of meeting Prince Rainbow and telling him her adventures. She found,
however, that he had already been told all about them by a Fairy who
protected him, and to whom he was related.

The dread of fresh dangers to his beloved Princess made him devise
some more convenient way of meeting than by the garden fountain, and
Fairer-than-a-Fairy carried out his plan daily with entire success.
Every morning she placed a large basin full of water on her window-sill,
and as soon as the sun's rays fell on the water the Rainbow appeared
as clearly as it had ever done in the fountain. By this means they were
able to meet without losing sight of the fire or of the two bottles in
which the old Fairy kept her eye and her tooth at night, and for some
time the lovers enjoyed every hour of sunshine together.

One day Prince Rainbow appeared in the depths of woe. He had just heard
that he was to be banished from this lovely spot, but he had no idea
where he was to go. The poor young couple were in despair, and only
parted with the last ray of sunshine, and in hopes of meeting next
morning. Alas! next day was dark and gloomy, and it was only late in the
afternoon that the sun broke through the clouds for a few minutes.

Fairer-than-a-Fairy eagerly ran to the window, but in her haste she
upset the basin, and spilt all the water with which she had carefully
filled it overnight. No other water was at hand except that in the two
bottles. It was the only chance of seeing her lover before they were
separated, and she did not hesitate to break the bottle and pour their
contents into the basin, when the Rainbow appeared at once. Their
farewells were full of tenderness; the Prince made the most ardent and
sincere protestations, and promised to neglect nothing which might help
to deliver his dear Fairer-than-a-Fairy from her captivity, and implored
her to consent to their marriage as soon as they should both be free.
The Princess, on her side, vowed to have no other husband, and declared
herself willing to brave death itself in order to rejoin him.

They were not allowed much time for their adieus; the Rainbow vanished,
and the Princess, resolved to run all risks, started off at once, taking
nothing with her but her dog, her cat, a sprig of myrtle, and the stone
which the wife of Locrinos gave her.

When Lagree became aware of her prisoner's flight she was furious, and
set off at full speed in pursuit. She overtook her just as the poor
girl, overcome by fatigue, had lain down to rest in a cave which the
stone had formed itself into to shelter her. The little dog who was
watching her mistress promptly flew at Lagree and bit her so severely
that she stumbled against a corner of the cave and broke off her only
tooth. Before she had recovered from the pain and rage this caused her,
the Princess had time to escape, and was some way on her road. Fear gave
her strength for some time, but at last she could go no further, and
sank down to rest. As she did so, the sprig of myrtle she carried
touched the ground, and immediately a green and shady bower sprang up
round her, in which she hoped to sleep in peace.

But Lagree had not given up her pursuit, and arrived just as
Fairer-than-a-Fairy had fallen fast asleep. This time she made sure of
catching her victim, but the cat spied her out, and, springing from one
of the boughs of the arbour she flew at Lagree's face and tore out her
only eye, thus delivering the Princess for ever from her persecutor.

One might have thought that all would now be well, but no sooner had
Lagree been put to fight than our heroine was overwhelmed with hunger
and thirst. She felt as though she should certainly expire, and it was
with some difficulty that she dragged herself as far as a pretty little
green and white house, which stood at no great distance. Here she was
received by a beautiful lady dressed in green and white to match the
house, which apparently belonged to her, and of which she seemed the
only inhabitant.

She greeted the fainting Princess most kindly, gave her an excellent
supper, and after a long night's rest in a delightful bed told her that
after many troubles she should finally attain her desire.

As the green and white lady took leave of the Princess she gave her a
nut, desiring her only to open it in the most urgent need.

After a long and tiring journey Fairer-than-a-Fairy was once more
received in a house, and by a lady exactly like the one she had quitted.
Here again she received a present with the same injunctions, but instead
of a nut this lady gave her a golden pomegranate. The mournful Princess
had to continue her weary way, and after many troubles and hardships she
again found rest and shelter in a third house exactly similar to the two
others.

These houses belonged to three sisters, all endowed with fairy gifts,
and all so alike in mind and person that they wished their houses and
garments to be equally alike. Their occupation consisted in helping
those in misfortune, and they were as gentle and benevolent as Lagree
had been cruel and spiteful.

The third Fairy comforted the poor traveller, begged her not to lose
heart, and assured her that her troubles should be rewarded.

She accompanied her advice by the gift of a crystal smelling-bottle,
with strict orders only to open it in case of urgent need.
Fairer-than-a-Fairy thanked her warmly, and resumed her way cheered by
pleasant thoughts.

After a time her road led through a wood, full of soft airs and sweet
odours, and before she had gone a hundred yards she saw a wonderful
silver Castle suspended by strong silver chains to four of the
largest trees. It was so perfectly hung that a gentle breeze rocked it
sufficiently to send you pleasantly to sleep.

Fairer-than-a-Fairy felt a strong desire to enter this Castle, but
besides being hung a little above the ground there seemed to be neither
doors nor windows. She had no doubt (though really I cannot think why)
that the moment had come in which to use the nut which had been given
her. She opened it, and out came a diminutive hall porter at whose belt
hung a tiny chain, at the end of which was a golden key half as long as
the smallest pin you ever saw.

The Princess climbed up one of the silver chains, holding in her hand
the little porter who, in spite of his minute size, opened a secret door
with his golden key and let her in. She entered a magnificent room which
appeared to occupy the entire Castle, and which was lighted by gold and
jewelled stars in the ceiling. In the midst of this room stood a couch,
draped with curtains of all the colours of the rainbow, and suspended by
golden cords so that it swayed with the Castle in a manner which rocked
its occupant delightfully to sleep.

On this elegant couch lay Prince Rainbow, looking more beautiful than
ever, and sunk in profound slumber, in which he had been held ever since
his disappearance.

Fairy-than-a-Fairy, who now saw him for the first time in his real
shape, hardly dared to gaze at him, fearing lest his appearance might
not be in keeping with the voice and language which had won her heart.
At the same time she could not help feeling rather hurt at the apparent
indifference with which she was received.

She related all the dangers and difficulties she had gone through, and
though she repeated the story twenty times in a loud clear voice, the
Prince slept on and took no heed. She then had recourse to the golden
pomegranate, and on opening it found that all the seeds were as many
little violins which flew up in the vaulted roof and at once began
playing melodiously.

The Prince was not completely roused, but he opened his eyes a little
and looked all the handsomer.

Impatient at not being recognised, Fairer-than-a-Fairy now drew out her
third present, and on opening the crystal scent-bottle a little syren
flew out, who silenced the violins and then sang close to the Prince's
ear the story of all his lady love had suffered in her search for him.
She added some gentle reproaches to her tale, but before she had got
far he was wide awake, and transported with joy threw himself at the
Princess's feet. At the same moment the walls of the room expanded and
opened out, revealing a golden throne covered with jewels. A magnificent
Court now began to assemble, and at the same time several elegant
carriages filled with ladies in magnificent dresses drove up. In the
first and most splendid of these carriages sat Prince Rainbow's mother.
She fondly embraced her son, after which she informed him that his
father had been dead for some years, that the anger of the Fairies was
at length appeased, and that he might return in peace to reign over his
people, who were longing for his presence.

The Court received the new King with joyful acclamations which would
have delighted him at any other time, but all his thoughts were full of
Fairer-than-a-Fairy. He was just about to present her to his mother and
the Court, feeling sure that her charms would win all hearts, when the
three green and white sisters appeared.

They declared the secret of Fairy-than-a-Fairy's royal birth, and the
Queen taking the two lovers in her carriage set off with them for the
capital of the kingdom.

Here they were received with tumultuous joy. The wedding was celebrated
without delay, and succeeding years diminished neither the virtues,
beauty, nor the mutual affection of King Rainbow and his Queen,
Fairer-than-a-Fairy.




 THE THREE BROTHERS(17)

(17) From the Polish. Kletke.

There was once upon a time a witch, who in the shape of a hawk used
every night to break the windows of a certain village church. In the
same village there lived three brothers, who were all determined to kill
the mischievous hawk. But in vain did the two eldest mount guard in the
church with their guns; as soon as the bird appeared high above their
heads, sleep overpowered them, and they only awoke to hear the windows
crashing in.

Then the youngest brother took his turn of guarding the windows, and to
prevent his being overcome by sleep he placed a lot of thorns under his
chin, so that if he felt drowsy and nodded his head, they would prick
him and keep him awake.

The moon was already risen, and it was as light as day, when suddenly he
heard a fearful noise, and at the same time a terrible desire to sleep
overpowered him.

His eyelids closed, and his head sank on his shoulders, but the thorns
ran into him and were so painful that he awoke at once. He saw the hawk
swooping down upon the church, and in a moment he had seized his gun
and shot at the bird. The hawk fell heavily under a big stone, severely
wounded in its right wing. The youth ran to look at it, and saw that
a huge abyss had opened below the stone. He went at once to fetch his
brothers, and with their help dragged a lot of pine-wood and ropes to
the spot. They fastened some of the burning pine-wood to the end of the
rope, and let it slowly down to the bottom of the abyss. At first it was
quite dark, and the flaming torch only lit up dirty grey stone walls.
But the youngest brother determined to explore the abyss, and letting
himself down by the rope he soon reached the bottom. Here he found a
lovely meadow full of green trees and exquisite flowers.

In the middle of the meadow stood a huge stone castle, with an iron gate
leading to it, which was wide open. Everything in the castle seemed
to be made of copper, and the only inhabitant he could discover was
a lovely girl, who was combing her golden hair; and he noticed that
whenever one of her hairs fell on the ground it rang out like pure
metal. The youth looked at her more closely, and saw that her skin was
smooth and fair, her blue eyes bright and sparkling, and her hair as
golden as the sun. He fell in love with her on the spot, and kneeling at
her feet, he implored her to become his wife.

The lovely girl accepted his proposal gladly; but at the same time she
warned him that she could never come up to the world above till her
mother, the old witch, was dead. And she went on to tell him that the
only way in which the old creature could be killed was with the sword
that hung up in the castle; but the sword was so heavy that no one could
lift it.

Then the youth went into a room in the castle where everything was made
of silver, and here he found another beautiful girl, the sister of his
bride. She was combing her silver hair, and every hair that fell on the
ground rang out like pure metal. The second girl handed him the sword,
but though he tried with all his strength he could not lift it. At last
a third sister came to him and gave him a drop of something to drink,
which she said would give him the needful strength. He drank one drop,
but still he could not lift the sword; then he drank a second, and the
sword began to move; but only after he had drunk a third drop was he
able to swing the sword over his head.

Then he hid himself in the castle and awaited the old witch's arrival.
At last as it was beginning to grow dark she appeared. She swooped down
upon a big apple-tree, and after shaking some golden apples from it, she
pounced down upon the earth. As soon as her feet touched the ground she
became transformed from a hawk into a woman. This was the moment the
youth was waiting for, and he swung his mighty sword in the air with all
his strength and the witch's head fell off, and her blood spurted up on
the walls.

Without fear of any further danger, he packed up all the treasures of
the castle into great chests, and gave his brothers a signal to pull
them up out of the abyss. First the treasures were attached to the rope
and then the three lovely girls. And now everything was up above and
only he himself remained below. But as he was a little suspicious of his
brothers, he fastened a heavy stone on to the rope and let them pull it
up. At first they heaved with a will, but when the stone was half way
up they let it drop suddenly, and it fell to the bottom broken into a
hundred pieces.

'So that's what would have happened to my bones had I trusted myself to
them,' said the youth sadly; and he began to cry bitterly, not because
of the treasures, but because of the lovely girl with her swanlike neck
and golden hair.

For a long time he wandered sadly all through the beautiful underworld,
and one day he met a magician who asked him the cause of his tears. The
youth told him all that had befallen him, and the magician said:

'Do not grieve, young man! If you will guard the children who are hidden
in the golden apple-tree, I will bring you at once up to the earth.
Another magician who lives in this land always eats my children up. It
is in vain that I have hidden them under the earth and locked them into
the castle. Now I have hidden them in the apple-tree; hide yourself
there too, and at midnight you will see my enemy.'

The youth climbed up the tree, and picked some of the beautiful golden
apples, which he ate for his supper.

At midnight the wind began to rise, and a rustling sound was heard at
the foot of the tree. The youth looked down and beheld a long thick
serpent beginning to crawl up the tree. It wound itself round the stem
and gradually got higher and higher. It stretched its huge head, in
which the eyes glittered fiercely, among the branches, searching for the
nest in which the little children lay. They trembled with terror when
they saw the hideous creature, and hid themselves beneath the leaves.

Then the youth swung his mighty sword in the air, and with one blow cut
off the serpent's head. He cut up the rest of the body into little bits
and strewed them to the four winds.

The father of the rescued children was so delighted over the death of
his enemy that he told the youth to get on his back, and in this way he
carried him up to the world above.

With what joy did he hurry now to his brothers' house! He burst into a
room where they were all assembled, but no one knew who he was. Only his
bride, who was serving as cook to her sisters, recognised her lover at
once.

His brothers, who had quite believed he was dead, yielded him up his
treasures at once, and flew into the woods in terror. But the good youth
forgave them all they had done, and divided his treasures with them.
Then he built himself a big castle with golden windows, and there he
lived happily with his golden-haired wife till the end of their lives.




 THE BOY AND THE WOLVES, OR THE BROKEN PROMISE(18)

(18) A North American Indian story.

Once upon a time an Indian hunter built himself a house in the middle
of a great forest, far away from all his tribe; for his heart was gentle
and kind, and he was weary of the treachery and cruel deeds of those
who had been his friends. So he left them, and took his wife and three
children, and they journeyed on until they found a spot near to a clear
stream, where they began to cut down trees, and to make ready their
wigwam. For many years they lived peacefully and happily in this
sheltered place, never leaving it except to hunt the wild animals, which
served them both for food and clothes. At last, however, the strong man
felt sick, and before long he knew he must die.

So he gathered his family round him, and said his last words to them.
'You, my wife, the companion of my days, will follow me ere many moons
have waned to the island of the blest. But for you, O my children, whose
lives are but newly begun, the wickedness, unkindness, and ingratitude
from which I fled are before you. Yet I shall go hence in peace, my
children, if you will promise always to love each other, and never to
forsake your youngest brother.

'Never!' they replied, holding out their hands. And the hunter died
content.

Scarcely eight moons had passed when, just as he had said, the wife went
forth, and followed her husband; but before leaving her children she
bade the two elder ones think of their promise never to forsake the
younger, for he was a child, and weak. And while the snow lay thick upon
the ground, they tended him and cherished him; but when the earth showed
green again, the heart of the young man stirred within him, and he
longed to see the wigwams of the village where his father's youth was
spent.

Therefore he opened all his heart to his sister, who answered: 'My
brother, I understand your longing for our fellow-men, whom here we
cannot see. But remember our father's words. Shall we not seek our own
pleasures, and forget the little one?'

But he would not listen, and, making no reply, he took his bow and
arrows and left the hut. The snows fell and melted, yet he never
returned; and at last the heart of the girl grew cold and hard, and her
little boy became a burden in her eyes, till one day she spoke thus to
him: 'See, there is food for many days to come. Stay here within the
shelter of the hut. I go to seek our brother, and when I have found him
I shall return hither.'

But when, after hard journeying, she reached the village where her
brother dwelt, and saw that he had a wife and was happy, and when she,
too, was sought by a young brave, then she also forgot the boy alone in
the forest, and thought only of her husband.

Now as soon as the little boy had eaten all the food which his sister
had left him, he went out into the woods, and gathered berries and dug
up roots, and while the sun shone he was contented and had his fill. But
when the snows began and the wind howled, then his stomach felt empty
and his limbs cold, and he hid in trees all the night, and only crept
out to eat what the wolves had left behind. And by-and-by, having no
other friends, he sought their company, and sat by while they devoured
their prey, and they grew to know him, and gave him food. And without
them he would have died in the snow.

But at last the snows melted, and the ice upon the great lake, and
as the wolves went down to the shore, the boy went after them. And it
happened one day that his big brother was fishing in his canoe near the
shore, and he heard the voice of a child singing in the Indian tone--

     'My brother, my brother!
      I am becoming a wolf,
      I am becoming a wolf!'

And when he had so sung he howled as wolves howl. Then the heart of
the elder sunk, and he hastened towards him, crying, 'Brother, little
brother, come to me;' but he, being half a wolf, only continued his
song. And the louder the elder called him, 'Brother, little brother,
come to me,' the swifter he fled after his brothers the wolves, and
the heavier grew his skin, till, with a long howl, he vanished into the
depths of the forest.

So, with shame and anguish in his soul, the elder brother went back to
his village, and, with his sister, mourned the little boy and the broken
promise till the end of his life.




 THE GLASS AXE(19)

(19) From the Hungarian. Kletke.

There was once upon a time a King and Queen who had everything they
could possibly wish for in this world except a child. At last, after
twelve years, the Queen gave birth to a son; but she did not live long
to enjoy her happiness, for on the following day she died. But before
her death she called her husband to her and said, 'Never let the child
put his feet on the ground, for as soon as he does so he will fall into
the power of a wicked Fairy, who will do him much harm.' And these were
the last words the poor Queen spoke.

The boy throve and grew big, and when he was too heavy for his nurse
to carry, a chair was made for him on little wheels, in which he could
wander through the palace gardens without help; at other times he was
carried about on a litter, and he was always carefully watched and
guarded for fear he should at any time put his feet to the ground.

But as this sort of life was bad for his health, the doctors ordered him
horse exercise, and he soon became a first-rate rider, and used to go
out for long excursions on horseback, accompanied always by his father's
stud-groom and a numerous retinue.

Every day he rode through the neighbouring fields and woods, and always
returned home in the evening safe and well. In this way many years
passed, and the Prince grew to manhood, and hardly anyone remembered the
Queen's warning, though precautions were still taken, more from use and
wont than for any other reason.

One day the Prince and his suite went out for a ride in a wood where his
father sometimes held a hunt. Their way led through a stream whose banks
were overgrown with thick brushwood. Just as the horsemen were about
to ford the river, a hare, startled by the sound of the horses' hoofs,
started up from the grass and ran towards the thicket. The young Prince
pursued the little creature, and had almost overtaken it, when the girth
of his saddle suddenly broke in two and he fell heavily to the ground.
No sooner had his foot touched the earth than he disappeared before the
eyes of the horrified courtiers.

They sought for him far and near, but all in vain, and they were forced
to recognise the power of the evil Fairy, against which the Queen had
warned them on her death-bed. The old King was much grieved when they
brought him the news of his son's disappearance, but as he could do
nothing to free him from his fate, he gave himself up to an old age of
grief and loneliness, cherishing at the same time the hope that some
lucky chance might one day deliver the youth out of the hands of his
enemy.

Hardly had the Prince touched the ground than he felt himself violently
seized by an unseen power, and hurried away he knew not whither. A whole
new world stretched out before him, quite unlike the one he had left.
A splendid castle surrounded by a huge lake was the abode of the Fairy,
and the only approach to it was over a bridge of clouds. On the other
side of the lake high mountains rose up, and dark woods stretched
along the banks; over all hung a thick mist, and deep silence reigned
everywhere.

No sooner had the Fairy reached her own domain than she made herself
visible, and turning to the Prince she told him that unless he obeyed
all her commands down to the minutest detail he would be severely
punished. Then she gave him an axe made of glass, and bade him cross the
bridge of clouds and go into the wood beyond and cut down all the trees
there before sunset. At the same time she cautioned him with many angry
words against speaking to a black girl he would most likely meet in the
wood.

The Prince listened to her words meekly, and when she had finished took
up the glass axe and set out for the forest. At every step he seemed to
sink into the clouds, but fear gave wings to his feet, and he crossed
the lake in safety and set to work at once.

But no sooner had he struck the first blow with his axe than it broke
into a thousand pieces against the tree. The poor youth was so terrified
he did not know what to do, for he was in mortal dread of the punishment
the wicked old Fairy would inflict on him. He wandered to and fro in the
wood, not knowing where he was going, and at last, worn out by fatigue
and misery, he sank on the ground and fell fast asleep.

He did not know how long he had slept when a sudden sound awoke him, and
opening his eyes he saw a black girl standing beside him. Mindful of
the Fairy's warning he did not dare to address her, but she on her part
greeted him in the most friendly manner, and asked him at once if he
were under the power of the wicked Fairy. The Prince nodded his head
silently in answer.

Then the black girl told him that she too was in the power of the Fairy,
who had doomed her to wander about in her present guise until some youth
should take pity on her and bear her in safety to the other side of the
river which they saw in the distance, and on the other side of which the
Fairy's domain and power ended.

The girl's words so inspired the Prince with confidence that he told her
all his tale of woe, and ended up by asking her advice as to how he was
to escape the punishment the Fairy would be sure to inflict on him when
she discovered that he had not cut down the trees in the wood and that
he had broken her axe.

'You must know,' answered the black girl, 'that the Fairy in whose power
we both are is my own mother, but you must not betray this secret, for
it would cost me my life. If you will only promise to try and free me
I will stand by you, and will accomplish for you all the tasks which my
mother sets you.'

The Prince promised joyfully all she asked; then having once more warned
him not to betray her confidence, she handed him a draught to drink
which very soon sunk his senses in a deep slumber.

His astonishment was great when he awoke to find the glass axe whole and
unbroken at his side, and all the trees of the wood lying felled around
him!

He made all haste across the bridge of clouds, and told the Fairy that
her commands were obeyed. She was much amazed when she heard that all
the wood was cut down, and saw the axe unbroken in his hand, and
since she could not believe that he had done all this by himself, she
questioned him narrowly if he had seen or spoken to the black girl. But
the Prince lied manfully, and swore he had never looked up from his work
for a moment. Seeing she could get nothing more out of him, she gave him
a little bread and water, and showing him to a small dark cupboard she
told him he might sleep there.

Morning had hardly dawned when the Fairy awoke the Prince, and giving
him the glass axe again she told him to cut up all the wood he had
felled the day before, and to put it in bundles ready for firewood; at
the same time she warned him once more against approaching or speaking a
word to the black girl if he met her in the wood.

Although his task was no easier than that of the day before, the youth
set out much more cheerfully, because he knew he could count an the help
of the black girl. With quicker and lighter step he crossed the bridge
of clouds, and hardly had he reached the other side than his friend
stood before him and greeted him cheerfully. When she heard what the
Fairy demanded this time, she answered smilingly, 'Never fear,' and
handed him another draught, which very soon caused the Prince to sink
into a deep sleep.

When he awoke everything, was done. All the trees of the wood were cut
up into firewood and arranged in bundles ready for use.

He returned to the castle as quickly as he could, and told the Fairy
that her commands were obeyed. She was even more amazed than she had
been before, and asked him again if he had either seen or spoken to the
black girl; but the Prince knew better than to betray his word, and once
more lied freely.

On the following day the Fairy set him a third task to do, even harder
than the other two. She told him he must build a castle on the other
side of the lake, made of nothing but gold, silver, and precious stones,
and unless he could accomplish this within an hour, the most frightful
doom awaited him.

The Prince heard her words without anxiety, so entirely did he rely on
the help of his black friend. Full of hope he hurried across the bridge,
and recognised at once the spot where the castle was to stand, for
spades, hammers, axes, and every other building implement lay scattered
on the ground ready for the workman's hand, but of gold, silver, and
precious stones there was not a sign. But before the Prince had time
to feel despondent the black girl beckoned to him in the distance from
behind a rock, where she had hidden herself for fear her mother should
catch sight of her. Full of joy the youth hurried towards her, and
begged her aid and counsel in the new piece of work he had been given to
do.

But this time the Fairy had watched the Prince's movements from
her window, and she saw him hiding himself behind the rock with her
daughter. She uttered a piercing shriek so that the mountains re-echoed
with the sound of it, and the terrified pair had hardly dared to look
out from their hiding-place when the enraged woman, with her dress and
hair flying in the wind, hurried over the bridge of clouds. The Prince
at once gave himself up for lost, but the girl told him to be of good
courage and to follow her as quickly as he could. But before they left
their shelter she broke off a little bit of the rock, spoke some magic
words over it, and threw it in the direction her mother was coming from.
In a moment a glittering palace arose before the eyes of the Fairy which
blinded her with its dazzling splendour, and with its many doors and
passages prevented her for some time from finding her way out of it.

In the meantime the black girl hurried on with the Prince, hastening to
reach the river, where once on the other side they would for ever be out
of the wicked Fairy's power. But before they had accomplished half the
way they heard again the rustle of her garments and her muttered curses
pursuing them closely.

The Prince was terrified; he dared not look back, and he felt his
strength giving way. But before he had time to despair the girl uttered
some more magic words, and immediately she herself was changed into a
pond, and the Prince into a duck swimming on its surface.

When the Fairy saw this her rage knew no bounds, and she used all her
magic wits to make the pond disappear; she caused a hill of sand to
arise at her feet, meaning it to dry up the water at once. But the sand
hill only drove the pond a little farther away, and its waters seemed to
increase instead of diminishing. When the old woman saw that the powers
of her magic were of so little avail, she had recourse to cunning. She
threw a lot of gold nuts into the pond, hoping in this way to catch
the duck, but all her efforts were fruitless, for the little creature
refused to let itself be caught.

Then a new idea struck the wicked old woman, and hiding herself behind
the rock which had sheltered the fugitives, she waited behind it,
watching carefully for the moment when the Prince and her daughter
should resume their natural forms and continue their journey.

She had not to wait long, for as soon as the girl thought her mother was
safely out of the way, she changed herself and the Prince once more into
their human shape, and set out cheerfully for the river.

But they had not gone many steps when the wicked Fairy hurried after
them, a drawn dagger in her hand, and was close upon them, when
suddenly, instead of the Prince and her daughter, she found herself in
front of a great stone church, whose entrance was carefully guarded by a
huge monk.

Breathless with rage and passion, she tried to plunge her dagger into
the monk's heart, but it fell shattered in pieces at her feet. In her
desperation she determined to pull down the church, and thus to destroy
her two victims for ever. She stamped three times on the ground, and the
earth trembled, and both the church and the monk began to shake. As soon
as the Fairy saw this she retreated to some distance from the building,
so as not to be hurt herself by its fall. But once more her scheme was
doomed to failure, for hardly had she gone a yard from the church than
both it and the monk disappeared, and she found herself in a wood black
as night, and full of wolves and bears and wild animals of all sorts and
descriptions.

Then her wrath gave place to terror, for she feared every moment to be
torn in pieces by the beasts who one and all seemed to defy her power.
She thought it wisest to make her way as best she could out of the
forest, and then to pursue the fugitives once more and accomplish their
destruction either by force or cunning.

In the meantime the Prince and the black girl had again assumed their
natural forms, and were hurrying on as fast as they could to reach the
river. But when they got there they found that there was no way in which
they could cross it, and the girl's magic art seemed no longer to
have any power. Then turning to the Prince she said, 'The hour for my
deliverance has not yet come, but as you promised to do all you could to
free me, you must do exactly as I bid you now. Take this bow and arrow
and kill every beast you see with them, and be sure you spare no living
creature.'

With these words she disappeared, and hardly had she done so than a
huge wild boar started out of the thicket near and made straight for the
Prince. But the youth did not lose his presence of mind, and drawing
his bow he pierced the beast with his arrow right through the skull. The
creature fell heavily on the ground, and out of its side sprang a little
hare, which ran like the wind along the river bank. The Prince drew his
bow once more, and the hare lay dead at his feet; but at the same moment
a dove rose up in the air, and circled round the Prince's head in the
most confiding manner. But mindful of the black girl's commands, he
dared not spare the little creature's life, and taking another arrow
from his quiver he laid it as dead as the boar and the hare. But when
he went to look at the body of the bird he found instead of the dove a
round white egg lying on the ground.

While he was gazing on it and wondering what it could mean, he heard the
sweeping of wings above him, and looking up he saw a huge vulture with
open claws swooping down upon him. In a moment he seized the egg and
flung it at the bird with all his might, and lo and behold! instead of
the ugly monster the most beautiful girl he had ever seen stood before
the astonished eyes of the Prince.

But while all this was going on the wicked old Fairy had managed to
make her way out of the wood, and was now using the last resource in her
power to overtake her daughter and the Prince. As soon as she was in the
open again she mounted her chariot, which was drawn by a fiery dragon,
and flew through the air in it. But just as she got to the river she saw
the two lovers in each other's arms swimming through the water as easily
as two fishes.

Quick as lightning, and forgetful of every danger, she flew down upon
them. But the waters seized her chariot and sunk it in the lowest
depths, and the waves bore the wicked old woman down the stream till she
was caught in some thorn bushes, where she made a good meal for all the
little fishes that were swimming about.

And so at last the Prince and his lovely Bride were free. They hurried
as quickly as they could to the old King, who received them with joy and
gladness. On the following day a most gorgeous wedding feast was held,
and as far as we know the Prince and his bride lived happily for ever
afterwards.




THE DEAD WIFE(20)

(20) From the Iroquois.

Once upon a time there were a man and his wife who lived in the forest,
very far from the rest of the tribe. Very often they spent the day in
hunting together, but after a while the wife found that she had so many
things to do that she was obliged to stay at home; so he went alone,
though he found that when his wife was not with him he never had any
luck. One day, when he was away hunting, the woman fell ill, and in a
few days she died.

Her husband grieved bitterly, and buried her in the house where she had
passed her life; but as the time went on he felt so lonely without her
that he made a wooden doll about her height and size for company, and
dressed it in her clothes. He seated it in front of the fire, and tried
to think he had his wife back again. The next day he went out to hunt,
and when he came home the first thing he did was to go up to the doll
and brush off some of the ashes from the fire which had fallen on its
face. But he was very busy now, for he had to cook and mend, besides
getting food, for there was no one to help him. And so a whole year
passed away.

At the end of that time he came back from hunting one night and found
some wood by the door and a fire within. The next night there was not
only wood and fire, but a piece of meat in the kettle, nearly ready for
eating. He searched all about to see who could have done this, but could
find no one. The next time he went to hunt he took care not to go far,
and came in quite early. And while he was still a long way off he saw a
woman going into the house with wood on her shoulders. So he made haste,
and opened the door quickly, and instead of the wooden doll, his wife
sat in front of the fire.

Then she spoke to him and said, 'The Great Spirit felt sorry for you,
because you would not be comforted, so he let me come back to you, but
you must not stretch out your hand to touch me till we have seen the
rest of our people. If you do, I shall die.'

So the man listened to her words, and the woman dwelt there, and brought
the wood and kindled the fire, till one day her husband said to her, 'It
is now two years since you died. Let us now go back to our tribe. Then
you will be well, and I can touch you.'

And with that he prepared food for the journey, a string of deer's flesh
for her to carry, and one for himself; and so they started. Now the camp
of the tribe was distant six days' journey, and when they were yet one
day's journey off it began to snow, and they felt weary and longed for
rest. Therefore they made a fire, cooked some food, and spread out their
skins to sleep.

Then the heart of the man was greatly stirred, and he stretched out his
arms to his wife, but she waved her hands and said, 'We have seen no one
yet; it is too soon.'

But he would not listen to her, and caught her to him, and behold! he
was clasping the wooden doll. And when he saw it was the doll he pushed
it from him in his misery and rushed away to the camp, and told them all
his story. And some doubted, and they went back with him to the place
where he and his wife had stopped to rest, and there lay the doll, and
besides, they saw in the snow the steps of two people, and the foot of
one was like the foot of the doll. And the man grieved sore all the days
of his life.




IN THE LAND OF SOULS (21)

(21) From the Red Indian.

Far away, in North America, where the Red Indians dwell, there lived a
long time ago a beautiful maiden, who was lovelier than any other girl
in the whole tribe. Many of the young braves sought her in marriage, but
she would listen to one only--a handsome chief, who had taken her fancy
some years before. So they were to be married, and great rejoicings were
made, and the two looked forward to a long life of happiness together,
when the very night before the wedding feast a sudden illness seized the
girl, and, without a word to her friends who were weeping round her, she
passed silently away.

The heart of her lover had been set upon her, and the thought of her
remained with him night and day. He put aside his bow, and went neither
to fight nor to hunt, but from sunrise to sunset he sat by the place
where she was laid, thinking of his happiness that was buried there.
At last, after many days, a light seemed to come to him out of the
darkness. He remembered having heard from the old, old people of the
tribe, that there was a path that led to the Land of Souls--that if you
sought carefully you could find it.

So the next morning he got up early, and put some food in his pouch and
slung an extra skin over his shoulders, for he knew not how long
his journey would take, nor what sort of country he would have to go
through. Only one thing he knew, that if the path was there, he would
find it. At first he was puzzled, as there seemed no reason he should go
in one direction more than another. Then all at once he thought he had
heard one of the old men say that the Land of Souls lay to the south,
and so, filled with new hope and courage, he set his face southwards.
For many, many miles the country looked the same as it did round his own
home. The forests, the hills, and the rivers all seemed exactly like the
ones he had left. The only thing that was different was the snow, which
had lain thick upon the hills and trees when he started, but grew less
and less the farther he went south, till it disappeared altogether. Soon
the trees put forth their buds, and flowers sprang up under his feet,
and instead of thick clouds there was blue sky over his head, and
everywhere the birds were singing. Then he knew that he was in the right
road.

The thought that he should soon behold his lost bride made his heart
beat for joy, and he sped along lightly and swiftly. Now his way led
through a dark wood, and then over some steep cliffs, and on the top of
these he found a hut or wigwam. An old man clothed in skins, and holding
a staff in his hand, stood in the doorway; and he said to the young
chief who was beginning to tell his story, 'I was waiting for you,
wherefore you have come I know. It is but a short while since she whom
you seek was here. Rest in my hut, as she also rested, and I will tell
you what you ask, and whither you should go.'

On hearing these words, the young man entered the hut, but his heart was
too eager within him to suffer him to rest, and when he arose, the old
man rose too, and stood with him at the door. 'Look,' he said, 'at the
water which lies far out yonder, and the plains which stretch beyond.
That is the Land of Souls, but no man enters it without leaving his body
behind him. So, lay down your body here; your bow and arrows, your skin
and your dog. They shall be kept for you safely.'

Then he turned away, and the young chief, light as air, seemed hardly to
touch the ground; and as he flew along the scents grew sweeter and the
flowers more beautiful, while the animals rubbed their noses against
him, instead of hiding as he approached, and birds circled round him,
and fishes lifted up their heads and looked as he went by. Very soon he
noticed with wonder, that neither rocks nor trees barred his path. He
passed through them without knowing it, for indeed, they were not rocks
and trees at all, but only the souls of them; for this was the Land of
Shadows.

So he went on with winged feet till he came to the shores of a great
lake, with a lovely island in the middle of it; while on the bank of the
lake was a canoe of glittering stone, and in the canoe were two shining
paddles.

The chief jumped straight into the canoe, and seizing the paddles pushed
off from the shore, when to his joy and wonder he saw following him in
another canoe exactly like his own the maiden for whose sake he had made
this long journey. But they could not touch each other, for between them
rolled great waves, which looked as if they would sink the boats, yet
never did. And the young man and the maiden shrank with fear, for down
in the depths of the water they saw the bones of those who had died
before, and in the waves themselves men and women were struggling, and
but few passed over. Only the children had no fear, and reached the
other side in safety. Still, though the chief and the young girl quailed
in terror at these horrible sights and sounds, no harm came to them,
for their lives had been free from evil, and the Master of Life had said
that no evil should happen unto them. So they reached unhurt the shore
of the Happy Island, and wandered through the flowery fields and by the
banks of rushing streams, and they knew not hunger nor thirst; neither
cold nor heat. The air fed them and the sun warmed them, and they forgot
the dead, for they saw no graves, and the young man's thoughts turned
not to wars, neither to the hunting of animals. And gladly would these
two have walked thus for ever, but in the murmur of the wind he heard
the Master of Life saying to him, 'Return whither you came, for I have
work for you to do, and your people need you, and for many years you
shall rule over them. At the gate my messenger awaits you, and you shall
take again your body which you left behind, and he will show you what
you are to do. Listen to him, and have patience, and in time to come you
shall rejoin her whom you must now leave, for she is accepted, and will
remain ever young and beautiful, as when I called her hence from the
Land of Snows.'




THE WHITE DUCK

Once upon a time a great and powerful King married a lovely Princess. No
couple were ever so happy; but before their honeymoon was over they were
forced to part, for the King had to go on a warlike expedition to a far
country, and leave his young wife alone at home. Bitter were the tears
she shed, while her husband sought in vain to soothe her with words of
comfort and counsel, warning her, above all things, never to leave
the castle, to hold no intercourse with strangers, to beware of evil
counsellors, and especially to be on her guard against strange women.
And the Queen promised faithfully to obey her royal lord and master in
these four matters.

So when the King set out on his expedition she shut herself up with
her ladies in her own apartments, and spent her time in spinning and
weaving, and in thinking of her royal husband. Often she was very sad
and lonely, and it happened that one day while she was seated at the
window, letting salt tears drop on her work, an old woman, a kind,
homely-looking old body, stepped up to the window, and, leaning upon her
crutch, addressed the Queen in friendly, flattering tones, saying:

'Why are you sad and cast down, fair Queen? You should not mope all day
in your rooms, but should come out into the green garden, and hear the
birds sing with joy among the trees, and see the butterflies fluttering
above the flowers, and hear the bees and insects hum, and watch
the sunbeams chase the dew-drops through the rose-leaves and in the
lily-cups. All the brightness outside would help to drive away your
cares, O Queen.'

For long the Queen resisted her coaxing words, remembering the promise
she had given the King, her husband; but at last she thought to herself:
After all, what harm would it do if I were to go into the garden for a
short time and enjoy myself among the trees and flowers, and the singing
birds and fluttering butterflies and humming insects, and look at
the dew-drops hiding from the sunbeams in the hearts of the roses and
lilies, and wander about in the sunshine, instead of remaining all
day in this room? For she had no idea that the kind-looking old woman
leaning on her crutch was in reality a wicked witch, who envied the
Queen her good fortune, and was determined to ruin her. And so, in all
ignorance, the Queen followed her out into the garden and listened to
her smooth, flattering words. Now, in the middle of the garden there was
a pond of water, clear as crystal, and the old woman said to the Queen:

'The day is so warm, and the sun's rays so scorching, that the water in
the pond looks very cool and inviting. Would you not like to bathe in
it, fair Queen?'

'No, I think not,' answered the Queen; but the next moment she regretted
her words, and thought to herself: Why shouldn't I bathe in that cool,
fresh water? No harm could come of it. And, so saying, she slipped off
her robes and stepped into the water. But scarcely had her tender feet
touched the cool ripples when she felt a great shove on her shoulders,
and the wicked witch had pushed her into the deep water, exclaiming:

'Swim henceforth, White Duck!'

And the witch herself assumed the form of the Queen, and decked herself
out in the royal robes, and sat among the Court ladies, awaiting the
King's return. And suddenly the tramp of horses' hoofs was heard, and
the barking of dogs, and the witch hastened forward to meet the royal
carriages, and, throwing her arms round the King's neck, kissed him.
And in his great joy the King did not know that the woman he held in his
arms was not his own dear wife, but a wicked witch.

In the meantime, outside the palace walls, the poor White Duck swam up
and down the pond; and near it laid three eggs, out of which there came
one morning two little fluffy ducklings and a little ugly drake. And the
White Duck brought the little creatures up, and they paddled after her
in the pond, and caught gold-fish, and hopped upon the bank and waddled
about, ruffling their feathers and saying 'Quack, quack' as they
strutted about on the green banks of the pond. But their mother used to
warn them not to stray too far, telling them that a wicked witch lived
in the castle beyond the garden, adding, 'She has ruined me, and she
will do her best to ruin you.' But the young ones did not listen to
their mother, and, playing about the garden one day, they strayed close
up to the castle windows. The witch at once recognised them by their
smell, and ground her teeth with anger; but she hid her feelings, and,
pretending to be very kind she called them to her and joked with them,
and led them into a beautiful room, where she gave them food to eat, and
showed them a soft cushion on which they might sleep. Then she left them
and went down into the palace kitchens, where she told the servants to
sharpen the knives, and to make a great fire ready, and hang a large
kettleful of water over it.

In the meantime the two little ducklings had fallen asleep, and the
little drake lay between them, covered up by their wings, to be kept
warm under their feathers. But the little drake could not go to sleep,
and as he lay there wide awake in the night he heard the witch come to
the door and say:

'Little ones, are you asleep?'

And the little drake answered for the other two:

          'We cannot sleep, we wake and weep,
           Sharp is the knife, to take our life;
           The fire is hot, now boils the pot,
           And so we wake, and lie and quake.'

'They are not asleep yet,' muttered the witch to herself; and she walked
up and down in the passage, and then came back to the door, and said:

'Little ones, are you asleep?'

And again the little drake answered for his sisters:

          'We cannot sleep, we wake and weep,
           Sharp is the knife, to take our life;
           The fire is hot, now boils the pot,
           And so we wake, and lie and quake.'

'Just the same answer,' muttered the witch; 'I think I'll go in and
see.' So she opened the door gently, and seeing the two little ducklings
sound asleep, she there and then killed them.

The next morning the White Duck wandered round the pond in a distracted
manner, looking for her little ones; she called and she searched, but
could find no trace of them. And in her heart she had a foreboding that
evil had befallen them, and she fluttered up out of the water and flew
to the palace. And there, laid out on the marble floor of the court,
dead and stone cold, were her three children. The White Duck threw
herself upon them, and, covering up their little bodies with her wings,
she cried:

          'Quack, quack--my little loves!
           Quack, quack--my turtle-doves!
            I brought you up with grief and pain,
           And now before my eyes you're slain.

           I gave you always of the best;
           I kept you warm in my soft nest.
            I loved and watched you day and night--
           You were my joy, my one delight.'


The King heard the sad complaint of the White Duck, and called to the
witch: 'Wife, what a wonder is this? Listen to that White Duck.'

But the witch answered, 'My dear husband, what do you mean? There is
nothing wonderful in a duck's quacking. Here, servants! Chase that duck
out of the courtyard.' But though the servants chased and chevied, they
could not get rid of the duck; for she circled round and round, and
always came back to the spot where her children lay, crying:

          'Quack, quack--my little loves!
           Quack, quack--my turtle-doves!
            The wicked witch your lives did take--
           The wicked witch, the cunning snake.
            First she stole my King away,
           Then my children did she slay.
            Changed me, from a happy wife,
           To a duck for all my life.
            Would I were the Queen again;
           Would that you had never been slain.'

And as the King heard her words he began to suspect that he had been
deceived, and he called out to the servants, 'Catch that duck, and bring
it here.' But, though they ran to and fro, the duck always fled past
them, and would not let herself be caught. So the King himself stepped
down amongst them, and instantly the duck fluttered down into his hands.
And as he stroked her wings she was changed into a beautiful woman, and
he recognised his dear wife. And she told him that a bottle would be
found in her nest in the garden, containing some drops from the spring
of healing. And it was brought to her; and the ducklings and little
drake were sprinkled with the water, and from the little dead bodies
three lovely children arose. And the King and Queen were overjoyed when
they saw their children, and they all lived happily together in the
beautiful palace. But the wicked witch was taken by the King's command,
and she came to no good end.




THE WITCH AND HER SERVANTS(22)

(22) From the Russian. Kletke.

Long time ago there lived a King who had three sons; the eldest was
called Szabo, the second Warza, and the youngest Iwanich.

One beautiful spring morning the King was walking through his
gardens with these three sons, gazing with admiration at the various
fruit-trees, some of which were a mass of blossom, whilst others were
bowed to the ground laden with rich fruit. During their wanderings they
came unperceived on a piece of waste land where three splendid trees
grew. The King looked on them for a moment, and then, shaking his head
sadly, he passed on in silence.

The sons, who could not understand why he did this, asked him the reason
of his dejection, and the King told them as follows:

'These three trees, which I cannot see without sorrow, were planted by
me on this spot when I was a youth of twenty. A celebrated magician, who
had given the seed to my father, promised him that they would grow into
the three finest trees the world had ever seen. My father did not live
to see his words come true; but on his death-bed he bade me transplant
them here, and to look after them with the greatest care, which I
accordingly did. At last, after the lapse of five long years, I noticed
some blossoms on the branches, and a few days later the most exquisite
fruit my eyes had ever seen.

'I gave my head-gardener the strictest orders to watch the trees
carefully, for the magician had warned my father that if one unripe
fruit were plucked from the tree, all the rest would become rotten at
once. When it was quite ripe the fruit would become a golden yellow.

'Every day I gazed on the lovely fruit, which became gradually more
and more tempting-looking, and it was all I could do not to break the
magician's commands.

'One night I dreamt that the fruit was perfectly ripe; I ate some of it,
and it was more delicious than anything I had ever tasted in real life.
As soon as I awoke I sent for the gardener and asked him if the fruit on
the three trees had not ripened in the night to perfection.

'But instead of replying, the gardener threw himself at my feet and
swore that he was innocent. He said that he had watched by the trees all
night, but in spite of it, and as if by magic, the beautiful trees had
been robbed of all their fruit.

'Grieved as I was over the theft, I did not punish the gardener, of
whose fidelity I was well assured, but I determined to pluck off all the
fruit in the following year before it was ripe, as I had not much belief
in the magician's warning.

'I carried out my intention, and had all the fruit picked off the tree,
but when I tasted one of the apples it was bitter and unpleasant, and
the next morning the rest of the fruit had all rotted away.

'After this I had the beautiful fruit of these trees carefully guarded
by my most faithful servants; but every year, on this very night, the
fruit was plucked and stolen by an invisible hand, and next morning not
a single apple remained on the trees. For some time past I have given up
even having the trees watched.'

When the King had finished his story, Szabo, his eldest son, said to
him: 'Forgive me, father, if I say I think you are mistaken. I am sure
there are many men in your kingdom who could protect these trees from
the cunning arts of a thieving magician; I myself, who as your eldest
son claim the first right to do so, will mount guard over the fruit this
very night.'

The King consented, and as soon as evening drew on Szabo climbed up on
to one of the trees, determined to protect the fruit even if it cost him
his life. So he kept watch half the night; but a little after midnight
he was overcome by an irresistible drowsiness, and fell fast asleep.
He did not awake till it was bright daylight, and all the fruit on the
trees had vanished.

The following year Warza, the second brother, tried his luck, but with
the same result. Then it came to the turn of the third and youngest son.

Iwanich was not the least discouraged by the failure of his elder
brothers, though they were both much older and stronger than he was,
and when night came climbed up the tree as they had done, The moon had
risen, and with her soft light lit up the whole neighbourhood, so that
the observant Prince could distinguish the smallest object distinctly.

At midnight a gentle west wind shook the tree, and at the same moment
a snow-white swan-like bird sank down gently on his breast. The
Prince hastily seized the bird's wings in his hands, when, lo! to his
astonishment he found he was holding in his arms not a bird but the most
beautiful girl he had ever seen.

'You need not fear Militza,' said the beautiful girl, looking at the
Prince with friendly eyes. 'An evil magician has not robbed you of your
fruit, but he stole the seed from my mother, and thereby caused her
death. When she was dying she bade me take the fruit, which you have no
right to possess, from the trees every year as soon as it was ripe.
This I would have done to-night too, if you had not seized me with such
force, and so broken the spell I was under.'

Iwanich, who had been prepared to meet a terrible magician and not a
lovely girl, fell desperately in love with her. They spent the rest of
the night in pleasant conversation, and when Militza wished to go away
he begged her not to leave him.

'I would gladly stay with you longer,' said Militza, 'but a wicked witch
once cut off a lock of my hair when I was asleep, which has put me in
her power, and if morning were still to find me here she would do me
some harm, and you, too, perhaps.'

Having said these words, she drew a sparkling diamond ring from her
finger, which she handed to the Prince, saying: 'Keep this ring in
memory of Militza, and think of her sometimes if you never see her
again. But if your love is really true, come and find me in my own
kingdom. I may not show you the way there, but this ring will guide you.

'If you have love and courage enough to undertake this journey, whenever
you come to a cross-road always look at this diamond before you settle
which way you are going to take. If it sparkles as brightly as ever go
straight on, but if its lustre is dimmed choose another path.'

Then Militza bent over the Prince and kissed him on his forehead, and
before he had time to say a word she vanished through the branches of
the tree in a little white cloud.

Morning broke, and the Prince, still full of the wonderful apparition,
left his perch and returned to the palace like one in a dream, without
even knowing if the fruit had been taken or not; for his whole mind was
absorbed by thoughts of Militza and how he was to find her.

As soon as the head-gardener saw the Prince going towards the palace he
ran to the trees, and when he saw them laden with ripe fruit he hastened
to tell the King the joyful news. The King was beside himself for joy,
and hurried at once to the garden and made the gardener pick him some of
the fruit. He tasted it, and found the apple quite as luscious as it
had been in his dream. He went at once to his son Iwanich, and after
embracing him tenderly and heaping praises on him, he asked him how
he had succeeded in protecting the costly fruit from the power of the
magician.

This question placed Iwanich in a dilemma. But as he did not want the
real story to be known, he said that about midnight a huge wasp had
flown through the branches, and buzzed incessantly round him. He had
warded it off with his sword, and at dawn, when he was becoming quite
worn out, the wasp had vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

The King, who never doubted the truth of this tale, bade his son go to
rest at once and recover from the fatigues of the night; but he himself
went and ordered many feasts to be held in honour of the preservation of
the wonderful fruit.

The whole capital was in a stir, and everyone shared in the King's joy;
the Prince alone took no part in the festivities.

While the King was at a banquet, Iwanich took some purses of gold, and
mounting the quickest horse in the royal stable, he sped off like the
wind without a single soul being any the wiser.

It was only on the next day that they missed him; the King was very
distressed at his disappearance, and sent search-parties all over the
kingdom to look for him, but in vain; and after six months they gave him
up as dead, and in another six months they had forgotten all about him.
But in the meantime the Prince, with the help of his ring, had had a
most successful journey, and no evil had befallen him.

At the end of three months he came to the entrance of a huge forest,
which looked as if it had never been trodden by human foot before, and
which seemed to stretch out indefinitely. The Prince was about to enter
the wood by a little path he had discovered, when he heard a voice
shouting to him: 'Hold, youth! Whither are you going?'

Iwanich turned round, and saw a tall, gaunt-looking man, clad in
miserable rags, leaning on a crooked staff and seated at the foot of
an oak tree, which was so much the same colour as himself that it was
little wonder the Prince had ridden past the tree without noticing him.

'Where else should I be going,' he said, 'than through the wood?'

'Through the wood?' said the old man in amazement. 'It's easily seen
that you have heard nothing of this forest, that you rush so blindly to
meet your doom. Well, listen to me before you ride any further; let me
tell you that this wood hides in its depths a countless number of the
fiercest tigers, hyenas, wolves, bears, and snakes, and all sorts of
other monsters. If I were to cut you and your horse up into tiny morsels
and throw them to the beasts, there wouldn't be one bit for each hundred
of them. Take my advice, therefore, and if you wish to save your life
follow some other path.'

The Prince was rather taken aback by the old man's words, and considered
for a minute what he should do; then looking at his ring, and perceiving
that it sparkled as brightly as ever, he called out: 'If this wood held
even more terrible things than it does, I cannot help myself, for I must
go through it.'

Here he spurred his horse and rode on; but the old beggar screamed so
loudly after him that the Prince turned round and rode back to the oak
tree.

'I am really sorry for you,' said the beggar, 'but if you are quite
determined to brave the dangers of the forest, let me at least give you
a piece of advice which will help you against these monsters.

'Take this bagful of bread-crumbs and this live hare. I will make you
a present of them both, as I am anxious to save your life; but you must
leave your horse behind you, for it would stumble over the fallen trees
or get entangled in the briers and thorns. When you have gone about a
hundred yards into the wood the wild beasts will surround you. Then you
must instantly seize your bag, and scatter the bread-crumbs among them.
They will rush to eat them up greedily, and when you have scattered the
last crumb you must lose no time in throwing the hare to them; as soon
as the hare feels itself on the ground it will run away as quickly as
possible, and the wild beasts will turn to pursue it. In this way you
will be able to get through the wood unhurt.'

Iwanich thanked the old man for his counsel, dismounted from his horse,
and, taking the bag and the hare in his arms, he entered the forest. He
had hardly lost sight of his gaunt grey friend when he heard growls and
snarls in the thicket close to him, and before he had time to think he
found himself surrounded by the most dreadful-looking creatures. On
one side he saw the glittering eye of a cruel tiger, on the other the
gleaming teeth of a great she-wolf; here a huge bear growled fiercely,
and there a horrible snake coiled itself in the grass at his feet.

But Iwanich did not forget the old man's advice, and quickly put his
hand into the bag and took out as many bread-crumbs as he could hold in
his hand at a time. He threw them to the beasts, but soon the bag grew
lighter and lighter, and the Prince began to feel a little frightened.
And now the last crumb was gone, and the hungry beasts thronged round
him, greedy for fresh prey. Then he seized the hare and threw it to
them.

No sooner did the little creature feel itself on the ground than it
lay back its ears and flew through the wood like an arrow from a bow,
closely pursued by the wild beasts, and the Prince was left alone. He
looked at his ring, and when he saw that it sparkled as brightly as ever
he went straight on through the forest.

He hadn't gone very far when he saw a most extraordinary looking man
coming towards him. He was not more than three feet high, his legs
were quite crooked, and all his body was covered with prickles like a
hedgehog. Two lions walked with him, fastened to his side by the two
ends of his long beard.

He stopped the Prince and asked him in a harsh voice: 'Are you the man
who has just fed my body-guard?'

Iwanich was so startled that he could hardly reply, but the little man
continued: 'I am most grateful to you for your kindness; what can I give
you as a reward?'

'All I ask,' replied Iwanich, 'is, that I should be allowed to go
through this wood in safety.'

'Most certainly,' answered the little man; 'and for greater security I
will give you one of my lions as a protector. But when you leave this
wood and come near a palace which does not belong to my domain, let the
lion go, in order that he may not fall into the hands of an enemy and be
killed.'

With these words he loosened the lion from his beard and bade the beast
guard the youth carefully.

With this new protector Iwanich wandered on through the forest, and
though he came upon a great many more wolves, hyenas, leopards, and
other wild beasts, they always kept at a respectful distance when they
saw what sort of an escort the Prince had with him.

Iwanich hurried through the wood as quickly as his legs would carry him,
but, nevertheless, hour after hour went by and not a trace of a green
field or a human habitation met his eyes. At length, towards evening,
the mass of trees grew more transparent, and through the interlaced
branches a wide plain was visible.

At the exit of the wood the lion stood still, and the Prince took leave
of him, having first thanked him warmly for his kind protection. It had
become quite dark, and Iwanich was forced to wait for daylight before
continuing his journey.

He made himself a bed of grass and leaves, lit a fire of dry branches,
and slept soundly till the next morning.

Then he got up and walked towards a beautiful white palace which he saw
gleaming in the distance. In about an hour he reached the building, and
opening the door he walked in.

After wandering through many marble halls, he came to a huge staircase
made of porphyry, leading down to a lovely garden.

The Prince burst into a shout of joy when he suddenly perceived Militza
in the centre of a group of girls who were weaving wreaths of flowers
with which to deck their mistress.

As soon as Militza saw the Prince she ran up to him and embraced him
tenderly; and after he had told her all his adventures, they went into
the palace, where a sumptuous meal awaited them. Then the Princess
called her court together, and introduced Iwanich to them as her future
husband.

Preparations were at once made for the wedding, which was held soon
after with great pomp and magnificence.

Three months of great happiness followed, when Militza received one day
an invitation to visit her mother's sister.

Although the Princess was very unhappy at leaving her husband, she did
not like to refuse the invitation, and, promising to return in seven
days at the latest, she took a tender farewell of the Prince, and
said: 'Before I go I will hand you over all the keys of the castle. Go
everywhere and do anything you like; only one thing I beg and beseech
you, do not open the little iron door in the north tower, which is
closed with seven locks and seven bolts; for if you do, we shall both
suffer for it.'

Iwanich promised what she asked, and Militza departed, repeating her
promise to return in seven days.

When the Prince found himself alone he began to be tormented by pangs
of curiosity as to what the room in the tower contained. For two days he
resisted the temptation to go and look, but on the third he could stand
it no longer, and taking a torch in his hand he hurried to the tower,
and unfastened one lock after the other of the little iron door until it
burst open.

What an unexpected sight met his gaze! The Prince perceived a small room
black with smoke, lit up feebly by a fire from which issued long blue
flames. Over the fire hung a huge cauldron full of boiling pitch, and
fastened into the cauldron by iron chains stood a wretched man screaming
with agony.

Iwanich was much horrified at the sight before him, and asked the man
what terrible crime he had committed to be punished in this dreadful
fashion.

'I will tell you everything,' said the man in the cauldron; 'but first
relieve my torments a little, I implore you.'

'And how can I do that?' asked the Prince.

'With a little water,' replied the man; 'only sprinkle a few drops over
me and I shall feel better.'

The Prince, moved by pity, without thinking what he was doing, ran
to the courtyard of the castle, and filled a jug with water, which he
poured over the man in the cauldron.

In a moment a most fearful crash was heard, as if all the pillars of the
palace were giving way, and the palace itself, with towers and doors,
windows and the cauldron, whirled round the bewildered Prince's head.
This continued for a few minutes, and then everything vanished into
thin air, and Iwanich found himself suddenly alone upon a desolate heath
covered with rocks and stones.

The Prince, who now realised what his heedlessness had done, cursed too
late his spirit of curiosity. In his despair he wandered on over the
heath, never looking where he put his feet, and full of sorrowful
thoughts. At last he saw a light in the distance, which came from a
miserable-looking little hut.

The owner of it was none other than the kind-hearted gaunt grey beggar
who had given the Prince the bag of bread-crumbs and the hare. Without
recognising Iwanich, he opened the door when he knocked and gave him
shelter for the night.

On the following morning the Prince asked his host if he could get him
any work to do, as he was quite unknown in the neighbourhood, and had
not enough money to take him home.

'My son,' replied the old man, 'all this country round here is
uninhabited; I myself have to wander to distant villages for my living,
and even then I do not very often find enough to satisfy my hunger. But
if you would like to take service with the old witch Corva, go straight
up the little stream which flows below my hut for about three hours, and
you will come to a sand-hill on the left-hand side; that is where she
lives.'

Iwanich thanked the gaunt grey beggar for his information, and went on
his way.

After walking for about three hours the Prince came upon a
dreary-looking grey stone wall; this was the back of the building and
did not attract him; but when he came upon the front of the house
he found it even less inviting, for the old witch had surrounded her
dwelling with a fence of spikes, on every one of which a man's skull was
stuck. In this horrible enclosure stood a small black house, which had
only two grated windows, all covered with cobwebs, and a battered iron
door.

The Prince knocked, and a rasping woman's voice told him to enter.

Iwanich opened the door, and found himself in a smoke-begrimed kitchen,
in the presence of a hideous old woman who was warming her skinny hands
at a fire. The Prince offered to become her servant, and the old hag
told him she was badly in want of one, and he seemed to be just the
person to suit her.

When Iwanich asked what his work, and how much his wages would be, the
witch bade him follow her, and led the way through a narrow damp
passage into a vault, which served as a stable. Here he perceived two
pitch-black horses in a stall.

'You see before you,' said the old woman, 'a mare and her foal; you have
nothing to do but to lead them out to the fields every day, and to see
that neither of them runs away from you. If you look after them both for
a whole year I will give you anything you like to ask; but if, on the
other hand, you let either of the animals escape you, your last hour is
come, and your head shall be stuck on the last spike of my fence. The
other spikes, as you see, are already adorned, and the skulls are all
those of different servants I have had who have failed to do what I
demanded.'

Iwanich, who thought he could not be much worse off than he was already,
agreed to the witch's proposal.

At daybreak nest morning he drove his horses to the field, and brought
them back in the evening without their ever having attempted to break
away from him. The witch stood at her door and received him kindly, and
set a good meal before him.

So it continued for some time, and all went well with the Prince.

Early every morning he led the horses out to the fields, and brought
them home safe and sound in the evening.

One day, while he was watching the horses, he came to the banks of a
river, and saw a big fish, which through some mischance had been cast on
the land, struggling hard to get back into the water.

Iwanich, who felt sorry for the poor creature, seized it in his arms and
flung it into the stream. But no sooner did the fish find itself in the
water again, than, to the Prince's amazement, it swam up to the bank and
said:

'My kind benefactor, how can I reward you for your goodness?'

'I desire nothing,' answered the Prince. 'I am quite content to have
been able to be of some service to you.'

'You must do me the favour,' replied the fish, 'to take a scale from my
body, and keep it carefully. If you should ever need my help, throw it
into the river, and I will come to your aid at once.'

Iwanich bowed, loosened a scale from the body of the grateful beast, put
it carefully away, and returned home.

A short time after this, when he was going early one morning to the
usual grazing place with his horses, he noticed a flock of birds
assembled together making a great noise and flying wildly backwards and
forwards.

Full of curiosity, Iwanich hurried up to the spot, and saw that a large
number of ravens had attacked an eagle, and although the eagle was big
and powerful and was making a brave fight, it was overpowered at last by
numbers, and had to give in.

But the Prince, who was sorry for the poor bird, seized the branch of
a tree and hit out at the ravens with it; terrified at this unexpected
onslaught they flew away, leaving many of their number dead or wounded
on the battlefield.

As soon as the eagle saw itself free from its tormentors it plucked a
feather from its wing, and, handing it to the Prince, said: 'Here, my
kind benefactor, take this feather as a proof of my gratitude; should
you ever be in need of my help blow this feather into the air, and I
will help you as much as is in my power.'

Iwanich thanked the bird, and placing the feather beside the scale he
drove the horses home.

Another day he had wandered farther than usual, and came close to a
farmyard; the place pleased the Prince, and as there was plenty of good
grass for the horses he determined to spend the day there. Just as he
was sitting down under a tree he heard a cry close to him, and saw a fox
which had been caught in a trap placed there by the farmer.

In vain did the poor beast try to free itself; then the good-natured
Prince came once more to the rescue, and let the fox out of the trap.

The fox thanked him heartily, tore two hairs out of his bushy tail, and
said: 'Should you ever stand in need of my help throw these two hairs
into the fire, and in a moment I shall be at your side ready to obey
you.'

Iwanich put the fox's hairs with the scale and the feather, and as it
was getting dark he hastened home with his horses.

In the meantime his service was drawing near to an end, and in three
more days the year was up, and he would be able to get his reward and
leave the witch.

On the first evening of these last three days, when he came home and was
eating his supper, he noticed the old woman stealing into the stables.

The Prince followed her secretly to see what she was going to do. He
crouched down in the doorway and heard the wicked witch telling the
horses to wait next morning till Iwanich was asleep, and then to go and
hide themselves in the river, and to stay there till she told them to
return; and if they didn't do as she told them the old woman threatened
to beat them till they bled.

When Iwanich heard all this he went back to his room, determined that
nothing should induce him to fall asleep next day. On the following
morning he led the mare and foal to the fields as usual, but bound a
cord round them both which he kept in his hand.

But after a few hours, by the magic arts of the old witch, he was
overpowered by sleep, and the mare and foal escaped and did as they had
been told to do. The Prince did not awake till late in the evening; and
when he did, he found, to his horror, that the horses had disappeared.
Filled with despair, he cursed the moment when he had entered the
service of the cruel witch, and already he saw his head sticking up on
the sharp spike beside the others.

Then he suddenly remembered the fish's scale, which, with the eagle's
feather and the fox's hairs, he always carried about with him. He drew
the scale from his pocket, and hurrying to the river he threw it in. In
a minute the grateful fish swam towards the bank on which Iwanich was
standing, and said: 'What do you command, my friend and benefactor?'

The Prince replied: 'I had to look after a mare and foal, and they have
run away from me and have hidden themselves in the river; if you wish to
save my life drive them back to the land.'

'Wait a moment,' answered the fish, 'and I and my friends will soon
drive them out of the water.' With these words the creature disappeared
into the depths of the stream.

Almost immediately a rushing hissing sound was heard in the waters, the
waves dashed against the banks, the foam was tossed into the air, and
the two horses leapt suddenly on to the dry land, trembling and shaking
with fear.

Iwanich sprang at once on to the mare's back, seized the foal by its
bridle, and hastened home in the highest spirits.

When the witch saw the Prince bringing the horses home she could hardly
conceal her wrath, and as soon as she had placed Iwanich's supper before
him she stole away again to the stables. The Prince followed her, and
heard her scolding the beasts harshly for not having hidden themselves
better. She bade them wait next morning till Iwanich was asleep and then
to hide themselves in the clouds, and to remain there till she called.
If they did not do as she told them she would beat them till they bled.

The next morning, after Iwanich had led his horses to the fields, he
fell once more into a magic sleep. The horses at once ran away and hid
themselves in the clouds, which hung down from the mountains in soft
billowy masses.

When the Prince awoke and found that both the mare and the foal had
disappeared, he bethought him at once of the eagle, and taking the
feather out of his pocket he blew it into the air.

In a moment the bird swooped down beside him and asked: 'What do you
wish me to do?'

'My mare and foal,' replied the Prince, 'have run away from me, and have
hidden themselves in the clouds; if you wish to save my life, restore
both animals to me.'

'Wait a minute,' answered the eagle; 'with the help of my friends I will
soon drive them back to you.'

With these words the bird flew up into the air and disappeared among the
clouds.

Almost directly Iwanich saw his two horses being driven towards him by
a host of eagles of all sizes. He caught the mare and foal, and having
thanked the eagle he drove them cheerfully home again.

The old witch was more disgusted than ever when she saw him appearing,
and having set his supper before him she stole into the stables, and
Iwanich heard her abusing the horses for not having hidden themselves
better in the clouds. Then she bade them hide themselves next morning,
as soon as Iwanich was asleep, in the King's hen-house, which stood on
a lonely part of the heath, and to remain there till she called. If they
failed to do as she told them she would certainly beat them this time
till they bled.

On the following morning the Prince drove his horses as usual to the
fields. After he had been overpowered by sleep, as on the former days,
the mare and foal ran away and hid themselves in the royal hen house.

When the Prince awoke and found the horses gone he determined to appeal
to the fox; so, lighting a fire, he threw the two hairs into it, and
in a few moments the fox stood beside him and asked: 'In what way can I
serve you?'

'I wish to know,' replied Iwanich, 'where the King's hen-house is.'

'Hardly an hour's walk from here,' answered the fox, and offered to show
the Prince the way to it.

While they were walking along the fox asked him what he wanted to do
at the royal hen-house. The Prince told him of the misfortune that had
befallen him, and of the necessity of recovering the mare and foal.

'That is no easy matter,' replied the fox. 'But wait a moment. I have
an idea. Stand at the door of the hen-house, and wait there for your
horses. In the meantime I will slip in among the hens through a hole in
the wall and give them a good chase, so that the noise they make will
arouse the royal henwives, and they will come to see what is the matter.
When they see the horses they will at once imagine them to be the cause
of the disturbance, and will drive them out. Then you must lay hands on
the mare and foal and catch them.

All turned out exactly as the sly fox had foreseen. The Prince swung
himself on the mare, seized the foal by its bridle, and hurried home.

While he was riding over the heath in the highest of spirits the mare
suddenly said to her rider: 'You are the first person who has ever
succeeded in outwitting the old witch Corva, and now you may ask what
reward you like for your service. If you promise never to betray me I
will give you a piece of advice which you will do well to follow.'

The Prince promised never to betray her confidence, and the mare
continued: 'Ask nothing else as a reward than my foal, for it has not
its like in the world, and is not to be bought for love or money; for it
can go from one end of the earth to another in a few minutes. Of course
the cunning Corva will do her best to dissuade you from taking the foal,
and will tell you that it is both idle and sickly; but do not believe
her, and stick to your point.'

Iwanich longed to possess such an animal, and promised the mare to
follow her advice.

This time Corva received him in the most friendly manner, and set a
sumptuous repast before him. As soon as he had finished she asked him
what reward he demanded for his year's service.

'Nothing more nor less,' replied the Prince, 'than the foal of your
mare.'

The witch pretended to be much astonished at his request, and said that
he deserved something much better than the foal, for the beast was lazy
and nervous, blind in one eye, and, in short, was quite worthless.

But the Prince knew what he wanted, and when the old witch saw that he
had made up his mind to have the foal, she said, 'I am obliged to keep
my promise and to hand you over the foal; and as I know who you are and
what you want, I will tell you in what way the animal will be useful to
you. The man in the cauldron of boiling pitch, whom you set free, is a
mighty magician; through your curiosity and thoughtlessness Militza came
into his power, and he has transported her and her castle and belongings
into a distant country.

'You are the only person who can kill him; and in consequence he fears
you to such an extent that he has set spies to watch you, and they
report your movements to him daily.

'When you have reached him, beware of speaking a single word to him, or
you will fall into the power of his friends. Seize him at once by the
beard and dash him to the ground.'

Iwanich thanked the old witch, mounted his foal, put spurs to its sides,
and they flew like lightning through the air.

Already it was growing dark, when Iwanich perceived some figures in the
distance; they soon came up to them, and then the Prince saw that it
was the magician and his friends who were driving through the air in a
carriage drawn by owls.

When the magician found himself face to face with Iwanich, without hope
of escape, he turned to him with false friendliness and said: 'Thrice my
kind benefactor!'

But the Prince, without saying a word, seized him at once by his beard
and dashed him to the ground. At the same moment the foal sprang on the
top of the magician and kicked and stamped on him with his hoofs till he
died.

Then Iwanich found himself once more in the palace of his bride, and
Militza herself flew into his arms.

From this time forward they lived in undisturbed peace and happiness
till the end of their lives.




THE MAGIC RING

Once upon a time there lived an old couple who had one son called
Martin. Now when the old man's time had come, he stretched himself out
on his bed and died. Though all his life long he had toiled and moiled,
he only left his widow and son two hundred florins. The old woman
determined to put by the money for a rainy day; but alas! the rainy day
was close at hand, for their meal was all consumed, and who is prepared
to face starvation with two hundred florins at their disposal? So the
old woman counted out a hundred of her florins, and giving them to
Martin, told him to go into the town and lay in a store of meal for a
year.

So Martin started off for the town. When he reached the meat-market he
found the whole place in turmoil, and a great noise of angry voices and
barking of dogs. Mixing in the crowd, he noticed a stag-hound which the
butchers had caught and tied to a post, and which was being flogged in
a merciless manner. Overcome with pity, Martin spoke to the butchers,
saying:

'Friends, why are you beating the poor dog so cruelly?'

'We have every right to beat him,' they replied; 'he has just devoured a
newly-killed pig.'

'Leave off beating him,' said Martin, 'and sell him to me instead.'

'If you choose to buy him,' answered the butchers derisively; 'but for
such a treasure we won't take a penny less than a hundred florins.'

'A hundred!' exclaimed Martin. 'Well, so be it, if you will not take
less;' and, taking the money out of his pocket, he handed it over in
exchange for the dog, whose name was Schurka.

When Martin got home, his mother met him with the question:

'Well, what have you bought?'

'Schurka, the dog,' replied Martin, pointing to his new possession.
Whereupon his mother became very angry, and abused him roundly. He ought
to be ashamed of himself, when there was scarcely a handful of meal in
the house, to have spent the money on a useless brute like that. On the
following day she sent him back to the town, saying, 'Here, take our
last hundred florins, and buy provisions with them. I have just emptied
the last grains of meal out of the chest, and baked a bannock; but it
won't last over to-morrow.'

Just as Martin was entering the town he met a rough-looking peasant who
was dragging a cat after him by a string which was fastened round the
poor beast's neck.

'Stop,' cried Martin; 'where are you dragging that poor cat?'

'I mean to drown him,' was the answer.

'What harm has the poor beast done?' said Martin.

'It has just killed a goose,' replied the peasant.

'Don't drown him, sell him to me instead,' begged Martin.

'Not for a hundred florins,' was the answer.

'Surely for a hundred florins you'll sell it?' said Martin. 'See! here
is the money;' and, so saying, he handed him the hundred florins, which
the peasant pocketed, and Martin took possession of the cat, which was
called Waska.

When he reached his home his mother greeted him with the question:

'Well, what have you brought back?'

'I have brought this cat, Waska,' answered Martin.

'And what besides?'

'I had no money over to buy anything else with,' replied Martin.

'You useless ne'er-do-weel!' exclaimed his mother in a great passion.
'Leave the house at once, and go and beg your bread among strangers;'
and as Martin did not dare to contradict her, he called Schurka and
Waska and started off with them to the nearest village in search of
work. On the way he met a rich peasant, who asked him where he was
going.

'I want to get work as a day labourer,' he answered.

'Come along with me, then. But I must tell you I engage my labourers
without wages. If you serve me faithfully for a year, I promise you it
shall be for your advantage.'

So Martin consented, and for a year he worked diligently, and served
his master faithfully, not sparing himself in any way. When the day of
reckoning had come the peasant led him into a barn, and pointing to two
full sacks, said: 'Take whichever of these you choose.'

Martin examined the contents of the sacks, and seeing that one was full
of silver and the other of sand, he said to himself:

'There must be some trick about this; I had better take the sand.' And
throwing the sack over his shoulders he started out into the world,
in search of fresh work. On and on he walked, and at last he reached
a great gloomy wood. In the middle of the wood he came upon a meadow,
where a fire was burning, and in the midst of the fire, surrounded by
flames, was a lovely damsel, more beautiful than anything that Martin
had ever seen, and when she saw him she called to him:

'Martin, if you would win happiness, save my life. Extinguish the flames
with the sand that you earned in payment of your faithful service.'

'Truly,' thought Martin to himself, 'it would be more sensible to save a
fellow-being's life with this sand than to drag it about on one's back,
seeing what a weight it is.' And forthwith he lowered the sack from his
shoulders and emptied its contents on the flames, and instantly the
fire was extinguished; but at the same moment lo! and behold the lovely
damsel turned into a Serpent, and, darting upon him, coiled itself round
his neck, and whispered lovingly in his ear:

'Do not be afraid of me, Martin; I love you, and will go with you
through the world. But first you must follow me boldly into my Father's
Kingdom, underneath the earth; and when we get there, remember this--he
will offer you gold and silver, and dazzling gems, but do not touch
them. Ask him, instead, for the ring which he wears on his little
finger, for in that ring lies a magic power; you have only to throw it
from one hand to the other, and at once twelve young men will appear,
who will do your bidding, no matter how difficult, in a single night.'

So they started on their way, and after much wandering they reached
a spot where a great rock rose straight up in the middle of the road.
Instantly the Serpent uncoiled itself from his neck, and, as it touched
the damp earth, it resumed the shape of the lovely damsel. Pointing to
the rock, she showed him an opening just big enough for a man to wriggle
through. Passing into it, they entered a long underground passage, which
led out on to a wide field, above which spread a blue sky. In the middle
of the field stood a magnificent castle, built out of porphyry, with a
roof of gold and with glittering battlements. And his beautiful guide
told him that this was the palace in which her father lived and reigned
over his kingdom in the Under-world.

Together they entered the palace, and were received by the King with
great kindness. Turning to his daughter, he said:

'My child, I had almost given up the hope of ever seeing you again.
Where have you been all these years?'

'My father,' she replied, 'I owe my life to this youth, who saved me
from a terrible death.'

Upon which the King turned to Martin with a gracious smile, saying: 'I
will reward your courage by granting you whatever your heart desires.
Take as much gold, silver, and precious stones as you choose.'

'I thank you, mighty King, for your gracious offer,' answered Martin,'
'but I do not covet either gold, silver, or precious stones; yet if you
will grant me a favour, give me, I beg, the ring from off the little
finger of your royal hand. Every time my eye falls on it I shall think
of your gracious Majesty, and when I marry I shall present it to my
bride.'

So the King took the ring from his finger and gave it to Martin, saying:
'Take it, good youth; but with it I make one condition--you are never
to confide to anyone that this is a magic ring. If you do, you will
straightway bring misfortune on yourself.'

Martin took the ring, and, having thanked the King, he set out on the
same road by which he had come down into the Under-world. When he had
regained the upper air he started for his old home, and having found his
mother still living in the old house where he had left her, they settled
down together very happily. So uneventful was their life that it
almost seemed as if it would go on in this way always, without let or
hindrance. But one day it suddenly came into his mind that he would like
to get married, and, moreover, that he would choose a very grand wife--a
King's daughter, in short. But as he did not trust himself as a wooer,
he determined to send his old mother on the mission.

'You must go to the King,' he said to her, 'and demand the hand of his
lovely daughter in marriage for me.'

'What are you thinking of, my son?' answered the old woman, aghast at
the idea. 'Why cannot you marry someone in your own rank? That would be
far more fitting than to send a poor old woman like me a-wooing to the
King's Court for the hand of a Princess. Why, it is as much as our heads
are worth. Neither my life nor yours would be worth anything if I went
on such a fool's errand.'

'Never fear, little mother,' answered Martin. 'Trust me; all will be
well. But see that you do not come back without an answer of some kind.'

And so, obedient to her son's behest, the old woman hobbled off to the
palace, and, without being hindered, reached the courtyard, and began to
mount the flight of steps leading to the royal presence chamber. At
the head of the landing rows of courtiers were collected in magnificent
attire, who stared at the queer old figure, and called to her, and
explained to her, with every kind of sign, that it was strictly
forbidden to mount those steps. But their stern words and forbidding
gestures made no impression whatever on the old woman, and she
resolutely continued to climb the stairs, bent on carrying out her son's
orders. Upon this some of the courtiers seized her by the arms, and held
her back by sheer force, at which she set up such a yell that the King
himself heard it, and stepped out on to the balcony to see what was the
matter. When he beheld the old woman flinging her arms wildly about, and
heard her scream that she would not leave the place till she had laid
her case before the King, he ordered that she should be brought into
his presence. And forthwith she was conducted into the golden presence
chamber, where, leaning back amongst cushions of royal purple, the King
sat, surrounded by his counsellors and courtiers. Courtesying low, the
old woman stood silent before him. 'Well, my good old dame, what can I
do for you?' asked the King.

'I have come,' replied Martin's mother--'and your Majesty must not be
angry with me--I have come a-wooing.'

'Is the woman out of her mind?' said the King, with an angry frown.

But Martin's mother answered boldly: 'If the King will only listen
patiently to me, and give me a straightforward answer, he will see that
I am not out of my mind. You, O King, have a lovely daughter to give
in marriage. I have a son--a wooer--as clever a youth and as good a
son-in-law as you will find in your whole kingdom. There is nothing that
he cannot do. Now tell me, O King, plump and plain, will you give your
daughter to my son as wife?' The King listened to the end of the old
woman's strange request, but every moment his face grew blacker, and his
features sterner; till all at once he thought to himself, 'Is it worth
while that I, the King, should be angry with this poor old fool?' And
all the courtiers and counsellors were amazed when they saw the hard
lines round his mouth and the frown on his brow grow smooth, and heard
the mild but mocking tones in which he answered the old woman, saying:

'If your son is as wonderfully clever as you say, and if there is
nothing in the world that he cannot do, let him build a magnificent
castle, just opposite my palace windows, in four and twenty hours. The
palace must be joined together by a bridge of pure crystal. On each
side of the bridge there must be growing trees, having golden and silver
apples, and with birds of Paradise among the branches. At the right of
the bridge there must be a church, with five golden cupolas; in this
church your son shall be wedded to my daughter, and we will keep the
wedding festivities in the new castle. But if he fails to execute this
my royal command, then, as a just but mild monarch, I shall give orders
that you and he are taken, and first dipped in tar and then in feathers,
and you shall be executed in the market-place for the entertainment of
my courtiers.'

And a smile played round the King's lips as he finished speaking, and
his courtiers and counsellors shook with laughter when they thought of
the old woman's folly, and praised the King's wise device, and said to
each other, 'What a joke it will be when we see the pair of them tarred
and feathered! The son is just as able to grow a beard on the palm of
his hand as to execute such a task in twenty-four hours.'

Now the poor old woman was mortally afraid and, in a trembling voice she
asked:

'Is that really your royal will, O King? Must I take this order to my
poor son?'

'Yes, old dame; such is my command. If your son carries out my order,
he shall be rewarded with my daughter; but if he fails, away to the
tar-barrel and the stake with you both!'

On her way home the poor old woman shed bitter tears, and when she saw
Martin she told him what the King had said, and sobbed out:

'Didn't I tell you, my son, that you should marry someone of your own
rank? It would have been better for us this day if you had. As I told
you, my going to Court has been as much as our lives are worth, and
now we will both be tarred and feathered, and burnt in the public
market-place. It is terrible!' and she moaned and cried.

'Never fear, little mother,' answered Martin; 'trust me, and you will
see all will be well. You may go to sleep with a quiet mind.'

And, stepping to the front of the hut, Martin threw his ring from the
palm of one hand into the other, upon which twelve youths instantly
appeared, and demanded what he wanted them to do. Then he told them the
King's commands, and they answered that by next morning all should be
accomplished exactly as the King had ordered.

Next morning when the King awoke, and looked out of his window, to his
amazement he beheld a magnificent castle, just opposite his own palace,
and joined to it a bridge of pure crystal.

At each side of the bridge trees were growing, from whose branches hung
golden and silver apples, among which birds of Paradise perched. At the
right, gleaming in the sun, were the five golden cupolas of a splendid
church, whose bells rang out, as if they would summon people from all
corners of the earth to come and behold the wonder. Now, though the King
would much rather have seen his future son-in-law tarred, feathered, and
burnt at the stake, he remembered his royal oath, and had to make the
best of a bad business. So he took heart of grace, and made Martin a
Duke, and gave his daughter a rich dowry, and prepared the grandest
wedding-feast that had ever been seen, so that to this day the old
people in the country still talk of it.

After the wedding Martin and his royal bride went to dwell in the
magnificent new palace, and here Martin lived in the greatest comfort
and luxury, such luxury as he had never imagined. But though he was as
happy as the day was long, and as merry as a grig, the King's daughter
fretted all day, thinking of the indignity that had been done her in
making her marry Martin, the poor widow's son, instead of a rich young
Prince from a foreign country. So unhappy was she that she spent all her
time wondering how she should get rid of her undesirable husband.
And first she determined to learn the secret of his power, and, with
flattering, caressing words, she tried to coax him to tell her how he
was so clever that there was nothing in the world that he could not do.
At first he would tell her nothing; but once, when he was in a yielding
mood, she approached him with a winning smile on her lovely face, and,
speaking flattering words to him, she gave him a potion to drink, with
a sweet, strong taste. And when he had drunk it Martin's lips were
unsealed, and he told her that all his power lay in the magic ring that
he wore on his finger, and he described to her how to use it, and, still
speaking, he fell into a deep sleep. And when she saw that the potion
had worked, and that he was sound asleep, the Princess took the magic
ring from his finger, and, going into the courtyard, she threw it from
the palm of one hand into the other.

On the instant the twelve youths appeared, and asked her what she
commanded them to do. Then she told them that by the next morning they
were to do away with the castle, and the bridge, and the church, and
put in their stead the humble hut in which Martin used to live with his
mother, and that while he slept her husband was to be carried to his old
lowly room; and that they were to bear her away to the utmost ends of
the earth, where an old King lived who would make her welcome in his
palace, and surround her with the state that befitted a royal Princess.

'You shall be obeyed,' answered the twelve youths at the same moment.
And lo and behold! the following morning, when the King awoke and looked
out of his window he beheld to his amazement that the palace, bridge,
church, and trees had all vanished, and there was nothing in their place
but a bare, miserable-looking hut.

Immediately the King sent for his son-in-law, and commanded him to
explain what had happened. But Martin looked at his royal father-in-law,
and answered never a word. Then the King was very angry, and, calling
a council together, he charged Martin with having been guilty of
witchcraft, and of having deceived the King, and having made away with
the Princess; and he was condemned to imprisonment in a high stone
tower, with neither meat nor drink, till he should die of starvation.

Then, in the hour of his dire necessity, his old friends Schurka (the
dog) and Waska (the cat) remembered how Martin had once saved them from
a cruel death; and they took counsel together as to how they should help
him. And Schurka growled, and was of opinion that he would like to tear
everyone in pieces; but Waska purred meditatively, and scratched the
back of her ear with a velvet paw, and remained lost in thought. At the
end of a few minutes she had made up her mind, and, turning to Schurka,
said: 'Let us go together into the town, and the moment we meet a baker
you must make a rush between his legs and upset the tray from off his
head; I will lay hold of the rolls, and will carry them off to our
master.' No sooner said than done. Together the two faithful creatures
trotted off into the town, and very soon they met a baker bearing a tray
on his head, and looking round on all sides, while he cried:

     'Fresh rolls, sweet cake,
           Fancy bread of every kind.
       Come and buy, come and take,
           Sure you'll find it to your mind,'


At that moment Schurka made a rush between his legs--the baker stumbled,
the tray was upset, the rolls fell to the ground, and, while the man
angrily pursued Schurka, Waska managed to drag the rolls out of sight
behind a bush. And when a moment later Schurka joined her, they set off
at full tilt to the stone tower where Martin was a prisoner, taking the
rolls with them. Waska, being very agile, climbed up by the outside to
the grated window, and called in an anxious voice:

'Are you alive, master?'

'Scarcely alive--almost starved to death,' answered Martin in a weak
voice. 'I little thought it would come to this, that I should die of
hunger.'

'Never fear, dear master. Schurka and I will look after you,' said
Waska. And in another moment she had climbed down and brought him back a
roll, and then another, and another, till she had brought him the whole
tray-load. Upon which she said: 'Dear master, Schurka and I are going
off to a distant kingdom at the utmost ends of the earth to fetch you
back your magic ring. You must be careful that the rolls last till our
return.'

And Waska took leave of her beloved master, and set off with Schurka
on their journey. On and on they travelled, looking always to right
and left for traces of the Princess, following up every track, making
inquiries of every cat and dog they met, listening to the talk of every
wayfarer they passed; and at last they heard that the kingdom at the
utmost ends of the earth where the twelve youths had borne the Princess
was not very far off. And at last one day they reached that distant
kingdom, and, going at once to the palace, they began to make friends
with all the dogs and cats in the place, and to question them about
the Princess and the magic ring; but no one could tell them much about
either. Now one day it chanced that Waska had gone down to the palace
cellar to hunt for mice and rats, and seeing an especially fat, well-fed
mouse, she pounced upon it, buried her claws in its soft fur, and was
just going to gobble it up, when she was stopped by the pleading tones
of the little creature, saying, 'If you will only spare my life I may be
of great service to you. I will do everything in my power for you; for I
am the King of the Mice, and if I perish the whole race will die out.'

'So be it,' said Waska. 'I will spare your life; but in return you must
do something for me. In this castle there lives a Princess, the wicked
wife of my dear master. She has stolen away his magic ring. You must get
it away from her at whatever cost; do you hear? Till you have done this
I won't take my claws out of your fur.'

'Good!' replied the mouse; 'I will do what you ask.' And, so saying,
he summoned all the mice in his kingdom together. A countless number
of mice, small and big, brown and grey, assembled, and formed a circle
round their king, who was a prisoner under Waska's claws. Turning to
them he said: 'Dear and faithful subjects, who ever among you will steal
the magic ring from the strange Princess will release me from a cruel
death; and I shall honour him above all the other mice in the kingdom.'

Instantly a tiny mouse stepped forward and said: 'I often creep about
the Princess's bedroom at night, and I have noticed that she has a ring
which she treasures as the apple of her eye. All day she wears it on her
finger, and at night she keeps it in her mouth. I will undertake, sire,
to steal away the ring for you.'

And the tiny mouse tripped away into the bedroom of the Princess, and
waited for nightfall; then, when the Princess had fallen asleep, it
crept up on to her bed, and gnawed a hole in the pillow, through which
it dragged one by one little down feathers, and threw them under the
Princess's nose. And the fluff flew into the Princess's nose, and into
her mouth, and starting up she sneezed and coughed, and the ring fell
out of her mouth on to the coverlet. In a flash the tiny mouse had
seized it, and brought it to Waska as a ransom for the King of the Mice.
Thereupon Waska and Schurka started off, and travelled night and day
till they reached the stone tower where Martin was imprisoned; and the
cat climbed up the window, and called out to him:

'Martin, dear master, are you still alive?'

'Ah! Waska, my faithful little cat, is that you?' replied a weak voice.
'I am dying of hunger. For three days I have not tasted food.'

'Be of good heart, dear master,' replied Waska; 'from this day forth you
will know nothing but happiness and prosperity. If this were a moment to
trouble you with riddles, I would make you guess what Schurka and I have
brought you back. Only think, we have got you your ring!'

At these words Martin's joy knew no bounds, and he stroked her fondly,
and she rubbed up against him and purred happily, while below Schurka
bounded in the air, and barked joyfully. Then Martin took the ring, and
threw it from one hand into the other, and instantly the twelve youths
appeared and asked what they were to do.

'Fetch me first something to eat and drink, as quickly as possible; and
after that bring musicians hither, and let us have music all day long.'

Now when the people in the town and palace heard music coming from the
tower they were filled with amazement, and came to the King with the
news that witchcraft must be going on in Martin's Tower, for, instead
of dying of starvation, he was seemingly making merry to the sound of
music, and to the clatter of plates, and glass, and knives and forks;
and the music was so enchantingly sweet that all the passers-by stood
still to listen to it. On this the King sent at once a messenger to
the Starvation Tower, and he was so astonished with what he saw that he
remained rooted to the spot. Then the King sent his chief counsellors,
and they too were transfixed with wonder. At last the King came himself,
and he likewise was spellbound by the beauty of the music.

Then Martin summoned the twelve youths, spoke to them, saying, 'Build up
my castle again, and join it to the King's Palace with a crystal bridge;
do not forget the trees with the golden and silver apples, and with the
birds of Paradise in the branches; and put back the church with the five
cupolas, and let the bells ring out, summoning the people from the four
corners of the kingdom. And one thing more: bring back my faithless
wife, and lead her into the women's chamber.'

And it was all done as he commanded, and, leaving the Starvation Tower,
he took the King, his father-in-law, by the arm, and led him into the
new palace, where the Princess sat in fear and trembling, awaiting her
death. And Martin spoke to the King, saying, 'King and royal father, I
have suffered much at the hands of your daughter. What punishment shall
be dealt to her?'

Then the mild King answered: 'Beloved Prince and son-in-law, if you love
me, let your anger be turned to grace--forgive my daughter, and restore
her to your heart and favour.'

And Martin's heart was softened and he forgave his wife, and they lived
happily together ever after. And his old mother came and lived with him,
and he never parted with Schurka and Waska; and I need hardly tell you
that he never again let the ring out of his possession.




THE FLOWER QUEEN'S DAUGHTER(23)

(23) From the Bukowinaer. Von Wliolocki.

A young Prince was riding one day through a meadow that stretched for
miles in front of him, when he came to a deep open ditch. He was turning
aside to avoid it, when he heard the sound of someone crying in the
ditch. He dismounted from his horse, and stepped along in the direction
the sound came from. To his astonishment he found an old woman, who
begged him to help her out of the ditch. The Prince bent down and lifted
her out of her living grave, asking her at the same time how she had
managed to get there.

'My son,' answered the old woman, 'I am a very poor woman, and soon
after midnight I set out for the neighbouring town in order to sell my
eggs in the market on the following morning; but I lost my way in the
dark, and fell into this deep ditch, where I might have remained for
ever but for your kindness.'

Then the Prince said to her, 'You can hardly walk; I will put you on my
horse and lead you home. Where do you live?'

'Over there, at the edge of the forest in the little hut you see in the
distance,' replied the old woman.

The Prince lifted her on to his horse, and soon they reached the hut,
where the old woman got down, and turning to the Prince said, 'Just wait
a moment, and I will give you something.' And she disappeared into her
hut, but returned very soon and said, 'You are a mighty Prince, but
at the same time you have a kind heart, which deserves to be rewarded.
Would you like to have the most beautiful woman in the world for your
wife?'

'Most certainly I would,' replied the Prince.

So the old woman continued, 'The most beautiful woman in the whole world
is the daughter of the Queen of the Flowers, who has been captured by a
dragon. If you wish to marry her, you must first set her free, and this
I will help you to do. I will give you this little bell: if you ring it
once, the King of the Eagles will appear; if you ring it twice, the King
of the Foxes will come to you; and if you ring it three times, you will
see the King of the Fishes by your side. These will help you if you are
in any difficulty. Now farewell, and heaven prosper your undertaking.'
She handed him the little bell, and there disappeared hut and all, as
though the earth had swallowed her up.

Then it dawned on the Prince that he had been speaking to a good fairy,
and putting the little bell carefully in his pocket, he rode home and
told his father that he meant to set the daughter of the Flower Queen
free, and intended setting out on the following day into the wide world
in search of the maid.

So the next morning the Prince mounted his fine horse and left his home.
He had roamed round the world for a whole year, and his horse had died
of exhaustion, while he himself had suffered much from want and misery,
but still he had come on no trace of her he was in search of. At last
one day he came to a hut, in front of which sat a very old man. The
Prince asked him, 'Do you not know where the Dragon lives who keeps the
daughter of the Flower Queen prisoner?'

'No, I do not,' answered the old man. 'But if you go straight along
this road for a year, you will reach a hut where my father lives, and
possibly he may be able to tell you.'

The Prince thanked him for his information, and continued his journey
for a whole year along the same road, and at the end of it came to
the little hut, where he found a very old man. He asked him the same
question, and the old man answered, 'No, I do not know where the Dragon
lives. But go straight along this road for another year, and you will
come to a hut in which my father lives. I know he can tell you.'

And so the Prince wandered on for another year, always on the same road,
and at last reached the hut where he found the third old man. He put
the same question to him as he had put to his son and grandson; but this
time the old man answered, 'The Dragon lives up there on the mountain,
and he has just begun his year of sleep. For one whole year he is always
awake, and the next he sleeps. But if you wish to see the Flower Queen's
daughter go up the second mountain: the Dragon's old mother lives there,
and she has a ball every night, to which the Flower Queen's daughter
goes regularly.'

So the Prince went up the second mountain, where he found a castle all
made of gold with diamond windows. He opened the big gate leading into
the courtyard, and was just going to walk in, when seven dragons rushed
on him and asked him what he wanted?

The Prince replied, 'I have heard so much of the beauty and kindness of
the Dragon's Mother, and would like to enter her service.'

This flattering speech pleased the dragons, and the eldest of them said,
'Well, you may come with me, and I will take you to the Mother Dragon.'

They entered the castle and walked through twelve splendid halls, all
made of gold and diamonds. In the twelfth room they found the Mother
Dragon seated on a diamond throne. She was the ugliest woman under the
sun, and, added to it all, she had three heads. Her appearance was a
great shock to the Prince, and so was her voice, which was like the
croaking of many ravens. She asked him, 'Why have you come here?'

The Prince answered at once, 'I have heard so much of your beauty and
kindness, that I would very much like to enter your service.'

'Very well,' said the Mother Dragon; 'but if you wish to enter my
service, you must first lead my mare out to the meadow and look after
her for three days; but if you don't bring her home safely every
evening, we will eat you up.'

The Prince undertook the task and led the mare out to the meadow.

But no sooner had they reached the grass than she vanished. The Prince
sought for her in vain, and at last in despair sat down on a big stone
and contemplated his sad fate. As he sat thus lost in thought, he
noticed an eagle flying over his head. Then he suddenly bethought him of
his little bell, and taking it out of his pocket he rang it once. In a
moment he heard a rustling sound in the air beside him, and the King of
the Eagles sank at his feet.

'I know what you want of me,' the bird said. 'You are looking for the
Mother Dragon's mare who is galloping about among the clouds. I will
summon all the eagles of the air together, and order them to catch the
mare and bring her to you.' And with these words the King of the Eagles
flew away. Towards evening the Prince heard a mighty rushing sound in
the air, and when he looked up he saw thousands of eagles driving the
mare before them. They sank at his feet on to the ground and gave the
mare over to him. Then the Prince rode home to the old Mother Dragon,
who was full of wonder when she saw him, and said, 'You have succeeded
to-day in looking after my mare, and as a reward you shall come to my
ball to-night.' She gave him at the same time a cloak made of copper,
and led him to a big room where several young he-dragons and she-dragons
were dancing together. Here, too, was the Flower Queen's beautiful
daughter. Her dress was woven out of the most lovely flowers in the
world, and her complexion was like lilies and roses. As the Prince was
dancing with her he managed to whisper in her ear, 'I have come to set
you free!'

Then the beautiful girl said to him, 'If you succeed in bringing the
mare back safely the third day, ask the Mother Dragon to give you a foal
of the mare as a reward.'

The ball came to an end at midnight, and early next morning the Prince
again led the Mother Dragon's mare out into the meadow. But again she
vanished before his eyes. Then he took out his little bell and rang it
twice.

In a moment the King of the Foxes stood before him and said: 'I know
already what you want, and will summon all the foxes of the world
together to find the mare who has hidden herself in a hill.'

With these words the King of the Foxes disappeared, and in the evening
many thousand foxes brought the mare to the Prince.

Then he rode home to the Mother-Dragon, from whom he received this time
a cloak made of silver, and again she led him to the ball-room.

The Flower Queen's daughter was delighted to see him safe and sound,
and when they were dancing together she whispered in his ear: 'If you
succeed again to-morrow, wait for me with the foal in the meadow. After
the ball we will fly away together.'

On the third day the Prince led the mare to the meadow again; but once
more she vanished before his eyes. Then the Prince took out his little
bell and rang it three times.

In a moment the King of the Fishes appeared, and said to him: 'I know
quite well what you want me to do, and I will summon all the fishes
of the sea together, and tell them to bring you back the mare, who is
hiding herself in a river.'

Towards evening the mare was returned to him, and when he led her home
to the Mother Dragon she said to him:

'You are a brave youth, and I will make you my body-servant. But what
shall I give you as a reward to begin with?'

The Prince begged for a foal of the mare, which the Mother Dragon at
once gave him, and over and above, a cloak made of gold, for she had
fallen in love with him because he had praised her beauty.

So in the evening he appeared at the ball in his golden cloak; but
before the entertainment was over he slipped away, and went straight to
the stables, where he mounted his foal and rode out into the meadow to
wait for the Flower Queen's daughter. Towards midnight the beautiful
girl appeared, and placing her in front of him on his horse, the
Prince and she flew like the wind till they reached the Flower Queen's
dwelling. But the dragons had noticed their flight, and woke their
brother out of his year's sleep. He flew into a terrible rage when
he heard what had happened, and determined to lay siege to the Flower
Queen's palace; but the Queen caused a forest of flowers as high as the
sky to grow up round her dwelling, through which no one could force a
way.

When the Flower Queen heard that her daughter wanted to marry the
Prince, she said to him: 'I will give my consent to your marriage
gladly, but my daughter can only stay with you in summer. In winter,
when everything is dead and the ground covered with snow, she must come
and live with me in my palace underground.' The Prince consented to
this, and led his beautiful bride home, where the wedding was held with
great pomp and magnificence. The young couple lived happily together
till winter came, when the Flower Queen's daughter departed and went
home to her mother. In summer she returned to her husband, and their
life of joy and happiness began again, and lasted till the approach of
winter, when the Flower Queen's daughter went back again to her mother.
This coming and going continued all her life long, and in spite of it
they always lived happily together.




THE FLYING SHIP(24)

(24) From the Russian.

Once upon a time there lived an old couple who had three sons; the two
elder were clever, but the third was a regular dunce. The clever sons
were very fond of their mother, gave her good clothes, and always spoke
pleasantly to her; but the youngest was always getting in her way,
and she had no patience with him. Now, one day it was announced in the
village that the King had issued a decree, offering his daughter, the
Princess, in marriage to whoever should build a ship that could fly.
Immediately the two elder brothers determined to try their luck, and
asked their parents' blessing. So the old mother smartened up their
clothes, and gave them a store of provisions for their journey, not
forgetting to add a bottle of brandy. When they had gone the poor
Simpleton began to tease his mother to smarten him up and let him start
off.

'What would become of a dolt like you?' she answered. 'Why, you would be
eaten up by wolves.'

But the foolish youth kept repeating, 'I will go, I will go, I will go!'

Seeing that she could do nothing with him, the mother gave him a crust
of bread and a bottle of water, and took no further heed of him.

So the Simpleton set off on his way. When he had gone a short distance
he met a little old manikin. They greeted one another, and the manikin
asked him where he was going.

'I am off to the King's Court,' he answered. 'He has promised to give
his daughter to whoever can make a flying ship.'

'And can you make such a ship?'

'Not I.'

'Then why in the world are you going?'

'Can't tell,' replied the Simpleton.

'Well, if that is the case,' said the manikin, 'sit down beside me; we
can rest for a little and have something to eat. Give me what you have
got in your satchel.'

Now, the poor Simpleton was ashamed to show what was in it. However, he
thought it best not to make a fuss, so he opened the satchel, and could
scarcely believe his own eyes, for, instead of the hard crust, he saw
two beautiful fresh rolls and some cold meat. He shared them with the
manikin, who licked his lips and said:

'Now, go into that wood, and stop in front of the first tree, bow three
times, and then strike the tree with your axe, fall on your knees on
the ground, with your face on the earth, and remain there till you are
raised up. You will then find a ship at your side, step into it and fly
to the King's Palace. If you meet anyone on the way, take him with you.'

The Simpleton thanked the manikin very kindly, bade him farewell, and
went into the road. When he got to the first tree he stopped in front of
it, did everything just as he had been told, and, kneeling on the ground
with his face to the earth, fell asleep. After a little time he was
aroused; he awoke and, rubbing his eyes, saw a ready-made ship at his
side, and at once got into it.

And the ship rose and rose, and in another minute was flying through the
air, when the Simpleton, who was on the look out, cast his eyes down to
the earth and saw a man beneath him on the road, who was kneeling with
his ear upon the damp ground.

'Hallo!' he called out, 'what are you doing down there?'

'I am listening to what is going on in the world,' replied the man.

'Come with me in my ship,' said the Simpleton.

So the man was only too glad, and got in beside him; and the ship flew,
and flew, and flew through the air, till again from his outlook the
Simpleton saw a man on the road below, who was hopping on one leg, while
his other leg was tied up behind his ear. So he hailed him, calling out:

'Hallo! what are you doing, hopping on one leg?'

'I can't help it,' replied the man. 'I walk so fast that unless I tied
up one leg I should be at the end of the earth in a bound.'

'Come with us on my ship,' he answered; and the man made no objections,
but joined them; and the ship flew on, and on, and on, till suddenly the
Simpleton, looking down on the road below, beheld a man aiming with a
gun into the distance.

'Hallo!' he shouted to him, 'what are you aiming at? As far as eye can
see, there is no bird in sight.'

'What would be the good of my taking a near shot?' replied the man; 'I
can hit beast or bird at a hundred miles' distance. That is the kind of
shot I enjoy.'

'Come into the ship with us,' answered the Simpleton; and the man was
only too glad to join them, and he got in; and the ship flew on, farther
and farther, till again the Simpleton from his outlook saw a man on the
road below, carrying on his back a basket full of bread. And he waved to
him, calling out:

'Hallo! where are you going?'

'To fetch bread for my breakfast.'

'Bread? Why, you have got a whole basket-load of it on your back.'

'That's nothing,' answered the man; 'I should finish that in one
mouthful.'

'Come along with us in my ship, then.'

And so the glutton joined the party, and the ship mounted again into the
air, and flew up and onward, till the Simpleton from his outlook saw
a man walking by the shore of a great lake, and evidently looking for
something.

'Hallo!' he cried to him,' what are you seeking?

'I want water to drink, I'm so thirsty,' replied the man.

'Well, there's a whole lake in front of you; why don't you drink some of
that?'

'Do you call that enough?' answered the other. 'Why, I should drink it
up in one gulp.'

'Well, come with us in the ship.'

And so the mighty drinker was added to the company; and the ship flew
farther, and even farther, till again the Simpleton looked out, and this
time he saw a man dragging a bundle of wood, walking through the forest
beneath them.

'Hallo!' he shouted to him, 'why are you carrying wood through a
forest?'

'This is not common wood,' answered the other.

'What sort of wood is it, then?' said the Simpleton.

'If you throw it upon the ground,' said the man, 'it will be changed
into an army of soldiers.'

'Come into the ship with us, then.'

And so he too joined them; and away the ship flew on, and on, and on,
and once more the Simpleton looked out, and this time he saw a man
carrying straw upon his back.

'Hallo! Where are you carrying that straw to?'

'To the village,' said the man.

'Do you mean to say there is no straw in the village?'

'Ah! but this is quite a peculiar straw. If you strew it about even in
the hottest summer the air at once becomes cold, and snow falls, and the
people freeze.'

Then the Simpleton asked him also to join them.

At last the ship, with its strange crew, arrived at the King's Court.
The King was having his dinner, but he at once despatched one of his
courtiers to find out what the huge, strange new bird could be that had
come flying through the air. The courtier peeped into the ship, and,
seeing what it was, instantly went back to the King and told him that it
was a flying ship, and that it was manned by a few peasants.

Then the King remembered his royal oath; but he made up his mind that
he would never consent to let the Princess marry a poor peasant. So he
thought and thought, and then said to himself:

'I will give him some impossible tasks to perform; that will be the best
way of getting rid of him.' And he there and then decided to despatch
one of his courtiers to the Simpleton, with the command that he was
to fetch the King the healing water from the world's end before he had
finished his dinner.

But while the King was still instructing the courtier exactly what
he was to say, the first man of the ship's company, the one with the
miraculous power of hearing, had overheard the King's words, and hastily
reported them to the poor Simpleton.

'Alas, alas!' he cried; 'what am I to do now? It would take me quite a
year, possibly my whole life, to find the water.'

'Never fear,' said his fleet-footed comrade, 'I will fetch what the King
wants.'

Just then the courtier arrived, bearing the King's command.

'Tell his Majesty,' said the Simpleton, 'that his orders shall be
obeyed; 'and forthwith the swift runner unbound the foot that was strung
up behind his ear and started off, and in less than no time had reached
the world's end and drawn the healing water from the well.

'Dear me,' he thought to himself, 'that's rather tiring! I'll just rest
for a few minutes; it will be some little time yet before the King has
got to dessert.' So he threw himself down on the grass, and, as the sun
was very dazzling, he closed his eyes, and in a few seconds had fallen
sound asleep.

In the meantime all the ship's crew were anxiously awaiting him; the
King's dinner would soon be finished, and their comrade had not yet
returned. So the man with the marvellous quick hearing lay down and,
putting his ear to the ground, listened.

'That's a nice sort of fellow!' he suddenly exclaimed. 'He's lying on
the ground, snoring hard!'

At this the marksman seized his gun, took aim, and fired in the
direction of the world's end, in order to awaken the sluggard. And a
moment later the swift runner reappeared, and, stepping on board the
ship, handed the healing water to the Simpleton. So while the King was
still sitting at table finishing his dinner news was brought to him that
his orders had been obeyed to the letter.

What was to be done now? The King determined to think of a still more
impossible task. So he told another courtier to go to the Simpleton with
the command that he and his comrades were instantly to eat up twelve
oxen and twelve tons of bread. Once more the sharp-eared comrade
overheard the King's words while he was still talking to the courtier,
and reported them to the Simpleton.

'Alas, alas!' he sighed; 'what in the world shall I do? Why, it would
take us a year, possibly our whole lives, to eat up twelve oxen and
twelve tons of bread.'

'Never fear,' said the glutton. 'It will scarcely be enough for me, I'm
so hungry.'

So when the courtier arrived with the royal message he was told to take
back word to the King that his orders should be obeyed. Then twelve
roasted oxen and twelve tons of bread were brought alongside of the
ship, and at one sitting the glutton had devoured it all.

'I call that a small meal,' he said. 'I wish they'd brought me some
more.'

Next, the King ordered that forty casks of wine, containing forty
gallons each, were to be drunk up on the spot by the Simpleton and his
party. When these words were overheard by the sharp-eared comrade and
repeated to the Simpleton, he was in despair.

'Alas, alas!' he exclaimed; 'what is to be done? It would take us a
year, possibly our whole lives, to drink so much.'

'Never fear,' said his thirsty comrade. 'I'll drink it all up at a
gulp, see if I don't.' And sure enough, when the forty casks of wine
containing forty gallons each were brought alongside of the ship, they
disappeared down the thirsty comrade's throat in no time; and when they
were empty he remarked:

'Why, I'm still thirsty. I should have been glad of two more casks.'

Then the King took counsel with himself and sent an order to the
Simpleton that he was to have a bath, in a bath-room at the royal
palace, and after that the betrothal should take place. Now the
bath-room was built of iron, and the King gave orders that it was to
be heated to such a pitch that it would suffocate the Simpleton. And so
when the poor silly youth entered the room, he discovered that the iron
walls were red hot. But, fortunately, his comrade with the straw on his
back had entered behind him, and when the door was shut upon them he
scattered the straw about, and suddenly the red-hot walls cooled down,
and it became so very cold that the Simpleton could scarcely bear to
take a bath, and all the water in the room froze. So the Simpleton
climbed up upon the stove, and, wrapping himself up in the bath
blankets, lay there the whole night. And in the morning when they opened
the door there he lay sound and safe, singing cheerfully to himself.

Now when this strange tale was told to the King he became quite sad,
not knowing what he should do to get rid of so undesirable a son-in-law,
when suddenly a brilliant idea occurred to him.

'Tell the rascal to raise me an army, now at this instant!' he exclaimed
to one of his courtiers. 'Inform him at once of this, my royal will.'
And to himself he added, 'I think I shall do for him this time.'

As on former occasions, the quick-eared comrade had overheard the King's
command and repeated it to the Simpleton.

'Alas, alas!' he groaned; 'now I am quite done for.'

'Not at all,' replied one of his comrades (the one who had dragged the
bundle of wood through the forest). 'Have you quite forgotten me?'

In the meantime the courtier, who had run all the way from the palace,
reached the ship panting and breathless, and delivered the King's
message.

'Good!' remarked the Simpleton. 'I will raise an army for the King,' and
he drew himself up. 'But if, after that, the King refuses to accept me
as his son-in-law, I will wage war against him, and carry the Princess
off by force.'

During the night the Simpleton and his comrade went, together into a big
field, not forgetting to take the bundle of wood with them, which the
man spread out in all directions--and in a moment a mighty army stood
upon the spot, regiment on regiment of foot and horse soldiers; the
bugles sounded and the drums beat, the chargers neighed, and their
riders put their lances in rest, and the soldiers presented arms.

In the morning when the King awoke he was startled by these warlike
sounds, the bugles and the drums, and the clatter of the horses, and the
shouts of the soldiers. And, stepping to the window, he saw the lances
gleam in the sunlight and the armour and weapons glitter. And the proud
monarch said to himself, 'I am powerless in comparison with this man.'
So he sent him royal robes and costly jewels, and commanded him to come
to the palace to be married to the Princess. And his son-in-law put
on the royal robes, and he looked so grand and stately that it was
impossible to recognise the poor Simpleton, so changed was he; and the
Princess fell in love with him as soon as ever she saw him.

Never before had so grand a wedding been seen, and there was so much
food and wine that even the glutton and the thirsty comrade had enough
to eat and drink.




THE SNOW-DAUGHTER AND THE FIRE-SON(25)

(25) From the Bukowinaer Tales and Legends. Von Wliolocki.

There was once upon a time a man and his wife, and they had no children,
which was a great grief to them. One winter's day, when the sun was
shining brightly, the couple were standing outside their cottage, and
the woman was looking at all the little icicles which hung from the
roof. She sighed, and turning to her husband said, 'I wish I had as many
children as there are icicles hanging there.' 'Nothing would please me
more either,' replied her husband. Then a tiny icicle detached itself
from the roof, and dropped into the woman's mouth, who swallowed it with
a smile, and said, 'Perhaps I shall give birth to a snow child now!' Her
husband laughed at his wife's strange idea, and they went back into the
house.

But after a short time the woman gave birth to a little girl, who was
as white as snow and as cold as ice. If they brought the child anywhere
near the fire, it screamed loudly till they put it back into some cool
place. The little maid throve wonderfully, and in a few months she could
run about and speak. But she was not altogether easy to bring up, and
gave her parents much trouble and anxiety, for all summer she insisted
on spending in the cellar, and in the winter she would sleep outside in
the snow, and the colder it was the happier she seemed to be. Her father
and mother called her simply 'Our Snow-daughter,' and this name stuck to
her all her life.

One day her parents sat by the fire, talking over the extraordinary
behaviour of their daughter, who was disporting herself in the snowstorm
that raged outside. The woman sighed deeply and said, 'I wish I had
given birth to a Fire-son!' As she said these words, a spark from the
big wood fire flew into the woman's lap, and she said with a laugh, 'Now
perhaps I shall give birth to a Fire-son!' The man laughed at his wife's
words, and thought it was a good joke. But he ceased to think it a
joke when his wife shortly afterwards gave birth to a boy, who screamed
lustily till he was put quite close to the fire, and who nearly yelled
himself into a fit if the Snow-daughter came anywhere near him. The
Snow-daughter herself avoided him as much as she could, and always crept
into a corner as far away from him as possible. The parents called the
boy simply 'Our Fire-son,' a name which stuck to him all his life. They
had a great deal of trouble and worry with him too; but he throve and
grew very quickly, and before he was a year old he could run about and
talk. He was as red as fire, and as hot to touch, and he always sat on
the hearth quite close to the fire, and complained of the cold; if his
sister were in the room he almost crept into the flames, while the girl
on her part always complained of the great heat if her brother were
anywhere near. In summer the boy always lay out in the sun, while the
girl hid herself in the cellar: so it happened that the brother and
sister came very little into contact with each other--in fact, they
carefully avoided it.

Just as the girl grew up into a beautiful woman, her father and mother
both died one after the other. Then the Fire-son, who had grown up in
the meantime into a fine, strong young man, said to his sister, 'I am
going out into the world, for what is the use of remaining on here?'

'I shall go with you,' she answered, 'for, except you, I have no one in
the world, and I have a feeling that if we set out together we shall be
lucky.'

The Fire-son said, 'I love you with all my heart, but at the same time
I always freeze if you are near me, and you nearly die of heat if I
approach you! How shall we travel about together without being odious
the one to the other?'

'Don't worry about that,' replied the girl, 'for I've thought it all
over, and have settled on a plan which will make us each able to bear
with the other! See, I have had a fur cloak made for each of us, and if
we put them on I shall not feel the heat so much nor you the cold.' So
they put on the fur cloaks, and set out cheerfully on their way, and for
the first time in their lives quite happy in each other's company.

For a long time the Fire-son and the Snow-daughter wandered through the
world, and when at the beginning of winter they came to a big wood they
determined to stay there till spring. The Fire-son built himself a hut
where he always kept up a huge fire, while his sister with very few
clothes on stayed outside night and day. Now it happened one day that
the King of the land held a hunt in this wood, and saw the Snow-daughter
wandering about in the open air. He wondered very much who the beautiful
girl clad in such garments could be, and he stopped and spoke to her.
He soon learnt that she could not stand heat, and that her brother could
not endure cold. The King was so charmed by the Snow-daughter, that he
asked her to be his wife. The girl consented, and the wedding was held
with much state. The King had a huge house of ice made for his wife
underground, so that even in summer it did not melt. But for his
brother-in-law he had a house built with huge ovens all round it, that
were kept heated all day and night. The Fire-son was delighted, but
the perpetual heat in which he lived made his body so hot, that it was
dangerous to go too close to him.

One day the King gave a great feast, and asked his brother-in-law
among the other guests. The Fire-son did not appear till everyone had
assembled, and when he did, everyone fled outside to the open air, so
intense was the heat he gave forth. Then the King was very angry and
said, 'If I had known what a lot of trouble you would have been, I would
never have taken you into my house.' Then the Fire-son replied with a
laugh, 'Don't be angry, dear brother! I love heat and my sister loves
cold--come here and let me embrace you, and then I'll go home at once.'
And before the King had time to reply, the Fire-son seized him in a
tight embrace. The King screamed aloud in agony, and when his wife, the
Snow-daughter, who had taken refuge from her brother in the next room,
hurried to him, the King lay dead on the ground burnt to a cinder. When
the Snow-daughter saw this she turned on her brother and flew at him.
Then a fight began, the like of which had never been seen on earth. When
the people, attracted by the noise, hurried to the spot, they saw the
Snow-daughter melting into water and the Fire-son burn to a cinder. And
so ended the unhappy brother and sister.




THE STORY OF KING FROST (26)

(26) From the Russian.

There was once upon a time a peasant-woman who had a daughter and a
step-daughter. The daughter had her own way in everything, and whatever
she did was right in her mother's eyes; but the poor step-daughter had
a hard time. Let her do what she would, she was always blamed, and got
small thanks for all the trouble she took; nothing was right, everything
wrong; and yet, if the truth were known, the girl was worth her weight
in gold--she was so unselfish and good-hearted. But her step-mother did
not like her, and the poor girl's days were spent in weeping; for it
was impossible to live peacefully with the woman. The wicked shrew was
determined to get rid of the girl by fair means or foul, and kept saying
to her father: 'Send her away, old man; send her away--anywhere so that
my eyes sha'n't be plagued any longer by the sight of her, or my ears
tormented by the sound of her voice. Send her out into the fields, and
let the cutting frost do for her.'

In vain did the poor old father weep and implore her pity; she was firm,
and he dared not gainsay her. So he placed his daughter in a sledge,
not even daring to give her a horse-cloth to keep herself warm with, and
drove her out on to the bare, open fields, where he kissed her and left
her, driving home as fast as he could, that he might not witness her
miserable death.

Deserted by her father, the poor girl sat down under a fir-tree at the
edge of the forest and began to weep silently. Suddenly she heard a
faint sound: it was King Frost springing from tree to tree, and cracking
his fingers as he went. At length he reached the fir-tree beneath which
she was sitting, and with a crisp crackling sound he alighted beside
her, and looked at her lovely face.

'Well, maiden,' he snapped out, 'do you know who I am? I am King Frost,
king of the red-noses.'

'All hail to you, great King!' answered the girl, in a gentle, trembling
voice. 'Have you come to take me?'

'Are you warm, maiden?' he replied.

'Quite warm, King Frost,' she answered, though she shivered as she
spoke.

Then King Frost stooped down, and bent over the girl, and the crackling
sound grew louder, and the air seemed to be full of knives and darts;
and again he asked:

'Maiden, are you warm? Are you warm, you beautiful girl?'

And though her breath was almost frozen on her lips, she whispered
gently, 'Quite warm, King Frost.'

Then King Frost gnashed his teeth, and cracked his fingers, and his eyes
sparkled, and the crackling, crisp sound was louder than ever, and for
the last time he asked her:

'Maiden, are you still warm? Are you still warm, little love?'

And the poor girl was so stiff and numb that she could just gasp, 'Still
warm, O King!'

Now her gentle, courteous words and her uncomplaining ways touched
King Frost, and he had pity on her, and he wrapped her up in furs, and
covered her with blankets, and he fetched a great box, in which were
beautiful jewels and a rich robe embroidered in gold and silver. And she
put it on, and looked more lovely than ever, and King Frost stepped with
her into his sledge, with six white horses.

In the meantime the wicked step-mother was waiting at home for news of
the girl's death, and preparing pancakes for the funeral feast. And she
said to her husband: 'Old man, you had better go out into the fields and
find your daughter's body and bury her.' Just as the old man was leaving
the house the little dog under the table began to bark, saying:

     'YOUR daughter shall live to be your delight;
      HER daughter shall die this very night.'

'Hold your tongue, you foolish beast!' scolded the woman. 'There's a
pancake for you, but you must say:

     "HER daughter shall have much silver and gold;
      HIS daughter is frozen quite stiff and cold."'

But the doggie ate up the pancake and barked, saying:

     'His daughter shall wear a crown on her head;
      Her daughter shall die unwooed, unwed.'


Then the old woman tried to coax the doggie with more pancakes and
to terrify it with blows, but he barked on, always repeating the same
words. And suddenly the door creaked and flew open, and a great heavy
chest was pushed in, and behind it came the step-daughter, radiant and
beautiful, in a dress all glittering with silver and gold. For a moment
the step-mother's eyes were dazzled. Then she called to her husband:
'Old man, yoke the horses at once into the sledge, and take my daughter
to the same field and leave her on the same spot exactly; 'and so the
old man took the girl and left her beneath the same tree where he had
parted from his daughter. In a few minutes King Frost came past, and,
looking at the girl, he said:

'Are you warm, maiden?'

'What a blind old fool you must be to ask such a question!' she answered
angrily. 'Can't you see that my hands and feet are nearly frozen?'

Then King Frost sprang to and fro in front of her, questioning her, and
getting only rude, rough words in reply, till at last he got very angry,
and cracked his fingers, and gnashed his teeth, and froze her to death.

But in the hut her mother was waiting for her return, and as she grew
impatient she said to her husband: 'Get out the horses, old man, to go
and fetch her home; but see that you are careful not to upset the sledge
and lose the chest.'

But the doggie beneath the table began to bark, saying:

     'Your daughter is frozen quite stiff and cold,
      And shall never have a chest full of gold.'

'Don't tell such wicked lies!' scolded the woman. 'There's a cake for
you; now say:

     "HER daughter shall marry a mighty King."

At that moment the door flew open, and she rushed out to meet her
daughter, and as she took her frozen body in her arms she too was
chilled to death.




THE DEATH OF THE SUN-HERO (27)

(27) From the Bukowinaer Tales and Legends. Von Wliolocki.

Many, many thousand years ago there lived a mighty King whom heaven had
blessed with a clever and beautiful son. When he was only ten years old
the boy was cleverer than all the King's counsellors put together, and
when he was twenty he was the greatest hero in the whole kingdom. His
father could not make enough of his son, and always had him clothed in
golden garments which shone and sparkled like the sun; and his mother
gave him a white horse, which never slept, and which flew like the
wind. All the people in the land loved him dearly, and called him the
Sun-Hero, for they did not think his like existed under the sun. Now
it happened one night that both his parents had the same extraordinary
dream. They dreamt that a girl all dressed in red had come to them and
said: 'If you wish that your son should really become the Sun-Hero in
deed and not only in name, let him go out into the world and search for
the Tree of the Sun, and when he has found it, let him pluck a golden
apple from it and bring it home.'

When the King and Queen had each related their dreams to the other,
they were much amazed that they should both have dreamt exactly the same
about their son, and the King said to his wife, 'This is clearly a sign
from heaven that we should send our son out into the world in order that
he may come home the great Sun-Hero, as the Red Girl said, not only in
name but in deed.'

The Queen consented with many tears, and the King at once bade his son
set forth in search of the Tree of the Sun, from which he was to pluck
a golden apple. The Prince was delighted at the prospect, and set out on
his travels that very day.

For a long time he wandered all through the world, and it was not till
the ninety-ninth day after he started that he found an old man who
was able to tell him where the Tree of the Sun grew. He followed his
directions, and rode on his way, and after another ninety-nine days
he arrived at a golden castle, which stood in the middle of a vast
wilderness. He knocked at the door, which was opened noiselessly and by
invisible hands. Finding no one about, the Prince rode on, and came to
a great meadow, where the Sun-Tree grew. When he reached the tree he put
out his hand to pick a golden apple; but all of a sudden the tree grew
higher, so that he could not reach its fruit. Then he heard some one
behind him laughing. Turning round, he saw the girl in red walking
towards him, who addressed him in these words:

'Do you really imagine, brave son of the earth, that you can pluck an
apple so easily from the Tree of the Sun? Before you can do that, you
have a difficult task before you. You must guard the tree for nine days
and nine nights from the ravages of two wild black wolves, who will try
to harm it. Do you think you can undertake this?'

'Yes,' answered the Sun-Hero, 'I will guard the Tree of the Sun nine
days and nine nights.'

Then the girl continued: 'Remember, though, if you do not succeed the
Sun will kill you. Now begin your watch.'

With these words the Red Girl went back into the golden castle. She had
hardly left him when the two black wolves appeared: but the Sun-Hero
beat them off with his sword, and they retired, only, however, to
reappear in a very short time. The Sun-Hero chased them away once more,
but he had hardly sat down to rest when the two black wolves were on
the scene again. This went on for seven days and nights, when the white
horse, who had never done such a thing before, turned to the Sun-Hero
and said in a human voice: 'Listen to what I am going to say. A Fairy
gave me to your mother in order that I might be of service to you; so
let me tell you, that if you go to sleep and let the wolves harm the
tree, the Sun will surely kill you. The Fairy, foreseeing this, put
everyone in the world under a spell, which prevents their obeying the
Sun's command to take your life. But all the same, she has forgotten
one person, who will certainly kill you if you fall asleep and let the
wolves damage the tree. So watch and keep the wolves away.'

Then the Sun-Hero strove with all his might and kept the black wolves
at bay, and conquered his desire to sleep; but on the eighth night his
strength failed him, and he fell fast asleep. When he awoke a woman in
black stood beside him, who said: 'You have fulfilled your task very
badly, for you have let the two black wolves damage the Tree of the Sun.
I am the mother of the Sun, and I command you to ride away from here at
once, and I pronounce sentence of death upon you, for you proudly let
yourself be called the Sun-Hero without having done anything to deserve
the name.'

The youth mounted his horse sadly, and rode home. The people all
thronged round him on his return, anxious to hear his adventures, but
he told them nothing, and only to his mother did he confide what had
befallen him. But the old Queen laughed, and said to her son: 'Don't
worry, my child; you see, the Fairy has protected you so far, and the
Sun has found no one to kill you. So cheer up and be happy.'

After a time the Prince forgot all about his adventure, and married a
beautiful Princess, with whom he lived very happily for some time. But
one day when he was out hunting he felt very thirsty, and coming to a
stream he stooped down to drink from it, and this caused his death, for
a crab came swimming up, and with its claws tore out his tongue. He was
carried home in a dying condition, and as he lay on his death-bed
the black woman appeared and said: 'So the Sun has, after all, found
someone, who was not under the Fairy's spell, who has caused your death.
And a similar fate will overtake everyone under the Sun who wrongfully
assumes a title to which he has no right.'




THE WITCH (28)

(28) From the Russian.

Once upon a time there was a peasant whose wife died, leaving him with
two children--twins--a boy and a girl. For some years the poor man
lived on alone with the children, caring for them as best he could; but
everything in the house seemed to go wrong without a woman to look after
it, and at last he made up his mind to marry again, feeling that a
wife would bring peace and order to his household and take care of his
motherless children. So he married, and in the following years several
children were born to him; but peace and order did not come to the
household. For the step-mother was very cruel to the twins, and beat
them, and half-starved them, and constantly drove them out of the house;
for her one idea was to get them out of the way. All day she thought
of nothing but how she should get rid of them; and at last an evil idea
came into her head, and she determined to send them out into the great
gloomy wood where a wicked witch lived. And so one morning she spoke to
them, saying:

'You have been such good children that I am going to send you to visit
my granny, who lives in a dear little hut in the wood. You will have to
wait upon her and serve her, but you will be well rewarded, for she will
give you the best of everything.'

So the children left the house together; and the little sister, who was
very wise for her years, said to the brother:

'We will first go and see our own dear grandmother, and tell her where
our step-mother is sending us.'

And when the grandmother heard where they were going, she cried and
said:

'You poor motherless children! How I pity you; and yet I can do nothing
to help you! Your step-mother is not sending you to her granny, but to
a wicked witch who lives in that great gloomy wood. Now listen to me,
children. You must be civil and kind to everyone, and never say a cross
word to anyone, and never touch a crumb belonging to anyone else. Who
knows if, after all, help may not be sent to you?'

And she gave her grandchildren a bottle of milk and a piece of ham and
a loaf of bread, and they set out for the great gloomy wood. When they
reached it they saw in front of them, in the thickest of the trees, a
queer little hut, and when they looked into it, there lay the witch,
with her head on the threshold of the door, with one foot in one corner
and the other in the other corner, and her knees cocked up, almost
touching the ceiling.

'Who's there?' she snarled, in an awful voice, when she saw the
children.

And they answered civilly, though they were so terrified that they hid
behind one another, and said:

'Good-morning, granny; our step-mother has sent us to wait upon you, and
serve you.'

'See that you do it well, then,' growled the witch. 'If I am pleased
with you, I'll reward you; but if I am not, I'll put you in a pan and
fry you in the oven--that's what I'll do with you, my pretty dears! You
have been gently reared, but you'll find my work hard enough. See if you
don't.'

And, so saying, she set the girl down to spin yarn, and she gave the boy
a sieve in which to carry water from the well, and she herself went
out into the wood. Now, as the girl was sitting at her distaff, weeping
bitterly because she could not spin, she heard the sound of hundreds
of little feet, and from every hole and corner in the hut mice came
pattering along the floor, squeaking and saying:

          'Little girl, why are your eyes so red?
          If you want help, then give us some bread.'

And the girl gave them the bread that her grandmother had given her.
Then the mice told her that the witch had a cat, and the cat was very
fond of ham; if she would give the cat her ham, it would show her the
way out of the wood, and in the meantime they would spin the yarn for
her. So the girl set out to look for the cat, and, as she was hunting
about, she met her brother, in great trouble because he could not carry
water from the well in a sieve, as it came pouring out as fast as he
put it in. And as she was trying to comfort him they heard a rustling of
wings, and a flight of wrens alighted on the ground beside them. And the
wrens said:

          'Give us some crumbs, then you need not grieve.

          For you'll find that water will stay in the sieve.'

Then the twins crumbled their bread on the ground, and the wrens pecked
it, and chirruped and chirped. And when they had eaten the last crumb
they told the boy to fill up the holes of the sieve with clay, and then
to draw water from the well. So he did what they said, and carried the
sieve full of water into the hut without spilling a drop. When they
entered the hut the cat was curled up on the floor. So they stroked her,
and fed her with ham, and said to her:

'Pussy, grey pussy, tell us how we are to get away from the witch?'

Then the cat thanked them for the ham, and gave them a
pocket-handkerchief and a comb, and told them that when the witch
pursued them, as she certainly would, all they had to do was to throw
the handkerchief on the ground and run as fast as they could. As soon as
the handkerchief touched the ground a deep, broad river would spring up,
which would hinder the witch's progress. If she managed to get across
it, they must throw the comb behind them and run for their lives, for
where the comb fell a dense forest would start up, which would delay the
witch so long that they would be able to get safely away.

The cat had scarcely finished speaking when the witch returned to see if
the children had fulfilled their tasks.

'Well, you have done well enough for to-day,' she grumbled; 'but
to-morrow you'll have something more difficult to do, and if you don't
do it well, you pampered brats, straight into the oven you go.'

Half-dead with fright, and trembling in every limb, the poor children
lay down to sleep on a heap of straw in the corner of the hut; but they
dared not close their eyes, and scarcely ventured to breathe. In the
morning the witch gave the girl two pieces of linen to weave before
night, and the boy a pile of wood to cut into chips. Then the witch left
them to their tasks, and went out into the wood. As soon as she had
gone out of sight the children took the comb and the handkerchief, and,
taking one another by the hand, they started and ran, and ran, and ran.
And first they met the watch-dog, who was going to leap on them and tear
them to pieces; but they threw the remains of their bread to him, and
he ate them and wagged his tail. Then they were hindered by the
birch-trees, whose branches almost put their eyes out. But the little
sister tied the twigs together with a piece of ribbon, and they got past
safely, and, after running through the wood, came out on to the open
fields.

In the meantime in the hut the cat was busy weaving the linen and
tangling the threads as it wove. And the witch returned to see how the
children were getting on; and she crept up to the window, and whispered:

'Are you weaving, my little dear?'

'Yes, granny, I am weaving,' answered the cat.

When the witch saw that the children had escaped her, she was furious,
and, hitting the cat with a porringer, she said: 'Why did you let the
children leave the hut? Why did you not scratch their eyes out?'

But the cat curled up its tail and put its back up, and answered: 'I
have served you all these years and you never even threw me a bone, but
the dear children gave me their own piece of ham.'

Then the witch was furious with the watch-dog and with the birch-trees,
because they had let the children pass. But the dog answered:

'I have served you all these years and you never gave me so much as a
hard crust, but the dear children gave me their own loaf of bread.'

And the birch rustled its leaves, and said: 'I have served you longer
than I can say, and you never tied a bit of twine even round my
branches; and the dear children bound them up with their brightest
ribbons.'

So the witch saw there was no help to be got from her old servants, and
that the best thing she could do was to mount on her broom and set off
in pursuit of the children. And as the children ran they heard the sound
of the broom sweeping the ground close behind them, so instantly they
threw the handkerchief down over their shoulder, and in a moment a deep,
broad river flowed behind them.

When the witch came up to it, it took her a long time before she found a
place which she could ford over on her broom-stick; but at last she got
across, and continued the chase faster than before. And as the children
ran they heard a sound, and the little sister put her ear to the ground,
and heard the broom sweeping the earth close behind them; so, quick as
thought, she threw the comb down on the ground, and in an instant,
as the cat had said, a dense forest sprung up, in which the roots and
branches were so closely intertwined, that it was impossible to force a
way through it. So when the witch came up to it on her broom she found
that there was nothing for it but to turn round and go back to her hut.

But the twins ran straight on till they reached their own home. Then
they told their father all that they had suffered, and he was so angry
with their step-mother that he drove her out of the house, and never let
her return; but he and the children lived happily together; and he took
care of them himself, and never let a stranger come near them.




THE HAZEL-NUT CHILD (29)

(29) From the Bukowniaer. Van Wliolocki.

There was once upon a time a couple who had no children, and they prayed
Heaven every day to send them a child, though it were no bigger than
a hazel-nut. At last Heaven heard their prayer and sent them a child
exactly the size of a hazel-nut, and it never grew an inch. The parents
were very devoted to the little creature, and nursed and tended it
carefully. Their tiny son too was as clever as he could be, and so sharp
and sensible that all the neighbours marvelled over the wise things he
said and did.

When the Hazel-nut child was fifteen years old, and was sitting one day
in an egg-shell on the table beside his mother, she turned to him and
said, 'You are now fifteen years old, and nothing can be done with you.
What do you intend to be?'

'A messenger,' answered the Hazel-nut child.

Then his mother burst out laughing and said, 'What an idea! You a
messenger! Why, your little feet would take an hour to go the distance
an ordinary person could do in a minute!'

But the Hazel-nut child replied, 'Nevertheless I mean to be a messenger!
Just send me a message and you'll see that I shall be back in next to no
time.'

So his mother said, 'Very well, go to your aunt in the neighbouring
village, and fetch me a comb.' The Hazel-nut child jumped quickly out
of the egg-shell and ran out into the street. Here he found a man on
horseback who was just setting out for the neighbouring village. He
crept up the horse's leg, sat down under the saddle, and then began to
pinch the horse and to prick it with a pin. The horse plunged and reared
and then set off at a hard gallop, which it continued in spite of its
rider's efforts to stop it. When they reached the village, the Hazel-nut
child left off pricking the horse, and the poor tired creature pursued
its way at a snail's pace. The Hazel-nut child took advantage of this,
and crept down the horse's leg; then he ran to his aunt and asked her
for a comb. On the way home he met another rider, and did the return
journey in exactly the same way. When he handed his mother the comb that
his aunt had given him, she was much amazed and asked him, 'But how did
you manage to get back so quickly?'

'Ah! mother,' he replied, 'you see I was quite right when I said I knew
a messenger was the profession for me.'

His father too possessed a horse which he often used to take out into
the fields to graze. One day he took the Hazel-nut child with him. At
midday the father turned to his small son and said, 'Stay here and look
after the horse. I must go home and give your mother a message, but I
shall be back soon.'

When his father had gone, a robber passed by and saw the horse grazing
without any one watching it, for of course he could not see the
Hazel-nut child hidden in the grass. So he mounted the horse and rode
away. But the Hazel-nut child, who was the most active little creature,
climbed up the horse's tail and began to bite it on the back, enraging
the creature to such an extent that it paid no attention to the
direction the robber tried to make it go in, but galloped straight home.
The father was much astonished when he saw a stranger riding his horse,
but the Hazel-nut child climbed down quickly and told him all that had
happened, and his father had the robber arrested at once and put into
prison.

One autumn when the Hazel-nut child was twenty years old he said to his
parents: 'Farewell, my dear father and mother. I am going to set out
into the world, and as soon as I have become rich I will return home to
you.'

The parents laughed at the little man's words, but did not believe him
for a moment. In the evening the Hazel-nut child crept on to the roof,
where some storks had built their nest. The storks were fast asleep,
and he climbed on to the back of the father-stork and bound a silk cord
round the joint of one of its wings, then he crept among its soft downy
feathers and fell asleep.

The next morning the storks flew towards the south, for winter was
approaching. The Hazel-nut child flew through the air on the stork's
back, and when he wanted to rest he bound his silk cord on to the joint
of the bird's other wing, so that it could not fly any farther. In this
way he reached the country of the black people, where the storks took
up their abode close to the capital. When the people saw the Hazel-nut
child they were much astonished, and took him with the stork to the King
of the country. The King was delighted with the little creature and kept
him always beside him, and he soon grew so fond of the little man that
he gave him a diamond four times as big as himself. The Hazel-nut child
fastened the diamond firmly under the stork's neck with a ribbon, and
when he saw that the other storks were getting ready for their northern
flight, he untied the silk cord from his stork's wings, and away they
went, getting nearer home every minute. At length the Hazel-nut child
came to his native village; then he undid the ribbon from the stork's
neck and the diamond fell to the ground; he covered it first with sand
and stones, and then ran to get his parents, so that they might carry
the treasure home, for he himself was not able to lift the great
diamond.

So the Hazel-nut child and his parents lived in happiness and prosperity
after this till they died.




THE STORY OF BIG KLAUS AND LITTLE KLAUS

In a certain village there lived two people who had both the same name.
Both were called Klaus, but one owned four horses and the other only
one. In order to distinguish the one from the other, the one who had
four horses was called Big Klaus, and the one who had only one horse,
Little Klaus. Now you shall hear what befell them both, for this is a
true story.

The whole week through Little Klaus had to plough for Big Klaus, and
lend him his one horse; then Big Klaus lent him his four horses, but
only once a week, and that was on Sunday. Hurrah! how loudly Little
Klaus cracked his whip over all the five horses! for they were indeed as
good as his on this one day. The sun shone brightly, and all the bells
in the church-towers were pealing; the people were dressed in their best
clothes, and were going to church, with their hymn books under their
arms, to hear the minister preach. They saw Little Klaus ploughing with
the five horses; but he was so happy that he kept on cracking his whip,
and calling out 'Gee-up, my five horses!'

'You mustn't say that,' said Big Klaus. 'Only one horse is yours.'

But as soon as someone else was going by Little Klaus forgot that he
must not say it, and called out 'Gee-up, my five horses!'

'Now you had better stop that,' said Big Klaus, 'for if you say it once
more I will give your horse such a crack on the head that it will drop
down dead on the spot!'

'I really won't say it again!' said Little Klaus. But as soon as more
people passed by, and nodded him good-morning, he became so happy in
thinking how well it looked to have five horses ploughing his field
that, cracking his whip, he called out 'Gee-up, my five horses!'

'I'll see to your horses!' said Big Klaus; and, seizing an iron bar, he
struck Little Klaus' one horse such a blow on the head that it fell down
and died on the spot.

'Alas! Now I have no horse!' said Little Klaus, beginning to cry. Then
he flayed the skin off his horse, dried it, and put it in a sack, which
he threw over his shoulder, and went into the town to sell it. He had a
long way to go, and had to pass through a great dark forest. A dreadful
storm came on, in which he lost his way, and before he could get on to
the right road night came on, and it was impossible to reach the town
that evening.

Right in front of him was a large farm-house. The window-shutters were
closed, but the light came through the chinks. 'I should very much like
to be allowed to spend the night there,' thought Little Klaus; and he
went and knocked at the door. The farmer's wife opened it, but when she
heard what he wanted she told him to go away; her husband was not at
home, and she took in no strangers.

'Well, I must lie down outside,' said Little Klaus; and the farmer's
wife shut the door in his face. Close by stood a large haystack,
and between it and the house a little out-house, covered with a flat
thatched roof.

'I can lie down there,' thought Little Klaus, looking at the roof; 'it
will make a splendid bed, if only the stork won't fly down and bite my
legs.' For a live stork was standing on the roof, where it had its nest.
So Little Klaus crept up into the out-house, where he lay down, and made
himself comfortable for the night. The wooden shutters over the windows
were not shut at the top, and he could just see into the room.

There stood a large table, spread with wine and roast meat and a
beautiful fish. The farmer's wife and the sexton sat at the table, but
there was no one else. She was filling up his glass, while he stuck his
fork into the fish which was his favourite dish.

'If one could only get some of that!' thought Little Klaus, stretching
his head towards the window. Ah, what delicious cakes he saw standing
there! It WAS a feast!

Then he heard someone riding along the road towards the house. It was
the farmer coming home. He was a very worthy man; but he had one great
peculiarity--namely, that he could not bear to see a sexton. If he
saw one he was made quite mad. That was why the sexton had gone to say
good-day to the farmer's wife when he knew that her husband was not at
home, and the good woman therefore put in front of him the best food she
had. But when they heard the farmer coming they were frightened, and the
farmer's wife begged the sexton to creep into a great empty chest. He
did so, as he knew the poor man could not bear to see a sexton. The wife
hastily hid all the beautiful food and the wine in her oven; for if her
husband had seen it, he would have been sure to ask what it all meant.

'Oh, dear! oh, dear!' groaned Little Klaus up in the shed, when he saw
the good food disappearing.

'Is anybody up there?' asked the farmer, catching sight of Little Klaus.
'Why are you lying there? Come with me into the house.'

Then Little Klaus told him how he had lost his way, and begged to be
allowed to spend the night there.

'Yes, certainly,' said the farmer; 'but we must first have something to
eat!'

The wife received them both very kindly, spread a long table, and gave
them a large plate of porridge. The farmer was hungry, and ate with a
good appetite; but Little Klaus could not help thinking of the delicious
dishes of fish and roast meats and cakes which he knew were in the oven.
Under the table at his feet he had laid the sack with the horse-skin in
it, for, as we know, he was going to the town to sell it. The porridge
did not taste good to him, so he trod upon his sack, and the dry skin in
the sack squeaked loudly.

'Hush!' said Little Klaus to his sack, at the same time treading on it
again so that it squeaked even louder than before.

'Hallo! what have you got in your sack?' asked the farmer.

'Oh, it is a wizard!' said Little Klaus. 'He says we should not eat
porridge, for he has conjured the whole oven full of roast meats and
fish and cakes.'

'Goodness me!' said the farmer; and opening the oven he saw all the
delicious, tempting dishes his wife had hidden there, but which he now
believed the wizard in the sack had conjured up for them. The wife could
say nothing, but she put the food at once on the table, and they ate the
fish, the roast meat, and the cakes. Little Klaus now trod again on his
sack, so that the skin squeaked.

'What does he say now?' asked the farmer.

'He says,' replied Little Klans, 'that he has also conjured up for us
three bottles of wine; they are standing in the corner by the oven!'

The wife had to fetch the wine which she had hidden, and the farmer
drank and grew very merry. He would very much like to have had such a
wizard as Little Klaus had in the sack.

'Can he conjure up the Devil?' asked the farmer. 'I should like to see
him very much, for I feel just now in very good spirits!'

'Yes,' said Little Klaus; 'my wizard can do everything that I ask. Isn't
that true?' he asked, treading on the sack so that it squeaked. 'Do you
hear? He says ''Yes;'' but that the Devil looks so ugly that we should
not like to see him.'

'Oh! I'm not at all afraid. What does he look like?'

'He will show himself in the shape of a sexton!'

'I say!' said the farmer, 'he must be ugly! You must know that I can't
bear to look at a sexton! But it doesn't matter. I know that it is the
Devil, and I sha'n't mind! I feel up to it now. But he must not come too
near me!'

'I must ask my wizard,' said Little Klaus, treading on the sack and
putting his ear to it.

'What does he say?'

'He says you can open the chest in the corner there, and you will see
the Devil squatting inside it; but you must hold the lid so that he
shall not escape.'

'Will you help me to hold him?' begged the farmer, going towards the
chest where his wife had hidden the real sexton, who was sitting inside
in a terrible fright. The farmer opened the lid a little way, and saw
him inside.

'Ugh!' he shrieked, springing back. 'Yes, now I have seen him; he looked
just like our sexton. Oh, it was horrid!'

So he had to drink again, and they drank till far on into the night.

'You MUST sell me the wizard,' said the farmer. 'Ask anything you like!
I will pay you down a bushelful of money on the spot.'

'No, I really can't,' said Little Klans. 'Just think how many things I
can get from this wizard!'

'Ah! I should like to have him so much!' said the farmer, begging very
hard.

'Well!' said Little Klaus at last, 'as you have been so good as to give
me shelter to-night, I will sell him. You shall have the wizard for a
bushel of money, but I must have full measure.'

'That you shall,' said the farmer. 'But you must take the chest with
you. I won't keep it another hour in the house. Who knows that he isn't
in there still?'

Little Klaus gave the farmer his sack with the dry skin, and got instead
a good bushelful of money. The farmer also gave him a wheelbarrow to
carry away his money and the chest. 'Farewell,' said Little Klaus; and
away he went with his money and the big chest, wherein sat the sexton.

On the other side of the wood was a large deep river. The water flowed
so rapidly that you could scarcely swim against the stream.

A great new bridge had been built over it, on the middle of which Little
Klaus stopped, and said aloud so that the sexton might hear:

'Now, what am I to do with this stupid chest? It is as heavy as if it
were filled with stones! I shall only be tired, dragging it along; I
will throw it into the river. If it swims home to me, well and good; and
if it doesn't, it's no matter.'

Then he took the chest with one hand and lifted it up a little, as if he
were going to throw it into the water.

'No, don't do that!' called out the sexton in the chest. 'Let me get out
first!'

'Oh, oh!' said Little Klaus, pretending that he was afraid. 'He is still
in there! I must throw him quickly into the water to drown him!'

'Oh! no, no!' cried the sexton. 'I will give you a whole bushelful of
money if you will let me go!'

'Ah, that's quite another thing!' said Little Klaus, opening the chest.
The sexton crept out very quickly, pushed the empty chest into the water
and went to his house, where he gave Little Klaus a bushel of money. One
he had had already from the farmer, and now he had his wheelbarrow full
of money.

'Well, I have got a good price for the horse!' said he to himself when
he shook all his money out in a heap in his room. 'This will put Big
Klaus in a rage when he hears how rich I have become through my one
horse; but I won't tell him just yet!'

So he sent a boy to Big Klaus to borrow a bushel measure from him.

'Now what can he want with it?' thought Big Klaus; and he smeared some
tar at the bottom, so that of whatever was measured a little should
remain in it. And this is just what happened; for when he got his
measure back, three new silver five-shilling pieces were sticking to it.

What does this mean?' said Big Klaus, and he ran off at once to Little
Klaus.

'Where did you get so much money from?'

'Oh, that was from my horse-skin. I sold it yesterday evening.'

'That's certainly a good price!' said Big Klaus; and running home in
great haste, he took an axe, knocked all his four horses on the head,
skinned them, and went into the town.

'Skins! skins! Who will buy skins?' he cried through the streets.

All the shoemakers and tanners came running to ask him what he wanted
for them. 'A bushel of money for each,' said Big Klaus.

'Are you mad?' they all exclaimed. 'Do you think we have money by the
bushel?'

'Skins! skins! Who will buy skins?' he cried again, and to all who asked
him what they cost, he answered, 'A bushel of money.'

'He is making game of us,' they said; and the shoemakers seized their
yard measures and the tanners their leathern aprons and they gave Big
Klaus a good beating. 'Skins! skins!' they cried mockingly; yes, we will
tan YOUR skin for you! Out of the town with him!' they shouted; and Big
Klaus had to hurry off as quickly as he could, if he wanted to save his
life.

'Aha!' said he when he came home, 'Little Klaus shall pay dearly for
this. I will kill him!'

Little Klaus' grandmother had just died. Though she had been very unkind
to him, he was very much distressed, and he took the dead woman and laid
her in his warm bed to try if he could not bring her back to life.
There she lay the whole night, while he sat in the corner and slept on a
chair, which he had often done before. And in the night as he sat there
the door opened, and Big Klaus came in with his axe. He knew quite
well where Little Klaus's bed stood, and going up to it he struck the
grandmother on the head just where he thought Little Klaus would be.
'There!' said he. 'Now you won't get the best of me again!' And he went
home.

'What a very wicked man!' thought Little Klaus. 'He was going to kill
me! It was a good thing for my grandmother that she was dead already, or
else he would have killed her!'

Then he dressed his grandmother in her Sunday clothes, borrowed a horse
from his neighbour, harnessed the cart to it, sat his grandmother on the
back seat so that she could not fall out when he drove, and away they
went. When the sun rose they were in front of a large inn. Little Klaus
got down, and went in to get something to drink. The host was very rich.
He was a very worthy but hot-tempered man.

'Good morning!' said he to Little Klaus. 'You are early on the road.'

'Yes,' said Little Klaus. 'I am going to the town with my grandmother.
She is sitting outside in the cart; I cannot bring her in. Will you not
give her a glass of mead? But you will have to speak loud, for she is
very hard of hearing.'

'Oh yes, certainly I will!' said the host; and, pouring out a large
glass of mead, he took it out to the dead grandmother, who was sitting
upright in the cart.

'Here is a glass of mead from your son,' said the host. But the dead
woman did not answer a word, and sat still. 'Don't you hear?' cried the
host as loud as he could. 'Here is a glass of mead from your son!'

Then he shouted the same thing again, and yet again, but she never moved
in her place; and at last he grew angry, threw the glass in her face, so
that she fell back into the cart, for she was not tied in her place.

'Hullo!' cried Little Klaus, running out of the door, and seizing the
host by the throat. 'You have killed my grandmother! Look! there is a
great hole in her forehead!'

'Oh, what a misfortune!' cried the host, wringing his hands. 'It all
comes from my hot temper! Dear Little Klaus! I will give you a bushel of
money, and will bury your grandmother as if she were my own; only don't
tell about it, or I shall have my head cut off, and that would be very
uncomfortable.'

So Little Klaus got a bushel of money, and the host buried his
grandmother as if she had been his own.

Now when Little Klaus again reached home with so much money he sent his
boy to Big Klaus to borrow his bushel measure.

'What's this?' said Big Klaus. 'Didn't I kill him? I must see to this
myself!'

So he went himself to Little Klaus with the measure.

'Well, now, where did you get all this money?' asked he, opening his
eyes at the heap.

'You killed my grandmother--not me,' said Little Klaus. 'I sold her, and
got a bushel of money for her.'

'That is indeed a good price!' said Big Klaus; and, hurrying home, he
took an axe and killed his grandmother, laid her in the cart, and drove
off to the apothecary's, and asked whether he wanted to buy a dead body.

'Who is it, and how did you get it?' asked the apothecary.

'It is my grandmother,' said Big Klaus. 'I killed her in order to get a
bushel of money.'

'You are mad!' said the apothecary. 'Don't mention such things, or you
will lose your head!' And he began to tell him what a dreadful thing
he had done, and what a wicked man he was, and that he ought to be
punished; till Big Klaus was so frightened that he jumped into the cart
and drove home as hard as he could. The apothecary and all the people
thought he must be mad, so they let him go.

'You shall pay for this!' said Big Klaus as he drove home. 'You shall
pay for this dearly, Little Klaus!'

So as soon as he got home he took the largest sack he could find, and
went to Little Klaus and said: 'You have fooled me again! First I killed
my horses, then my grandmother! It is all your fault; but you sha'n't do
it again!' And he seized Little Klaus, pushed him in the sack, threw it
over his shoulder, crying out 'Now I am going to drown you!'

He had to go a long way before he came to the river, and Little Klaus
was not very light. The road passed by the church; the organ was
sounding, and the people were singing most beautifully.

Big Klaus put down the sack with Little Klaus in it by the church-door,
and thought that he might as well go in and hear a psalm before going on
farther. Little Klaus could not get out, and everybody was in church; so
he went in.

'Oh, dear! oh, dear!' groaned Little Klaus in the sack, twisting and
turning himself. But he could not undo the string.

There came by an old, old shepherd, with snow-white hair and a long
staff in his hand. He was driving a herd of cows and oxen. These pushed
against the sack so that it was overturned.

'Alas!' moaned Little Klans, 'I am so young and yet I must die!'

'And I, poor man,' said the cattle-driver, 'I am so old and yet I cannot
die!'

'Open the sack,' called out Little Klaus; 'creep in here instead of me,
and you will die in a moment!'

'I will gladly do that,' said the cattle-driver; and he opened the sack,
and Little Klaus struggled out at once.

'You will take care of the cattle, won't you?' asked the old man,
creeping into the sack, which Little Klaus fastened up and then went on
with the cows and oxen. Soon after Big Klaus came out of the church, and
taking up the sack on his shoulders it seemed to him as if it had become
lighter; for the old cattle-driver was not half as heavy as Little
Klaus.

'How easy he is to carry now! That must be because I heard part of the
service.'

So he went to the river, which was deep and broad, threw in the sack
with the old driver, and called after it, for he thought Little Klaus
was inside:

'Down you go! You won't mock me any more now!'

Then he went home; but when he came to the cross-roads, there he met
Little Klaus, who was driving his cattle.

'What's this?' said Big Klaus. 'Haven't I drowned you?'

'Yes,' replied Little Klaus; 'you threw me into the river a good
half-hour ago!'

'But how did you get those splendid cattle?' asked Big Klaus.

'They are sea-cattle!' said Little Klaus. 'I will tell you the whole
story, and I thank you for having drowned me, because now I am on dry
land and really rich! How frightened I was when I was in the sack! How
the wind whistled in my ears as you threw me from the bridge into the
cold water! I sank at once to the bottom; but I did not hurt myself for
underneath was growing the most beautiful soft grass. I fell on this,
and immediately the sack opened; the loveliest maiden in snow-white
garments, with a green garland round her wet hair, took me by the hand,
and said! ''Are you Little Klaus? Here are some cattle for you to begin
with, and a mile farther down the road there is another herd, which
I will give you as a present!'' Now I saw that the river was a great
high-road for the sea-people. Along it they travel underneath from
the sea to the land till the river ends. It was so beautiful, full of
flowers and fresh grass; the fishes which were swimming in the water
shot past my ears as the birds do here in the air. What lovely people
there were, and what fine cattle were grazing in the ditches and dykes!'

'But why did you come up to us again?' asked Big Klaus. 'I should not
have done so, if it is so beautiful down below!'

'Oh!' said Little Klaus, 'that was just so politic of me. You heard
what I told you, that the sea-maiden said to me a mile farther along the
road--and by the road she meant the river, for she can go by no other
way--there was another herd of cattle waiting for me. But I know what
windings the river makes, now here, now there, so that it is a long way
round. Therefore it makes it much shorter if one comes on the land and
drives across the field to the river. Thus I have spared myself quite
half a mile, and have come much quicker to my sea-cattle!'

'Oh, you're a lucky fellow!' said Big Klaus. 'Do you think I should also
get some cattle if I went to the bottom of the river?'

'Oh, yes! I think so,' said Little Klaus. 'But I can't carry you in a
sack to the river; you are too heavy for me! If you like to go there
yourself and then creep into the sack, I will throw you in with the
greatest of pleasure.'

'Thank you,' said Big Klaus; 'but if I don't get any sea-cattle when I
come there, you will have a good hiding, mind!'

'Oh, no! Don't be so hard on me!' Then they went to the river. When
the cattle, which were thirsty, caught sight of the water, they ran as
quickly as they could to drink.

'Look how they are running!' said Little Klaus. 'They want to go to the
bottom again!'

'Yes; but help me first,' said Big Klaus, 'or else you shall have a
beating!'

And so he crept into the large sack, which was lying on the back of
one of the oxen. 'Put a stone in, for I am afraid I may not reach the
bottom,' said Big Klaus.

'It goes all right!' said Little Klaus; but still he laid a big stone in
the sack, fastened it up tight, and then pushed it in. Plump! there was
Big Klaus in the water, and he sank like lead to the bottom.

'I doubt if he will find any cattle!' said Little Klaus as he drove his
own home.




PRINCE RING (30)

(30) From the Icelandic.

Once upon a time there was a King and his Queen in their kingdom.

They had one daughter, who was called Ingiborg, and one son, whose name
was Ring. He was less fond of adventures than men of rank usually were
in those days, and was not famous for strength or feats of arms. When he
was twelve years old, one fine winter day he rode into the forest along
with his men to enjoy himself. They went on a long way, until they
caught sight of a hind with a gold ring on its horns. The Prince was
eager to catch it, if possible, so they gave chase and rode on without
stopping until all the horses began to founder beneath them. At last the
Prince's horse gave way too, and then there came over them a darkness so
black that they could no longer see the hind. By this time they were far
away from any house, and thought it was high time to be making their way
home again, but they found they had got lost now. At first they all kept
together, but soon each began to think that he knew the right way best;
so they separated, and all went in different directions.

The Prince, too, had got lost like the rest, and wandered on for a time
until he came to a little clearing in the forest not far from the sea,
where he saw a woman sitting on a chair and a big barrel standing
beside her. The Prince went up to her and saluted her politely, and she
received him very graciously. He looked down into the barrel then, and
saw lying at the bottom an unusually beautiful gold ring, which pleased
him so much that he could not take his eyes off it. The woman saw this,
and said that he might have it if he would take the trouble to get it;
for which the Prince thanked her, and said it was at least worth trying.
So he leaned over into the barrel, which did not seem very deep, and
thought he would easily reach the ring; but the more he stretched down
after it the deeper grew the barrel. As he was thus bending down into it
the woman suddenly rose up and pushed him in head first, saying that
now he could take up his quarters there. Then she fixed the top on the
barrel and threw it out into the sea.

The Prince thought himself in a bad plight now, as he felt the barrel
floating out from the land and tossing about on the waves.

How many days he spent thus he could not tell, but at last he felt that
the barrel was knocking against rocks, at which he was a little cheered,
thinking it was probably land and not merely a reef in the sea. Being
something of a swimmer, he at last made up his mind to kick the bottom
out of the barrel, and having done so he was able to get on shore, for
the rocks by the sea were smooth and level; but overhead there were high
cliffs. It seemed difficult to get up these, but he went along the foot
of them for a little, till at last he tried to climb up, which at last
he did.

Having got to the top, he looked round about him and saw that he was
on an island, which was covered with forest, with apples growing, and
altogether pleasant as far as the land was concerned. After he had been
there several days, he one day heard a great noise in the forest, which
made him terribly afraid, so that he ran to hide himself among the
trees. Then he saw a Giant approaching, dragging a sledge loaded with
wood, and making straight for him, so that he could see nothing for it
but to lie down just where he was. When the Giant came across him, he
stood still and looked at the Prince for a little; then he took him up
in his arms and carried him home to his house, and was exceedingly kind
to him. He gave him to his wife, saying he had found this child in the
wood, and she could have it to help her in the house. The old woman was
greatly pleased, and began to fondle the Prince with the utmost delight.
He stayed there with them, and was very willing and obedient to them in
everything, while they grew kinder to him every day.

One day the Giant took him round and showed him all his rooms except the
parlour; this made the Prince curious to have a look into it, thinking
there must be some very rare treasure there. So one day, when the Giant
had gone into the forest, he tried to get into the parlour, and managed
to get the door open half-way. Then he saw that some living creature
moved inside and ran along the floor towards him and said something,
which made him so frightened that he sprang back from the door and shut
it again. As soon as the fright began to pass off he tried it again, for
he thought it would be interesting to hear what it said; but things went
just as before with him. He then got angry with himself, and, summoning
up all his courage, tried it a third time, and opened the door of the
room and stood firm. Then he saw that it was a big Dog, which spoke to
him and said:

'Choose me, Prince Ring.'

The Prince went away rather afraid, thinking with himself that it was no
great treasure after all; but all the same what it had said to him stuck
in his mind.

It is not said how long the Prince stayed with the Giant, but one
day the latter came to him and said he would now take him over to the
mainland out of the island, for he himself had no long time to live. He
also thanked him for his good service, and told him to choose some-one
of his possessions, for he would get whatever he wanted. Ring thanked
him heartily, and said there was no need to pay him for his services,
they were so little worth; but if he did wish to give him anything he
would choose what was in the parlour. The Giant was taken by surprise,
and said:

'There, you chose my old woman's right hand; but I must not break my
word.'

Upon this he went to get the Dog, which came running with signs of great
delight; but the Prince was so much afraid of it that it was all he
could do to keep from showing his alarm.

After this the Giant accompanied him down to the sea, where he saw a
stone boat which was just big enough to hold the two of them and the
Dog. On reaching the mainland the Giant took a friendly farewell of
Ring, and told him he might take possession of all that was in the
island after he and his wife died, which would happen within two weeks
from that time. The Prince thanked him for this and for all his other
kindnesses, and the Giant returned home, while Ring went up some
distance from the sea; but he did not know what land he had come to, and
was afraid to speak to the Dog. After he had walked on in silence for a
time the Dog spoke to him and said:

'You don't seem to have much curiosity, seeing you never ask my name.'

The Prince then forced himself to ask, 'What is your name?'

'You had best call me Snati-Snati,' said the Dog. 'Now we are coming to
a King's seat, and you must ask the King to keep us all winter, and to
give you a little room for both of us.'

The Prince now began to be less afraid of the Dog. They came to the King
and asked him to keep them all the winter, to which he agreed. When the
King's men saw the Dog they began to laugh at it, and make as if they
would tease it; but when the Prince saw this he advised them not to do
it, or they might have the worst of it. They replied that they didn't
care a bit what he thought.

After Ring had been with the King for some days the latter began to
think there was a great deal in him, and esteemed him more than the
others. The King, however, had a counsellor called Red, who became very
jealous when he saw how much the King esteemed Ring; and one day he
talked to him, and said he could not understand why he had so good an
opinion of this stranger, who had not yet shown himself superior to
other men in anything. The King replied that it was only a short time
since he had come there. Red then asked him to send them both to cut
down wood next morning, and see which of them could do most work.
Snati-Snati heard this and told it to Ring, advising him to ask the King
for two axes, so that he might have one in reserve if the first one
got broken. Next morning the King asked Ring and Red to go and cut down
trees for him, and both agreed. Ring got the two axes, and each went his
own way; but when the Prince had got out into the wood Snati took one of
the axes and began to hew along with him. In the evening the King came
to look over their day's work, as Red had proposed, and found that
Ring's wood-heap was more than twice as big.

'I suspected,' said the King, 'that Ring was not quite useless; never
have I seen such a day's work.'

Ring was now in far greater esteem with the King than before, and Red
was all the more discontented. One day he came to the King and said, 'If
Ring is such a mighty man, I think you might ask him to kill the wild
oxen in the wood here, and flay them the same day, and bring you the
horns and the hides in the evening.'

'Don't you think that a desperate errand?' said the King, 'seeing they
are so dangerous, and no one has ever yet ventured to go against them?'

Red answered that he had only one life to lose, and it would be
interesting to see how brave he was; besides, the King would have good
reason to ennoble him if he overcame them. The King at last allowed
himself, though rather unwillingly, to be won over by Red's persistency,
and one day asked Ring to go and kill the oxen that were in the wood for
him, and bring their horns and hides to him in the evening. Not knowing
how dangerous the oxen were, Ring was quite ready, and went off at once,
to the great delight of Red, who was now sure of his death.

As soon as Ring came in sight of the oxen they came bellowing to meet
him; one of them was tremendously big, the other rather less. Ring grew
terribly afraid.

'How do you like them?' asked Snati.

'Not well at all,' said the Prince.

'We can do nothing else,' said Snati, 'than attack them, if it is to go
well; you will go against the little one, and I shall take the other.'

With this Snati leapt at the big one, and was not long in bringing
him down. Meanwhile the Prince went against the other with fear and
trembling, and by the time Snati came to help him the ox had nearly got
him under, but Snati was not slow in helping his master to kill it.

Each of them then began to flay their own ox, but Ring was only half
through by the time Snati had finished his. In the evening, after they
had finished this task, the Prince thought himself unfit to carry all
the horns and both the hides, so Snati told him to lay them all on his
back until they got to the Palace gate.

The Prince agreed, and laid everything on the Dog except the skin of the
smaller ox, which he staggered along with himself. At the Palace gate he
left everything lying, went before the King, and asked him to come that
length with him, and there handed over to him the hides and horns of the
oxen. The King was greatly surprised at his valour, and said he knew no
one like him, and thanked him heartily for what he had done.

After this the King set Ring next to himself, and all esteemed him
highly, and held him to be a great hero; nor could Red any longer say
anything against him, though he grew still more determined to destroy
him. One day a good idea came into his head. He came to the King and
said he had something to say to him.

'What is that?' said the King.

Red said that he had just remembered the gold cloak, gold chess-board,
and bright gold piece that the King had lost about a year before.

'Don't remind me of them!' said the King.

Red, however, went on to say that, since Ring was such a mighty man that
he could do everything, it had occurred to him to advise the King to
ask him to search for these treasures, and come back with them before
Christmas; in return the King should promise him his daughter.

The King replied that he thought it altogether unbecoming to propose
such a thing to Ring, seeing that he could not tell him where the things
were; but Red pretended not to hear the King's excuses, and went on
talking about it until the King gave in to him. One day, a month or so
before Christmas, the King spoke to Ring, saying that he wished to ask a
great favour of him.

'What is that?' said Ring.

'It is this,' said the King: 'that you find for me my gold cloak, my
gold chess-board, and my bright gold piece, that were stolen from me
about a year ago. If you can bring them to me before Christmas I will
give you my daughter in marriage.'

'Where am I to look for them, then?' said Ring.

'That you must find out for yourself,' said the King: 'I don't know.'

Ring now left the King, and was very silent, for he saw he was in a
great difficulty: but, on the other hand, he thought it was excellent
to have such a chance of winning the King's daughter. Snati noticed that
his master was at a loss, and said to him that he should not disregard
what the King had asked him to do; but he would have to act upon his
advice, otherwise he would get into great difficulties. The Prince
assented to this, and began to prepare for the journey.

After he had taken leave of the King, and was setting out on the
search, Snati said to him, 'Now you must first of all go about the
neighbourhood, and gather as much salt as ever you can.' The Prince did
so, and gathered so much salt that he could hardly carry it; but Snati
said, 'Throw it on my back,' which he accordingly did, and the Dog then
ran on before the Prince, until they came to the foot of a steep cliff.

'We must go up here,' said Snati.

'I don't think that will be child's play,' said the Prince.

'Hold fast by my tail,' said Snati; and in this way he pulled Ring up on
the lowest shelf of the rock. The Prince began to get giddy, but up went
Snati on to the second shelf. Ring was nearly swooning by this time, but
Snati made a third effort and reached the top of the cliff, where the
Prince fell down in a faint. After a little, however, he recovered
again, and they went a short distance along a level plain, until they
came to a cave. This was on Christmas Eve. They went up above the cave,
and found a window in it, through which they looked, and saw four
trolls lying asleep beside the fire, over which a large porridge-pot was
hanging.

'Now you must empty all the salt into the porridge-pot,' said Snati.

Ring did so, and soon the trolls wakened up. The old hag, who was the
most frightful of them all, went first to taste the porridge.

'How comes this?' she said; 'the porridge is salt! I got the milk by
witchcraft yesterday out of four kingdoms, and now it is salt!'

All the others then came to taste the porridge, and thought it nice, but
after they had finished it the old hag grew so thirsty that she could
stand it no longer, and asked her daughter to go out and bring her some
water from the river that ran near by.

'I won't go,' said she, 'unless you lend me your bright gold piece.'

'Though I should die you shan't have that,' said the hag.

'Die, then,' said the girl.

'Well, then, take it, you brat,' said the old hag, 'and be off with you,
and make haste with the water.'

The girl took the gold and ran out with it, and it was so bright that it
shone all over the plain. As soon as she came to the river she lay down
to take a drink of the water, but meanwhile the two of them had got down
off the roof and thrust her, head first, into the river.

The old hag began now to long for the water, and said that the girl
would be running about with the gold piece all over the plain, so she
asked her son to go and get her a drop of water.

'I won't go,' said he, 'unless I get the gold cloak.'

'Though I should die you shan't have that,' said the hag.

'Die, then,' said the son.

'Well, then, take it,' said the old hag, 'and be off with you, but you
must make haste with the water.'

He put on the cloak, and when he came outside it shone so bright that he
could see to go with it. On reaching the river he went to take a drink
like his sister, but at that moment Ring and Snati sprang upon him, took
the cloak from him, and threw him into the river.

The old hag could stand the thirst no longer, and asked her husband
to go for a drink for her; the brats, she said, were of course running
about and playing themselves, just as she had expected they would,
little wretches that they were.

'I won't go,' said the old troll, 'unless you lend me the gold
chess-board.'

'Though I should die you shan't have that,' said the hag.

'I think you may just as well do that,' said he, 'since you won't grant
me such a little favour.'

'Take it, then, you utter disgrace!' said the old hag, 'since you are
just like these two brats.'

The old troll now went out with the gold chess-board, and down to the
river, and was about to take a drink, when Ring and Snati came upon him,
took the chess-board from him, and threw him into the river. Before they
had got back again, however, and up on top of the cave, they saw
the poor old fellow's ghost come marching up from the river. Snati
immediately sprang upon him, and Ring assisted in the attack, and after
a hard struggle they mastered him a second time. When they got back
again to the window they saw that the old hag was moving towards the
door.

'Now we must go in at once,' said Snati, 'and try to master her there,
for if she once gets out we shall have no chance with her. She is the
worst witch that ever lived, and no iron can cut her. One of us must
pour boiling porridge out of the pot on her, and the other punch her
with red-hot iron.'

In they went then, and no sooner did the hag see them than she said,
'So you have come, Prince Ring; you must have seen to my husband and
children.'

Snati saw that she was about to attack them, and sprang at her with a
red-hot iron from the fire, while Ring kept pouring boiling porridge on
her without stopping, and in this way they at last got her killed. Then
they burned the old troll and her to ashes, and explored the cave, where
they found plenty of gold and treasures. The most valuable of these they
carried with them as far as the cliff, and left them there. Then they
hastened home to the King with his three treasures, where they arrived
late on Christmas night, and Ring handed them over to him.

The King was beside himself with joy, and was astonished at how clever
a man Ring was in all kinds of feats, so that he esteemed him still more
highly than before, and betrothed his daughter to him; and the feast
for this was to last all through Christmastide. Ring thanked the King
courteously for this and all his other kindnesses, and as soon as he had
finished eating and drinking in the hall went off to sleep in his own
room. Snati, however, asked permission to sleep in the Prince's bed for
that night, while the Prince should sleep where the Dog usually lay.
Ring said he was welcome to do so, and that he deserved more from him
than that came to. So Snati went up into the Prince's bed, but after a
time he came back, and told Ring he could go there himself now, but to
take care not to meddle with anything that was in the bed.

Now the story comes back to Red, who came into the hall and showed the
King his right arm wanting the hand, and said that now he could see what
kind of a man his intended son-in-law was, for he had done this to him
without any cause whatever. The King became very angry, and said he
would soon find out the truth about it, and if Ring had cut off his hand
without good cause he should be hanged; but if it was otherwise, then
Red should die. So the King sent for Ring and asked him for what reason
he had done this. Snati, however, had just told Ring what had happened
during the night, and in reply he asked the King to go with him and he
would show him something. The King went with him to his sleeping-room,
and saw lying on the bed a man's hand holding a sword.

'This hand,' said Ring, 'came over the partition during the night, and
was about to run me through in my bed, if I had not defended myself.'

The King answered that in that case he could not blame him for
protecting his own life, and that Red was well worthy of death. So Red
was hanged, and Ring married the King's daughter.

The first night that they went to bed together Snati asked Ring to allow
him to lie at their feet, and this Ring allowed him to do. During the
night he heard a howling and outcry beside them, struck a light in a
hurry and saw an ugly dog's skin lying near him, and a beautiful Prince
in the bed. Ring instantly took the skin and burned it, and then shook
the Prince, who was lying unconscious, until he woke up. The bridegroom
then asked his name; he replied that he was called Ring, and was a
King's son. In his youth he had lost his mother, and in her place his
father had married a witch, who had laid a spell on him that he should
turn into a dog, and never be released from the spell unless a Prince
of the same name as himself allowed him to sleep at his feet the first
night after his marriage. He added further, 'As soon as she knew that
you were my namesake she tried to get you destroyed, so that you
might not free me from the spell. She was the hind that you and your
companions chased; she was the woman that you found in the clearing with
the barrel, and the old hag that we just now killed in the cave.'

After the feasting was over the two namesakes, along with other men,
went to the cliff and brought all the treasure home to the Palace. Then
they went to the island and removed all that was valuable from it.
Ring gave to his namesake, whom he had freed from the spell, his sister
Ingiborg and his father's kingdom to look after, but he himself stayed
with his father-in-law the King, and had half the kingdom while he lived
and the whole of it after his death.




THE SWINEHERD

There was once a poor Prince. He possessed a kingdom which, though
small, was yet large enough for him to marry on, and married he wished
to be.

Now it was certainly a little audacious of him to venture to say to the
Emperor's daughter, 'Will you marry me?' But he did venture to say so,
for his name was known far and wide. There were hundreds of princesses
who would gladly have said 'Yes,' but would she say the same?

Well, we shall see.

On the grave of the Prince's father grew a rose-tree, a very beautiful
rose-tree. It only bloomed every five years, and then bore but a single
rose, but oh, such a rose! Its scent was so sweet that when you smelt
it you forgot all your cares and troubles. And he had also a nightingale
which could sing as if all the beautiful melodies in the world were shut
up in its little throat. This rose and this nightingale the Princess was
to have, and so they were both put into silver caskets and sent to her.

The Emperor had them brought to him in the great hall, where
the Princess was playing 'Here comes a duke a-riding' with her
ladies-in-waiting. And when she caught sight of the big caskets which
contained the presents, she clapped her hands for joy.

'If only it were a little pussy cat!' she said. But the rose-tree with
the beautiful rose came out.

'But how prettily it is made!' said all the ladies-in-waiting.

'It is more than pretty,' said the Emperor, 'it is charming!'

But the Princess felt it, and then she almost began to cry.

'Ugh! Papa,' she said, 'it is not artificial, it is REAL!'

'Ugh!' said all the ladies-in-waiting, 'it is real!'

'Let us see first what is in the other casket before we begin to be
angry,' thought the Emperor, and there came out the nightingale. It sang
so beautifully that one could scarcely utter a cross word against it.

'Superbe! charmant!' said the ladies-in-waiting, for they all chattered
French, each one worse than the other.

'How much the bird reminds me of the musical snuff-box of the late
Empress!' said an old courtier. 'Ah, yes, it is the same tone, the same
execution!'

'Yes,' said the Emperor; and then he wept like a little child.

'I hope that this, at least, is not real?' asked the Princess.

'Yes, it is a real bird,' said those who had brought it.

'Then let the bird fly away,' said the Princess; and she would not on
any account allow the Prince to come.

'But he was nothing daunted. He painted his face brown and black,
drew his cap well over his face, and knocked at the door. 'Good-day,
Emperor,' he said. 'Can I get a place here as servant in the castle?'

'Yes,' said the Emperor, 'but there are so many who ask for a place that
I don't know whether there will be one for you; but, still, I will think
of you. Stay, it has just occurred to me that I want someone to look
after the swine, for I have so very many of them.'

And the Prince got the situation of Imperial Swineherd. He had a
wretched little room close to the pigsties; here he had to stay, but the
whole day he sat working, and when evening was come he had made a pretty
little pot. All round it were little bells, and when the pot boiled they
jingled most beautifully and played the old tune--

          'Where is Augustus dear?
          Alas!  he's not here, here, here!'

But the most wonderful thing was, that when one held one's finger in the
steam of the pot, then at once one could smell what dinner was ready in
any fire-place in the town. That was indeed something quite different
from the rose.

Now the Princess came walking past with all her ladies-in-waiting, and
when she heard the tune she stood still and her face beamed with joy,
for she also could play 'Where is Augustus dear?'

It was the only tune she knew, but that she could play with one finger.

'Why, that is what I play!' she said. 'He must be a most accomplished
Swineherd! Listen! Go down and ask him what the instrument costs.'

And one of the ladies-in-waiting had to go down; but she put on wooden
clogs. 'What will you take for the pot?' asked the lady-in-waiting.

'I will have ten kisses from the Princess,' answered the Swineherd.

'Heaven forbid!' said the lady-in-waiting.

'Yes, I will sell it for nothing less,' replied the Swineherd.

'Well, what does he say?' asked the Princess.

'I really hardly like to tell you,' answered the lady-in-waiting.

'Oh, then you can whisper it to me.'

'He is disobliging!' said the Princess, and went away. But she had only
gone a few steps when the bells rang out so prettily--

          'Where is Augustus dear?
          Alas!  he's not here, here, here.'

'Listen!' said the Princess. 'Ask him whether he will take ten kisses
from my ladies-in-waiting.'

'No, thank you,' said the Swineherd. 'Ten kisses from the Princess, or
else I keep my pot.'

'That is very tiresome!' said the Princess. 'But you must put yourselves
in front of me, so that no one can see.'

And the ladies-in-waiting placed themselves in front and then spread out
their dresses; so the Swineherd got his ten kisses, and she got the pot.

What happiness that was! The whole night and the whole day the pot was
made to boil; there was not a fire-place in the whole town where they
did not know what was being cooked, whether it was at the chancellor's
or at the shoemaker's.

The ladies-in-waiting danced and clapped their hands.

'We know who is going to have soup and pancakes; we know who is going to
have porridge and sausages--isn't it interesting?'

'Yes, very interesting!' said the first lady-in-waiting.

'But don't say anything about it, for I am the Emperor's daughter.'

'Oh, no, of course we won't!' said everyone.

The Swineherd--that is to say, the Prince (though they did not know
he was anything but a true Swineherd)--let no day pass without making
something, and one day he made a rattle which, when it was turned round,
played all the waltzes, galops, and polkas which had ever been known
since the world began.

'But that is superbe!' said the Princess as she passed by. 'I have never
heard a more beautiful composition. Listen! Go down and ask him what
this instrument costs; but I won't kiss him again.'

'He wants a hundred kisses from the Princess,' said the lady-in-waiting
who had gone down to ask him.

'I believe he is mad!' said the Princess, and then she went on; but she
had only gone a few steps when she stopped.

'One ought to encourage art,' she said. 'I am the Emperor's daughter!
Tell him he shall have, as before, ten kisses; the rest he can take from
my ladies-in-waiting.'

'But we don't at all like being kissed by him,' said the
ladies-in-waiting.

'That's nonsense,' said the Princess; 'and if I can kiss him, you can
too. Besides, remember that I give you board and lodging.'

So the ladies-in-waiting had to go down to him again.

'A hundred kisses from the Princess,' said he, 'or each keeps his own.'

'Put yourselves in front of us,' she said then; and so all the
ladies-in-waiting put themselves in front, and he began to kiss the
Princess.

'What can that commotion be by the pigsties?' asked the Emperor, who was
standing on the balcony. He rubbed his eyes and put on his spectacles.
'Why those are the ladies-in-waiting playing their games; I must go down
to them.'

So he took off his shoes, which were shoes though he had trodden them
down into slippers. What a hurry he was in, to be sure!

As soon as he came into the yard he walked very softly, and the
ladies-in-waiting were so busy counting the kisses and seeing fair play
that they never noticed the Emperor. He stood on tiptoe.

'What is that?' he said, when he saw the kissing; and then he threw
one of his slippers at their heads just as the Swineherd was taking his
eighty-sixth kiss.

'Be off with you!' said the Emperor, for he was very angry. And the
Princess and the Swineherd were driven out of the empire.

Then she stood still and wept; the Swineherd was scolding, and the rain
was streaming down.

'Alas, what an unhappy creature I am!' sobbed the Princess.

'If only I had taken the beautiful Prince! Alas, how unfortunate I am!'

And the Swineherd went behind a tree, washed the black and brown off
his face, threw away his old clothes, and then stepped forward in his
splendid dress, looking so beautiful that the Princess was obliged to
courtesy.

'I now come to this. I despise you!' he said. 'You would have nothing
to do with a noble Prince; you did not understand the rose or the
nightingale, but you could kiss the Swineherd for the sake of a toy.
This is what you get for it!' And he went into his kingdom and shut the
door in her face, and she had to stay outside singing--

          'Where's my Augustus dear?
          Alas!  he's not here, here, here!




HOW TO TELL A TRUE PRINCESS

There was once upon a time a Prince who wanted to marry a Princess, but
she must be a true Princess. So he travelled through the whole world to
find one, but there was always something against each. There were plenty
of Princesses, but he could not find out if they were true Princesses.
In every case there was some little defect, which showed the genuine
article was not yet found. So he came home again in very low spirits,
for he had wanted very much to have a true Princess. One night there was
a dreadful storm; it thundered and lightened and the rain streamed down
in torrents. It was fearful! There was a knocking heard at the Palace
gate, and the old King went to open it.

There stood a Princess outside the gate; but oh, in what a sad plight
she was from the rain and the storm! The water was running down from
her hair and her dress into the points of her shoes and out at the heels
again. And yet she said she was a true Princess!

'Well, we shall soon find that!' thought the old Queen. But she said
nothing, and went into the sleeping-room, took off all the bed-clothes,
and laid a pea on the bottom of the bed. Then she put twenty mattresses
on top of the pea, and twenty eider-down quilts on the top of the
mattresses. And this was the bed in which the Princess was to sleep.

The next morning she was asked how she had slept.

'Oh, very badly!' said the Princess. 'I scarcely closed my eyes all
night! I am sure I don't know what was in the bed. I laid on something
so hard that my whole body is black and blue. It is dreadful!'

Now they perceived that she was a true Princess, because she had felt
the pea through the twenty mattresses and the twenty eider-down quilts.

No one but a true Princess could be so sensitive.

So the Prince married her, for now he knew that at last he had got hold
of a true Princess. And the pea was put into the Royal Museum, where it
is still to be seen if no one has stolen it. Now this is a true story.




THE BLUE MOUNTAINS

There were once a Scotsman and an Englishman and an Irishman serving in
the army together, who took it into their heads to run away on the first
opportunity they could get. The chance came and they took it. They
went on travelling for two days through a great forest, without food or
drink, and without coming across a single house, and every night they
had to climb up into the trees through fear of the wild beasts that were
in the wood. On the second morning the Scotsman saw from the top of his
tree a great castle far away. He said to himself that he would certainly
die if he stayed in the forest without anything to eat but the roots of
grass, which would not keep him alive very long. As soon, then, as he
got down out of the tree he set off towards the castle, without so much
as telling his companions that he had seen it at all; perhaps the hunger
and want they had suffered had changed their nature so much that the
one did not care what became of the other if he could save himself. He
travelled on most of the day, so that it was quite late when he reached
the castle, and to his great disappointment found nothing but closed
doors and no smoke rising from the chimneys. He thought there was
nothing for it but to die after all, and had lain down beside the wall,
when he heard a window being opened high above him. At this he looked
up, and saw the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on.

'Oh, it is Fortune that has sent you to me,' he said.

'It is indeed,' said she. 'What are you in need of, or what has sent you
here?'

'Necessity,' said he. 'I am dying for want of food and drink.'

'Come inside, then,' she said; 'there is plenty of both here.'

Accordingly he went in to where she was, and she opened a large room for
him, where he saw a number of men lying asleep. She then set food before
him, and after that showed him to the room where the others were. He lay
down on one of the beds and fell sound asleep. And now we must go back
to the two that he left behind him in the wood.

When nightfall and the time of the wild beasts came upon these, the
Englishman happened to climb up into the very same tree on which the
Scotsman was when he got a sight of the castle; and as soon as the day
began to dawn and the Englishman looked to the four quarters of heaven,
what did he see but the castle too! Off he went without saying a word to
the Irishman, and everything happened to him just as it had done to the
Scotsman.

The poor Irishman was now left all alone, and did not know where
the others had gone to, so he just stayed where he was, very sad and
miserable. When night came he climbed up into the same tree as the
Englishman had been on the night before. As soon as day came he also saw
the castle, and set out towards it; but when he reached it he could
see no signs of fire or living being about it. Before long, however, he
heard the window opened above his head, looked up, and beheld the most
beautiful woman he had ever seen. He asked if she would give him food
and drink, and she answered kindly and heartily that she would, if he
would only come inside. This he did very willingly, and she set before
him food and drink that he had never seen the like of before. In the
room there was a bed, with diamond rings hanging at every loop of the
curtains, and everything that was in the room besides astonished him so
much that he actually forgot that he was hungry. When she saw that he
was not eating at all, she asked him what he wanted yet, to which he
replied that he would neither eat nor drink until he knew who she was,
or where she came from, or who had put her there.

'I shall tell you that,' said she. 'I am an enchanted Princess, and my
father has promised that the man who releases me from the spell shall
have the third of his kingdom while he is alive, and the whole of it
after he is dead, and marry me as well. If ever I saw a man who looked
likely to do this, you are the one. I have been here for sixteen years
now, and no one who ever came to the castle has asked me who I was,
except yourself. Every other man that has come, so long as I have been
here, lies asleep in the big room down there.'

'Tell me, then,' said the Irishman, 'what is the spell that has been
laid on you, and how you can be freed from it.'

'There is a little room there,' said the Princess, 'and if I could get a
man to stay in it from ten o'clock till midnight for three nights on end
I should be freed from the spell.'

'I am the man for you, then,' said he; 'I will take on hand to do it.'

Thereupon she brought him a pipe and tobacco, and he went into the room;
but before long he heard a hammering and knocking on the outside of the
door, and was told to open it.

'I won't,' he said.

The next moment the door came flying in, and those outside along with
it. They knocked him down, and kicked him, and knelt on his body till it
came to midnight; but as soon as the cock crew they all disappeared. The
Irishman was little more than alive by this time. As soon as daylight
appeared the Princess came, and found him lying full length on the
floor, unable to speak a word. She took a bottle, rubbed him from head
to foot with something from it, and thereupon he was as sound as ever;
but after what he had got that night he was very unwilling to try it a
second time. The Princess, however, entreated him to stay, saying
that the next night would not be so bad, and in the end he gave in and
stayed.

When it was getting near midnight he heard them ordering him to open the
door, and there were three of them for every one that there had been the
previous evening. He did not make the slightest movement to go out to
them or to open the door, but before long they broke it up, and were in
on top of him. They laid hold of him, and kept throwing him between them
up to the ceiling, or jumping above him, until the cock crew, when they
all disappeared. When day came the Princess went to the room to see if
he was still alive, and taking the bottle put it to his nostrils, which
soon brought him to himself. The first thing he said then was that he
was a fool to go on getting himself killed for anyone he ever saw, and
was determined to be off and stay there no longer, When the Princess
learned his intention she entreated him to stay, reminding him that
another night would free her from the spell. 'Besides,' she said, 'if
there is a single spark of life in you when the day comes, the stuff
that is in this bottle will make you as sound as ever you were.'

With all this the Irishman decided to stay; but that night there were
three at him for every one that was there the two nights before, and
it looked very unlikely that he would be alive in the morning after all
that he got. When morning dawned, and the Princess came to see if he was
still alive, she found him lying on the floor as if dead. She tried to
see if there was breath in him, but could not quite make it out.
Then she put her hand on his pulse, and found a faint movement in it.
Accordingly she poured what was in the bottle on him, and before long
he rose up on his feet, and was as well as ever he was. So that business
was finished, and the Princess was freed from the spell.

The Princess then told the Irishman that she must go away for the
present, but would return for him in a few days in a carriage drawn by
four grey horses. He told her to 'be aisy,' and not speak like that to
him. 'I have paid dear for you for the last three nights,' he said, 'if
I have to part with you now;' but in the twinkling of an eye she had
disappeared. He did not know what to do with himself when he saw that
she was gone, but before she went she had given him a little rod, with
which he could, when he pleased, waken the men who had been sleeping
there, some of them for sixteen years.

After being thus left alone, he went in and stretched himself on three
chairs that were in the room, when what does he see coming in at the
door but a little fair-haired lad.

'Where did you come from, my lad?' said the Irishman.

'I came to make ready your food for you,' said he.

'Who told you to do that?' said the Irishman.

'My mistress,' answered the lad--'the Princess that was under the spell
and is now free.'

By this the Irishman knew that she had sent the lad to wait on him. The
lad also told him that his mistress wished him to be ready next morning
at nine o'clock, when she would come for him with the carriage, as she
had promised. He was greatly pleased at this, and next morning, when
the time was drawing near, went out into the garden; but the little
fair-haired lad took a big pin out of his pocket, and stuck it into the
back of the Irishman's coat without his noticing it, whereupon he fell
sound asleep.

Before long the Princess came with the carriage and four horses, and
asked the lad whether his master was awake. He said that he wasn't. 'It
is bad for him,' said she, 'when the night is not long enough for him to
sleep. Tell him that if he doesn't meet me at this time to-morrow it is
not likely that he will ever see me again all his life.'

As soon as she was gone the lad took the pin out of his master's coat,
who instantly awoke. The first word he said to the lad was, 'Have you
seen her?'

'Yes,' said he, 'and she bade me tell you that if you don't meet her at
nine o'clock to-morrow you will never see her again.'

He was very sorry when he heard this, and could not understand why the
sleep should have fallen upon him just when she was coming. He decided,
however, to go early to bed that night, in order to rise in time nest
morning, and so he did. When it was getting near nine o'clock he went
out to the garden to wait till she came, and the fair-haired lad along
with him; but as soon as the lad got the chance he stuck the pin into
his master's coat again and he fell asleep as before. Precisely at nine
o'clock came the Princess in the carriage with four horses, and asked
the lad if his master had got up yet; but he said 'No, he was asleep,
just as he was the day before.' 'Dear! dear!' said the Princess, 'I am
sorry for him. Was the sleep he had last night not enough for him? Tell
him that he will never see me here again; and here is a sword that you
will give him in my name, and my blessing along with it.'

With this she went off, and as soon as she had gone the lad took the pin
out of his master's coat. He awoke instantly, and the first word he said
was, 'Have you seen her?' The lad said that he had, and there was the
sword she had left for him. The Irishman was ready to kill the lad out
of sheer vexation, but when he gave a glance over his shoulder not a
trace of the fair-haired lad was left.

Being thus left all alone, he thought of going into the room where all
the men were lying asleep, and there among the rest he found his two
comrades who had deserted along with him. Then he remembered what the
Princess had told him--that he had only to touch them with the rod she
had given him and they would all awake; and the first he touched were
his own comrades. They started to their feet at once, and he gave them
as much silver and gold as they could carry when they went away. There
was plenty to do before he got all the others wakened, for the two doors
of the castle were crowded with them all the day long.

The loss of the Princess, however, kept rankling in his mind day and
night, till finally he thought he would go about the world to see if he
could find anyone to give him news of her. So he took the best horse in
the stable and set out. Three years he spent travelling through forests
and wildernesses, but could find no one able to tell him anything of the
Princess. At last he fell into so great despair that he thought he would
put an end to his own life, and for this purpose laid hold of the sword
that she had given him by the hands of the fair-haired lad; but on
drawing it from its sheath he noticed that there was some writing on one
side of the blade. He looked at this, and read there, 'You will find me
in the Blue Mountains.' This made him take heart again, and he gave up
the idea of killing himself, thinking that he would go on in hope of
meeting some one who could tell him where the Blue Mountains were. After
he had gone a long way without thinking where he was going, he saw at
last a light far away, and made straight for it. On reaching it he found
it came from a little house, and as soon as the man inside heard the
noise of the horse's feet he came out to see who was there. Seeing a
stranger on horseback, he asked what brought him there and where he was
going.

'I have lived here,' said he, 'for three hundred years, and all that
time I have not seen a single human being but yourself.'

'I have been going about for the last three years,' said the Irishman,
'to see if I could find anyone who can tell me where the Blue Mountains
are.'

'Come in,' said the old man, 'and stay with me all night. I have a
book which contains the history of the world, which I shall go through
to-night, and if there is such a place as the Blue Mountains in it we
shall find it out.'

The Irishman stayed there all night, and as soon as morning came rose
to go. The old man said he had not gone to sleep all night for going
through the book, but there was not a word about the Blue Mountains
in it. 'But I'll tell you what,' he said, 'if there is such a place on
earth at all, I have a brother who lives nine hundred miles from here,
and he is sure to know where they are, if anyone in this world does.'
The Irishman answered that he could never go these nine hundred miles,
for his horse was giving in already. 'That doesn't matter,' said the old
man; 'I can do better than that. I have only to blow my whistle and you
will be at my brother's house before nightfall.'

So he blew the whistle, and the Irishman did not know where on earth he
was until he found himself at the other old man's door, who also told
him that it was three hundred years since he had seen anyone, and asked
him where he was going.

'I am going to see if I can find anyone that can tell me where the Blue
Mountains are,' he said.

'If you will stay with me to-night,' said the old man, 'I have a book
of the history of the world, and I shall know where they are before
daylight, if there is such a place in it at all.'

He stayed there all night, but there was not a word in the book about
the Blue Mountains. Seeing that he was rather cast down, the old man
told him that he had a brother nine hundred miles away, and that if
information could be got about them from anyone it would be from him;
'and I will enable you,' he said, 'to reach the place where he lives
before night.' So he blew his whistle, and the Irishman landed at the
brother's house before nightfall. When the old man saw him he said he
had not seen a single man for three hundred years, and was very much
surprised to see anyone come to him now.

'Where are you going to?' he said.

'I am going about asking for the Blue Mountains,' said the Irishman.

'The Blue Mountains?' said the old man.

'Yes,' said the Irishman.

'I never heard the name before; but if they do exist I shall find them
out. I am master of all the birds in the world, and have only to blow my
whistle and every one will come to me. I shall then ask each of them to
tell where it came from, and if there is any way of finding out the Blue
Mountains that is it.'

So he blew his whistle, and when he blew it then all the birds of the
world began to gather. The old man questioned each of them as to where
they had come from, but there was not one of them that had come from the
Blue Mountains. After he had run over them all, however, he missed a
big Eagle that was wanting, and wondered that it had not come. Soon
afterwards he saw something big coming towards him, darkening the sky.
It kept coming nearer and growing bigger, and what was this after all
but the Eagle? When she arrived the old man scolded her, and asked what
had kept her so long behind.

'I couldn't help it,' she said; 'I had more than twenty times further to
come than any bird that has come here to-day.'

'Where have you come from, then?' said the old man.

'From the Blue Mountains,' said she.

'Indeed!' said the old man; and what are they doing there?'

'They are making ready this very day,' said the Eagle, 'for the marriage
of the daughter of the King of the Blue Mountains. For three years now
she has refused to marry anyone whatsoever, until she should give up all
hope of the coming of the man who released her from the spell. Now she
can wait no longer, for three years is the time that she agreed with her
father to remain without marrying.'

The Irishman knew that it was for himself she had been waiting so
long, but he was unable to make any better of it, for he had no hope of
reaching the Blue Mountains all his life. The old man noticed how sad he
grew, and asked the Eagle what she would take for carrying this man on
her back to the Blue Mountains.

'I must have threescore cattle killed,' said she, 'and cut up into
quarters, and every time I look over my shoulder he must throw one of
them into my mouth.'

As soon as the Irishman and the old man heard her demand they went out
hunting, and before evening they had killed three-score cattle. They
made quarters of them, as the Eagle told them, and then the old man
asked her to lie down, till they would get it all heaped up on her back.
First of all, though, they had to get a ladder of fourteen steps, to
enable them to get on to the Eagle's back, and there they piled up the
meat as well as they could. Then the old man told the Irishman to mount,
and to remember to throw a quarter of beef to her every time she looked
round. He went up, and the old man gave the Eagle the word to be off,
which she instantly obeyed; and every time she turned her head the
Irishman threw a quarter of beef into her mouth.

As they came near the borders of the kingdom of the Blue Mountains,
however, the beef was done, and, when the Eagle looked over her
shoulder, what was the Irishman at but throwing the stone between her
tail and her neck! At this she turned a complete somersault, and threw
the Irishman off into the sea, where he fell into the bay that was right
in front of the King's Palace. Fortunately the points of his toes just
touched the bottom, and he managed to get ashore.

When he went up into the town all the streets were gleaming with light,
and the wedding of the Princess was just about to begin. He went into
the first house he came to, and this happened to be the house of the
King's hen-wife. He asked the old woman what was causing all the noise
and light in the town.

'The Princess,' said she, 'is going to be married to-night against her
will, for she has been expecting every day that the man who freed her
from the spell would come.'

'There is a guinea for you,' said he; 'go and bring her here.'

The old woman went, and soon returned along with the Princess. She and
the Irishman recognised each other, and were married, and had a great
wedding that lasted for a year and a day.




THE TINDER-BOX

A soldier came marching along the high road--left, right! A left, right!
He had his knapsack on his back and a sword by his side, for he had been
to the wars and was now returning home.

An old Witch met him on the road. She was very ugly to look at: her
under-lip hung down to her breast.

'Good evening, Soldier!' she said. 'What a fine sword and knapsack you
have! You are something like a soldier! You ought to have as much money
as you would like to carry!'

'Thank you, old Witch,' said the Soldier.

'Do you see that great tree there?' said the Witch, pointing to a tree
beside them. 'It is hollow within. You must climb up to the top, and
then you will see a hole through which you can let yourself down into
the tree. I will tie a rope round your waist, so that I may be able to
pull you up again when you call.'

'What shall I do down there?' asked the Soldier.

'Get money!' answered the Witch. 'Listen! When you reach the bottom of
the tree you will find yourself in a large hall; it is light there, for
there are more than three hundred lamps burning. Then you will see three
doors, which you can open--the keys are in the locks. If you go into the
first room, you will see a great chest in the middle of the floor with
a dog sitting upon it; he has eyes as large as saucers, but you needn't
trouble about him. I will give you my blue-check apron, which you must
spread out on the floor, and then go back quickly and fetch the dog and
set him upon it; open the chest and take as much money as you like. It
is copper there. If you would rather have silver, you must go into the
next room, where there is a dog with eyes as large as mill-wheels.
But don't take any notice of him; just set him upon my apron, and help
yourself to the money. If you prefer gold, you can get that too, if you
go into the third room, and as much as you like to carry. But the dog
that guards the chest there has eyes as large as the Round Tower at
Copenhagen! He is a savage dog, I can tell you; but you needn't be
afraid of him either. Only, put him on my apron and he won't touch you,
and you can take out of the chest as much gold as you like!'

'Come, this is not bad!' said the Soldier. 'But what am I to give you,
old Witch; for surely you are not going to do this for nothing?'

'Yes, I am!' replied the Witch. 'Not a single farthing will I take! For
me you shall bring nothing but an old tinder-box which my grandmother
forgot last time she was down there.'

'Well, tie the rope round my waist! 'said the Soldier.

'Here it is,' said the Witch, 'and here is my blue-check apron.'

Then the Soldier climbed up the tree, let himself down through the hole,
and found himself standing, as the Witch had said, underground in the
large hall, where the three hundred lamps were burning.

Well, he opened the first door. Ugh! there sat the dog with eyes as big
as saucers glaring at him.

'You are a fine fellow!' said the Soldier, and put him on the Witch's
apron, took as much copper as his pockets could hold; then he shut the
chest, put the dog on it again, and went into the second room. Sure
enough there sat the dog with eyes as large as mill-wheels.

'You had better not look at me so hard!' said the Soldier. 'Your eyes
will come out of their sockets!'

And then he set the dog on the apron. When he saw all the silver in the
chest, he threw away the copper he had taken, and filled his pockets and
knapsack with nothing but silver.

Then he went into the third room. Horrors! the dog there had two eyes,
each as large as the Round Tower at Copenhagen, spinning round in his
head like wheels.

'Good evening!' said the Soldier and saluted, for he had never seen
a dog like this before. But when he had examined him more closely, he
thought to himself: 'Now then, I've had enough of this!' and put him
down on the floor, and opened the chest. Heavens! what a heap of gold
there was! With all that he could buy up the whole town, and all the
sugar pigs, all the tin soldiers, whips and rocking-horses in the whole
world. Now he threw away all the silver with which he had filled his
pockets and knapsack, and filled them with gold instead--yes, all his
pockets, his knapsack, cap and boots even, so that he could hardly walk.
Now he was rich indeed. He put the dog back upon the chest, shut the
door, and then called up through the tree:

'Now pull me up again, old Witch!'

'Have you got the tinder-box also?' asked the Witch.

'Botheration!' said the Soldier, 'I had clean forgotten it!' And then he
went back and fetched it.

The Witch pulled him up, and there he stood again on the high road, with
pockets, knapsack, cap and boots filled with gold.

'What do you want to do with the tinder-box?' asked the Soldier.

'That doesn't matter to you,' replied the Witch. 'You have got your
money, give me my tinder-box.'

'We'll see!' said the Soldier. 'Tell me at once what you want to do with
it, or I will draw my sword, and cut off your head!'

'No!' screamed the Witch.

The Soldier immediately cut off her head. That was the end of her! But
he tied up all his gold in her apron, slung it like a bundle over his
shoulder, put the tinder-box in his pocket, and set out towards the
town.

It was a splendid town! He turned into the finest inn, ordered the best
chamber and his favourite dinner; for now that he had so much money he
was really rich.

It certainly occurred to the servant who had to clean his boots that
they were astonishingly old boots for such a rich lord. But that
was because he had not yet bought new ones; next day he appeared in
respectable boots and fine clothes. Now, instead of a common soldier
he had become a noble lord, and the people told him about all the grand
doings of the town and the King, and what a beautiful Princess his
daughter was.

'How can one get to see her?' asked the Soldier.

'She is never to be seen at all!' they told him; 'she lives in a great
copper castle, surrounded by many walls and towers! No one except the
King may go in or out, for it is prophesied that she will marry a common
soldier, and the King cannot submit to that.'

'I should very much like to see her,' thought the Soldier; but he could
not get permission.

Now he lived very gaily, went to the theatre, drove in the King's
garden, and gave the poor a great deal of money, which was very nice
of him; he had experienced in former times how hard it is not to have a
farthing in the world. Now he was rich, wore fine clothes, and made many
friends, who all said that he was an excellent man, a real nobleman. And
the Soldier liked that. But as he was always spending money, and never
made any more, at last the day came when he had nothing left but two
shillings, and he had to leave the beautiful rooms in which he had been
living, and go into a little attic under the roof, and clean his own
boots, and mend them with a darning-needle. None of his friends came to
visit him there, for there were too many stairs to climb.

It was a dark evening, and he could not even buy a light. But all at
once it flashed across him that there was a little end of tinder in the
tinder-box, which he had taken from the hollow tree into which the Witch
had helped him down. He found the box with the tinder in it; but just as
he was kindling a light, and had struck a spark out of the tinder-box,
the door burst open, and the dog with eyes as large as saucers, which he
had seen down in the tree, stood before him and said:

'What does my lord command?'

'What's the meaning of this?' exclaimed the Soldier. 'This is a pretty
kind of tinder-box, if I can get whatever I want like this. Get me
money!' he cried to the dog, and hey, presto! he was off and back again,
holding a great purse full of money in his mouth.

Now the Soldier knew what a capital tinder-box this was. If he rubbed
once, the dog that sat on the chest of copper appeared; if he rubbed
twice, there came the dog that watched over the silver chest; and if
he rubbed three times, the one that guarded the gold appeared. Now, the
Soldier went down again to his beautiful rooms, and appeared once more
in splendid clothes. All his friends immediately recognised him again,
and paid him great court.

One day he thought to himself: 'It is very strange that no one can get
to see the Princess. They all say she is very pretty, but what's the use
of that if she has to sit for ever in the great copper castle with
all the towers? Can I not manage to see her somehow? Where is my
tinder-box?' and so he struck a spark, and, presto! there came the dog
with eyes as large as saucers.

'It is the middle of the night, I know,' said the Soldier; 'but I should
very much like to see the Princess for a moment.'

The dog was already outside the door, and before the Soldier could look
round, in he came with the Princess. She was lying asleep on the
dog's back, and was so beautiful that anyone could see she was a real
Princess. The Soldier really could not refrain from kissing her--he was
such a thorough Soldier. Then the dog ran back with the Princess. But
when it was morning, and the King and Queen were drinking tea, the
Princess said that the night before she had had such a strange dream
about a dog and a Soldier: she had ridden on the dog's back, and the
Soldier had kissed her.

'That is certainly a fine story,' said the Queen. But the next night one
of the ladies-in-waiting was to watch at the Princess's bed, to see if
it was only a dream, or if it had actually happened.

The Soldier had an overpowering longing to see the Princess again, and
so the dog came in the middle of the night and fetched her, running as
fast as he could. But the lady-in-waiting slipped on india-rubber shoes
and followed them. When she saw them disappear into a large house, she
thought to herself: 'Now I know where it is; 'and made a great cross on
the door with a piece of chalk. Then she went home and lay down, and the
dog came back also, with the Princess. But when he saw that a cross had
been made on the door of the house where the Soldier lived, he took a
piece of chalk also, and made crosses on all the doors in the town; and
that was very clever, for now the lady-in-waiting could not find the
right house, as there were crosses on all the doors.

Early next morning the King, Queen, ladies-in-waiting, and officers came
out to see where the Princess had been.

'There it is!' said the King, when he saw the first door with a cross on
it.

'No, there it is, my dear!' said the Queen, when she likewise saw a door
with a cross.

'But here is one, and there is another!' they all exclaimed; wherever
they looked there was a cross on the door. Then they realised that the
sign would not help them at all.

But the Queen was an extremely clever woman, who could do a great deal
more than just drive in a coach. She took her great golden scissors, cut
up a piece of silk, and made a pretty little bag of it. This she filled
with the finest buckwheat grains, and tied it round the Princess' neck;
this done, she cut a little hole in the bag, so that the grains would
strew the whole road wherever the Princess went.

In the night the dog came again, took the Princess on his back and ran
away with her to the Soldier, who was very much in love with her, and
would have liked to have been a Prince, so that he might have had her
for his wife.

The dog did not notice how the grains were strewn right from the castle
to the Soldier's window, where he ran up the wall with the Princess.

In the morning the King and the Queen saw plainly where their daughter
had been, and they took the Soldier and put him into prison.

There he sat. Oh, how dark and dull it was there! And they told him:
'To-morrow you are to be hanged.' Hearing that did not exactly cheer
him, and he had left his tinder-box in the inn.

Next morning he could see through the iron grating in front of his
little window how the people were hurrying out of the town to see him
hanged. He heard the drums and saw the soldiers marching; all the
people were running to and fro. Just below his window was a shoemaker's
apprentice, with leather apron and shoes; he was skipping along so
merrily that one of his shoes flew off and fell against the wall, just
where the Soldier was sitting peeping through the iron grating.

'Oh, shoemaker's boy, you needn't be in such a hurry!' said the Soldier
to him. 'There's nothing going on till I arrive. But if you will run
back to the house where I lived, and fetch me my tinder-box, I will give
you four shillings. But you must put your best foot foremost.'

The shoemaker's boy was very willing to earn four shillings, and fetched
the tinder-box, gave it to the Soldier, and--yes--now you shall hear.

Outside the town a great scaffold had been erected, and all round were
standing the soldiers, and hundreds of thousands of people. The King and
Queen were sitting on a magnificent throne opposite the judges and the
whole council.

The Soldier was already standing on the top of the ladder; but when they
wanted to put the rope round his neck, he said that the fulfilment of
one innocent request was always granted to a poor criminal before he
underwent his punishment. He would so much like to smoke a small pipe of
tobacco; it would be his last pipe in this world.

The King could not refuse him this, and so he took out his tinder-box,
and rubbed it once, twice, three times. And lo, and behold I there stood
all three dogs--the one with eyes as large as saucers, the second with
eyes as large as mill-wheels, and the third with eyes each as large as
the Round Tower of Copenhagen.

'Help me now, so that I may not be hanged!' cried the Soldier. And
thereupon the dogs fell upon the judges and the whole council, seized
some by the legs, others by the nose, and threw them so high into the
air that they fell and were smashed into pieces.

'I won't stand this!' said the King; but the largest dog seized him
too, and the Queen as well, and threw them up after the others. This
frightened the soldiers, and all the people cried: 'Good Soldier, you
shall be our King, and marry the beautiful Princess!'

Then they put the Soldier into the King's coach, and the three dogs
danced in front, crying 'Hurrah!' And the boys whistled and the soldiers
presented arms.

The Princess came out of the copper castle, and became Queen; and that
pleased her very much.

The wedding festivities lasted for eight days, and the dogs sat at table
and made eyes at everyone.




THE WITCH IN THE STONE BOAT(31)

(31) From the Icelandic.

There were once a King and a Queen, and they had a son called Sigurd,
who was very strong and active, and good-looking. When the King came
to be bowed down with the weight of years he spoke to his son, and
said that now it was time for him to look out for a fitting match for
himself, for he did not know how long he might last now, and he would
like to see him married before he died.

Sigurd was not averse to this, and asked his father where he thought
it best to look for a wife. The King answered that in a certain country
there was a King who had a beautiful daughter, and he thought it would
be most desirable if Sigurd could get her. So the two parted, and Sigurd
prepared for the journey, and went to where his father had directed him.

He came to the King and asked his daughter's hand, which he readily
granted him, but only on the condition that he should remain there as
long as he could, for the King himself was not strong and not very able
to govern his kingdom. Sigurd accepted this condition, but added that
he would have to get leave to go home again to his own country when
he heard news of his father's death. After that Sigurd married the
Princess, and helped his father-in-law to govern the kingdom. He and the
Princess loved each other dearly, and after a year a son came to them,
who was two years old when word came to Sigurd that his father was dead.
Sigurd now prepared to return home with his wife and child, and went on
board ship to go by sea.

They had sailed for several days, when the breeze suddenly fell, and
there came a dead calm, at a time when they needed only one day's voyage
to reach home. Sigurd and his Queen were one day on deck, when most of
the others on the ship had fallen asleep. There they sat and talked for
a while, and had their little son along with them. After a time Sigurd
became so heavy with sleep that he could no longer keep awake, so he
went below and lay down, leaving the Queen alone on the deck, playing
with her son.

A good while after Sigurd had gone below the Queen saw something black
on the sea, which seemed to be coming nearer. As it approached she
could make out that it was a boat, and could see the figure of some one
sitting in it and rowing it. At last the boat came alongside the ship,
and now the Queen saw that it was a stone boat, out of which there
came up on board the ship a fearfully ugly Witch. The Queen was more
frightened than words can describe, and could neither speak a word nor
move from the place so as to awaken the King or the sailors. The Witch
came right up to the Queen, took the child from her and laid it on the
deck; then she took the Queen, and stripped her of all her fine clothes,
which she proceeded to put on herself, and looked then like a human
being. Last of all she took the Queen, put her into the boat, and said--

'This spell I lay upon you, that you slacken not your course until you
come to my brother in the Underworld.'

The Queen sat stunned and motionless, but the boat at once shot away
from the ship with her, and before long she was out of sight.

When the boat could no longer be seen the child began to cry, and though
the Witch tried to quiet it she could not manage it; so she went below
to where the King was sleeping with the child on her arm, and awakened
him, scolding him for leaving them alone on deck, while he and all the
crew were asleep. It was great carelessness of him, she said, to leave
no one to watch the ship with her.

Sigurd was greatly surprised to hear his Queen scold him so much, for
she had never said an angry word to him before; but he thought it was
quite excusable in this case, and tried to quiet the child along with
her, but it was no use. Then he went and wakened the sailors, and
bade them hoist the sails, for a breeze had sprung up and was blowing
straight towards the harbour.

They soon reached the land which Sigurd was to rule over, and found all
the people sorrowful for the old King's death, but they became glad when
they got Sigurd back to the Court, and made him King over them.

The King's son, however, hardly ever stopped crying from the time he
had been taken from his mother on the deck of the ship, although he had
always been such a good child before, so that at last the King had to
get a nurse for him--one of the maids of the Court. As soon as the child
got into her charge he stopped crying, and behaved well as before.

After the sea-voyage it seemed to the King that the Queen had altered
very much in many ways, and not for the better. He thought her much more
haughty and stubborn and difficult to deal with than she used to be.
Before long others began to notice this as well as the King. In the
Court there were two young fellows, one of eighteen years old, the other
of nineteen, who were very fond of playing chess, and often sat long
inside playing at it. Their room was next the Queen's, and often during
the day they heard the Queen talking.

One day they paid more attention than usual when they heard her talk,
and put their ears close to a crack in the wall between the rooms, and
heard the Queen say quite plainly, 'When I yawn a little, then I am a
nice little maiden; when I yawn half-way, then I am half a troll; and
when I yawn fully, then I am a troll altogether.'

As she said this she yawned tremendously, and in a moment had put on
the appearance of a fearfully ugly troll. Then there came up through the
floor of the room a three-headed Giant with a trough full of meat, who
saluted her as his sister and set down the trough before her. She began
to eat out of it, and never stopped till she had finished it. The young
fellows saw all this going on, but did not hear the two of them say
anything to each other. They were astonished though at how greedily the
Queen devoured the meat, and how much she ate of it, and were no longer
surprised that she took so little when she sat at table with the King.
As soon as she had finished it the Giant disappeared with the trough by
the same way as he had come, and the Queen returned to her human shape.

Now we must go back to the King's son after he had been put in charge of
the nurse. One evening, after she had lit a candle and was holding the
child, several planks sprang up in the floor of the room, and out at the
opening came a beautiful woman dressed in white, with an iron belt round
her waist, to which was fastened an iron chain that went down into the
ground. The woman came up to the nurse, took the child from her,
and pressed it to her breast; then she gave it back to the nurse and
returned by the same way as she had come, and the floor closed over her
again. Although the woman had not spoken a single word to her, the nurse
was very much frightened, but told no one about it.

Next evening the same thing happened again, just as before, but as the
woman was going away she said in a sad tone, 'Two are gone, and one
only is left,' and then disappeared as before. The nurse was still more
frightened when she heard the woman say this, and thought that perhaps
some danger was hanging over the child, though she had no ill-opinion of
the unknown woman, who, indeed, had behaved towards the child as if it
were her own. The most mysterious thing was the woman saying 'and only
one is left;' but the nurse guessed that this must mean that only one
day was left, since she had come for two days already.

At last the nurse made up her mind to go to the King, and told him the
whole story, and asked him to be present in person next day about the
time when the woman usually came. The King promised to do so, and came
to the nurse's room a little before the time, and sat down on a chair
with his drawn sword in his hand. Soon after the planks in the floor
sprang up as before, and the woman came up, dressed in white, with the
iron belt and chain. The King saw at once that it was his own Queen, and
immediately hewed asunder the iron chain that was fastened to the belt.
This was followed by such noises and crashings down in the earth that
all the King's Palace shook, so that no one expected anything else than
to see every bit of it shaken to pieces. At last, however, the noises
and shaking stopped, and they began to come to themselves again.

The King and Queen embraced each other, and she told him the whole
story--how the Witch came to the ship when they were all asleep and sent
her off in the boat. After she had gone so far that she could not see
the ship, she sailed on through darkness until she landed beside a
three-headed Giant. The Giant wished her to marry him, but she refused;
whereupon he shut her up by herself, and told her she would never get
free until she consented. After a time she began to plan how to get her
freedom, and at last told him that she would consent if he would allow
her to visit her son on earth three days on end. This he agreed to, but
put on her this iron belt and chain, the other end of which he fastened
round his own waist, and the great noises that were heard when the King
cut the chain must have been caused by the Giant's falling down the
underground passage when the chain gave way so suddenly. The Giant's
dwelling, indeed, was right under the Palace, and the terrible shakings
must have been caused by him in his death-throes.

The King now understood how the Queen he had had for some time past had
been so ill-tempered. He at once had a sack drawn over her head and made
her be stoned to death, and after that torn in pieces by untamed horses.
The two young fellows also told now what they had heard and seen in the
Queen's room, for before this they had been afraid to say anything about
it, on account of the Queen's power.

The real Queen was now restored to all her dignity, and was beloved by
all. The nurse was married to a nobleman, and the King and Queen gave
her splendid presents.




THUMBELINA

There was once a woman who wanted to have quite a tiny, little child,
but she did not know where to get one from. So one day she went to an
old Witch and said to her: 'I should so much like to have a tiny, little
child; can you tell me where I can get one?'

'Oh, we have just got one ready!' said the Witch. 'Here is a barley-corn
for you, but it's not the kind the farmer sows in his field, or feeds
the cocks and hens with, I can tell you. Put it in a flower-pot, and
then you will see something happen.'

'Oh, thank you!' said the woman, and gave the Witch a shilling, for
that was what it cost. Then she went home and planted the barley-corn;
immediately there grew out of it a large and beautiful flower, which
looked like a tulip, but the petals were tightly closed as if it were
still only a bud.

'What a beautiful flower!' exclaimed the woman, and she kissed the red
and yellow petals; but as she kissed them the flower burst open. It
was a real tulip, such as one can see any day; but in the middle of the
blossom, on the green velvety petals, sat a little girl, quite tiny,
trim, and pretty. She was scarcely half a thumb in height; so they
called her Thumbelina. An elegant polished walnut-shell served
Thumbelina as a cradle, the blue petals of a violet were her mattress,
and a rose-leaf her coverlid. There she lay at night, but in the
day-time she used to play about on the table; here the woman had put a
bowl, surrounded by a ring of flowers, with their stalks in water, in
the middle of which floated a great tulip pedal, and on this Thumbelina
sat, and sailed from one side of the bowl to the other, rowing herself
with two white horse-hairs for oars. It was such a pretty sight! She
could sing, too, with a voice more soft and sweet than had ever been
heard before.

One night, when she was lying in her pretty little bed, an old toad
crept in through a broken pane in the window. She was very ugly, clumsy,
and clammy; she hopped on to the table where Thumbelina lay asleep under
the red rose-leaf.

'This would make a beautiful wife for my son,' said the toad, taking up
the walnut-shell, with Thumbelina inside, and hopping with it through
the window into the garden.

There flowed a great wide stream, with slippery and marshy banks; here
the toad lived with her son. Ugh! how ugly and clammy he was, just like
his mother! 'Croak, croak, croak!' was all he could say when he saw the
pretty little girl in the walnut-shell.

'Don't talk so load, or you'll wake her,' said the old toad. 'She might
escape us even now; she is as light as a feather. We will put her at
once on a broad water-lily leaf in the stream. That will be quite an
island for her; she is so small and light. She can't run away from us
there, whilst we are preparing the guest-chamber under the marsh where
she shall live.'

Outside in the brook grew many water-lilies, with broad green leaves,
which looked as if they were swimming about on the water.

The leaf farthest away was the largest, and to this the old toad swam
with Thumbelina in her walnut-shell.

The tiny Thumbelina woke up very early in the morning, and when she saw
where she was she began to cry bitterly; for on every side of the great
green leaf was water, and she could not get to the land.

The old toad was down under the marsh, decorating her room with
rushes and yellow marigold leaves, to make it very grand for her new
daughter-in-law; then she swam out with her ugly son to the leaf where
Thumbelina lay. She wanted to fetch the pretty cradle to put it into her
room before Thumbelina herself came there. The old toad bowed low in the
water before her, and said: 'Here is my son; you shall marry him, and
live in great magnificence down under the marsh.'

'Croak, croak, croak!' was all that the son could say. Then they took
the neat little cradle and swam away with it; but Thumbelina sat alone
on the great green leaf and wept, for she did not want to live with the
clammy toad, or marry her ugly son. The little fishes swimming about
under the water had seen the toad quite plainly, and heard what she had
said; so they put up their heads to see the little girl. When they saw
her, they thought her so pretty that they were very sorry she should
go down with the ugly toad to live. No; that must not happen. They
assembled in the water round the green stalk which supported the leaf
on which she was sitting, and nibbled the stem in two. Away floated the
leaf down the stream, bearing Thumbelina far beyond the reach of the
toad.

On she sailed past several towns, and the little birds sitting in the
bushes saw her, and sang, 'What a pretty little girl!' The leaf floated
farther and farther away; thus Thumbelina left her native land.

A beautiful little white butterfly fluttered above her, and at
last settled on the leaf. Thumbelina pleased him, and she, too,
was delighted, for now the toads could not reach her, and it was so
beautiful where she was travelling; the sun shone on the water and made
it sparkle like the brightest silver. She took off her sash, and tied
one end round the butterfly; the other end she fastened to the leaf, so
that now it glided along with her faster than ever.

A great cockchafer came flying past; he caught sight of Thumbelina, and
in a moment had put his arms round her slender waist, and had flown off
with her to a tree. The green leaf floated away down the stream, and
the butterfly with it, for he was fastened to the leaf and could not get
loose from it. Oh, dear! how terrified poor little Thumbelina was when
the cockchafer flew off with her to the tree! But she was especially
distressed on the beautiful white butterfly's account, as she had tied
him fast, so that if he could not get away he must starve to death. But
the cockchafer did not trouble himself about that; he sat down with her
on a large green leaf, gave her the honey out of the flowers to eat, and
told her that she was very pretty, although she wasn't in the least like
a cockchafer. Later on, all the other cockchafers who lived in the same
tree came to pay calls; they examined Thumbelina closely, and remarked,
'Why, she has only two legs! How very miserable!'

'She has no feelers!' cried another.

'How ugly she is!' said all the lady chafers--and yet Thumbelina was
really very pretty.

The cockchafer who had stolen her knew this very well; but when he heard
all the ladies saying she was ugly, he began to think so too, and would
not keep her; she might go wherever she liked. So he flew down from the
tree with her and put her on a daisy. There she sat and wept, because
she was so ugly that the cockchafer would have nothing to do with her;
and yet she was the most beautiful creature imaginable, so soft and
delicate, like the loveliest rose-leaf.

The whole summer poor little Thumbelina lived alone in the great wood.
She plaited a bed for herself of blades of grass, and hung it up under a
clover-leaf, so that she was protected from the rain; she gathered
honey from the flowers for food, and drank the dew on the leaves every
morning. Thus the summer and autumn passed, but then came winter--the
long, cold winter. All the birds who had sung so sweetly about her had
flown away; the trees shed their leaves, the flowers died; the great
clover-leaf under which she had lived curled up, and nothing remained of
it but the withered stalk. She was terribly cold, for her clothes were
ragged, and she herself was so small and thin. Poor little Thumbelina!
she would surely be frozen to death. It began to snow, and every
snow-flake that fell on her was to her as a whole shovelful thrown on
one of us, for we are so big, and she was only an inch high. She wrapt
herself round in a dead leaf, but it was torn in the middle and gave her
no warmth; she was trembling with cold.

Just outside the wood where she was now living lay a great corn-field.
But the corn had been gone a long time; only the dry, bare stubble was
left standing in the frozen ground. This made a forest for her to wander
about in. All at once she came across the door of a field-mouse, who had
a little hole under a corn-stalk. There the mouse lived warm and snug,
with a store-room full of corn, a splendid kitchen and dining-room. Poor
little Thumbelina went up to the door and begged for a little piece of
barley, for she had not had anything to eat for the last two days.

'Poor little creature!' said the field-mouse, for she was a kind-hearted
old thing at the bottom. 'Come into my warm room and have some dinner
with me.'

As Thumbelina pleased her, she said: 'As far as I am concerned you may
spend the winter with me; but you must keep my room clean and tidy, and
tell me stories, for I like that very much.'

And Thumbelina did all that the kind old field-mouse asked, and did it
remarkably well too.

'Now I am expecting a visitor,' said the field-mouse; 'my neighbour
comes to call on me once a week. He is in better circumstances than I
am, has great, big rooms, and wears a fine black-velvet coat. If you
could only marry him, you would be well provided for. But he is blind.
You must tell him all the prettiest stories you know.'

But Thumbelina did not trouble her head about him, for he was only a
mole. He came and paid them a visit in his black-velvet coat.

'He is so rich and so accomplished,' the field-mouse told her.

'His house is twenty times larger than mine; he possesses great
knowledge, but he cannot bear the sun and the beautiful flowers, and
speaks slightingly of them, for he has never seen them.'

Thumbelina had to sing to him, so she sang 'Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly
away home!' and other songs so prettily that the mole fell in love with
her; but he did not say anything, he was a very cautious man. A short
time before he had dug a long passage through the ground from his own
house to that of his neighbour; in this he gave the field-mouse and
Thumbelina permission to walk as often as they liked. But he begged them
not to be afraid of the dead bird that lay in the passage: it was a real
bird with beak and feathers, and must have died a little time ago, and
now laid buried just where he had made his tunnel. The mole took a piece
of rotten wood in his mouth, for that glows like fire in the dark, and
went in front, lighting them through the long dark passage. When they
came to the place where the dead bird lay, the mole put his broad nose
against the ceiling and pushed a hole through, so that the daylight
could shine down. In the middle of the path lay a dead swallow, his
pretty wings pressed close to his sides, his claws and head drawn under
his feathers; the poor bird had evidently died of cold. Thumbelina was
very sorry, for she was very fond of all little birds; they had sung
and twittered so beautifully to her all through the summer. But the mole
kicked him with his bandy legs and said:

'Now he can't sing any more! It must be very miserable to be a little
bird! I'm thankful that none of my little children are; birds always
starve in winter.'

'Yes, you speak like a sensible man,' said the field-mouse. 'What has
a bird, in spite of all his singing, in the winter-time? He must starve
and freeze, and that must be very pleasant for him, I must say!'

Thumbelina did not say anything; but when the other two had passed on
she bent down to the bird, brushed aside the feathers from his head,
and kissed his closed eyes gently. 'Perhaps it was he that sang to me so
prettily in the summer,' she thought. 'How much pleasure he did give me,
dear little bird!'

The mole closed up the hole again which let in the light, and then
escorted the ladies home. But Thumbelina could not sleep that night;
so she got out of bed, and plaited a great big blanket of straw, and
carried it off, and spread it over the dead bird, and piled upon
it thistle-down as soft as cotton-wool, which she had found in the
field-mouse's room, so that the poor little thing should lie warmly
buried.

'Farewell, pretty little bird!' she said. 'Farewell, and thank you for
your beautiful songs in the summer, when the trees were green, and the
sun shone down warmly on us!' Then she laid her head against the bird's
heart. But the bird was not dead: he had been frozen, but now that she
had warmed him, he was coming to life again.

In autumn the swallows fly away to foreign lands; but there are some who
are late in starting, and then they get so cold that they drop down as
if dead, and the snow comes and covers them over.

Thumbelina trembled, she was so frightened; for the bird was very large
in comparison with herself--only an inch high. But she took courage,
piled up the down more closely over the poor swallow, fetched her own
coverlid and laid it over his head.

Next night she crept out again to him. There he was alive, but very
weak; he could only open his eyes for a moment and look at Thumbelina,
who was standing in front of him with a piece of rotten wood in her
hand, for she had no other lantern.

'Thank you, pretty little child!' said the swallow to her. 'I am so
beautifully warm! Soon I shall regain my strength, and then I shall be
able to fly out again into the warm sunshine.'

'Oh!' she said, 'it is very cold outside; it is snowing and freezing!
stay in your warm bed; I will take care of you!'

Then she brought him water in a petal, which he drank, after which he
related to her how he had torn one of his wings on a bramble, so that he
could not fly as fast as the other swallows, who had flown far away
to warmer lands. So at last he had dropped down exhausted, and then he
could remember no more. The whole winter he remained down there, and
Thumbelina looked after him and nursed him tenderly. Neither the mole
nor the field-mouse learnt anything of this, for they could not bear the
poor swallow.

When the spring came, and the sun warmed the earth again, the swallow
said farewell to Thumbelina, who opened the hole in the roof for him
which the mole had made. The sun shone brightly down upon her, and the
swallow asked her if she would go with him; she could sit upon his back.
Thumbelina wanted very much to fly far away into the green wood, but
she knew that the old field-mouse would be sad if she ran away. 'No, I
mustn't come!' she said.

'Farewell, dear good little girl!' said the swallow, and flew off into
the sunshine. Thumbelina gazed after him with the tears standing in her
eyes, for she was very fond of the swallow.

'Tweet, tweet!' sang the bird, and flew into the green wood. Thumbelina
was very unhappy. She was not allowed to go out into the warm sunshine.
The corn which had been sowed in the field over the field-mouse's home
grew up high into the air, and made a thick forest for the poor little
girl, who was only an inch high.

'Now you are to be a bride, Thumbelina!' said the field-mouse, 'for our
neighbour has proposed for you! What a piece of fortune for a poor child
like you! Now you must set to work at your linen for your dowry, for
nothing must be lacking if you are to become the wife of our neighbour,
the mole!'

Thumbelina had to spin all day long, and every evening the mole visited
her, and told her that when the summer was over the sun would not shine
so hot; now it was burning the earth as hard as a stone. Yes, when the
summer had passed, they would keep the wedding.

But she was not at all pleased about it, for she did not like the stupid
mole. Every morning when the sun was rising, and every evening when it
was setting, she would steal out of the house-door, and when the breeze
parted the ears of corn so that she could see the blue sky through them,
she thought how bright and beautiful it must be outside, and longed to
see her dear swallow again. But he never came; no doubt he had flown
away far into the great green wood.

By the autumn Thumbelina had finished the dowry.

'In four weeks you will be married!' said the field-mouse; 'don't be
obstinate, or I shall bite you with my sharp white teeth! You will get
a fine husband! The King himself has not such a velvet coat. His
store-room and cellar are full, and you should be thankful for that.'

Well, the wedding-day arrived. The mole had come to fetch Thumbelina
to live with him deep down under the ground, never to come out into the
warm sun again, for that was what he didn't like. The poor little girl
was very sad; for now she must say good-bye to the beautiful sun.

'Farewell, bright sun!' she cried, stretching out her arms towards it,
and taking another step outside the house; for now the corn had
been reaped, and only the dry stubble was left standing. 'Farewell,
farewell!' she said, and put her arms round a little red flower that
grew there. 'Give my love to the dear swallow when you see him!'

'Tweet, tweet!' sounded in her ear all at once. She looked up. There was
the swallow flying past! As soon as he saw Thumbelina, he was very glad.
She told him how unwilling she was to marry the ugly mole, as then she
had to live underground where the sun never shone, and she could not
help bursting into tears.

'The cold winter is coming now,' said the swallow. 'I must fly away to
warmer lands: will you come with me? You can sit on my back, and we will
fly far away from the ugly mole and his dark house, over the mountains,
to the warm countries where the sun shines more brightly than here,
where it is always summer, and there are always beautiful flowers.
Do come with me, dear little Thumbelina, who saved my life when I lay
frozen in the dark tunnel!'

'Yes, I will go with you,' said Thumbelina, and got on the swallow's
back, with her feet on one of his outstretched wings. Up he flew into
the air, over woods and seas, over the great mountains where the snow
is always lying. And if she was cold she crept under his warm feathers,
only keeping her little head out to admire all the beautiful things in
the world beneath. At last they came to warm lands; there the sun was
brighter, the sky seemed twice as high, and in the hedges hung the
finest green and purple grapes; in the woods grew oranges and lemons:
the air was scented with myrtle and mint, and on the roads were
pretty little children running about and playing with great gorgeous
butterflies. But the swallow flew on farther, and it became more and
more beautiful. Under the most splendid green trees besides a blue
lake stood a glittering white-marble castle. Vines hung about the high
pillars; there were many swallows' nests, and in one of these lived the
swallow who was carrying Thumbelina.

'Here is my house!' said he. 'But it won't do for you to live with me; I
am not tidy enough to please you. Find a home for yourself in one of the
lovely flowers that grow down there; now I will set you down, and you
can do whatever you like.'

'That will be splendid!' said she, clapping her little hands.

There lay a great white marble column which had fallen to the ground
and broken into three pieces, but between these grew the most beautiful
white flowers. The swallow flew down with Thumbelina, and set her upon
one of the broad leaves. But there, to her astonishment, she found
a tiny little man sitting in the middle of the flower, as white and
transparent as if he were made of glass; he had the prettiest golden
crown on his head, and the most beautiful wings on his shoulders; he
himself was no bigger than Thumbelina. He was the spirit of the flower.
In each blossom there dwelt a tiny man or woman; but this one was the
King over the others.

'How handsome he is!' whispered Thumbelina to the swallow.

The little Prince was very much frightened at the swallow, for in
comparison with one so tiny as himself he seemed a giant. But when he
saw Thumbelina, he was delighted, for she was the most beautiful girl he
had ever seen. So he took his golden crown from off his head and put it
on hers, asking her her name, and if she would be his wife, and then
she would be Queen of all the flowers. Yes! he was a different kind of
husband to the son of the toad and the mole with the black-velvet coat.
So she said 'Yes' to the noble Prince. And out of each flower came a
lady and gentleman, each so tiny and pretty that it was a pleasure to
see them. Each brought Thumbelina a present, but the best of all was a
beautiful pair of wings which were fastened on to her back, and now she
too could fly from flower to flower. They all wished her joy, and the
swallow sat above in his nest and sang the wedding march, and that he
did as well as he could; but he was sad, because he was very fond of
Thumbelina and did not want to be separated from her.

'You shall not be called Thumbelina!' said the spirit of the flower to
her; 'that is an ugly name, and you are much too pretty for that. We
will call you May Blossom.'

'Farewell, farewell!' said the little swallow with a heavy heart, and
flew away to farther lands, far, far away, right back to Denmark. There
he had a little nest above a window, where his wife lived, who can tell
fairy-stories. 'Tweet, tweet!' he sang to her. And that is the way we
learnt the whole story.




THE NIGHTINGALE

In China, as I daresay you know, the Emperor is a Chinaman, and all his
courtiers are also Chinamen. The story I am going to tell you happened
many years ago, but it is worth while for you to listen to it, before it
is forgotten.

The Emperor's Palace was the most splendid in the world, all made of
priceless porcelain, but so brittle and delicate that you had to take
great care how you touched it. In the garden were the most beautiful
flowers, and on the loveliest of them were tied silver bells which
tinkled, so that if you passed you could not help looking at the
flowers. Everything in the Emperor's garden was admirably arranged with
a view to effect; and the garden was so large that even the gardener
himself did not know where it ended. If you ever got beyond it, you came
to a stately forest with great trees and deep lakes in it. The forest
sloped down to the sea, which was a clear blue. Large ships could
sail under the boughs of the trees, and in these trees there lived a
Nightingale. She sang so beautifully that even the poor fisherman who
had so much to do stood and listened when he came at night to cast his
nets. 'How beautiful it is!' he said; but he had to attend to his work,
and forgot about the bird. But when she sang the next night and the
fisherman came there again, he said the same thing, 'How beautiful it
is!'

From all the countries round came travellers to the Emperor's town, who
were astonished at the Palace and the garden. But when they heard the
Nightingale they all said, 'This is the finest thing after all!'

The travellers told all about it when they went home, and learned
scholars wrote many books upon the town, the Palace, and the garden. But
they did not forget the Nightingale; she was praised the most, and all
the poets composed splendid verses on the Nightingale in the forest by
the deep sea.

The books were circulated throughout the world, and some of them reached
the Emperor. He sat in his golden chair, and read and read. He nodded
his head every moment, for he liked reading the brilliant accounts of
the town, the Palace, and the garden. 'But the Nightingale is better
than all,' he saw written.

'What is that?' said the Emperor. 'I don't know anything about the
Nightingale! Is there such a bird in my empire, and so near as in my
garden? I have never heard it! Fancy reading for the first time about it
in a book!'

And he called his First Lord to him. He was so proud that if anyone of
lower rank than his own ventured to speak to him or ask him anything, he
would say nothing but 'P!' and that does not mean anything.

'Here is a most remarkable bird which is called a Nightingale!' said the
Emperor. 'They say it is the most glorious thing in my kingdom. Why has
no one ever said anything to me about it?'

'I have never before heard it mentioned!' said the First Lord. 'I will
look for it and find it!'

But where was it to be found? The First Lord ran up and down stairs,
through the halls and corridors; but none of those he met had ever heard
of the Nightingale. And the First Lord ran again to the Emperor, and
told him that it must be an invention on the part of those who had
written the books.

'Your Imperial Majesty cannot really believe all that is written! There
are some inventions called the Black Art!'

'But the book in which I read this,' said the Emperor, 'is sent me by
His Great Majesty the Emperor of Japan; so it cannot be untrue, and I
will hear the Nightingale! She must be here this evening! She has my
gracious permission to appear, and if she does not, the whole Court
shall be trampled under foot after supper!'

'Tsing pe!' said the First Lord; and he ran up and down stairs, through
the halls and corridors, and half the Court ran with him, for they
did not want to be trampled under foot. Everyone was asking after the
wonderful Nightingale which all the world knew of, except those at
Court.

At last they met a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said, 'Oh! I
know the Nightingale well. How she sings! I have permission to carry the
scraps over from the Court meals to my poor sick mother, and when I am
going home at night, tired and weary, and rest for a little in the wood,
then I hear the Nightingale singing! It brings tears to my eyes, and I
feel as if my mother were kissing me!'

'Little kitchenmaid!' said the First Lord, 'I will give you a place in
the kitchen, and you shall have leave to see the Emperor at dinner, if
you can lead us to the Nightingale, for she is invited to come to Court
this evening.'

And so they all went into the wood where the Nightingale was wont to
sing, and half the Court went too.

When they were on the way there they heard a cow mooing.

'Oh!' said the Courtiers, 'now we have found her! What a wonderful power
for such a small beast to have! I am sure we have heard her before!'

'No; that is a cow mooing!' said the little kitchenmaid. 'We are still a
long way off!'

Then the frogs began to croak in the marsh. 'Splendid!' said the Chinese
chaplain. 'Now we hear her; it sounds like a little church-bell!'

'No, no; those are frogs!' said the little kitchenmaid. 'But I think we
shall soon hear her now!'

Then the Nightingale began to sing.

'There she is!' cried the little girl. 'Listen! She is sitting there!'
And she pointed to a little dark-grey bird up in the branches.

'Is it possible!' said the First Lord. 'I should never have thought it!
How ordinary she looks! She must surely have lost her feathers because
she sees so many distinguished men round her!'

'Little Nightingale,' called out the little kitchenmaid, 'our Gracious
Emperor wants you to sing before him!'

'With the greatest of pleasure!' said the Nightingale; and she sang so
gloriously that it was a pleasure to listen.

'It sounds like glass bells!' said the First Lord. 'And look how her
little throat works! It is wonderful that we have never heard her
before! She will be a great success at Court.'

'Shall I sing once more for the Emperor?' asked the Nightingale,
thinking that the Emperor was there.

'My esteemed little Nightingale,' said the First Lord, 'I have the
great pleasure to invite you to Court this evening, where His Gracious
Imperial Highness will be enchanted with your charming song!'

'It sounds best in the green wood,' said the Nightingale; but still, she
came gladly when she heard that the Emperor wished it.

At the Palace everything was splendidly prepared. The porcelain walls
and floors glittered in the light of many thousand gold lamps; the most
gorgeous flowers which tinkled out well were placed in the corridors.
There was such a hurrying and draught that all the bells jingled so much
that one could not hear oneself speak. In the centre of the great hall
where the Emperor sat was a golden perch, on which the Nightingale sat.
The whole Court was there, and the little kitchenmaid was allowed to
stand behind the door, now that she was a Court-cook. Everyone was
dressed in his best, and everyone was looking towards the little grey
bird to whom the Emperor nodded.

The Nightingale sang so gloriously that the tears came into the
Emperor's eyes and ran down his cheeks. Then the Nightingale sang even
more beautifully; it went straight to all hearts. The Emperor was so
delighted that he said she should wear his gold slipper round her neck.
But the Nightingale thanked him, and said she had had enough reward
already. 'I have seen tears in the Emperor's eyes--that is a great
reward. An Emperor's tears have such power!' Then she sang again with
her gloriously sweet voice.

'That is the most charming coquetry I have ever seen!' said all the
ladies round. And they all took to holding water in their mouths that
they might gurgle whenever anyone spoke to them. Then they thought
themselves nightingales. Yes, the lackeys and chambermaids announced
that they were pleased; which means a great deal, for they are the most
difficult people of all to satisfy. In short, the Nightingale was a real
success.

She had to stay at Court now; she had her own cage, and permission to
walk out twice in the day and once at night.

She was given twelve servants, who each held a silken string which was
fastened round her leg. There was little pleasure in flying about like
this.

The whole town was talking about the wonderful bird, and when two people
met each other one would say 'Nightin,' and the other 'Gale,' and then
they would both sigh and understand one another.

Yes, and eleven grocer's children were called after her, but not one of
them could sing a note.

One day the Emperor received a large parcel on which was written 'The
Nightingale.'

'Here is another new book about our famous bird!' said the Emperor.

But it was not a book, but a little mechanical toy, which lay in a
box--an artificial nightingale which was like the real one, only that it
was set all over with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. When it was wound
up, it could sing the piece the real bird sang, and moved its tail
up and down, and glittered with silver and gold. Round its neck was a
little collar on which was written, 'The Nightingale of the Emperor of
Japan is nothing compared to that of the Emperor of China.'

'This is magnificent!' they all said, and the man who had brought
the clockwork bird received on the spot the title of 'Bringer of the
Imperial First Nightingale.'

'Now they must sing together; what a duet we shall have!'

And so they sang together, but their voices did not blend, for the real
Nightingale sang in her way and the clockwork bird sang waltzes.

'It is not its fault!' said the bandmaster; 'it keeps very good time and
is quite after my style!'

Then the artificial bird had to sing alone. It gave just as much
pleasure as the real one, and then it was so much prettier to look at;
it sparkled like bracelets and necklaces. Three-and-thirty times it sang
the same piece without being tired. People would like to have heard it
again, but the Emperor thought that the living Nightingale should sing
now--but where was she? No one had noticed that she had flown out of the
open window away to her green woods.

'What SHALL we do!' said the Emperor.

And all the Court scolded, and said that the Nightingale was very
ungrateful. 'But we have still the best bird!' they said and the
artificial bird had to sing again, and that was the thirty-fourth time
they had heard the same piece. But they did not yet know it by heart;
it was much too difficult. And the bandmaster praised the bird
tremendously; yes, he assured them it was better than a real
nightingale, not only because of its beautiful plumage and diamonds, but
inside as well. 'For see, my Lords and Ladies and your Imperial Majesty,
with the real Nightingale one can never tell what will come out, but all
is known about the artificial bird! You can explain it, you can open it
and show people where the waltzes lie, how they go, and how one follows
the other!'

'That's just what we think!' said everyone; and the bandmaster received
permission to show the bird to the people the next Sunday. They should
hear it sing, commanded the Emperor. And they heard it, and they were
as pleased as if they had been intoxicated with tea, after the Chinese
fashion, and they all said 'Oh!' and held up their forefingers and
nodded time. But the poor fishermen who had heard the real Nightingale
said: 'This one sings well enough, the tunes glide out; but there is
something wanting--I don't know what!'

The real Nightingale was banished from the kingdom.

The artificial bird was put on silken cushions by the Emperor's bed, all
the presents which it received, gold and precious stones, lay round
it, and it was given the title of Imperial Night-singer, First from the
left. For the Emperor counted that side as the more distinguished, being
the side on which the heart is; the Emperor's heart is also on the left.

And the bandmaster wrote a work of twenty-five volumes about the
artificial bird. It was so learned, long, and so full of the hardest
Chinese words that everyone said they had read it and understood it; for
once they had been very stupid about a book, and had been trampled under
foot in consequence. So a whole year passed. The Emperor, the Court, and
all the Chinese knew every note of the artificial bird's song by heart.
But they liked it all the better for this; they could even sing with
it, and they did. The street boys sang 'Tra-la-la-la-la, and the Emperor
sang too sometimes. It was indeed delightful.

But one evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and the
Emperor lay in bed listening to it, something in the bird went crack.
Something snapped! Whir-r-r! all the wheels ran down and then the music
ceased. The Emperor sprang up, and had his physician summoned, but
what could HE do! Then the clockmaker came, and, after a great deal of
talking and examining, he put the bird somewhat in order, but he said
that it must be very seldom used as the works were nearly worn out, and
it was impossible to put in new ones. Here was a calamity! Only once a
year was the artificial bird allowed to sing, and even that was almost
too much for it. But then the bandmaster made a little speech full
of hard words, saying that it was just as good as before. And so, of
course, it WAS just as good as before. So five years passed, and then a
great sorrow came to the nation. The Chinese look upon their Emperor as
everything, and now he was ill, and not likely to live it was said.

Already a new Emperor had been chosen, and the people stood outside in
the street and asked the First Lord how the old Emperor was. 'P!' said
he, and shook his head.

Cold and pale lay the Emperor in his splendid great bed; the whole
Court believed him dead, and one after the other left him to pay their
respects to the new Emperor. Everywhere in the halls and corridors cloth
was laid down so that no footstep could be heard, and everything was
still--very, very still. And nothing came to break the silence.

The Emperor longed for something to come and relieve the monotony of
this deathlike stillness. If only someone would speak to him! If only
someone would sing to him. Music would carry his thoughts away, and
would break the spell lying on him. The moon was streaming in at the
open window; but that, too, was silent, quite silent.

'Music! music!' cried the Emperor. 'You little bright golden bird, sing!
do sing! I gave you gold and jewels; I have hung my gold slipper round
your neck with my own hand--sing! do sing!' But the bird was silent.
There was no one to wind it up, and so it could not sing. And all was
silent, so terribly silent!

All at once there came in at the window the most glorious burst of song.
It was the little living Nightingale, who, sitting outside on a bough,
had heard the need of her Emperor and had come to sing to him of comfort
and hope. And as she sang the blood flowed quicker and quicker in the
Emperor's weak limbs, and life began to return.

'Thank you, thank you!' said the Emperor. 'You divine little bird!
I know you. I chased you from my kingdom, and you have given me life
again! How can I reward you?'

'You have done that already!' said the Nightingale. 'I brought tears
to your eyes the first time I sang. I shall never forget that. They
are jewels that rejoice a singer's heart. But now sleep and get strong
again; I will sing you a lullaby.' And the Emperor fell into a deep,
calm sleep as she sang.

The sun was shining through the window when he awoke, strong and well.
None of his servants had come back yet, for they thought he was dead.
But the Nightingale sat and sang to him.

'You must always stay with me!' said the Emperor. 'You shall sing
whenever you like, and I will break the artificial bird into a thousand
pieces.'

'Don't do that!' said the Nightingale. 'He did his work as long as he
could. Keep him as you have done! I cannot build my nest in the Palace
and live here; but let me come whenever I like. I will sit in the
evening on the bough outside the window, and I will sing you something
that will make you feel happy and grateful. I will sing of joy, and of
sorrow; I will sing of the evil and the good which lies hidden from you.
The little singing-bird flies all around, to the poor fisherman's hut,
to the farmer's cottage, to all those who are far away from you and your
Court. I love your heart more than your crown, though that has about it
a brightness as of something holy. Now I will sing to you again; but you
must promise me one thing----'

'Anything!' said the Emperor, standing up in his Imperial robes, which
he had himself put on, and fastening on his sword richly embossed with
gold.

'One thing I beg of you! Don't tell anyone that you have a little bird
who tells you everything. It will be much better not to!' Then the
Nightingale flew away.

The servants came in to look at their dead Emperor.

The Emperor said, 'Good-morning!'




HERMOD AND HADVOR (32)

(32) From the Icelandic.

Once upon a time there were a King and a Queen who had an only daughter,
called Hadvor, who was fair and beautiful, and being an only child, was
heir to the kingdom. The King and Queen had also a foster son, named
Hermod, who was just about the same age as Hadvor, and was good-looking,
as well as clever at most things. Hermod and Hadvor often played
together while they were children, and liked each other so much that
while they were still young they secretly plighted their troth to each
other.

As time went on the Queen fell sick, and suspecting that it was her last
illness, sent for the King to come to her. When he came she told him
that she had no long time to live, and therefore wished to ask one thing
of him, which was, that if he married another wife he should promise to
take no other one than the Queen of Hetland the Good. The King gave the
promise, and thereafter the Queen died.

Time went past, and the King, growing tired of living alone, fitted
out his ship and sailed out to sea. As he sailed there came upon him
so thick a mist that he altogether lost his bearings, but after long
trouble he found land. There he laid his ship to, and went on shore all
alone. After walking for some time he came to a forest, into which he
went a little way and stopped. Then he heard sweet music from a harp,
and went in the direction of the sound until he came to a clearing, and
there he saw three women, one of whom sat on a golden chair, and was
beautifully and grandly dressed; she held a harp in her hands, and
was very sorrowful. The second was also finely dressed, but younger
in appearance, and also sat on a chair, but it was not so grand as the
first one's. The third stood beside them, and was very pretty to look
at; she had a green cloak over her other clothes, and it was easy to see
that she was maid to the other two.

After the King had looked at them for a little he went forward and
saluted them. The one that sat on the golden chair asked him who he
was and where he was going; and he told her all the story--how he was
a king, and had lost his queen, and was now on his way to Hetland the
Good, to ask the Queen of that country in marriage. She answered that
fortune had contrived this wonderfully, for pirates had plundered
Hetland and killed the King, and she had fled from the land in terror,
and had come hither after great trouble, and she was the very person
he was looking for, and the others were her daughter and maid. The
King immediately asked her hand; she gladly received his proposal and
accepted him at once. Thereafter they all set out, and made their way to
the ship; and after that nothing is told of their voyage until the King
reached his own country. There he made a great feast, and celebrated his
marriage with this woman; and after that things are quiet for a time.

Hermod and Hadvor took but little notice of the Queen and her daughter,
but, on the other hand, Hadvor and the Queen's maid, whose name was
Olof, were very friendly, and Olof came often to visit Hadvor in her
castle. Before long the King went out to war, and no sooner was he away
than the Queen came to talk with Hermod, and said that she wanted him to
marry her daughter. Hermod told her straight and plain that he would
not do so, at which the Queen grew terribly angry, and said that in that
case neither should he have Hadvor, for she would now lay this spell on
him, that he should go to a desert island and there be a lion by day and
a man by night. He should also think always of Hadvor, which would cause
him all the more sorrow, and from this spell he should never be freed
until Hadvor burned the lion's skin, and that would not happen very
soon.

As soon as the Queen had finished her speech Hermod replied that he also
laid a spell on her, and that was, that as soon as he was freed from her
enchantments she should become a rat and her daughter a mouse, and fight
with each other in the hall until he killed them with his sword.

After this Hermod disappeared, and no one knew what had become of him;
the Queen caused search to be made for him, but he could nowhere be
found. One time, when Olof was in the castle beside Hadvor, she asked
the Princess if she knew where Hermod had gone to. At this Hadvor became
very sad, and said that she did not.

'I shall tell you then,' said Olof, 'for I know all about it. Hermod has
disappeared through the wicked devices of the Queen, for she is a witch,
and so is her daughter, though they have put on these beautiful forms.
Because Hermod would not fall in with the Queen's plans, and marry her
daughter, she has laid a spell on him, to go on an island and be a lion
by day and a man by night, and never be freed from this until you burn
the lion's skin. Besides,' said Olof, 'she has looked out a match for
you; she has a brother in the Underworld, a three-headed Giant, whom she
means to turn into a beautiful prince and get him married to you. This
is no new thing for the Queen; she took me away from my parents' house
and compelled me to serve her; but she has never done me any harm, for
the green cloak I wear protects me against all mischief.

Hadvor now became still sadder than before at the thought of the
marriage destined for her, and entreated Olof to think of some plan to
save her.

'I think,' said Olof, 'that your wooer will come up through the floor of
the castle to you, and so you must be prepared when you hear the noise
of his coming and the floor begins to open, and have at hand blazing
pitch, and pour plenty of it into the opening. That will prove too much
for him.'

About this time the King came home from his expedition, and thought it
a great blow that no one knew what had become of Hermod; but the Queen
consoled him as best she could, and after a time the King thought less
about his disappearance.

Hadvor remained in her castle, and had made preparations to receive her
wooer when he came. One night, not long after, a loud noise and rumbling
was heard under the castle. Hadvor at once guessed what it was, and told
her maids to be ready to help her. The noise and thundering grew louder
and louder, until the floor began to open, whereupon Hadvor made them
take the caldron of pitch and pour plenty of it into the opening. With
that the noises grew fainter and fainter, till at last they ceased
altogether.

Next morning the Queen rose early, and went out to the Palace gate, and
there she found her brother the Giant lying dead. She went up to him and
said, 'I pronounce this spell, that you become a beautiful prince, and
that Hadvor shall be unable to say anything against the charges that I
shall bring against her.'

The body of the dead Giant now became that of a beautiful prince, and
the Queen went in again.

'I don't think,' said she to the King, 'that your daughter is as good as
she is said to be. My brother came and asked her hand, and she has had
him put to death. I have just found his dead body lying at the Palace
gate.'

The King went along with the Queen to see the body, and thought it all
very strange; so beautiful a youth, he said, would have been a worthy
match for Hadvor, and he would readily have agreed to their marriage.
The Queen asked leave to decide what Hadvor's punishment should be,
which the King was very willing to allow, so as to escape from punishing
his own daughter. The Queen's decision was that the King should make a
big grave-mound for her brother, and put Hadvor into it beside him.

Olof knew all the plans of the Queen, and went to tell the Princess what
had been done, whereupon Hadvor earnestly entreated her to tell her what
to do.

'First and foremost,' said Olof, 'you must get a wide cloak to wear over
your other clothes, when you are put into the mound. The Giant's ghost
will walk after you are both left together in there, and he will have
two dogs along with him. He will ask you to cut pieces out of his legs
to give to the dogs, but that you must not promise to do unless he tells
you where Hermod has gone to, and tells you how to find him. He will
then let you stand on his shoulders, so as to get out of the mound; but
he means to cheat you all the same, and will catch you by the cloak to
pull you back again; but you must take care to have the cloak loose on
your shoulders, so that he will only get hold of that.'

The mound was all ready now, and the Giant laid in it, and into it
Hadvor also had to go without being allowed to make any defence. After
they were both left there everything happened just as Olof had said. The
prince became a Giant again, and asked Hadvor to cut the pieces out of
his legs for the dogs; but she refused until he told her that Hermod was
in a desert island, which she could not reach unless she took the skin
off the soles of his feet and made shoes out of that; with these shoes
she could travel both on land and sea. This Hadvor now did, and the
Giant then let her get up on his shoulders to get out of the mound. As
she sprang out he caught hold of her cloak; but she had taken care to
let it lie loose on her shoulders, and so escaped.

She now made her way down to the sea, to where she knew there was the
shortest distance over to the island in which Hermod was. This strait
she easily crossed, for the shoes kept her up. On reaching the island
she found a sandy beach all along by the sea, and high cliffs above. Nor
could she see any way to get up these, and so, being both sad at heart
and tired with the long journey, she lay down and fell asleep. As she
slept she dreamed that a tall woman came to her and said, 'I know that
you are Princess Hadvor, and are searching for Hermod. He is on this
island; but it will be hard for you to get to him if you have no one to
help you, for you cannot climb the cliffs by your own strength. I have
therefore let down a rope, by which you will be able to climb up; and as
the island is so large that you might not find Hermod's dwelling-place
so easily, I lay down this clew beside you. You need only hold the end
of the thread, and the clew will run on before and show you the way. I
also lay this belt beside you, to put on when you awaken; it will keep
you from growing faint with hunger.'

The woman now disappeared, and Hadvor woke, and saw that all her dream
had been true. The rope hung down from the cliff, and the clew and belt
lay beside her. The belt she put on, the rope enabled her to climb up
the cliff, and the clew led her on till she came to the mouth of a cave,
which was not very big. She went into the cave, and saw there a low
couch, under which she crept and lay down.

When evening came she heard the noise of footsteps outside, and became
aware that the lion had come to the mouth of the cave, and shook itself
there, after which she heard a man coming towards the couch. She was
sure this was Hermod, because she heard him speaking to himself about
his own condition, and calling to mind Hadvor and other things in the
old days. Hadvor made no sign, but waited till he had fallen asleep, and
then crept out and burned the lion's skin, which he had left outside.
Then she went back into the cave and wakened Hermod, and they had a most
joyful meeting.

In the morning they talked over their plans, and were most at a loss
to know how to get out of the island. Hadvor told Hermod her dream, and
said she suspected there was some one in the island who would be able to
help them. Hermod said he knew of a Witch there, who was very ready to
help anyone, and that the only plan was to go to her. So they went to
the Witch's cave, and found her there with her fifteen young sons, and
asked her to help them to get to the mainland.

'There are other things easier than that,' said she, 'for the Giant that
was buried will be waiting for you, and will attack you on the way,
as he has turned himself into a big whale. I shall lend you a boat,
however, and if you meet the whale and think your lives are in danger,
then you can name me by name.'

They thanked her greatly for her help and advice, and set out from the
island, but on the way they saw a huge fish coming towards them, with
great splashing and dashing of waves. They were sure of what it was, and
thought they had as good reason as ever they would have to call on
the Witch, and so they did. The next minute they saw coming after them
another huge whale, followed by fifteen smaller ones. All of these swam
past the boat and went on to meet the whale. There was a fierce battle
then, and the sea became so stormy that it was not very easy to keep the
boat from being filled by the waves. After this fight had gone on for
some time, they saw that the sea was dyed with blood; the big whale
and the fifteen smaller ones disappeared, and they got to land safe and
sound.

Now the story goes back to the King's hall, where strange things had
happened in the meantime. The Queen and her daughter had disappeared,
but a rat and a mouse were always fighting with each other there. Ever
so many people had tried to drive them away, but no one could manage it.
Thus some time went on, while the King was almost beside himself with
sorrow and care for the loss of his Queen, and because these monsters
destroyed all mirth in the hall.

One evening, however, while they all sat dull and down-hearted, in came
Hermod with a sword by his side, and saluted the King, who received
him with the greatest joy, as if he had come back from the dead. Before
Hermod sat down, however, he went to where the rat and the mouse were
fighting, and cut them in two with his sword. All were astonished then
by seeing two witches lying dead on the floor of the hall.

Hermod now told the whole story to the King, who was very glad to be rid
of such vile creatures. Next he asked for the hand of Hadvor, which the
King readily gave him, and being now an old man, gave the kingdom to him
as well; and so Hermod became King.

Olof married a good-looking nobleman, and that is the end of the story.




THE STEADFAST TIN-SOLDIER

There were once upon a time five-and twenty tin-soldiers--all brothers,
as they were made out of the same old tin spoon. Their uniform was red
and blue, and they shouldered their guns and looked straight in front of
them. The first words that they heard in this world, when the lid of the
box in which they lay was taken off, were: 'Hurrah, tin-soldiers!' This
was exclaimed by a little boy, clapping his hands; they had been given
to him because it was his birthday, and now he began setting them out on
the table. Each soldier was exactly like the other in shape, except just
one, who had been made last when the tin had run short; but there he
stood as firmly on his one leg as the others did on two, and he is the
one that became famous.

There were many other playthings on the table on which they were being
set out, but the nicest of all was a pretty little castle made of
cardboard, with windows through which you could see into the rooms. In
front of the castle stood some little trees surrounding a tiny mirror
which looked like a lake. Wax swans were floating about and reflecting
themselves in it. That was all very pretty; but the most beautiful thing
was a little lady, who stood in the open doorway. She was cut out of
paper, but she had on a dress of the finest muslin, with a scarf of
narrow blue ribbon round her shoulders, fastened in the middle with a
glittering rose made of gold paper, which was as large as her head. The
little lady was stretching out both her arms, for she was a Dancer, and
was lifting up one leg so high in the air that the Tin-soldier couldn't
find it anywhere, and thought that she, too, had only one leg.

'That's the wife for me!' he thought; 'but she is so grand, and lives in
a castle, whilst I have only a box with four-and-twenty others. This is
no place for her! But I must make her acquaintance.' Then he stretched
himself out behind a snuff-box that lay on the table; from thence he
could watch the dainty little lady, who continued to stand on one leg
without losing her balance.

When the night came all the other tin-soldiers went into their box,
and the people of the house went to bed. Then the toys began to play at
visiting, dancing, and fighting. The tin-soldiers rattled in their box,
for they wanted to be out too, but they could not raise the lid. The
nut-crackers played at leap-frog, and the slate-pencil ran about the
slate; there was such a noise that the canary woke up and began to talk
to them, in poetry too! The only two who did not stir from their places
were the Tin-soldier and the little Dancer. She remained on tip-toe,
with both arms outstretched; he stood steadfastly on his one leg, never
moving his eyes from her face.

The clock struck twelve, and crack! off flew the lid of the snuff-box;
but there was no snuff inside, only a little black imp--that was the
beauty of it.

'Hullo, Tin-soldier!' said the imp. 'Don't look at things that aren't
intended for the likes of you!'

But the Tin-soldier took no notice, and seemed not to hear.

'Very well, wait till to-morrow!' said the imp.

When it was morning, and the children had got up, the Tin-soldier was
put in the window; and whether it was the wind or the little black imp,
I don't know, but all at once the window flew open and out fell the
little Tin-soldier, head over heels, from the third-storey window! That
was a terrible fall, I can tell you! He landed on his head with his leg
in the air, his gun being wedged between two paving-stones.

The nursery-maid and the little boy came down at once to look for him,
but, though they were so near him that they almost trod on him, they did
not notice him. If the Tin-soldier had only called out 'Here I am!' they
must have found him; but he did not think it fitting for him to cry out,
because he had on his uniform.

Soon it began to drizzle; then the drops came faster, and there was a
regular down-pour. When it was over, two little street boys came along.

'Just look!' cried one. 'Here is a Tin-soldier! He shall sail up and
down in a boat!'

So they made a little boat out of newspaper, put the Tin-soldier in it,
and made him sail up and down the gutter; both the boys ran along beside
him, clapping their hands. What great waves there were in the gutter,
and what a swift current! The paper-boat tossed up and down, and in the
middle of the stream it went so quick that the Tin-soldier trembled; but
he remained steadfast, showed no emotion, looked straight in front
of him, shouldering his gun. All at once the boat passed under a long
tunnel that was as dark as his box had been.

'Where can I be coming now?' he wondered. 'Oh, dear! This is the black
imp's fault! Ah, if only the little lady were sitting beside me in the
boat, it might be twice as dark for all I should care!'

Suddenly there came along a great water-rat that lived in the tunnel.

'Have you a passport?' asked the rat. 'Out with your passport!'

But the Tin-soldier was silent, and grasped his gun more firmly.

The boat sped on, and the rat behind it. Ugh! how he showed his teeth,
as he cried to the chips of wood and straw: 'Hold him, hold him! he has
not paid the toll! He has not shown his passport!'

But the current became swifter and stronger. The Tin-soldier could
already see daylight where the tunnel ended; but in his ears there
sounded a roaring enough to frighten any brave man. Only think! at the
end of the tunnel the gutter discharged itself into a great canal; that
would be just as dangerous for him as it would be for us to go down a
waterfall.

Now he was so near to it that he could not hold on any longer. On went
the boat, the poor Tin-soldier keeping himself as stiff as he could: no
one should say of him afterwards that he had flinched. The boat whirled
three, four times round, and became filled to the brim with water: it
began to sink! The Tin-soldier was standing up to his neck in water, and
deeper and deeper sank the boat, and softer and softer grew the paper;
now the water was over his head. He was thinking of the pretty little
Dancer, whose face he should never see again, and there sounded in his
ears, over and over again:

          'Forward, forward, soldier bold!
           Death's before thee, grim and cold!'

The paper came in two, and the soldier fell--but at that moment he was
swallowed by a great fish.

Oh! how dark it was inside, even darker than in the tunnel, and it was
really very close quarters! But there the steadfast little Tin-soldier
lay full length, shouldering his gun.

Up and down swam the fish, then he made the most dreadful contortions,
and became suddenly quite still. Then it was as if a flash of lightning
had passed through him; the daylight streamed in, and a voice exclaimed,
'Why, here is the little Tin-soldier!' The fish had been caught, taken
to market, sold, and brought into the kitchen, where the cook had cut it
open with a great knife. She took up the soldier between her finger and
thumb, and carried him into the room, where everyone wanted to see the
hero who had been found inside a fish; but the Tin-soldier was not at
all proud. They put him on the table, and--no, but what strange things
do happen in this world!--the Tin-soldier was in the same room in which
he had been before! He saw the same children, and the same toys on
the table; and there was the same grand castle with the pretty little
Dancer. She was still standing on one leg with the other high in the
air; she too was steadfast. That touched the Tin-soldier, he was nearly
going to shed tin-tears; but that would not have been fitting for a
soldier. He looked at her, but she said nothing.

All at once one of the little boys took up the Tin-soldier, and threw
him into the stove, giving no reasons; but doubtless the little black
imp in the snuff-box was at the bottom of this too.

There the Tin-soldier lay, and felt a heat that was truly terrible; but
whether he was suffering from actual fire, or from the ardour of his
passion, he did not know. All his colour had disappeared; whether this
had happened on his travels or whether it was the result of trouble, who
can say? He looked at the little lady, she looked at him, and he felt
that he was melting; but he remained steadfast, with his gun at his
shoulder. Suddenly a door opened, the draught caught up the little
Dancer, and off she flew like a sylph to the Tin-soldier in the stove,
burst into flames--and that was the end of her! Then the Tin-soldier
melted down into a little lump, and when next morning the maid was
taking out the ashes, she found him in the shape of a heart. There was
nothing left of the little Dancer but her gilt rose, burnt as black as a
cinder.




BLOCKHEAD-HANS

Far away in the country lay an old manor-house where lived an old squire
who had two sons. They thought themselves so clever, that if they had
known only half of what they did know, it would have been quite enough.
They both wanted to marry the King's daughter, for she had proclaimed
that she would have for her husband the man who knew best how to choose
his words.

Both prepared for the wooing a whole week, which was the longest time
allowed them; but, after all, it was quite long enough, for they both
had preparatory knowledge, and everyone knows how useful that is. One
knew the whole Latin dictionary and also three years' issue of the daily
paper of the town off by heart, so that he could repeat it all backwards
or forwards as you pleased. The other had worked at the laws of
corporation, and knew by heart what every member of the corporation
ought to know, so that he thought he could quite well speak on State
matters and give his opinion. He understood, besides this, how to
embroider braces with roses and other flowers, and scrolls, for he was
very ready with his fingers.

'I shall win the king's daughter!' they both cried.

Their old father gave each of them a fine horse; the one who knew the
dictionary and the daily paper by heart had a black horse, while the
other who was so clever at corporation law had a milk-white one. Then
they oiled the corners of their mouths so that they might be able to
speak more fluently. All the servants stood in the courtyard and saw
them mount their steeds, and here by chance came the third brother; for
the squire had three sons, but nobody counted him with his brothers,
for he was not so learned as they were, and he was generally called
'Blockhead-Hans.'

'Oh, oh!' said Blockhead-Hans. 'Where are you off to? You are in your
Sunday-best clothes!'

'We are going to Court, to woo the Princess! Don't you know what is
known throughout all the country side?' And they told him all about it.

'Hurrah! I'll go to!' cried Blockhead-Hans; and the brothers laughed at
him and rode off.

'Dear father!' cried Blockhead-Hans, 'I must have a horse too. What a
desire for marriage has seized me! If she will have me, she WILL have
me, and if she won't have me, I will have her.'

'Stop that nonsense!' said the old man. 'I will not give you a horse.
YOU can't speak; YOU don't know how to choose your words. Your brothers!
Ah! they are very different lads!'

'Well,' said Blockhead-Hans, 'if I can't have a horse, I will take the
goat which is mine; he can carry me!'

And he did so. He sat astride on the goat, struck his heels into its
side, and went rattling down the high-road like a hurricane.

'Hoppetty hop! what a ride!' Here I come!' shouted Blockhead-Hans,
singing so that the echoes were roused far and near. But his brothers
were riding slowly in front. They were not speaking, but they were
thinking over all the good things they were going to say, for everything
had to be thought out.

'Hullo!' bawled Blockhead-Hans, 'here I am! Just look what I found on
the road!'--and he showed them a dead crow which he had picked up.

'Blockhead!' said his brothers, 'what are you going to do with it?'

'With the crow? I shall give it to the Princess!'

'Do so, certainly!' they said, laughing loudly and riding on.

'Slap! bang! here I am again! Look what I have just found! You don't
find such things every day on the road!' And the brothers turned round
to see what in the world he could have found.

'Blockhead!' said they, 'that is an old wooden shoe without the top! Are
you going to send that, too, to the Princess?'

'Of course I shall!' returned Blockhead-Hans; and the brothers laughed
and rode on a good way.

'Slap! bang! here I am!' cried Blockhead-Hans; 'better and better--it is
really famous!'

'What have you found now?' asked the brothers.

'Oh,' said Blockhead-Hans, 'it is really too good! How pleased the
Princess will be!'

'Why!' said the brothers, 'this is pure mud, straight from the ditch.'

'Of course it is!' said Blockhead-Hans, 'and it is the best kind! Look
how it runs through one's fingers!' and, so saying, he filled his pocket
with the mud.

But the brothers rode on so fast that dust and sparks flew all around,
and they reached the gate of the town a good hour before Blockhead-Hans.
Here came the suitors numbered according to their arrival, and they were
ranged in rows, six in each row, and they were so tightly packed
that they could not move their arms. This was a very good thing, for
otherwise they would have torn each other in pieces, merely because the
one was in front of the other.

All the country people were standing round the King's throne, and were
crowded together in thick masses almost out of the windows to see the
Princess receive the suitors; and as each one came into the room all his
fine phrases went out like a candle!

'It doesn't matter!' said the Princess. 'Away! out with him!'

At last she came to the row in which the brother who knew the dictionary
by heart was, but he did not know it any longer; he had quite forgotten
it in the rank and file. And the floor creaked, and the ceiling was all
made of glass mirrors, so that he saw himself standing on his head, and
by each window were standing three reporters and an editor; and each
of them was writing down what was said, to publish it in the paper that
came out and was sold at the street corners for a penny. It was fearful,
and they had made up the fire so hot that it was grilling.

'It is hot in here, isn't it!' said the suitor.

'Of course it is! My father is roasting young chickens to-day!' said the
Princess.

'Ahem!' There he stood like an idiot. He was not prepared for such a
speech; he did not know what to say, although he wanted to say something
witty. 'Ahem!'

'It doesn't matter!' said the Princess. 'Take him out!' and out he had
to go.

Now the other brother entered.

'How hot it is!' he said.

'Of course! We are roasting young chickens to-day!' remarked the
Princess.

'How do you--um!' he said, and the reporters wrote down. 'How do
you--um.'

'It doesn't matter!' said the Princess. 'Take him out!'

Now Blockhead-Hans came in; he rode his goat right into the hall.

'I say! How roasting hot it is here!' said he.

'Of course! I am roasting young chickens to-day!' said the Princess.

'That's good!' replied Blockhead-Hans; 'then can I roast a crow with
them?'

'With the greatest of pleasure!' said the Princess; 'but have you
anything you can roast them in? for I have neither pot nor saucepan.'

'Oh, rather!' said Blockhead-Hans. 'Here is a cooking implement with tin
rings,' and he drew out the old wooden shoe, and laid the crow in it.

'That is quite a meal!' said the Princess; 'but where shall we get the
soup from?'

'I've got that in my pocket!' said Blockhead-Hans. 'I have so much that
I can quite well throw some away!' and he poured some mud out of his
pocket.

'I like you!' said the Princess. 'You can answer, and you can speak, and
I will marry you; but do you know that every word which we are saying
and have said has been taken down and will be in the paper to-morrow?
By each window do you see there are standing three reporters and an
old editor, and this old editor is the worst, for he doesn't understand
anything!' but she only said this to tease Blockhead-Hans. And the
reporters giggled, and each dropped a blot of ink on the floor.

'Ah! are those the great people?' said Blockhead-Hans. 'Then I will give
the editor the best!' So saying, he turned his pockets inside out, and
threw the mud right in his face.

'That was neatly done!' said the Princess. 'I couldn't have done it; but
I will soon learn how to!'

Blockhead-Hans became King, got a wife and a crown, and sat on the
throne; and this we have still damp from the newspaper of the editor and
the reporters--and they are not to be believed for a moment.




A STORY ABOUT A DARNING-NEEDLE

There was once a Darning-needle who thought herself so fine that she
believed she was an embroidery-needle. 'Take great care to hold me
tight!' said the Darning-needle to the Fingers who were holding her.
'Don't let me fall! If I once fall on the ground I shall never be found
again, I am so fine!'

'It is all right!' said the Fingers, seizing her round the waist.

'Look, I am coming with my train!' said the Darning-needle as she drew a
long thread after her; but there was no knot at the end of the thread.

The Fingers were using the needle on the cook's shoe. The upper leather
was unstitched and had to be sewn together.

'This is common work!' said the Darning-needle. 'I shall never get
through it. I am breaking! I am breaking!' And in fact she did break.
'Didn't I tell you so!' said the Darning-needle. 'I am too fine!'

'Now she is good for nothing!' said the Fingers; but they had to hold
her tight while the cook dropped some sealing-wax on the needle and
stuck it in the front of her dress.

'Now I am a breast-pin!' said the Darning-needle. 'I always knew I
should be promoted. When one is something, one will become something!'
And she laughed to herself; you can never see when a Darning-needle is
laughing. Then she sat up as proudly as if she were in a State coach,
and looked all round her.

'May I be allowed to ask if you are gold?' she said to her neighbour,
the Pin. 'You have a very nice appearance, and a peculiar head; but
it is too small! You must take pains to make it grow, for it is
not everyone who has a head of sealing-wax.' And so saying the
Darning-needle raised herself up so proudly that she fell out of the
dress, right into the sink which the cook was rinsing out.

'Now I am off on my travels!' said the Darning-needle. 'I do hope I
sha'n't get lost!' She did indeed get lost.

'I am too fine for this world!' said she as she lay in the gutter; 'but
I know who I am, and that is always a little satisfaction!'

And the Darning-needle kept her proud bearing and did not lose her
good-temper.

All kinds of things swam over her--shavings, bits of straw, and scraps
of old newspapers.

'Just look how they sail along!' said the Darning-needle. 'They don't
know what is underneath them! Here I am sticking fast! There goes a
shaving thinking of nothing in the world but of itself, a mere chip!
There goes a straw--well, how it does twist and twirl, to be sure! Don't
think so much about yourself, or you will be knocked against a stone.
There floats a bit of newspaper. What is written on it is long ago
forgotten, and yet how proud it is! I am sitting patient and quiet. I
know who I am, and that is enough for me!'

One day something thick lay near her which glittered so brightly that
the Darning-needle thought it must be a diamond. But it was a bit of
bottle-glass, and because it sparkled the Darning-needle spoke to it,
and gave herself out as a breast-pin.

'No doubt you are a diamond?'

'Yes, something of that kind!' And each believed that the other was
something very costly; and they both said how very proud the world must
be of them.

'I have come from a lady's work-box,' said Darning-needle, 'and this
lady was a cook; she had five fingers on each hand; anything so proud as
these fingers I have never seen! And yet they were only there to take me
out of the work-box and to put me back again!'

'Were they of noble birth, then?' asked the bit of bottle-glass.

'Of noble birth!' said the Darning-needle; 'no indeed, but proud! They
were five brothers, all called ''Fingers.'' They held themselves proudly
one against the other, although they were of different sizes. The
outside one, the Thumb, was short and fat; he was outside the rank, and
had only one bend in his back, and could only make one bow; but he said
that if he were cut off from a man that he was no longer any use as
a soldier. Dip-into-everything, the second finger, dipped into sweet
things as well as sour things, pointed to the sun and the moon, and
guided the pen when they wrote. Longman, the third, looked at the others
over his shoulder. Goldband, the fourth, had a gold sash round his
waist; and little Playman did nothing at all, and was the more proud.
There was too much ostentation, and so I came away.'

'And now we are sitting and shining here!' said the bit of bottle-glass.

At that moment more water came into the gutter; it streamed over the
edges and washed the bit of bottle-glass away.

'Ah! now he has been promoted!' said the Darning-needle. 'I remain here;
I am too fine. But that is my pride, which is a sign of respectability!'
And she sat there very proudly, thinking lofty thoughts.

'I really believe I must have been born a sunbeam, I am so fine! It
seems to me as if the sunbeams were always looking under the water for
me. Ah, I am so fine that my own mother cannot find me! If I had my old
eye which broke off, I believe I could weep; but I can't--it is not fine
to weep!'

One day two street-urchins were playing and wading in the gutter,
picking up old nails, pennies, and such things. It was rather dirty
work, but it was a great delight to them.

'Oh, oh!' cried out one, as he pricked himself with the Darning-needle;
'he is a fine fellow though!'

'I am not a fellow; I am a young lady!' said the Darning-needle; but no
one heard. The sealing-wax had gone, and she had become quite black; but
black makes one look very slim, and so she thought she was even finer
than before.

'Here comes an egg-shell sailing along!' said the boys, and they stuck
the Darning-needle into the egg-shell.

'The walls white and I black--what a pretty contrast it makes!' said
the Darning-needle. 'Now I can be seen to advantage! If only I am not
sea-sick! I should give myself up for lost!'

But she was not sea-sick, and did not give herself up.

'It is a good thing to be steeled against sea-sickness; here one has
indeed an advantage over man! Now my qualms are over. The finer one is
the more one can beat.'

'Crack!' said the egg-shell as a wagon-wheel went over it.

'Oh! how it presses!' said the Darning-needle. 'I shall indeed be
sea-sick now. I am breaking!' But she did not break, although the
wagon-wheel went over her; she lay there at full length, and there she
may lie.

A TALE OF THE TONTLAWALD

Long, long ago there stood in the midst of a country covered with lakes
a vast stretch of moorland called the Tontlawald, on which no man ever
dared set foot. From time to time a few bold spirits had been drawn by
curiosity to its borders, and on their return had reported that they had
caught a glimpse of a ruined house in a grove of thick trees, and round
about it were a crowd of beings resembling men, swarming over the grass
like bees. The men were as dirty and ragged as gipsies, and there were
besides a quantity of old women and half-naked children.

One night a peasant who was returning home from a feast wandered a
little farther into the Tontlawald, and came back with the same story. A
countless number of women and children were gathered round a huge fire,
and some were seated on the ground, while others danced strange dances
on the smooth grass. One old crone had a broad iron ladle in her hand,
with which every now and then she stirred the fire, but the moment she
touched the glowing ashes the children rushed away, shrieking like night
owls, and it was a long while before they ventured to steal back. And
besides all this there had once or twice been seen a little old man with
a long beard creeping out of the forest, carrying a sack bigger than
himself. The women and children ran by his side, weeping and trying to
drag the sack from off his back, but he shook them off, and went on
his way. There was also a tale of a magnificent black cat as large as a
foal, but men could not believe all the wonders told by the peasant,
and it was difficult to make out what was true and what was false in his
story. However, the fact remained that strange things did happen there,
and the King of Sweden, to whom this part of the country belonged, more
than once gave orders to cut down the haunted wood, but there was no one
with courage enough to obey his commands. At length one man, bolder than
the rest, struck his axe into a tree, but his blow was followed by
a stream of blood and shrieks as of a human creature in pain. The
terrified woodcutter fled as fast as his legs would carry him, and after
that neither orders nor threats would drive anybody to the enchanted
moor.

A few miles from the Tontlawald was a large village, where dwelt a
peasant who had recently married a young wife. As not uncommonly happens
in such cases, she turned the whole house upside down, and the two
quarrelled and fought all day long.

By his first wife the peasant had a daughter called Elsa, a good quiet
girl, who only wanted to live in peace, but this her stepmother would
not allow. She beat and cuffed the poor child from morning till night,
but as the stepmother had the whip-hand of her husband there was no
remedy.

For two years Elsa suffered all this ill-treatment, when one day
she went out with the other village children to pluck strawberries.
Carelessly they wandered on, till at last they reached the edge of the
Tontlawald, where the finest strawberries grew, making the grass red
with their colour. The children flung themselves down on the ground,
and, after eating as many as they wanted, began to pile up their
baskets, when suddenly a cry arose from one of the older boys:

'Run, run as fast as you can! We are in the Tontlawald!'

Quicker than lightning they sprang to their feet, and rushed madly away,
all except Elsa, who had strayed farther than the rest, and had found a
bed of the finest strawberries right under the trees. Like the others,
she heard the boy's cry, but could not make up her mind to leave the
strawberries.

'After all, what does it matter?' thought she. 'The dwellers in the
Tontlawald cannot be worse than my stepmother'; and looking up she saw
a little black dog with a silver bell on its neck come barking towards
her, followed by a maiden clad all in silk.

'Be quiet,' said she; then turning to Elsa she added: 'I am so glad you
did not run away with the other children. Stay here with me and be my
friend, and we will play delightful games together, and every day we
will go and gather strawberries. Nobody will dare to beat you if I tell
them not. Come, let us go to my mother'; and taking Elsa's hand she led
her deeper into the wood, the little black dog jumping up beside them
and barking with pleasure.

Oh! what wonders and splendours unfolded themselves before Elsa's
astonished eyes! She thought she really must be in Heaven. Fruit trees
and bushes loaded with fruit stood before them, while birds gayer than
the brightest butterfly sat in their branches and filled the air with
their song. And the birds were not shy, but let the girls take them in
their hands, and stroke their gold and silver feathers. In the centre
of the garden was the dwelling-house, shining with glass and precious
stones, and in the doorway sat a woman in rich garments, who turned to
Elsa's companion and asked:

'What sort of a guest are you bringing to me?'

'I found her alone in the wood,' replied her daughter, 'and brought her
back with me for a companion. You will let her stay?'

The mother laughed, but said nothing, only she looked Elsa up and down
sharply. Then she told the girl to come near, and stroked her cheeks and
spoke kindly to her, asking if her parents were alive, and if she really
would like to stay with them. Elsa stooped and kissed her hand, then,
kneeling down, buried her face in the woman's lap, and sobbed out:

'My mother has lain for many years under the ground. My father is still
alive, but I am nothing to him, and my stepmother beats me all the day
long. I can do nothing right, so let me, I pray you, stay with you. I
will look after the flocks or do any work you tell me; I will obey your
lightest word; only do not, I entreat you, send me back to her. She will
half kill me for not having come back with the other children.'

And the woman smiled and answered, 'Well, we will see what we can do
with you,' and, rising, went into the house.

Then the daughter said to Elsa, 'Fear nothing, my mother will be your
friend. I saw by the way she looked that she would grant your request
when she had thought over it,' and, telling Elsa to wait, she entered
the house to seek her mother. Elsa meanwhile was tossed about between
hope and fear, and felt as if the girl would never come.

At last Elsa saw her crossing the grass with a box in her hand.

'My mother says we may play together to-day, as she wants to make up her
mind what to do about you. But I hope you will stay here always, as I
can't bear you to go away. Have you ever been on the sea?'

'The sea?' asked Elsa, staring; 'what is that? I've never heard of such
a thing!'

'Oh, I'll soon show you,' answered the girl, taking the lid from the
box, and at the very bottom lay a scrap of a cloak, a mussel shell, and
two fish scales. Two drops of water were glistening on the cloak, and
these the girl shook on the ground. In an instant the garden and lawn
and everything else had vanished utterly, as if the earth had opened
and swallowed them up, and as far as the eye could reach you could see
nothing but water, which seemed at last to touch heaven itself. Only
under their feet was a tiny dry spot. Then the girl placed the mussel
shell on the water and took the fish scales in her hand. The mussel
shell grew bigger and bigger, and turned into a pretty little boat,
which would have held a dozen children. The girls stepped in, Elsa very
cautiously, for which she was much laughed at by her friend, who used
the fish scales for a rudder. The waves rocked the girls softly, as if
they were lying in a cradle, and they floated on till they met other
boats filled with men, singing and making merry.

'We must sing you a song in return,' said the girl, but as Elsa did not
know any songs, she had to sing by herself. Elsa could not understand
any of the men's songs, but one word, she noticed, came over and over
again, and that was 'Kisika.' Elsa asked what it meant, and the girl
replied that it was her name.

It was all so pleasant that they might have stayed there for ever had
not a voice cried out to them, 'Children, it is time for you to come
home!'

So Kisika took the little box out of her pocket, with the piece of
cloth lying in it, and dipped the cloth in the water, and lo! they
were standing close to a splendid house in the middle of the garden.
Everything round them was dry and firm, and there was no water anywhere.
The mussel shell and the fish scales were put back in the box, and the
girls went in.

They entered a large hall, where four and twenty richly dressed women
were sitting round a table, looking as if they were about to attend a
wedding. At the head of the table sat the lady of the house in a golden
chair.

Elsa did not know which way to look, for everything that met her eyes
was more beautiful than she could have dreamed possible. But she sat
down with the rest, and ate some delicious fruit, and thought she must
be in heaven. The guests talked softly, but their speech was strange
to Elsa, and she understood nothing of what was said. Then the hostess
turned round and whispered something to a maid behind her chair, and the
maid left the hall, and when she came back she brought a little old man
with her, who had a beard longer than himself. He bowed low to the lady
and then stood quietly near the door.

'Do you see this girl?' said the lady of the house, pointing to Elsa. 'I
wish to adopt her for my daughter. Make me a copy of her, which we can
send to her native village instead of herself.'

The old man looked Elsa all up and down, as if he was taking her
measure, bowed again to the lady, and left the hall. After dinner the
lady said kindly to Elsa, 'Kisika has begged me to let you stay with
her, and you have told her you would like to live here. Is that so?'

At these words Elsa fell on her knees, and kissed the lady's hands and
feet in gratitude for her escape from her cruel stepmother; but her
hostess raised her from the ground and patted her head, saying, 'All
will go well as long as you are a good, obedient child, and I will take
care of you and see that you want for nothing till you are grown up and
can look after yourself. My waiting-maid, who teaches Kisika all sorts
of fine handiwork, shall teach you too.'

Not long after the old man came back with a mould full of clay on his
shoulders, and a little covered basket in his left hand. He put down his
mould and his basket on the ground, took up a handful of clay, and made
a doll as large as life. When it was finished he bored a hole in the
doll's breast and put a bit of bread inside; then, drawing a snake out
of the basket, forced it to enter the hollow body.

'Now,' he said to the lady, 'all we want is a drop of the maiden's
blood.'

When she heard this Elsa grew white with horror, for she thought she was
selling her soul to the evil one.

'Do not be afraid!' the lady hastened to say; 'we do not want your blood
for any bad purpose, but rather to give you freedom and happiness.'

Then she took a tiny golden needle, pricked Elsa in the arm, and gave
the needle to the old man, who stuck it into the heart of the doll. When
this was done he placed the figure in the basket, promising that the
next day they should all see what a beautiful piece of work he had
finished.

When Elsa awoke the next morning in her silken bed, with its soft white
pillows, she saw a beautiful dress lying over the back of a chair, ready
for her to put on. A maid came in to comb out her long hair, and brought
the finest linen for her use; but nothing gave Elsa so much joy as the
little pair of embroidered shoes that she held in her hand, for the girl
had hitherto been forced to run about barefoot by her cruel stepmother.
In her excitement she never gave a thought to the rough clothes she had
worn the day before, which had disappeared as if by magic during the
night. Who could have taken them? Well, she was to know that by-and-by.
But WE can guess that the doll had been dressed in them, which was to go
back to the village in her stead. By the time the sun rose the doll had
attained her full size, and no one could have told one girl from
the other. Elsa started back when she met herself as she looked only
yesterday.

'You must not be frightened,' said the lady, when she noticed her
terror; 'this clay figure can do you no harm. It is for your stepmother,
that she may beat it instead of you. Let her flog it as hard as she
will, it can never feel any pain. And if the wicked woman does not come
one day to a better mind your double will be able at last to give her
the punishment she deserves.'

From this moment Elsa's life was that of the ordinary happy child, who
has been rocked to sleep in her babyhood in a lovely golden cradle. She
had no cares or troubles of any sort, and every day her tasks became
easier, and the years that had gone before seemed more and more like
a bad dream. But the happier she grew the deeper was her wonder at
everything around her, and the more firmly she was persuaded that some
great unknown power must be at the bottom of it all.

In the courtyard stood a huge granite block about twenty steps from the
house, and when meal times came round the old man with the long beard
went to the block, drew out a small silver staff, and struck the stone
with it three times, so that the sound could be heard a long way off.
At the third blow, out sprang a large golden cock, and stood upon the
stone. Whenever he crowed and flapped his wings the rock opened and
something came out of it. First a long table covered with dishes ready
laid for the number of persons who would be seated round it, and this
flew into the house all by itself.

When the cock crowed for the second time, a number of chairs appeared,
and flew after the table; then wine, apples, and other fruit, all
without trouble to anybody. After everybody had had enough, the old
man struck the rock again. The golden cock crowed afresh, and back went
dishes, table, chairs, and plates into the middle of the block.

When, however, it came to the turn of the thirteenth dish, which nobody
ever wanted to eat, a huge black cat ran up, and stood on the rock close
to the cock, while the dish was on his other side.

There they all remained, till they were joined by the old man.

He picked up the dish in one hand, tucked the cat under his arm, told
the cock to get on his shoulder, and all four vanished into the rock.
And this wonderful stone contained not only food, but clothes and
everything you could possibly want in the house.

At first a language was often spoken at meals which was strange to
Elsa, but by the help of the lady and her daughter she began slowly
to understand it, though it was years before she was able to speak it
herself.

One day she asked Kisika why the thirteenth dish came daily to the table
and was sent daily away untouched, but Kisika knew no more about it
than she did. The girl must, however, have told her mother what Elsa had
said, for a few days later she spoke to Elsa seriously:

'Do not worry yourself with useless wondering. You wish to know why
we never eat of the thirteenth dish? That, dear child, is the dish of
hidden blessings, and we cannot taste of it without bringing our happy
life here to an end. And the world would be a great deal better if
men, in their greed, did not seek to snatch every thing for themselves,
instead of leaving something as a thankoffering to the giver of the
blessings. Greed is man's worst fault.'

The years passed like the wind for Elsa, and she grew into a lovely
woman, with a knowledge of many things that she would never have learned
in her native village; but Kisika was still the same young girl that she
had been on the day of her first meeting with Elsa. Each morning they
both worked for an hour at reading and writing, as they had always done,
and Elsa was anxious to learn all she could, but Kisika much preferred
childish games to anything else. If the humour seized her, she would
fling aside her tasks, take her treasure box, and go off to play in the
sea, where no harm ever came to her.

'What a pity,' she would often say to Elsa, 'that you have grown so big,
you cannot play with me any more.'

Nine years slipped away in this manner, when one day the lady called
Elsa into her room. Elsa was surprised at the summons, for it was
unusual, and her heart sank, for she feared some evil threatened her. As
she crossed the threshold, she saw that the lady's cheeks were flushed,
and her eyes full of tears, which she dried hastily, as if she would
conceal them from the girl. 'Dearest child,' she began, 'the time has
come when we must part.'

'Part?' cried Elsa, burying her head in the lady's lap. 'No, dear lady,
that can never be till death parts us. You once opened your arms to me;
you cannot thrust me away now.'

'Ah, be quiet, child,' replied the lady; 'you do not know what I would
do to make you happy. Now you are a woman, and I have no right to keep
you here. You must return to the world of men, where joy awaits you.'

'Dear lady,' entreated Elsa again. 'Do not, I beseech you, send me from
you. I want no other happiness but to live and die beside you. Make me
your waiting maid, or set me to any work you choose, but do not cast me
forth into the world. It would have been better if you had left me with
my stepmother, than first to have brought me to heaven and then send me
back to a worse place.'

'Do not talk like that, dear child,' replied the lady; 'you do not know
all that must be done to secure your happiness, however much it costs
me. But it has to be. You are only a common mortal, who will have to die
one day, and you cannot stay here any longer. Though we have the
bodies of men, we are not men at all, though it is not easy for you to
understand why. Some day or other you will find a husband who has
been made expressly for you, and will live happily with him till death
separates you. It will be very hard for me to part from you, but it has
to be, and you must make up your mind to it.' Then she drew her golden
comb gently through Elsa's hair, and bade her go to bed; but little
sleep had the poor girl! Life seemed to stretch before her like a dark
starless night.

Now let us look back a moment, and see what had been going on in Elsa's
native village all these years, and how her double had fared. It is
a well-known fact that a bad woman seldom becomes better as she grows
older, and Elsa's stepmother was no exception to the rule; but as the
figure that had taken the girl's place could feel no pain, the blows
that were showered on her night and day made no difference. If the
father ever tried to come to his daughter's help, his wife turned upon
him, and things were rather worse than before.

One day the stepmother had given the girl a frightful beating, and then
threatened to kill her outright. Mad with rage, she seized the figure by
the throat with both hands, when out came a black snake from her mouth
and stung the woman's tongue, and she fell dead without a sound. At
night, when the husband came home, he found his wife lying dead upon the
ground, her body all swollen and disfigured, but the girl was nowhere
to be seen. His screams brought the neighbours from their cottages, but
they were unable to explain how it had all come about. It was true, they
said, that about mid-day they had heard a great noise, but as that was
a matter of daily occurrence they did not think much of it. The rest of
the day all was still, but no one had seen anything of the daughter.
The body of the dead woman was then prepared for burial, and her tired
husband went to bed, rejoicing in his heart that he had been delivered
from the firebrand who had made his home unpleasant. On the table he
saw a slice of bread lying, and, being hungry, he ate it before going to
sleep.

In the morning he too was found dead, and as swollen as his wife, for
the bread had been placed in the body of the figure by the old man who
made it. A few days later he was placed in the grave beside his wife,
but nothing more was ever heard of their daughter.

All night long after her talk with the lady Elsa had wept and wailed her
hard fate in being cast out from her home which she loved.

Next morning, when she got up, the lady placed a gold seal ring on her
finger, strung a little golden box on a ribbon, and placed it round her
neck; then she called the old man, and, forcing back her tears, took
leave of Elsa. The girl tried to speak, but before she could sob out her
thanks the old man had touched her softly on the head three times with
his silver staff. In an instant Elsa knew that she was turning into
a bird: wings sprang from beneath her arms; her feet were the feet of
eagles, with long claws; her nose curved itself into a sharp beak, and
feathers covered her body. Then she soared high in the air, and floated
up towards the clouds, as if she had really been hatched an eagle.

For several days she flew steadily south, resting from time to time when
her wings grew tired, for hunger she never felt. And so it happened
that one day she was flying over a dense forest, and below hounds were
barking fiercely, because, not having wings themselves, she was out of
their reach. Suddenly a sharp pain quivered through her body, and she
fell to the ground, pierced by an arrow.

When Elsa recovered her senses, she found herself lying under a bush in
her own proper form. What had befallen her, and how she got there, lay
behind her like a bad dream.

As she was wondering what she should do next the king's son came riding
by, and, seeing Elsa, sprang from his horse, and took her by the hand,
sawing, 'Ah! it was a happy chance that brought me here this morning.
Every night, for half a year, have I dreamed, dear lady, that I should
one day find you in this wood. And although I have passed through it
hundreds of times in vain, I have never given up hope. To-day I was
going in search of a large eagle that I had shot, and instead of the
eagle I have found--you.' Then he took Elsa on his horse, and rode with
her to the town, where the old king received her graciously.

A few days later the wedding took place, and as Elsa was arranging the
veil upon her hair fifty carts arrived laden with beautiful things which
the lady of the Tontlawald had sent to Elsa. And after the king's death
Elsa became queen, and when she was old she told this story. But that
was the last that was ever heard of the Tontlawald.

(From Ehstnische Marchen.)




THE FINEST LIAR IN THE WORLD

At the edge of a wood there lived an old man who had only one son, and
one day he called the boy to him and said he wanted some corn ground,
but the youth must be sure never to enter any mill where the miller was
beardless.

The boy took the corn and set out, and before he had gone very far he
saw a large mill in front of him, with a beardless man standing in the
doorway.

'Good greeting, beardless one!' cried he.

'Good greeting, sonny,' replied the man.

'Could I grind something here?'

'Yes, certainly! I will finish what I am doing and then you can grind as
long as you like.'

But suddenly the boy remembered what his father had told him, and bade
farewell to the man, and went further down the river, till he came
to another mill, not knowing that as soon as his back was turned the
beardless man had picked up a bag of corn and run hastily to the same
mill before him. When the boy reached the second mill, and saw a second
beardless man sitting there, he did not stop, and walked on till he
came to a third mill. But this time also the beardless man had been too
clever for him, and had arrived first by another road. When it happened
a fourth time the boy grew cross, and said to himself, 'It is no good
going on; there seems to be a beardless man in every mill'; and he took
his sack from his back, and made up his mind to grind his corn where he
was.

The beardless man finished grinding his own corn, and when he had done
he said to the boy, who was beginning to grind his, 'Suppose, sonny, we
make a cake of what you have there.'

Now the boy had been rather uneasy when he recollected his father's
words, but he thought to himself, 'What is done cannot be undone,' and
answered, 'Very well, so let it be.'

Then the beardless one got up, threw the flour into the tub, and made a
hole in the middle, telling the boy to fetch some water from the river
in his two hands, to mix the cake. When the cake was ready for baking
they put it on the fire, and covered it with hot ashes, till it was
cooked through. Then they leaned it up against the wall, for it was too
big to go into a cupboard, and the beardless one said to the boy:

'Look here, sonny: if we share this cake we shall neither of us have
enough. Let us see who can tell the biggest lie, and the one who lies
the best shall have the whole cake.'

The boy, not knowing what else to do, answered, 'All right; you begin.'

So the beardless one began to lie with all his might, and when he was
tired of inventing new lies the boy said to him, 'My good fellow, if
THAT is all you can do it is not much! Listen to me, and I will tell you
a true story.

'In my youth, when I was an old man, we had a quantity of beehives.
Every morning when I got up I counted them over, and it was quite easy
to number the bees, but I never could reckon the hives properly. One
day, as I was counting the bees, I discovered that my best bee was
missing, and without losing a moment I saddled a cock and went out to
look for him. I traced him as far as the shore, and knew that he had
crossed the sea, and that I must follow. When I had reached the other
side I found a man had harnessed my bee to a plough, and with his help
was sowing millet seed.

'"That is my bee!" I shouted. "Where did you get him from?"'
"Brother," replied the man, "if he is yours, take him." And he not only
gave me back my bee, but a sack of millet seed into the bargain, because
he had made use of my bee. Then I put the bag on my shoulders, took
the saddle from the cock, and placed it on the back of the bee, which I
mounted, leading the cock by a string, so that he should have a rest. As
we were flying home over the sea one of the strings that held the bag
of millet broke in two, and the sack dropped straight into the ocean. It
was quite lost, of course, and there was no use thinking about it, and
by the time we were safe back again night had come. I then got down from
my bee, and let him loose, that he might get his supper, gave the cock
some hay, and went to sleep myself. But when I awoke with the sun what
a scene met my eyes! During the night wolves had come and had eaten my
bee. And honey lay ankle-deep in the valley and knee-deep on the hills.
Then I began to consider how I could best collect some, to take home
with me.

'Now it happened that I had with me a small hatchet, and this I took to
the wood, hoping to meet some animal which I could kill, whose skin
I might turn into a bag. As I entered the forest I saw two roe-deer
hopping on one foot, so I slew them with a single blow, and made three
bags from their skins, all of which I filled with honey and placed on
the back of the cock. At length I reached home, where I was told that my
father had just been born, and that I must go at once to fetch some holy
water to sprinkle him with. As I went I turned over in my mind if there
was no way for me to get back my millet seed, which had dropped into the
sea, and when I arrived at the place with the holy water I saw the seed
had fallen on fruitful soil, and was growing before my eyes. And more
than that, it was even cut by an invisible hand, and made into a cake.

'So I took the cake as well as the holy water, and was flying back
with them over the sea, when there fell a great rain, and the sea was
swollen, and swept away my millet cake. Ah, how vexed I was at its loss
when I was safe on earth again.

'Suddenly I remembered that my hair was very long. If I stood it touched
the ground, although if I was sitting it only reached my ears. I seized
a knife and cut off a large lock, which I plaited together, and when
night came tied it into a knot, and prepared to use it for a pillow. But
what was I to do for a fire? A tinder box I had, but no wood. Then it
occurred to me that I had stuck a needle in my clothes, so I took the
needle and split it in pieces, and lit it, then laid myself down by
the fire and went to sleep. But ill-luck still pursued me. While I was
sleeping a spark from the fire lighted on the hair, which was burnt up
in a moment. In despair I threw myself on the ground, and instantly
sank in it as far as my waist. I struggled to get out, but only fell in
further; so I ran to the house, seized a spade, dug myself out, and took
home the holy water. On the way I noticed that the ripe fields were full
of reapers, and suddenly the air became so frightfully hot that the men
dropped down in a faint. Then I called to them, "Why don't you bring out
our mare, which is as tall as two days, and as broad as half a day, and
make a shade for yourselves?" My father heard what I said and jumped
quickly on the mare, and the reapers worked with a will in the shadow,
while I snatched up a wooden pail to bring them some water to drink.
When I got to the well everything was frozen hard, so in order to draw
some water I had to take off my head and break the ice with it. As I
drew near them, carrying the water, the reapers all cried out, "Why,
what has become of your head?" I put up my hand and discovered that I
really had no head, and that I must have left it in the well. I ran back
to look for it, but found that meanwhile a fox which was passing by had
pulled my head out of the water, and was tearing at my brains. I stole
cautiously up to him, and gave him such a kick that he uttered a loud
scream, and let fall a parchment on which was written, "The cake is
mine, and the beardless one goes empty-handed."'

With these words the boy rose, took the cake, and went home, while the
beardless one remained behind to swallow his disappointment.

(Volksmarchen der Serben.)




THE STORY OF THREE WONDERFUL BEGGARS

There once lived a merchant whose name was Mark, and whom people called
'Mark the Rich.' He was a very hard-hearted man, for he could not bear
poor people, and if he caught sight of a beggar anywhere near his house,
he would order the servants to drive him away, or would set the dogs at
him.

One day three very poor old men came begging to the door, and just as
he was going to let the fierce dogs loose on them, his little daughter,
Anastasia, crept close up to him and said:

'Dear daddy, let the poor old men sleep here to-night, do--to please
me.'

Her father could not bear to refuse her, and the three beggars were
allowed to sleep in a loft, and at night, when everyone in the house was
fast asleep, little Anastasia got up, climbed up to the loft, and peeped
in.

The three old men stood in the middle of the loft, leaning on their
sticks, with their long grey beards flowing down over their hands, and
were talking together in low voices.

'What news is there?' asked the eldest.

'In the next village the peasant Ivan has just had his seventh son. What
shall we name him, and what fortune shall we give him?' said the second.

The third whispered, 'Call him Vassili, and give him all the property of
the hard-hearted man in whose loft we stand, and who wanted to drive us
from his door.'

After a little more talk the three made themselves ready and crept
softly away.

Anastasia, who had heard every word, ran straight to her father, and
told him all.

Mark was very much surprised; he thought, and thought, and in the
morning he drove to the next village to try and find out if such a child
really had been born. He went first to the priest, and asked him about
the children in his parish.

'Yesterday,' said the priest, 'a boy was born in the poorest house
in the village. I named the unlucky little thing "Vassili." He is the
seventh son, and the eldest is only seven years old, and they hardly
have a mouthful amongst them all. Who can be got to stand godfather to
such a little beggar boy?'

The merchant's heart beat fast, and his mind was full of bad thoughts
about that poor little baby. He would be godfather himself, he said,
and he ordered a fine christening feast; so the child was brought and
christened, and Mark was very friendly to its father. After the ceremony
was over he took Ivan aside and said:

'Look here, my friend, you are a poor man. How can you afford to bring
up the boy? Give him to me and I'll make something of him, and I'll give
you a present of a thousand crowns. Is that a bargain?'

Ivan scratched his head, and thought, and thought, and then he agreed.
Mark counted out the money, wrapped the baby up in a fox skin, laid
it in the sledge beside him, and drove back towards home. When he had
driven some miles he drew up, carried the child to the edge of a steep
precipice and threw it over, muttering, 'There, now try to take my
property!'

Very soon after this some foreign merchants travelled along that same
road on the way to see Mark and to pay the twelve thousand crowns which
they owed him.

As they were passing near the precipice they heard a sound of crying,
and on looking over they saw a little green meadow wedged in between two
great heaps of snow, and on the meadow lay a baby amongst the flowers.

The merchants picked up the child, wrapped it up carefully, and drove
on. When they saw Mark they told him what a strange thing they had
found. Mark guessed at once that the child must be his godson, asked to
see him, and said:

'That's a nice little fellow; I should like to keep him. If you will
make him over to me, I will let you off your debt.'

The merchants were very pleased to make so good a bargain, left the
child with Mark, and drove off.

At night Mark took the child, put it in a barrel, fastened the lid tight
down, and threw it into the sea. The barrel floated away to a great
distance, and at last it floated close up to a monastery. The monks were
just spreading out their nets to dry on the shore, when they heard the
sound of crying. It seemed to come from the barrel which was bobbing
about near the water's edge. They drew it to land and opened it, and
there was a little child! When the abbot heard the news, he decided to
bring up the boy, and named him 'Vassili.'

The boy lived on with the monks, and grew up to be a clever, gentle, and
handsome young man. No one could read, write, or sing better than he,
and he did everything so well that the abbot made him wardrobe keeper.

Now, it happened about this time that the merchant, Mark, came to the
monastery in the course of a journey. The monks were very polite to him
and showed him their house and church and all they had. When he went
into the church the choir was singing, and one voice was so clear and
beautiful, that he asked who it belonged to. Then the abbot told him
of the wonderful way in which Vassili had come to them, and Mark saw
clearly that this must be his godson whom he had twice tried to kill.

He said to the abbot: 'I can't tell you how much I enjoy that young
man's singing. If he could only come to me I would make him overseer of
all my business. As you say, he is so good and clever. Do spare him to
me. I will make his fortune, and will present your monastery with twenty
thousand crowns.'

The abbot hesitated a good deal, but he consulted all the other monks,
and at last they decided that they ought not to stand in the way of
Vassili's good fortune.

Then Mark wrote a letter to his wife and gave it to Vassili to take
to her, and this was what was in the letter: 'When the bearer of this
arrives, take him into the soap factory, and when you pass near the
great boiler, push him in. If you don't obey my orders I shall be very
angry, for this young man is a bad fellow who is sure to ruin us all if
he lives.'

Vassili had a good voyage, and on landing set off on foot for Mark's
home. On the way he met three beggars, who asked him: 'Where are you
going, Vassili?'

'I am going to the house of Mark the Merchant, and have a letter for his
wife,' replied Vassili.

'Show us the letter.'

Vassili handed them the letter. They blew on it and gave it back to
him, saying: 'Now go and give the letter to Mark's wife. You will not be
forsaken.'

Vassili reached the house and gave the letter. When the mistress read
it she could hardly believe her eyes and called for her daughter. In the
letter was written, quite plainly: 'When you receive this letter,
get ready for a wedding, and let the bearer be married next day to my
daughter, Anastasia. If you don't obey my orders I shall be very angry.'

Anastasia saw the bearer of the letter and he pleased her very much.
They dressed Vassili in fine clothes and next day he was married to
Anastasia.

In due time, Mark returned from his travels. His wife, daughter, and
son-in-law all went out to meet him. When Mark saw Vassili he flew into
a terrible rage with his wife. 'How dared you marry my daughter without
my consent?' he asked.

'I only carried out your orders,' said she. 'Here is your letter.'

Mark read it. It certainly was his handwriting, but by no means his
wishes.

'Well,' thought he, 'you've escaped me three times, but I think I shall
get the better of you now.' And he waited a month and was very kind and
pleasant to his daughter and her husband.

At the end of that time he said to Vassili one day, 'I want you to go
for me to my friend the Serpent King, in his beautiful country at the
world's end. Twelve years ago he built a castle on some land of mine. I
want you to ask for the rent for those twelve years and also to find out
from him what has become of my twelve ships which sailed for his country
three years ago.'

Vassili dared not disobey. He said good-bye to his young wife, who cried
bitterly at parting, hung a bag of biscuits over his shoulders, and set
out.

I really cannot tell you whether the journey was long or short. As he
tramped along he suddenly heard a voice saying: 'Vassili! where are you
going?'

Vassili looked about him, and, seeing no one, called out: 'Who spoke to
me?'

'I did; this old wide-spreading oak. Tell me where you are going.'

'I am going to the Serpent King to receive twelve years' rent from him.'

'When the time comes, remember me and ask the king: "Rotten to the
roots, half dead but still green, stands the old oak. Is it to stand
much longer on the earth?"'

Vassili went on further. He came to a river and got into the ferryboat.
The old ferryman asked: 'Are you going far, my friend?'

'I am going to the Serpent King.'

'Then think of me and say to the king: "For thirty years the ferryman
has rowed to and fro. Will the tired old man have to row much longer?"'

'Very well,' said Vassili; 'I'll ask him.'

And he walked on. In time he came to a narrow strait of the sea and
across it lay a great whale over whose back people walked and drove as
if it had been a bridge or a road. As he stepped on it the whale said,
'Do tell me where you are going.'

'I am going to the Serpent King.'

And the whale begged: 'Think of me and say to the king: "The poor whale
has been lying three years across the strait, and men and horses have
nearly trampled his back into his ribs. Is he to lie there much longer?"'

'I will remember,' said Vassili, and he went on.

He walked, and walked, and walked, till he came to a great green meadow.
In the meadow stood a large and splendid castle. Its white marble walls
sparkled in the light, the roof was covered with mother o' pearl,
which shone like a rainbow, and the sun glowed like fire on the crystal
windows. Vassili walked in, and went from one room to another astonished
at all the splendour he saw.

When he reached the last room of all, he found a beautiful girl sitting
on a bed.

As soon as she saw him she said: 'Oh, Vassili, what brings you to this
accursed place?'

Vassili told her why he had come, and all he had seen and heard on the
way.

The girl said: 'You have not been sent here to collect rents, but for
your own destruction, and that the serpent may devour you.'

She had not time to say more, when the whole castle shook, and a
rustling, hissing, groaning sound was heard. The girl quickly pushed
Vassili into a chest under the bed, locked it and whispered: 'Listen to
what the serpent and I talk about.'

Then she rose up to receive the Serpent King.

The monster rushed into the room, and threw itself panting on the bed,
crying: 'I've flown half over the world. I'm tired, VERY tired, and want
to sleep--scratch my head.'

The beautiful girl sat down near him, stroking his hideous head, and
said in a sweet coaxing voice: 'You know everything in the world. After
you left, I had such a wonderful dream. Will you tell me what it means?'

'Out with it then, quick! What was it?'

'I dreamt I was walking on a wide road, and an oak tree said to me: "Ask
the king this: Rotten at the roots, half dead, and yet green stands the
old oak. Is it to stand much longer on the earth?"'

'It must stand till some one comes and pushes it down with his foot.
Then it will fall, and under its roots will be found more gold and
silver than even Mark the Rich has got.'

'Then I dreamt I came to a river, and the old ferryman said to me: "For
thirty year's the ferryman has rowed to and fro. Will the tired old man
have to row much longer?"'

'That depends on himself. If some one gets into the boat to be ferried
across, the old man has only to push the boat off, and go his way
without looking back. The man in the boat will then have to take his
place.'

'And at last I dreamt that I was walking over a bridge made of a whale's
back, and the living bridge spoke to me and said: "Here have I been
stretched out these three years, and men and horses have trampled my
back down into my ribs. Must I lie here much longer?"'

'He will have to lie there till he has thrown up the twelve ships of
Mark the Rich which he swallowed. Then he may plunge back into the sea
and heal his back.'

And the Serpent King closed his eyes, turned round on his other side,
and began to snore so loud that the windows rattled.

In all haste the lovely girl helped Vassili out of the chest, and showed
him part of his way back. He thanked her very politely, and hurried off.

When he reached the strait the whale asked: 'Have you thought of me?'

'Yes, as soon as I am on the other side I will tell you what you want to
know.'

When he was on the other side Vassili said to the whale: 'Throw up those
twelve ships of Mark's which you swallowed three years ago.'

The great fish heaved itself up and threw up all the twelve ships and
their crews. Then he shook himself for joy, and plunged into the sea.

Vassili went on further till he reached the ferry, where the old man
asked: 'Did you think of me?'

'Yes, and as soon as you have ferried me across I will tell you what you
want to know.'

When they had crossed over, Vassili said: 'Let the next man who comes
stay in the boat, but do you step on shore, push the boat off, and you
will be free, and the other man must take your place.

Then Vassili went on further still, and soon came to the old oak tree,
pushed it with his foot, and it fell over. There, at the roots, was more
gold and silver than even Mark the Rich had.

And now the twelve ships which the whale had thrown up came sailing
along and anchored close by. On the deck of the first ship stood the
three beggars whom Vassili had met formerly, and they said: 'Heaven has
blessed you, Vassili.' Then they vanished away and he never saw them
again.

The sailors carried all the gold and silver into the ship, and then they
set sail for home with Vassili on board.

Mark was more furious than ever. He had his horses harnessed and drove
off himself to see the Serpent King and to complain of the way in which
he had been betrayed. When he reached the river he sprang into the
ferryboat. The ferryman, however, did not get in but pushed the boat
off....

Vassili led a good and happy life with his dear wife, and his kind
mother-in-law lived with them. He helped the poor and fed and clothed
the hungry and naked and all Mark's riches became his.

For many years Mark has been ferrying people across the river. His face
is wrinkled, his hair and beard are snow white, and his eyes are dim;
but still he rows on.

(From the Serbian.)




SCHIPPEITARO

It was the custom in old times that as soon as a Japanese boy reached
manhood he should leave his home and roam through the land in search of
adventures. Sometimes he would meet with a young man bent on the same
business as himself, and then they would fight in a friendly manner,
merely to prove which was the stronger, but on other occasions the
enemy would turn out to be a robber, who had become the terror of the
neighbourhood, and then the battle was in deadly earnest.

One day a youth started off from his native village, resolved never
to come back till he had done some great deed that would make his name
famous. But adventures did not seem very plentiful just then, and he
wandered about for a long time without meeting either with fierce giants
or distressed damsels. At last he saw in the distance a wild mountain,
half covered with a dense forest, and thinking that this promised well
at once took the road that led to it. The difficulties he met with--huge
rocks to be climbed, deep rivers to be crossed, and thorny tracts to be
avoided--only served to make his heart beat quicker, for he was really
brave all through, and not merely when he could not help himself, like a
great many people. But in spite of all his efforts he could not find his
way out of the forest, and he began to think he should have to pass the
night there. Once more he strained his eyes to see if there was no place
in which he could take shelter, and this time he caught sight of a small
chapel in a little clearing. He hastened quickly towards it, and curling
himself up in a warm corner soon fell asleep.

Not a sound was heard through the whole forest for some hours, but at
midnight there suddenly arose such a clamour that the young man, tired
as he was, started broad awake in an instant. Peeping cautiously between
the wooden pillars of the chapel, he saw a troop of hideous cats,
dancing furiously, making the night horrible with their yells. The
full moon lighted up the weird scene, and the young warrior gazed
with astonishment, taking great care to keep still, lest he should be
discovered. After some time he thought that in the midst of all their
shrieks he could make out the words, 'Do not tell Schippeitaro! Keep it
hidden and secret! Do not tell Schippeitaro!' Then, the midnight
hour having passed, they all vanished, and the youth was left alone.
Exhausted by all that had been going on round him, he flung himself on
the ground and slept till the sun rose.

The moment he woke he felt very hungry, and began to think how he could
get something to eat. So he got up and walked on, and before he had gone
very far was lucky enough to find a little side-path, where he could
trace men's footsteps. He followed the track, and by-and-by came on some
scattered huts, beyond which lay a village. Delighted at this discovery,
he was about to hasten to the village when he heard a woman's voice
weeping and lamenting, and calling on the men to take pity on her and
help her. The sound of her distress made him forget he was hungry, and
he strode into the hut to find out for himself what was wrong. But
the men whom he asked only shook their heads and told him it was not a
matter in which he could give any help, for all this sorrow was caused
by the Spirit of the Mountain, to whom every year they were bound to
furnish a maiden for him to eat.

'To-morrow night,' said they, 'the horrible creature will come for his
dinner, and the cries you have heard were uttered by the girl before
you, upon whom the lot has fallen.'

And when the young man asked if the girl was carried off straight from
her home, they answered no, but that a large cask was set in the forest
chapel, and into this she was fastened.

As he listened to this story, the young man was filled with a great
longing to rescue the maiden from her dreadful fate. The mention of the
chapel set him thinking of the scene of the previous night, and he
went over all the details again in his mind. 'Who is Schippeitaro?' he
suddenly asked; 'can any of you tell me?'

'Schippeitaro is the great dog that belongs to the overseer of our
prince,' said they; 'and he lives not far away.' And they began to laugh
at the question, which seemed to them so odd and useless.

The young man did not laugh with them, but instead left the hut and went
straight to the owner of the dog, whom he begged to lend him the animal
just for one night. Schippeitaro's master was not at all willing to
give him in charge to a man of whom he knew nothing, but in the end
he consented, and the youth led the dog away, promising faithfully to
return him next day to his master. He next hurried to the hut where
the maiden lived, and entreated her parents to shut her up safely in a
closet, after which he took Schippeitaro to the cask, and fastened him
into it. In the evening he knew that the cask would be placed in the
chapel, so he hid himself there and waited.

At midnight, when the full moon appeared above the top of the mountain,
the cats again filled the chapel and shrieked and yelled and danced
as before. But this time they had in their midst a huge black cat who
seemed to be their king, and whom the young man guessed to be the Spirit
of the Mountain. The monster looked eagerly about him, and his eyes
sparkled with joy when he saw the cask. He bounded high into the air
with delight and uttered cries of pleasure; then he drew near and undid
the bolts.

But instead of fastening his teeth in the neck of a beautiful maiden,
Schippeitaro's teeth were fastened in HIM, and the youth ran up and cut
off his head with his sword. The other cats were so astonished at the
turn things had taken that they forgot to run away, and the young man
and Schippeitaro between them killed several more before they thought of
escaping.

At sunrise the brave dog was taken back to his master, and from that
time the mountain girls were safe, and every year a feast was held in
memory of the young warrior and the dog Schippeitaro.

(Japanische Marchen.)




THE THREE PRINCES AND THEIR BEASTS (LITHUANIAN FAIRY TALE)

Once on a time there were three princes, who had a step-sister. One day
they all set out hunting together. When they had gone some way through a
thick wood they came on a great grey wolf with three cubs. Just as they
were going to shoot, the wolf spoke and said, 'Do not shoot me, and I
will give each of you one of my young ones. It will be a faithful friend
to you.'

So the princes went on their way, and a little wolf followed each of
them.

Soon after they came on a lioness with three cubs. And she too begged
them not to shoot her, and she would give each of them a cub. And so it
happened with a fox, a hare, a boar, and a bear, till each prince had
quite a following of young beasts padding along behind him.

Towards evening they came to a clearing in the wood, where three birches
grew at the crossing of three roads. The eldest prince took an arrow,
and shot it into the trunk of one of the birch trees. Turning to his
brothers he said:

'Let each of us mark one of these trees before we part on different
ways. When any one of us comes back to this place, he must walk round
the trees of the other two, and if he sees blood flowing from the mark
in the tree he will know that that brother is dead, but if milk flows he
will know that his brother is alive.'

So each of the princes did as the eldest brother had said, and when
the three birches were marked by their arrows they turned to their
step-sister and asked her with which of them she meant to live.

'With the eldest,' she answered. Then the brothers separated from each
other, and each of them set out down a different road, followed by their
beasts. And the step-sister went with the eldest prince.

After they had gone a little way along the road they came into a forest,
and in one of the deepest glades they suddenly found themselves opposite
a castle in which there lived a band of robbers. The prince walked up to
the door and knocked. The moment it was opened the beasts rushed in, and
each seized on a robber, killed him, and dragged the body down to
the cellar. Now, one of the robbers was not really killed, only badly
wounded, but he lay quite still and pretended to be dead like the
others. Then the prince and his step-sister entered the castle and took
up their abode in it.

The next morning the prince went out hunting. Before leaving he told his
step-sister that she might go into every room in the house except into
the cave where the dead robbers lay. But as soon as his back was turned
she forgot what he had said, and having wandered through all the other
rooms she went down to the cellar and opened the door. As soon as she
looked in the robber who had only pretended to be dead sat up and said
to her:

'Don't be afraid. Do what I tell you, and I will be your friend.

If you marry me you will be much happier with me than with your brother.
But you must first go into the sitting-room and look in the cupboard.
There you will find three bottles. In one of them there is a healing
ointment which you must put on my chin to heal the wound; then if I
drink the contents of the second bottle it will make me well, and the
third bottle will make me stronger than I ever was before. Then, when
your brother comes back from the wood with his beasts you must go to him
and say, "Brother, you are very strong. If I were to fasten your thumbs
behind your back with a stout silk cord, could you wrench yourself
free?" And when you see that he cannot do it, call me.'

When the brother came home, the step-sister did as the robber had told
her, and fastened her brother's thumbs behind his back. But with one
wrench he set himself free, and said to her, 'Sister, that cord is not
strong enough for me.'

The next day he went back to the wood with his beasts, and the robber
told her that she must take a much stouter cord to bind his thumbs with.
But again he freed himself, though not so easily as the first time, and
he said to his sister:

'Even that cord is not strong enough.'

The third day, on his return from the wood he consented to have his
strength tested for the last time. So she took a very strong cord of
silk, which she had prepared by the robber's advice, and this time,
though the prince pulled and tugged with all his might, he could not
break the cord. So he called to her and said: 'Sister, this time the
cord is so strong I cannot break it. Come and unfasten it for me.'

But instead of coming she called to the robber, who rushed into the room
brandishing a knife, with which he prepared to attack the prince.

But the prince spoke and said:

'Have patience for one minute. I would like before I die to blow three
blasts on my hunting horn--one in this room, one on the stairs, and one
in the courtyard.'

So the robber consented, and the prince blew the horn. At the first
blast, the fox, which was asleep in the cage in the courtyard, awoke,
and knew that his master needed help. So he awoke the wolf by flicking
him across the eyes with his brush. Then they awoke the lion, who sprang
against the door of the cage with might and main, so that it fell in
splinters on the ground, and the beasts were free. Rushing through the
court to their master's aid, the fox gnawed the cord in two that bound
the prince's thumbs behind his back, and the lion flung himself on the
robber, and when he had killed him and torn him in pieces each of the
beasts carried off a bone.

Then the prince turned to the step-sister and said:

'I will not kill you, but I will leave you here to repent.' And he
fastened her with a chain to the wall, and put a great bowl in front of
her and said, 'I will not see you again till you have filled this bowl
with your tears.'

So saying, he called his beasts, and set out on his travels. When he had
gone a little way he came to an inn. Everyone in the inn seemed so sad
that he asked them what was the matter.

'Ah,' replied they, 'to-day our king's daughter is to die. She is to be
handed over to a dreadful nine-headed dragon.'

Then the prince said: 'Why should she die? I am very strong, I will save
her.'

And he set out to the sea-shore, where the dragon was to meet the
princess. And as he waited with his beasts round him a great procession
came along, accompanying the unfortunate princess: and when the shore
was reached all the people left her, and returned sadly to their houses.
But the prince remained, and soon he saw a movement in the water a long
way off. As it came nearer, he knew what it was, for skimming swiftly
along the waters came a monster dragon with nine heads. Then the prince
took counsel with his beasts, and as the dragon approached the shore
the fox drew his brush through the water and blinded the dragon by
scattering the salt water in his eyes, while the bear and the lion threw
up more water with their paws, so that the monster was bewildered and
could see nothing. Then the prince rushed forward with his sword and
killed the dragon, and the beasts tore the body in pieces.

Then the princess turned to the prince and thanked him for delivering
her from the dragon, and she said to him:

'Step into this carriage with me, and we will drive back to my father's
palace.' And she gave him a ring and half of her handkerchief. But on
the way back the coachman and footman spoke to one another and said:

'Why should we drive this stranger back to the palace? Let us kill him,
and then we can say to the king that we slew the dragon and saved the
princess, and one of us shall marry her.'

So they killed the prince, and left him dead on the roadside. And the
faithful beasts came round the dead body and wept, and wondered what
they should do. Then suddenly the wolf had an idea, and he started off
into the wood, where he found an ox, which he straightway killed. Then
he called the fox, and told him to mount guard over the dead ox, and if
a bird came past and tried to peck at the flesh he was to catch it and
bring it to the lion. Soon after a crow flew past, and began to peck
at the dead ox. In a moment the fox had caught it and brought it to the
lion. Then the lion said to the crow:

'We will not kill you if you will promise to fly to the town where there
are three wells of healing and to bring back water from them in your
beak to make this dead man alive.'

So the crow flew away, and she filled her beak at the well of healing,
the well of strength, and the well of swiftness, and she flew back to
the dead prince and dropped the water from her beak upon his lips, and
he was healed, and could sit up and walk.

Then he set out for the town, accompanied by his faithful beasts.

And when they reached the king's palace they found that preparations
for a great feast were being made, for the princess was to marry the
coachman.

So the prince walked into the palace, and went straight up to the
coachman and said: 'What token have you got that you killed the dragon
and won the hand of the princess? I have her token here--this ring and
half her handkerchief.'

And when the king saw these tokens he knew that the prince was speaking
the truth. So the coachman was bound in chains and thrown into prison,
and the prince was married to the princess and rewarded with half the
kingdom.

One day, soon after his marriage, the prince was walking through the
woods in the evening, followed by his faithful beasts. Darkness came on,
and he lost his way, and wandered about among the trees looking for the
path that would lead him back to the palace. As he walked he saw the
light of a fire, and making his way to it he found an old woman raking
sticks and dried leaves together, and burning them in a glade of the
wood.

As he was very tired, and the night was very dark, the prince determined
not to wander further. So he asked the old woman if he might spend the
night beside her fire.

'Of course you may,' she answered. 'But I am afraid of your beasts. Let
me hit them with my rod, and then I shall not be afraid of them.'

'Very well,' said the prince, 'I don't mind'; and she stretched out her
rod and hit the beasts, and in one moment they were turned into stone,
and so was the prince.

Now soon after this the prince's youngest brother came to the
cross-roads with the three birches, where the brothers had parted from
each other when they set out on their wanderings. Remembering what they
had agreed to do, he walked round the two trees, and when he saw that
blood oozed from the cut in the eldest prince's tree he knew that his
brother must be dead. So he set out, followed by his beasts, and came to
the town over which his brother had ruled, and where the princess he
had married lived. And when he came into the town all the people were in
great sorrow because their prince had disappeared.

But when they saw his youngest brother, and the beasts following him,
they thought it was their own prince, and they rejoiced greatly, and
told him how they had sought him everywhere. Then they led him to the
king, and he too thought that it was his son-in-law. But the princess
knew that he was not her husband, and she begged him to go out into the
woods with his beasts, and to look for his brother till he found him.

So the youngest prince set out to look for his brother, and he too lost
his way in the wood and night overtook him. Then he came to the clearing
among the trees, where the fire was burning and where the old woman was
raking sticks and leaves into the flames. And he asked her if he might
spend the night beside her fire, as it was too late and too dark to go
back to the town.

And she answered: 'Certainly you may. But I am afraid of your beasts.
May I give them a stroke with my rod, then I shall not be afraid of
them.'

And he said she might, for he did not know that she was a witch. So she
stretched out her rod, and in a moment the beasts and their master were
turned into stone.

It happened soon after that the second brother returned from his
wanderings and came to the cross-roads where the three birches grew. As
he went round the trees he saw that blood poured from the cuts in the
bark of two of the trees. Then he wept and said:

'Alas! both my brothers are dead.' And he too set out towards the town
in which his brother had ruled, and his faithful beasts followed him.
When he entered the town, all the people thought it was their own prince
come back to them, and they gathered round him, as they had gathered
round his youngest brother, and asked him where he had been and why
he had not returned. And they led him to the king's palace, but the
princess knew that he was not her husband. So when they were alone
together she besought him to go and seek for his brother and bring him
home. Calling his beasts round him, he set out and wandered through the
woods. And he put his ear down to the earth, to listen if he could hear
the sound of his brother's beasts. And it seemed to him as if he heard a
faint sound far off, but he did not know from what direction it came. So
he blew on his hunting horn and listened again. And again he heard the
sound, and this time it seemed to come from the direction of a fire
burning in the wood. So he went towards the fire, and there the old
woman was raking sticks and leaves into the embers. And he asked her
if he might spend the night beside her fire. But she told him she was
afraid of his beasts, and he must first allow her to give each of them a
stroke with her rod.

But he answered her:

'Certainly not. I am their master, and no one shall strike them but
I myself. Give me the rod'; and he touched the fox with it, and in a
moment it was turned into stone. Then he knew that the old woman was a
witch, and he turned to her and said:

'Unless you restore my brothers and their beasts back to life at once,
my lion will tear you in pieces.'

Then the witch was terrified, and taking a young oak tree she burnt
it into white ashes, and sprinkled the ashes on the stones that stood
around. And in a moment the two princes stood before their brother, and
their beasts stood round them.

Then the three princes set off together to the town. And the king did
not know which was his son-in-law, but the princess knew which was her
husband, and there were great rejoicings throughout the land.




THE GOAT'S EARS OF THE EMPEROR TROJAN

Once upon a time there lived an emperor whose name was Trojan, and he
had ears like a goat. Every morning, when he was shaved, he asked if the
man saw anything odd about him, and as each fresh barber always replied
that the emperor had goat's ears, he was at once ordered to be put to
death.

Now after this state of things had lasted a good while, there was hardly
a barber left in the town that could shave the emperor, and it came
to be the turn of the Master of the Company of Barbers to go up to the
palace. But, unluckily, at the very moment that he should have set out,
the master fell suddenly ill, and told one of his apprentices that he
must go in his stead.

When the youth was taken to the emperor's bedroom, he was asked why he
had come and not his master. The young man replied that the master was
ill, and there was no one but himself who could be trusted with the
honour. The emperor was satisfied with the answer, and sat down, and let
a sheet of fine linen be put round him. Directly the young barber began
his work, he, like the rest, remarked the goat's ears of the emperor,
but when he had finished and the emperor asked his usual question as
to whether the youth had noticed anything odd about him, the young man
replied calmly, 'No, nothing at all.' This pleased the emperor so much
that he gave him twelve ducats, and said, 'Henceforth you shall come
every day to shave me.'

So when the apprentice returned home, and the master inquired how he had
got on with the emperor, the young man answered, 'Oh, very well, and
he says I am to shave him every day, and he has given me these twelve
ducats'; but he said nothing about the goat's ears of the emperor.

From this time the apprentice went regularly up to the palace, receiving
each morning twelve ducats in payment. But after a while, his secret,
which he had carefully kept, burnt within him, and he longed to tell it
to somebody. His master saw there was something on his mind, and asked
what it was. The youth replied that he had been tormenting himself
for some months, and should never feel easy until some one shared his
secret.

'Well, trust me,' said the master, 'I will keep it to myself; or, if you
do not like to do that, confess it to your pastor, or go into some field
outside the town and dig a hole, and, after you have dug it, kneel down
and whisper your secret three times into the hole. Then put back the
earth and come away.'

The apprentice thought that this seemed the best plan, and that very
afternoon went to a meadow outside the town, dug a deep hole, then knelt
and whispered to it three times over, 'The Emperor Trojan has goat's
ears.' And as he said so a great burden seemed to roll off him, and he
shovelled the earth carefully back and ran lightly home.

Weeks passed away, and there sprang up in the hole an elder tree which
had three stems, all as straight as poplars. Some shepherds, tending
their flocks near by, noticed the tree growing there, and one of them
cut down a stem to make flutes of; but, directly he began to play, the
flute would do nothing but sing: 'The Emperor Trojan has goat's ears.'
Of course, it was not long before the whole town knew of this wonderful
flute and what it said; and, at last, the news reached the emperor in
his palace. He instantly sent for the apprentice and said to him:

'What have you been saying about me to all my people?'

The culprit tried to defend himself by saying that he had never told
anyone what he had noticed; but the emperor, instead of listening, only
drew his sword from its sheath, which so frightened the poor fellow
that he confessed exactly what he had done, and how he had whispered the
truth three times to the earth, and how in that very place an elder tree
had sprung up, and flutes had been cut from it, which would only repeat
the words he had said. Then the emperor commanded his coach to be made
ready, and he took the youth with him, and they drove to the spot, for
he wished to see for himself whether the young man's confession was
true; but when they reached the place only one stem was left. So the
emperor desired his attendants to cut him a flute from the remaining
stem, and, when it was ready, he ordered his chamberlain to play on it.
But no tune could the chamberlain play, though he was the best flute
player about the court--nothing came but the words, 'The Emperor Trojan
has goat's ears.' Then the emperor knew that even the earth gave up its
secrets, and he granted the young man his life, but he never allowed him
to be his barber any more.

(Volksmarchen der Serben.)




THE NINE PEA-HENS AND THE GOLDEN APPLES

Once upon a time there stood before the palace of an emperor a golden
apple tree, which blossomed and bore fruit each night. But every morning
the fruit was gone, and the boughs were bare of blossom, without anyone
being able to discover who was the thief.

At last the emperor said to his eldest son, 'If only I could prevent
those robbers from stealing my fruit, how happy I should be!'

And his son replied, 'I will sit up to-night and watch the tree, and I
shall soon see who it is!'

So directly it grew dark the young man went and hid himself near the
apple tree to begin his watch, but the apples had scarcely begun to
ripen before he fell asleep, and when he awoke at sunrise the apples
were gone. He felt very much ashamed of himself, and went with lagging
feet to tell his father!

Of course, though the eldest son had failed, the second made sure that
he would do better, and set out gaily at nightfall to watch the apple
tree. But no sooner had he lain himself down than his eyes grew heavy,
and when the sunbeams roused him from his slumbers there was not an
apple left on the tree.

Next came the turn of the youngest son, who made himself a comfortable
bed under the apple tree, and prepared himself to sleep. Towards
midnight he awoke, and sat up to look at the tree. And behold! the
apples were beginning to ripen, and lit up the whole palace with their
brightness. At the same moment nine golden pea-hens flew swiftly through
the air, and while eight alighted upon the boughs laden with fruit, the
ninth fluttered to the ground where the prince lay, and instantly was
changed into a beautiful maiden, more beautiful far than any lady in
the emperor's court. The prince at once fell in love with her, and they
talked together for some time, till the maiden said her sisters had
finished plucking the apples, and now they must all go home again. The
prince, however, begged her so hard to leave him a little of the fruit
that the maiden gave him two apples, one for himself and one for his
father. Then she changed herself back into a pea-hen, and the whole nine
flew away.

As soon as the sun rose the prince entered the palace, and held out
the apple to his father, who was rejoiced to see it, and praised his
youngest son heartily for his cleverness. That evening the prince
returned to the apple tree, and everything passed as before, and so it
happened for several nights. At length the other brothers grew angry at
seeing that he never came back without bringing two golden apples with
him, and they went to consult an old witch, who promised to spy after
him, and discover how he managed to get the apples. So, when the evening
came, the old woman hid herself under the tree and waited for the
prince. Before long he arrived and laid down on his bed, and was soon
fast asleep. Towards midnight there was a rush of wings, and the eight
pea-hens settled on the tree, while the ninth became a maiden, and ran
to greet the prince. Then the witch stretched out her hand, and cut off
a lock of the maiden's hair, and in an instant the girl sprang up, a
pea-hen once more, spread her wings and flew away, while her sisters,
who were busily stripping the boughs, flew after her.

When he had recovered from his surprise at the unexpected disappearance
of the maiden, the prince exclaimed, 'What can be the matter?' and,
looking about him, discovered the old witch hidden under the bed. He
dragged her out, and in his fury called his guards, and ordered them to
put her to death as fast as possible. But that did no good as far as the
pea-hens went. They never came back any more, though the prince returned
to the tree every night, and wept his heart out for his lost love. This
went on for some time, till the prince could bear it no longer, and
made up his mind he would search the world through for her. In vain his
father tried to persuade him that his task was hopeless, and that other
girls were to be found as beautiful as this one. The prince would listen
to nothing, and, accompanied by only one servant, set out on his quest.

After travelling for many days, he arrived at length before a large
gate, and through the bars he could see the streets of a town, and even
the palace. The prince tried to pass in, but the way was barred by the
keeper of the gate, who wanted to know who he was, why he was there, and
how he had learnt the way, and he was not allowed to enter unless the
empress herself came and gave him leave. A message was sent to her, and
when she stood at the gate the prince thought he had lost his wits, for
there was the maiden he had left his home to seek. And she hastened to
him, and took his hand, and drew him into the palace. In a few days they
were married, and the prince forgot his father and his brothers, and
made up his mind that he would live and die in the castle.

One morning the empress told him that she was going to take a walk by
herself, and that she would leave the keys of twelve cellars to his
care. 'If you wish to enter the first eleven cellars,' said she, 'you
can; but beware of even unlocking the door of the twelfth, or it will be
the worse for you.'

The prince, who was left alone in the castle, soon got tired of being by
himself, and began to look about for something to amuse him.

'What CAN there be in that twelfth cellar,' he thought to himself,
'which I must not see?' And he went downstairs and unlocked the doors,
one after the other. When he got to the twelfth he paused, but his
curiosity was too much for him, and in another instant the key was
turned and the cellar lay open before him. It was empty, save for a
large cask, bound with iron hoops, and out of the cask a voice was
saying entreatingly, 'For goodness' sake, brother, fetch me some water;
I am dying of thirst!'

The prince, who was very tender-hearted, brought some water at once, and
pushed it through a hole in the barrel; and as he did so one of the iron
hoops burst.

He was turning away, when a voice cried the second time, 'Brother, for
pity's sake fetch me some water; I'm dying of thirst!'

So the prince went back, and brought some more water, and again a hoop
sprang.

And for the third time the voice still called for water; and when water
was given it the last hoop was rent, the cask fell in pieces, and out
flew a dragon, who snatched up the empress just as she was returning
from her walk, and carried her off. Some servants who saw what had
happened came rushing to the prince, and the poor young man went nearly
mad when he heard the result of his own folly, and could only cry out
that he would follow the dragon to the ends of the earth, until he got
his wife again.

For months and months he wandered about, first in this direction and
then in that, without finding any traces of the dragon or his captive.
At last he came to a stream, and as he stopped for a moment to look
at it he noticed a little fish lying on the bank, beating its tail
convulsively, in a vain effort to get back into the water.

'Oh, for pity's sake, my brother,' shrieked the little creature, 'help
me, and put me back into the river, and I will repay you some day. Take
one of my scales, and when you are in danger twist it in your fingers,
and I will come!'

The prince picked up the fish and threw it into the water; then he took
off one of its scales, as he had been told, and put it in his pocket,
carefully wrapped in a cloth. Then he went on his way till, some miles
further down the road, he found a fox caught in a trap.

'Oh! be a brother to me!' called the fox, 'and free me from this trap,
and I will help you when you are in need. Pull out one of my hairs, and
when you are in danger twist it in your fingers, and I will come.'

So the prince unfastened the trap, pulled out one of the fox's hairs,
and continued his journey. And as he was going over the mountain he
passed a wolf entangled in a snare, who begged to be set at liberty.

'Only deliver me from death,' he said, 'and you will never be sorry
for it. Take a lock of my fur, and when you need me twist it in your
fingers.' And the prince undid the snare and let the wolf go.

For a long time he walked on, without having any more adventures, till
at length he met a man travelling on the same road.

'Oh, brother!' asked the prince, 'tell me, if you can, where the
dragon-emperor lives?'

The man told him where he would find the palace, and how long it would
take him to get there, and the prince thanked him, and followed his
directions, till that same evening he reached the town where the
dragon-emperor lived. When he entered the palace, to his great joy he
found his wife sitting alone in a vast hall, and they began hastily to
invent plans for her escape.

There was no time to waste, as the dragon might return directly, so they
took two horses out of the stable, and rode away at lightning speed.
Hardly were they out of sight of the palace than the dragon came home
and found that his prisoner had flown. He sent at once for his talking
horse, and said to him:

'Give me your advice; what shall I do--have my supper as usual, or set
out in pursuit of them?'

'Eat your supper with a free mind first,' answered the horse, 'and
follow them afterwards.'

So the dragon ate till it was past mid-day, and when he could eat no
more he mounted his horse and set out after the fugitives. In a short
time he had come up with them, and as he snatched the empress out of her
saddle he said to the prince:

'This time I will forgive you, because you brought me the water when I
was in the cask; but beware how you return here, or you will pay for it
with your life.'

Half mad with grief, the prince rode sadly on a little further, hardly
knowing what he was doing. Then he could bear it no longer and turned
back to the palace, in spite of the dragon's threats. Again the empress
was sitting alone, and once more they began to think of a scheme by
which they could escape the dragon's power.

'Ask the dragon when he comes home,' said the prince, 'where he got that
wonderful horse from, and then you can tell me, and I will try to find
another like it.'

Then, fearing to meet his enemy, he stole out of the castle.

Soon after the dragon came home, and the empress sat down near him, and
began to coax and flatter him into a good humour, and at last she said:

'But tell me about that wonderful horse you were riding yesterday.
There cannot be another like it in the whole world. Where did you get it
from?'

And he answered:

'The way I got it is a way which no one else can take. On the top of a
high mountain dwells an old woman, who has in her stables twelve horses,
each one more beautiful than the other. And in one corner is a thin,
wretched-looking animal whom no one would glance at a second time,
but he is in reality the best of the lot. He is twin brother to my own
horse, and can fly as high as the clouds themselves. But no one can ever
get this horse without first serving the old woman for three whole days.
And besides the horses she has a foal and its mother, and the man who
serves her must look after them for three whole days, and if he does not
let them run away he will in the end get the choice of any horse as a
present from the old woman. But if he fails to keep the foal and its
mother safe on any one of the three nights his head will pay.'

The next day the prince watched till the dragon left the house, and then
he crept in to the empress, who told him all she had learnt from her
gaoler. The prince at once determined to seek the old woman on the top
of the mountain, and lost no time in setting out. It was a long and
steep climb, but at last he found her, and with a low bow he began:

'Good greeting to you, little mother!'

'Good greeting to you, my son! What are you doing here?'

'I wish to become your servant,' answered he.

'So you shall,' said the old woman. 'If you can take care of my mare for
three days I will give you a horse for wages, but if you let her stray
you will lose your head'; and as she spoke she led him into a courtyard
surrounded with palings, and on every post a man's head was stuck. One
post only was empty, and as they passed it cried out:

'Woman, give me the head I am waiting for!'

The old woman made no answer, but turned to the prince and said:

'Look! all those men took service with me, on the same conditions as
you, but not one was able to guard the mare!'

But the prince did not waver, and declared he would abide by his words.

When evening came he led the mare out of the stable and mounted her,
and the colt ran behind. He managed to keep his seat for a long time,
in spite of all her efforts to throw him, but at length he grew so weary
that he fell fast asleep, and when he woke he found himself sitting on a
log, with the halter in his hands. He jumped up in terror, but the mare
was nowhere to be seen, and he started with a beating heart in search of
her. He had gone some way without a single trace to guide him, when he
came to a little river. The sight of the water brought back to his mind
the fish whom he had saved from death, and he hastily drew the scale
from his pocket. It had hardly touched his fingers when the fish
appeared in the stream beside him.

'What is it, my brother?' asked the fish anxiously.

'The old woman's mare strayed last night, and I don't know where to look
for her.'

'Oh, I can tell you that: she has changed herself into a big fish, and
her foal into a little one. But strike the water with the halter and
say, "Come here, O mare of the mountain witch!" and she will come.'

The prince did as he was bid, and the mare and her foal stood before
him. Then he put the halter round her neck, and rode her home, the foal
always trotting behind them. The old woman was at the door to receive
them, and gave the prince some food while she led the mare back to the
stable.

'You should have gone among the fishes,' cried the old woman, striking
the animal with a stick.

'I did go among the fishes,' replied the mare; 'but they are no friends
of mine, for they betrayed me at once.'

'Well, go among the foxes this time,' said she, and returned to the
house, not knowing that the prince had overheard her.

So when it began to grow dark the prince mounted the mare for the second
time and rode into the meadows, and the foal trotted behind its mother.
Again he managed to stick on till midnight: then a sleep overtook him
that he could not battle against, and when he woke up he found himself,
as before, sitting on the log, with the halter in his hands. He gave a
shriek of dismay, and sprang up in search of the wanderers. As he went
he suddenly remembered the words that the old woman had said to the
mare, and he drew out the fox hair and twisted it in his fingers.

'What is it, my brother?' asked the fox, who instantly appeared before
him.

'The old witch's mare has run away from me, and I do not know where to
look for her.'

'She is with us,' replied the fox, 'and has changed herself into a big
fox, and her foal into a little one, but strike the ground with a halter
and say, "Come here, O mare of the mountain witch!"'

The prince did so, and in a moment the fox became a mare and stood
before him, with the little foal at her heels. He mounted and rode back,
and the old woman placed food on the table, and led the mare back to the
stable.

'You should have gone to the foxes, as I told you,' said she, striking
the mare with a stick.

'I did go to the foxes,' replied the mare, 'but they are no friends of
mine and betrayed me.'

'Well, this time you had better go to the wolves,' said she, not knowing
that the prince had heard all she had been saying.

The third night the prince mounted the mare and rode her out to the
meadows, with the foal trotting after. He tried hard to keep awake,
but it was of no use, and in the morning there he was again on the log,
grasping the halter. He started to his feet, and then stopped, for he
remembered what the old woman had said, and pulled out the wolf's grey
lock.

'What is it, my brother?' asked the wolf as it stood before him.

'The old witch's mare has run away from me,' replied the prince, 'and I
don't know where to find her.'

'Oh, she is with us,' answered the wolf, 'and she has changed herself
into a she-wolf, and the foal into a cub; but strike the earth here with
the halter, and cry, "Come to me, O mare of the mountain witch."'

The prince did as he was bid, and as the hair touched his fingers the
wolf changed back into a mare, with the foal beside her. And when he had
mounted and ridden her home the old woman was on the steps to receive
them, and she set some food before the prince, but led the mare back to
her stable.

'You should have gone among the wolves,' said she, striking her with a
stick.

'So I did,' replied the mare, 'but they are no friends of mine and
betrayed me.'

The old woman made no answer, and left the stable, but the prince was at
the door waiting for her.

'I have served you well,' said he, 'and now for my reward.'

'What I promised that will I perform,' answered she. 'Choose one of
these twelve horses; you can have which you like.'

'Give me, instead, that half-starved creature in the corner,' asked the
prince. 'I prefer him to all those beautiful animals.'

'You can't really mean what you say?' replied the woman.

'Yes, I do,' said the prince, and the old woman was forced to let him
have his way. So he took leave of her, and put the halter round his
horse's neck and led him into the forest, where he rubbed him down till
his skin was shining like gold. Then he mounted, and they flew straight
through the air to the dragon's palace. The empress had been looking for
him night and day, and stole out to meet him, and he swung her on to his
saddle, and the horse flew off again.

Not long after the dragon came home, and when he found the empress was
missing he said to his horse, 'What shall we do? Shall we eat and drink,
or shall we follow the runaways?' and the horse replied, 'Whether you
eat or don't eat, drink or don't drink, follow them or stay at home,
matters nothing now, for you can never, never catch them.'

But the dragon made no reply to the horse's words, but sprang on his
back and set off in chase of the fugitives. And when they saw him coming
they were frightened, and urged the prince's horse faster and faster,
till he said, 'Fear nothing; no harm can happen to us,' and their hearts
grew calm, for they trusted his wisdom.

Soon the dragon's horse was heard panting behind, and he cried out, 'Oh,
my brother, do not go so fast! I shall sink to the earth if I try to
keep up with you.'

And the prince's horse answered, 'Why do you serve a monster like that?
Kick him off, and let him break in pieces on the ground, and come and
join us.'

And the dragon's horse plunged and reared, and the dragon fell on a
rock, which broke him in pieces. Then the empress mounted his horse,
and rode back with her husband to her kingdom, over which they ruled for
many years.

(Volksmarchen der Serben.)




THE LUTE PLAYER

Once upon a time there was a king and queen who lived happily and
comfortably together. They were very fond of each other and had nothing
to worry them, but at last the king grew restless. He longed to go out
into the world, to try his strength in battle against some enemy and to
win all kinds of honour and glory.

So he called his army together and gave orders to start for a distant
country where a heathen king ruled who ill-treated or tormented everyone
he could lay his hands on. The king then gave his parting orders and
wise advice to his ministers, took a tender leave of his wife, and set
off with his army across the seas.

I cannot say whether the voyage was short or long; but at last he
reached the country of the heathen king and marched on, defeating all
who came in his way. But this did not last long, for in time he came
to a mountain pass, where a large army was waiting for him, who put his
soldiers to flight, and took the king himself prisoner.

He was carried off to the prison where the heathen king kept his
captives, and now our poor friend had a very bad time indeed. All night
long the prisoners were chained up, and in the morning they were yoked
together like oxen and had to plough the land till it grew dark.

This state of things went on for three years before the king found
any means of sending news of himself to his dear queen, but at last he
contrived to send this letter: 'Sell all our castles and palaces,
and put all our treasures in pawn and come and deliver me out of this
horrible prison.'

The queen received the letter, read it, and wept bitterly as she said to
herself, 'How can I deliver my dearest husband? If I go myself and the
heathen king sees me he will just take me to be one of his wives. If I
were to send one of the ministers!--but I hardly know if I can depend on
them.'

She thought, and thought, and at last an idea came into her head.

She cut off all her beautiful long brown hair and dressed herself in
boy's clothes. Then she took her lute and, without saying anything to
anyone, she went forth into the wide world.

She travelled through many lands and saw many cities, and went through
many hardships before she got to the town where the heathen king lived.
When she got there she walked all round the palace and at the back
she saw the prison. Then she went into the great court in front of
the palace, and taking her lute in her hand, she began to play so
beautifully that one felt as though one could never hear enough.

After she had played for some time she began to sing, and her voice was
sweeter than the lark's:

     'I come from my own country far
           Into this foreign land,
      Of all I own I take alone
           My sweet lute in my hand.

     'Oh!  who will thank me for my song,
           Reward my simple lay?
       Like lover's sighs it still shall rise
           To greet thee day by day.

     'I sing of blooming flowers
           Made sweet by sun and rain;
      Of all the bliss of love's first kiss,
           And parting's cruel pain.

     'Of the sad captive's longing
           Within his prison wall,
      Of hearts that sigh when none are nigh
           To answer to their call.

     'My song begs for your pity,
           And gifts from out your store,
      And as I play my gentle lay
          I linger near your door.

     'And if you hear my singing
          Within your palace, sire,
     Oh! give, I pray, this happy day,
          To me my heart's desire.'

No sooner had the heathen king heard this touching song sung by such a
lovely voice, than he had the singer brought before him.

'Welcome, O lute player,' said he. 'Where do you come from?'

'My country, sire, is far away across many seas. For years I have been
wandering about the world and gaining my living by my music.'

'Stay here then a few days, and when you wish to leave I will give you
what you ask for in your song--your heart's desire.'

So the lute player stayed on in the palace and sang and played almost
all day long to the king, who could never tire of listening and almost
forgot to eat or drink or to torment people.

He cared for nothing but the music, and nodded his head as he declared,
'That's something like playing and singing. It makes me feel as if some
gentle hand had lifted every care and sorrow from me.'

After three days the lute player came to take leave of the king.

'Well,' said the king, 'what do you desire as your reward?'

'Sire, give me one of your prisoners. You have so many in your prison,
and I should be glad of a companion on my journeys. When I hear his
happy voice as I travel along I shall think of you and thank you.'

'Come along then,' said the king, 'choose whom you will.' And he took
the lute player through the prison himself.

The queen walked about amongst the prisoners, and at length she picked
out her husband and took him with her on her journey. They were long on
their way, but he never found out who she was, and she led him nearer
and nearer to his own country.

When they reached the frontier the prisoner said:

'Let me go now, kind lad; I am no common prisoner, but the king of this
country. Let me go free and ask what you will as your reward.'

'Do not speak of reward,' answered the lute player. 'Go in peace.'

'Then come with me, dear boy, and be my guest.'

'When the proper time comes I shall be at your palace,' was the reply,
and so they parted.

The queen took a short way home, got there before the king and changed
her dress.

An hour later all the people in the palace were running to and fro and
crying out: 'Our king has come back! Our king has returned to us.'

The king greeted every one very kindly, but he would not so much as look
at the queen.

Then he called all his council and ministers together and said to them:

'See what sort of a wife I have. Here she is falling on my neck, but
when I was pining in prison and sent her word of it she did nothing to
help me.'

And his council answered with one voice, 'Sire, when news was brought
from you the queen disappeared and no one knew where she went. She only
returned to-day.'

Then the king was very angry and cried, 'Judge my faithless wife!

Never would you have seen your king again, if a young lute player had
not delivered him. I shall remember him with love and gratitude as long
as I live.'

Whilst the king was sitting with his council, the queen found time to
disguise herself. She took her lute, and slipping into the court in
front of the palace she sang, clear and sweet:

     'I sing the captive's longing
           Within his prison wall,
      Of hearts that sigh when none are nigh
           To answer to their call.

     'My song begs for your pity,
           And gifts from out your store,
      And as I play my gentle lay
           I linger near your door.

     'And if you hear my singing
           Within your palace, sire,
      Oh!  give, I pray, this happy day,
           To me my heart's desire.'

As soon as the king heard this song he ran out to meet the lute player,
took him by the hand and led him into the palace.

'Here,' he cried, 'is the boy who released me from my prison. And now,
my true friend, I will indeed give you your heart's desire.'

'I am sure you will not be less generous than the heathen king was,
sire. I ask of you what I asked and obtained from him. But this time I
don't mean to give up what I get. I want YOU--yourself!'

And as she spoke she threw off her long cloak and everyone saw it was
the queen.

Who can tell how happy the king was? In the joy of his heart he gave a
great feast to the whole world, and the whole world came and rejoiced
with him for a whole week.

I was there too, and ate and drank many good things. I sha'n't forget
that feast as long as I live.

(From the Russian.)




THE GRATEFUL PRINCE

Once upon a time the king of the Goldland lost himself in a forest, and
try as he would he could not find the way out. As he was wandering down
one path which had looked at first more hopeful than the rest he saw a
man coming towards him.

'What are you doing here, friend?' asked the stranger; 'darkness is
falling fast, and soon the wild beasts will come from their lairs to
seek for food.'

'I have lost myself,' answered the king, 'and am trying to get home.'

'Then promise me that you will give me the first thing that comes out of
your house, and I will show you the way,' said the stranger.

The king did not answer directly, but after awhile he spoke: 'Why should
I give away my BEST sporting dog. I can surely find my way out of the
forest as well as this man.'

So the stranger left him, but the king followed path after path for
three whole days, with no better success than before. He was almost in
despair, when the stranger suddenly appeared, blocking up his way.

'Promise you will give me the first thing that comes out of your house
to meet you?'

But still the king was stiff-necked and would promise nothing.

For some days longer he wandered up and down the forest, trying first
one path, then another, but his courage at last gave way, and he sank
wearily on the ground under a tree, feeling sure his last hour had come.
Then for the third time the stranger stood before the king, and said:

'Why are you such a fool? What can a dog be to you, that you should give
your life for him like this? Just promise me the reward I want, and I
will guide you out of the forest.'

'Well, my life is worth more than a thousand dogs,' answered the king,
'the welfare of my kingdom depends on me. I accept your terms, so
take me to my palace.' Scarcely had he uttered the words than he found
himself at the edge of the wood, with the palace in the dim distance. He
made all the haste he could, and just as he reached the great gates out
came the nurse with the royal baby, who stretched out his arms to his
father. The king shrank back, and ordered the nurse to take the baby
away at once.

Then his great boarhound bounded up to him, but his caresses were only
answered by a violent push.

When the king's anger was spent, and he was able to think what was best
to be done, he exchanged his baby, a beautiful boy, for the daughter of
a peasant, and the prince lived roughly as the son of poor people, while
the little girl slept in a golden cradle, under silken sheets. At the
end of a year, the stranger arrived to claim his property, and took away
the little girl, believing her to be the true child of the king. The
king was so delighted with the success of his plan that he ordered a
great feast to be got ready, and gave splendid presents to the foster
parents of his son, so that he might lack nothing. But he did not dare
to bring back the baby, lest the trick should be found out. The peasants
were quite contented with this arrangement, which gave them food and
money in abundance.

By-and-by the boy grew big and tall, and seemed to lead a happy life in
the house of his foster parents. But a shadow hung over him which really
poisoned most of his pleasure, and that was the thought of the poor
innocent girl who had suffered in his stead, for his foster father
had told him in secret, that he was the king's son. And the prince
determined that when he grew old enough he would travel all over the
world, and never rest till he had set her free. To become king at the
cost of a maiden's life was too heavy a price to pay. So one day he put
on the dress of a farm servant, threw a sack of peas on his back, and
marched straight into the forest where eighteen years before his father
had lost himself. After he had walked some way he began to cry loudly:
'Oh, how unlucky I am! Where can I be? Is there no one to show me the
way out of the wood?'

Then appeared a strange man with a long grey beard, with a leather bag
hanging from his girdle. He nodded cheerfully to the prince, and said:
'I know this place well, and can lead you out of it, if you will promise
me a good reward.'

'What can a beggar such as I promise you?' answered the prince. 'I have
nothing to give you save my life; even the coat on my back belongs to my
master, whom I serve for my keep and my clothes.'

The stranger looked at the sack of peas, and said, 'But you must possess
something; you are carrying this sack, which seems to be very heavy.'

'It is full of peas,' was the reply. 'My old aunt died last night,
without leaving money enough to buy peas to give the watchers, as is
the custom throughout the country. I have borrowed these peas from my
master, and thought to take a short cut across the forest; but I have
lost myself, as you see.'

'Then you are an orphan?' asked the stranger. 'Why should you not enter
my service? I want a sharp fellow in the house, and you please me.'

'Why not, indeed, if we can strike a bargain?' said the other. 'I was
born a peasant, and strange bread is always bitter, so it is the same to
me whom I serve! What wages will you give me?'

'Every day fresh food, meat twice a week, butter and vegetables, your
summer and winter clothes, and a portion of land for your own use.'

'I shall be satisfied with that,' said the youth. 'Somebody else will
have to bury my aunt. I will go with you!'

Now this bargain seemed to please the old fellow so much that he spun
round like a top, and sang so loud that the whole wood rang with his
voice. Then he set out with his companion, and chattered so fast that he
never noticed that his new servant kept dropping peas out of the sack.
At night they slept under a fig tree, and when the sun rose started
on their way. About noon they came to a large stone, and here the
old fellow stopped, looked carefully round, gave a sharp whistle, and
stamped three times on the ground with his left foot. Suddenly there
appeared under the stone a secret door, which led to what looked like
the mouth of a cave. The old fellow seized the youth by the arm, and
said roughly, 'Follow me!'

Thick darkness surrounded them, yet it seemed to the prince as if their
path led into still deeper depths. After a long while he thought he saw
a glimmer of light, but the light was neither that of the sun nor of
the moon. He looked eagerly at it, but found it was only a kind of pale
cloud, which was all the light this strange underworld could boast.
Earth and water, trees and plants, birds and beasts, each was different
from those he had seen before; but what most struck terror into his
heart was the absolute stillness that reigned everywhere. Not a rustle
or a sound could be heard. Here and there he noticed a bird sitting on a
branch, with head erect and swelling throat, but his ear caught nothing.
The dogs opened their mouths as if to bark, the toiling oxen seemed
about to bellow, but neither bark nor bellow reached the prince. The
water flowed noiselessly over the pebbles, the wind bowed the tops of
the trees, flies and chafers darted about, without breaking the silence.
The old greybeard uttered no word, and when his companion tried to ask
him the meaning of it all he felt that his voice died in his throat.

How long this fearful stillness lasted I do not know, but the prince
gradually felt his heart turning to ice, his hair stood up like
bristles, and a cold chill was creeping down his spine, when at
last--oh, ecstasy!--a faint noise broke on his straining ears, and this
life of shadows suddenly became real. It sounded as if a troop of horses
were ploughing their way over a moor.

Then the greybeard opened his mouth, and said: 'The kettle is boiling;
we are expected at home.'

They walked on a little further, till the prince thought he heard the
grinding of a saw-mill, as if dozens of saws were working together, but
his guide observed, 'The grandmother is sleeping soundly; listen how she
snores.'

When they had climbed a hill which lay before them the prince saw in
the distance the house of his master, but it was so surrounded with
buildings of all kinds that the place looked more like a village or
even a small town. They reached it at last, and found an empty kennel
standing in front of the gate. 'Creep inside this,' said the master,
'and wait while I go in and see my grandmother. Like all very old
people, she is very obstinate, and cannot bear fresh faces about her.'

The prince crept tremblingly into the kennel, and began to regret the
daring which had brought him into this scrape.

By-and-by the master came back, and called him from his hiding-place.
Something had put out his temper, for with a frown he said, 'Watch
carefully our ways in the house, and beware of making any mistake, or it
will go ill with you. Keep your eyes and ears open, and your mouth shut,
obey without questions. Be grateful if you will, but never speak unless
you are spoken to.'

When the prince stepped over the threshold he caught sight of a maiden
of wonderful beauty, with brown eyes and fair curly hair. 'Well!' the
young man said to himself, 'if the old fellow has many daughters like
that I should not mind being his son-in-law. This one is just what I
admire'; and he watched her lay the table, bring in the food, and take
her seat by the fire as if she had never noticed that a strange man was
present. Then she took out a needle and thread, and began to darn her
stockings. The master sat at table alone, and invited neither his new
servant nor the maid to eat with him. Neither was the old grandmother
anywhere to be seen. His appetite was tremendous: he soon cleared all
the dishes, and ate enough to satisfy a dozen men. When at last he could
eat no more he said to the girl, 'Now you can pick up the pieces, and
take what is left in the iron pot for your own dinner, but give the
bones to the dog.'

The prince did not at all like the idea of dining off scraps, which
he helped the girl to pick up, but, after all, he found that there was
plenty to eat, and that the food was very good. During the meal he stole
many glances at the maiden, and would even have spoken to her, but
she gave him no encouragement. Every time he opened his mouth for the
purpose she looked at him sternly, as if to say, 'Silence,' so he could
only let his eyes speak for him. Besides, the master was stretched on a
bench by the oven after his huge meal, and would have heard everything.

After supper that night, the old man said to the prince, 'For two days
you may rest from the fatigues of the journey, and look about the house.
But the day after to-morrow you must come with me, and I will point out
the work you have to do. The maid will show you where you are to sleep.'

The prince thought, from this, he had leave to speak, but his master
turned on him with a face of thunder and exclaimed:

'You dog of a servant! If you disobey the laws of the house you will
soon find yourself a head shorter! Hold your tongue, and leave me in
peace.'

The girl made a sign to him to follow her, and, throwing open a door,
nodded to him to go in. He would have lingered a moment, for he thought
she looked sad, but dared not do so, for fear of the old man's anger.

'It is impossible that she can be his daughter!' he said to himself,
'for she has a kind heart. I am quite sure she must be the same girl who
was brought here instead of me, so I am bound to risk my head in this
mad adventure.' He got into bed, but it was long before he fell asleep,
and even then his dreams gave him no rest. He seemed to be surrounded by
dangers, and it was only the power of the maiden who helped him through
it all.

When he woke his first thoughts were for the girl, whom he found hard at
work. He drew water from the well and carried it to the house for her,
kindled the fire under the iron pot, and, in fact, did everything that
came into his head that could be of any use to her. In the afternoon
he went out, in order to learn something of his new home, and wondered
greatly not to come across the old grandmother. In his rambles he came
to the farmyard, where a beautiful white horse had a stall to itself; in
another was a black cow with two white-faced calves, while the clucking
of geese, ducks, and hens reached him from a distance.

Breakfast, dinner, and supper were as savoury as before, and the prince
would have been quite content with his quarters had it not been for
the difficulty of keeping silence in the presence of the maiden. On the
evening of the second day he went, as he had been told, to receive his
orders for the following morning.

'I am going to set you something very easy to do to-morrow,' said the
old man when his servant entered. 'Take this scythe and cut as much
grass as the white horse will want for its day's feed, and clean out its
stall. If I come back and find the manger empty it will go ill with you.
So beware!'

The prince left the room, rejoicing in his heart, and saying to himself,
'Well, I shall soon get through that! If I have never yet handled either
the plough or the scythe, at least I have often watched the country
people work them, and know how easy it is.'

He was just going to open his door, when the maiden glided softly past
and whispered in his ear: 'What task has he set you?'

'For to-morrow,' answered the prince, 'it is really nothing at all! Just
to cut hay for the horse, and to clean out his stall!'

'Oh, luckless being!' sighed the girl; 'how will you ever get through
with it. The white horse, who is our master's grandmother, is always
hungry: it takes twenty men always mowing to keep it in food for one
day, and another twenty to clean out its stall. How, then, do you expect
to do it all by yourself? But listen to me, and do what I tell you. It
is your only chance. When you have filled the manger as full as it will
hold you must weave a strong plait of the rushes which grow among the
meadow hay, and cut a thick peg of stout wood, and be sure that the
horse sees what you are doing. Then it will ask you what it is for, and
you will say, 'With this plait I intend to bind up your mouth so that
you cannot eat any more, and with this peg I am going to keep you still
in one spot, so that you cannot scatter your corn and water all over
the place!' After these words the maiden went away as softly as she had
come.

Early the next morning he set to work. His scythe danced through the
grass much more easily than he had hoped, and soon he had enough to fill
the manger. He put it in the crib, and returned with a second supply,
when to his horror he found the crib empty.

Then he knew that without the maiden's advice he would certainly have
been lost, and began to put it into practice. He took out the rushes
which had somehow got mixed up with the hay, and plaited them quickly.

'My son, what are you doing?' asked the horse wonderingly.

'Oh, nothing!' replied he. 'Just weaving a chin strap to bind your jaws
together, in case you might wish to eat any more!'

The white horse sighed deeply when it heard this, and made up its mind
to be content with what it had eaten.

The youth next began to clean out the stall, and the horse knew it had
found a master; and by mid-day there was still fodder in the manger,
and the place was as clean as a new pin. He had barely finished when in
walked the old man, who stood astonished at the door.

'Is it really you who have been clever enough to do that?' he asked. 'Or
has some one else given you a hint?'

'Oh, I have had no help,' replied the prince, 'except what my poor weak
head could give me.'

The old man frowned, and went away, and the prince rejoiced that
everything had turned out so well.

In the evening his master said, 'To-morrow I have no special task to set
you, but as the girl has a great deal to do in the house you must milk
the black cow for her. But take care you milk her dry, or it may be the
worse for you.'

'Well,' thought the prince as he went away, 'unless there is some trick
behind, this does not sound very hard. I have never milked a cow before,
but I have good strong fingers.'

He was very sleepy, and was just going toward his room, when the maiden
came to him and asked: 'What is your task to-morrow?'

'I am to help you,' he answered, 'and have nothing to do all day, except
to milk the black cow dry.'

'Oh, you are unlucky,' cried she. 'If you were to try from morning till
night you couldn't do it. There is only one way of escaping the danger,
and that is, when you go to milk her, take with you a pan of burning
coals and a pair of tongs. Place the pan on the floor of the stall, and
the tongs on the fire, and blow with all your might, till the coals burn
brightly. The black cow will ask you what is the meaning of all this,
and you must answer what I will whisper to you.' And she stood on
tip-toe and whispered something in his ear, and then went away.

The dawn had scarcely reddened the sky when the prince jumped out of
bed, and, with the pan of coals in one hand and the milk pail in the
other, went straight to the cow's stall, and began to do exactly as the
maiden had told him the evening before.

The black cow watched him with surprise for some time, and then said:
'What are you doing, sonny?'

'Oh, nothing,' answered he; 'I am only heating a pair of tongs in case
you may not feel inclined to give as much milk as I want.'

The cow sighed deeply, and looked at the milkman with fear, but he took
no notice, and milked briskly into the pail, till the cow ran dry.

Just at that moment the old man entered the stable, and sat down to milk
the cow himself, but not a drop of milk could he get. 'Have you really
managed it all yourself, or did somebody help you?'

'I have nobody to help me,' answered the prince, 'but my own poor head.'
The old man got up from his seat and went away.

That night, when the prince went to his master to hear what his next
day's work was to be, the old man said: 'I have a little hay-stack out
in the meadow which must be brought in to dry. To-morrow you will have
to stack it all in the shed, and, as you value your life, be careful not
to leave the smallest strand behind.' The prince was overjoyed to hear
he had nothing worse to do.

'To carry a little hay-rick requires no great skill,' thought he, 'and
it will give me no trouble, for the horse will have to draw it in. I am
certainly not going to spare the old grandmother.'

By-and-by the maiden stole up to ask what task he had for the next day.

The young man laughed, and said: 'It appears that I have got to learn
all kinds of farmer's work. To-morrow I have to carry a hay-rick, and
leave not a stalk in the meadow, and that is my whole day's work!'

'Oh, you unlucky creature!' cried she; 'and how do you think you are to
do it. If you had all the men in the world to help you, you could not
clear off this one little hay-rick in a week. The instant you have
thrown down the hay at the top, it will take root again from below. But
listen to what I say. You must steal out at daybreak to-morrow and
bring out the white horse and some good strong ropes. Then get on the
hay-stack, put the ropes round it, and harness the horse to the ropes.
When you are ready, climb up the hay-stack and begin to count one, two,
three.

The horse will ask you what you are counting, and you must be sure to
answer what I whisper to you.'

So the maiden whispered something in his ear, and left the room. And the
prince knew nothing better to do than to get into bed.

He slept soundly, and it was still almost dark when he got up and
proceeded to carry out the instructions given him by the girl. First he
chose some stout ropes, and then he led the horse out of the stable and
rode it to the hay-stack, which was made up of fifty cartloads, so that
it could hardly be called 'a little one.' The prince did all that the
maiden had told him, and when at last he was seated on top of the rick,
and had counted up to twenty, he heard the horse ask in amazement: 'What
are you counting up there, my son?'

'Oh, nothing,' said he, 'I was just amusing myself with counting the
packs of wolves in the forest, but there are really so many of them that
I don't think I should ever be done.'

The word 'wolf' was hardly out of his mouth than the white horse was
off like the wind, so that in the twinkling of an eye it had reached
the shed, dragging the hay-stack behind it. The master was dumb with
surprise as he came in after breakfast and found his man's day's work
quite done.

'Was it really you who were so clever?' asked he. 'Or did some one give
you good advice?'

'Oh, I have only myself to take counsel with,' said the prince, and the
old man went away, shaking his head.

Late in the evening the prince went to his master to learn what he was
to do next day.

'To-morrow,' said the old man, 'you must bring the white-headed calf to
the meadow, and, as you value your life, take care it does not escape
from you.'

The prince answered nothing, but thought, 'Well, most peasants of
nineteen have got a whole herd to look after, so surely I can manage
one.' And he went towards his room, where the maiden met him.

'To morrow I have got an idiot's work,' said he; 'nothing but to take
the white-headed calf to the meadow.'

'Oh, you unlucky being!' sighed she. 'Do you know that this calf is so
swift that in a single day he can run three times round the world? Take
heed to what I tell you. Bind one end of this silk thread to the left
fore-leg of the calf, and the other end to the little toe of your left
foot, so that the calf will never be able to leave your side, whether
you walk, stand, or lie.' After this the prince went to bed and slept
soundly.

The next morning he did exactly what the maiden had told him, and led
the calf with the silken thread to the meadow, where it stuck to his
side like a faithful dog.

By sunset, it was back again in its stall, and then came the master and
said, with a frown, 'Were you really so clever yourself, or did somebody
tell you what to do?'

'Oh, I have only my own poor head,' answered the prince, and the old man
went away growling, 'I don't believe a word of it! I am sure you have
found some clever friend!'

In the evening he called the prince and said: 'To-morrow I have no work
for you, but when I wake you must come before my bed, and give me your
hand in greeting.'

The young man wondered at this strange freak, and went laughing in
search of the maiden.

'Ah, it is no laughing matter,' sighed she. 'He means to eat you, and
there is only one way in which I can help you. You must heat an iron
shovel red hot, and hold it out to him instead of your hand.'

So next morning he wakened very early, and had heated the shovel before
the old man was awake. At length he heard him calling, 'You lazy fellow,
where are you? Come and wish me good morning.'

But when the prince entered with the red-hot shovel his master only
said, 'I am very ill to-day, and too weak even to touch your hand. You
must return this evening, when I may be better.'

The prince loitered about all day, and in the evening went back to the
old man's room. He was received in the most; friendly manner, and, to
his surprise, his master exclaimed, 'I am very well satisfied with you.
Come to me at dawn and bring the maiden with you. I know you have long
loved each other, and I wish to make you man and wife.'

The young man nearly jumped into the air for joy, but, remembering the
rules of the house, he managed to keep still. When he told the maiden,
he saw to his astonishment that she had become as white as a sheet, and
she was quite dumb.

'The old man has found out who was your counsellor,' she said when she
could speak, 'and he means to destroy us both.' We must escape somehow,
or else we shall be lost. Take an axe, and cut off the head of the calf
with one blow. With a second, split its head in two, and in its brain
you will see a bright red ball. Bring that to me. Meanwhile, I will do
what is needful here.

And the prince thought to himself, 'Better kill the calf than be killed
ourselves. If we can once escape, we will go back home. The peas which I
strewed about must have sprouted, so that we shall not miss the way.'

Then he went into the stall, and with one blow of the axe killed the
calf, and with the second split its brain. In an instant the place was
filled with light, as the red ball fell from the brain of the calf. The
prince picked it up, and, wrapping it round with a thick cloth, hid it
in his bosom. Mercifully, the cow slept through it all, or by her cries
she would have awakened the master.

He looked round, and at the door stood the maiden, holding a little
bundle in her arms.

'Where is the ball?' she asked.

'Here,' answered he.

'We must lose no time in escaping,' she went on, and uncovered a tiny
bit of the shining ball, to light them on their way.

As the prince had expected the peas had taken root, and grown into a
little hedge, so that they were sure they would not lose the path.
As they fled, the girl told him that she had overheard a conversation
between the old man and his grandmother, saying that she was a king's
daughter, whom the old fellow had obtained by cunning from her parents.
The prince, who knew all about the affair, was silent, though he was
glad from his heart that it had fallen to his lot to set her free. So
they went on till the day began to dawn.

The old man slept very late that morning, and rubbed his eyes till he
was properly awake. Then he remembered that very soon the couple were
to present themselves before him. After waiting and waiting till quite
a long time had passed, he said to himself, with a grin, 'Well, they are
not in much hurry to be married,' and waited again.

At last he grew a little uneasy, and cried loudly, 'Man and maid! what
has become of you?'

After repeating this many times, he became quite frightened, but, call
as he would, neither man nor maid appeared. At last he jumped angrily
out of bed to go in search of the culprits, but only found an empty
house, and beds that had never been slept in.

Then he went straight to the stable, where the sight of the dead calf
told him all. Swearing loudly, he opened the door of the third stall
quickly, and cried to his goblin servants to go and chase the fugitives.
'Bring them to me, however you may find them, for have them I must!' he
said. So spake the old man, and the servants fled like the wind.

The runaways were crossing a great plain, when the maiden stopped.
'Something has happened!' she said. 'The ball moves in my hand, and
I'm sure we are being followed!' and behind them they saw a black cloud
flying before the wind. Then the maiden turned the ball thrice in her
hand, and cried,

          'Listen to me, my ball, my ball.
            Be quick and change me into a brook,
           And my lover into a little fish.'

And in an instant there was a brook with a fish swimming in it. The
goblins arrived just after, but, seeing nobody, waited for a little,
then hurried home, leaving the brook and the fish undisturbed. When they
were quite out of sight, the brook and the fish returned to their usual
shapes and proceeded on their journey.

When the goblins, tired and with empty hands, returned, their master
inquired what they had seen, and if nothing strange had befallen them.

'Nothing,' said they; 'the plain was quite empty, save for a brook and a
fish swimming in it.'

'Idiots!' roared the master; 'of course it was they!' And dashing open
the door of the fifth stall, he told the goblins inside that they must
go and drink up the brook, and catch the fish. And the goblins jumped
up, and flew like the wind.

The young pair had almost reached the edge of the wood, when the maiden
stopped again. 'Something has happened,' said she. 'The ball is moving
in my hand,' and looking round she beheld a cloud flying towards them,
large and blacker than the first, and striped with red. 'Those are our
pursuers,' cried she, and turning the ball three times in her hand she
spoke to it thus:

          'Listen to me, my ball, my ball.
            Be quick and change us both.
            Me into a wild rose bush,
         And him into a rose on my stem.'

And in the twinkling of an eye it was done. Only just in time too, for
the goblins were close at hand, and looked round eagerly for the stream
and the fish. But neither stream nor fish was to be seen; nothing but a
rose bush. So they went sorrowing home, and when they were out of sight
the rose bush and rose returned to their proper shapes and walked all
the faster for the little rest they had had.

'Well, did you find them?' asked the old man when his goblins came back.

'No,' replied the leader of the goblins, 'we found neither brook nor
fish in the desert.'

'And did you find nothing else at all?'

'Oh, nothing but a rose tree on the edge of a wood, with a rose hanging
on it.'

'Idiots!' cried he. 'Why, that was they.' And he threw open the door of
the seventh stall, where his mightiest goblins were locked in. 'Bring
them to me, however you find them, dead or alive!' thundered he, 'for I
will have them! Tear up the rose tree and the roots too, and don't leave
anything behind, however strange it may be!'

The fugitives were resting in the shade of a wood, and were refreshing
themselves with food and drink. Suddenly the maiden looked up.
'Something has happened,' said she. 'The ball has nearly jumped out of
my bosom! Some one is certainly following us, and the danger is near,
but the trees hide our enemies from us.'

As she spoke she took the ball in her hand, and said:

          'Listen to me, my ball, my ball.
            Be quick and change me into a breeze,
           And make my lover into a midge.'

An instant, and the girl was dissolved into thin air, while the prince
darted about like a midge. The next moment a crowd of goblins rushed up,
and looked about in search of something strange, for neither a rose bush
nor anything else was to be seen. But they had hardly turned their backs
to go home empty-handed when the prince and the maiden stood on the
earth again.

'We must make all the haste we can,' said she, 'before the old man
himself comes to seek us, for he will know us under any disguise.'

They ran on till they reached such a dark part of the forest that, if
it had not been for the light shed by the ball, they could not have
made their way at all. Worn out and breathless, they came at length to
a large stone, and here the ball began to move restlessly. The maiden,
seeing this, exclaimed:

          'Listen to me, my ball, my ball.
            Roll the stone quickly to one side,
           That we may find a door.'

And in a moment the stone had rolled away, and they had passed through
the door to the world again.

'Now we are safe,' cried she. 'Here the old wizard has no more power
over us, and we can guard ourselves from his spells. But, my friend, we
have to part! You will return to your parents, and I must go in search
of mine.'

'No! no!' exclaimed the prince. 'I will never part from you. You
must come with me and be my wife. We have gone through many troubles
together, and now we will share our joys. The maiden resisted his words
for some time, but at last she went with him.

In the forest they met a woodcutter, who told them that in the palace,
as well as in all the land, there had been great sorrow over the loss
of the prince, and many years had now passed away during which they had
found no traces of him. So, by the help of the magic ball, the maiden
managed that he should put on the same clothes that he had been wearing
at the time he had vanished, so that his father might know him more
quickly. She herself stayed behind in a peasant's hut, so that father
and son might meet alone.

But the father was no longer there, for the loss of his son had killed
him; and on his deathbed he confessed to his people how he had contrived
that the old wizard should carry away a peasant's child instead of the
prince, wherefore this punishment had fallen upon him.

The prince wept bitterly when he heard this news, for he had loved his
father well, and for three days he ate and drank nothing. But on the
fourth day he stood in the presence of his people as their new king,
and, calling his councillors, he told them all the strange things that
had befallen him, and how the maiden had borne him safe through all.

And the councillors cried with one voice, 'Let her be your wife, and our
liege lady.'

And that is the end of the story.

(Ehstnische Marchen.)




THE CHILD WHO CAME FROM AN EGG

Once upon a time there lived a queen whose heart was sore because she
had no children. She was sad enough when her husband was at home with
her, but when he was away she would see nobody, but sat and wept all day
long.

Now it happened that a war broke out with the king of a neighbouring
country, and the queen was left in the palace alone.

She was so unhappy that she felt as if the walls would stifle her, so
she wandered out into the garden, and threw herself down on a grassy
bank, under the shade of a lime tree. She had been there for some time,
when a rustle among the leaves caused her to look up, and she saw an old
woman limping on her crutches towards the stream that flowed through the
grounds.

When she had quenched her thirst, she came straight up to the queen, and
said to her: 'Do not take it evil, noble lady, that I dare to speak to
you, and do not be afraid of me, for it may be that I shall bring you
good luck.'

The queen looked at her doubtfully, and answered: 'You do not seem as if
you had been very lucky yourself, or to have much good fortune to spare
for anyone else.'

'Under rough bark lies smooth wood and sweet kernel,' replied the old
woman. 'Let me see your hand, that I may read the future.'

The queen held out her hand, and the old woman examined its lines
closely. Then she said, 'Your heart is heavy with two sorrows, one old
and one new. The new sorrow is for your husband, who is fighting far
away from you; but, believe me, he is well, and will soon bring you
joyful news. But your other sorrow is much older than this. Your
happiness is spoilt because you have no children.' At these words the
queen became scarlet, and tried to draw away her hand, but the old woman
said:

'Have a little patience, for there are some things I want to see more
clearly.'

'But who are you?' asked the queen, 'for you seem to be able to read my
heart.'

'Never mind my name,' answered she, 'but rejoice that it is permitted to
me to show you a way to lessen your grief. You must, however, promise to
do exactly what I tell you, if any good is to come of it.'

'Oh, I will obey you exactly,' cried the queen, 'and if you can help me
you shall have in return anything you ask for.'

The old woman stood thinking for a little: then she drew something from
the folds of her dress, and, undoing a number of wrappings, brought out
a tiny basket made of birch-bark. She held it out to the queen, saying,
'In the basket you will find a bird's egg. This you must be careful to
keep in a warm place for three months, when it will turn into a doll.
Lay the doll in a basket lined with soft wool, and leave it alone, for
it will not need any food, and by-and-by you will find it has grown to
be the size of a baby. Then you will have a baby of your own, and you
must put it by the side of the other child, and bring your husband to
see his son and daughter. The boy you will bring up yourself, but you
must entrust the little girl to a nurse. When the time comes to have
them christened you will invite me to be godmother to the princess, and
this is how you must send the invitation. Hidden in the cradle, you will
find a goose's wing: throw this out of the window, and I will be with
you directly; but be sure you tell no one of all the things that have
befallen you.'

The queen was about to reply, but the old woman was already limping
away, and before she had gone two steps she had turned into a young
girl, who moved so quickly that she seemed rather to fly than to walk.
The queen, watching this transformation, could hardly believe her eyes,
and would have taken it all for a dream, had it not been for the basket
which she held in her hand. Feeling a different being from the poor
sad woman who had wandered into the garden so short a time before, she
hastened to her room, and felt carefully in the basket for the egg.
There it was, a tiny thing of soft blue with little green spots, and she
took it out and kept it in her bosom, which was the warmest place she
could think of.

A fortnight after the old woman had paid her visit, the king came home,
having conquered his enemies. At this proof that the old woman had
spoken truth, the queen's heart bounded, for she now had fresh hopes
that the rest of the prophecy might be fulfilled.

She cherished the basket and the egg as her chiefest treasures, and had
a golden case made for the basket, so that when the time came to lay the
egg in it, it might not risk any harm.

Three months passed, and, as the old woman had bidden her, the queen
took the egg from her bosom, and laid it snugly amidst the warm woollen
folds. The next morning she went to look at it, and the first thing she
saw was the broken eggshell, and a little doll lying among the pieces.
Then she felt happy at last, and leaving the doll in peace to grow,
waited, as she had been told, for a baby of her own to lay beside it.

In course of time, this came also, and the queen took the little girl
out of the basket, and placed it with her son in a golden cradle which
glittered with precious stones. Next she sent for the king, who nearly
went mad with joy at the sight of the children.

Soon there came a day when the whole court was ordered to be present at
the christening of the royal babies, and when all was ready the queen
softly opened the window a little, and let the goose wing fly out.
The guests were coming thick and fast, when suddenly there drove up a
splendid coach drawn by six cream-coloured horses, and out of it stepped
a young lady dressed in garments that shone like the sun. Her face could
not be seen, for a veil covered her head, but as she came up to the
place where the queen was standing with the babies she drew the veil
aside, and everyone was dazzled with her beauty. She took the little
girl in her arms, and holding it up before the assembled company
announced that henceforward it would be known by the name of
Dotterine--a name which no one understood but the queen, who knew that
the baby had come from the yolk of an egg. The boy was called Willem.

After the feast was over and the guests were going away, the godmother
laid the baby in the cradle, and said to the queen, 'Whenever the baby
goes to sleep, be sure you lay the basket beside her, and leave the
eggshells in it. As long as you do that, no evil can come to her; so
guard this treasure as the apple of your eye, and teach your daughter
to do so likewise.' Then, kissing the baby three times, she mounted her
coach and drove away.

The children throve well, and Dotterine's nurse loved her as if she
were the baby's real mother. Every day the little girl seemed to grow
prettier, and people used to say she would soon be as beautiful as her
godmother, but no one knew, except the nurse, that at night, when the
child slept, a strange and lovely lady bent over her. At length she told
the queen what she had seen, but they determined to keep it as a secret
between themselves.

The twins were by this time nearly two years old, when the queen was
taken suddenly ill. All the best doctors in the country were sent for,
but it was no use, for there is no cure for death. The queen knew she
was dying, and sent for Dotterine and her nurse, who had now become
her lady-in-waiting. To her, as her most faithful servant, she gave the
lucky basket in charge, and besought her to treasure it carefully. 'When
my daughter,' said the queen, 'is ten years old, you are to hand it over
to her, but warn her solemnly that her whole future happiness depends on
the way she guards it. About my son, I have no fears. He is the heir of
the kingdom, and his father will look after him.' The lady-in-waiting
promised to carry out the queen's directions, and above all to keep the
affair a secret. And that same morning the queen died.

After some years the king married again, but he did not love his second
wife as he had done his first, and had only married her for reasons of
ambition. She hated her step-children, and the king, seeing this, kept
them out of the way, under the care of Dotterine's old nurse. But if
they ever strayed across the path of the queen, she would kick them out
of her sight like dogs.

On Dotterine's tenth birthday her nurse handed her over the cradle, and
repeated to her her mother's dying words; but the child was too young to
understand the value of such a gift, and at first thought little about
it.

Two more years slipped by, when one day during the king's absence the
stepmother found Dotterine sitting under a lime tree. She fell as
usual into a passion, and beat the child so badly that Dotterine went
staggering to her own room. Her nurse was not there, but suddenly, as
she stood weeping, her eyes fell upon the golden case in which lay the
precious basket. She thought it might contain something to amuse her,
and looked eagerly inside, but nothing was there save a handful of wool
and two empty eggshells. Very much disappointed, she lifted the wool,
and there lay the goose's wing. 'What old rubbish,' said the child to
herself, and, turning, threw the wing out of the open window.

In a moment a beautiful lady stood beside her. 'Do not be afraid,' said
the lady, stroking Dotterine's head. 'I am your godmother, and have come
to pay you a visit. Your red eyes tell me that you are unhappy. I know
that your stepmother is very unkind to you, but be brave and patient,
and better days will come. She will have no power over you when you are
grown up, and no one else can hurt you either, if only you are careful
never to part from your basket, or to lose the eggshells that are in it.
Make a silken case for the little basket, and hide it away in your dress
night and day and you will be safe from your stepmother and anyone that
tries to harm you. But if you should happen to find yourself in any
difficulty, and cannot tell what to do, take the goose's wing from the
basket, and throw it out of the window, and in a moment I will come to
help you. Now come into the garden, that I may talk to you under the
lime trees, where no one can hear us.'

They had so much to say to each other, that the sun was already setting
when the godmother had ended all the good advice she wished to give the
child, and saw it was time for her to be going. 'Hand me the basket,'
said she, 'for you must have some supper. I cannot let you go hungry to
bed.'

Then, bending over the basket, she whispered some magic words, and
instantly a table covered with fruits and cakes stood on the ground
before them. When they had finished eating, the godmother led the child
back, and on the way taught her the words she must say to the basket
when she wanted it to give her something.

In a few years more, Dotterine was a grown-up young lady, and those who
saw her thought that the world did not contain so lovely a girl.

About this time a terrible war broke out, and the king and his army were
beaten back and back, till at length they had to retire into the town,
and make ready for a siege. It lasted so long that food began to fail,
and even in the palace there was not enough to eat.

So one morning Dotterine, who had had neither supper nor breakfast,
and was feeling very hungry, let her wing fly away. She was so weak and
miserable, that directly her godmother appeared she burst into tears,
and could not speak for some time.

'Do not cry so, dear child,' said the godmother. 'I will carry you away
from all this, but the others I must leave to take their chance.' Then,
bidding Dotterine follow her, she passed through the gates of the town,
and through the army outside, and nobody stopped them, or seemed to see
them.

The next day the town surrendered, and the king and all his courtiers
were taken prisoners, but in the confusion his son managed to make his
escape. The queen had already met her death from a spear carelessly
thrown.

As soon as Dotterine and her godmother were clear of the enemy,
Dotterine took off her own clothes, and put on those of a peasant,
and in order to disguise her better her godmother changed her face
completely. 'When better times come,' her protectress said cheerfully,
'and you want to look like yourself again, you have only to whisper the
words I have taught you into the basket, and say you would like to have
your own face once more, and it will be all right in a moment. But you
will have to endure a little longer yet.' Then, warning her once more to
take care of the basket, the lady bade the girl farewell.

For many days Dotterine wandered from one place to another without
finding shelter, and though the food which she got from the basket
prevented her from starving, she was glad enough to take service in a
peasant's house till brighter days dawned. At first the work she had
to do seemed very difficult, but either she was wonderfully quick in
learning, or else the basket may have secretly helped her. Anyhow at the
end of three days she could do everything as well as if she had cleaned
pots and swept rooms all her life.

One morning Dotterine was busy scouring a wooden tub, when a noble lady
happened to pass through the village. The girl's bright face as she
stood in the front of the door with her tub attracted the lady, and she
stopped and called the girl to come and speak to her.

'Would you not like to come and enter my service?' she asked.

'Very much,' replied Dotterine, 'if my present mistress will allow me.'

'Oh, I will settle that,' answered the lady; and so she did, and the
same day they set out for the lady's house, Dotterine sitting beside the
coachman.

Six months went by, and then came the joyful news that the king's son
had collected an army and had defeated the usurper who had taken his
father's place, but at the same moment Dotterine learned that the old
king had died in captivity. The girl wept bitterly for his loss, but in
secrecy, as she had told her mistress nothing about her past life.

At the end of a year of mourning, the young king let it be known that he
intended to marry, and commanded all the maidens in the kingdom to come
to a feast, so that he might choose a wife from among them. For weeks
all the mothers and all the daughters in the land were busy preparing
beautiful dresses and trying new ways of putting up their hair, and the
three lovely daughters of Dotterine's mistress were as much excited as
the rest. The girl was clever with her fingers, and was occupied all day
with getting ready their smart clothes, but at night when she went to
bed she always dreamed that her godmother bent over her and said, 'Dress
your young ladies for the feast, and when they have started follow them
yourself. Nobody will be so fine as you.'

When the great day came, Dotterine could hardly contain herself, and
when she had dressed her young mistresses and seen them depart with
their mother she flung herself on her bed, and burst into tears. Then
she seemed to hear a voice whisper to her, 'Look in your basket, and you
will find in it everything that you need.'

Dotterine did not want to be told twice! Up she jumped, seized her
basket, and repeated the magic words, and behold! there lay a dress on
the bed, shining as a star. She put it on with fingers that trembled
with joy, and, looking in the glass, was struck dumb at her own beauty.
She went downstairs, and in front of the door stood a fine carriage,
into which she stepped and was driven away like the wind.

The king's palace was a long way off, yet it seemed only a few minutes
before Dotterine drew up at the great gates. She was just going to
alight, when she suddenly remembered she had left her basket behind her.
What was she to do? Go back and fetch it, lest some ill-fortune should
befall her, or enter the palace and trust to chance that nothing evil
would happen? But before she could decide, a little swallow flew up with
the basket in its beak, and the girl was happy again.

The feast was already at its height, and the hall was brilliant with
youth and beauty, when the door was flung wide and Dotterine entered,
making all the other maidens look pale and dim beside her. Their hopes
faded as they gazed, but their mothers whispered together, saying,
'Surely this is our lost princess!'

The young king did not know her again, but he never left her side nor
took his eyes from her. And at midnight a strange thing happened. A
thick cloud suddenly filled the hall, so that for a moment all was dark.
Then the mist suddenly grew bright, and Dotterine's godmother was seen
standing there.

'This,' she said, turning to the king, 'is the girl whom you have always
believed to be your sister, and who vanished during the siege. She is
not your sister at all, but the daughter of the king of a neighbouring
country, who was given to your mother to bring up, to save her from the
hands of a wizard.'

Then she vanished, and was never seen again, nor the wonder-working
basket either; but now that Dotterine's troubles were over she could get
on without them, and she and the young king lived happily together till
the end of their days.

(Ehstnische Marchen.)




STAN BOLOVAN

Once upon a time what happened did happen, and if it had not happened
this story would never have been told.

On the outskirts of a village just where the oxen were turned out to
pasture, and the pigs roamed about burrowing with their noses among the
roots of the trees, there stood a small house. In the house lived a man
who had a wife, and the wife was sad all day long.

'Dear wife, what is wrong with you that you hang your head like a
drooping rosebud?' asked her husband one morning. 'You have everything
you want; why cannot you be merry like other women?'

'Leave me alone, and do not seek to know the reason,' replied she,
bursting into tears, and the man thought that it was no time to question
her, and went away to his work.

He could not, however, forget all about it, and a few days after he
inquired again the reason of her sadness, but only got the same reply.
At length he felt he could bear it no longer, and tried a third time,
and then his wife turned and answered him.

'Good gracious!' cried she, 'why cannot you let things be as they are?
If I were to tell you, you would become just as wretched as myself. If
you would only believe, it is far better for you to know nothing.'

But no man yet was ever content with such an answer. The more you beg
him not to inquire, the greater is his curiosity to learn the whole.

'Well, if you MUST know,' said the wife at last, 'I will tell you. There
is no luck in this house--no luck at all!'

'Is not your cow the best milker in all the village? Are not your trees
as full of fruit as your hives are full of bees? Has anyone cornfields
like ours? Really you talk nonsense when you say things like that!'

'Yes, all that you say is true, but we have no children.'

Then Stan understood, and when a man once understands and has his eyes
opened it is no longer well with him. From that day the little house in
the outskirts contained an unhappy man as well as an unhappy woman. And
at the sight of her husband's misery the woman became more wretched than
ever.

And so matters went on for some time.

Some weeks had passed, and Stan thought he would consult a wise man
who lived a day's journey from his own house. The wise man was sitting
before his door when he came up, and Stan fell on his knees before him.
'Give me children, my lord, give me children.'

'Take care what you are asking,' replied the wise man. 'Will not
children be a burden to you? Are you rich enough to feed and clothe
them?'

'Only give them to me, my lord, and I will manage somehow!' and at a
sign from the wise man Stan went his way.

He reached home that evening tired and dusty, but with hope in his
heart. As he drew near his house a sound of voices struck upon his ear,
and he looked up to see the whole place full of children. Children
in the garden, children in the yard, children looking out of every
window--it seemed to the man as if all the children in the world must be
gathered there. And none was bigger than the other, but each was smaller
than the other, and every one was more noisy and more impudent and more
daring than the rest, and Stan gazed and grew cold with horror as he
realised that they all belonged to him.

'Good gracious! how many there are! how many!' he muttered to himself.

'Oh, but not one too many,' smiled his wife, coming up with a crowd more
children clinging to her skirts.

But even she found that it was not so easy to look after a hundred
children, and when a few days had passed and they had eaten up all the
food there was in the house, they began to cry, 'Father! I am hungry--I
am hungry,' till Stan scratched his head and wondered what he was to do
next. It was not that he thought there were too many children, for his
life had seemed more full of joy since they appeared, but now it came to
the point he did not know how he was to feed them. The cow had ceased to
give milk, and it was too early for the fruit trees to ripen.

'Do you know, old woman!' said he one day to his wife, 'I must go out
into the world and try to bring back food somehow, though I cannot tell
where it is to come from.'

To the hungry man any road is long, and then there was always the
thought that he had to satisfy a hundred greedy children as well as
himself.

Stan wandered, and wandered, and wandered, till he reached to the end of
the world, where that which is, is mingled with that which is not, and
there he saw, a little way off, a sheepfold, with seven sheep in it. In
the shadow of some trees lay the rest of the flock.

Stan crept up, hoping that he might manage to decoy some of them away
quietly, and drive them home for food for his family, but he soon found
this could not be. For at midnight he heard a rushing noise, and through
the air flew a dragon, who drove apart a ram, a sheep, and a lamb, and
three fine cattle that were lying down close by. And besides these he
took the milk of seventy-seven sheep, and carried it home to his old
mother, that she might bathe in it and grow young again. And this
happened every night.

The shepherd bewailed himself in vain: the dragon only laughed, and Stan
saw that this was not the place to get food for his family.

But though he quite understood that it was almost hopeless to fight
against such a powerful monster, yet the thought of the hungry children
at home clung to him like a burr, and would not be shaken off, and at
last he said to the shepherd, 'What will you give me if I rid you of the
dragon?'

'One of every three rams, one of every three sheep, one of every three
lambs,' answered the herd.

'It is a bargain,' replied Stan, though at the moment he did not know
how, supposing he DID come off the victor, he would ever be able to
drive so large a flock home.

However, that matter could be settled later. At present night was not
far off, and he must consider how best to fight with the dragon.

Just at midnight, a horrible feeling that was new and strange to him
came over Stan--a feeling that he could not put into words even to
himself, but which almost forced him to give up the battle and take
the shortest road home again. He half turned; then he remembered the
children, and turned back.

'You or I,' said Stan to himself, and took up his position on the edge
of the flock.

'Stop!' he suddenly cried, as the air was filled with a rushing noise,
and the dragon came dashing past.

'Dear me!' exclaimed the dragon, looking round. 'Who are you, and where
do you come from?'

'I am Stan Bolovan, who eats rocks all night, and in the day feeds on
the flowers of the mountain; and if you meddle with those sheep I will
carve a cross on your back.'

When the dragon heard these words he stood quite still in the middle of
the road, for he knew he had met with his match.

'But you will have to fight me first,' he said in a trembling voice, for
when you faced him properly he was not brave at all.

'I fight you?' replied Stan, 'why I could slay you with one breath!'
Then, stooping to pick up a large cheese which lay at his feet, he
added, 'Go and get a stone like this out of the river, so that we may
lose no time in seeing who is the best man.'

The dragon did as Stan bade him, and brought back a stone out of the
brook.

'Can you get buttermilk out of your stone?' asked Stan.

The dragon picked up his stone with one hand, and squeezed it till it
fell into powder, but no buttermilk flowed from it. 'Of course I can't!'
he said, half angrily.

'Well, if you can't, I can,' answered Stan, and he pressed the cheese
till buttermilk flowed through his fingers.

When the dragon saw that, he thought it was time he made the best of his
way home again, but Stan stood in his path.

'We have still some accounts to settle,' said he, 'about what you have
been doing here,' and the poor dragon was too frightened to stir, lest
Stan should slay him at one breath and bury him among the flowers in the
mountain pastures.

'Listen to me,' he said at last. 'I see you are a very useful person,
and my mother has need of a fellow like you. Suppose you enter her
service for three days, which are as long as one of your years, and she
will pay you each day seven sacks full of ducats.'

Three times seven sacks full of ducats! The offer was very tempting,
and Stan could not resist it. He did not waste words, but nodded to the
dragon, and they started along the road.

It was a long, long way, but when they came to the end they found the
dragon's mother, who was as old as time itself, expecting them. Stan saw
her eyes shining like lamps from afar, and when they entered the house
they beheld a huge kettle standing on the fire, filled with milk. When
the old mother found that her son had arrived empty-handed she grew very
angry, and fire and flame darted from her nostrils, but before she could
speak the dragon turned to Stan.

'Stay here,' said he, 'and wait for me; I am going to explain things to
my mother.'

Stan was already repenting bitterly that he had ever come to such a
place, but, since he was there, there was nothing for it but to take
everything quietly, and not show that he was afraid.

'Listen, mother,' said the dragon as soon as they were alone, 'I have
brought this man in order to get rid of him. He is a terrific fellow who
eats rocks, and can press buttermilk out of a stone,' and he told her
all that had happened the night before.

'Oh, just leave him to me!' she said. 'I have never yet let a man slip
through my fingers.' So Stan had to stay and do the old mother service.

The next day she told him that he and her son should try which was the
strongest, and she took down a huge club, bound seven times with iron.

The dragon picked it up as if it had been a feather, and, after whirling
it round his head, flung it lightly three miles away, telling Stan to
beat that if he could.

They walked to the spot where the club lay. Stan stooped and felt
it; then a great fear came over him, for he knew that he and all his
children together would never lift that club from the ground.

'What are you doing?' asked the dragon.

'I was thinking what a beautiful club it was, and what a pity it is that
it should cause your death.'

'How do you mean--my death?' asked the dragon.

'Only that I am afraid that if I throw it you will never see another
dawn. You don't know how strong I am!'

'Oh, never mind that be quick and throw.'

'If you are really in earnest, let us go and feast for three days: that
will at any rate give you three extra days of life.'

Stan spoke so calmly that this time the dragon began to get a little
frightened, though he did not quite believe that things would be as bad
as Stan said.

They returned to the house, took all the food that could be found in the
old mother's larder, and carried it back to the place where the club was
lying. Then Stan seated himself on the sack of provisions, and remained
quietly watching the setting moon.

'What are you doing?' asked the dragon.

'Waiting till the moon gets out of my way.'

'What do you mean? I don't understand.'

'Don't you see that the moon is exactly in my way? But of course, if you
like, I will throw the club into the moon.'

At these words the dragon grew uncomfortable for the second time.

He prized the club, which had been left him by his grandfather, very
highly, and had no desire that it should be lost in the moon.

'I'll tell you what,' he said, after thinking a little. 'Don't throw
the club at all. I will throw it a second time, and that will do just as
well.'

'No, certainly not!' replied Stan. 'Just wait till the moon sets.'

But the dragon, in dread lest Stan should fulfil his threats, tried
what bribes could do, and in the end had to promise Stan seven sacks of
ducats before he was suffered to throw back the club himself.

'Oh, dear me, that is indeed a strong man,' said the dragon, turning to
his mother. 'Would you believe that I have had the greatest difficulty
in preventing him from throwing the club into the moon?'

Then the old woman grew uncomfortable too! Only to think of it! It was
no joke to throw things into the moon! So no more was heard of the club,
and the next day they had all something else to think about.

'Go and fetch me water!' said the mother, when the morning broke, and
gave them twelve buffalo skins with the order to keep filling them till
night.

They set out at once for the brook, and in the twinkling of an eye the
dragon had filled the whole twelve, carried them into the house, and
brought them back to Stan. Stan was tired: he could scarcely lift the
buckets when they were empty, and he shuddered to think of what would
happen when they were full. But he only took an old knife out of his
pocket and began to scratch up the earth near the brook.

'What are you doing there? How are you going to carry the water into the
house?' asked the dragon.

'How? Dear me, that is easy enough! I shall just take the brook!'

At these words the dragon's jaw dropped. This was the last thing that
had ever entered his head, for the brook had been as it was since the
days of his grandfather.

'I'll tell you what!' he said. 'Let me carry your skins for you.'

'Most certainly not,' answered Stan, going on with his digging, and the
dragon, in dread lest he should fulfil his threat, tried what bribes
would do, and in the end had again to promise seven sacks of ducats
before Stan would agree to leave the brook alone and let him carry the
water into the house.

On the third day the old mother sent Stan into the forest for wood, and,
as usual, the dragon went with him.

Before you could count three he had pulled up more trees than Stan could
have cut down in a lifetime, and had arranged them neatly in rows. When
the dragon had finished, Stan began to look about him, and, choosing the
biggest of the trees, he climbed up it, and, breaking off a long rope of
wild vine, bound the top of the tree to the one next it. And so he did
to a whole line of trees.

'What are you doing there?' asked the dragon.

'You can see for yourself,' answered Stan, going quietly on with his
work.

'Why are you tying the trees together?'

'Not to give myself unnecessary work; when I pull up one, all the others
will come up too.'

'But how will you carry them home?'

'Dear me! don't you understand that I am going to take the whole forest
back with me?' said Stan, tying two other trees as he spoke.

'I'll tell you what,' cried the dragon, trembling with fear at the
thought of such a thing; 'let me carry the wood for you, and you shall
have seven times seven sacks full of ducats.'

'You are a good fellow, and I agree to your proposal,' answered Stan,
and the dragon carried the wood.

Now the three days' service which were to be reckoned as a year were
over, and the only thing that disturbed Stan was, how to get all those
ducats back to his home!

In the evening the dragon and his mother had a long talk, but Stan heard
every word through a crack in the ceiling.

'Woe be to us, mother,' said the dragon; 'this man will soon get us into
his power. Give him his money, and let us be rid of him.'

But the old mother was fond of money, and did not like this.

'Listen to me,' said she; 'you must murder him this very night.'

'I am afraid,' answered he.

'There is nothing to fear,' replied the old mother. 'When he is asleep
take the club, and hit him on the head with it. It is easily done.'

And so it would have been, had not Stan heard all about it. And when the
dragon and his mother had put out their lights, he took the pigs' trough
and filled it with earth, and placed it in his bed, and covered it with
clothes. Then he hid himself underneath, and began to snore loudly.

Very soon the dragon stole softly into the room, and gave a tremendous
blow on the spot where Stan's head should have been. Stan groaned loudly
from under the bed, and the dragon went away as softly as he had come.
Directly he had closed the door, Stan lifted out the pigs' trough, and
lay down himself, after making everything clean and tidy, but he was
wise enough not to shut his eyes that night.

The next morning he came into the room when the dragon and his mother
were having their breakfast.

'Good morning,' said he.

'Good morning. How did you sleep?'

'Oh, very well, but I dreamed that a flea had bitten me, and I seem to
feel it still.'

The dragon and his mother looked at each other. 'Do you hear that?'
whispered he. 'He talks of a flea. I broke my club on his head.'

This time the mother grew as frightened as her son. There was nothing to
be done with a man like this, and she made all haste to fill the sacks
with ducats, so as to get rid of Stan as soon as possible. But on his
side Stan was trembling like an aspen, as he could not lift even one
sack from the ground. So he stood still and looked at them.

'What are you standing there for?' asked the dragon.

'Oh, I was standing here because it has just occurred to me that I
should like to stay in your service for another year. I am ashamed that
when I get home they should see I have brought back so little. I know
that they will cry out, "Just look at Stan Bolovan, who in one year has
grown as weak as a dragon."'

Here a shriek of dismay was heard both from the dragon and his mother,
who declared they would give him seven or even seven times seven the
number of sacks if he would only go away.

'I'll tell you what!' said Stan at last. 'I see you don't want me to
stay, and I should be very sorry to make myself disagreeable. I will
go at once, but only on condition that you shall carry the money home
yourself, so that I may not be put to shame before my friends.'

The words were hardly out of his mouth before the dragon had snatched up
the sacks and piled them on his back. Then he and Stan set forth.

The way, though really not far, was yet too long for Stan, but at length
he heard his children's voices, and stopped short. He did not wish the
dragon to know where he lived, lest some day he should come to take back
his treasure. Was there nothing he could say to get rid of the monster?
Suddenly an idea came into Stan's head, and he turned round.

'I hardly know what to do,' said he. 'I have a hundred children, and I
am afraid they may do you harm, as they are always ready for a fight.
However, I will do my best to protect you.'

A hundred children! That was indeed no joke! The dragon let fall the
sacks from terror, and then picked them up again. But the children, who
had had nothing to eat since their father had left them, came rushing
towards him, waving knives in their right hands and forks in their left,
and crying, 'Give us dragon's flesh; we will have dragon's flesh.'

At this dreadful sight the dragon waited no longer: he flung down his
sacks where he stood and took flight as fast as he could, so terrified
at the fate that awaited him that from that day he has never dared to
show his face in the world again.

(Adapted from Rumanische Marchen.)




THE TWO FROGS

Once upon a time in the country of Japan there lived two frogs, one of
whom made his home in a ditch near the town of Osaka, on the sea coast,
while the other dwelt in a clear little stream which ran through the
city of Kioto. At such a great distance apart, they had never even heard
of each other; but, funnily enough, the idea came into both their heads
at once that they should like to see a little of the world, and the
frog who lived at Kioto wanted to visit Osaka, and the frog who lived at
Osaka wished to go to Kioto, where the great Mikado had his palace.

So one fine morning in the spring they both set out along the road that
led from Kioto to Osaka, one from one end and the other from the other.
The journey was more tiring than they expected, for they did not know
much about travelling, and half way between the two towns there arose a
mountain which had to be climbed. It took them a long time and a great
many hops to reach the top, but there they were at last, and what was
the surprise of each to see another frog before him! They looked at each
other for a moment without speaking, and then fell into conversation,
explaining the cause of their meeting so far from their homes. It was
delightful to find that they both felt the same wish--to learn a little
more of their native country--and as there was no sort of hurry they
stretched themselves out in a cool, damp place, and agreed that they
would have a good rest before they parted to go their ways.

'What a pity we are not bigger,' said the Osaka frog; 'for then we could
see both towns from here, and tell if it is worth our while going on.'

'Oh, that is easily managed,' returned the Kioto frog. 'We have only got
to stand up on our hind legs, and hold on to each other, and then we can
each look at the town he is travelling to.'

This idea pleased the Osaka frog so much that he at once jumped up and
put his front paws on the shoulders of his friend, who had risen also.
There they both stood, stretching themselves as high as they could, and
holding each other tightly, so that they might not fall down. The Kioto
frog turned his nose towards Osaka, and the Osaka frog turned his nose
towards Kioto; but the foolish things forgot that when they stood up
their great eyes lay in the backs of their heads, and that though their
noses might point to the places to which they wanted to go their eyes
beheld the places from which they had come.

'Dear me!' cried the Osaka frog, 'Kioto is exactly like Osaka. It is
certainly not worth such a long journey. I shall go home!'

'If I had had any idea that Osaka was only a copy of Kioto I should
never have travelled all this way,' exclaimed the frog from Kioto, and
as he spoke he took his hands from his friend's shoulders, and they both
fell down on the grass. Then they took a polite farewell of each other,
and set off for home again, and to the end of their lives they believed
that Osaka and Kioto, which are as different to look at as two towns can
be, were as like as two peas.

(Japanische Marchen.)




THE STORY OF A GAZELLE

Once upon a time there lived a man who wasted all his money, and grew
so poor that his only food was a few grains of corn, which he scratched
like a fowl from out of a dust-heap.

One day he was scratching as usual among a dust-heap in the street,
hoping to find something for breakfast, when his eye fell upon a small
silver coin, called an eighth, which he greedily snatched up. 'Now I can
have a proper meal,' he thought, and after drinking some water at a well
he lay down and slept so long that it was sunrise before he woke again.
Then he jumped up and returned to the dust-heap. 'For who knows,' he
said to himself, 'whether I may not have some good luck again.'

As he was walking down the road, he saw a man coming towards him,
carrying a cage made of twigs. 'Hi! you fellow!' called he, 'what have
you got inside there?'

'Gazelles,' replied the man.

'Bring them here, for I should like to see them.'

As he spoke, some men who were standing by began to laugh, saying to the
man with the cage: 'You had better take care how you bargain with him,
for he has nothing at all except what he picks up from a dust-heap, and
if he can't feed himself, will he be able to feed a gazelle?'

But the man with the cage made answer: 'Since I started from my home in
the country, fifty people at the least have called me to show them
my gazelles, and was there one among them who cared to buy? It is the
custom for a trader in merchandise to be summoned hither and thither,
and who knows where one may find a buyer?' And he took up his cage and
went towards the scratcher of dust-heaps, and the men went with him.

'What do you ask for your gazelles?' said the beggar. 'Will you let me
have one for an eighth?'

And the man with the cage took out a gazelle, and held it out, saying,
'Take this one, master!'

And the beggar took it and carried it to the dust-heap, where he
scratched carefully till he found a few grains of corn, which he divided
with his gazelle. This he did night and morning, till five days went by.

Then, as he slept, the gazelle woke him, saying, 'Master.'

And the man answered, 'How is it that I see a wonder?'

'What wonder?' asked the gazelle.

'Why, that you, a gazelle, should be able to speak, for, from the
beginning, my father and mother and all the people that are in the world
have never told me of a talking gazelle.'

'Never mind that,' said the gazelle, 'but listen to what I say! First,
I took you for my master. Second, you gave for me all you had in the
world. I cannot run away from you, but give me, I pray you, leave to go
every morning and seek food for myself, and every evening I will come
back to you. What you find in the dust-heaps is not enough for both of
us.'

'Go, then,' answered the master; and the gazelle went.

When the sun had set, the gazelle came back, and the poor man was very
glad, and they lay down and slept side by side.

In the morning it said to him, 'I am going away to feed.'

And the man replied, 'Go, my son,' but he felt very lonely without
his gazelle, and set out sooner than usual for the dust-heap where he
generally found most corn. And glad he was when the evening came, and he
could return home. He lay on the grass chewing tobacco, when the gazelle
trotted up.

'Good evening, my master; how have you fared all day? I have been
resting in the shade in a place where there is sweet grass when I am
hungry, and fresh water when I am thirsty, and a soft breeze to fan me
in the heat. It is far away in the forest, and no one knows of it but
me, and to-morrow I shall go again.'

So for five days the gazelle set off at daybreak for this cool spot, but
on the fifth day it came to a place where the grass was bitter, and it
did not like it, and scratched, hoping to tear away the bad blades. But,
instead, it saw something lying in the earth, which turned out to be a
diamond, very large and bright. 'Oh, ho!' said the gazelle to itself,
'perhaps now I can do something for my master who bought me with all the
money he had; but I must be careful or they will say he has stolen it.
I had better take it myself to some great rich man, and see what it will
do for me.'

Directly the gazelle had come to this conclusion, it picked up the
diamond in its mouth, and went on and on and on through the forest, but
found no place where a rich man was likely to dwell. For two more days
it ran, from dawn to dark, till at last early one morning it caught
sight of a large town, which gave it fresh courage.

The people were standing about the streets doing their marketing, when
the gazelle bounded past, the diamond flashing as it ran. They called
after it, but it took no notice till it reached the palace, where the
sultan was sitting, enjoying the cool air. And the gazelle galloped up
to him, and laid the diamond at his feet.

The sultan looked first at the diamond and next at the gazelle; then he
ordered his attendants to bring cushions and a carpet, that the gazelle
might rest itself after its long journey. And he likewise ordered milk
to be brought, and rice, that it might eat and drink and be refreshed.

And when the gazelle was rested, the sultan said to it: 'Give me the
news you have come with.'

And the gazelle answered: 'I am come with this diamond, which is
a pledge from my master the Sultan Darai. He has heard you have a
daughter, and sends you this small token, and begs you will give her to
him to wife.'

And the sultan said: 'I am content. The wife is his wife, the family is
his family, the slave is his slave. Let him come to me empty-handed, I
am content.'

When the sultan had ended, the gazelle rose, and said: 'Master,
farewell; I go back to our town, and in eight days, or it may be in
eleven days, we shall arrive as your guests.'

And the sultan answered: 'So let it be.'

All this time the poor man far away had been mourning and weeping for
his gazelle, which he thought had run away from him for ever.

And when it came in at the door he rushed to embrace it with such joy
that he would not allow it a chance to speak.

'Be still, master, and don't cry,' said the gazelle at last; 'let us
sleep now, and in the morning, when I go, follow me.'

With the first ray of dawn they got up and went into the forest, and on
the fifth day, as they were resting near a stream, the gazelle gave
its master a sound beating, and then bade him stay where he was till it
returned. And the gazelle ran off, and about ten o'clock it came near
the sultan's palace, where the road was all lined with soldiers who were
there to do honour to Sultan Darai. And directly they caught sight of
the gazelle in the distance one of the soldiers ran on and said, 'Sultan
Darai is coming: I have seen the gazelle.'

Then the sultan rose up, and called his whole court to follow him,
and went out to meet the gazelle, who, bounding up to him, gave him
greeting. The sultan answered politely, and inquired where it had left
its master, whom it had promised to bring back.

'Alas!' replied the gazelle, 'he is lying in the forest, for on our way
here we were met by robbers, who, after beating and robbing him, took
away all his clothes. And he is now hiding under a bush, lest a passing
stranger might see him.'

The sultan, on hearing what had happened to his future son-in-law,
turned his horse and rode to the palace, and bade a groom to harness
the best horse in the stable and order a woman slave to bring a bag of
clothes, such as a man might want, out of the chest; and he chose out
a tunic and a turban and a sash for the waist, and fetched himself a
gold-hilted sword, and a dagger and a pair of sandals, and a stick of
sweet-smelling wood.

'Now,' said he to the gazelle, 'take these things with the soldiers to
the sultan, that he may be able to come.'

And the gazelle answered: 'Can I take those soldiers to go and put my
master to shame as he lies there naked? I am enough by myself, my lord.'

'How will you be enough,' asked the sultan, 'to manage this horse and
all these clothes?'

'Oh, that is easily done,' replied the gazelle. 'Fasten the horse to my
neck and tie the clothes to the back of the horse, and be sure they are
fixed firmly, as I shall go faster than he does.'

Everything was carried out as the gazelle had ordered, and when all was
ready it said to the sultan: 'Farewell, my lord, I am going.'

'Farewell, gazelle,' answered the sultan; 'when shall we see you again?'

'To-morrow about five,' replied the gazelle, and, giving a tug to the
horse's rein, they set off at a gallop.

The sultan watched them till they were out of sight: then he said to his
attendants, 'That gazelle comes from gentle hands, from the house of a
sultan, and that is what makes it so different from other gazelles.' And
in the eyes of the sultan the gazelle became a person of consequence.

Meanwhile the gazelle ran on till it came to the place where its master
was seated, and his heart laughed when he saw the gazelle.

And the gazelle said to him, 'Get up, my master, and bathe in the
stream!' and when the man had bathed it said again, 'Now rub yourself
well with earth, and rub your teeth well with sand to make them bright
and shining.' And when this was done it said, 'The sun has gone down
behind the hills; it is time for us to go': so it went and brought the
clothes from the back of the horse, and the man put them on and was well
pleased.

'Master!' said the gazelle when the man was ready, 'be sure that where
we are going you keep silence, except for giving greetings and asking
for news. Leave all the talking to me. I have provided you with a wife,
and have made her presents of clothes and turbans and rare and precious
things, so it is needless for you to speak.'

'Very good, I will be silent,' replied the man as he mounted the horse.
'You have given all this; it is you who are the master, and I who am the
slave, and I will obey you in all things.'

'So they went their way, and they went and went till the gazelle saw in
the distance the palace of the sultan. Then it said, 'Master, that is
the house we are going to, and you are not a poor man any longer: even
your name is new.'

'What IS my name, eh, my father?' asked the man.

'Sultan Darai,' said the gazelle.

Very soon some soldiers came to meet them, while others ran off to tell
the sultan of their approach. And the sultan set off at once, and the
viziers and the emirs, and the judges, and the rich men of the city, all
followed him.

Directly the gazelle saw them coming, it said to its master: 'Your
father-in-law is coming to meet you; that is he in the middle, wearing a
mantle of sky-blue. Get off your horse and go to greet him.'

And Sultan Darai leapt from his horse, and so did the other sultan, and
they gave their hands to one another and kissed each other, and went
together into the palace.

The next morning the gazelle went to the rooms of the sultan, and said
to him: 'My lord, we want you to marry us our wife, for the soul of
Sultan Darai is eager.'

'The wife is ready, so call the priest,' answered he, and when the
ceremony was over a cannon was fired and music was played, and within
the palace there was feasting.

'Master,' said the gazelle the following morning, 'I am setting out on
a journey, and I shall not be back for seven days, and perhaps not then.
But be careful not to leave the house till I come.'

And the master answered, 'I will not leave the house.'

And it went to the sultan of the country and said to him: 'My lord,
Sultan Darai has sent me to his town to get the house in order. It will
take me seven days, and if I am not back in seven days he will not leave
the palace till I return.'

'Very good,' said the sultan.

And it went and it went through the forest and wilderness, till it
arrived at a town full of fine houses. At the end of the chief road was
a great house, beautiful exceedingly, built of sapphire and turquoise
and marbles. 'That,' thought the gazelle, 'is the house for my master,
and I will call up my courage and go and look at the people who are
in it, if any people there are. For in this town have I as yet seen no
people. If I die, I die, and if I live, I live. Here can I think of no
plan, so if anything is to kill me, it will kill me.'

Then it knocked twice at the door, and cried 'Open,' but no one
answered. And it cried again, and a voice replied:

'Who are you that are crying "Open"?'

And the gazelle said, 'It is I, great mistress, your grandchild.'

'If you are my grandchild,' returned the voice, 'go back whence you
came. Don't come and die here, and bring me to my death as well.'

'Open, mistress, I entreat, I have something to say to you.'

'Grandchild,' replied she, 'I fear to put your life in danger, and my
own too.'

'Oh, mistress, my life will not be lost, nor yours either; open, I pray
you.' So she opened the door.

'What is the news where you come from, my grandson,' asked she.

'Great lady, where I come from it is well, and with you it is well.'

'Ah, my son, here it is not well at all. If you seek a way to die, or if
you have not yet seen death, then is to-day the day for you to know what
dying is.'

'If I am to know it, I shall know it,' replied the gazelle; 'but tell
me, who is the lord of this house?'

And she said: 'Ah, father! in this house is much wealth, and much
people, and much food, and many horses. And the lord of it all is an
exceeding great and wonderful snake.'

'Oh!' cried the gazelle when he heard this; 'tell me how I can get at
the snake to kill him?'

'My son,' returned the old woman, 'do not say words like these; you risk
both our lives. He has put me here all by myself, and I have to cook his
food. When the great snake is coming there springs up a wind, and blows
the dust about, and this goes on till the great snake glides into the
courtyard and calls for his dinner, which must always be ready for him
in those big pots. He eats till he has had enough, and then drinks a
whole tankful of water. After that he goes away. Every second day he
comes, when the sun is over the house. And he has seven heads. How then
can you be a match for him, my son?'

'Mind your own business, mother,' answered the gazelle, 'and don't mind
other people's! Has this snake a sword?'

'He has a sword, and a sharp one too. It cuts like a dash of lightning.'

'Give it to me, mother!' said the gazelle, and she unhooked the sword
from the wall, as she was bidden. 'You must be quick,' she said, 'for
he may be here at any moment. Hark! is not that the wind rising? He has
come!'

They were silent, but the old woman peeped from behind a curtain, and
saw the snake busy at the pots which she had placed ready for him in
the courtyard. And after he had done eating and drinking he came to the
door:

'You old body!' he cried; 'what smell is that I smell inside that is not
the smell of every day?'

'Oh, master!' answered she, 'I am alone, as I always am! But to-day,
after many days, I have sprinkled fresh scent all over me, and it is
that which you smell. What else could it be, master?'

All this time the gazelle had been standing close to the door, holding
the sword in one of its front paws. And as the snake put one of
his heads through the hole that he had made so as to get in and out
comfortably, it cut it of so clean that the snake really did not feel
it. The second blow was not quite so straight, for the snake said to
himself, 'Who is that who is trying to scratch me?' and stretched out
his third head to see; but no sooner was the neck through the hole than
the head went rolling to join the rest.

When six of his heads were gone the snake lashed his tail with such fury
that the gazelle and the old woman could not see each other for the dust
he made. And the gazelle said to him, 'You have climbed all sorts of
trees, but this you can't climb,' and as the seventh head came darting
through it went rolling to join the rest.

Then the sword fell rattling on the ground, for the gazelle had fainted.

The old woman shrieked with delight when she saw her enemy was dead, and
ran to bring water to the gazelle, and fanned it, and put it where the
wind could blow on it, till it grew better and gave a sneeze. And
the heart of the old woman was glad, and she gave it more water, till
by-and-by the gazelle got up.

'Show me this house,' it said, 'from beginning to end, from top to
bottom, from inside to out.'

So she arose and showed the gazelle rooms full of gold and precious
things, and other rooms full of slaves. 'They are all yours, goods and
slaves,' said she.

But the gazelle answered, 'You must keep them safe till I call my
master.'

For two days it lay and rested in the house, and fed on milk and rice,
and on the third day it bade the old woman farewell and started back to
its master.

And when he heard that the gazelle was at the door he felt like a man
who has found the time when all prayers are granted, and he rose and
kissed it, saying: 'My father, you have been a long time; you have left
sorrow with me. I cannot eat, I cannot drink, I cannot laugh; my heart
felt no smile at anything, because of thinking of you.'

And the gazelle answered: 'I am well, and where I come from it is well,
and I wish that after four days you would take your wife and go home.'

And he said: 'It is for you to speak. Where you go, I will follow.'

'Then I shall go to your father-in-law and tell him this news.'

'Go, my son.'

So the gazelle went to the father-in-law and said: 'I am sent by my
master to come and tell you that after four days he will go away with
his wife to his own home.'

'Must he really go so quickly? We have not yet sat much together, I
and Sultan Darai, nor have we yet talked much together, nor have we yet
ridden out together, nor have we eaten together; yet it is fourteen days
since he came.'

But the gazelle replied: 'My lord, you cannot help it, for he wishes to
go home, and nothing will stop him.'

'Very good,' said the sultan, and he called all the people who were in
the town, and commanded that the day his daughter left the palace ladies
and guards were to attend her on her way.

And at the end of four days a great company of ladies and slaves and
horses went forth to escort the wife of Sultan Darai to her new home.
They rode all day, and when the sun sank behind the hills they rested,
and ate of the food the gazelle gave them, and lay down to sleep. And
they journeyed on for many days, and they all, nobles and slaves, loved
the gazelle with a great love--more than they loved the Sultan Darai.

At last one day signs of houses appeared, far, far off. And those who
saw cried out, 'Gazelle!'

And it answered, 'Ah, my mistresses, that is the house of Sultan Darai.'

At this news the women rejoiced much, and the slaves rejoiced much, and
in the space of two hours they came to the gates, and the gazelle bade
them all stay behind, and it went on to the house with Sultan Darai.

When the old woman saw them coming through the courtyard she jumped and
shouted for joy, and as the gazelle drew near she seized it in her arms,
and kissed it. The gazelle did not like this, and said to her: 'Old
woman, leave me alone; the one to be carried is my master, and the one
to be kissed is my master.'

And she answered, 'Forgive me, my son. I did not know this was our
master,' and she threw open all the doors so that the master might see
everything that the rooms and storehouses contained. Sultan Darai looked
about him, and at length he said:

'Unfasten those horses that are tied up, and let loose those people that
are bound. And let some sweep, and some spread the beds, and some cook,
and some draw water, and some come out and receive the mistress.'

And when the sultana and her ladies and her slaves entered the house,
and saw the rich stuffs it was hung with, and the beautiful rice that
was prepared for them to eat, they cried: 'Ah, you gazelle, we have seen
great houses, we have seen people, we have heard of things. But this
house, and you, such as you are, we have never seen or heard of.'

After a few days, the ladies said they wished to go home again. The
gazelle begged them hard to stay, but finding they would not, it brought
many gifts, and gave some to the ladies and some to their slaves. And
they all thought the gazelle greater a thousand times than its master,
Sultan Darai.

The gazelle and its master remained in the house many weeks, and one day
it said to the old woman, 'I came with my master to this place, and I
have done many things for my master, good things, and till to-day he has
never asked me: "Well, my gazelle, how did you get this house? Who is
the owner of it? And this town, were there no people in it?" All good
things I have done for the master, and he has not one day done me any
good thing. But people say, "If you want to do any one good, don't do
him good only, do him evil also, and there will be peace between you."
 So, mother, I have done: I want to see the favours I have done to my
master, that he may do me the like.'

'Good,' replied the old woman, and they went to bed.

In the morning, when light came, the gazelle was sick in its stomach and
feverish, and its legs ached. And it said 'Mother!'

And she answered, 'Here, my son?'

And it said, 'Go and tell my master upstairs the gazelle is very ill.'

'Very good, my son; and if he should ask me what is the matter, what am
I to say?'

'Tell him all my body aches badly; I have no single part without pain.'

The old woman went upstairs, and she found the mistress and master
sitting on a couch of marble spread with soft cushions, and they asked
her, 'Well, old woman, what do you want?'

'To tell the master the gazelle is ill,' said she.

'What is the matter?' asked the wife.

'All its body pains; there is no part without pain.'

'Well, what can I do? Make some gruel of red millet, and give to it.'

But his wife stared and said: 'Oh, master, do you tell her to make
the gazelle gruel out of red millet, which a horse would not eat? Eh,
master, that is not well.'

But he answered, 'Oh, you are mad! Rice is only kept for people.'

'Eh, master, this is not like a gazelle. It is the apple of your eye. If
sand got into that, it would trouble you.'

'My wife, your tongue is long,' and he left the room.

The old woman saw she had spoken vainly, and went back weeping to the
gazelle. And when the gazelle saw her it said, 'Mother, what is it, and
why do you cry? If it be good, give me the answer; and if it be bad,
give me the answer.'

But still the old woman would not speak, and the gazelle prayed her to
let it know the words of the master. At last she said: 'I went upstairs
and found the mistress and the master sitting on a couch, and he asked
me what I wanted, and I told him that you, his slave, were ill. And his
wife asked what was the matter, and I told her that there was not a
part of your body without pain. And the master told me to take some
red millet and make you gruel, but the mistress said, 'Eh, master, the
gazelle is the apple of your eye; you have no child, this gazelle is
like your child; so this gazelle is not one to be done evil to. This
is a gazelle in form, but not a gazelle in heart; he is in all things
better than a gentleman, be he who he may.'

And he answered her, 'Silly chatterer, your words are many. I know its
price; I bought it for an eighth. What loss will it be to me?'

The gazelle kept silence for a few moments. Then it said, 'The elders
said, "One that does good like a mother," and I have done him good, and
I have got this that the elders said. But go up again to the master, and
tell him the gazelle is very ill, and it has not drunk the gruel of red
millet.'

So the old woman returned, and found the master and the mistress
drinking coffee. And when he heard what the gazelle had said, he cried:
'Hold your peace, old woman, and stay your feet and close your eyes,
and stop your ears with wax; and if the gazelle bids you come to me, say
your legs are bent, and you cannot walk; and if it begs you to listen,
say your ears are stopped with wax; and if it wishes to talk, reply that
your tongue has got a hook in it.'

The heart of the old woman wept as she heard such words, because she saw
that when the gazelle first came to that town it was ready to sell its
life to buy wealth for its master. Then it happened to get both life and
wealth, but now it had no honour with its master.

And tears sprung likewise to the eyes of the sultan's wife, and she
said, 'I am sorry for you, my husband, that you should deal so wickedly
with that gazelle'; but he only answered, 'Old woman, pay no heed to the
talk of the mistress: tell it to perish out of the way. I cannot sleep,
I cannot eat, I cannot drink, for the worry of that gazelle. Shall a
creature that I bought for an eighth trouble me from morning till night?
Not so, old woman!'

The old woman went downstairs, and there lay the gazelle, blood flowing
from its nostrils. And she took it in her arms and said, 'My son, the
good you did is lost; there remains only patience.'

And it said, 'Mother, I shall die, for my soul is full of anger and
bitterness. My face is ashamed, that I should have done good to my
master, and that he should repay me with evil.' It paused for a moment,
and then went on, 'Mother, of the goods that are in this house, what do
I eat? I might have every day half a basinful, and would my master be
any the poorer? But did not the elders say, "He that does good like a
mother!"'

And it said, 'Go and tell my master that the gazelle is nearer death
than life.'

So she went, and spoke as the gazelle had bidden her; but he answered,
'I have told you to trouble me no more.'

But his wife's heart was sore, and she said to him: 'Ah, master, what
has the gazelle done to you? How has he failed you? The things you do
to him are not good, and you will draw on yourself the hatred of the
people. For this gazelle is loved by all, by small and great, by women
and men. Ah, my husband! I thought you had great wisdom, and you have
not even a little!'

But he answered, 'You are mad, my wife.'

The old woman stayed no longer, and went back to the gazelle, followed
secretly by the mistress, who called a maidservant and bade her take
some milk and rice and cook it for the gazelle.

'Take also this cloth,' she said, 'to cover it with, and this pillow
for its head. And if the gazelle wants more, let it ask me, and not its
master. And if it will, I will send it in a litter to my father, and he
will nurse it till it is well.'

And the maidservant did as her mistress bade her, and said what her
mistress had told her to say, but the gazelle made no answer, but turned
over on its side and died quietly.

When the news spread abroad, there was much weeping among the people,
and Sultan Darai arose in wrath, and cried, 'You weep for that gazelle
as if you wept for me! And, after all, what is it but a gazelle, that I
bought for an eighth?'

But his wife answered, 'Master, we looked upon that gazelle as we looked
upon you. It was the gazelle who came to ask me of my father, it was the
gazelle who brought me from my father, and I was given in charge to the
gazelle by my father.'

And when the people heard her they lifted up their voices and spoke:

'We never saw you, we saw the gazelle. It was the gazelle who met with
trouble here, it was the gazelle who met with rest here.

So, then, when such an one departs from this world we weep for
ourselves, we do not weep for the gazelle.'

And they said furthermore:

'The gazelle did you much good, and if anyone says he could have done
more for you he is a liar! Therefore, to us who have done you no good,
what treatment will you give? The gazelle has died from bitterness of
soul, and you ordered your slaves to throw it into the well. Ah! leave
us alone that we may weep.'

But Sultan Darai would not heed their words, and the dead gazelle was
thrown into the well.

When the mistress heard of it, she sent three slaves, mounted on
donkeys, with a letter to her father the sultan, and when the sultan had
read the letter he bowed his head and wept, like a man who had lost his
mother. And he commanded horses to be saddled, and called the governor
and the judges and all the rich men, and said:

'Come now with me; let us go and bury it.'

Night and day they travelled, till the sultan came to the well where the
gazelle had been thrown. And it was a large well, built round a rock,
with room for many people; and the sultan entered, and the judges and
the rich men followed him. And when he saw the gazelle lying there he
wept afresh, and took it in his arms and carried it away.

When the three slaves went and told their mistress what the sultan had
done, and how all the people were weeping, she answered:

'I too have eaten no food, neither have I drunk water, since the day the
gazelle died. I have not spoken, and I have not laughed.'

The sultan took the gazelle and buried it, and ordered the people to
wear mourning for it, so there was great mourning throughout the city.

Now after the days of mourning were at an end, the wife was sleeping at
her husband's side, and in her sleep she dreamed that she was once more
in her father's house, and when she woke up it was no dream.

And the man dreamed that he was on the dust-heap, scratching. And when
he woke, behold! that also was no dream, but the truth.

(Swahili Tales.)




HOW A FISH SWAM IN THE AIR AND A HARE IN THE WATER.

Once upon a time an old man and his wife lived together in a little
village. They might have been happy if only the old woman had had the
sense to hold her tongue at proper times. But anything which might
happen indoors, or any bit of news which her husband might bring in when
he had been anywhere, had to be told at once to the whole village, and
these tales were repeated and altered till it often happened that much
mischief was made, and the old man's back paid for it.

One day, he drove to the forest. When he reached the edge of it he got
out of his cart and walked beside it. Suddenly he stepped on such a soft
spot that his foot sank in the earth.

'What can this be?' thought he. 'I'll dig a bit and see.'

So he dug and dug, and at last he came on a little pot full of gold and
silver.

'Oh, what luck! Now, if only I knew how I could take this treasure home
with me----but I can never hope to hide it from my wife, and once
she knows of it she'll tell all the world, and then I shall get into
trouble.'

He sat down and thought over the matter a long time, and at last he made
a plan. He covered up the pot again with earth and twigs, and drove
on into the town, where he bought a live pike and a live hare in the
market.

Then he drove back to the forest and hung the pike up at the very top
of a tree, and tied up the hare in a fishing net and fastened it on the
edge of a little stream, not troubling himself to think how unpleasant
such a wet spot was likely to be to the hare.

Then he got into his cart and trotted merrily home.

'Wife!' cried he, the moment he got indoors. 'You can't think what a
piece of good luck has come our way.'

'What, what, dear husband? Do tell me all about it at once.'

'No, no, you'll just go off and tell everyone.'

'No, indeed! How can you think such things! For shame! If you like I
will swear never to----'

'Oh, well! if you are really in earnest then, listen.'

And he whispered in her ear: 'I've found a pot full of gold and silver
in the forest! Hush!----'

'And why didn't you bring it back?'

'Because we'll drive there together and bring it carefully back between
us.'

So the man and his wife drove to the forest.

As they were driving along the man said:

'What strange things one hears, wife! I was told only the other day
that fish will now live and thrive in the tree tops and that some wild
animals spend their time in the water. Well! well! times are certainly
changed.'

'Why, you must be crazy, husband! Dear, dear, what nonsense people do
talk sometimes.'

'Nonsense, indeed! Why, just look. Bless my soul, if there isn't a fish,
a real pike I do believe, up in that tree.'

'Gracious!' cried his wife. 'How did a pike get there? It IS a pike--you
needn't attempt to say it's not. Can people have said true----'

But the man only shook his head and shrugged his shoulders and opened
his mouth and gaped as if he really could not believe his own eyes.

'What are you standing staring at there, stupid?' said his wife. 'Climb
up the tree quick and catch the pike, and we'll cook it for dinner.'

The man climbed up the tree and brought down the pike, and they drove
on.

When they got near the stream he drew up.

'What are you staring at again?' asked his wife impatiently. 'Drive on,
can't you?'

'Why, I seem to see something moving in that net I set. I must just go
and see what it is.'

He ran to it, and when he had looked in it he called to his wife:

'Just look! Here is actually a four-footed creature caught in the net. I
do believe it's a hare.'

'Good heavens!' cried his wife. 'How did the hare get into your net? It
IS a hare, so you needn't say it isn't. After all, people must have said
the truth----'

But her husband only shook his head and shrugged his shoulders as if he
could not believe his own eyes.

'Now what are you standing there for, stupid?' cried his wife. 'Take up
the hare. A nice fat hare is a dinner for a feast day.'

The old man caught up the hare, and they drove on to the place where the
treasure was buried. They swept the twigs away, dug up the earth, took
out the pot, and drove home again with it.

And now the old couple had plenty of money and were cheery and
comfortable. But the wife was very foolish. Every day she asked a lot
of people to dinner and feasted them, till her husband grew quite
impatient. He tried to reason with her, but she would not listen.

'You've got no right to lecture me!' said she. 'We found the treasure
together, and together we will spend it.'

Her husband took patience, but at length he said to her: 'You may do as
you please, but I sha'n't give you another penny.'

The old woman was very angry. 'Oh, what a good-for-nothing fellow to
want to spend all the money himself! But just wait a bit and see what I
shall do.'

Off she went to the governor to complain of her husband.

'Oh, my lord, protect me from my husband! Ever since he found the
treasure there is no bearing him. He only eats and drinks, and won't
work, and he keeps all the money to himself.'

The governor took pity on the woman, and ordered his chief secretary to
look into the matter.

The secretary called the elders of the village together, and went with
them to the man's house.

'The governor,' said he, 'desires you to give all that treasure you
found into my care.'

The man shrugged his shoulders and said: 'What treasure? I know nothing
about a treasure.'

'How? You know nothing? Why your wife has complained of you. Don't
attempt to tell lies. If you don't hand over all the money at once you
will be tried for daring to raise treasure without giving due notice to
the governor about it.'

'Pardon me, your excellency, but what sort of treasure was it supposed
to have been? My wife must have dreamt of it, and you gentlemen have
listened to her nonsense.'

'Nonsense, indeed,' broke in his wife. 'A kettle full of gold and
silver, do you call that nonsense?'

'You are not in your right mind, dear wife. Sir, I beg your pardon. Ask
her how it all happened, and if she convinces you I'll pay for it with
my life.'

'This is how it all happened, Mr. Secretary,' cried the wife. 'We
were driving through the forest, and we saw a pike up in the top of a
tree----'

'What, a PIKE?' shouted the secretary. 'Do you think you may joke with
me, pray?'

'Indeed, I'm not joking, Mr. Secretary! I'm speaking the bare truth.'

'Now you see, gentlemen,' said her husband, 'how far you can trust her,
when she chatters like this.'

'Chatter, indeed? I!! Perhaps you have forgotten, too, how we found a
live hare in the river?'

Everyone roared with laughter; even the secretary smiled and stroked his
beard, and the man said:

'Come, come, wife, everyone is laughing at you. You see for yourself,
gentlemen, how far you can believe her.'

'Yes, indeed,' said the village elders, 'it is certainly the first time
we have heard that hares thrive in the water or fish among the tree
tops.'

The secretary could make nothing of it all, and drove back to the town.
The old woman was so laughed at that she had to hold her tongue and
obey her husband ever after, and the man bought wares with part of the
treasure and moved into the town, where he opened a shop, and prospered,
and spent the rest of his days in peace.




TWO IN A SACK

What a life that poor man led with his wife, to be sure! Not a day
passed without her scolding him and calling him names, and indeed
sometimes she would take the broom from behind the stove and beat him
with it. He had no peace or comfort at all, and really hardly knew how
to bear it.

One day, when his wife had been particularly unkind and had beaten him
black and blue, he strolled slowly into the fields, and as he could not
endure to be idle he spread out his nets.

What kind of bird do you think he caught in his net? He caught a crane,
and the crane said, 'Let me go free, and I'll show myself grateful.'

The man answered, 'No, my dear fellow. I shall take you home, and then
perhaps my wife won't scold me so much.'

Said the crane: 'You had better come with me to my house,' and so they
went to the crane's house.

When they got there, what do you think the crane took from the wall? He
took down a sack, and he said:

'Two out of a sack!'

Instantly two pretty lads sprang out of the sack. They brought in oak
tables, which they spread with silken covers, and placed all sorts of
delicious dishes and refreshing drinks on them. The man had never seen
anything so beautiful in his life, and he was delighted.

Then the crane said to him, 'Now take this sack to your wife.'

The man thanked him warmly, took the sack, and set out.

His home was a good long way off, and as it was growing dark, and he was
feeling tired, he stopped to rest at his cousin's house by the way.

The cousin had three daughters, who laid out a tempting supper, but the
man would eat nothing, and said to his cousin, 'Your supper is bad.'

'Oh, make the best of it,' said she, but the man only said: 'Clear
away!' and taking out his sack he cried, as the crane had taught him:

'Two out of the sack!'

And out came the two pretty boys, who quickly brought in the oak tables,
spread the silken covers, and laid out all sorts of delicious dishes and
refreshing drinks.

Never in their lives had the cousin and her daughters seen such a
supper, and they were delighted and astonished at it. But the cousin
quietly made up her mind to steal the sack, so she called to her
daughters: 'Go quickly and heat the bathroom: I am sure our dear guest
would like to have a bath before he goes to bed.'

When the man was safe in the bathroom she told her daughters to make a
sack exactly like his, as quickly as possible. Then she changed the two
sacks, and hid the man's sack away.

The man enjoyed his bath, slept soundly, and set off early next morning,
taking what he believed to be the sack the crane had given him.

All the way home he felt in such good spirits that he sang and whistled
as he walked through the wood, and never noticed how the birds were
twittering and laughing at him.

As soon as he saw his house he began to shout from a distance, 'Hallo!
old woman! Come out and meet me!'

His wife screamed back: 'You come here, and I'll give you a good
thrashing with the poker!'

The man walked into the house, hung his sack on a nail, and said, as the
crane had taught him:

'Two out of the sack!'

But not a soul came out of the sack.

Then he said again, exactly as the crane had taught him:

'Two out of the sack!'

His wife, hearing him chattering goodness knows what, took up her wet
broom and swept the ground all about him.

The man took flight and rushed oft into the field, and there he found
the crane marching proudly about, and to him he told his tale.

'Come back to my house,' said the crane, and so they went to the crane's
house, and as soon as they got there, what did the crane take down from
the wall? Why, he took down a sack, and he said:

'Two out of the sack!'

And instantly two pretty lads sprang out of the sack, brought in oak
tables, on which they laid silken covers, and spread all sorts of
delicious dishes and refreshing drinks on them.

'Take this sack,' said the crane.

The man thanked him heartily, took the sack, and went. He had a long
way to walk, and as he presently got hungry, he said to the sack, as the
crane had taught him:

'Two out of the sack!'

And instantly two rough men with thick sticks crept out of the bag and
began to beat him well, crying as they did so:

  'Don't boast to your cousins of what you have got,
         One--two--
            Or you'll find you will catch it uncommonly hot,
                        One--two--'

And they beat on till the man panted out:

'Two into the sack.'

The words were hardly out of his mouth, when the two crept back into the
sack.

Then the man shouldered the sack, and went off straight to his cousin's
house. He hung the sack up on a nail, and said: 'Please have the
bathroom heated, cousin.'

The cousin heated the bathroom, and the man went into it, but he neither
washed nor rubbed himself, he just sat there and waited.

Meantime his cousin felt hungry, so she called her daughters, and all
four sat down to table. Then the mother said:

'Two out of the sack.'

Instantly two rough men crept out of the sack, and began to beat the
cousin as they cried:

            'Greedy pack!  Thievish pack!
                  One--two--
                      Give the peasant back his sack!
                           One--two--'

And they went on beating till the woman called to her eldest daughter:
'Go and fetch your cousin from the bathroom. Tell him these two ruffians
are beating me black and blue.'

'I've not finished rubbing myself yet,' said the peasant.

And the two ruffians kept on beating as they sang:

          'Greedy pack!  Thievish pack!
                  One--two--                     Give the peasant back his sack!

                          One--two--'

Then the woman sent her second daughter and said: 'Quick, quick, get him
to come to me.'

'I'm just washing my head,' said the man.

Then she sent the youngest girl, and he said: 'I've not done drying
myself.'

At last the woman could hold out no longer, and sent him the sack she
had stolen.

NOW he had quite finished his bath, and as he left the bathroom he
cried:

'Two into the sack.'

And the two crept back at once into the sack.

Then the man took both sacks, the good and the bad one, and went away
home.

When he was near the house he shouted: 'Hallo, old woman, come and meet
me!'

His wife only screamed out:

'You broomstick, come here! Your back shall pay for this.'

The man went into the cottage, hung his sack on a nail, and said, as the
crane had taught him:

'Two out of the sack.'

Instantly two pretty lads sprang out of the sack, brought in oak tables,
laid silken covers on them, and spread them with all sorts of delicious
dishes and refreshing drinks.

The woman ate and drank, and praised her husband.

'Well, now, old man, I won't beat you any more,' said she.

When they had done eating, the man carried off the good sack, and put
it away in his store-room, but hung the bad sack up on the nail. Then he
lounged up and down in the yard.

Meantime his wife became thirsty. She looked with longing eyes at the
sack, and at last she said, as her husband had done:

'Two out of the sack.'

And at once the two rogues with their big sticks crept out of the sack,
and began to belabour her as they sang:

          'Would you beat your husband true?

                Don't cry so!
                    Now we'll beat you black and blue!
                         Oh!  Oh!'

The woman screamed out: 'Old man, old man! Come here, quick! Here are
two ruffians pommelling me fit to break my bones.'

Her husband only strolled up and down and laughed, as he said: 'Yes,
they'll beat you well, old lady.'

And the two thumped away and sang again:

          'Blows will hurt, remember, crone,
                We mean you well, we mean you well;
                    In future leave the stick alone,

                          For how it hurts, you now can tell,
                                One--two--'

At last her husband took pity on her, and cried:

'Two into the sack.'

He had hardly said the words before they were back in the sack again.

From this time the man and his wife lived so happily together that it
was a pleasure to see them, and so the story has an end.

(From Russiche Marchen.)




THE ENVIOUS NEIGHBOUR

Long, long ago an old couple lived in a village, and, as they had no
children to love and care for, they gave all their affection to a little
dog. He was a pretty little creature, and instead of growing spoilt and
disagreeable at not getting everything he wanted, as even children will
do sometimes, the dog was grateful to them for their kindness, and never
left their side, whether they were in the house or out of it.

One day the old man was working in his garden, with his dog, as usual,
close by. The morning was hot, and at last he put down his spade and
wiped his wet forehead, noticing, as he did so, that the animal was
snuffling and scratching at a spot a little way off. There was nothing
very strange in this, as all dogs are fond of scratching, and he went
on quietly with his digging, when the dog ran up to his master, barking
loudly, and back again to the place where he had been scratching.
This he did several times, till the old man wondered what could be the
matter, and, picking up the spade, followed where the dog led him.
The dog was so delighted at his success that he jumped round, barking
loudly, till the noise brought the old woman out of the house.

Curious to know if the dog had really found anything, the husband began
to dig, and very soon the spade struck against something. He stooped
down and pulled out a large box, filled quite full with shining gold
pieces. The box was so heavy that the old woman had to help to carry it
home, and you may guess what a supper the dog had that night! Now that
he had made them rich, they gave him every day all that a dog likes best
to eat, and the cushions on which he lay were fit for a prince.

The story of the dog and his treasure soon became known, and a neighbour
whose garden was next the old people's grew so envious of their good
luck that he could neither eat nor sleep. As the dog had discovered a
treasure once, this foolish man thought he must be able to discover one
always, and begged the old couple to lend him their pet for a little
while, so that he might be made rich also.

'How can you ask such a thing?' answered the old man indignantly.

'You know how much we love him, and that he is never out of our sight
for five minutes.'

But the envious neighbour would not heed his words, and came daily with
the same request, till at last the old people, who could not bear to
say no to anyone, promised to lend the dog, just for a night or two.
No sooner did the man get hold of the dog than he turned him into the
garden, but the dog did nothing but race about, and the man was forced
to wait with what patience he could.

The next morning the man opened the house door, and the dog bounded
joyfully into the garden, and, running up to the foot of a tree, began
to scratch wildly. The man called loudly to his wife to bring a spade,
and followed the dog, as he longed to catch the first glimpse of the
expected treasure. But when he had dug up the ground, what did he find?
Why, nothing but a parcel of old bones, which smelt so badly that he
could not stay there a moment longer. And his heart was filled with rage
against the dog who had played him this trick, and he seized a pickaxe
and killed it on the spot, before he knew what he was doing. When he
remembered that he would have to go with his story to the old man and
his wife he was rather frightened, but there was nothing to be gained
by putting it off, so he pulled a very long face and went to his
neighbour's garden.

'Your dog,' said he, pretending to weep, 'has suddenly fallen down dead,
though I took every care of him, and gave him everything he could wish
for. And I thought I had better come straight and tell you.'

Weeping bitterly, the old man went to fetch the body of his favourite,
and brought it home and buried it under the fig-tree where he had found
the treasure. From morning till night he and his wife mourned over their
loss, and nothing could comfort them.

At length, one night when he was asleep, he dreamt that the dog appeared
to him and told him to cut down the fig-tree over his grave, and out of
its wood to make a mortar. But when the old man woke and thought of his
dream he did not feel at all inclined to cut down the tree, which bore
well every year, and consulted his wife about it. The woman did not
hesitate a moment, and said that after what had happened before, the
dog's advice must certainly be obeyed, so the tree was felled, and a
beautiful mortar made from it. And when the season came for the rice
crop to be gathered the mortar was taken down from its shelf, and the
grains placed in it for pounding, when, lo and behold! in a twinkling of
an eye, they all turned into gold pieces. At the sight of all this gold
the hearts of the old people were glad, and once more they blessed their
faithful dog.

But it was not long before this story also came to the ears of their
envious neighbour, and he lost no time in going to the old people and
asking if they happened to have a mortar which they could lend him. The
old man did not at all like parting with his precious treasure, but he
never could say no, so the neighbour went off with the mortar under his
arm.

The moment he got into his own house he took a great handful of rice,
and began to shell off the husks, with the help of his wife. But,
instead of the gold pieces for which they looked, the rice turned into
berries with such a horrible smell that they were obliged to run away,
after smashing the mortar in a rage and setting fire to the bits.

The old people next door were naturally very much put out when they
learned the fate of their mortar, and were not at all comforted by the
explanations and excuses made by their neighbour. But that night the dog
again appeared in a dream to his master, and told him that he must go
and collect the ashes of the burnt mortar and bring them home. Then,
when he heard that the Daimio, or great lord to whom this part of the
country belonged, was expected at the capital, he was to carry the ashes
to the high road, through which the procession would have to pass. And
as soon as it was in sight he was to climb up all the cherry-trees and
sprinkle the ashes on them, and they would soon blossom as they had
never blossomed before.

This time the old man did not wait to consult his wife as to whether he
was to do what his dog had told him, but directly he got up he went to
his neighbour's house and collected the ashes of the burnt mortar. He
put them carefully in a china vase, and carried it to the high road,
Sitting down on a seat till the Daimio should pass. The cherry-trees
were bare, for it was the season when small pots of them were sold to
rich people, who kept them in hot places, so that they might blossom
early and decorate their rooms. As to the trees in the open air, no one
would ever think of looking for the tiniest bud for more than a month
yet. The old man had not been waiting very long before he saw a cloud of
dust in the far distance, and knew that it must be the procession of the
Daimio. On they came, every man dressed in his finest clothes, and the
crowd that was lining the road bowed their faces to the ground as they
went by. Only the old man did not bow himself, and the great lord saw
this, and bade one of his courtiers, in anger, go and inquire why he had
disobeyed the ancient customs. But before the messenger could reach him
the old man had climbed the nearest tree and scattered his ashes far and
wide, and in an instant the white flowers had flashed into life, and the
heart of the Daimio rejoiced, and he gave rich presents to the old man,
whom he sent for to his castle.

We may be sure that in a very little while the envious neighbour had
heard this also, and his bosom was filled with hate. He hastened to the
place where he had burned the mortar, collected a few of the ashes which
the old man had left behind, and took them to the road, hoping that
his luck might be as good as the old man's, or perhaps even better.
His heart beat with pleasure when he caught the first glimpses of the
Daimio's train, and he held himself ready for the right moment. As the
Daimio drew near he flung a great handful of ashes over the trees, but
no buds or flowers followed the action: instead, the ashes were all
blown back into the eyes of the Daimio and his warriors, till they cried
out from pain. Then the prince ordered the evil-doer to be seized and
bound and thrown into prison, where he was kept for many months. By the
time he was set free everybody in his native village had found out his
wickedness, and they would not let him live there any longer; and as he
would not leave off his evil ways he soon went from bad to worse, and
came to a miserable end.

(Japanische Marchen.)




THE FAIRY OF THE DAWN

Once upon a time what should happen DID happen; and if it had not
happened this tale would never have been told.

There was once an emperor, very great and mighty, and he ruled over an
empire so large that no one knew where it began and where it ended. But
if nobody could tell the exact extent of his sovereignty everybody was
aware that the emperor's right eye laughed, while his left eye wept.
One or two men of valour had the courage to go and ask him the reason of
this strange fact, but he only laughed and said nothing; and the reason
of the deadly enmity between his two eyes was a secret only known to the
monarch himself.

And all the while the emperor's sons were growing up. And such sons! All
three like the morning stars in the sky!

Florea, the eldest, was so tall and broad-shouldered that no man in the
kingdom could approach him.

Costan, the second, was quite different. Small of stature, and slightly
built, he had a strong arm and stronger wrist.

Petru, the third and youngest, was tall and thin, more like a girl than
a boy. He spoke very little, but laughed and sang, sang and laughed,
from morning till night. He was very seldom serious, but then he had a
way when he was thinking of stroking his hair over his forehead, which
made him look old enough to sit in his father's council!

'You are grown up, Florea,' said Petru one day to his eldest brother;
'do go and ask father why one eye laughs and the other weeps.'

But Florea would not go. He had learnt by experience that this question
always put the emperor in a rage.

Petru next went to Costan, but did not succeed any better with him.

'Well, well, as everyone else is afraid, I suppose I must do it myself,'
observed Petru at length. No sooner said than done; the boy went
straight to his father and put his question.

'May you go blind!' exclaimed the emperor in wrath; 'what business is it
of yours?' and boxed Petru's ears soundly.

Petru returned to his brothers, and told them what had befallen him; but
not long after it struck him that his father's left eye seemed to weep
less, and the right to laugh more.

'I wonder if it has anything to do with my question,' thought he.

'I'll try again! After all, what do two boxes on the ear matter?'

So he put his question for the second time, and had the same answer;
but the left eye only wept now and then, while the right eye looked ten
years younger.

'It really MUST be true,' thought Petru. 'Now I know what I have to do.
I shall have to go on putting that question, and getting boxes on the
ear, till both eyes laugh together.'

No sooner said than done. Petru never, never forswore himself.

'Petru, my dear boy,' cried the emperor, both his eyes laughing
together, 'I see you have got this on the brain. Well, I will let you
into the secret. My right eye laughs when I look at my three sons, and
see how strong and handsome you all are, and the other eye weeps
because I fear that after I die you will not be able to keep the empire
together, and to protect it from its enemies. But if you can bring me
water from the spring of the Fairy of the Dawn, to bathe my eyes, then
they will laugh for evermore; for I shall know that my sons are brave
enough to overcome any foe.'

Thus spoke the emperor, and Petru picked up his hat and went to find his
brothers.

The three young men took counsel together, and talked the subject well
over, as brothers should do. And the end of it was that Florea, as the
eldest, went to the stables, chose the best and handsomest horse they
contained, saddled him, and took leave of the court.

'I am starting at once,' said he to his brothers, 'and if after a year,
a month, a week, and a day I have not returned with the water from the
spring of the Fairy of the Dawn, you, Costan, had better come after me.'
So saying he disappeared round a corner of the palace.

For three days and three nights he never drew rein. Like a spirit the
horse flew over mountains and valleys till he came to the borders of
the empire. Here was a deep, deep trench that girdled it the whole way
round, and there was only a single bridge by which the trench could be
crossed. Florea made instantly for the bridge, and there pulled up to
look around him once more, to take leave of his native land Then he
turned, but before him was standing a dragon--oh! SUCH a dragon!--a
dragon with three heads and three horrible faces, all with their mouths
wide open, one jaw reaching to heaven and the other to earth.

At this awful sight Florea did not wait to give battle. He put spurs to
his horse and dashed off, WHERE he neither knew nor cared.

The dragon heaved a sigh and vanished without leaving a trace behind
him.

A week went by. Florea did not return home. Two passed; and nothing was
heard of him. After a month Costan began to haunt the stables and to
look out a horse for himself. And the moment the year, the month, the
week, and the day were over Costan mounted his horse and took leave of
his youngest brother.

'If I fail, then you come,' said he, and followed the path that Florea
had taken.

The dragon on the bridge was more fearful and his three heads more
terrible than before, and the young hero rode away still faster than his
brother had done.

Nothing more was heard either of him or Florea; and Petru remained
alone.

'I must go after my brothers,' said Petru one day to his father.

'Go, then,' said his father, 'and may you have better luck than they';
and he bade farewell to Petru, who rode straight to the borders of the
kingdom.

The dragon on the bridge was yet more dreadful than the one Florea and
Costan had seen, for this one had seven heads instead of only three.

Petru stopped for a moment when he caught sight of this terrible
creature. Then he found his voice.

'Get out of the way!' cried he. 'Get out of the way!' he repeated again,
as the dragon did not move. 'Get out of the way!' and with this last
summons he drew his sword and rushed upon him. In an instant the heavens
seemed to darken round him and he was surrounded by fire--fire to right
of him, fire to left of him, fire to front of him, fire to rear of him;
nothing but fire whichever way he looked, for the dragon's seven heads
were vomiting flame.

The horse neighed and reared at the horrible sight, and Petru could not
use the sword he had in readiness.

'Be quiet! this won't do!' he said, dismounting hastily, but holding the
bridle firmly in his left hand and grasping his sword in his right.

But even so he got on no better, for he could see nothing but fire and
smoke.

'There is no help for it; I must go back and get a better horse,' said
he, and mounted again and rode homewards.

At the gate of the palace his nurse, old Birscha, was waiting for him
eagerly.

'Ah, Petru, my son, I knew you would have to come back,' she cried. 'You
did not set about the matter properly.'

'How ought I to have set about it?' asked Petru, half angrily, half
sadly.

'Look here, my boy,' replied old Birscha. 'You can never reach the
spring of the Fairy of the Dawn unless you ride the horse which your
father, the emperor, rode in his youth. Go and ask where it is to be
found, and then mount it and be off with you.'

Petru thanked her heartily for her advice, and went at once to make
inquiries about the horse.

'By the light of my eyes!' exclaimed the emperor when Petru had put his
question. 'Who has told you anything about that? It must have been that
old witch of a Birscha? Have you lost your wits? Fifty years have passed
since I was young, and who knows where the bones of my horse may be
rotting, or whether a scrap of his reins still lie in his stall? I have
forgotten all about him long ago.'

Petru turned away in anger, and went back to his old nurse.

'Do not be cast down,' she said with a smile; 'if that is how the affair
stands all will go well. Go and fetch the scrap of the reins; I shall
soon know what must be done.'

The place was full of saddles, bridles, and bits of leather. Petru
picked out the oldest, and blackest, and most decayed pair of reins,
and brought them to the old woman, who murmured something over them and
sprinkled them with incense, and held them out to the young man.

'Take the reins,' said she, 'and strike them violently against the
pillars of the house.'

Petru did what he was told, and scarcely had the reins touched the
pillars when something happened--HOW I have no idea--that made Petru
stare with surprise. A horse stood before him--a horse whose equal
in beauty the world had never seen; with a saddle on him of gold and
precious stones, and with such a dazzling bridle you hardly dared
to look at it, lest you should lose your sight. A splendid horse, a
splendid saddle, and a splendid bridle, all ready for the splendid young
prince!

'Jump on the back of the brown horse,' said the old woman, and she
turned round and went into the house.

The moment Petru was seated on the horse he felt his arm three times as
strong as before, and even his heart felt braver.

'Sit firmly in the saddle, my lord, for we have a long way to go and no
time to waste,' said the brown horse, and Petru soon saw that they were
riding as no man and horse had ever ridden before.

On the bridge stood a dragon, but not the same one as he had tried to
fight with, for this dragon had twelve heads, each more hideous and
shooting forth more terrible flames than the other. But, horrible though
he was, he had met his match. Petru showed no fear, but rolled up his
sleeves, that his arms might be free.

'Get out of the way!' he said when he had done, but the dragon's heads
only breathed forth more flames and smoke. Petru wasted no more words,
but drew his sword and prepared to throw himself on the bridge.

'Stop a moment; be careful, my lord,' put in the horse, 'and be sure you
do what I tell you. Dig your spurs in my body up to the rowel, draw
your sword, and keep yourself ready, for we shall have to leap over both
bridge and dragon. When you see that we are right above the dragon cut
off his biggest head, wipe the blood off the sword, and put it back
clean in the sheath before we touch earth again.'

So Petru dug in his spurs, drew his sword, cut of the head, wiped the
blood, and put the sword back in the sheath before the horse's hoofs
touched the ground again.

And in this fashion they passed the bridge.

'But we have got to go further still,' said Petru, after he had taken a
farewell glance at his native land.

'Yes, forwards,' answered the horse; 'but you must tell me, my lord, at
what speed you wish to go. Like the wind? Like thought? Like desire? or
like a curse?'

Petru looked about him, up at the heavens and down again to the earth.
A desert lay spread out before him, whose aspect made his hair stand on
end.

'We will ride at different speeds,' said he, 'not so fast as to grow
tired nor so slow as to waste time.'

And so they rode, one day like the wind, the next like thought, the
third and fourth like desire and like a curse, till they reached the
borders of the desert.

'Now walk, so that I may look about, and see what I have never seen
before,' said Petru, rubbing his eyes like one who wakes from sleep, or
like him who beholds something so strange that it seems as if... Before
Petru lay a wood made of copper, with copper trees and copper leaves,
with bushes and flowers of copper also.

Petru stood and stared as a man does when he sees something that he has
never seen, and of which he has never heard.

Then he rode right into the wood. On each side of the way the rows of
flowers began to praise Petru, and to try and persuade him to pick some
of them and make himself a wreath.

'Take me, for I am lovely, and can give strength to whoever plucks me,'
said one.

'No, take me, for whoever wears me in his hat will be loved by the most
beautiful woman in the world,' pleaded the second; and then one
after another bestirred itself, each more charming than the last, all
promising, in soft sweet voices, wonderful things to Petru, if only he
would pick them.

Petru was not deaf to their persuasion, and was just stooping to pick
one when the horse sprang to one side.

'Why don't you stay still?' asked Petru roughly.

'Do not pick the flowers; it will bring you bad luck; answered the
horse.

'Why should it do that?'

'These flowers are under a curse. Whoever plucks them must fight the
Welwa(1) of the woods.'

(1) A goblin.

'What kind of a goblin is the Welwa?'

'Oh, do leave me in peace! But listen. Look at the flowers as much as
you like, but pick none,' and the horse walked on slowly.

Petru knew by experience that he would do well to attend to the horse's
advice, so he made a great effort and tore his mind away from the
flowers.

But in vain! If a man is fated to be unlucky, unlucky he will be,
whatever he may do!

The flowers went on beseeching him, and his heart grew ever weaker and
weaker.

'What must come will come,' said Petru at length; 'at any rate I shall
see the Welwa of the woods, what she is like, and which way I had best
fight her. If she is ordained to be the cause of my death, well, then
it will be so; but if not I shall conquer her though she were twelve
hundred Welwas,' and once more he stooped down to gather the flowers.

'You have done very wrong,' said the horse sadly. 'But it can't be
helped now. Get yourself ready for battle, for here is the Welwa!'

Hardly had he done speaking, scarcely had Petru twisted his wreath, when
a soft breeze arose on all sides at once. Out of the breeze came a storm
wind, and the storm wind swelled and swelled till everything around
was blotted out in darkness, and darkness covered them as with a thick
cloak, while the earth swayed and shook under their feet.

'Are you afraid?' asked the horse, shaking his mane.

'Not yet,' replied Petru stoutly, though cold shivers were running down
his back. 'What must come will come, whatever it is.'

'Don't be afraid,' said the horse. 'I will help you. Take the bridle
from my neck, and try to catch the Welwa with it.'

The words were hardly spoken, and Petru had no time even to unbuckle
the bridle, when the Welwa herself stood before him; and Petru could not
bear to look at her, so horrible was she.

She had not exactly a head, yet neither was she without one. She did not
fly through the air, but neither did she walk upon the earth. She had
a mane like a horse, horns like a deer, a face like a bear, eyes like a
polecat; while her body had something of each. And that was the Welwa.

Petru planted himself firmly in his stirrups, and began to lay about him
with his sword, but could feel nothing.

A day and a night went by, and the fight was still undecided, but at
last the Welwa began to pant for breath.

'Let us wait a little and rest,' gasped she.

Petru stopped and lowered his sword.

'You must not stop an instant,' said the horse, and Petru gathered up
all his strength, and laid about him harder than ever.

The Welwa gave a neigh like a horse and a howl like a wolf, and threw
herself afresh on Petru. For another day and night the battle raged more
furiously than before. And Petru grew so exhausted he could scarcely
move his arm.

'Let us wait a little and rest,' cried the Welwa for the second time,
'for I see you are as weary as I am.'

'You must not stop an instant,' said the horse.

And Petru went on fighting, though he barely had strength to move his
arm. But the Welwa had ceased to throw herself upon him, and began to
deliver her blows cautiously, as if she had no longer power to strike.

And on the third day they were still fighting, but as the morning sky
began to redden Petru somehow managed--how I cannot tell--to throw the
bridle over the head of the tired Welwa. In a moment, from the Welwa
sprang a horse--the most beautiful horse in the world.

'Sweet be your life, for you have delivered me from my enchantment,'
said he, and began to rub his nose against his brother's. And he told
Petru all his story, and how he had been bewitched for many years.

So Petru tied the Welwa to his own horse and rode on. Where did he
ride? That I cannot tell you, but he rode on fast till he got out of the
copper wood.

'Stay still, and let me look about, and see what I never have seen
before,' said Petru again to his horse. For in front of him stretched a
forest that was far more wonderful, as it was made of glistening trees
and shining flowers. It was the silver wood.

As before, the flowers began to beg the young man to gather them.

'Do not pluck them,' warned the Welwa, trotting beside him, 'for my
brother is seven times stronger than I'; but though Petru knew by
experience what this meant, it was no use, and after a moment's
hesitation he began to gather the flowers, and to twist himself a
wreath.

Then the storm wind howled louder, the earth trembled more violently,
and the night grew darker, than the first time, and the Welwa of the
silver wood came rushing on with seven times the speed of the other.
For three days and three nights they fought, but at last Petru cast the
bridle over the head of the second Welwa.

'Sweet be your life, for you have delivered me from enchantment,' said
the second Welwa, and they all journeyed on as before.

But soon they came to a gold wood more lovely far than the other
two, and again Petru's companions pleaded with him to ride through it
quickly, and to leave the flowers alone. But Petru turned a deaf ear
to all they said, and before he had woven his golden crown he felt that
something terrible, that he could not see, was coming near him right out
of the earth. He drew his sword and made himself ready for the fight. 'I
will die!' cried he, 'or he shall have my bridle over his head.'

He had hardly said the words when a thick fog wrapped itself around
him, and so thick was it that he could not see his own hand, or hear
the sound of his voice. For a day and a night he fought with his sword,
without ever once seeing his enemy, then suddenly the fog began to
lighten. By dawn of the second day it had vanished altogether, and the
sun shone brightly in the heavens. It seemed to Petru that he had been
born again.

And the Welwa? She had vanished.

'You had better take breath now you can, for the fight will have to
begin all over again,' said the horse.

'What was it?' asked Petru.

'It was the Welwa,' replied the horse, 'changed into a fog 'Listen! She
is coming!'

And Petru had hardly drawn a long breath when he felt something
approaching from the side, though what he could not tell. A river, yet
not a river, for it seemed not to flow over the earth, but to go where
it liked, and to leave no trace of its passage.

'Woe be to me!' cried Petru, frightened at last.

'Beware, and never stand still,' called the brown horse, and more he
could not say, for the water was choking him.

The battle began anew. For a day and a night Petru fought on, without
knowing at whom or what he struck. At dawn on the second, he felt that
both his feet were lame.

'Now I am done for,' thought he, and his blows fell thicker and harder
in his desperation. And the sun came out and the water disappeared,
without his knowing how or when.

'Take breath,' said the horse, 'for you have no time to lose. The Welwa
will return in a moment.'

Petru made no reply, only wondered how, exhausted as he was, he should
ever be able to carry on the fight. But he settled himself in his
saddle, grasped his sword, and waited.

And then something came to him--WHAT I cannot tell you. Perhaps, in his
dreams, a man may see a creature which has what it has not got, and has
not got what it has. At least, that was what the Welwa seemed like to
Petru. She flew with her feet, and walked with her wings; her head was
in her back, and her tail was on top of her body; her eyes were in her
neck, and her neck in her forehead, and how to describe her further I do
not know.

Petru felt for a moment as if he was wrapped in a garment of fear; then
he shook himself and took heart, and fought as he had never yet fought
before.

As the day wore on, his strength began to fail, and when darkness fell
he could hardly keep his eyes open. By midnight he knew he was no longer
on his horse, but standing on the ground, though he could not have
told how he got there. When the grey light of morning came, he was past
standing on his feet, but fought now upon his knees.

'Make one more struggle; it is nearly over now,' said the horse, seeing
that Petru's strength was waning fast.

Petru wiped the sweat from his brow with his gauntlet, and with a
desperate effort rose to his feet.

'Strike the Welwa on the mouth with the bridle,' said the horse, and
Petru did it.

The Welwa uttered a neigh so loud that Petru thought he would be deaf
for life, and then, though she too was nearly spent, flung herself upon
her enemy; but Petru was on the watch and threw the bridle over her
head, as she rushed on, so that when the day broke there were three
horses trotting beside him.

'May your wife be the most beautiful of women,' said the Welwa, 'for
you have delivered me from my enchantment.' So the four horses galloped
fast, and by nightfall they were at the borders of the golden forest.

Then Petru began to think of the crowns that he wore, and what they had
cost him.

'After all, what do I want with so many? I will keep the best,' he said
to himself; and taking off first the copper crown and then the silver,
he threw them away.

'Stay!' cried the horse, 'do not throw them away! Perhaps we shall find
them of use. Get down and pick them up.' So Petru got down and picked
them up, and they all went on.

In the evening, when the sun is getting low, and all the midges are
beginning to bite, Peter saw a wide heath stretching before him.

At the same instant the horse stood still of itself.

'What is the matter?' asked Petru.

'I am afraid that something evil will happen to us,' answered the horse.

'But why should it?'

'We are going to enter the kingdom of the goddess Mittwoch,(2) and the
further we ride into it the colder we shall get. But all along the road
there are huge fires, and I dread lest you should stop and warm yourself
at them.'

(2) In German 'Mittwoch,' the feminine form of Mercury.

'And why should I not warm myself?'

'Something fearful will happen to you if you do,' replied the horse
sadly.

'Well, forward!' cried Petru lightly, 'and if I have to bear cold, I
must bear it!'

With every step they went into the kingdom of Mittwoch, the air grew
colder and more icy, till even the marrow in their bones was frozen. But
Petru was no coward; the fight he had gone through had strengthened his
powers of endurance, and he stood the test bravely.

Along the road on each side were great fires, with men standing by them,
who spoke pleasantly to Petru as he went by, and invited him to join
them. The breath froze in his mouth, but he took no notice, only bade
his horse ride on the faster.

How long Petru may have waged battle silently with the cold one cannot
tell, for everybody knows that the kingdom of Mittwoch is not to be
crossed in a day, but he struggled on, though the frozen rocks burst
around, and though his teeth chattered, and even his eyelids were
frozen.

At length they reached the dwelling of Mittwoch herself, and, jumping
from his horse, Petru threw the reins over his horse's neck and entered
the hut.

'Good-day, little mother!' said he.

'Very well, thank you, my frozen friend!'

Petru laughed, and waited for her to speak.

'You have borne yourself bravely,' went on the goddess, tapping him on
the shoulder. 'Now you shall have your reward,' and she opened an iron
chest, out of which she took a little box.

'Look!' said she; 'this little box has been lying here for ages, waiting
for the man who could win his way through the Ice Kingdom. Take it, and
treasure it, for some day it may help you.

If you open it, it will tell you anything you want, and give you news of
your fatherland.'

Petru thanked her gratefully for her gift, mounted his horse, and rode
away.

When he was some distance from the hut, he opened the casket.

'What are your commands?' asked a voice inside.

'Give me news of my father,' he replied, rather nervously.

'He is sitting in council with his nobles,' answered the casket.

'Is he well?'

'Not particularly, for he is furiously angry.'

'What has angered him?'

'Your brothers Costan and Florea,' replied the casket. 'It seems to me
they are trying to rule him and the kingdom as well, and the old man
says they are not fit to do it.'

'Push on, good horse, for we have no time to lose!' cried Petru; then he
shut up the box, and put it in his pocket.

They rushed on as fast as ghosts, as whirlwinds, as vampires when they
hunt at midnight, and how long they rode no man can tell, for the way is
far.

'Stop! I have some advice to give you,' said the horse at last.

'What is it?' asked Petru.

'You have known what it is to suffer cold; you will have to endure heat,
such as you have never dreamed of. Be as brave now as you were then. Let
no one tempt you to try to cool yourself, or evil will befall you.'

'Forwards!' answered Petru. 'Do not worry yourself. If I have escaped
without being frozen, there is no chance of my melting.'

'Why not? This is a heat that will melt the marrow in your bones--a heat
that is only to be felt in the kingdom of the Goddess of Thunder.'(3)

(3) In the German 'Donnerstag'--the day of the Thunder God, i.e.
Jupiter.

And it WAS hot. The very iron of the horse's shoes began to melt, but
Petru gave no heed. The sweat ran down his face, but he dried it with
his gauntlet. What heat could be he never knew before, and on the way,
not a stone's throw from the road, lay the most delicious valleys, full
of shady trees and bubbling streams. When Petru looked at them his heart
burned within him, and his mouth grew parched. And standing among the
flowers were lovely maidens who called to him in soft voices, till he
had to shut his eyes against their spells.

'Come, my hero, come and rest; the heat will kill you,' said they.

Petru shook his head and said nothing, for he had lost the power of
speech.

Long he rode in this awful state, how long none can tell. Suddenly the
heat seemed to become less, and, in the distance, he saw a little hut
on a hill. This was the dwelling of the Goddess of Thunder, and when he
drew rein at her door the goddess herself came out to meet him.

She welcomed him, and kindly invited him in, and bade him tell her all
his adventures. So Petru told her all that had happened to him, and why
he was there, and then took farewell of her, as he had no time to lose.
'For,' he said, 'who knows how far the Fairy of the Dawn may yet be?'

'Stay for one moment, for I have a word of advice to give you. You are
about to enter the kingdom of Venus;(4) go and tell her, as a message
from me, that I hope she will not tempt you to delay. On your way back,
come to me again, and I will give you something that may be of use to
you.'

(4) 'Vineri' is Friday, and also 'Venus.'

So Petru mounted his horse, and had hardly ridden three steps when he
found himself in a new country. Here it was neither hot nor cold, but
the air was warm and soft like spring, though the way ran through a
heath covered with sand and thistles.

'What can that be?' asked Petru, when he saw a long, long way off, at
the very end of the heath, something resembling a house.

'That is the house of the goddess Venus,' replied the horse, 'and if we
ride hard we may reach it before dark'; and he darted off like an
arrow, so that as twilight fell they found themselves nearing the house.
Petru's heart leaped at the sight, for all the way along he had been
followed by a crowd of shadowy figures who danced about him from right
to left, and from back to front, and Petru, though a brave man, felt now
and then a thrill of fear.

'They won't hurt you,' said the horse; 'they are just the daughters of
the whirlwind amusing themselves while they are waiting for the ogre of
the moon.'

Then he stopped in front of the house, and Petru jumped off and went to
the door.

'Do not be in such a hurry,' cried the horse. 'There are several things
I must tell you first. You cannot enter the house of the goddess Venus
like that. She is always watched and guarded by the whirlwind.'

'What am I to do then?'

'Take the copper wreath, and go with it to that little hill over
there. When you reach it, say to yourself, "Were there ever such lovely
maidens! such angels! such fairy souls!" Then hold the wreath high in
the air and cry, "Oh! if I knew whether any one would accept this wreath
from me... if I knew! if I knew!" and throw the wreath from you!'

'And why should I do all this?' said Petru.

'Ask no questions, but go and do it,' replied the horse. And Petru did.

Scarcely had he flung away the copper wreath than the whirlwind flung
himself upon it, and tore it in pieces.

Then Petru turned once more to the horse.

'Stop!' cried the horse again. 'I have other things to tell you.

Take the silver wreath and knock at the windows of the goddess Venus.
When she says, "Who is there?" answer that you have come on foot and
lost your way on the heath. She will then tell you to go your way back
again; but take care not to stir from the spot. Instead, be sure you say
to her, "No, indeed I shall do nothing of the sort, as from my childhood
I have heard stories of the beauty of the goddess Venus, and it was not
for nothing that I had shoes made of leather with soles of steel, and
have travelled for nine years and nine months, and have won in battle
the silver wreath, which I hope you may allow me to give you, and have
done and suffered everything to be where I now am." This is what you
must say. What happens after is your affair.'

Petru asked no more, but went towards the house.

By this time it was pitch dark, and there was only the ray of light
that streamed through the windows to guide him, and at the sound of his
footsteps two dogs began to bark loudly.

'Which of those dogs is barking? Is he tired of life?' asked the goddess
Venus.

'It is I, O goddess!' replied Petru, rather timidly. 'I have lost my way
on the heath, and do not know where I am to sleep this night.'

'Where did you leave your horse?' asked the goddess sharply.

Petru did not answer. He was not sure if he was to lie, or whether he
had better tell the truth.

'Go away, my son, there is no place for you here,' replied she, drawing
back from the window.

Then Petru repeated hastily what the horse had told him to say, and no
sooner had he done so than the goddess opened the window, and in gentle
tones she asked him:

'Let me see this wreath, my son,' and Petru held it out to her.

'Come into the house,' went on the goddess; 'do not fear the dogs, they
always know my will.' And so they did, for as the young man passed they
wagged their tails to him.

'Good evening,' said Petru as he entered the house, and, seating himself
near the fire, listened comfortably to whatever the goddess might choose
to talk about, which was for the most part the wickedness of men,
with whom she was evidently very angry. But Petru agreed with her in
everything, as he had been taught was only polite.

But was anybody ever so old as she! I do not know why Petru devoured her
so with his eyes, unless it was to count the wrinkles on her face; but
if so he would have had to live seven lives, and each life seven times
the length of an ordinary one, before he could have reckoned them up.

But Venus was joyful in her heart when she saw Petru's eyes fixed upon
her.

'Nothing was that is, and the world was not a world when I was born,'
said she. 'When I grew up and the world came into being, everyone
thought I was the most beautiful girl that ever was seen, though many
hated me for it. But every hundred years there came a wrinkle on my
face. And now I am old.' Then she went on to tell Petru that she was the
daughter of an emperor, and their nearest neighbour was the Fairy of the
Dawn, with whom she had a violent quarrel, and with that she broke out
into loud abuse of her.

Petru did not know what to do. He listened in silence for the most
part, but now and then he would say, 'Yes, yes, you must have been badly
treated,' just for politeness' sake; what more could he do?

'I will give you a task to perform, for you are brave, and will carry it
through,' continued Venus, when she had talked a long time, and both
of them were getting sleepy. 'Close to the Fairy's house is a well, and
whoever drinks from it will blossom again like a rose. Bring me a flagon
of it, and I will do anything to prove my gratitude. It is not easy! no
one knows that better than I do! The kingdom is guarded on every side by
wild beasts and horrible dragons; but I will tell you more about that,
and I also have something to give you.' Then she rose and lifted the lid
of an iron-bound chest, and took out of it a very tiny flute.

'Do you see this?' she asked. 'An old man gave it to me when I was
young: whoever listens to this flute goes to sleep, and nothing can wake
him. Take it and play on it as long as you remain in the kingdom of the
Fairy of the Dawn, and you will be safe.

At this, Petru told her that he had another task to fulfil at the well
of the Fairy of the Dawn, and Venus was still better pleased when she
heard his tale.

So Petru bade her good-night, put the flute in its case, and laid
himself down in the lowest chamber to sleep.

Before the dawn he was awake again, and his first care was to give to
each of his horses as much corn as he could eat, and then to lead them
to the well to water. Then he dressed himself and made ready to start.

'Stop,' cried Venus from her window, 'I have still a piece of advice
to give you. Leave one of your horses here, and only take three. Ride
slowly till you get to the fairy's kingdom, then dismount and go on
foot. When you return, see that all your three horses remain on the
road, while you walk. But above all beware never to look the Fairy
of the Dawn in the face, for she has eyes that will bewitch you, and
glances that will befool you.

She is hideous, more hideous than anything you can imagine, with owl's
eyes, foxy face, and cat's claws. Do you hear? do you hear? Be sure you
never look at her.'

Petru thanked her, and managed to get off at last.

Far, far away, where the heavens touch the earth, where the stars kiss
the flowers, a soft red light was seen, such as the sky sometimes has in
spring, only lovelier, more wonderful.

That light was behind the palace of the Fairy of the Dawn, and it took
Petru two days and nights through flowery meadows to reach it. And
besides, it was neither hot nor cold, bright nor dark, but something of
them all, and Petru did not find the way a step too long.

After some time Petru saw something white rise up out of the red of the
sky, and when he drew nearer he saw it was a castle, and so splendid
that his eyes were dazzled when they looked at it. He did not know there
was such a beautiful castle in the world.

But no time was to be lost, so he shook himself, jumped down from his
horse, and, leaving him on the dewy grass, began to play on his flute as
he walked along.

He had hardly gone many steps when he stumbled over a huge giant, who
had been lulled to sleep by the music. This was one of the guards of the
castle! As he lay there on his back, he seemed so big that in spite of
Petru's haste he stopped to measure him.

The further went Petru, the more strange and terrible were the sights he
saw--lions, tigers, dragons with seven heads, all stretched out in the
sun fast asleep. It is needless to say what the dragons were like, for
nowadays everyone knows, and dragons are not things to joke about. Petru
ran through them like the wind. Was it haste or fear that spurred him
on?

At last he came to a river, but let nobody think for a moment that this
river was like other rivers? Instead of water, there flowed milk,
and the bottom was of precious stones and pearls, instead of sand
and pebbles. And it ran neither fast nor slow, but both fast and slow
together. And the river flowed round the castle, and on its banks slept
lions with iron teeth and claws; and beyond were gardens such as only
the Fairy of the Dawn can have, and on the flowers slept a fairy! All
this saw Petru from the other side.

But how was he to get over? To be sure there was a bridge, but, even if
it had not been guarded by sleeping lions, it was plainly not meant for
man to walk on. Who could tell what it was made of? It looked like soft
little woolly clouds!

So he stood thinking what was to be done, for get across he must.

After a while, he determined to take the risk, and strode back to the
sleeping giant. 'Wake up, my brave man!' he cried, giving him a shake.

The giant woke and stretched out his hand to pick up Petru, just as we
should catch a fly. But Petru played on his flute, and the giant fell
back again. Petru tried this three times, and when he was satisfied that
the giant was really in his power he took out a handkerchief, bound the
two little fingers of the giant together, drew his sword, and cried for
the fourth time, 'Wake up, my brave man.'

When the giant saw the trick which had been played on him he said to
Petru. 'Do you call this a fair fight? Fight according to rules, if you
really are a hero!'

'I will by-and-by, but first I want to ask you a question! Will you
swear that you will carry me over the river if I fight honourably with
you?' And the giant swore.

When his hands were freed, the giant flung himself upon Petru, hoping to
crush him by his weight. But he had met his match. It was not yesterday,
nor the day before, that Petru had fought his first battle, and he bore
himself bravely.

For three days and three nights the battle raged, and sometimes one had
the upper hand, and sometimes the other, till at length they both lay
struggling on the ground, but Petru was on top, with the point of his
sword at the giant's throat.

'Let me go! let me go!' shrieked he. 'I own that I am beaten!'

'Will you take me over the river?' asked Petru.

'I will,' gasped the giant.

'What shall I do to you if you break your word?'

'Kill me, any way you like! But let me live now.'

'Very well,' said Petru, and he bound the giant's left hand to his right
foot, tied one handkerchief round his mouth to prevent him crying out,
and another round his eyes, and led him to the river.

Once they had reached the bank he stretched one leg over to the other
side, and, catching up Petru in the palm of his hand, set him down on
the further shore.

'That is all right,' said Petru. Then he played a few notes on his
flute, and the giant went to sleep again. Even the fairies who had been
bathing a little lower down heard the music and fell asleep among the
flowers on the bank. Petru saw them as he passed, and thought, 'If they
are so beautiful, why should the Fairy of the Dawn be so ugly?' But he
dared not linger, and pushed on.

And now he was in the wonderful gardens, which seemed more wonderful
still than they had done from afar. But Petru could see no faded
flowers, nor any birds, as he hastened through them to the castle. No
one was there to bar his way, for all were asleep. Even the leaves had
ceased to move.

He passed through the courtyard, and entered the castle itself.

What he beheld there need not be told, for all the world knows that the
palace of the Fairy of the Dawn is no ordinary place. Gold and precious
stones were as common as wood with us, and the stables where the horses
of the sun were kept were more splendid than the palace of the greatest
emperor in the world.

Petru went up the stairs and walked quickly through eight-and-forty
rooms, hung with silken stuffs, and all empty. In the forty-ninth he
found the Fairy of the Dawn herself.

In the middle of this room, which was as large as a church, Petru saw
the celebrated well that he had come so far to seek. It was a well
just like other wells, and it seemed strange that the Fairy of the Dawn
should have it in her own chamber; yet anyone could tell it had been
there for hundreds of years. And by the well slept the Fairy of the
Dawn--the Fairy of the Dawn--herself!

And as Petru looked at her the magic flute dropped by his side, and he
held his breath.

Near the well was a table, on which stood bread made with does' milk,
and a flagon of wine. It was the bread of strength and the wine of
youth, and Petru longed for them. He looked once at the bread and once
at the wine, and then at the Fairy of the Dawn, still sleeping on her
silken cushions.

As he looked a mist came over his senses. The fairy opened her eyes
slowly and looked at Petru, who lost his head still further; but he just
managed to remember his flute, and a few notes of it sent the Fairy
to sleep again, and he kissed her thrice. Then he stooped and laid his
golden wreath upon her forehead, ate a piece of the bread and drank a
cupful of the wine of youth, and this he did three times over. Then he
filled a flask with water from the well, and vanished swiftly.

As he passed through the garden it seemed quite different from what
it was before. The flowers were lovelier, the streams ran quicker, the
sunbeams shone brighter, and the fairies seemed gayer. And all this had
been caused by the three kisses Petru had given the Fairy of the Dawn.

He passed everything safely by, and was soon seated in his saddle again.
Faster than the wind, faster than thought, faster than longing, faster
than hatred rode Petru. At length he dismounted, and, leaving his horses
at the roadside, went on foot to the house of Venus.

The goddess Venus knew that he was coming, and went to meet him, bearing
with her white bread and red wine.

'Welcome back, my prince,' said she.

'Good day, and many thanks,' replied the young man, holding out the
flask containing the magic water. She received it with joy, and after a
short rest Petru set forth, for he had no time to lose.

He stopped a few minutes, as he had promised, with the Goddess of
Thunder, and was taking a hasty farewell of her, when she called him
back.

'Stay, I have a warning to give you,' said she. 'Beware of your life;
make friends with no man; do not ride fast, or let the water go out of
your hand; believe no one, and flee flattering tongues. Go, and take
care, for the way is long, the world is bad, and you hold something very
precious. But I will give you this cloth to help you. It is not much
to look at, but it is enchanted, and whoever carries it will never be
struck by lightning, pierced by a lance, or smitten with a sword, and
the arrows will glance off his body.'

Petru thanked her and rode off, and, taking out his treasure box,
inquired how matters were going at home. Not well, it said. The emperor
was blind altogether now, and Florea and Costan had besought him to give
the government of the kingdom into their hands; but he would not, saying
that he did not mean to resign the government till he had washed his
eyes from the well of the Fairy of the Dawn. Then the brothers had gone
to consult old Birscha, who told them that Petru was already on his way
home bearing the water. They had set out to meet him, and would try
to take the magic water from him, and then claim as their reward the
government of the emperor.

'You are lying!' cried Petru angrily, throwing the box on the ground,
where it broke into a thousand pieces.

It was not long before he began to catch glimpses of his native land,
and he drew rein near a bridge, the better to look at it. He was still
gazing, when he heard a sound in the distance as if some one was calling
hit by his name.

'You, Petru!' it said.

'On! on!' cried the horse; 'it will fare ill with you if you stop.'

'No, let us stop, and see who and what it is!' answered Petru, turning
his horse round, and coming face to face with his two brothers. He had
forgotten the warning given him by the Goddess of Thunder, and when
Costan and Florea drew near with soft and flattering words he jumped
straight off his horse, and rushed to embrace them. He had a thousand
questions to ask, and a thousand things to tell. But his brown horse
stood sadly hanging his head.

'Petru, my dear brother,' at length said Florea, 'would it not be better
if we carried the water for you? Some one might try to take it from you
on the road, while no one would suspect us.'

'So it would,' added Costan. 'Florea speaks well.' But Petru shook his
head, and told them what the Goddess of Thunder had said, and about the
cloth she had given him. And both brothers understood there was only one
way in which they could kill him.

At a stone's throw from where they stood ran a rushing stream, with
clear deep pools.

'Don't you feel thirsty, Costan?' asked Florea, winking at him.

'Yes,' replied Costan, understanding directly what was wanted. 'Come,
Petru, let us drink now we have the chance, and then we will set out on
our way home. It is a good thing you have us with you, to protect you
from harm.'

The horse neighed, and Petru knew what it meant, and did not go with his
brothers.

No, he went home to his father, and cured his blindness; and as for his
brothers, they never returned again.

(From Rumanische Marchen.)




THE ENCHANTED KNIFE

Once upon a time there lived a young man who vowed that he would never
marry any girl who had not royal blood in her veins. One day he plucked
up all his courage and went to the palace to ask the emperor for his
daughter. The emperor was not much pleased at the thought of such a
match for his only child, but being very polite, he only said:

'Very well, my son, if you can win the princess you shall have her,
and the conditions are these. In eight days you must manage to tame and
bring to me three horses that have never felt a master. The first is
pure white, the second a foxy-red with a black head, the third coal
black with a white head and feet. And besides that, you must also bring
as a present to the empress, my wife, as much gold as the three horses
can carry.'

The young man listened in dismay to these words, but with an effort he
thanked the emperor for his kindness and left the palace, wondering
how he was to fulfil the task allotted to him. Luckily for him, the
emperor's daughter had overheard everything her father had said, and
peeping through a curtain had seen the youth, and thought him handsomer
than anyone she had ever beheld.

So returning hastily to her own room, she wrote him a letter which she
gave to a trusty servant to deliver, begging her wooer to come to her
rooms early the next day, and to undertake nothing without her advice,
if he ever wished her to be his wife.

That night, when her father was asleep, she crept softly into his
chamber and took out an enchanted knife from the chest where he kept his
treasures, and hid it carefully in a safe place before she went to bed.

The sun had hardly risen the following morning when the princess's nurse
brought the young man to her apartments. Neither spoke for some minutes,
but stood holding each other's hands for joy, till at last they both
cried out that nothing but death should part them. Then the maiden said:

'Take my horse, and ride straight through the wood towards the sunset
till you come to a hill with three peaks. When you get there, turn first
to the right and then to the left, and you will find yourself in a sun
meadow, where many horses are feeding. Out of these you must pick out
the three described to you by my father. If they prove shy, and refuse
to let you get near them, draw out your knife, and let the sun shine on
it so that the whole meadow is lit up by its rays, and the horses will
then approach you of their own accord, and will let you lead them away.
When you have them safely, look about till you see a cypress tree, whose
roots are of brass, whose boughs are of silver, and whose leaves are
of gold. Go to it, and cut away the roots with your knife, and you will
come to countless bags of gold. Load the horses with all they can carry,
and return to my father, and tell him that you have done your task, and
can claim me for your wife.'

The princess had finished all she had to say, and now it depended on the
young man to do his part. He hid the knife in the folds of his girdle,
mounted his horse, and rode off in search of the meadow. This he found
without much difficulty, but the horses were all so shy that they
galloped away directly he approached them. Then he drew his knife, and
held it up towards the sun, and directly there shone such a glory that
the whole meadow was bathed in it. From all sides the horses rushed
pressing round, and each one that passed him fell on its knees to do him
honour.

But he only chose from them all the three that the emperor had
described. These he secured by a silken rope to his own horse, and then
looked about for the cypress tree. It was standing by itself in one
corner, and in a moment he was beside it, tearing away the earth with
his knife. Deeper and deeper he dug, till far down, below the roots of
brass, his knife struck upon the buried treasure, which lay heaped up
in bags all around. With a great effort he lifted them from their hiding
place, and laid them one by one on his horses' backs, and when they
could carry no more he led them back to the emperor. And when the
emperor saw him, he wondered, but never guessed how it was the young man
had been too clever for him, till the betrothal ceremony was over. Then
he asked his newly made son-in-law what dowry he would require with his
bride. To which the bridegroom made answer, 'Noble emperor! all I desire
is that I may have your daughter for my wife, and enjoy for ever the use
of your enchanted knife.'

(Volksmarchen der Serben.)




JESPER WHO HERDED THE HARES

There was once a king who ruled over a kingdom somewhere between sunrise
and sunset. It was as small as kingdoms usually were in old times, and
when the king went up to the roof of his palace and took a look round
he could see to the ends of it in every direction. But as it was all his
own, he was very proud of it, and often wondered how it would get along
without him. He had only one child, and that was a daughter, so he
foresaw that she must be provided with a husband who would be fit to be
king after him. Where to find one rich enough and clever enough to be
a suitable match for the princess was what troubled him, and often kept
him awake at night.

At last he devised a plan. He made a proclamation over all his kingdom
(and asked his nearest neighbours to publish it in theirs as well) that
whoever could bring him a dozen of the finest pearls the king had ever
seen, and could perform certain tasks that would be set him, should
have his daughter in marriage and in due time succeed to the throne. The
pearls, he thought, could only be brought by a very wealthy man, and the
tasks would require unusual talents to accomplish them.

There were plenty who tried to fulfil the terms which the king proposed.
Rich merchants and foreign princes presented themselves one after the
other, so that some days the number of them was quite annoying; but,
though they could all produce magnificent pearls, not one of them could
perform even the simplest of the tasks set them. Some turned up, too,
who were mere adventurers, and tried to deceive the old king with
imitation pearls; but he was not to be taken in so easily, and they were
soon sent about their business. At the end of several weeks the stream
of suitors began to fall off, and still there was no prospect of a
suitable son-in-law.

Now it so happened that in a little corner of the king's dominions,
beside the sea, there lived a poor fisher, who had three sons, and their
names were Peter, Paul, and Jesper. Peter and Paul were grown men, while
Jesper was just coming to manhood.

The two elder brothers were much bigger and stronger than the youngest,
but Jesper was far the cleverest of the three, though neither Peter nor
Paul would admit this. It was a fact, however, as we shall see in the
course of our story.

One day the fisherman went out fishing, and among his catch for the day
he brought home three dozen oysters. When these were opened, every shell
was found to contain a large and beautiful pearl. Hereupon the three
brothers, at one and the same moment, fell upon the idea of offering
themselves as suitors for the princess. After some discussion, it was
agreed that the pearls should be divided by lot, and that each should
have his chance in the order of his age: of course, if the oldest was
successful the other two would be saved the trouble of trying.

Next morning Peter put his pearls in a little basket, and set off for
the king's palace. He had not gone far on his way when he came upon the
King of the Ants and the King of the Beetles, who, with their armies
behind them, were facing each other and preparing for battle.

'Come and help me,' said the King of the Ants; 'the beetles are too big
for us. I may help you some day in return.'

'I have no time to waste on other people's affairs,' said Peter; 'just
fight away as best you can;' and with that he walked off and left them.

A little further on the way he met an old woman.

'Good morning, young man,' said she; 'you are early astir. What have you
got in your basket?'

'Cinders,' said Peter promptly, and walked on, adding to himself, 'Take
that for being so inquisitive.'

'Very well, cinders be it,' the old woman called after him, but he
pretended not to hear her.

Very soon he reached the palace, and was at once brought before the
king. When he took the cover off the basket, the king and all his
courtiers said with one voice that these were the finest pearls they
had ever seen, and they could not take their eyes off them. But then
a strange thing happened: the pearls began to lose their whiteness and
grew quite dim in colour; then they grew blacker and blacker till at
last they were just like so many cinders. Peter was so amazed that he
could say nothing for himself, but the king said quite enough for both,
and Peter was glad to get away home again as fast as his legs would
carry him. To his father and brothers, however, he gave no account of
his attempt, except that it had been a failure.

Next day Paul set out to try his luck. He soon came upon the King of the
Ants and the King of the Beetles, who with their armies had encamped on
the field of battle all night, and were ready to begin the fight again.

'Come and help me,' said the King of the Ants; 'we got the worst of it
yesterday. I may help you some day in return.'

'I don't care though you get the worst of it to-day too,' said Paul.
'I have more important business on hand than mixing myself up in your
quarrels.'

So he walked on, and presently the same old woman met him. 'Good
morning,' said she; 'what have YOU got in your basket?'

'Cinders,' said Paul, who was quite as insolent as his brother, and
quite as anxious to teach other people good manners.

'Very well, cinders be it,' the old woman shouted after him, but Paul
neither looked back nor answered her. He thought more of what she said,
however, after his pearls also turned to cinders before the eyes of
king and court: then he lost no time in getting home again, and was very
sulky when asked how he had succeeded.

The third day came, and with it came Jesper's turn to try his fortune.
He got up and had his breakfast, while Peter and Paul lay in bed and
made rude remarks, telling him that he would come back quicker than
he went, for if they had failed it could not be supposed that he would
succeed. Jesper made no reply, but put his pearls in the little basket
and walked off.

The King of the Ants and the King of the Beetles were again marshalling
their hosts, but the ants were greatly reduced in numbers, and had
little hope of holding out that day.

'Come and help us,' said their king to Jesper, 'or we shall be
completely defeated. I may help you some day in return.'

Now Jesper had always heard the ants spoken of as clever and industrious
little creatures, while he never heard anyone say a good word for the
beetles, so he agreed to give the wished-for help. At the first charge
he made, the ranks of the beetles broke and fled in dismay, and those
escaped best that were nearest a hole, and could get into it before
Jesper's boots came down upon them. In a few minutes the ants had the
field all to themselves; and their king made quite an eloquent speech to
Jesper, thanking him for the service he had done them, and promising to
assist him in any difficulty.

'Just call on me when you want me,' he said, 'where-ever you are. I'm
never far away from anywhere, and if I can possibly help you, I shall
not fail to do it.'

Jesper was inclined to laugh at this, but he kept a grave face, said
he would remember the offer, and walked on. At a turn of the road he
suddenly came upon the old woman. 'Good morning,' said she; 'what have
YOU got in your basket?'

'Pearls,' said Jesper; 'I'm going to the palace to win the princess with
them.' And in case she might not believe him, he lifted the cover and
let her see them.

'Beautiful,' said the old woman; 'very beautiful indeed; but they will
go a very little way towards winning the princess, unless you can also
perform the tasks that are set you. However,' she said, 'I see you have
brought something with you to eat. Won't you give that to me: you are
sure to get a good dinner at the palace.'

'Yes, of course,' said Jesper, 'I hadn't thought of that'; and he handed
over the whole of his lunch to the old woman.

He had already taken a few steps on the way again, when the old woman
called him back.

'Here,' she said; 'take this whistle in return for your lunch. It isn't
much to look at, but if you blow it, anything that you have lost or that
has been taken from you will find its way back to you in a moment.'

Jesper thanked her for the whistle, though he did not see of what use it
was to be to him just then, and held on his way to the palace.

When Jesper presented his pearls to the king there were exclamations
of wonder and delight from everyone who saw them. It was not pleasant,
however, to discover that Jesper was a mere fisher-lad; that wasn't the
kind of son-in-law that the king had expected, and he said so to the
queen.

'Never mind,' said she, 'you can easily set him such tasks as he will
never be able to perform: we shall soon get rid of him.'

'Yes, of course,' said the king; 'really I forget things nowadays, with
all the bustle we have had of late.'

That day Jesper dined with the king and queen and their nobles, and at
night was put into a bedroom grander than anything of the kind he had
ever seen. It was all so new to him that he could not sleep a wink,
especially as he was always wondering what kind of tasks would be set
him to do, and whether he would be able to perform them. In spite of the
softness of the bed, he was very glad when morning came at last.

After breakfast was over, the king said to Jesper, 'Just come with me,
and I'll show you what you must do first.' He led him out to the barn,
and there in the middle of the floor was a large pile of grain. 'Here,'
said the king, 'you have a mixed heap of wheat, barley, oats, and rye, a
sackful of each. By an hour before sunset you must have these sorted out
into four heaps, and if a single grain is found to be in a wrong heap
you have no further chance of marrying my daughter. I shall lock the
door, so that no one can get in to assist you, and I shall return at the
appointed time to see how you have succeeded.'

The king walked off, and Jesper looked in despair at the task before
him. Then he sat down and tried what he could do at it, but it was soon
very clear that single-handed he could never hope to accomplish it
in the time. Assistance was out of the question--unless, he suddenly
thought--unless the King of the Ants could help. On him he began to
call, and before many minutes had passed that royal personage made his
appearance. Jesper explained the trouble he was in.

'Is that all?' said the ant; 'we shall soon put that to rights.' He gave
the royal signal, and in a minute or two a stream of ants came pouring
into the barn, who under the king's orders set to work to separate the
grain into the proper heaps.

Jesper watched them for a while, but through the continual movement
of the little creatures, and his not having slept during the previous
night, he soon fell sound asleep. When he woke again, the king had just
come into the barn, and was amazed to find that not only was the task
accomplished, but that Jesper had found time to take a nap as well.

'Wonderful,' said he; 'I couldn't have believed it possible. However,
the hardest is yet to come, as you will see to-morrow.'

Jesper thought so too when the next day's task was set before him. The
king's gamekeepers had caught a hundred live hares, which were to be let
loose in a large meadow, and there Jesper must herd them all day, and
bring them safely home in the evening: if even one were missing, he
must give up all thought of marrying the princess. Before he had quite
grasped the fact that this was an impossible task, the keepers had
opened the sacks in which the hares were brought to the field, and, with
a whisk of the short tail and a flap of the long ears, each one of the
hundred flew in a different direction.

'Now,' said the king, 'as he walked away, 'let's see what your
cleverness can do here.'

Jesper stared round him in bewilderment, and having nothing better to do
with his hands, thrust them into his pockets, as he was in the habit of
doing. Here he found something which turned out to be the whistle given
to him by the old woman. He remembered what she had said about the
virtues of the whistle, but was rather doubtful whether its powers
would extend to a hundred hares, each of which had gone in a different
direction and might be several miles distant by this time. However, he
blew the whistle, and in a few minutes the hares came bounding through
the hedge on all the four sides of the field, and before long were all
sitting round him in a circle. After that, Jesper allowed them to run
about as they pleased, so long as they stayed in the field.

The king had told one of the keepers to hang about for a little and see
what became of Jesper, not doubting, however, that as soon as he saw the
coast clear he would use his legs to the best advantage, and never
show face at the palace again. It was therefore with great surprise and
annoyance that he now learned of the mysterious return of the hares and
the likelihood of Jesper carrying out his task with success.

'One of them must be got out of his hands by hook or crook,' said he.
'I'll go and see the queen about it; she's good at devising plans.'

A little later, a girl in a shabby dress came into the field and walked
up to Jesper.

'Do give me one of those hares,' she said; 'we have just got visitors
who are going to stay to dinner, and there's nothing we can give them to
eat.'

'I can't,' said Jesper. 'For one thing, they're not mine; for another, a
great deal depends on my having them all here in the evening.'

But the girl (and she was a very pretty girl, though so shabbily
dressed) begged so hard for one of them that at last he said:

'Very well; give me a kiss and you shall have one of them.'

He could see that she didn't quite care for this, but she consented to
the bargain, and gave him the kiss, and went away with a hare in her
apron. Scarcely had she got outside the field, however, when Jesper blew
his whistle, and immediately the hare wriggled out of its prison like an
eel, and went back to its master at the top of its speed.

Not long after this the hare-herd had another visit. This time it was a
stout old woman in the dress of a peasant, who also was after a hare to
provide a dinner for unexpected visitors. Jesper again refused, but the
old lady was so pressing, and would take no refusal, that at last he
said:

'Very well, you shall have a hare, and pay nothing for it either, if you
will only walk round me on tiptoe, look up to the sky, and cackle like a
hen.'

'Fie,' said she; 'what a ridiculous thing to ask anyone to do; just
think what the neighbours would say if they saw me. They would think I
had taken leave of my senses.'

'Just as you like,' said Jesper; 'you know best whether you want the
hare or not.'

There was no help for it, and a pretty figure the old lady made in
carrying out her task; the cackling wasn't very well done, but Jesper
said it would do, and gave her the hare. As soon as she had left the
field, the whistle was sounded again, and back came long-legs-and-ears
at a marvellous speed.

The next to appear on the same errand was a fat old fellow in the dress
of a groom: it was the royal livery he wore, and he plainly thought a
good deal of himself.

'Young man,' said he, 'I want one of those hares; name your price, but I
MUST have one of them.'

'All right,' said Jesper; 'you can have one at an easy rate. Just stand
on your head, whack your heels together, and cry "Hurrah," and the hare
is yours.'

'Eh, what!' said the old fellow; 'ME stand on my head, what an idea!'

'Oh, very well,' said Jesper, 'you needn't unless you like, you know;
but then you won't get the hare.'

It went very much against the grain, one could see, but after some
efforts the old fellow had his head on the grass and his heels in the
air; the whacking and the 'Hurrah' were rather feeble, but Jesper was
not very exacting, and the hare was handed over. Of course, it wasn't
long in coming back again, like the others.

Evening came, and home came Jesper with the hundred hares behind him.
Great was the wonder over all the palace, and the king and queen seemed
very much put out, but it was noticed that the princess actually smiled
to Jesper.

'Well, well,' said the king; 'you have done that very well indeed.
If you are as successful with a little task which I shall give you
to-morrow we shall consider the matter settled, and you shall marry the
princess.'

Next day it was announced that the task would be performed in the great
hall of the palace, and everyone was invited to come and witness it. The
king and queen sat on their thrones, with the princess beside them, and
the lords and ladies were all round the hall. At a sign from the king,
two servants carried in a large empty tub, which they set down in the
open space before the throne, and Jesper was told to stand beside it.

'Now,' said the king, 'you must tell us as many undoubted truths as will
fill that tub, or you can't have the princess.'

'But how are we to know when the tub is full?' said Jesper.

'Don't you trouble about that,' said the king; 'that's my part of the
business.'

This seemed to everybody present rather unfair, but no one liked to be
the first to say so, and Jesper had to put the best face he could on the
matter, and begin his story.

'Yesterday,' he said, 'when I was herding the hares, there came to me a
girl, in a shabby dress, and begged me to give her one of them. She got
the hare, but she had to give me a kiss for it; AND THAT GIRL WAS THE
PRINCESS. Isn't that true?' said he, looking at her.

The princess blushed and looked very uncomfortable, but had to admit
that it was true.

'That hasn't filled much of the tub,' said the king. 'Go on again.'

'After that,' said Jesper, 'a stout old woman, in a peasant's dress,
came and begged for a hare. Before she got it, she had to walk round me
on tiptoe, turn up her eyes, and cackle like a hen; AND THAT OLD WOMAN
WAS THE QUEEN. Isn't that true, now?'

The queen turned very red and hot, but couldn't deny it.

'H-m,' said the king; 'that is something, but the tub isn't full yet.'
To the queen he whispered, 'I didn't think you would be such a fool.'

'What did YOU do?' she whispered in return.

'Do you suppose I would do anything for HIM?' said the king, and then
hurriedly ordered Jesper to go on.

'In the next place,' said Jesper, 'there came a fat old fellow on the
same errand. He was very proud and dignified, but in order to get the
hare he actually stood on his head, whacked his heels together, and
cried "Hurrah"; and that old fellow was the----'

'Stop, stop,' shouted the king; 'you needn't say another word; the tub
is full.' Then all the court applauded, and the king and queen accepted
Jesper as their son-in-law, and the princess was very well pleased, for
by this time she had quite fallen in love with him, because he was so
handsome and so clever. When the old king got time to think over it, he
was quite convinced that his kingdom would be safe in Jesper's hands if
he looked after the people as well as he herded the hares.

(Scandinavian.)




THE UNDERGROUND WORKERS

On a bitter night somewhere between Christmas and the New Year, a man
set out to walk to the neighbouring village. It was not many miles off,
but the snow was so thick that there were no roads, or walls, or hedges
left to guide him, and very soon he lost his way altogether, and was
glad to get shelter from the wind behind a thick juniper tree. Here he
resolved to spend the night, thinking that when the sun rose he would be
able to see his path again.

So he tucked his legs snugly under him like a hedgehog, rolled himself
up in his sheepskin, and went to sleep. How long he slept, I cannot tell
you, but after awhile he became aware that some one was gently shaking
him, while a stranger whispered, 'My good man, get up! If you lie there
any more, you will be buried in the snow, and no one will ever know what
became of you.'

The sleeper slowly raised his head from his furs, and opened his heavy
eyes. Near him stood a long thin man, holding in his hand a young fir
tree taller than himself. 'Come with me,' said the man, 'a little way
off we have made a large fire, and you will rest far better there than
out upon this moor.' The sleeper did not wait to be asked twice, but
rose at once and followed the stranger. The snow was falling so fast
that he could not see three steps in front of him, till the stranger
waved his staff, when the drifts parted before them. Very soon they
reached a wood, and saw the friendly glow of a fire.

'What is your name?' asked the stranger, suddenly turning round.

'I am called Hans, the son of Long Hans,' said the peasant.

In front of the fire three men were sitting clothed in white, just as
if it was summer, and for about thirty feet all round winter had been
banished. The moss was dry and the plants green, while the grass seemed
all alive with the hum of bees and cockchafers. But above the noise the
son of Long Hans could hear the whistling of the wind and the crackling
of the branches as they fell beneath the weight of the snow.

'Well! you son of Long Hans, isn't this more comfortable than your
juniper bush?' laughed the stranger, and for answer Hans replied he
could not thank his friend enough for having brought him here, and,
throwing off his sheepskin, rolled it up as a pillow. Then, after a hot
drink which warmed both their hearts, they lay down on the ground. The
stranger talked for a little to the other men in a language Hans did
not understand, and after listening for a short time he once more fell
asleep.

When he awoke, neither wood nor fire was to be seen, and he did not know
where he was. He rubbed his eyes, and began to recall the events of the
night, thinking he must have been dreaming; but for all that, he could
not make out how he came to be in this place.

Suddenly a loud noise struck on his ear, and he felt the earth tremble
beneath his feet. Hans listened for a moment, then resolved to go
towards the place where the sound came from, hoping he might come across
some human being. He found himself at length at the mouth of a rocky
cave in which a fire seemed burning. He entered, and saw a huge forge,
and a crowd of men in front of it, blowing bellows and wielding hammers,
and to each anvil were seven men, and a set of more comical smiths could
not be found if you searched all the world through! Their heads were
bigger than their little bodies, and their hammers twice the size of
themselves, but the strongest men on earth could not have handled their
iron clubs more stoutly or given lustier blows.

The little blacksmiths were clad in leather aprons, which covered them
from their necks to their feet in front, and left their backs naked.
On a high stool against the wall sat the man with the pinewood staff,
watching sharply the way the little fellows did their work, and near him
stood a large can, from which every now and then the workers would come
and take a drink. The master no longer wore the white garments of the
day before, but a black jerkin, held in its place by a leathern girdle
with huge clasps.

From time to time he would give his workmen a sign with his staff, for
it was useless to speak amid such a noise.

If any of them had noticed that there was a stranger present they took
no heed of him, but went on with what they were doing. After some hours'
hard labour came the time for rest, and they all flung their hammers to
the ground and trooped out of the cave.

Then the master got down from his seat and said to Hans:

'I saw you come in, but the work was pressing, and I could not stop to
speak to you. To-day you must be my guest, and I will show you something
of the way in which I live. Wait here for a moment, while I lay aside
these dirty clothes.' With these words he unlocked a door in the cave,
and bade Hans pass in before him.

Oh, what riches and treasures met Hans' astonished eyes! Gold and silver
bars lay piled on the floor, and glittered so that you could not look at
them! Hans thought he would count them for fun, and had already reached
the five hundred and seventieth when his host returned and cried,
laughing:

'Do not try to count them, it would take too long; choose some of the
bars from the heap, as I should like to make you a present of them.'

Hans did not wait to be asked twice, and stooped to pick up a bar of
gold, but though he put forth all his strength he could not even move it
with both hands, still less lift it off the ground.

'Why, you have no more power than a flea,' laughed the host; 'you will
have to content yourself with feasting your eyes upon them!'

So he bade Hans follow him through other rooms, till they entered one
bigger than a church, filled, like the rest, with gold and silver.
Hans wondered to see these vast riches, which might have bought all the
kingdoms of the world, and lay buried, useless, he thought, to anyone.

'What is the reason,' he asked of his guide, 'that you gather up these
treasures here, where they can do good to nobody? If they fell into
the hands of men, everyone would be rich, and none need work or suffer
hunger.'

'And it is exactly for that reason,' answered he, 'that I must keep
these riches out of their way. The whole world would sink to idleness if
men were not forced to earn their daily bread. It is only through work
and care that man can ever hope to be good for anything.'

Hans stared at these words, and at last he begged that his host would
tell him what use it was to anybody that this gold and silver should lie
mouldering there, and the owner of it be continually trying to increase
his treasure, which already overflowed his store rooms.

'I am not really a man,' replied his guide, 'though I have the outward
form of one, but one of those beings to whom is given the care of the
world. It is my task and that of my workmen to prepare under the earth
the gold and silver, a small portion of which finds its way every year
to the upper world, but only just enough to help them carry on their
business. To none comes wealth without trouble: we must first dig out
the gold and mix the grains with earth, clay, and sand. Then, after long
and hard seeking, it will be found in this state, by those who have good
luck or much patience. But, my friend, the hour of dinner is at hand. If
you wish to remain in this place, and feast your eyes on this gold, then
stay till I call you.'

In his absence Hans wandered from one treasure chamber to another,
sometimes trying to break off a little lump of gold, but never able to
do it. After awhile his host came back, but so changed that Hans could
not believe it was really he. His silken clothes were of the brightest
flame colour, richly trimmed with gold fringes and lace; a golden girdle
was round his waist, while his head was encircled with a crown of gold,
and precious stones twinkled about him like stars in a winter's night,
and in place of his wooden stick he held a finely worked golden staff.

The lord of all this treasure locked the doors and put the keys in his
pocket, then led Hans into another room, where dinner was laid for them.
Table and seats were all of silver, while the dishes and plates were of
solid gold. Directly they sat down, a dozen little servants appeared to
wait on them, which they did so cleverly and so quickly that Hans could
hardly believe they had no wings. As they did not reach as high as the
table, they were often obliged to jump and hop right on to the top to
get at the dishes. Everything was new to Hans, and though he was rather
bewildered he enjoyed himself very much, especially when the man with
the golden crown began to tell him many things he had never heard of
before.

'Between Christmas and the New Year,' said he, 'I often amuse myself
by wandering about the earth watching the doings of men and learning
something about them. But as far as I have seen and heard I cannot
speak well of them. The greater part of them are always quarrelling and
complaining of each other's faults, while nobody thinks of his own.'

Hans tried to deny the truth of these words, but he could not do it, and
sat silent, hardly listening to what his friend was saying. Then he went
to sleep in his chair, and knew nothing of what was happening.

Wonderful dreams came to him during his sleep, where the bars of gold
continually hovered before his eyes. He felt stronger than he had ever
felt during his waking moments, and lifted two bars quite easily on
to his back. He did this so often that at length his strength seemed
exhausted, and he sank almost breathless on the ground. Then he heard
the sound of cheerful voices, and the song of the blacksmiths as they
blew their bellows--he even felt as if he saw the sparks flashing before
his eyes. Stretching himself, he awoke slowly, and here he was in the
green forest, and instead of the glow of the fire in the underworld
the sun was streaming on him, and he sat up wondering why he felt so
strange.

At length his memory came back to him, and as he called to mind all the
wonderful things he had seen he tried in vain to make them agree with
those that happen every day. After thinking it over till he was nearly
mad, he tried at last to believe that one night between Christmas and
the New Year he had met a stranger in the forest, and had slept all
night in his company before a big fire; the next day they had dined
together, and had drunk a great deal more than was good for them--in
short, he had spent two whole days revelling with another man. But here,
with the full tide of summer around him, he could hardly accept his own
explanation, and felt that he must have been the plaything or sport of
some magician.

Near him, in the full sunlight, were the traces of a dead fire, and when
he drew close to it he saw that what he had taken for ashes was really
fine silver dust, and that the half burnt firewood was made of gold.

Oh, how lucky Hans thought himself; but where should he get a sack to
carry his treasure home before anyone else found it? But necessity is
the mother of invention: Hans threw off his fur coat, gathered up the
silver ashes so carefully in it that none remained behind, laid the gold
sticks on top, and tied up the bag thus made with his girdle, so that
nothing should fall out. The load was not, in point of fact, very heavy,
although it seemed so to his imagination, and he moved slowly along till
he found a safe hiding-place for it.

In this way Hans suddenly became rich--rich enough to buy a property of
his own. But being a prudent man, he finally decided that it would be
best for him to leave his old neighbourhood and look for a home in a
distant part of the country, where nobody knew anything about him. It
did not take him long to find what he wanted, and after he had paid for
it there was plenty of money left over. When he was settled, he married
a pretty girl who lived near by, and had some children, to whom on his
death-bed he told the story of the lord of the underworld, and how he
had made Hans rich.

(Ehstnische Marchen.)




THE HISTORY OF DWARF LONG NOSE

It is a great mistake to think that fairies, witches, magicians, and
such people lived only in Eastern countries and in such times as those
of the Caliph Haroun Al-Raschid. Fairies and their like belong to every
country and every age, and no doubt we should see plenty of them now--if
we only knew how.

In a large town in Germany there lived, some couple of hundred years
ago, a cobbler and his wife. They were poor and hard-working. The man
sat all day in a little stall at the street corner and mended any shoes
that were brought him. His wife sold the fruit and vegetables they grew
in their garden in the Market Place, and as she was always neat and
clean and her goods were temptingly spread out she had plenty of
customers.

The couple had one boy called Jem. A handsome, pleasant-faced boy of
twelve, and tall for his age. He used to sit by his mother in the market
and would carry home what people bought from her, for which they often
gave him a pretty flower, or a slice of cake, or even some small coin.

One day Jem and his mother sat as usual in the Market Place with plenty
of nice herbs and vegetables spread out on the board, and in some
smaller baskets early pears, apples, and apricots. Jem cried his wares
at the top of his voice:

'This way, gentlemen! See these lovely cabbages and these fresh herbs!
Early apples, ladies; early pears and apricots, and all cheap. Come,
buy, buy!'

As he cried an old woman came across the Market Place. She looked very
torn and ragged, and had a small sharp face, all wrinkled, with red
eyes, and a thin hooked nose which nearly met her chin. She leant on
a tall stick and limped and shuffled and stumbled along as if she were
going to fall on her nose at any moment.

In this fashion she came along till she got to the stall where Jem and
his mother were, and there she stopped.

'Are you Hannah the herb seller?' she asked in a croaky voice as her
head shook to and fro.

'Yes, I am,' was the answer. 'Can I serve you?'

'We'll see; we'll see! Let me look at those herbs. I wonder if you've
got what I want,' said the old woman as she thrust a pair of hideous
brown hands into the herb basket, and began turning over all the neatly
packed herbs with her skinny fingers, often holding them up to her nose
and sniffing at them.

The cobbler's wife felt much disgusted at seeing her wares treated like
this, but she dared not speak. When the old hag had turned over the
whole basket she muttered, 'Bad stuff, bad stuff; much better fifty
years ago--all bad.'

This made Jem very angry

'You are a very rude old woman,' he cried out. 'First you mess all our
nice herbs about with your horrid brown fingers and sniff at them with
your long nose till no one else will care to buy them, and then you say
it's all bad stuff, though the duke's cook himself buys all his herbs
from us.'

The old woman looked sharply at the saucy boy, laughed unpleasantly, and
said:

'So you don't like my long nose, sonny? Well, you shall have one
yourself, right down to your chin.'

As she spoke she shuffled towards the hamper of cabbages, took up one
after another, squeezed them hard, and threw them back, muttering again,
'Bad stuff, bad stuff.'

'Don't waggle your head in that horrid way,' begged Jem anxiously. 'Your
neck is as thin as a cabbage-stalk, and it might easily break and your
head fall into the basket, and then who would buy anything?'

'Don't you like thin necks?' laughed the old woman. 'Then you sha'n't
have any, but a head stuck close between your shoulders so that it may
be quite sure not to fall off.'

'Don't talk such nonsense to the child,' said the mother at last.

'If you wish to buy, please make haste, as you are keeping other
customers away.'

'Very well, I will do as you ask,' said the old woman, with an angry
look. 'I will buy these six cabbages, but, as you see, I can only walk
with my stick and can carry nothing. Let your boy carry them home for me
and I'll pay him for his trouble.'

The little fellow didn't like this, and began to cry, for he was afraid
of the old woman, but his mother ordered him to go, for she thought
it wrong not to help such a weakly old creature; so, still crying, he
gathered the cabbages into a basket and followed the old woman across
the Market Place.

It took her more than half an hour to get to a distant part of the
little town, but at last she stopped in front of a small tumble-down
house. She drew a rusty old hook from her pocket and stuck it into a
little hole in the door, which suddenly flew open. How surprised Jem
was when they went in! The house was splendidly furnished, the walls and
ceiling of marble, the furniture of ebony inlaid with gold and precious
stones, the floor of such smooth slippery glass that the little fellow
tumbled down more than once.

The old woman took out a silver whistle and blew it till the sound rang
through the house. Immediately a lot of guinea pigs came running down
the stairs, but Jem thought it rather odd that they all walked on their
hind legs, wore nutshells for shoes, and men's clothes, whilst even
their hats were put on in the newest fashion.

'Where are my slippers, lazy crew?' cried the old woman, and hit about
with her stick. 'How long am I to stand waiting here?'

They rushed upstairs again and returned with a pair of cocoa nuts lined
with leather, which she put on her feet. Now all limping and shuffling
was at an end. She threw away her stick and walked briskly across the
glass floor, drawing little Jem after her. At last she paused in a room
which looked almost like a kitchen, it was so full of pots and pans, but
the tables were of mahogany and the sofas and chairs covered with the
richest stuffs.

'Sit down,' said the old woman pleasantly, and she pushed Jem into
a corner of a sofa and put a table close in front of him. 'Sit down,
you've had a long walk and a heavy load to carry, and I must give you
something for your trouble. Wait a bit, and I'll give you some nice
soup, which you'll remember as long as you live.'

So saying, she whistled again. First came in guinea pigs in men's
clothing. They had tied on large kitchen aprons, and in their belts were
stuck carving knives and sauce ladles and such things. After them hopped
in a number of squirrels. They too walked on their hind legs, wore full
Turkish trousers, and little green velvet caps on their heads. They
seemed to be the scullions, for they clambered up the walls and brought
down pots and pans, eggs, flour, butter, and herbs, which they carried
to the stove. Here the old woman was bustling about, and Jem could see
that she was cooking something very special for him. At last the broth
began to bubble and boil, and she drew off the saucepan and poured its
contents into a silver bowl, which she set before Jem.

'There, my boy,' said she, 'eat this soup and then you'll have
everything which pleased you so much about me. And you shall be a clever
cook too, but the real herb--no, the REAL herb you'll never find. Why
had your mother not got it in her basket?'

The child could not think what she was talking about, but he quite
understood the soup, which tasted most delicious. His mother had often
given him nice things, but nothing had ever seemed so good as this. The
smell of the herbs and spices rose from the bowl, and the soup tasted
both sweet and sharp at the same time, and was very strong. As he was
finishing it the guinea pigs lit some Arabian incense, which gradually
filled the room with clouds of blue vapour. They grew thicker and
thicker and the scent nearly overpowered the boy. He reminded himself
that he must get back to his mother, but whenever he tried to rouse
himself to go he sank back again drowsily, and at last he fell sound
asleep in the corner of the sofa.

Strange dreams came to him. He thought the old woman took off all his
clothes and wrapped him up in a squirrel skin, and that he went about
with the other squirrels and guinea pigs, who were all very pleasant and
well mannered, and waited on the old woman.

First he learned to clean her cocoa-nut shoes with oil and to rub them
up. Then he learnt to catch the little sun moths and rub them through
the finest sieves, and the flour from them he made into soft bread for
the toothless old woman.

In this way he passed from one kind of service to another, spending a
year in each, till in the fourth year he was promoted to the kitchen.
Here he worked his way up from under-scullion to head-pastrycook, and
reached the greatest perfection. He could make all the most difficult
dishes, and two hundred different kinds of patties, soup flavoured
with every sort of herb--he had learnt it all, and learnt it well and
quickly.

When he had lived seven years with the old woman she ordered him one
day, as she was going out, to kill and pluck a chicken, stuff it with
herbs, and have it very nicely roasted by the time she got back. He did
this quite according to rule. He wrung the chicken's neck, plunged it
into boiling water, carefully plucked out all the feathers, and rubbed
the skin nice and smooth. Then he went to fetch the herbs to stuff it
with. In the store-room he noticed a half-opened cupboard which he did
not remember having seen before. He peeped in and saw a lot of baskets
from which came a strong and pleasant smell. He opened one and found a
very uncommon herb in it. The stems and leaves were a bluish green, and
above them was a little flower of a deep bright red, edged with yellow.
He gazed at the flower, smelt it, and found it gave the same strong
strange perfume which came from the soup the old woman had made him. But
the smell was so sharp that he began to sneeze again and again, and at
last--he woke up!

There he lay on the old woman's sofa and stared about him in surprise.
'Well, what odd dreams one does have to be sure!' he said to himself.
'Why, I could have sworn I had been a squirrel, a companion of guinea
pigs and such creatures, and had become a great cook, too. How mother
will laugh when I tell her! But won't she scold me, though, for sleeping
away here in a strange house, instead of helping her at market!'

He jumped up and prepared to go: all his limbs still seemed quite stiff
with his long sleep, especially his neck, for he could not move his head
easily, and he laughed at his own stupidity at being still so drowsy
that he kept knocking his nose against the wall or cupboards. The
squirrels and guinea pigs ran whimpering after him, as though they would
like to go too, and he begged them to come when he reached the door, but
they all turned and ran quickly back into the house again.

The part of the town was out of the way, and Jem did not know the many
narrow streets in it and was puzzled by their windings and by the crowd
of people, who seemed excited about some show. From what he heard, he
fancied they were going to see a dwarf, for he heard them call out:
'Just look at the ugly dwarf!' 'What a long nose he has, and see how his
head is stuck in between his shoulders, and only look at his ugly brown
hands!' If he had not been in such a hurry to get back to his mother, he
would have gone too, for he loved shows with giants and dwarfs and the
like.

He was quite puzzled when he reached the market-place. There sat his
mother, with a good deal of fruit still in her baskets, so he felt he
could not have slept so very long, but it struck him that she was sad,
for she did not call to the passers-by, but sat with her head resting on
her hand, and as he came nearer he thought she looked paler than usual.

He hesitated what to do, but at last he slipped behind her, laid a hand
on her arm, and said: 'Mammy, what's the matter? Are you angry with me?'

She turned round quickly and jumped up with a cry of horror.

'What do you want, you hideous dwarf?' she cried; 'get away; I can't
bear such tricks.'

'But, mother dear, what's the matter with you?' repeated Jem, quite
frightened. 'You can't be well. Why do you want to drive your son away?'

'I have said already, get away,' replied Hannah, quite angrily. 'You
won't get anything out of me by your games, you monstrosity.'

'Oh dear, oh dear! she must be wandering in her mind,' murmured the lad
to himself. 'How can I manage to get her home? Dearest mother, do look
at me close. Can't you see I am your own son Jem?'

'Well, did you ever hear such impudence?' asked Hannah, turning to a
neighbour. 'Just see that frightful dwarf--would you believe that he
wants me to think he is my son Jem?'

Then all the market women came round and talked all together and scolded
as hard as they could, and said what a shame it was to make game of Mrs.
Hannah, who had never got over the loss of her beautiful boy, who had
been stolen from her seven years ago, and they threatened to fall upon
Jem and scratch him well if he did not go away at once.

Poor Jem did not know what to make of it all. He was sure he had gone
to market with his mother only that morning, had helped to set out the
stall, had gone to the old woman's house, where he had some soup and a
little nap, and now, when he came back, they were all talking of seven
years. And they called him a horrid dwarf! Why, what had happened to
him? When he found that his mother would really have nothing to do
with him he turned away with tears in his eyes, and went sadly down the
street towards his father's stall.

'Now I'll see whether he will know me,' thought he. 'I'll stand by the
door and talk to him.'

When he got to the stall he stood in the doorway and looked in. The
cobbler was so busy at work that he did not see him for some time, but,
happening to look up, he caught sight of his visitor, and letting shoes,
thread, and everything fall to the ground, he cried with horror: 'Good
heavens! what is that?'

'Good evening, master,' said the boy, as he stepped in. 'How do you do?'

'Very ill, little sir, replied the father, to Jem's surprise, for he did
not seem to know him. 'Business does not go well. I am all alone, and am
getting old, and a workman is costly.'

'But haven't you a son who could learn your trade by degrees?' asked
Jem.

'I had one: he was called Jem, and would have been a tall sturdy lad
of twenty by this time, and able to help me well. Why, when he was only
twelve he was quite sharp and quick, and had learnt many little things,
and a good-looking boy too, and pleasant, so that customers were taken
by him. Well, well! so goes the world!'

'But where is your son?' asked Jem, with a trembling voice.

'Heaven only knows!' replied the man; 'seven years ago he was stolen
from the market-place, and we have heard no more of him.'

'SEVEN YEARS AGO!' cried Jem, with horror.

'Yes, indeed, seven years ago, though it seems but yesterday that my
wife came back howling and crying, and saying the child had not come
back all day. I always thought and said that something of the kind would
happen. Jem was a beautiful boy, and everyone made much of him, and
my wife was so proud of him, and liked him to carry the vegetables and
things to grand folks' houses, where he was petted and made much of. But
I used to say, "Take care--the town is large, there are plenty of bad
people in it--keep a sharp eye on Jem." And so it happened; for one day
an old woman came and bought a lot of things--more than she could carry;
so my wife, being a kindly soul, lent her the boy, and--we have never
seen him since.'

'And that was seven years ago, you say?'

'Yes, seven years: we had him cried--we went from house to house. Many
knew the pretty boy, and were fond of him, but it was all in vain. No
one seemed to know the old woman who bought the vegetables either; only
one old woman, who is ninety years old, said it might have been the
fairy Herbaline, who came into the town once in every fifty years to buy
things.'

As his father spoke, things grew clearer to Jem's mind, and he saw now
that he had not been dreaming, but had really served the old woman seven
years in the shape of a squirrel. As he thought it over rage filled his
heart. Seven years of his youth had been stolen from him, and what had
he got in return? To learn to rub up cocoa nuts, and to polish glass
floors, and to be taught cooking by guinea pigs! He stood there
thinking, till at last his father asked him:

'Is there anything I can do for you, young gentleman? Shall I make you a
pair of slippers, or perhaps' with a smile--'a case for your nose?'

'What have you to do with my nose?' asked Jem. 'And why should I want a
case for it?'

'Well, everyone to his taste,' replied the cobbler; 'but I must say if I
had such a nose I would have a nice red leather cover made for it. Here
is a nice piece; and think what a protection it would be to you. As it
is, you must be constantly knocking up against things.'

The lad was dumb with fright. He felt his nose. It was thick, and quite
two hands long. So, then, the old woman had changed his shape, and that
was why his own mother did not know him, and called him a horrid dwarf!

'Master,' said he, 'have you got a glass that I could see myself in?'

'Young gentleman,' was the answer, 'your appearance is hardly one to
be vain of, and there is no need to waste your time looking in a glass.
Besides, I have none here, and if you must have one you had better
ask Urban the barber, who lives over the way, to lend you his. Good
morning.'

So saying, he gently pushed Jem into the street, shut the door, and went
back to his work.

Jem stepped across to the barber, whom he had known in old days.

'Good morning, Urban,' said he; 'may I look at myself in your glass for
a moment?'

'With pleasure,' said the barber, laughing, and all the people in his
shop fell to laughing also. 'You are a pretty youth, with your swan-like
neck and white hands and small nose. No wonder you are rather vain; but
look as long as you like at yourself.'

So spoke the barber, and a titter ran round the room. Meantime Jem had
stepped up to the mirror, and stood gazing sadly at his reflection.
Tears came to his eyes.

'No wonder you did not know your child again, dear mother,' thought he;
'he wasn't like this when you were so proud of his looks.'

His eyes had grown quite small, like pigs' eyes, his nose was huge and
hung down over his mouth and chin, his throat seemed to have disappeared
altogether, and his head was fixed stiffly between his shoulders. He was
no taller than he had been seven years ago, when he was not much more
than twelve years old, but he made up in breadth, and his back and
chest had grown into lumps like two great sacks. His legs were small and
spindly, but his arms were as large as those of a well-grown man, with
large brown hands, and long skinny fingers.

Then he remembered the morning when he had first seen the old woman, and
her threats to him, and without saying a word he left the barber's shop.

He determined to go again to his mother, and found her still in the
market-place. He begged her to listen quietly to him, and he reminded
her of the day when he went away with the old woman, and of many things
in his childhood, and told her how the fairy had bewitched him, and he
had served her seven years. Hannah did not know what to think--the story
was so strange; and it seemed impossible to think her pretty boy and
this hideous dwarf were the same. At last she decided to go and talk to
her husband about it. She gathered up her baskets, told Jem to follow
her, and went straight to the cobbler's stall.

'Look here,' said she, 'this creature says he is our lost son. He has
been telling me how he was stolen seven years ago, and bewitched by a
fairy.'

'Indeed!' interrupted the cobbler angrily. 'Did he tell you this? Wait a
minute, you rascal! Why I told him all about it myself only an hour ago,
and then he goes off to humbug you. So you were bewitched, my son were
you? Wait a bit, and I'll bewitch you!'

So saying, he caught up a bundle of straps, and hit out at Jem so hard
that he ran off crying.

The poor little dwarf roamed about all the rest of the day without food
or drink, and at night was glad to lie down and sleep on the steps of a
church. He woke next morning with the first rays of light, and began to
think what he could do to earn a living. Suddenly he remembered that he
was an excellent cook, and he determined to look out for a place.

As soon as it was quite daylight he set out for the palace, for he
knew that the grand duke who reigned over the country was fond of good
things.

When he reached the palace all the servants crowded about him, and made
fun of him, and at last their shouts and laughter grew so loud that the
head steward rushed out, crying, 'For goodness sake, be quiet, can't
you. Don't you know his highness is still asleep?'

Some of the servants ran off at once, and others pointed out Jem.

Indeed, the steward found it hard to keep himself from laughing at the
comic sight, but he ordered the servants off and led the dwarf into his
own room.

When he heard him ask for a place as cook, he said: 'You make some
mistake, my lad. I think you want to be the grand duke's dwarf, don't
you?'

'No, sir,' replied Jem. 'I am an experienced cook, and if you will
kindly take me to the head cook he may find me of some use.'

'Well, as you will; but believe me, you would have an easier place as
the grand ducal dwarf.'

So saying, the head steward led him to the head cook's room.

'Sir,' asked Jem, as he bowed till his nose nearly touched the floor,
'do you want an experienced cook?'

The head cook looked him over from head to foot, and burst out laughing.

'You a cook! Do you suppose our cooking stoves are so low that you can
look into any saucepan on them? Oh, my dear little fellow, whoever sent
you to me wanted to make fun of you.'

But the dwarf was not to be put off.

'What matters an extra egg or two, or a little butter or flour and spice
more or less, in such a house as this?' said he. 'Name any dish you wish
to have cooked, and give me the materials I ask for, and you shall see.'

He said much more, and at last persuaded the head cook to give him a
trial.

They went into the kitchen--a huge place with at least twenty
fireplaces, always alight. A little stream of clear water ran through
the room, and live fish were kept at one end of it. Everything in the
kitchen was of the best and most beautiful kind, and swarms of cooks and
scullions were busy preparing dishes.

When the head cook came in with Jem everyone stood quite still.

'What has his highness ordered for luncheon?' asked the head cook.

'Sir, his highness has graciously ordered a Danish soup and red Hamburg
dumplings.'

'Good,' said the head cook. 'Have you heard, and do you feel equal to
making these dishes? Not that you will be able to make the dumplings,
for they are a secret receipt.'

'Is that all!' said Jem, who had often made both dishes. 'Nothing
easier. Let me have some eggs, a piece of wild boar, and such and such
roots and herbs for the soup; and as for the dumplings,' he added in a
low voice to the head cook, 'I shall want four different kinds of meat,
some wine, a duck's marrow, some ginger, and a herb called heal-well.'

'Why,' cried the astonished cook, 'where did you learn cooking? Yes,
those are the exact materials, but we never used the herb heal-well,
which, I am sure, must be an improvement.'

And now Jem was allowed to try his hand. He could not nearly reach up to
the kitchen range, but by putting a wide plank on two chairs he managed
very well. All the cooks stood round to look on, and could not help
admiring the quick, clever way in which he set to work. At last, when
all was ready, Jem ordered the two dishes to be put on the fire till he
gave the word. Then he began to count: 'One, two, three,' till he got to
five hundred when he cried, 'Now!' The saucepans were taken off, and he
invited the head cook to taste.

The first cook took a golden spoon, washed and wiped it, and handed
it to the head cook, who solemnly approached, tasted the dishes, and
smacked his lips over them. 'First rate, indeed!' he exclaimed. 'You
certainly are a master of the art, little fellow, and the herb heal-well
gives a particular relish.'

As he was speaking, the duke's valet came to say that his highness was
ready for luncheon, and it was served at once in silver dishes. The head
cook took Jem to his own room, but had hardly had time to question him
before he was ordered to go at once to the grand duke. He hurried on his
best clothes and followed the messenger.

The grand duke was looking much pleased. He had emptied the dishes, and
was wiping his mouth as the head cook came in. 'Who cooked my luncheon
to-day?' asked he. 'I must say your dumplings are always very good; but
I don't think I ever tasted anything so delicious as they were to-day.
Who made them?'

'It is a strange story, your highness,' said the cook, and told him
the whole matter, which surprised the duke so much that he sent for the
dwarf and asked him many questions. Of course, Jem could not say he had
been turned into a squirrel, but he said he was without parents and had
been taught cooking by an old woman.

'If you will stay with me,' said the grand duke, 'you shall have fifty
ducats a year, besides a new coat and a couple of pairs of trousers. You
must undertake to cook my luncheon yourself and to direct what I shall
have for dinner, and you shall be called assistant head cook.'

Jem bowed to the ground, and promised to obey his new master in all
things.

He lost no time in setting to work, and everyone rejoiced at having him
in the kitchen, for the duke was not a patient man, and had been known
to throw plates and dishes at his cooks and servants if the things
served were not quite to his taste. Now all was changed. He never
even grumbled at anything, had five meals instead of three, thought
everything delicious, and grew fatter daily.

And so Jem lived on for two years, much respected and considered, and
only saddened when he thought of his parents. One day passed much like
another till the following incident happened.

Dwarf Long Nose--as he was always called--made a practice of doing his
marketing as much as possible himself, and whenever time allowed went to
the market to buy his poultry and fruit. One morning he was in the goose
market, looking for some nice fat geese. No one thought of laughing at
his appearance now; he was known as the duke's special body cook, and
every goose-woman felt honoured if his nose turned her way.

He noticed one woman sitting apart with a number of geese, but not
crying or praising them like the rest. He went up to her, felt and
weighed her geese, and, finding them very good, bought three and the
cage to put them in, hoisted them on his broad shoulders, and set off on
his way back.

As he went, it struck him that two of the geese were gobbling and
screaming as geese do, but the third sat quite still, only heaving a
deep sigh now and then, like a human being. 'That goose is ill,' said
he; 'I must make haste to kill and dress her.'

But the goose answered him quite distinctly:

          'Squeeze too tight
           And I'll bite,
           If my neck a twist you gave
           I'd bring you to an early grave.'

Quite frightened, the dwarf set down the cage, and the goose gazed at
him with sad wise-looking eyes and sighed again.

'Good gracious!' said Long Nose. 'So you can speak, Mistress Goose. I
never should have thought it! Well, don't be anxious. I know better
than to hurt so rare a bird. But I could bet you were not always in this
plumage--wasn't I a squirrel myself for a time?'

'You are right,' said the goose, 'in supposing I was not born in this
horrid shape. Ah! no one ever thought that Mimi, the daughter of the
great Weatherbold, would be killed for the ducal table.'

'Be quite easy, Mistress Mimi,' comforted Jem. 'As sure as I'm an honest
man and assistant head cook to his highness, no one shall harm you. I
will make a hutch for you in my own rooms, and you shall be well fed,
and I'll come and talk to you as much as I can. I'll tell all the other
cooks that I am fattening up a goose on very special food for the grand
duke, and at the first good opportunity I will set you free.'

The goose thanked him with tears in her eyes, and the dwarf kept his
word. He killed the other two geese for dinner, but built a little shed
for Mimi in one of his rooms, under the pretence of fattening her under
his own eye. He spent all his spare time talking to her and comforting
her, and fed her on all the daintiest dishes. They confided their
histories to each other, and Jem learnt that the goose was the daughter
of the wizard Weatherbold, who lived on the island of Gothland. He
fell out with an old fairy, who got the better of him by cunning and
treachery, and to revenge herself turned his daughter into a goose and
carried her off to this distant place. When Long Nose told her his story
she said:

'I know a little of these matters, and what you say shows me that you
are under a herb enchantment--that is to say, that if you can find the
herb whose smell woke you up the spell would be broken.'

This was but small comfort for Jem, for how and where was he to find the
herb?

About this time the grand duke had a visit from a neighbouring prince, a
friend of his. He sent for Long Nose and said to him:

'Now is the time to show what you can really do. This prince who is
staying with me has better dinners than any one except myself, and is a
great judge of cooking. As long as he is here you must take care that
my table shall be served in a manner to surprise him constantly. At
the same time, on pain of my displeasure, take care that no dish shall
appear twice. Get everything you wish and spare nothing. If you want to
melt down gold and precious stones, do so. I would rather be a poor man
than have to blush before him.'

The dwarf bowed and answered:

'Your highness shall be obeyed. I will do all in my power to please you
and the prince.'

From this time the little cook was hardly seen except in the kitchen,
where, surrounded by his helpers, he gave orders, baked, stewed,
flavoured and dished up all manner of dishes.

The prince had been a fortnight with the grand duke, and enjoyed himself
mightily. They ate five times a day, and the duke had every reason to
be content with the dwarf's talents, for he saw how pleased his guest
looked. On the fifteenth day the duke sent for the dwarf and presented
him to the prince.

'You are a wonderful cook,' said the prince, 'and you certainly know
what is good. All the time I have been here you have never repeated a
dish, and all were excellent. But tell me why you have never served the
queen of all dishes, a Suzeraine Pasty?'

The dwarf felt frightened, for he had never heard of this Queen of
Pasties before. But he did not lose his presence of mind, and replied:

'I have waited, hoping that your highness' visit here would last some
time, for I proposed to celebrate the last day of your stay with this
truly royal dish.'

'Indeed,' laughed the grand duke; 'then I suppose you would have waited
for the day of my death to treat me to it, for you have never sent it
up to me yet. However, you will have to invent some other farewell dish,
for the pasty must be on my table to-morrow.'

'As your highness pleases,' said the dwarf, and took leave.

But it did not please HIM at all. The moment of disgrace seemed at hand,
for he had no idea how to make this pasty. He went to his rooms very
sad. As he sat there lost in thought the goose Mimi, who was left free
to walk about, came up to him and asked what was the matter? When she
heard she said:

'Cheer up, my friend. I know the dish quite well: we often had it at
home, and I can guess pretty well how it was made.' Then she told him
what to put in, adding: 'I think that will be all right, and if some
trifle is left out perhaps they won't find it out.'

Sure enough, next day a magnificent pasty all wreathed round with
flowers was placed on the table. Jem himself put on his best clothes and
went into the dining hall. As he entered the head carver was in the act
of cutting up the pie and helping the duke and his guests. The grand
duke took a large mouthful and threw up his eyes as he swallowed it.

'Oh! oh! this may well be called the Queen of Pasties, and at the same
time my dwarf must be called the king of cooks. Don't you think so, dear
friend?'

The prince took several small pieces, tasted and examined carefully, and
then said with a mysterious and sarcastic smile:

'The dish is very nicely made, but the Suzeraine is not quite
complete--as I expected.'

The grand duke flew into a rage.

'Dog of a cook,' he shouted; 'how dare you serve me so? I've a good mind
to chop off your great head as a punishment.'

'For mercy's sake, don't, your highness! I made the pasty according to
the best rules; nothing has been left out. Ask the prince what else I
should have put in.'

The prince laughed. 'I was sure you could not make this dish as well
as my cook, friend Long Nose. Know, then, that a herb is wanting called
Relish, which is not known in this country, but which gives the pasty
its peculiar flavour, and without which your master will never taste it
to perfection.'

The grand duke was more furious than ever.

'But I WILL taste it to perfection,' he roared. 'Either the pasty must
be made properly to-morrow or this rascal's head shall come off. Go,
scoundrel, I give you twenty-four hours respite.'

The poor dwarf hurried back to his room, and poured out his grief to the
goose.

'Oh, is that all,' said she, 'then I can help you, for my father taught
me to know all plants and herbs. Luckily this is a new moon just now,
for the herb only springs up at such times. But tell me, are there
chestnut trees near the palace?'

'Oh, yes!' cried Long Nose, much relieved; 'near the lake--only a couple
of hundred yards from the palace--is a large clump of them. But why do
you ask?'

'Because the herb only grows near the roots of chestnut trees,' replied
Mimi; 'so let us lose no time in finding it. Take me under your arm and
put me down out of doors, and I'll hunt for it.'

He did as she bade, and as soon as they were in the garden put her on
the ground, when she waddled off as fast as she could towards the lake,
Jem hurrying after her with an anxious heart, for he knew that his life
depended on her success. The goose hunted everywhere, but in vain. She
searched under each chestnut tree, turning every blade of grass with her
bill--nothing to be seen, and evening was drawing on!

Suddenly the dwarf noticed a big old tree standing alone on the other
side of the lake. 'Look,' cried he, 'let us try our luck there.'

The goose fluttered and skipped in front, and he ran after as fast as
his little legs could carry him. The tree cast a wide shadow, and it was
almost dark beneath it, but suddenly the goose stood still, flapped
her wings with joy, and plucked something, which she held out to her
astonished friend, saying: 'There it is, and there is more growing here,
so you will have no lack of it.'

The dwarf stood gazing at the plant. It gave out a strong sweet scent,
which reminded him of the day of his enchantment. The stems and leaves
were a bluish green, and it bore a dark, bright red flower with a yellow
edge.

'What a wonder!' cried Long Nose. 'I do believe this is the very herb
which changed me from a squirrel into my present miserable form. Shall I
try an experiment?'

'Not yet,' said the goose. 'Take a good handful of the herb with you,
and let us go to your rooms. We will collect all your money and clothes
together, and then we will test the powers of the herb.'

So they went back to Jem's rooms, and here he gathered together some
fifty ducats he had saved, his clothes and shoes, and tied them all up
in a bundle. Then he plunged his face into the bunch of herbs, and drew
in their perfume.

As he did so, all his limbs began to crack and stretch; he felt his head
rising above his shoulders; he glanced down at his nose, and saw it grow
smaller and smaller; his chest and back grew flat, and his legs grew
long.

The goose looked on in amazement. 'Oh, how big and how beautiful you
are!' she cried. 'Thank heaven, you are quite changed.'

Jem folded his hands in thanks, as his heart swelled with gratitude. But
his joy did not make him forget all he owed to his friend Mimi.

'I owe you my life and my release,' he said, 'for without you I should
never have regained my natural shape, and, indeed, would soon have been
beheaded. I will now take you back to your father, who will certainly
know how to disenchant you.'

The goose accepted his offer with joy, and they managed to slip out of
the palace unnoticed by anyone.

They got through the journey without accident, and the wizard soon
released his daughter, and loaded Jem with thanks and valuable presents.
He lost no time in hastening back to his native town, and his parents
were very ready to recognise the handsome, well-made young man as their
long-lost son. With the money given him by the wizard he opened a shop,
which prospered well, and he lived long and happily.

I must not forget to mention that much disturbance was caused in the
palace by Jem's sudden disappearance, for when the grand duke sent
orders next day to behead the dwarf, if he had not found the necessary
herbs, the dwarf was not to be found. The prince hinted that the duke
had allowed his cook to escape, and had therefore broken his word. The
matter ended in a great war between the two princes, which was known in
history as the 'Herb War.' After many battles and much loss of life, a
peace was at last concluded, and this peace became known as the 'Pasty
Peace,' because at the banquet given in its honour the prince's cook
dished up the Queen of Pasties--the Suzeraine--and the grand duke
declared it to be quite excellent.




THE NUNDA, EATER OF PEOPLE

Once upon a time there lived a sultan who loved his garden dearly,
and planted it with trees and flowers and fruits from all parts of
the world. He went to see them three times every day: first at seven
o'clock, when he got up, then at three, and lastly at half-past five.
There was no plant and no vegetable which escaped his eye, but he
lingered longest of all before his one date tree.

Now the sultan had seven sons. Six of them he was proud of, for they
were strong and manly, but the youngest he disliked, for he spent all
his time among the women of the house. The sultan had talked to him, and
he paid no heed; and he had beaten him, and he paid no heed; and he had
tied him up, and he paid no heed, till at last his father grew tired of
trying to make him change his ways, and let him alone.

Time passed, and one day the sultan, to his great joy, saw signs
of fruit on his date tree. And he told his vizir, 'My date tree is
bearing;' and he told the officers, 'My date tree is bearing;' and he
told the judges, 'My date tree is bearing;' and he told all the rich men
of the town.

He waited patiently for some days till the dates were nearly ripe, and
then he called his six sons, and said: 'One of you must watch the date
tree till the dates are ripe, for if it is not watched the slaves will
steal them, and I shall not have any for another year.'

And the eldest son answered, 'I will go, father,' and he went.

The first thing the youth did was to summon his slaves, and bid them
beat drums all night under the date tree, for he feared to fall asleep.
So the slaves beat the drums, and the young man danced till four
o'clock, and then it grew so cold he could dance no longer, and one
of the slaves said to him: 'It is getting light; the tree is safe; lie
down, master, and go to sleep.'

So he lay down and slept, and his slaves slept likewise.

A few minutes went by, and a bird flew down from a neighbouring thicket,
and ate all the dates, without leaving a single one. And when the tree
was stripped bare, the bird went as it had come. Soon after, one of the
slaves woke up and looked for the dates, but there were no dates to see.
Then he ran to the young man and shook him, saying:

'Your father set you to watch the tree, and you have not watched, and
the dates have all been eaten by a bird.'

The lad jumped up and ran to the tree to see for himself, but there was
not a date anywhere. And he cried aloud, 'What am I to say to my father?
Shall I tell him that the dates have been stolen, or that a great rain
fell and a great storm blew? But he will send me to gather them up and
bring them to him, and there are none to bring! Shall I tell him that
Bedouins drove me away, and when I returned there were no dates? And he
will answer, "You had slaves, did they not fight with the Bedouins?" It
is the truth that will be best, and that will I tell him.'

Then he went straight to his father, and found him sitting in his
verandah with his five sons round him; and the lad bowed his head.

'Give me the news from the garden,' said the sultan.

And the youth answered, 'The dates have all been eaten by some bird:
there is not one left.'

The sultan was silent for a moment: then he asked, 'Where were you when
the bird came?'

The lad answered: 'I watched the date tree till the cocks were crowing
and it was getting light; then I lay down for a little, and I slept.
When I woke a slave was standing over me, and he said, "There is not
one date left on the tree!" And I went to the date tree, and saw it was
true; and that is what I have to tell you.'

And the sultan replied, 'A son like you is only good for eating and
sleeping. I have no use for you. Go your way, and when my date tree
bears again, I will send another son; perhaps he will watch better.'

So he waited many months, till the tree was covered with more dates than
any tree had ever borne before. When they were near ripening he sent one
of his sons to the garden: saying, 'My son, I am longing to taste those
dates: go and watch over them, for to-day's sun will bring them to
perfection.'

And the lad answered: 'My father, I am going now, and to-morrow, when
the sun has passed the hour of seven, bid a slave come and gather the
dates.'

'Good,' said the sultan.

The youth went to the tree, and lay down and slept. And about midnight
he arose to look at the tree, and the dates were all there--beautiful
dates, swinging in bunches.

'Ah, my father will have a feast, indeed,' thought he. 'What a fool my
brother was not to take more heed! Now he is in disgrace, and we know
him no more. Well, I will watch till the bird comes. I should like to
see what manner of bird it is.'

And he sat and read till the cocks crew and it grew light, and the dates
were still on the tree.

'Oh my father will have his dates; they are all safe now,' he thought
to himself. 'I will make myself comfortable against this tree,' and he
leaned against the trunk, and sleep came on him, and the bird flew down
and ate all the dates.

When the sun rose, the head-man came and looked for the dates, and there
were no dates. And he woke the young man, and said to him, 'Look at the
tree.'

And the young man looked, and there were no dates. And his ears were
stopped, and his legs trembled, and his tongue grew heavy at the thought
of the sultan. His slave became frightened as he looked at him, and
asked, 'My master, what is it?'

He answered, 'I have no pain anywhere, but I am ill everywhere. My whole
body is well, and my whole body is sick I fear my father, for did I not
say to him, "To-morrow at seven you shall taste the dates"? And he
will drive me away, as he drove away my brother! I will go away myself,
before he sends me.'

Then he got up and took a road that led straight past the palace, but
he had not walked many steps before he met a man carrying a large silver
dish, covered with a white cloth to cover the dates.

And the young man said, 'The dates are not ripe yet; you must return
to-morrow.'

And the slave went with him to the palace, where the sultan was sitting
with his four sons.

'Good greeting, master!' said the youth.

And the sultan answered, 'Have you seen the man I sent?'

'I have, master; but the dates are not yet ripe.'

But the sultan did not believe his words, and said; 'This second year I
have eaten no dates, because of my sons. Go your ways, you are my son no
longer!'

And the sultan looked at the four sons that were left him, and promised
rich gifts to whichever of them would bring him the dates from the tree.
But year by year passed, and he never got them. One son tried to keep
himself awake with playing cards; another mounted a horse and rode round
and round the tree, while the two others, whom their father as a last
hope sent together, lit bonfires. But whatever they did, the result was
always the same. Towards dawn they fell asleep, and the bird ate the
dates on the tree.

The sixth year had come, and the dates on the tree were thicker than
ever. And the head-man went to the palace and told the sultan what he
had seen. But the sultan only shook his head, and said sadly, 'What
is that to me? I have had seven sons, yet for five years a bird has
devoured my dates; and this year it will be the same as ever.'

Now the youngest son was sitting in the kitchen, as was his custom, when
he heard his father say those words. And he rose up, and went to his
father, and knelt before him. 'Father, this year you shall eat dates,'
cried he. 'And on the tree are five great bunches, and each bunch I will
give to a separate nation, for the nations in the town are five. This
time, I will watch the date tree myself.' But his father and his mother
laughed heartily, and thought his words idle talk.

One day, news was brought to the sultan that the dates were ripe, and he
ordered one of his men to go and watch the tree. His son, who happened
to be standing by, heard the order, and he said:

'How is it that you have bidden a man to watch the tree, when I, your
son, am left?'

And his father answered, 'Ah, six were of no use, and where they failed,
will you succeed?'

But the boy replied: 'Have patience to-day, and let me go, and to-morrow
you shall see whether I bring you dates or not.'

'Let the child go, Master,' said his wife; 'perhaps we shall eat the
dates--or perhaps we shall not--but let him go.'

And the sultan answered: 'I do not refuse to let him go, but my heart
distrusts him. His brothers all promised fair, and what did they do?'

But the boy entreated, saying, 'Father, if you and I and mother be alive
to-morrow, you shall eat the dates.'

'Go then,' said his father.

When the boy reached the garden, he told the slaves to leave him, and
to return home themselves and sleep. When he was alone, he laid himself
down and slept fast till one o'clock, when he arose, and sat opposite
the date tree. Then he took some Indian corn out of one fold of his
dress, and some sandy grit out of another.

And he chewed the corn till he felt he was growing sleepy, and then
he put some grit into his mouth, and that kept him awake till the bird
came.

It looked about at first without seeing him, and whispering to itself,
'There is no one here,' fluttered lightly on to the tree and stretched
out his beak for the dates. Then the boy stole softly up, and caught it
by the wing.

The bird turned and flew quickly away, but the boy never let go, not
even when they soared high into the air.

'Son of Adam,' the bird said when the tops of the mountains looked small
below them, 'if you fall, you will be dead long before you reach the
ground, so go your way, and let me go mine.'

But the boy answered, 'Wherever you go, I will go with you. You cannot
get rid of me.'

'I did not eat your dates,' persisted the bird, 'and the day is dawning.
Leave me to go my way.'

But again the boy answered him: 'My six brothers are hateful to my
father because you came and stole the dates, and to-day my father shall
see you, and my brothers shall see you, and all the people of the town,
great and small, shall see you. And my father's heart will rejoice.'

'Well, if you will not leave me, I will throw you off,' said the bird.

So it flew up higher still--so high that the earth shone like one of the
other stars.

'How much of you will be left if you fall from here?' asked the bird.

'If I die, I die,' said the boy, 'but I will not leave you.'

And the bird saw it was no use talking, and went down to the earth
again.

'Here you are at home, so let me go my way,' it begged once more; 'or at
least make a covenant with me.'

'What covenant?' said the boy.

'Save me from the sun,' replied the bird, 'and I will save you from
rain.'

'How can you do that, and how can I tell if I can trust you?'

'Pull a feather from my tail, and put it in the fire, and if you want me
I will come to you, wherever I am.'

And the boy answered, 'Well, I agree; go your way.'

'Farewell, my friend. When you call me, if it is from the depths of the
sea, I will come.'

The lad watched the bird out of sight; then he went straight to the date
tree. And when he saw the dates his heart was glad, and his body felt
stronger and his eyes brighter than before. And he laughed out loud with
joy, and said to himself, 'This is MY luck, mine, Sit-in-the-kitchen!
Farewell, date tree, I am going to lie down. What ate you will eat you
no more.'

The sun was high in the sky before the head-man, whose business it was,
came to look at the date tree, expecting to find it stripped of all
its fruit, but when he saw the dates so thick that they almost hid the
leaves he ran back to his house, and beat a big drum till everybody came
running, and even the little children wanted to know what had happened.

'What is it? What is it, head-man?' cried they.

'Ah, it is not a son that the master has, but a lion! This day
Sit-in-the-kitchen has uncovered his face before his father!'

'But how, head-man?'

'To day the people may eat the dates.'

'Is it true, head-man?'

'Oh yes, it is true, but let him sleep till each man has brought forth
a present. He who has fowls, let him take fowls; he who has a goat, let
him take a goat; he who has rice, let him take rice.' And the people did
as he had said.

Then they took the drum, and went to the tree where the boy lay
sleeping.

And they picked him up, and carried him away, with horns and clarionets
and drums, with clappings of hands and shrieks of joy, straight to his
father's house.

When his father heard the noise and saw the baskets made of green
leaves, brimming over with dates, and his son borne high on the necks of
slaves, his heart leaped, and he said to himself 'To-day at last I shall
eat dates.' And he called his wife to see what her son had done, and
ordered his soldiers to take the boy and bring him to his father.

'What news, my son?' said he.

'News? I have no news, except that if you will open your mouth you shall
see what dates taste like.' And he plucked a date, and put it into his
father's mouth.

'Ah! You are indeed my son,' cried the sultan. 'You do not take after
those fools, those good-for-nothings. But, tell me, what did you do with
the bird, for it was you, and you only who watched for it?'

'Yes, it was I who watched for it and who saw it. And it will not come
again, neither for its life, nor for your life, nor for the lives of
your children.'

'Oh, once I had six sons, and now I have only one. It is you, whom I
called a fool, who have given me the dates: as for the others, I want
none of them.'

But his wife rose up and went to him, and said, 'Master, do not, I pray
you, reject them,' and she entreated long, till the sultan granted her
prayer, for she loved the six elder ones more than her last one.

So they all lived quietly at home, till the sultan's cat went and caught
a calf. And the owner of the calf went and told the sultan, but he
answered, 'The cat is mine, and the calf mine,' and the man dared not
complain further.

Two days after, the cat caught a cow, and the sultan was told, 'Master,
the cat has caught a cow,' but he only said, 'It was my cow and my cat.'

And the cat waited a few days, and then it caught a donkey, and they
told the sultan, 'Master, the cat has caught a donkey,' and he said,
'My cat and my donkey.' Next it was a horse, and after that a camel, and
when the sultan was told he said, 'You don't like this cat, and want me
to kill it. And I shall not kill it. Let it eat the camel: let it even
eat a man.'

And it waited till the next day, and caught some one's child. And the
sultan was told, 'The cat has caught a child.' And he said, 'The cat is
mine and the child mine.' Then it caught a grown-up man.

After that the cat left the town and took up its abode in a thicket near
the road. So if any one passed, going for water, it devoured him. If it
saw a cow going to feed, it devoured him. If it saw a goat, it devoured
him. Whatever went along that road the cat caught and ate.

Then the people went to the sultan in a body, and told him of all the
misdeeds of that cat. But he answered as before, 'The cat is mine and
the people are mine.' And no man dared kill the cat, which grew bolder
and bolder, and at last came into the town to look for its prey.

One day, the sultan said to his six sons, 'I am going into the country,
to see how the wheat is growing, and you shall come with me.' They went
on merrily along the road, till they came to a thicket, when out sprang
the cat, and killed three of the sons.

'The cat! The cat!' shrieked the soldiers who were with him. And this
time the sultan said:

'Seek for it and kill it. It is no longer a cat, but a demon!'

And the soldiers answered him, 'Did we not tell you, master, what the
cat was doing, and did you not say, "My cat and my people"?'

And he answered: 'True, I said it.'

Now the youngest son had not gone with the rest, but had stayed at home
with his mother; and when he heard that his brothers had been killed
by the cat he said, 'Let me go, that it may slay me also.' His mother
entreated him not to leave her, but he would not listen, and he took his
sword and a spear and some rice cakes, and went after the cat, which by
this time had run of to a great distance.

The lad spent many days hunting the cat, which now bore the name of 'The
Nunda, eater of people,' but though he killed many wild animals he saw
no trace of the enemy he was hunting for. There was no beast, however
fierce, that he was afraid of, till at last his father and mother begged
him to give up the chase after the Nunda.

But he answered: 'What I have said, I cannot take back. If I am to die,
then I die, but every day I must go and seek for the Nunda.'

And again his father offered him what he would, even the crown itself,
but the boy would hear nothing, and went on his way.

Many times his slaves came and told him, 'We have seen footprints, and
to-day we shall behold the Nunda.' But the footprints never turned out
to be those of the Nunda. They wandered far through deserts and through
forests, and at length came to the foot of a great hill. And something
in the boy's soul whispered that here was the end of all their seeking,
and to-day they would find the Nunda.

But before they began to climb the mountain the boy ordered his slaves
to cook some rice, and they rubbed the stick to make a fire, and when
the fire was kindled they cooked the rice and ate it. Then they began
their climb.

Suddenly, when they had almost reached the top, a slave who was on in
front cried:

'Master! Master!' And the boy pushed on to where the slave stood, and
the slave said:

'Cast your eyes down to the foot of the mountain.' And the boy looked,
and his soul told him it was the Nunda.

And he crept down with his spear in his hand, and then he stopped and
gazed below him.

'This MUST be the real Nunda,' thought he. 'My mother told me its ears
were small, and this one's are small. She told me it was broad and not
long, and this is broad and not long. She told me it had spots like a
civet-cat, and this has spots like a civet-cat.'

Then he left the Nunda lying asleep at the foot of the mountain, and
went back to his slaves.

'We will feast to-day,' he said; 'make cakes of batter, and bring
water,' and they ate and drank. And when they had finished he bade them
hide the rest of the food in the thicket, that if they slew the Nunda
they might return and eat and sleep before going back to the town. And
the slaves did as he bade them.

It was now afternoon, and the lad said: 'It is time we went after the
Nunda.' And they went till they reached the bottom and came to a great
forest which lay between them and the Nunda.

Here the lad stopped, and ordered every slave that wore two cloths to
cast one away and tuck up the other between his legs. 'For,' said he,
'the wood is not a little one. Perhaps we may be caught by the thorns,
or perhaps we may have to run before the Nunda, and the cloth might bind
our legs, and cause us to fall before it.'

And they answered, 'Good, master,' and did as he bade them. Then they
crawled on their hands and knees to where the Nunda lay asleep.

Noiselessly they crept along till they were quite close to it; then, at
a sign from the boy, they threw their spears. The Nunda did not stir:
the spears had done their work, but a great fear seized them all, and
they ran away and climbed the mountain.

The sun was setting when they reached the top, and glad they were to
take out the fruit and the cakes and the water which they had hidden
away, and sit down and rest themselves. And after they had eaten and
were filled, they lay down and slept till morning.

When the dawn broke they rose up and cooked more rice, and drank more
water. After that they walked all round the back of the mountain to the
place where they had left the Nunda, and they saw it stretched out where
they had found it, stiff and dead. And they took it up and carried it
back to the town, singing as they went, 'He has killed the Nunda, the
eater of people.'

And when his father heard the news, and that his son was come, and was
bringing the Nunda with him, he felt that the man did not dwell on the
earth whose joy was greater than his. And the people bowed down to the
boy and gave him presents, and loved him, because he had delivered them
from the bondage of fear, and had slain the Nunda.

(Adapted from Swahili Tales.)




THE STORY OF HASSEBU

Once upon a time there lived a poor woman who had only one child, and
he was a little boy called Hassebu. When he ceased to be a baby, and
his mother thought it was time for him to learn to read, she sent him
to school. And, after he had done with school, he was put into a shop
to learn how to make clothes, and did not learn; and he was put to do
silversmith's work, and did not learn; and whatsoever he was taught, he
did not learn it. His mother never wished him to do anything he did not
like, so she said: 'Well, stay at home, my son.' And he stayed at home,
eating and sleeping.

One day the boy said to his mother: 'What was my father's business?'

'He was a very learned doctor,' answered she.

'Where, then, are his books?' asked Hassebu.

'Many days have passed, and I have thought nothing of them. But look
inside and see if they are there.' So Hassebu looked, and saw they were
eaten by insects, all but one book, which he took away and read.

He was sitting at home one morning poring over the medicine book, when
some neighbours came by and said to his mother: 'Give us this boy, that
we may go together to cut wood.' For wood-cutting was their trade, and
they loaded several donkeys with the wood, and sold it in the town.

And his mother answered, 'Very well; to-morrow I will buy him a donkey,
and you can all go together.'

So the donkey was bought, and the neighbours came, and they worked hard
all day, and in the evening they brought the wood back into the town,
and sold it for a good sum of money. And for six days they went and did
the like, but on the seventh it rained, and the wood-cutters ran and
hid in the rocks, all but Hassebu, who did not mind wetting, and stayed
where he was.

While he was sitting in the place where the wood-cutters had left him,
he took up a stone that lay near him, and idly dropped it on the ground.
It rang with a hollow sound, and he called to his companions, and said,
'Come here and listen; the ground seems hollow!'

'Knock again!' cried they. And he knocked and listened.

'Let us dig,' said the boy. And they dug, and found a large pit like a
well, filled with honey up to the brim.

'This is better than firewood,' said they; 'it will bring us more money.
And as you have found it, Hassebu, it is you who must go inside and dip
out the honey and give to us, and we will take it to the town and sell
it, and will divide the money with you.'

The following day each man brought every bowl and vessel he could find
at home, and Hassebu filled them all with honey. And this he did every
day for three months.

At the end of that time the honey was very nearly finished, and there
was only a little left, quite at the bottom, and that was very deep
down, so deep that it seemed as if it must be right in the middle of the
earth. Seeing this, the men said to Hassebu, 'We will put a rope under
your arms, and let you down, so that you may scrape up all the honey
that is left, and when you have done we will lower the rope again, and
you shall make it fast, and we will draw you up.'

'Very well,' answered the boy, and he went down, and he scraped and
scraped till there was not so much honey left as would cover the point
of a needle. 'Now I am ready!' he cried; but they consulted together and
said, 'Let us leave him there inside the pit, and take his share of the
money, and we will tell his mother, "Your son was caught by a lion and
carried off into the forest, and we tried to follow him, but could not."'

Then they arose and went into the town and told his mother as they had
agreed, and she wept much and made her mourning for many months. And
when the men were dividing the money, one said, 'Let us send a little to
our friend's mother,' and they sent some to her; and every day one took
her rice, and one oil; one took her meat, and one took her cloth, every
day.

It did not take long for Hassebu to find out that his companions had
left him to die in the pit, but he had a brave heart, and hoped that
he might be able to find a way out for himself. So he at once began to
explore the pit and found it ran back a long way underground. And by
night he slept, and by day he took a little of the honey he had gathered
and ate it; and so many days passed by.

One morning, while he was sitting on a rock having his breakfast, a
large scorpion dropped down at his feet, and he took a stone and killed
it, fearing it would sting him. Then suddenly the thought darted into
his head, 'This scorpion must have come from somewhere! Perhaps there is
a hole. I will go and look for it,' and he felt all round the walls of
the pit till he found a very little hole in the roof of the pit, with
a tiny glimmer of light at the far end of it. Then his heart felt glad,
and he took out his knife and dug and dug, till the little hole became
a big one, and he could wriggle himself through. And when he had got
outside, he saw a large open space in front of him, and a path leading
out of it.

He went along the path, on and on, till he reached a large house, with a
golden door standing open. Inside was a great hall, and in the middle
of the hall a throne set with precious stones and a sofa spread with
the softest cushions. And he went in and lay down on it, and fell fast
asleep, for he had wandered far.

By-and-by there was a sound of people coming through the courtyard, and
the measured tramp of soldiers. This was the King of the Snakes coming
in state to his palace.

They entered the hall, but all stopped in surprise at finding a man
lying on the king's own bed. The soldiers wished to kill him at once,
but the king said, 'Leave him alone, put me on a chair,' and the
soldiers who were carrying him knelt on the floor, and he slid from
their shoulders on to a chair. When he was comfortably seated, he turned
to his soldiers, and bade them wake the stranger gently. And they woke
him, and he sat up and saw many snakes all round him, and one of them
very beautiful, decked in royal robes.

'Who are you?' asked Hassebu.

'I am the King of the Snakes,' was the reply, 'and this is my palace.
And will you tell me who you are, and where you come from?'

'My name is Hassebu, but whence I come I know not, nor whither I go.'

'Then stay for a little with me,' said the king, and he bade his
soldiers bring water from the spring and fruits from the forest, and to
set them before the guest.

For some days Hassebu rested and feasted in the palace of the King
of the Snakes, and then he began to long for his mother and his own
country. So he said to the King of the Snakes, 'Send me home, I pray.'

But the King of the Snakes answered, 'When you go home, you will do me
evil!'

'I will do you no evil,' replied Hassebu; 'send me home, I pray.'

But the king said, 'I know it. If I send you home, you will come back,
and kill me. I dare not do it.' But Hassebu begged so hard that at last
the king said, 'Swear that when you get home you will not go to bathe
where many people are gathered.' And Hassebu swore, and the king ordered
his soldiers to take Hassebu in sight of his native city. Then he went
straight to his mother's house, and the heart of his mother was glad.

Now the Sultan of the city was very ill, and all the wise men said that
the only thing to cure him was the flesh of the King of the Snakes, and
that the only man who could get it was a man with a strange mark on his
chest. So the Vizir had set people to watch at the public baths, to see
if such a man came there.

For three days Hassebu remembered his promise to the King of the Snakes,
and did not go near the baths; then came a morning so hot he could
hardly breathe, and he forgot all about it.

The moment he had slipped off his robe he was taken before the Vizir,
who said to him, 'Lead us to the place where the King of the Snakes
lives.'

'I do not know it!' answered he, but the Vizir did not believe him, and
had him bound and beaten till his back was all torn.

Then Hassebu cried, 'Loose me, that I may take you.'

They went together a long, long way, till they reached the palace of the
King of the Snakes.

And Hassebu said to the King: 'It was not I: look at my back and you
will see how they drove me to it.'

'Who has beaten you like this?' asked the King.

'It was the Vizir,' replied Hassebu.

'Then I am already dead,' said the King sadly, 'but you must carry me
there yourself.'

So Hassebu carried him. And on the way the King said, 'When I arrive, I
shall be killed, and my flesh will be cooked. But take some of the water
that I am boiled in, and put it in a bottle and lay it on one side. The
Vizir will tell you to drink it, but be careful not to do so. Then
take some more of the water, and drink it, and you will become a great
physician, and the third supply you will give to the Sultan. And when
the Vizir comes to you and asks, "Did you drink what I gave you?" you
must answer, "I did, and this is for you," and he will drink it and die!
and your soul will rest.'

And they went their way into the town, and all happened as the King of
the Snakes had said.

And the Sultan loved Hassebu, who became a great physician, and cured
many sick people. But he was always sorry for the poor King of the
Snakes.

(Adapted from Swahili Tales,)




THE MAIDEN WITH THE WOODEN HELMET

In a little village in the country of Japan there lived long, long ago a
man and his wife. For many years they were happy and prosperous, but bad
times came, and at last nothing was left them but their daughter, who
was as beautiful as the morning. The neighbours were very kind, and
would have done anything they could to help their poor friends, but the
old couple felt that since everything had changed they would rather go
elsewhere, so one day they set off to bury themselves in the country,
taking their daughter with them.

Now the mother and daughter had plenty to do in keeping the house clean
and looking after the garden, but the man would sit for hours together
gazing straight in front of him, and thinking of the riches that once
were his. Each day he grew more and more wretched, till at length he
took to his bed and never got up again.

His wife and daughter wept bitterly for his loss, and it was many months
before they could take pleasure in anything. Then one morning the mother
suddenly looked at the girl, and found that she had grown still more
lovely than before. Once her heart would have been glad at the sight,
but now that they two were alone in the world she feared some harm might
come of it. So, like a good mother, she tried to teach her daughter all
she knew, and to bring her up to be always busy, so that she would never
have time to think about herself. And the girl was a good girl, and
listened to all her mother's lessons, and so the years passed away.

At last one wet spring the mother caught cold, and though in the
beginning she did not pay much attention to it, she gradually grew more
and more ill, and knew that she had not long to live. Then she called
her daughter and told her that very soon she would be alone in the
world; that she must take care of herself, as there would be no one to
take care of her. And because it was more difficult for beautiful women
to pass unheeded than for others, she bade her fetch a wooden helmet out
of the next room, and put it on her head, and pull it low down over her
brows, so that nearly the whole of her face should lie in its shadow.
The girl did as she was bid, and her beauty was so hidden beneath the
wooden cap, which covered up all her hair, that she might have gone
through any crowd, and no one would have looked twice at her. And when
she saw this the heart of the mother was at rest, and she lay back in
her bed and died.

The girl wept for many days, but by-and-by she felt that, being alone in
the world, she must go and get work, for she had only herself to depend
upon. There was none to be got by staying where she was, so she made her
clothes into a bundle, and walked over the hills till she reached the
house of the man who owned the fields in that part of the country. And
she took service with him and laboured for him early and late, and every
night when she went to bed she was at peace, for she had not forgotten
one thing that she had promised her mother; and, however hot the sun
might be, she always kept the wooden helmet on her head, and the people
gave her the nickname of Hatschihime.

In spite, however, of all her care the fame of her beauty spread abroad:
many of the impudent young men that are always to be found in the world
stole softly up behind her while she was at work, and tried to lift off
the wooden helmet. But the girl would have nothing to say to them, and
only bade them be off; then they began to talk to her, but she never
answered them, and went on with what she was doing, though her wages
were low and food not very plentiful. Still she could manage to live,
and that was enough.

One day her master happened to pass through the field where she was
working, and was struck by her industry and stopped to watch her. After
a while he put one or two questions to her, and then led her into his
house, and told her that henceforward her only duty should be to tend
his sick wife. From this time the girl felt as if all her troubles were
ended, but the worst of them was yet to come.

Not very long after Hatschihime had become maid to the sick woman, the
eldest son of the house returned home from Kioto, where he had been
studying all sorts of things. He was tired of the splendours of the town
and its pleasures, and was glad enough to be back in the green country,
among the peach-blossoms and sweet flowers. Strolling about in the early
morning, he caught sight of the girl with the odd wooden helmet on her
head, and immediately he went to his mother to ask who she was, and
where she came from, and why she wore that strange thing over her face.

His mother answered that it was a whim, and nobody could persuade her
to lay it aside; whereat the young man laughed, but kept his thoughts to
himself.

One hot day, however, he happened to be going towards home when he
caught sight of his mother's waiting maid kneeling by a little stream
that flowed through the garden, splashing some water over her face.
The helmet was pushed on one side, and as the youth stood watching
from behind a tree he had a glimpse of the girl's great beauty; and he
determined that no one else should be his wife. But when he told his
family of his resolve to marry her they were very angry, and made up
all sorts of wicked stories about her. However, they might have spared
themselves the trouble, as he knew it was only idle talk. 'I have merely
to remain firm,' thought he, 'and they will have to give in.' It was
such a good match for the girl that it never occurred to anyone that she
would refuse the young man, but so it was. It would not be right, she
felt, to make a quarrel in the house, and though in secret she wept
bitterly, for a long while, nothing would make her change her mind. At
length one night her mother appeared to her in a dream, and bade her
marry the young man. So the next time he asked her--as he did nearly
every day--to his surprise and joy she consented. The parents then saw
they had better make the best of a bad business, and set about
making the grand preparations suitable to the occasion. Of course the
neighbours said a great many ill-natured things about the wooden helmet,
but the bridegroom was too happy to care, and only laughed at them.

When everything was ready for the feast, and the bride was dressed in
the most beautiful embroidered dress to be found in Japan, the maids
took hold of the helmet to lift it off her head, so that they might do
her hair in the latest fashion. But the helmet would not come, and
the harder they pulled, the faster it seemed to be, till the poor girl
yelled with pain. Hearing her cries the bridegroom ran in and soothed
her, and declared that she should be married in the helmet, as she could
not be married without. Then the ceremonies began, and the bridal pair
sat together, and the cup of wine was brought them, out of which they
had to drink. And when they had drunk it all, and the cup was empty, a
wonderful thing happened. The helmet suddenly burst with a loud noise,
and fell in pieces on the ground; and as they all turned to look they
found the floor covered with precious stones which had fallen out of it.
But the guests were less astonished at the brilliancy of the diamonds
than at the beauty of the bride, which was beyond anything they had ever
seen or heard of. The night was passed in singing and dancing, and then
the bride and bridegroom went to their own house, where they lived till
they died, and had many children, who were famous throughout Japan for
their goodness and beauty.

(Japanische Marchen.)




THE MONKEY AND THE JELLY-FISH

Children must often have wondered why jelly-fishes have no shells, like
so many of the creatures that are washed up every day on the beach. In
old times this was not so; the jelly-fish had as hard a shell as any
of them, but he lost it through his own fault, as may be seen in this
story.

The sea-queen Otohime, whom you read of in the story of Uraschimatoro,
grew suddenly very ill. The swiftest messengers were sent hurrying to
fetch the best doctors from every country under the sea, but it was all
of no use; the queen grew rapidly worse instead of better. Everyone had
almost given up hope, when one day a doctor arrived who was cleverer
than the rest, and said that the only thing that would cure her was the
liver of an ape. Now apes do not dwell under the sea, so a council of
the wisest heads in the nation was called to consider the question how a
liver could be obtained. At length it was decided that the turtle, whose
prudence was well known, should swim to land and contrive to catch a
living ape and bring him safely to the ocean kingdom.

It was easy enough for the council to entrust this mission to the
turtle, but not at all so easy for him to fulfil it. However he swam to
a part of the coast that was covered with tall trees, where he thought
the apes were likely to be; for he was old, and had seen many things. It
was some time before he caught sight of any monkeys, and he often grew
tired with watching for them, so that one hot day he fell fast asleep,
in spite of all his efforts to keep awake. By-and-by some apes, who
had been peeping at him from the tops of the trees, where they had been
carefully hidden from the turtle's eyes, stole noiselessly down, and
stood round staring at him, for they had never seen a turtle before, and
did not know what to make of it. At last one young monkey, bolder than
the rest, stooped down and stroked the shining shell that the strange
new creature wore on its back. The movement, gentle though it was, woke
the turtle. With one sweep he seized the monkey's hand in his mouth, and
held it tight, in spite of every effort to pull it away. The other apes,
seeing that the turtle was not to be trifled with, ran off, leaving
their young brother to his fate.

Then the turtle said to the monkey, 'If you will be quiet, and do what
I tell you, I won't hurt you. But you must get on my back and come with
me.'

The monkey, seeing there was no help for it, did as he was bid; indeed
he could not have resisted, as his hand was still in the turtle's mouth.

Delighted at having secured his prize, the turtle hastened back to the
shore and plunged quickly into the water. He swam faster than he had
ever done before, and soon reached the royal palace. Shouts of joy broke
forth from the attendants when he was seen approaching, and some of them
ran to tell the queen that the monkey was there, and that before long
she would be as well as ever she was. In fact, so great was their relief
that they gave the monkey such a kind welcome, and were so anxious to
make him happy and comfortable, that he soon forgot all the fears that
had beset him as to his fate, and was generally quite at his ease,
though every now and then a fit of home-sickness would come over him,
and he would hide himself in some dark corner till it had passed away.

It was during one of these attacks of sadness that a jelly-fish happened
to swim by. At that time jelly-fishes had shells. At the sight of the
gay and lively monkey crouching under a tall rock, with his eyes closed
and his head bent, the jelly-fish was filled with pity, and stopped,
saying, 'Ah, poor fellow, no wonder you weep; a few days more, and they
will come and kill you and give your liver to the queen to eat.'

The monkey shrank back horrified at these words and asked the jelly-fish
what crime he had committed that deserved death.

'Oh, none at all,' replied the jelly-fish, 'but your liver is the only
thing that will cure our queen, and how can we get at it without killing
you? You had better submit to your fate, and make no noise about it, for
though I pity you from my heart there is no way of helping you.' Then he
went away, leaving the ape cold with horror.

At first he felt as if his liver was already being taken from his body,
but soon he began to wonder if there was no means of escaping this
terrible death, and at length he invented a plan which he thought would
do. For a few days he pretended to be gay and happy as before, but when
the sun went in, and rain fell in torrents, he wept and howled from dawn
to dark, till the turtle, who was his head keeper, heard him, and came
to see what was the matter. Then the monkey told him that before he left
home he had hung his liver out on a bush to dry, and if it was always
going to rain like this it would become quite useless. And the rogue
made such a fuss and moaning that he would have melted a heart of stone,
and nothing would content him but that somebody should carry him back to
land and let him fetch his liver again.

The queen's councillors were not the wisest of people, and they decided
between them that the turtle should take the monkey back to his native
land and allow him to get his liver off the bush, but desired the turtle
not to lose sight of his charge for a single moment. The monkey knew
this, but trusted to his power of beguiling the turtle when the time
came, and mounted on his back with feelings of joy, which he was,
however, careful to conceal. They set out, and in a few hours were
wandering about the forest where the ape had first been caught, and
when the monkey saw his family peering out from the tree tops, he swung
himself up by the nearest branch, just managing to save his hind leg
from being seized by the turtle. He told them all the dreadful things
that had happened to him, and gave a war cry which brought the rest of
the tribe from the neighbouring hills. At a word from him they rushed
in a body to the unfortunate turtle, threw him on his back, and tore off
the shield that covered his body. Then with mocking words they hunted
him to the shore, and into the sea, which he was only too thankful to
reach alive. Faint and exhausted he entered the queen's palace for the
cold of the water struck upon his naked body, and made him feel ill
and miserable. But wretched though he was, he had to appear before the
queen's advisers and tell them all that had befallen him, and how he had
suffered the monkey to escape. But, as sometimes happens, the turtle was
allowed to go scot-free, and had his shell given back to him, and all
the punishment fell on the poor jelly-fish, who was condemned by the
queen to go shieldless for ever after.

(Japanische Marchen.)




THE HEADLESS DWARFS

There was once a minister who spent his whole time in trying to find
a servant who would undertake to ring the church bells at midnight, in
addition to all his other duties.

Of course it was not everyone who cared to get up in the middle of the
night, when he had been working hard all day; still, a good many had
agreed to do it. But the strange thing was that no sooner had the
servant set forth to perform his task than he disappeared, as if the
earth had swallowed him up. No bells were rung, and no ringer ever came
back. The minister did his best to keep the matter secret, but it leaked
out for all that, and the end of it was that no one would enter his
service. Indeed, there were even those who whispered that the minister
himself had murdered the missing men!

It was to no purpose that Sunday after Sunday the minister gave out from
his pulpit that double wages would be paid to anyone that would fulfil
the sacred duty of ringing the bells of the church. No one took the
slightest notice of any offer he might make, and the poor man was in
despair, when one day, as he was standing at his house door, a youth
known in the village as Clever Hans came up to him. 'I am tired of
living with a miser who will not give me enough to eat and drink,' said
he, 'and I am ready to do all you want.' 'Very good, my son,' replied
the minister, 'you shall have the chance of proving your courage this
very night. To-morrow we will settle what your wages are to be.'

Hans was quite content with this proposal, and went straight into the
kitchen to begin his work, not knowing that his new master was quite
as stingy as his old one. In the hope that his presence might be a
restraint upon them, the minister used to sit at the table during his
servants' meals, and would exhort them to drink much and often, thinking
that they would not be able to eat as well, and beef was dearer than
beer. But in Hans he had met his match, and the minister soon found to
his cost that in his case at any rate a full cup did not mean an empty
plate.

About an hour before midnight, Hans entered the church and locked
the door behind him, but what was his surprise when, in place of the
darkness and silence he expected, he found the church brilliantly
lighted, and a crowd of people sitting round a table playing cards. Hans
felt no fear at this strange sight, or was prudent enough to hide it if
he did, and, going up to the table, sat down amongst the players. One of
them looked up and asked, 'My friend, what are you doing here?' and Hans
gazed at him for a moment, then laughed and answered, 'Well, if anybody
has a right to put that question, it is I! And if _I_ do not put it, it
will certainly be wiser for you not to do so!'

Then he picked up some cards, and played with the unknown men as if
he had known them all his life. The luck was on his side, and soon the
money of the other gamblers found its way from their pockets into his.
On the stroke of midnight the cock crew, and in an instant lights,
table, cards, and people all had vanished, and Hans was left alone.

He groped about for some time, till he found the staircase in the tower,
and then began to feel his way up the steps.

On the first landing a glimmer of light came through a slit in the wall,
and he saw a tiny man sitting there, without a head. 'Ho! ho! my little
fellow, what are you doing there?' asked Hans, and, without waiting for
an answer, gave him a kick which sent him flying down the stairs. Then
he climbed higher still, and finding as he went dumb watchers sitting on
every landing, treated them as he had done the first.

At last he reached the top, and as he paused for a moment to look
round him he saw another headless man cowering in the very bell itself,
waiting till Hans should seize the bell-pull in order to strike him a
blow with the clapper, which would soon have made an end of him.

'Stop, my little friend!' cried Hans. 'That is not part of the bargain!
Perhaps you saw how your comrades walked down stairs, and you are going
after them. But as you are in the highest place you shall make a more
dignified exit, and follow them through the window!'

With these words he began to climb the ladder, in order to take the
little man from the bell and carry out his threat.

At this the dwarf cried out imploringly, 'Oh, brother! spare my life,
and I promise that neither I nor my comrades will ever trouble you any
more. I am small and weak, but who knows whether some day I shall not be
able to reward you.'

'You wretched little shrimp,' replied Hans, 'a great deal of good
your gratitude is likely to do me! But as I happen to be feeling in a
cheerful mood to-night I will let you have your life. But take care how
you come across me again, or you may not escape so easily!'

The headless man thanked him humbly, slid hastily down the bell rope,
and ran down the steps of the tower as if he had left a fire behind him.
Then Hans began to ring lustily.

When the minister heard the sound of the midnight bells he wondered
greatly, but rejoiced that he had at last found some one to whom he
could trust this duty. Hans rang the bells for some time, then went to
the hay-loft, and fell fast asleep.

Now it was the custom of the minister to get up very early, and to go
round to make sure that the men were all at their work. This morning
everyone was in his place except Hans, and no one knew anything about
him. Nine o'clock came, and no Hans, but when eleven struck the minister
began to fear that he had vanished like the ringers who had gone before
him. When, however, the servants all gathered round the table for
dinner, Hans at last made his appearance stretching himself and yawning.

'Where have you been all this time?' asked the minister.

'Asleep,' said Hans.

'Asleep!' exclaimed the minister in astonishment. 'You don't mean to
tell me that you can go on sleeping till mid-day?'

'That is exactly what I do mean,' replied Hans. 'If one works in the
night one must sleep in the day, just as if one works in the day one
sleeps in the night. If you can find somebody else to ring the bells at
midnight I am ready to begin work at dawn; but if you want me to ring
them I must go on sleeping till noon at the very earliest.'

The minister tried to argue the point with him, but at length the
following agreement was come to. Hans was to give up the ringing, and
was to work like the rest from sunrise to sunset, with the exception of
an hour after breakfast and an hour after dinner, when he might go to
sleep. 'But, of course,' added the minister carelessly, 'it may happen
now and then, especially in winter, when the days are short, that you
will have to work a little longer, to get something finished.'

'Not at all!' answered Hans. 'Unless I were to leave off work earlier
in summer, I will not do a stroke more than I have promised, and that is
from dawn to dark; so you know what you have to expect.'

A few weeks later the minister was asked to attend a christening in the
neighbouring town. He bade Hans come with him, but, as the town was only
a few hours' ride from where he lived, the minister was much surprised
to see Hans come forth laden with a bag containing food.

'What are you taking that for?' asked the minister. 'We shall be there
before dark.'

'Who knows?' replied Hans. 'Many things may happen to delay our journey,
and I need not remind you of our contract that the moment the sun sets
I cease to be your servant. If we don't reach the town while it is still
daylight I shall leave you to shift for yourself.'

The minister thought he was joking, and made no further remark. But when
they had left the village behind them, and had ridden a few miles, they
found that snow had fallen during the night, and had been blown by the
wind into drifts. This hindered their progress, and by the time they had
entered the thick wood which lay between them and their destination
the sun was already touching the tops of the trees. The horses ploughed
their way slowly through the deep soft snow and as they went Hans kept
turning to look at the sun, which lay at their backs.

'Is there anything behind you?' asked the minister. 'Or what is it you
are always turning round for?'

'I turn round because I have no eyes in the back of my neck,' said Hans.

'Cease talking nonsense,' replied the minister, 'and give all your mind
to getting us to the town before nightfall.'

Hans did not answer, but rode on steadily, though every now and then he
cast a glance over his shoulder.

When they arrived in the middle of the wood the sun sank altogether.
Then Hans reined up his horse, took his knapsack, and jumped out of the
sledge.

'What are you doing? Are you mad?' asked the minister, but Hans answered
quietly, 'The sun is set and my work is over, and I am going to camp
here for the night.'

In vain the master prayed and threatened, and promised Hans a large
reward if he would only drive him on. The young man was not to be moved.

'Are you not ashamed to urge me to break my word?' said he. 'If you want
to reach the town to-night you must go alone. The hour of my freedom has
struck, and I cannot go with you.'

'My good Hans,' entreated the minister, 'I really ought not to leave
you here. Consider what danger you would be in! Yonder, as you see, a
gallows is set up, and two evil-doers are hanging on it. You could not
possibly sleep with such ghastly neighbours.'

'Why not?' asked Hans. 'Those gallows birds hang high in the air, and
my camp will be on the ground; we shall have nothing to do with each
other.' As he spoke, he turned his back on the minister, and went his
way.

There was no help for it, and the minister had to push on by himself, if
he expected to arrive in time for the christening. His friends were
much surprised to see him drive up without a coachman, and thought some
accident had happened. But when he told them of his conversation with
Hans they did not know which was the most foolish, master or man.

It would have mattered little to Hans had he known what they were saying
or thinking of him. He satisfied his hunger with the food he had in his
knapsack, lit his pipe, pitched his tent under the boughs of a tree,
wrapped himself in his furs, and went sound asleep. After some hours,
he was awakened by a sudden noise, and sat up and looked about him.
The moon was shining brightly above his head, and close by stood two
headless dwarfs, talking angrily. At the sight of Hans the little dwarfs
cried out:

'It is he! It is he!' and one of them stepping nearer exclaimed, 'Ah,
my old friend! it is a lucky chance that has brought us here. My bones
still ache from my fall down the steps of the tower. I dare say you
have not forgotten that night! Now it is the turn of your bones. Hi!
comrades, make haste! make haste!'

Like a swarm of midges, a host of tiny headless creatures seemed to
spring straight out of the ground, and every one was armed with a club.
Although they were so small, yet there were such numbers of them and
they struck so hard that even a strong man could do nothing against
them. Hans thought his last hour was come, when just as the fight was at
the hottest another little dwarf arrived on the scene.

'Hold, comrades!' he shouted, turning to the attacking party. 'This man
once did me a service, and I am his debtor. When I was in his power he
granted me my life. And even if he did throw you downstairs, well, a
warm bath soon cured your bruises, so you must just forgive him and go
quietly home.'

The headless dwarfs listened to his words and disappeared as suddenly as
they had come. As soon as Hans recovered himself a little he looked at
his rescuer, and saw he was the dwarf he had found seated in the church
bell.

'Ah!' said the dwarf, seating himself quietly under the tree. 'You
laughed at me when I told you that some day I might do you a good turn.
Now you see I was right, and perhaps you will learn for the future not
to despise any creature, however small.'

'I thank you from my heart,' answered Hans. 'My bones are still sore
from their blows, and had it not been for you I should indeed have fared
badly.'

'I have almost paid my debt,' went on the little man, 'but as you have
suffered already, I will do more, and give you a piece of information.
You need not remain any longer in the service of that stingy minister,
but when you get home to-morrow go at once to the north corner of the
church, and there you will find a large stone built into the wall, but
not cemented like the rest. The day after to-morrow the moon is full,
and at midnight you must go to the spot and get the stone out of the
wall with a pickaxe. Under the stone lies a great treasure, which has
been hidden there in time of war. Besides church plate, you will find
bags of money, which have been lying in this place for over a hundred
years, and no one knows to whom it all belongs. A third of this money
you must give to the poor, but the rest you may keep for yourself.' As
he finished, the cocks in the village crowed, and the little man was
nowhere to be seen. Hans found that his limbs no longer pained him, and
lay for some time thinking of the hidden treasure. Towards morning he
fell asleep.

The sun was high in the heavens when his master returned from the town.

'Hans,' said he, 'what a fool you were not to come with me yesterday! I
was well feasted and entertained, and I have money in my pocket into the
bargain,' he went on, rattling some coins while he spoke, to make Hans
understand how much he had lost.

'Ah, sir,' replied Hans calmly, 'in order to have gained so much money
you must have lain awake all night, but I have earned a hundred times
that amount while I was sleeping soundly.'

'How did you manage that?' asked the minister eagerly, but Hans
answered, 'It is only fools who boast of their farthings; wise men take
care to hide their crowns.'

They drove home, and Hans neglected none of his duties, but put up the
horses and gave them their food before going to the church corner, where
he found the loose stone, exactly in the place described by the dwarf.
Then he returned to his work.

The first night of the full moon, when the whole village was asleep, he
stole out, armed with a pickaxe, and with much difficulty succeeded in
dislodging the stone from its place. Sure enough, there was the hole,
and in the hole lay the treasure, exactly as the little man had said.

The following Sunday he handed over the third part to the village poor,
and informed the minister that he wished to break his bond of
service. As, however, he did not claim any wages, the minister made no
objections, but allowed him to do as he wished. So Hans went his way,
bought himself a large house, and married a young wife, and lived
happily and prosperously to the end of his days.

(Ehstnische Marchen.)




THE YOUNG MAN WHO WOULD HAVE HIS EYES OPENED

Once upon a time there lived a youth who was never happy unless he was
prying into something that other people knew nothing about. After he had
learned to understand the language of birds and beasts, he discovered
accidentally that a great deal took place under cover of night which
mortal eyes never saw. From that moment he felt he could not rest till
these hidden secrets were laid bare to him, and he spent his whole time
wandering from one wizard to another, begging them to open his eyes,
but found none to help him. At length he reached an old magician called
Mana, whose learning was greater than that of the rest, and who could
tell him all he wanted to know. But when the old man had listened
attentively to him, he said, warningly:

'My son, do not follow after empty knowledge, which will not bring you
happiness, but rather evil. Much is hidden from the eyes of men, because
did they know everything their hearts would no longer be at peace.
Knowledge kills joy, therefore think well what you are doing, or some
day you will repent. But if you will not take my advice, then truly I
can show you the secrets of the night. Only you will need more than a
man's courage to bear the sight.'

He stopped and looked at the young man, who nodded his head, and then
the wizard continued, 'To-morrow night you must go to the place where,
once in seven years, the serpent-king gives a great feast to his whole
court. In front of him stands a golden bowl filled with goats' milk,
and if you can manage to dip a piece of bread in this milk, and eat it
before you are obliged to fly, you will understand all the secrets of
the night that are hidden from other men. It is lucky for you that the
serpent-king's feast happens to fall this year, otherwise you would have
had long to wait for it. But take care to be quick and bold, or it will
be the worse for you.'

The young man thanked the wizard for his counsel, and went his way
firmly resolved to carry out his purpose, even if he paid for it with
his life; and when night came he set out for a wide, lonely moor, where
the serpent-king held his feast. With sharpened eyes, he looked eagerly
all round him, but could see nothing but a multitude of small hillocks,
that lay motionless under the moonlight. He crouched behind a bush
for some time, till he felt that midnight could not be far off, when
suddenly there arose in the middle of the moor a brilliant glow, as if
a star was shining over one of the hillocks. At the same moment all the
hillocks began to writhe and to crawl, and from each one came hundreds
of serpents and made straight for the glow, where they knew they should
find their king. When they reached the hillock where he dwelt, which was
higher and broader than the rest, and had a bright light hanging over
the top, they coiled themselves up and waited. The whirr and confusion
from all the serpent-houses were so great that the youth did not dare to
advance one step, but remained where he was, watching intently all that
went on; but at last he began to take courage, and moved on softly step
by step.

What he saw was creepier than creepy, and surpassed all he had ever
dreamt of. Thousands of snakes, big and little and of every colour, were
gathered together in one great cluster round a huge serpent, whose body
was as thick as a beam, and which had on its head a golden crown, from
which the light sprang. Their hissings and darting tongues so terrified
the young man that his heart sank, and he felt he should never have
courage to push on to certain death, when suddenly he caught sight of
the golden bowl in front of the serpent-king, and knew that if he lost
this chance it would never come back. So, with his hair standing on end
and his blood frozen in his veins, he crept forwards. Oh! what a noise
and a whirr rose afresh among the serpents. Thousands of heads were
reared, and tongues were stretched out to sting the intruder to death,
but happily for him their bodies were so closely entwined one in the
other that they could not disentangle themselves quickly. Like lightning
he seized a bit of bread, dipped it in the bowl, and put it in his
mouth, then dashed away as if fire was pursuing him. On he flew as if a
whole army of foes were at his heels, and he seemed to hear the noise
of their approach growing nearer and nearer. At length his breath failed
him, and he threw himself almost senseless on the turf. While he lay
there dreadful dreams haunted him. He thought that the serpent-king with
the fiery crown had twined himself round him, and was crushing out his
life. With a loud shriek he sprang up to do battle with his enemy, when
he saw that it was rays of the sun which had wakened him. He rubbed his
eyes and looked all round, but nothing could he see of the foes of the
past night, and the moor where he had run into such danger must be at
least a mile away. But it was no dream that he had run hard and far, or
that he had drunk of the magic goats' milk. And when he felt his limbs,
and found them whole, his joy was great that he had come through such
perils with a sound skin.

After the fatigues and terrors of the night, he lay still till mid-day,
but he made up his mind he would go that very evening into the forest to
try what the goats' milk could really do for him, and if he would now be
able to understand all that had been a mystery to him. And once in the
forest his doubts were set at rest, for he saw what no mortal eyes had
ever seen before. Beneath the trees were golden pavilions, with flags of
silver all brightly lighted up. He was still wondering why the pavilions
were there, when a noise was heard among the trees, as if the wind had
suddenly got up, and on all sides beautiful maidens stepped from the
trees into the bright light of the moon. These were the wood-nymphs,
daughters of the earth-mother, who came every night to hold their
dances, in the forest. The young man, watching from his hiding place,
wished he had a hundred eyes in his head, for two were not nearly enough
for the sight before him, the dances lasting till the first streaks of
dawn. Then a silvery veil seemed to be drawn over the ladies, and they
vanished from sight. But the young man remained where he was till the
sun was high in the heavens, and then went home.

He felt that day to be endless, and counted the minutes till night
should come, and he might return to the forest. But when at last he got
there he found neither pavilions nor nymphs, and though he went back
many nights after he never saw them again. Still, he thought about them
night and day, and ceased to care about anything else in the world, and
was sick to the end of his life with longing for that beautiful vision.
And that was the way he learned that the wizard had spoken truly when he
said, 'Blindness is man's highest good.'

(Ehstnische Marchen.)




THE BOYS WITH THE GOLDEN STARS

Once upon a time what happened did happen: and if it had not happened,
you would never have heard this story.

Well, once upon a time there lived an emperor who had half a world all
to himself to rule over, and in this world dwelt an old herd and his
wife and their three daughters, Anna, Stana, and Laptitza.

Anna, the eldest, was so beautiful that when she took the sheep to
pasture they forgot to eat as long as she was walking with them. Stana,
the second, was so beautiful that when she was driving the flock the
wolves protected the sheep. But Laptitza, the youngest, with a skin
as white as the foam on the milk, and with hair as soft as the finest
lamb's wool, was as beautiful as both her sisters put together--as
beautiful as she alone could be.

One summer day, when the rays of the sun were pouring down on the earth,
the three sisters went to the wood on the outskirts of the mountain to
pick strawberries. As they were looking about to find where the largest
berries grew they heard the tramp of horses approaching, so loud that
you would have thought a whole army was riding by. But it was only the
emperor going to hunt with his friends and attendants.

They were all fine handsome young men, who sat their horses as if they
were part of them, but the finest and handsomest of all was the young
emperor himself.

As they drew near the three sisters, and marked their beauty, they
checked their horses and rode slowly by.

'Listen, sisters!' said Anna, as they passed on. 'If one of those young
men should make me his wife, I would bake him a loaf of bread which
should keep him young and brave for ever.'

'And if I,' said Stana, 'should be the one chosen, I would weave my
husband a shirt which will keep him unscathed when he fights with
dragons; when he goes through water he will never even be wet; or if
through fire, it will not scorch him.'

'And I,' said Laptitza, 'will give the man who chooses me two boys,
twins, each with a golden star on his forehead, as bright as those in
the sky.'

And though they spoke low the young men heard, and turned their horses'
heads.

'I take you at your word, and mine shall you be, most lovely of
empresses!' cried the emperor, and swung Laptitza and her strawberries
on the horse before him.

'And I will have you,' 'And I you,' exclaimed two of his friends, and
they all rode back to the palace together.

The following morning the marriage ceremony took place, and for three
days and three nights there was nothing but feasting over the whole
kingdom. And when the rejoicings were over the news was in everybody's
mouth that Anna had sent for corn, and had made the loaf of which she
had spoken at the strawberry beds. And then more days and nights passed,
and this rumour was succeeded by another one--that Stana had procured
some flax, and had dried it, and combed it, and spun it into linen,
and sewed it herself into the shirt of which she had spoken over the
strawberry beds.

Now the emperor had a stepmother, and she had a daughter by her first
husband, who lived with her in the palace. The girl's mother had always
believed that her daughter would be empress, and not the 'Milkwhite
Maiden,' the child of a mere shepherd. So she hated the girl with all
her heart, and only bided her time to do her ill.

But she could do nothing as long as the emperor remained with his wife
night and day, and she began to wonder what she could do to get him away
from her.

At last, when everything else had failed, she managed to make her
brother, who was king of the neighbouring country, declare war against
the emperor, and besiege some of the frontier towns with a large army.
This time her scheme was successful. The young emperor sprang up in
wrath the moment he heard the news, and vowed that nothing, not even
his wife, should hinder his giving them battle. And hastily assembling
whatever soldiers happened to be at hand he set off at once to meet
the enemy. The other king had not reckoned on the swiftness of his
movements, and was not ready to receive him. The emperor fell on him
when he was off his guard, and routed his army completely. Then when
victory was won, and the terms of peace hastily drawn up, he rode home
as fast as his horse would carry him, and reached the palace on the
third day.

But early that morning, when the stars were growing pale in the sky, two
little boys with golden hair and stars on their foreheads were born to
Laptitza. And the stepmother, who was watching, took them away, and dug
a hole in the corner of the palace, under the windows of the emperor,
and put them in it, while in their stead she placed two little puppies.

The emperor came into the palace, and when they told him the news he
went straight to Laptitza's room. No words were needed; he saw with
his own eyes that Laptitza had not kept the promise she had made at the
strawberry beds, and, though it nearly broke his heart, he must give
orders for her punishment.

So he went out sadly and told his guards that the empress was to be
buried in the earth up to her neck, so that everyone might know what
would happen to those who dared to deceive the emperor.

Not many days after, the stepmother's wish was fulfilled. The emperor
took her daughter to wife, and again the rejoicings lasted for three
days and three nights.

Let us now see what happened to the two little boys.

The poor little babies had found no rest even in their graves. In the
place where they had been buried there sprang up two beautiful young
aspens, and the stepmother, who hated the sight of the trees, which
reminded her of her crime, gave orders that they should be uprooted. But
the emperor heard of it, and forbade the trees to be touched, saying,
'Let them alone; I like to see them there! They are the finest aspens I
have ever beheld!'

And the aspens grew as no aspens had ever grown before. In each day they
added a year's growth, and each night they added a year's growth, and at
dawn, when the stars faded out of the sky, they grew three years' growth
in the twinkling of an eye, and their boughs swept across the palace
windows. And when the wind moved them softly, the emperor would sit and
listen to them all the day long.

The stepmother knew what it all meant, and her mind never ceased from
trying to invent some way of destroying the trees. It was not an easy
thing, but a woman's will can press milk out of a stone, and her cunning
will overcome heroes. What craft will not do soft words may attain, and
if these do not succeed there still remains the resource of tears.

One morning the empress sat on the edge of her husband's bed, and began
to coax him with all sorts of pretty ways.

It was some time before the bait took, but at length--even emperors are
only men!

'Well, well,' he said at last, 'have your way and cut down the trees;
but out of one they shall make a bed for me, and out of the other, one
for you!'

And with this the empress was forced to be content. The aspens were cut
down next morning, and before night the new bed had been placed in the
emperor's room.

Now when the emperor lay down in it he seemed as if he had grown a
hundred times heavier than usual, yet he felt a kind of calm that was
quite new to him. But the empress felt as if she was lying on thorns and
nettles, and could not close her eyes.

When the emperor was fast asleep, the bed began to crack loudly, and to
the empress each crack had a meaning. She felt as if she were listening
to a language which no one but herself could understand.

'Is it too heavy for you, little brother?' asked one of the beds.

'Oh, no, it is not heavy at all,' answered the bed in which the emperor
was sleeping. 'I feel nothing but joy now that my beloved father rests
over me.'

'It is very heavy for me!' said the other bed, 'for on me lies an evil
soul.'

And so they talked on till the morning, the empress listening all the
while.

By daybreak the empress had determined how to get rid of the beds. She
would have two others made exactly like them, and when the emperor had
gone hunting they should be placed in his room. This was done and the
aspen beds were burnt in a large fire, till only a little heap of ashes
was left.

Yet while they were burning the empress seemed to hear the same words,
which she alone could understand.

Then she stooped and gathered up the ashes, and scattered them to the
four winds, so that they might blow over fresh lands and fresh seas, and
nothing remain of them.

But she had not seen that where the fire burnt brightest two sparks flew
up, and, after floating in the air for a few moments, fell down into the
great river that flows through the heart of the country. Here the sparks
had turned into two little fishes with golden scales, and one was so
exactly like the other that everyone could tell at the first glance that
they must be twins. Early one morning the emperor's fishermen went down
to the river to get some fish for their master's breakfast, and cast
their nets into the stream. As the last star twinkled out of the sky
they drew them in, and among the multitude of fishes lay two with scales
of gold, such as no man had ever looked on.

They all gathered round and wondered, and after some talk they decided
that they would take the little fishes alive as they were, and give them
as a present to the emperor.

'Do not take us there, for that is whence we came, and yonder lies our
destruction,' said one of the fishes.

'But what are we to do with you?' asked the fisherman.

'Go and collect all the dew that lies on the leaves, and let us swim in
it. Then lay us in the sun, and do not come near us till the sun's rays
shall have dried off the dew,' answered the other fish.

The fisherman did as they told him--gathered the dew from the leaves and
let them swim in it, then put them to lie in the sun till the dew should
be all dried up.

And when he came back, what do you think he saw? Why, two boys, two
beautiful young princes, with hair as golden as the stars on their
foreheads, and each so like the other, that at the first glance every
one would have known them for twins.

The boys grew fast. In every day they grew a year's growth, and in every
night another year's growth, but at dawn, when the stars were fading,
they grew three years' growth in the twinkling of an eye. And they
grew in other things besides height, too. Thrice in age, and thrice in
wisdom, and thrice in knowledge. And when three days and three nights
had passed they were twelve years in age, twenty-four in strength, and
thirty-six in wisdom.

'Now take us to our father,' said they. So the fisherman gave them each
a lambskin cap which half covered their faces, and completely hid their
golden hair and the stars on their foreheads, and led them to the court.

By the time they arrived there it was midday, and the fisherman and his
charges went up to an official who was standing about. 'We wish to speak
with the emperor,' said one of the boys.

'You must wait until he has finished his dinner,' replied the porter.

'No, while he is eating it,' said the second boy, stepping across the
threshold.

The attendants all ran forward to thrust such impudent youngsters
outside the palace, but the boys slipped through their fingers like
quicksilver, and entered a large hall, where the emperor was dining,
surrounded by his whole court.

'We desire to enter,' said one of the princes sharply to a servant who
stood near the door.

'That is quite impossible,' replied the servant.

'Is it? let us see!' said the second prince, pushing the servants to
right and left.

But the servants were many, and the princes only two. There was the
noise of a struggle, which reached the emperor's ears.

'What is the matter?' asked he angrily.

The princes stopped at the sound of their father's voice.

'Two boys who want to force their way in,' replied one of the servants,
approaching the emperor.

'To FORCE their way in? Who dares to use force in my palace? What boys
are they?' said the emperor all in one breath.

'We know not, O mighty emperor,' answered the servant, 'but they must
surely be akin to you, for they have the strength of lions, and have
scattered the guards at the gate. And they are as proud as they are
strong, for they will not take their caps from their heads.'

The emperor, as he listened, grew red with anger.

'Thrust them out,' cried he. 'Set the dogs after them.'

'Leave us alone, and we will go quietly,' said the princes, and stepped
backwards, weeping silently at the harsh words. They had almost reached
the gates when a servant ran up to them.

'The emperor commands you to return,' panted he: 'the empress wishes to
see you.'

The princes thought a moment: then they went back the way they had come,
and walked straight up to the emperor, their caps still on their heads.

He sat at the top of a long table covered with flowers and filled with
guests. And beside him sat the empress, supported by twelve cushions.
When the princes entered one of the cushions fell down, and there
remained only eleven.

'Take off your caps,' said one of the courtiers.

'A covered head is among men a sign of honour. We wish to seem what we
are.'

'Never mind,' said the emperor, whose anger had dropped before the
silvery tones of the boy's voice. 'Stay as you are, but tell me WHO you
are! Where do you come from, and what do you want?'

'We are twins, two shoots from one stem, which has been broken, and
half lies in the ground and half sits at the head of this table. We have
travelled a long way, we have spoken in the rustle of the wind, have
whispered in the wood, we have sung in the waters, but now we wish to
tell you a story which you know without knowing it, in the speech of
men.'

And a second cushion fell down.

'Let them take their silliness home,' said the empress.

'Oh, no, let them go on,' said the emperor. 'You wished to see them, but
I wish to hear them. Go on, boys, sing me the story.'

The empress was silent, but the princes began to sing the story of their
lives.

'There was once an emperor,' began they, and the third cushion fell
down.

When they reached the warlike expedition of the emperor three of the
cushions fell down at once.

And when the tale was finished there were no more cushions under the
empress, but the moment that they lifted their caps, and showed their
golden hair and the golden stars, the eyes of the emperor and of all
his guests were bent on them, and they could hardly bear the power of so
many glances.

And there happened in the end what should have happened in the
beginning. Laptitza sat next her husband at the top of the table. The
stepmother's daughter became the meanest sewing maid in the palace, the
stepmother was tied to a wild horse, and every one knew and has never
forgotten that whoever has a mind turned to wickedness is sure to end
badly.

(Rumanische Marchen.)




THE FROG

Once upon a time there was a woman who had three sons. Though they
were peasants they were well off, for the soil on which they lived was
fruitful, and yielded rich crops. One day they all three told their
mother they meant to get married. To which their mother replied: 'Do
as you like, but see that you choose good housewives, who will look
carefully after your affairs; and, to make certain of this, take with
you these three skeins of flax, and give it to them to spin. Whoever
spins the best will be my favourite daughter-in-law.'

Now the two eldest sons had already chosen their wives; so they took the
flax from their mother, and carried it off with them, to have it spun
as she had said. But the youngest son was puzzled what to do with his
skein, as he knew no girl (never having spoken to any) to whom he could
give it to be spun. He wandered hither and thither, asking the girls
that he met if they would undertake the task for him, but at the sight
of the flax they laughed in his face and mocked at him. Then in despair
he left their villages, and went out into the country, and, seating
himself on the bank of a pond began to cry bitterly.

Suddenly there was a noise close beside him, and a frog jumped out of
the water on to the bank and asked him why he was crying. The youth told
her of his trouble, and how his brothers would bring home linen spun for
them by their promised wives, but that no one would spin his thread.

Then the frog answered: 'Do not weep on that account; give me the
thread, and I will spin it for you.' And, having said this, she took
it out of his hand, and flopped back into the water, and the youth went
back, not knowing what would happen next.

In a short time the two elder brothers came home, and their mother asked
to see the linen which had been woven out of the skeins of flax she had
given them. They all three left the room; and in a few minutes the two
eldest returned, bringing with them the linen that had been spun by
their chosen wives. But the youngest brother was greatly troubled, for
he had nothing to show for the skein of flax that had been given to him.
Sadly he betook himself to the pond, and sitting down on the bank, began
to weep.

Flop! and the frog appeared out of the water close beside him.

'Take this,' she said; 'here is the linen that I have spun for you.'

You may imagine how delighted the youth was. She put the linen into his
hands, and he took it straight back to his mother, who was so pleased
with it that she declared she had never seen linen so beautifully spun,
and that it was far finer and whiter than the webs that the two elder
brothers had brought home.

Then she turned to her sons and said: 'But this is not enough, my sons,
I must have another proof as to what sort of wives you have chosen. In
the house there are three puppies. Each of you take one, and give it to
the woman whom you mean to bring home as your wife. She must train it
and bring it up. Whichever dog turns out the best, its mistress will be
my favourite daughter-in-law.'

So the young men set out on their different ways, each taking a puppy
with him. The youngest, not knowing where to go, returned to the pond,
sat down once more on the bank, and began to weep.

Flop! and close beside him, he saw the frog. 'Why are you weeping?' she
said. Then he told her his difficulty, and that he did not know to whom
he should take the puppy.

'Give it to me,' she said, 'and I will bring it up for you.' And, seeing
that the youth hesitated, she took the little creature out of his arms,
and disappeared with it into the pond.

The weeks and months passed, till one day the mother said she would like
to see how the dogs had been trained by her future daughters-in-law. The
two eldest sons departed, and returned shortly, leading with them two
great mastiffs, who growled so fiercely, and looked so savage, that the
mere sight of them made the mother tremble with fear.

The youngest son, as was his custom, went to the pond, and called on the
frog to come to his rescue.

In a minute she was at his side, bringing with her the most lovely
little dog, which she put into his arms. It sat up and begged with its
paws, and went through the prettiest tricks, and was almost human in the
way it understood and did what it was told.

In high spirits the youth carried it off to his mother. As soon as she
saw it, she exclaimed: 'This is the most beautiful little dog I have
ever seen. You are indeed fortunate, my son; you have won a pearl of a
wife.'

Then, turning to the others, she said: 'Here are three shirts; take
them to your chosen wives. Whoever sews the best will be my favourite
daughter-in-law.'

So the young men set out once more; and again, this time, the work of
the frog was much the best and the neatest.

This time the mother said: 'Now that I am content with the tests I gave,
I want you to go and fetch home your brides, and I will prepare the
wedding-feast.'

You may imagine what the youngest brother felt on hearing these words.
Whence was he to fetch a bride? Would the frog be able to help him in
this new difficulty? With bowed head, and feeling very sad, he sat down
on the edge of the pond.

Flop! and once more the faithful frog was beside him.

'What is troubling you so much?' she asked him, and then the youth told
her everything.

'Will you take me for a wife?' she asked.

'What should I do with you as a wife,' he replied, wondering at her
strange proposal.

'Once more, will you have me or will you not?' she said.

'I will neither have you, nor will I refuse you,' said he.

At this the frog disappeared; and the next minute the youth beheld a
lovely little chariot, drawn by two tiny ponies, standing on the road.
The frog was holding the carriage door open for him to step in.

'Come with me,' she said. And he got up and followed her into the
chariot.

As they drove along the road they met three witches; the first of them
was blind, the second was hunchbacked, and the third had a large thorn
in her throat. When the three witches beheld the chariot, with the
frog seated pompously among the cushions, they broke into such fits of
laughter that the eyelids of the blind one burst open, and she recovered
her sight; the hunchback rolled about on the ground in merriment till
her back became straight, and in a roar of laughter the thorn fell out
of the throat of the third witch. Their first thought was to reward
the frog, who had unconsciously been the means of curing them of their
misfortunes.

The first witch waved her magic wand over the frog, and changed her into
the loveliest girl that had ever been seen. The second witch waved
the wand over the tiny chariot and ponies, and they were turned into
a beautiful large carriage with prancing horses, and a coachman on the
seat. The third witch gave the girl a magic purse, filled with money.
Having done this, the witches disappeared, and the youth with his lovely
bride drove to his mother's home. Great was the delight of the mother at
her youngest son's good fortune. A beautiful house was built for them;
she was the favourite daughter-in-law; everything went well with them,
and they lived happily ever after.

(From the Italian.)




THE PRINCESS WHO WAS HIDDEN UNDERGROUND

Once there was a king who had great riches, which, when he died, he
divided among his three sons. The two eldest of these lived in rioting
and feasting, and thus wasted and squandered their father's wealth till
nothing remained, and they found themselves in want and misery. The
youngest of the three sons, on the contrary, made good use of his
portion. He married a wife and soon they had a most beautiful daughter,
for whom, when she was grown up, he caused a great palace to be built
underground, and then killed the architect who had built it. Next he
shut up his daughter inside, and then sent heralds all over the world to
make known that he who should find the king's daughter should have her
to wife. If he were not capable of finding her then he must die.

Many young men sought to discover her, but all perished in the attempt.

After many had met their death thus, there came a young man, beautiful
to behold, and as clever as he was beautiful, who had a great desire to
attempt the enterprise. First he went to a herdsman, and begged him to
hide him in a sheepskin, which had a golden fleece, and in this disguise
to take him to the king. The shepherd let himself be persuaded so to do,
took a skin having a golden fleece, sewed the young man in it, putting
in also food and drink, and so brought him before the king.

When the latter saw the golden lamb, he asked the herd: 'Will you sell
me this lamb?'

But the herd answered: 'No, oh king; I will not sell it; but if you find
pleasure therein, I will be willing to oblige you, and I will lend it to
you, free of charge, for three days, after that you must give it back to
me.'

This the king agreed to do, and he arose and took the lamb to his
daughter. When he had led it into her palace, and through many rooms,
he came to a shut door. Then he called 'Open, Sartara Martara of the
earth!' and the door opened of itself. After that they went through many
more rooms, and came to another closed door. Again the king called out:
'Open, Sartara Martara of the earth!' and this door opened like the
other, and they came into the apartment where the princess dwelt, the
floor, walls, and roof of which were all of silver.

When the king had embraced the princess, he gave her the lamb, to her
great joy. She stroked it, caressed it, and played with it.

After a while the lamb got loose, which, when the princess saw, she
said: 'See, father, the lamb is free.'

But the king answered: 'It is only a lamb, why should it not be free?'

Then he left the lamb with the princess, and went his way.

In the night, however, the young man threw off the skin. When the
princess saw how beautiful he was, she fell in love with him, and asked
him: 'Why did you come here disguised in a sheepskin like that?'

Then he answered: 'When I saw how many people sought you, and could not
find you, and lost their lives in so doing, I invented this trick, and
so I am come safely to you.'

The princess exclaimed: 'You have done well so to do; but you must know
that your wager is not yet won, for my father will change me and my
maidens into ducks, and will ask you, "Which of these ducks is the
princess?" Then I will turn my head back, and with my bill will clean my
wings, so that you may know me.'

When they had spent three days together, chatting and caressing one
another, the herd came back to the king, and demanded his lamb. Then the
king went to his daughter to bring it away, which troubled the princess
very much, for she said they had played so nicely together.

But the king said: 'I cannot leave it with you, my daughter, for it is
only lent to me.' So he took it away with him, and gave it back to the
shepherd.

Then the young man threw the skin from off him, and went to the king,
saying: 'Sire, I am persuaded I can find your daughter.'

When the king saw how handsome he was, he said: 'My lad, I have pity on
your youth. This enterprise has already cost the lives of many, and will
certainly be your death as well.'

But the young man answered, 'I accept your conditions, oh king; I will
either find her or lose my head.'

Thereupon he went before the king, who followed after him, till they
came to the great door. Then the young man said to the king: 'Speak the
words that it may open.'

And the king answered: 'What are the words? Shall I say something like
this: "Shut; shut; shut"?'

'No,' said he; 'say "Open, Sartara Martara of the earth."'

When the king had so said, the door opened of itself, and they went
in, while the king gnawed his moustache in anger. Then they came to the
second door, where the same thing happened as at the first, and they
went in and found the princess.

Then spoke the king and said: 'Yes, truly, you have found the princess.
Now I will turn her as well as all her maidens into ducks, and if you
can guess which of these ducks is my daughter, then you shall have her
to wife.'

And immediately the king changed all the maidens into ducks, and he
drove them before the young man, and said: 'Now show me which is my
daughter.'

Then the princess, according to their understanding, began to clean her
wings with her bill, and the lad said: 'She who cleans her wings is the
princess.'

Now the king could do nothing more but give her to the young man to
wife, and they lived together in great joy and happiness.

(From the German.)




THE GIRL WHO PRETENDED TO BE A BOY

Once upon a time there lived an emperor who was a great conqueror, and
reigned over more countries than anyone in the world. And whenever he
subdued a fresh kingdom, he only granted peace on condition that the
king should deliver him one of his sons for ten years' service.

Now on the borders of his kingdom lay a country whose emperor was as
brave as his neighbour, and as long as he was young he was the victor in
every war. But as years passed away, his head grew weary of making
plans of campaign, and his people wanted to stay at home and till their
fields, and at last he too felt that he must do homage to the other
emperor.

One thing, however, held him back from this step which day by day he saw
more clearly was the only one possible. His new overlord would demand
the service of one of his sons. And the old emperor had no son; only
three daughters.

Look on which side he would, nothing but ruin seemed to lie before him,
and he became so gloomy, that his daughters were frightened, and did
everything they could think of to cheer him up, but all to no purpose.

At length one day when they were at dinner, the eldest of the three
summoned up all her courage and said to her father:

'What secret grief is troubling you? Are your subjects discontented? or
have we given you cause for displeasure? To smooth away your wrinkles,
we would gladly shed our blood, for our lives are bound up in yours; and
this you know.'

'My daughter,' answered the emperor, 'what you say is true. Never have
you given me one moment's pain. Yet now you cannot help me. Ah! why is
not one of you a boy!'

'I don't understand,' she answered in surprise. 'Tell us what is wrong:
and though we are not boys, we are not quite useless!'

'But what can you do, my dear children? Spin, sew, and weave--that is
all your learning. Only a warrior can deliver me now, a young giant who
is strong to wield the battle-axe: whose sword deals deadly blows.'

'But WHY do you need a son so much at present? Tell us all about it! It
will not make matters worse if we know!'

'Listen then, my daughters, and learn the reason of my sorrow. You have
heard that as long as I was young no man ever brought an army against
me without it costing him dear. But the years have chilled my blood and
drunk my strength. And now the deer can roam the forest, my arrows will
never pierce his heart; strange soldiers will set fire to my houses and
water their horses at my wells, and my arm cannot hinder them. No, my
day is past, and the time has come when I too must bow my head under the
yoke of my foe! But who is to give him the ten years' service that is
part of the price which the vanquished must pay?'

'_I_ will,' cried the eldest girl, springing to her feet. But her father
only shook his head sadly.

'Never will I bring shame upon you,' urged the girl. 'Let me go. Am I
not a princess, and the daughter of an emperor?'

'Go then!' he said.

The brave girl's heart almost stopped beating from joy, as she set about
her preparations. She was not still for a single moment, but danced
about the house, turning chests and wardrobes upside down. She set
aside enough things for a whole year--dresses embroidered with gold and
precious stones, and a great store of provisions. And she chose the most
spirited horse in the stable, with eyes of flame, and a coat of shining
silver.

When her father saw her mounted and curvetting about the court, he gave
her much wise advice, as to how she was to behave like the young man she
appeared to be, and also how to behave as the girl she really was. Then
he gave her his blessing, and she touched her horse with the spur.

The silver armour of herself and her steed dazzled the eyes of the
people as she darted past. She was soon out of sight, and if after a few
miles she had not pulled up to allow her escort to join her, the rest of
the journey would have been performed alone.

But though none of his daughters were aware of the fact, the old emperor
was a magician, and had laid his plans accordingly. He managed, unseen,
to overtake his daughter, and throw a bridge of copper over a stream
which she would have to cross. Then, changing himself into a wolf, he
lay down under one of the arches, and waited.

He had chosen his time well, and in about half an hour the sound of a
horse's hoofs was heard. His feet were almost on the bridge, when a big
grey wolf with grinning teeth appeared before the princess. With a deep
growl that froze the blood, he drew himself up, and prepared to spring.

The appearance of the wolf was so sudden and so unexpected, that the
girl was almost paralysed, and never even dreamt of flight, till the
horse leaped violently to one side. Then she turned him round, and
urging him to his fullest speed, never drew rein till she saw the gates
of the palace rising before her.

The old emperor, who had got back long since, came to the door to meet
her, and touching her shining armour, he said, 'Did I not tell you, my
child, that flies do not make honey?'

The days passed on, and one morning the second princess implored her
father to allow her to try the adventure in which her sister had made
such a failure. He listened unwillingly, feeling sure it was no use, but
she begged so hard that in the end he consented, and having chosen her
arms, she rode away.

But though, unlike her sister, she was quite prepared for the appearance
of the wolf when she reached the copper bridge, she showed no greater
courage, and galloped home as fast as her horse could carry her. On the
steps of the castle her father was standing, and as still trembling with
fright she knelt at his feet, he said gently, 'Did I not tell you, my
child, that every bird is not caught in a net?'

The three girls stayed quietly in the palace for a little while,
embroidering, spinning, weaving, and tending their birds and flowers,
when early one morning, the youngest princess entered the door of the
emperor's private apartments. 'My father, it is my turn now. Perhaps I
shall get the better of that wolf!'

'What, do you think you are braver than your sisters, vain little one?
You who have hardly left your long clothes behind you!' but she did not
mind being laughed at, and answered,

'For your sake, father, I would cut the devil himself into small bits,
or even become a devil myself. I think I shall succeed, but if I fail, I
shall come home without more shame than my sisters.'

Still the emperor hesitated, but the girl petted and coaxed him till at
last he said,

'Well, well, if you must go, you must. It remains to be seen what I
shall get by it, except perhaps a good laugh when I see you come back
with your head bent and your eyes on the ground.'

'He laughs best who laughs last,' said the princess.

Happy at having got her way, the princess decided that the first thing
to be done was to find some old white-haired boyard, whose advice she
could trust, and then to be very careful in choosing her horse. So she
went straight to the stables where the most beautiful horses in the
empire were feeding in the stalls, but none of them seemed quite what
she wanted. Almost in despair she reached the last box of all, which was
occupied by her father's ancient war-horse, old and worn like himself,
stretched sadly out on the straw.

The girl's eyes filled with tears, and she stood gazing at him. The
horse lifted his head, gave a little neigh, and said softly, 'You look
gentle and pitiful, but I know it is your love for your father which
makes you tender to me. Ah, what a warrior he was, and what good times
we shared together! But now I too have grown old, and my master has
forgotten me, and there is no reason to care whether my coat is dull or
shining. Yet, it is not too late, and if I were properly tended, in a
week I could vie with any horse in the stables!'

'And how should you be tended?' asked the girl.

'I must be rubbed down morning and evening with rain water, my barley
must be boiled in milk, because of my bad teeth, and my feet must be
washed in oil.'

'I should like to try the treatment, as you might help me in carrying
out my scheme.'

'Try it then, mistress, and I promise you will never repent.'

So in a week's time the horse woke up one morning with a sudden shiver
through all his limbs; and when it had passed away, he found his skin
shining like a mirror, his body as fat as a water melon, his movement
light as a chamois.

Then looking at the princess who had come early to the stable, he said
joyfully,

'May success await on the steps of my master's daughter, for she has
given me back my life. Tell me what I can do for you, princess, and I
will do it.'

'I want to go to the emperor who is our over-lord, and I have no one
to advise me. Which of all the white-headed boyards shall I choose as
counsellor?'

'If you have me, you need no one else: I will serve you as I served your
father, if you will only listen to what I say.'

'I will listen to everything. Can you start in three days?'

'This moment, if you like,' said the horse.

The preparations of the emperor's youngest daughter were much fewer and
simpler than those of her sisters. They only consisted of some boy's
clothes, a small quantity of linen and food, and a little money in case
of necessity. Then she bade farewell to her father, and rode away.

A day's journey from the palace, she reached the copper bridge, but
before they came in sight of it, the horse, who was a magician, had
warned her of the means her father would take to prove her courage.

Still in spite of his warning she trembled all over when a huge wolf, as
thin as if he had fasted for a month, with claws like saws, and mouth
as wide as an oven, bounded howling towards her. For a moment her heart
failed her, but the next, touching the horse lightly with her spur, she
drew her sword from its sheath, ready to separate the wolf's head from
its body at a single blow.

The beast saw the sword, and shrank back, which was the best thing it
could do, as now the girl's blood was up, and the light of battle in her
eyes. Then without looking round, she rode across the bridge.

The emperor, proud of this first victory, took a short cut, and waited
for her at the end of another day's journey, close to a river, over
which he threw a bridge of silver. And this time he took the shape of a
lion.

But the horse guessed this new danger and told the princess how to
escape it. But it is one thing to receive advice when we feel safe and
comfortable, and quite another to be able to carry it out when some
awful peril is threatening us. And if the wolf had made the girl quake
with terror, it seemed like a lamb beside this dreadful lion.

At the sound of his roar the very trees quivered and his claws were so
large that every one of them looked like a cutlass.

The breath of the princess came and went, and her feet rattled in the
stirrups. Suddenly the remembrance flashed across her of the wolf whom
she had put to flight, and waving her sword, she rushed so violently on
the lion that he had barely time to spring on one side, so as to avoid
the blow. Then, like a flash, she crossed this bridge also.

Now during her whole life, the princess had been so carefully brought
up, that she had never left the gardens of the palace, so that the sight
of the hills and valleys and tinkling streams, and the song of the larks
and blackbirds, made her almost beside herself with wonder and delight.
She longed to get down and bathe her face in the clear pools, and pick
the brilliant flowers, but the horse said 'No,' and quickened his pace,
neither turning to the right or the left.

'Warriors,' he told her, 'only rest when they have won the victory. You
have still another battle to fight, and it is the hardest of all.'

This time it was neither a wolf nor a lion that was waiting for her at
the end of the third day's journey, but a dragon with twelve heads, and
a golden bridge behind it.

The princess rode up without seeing anything to frighten her, when a
sudden puff of smoke and flame from beneath her feet, caused her to
look down, and there was the horrible creature twisted and writhing, its
twelve heads reared up as if to seize her between them.

The bridle fell from her hand: and the sword which she had just grasped
slid back into its sheath, but the horse bade her fear nothing, and with
a mighty effort she sat upright and spurred straight on the dragon.

The fight lasted an hour and the dragon pressed her hard. But in the
end, by a well-directed side blow, she cut off one of the heads, and
with a roar that seemed to rend the heavens in two, the dragon fell back
on the ground, and rose as a man before her.

Although the horse had informed the princess the dragon was really her
own father, the girl had hardly believed him, and stared in amazement at
the transformation. But he flung his arms round her and pressed her to
his heart saying, 'Now I see that you are as brave as the bravest, and
as wise as the wisest. You have chosen the right horse, for without his
help you would have returned with a bent head and downcast eyes. You
have filled me with the hope that you may carry out the task you have
undertaken, but be careful to forget none of my counsels, and above all
to listen to those of your horse.'

When he had done speaking, the princess knelt down to receive his
blessing, and they went their different ways.

The princess rode on and on, till at last she came to the mountains
which hold up the roof of the world. There she met two Genii who had
been fighting fiercely for two years, without one having got the least
advantage over the other. Seeing what they took to be a young man
seeking adventures, one of the combatants called out, 'Fet-Fruners!
deliver me from my enemy, and I will give you the horn that can be
heard the distance of a three days' journey;' while the other cried,
'Fet-Fruners! help me to conquer this pagan thief, and you shall have my
horse, Sunlight.'

Before answering, the princess consulted her own horse as to which offer
she should accept, and he advised her to side with the genius who was
master of Sunlight, his own younger brother, and still more active than
himself.

So the girl at once attacked the other genius, and soon clove his skull;
then the one who was left victor begged her to come back with him to his
house and he would hand her over Sunlight, as he had promised.

The mother of the genius was rejoiced to see her son return safe and
sound, and prepared her best room for the princess, who, after so much
fatigue, needed rest badly. But the girl declared that she must first
make her horse comfortable in his stable; but this was really only an
excuse, as she wanted to ask his advice on several matters.

But the old woman had suspected from the very first that the boy who
had come to the rescue of her son was a girl in disguise, and told the
genius that she was exactly the wife he needed. The genius scoffed, and
inquired what female hand could ever wield a sabre like that; but, in
spite of his sneers, his mother persisted, and as a proof of what she
said, laid at night on each of their pillows a handful of magic flowers,
that fade at the touch of man, but remain eternally fresh in the fingers
of a woman.

It was very clever of her, but unluckily the horse had warned the
princess what to expect, and when the house was silent, she stole very
softly to the genius's room, and exchanged his faded flowers for those
she held. Then she crept back to her own bed and fell fast asleep.

At break of day, the old woman ran to see her son, and found, as she
knew she would, a bunch of dead flowers in his hand. She next passed
on to the bedside of the princess, who still lay asleep grasping the
withered flowers. But she did not believe any the more that her guest
was a man, and so she told her son. So they put their heads together and
laid another trap for her.

After breakfast the genius gave his arm to his guest, and asked her to
come with him into the garden. For some time they walked about looking
at the flowers, the genius all the while pressing her to pick any she
fancied. But the princess, suspecting a trap, inquired roughly why they
were wasting the precious hours in the garden, when, as men, they should
be in the stables looking after their horses. Then the genius told his
mother that she was quite wrong, and his deliverer was certainly a man.
But the old woman was not convinced for all that.

She would try once more she said, and her son must lead his visitor
into the armoury, where hung every kind of weapon used all over the
world--some plain and bare, others ornamented with precious stones--and
beg her to make choice of one of them. The princess looked at them
closely, and felt the edges and points of their blades, then she hung at
her belt an old sword with a curved blade, that would have done credit
to an ancient warrior. After this she informed the genius that she would
start early next day and take Sunlight with her.

And there was nothing for the mother to do but to submit, though she
still stuck to her own opinion.

The princess mounted Sunlight, and touched him with her spur, when the
old horse, who was galloping at her side, suddenly said:

'Up to this time, mistress, you have obeyed my counsels and all has gone
well. Listen to me once more, and do what I tell you. I am old, and--now
that there is someone to take my place, I will confess it--I am afraid
that my strength is not equal to the task that lies before me. Give me
leave, therefore, to return home, and do you continue your journey under
the care of my brother. Put your faith in him as you put it in me, and
you will never repent. Wisdom has come early to Sunlight.'

'Yes, my old comrade, you have served me well; and it is only through
your help that up to now I have been victorious. So grieved though I am
to say farewell, I will obey you yet once more, and will listen to your
brother as I would to yourself. Only, I must have a proof that he loves
me as well as you do.'

'How should I not love you?' answered Sunlight; 'how should I not be
proud to serve a warrior such as you? Trust me, mistress, and you
shall never regret the absence of my brother. I know there will be
difficulties in our path, but we will face them together.'

Then, with tears in her eyes, the princess took leave of her old horse,
who galloped back to her father.

She had ridden only a few miles further, when she saw a golden curl
lying on the road before her. Checking her horse, she asked whether it
would be better to take it or let it lie.

'If you take it,' said Sunlight, 'you will repent, and if you don't, you
will repent too: so take it.' On this the girl dismounted, and picking
up the curl, wound it round her neck for safety.

They passed by hills, they passed by mountains, they passed through
valleys, leaving behind them thick forests, and fields covered with
flowers; and at length they reached the court of the over-lord.

He was sitting on his throne, surrounded by the sons of the other
emperors, who served him as pages. These youths came forward to greet
their new companion, and wondered why they felt so attracted towards
him.

However, there was no time for talking and concealing her fright.

The princess was led straight up to the throne, and explained, in a low
voice, the reason of her coming. The emperor received her kindly, and
declared himself fortunate at finding a vassal so brave and so charming,
and begged the princess to remain in attendance on his person.

She was, however, very careful in her behaviour towards the other pages,
whose way of life did not please her. One day, however, she had been
amusing herself by making sweetmeats, when two of the young princes
looked in to pay her a visit. She offered them some of the food which
was already on the table, and they thought it so delicious that they
even licked their fingers so as not to lose a morsel. Of course they did
not keep the news of their discovery to themselves, but told all their
companions that they had just been enjoying the best supper they had
had since they were born. And from that moment the princess was left no
peace, till she had promised to cook them all a dinner.

Now it happened that, on the very day fixed, all the cooks in the palace
became intoxicated, and there was no one to make up the fire.

When the pages heard of this shocking state of things, they went to
their companion and implored her to come to the rescue.

The princess was fond of cooking, and was, besides, very good-natured;
so she put on an apron and went down to the kitchen without delay. When
the dinner was placed before the emperor he found it so nice that he ate
much more than was good for him. The next morning, as soon as he woke,
he sent for his head cook, and told him to send up the same dishes as
before. The cook, seized with fright at this command, which he knew he
could not fulfil, fell on his knees, and confessed the truth.

The emperor was so astonished that he forgot to scold, and while he was
thinking over the matter, some of his pages came in and said that their
new companion had been heard to boast that he knew where Iliane was to
be found--the celebrated Iliane of the song which begins:

          'Golden Hair
           The fields are green,'

and that to their certain knowledge he had a curl of her hair in his
possession.

When he heard that, the emperor desired the page to be brought before
him, and, as soon as the princess obeyed his summons, he said to her
abruptly:

'Fet-Fruners, you have hidden from me the fact that you knew the
golden-haired Iliane! Why did you do this? for I have treated you more
kindly than all my other pages.'

Then, after making the princess show him the golden curl which she wore
round her neck, he added: 'Listen to me; unless by some means or other
you bring me the owner of this lock, I will have your head cut off in
the place where you stand. Now go!'

In vain the poor girl tried to explain how the lock of hair came into
her possession; the emperor would listen to nothing, and, bowing low,
she left his presence and went to consult Sunlight what she was to do.

At his first words she brightened up. 'Do not be afraid, mistress;
only last night my brother appeared to me in a dream and told me that a
genius had carried off Iliane, whose hair you picked up on the road. But
Iliane declares that, before she marries her captor, he must bring her,
as a present, the whole stud of mares which belong to her. The genius,
half crazy with love, thinks of nothing night and day but how this can
be done, and meanwhile she is quite safe in the island swamps of the
sea. Go back to the emperor and ask him for twenty ships filled with
precious merchandise. The rest you shall know by-and-by.'

On hearing this advice, the princess went at once into the emperor's
presence.

'May a long life be yours, O Sovereign all mighty!' said she. 'I have
come to tell you that I can do as you command if you will give me twenty
ships, and load them with the most precious wares in your kingdom.'

'You shall have all that I possess if you will bring me the
golden-haired Iliane,' said the emperor.

The ships were soon ready, and the princess entered the largest and
finest, with Sunlight at her side. Then the sails were spread and the
voyage began.

For seven weeks the wind blew them straight towards the west, and early
one morning they caught sight of the island swamps of the sea.

They cast anchor in a little bay, and the princess made haste to
disembark with Sunlight, but, before leaving the ship, she tied to her
belt a pair of tiny gold slippers, adorned with precious stones. Then
mounting Sunlight, she rode about till she came to several palaces,
built on hinges, so that they could always turn towards the sun.

The most splendid of these was guarded by three slaves, whose greedy
eyes were caught by the glistening gold of the slippers. They hastened
up to the owner of these treasures, and inquired who he was. 'A
merchant,' replied the princess, 'who had somehow missed his road, and
lost himself among the island swamps of the sea.'

Not knowing if it was proper to receive him or not, the slaves returned
to their mistress and told her all they had seen, but not before she had
caught sight of the merchant from the roof of her palace. Luckily her
gaoler was away, always trying to catch the stud of mares, so for the
moment she was free and alone.

The slaves told their tale so well that their mistress insisted on going
down to the shore and seeing the beautiful slippers for herself. They
were even lovelier than she expected, and when the merchant besought her
to come on board, and inspect some that he thought were finer still, her
curiosity was too great to refuse, and she went.

Once on board ship, she was so busy turning over all the precious things
stored there, that she never knew that the sails were spread, and that
they were flying along with the wind behind them; and when she did know,
she rejoiced in her heart, though she pretended to weep and lament at
being carried captive a second time. Thus they arrived at the court of
the emperor.

They were just about to land, when the mother of the genius stood before
them. She had learnt that Iliane had fled from her prison in company
with a merchant, and, as her son was absent, had come herself in
pursuit. Striding over the blue waters, hopping from wave to wave, one
foot reaching to heaven, and the other planted in the foam, she was
close at their heels, breathing fire and flame, when they stepped on
shore from the ship. One glance told Iliane who the horrible old woman
was, and she whispered hastily to her companion. Without saying a word,
the princess swung her into Sunlight's saddle, and leaping up behind
her, they were off like a flash.

It was not till they drew near the town that the princess stooped and
asked Sunlight what they should do. 'Put your hand into my left ear,'
said he, 'and take out a sharp stone, which you must throw behind you.'

The princess did as she was told, and a huge mountain sprang up behind
them. The mother of the genius began to climb up it, and though they
galloped quickly, she was quicker still.

They heard her coming, faster, faster; and again the princess stooped to
ask what was to be done now. 'Put your hand into my right ear,' said
the horse, 'and throw the brush you will find there behind you.' The
princess did so, and a great forest sprang up behind them, and, so thick
were its leaves, that even a wren could not get through. But the old
woman seized hold of the branches and flung herself like a monkey from
one to the others, and always she drew nearer--always, always--till
their hair was singed by the flames of her mouth.

Then, in despair, the princess again bent down and asked if there was
nothing more to be done, and Sunlight replied 'Quick, quick, take off
the betrothal ring on the finger of Iliane and throw it behind you.'

This time there sprang up a great tower of stone, smooth as ivory,
hard as steel, which reached up to heaven itself. And the mother of the
genius gave a howl of rage, knowing that she could neither climb it
nor get through it. But she was not beaten yet, and gathering herself
together, she made a prodigious leap, which landed her on the top of the
tower, right in the middle of Iliane's ring which lay there, and held
her tight. Only her claws could be seen grasping the battlements.

All that could be done the old witch did; but the fire that poured from
her mouth never reached the fugitives, though it laid waste the country
a hundred miles round the tower, like the flames of a volcano. Then,
with one last effort to free herself, her hands gave way, and, falling
down to the bottom of the tower, she was broken in pieces.

When the flying princess saw what had happened she rode back to the
spot, as Sunlight counselled her, and placed her finger on the top of
the tower, which was gradually shrinking into the earth. In an instant
the tower had vanished as if it had never been, and in its place was the
finger of the princess with a ring round it.

The emperor received Iliane with all the respect that was due to her,
and fell in love at first sight besides.

But this did not seem to please Iliane, whose face was sad as she walked
about the palace or gardens, wondering how it was that, while other
girls did as they liked, she was always in the power of someone whom she
hated.

So when the emperor asked her to share his throne Iliane answered:

'Noble Sovereign, I may not think of marriage till my stud of horses has
been brought me, with their trappings all complete.'

When he heard this, the emperor once more sent for Fet-Fruners, and
said:

'Fet-Fruners, fetch me instantly the stud of mares, with their trappings
all complete. If not, your head shall pay the forfeit.'

'Mighty Emperor, I kiss your hands! I have but just returned from doing
your bidding, and, behold, you send me on another mission, and stake my
head on its fulfilment, when your court is full of valiant young men,
pining to win their spurs. They say you are a just man; then why not
entrust this quest to one of them? Where am I to seek these mares that I
am to bring you?'

'How do I know? They may be anywhere in heaven or earth; but, wherever
they are, you will have to find them.'

The princess bowed and went to consult Sunlight. He listened while she
told her tale, and then said:

'Fetch quickly nine buffalo skins; smear them well with tar, and lay
them on my back. Do not fear; you will succeed in this also; but, in the
end, the emperor's desires will be his undoing.'

The buffalo skins were soon got, and the princess started off with
Sunlight. The way was long and difficult, but at length they reached the
place where the mares were grazing. Here the genius who had carried off
Iliane was wandering about, trying to discover how to capture them, all
the while believing that Iliane was safe in the palace where he had left
her.

As soon as she caught sight of him, the princess went up and told
him that Iliane had escaped, and that his mother, in her efforts
to recapture her, had died of rage. At this news a blind fury took
possession of the genius, and he rushed madly upon the princess, who
awaited his onslaught with perfect calmness. As he came on, with his
sabre lifted high in the air, Sunlight bounded right over his head, so
that the sword fell harmless. And when in her turn the princess prepared
to strike, the horse sank upon his knees, so that the blade pierced the
genius's thigh.

The fight was so fierce that it seemed as if the earth would give way
under them, and for twenty miles round the beasts in the forests fled to
their caves for shelter. At last, when her strength was almost gone, the
genius lowered his sword for an instant. The princess saw her chance,
and, with one swoop of her arm, severed her enemy's head from his body.
Still trembling from the long struggle, she turned away, and went to the
meadow where the stud were feeding.

By the advice of Sunlight, she took care not to let them see her, and
climbed a thick tree, where she could see and hear without being seen
herself. Then he neighed, and the mares came galloping up, eager to
see the new comer--all but one horse, who did not like strangers, and
thought they were very well as they were. As Sunlight stood his ground,
well pleased with the attention paid him, this sulky creature suddenly
advanced to the charge, and bit so violently that had it not been for
the nine buffalo skins Sunlight's last moment would have come. When
the fight was ended, the buffalo skins were in ribbons, and the beaten
animal writhing with pain on the grass.

Nothing now remained to be done but to drive the whole stud to the
emperor's court. So the princess came down from the tree and mounted
Sunlight, while the stud followed meekly after, the wounded horse
bringing up the rear. On reaching the palace, she drove them into a
yard, and went to inform the emperor of her arrival.

The news was told at once to Iliane, who ran down directly and called
them to her one by one, each mare by its name. And at the first sight of
her the wounded animal shook itself quickly, and in a moment its wounds
were healed, and there was not even a mark on its glossy skin.

By this time the emperor, on hearing where she was, joined her in the
yard, and at her request ordered the mares to be milked, so that both he
and she might bathe in the milk and keep young for ever. But they would
suffer no one to come near them, and the princess was commanded to
perform this service also.

At this, the heart of the girl swelled within her. The hardest tasks
were always given to her, and long before the two years were up, she
would be worn out and useless. But while these thoughts passed through
her mind, a fearful rain fell, such as no man remembered before, and
rose till the mares were standing up to their knees in water. Then as
suddenly it stopped, and, behold! the water was ice, which held the
animals firmly in its grasp. And the princess's heart grew light again,
and she sat down gaily to milk them, as if she had done it every morning
of her life.

The love of the emperor for Iliane waxed greater day by day, but she
paid no heed to him, and always had an excuse ready to put off their
marriage. At length, when she had come to the end of everything she
could think of, she said to him one day: 'Grant me, Sire, just one
request more, and then I will really marry you; for you have waited
patiently this long time.'

'My beautiful dove,' replied the emperor, 'both I and all I possess are
yours, so ask your will, and you shall have it.'

'Get me, then,' she said, 'a flask of the holy water that is kept in a
little church beyond the river Jordan, and I will be your wife.'

Then the emperor ordered Fet-Fruners to ride without delay to the river
Jordan, and to bring back, at whatever cost, the holy water for Iliane.

'This, my mistress,' said Sunlight, when she was saddling him, 'is the
last and most difficult of your tasks. But fear nothing, for the hour of
the emperor has struck.'

So they started; and the horse, who was not a wizard for nothing, told
the princess exactly where she was to look for the holy water.

'It stands,' he said, 'on the altar of a little church, and is guarded
by a troop of nuns. They never sleep, night or day, but every now and
then a hermit comes to visit them, and from him they learn certain
things it is needful for them to know. When this happens, only one of
the nuns remains on guard at a time, and if we are lucky enough to hit
upon this moment, we may get hold of the vase at once; if not, we shall
have to wait the arrival of the hermit, however long it may be; for
there is no other means of obtaining the holy water.'

They came in sight of the church beyond the Jordan, and, to their great
joy, beheld the hermit just arriving at the door. They could hear him
calling the nuns around him, and saw them settle themselves under a
tree, with the hermit in their midst--all but one, who remained on
guard, as was the custom.

The hermit had a great deal to say, and the day was very hot, so the
nun, tired of sitting by herself, lay down right across the threshold,
and fell sound asleep.

Then Sunlight told the princess what she was to do, and the girl stepped
softly over the sleeping nun, and crept like a cat along the dark aisle,
feeling the wall with her fingers, lest she should fall over something
and ruin it all by a noise. But she reached the altar in safety, and
found the vase of holy water standing on it. This she thrust into her
dress, and went back with the same care as she came. With a bound she
was in the saddle, and seizing the reins bade Sunlight take her home as
fast as his legs could carry him.

The sound of the flying hoofs aroused the nun, who understood instantly
that the precious treasure was stolen, and her shrieks were so loud and
piercing that all the rest came flying to see what was the matter. The
hermit followed at their heels, but seeing it was impossible to overtake
the thief, he fell on his knees and called his most deadly curse down on
her head, praying that if the thief was a man, he might become a woman;
and if she was a woman, that she might become a man. In either case he
thought that the punishment would be severe.

But punishments are things about which people do not always agree, and
when the princess suddenly felt she was really the man she had pretended
to be, she was delighted, and if the hermit had only been within reach
she would have thanked him from her heart.

By the time she reached the emperor's court, Fet-Fruners looked a young
man all over in the eyes of everyone; and even the mother of the genius
would now have had her doubts set at rest. He drew forth the vase from
his tunic and held it up to the emperor, saying: 'Mighty Sovereign, all
hail! I have fulfilled this task also, and I hope it is the last you
have for me; let another now take his turn.'

'I am content, Fet-Fruners,' replied the emperor, 'and when I am dead it
is you who will sit upon my throne; for I have yet no son to come after
me. But if one is given me, and my dearest wish is accomplished, then
you shall be his right hand, and guide him with your counsels.'

But though the emperor was satisfied, Iliane was not, and she determined
to revenge herself on the emperor for the dangers which he had caused
Fet-Fruners to run. And as for the vase of holy water, she thought that,
in common politeness, her suitor ought to have fetched it himself, which
he could have done without any risk at all.

So she ordered the great bath to be filled with the milk of her mares,
and begged the emperor to clothe himself in white robes, and enter the
bath with her, an invitation he accepted with joy. Then, when both were
standing with the milk reaching to their necks, she sent for the horse
which had fought Sunlight, and made a secret sign to him. The horse
understood what he was to do, and from one nostril he breathed fresh
air over Iliane, and from the other, he snorted a burning wind which
shrivelled up the emperor where he stood, leaving only a little heap of
ashes.

His strange death, which no one could explain, made a great sensation
throughout the country, and the funeral his people gave him was the
most splendid ever known. When it was over, Iliane summoned Fet-Fruners
before her, and addressed him thus:

'Fet-Fruners! it is you who brought me and have saved my life, and
obeyed my wishes. It is you who gave me back my stud; you who killed the
genius, and the old witch his mother; you who brought me the holy water.
And you, and none other, shall be my husband.'

'Yes, I will marry you,' said the young man, with a voice almost as soft
as when he was a princess. 'But know that in OUR house, it will be the
cock who sings and not the hen!'

(From Sept Contes Roumains, Jules Brun and Leo Bachelin.)




THE STORY OF HALFMAN

In a certain town there lived a judge who was married but had no
children. One day he was standing lost in thought before his house, when
an old man passed by.

'What is the matter, sir, said he, 'you look troubled?'

'Oh, leave me alone, my good man!'

'But what is it?' persisted the other.

'Well, I am successful in my profession and a person of importance, but
I care nothing for it all, as I have no children.'

Then the old man said, 'Here are twelve apples. If your wife eats them,
she will have twelve sons.'

The judge thanked him joyfully as he took the apples, and went to seek
his wife. 'Eat these apples at once,' he cried, 'and you will have
twelve sons.'

So she sat down and ate eleven of them, but just as she was in the
middle of the twelfth her sister came in, and she gave her the half that
was left.

The eleven sons came into the world, strong and handsome boys; but when
the twelfth was born, there was only half of him.

By-and-by they all grew into men, and one day they told their father it
was high time he found wives for them. 'I have a brother,' he answered,
'who lives away in the East, and he has twelve daughters; go and marry
them.' So the twelve sons saddled their horses and rode for twelve days,
till they met an old woman.

'Good greeting to you, young men!' said she, 'we have waited long for
you, your uncle and I. The girls have become women, and are sought, in
marriage by many, but I knew you would come one day, and I have kept
them for you. Follow me into my house.'

And the twelve brothers followed her gladly, and their father's brother
stood at the door, and gave them meat and drink. But at night, when
every one was asleep, Halfman crept softly to his brothers, and said to
them, 'Listen, all of you! This man is no uncle of ours, but an ogre.'

'Nonsense; of course he is our uncle,' answered they.

'Well, this very night you will see!' said Halfman. And he did not go to
bed, but hid himself and watched.

Now in a little while he saw the wife of the ogre steal into the room
on tiptoe and spread a red cloth over the brothers and then go and cover
her daughters with a white cloth. After that she lay down and was soon
snoring loudly. When Halfman was quite sure she was sound asleep, he
took the red cloth from his brothers and put it on the girls, and laid
their white cloth over his brothers. Next he drew their scarlet caps
from their heads and exchanged them for the veils which the ogre's
daughters were wearing. This was hardly done when he heard steps coming
along the floor, so he hid himself quickly in the folds of a curtain.
There was only half of him!

The ogress came slowly and gently along, stretching out her hands before
her, so that she might not fall against anything unawares, for she had
only a tiny lantern slung at her waist, which did not give much light.
And when she reached the place where the sisters were lying, she stooped
down and held a corner of the cloth up to the lantern. Yes! it certainly
was red! Still, to make sure that there was no mistake, she passed her
hands lightly over their heads, and felt the caps that covered them.
Then she was quite certain the brothers lay sleeping before her, and
began to kill them one by one. And Halfman whispered to his brothers,
'Get up and run for your lives, as the ogress is killing her daughters.'
The brothers needed no second bidding, and in a moment were out of the
house.

By this time the ogress had slain all her daughters but one, who awoke
suddenly and saw what had happened. 'Mother, what are you doing?' cried
she. 'Do you know that you have killed my sisters?'

'Oh, woe is me!' wailed the ogress. 'Halfman has outwitted me after
all!' And she turned to wreak vengeance on him, but he and his brothers
were far away.

They rode all day till they got to the town where their real uncle
lived, and inquired the way to his house.

'Why have you been so long in coming?' asked he, when they had found
him.

'Oh, dear uncle, we were very nearly not coming at all!' replied they.
'We fell in with an ogress who took us home and would have killed us if
it had not been for Halfman. He knew what was in her mind and saved us,
and here we are. Now give us each a daughter to wife, and let us return
whence we came.'

'Take them!' said the uncle; 'the eldest for the eldest, the second for
the second, and so on to the youngest.'

But the wife of Halfman was the prettiest of them all, and the other
brothers were jealous and said to each other: 'What, is he who is only
half a man to get the best? Let us put him to death and give his wife to
our eldest brother!' And they waited for a chance.

After they had all ridden, in company with their brides, for some
distance, they arrived at a brook, and one of them asked, 'Now, who will
go and fetch water from the brook?'

'Halfman is the youngest,' said the elder brother, 'he must go.'

So Halfman got down and filled a skin with water, and they drew it up by
a rope and drank. When they had done drinking, Halfman, who was standing
in the middle of the stream, called out: 'Throw me the rope and draw me
up, for I cannot get out alone.' And the brothers threw him a rope to
draw him up the steep bank; but when he was half-way up they cut the
rope, and he fell back into the stream. Then the brothers rode away as
fast as they could, with his bride.

Halfman sank down under the water from the force of the fall, but
before he touched the bottom a fish came and said to him, 'Fear nothing,
Halfman; I will help you.' And the fish guided him to a shallow place,
so that he scrambled out. On the way it said to him, 'Do you understand
what your brothers, whom you saved from death, have done to you?'

'Yes; but what am I to do?' asked Halfman.

'Take one of my scales,' said the fish, 'and when you find yourself in
danger, throw it in the fire. Then I will appear before you.'

'Thank you,' said Halfman, and went his way, while the fish swam back to
its home.

The country was strange to Halfman, and he wandered about without
knowing where he was going, till he suddenly found the ogress standing
before him. 'Ah, Halfman, have I got you at last? You killed my
daughters and helped your brothers to escape. What do you think I shall
do with you?'

'Whatever you like!' said Halfman.

'Come into my house, then,' said the ogress, and he followed her.

'Look here!' she called to her husband, 'I have got hold of Halfman. I
am going to roast him, so be quick and make up the fire!'

So the ogre brought wood, and heaped it up till the flames roared up the
chimney. Then he turned to his wife and said: 'It is all ready, let us
put him on!'

'What is the hurry, my good ogre?' asked Halfman. 'You have me in your
power, and I cannot escape. I am so thin now, I shall hardly make one
mouthful. Better fatten me up; you will enjoy me much more.'

'That is a very sensible remark,' replied the ogre; 'but what fattens
you quickest?'

'Butter, meat, and red wine,' answered Halfman.

'Very good; we will lock you into this room, and here you shall stay
till you are ready for eating.'

So Halfman was locked into the room, and the ogre and his wife brought
him his food. At the end of three months he said to his gaolers: 'Now I
have got quite fat; take me out, and kill me.'

'Get out, then!' said the ogre.

'But,' went on Halfman, 'you and your wife had better go to invite your
friends to the feast, and your daughter can stay in the house and look
after me!'

'Yes, that is a good idea,' answered they.

'You had better bring the wood in here,' continued Halfman, 'and I will
split it up small, so that there may be no delay in cooking me.'

So the ogress gave Halfman a pile of wood and an axe, and then set out
with her husband, leaving Halfman and her daughter busy in the house.

After he had chopped for a little while he called to the girl, 'Come and
help me, or else I shan't have it all ready when your mother gets back.'

'All right,' said she, and held a billet of wood for him to chop.

But he raised his axe and cut off her head, and ran away like the wind.
By-and-by the ogre and his wife returned and found their daughter
lying without her head, and they began to cry and sob, saying, 'This is
Halfman's work, why did we listen to him?' But Halfman was far away.

When he escaped from the house he ran on straight before him for some
time, looking for a safe shelter, as he knew that the ogre's legs were
much longer than his, and that it was his only chance. At last he saw
an iron tower which he climbed up. Soon the ogre appeared, looking right
and left lest his prey should be sheltering behind a rock or tree, but
he did not know Halfman was so near till he heard his voice calling,
'Come up! come up! you will find me here!'

'But how can I come up?' said the ogre, 'I see no door, and I could not
possibly climb that tower.'

'Oh, there is no door,' replied Halfman.

'Then how did you climb up?'

'A fish carried me on his back.'

'And what am I to do?'

'You must go and fetch all your relations, and tell them to bring plenty
of sticks; then you must light a fire, and let it burn till the tower
becomes red hot. After that you can easily throw it down.'

'Very good,' said the ogre, and he went round to every relation he had,
and told them to collect wood and bring it to the tower where Halfman
was. The men did as they were ordered, and soon the tower was glowing
like coral, but when they flung themselves against it to overthrow it,
they caught themselves on fire and were burnt to death. And overhead sat
Halfman, laughing heartily. But the ogre's wife was still alive, for she
had taken no part in kindling the fire.

'Oh,' she shrieked with rage, 'you have killed my daughters and my
husband, and all the men belonging to me; how can I get at you to avenge
myself?'

'Oh, that is easy enough,' said Halfman. 'I will let down a rope, and if
you tie it tightly round you, I will draw it up.'

'All right,' returned the ogress, fastening the rope which Halfman let
down. 'Now pull me up.'

'Are you sure it is secure?'

'Yes, quite sure.'

'Don't be afraid.'

'Oh, I am not afraid at all!'

So Halfman slowly drew her up, and when she was near the top he let go
the rope, and she fell down and broke her neck. Then Halfman heaved a
great sigh and said, 'That was hard work; the rope has hurt my hands
badly, but now I am rid of her for ever.'

So Halfman came down from the tower, and went on, till he got to a
desert place, and as he was very tired, he lay down to sleep. While
it was still dark, an ogress passed by, and she woke him and said,
'Halfman, to-morrow your brother is to marry your wife.'

'Oh, how can I stop it?' asked he. 'Will you help me?'

'Yes, I will,' replied the ogress.

'Thank you, thank you!' cried Halfman, kissing her on the forehead. 'My
wife is dearer to me than anything else in the world, and it is not my
brother's fault that I am not dead long ago.'

'Very well, I will rid you of him,' said the ogress, 'but only on one
condition. If a boy is born to you, you must give him to me!'

'Oh, anything,' answered Halfman, 'as long as you deliver me from my
brother, and get me my wife.'

'Mount on my back, then, and in a quarter of an hour we shall be there.'

The ogress was as good as her word, and in a few minutes they arrived at
the outskirts of the town where Halfman and his brothers lived. Here
she left him, while she went into the town itself, and found the wedding
guests just leaving the brother's house. Unnoticed by anyone, the ogress
crept into a curtain, changing herself into a scorpion, and when the
brother was going to get into bed, she stung him behind the ear, so that
he fell dead where he stood. Then she returned to Halfman and told him
to go and claim his bride. He jumped up hastily from his seat, and
took the road to his father's house. As he drew near he heard sounds
of weeping and lamentations, and he said to a man he met: 'What is the
matter?'

'The judge's eldest son was married yesterday, and died suddenly before
night.'

'Well,' thought Halfman, 'my conscience is clear anyway, for it is quite
plain he coveted my wife, and that is why he tried to drown me.' He
went at once to his father's room, and found him sitting in tears on
the floor. 'Dear father,' said Halfman, 'are you not glad to see me? You
weep for my brother, but I am your son too, and he stole my bride from
me and tried to drown me in the brook. If he is dead, I at least am
alive.'

'No, no, he was better than you!' moaned the father.

'Why, dear father?'

'He told me you had behaved very ill,' said he.

'Well, call my brothers,' answered Halfman, 'as I have a story to tell
them.' So the father called them all into his presence. Then Halfman
began: 'After we were twelve days' journey from home, we met an ogress,
who gave us greeting and said, "Why have you been so long coming? The
daughters of your uncle have waited for you in vain," and she bade us
follow her to the house, saying, "Now there need be no more delay; you
can marry your cousins as soon as you please, and take them with you to
your own home." But I warned my brothers that the man was not our uncle,
but an ogre.

'When we lay down to sleep, she spread a red cloth over us, and covered
her daughters with a white one; but I changed the cloths, and when the
ogress came back in the middle of the night, and looked at the cloths,
she mistook her own daughters for my brothers, and killed them one by
one, all but the youngest. Then I woke my brothers, and we all stole
softly from the house, and we rode like the wind to our real uncle.

'And when he saw us, he bade us welcome, and married us to his twelve
daughters, the eldest to the eldest, and so on to me, whose bride was
the youngest of all and also the prettiest. And my brothers were filled
with envy, and left me to drown in a brook, but I was saved by a fish
who showed me how to get out. Now, you are a judge! Who did well, and
who did evil--I or my brothers?'

'Is this story true?' said the father, turning to his sons.

'It is true, my father,' answered they. 'It is even as Halfman has said,
and the girl belongs to him.'

Then the judge embraced Halfman and said to him: 'You have done well, my
son. Take your bride, and may you both live long and happily together!'

At the end of the year Halfman's wife had a son, and not long after she
came one day hastily into the room, and found her husband weeping. 'What
is the matter?' she asked.

'The matter?' said he.

'Yes, why are you weeping?'

'Because,' replied Halfman, 'the baby is not really ours, but belongs to
an ogress.'

'Are you mad?' cried the wife. 'What do you mean by talking like that?'

'I promised,' said Halfman, 'when she undertook to kill my brother and
to give you to me, that the first son we had should be hers.'

'And will she take him from us now?' said the poor woman.

'No, not quite yet,' replied Halfman; 'when he is bigger.'

'And is she to have all our children?' asked she.

'No, only this one,' returned Halfman.

Day by day the boy grew bigger, and one day as he was playing in the
street with the other children, the ogress came by. 'Go to your father,'
she said, 'and repeat this speech to him: "I want my forfeit; when am I
to have it?"'

'All right,' replied the child, but when he went home forgot all about
it. The next day the ogress came again, and asked the boy what answer
the father had given. 'I forgot all about it,' said he.

'Well, put this ring on your finger, and then you won't forget.'

'Very well,' replied the boy, and went home.

The next morning, as he was at breakfast, his mother said to him,
'Child, where did you get that ring?'

'A woman gave it to me yesterday, and she told me, father, to tell you
that she wanted her forfeit, and when was she to have it?'

Then his father burst into tears and said, 'If she comes again you
must say to her that your parents bid her take her forfeit at once, and
depart.'

At this they both began to weep afresh, and his mother kissed him, and
put on his new clothes and said, 'If the woman bids you to follow her,
you must go,' but the boy did not heed her grief, he was so pleased
with his new clothes. And when he went out, he said to his play-fellows,
'Look how smart I am; I am going away with my aunt to foreign lands.'

At that moment the ogress came up and asked him, 'Did you give my
message to your father and mother?'

'Yes, dear aunt, I did.'

'And what did they say?'

'Take it away at once!'

So she took him.

But when dinner-time came, and the boy did not return, his father and
mother knew that he would never come back, and they sat down and wept
all day. At last Halfman rose up and said to his wife, 'Be comforted; we
will wait a year, and then I will go to the ogress and see the boy, and
how he is cared for.'

'Yes, that will be the best,' said she.

The year passed away, then Halfman saddled his horse, and rode to the
place where the ogress had found him sleeping. She was not there, but
not knowing what to do next, he got off his horse and waited. About
midnight she suddenly stood before him.

'Halfman, why did you come here?' said she.

'I have a question I want to ask you.'

'Well, ask it; but I know quite well what it is. Your wife wishes you to
ask whether I shall carry off your second son as I did the first.'

'Yes, that is it,' replied Halfman. Then he seized her hand and said,
'Oh, let me see my son, and how he looks, and what he is doing.'

The ogress was silent, but stuck her staff hard in the earth, and the
earth opened, and the boy appeared and said, 'Dear father, have you come
too?' And his father clasped him in his arms, and began to cry. But the
boy struggled to be free, saying 'Dear father, put me down. I have got
a new mother, who is better than the old one; and a new father, who is
better than you.'

Then his father sat him down and said, 'Go in peace, my boy, but listen
first to me. Tell your father the ogre and your mother the ogress, that
never more shall they have any children of mine.'

'All right,' replied the boy, and called 'Mother!'

'What is it?'

'You are never to take away any more of my father and mother's
children!'

'Now that I have got you, I don't want any more,' answered she.

Then the boy turned to his father and said, 'Go in peace, dear father,
and give my mother greeting and tell her not to be anxious any more, for
she can keep all her children.'

And Halfman mounted his horse and rode home, and told his wife all he
had seen, and the message sent by Mohammed--Mohammed the son of Halfman,
the son of the judge.

(Marchen und Gedichte aus der Stadt Tripolis. Hans von Stumme.)




THE PRINCE WHO WANTED TO SEE THE WORLD

There was once a king who had only one son, and this young man tormented
his father from morning till night to allow him to travel in far
countries. For a long time the king refused to give him leave; but at
last, wearied out, he granted permission, and ordered his treasurer to
produce a large sum of money for the prince's expenses. The youth was
overjoyed at the thought that he was really going to see the world, and
after tenderly embracing his father he set forth.

He rode on for some weeks without meeting with any adventures; but one
night when he was resting at an inn, he came across another traveller,
with whom he fell into conversation, in the course of which the stranger
inquired if he never played cards. The young man replied that he was
very fond of doing so. Cards were brought, and in a very short time the
prince had lost every penny he possessed to his new acquaintance. When
there was absolutely nothing left at the bottom of the bag, the stranger
proposed that they should have just one more game, and that if the
prince won he should have the money restored to him, but in case he
lost, should remain in the inn for three years, and besides that should
be his servant for another three. The prince agreed to those terms,
played, and lost; so the stranger took rooms for him, and furnished him
with bread and water every day for three years.

The prince lamented his lot, but it was no use; and at the end of three
years he was released and had to go to the house of the stranger, who
was really the king of a neighbouring country, and be his servant.
Before he had gone very far he met a woman carrying a child, which was
crying from hunger. The prince took it from her, and fed it with his
last crust of bread and last drop of water, and then gave it back to its
mother. The woman thanked him gratefully, and said:

'Listen, my lord. You must walk straight on till you notice a very
strong scent, which comes from a garden by the side of the road. Go in
and hide yourself close to a tank, where three doves will come to bathe.
As the last one flies past you, catch hold of its robe of feathers, and
refuse to give it back till the dove has promised you three things.'

The young man did as he was told, and everything happened as the woman
had said. He took the robe of feathers from the dove, who gave him in
exchange for it a ring, a collar, and one of its own plumes, saying:
'When you are in any trouble, cry "Come to my aid, O dove!" I am the
daughter of the king you are going to serve, who hates your father and
made you gamble in order to cause your ruin.'

Thus the prince went on his way, and in course of time he arrived at the
king's palace. As soon as his master knew he was there, the young man
was sent for into his presence, and three bags were handed to him with
these words:

'Take this wheat, this millet, and this barley, and sow them at once, so
that I may have loaves of them all to-morrow.'

The prince stood speechless at this command, but the king did not
condescend to give any further explanation, and when he was dismissed
the young man flew to the room which had been set aside for him, and
pulling out his feather, he cried: 'Dove, dove! be quick and come.'

'What is it?' said the dove, flying in through the open window, and
the prince told her of the task before him, and of his despair at being
unable to accomplish it. 'Fear nothing; it will be all right,' replied
the dove, as she flew away again.

The next morning when the prince awoke he saw the three loaves standing
beside his bed. He jumped up and dressed, and he was scarcely ready
when a page arrived with the message that he was to go at once into the
king's chamber. Taking the loaves in his arm he followed the boy, and,
bowing low, laid them down before the king. The monarch looked at the
loaves for a moment without speaking, then he said:

'Good. The man who can do this can also find the ring which my eldest
daughter dropped into the sea.'

The prince hastened back to his room and summoned the dove, and when she
heard this new command she said: 'Now listen. To-morrow take a knife
and a basin and go down to the shore and get into a boat you will find
there.'

The young man did not know what he was to do when he was in the boat or
where he was to go, but as the dove had come to his rescue before, he
was ready to obey her blindly.

When he reached the boat he found the dove perched on one of the masts,
and at a signal from her he put to sea; the wind was behind them and
they soon lost sight of land. The dove then spoke for the first time and
said, 'Take that knife and cut off my head, but be careful that not a
single drop of blood falls to the ground. Afterwards you must throw it
into the sea.'

Wondering at this strange order, the prince picked up his knife and
severed the dove's head from her body at one stroke. A little while
after a dove rose from the water with a ring in its beak, and laying
it in the prince's hand, dabbled itself with the blood that was in the
basin, when its head became that of a beautiful girl. Another moment and
it had vanished completely, and the prince took the ring and made his
way back to the palace.

The king stared with surprise at the sight of the ring, but he thought
of another way of getting rid of the young man which was surer even than
the other two.

'This evening you will mount my colt and ride him to the field, and
break him in properly.'

The prince received this command as silently as he had received the
rest, but no sooner was he in his room than he called for the dove, who
said: 'Attend to me. My father longs to see you dead, and thinks he will
kill you by this means. He himself is the colt, my mother is the saddle,
my two sisters are the stirrups, and I am the bridle. Do not forget to
take a good club, to help you in dealing with such a crew.'

So the prince mounted the colt, and gave him such a beating that when he
came to the palace to announce that the animal was now so meek that it
could be ridden by the smallest child, he found the king so bruised that
he had to be wrapped in cloths dipped in vinegar, the mother was too
stiff to move, and several of the daughters' ribs were broken. The
youngest, however, was quite unharmed. That night she came to the prince
and whispered to him:

'Now that they are all in too much pain to move, we had better seize our
chance and run away. Go to the stable and saddle the leanest horse
you can find there.' But the prince was foolish enough to choose the
fattest: and when they had started and the princess saw what he had
done, she was very sorry, for though this horse ran like the wind, the
other flashed like thought. However, it was dangerous to go back, and
they rode on as fast as the horse would go.

In the night the king sent for his youngest daughter, and as she did
not come he sent again; but she did not come any the more for that. The
queen, who was a witch, discovered that her daughter had gone off with
the prince, and told her husband he must leave his bed and go after
them. The king got slowly up, groaning with pain, and dragged himself to
the stables, where he saw the lean horse still in his stall.

Leaping on his back he shook the reins, and his daughter, who knew what
to expect and had her eyes open, saw the horse start forward, and in the
twinkling of an eye changed her own steed into a cell, the prince into a
hermit, and herself into a nun.

When the king reached the chapel, he pulled up his horse and asked if
a girl and a young man had passed that way. The hermit raised his eyes,
which were bent on the ground, and said that he had not seen a living
creature. The king, much disgusted at this news, and not knowing what
to do, returned home and told his wife that, though he had ridden for
miles, he had come across nothing but a hermit and a nun in a cell.

'Why those were the runaways, of course,' she cried, flying into a
passion, 'and if you had only brought a scrap of the nun's dress, or a
bit of stone from the wall, I should have had them in my power.'

At these words the king hastened back to the stable, and brought out the
lean horse who travelled quicker than thought. But his daughter saw
him coming, and changed her horse into a plot of ground, herself into
a rose-tree covered with roses, and the prince into a gardener. As the
king rode up, the gardener looked up from the tree which he was trimming
and asked if anything was the matter. 'Have you seen a young man and a
girl go by?' said the king, and the gardener shook his head and replied
that no one had passed that way since he had been working there. So the
king turned his steps homewards and told his wife.

'Idiot!' cried she, 'if you had only brought me one of the roses, or a
handful of earth, I should have had them in my power. But there is no
time to waste. I shall have to go with you myself.'

The girl saw them from afar, and a great fear fell on her, for she knew
her mother's skill in magic of all kinds. However, she determined to
fight to the end, and changed the horse into a deep pool, herself into
an eel, and the prince into a turtle. But it was no use. Her mother
recognised them all, and, pulling up, asked her daughter if she did not
repent and would not like to come home again. The eel wagged 'No' with
her tail, and the queen told her husband to put a drop of water from
the pool into a bottle, because it was only by that means that she could
seize hold of her daughter. The king did as he was bid, and was just in
the act of drawing the bottle out of the water after he had filled it,
when the turtle knocked against and spilt it all. The king then filled
it a second time, but again the turtle was too quick for him.

The queen saw that she was beaten, and called down a curse on her
daughter that the prince should forget all about her. After having
relieved her feelings in this manner, she and the king went back to the
palace.

The others resumed their proper shapes and continued their journey, but
the princess was so silent that at last the prince asked her what was
the matter. 'It is because I know you will soon forget all about me,'
said she, and though he laughed at her and told her it was impossible,
she did not cease to believe it.

They rode on and on and on, till they reached the end of the world,
where the prince lived, and leaving the girl in an inn he went himself
to the palace to ask leave of his father to present her to him as his
bride; but in his joy at seeing his family once more he forgot all about
her, and even listened when the king spoke of arranging a marriage for
him.

When the poor girl heard this she wept bitterly, and cried out, 'Come to
me, my sisters, for I need you badly!'

In a moment they stood beside her, and the elder one said, 'Do not be
sad, all will go well,' and they told the innkeeper that if any of the
king's servants wanted any birds for their master they were to be sent
up to them, as they had three doves for sale.

And so it fell out, and as the doves were very beautiful the servant
bought them for the king, who admired them so much that he called his
son to look at them. The prince was much pleased with the doves and was
coaxing them to come to him, when one fluttered on to the top of the
window and said, 'If you could only hear us speak, you would admire us
still more.'

And another perched on a table and added, 'Talk away, it might help him
to remember!'

And the third flew on his shoulder and whispered to him, 'Put on this
ring, prince, and see if it fits you.'

And it did. Then they hung a collar round his neck, and held a feather
on which was written the name of the dove. And at last his memory came
back to him, and he declared he would marry the princess and nobody
else. So the next day the wedding took place, and they lived happy till
they died.

(From the Portuguese.)




VIRGILIUS THE SORCERER

Long, long ago there was born to a Roman knight and his wife Maja a
little boy called Virgilius. While he was still quite little, his father
died, and the kinsmen, instead of being a help and protection to the
child and his mother, robbed them of their lands and money, and the
widow, fearing that they might take the boy's life also, sent him away
to Spain, that he might study in the great University of Toledo.

Virgilius was fond of books, and pored over them all day long. But one
afternoon, when the boys were given a holiday, he took a long walk, and
found himself in a place where he had never been before. In front of him
was a cave, and, as no boy ever sees a cave without entering it, he went
in. The cave was so deep that it seemed to Virgilius as if it must run
far into the heart of the mountain, and he thought he would like to see
if it came out anywhere on the other side. For some time he walked on
in pitch darkness, but he went steadily on, and by-and-by a glimmer of
light shot across the floor, and he heard a voice calling, 'Virgilius!
Virgilius!'

'Who calls?' he asked, stopping and looking round.

'Virgilius!' answered the voice, 'do you mark upon the ground where you
are standing a slide or bolt?'

'I do,' replied Virgilius.

'Then,' said the voice, 'draw back that bolt, and set me free.'

'But who are you?' asked Virgilius, who never did anything in a hurry.

'I am an evil spirit,' said the voice, 'shut up here till Doomsday,
unless a man sets me free. If you will let me out I will give you some
magic books, which will make you wiser than any other man.'

Now Virgilius loved wisdom, and was tempted by these promises, but again
his prudence came to his aid, and he demanded that the books should be
handed over to him first, and that he should be told how to use them.
The evil spirit, unable to help itself, did as Virgilius bade him, and
then the bolt was drawn back. Underneath was a small hole, and out of
this the evil spirit gradually wriggled himself; but it took some time,
for when at last he stood upon the ground he proved to be about three
times as large as Virgilius himself, and coal black besides.

'Why, you can't have been as big as that when you were in the hole!'
cried Virgilius.

'But I was!' replied the spirit.

'I don't believe it!' answered Virgilius.

'Well, I'll just get in and show you,' said the spirit, and after
turning and twisting, and curling himself up, then he lay neatly packed
into the hole. Then Virgilius drew the bolt, and, picking the books up
under his arm, he left the cave.

For the next few weeks Virgilius hardly ate or slept, so busy was he in
learning the magic the books contained. But at the end of that time a
messenger from his mother arrived in Toledo, begging him to come at
once to Rome, as she had been ill, and could look after their affairs no
longer.

Though sorry to leave Toledo, where he was much thought of as showing
promise of great learning, Virgilius would willingly have set out at
once, but there were many things he had first to see to. So he entrusted
to the messenger four pack-horses laden with precious things, and a
white palfrey on which she was to ride out every day. Then he set about
his own preparations, and, followed by a large train of scholars, he at
length started for Rome, from which he had been absent twelve years.

His mother welcomed him back with tears in her eyes, and his poor
kinsmen pressed round him, but the rich ones kept away, for they feared
that they would no longer be able to rob their kinsman as they had done
for many years past. Of course, Virgilius paid no attention to this
behaviour, though he noticed they looked with envy on the rich presents
he bestowed on the poorer relations and on anyone who had been kind to
his mother.

Soon after this had happened the season of tax-gathering came round, and
everyone who owned land was bound to present himself before the emperor.
Like the rest, Virgilius went to court, and demanded justice from the
emperor against the men who had robbed him. But as these were kinsmen
to the emperor he gained nothing, as the emperor told him he would think
over the matter for the next four years, and then give judgment. This
reply naturally did not satisfy Virgilius, and, turning on his heel, he
went back to his own home, and, gathering in his harvest, he stored it
up in his various houses.

When the enemies of Virgilius heard of this, they assembled together
and laid siege to his castle. But Virgilius was a match for them. Coming
forth from the castle so as to meet them face to face, he cast a spell
over them of such power that they could not move, and then bade them
defiance. After which he lifted the spell, and the invading army slunk
back to Rome, and reported what Virgilius had said to the emperor.

Now the emperor was accustomed to have his lightest word obeyed, almost
before it was uttered, and he hardly knew how to believe his ears. But
he got together another army, and marched straight off to the castle.
But directly they took up their position Virgilius girded them about
with a great river, so that they could neither move hand nor foot, then,
hailing the emperor, he offered him peace, and asked for his friendship.
The emperor, however, was too angry to listen to anything, so Virgilius,
whose patience was exhausted, feasted his own followers in the presence
of the starving host, who could not stir hand or foot.

Things seemed getting desperate, when a magician arrived in the camp and
offered to sell his services to the emperor. His proposals were gladly
accepted, and in a moment the whole of the garrison sank down as if they
were dead, and Virgilius himself had much ado to keep awake. He did not
know how to fight the magician, but with a great effort struggled to
open his Black Book, which told him what spells to use. In an instant
all his foes seemed turned to stone, and where each man was there he
stayed. Some were half way up the ladders, some had one foot over the
wall, but wherever they might chance to be there every man remained,
even the emperor and his sorcerer. All day they stayed there like
flies upon the wall, but during the night Virgilius stole softly to
the emperor, and offered him his freedom, as long as he would do him
justice. The emperor, who by this time was thoroughly frightened, said
he would agree to anything Virgilius desired. So Virgilius took off his
spells, and, after feasting the army and bestowing on every man a gift,
bade them return to Rome. And more than that, he built a square tower
for the emperor, and in each corner all that was said in that quarter of
the city might be heard, while if you stood in the centre every whisper
throughout Rome would reach your ears.

Having settled his affairs with the emperor and his enemies, Virgilius
had time to think of other things, and his first act was to fall in
love! The lady's name was Febilla, and her family was noble, and her
face fairer than any in Rome, but she only mocked Virgilius, and was
always playing tricks upon him. To this end, she bade him one day come
to visit her in the tower where she lived, promising to let down a
basket to draw him up as far as the roof. Virgilius was enchanted at
this quite unexpected favour, and stepped with glee into the basket. It
was drawn up very slowly, and by-and-by came altogether to a standstill,
while from above rang the voice of Febilla crying, 'Rogue of a sorcerer,
there shalt thou hang!' And there he hung over the market-place, which
was soon thronged with people, who made fun of him till he was mad with
rage. At last the emperor, hearing of his plight, commanded Febilla to
release him, and Virgilius went home vowing vengeance.

The next morning every fire in Rome went out, and as there were no
matches in those days this was a very serious matter. The emperor,
guessing that this was the work of Virgilius, besought him to break
the spell. Then Virgilius ordered a scaffold to be erected in the
market-place, and Febilla to be brought clothed in a single white
garment. And further, he bade every one to snatch fire from the maiden,
and to suffer no neighbour to kindle it. And when the maiden appeared,
clad in her white smock, flames of fire curled about her, and the Romans
brought some torches, and some straw, and some shavings, and fires were
kindled in Rome again.

For three days she stood there, till every hearth in Rome was alight,
and then she was suffered to go where she would.

But the emperor was wroth at the vengeance of Virgilius, and threw him
into prison, vowing that he should be put to death. And when everything
was ready he was led out to the Viminal Hill, where he was to die.

He went quietly with his guards, but the day was hot, and on reaching
his place of execution he begged for some water. A pail was brought, and
he, crying 'Emperor, all hail! seek for me in Sicily,' jumped headlong
into the pail, and vanished from their sight.

For some time we hear no more of Virgilius, or how he made his peace
with the emperor, but the next event in his history was his being sent
for to the palace to give the emperor advice how to guard Rome from
foes within as well as foes without. Virgilius spent many days in deep
thought, and at length invented a plan which was known to all as the
'Preservation of Rome.'

On the roof of the Capitol, which was the most famous public building
in the city, he set up statues representing the gods worshipped by every
nation subject to Rome, and in the middle stood the god of Rome herself.
Each of the conquered gods held in its hand a bell, and if there was
even a thought of treason in any of the countries its god turned its
back upon the god of Rome and rang its bell furiously, and the senators
came hurrying to see who was rebelling against the majesty of the
empire. Then they made ready their armies, and marched against the foe.

Now there was a country which had long felt bitter jealousy of Rome,
and was anxious for some way of bringing about its destruction. So the
people chose three men who could be trusted, and, loading them with
money, sent them to Rome, bidding them to pretend that they were
diviners of dreams. No sooner had the messengers reached the city than
they stole out at night and buried a pot of gold far down in the earth,
and let down another into the bed of the Tiber, just where a bridge
spans the river.

Next day they went to the senate house, where the laws were made, and,
bowing low, they said, 'Oh, noble lords, last night we dreamed that
beneath the foot of a hill there lies buried a pot of gold. Have we your
leave to dig for it?' And leave having been given, the messengers took
workmen and dug up the gold and made merry with it.

A few days later the diviners again appeared before the senate, and
said, 'Oh, noble lords, grant us leave to seek out another treasure,
which has been revealed to us in a dream as lying under the bridge over
the river.'

And the senators gave leave, and the messengers hired boats and men, and
let down ropes with hooks, and at length drew up the pot of gold, some
of which they gave as presents to the senators.

A week or two passed by, and once more they appeared in the senate
house.

'O, noble lords!' said they, 'last night in a vision we beheld twelve
casks of gold lying under the foundation stone of the Capitol, on which
stands the statue of the Preservation of Rome. Now, seeing that by your
goodness we have been greatly enriched by our former dreams, we wish, in
gratitude, to bestow this third treasure on you for your own profit; so
give us workers, and we will begin to dig without delay.'

And receiving permission they began to dig, and when the messengers had
almost undermined the Capitol they stole away as secretly as they had
come.

And next morning the stone gave way, and the sacred statue fell on its
face and was broken. And the senators knew that their greed had been
their ruin.

From that day things went from bad to worse, and every morning crowds
presented themselves before the emperor, complaining of the robberies,
murders, and other crimes that were committed nightly in the streets.

The emperor, desiring nothing so much as the safety of his subjects,
took counsel with Virgilius how this violence could be put down.

Virgilius thought hard for a long time, and then he spoke:

'Great prince,' said he, 'cause a copper horse and rider to be made, and
stationed in front of the Capitol. Then make a proclamation that at ten
o'clock a bell will toll, and every man is to enter his house, and not
leave it again.'

The emperor did as Virgilius advised, but thieves and murderers laughed
at the horse, and went about their misdeeds as usual.

But at the last stroke of the bell the horse set off at full gallop
through the streets of Rome, and by daylight men counted over two
hundred corpses that it had trodden down. The rest of the thieves--and
there were still many remaining--instead of being frightened into
honesty, as Virgilius had hoped, prepared rope ladders with hooks to
them, and when they heard the sound of the horse's hoofs they stuck
their ladders into the walls, and climbed up above the reach of the
horse and its rider.

Then the emperor commanded two copper dogs to be made that would run
after the horse, and when the thieves, hanging from the walls, mocked
and jeered at Virgilius and the emperor, the dogs leaped high after them
and pulled them to the ground, and bit them to death.

Thus did Virgilius restore peace and order to the city.

Now about this time there came to be noised abroad the fame of the
daughter of the sultan who ruled over the province of Babylon, and
indeed she was said to be the most beautiful princess in the world.

Virgilius, like the rest, listened to the stories that were told of her,
and fell so violently in love with all he heard that he built a bridge
in the air, which stretched all the way between Rome and Babylon.
He then passed over it to visit the princess, who, though somewhat
surprised to see him, gave him welcome, and after some conversation
became in her turn anxious to see the distant country where this
stranger lived, and he promised that he would carry her there himself,
without wetting the soles of his feet.

The princess spent some days in the palace of Virgilius, looking at
wonders of which she had never dreamed, though she declined to accept
the presents he longed to heap on her. The hours passed as if they were
minutes, till the princess said that she could be no longer absent from
her father. Then Virgilius conducted her himself over the airy bridge,
and laid her gently down on her own bed, where she was found next
morning by her father.

She told him all that had happened to her, and he pretended to be very
much interested, and begged that the next time Virgilius came he might
be introduced to him.

Soon after, the sultan received a message from his daughter that the
stranger was there, and he commanded that a feast should be made ready,
and, sending for the princess delivered into her hands a cup, which he
said she was to present to Virgilius herself, in order to do him honour.

When they were all seated at the feast the princess rose and presented
the cup to Virgilius, who directly he had drunk fell into a deep sleep.

Then the sultan ordered his guards to bind him, and left him there till
the following day.

Directly the sultan was up he summoned his lords and nobles into his
great hall, and commanded that the cords which bound Virgilius should be
taken off, and the prisoner brought before him. The moment he appeared
the sultan's passion broke forth, and he accused his captive of the
crime of conveying the princess into distant lands without his leave.

Virgilius replied that if he had taken her away he had also brought her
back, when he might have kept her, and that if they would set him free
to return to his own land he would come hither no more.

'Not so!' cried the sultan, 'but a shameful death you shall die!' And
the princess fell on her knees, and begged she might die with him.

'You are out in your reckoning, Sir Sultan!' said Virgilius, whose
patience was at an end, and he cast a spell over the sultan and his
lords, so that they believed that the great river of Babylon was flowing
through the hall, and that they must swim for their lives. So, leaving
them to plunge and leap like frogs and fishes, Virgilius took the
princess in his arms, and carried her over the airy bridge back to Rome.

Now Virgilius did not think that either his palace, or even Rome itself,
was good enough to contain such a pearl as the princess, so he built her
a city whose foundations stood upon eggs, buried far away down in the
depths of the sea. And in the city was a square tower, and on the roof
of the tower was a rod of iron, and across the rod he laid a bottle, and
on the bottle he placed an egg, and from the egg there hung chained an
apple, which hangs there to this day. And when the egg shakes the city
quakes, and when the egg shall be broken the city shall be destroyed.
And the city Virgilius filled full of wonders, such as never were seen
before, and he called its name Naples.

(Adapted from 'Virgilius the Sorcerer.')




MOGARZEA AND HIS SON

There was once a little boy, whose father and mother, when they were
dying, left him to the care of a guardian. But the guardian whom they
chose turned out to be a wicked man, and spent all the money, so the boy
determined to go away and strike out a path for himself.

So one day he set off, and walked and walked through woods and meadows
till when evening came he was very tired, and did not know where to
sleep. He climbed a hill and looked about him to see if there was no
light shining from a window. At first all seemed dark, but at length he
noticed a tiny spark far, far off, and, plucking up his spirits, he at
once went in search of it.

The night was nearly half over before he reached the spark, which turned
out to be a big fire, and by the fire a man was sleeping who was so
tall he might have been a giant. The boy hesitated for a moment what he
should do; then he crept close up to the man, and lay down by his legs.

When the man awoke in the morning he was much surprised to find the boy
nestling up close to him.

'Dear me! where do you come from?' said he.

'I am your son, born in the night,' replied the boy.

'If that is true,' said the man, 'you shall take care of my sheep, and I
will give you food. But take care you never cross the border of my land,
or you will repent it.' Then he pointed out where the border of his land
lay, and bade the boy begin his work at once.

The young shepherd led his flock out to the richest meadows and stayed
with them till evening, when he brought them back, and helped the man to
milk them. When this was done, they both sat down to supper, and while
they were eating the boy asked the big man: 'What is your name, father?'

'Mogarzea,' answered he.

'I wonder you are not tired of living by yourself in this lonely place.'

'There is no reason you should wonder! Don't you know that there was
never a bear yet who danced of his own free will?'

'Yes, that is true,' replied the boy. 'But why is it you are always so
sad? Tell me your history, father.'

'What is the use of my telling you things that would only make you sad
too?'

'Oh, never mind that! I should like to hear. Are you not my father, and
am I not your son?'

'Well, if you really want to know my story, this is it: As I told you,
my name is Mogarzea, and my father is an emperor. I was on my way to the
Sweet Milk Lake, which lies not far from here, to marry one of the three
fairies who have made the lake their home. But on the road three wicked
elves fell on me, and robbed me of my soul, so that ever since I have
stayed in this spot watching my sheep without wishing for anything
different, without having felt one moment's joy, or ever once being able
to laugh. And the horrible elves are so ill-natured that if anyone sets
one foot on their land he is instantly punished. That is why I warn you
to be careful, lest you should share my fate.'

'All right, I will take great care. Do let me go, father,' said the boy,
as they stretched themselves out to sleep.

At sunrise the boy got up and led his sheep out to feed, and for
some reason he did not feel tempted to cross into the grassy meadows
belonging to the elves, but let his flock pick up what pasture they
could on Mogarzea's dry ground.

On the third day he was sitting under the shadow of a tree, playing
on his flute--and there was nobody in the world who could play a flute
better--when one of his sheep strayed across the fence into the flowery
fields of the elves, and another and another followed it. But the boy
was so absorbed in his flute that he noticed nothing till half the flock
were on the other side.

He jumped up, still playing on his flute, and went after the sheep,
meaning to drive them back to their own side of the border, when
suddenly he saw before him three beautiful maidens who stopped in front
of him, and began to dance. The boy understood what he must do, and
played with all his might, but the maidens danced on till evening.

'Now let me go,' he cried at last, 'for poor Mogarzea must be dying of
hunger. I will come and play for you to-morrow.'

'Well, you may go!' they said, 'but remember that even if you break your
promise you will not escape us.'

So they both agreed that the next day he should come straight there with
the sheep, and play to them till the sun went down. This being settled,
they each returned home.

Mogarzea was surprised to find that his sheep gave so much more milk
than usual, but as the boy declared he had never crossed the border the
big man did not trouble his head further, and ate his supper heartily.

With the earliest gleams of light, the boy was off with his sheep to the
elfin meadow, and at the first notes of his flute the maidens appeared
before him and danced and danced and danced till evening came. Then the
boy let the flute slip through his fingers, and trod on it, as if by
accident.

If you had heard the noise he made, and how he wrung his hands and wept
and cried that he had lost his only companion, you would have been sorry
for him. The hearts of the elves were quite melted, and they did all
they could to comfort him.

'I shall never find another flute like that, moaned he. 'I have never
heard one whose tone was as sweet as mine! It was cut from the centre of
a seven-year-old cherry tree!'

'There is a cherry tree in our garden that is exactly seven years old,'
said they. 'Come with us, and you shall make yourself another flute.'

So they all went to the cherry tree, and when they were standing round
it the youth explained that if he tried to cut it down with an axe he
might very likely split open the heart of the tree, which was needed for
the flute. In order to prevent this, he would make a little cut in the
bark, just large enough for them to put their fingers in, and with this
help he could manage to tear the tree in two, so that the heart should
run no risk of damage. The elves did as he told them without a thought;
then he quickly drew out the axe, which had been sticking into the
cleft, and behold! all their fingers were imprisoned tight in the tree.

It was in vain that they shrieked with pain and tried to free
themselves. They could do nothing, and the young man remained cold as
marble to all their entreaties.

Then he demanded of them Mogarzea's soul.

'Oh, well, if you must have it, it is in a bottle on the window sill,'
said they, hoping that they might obtain their freedom at once. But they
were mistaken.

'You have made so many men suffer,' answered he sternly, 'that it is but
just you should suffer yourselves, but to-morrow I will let you go.' And
he turned towards home, taking his sheep and the soul of Mogarzea with
him.

Mogarzea was waiting at the door, and as the boy drew near he began
scolding him for being so late. But at the first word of explanation the
man became beside himself with joy, and he sprang so high into the air
that the false soul which the elves had given him flew out of his mouth,
and his own, which had been shut tightly into the flask of water, took
its place.

When his excitement had somewhat calmed down, he cried to the boy,
'Whether you are really my son matters nothing to me; tell me, how can I
repay you for what you have done for me?'

'By showing me where the Milk Lake is, and how I can get one of the
three fairies who lives there to wife, and by letting me remain your son
for ever.'

The night was passed by Mogarzea and his son in songs and feasting, for
both were too happy to sleep, and when day dawned they set out together
to free the elves from the tree. When they reached the place of their
imprisonment, Mogarzea took the cherry tree and all the elves with it on
his back, and carried them off to his father's kingdom, where everyone
rejoiced to see him home again. But all he did was to point to the boy
who had saved him, and had followed him with his flock.

For three days the boy stayed in the palace, receiving the thanks and
praises of the whole court. Then he said to Mogarzea:

'The time has come for me to go hence, but tell me, I pray you, how to
find the Sweet Milk Lake, and I will return, and will bring my wife back
with me.'

Mogarzea tried in vain to make him stay, but, finding it was useless, he
told him all he knew, for he himself had never seen the lake.

For three summer days the boy and his flute journeyed on, till one
evening he reached the lake, which lay in the kingdom of a powerful
fairy. The next morning had scarcely dawned when the youth went down
to the shore, and began to play on his flute, and the first notes had
hardly sounded when he saw a beautiful fairy standing before him, with
hair and robes that shone like gold. He gazed at her in wonder, when
suddenly she began to dance. Her movements were so graceful that
he forgot to play, and as soon as the notes of his flute ceased she
vanished from his sight. The next day the same thing happened, but on
the third he took courage, and drew a little nearer, playing on his
flute all the while. Suddenly he sprang forward, seized her in his arms
and kissed her, and plucked a rose from her hair.

The fairy gave a cry, and begged him to give her back her rose, but he
would not. He only stuck the rose in his hat, and turned a deaf ear to
all her prayers.

At last she saw that her entreaties were vain, and agreed to marry him,
as he wished. And they went together to the palace, where Mogarzea was
still waiting for him, and the marriage was celebrated by the emperor
himself. But every May they returned to the Milk Lake, they and their
children, and bathed in its waters.

(Olumanische Marchen.)



The Lion and the Crane


The Bodhisatta was at one time born in the region of Himavanta as a
white crane; now Brahmadatta was at that time reigning in Benares. Now
it chanced that as a lion was eating meat a bone stuck in his throat.
The throat became swollen, he could not take food, his suffering was
terrible. The crane seeing him, as he was perched on a tree looking
for food, asked, "What ails thee, friend?" He told him why. "I could
free thee from that bone, friend, but dare not enter thy mouth for
fear thou mightest eat me." "Don't be afraid, friend, I'll not eat
thee; only save my life." "Very well," says he, and caused him to lie
down on his left side. But thinking to himself, "Who knows what this
fellow will do," he placed a small stick upright between his two jaws
that he could not close his mouth, and inserting his head inside his
mouth struck one end of the bone with his beak. Whereupon the bone
dropped and fell out. As soon as he had caused the bone to fall, he
got out of the lion's mouth, striking the stick with his beak so that
it fell out, and then settled on a branch. The lion gets well, and
one day was eating a buffalo he had killed. The crane thinking "I will
sound him," settled on a branch just over him, and in conversation
spoke this first verse:

    "A service have we done thee
      To the best of our ability,
    King of the Beasts! Your Majesty!
      What return shall we get from thee?"

In reply the Lion spoke the second verse:

    "As I feed on blood,
      And always hunt for prey,
    'Tis much that thou art still alive
      Having once been between my teeth."

Then in reply the crane said the two other verses:

    "Ungrateful, doing no good,
      Not doing as he would be done by,
    In him there is no gratitude,
      To serve him is useless.

    "His friendship is not won
      By the clearest good deed.
    Better softly withdraw from him,
      Neither envying nor abusing."

And having thus spoken the crane flew away.

_And when the great Teacher, Gautama the Buddha, told this tale, he
used to add: "Now at that time the lion was Devadatta the Traitor, but
the white crane was I myself."_






How the Raja's Son won the Princess Labam.


In a country there was a Raja who had an only son who every day went
out to hunt. One day the Rani, his mother, said to him, "You can hunt
wherever you like on these three sides; but you must never go to the
fourth side." This she said because she knew if he went on the fourth
side he would hear of the beautiful Princess Labam, and that then he
would leave his father and mother and seek for the princess.

The young prince listened to his mother, and obeyed her for some time;
but one day, when he was hunting on the three sides where he was
allowed to go, he remembered what she had said to him about the fourth
side, and he determined to go and see why she had forbidden him to
hunt on that side. When he got there, he found himself in a jungle,
and nothing in the jungle but a quantity of parrots, who lived in it.
The young Raja shot at some of them, and at once they all flew away up
to the sky. All, that is, but one, and this was their Raja, who was
called Hiraman parrot.

When Hiraman parrot found himself left alone, he called out to the
other parrots, "Don't fly away and leave me alone when the Raja's son
shoots. If you desert me like this, I will tell the Princess Labam."

Then the parrots all flew back to their Raja, chattering. The prince
was greatly surprised, and said, "Why, these birds can talk!" Then he
said to the parrots, "Who is the Princess Labam? Where does she live?"
But the parrots would not tell him where she lived. "You can never get
to the Princess Labam's country." That is all they would say.

The prince grew very sad when they would not tell him anything more;
and he threw his gun away, and went home. When he got home, he would
not speak or eat, but lay on his bed for four or five days, and seemed
very ill.

At last he told his father and mother that he wanted to go and see the
Princess Labam. "I must go," he said; "I must see what she is like.
Tell me where her country is."

"We do not know where it is," answered his father and mother.

"Then I must go and look for it," said the prince.

"No, no," they said, "you must not leave us. You are our only son.
Stay with us. You will never find the Princess Labam."

"I must try and find her," said the prince. "Perhaps God will show me
the way. If I live and I find her, I will come back to you; but
perhaps I shall die, and then I shall never see you again. Still I
must go."

So they had to let him go, though they cried very much at parting with
him. His father gave him fine clothes to wear, and a fine horse. And
he took his gun, and his bow and arrows, and a great many other
weapons, "for," he said, "I may want them." His father, too, gave him
plenty of rupees.

Then he himself got his horse all ready for the journey, and he said
good-bye to his father and mother; and his mother took her
handkerchief and wrapped some sweetmeats in it, and gave it to her
son. "My child," she said to him, "When you are hungry eat some of
these sweetmeats."

He then set out on his journey, and rode on and on till he came to a
jungle in which were a tank and shady trees. He bathed himself and his
horse in the tank, and then sat down under a tree. "Now," he said to
himself, "I will eat some of the sweetmeats my mother gave me, and I
will drink some water, and then I will continue my journey." He opened
his handkerchief, and took out a sweetmeat. He found an ant in it. He
took out another. There was an ant in that one too. So he laid the two
sweetmeats on the ground, and he took out another, and another, and
another, until he had taken them all out; but in each he found an ant.
"Never mind," he said, "I won't eat the sweetmeats; the ants shall eat
them." Then the Ant-Raja came and stood before him and said, "You have
been good to us. If ever you are in trouble, think of me and we will
come to you."

The Raja's son thanked him, mounted his horse and continued his
journey. He rode on and on until he came to another jungle, and there
he saw a tiger who had a thorn in his foot, and was roaring loudly
from the pain.

"Why do you roar like that?" said the young Raja. "What is the matter
with you?"

"I have had a thorn in my foot for twelve years," answered the tiger,
"and it hurts me so; that is why I roar."

"Well," said the Raja's son, "I will take it out for you. But
perhaps, as you are a tiger, when I have made you well, you will eat
me?"



"Oh, no," said the tiger, "I won't eat you. Do make me well."

Then the prince took a little knife from his pocket, and cut the thorn
out of the tiger's foot; but when he cut, the tiger roared louder than
ever--so loud that his wife heard him in the next jungle, and came
bounding along to see what was the matter. The tiger saw her coming,
and hid the prince in the jungle, so that she should not see him.



"What man hurt you that you roared so loud?" said the wife.

"No one hurt me," answered the husband; "but a Raja's son came and
took the thorn out of my foot."

"Where is he? Show him to me," said his wife.

"If you promise not to kill him, I will call him," said the tiger.

"I won't kill him; only let me see him," answered his wife.

Then the tiger called the Raja's son, and when he came the tiger and
his wife made him a great many salaams. Then they gave him a good
dinner, and he stayed with them for three days. Every day he looked at
the tiger's foot, and the third day it was quite healed. Then he said
good-bye to the tigers, and the tiger said to him, "If ever you are in
trouble, think of me, and we will come to you."

The Raja's son rode on and on till he came to a third jungle. Here he
found four fakirs whose teacher and master had died, and had left four
things,--a bed, which carried whoever sat on it whithersoever he
wished to go; a bag, that gave its owner whatever he wanted, jewels,
food, or clothes; a stone bowl that gave its owner as much water as he
wanted, no matter how far he might be from a tank; and a stick and
rope, to which its owner had only to say, if any one came to make war
on him, "Stick, beat as many men and soldiers as are here," and the
stick would beat them and the rope would tie them up.

The four fakirs were quarrelling over these four things. One said, "I
want this;" another said, "You cannot have it, for I want it;" and so
on.

The Raja's son said to them, "Do not quarrel for these things. I will
shoot four arrows in four different directions. Whichever of you gets
to my first arrow, shall have the first thing--the bed. Whosoever gets
to the second arrow, shall have the second thing--the bag. He who gets
to the third arrow, shall have the third thing--the bowl. And he who
gets to the fourth arrow, shall have the last things--the stick and
rope." To this they agreed, and the prince shot off his first arrow.
Away raced the fakirs to get it. When they brought it back to him he
shot off the second, and when they had found and brought it to him he
shot off his third, and when they had brought him the third he shot
off the fourth.

While they were away looking for the fourth arrow the Raja's son let
his horse loose in the jungle, and sat on the bed, taking the bowl,
the stick and rope, and the bag with him. Then he said, "Bed, I wish
to go to the Princess Labam's country." The little bed instantly rose
up into the air and began to fly, and it flew and flew till it came to
the Princess Labam's country, where it settled on the ground. The
Raja's son asked some men he saw, "Whose country is this?"

"The Princess Labam's country," they answered. Then the prince went on
till he came to a house where he saw an old woman.

"Who are you?" she said. "Where do you come from?"

"I come from a far country," he said; "do let me stay with you
to-night."

"No," she answered, "I cannot let you stay with me; for our king has
ordered that men from other countries may not stay in his country. You
cannot stay in my house."

"You are my aunty," said the prince; "let me remain with you for this
one night. You see it is evening, and if I go into the jungle, then
the wild beasts will eat me."

"Well," said the old woman, "you may stay here to-night; but to-morrow
morning you must go away, for if the king hears you have passed the
night in my house, he will have me seized and put into prison."

Then she took him into her house, and the Raja's son was very glad.
The old woman began preparing dinner, but he stopped her, "Aunty," he
said, "I will give you food." He put his hand into his bag, saying,
"Bag, I want some dinner," and the bag gave him instantly a delicious
dinner, served up on two gold plates. The old woman and the Raja's son
then dined together.

When they had finished eating, the old woman said, "Now I will fetch
some water."

"Don't go," said the prince. "You shall have plenty of water
directly." So he took his bowl and said to it, "Bowl, I want some
water," and then it filled with water. When it was full, the prince
cried out, "Stop, bowl," and the bowl stopped filling. "See, aunty,"
he said, "with this bowl I can always get as much water as I want."

By this time night had come. "Aunty," said the Raja's son, "why don't
you light a lamp?"

"There is no need," she said. "Our king has forbidden the people in
his country to light any lamps; for, as soon as it is dark, his
daughter, the Princess Labam, comes and sits on her roof, and she
shines so that she lights up all the country and our houses, and we
can see to do our work as if it were day."

When it was quite black night the princess got up. She dressed herself
in her rich clothes and jewels, and rolled up her hair, and across her
head she put a band of diamonds and pearls. Then she shone like the
moon, and her beauty made night day. She came out of her room, and sat
on the roof of her palace. In the daytime she never came out of her
house; she only came out at night. All the people in her father's
country then went about their work and finished it.

The Raja's son watched the princess quietly, and was very happy. He
said to himself, "How lovely she is!"

At midnight, when everybody had gone to bed, the princess came down
from her roof, and went to her room; and when she was in bed and
asleep, the Raja's son got up softly, and sat on his bed. "Bed," he
said to it, "I want to go to the Princess Labam's bed-room." So the
little bed carried him to the room where she lay fast asleep.

The young Raja took his bag and said, "I want a great deal of
betel-leaf," and it at once gave him quantities of betel-leaf. This he
laid near the princess's bed, and then his little bed carried him back
to the old woman's house.

Next morning all the princess's servants found the betel-leaf, and
began to eat it. "Where did you get all that betel-leaf?" asked the
princess.

"We found it near your bed," answered the servants. Nobody knew the
prince had come in the night and put it all there.

In the morning the old woman came to the Raja's son. "Now it is
morning," she said, "and you must go; for if the king finds out all I
have done for you, he will seize me."

"I am ill to-day, dear aunty," said the prince; "do let me stay till
to-morrow morning."

"Good," said the old woman. So he stayed, and they took their dinner
out of the bag, and the bowl gave them water.

When night came the princess got up and sat on her roof, and at twelve
o'clock, when every one was in bed, she went to her bed-room, and was
soon fast asleep. Then the Raja's son sat on his bed, and it carried
him to the princess. He took his bag and said, "Bag, I want a most
lovely shawl." It gave him a splendid shawl, and he spread it over the
princess as she lay asleep. Then he went back to the old woman's house
and slept till morning.

In the morning, when the princess saw the shawl she was delighted.
"See, mother," she said; "Khuda must have given me this shawl, it is
so beautiful." Her mother was very glad too.

"Yes, my child," she said; "Khuda must have given you this splendid
shawl."

When it was morning the old woman said to the Raja's son, "Now you
must really go."

"Aunty," he answered, "I am not well enough yet. Let me stay a few
days longer. I will remain hidden in your house, so that no one may
see me." So the old woman let him stay.

When it was black night, the princess put on her lovely clothes and
jewels, and sat on her roof. At midnight she went to her room and went
to sleep. Then the Raja's son sat on his bed and flew to her bed-room.
There he said to his bag, "Bag, I want a very, very beautiful ring."
The bag gave him a glorious ring. Then he took the Princess Labam's
hand gently to put on the ring, and she started up very much
frightened.

"Who are you?" she said to the prince. "Where do you come from? Why do
you come to my room?"

"Do not be afraid, princess," he said; "I am no thief. I am a great
Raja's son. Hiraman parrot, who lives in the jungle where I went to
hunt, told me your name, and then I left my father and mother, and
came to see you."

"Well," said the princess, "as you are the son of such a great Raja,
I will not have you killed, and I will tell my father and mother that
I wish to marry you."

The prince then returned to the old woman's house; and when morning
came the princess said to her mother, "The son of a great Raja has
come to this country, and I wish to marry him." Her mother told this
to the king.

"Good," said the king; "but if this Raja's son wishes to marry my
daughter, he must first do whatever I bid him. If he fails I will kill
him. I will give him eighty pounds weight of mustard seed, and out of
this he must crush the oil in one day. If he cannot do this he shall
die."

In the morning the Raja's son told the old woman that he intended to
marry the princess. "Oh," said the old woman, "go away from this
country, and do not think of marrying her. A great many Rajas and
Rajas' sons have come here to marry her, and her father has had them
all killed. He says whoever wishes to marry his daughter must first do
whatever he bids him. If he can, then he shall marry the princess; if
he cannot, the king will have him killed. But no one can do the things
the king tells him to do; so all the Rajas and Rajas' sons who have
tried have been put to death. You will be killed too, if you try. Do
go away." But the prince would not listen to anything she said.

The king sent for the prince to the old woman's house, and his
servants brought the Raja's son to the king's court-house to the king.
There the king gave him eighty pounds of mustard seed, and told him to
crush all the oil out of it that day, and bring it next morning to him
to the court-house. "Whoever wishes to marry my daughter," he said to
the prince, "must first do all I tell him. If he cannot, then I have
him killed. So if you cannot crush all the oil out of this mustard
seed, you will die."

The prince was very sorry when he heard this. "How can I crush the oil
out of all this mustard seed in one day?" he said to himself; "and if
I do not, the king will kill me." He took the mustard seed to the old
woman's house, and did not know what to do. At last he remembered the
Ant-Raja, and the moment he did so, the Ant-Raja and his ants came to
him. "Why do you look so sad?" said the Ant-Raja.

The prince showed him the mustard seed, and said to him, "How can I
crush the oil out of all this mustard seed in one day? And if I do not
take the oil to the king to-morrow morning, he will kill me."

"Be happy," said the Ant-Raja; "lie down and sleep; we will crush all
the oil out for you during the day, and to-morrow morning you shall
take it to the king." The Raja's son lay down and slept, and the ants
crushed out the oil for him. The prince was very glad when he saw the
oil.

The next morning he took it to the court-house to the king. But the
king said, "You cannot yet marry my daughter. If you wish to do so,
you must first fight with my two demons and kill them." The king a
long time ago had caught two demons, and then, as he did not know what
to do with them, he had shut them up in a cage. He was afraid to let
them loose for fear they would eat up all the people in his country;
and he did not know how to kill them. So all the kings and kings' sons
who wanted to marry the Princess Labam had to fight with these
demons; "for," said the king to himself, "perhaps the demons may be
killed, and then I shall be rid of them."

When he heard of the demons the Raja's son was very sad. "What can I
do?" he said to himself. "How can I fight with these two demons?" Then
he thought of his tiger: and the tiger and his wife came to him and
said, "Why are you so sad?" The Raja's son answered, "The king has
ordered me to fight with his two demons and kill them. How can I do
this?" "Do not be frightened," said the tiger. "Be happy. I and my
wife will fight with them for you."



Then the Raja's son took out of his bag two splendid coats. They were
all gold and silver, and covered with pearls and diamonds. These he
put on the tigers to make them beautiful, and he took them to the
king, and said to him, "May these tigers fight your demons for me?"
"Yes," said the king, who did not care in the least who killed his
demons, provided they were killed. "Then call your demons," said the
Raja's son, "and these tigers will fight them." The king did so, and
the tigers and the demons fought and fought until the tigers had
killed the demons.

"That is good," said the king. "But you must do something else before
I give you my daughter. Up in the sky I have a kettle-drum. You must
go and beat it. If you cannot do this, I will kill you."

The Raja's son thought of his little bed; so he went to the old
woman's house and sat on his bed. "Little bed," he said, "up in the
sky is the king's kettle-drum. I want to go to it." The bed flew up
with him, and the Raja's son beat the drum, and the king heard him.
Still, when he came down, the king would not give him his daughter.
"You have," he said to the prince, "done the three things I told you
to do; but you must do one thing more." "If I can, I will," said the
Raja's son.

Then the king showed him the trunk of a tree that was lying near his
court-house. It was a very, very thick trunk. He gave the prince a wax
hatchet, and said, "To-morrow morning you must cut this trunk in two
with this wax hatchet."

The Raja's son went back to the old woman's house. He was very sad,
and thought that now the Raja would certainly kill him. "I had his oil
crushed out by the ants," he said to himself. "I had his demons killed
by the tigers. My bed helped me to beat his kettle-drum. But now what
can I do? How can I cut that thick tree-trunk in two with a wax
hatchet?"

At night he went on his bed to see the princess. "To-morrow," he said
to her, "your father will kill me." "Why?" asked the princess.

"He has told me to cut a thick tree-trunk in two with a wax hatchet.
How can I ever do that?" said the Raja's son. "Do not be afraid," said
the princess; "do as I bid you, and you will cut it in two quite
easily."

Then she pulled out a hair from her head, and gave it to the prince.
"To-morrow," she said, "when no one is near you, you must say to the
tree-trunk, 'The Princess Labam commands you to let yourself be cut in
two by this hair.' Then stretch the hair down the edge of the wax
hatchet's blade."

The prince next day did exactly as the princess had told him; and the
minute the hair that was stretched down the edge of the hatchet-blade
touched the tree-trunk it split into two pieces.

The king said, "Now you can marry my daughter." Then the wedding took
place. All the Rajas and kings of the countries round were asked to
come to it, and there were great rejoicings. After a few days the
prince's son said to his wife, "Let us go to my father's country." The
Princess Labam's father gave them a quantity of camels and horses and
rupees and servants; and they travelled in great state to the prince's
country, where they lived happily.

The prince always kept his bag, bowl, bed, and stick; only, as no one
ever came to make war on him, he never needed to use the stick.




The Lambikin


Once upon a time there was a wee wee Lambikin, who frolicked about on
his little tottery legs, and enjoyed himself amazingly.

Now one day he set off to visit his Granny, and was jumping with joy
to think of all the good things he should get from her, when who
should he meet but a Jackal, who looked at the tender young morsel and
said: "Lambikin! Lambikin! I'll EAT YOU!"



But Lambikin only gave a little frisk and said:

    "To Granny's house I go,
    Where I shall fatter grow,
    Then you can eat me so."

The Jackal thought this reasonable, and let Lambikin pass.

By-and-by he met a Vulture, and the Vulture, looking hungrily at the
tender morsel before him, said: "Lambikin! Lambikin! I'll EAT YOU!"



But Lambikin only gave a little frisk, and said:

    "To Granny's house I go,
    Where I shall fatter grow,
    Then you can eat me so."

The Vulture thought this reasonable, and let Lambikin pass.

And by-and-by he met a Tiger, and then a Wolf, and a Dog, and an
Eagle, and all these, when they saw the tender little morsel, said:
"Lambikin! Lambikin! I'll EAT YOU!"



But to all of them Lambikin replied, with a little frisk:

    "To Granny's house I go,
    Where I shall fatter grow,
    Then you can eat me so."

At last he reached his Granny's house, and said, all in a great hurry,
"Granny, dear, I've promised to get very fat; so, as people ought to
keep their promises, please put me into the corn-bin _at once_."

So his Granny said he was a good boy, and put him into the corn-bin,
and there the greedy little Lambikin stayed for seven days, and ate,
and ate, and ate, until he could scarcely waddle, and his Granny said
he was fat enough for anything, and must go home. But cunning little
Lambikin said that would never do, for some animal would be sure to
eat him on the way back, he was so plump and tender.

"I'll tell you what you must do," said Master Lambikin, "you must make
a little drumikin out of the skin of my little brother who died, and
then I can sit inside and trundle along nicely, for I'm as tight as a
drum myself."



So his Granny made a nice little drumikin out of his brother's skin,
with the wool inside, and Lambikin curled himself up snug and warm in
the middle, and trundled away gaily. Soon he met with the Eagle, who
called out:

    "Drumikin! Drumikin!
    Have you seen Lambikin?"

And Mr. Lambikin, curled up in his soft warm nest, replied:

    "Fallen into the fire, and so will you
    On little Drumikin.  Tum-pa, tum-too!"

"How very annoying!" sighed the Eagle, thinking regretfully of the
tender morsel he had let slip.

Meanwhile Lambikin trundled along, laughing to himself, and singing:

    "Tum-pa, tum-too;
    Tum-pa, tum-too!"

Every animal and bird he met asked him the same question:

    "Drumikin! Drumikin!
    Have you seen Lambikin?"

And to each of them the little slyboots replied:

    "Fallen into the fire, and so will you
    On little Drumikin. Tum-pa, tum too;
    Tum-pa, tum-too; Tum-pa, tum-too!"

Then they all sighed to think of the tender little morsel they had let
slip.

At last the Jackal came limping along, for all his sorry looks as
sharp as a needle, and he too called out--

    "Drumikin! Drumikin!
    Have you seen Lambikin?"

And Lambikin, curled up in his snug little nest, replied gaily:

    "Fallen into the fire, and so will you
    On little Drumikin! Tum-pa----"

But he never got any further, for the Jackal recognised his voice at
once, and cried: "Hullo! you've turned yourself inside out, have you?
Just you come out of that!"

Whereupon he tore open Drumikin and gobbled up Lambikin.




Punchkin




Once upon a time there was a Raja who had seven beautiful daughters.
They were all good girls; but the youngest, named Balna, was more
clever than the rest. The Raja's wife died when they were quite little
children, so these seven poor Princesses were left with no mother to
take care of them.

The Raja's daughters took it by turns to cook their father's dinner
every day, whilst he was absent deliberating with his Ministers on the
affairs of the nation.

About this time the Prudhan died, leaving a widow and one daughter;
and every day, every day, when the seven Princesses were preparing
their father's dinner, the Prudhan's widow and daughter would come and
beg for a little fire from the hearth. Then Balna used to say to her
sisters, "Send that woman away; send her away. Let her get the fire at
her own house. What does she want with ours? If we allow her to come
here, we shall suffer for it some day."

But the other sisters would answer, "Be quiet, Balna; why must you
always be quarrelling with this poor woman? Let her take some fire if
she likes." Then the Prudhan's widow used to go to the hearth and take
a few sticks from it; and whilst no one was looking, she would quickly
throw some mud into the midst of the dishes which were being prepared
for the Raja's dinner.

Now the Raja was very fond of his daughters. Ever since their mother's
death they had cooked his dinner with their own hands, in order to
avoid the danger of his being poisoned by his enemies. So, when he
found the mud mixed up with his dinner, he thought it must arise from
their carelessness, as it did not seem likely that any one should have
put mud there on purpose; but being very kind he did not like to
reprove them for it, although this spoiling of the curry was repeated
many successive days.

At last, one day, he determined to hide, and watch his daughters
cooking, and see how it all happened; so he went into the next room,
and watched them through a hole in the wall.

There he saw his seven daughters carefully washing the rice and
preparing the curry, and as each dish was completed, they put it by
the fire ready to be cooked. Next he noticed the Prudhan's widow come
to the door, and beg for a few sticks from the fire to cook her
dinner with. Balna turned to her, angrily, and said, "Why don't you
keep fuel in your own house, and not come here every day and take
ours? Sisters, don't give this woman any more wood; let her buy it for
herself."

Then the eldest sister answered, "Balna, let the poor woman take the
wood and the fire; she does us no harm." But Balna replied, "If you
let her come here so often, maybe she will do us some harm, and make
us sorry for it, some day."

The Raja then saw the Prudhan's widow go to the place where all his
dinner was nicely prepared, and, as she took the wood, she threw a
little mud into each of the dishes.

At this he was very angry, and sent to have the woman seized and
brought before him. But when the widow came, she told him that she had
played this trick because she wanted to gain an audience with him; and
she spoke so cleverly, and pleased him so well with her cunning words,
that instead of punishing her, the Raja married her, and made her his
Ranee, and she and her daughter came to live in the palace.

Now the new Ranee hated the seven poor Princesses, and wanted to get
them, if possible, out of the way, in order that her daughter might
have all their riches, and live in the palace as Princess in their
place; and instead of being grateful to them for their kindness to
her, she did all she could to make them miserable. She gave them
nothing but bread to eat, and very little of that, and very little
water to drink; so these seven poor little Princesses, who had been
accustomed to have everything comfortable about them, and good food
and good clothes all their lives long, were very miserable and
unhappy; and they used to go out every day and sit by their dead
mother's tomb and cry--and say:

"Oh mother, mother, cannot you see your poor children, how unhappy we
are, and how we are starved by our cruel step-mother?"

One day, whilst they were thus sobbing and crying, lo and behold! a
beautiful pomelo tree grew up out of the grave, covered with fresh
ripe pomeloes, and the children satisfied their hunger by eating some
of the fruit, and every day after this, instead of trying to eat the
bad dinner their step-mother provided for them, they used to go out to
their mother's grave and eat the pomeloes which grew there on the
beautiful tree.

Then the Ranee said to her daughter, "I cannot tell how it is, every
day those seven girls say they don't want any dinner, and won't eat
any; and yet they never grow thin nor look ill; they look better than
you do. I cannot tell how it is." And she bade her watch the seven
Princesses, and see if any one gave them anything to eat.

So next day, when the Princesses went to their mother's grave, and
were eating the beautiful pomeloes, the Prudhan's daughter followed
them, and saw them gathering the fruit.

Then Balna said to her sisters, "Do you not see that girl watching us?
Let us drive her away, or hide the pomeloes, else she will go and tell
her mother all about it, and that will be very bad for us."

But the other sisters said, "Oh no, do not be unkind, Balna. The girl
would never be so cruel as to tell her mother. Let us rather invite
her to come and have some of the fruit." And calling her to them,
they gave her one of the pomeloes.

No sooner had she eaten it, however, than the Prudhan's daughter went
home and said to her mother, "I do not wonder the seven Princesses
will not eat the dinner you prepare for them, for by their mother's
grave there grows a beautiful pomelo tree, and they go there every day
and eat the pomeloes. I ate one, and it was the nicest I have ever
tasted."

The cruel Ranee was much vexed at hearing this, and all next day she
stayed in her room, and told the Raja that she had a very bad
headache. The Raja was deeply grieved, and said to his wife, "What can
I do for you?" She answered, "There is only one thing that will make
my headache well. By your dead wife's tomb there grows a fine pomelo
tree; you must bring that here, and boil it, root and branch, and put
a little of the water in which it has been boiled, on my forehead, and
that will cure my headache." So the Raja sent his servants, and had
the beautiful pomelo tree pulled up by the roots, and did as the Ranee
desired; and when some of the water, in which it had been boiled, was
put on her forehead, she said her headache was gone and she felt quite
well.

Next day, when the seven Princesses went as usual to the grave of
their mother, the pomelo tree had disappeared. Then they all began to
cry very bitterly.

Now there was by the Ranee's tomb a small tank, and as they were
crying they saw that the tank was filled with a rich cream-like
substance, which quickly hardened into a thick white cake. At seeing
this all the Princesses were very glad, and they ate some of the cake,
and liked it; and next day the same thing happened, and so it went on
for many days. Every morning the Princesses went to their mother's
grave, and found the little tank filled with the nourishing cream-like
cake. Then the cruel step-mother said to her daughter: "I cannot tell
how it is, I have had the pomelo tree which used to grow by the
Ranee's grave destroyed, and yet the Princesses grow no thinner, nor
look more sad, though they never eat the dinner I give them. I cannot
tell how it is!"

And her daughter said, "I will watch."

Next day, while the Princesses were eating the cream cake, who should
come by but their step-mother's daughter. Balna saw her first, and
said, "See, sisters, there comes that girl again. Let us sit round the
edge of the tank and not allow her to see it, for if we give her some
of our cake, she will go and tell her mother; and that will be very
unfortunate for us."

The other sisters, however, thought Balna unnecessarily suspicious,
and instead of following her advice, they gave the Prudhan's daughter
some of the cake, and she went home and told her mother all about it.

The Ranee, on hearing how well the Princesses fared, was exceedingly
angry, and sent her servants to pull down the dead Ranee's tomb, and
fill the little tank with the ruins. And not content with this, she
next day pretended to be very, very ill--in fact, at the point of
death--and when the Raja was much grieved, and asked her whether it
was in his power to procure her any remedy, she said to him: "Only one
thing can save my life, but I know you will not do it." He replied,
"Yes, whatever it is, I will do it." She then said, "To save my life,
you must kill the seven daughters of your first wife, and put some of
their blood on my forehead and on the palms of my hands, and their
death will be my life." At these words the Raja was very sorrowful;
but because he feared to break his word, he went out with a heavy
heart to find his daughters.

He found them crying by the ruins of their mother's grave.

Then, feeling he could not kill them, the Raja spoke kindly to them,
and told them to come out into the jungle with him; and there he made
a fire and cooked some rice, and gave it to them. But in the
afternoon, it being very hot, the seven Princesses all fell asleep,
and when he saw they were fast asleep, the Raja, their father, stole
away and left them (for he feared his wife), saying to himself: "It is
better my poor daughters should die here, than be killed by their
step-mother."

He then shot a deer, and returning home, put some of its blood on the
forehead and hands of the Ranee, and she thought then that he had
really killed the Princesses, and said she felt quite well.

Meantime the seven Princesses awoke, and when they found themselves
all alone in the thick jungle they were much frightened, and began to
call out as loud as they could, in hopes of making their father hear;
but he was by that time far away, and would not have been able to hear
them even had their voices been as loud as thunder.

It so happened that this very day the seven young sons of a
neighbouring Raja chanced to be hunting in that same jungle, and as
they were returning home, after the day's sport was over, the youngest
Prince said to his brothers: "Stop, I think I hear some one crying and
calling out. Do you not hear voices? Let us go in the direction of
the sound, and find out what it is."

So the seven Princes rode through the wood until they came to the
place where the seven Princesses sat crying and wringing their hands.
At the sight of them the young Princes were very much astonished, and
still more so on learning their story; and they settled that each
should take one of these poor forlorn ladies home with him, and marry
her.

So the first and eldest Prince took the eldest Princess home with him,
and married her.

And the second took the second;

And the third took the third;

And the fourth took the fourth;

And the fifth took the fifth;

And the sixth took the sixth;

And the seventh, and the handsomest of all, took the beautiful Balna.

And when they got to their own land, there was great rejoicing
throughout the kingdom, at the marriage of the seven young Princes to
seven such beautiful Princesses.

About a year after this Balna had a little son, and his uncles and
aunts were so fond of the boy that it was as if he had seven fathers
and seven mothers. None of the other Princes and Princesses had any
children, so the son of the seventh Prince and Balna was acknowledged
their heir by all the rest.

They had thus lived very happily for some time, when one fine day the
seventh Prince (Balna's husband) said he would go out hunting, and
away he went; and they waited long for him, but he never came back.

Then his six brothers said they would go and see what had become of
him; and they went away, but they also did not return.

And the seven Princesses grieved very much, for they feared that their
kind husbands must have been killed.

One day, not long after this had happened, as Balna was rocking her
baby's cradle, and whilst her sisters were working in the room below,
there came to the palace door a man in a long black dress, who said
that he was a Fakir, and came to beg. The servants said to him, "You
cannot go into the palace--the Raja's sons have all gone away; we
think they must be dead, and their widows cannot be interrupted by
your begging." But he said, "I am a holy man, you must let me in."
Then the stupid servants let him walk through the palace, but they did
not know that this was no Fakir, but a wicked Magician named Punchkin.

Punchkin Fakir wandered through the palace, and saw many beautiful
things there, till at last he reached the room where Balna sat singing
beside her little boy's cradle. The Magician thought her more
beautiful than all the other beautiful things he had seen, insomuch
that he asked her to go home with him and to marry him. But she said,
"My husband, I fear, is dead, but my little boy is still quite young;
I will stay here and teach him to grow up a clever man, and when he is
grown up he shall go out into the world, and try and learn tidings of
his father. Heaven forbid that I should ever leave him, or marry you."
At these words the Magician was very angry, and turned her into a
little black dog, and led her away; saying, "Since you will not come
with me of your own free will, I will make you." So the poor Princess
was dragged away, without any power of effecting an escape, or of
letting her sisters know what had become of her. As Punchkin passed
through the palace gate the servants said to him, "Where did you get
that pretty little dog?" And he answered, "One of the Princesses gave
it to me as a present." At hearing which they let him go without
further questioning.

Soon after this, the six elder Princesses heard the little baby, their
nephew, begin to cry, and when they went upstairs they were much
surprised to find him all alone, and Balna nowhere to be seen. Then
they questioned the servants, and when they heard of the Fakir and the
little black dog, they guessed what had happened, and sent in every
direction seeking them, but neither the Fakir nor the dog were to be
found. What could six poor women do? They gave up all hopes of ever
seeing their kind husbands, and their sister, and her husband, again,
and devoted themselves thenceforward to teaching and taking care of
their little nephew.

Thus time went on, till Balna's son was fourteen years old. Then, one
day, his aunts told him the history of the family; and no sooner did
he hear it, than he was seized with a great desire to go in search of
his father and mother and uncles, and if he could find them alive to
bring them home again. His aunts, on learning his determination, were
much alarmed and tried to dissuade him, saying, "We have lost our
husbands, and our sister and her husband, and you are now our sole
hope; if you go away, what shall we do?" But he replied, "I pray you
not to be discouraged; I will return soon, and if it is possible bring
my father and mother and uncles with me." So he set out on his
travels; but for some months he could learn nothing to help him in
his search.

At last, after he had journeyed many hundreds of weary miles, and
become almost hopeless of ever hearing anything further of his
parents, he one day came to a country that seemed full of stones, and
rocks, and trees, and there he saw a large palace with a high tower;
hard by which was a Malee's little house.

As he was looking about, the Malee's wife saw him, and ran out of the
house and said, "My dear boy, who are you that dare venture to this
dangerous place?" He answered, "I am a Raja's son, and I come in
search of my father, and my uncles, and my mother whom a wicked
enchanter bewitched."

Then the Malee's wife said, "This country and this palace belong to a
great enchanter; he is all powerful, and if any one displeases him, he
can turn them into stones and trees. All the rocks and trees you see
here were living people once, and the Magician turned them to what
they now are. Some time ago a Raja's son came here, and shortly
afterwards came his six brothers, and they were all turned into stones
and trees; and these are not the only unfortunate ones, for up in that
tower lives a beautiful Princess, whom the Magician has kept prisoner
there for twelve years, because she hates him and will not marry him."

Then the little Prince thought, "These must be my parents and my
uncles. I have found what I seek at last." So he told his story to the
Malee's wife, and begged her to help him to remain in that place
awhile and inquire further concerning the unhappy people she
mentioned; and she promised to befriend him, and advised his
disguising himself lest the Magician should see him, and turn him
likewise into stone. To this the Prince agreed. So the Malee's wife
dressed him up in a saree, and pretended that he was her daughter.

One day, not long after this, as the Magician was walking in his
garden he saw the little girl (as he thought) playing about, and asked
her who she was. She told him she was the Malee's daughter, and the
Magician said, "You are a pretty little girl, and to-morrow you shall
take a present of flowers from me to the beautiful lady who lives in
the tower."

The young Prince was much delighted at hearing this, and went
immediately to inform the Malee's wife; after consultation with whom
he determined that it would be more safe for him to retain his
disguise, and trust to the chance of a favourable opportunity for
establishing some communication with his mother, if it were indeed
she.

Now it happened that at Balna's marriage her husband had given her a
small gold ring on which her name was engraved, and she had put it on
her little son's finger when he was a baby, and afterwards when he was
older his aunts had had it enlarged for him, so that he was still able
to wear it. The Malee's wife advised him to fasten the well-known
treasure to one of the bouquets he presented to his mother, and trust
to her recognising it. This was not to be done without difficulty, as
such a strict watch was kept over the poor Princess (for fear of her
ever establishing communication with her friends), that though the
supposed Malee's daughter was permitted to take her flowers every day,
the Magician or one of his slaves was always in the room at the time.
At last one day, however, opportunity favoured him, and when no one
was looking, the boy tied the ring to a nosegay, and threw it at
Balna's feet. It fell with a clang on the floor, and Balna, looking to
see what made the strange sound, found the little ring tied to the
flowers. On recognising it, she at once believed the story her son
told her of his long search, and begged him to advise her as to what
she had better do; at the same time entreating him on no account to
endanger his life by trying to rescue her. She told him that for
twelve long years the Magician had kept her shut up in the tower
because she refused to marry him, and she was so closely guarded that
she saw no hope of release.

Now Balna's son was a bright, clever boy, so he said, "Do not fear,
dear mother; the first thing to do is to discover how far the
Magician's power extends, in order that we may be able to liberate my
father and uncles, whom he has imprisoned in the form of rocks and
trees. You have spoken to him angrily for twelve long years; now
rather speak kindly. Tell him you have given up all hopes of again
seeing the husband you have so long mourned, and say you are willing
to marry him. Then endeavour to find out what his power consists in,
and whether he is immortal, or can be put to death."

Balna determined to take her son's advice; and the next day sent for
Punchkin, and spoke to him as had been suggested.

The Magician, greatly delighted, begged her to allow the wedding to
take place as soon as possible.

But she told him that before she married him he must allow her a
little more time, in which she might make his acquaintance, and that,
after being enemies so long, their friendship could but strengthen by
degrees. "And do tell me," she said, "are you quite immortal? Can
death never touch you? And are you too great an enchanter ever to feel
human suffering?"

"Why do you ask?" said he.

"Because," she replied, "if I am to be your wife, I would fain know
all about you, in order, if any calamity threatens you, to overcome,
or if possible to avert it."

"It is true," he added, "that I am not as others. Far, far away,
hundreds of thousands of miles from this, there lies a desolate
country covered with thick jungle. In the midst of the jungle grows a
circle of palm trees, and in the centre of the circle stand six
chattees full of water, piled one above another: below the sixth
chattee is a small cage which contains a little green parrot; on the
life of the parrot depends my life; and if the parrot is killed I must
die. It is, however," he added, "impossible that the parrot should
sustain any injury, both on account of the inaccessibility of the
country, and because, by my appointment, many thousand genii surround
the palm trees, and kill all who approach the place."

Balna told her son what Punchkin had said; but at the same time
implored him to give up all idea of getting the parrot.

The Prince, however, replied, "Mother, unless I can get hold of that
parrot, you, and my father, and uncles, cannot be liberated: be not
afraid, I will shortly return. Do you, meantime, keep the Magician in
good humour--still putting off your marriage with him on various
pretexts; and before he finds out the cause of delay, I will be here."
So saying, he went away.

Many, many weary miles did he travel, till at last he came to a thick
jungle; and, being very tired, sat down under a tree and fell asleep.
He was awakened by a soft rustling sound, and looking about him, saw a
large serpent which was making its way to an eagle's nest built in the
tree under which he lay, and in the nest were two young eagles. The
Prince seeing the danger of the young birds, drew his sword, and
killed the serpent; at the same moment a rushing sound was heard in
the air, and the two old eagles, who had been out hunting for food for
their young ones, returned. They quickly saw the dead serpent and the
young Prince standing over it; and the old mother eagle said to him,
"Dear boy, for many years all our young ones have been devoured by
that cruel serpent; you have now saved the lives of our children;
whenever you are in need, therefore, send to us and we will help you;
and as for these little eagles, take them, and let them be your
servants."

At this the Prince was very glad, and the two eaglets crossed their
wings, on which he mounted; and they carried him far, far away over
the thick jungles, until he came to the place where grew the circle of
palm trees, in the midst of which stood the six chattees full of
water. It was the middle of the day, and the heat was very great. All
round the trees were the genii fast asleep; nevertheless, there were
such countless thousands of them, that it would have been quite
impossible for any one to walk through their ranks to the place; down
swooped the strong-winged eaglets--down jumped the Prince; in an
instant he had overthrown the six chattees full of water, and seized
the little green parrot, which he rolled up in his cloak; while, as
he mounted again into the air, all the genii below awoke, and finding
their treasure gone, set up a wild and melancholy howl.

Away, away flew the little eagles, till they came to their home in the
great tree; then the Prince said to the old eagles, "Take back your
little ones; they have done me good service; if ever again I stand in
need of help, I will not fail to come to you." He then continued his
journey on foot till he arrived once more at the Magician's palace,
where he sat down at the door and began playing with the parrot.
Punchkin saw him, and came to him quickly, and said, "My boy, where
did you get that parrot? Give it to me, I pray you."

But the Prince answered, "Oh no, I cannot give away my parrot, it is a
great pet of mine; I have had it many years."

Then the Magician said, "If it is an old favourite, I can understand
your not caring to give it away; but come what will you sell it for?"

"Sir," replied the Prince, "I will not sell my parrot."

Then Punchkin got frightened, and said, "Anything, anything; name what
price you will, and it shall be yours." The Prince answered, "Let the
seven Raja's sons whom you turned into rocks and trees be instantly
liberated."

"It is done as you desire," said the Magician, "only give me my
parrot." And with that, by a stroke of his wand, Balna's husband and
his brothers resumed their natural shapes. "Now, give me my parrot,"
repeated Punchkin.

"Not so fast, my master," rejoined the Prince; "I must first
beg that you will restore to life all whom you have thus imprisoned."



The Magician immediately waved his wand again; and, whilst he cried,
in an imploring voice, "Give me my parrot!" the whole garden became
suddenly alive: where rocks, and stones, and trees had been before,
stood Rajas, and Punts, and Sirdars, and mighty men on prancing
horses, and jewelled pages, and troops of armed attendants.

"Give me my parrot!" cried Punchkin. Then the boy took hold of the
parrot, and tore off one of its wings; and as he did so the Magician's
right arm fell off.

Punchkin then stretched out his left arm, crying, "Give me my parrot!"
The Prince pulled off the parrot's second wing, and the Magician's
left arm tumbled off.

"Give me my parrot!" cried he, and fell on his knees. The Prince
pulled off the parrot's right leg, the Magician's right leg fell off:
the Prince pulled off the parrot's left leg, down fell the Magician's
left.

Nothing remained of him save the limbless body and the head; but still
he rolled his eyes, and cried, "Give me my parrot!" "Take your parrot,
then," cried the boy, and with that he wrung the bird's neck, and
threw it at the Magician; and, as he did so, Punchkin's head twisted
round, and, with a fearful groan, he died!

Then they let Balna out of the tower; and she, her son, and the seven
Princes went to their own country, and lived very happily ever
afterwards. And as to the rest of the world, every one went to his own
house.




The Broken Pot


There lived in a certain place a Brahman, whose name was
Svabhavak_ri_pa_n_a, which means "a born miser." He had collected a
quantity of rice by begging, and after having dined off it, he filled
a pot with what was left over. He hung the pot on a peg on the wall,
placed his couch beneath, and looking intently at it all the night, he
thought, "Ah, that pot is indeed brimful of rice. Now, if there should
be a famine, I should certainly make a hundred rupees by it. With this
I shall buy a couple of goats. They will have young ones every six
months, and thus I shall have a whole herd of goats. Then, with the
goats, I shall buy cows. As soon as they have calved, I shall sell the
calves. Then, with the calves, I shall buy buffaloes; with the
buffaloes, mares. When the mares have foaled, I shall have plenty of
horses; and when I sell them, plenty of gold. With that gold I shall
get a house with four wings. And then a Brahman will come to my house,
and will give me his beautiful daughter, with a large dowry. She will
have a son, and I shall call him Somasarman.



When he is old enough to be danced on his father's knee, I shall sit
with a book at the back of the stable, and while I am reading, the boy
will see me, jump from his mother's lap, and run towards me to be
danced on my knee. He will come too near the horse's hoof, and, full
of anger, I shall call to my wife, 'Take the baby; take him!' But she,
distracted by some domestic work, does not hear me. Then I get up, and
give her such a kick with my foot." While he thought this, he gave a
kick with his foot, and broke the pot. All the rice fell over him, and
made him quite white. Therefore, I say, "He who makes foolish plans
for the future will be white all over, like the father of
Somasarman."




The Magic Fiddle


Once upon a time there lived seven brothers and a sister. The brothers
were married, but their wives did not do the cooking for the family.
It was done by their sister, who stopped at home to cook. The wives
for this reason bore their sister-in-law much ill-will, and at length
they combined together to oust her from the office of cook and general
provider, so that one of themselves might obtain it. They said, "She
does not go out to the fields to work, but remains quietly at home,
and yet she has not the meals ready at the proper time." They then
called upon their Bonga, and vowing vows unto him they secured his
good-will and assistance; then they said to the Bonga, "At midday when
our sister-in-law goes to bring water, cause it thus to happen, that
on seeing her pitcher the water shall vanish, and again slowly
re-appear. In this way she will be delayed. Let the water not flow
into her pitcher, and you may keep the maiden as your own."

At noon when she went to bring water, it suddenly dried up before her,
and she began to weep. Then after a while the water began slowly to
rise. When it reached her ankles she tried to fill her pitcher, but it
would not go under the water. Being frightened she began to wail and
cry to her brother:



    "Oh! my brother, the water reaches to my ankles,
    Still, Oh! my brother, the pitcher will not dip."

The water continued to rise until it reached her knee, when she began
to wail again:

    "Oh! my brother, the water reaches to my knee,
    Still, Oh! my brother, the pitcher will not dip."

The water continued to rise, and when it reached her waist, she cried
again:

    "Oh! my brother, the water reaches to my waist,
    Still, Oh! my brother, the pitcher will not dip."

The water still rose, and when it reached her neck she kept on crying:

    "Oh! my brother, the water reaches to my neck,
    Still, Oh! my brother, the pitcher will not dip."

At length the water became so deep that she felt herself drowning,
then she cried aloud:

    "Oh! my brother, the water measures a man's height,
    Oh! my brother, the pitcher begins to fill."

The pitcher filled with water, and along with it she sank and was
drowned. The Bonga then transformed her into a Bonga like himself, and
carried her off.

After a time she re-appeared as a bamboo growing on the embankment of
the tank in which she had been drowned. When the bamboo had grown to
an immense size, a Jogi, who was in the habit of passing that way,
seeing it, said to himself, "This will make a splendid fiddle." So one
day he brought an axe to cut it down; but when he was about to begin,
the bamboo called out, "Do not cut at the root, cut higher up." When
he lifted his axe to cut high up the stem, the bamboo cried out, "Do
not cut near the top, cut at the root." When the Jogi again prepared
himself to cut at the root as requested, the bamboo said, "Do not cut
at the root, cut higher up;" and when he was about to cut higher up,
it again called out to him, "Do not cut high up, cut at the root." The
Jogi by this time felt sure that a Bonga was trying to frighten him,
so becoming angry he cut down the bamboo at the root, and taking it
away made a fiddle out of it. The instrument had a superior tone and
delighted all who heard it. The Jogi carried it with him when he went
a-begging, and through the influence of its sweet music he returned
home every evening with a full wallet.

He now and then visited, when on his rounds, the house of the Bonga
girl's brothers, and the strains of the fiddle affected them greatly.
Some of them were moved even to tears, for the fiddle seemed to wail
as one in bitter anguish. The elder brother wished to purchase it, and
offered to support the Jogi for a whole year if he would consent to
part with his wonderful instrument. The Jogi, however, knew its value,
and refused to sell it.

It so happened that the Jogi some time after went to the house of a
village chief, and after playing a tune or two on his fiddle asked for
something to eat. They offered to buy his fiddle and promised a high
price for it, but he refused to sell it, as his fiddle brought to him
his means of livelihood. When they saw that he was not to be prevailed
upon, they gave him food and a plentiful supply of liquor. Of the
latter he drank so freely that he presently became intoxicated. While
he was in this condition, they took away his fiddle, and substituted
their own old one for it. When the Jogi recovered, he missed his
instrument, and suspecting that it had been stolen asked them to
return it to him. They denied having taken it, so he had to depart,
leaving his fiddle behind him. The chief's son, being a musician, used
to play on the Jogi's fiddle, and in his hands the music it gave forth
delighted the ears of all who heard it.

When all the household were absent at their labours in the fields, the
Bonga girl used to come out of the bamboo fiddle, and prepared the
family meal. Having eaten her own share, she placed that of the
chief's son under his bed, and covering it up to keep off the dust,
re-entered the fiddle. This happening every day, the other members of
the household thought that some girl friend of theirs was in this
manner showing her interest in the young man, so they did not trouble
themselves to find out how it came about. The young chief, however,
was determined to watch, and see which of his girl friends was so
attentive to his comfort. He said in his own mind, "I will catch her
to-day, and give her a sound beating; she is causing me to be ashamed
before the others." So saying, he hid himself in a corner in a pile of
firewood. In a short time the girl came out of the bamboo fiddle, and
began to dress her hair. Having completed her toilet, she cooked the
meal of rice as usual, and having eaten some herself, she placed the
young man's portion under his bed, as before, and was about to enter
the fiddle again, when he, running out from his hiding-place, caught
her in his arms. The Bonga girl exclaimed, "Fie! Fie! you may be a
Dom, or you may be a Hadi of some other caste with whom I cannot
marry." He said, "No. But from to-day, you and I are one." So they
began lovingly to hold converse with each other. When the others
returned home in the evening, they saw that she was both a human being
and a Bonga, and they rejoiced exceedingly.

Now in course of time the Bonga girl's family became very poor, and
her brothers on one occasion came to the chief's house on a visit.

The Bonga girl recognised them at once, but they did not know who she
was. She brought them water on their arrival, and afterwards set
cooked rice before them. Then sitting down near them, she began in
wailing tones to upbraid them on account of the treatment she had been
subjected to by their wives. She related all that had befallen her,
and wound up by saying, "You must have known it all, and yet you did
not interfere to save me." And that was all the revenge she took.






The Cruel Crane Outwitted




Long ago the Bodisat was born to a forest life as the Genius of a tree
standing near a certain lotus pond.

Now at that time the water used to run short at the dry season in a
certain pond, not over large, in which there were a good many fish.
And a crane thought on seeing the fish:

"I must outwit these fish somehow or other and make a prey of them."

And he went and sat down at the edge of the water, thinking how he
should do it.

When the fish saw him, they asked him, "What are you sitting there
for, lost in thought?"

"I am sitting thinking about you," said he.

"Oh, sir! what are you thinking about us?" said they.

"Why," he replied; "there is very little water in this pond, and but
little for you to eat; and the heat is so great! So I was thinking,
'What in the world will these fish do now?'"

"Yes, indeed, sir! what _are_ we to do?" said they.

"If you will only do as I bid you, I will take you in my beak to a
fine large pond, covered with all the kinds of lotuses, and put you
into it," answered the crane.

"That a crane should take thought for the fishes is a thing unheard
of, sir, since the world began. It's eating us, one after the other,
that you're aiming at."

"Not I! So long as you trust me, I won't eat you. But if you don't
believe me that there is such a pond, send one of you with me to go
and see it."

Then they trusted him, and handed over to him one of their number--a
big fellow, blind of one eye, whom they thought sharp enough in any
emergency, afloat or ashore.

Him the crane took with him, let him go in the pond, showed him the
whole of it, brought him back, and let him go again close to the other
fish. And he told them all the glories of the pond.

And when they heard what he said, they exclaimed, "All right, sir! You
may take us with you."

Then the crane took the old purblind fish first to the bank of the
other pond, and alighted in a Varana-tree growing on the bank there.
But he threw it into a fork of the tree, struck it with his beak, and
killed it; and then ate its flesh, and threw its bones away at the
foot of the tree. Then he went back and called out:

"I've thrown that fish in; let another one come."

And in that manner he took all the fish, one by one, and ate them,
till he came back and found no more!

But there was still a crab left behind there; and the crane thought he
would eat him too, and called out:

"I say, good crab, I've taken all the fish away, and put them into a
fine large pond. Come along. I'll take you too!"

"But how will you take hold of me to carry me along?"

"I'll bite hold of you with my beak."

"You'll let me fall if you carry me like that. I won't go with you!"

"Don't be afraid! I'll hold you quite tight all the way."

Then said the crab to himself, "If this fellow once got hold of fish,
he would never let them go in a pond! Now if he should really put me
into the pond, it would be capital; but if he doesn't--then I'll cut
his throat, and kill him!" So he said to him:

"Look here, friend, you won't be able to hold me tight enough; but we
crabs have a famous grip. If you let me catch hold of you round the
neck with my claws, I shall be glad to go with you."

And the other did not see that he was trying to outwit him, and
agreed. So the crab caught hold of his neck with his claws as securely
as with a pair of blacksmith's pincers, and called out, "Off with you,
now!"

And the crane took him and showed him the pond, and then turned off
towards the Varana-tree.

"Uncle!" cried the crab, "the pond lies that way, but you are taking
me this way!"

"Oh, that's it, is it?" answered the crane. "Your dear little uncle,
your very sweet nephew, you call me! You mean me to understand, I
suppose, that I am your slave, who has to lift you up and carry you
about with him! Now cast your eye upon the heap of fish-bones lying at
the root of yonder Varana-tree. Just as I have eaten those fish, every
one of them, just so I will devour you as well!"

"Ah! those fishes got eaten through their own stupidity," answered the
crab; "but I'm not going to let you eat _me_. On the contrary, is it
_you_ that I am going to destroy. For you in your folly have not seen
that I was outwitting you. If we die, we die both together; for I will
cut off this head of yours, and cast it to the ground!" And so saying,
he gave the crane's neck a grip with his claws, as with a vice.

Then gasping, and with tears trickling from his eyes, and trembling
with the fear of death, the crane beseeched him, saying, "O my Lord!
Indeed I did not intend to eat you. Grant me my life!"

"Well, well! step down into the pond, and put me in there."

And he turned round and stepped down into the pond, and placed the
crab on the mud at its edge. But the crab cut through its neck as
clean as one would cut a lotus-stalk with a hunting-knife, and then
only entered the water!

When the Genius who lived in the Varana-tree saw this strange affair,
he made the wood resound with his plaudits, uttering in a pleasant
voice the verse:

    "The villain, though exceeding clever,
    Shall prosper not by his villainy.
    He may win indeed, sharp-witted in deceit,
    But only as the Crane here from the Crab!"






Loving Laili


Once there was a king called King Dantal, who had a great many rupees
and soldiers and horses. He had also an only son called Prince Majnun,
who was a handsome boy with white teeth, red lips, blue eyes, red
cheeks, red hair, and a white skin. This boy was very fond of playing
with the Wazir's son, Husain Mahamat, in King Dantal's garden, which
was very large and full of delicious fruits, and flowers, and trees.
They used to take their little knives there and cut the fruits and eat
them. King Dantal had a teacher for them to teach them to read and
write.

One day, when they were grown two fine young men, Prince Majnun said
to his father, "Husain Mahamat and I should like to go and hunt." His
father said they might go, so they got ready their horses and all else
they wanted for their hunting, and went to the Phalana country,
hunting all the way, but they only founds jackals and birds.

The Raja of the Phalana country was called Munsuk Raja, and he had a
daughter named Laili, who was very beautiful; she had brown eyes and
black hair.

One night, some time before Prince Majnun came to her father's
kingdom, as she slept, Khuda sent to her an angel in the form of a man
who told her that she should marry Prince Majnun and no one else, and
that this was Khuda's command to her. When Laili woke she told her
father of the angel's visit to her as she slept; but her father paid
no attention to her story. From that time she began repeating,
"Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun," and would say nothing else. Even as
she sat and ate her food she kept saying, "Majnun, Majnun; I want
Majnun." Her father used to get quite vexed with her. "Who is this
Majnun? who ever heard of this Majnun?" he would say.

"He is the man I am to marry," said Laili. "Khuda has ordered me to
marry no one but Majnun." And she was half mad.

Meanwhile, Majnun and Husain Mahamat came to hunt in the Phalana
country; and as they were riding about, Laili came out on her horse to
eat the air, and rode behind them. All the time she kept saying,
"Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun." The prince heard her, and turned
round. "Who is calling me?" he asked. At this Laili looked at him, and
the moment she saw him she fell deeply in love with him, and she said
to herself, "I am sure that is the Prince Majnun that Khuda says I am
to marry." And she went home to her father and said, "Father, I wish
to marry the prince who has come to your kingdom; for I know he is the
Prince Majnun I am to marry."

"Very well, you shall have him for your husband," said Munsuk Raja.
"We will ask him to-morrow." Laili consented to wait, although she was
very impatient. As it happened, the prince left the Phalana kingdom
that night, and when Laili heard he was gone, she went quite mad. She
would not listen to a word her father, or her mother, or her servants
said to her, but went off into the jungle, and wandered from jungle to
jungle, till she got farther and farther away from her own country.
All the time she kept saying, "Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun;" and so
she wandered about for twelve years.

At the end of the twelve years she met a fakir--he was really an
angel, but she did not know this--who asked her, "Why do you always
say, 'Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun'?" She answered, "I am the
daughter of the king of the Phalana country, and I want to find Prince
Majnun; tell me where his kingdom is."

"I think you will never get there," said the fakir, "for it is very
far from hence, and you have to cross many rivers to reach it." But
Laili said she did not care; she must see Prince Majnun. "Well," said
the fakir, "when you come to the Bhagirathi river you will see a big
fish, a Rohu; and you must get him to carry you to Prince Majnun's
country, or you will never reach it."

She went on and on, and at last she came to the Bhagirathi river.
There was a great big fish called the Rohu fish. It was yawning just
as she got up to it, and she instantly jumped down its throat into its
stomach. All the time she kept saying, "Majnun, Majnun." At this the
Rohu fish was greatly alarmed and swam down the river as fast as he
could. By degrees he got tired and went slower, and a crow came and
perched on his back, and said "Caw, caw." "Oh, Mr. Crow," said the
poor fish "do see what is in my stomach that makes such a noise."

"Very well," said the crow, "open your mouth wide, and I'll fly down
and see." So the Rohu opened his jaws and the crow flew down, but he
came up again very quickly. "You have a Rakshas in your stomach," said
the crow, and he flew away. This news did not comfort the poor Rohu,
and he swam on and on till he came to Prince Majnun's country. There
he stopped. And a jackal came down to the river to drink. "Oh,
jackal," said the Rohu, "do tell me what I have inside me."



"How can I tell?" said the jackal. "I cannot see unless I go inside
you." So the Rohu opened his mouth wide, and the jackal jumped down
his throat; but he came up very quickly, looking much frightened and
saying, "You have a Rakshas in your stomach, and if I don't run away
quickly, I am afraid it will eat me." So off he ran. After the jackal
came an enormous snake. "Oh," says the fish, "do tell me what I have
in my stomach, for it rattles about so, and keeps saying, 'Majnun,
Majnun; I want Majnun.'"

The snake said, "Open your mouth wide, and I'll go down and see what
it is." The snake went down: when he returned he said, "You have a
Rakshas in your stomach, but if you will let me cut you open, it will
come out of you." "If you do that, I shall die," said the Rohu. "Oh,
no," said the snake, "you will not, for I will give you a medicine
that will make you quite well again." So the fish agreed, and the
snake got a knife and cut him open, and out jumped Laili.

She was now very old. Twelve years she had wandered about the jungle,
and for twelve years she had lived inside her Rohu; and she was no
longer beautiful, and had lost her teeth. The snake took her on his
back and carried her into the country, and there he put her down, and
she wandered on and on till she got to Majnun's court-house, where
King Majnun was sitting. There some men heard her crying, "Majnun,
Majnun; I want Majnun," and they asked her what she wanted. "I want
King Majnun," she said.

So they went in and said to Prince Majnun, "An old woman outside says
she wants you." "I cannot leave this place," said he; "send her in
here." They brought her in and the prince asked her what she wanted.
"I want to marry you," she answered. "Twenty-four years ago you came
to my father the Phalana Raja's country, and I wanted to marry you
then; but you went away without marrying me. Then I went mad, and I
have wandered about all these years looking for you." Prince Majnun
said, "Very good."

"Pray to Khuda," said Laili, "to make us both young again, and then we
shall be married." So the prince prayed to Khuda, and Khuda said to
him, "Touch Laili's clothes and they will catch fire, and when they
are on fire, she and you will become young again." When he touched
Laili's clothes they caught fire, and she and he became young again.
And there were great feasts, and they were married, and travelled to
the Phalana country to see her father and mother.

Now Laili's father and mother had wept so much for their daughter that
they had become quite blind, and her father kept always repeating,
"Laili, Laili, Laili." When Laili saw their blindness, she prayed to
Khuda to restore their sight to them, which he did. As soon as the
father and mother saw Laili, they hugged her and kissed her, and then
they had the wedding all over again amid great rejoicings. Prince
Majnun and Laili stayed with Munsuk Raja and his wife for three years,
and then they returned to King Dantal, and lived happily for some time
with him.

They used to go out hunting, and they often went from country to
country to eat the air and amuse themselves.

One day Prince Majnun said to Laili, "Let us go through this jungle."
"No, no," said Laili; "if we go through this jungle, some harm will
happen to me." But Prince Majnun laughed, and went into the jungle.
And as they were going through it, Khuda thought, "I should like to
know how much Prince Majnun loves his wife. Would he be very sorry if
she died? And would he marry another wife? I will see." So he sent one
of his angels in the form of a fakir into the jungle; and the angel
went up to Laili, and threw some powder in her face, and instantly she
fell to the ground a heap of ashes.

Prince Majnun was in great sorrow and grief when he saw his dear Laili
turned into a little heap of ashes; and he went straight home to his
father, and for a long, long time he would not be comforted. After a
great many years he grew more cheerful and happy, and began to go
again into his father's beautiful garden with Husain Mahamat. King
Dantal wished his son to marry again. "I will only have Laili for my
wife; I will not marry any other woman," said Prince Majnun.

"How can you marry Laili? Laili is dead. She will never come back to
you," said the father.

"Then I'll not have any wife at all," said Prince Majnun.

Meanwhile Laili was living in the jungle where her husband had left
her a little heap of ashes. As soon as Majnun had gone, the fakir had
taken her ashes and made them quite clean, and then he had mixed clay
and water with the ashes, and made the figure of a woman with them,
and so Laili regained her human form, and Khuda sent life into it. But
Laili had become once more a hideous old woman, with a long, long
nose, and teeth like tusks; just such an old woman, excepting her
teeth, as she had been when she came out of the Rohu fish; and she
lived in the jungle, and neither ate nor drank, and she kept on
saying, "Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun."

At last the angel who had come as a fakir and thrown the powder at
her, said to Khuda, "Of what use is it that this woman should sit in
the jungle crying, crying for ever, 'Majnun, Majnun; I want Majnun,'
and eating and drinking nothing? Let me take her to Prince Majnun."
"Well," said Khuda, "you may do so; but tell her that she must not
speak to Majnun if he is afraid of her when he sees her; and that if
he is afraid when he sees her, she will become a little white dog the
next day. Then she must go to the palace, and she will only regain her
human shape when Prince Majnun loves her, feeds her with his own food,
and lets her sleep in his bed."

So the angel came to Laili again as a fakir and carried her to King
Dantal's garden. "Now," he said, "it is Khuda's command that you stay
here till Prince Majnun comes to walk in the garden, and then you may
show yourself to him. But you must not speak to him, if he is afraid
of you; and should he be afraid of you, you will the next day become a
little white dog." He then told her what she must do as a little dog
to regain her human form.

Laili stayed in the garden, hidden in the tall grass, till Prince
Majnun and Husain Mahamat came to walk in the garden. King Dantal was
now a very old man, and Husain Mahamat, though he was really only as
old as Prince Majnun, looked a great deal older than the prince, who
had been made quite young again when he married Laili.

As Prince Majnun and the Wazir's son walked in the garden, they
gathered the fruit as they had done as little children, only they bit
the fruit with their teeth; they did not cut it. While Majnun was busy
eating a fruit in this way, and was talking to Husain Mahamat, he
turned towards him and saw Laili walking behind the Wazir's son. "Oh,
look, look!" he cried, "see what is following you; it is a Rakshas or
a demon, and I am sure it is going to eat us." Laili looked at him
beseechingly with all her eyes, and trembled with age and eagerness;
but this only frightened Majnun the more. "It is a Rakshas, a
Rakshas!" he cried, and he ran quickly to the palace with the Wazir's
son; and as they ran away, Laili disappeared into the jungle. They ran
to King Dantal, and Majnun told him there was a Rakshas or a demon in
the garden that had come to eat them.

"What nonsense," said his father. "Fancy two grown men being so
frightened by an old ayah or a fakir! And if it had been a Rakshas, it
would not have eaten you." Indeed King Dantal did not believe Majnun
had seen anything at all, till Husain Mahamat said the prince was
speaking the exact truth. They had the garden searched for the
terrible old woman, but found nothing, and King Dantal told his son he
was very silly to be so much frightened. However, Prince Majnun would
not walk in the garden any more.

The next day Laili turned into a pretty little dog; and in this shape
she came into the palace, where Prince Majnun soon became very fond of
her. She followed him everywhere, went with him when he was out
hunting, and helped him to catch his game, and Prince Majnun fed her
with milk, or bread, or anything else he was eating, and at night the
little dog slept in his bed.

But one night the little dog disappeared, and in its stead there lay
the little old woman who had frightened him so much in the garden; and
now Prince Majnun was quite sure she was a Rakshas, or a demon, or
some such horrible thing come to eat him; and in his terror he cried
out, "What do you want? Oh, do not eat me; do not eat me!" Poor Laili
answered, "Don't you know me? I am your wife Laili, and I want to
marry you. Don't you remember how you would go through that jungle,
though I begged and begged you not to go, for I told you that harm
would happen to me, and then a fakir came and threw powder in my face,
and I became a heap of ashes. But Khuda gave me my life again, and
brought me here, after I had stayed a long, long while in the jungle
crying for you, and now I am obliged to be a little dog; but if you
will marry me, I shall not be a little dog any more." Majnun, however,
said "How can I marry an old woman like you? how can you be Laili? I
am sure you are a Rakshas or a demon come to eat me," and he was in
great terror.

In the morning the old woman had turned into the little dog, and the
prince went to his father and told him all that had happened. "An old
woman! an old woman! always an old woman!" said his father. "You do
nothing but think of old women. How can a strong man like you be so
easily frightened?" However, when he saw that his son was really in
great terror, and that he really believed the old woman would came
back at night, he advised him to say to her, "I will marry you if you
can make yourself a young girl again. How can I marry such an old
woman as you are?"

That night as he lay trembling in bed the little old woman lay there
in place of the dog, crying "Majnun, Majnun, I want to marry you. I
have loved you all these long, long years. When I was in my father's
kingdom a young girl, I knew of you, though you knew nothing of me,
and we should have been married then if you had not gone away so
suddenly, and for long, long years I followed you." "Well," said
Majnun, "if you can make yourself a young girl again, I will marry
you."

Laili said, "Oh, that is quite easy. Khuda will make me a young girl
again. In two days' time you must go into the garden, and there you
will see a beautiful fruit. You must gather it and bring it into your
room and cut it open yourself very gently, and you must not open it
when your father or anybody else is with you, but when you are quite
alone; for I shall be in the fruit quite naked, without any clothes at
all on." In the morning Laili took her little dog's form, and
disappeared in the garden.

Prince Majnun told all this to his father, who told him to do all the
old woman had bidden him. In two days' time he and the Wazir's son
walked in the garden, and there they saw a large, lovely red fruit.
"Oh!" said the Prince, "I wonder shall I find my wife in that fruit."
Husain Mahamat wanted him to gather it and see, but he would not till
he had told his father, who said, "That must be the fruit; go and
gather it." So Majnun went back and broke the fruit off its stalk; and
he said to his father, "Come with me to my room while I open it; I am
afraid to open it alone, for perhaps I shall find a Rakshas in it that
will eat me."

"No," said King Dantal; "remember, Laili will be naked; you must go
alone and do not be afraid if, after all, a Rakshas is in the fruit,
for I will stay outside the door, and you have only to call me with a
loud voice, and I will come to you, so the Rakshas will not be able to
eat you."

Then Majnun took the fruit and began to cut it open tremblingly, for
he shook with fear; and when he had cut it, out stepped Laili, young
and far more beautiful than she had ever been. At the sight of her
extreme beauty, Majnun fell backwards fainting on the floor.

Laili took off his turban and wound it all round herself like a sari
(for she had no clothes at all on), and then she called King Dantal,
and said to him sadly, "Why has Majnun fallen down like this? Why will
he not speak to me? He never used to be afraid of me; and he has seen
me so many, many times."

King Dantal answered, "It is because you are so beautiful. You are
far, far more beautiful than you ever were. But he will be very happy
directly." Then the King got some water, and they bathed Majnun's face
and gave him some to drink, and he sat up again.

Then Laili said, "Why did you faint? Did you not see I am Laili?"

"Oh!" said Prince Majnun, "I see you are Laili come back to me, but
your eyes have grown so wonderfully beautiful, that I fainted when I
saw them." Then they were all very happy, and King Dantal had all the
drums in the place beaten, and had all the musical instruments played
on, and they made a grand wedding-feast, and gave presents to the
servants, and rice and quantities of rupees to the fakirs.

After some time had passed very happily, Prince Majnun and his wife
went out to eat the air. They rode on the same horse, and had only a
groom with them. They came to another kingdom, to a beautiful garden.
"We must go into that garden and see it," said Majnun.

"No, no," said Laili; "it belongs to a bad Raja, Chumman Basa, a very
wicked man." But Majnun insisted on going in, and in spite of all
Laili could say, he got off the horse to look at the flowers. Now, as
he was looking at the flowers, Laili saw Chumman Basa coming towards
them, and she read in his eyes that he meant to kill her husband and
seize her. So she said to Majnun, "Come, come, let us go; do not go
near that bad man. I see in his eyes, and I feel in my heart, that he
will kill you to seize me."

"What nonsense," said Majnun. "I believe he is a very good Raja.
Anyhow, I am so near to him that I could not get away."

"Well," said Laili, "it is better that you should be killed than I,
for if I were to be killed a second time, Khuda would not give me my
life again; but I can bring you to life if you are killed." Now
Chumman Basa had come quite near, and seemed very pleasant, so thought
Prince Majnun; but when he was speaking to Majnun, he drew his
scimitar and cut off the prince's head at one blow.

Laili sat quite still on her horse, and as the Raja came towards her
she said, "Why did you kill my husband?"

"Because I want to take you," he answered.

"You cannot," said Laili.

"Yes, I can," said the Raja.

"Take me, then," said Laili to Chumman Basa; so he came quite close
and put out his hand to take hers to lift her off her horse. But she
put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a tiny knife, only as long
as her hand was broad, and this knife unfolded itself in one instant
till it was such a length! and then Laili made a great sweep with her
arm and her long, long knife, and off came Chumman Basa's head at one
touch.

Then Laili slipped down off her horse, and she went to Majnun's dead
body, and she cut her little finger inside her hand straight down from
the top of her nail to her palm, and out of this gushed blood like
healing medicine. Then she put Majnun's head on his shoulders, and
smeared her healing blood all over the wound, and Majnun woke up and
said, "What a delightful sleep I have had! Why, I feel as if I had
slept for years!" Then he got up and saw the Raja's dead body by
Laili's horse.

"What's that?" said Majnun.

"That is the wicked Raja who killed you to seize me, just as I said he
would."

"Who killed him?" asked Majnun.

"I did," answered Laili, "and it was I who brought you to life."

"Do bring the poor man to life if you know how to do so," said Majnun.

"No," said Laili, "for he is a wicked man, and will try to do you
harm." But Majnun asked her for such a long time, and so earnestly to
bring the wicked Raja to life, that at least she said, "Jump up on the
horse, then, and go far away with the groom."

"What will you do," said Majnun, "if I leave you? I cannot leave you."

"I will take care of myself," said Laili; "but this man is so wicked,
he may kill you again if you are near him." So Majnun got up on the
horse, and he and the groom went a long way off and waited for Laili.
Then she set the wicked Raja's head straight on his shoulders, and
she squeezed the wound in her finger till a little blood-medicine
came out of it. Then she smeared this over the place where her knife
had passed, and just as she saw the Raja opening his eyes, she began
to run, and she ran, and ran so fast, that she outran the Raja, who
tried to catch her; and she sprang up on the horse behind her husband,
and they rode so fast, so fast, till they reached King Dantal's
palace.



There Prince Majnun told everything to his father, who was horrified
and angry. "How lucky for you that you have such a wife," he said.
"Why did you not do what she told you? But for her, you would be now
dead." Then he made a great feast out of gratitude for his son's
safety, and gave many, many rupees to the fakirs. And he made so much
of Laili. He loved her dearly; he could not do enough for her. Then he
built a splendid palace for her and his son, with a great deal of
ground about it, and lovely gardens, and gave them great wealth, and
heaps of servants to wait on them. But he would not allow any but
their servants to enter their gardens and palace, and he would not
allow Majnun to go out of them, nor Laili; "for," said King Dantal,
"Laili is so beautiful, that perhaps some one may kill my son to take
her away."




The Tiger, the Brahman, and the Jackal




Once upon a time, a tiger was caught in a trap. He tried in vain to
get out through the bars, and rolled and bit with rage and grief when
he failed.

By chance a poor Brahman came by. "Let me out of this cage, oh pious
one!" cried the tiger.

"Nay, my friend," replied the Brahman mildly, "you would probably eat
me if I did."

"Not at all!" swore the tiger with many oaths; "on the contrary, I
should be for ever grateful, and serve you as a slave!"

Now when the tiger sobbed and sighed and wept and swore, the pious
Brahman's heart softened, and at last he consented to open the door of
the cage. Out popped the tiger, and, seizing the poor man, cried,
"What a fool you are! What is to prevent my eating you now, for after
being cooped up so long I am just terribly hungry!"

In vain the Brahman pleaded for his life; the most he could gain was a
promise to abide by the decision of the first three things he chose to
question as to the justice of the tiger's action.

So the Brahman first asked a _pipal_ tree what it thought of the
matter, but the _pipal_ tree replied coldly, "What have you to
complain about? Don't I give shade and shelter to every one who passes
by, and don't they in return tear down my branches to feed their
cattle? Don't whimper--be a man!"

Then the Brahman, sad at heart, went further afield till he saw a
buffalo turning a well-wheel; but he fared no better from it, for it
answered, "You are a fool to expect gratitude! Look at me! Whilst I
gave milk they fed me on cotton-seed and oil-cake, but now I am dry
they yoke me here, and give me refuse as fodder!"

The Brahman, still more sad, asked the road to give him its opinion.

"My dear sir," said the road, "how foolish you are to expect anything
else! Here am I, useful to everybody, yet all, rich and poor, great
and small, trample on me as they go past, giving me nothing but the
ashes of their pipes and the husks of their grain!"

On this the Brahman turned back sorrowfully, and on the way he met a
jackal, who called out, "Why, what's the matter, Mr. Brahman? You look
as miserable as a fish out of water!"

The Brahman told him all that had occurred. "How very confusing!" said
the jackal, when the recital was ended; "would you mind telling me
over again, for everything has got so mixed up?"

The Brahman told it all over again, but the jackal shook his head in a
distracted sort of way, and still could not understand.

"It's very odd," said he, sadly, "but it all seems to go in at one ear
and out at the other! I will go to the place where it all happened,
and then perhaps I shall be able to give a judgment."

So they returned to the cage, by which the tiger was waiting for the
Brahman, and sharpening his teeth and claws.

"You've been away a long time!" growled the savage beast, "but now let
us begin our dinner."

"_Our_ dinner!" thought the wretched Brahman, as his knees knocked
together with fright; "what a remarkably delicate way of putting it!"

"Give me five minutes, my lord!" he pleaded, "in order that I may
explain matters to the jackal here, who is somewhat slow in his wits."

The tiger consented, and the Brahman began the whole story over again,
not missing a single detail, and spinning as long a yarn as possible.

"Oh, my poor brain! oh, my poor brain!" cried the jackal, wringing its
paws. "Let me see! how did it all begin? You were in the cage, and the
tiger came walking by----"

"Pooh!" interrupted the tiger, "what a fool you are! _I_ was in the
cage."

"Of course!" cried the jackal, pretending to tremble with fright;
"yes! I was in the cage--no I wasn't--dear! dear! where are my wits?
Let me see--the tiger was in the Brahman, and the cage came walking
by----no, that's not it, either! Well, don't mind me, but begin your
dinner, for I shall never understand!"

"Yes, you shall!" returned the tiger, in a rage at the jackal's
stupidity; "I'll _make_ you understand! Look here--I am the tiger----"

"Yes, my lord!"

"And that is the Brahman----"

"Yes, my lord!"

"And that is the cage----"

"Yes, my lord!"

"And I was in the cage--do you understand?"

"Yes--no---- Please, my lord----"

"Well?" cried the tiger impatiently.

"Please, my lord!--how did you get in?"

"How!--why in the usual way, of course!"

"Oh, dear me!--my head is beginning to whirl again! Please don't be
angry, my lord, but what is the usual way?"

At this the tiger lost patience, and, jumping into the cage, cried,
"This way! Now do you understand how it was?"

"Perfectly!" grinned the jackal, as he dexterously shut the door, "and
if you will permit me to say so, I think matters will remain as they
were!"




The Soothsayer's Son


A soothsayer when on his deathbed wrote out the horoscope of his
second son, whose name was Gangazara, and bequeathed it to him as his
only property, leaving the whole of his estate to his eldest son. The
second son thought over the horoscope, and said to himself:

"Alas! am I born to this only in the world? The sayings of my father
never failed. I have seen them prove true to the last word while he
was living; and how has he fixed my horoscope! 'FROM MY BIRTH
POVERTY!' Nor is that my only fate. 'FOR TEN YEARS, IMPRISONMENT'--a
fate harder than poverty; and what comes next? 'DEATH ON THE
SEA-SHORE'; which means that I must die away from home, far from
friends and relatives on a sea-coast. Now comes the most curious part
of the horoscope, that I am to 'HAVE SOME HAPPINESS AFTERWARDS!' What
this happiness is, is an enigma to me."

Thus thought he, and after all the funeral obsequies of his father
were over, took leave of his elder brother, and started for Benares.
He went by the middle of the Deccan, avoiding both the coasts, and
went on journeying and journeying for weeks and months, till at last
he reached the Vindhya mountains. While passing that desert he had to
journey for a couple of days through a sandy plain, with no signs of
life or vegetation. The little store of provision with which he was
provided for a couple of days, at last was exhausted. The chombu,
which he carried always full, filling it with the sweet water from the
flowing rivulet or plenteous tank, he had exhausted in the heat of the
desert. There was not a morsel in his hand to eat; nor a drop of water
to drink. Turn his eyes wherever he might he found a vast desert, out
of which he saw no means of escape. Still he thought within himself,
"Surely my father's prophecy never proved untrue. I must survive this
calamity to find my death on some sea-coast." So thought he, and this
thought gave him strength of mind to walk fast and try to find a drop
of water somewhere to slake his dry throat.

At last he succeeded; heaven threw in his way a ruined well. He
thought he could collect some water if he let down his chombu with the
string that he always carried noosed to the neck of it. Accordingly he
let it down; it went some way and stopped, and the following words
came from the well: "Oh, relieve me! I am the king of tigers, dying
here of hunger. For the last three days I have had nothing. Fortune
has sent you here. If you assist me now you will find a sure help in
me throughout your life. Do not think that I am a beast of prey. When
you have become my deliverer I will never touch you. Pray, kindly lift
me up." Gangazara thought: "Shall I take him out or not? If I take him
out he may make me the first morsel of his hungry mouth. No; that he
will not do. For my father's prophecy never came untrue. I must die on
a sea coast, and not by a tiger." Thus thinking, he asked the
tiger-king to hold tight to the vessel, which he accordingly did, and
he lifted him up slowly. The tiger reached the top of the well and
felt himself on safe ground. True to his word, he did no harm to
Gangazara. On the other hand, he walked round his patron three times,
and standing before him, humbly spoke the following words: "My
life-giver, my benefactor! I shall never forget this day, when I
regained my life through your kind hands. In return for this kind
assistance I pledge my oath to stand by you in all calamities.
Whenever you are in any difficulty just think of me. I am there with
you ready to oblige you by all the means that I can. To tell you
briefly how I came in here: Three days ago I was roaming in yonder
forest, when I saw a goldsmith passing through it. I chased him. He,
finding it impossible to escape my claws, jumped into this well, and
is living to this moment in the very bottom of it. I also jumped in,
but found myself on the first ledge of the well; he is on the last and
fourth ledge. In the second lives a serpent half-famished with hunger.
On the third lies a rat, also half-famished, and when you again begin
to draw water these may request you first to release them. In the same
way the goldsmith also may ask you. I beg you, as your bosom friend,
never assist that wretched man, though he is your relation as a human
being. Goldsmiths are never to be trusted. You can place more faith in
me, a tiger, though I feast sometimes upon men, in a serpent, whose
sting makes your blood cold the very next moment, or in a rat, which
does a thousand pieces of mischief in your house. But never trust a
goldsmith. Do not release him; and if you do, you shall surely repent
of it one day or other." Thus advising, the hungry tiger went away
without waiting for an answer.



Gangazara thought several times of the eloquent way in which the tiger
spoke, and admired his fluency of speech. But still his thirst was not
quenched. So he let down his vessel again, which was now caught hold
of by the serpent, who addressed him thus: "Oh, my protector! Lift me
up. I am the king of serpents, and the son of Adisesha, who is now
pining away in agony for my disappearance. Release me now. I shall
ever remain your servant, remember your assistance, and help you
throughout life in all possible ways. Oblige me: I am dying."
Gangazara, calling again to mind the "DEATH ON THE SEA-SHORE" of the
prophecy lifted him up. He, like the tiger-king, walked round him
thrice, and prostrating himself before him spoke thus: "Oh, my
life-giver, my father, for so I must call you, as you have given me
another birth. I was three days ago basking myself in the morning sun,
when I saw a rat running before me. I chased him. He fell into this
well. I followed him, but instead of falling on the third storey where
he is now lying, I fell into the second. I am going away now to see my
father. Whenever you are in any difficulty just think of me. I will be
there by your side to assist you by all possible means." So saying,
the Nagaraja glided away in zigzag movements, and was out of sight in
a moment.

The poor son of the Soothsayer, who was now almost dying of thirst,
let down his vessel for a third time. The rat caught hold of it, and
without discussing he lifted up the poor animal at once. But it would
not go away without showing its gratitude: "Oh, life of my life! My
benefactor! I am the king of rats. Whenever you are in any calamity
just think of me. I will come to you, and assist you. My keen ears
overheard all that the tiger-king told you about the goldsmith, who is
in the fourth storey. It is nothing but a sad truth that goldsmiths
ought never to be trusted. Therefore, never assist him as you have
done to us all. And if you do, you will suffer for it. I am hungry;
let me go for the present." Thus taking leave of his benefactor, the
rat, too, ran away.

Gangazara for a while thought upon the repeated advice given by the
three animals about releasing the goldsmith: "What wrong would there
be in my assisting him? Why should I not release him also?" So
thinking to himself, Gangazara let down the vessel again. The
goldsmith caught hold of it, and demanded help. The Soothsayer's son
had no time to lose; he was himself dying of thirst. Therefore he
lifted the goldsmith up, who now began his story. "Stop for a while,"
said Gangazara, and after quenching his thirst by letting down his
vessel for the fifth time, still fearing that some one might remain in
the well and demand his assistance, he listened to the goldsmith, who
began as follows: "My dear friend, my protector, what a deal of
nonsense these brutes have been talking to you about me; I am glad you
have not followed their advice. I am just now dying of hunger. Permit
me to go away. My name is Manikkasari. I live in the East main street
of Ujjaini, which is twenty kas to the south of this place, and so
lies on your way when you return from Benares. Do not forget to come
to me and receive my kind remembrances of your assistance, on your way
back to your country." So saying, the goldsmith took his leave, and
Gangazara also pursued his way north after the above adventures.

He reached Benares, and lived there for more than ten years, and quite
forgot the tiger, serpent, rat, and goldsmith. After ten years of
religious life, thoughts of home and of his brother rushed into his
mind. "I have secured enough merit now by my religious observances.
Let me return home." Thus thought Gangazara within himself, and very
soon he was on his way back to his country. Remembering the prophecy
of his father he returned by the same way by which he went to Benares
ten years before. While thus retracing his steps he reached the ruined
well where he had released the three brute kings and the goldsmith. At
once the old recollections rushed into his mind, and he thought of the
tiger to test his fidelity. Only a moment passed, and the tiger-king
came running before him carrying a large crown in his mouth, the
glitter of the diamonds of which for a time outshone even the bright
rays of the sun. He dropped the crown at his life-giver's feet, and,
putting aside all his pride, humbled himself like a pet cat to the
strokes of his protector, and began in the following words: "My
life-giver! How is it that you have forgotten me, your poor servant,
for such a long time? I am glad to find that I still occupy a corner
in your mind. I can never forget the day when I owed my life to your
lotus hands. I have several jewels with me of little value. This
crown, being the best of all, I have brought here as a single ornament
of great value, which you can carry with you and dispose of in your
own country." Gangazara looked at the crown, examined it over and
over, counted and recounted the gems, and thought within himself that
he would become the richest of men by separating the diamonds and
gold, and selling them in his own country. He took leave of the
tiger-king, and after his disappearance thought of the kings of
serpents and rats, who came in their turn with their presents, and
after the usual greetings and exchange of words took their leave.
Gangazara was extremely delighted at the faithfulness with which the
brute beasts behaved, and went on his way to the south. While going
along he spoke to himself thus: "These beasts have been very faithful
in their assistance. Much more, therefore, must Manikkasari be
faithful. I do not want anything from him now. If I take this crown
with me as it is, it occupies much space in my bundle. It may also
excite the curiosity of some robbers on the way. I will go now to
Ujjaini on my way. Manikkasari requested me to see him without failure
on my return journey. I shall do so, and request him to have the crown
melted, the diamonds and gold separated. He must do that kindness at
least for me. I shall then roll up these diamonds and gold ball in my
rags, and wend my way homewards." Thus thinking and thinking, he
reached Ujjaini. At once he inquired for the house of his goldsmith
friend, and found him without difficulty. Manikkasari was extremely
delighted to find on his threshold him who ten years before,
notwithstanding the advice repeatedly given him by the sage-looking
tiger, serpent, and rat, had relieved him from the pit of death.
Gangazara at once showed him the crown that he received from the
tiger-king, told him how he got it, and requested his kind assistance
to separate the gold and diamonds. Manikkasari agreed to do so, and
meanwhile asked his friend to rest himself for a while to have his
bath and meals; and Gangazara, who was very observant of his religious
ceremonies, went direct to the river to bathe.

How came the crown in the jaws of the tiger? The king of Ujjaini had a
week before gone with all his hunters on a hunting expedition. All of
a sudden the tiger-king started from the wood, seized the king, and
vanished.

When the king's attendants informed the prince about the death of his
father he wept and wailed, and gave notice that he would give half of
his kingdom to any one who should bring him news about the murderer of
his father. The goldsmith knew full well that it was a tiger that
killed the king, and not any hunter's hands, since he had heard from
Gangazara how he obtained the crown. Still, he resolved to denounce
Gangazara as the king's murderer, so, hiding the crown under his
garments, he flew to the palace. He went before the prince and
informed him that the assassin was caught, and placed the crown before
him. The prince took it into his hands, examined it, and at once gave
half the kingdom to Manikkasari, and then inquired about the murderer.
"He is bathing in the river, and is of such and such appearance," was
the reply. At once four armed soldiers flew to the river, and bound
the poor Brahman hand and foot, while he, sitting in meditation, was
without any knowledge of the fate that hung over him. They brought
Gangazara to the presence of the prince, who turned his face away from
the supposed murderer, and asked his soldiers to throw him into a
dungeon. In a minute, without knowing the cause, the poor Brahman
found himself in the dark dungeon.

It was a dark cellar underground, built with strong stone walls, into
which any criminal guilty of a capital offence was ushered to breathe
his last there without food and drink. Such was the cellar into which
Gangazara was thrust. What were his thoughts when he reached that
place? "It is of no use to accuse either the goldsmith or the prince
now. We are all the children of fate. We must obey her commands. This
is but the first day of my father's prophecy. So far his statement is
true. But how am I going to pass ten years here? Perhaps without
anything to sustain life I may drag on my existence for a day or two.
But how pass ten years? That cannot be, and I must die. Before death
comes let me think of my faithful brute friends."

So pondered Gangazara in the dark cell underground, and at that moment
thought of his three friends. The tiger-king, serpent-king, and
rat-king assembled at once with their armies at a garden near the
dungeon, and for a while did not know what to do. They held their
council, and decided to make an underground passage from the inside
of a ruined well to the dungeon. The rat raja issued an order at once
to that effect to his army. They, with their teeth, bored the ground a
long way to the walls of the prison. After reaching it they found that
their teeth could not work on the hard stones. The bandicoots were
then specially ordered for the business; they, with their hard teeth,
made a small slit in the wall for a rat to pass and repass without
difficulty. Thus a passage was effected.

The rat raja entered first to condole with his protector on his
misfortune, and undertook to supply his protector with provisions.
"Whatever sweetmeats or bread are prepared in any house, one and all
of you must try to bring whatever you can to our benefactor. Whatever
clothes you find hanging in a house, cut down, dip the pieces in
water, and bring the wet bits to our benefactor. He will squeeze them
and gather water for drink! and the bread and sweetmeats shall form
his food." Having issued these orders, the king of the rats took leave
of Gangazara. They, in obedience to their king's order, continued to
supply him with provisions and water.

The snake-king said: "I sincerely condole with you in your calamity;
the tiger-king also fully sympathises with you, and wants me to tell
you so, as he cannot drag his huge body here as we have done with our
small ones. The king of the rats has promised to do his best to
provide you with food. We would now do what we can for your release.
From this day we shall issue orders to our armies to oppress all the
subjects of this kingdom. The deaths by snake-bite and tigers shall
increase a hundredfold from this day, and day by day it shall continue
to increase till your release. Whenever you hear people near you, you
had better bawl out so as to be heard by them: 'The wretched prince
imprisoned me on the false charge of having killed his father, while
it was a tiger that killed him. From that day these calamities have
broken out in his dominions. If I were released I would save all by my
powers of healing poisonous wounds and by incantations.' Some one may
report this to the king, and if he knows it, you will obtain your
liberty." Thus comforting his protector in trouble, he advised him to
pluck up courage, and took leave of him. From that day tigers and
serpents, acting under the orders of their kings, united in killing as
many persons and cattle as possible. Every day people were carried
away by tigers or bitten by serpents. Thus passed months and years.
Gangazara sat in the dark cellar, without the sun's light falling upon
him, and feasted upon the breadcrumbs and sweetmeats that the rats so
kindly supplied him with. These delicacies had completely changed his
body into a red, stout, huge, unwieldy mass of flesh. Thus passed full
ten years, as prophesied in the horoscope.

Ten complete years rolled away in close imprisonment. On the last
evening of the tenth year one of the serpents got into the bed-chamber
of the princess and sucked her life. She breathed her last. She was
the only daughter of the king. The king at once sent for all the
snake-bite curers. He promised half his kingdom and his daughter's
hand to him who would restore her to life. Now a servant of the king
who had several times overheard Gangazara's cries, reported the matter
to him. The king at once ordered the cell to be examined. There was
the man sitting in it. How had he managed to live so long in the cell?
Some whispered that he must be a divine being. Thus they discussed,
while they brought Gangazara to the king.

The king no sooner saw Gangazara than he fell on the ground. He was
struck by the majesty and grandeur of his person. His ten years'
imprisonment in the deep cell underground had given a sort of lustre
to his body. His hair had first to be cut before his face could be
seen. The king begged forgiveness for his former fault, and requested
him to revive his daughter.

"Bring me within an hour all the corpses of men and cattle, dying and
dead, that remain unburnt or unburied within the range of your
dominions; I shall revive them all," were the only words that
Gangazara spoke.

Cartloads of corpses of men and cattle began to come in every minute.
Even graves, it is said, were broken open, and corpses buried a day or
two before were taken out and sent for their revival. As soon as all
were ready, Gangazara took a vessel full of water and sprinkled it
over them all, thinking only of his snake-king and tiger-king. All
rose up as if from deep slumber, and went to their respective homes.
The princess, too, was restored to life. The joy of the king knew no
bounds. He cursed the day on which he imprisoned him, blamed himself
for having believed the word of a goldsmith, and offered him the hand
of his daughter and the whole kingdom, instead of half, as he
promised. Gangazara would not accept anything, but asked the king to
assemble all his subjects in a wood near the town. "I shall there call
in all the tigers and serpents, and give them a general order."

When the whole town was assembled, just at the dusk of evening,
Gangazara sat dumb for a moment, and thought upon the Tiger King and
the Serpent King, who came with all their armies. People began to take
to their heels at the sight of tigers. Gangazara assured them of
safety, and stopped them.

The grey light of the evening, the pumpkin colour of Gangazara, the
holy ashes scattered lavishly over his body, the tigers and snakes
humbling themselves at his feet, gave him the true majesty of the god
Gangazara. For who else by a single word could thus command vast
armies of tigers and serpents, said some among the people. "Care not
for it; it may be by magic. That is not a great thing. That he revived
cartloads of corpses shows him to be surely Gangazara," said others.

"Why should you, my children, thus trouble these poor subjects of
Ujjaini? Reply to me, and henceforth desist from your ravages." Thus
said the Soothsayer's son, and the following reply came from the king
of the tigers: "Why should this base king imprison your honour,
believing the mere word of a goldsmith that your honour killed his
father? All the hunters told him that his father was carried away by a
tiger. I was the messenger of death sent to deal the blow on his neck.
I did it, and gave the crown to your honour. The prince makes no
inquiry, and at once imprisons your honour. How can we expect justice
from such a stupid king as that? Unless he adopt a better standard of
justice we will go on with our destruction."

The king heard, cursed the day on which he believed in the word of a
goldsmith, beat his head, tore his hair, wept and wailed for his
crime, asked a thousand pardons, and swore to rule in a just way from
that day. The serpent-king and tiger-king also promised to observe
their oath as long as justice prevailed, and took their leave. The
goldsmith fled for his life. He was caught by the soldiers of the
king, and was pardoned by the generous Gangazara, whose voice now
reigned supreme. All returned to their homes.

The king again pressed Gangazara to accept the hand of his daughter.
He agreed to do so, not then, but some time afterwards. He wished to
go and see his elder brother first, and then to return and marry the
princess. The king agreed; and Gangazara left the city that very day
on his way home.

It so happened that unwittingly he took a wrong road, and had to pass
near a sea-coast. His elder brother was also on his way up to Benares
by that very same route. They met and recognised each other, even at a
distance. They flew into each other's arms. Both remained still for a
time almost unconscious with joy. The pleasure of Gangazara was so
great that he died of joy.

The elder brother was a devout worshipper of Ganesa. That was a
Friday, a day very sacred to that god. The elder brother took the
corpse to the nearest Ganesa temple and called upon him. The god came,
and asked him what he wanted. "My poor brother is dead and gone; and
this is his corpse. Kindly keep it in your charge till I finish
worshipping you. If I leave it anywhere else the devils may snatch it
away when I am absent worshipping you; after finishing the rites I
shall burn him." Thus said the elder brother, and, giving the corpse
to the god Ganesa, he went to prepare himself for that deity's
ceremonials. Ganesa made over the corpse to his Ganas, asking them to
watch over it carefully. But instead of that they devoured it.

The elder brother, after finishing the puja, demanded his brother's
corpse of the god. The god called his Ganas, who came to the front
blinking, and fearing the anger of their master. The god was greatly
enraged. The elder brother was very angry. When the corpse was not
forthcoming he cuttingly remarked, "Is this, after all, the return for
my deep belief in you? You are unable even to return my brother's
corpse." Ganesa was much ashamed at the remark. So he, by his divine
power, gave him a living Gangazara instead of the dead corpse. Thus
was the second son of the Soothsayer restored to life.

The brothers had a long talk about each other's adventures. They both
went to Ujjaini, where Gangazara married the princess, and succeeded
to the throne of that kingdom. He reigned for a long time, conferring
several benefits upon his brother. And so the horoscope was fully
fulfilled.






Harisarman


There was a certain Brahman in a certain village, named Harisarman. He
was poor and foolish and in evil case for want of employment, and he
had very many children, that he might reap the fruit of his misdeeds
in a former life. He wandered about begging with his family, and at
last he reached a certain city, and entered the service of a rich
householder called Sthuladatta. His sons became keepers of
Sthuladatta's cows and other property, and his wife a servant to him,
and he himself lived near his house, performing the duty of an
attendant. One day there was a feast on account of the marriage of the
daughter of Sthuladatta, largely attended by many friends of the
bridegroom, and merry-makers. Harisarman hoped that he would be able
to fill himself up to the throat with ghee and flesh and other
dainties, and get the same for his family, in the house of his patron.
While he was anxiously expecting to be fed, no one thought of him.



Then he was distressed at getting nothing to eat, and he said to his
wife at night, "It is owing to my poverty and stupidity that I am
treated with such disrespect here; so I will pretend by means of an
artifice to possess a knowledge of magic, so that I may become an
object of respect to this Sthuladatta; so, when you get an
opportunity, tell him that I possess magical knowledge." He said this
to her, and after turning the matter over in his mind, while people
were asleep he took away from the house of Sthuladatta a horse on
which his master's son-in-law rode. He placed it in concealment at
some distance, and in the morning the friends of the bridegroom could
not find the horse, though they searched in every direction. Then,
while Sthuladatta was distressed at the evil omen, and searching for
the thieves who had carried off the horse, the wife of Harisarman came
and said to him, "My husband is a wise man, skilled in astrology and
magical sciences; he can get the horse back for you; why do you not
ask him?" When Sthuladatta heard that, he called Harisarman, who
said, "Yesterday I was forgotten, but to-day, now the horse is stolen,
I am called to mind," and Sthuladatta then propitiated the Brahman
with these words--"I forgot you, forgive me"--and asked him to tell
him who had taken away their horse. Then Harisarman drew all kinds of
pretended diagrams, and said: "The horse has been placed by thieves on
the boundary line south from this place. It is concealed there, and
before it is carried off to a distance, as it will be at close of day,
go quickly and bring it." When they heard that, many men ran and
brought the horse quickly, praising the discernment of Harisarman.
Then Harisarman was honoured by all men as a sage, and dwelt there in
happiness, honoured by Sthuladatta.

Now, as days went on, much treasure, both of gold and jewels, had been
stolen by a thief from the palace of the king. As the thief was not
known, the king quickly summoned Harisarman on account of his
reputation for knowledge of magic. And he, when summoned, tried to
gain time, and said, "I will tell you to-morrow," and then he was
placed in a chamber by the king, and carefully guarded. And he was sad
because he had pretended to have knowledge. Now in that palace there
was a maid named Jihva (which means Tongue), who, with the assistance
of her brother, had stolen that treasure from the interior of the
palace. She, being alarmed at Harisarman's knowledge, went at night
and applied her ear to the door of that chamber in order to find out
what he was about. And Harisarman, who was alone inside, was at that
very moment blaming his own tongue, that had made a vain assumption of
knowledge. He said: "O Tongue, what is this that you have done
through your greediness? Wicked one, you will soon receive punishment
in full." When Jihva heard this, she thought, in her terror, that she
had been discovered by this wise man, and she managed to get in where
he was, and falling at his feet, she said to the supposed wizard:
"Brahman, here I am, that Jihva whom you have discovered to be the
thief of the treasure, and after I took it I buried it in the earth in
a garden behind the palace, under a pomegranate tree. So spare me, and
receive the small quantity of gold which is in my possession."

When Harisarman heard that, he said to her proudly: "Depart, I know
all this; I know the past, present and future; but I will not denounce
you, being a miserable creature that has implored my protection. But
whatever gold is in your possession you must give back to me." When he
said this to the maid, she consented, and departed quickly. But
Harisarman reflected in his astonishment: "Fate brings about, as if in
sport, things impossible, for when calamity was so near, who would
have thought chance would have brought us success? While I was blaming
my jihva, the thief Jihva suddenly flung herself at my feet. Secret
crimes manifest themselves by means of fear." Thus thinking, he passed
the night happily in the chamber. And in the morning he brought the
king, by some skilful parade of pretended knowledge into the garden,
and led him up to the treasure, which was buried under the pomegranate
tree, and said that the thief had escaped with a part of it. Then the
king was pleased, and gave him the revenue of many villages.

But the minister, named Devajnanin, whispered in the king's ear: "How
can a man possess such knowledge unattainable by men, without having
studied the books of magic; you may be certain that this is a specimen
of the way he makes a dishonest livelihood, by having a secret
intelligence with thieves. It will be much better to test him by some
new artifice." Then the king of his own accord brought a covered
pitcher into which he had thrown a frog, and said to Harisarman,
"Brahman, if you can guess what there is in this pitcher, I will do
you great honour to-day." When the Brahman Harisarman heard that, he
thought that his last hour had come, and he called to mind the pet
name of "Froggie" which his father had given him in his childhood in
sport, and, impelled by luck, he called to himself by his pet name,
lamenting his hard fate, and suddenly called out: "This is a fine
pitcher for you, Froggie; it will soon become the swift destroyer of
your helpless self." The people there, when they heard him say that,
raised a shout of applause, because his speech chimed in so well with
the object presented to him, and murmured, "Ah! a great sage, he knows
even about the frog!" Then the king, thinking that this was all due to
knowledge of divination, was highly delighted, and gave Harisarman the
revenue of more villages, with gold, an umbrella, and state carriages
of all kinds. So Harisarman prospered in the world.




The Charmed Ring


A merchant started his son in life with three hundred rupees, and bade
him go to another country and try his luck in trade. The son took the
money and departed. He had not gone far before he came across some
herdsmen quarrelling over a dog, that some of them wished to kill.
"Please do not kill the dog," pleaded the young and tender-hearted
fellow; "I will give you one hundred rupees for it." Then and there,
of course, the bargain was concluded, and the foolish fellow took the
dog, and continued his journey. He next met with some people fighting
about a cat. Some of them wanted to kill it, but others not. "Oh!
please do not kill it," said he; "I will give you one hundred rupees
for it." Of course they at once gave him the cat and took the money.
He went on till he reached a village, where some folk were quarrelling
over a snake that had just been caught. Some of them wished to kill
it, but others did not. "Please do not kill the snake," said he; "I
will give you one hundred rupees." Of course the people agreed, and
were highly delighted.

What a fool the fellow was! What would he do now that all his money
was gone? What could he do except return to his father? Accordingly he
went home.

"You fool! You scamp!" exclaimed his father when he had heard how his
son had wasted all the money that had been given to him. "Go and live
in the stables and repent of your folly. You shall never again enter
my house."

So the young man went and lived in the stables. His bed was the grass
spread for the cattle, and his companions were the dog, the cat, and
the snake, which he had purchased so dearly. These creatures got very
fond of him, and would follow him about during the day, and sleep by
him at night; the cat used to sleep at his feet, the dog at his head,
and the snake over his body, with its head hanging on one side and its
tail on the other.

One day the snake in course of conversation said to its master, "I am
the son of Raja Indrasha. One day, when I had come out of the ground
to drink the air, some people seized me, and would have slain me had
you not most opportunely arrived to my rescue. I do not know how I
shall ever be able to repay you for your great kindness to me. Would
that you knew my father! How glad he would be to see his son's
preserver!"

"Where does he live? I should like to see him, if possible," said the
young man.

"Well said!" continued the snake. "Do you see yonder mountain? At the
bottom of that mountain there is a sacred spring. If you will come
with me and dive into that spring, we shall both reach my father's
country. Oh! how glad he will be to see you! He will wish to reward
you, too. But how can he do that? However, you may be pleased to
accept something at his hand. If he asks you what you would like, you
would, perhaps, do well to reply, 'The ring on your right hand, and
the famous pot and spoon which you possess.' With these in your
possession, you would never need anything, for the ring is such that a
man has only to speak to it, and immediately a beautiful furnished
mansion will be provided for him, while the pot and the spoon will
supply him with all manner of the rarest and most delicious foods."

Attended by his three companions the man walked to the well and
prepared to jump in, according to the snake's directions. "O master!"
exclaimed the cat and dog, when they saw what he was going to do.
"What shall we do? Where shall we go?"

"Wait for me here," he replied. "I am not going far. I shall not be
long away." On saying this, he dived into the water and was lost to
sight.

"Now what shall we do?" said the dog to the cat.

"We must remain here," replied the cat, "as our master ordered. Do not
be anxious about food. I will go to the people's houses and get plenty
of food for both of us." And so the cat did, and they both lived very
comfortably till their master came again and joined them.

The young man and the snake reached their destination in safety; and
information of their arrival was sent to the Raja. His highness
commanded his son and the stranger to appear before him. But the snake
refused, saying that it could not go to its father till it was
released from this stranger, who had saved it from a most terrible
death, and whose slave it therefore was. Then the Raja went and
embraced his son, and saluting the stranger welcomed him to his
dominions. The young man stayed there a few days, during which he
received the Raja's right-hand ring, and the pot and spoon, in
recognition of His Highness's gratitude to him for having delivered
his son. He then returned. On reaching the top of the spring he found
his friends, the dog and the cat, waiting for him. They told one
another all they had experienced since they had last seen each other,
and were all very glad. Afterwards they walked together to the river
side, where it was decided to try the powers of the charmed ring and
pot and spoon.

The merchant's son spoke to the ring, and immediately a beautiful
house and a lovely princess with golden hair appeared. He spoke to the
pot and spoon, also, and the most delicious dishes of food were
provided for them. So he married the princess, and they lived very
happily for several years, until one morning the princess, while
arranging her toilet, put the loose hairs into a hollow bit of reed
and threw them into the river that flowed along under the window. The
reed floated on the water for many miles, and was at last picked up by
the prince of that country, who curiously opened it and saw the golden
hair. On finding it the prince rushed off to the palace, locked
himself up in his room, and would not leave it. He had fallen
desperately in love with the woman whose hair he had picked up, and
refused to eat, or drink, or sleep, or move, till she was brought to
him. The king, his father, was in great distress about the matter, and
did not know what to do. He feared lest his son should die and leave
him without an heir. At last he determined to seek the counsel of his
aunt, who was an ogress. The old woman consented to help him, and
bade him not to be anxious, as she felt certain that she would succeed
in getting the beautiful woman for his son's wife.

She assumed the shape of a bee and went along buzzing, and buzzing,
and buzzing. Her keen sense of smell soon brought her to the beautiful
princess, to whom she appeared as an old hag, holding in one hand a
stick by way of support. She introduced herself to the beautiful
princess and said, "I am your aunt, whom you have never seen before,
because I left the country just after your birth." She also embraced
and kissed the princess by way of adding force to her words. The
beautiful princess was thoroughly deceived. She returned the ogress's
embrace, and invited her to come and stay in the house as long as she
could, and treated her with such honour and attention, that the ogress
thought to herself, "I shall soon accomplish my errand." When she had
been in the house three days, she began to talk of the charmed ring,
and advised her to keep it instead of her husband, because the latter
was constantly out shooting and on other such-like expeditions, and
might lose it. Accordingly the beautiful princess asked her husband
for the ring, and he readily gave it to her.

The ogress waited another day before she asked to see the precious
thing. Doubting nothing, the beautiful princess complied, when the
ogress seized the ring, and reassuming the form of a bee flew away
with it to the palace, where the prince was lying nearly on the point
of death. "Rise up. Be glad. Mourn no more," she said to him. "The
woman for whom you yearn will appear at your summons. See, here is the
charm, whereby you may bring her before you." The prince was almost
mad with joy when he heard these words, and was so desirous of seeing
the beautiful princess, that he immediately spoke to the ring, and the
house with its fair occupant descended in the midst of the palace
garden. He at once entered the building, and telling the beautiful
princess of his intense love, entreated her to be his wife. Seeing no
escape from the difficulty, she consented on the condition that he
would wait one month for her.

Meanwhile the merchant's son had returned from hunting and was
terribly distressed not to find his house and wife. There was the
place only, just as he knew it before he had tried the charmed ring
which Raja Indrasha had given him. He sat down and determined to put
an end to himself. Presently the cat and dog came up. They had gone
away and hidden themselves, when they saw the house and everything
disappear. "O master!" they said, "stay your hand. Your trial is
great, but it can be remedied. Give us one month, and we will go and
try to recover your wife and house."

"Go," said he, "and may the great God aid your efforts. Bring back my
wife, and I shall live."

So the cat and dog started off at a run, and did not stop till they
reached the place whither their mistress and the house had been taken.
"We may have some difficulty here," said the cat. "Look, the king has
taken our master's wife and house for himself. You stay here. I will
go to the house and try to see her." So the dog sat down, and the cat
climbed up to the window of the room, wherein the beautiful princess
was sitting, and entered. The princess recognised the cat, and
informed it of all that had happened to her since she had left them.

"But is there no way of escape from the hands of these people?" she
asked.

"Yes," replied the cat, "if you can tell me where the charmed ring
is."

"The ring is in the stomach of the ogress," she said.

"All right," said the cat, "I will recover it. If we once get it,
everything is ours." Then the cat descended the wall of the house, and
went and laid down by a rat's hole and pretended she was dead. Now at
that time a great wedding chanced to be going on among the rat
community of that place, and all the rats of the neighbourhood were
assembled in that one particular mine by which the cat had lain down.
The eldest son of the king of the rats was about to be married. The
cat got to know of this, and at once conceived the idea of seizing the
bridegroom and making him render the necessary help. Consequently,
when the procession poured forth from the hole squealing and jumping
in honour of the occasion, it immediately spotted the bridegroom and
pounced down on him. "Oh! let me go, let me go," cried the terrified
rat. "Oh! let him go," squealed all the company. "It is his wedding
day."

"No, no," replied the cat. "Not unless you do something for me.
Listen. The ogress, who lives in that house with the prince and his
wife, has swallowed a ring, which I very much want. If you will
procure it for me, I will allow the rat to depart unharmed. If you do
not, then your prince dies under my feet."

"Very well, we agree," said they all. "Nay, if we do not get the ring
for you, devour us all."



This was rather a bold offer. However, they accomplished the
thing. At midnight, when the ogress was sound asleep, one of the rats
went to her bedside, climbed up on her face, and inserted its tail
into her throat; whereupon the ogress coughed violently, and the ring
came out and rolled on to the floor. The rat immediately seized the
precious thing and ran off with it to its king, who was very glad, and
went at once to the cat and released its son.

As soon as the cat received the ring, she started back with the dog to
go and tell their master the good tidings. All seemed safe now. They
had only to give the ring to him, and he would speak to it, and the
house and beautiful princess would again be with them, and everything
would go on as happily as before. "How glad master will be!" they
thought, and ran as fast as their legs could carry them. Now, on the
way they had to cross a stream. The dog swam, and the cat sat on its
back. Now the dog was jealous of the cat, so he asked for the ring,
and threatened to throw the cat into the water if it did not give it
up; whereupon the cat gave up the ring. Sorry moment, for the dog at
once dropped it, and a fish swallowed it.

"Oh! what shall I do? what shall I do?" said the dog.

"What is done is done," replied the cat. "We must try to recover it,
and if we do not succeed we had better drown ourselves in this stream.
I have a plan. You go and kill a small lamb, and bring it here to me."

"All right," said the dog, and at once ran off. He soon came back with
a dead lamb, and gave it to the cat. The cat got inside the lamb and
lay down, telling the dog to go away a little distance and keep quiet.
Not long after this a nadhar, a bird whose look can break the bones
of a fish, came and hovered over the lamb, and eventually pounced down
on it to carry it away. On this the cat came out and jumped on to the
bird, and threatened to kill it if it did not recover the lost ring.
This was most readily promised by the nadhar, who immediately flew off
to the king of the fishes, and ordered it to make inquiries and to
restore the ring. The king of the fishes did so, and the ring was
found and carried back to the cat.

"Come along now; I have got the ring," said the cat to the dog.

"No, I will not," said the dog, "unless you let me have the ring. I
can carry it as well as you. Let me have it or I will kill you." So
the cat was obliged to give up the ring. The careless dog very soon
dropped it again. This time it was picked up and carried off by a
kite.

"See, see, there it goes--away to that big tree," the cat exclaimed.

"Oh! oh! what have I done?" cried the dog.

"You foolish thing, I knew it would be so," said the cat. "But stop
your barking, or you will frighten away the bird to some place where
we shall not be able to trace it."

The cat waited till it was quite dark, and then climbed the tree,
killed the kite, and recovered the ring. "Come along," it said to the
dog when it reached the ground. "We must make haste now. We have been
delayed. Our master will die from grief and suspense. Come on."

The dog, now thoroughly ashamed of itself, begged the cat's pardon for
all the trouble it had given. It was afraid to ask for the ring the
third time, so they both reached their sorrowing master in safety and
gave him the precious charm. In a moment his sorrow was turned into
joy. He spoke to the ring, and his beautiful wife and house
reappeared, and he and everybody were as happy as ever they could be.




The Talkative Tortoise


The future Buddha was once born in a minister's family, when
Brahma-datta was reigning in Benares; and when he grew up, he became
the king's adviser in things temporal and spiritual.

Now this king was very talkative; while he was speaking, others had no
opportunity for a word. And the future Buddha, wanting to cure this
talkativeness of his, was constantly seeking for some means of doing
so.

At that time there was living, in a pond in the Himalaya mountains, a
tortoise. Two young hamsas, or wild ducks, who came to feed there,
made friends with him. And one day, when they had become very intimate
with him, they said to the tortoise:

"Friend tortoise! the place where we live, at the Golden Cave on Mount
Beautiful in the Himalaya country, is a delightful spot. Will you come
there with us?"

"But how can I get there?"

"We can take you, if you can only hold your tongue, and will say
nothing to anybody."

"Oh! that I can do. Take me with you."

"That's right," said they. And making the tortoise bite hold of a
stick, they themselves took the two ends in their teeth, and flew up
into the air.

Seeing him thus carried by the hamsas, some villagers called out, "Two
wild ducks are carrying a tortoise along on a stick!" Whereupon the
tortoise wanted to say, "If my friends choose to carry me, what is
that to you, you wretched slaves!" So just as the swift flight of the
wild ducks had brought him over the king's palace in the city of
Benares, he let go of the stick he was biting, and falling in the open
courtyard, split in two! And there arose a universal cry, "A tortoise
has fallen in the open courtyard, and has split in two!"



The king, taking the future Buddha, went to the place, surrounded by
his courtiers; and looking at the tortoise, he asked the Bodisat,
"Teacher! how comes he to be fallen here?"

The future Buddha thought to himself, "Long expecting, wishing to
admonish the king, have I sought for some means of doing so. This
tortoise must have made friends with the wild ducks; and they must
have made him bite hold of the stick, and have flown up into the air
to take him to the hills. But he, being unable to hold his tongue
when he hears any one else talk, must have wanted to say something,
and let go the stick; and so must have fallen down from the sky, and
thus lost his life." And saying, "Truly, O king! those who are called
chatter-boxes--people whose words have no end--come to grief like
this," he uttered these Verses:

    "Verily the tortoise killed himself
    Whilst uttering his voice;
    Though he was holding tight the stick,
    By a word himself he slew.

    "Behold him then, O excellent by strength!
    And speak wise words, not out of season.
    You see how, by his talking overmuch,
    The tortoise fell into this wretched plight!"

The king saw that he was himself referred to, and said, "O Teacher!
are you speaking of us?"

And the Bodisat spake openly, and said, "O great king! be it thou, or
be it any other, whoever talks beyond measure meets with some mishap
like this."

And the king henceforth refrained himself, and became a man of few
words.




A Lac of Rupees for a Bit of Advice




A poor blind Brahman and his wife were dependent on their son for
their subsistence. Every day the young fellow used to go out and get
what he could by begging. This continued for some time, till at last
he became quite tired of such a wretched life, and determined to go
and try his luck in another country. He informed his wife of his
intention, and ordered her to manage somehow or other for the old
people during the few months that he would be absent. He begged her to
be industrious, lest his parents should be angry and curse him.

One morning he started with some food in a bundle, and walked on day
after day, till he reached the chief city of the neighbouring country.
Here he went and sat down by a merchant's shop and asked alms. The
merchant inquired whence he had come, why he had come, and what was
his caste; to which he replied that he was a Brahman, and was
wandering hither and thither begging a livelihood for himself and wife
and parents. Moved with pity for the man, the merchant advised him to
visit the kind and generous king of that country, and offered to
accompany him to the court. Now at that time it happened that the king
was seeking for a Brahman to look after a golden temple which he had
just had built. His Majesty was very glad, therefore, when he saw the
Brahman and heard that he was good and honest. He at once deputed him
to the charge of this temple, and ordered fifty kharwars of rice and
one hundred rupees to be paid to him every year as wages.

Two months after this, the Brahman's wife, not having heard any news
of her husband, left the house and went in quest of him. By a happy
fate she arrived at the very place that he had reached, where she
heard that every morning at the golden temple a golden rupee was given
in the king's name to any beggar who chose to go for it. Accordingly,
on the following morning she went to the place and met her husband.

"Why have you come here?" he asked. "Why have you left my parents?
Care you not whether they curse me and I die? Go back immediately, and
await my return."

"No, no," said the woman. "I cannot go back to starve and see your old
father and mother die. There is not a grain of rice left in the
house."

"O Bhagawant!" exclaimed the Brahman. "Here, take this," he continued,
scribbling a few lines on some paper, and then handing it to her, "and
give it to the king. You will see that he will give you a lac of
rupees for it." Thus saying he dismissed her, and the woman left.

On this scrap of paper were written three pieces of advice--First, If
a person is travelling and reaches any strange place at night, let him
be careful where he puts up, and not close his eyes in sleep, lest he
close them in death. Secondly, If a man has a married sister, and
visits her in great pomp, she will receive him for the sake of what
she can obtain from him; but if he comes to her in poverty, she will
frown on him and disown him. Thirdly, If a man has to do any work, he
must do it himself, and do it with might and without fear.

On reaching her home the Brahmani told her parents of her meeting with
her husband, and what a valuable piece of paper he had given her; but
not liking to go before the king herself, she sent one of her
relations. The king read the paper, and ordering the man to be
flogged, dismissed him. The next morning the Brahmani took the paper,
and while she was going along the road to the darbar reading it, the
king's son met her, and asked what she was reading, whereupon she
replied that she held in her hands a paper containing certain bits of
advice, for which she wanted a lac of rupees. The prince asked her to
show it to him, and when he had read it gave her a parwana for the
amount, and rode on. The poor Brahmani was very thankful. That day she
laid in a great store of provisions, sufficient to last them all for a
long time.

In the evening the prince related to his father the meeting with the
woman, and the purchase of the piece of paper. He thought his father
would applaud the act. But it was not so. The king was more angry than
before, and banished his son from the country.

So the prince bade adieu to his mother and relations and friends, and
rode off on his horse, whither he did not know. At nightfall he
arrived at some place, where a man met him, and invited him to lodge
at his house. The prince accepted the invitation, and was treated like
a prince. Matting was spread for him to squat on, and the best
provisions set before him.

"Ah!" thought he, as he lay down to rest, "here is a case for the
first piece of advice that the Brahmani gave me. I will not sleep
to-night."

It was well that he thus resolved, for in the middle of the night the
man rose up, and taking a sword in his hand, rushed to the prince with
the intention of killing him. But he rose up and spoke.

"Do not slay me," he said. "What profit would you get from my death?
If you killed me you would be sorry afterwards, like that man who
killed his dog."

"What man? What dog?" he asked.

"I will tell you," said the prince, "if you will give me that sword."

So he gave him the sword, and the prince began his story:

"Once upon a time there lived a wealthy merchant who had a pet dog. He
was suddenly reduced to poverty, and had to part with his dog. He got
a loan of five thousand rupees from a brother merchant, leaving the
dog as a pledge, and with the money began business again. Not long
after this the other merchant's shop was broken into by thieves and
completely sacked. There was hardly ten rupees' worth left in the
place. The faithful dog, however, knew what was going on, and went and
followed the thieves, and saw where they deposited the things, and
then returned.

"In the morning there was great weeping and lamentation in the
merchant's house when it was known what had happened. The merchant
himself nearly went mad. Meanwhile the dog kept on running to the
door, and pulling at his master's shirt and paijamas, as though
wishing him to go outside. At last a friend suggested that, perhaps,
the dog knew something of the whereabouts of the things, and advised
the merchant to follow its leadings. The merchant consented, and went
after the dog right up to the very place where the thieves had hidden
the goods. Here the animal scraped and barked, and showed in various
ways that the things were underneath. So the merchant and his friends
dug about the place, and soon came upon all the stolen property.
Nothing was missing. There was everything just as the thieves had
taken them.

"The merchant was very glad. On returning to his house, he at once
sent the dog back to its old master with a letter rolled under the
collar, wherein he had written about the sagacity of the beast, and
begged his friend to forget the loan and to accept another five
thousand rupees as a present. When this merchant saw his dog coming
back again, he thought, 'Alas! my friend is wanting the money. How can
I pay him? I have not had sufficient time to recover myself from my
recent losses. I will slay the dog ere he reaches the threshold, and
say that another must have slain it. Thus there will be an end of my
debt. No dog, no loan.' Accordingly he ran out and killed the poor
dog, when the letter fell out of its collar. The merchant picked it up
and read it. How great was his grief and disappointment when he knew
the facts of the case!

"Beware," continued the prince, "lest you do that which afterwards you
would give your life not to have done."

By the time the prince had concluded this story it was nearly morning,
and he went away, after rewarding the man.

The prince then visited the country belonging to his brother-in-law.
He disguised himself as a jogi, and sitting down by a tree near the
palace, pretended to be absorbed in worship. News of the man and of
his wonderful piety reached the ears of the king. He felt interested
in him, as his wife was very ill; and he had sought for hakims to cure
her, but in vain. He thought that, perhaps, this holy man could do
something for her. So he sent to him. But the jogi refused to tread
the halls of a king, saying that his dwelling was the open air, and
that if his Majesty wished to see him he must come himself and bring
his wife to the place. Then the king took his wife and brought her to
the jogi. The holy man bade her prostrate herself before him, and when
she had remained in this position for about three hours, he told her
to rise and go, for she was cured.

In the evening there was great consternation in the palace, because
the queen had lost her pearl rosary, and nobody knew anything about
it. At length some one went to the jogi, and found it on the ground by
the place where the queen had prostrated herself. When the king heard
this he was very angry, and ordered the jogi to be executed. This
stern order, however, was not carried out, as the prince bribed the
men and escaped from the country. But he knew that the second bit of
advice was true.

Clad in his own clothes, the prince was walking along one day when he
saw a potter crying and laughing alternately with his wife and
children. "O fool," said he, "what is the matter? If you laugh, why do
you weep? If you weep, why do you laugh?"

"Do not bother me," said the potter. "What does it matter to you?"

"Pardon me," said the prince, "but I should like to know the reason."

"The reason is this, then," said the potter. "The king of this country
has a daughter whom he is obliged to marry every day, because all her
husbands die the first night of their stay with her. Nearly all the
young men of the place have thus perished, and our son will be called
on soon. We laugh at the absurdity of the thing--a potter's son
marrying a princess, and we cry at the terrible consequence of the
marriage. What can we do?"

"Truly a matter for laughing and weeping. But weep no more," said the
prince. "I will exchange places with your son, and will be married to
the princess instead of him. Only give me suitable garments, and
prepare me for the occasion."

So the potter gave him beautiful raiment and ornaments, and the prince
went to the palace. At night he was conducted to the apartment of the
princess. "Dread hour!" thought he; "am I to die like the scores of
young men before me?" He clenched his sword with firm grip, and lay
down on his bed, intending to keep awake all the night and see what
would happen. In the middle of the night he saw two Shahmars come out
from the nostrils of the princess. They stole over towards him,
intending to kill him, like the others who had been before him: but he
was ready for them. He laid hold of his sword, and when the snakes
reached his bed he struck at them and killed them. In the morning the
king came as usual to inquire, and was surprised to hear his daughter
and the prince talking gaily together. "Surely," said he, "this man
must be her husband, as he only can live with her."

"Where do you come from? Who are you?" asked the king, entering the
room.

"O king!" replied the prince, "I am the son of a king who rules over
such-and-such a country."

When he heard this the king was very glad, and bade the prince to
abide in his palace, and appointed him his successor to the throne.
The prince remained at the palace for more than a year, and then asked
permission to visit his own country, which was granted. The king gave
him elephants, horses, jewels, and abundance of money for the expenses
of the way and as presents for his father, and the prince started.

On the way he had to pass through the country belonging to his
brother-in-law, whom we have already mentioned. Report of his arrival
reached the ears of the king, who came with rope-tied hands and
haltered neck to do him homage. He most humbly begged him to stay at
his palace, and to accept what little hospitality could be provided.
While the prince was staying at the palace he saw his sister, who
greeted him with smiles and kisses. On leaving he told her how she and
her husband had treated him at his first visit, and how he had
escaped; and then gave them two elephants, two beautiful horses,
fifteen soldiers, and ten lacs rupees' worth of jewels.

Afterwards he went to his own home, and informed his mother and father
of his arrival. Alas! his parents had both become blind from weeping
about the loss of their son. "Let him come in," said the king, "and
put his hands upon our eyes, and we shall see again." So the prince
entered, and was most affectionately greeted by his old parents; and
he laid his hands on their eyes, and they saw again.

Then the prince told his father all that had happened to him, and how
he had been saved several times by attending to the advice that he had
purchased from the Brahmani. Whereupon the king expressed his sorrow
for having sent him away, and all was joy and peace again.




The Gold-giving Serpent


Now in a certain place there lived a Brahman named Haridatta. He was a
farmer, but poor was the return his labour brought him. One day, at
the end of the hot hours, the Brahman, overcome by the heat, lay down
under the shadow of a tree to have a doze. Suddenly he saw a great
hooded snake creeping out of an ant-hill near at hand. So he thought
to himself, "Sure this is the guardian deity of the field, and I have
not ever worshipped it. That's why my farming is in vain. I will at
once go and pay my respects to it."

When he had made up his mind, he got some milk, poured it into a bowl,
and went to the ant-hill, and said aloud: "O Guardian of this Field!
all this while I did not know that you dwelt here. That is why I have
not yet paid my respects to you; pray forgive me." And he laid the
milk down and went to his house. Next morning he came and looked, and
he saw a gold denar in the bowl, and from that time onward every day
the same thing occurred: he gave milk to the serpent and found a gold
denar.

One day the Brahman had to go to the village, and so he ordered his
son to take the milk to the ant-hill. The son brought the milk, put
it down, and went back home. Next day he went again and found a
denar, so he thought to himself: "This ant-hill is surely full
of golden denars; I'll kill the serpent, and take them all for
myself." So next day, while he was giving the milk to the serpent, the
Brahman's son struck it on the head with a cudgel. But the serpent
escaped death by the will of fate, and in a rage bit the Brahman's son
with its sharp fangs, and he fell down dead at once. His people raised
him a funeral pyre not far from the field and burnt him to ashes.



Two days afterwards his father came back, and when he learnt his son's
fate he grieved and mourned. But after a time, he took the bowl of
milk, went to the ant-hill, and praised the serpent with a loud voice.
After a long, long time the serpent appeared, but only with its head
out of the opening of the ant-hill, and spoke to the Brahman: "'Tis
greed that brings you here, and makes you even forget the loss of
your son. From this time forward friendship between us is impossible.
Your son struck me in youthful ignorance, and I have bitten him to
death. How can I forget the blow with the cudgel? And how can you
forget the pain and grief at the loss of your son?" So speaking, it
gave the Brahman a costly pearl and disappeared. But before it went
away it said: "Come back no more." The Brahman took the pearl, and
went back home, cursing the folly of his son.




The Son of Seven Queens


Once upon a time there lived a King who had seven Queens, but no
children. This was a great grief to him, especially when he remembered
that on his death there would be no heir to inherit the kingdom.

Now it happened one day that a poor old fakir came to the King, and
said, "Your prayers are heard, your desire shall be accomplished, and
one of your seven Queens shall bear a son."

The King's delight at this promise knew no bounds, and he gave orders
for appropriate festivities to be prepared against the coming event
throughout the length and breadth of the land.

Meanwhile the seven Queens lived luxuriously in a splendid palace,
attended by hundreds of female slaves, and fed to their hearts'
content on sweetmeats and confectionery.

Now the King was very fond of hunting, and one day, before he started,
the seven Queens sent him a message saying, "May it please our dearest
lord not to hunt towards the north to-day, for we have dreamt bad
dreams, and fear lest evil should befall you."



The King, to allay their anxiety, promised regard for their wishes,
and set out towards the south; but as luck would have it, although he
hunted diligently, he found no game. Nor had he more success to the
east or west, so that, being a keen sportsman, and determined not to
go home empty-handed, he forgot all about his promise, and turned to
the north. Here also he was at first unsuccessful, but just as he had
made up his mind to give up for that day, a white hind with golden
horns and silver hoofs flashed past him into a thicket. So quickly did
it pass that he scarcely saw it; nevertheless a burning desire to
capture and possess the beautiful strange creature filled his breast.
He instantly ordered his attendants to form a ring round the thicket,
and so encircle the hind; then, gradually narrowing the circle, he
pressed forward till he could distinctly see the white hind panting in
the midst. Nearer and nearer he advanced, till, just as he thought to
lay hold of the beautiful strange creature, it gave one mighty bound,
leapt clean over the King's head, and fled towards the mountains.
Forgetful of all else, the King, setting spurs to his horse, followed
at full speed. On, on he galloped, leaving his retinue far behind,
keeping the white hind in view, never drawing bridle, until, finding
himself in a narrow ravine with no outlet, he reined in his steed.
Before him stood a miserable hovel, into which, being tired after his
long, unsuccessful chase, he entered to ask for a drink of water. An
old woman, seated in the hut at a spinning-wheel, answered his request
by calling to her daughter, and immediately from an inner room came a
maiden so lovely and charming, so white-skinned and golden-haired,
that the King was transfixed by astonishment at seeing so beautiful a
sight in the wretched hovel.

She held the vessel of water to the King's lips, and as he drank he
looked into her eyes, and then it became clear to him that the girl
was no other than the white hind with the golden horns and silver feet
he had chased so far.

Her beauty bewitched him, so he fell on his knees, begging her to
return with him as his bride; but she only laughed, saying seven
Queens were quite enough even for a King to manage. However, when he
would take no refusal, but implored her to have pity on him, promising
her everything she could desire, she replied, "Give me the eyes of
your seven Queens, and then perhaps I may believe you mean what you
say."

The King was so carried away by the glamour of the white hind's
magical beauty, that he went home at once, had the eyes of his seven
Queens taken out, and, after throwing the poor blind creatures into a
noisome dungeon whence they could not escape, set off once more for
the hovel in the ravine, bearing with him his horrible offering. But
the white hind only laughed cruelly when she saw the fourteen eyes,
and threading them as a necklace, flung it round her mother's neck,
saying, "Wear that, little mother, as a keepsake, whilst I am away in
the King's palace."

Then she went back with the bewitched monarch, as his bride, and he
gave her the seven Queens' rich clothes and jewels to wear, the seven
Queens' palace to live in, and the seven Queens' slaves to wait upon
her; so that she really had everything even a witch could desire.

Now, very soon after the seven wretched hapless Queens had their eyes
torn out, and were cast into prison, a baby was born to the youngest
of the Queens. It was a handsome boy, but the other Queens were very
jealous that the youngest amongst them should be so fortunate. But
though at first they disliked the handsome little boy, he soon proved
so useful to them, that ere long they all looked on him as their son.
Almost as soon as he could walk about he began scraping at the mud
wall of their dungeon, and in an incredibly short space of time had
made a hole big enough for him to crawl through. Through this he
disappeared, returning in an hour or so laden with sweetmeats, which
he divided equally amongst the seven blind Queens.

As he grew older he enlarged the hole, and slipped out two or three
times every day to play with the little nobles in the town. No one
knew who the tiny boy was, but everybody liked him, and he was so full
of funny tricks and antics, so merry and bright, that he was sure to
be rewarded by some girdle-cakes, a handful of parched grain, or some
sweetmeats. All these things he brought home to his seven mothers, as
he loved to call the seven blind Queens, who by his help lived on in
their dungeon when all the world thought they had starved to death
ages before.

At last, when he was quite a big lad, he one day took his bow and
arrow, and went out to seek for game. Coming by chance past the palace
where the white hind lived in wicked splendour and magnificence, he
saw some pigeons fluttering round the white marble turrets, and,
taking good aim, shot one dead. It came tumbling past the very window
where the white Queen was sitting; she rose to see what was the
matter, and looked out. At the first glance of the handsome young lad
standing there bow in hand, she knew by witchcraft that it was the
King's son.

She nearly died of envy and spite, determining to destroy the lad
without delay; therefore, sending a servant to bring him to her
presence, she asked him if he would sell her the pigeon he had just
shot.

"No," replied the sturdy lad, "the pigeon is for my seven blind
mothers, who live in the noisome dungeon, and who would die if I did
not bring them food."

"Poor souls!" cried the cunning white witch; "would you not like to
bring them their eyes again? Give me the pigeon, my dear, and I
faithfully promise to show you where to find them."

Hearing this, the lad was delighted beyond measure, and gave up the
pigeon at once. Whereupon the white Queen told him to seek her mother
without delay, and ask for the eyes which she wore as a necklace.

"She will not fail to give them," said the cruel Queen, "if you show
her this token on which I have written what I want done."

So saying, she gave the lad a piece of broken potsherd, with these
words inscribed on it--"Kill the bearer at once, and sprinkle his
blood like water!"

Now, as the son of seven Queens could not read, he took the fatal
message cheerfully, and set off to find the white Queen's mother.

Whilst he was journeying he passed through a town, where every one of
the inhabitants looked so sad, that he could not help asking what was
the matter. They told him it was because the King's only daughter
refused to marry; so when her father died there would be no heir to
the throne. They greatly feared she must be out of her mind, for
though every good-looking young man in the kingdom had been shown to
her, she declared she would only marry one who was the son of seven
mothers, and who ever heard of such a thing? The King, in despair, had
ordered every man who entered the city gates to be led before the
Princess; so, much to the lad's impatience, for he was in an immense
hurry to find his mothers' eyes, he was dragged into the
presence-chamber.

No sooner did the Princess catch sight of him than she blushed, and,
turning to the King, said, "Dear father, this is my choice!"

Never were such rejoicings as these few words produced.



The inhabitants nearly went wild with joy, but the son of seven
Queens said he would not marry the Princess unless they first let him
recover his mothers' eyes. When the beautiful bride heard his story,
she asked to see the potsherd, for she was very learned and clever.
Seeing the treacherous words, she said nothing, but taking another
similar-shaped bit of potsherd, she wrote on it these words--"Take
care of this lad, giving him all he desires," and returned it to the
son of seven Queens, who, none the wiser, set off on his quest.

Ere long he arrived at the hovel in the ravine where the white witch's
mother, a hideous old creature, grumbled dreadfully on reading the
message, especially when the lad asked for the necklace of eyes.
Nevertheless she took it off, and gave it him, saying, "There are only
thirteen of 'em now, for I lost one last week."

The lad, however, was only too glad to get any at all, so he hurried
home as fast as he could to his seven mothers, and gave two eyes
apiece to the six elder Queens; but to the youngest he gave one,
saying, "Dearest little mother!--I will be your other eye always!"

After this he set off to marry the Princess, as he had promised, but
when passing by the white Queen's palace he saw some pigeons on the
roof. Drawing his bow, he shot one, and it came fluttering past the
window. The white hind looked out, and lo! there was the King's son
alive and well.

She cried with hatred and disgust, but sending for the lad, asked him
how he had returned so soon, and when she heard how he had brought
home the thirteen eyes, and given them to the seven blind Queens, she
could hardly restrain her rage. Nevertheless she pretended to be
charmed with his success, and told him that if he would give her this
pigeon also, she would reward him with the Jogi's wonderful cow, whose
milk flows all day long, and makes a pond as big as a kingdom. The
lad, nothing loth, gave her the pigeon; whereupon, as before, she bade
him go ask her mother for the cow, and gave him a potsherd whereon was
written--"Kill this lad without fail, and sprinkle his blood like
water!"

But on the way the son of seven Queens looked in on the Princess, just
to tell her how he came to be delayed, and she, after reading the
message on the potsherd, gave him another in its stead; so that when
the lad reached the old hag's hut and asked her for the Jogi's cow,
she could not refuse, but told the boy how to find it; and bidding him
of all things not to be afraid of the eighteen thousand demons who
kept watch and ward over the treasure, told him to be off before she
became too angry at her daughter's foolishness in thus giving away so
many good things.

Then the lad did as he had been told bravely. He journeyed on and on
till he came to a milk-white pond, guarded by the eighteen thousand
demons. They were really frightful to behold, but, plucking up
courage, he whistled a tune as he walked through them, looking neither
to the right nor the left. By-and-by he came upon the Jogi's cow,
tall, white, and beautiful, while the Jogi himself, who was king of
all the demons, sat milking her day and night, and the milk streamed
from her udder, filling the milk-white tank.

The Jogi, seeing the lad, called out fiercely, "What do you want
here?"

Then the lad answered, according to the old hag's bidding, "I want
your skin, for King Indra is making a new kettle-drum, and says your
skin is nice and tough."

Upon this the Jogi began to shiver and shake (for no Jinn or Jogi
dares disobey King Indra's command), and, falling at the lad's feet,
cried, "If you will spare me I will give you anything I possess, even
my beautiful white cow!"

To this the son of seven Queens, after a little pretended hesitation,
agreed, saying that after all it would not be difficult to find a nice
tough skin like the Jogi's elsewhere; so, driving the wonderful cow
before him, he set off homewards. The seven Queens were delighted to
possess so marvellous an animal, and though they toiled from morning
till night making curds and whey, besides selling milk to the
confectioners, they could not use half the cow gave, and became richer
and richer day by day.

Seeing them so comfortably off, the son of seven Queens started with a
light heart to marry the Princess; but when passing the white hind's
palace he could not resist sending a bolt at some pigeons which were
cooing on the parapet. One fell dead just beneath the window where the
white Queen was sitting. Looking out, she saw the lad hale and hearty
standing before her, and grew whiter than ever with rage and spite.

She sent for him to ask how he had returned so soon, and when she
heard how kindly her mother had received him, she very nearly had a
fit; however, she dissembled her feelings as well as she could, and,
smiling sweetly, said she was glad to have been able to fulfil her
promise, and that if he would give her this third pigeon, she would do
yet more for him than she had done before, by giving him the
million-fold rice, which ripens in one night.

The lad was of course delighted at the very idea, and, giving up the
pigeon, set off on his quest, armed as before with a potsherd, on
which was written, "Do not fail this time. Kill the lad, and sprinkle
his blood like water!"

But when he looked in on his Princess, just to prevent her becoming
anxious about him, she asked to see the potsherd as usual, and
substituted another, on which was written, "Yet again give this lad
all he requires, for his blood shall be as your blood!"

Now when the old hag saw this, and heard how the lad wanted the
million-fold rice which ripens in a single night, she fell into the
most furious rage, but being terribly afraid of her daughter, she
controlled herself, and bade the boy go and find the field guarded by
eighteen millions of demons, warning him on no account to look back
after having plucked the tallest spike of rice, which grew in the
centre.

So the son of seven Queens set off, and soon came to the field where,
guarded by eighteen millions of demons, the million-fold rice grew. He
walked on bravely, looking neither to the right or left, till he
reached the centre and plucked the tallest ear, but as he turned
homewards a thousand sweet voices rose behind him, crying in tenderest
accents, "Pluck me too! oh, please pluck me too!" He looked back, and
lo! there was nothing left of him but a little heap of ashes!

Now as time passed by and the lad did not return, the old hag grew
uneasy, remembering the message "his blood shall be as your blood"; so
she set off to see what had happened.

Soon she came to the heap of ashes, and knowing by her arts what it
was, she took a little water, and kneading the ashes into a paste,
formed it into the likeness of a man; then, putting a drop of blood
from her little finger into its mouth, she blew on it, and instantly
the son of seven Queens started up as well as ever.

"Don't you disobey orders again!" grumbled the old hag, "or next time
I'll leave you alone. Now be off, before I repent of my kindness!"



So the son of seven Queens returned joyfully to his seven mothers,
who, by the aid of the million-fold rice, soon became the richest
people in the kingdom. Then they celebrated their son's marriage to
the clever Princess with all imaginable pomp; but the bride was so
clever, she would not rest until she had made known her husband to his
father, and punished the wicked white witch. So she made her husband
build a palace exactly like the one in which the seven Queens had
lived, and in which the white witch now dwelt in splendour. Then, when
all was prepared, she bade her husband give a grand feast to the King.
Now the King had heard much of the mysterious son of seven Queens, and
his marvellous wealth, so he gladly accepted the invitation; but what
was his astonishment when on entering the palace he found it was a
facsimile of his own in every particular! And when his host, richly
attired, led him straight to the private hall, where on royal thrones
sat the seven Queens, dressed as he had last seen them, he was
speechless with surprise, until the Princess, coming forward, threw
herself at his feet, and told him the whole story. Then the King awoke
from his enchantment, and his anger rose against the wicked white hind
who had bewitched him so long, until he could not contain himself. So
she was put to death, and her grave ploughed over, and after that the
seven Queens returned to their own splendid palace, and everybody
lived happily.




A Lesson for Kings




Once upon a time, when Brahma-datta was reigning in Benares, the
future Buddha returned to life as his son and heir. And when the day
came for choosing a name, they called him Prince Brahma-datta. He grew
up in due course; and when he was sixteen years old, went to
Takkasila, and became accomplished in all arts. And after his father
died he ascended the throne, and ruled the kingdom with righteousness
and equity. He gave judgments without partiality, hatred, ignorance,
or fear. Since he thus reigned with justice, with justice also his
ministers administered the law. Law-suits being thus decided with
justice, there were none who brought false cases. And as these ceased,
the noise and tumult of litigation ceased in the king's court. Though
the judges sat all day in the court, they had to leave without any one
coming for justice. It came to this, that the Hall of Justice would
have to be closed!

Then the future Buddha thought, "It cannot be from my reigning with
righteousness that none come for judgment; the bustle has ceased, and
the Hall of Justice will have to be closed. I must, therefore, now
examine into my own faults; and if I find that anything is wrong in
me, put that away, and practise only virtue."

Thenceforth he sought for some one to tell him his faults, but among
those around him he found no one who would tell him of any fault, but
heard only his own praise.

Then he thought, "It is from fear of me that these men speak only good
things, and not evil things," and he sought among those people who
lived outside the palace. And finding no fault-finder there, he sought
among those who lived outside the city, in the suburbs, at the four
gates. And there too finding no one to find fault, and hearing only
his own praise, he determined to search the country places.

So he made over the kingdom to his ministers, and mounted his chariot;
and taking only his charioteer, left the city in disguise. And
searching the country through, up to the very boundary, he found no
fault-finder, and heard only of his own virtue; and so he turned back
from the outer-most boundary, and returned by the high road towards
the city.

Now at that time the king of Kosala, Mallika by name, was also ruling
his kingdom with righteousness; and when seeking for some fault in
himself, he also found no fault-finder in the palace but only heard of
his own virtue! So seeking in country places, he too came to that
very spot. And these two came face to face in a low cart-track with
precipitous sides, where there was no space for a chariot to get out
of the way!

Then the charioteer of Mallika the king said to the charioteer of the
king of Benares, "Take thy chariot out of the way!"

But he said, "Take thy chariot out of the way, O charioteer! In this
chariot sitteth the lord over the kingdom of Benares, the great king
Brahma-datta."

Yet the other replied, "In this chariot, O charioteer, sitteth the
lord over the kingdom of Kosala, the great king Mallika. Take thy
carriage out of the way, and make room for the chariot of our king!"

Then the charioteer of the king of Benares thought, "They say then
that he too is a king! What _is_ now to be done?" After some
consideration, he said to himself, "I know a way. I'll find out how
old he is, and then I'll let the chariot of the younger be got out of
the way, and so make room for the elder."

And when he had arrived at that conclusion, he asked that charioteer
what the age of the king of Kosala was. But on inquiry he found that
the ages of both were equal. Then he inquired about the extent of his
kingdom, and about his army, and his wealth, and his renown, and about
the country he lived in, and his caste and tribe and family. And he
found that both were lords of a kingdom three hundred leagues in
extent; and that in respect of army and wealth and renown, and the
countries in which they lived, and their caste and their tribe and
their family, they were just on a par!

Then he thought, "I will make way for the most righteous." And he
asked, "What kind of righteousness has this king of yours?"

Then the chorister of the king of Kosala, proclaiming his king's
wickedness as goodness, uttered the First Stanza:

    "The strong he overthrows by strength,
    The mild by mildness, does Mallika;
    The good he conquers by goodness,
    And the wicked by wickedness too.
      Such is the nature of _this_ king!
      Move out of the way, O charioteer!"

But the charioteer of the king of Benares asked him, "Well, have you
told all the virtues of your king?"

"Yes," said the other.

"If these are his _virtues_, where are then his faults?" replied he.

The other said, "Well, for the nonce, they shall be faults, if you
like! But pray, then, what is the kind of goodness your king has?"

And then the charioteer of the king of Benares called unto him to
hearken, and uttered the Second Stanza:

    "Anger he conquers by calmness,
    And by goodness the wicked;
    The stingy he conquers by gifts,
    And by truth the speaker of lies.
      Such is the nature of _this_ king!
      Move out of the way, O charioteer!"

And when he had thus spoken, both Mallika the king and his charioteer
alighted from their chariot. And they took out the horses, and removed
their chariot, and made way for the king of Benares!




Pride goeth before a Fall


In a certain village there lived ten cloth merchants, who always went
about together. Once upon a time they had travelled far afield, and
were returning home with a great deal of money which they had obtained
by selling their wares. Now there happened to be a dense forest near
their village, and this they reached early one morning. In it there
lived three notorious robbers, of whose existence the traders had
never heard, and while they were still in the middle of it the robbers
stood before them, with swords and cudgels in their hands, and ordered
them to lay down all they had. The traders had no weapons with them,
and so, though they were many more in number, they had to submit
themselves to the robbers, who took away everything from them, even
the very clothes they wore, and gave to each only a small loin-cloth a
span in breadth and a cubit in length.

The idea that they had conquered ten men and plundered all their
property, now took possession of the robbers' minds. They seated
themselves like three monarchs before the men they had plundered, and
ordered them to dance to them before returning home. The merchants
now mourned their fate. They had lost all they had, except their
loin-cloth, and still the robbers were not satisfied, but ordered them
to dance.

There was, among the ten merchants, one who was very clever. He
pondered over the calamity that had come upon him and his friends, the
dance they would have to perform, and the magnificent manner in which
the three robbers had seated themselves on the grass. At the same time
he observed that these last had placed their weapons on the ground, in
the assurance of having thoroughly cowed the traders, who were now
commencing to dance. So he took the lead in the dance, and, as a song
is always sung by the leader on such occasions, to which the rest keep
time with hands and feet, he thus began to sing:

    "We are enty men,
    They are erith men:
    If each erith man,
    Surround eno men
    Eno man remains.
    _Ta, tai, tom, tadingana._"

The robbers were all uneducated, and thought that the leader was
merely singing a song as usual. So it was in one sense; for the leader
commenced from a distance, and had sung the song over twice before he
and his companions commenced to approach the robbers. They had
understood his meaning, because they had been trained in trade.

When two traders discuss the price of an article in the presence of a
purchaser, they use a riddling sort of language.





"What is the price of this cloth?" one trader will ask another.

"Enty rupees," another will reply, meaning "ten rupees."

Thus, there is no possibility of the purchaser knowing what is meant
unless he be acquainted with trade language. By the rules of this
secret language erith means "three," enty means "ten," and eno means
"one." So the leader by his song meant to hint to his fellow-traders
that they were ten men, the robbers only three, that if three pounced
upon each of the robbers, nine of them could hold them down, while the
remaining one bound the robbers' hands and feet.





The three thieves, glorying in their victory, and little understanding
the meaning of the song and the intentions of the dancers, were
proudly seated chewing betel and tobacco. Meanwhile the song was sung
a third time. _Ta tai tom_ had left the lips of the singer; and,
before _tadingana_ was out of them, the traders separated into parties
of three, and each party pounced upon a thief. The remaining one--the
leader himself--tore up into long narrow strips a large piece of
cloth, six cubits long, and tied the hands and feet of the robbers.
These were entirely humbled now, and rolled on the ground like three
bags of rice!

The ten traders now took back all their property, and armed themselves
with the swords and cudgels of their enemies; and when they reached
their village, they often amused their friends and relatives by
relating their adventure.




Raja Rasalu.


Once there lived a great Raja, whose name was Salabhan, and he had a
Queen, by name Lona, who, though she wept and prayed at many a shrine,
had never a child to gladden her eyes. After a long time, however, a
son was promised to her.

Queen Lona returned to the palace, and when the time for the birth of
the promised son drew nigh, she inquired of three Jogis who came
begging to her gate, what the child's fate would be, and the youngest
of them answered and said, "Oh, Queen! the child will be a boy, and he
will live to be a great man. But for twelve years you must not look
upon his face, for if either you or his father see it before the
twelve years are past, you will surely die! This is what you must do;
as soon as the child is born you must send him away to a cellar
underneath the ground, and never let him see the light of day for
twelve years. After they are over, he may come forth, bathe in the
river, put on new clothes, and visit you. His name shall be Raja
Rasalu, and he shall be known far and wide."

So, when a fair young Prince was in due time born into the world, his
parents hid him away in an underground palace, with nurses, and
servants, and everything else a King's son might desire. And with him
they sent a young colt, born the same day, and sword, spear, and
shield, against the day when Raja Rasalu should go forth into the
world.

So there the child lived, playing with his colt, and talking to his
parrot, while the nurses taught him all things needful for a King's
son to know.

Young Rasalu lived on, far from the light of day, for eleven long
years, growing tall and strong, yet contented to remain playing with
his colt, and talking to his parrot; but when the twelfth year began,
the lad's heart leapt up with desire for change, and he loved to
listen to the sounds of life which came to him in his palace-prison
from the outside world.

"I must go and see where the voices come from!" he said; and when his
nurses told him he must not go for one year more, he only laughed
aloud, saying, "Nay! I stay no longer here for any man!"

Then he saddled his Arab horse Bhaunr, put on his shining armour, and
rode forth into the world; but mindful of what his nurses had oft told
him, when he came to the river, he dismounted, and, going into the
water, washed himself and his clothes.

Then, clean of raiment, fair of face, and brave of heart, he rode on
his way until he reached his father's city. There he sat down to rest
awhile by a well, where the women were drawing water in earthen
pitchers. Now, as they passed him, their full pitchers poised upon
their heads, the gay young Prince flung stones at the earthen
vessels, and broke them all. Then the women, drenched with water,
went weeping and wailing to the palace, complaining to the King that a
mighty young Prince in shining armour, with a parrot on his wrist and
a gallant steed beside him, sat by the well, and broke their pitchers.

Now, as soon as Rajah Salabhan heard this, he guessed at once that it
was Prince Rasalu come forth before the time, and, mindful of the
Jogis' words that he would die if he looked on his son's face before
twelve years were past, he did not dare to send his guards to seize
the offender and bring him to be judged. So he bade the women be
comforted, and take pitchers of iron and brass, giving new ones from
his treasury to those who did not possess any of their own.

But when Prince Rasalu saw the women returning to the well with
pitchers of iron and brass, he laughed to himself, and drew his mighty
bow till the sharp-pointed arrows pierced the metal vessels as though
they had been clay.

Yet still the King did not send for him, so he mounted his steed and
set off in the pride of his youth and strength to the palace. He
strode into the audience hall, where his father sat trembling, and
saluted him with all reverence; but Raja Salabhan, in fear of his
life, turned his back hastily and said never a word in reply.

Then Prince Rasalu called scornfully to him across the hall:

    "I came to greet thee, King, and not to harm thee!
      What have I done that thou shouldst turn away?
    Sceptre and empire have no power to charm me--
      I go to seek a worthier prize than they!"

Then he strode away, full of bitterness and anger; but, as he passed
under the palace windows, he heard his mother weeping, and the sound
softened his heart, so that his wrath died down, and a great
loneliness fell upon him, because he was spurned by both father and
mother. So he cried sorrowfully,

    "Oh heart crown'd with grief, hast thou nought
      But tears for thy son?
    Art mother of mine?  Give one thought
      To my life just begun!"

And Queen Lona answered through her tears:

    "Yea! mother am I, though I weep,
      So hold this word sure,--
    Go, reign king of all men, but keep
      Thy heart good and pure!"

So Raja Rasalu was comforted, and began to make ready for fortune. He
took with him his horse Bhaunr and his parrot, both of whom had lived
with him since he was born.

So they made a goodly company, and Queen Lona, when she saw them
going, watched them from her window till she saw nothing but a cloud
of dust on the horizon; then she bowed her head on her hands and wept,
saying:

    "Oh! son who ne'er gladdened mine eyes,
    Let the cloud of thy going arise,
    Dim the sunlight and darken the day;
    For the mother whose son is away
            Is as dust!"

Rasalu had started off to play chaupur with King Sarkap. And as he
journeyed there came a fierce storm of thunder and lightning, so that
he sought shelter, and found none save an old graveyard, where a
headless corpse lay upon the ground. So lonesome was it that even the
corpse seemed company, and Rasalu, sitting down beside it, said:

    "There is no one here, nor far nor near,
      Save this breathless corpse so cold and grim;
    Would God he might come to life again,
      'Twould be less lonely to talk to him."

And immediately the headless corpse arose and sat beside Raja Rasalu.
And he, nothing astonished, said to it:

    "The storm beats fierce and loud,
      The clouds rise thick in the west;
    What ails thy grave and shroud,
      Oh corpse! that thou canst not rest?"

Then the headless corpse replied:

    "On earth I was even as thou,
      My turban awry like a king,
    My head with the highest, I trow,
      Having my fun and my fling,
    Fighting my foes like a brave,
      Living my life with a swing.
            And, now I am dead,
            Sins, heavy as lead,
    Will give me no rest in my grave!"

So the night passed on, dark and dreary, while Rasalu sat in the
graveyard and talked to the headless corpse. Now when morning broke
and Rasalu said he must continue his journey, the headless corpse
asked him whither he was going, and when he said "to play chaupur with
King Sarkap," the corpse begged him to give up the idea saying, "I am
King Sarkap's brother, and I know his ways. Every day, before
breakfast, he cuts off the heads of two or three men, just to amuse
himself. One day no one else was at hand, so he cut off mine, and he
will surely cut off yours on some pretence or another. However, if you
are determined to go and play chaupur with him, take some of the bones
from this graveyard, and make your dice out of them, and then the
enchanted dice with which my brother plays will lose their virtue.
Otherwise he will always win."

So Rasalu took some of the bones lying about, and fashioned them into
dice, and these he put into his pocket. Then, bidding adieu to the
headless corpse, he went on his way to play chaupur with the King.

Now, as Raja Rasalu, tender-hearted and strong, journeyed along to
play chaupur with the King, he came to a burning forest, and a voice
rose from the fire saying, "Oh, traveller! for God's sake save me from
the fire!"

Then the Prince turned towards the burning forest, and, lo! the voice
was the voice of a tiny cricket. Nevertheless, Rasalu, tender-hearted
and strong, snatched it from the fire and set it at liberty. Then the
little creature, full of gratitude, pulled out one of its feelers, and
giving it to its preserver, said, "Keep this, and should you ever be
in trouble, put it into the fire, and instantly I will come to your
aid."

The Prince smiled, saying, "What help could _you_ give _me_?"
Nevertheless, he kept the hair and went on his way.

Now, when he reached the city of King Sarkap, seventy maidens,
daughters of the King, came out to meet him,--seventy fair maidens,
merry and careless, full of smiles and laughter; but one, the youngest
of them all, when she saw the gallant young Prince riding on Bhaunr
Iraqi, going gaily to his doom, was filled with pity, and called to
him saying:

    "Fair Prince, on the charger so gray,
        Turn thee back! turn thee back!
    Or lower thy lance for the fray;
    Thy head will be forfeit to-day!
    Dost love life? then, stranger, I pray,
        Turn thee back! turn thee back!"

But he, smiling at the maiden, answered lightly:

    "Fair maiden, I come from afar,
    Sworn conqueror in love and in war!
    King Sarkap my coming will rue,
    His head in four pieces I'll hew;
    Then forth as a bridegroom I'll ride,
    With you, little maid, as my bride!"

Now when Rasalu replied so gallantly, the maiden looked in his face,
and seeing how fair he was, and how brave and strong, she straightway
fell in love with him, and would gladly have followed him through the
world.

But the other sixty-nine maidens, being jealous, laughed scornfully at
her, saying, "Not so fast, oh gallant warrior! If you would marry our
sister you must first do our bidding, for you will be our younger
brother."

"Fair sisters!" quoth Rasalu gaily, "give me my task and I will
perform it."

So the sixty-nine maidens mixed a hundred-weight of millet seed with a
hundred-weight of sand, and giving it to Rasalu, bade him separate the
seed from the sand.

Then he bethought him of the cricket, and drawing the feeler from his
pocket, thrust it into the fire. And immediately there was a whirring
noise in the air, and a great flight of crickets alighted beside him,
and amongst them the cricket whose life he had saved.

Then Rasalu said, "Separate the millet seed from the sand."

"Is that all?" quoth the cricket; "had I known how small a job you
wanted me to do, I would not have assembled so many of my brethren."

With that the flight of crickets set to work, and in one night they
separated the seed from the sand.

Now when the sixty-nine fair maidens, daughters of the king saw that
Rasalu had performed his task, they set him another, bidding him swing
them all, one by one, in their swings, until they were tired.

Whereupon he laughed, saying, "There are seventy of you, counting my
little bride yonder, and I am not going to spend my life swinging
girls! Why, by the time I have given each of you a swing, the first
will be wanting another! No! if you want a swing, get in, all seventy
of you, into one swing, and then I'll see what can be done."

So the seventy maidens climbed into one swing, and Raja Rasalu,
standing in his shining armour, fastened the ropes to his mighty bow,
and drew it up to its fullest bent. Then he let go, and like an arrow
the swing shot into the air, with its burden of seventy fair maidens,
merry and careless, full of smiles and laughter.

But as it swung back again, Rasalu, standing there in his shining
armour, drew his sharp sword and severed the ropes. Then the seventy
fair maidens fell to the ground headlong; and some were bruised and
some broken, but the only one who escaped unhurt was the maiden who
loved Rasalu, for she fell out last, on the top of the others, and so
came to no harm.

After this, Rasalu strode on fifteen paces, till he came to the
seventy drums, that every one who came to play chaupur with the King
had to beat in turn; and he beat them so loudly that he broke them
all. Then he came to the seventy gongs, all in a row, and he hammered
them so hard that they cracked to pieces.

Seeing this, the youngest Princess, who was the only one who could
run, fled to her father the King in a great fright, saying:

    "A mighty Prince, Sarkap! making havoc, rides along,
    He swung us, seventy maidens fair, and threw us out headlong;
    He broke the drums you placed there and the gongs too in his pride,
    Sure, he will kill thee, father mine, and take me for his bride!"

But King Sarkap replied scornfully:

    "Silly maiden, thy words make a lot
      Of a very small matter;
    For fear of my valour, I wot,
      His armour will clatter.
    As soon as I've eaten my bread
    I'll go forth and cut off his head!"

Notwithstanding these brave and boastful words, he was in reality very
much afraid, having heard of Rasalu's renown. And learning that he was
stopping at the house of an old woman in the city, till the hour for
playing chaupur arrived, Sarkap sent slaves to him with trays of
sweetmeats and fruit, as to an honoured guest. But the food was
poisoned.

Now when the slaves brought the trays to Raja Rasalu, he rose up
haughtily, saying, "Go, tell your master I have nought to do with him
in friendship. I am his sworn enemy, and I eat not of his salt!"

So saying, he threw the sweetmeats to Raja Sarkap's dog, which had
followed the slave, and lo! the dog died.

Then Rasalu was very wroth, and said bitterly, "Go back to Sarkap,
slaves! and tell him that Rasalu deems it no act of bravery to kill
even an enemy by treachery."

Now, when evening came, Raja Rasalu went forth to play chaupur with
King Sarkap, and as he passed some potters' kilns he saw a cat
wandering about restlessly; so he asked what ailed her, that she never
stood still, and she replied, "My kittens are in an unbaked pot in the
kiln yonder. It has just been set alight, and my children will be
baked alive; therefore I cannot rest!"

Her words moved the heart of Raja Rasalu, and, going to the potter, he
asked him to sell the kiln as it was; but the potter replied that he
could not settle a fair price till the pots were burnt, as he could
not tell how many would come out whole. Nevertheless, after some
bargaining, he consented at last to sell the kiln, and Rasalu, having
searched all the pots, restored the kittens to their mother, and she,
in gratitude for his mercy, gave him one of them, saying, "Put it in
your pocket, for it will help you when you are in difficulties." So
Raja Rasalu put the kitten in his pocket, and went to play chaupur
with the King.

Now, before they sat down to play, Raja Sarkap fixed his stakes,--on
the first game, his kingdom; on the second, the wealth of the whole
world; and, on the third, his own head. So, likewise, Raja Rasalu
fixed his stakes,--on the first game, his arms; on the second, his
horse; and, on the third, his own head.

Then they began to play, and it fell to Rasalu's lot to make the first
move. Now he, forgetful of the dead man's warning, played with the
dice given him by Raja Sarkap, besides which, Sarkap let loose his
famous rat, Dhol Raja, and it ran about the board, upsetting the
chaupur pieces on the sly, so that Rasalu lost the first game, and
gave up his shining armour.

Then the second game began, and once more Dhol Raja, the rat, upset
the pieces; and Rasalu, losing the game, gave up his faithful steed.
Then Bhaunr, the Arab steed, who stood by, found voice, and cried to
his master,

        "Sea-born am I, bought with much gold;
        Dear Prince! trust me now as of old.
          I'll carry you far from these wiles--
    My flight, all unspurr'd, will be swift as a bird,
          For thousands and thousands of miles!
    Or if needs you must stay; ere the next game you play,
          Place hand in your pocket, I pray!"

Hearing this, Raja Sarkap frowned, and bade his slaves remove Bhaunr,
the Arab steed, since he gave his master advice in the game. Now, when
the slaves came to lead the faithful steed away, Rasalu could
not refrain from tears, thinking over the long years during which
Bhaunr, the Arab steed, had been his companion. But the horse cried
out again,

    "Weep not, dear Prince! I shall not eat my bread
    Of stranger hands, nor to strange stall be led.
    Take thy right hand, and place it as I said."



These words roused some recollection in Rasalu's mind, and when, just
at this moment, the kitten in his pocket began to struggle, he
remembered all about the warning, and the dice made from dead men's
bones. Then his heart rose up once more, and he called boldly to Raja
Sarkap, "Leave my horse and arms here for the present. Time enough to
take them away when you have won my head!"

Now, Raja Sarkap, seeing Rasalu's confident bearing, began to be
afraid, and ordered all the women of his palace to come forth in their
gayest attire and stand before Rasalu, so as to distract his attention
from the game. But he never even looked at them, and drawing the dice
from his pocket, said to Sarkap, "We have played with your dice all
this time; now we will play with mine."

Then the kitten went and sat at the window through which the rat Dhol
Raja used to come, and the game began.

After a while, Sarkap, seeing Raja Rasalu was winning, called to his
rat, but when Dhol Raja saw the kitten he was afraid, and would not go
further. So Rasalu won, and took back his arms. Next he played for his
horse, and once more Raja Sarkap called for his rat; but Dhol Raja,
seeing the kitten keeping watch, was afraid. So Rasalu won the second
stake, and took back Bhaunr, the Arab steed.

Then Sarkap brought all his skill to bear on the third and last game,
saying,

    "Oh moulded pieces! favour me to-day!
    For sooth this is a man with whom I play.
    No paltry risk--but life and death at stake;
    As Sarkap does, so do, for Sarkap's sake!"

But Rasalu answered back,

    "Oh moulded pieces! favour me to-day!
    For sooth it is a man with whom I play.
    No paltry risk--but life and death at stake;
    As Heaven does, so do, for Heaven's sake!"

So they began to play, whilst the women stood round in a circle, and
the kitten watched Dhol Raja from the window. Then Sarkap lost, first
his kingdom, then the wealth of the whole world, and lastly his head.

Just then, a servant came in to announce the birth of a daughter to
Raja Sarkap, and he, overcome by misfortunes, said, "Kill her at once!
for she has been born in an evil moment, and has brought her father
ill luck!"

But Rasalu rose up in his shining armour, tender-hearted and strong,
saying, "Not so, oh king! She has done no evil. Give me this child to
wife; and if you will vow, by all you hold sacred, never again to play
chaupur for another's head, I will spare yours now!"

Then Sarkap vowed a solemn vow never to play for another's head; and
after that he took a fresh mango branch, and the new-born babe, and
placing them on a golden dish gave them to Rasalu.

Now, as he left the palace, carrying with him the new-born babe and
the mango branch, he met a band of prisoners, and they called out to
him,

    "A royal hawk art thou, oh King! the rest
    But timid wild-fowl.  Grant us our request,--
    Unloose these chains, and live for ever blest!"

And Raja Rasalu hearkened to them, and bade King Sarkap set them at
liberty.

Then he went to the Murti Hills, and placed the new-born babe,
Kokilan, in an underground palace, and planted the mango branch at the
door, saying, "In twelve years the mango tree will blossom; then will
I return and marry Kokilan."

And after twelve years, the mango tree began to flower, and Raja
Rasalu married the Princess Kokilan, whom he won from Sarkap when he
played chaupur with the King.




The Ass in the Lion's Skin




At the same time, when Brahma-datta was reigning in Benares, the
future Buddha was born one of a peasant family; and when he grew up,
he gained his living by tilling the ground.

At that time a hawker used to go from place to place, trafficking in
goods carried by an ass. Now at each place he came to, when he took
the pack down from the ass's back, he used to clothe him in a lion's
skin, and turn him loose in the rice and barley fields. And when the
watchmen in the fields saw the ass, they dared not go near him, taking
him for a lion.

So one day the hawker stopped in a village; and whilst he was getting
his own breakfast cooked, he dressed the ass in a lion's skin, and
turned him loose in a barley-field. The watchmen in the field dared
not go up to him; but going home, they published the news. Then all
the villagers came out with weapons in their hands; and blowing
chanks, and beating drums, they went near the field and shouted.
Terrified with the fear of death, the ass uttered a cry--the bray of
an ass!

And when he knew him then to be an ass, the future Buddha pronounced
the First Verse:

    "This is not a lion's roaring,
    Nor a tiger's, nor a panther's;
    Dressed in a lion's skin,
      'Tis a wretched ass that roars!"

But when the villagers knew the creature to be an ass, they beat him
till his bones broke; and, carrying off the lion's skin, went away.
Then the hawker came; and seeing the ass fallen into so bad a plight,
pronounced the Second Verse:

    "Long might the ass,
    Clad in a lion's skin,
    Have fed on the barley green.
    But he brayed!
      And that moment he came to ruin."

And even whilst he was yet speaking the ass died on the spot!




The Farmer and the Money-lender


There was once a farmer who suffered much at the hands of a
money-lender. Good harvests, or bad, the farmer was always poor, the
money-lender rich. At the last, when he hadn't a farthing left, farmer
went to the money-lender's house, and said, "You can't squeeze water
from a stone, and as you have nothing to get by me now, you might tell
me the secret of becoming rich."

"My friend," returned the money-lender, piously, "riches come from
Ram--ask _him_."

"Thank you, I will!" replied the simple farmer; so he prepared three
girdle-cakes to last him on the journey, and set out to find Ram.

First he met a Brahman, and to him he gave a cake, asking him to point
out the road to Ram; but the Brahman only took the cake and went on
his way without a word. Next the farmer met a Jogi or devotee, and to
him he gave a cake, without receiving any help in return. At last, he
came upon a poor man sitting under a tree, and finding out he was
hungry, the kindly farmer gave him his last cake, and sitting down to
rest beside him, entered into conversation.

"And where are you going?" asked the poor man, at length.

"Oh, I have a long journey before me, for I am going to find Ram!"
replied the farmer. "I don't suppose you could tell me which way to
go?"

"Perhaps I can," said the poor man, smiling, "for _I_ am Ram! What do
you want of me?"

Then the farmer told the whole story, and Ram, taking pity on him,
gave him a conch shell, and showed him how to blow it in a particular
way, saying, "Remember! whatever you wish for, you have only to blow
the conch that way, and your wish will be fulfilled. Only have a care
of that money-lender, for even magic is not proof against their
wiles!"

The farmer went back to his village rejoicing. In fact the
money-lender noticed his high spirits at once, and said to himself,
"Some good fortune must have befallen the stupid fellow, to make him
hold his head so jauntily." Therefore he went over to the simple
farmer's house, and congratulated him on his good fortune, in such
cunning words, pretending to have heard all about it, that before long
the farmer found himself telling the whole story--all except the
secret of blowing the conch, for, with all his simplicity, the farmer
was not quite such a fool as to tell that.

Nevertheless, the money-lender determined to have the conch by hook or
by crook, and as he was villain enough not to stick at trifles, he
waited for a favourable opportunity and stole the conch.

But, after nearly bursting himself with blowing the conch in every
conceivable way, he was obliged to give up the secret as a bad job.
However, being determined to succeed he went back to the farmer, and
said, coolly, "Look here; I've got your conch, but I can't use it; you
haven't got it, so it's clear you can't use it either. Business is at
a stand-still unless we make a bargain. Now, I promise to give you
back your conch, and never to interfere with your using it, on one
condition, which is this,--whatever you get from it, I am to get
double."

"Never!" cried the farmer; "that would be the old business all over
again!"



"Not at all!" replied the wily money-lender; "you will have your
share! Now, don't be a dog in the manger, for if _you_ get all you
want, what can it matter to you if _I_ am rich or poor?"

At last, though it went sorely against the grain to be of any benefit
to a money-lender, the farmer was forced to yield, and from that time,
no matter what he gained by the power of the conch, the money-lender
gained double. And the knowledge that this was so preyed upon the
farmer's mind day and night, so that he had no satisfaction out of
anything.

At last, there came a very dry season,--so dry that the farmer's crops
withered for want of rain. Then he blew his conch, and wished for a
well to water them, and lo! there was the well, _but the money-lender
had two!_--two beautiful new wells! This was too much for any farmer
to stand; and our friend brooded over it, and brooded over it, till at
last a bright idea came into his head. He seized the conch, blew it
loudly, and cried out, "Oh, Ram! I wish to be blind of one eye!" And
so he was, in a twinkling, but the money-lender of course was blind of
both, and in trying to steer his way between the two new wells, he
fell into one, and was drowned.

Now this true story shows that a farmer once got the better of a
money-lender--but only by losing one of his eyes.




The Boy who had a Moon on his Forehead and a Star on his Chin


In a country were seven daughters of poor parents, who used to come
daily to play under the shady trees in the King's garden with the
gardener's daughter; and daily she used to say to them, "When I am
married I shall have a son. Such a beautiful boy as he will be has
never been seen. He will have a moon on his forehead and a star on his
chin." Then her playfellows used to laugh at her and mock her.

But one day the King heard her telling them about the beautiful boy
she would have when she was married, and he said to himself he should
like very much to have such a son; the more so that though he had
already four Queens he had no child. He went, therefore, to the
gardener and told him he wished to marry his daughter. This delighted
the gardener and his wife, who thought it would indeed be grand for
their daughter to become a princess. So they said "Yes" to the King,
and invited all their friends to the wedding. The King invited all
his, and he gave the gardener as much money as he wanted. Then the
wedding was held with great feasting and rejoicing.

A year later the day drew near on which the gardener's daughter was to
have her son; and the King's four other Queens came constantly to see
her. One day they said to her, "The King hunts every day; and the time
is soon coming when you will have your child. Suppose you fell ill
whilst he was out hunting and could therefore know nothing of your
illness, what would you do then?"

When the King came home that evening, the gardener's daughter said to
him, "Every day you go out hunting. Should I ever be in trouble or
sick while you are away, how could I send for you?" The King gave her
a kettle-drum which he placed near the door for her, and he said to
her, "Whenever you want me, beat this kettle-drum. No matter how far
away I may be, I shall hear it, and will come at once to you."

Next morning when the King had gone out to hunt, his four other Queens
came to see the gardener's daughter. She told them all about her
kettle-drum. "Oh," they said, "do drum on it just to see if the King
really will come to you."

"No, I will not," she said; "for why should I call him from his
hunting when I do not want him?"

"Don't mind interrupting his hunting," they answered. "Do try if he
really will come to you when you beat your kettle-drum." So at last,
just to please them, she beat it, and the King stood before her.

"Why have you called me?" he said. "See, I have left my hunting to
come to you."

"I want nothing," she answered; "I only wished to know if you really
would come to me when I beat my drum."

"Very well," answered the King; "but do not call me again unless you
really need me." Then he returned to his hunting.

The next day, when the King had gone out hunting as usual, the four
Queens again came to see the gardener's daughter. They begged and
begged her to beat her drum once more, "just to see if the King will
really come to see you this time." At first she refused, but at last
she consented. So she beat her drum, and the King came to her. But
when he found she was neither ill nor in trouble, he was angry, and
said to her, "Twice I have left my hunting and lost my game to come to
you when you did not need me. Now you may call me as much as you like,
but I will not come to you," and then he went away in a rage.

The third day the gardener's daughter fell ill, and she beat and beat
her kettle-drum; but the King never came. He heard her kettle-drum,
but he thought, "She does not really want me; she is only trying to
see if I will go to her."

Meanwhile the four other Queens came to her, and they said, "Here it
is the custom before a child is born to bind its mother's eyes with a
handkerchief that she may not see it just at first. So let us bind
your eyes." She answered, "Very well, bind my eyes." The four wives
then tied a handkerchief over them.

Soon after, the gardener's daughter had a beautiful little son, with a
moon on his forehead and a star on his chin, and before the poor
mother had seen him, the four wicked Queens took the boy to the nurse
and said to her, "Now you must not let this child make the least sound
for fear his mother should hear him; and in the night you must either
kill him, or else take him away, so that his mother may never see him.
If you obey our orders, we will give you a great many rupees." All
this they did out of spite. The nurse took the little child and put
him into a box, and the four Queens went back to the gardener's
daughter.

First they put a stone into her boy's little bed, and then they took
the handkerchief off her eyes and showed it her, saying, "Look! this
is your son!" The poor girl cried bitterly, and thought, "What will
the King say when he finds no child?" But she could do nothing.

When the King came home, he was furious at hearing his youngest wife,
the gardener's daughter, had given him a stone instead of the
beautiful little son she had promised him. He made her one of the
palace servants, and never spoke to her.

In the middle of the night the nurse took the box in which was the
beautiful little prince, and went out to a broad plain in the jungle.
There she dug a hole, made the fastenings of the box sure, and put the
box into the hole, although the child in it was still alive. The
King's dog, whose name was Shankar, had followed her to see what she
did with the box. As soon as she had gone back to the four Queens (who
gave her a great many rupees), the dog went to the hole in which she
had put the box, took the box out, and opened it. When he saw the
beautiful little boy, he was very much delighted and said, "If it
pleases Khuda that this child should live, I will not hurt him; I will
not eat him, but I will swallow him whole and hide him in my stomach."
This he did.

After six months had passed, the dog went by night to the jungle, and
thought, "I wonder whether the boy is alive or dead." Then he brought
the child out of his stomach and rejoiced over his beauty. The boy was
now six months old. When Shankar had caressed and loved him, he
swallowed him again for another six months. At the end of that time he
went once more by night to the broad jungle-plain. There he brought up
the child out of his stomach (the child was now a year old), and
caressed and petted him a great deal, and was made very happy by his
great beauty.

But this time the dog's keeper had followed and watched the dog; and
he saw all that Shankar did, and the beautiful little child, so he ran
to the four Queens and said to them, "Inside the King's dog there is a
child! the loveliest child! He has a moon on his forehead and a star
on his chin. Such a child has never been seen!" At this the four wives
were very much frightened, and as soon as the King came home from
hunting they said to him, "While you were away your dog came to our
rooms, and tore our clothes and knocked about all our things. We are
afraid he will kill us." "Do not be afraid," said the King. "Eat your
dinner and be happy. I will have the dog shot to-morrow morning."

Then he ordered his servants to shoot the dog at dawn, but the dog
heard him, and said to himself, "What shall I do? The King intends to
kill me. I don't care about that, but what will become of the child if
I am killed? He will die. But I will see if I cannot save him."

So when it was night, the dog ran to the King's cow, who was called
Suri, and said to her, "Suri, I want to give you something, for the
King has ordered me to be shot to-morrow. Will you take great care of
whatever I give you?"

"Let me see what it is," said Suri, "I will take care of it if I
can." Then they both went together to the wide plain, and there the
dog brought up the boy. Suri was enchanted with him. "I never saw such
a beautiful child in this country," she said. "See, he has a moon on
his forehead and a star on his chin. I will take the greatest care of
him." So saying she swallowed the little prince. The dog made her a
great many salaams, and said, "To-morrow I shall die;" and the cow
then went back to her stable.

Next morning at dawn the dog was taken to the jungle and shot.

The child now lived in Suri's stomach; and when one whole year had
passed, and he was two years old, the cow went out to the plain, and
said to herself, "I do not know whether the child is alive or dead.
But I have never hurt it, so I will see." Then she brought up the boy;
and he played about, and Suri was delighted; she loved him and
caressed him, and talked to him. Then she swallowed him, and returned
to her stable.

At the end of another year she went again to the plain and brought up
the child. He played and ran about for an hour to her great delight,
and she talked to him and caressed him. His great beauty made her very
happy. Then she swallowed him once more and returned to her stable.
The child was now three years old.

But this time the cowherd had followed Suri, and had seen the
wonderful child and all she did to it. So he ran and told the four
Queens, "The King's cow has a beautiful boy inside her. He has a moon
on his forehead and a star on his chin. Such a child has never been
seen before!"

At this the Queens were terrified. They tore their clothes and their
hair and cried. When the King came home at evening, he asked them why
they were so agitated. "Oh," they said, "your cow came and tried to
kill us; but we ran away. She tore our hair and our clothes." "Never
mind," said the King. "Eat your dinner and be happy. The cow shall be
killed to-morrow morning."

Now Suri heard the King give this order to the servants, so she said
to herself, "What shall I do to save the child?" When it was midnight,
she went to the King's horse called Katar, who was very wicked, and
quite untameable. No one had ever been able to ride him; indeed no one
could go near him with safety, he was so savage. Suri said to this
horse, "Katar, will you take care of something that I want to give
you, because the King has ordered me to be killed to-morrow?"

"Good," said Katar; "show me what it is." Then Suri brought up the
child, and the horse was delighted with him. "Yes," he said, "I will
take the greatest care of him. Till now no one has been able to ride
me, but this child shall ride me." Then he swallowed the boy, and when
he had done so, the cow made him many salaams, saying, "It is for this
boy's sake that I am to die." The next morning she was taken to the
jungle and there killed.

The beautiful boy now lived in the horse's stomach, and he stayed in
it for one whole year. At the end of that time the horse thought, "I
will see if this child is alive or dead." So he brought him up; and
then he loved him, and petted him, and the little prince played all
about the stable, out of which the horse was never allowed to go.
Katar was very glad to see the child, who was now four years old.
After he had played for some time, the horse swallowed him again. At
the end of another year, when the boy was five years old, Katar
brought him up again, caressed him, loved him, and let him play about
the stable as he had done a year before. Then the horse swallowed him
again.

But this time the groom had seen all that happened, and when it was
morning, and the King had gone away to his hunting, he went to the
four wicked Queens, and told them all he had seen, and all about the
wonderful, beautiful child that lived inside the King's horse Katar.
On hearing the groom's story the four Queens cried, and tore their
hair and clothes, and refused to eat. When the King returned at
evening and asked them why they were so miserable, they said, "Your
horse Katar came and tore our clothes, and upset all our things, and
we ran away for fear he should kill us."

"Never mind," said the King. "Only eat your dinner and be happy. I
will have Katar shot to-morrow." Then he thought that two men unaided
could not kill such a wicked horse, so he ordered his servants to bid
his troop of sepoys shoot him.

So the next day the King placed his sepoys all round the stable, and
he took up his stand with them; and he said he would himself shoot any
one who let his horse escape.

Meanwhile the horse had overheard all these orders. So he brought up
the child and said to him, "Go into that little room that leads out of
the stable, and you will find in it a saddle and bridle which you must
put on me. Then you will find in the room some beautiful clothes such
as princes wear; these you must put on yourself; and you must take the
sword and gun you will find there too. Then you must mount on my
back." Now Katar was a fairy-horse, and came from the fairies'
country, so he could get anything he wanted; but neither the King nor
any of his people knew this. When all was ready, Katar burst out of
his stable, with the prince on his back, rushed past the King himself
before the King had time to shoot him, galloped away to the great
jungle-plain, and galloped about all over it. The King saw his horse
had a boy on his back, though he could not see the boy distinctly. The
sepoys tried in vain to shoot the horse; he galloped much too fast;
and at last they were all scattered over the plain. Then the King had
to give it up and go home; and the sepoys went to their homes. The
King could not shoot any of his sepoys for letting his horse escape,
for he himself had let him do so.



Then Katar galloped away, on, and on, and on; and when night came they
stayed under a tree, he and the King's son. The horse ate grass, and
the boy wild fruits which he found in the jungle. Next morning they
started afresh, and went far, and far, till they came to a jungle in
another country, which did not belong to the little prince's father,
but to another king. Here Katar said to the boy, "Now get off my
back." Off jumped the prince. "Unsaddle me and take off my bridle;
take off your beautiful clothes and tie them all up in a bundle with
your sword and gun." This the boy did. Then the horse gave him some
poor, common clothes, which he told him to put on. As soon as he was
dressed in them the horse said, "Hide your bundle in this grass, and I
will take care of it for you. I will always stay in this jungle-plain,
so that when you want me you will always find me. You must now go away
and find service with some one in this country."

This made the boy very sad. "I know nothing about anything," he said.
"What shall I do all alone in this country?"

"Do not be afraid," answered Katar. "You will find service, and I will
always stay here to help you when you want me. So go, only before you
go, twist my right ear." The boy did so, and his horse instantly
became a donkey. "Now twist your right ear," said Katar. And when the
boy had twisted it, he was no longer a handsome prince, but a poor,
common-looking, ugly man; and his moon and star were hidden.

Then he went away further into the country, until he came to a grain
merchant of the country, who asked him who he was. "I am a poor man,"
answered the boy, "and I want service." "Good," said the grain
merchant, "you shall be my servant."

Now the grain merchant lived near the King's palace, and one night at
twelve o'clock the boy was very hot; so he went out into the King's
cool garden, and began to sing a lovely song. The seventh and youngest
daughter of the King heard him, and she wondered who it was who could
sing so deliciously. Then she put on her clothes, rolled up her hair,
and came down to where the seemingly poor common man was lying
singing. "Who are you? where do you come from?" she asked.

But he answered nothing.

"Who is this man who does not answer when I speak to him?" thought the
little princess, and she went away. On the second night the same thing
happened, and on the third night too. But on the third night, when she
found she could not make him answer her, she said to him, "What a
strange man you are not to answer me when I speak to you." But still
he remained silent, so she went away.

The next day, when he had finished his work, the young prince went to
the jungle to see his horse, who asked him, "Are you quite well and
happy?" "Yes, I am," answered the boy. "I am servant to a grain
merchant. The last three nights I have gone into the King's garden and
sung a song, and each night the youngest princess has come to me and
asked me who I am, and whence I came, and I have answered nothing.
What shall I do now?" The horse said, "Next time she asks you who you
are, tell her you are a very poor man, and came from your own country
to find service here."

The boy then went home to the grain merchant, and at night, when every
one had gone to bed, he went to the King's garden and sang his sweet
song again. The youngest princess heard him, got up, dressed, and came
to him. "Who are you? Whence do you come?" she asked.



"I am a very poor man," he answered. "I came from my own country to
seek service here, and I am now one of the grain merchant's servants."
Then she went away. For three more nights the boy sang in the King's
garden, and each night the princess came and asked him the same
questions as before, and the boy gave her the same answers.

Then she went to her father, and said to him, "Father, I wish to be
married; but I must choose my husband myself." Her father consented to
this, and he wrote and invited all the Kings and Rajas in the land,
saying, "My youngest daughter wishes to be married, but she insists on
choosing her husband herself. As I do not know who it is she wishes to
marry, I beg you will all come on a certain day, for her to see you
and make her choice."

A great many Kings, Rajas, and their sons accepted this invitation and
came. When they had all arrived, the little princess's father said to
them, "To-morrow morning you must all sit together in my garden" (the
King's garden was very large), "for then my youngest daughter will
come and see you all, and choose her husband. I do not know whom she
will choose."

The youngest princess ordered a grand elephant to be ready for her the
next morning, and when the morning came, and all was ready, she
dressed herself in the most lovely clothes, and put on her beautiful
jewels; then she mounted her elephant, which was painted blue. In her
hand she took a gold necklace.

Then she went into the garden where the Kings, Rajas, and their sons
were seated. The boy, the grain merchant's servant, was also in the
garden: not as a suitor, but looking on with the other servants.

The princess rode all round the garden, and looked at all the Kings
and Rajas and princes, and then she hung the gold necklace round the
neck of the boy, the grain merchant's servant. At this everybody
laughed, and the Kings were greatly astonished. But then they and the
Rajas said, "What fooling is this?" and they pushed the pretended poor
man away, and took the necklace off his neck, and said to him, "Get
out of the way, you poor, dirty man. Your clothes are far too dirty
for you to come near us!" The boy went far away from them, and stood a
long way off to see what would happen.

Then the King's youngest daughter went all round the garden again,
holding her gold necklace in her hand, and once more she hung it round
the boy's neck. Every one laughed at her and said, "How can the King's
daughter think of marrying this poor, common man!" and the Kings and
the Rajas, who had come as suitors, all wanted to turn him out of the
garden. But the princess said, "Take care! take care! You must not
turn him out. Leave him alone." Then she put him on her elephant, and
took him to the palace.

The Kings and Rajas and their sons were very much astonished, and
said, "What does this mean? The princess does not care to marry one of
us, but chooses that very poor man!" Her father then stood up, and
said to them all, "I promised my daughter she should marry any one she
pleased, and as she has twice chosen that poor, common man, she shall
marry him." And so the princess and the boy were married with great
pomp and splendour: her father and mother were quite content with her
choice; and the Kings, the Rajas and their sons, all returned to their
homes.

Now the princess's six sisters had all married rich princes, and they
laughed at her for choosing such a poor ugly husband as hers seemed to
be, and said to each other, mockingly, "See! our sister has married
this poor, common man!" Their six husbands used to go out hunting
every day, and every evening they brought home quantities of all kinds
of game to their wives, and the game was cooked for their dinner and
for the King's; but the husband of the youngest princess always stayed
at home in the palace, and never went out hunting at all. This made
her very sad, and she said to herself, "My sisters' husbands hunt
every day, but my husband never hunts at all."

At last she said to him, "Why do you never go out hunting as my
sisters' husbands do every day, and every day they bring home
quantities of all kinds of game? Why do you always stay at home,
instead of doing as they do?"

One day he said to her, "I am going out to-day to eat the air."

"Very good," she answered; "go, and take one of the horses."

"No," said the young prince, "I will not ride, I will walk." Then he
went to the jungle-plain where he had left Katar, who all this time
had seemed to be a donkey, and he told Katar everything. "Listen," he
said; "I have married the youngest princess; and when we were married
everybody laughed at her for choosing me, and said, 'What a very poor,
common man our princess has chosen for her husband!' Besides, my wife
is very sad, for her six sisters' husbands all hunt every day, and
bring home quantities of game, and their wives therefore are very
proud of them. But I stay at home all day, and never hunt. To-day I
should like to hunt very much."

"Well," said Katar, "then twist my left ear;" and as soon as the boy
had twisted it, Katar was a horse again, and not a donkey any longer.
"Now," said Katar, "twist your left ear, and you will see what a
beautiful young prince you will become." So the boy twisted his own
left ear, and there he stood no longer a poor, common, ugly man, but a
grand young prince with a moon on his forehead and a star on his chin.
Then he put on his splendid clothes, saddled and bridled Katar, got on
his back with his sword and gun, and rode off to hunt.

He rode very far, and shot a great many birds and a quantity of deer.
That day his six brothers-in-law could find no game, for the beautiful
young prince had shot it all. Nearly all the day long these six
princes wandered about looking in vain for game; till at last they
grew hungry and thirsty, and could find no water, and they had no food
with them. Meanwhile the beautiful young prince had sat down under a
tree, to dine and rest, and there his six brothers-in-law found him.
By his side was some delicious water, and also some roast meat.

When they saw him the six princes said to each other, "Look at that
handsome prince. He has a moon on his forehead and a star on his chin.
We have never seen such a prince in this jungle before; he must come
from another country." Then they came up to him, and made him many
salaams, and begged him to give them some food and water. "Who are
you?" said the young prince. "We are the husbands of the six elder
daughters of the King of this country," they answered; "and we have
hunted all day, and are very hungry and thirsty." They did not
recognise their brother-in-law in the least.

"Well," said the young prince, "I will give you something to eat and
drink if you will do as I bid you." "We will do all you tell us to
do," they answered, "for if we do not get water to drink, we shall
die." "Very good," said the young prince. "Now you must let me put a
red-hot pice on the back of each of you, and then I will give you food
and water. Do you agree to this?" The six princes consented, for they
thought, "No one will ever see the mark of the pice, as it will be
covered by our clothes; and we shall die if we have no water to
drink." Then the young prince took six pice, and made them red-hot in
the fire; he laid one on the back of each of the six princes, and gave
them good food and water. They ate and drank; and when they had
finished they made him many salaams and went home.

The young prince stayed under the tree till it was evening; then he
mounted his horse and rode off to the King's palace. All the people
looked at him as he came riding along, saying, "What a splendid young
prince that is! He has a moon on his forehead and a star on his chin."
But no one recognised him. When he came near the King's palace, all
the King's servants asked him who he was; and as none of them knew
him, the gate-keepers would not let him pass in. They all wondered who
he could be, and all thought him the most beautiful prince that had
ever been seen.

At last they asked him who he was. "I am the husband of your youngest
princess," he answered.

"No, no, indeed you are not," they said; "for he is a poor,
common-looking, and ugly man."

"But I am he," answered the prince; only no one would believe him.

"Tell us the truth," said the servants; "who are you?"

"Perhaps you cannot recognise me," said the young prince, "but call
the youngest princess here. I wish to speak to her." The servants
called her, and she came. "That man is not my husband," she said at
once. "My husband is not nearly as handsome as that man. This must be
a prince from another country."

Then she said to him, "Who are you? Why do you say you are my
husband?"

"Because I am your husband. I am telling you the truth," answered the
young prince.

"No you are not, you are not telling me the truth," said the little
princess. "My husband is not a handsome man like you. I married a very
poor, common-looking man."

"That is true," he answered, "but nevertheless I am your husband. I
was the grain merchant's servant; and one hot night I went into your
father's garden and sang, and you heard me, and came and asked me who
I was and where I came from, and I would not answer you. And the same
thing happened the next night, and the next, and on the fourth I told
you I was a very poor man, and had come from my country to seek
service in yours, and that I was the grain merchant's servant. Then
you told your father you wished to marry, but must choose your own
husband; and when all the Kings and Rajas were seated in your father's
garden, you sat on an elephant and went round and looked at them all;
and then twice hung your gold necklace round my neck, and chose me.
See, here is your necklace, and here are the ring and the handkerchief
you gave me on our wedding day."

Then she believed him, and was very glad that her husband was such a
beautiful young prince. "What a strange man you are!" she said to
him. "Till now you have been poor, and ugly, and common-looking. Now
you are beautiful and look like a prince; I never saw such a handsome
man as you are before; and yet I know you must be my husband." Then
she worshipped God and thanked him for letting her have such a
husband. "I have," she said, "a beautiful husband. There is no one
like him in this country. He has a moon on his forehead and a star on
his chin." Then she took him into the palace, and showed him to her
father and mother and to every one. They all said they had never seen
any one like him, and were all very happy. And the young prince lived
as before in the King's palace with his wife, and Katar lived in the
King's stables.

One day, when the King and his seven sons-in-law were in his
court-house, and it was full of people, the young prince said to him,
"There are six thieves here in your court-house." "Six thieves!" said
the King. "Where are they? Show them to me." "There they are," said
the young prince, pointing to his six brothers-in-law. The King and
every one else in the court-house were very much astonished, and would
not believe the young prince. "Take off their coats," he said, "and
then you will see for yourselves that each of them has the mark of a
thief on his back." So their coats were taken off the six princes, and
the King and everybody in the court-house saw the mark of the red-hot
pice. The six princes were very much ashamed, but the young prince was
very glad. He had not forgotten how his brothers-in-law had laughed at
him and mocked him when he seemed a poor, common man.

Now, when Katar was still in the jungle, before the prince was
married, he had told the boy the whole story of his birth, and all
that had happened to him and his mother. "When you are married," he
said to him, "I will take you back to your father's country." So two
months after the young prince had revenged himself on his
brothers-in-law, Katar said to him, "It is time for you to return to
your father. Get the King to let you go to your own country, and I
will tell you what to do when we get there."

The prince always did what his horse told him to do; so he went to his
wife and said to her, "I wish very much to go to my own country to see
my father and mother." "Very well," said his wife; "I will tell my
father and mother, and ask them to let us go." Then she went to them,
and told them, and they consented to let her and her husband leave
them. The King gave his daughter and the young prince a great many
horses, and elephants, and all sorts of presents, and also a great
many sepoys to guard them. In this grand state they travelled to the
prince's country, which was not a great many miles off. When they
reached it they pitched their tents on the same plain in which the
prince had been left in his box by the nurse, where Shankar and Suri
had swallowed him so often.

When the King, his father, the gardener's daughter's husband, saw the
prince's camp, he was very much alarmed, and thought a great King had
come to make war on him. He sent one of his servants, therefore, to
ask whose camp it was. The young prince then wrote him a letter, in
which he said, "You are a great King. Do not fear me. I am not come to
make war on you. I am as if I were your son. I am a prince who has
come to see your country and to speak with you. I wish to give you a
grand feast, to which every one in your country must come--men and
women, old and young, rich and poor, of all castes; all the children,
fakirs, and sepoys. You must bring them all here to me for a week, and
I will feast them all."

The King was delighted with this letter, and ordered all the men,
women, and children of all castes, fakirs, and sepoys, in his country
to go to the prince's camp to a grand feast the prince would give
them. So they all came, and the King brought his four wives too. All
came, at least all but the gardener's daughter. No one had told her to
go to the feast, for no one had thought of her.

When all the people were assembled, the prince saw his mother was not
there, and he asked the King, "Has every one in your country come to
my feast?"

"Yes, every one," said the King.

"Are you sure of that?" asked the prince.

"Quite sure," answered the King.

"I am sure one woman has not come," said the prince. "She is your
gardener's daughter, who was once your wife and is now a servant in
your palace."

"True," said the King, "I had forgotten her." Then the prince told his
servants to take his finest palanquin and to fetch the gardener's
daughter. They were to bathe her, dress her in beautiful clothes and
handsome jewels, and then bring her to him in the palanquin.

While the servants were bringing the gardener's daughter, the King
thought how handsome the young prince was; and he noticed particularly
the moon on his forehead and the star on his chin, and he wondered in
what country the young prince was born.

And now the palanquin arrived bringing the gardener's daughter, and
the young prince went himself and took her out of it, and brought her
into the tent. He made her a great many salaams. The four wicked wives
looked on and were very much surprised and very angry. They remembered
that, when they arrived, the prince had made them no salaams, and
since then had not taken the least notice of them; whereas he could
not do enough for the gardener's daughter, and seemed very glad to see
her.

When they were all at dinner, the prince again made the gardener's
daughter a great many salaams, and gave her food from all the nicest
dishes. She wondered at his kindness to her, and thought, "Who is this
handsome prince, with a moon on his forehead and a star on his chin? I
never saw any one so beautiful. What country does he come from?"

Two or three days were thus passed in feasting, and all that time the
King and his people were talking about the prince's beauty, and
wondering who he was.

One day the prince asked the King if he had any children. "None," he
answered.

"Do you know who I am?" asked the prince.

"No," said the King. "Tell me who you are."

"I am your son," answered the prince, "and the gardener's daughter is
my mother."

The King shook his head sadly. "How can you be my son," he said, "when
I have never had any children?"

"But I am your son," answered the prince. "Your four wicked Queens
told you the gardener's daughter had given you a stone and not a son;
but it was they who put the stone in my little bed, and then they
tried to kill me."

The King did not believe him. "I wish you were my son," he said; "but
as I never had a child, you cannot be my son." "Do you remember your
dog Shankar, and how you had him killed? And do you remember your cow
Suri, and how you had her killed too? Your wives made you kill them
because of me. And," he said, taking the King to Katar, "do you know
whose horse that is?"

The King looked at Katar, and then said, "That is my horse Katar."
"Yes," said the prince. "Do you not remember how he rushed past you
out of his stable with me on his back?" Then Katar told the King the
prince was really his son, and told him all the story of his birth,
and of his life up to that moment; and when the King found the
beautiful prince was indeed his son, he was so glad, so glad. He put
his arms round him and kissed him and cried for joy.

"Now," said the King, "you must come with me to my palace, and live
with me always."

"No," said the prince, "that I cannot do. I cannot go to your palace.
I only came here to fetch my mother; and now that I have found her, I
will take her with me to my father-in-law's palace. I have married a
King's daughter, and we live with her father."

"But now that I have found you, I cannot let you go," said his father.
"You and your wife must come and live with your mother and me in my
palace."

"That we will never do," said the prince, "unless you will kill your
four wicked Queens with your own hand. If you will do that, we will
come and live with you."

So the King killed his Queens, and then he and his wife, the
gardener's daughter, and the prince and his wife, all went to live in
the King's palace, and lived there happily together for ever after;
and the King thanked God for giving him such a beautiful son, and for
ridding him of his four wicked wives.

Katar did not return to the fairies' country, but stayed always with
the young prince, and never left him.




The Prince and the Fakir


There was once upon a time a King who had no children. Now this King
went and laid him down to rest at a place where four roads met, so
that every one who passed had to step over him.

At last a Fakir came along, and he said to the King, "Man, why are you
lying here?"

He replied, "Fakir, a thousand men have come and passed by; you pass
on too."

But the Fakir said, "Who are you, man?"

The King replied, "I am a King, Fakir. Of goods and gold I have no
lack, but I have lived long and have no children. So I have come here,
and have laid me down at the cross-roads. My sins and offences have
been very many, so I have come and am lying here that men may pass
over me, and perchance my sins may be forgiven me, and God may be
merciful, and I may have a son."

The Fakir answered him, "Oh King! If you have children, what will you
give me?"

"Whatever you ask, Fakir," answered the King.

The Fakir said, "Of goods and gold I have no lack, but I will say a
prayer for you, and you will have two sons; one of those sons will be
mine."



Then he took out two sweetmeats and handed them to the King, and said,
"King! take these two sweetmeats and give them to your wives; give
them to the wives you love best."

The King took the sweetmeats and put them in his bosom.

Then the Fakir said, "King! in a year I will return, and of the two
sons who will be born to you one is mine and one yours."

The King said, "Well, I agree."

Then the Fakir went on his way, and the King came home and gave one
sweetmeat to each of his two wives. After some time two sons were born
to the King. Then what did the King do but place those two sons in an
underground room, which he had built in the earth.

Some time passed, and one day the Fakir appeared, and said, "King!
bring me that son of yours!"

What did the King do but bring two slave-girls' sons and present them
to the Fakir. While the Fakir was sitting there the King's sons were
sitting down below in their cellar eating their food. Just then a
hungry ant had carried away a grain of rice from their food, and was
going along with it to her children. Another stronger ant came up and
attacked her in order to get this grain of rice. The first ant said,
"O ant, why do you drag this away from me? I have long been lame in my
feet, and I have got just one grain, and am carrying it to my
children. The King's sons are sitting in the cellar eating their food;
you go and fetch a grain from there; why should you take mine from
me?" On this the second ant let go and did not rob the first, but went
off to where the King's sons were eating their food.

On hearing this the Fakir said, "King! these are not your sons; go and
bring those children who are eating their food in the cellar."

Then the King went and brought his own sons. The Fakir chose the
eldest son and took him away, and set off with him on his journey.
When he got home he told the King's son to go out to gather fuel.

So the King's son went out to gather cow-dung, and when he had
collected some he brought it in.

Then the Fakir looked at the King's son and put on a great pot, and
said, "Come round here, my pupil."

But the King's son said, "Master first, and pupil after."

The Fakir told him to come once, he told him twice, he told him three
times, and each time the King's son answered, "Master first, and pupil
after."

Then the Fakir made a dash at the King's son, thinking to catch him
and throw him into the caldron. There were about a hundred gallons of
oil in this caldron, and the fire was burning beneath it. Then the
King's son, lifting the Fakir, gave him a jerk and threw him into the
caldron, and he was burnt, and became roast meat. He then saw a key of
the Fakir's lying there; he took this key and opened the door of the
Fakir's house. Now many men were locked up in this house; two horses
were standing there in a hut of the Fakir's; two greyhounds were tied
up there; two simurgs were imprisoned, and two tigers also stood
there. So the King's son let all the creatures go, and took them out
of the house, and they all returned thanks to God. Next he let out all
the men who were in prison. He took away with him the two horses, and
he took away the two tigers, and he took away the two hounds, and he
took away the two simurgs, and with them he set out for another
country.

As he went along the road he saw above him a bald man, grazing a herd
of calves, and this bald man called out to him, "Fellow! can you fight
at all?"

The King's son replied, "When I was little I could fight a bit, and
now, if any one wants to fight, I am not so unmanly as to turn my
back. Come, I will fight you."

The bald man said, "If I throw you, you shall be my slave; and if you
throw me, I will be your slave." So they got ready and began to fight,
and the King's son threw him.

On this the King's son said, "I will leave my beasts here, my simurgs,
tigers, and dogs, and horses; they will all stay here while I go to
the city to see the sights. I appoint the tiger as guard over my
property. And you are my slave, you, too, must stay here with my
belongings." So the King's son started off to the city to see the
sights, and arrived at a pool.

He saw that it was a pleasant pool, and thought he would stop and
bathe there, and therewith he began to strip off his clothes.

Now the King's daughter, who was sitting on the roof of the palace,
saw his royal marks, and she said, "This man is a king; when I marry,
I will marry him and no other." So she said to her father, "My father;
I wish to marry."

"Good," said her father.

Then the King made a proclamation: "Let all men, great and small,
attend to-day in the hall of audience, for the King's daughter will
to-day take a husband."

All the men of the land assembled, and the traveller Prince also came,
dressed in the Fakir's clothes, saying to himself, "I must see this
ceremony to-day." He went in and sat down.

The King's daughter came out and sat in the balcony, and cast her
glance round all the assembly. She noticed that the traveller Prince
was sitting in the assembly in Fakir's attire.

The Princess said to her handmaiden, "Take this dish of henna, go to
that traveller dressed like a Fakir, and sprinkle scent on him from
the dish."

The handmaiden obeyed the Princess's order, went to him, and sprinkled
the scent over him.

Then the people said, "The slave-girl has made a mistake."

But she replied, "The slave-girl has made no mistake, 'tis her
mistress has made the mistake."

On this the King married his daughter to the Fakir, who was really no
Fakir, but a Prince.

What fate had decreed came to pass in that country, and they were
married. But the King of that city became very sad in his heart,
because when so many chiefs and nobles were sitting there his daughter
had chosen none of them, but had chosen that Fakir; but he kept these
thoughts concealed in his heart.

One day the traveller Prince said, "Let all the King's sons-in-law
come out with me to-day to hunt."

People said, "What is this Fakir that he should go a-hunting?"

However, they all set out for the hunt, and fixed their meeting-place
at a certain pool.

The newly married Prince went to his tigers, and told his tigers and
hounds to kill and bring in a great number of gazelles and hog-deer
and markhor. Instantly they killed and brought in a great number. Then
taking with him these spoils of the chase, the Prince came to the pool
settled on as a meeting-place. The other Princes, sons-in-law of the
King of that city, also assembled there; but they had brought in no
game, and the new Prince had brought a great deal. Thence they
returned home to the town, and went to the King their father-in-law,
to present their game.

Now that King had no son. Then the new Prince told him that in fact
he, too, was a Prince. At this the King, his father-in-law, was
greatly delighted and took him by the hand and embraced him. He seated
him by himself, saying, "O Prince, I return thanks that you have come
here and become my son-in-law; I am very happy at this, and I make
over my kingdom to you."




Why the Fish Laughed.




As a certain fisherwoman passed by a palace crying her fish, the queen
appeared at one of the windows and beckoned her to come near and show
what she had. At that moment a very big fish jumped about in the
bottom of the basket.

"Is it a he or a she?" inquired the queen. "I wish to purchase a she
fish."

On hearing this the fish laughed aloud.

"It's a he," replied the fisherwoman, and proceeded on her rounds.

The queen returned to her room in a great rage; and on coming to see
her in the evening, the king noticed that something had disturbed her.

"Are you indisposed?" he said.

"No; but I am very much annoyed at the strange behaviour of a fish. A
woman brought me one to-day, and on my inquiring whether it was a male
or female, the fish laughed most rudely."

"A fish laugh! Impossible! You must be dreaming."

"I am not a fool. I speak of what I have seen with my own eyes and
have heard with my own ears."

"Passing strange! Be it so. I will inquire concerning it."

On the morrow the king repeated to his vizier what his wife had told
him, and bade him investigate the matter, and be ready with a
satisfactory answer within six months, on pain of death. The vizier
promised to do his best, though he felt almost certain of failure. For
five months he laboured indefatigably to find a reason for the
laughter of the fish. He sought everywhere and from every one. The
wise and learned, and they who were skilled in magic and in all manner
of trickery, were consulted. Nobody, however, could explain the
matter; and so he returned broken-hearted to his house, and began to
arrange his affairs in prospect of certain death, for he had had
sufficient experience of the king to know that His Majesty would not
go back from his threat. Amongst other things, he advised his son to
travel for a time, until the king's anger should have somewhat cooled.

The young fellow, who was both clever and handsome, started off
whithersoever Kismat might lead him. He had been gone some days, when
he fell in with an old farmer, who also was on a journey to a certain
village. Finding the old man very pleasant, he asked him if he might
accompany him, professing to be on a visit to the same place. The old
farmer agreed, and they walked along together. The day was hot, and
the way was long and weary.

"Don't you think it would be pleasanter if you and I sometimes gave
one another a lift?" said the youth.

"What a fool the man is!" thought the old farmer.

Presently they passed through a field of corn ready for the sickle,
and looking like a sea of gold as it waved to and fro in the breeze.

"Is this eaten or not?" said the young man.

Not understanding his meaning, the old man replied, "I don't know."

After a little while the two travellers arrived at a big village,
where the young man gave his companion a clasp-knife, and said, "Take
this, friend, and get two horses with it; but mind and bring it back,
for it is very precious."

The old man, looking half amused and half angry, pushed back the
knife, muttering something to the effect that his friend was either a
fool himself or else trying to play the fool with him. The young man
pretended not to notice his reply, and remained almost silent till
they reached the city, a short distance outside which was the old
farmer's house. They walked about the bazaar and went to the mosque,
but nobody saluted them or invited them to come in and rest.

"What a large cemetery!" exclaimed the young man.

"What does the man mean," thought the old farmer, "calling this
largely populated city a cemetery?"

On leaving the city their way led through a cemetery where a few
people were praying beside a grave and distributing chapatis and
kulchas to passers-by, in the name of their beloved dead. They
beckoned to the two travellers and gave them as much as they would.

"What a splendid city this is!" said the young man.

"Now, the man must surely be demented!" thought the old farmer. "I
wonder what he will do next? He will be calling the land water, and
the water land; and be speaking of light where there is darkness, and
of darkness when it is light." However, he kept his thoughts to
himself.

Presently they had to wade through a stream that ran along the edge of
the cemetery. The water was rather deep, so the old farmer took off
his shoes and paijamas and crossed over; but the young man waded
through it with his shoes and paijamas on.

"Well! I never did see such a perfect fool, both in word and in deed,"
said the old man to himself.

However, he liked the fellow; and thinking that he would amuse his
wife and daughter, he invited him to come and stay at his house as
long as he had occasion to remain in the village.

"Thank you very much," the young man replied; "but let me first
inquire, if you please, whether the beam of your house is strong."

The old farmer left him in despair, and entered his house laughing.

"There is a man in yonder field," he said, after returning their
greetings. "He has come the greater part of the way with me, and I
wanted him to put up here as long as he had to stay in this village.
But the fellow is such a fool that I cannot make anything out of him.
He wants to know if the beam of this house is all right. The man must
be mad!" and saying this, he burst into a fit of laughter.

"Father," said the farmer's daughter, who was a very sharp and wise
girl, "this man, whosoever he is, is no fool, as you deem him. He only
wishes to know if you can afford to entertain him."

"Oh! of course," replied the farmer. "I see. Well perhaps you can help
me to solve some of his other mysteries. While we were walking
together he asked whether he should carry me or I should carry him, as
he thought that would be a pleasanter mode of proceeding."

"Most assuredly," said the girl. "He meant that one of you should tell
a story to beguile the time."

"Oh yes. Well, we were passing through a corn-field, when he asked me
whether it was eaten or not."

"And didn't you know the meaning of this, father? He simply wished to
know if the man was in debt or not; because, if the owner of the field
was in debt, then the produce of the field was as good as eaten to
him; that is, it would have to go to his creditors."

"Yes, yes, yes; of course! Then, on entering a certain village, he
bade me take his clasp knife and get two horses with it, and bring
back the knife again to him."

"Are not two stout sticks as good as two horses for helping one along
on the road? He only asked you to cut a couple of sticks and be
careful not to lose his knife."

"I see," said the farmer. "While we were walking over the city we did
not see anybody that we knew, and not a soul gave us a scrap of
anything to eat, till we were passing the cemetery; but there some
people called to us and put into our hands some chapatis and kulchas;
so my companion called the city a cemetery, and the cemetery a city."

"This also is to be understood, father, if one thinks of the city as
the place where everything is to be obtained, and of inhospitable
people as worse than the dead. The city, though crowded with people,
was as if dead, as far as you were concerned; while, in the cemetery,
which is crowded with the dead, you were saluted by kind friends and
provided with bread."

"True, true!" said the astonished farmer. "Then, just now, when we
were crossing the stream, he waded through it without taking off his
shoes and paijamas."

"I admire his wisdom," replied the girl. "I have often thought how
stupid people were to venture into that swiftly flowing stream and
over those sharp stones with bare feet. The slightest stumble and they
would fall, and be wetted from head to foot. This friend of yours is a
most wise man. I should like to see him and speak to him."

"Very well," said the farmer; "I will go and find him, and bring him
in."

"Tell him, father, that our beams are strong enough, and then he will
come in. I'll send on ahead a present to the man, to show him that we
can afford to have him for our guest."

Accordingly she called a servant and sent him to the young man with a
present of a basin of ghee, twelve chapatis, and a jar of milk, and
the following message:--"O friend, the moon is full; twelve months
make a year, and the sea is overflowing with water."

Half-way the bearer of this present and message met his little son,
who, seeing what was in the basket, begged his father to give him some
of the food. His father foolishly complied. Presently he saw the young
man, and gave him the rest of the present and the message.

"Give your mistress my salam," he replied, "and tell her that the moon
is new, and that I can only find eleven months in the year, and the
sea is by no means full."

Not understanding the meaning of these words, the servant repeated
them word for word, as he had heard them, to his mistress; and thus
his theft was discovered, and he was severely punished. After a little
while the young man appeared with the old farmer. Great attention was
shown to him, and he was treated in every way as if he were the son of
a great man, although his humble host knew nothing of his origin. At
length he told them everything--about the laughing of the fish, his
father's threatened execution, and his own banishment--and asked their
advice as to what he should do.

"The laughing of the fish," said the girl, "which seems to have been
the cause of all this trouble, indicates that there is a man in the
palace who is plotting against the king's life."

"Joy, joy!" exclaimed the vizier's son. "There is yet time for me to
return and save my father from an ignominious and unjust death, and
the king from danger."

The following day he hastened back to his own country, taking with him
the farmer's daughter. Immediately on arrival he ran to the palace and
informed his father of what he had heard. The poor vizier, now almost
dead from the expectation of death, was at once carried to the king,
to whom he repeated the news that his son had just brought.

"Never!" said the king.

"But it must be so, Your Majesty," replied the vizier; "and in order
to prove the truth of what I have heard, I pray you to call together
all the maids in your palace, and order them to jump over a pit,
which must be dug. We'll soon find out whether there is any man
there."



The king had the pit dug, and commanded all the maids belonging to the
palace to try to jump it. All of them tried, but only one succeeded.
That one was found to be a man!!

Thus was the queen satisfied, and the faithful old vizier saved.

Afterwards, as soon as could be, the vizier's son married the old
farmer's daughter; and a most happy marriage it was.




The Demon with the Matted Hair


_This story the Teacher told in Jetavana about a Brother who had
ceased striving after righteousness. Said the Teacher to him: "Is it
really true that you have ceased all striving?"--"Yes, Blessed One,"
he replied. Then the Teacher said: "O Brother, in former days wise men
made effort in the place where effort should be made, and so attained
unto royal power." And he told a story of long ago._


Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta was King of Benares, the
Bodhisatta was born as son of his chief queen. On his name-day they
asked 800 Brahmans, having satisfied them with all their desires,
about his lucky marks. The Brahmans who had skill in divining from
such marks beheld the excellence of his, and made answer:

"Full of goodness, great King, is your son, and when you die he will
become king; he shall be famous and renowned for his skill with the
five weapons, and shall be the chief man in all India." On hearing
what the Brahmans had to say, they gave him the name of the Prince of
the Five Weapons, sword, spear, bow, battle-axe, and shield.

When he came to years of discretion, and had attained the measure of
sixteen years, the King said to him:

"My son, go and complete your education."

"Who shall be my teacher?" the lad asked.

"Go, my son; in the kingdom of Candahar, in the city of Takkasila, is
a far-famed teacher from whom I wish you to learn. Take this, and give
it him for a fee." With that he gave him a thousand pieces of money,
and dismissed him.

The lad departed, and was educated by this teacher; he received the
Five Weapons from him as a gift, bade him farewell, and leaving
Takkasila, he began his journey to Benares, armed with the Five
Weapons.

On his way he came to a forest inhabited by the Demon with the Matted
Hair. At the entering in of the forest some men saw him, and cried
out:

"Hullo, young sir, keep clear of that wood! There's a Demon in it
called he of the Matted Hair: he kills every man he sees!" And they
tried to stop him. But the Bodhisatta, having confidence in himself,
went straight on, fearless as a maned lion.

When he reached mid-forest the Demon showed himself. He made himself
as tall as a palm tree; his head was the size of a pagoda, his eyes as
big as saucers, and he had two tusks all over knobs and bulbs; he had
the face of a hawk, a variegated belly, and blue hands and feet.

"Where are you going?" he shouted. "Stop! You'll make a meal for me!"

Said the Bodhisatta: "Demon, I came here trusting in myself. I advise
you to be careful how you come near me. Here's a poisoned arrow, which
I'll shoot at you and knock you down!" With this menace, he fitted to
his bow an arrow dipped in deadly poison, and let fly. The arrow stuck
fast in the Demon's hair. Then he shot and shot, till he had shot away
fifty arrows; and they all stuck in the Demon's hair. The Demon
snapped them all off short, and threw them down at his feet; then came
up to the Bodhisatta, who drew his sword and struck the Demon,
threatening him the while. His sword--it was three-and-thirty inches
long--stuck in the Demon's hair! The Bodhisatta struck him with his
spear--that stuck too! He struck him with his club--and that stuck
too!

When the Bodhisatta saw that this had stuck fast, he addressed the
Demon. "You, Demon!" said he, "did you never hear of me before--the
Prince of the Five Weapons? When I came into the forest which you live
in I did not trust to my bow and other weapons. This day will I pound
you and grind you to powder!" Thus did he declare his resolve, and
with a shout he hit at the Demon with his right hand. It stuck fast in
his hair! He hit him with his left hand--that stuck too! With his
right foot he kicked him--that stuck too; then with his left--and that
stuck too! Then he butted at him with his head, crying, "I'll pound
you to powder!" and his head stuck fast like the rest.

Thus the Bodhisatta was five times snared, caught fast in five places,
hanging suspended: yet he felt no fear--was not even nervous.



Thought the Demon to himself: "Here's a lion of a man! A
noble man! More than man is he! Here he is, caught by a Demon like me;
yet he will not fear a bit. Since I have ravaged this road, I never
saw such a man. Now, why is it that he does not fear?" He was
powerless to eat the man, but asked him: "Why is it, young sir, that
you are not frightened to death?"

"Why should I fear, Demon?" replied he. "In one life a man can die but
once. Besides, in my belly is a thunderbolt; if you eat me, you will
never be able to digest it; this will tear your inwards into little
bits, and kill you: so we shall both perish. That is why I fear
nothing." (By this, the Bodhisatta meant the weapon of knowledge which
he had within him.)

When he heard this, the Demon thought: "This young man speaks the
truth. A piece of the flesh of such a lion-man as he would be too much
for me to digest, if it were no bigger than a kidney-bean. I'll let
him go!" So, being frightened to death, he let go the Bodhisatta,
saying:

"Young sir, you are a lion of a man! I will not eat you up. I set you
free from my hands, as the moon is disgorged from the jaws of Rahu
after the eclipse. Go back to the company of your friends and
relations!"

And the Bodhisatta said: "Demon, I will go, as you say. You were born
a Demon, cruel, blood-bibbing, devourer of the flesh and gore of
others, because you did wickedly in former lives. If you still go on
doing wickedly, you will go from darkness to darkness. But now that
you have seen me you will find it impossible to do wickedly. Taking
the life of living creatures causes birth, as an animal, in the world
of Petas, or in the body of an Asura, or, if one is reborn as a man,
it makes his life short." With this and the like monition he told him
the disadvantage of the five kinds of wickedness, and the profit of
the five kinds of virtue, and frightened the Demon in various ways,
discoursing to him until he subdued him and made him self-denying, and
established him in the five kinds of virtue; he made him worship the
deity to whom offerings were made in that wood; and having carefully
admonished him, departed out of it.

At the entrance of the forest he told all to the people thereabout;
and went on to Benares, armed with his five weapons. Afterwards he
became king, and ruled righteously; and after giving alms and doing
good he passed away according to his deeds.

                                   

_And the Teacher, when this tale was ended, became perfectly
enlightened, and repeated this verse_:

    _Whose mind and heart from all desire is free,
    Who seeks for peace by living virtuously,
      He in due time will sever all the bonds
    That bind him fast to life, and cease to be._

_Thus the Teacher reached the summit, through sainthood and the
teaching of the law, and thereupon he declared the Four Truths. At the
end of the declaring of the Truths, this Brother also attained to
sainthood. Then the Teacher made the connexion, and gave the key to
the birth-tale, saying: "At that time Angulimala was the Demon, but
the Prince of the Five Weapons was I myself."_




The Ivory City and its Fairy Princess




One day a young prince was out practising archery with the son of his
father's chief vizier, when one of the arrows accidentally struck the
wife of a merchant, who was walking about in an upper room of a house
close by. The prince aimed at a bird that was perched on the
window-sill of that room, and had not the slightest idea that anybody
was at hand, or he would not have shot in that direction.
Consequently, not knowing what had happened, he and the vizier's son
walked away, the vizier's son chaffing him because he had missed the
bird.

Presently the merchant went to ask his wife about something, and found
her lying, to all appearance, dead in the middle of the room, and an
arrow fixed in the ground within half a yard of her head. Supposing
that she was dead, he rushed to the window and shrieked, "Thieves
thieves! They have killed my wife." The neighbours quickly gathered,
and the servants came running upstairs to see what was the matter. It
happened that the woman had fainted, and that there was only a very
slight wound in her breast where the arrow had grazed.

As soon as the woman recovered her senses she told them that two young
men had passed by the place with their bows and arrows, and that one
of them had most deliberately aimed at her as she stood by the window.

On hearing this the merchant went to the king, and told him what had
taken place. His Majesty was much enraged at such audacious
wickedness, and swore that most terrible punishment should be visited
on the offender if he could be discovered. He ordered the merchant to
go back and ascertain whether his wife could recognise the young men
if she saw them again.

"Oh yes," replied the woman, "I should know them again among all the
people in the city."

"Then," said the king, when the merchant brought back this reply,
"to-morrow I will cause all the male inhabitants of this city to pass
before your house, and your wife will stand at the window and watch
for the man who did this wanton deed."

A royal proclamation was issued to this effect. So the next day all
the men and boys of the city, from the age of ten years upwards,
assembled and marched by the house of the merchant. By chance (for
they both had been excused from obeying this order) the king's son and
the vizier's son were also in the company, and passed by in the crowd.
They came to see the tamasha.

As soon as these two appeared in front of the merchant's window they
were recognised by the merchant's wife, and at once reported to the
king.

"My own son and the son of my chief vizier!" exclaimed the king, who
had been present from the commencement. "What examples for the people!
Let them both be executed."

"Not so, your Majesty," said the vizier, "I beseech you. Let the facts
of the case be thoroughly investigated. How is it?" he continued,
turning to the two young men. "Why have you done this cruel thing?"

"I shot an arrow at a bird that was sitting on the sill of an open
window in yonder house, and missed," answered the prince. "I suppose
the arrow struck the merchant's wife. Had I known that she or anybody
had been near I should not have shot in that direction."

"We will speak of this later on," said the king, on hearing this
answer. "Dismiss the people. Their presence is no longer needed."

In the evening his Majesty and the vizier had a long and earnest talk
about their two sons. The king wished both of them to be executed; but
the vizier suggested that the prince should be banished from the
country. This was finally agreed to.

Accordingly, on the following morning, a little company of soldiers
escorted the prince out of the city. When they reached the last
custom-house the vizier's son overtook them. He had come with all
haste, bringing with him four bags of muhrs on four horses. "I am
come," he said, throwing his arms round the prince's neck, "because I
cannot let you go alone. We have lived together, we will be exiled
together, and we will die together. Turn me not back, if you love me."

"Consider," the prince answered, "what you are doing. All kinds of
trial may be before me. Why should you leave your home and country to
be with me?"

"Because I love you," he said, "and shall never be happy without you."

So the two friends walked along hand in hand as fast as they could to
get out of the country, and behind them marched the soldiers and the
horses with their valuable burdens. On reaching a place on the borders
of the king's dominions the prince gave the soldiers some gold, and
ordered them to return. The soldiers took the money and left; they did
not, however, go very far, but hid themselves behind rocks and stones,
and waited till they were quite sure that the prince did not intend to
come back.

On and on the exiles walked, till they arrived at a certain village,
where they determined to spend the night under one of the big trees of
the place. The prince made preparations for a fire, and arranged the
few articles of bedding that they had with them, while the vizier's
son went to the baniya and the baker and the butcher to get something
for their dinner. For some reason he was delayed; perhaps the tsut was
not quite ready, or the baniya had not got all the spices prepared.
After waiting half an hour the prince became impatient, and rose up
and walked about.

He saw a pretty, clear little brook running along not far from their
resting-place, and hearing that its source was not far distant, he
started off to find it. The source was a beautiful lake, which at that
time was covered with the magnificent lotus flower and other water
plants. The prince sat down on the bank, and being thirsty took up
some of the water in his hand. Fortunately he looked into his hand
before drinking, and there, to his great astonishment, he saw
reflected whole and clear the image of a beautiful fairy. He looked
round, hoping to see the reality; but seeing no person, he drank the
water, and put out his hand to take some more. Again he saw the
reflection in the water which was in his palm. He looked around as
before, and this time discovered a fairy sitting by the bank on the
opposite side of the lake. On seeing her he fell so madly in love with
her that he dropped down in a swoon.

When the vizier's son returned, and found the fire lighted, the horses
securely fastened, and the bags of muhrs lying altogether in a heap,
but no prince, he did not know what to think. He waited a little
while, and then shouted; but not getting any reply, he got up and went
to the brook. There he came across the footmarks of his friend. Seeing
these, he went back at once for the money and the horses, and bringing
them with him, he tracked the prince to the lake, where he found him
lying to all appearance dead.

"Alas! alas!" he cried, and lifting up the prince, he poured some
water over his head and face. "Alas! my brother, what is this? Oh! do
not die and leave me thus. Speak, speak! I cannot bear this!"

In a few minutes the prince, revived by the water, opened his eyes,
and looked about wildly.

"Thank God!" exclaimed the vizier's son. "But what is the matter,
brother?"

"Go away," replied the prince. "I don't want to say anything to you,
or to see you. Go away."

"Come, come; let us leave this place. Look, I have brought some food
for you, and horses, and everything. Let us eat and depart."

"Go alone," replied the prince.

"Never," said the vizier's son. "What has happened to suddenly
estrange you from me? A little while ago we were brethren, but now you
detest the sight of me."

"I have looked upon a fairy," the prince said. "But a moment I saw her
face; for when she noticed that I was looking at her she covered her
face with lotus petals. Oh, how beautiful she was! And while I gazed
she took out of her bosom an ivory box, and held it up to me. Then I
fainted. Oh! if you can get me that fairy for my wife, I will go
anywhere with you."

"Oh, brother," said the vizier's son, "you have indeed seen a fairy.
She is a fairy of the fairies. This is none other than Gulizar of the
Ivory City. I know this from the signs that she gave you. From her
covering her face with lotus petals I learn her name, and from her
showing you the ivory box I learn where she lives. Be patient, and
rest assured that I will arrange your marriage with her."

When the prince heard these encouraging words he felt much comforted,
rose up, and ate, and then went away gladly with his friend.

On the way they met two men. These two men belonged to a family of
robbers. There were eleven of them altogether. One, an elder sister,
stayed at home and cooked the food, and the other ten--all
brothers--went out, two and two, and walked about the four different
ways that ran through that part of the country, robbing those
travellers who could not resist them, and inviting others, who were
too powerful for two of them to manage, to come and rest at their
house, where the whole family attacked them and stole their goods.
These thieves lived in a kind of tower, which had several strong-rooms
in it, and under it was a great pit, wherein they threw the corpses of
the poor unfortunates who chanced to fall into their power.

The two men came forward, and, politely accosting them, begged them to
come and stay at their house for the night. "It is late," they said,
"and there is not another village within several miles."

"Shall we accept this good man's invitation, brother?" asked the
prince.

The vizier's son frowned slightly in token of disapproval; but the
prince was tired, and thinking that it was only a whim of his
friend's, he said to the men, "Very well. It is very kind of you to
ask us."

So they all four went to the robbers' tower.

Seated in a room, with the door fastened on the outside, the two
travellers bemoaned their fate.

"It is no good groaning," said the vizier's son. "I will climb to the
window, and see whether there are any means of escape. Yes! yes!" he
whispered, when he had reached the window-hole. "Below there is a
ditch surrounded by a high wall. I will jump down and reconnoitre. You
stay here, and wait till I return."

Presently he came back and told the prince that he had seen a most
ugly woman, whom he supposed was the robbers' housekeeper. She had
agreed to release them on the promise of her marriage with the prince.

So the woman led the way out of the enclosure by a secret door.

"But where are the horses and the goods?" the vizier's son inquired.

"You cannot bring them," the woman said. "To go out by any other way
would be to thrust oneself into the grave."

"All right, then; they also shall go out by this door. I have a charm,
whereby I can make them thin or fat." So the vizier's son fetched the
horses without any person knowing it, and repeating the charm, he made
them pass through the narrow doorway like pieces of cloth, and when
they were all outside restored them to their former condition. He at
once mounted his horse and laid hold of the halter of one of the other
horses, and then beckoning to the prince to do likewise, he rode off.
The prince saw his opportunity, and in a moment was riding after him,
having the woman behind him.

Now the robbers heard the galloping of the horses, and ran out and
shot their arrows at the prince and his companions. And one of the
arrows killed the woman, so they had to leave her behind.

On, on they rode, until they reached a village where they stayed the
night. The following morning they were off again, and asked for Ivory
City from every passer-by. At length they came to this famous city,
and put up at a little hut that belonged to an old woman, from whom
they feared no harm, and with whom, therefore, they could abide in
peace and comfort. At first the old woman did not like the idea of
these travellers staying in her house, but the sight of a muhr, which
the prince dropped in the bottom of a cup in which she had given him
water, and a present of another muhr from the vizier's son, quickly
made her change her mind. She agreed to let them stay there for a few
days.

As soon as her work was over the old woman came and sat down with her
lodgers. The vizier's son pretended to be utterly ignorant of the
place and people. "Has this city a name?" he asked the old woman.

"Of course it has, you stupid. Every little village, much more a city,
and such a city as this, has a name."

"What is the name of this city?"

"Ivory City. Don't you know that? I thought the name was known all
over the world."

On the mention of the name Ivory City the prince gave a deep sigh. The
vizier's son looked as much as to say, "Keep quiet, or you'll discover
the secret."

"Is there a king of this country?" continued the vizier's son.

"Of course there is, and a queen, and a princess."

"What are their names?"

"The name of the princess is Gulizar, and the name of the queen----"

The vizier's son interrupted the old woman by turning to look at the
prince, who was staring like a madman. "Yes," he said to him
afterwards, "we are in the right country. We shall see the beautiful
princess."

One morning the two travellers noticed the old woman's most careful
toilette: how careful she was in the arrangement of her hair and the
set of her kasabah and puts.

"Who is coming?" said the vizier's son.

"Nobody," the old woman replied.

"Then where are you going?"

"I am going to see my daughter, who is a servant of the Princess
Gulizar. I see her and the princess every day. I should have gone
yesterday, if you had not been here and taken up all my time."

"Ah-h-h! Be careful not to say anything about us in the hearing of the
princess." The vizier's son asked her not to speak about them at the
palace, hoping that, because she had been told not to do so, she would
mention their arrival, and thus the princess would be informed of
their coming.

On seeing her mother the girl pretended to be very angry. "Why have
you not been for two days?" she asked.

"Because, my dear," the old woman answered, "two young travellers, a
prince and the son of some great vizier, have taken up their abode in
my hut, and demand so much of my attention. It is nothing but cooking
and cleaning, and cleaning and cooking, all day long. I can't
understand the men," she added; "one of them especially appears very
stupid. He asked me the name of this country and the name of the
king. Now where can these men have come from, that they do not know
these things? However, they are very great and very rich. They each
give me a muhr every morning and every evening."

After this the old woman went and repeated almost the same words to
the princess, on the hearing of which the princess beat her severely;
and threatened her with a severer punishment if she ever again spoke
of the strangers before her.

In the evening, when the old woman had returned to her hut, she told
the vizier's son how sorry she was that she could not help breaking
her promise, and how the princess had struck her because she mentioned
their coming and all about them.

"Alas! alas!" said the prince, who had eagerly listened to every word.
"What, then, will be her anger at the sight of a man?"

"Anger?" said the vizier's son, with an astonished air. "She would be
exceedingly glad to see one man. I know this. In this treatment of the
old woman I see her request that you will go and see her during the
coming dark fortnight."

"Heaven be praised!" the prince exclaimed.

The next time the old woman went to the palace Gulizar called one of
her servants and ordered her to rush into the room while she was
conversing with the old woman; and if the old woman asked what was the
matter, she was to say that the king's elephants had gone mad, and
were rushing about the city and bazaar in every direction, and
destroying everything in their way.

The servant obeyed, and the old woman, fearing lest the elephants
should go and push down her hut and kill the prince and his friend,
begged the princess to let her depart. Now Gulizar had obtained a
charmed swing, that landed whoever sat on it at the place wherever
they wished to be. "Get the swing," she said to one of the servants
standing by. When it was brought she bade the old woman step into it
and desire to be at home.

The old woman did so, and was at once carried through the air quickly
and safely to her hut, where she found her two lodgers safe and sound.
"Oh!" she cried, "I thought that both of you would be killed by this
time. The royal elephants have got loose and are running about wildly.
When I heard this I was anxious about you. So the princess gave me
this charmed swing to return in. But come, let us get outside before
the elephants arrive and batter down the place."

"Don't believe this," said the vizier's son. "It is a mere hoax. They
have been playing tricks with you."

"You will soon have your heart's desire," he whispered aside to the
prince. "These things are signs."

Two days of the dark fortnight had elapsed, when the prince and the
vizier's son seated themselves in the swing, and wished themselves
within the grounds of the palace. In a moment they were there, and
there too was the object of their search standing by one of the palace
gates, and longing to see the prince quite as much as he was longing
to see her.

Oh, what a happy meeting it was!

"At last," said Gulizar, "I have seen my beloved, my husband."

"A thousand thanks to Heaven for bringing me to you," said the prince.

Then the prince and Gulizar betrothed themselves to one another and
parted, the one for the hut and the other for the palace, both of them
feeling happier than they had ever been before.

Henceforth the prince visited Gulizar every day and returned to the
hut every night. One morning Gulizar begged him to stay with her
always. She was constantly afraid of some evil happening to
him--perhaps robbers would slay him, or sickness attack him, and then
she would be deprived of him. She could not live without seeing him.
The prince showed her that there was no real cause for fear, and said
that he felt he ought to return to his friend at night, because he had
left his home and country and risked his life for him; and, moreover,
if it had not been for his friend's help he would never have met with
her.

Gulizar for the time assented, but she determined in her heart to get
rid of the vizier's son as soon as possible. A few days after this
conversation she ordered one of her maids to make a pilaw. She gave
special directions that a certain poison was to be mixed into it while
cooking, and as soon as it was ready the cover was to be placed on the
saucepan, so that the poisonous steam might not escape. When the pilaw
was ready she sent it at once by the hand of a servant to the vizier's
son with this message: "Gulizar, the princess, sends you an offering
in the name of her dead uncle."

On receiving the present the vizier's son thought that the prince had
spoken gratefully of him to the princess, and therefore she had thus
remembered him. Accordingly he sent back his salam and expressions of
thankfulness.

When it was dinner-time he took the saucepan of pilaw and went out to
eat it by the stream. Taking off the lid, he threw it aside on the
grass and then washed his hands. During the minute or so that he was
performing these ablutions, the green grass under the cover of the
saucepan turned quite yellow. He was astonished, and suspecting that
there was poison in the pilaw, he took a little and threw it to some
crows that were hopping about. The moment the crows ate what was
thrown to them they fell down dead.

"Heaven be praised," exclaimed the vizier's son, "who has preserved me
from death at this time!"

On the return of the prince that evening the vizier's son was very
reticent and depressed. The prince noticed this change in him, and
asked what was the reason. "Is it because I am away so much at the
palace?" The vizier's son saw that the prince had nothing to do with
the sending of the pilaw, and therefore told him everything.

"Look here," he said, "in this handkerchief is some pilaw that the
princess sent me this morning in the name of her deceased uncle. It is
saturated with poison. Thank Heaven, I discovered it in time!"

"Oh, brother! who could have done this thing? Who is there that
entertains enmity against you?"

"The Princess Gulizar. Listen. The next time you go to see her, I
entreat you to take some snow with you; and just before seeing the
princess put a little of it into both your eyes. It will provoke
tears, and Gulizar will ask you why you are crying. Tell her that you
weep for the loss of your friend, who died suddenly this morning.
Look! take, too, this wine and this shovel, and when you have feigned
intense grief at the death of your friend, bid the princess to drink a
little of the wine. It is strong, and will immediately send her into a
deep sleep. Then, while she is asleep, heat the shovel and mark her
back with it. Remember to bring back the shovel again, and also to
take her pearl necklace. This done, return. Now fear not to execute
these instructions, because on the fulfilment of them depends your
fortune and happiness. I will arrange that your marriage with the
princess shall be accepted by the king, her father, and all the
court."

The prince promised that he would do everything as the vizier's son
had advised him; and he kept his promise.

The following night, on the return of the prince from his visit to
Gulizar, he and the vizier's son, taking the horses and bags of muhrs,
went to a graveyard about a mile or so distant. It was arranged that
the vizier's son should act the part of a fakir and the prince the
part of the fakir's disciple and servant.

In the morning, when Gulizar had returned to her senses, she felt a
smarting pain in her back, and noticed that her pearl necklace was
gone. She went at once and informed the king of the loss of her
necklace, but said nothing to him about the pain in her back.

The king was very angry when he heard of the theft, and caused
proclamation concerning it to be made throughout all the city and
surrounding country.

"It is well," said the vizier's son, when he heard of this
proclamation. "Fear not, my brother, but go and take this necklace,
and try to sell it in the bazaar."

The prince took it to a goldsmith and asked him to buy it.

"How much do you want for it?" asked the man.

"Fifty thousand rupees," the prince replied.

"All right," said the man; "wait here while I go and fetch the money."

The prince waited and waited, till at last the goldsmith returned,
and with him the kotwal, who at once took the prince into custody on
the charge of stealing the princess's necklace.

"How did you get the necklace?" the kotwal asked.

"A fakir, whose servant I am, gave it to me to sell in the bazaar,"
the prince replied. "Permit me, and I will show you where he is."

The prince directed the kotwal and the policeman to the place where he
had left the vizier's son, and there they found the fakir with his
eyes shut and engaged in prayer. Presently, when he had finished his
devotions, the kotwal asked him to explain how he had obtained
possession of the princess's necklace.

"Call the king hither," he replied, "and then I will tell his Majesty
face to face."

On this some men went to the king and told him what the fakir had
said. His Majesty came, and seeing the fakir so solemn and earnest in
his devotions, he was afraid to rouse his anger, lest peradventure the
displeasure of Heaven should descend on him, and so he placed his
hands together in the attitude of a supplicant, and asked, "How did
you get my daughter's necklace?"

"Last night," replied the fakir, "we were sitting here by this tomb
worshipping Khuda, when a ghoul, dressed as a princess, came and
exhumed a body that had been buried a few days ago, and began to eat
it. On seeing this I was filled with anger, and beat her back with a
shovel, which lay on the fire at the time. While running away from me
her necklace got loose and dropped. You wonder at these words, but
they are not difficult to prove. Examine your daughter, and you will
find the marks of the burn on her back. Go, and if it is as I say,
send the princess to me, and I will punish her."

The king went back to the palace, and at once ordered the princess's
back to be examined.

"It is so," said the maid-servant; "the burn is there."

"Then let the girl be slain immediately," the king shouted.

"No, no, your Majesty," they replied. "Let us send her to the fakir
who discovered this thing, that he may do whatever he wishes with
her."

The king agreed, and so the princess was taken to the graveyard.

"Let her be shut up in a cage, and be kept near the grave whence she
took out the corpse," said the fakir.

This was done, and in a little while the fakir and his disciple and
the princess were left alone in the graveyard. Night had not long cast
its dark mantle over the scene when the fakir and his disciple threw
off their disguise, and taking their horses and luggage, appeared
before the cage. They released the princess, rubbed some ointment over
the scars on her back, and then sat her upon one of their horses
behind the prince. Away they rode fast and far, and by the morning
were able to rest and talk over their plans in safety. The vizier's
son showed the princess some of the poisoned pilaw that she had sent
him, and asked whether she had repented of her ingratitude. The
princess wept, and acknowledged that he was her greatest helper and
friend.

A letter was sent to the chief vizier telling him of all that had
happened to the prince and the vizier's son since they had left their
country. When the vizier read the letter he went and informed the
king. The king caused a reply to be sent to the two exiles, in which
he ordered them not to return, but to send a letter to Gulizar's
father, and inform him of everything. Accordingly they did this; the
prince wrote the letter at the vizier's son's dictation.

On reading the letter Gulizar's father was much enraged with his
viziers and other officials for not discovering the presence in his
country of these illustrious visitors, as he was especially anxious to
ingratiate himself in the favour of the prince and the vizier's son.
He ordered the execution of some of the viziers on a certain date.

"Come," he wrote back to the vizier's son, "and stay at the palace.
And if the prince desires it, I will arrange for his marriage with
Gulizar as soon as possible."

The prince and the vizier's son most gladly accepted the invitation,
and received a right noble welcome from the king. The marriage soon
took place, and then after a few weeks the king gave them presents of
horses and elephants, and jewels and rich cloths, and bade them start
for their own land; for he was sure that the king would now receive
them. The night before they left the viziers and others, whom the king
intended to have executed as soon as his visitors had left, came and
besought the vizier's son to plead for them, and promised that they
each would give him a daughter in marriage. He agreed to do so, and
succeeded in obtaining their pardon.

Then the prince, with his beautiful bride Gulizar, and the vizier's
son, attended by a troop of soldiers, and a large number of camels and
horses bearing very much treasure, left for their own land. In the
midst of the way they passed the tower of the robbers, and with the
help of the soldiers they razed it to the ground, slew all its
inmates, and seized the treasure which they had been amassing there
for several years.

At length they reached their own country, and when the king saw his
son's beautiful wife and his magnificent retinue he was at once
reconciled, and ordered him to enter the city and take up his abode
there.

Henceforth all was sunshine on the path of the prince. He became a
great favourite, and in due time succeeded to the throne, and ruled
the country for many, many years in peace and happiness.




How Sun, Moon, and Wind went out to Dinner




One day Sun, Moon, and Wind went out to dine with their uncle and
aunts Thunder and Lightning. Their mother (one of the most distant
Stars you see far up in the sky) waited alone for her children's
return.

Now both Sun and Wind were greedy and selfish. They enjoyed the great
feast that had been prepared for them, without a thought of saving any
of it to take home to their mother--but the gentle Moon did not
forget her. Of every dainty dish that was brought round, she placed a
small portion under one of her beautiful long finger-nails, that Star
might also have a share in the treat.

On their return, their mother, who had kept watch for them all night
long with her little bright eye, said, "Well, children, what have you
brought home for me?" Then Sun (who was eldest) said, "I have brought
nothing home for you. I went out to enjoy myself with my friends--not
to fetch a dinner for my mother!" And Wind said, "Neither have I
brought anything home for you, mother. You could hardly expect me to
bring a collection of good things for you, when I merely went out for
my own pleasure." But Moon said, "Mother, fetch a plate, see what I
have brought you." And shaking her hands she showered down such a
choice dinner as never was seen before.

Then Star turned to Sun and spoke thus, "Because you went out to amuse
yourself with your friends, and feasted and enjoyed yourself, without
any thought of your mother at home--you shall be cursed. Henceforth,
your rays shall ever be hot and scorching, and shall burn all that
they touch. And men shall hate you, and cover their heads when you
appear."

(And that is why the Sun is so hot to this day.)

Then she turned to Wind and said, "You also who forgot your mother in
the midst of your selfish pleasures--hear your doom. You shall always
blow in the hot dry weather, and shall parch and shrivel all living
things. And men shall detest and avoid you from this very time."

(And that is why the Wind in the hot weather is still so
disagreeable.)

But to Moon she said, "Daughter, because you remembered your mother,
and kept for her a share in your own enjoyment, from henceforth you
shall be ever cool, and calm, and bright. No noxious glare shall
accompany your pure rays, and men shall always call you 'blessed.'"

(And that is why the moon's light is so soft, and cool, and beautiful
even to this day.)




How the Wicked Sons were Duped.


A very wealthy old man, imagining that he was on the point of death,
sent for his sons and divided his property among them. However, he did
not die for several years afterwards; and miserable years many of them
were. Besides the weariness of old age, the old fellow had to bear
with much abuse and cruelty from his sons. Wretched, selfish ingrates!
Previously they vied with one another in trying to please their
father, hoping thus to receive more money, but now they had received
their patrimony, they cared not how soon he left them--nay, the sooner
the better, because he was only a needless trouble and expense. And
they let the poor old man know what they felt.

One day he met a friend and related to him all his troubles. The
friend sympathised very much with him, and promised to think over the
matter, and call in a little while and tell him what to do. He did so;
in a few days he visited the old man and put down four bags full of
stones and gravel before him.

"Look here, friend," said he. "Your sons will get to know of my coming
here to-day, and will inquire about it. You must pretend that I came
to discharge a long-standing debt with you, and that you are several
thousands of rupees richer than you thought you were. Keep these bags
in your own hands, and on no account let your sons get to them as long
as you are alive. You will soon find them change their conduct towards
you. Salaam. I will come again soon to see how you are getting on."

When the young men got to hear of this further increase of wealth they
began to be more attentive and pleasing to their father than ever
before. And thus they continued to the day of the old man's demise,
when the bags were greedily opened, and found to contain only stones
and gravel!




The Pigeon and the Crow




Once upon a time the Bodhisatta was a Pigeon, and lived in a
nest-basket which a rich man's cook had hung up in the kitchen, in
order to earn merit by it. A greedy Crow, flying near, saw all sorts
of delicate food lying about in the kitchen, and fell a-hungering
after it. "How in the world can I get some?" thought he? At last he
hit upon a plan.

When the Pigeon went to search for food, behind him, following,
following, came the Crow.

"What do you want, Mr. Crow? You and I don't feed alike."

"Ah, but I like you and your ways! Let me be your chum, and let us
feed together."

The Pigeon agreed, and they went on in company. The Crow pretended to
feed along with the Pigeon, but ever and anon he would turn back, peck
to bits some heap of cow-dung, and eat a fat worm. When he had got a
bellyful of them, up he flies, as pert as you like:

"Hullo, Mr. Pigeon, what a time you take over your meal! One ought to
draw the line somewhere. Let's be going home before it is too late."
And so they did.

The cook saw that his Pigeon had brought a friend, and hung up another
basket for him.

A few days afterwards there was a great purchase of fish which came to
the rich man's kitchen. How the Crow longed for some! So there he lay,
from early morn, groaning and making a great noise. Says the Pigeon to
the Crow:

"Come, Sir Crow, and get your breakfast!"

"Oh dear! oh dear! I have such a fit of indigestion!" says he.

"Nonsense! Crows never have indigestion," said the Pigeon. "If you eat
a lamp-wick, that stays in your stomach a little while; but anything
else is digested in a trice, as soon as you eat it. Now do what I tell
you; don't behave in this way just for seeing a little fish."

"Why do you say that, master? I have indigestion."

"Well, be careful," said the Pigeon, and flew away.

The cook prepared all the dishes, and then stood at the kitchen door,
wiping the sweat off his body. "Now's my time!" thought Mr. Crow, and
alighted on a dish containing some dainty food. Click! The cook heard
it, and looked round. Ah! he caught the Crow, and plucked all the
feathers out of his head, all but one tuft; he powdered ginger and
cummin, mixed it up with butter-milk, and rubbed it well all over the
bird's body.

"That's for spoiling my master's dinner and making me throw it away!"
said he, and threw him into his basket. Oh, how it hurt!

By-and-by the Pigeon came in, and saw the Crow lying there, making a
great noise. He made great game of him, and repeated a verse of
poetry:

    "Who is this tufted crane I see
    Lying where he's no right to be?
    Come out! my friend, the crow is near,
    And he may do you harm, I fear!"

To this the Crow answered with another:

    "No tufted crane am I--no, no!
    I'm nothing but a greedy crow.
    I would not do as I was told,
    So now I'm plucked, as you behold."

And the Pigeon rejoined with a third verse:

    "You'll come to grief again, I know--
    It is your nature to do so;
    If people make a dish of meat,
    'Tis not for little birds to eat."

Then the Pigeon flew away, saying: "I can't live with this creature
any longer." And the Crow lay there groaning till he died.




Notes and References


The story literature of India is in a large measure the outcome of the
moral revolution of the peninsula connected with the name of Gautama
Buddha. As the influence of his life and doctrines grew, a tendency
arose to connect all the popular stories of India round the great
teacher. This could be easily effected owing to the wide spread of the
belief in metempsychosis. All that was told of the sages of the past
could be interpreted of the Buddha by representing them as
pre-incarnations of him. Even with Fables, or beast-tales, this could
be done, for the Hindoos were Darwinists long before Darwin, and
regarded beasts as cousins of men and stages of development in the
progress of the soul through the ages. Thus, by identifying the Buddha
with the heroes of all folk-tales and the chief characters in the
beast-drolls, the Buddhists were enabled to incorporate the whole of
the story-store of Hindostan in their sacred books, and enlist on
their side the tale-telling instincts of men.

In making Buddha the centre figure of the popular literature of India,
his followers also invented the Frame as a method of literary art. The
idea of connecting a number of disconnected stories familiar to us
from _The Arabian Nights_, Boccaccio's _Decamerone_, Chaucer's
_Canterbury Tales_, or even _Pickwick_, is directly traceable to the
plan of making Buddha the central figure of India folk-literature.
Curiously enough, the earliest instance of this in Buddhist literature
was intended to be a Decameron, ten tales of Buddha's previous births,
told of each of the ten Perfections. Asvagosha, the earlier Boccaccio,
died when he had completed thirty-four of the Birth-Tales. But other
collections were made, and at last a corpus of the JATAKAS, or
Birth-Tales of the Buddha, was carried over to Ceylon, possibly as
early as the first introduction of Buddhism, 241 B.C. There they have
remained till the present day, and have at last been made accessible
in a complete edition in the original Pali by Prof. Fausboll.

These JATAKAS, as we now have them, are enshrined in a commentary on
the _gathas_, or moral verses, written in Ceylon by one of
Buddhaghosa's school in the fifth century A.D. They invariably begin
with a "Story of the Present," an incident in Buddha's life which
calls up to him a "Story of the Past," a folk-tale in which he had
played a part during one of his former incarnations. Thus the fable of
the Lion and the Crane, which opens the present collection, is
introduced by a "Story of the Present" in the following words:--

"A service have we done thee" [the opening words of the _gatha_ or
moral verse]. "This the Master told while living at Jetavana
concerning Devadatta's treachery. Not only now, O Bhickkus, but in a
former existence was Devadatta ungrateful. And having said this he
told a tale." Then follows the tale as given above (pp. 1, 2), and the
commentary concludes: "The Master, having given the lesson, summed up
the Jataka thus: 'At that time, the Lion was Devadatta, and the Crane
was I myself.'" Similarly, with each story of the past the Buddha
identifies himself, or is mentioned as identical with, the virtuous
hero of the folk-tale. These Jatakas are 550 in number, and have been
reckoned to include some 2000 tales. Some of these had been translated
by Mr. Rhys-Davids (_Buddhist Birth Stories, I._, Trubner's Oriental
Library, 1880), Prof. Fausboll (_Five Jatakas_, Copenhagen), and Dr.
R. Morris (_Folk-Lore Journal_, vols. ii.-v.). A few exist sculptured
on the earliest Buddhist Stupas. Thus several of the circular figure
designs on the reliefs from Amaravati, now on the grand staircase of
the British Museum, represent Jatakas, or previous births of the
Buddha.

Some of the Jatakas bear a remarkable resemblance to some of the most
familiar FABLES OF ESOP. So close is the resemblance, indeed, that it is
impossible not to surmise an historical relation between the two. What this
relation is I have discussed at considerable length in the "History of the
Esopic Fable," which forms the introductory volume to my edition of
Caxton's _Esope_ (London, D. Nutt, "Bibliotheque de Carabas," 1889). In
this place I can only roughly summarise my results. I conjecture that a
collection of fables existed in India before Buddha and independently of
the Jatakas, and connected with the name of Kasyapa, who was afterwards
made by the Buddhists into the latest of the twenty-seven pre-incarnations
of the Buddha. This collection of the Fables of Kasyapa was brought to
Europe with a deputation from the Cingalese King Chandra Muka Siwa (obiit
52 A.D.) to the Emperor Claudius about 50 A.D., and was done into Greek as
the o i of "Kybises." These were utilised by Babrius (from whom
the Greek Esop is derived) and Avian, and so came into the European Esop.
I have discussed all those that are to be found in the Jatakas in the
"History" before mentioned, i. pp. 54-72 (see Notes i. xv. xx.). In these
Notes henceforth I refer to this "History" as my _Esop_.

There were probably other Buddhist collections of a similar nature to
the Jatakas with a framework. When the Hindu reaction against Buddhism
came, the Brahmins adapted these, with the omission of Buddha as the
central figure. There is scarcely any doubt that the so-called FABLES
OF BIDPAI were thus derived from Buddhistic sources. In its Indian
form this is now extant as a _Panchatantra_ or Pentateuch, five books
of tales connected by a Frame. This collection is of special interest
to us in the present connection, as it has come to Europe in various
forms and shapes. I have edited Sir Thomas North's English version of
an Italian adaptation of a Spanish translation of a Latin version of a
Hebrew translation of an Arabic adaptation of the Pehlevi version of
the Indian original (_Fables of Bidpai_, London, D. Nutt,
"Bibliotheque de Carabas," 1888). In this I give a genealogical table
of the various versions, from which I calculate that the tales have
been translated into thirty-eight languages in 112 different versions,
twenty different ones in English alone. Their influence on European
folk-tales has been very great: it is probable that nearly one-tenth
of these can be traced to the Bidpai literature. (See Notes v. ix. x.
xiii. xv.)

Other collections of a similar character, arranged in a frame, and
derived ultimately from Buddhistic sources, also reached Europe and
formed popular reading in the Middle Ages. Among these may be
mentioned THE TALES OF SINDIBAD, known to Europe as _The Seven Sages
of Rome:_ from this we get the Gellert story (_cf. Celtic Fairy
Tales_), though it also occurs in the Bidpai. Another popular
collection was that associated with the life of St. Buddha, who has
been canonised as St. Josaphat: BARLAAM AND JOSAPHAT tells of his
conversion and much else besides, including the tale of the Three
Caskets, used by Shakespeare in the _Merchant of Venice_.

Some of the Indian tales reached Europe at the time of the Crusades,
either orally or in collections no longer extant. The earliest
selection of these was the _Disciplina Clericalis_ of Petrus Alphonsi,
a Spanish Jew converted about 1106: his tales were to be used as
seasoning for sermons, and strong seasoning they must have proved.
Another Spanish collection of considerably later date was entitled _El
Conde Lucanor_ (Eng. trans. by W. York): this contains the fable of
_The Man, his Son, and their Ass_, which they ride or carry as the
popular voice decides. But the most famous collection of this kind
was that known as GESTA ROMANORUM, much of which was certainly derived
from Oriental and ultimately Indian sources, and so might more
appropriately be termed _Gesta Indorum_.

All these collections, which reached Europe in the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries, became very popular, and were used by monks and
friars to enliven their sermons as EXEMPLA. Prof. Crane has given a
full account of this very curious phenomenon in his erudite edition of
the _Exempla of Jacques de Vitry_ (Folk Lore Society, 1890). The
Indian stories were also used by the Italian _Novellieri_, much of
Boccaccio and his school being derived from this source. As these
again gave material for the Elizabethan Drama, chiefly in W. Painter's
_Palace of Pleasure_, a collection of translated _Novelle_ which I
have edited (Lond., 3 vols. 1890), it is not surprising that we can at
times trace portions of Shakespeare back to India. It should also be
mentioned that one-half of La Fontaine's Fables (Bks. vii.-xii.) are
derived from Indian sources. (_See_ Note on No. v.)

In India itself the collection of stories in frames went on and still
goes on. Besides those already mentioned there are the stories of
_Vikram and the Vampire_ (Vetala), translated among others by the late
Sir Richard Burton, and the seventy stories of a parrot (_Suka
Saptati_). The whole of this literature was summed up by Somadeva, c.
1200 A.D. in a huge compilation entitled _Katha Sarit Sagara_ ("Ocean
of the Stream of Stories"). Of this work, written in very florid
style, Mr. Tawney has produced a translation in two volumes in the
_Bibliotheca Indica_. Unfortunately, there is a Divorce Court
atmosphere about the whole book, and my selections from it have been
accordingly restricted. (Notes, No. xi.)

So much for a short sketch of Indian folk-tales so far as they have
been reduced to writing in the native literature. The Jatakas are
probably the oldest collection of such tales in literature, and the
greater part of the rest are demonstrably more than a thousand years
old. It is certain that much (perhaps one-fifth) of the popular
literature of modern Europe is derived from those portions of this
large bulk which came west with the Crusades through the medium of
Arabs and Jews. In his elaborate _Einleitung_ to the _Pantschatantra_,
the Indian version of the Fables of Bidpai, Prof. Benfey contended
with enormous erudition that the majority of folk-tale incidents were
to be found in the Bidpai literature. His introduction consisted of
over 200 monographs on the spread of Indian tales to Europe. He wrote
in 1859, before the great outburst of folk-tale collection in Europe,
and he had not thus adequate materials to go about in determining the
extent of Indian influence on the popular mind of Europe. But he made
it clear that for beast-tales and for drolls, the majority of those
current in the mouths of occidental people were derived from Eastern
and mainly Indian sources. He was not successful, in my opinion, in
tracing the serious fairy tale to India. Few of the tales in the
Indian literary collections could be dignified by the name of fairy
tales, and it was clear that if these were to be traced to India, an
examination of the contemporary folk-tales of the peninsula would have
to be attempted.

[Footnote 2: An admirable and full account of this literature was
given by M. A. Barth in _Melusine_, t. iv. No. 12, and t. v. No. 1.
See also Table i. of Prof. Rhys-Davids' _Birth Stories_.]

The collection of current Indian folk-tales has been the work of the
last quarter of a century, a work, even after what has been achieved,
still in its initial stages. The credit of having begun the process is
due to Miss Frere, who, while her father was Governor of the Bombay
Presidency, took down from the lips of her _ayah_, Anna de Souza, one
of a Lingaet family from Goa who had been Christian for three
generations, the tales she afterwards published with Mr. Murray in
1868, under the title, "_Old Deccan Days, or, Indian Fairy Legends
current in Southern India, collected from oral tradition by M. Frere,
with an introduction and notes by Sir Bartle Frere_." Her example was
followed by Miss Stokes in her _Indian Fairy Tales_ (London, Ellis &
White, 1880), who took down her tales from two _ayahs_ and a
_Khitmatgar_, all of them Bengalese--the _ayahs_ Hindus, and the man a
Mohammedan. Mr. Ralston introduced the volume with some remarks which
dealt too much with sun-myths for present-day taste. Another
collection from Bengal was that of Lal Behari Day, a Hindu gentleman,
in his _Folk-Tales of Bengal_ (London, Macmillan, 1883). The Panjab
and the Kashmir then had their turn: Mrs. Steel collected, and Captain
(now Major) Temple edited and annotated, their _Wideawake Stories_
(London, Trubner, 1884), stories capitally told and admirably
annotated. Captain Temple increased the value of this collection by a
remarkable analysis of all the incidents contained in the two hundred
Indian folk-tales collected up to this date. It is not too much to say
that this analysis marks an onward step in the scientific study of the
folk-tale: there is such a thing, derided as it may be. I have
throughout the Notes been able to draw attention to Indian parallels
by a simple reference to Major Temple's Analysis.

Major Temple has not alone himself collected: he has been the cause
that many others have collected. In the pages of the _Indian
Antiquary_, edited by him, there have appeared from time to time
folk-tales collected from all parts of India. Some of these have been
issued separately. Sets of tales from Southern India, collected by the
Pandit Natesa Sastri, have been issued under the title _Folk-Lore of
Southern India_, three fascicules of which have been recently
re-issued by Mrs. Kingscote under the title, _Tales of the Sun_ (W. H.
Allen, 1891): it would have been well if the identity of the two works
had been clearly explained. The largest addition to our knowledge of
the Indian folk-tale that has been made since _Wideawake Stories_ is
that contained in Mr. Knowles' _Folk-Tales of Kashmir_ (Trubner's
Oriental Library, 1887), sixty-three stories, some of great length.
These, with Mr. Campbell's _Santal Tales_ (1892); Ramaswami Raju's
_Indian Fables_ (London, Sonnenschein, n.d.); M. Thornhill, _Indian
Fairy Tales_ (London, 1889); and E. J. Robinson, _Tales of S. India_
(1885), together with those contained in books of travel like
Thornton's _Bannu_ or Smeaton's _Karens of Burmah_ bring up the list
of printed Indian folk-tales to over 350--a respectable total indeed,
but a mere drop in the ocean of the stream of stories that must exist
in such a huge population as that of India: the Central Provinces in
particular are practically unexplored. There are doubtless many
collections still unpublished. Col. Lewin has large numbers, besides
the few published in his _Lushai Grammar_; and Mr. M. L. Dames has a
number of Baluchi tales which I have been privileged to use.
Altogether, India now ranks among the best represented countries for
printed folk-tales, coming only after Russia (1500), Germany (1200),
Italy and France (1000 each.) Counting the ancient with the modern,
India has probably some 600 to 700 folk-tales printed and translated
in accessible form. There should be enough material to determine the
vexed question of the relations between the European and the Indian
collections.

[Footnote 3: Finland boasts of 12,000, but most of these lie unprinted
among the archives of the Helsingfors Literary Society.]

This question has taken a new departure with the researches of M.
Emanuel Cosquin in his _Contes populaires de Lorraine_ (Paris, 1886,
2e tirage, 1890), undoubtedly the most important contribution to the
scientific study of the folk-tale since the Grimms. M. Cosquin gives
in the annotations to the eighty-four tales which he has collected in
Lorraine a mass of information as to the various forms which the tales
take in other countries of Europe and in the East. In my opinion, the
work he has done for the European folk-tale is even more valuable than
the conclusions he draws from it as to the relations with India. He
has taken up the work which Wilhelm Grimm dropped in 1859, and shown
from the huge accumulations of folk-tales that have appeared during
the last thirty years that there is a common fund of folk-tales which
every country of Europe without exception possesses, though this does
not of course preclude them from possessing others that are not shared
by the rest. M. Cosquin further contends that the whole of these have
come from the East, ultimately from India, not by literary
transmission, as Benfey contended, but by oral transmission. He has
certainly shown that very many of the most striking incidents common
to European folk-tales are also to be found in Eastern _mahrchen_.
What, however, he has failed to show is that some of these may not
have been carried out to the Eastern world by Europeans. Borrowing
tales is a mutual process, and when Indian meets European, European
meets Indian; which borrowed from which, is a question which we have
very few criteria to decide. It should be added that Mr W. A. Clouston
has in England collected with exemplary industry a large number of
parallels between Indian and European folk-tale incidents in his
_Popular Tales and Fictions_ (Edinburgh, 2 vols., 1887) and _Book of
Noodles_ (London, 1888). Mr Clouston has not openly expressed his
conviction that all folk-tales are Indian in origin: he prefers to
convince us _non vi sed sepe cadendo_. He has certainly made out a
good case for tracing all European drolls, or comic folk-tales, from
the East.

With the fairy tale strictly so called--_i.e._, the serious folk-tale
of romantic adventure--I am more doubtful. It is mainly a modern
product in India as in Europe, so far as literary evidence goes. The
vast bulk of the Jatakas does not contain a single example worthy the
name, nor does the Bidpai literature. Some of Somadeva's tales,
however, approach the nature of fairy tales, but there are several
Celtic tales which can be traced to an earlier date than his (1200
A.D.) and are equally near to fairy tales. Yet it is dangerous to
trust to mere non-appearance in literature as proof of non-existence
among the folk. To take our own tales here in England, there is not a
single instance of a reference to _Jack and the Beanstalk_ for the
last three hundred years, yet it is undoubtedly a true folk-tale. And
it is indeed remarkable how many of the _formule_ of fairy tales have
been found of recent years in India. Thus, the _Magic Fiddle_, found
among the Santals by Mr. Campbell in two variants (see Notes on vi.),
contains the germ idea of the wide-spread story represented in Great
Britain by the ballad of _Binnorie_ (see _English Fairy Tales_, No.
ix.). Similarly, Mr. Knowles' collection has added considerably to the
number of Indian variants of European "formule" beyond those noted by

It is still more striking as regards _incidents_. In a paper read
before the Folk-Lore Congress of 1891, and reprinted in the
_Transactions_, pp. 76 _seq._, I have drawn up a list of some 630
incidents found in common among European folk-tales (including
drolls). Of these, I reckon that about 250 have been already found
among Indian folk-tales, and the number is increased by each new
collection that is made or printed. The moral of this is, that India
belongs to a group of peoples who have a common store of stories;
India belongs to Europe for purposes of comparative folk-tales.

Can we go further and say that India is the source of all the
incidents that are held in common by European children? I think we may
answer "Yes" as regards droll incidents, the travels of many of which
we can trace, and we have the curious result that European children
owe their earliest laughter to Hindu wags. As regards the serious
incidents further inquiry is needed. Thus, we find the incident of an
"external soul" (Life Index, Captain Temple very appropriately named
it) in Asbjornsen's _Norse Tales_ and in Miss Frere's _Old Deccan
Days_ (see Notes on _Punchkin_). Yet the latter is a very suspicious
source, since Miss Frere derived her tales from a Christian _ayah_
whose family had been in Portuguese Goa for a hundred years. May they
not have got the story of the giant with his soul outside his body
from some European sailor touching at Goa? This is to a certain extent
negatived by the fact of the frequent occurrence of the incident in
Indian folk-tales (Captain Temple gave a large number of instances in
_Wideawake Stories_, pp. 404-5). On the other hand, Mr. Frazer in his
_Golden Bough_ has shown the wide spread of the idea among all savage
or semi-savage tribes. (See Note on No. iv.)

In this particular case we may be doubtful; but in others, again--as
the incident of the rat's tail up nose (see Notes on _The Charmed
Ring_)--there can be little doubt of the Indian origin. And generally,
so far as the incidents are marvellous and of true fairy-tale
character, the presumption is in favour of India, because of the
vitality of animism or metempsychosis in India throughout all historic
time. No Hindu would doubt the fact of animals speaking or of men
transformed into plants and animals. The European may once have had
these beliefs, and may still hold them implicitly as "survivals"; but
in the "survival" stage they cannot afford material for artistic
creation, and the fact that the higher minds of Europe for the last
thousand years have discountenanced these beliefs has not been
entirely without influence. Of one thing there is practical certainty:
the fairy tales that are common to the Indo-European world were
invented once for all in a certain locality, and thence spread to all
the countries in culture contact with the original source. The mere
fact that contiguous countries have more similarities in their story
store than distant ones is sufficient to prove this: indeed, the fact
that any single country has spread throughout it a definite set of
folk-tales as distinctive as its flora and fauna, is sufficient to
prove it. It is equally certain that not all folk-tales have come from
one source, for each country has tales peculiar to itself. The
question is as to the source of the tales that are common to all
European children, and increasing evidence seems to show that this
common nucleus is derived from India and India alone. The Hindus have
been more successful than others, because of two facts: they have had
the appropriate "atmosphere" of metempsychosis, and they have also had
spread among the people sufficient literary training and mental grip
to invent plots. The Hindu tales have ousted the native European,
which undoubtedly existed independently; indeed, many still survive,
especially in Celtic lands. Exactly in the same way, Perrault's tales
have ousted the older English folk-tales, and it is with the utmost
difficulty that one can get true English fairy tales because _Red
Riding Hood_, _Cinderella_, _Blue Beard_, _Puss in Boots_ and the
rest, have survived in the struggle for existence among English
folk-tales. So far as Europe has a common store of fairy tales, it
owes this to India.

I do not wish to be misunderstood. I do not hold with Benfey that all
European folk-tales are derived from the Bidpai literature and similar
literary products, nor with M. Cosquin that they are all derived from
India. The latter scholar has proved that there is a nucleus of
stories in every European land which is common to all. I calculate
that this includes from 30 to 50 per cent. of the whole, and it is
this common stock of Europe that I regard as coming from India mainly
at the time of the Crusades, and chiefly by oral transmission. It
includes all the beast tales and most of the drolls, but evidence is
still lacking about the more serious fairy tales, though it is
increasing with every fresh collection of folk-tales in India, the
great importance of which is obvious from the above considerations.

In the following Notes I give, as on the two previous occasions, the
_source_ whence I derived the tale, then _parallels_, and finally
_remarks_. For Indian _parallels_ I have been able to refer to Major
Temple's remarkable Analysis of Indian Folk-tale incidents at the end
of _Wideawake Stories_ (pp. 386-436), for European ones to my
alphabetical List of Incidents, with bibliographical references, in
_Transactions of Folk-Lore Congress_, 1892, pp. 87-98. My _remarks_
have been mainly devoted to tracing the relation between the Indian
and the European tales, with the object of showing that the latter
have been derived from the former. I have, however, to some extent
handicapped myself, as I have avoided giving again the Indian versions
of stories already given in _English Fairy Tales_ or _Celtic Fairy
Tales_.



_Source._--V. Fausboll, _Five Jatakas_, Copenhagen, 1861, pp. 35-8,
text and translation of the _Javasakuna Jataka_. I have ventured
to English Prof. Fausboll's version, which was only intended as a
"crib" to the Pali. For the omitted Introduction, see _supra_.

_Parallels._--I have given a rather full collection of parallels,
running to about a hundred numbers, in my _Esop_, pp. 232-4. The chief
of these are: (1) for the East, the Midrashic version ("Lion and
Egyptian Partridge"), in the great Rabbinic commentary on Genesis
(_Bereshith-rabba_, c. 64); (2) in classical antiquity, Phedrus, i. 8
("Wolf and Crane"), and Babrius, 94 ("Wolf and Heron"), and the Greek
proverb Suidas, ii. 248 ("Out of the Wolf's Mouth"); (3) in the Middle
Ages, the so-called Greek _Esop_, ed. Halm, 276 _b_, really prose
versions of Babrius and "Romulus," or prose of Phedrus, i. 8, also the
Romulus of Ademar (fl. 1030), 64; it occurs also on the Bayeux
Tapestry, in Marie de France, 7, and in Benedict of Oxford's _Mishle
Shualim_ (Heb.), 8; (4) Stainhowel took it from the "Romulus" into his
German Esop (1480), whence all the modern European Esops are derived.

_Remarks._--I have selected _The Wolf and the Crane_ as my typical
example in my "History of the Esopic Fable," and can only give here a
rough summary of the results I there arrived at concerning the fable,
merely premising that these results are at present no more than
hypotheses. The similarity of the Jataka form with that familiar to
us, and derived by us in the last resort from Phedrus, is so striking
that few will deny some historical relation between them. I conjecture
that the Fable originated in India, and came West by two different
routes. First, it came by oral tradition to Egypt, as one of the
Libyan Fables which the ancients themselves distinguished from the
Esopic Fables. It was, however, included by Demetrius Phalereus,
tyrant of Athens, and founder of the Alexandrian library c. 300 B.C.,
in his _Assemblies of Esopic Fables_, which I have shown to be the
source of Phedrus' Fables c. 30 A.D. Besides this, it came from
Ceylon in the Fables of Kybises--_i.e._, Kasyapa the Buddha--c. 50
A.D., was adapted into Hebrew, and used for political purposes, by
Rabbi Joshua ben Chananyah in a harangue to the Jews c. 120 A.D.,
begging them to be patient while within the jaws of Rome. The Hebrew
form uses the lion, not the wolf, as the ingrate, which enables us
to decide on the Indian _provenance_ of the Midrashic version. It may
be remarked that the use of the lion in this and other Jatakas is indirectly a testimony to their great age, as the lion has become
rarer and rarer in India during historic times, and is now confined
to the Gir forest of Kathiawar, where only a dozen specimens exist,
and are strictly preserved.

The verses at the end are the earliest parts of the Jataka, being in
more archaic Pali than the rest: the story is told by the commentator
(c. 400 A.D.) to illustrate them. It is probable that they were
brought over on the first introduction of Buddhism into Ceylon, c. 241
B.C. This would give them an age of over two thousand years, nearly
three hundred years earlier than Phedrus, from whom comes our _Wolf
and Crane_.



_Source._--Miss Stokes, _Indian Fairy Tales_, No. xxii. pp. 153-63,
told by Muniya, one of the ayahs. I have left it unaltered, except
that I have replaced "God" by "Khuda," the word originally used (see
Notes _l. c._, p. 237).

_Parallels._--The tabu, as to a particular direction, occurs in other
Indian stories as well as in European folk-tales (see notes on Stokes, p.
286). The _grateful animals_ theme occurs in "The Soothsayer's Son"
(_infra_, No. x.), and frequently in Indian folk-tales (see Temple's
Analysis, III. i. 5-7; _Wideawake Stories_, pp. 412-3). The thorn in the
tiger's foot is especially common (Temple, _l. c._, 6, 9), and recalls the
story of Androclus, which occurs in the derivates of Phedrus, and may thus
be Indian in origin (see Benfey, _Panschatantra_, i. 211, and the parallels
given in my _Esop_, Ro. iii. I. p. 243). The theme is, however, equally
frequent in European folk-tales: see my List of Incidents, _Proc. Folk-Lore
Congress_, p. 91, s.v. "Grateful Animals" and "Gifts by Grateful Animals."
Similarly, the "Bride Wager" incident at the end is common to a large
number of Indian and European folk-tales (Temple, Analysis, p. 430; my
List, _l. c. sub voce_). The tasks are also equally common (_cf._ "Battle
of the Birds" in _Celtic Fairy Tales_), though the exact forms as given in
"Princess Labam" are not known in Europe.

_Remarks._--We have here a concrete instance of the relation of Indian
and European fairy-tales. The human mind may be the same everywhere,
but it is not likely to hit upon the sequence of incidents, _Direction
tabu_--_Grateful Animals_--_Bride-wager_--_Tasks_, by accident, or
independently: Europe must have borrowed from India, or India from
Europe. As this must have occurred within historic times, indeed
within the last thousand years, when even European peasants are not
likely to have _invented_, even if they believed, in the incident of
the grateful animals, the probability is in favour of borrowing from
India, possibly through the intermediation of Arabs at the time of
the Crusades. It is only a probability, but we cannot in any case
reach more than probability in this matter, just at present.



_Source._--Steel-Temple, _Wideawake Stories_, pp. 69-72, originally
published in _Indian Antiquary_, xii. 175. The droll is common
throughout the Panjab.

_Parallels._--The similarity of the concluding episode with the finish
of the "Three Little Pigs" (_Eng. Fairy Tales_, No. xiv.) In my notes
on that droll I have pointed out that the pigs were once goats or kids
with "hair on their chinny chin chin." This brings the tale a stage
nearer to the Lambikin.

_Remarks._--The similarity of Pig No. 3 rolling down hill in the churn
and the Lambikin in the Drumikin can scarcely be accidental, though,
it must be confessed, the tale has undergone considerable modification
before it reached England.



_Source._--Miss Frere, _Old Deccan Days_, pp. 1-16, from her ayah,
Anna de Souza, of a Lingaet family settled and Christianised at Goa
for three generations. I should perhaps add that a Prudhan is a Prime
Minister, or Vizier; Punts are the same, and Sirdars, nobles.

_Parallels._--The son of seven mothers is a characteristic Indian
conception, for which see Notes on "The Son of Seven Queens" in this
collection, No. xvi. The mother transformed, envious stepmother, ring
recognition, are all incidents common to East and West;
bibliographical references for parallels may be found under these
titles in my List of Incidents. The external soul of the ogre has been
studied by Mr. E. Clodd in _Folk-Lore Journal_, vol. ii., "The
Philosophy of Punchkin," and still more elaborately in the section,
"The External Soul in Folk-tales," in Mr. Frazer's _Golden Bough_, ii.
pp. 296-326. See also Major Temple's Analysis, II. iii., _Wideawake
Stories_, pp. 404-5, who there gives the Indian parallels.

_Remarks._--Both Mr. Clodd and Mr. Frazer regard the essence of the
tale to consist in the conception of an external soul or "life-index,"
and they both trace in this a "survival" of savage philosophy, which
they consider occurs among all men at a certain stage of culture. But
the most cursory examination of the sets of tales containing these
incidents in Mr. Frazer's analyses shows that many, indeed the
majority, of these tales cannot be independent of one another; for
they contain not alone the incident of an external materialised soul,
but the further point that this is contained in something else, which
is enclosed in another thing, which is again surrounded by a wrapper.
This Chinese ball arrangement is found in the Deccan ("Punchkin"); in
Bengal (Day, _Folk-Tales of Bengal_); in Russia (Ralston, p. 103
_seq._, "Koschkei the Deathless," also in Mr. Lang's _Red Fairy
Book_); in Servia (Mijatovics, _Servian Folk-Lore_, p. 172); in South
Slavonia (Wratislaw, p. 225); in Rome (Miss Busk, p. 164); in Albania
(Dozon, p. 132 _seq._); in Transylvania (Haltrich, No. 34); in
Schleswig-Holstein (Mullenhoff, p. 404); in Norway (Asbjornsen, No.
36, _ap._ Dasent, _Pop. Tales_, p. 55, "The Giant who had no Heart in
his Body"); and finally, in the Hebrides (Campbell, _Pop. Tales_, p.
10, _cf. Celtic Fairy Tales_, No. xvii., "Sea Maiden"). Here we have
the track of this remarkable idea of an external soul enclosed in a
succession of wrappings, which we can trace from Hindostan to the
Hebrides.

It is difficult to imagine that we have not here the actual migration
of the tale from East to West. In Bengal we have the soul "in a
necklace, in a box, in the heart of a _boal_ fish, in a tank"; in
Albania "it is in a pigeon, in a hare, in the silver tusk of a wild
boar"; in Rome it is "in a stone, in the head of a bird, in the head
of a leveret, in the middle head of a seven-headed hydra"; in Russia
"it is in an egg, in a duck, in a hare, in a casket, in an oak"; in
Servia it is "in a board, in the heart of a fox, in a mountain"; in
Transylvania "it is in a light, in an egg, in a duck, in a pond, in a
mountain"; in Norway it is "in an egg, in a duck, in a well, in a
church, on an island, in a lake"; in the Hebrides it is "in an egg, in
the belly of a duck, in the belly of a wether, under a flagstone on
the threshold." It is impossible to imagine the human mind
independently imagining such bizarre convolutions. They were borrowed
from one nation to the other, and till we have reason shown to the
contrary, the original lender was a Hindu. I should add that the mere
conception of an external soul occurs in the oldest Egyptian tale of
"The Two Brothers," but the wrappings are absent.



_Source._--_Pantschatantra_, V. ix., tr. Benfey, ii. 345-6.

_Parallels._--Benfey, in  209 of his _Einleitung_, gives
bibliographical references to most of those which are given at length
in Prof. M. Muller's brilliant essay on "The Migration of Fables"
(_Selected Essays_, i. 500-76), which is entirely devoted to the
travels of the fable from India to La Fontaine. See also Mr.
Clouston, _Pop. Tales_, ii. 432 _seq._ I have translated the Hebrew
version in my essay, "Jewish Influence on the Diffusion of
Folk-Tales," pp. 6-7. Our proverb, "Do not count your chickens before
they are hatched," is ultimately to be derived from India.

_Remarks._--The stories of Alnaschar, the Barber's fifth brother in
the _Arabian Nights_, and of La Perette, who counted her chickens
before they were hatched, in La Fontaine, are demonstrably derived
from the same Indian original from which our story was obtained. The
travels of the "Fables of Bidpai" from India to Europe are well known
and distinctly traceable. I have given a rough summary of the chief
critical results in the introduction to my edition of the earliest
English version of the _Fables of Bidpai_, by Sir Thomas North, of
Plutarch fame (London, D. Nutt, "Bibliotheque de Carabas," 1888),
where I have given an elaborate genealogical table of the
multitudinous versions. La Fontaine's version, which has rendered the
fable so familiar to us all, comes from Bonaventure des Periers,
_Contes et Nouvelles_, who got it from the _Dialogus Creaturarum_ of
Nicholaus Pergamenus, who derived it from the _Sermones_ of Jacques de
Vitry (see Prof. Crane's edition, No. li.), who probably derived it
from the _Directorium Humane Vite_ of John of Capua, a converted Jew,
who translated it from the Hebrew version of the Arabic _Kalilah wa
Dimnah_, which was itself derived from the old Syriac version of a
Pehlevi translation of the original Indian work, probably called after
Karataka and Damanaka, the names of two jackals who figure in the
earlier stories of the book. Prof. Rhys-Davids informs me that these
names are more akin to Pali than to Sanskrit, which makes it still
more probable that the whole literature is ultimately to be derived
from a Buddhist source.

The theme of La Perette is of interest as showing the _literary_
transmission of tales from Orient to Occident. It also shows the
possibility of an influence of literary on oral tradition, as is shown
by our proverb, and by the fact, which Benfey mentions, that La
Fontaine's story has had influence on two of Grimm's tales, Nos. 164,
168.



_Source._--A. Campbell, _Santal Folk-Tales_, 1892, pp. 52-6, with some
verbal alterations. A Bonga is the presiding spirit of a certain kind
of rice land; Doms and Hadis are low-caste aborigines, whose touch is
considered polluting. The Santals are a forest tribe, who live in the
Santal Parganas, 140 miles N.W. of Calcutta (Sir W. W. Hunter, _The
Indian Empire_, 57-60).

_Parallels._--Another version occurs in Campbell, p. 106 _seq._, which
shows that the story is popular among the Santals. It is obvious,
however, that neither version contains the real finish of the story,
which must have contained the denunciation of the magic fiddle of the
murderous sisters. This would bring it under the formula of _The
Singing Bone_, which M. Monseur has recently been studying with a
remarkable collection of European variants in the Bulletin of the
Wallon Folk-Lore Society of Liege (_cf. Eng. Fairy Tales_, No. ix.).
There is a singing bone in Steel-Temple's _Wideawake Stories_, pp. 127
_seq._ ("Little Anklebone").

_Remarks._--Here we have another theme of the common store of European
folk-tales found in India. Unfortunately, the form in which it occurs
is mutilated, and we cannot draw any definite conclusion from it.



_Source._--The Baka-Jataka, Fausboll, No. 38, tr. Rhys-Davids, pp.
315-21. The Buddha this time is the Genius of the Tree.



_Parallels._--This Jataka got into the Bidpai literature, and
occurs in all its multitudinous offshoots (_see_ Benfey, _Einleitung_,
 60) among others in the earliest English translation by North (my
edition, pp. 118-22), where the crane becomes "a great Paragone of
India (of those that liue a hundredth yeares and neuer mue their
feathers)." The crab, on hearing the ill news "called to Parliament
all the Fishes of the Lake," and before all are devoured destroys the
Paragon, as in the Jataka, and returned to the remaining fishes, who
"all with one consent gave hir many a thanke."

_Remarks._--An interesting point, to which I have drawn attention in
my Introduction to North's Bidpai, is the probability that the
illustrations of the tales as well as the tales themselves, were
translated, so to speak, from one country to another. We can trace
them in Latin, Hebrew, and Arabic MSS., and a few are extant on
Buddhist Stupas. Under these circumstances, it may be of interest to
compare with Mr. Batten's conception of the Crane and the Crab
(_supra_, p. 50) that of the German artist who illustrated the first
edition of the Latin Bidpai, probably following the traditional
representations of the MS., which itself could probably trace back to
India.



_Source._--Miss Stokes, _Indian Fairy Tales_, pp. 73-84. Majnun and
Laili are conventional names for lovers, the Romeo and Juliet of
Hindostan.

_Parallels._--Living in animals' bellies occurs elsewhere in Miss
Stokes' book, pp. 66, 124; also in Miss Frere's, 188. The restoration
of beauty by fire occurs as a frequent theme (Temple, Analysis, III.
vi. f. p. 418). Readers will be reminded of the _denouement_ of Mr.
Rider Haggard's _She_. Resuscitation from ashes has been used very
effectively by Mr. Lang in his delightful _Prince Prigio_.

_Remarks._--The white skin and blue eyes of Prince Majnun deserve
attention. They are possibly a relic of the days of Aryan conquest,
when the fair-skinned, fair-haired Aryan conquered the swarthier
aboriginals. The name for caste in Sanskrit is _varna_, "colour"; and
one Hindu cannot insult another more effectually than by calling him a
black man. _Cf._ Stokes, pp. 238-9, who suggests that the red hair is
something solar, and derived from myths of the solar hero.



_Source._--Steel-Temple, _Wideawake Stories_, pp. 116-20; first
published in _Indian Antiquary_, xii. p. 170 _seq._

_Parallels._--No less than 94 parallels are given by Prof. K. Krohn in
his elaborate discussion of this fable in his dissertation, _Mann und
Fuchs_, (Helsingfors, 1891), pp. 38-60; to which may be added three
Indian variants, omitted by him, but mentioned by Capt. Temple, _l.
c._, p. 324, in the _Bhagavata Purana_, the _Gul Bakaoli_ and _Ind.
Ant._ xii. 177; and a couple more in my _Esop_, p. 253: add Smeaton,
_Karens_, p. 126.

_Remarks._--Prof. Krohn comes to the conclusion that the majority of
the oral forms of the tale come from literary versions (p. 47),
whereas the _Reynard_ form has only had influence on a single variant.
He reduces the century of variants to three type forms. The first
occurs in two Egyptian versions collected in the present day, as well
as in Petrus Alphonsi in the twelfth century, and the _Fabule
Extravagantes_ of the thirteenth or fourteenth: here the ingrate
animal is a crocodile, which asks to be carried away from a river
about to dry up, and there is only one judge. The second is that
current in India and represented by the story in the present
collection: here the judges are three. The third is that current among
Western Europeans, which has spread to S. Africa and N. and S.
America: also three judges. Prof. K. Krohn counts the first the
original form, owing to the single judge and the naturalness of the
opening, by which the critical situation is brought about. The further
question arises, whether this form, though found in Egypt now, is
indigenous there, and if so, how it got to the East. Prof. Krohn
grants the possibility of the Egyptian form having been invented in
India and carried to Egypt, and he allows that the European forms have
been influenced by the Indian. The "Egyptian" form is found in Burmah
(Smeaton, _l. c._, p. 128), as well as the Indian, a fact of which
Prof. K. Krohn was unaware though it turns his whole argument. The
evidence we have of other folk-tales of the beast-epic emanating from
India improves the chances of this also coming from that source. One
thing at least is certain: all these hundred variants come ultimately
from one source. The incident "Inside again" of the _Arabian Nights_
(the Djinn and the bottle) and European tales is also a secondary
derivate.



_Source._--Mrs. Kingscote, _Tales of the Sun_ (p. 11 _seq._), from
Pandit Natesa Sastri's _Folk-Lore of Southern India_, pt. ii.,
originally from _Ind. Antiquary_. I have considerably condensed and
modified the somewhat Babu English of the original.

_Parallels._--See Benfey, _Pantschatantra_,  71, i. pp. 193-222, who
quotes the _Karma Jataka_ as the ultimate source: it also occurs in
the _Saccankira Jataka_ (Fausboll, No. 73), trans. Rev. R. Morris,
_Folk-Lore Jour._ iii. 348 _seq._ The story of the ingratitude of man
compared with the gratitude of beasts came early to the West, where it
occurs in the _Gesta Romanorum_, c. 119. It was possibly from an early
form of this collection that Richard Cur de Lion got the story,
and used it to rebuke the ingratitude of the English nobles on his
return in 1195. Matthew Paris tells the story, _sub anno_ (it is an
addition of his to Ralph Disset), _Hist. Major_, ed. Luard, ii. 413-6,
how a lion and a serpent and a Venetian named Vitalis were saved from
a pit by a woodman, Vitalis promising him half his fortune, fifty
talents. The lion brings his benefactor a leveret, the serpent "gemmam
pretiosam," probably "the precious jewel in his head" to which
Shakespeare alludes (_As You Like It_, ii. I., _cf._ Benfey, _l. c._,
p. 214, _n._), but Vitalis refuses to have anything to do with him,
and altogether repudiates the fifty talents. "Hec referebat Rex
Richardus munificus, ingratos redarguendo."

_Remarks._--Apart from the interest of its wide travels, and its
appearance in the standard medieval History of England by Matthew
Paris, the modern story shows the remarkable persistence of folk-tales
in the popular mind. Here we have collected from the Hindu peasant of
to-day a tale which was probably told before Buddha, over two thousand
years ago, and certainly included among the Jatakas before the
Christian era. The same thing has occurred with _The Tiger, Brahman,
and Jackal_ (No. ix. _supra_).



_Source._--Somadeva, _Katha-Sarit-Sagara_, trans. Tawney (Calcutta,
1880), i. pp. 272-4. I have slightly toned down the inflated style of
the original.

_Parallels _--Benfey has collected and discussed a number in _Orient
and Occident_, i. 371 _seq._; see also Tawney, _ad loc_. The most
remarkable of the parallels is that afforded by the Grimms' "Doctor
Allwissend" (No. 98), which extends even to such a minute point as his
exclamation, "Ach, ich armer Krebs," whereupon a crab is discovered
under a dish. The usual form of discovery of the thieves is for the
Dr. Knowall to have so many days given him to discover the thieves,
and at the end of the first day he calls out, "There's one of them,"
meaning the days, just as one of the thieves peeps through at him.
Hence the title and the plot of C. Lever's _One of Them_.



_Source._--Knowles, _Folk-Tales of Kashmir_, pp. 20-8.

_Parallels._--The incident of the Aiding Animals is frequent in
folk-tales: see bibliographical references, _sub voce_, in my List of
Incidents, _Trans. Folk-Lore Congress_, p. 88; also Knowles, 21,
_n._; and Temple, _Wideawake Stories_, pp. 401, 412. The Magic Ring
is also "common form" in folk-tales; _cf._ Kohler _ap._ Marie de
France, _Lais_, ed. Warncke, p. lxxxiv. And the whole story is to be
found very widely spread from India (_Wideawake Stories_, pp. 196-206)
to England (_Eng. Fairy Tales_, No. xvii, "Jack and his Golden
Snuff-box," _cf._ Notes, _ibid._), the most familiar form of it being
"Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp."

_Remarks._--M. Cosquin has pointed out (_Contes de Lorraine_, p. xi.
_seq._) that the incident of the rat's-tail-up-nose to recover the
ring from the stomach of an ogress, is found among Arabs, Albanians,
Bretons, and Russians. It is impossible to imagine that
incident--occurring in the same series of incidents--to have been
invented more than once, and if that part of the story has been
borrowed from India, there is no reason why the whole of it should not
have arisen in India, and have been spread to the West. The English
variant was derived from an English Gipsy, and suggests the
possibility that for this particular story the medium of transmission
has been the Gipsies. This contains the incident of the loss of the
ring by the faithful animal, which again could not have been
independently invented.





_Source._--The _Kacchapa Jataka_, Fausboll, No. 215; also in his
_Five Jatakas_, pp. 16, 41, tr. Rhys-Davids, pp. viii-x.

_Parallels._--It occurs also in the Bidpai literature, in nearly all
its multitudinous offshoots. See Benfey, _Einleitung_, 84; also my
_Bidpai_, E, 4 _a_; and North's text, pp. 170-5, where it is the
taunts of the other birds that cause the catastrophe: "O here is a
brave sight, looke, here is a goodly ieast, what bugge haue we here,"
said some. "See, see, she hangeth by the throte, and therefor she
speaketh not," saide others; "and the beast flieth not like a beast;"
so she opened her mouth and "pashte hir all to pieces."

_Remarks._--I have reproduced in my edition the original illustration
of the first English Bidpai, itself derived from the Italian block.
A replica of it here may serve to show that it could be used
equally well to illustrate the Pali original as its English
great-great-great-great-great-great grand-child.



_Source._--Knowles, _Folk-Tales of Kashmir_, pp. 32-41. I have reduced
the pieces of advice to three, and curtailed somewhat.

_Parallels._--See _Celtic Fairy Tales_, No. xxii., "Tale of Ivan,"
from the old Cornish, now extinct, and notes _ibid._ Mr. Clouston
points out (_Pop. Tales_, ii. 319) that it occurs in Buddhist
literature, in "Buddaghoshas Parables," as "The Story of Kulla
Pauthaka."

_Remarks._--It is indeed curious to find the story better told in
Cornwall than in the land of its birth, but there can be little doubt
that the Buddhist version is the earliest and original form of the
story. The piece of advice was originally a charm, in which a youth
was to say to himself, "Why are you busy? Why are you busy?" He does
so when thieves are about, and so saves the king's treasures, of which
he gets an appropriate share. It would perhaps be as well if many of
us should say to ourselves "_Ghatesa, ghatesa, kim karana?_"



_Source._--_Pantschatantra_, III. v., tr. Benfey, ii. 244-7.

_Parallels_ given in my _Esop_, Ro. ii. 10, p. 40. The chief points
about them are--(1) though the tale does not exist in either Phedrus
or Babrius, it occurs in prose derivates from the Latin by Ademar, 65,
and "Romulus," ii. 10, and from Greek, in Gabrias, 45, and the prose
_Esop_, ed. Halm, 96; Gitlbauer has restored the Babrian form in his
edition of Babrius, No. 160. (2) The fable occurs among folk-tales,
Grimm, 105; Woycicki, _Poln. Mahr._ 105; Gering, _Islensk. Event._ 59,
possibly derived from La Fontaine, x. 12.

_Remarks._--Benfey has proved most ingeniously and conclusively
(_Einl._ i. 359) that the Indian fable is the source of both Latin and
Greek fables. I may borrow from my _Esop_, p. 93, parallel abstracts
of the three versions, putting Benfey's results in a graphic form,
series of bars indicating the passages where the classical fables have
failed to preserve the original.

           BIDPAI.                |       PHEDRINE.

 A Brahmin once observed a snake  |----A good man had become
 in his field, and thinking it    |friendly with the snake, who
 the tutelary spirit of the       |came into his house and brought
 field, he offered it a libation  |luck with it, so that the man
 of milk in a bowl. Next day he   |became rich through it.----One
 finds a piece of gold in the     |day he struck the serpent, which
 bowl, and he receives this each  |disappeared, and with it the
 day after offering the libation. |man's riches. The good man tries
 One day he had to go elsewhere,  |to make it up, but the serpent
 and he sent his son with the     |declares their friendship at an
 libation. The son sees the gold, |end, as it could not forget the
 and thinking the serpent's hole  |blow.----
 full of treasure determines to   |
 slay the snake. He strikes at    |Phed. Dressl. VII. 28 (Rom. II. xi.)
 its head with a cudgel, and the  |
 enraged serpent stings him to    |            BABRIAN.
 death. The Brahmin mourns his    |A serpent stung a farmer's son
 son's death, but next morning as |to death. The father pursued the
 usual brings the libation of     |serpent with an axe, and struck
 milk (in the hope of getting the |off part of its tail. Afterwards
 gold as before). The serpent     |fearing its vengeance he brought
 appears after a long delay at    |food and honey to its lair, and
 the mouth of its lair, and       |begged reconciliation. The
 declares their friendship at an  |serpent, however, declares
 end, as it could not forget the  |friendship impossible, as it
 blow of the Brahmin's son, nor   |could not forget the blow----nor
 the Brahmin his son's death from |the farmer his son's death from
 the bite of the snake.           |the bite of the snake.
                                  |
_Pants._ III. v. (Benf. 244-7).   |Esop, Halm 96b (Babrius-Gitlb. 160).
                                  |

In the Indian fable every step of the action is thoroughly justified,
whereas the Latin form does not explain why the snake was friendly in
the first instance, or why the good man was enraged afterwards; and
the Greek form starts abruptly, without explaining why the serpent had
killed the farmer's son. Make a composite of the Phedrine and Babrian
forms, and you get the Indian one, which is thus shown to be the
original of both.



_Source._--Steel-Temple, _Wideawake Stories_, pp. 98-110, originally
published in _Ind. Antiq._ x. 147 _seq._

_Parallels._--A long variant follows in _Ind. Antiq._, _l. c._ M.
Cosquin refers to several Oriental variants, _l. c._ p. xxx. _n._ For
the direction tabu, see Note on Princess Labam, _supra_, No. ii. The
"letter to kill bearer" and "letter substituted" are frequent in both
European (see my List _s. v._) and Indian Folk-Tales (Temple,
Analysis, II. iv. _b_, 6, p. 410). The idea of a son of seven mothers
could only arise in a polygamous country. It occurs in "Punchkin,"
_supra_, No. iv.; Day, _Folk-Tales of Bengal_, 117 _seq._; _Ind.
Antiq._ i. 170 (Temple, _l. c._, 398).

_Remarks._--M. Cosquin (_Contes de Lorraine_, p. xxx.) points out how,
in a Sicilian story, Gonzenbach (_Sizil. Mahr._ No. 80), the seven
co-queens are transformed into seven step-daughters of the envious
witch who causes their eyes to be taken out. It is thus probable,
though M. Cosquin does not point this out, that the "envious
step-mother" of folk-tales (see my List, _s. v._) was originally an
envious co-wife. But there can be little doubt of what M. Cosquin
_does_ point out--viz., that the Sicilian story is derived from the
Indian one.


XVII. A LESSON FOR KINGS.

_Source._--_Rajovada Jataka_, Fausboll, No. 151, tr.
Rhys-Davids, pp. xxii.-vi.

_Remarks._--This is one of the earliest of moral allegories in
existence. The moralising tone of the Jatakas must be conspicuous to
all reading them. Why, they can moralise even the Tar Baby (see
_infra_, Note on "Demon with the Matted Hair," No. xxv.).



_Source._--Kingscote, _Tales of the Sun_. I have changed the Indian
mercantile numerals into those of English "back-slang," which make a
very good parallel.



_Source._--Steel-Temple, _Wideawake Stories_, pp. 247-80, omitting
"How Raja Rasalu was Born," "How Raja Rasalu's Friends Forsook Him,"
"How Raja Rasalu Killed the Giants," and "How Raja Rasalu became a
Jogi." A further version in Temple, _Legends of Panjab_, vol. i.
_Chaupur_, I should explain, is a game played by two players with
eight men, each on a board in the shape of a cross, four men to each
cross covered with squares. The moves of the men are decided by the
throws of a long form of dice. The object of the game is to see which
of the players can first move all his men into the black centre square
of the cross (Temple, _l. c._, p. 344, and _Legends of Panjab_, i.
243-5). It is sometimes said to be the origin of chess.

_Parallels._--Rev. C. Swynnerton, "Four Legends about Raja Rasalu," in
_Folk-Lore Journal_, p. 158 _seq._, also in separate book much
enlarged, _The Adventures of Raja Rasalu_, Calcutta, 1884. Curiously
enough, the real interest of the story comes after the end of our part
of it, for Kokilan, when she grows up, is married to Raja Rasalu, and
behaves as sometimes youthful wives behave to elderly husbands. He
gives her her lover's heart to eat, _a la_ Decameron, and she dashes
herself over the rocks. For the parallels of this part of the legend
see my edition of Painter's _Palace of Pleasure_, tom. i. Tale 39, or,
better, the _Programm_ of H. Patzig, _Zur Geschichte der Herzmare_
(Berlin, 1891). Gambling for life occurs in Celtic and other
folk-tales; _cf._ my List of Incidents, _s. v._ "Gambling for Magic
Objects."

_Remarks._--Raja Rasalu is possibly a historic personage, according to
Capt. Temple, _Calcutta Review_, 1884, p. 397, flourishing in the
eighth or ninth century. There is a place called Sirikap ka-kila in
the neighbourhood of Sialkot, the traditional seat of Rasalu on the
Indus, not far from Atlock.

Herr Patzig is strongly for the Eastern origin of the romance, and
finds its earliest appearance in the West in the Anglo-Norman
troubadour, Thomas' _Lai Guirun_, where it becomes part of the Tristan
cycle. There is, so far as I know, no proof of the earliest part of
the Rasalu legend (_our_ part) coming to Europe, except the existence
of the gambling incidents of the same kind in Celtic and other
folk-tales.



_Source._--The _Siha Camma Jataka_, Fausboll, No. 189, trans.
Rhys-Davids, pp. v. vi.

_Parallels._--It also occurs in Somadeva, _Katha Sarit Sagara_, ed.
Tawney, ii. 65, and _n_. For Esopic parallels _cf._ my _Esop_, Av. iv.
It is in Babrius, ed. Gitlbaur, 218 (from Greek prose Esop, ed. Halm,
No. 323), and Avian, ed. Ellis, 5, whence it came into the modern
Esop.

_Remarks._--Avian wrote towards the end of the third century, and put
into Latin mainly those portions of Babrius which are unparalleled by
Phedrus. Consequently, as I have shown, he has a much larger
proportion of Eastern elements than Phedrus. There can be little doubt
that the Ass in the Lion's Skin is from India. As Prof. Rhys-Davids
remarks, the Indian form gives a plausible motive for the masquerade
which is wanting in the ordinary Esopic version.



_Source._--Steel-Temple, _Wideawake Stories_, pp. 215-8.

_Parallels_ enumerated in my _Esop_, Av. xvii. See also Jacques de
Vitry, _Exempla_, ed. Crane, No. 196 (see notes, p. 212), and Bozon,
_Contes moralises_, No. 112. It occurs in Avian, ed. Ellis, No. 22.
Mr. Kipling has a very similar tale in his _Life's Handicap_.

_Remarks._--Here we have collected in modern India what one cannot
help thinking is the Indian original of a fable of Avian. The
preceding number showed one of his fables existing among the Jatakas,
probably before the Christian era. This makes it likely that we shall
find an earlier Indian original of the fable of the Avaricious and
Envious, perhaps among the Jatakas still untranslated.



_Source._--Miss Stokes' _Indian Fairy Tales_, No. 20, pp. 119-137.

_Parallels_ to heroes and heroines in European fairy tales, with stars
on their foreheads, are given with some copiousness in Stokes, _l.
c._, pp. 242-3. This is an essentially Indian trait; almost all Hindus
have some tribal or caste mark on their bodies or faces. The choice of
the hero disguised as a menial is also common property of Indian and
European fairy tales: see Stokes, _l. c._, p. 231, and my List of
Incidents (_s. v._ "Menial Disguise.")



_Source._--Kindly communicated by Mr. M. L. Dames from his unpublished
collection of Baluchi tales.

_Remarks._--Unholy fakirs are rather rare. See Temple, Analysis, I.
ii. _a_, p. 394.



_Source._--Knowles, _Folk-Tales of Kashmir_, pp. 484-90.

_Parallels._--The latter part is the formula of the Clever Lass who
guesses riddles. She has been bibliographised by Prof. Child, _Eng.
and Scotch Ballads_, i. 485; see also Benfey, _Kl. Schr._ ii. 156
_seq._ The sex test at the end is different from any of those
enumerated by Prof. Kohler on Gonzenbach, _Sezil. Mahr._ ii. 216.

_Remarks._--Here we have a further example of a whole formula, or
series of incidents, common to most European collections, found in
India, and in a quarter, too, where European influence is little
likely to penetrate. Prof. Benfey, in an elaborate dissertation ("Die
Kluge Dirne," in _Ausland_, 1859, Nos. 20-25, now reprinted in _Kl.
Schr._ ii. 156 _seq._), has shown the wide spread of the theme both in
early Indian literature (though probably there derived from the folk)
and in modern European folk literature.



_Source._--The _Pancavudha-Jataka_, Fausboll, No. 55, kindly
translated for this book by Mr. W. H. D. Rouse, of Christ's College,
Cambridge. There is a brief abstract of the Jataka in Prof. Estlin
Carpenter's sermon, _Three Ways of Salvation_, 1884, p. 27, where my
attention was first called to this Jataka.

_Parallels._--Most readers of these Notes will remember the central
episode of Mr. J. C. Harris' _Uncle Remus_, in which Brer Fox, annoyed
at Brer Rabbit's depredations, fits up "a contrapshun, what he calls a
Tar Baby." Brer Rabbit, coming along that way, passes the time of day
with Tar Baby, and, annoyed at its obstinate silence, hits it with
right fist and with left, with left fist and with right, which
successively stick to the "contrapshun," till at last he butts with
his head, and that sticks too, whereupon Brer Fox, who all this time
had "lain low," saunters out, and complains of Brer Rabbit that he is
too stuck up. In the sequel Brer Rabbit begs Brer Fox that he may
"drown me as deep ez you please, skin me, scratch out my eyeballs,
t'ar out my years by the roots, en cut off my legs, but do don't fling
me in dat brier patch;" which, of course, Brer Fox does, only to be
informed by the cunning Brer Rabbit that he had been "bred en bawn in
a brier patch." The story is a favourite one with the negroes: it
occurs in Col. Jones' _Negro Myths of the Georgia Coast_ (Uncle Remus
is from S. Carolina), also among those of Brazil (Romero, _Contos do
Brazil_), and in the West Indian Islands (Mr. Lang, "At the Sign of
the Ship," _Longman's Magazine_, Feb. 1889). We can trace it to
Africa, where it occurs in Cape Colony (_South African Folk-Lore
Journal_, vol. i.).

_Remarks._--The five-fold attack on the Demon and the Tar Baby is so
preposterously ludicrous that it cannot have been independently
invented, and we must therefore assume that they are causally
connected, and the existence of the variant in South Africa clinches
the matter, and gives us a landing-stage between India and America.
There can be little doubt that the Jataka of Prince Five Weapons came
to Africa, possibly by Buddhist missionaries, spread among the
negroes, and then took ship in the holds of slavers for the New World,
where it is to be found in fuller form than any yet discovered in the
home of its birth. I say Buddhist missionaries, because there is a
certain amount of evidence that the negroes have Buddhistic symbols
among them, and we can only explain the identification of Brer Rabbit
with Prince Five Weapons, and so with Buddha himself, by supposing the
change to have originated among Buddhists, where it would be quite
natural. For one of the most celebrated metempsychoses of Buddha is
that detailed in the _Sasa Jataka_ (Fausboll, No. 316, tr. R.
Morris, _Folk-Lore Journal_, ii. 336), in which the Buddha, as a hare,
performs a sublime piece of self-sacrifice, and as a reward is
translated to the moon, where he can be seen to this day as "the hare
in the moon." Every Buddhist is reminded of the virtue of
self-sacrifice whenever the moon is full, and it is easy to understand
how the Buddha became identified as the Hare or Rabbit. A striking
confirmation of this, in connection with our immediate subject, is
offered by Mr. Harris' sequel volume, _Nights with Uncle Remus_. Here
there is a whole chapter (xxx.) on "Brer Rabbit and his famous Foot,"
and it is well known how the worship of Buddha's foot developed in
later Buddhism. No wonder Brer Rabbit is so 'cute: he is nothing less
than an incarnation of Buddha. Among the Karens of Burmah, where
Buddhist influence is still active, the Hare holds exactly the same
place in their folk-lore as Brer Rabbit among the negroes. The sixth
chapter of Mr. Smeaton's book on them is devoted to "Fireside
Stories," and is entirely taken up with adventures of the Hare, all of
which can be parallelled from _Uncle Remus_.

Curiously enough, the negro form of the five-fold attack--"fighting
with _five_ fists," Mr. Barr would call it--is probably nearer to the
original legend than that preserved in the Jataka, though 2000 years
older. For we may be sure that the thunderbolt of Knowledge did not
exist in the original, but was introduced by some Buddhist Mr. Barlow,
who, like Alice's Duchess, ended all his tales with: "And the moral of
that is----" For no well-bred demon would have been taken in by so
simple a "sell" as that indulged in by Prince Five-Weapons in our
Jataka, and it is probable, therefore, that _Uncle Remus_ preserves a
reminiscence of the original Indian reading of the tale. On the other
hand, it is probable that Carlyle's Indian god with the fire in his
belly was derived from Prince Five-Weapons.

The negro variant has also suggested to Mr. Batten an explanation of
the whole story which is extremely plausible, though it introduces a
method of folk-lore exegesis which has been overdriven to death. The
_Sasa Jataka_ identifies the Brer Rabbit Buddha with the hare in
the moon. It is well known that Easterns explain an eclipse of the
moon as due to its being swallowed up by a Dragon or Demon. May not,
asks Mr. Batten, the _Pancavudha Jataka_ be an idealised account of
an eclipse of the moon? This suggestion receives strong confirmation
from the Demon's reference to Rahu, who does, in Indian myth swallow
the moon at times of eclipse. The Jataka accordingly contains the
Buddhist explanation why the moon--_i.e._ the hare in the moon, _i.e._
Buddha--is not altogether swallowed up by the Demon of Eclipse, the
Demon with the Matted Hair. Mr. Batten adds that in imagining what
kind of Demon the Eclipse Demon was, the Jataka writer was probably
aided by recollections of some giant octopus, who has saucer eyes and
a kind of hawk's beak, knobs on its "tusks," and a very variegated
belly (gasteropod). It is obviously unfair of Mr. Batten both to
illustrate and also to explain so well the Tar Baby Jataka--taking the
scientific bread, so to speak, out of a poor folk-lorist's mouth--but
his explanations seem to me so convincing that I cannot avoid
including them in these Notes.

I am, however, not so much concerned with the original explanation of
the Jataka as to trace its travels across the continents of Asia,
Africa, and America. I think I have done this satisfactorily, and will
have thereby largely strengthened the case for less extensive travels
of other tales. I have sufficient confidence of the method employed to
venture on that most hazardous of employments, scientific prophecy. I
venture to predict that the Tar Baby story will be found in Madagascar
in a form nearer the Indian than Uncle Remus, and I will go further,
and say that it will _not_ be found in the grand Helsingfors
collection of folk-tales, though this includes 12,000, of which 1000
are beast-tales.



_Source._--Knowles, _Folk-Tales of Kashmir_, pp. 211-25, with some
slight omissions. Gulizar is Persian for rosy-cheeked.

_Parallels._--Stokes, _Indian Fairy Tales_, No. 27. "Panwpatti Rani,"
pp. 208-15, is the same story. Another version in the collection
_Baital Pachisi_, No. 1.

_Remarks._--The themes of love by mirror, and the faithful friend, are
common European, though the calm attempt at poisoning is perhaps
characteristically Indian, and reads like a page from Mr. Kipling.



_Source._--Miss Frere, _Old Deccan Days_, No. 10, pp. 153-5.

_Remarks._--Miss Frere observes that she has not altered the
traditional mode of the Moon's conveyance of dinner to her mother the
Star, though it must, she fears, impair the value of the story as a
moral lesson in the eyes of all instructors of youth.



_Source._--Knowles. _Folk-Tales of Kashmir_, pp. 241-2.

_Parallels._--A Gaelic parallel was given by Campbell in _Trans.
Ethnol. Soc._, ii. p. 336; an Anglo-Latin one from the Middle Ages by
T. Wright in _Latin Stories_ (Percy Soc.), No. 26; and for these and
points of anthropological interest in the Celtic variant see Mr.
Gomme's article in _Folk-Lore_, i. pp. 197-206, "A Highland Folk-Tale
and its Origin in Custom."

_Remarks._--Mr. Gomme is of opinion that the tale arose from certain
rhyming formule occurring in the Gaelic and Latin tales as written on
a mallet left by the old man in the box opened after his death. The
rhymes are to the effect that a father who gives up his wealth to his
children in his own lifetime deserves to be put to death with the
mallet. Mr. Gomme gives evidence that it was an archaic custom to put
oldsters to death after they had become helpless. He also points out
that it was customary for estates to be divided and surrendered during
the owners' lifetime, and generally he connects a good deal of
primitive custom with our story. I have already pointed out in
_Folk-Lore_, p. 403, that the existence of the tale in Kashmir without
any reference to the mallet makes it impossible for the rhymes on the
mallet to be the source of the story. As a matter of fact, it is a
very embarrassing addition to it, since the rhyme tells against the
parent, and the story is intended to tell against the ungrateful
children. The existence of the tale in India renders it likely enough
that it is not indigenous to the British Isles, but an Oriental
importation. It is obvious, therefore, that it cannot be used as
anthropological evidence of the existence of the primitive customs to
be found in it. The whole incident, indeed, is a striking example of
the dangers of the anthropological method of dealing with folk-tales
before some attempt is made to settle the questions of origin and
diffusion.



_Source._--The _Lola Jataka_, Fausboll, No. 274, kindly translated
and slightly abridged for this book by Mr. W. H. D. Rouse.

_Remarks._--We began with an animal Jataka, and may appropriately
finish with one which shows how effectively the writers of the Jatakas
could represent animal folk, and how terribly moral they invariably
were in their tales. I should perhaps add that the Bodhisat is not
precisely the Buddha himself but a character which is on its way to
becoming perfectly enlightened, and so may be called a future Buddha.


The Happy Prince.




HIGH above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy
Prince.  He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes
he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his
sword-hilt.

He was very much admired indeed.  "He is as beautiful as a weathercock,"
remarked one of the Town Councillors who wished to gain a reputation for
having artistic tastes; "only not quite so useful," he added, fearing
lest people should think him unpractical, which he really was not.

"Why can't you be like the Happy Prince?" asked a sensible mother of her
little boy who was crying for the moon.  "The Happy Prince never dreams
of crying for anything."

"I am glad there is some one in the world who is quite happy," muttered a
disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.

"He looks just like an angel," said the Charity Children as they came out
of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks and their clean white
pinafores.

"How do you know?" said the Mathematical Master, "you have never seen
one."

"Ah! but we have, in our dreams," answered the children; and the
Mathematical Master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not
approve of children dreaming.

One night there flew over the city a little Swallow.  His friends had
gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he was
in love with the most beautiful Reed.  He had met her early in the spring
as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and had been so
attracted by her slender waist that he had stopped to talk to her.

"Shall I love you?" said the Swallow, who liked to come to the point at
once, and the Reed made him a low bow.  So he flew round and round her,
touching the water with his wings, and making silver ripples.  This was
his courtship, and it lasted all through the summer.

"It is a ridiculous attachment," twittered the other Swallows; "she has
no money, and far too many relations"; and indeed the river was quite
full of Reeds.  Then, when the autumn came they all flew away.

After they had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of his lady-love.
"She has no conversation," he said, "and I am afraid that she is a
coquette, for she is always flirting with the wind."  And certainly,
whenever the wind blew, the Reed made the most graceful curtseys.  "I
admit that she is domestic," he continued, "but I love travelling, and my
wife, consequently, should love travelling also."

"Will you come away with me?" he said finally to her; but the Reed shook
her head, she was so attached to her home.

"You have been trifling with me," he cried.  "I am off to the Pyramids.
Good-bye!" and he flew away.

All day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city.  "Where
shall I put up?" he said; "I hope the town has made preparations."

Then he saw the statue on the tall column.

"I will put up there," he cried; "it is a fine position, with plenty of
fresh air."  So he alighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.

"I have a golden bedroom," he said softly to himself as he looked round,
and he prepared to go to sleep; but just as he was putting his head under
his wing a large drop of water fell on him.  "What a curious thing!" he
cried; "there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are quite clear
and bright, and yet it is raining.  The climate in the north of Europe is
really dreadful.  The Reed used to like the rain, but that was merely her
selfishness."

Then another drop fell.

"What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off?" he said; "I
must look for a good chimney-pot," and he determined to fly away.

But before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and he looked up,
and sawAh! what did he see?

The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tears were
running down his golden cheeks.  His face was so beautiful in the
moonlight that the little Swallow was filled with pity.

"Who are you?" he said.

"I am the Happy Prince."

"Why are you weeping then?" asked the Swallow; "you have quite drenched
me."

"When I was alive and had a human heart," answered the statue, "I did not
know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci, where
sorrow is not allowed to enter.  In the daytime I played with my
companions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the Great
Hall.  Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask
what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful.  My courtiers
called me the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be
happiness.  So I lived, and so I died.  And now that I am dead they have
set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery
of my city, and though my heart is made of lead yet I cannot chose but
weep."

"What! is he not solid gold?" said the Swallow to himself.  He was too
polite to make any personal remarks out loud.

"Far away," continued the statue in a low musical voice, "far away in a
little street there is a poor house.  One of the windows is open, and
through it I can see a woman seated at a table.  Her face is thin and
worn, and she has coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, for she
is a seamstress.  She is embroidering passion-flowers on a satin gown for
the loveliest of the Queen's maids-of-honour to wear at the next
Court-ball.  In a bed in the corner of the room her little boy is lying
ill.  He has a fever, and is asking for oranges.  His mother has nothing
to give him but river water, so he is crying.  Swallow, Swallow, little
Swallow, will you not bring her the ruby out of my sword-hilt?  My feet
are fastened to this pedestal and I cannot move."

"I am waited for in Egypt," said the Swallow.  "My friends are flying up
and down the Nile, and talking to the large lotus-flowers.  Soon they
will go to sleep in the tomb of the great King.  The King is there
himself in his painted coffin.  He is wrapped in yellow linen, and
embalmed with spices.  Round his neck is a chain of pale green jade, and
his hands are like withered leaves."

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not stay
with me for one night, and be my messenger?  The boy is so thirsty, and
the mother so sad."

"I don't think I like boys," answered the Swallow.  "Last summer, when I
was staying on the river, there were two rude boys, the miller's sons,
who were always throwing stones at me.  They never hit me, of course; we
swallows fly far too well for that, and besides, I come of a family
famous for its agility; but still, it was a mark of disrespect."

But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow was sorry.
"It is very cold here," he said; "but I will stay with you for one night,
and be your messenger."

"Thank you, little Swallow," said the Prince.

So the Swallow picked out the great ruby from the Prince's sword, and
flew away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town.

He passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marble angels were
sculptured.  He passed by the palace and heard the sound of dancing.  A
beautiful girl came out on the balcony with her lover.  "How wonderful
the stars are," he said to her, "and how wonderful is the power of love!"

"I hope my dress will be ready in time for the State-ball," she answered;
"I have ordered passion-flowers to be embroidered on it; but the
seamstresses are so lazy."

He passed over the river, and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of
the ships.  He passed over the Ghetto, and saw the old Jews bargaining
with each other, and weighing out money in copper scales.  At last he
came to the poor house and looked in.  The boy was tossing feverishly on
his bed, and the mother had fallen asleep, she was so tired.  In he
hopped, and laid the great ruby on the table beside the woman's thimble.
Then he flew gently round the bed, fanning the boy's forehead with his
wings.  "How cool I feel," said the boy, "I must be getting better"; and
he sank into a delicious slumber.

Then the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince, and told him what he had
done.  "It is curious," he remarked, "but I feel quite warm now, although
it is so cold."

"That is because you have done a good action," said the Prince.  And the
little Swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep.  Thinking always
made him sleepy.

When day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath.  "What a
remarkable phenomenon," said the Professor of Ornithology as he was
passing over the bridge.  "A swallow in winter!"  And he wrote a long
letter about it to the local newspaper.  Every one quoted it, it was full
of so many words that they could not understand.

"To-night I go to Egypt," said the Swallow, and he was in high spirits at
the prospect.  He visited all the public monuments, and sat a long time
on top of the church steeple.  Wherever he went the Sparrows chirruped,
and said to each other, "What a distinguished stranger!" so he enjoyed
himself very much.

When the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.  "Have you any
commissions for Egypt?" he cried; "I am just starting."

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not stay
with me one night longer?"

"I am waited for in Egypt," answered the Swallow.  "To-morrow my friends
will fly up to the Second Cataract.  The river-horse couches there among
the bulrushes, and on a great granite throne sits the God Memnon.  All
night long he watches the stars, and when the morning star shines he
utters one cry of joy, and then he is silent.  At noon the yellow lions
come down to the water's edge to drink.  They have eyes like green
beryls, and their roar is louder than the roar of the cataract."

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "far away across the
city I see a young man in a garret.  He is leaning over a desk covered
with papers, and in a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of withered
violets.  His hair is brown and crisp, and his lips are red as a
pomegranate, and he has large and dreamy eyes.  He is trying to finish a
play for the Director of the Theatre, but he is too cold to write any
more.  There is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made him faint."

"I will wait with you one night longer," said the Swallow, who really had
a good heart.  "Shall I take him another ruby?"

"Alas!  I have no ruby now," said the Prince; "my eyes are all that I
have left.  They are made of rare sapphires, which were brought out of
India a thousand years ago.  Pluck out one of them and take it to him.
He will sell it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, and finish
his play."

"Dear Prince," said the Swallow, "I cannot do that"; and he began to
weep.

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "do as I command
you."

So the Swallow plucked out the Prince's eye, and flew away to the
student's garret.  It was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole in
the roof.  Through this he darted, and came into the room.  The young man
had his head buried in his hands, so he did not hear the flutter of the
bird's wings, and when he looked up he found the beautiful sapphire lying
on the withered violets.

"I am beginning to be appreciated," he cried; "this is from some great
admirer.  Now I can finish my play," and he looked quite happy.

The next day the Swallow flew down to the harbour.  He sat on the mast of
a large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of the hold
with ropes.  "Heave a-hoy!" they shouted as each chest came up.  "I am
going to Egypt"! cried the Swallow, but nobody minded, and when the moon
rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.

"I am come to bid you good-bye," he cried.

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not stay
with me one night longer?"

"It is winter," answered the Swallow, "and the chill snow will soon be
here.  In Egypt the sun is warm on the green palm-trees, and the
crocodiles lie in the mud and look lazily about them.  My companions are
building a nest in the Temple of Baalbec, and the pink and white doves
are watching them, and cooing to each other.  Dear Prince, I must leave
you, but I will never forget you, and next spring I will bring you back
two beautiful jewels in place of those you have given away.  The ruby
shall be redder than a red rose, and the sapphire shall be as blue as the
great sea."

"In the square below," said the Happy Prince, "there stands a little
match-girl.  She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are all
spoiled.  Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some money,
and she is crying.  She has no shoes or stockings, and her little head is
bare.  Pluck out my other eye, and give it to her, and her father will
not beat her."

"I will stay with you one night longer," said the Swallow, "but I cannot
pluck out your eye.  You would be quite blind then."

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "do as I command
you."

So he plucked out the Prince's other eye, and darted down with it.  He
swooped past the match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the palm of her
hand.  "What a lovely bit of glass," cried the little girl; and she ran
home, laughing.

Then the Swallow came back to the Prince.  "You are blind now," he said,
"so I will stay with you always."

"No, little Swallow," said the poor Prince, "you must go away to Egypt."

"I will stay with you always," said the Swallow, and he slept at the
Prince's feet.

All the next day he sat on the Prince's shoulder, and told him stories of
what he had seen in strange lands.  He told him of the red ibises, who
stand in long rows on the banks of the Nile, and catch gold-fish in their
beaks; of the Sphinx, who is as old as the world itself, and lives in the
desert, and knows everything; of the merchants, who walk slowly by the
side of their camels, and carry amber beads in their hands; of the King
of the Mountains of the Moon, who is as black as ebony, and worships a
large crystal; of the great green snake that sleeps in a palm-tree, and
has twenty priests to feed it with honey-cakes; and of the pygmies who
sail over a big lake on large flat leaves, and are always at war with the
butterflies.

"Dear little Swallow," said the Prince, "you tell me of marvellous
things, but more marvellous than anything is the suffering of men and of
women.  There is no Mystery so great as Misery.  Fly over my city, little
Swallow, and tell me what you see there."

So the Swallow flew over the great city, and saw the rich making merry in
their beautiful houses, while the beggars were sitting at the gates.  He
flew into dark lanes, and saw the white faces of starving children
looking out listlessly at the black streets.  Under the archway of a
bridge two little boys were lying in one another's arms to try and keep
themselves warm.  "How hungry we are!" they said.  "You must not lie
here," shouted the Watchman, and they wandered out into the rain.

Then he flew back and told the Prince what he had seen.

"I am covered with fine gold," said the Prince, "you must take it off,
leaf by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always think that gold
can make them happy."

Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off, till the Happy
Prince looked quite dull and grey.  Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he
brought to the poor, and the children's faces grew rosier, and they
laughed and played games in the street.  "We have bread now!" they cried.

Then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost.  The streets
looked as if they were made of silver, they were so bright and
glistening; long icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves of
the houses, everybody went about in furs, and the little boys wore
scarlet caps and skated on the ice.

The poor little Swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave
the Prince, he loved him too well.  He picked up crumbs outside the
baker's door when the baker was not looking and tried to keep himself
warm by flapping his wings.

But at last he knew that he was going to die.  He had just strength to
fly up to the Prince's shoulder once more.  "Good-bye, dear Prince!" he
murmured, "will you let me kiss your hand?"

"I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, little Swallow," said the
Prince, "you have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on the lips,
for I love you."

"It is not to Egypt that I am going," said the Swallow.  "I am going to
the House of Death.  Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?"

And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his
feet.

At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue, as if something
had broken.  The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped right in two.
It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost.

Early the next morning the Mayor was walking in the square below in
company with the Town Councillors.  As they passed the column he looked
up at the statue: "Dear me! how shabby the Happy Prince looks!" he said.

"How shabby indeed!" cried the Town Councillors, who always agreed with
the Mayor; and they went up to look at it.

"The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is
golden no longer," said the Mayor in fact, "he is litttle better than a
beggar!"

"Little better than a beggar," said the Town Councillors.

"And here is actually a dead bird at his feet!" continued the Mayor.  "We
must really issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to die
here."  And the Town Clerk made a note of the suggestion.

So they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince.  "As he is no longer
beautiful he is no longer useful," said the Art Professor at the
University.

Then they melted the statue in a furnace, and the Mayor held a meeting of
the Corporation to decide what was to be done with the metal.  "We must
have another statue, of course," he said, "and it shall be a statue of
myself."

"Of myself," said each of the Town Councillors, and they quarrelled.
When I last heard of them they were quarrelling still.

"What a strange thing!" said the overseer of the workmen at the foundry.
"This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace.  We must throw it
away."  So they threw it on a dust-heap where the dead Swallow was also
lying.

"Bring me the two most precious things in the city," said God to one of
His Angels; and the Angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead bird.

"You have rightly chosen," said God, "for in my garden of Paradise this
little bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the Happy
Prince shall praise me."






The Nightingale and the Rose.




"SHE said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses," cried
the young Student; "but in all my garden there is no red rose."

From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she
looked out through the leaves, and wondered.

"No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled
with tears.  "Ah, on what little things does happiness depend!  I have
read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of
philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made
wretched."

"Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale.  "Night after night
have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told
his story to the stars, and now I see him.  His hair is dark as the
hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but
passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal
upon his brow."

"The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night," murmured the young Student,
"and my love will be of the company.  If I bring her a red rose she will
dance with me till dawn.  If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in
my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will
be clasped in mine.  But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall
sit lonely, and she will pass me by.  She will have no heed of me, and my
heart will break."

"Here indeed is the true lover," said the Nightingale.  "What I sing of,
he sufferswhat is joy to me, to him is pain.  Surely Love is a wonderful
thing.  It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals.
Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the
marketplace.  It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be
weighed out in the balance for gold."

"The musicians will sit in their gallery," said the young Student, "and
play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound
of the harp and the violin.  She will dance so lightly that her feet will
not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng
round her.  But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to
give her"; and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in
his hands, and wept.

"Why is he weeping?" asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with
his tail in the air.

"Why, indeed?" said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a
sunbeam.

"Why, indeed?" whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.

"He is weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale.

"For a red rose?" they cried; "how very ridiculous!" and the little
Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.

But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, and
she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.

Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air.
She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed
across the garden.

In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and
when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are white," it answered; "as white as the foam of the sea, and
whiter than the snow upon the mountain.  But go to my brother who grows
round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want."

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the
old sun-dial.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are yellow," it answered; "as yellow as the hair of the
mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil
that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe.  But go
to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will
give you what you want."

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath
the Student's window.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are red," it answered, "as red as the feet of the dove, and
redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the
ocean-cavern.  But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has
nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no
roses at all this year."

"One red rose is all I want," cried the Nightingale, "only one red rose!
Is there no way by which I can get it?"

"There is a way," answered the Tree; "but it is so terrible that I dare
not tell it to you."

"Tell it to me," said the Nightingale, "I am not afraid."

"If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it out of music
by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood.  You must sing to
me with your breast against a thorn.  All night long you must sing to me,
and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into
my veins, and become mine."

"Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale,
"and Life is very dear to all.  It is pleasant to sit in the green wood,
and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot
of pearl.  Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the
bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the
hill.  Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird
compared to the heart of a man?"

So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air.  She
swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through
the grove.

The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him,
and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.

"Be happy," cried the Nightingale, "be happy; you shall have your red
rose.  I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my
own heart's-blood.  All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a
true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and
mightier than Power, though he is mighty.  Flame-coloured are his wings,
and coloured like flame is his body.  His lips are sweet as honey, and
his breath is like frankincense."

The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not
understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the
things that are written down in books.

But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the
little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.

"Sing me one last song," he whispered; "I shall feel very lonely when you
are gone."

So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water
bubbling from a silver jar.

When she had finished her song the Student got up, and pulled a note-book
and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.

"She has form," he said to himself, as he walked away through the
grove"that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling?  I am
afraid not.  In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without
any sincerity.  She would not sacrifice herself for others.  She thinks
merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish.  Still,
it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice.  What
a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good."
And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and
began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.

And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the
Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn.  All night long she sang
with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down
and listened.  All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and
deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.

She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl.
And on the top-most spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous
rose, petal following petal, as song followed song.  Pale was it, at
first, as the mist that hangs over the riverpale as the feet of the
morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn.  As the shadow of a rose in
a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the
rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.

But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn.
"Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come
before the rose is finished."

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and
louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of
a man and a maid.

And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the
flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride.
But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose's heart remained
white, for only a Nightingale's heart's-blood can crimson the heart of a
rose.

And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn.
"Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come
before the rose is finished."

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn
touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her.  Bitter,
bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of
the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the
tomb.

And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky.
Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.

But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to
beat, and a film came over her eyes.  Fainter and fainter grew her song,
and she felt something choking her in her throat.

Then she gave one last burst of music.  The white Moon heard it, and she
forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky.  The red rose heard it, and
it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold
morning air.  Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke
the sleeping shepherds from their dreams.  It floated through the reeds
of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.

"Look, look!" cried the Tree, "the rose is finished now"; but the
Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass,
with the thorn in her heart.

And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.

"Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!" he cried; "here is a red rose!  I
have never seen any rose like it in all my life.  It is so beautiful that
I am sure it has a long Latin name"; and he leaned down and plucked it.

Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor's house with the rose
in his hand.

The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue
silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.

"You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose,"
cried the Student.  "Here is the reddest rose in all the world.  You will
wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell
you how I love you."

But the girl frowned.

"I am afraid it will not go with my dress," she answered; "and, besides,
the Chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody
knows that jewels cost far more than flowers."

"Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful," said the Student angrily;
and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and
a cart-wheel went over it.

"Ungrateful!" said the girl.  "I tell you what, you are very rude; and,
after all, who are you?  Only a Student.  Why, I don't believe you have
even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew has";
and she got up from her chair and went into the house.

"What a silly thing Love is," said the Student as he walked away.  "It
is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is
always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one
believe things that are not true.  In fact, it is quite unpractical, and,
as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to
Philosophy and study Metaphysics."

So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began
to read.






The Selfish Giant.




EVERY afternoon, as they were coming from school, the children used to go
and play in the Giant's garden.

It was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass.  Here and there over
the grass stood beautiful flowers like stars, and there were twelve
peach-trees that in the spring-time broke out into delicate blossoms of
pink and pearl, and in the autumn bore rich fruit.  The birds sat on the
trees and sang so sweetly that the children used to stop their games in
order to listen to them.  "How happy we are here!" they cried to each
other.

           

One day the Giant came back.  He had been to visit his friend the Cornish
ogre, and had stayed with him for seven years.  After the seven years
were over he had said all that he had to say, for his conversation was
limited, and he determined to return to his own castle.  When he arrived
he saw the children playing in the garden.

"What are you doing here?" he cried in a very gruff voice, and the
children ran away.

"My own garden is my own garden," said the Giant; "any one can understand
that, and I will allow nobody to play in it but myself."  So he built a
high wall all round it, and put up a notice-board.

          TRESPASSERS

            WILL BE

           PROSECUTED

He was a very selfish Giant.

The poor children had now nowhere to play.  They tried to play on the
road, but the road was very dusty and full of hard stones, and they did
not like it.  They used to wander round the high wall when their lessons
were over, and talk about the beautiful garden inside.  "How happy we
were there," they said to each other.

Then the Spring came, and all over the country there were little blossoms
and little birds.  Only in the garden of the Selfish Giant it was still
winter.  The birds did not care to sing in it as there were no children,
and the trees forgot to blossom.  Once a beautiful flower put its head
out from the grass, but when it saw the notice-board it was so sorry for
the children that it slipped back into the ground again, and went off to
sleep.  The only people who were pleased were the Snow and the Frost.
"Spring has forgotten this garden," they cried, "so we will live here all
the year round."  The Snow covered up the grass with her great white
cloak, and the Frost painted all the trees silver.  Then they invited the
North Wind to stay with them, and he came.  He was wrapped in furs, and
he roared all day about the garden, and blew the chimney-pots down.
"This is a delightful spot," he said, "we must ask the Hail on a visit."
So the Hail came.  Every day for three hours he rattled on the roof of
the castle till he broke most of the slates, and then he ran round and
round the garden as fast as he could go.  He was dressed in grey, and his
breath was like ice.

"I cannot understand why the Spring is so late in coming," said the
Selfish Giant, as he sat at the window and looked out at his cold white
garden; "I hope there will be a change in the weather."

But the Spring never came, nor the Summer.  The Autumn gave golden fruit
to every garden, but to the Giant's garden she gave none.  "He is too
selfish," she said.  So it was always Winter there, and the North Wind,
and the Hail, and the Frost, and the Snow danced about through the trees.

One morning the Giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some lovely
music.  It sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be the
King's musicians passing by.  It was really only a little linnet singing
outside his window, but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in
his garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the
world.  Then the Hail stopped dancing over his head, and the North Wind
ceased roaring, and a delicious perfume came to him through the open
casement.  "I believe the Spring has come at last," said the Giant; and
he jumped out of bed and looked out.

What did he see?

He saw a most wonderful sight.  Through a little hole in the wall the
children had crept in, and they were sitting in the branches of the
trees.  In every tree that he could see there was a little child.  And
the trees were so glad to have the children back again that they had
covered themselves with blossoms, and were waving their arms gently above
the children's heads.  The birds were flying about and twittering with
delight, and the flowers were looking up through the green grass and
laughing.  It was a lovely scene, only in one corner it was still winter.
It was the farthest corner of the garden, and in it was standing a little
boy.  He was so small that he could not reach up to the branches of the
tree, and he was wandering all round it, crying bitterly.  The poor tree
was still quite covered with frost and snow, and the North Wind was
blowing and roaring above it.  "Climb up! little boy," said the Tree, and
it bent its branches down as low as it could; but the boy was too tiny.

And the Giant's heart melted as he looked out.  "How selfish I have
been!" he said; "now I know why the Spring would not come here.  I will
put that poor little boy on the top of the tree, and then I will knock
down the wall, and my garden shall be the children's playground for ever
and ever."  He was really very sorry for what he had done.

So he crept downstairs and opened the front door quite softly, and went
out into the garden.  But when the children saw him they were so
frightened that they all ran away, and the garden became winter again.
Only the little boy did not run, for his eyes were so full of tears that
he did not see the Giant coming.  And the Giant stole up behind him and
took him gently in his hand, and put him up into the tree.  And the tree
broke at once into blossom, and the birds came and sang on it, and the
little boy stretched out his two arms and flung them round the Giant's
neck, and kissed him.  And the other children, when they saw that the
Giant was not wicked any longer, came running back, and with them came
the Spring.  "It is your garden now, little children," said the Giant,
and he took a great axe and knocked down the wall.  And when the people
were going to market at twelve o'clock they found the Giant playing with
the children in the most beautiful garden they had ever seen.

All day long they played, and in the evening they came to the Giant to
bid him good-bye.

"But where is your little companion?" he said: "the boy I put into the
tree."  The Giant loved him the best because he had kissed him.

"We don't know," answered the children; "he has gone away."

"You must tell him to be sure and come here to-morrow," said the Giant.
But the children said that they did not know where he lived, and had
never seen him before; and the Giant felt very sad.

Every afternoon, when school was over, the children came and played with
the Giant.  But the little boy whom the Giant loved was never seen again.
The Giant was very kind to all the children, yet he longed for his first
little friend, and often spoke of him.  "How I would like to see him!" he
used to say.

Years went over, and the Giant grew very old and feeble.  He could not
play about any more, so he sat in a huge armchair, and watched the
children at their games, and admired his garden.  "I have many beautiful
flowers," he said; "but the children are the most beautiful flowers of
all."

One winter morning he looked out of his window as he was dressing.  He
did not hate the Winter now, for he knew that it was merely the Spring
asleep, and that the flowers were resting.

Suddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder, and looked and looked.  It
certainly was a marvellous sight.  In the farthest corner of the garden
was a tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms.  Its branches were
all golden, and silver fruit hung down from them, and underneath it stood
the little boy he had loved.

Downstairs ran the Giant in great joy, and out into the garden.  He
hastened across the grass, and came near to the child.  And when he came
quite close his face grew red with anger, and he said, "Who hath dared to
wound thee?"  For on the palms of the child's hands were the prints of
two nails, and the prints of two nails were on the little feet.

"Who hath dared to wound thee?" cried the Giant; "tell me, that I may
take my big sword and slay him."

"Nay!" answered the child; "but these are the wounds of Love."

"Who art thou?" said the Giant, and a strange awe fell on him, and he
knelt before the little child.

And the child smiled on the Giant, and said to him, "You let me play once
in your garden, to-day you shall come with me to my garden, which is
Paradise."

And when the children ran in that afternoon, they found the Giant lying
dead under the tree, all covered with white blossoms.






The Devoted Friend.




ONE morning the old Water-rat put his head out of his hole.  He had
bright beady eyes and stiff grey whiskers and his tail was like a long
bit of black india-rubber.  The little ducks were swimming about in the
pond, looking just like a lot of yellow canaries, and their mother, who
was pure white with real red legs, was trying to teach them how to stand
on their heads in the water.

"You will never be in the best society unless you can stand on your
heads," she kept saying to them; and every now and then she showed them
how it was done.  But the little ducks paid no attention to her.  They
were so young that they did not know what an advantage it is to be in
society at all.

"What disobedient children!" cried the old Water-rat; "they really
deserve to be drowned."

"Nothing of the kind," answered the Duck, "every one must make a
beginning, and parents cannot be too patient."

"Ah! I know nothing about the feelings of parents," said the Water-rat;
"I am not a family man.  In fact, I have never been married, and I never
intend to be.  Love is all very well in its way, but friendship is much
higher.  Indeed, I know of nothing in the world that is either nobler or
rarer than a devoted friendship."

"And what, pray, is your idea of the duties of a devoted friend?" asked a
Green Linnet, who was sitting in a willow-tree hard by, and had overheard
the conversation.

"Yes, that is just what I want to know," said the Duck; and she swam away
to the end of the pond, and stood upon her head, in order to give her
children a good example.

"What a silly question!" cried the Water-rat.  "I should expect my
devoted friend to be devoted to me, of course."

"And what would you do in return?" said the little bird, swinging upon a
silver spray, and flapping his tiny wings.

"I don't understand you," answered the Water-rat.

"Let me tell you a story on the subject," said the Linnet.

"Is the story about me?" asked the Water-rat.  "If so, I will listen to
it, for I am extremely fond of fiction."

"It is applicable to you," answered the Linnet; and he flew down, and
alighting upon the bank, he told the story of The Devoted Friend.

"Once upon a time," said the Linnet, "there was an honest little fellow
named Hans."

"Was he very distinguished?" asked the Water-rat.

"No," answered the Linnet, "I don't think he was distinguished at all,
except for his kind heart, and his funny round good-humoured face.  He
lived in a tiny cottage all by himself, and every day he worked in his
garden.  In all the country-side there was no garden so lovely as his.
Sweet-william grew there, and Gilly-flowers, and Shepherds'-purses, and
Fair-maids of France.  There were damask Roses, and yellow Roses, lilac
Crocuses, and gold, purple Violets and white.  Columbine and Ladysmock,
Marjoram and Wild Basil, the Cowslip and the Flower-de-luce, the Daffodil
and the Clove-Pink bloomed or blossomed in their proper order as the
months went by, one flower taking another flower's place, so that there
were always beautiful things to look at, and pleasant odours to smell.

"Little Hans had a great many friends, but the most devoted friend of all
was big Hugh the Miller.  Indeed, so devoted was the rich Miller to
little Hans, that he would never go by his garden without leaning over
the wall and plucking a large nosegay, or a handful of sweet herbs, or
filling his pockets with plums and cherries if it was the fruit season.

"'Real friends should have everything in common,' the Miller used to say,
and little Hans nodded and smiled, and felt very proud of having a friend
with such noble ideas.

"Sometimes, indeed, the neighbours thought it strange that the rich
Miller never gave little Hans anything in return, though he had a hundred
sacks of flour stored away in his mill, and six milch cows, and a large
flock of woolly sheep; but Hans never troubled his head about these
things, and nothing gave him greater pleasure than to listen to all the
wonderful things the Miller used to say about the unselfishness of true
friendship.

"So little Hans worked away in his garden.  During the spring, the
summer, and the autumn he was very happy, but when the winter came, and
he had no fruit or flowers to bring to the market, he suffered a good
deal from cold and hunger, and often had to go to bed without any supper
but a few dried pears or some hard nuts.  In the winter, also, he was
extremely lonely, as the Miller never came to see him then.

"'There is no good in my going to see little Hans as long as the snow
lasts,' the Miller used to say to his wife, 'for when people are in
trouble they should be left alone, and not be bothered by visitors.  That
at least is my idea about friendship, and I am sure I am right.  So I
shall wait till the spring comes, and then I shall pay him a visit, and
he will be able to give me a large basket of primroses and that will make
him so happy.'

"'You are certainly very thoughtful about others,' answered the Wife, as
she sat in her comfortable armchair by the big pinewood fire; 'very
thoughtful indeed.  It is quite a treat to hear you talk about
friendship.  I am sure the clergyman himself could not say such beautiful
things as you do, though he does live in a three-storied house, and wear
a gold ring on his little finger.'

"'But could we not ask little Hans up here?' said the Miller's youngest
son.  'If poor Hans is in trouble I will give him half my porridge, and
show him my white rabbits.'

"'What a silly boy you are!' cried the Miller; 'I really don't know what
is the use of sending you to school.  You seem not to learn anything.
Why, if little Hans came up here, and saw our warm fire, and our good
supper, and our great cask of red wine, he might get envious, and envy is
a most terrible thing, and would spoil anybody's nature.  I certainly
will not allow Hans' nature to be spoiled.  I am his best friend, and I
will always watch over him, and see that he is not led into any
temptations.  Besides, if Hans came here, he might ask me to let him have
some flour on credit, and that I could not do.  Flour is one thing, and
friendship is another, and they should not be confused.  Why, the words
are spelt differently, and mean quite different things.  Everybody can
see that.'

"'How well you talk!' said the Miller's Wife, pouring herself out a large
glass of warm ale; 'really I feel quite drowsy.  It is just like being in
church.'

"'Lots of people act well,' answered the Miller; 'but very few people
talk well, which shows that talking is much the more difficult thing of
the two, and much the finer thing also'; and he looked sternly across the
table at his little son, who felt so ashamed of himself that he hung his
head down, and grew quite scarlet, and began to cry into his tea.
However, he was so young that you must excuse him."

"Is that the end of the story?" asked the Water-rat.

"Certainly not," answered the Linnet, "that is the beginning."

"Then you are quite behind the age," said the Water-rat.  "Every good
story-teller nowadays starts with the end, and then goes on to the
beginning, and concludes with the middle.  That is the new method.  I
heard all about it the other day from a critic who was walking round the
pond with a young man.  He spoke of the matter at great length, and I am
sure he must have been right, for he had blue spectacles and a bald head,
and whenever the young man made any remark, he always answered 'Pooh!'
But pray go on with your story.  I like the Miller immensely.  I have all
kinds of beautiful sentiments myself, so there is a great sympathy
between us."

"Well," said the Linnet, hopping now on one leg and now on the other, "as
soon as the winter was over, and the primroses began to open their pale
yellow stars, the Miller said to his wife that he would go down and see
little Hans.

"'Why, what a good heart you have!' cried his Wife; 'you are always
thinking of others.  And mind you take the big basket with you for the
flowers.'

"So the Miller tied the sails of the windmill together with a strong iron
chain, and went down the hill with the basket on his arm.

"'Good morning, little Hans,' said the Miller.

"'Good morning,' said Hans, leaning on his spade, and smiling from ear to
ear.

"'And how have you been all the winter?' said the Miller.

"'Well, really,' cried Hans, 'it is very good of you to ask, very good
indeed.  I am afraid I had rather a hard time of it, but now the spring
has come, and I am quite happy, and all my flowers are doing well.'

"'We often talked of you during the winter, Hans,' said the Miller, 'and
wondered how you were getting on.'

"'That was kind of you,' said Hans; 'I was half afraid you had forgotten
me.'

"'Hans, I am surprised at you,' said the Miller; 'friendship never
forgets.  That is the wonderful thing about it, but I am afraid you don't
understand the poetry of life.  How lovely your primroses are looking,
by-the-bye!"

"'They are certainly very lovely,' said Hans, 'and it is a most lucky
thing for me that I have so many.  I am going to bring them into the
market and sell them to the Burgomaster's daughter, and buy back my
wheelbarrow with the money.'

"'Buy back your wheelbarrow?  You don't mean to say you have sold it?
What a very stupid thing to do!'

"'Well, the fact is,' said Hans, 'that I was obliged to.  You see the
winter was a very bad time for me, and I really had no money at all to
buy bread with.  So I first sold the silver buttons off my Sunday coat,
and then I sold my silver chain, and then I sold my big pipe, and at last
I sold my wheelbarrow.  But I am going to buy them all back again now.'

"'Hans,' said the Miller, 'I will give you my wheelbarrow.  It is not in
very good repair; indeed, one side is gone, and there is something wrong
with the wheel-spokes; but in spite of that I will give it to you.  I
know it is very generous of me, and a great many people would think me
extremely foolish for parting with it, but I am not like the rest of the
world.  I think that generosity is the essence of friendship, and,
besides, I have got a new wheelbarrow for myself.  Yes, you may set your
mind at ease, I will give you my wheelbarrow.'

"'Well, really, that is generous of you,' said little Hans, and his funny
round face glowed all over with pleasure.  'I can easily put it in
repair, as I have a plank of wood in the house.'

"'A plank of wood!' said the Miller; 'why, that is just what I want for
the roof of my barn.  There is a very large hole in it, and the corn will
all get damp if I don't stop it up.  How lucky you mentioned it!  It is
quite remarkable how one good action always breeds another.  I have given
you my wheelbarrow, and now you are going to give me your plank.  Of
course, the wheelbarrow is worth far more than the plank, but true,
friendship never notices things like that.  Pray get it at once, and I
will set to work at my barn this very day.'

"'Certainly,' cried little Hans, and he ran into the shed and dragged the
plank out.

"'It is not a very big plank,' said the Miller, looking at it, 'and I am
afraid that after I have mended my barn-roof there won't be any left for
you to mend the wheelbarrow with; but, of course, that is not my fault.
And now, as I have given you my wheelbarrow, I am sure you would like to
give me some flowers in return.  Here is the basket, and mind you fill it
quite full.'

"'Quite full?' said little Hans, rather sorrowfully, for it was really a
very big basket, and he knew that if he filled it he would have no
flowers left for the market and he was very anxious to get his silver
buttons back.

"'Well, really,' answered the Miller, 'as I have given you my
wheelbarrow, I don't think that it is much to ask you for a few flowers.
I may be wrong, but I should have thought that friendship, true
friendship, was quite free from selfishness of any kind.'

"'My dear friend, my best friend,' cried little Hans, 'you are welcome to
all the flowers in my garden.  I would much sooner have your good opinion
than my silver buttons, any day'; and he ran and plucked all his pretty
primroses, and filled the Miller's basket.

"'Good-bye, little Hans,' said the Miller, as he went up the hill with
the plank on his shoulder, and the big basket in his hand.

"'Good-bye,' said little Hans, and he began to dig away quite merrily, he
was so pleased about the wheelbarrow.

"The next day he was nailing up some honeysuckle against the porch, when
he heard the Miller's voice calling to him from the road.  So he jumped
off the ladder, and ran down the garden, and looked over the wall.

"There was the Miller with a large sack of flour on his back.

"'Dear little Hans,' said the Miller, 'would you mind carrying this sack
of flour for me to market?'

"'Oh, I am so sorry,' said Hans, 'but I am really very busy to-day.  I
have got all my creepers to nail up, and all my flowers to water, and all
my grass to roll.'

"'Well, really,' said the Miller, 'I think that, considering that I am
going to give you my wheelbarrow, it is rather unfriendly of you to
refuse.'

"'Oh, don't say that,' cried little Hans, 'I wouldn't be unfriendly for
the whole world'; and he ran in for his cap, and trudged off with the big
sack on his shoulders.

"It was a very hot day, and the road was terribly dusty, and before Hans
had reached the sixth milestone he was so tired that he had to sit down
and rest.  However, he went on bravely, and as last he reached the
market.  After he had waited there some time, he sold the sack of flour
for a very good price, and then he returned home at once, for he was
afraid that if he stopped too late he might meet some robbers on the way.

"'It has certainly been a hard day,' said little Hans to himself as he
was going to bed, 'but I am glad I did not refuse the Miller, for he is
my best friend, and, besides, he is going to give me his wheelbarrow.'

"Early the next morning the Miller came down to get the money for his
sack of flour, but little Hans was so tired that he was still in bed.

"'Upon my word,' said the Miller, 'you are very lazy.  Really,
considering that I am going to give you my wheelbarrow, I think you might
work harder.  Idleness is a great sin, and I certainly don't like any of
my friends to be idle or sluggish.  You must not mind my speaking quite
plainly to you.  Of course I should not dream of doing so if I were not
your friend.  But what is the good of friendship if one cannot say
exactly what one means?  Anybody can say charming things and try to
please and to flatter, but a true friend always says unpleasant things,
and does not mind giving pain.  Indeed, if he is a really true friend he
prefers it, for he knows that then he is doing good.'

"'I am very sorry,' said little Hans, rubbing his eyes and pulling off
his night-cap, 'but I was so tired that I thought I would lie in bed for
a little time, and listen to the birds singing.  Do you know that I
always work better after hearing the birds sing?'

"'Well, I am glad of that,' said the Miller, clapping little Hans on the
back, 'for I want you to come up to the mill as soon as you are dressed,
and mend my barn-roof for me.'

"Poor little Hans was very anxious to go and work in his garden, for his
flowers had not been watered for two days, but he did not like to refuse
the Miller, as he was such a good friend to him.

"'Do you think it would be unfriendly of me if I said I was busy?' he
inquired in a shy and timid voice.

"'Well, really,' answered the Miller, 'I do not think it is much to ask
of you, considering that I am going to give you my wheelbarrow; but of
course if you refuse I will go and do it myself.'

"'Oh! on no account,' cried little Hans and he jumped out of bed, and
dressed himself, and went up to the barn.

"He worked there all day long, till sunset, and at sunset the Miller came
to see how he was getting on.

"'Have you mended the hole in the roof yet, little Hans?' cried the
Miller in a cheery voice.

"'It is quite mended,' answered little Hans, coming down the ladder.

"'Ah!' said the Miller, 'there is no work so delightful as the work one
does for others.'

"'It is certainly a great privilege to hear you talk,' answered little
Hans, sitting down, and wiping his forehead, 'a very great privilege.
But I am afraid I shall never have such beautiful ideas as you have.'

"'Oh! they will come to you,' said the Miller, 'but you must take more
pains.  At present you have only the practice of friendship; some day you
will have the theory also.'

"'Do you really think I shall?' asked little Hans.

"'I have no doubt of it,' answered the Miller, 'but now that you have
mended the roof, you had better go home and rest, for I want you to drive
my sheep to the mountain to-morrow.'

"Poor little Hans was afraid to say anything to this, and early the next
morning the Miller brought his sheep round to the cottage, and Hans
started off with them to the mountain.  It took him the whole day to get
there and back; and when he returned he was so tired that he went off to
sleep in his chair, and did not wake up till it was broad daylight.

"'What a delightful time I shall have in my garden,' he said, and he went
to work at once.

"But somehow he was never able to look after his flowers at all, for his
friend the Miller was always coming round and sending him off on long
errands, or getting him to help at the mill.  Little Hans was very much
distressed at times, as he was afraid his flowers would think he had
forgotten them, but he consoled himself by the reflection that the Miller
was his best friend.  'Besides,' he used to say, 'he is going to give me
his wheelbarrow, and that is an act of pure generosity.'

"So little Hans worked away for the Miller, and the Miller said all kinds
of beautiful things about friendship, which Hans took down in a
note-book, and used to read over at night, for he was a very good
scholar.

"Now it happened that one evening little Hans was sitting by his fireside
when a loud rap came at the door.  It was a very wild night, and the wind
was blowing and roaring round the house so terribly that at first he
thought it was merely the storm.  But a second rap came, and then a
third, louder than any of the others.

"'It is some poor traveller,' said little Hans to himself, and he ran to
the door.

"There stood the Miller with a lantern in one hand and a big stick in the
other.

"'Dear little Hans,' cried the Miller, 'I am in great trouble.  My little
boy has fallen off a ladder and hurt himself, and I am going for the
Doctor.  But he lives so far away, and it is such a bad night, that it
has just occurred to me that it would be much better if you went instead
of me.  You know I am going to give you my wheelbarrow, and so, it is
only fair that you should do something for me in return.'

"'Certainly,' cried little Hans, 'I take it quite as a compliment your
coming to me, and I will start off at once.  But you must lend me your
lantern, as the night is so dark that I am afraid I might fall into the
ditch.'

"'I am very sorry,' answered the Miller, 'but it is my new lantern, and
it would be a great loss to me if anything happened to it.'

"'Well, never mind, I will do without it,' cried little Hans, and he took
down his great fur coat, and his warm scarlet cap, and tied a muffler
round his throat, and started off.

"What a dreadful storm it was!  The night was so black that little Hans
could hardly see, and the wind was so strong that he could scarcely
stand.  However, he was very courageous, and after he had been walking
about three hours, he arrived at the Doctor's house, and knocked at the
door.

"'Who is there?' cried the Doctor, putting his head out of his bedroom
window.

"'Little Hans, Doctor.'

"'What do you want, little Hans?'

"'The Miller's son has fallen from a ladder, and has hurt himself, and
the Miller wants you to come at once.'

"'All right!' said the Doctor; and he ordered his horse, and his big
boots, and his lantern, and came downstairs, and rode off in the
direction of the Miller's house, little Hans trudging behind him.

"But the storm grew worse and worse, and the rain fell in torrents, and
little Hans could not see where he was going, or keep up with the horse.
At last he lost his way, and wandered off on the moor, which was a very
dangerous place, as it was full of deep holes, and there poor little Hans
was drowned.  His body was found the next day by some goatherds, floating
in a great pool of water, and was brought back by them to the cottage.

"Everybody went to little Hans' funeral, as he was so popular, and the
Miller was the chief mourner.

"'As I was his best friend,' said the Miller, 'it is only fair that I
should have the best place'; so he walked at the head of the procession
in a long black cloak, and every now and then he wiped his eyes with a
big pocket-handkerchief.

"'Little Hans is certainly a great loss to every one,' said the
Blacksmith, when the funeral was over, and they were all seated
comfortably in the inn, drinking spiced wine and eating sweet cakes.

"'A great loss to me at any rate,' answered the Miller; 'why, I had as
good as given him my wheelbarrow, and now I really don't know what to do
with it.  It is very much in my way at home, and it is in such bad repair
that I could not get anything for it if I sold it.  I will certainly take
care not to give away anything again.  One always suffers for being
generous.'"

"Well?" said the Water-rat, after a long pause.

"Well, that is the end," said the Linnet.

"But what became of the Miller?" asked the Water-rat.

"Oh!  I really don't know," replied the Linnet; "and I am sure that I
don't care."

"It is quite evident then that you have no sympathy in your nature," said
the Water-rat.

"I am afraid you don't quite see the moral of the story," remarked the
Linnet.

"The what?" screamed the Water-rat.

"The moral."

"Do you mean to say that the story has a moral?"

"Certainly," said the Linnet.

"Well, really," said the Water-rat, in a very angry manner, "I think you
should have told me that before you began.  If you had done so, I
certainly would not have listened to you; in fact, I should have said
'Pooh,' like the critic.  However, I can say it now"; so he shouted out
"Pooh" at the top of his voice, gave a whisk with his tail, and went back
into his hole.

"And how do you like the Water-rat?" asked the Duck, who came paddling up
some minutes afterwards.  "He has a great many good points, but for my
own part I have a mother's feelings, and I can never look at a confirmed
bachelor without the tears coming into my eyes."

"I am rather afraid that I have annoyed him," answered the Linnet.  "The
fact is, that I told him a story with a moral."

"Ah! that is always a very dangerous thing to do," said the Duck.

And I quite agree with her.






The Remarkable Rocket.




THE King's son was going to be married, so there were general rejoicings.
He had waited a whole year for his bride, and at last she had arrived.
She was a Russian Princess, and had driven all the way from Finland in a
sledge drawn by six reindeer.  The sledge was shaped like a great golden
swan, and between the swan's wings lay the little Princess herself.  Her
long ermine-cloak reached right down to her feet, on her head was a tiny
cap of silver tissue, and she was as pale as the Snow Palace in which she
had always lived.  So pale was she that as she drove through the streets
all the people wondered.  "She is like a white rose!" they cried, and
they threw down flowers on her from the balconies.



At the gate of the Castle the Prince was waiting to receive her.  He had
dreamy violet eyes, and his hair was like fine gold.  When he saw her he
sank upon one knee, and kissed her hand.

"Your picture was beautiful," he murmured, "but you are more beautiful
than your picture"; and the little Princess blushed.

"She was like a white rose before," said a young Page to his neighbour,
"but she is like a red rose now"; and the whole Court was delighted.

For the next three days everybody went about saying, "White rose, Red
rose, Red rose, White rose"; and the King gave orders that the Page's
salary was to be doubled.  As he received no salary at all this was not
of much use to him, but it was considered a great honour, and was duly
published in the Court Gazette.

When the three days were over the marriage was celebrated.  It was a
magnificent ceremony, and the bride and bridegroom walked hand in hand
under a canopy of purple velvet embroidered with little pearls.  Then
there was a State Banquet, which lasted for five hours.  The Prince and
Princess sat at the top of the Great Hall and drank out of a cup of clear
crystal.  Only true lovers could drink out of this cup, for if false lips
touched it, it grew grey and dull and cloudy.

"It's quite clear that they love each other," said the little Page, "as
clear as crystal!" and the King doubled his salary a second time.  "What
an honour!" cried all the courtiers.

After the banquet there was to be a Ball.  The bride and bridegroom were
to dance the Rose-dance together, and the King had promised to play the
flute.  He played very badly, but no one had ever dared to tell him so,
because he was the King.  Indeed, he knew only two airs, and was never
quite certain which one he was playing; but it made no matter, for,
whatever he did, everybody cried out, "Charming! charming!"

The last item on the programme was a grand display of fireworks, to be
let off exactly at midnight.  The little Princess had never seen a
firework in her life, so the King had given orders that the Royal
Pyrotechnist should be in attendance on the day of her marriage.

"What are fireworks like?" she had asked the Prince, one morning, as she
was walking on the terrace.

"They are like the Aurora Borealis," said the King, who always answered
questions that were addressed to other people, "only much more natural.
I prefer them to stars myself, as you always know when they are going to
appear, and they are as delightful as my own flute-playing.  You must
certainly see them."

So at the end of the King's garden a great stand had been set up, and as
soon as the Royal Pyrotechnist had put everything in its proper place,
the fireworks began to talk to each other.

"The world is certainly very beautiful," cried a little Squib.  "Just
look at those yellow tulips.  Why! if they were real crackers they could
not be lovelier.  I am very glad I have travelled.  Travel improves the
mind wonderfully, and does away with all one's prejudices."

"The King's garden is not the world, you foolish squib," said a big Roman
Candle; "the world is an enormous place, and it would take you three days
to see it thoroughly."

"Any place you love is the world to you," exclaimed a pensive Catherine
Wheel, who had been attached to an old deal box in early life, and prided
herself on her broken heart; "but love is not fashionable any more, the
poets have killed it.  They wrote so much about it that nobody believed
them, and I am not surprised.  True love suffers, and is silent.  I
remember myself onceBut it is no matter now.  Romance is a thing of the
past."

"Nonsense!" said the Roman Candle, "Romance never dies.  It is like the
moon, and lives for ever.  The bride and bridegroom, for instance, love
each other very dearly.  I heard all about them this morning from a
brown-paper cartridge, who happened to be staying in the same drawer as
myself, and knew the latest Court news."

But the Catherine Wheel shook her head.  "Romance is dead, Romance is
dead, Romance is dead," she murmured.  She was one of those people who
think that, if you say the same thing over and over a great many times,
it becomes true in the end.

Suddenly, a sharp, dry cough was heard, and they all looked round.

It came from a tall, supercilious-looking Rocket, who was tied to the end
of a long stick.  He always coughed before he made any observation, so as
to attract attention.

"Ahem! ahem!" he said, and everybody listened except the poor Catherine
Wheel, who was still shaking her head, and murmuring, "Romance is dead."

"Order! order!" cried out a Cracker.  He was something of a politician,
and had always taken a prominent part in the local elections, so he knew
the proper Parliamentary expressions to use.

"Quite dead," whispered the Catherine Wheel, and she went off to sleep.

As soon as there was perfect silence, the Rocket coughed a third time and
began.  He spoke with a very slow, distinct voice, as if he was dictating
his memoirs, and always looked over the shoulder of the person to whom he
was talking.  In fact, he had a most distinguished manner.

"How fortunate it is for the King's son," he remarked, "that he is to be
married on the very day on which I am to be let off.  Really, if it had
been arranged beforehand, it could not have turned out better for him;
but, Princes are always lucky."

"Dear me!" said the little Squib, "I thought it was quite the other way,
and that we were to be let off in the Prince's honour."

"It may be so with you," he answered; "indeed, I have no doubt that it
is, but with me it is different.  I am a very remarkable Rocket, and come
of remarkable parents.  My mother was the most celebrated Catherine Wheel
of her day, and was renowned for her graceful dancing.  When she made her
great public appearance she spun round nineteen times before she went
out, and each time that she did so she threw into the air seven pink
stars.  She was three feet and a half in diameter, and made of the very
best gunpowder.  My father was a Rocket like myself, and of French
extraction.  He flew so high that the people were afraid that he would
never come down again.  He did, though, for he was of a kindly
disposition, and he made a most brilliant descent in a shower of golden
rain.  The newspapers wrote about his performance in very flattering
terms.  Indeed, the Court Gazette called him a triumph of Pylotechnic
art."

"Pyrotechnic, Pyrotechnic, you mean," said a Bengal Light; "I know it is
Pyrotechnic, for I saw it written on my own canister."

"Well, I said Pylotechnic," answered the Rocket, in a severe tone of
voice, and the Bengal Light felt so crushed that he began at once to
bully the little squibs, in order to show that he was still a person of
some importance.

"I was saying," continued the Rocket, "I was sayingWhat was I saying?"

"You were talking about yourself," replied the Roman Candle.

"Of course; I knew I was discussing some interesting subject when I was
so rudely interrupted.  I hate rudeness and bad manners of every kind,
for I am extremely sensitive.  No one in the whole world is so sensitive
as I am, I am quite sure of that."

"What is a sensitive person?" said the Cracker to the Roman Candle.

"A person who, because he has corns himself, always treads on other
people's toes," answered the Roman Candle in a low whisper; and the
Cracker nearly exploded with laughter.

"Pray, what are you laughing at?" inquired the Rocket; "I am not
laughing."

"I am laughing because I am happy," replied the Cracker.

"That is a very selfish reason," said the Rocket angrily.  "What right
have you to be happy?  You should be thinking about others.  In fact, you
should be thinking about me.  I am always thinking about myself, and I
expect everybody else to do the same.  That is what is called sympathy.
It is a beautiful virtue, and I possess it in a high degree.  Suppose,
for instance, anything happened to me to-night, what a misfortune that
would be for every one!  The Prince and Princess would never be happy
again, their whole married life would be spoiled; and as for the King, I
know he would not get over it.  Really, when I begin to reflect on the
importance of my position, I am almost moved to tears."

"If you want to give pleasure to others," cried the Roman Candle, "you
had better keep yourself dry."

"Certainly," exclaimed the Bengal Light, who was now in better spirits;
"that is only common sense."

"Common sense, indeed!" said the Rocket indignantly; "you forget that I
am very uncommon, and very remarkable.  Why, anybody can have common
sense, provided that they have no imagination.  But I have imagination,
for I never think of things as they really are; I always think of them as
being quite different.  As for keeping myself dry, there is evidently no
one here who can at all appreciate an emotional nature.  Fortunately for
myself, I don't care.  The only thing that sustains one through life is
the consciousness of the immense inferiority of everybody else, and this
is a feeling that I have always cultivated.  But none of you have any
hearts.  Here you are laughing and making merry just as if the Prince and
Princess had not just been married."

"Well, really," exclaimed a small Fire-balloon, "why not?  It is a most
joyful occasion, and when I soar up into the air I intend to tell the
stars all about it.  You will see them twinkle when I talk to them about
the pretty bride."

"Ah! what a trivial view of life!" said the Rocket; "but it is only what
I expected.  There is nothing in you; you are hollow and empty.  Why,
perhaps the Prince and Princess may go to live in a country where there
is a deep river, and perhaps they may have one only son, a little
fair-haired boy with violet eyes like the Prince himself; and perhaps
some day he may go out to walk with his nurse; and perhaps the nurse may
go to sleep under a great elder-tree; and perhaps the little boy may fall
into the deep river and be drowned.  What a terrible misfortune!  Poor
people, to lose their only son!  It is really too dreadful!  I shall
never get over it."

"But they have not lost their only son," said the Roman Candle; "no
misfortune has happened to them at all."

"I never said that they had," replied the Rocket; "I said that they
might.  If they had lost their only son there would be no use in saying
anything more about the matter.  I hate people who cry over spilt milk.
But when I think that they might lose their only son, I certainly am very
much affected."

"You certainly are!" cried the Bengal Light.  "In fact, you are the most
affected person I ever met."

"You are the rudest person I ever met," said the Rocket, "and you cannot
understand my friendship for the Prince."

"Why, you don't even know him," growled the Roman Candle.

"I never said I knew him," answered the Rocket.  "I dare say that if I
knew him I should not be his friend at all.  It is a very dangerous thing
to know one's friends."

"You had really better keep yourself dry," said the Fire-balloon.  "That
is the important thing."

"Very important for you, I have no doubt," answered the Rocket, "but I
shall weep if I choose"; and he actually burst into real tears, which
flowed down his stick like rain-drops, and nearly drowned two little
beetles, who were just thinking of setting up house together, and were
looking for a nice dry spot to live in.

"He must have a truly romantic nature," said the Catherine Wheel, "for he
weeps when there is nothing at all to weep about"; and she heaved a deep
sigh, and thought about the deal box.

But the Roman Candle and the Bengal Light were quite indignant, and kept
saying, "Humbug! humbug!" at the top of their voices.  They were
extremely practical, and whenever they objected to anything they called
it humbug.

Then the moon rose like a wonderful silver shield; and the stars began to
shine, and a sound of music came from the palace.

The Prince and Princess were leading the dance.  They danced so
beautifully that the tall white lilies peeped in at the window and
watched them, and the great red poppies nodded their heads and beat time.

Then ten o'clock struck, and then eleven, and then twelve, and at the
last stroke of midnight every one came out on the terrace, and the King
sent for the Royal Pyrotechnist.

"Let the fireworks begin," said the King; and the Royal Pyrotechnist made
a low bow, and marched down to the end of the garden.  He had six
attendants with him, each of whom carried a lighted torch at the end of a
long pole.

It was certainly a magnificent display.

Whizz! Whizz! went the Catherine Wheel, as she spun round and round.
Boom!  Boom! went the Roman Candle.  Then the Squibs danced all over the
place, and the Bengal Lights made everything look scarlet.  "Good-bye,"
cried the Fire-balloon, as he soared away, dropping tiny blue sparks.
Bang! Bang! answered the Crackers, who were enjoying themselves
immensely.  Every one was a great success except the Remarkable Rocket.
He was so damp with crying that he could not go off at all.  The best
thing in him was the gunpowder, and that was so wet with tears that it
was of no use.  All his poor relations, to whom he would never speak,
except with a sneer, shot up into the sky like wonderful golden flowers
with blossoms of fire.  Huzza! Huzza! cried the Court; and the little
Princess laughed with pleasure.

"I suppose they are reserving me for some grand occasion," said the
Rocket; "no doubt that is what it means," and he looked more supercilious
than ever.

The next day the workmen came to put everything tidy.  "This is evidently
a deputation," said the Rocket; "I will receive them with becoming
dignity" so he put his nose in the air, and began to frown severely as if
he were thinking about some very important subject.  But they took no
notice of him at all till they were just going away.  Then one of them
caught sight of him.  "Hallo!" he cried, "what a bad rocket!" and he
threw him over the wall into the ditch.

"BAD Rocket?  BAD Rocket?" he said, as he whirled through the air;
"impossible!  GRAND Rocket, that is what the man said.  BAD and GRAND
sound very much the same, indeed they often are the same"; and he fell
into the mud.

"It is not comfortable here," he remarked, "but no doubt it is some
fashionable watering-place, and they have sent me away to recruit my
health.  My nerves are certainly very much shattered, and I require
rest."

Then a little Frog, with bright jewelled eyes, and a green mottled coat,
swam up to him.

"A new arrival, I see!" said the Frog.  "Well, after all there is nothing
like mud.  Give me rainy weather and a ditch, and I am quite happy.  Do
you think it will be a wet afternoon?  I am sure I hope so, but the sky
is quite blue and cloudless.  What a pity!"

"Ahem! ahem!" said the Rocket, and he began to cough.

"What a delightful voice you have!" cried the Frog.  "Really it is quite
like a croak, and croaking is of course the most musical sound in the
world.  You will hear our glee-club this evening.  We sit in the old duck
pond close by the farmer's house, and as soon as the moon rises we begin.
It is so entrancing that everybody lies awake to listen to us.  In fact,
it was only yesterday that I heard the farmer's wife say to her mother
that she could not get a wink of sleep at night on account of us.  It is
most gratifying to find oneself so popular."

"Ahem! ahem!" said the Rocket angrily.  He was very much annoyed that he
could not get a word in.

"A delightful voice, certainly," continued the Frog; "I hope you will
come over to the duck-pond.  I am off to look for my daughters.  I have
six beautiful daughters, and I am so afraid the Pike may meet them.  He
is a perfect monster, and would have no hesitation in breakfasting off
them.  Well, good-bye: I have enjoyed our conversation very much, I
assure you."

"Conversation, indeed!" said the Rocket.  "You have talked the whole time
yourself.  That is not conversation."

"Somebody must listen," answered the Frog, "and I like to do all the
talking myself.  It saves time, and prevents arguments."

"But I like arguments," said the Rocket.

"I hope not," said the Frog complacently.  "Arguments are extremely
vulgar, for everybody in good society holds exactly the same opinions.
Good-bye a second time; I see my daughters in the distance and the little
Frog swam away.

"You are a very irritating person," said the Rocket, "and very ill-bred.
I hate people who talk about themselves, as you do, when one wants to
talk about oneself, as I do.  It is what I call selfishness, and
selfishness is a most detestable thing, especially to any one of my
temperament, for I am well known for my sympathetic nature.  In fact, you
should take example by me; you could not possibly have a better model.
Now that you have the chance you had better avail yourself of it, for I
am going back to Court almost immediately.  I am a great favourite at
Court; in fact, the Prince and Princess were married yesterday in my
honour.  Of course you know nothing of these matters, for you are a
provincial."

"There is no good talking to him," said a Dragon-fly, who was sitting on
the top of a large brown bulrush; "no good at all, for he has gone away."

"Well, that is his loss, not mine," answered the Rocket.  "I am not going
to stop talking to him merely because he pays no attention.  I like
hearing myself talk.  It is one of my greatest pleasures.  I often have
long conversations all by myself, and I am so clever that sometimes I
don't understand a single word of what I am saying."

"Then you should certainly lecture on Philosophy," said the Dragon-fly;
and he spread a pair of lovely gauze wings and soared away into the sky.

"How very silly of him not to stay here!" said the Rocket.  "I am sure
that he has not often got such a chance of improving his mind.  However,
I don't care a bit.  Genius like mine is sure to be appreciated some
day"; and he sank down a little deeper into the mud.

After some time a large White Duck swam up to him.  She had yellow legs,
and webbed feet, and was considered a great beauty on account of her
waddle.

"Quack, quack, quack," she said.  "What a curious shape you are!  May I
ask were you born like that, or is it the result of an accident?"

"It is quite evident that you have always lived in the country," answered
the Rocket, "otherwise you would know who I am.  However, I excuse your
ignorance.  It would be unfair to expect other people to be as remarkable
as oneself.  You will no doubt be surprised to hear that I can fly up
into the sky, and come down in a shower of golden rain."

"I don't think much of that," said the Duck, "as I cannot see what use it
is to any one.  Now, if you could plough the fields like the ox, or draw
a cart like the horse, or look after the sheep like the collie-dog, that
would be something."

"My good creature," cried the Rocket in a very haughty tone of voice, "I
see that you belong to the lower orders.  A person of my position is
never useful.  We have certain accomplishments, and that is more than
sufficient.  I have no sympathy myself with industry of any kind, least
of all with such industries as you seem to recommend.  Indeed, I have
always been of opinion that hard work is simply the refuge of people who
have nothing whatever to do."

"Well, well," said the Duck, who was of a very peaceable disposition, and
never quarrelled with any one, "everybody has different tastes.  I hope,
at any rate, that you are going to take up your residence here."

"Oh! dear no," cried the Rocket.  "I am merely a visitor, a distinguished
visitor.  The fact is that I find this place rather tedious.  There is
neither society here, nor solitude.  In fact, it is essentially suburban.
I shall probably go back to Court, for I know that I am destined to make
a sensation in the world."

"I had thoughts of entering public life once myself," remarked the Duck;
"there are so many things that need reforming.  Indeed, I took the chair
at a meeting some time ago, and we passed resolutions condemning
everything that we did not like.  However, they did not seem to have much
effect.  Now I go in for domesticity, and look after my family."

"I am made for public life," said the Rocket, "and so are all my
relations, even the humblest of them.  Whenever we appear we excite great
attention.  I have not actually appeared myself, but when I do so it will
be a magnificent sight.  As for domesticity, it ages one rapidly, and
distracts one's mind from higher things."

"Ah! the higher things of life, how fine they are!" said the Duck; "and
that reminds me how hungry I feel": and she swam away down the stream,
saying, "Quack, quack, quack."

"Come back! come back!" screamed the Rocket, "I have a great deal to say
to you"; but the Duck paid no attention to him.  "I am glad that she has
gone," he said to himself, "she has a decidedly middle-class mind"; and
he sank a little deeper still into the mud, and began to think about the
loneliness of genius, when suddenly two little boys in white smocks came
running down the bank, with a kettle and some faggots.

"This must be the deputation," said the Rocket, and he tried to look very
dignified.

"Hallo!" cried one of the boys, "look at this old stick!  I wonder how it
came here"; and he picked the rocket out of the ditch.

"OLD Stick!" said the Rocket, "impossible!  GOLD Stick, that is what he
said.  Gold Stick is very complimentary.  In fact, he mistakes me for one
of the Court dignitaries!"

"Let us put it into the fire!" said the other boy, "it will help to boil
the kettle."

So they piled the faggots together, and put the Rocket on top, and lit
the fire.

"This is magnificent," cried the Rocket, "they are going to let me off in
broad day-light, so that every one can see me."

"We will go to sleep now," they said, "and when we wake up the kettle
will be boiled"; and they lay down on the grass, and shut their eyes.

The Rocket was very damp, so he took a long time to burn.  At last,
however, the fire caught him.

"Now I am going off!" he cried, and he made himself very stiff and
straight.  "I know I shall go much higher than the stars, much higher
than the moon, much higher than the sun.  In fact, I shall go so high
that"

Fizz! Fizz! Fizz! and he went straight up into the air.

"Delightful!" he cried, "I shall go on like this for ever.  What a
success I am!"

But nobody saw him.

Then he began to feel a curious tingling sensation all over him.

"Now I am going to explode," he cried.  "I shall set the whole world on
fire, and make such a noise that nobody will talk about anything else for
a whole year."  And he certainly did explode.  Bang! Bang! Bang! went the
gunpowder.  There was no doubt about it.

But nobody heard him, not even the two little boys, for they were sound
asleep.

Then all that was left of him was the stick, and this fell down on the
back of a Goose who was taking a walk by the side of the ditch.

"Good heavens!" cried the Goose.  "It is going to rain sticks"; and she
rushed into the water.

"I knew I should create a great sensation," gasped the Rocket, and he
went out.


THE GOOSE-GIRL


An old queen, whose husband had been dead some years, had a beautiful
daughter. When she grew up, she was betrothed to a prince who lived a
great way off; and as the time drew near for her to be married, she got
ready to set off on her journey to his country. Then the queen, her
mother, packed up a great many costly things--jewels, and gold, and
silver, trinkets, fine dresses, and in short, everything that became a
royal bride; for she loved her child very dearly; and she gave her a
waiting-maid to ride with her, and give her into the bridegroom's hands;
and each had a horse for the journey. Now the princess' horse was called
Falada, and could speak.

When the time came for them to set out, the old queen went into her
bed-chamber, and took a little knife, and cut off a lock of her hair,
and gave it to her daughter, saying, "Take care of it, dear child; for
it is a charm that may be of use to you on the road." Then they took a
sorrowful leave of each other, and the princess put the lock of her
mother's hair into her bosom, got upon her horse, and set off on her
journey to her bridegroom's kingdom.

One day, as they were riding along by the side of a brook, the princess
began to feel very thirsty, and said to her maid, "Pray get down and
fetch me some water in my golden cup out of yonder brook, for I want to
drink." "Nay," said the maid, "if you are thirsty, get down yourself,
and lie down by the water and drink; I shall not be your waiting-maid
any longer." The princess was so thirsty that she got down, and knelt
over the little brook and drank, for she was frightened, and dared not
bring out her golden cup; and then she wept, and said, "Alas! what will
become of me?" And the lock of hair answered her, and said--

  "Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,
  Sadly, sadly her heart would rue it."

But the princess was very humble and meek, so she said nothing to her
maid's ill behavior, but got upon her horse again.

Then all rode further on their journey, till the day grew so warm, and
the sun so scorching, that the bride began to feel very thirsty again;
and at last, when they came to a river, she forgot her maid's rude
speech, and said, "Pray get down and fetch me some water to drink in my
golden cup." But the maid answered her, and even spoke more haughtily
than before, "Drink if you will, but I shall not be your waiting-maid."
Then the princess was so thirsty that she got off her horse and lay
down, and held her head over the running stream, and cried, and said,
"What will become of me?" And the lock of hair answered her again--

  "Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,
  Sadly, sadly her heart would rue it."

And as she leaned down to drink, the lock of hair fell from her bosom
and floated away with the water, without her seeing it, she was so much
frightened. But her maid saw it, and was very glad, for she knew the
charm, and saw that the poor bride would be in her power now that she
had lost the hair. So when the bride had finished drinking, and would
have got upon Falada again, the maid said, "I shall ride upon Falada,
and you may have my horse instead;" so she was forced to give up her
horse, and soon afterwards to take off her royal clothes, and put on her
maid's shabby ones.

At last, as they drew near the end of the journey, this treacherous
servant threatened to kill her mistress if she ever told anyone what had
happened. But Falada saw it all, and marked it well. Then the
waiting-maid got upon Falada, and the real bride was set upon the other
horse, and they went on in this way till at last they came to the royal
court. There was great joy at their coming, and the prince hurried to
meet them, and lifted the maid from her horse, thinking she was the one
who was to be his wife; and she was led upstairs to the royal chamber,
but the true princess was told to stay in the court below.

However, the old king happened to be looking out of the window, and saw
her in the yard below; and as she looked very pretty, and too delicate
for a waiting-maid, he went into the royal chamber to ask the bride whom
it was she had brought with her, that was thus left standing in the
court below. "I brought her with me for the sake of her company on the
road," said she. "Pray give the girl some work to do, that she may not
be idle." The old king could not for some time think of any work for
her, but at last he said, "I have a lad who takes care of my geese; she
may go and help him." Now the name of this lad, that the real bride was
to help in watching the king's geese, was Curdken.

Soon after, the false bride said to the prince, "Dear husband, pray do
me one piece of kindness." "That I will," said the prince. "Then tell
one of your slaughterers to cut off the head of the horse I rode upon,
for it was very unruly, and plagued me sadly on the road." But the truth
was, she was very much afraid lest Falada should speak, and tell all she
had done to the princess. She carried her point, and the faithful Falada
was killed; but when the true princess heard of it she wept, and begged
the man to nail up Falada's head against a large dark gate in the city
through which she had to pass every morning and evening, that there she
might still see him sometimes. Then the slaughterer said he would do as
she wished, so he cut off the head and nailed it fast under the dark
gate.

Early the next morning, as the princess and Curdken went out through the
gate, she said sorrowfully--

  "Falada, Falada, there thou art hanging!"

and the head answered--

  "Bride, bride, there thou are ganging!
  Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,
  Sadly, sadly her heart would rue it."

Then they went out of the city, driving the geese. And when they came to
the meadow, the princess sat down upon a bank there and let down her
waving locks of hair, which were all of pure gold; and when Curdken saw
it glitter in the sun, he ran up, and would have pulled some of the
locks out; but she cried--

  "Blow, breezes, blow!
  Let Curdken's hat go!
  Blow breezes, blow!
  Let him after it go!

  "O'er hills, dales, and rocks,
  Away be it whirl'd,
  Till the golden locks
  Are all comb'd and curl'd!"

Then there came a wind, so strong that it blew off Curdken's hat, and
away it flew over the hills, and he after it; till, by the time he came
back, she had done combing and curling her hair, and put it up again
safely. Then he was very angry and sulky, and would not speak to her at
all; but they watched the geese until it grew dark in the evening, and
then drove them homewards.

The next morning, as they were going through the dark gate, the poor
girl looked up at Falada's head, and cried--

  "Falada, Falada, there thou art hanging!"

and it answered--

  "Bride, bride, there thou are ganging!
  Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,
  Sadly, sadly her heart would rue it."

Then she drove on the geese and sat down again in the meadow, and began
to comb out her hair as before, and Curdken ran up to her, and wanted to
take of it; but she cried out quickly--

  "Blow, breezes, blow!
  Let Curdken's hat go!
  Blow breezes, blow!
  Let him after it go!
  O'er hills, dales, and rocks,
  Away be it whirl'd,
  Till the golden locks
  Are all comb'd and curl'd!"

Then the wind came and blew off his hat, and off it flew a great
distance over the hills and far away, so that he had to run after it:
and when he came back, she had done up her hair again, and all was safe.
So they watched the geese till it grew dark.

In the evening, after they came home, Curdken went to the old king, and
said, "I cannot have that strange girl to help me to keep the geese any
longer."

"Why?" inquired the king.

"Because she does nothing but tease me all day long."

Then the king made him tell him all that had passed.

And Curdken said, "When we go in the morning through the dark gate with
our flock of geese, she weeps, and talks with the head of a horse that
hangs upon the wall, and says--

  "Falada, Falada, there thou art hanging!"

and the head answers--

  "Bride, bride, there thou are ganging!
  Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,
  Sadly, sadly her heart would rue it."

And Curdken went on telling the king what had happened upon the meadow
where the geese fed; and how his hat was blown away, and he was forced
to run after it, and leave his flock. But the old king told him to go
out again as usual the next day: and when morning came, he placed
himself behind the dark gate, and heard how the princess spoke, and how
Falada answered; and then he went into the field and hid himself in a
bush by the meadow's side, and soon saw with his own eyes how they drove
the flock of geese, and how, after a little time, she let down her hair
that glittered in the sun; and then he heard her say--

  "Blow, breezes, blow!
  Let Curdken's hat go!
  Blow breezes, blow!
  Let him after it go!
  O'er hills, dales, and rocks,
  Away be it whirl'd,
  Till the golden locks
  Are all comb'd and curl'd!"

And soon came a gale of wind, and carried away Curdken's hat, while the
girl went on combing and curling her hair.

All this the old king saw; so he went home without being seen; and when
the goose-girl came back in the evening, he called her aside, and asked
her why she did so; but she burst into tears, and said, "That I must not
tell you or any man, or I shall lose my life."

But the old king begged so hard that she had no peace till she had told
him all, word for word: and it was very lucky for her that she did so,
for the king ordered royal clothes to be put upon her, and he gazed with
wonder, she was so beautiful.

Then he called his son, and told him that he had only the false bride,
for that she was merely a waiting-maid, while the true one stood by.

And the young king rejoiced when he saw her beauty, and heard how meek
and patient she had been; and without saying anything, he ordered a
great feast to be prepared for all his court.

The bridegroom sat at the top, with the false princess on one side, and
the true one on the other; but nobody knew her, for she was quite
dazzling to their eyes, and was not at all like the little goose-girl,
now that she had on her brilliant dress.

When they had eaten and drunk, and were very merry, the old king told
all the story, as one that he had once heard of, and asked the true
waiting-maid what she thought ought to be done to anyone who would
behave thus.

"Nothing better," said this false bride, "than that she should be thrown
into a cask stuck around with sharp nails, and that two white horses
should be put to it, and should drag it from street to street till she
is dead."

"Thou art she!" said the old king; "and since thou hast judged thyself,
it shall be so done to thee."

Then the young king was married to his true wife, and they reigned over
the kingdom in peace and happiness all their lives.




THE LITTLE BROTHER AND SISTER


There was once a little brother who took his Sister by the hand, and
said, "Since our own dear mother's death we have not had one happy hour;
our stepmother beats us every day, and, when we come near her, kicks us
away with her foot. Come, let us wander forth into the wide world." So
all day long they travelled over meadows, fields, and stony roads. By
the evening they came into a large forest, and laid themselves down in a
hollow tree, and went to sleep. When they awoke the next morning, the
sun had already risen high in the heavens, and its beams made the tree
so hot that the little boy said to his sister, "I am so very thirsty,
that if I knew where there was a brook, I would go and drink. Ah! I
think I hear one running;" and so saying, he got up, and taking his
Sister's hand they went to look for the brook.

The wicked stepmother, however, was a witch, and had witnessed the
departure of the two children: so, sneaking after them secretly, as is
the habit of witches, she had enchanted all the springs in the forest.

Presently they found a brook, which ran trippingly over the pebbles, and
the Brother would have drunk out of it, but the Sister heard how it said
as it ran along, "Who drinks of me will become a tiger!" So the Sister
exclaimed, "I pray you, Brother, drink not, or you will become a tiger,
and tear me to pieces!" So the Brother did not drink, although his
thirst was very great, and he said, "I will wait till the next brook."
As they came to the second, the Sister heard it say, "Who drinks of me
becomes a wolf!" The Sister ran up crying, "Brother, do not, pray do not
drink, or you will become a wolf and eat me up!" Then the Brother did
not drink, saying, "I will wait until we come to the next spring, but
then I must drink, you may say what you will; my thirst is much too
great." Just as they reached the third brook, the Sister heard the voice
saying, "Who drinks of me will become a fawn--who drinks of me will
become a fawn!" So the Sister said, "Oh, my Brother do not drink, or you
will be changed into a fawn, and run away from me!" But he had already
kneeled down, and he drank of the water, and, as the first drops passed
his lips, his shape took that of a fawn.

At first the Sister wept over her little, changed Brother, and he wept
too, and knelt by her, very sorrowful; but at last the maiden said, "Be
still, dear little fawn, and I will never forsake you!" and, taking off
her golden garter, she placed it around his neck, and, weaving rushes,
made a girdle to lead him with. This she tied to him, and taking the
other end in her hand, she led him away, and they travelled deeper and
deeper into the forest. After they had gone a long distance they came to
a little hut, and the maiden, peeping in, found it empty, and thought,
"Here we can stay and dwell." Then she looked for leaves and moss to
make a soft couch for the Fawn, and every morning she went out and
collected roots and berries and nuts for herself, and tender grass for
the Fawn. In the evening when the Sister was tired, and had said her
prayers, she laid her head upon the back of the Fawn, which served for a
pillow, on which she slept soundly. Had but the Brother regained his own
proper form, their lives would have been happy indeed.

Thus they dwelt in this wilderness, and some time had elapsed when it
happened that the King of the country had a great hunt in the forest;
and now sounded through the trees the blowing of horns, the barking of
dogs, and the lusty cry of the hunters, so that the little Fawn heard
them, and wanted very much to join in. "Ah!" said he to his Sister, "let
me go to the hunt, I cannot restrain myself any longer;" and he begged
so hard that at last she consented. "But," she told him, "return again
in the evening, for I shall shut my door against the wild huntsmen, and,
that I may know you, do you knock, and say, 'Sister, dear, let me in,'
and if you do not speak I shall not open the door."

As soon as she had said this, the little Fawn sprang off quite glad and
merry in the fresh breeze. The King and his huntsmen perceived the
beautiful animal, and pursued him; but they could not catch him, and
when they thought they certainly had him, he sprang away over the
bushes, and got out of sight. Just as it was getting dark, he ran up to
the hut, and, knocking, said, "Sister mine, let me in." Then she
unfastened the little door, and he went in, and rested all night long
upon his soft couch. The next morning the hunt was commenced again, and
as soon as the little Fawn heard the horns and the tally-ho of the
sportsmen he could not rest, and said, "Sister, dear, open the door; I
must be off." The Sister opened it, saying, "Return at evening, mind,
and say the words as before." When the King and his huntsmen saw him
again, the Fawn with the golden necklace, they followed him, close, but
he was too nimble and quick for them. The whole day long they kept up
with him, but towards evening the huntsmen made a circle around him, and
one wounded him slightly in the hinder foot, so that he could run but
slowly. Then one of them slipped after him to the little hut, and heard
him say, "Sister, dear, open the door," and saw that the door was opened
and immediately shut behind him. The huntsman, having observed all this,
went and told the King what he had seen and heard, and he said, "On the
morrow I will pursue him once again."

The Sister, however, was terribly afraid when she saw that her Fawn was
wounded, and, washing off the blood, she put herbs upon the foot, and
said, "Go and rest upon your bed, dear Fawn, that your wound may heal."
It was so slight, that the next morning he felt nothing of it, and when
he heard the hunting cries outside, he exclaimed, "I cannot stop away--I
must be there, and none shall catch me so easily again!" The Sister wept
very much and told him, "Soon will they kill you, and I shall be here
alone in this forest, forsaken by all the world: I cannot let you go."

"I shall die here in vexation," answered the Fawn, "if you do not, for
when I hear the horn, I think I shall jump out of my skin." The Sister,
finding she could not prevent him, opened the door, with a heavy heart,
and the Fawn jumped out, quite delighted, into the forest. As soon as
the King perceived him, he said to his huntsmen, "Follow him all day
long till the evening, but let no one do him any harm." Then when the
sun had set, the King asked his huntsman to show him the hut; and as
they came to it he knocked at the door and said, "Let me in, dear
Sister." Upon this the door opened, and, stepping in, the King saw a
maiden more beautiful than he had ever beheld before. She was frightened
when she saw not her Fawn, but a man enter, who had a golden crown upon
his head. But the King, looking at her with a kindly glance, held out to
her his hand, saying, "Will you go with me to my castle, and be my dear
wife?" "Oh, yes," replied the maiden; "but the Fawn must go too: him I
will never forsake." The King replied, "He shall remain with you as long
as you live, and shall never want."

The King took the beautiful maiden upon his horse, and rode to his
castle, where the wedding was celebrated with great splendor and she
became Queen, and they lived together a long time; while the Fawn was
taken care of and played about the castle garden.

The wicked stepmother, however, on whose account the children had
wandered forth into the world, had supposed that long ago the Sister had
been torn into pieces by the wild beasts, and the little Brother in his
Fawn's shape hunted to death by the hunters. As soon, therefore, as she
heard how happy they had become, and how everything prospered with them,
envy and jealousy were aroused in her wicked heart, and left her no
peace; and she was always thinking in what way she could bring
misfortune upon them.

Her own daughter, who was as ugly as night, and had but one eye, for
which she was continually reproached, said, "The luck of being a Queen
has never happened to me." "Be quiet, now," replied the old woman, "and
make yourself contented: when the time comes I will help and assist
you." As soon, then, as the time came when the Queen gave birth to a
beautiful little boy, which happened when the King was out hunting, the
old witch took the form of a chambermaid, and got into the room where
the Queen was lying, and said to her, "The bath is ready, which will
restore you and give you fresh strength; be quick before it gets cold."
Her daughter being at hand, they carried the weak Queen between them
into the room, and laid her in the bath, and then, shutting the door,
they ran off; but first they made up an immense fire in the stove, which
must soon suffocate the poor young Queen.

When this was done, the old woman took her daughter, and, putting a cap
upon her head, laid her in the bed in the Queen's place. She gave her,
too, the form and appearance of the real Queen, as far as she was able;
but she could not restore the lost eye, and, so that the King might not
notice it, she turned her upon that side where there was no eye.

When midnight came, and every one was asleep, the nurse, who sat by
herself, wide awake, near the cradle, in the nursery, saw the door open
and the true Queen come in. She took the child in her arms, and rocked
it a while, and then, shaking up its pillow, laid it down in its cradle,
and covered it over again. She did not forget the Fawn, either, but
going to the corner where he was, stroked his head, and then went
silently out of the door. The nurse asked in the morning of the guards
if any one had passed into the castle during the night; but they
answered, "No, we have not seen anybody." For many nights afterwards she
came constantly, but never spoke a word; and the nurse saw her always,
but she would not trust herself to speak about it to any one.

When some time had passed away, the Queen one night began to speak, and
said--

  "How fares my child! how fares my fawn?
  Twice more will I come, but never again."

The nurse made no reply; but, when she had disappeared, went to the
King, and told him. The King exclaimed, "Oh, mercy! what does this
mean?--the next night I will watch myself by the child." So in the
evening he went into the nursery, and about midnight the Queen appeared,
and said--

  "How fares my child! how fares my fawn?
  Once more will I come, but never again."

And she nursed the child, as she usually did, and then disappeared. The
King dared not speak; but he watched the following night, and this time
she said--

  "How fares my child! how fares my fawn?
  This time have I come, but never again."

At these words the King could hold back no longer, but, springing up,
cried, "You can be no other than my dear wife!" Then she answered, "Yes,
I am your dear wife;" and at that moment her life was restored by God's
mercy, and she was again as beautiful and charming as ever. She told the
King the fraud which the witch and her daughter had practised upon him,
and he had them both tried, and sentence was pronounced against them.
The little Fawn was disenchanted, and received once more his human form;
and the Brother and Sister lived happily together to the end of their
days.




HANSEL AND GRETHEL


Once upon a time there dwelt near a large wood a poor woodcutter, with
his wife and two children by his former marriage, a little boy called
Hansel, and a girl named Grethel. He had little enough to break or bite;
and once, when there was a great famine in the land, he could not
procure even his daily bread; and as he lay thinking in his bed one
evening, rolling about for trouble, he sighed, and said to his wife,
"What will become of us? How can we feed our children, when we have no
more than we can eat ourselves?"

"Know, then, my husband," answered she, "we will lead them away, quite
early in the morning, into the thickest part of the wood, and there make
them a fire, and give them each a little piece of bread; then we will go
to our work, and leave them alone, so they will not find the way home
again, and we shall be freed from them." "No, wife," replied he, "that I
can never do. How can you bring your heart to leave my children all
alone in the wood, for the wild beasts will soon come and tear them to
pieces?"

"Oh, you simpleton!" said she, "then we must all four die of hunger; you
had better plane the coffins for us." But she left him no peace till he
consented, saying, "Ah, but I shall regret the poor children."

The two children, however, had not gone to sleep for very hunger, and so
they overheard what the stepmother said to their father. Grethel wept
bitterly, and said to Hansel, "What will become of us?" "Be quiet,
Grethel," said he; "do not cry--I will soon help you." And as soon as
their parents had fallen asleep, he got up, put on his coat, and,
unbarring the back door, slipped out. The moon shone brilliantly, and
the white pebbles which lay before the door seemed like silver pieces,
they glittered so brightly. Hansel stooped down, and put as many into
his pocket as it would hold; and then going back, he said to Grethel,
"Be comforted, dear sister, and sleep in peace; God will not forsake
us." And so saying, he went to bed again.

The next morning, before the sun arose, the wife went and awoke the two
children. "Get up, you lazy things; we are going into the forest to chop
wood." Then she gave them each a piece of bread, saying, "There is
something for your dinner; do not eat it before the time, for you will
get nothing else." Grethel took the bread in her apron, for Hansel's
pocket was full of pebbles; and so they all set out upon their way. When
they had gone a little distance, Hansel stood still, and peeped back at
the house; and this he repeated several times, till his father said,
"Hansel, what are you peeping at, and why do you lag behind? Take care,
and remember your legs."

"Ah, father," said Hansel, "I am looking at my white cat sitting upon
the roof of the house, and trying to say good-bye." "You simpleton!"
said the wife, "that is not a cat; it is only the sun shining on the
white chimney." But in reality Hansel was not looking at a cat; but
every time he stopped, he dropped a pebble out of his pocket upon the
path.

When they came to the middle of the forest, the father told the children
to collect wood, and he would make them a fire, so that they should not
be cold. So Hansel and Grethel gathered together quite a little mountain
of twigs. Then they set fire to them; and as the flame burnt up high,
the wife said, "Now, you children, lie down near the fire, and rest
yourselves, while we go into the forest and chop wood; when we are
ready, I will come and call you."

Hansel and Grethel sat down by the fire, and when it was noon, each ate
the piece of bread; and because they could hear the blows of an axe,
they thought their father was near: but it was not an axe, but a branch
which he had bound to a withered tree, so as to be blown to and fro by
the wind. They waited so long that at last their eyes closed from
weariness, and they fell fast asleep. When they awoke, it was quite
dark, and Grethel began to cry, "How shall we get out of the wood?" But
Hansel tried to comfort her by saying, "Wait a little while till the
moon rises, and then we will quickly find the way." The moon soon shone
forth, and Hansel, taking his sister's hand, followed the pebbles, which
glittered like new-coined silver pieces, and showed them the path. All
night long they walked on, and as day broke they came to their father's
house. They knocked at the door, and when the wife opened it, and saw
Hansel and Grethel, she exclaimed, "You wicked children! why did you
sleep so long in the wood? We thought you were never coming home again."
But their father was very glad, for it had grieved his heart to leave
them all alone.

Not long afterward there was again great scarcity in every corner of the
land; and one night the children overheard their stepmother saying to
their father, "Everything is again consumed; we have only half a loaf
left, and then the song is ended: the children must be sent away. We
will take them deeper into the wood, so that they may not find the way
out again; it is the only means of escape for us."

But her husband felt heavy at heart, and thought, "It were better to
share the last crust with the children." His wife, however, would listen
to nothing that he said, and scolded and reproached him without end.

He who says A must say B too; and he who consents the first time must
also the second.

The children, however, had heard the conversation as they lay awake, and
as soon as the old people went to sleep Hansel got up, intending to pick
up some pebbles as before; but the wife had locked the door, so that he
could not get out. Nevertheless, he comforted Grethel, saying, "Do not
cry; sleep in quiet; the good God will not forsake us."

Early in the morning the stepmother came and pulled them out of bed, and
gave them each a slice of bread, which was still smaller than the former
piece. On the way, Hansel broke his in his pocket, and, stooping every
now and then, dropped a crumb upon the path. "Hansel, why do you stop
and look about?" said the father; "keep in the path." "I am looking at
my little dove," answered Hansel, "nodding a good-bye to me."
"Simpleton!" said the wife, "that is no dove, but only the sun shining
on the chimney." But Hansel still kept dropping crumbs as he went along.

The mother led the children deep into the wood, where they had never
been before, and there making an immense fire, she said to them, "Sit
down here and rest, and when you feel tired you can sleep for a little
while. We are going into the forest to hew wood, and in the evening,
when we are ready, we will come and fetch you."

When noon came Grethel shared her bread with Hansel, who had strewn his
on the path. Then they went to sleep; but the evening arrived and no one
came to visit the poor children, and in the dark night they awoke, and
Hansel comforted his sister by saying, "Only wait, Grethel, till the
moon comes out, then we shall see the crumbs of bread which I have
dropped, and they will show us the way home." The moon shone and they
got up, but they could not see any crumbs, for the thousands of birds
which had been flying about in the woods and fields had picked them all
up. Hansel kept saying to Grethel, "We will soon find the way"; but they
did not, and they walked the whole night long and the next day, but
still they did not come out of the wood; and they got so hungry, for
they had nothing to eat but the berries which they found upon the
bushes. Soon they got so tired that they could not drag themselves
along, so they lay down under a tree and went to sleep.

It was now the third morning since they had left their father's house,
and they still walked on; but they only got deeper and deeper into the
wood, and Hansel saw that if help did not come very soon they would die
of hunger. At about noonday they saw a beautiful snow-white bird sitting
upon a bough, which sang so sweetly that they stood still and listened
to it. It soon ceased, and spreading its wings flew off; and they
followed it until it arrived at a cottage, upon the roof of which it
perched; and when they went close up to it they saw that the cottage was
made of bread and cakes, and the window-panes were of clear sugar.

"We will go in there," said Hansel, "and have a glorious feast. I will
eat a piece of the roof, and you can eat the window. Will they not be
sweet?" So Hansel reached up and broke a piece off the roof, in order to
see how it tasted, while Grethel stepped up to the window and began to
bite it. Then a sweet voice called out in the room, "Tip-tap, tip-tap,
who raps at my door?" and the children answered, "the wind, the wind,
the child of heaven"; and they went on eating without interruption.
Hansel thought the roof tasted very nice, so he tore off a great piece;
while Grethel broke a large round pane out of the window, and sat down
quite contentedly. Just then the door opened, and a very old woman,
walking upon crutches, came out. Hansel and Grethel were so frightened
that they let fall what they had in their hands; but the old woman,
nodding her head, said, "Ah, you dear children, what has brought you
here? Come in and stop with me, and no harm shall befall you"; and so
saying she took them both by the hand, and led them into her cottage. A
good meal of milk and pancakes, with sugar, apples, and nuts, was spread
on the table, and in the back room were two nice little beds, covered
with white, where Hansel and Grethel laid themselves down, and thought
themselves in heaven. The old woman behaved very kindly to them, but in
reality she was a wicked witch who waylaid children, and built the
bread-house in order to entice them in, but as soon as they were in her
power she killed them, cooked and ate them, and made a great festival of
the day. Witches have red eyes, and cannot see very far; but they have a
fine sense of smelling, like wild beasts, so that they know when
children approach them. When Hansel and Grethel came near the witch's
house she laughed wickedly, saying, "Here come two who shall not escape
me." And early in the morning, before they awoke, she went up to them,
and saw how lovingly they lay sleeping, with their chubby red cheeks,
and she mumbled to herself, "That will be a good bite." Then she took up
Hansel with her rough hands, and shut him up in a little cage with a
lattice-door; and although he screamed loudly it was of no use. Grethel
came next, and, shaking her till she awoke, the witch said, "Get up, you
lazy thing, and fetch some water to cook something good for your
brother, who must remain in that stall and get fat; when he is fat
enough I shall eat him." Grethel began to cry, but it was all useless,
for the old witch made her do as she wished. So a nice meal was cooked
for Hansel, but Grethel got nothing but a crab's claw.

Every morning the old witch came to the cage and said, "Hansel, stretch
out your finger that I may feel whether you are getting fat." But Hansel
used to stretch out a bone, and the old woman, having very bad sight,
thought it was his finger, and wondered very much that he did not get
fatter. When four weeks had passed, and Hansel still kept quite lean,
she lost all her patience, and would not wait any longer. "Grethel," she
called out in a passion, "get some water quickly; be Hansel fat or lean,
this morning I will kill and cook him." Oh, how the poor little sister
grieved, as she was forced to fetch the water, and fast the tears ran
down her cheeks! "Dear good God, help us now!" she exclaimed. "Had we
only been eaten by the wild beasts in the wood, then we should have died
together." But the old witch called out, "Leave off that noise; it will
not help you a bit."

So early in the morning Grethel was forced to go out and fill the
kettle, and make a fire. "First, we will bake, however," said the old
woman; "I have already heated the oven and kneaded the dough"; and so
saying, she pushed poor Grethel up to the oven, out of which the flames
were burning fiercely. "Creep in," said the witch, "and see if it is hot
enough, and then we will put in the bread"; but she intended when
Grethel got in to shut up the oven and let her bake, so that she might
eat her as well as Hansel. Grethel perceived what her thoughts were, and
said, "I do not know how to do it; how shall I get in?" "You stupid
goose," said she, "the opening is big enough. See, I could even get in
myself!" and she got up, and put her head into the oven. Then Grethel
gave her a push, so that she fell right in, and then shutting the iron
door she bolted it! Oh! how horribly she howled; but Grethel ran away,
and left the ungodly witch to burn to ashes.

Now she ran to Hansel, and, opening his door, called out, "Hansel, we
are saved; the old witch is dead!" So he sprang out, like a bird out of
his cage when the door is opened; and they were so glad that they fell
upon each other's neck, and kissed each other over and over again. And
now, as there was nothing to fear, they went into the witch's house,
where in every corner were caskets full of pearls and precious stones.
"These are better than pebbles," said Hansel, putting as many into his
pocket as it would hold; while Grethel thought, "I will take some too,"
and filled her apron full. "We must be off now," said Hansel, "and get
out of this enchanted forest." But when they had walked for two hours
they came to a large piece of water. "We cannot get over," said Hansel;
"I can see no bridge at all." "And there is no boat, either," said
Grethel; "but there swims a white duck, and I will ask her to help us
over." And she sang:

  "Little Duck, good little Duck,
    Grethel and Hansel, here we stand;
  There is neither stile nor bridge,
    Take us on your back to land."

So the duck came to them, and Hansel sat himself on, and bade his sister
sit behind him. "No," answered Grethel, "that will be too much for the
duck; she shall take us over one at a time." This the good little bird
did, and when both were happily arrived on the other side, and had gone
a little way, they came to a well-known wood, which they knew the better
every step they went, and at last they perceived their father's house.
Then they began to run, and, bursting into the house, they fell into
their father's arms. He had not had one happy hour since he had left the
children in the forest; and his wife was dead. Grethel shook her apron,
and the pearls and precious stones rolled out upon the floor, and Hansel
threw down one handful after the other out of his pocket. Then all their
sorrows were ended, and they lived together in great happiness.

My tale is done. There runs a mouse; whoever catches her may make a
great, great cap out of her fur.




OH, IF I COULD BUT SHIVER!


A father had two sons, the elder of whom was forward and clever enough
to do almost anything; but the younger was so stupid that he could learn
nothing, and when the people saw him they said, "Will thy father still
keep thee as a burden to him?" So, if anything was to be done, the elder
had at all times to do it; but sometimes the father would call him to
fetch something in the dead of night, and perhaps the way led through
the churchyard or by a dismal place, and then he used to answer, "No,
father, I cannot go there, I am afraid," for he was a coward. Or
sometimes of an evening, tales were told by the fireside which made one
shudder, and the listeners exclaimed, "Oh, it makes us shiver!" In a
corner, meanwhile, sat the younger son, listening, but he could not
comprehend what was said, and he thought, "They say continually, 'Oh, it
makes us shiver, it makes us shiver!' but perhaps shivering is an art
which I cannot understand." One day, however, his father said to him,
"Do you hear, you there in the corner? You are growing stout and big;
you must learn some trade to get your living by. Do you see how your
brother works? But as for you, you are not worth malt and hops."

"Ah, father," answered he, "I would willingly learn something. When
shall I begin? I want to know what shivering means, for of that I can
understand nothing."

The elder brother laughed when he heard this speech, and thought to
himself, "Ah! my brother is such a simpleton that he cannot earn his own
living. He who would make a good hedge must learn betimes to bend." But
the father sighed and said, "What shivering means you may learn soon
enough, but you will never get your bread by that."

Soon after the parish sexton came in for a gossip, so the father told
him his troubles, and how that his younger son was such a simpleton that
he knew nothing and could learn nothing. "Just fancy, when I asked him
how he intended to earn his bread, he desired to learn what shivering
meant!" "Oh, if that be all," answered the sexton, "he can learn that
soon enough with me; just send him to my place, and I will soon teach
him." The father was very glad, because he thought that it would do the
boy good; so the sexton took him home to ring the bells. About two days
afterward he called him up at midnight to go into the church-tower to
toll the bell. "You shall soon learn what shivering means," thought the
sexton, and getting up he went out too. As soon as the boy reached the
belfry, and turned himself round to seize the rope, he saw upon the
stairs, near the sounding-hole, a white figure. "Who's there?" he called
out; but the figure gave no answer, and neither stirred nor spoke.
"Answer," said the boy, "or make haste off; you have no business here
to-night." But the sexton did not stir, so that the boy might think it
was a ghost.

The boy called out a second time, "What are you doing here? Speak, if
you are an honest fellow, or else I will throw you downstairs."

The sexton said to himself, "That is not a bad thought"; but he remained
quiet as if he were a stone. Then the boy called out for the third time,
but it produced no effect; so, making a spring, he threw the ghost down
the stairs, so that it rolled ten steps, and then lay motionless in a
corner. Thereupon he rang the bell, and then going home, he went to bed
without saying a word, and fell fast asleep. The sexton's wife waited
some time for her husband, but he did not come; so at last she became
anxious, woke the boy, and asked him if he knew where her husband was,
who had gone before him to the belfry.

"No," answered the boy; "but there was someone standing on the steps who
would not give any answer, nor go away, so I took him for a thief and
threw him downstairs. Go now and see where he is; perhaps it may be he,
but I should be sorry for it." The wife ran off and found her husband
lying in a corner, groaning, with one of his ribs broken.

She took him up and ran with loud outcries to the boy's father, and said
to him, "Your son has brought a great misfortune on us; he has thrown my
husband down and broken his bones. Take the good-for-nothing fellow from
our house."

The terrified father came in haste and scolded the boy. "What do these
wicked tricks mean? They will only bring misfortune upon you."

"Father," answered the lad, "hear me! I am quite innocent. He stood
there at midnight like one who had done some evil; I did not know who it
was, and cried three times, 'Speak, or be off!'"

"Ah!" said the father, "everything goes badly with you. Get out of my
sight; I do not wish to see you again!"

"Yes, father, willingly; wait but one day, then I will go out and learn
what shivering means, that I may at least understand one business which
will support me."

"Learn what you will," replied the father, "all is the same to me. Here
are fifty dollars; go forth with them into the world, and tell no man
whence you came, or who your father is, for I am ashamed of you."

"Yes, father, as you wish; but if you desire nothing else, I shall
esteem that very lightly."

As soon as day broke the youth put his fifty dollars into a knapsack and
went out upon the high road, saying continually, "Oh, if I could but
shiver!"

Presently a man came up, who heard the boy talking to himself; and, as
they we're just passing the place where the gallows stood, the man said,
"Do you see? There is the tree where seven fellows have married the
hempen maid, and now swing to and fro. Sit yourself down there and wait
till midnight, and then you will know what it is to shiver!"

"Oh, if that be all," answered the boy, "I can very easily do that! But
if I learn so speedily what shivering is, then you shall have my fifty
dollars if you come again in the morning."

Then the boy went to the gallows, sat down, and waited for evening, and
as he felt cold he made a fire. But about midnight the wind blew so
sharp, that in spite of the fire he could not keep himself warm. The
wind blew the bodies against one another, so that they swung backward
and forward, and he thought, "If I am cold here below by the fire, how
must they freeze above!" So his compassion was excited, and, contriving
a ladder, he mounted, and, unloosening them one after another, he
brought down all seven. Then he poked and blew the fire, and set them
round that they might warm themselves; but as they sat still without
moving their clothing caught fire. So he said, "Take care of yourselves,
or I will hang all of you up again." The dead heard not, and silently
allowed their rags to burn. This made him so angry that he said, "If you
will not hear I cannot help you; but I will not burn with you." So he
hung them up again in a row, and sitting down by the fire he soon went
to sleep. The next morning the man came, expecting to receive his fifty
dollars, and asked, "Now do you know what shivering means?" "No," he
answered; "how should I know? Those fellows up there have not opened
their mouths, and were so stupid that they let the old rags on their
bodies be burnt." Then the man saw that he should not carry away the
fifty dollars that day, so he went away saying, "I never met with such a
one before."

The boy also went on his way and began again to say, "Ah, if only I
could but shiver--if I could but shiver!" A wagoner walking behind
overheard him, and asked, "Who are you?"

"I do not know," answered the boy.

The wagoner asked again, "What do you here?"

"I know not."

"Who is your father?"

"I dare not say."

"What is it you are continually grumbling about?"

"Oh," replied the youth, "I wish to learn what shivering is, but nobody
can teach me."

"Cease your silly talk," said the wagoner. "Come with me, and I will see
what I can do for you." So the boy went with the wagoner, and about
evening time they arrived at an inn where they put up for the night, and
while they were going into the parlor he said, quite aloud, "Oh, if I
could but shiver--if I could but shiver!" The host overheard him and
said, laughingly, "Oh, if that is all you wish, you shall soon have the
opportunity." "Hold your tongue," said his wife; "so many imprudent
people have already lost their lives, it were a shame and sin to such
beautiful eyes that they should not see the light again." But the youth
said, "If it were ever so difficult I would at once learn it; for that
reason I left home"; and he never let the host have any peace till he
told him that not far off stood an enchanted castle, where any one might
soon learn to shiver if he would watch there three nights. The King had
promised his daughter in marriage to whoever would venture, and she was
the most beautiful young lady that the sun ever shone upon. And he
further told him that inside the castle there was an immense amount of
treasure guarded by evil spirits; enough to make any one free, and turn
a poor man into a very rich one. Many, he added, had already ventured
into this castle, but no one had ever come out again.

The next morning this youth went to the King, and said, "If you will
allow me, I wish to watch three nights in the enchanted castle." The
King looked at him, and because his appearance pleased him, he said,
"You may make three requests, but they must be inanimate things you ask
for, and such as you can take with you into the castle." So the youth
asked for a fire, a lathe, and a cutting-board.

The King let him take these things by day into the castle, and when it
was evening the youth went in and made himself a bright fire in one of
the rooms, and, placing his cutting-board and knife near it, he sat down
upon his lathe. "Ah, if I could but shiver!" said he. "But even here I
shall never learn." At midnight he got up to stir the fire, and, as he
poked it, there shrieked suddenly in one corner, "Miau, miau! how cold I
am!" "You simpleton!" he exclaimed, "what are you shrieking for? If you
are so cold come and sit down by the fire and warm yourself!" As he was
speaking, two great black cats sprang up to him with an immense jump and
sat down one on each side, looking at him quite wildly with their fiery
eyes. When they had warmed themselves for a little while they said,
"Comrade, shall we have a game of cards?" "Certainly," he replied; "but
let me see your paws first." So they stretched out their claws, and he
said, "Ah, what long nails you have got; wait a bit, I must cut them off
first"; and so saying he caught them up by the necks, and put them on
his board and screwed their feet down. "Since I have seen what you are
about I have lost my relish for a game at cards," said he; and,
instantly killing them, threw them away into the water. But no sooner
had he quieted these two and thought of sitting down again by his fire,
than there came out of every hole and corner black cats and black dogs
with glowing chains, continually more and more, so that he could not
hide himself. They howled fearfully, and jumped upon his fire, and
scattered it about as if they would extinguish it. He looked on quietly
for some time, but at last, getting angry, he took up his knife and
called out, "Away with you, you vagabonds!" and chased them about until
a part ran off, and the rest he killed and threw into the pond. As soon
as he returned he blew up the sparks of his fire again and warmed
himself, and while he sat his eyes began to feel very heavy and he
wished to go to sleep. So looking around he saw a great bed in one
corner, in which he lay down; but no sooner had he closed his eyes, than
the bed began to move of itself and travelled all round the castle.
"Just so," said he, "only better still"; whereupon the bed galloped away
as if six horses pulled it up and down steps and stairs, until at last,
all at once, it overset, bottom upward, and lay upon him like a
mountain; but up he got, threw pillows and mattresses into the air, and
saying, "Now he who wishes may travel," laid himself down by the fire
and slept till day broke. In the morning the King came, and, seeing the
youth lying on the ground, he thought that the spectres had killed him,
and that he was dead; so he said, "It is a great misfortune that the
finest men are thus killed"; but the youth, hearing this, sprang up,
saying, "It is not come to that with me yet!" The King was much
astonished, but very glad, and asked him how he had fared. "Very well,"
replied he; "as one night has passed, so also may the other two." Soon
after he met his landlord, who opened his eyes when he saw him. "I never
thought to see you alive again," said he; "have you learnt now what
shivering means?" "No," said he; "it is all of no use. Oh, if any one
would but tell me!"

The second night he went up again into the castle, and sitting down by
the fire, began his old song, "If I could but shiver!" When midnight
came, a ringing and a rattling noise was heard, gentle at first and
louder and louder by degrees; then there was a pause, and presently with
a loud outcry half a man's body came down the chimney and fell at his
feet. "Holloa," he exclaimed; "only half a man answered that ringing;
that is too little." Then the ringing began afresh, and a roaring and
howling was heard, and the other half fell down. "Wait a bit," said he;
"I will poke up the fire first." When he had done so and looked round
again, the two pieces had joined themselves together, and an ugly man
was sitting in his place. "I did not bargain for that," said the youth;
"the bench is mine." The man tried to push him away, but the youth would
not let him, and giving him a violent push sat himself down in his old
place. Presently more men fell down the chimney, one after the other,
who brought nine thigh-bones and two skulls, which they set up, and then
they began to play at ninepins. At this the youth wished also to play,
so he asked whether he might join them. "Yes, if you have money!" "Money
enough," he replied, "but your balls are not quite round"; so saying he
took up the skulls, and, placing them on his lathe, turned them round.
"Ah, now you will roll well," said he. "Holloa! now we will go at it
merrily." So he played with them and lost some of his money, but as it
struck twelve everything disappeared. Then he lay down and went to sleep
quietly. On the morrow the King came for news, and asked him how he had
fared this time. "I have been playing ninepins," he replied, "and lost a
couple of dollars." "Have you not shivered?" "No! I have enjoyed myself
very much; but I wish some one would teach me that!"

On the third night he sat down again on his bench, saying in great
vexation, "Oh, if I could only shiver!" When it grew late, six tall men
came in bearing a coffin between them. "Ah, ah," said he, "that is
surely my little cousin, who died two days ago"; and beckoning with his
finger he called, "Come, little cousin, come!" The men set down the
coffin upon the ground, and he went up and took off the lid, and there
lay a dead man within, and as he felt the face it was as cold as ice.
"Stop a moment," he cried; "I will warm it in a trice"; and stepping up
to the fire he warmed his hands, and then laid them upon the face, but
it remained cold. So he took up the body, and sitting down by the fire,
he laid it on his lap and rubbed the arms that the blood might circulate
again. But all this was of no avail, and he thought to himself if two
lie in a bed together they warm each other; so he put the body in the
bed, and covering it up laid himself down by its side. After a little
while the body became warm and began to move about. "See, my cousin," he
exclaimed, "have I not warmed you?" But the body got up and exclaimed,
"Now I will strangle you." "Is that your gratitude?" cried the youth.
"Then you shall get into your coffin again"; and taking it up, he threw
the body in, and made the lid fast. Then the six men came in again and
bore it away. "Oh, deary me," said he, "I shall never be able to shiver
if I stop here all my lifetime!" At these words in came a man who was
taller than all the others, and looked more horrible; but he was very
old and had a long white beard. "Oh, you wretch," he exclaimed, "now
thou shalt learn what shivering means, for thou shalt die!"

"Not so quick," answered the youth; "if I die I must be brought to it
first."

"I will quickly seize you," replied the ugly one.

"Softly, softly; be not too sure. I am as strong as you, and perhaps
stronger."

"That we will see," said the ugly man. "If you are stronger than I, I
will let you go; come, let us try"; and he led him away through a dark
passage to a smith's forge. Then taking up an axe he cut through the
anvil at one blow down to the ground. "I can do that still better," said
the youth, and went to another anvil, while the old man followed him and
watched him, with his long beard hanging down. Then the youth took up an
axe, and, splitting the anvil at one blow, wedged the old man's beard in
it. "Now I have you; now death comes upon you!" and taking up an iron
bar he beat the old man until he groaned, and begged him to stop, and he
would give him great riches. So the youth drew out the axe, and let him
loose. Then the old man, leading him back into the castle, showed him
three chests full of gold in a cellar. "One share of this," said he,
"belongs to the poor, another to the King, and a third to yourself." And
just then it struck twelve and the old man vanished, leaving the youth
in the dark. "I must help myself out here," said he, and groping round
he found his way back to his room and went to sleep by the fire.

The next morning the King came and inquired, "Now have you learnt to
shiver?" "No," replied the youth; "what is it? My dead cousin came here,
and a bearded man, who showed me a lot of gold down below; but what
shivering means, no one has showed me!" Then the King said, "You have
won the castle, and shall marry my daughter."

"That is all very fine," replied the youth, "but still I don't know what
shivering means."

So the gold was fetched, and the wedding was celebrated, but the young
Prince (for the youth was a Prince now), notwithstanding his love for
his bride, and his great contentment, was still continually crying, "If
I could but shiver! if I could but shiver!" At last it fell out in this
wise: one of the chambermaids said to the Princess, "Let me bring in my
aid to teach him what shivering is." So she went to the brook which
flowed through the garden, and drew up a pail of water full of little
fish; and, at night, when the young Prince was asleep, his bride drew
away the covering and poured the pail of cold water and the little
fishes over him, so that they slipped all about him. Then the Prince
woke up directly, calling out, "Oh! that makes me shiver! dear wife,
that makes me shiver! Yes, now I know what shivering means!"




DUMMLING AND THE THREE FEATHERS


Once upon a time there lived a King who had three sons; the two elder
were learned and bright, but the youngest said very little and appeared
somewhat foolish, so he was always known as Dummling.

When the King grew old and feeble, feeling that he was nearing his end,
he wished to leave the crown to one of his three sons, but could not
decide to which. He thereupon settled that they should travel, and that
the one who could obtain the most splendid carpet should ascend the
throne when he died.

So that there could be no disagreement as to the way each one should go,
the King conducted them to the courtyard of the Palace, and there blew
three feathers, by turn, into the air, telling his sons to follow the
course that the three feathers took.

Then one of the feathers flew eastwards, another westwards, but the
third went straight up towards the sky, though it only sped a short
distance before falling to earth.

Therefore one son travelled towards the east, and the second went to the
west, both making fun of poor Dummling, who was obliged to stay where
his feather had fallen. Then Dummling, sitting down and feeling rather
miserable after his brothers had gone, looked about him, and noticed
that near to where his feather lay was a trap-door. On lifting this up
he perceived a flight of steps, down which he went. At the bottom was
another door, so he knocked upon it, and then heard a voice calling--

  "Maiden, fairest, come to me,
  Make haste to ope the door,
  A mortal surely you will see,
  From the world above is he,
  We'll help him from our store."

And then the door was flung open, and the young man found himself facing
a big toad sitting in the centre of a number of young toads. The big
toad addressed him, asking him what he wanted.

Dummling, though rather surprised when he saw the toads, and heard them
question him, being good-hearted replied politely--

"I am desirous to obtain the most splendid carpet in the world; just now
it would be extremely useful to me."

The toad who had just spoken, called to a young toad, saying--

  "Maiden, fairest, come to me,
  'Tis a mortal here you see;
  Let us speed all his desires,
  Giving him what he requires."

Immediately the young toad fetched a large box. This the old one opened,
and took out an exquisite carpet, of so beautiful a design, that it
certainly could have been manufactured nowhere upon the earth.

Taking it with grateful thanks, Dummling went up the flight of steps,
and was once more in the Palace courtyard.

The two elder brothers, being of the opinion that the youngest was so
foolish that he was of no account whatever in trying to obtain the
throne, for they did not think he would find anything at all, had said
to each other:

"It is not necessary for us to trouble much in looking for the carpet!"
so they took from the shoulders of the first peasant they came across a
coarse shawl, and this they carried to their father.

At the same time Dummling appeared with his beautiful carpet, which he
presented to the King, who was very much surprised, and said--

"By rights the throne should be for my youngest son."

But when the two brothers heard this, they gave the old King no rest,
saying--

"How is it possible that Dummling, who is not at all wise, could control
the affairs of an important kingdom? Make some other condition, we beg
of you!"

"Well," agreed the father, "the one who brings me the most magnificent
ring shall succeed to my throne," and once more he took his sons outside
the Palace. Then, again, he blew three feathers into the air to show the
direction each one should go; whereupon the two elder sons went east and
west, but Dummling's flew straight up, and fell close by the trap-door.
Then the youngest son descended the steps as before, and upon seeing the
large toad he talked with her, and told her what he desired. So the big
box was brought, and out of it the toad handed him a ring which was of
so exquisite a workmanship that no goldsmith's could equal it.

Meanwhile the two elder brothers made fun of the idea of Dummling
searching for a ring, and they decided to take no needless trouble
themselves.

Therefore, finding an old iron ring belonging to some harness, they took
that to the King. Dummling was there before them with his valuable ring,
and immediately upon his showing it, the father declared that in justice
the kingdom should be his.

In spite of this, however, the two elder sons worried the poor King into
appointing one test further, before bestowing his kingdom, and the King,
giving way, announced that the one who brought home the most beautiful
woman should inherit the crown.

Then Dummling again descended to the large toad and made known to her
that he wished to find the most beautiful woman alive.

"The most beautiful woman is not always at hand," said the toad,
"however, you shall have her."

Then she gave to him a scooped-out turnip to which half a dozen little
mice were attached. The young man regarded this a trifle despondently,
for it had no great resemblance to what he was seeking.

"What can I make of this?" he asked.

"Only place in it one of my young toads," replied the large toad, "and
then you can decide how to use it."

From the young toads around the old toad, the young man seized one at
hazard, and placed it in the scooped-out turnip, but hardly was it there
when the most astounding change occurred, for the toad was transformed
into a wondrously lovely maiden, the turnip became an elegant carriage,
and the six mice were turned into handsome horses. The young man kissed
the maiden and drove off to bring her to the King.

Not long afterwards the two brothers arrived.

In the same way, as the twice before, they had taken no trouble about
the matter, but had picked up the first passable looking peasant woman
whom they had happened to meet.

After glancing at the three, the King said: "Without doubt, at my death
the kingdom will be Dummling's."

Once more the brothers loudly expressed their discontent, and gave the
King no peace, declaring--

"It is impossible for us to agree to Dummling becoming ruler of the
kingdom," and they insisted that the women should be required to spring
through a hoop which was suspended from the ceiling in the centre of the
hall, thinking to themselves "Now, certainly our peasants will get the
best of it, they are active and sturdy, but that fragile lady will kill
herself if she jumps."

To this, again, the King consented, and the peasants were first given
trial.

They sprang through the hoop, indeed, but so clumsily that they fell,
breaking their arms and legs.

Upon which the lovely lady whom Dummling had brought home, leapt through
as lightly as a fawn, and this put an end to all contention.

So the crown came to Dummling, who lived long, and ruled his people
temperately and justly.




LITTLE SNOW WHITE


It was in the middle of winter, when the broad flakes of snow were
falling around, that a certain queen sat working at her window, the
frame of which was made of fine black ebony; and, as she was looking out
upon the snow, she pricked her finger, and three drops of blood fell
upon it. Then she gazed thoughtfully down on the red drops which
sprinkled the white snow and said, "Would that my little daughter may be
as white as that snow, as red as the blood, and as black as the ebony
window-frame!" And so the little girl grew up; her skin was a white as
snow, her cheeks as rosy as blood, and her hair as black as ebony; and
she was called Snow-White.

But this queen died; and the king soon married another wife, who was
very beautiful, but so proud that she could not bear to think that any
one could surpass her. She had a magical looking-glass, to which she
used to go and gaze upon herself in it, and say--

  "Tell me, glass, tell me true!
    Of all the ladies in the land,
  Who is fairest? tell me who?"

And the glass answered, "Thou, Queen, art fairest in the land"

But Snow-White grew more and more beautiful; and when she was seven
years old, she was as bright as the day, and fairer than the queen
herself. Then the glass one day answered queen, when she went to consult
it as usual--

  "Thou, Queen, may'st fair and beauteous be,
  But Snow-White is lovelier far than thee?"

When the queen heard this she turned pale with rage and envy; and
calling to one of her servants said, "Take Snow-White away into the wide
wood, that I may never see her more." Then the servant led the little
girl away; but his heart melted when she begged him to spare her life,
and he said, "I will not hurt thee, thou pretty child." So he left her
there alone; and though he thought it most likely that the wild beasts
would tear her to pieces, he felt as if a great weight were taken off
his heart when he had made up his mind not to kill her, but leave her to
her fate.

Then poor Snow-White wandered along through the wood in great fear; and
the wild beasts roared around, but none did her any harm. In the evening
she came to a little cottage, and went in there to rest, for her weary
feet would carry her no further. Everything was spruce and neat in the
cottage: on the table was spread a white cloth, and there were seven
little plates with seven little loaves and seven little glasses with
wine in them; and knives and forks laid in order, and by the wall stood
seven little beds. Then, as she was exceedingly hungry, she picked a
little piece off each loaf, and drank a very little wine out of each
glass; and after that she thought she would lie down and rest. So she
tried all the little beds; and one was too long, and another was too
short, till, at last, the seventh suited her; and there she laid herself
down and went to sleep. Presently in came the masters of the cottage,
who were seven little dwarfs that lived among the mountains, and dug and
searched about for gold. They lighted up their seven lamps, and saw
directly that all was not right. The first said, "Who has been sitting
on my stool?" The second, "Who has been eating off my plate?" The third,
"Who has been picking at my bread?" The fourth, "Who has been meddling
with my spoon?" The fifth, "Who has been handling my fork?" The sixth,
"Who has been cutting with my knife?" The seventh, "Who has been
drinking my wine?" Then the first looked around and said, "Who has been
lying on my bed?" And the rest came running to him, and every one cried
out that somebody had been upon his bed. But the seventh saw Snow-White,
and called upon his brethren to come and look at her; and they cried out
with wonder and astonishment, and brought their lamps and gazing upon
her, they said, "Good heavens! what a lovely child she is!" And they
were delighted to see her, and took care not to waken her; and the
seventh dwarf slept an hour with each of the other dwarfs in turn, till
the night was gone.

In the morning Snow-White told them all her story, and they pitied her,
and said if she would keep all things in order, and cook and wash, and
knit and spin for them, she might stay where she was, and they would
take good care of her. Then they went out all day long to their work,
seeking for gold and silver in the mountains; and Snow-White remained at
home; and they warned her, saying, "The queen will soon find out where
you are, so take care and let no one in." But the queen, now that she
thought Snow-White was dead, believed that she was certainly the
handsomest lady in the land; so she went to her glass and said--

  "Tell me, glass, tell me true!
    Of all the ladies in the land,
  Who is fairest? tell me who?"

And the glass answered--

  "Thou, Queen, thou are fairest in all this land;
  But over the Hills, in the greenwood shade,
  Where the seven dwarfs their dwelling have made,
  There Snow-White is hiding; and she
  Is lovelier far, O Queen, than thee."

Then the queen was very much alarmed; for she knew that the glass always
spoke the truth, and she was sure that the servant had betrayed her. And
as she could not bear to think that any one lived who was more beautiful
than she was, she disguised herself as an old pedlar woman and went her
way over the hills to the place where the dwarfs dwelt. Then she knocked
at the door and cried, "Fine wares to sell!" Snow-White looked out of
the window, and said, "Good day, good woman; what have you to sell?"
"Good wares, fine wares," replied she; "laces and bobbins of all
colors." "I will let the old lady in; she seems to be a very good sort
of a body," thought Snow-White; so she ran down, and unbolted the door.
"Bless me!" said the woman, "how badly your stays are laced. Let me lace
them up with one of my nice new laces." Snow-White did not dream of any
mischief; so she stood up before the old woman who set to work so
nimbly, and pulled the lace so tightly that Snow-White lost her breath,
and fell down as if she were dead. "There's an end of all thy beauty,"
said the spiteful queen, and went away home.

In the evening the seven dwarfs returned; and I need not say how grieved
they were to see their faithful Snow-White stretched upon the ground
motionless, as if she were quite dead. However, they lifted her up, and
when they found what was the matter, they cut the lace; and in a little
time she began to breathe, and soon came to herself again. Then they
said, "The old woman was the queen; take care another time, and let no
one in when we are away."

When the queen got home, she went to her glass, and spoke to it, but to
her surprise it replied in the same words as before.

Then the blood ran cold in her heart with spite and malice to hear that
Snow-White still lived; and she dressed herself up again in a disguise,
but very different from the one she wore before, and took with her a
poisoned comb. When she reached the dwarfs' cottage, she knocked at the
door, and cried, "Fine wares to sell!" but Snow-White said, "I dare not
let any one in." Then the queen said, "Only look at my beautiful combs;"
and gave her the poisoned one. And it looked so pretty that the little
girl took it up and put it into her hair to try it; but the moment it
touched her head the poison was so powerful that she fell down
senseless. "There you may lie," said the queen, and went her way. But by
good luck the dwarfs returned very early that evening; and when they saw
Snow-White lying on the ground, they thought what had happened, and soon
found the poisoned comb. And when they took it away, she recovered, and
told them all that had passed; and they warned her once more not to open
the door to any one.

Meantime the queen went home to her glass, and trembled with rage when
she received exactly the same answer as before; and she said,
"Snow-White shall die, if it costs me my life." So she went secretly
into a chamber, and prepared a poisoned apple: the outside looked very
rosy and tempting, but whosoever tasted it was sure to die. Then she
dressed herself up as a peasant's wife, and travelled over the hills to
the dwarfs' cottage, and knocked at the door; but Snow-White put her
head out of the window, and said, "I dare not let any one in, for the
dwarfs have told me not to." "Do as you please," said the old woman,
"but at any rate take this pretty apple; I will make you a present of
it." "No," said Snow-White, "I dare not take it." "You silly girl!"
answered the other, "what are you afraid of? do you think it is
poisoned? Come! do you eat one part, and I will eat the other." Now the
apple was so prepared that one side was good, though the other side was
poisoned. Then Snow-White was very much tempted to taste, for the apple
looked exceedingly nice; and when she saw the old woman eat, she could
refrain no longer. But she had scarcely put the piece into her mouth
when she fell down dead upon the ground. "This time nothing will save
thee," said the queen; and she went home to her glass, and at last it
said--"Thou, Queen, art the fairest of all the fair." And then her
envious heart was glad, and as happy as such a heart could be.

When evening came, and the dwarfs returned home, they found Snow-White
lying on the ground; no breath passed her lips, and they were afraid
that she was quite dead. They lifted her up, and combed her hair, and
washed her face with wine and water; but all was in vain. So they laid
her down upon a bier, and all seven watched and bewailed her three whole
days; and then they proposed to bury her; but her cheeks were still
rosy, and her face looked just as it did while she was alive; so they
said, "We will never bury her in the cold ground." And they made a
coffin of glass so that they might still look at her, and wrote her name
upon it in golden letters, and that she was a king's daughter. Then the
coffin was placed upon the hill, and one of the dwarfs always sat by it
and watched. And the birds of the air came, too, and bemoaned
Snow-White. First of all came an owl, and then a raven, but at last came
a dove.

And thus Snow-White lay for a long, long time, and still only looked as
though she were asleep; for she was even now as white as snow, and as
red as blood, and as black as ebony. At last a prince came and called at
the dwarfs' house; and he saw Snow-White and read what was written in
golden letters. Then he offered the dwarfs money, and earnestly prayed
them to let him take her away; but they said, "We will not part with her
for all the gold in the world." At last, however, they had pity on him,
and gave him the coffin; but the moment he lifted it up to carry it home
with him, the piece of apple fell from between her lips, and Snow-White
awoke, and exclaimed, "Where am I!" And the prince answered, "Thou art
safe with me." Then he told her all that had happened, and said, "I love
you better than all the world; come with me to my father's palace, and
you shall be my wife." Snow-White consented, and went home with the
prince; and everything was prepared with great pomp and splendor for
their wedding.

To the feast was invited, among the rest, Snow-White's old enemy, the
queen; and as she was dressing herself in fine, rich clothes, she looked
in the glass and said, "Tell me, glass, tell me true! Of all the ladies
in the land, Who is fairest? tell me who?" And the glass answered,
"Thou, lady, art the loveliest _here_, I ween; But lovelier far is the
new-made queen."

When she heard this, the queen started with rage; but her envy and
curiosity were so great, that she could not help setting out to see the
bride. And when she arrived, and saw that it was no other than
Snow-White, whom she thought had been dead a long while, she choked with
passion, and fell ill and died; but Snow-White and the prince lived and
reigned happily over that land, many, many years.




CATHERINE AND FREDERICK


Once upon a time there was a youth named Frederick and a girl called
Catherine, who had married and lived together as a young couple. One day
Fred said, "I am now going into the fields, dear Catherine, and by the
time I return let there be something hot upon the table, for I shall be
hungry, and something to drink, too, for I shall be thirsty."

"Very well, dear Fred," said she, "go at once, and I will make all right
for you."

As soon, then, as dinner-time approached, she took down a sausage out of
the chimney, and putting it in a frying-pan with batter, set it over the
fire. Soon the sausage began to frizzle and spit while Catherine stood
by holding the handle of the pan and thinking; and among other things
she thought that while the sausage was getting ready she might go into
the cellar and draw some beer. So she took a can and went down into the
cellar to draw the beer, and while it ran into the can, she bethought
herself that perhaps the dog might steal the sausage out of the pan, and
so up the cellar stairs she ran, but too late, for the rogue had already
got the meat in his mouth and was sneaking off. Catherine, however,
pursued the dog for a long way over the fields, but the beast was
quicker than she, and would not let the sausage go, but bolted off at a
great rate. "Off is off!" said Catherine, and turned round, and being
very tired and hot, she went home slowly to cool herself. All this while
the beer was running out of the cask, for Catherine had forgotten to
turn the tap off, and so, as soon as the can was full, the liquor ran
over the floor of the cellar until it was all out. Catherine saw the
misfortune at the top of the steps. "My gracious!" she exclaimed; "what
shall I do that Fred may not find this out?" She considered for some
time till she remembered that a sack of fine malt yet remained from the
last brewing, in one corner, which she would fetch down and strew about
in the beer. "Yes," said she, "it was spared at the right time to be
useful to me now in my necessity"; and down she pulled the sack so
hastily that she overturned the can of beer for Fred, and away it mixed
with the rest on the floor. "It is all right," said she, "where one is,
the other should be," and she strewed the malt over the whole cellar.
When it was done she was quite overjoyed at her work, and said, "How
clean and neat it does look, to be sure!"

At noontime Fred returned. "Now, wife, what have you ready for me?" said
he. "Ah, my dear Fred," she replied, "I would have fried you a sausage,
but while I drew the beer the dog stole it out of the pan, and while I
hunted the dog the beer all ran out, and as I was about to dry up the
beer with the malt I overturned your can; but be contented, the cellar
is quite dry again now."

"Oh, Catherine, Catherine!" said Fred; "you should not have done so! to
let the sausage be stolen! and the beer run out! and over all to shoot
our best sack of malt!"

"Well, Fred," said she, "I did not know that; you should have told me."

But the husband thought to himself, if one's wife acts so, one must look
after things oneself. Now, he had collected a tolerable sum of silver
dollars, which he changed into gold, and then he told his wife, "Do you
see, these are yellow counters which I will put in a pot and bury in the
stable under the cow's stall; but mind that you do not meddle with it,
or you will come to some harm."

Catherine promised to mind what he said, but as soon as Fred was gone
some hawkers came into the village with earthenware for sale, and
amongst others they asked her if she would purchase anything. "Ah, good
people," said Catherine, "I have no money, and cannot buy anything, but
if you can make use of yellow counters I will buy them."

"Yellow counters! ah! why not? Let us look at them," said they.

"Go into the stable," she replied, "and dig under the cows stall, and
there you will find the yellow counters. I dare not go myself."

The rogues went at once, and soon dug up the shining gold which they
quickly pocketed, and then they ran off, leaving behind them their pots
and dishes in the house. Catherine thought she might as well make use of
the new pottery, and since she had no need of anything in the kitchen,
she set out each pot on the ground, and then put others on the top of
the palings round the house for ornament. When Fred returned, and saw
the fresh decorations, he asked Catherine what she had done. "I have
bought them, Fred," said she, "with the yellow counters which lay under
the cow's stall; but I did not dig them up myself; the pedlars did
that."

"Ah, wife, what have you done?" replied Fred. "They were not counters,
but bright gold, which was all the property we possessed: you should not
have done so."

"Well, dear Fred," replied his wife, "you should have told me so before.
I did not know that."

Catherine stood considering for awhile, and presently she began, "Come,
Fred, we will soon get the gold back again; let us pursue the thieves."

"Well, come along," said Fred; "we will try at all events; but take
butter and cheese with you, that we may have something to eat on our
journey."

"Yes, Fred," said she, and soon made herself ready; but, her husband
being a good walker, she lagged behind. "Ah!" said she, "this is my
luck, for when we turn back I shall be a good bit forward." Presently
she came to a hill, on both sides of which there were very deep ruts.
"Oh, see!" said she, "how the poor earth is torn, flayed, and wounded;
it will never be well again all its life!" And out of compassion she
took out her butter, and greased the ruts over right and left, so that
the wheels might run more easily through them, and, while she stooped in
doing this, a cheese rolled out of her pocket down the mountain.
Catherine said when she saw it, "I have already once made the journey
up, and I am not coming down after you: another shall run and fetch
you." So saying, she took another cheese out of her pocket and rolled it
down; but as it did not return, she thought, "Perhaps they are waiting
for a companion and don't like to come alone"; and down she bowled a
third cheese. Still all three stayed, and she said, "I cannot think what
this means; perhaps it is that the third cheese has missed his way: I
will send a fourth, that he may call him as he goes by." But this one
acted no better than the others, and Catherine became so anxious that
she threw down a fifth and a sixth cheese also, and they were the last.
For a long time after this she waited, expecting they would come, but
when she found they did not she cried out, "You are nice fellows to send
after a dead man! you stop a fine time! but do you think I shall wait
for you? Oh, no! I shall go on; you can follow me; you have younger legs
than I."

So saying, Catherine walked on and came up with Fred, who was waiting
for her, because he needed something to eat. "Now," said he, "give me
quickly what you brought." She handed him the dry bread. "Where are the
butter and cheese?" cried her husband. "Oh, Fred, dear," she replied,
"with the butter I have smeared the ruts, and the cheeses will soon
come, but one ran away, and I sent the others after it to call it back!"

"It was silly of you to do so," said Fred, "to grease the roads with
butter, and to roll cheese down the hill!"

"If you had but told me so," said Catherine, vexedly.

So they ate the dry bread together, and presently Fred said, "Catherine,
did you make things fast at home before you came out?"

"No, Fred," said she, "you did not tell me."

"Then go back and lock up the house before we go farther; bring
something to eat with you, and I will stop here for you."

Back went Catherine, thinking, "Ah! Fred will like something else to
eat. Butter and cheese will not please; I will bring with me a bag of
dried apples and a mug of vinegar to drink." When she had put these
things together she bolted the upper half of the door, but the under
door she raised up and carried away on her shoulder, thinking that
certainly the house was well protected if she took such good care of the
door! Catherine walked along now very leisurely, for, said she to
herself, "Fred will have all the longer rest!" and as soon as she
reached him she gave him the door, saying, "There, Fred, now you have
the house door you can take care of the house yourself."

"Oh! my goodness," exclaimed the husband, "what a clever wife I have!
She has bolted the top door, but brought away the bottom part, where any
one can creep through! Now it is too late to go back to the house, but
since you brought the door here you may carry it onward."

"The door I will willingly carry," replied Catherine, "but the apples
and the vinegar will be too heavy, so I shall hang them on the door and
make that carry them!"

Soon after they came into a wood and looked about for the thieves, but
they, could not find them, and when it became dark they climbed up into
a tree to pass the night. But scarcely had they done this when up came
the fellows who carried away what should not go with them, and find
things before they are lost. They laid themselves down right under the
tree upon which Fred and Catherine were, and making a fire, prepared to
share their booty. Then Fred slipped down on the other side, and
collected stones, with which he climbed the tree again, to beat the
thieves with. The stones, however, did them no harm, for the fellows
called out, "Ah! it will soon be morning, for the wind is shaking down
the chestnuts." All this while Catherine still had the door upon her
shoulder, and, as it pressed very heavily, she thought the dried apples
were in fault, and said to Fred, "I must throw down these apples." "No,
Catherine," said he, "not now, they might discover us." "Ah, I must,
though, they are so heavy."

"Well, then, do it in the hangman's name!" cried Fred.

As they fell down the rogues said, "Ah! the birds are pulling off the
leaves."

A little while after Catherine said again, "Oh! Fred, I must pour out
the vinegar, it is so heavy."

"No, no!" said he, "it will discover us."

"Ah! but I must, Fred, it is very heavy," said Catherine.

"Well, then, do it in the hangman's name!" cried Fred.

So she poured out the vinegar, and as it dropped on them the thieves
said, "Ah! the dew is beginning to fall."

Not many minutes after Catherine found the door was still quite as
heavy, and said again to Fred, "Now I must throw down this door."

"No, Catherine," said he, "that would certainly discover us."

"Ah! Fred, but I must; it presses me so terribly."

"No, Catherine dear! do hold it fast," said Fred.

"There--it is gone!" said she.

"Then let it go in the hangman's name!" cried Fred, while it fell
crashing through the branches. The rogues below thought the Evil One was
descending the tree, and ran off, leaving everything behind them. And
early in the morning Fred and his wife descended, and found all their
gold under the tree.

As soon as they got home again, Fred said, "Now, Catherine, you must be
very industrious and work hard."

"Yes, my dear husband," said she; "I will go into the fields to cut
corn." When she was come into the field she said to herself, "Shall I
eat before I cut, or sleep first before I cut?" She determined to eat,
and soon became so sleepy over her meal that when she began to cut she
knew not what she was doing, and cut off half her clothes--gown,
petticoat and all. When, after a long sleep, Catherine awoke, she got up
half-stripped, and said to herself, "Am I myself? or am I not? Ah! I am
not myself." By and by night came on, and Catherine ran into the
village, and, knocking at her husband's window, called, "Fred!"

"What is the matter?" cried he.

"I want to know if Catherine is indoors!" said she.

"Yes, yes!" answered Fred, "she is certainly within, fast asleep."

"Then I am at home," said she, and ran away.

Standing outside Catherine found some thieves, wanting to steal, and
going up to them she said, "I will help you."

At this the thieves were very glad, not doubting but that she knew where
to light on what they sought. But Catherine, stepping in front of the
houses, called out, "Good people, what have you that we can steal?" At
this the thieves said, "You will do for us with a vengeance!" and they
wished they had never come near her; but in order to rid themselves of
her they said, "Just before the village the parson has some roots lying
in his field; go and fetch some."

Catherine went as she was bid, and began to grub for them, and soon made
herself very dirty with the earth. Presently a man came by and saw her,
and stood still, for he thought it was the Evil One who was grovelling
so among the roots. Away he ran into the village to the parson, and told
him the Evil One was in his field, rooting up the turnips. "Ah!
heavens!" said the parson, "I have a lame foot, and I cannot go out to
exorcize him."

"Then I will carry you a-pickaback," said the man, and took him up.

Just as they arrived in the field, Catherine got up and drew herself up
to her full height.

"Oh! it is the Evil One!" cried the parson, and both he and the man
hurried away; and, behold! the parson ran faster with his lame legs,
through fear and terror, than the countryman could with his sound legs!




THE VALIANT LITTLE TAILOR


One fine day a Tailor was sitting on his bench by the window in very
high spirits, sewing away most diligently, and presently up the street
came a country woman, crying, "Good jams for sale! Good jams for sale!"
This cry sounded nice in the Tailor's ears, and, poking his diminutive
head out of the window, he called, "Here, my good woman, just bring your
jams in here!" The woman mounted the three steps up to the Tailor's
house with her large basket, and began to open all the pots together
before him. He looked at them all, held them up to the light, smelt
them, and at last said, "These jams seem to me to be very nice, so you
may weigh me out two ounces, my good woman; I don't object even if you
make it a quarter of a pound." The woman, who hoped to have met with a
good customer, gave him all he wished, and went off grumbling, and in a
very bad temper.

"Now!" exclaimed the Tailor, "Heaven will send me a blessing on this
jam, and give me fresh strength and vigor;" and, taking the bread from
the cupboard, he cut himself a slice the size of the whole loaf, and
spread the jam upon it. "That will taste very nice," said he; "but,
before I take a bite, I will just finish this waistcoat." So he put the
bread on the table and stitched away, making larger and larger stitches
every time for joy. Meanwhile the smell of the jam rose to the ceiling,
where many flies were sitting, and enticed them down, so that soon a
great swarm of them had pitched on the bread. "Holloa! who asked you?"
exclaimed the Tailor, driving away the uninvited visitors; but the
flies, not understanding his words, would not be driven off, and came
back in greater numbers than before. This put the little man in a great
passion, and, snatching up in his anger a bag of cloth, he brought it
down with a merciless swoop upon them. When he raised it again he
counted as many as seven lying dead before him with outstretched legs.
"What a fellow you are!" said he to himself, astonished at his own
bravery. "The whole town must hear of this." In great haste he cut
himself out a band, hemmed it, and then put on it in large letters,
"SEVEN AT ONE BLOW!" "Ah," said he, "not one city alone, the whole world
shall hear it!" and his heart danced with joy, like a puppy-dog's tail.

The little Tailor bound the belt around his body, and made ready to
travel forth into the wide world, feeling the workshop too small for his
great deeds. Before he set out, however, he looked about his house to
see if there were anything he could carry with him, but he found only an
old cheese, which he pocketed, and observing a bird which was caught in
the bushes before the door, he captured it, and put that in his pocket
also. Soon after he set out boldly on his travels; and, as he was light
and active, he felt no fatigue. His road led him up a hill, and when he
arrived at the highest point of it he found a great Giant sitting there,
who was gazing about him very composedly.

But the little Tailor went boldly up, and said, "Good day, friend; truly
you sit there and see the whole world stretched below you. I also am on
my way thither to seek my fortune. Are you willing to go with me?"

The Giant looked with scorn at the little Tailor, and said, "You rascal!
you wretched creature!"

"Perhaps so," replied the Tailor; "but here may be seen what sort of a
man I am;" and, unbuttoning his coat, he showed the Giant his belt. The
Giant read, "SEVEN AT ONE BLOW"; and supposing they were men whom the
Tailor had killed, he felt some respect for him. Still he meant to try
him first; so taking up a pebble, he squeezed it so hard that water
dropped out of it. "Do as well as that," said he to the other, "if you
have the strength."

"If it be nothing harder than that," said the Tailor, "that's child's
play." And, diving into his pocket, he pulled out the cheese and
squeezed it till the whey ran out of it, and said, "Now, I fancy that I
have done better than you."

The Giant wondered what to say, and could not believe it of the little
man; so, catching up another pebble, he flung it so high that it almost
went out of sight, saying, "There, you pigmy, do that if you can."

"Well done," said the Tailor; "but your pebble will fall down again to
the ground. I will throw one up which will not come down;" and, dipping
into his pocket, he took out the bird and threw it into the air. The
bird, glad to be free, flew straight up, and then far away, and did not
come back. "How does that little performance please you, friend?" asked
the Tailor.

"You can throw well," replied the giant; "now truly we will see if you
are able to carry something uncommon." So saying, he took him to a large
oak tree, which lay upon the ground, and said, "If you are strong
enough, now help me to carry this tree out of the forest."

"With pleasure," replied the Tailor; "you may hold the trunk upon your
shoulder, and I will lift the boughs and branches, they are the
heaviest, and carry them."

The Giant took the trunk upon his shoulder, but the Tailor sat down on
one of the branches, and the Giant, who could not look round, was
compelled to carry the whole tree and the Tailor also. He being behind,
was very cheerful, and laughed at the trick, and presently began to sing
the song, "There rode three tailors out at the gate," as if the carrying
of trees were a trifle. The Giant, after he had staggered a very short
distance with his heavy load, could go no further, and called out, "Do
you hear? I must drop the tree." The Tailor, jumping down, quickly
embraced the tree with both arms, as if he had been carrying it, and
said to the Giant, "Are you such a big fellow, and yet cannot you carry
a tree by yourself?"

Then they travelled on further, and as they came to a cherry-tree, the
Giant seized the top of the tree where the ripest cherries hung, and,
bending it down, gave it to the Tailor to hold, telling him to eat. But
the Tailor was far too weak to hold the tree down, and when the Giant
let go, the tree flew up in the air, and the Tailor was taken with it.
He came down on the other side, however, unhurt, and the Giant said,
"What does that mean? Are you not strong enough to hold that twig?" "My
strength did not fail me," said the Tailor; "do you imagine that that
was a hard task for one who has slain seven at one blow? I sprang over
the tree simply because the hunters were shooting down here in the
thicket. Jump after me if you can." The Giant made the attempt, but
could not clear the tree, and stuck fast in the branches; so that in
this affair, too, the Tailor had the advantage.

Then the Giant said, "Since you are such a brave fellow, come with me to
my house, and stop a night with me." The Tailor agreed, and followed
him; and when they came to the cave, there sat by the fire two other
Giants, each with a roast sheep in his hand, of which he was eating. The
Tailor sat down thinking. "Ah, this is very much more like the world
than is my workshop." And soon the Giant pointed out a bed where he
could lie down and go to sleep. The bed, however, was too large for him,
so he crept out of it, and lay down in a corner. When midnight came, and
the Giant fancied the Tailor would be in a sound sleep, he got up, and
taking a heavy iron bar, beat the bed right through at one stroke, and
believed he had thereby given the Tailor his death-blow. At the dawn of
day the Giants went out into the forest, quite forgetting the Tailor,
when presently up he came, quite cheerful, and showed himself before
them. The Giants were frightened, and, dreading he might kill them all,
they ran away in a great hurry.

The Tailor travelled on, always following his nose, and after he had
journeyed some long distance, he came into the courtyard of a royal
palace; and feeling very tired he laid himself down on the ground and
went to sleep. Whilst he lay there the people came and viewed him on all
sides, and read upon his belt, "Seven at one blow." "Ah," they said,
"what does this great warrior here in time of peace? This must be some
valiant hero." So they went and told the King, knowing that, should war
break out, here was a valuable and useful man, whom one ought not to
part with at any price. The King took advice, and sent one of his
courtiers to the Tailor to beg for his fighting services, if he should
be awake. The messenger stopped at the sleeper's side, and waited till
he stretched out his limbs and unclosed his eyes, and then he mentioned
to him his message. "Solely for that reason did I come here," was his
answer; "I am quite willing to enter into the King's service." Then he
was taken away with great honor, and a fine house was appointed him to
dwell in.

The courtiers, however, became jealous of the Tailor, and wished him at
the other end of the world. "What will happen?" said they to one
another. "If we go to war with him, when he strikes out seven will fall
at one stroke, and nothing will be left for us to do." In their anger
they came to the determination to resign, and they went all together to
the King, and asked his permission, saying, "We are not prepared to keep
company with a man who kills seven at one blow." The King was sorry to
lose all his devoted servants for the sake of one, and wished that he
had never seen the Tailor, and would gladly have now been rid of him. He
dared not, however dismiss him, because he feared the Tailor might kill
him and all his subjects, and seat himself upon the throne. For a long
time he deliberated, till finally he came to a decision; and, sending
for the Tailor, he told him that, seeing he was so great a hero, he
wished to beg a favor of him. "In a certain forest in my kingdom," said
the King, "there are two Giants, who, by murder, rapine, fire, and
robbery, have committed great damage, and no one approaches them without
endangering his own life. If you overcome and slay both these Giants, I
will give you my only daughter in marriage, and half of my kingdom for a
dowry: a hundred knights shall accompany you, too, in order to render
you assistance."

"Ah, that is something for a man like me," thought the Tailor to
himself: "a lovely Princess and half a kingdom are not offered to one
every day." "Oh, yes," he replied, "I will soon settle these two Giants,
and a hundred horsemen are not needed for that purpose; he who kills
seven at one blow has no fear of two."

Speaking thus, the little Tailor set out, followed by the hundred
knights, to whom he said, immediately they came to the edge of the
forest, "You must stay here; I prefer to meet these Giants alone."

Then he ran off into the forest, peering about him on all sides; and
after a while he saw the two Giants sound asleep under a tree, snoring
so loudly that the branches above them shook violently. The Tailor, bold
as a lion, filled both his pockets with stones and climbed up the tree.
When he got to the middle of it he crawled along a bough, so that he sat
just above the sleepers, and then he let fall one stone after another
upon the body of one of them. For some time the Giant did not move,
until, at last awaking, he pushed his companion, and said, "Why are you
hitting me?"

"You have been dreaming," he answered; "I did not touch you." So they
laid themselves down again to sleep, and presently the Tailor threw a
stone down upon the other. "What is that?" he cried. "Why are you
knocking me about?"

"I did not touch you; you are dreaming," said the first. So they argued
for a few minutes; but, both being very weary with the day's work, they
soon went to sleep again. Then the Tailor began his fun again, and,
picking out the largest stone, threw it with all his strength upon the
chest of the first Giant. "This is too bad!" he exclaimed; and, jumping
up like a madman, he fell upon his companion, who considered himself
equally injured, and they set to in such good earnest, that they rooted
up trees and beat one another about until they both fell dead upon the
ground. Then the Tailor jumped down, saying, "What a piece of luck they
did not pull up the tree on which I sat, or else I must have jumped on
another like a squirrel, for I am not used to flying." Then he drew his
sword, and, cutting a deep wound in the breast of both, he went to the
horsemen and said, "The deed is done; I have given each his
death-stroke; but it was a tough job, for in their defence they uprooted
trees to protect themselves with; still, all that is of no use when such
an one as I come, who slew seven at one stroke."

"And are you not wounded?" they asked.

"How can you ask me that? they have not injured a hair of my head,"
replied the little man. The knights could hardly believe him, till,
riding into the forest, they found the Giants lying dead, and the
uprooted trees around them.

Then the Tailor demanded the promised reward of the King; but he
repented of his promise, and began to think of some new plan to shake
off the hero. "Before you receive my daughter and the half of my
kingdom," said he to him, "you must execute another brave deed. In the
forest there lives a unicorn that commits great damage, you must first
catch him."

"I fear a unicorn less than I did two Giants! Seven at one blow is my
motto," said the Tailor. So he carried with him a rope and an axe and
went off to the forest, ordering those, who were told to accompany him,
to wait on the outskirts. He had not to hunt long, for soon the unicorn
approached, and prepared to rush at him as if it would pierce him on the
spot. "Steady! steady!" he exclaimed, "that is not done so easily"; and,
waiting till the animal was close upon him, he sprang nimbly behind a
tree. The unicorn, rushing with all its force against the tree, stuck
its horn so fast in the trunk that it could not pull it out again, and
so it remained prisoner.

"Now I have got him," said the Tailor; and coming from behind the tree,
he first bound the rope around its neck, and then cutting the horn out
of the tree with his axe, he arranged everything, and, leading the
unicorn, brought it before the King.

The King, however, would not yet deliver over the promised reward, and
made a third demand, that, before the marriage, the Tailor should
capture a wild boar which did much damage, and he should have the
huntsmen to help him. "With pleasure," was the reply; "it is a mere
nothing." The huntsmen, however, he left behind, to their great joy, for
this wild boar had already so often hunted them, that they saw no fun in
now hunting it. As soon as the boar perceived the Tailor, it ran at him
with gaping mouth and glistening teeth, and tried to throw him down on
the ground; but our flying hero sprang into a little chapel which stood
near, and out again at a window, on the other side, in a moment. The
boar ran after him, but he, skipping around, closed the door behind it,
and there the furious beast was caught, for it was much too unwieldy and
heavy to jump out of the window.

The Tailor now ordered the huntsmen up, that they might see his prisoner
with their own eyes; but our hero presented himself before the King, who
was obliged at last, whether he would or no, to keep his word, and
surrender his daughter and the half of his kingdom.

If he had known that it was no warrior, but only a Tailor, who stood
before him, it would have grieved him still more.

So the wedding was celebrated with great magnificence, though with
little rejoicing, and out of a Tailor there was made a King.

A short time afterwards the young Queen heard her husband talking in his
sleep, saying, "Boy, make me a coat, and then stitch up these trowsers,
or I will lay the yard-measure over your shoulders!" Then she understood
of what condition her husband was, and complained in the morning to her
father, and begged he would free her from her husband, who was nothing
more than a tailor. The King comforted her by saying, "This night leave
your chamber-door open: my servants shall stand outside, and when he is
asleep they shall come in, bind him, and carry him away to a ship, which
shall take him out into the wide world." The wife was pleased with the
proposal; but the King's armor-bearer, who had overheard all, went to
the young King and revealed the whole plot. "I will soon put an end to
this affair," said the valiant little Tailor. In the evening at their
usual time they went to bed, and when his wife thought he slept she got
up, opened the door, and laid herself down again.

The Tailor, however, only pretended to be asleep, and began to call out
in a loud voice, "Boy, make me a coat, and then stitch up these
trowsers, or I will lay the yard-measure about your shoulders. Seven
have I slain with one blow, two Giants have I killed, a unicorn have I
led captive, and a wild boar have I caught, and shall I be afraid of
those who stand outside my room?"

When the men heard these words spoken by the Tailor, a great fear came
over them, and they ran away as if wild huntsmen were following them;
neither afterwards dared any man venture to oppose him. Thus the Tailor
became a King, and so he lived for the rest of his life.




LITTLE RED CAP


Many years ago there lived a dear little girl who was beloved by every
one who knew her; but her grand-mother was so very fond of her that she
never felt she could think and do enough to please this dear
grand-daughter, and she presented the little girl with a red silk cap,
which suited her so well, that she would never wear anything else, and
so was called Little Red-Cap.

One day Red-Cap's mother said to her, "Come, Red-Cap, here is a nice
piece of meat, and a bottle of wine: take these to your grandmother; she
is weak and ailing, and they will do her good. Be there before she gets
up; go quietly and carefully."

The grandmother lived far away in the wood, a long walk from the
village, and as Little Red-Cap came among the trees she met a Wolf; but
she did not know what a wicked animal it was, and so she was not at all
frightened. "Good morning, Little Red-Cap," he said.

"Thank you, Mr. Wolf," said she.

"Where are you going so early, Little Red-Cap?"

"To my grandmother's," she answered.

"And what are you carrying in that basket?"

"Some wine and meat," she replied. "We baked the meat yesterday, so that
grandmother, who is very weak, might have a nice strengthening meal."

"And where does your grandmother live?" asked the Wolf.

"Oh, quite twenty minutes walk further in the forest. The cottage stands
under three great oak trees; and close by are some nut bushes, by which
you will at once know it."

The Wolf was thinking to himself, "She is a nice tender thing, and will
taste better than the old woman; I must act cleverly, that I may make a
meal of both."



Presently he came up again to Little Red-Cap, and said, "Just look at
the beautiful flowers which grow around you; why do you not look about
you? I believe you don't hear how sweetly the birds are singing. You
walk as if you were going to school; see how cheerful everything is
about you in the forest."

And Little Red-Cap opened her eyes; and when she saw how the sunbeams
glanced and danced through the trees, and what bright flowers were
blooming in her path, she thought, "If I take my grandmother a fresh
nosegay, she will be very much pleased; and it is so very early that I
can, even then, get there in good time;" and running into the forest,
she looked about for flowers. But when she had once begun she did not
know how to leave off, and kept going deeper and deeper amongst the
trees looking for some still more beautiful flower. The Wolf, however,
ran straight to the house of the old grandmother, and knocked at the
door.

"Who's there?" asked the old lady.

"Only Little Red-Cap, bringing you some meat and wine; please open the
door," answered the Wolf. "Lift up the latch," cried the grandmother; "I
am much too ill to get up myself."

So the Wolf lifted the latch, and the door flew open; and without a
word, he jumped on to the bed, and gobbled up the poor old lady. Then he
put on her clothes, and tied her night-cap over his head; got into the
bed, and drew the blankets over him. All this time Red-Cap was gathering
flowers; and when she had picked as many as she could carry, she thought
of her grandmother, and hurried to the cottage. She wondered greatly to
find the door open; and when she got into the room, she began to feel
very ill, and exclaimed, "How sad I feel! I wish I had not come to-day."
Then she said, "Good morning," but received no reply; so she went up to
the bed, and drew back the curtains, and there lay her grandmother, as
she imagined, with the cap drawn half over her eyes, and looking very
fierce.

"Oh, grandmother, what great ears you have!" she said.

"All the better to hear you with," was the reply.

"And what great eyes you have!"

"All the better to see you with."

"And what great hands you have!"

"All the better to touch you with."

"But, grandmother, what very great teeth you have!"

"All the better to eat you with;" and hardly were the words spoken when
the Wolf made a jump out of bed, and swallowed up poor Little Red-Cap
also.

As soon as the Wolf had thus satisfied his hunger, he laid himself down
again on the bed, and went to sleep and snored very loudly. A huntsman
passing by overheard him, and said, "How loudly that old woman snores! I
must see if anything is the matter."

So he went into the cottage; and when he came to the bed, he saw the
Wolf sleeping in it. "What! are you here, you old rascal? I have been
looking for you," exclaimed he; and taking up his gun, he shot the old
Wolf through the head.

But it is also said that the story ends in a different manner; for that
one day, when Red-Cap was taking some presents to her grandmother, a
Wolf met her, and wanted to mislead her; but she went straight on, and
told her grandmother that she had met a Wolf, who said good day, and who
looked so hungrily out of his great eyes, as if he would have eaten her
up had she not been on the high-road.

So her grandmother said, "We will shut the door, and then he cannot get
in." Soon after, up came the Wolf, who tapped, and exclaimed, "I am
Little Red-Cap, grandmother; I have some roast meat for you." But they
kept quite quiet, and did not open the door; so the Wolf, after looking
several times round the house, at last jumped on the roof, thinking to
wait till Red-Cap went home in the evening, and then to creep after her
and eat her in the darkness. The old woman, however, saw what the
villain intended. There stood before the door a large stone trough, and
she said to Little Red-Cap, "Take this bucket, dear: yesterday I boiled
some meat in this water, now pour it into the stone trough." Then the
Wolf sniffed the smell of the meat, and his mouth watered, and he wished
very much to taste. At last he stretched his neck too far over, so that
he lost his balance, and fell down from the roof, right into the great
trough below, and there he was drowned.




THE GOLDEN GOOSE


There was once a man who had three sons. The youngest was called
Dummerly, and was on all occasions scorned and ill-treated by the whole
family. It happened that the eldest took it into his head one day to go
into the forest to cut wood; and his mother gave him a delicious meat
pie and a bottle of wine to take with him, that he might sustain himself
at his work. As he went into the forest, a little old man bid him good
day, and said, "Give me a little bit of meat from your plate, and a
little wine out of your flask; I am very hungry and thirsty." But this
clever young man said, "Give you my meat and wine! No, I thank you;
there would not be enough left for me;" and he went on his way. He soon
began to chop down a tree; but he had not worked long before he missed
his stroke, and cut himself, and was obliged to go home and have the
wound bound up. Now, it was the little old man who caused him this
mischief.

Next the second son went out to work; and his mother gave him, too, a
meat pie and a bottle of wine. And the same little old man encountered
him also, and begged him for something to eat and drink. But he, too,
thought himself extremely clever, and said, "Whatever you get, I shall
be without; so go your way!" The little man made sure that he should
have his reward; and the second stroke that he struck at a tree, hit him
on the leg, so that he too was compelled to go home.

Then Dummerly said, "Father, I should like to go and cut fuel too." But
his father replied, "Your brothers have both maimed themselves; you had
better stop at home, for you know nothing of the job." But Dummerly was
very urgent; and at last his father said, "Go your way; you will be
wiser when you have suffered for your foolishness." And his mother gave
him only some dry bread, and a bottle of sour ale; but when he went into
the forest, he met the little old man, who said, "Give me some meat and
drink, for I am very hungry and thirsty." Dummerly said, "I have nothing
but dry bread and sour beer; if that will do for you, we will sit down
and eat it together." So they sat down, and when the lad took out his
bread, behold it was turned into a splendid meat pie, and his sour beer
became delicious wine! They ate and drank heartily, and when they had
finished, the little man said, "As you have a kind heart, and have been
willing to share everything with me I will bring good to you. There
stands an old tree; chop it down, and you will find something at the
root." Then he took his leave and went his way.

Dummerly set to work, and cut down the tree; and when it fell, he
discovered in a hollow under the roots a goose with plumage of pure
gold. He took it up, and went on to an inn, where he proposed sleep for
the night. The landlord had three daughters, and when they saw the
goose, they were very curious to find out what this wonderful bird could
be, and wished very much to pluck one of the feathers out of its tail.
At last the eldest said, "I must and will have a feather." So she waited
till his back was turned, and then caught hold of the goose by the wing;
but to her great surprise, there she stuck, for neither hand nor finger
could she pull away again. Presently in came the second sister, and
thought to have a feather too; but the instant she touched her sister,
there she too hung fast. At last came the third, and desired a feather;
but the other two cried out, "Keep away! for heaven's sake, keep away!"
However, she did not understand what they meant. "If they are there,"
thought she, "I may as well be there too," so she went up to them. But
the moment she touched her sisters she stuck fast, and hung to the goose
as they did. And so they abode with the goose all night.

The next morning Dummerly carried off the goose under his arm, and took
no heed of the three girls, but went out with them sticking fast behind;
and wherever he journeyed, the three were obliged to follow, whether
they wished or not, as fast as their legs could carry them.

In the middle of a field the parson met them; and when he saw the
procession, he said, "Are you not ashamed of yourselves, you bold girls,
to run after the young man like that over the fields? Is that proper
behavior?"

Then he took the youngest by the hand to lead her away; but the moment
he touched her he, too, hung fast, and followed in the procession.

Presently up came the clerk; and when he saw his master, the parson,
running after the three girls, he was greatly surprised, and said,
"Hollo! hollo! your reverence! whither so fast! There is a christening
to-day."

Then he ran up, and caught him by the gown, and instantly he was fast
too.

As the five were thus trudging along, one after another, they met two
laborers with their mattocks coming from work; and the parson called out
to them to set him free. But hardly had they touched him, when they,
too, joined the ranks, and so made seven, all running after Dummerly and
his goose.

At last they came to a city, where reigned a King who had an only
daughter. The princess was of so thoughtful and serious a turn of mind
that no one could make her laugh; and the King had announced to all the
world that whoever could make her laugh should have her for his wife.
When the young man heard this, he went to her with the goose and all its
followers; and as soon as she saw the seven all hanging together, and
running about, treading on each other's heels, she could not help
bursting into a long and loud laugh.

Then Dummerly claimed her for his bride; the wedding took place, and he
was heir to the kingdom, and lived long and happily with his wife.




BEARSKIN


There was once upon a time a young fellow who enlisted for a soldier,
and became so brave and courageous that he was always in the front ranks
when it rained blue beans. As long as the war lasted all went well,
but when peace was concluded he received his discharge, and the captain
told him he might go where he liked. His parents meanwhile had died, and
as he had no longer any home to go to he paid a visit to his brothers,
and asked them to give him shelter until war broke out again. His
brothers, however, were hard-hearted, and said, "What could we do with
you? We could make nothing of you; see to what you have brought
yourself"; and so turned a deaf ear. The poor Soldier had nothing but
his musket left; so he mounted this on his shoulder and set out on a
tramp. By and by he came to a great heath with nothing on it but a
circle of trees, under which he sat down, sorrowfully considering his
fate. "I have no money," thought he; "I have learnt nothing but
soldiering, and now, since peace is concluded, there is no need of me. I
see well enough I shall have to starve." All at once he heard a
rustling, and as he looked round he perceived a stranger standing before
him, dressed in a gray coat, who looked very stately, but had an ugly
cloven foot. "I know quite well what you need," said this being; "gold
and other possessions you shall have, as much as you can spend; but
first I must know whether you are a coward or not, that I may not spend
my money foolishly."

"A soldier and a coward!" replied the other, "that cannot be; you may
put me to any proof."

"Well, then," replied the stranger, "look behind you."



The Soldier turned and saw a huge bear, which eyed him very ferociously.
"Oho!" cried he, "I will tickle your nose for you, that you shall no
longer be able to grumble"; and, raising his musket, he shot the bear in
the forehead, so that he tumbled in a heap upon the ground, and did not
stir afterward. Thereupon the stranger said, "I see quite well that you
are not wanting in courage; but there is yet one condition which you
must fulfil." "If it does not interfere with my future happiness," said
the Soldier, who had remarked who it was that addressed him; "if it does
not interfere with that, I shall not hesitate."

"That you must see about yourself!" said the stranger. "For the next
seven years you must not wash yourself, nor comb your hair or beard,
neither must you cut your nails nor say one paternoster. Then I will
give you this coat and mantle, which you must wear during these seven
years; and if you die within that time you are mine, but if you live you
are rich, and free all your life long."

The Soldier reflected for awhile on his great necessities, and,
remembering how often he had braved death, he at length consented, and
ventured to accept the offer. Thereupon the Evil One pulled off the gray
coat, handed it to the soldier, and said, "If you at any time search in
the pockets of your coat when you have it on, you will always find your
hand full of money." Then also he pulled off the skin of the bear, and
said, "That shall be your cloak and your bed; you must sleep on it, and
not dare to lie in any other bed, and on this account you shall be
called 'Bearskin.'" Immediately the Evil One disappeared.

The Soldier now put on the coat, and dipped his hands into the pockets,
to assure himself of the reality of the transaction. Then he hung the
bearskin around himself, and went about the world chuckling at his good
luck, and buying whatever suited his fancy which money could purchase.
For the first year his appearance was not very remarkable, but in the
second he began to look quite a monster. His hair covered almost all his
face, his beard appeared like a piece of dirty cloth, his nails were
claws, and his countenance was so covered with dirt that one might have
grown cresses upon it if one had sown seed! Whoever looked at him ran
away; but because he gave the poor in every place gold coin they prayed
that he might not die during the seven years; and because he paid
liberally everywhere, he found a night's lodging without difficulty. In
the fourth year he came to an inn where the landlord would not take him
in, and refused even to give him a place in his stables, lest the horses
should be frightened and become restive. However, when Bearskin put his
hand into his pocket and drew it out full of gold ducats the landlord
yielded the point, and gave him a place in the outbuildings, but not
till he had promised that he would not show himself, for fear the inn
should gain a bad name.

While Bearskin sat by himself in the evening, wishing from his heart
that the seven years were over, he heard in the corner a loud groan. Now
the old Soldier had a compassionate heart, so he opened the door and saw
an old man weeping violently and wringing his hands. Bearskin stepped
nearer, but the old man jumped up and tried to escape; but when he
recognized a human voice he let himself be persuaded, and by kind words
and soothings on the part of the old Soldier he at length disclosed the
cause of his distress. His property had dwindled away by degrees, and he
and his daughters would have to starve, for he was so poor that he had
not the money to pay the host, and would therefore be put into prison.

"If you have no care except that," replied Bearskin, "I have money
enough"; and causing the landlord to be called, he paid him, and put a
purse full of gold besides into the pocket of the old man. The latter,
when he saw himself released from his troubles, knew not how to be
sufficiently grateful, and said to the Soldier, "Come with me; my
daughters are all wonders of beauty, so choose one of them for a wife.
When they hear what you have done for me they will not refuse you. You
appear certainly an uncommon man, but they will soon put you to rights."

This speech pleased Bearskin, and he went with the old man. As soon as
the eldest daughter saw him, she was so terrified at his countenance
that she shrieked out and ran away. The second one stopped and looked at
him from head to foot; but at last she said, "How can I take a husband
who has not a bit of a human countenance? The grizzly bear would have
pleased me better who came to see us once, and gave himself out as a
man, for he wore a hussar's hat, and had white gloves on besides."

But the youngest daughter said, "Dear father, this must be a good man
who has assisted you out of your troubles; if you have promised him a
bride for the service your word must be kept"

It was a pity the man's face was covered with dirt and hair, else one
would have seen how glad at heart these words made him. Bearskin took a
ring off his finger, broke it in two, and, giving the youngest daughter
one half, he kept the other for himself. On her half he wrote his name,
and on his own he wrote hers, and begged her to preserve it carefully.
Thereupon he took leave, saying, "For three years longer I must wander
about; if I come back again, then we will celebrate our wedding; but if
I do not, you are free, for I shall be dead. But pray to God that he
will preserve my life."

When he was gone the poor bride clothed herself in black, and whenever
she thought of her bridegroom burst into tears. From her sisters she
received nothing but scorn and mocking. "Pay great attention when he
shakes your hand," said the eldest, "and you will see his beautiful
claws!" "Take care!" said the second, "bears are fond of sweets, and if
you please him he will eat you up, perhaps!" "You must mind and do his
will," continued the eldest, "or he will begin growling!" And the second
daughter said further, "But the wedding will certainly be merry, for
bears dance well!" The bride kept silence, and would not be drawn from
her purpose by all these taunts; and meanwhile Bearskin wandered about
in the world, doing good where he could, and giving liberally to the
poor, for which they prayed heartily for him. At length the last day of
the seven years approached, and Bearskin went and sat down again on the
heath beneath the circle of trees. In a very short time the wind
whistled, and the Evil One presently stood before him and looked at him
with a vexed face. He threw the Soldier his old coat and demanded his
gray one back. "We have not got so far as that yet," replied Bearskin;
"you must clean me first." Then the Evil One had, whether he liked it or
no, to fetch water, wash the old Soldier, comb his hair out, and cut his
nails. This done, he appeared again like a brave warrior, and indeed was
much handsomer than before.

As soon as the Evil One had disappeared, Bearskin became quite
light-hearted; and going into the nearest town he bought a fine velvet
coat, and hired a carriage drawn by four white horses, in which he was
driven to the house of his bride. Nobody knew him; the father took him
for some celebrated general, and led him into the room where his
daughters were. He was compelled to sit down between the two eldest, and
they offered him wine, and heaped his plate with the choicest morsels;
for they thought they had never seen any one so handsome before. But the
bride sat opposite to him dressed in black, neither opening her eyes nor
speaking a word. At length the Soldier asked the father if he would give
him one of his daughters to wife, and immediately the two elder sisters
arose, and ran to their chambers to dress themselves out in their most
becoming clothes, for each thought she should be chosen. Meanwhile the
stranger, as soon as he found himself alone with his bride, pulled out
the half of the ring and threw it into a cup of wine, which he handed
across the table. She took it, and as soon as she had drunk it and seen
the half ring lying at the bottom her heart beat rapidly, and she
produced the other half, which she wore round her neck on a riband. She
held them together, and they joined each other exactly, and the stranger
said, "I am your bridegroom, whom you first saw as Bearskin; but through
God's mercy I have regained my human form, and am myself once more."
With these words he embraced and kissed her; and at the same time the
two eldest sisters entered in full costume. As soon as they saw that the
very handsome man had fallen to the share of their youngest sister, and
heard that he was the same as "Bearskin," they ran out of the house full
of rage and jealousy.




CINDERELLA


The wife of a rich man fell sick: and when she felt that her end drew
nigh, she called her only daughter to her bedside, and said, "Always be
a good girl, and I will look down from heaven and watch over you." Soon
afterwards she shut her eyes and died, and was buried in the garden; and
the little girl went every day to her grave and wept, and was always
good and kind to all about her. And the snow spread a beautiful white
covering over the grave; but by the time the sun had melted it away
again, her father had married another wife. This new wife had two
daughters of her own: they were fair in face but foul at heart, and it
was now a sorry time for the poor little girl. "What does the
good-for-nothing thing want in the parlor?" said they; and they took
away her fine clothes, and gave her an old frock to put on, and laughed
at her and turned her into the kitchen.

Then she was forced to do hard work; to rise early, before daylight, to
bring the water, to make the fire, to cook and to wash. She had no bed
to lie down on, but was made to lie by the hearth among the ashes, and
they called her Cinderella.

It happened once that her father was going to the fair, and asked his
wife's daughters what he should bring to them. "Fine clothes," said the
first. "Pearls and diamonds," said the second. "Now, child," said he to
his own daughter, "what will you have?" "The first sprig, dear father,
that rubs against your hat on your way home," said she. Then he bought
for the two first the fine clothes and pearls and diamonds they had
asked for: and on his way home, as he rode through a green copse, a
sprig of hazel brushed against him, so he broke it off and when he got
home he gave it to his daughter. Then she took it, and went to her
mother's grave and planted it there, and cried so much that it was
watered with her tears; and there it grew and became a fine tree, and
soon a little bird came and built its nest upon the tree, and talked
with her and watched over her, and brought her whatever she wished for.

Now it happened that the king of the land held a feast which was to last
three days, and out of those who came to it his son was to choose a
bride for himself; and Cinderella's two sisters were asked to come. So
they called Cinderella, and said, "Now, comb our hair, brush our shoes,
and tie our sashes for us, for we are going to dance at the king's
feast." Then she did as she was told, but when all was done she could
not help crying, for she thought to herself, she would have liked to go
to the dance too, and at last she begged her mother very hard to let her
go, "You! Cinderella?" said she; "you who have nothing to wear, no
clothes at all, and who cannot even dance--you want to go to the ball?"
And when she kept on begging, to get rid of her, she said at last, "I
will throw this basinful of peas into the ash heap, and if you have
picked them all out in two hours' time you shall go to the feast too."
Then she threw the peas into the ashes; but the little maiden ran out at
the back door into the garden, and cried out--

  "Hither, thither, through the sky, turtle-doves and linnets, fly!
  Blackbird, thrush, and chaffinch gay, hither, thither, haste away!
  One and all, come, help me quick! haste ye, haste ye--pick, pick,
  pick!"

Then first came two white doves; and next two turtle-doves; and after
them all the little birds under heaven came, and the little doves
stooped their heads down and set to work, pick, pick, pick; and then the
others began to pick, pick, pick, and picked out all the good grain and
put it into a dish, and left the ashes. At the end of one hour the work
was done, and all flew out again at the windows. Then she brought the
dish to her mother. But the mother said, "No, no! indeed, you have no
clothes and cannot dance; you shall not go." And when Cinderella begged
very hard to go, she said, "If you can in one hour's time pick two of
these dishes of pease out of the ashes, you shall go too." So she shook
two dishes of peas into the ashes; but the little maiden went out into
the garden at the back of the house, and called as before and all the
birds came flying, and in half an hour's time all was done, and out they
flew again. And then Cinderella took the dishes to her mother, rejoicing
to think that she should now go to the ball. But her mother said, "It is
all of no use, you cannot go; you have no clothes, and cannot dance; and
you would only put us to shame;" and off she went with her two daughters
to the feast.

Now when all were gone, and nobody left at home, Cinderella went
sorrowfully and sat down under the hazel-tree, and cried out--

  "Shake, shake, hazel-tree, gold and silver over me!"

Then her friend the bird flew out of the tree and brought a gold and
silver dress for her, and slippers of spangled silk; and she put them
on, and followed her sisters to the feast. But they did not know her,
she looked so fine and beautiful in her rich clothes.

The king's son soon came up to her, and took her by the hand and danced
with her and no one else; and he never left her hand, but when any one
else came to ask her to dance, he said, "This lady is dancing with me."
Thus they danced till a late hour of the night, and then she wanted to
go home; and the king's son said, "I shall go and take care of you to
your home," for he wanted to see where the beautiful maid lived. But she
slipped away from him unawares, and ran off towards home, and the prince
followed her; then she jumped up into the pigeon-house and shut the
door. So he waited till her father came home, and told him that the
unknown maiden who had been at the feast had hidden herself in the
pigeon-house. But when they had broken open the door they found no one
within; and as they came back into the house, Cinderella lay, as she
always did, in her dirty frock by the ashes; for she had run as quickly
as she could through the pigeon-house and on to the hazel-tree, and had
there taken off her beautiful clothes, and laid them beneath the tree,
that the bird might carry them away; and had seated herself amid the
ashes again in her little old frock.

The next day, when the feast was again held, and her father, mother and
sisters were gone, Cinderella went to the hazel-tree, and all happened
as the evening before.

The king's son, who was waiting for her, took her by the hand and danced
with her; and, when any one asked her to dance, he said as before, "This
lady is dancing with me." When night came she wanted to go home; and the
king's son went with her, but she sprang away from him all at once into
the garden behind her father's house. In this garden stood a fine large
pear-tree; and Cinderella jumped up into it without being seen. Then the
king's son waited till her father came home, and said to him, "The
unknown lady has slipped away, and I think she must have sprung into the
pear-tree." The father ordered an axe to be brought, and they cut down
the tree, but found no one upon it. And when they came back into the
kitchen, there lay Cinderella in the ashes as usual; for she had slipped
down on the other side of the tree, and carried her beautiful clothes
back to the bird at the hazel-tree, and then put on her little old
frock.

The third day, when her father and mother and sisters were gone, she
went again into the garden, and said--

  "Shake, shake, hazel-tree, gold and silver over me!"

Then her kind friend the bird brought a dress still finer than the
former one, and slippers which were all of gold; and the king's son
danced with her alone, and when any one else asked her to dance, he
said, "This lady is my partner." Now when night came she wanted to go
home; and the king's son would go with her, but she managed to slip away
from him, though in such a hurry that she dropped her left golden
slipper upon the stairs.

So the prince took the shoe, and went the next day to the king, his
father, and said, "I will take for my wife the lady that this golden
shoe fits."

Then both the sisters were overjoyed to hear this; for they had
beautiful feet, and had no doubt that they could wear the golden
slipper. The eldest went first into the room where the slipper was, and
wanted to try it on, and the mother stood by. But her big toe could not
go into it, and the shoe was altogether much too small for her. Then the
mother said, "Never mind, cut it off. When you are queen you will not
care about toes; you will not want to go on foot." So the silly girl cut
her big toe off, and squeezed the shoe on, and went to the king's son.
Then he took her for his bride, and rode away with her.

But on their way home they had to pass by the hazel-tree that Cinderella
had planted, and there sat a little dove on the branch, singing--

  "Back again! back again! look to the shoe!
  The shoe is too small, and not made for you!
  Prince! prince! look again for thy bride,
  For she's not the true one that sits by thy side."

Then the prince looked at her foot, and saw by the blood that streamed
from it what a trick she had played him. So he brought the false bride
back to her home, and said, "This is not the right bride; let the other
sister try and put on the slipper." Then she went into the room and got
her foot into the shoe, all but the heel, which was too large. But her
mother squeezed it in till the blood came, and took her to the king's
son; and he rode away with her. But when they came to the hazel-tree,
the little dove sat there still, and sang as before. Then the king's son
looked down, and saw that the blood streamed from the shoe. So he
brought her back again also. "This is not the true bride," said he to
the father; "have you no other daughters?"

Then Cinderella came and she took her clumsy shoe off, and put on the
golden slipper, and it fitted as if it had been made for her. And when
he drew near and looked at her face the prince knew her, and said, "This
is the right bride."

Then he took Cinderella on his horse and rode away. And when they came
to the hazel-tree the white dove sang--

  "Prince! prince! take home thy bride,
  For she is the true one that sits by thy side!"




FAITHFUL JOHN


Once upon a time there lived an old King, who fell very sick, and
thought he was lying upon his death-bed; so he said, "Let faithful John
come to me." This faithful John was his affectionate servant, and was so
called because he had been true to him all his lifetime. As soon as John
came to the bedside, the King said, "My faithful John, I feel that my
end approaches, and I have no other care than about my son, who is still
so young that he cannot always guide himself aright. If you do not
promise to instruct him in everything he ought to know, and to be his
guardian, I cannot close my eyes in peace." Then John answered, "I will
never leave him; I will always serve him truly, even if it costs me my
life." So the old King was comforted, and said, "Now I can die in peace.
After my death you must show him all the chambers, halls, and vaults in
the castle, and all the treasures which are in them; but the last room
in the long corridor you must not show him, for in it hangs the portrait
of the daughter of the King of the Golden Palace; if he sees her
picture, he will conceive a great love for her, and will fall down in a
swoon, and on her account undergo great perils, therefore you must keep
him away." The faithful John pressed his master's hand again in token of
assent, and soon after the King laid his head upon the pillow and
expired.

After the old King had been borne to his grave, the faithful John
related to the young King all that his father had said upon his
death-bed, and declared, "All this I will certainly fulfil; I will be as
true to you as I was to him, if it costs me my life." When the time of
mourning was passed, John said to the young King, "It is now time for
you to see your inheritance; I will show you your paternal castle." So
he led the King all over it, upstairs and downstairs, and showed him all
the riches, and all the splendid chambers; only one room he did not
open, containing the perilous portrait, which was so placed that one saw
it directly the door was opened, and, moreover, it was so beautifully
painted that one thought it breathed and moved; nothing in all the world
could be more lifelike or more beautiful. The young King remarked,
however, that the faithful John always passed by one door, so he asked,
"Why do you not open that one?" "There is something in it," he replied,
"which will frighten you."

But the King said, "I have seen all the rest of the castle, and I will
know what is in there," and he went and tried to open the door by force.
The faithful John pulled him back, and said, "I promised your father
before he died that you should not see the contents of that room; it
would bring great misfortunes both upon you and me."

"Oh, no," replied the young King, "if I do not go in it will be my
certain ruin; I should have no peace night nor day until I had seen it
with my own eyes. Now I will not stir from the place till you unlock the
door."

Then the faithful John saw that it was of no use talking; so, with a
heavy heart and many sighs, he picked the key out of the great bunch.
When he had opened the door, he went in first, and thought he would
cover up the picture, that the King should not see it; but it was of no
use, for the King stepped upon tiptoes and looked over his shoulder; and
as soon as he saw the portrait of the maiden, which was so beautiful and
glittered with precious stones, he fell down on the ground insensible.
The faithful John lifted him up and carried him to his bed, and thought
with great concern, "Mercy on us! the misfortune has happened; what will
come of it?" and he gave the young King wine until he came to himself.
The first words he spoke were, "Who does that beautiful picture
represent?" "That is the daughter of the King of the Golden Palace," was
the reply.

"Then," said the King, "my love for her is so great that if all the
leaves on the trees had tongues, they should not gainsay it; my life is
set upon the search for her. You are my faithful John, you must
accompany me."

The trusty servant deliberated for a long while how to set about this
business, for it was very difficult to get into the presence of the
King's daughter. At last he bethought himself of a way, and said to the
King, "Everything which she has around her is of gold--chairs, tables,
dishes, bowls, and all the household utensils. Among your treasures are
five tons of gold; let one of the goldsmiths of your kingdom manufacture
vessels and utensils of all kinds therefrom--all kinds of birds, and
wild and wonderful beasts, such as will please her, then we will travel
with these, and try our luck." Then the King summoned all his
goldsmiths, who worked day and night until many very beautiful things
were ready. When all had been placed on board a ship, the faithful John
put on merchant's clothes, and the King likewise, so that they might
travel quite unknown. Then they sailed over the wide sea, and sailed
away until they came to the city where dwelt the daughter of the King of
the Golden Palace.

The faithful John told the King to remain in the ship, and wait for him.
"Perhaps," said he, "I shall bring the King's daughter with me;
therefore take care that all is in order, and set out the golden vessels
and adorn the whole ship." Thereupon John placed in a napkin some of the
golden cups, stepped upon land, and went straight to the King's palace.
When he came into the castle yard, a beautiful maid stood by the brook,
who had two golden pails in her hand, drawing water; and when she had
filled them and had turned round, she saw a strange man, and asked who
he was. Then John answered, "I am a merchant"; and opening his napkin he
showed her its contents. Then she exclaimed, "Oh, what beautiful golden
things!" and, setting the pails down, she looked at the cups one after
another, and said, "The King's daughter must see these; she is so
pleased with anything made of gold that she will buy all these." And
taking him by the hand, she led him in; for she was the lady's maid.
When the King's daughter saw the golden cups, she was much pleased, and
said, "They are so finely worked that I will purchase them all." But the
faithful John replied, "I am only the servant of a rich merchant; what I
have here is nothing in comparison to those which my master has in his
ship, than which nothing more delicate or costly has ever been worked in
gold." Then the King's daughter wished to have them all brought; but he
said, "It would take many days, and so great is the quantity that your
palace has not halls enough in it to place them around." Then her
curiosity and desire were still more excited, and at last she said,
"Take me to the ship; I will go myself and look at your master's
treasure."

The faithful John conducted her to the ship with great joy, and the
King, when he beheld her, saw that her beauty was still greater than the
picture had represented, and thought nothing else but that his heart
would jump out of his mouth. Presently she stepped on board, and the
King conducted her below; but the faithful John remained on deck by the
steersman, and told him to unmoor the ship and put on all the sail he
could, that it might fly as a bird through the air. Meanwhile the King
showed the Princess all the golden treasures--the dishes, cups, bowls,
the birds, the wild and wonderful beasts. Many hours passed away while
she looked at everything, and in her joy she did not remark that the
ship sailed on and on. As soon as she had looked at the last, and
thanked the merchant, she wished to depart. But when she came on deck,
she perceived that they were upon the high sea, far from the shore, and
were hastening on with all sail. "Ah," she exclaimed in affright, "I am
betrayed; I am carried off and taken away in the power of a strange
merchant. I would rather die!"

But the King, taking her by the hand, said, "I am not a merchant, but a
king, thine equal in birth. It is true that I have carried thee off; but
that is because of my overwhelming love for thee. Dost thou know that
when I first saw the portrait of thy beauteous face I fell down in a
swoon before it?" When the King's daughter heard these words, she was
reassured, and her heart was inclined toward him, so that she willingly
became his bride. While they thus went on their voyage on the high sea,
it happened that the faithful John, as he sat on the deck of the ship,
playing music, saw three crows in the air, who came flying toward them.
He stopped playing, and listened to what they were saying to each other,
for he understood them perfectly. The first one exclaimed, "There he is,
carrying home the daughter of the King of the Golden Palace." "But he is
not home yet," replied the second. "But he has her," said the third;
"she is sitting by him in the ship." Then the first began again, and
exclaimed, "What matters that? When they go on shore a fox-colored horse
will spring toward them, on which he will mount; and as soon as he is on
it, it will jump up with him into the air, so that he will never again
see his bride." The second one asked, "Is there no escape?" "Oh, yes, if
another mounts behind quickly, and takes out the firearms which are in
the holster, and with them shoots the horse dead, then the young King
will be saved. But who knows that? And if any one does know it, and
tells him, such a one will be turned to stone from the toe to the knee."
Then the second spoke again, "I know still more: if the horse should be
killed, the young King will not then retain his bride; for when they
come into the castle a beautiful bridal shirt will lie there upon a
dish, and seem to be woven of gold and silver, but it is nothing but
sulphur and pitch, and if he puts it on it will burn him to his marrow
and bones." Then the third Crow asked, "Is there no escape?" "Oh, yes,"
answered the second, "if some one takes up the shirt with his glove on,
and throws it into the fire, so that it is burnt, the young King will be
saved. But what does that signify? Whoever knows it, and tells him, will
be turned to stone from his knee to his heart." Then the third Crow
spoke: "I know still more: even if the bridal shirt be consumed, still
the young King will not retain his bride. For if, after the wedding, a
dance is held, while the young Queen dances she will suddenly turn pale,
and fall down as if dead; and if some one does not raise her up, and
take three drops of blood from her right breast and throw them away, she
will die. But whoever knows that, and tells it, will have his whole body
turned to stone, from the crown of his head to the toes of his feet."

After the crows had thus talked with one another, they flew away, and
the trusty John, who had perfectly understood all they had said, was
from that time very quiet and sad; for if he concealed from his master
what he had heard, misfortune would happen to him, and if he told him
all he must give up his own life. But at last he thought, "I will save
my master, even if I destroy myself."

As soon as they came on shore, it happened just as the Crow had
foretold, and an immense fox-red horse sprang up. "Capital!" said the
King, "this shall carry me to my castle," and he tried to mount; but the
faithful John came straight up, and swinging himself quickly on, drew
the firearms out of the holster and shot the horse dead. Then the other
servants of the King, who were not on good terms with the faithful John,
exclaimed, "How shameful to kill the beautiful creature, which might
have borne the King to the castle!" But the King replied, "Be silent,
and let him go; he is my very faithful John--who knows the good he may
have done?" Now they went into the castle, and there stood a dish in the
hall, and the splendid bridal shirt lay in it, and seemed nothing else
than gold and silver. The young King went up to it and wished to take it
up, but the faithful John pushed him away, and taking it up with his
gloves on, bore it quickly to the fire and let it burn. The other
servants thereupon began to murmur, saying, "See, now he is burning the
King's bridal shirt!" But the young King replied, "Who knows what good
he has done? Let him alone--he is my faithful John."

Soon after, the wedding was celebrated, and a grand ball was given, and
the bride began to dance. So the faithful John paid great attention, and
watched her countenance; all at once she grew pale, and fell as if dead
to the ground. Then he sprang up hastily, raised her up and bore her to
a chamber, where he laid her down, kneeled beside her, and drawing the
three drops of blood out of her right breast, threw them away. As soon
as she breathed again, she raised herself up; but the young King had
witnessed everything, and not knowing why the faithful John had done
this was very angry, and called out, "Throw him into prison!" The next
morning the trusty John was brought up for trial, and led to the
gallows; and as he stood upon them, and was about to be executed, he
said, "Every one condemned to die may once before his death speak. Shall
I also have that privilege?" "Yes," answered the King, "it shall be
granted you." Then the faithful John replied, "I have been unrighteously
judged, and have always been true to you"; and he narrated the
conversation of the crows which he heard at sea; and how, in order to
save his master, he was obliged to do all he had done. Then the King
cried out, "Oh, my most trusty John, pardon, pardon; lead him away!" But
the trusty John had fallen down at the last word and was turned into
stone.

At this event both the King and the Queen were in great grief, and the
King thought, "Ah, how wickedly have I rewarded his great fidelity!" and
he had the stone statue raised up and placed in his sleeping-chamber,
near his bed; and as often as he looked at it, he wept and said, "Ah,
could I bring you back to life again, my faithful John!"

After some time had passed, the Queen bore twins, two little sons, who
were her great joy. Once, when the Queen was in church, and the two
children at home playing by their father's side, he looked up at the
stone statue full of sorrow, and exclaimed with a sigh, "Ah, could I
restore you to life, my faithful John!" At these words the statue began
to speak, saying, "Yes, you can make me alive again, if you will bestow
on me that which is dearest to you." The King replied, "All that I have
in the world I will give up for you." The statue spake again: "If you,
with your own hand, cut off the heads of both your children, and
sprinkle me with their blood, I shall be brought to life again." The
King was terrified when he heard that he must himself kill his two dear
children; but he remembered his servant's great fidelity, and how the
faithful John had died for him, and drawing his sword he cut off the
heads of both his children with his own hand. And as soon as he had
sprinkled the statue with blood, life came back to it, and the trusty
John stood again alive and well before him, and said, "Your faith shall
not go unrewarded"; and taking the heads of the two children he set them
on again, and anointed their wounds with their blood, and thereupon they
healed again in a moment, and the children sprang away and played as if
nothing had happened.

Now the King was full of happiness, and as soon as he saw the Queen
coming, he hid the faithful John and both the children in a great
closet. As soon as she came in he said to her, "Have you prayed in the
church?" "Yes," she answered; "but I thought continually of the faithful
John, who has come to such misfortune through us." Then he replied, "My
dear wife, we can restore his life again to him, but it will cost us
both our little sons, whom we must sacrifice." The Queen became pale and
was terrified at heart, but she said, "We are guilty of his life on
account of his great fidelity." Then he was very glad that she thought
as he did, and going up to the closet, he unlocked it, brought out the
children and the faithful John, saying, "God be praised! he is saved,
and we have still our little sons"; and then he told her all that
happened. Afterward they lived happily together to the end of their
days.




THE WATER OF LIFE


Once upon a time there was a King who was so ill that everybody
despaired of his life, and his three sons were very sorry, and went out
into the palace gardens to weep. There they met an old man, who asked
the cause of their grief, and they told him their Father was so ill that
he must die, for nothing could save him. The old Man said, "I know a
means of saving him: if he drinks of the water of life it will restore
him to health; but it is very difficult to find."

"I will soon find it," said the eldest Son, and, going to the sick King,
he begged his permission to set out in search of the water of life,
which alone could save him. "No; the danger is too great," said the
King; "I prefer to die." Nevertheless, the Son begged and entreated so
long that the King consented, and the Prince went away, thinking in his
own heart, "If I bring this water I am the dearest to my Father, and I
shall inherit his kingdom."

After he had ridden a long way he met a Dwarf on the road, who asked
him, "Whither away so quickly?"

"You stupid dandyprat," replied the Prince proudly, "why should I tell
you that?" and he rode off. But the little Man was angry and he wished
an evil thing, so that, soon after, the Prince came into a narrow
mountain-pass, and the farther he rode the narrower it grew, till at
last it was so close that he could get no farther; but neither could he
turn his horse round, nor dismount, and he sat there like one amazed.
Meanwhile the sick King waited a long while for him, but he did not
come; and the second Son asked leave to go too and seek the water, for
he thought to himself, "If my Brother is dead the kingdom comes to me."
At first the King refused to spare him, but he gave way, and the Prince
set out on the same road as the elder one had taken, and met also the
same Dwarf, who stopped him and asked him, "Whither ride you so
hastily?" "Little dandyprat," replied the Prince, "what do you want to
know for?" and he rode off without looking round. The Dwarf, however,
enchanted him, and it happened to him as it had to his Brother: he came
to a defile where he could move neither forward nor backward. Such is
the fate of all haughty people.

Now, when the second Son did not return, the youngest begged leave to go
and fetch the water, and the King was obliged at last to give his
consent. When he met the Dwarf, and was asked whither he was going so
hurriedly, he stopped and replied, "I seek the water of life, for my
Father is sick unto death." "Do you know where to find it?" asked the
Dwarf. "No," replied the Prince. "Since you have behaved yourself as you
ought," said the Dwarf, "and not haughtily like your false Brothers, I
will give you information and show you where you may obtain the water of
life. It flows from a fountain in the court of an enchanted castle, into
which you can never penetrate if I do not give you an iron rod and two
loaves of bread. With the rod knock thrice at the iron door of the
castle, and it will spring open. Within lie two lions with open jaws,
but if you throw down to each a loaf of bread they will be quiet. Then
hasten and fetch some of the water of life before it strikes twelve, for
then the door will shut again, and you will be imprisoned."

The Prince thanked the Dwarf, and, taking the rod and bread, he set out
on his journey, and as he arrived at the castle he found it as the Dwarf
had said. At the third knock the door sprang open; and, when he had
stilled the lions with the bread, he walked into a fine, large hall,
where sat several enchanted Princes, from whose fingers he drew off the
rings, and he also took away with him a sword and some bread which lay
there. A little farther on he came to a room wherein stood a beautiful
maiden, who was so pleased to see him that she kissed him and said he
had freed her, and should have her whole kingdom, and if he came in
another year their wedding should be celebrated. Then she told him where
the fountain of water of life was placed, and he hastened away lest it
should strike twelve ere he gained it. He came next into a room where a
fine, clean covered bed stood, and, being tired, he lay down to rest
himself a bit. But he went to sleep, and when he awoke it struck the
quarter to twelve, and the sound made him hurry to the fountain, from
which he took some water in a cup which stood near. This done, he
hastened to the door, and was scarcely out before it struck twelve, and
the door swung to so heavily that it carried away a piece of his heel.

But he was very glad, in spite of this, that he had procured the water,
and he journeyed homeward, and passed again where the Dwarf stood. When
the Dwarf saw the sword and bread which he had brought away he declared
he had done well, for with the sword he could destroy whole armies--but
the bread was worth nothing. Now, the Prince was not willing to return
home to his Father without his Brothers, and so he said to the Dwarf,
"Dear Dwarf, can you tell me where my Brothers are? They went out before
me in search of the water of life, and did not return." "They are stuck
fast between two mountains," replied the Dwarf; "because they were so
haughty, I enchanted them there."

Then the Prince begged for their release, till at last the Dwarf brought
them out; but he warned the youngest to beware of them, for they had
evil in their hearts.

When his Brothers came he was very glad, and he related to them all that
had happened to him; how he had found the water of life and brought away
a cupful of it; and how he had rescued a beautiful Princess, who for a
whole year was going to wait for him, and then he was to return to be
married to her, and receive a rich kingdom. After this tale the three
Brothers rode away together, and soon entered a province where there
were war and famine raging, and the King thought he should perish, so
great was his necessity. The youngest Prince went to this King and gave
him the bread, with which he fed and satisfied his whole people; and
then the Prince gave him the sword, wherewith he defeated and slew all
his enemies, and regained peace and quiet. This effected, the Prince
took back the bread and sword, and rode on farther with his Brothers,
and by and by they came to two other provinces where also war and famine
were destroying the people. To each King the Prince lent his bread and
sword, and so saved three kingdoms. After, this they went on board a
ship to pass over the sea which separated them from home, and during the
voyage the two elder Brothers said to one another, "Our Brother has
found the water of life and we have not; therefore our Father will give
the kingdom which belongs to us to him, and our fortune will be taken
away." Indulging these thoughts they became so envious that they
consulted together how they should kill him, and one day, waiting till
he was fast asleep, they poured the water out of his cup and took it for
themselves, while they filled his up with bitter salt water. As soon as
they arrived at home the youngest Brother took his cup to the sick King,
that he might drink out of it and regain his health. But scarcely had he
drunk a very little of the water when he became worse than before, for
it was as bitter as wormwood. While the King lay in this state, the two
elder Princes came, and accused their Brother of poisoning their Father;
but they had brought the right water, and they handed it to the King.
Scarcely had he drunk a little out of the cup when the King felt his
sickness leave him, and soon he was as strong and healthy as in his
young days. The two Brothers now went to the youngest Prince, mocking
him, and saying, "You certainly found the water of life; but you had the
trouble and we had the reward; you should have been more cautious and
kept your eyes open, for we took your cup while you were asleep on the
sea; and, moreover, in a year one of us intends to fetch your Princess.
Beware, however, that you betray us not; the King will not believe you,
and if you say a single word your life will be lost; but if you remain
silent you are safe." The old King, nevertheless, was very angry with
his youngest Son, who had conspired, as he believed, against his life.
He caused his court to be assembled, and sentence was given to the
effect that the Prince should be secretly shot; and once as he rode out
hunting, unsuspicious of any evil, the Huntsman was sent with him to
perform the deed. By and by, when they were alone in the wood, the
Huntsman seemed so sad that the Prince asked him what ailed him. The
Huntsman replied, "I cannot and yet must tell you." "Tell me boldly what
it is," said the Prince, "I will forgive you." "Ah, it is no other than
that I must shoot you, for so has the King ordered me," said the
Huntsman, with a deep sigh.

The Prince was frightened, and said, "Let me live, dear Huntsman, let me
live! I will give you my royal coat and you shall give me yours in
exchange." To this the Huntsman readily assented, for he felt unable to
shoot the Prince, and after they had exchanged their clothing the
Huntsman returned home, and the Prince went deeper into the wood.

A short time afterward three wagons laden with gold and precious stones
came to the King's palace for his youngest Son. They were sent by the
three Kings in token of gratitude for the sword which had defeated their
enemies, and the bread which had nourished their people. At this arrival
the old King said to himself, "Perhaps, after all, my Son was
guiltless," and he lamented to his courtiers that he had let his Son be
killed. But the Huntsman cried out, "He lives yet! for I could not find
it in my heart to fulfil your commands"; and he told the King how it had
happened. The King felt as if a stone had been removed from his heart,
and he caused it to be proclaimed everywhere throughout his dominions
that his Son might return and would again be taken into favor.

Meanwhile the Princess had caused a road to be made up to her castle of
pure shining gold, and she told her attendants that whoever should ride
straight up this road would be the right person, and one whom they might
admit into the castle; but, on the contrary, whoever should ride up not
on the road, but by the side, they were ordered on no account to admit,
for he was not the right person. When, therefore, the time came round
which the Princess had mentioned to the youngest Prince, the eldest
Brother thought he would hasten to her castle and announce himself as
her deliverer, that he might gain her as a bride and the kingdom
besides. So he rode away, and when he came in front of the castle and
saw the fine golden road he thought it would be a shame to ride thereon,
and so he turned to the left hand and rode up out of the road. But as he
came up to the door the guards told him he was not the right person, and
he must ride back again. Soon afterward the second Prince also set out,
and he, likewise, when he came to the golden road and his horse set its
forefeet upon it, thought it would be a pity to travel upon it, so he
turned aside to the right hand and went up. When he came to the gate the
guards refused him admittance, and told him he was not the person
expected, and so he had to return homeward. The youngest Prince, who had
all this time been wandering about in the forest, had also remembered
that the year was up, and soon after his Brothers' departure he appeared
before the castle and rode up straight on the golden road, for he was so
deeply engaged in thinking of his beloved Princess that he did not
observe it. As soon as he arrived at the door it was opened, and the
Princess received him with joy, saving he was her deliverer and the lord
of her dominions. Soon after their wedding was celebrated, and when it
was over the Princess told her husband that his Father had forgiven him
and desired to see him. Thereupon he rode to the old King's palace, and
told him how his Brothers had betrayed him while he slept, and had sworn
him to silence. When the King heard this he would have punished the
false Brothers, but they had prudently taken themselves off in a ship,
and they never returned home afterward.




THUMBLING


There was once a poor peasant who sat in the evening by the hearth and
poked the fire, and his wife sat and span. Then said he, "How sad it is
that we have no children! With us all is so quiet, and in other houses
it is noisy and lively."

"Yes," replied the wife, and sighed, "even if we had only one, and it
were quite small, and only as big as a thumb, I should be quite
satisfied, and we would still love it with all our hearts." Now it so
happened that their wish was granted and a child was given them, but
although it was perfect in all its limbs, it was no longer than a thumb.
Then said they, "It is as we wished it to be, and it shall be our dear
child;" and because of its size, they called it Thumbling. They did not
let it want for food, but the child did not grow taller, but remained as
it had been at the first, nevertheless it looked sensibly out of its
eyes, and soon showed itself to be a wise and nimble creature, for
everything it did turned out well.

One day the peasant was getting ready to go into the forest to cut wood,
when he said as if to himself, "How I wish that there was any one who
would bring the cart to me!" "Oh, father," cried Thumbling, "I will soon
bring the cart; rely on that; it shall be in the forest at the appointed
time." The man smiled and said, "How can that be done; you are far too
small to lead the horse by the reins?" "That's of no consequence,
father, if my mother will only harness it, I will sit in the horse's
ear, and call out to him how he is to go." "Well," answered the man,
"for once we will try it."

When the time came, the mother harnessed the horse, and placed Thumbling
in its ear, and then the little creature cried, "Gee up, gee up!"

Then it went quite properly as if with its master, and the cart went the
right way into the forest. It so happened that just as he was turning a
corner, and the little one was crying, "Gee up," two strange men came
towards him. "My word!" said one of them. "What is this? There is a cart
coming, and a driver is calling to the horse, and still he is not to be
seen!" "That can't be right," said the other, "we will follow the cart
and see where it stops." The cart, however, drove right into the forest,
and exactly to the place where the wood had been cut. When Thumbling saw
his father, he cried to him, "See, father, here I am with the cart; now
take me down." The father got hold of the horse with his left hand, and
with the right took his little son out of the ear. Thumbling sat down
quite merrily on a straw, but when the two strange men saw him, they did
not know what to say for astonishment. Then one of them took the other
aside and said, "Hark, the little fellow would make our fortune if we
exhibited him in a large town, for money. We will buy him." They went to
the peasant and said, "Sell us the little man. He shall be well treated
with us." "No," replied the father, "he is the apple of my eye, and all
the money in the world cannot buy him from me." Thumbling, however, when
he heard of the bargain, had crept up the folds of his father's coat,
placed himself on his shoulder, and whispered in his ear. "Father, do
give me away; I will soon come back again." Then the father parted with
him to the two men for a handsome bit of money. "Where do you want to
sit?" they said to him. "Oh, just set me on the rim of your hat, and
then I can walk backwards and forwards and look at the country, and
still not fall down." They did as he wished, and when Thumbling had
taken leave of his father, they went away with him. They walked until it
was dusk, and then the little fellow said, "Do take me down; I want to
come down." The man took his hat off, and put the little fellow on the
ground by the wayside, and he leapt and crept about a little between the
sods, and then he suddenly slipped into a mouse-hole which he had sought
out. "Good-evening, gentlemen, just go home without me," he cried to
them, and mocked them. They ran thither and stuck their sticks into the
mouse-hole, but it was all lost labor. Thumbling crept still farther in,
and as it soon became quite dark, they were forced to go home with their
vexation and their empty purses.

When Thumbling saw that they were gone, he crept back out of the
subterranean passage. "It is so dangerous to walk on the ground in the
dark," said he; "how easily a neck or a leg is broken!" Fortunately, he
knocked against an empty snail-shell. "Thank God!" said he. "In that I
can pass the night in safety," and got into it. Not long afterwards,
when he was just going to sleep, he heard two men go by, and one of them
was saying, "How shall we contrive to get hold of the rich pastor's
silver and gold?" "I could tell you that," cried Thumbling, interrupting
them. "What was that?" said one of the thieves in a fright; "I heard
some one speaking." They stood still listening, and Thumbling spoke
again and said, "Take me with you, and I'll help you."

"But where are you?" "Just look on the ground, and observe from where my
voice comes," he replied. There the thieves at length found him, and
lifted him up. "You little imp, how will you help us?" they said. "A
great deal," said he; "I will creep into the pastor's room through the
iron bars, and will reach out to you whatever you want to have." "Come,
then," they said, "and we will see what you can do." When they got to
the pastor's house, Thumbling crept into the room, but instantly cried
out with all his might, "Do you want to have everything that is here?"
The thieves were alarmed, and said, "But do speak softly, so as not to
waken any one!" Thumbling, however, behaved as if he had not understood
this, and cried again, "What do you want? Do you want to have everything
that is here?" The cook, who slept in the next room, heard this and sat
up in bed, and listened. The thieves, however, had in their fright run
some distance away, but at last they took courage, and thought, "The
little rascal wants to mock us." They came back and whispered to him,
"Come, be serious, and reach something out to us." Then Thumbling again
cried as loudly as he could, "I really will give you everything, only
put your hands in." The maid who was listening, heard this quite
distinctly, and jumped out of bed and rushed to the door. The thieves
took flight, and ran as if the Wild Huntsman were behind them, but as
the maid could not see anything, she went to strike a light. When she
came to the place with it, Thumbling, unperceived, hid himself in the
granary, and the maid, after she had examined every corner and found
nothing, lay down in her bed again, and believed that, after all, she
had only been dreaming with open eyes and ears.

Thumbling had climbed up among the hay and found a beautiful place to
sleep in: there he intended to rest until day, and then go home again to
his parents. But he had other things to go through. Truly there is much
affliction and misery in this world! When day dawned, the maid arose
from her bed to feed the cows. Her first walk was into the barn, where
she laid hold of an armful of hay, and precisely that very one in which
poor Thumbling was lying asleep. He, however, was sleeping so soundly
that he was aware of nothing, and did not awake until he was in the
mouth of the cow, who had picked him up with the hay. "Ah, heavens!"
cried he, "how have I got into the fulling mill?" but he soon discovered
where he was. Then it was necessary to be careful not to let himself go
between the teeth and be dismembered, but he was nevertheless forced to
slip down into the stomach with the hay. "In this little room the
windows are forgotten," said he, "and no sun shines in, neither will a
candle be brought." His quarters were especially unpleasing to him, and
the worst was, more and more hay was always coming in by the door, and
the space grew less and less. Then, at length in his anguish, he cried
as loud as he could, "Bring me no more fodder, bring me no more fodder."
The maid was just milking the cow, and when she heard some one speaking,
and saw no one, and perceived that it was the same voice that she had
heard in the night, she was so terrified that she slipped off her stool,
and spilt the milk. She ran in the greatest haste to her master, and
said, "Oh, heavens, pastor, the cow has been speaking!" "You are mad,"
replied the pastor; but he went himself to the byre to see what was
there. Hardly, however, had he set his foot inside than Thumbling again
cried, "Bring me no more fodder, bring me no more fodder." Then the
pastor himself was alarmed, and thought that an evil spirit had gone
into the cow, and ordered her to be killed. She was killed, but the
stomach, in which Thumbling was, was thrown on the midden. Thumbling had
great difficulty in working his way out; however, he succeeded so far as
to get some room, but, just as he was going to thrust his head out, a
new misfortune occurred. A hungry wolf ran thither, and swallowed the
whole stomach at one gulp. Thumbling did not lose courage. "Perhaps,"
thought he, "the wolf will listen to what I have got to say," and he
called to him from out of his stomach, "Dear wolf, I know of a
magnificent feast for you."

"Where is it to be had?" said the wolf.

"In such and such a house; you must creep into it through the
kitchen-sink; you will find cakes, and bacon, and sausages, and as much
of them as you can eat," and he described to him exactly his father's
house. The wolf did not require to be told this twice, squeezed himself
in at night through the sink, and ate to his heart's content in the
larder. When he had eaten his fill, he wanted to go out again, but he
had become so big that he could not go out by the same way. Thumbling
had reckoned on this, and now began to make a violent noise in the wolfs
body, and raged and screamed as loudly as he could. "Will you be quiet,"
said the wolf; "you will waken up the people!" "Eh, what," replied the
little fellow, "you have eaten your fill, and I will make merry
likewise," and began once more to scream with all his strength. At last
his father and mother were aroused by it, and ran to the room and looked
in through the opening in the door. When they saw that a wolf was
inside, they ran away, and the husband fetched his axe, and the wife the
scythe. "Stay behind," said the man, when they entered the room. "When I
have given him a blow, if he is not killed by it, you must cut him down
and hew his body to pieces." Then Thumbling heard his parents' voices,
and cried, "Dear father, I am here; I am in the wolf's body." Said the
father, full of joy, "Thank God, our dear child has found us again," and
bade the woman take away her scythe, that Thumbling might not be hurt
with it. After that he raised his arm, and struck the wolf such a blow
on his head that he fell down dead, and then they got knives and
scissors and cut his body open, and drew the little fellow forth. "Ah,"
said the father, "what sorrow we have gone through for your sake." "Yes,
father, I have gone about the world a great deal. Thank heaven, I
breathe fresh air again!" "Where have you been, then?" "Ah, father, I
have been in a mouse's hole, in a cow's stomach, and then in a wolf's;
now I will stay with you." "And we will not sell you again; no, not for
all the riches in the world," said his parents, and they embraced and
kissed their dear Thumbling.




BRIAR ROSE


Once upon a time there lived a king and queen who had no children; and
this they lamented very much. But one day, as the queen was walking by
the side of the river, a little fish lifted its head out of the water,
and said, "Your wish shall be fulfilled, and you shall soon have a
daughter."

What the little fish had foretold soon came to pass; and the queen had a
little girl who was so very beautiful that the king could not cease
looking on her for joy, and determined to hold a great feast. So he
invited not only his relations, friends, and neighbors, but also all the
fairies, that they might be kind and good to his little daughter. Now
there were thirteen fairies in his kingdom, and he had only twelve
golden dishes for them to eat out of, so that he was obliged to leave
one of the fairies without an invitation. The rest came, and after the
feast was over they gave all their best gifts to the little princess;
one gave her virtue, another beauty, another riches, and so on till she
had all that was excellent in the world. When eleven had done blessing
her, the thirteenth, who had not been invited, and was very angry on
that account, came in, and determined to take her revenge. So she cried
out, "The king's daughter shall in her fifteenth year be wounded by a
spindle, and fall down dead." Then the twelfth, who had not yet given
her gift, came forward and said that the bad wish must be fulfilled, but
that she could soften it, and that the king's daughter should not die,
but fall asleep for a hundred years.

But the king hoped to save his dear child from the threatened evil, and
ordered that all the spindles in the kingdom should be bought up and
destroyed. All the fairies' gifts were in the meantime fulfilled; for
the princess was so beautiful, and well-behaved and amiable, and wise,
that every one who knew her loved her.

Now it happened that on the very day she was fifteen years old the king
and queen were not at home, and she was left alone in the palace. So she
roamed about by herself, and looked at all the rooms and chambers, till
at last she came to an old tower, to which there was a narrow staircase
ending with a little door. In the door there was a golden key, and when
she turned it the door sprang open, and there sat an old lady spinning
away very busily.

"Why, how now, good mother," said the princess, "what are you doing
there?"

"Spinning," said the old lady, and nodded her head. "How prettily that
little thing turns round!" said the princess, and took the spindle and
began to spin. But scarcely had she touched it before the prophecy was
fulfilled, and she fell down lifeless on the ground.

However, she was not dead, but had only fallen into a deep sleep; and
the king and the queen, who just then came home, and all their court,
fell asleep too, and the horses slept in the stables, and the dogs in
the yard, and the pigeons on the house-top, and the flies on the walls.
Even the fire on the I  hearth left off blazing, and went to sleep; and
the meat that was roasting stood still; and the cook, who was at that
moment pulling the kitchen-boy by the hair to give him a box on the ear
for something he had done amiss, let him go, and both fell asleep; and
so everything stood still, and slept soundly.

A high hedge of thorns soon grew around the palace, and every year it
became higher and thicker, till at last the whole palace was surrounded
and hidden, so that not even the roof or the chimneys could be seen.

But there went a report through all the land of the beautiful sleeping
Briar Rose, for thus was the king's daughter called; so that from time
to time several kings' sons came, and tried to break through the thicket
into the palace.

This they could never do; for the thorns and bushes laid hold of them as
it were with hands, and there they stuck fast and died miserably.

After many, many years there came another king's son into that land, and
an old man told him the story of the thicket of thorns, and how a
beautiful palace stood behind it, in which was a wondrous princess,
called Briar Rose, asleep with all her court. He told, too, how he had
heard from his grandfather that many, many princes had come, and had
tried to break through the thicket, but had stuck fast and died.

Then the young prince said, "All this shall not frighten me; I will go
and see Briar Rose." The old man tried to dissuade him, but he persisted
in going.

Now that very day the hundred years were completed; and as the prince
came to the thicket he saw nothing but beautiful flowering shrubs,
through which he passed with ease, and they closed after him as firm as
ever.

Then he came at last to the palace, and there in the yard lay the dogs
asleep, and the horses in the stables, and on the roof sat the pigeons
fast asleep with their heads under their wings; and when he came into
the palace, the flies slept on the walls, and the cook in the kitchen
was still holding up her hand as if she would beat the boy, and the maid
sat with a black fowl in her hand ready to be plucked.

Then he went on still further, and all was so still that he could hear
every breath he drew; till at last he came to the old tower and opened
the door of the little room in which Briar Rose was, and there she lay
fast asleep, and looked so beautiful that he could not take his eyes
off, and he stooped down and gave her a kiss. But the moment he kissed
her she opened her eyes and awoke, and smiled upon him.

Then they went out together, and presently the king and queen also
awoke, and all the court, and they gazed on each other with great
wonder.

And the horses got up and shook themselves, and the dogs jumped about
and barked; the pigeons took their heads from under their wings, and
looked about and flew into the fields; the flies on the walls buzzed
away; the fire in the kitchen blazed up and cooked the dinner, and the
roast meat turned round again; the cook gave the boy the box on his ear
so that he cried out, and the maid went on plucking the fowl.

And then was the wedding of the prince and Briar Rose celebrated, and
they lived happily together all their lives.




THE SIX SWANS


A King was once hunting in a large wood, and pursued his game so hotly
that none of his courtiers could follow him. But when evening approached
he stopped, and looking around him perceived that he had lost himself.
He sought a path out of the forest but could not find one, and presently
he saw an old woman, with a nodding head, who came up to him. "My good
woman," said he to her, "can you not show me the way out of the forest?"
"Oh, yes, my lord King," she replied; "I can do that very well, but upon
one condition, which if you do not fulfil, you will never again get out
of the wood, but will die of hunger."

"What, then, is this condition?" asked the King.

"I have a daughter," said the old woman, "who is as beautiful as any one
you can find in die whole world, and well deserves to be your bride.
Now, if you will make her your Queen, I will show you your way out of
the wood." In the anxiety of his heart, the King consented, and the old
woman led him to her cottage, where the daughter was sitting by the
fire. She received the King as if she had expected him, and he saw at
once that she was very beautiful, but yet she did not quite please him,
for he could not look at her without a secret shuddering. However, he
took the maiden upon his horse, and the old woman showed him the way,
and the King arrived safely at his palace, where the wedding was to be
celebrated.

The King had been married once before, and had seven children by his
first wife, six boys and a girl, whom he loved above everything else in
the world. He became afraid, soon, that the step-mother might not treat
his children very well, and might even do them some great injury, so he
took them away to a lonely castle which stood in the midst of a forest.
The castle was so entirely hidden, and the way to it was so difficult to
discover, that he himself could not have found it if a wise woman had
not given him a ball of cotton which had the wonderful property, when he
threw it before him, of unrolling itself and showing him the right path.
The King went, however, so often to see his dear children, that the
Queen, noticing his absence, became inquisitive, and wished to know what
he went to fetch out of the forest. So she gave his servants a great
quantity of money, and they disclosed to her the secret, and also told
her of the ball of cotton which alone could show her the way. She had
now no peace until she discovered where this ball was concealed, and
then she made some fine silken shirts, and, as she had learnt of her
mother, she sewed within each a charm. One day soon after, when the King
was gone out hunting, she took the little shirts and went into the
forest, and the cotton showed her the path. The children, seeing some
one coming in the distance, thought it was their dear father, and ran
out full of joy. Then she threw over each of them a shirt, that, as it
touched their bodies, changed them into Swans, which flew away over the
forest. The Queen then went home quite contented, and thought she was
free of her step-children; but the little girl had not met her with the
brothers, and the Queen did not know of her.

The following day the King went to visit his children, but he found only
the Maiden. "Where are your brothers?" asked he. "Ah, dear father," she
replied, "they are gone away and have left me alone"; and she told him
how she had looked out of the window and seen them changed into Swans,
which had flown over the forest; and then she showed him the feathers
which they had dropped in the courtyard, and which she had collected
together. The King was much grieved, but he did not think that his wife
could have done this wicked deed, and, as he feared the girl might also
be stolen away, he took her with him. She was, however, so much afraid
of the step-mother, that she begged him not to stop more than one night
in the castle.

The poor Maiden thought to herself, "This is no longer my place; I will
go and seek my brothers"; and when night came she escaped and went quite
deep into the wood. She walked all night long, and a great part of the
next day, until she could go no further from weariness. Just then she
saw a rough-looking hut, and going in, she found a room with six little
beds, but she dared not get into one, so crept under, and laying herself
upon the hard earth, prepared to pass the night there. Just as the sun
was setting, she heard a rustling, and saw six white Swans come flying
in at the window. They settled on the ground and began blowing one
another until they had blown all their feathers off, and their swan's
down slipped from them like a shirt. Then the Maiden knew them at once
for her brothers, and gladly crept out from under the bed, and the
brothers were not less glad to see their sister, but their joy was of
short duration. "Here you must not stay," said they to her; "this is a
robbers' hiding-place; if they should return and find you here, they
would murder you."

"Can you not protect me, then?" inquired the sister.

"No," they replied; "for we can only lay aside our swan's feathers for a
quarter of an hour each evening, and for that time we regain our human
form, but afterwards we resume our changed appearance."

Their sister then asked them, with tears, "Can you not be restored
again?"

"Oh, no," replied they; "the conditions are too difficult. For six long
years you must neither speak nor laugh, and during that time you must
sew together for us six little shirts of star-flowers, and should there
fall a single word from your lips, then all your labor will be in vain."
Just as the brothers finished speaking, the quarter of an hour elapsed,
and they all flew out of the window again like Swans.

The little sister, however, made a solemn resolution to rescue her
brothers, or die in the attempt; and she left the cottage, and,
penetrating deep into the forest, passed the night amid the branches of
a tree. The next morning she went out and collected the star-flowers to
sew together. She had no one to converse with and for laughing she had
no spirits, so there up in the tree she sat, intent upon her work.

After she had passed some time there, it happened that the King of that
country was hunting in the forest, and his huntsmen came beneath the
tree on which the Maiden sat. They called to her and asked, "Who art
thou?" But she gave no answer. "Come down to us," continued they; "we
will do thee no harm." She simply shook her head, and when they pressed
her further with questions, she threw down to them her gold necklace,
hoping therewith to satisfy them. They did not, however, leave her, and
she threw down her girdle, but in vain! and even her rich dress did not
make them desist. At last the huntsman himself climbed the tree and
brought down the Maiden, and took her before the King.

The King asked her, "Who art thou? What dost thou upon that tree?" But
she did not answer; and then he questioned her in all the languages that
he knew, but she remained dumb to all, as a fish. Since, however, she
was so beautiful, the King's heart was touched, and he conceived for her
a strong affection. Then he put around her his cloak, and, placing her
before him on his horse, took her to his castle. There he ordered rich
clothing to be made for her, and, although her beauty shone as the
sunbeams, not a word escaped her. The King placed her by his side at
table, and there her dignified mien and manners so won upon him, that he
said, "This Maiden will I marry, and no other in the world;" and after
some days he wedded her.

Now, the King had a wicked step-mother, who was discontented with his
marriage, and spoke evil of the young Queen. "Who knows whence the wench
comes?" said she. "She who cannot speak is not worthy of a King." A year
after, when the Queen brought her first-born into the world, the old
woman took him away. Then she went to the King and complained that the
Queen was a murderess. The King, however, would not believe it, and
suffered no one to do any injury to his wife, who sat composedly sewing
at her shirts and paying attention to nothing else. When a second child
was born, the false stepmother used the same deceit, but the King again
would not listen to her words, saying, "She is too pious and good to act
so; could she but speak and defend herself, her innocence would come to
light." But when again, the old woman stole away the third child, and
then accused the Queen, who answered not a word to the accusation, the
King was obliged to give her up to be tried, and she was condemned to
suffer death by fire.

When the time had elapsed, and the sentence was to be carried out, it
happened that the very day had come round when her dear brothers should
be set free; the six shirts were also ready, all but the last, which yet
wanted the left sleeve. As she was led to the scaffold, she placed the
shirts upon her arm, and just as she had mounted it, and the fire was
about to be kindled, she looked around, and saw six Swans come flying
through the air. Her heart leapt for joy as she perceived her deliverers
approaching, and soon the Swans, flying towards her, alighted so near
that she was enabled to throw over them the shirts, and as soon as she
had done so, their feathers fell off and the brothers stood up alive and
well; but the youngest was without his left arm, instead of which he had
a swan's wing. They embraced and kissed each other, and the Queen, going
to the King, who was thunderstruck, began to say, "Now may I speak, my
dear husband, and prove to you that I am innocent and falsely accused;"
and then she told him how the wicked woman had stolen away and hidden
her three children. When she had concluded, the King was overcome with
joy, and the wicked stepmother was led to the scaffold and bound to the
stake and burnt to ashes. The King and Queen for ever after lived in
peace and prosperity with their six brothers.




RAPUNZEL


There were once a man and a woman who had long in in vain wished for a
child. At length the woman hoped that God was about to grant her desire.
These people had a little window at the back of their house from which a
splendid garden could be seen, which was full of the most beautiful
flowers and herbs. It was, however, surrounded by a high wall, and no
one dared to go into it because it belonged to an enchantress, who had
great power and was dreaded by all the world. One day the woman was
standing by this window and looking down into the garden, when she saw a
bed which was planted with the most beautiful rampion (rapunzel), and it
looked so fresh and green that she longed for it, and had the greatest
desire to eat some. This desire increased every day, and as she knew
that she could not get any of it, she quite pined away, and looked pale
and miserable. Then her husband was alarmed, and asked, "What ails you,
dear wife?" "Ah," she replied, "if I can't get some of the rampion which
is in the garden behind our house, to eat, I shall die." The man, who
loved her, thought, "Sooner than let your wife die, bring her some of
the rampion yourself, let it cost you what it will." In the twilight of
evening, he clambered down over the wall into the garden of the
enchantress, hastily clutched a handful of rampion, and took it to his
wife. She at once made herself a salad of it, and ate it with much
relish. She, however, liked it so much, so very much, that the next day
she longed for it three times as much as before. If he was to have any
rest, her husband must once more descend into the garden. In the gloom
of evening, therefore, he let himself down again; but when he had
clambered down the wall he was terribly afraid, for he saw the
enchantress standing before him. "How can you dare," said she with angry
look, "to descend into my garden and steal my rampion like a thief? You
shall suffer for it!" "Ah," answered he, "let mercy take the place of
justice. I only made up my mind to do it out of necessity. My wife saw
your rampion from the window, and felt such a longing for it that she
would have died if she had not got some to eat." Then the enchantress
allowed her anger to be softened, and said to him, "If the case be as
you say, I will allow you to take away with you as much rampion as you
will, only I make one condition, you must give me the child which your
wife will bring into the world; it shall be well treated, and I will
care for it like a mother." The man in his terror consented to
everything, and when the little one came to them, the enchantress
appeared at once, gave the child the name of Rapunzel, and took it away
with her.

Rapunzel grew into the most beautiful child beneath the sun. When she
was twelve years old, the enchantress shut her into a tower, which lay
in a forest, and had neither stairs nor door, but quite at the top was a
little window. When the enchantress wanted to go in, she placed herself
beneath this, and cried,

  "Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
  Let down your hair to me."

Rapunzel had magnificent long hair, fine as spun gold, and when she
heard the voice of the enchantress she unfastened her braided tresses,
wound them round one of the hooks of the window above, and then the hair
fell twenty yards down, and the enchantress climbed up by it.

After a year or two, it came to pass that the King's son rode through
the forest and went by the tower. Then he heard a song, which was so
charming that he stood still and listened. This was Rapunzel, who in her
solitude passed her time in letting her sweet voice resound. The King's
son wanted to climb up to her, and looked for the door of the tower, but
none was to be found. He rode home, but the singing had so deeply
touched his heart, that every day he went out into the forest and
listened to it. Once when he was thus standing behind a tree, he saw
that an enchantress came there, and he heard how she cried,

  "Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
  Let down your hair."

Then Rapunzel let down the braids of her hair, and the enchantress
climbed up to her. "If that is the ladder by which one mounts, I will
for once try my fortune," said he, and the next day, when it began to
grow dark, he went to the tower and cried.

  "Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
  Let down your hair."

Immediately the hair fell down, and the King's son climbed up.

At first Rapunzel was terribly frightened when a man such as her eyes
had never yet beheld came to her; but the King's son began to talk to
her quite like a friend, and told her that his heart had been so stirred
that it had let him have no rest, and he had been forced to see her.
Then Rapunzel lost her fear, and when he asked her if she would take him
for a husband, and she saw that he was young and handsome, she thought,
"He will love me more than old Dame Gothel does;" and she said yes, and
laid her hand in his. She said, "I will willingly go away with you, but
I do not know how to get down. Bring with you a skein of silk every time
that you come, and I will weave a ladder with it, and when that is ready
I will descend, and you will take me on your horse." They agreed that
until that time he should come to her every evening, for the old woman
came by day. The enchantress remarked nothing of this, until once
Rapunzel said to her, "Tell me, Dame Gothel, how it happens that you are
so much heavier for me to draw up than the young King's son--he is with
me in a moment." "Ah! you wicked child," cried the enchantress, "what do
I hear you say! I thought I had separated you from all the world, and
yet you have deceived me!" In her anger she clutched Rapunzel's
beautiful tresses, wrapped them twice round her left hand, seized a pair
of scissors with the right, and snip, snip, they were cut off, and the
lovely braids lay on the ground. And she was so pitiless that she took
poor Rapunzel into a desert, where she had to live in great grief and
misery.

On the same day, however, that she cast out Rapunzel, the enchantress in
the evening fastened the braids of hair which she had cut off to the
hook of the window, and when the King's son came and cried,

  "Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
  Let down your hair,"

she let the hair down. The King's son ascended, but he did not find his
dearest Rapunzel above, but the enchantress, who gazed at him with
wicked and venomous looks. "Aha!" she cried mockingly. "You would fetch
your dearest, but the beautiful bird sits no longer singing in the nest;
the cat has got it, and will scratch out your eyes as well. Rapunzel is
lost to you; you will never see her more." The King's son was beside
himself with pain, and in his despair he leapt down from the tower. He
escaped with his life, but the thorns into which he fell pierced his
eyes. Then he wandered quite blind about the forest, ate nothing but
roots and berries, and did nothing but lament and weep over the loss of
his dearest wife. Thus he roamed about  I in misery for some years, and
at length came to the desert where Rapunzel lived in wretchedness. He
heard a voice, and it seemed so familiar to him that he went towards it,
and when he approached, Rapunzel knew him and fell on his neck and wept.
Two of her tears wetted his eyes, and they grew clear again, and he
could see with them as before. He led her to his kingdom, where he was
joyfully received, and they lived for a long time afterwards, happy and
contented.




MOTHER HOLLE


There was once a widow who had two daughters--one of whom was pretty and
industrious, while the other was ugly and idle. But she was much fonder
of the ugly and idle one, because she was her own daughter; and the
other, who was a step-daughter, was obliged to do all the work, and be
the Cinderella of the house. Every day the poor girl had to sit by a
well, in the highway, and spin and spin till her fingers bled.

Now it happened that one day the shuttle was marked with her blood, so
she dipped it in the well, to wash the mark off; but it dropped out of
her hand and fell to the bottom. She began to weep, and ran to her
step-mother and told of the mishap. But she scolded her sharply, and was
so merciless as to say, "Since you have let the shuttle fall in, you
must fetch it out again."

So the girl went back to the well, and did not know what to do; and in
the sorrow of her heart she jumped into the well to get the shuttle. She
lost her senses; and when she awoke and came to herself again, she was
in a lovely meadow where the sun was shining and many thousands of
flowers were growing. Along this meadow she went, and at last came to a
baker's oven full of bread, and the bread cried out, "Oh, take me out!
take me out! or I shall burn; I have been baked a long time!" So she
went up to it, and took out all the loaves one after another with the
bread-shovel. After that she went on till she came to a tree covered
with apples, which called out to her, "Oh, shake me! shake me! we apples
are all ripe!" So she shook the tree till the apples fell like rain, and
went on shaking till they were all down, and when she had gathered them
into a heap, she went on her way.

At last she came to a little house, out of which an old woman peeped;
but she had such large teeth that the girl was frightened, and was about
to run away.

But the old woman called out to her, "What are you afraid of, dear
child? Stay with me; if you will do all the work in the house properly,
you shall be the better for it. Only you must take care to make my bed
well, and to shake it thoroughly till the feathers fly--for then there
is snow on the earth. I am Mother Holle."

As the old woman spoke so kindly to her, the girl took courage and
agreed to enter her service. She attended to everything to the
satisfaction of her mistress, and always shook her bed so vigorously
that the feathers flew about like snow-flakes. So she had a pleasant
life with her; never an angry word; and boiled or roast meat every day.

She stayed some time with Mother Holle, and then she became sad. At
first she did not know what was the matter with her, but found at length
that it was homesickness; although she was many times better off here
than at home, still she had a longing to be there. At last she said to
the old woman, "I have a longing for home; and however well off I am
down here, I cannot stay any longer; I must go up again to my own
people." Mother Holle said, "I am pleased that you long for your home
again, and as you have served me so truly, I myself will take you up
again." Thereupon she took her by the hand, and led her to a large door.
The door was opened, and just as the maiden was standing beneath the
doorway, a heavy shower of golden rain fell, and all the gold remained
sticking to her, so that she was completely covered with it.

"You shall have that because you are so industrious," said Mother Holle;
and at the same time she gave her back the shuttle which she had let
fall into the well. Thereupon the door closed, and the maiden found
herself up above upon the earth, not far from her mother's house.

And as she went into the yard the cock cried: "Cock-a-doodle-doo! Your
golden girl's come back to you!"

So she went in to her mother, and as she arrived thus covered with gold,
she was well received, both by her and her sister.

The girl told all that had happened to her; and as soon as the mother
heard how she had come by so much wealth, she was very anxious to obtain
the same good luck for the ugly and lazy daughter. She had to seat
herself by the well and spin; and in order that her shuttle might be
stained with blood, she stuck her hand into a thorn-bush and pricked her
finger. Then she threw her shuttle into the well, and jumped in after
it.

She came, like the other, to the beautiful meadow and walked along the
very same path. When she got to the oven the bread again cried, "Oh,
take me out! take me out! or I shall burn; I have been baked a long
time!" But the lazy thing answered, "As if I had any wish to make myself
dirty!" and on she went. Soon she came to the apple-tree, which cried,
"Oh, shake me! shake me! we apples are all ripe!" But she answered, "I
like that! one of you might fall on my head," and so went on.

When she came to Mother Holle's house she was not afraid, for she had
already heard of her big teeth, and she hired herself to her
immediately.

The first day she forced herself to work diligently, and obeyed Mother
Holle when she told her to do anything, for she was thinking of all the
gold that she would give her. But on the second day she began to be
lazy, and on the third day still more so, and then she would not get up
in the morning at all. Neither did she make Mother Holle's bed as she
ought, and did not shake it so as to make the feathers fly up. Mother
Holle was soon tired of this, and gave her notice to leave. The lazy
girl was willing enough to go, and thought that now the golden rain
would come. Mother Holle led her, too, to the great door; but while she
was standing beneath it, instead of the gold a big kettleful of pitch
was emptied over her. "That is the reward of your service," said Mother
Holle, and shut the door.

So the lazy girl went home; but she was quite covered with pitch, and
the cock by the well-side, as soon as he saw her, cried:
"Cock-a-doodle-doo! Your pitchy girl's come back to you." But the pitch
stuck fast to her, and could not be got off as long as she lived.




THE FROG PRINCE


In the olden time, when wishing was having, there lived a King, whose
daughters were all beautiful; but the youngest was so exceedingly
beautiful that the Sun himself, although he saw her very, very often,
was delighted every time she came out into the sunshine.

Near the castle of this King was a large and gloomy forest, where in the
midst stood an old lime-tree, beneath whose branches splashed a little
fountain; so, whenever it was very hot, the King's youngest daughter ran
off into this wood, and sat down by the side of the fountain; and, when
she felt dull, would often divert herself by throwing a golden ball up
into the air and catching it again. And this was her favorite amusement.

Now, one day it happened that this golden ball, when the King's daughter
threw it into the air, did not fall down into her hand, but on to the
grass; and then it rolled right into the fountain. The King's daughter
followed the ball with her eyes, but it disappeared beneath the water,
which was so deep that she could not see to the bottom. Then she began
to lament, and to cry more loudly and more loudly; and, as she cried, a
voice called out, "Why weepest thou, O King's daughter? thy tears would
melt even a stone to pity." She looked around to the spot whence the
voice came, and saw a frog stretching his thick, ugly head out of the
water. "Ah! you old water-paddler," said she, "was it you that spoke? I
am weeping for my golden ball which bounced away from me into the
water."

"Be quiet, and do not cry," replied the Frog; "I can give thee good
assistance. But what wilt thou give me if I succeed in fetching thy
plaything up again?"

"What would you like, dear Frog?" said she. "My dresses, my pearls and
jewels, or the golden crown which I wear?"

The Frog replied, "Dresses, or jewels, or golden crowns, are not for me;
but if thou wilt love me, and let me be thy companion and playmate, and
sit at thy table, and eat from thy little golden plate, and drink out of
thy cup, and sleep in thy little bed,--if thou wilt promise me all these
things, then I will dive down and fetch up thy golden ball."

"Oh, I will promise you all," said she, "if you will only get me my
golden ball." But she thought to herself, "What is the silly Frog
chattering about? Let him stay in the water with his equals; he cannot
enter into society." Then the Frog, as soon as he had received her
promise, drew his head under the water and dived down. Presently he swam
up again with the golden ball in his mouth, and threw it on to the
grass. The King's daughter was full of joy when she again saw her
beautiful plaything; and, taking it up, she ran off immediately. "Stop!
stop!" cried the Frog; "take me with thee. I cannot run as thou canst."

But this croaking was of no avail; although it was loud enough, the
King's daughter did not hear it, but, hastening home, soon forgot the
poor Frog, who was obliged to leap back into the fountain.

The next day, when the King's daughter was sitting at table with her
father and all his courtiers, and was eating from her own little golden
plate, something was heard coming up the marble stairs, splish-splash,
splish-splash; and when it arrived at the top, it knocked at the door,
and a voice said--

"Open the door, thou youngest daughter of the King!"

So she arose and went to see who it was that called to her; but when she
opened the door and caught sight of the Frog, she shut it again very
quickly and with great passion, and sat down at the table, looking
exceedingly pale.

But the King perceived that her heart was beating violently, and asked
her whether it were a giant who had come to fetch her away who stood at
the door. "Oh, no!" answered she; "it is no giant, but an ugly Frog."

"What does the Frog want with you?" said the King.

"Oh, dear father, yesterday when I was playing by the fountain, my
golden ball fell into the water, and this Frog fetched it up again
because I cried so much: but first, I must tell you, he pressed me so
much, that I promised him he should be my companion. I never thought
that he could come out of the water, but somehow he has managed to jump
out, and now he wants to come in here."

At that moment there was another knock, and a voice said--

  "King's daughter, youngest,
    Open the door.
  Hast thou forgotten
    Thy promises made
  At the fountain so clear
    'Neath the lime-tree's shade?
  King's daughter, youngest.
    Open the door."

Then the King said, "What you have promised, that you must perform; go
and let him in." So the King's daughter went and opened the door, and
the Frog hopped in after her right up to her chair: and as soon as she
was seated, he said, "Lift me up;" but she hesitated so long that the
King had to order her to obey. And as soon as the Frog sat on the chair
he jumped on to the table and said, "Now push thy plate near me, that we
may eat together." And she did so, but as every one noticed, very
unwillingly. The Frog seemed to relish his dinner very much, but every
bit that the King's daughter ate nearly choked her, till at last the
Frog said, "I have satisfied my hunger, and feel very tired; wilt thou
carry me upstairs now into thy chamber, and make thy bed ready that we
may sleep together?" At this speech the King's daughter began to cry,
for she was afraid of the cold Frog, and dared not touch him; and
besides, he actually wanted to sleep in her own beautiful, clean bed!

But her tears only made the King very angry, and he said, "He who helped
you in the time of your trouble must not now be despised!" So she took
the Frog up with two fingers, and put him into a corner of her chamber.
But as she lay in her bed, he crept up to it, and said, "I am so very
tired that I shall sleep well; do take me up, or I will tell thy
father." This speech put the King's daughter into a terrible passion,
and catching the Frog up, she threw him with all her strength against
the wall, saying "Now will you be quiet, you ugly Frog!"

But as he fell he was changed from a Frog into a handsome Prince with
beautiful eyes, who after a little while became her dear companion and
betrothed. One morning, Henry, trusted servant of the Prince, came for
them with a carriage. When his master was changed into a frog, trusty
Henry had grieved so much that he had bound three iron bands around his
heart, for fear it should break with grief and sorrow. The faithful
Henry (who was also the trusty Henry) helped in the bride and
bridegroom, and placed himself in the seat behind, full of joy at his
master's release. They had not proceeded far when the Prince heard a
crack as if something had broken behind the carriage; so he put his head
out of the window and asked trusty Henry what was broken, and faithful
Henry answered, "It was not the carriage, my master, but an iron band
which I bound around my heart when it was in such grief because you were
changed into a frog."

Twice afterwards on the journey there was the same noise, and each time
the Prince thought that it was some part of the carriage that had given
way; but it was only the breaking of the bands which bound the heart of
the trusty Henry (who was also the faithful Henry), and who was
thenceforward free and happy.




THE TRAVELS OF TOM THUMB


There lived a tailor who had only one son, and he was extremely small,
not any larger than your thumb, and so was called Tom Thumb.

However, he was a courageous little fellow, and he told his father,
"Father, I am determined to go into the world to seek my fortune."

"Very well, my son," answered the old man, and taking a big darning
needle, he made a top to it of sealing wax, and gave it to Tom Thumb,
saying:

"There is a sword for you to use to defend yourself on your
journeyings."

Then the little fellow, desiring to dine once more with his parents,
popped into the kitchen to find out what his mother was preparing for
his last dinner at home. All the dishes were ready to be taken in, and
they were standing upon the hearth.

"What is it you have for dinner, dear mother?" he inquired.

"You can look for yourself," she replied.

Then Tom sprang up on to the hob, and peeped into all the dishes, but
over one he leant so far, that he was carried up by the steam through
the chimney, and then for some distance he floated on the smoke, but
after a while he fell upon the ground once more.

Now, at last, Tom Thumb was really out in the wide world, and he went on
cheerily, and after a time was engaged by a master tailor; but here the
food was not so good as his mother's, and it was not to his taste.

So he said, "Mistress, if you will not give me better things to eat, I
shall chalk upon your door, 'Too many potatoes, and not enough meat.
Good-bye, potato-mill.'"

"I should like to know what you want, you little grasshopper!" cried the
woman very angrily, and she seized a shred of cloth to strike him;
however, the tiny tailor popped under a thimble, and from it he peeped,
putting out his tongue at the mistress.

So she took up the thimble, meaning to catch him, but Tom Thumb hid
himself amongst the shreds of cloth, and when she began to search
through those, he slipped into a crack in the table, but put out his
head to laugh at her; so she tried again to hit him with the shred, but
did not succeed in doing so, for he slipped through the crack into the
table drawer.

At last, though, he was caught, and driven out of the house.

So the little fellow continued his travels, and presently entering a
thick forest, he encountered a company of robbers who were plotting to
steal the king's treasure.

As soon as they saw the little tailor, they said to themselves, "A
little fellow like this could creep through a keyhole, and aid us
greatly." So one called out--

"Hullo, little man, will you come with us to the king's treasury?
Certainly a Goliath like you could creep in with ease, and throw out the
coins to us."

After considering awhile, Tom Thumb consented, and accompanied them to
the king's treasury.

From top to bottom they inspected the door to discover a crack large
enough for him to get through, and soon found one. He was for going in
directly, but one of the sentinels happening to catch sight of him,
exclaimed: "Here is indeed an ugly spider; I will crush it with my
foot."

"Leave the poor creature alone," the other said; "it has not done you
any harm."

So Tom Thumb slipped through the crack, and made his way to the
treasury. Then he opened the window, and cast out the coins to the
robbers who were waiting below. While the little tailor was engaged in
this exciting employment, he heard the king coming to inspect his
treasure, so as quickly as possible he crept out of sight. The king
noticed that his treasure had been disarranged, and soon observed that
coins were missing: but he was utterly unable to think how they could
have been stolen, for the locks and bolts had not been tampered with,
and everything was well fastened.

On going from the treasury, he warned the two sentinels, saying--

"Be on the watch, some one is after the money," and quite soon, on Tom
Thumb setting to work again, they heard very clearly the coins ringing,
chink, chank, as they struck one against the other.

As quickly as possible they unfastened the building and went in, hoping
to take the thief.

But Tom Thumb was too quick for them, he sprang into a corner, and
hiding himself behind a coin, so that nothing of him was visible, he
made fun of the sentinels; crying "I am here!" Then when the men hurried
to the spot where the voice came from, he was no longer there, but from
a different place cried out: "Ha, Ha! here I am!"

So the sentinels kept jumping about, but so cleverly did Tom move from
one spot to another, that they were obliged to run around the whole
time, hoping to find somebody, until at length, quite tired out, they
went off.

Then Tomb Thumb went on with his work, and one after another he threw
all the coins out of the window, but the very last he sounded and rang
with all his might and springing nimbly upon it, so flew through the
window.

The robbers were loud in their praises.

"Indeed you are a brave fellow," they said, "will you be our captain?"

Tom Thumb, thanking them, declined this honor, for he was anxious to see
more of the world. Then the booty was apportioned out, but only a ducat
was given to the little tailor, for that was as much as he could carry.

So Tom girded on his sword again, and bidding farewell to the robbers,
continued his travels.

He tried to get work under various masters, but they would have nothing
to do with him, so after a while he took service at an inn. But the
maids there disliked him, for he was about everywhere, and saw all that
went on, without being seen himself; and he told their mistress of their
dishonest ways, of what was taken off the plates, and from out the
cellars.

So they threatened they would drown him, if they caught him, and
determined to do him some harm. Then, one day, a maid mowing in the
garden saw Tom Thumb running in and out between the blades of grass, so
she cut the grass, in great haste, just where he chanced to be, tied it
all in a bundle, and, without anyone knowing, threw it to the cows.

Then one big black cow took up a mouthful of grass directly, with Tom in
it, and swallowed it down; without doing him any damage, however.

But Tom did not approve of his position, for it was pitch dark down
there, with no light burning.

When milking time came, he shouted--

  "Drip, drap, drop,
  Will the milking soon stop?"

but the sound of the milk trickling into the pail prevented his voice
being heard.

Not long afterwards the master came into the shed, and said:

"I will have that cow killed to-morrow."

This put Tom Thumb into a great fright, and he called out loudly:

"Please let me out, here I am inside."

This the master heard plainly enough, but could not make out where the
voice came from.

"Where are you?" he inquired.

"In the black cow," was the reply.

However, the master could not understand what was meant, and so went
away.

The following morning the cow was killed, but fortunately in the cutting
up the knife did not touch Tom Thumb, who was put aside with the meat
that was to be made into sausages.

When the butcher began chopping, he cried as loudly as he could--

"Don't chop far, I am down beneath," but the chopper made so much noise,
that he attracted no attention.

It was indeed a terrible situation for poor Tom. But being in danger
brightens one's wits, and he sprang so nimbly, this way and that,
keeping clear of the chopper, that not a blow struck him, and he did not
get even a scratch.

However, he could not escape, there was no help for it, he was forced
into a skin with the sausage meat, so was compelled to make himself as
comfortable as might be. It was very close quarters, and besides that,
the sausages were suspended to smoke in the chimney, which was by no
means entertaining, and the time passed slowly.

When winter came, he was taken down for a guest's meal, and while the
hostess was slicing the sausage he had to be on his guard, lest if he
stretched out his head it might be cut off.

Watching his opportunity, at last he was able to jump out of the
sausage, and right glad was he to be once again in the company of his
fellow-men.

It was not very long, however, that he stayed in this house, where he
had been met by so many misfortunes, and again he set forth on his
travels, rejoicing in his freedom, but this did not long continue.

Swiftly running across the field came a fox, who, in an instant, had
snapped up poor little Tom.

"Oh, Mr. Fox," called out the little tailor, "it is I who am in your
throat; please let me out."

"Certainly," answered Reynard, "you are not a bit better than nothing at
all, you don't in the least satisfy me; make me a promise, that I shall
have the hens in your father's yard, and you shall regain your liberty."

"Willingly, you shall have all the hens; I make you a faithful promise,"
responded Tom Thumb.

So the fox coughed and set him free, and himself carried Tom home.

Then when the father had his dear little son once more he gave the fox
all his hens, with the greatest of pleasure.

"Here, father, I am bringing you a golden coin from my travels," said
the little fellow, and he brought out the ducat the thieves had
apportioned to him.

"But how was it that the fox was given all the poor little hens?"

"Foolish little one, don't you think your father would rather have you,
than all the hens he ever had in his yard?"




SNOW-WHITE AND ROSE-RED


A poor widow once lived in a little cottage. In front of the cottage was
a garden, in which were growing two rose trees; one of these bore white
roses, and the other red.

She had two children, who resembled the rose trees. One was called
Snow-White, and the other Rose-Red; and they were as religious and
loving, busy and untiring, as any two children ever were.

Snow-White was more gentle, and quieter than her sister, who liked
better skipping about the fields, seeking flowers, and catching summer
birds; while Snow-White stayed at home with her mother, either helping
her in her work, or, when that was done, reading aloud.

The two children had the greatest affection the one for the other. They
were always seen hand in hand; and should Snow-White say to her sister,
"We will never separate," the other would reply, "Not while we live,"
the mother adding, "That which one has, let her always share with the
other."

They constantly ran together in the woods, collecting ripe berries; but
not a single animal would have injured them; quite the reverse, they all
felt the greatest esteem for the young creatures. The hare came to eat
parsley from their hands, the deer grazed by their side, the stag
bounded past them unheeding; the birds, likewise, did not stir from the
bough, but sang in entire security. No mischance befell them; if
benighted in the wood, they lay down on the moss to repose and sleep
till the morning; and their mother was satisfied as to their safety, and
felt no fear about them.

Once, when they had spent the night in the wood, and the bright sunrise
awoke them, they saw a beautiful child, in a snow-white robe, shining
like diamonds, sitting close to the spot where they had reposed. She
arose when they opened their eyes, and looked kindly at them; but said
no word, and passed from their sight into the wood. When the children
looked around they saw they had been sleeping on the edge of a
precipice, and would surely have fallen over if they had gone forward
two steps further in the darkness. Their mother said the beautiful child
must have been the angel who keeps watch over good children.

Snow-White and Rose-Red kept their mother's cottage so clean that it
gave pleasure only to look in. In summer-time Rose-Red attended to the
house, and every morning, before her mother awoke, placed by her bed a
bouquet which had in it a rose from each of the rose-trees. In
winter-time Snow-White set light to the fire, and put on the kettle,
after polishing it until it was like gold for brightness. In the
evening, when snow was falling, her mother would bid her bolt the door,
and then, sitting by the hearth, the good widow would read aloud to them
from a big book while the little girls were spinning. Close by them lay
a lamb, and a white pigeon, with its head tucked under its wing, was on
a perch behind.

One evening, as they were all sitting cosily together like this, there
was a knock at the door, as if someone wished to come in.

"Make haste, Rose-Red!" said her mother; "open the door; it is surely
some traveller seeking shelter." Rose-Red accordingly pulled back the
bolt, expecting to see some poor man. But it was nothing of the kind; it
was a bear, that thrust his big, black head in at the open door.
Rose-Red cried out and sprang back, the lamb bleated, the dove fluttered
her wings, and Snow-White hid herself behind her mother's bed. The bear
began speaking, and said, "Do not be afraid; I will not do you any harm;
I am half-frozen and would like to warm myself a little at your fire."

"Poor bear!" the mother replied; "come in and lie by the fire; only be
careful that your hair is not burnt." Then she called Snow-White and
Rose-Red, telling them that the bear was kind, and would not harm them.
They came, as she bade them, and presently the lamb and the dove drew
near also without fear.

"Children," begged the bear; "knock some of the snow off my coat." So
they brought the broom and brushed the bear's coat quite clean.

After that he stretched himself out in front of the fire, and pleased
himself by growling a little, only to show that he was happy and
comfortable. Before long they were all quite good friends, and the
children began to play with their unlooked-for visitor, pulling his
thick fur, or placing their feet on his back, or rolling him over and
over. Then they took a slender hazel-twig, using it upon his thick coat,
and they laughed when he growled. The bear permitted them to amuse
themselves in this way, only occasionally calling out, when it went a
little too far, "Children, spare me an inch of life."

When it was night, and all were making ready to go to bed, the widow
told the bear, "You may stay here and lie by the hearth, if you like, so
that you will be sheltered from the cold and from the bad weather."

The offer was accepted, but when morning came, as the day broke in the
east, the two children let him out, and over the snow he went back into
the wood.

After this, every evening at the same time the bear came, lay by the
fire, and allowed the children to play with him; so they became quite
fond of their curious playmate, and the door was not ever bolted in the
evening until he had appeared.

When spring-time came, and all around began to look green and bright,
one morning the bear said to Snow-White, "Now I must leave you, and all
the summer long I shall not be able to come back."

"Where, then, are you going, dear Bear?" asked Snow-White.

"I have to go to the woods to protect my treasure from the bad dwarfs.
In winter-time, when the earth is frozen hard, they must remain
underground, and cannot make their way through: but now that the
sunshine has thawed the earth they can come to the surface, and whatever
gets into their hands, or is brought to their caves, seldom, if ever,
again sees daylight."

Snow-White was very sad when she said good-bye to the good-natured
beast, and unfastened the door, that he might go; but in going out he
was caught by a hook in the lintel, and a scrap of his fur being torn,
Snow-White thought there was something shining like gold through the
rent: but he went out so quickly that she could not feel certain what it
was, and soon he was hidden among the trees.

One day the mother sent her children into the wood to pick up sticks.
They found a big tree lying on the ground. It had been felled, and
towards the roots they noticed something skipping and springing, which
they could not make out, as it was sometimes hidden in the grasses. As
they came nearer they could see it was a dwarf, with a shrivelled-up
face and a snow-white beard an ell long. The beard was fixed in a gash
in the tree trunk, and the tiny fellow was hopping to and fro, like a
dog at the end of a string, but he could not manage to free himself. He
stared at the children with his red, fiery eyes, and called out, "Why
are you standing there? Can't you come and try to help me?"

"What were you doing, little fellow?" inquired Rose-Red.

"Stupid, inquisitive goose!" replied the dwarf; "I meant to split the
trunk, so that I could chop it up for kitchen sticks; big logs would
burn up the small quantity of food we cook, for people like us do not
consume great heaps of food, as you heavy, greedy folk do. The bill-hook
I had driven in, and soon I should have done what I required; but the
tool suddenly sprang from the cleft, which so quickly shut up again that
it caught my handsome white beard; and here I must stop, for I cannot
set myself free. You stupid pale-faced creatures! You laugh, do you?"

In spite of the dwarf's bad temper, the girls took all possible pains to
release the little man, but without avail, the beard could not be moved,
it was wedged too tightly.

"I will run and get someone else," said Rose-Red.

"Idiot!" cried the dwarf. "Who would go and get more people? Already
there are two too many. Can't you think of something better?"

"Don't be so impatient," said Snow-White. "I will try to think." She
clapped her hands as if she had discovered a remedy, took out her
scissors, and in a moment set the dwarf free by cutting off the end of
his beard.

Immediately the dwarf felt that he was free he seized a sack full of
gold that was hidden amongst the tree's roots, and, lifting it up,
grumbled out, "Clumsy creatures, to cut off a bit of my beautiful beard,
of which I am so proud! I leave the cuckoos to pay you for what you
did." Saying this, he swung the sack across his shoulder, and went off,
without even casting a glance at the children.

Not long afterwards the two sisters went to angle in the brook, meaning
to catch fish for dinner. As they were drawing near the water they
perceived something, looking like a large grasshopper, springing towards
the stream, as if it were going in. They hurried up to see what it might
be, and found that it was the dwarf. "Where are you going?" said
Rose-Red. "Surely you will not jump into the water?"

"I'm not such a simpleton as that!" yelled the little man. "Don't you
see that a wretch of a fish is pulling me in?"

The dwarf had been sitting angling from the side of the stream when, by
ill-luck, the wind had entangled his beard in his line, and just
afterwards a big fish taking the bait, the unamiable little fellow had
not sufficient strength to pull it out; so the fish had the advantage,
and was dragging the dwarf after it. Certainly, he caught at every stalk
and spray near him, but that did not assist him greatly; he was forced
to follow all the twistings of the fish, and was perpetually in danger
of being drawn into the brook.

The girls arrived just in time. They caught hold of him firmly and
endeavored to untwist his beard from the line, but in vain; they were
too tightly entangled. There was nothing left but again to make use of
the scissors; so they were taken out, and the tangled portion was cut
off.

When the dwarf noticed what they were about, he exclaimed in a great
rage, "Is this how you damage my beard? Not content with making it
shorter before, you are now making it still smaller, and completely
spoiling it. I shall not ever dare show my face to my friends. I wish
you had missed your way before you took this road." Then he fetched a
sack of pearls that lay among the rushes, and, not saying another word,
hobbled off and disappeared behind a large stone.

Soon after this it chanced that the poor widow sent her children to the
town to purchase cotton, needles, ribbon, and tape. The way to the town
ran over a common, on which in every direction large masses of rocks
were scattered about. The children's attention was soon attracted to a
big bird that hovered in the air. They remarked that, after circling
slowly for a time, and gradually getting nearer to the ground, it all of
a sudden pounced down amongst a mass of rock. Instantly a heartrending
cry reached their ears, and, running quickly to the place, they saw,
with horror, that the eagle had seized their former acquaintance, the
dwarf, and was just about to carry him off. The kind children did not
hesitate for an instant. They took a firm hold of the little man, and
strove so stoutly with the eagle for possession of his contemplated
prey, that, after much rough treatment on both sides, the dwarf was left
in the hands of his brave little friends, and the eagle took to flight.

As soon as the little man had in some measure recovered from his alarm,
his small squeaky, cracked voice was heard saying, "Couldn't you have
held me more gently? See my little coat; you have rent and damaged it in
a fine manner, you clumsy, officious things!" Then he picked up a sack
of jewels, and slipped out of sight behind a piece of rock.

The maidens by this time were quite used to his ungrateful, ungracious
ways; so they took no notice of it, but went on their way, made their
purchases, and then were ready to return to their happy home.

On their way back, suddenly, once more they ran across their dwarf
friend. Upon a clear space he had turned out his sack of jewels,  so
that he could count and admire them, for he had not imagined that
anybody would at so late an hour be coming across the common.

The setting sun was shining upon the brilliant stones, and their
changing hues and sparkling rays caused the children to pause to admire
them also.

"What are you gazing at?"  cried the dwarf,  at the same time becoming
red with rage;  "and what are you standing there for,  making ugly
faces?"  It is probable that he might have proceeded in the same
complimentary manner,  but suddenly a great growl was heard near by
them,  and a big black bear joined the party.  Up jumped the dwarf in
extremest terror,  but could not get to his hiding-place,  the bear was
too close to him;  so he cried out in very evident anguish--

"Dear Mr. Bear,  forgive me,  I pray!  I will render to you all my
treasure.  Just see those precious stones lying there! Grant me my life!
What would you do with such an insignificant little fellow? You would
not notice me between your teeth.  See,  though,  those two children,
they would be delicate morsels,  and are as plump as partridges;  I beg
of you to take them,  good Mr. Bear,  and let me go!"

But the bear would not be moved by his speeches. He gave the
ill-disposed creature a blow with his paw,  and he lay lifeless on the
ground.

Meanwhile the maidens were running away,  making off for home as well as
they could;  but all of a sudden they were stopped by a well-known voice
that called out,  "Snow-White, Rose-Red,  stay!  Do not fear.  I will
accompany you."

The bear quickly came towards them, but, as he reached their side,
suddenly the bear-skin slipped to the ground,  and there before them was
standing a handsome man,  completely garmented in gold, who  said--

"I am a king's son,  who was enchanted by the wicked dwarf lying over
there.  He stole my treasure,  and compelled me to roam the woods
transformed into a big bear until his death should set me free.
Therefore he has only received a well-deserved punishment."

Some time afterwards Snow-White married the Prince,  and Rose-Red his
brother.

They shared between them the enormous treasure which the dwarf had
collected in his cave.

The old mother spent many happy years with her children.




THE THREE LITTLE MEN IN THE WOOD


Once upon a time there lived a man, whose wife had died; and a woman,
also, who had lost her husband: and this man and this woman had each a
daughter. These two maidens were friendly with each other, and used to
walk together, and one day they came by the widow's house. Then the
widow said to the man's daughter, "Do you hear, tell your father I wish
to marry him, and you shall every morning wash in milk and drink wine,
but my daughter shall wash in water and drink water." So the girl went
home and told her father what the woman had said, and he replied, "What
shall I do? Marriage is a comfort, but it is also a torment." At last,
as he could come to no conclusion, he drew off his boot and said: "Take
this boot, which has a hole in the sole, and go with it out of doors and
hang it on the great nail and then pour water into it. If it holds the
water, I will again take a wife; but if it runs through, I will not have
her." The girl did as he bid her, but the water drew the hole together
and the boot became full to overflowing. So she told her father how it
had happened, and he, getting up, saw it was quite true; and going to
the widow he settled the matter, and the wedding was celebrated.

The next morning, when the two girls arose, milk to wash in and wine to
drink were set for the man's daughter, but only water, both for washing
and drinking, for the woman's daughter. The second morning, water for
washing and drinking stood before both the man's daughter and the
woman's; and on the third morning, water to wash in and water to drink
were set before the man's daughter, and milk to wash in and wine to
drink before the woman's daughter, and so it continued.

Soon the woman conceived a deadly hatred for her step-daughter, and knew
not how to behave badly enough to her from day to day. She was envious,
too, because her step-daughter was beautiful and lovely, and her own
daughter was ugly and hateful.

Once, in the winter-time, when the river was frozen as hard as a stone,
and hill and valley were covered with snow, the woman made a cloak of
paper, and called the maiden to her and said, "Put on this cloak, and go
away into the wood to fetch me a little basketful of strawberries, for I
have a wish for some."

"Mercy on us!" said the maiden, "in winter there are no strawberries
growing; the ground is frozen, and the snow, too, has covered
everything. And why must I go in that paper cloak? It is so cold out of
doors that it freezes one's breath even, and if the wind does not blow
off this cloak, the thorns will tear it from my body."

"Will you dare to contradict me?" said the step-mother. "Make haste off,
and let me not see you again until you have found me a basket of
strawberries." Then she gave her a small piece of dry bread, saying, "On
that you must subsist the whole day." But she thought--out of doors she
will be frozen and starved, so that my eyes will never see her again!

So the girl did as she was told, and put on the paper cloak, and went
away with the basket. Far and near there was nothing but snow, and not a
green blade was to be seen. When she came to the forest she discovered a
little cottage, out of which three little Dwarfs were peeping. The girl
wished them good morning, and knocked gently at the door. They called
her in, and entering the room, she sat down on a bench by the fire to
warm herself, and eat her breakfast. The Dwarfs called out, "Give us
some of it!" "Willingly," she replied, and, dividing her bread in two,
she gave them half. They asked, "What do you here in the forest, in the
winter-time, in this thin cloak?"

"Ah!" she answered, "I must, seek a basketful of strawberries, and I
dare not return home until I can take them with me." When she had eaten
her bread, they gave her a broom, saying, "Sweep away the snow with this
from the back door." But when she was gone out of doors the three Dwarfs
said one to another, "What shall we give her, because she is so gentle
and good, and has shared her bread with us?" Then said the first, "I
grant to her that she shall become more beautiful every day." The second
said, "I grant that a piece of gold shall fall out of her mouth for
every word she speaks." The third said, "I grant that a King shall come
and make her his bride."

Meanwhile, the girl had done as the Dwarf had bidden her, and had swept
away the snow from behind the house. And what do you think she found
there? Actually, ripe strawberries! which came quite red and sweet up
under the snow. So filling her basket in great glee, she thanked the
little men and gave them each her hand, and then ran home to take her
step-mother what she wished for. As she went in and said "Good evening,"
a piece of gold fell from her mouth. Thereupon she related what had
happened to her in the forest; but at every word she spoke a piece of
gold fell, so that the whole floor was covered.

"Just see her arrogance," said the step-sister, "to throw away money in
that way!" but in her heart she was jealous, and wished to go into the
forest, too, to seek strawberries. Her mother said, "No, my dear
daughter; it is too cold, you will be frozen!" but as her girl let her
have no peace, she at last consented, and made her a beautiful fur cloak
to put on; she also gave her buttered bread and cooked meat to eat on
her way.

The girl went into the forest and came straight to the little cottage.
The three Dwarfs were peeping out again, but she did not greet them;
and, stumbling on without looking at them, or speaking, she entered the
room, and, seating herself by the fire, began to eat the bread and
butter and meat. "Give us some of that," exclaimed the Dwarfs; but she
answered, "I have not got enough for myself, so how can I give any
away?" When she had finished they said, "You have a broom there, go and
sweep the back door clean." "Oh, sweep it yourself," she replied; "I am
not your servant." When she saw that they would not give her anything
she went out at the door, and the three Dwarfs said to each other, "What
shall we give her? She is so ill-behaved, and has such a bad and envious
disposition, that nobody can wish well to her." The first said, "I grant
that she becomes more ugly every day." The second said, "I grant that at
every word she speaks a toad shall spring out of her mouth." The third
said, "I grant that she shall die a miserable death." Meanwhile the girl
had been looking for strawberries out of doors, but as she could find
none she went home very peevish. When she opened her mouth to tell her
mother what had happened to her in the forest, a toad jumped out of her
mouth at each word, so that every one fled away from her in horror.

The step-mother was now still more vexed, and was always thinking how
she could do the most harm to her husband's daughter, who every day
became more beautiful. At last she took a kettle, set it on the fire,
and boiled a net therein. When it was sodden she hung it on the shoulder
of the poor girl, and gave her an axe, that she might go upon the frozen
pond and cut a hole in the ice to drag the net. She obeyed, and went
away and cut an ice-hole; and while she was cutting, an elegant carriage
came by, in which the King sat. The carriage stopped, and the King
asked, "My child, who are you? and what do you here?" "I am a poor girl,
and am dragging a net," said she. Then the King pitied her, and saw how
beautiful she was, and said, "Will you go with me?" "Yes, indeed, with
all my heart," she replied, for she was glad to get out of the sight of
her mother and sister.

So she was handed into the carriage, and driven away with the King; and
as soon as they arrived at his castle the wedding was celebrated with
great splendor, as the Dwarfs had granted to the maiden. After a year
the young Queen bore a son; and when the step-mother heard of her great
good fortune, she came to the castle with her daughter, and behaved as
if she had come on a visit. But one day when the King had gone out, and
no one was present, this bad woman seized the Queen by the head, and her
daughter caught hold of her feet, and raising her out of bed, they threw
her out of the window into the river which ran past. Then, laying her
ugly daughter in the bed, the old woman covered her up, even over her
head; and when the King came back he wished to speak to his wife, but
the old woman exclaimed, "Softly! softly! do not go near her; she is
lying in a beautiful sleep, and must be kept quiet to-day." The King,
not thinking of an evil design, came again the next morning the first
thing; and when he spoke to his wife, and she answered, a toad sprang
out of her mouth at every word, as a piece of gold had done before. So
he asked what had happened, and the old woman said, "That is produced by
her weakness, she will soon lose it again."

But in the night the kitchen-boy saw a Duck swimming through the brook,
and the Duck asked:

  "King, King, what are you doing?
  Are you sleeping, or are you waking?"

And as he gave no answer, the Duck said:

  "What are my guests a-doing?"

Then the boy answered:

  "They all sleep sound."

And she asked him:

  "How fares my child?"

And he replied:

  "In his cradle he sleeps."

Then she came up in the form of the Queen to the cradle, and gave the
child drink, shook up his bed, and covered him up, and then swam away
again as a duck through the brook. The second night she came again; and
on the third she said to the kitchen-boy, "Go and tell the King to take
his sword, and swing it thrice over me, on the threshold." Then the boy
ran and told the King, who came with his sword, and swung it thrice over
the Duck; and at the third time his bride stood before him, bright,
living, and healthful, as she had been before.

Now the King was in great happiness, but he hid the Queen in a chamber
until the Sunday when the child was to be christened; and when all was
finished he asked, "What ought to be done to one who takes another out
of a bed and throws her into the river?" "Nothing could be more proper,"
said the old woman, "than to put such a one into a cask, stuck round
with nails, and to roll it down the hill into the water." Then the King
said, "You have spoken your own sentence"; and ordering a cask to be
fetched, he caused the old woman and her daughter to be put into it, and
the bottom nailed up. Then the cask was rolled down the hill until it
fell into the water.




RUMPELSTILTSKIN


There was once a poor Miller who had a beautiful daughter, and one day,
having to go to speak with the King, he said, in order to make himself
appear of consequence, that he had a daughter who could spin straw into
gold. The King was very fond of gold, and thought to himself, "That is
an art which would please me very well"; and so he said to the Miller,
"If your daughter is so very clever, bring her to the castle in the
morning, and I will put her to the proof."

As soon as she arrived the King led her into a chamber which was full of
straw; and, giving her a wheel and a reel, he said, "Now set yourself to
work, and if you have not spun this straw into gold by an early hour
to-morrow, you must die." With these words he shut the room door, and
left the maiden alone.

There she sat for a long time, thinking how to save her life; for she
understood nothing of the art whereby straw might be spun into gold; and
her perplexity increased more and more, till at last she began to weep.
All at once the door opened, and in stepped a little Man, who said,
"Good evening, fair maiden; why do you weep so sore?" "Ah," she replied,
"I must spin this straw into gold, and I am sure I do not know how."

The little Man asked, "What will you give me if I spin it for you?"

"My necklace," said the maiden.

The Dwarf took it, placed himself in front of the wheel, and whirr,
whirr, whirr, three times round, and the bobbin was full. Then he set up
another, and whir, whir, whir, thrice round again, and a second bobbin
was full; and so he went all night long, until all the straw was spun,
and the bobbins were full of gold. At sunrise the King came, very much
astonished to see the gold; the sight of which gladdened him, but did
not make his heart less covetous. He caused the maiden to be led into
another room, still larger, full of straw; and then he bade her spin it
into gold during the night if she valued her life. The maiden was again
quite at a loss what to do; but while she cried the door opened
suddenly, as before, and the Dwarf appeared and asked her what she would
give him in return for his assistance. "The ring off my finger," she
replied. The little Man took the ring and began to spin at once, and by
morning all the straw was changed to glistening gold. The King was
rejoiced above measure at the sight of this, but still he was not
satisfied, but, leading the maiden into another still larger room, full
of straw as the others, he said, "This you must spin during the night;
but if you accomplish it you shall be my bride." "For," thought he to
himself, "a richer wife thou canst not have in all the world."

When the maiden was left alone, the Dwarf again appeared and asked, for
the third time, "What will you give me to do this for you?"

"I have nothing left that I can give you," replied the maiden.

"Then promise me your first-born child if you become Queen," said he.

The Miller's daughter thought, "Who can tell if that will ever happen?"
and, ignorant how else to help herself out of her trouble, she promised
the Dwarf what he desired; and he immediately set about and finished the
spinning. When morning came, and the King found all he had wished for
done, he celebrated his wedding, and the Miller's fair daughter became
Queen.

The gay times she had at the King's Court caused her to forget that she
had made a very foolish promise.

About a year after the marriage, when she had ceased to think about the
little Dwarf, she brought a fine child into the world; and, suddenly,
soon after its birth, the very man appeared and demanded what she had
promised. The frightened Queen offered him all the riches of the kingdom
if he would leave her her child; but the Dwarf answered, "No; something
human is dearer to me than all the wealth of the world."

The Queen began to weep and groan so much that the Dwarf pitied her, and
said, "I will leave you three days to consider; if you in that time
discover my name you shall keep your child."

All night long the Queen racked her brains for all the names she could
think of, and sent a messenger through the country to collect far and
wide any new names. The following morning came the Dwarf, and she began
with "Caspar," "Melchior," "Balthassar," and all the odd names she knew;
but at each the little Man exclaimed, "That is not my name." The second
day the Queen inquired of all her people for uncommon and curious names,
and called the Dwarf "Ribs-of-Beef," "Sheep-shank," "Whalebone," but at
each he said, "This is not my name." The third day the messenger came
back and said, "I have not found a single name; but as I came to a high
mountain near the edge of a forest, where foxes and hares say good night
to each other, I saw there a little house, and before the door a fire
was burning, and round this fire a very curious little Man was dancing
on one leg, and shouting:

  "'To-day I stew, and then I'll bake,
  To-morrow I shall the Queen's child take;
  Ah! how famous it is that nobody knows
  That my name is Rumpelstiltskin.'"

When the Queen heard this she was very glad, for now she knew the name;
and soon after came the Dwarf, and asked, "Now, my lady Queen, what is
my name?"

First she said, "Are you called Conrade?" "No."

"Are you called Hal?" "No."

"Are you called Rumpelstiltskin?"

"A witch has told you! a witch has told you!" shrieked the little Man,
and stamped his right foot so hard in the ground with rage that he could
not draw it out again. Then he took hold of his left leg with both his
hands, and pulled away so hard that his right came off in the struggle,
and he hopped away howling terribly. And from that day to this the Queen
has heard no more of her troublesome visitor.




LITTLE ONE-EYE, TWO-EYES AND THREE-EYES


Once upon a time there was a Woman, who had three daughters, the eldest
of whom was named One-Eye, because she had but a single eye, and that
placed in the middle of her forehead; the second was called Two-Eyes,
because she was like other mortals; and the third, Three-Eyes, because
she had three eyes, and one of them in the centre of her forehead, like
her eldest sister. But, because her second sister had nothing out of the
common in her appearance, she was looked down upon by her sisters, and
despised by her mother. "You are no better than common folk," they would
say to her; "you do not belong to us"; and then they would push her
about, give her coarse clothing, and nothing to eat but their leavings,
besides numerous other insults as occasion offered.

Once it happened that Two-Eyes had to go into the forest to tend the
goat; and she went very hungry, because her sisters had given her very
little to eat that morning. She sat down upon a hillock, and cried so
much that her tears flowed almost like rivers out of her eyes! By and by
she looked up and saw a Woman standing by, who asked, "Why are you
weeping, Two-Eyes?" "Because I have two eyes like ordinary people,"
replied the maiden, "and therefore my mother and sisters dislike me,
push me into corners, throw me their old clothes, and give me nothing to
eat but what they leave. To-day they have given me so little that I am
still hungry." "Dry your eyes, then, now," said the wise Woman; "I will
tell you something which shall prevent you from being hungry again. You
must say to your goat:

  "'Little kid, milk
  Table, appear!'

"and immediately a nicely filled table will stand before you, with
delicate food upon it, of which you can eat as much as you please. And
when you are satisfied, and have done with the table, you must say:

  'Little kid, milk
  Table, depart!'

"and it will disappear directly."

With these words the wise Woman went away, and little Two-Eyes thought
to herself she would try at once if what the Woman said were true, for
she felt very hungry indeed.

  "Little kid, milk
  Table, appear!"

said the maiden, and immediately a table covered with a white cloth
stood before her, with a knife and fork, and silver spoon; and the most
delicate dishes were ranged in order upon it, and everything as warm as
if they had been just taken away from the fire. Two-Eyes said a short
grace, and then began to eat; and when she had finished she pronounced
the words which the wise Woman had told her:

  "Little kid, milk
  Table, depart!"

and directly the table and all that was on it quickly disappeared. "This
is capital housekeeping," said the maiden, in high glee; and at evening
she went home with her goat, and found an earthen dish which her sisters
had left her filled with their leavings. She did not touch it; and the
next morning she went off again without taking the meagre breakfast
which was left out for her. The first and second time she did this the
sisters thought nothing of it; but when she did the same the third
morning their attention was roused, and they said, "All is not right
with Two-Eyes, for she has left her meals twice, and has touched nothing
of what was left for her; she must have found some other way of living."
So they determined that One-Eye should go with the maiden when she drove
the goat to the meadow and pay attention to what passed, and observe
whether any one brought her to eat or to drink.

When Two-Eyes, therefore, was about to set off, One-Eye told her she was
going with her to see whether she took proper care of the goat and fed
her sufficiently. Two-Eyes, however, divined her sister's object, and
drove the goat where the grass was finest, and then said, "Come,
One-Eye, let us sit down, and I will sing to you." So One-Eye sat down,
for she was quite tired with her unusual walk and the heat of the sun.

  "Are you awake or asleep, One-Eye?
  Are you awake or asleep?"

sang Two-Eyes, until her sister really went to sleep. As soon as she was
quite sound, the maiden had her table out, and ate and drank all she
needed; and by the time One-Eye woke again the table had disappeared,
and the maiden said to her sister, "Come, we will go home now; while you
have been sleeping the goat might have run about all over the world." So
they went home, and after Two-Eyes had left her meal untouched, the
mother inquired of One-Eye what she had seen, and she was obliged to
confess that she had been asleep.

The following morning the mother told Three-Eyes that she must go out
and watch Two-Eyes, and see who brought her food, for it was certain
that some one must. So Three-Eyes told her sister that she was going to
accompany her that morning to see if she took care of the goat and fed
her well; but Two-Eyes saw through her design, and drove the goat again
to the best feeding-place. Then she asked her sister to sit down and she
would sing to her, and Three-Eyes did so, for she was very tired with
her long walk in the heat of the sun. Then Two-Eyes began to sing as
before:

  "Are you awake, Three-Eyes?"

but, instead of continuing as she should have done,

  "Are you asleep, Three-Eyes?"

she said by mistake,

  "Are you asleep, Two-Eyes?"

and so went on singing:

  "Are you awake, Three-Eyes?"
  "Are you asleep, Two-Eyes?"

By and by Three-Eyes closed two of her eyes, and went to sleep with
them; but the third eye, which was not spoken to, kept open. Three-Eyes,
however, cunningly shut it too, and feigned to be asleep, while she was
really watching; and soon Two-Eyes, thinking all safe, repeated the
words:

  "Little kid, milk
  Table, appear!"

and as soon as she was satisfied she said the old words:

  "Little kid, milk
  Table, depart!"

Three-Eyes watched all these proceedings; and presently Two-Eyes came
and awoke her, saying, "Ah, sister! you are a good watcher, but come,
let us go home now." When they reached home Two-Eyes again ate nothing;
and her sister told her mother she knew now why the haughty hussy would
not eat their victuals. "When she is out in the meadow," said her
sister, "she says:

  "'Little kid, milk
  Table, appear!'

"and, directly, a table comes up laid out with meat and wine, and
everything of the best, much better than we have; and as soon as she has
had enough she says:

  "'Little kid, milk
  Table, depart!'

"and all goes away directly, as I clearly saw. Certainly she did put to
sleep two of my eyes, but the one in the middle of my forehead luckily
kept awake!"

"Will you have better things than we?" cried the envious mother; "then
you shall lose the chance"; and so saying, she took a carving-knife and
killed the goat dead.

As soon as Two-Eyes saw this she went out, very sorrowful, to the old
spot and sat down where she had sat before to weep bitterly. All at once
the wise Woman stood in front of her again, and asked why she was
crying. "Must I not cry," replied she, "when the goat which used to
furnish me every day with a dinner, according to your promise, has been
killed by my mother, and I am again suffering hunger and thirst?"
"Two-Eyes," said the wise Woman, "I will give you a piece of advice. Beg
your sisters to give you the entrails of the goat, and bury them in the
earth before the house door, and your fortune will be made." So saying,
she disappeared, and Two-Eyes went home, and said to her sisters, "Dear
sisters, do give me some part of the slain kid; I desire nothing
else--let me have the entrails." The sisters laughed and readily gave
them to her; and she buried them secretly before the threshold of the
door, as the wise Woman had bidden her.

The following morning they found in front of the house a wonderfully
beautiful tree, with leaves of silver and fruits of gold hanging from
the boughs, than which nothing more splendid could be seen in the world.
The two elder sisters were quite ignorant how the tree came where it
stood; but Two-Eyes perceived that it was produced by the goat's
entrails, for it stood on the exact spot where she had buried them. As
soon as the mother saw it she told One-Eye to break off some of the
fruit. One-Eye went up to the tree, and pulled a bough toward her, to
pluck off the fruit; but the bough flew back again directly out of her
hands; and so it did every time she took hold of it, till she was forced
to give up, for she could not obtain a single golden apple in spite of
all her endeavors. Then the mother said to Three-Eyes, "Do you climb up,
for you can see better with your three eyes than your sister with her
one." Three-Eyes, however, was not more fortunate than her sister, for
the golden apples flew back as soon as she touched them. At last the
mother got so impatient that she climbed the tree herself; but she met
with no more success than either of her daughters, and grasped the air
only when she thought she had the fruit. Two-Eyes now thought she would
try, and said to her sisters, "Let me get up, perhaps I may be
successful." "Oh, you are very likely indeed," said they, "with your two
eyes: you will see well, no doubt!" So Two-Eyes climbed the tree, and
directly she touched the boughs the golden apples fell into her hands,
so that she plucked them as fast as she could, and filled her apron
before she went down. Her mother took them of her, but returned her no
thanks; and the two sisters, instead of treating Two-Eyes better than
they had done, were only the more envious of her, because she alone
could gather the fruit--in fact, they treated her worse.

One morning, not long after the springing up of the apple-tree, the
three sisters were all standing together beneath it, when in the
distance a young Knight was seen riding toward them. "Make haste,
Two-Eyes!" exclaimed the two elder sisters; "make haste, and creep out
of our way, that we may not be ashamed of you"; and so saying, they put
over her in great haste an empty cask which stood near, and which
covered the golden apples as well, which she had just been plucking.
Soon the Knight came up to the tree, and the sisters saw he was a very
handsome man, for he stopped to admire the fine silver leaves and golden
fruit, and presently asked to whom the tree belonged, for he should like
to have a branch off it. One-Eye and Three-Eyes replied that the tree
belonged to them; and they tried to pluck a branch off for the Knight.
They had their trouble for nothing, however, for the boughs and fruit
flew back as soon as they touched them. "This is very wonderful." cried
the Knight, "that this tree should belong to you, and yet you cannot
pluck the fruit!" The sisters, however, maintained that it was theirs;
but while they spoke Two-Eyes rolled a golden apple from underneath the
cask, so that it travelled to the feet of the Knight, for she was angry,
because her sisters had not spoken the truth. When he saw the apple he
was astonished, and asked where it came from; and One-Eye and Three-Eyes
said they had another sister, but they dared not let her be seen,
because she had only two eyes, like common folk! The Knight, however,
would see her, and called, "Two-Eyes, come here!" and soon she made her
appearance from under the cask. The Knight was bewildered at her great
beauty, and said, "You, Two-Eyes, can surely break off a bough of this
tree for me?" "Yes," she replied, "that I will, for it is my property";
and climbing up, she easily broke off a branch with silver leaves and
golden fruit, which she handed to the Knight. "What can I give you in
return, Two-Eyes?" asked the Knight. "Alas! if you will take me with you
I shall be happy, for now I suffer hunger and thirst, and am in trouble
and grief from early morning to late evening; take me, and save me!"
Thereupon the Knight raised Two-Eyes upon his saddle, and took her home
to his father's castle. There he gave her beautiful clothes, and all she
wished for to eat or to drink; and afterward, because his love for her
had become so great, he married her, and a very happy wedding they had.

Her two sisters, meanwhile, were very jealous when Two-Eyes was carried
off by the Knight; but they consoled themselves by saying, "The
wonderful tree remains still for us; and even if we cannot get at the
fruit, everybody that passes will stop to look at it, and then come and
praise it to us. Who knows where our wheat may bloom?" The morning after
this speech, however, the tree disappeared, and with it all their hopes;
but when Two-Eyes that same day looked out of her chamber window,
behold, the tree stood before it, and there remained!

For a long time after this occurrence Two-Eyes lived in the enjoyment of
the greatest happiness; and one morning two poor women came to the
palace and begged an alms. Two-Eyes, after looking narrowly at their
faces, recognized her two sisters, One-Eye and Three-Eyes, who had come
to such great poverty that they were forced to wander about, begging
their bread from day to day. Two-Eyes, however, bade them welcome,
invited them in, and took care of them, till they both repented of their
evil which they had done to their sister in the days of their childhood.



The Arabian Nights


In the chronicles of the ancient dynasty of the Sassanidae, who reigned
for about four hundred years, from Persia to the borders of China,
beyond the great river Ganges itself, we read the praises of one of the
kings of this race, who was said to be the best monarch of his time.
His subjects loved him, and his neighbors feared him, and when he died
he left his kingdom in a more prosperous and powerful condition than
any king had done before him.

The two sons who survived him loved each other tenderly, and it was a
real grief to the elder, Schahriar, that the laws of the empire forbade
him to share his dominions with his brother Schahzeman.  Indeed, after
ten years, during which this state of things had not ceased to trouble
him, Schahriar cut off the country of Great Tartary from the Persian
Empire and made his brother king.

Now the Sultan Schahriar had a wife whom he loved more than all the
world, and his greatest happiness was to surround her with splendour,
and to give her the finest dresses and the most beautiful jewels.  It
was therefore with the deepest shame and sorrow that he accidentally
discovered, after several years, that she had deceived him completely,
and her whole conduct turned out to have been so bad, that he felt
himself obliged to carry out the law of the land, and order the
grand-vizir to put her to death.  The blow was so heavy that his mind
almost gave way, and he declared that he was quite sure that at bottom
all women were as wicked as the sultana, if you could only find them
out, and that the fewer the world contained the better.  So every
evening he married a fresh wife and had her strangled the following
morning before the grand-vizir, whose duty it was to provide these
unhappy brides for the Sultan.  The poor man fulfilled his task with
reluctance, but there was no escape, and every day saw a girl married
and a wife dead.

This behaviour caused the greatest horror in the town, where nothing
was heard but cries and lamentations.  In one house was a father
weeping for the loss of his daughter, in another perhaps a mother
trembling for the fate of her child; and instead of the blessings that
had formerly been heaped on the Sultan's head, the air was now full of
curses.

The grand-vizir himself was the father of two daughters, of whom the
elder was called Scheherazade, and the younger Dinarzade.  Dinarzade
had no particular gifts to distinguish her from other girls, but her
sister was clever and courageous in the highest degree.  Her father had
given her the best masters in philosophy, medicine, history and the
fine arts, and besides all this, her beauty excelled that of any girl
in the kingdom of Persia.

One day, when the grand-vizir was talking to his eldest daughter, who
was his delight and pride, Scheherazade said to him, "Father, I have a
favour to ask of you.  Will you grant it to me?"

"I can refuse you nothing," replied he, "that is just and reasonable."

"Then listen," said Scheherazade.  "I am determined to stop this
barbarous practice of the Sultan's, and to deliver the girls and
mothers from the awful fate that hangs over them."

"It would be an excellent thing to do," returned the grand-vizir, "but
how do you propose to accomplish it?"

"My father," answered Scheherazade, "it is you who have to provide the
Sultan daily with a fresh wife, and I implore you, by all the affection
you bear me, to allow the honour to fall upon me."

"Have you lost your senses?" cried the grand-vizir, starting back in
horror.  "What has put such a thing into your head?  You ought to know
by this time what it means to be the sultan's bride!"

"Yes, my father, I know it well," replied she, "and I am not afraid to
think of it.  If I fail, my death will be a glorious one, and if I
succeed I shall have done a great service to my country."

"It is of no use," said the grand-vizir, "I shall never consent.  If
the Sultan was to order me to plunge a dagger in your heart, I should
have to obey.  What a task for a father!  Ah, if you do not fear death,
fear at any rate the anguish you would cause me."

"Once again, my father," said Scheherazade, "will you grant me what I
ask?"

"What, are you still so obstinate?" exclaimed the grand-vizir. "Why are
you so resolved upon your own ruin?"

But the maiden absolutely refused to attend to her father's words, and
at length, in despair, the grand-vizir was obliged to give way, and
went sadly to the palace to tell the Sultan that the following evening
he would bring him Scheherazade.

The Sultan received this news with the greatest astonishment.

"How have you made up your mind," he asked, "to sacrifice your own
daughter to me?"

"Sire," answered the grand-vizir, "it is her own wish.  Even the sad
fate that awaits her could not hold her back."

"Let there be no mistake, vizir," said the Sultan.  "Remember you will
have to take her life yourself.  If you refuse, I swear that your head
shall pay forfeit."

"Sire," returned the vizir.  "Whatever the cost, I will obey you.
Though a father, I am also your subject."  So the Sultan told the
grand-vizir he might bring his daughter as soon as he liked.

The vizir took back this news to Scheherazade, who received it as if it
had been the most pleasant thing in the world.  She thanked her father
warmly for yielding to her wishes, and, seeing him still bowed down
with grief, told him that she hoped he would never repent having
allowed her to marry the Sultan.  Then she went to prepare herself for
the marriage, and begged that her sister Dinarzade should be sent for
to speak to her.

When they were alone, Scheherazade addressed her thus:

"My dear sister; I want your help in a very important affair.  My
father is going to take me to the palace to celebrate my marriage with
the Sultan.  When his Highness receives me, I shall beg him, as a last
favour, to let you sleep in our chamber, so that I may have your
company during the last night I am alive.  If, as I hope, he grants me
my wish, be sure that you wake me an hour before the dawn, and speak to
me in these words:  'My sister, if you are not asleep, I beg you,
before the sun rises, to tell me one of your charming stories.'  Then I
shall begin, and I hope by this means to deliver the people from the
terror that reigns over them." Dinarzade replied that she would do with
pleasure what her sister wished.

When the usual hour arrived the grand-vizir conducted Scheherazade to
the palace, and left her alone with the Sultan, who bade her raise her
veil and was amazed at her beauty.  But seeing her eyes full of tears,
he asked what was the matter.  "Sire," replied Scheherazade, "I have a
sister who loves me as tenderly as I love her.  Grant me the favour of
allowing her to sleep this night in the same room, as it is the last we
shall be together."  Schahriar consented to Scheherazade's petition and
Dinarzade was sent for.

An hour before daybreak Dinarzade awoke, and exclaimed, as she had
promised, "My dear sister, if you are not asleep, tell me I pray you,
before the sun rises, one of your charming stories.  It is the last
time that I shall have the pleasure of hearing you."

Scheherazade did not answer her sister, but turned to the Sultan.
"Will your highness permit me to do as my sister asks?" said she.

"Willingly," he answered.  So Scheherazade began.



The Story of the Merchant and the Genius


Sire, there was once upon a time a merchant who possessed great wealth,
in land and merchandise, as well as in ready money.  He was obliged
from time to time to take journeys to arrange his affairs.  One day,
having to go a long way from home, he mounted his horse, taking with
him a small wallet in which he had put a few biscuits and dates,
because he had to pass through the desert where no food was to be got.
He arrived without any mishap, and, having finished his business, set
out on his return.  On the fourth day of his journey, the heat of the
sun being very great, he turned out of his road to rest under some
trees.  He found at the foot of a large walnut-tree a fountain of clear
and running water.  He dismounted, fastened his horse to a branch of
the tree, and sat by the fountain, after having taken from his wallet
some of his dates and biscuits.  When he had finished this frugal meal
he washed his face and hands in the fountain.

When he was thus employed he saw an enormous genius, white with rage,
coming towards him, with a scimitar in his hand.

"Arise," he cried in a terrible voice, "and let me kill you as you have
killed my son!"

As he uttered these words he gave a frightful yell.  The merchant,
quite as much terrified at the hideous face of the monster as at his
words, answered him tremblingly, "Alas, good sir, what can I have done
to you to deserve death?"

"I shall kill you," repeated the genius, "as you have killed my son."

"But," said the merchant, "how can I have killed your son?  I do not
know him, and I have never even seen him."

"When you arrived here did you not sit down on the ground?" asked the
genius, "and did you not take some dates from your wallet, and whilst
eating them did not you throw the stones about?"

"Yes," said the merchant, "I certainly did so."

"Then," said the genius, "I tell you you have killed my son, for whilst
you were throwing about the stones, my son passed by, and one of them
struck him in the eye and killed him.  So I shall kill you."

"Ah, sir, forgive me!" cried the merchant.

"I will have no mercy on you," answered the genius.

"But I killed your son quite unintentionally, so I implore you to spare
my life."

"No," said the genius, "I shall kill you as you killed my son," and so
saying, he seized the merchant by the arm, threw him on the ground, and
lifted his sabre to cut off his head.

The merchant, protesting his innocence, bewailed his wife and children,
and tried pitifully to avert his fate.  The genius, with his raised
scimitar, waited till he had finished, but was not in the least touched.

Scheherazade, at this point, seeing that it was day, and knowing that
the Sultan always rose very early to attend the council, stopped
speaking.

"Indeed, sister," said Dinarzade, "this is a wonderful story."

"The rest is still more wonderful," replied Scheherazade, "and you
would say so, if the sultan would allow me to live another day, and
would give me leave to tell it to you the next night."

Schahriar, who had been listening to Scheherazade with pleasure, said
to himself, "I will wait till to-morrow; I can always have her killed
when I have heard the end of her story."

All this time the grand-vizir was in a terrible state of anxiety.  But
he was much delighted when he saw the Sultan enter the council-chamber
without giving the terrible command that he was expecting.

The next morning, before the day broke, Dinarzade said to her sister,
"Dear sister, if you are awake I pray you to go on with your story."

The Sultan did not wait for Scheherazade to ask his leave.  "Finish,"
said he, "the story of the genius and the merchant.  I am curious to
hear the end."

So Scheherazade went on with the story.  This happened every morning.
The Sultana told a story, and the Sultan let her live to finish it.

When the merchant saw that the genius was determined to cut off his
head, he said:  "One word more, I entreat you.  Grant me a little
delay; just a short time to go home and bid my wife and children
farewell, and to make my will.  When I have done this I will come back
here, and you shall kill me."

"But," said the genius, "if I grant you the delay you ask, I am afraid
that you will not come back."

"I give you my word of honour," answered the merchant, "that I will
come back without fail."

"How long do you require?" asked the genius.

"I ask you for a year's grace," replied the merchant.  "I promise you
that to-morrow twelvemonth, I shall be waiting under these trees to
give myself up to you."

On this the genius left him near the fountain and disappeared.

The merchant, having recovered from his fright, mounted his horse and
went on his road.

When he arrived home his wife and children received him with the
greatest joy.  But instead of embracing them he began to weep so
bitterly that they soon guessed that something terrible was the matter.

"Tell us, I pray you," said his wife, "what has happened."

"Alas!" answered her husband, "I have only a year to live."

Then he told them what had passed between him and the genius, and how
he had given his word to return at the end of a year to be killed.
When they heard this sad news they were in despair, and wept much.

The next day the merchant began to settle his affairs, and first of all
to pay his debts.  He gave presents to his friends, and large alms to
the poor.  He set his slaves at liberty, and provided for his wife and
children.  The year soon passed away, and he was obliged to depart.
When he tried to say good-bye he was quite overcome with grief, and
with difficulty tore himself away.  At length he reached the place
where he had first seen the genius, on the very day that he had
appointed.  He dismounted, and sat down at the edge of the fountain,
where he awaited the genius in terrible suspense.

Whilst he was thus waiting an old man leading a hind came towards him.
They greeted one another, and then the old man said to him, "May I ask,
brother, what brought you to this desert place, where there are so many
evil genii about?  To see these beautiful trees one would imagine it
was inhabited, but it is a dangerous place to stop long in."

The merchant told the old man why he was obliged to come there.  He
listened in astonishment.

"This is a most marvellous affair.  I should like to be a witness of
your interview with the genius."  So saying he sat down by the merchant.

While they were talking another old man came up, followed by two black
dogs.  He greeted them, and asked what they were doing in this place.
The old man who was leading the hind told him the adventure of the
merchant and the genius.  The second old man had not sooner heard the
story than he, too, decided to stay there to see what would happen.  He
sat down by the others, and was talking, when a third old man arrived.
He asked why the merchant who was with them looked so sad.  They told
him the story, and he also resolved to see what would pass between the
genius and the merchant, so waited with the rest.

They soon saw in the distance a thick smoke, like a cloud of dust.
This smoke came nearer and nearer, and then, all at once, it vanished,
and they saw the genius, who, without speaking to them, approached the
merchant, sword in hand, and, taking him by the arm, said, "Get up and
let me kill you as you killed my son."

The merchant and the three old men began to weep and groan.

Then the old man leading the hind threw himself at the monster's feet
and said, "O Prince of the Genii, I beg of you to stay your fury and to
listen to me.  I am going to tell you my story and that of the hind I
have with me, and if you find it more marvellous than that of the
merchant whom you are about to kill, I hope that you will do away with
a third part of his punishment?"

The genius considered some time, and then he said, "Very well, I agree
to this."



The Story of the First Old Man and of the Hind


I am now going to begin my story (said the old man), so please attend.

This hind that you see with me is my wife.  We have no children of our
own, therefore I adopted the son of a favorite slave, and determined to
make him my heir.

My wife, however, took a great dislike to both mother and child, which
she concealed from me till too late.  When my adopted son was about ten
years old I was obliged to go on a journey.  Before I went I entrusted
to my wife's keeping both the mother and child, and begged her to take
care of them during my absence, which lasted a whole year.  During this
time she studied magic in order to carry out her wicked scheme.  When
she had learnt enough she took my son into a distant place and changed
him into a calf.  Then she gave him to my steward, and told him to look
after a calf she had bought.  She also changed the slave into a cow,
which she sent to my steward.

When I returned I inquired after my slave and the child.  "Your slave
is dead," she said, "and as for your son, I have not seen him for two
months, and I do not know where he is."

I was grieved to hear of my slave's death, but as my son had only
disappeared, I thought I should soon find him.  Eight months, however,
passed, and still no tidings of him; then the feast of Bairam came.

To celebrate it I ordered my steward to bring me a very fat cow to
sacrifice.  He did so.  The cow that he brought was my unfortunate
slave.  I bound her, but just as I was about to kill her she began to
low most piteously, and I saw that her eyes were streaming with tears.
It seemed to me most extraordinary, and, feeling a movement of pity, I
ordered the steward to lead her away and bring another.  My wife, who
was present, scoffed at my compassion, which made her malice of no
avail.  "What are you doing?" she cried.  "Kill this cow.  It is the
best we have to sacrifice."

To please her, I tried again, but again the animal's lows and tears
disarmed me.

"Take her away," I said to the steward, "and kill her; I cannot."

The steward killed her, but on skinning her found that she was nothing
but bones, although she appeared so fat.  I was vexed.

"Keep her for yourself," I said to the steward, "and if you have a fat
calf, bring that in her stead."

In a short time he brought a very fat calf, which, although I did not
know it, was my son.  It tried hard to break its cord and come to me.
It threw itself at my feet, with its head on the ground, as if it
wished to excite my pity, and to beg me not to take away its life.

I was even more surprised and touched at this action than I had been at
the tears of the cow.

"Go," I said to the steward, "take back this calf, take great care of
it, and bring me another in its place instantly."

As soon as my wife heard me speak this she at once cried out, "What are
you doing, husband?  Do not sacrifice any calf but this."

"Wife," I answered, "I will not sacrifice this calf," and in spite of
all her remonstrances, I remained firm.

I had another calf killed; this one was led away.  The next day the
steward asked to speak to me in private.

"I have come," he said, "to tell you some news which I think you will
like to hear.  I have a daughter who knows magic.  Yesterday, when I
was leading back the calf which you refused to sacrifice, I noticed
that she smiled, and then directly afterwards began to cry.  I asked
her why she did so."

"Father," she answered, "this calf is the son of our master.  I smile
with joy at seeing him still alive, and I weep to think of his mother,
who was sacrificed yesterday as a cow.  These changes have been wrought
by our master's wife, who hated the mother and son."

"At these words, of Genius," continued the old man, "I leave you to
imagine my astonishment.  I went immediately with the steward to speak
with his daughter myself.  First of all I went to the stable to see my
son, and he replied in his dumb way to all my caresses.  When the
steward's daughter came I asked her if she could change my son back to
his proper shape."

"Yes, I can," she replied, "on two conditions.  One is that you will
give him to me for a husband, and the other is that you will let me
punish the woman who changed him into a calf."

"To the first condition," I answered, "I agree with all my heart, and I
will give you an ample dowry.  To the second I also agree, I only beg
you to spare her life."

"That I will do," she replied; "I will treat her as she treated your
son."

Then she took a vessel of water and pronounced over it some words I did
not understand; then, on throwing the water over him, he became
immediately a young man once more.

"My son, my dear son," I exclaimed, kissing him in a transport of joy.
"This kind maiden has rescued you from a terrible enchantment, and I am
sure that out of gratitude you will marry her."

He consented joyfully, but before they were married, the young girl
changed my wife into a hind, and it is she whom you see before you.  I
wished her to have this form rather than a stranger one, so that we
could see her in the family without repugnance.

Since then my son has become a widower and has gone travelling.  I am
now going in search of him, and not wishing to confide my wife to the
care of other people, I am taking her with me.  Is this not a most
marvellous tale?

"It is indeed," said the genius, "and because of it I grant to you the
third part of the punishment of this merchant."

When the first old man had finished his story, the second, who was
leading the two black dogs, said to the genius, "I am going to tell you
what happened to me, and I am sure that you will find my story even
more astonishing than the one to which you have just been listening.
But when I have related it, will you grant me also the third part of
the merchant's punishment?"

"Yes," replied the genius, "provided that your story surpasses that of
the hind."

With this agreement the second old man began in this way.



The Story of the Second Old Man, and of the Two Black Dogs


Great prince of the genii, you must know that we are three
brothers--these two black dogs and myself.  Our father died, leaving us
each a thousand sequins.  With this sum we all three took up the same
profession, and became merchants.  A short time after we had opened our
shops, my eldest brother, one of these two dogs, resolved to travel in
foreign countries for the sake of merchandise.  With this intention he
sold all he had and bought merchandise suitable to the voyages he was
about to make.  He set out, and was away a whole year.  At the end of
this time a beggar came to my shop.  "Good-day," I said.  "Good-day,"
he answered; "is it possible that you do not recognise me?"  Then I
looked at him closely and saw he was my brother.  I made him come into
my house, and asked him how he had fared in his enterprise.

"Do not question me," he replied, "see me, you see all I have.  It
would but renew my trouble to tell of all the misfortunes that have
befallen me in a year, and have brought me to this state."

I shut up my shop, paid him every attention, taking him to the bath,
giving him my most beautiful robes.  I examined my accounts, and found
that I had doubled my capital--that is, that I now possessed two
thousand sequins.  I gave my brother half, saying:  "Now, brother, you
can forget your losses."  He accepted them with joy, and we lived
together as we had before.

Some time afterwards my second brother wished also to sell his business
and travel.  My eldest brother and I did all we could to dissuade him,
but it was of no use.  He joined a caravan and set out.  He came back
at the end of a year in the same state as his elder brother.  I took
care of him, and as I had a thousand sequins to spare I gave them to
him, and he re-opened his shop.

One day, my two brothers came to me to propose that we should make a
journey and trade.  At first I refused to go.  "You travelled," I said,
"and what did you gain?"  But they came to me repeatedly, and after
having held out for five years I at last gave way.  But when they had
made their preparation, and they began to buy the merchandise we
needed, they found they had spent every piece of the thousand sequins I
had given them.  I did not reproach them.  I divided my six thousand
sequins with them, giving a thousand to each and keeping one for
myself, and the other three I buried in a corner of my house.  We
bought merchandise, loaded a vessel with it, and set forth with a
favorable wind.

After two months' sailing we arrived at a seaport, where we disembarked
and did a great trade.  Then we bought the merchandise of the country,
and were just going to sail once more, when I was stopped on the shore
by a beautiful though poorly dressed woman.  She came up to me, kissed
my hand, and implored me to marry her, and take her on board.  At first
I refused, but she begged so hard and promised to be such a good wife
to me, that at last I consented.  I got her some beautiful dresses, and
after having married her, we embarked and set sail.  During the voyage,
I discovered so many good qualities in my wife that I began to love her
more and more.  But my brothers began to be jealous of my prosperity,
and set to work to plot against my life.  One night when we were
sleeping they threw my wife and myself into the sea.  My wife, however,
was a fairy, and so she did not let me drown, but transported me to an
island.  When the day dawned, she said to me,

"When I saw you on the sea-shore I took a great fancy to you, and
wished to try your good nature, so I presented myself in the disguise
you saw.  Now I have rewarded you by saving your life.  But I am very
angry with your brothers, and I shall not rest till I have taken their
lives."

I thanked the fairy for all that she had done for me, but I begged her
not to kill my brothers.

I appeased her wrath, and in a moment she transported me from the
island where we were to the roof of my house, and she disappeared a
moment afterwards.  I went down, and opened the doors, and dug up the
three thousand sequins which I had buried.  I went to the place where
my shop was, opened it, and received from my fellow-merchants
congratulations on my return.  When I went home, I saw two black dogs
who came to meet me with sorrowful faces.  I was much astonished, but
the fairy who reappeared said to me,

"Do not be surprised to see these dogs; they are your two brothers.  I
have condemned them to remain for ten years in these shapes." Then
having told me where I could hear news of her, she vanished.

The ten years are nearly passed, and I am on the road to find her.  As
in passing I met this merchant and the old man with the hind, I stayed
with them.

This is my history, O prince of genii!  Do you not think it is a most
marvellous one?

"Yes, indeed," replied the genius, "and I will give up to you the third
of the merchant's punishment."

Then the third old man made the genius the same request as the other
two had done, and the genius promised him the last third of the
merchant's punishment if his story surpassed both the others.

So he told his story to the genius, but I cannot tell you what it was,
as I do not know.

But I do know that it was even more marvellous than either of the
others, so that the genius was astonished, and said to the third old
man, "I will give up to you the third part of the merchant's
punishment.  He ought to thank all three of you for having interested
yourselves in his favour.  But for you, he would be here no longer."

So saying, he disappeared, to the great joy of the company.  The
merchant did not fail to thank his friends, and then each went on his
way.  The merchant returned to his wife and children, and passed the
rest of his days happily with them.

"But, sire," added Scheherazade, "however beautiful are the stories I
have just told you, they cannot compare with the story of the
Fisherman."



The Story of the Fisherman


Sire, there was once upon a time a fisherman so old and so poor that he
could scarcely manage to support his wife and three children.  He went
every day to fish very early, and each day he made a rule not to throw
his nets more than four times.  He started out one morning by moonlight
and came to the sea-shore. He undressed and threw his nets, and as he
was drawing them towards the bank he felt a great weight.  He though he
had caught a large fish, and he felt very pleased.  But a moment
afterwards, seeing that instead of a fish he only had in his nets the
carcase of an ass, he was much disappointed.

Vexed with having such a bad haul, when he had mended his nets, which
the carcase of the ass had broken in several places, he threw them a
second time.  In drawing them in he again felt a great weight, so that
he thought they were full of fish.  But he only found a large basket
full of rubbish.  He was much annoyed.

"O Fortune," he cried, "do not trifle thus with me, a poor fisherman,
who can hardly support his family!"

So saying, he threw away the rubbish, and after having washed his nets
clean of the dirt, he threw them for the third time.  But he only drew
in stones, shells, and mud.  He was almost in despair.

Then he threw his nets for the fourth time.  When he thought he had a
fish he drew them in with a great deal of trouble.  There was no fish
however, but he found a yellow pot, which by its weight seemed full of
something, and he noticed that it was fastened and sealed with lead,
with the impression of a seal.  He was delighted.  "I will sell it to
the founder," he said; "with the money I shall get for it I shall buy a
measure of wheat."

He examined the jar on all sides; he shook it to see if it would
rattle.  But he heard nothing, and so, judging from the impression of
the seal and the lid, he thought there must be something precious
inside.  To find out, he took his knife, and with a little trouble he
opened it.  He turned it upside down, but nothing came out, which
surprised him very much.  He set it in front of him, and whilst he was
looking at it attentively, such a thick smoke came out that he had to
step back a pace or two.  This smoke rose up to the clouds, and
stretching over the sea and the shore, formed a thick mist, which
caused the fisherman much astonishment.  When all the smoke was out of
the jar it gathered itself together, and became a thick mass in which
appeared a genius, twice as large as the largest giant.  When he saw
such a terrible-looking monster, the fisherman would like to have run
away, but he trembled so with fright that he could not move a step.

"Great king of the genii," cried the monster, "I will never again
disobey you!"

At these words the fisherman took courage.

"What is this you are saying, great genius?  Tell me your history and
how you came to be shut up in that vase."

At this, the genius looked at the fisherman haughtily.  "Speak to me
more civilly," he said, "before I kill you."

"Alas! why should you kill me?" cried the fisherman.  "I have just
freed you; have you already forgotten that?"

"No," answered the genius; "but that will not prevent me from killing
you; and I am only going to grant you one favour, and that is to choose
the manner of your death."

"But what have I done to you?" asked the fisherman.

"I cannot treat you in any other way," said the genius, "and if you
would know why, listen to my story.

"I rebelled against the king of the genii.  To punish me, he shut me up
in this vase of copper, and he put on the leaden cover his seal, which
is enchantment enough to prevent my coming out.  Then he had the vase
thrown into the sea.  During the first period of my captivity I vowed
that if anyone should free me before a hundred years were passed, I
would make him rich even after his death.  But that century passed, and
no one freed me.  In the second century I vowed that I would give all
the treasures in the world to my deliverer; but he never came.

"In the third, I promised to make him a king, to be always near him,
and to grant him three wishes every day; but that century passed away
as the other two had done, and I remained in the same plight.  At last
I grew angry at being captive for so long, and I vowed that if anyone
would release me I would kill him at once, and would only allow him to
choose in what manner he should die.  So you see, as you have freed me
to-day, choose in what way you will die."

The fisherman was very unhappy.  "What an unlucky man I am to have
freed you!  I implore you to spare my life."

"I have told you," said the genius, "that it is impossible.  Choose
quickly; you are wasting time."

The fisherman began to devise a plot.

"Since I must die," he said, "before I choose the manner of my death, I
conjure you on your honour to tell me if you really were in that vase?"

"Yes, I was," answered the genius.

"I really cannot believe it," said the fisherman.  "That vase could not
contain one of your feet even, and how could your whole body go in?  I
cannot believe it unless I see you do the thing."

Then the genius began to change himself into smoke, which, as before,
spread over the sea and the shore, and which, then collecting itself
together, began to go back into the vase slowly and evenly till there
was nothing left outside.  Then a voice came from the vase which said
to the fisherman, "Well, unbelieving fisherman, here I am in the vase;
do you believe me now?"

The fisherman instead of answering took the lid of lead and shut it
down quickly on the vase.

"Now, O genius," he cried, "ask pardon of me, and choose by what death
you will die!  But no, it will be better if I throw you into the sea
whence I drew you out, and I will build a house on the shore to warn
fishermen who come to cast their nets here, against fishing up such a
wicked genius as you are, who vows to kill the man who frees you."

At these words the genius did all he could to get out, but he could
not, because of the enchantment of the lid.

Then he tried to get out by cunning.

"If you will take off the cover," he said, "I will repay you."

"No," answered the fisherman, "if I trust myself to you I am afraid you
will treat me as a certain Greek king treated the physician Douban.
Listen, and I will tell you."



The Story of the Greek King and the Physician Douban


In the country of Zouman, in Persia, there lived a Greek king.  This
king was a leper, and all his doctors had been unable to cure him, when
a very clever physician came to his court.

He was very learned in all languages, and knew a great deal about herbs
and medicines.

As soon as he was told of the king's illness he put on his best robe
and presented himself before the king.  "Sire," said he, "I know that
no physician has been able to cure your majesty, but if you will follow
my instructions, I will promise to cure you without any medicines or
outward application."

The king listened to this proposal.

"If you are clever enough to do this," he said, "I promise to make you
and your descendants rich for ever."

The physician went to his house and made a polo club, the handle of
which he hollowed out, and put in it the drug he wished to use.  Then
he made a ball, and with these things he went the next day to the king.

He told him that he wished him to play at polo.  Accordingly the king
mounted his horse and went into the place where he played.  There the
physician approached him with the bat he had made, saying, "Take this,
sire, and strike the ball till you feel your hand and whole body in a
glow.  When the remedy that is in the handle of the club is warmed by
your hand it will penetrate throughout your body.  The you must return
to your palace, bathe, and go to sleep, and when you awake to-morrow
morning you will be cured."

The king took the club and urged his horse after the ball which he had
thrown.  He struck it, and then it was hit back by the courtiers who
were playing with him.  When he felt very hot he stopped playing, and
went back to the palace, went into the bath, and did all that the
physician had said.  The next day when he arose he found, to his great
joy and astonishment, that he was completely cured.  When he entered
his audience-chamber all his courtiers, who were eager to see if the
wonderful cure had been effected, were overwhelmed with joy.

The physician Douban entered the hall and bowed low to the ground.  The
king, seeing him, called him, made him sit by his side, and showed him
every mark of honour.

That evening he gave him a long and rich robe of state, and presented
him with two thousand sequins.  The following day he continued to load
him with favours.

Now the king had a grand-vizir who was avaricious, and envious, and a
very bad man.  He grew extremely jealous of the physician, and
determined to bring about his ruin.

In order to do this he asked to speak in private with the king, saying
that he had a most important communication to make.

"What is it?" asked the king.

"Sire," answered the grand-vizir, "it is most dangerous for a monarch
to confide in a man whose faithfulness is not proved, You do not know
that this physician is not a traitor come here to assassinate you."

"I am sure," said the king, "that this man is the most faithful and
virtuous of men.  If he wished to take my life, why did he cure me?
Cease to speak against him.  I see what it is, you are jealous of him;
but do not think that I can be turned against him.  I remember well
what a vizir said to King Sindbad, his master, to prevent him from
putting the prince, his son, to death."

What the Greek king said excited the vizir's curiosity, and he said to
him, "Sire, I beg your majesty to have the condescension to tell me
what the vizir said to King Sindbad."

"This vizir," he replied, "told King Sindbad that one ought not believe
everything that a mother-in-law says, and told him this story."



The Story of the Husband and the Parrot


A good man had a beautiful wife, whom he loved passionately, and never
left if possible.  One day, when he was obliged by important business
to go away from her, he went to a place where all kinds of birds are
sold and bought a parrot.  This parrot not only spoke well, but it had
the gift of telling all that had been done before it.  He brought it
home in a cage, and asked his wife to put it in her room, and take
great care of it while he was away.  Then he departed.  On his return
he asked the parrot what had happened during his absence, and the
parrot told him some things which made him scold his wife.

She thought that one of her slaves must have been telling tales of her,
but they told her it was the parrot, and she resolved to revenge
herself on him.

When her husband next went away for one day, she told on slave to turn
under the bird's cage a hand-mill; another to throw water down from
above the cage, and a third to take a mirror and turn it in front of
its eyes, from left to right by the light of a candle.  The slaves did
this for part of the night, and did it very well.

The next day when the husband came back he asked the parrot what he had
seen.  The bird replied, "My good master, the lightning, thunder and
rain disturbed me so much all night long, that I cannot tell you what I
have suffered."

The husband, who knew that it had neither rained nor thundered in the
night, was convinced that the parrot was not speaking the truth, so he
took him out of the cage and threw him so roughly on the ground that he
killed him.  Nevertheless he was sorry afterwards, for he found that
the parrot had spoken the truth.

"When the Greek king," said the fisherman to the genius, "had finished
the story of the parrot, he added to the vizir, "And so, vizir, I shall
not listen to you, and I shall take care of the physician, in case I
repent as the husband did when he had killed the parrot."  But the
vizir was determined.  "Sire," he replied, "the death of the parrot was
nothing.  But when it is a question of the life of a king it is better
to sacrifice the innocent than save the guilty.  It is no uncertain
thing, however.  The physician, Douban, wishes to assassinate you.  My
zeal prompts me to disclose this to your Majesty.  If I am wrong, I
deserve to be punished as a vizir was once punished."  "What had the
vizir done," said the Greek king, "to merit the punishment?" "I will
tell your Majesty, if you will do me the honour to listen," answered
the vizir."



The Story of the Vizir Who Was Punished


There was once upon a time a king who had a son who was very fond of
hunting.  He often allowed him to indulge in this pastime, but he had
ordered his grand-vizir always to go with him, and never to lose sight
of him.  One day the huntsman roused a stag, and the prince, thinking
that the vizir was behind, gave chase, and rode so hard that he found
himself alone.  He stopped, and having lost sight of it, he turned to
rejoin the vizir, who had not been careful enough to follow him.  But
he lost his way.  Whilst he was trying to find it, he saw on the side
of the road a beautiful lady who was crying bitterly.  He drew his
horse's rein, and asked her who she was and what she was doing in this
place, and if she needed help.  "I am the daughter of an Indian king,"
she answered, "and whilst riding in the country I fell asleep and
tumbled off.  My horse has run away, and I do not know what has become
of him."

The young prince had pity on her, and offered to take her behind him,
which he did.  As they passed by a ruined building the lady dismounted
and went in.  The prince also dismounted and followed her.  To his
great surprise, he heard her saying to some one inside, "Rejoice my
children; I am bringing you a nice fat youth."  And other voices
replied, "Where is he, mamma, that we may eat him at once, as we are
very hungry?"

The prince at once saw the danger he was in.  He now knew that the lady
who said she was the daughter of an Indian king was an ogress, who
lived in desolate places, and who by a thousand wiles surprised and
devoured passers-by. He was terrified, and threw himself on his horse.
The pretended princess appeared at this moment, and seeing that she had
lost her prey, she said to him, "Do not be afraid.  What do you want?"

"I am lost," he answered, "and I am looking for the road."

"Keep straight on," said the ogress, "and you will find it."

The prince could hardly believe his ears, and rode off as hard as he
could.  He found his way, and arrived safe and sound at his father's
house, where he told him of the danger he had run because of the
grand-vizir's carelessness.  The king was very angry, and had him
strangled immediately.

"Sire," went on the vizir to the Greek king, "to return to the
physician, Douban.  If you do not take care, you will repent of having
trusted him.  Who knows what this remedy, with which he has cured you,
may not in time have a bad effect on you?"

The Greek king was naturally very weak, and did not perceive the wicked
intention of his vizir, nor was he firm enough to keep to his first
resolution.

"Well, vizir," he said, "you are right.  Perhaps he did come to take my
life.  He might do it by the mere smell of one of his drugs.  I must
see what can be done."

"The best means, sire, to put your life in security, is to send for him
at once, and to cut off his head directly he comes," said the vizir.

"I really think," replied the king, "that will be the best way."

He then ordered one of his ministers to fetch the physician, who came
at once.

"I have had you sent for," said the king, "in order to free myself from
you by taking your life."

The physician was beyond measure astonished when he heard he was to die.

"What crimes have I committed, your majesty?"

"I have learnt," replied the king, "that you are a spy, and intend to
kill me.  But I will be first, and kill you.  Strike," he added to an
executioner who was by, "and rid me of this assassin."

At this cruel order the physician threw himself on his knees.  "Spare
my life," he cried, "and yours will be spared."

The fisherman stopped here to say to the genius:  "You see what passed
between the Greek king and the physician has just passed between us
two.  The Greek king," he went on, "had no mercy on him, and the
executioner bound his eyes."

All those present begged for his life, but in vain.

The physician on his knees, and bound, said to the king: "At least let
me put my affairs in order, and leave my books to persons who will make
good use of them.  There is one which I should like to present to your
majesty.  It is very precious, and ought to be kept carefully in your
treasury.  It contains many curious things the chief being that when
you cut off my head, if your majesty will turn to the sixth leaf, and
read the third line of the left-hand page, my head will answer all the
questions you like to ask it."

The king, eager to see such a wonderful thing, put off his execution to
the next day, and sent him under a strong guard to his house.  There
the physician put his affairs in order, and the next day there was a
great crowd assembled in the hall to see his death, and the doings
after it.  The physician went up to the foot of the throne with a large
book in his hand.  He carried a basin, on which he spread the covering
of the book, and presenting it to the king, said:  "Sire, take this
book, and when my head is cut off, let it be placed in the basin on the
covering of this book; as soon as it is there, the blood will cease to
flow.  Then open the book, and my head will answer your questions.
But, sire, I implore your mercy, for I am innocent."

"Your prayers are useless, and if it were only to hear your head speak
when you are dead, you should die."

So saying, he took the book from the physician's hands, and ordered the
executioner to do his duty.

The head was so cleverly cut off that it fell into the basin, and
directly the blood ceased to flow.  Then, to the great astonishment of
the king, the eyes opened, and the head said, "Your majesty, open the
book."  The king did so, and finding that the first leaf stuck against
the second, he put his finger in his mouth, to turn it more easily.  He
did the same thing till he reached the sixth page, and not seeing any
writing on it, "Physician," he said, "there is no writing."

"Turn over a few more pages," answered the head.  The king went on
turning, still putting his finger in his mouth, till the poison in
which each page was dipped took effect.  His sight failed him, and he
fell at the foot of his throne.

When the physician's head saw that the poison had taken effect, and
that the king had only a few more minutes to live, "Tyrant," it cried,
"see how cruelty and injustice are punished."

Scarcely had it uttered these words than the king died, and the head
lost also the little life that had remained in it.

That is the end of the story of the Greek king, and now let us return
to the fisherman and the genius.

"If the Greek king," said the fisherman, "had spared the physician, he
would not have thus died.  The same thing applies to you.  Now I am
going to throw you into the sea."

"My friend," said the genius, "do not do such a cruel thing.  Do not
treat me as Imma treated Ateca."

"What did Imma do to Ateca?" asked the fisherman.

"Do you think I can tell you while I am shut up in here?" replied the
genius.  "Let me out, and I will make you rich."

The hope of being no longer poor made the fisherman give way.

"If you will give me your promise to do this, I will open the lid.  I
do not think you will dare to break your word."

The genius promised, and the fisherman lifted the lid.  He came out at
once in smoke, and then, having resumed his proper form, the first
thing he did was to kick the vase into the sea.  This frightened the
fisherman, but the genius laughed and said, "Do not be afraid; I only
did it to frighten you, and to show you that I intend to keep my word;
take your nets and follow me."

He began to walk in front of the fisherman, who followed him with some
misgivings.  They passed in front of the town, and went up a mountain
and then down into a great plain, where there was a large lake lying
between four hills.

When they reached the lake the genius said to the fisherman, "Throw
your nets and catch fish."

The fisherman did as he was told, hoping for a good catch, as he saw
plenty of fish.  What was his astonishment at seeing that there were
four quite different kinds, some white, some red, some blue, and some
yellow.  He caught four, one of each colour.  As he had never seen any
like them he admired them very much, and he was very pleased to think
how much money he would get for them.

"Take these fish and carry them to the Sultan, who will give you more
money for them than you have ever had in your life.  You can come every
day to fish in this lake, but be careful not to throw your nets more
than once every day, otherwise some harm will happen to you.  If you
follow my advice carefully you will find it good."

Saying these words, he struck his foot against the ground, which
opened, and when he had disappeared, it closed immediately.

The fisherman resolved to obey the genius exactly, so he did not cast
his nets a second time, but walked into the town to sell his fish at
the palace.

When the Sultan saw the fish he was much astonished.  He looked at them
one after the other, and when he had admired them long enough, "Take
these fish," he said to his first vizir, "and given them to the clever
cook the Emperor of the Greeks sent me.  I think they must be as good
as they are beautiful."

The vizir took them himself to the cook, saying, "Here are four fish
that have been brought to the Sultan.  He wants you to cook them."

Then he went back to the Sultan, who told him to give the fisherman
four hundred gold pieces.  The fisherman, who had never before
possessed such a large sum of money at once, could hardly believe his
good fortune.  He at once relieved the needs of his family, and made
good use of it.

But now we must return to the kitchen, which we shall find in great
confusion.  The cook, when she had cleaned the fish, put them in a pan
with some oil to fry them.  When she thought them cooked enough on one
side she turned them on the other.  But scarcely had she done so when
the walls of the kitchen opened, and there came out a young and
beautiful damsel.  She was dressed in an Egyptian dress of flowered
satin, and she wore earrings, and a necklace of white pearls, and
bracelets of gold set with rubies, and she held a wand of myrtle in her
hand.

She went up to the pan, to the great astonishment of the cook, who
stood motionless at the sight of her.  She struck one of the fish with
her rod, "Fish, fish," said she, "are you doing your duty?" The fish
answered nothing, and then she repeated her question, whereupon they
all raised their heads together and answered very distinctly, "Yes,
yes.  If you reckon, we reckon.  If you pay your debts, we pay ours.
If you fly, we conquer, and we are content."

When they had spoken the girl upset the pan, and entered the opening in
the wall, which at once closed, and appeared the same as before.

When the cook had recovered from her fright she lifted up the fish
which had fallen into the ashes, but she found them as black as
cinders, and not fit to serve up to the Sultan.  She began to cry.

"Alas! what shall I say to the Sultan?  He will be so angry with me,
and I know he will not believe me!"

Whilst she was crying the grand-vizir came in and asked if the fish
were ready.  She told him all that had happened, and he was much
surprised.  He sent at once for the fisherman, and when he came said to
him, "Fisherman, bring me four more fish like you have brought already,
for an accident has happened to them so that they cannot be served up
to the Sultan."

The fisherman did not say what the genius had told him, but he excused
himself from bringing them that day on account of the length of the
way, and he promised to bring them next day.

In the night he went to the lake, cast his nets, and on drawing them in
found four fish, which were like the others, each of a different colour.

He went back at once and carried them to the grand-vizir as he had
promised.

He then took them to the kitchen and shut himself up with the cook, who
began to cook them as she had done the four others on the previous day.
When she was about to turn them on the other side, the wall opened, the
damsel appeared, addressed the same words to the fish, received the
same answer, and then overturned the pan and disappeared.

The grand-vizir was filled with astonishment.  "I shall tell the Sultan
all that has happened," said he.  And he did so.

The Sultan was very much astounded, and wished to see this marvel for
himself.  So he sent for the fisherman, and asked him to procure four
more fish.  The fisherman asked for three days, which were granted, and
he then cast his nets in the lake, and again caught four different
coloured fish.  The sultan was delighted to see he had got them, and
gave him again four hundred gold pieces.

As soon as the Sultan had the fish he had them carried to his room with
all that was needed to cook them.

Then he shut himself up with the grand-vizir, who began to prepare them
and cook them.  When they were done on one side he turned them over on
the other.  Then the wall of the room opened, but instead of the maiden
a black slave came out.  He was enormously tall, and carried a large
green stick with which he touched the fish, saying in a terrible voice,
"Fish, fish, are you doing your duty?" To these words the fish lifting
up their heads replied, "Yes, yes.  If you reckon, we reckon.  If you
pay your debts, we pay ours.  If you fly, we conquer, and are content."

The black slave overturned the pan in the middle of the room, and the
fish were turned to cinders.  Then he stepped proudly back into the
wall, which closed round him.

"After having seen this," said the Sultan, "I cannot rest.  These fish
signify some mystery I must clear up."

He sent for the fisherman.  "Fisherman," he said, "the fish you have
brought us have caused me some anxiety.  Where did you get them from?"

"Sire," he answered, "I got them from a lake which lies in the middle
of four hills beyond yonder mountains."

"Do you know this lake?" asked the Sultan of the grand-vizir.

"No; though I have hunted many times round that mountain, I have never
heard of it," said the vizir.

As the fisherman said it was only three hours' journey away, the sultan
ordered his whole court to mount and ride thither, and the fisherman
led them.

They climbed the mountain, and then, on the other side, saw the lake as
the fisherman had described.  The water was so clear that they could
see the four kinds of fish swimming about in it.  They looked at them
for some time, and then the Sultan ordered them to make a camp by the
edge of the water.

When night came the Sultan called his vizir, and said to him, "I have
resolved to clear up this mystery.  I am going out alone, and do you
stay here in my tent, and when my ministers come to-morrow, say I am
not well, and cannot see them.  Do this each day till I return."

The grand-vizir tried to persuade the Sultan not to go, but in vain.
The Sultan took off his state robe and put on his sword, and when he
saw all was quiet in the camp he set forth alone.

He climbed one of the hills, and then crossed the great plain, till,
just as the sun rose, he beheld far in front of him a large building.
When he came near to it he saw it was a splendid palace of beautiful
black polished marble, covered with steel as smooth as a mirror.

He went to the gate, which stood half open, and went in, as nobody came
when he knocked.  He passed through a magnificent courtyard and still
saw no one, though he called aloud several times.

He entered large halls where the carpets were of silk, the lounges and
sofas covered with tapestry from Mecca, and the hangings of the most
beautiful Indian stuffs of gold and silver.  Then he found himself in a
splendid room, with a fountain supported by golden lions.  The water
out of the lions' mouths turned into diamonds and pearls, and the
leaping water almost touched a most beautifully-painted dome.  The
palace was surrounded on three sides by magnificent gardens, little
lakes, and woods.  Birds sang in the trees, which were netted over to
keep them always there.

Still the Sultan saw no one, till he heard a plaintive cry, and a voice
which said, "Oh that I could die, for I am too unhappy to wish to live
any longer!"

The Sultan looked round to discover who it was who thus bemoaned his
fate, and at last saw a handsome young man, richly clothed, who was
sitting on a throne raised slightly from the ground.  His face was very
sad.

The sultan approached him and bowed to him.  The young man bent his
head very low, but did not rise.

"Sire," he said to the Sultan, "I cannot rise and do you the reverence
that I am sure should be paid to your rank."

"Sir," answered the Sultan, "I am sure you have a good reason for not
doing so, and having heard your cry of distress, I am come to offer you
my help.  Whose is this palace, and why is it thus empty?"

Instead of answering the young man lifted up his robe, and showed the
Sultan that, from the waist downwards, he was a block of black marble.

The Sultan was horrified, and begged the young man to tell him his
story.

"Willingly I will tell you my sad history," said the young man.



The Story of the Young King of the Black Isles


You must know, sire, that my father was Mahmoud, the king of this
country, the Black Isles, so called from the four little mountains
which were once islands, while the capital was the place where now the
great lake lies.  My story will tell you how these changes came about.

My father died when he was sixty-six, and I succeeded him.  I married
my cousin, whom I loved tenderly, and I thought she loved me too.

But one afternoon, when I was half asleep, and was being fanned by two
of her maids, I heard one say to the other, "What a pity it is that our
mistress no longer loves our master!  I believe she would like to kill
him if she could, for she is an enchantress."

I soon found by watching that they were right, and when I mortally
wounded a favourite slave of hers for a great crime, she begged that
she might build a palace in the garden, where she wept and bewailed him
for two years.

At last I begged her to cease grieving for him, for although he could
not speak or move, by her enchantments she just kept him alive.  She
turned upon me in a rage, and said over me some magic words, and I
instantly became as you see me now, half man and half marble.

Then this wicked enchantress changed the capital, which was a very
populous and flourishing city, into the lake and desert plain you saw.
The fish of four colours which are in it are the different races who
lived in the town; the four hills are the four islands which give the
name to my kingdom.  All this the enchantress told me to add to my
troubles.  And this is not all.  Every day she comes and beats me with
a whip of buffalo hide.

When the young king had finished his sad story he burst once more into
tears, and the Sultan was much moved.

"Tell me," he cried, "where is this wicked woman, and where is the
miserable object of her affection, whom she just manages to keep alive?"

"Where she lives I do not know," answered the unhappy prince, "but she
goes every day at sunrise to see if the slave can yet speak to her,
after she has beaten me."

"Unfortunate king," said the Sultan, "I will do what I can to avenge
you."

So he consulted with the young king over the best way to bring this
about, and they agreed their plan should be put in effect the next day.
The Sultan then rested, and the young king gave himself up to happy
hopes of release.  The next day the Sultan arose, and then went to the
palace in the garden where the black slave was.  He drew his sword and
destroyed the little life that remained in him, and then threw the body
down a well.  He then lay down on the couch where the slave had been,
and waited for the enchantress.

She went first to the young king, whom she beat with a hundred blows.

Then she came to the room where she thought her wounded slave was, but
where the Sultan really lay.

She came near his couch and said, "Are you better to-day, my dear
slave?  Speak but one word to me."

"How can I be better," answered the Sultan, imitating the language of
the Ethiopians, "when I can never sleep for the cries and groans of
your husband?"

"What joy to hear you speak!" answered the queen.  "Do you wish him to
regain his proper shape?"

"Yes," said the Sultan; "hasten to set him at liberty, so that I may no
longer hear his cries."

The queen at once went out and took a cup of water, and said over it
some words that made it boil as if it were on the fire.  Then she threw
it over the prince, who at once regained his own form.  He was filled
with joy, but the enchantress said, "Hasten away from this place and
never come back, lest I kill you."

So he hid himself to see the end of the Sultan's plan.

The enchantress went back to the Palace of Tears and said, "Now I have
done what you wished."

"What you have done," said the Sultan, "is not enough to cure me.
Every day at midnight all the people whom you have changed into fish
lift their heads out of the lake and cry for vengeance.  Go quickly,
and give them their proper shape."

The enchantress hurried away and said some words over the lake.

The fish then became men, women, and children, and the houses and shops
were once more filled.  The Sultan's suite, who had encamped by the
lake, were not a little astonished to see themselves in the middle of a
large and beautiful town.

As soon as she had disenchanted it the queen went back to the palace.

"Are you quite well now?" she said.

"Come near," said the Sultan.  "Nearer still."

She obeyed.  Then he sprang up, and with one blow of his sword he cut
her in two.

Then he went and found the prince.

"Rejoice," he said, "your cruel enemy is dead."

The prince thanked him again and again.

"And now," said the Sultan.  "I will go back to my capital, which I am
glad to find is so near yours."

"So near mine!" said the King of the Black Isles.

"Do you know it is a whole year's journey from here?  You came here in
a few hours because it was enchanted.  But I will accompany you on your
journey."

"It will give me much pleasure if you will escort me," said the Sultan,
"and as I have no children, I will make you my heir."

The Sultan and the prince set out together, the Sultan laden with rich
presents from the King of the Black Isles.

The day after he reached his capital the Sultan assembled his court and
told them all that had befallen him, and told them how he intended to
adopt the young king as his heir.

Then he gave each man presents in proportion to his rank.

As for the fisherman, as he was the first cause of the deliverance of
the young prince, the Sultan gave him much money, and made him and his
family happy for the rest of their days.



The Story of the Three Calenders, Sons of Kings,
  and of Five Ladies of Bagdad


In the reign of the Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid, there lived at Bagdad a
porter who, in spite of his humble calling, was an intelligent and
sensible man.  One morning he was sitting in his usual place with his
basket before him, waiting to be hired, when a tall young lady, covered
with a long muslin veil, came up to him and said, "Pick up your basket
and follow me."  The porter, who was greatly pleased by her appearance
and voice, jumped up at once, poised his basket on his head, and
accompanied the lady, saying to himself as he went, "Oh, happy day!
Oh, lucky meeting!"

The lady soon stopped before a closed door, at which she knocked.  It
was opened by an old man with a long white beard, to whom the lady held
out money without speaking.  The old man, who seemed to understand what
she wanted, vanished into the house, and returned bringing a large jar
of wine, which the porter placed in his basket.  Then the lady signed
to him to follow, and they went their way.

The next place she stopped at was a fruit and flower shop, and here she
bought a large quantity of apples, apricots, peaches, and other things,
with lilies, jasmine, and all sorts of sweet-smelling plants.  From
this shop she went to a butcher's, a grocer's, and a poulterer's, till
at last the porter exclaimed in despair, "My good lady, if you had only
told me you were going to buy enough provisions to stock a town, I
would have brought a horse, or rather a camel." The lady laughed, and
told him she had not finished yet, but after choosing various kinds of
scents and spices from a druggist's store, she halted before a
magnificent palace, at the door of which she knocked gently.  The
porteress who opened it was of such beauty that the eyes of the man
were quite dazzled, and he was the more astonished as he saw clearly
that she was no slave.  The lady who had led him hither stood watching
him with amusement, till the porteress exclaimed, "Why don't you come
in, my sister?  This poor man is so heavily weighed down that he is
ready to drop."

When they were both inside the door was fastened, and they all three
entered a large court, surrounded by an open-work gallery.  At one end
of the court was a platform, and on the platform stood an amber throne
supported by four ebony columns, garnished with pearls and diamonds.
In the middle of the court stood a marble basin filled with water from
the mouth of a golden lion.

The porter looked about him, noticing and admiring everything; but his
attention was specially attracted by a third lady sitting on the
throne, who was even more beautiful than the other two.  By the respect
shown to her by the others, he judged that she must be the eldest, and
in this he was right.  This lady's name was Zobeida, the porteress was
Sadie, and the housekeeper was Amina.  At a word from Zobeida, Sadie
and Amina took the basket from the porter, who was glad enough to be
relieved from its weight; and when it was emptied, paid him handsomely
for its use.  But instead of taking up his basket and going away, the
man still lingered, till Zobeida inquired what he was waiting for, and
if he expected more money.  "Oh, madam," returned he, "you have already
given me too much, and I fear I may have been guilty of rudeness in not
taking my departure at once.  But, if you will pardon my saying so, I
was lost in astonishment at seeing such beautiful ladies by themselves.
A company of women without men is, however, as dull as a company of men
without women."  And after telling some stories to prove his point, he
ended by entreating them to let him stay and make a fourth at their
dinner.

The ladies were rather amused at the man's assurances and after some
discussion it was agreed that he should be allowed to stay, as his
society might prove entertaining.  "But listen, friend," said Zobeida,
"if we grant your request, it is only on condition that you behave with
the utmost politeness, and that you keep the secret of our way of
living, which chance has revealed to you." Then they all sat down to
table, which had been covered by Amina with the dishes she had bought.

After the first few mouthfuls Amina poured some wine into a golden cup.
She first drank herself, according to the Arab custom, and then filled
it for her sisters.  When it came to the porter's turn he kissed
Amina's hand, and sang a song, which he composed at the moment in
praise of the wine.  The three ladies were pleased with the song, and
then sang themselves, so that the repast was a merry one, and lasted
much longer than usual.

At length, seeing that the sun was about to set, Sadia said to the
porter, "Rise and go; it is now time for us to separate."

"Oh, madam," replied he, "how can you desire me to quit you in the
state in which I am?  Between the wine I have drunk, and the pleasure
of seeing you, I should never find the way to my house.  Let me remain
here till morning, and when I have recovered my senses I will go when
you like."

"Let him stay," said Amina, who had before proved herself his friend.
"It is only just, as he has given us so much amusement."

"If you wish it, my sister," replied Zobeida; "but if he does, I must
make a new condition.  Porter," she continued, turning to him, "if you
remain, you must promise to ask no questions about anything you may
see.  If you do, you may perhaps hear what you don't like."

This being settled, Amina brought in supper, and lit up the hall with a
number of sweet smelling tapers.  They then sat down again at the
table, and began with fresh appetites to eat, drink, sing, and recite
verses.  In fact, they were all enjoying themselves mightily when they
heard a knock at the outer door, which Sadie rose to open.  She soon
returned saying that three Calenders, all blind in the right eye, and
all with their heads, faces, and eyebrows clean shaved, begged for
admittance, as they were newly arrived in Bagdad, and night had already
fallen.  "They seem to have pleasant manners," she added, "but you have
no idea how funny they look.  I am sure we should find their company
diverting."

Zobeida and Amina made some difficulty about admitting the new comers,
and Sadie knew the reason of their hesitation.  But she urged the
matter so strongly that Zobeida was at last forced to consent.  "Bring
them in, then," said she, "but make them understand that they are not
to make remarks about what does not concern them, and be sure to make
them read the inscription over the door." For on the door was written
in letters of gold, "Whoso meddles in affairs that are no business of
his, will hear truths that will not please him."

The three Calenders bowed low on entering, and thanked the ladies for
their kindness and hospitality.  The ladies replied with words of
welcome, and they were all about to seat themselves when the eyes of
the Calenders fell on the porter, whose dress was not so very unlike
their own, though he still wore all the hair that nature had given him.
"This," said one of them, "is apparently one of our Arab brothers, who
has rebelled against our ruler."

The porter, although half asleep from the wine he had drunk, heard the
words, and without moving cried angrily to the Calender, "Sit down and
mind your own business.  Did you not read the inscription over the
door?  Everybody is not obliged to live in the same way."

"Do not be so angry, my good man," replied the Calender; "we should be
very sorry to displease you;" so the quarrel was smoothed over, and
supper began in good earnest.  When the Calenders had satisfied their
hunger, they offered to play to their hostesses, if there were any
instruments in the house.  The ladies were delighted at the idea, and
Sadie went to see what she could find, returning in a few moments laden
with two different kinds of flutes and a tambourine.  Each Calender
took the one he preferred, and began to play a well-known air, while
the ladies sang the words of the song.  These words were the gayest and
liveliest possible, and every now and then the singers had to stop to
indulge the laughter which almost choked them.  In the midst of all
their noise, a knock was heard at the door.

Now early that evening the Caliph secretly left the palace, accompanied
by his grand-vizir, Giafar, and Mesrour, chief of the eunuchs, all
three wearing the dresses of merchants.  Passing down the street, the
Caliph had been attracted by the music of instruments and the sound of
laughter, and had ordered his vizir to go and knock at the door of the
house, as he wished to enter.  The vizir replied that the ladies who
lived there seemed to be entertaining their friends, and he thought his
master would do well not to intrude on them; but the Caliph had taken
it into his head to see for himself, and insisted on being obeyed.

The knock was answered by Sadie, with a taper in her hand, and the
vizir, who was surprised at her beauty, bowed low before her, and said
respectfully, "Madam, we are three merchants who have lately arrived
from Moussoul, and, owing to a misadventure which befel us this very
night, only reached our inn to find that the doors were closed to us
till to-morrow morning.  Not knowing what to do, we wandered in the
streets till we happened to pass your house, when, seeing lights and
hearing the sound of voices, we resolved to ask you to give us shelter
till the dawn.  If you will grant us this favour, we will, with your
permission, do all in our power to help you spend the time pleasantly."

Sadie answered the merchant that she must first consult her sisters;
and after having talked over the matter with them, she returned to tell
him that he and his two friends would be welcome to join their company.
They entered and bowed politely to the ladies and their guests.  Then
Zobeida, as the mistress, came forward and said gravely, "You are
welcome here, but I hope you will allow me to beg one thing of
you--have as many eyes as you like, but no tongues; and ask no
questions about anything you see, however strange it may appear to you."

"Madam," returned the vizir, "you shall be obeyed.  We have quite
enough to please and interest us without troubling ourselves about that
with which we have no concern."  Then they all sat down, and drank to
the health of the new comers.

While the vizir, Giafar, was talking to the ladies the Caliph was
occupied in wondering who they could be, and why the three Calenders
had each lost his right eye.  He was burning to inquire the reason of
it all, but was silenced by Zobeida's request, so he tried to rouse
himself and to take his part in the conversation, which was very
lively, the subject of discussion being the many different sorts of
pleasures that there were in the world.  After some time the Calenders
got up and performed some curious dances, which delighted the rest of
the company.

When they had finished Zobeida rose from her seat, and, taking Amina by
the hand, she said to her, "My sister, our friends will excuse us if we
seem to forget their presence and fulfil our nightly task." Amina
understood her sister's meaning, and collecting the dishes, glasses,
and musical instruments, she carried them away, while Sadie swept the
hall and put everything in order.  Having done this she begged the
Calenders to sit on a sofa on one side of the room, and the Caliph and
his friends to place themselves opposite.  As to the porter, she
requested him to come and help her and her sister.

Shortly after Amina entered carrying a seat, which she put down in the
middle of the empty space.  She next went over to the door of a closet
and signed to the porter to follow her.  He did so, and soon reappeared
leading two black dogs by a chain, which he brought into the centre of
the hall.  Zobeida then got up from her seat between the Calenders and
the Caliph and walked slowly across to where the porter stood with the
dogs.  "We must do our duty," she said with a deep sigh, pushing back
her sleeves, and, taking a whip from Sadie, she said to the man, "Take
one of those dogs to my sister Amina and give me the other."

The porter did as he was bid, but as he led the dog to Zobeida it
uttered piercing howls, and gazed up at her with looks of entreaty.
But Zobeida took no notice, and whipped the dog till she was out of
breath.  She then took the chain from the porter, and, raising the dog
on its hind legs, they looked into each other's eyes sorrowfully till
tears began to fall from both.  Then Zobeida took her handkerchief and
wiped the dog's eyes tenderly, after which she kissed it, then, putting
the chain into the porter's hand she said, "Take it back to the closet
and bring me the other."

The same ceremony was gone through with the second dog, and all the
while the whole company looked on with astonishment.  The Caliph in
particular could hardly contain himself, and made signs to the vizir to
ask what it all meant.  But the vizir pretended not to see, and turned
his head away.

Zobeida remained for some time in the middle of the room, till at last
Sadie went up to her and begged her to sit down, as she also had her
part to play.  At these words Amina fetched a lute from a case of
yellow satin and gave it to Sadie, who sang several songs to its
accompaniment.  When she was tired she said to Amina, "My sister, I can
do no more; come, I pray you, and take my place."

Amina struck a few chords and then broke into a song, which she sang
with so much ardour that she was quite overcome, and sank gasping on a
pile of cushions, tearing open her dress as she did so to give herself
some air.  To the amazement of all present, her neck, instead of being
as smooth and white as her face, was a mass of scars.

The Calenders and the Caliph looked at each other, and whispered
together, unheard by Zobeida and Sadie, who were tending their fainting
sister.

"What does it all mean?' asked the Caliph.

"We know no more than you," said the Calender to whom he had spoken.

"What!  You do not belong to the house?"

"My lord," answered all the Calenders together, "we came here for the
first time an hour before you."

They then turned to the porter to see if he could explain the mystery,
but the porter was no wiser than they were themselves.  At length the
Caliph could contain his curiosity no longer, and declared that he
would compel the ladies to tell them the meaning of their strange
conduct.  The vizir, foreseeing what would happen, implored him to
remember the condition their hostesses had imposed, and added in a
whisper that if his Highness would only wait till morning he could as
Caliph summon the ladies to appear before him.  But the Caliph, who was
not accustomed to be contradicted, rejected this advice, and it was
resolved after a little more talking that the question should be put by
the porter.  Suddenly Zobeida turned round, and seeing their excitement
she said, "What is the matter--what are you all discussing so
earnestly?"

"Madam," answered the porter, "these gentlemen entreat you to explain
to them why you should first whip the dogs and then cry over them, and
also how it happens that the fainting lady is covered with scars.  They
have requested me, Madam, to be their mouthpiece."


"Is it true, gentlemen," asked Zobeida, drawing herself up, "that you
have charged this man to put me that question?"

"It is," they all replied, except Giafar, who was silent.

"Is this," continued Zobeida, growing more angry every moment, "is this
the return you make for the hospitality I have shown you?  Have you
forgotten the one condition on which you were allowed to enter the
house?  Come quickly," she added, clapping her hands three times, and
the words were hardly uttered when seven black slaves, each armed with
a sabre, burst in and stood over the seven men, throwing them on the
ground, and preparing themselves, on a sign from their mistress, to cut
off their heads.

The seven culprits all thought their last hour had come, and the Caliph
repented bitterly that he had not taken the vizir's advice.  But they
made up their minds to die bravely, all except the porter, who loudly
inquired of Zobeida why he was to suffer for other people's faults, and
declared that these misfortunes would never have happened if it had not
been for the Calenders, who always brought ill-luck. He ended by
imploring Zobeida not to confound the innocent with the guilty and to
spare his life.

In spite of her anger, there was something so comic in the groans of
the porter that Zobeida could not refrain from laughing.  But putting
him aside she addressed the others a second time, saying, "Answer me;
who are you?  Unless you tell me truly you have not another moment to
live.  I can hardly think you are men of any position, whatever country
you belong to.  If you were, you would have had more consideration for
us."

The Caliph, who was naturally very impatient, suffered far more than
either of the others at feeling that his life was at the mercy of a
justly offended lady, but when he heard her question he began to
breathe more freely, for he was convinced that she had only to learn
his name and rank for all danger to be over.  So he whispered hastily
to the vizir, who was next to him, to reveal their secret.  But the
vizir, wiser than his master, wished to conceal from the public the
affront they had received, and merely answered, "After all, we have
only got what we deserved."

Meanwhile Zobeida had turned to the three Calenders and inquired if, as
they were all blind, they were brothers.

"No, madam," replied one, "we are no blood relations at all, only
brothers by our mode of life."

"And you," she asked, addressing another, "were you born blind of one
eye?"

"No, madam," returned he, "I became blind through a most surprising
adventure, such as probably has never happened to anybody.  After that
I shaved my head and eyebrows and put on the dress in which you see me
now."

Zobeida put the same question to the other two Calenders, and received
the same answer.

"But," added the third, "it may interest you, madam, to know that we
are not men of low birth, but are all three sons of kings, and of
kings, too, whom the world holds in high esteem."

At these words Zobeida's anger cooled down, and she turned to her
slaves and said, "You can give them a little more liberty, but do not
leave the hall.  Those that will tell us their histories and their
reasons for coming here shall be allowed to leave unhurt; those who
refuse--" And she paused, but in a moment the porter, who understood
that he had only to relate his story to set himself free from this
terrible danger, immediately broke in,

"Madam, you know already how I came here, and what I have to say will
soon be told.  Your sister found me this morning in the place where I
always stand waiting to be hired.  She bade me follow her to various
shops, and when my basket was quite full we returned to this house,
when you had the goodness to permit me to remain, for which I shall be
eternally grateful.  That is my story."

He looked anxiously to Zobeida, who nodded her head and said, "You can
go; and take care we never meet again."

"Oh, madam," cried the porter, "let me stay yet a little while.  It is
not just that the others should have heard my story and that I should
not hear theirs," and without waiting for permission he seated himself
on the end of the sofa occupied by the ladies, whilst the rest crouched
on the carpet, and the slaves stood against the wall.

Then one of the Calenders, addressing himself to Zobeida as the
principal lady, began his story.



The Story of the First Calender, Son of a King


In order, madam, to explain how I came to lose my right eye, and to
wear the dress of a Calender, you must first know that I am the son of
a king.  My father's only brother reigned over the neighbouring
country, and had two children, a daughter and a son, who were of the
same age as myself.

As I grew up, and was allowed more liberty, I went every year to pay a
visit to my uncle's court, and usually stayed there about two months.
In this way my cousin and I became very intimate, and were much
attached to each other.  The very last time I saw him he seemed more
delighted to see me than ever, and gave a great feast in my honour.
When we had finished eating, he said to me, "My cousin, you would never
guess what I have been doing since your last visit to us!  Directly
after your departure I set a number of men to work on a building after
my own design.  It is now completed, and ready to be lived in.  I
should like to show it to you, but you must first swear two things: to
be faithful to me, and to keep my secret."

Of course I did not dream of refusing him anything he asked, and gave
the promise without the least hesitation.  He then bade me wait an
instant, and vanished, returning in a few moments with a richly dressed
lady of great beauty, but as he did not tell me her name, I thought it
was better not to inquire.  We all three sat down to table and amused
ourselves with talking of all sorts of indifferent things, and with
drinking each other's health.  Suddenly the prince said to me, "Cousin,
we have no time to lose; be so kind as to conduct this lady to a
certain spot, where you will find a dome-like tomb, newly built.  You
cannot mistake it.  Go in, both of you, and wait till I come.  I shall
not be long."

As I had promised I prepared to do as I was told, and giving my hand to
the lady, I escorted her, by the light of the moon, to the place of
which the prince had spoken.  We had barely reached it when he joined
us himself, carrying a small vessel of water, a pickaxe, and a little
bag containing plaster.

With the pickaxe he at once began to destroy the empty sepulchre in the
middle of the tomb.  One by one he took the stones and piled them up in
a corner.  When he had knocked down the whole sepulchre he proceeded to
dig at the earth, and beneath where the sepulchre had been I saw a
trap-door. He raised the door and I caught sight of the top of a spiral
staircase; then he said, turning to the lady, "Madam, this is the way
that will lead you down to the spot which I told you of."

The lady did not answer, but silently descended the staircase, the
prince following her.  At the top, however, he looked at me.  "My
cousin," he exclaimed, "I do not know how to thank you for your
kindness.  Farewell."

"What do you mean?"  I cried.  "I don't understand."

"No matter," he replied, "go back by the path that you came."

He would say no more, and, greatly puzzled, I returned to my room in
the palace and went to bed.  When I woke, and considered my adventure,
I thought that I must have been dreaming, and sent a servant to ask if
the prince was dressed and could see me.  But on hearing that he had
not slept at home I was much alarmed, and hastened to the cemetery,
where, unluckily, the tombs were all so alike that I could not discover
which was the one I was in search of, though I spent four days in
looking for it.

You must know that all this time the king, my uncle, was absent on a
hunting expedition, and as no one knew when he would be back, I at last
decided to return home, leaving the ministers to make my excuses.  I
longed to tell them what had become of the prince, about whose fate
they felt the most dreadful anxiety, but the oath I had sworn kept me
silent.

On my arrival at my father's capital, I was astonished to find a large
detachment of guards drawn up before the gate of the palace; they
surrounded me directly I entered.  I asked the officers in command the
reason of this strange behaviour, and was horrified to learn that the
army had mutinied and put to death the king, my father, and had placed
the grand-vizir on the throne.  Further, that by his orders I was
placed under arrest.

Now this rebel vizir had hated me from my boy-hood, because once, when
shooting at a bird with a bow, I had shot out his eye by accident.  Of
course I not only sent a servant at once to offer him my regrets and
apologies, but I made them in person.  It was all of no use.  He
cherished an undying hatred towards me, and lost no occasion of showing
it.  Having once got me in his power I felt he could show no mercy, and
I was right.  Mad with triumph and fury he came to me in my prison and
tore out my right eye.  That is how I lost it.

My persecutor, however, did not stop here.  He shut me up in a large
case and ordered his executioner to carry me into a desert place, to
cut off my head, and then to abandon my body to the birds of prey.  The
case, with me inside it, was accordingly placed on a horse, and the
executioner, accompanied by another man, rode into the country until
they found a spot suitable for the purpose.  But their hearts were not
so hard as they seemed, and my tears and prayers made them waver.

"Forsake the kingdom instantly," said the executioner at last, "and
take care never to come back, for you will not only lose your head, but
make us lose ours."  I thanked him gratefully, and tried to console
myself for the loss of my eye by thinking of the other misfortunes I
had escaped.


After all I had gone through, and my fear of being recognised by some
enemy, I could only travel very slowly and cautiously, generally
resting in some out-of-the-way place by day, and walking as far as I
was able by night, but at length I arrived in the kingdom of my uncle,
of whose protection I was sure.

I found him in great trouble about the disappearance of his son, who
had, he said, vanished without leaving a trace; but his own grief did
not prevent him sharing mine.  We mingled our tears, for the loss of
one was the loss of the other, and then I made up my mind that it was
my duty to break the solemn oath I had sworn to the prince.  I
therefore lost no time in telling my uncle everything I knew, and I
observed that even before I had ended his sorrow appeared to be
lightened a little.

"My dear nephew," he said, "your story gives me some hope.  I was aware
that my son was building a tomb, and I think I can find the spot.  But
as he wished to keep the matter secret, let us go alone and seek the
place ourselves."

He then bade me disguise myself, and we both slipped out of a garden
door which opened on to the cemetery.  It did not take long for us to
arrive at the scene of the prince's disappearance, or to discover the
tomb I had sought so vainly before.  We entered it, and found the
trap-door which led to the staircase, but we had great difficulty in
raising it, because the prince had fastened it down underneath with the
plaster he had brought with him.

My uncle went first, and I followed him.  When we reached the bottom of
the stairs we stepped into a sort of ante-room, filled with such a
dense smoke that it was hardly possible to see anything.  However, we
passed through the smoke into a large chamber, which at first seemed
quite empty.  The room was brilliantly lighted, and in another moment
we perceived a sort of platform at one end, on which were the bodies of
the prince and a lady, both half-burned, as if they had been dragged
out of a fire before it had quite consumed them.

This horrible sight turned me faint, but, to my surprise, my uncle did
not show so much surprise as anger.

"I knew," he said, "that my son was tenderly attached to this lady,
whom it was impossible he should ever marry.  I tried to turn his
thoughts, and presented to him the most beautiful princesses, but he
cared for none of them, and, as you see, they have now been united by a
horrible death in an underground tomb."  But, as he spoke, his anger
melted into tears, and again I wept with him.

When he recovered himself he drew me to him.  "My dear nephew," he
said, embracing me, "you have come to me to take his place, and I will
do my best to forget that I ever had a son who could act in so wicked a
manner."  Then he turned and went up the stairs.

We reached the palace without anyone having noticed our absence, when,
shortly after, a clashing of drums, and cymbals, and the blare of
trumpets burst upon our astonished ears.  At the same time a thick
cloud of dust on the horizon told of the approach of a great army.  My
heart sank when I perceived that the commander was the vizir who had
dethroned my father, and was come to seize the kingdom of my uncle.

The capital was utterly unprepared to stand a siege, and seeing that
resistance was useless, at once opened its gates.  My uncle fought hard
for his life, but was soon overpowered, and when he fell I managed to
escape through a secret passage, and took refuge with an officer whom I
knew I could trust.

Persecuted by ill-fortune, and stricken with grief, there seemed to be
only one means of safety left to me.  I shaved my beard and my
eyebrows, and put on the dress of a calender, in which it was easy for
me to travel without being known.  I avoided the towns till I reached
the kingdom of the famous and powerful Caliph, Haroun-al-Raschid, when
I had no further reason to fear my enemies.  It was my intention to
come to Bagdad and to throw myself at the feet of his Highness, who
would, I felt certain, be touched by my sad story, and would grant me,
besides, his help and protection.

After a journey which lasted some months I arrived at length at the
gates of this city.  It was sunset, and I paused for a little to look
about me, and to decide which way to turn my steps.  I was still
debating on this subject when I was joined by this other calender, who
stopped to greet me.  "You, like me, appear to be a stranger," I said.
He replied that I was right, and before he could say more the third
calender came up.  He, also, was newly arrived in Bagdad, and being
brothers in misfortune, we resolved to cast in our lots together, and
to share whatever fate might have in store.

By this time it had grown late, and we did not know where to spend the
night.  But our lucky star having guided us to this door, we took the
liberty of knocking and of asking for shelter, which was given to us at
once with the best grace in the world.

This, madam, is my story.

"I am satisfied," replied Zobeida; "you can go when you like."

The calender, however, begged leave to stay and to hear the histories
of his two friends and of the three other persons of the company, which
he was allowed to do.



The Story of the Second Calendar, Son of a King


"Madam," said the young man, addressing Zobeida, "if you wish to know
how I lost my right eye, I shall have to tell you the story of my whole
life."

I was scarcely more than a baby, when the king my father, finding me
unusually quick and clever for my age, turned his thoughts to my
education.  I was taught first to read and write, and then to learn the
Koran, which is the basis of our holy religion, and the better to
understand it, I read with my tutors the ablest commentators on its
teaching, and committed to memory all the traditions respecting the
Prophet, which have been gathered from the mouth of those who were his
friends.  I also learnt history, and was instructed in poetry,
versification, geography, chronology, and in all the outdoor exercises
in which every prince should excel.  But what I liked best of all was
writing Arabic characters, and in this I soon surpassed my masters, and
gained a reputation in this branch of knowledge that reached as far as
India itself.

Now the Sultan of the Indies, curious to see a young prince with such
strange tastes, sent an ambassador to my father, laden with rich
presents, and a warm invitation to visit his court.  My father, who was
deeply anxious to secure the friendship of so powerful a monarch, and
held besides that a little travel would greatly improve my manners and
open my mind, accepted gladly, and in a short time I had set out for
India with the ambassador, attended only by a small suite on account of
the length of the journey, and the badness of the roads.  However, as
was my duty, I took with me ten camels, laden with rich presents for
the Sultan.

We had been travelling for about a month, when one day we saw a cloud
of dust moving swiftly towards us; and as soon as it came near, we
found that the dust concealed a band of fifty robbers.  Our men barely
numbered half, and as we were also hampered by the camels, there was no
use in fighting, so we tried to overawe them by informing them who we
were, and whither we were going.  The robbers, however, only laughed,
and declared that was none of their business, and, without more words,
attacked us brutally.  I defended myself to the last, wounded though I
was, but at length, seeing that resistance was hopeless, and that the
ambassador and all our followers were made prisoners, I put spurs to my
horse and rode away as fast as I could, till the poor beast fell dead
from a wound in his side.  I managed to jump off without any injury,
and looked about to see if I was pursued.  But for the moment I was
safe, for, as I imagined, the robbers were all engaged in quarrelling
over their booty.

I found myself in a country that was quite new to me, and dared not
return to the main road lest I should again fall into the hands of the
robbers.  Luckily my wound was only a slight one, and after binding it
up as well as I could, I walked on for the rest of the day, till I
reached a cave at the foot of a mountain, where I passed the night in
peace, making my supper off some fruits I had gathered on the way.

I wandered about for a whole month without knowing where I was going,
till at length I found myself on the outskirts of a beautiful city,
watered by winding streams, which enjoyed an eternal spring.  My
delight at the prospect of mixing once more with human beings was
somewhat damped at the thought of the miserable object I must seem.  My
face and hands had been burned nearly black; my clothes were all in
rags, and my shoes were in such a state that I had been forced to
abandon them altogether.

I entered the town, and stopped at a tailor's shop to inquire where I
was.  The man saw I was better than my condition, and begged me to sit
down, and in return I told him my whole story.  The tailor listened
with attention, but his reply, instead of giving me consolation, only
increased my trouble.

"Beware," he said, "of telling any one what you have told me, for the
prince who governs the kingdom is your father's greatest enemy, and he
will be rejoiced to find you in his power."

I thanked the tailor for his counsel, and said I would do whatever he
advised; then, being very hungry, I gladly ate of the food he put
before me, and accepted his offer of a lodging in his house.

In a few days I had quite recovered from the hardships I had undergone,
and then the tailor, knowing that it was the custom for the princes of
our religion to learn a trade or profession so as to provide for
themselves in times of ill-fortune, inquired if there was anything I
could do for my living.  I replied that I had been educated as a
grammarian and a poet, but that my great gift was writing.

"All that is of no use here," said the tailor.  "Take my advice, put on
a short coat, and as you seem hardy and strong, go into the woods and
cut firewood, which you will sell in the streets.  By this means you
will earn your living, and be able to wait till better times come.  The
hatchet and the cord shall be my present."

This counsel was very distasteful to me, but I thought I could not do
otherwise than adopt it.  So the next morning I set out with a company
of poor wood-cutters, to whom the tailor had introduced me.  Even on
the first day I cut enough wood to sell for a tolerable sum, and very
soon I became more expert, and had made enough money to repay the
tailor all he had lent me.

I had been a wood-cutter for more than a year, when one day I wandered
further into the forest than I had ever done before, and reached a
delicious green glade, where I began to cut wood.  I was hacking at the
root of a tree, when I beheld an iron ring fastened to a trapdoor of
the same metal.  I soon cleared away the earth, and pulling up the
door, found a staircase, which I hastily made up my mind to go down,
carrying my hatchet with me by way of protection.  When I reached the
bottom I discovered that I was in a huge palace, as brilliantly lighted
as any palace above ground that I had ever seen, with a long gallery
supported by pillars of jasper, ornamented with capitals of gold.  Down
this gallery a lady came to meet me, of such beauty that I forgot
everything else, and thought only of her.

To save her all the trouble possible, I hastened towards her, and bowed
low.

"Who are you?  Who are you?" she said.  "A man or a genius?"

"A man, madam," I replied; "I have nothing to do with genii."

"By what accident do you come here?" she asked again with a sigh.  "I
have been in this place now for five and twenty years, and you are the
first man who has visited me."

Emboldened by her beauty and gentleness, I ventured to reply, "Before,
madam, I answer your question, allow me to say how grateful I am for
this meeting, which is not only a consolation to me in my own heavy
sorrow, but may perhaps enable me to render your lot happier," and then
I told her who I was, and how I had come there.

"Alas, prince," she said, with a deeper sigh than before, "you have
guessed rightly in supposing me an unwilling prisoner in this gorgeous
place.  I am the daughter of the king of the Ebony Isle, of whose fame
you surely must have heard.  At my father's desire I was married to a
prince who was my own cousin; but on my very wedding day, I was
snatched up by a genius, and brought here in a faint.  For a long while
I did nothing but weep, and would not suffer the genius to come near
me; but time teaches us submission, and I have now got accustomed to
his presence, and if clothes and jewels could content me, I have them
in plenty.  Every tenth day, for five and twenty years, I have received
a visit from him, but in case I should need his help at any other time,
I have only to touch a talisman that stands at the entrance of my
chamber.  It wants still five days to his next visit, and I hope that
during that time you will do me the honour to be my guest."

I was too much dazzled by her beauty to dream of refusing her offer,
and accordingly the princess had me conducted to the bath, and a rich
dress befitting my rank was provided for me.  Then a feast of the most
delicate dishes was served in a room hung with embroidered Indian
fabrics.

Next day, when we were at dinner, I could maintain my patience no
longer, and implored the princess to break her bonds, and return with
me to the world which was lighted by the sun.

"What you ask is impossible," she answered; "but stay here with me
instead, and we can be happy, and all you will have to do is to betake
yourself to the forest every tenth day, when I am expecting my master
the genius.  He is very jealous, as you know, and will not suffer a man
to come near me."

"Princess," I replied, "I see it is only fear of the genius that makes
you act like this.  For myself, I dread him so little that I mean to
break his talisman in pieces!  Awful though you think him, he shall
feel the weight of my arm, and I herewith take a solemn vow to stamp
out the whole race."

The princess, who realized the consequences of such audacity, entreated
me not to touch the talisman.  "If you do, it will be the ruin of both
of us," said she; "I know genii much better than you." But the wine I
had drunk had confused my brain; I gave one kick to the talisman, and
it fell into a thousand pieces.

Hardly had my foot touched the talisman when the air became as dark as
night, a fearful noise was heard, and the palace shook to its very
foundations.  In an instant I was sobered, and understood what I had
done.  "Princess!"  I cried, "what is happening?"

"Alas!" she exclaimed, forgetting all her own terrors in anxiety for
me, "fly, or you are lost."

I followed her advice and dashed up the staircase, leaving my hatchet
behind me.  But I was too late.  The palace opened and the genius
appeared, who, turning angrily to the princess, asked indignantly,

"What is the matter, that you have sent for me like this?"

"A pain in my heart," she replied hastily, "obliged me to seek the aid
of this little bottle.  Feeling faint, I slipped and fell against the
talisman, which broke.  That is really all."

"You are an impudent liar!" cried the genius.  "How did this hatchet
and those shoes get here?"

"I never saw them before," she answered, "and you came in such a hurry
that you may have picked them up on the road without knowing it."  To
this the genius only replied by insults and blows.  I could hear the
shrieks and groans of the princess, and having by this time taken off
my rich garments and put on those in which I had arrived the previous
day, I lifted the trap, found myself once more in the forest, and
returned to my friend the tailor, with a light load of wood and a heart
full of shame and sorrow.

The tailor, who had been uneasy at my long absence, was, delighted to
see me; but I kept silence about my adventure, and as soon as possible
retired to my room to lament in secret over my folly.  While I was thus
indulging my grief my host entered, and said, "There is an old man
downstairs who has brought your hatchet and slippers, which he picked
up on the road, and now restores to you, as he found out from one of
your comrades where you lived.  You had better come down and speak to
him yourself."  At this speech I changed colour, and my legs trembled
under me.  The tailor noticed my confusion, and was just going to
inquire the reason when the door of the room opened, and the old man
appeared, carrying with him my hatchet and shoes.

"I am a genius," he said, "the son of the daughter of Eblis, prince of
the genii.  Is not this hatchet yours, and these shoes?" Without
waiting for an answer--which, indeed, I could hardly have given him, so
great was my fright--he seized hold of me, and darted up into the air
with the quickness of lightning, and then, with equal swiftness,
dropped down towards the earth.  When he touched the ground, he rapped
it with his foot; it opened, and we found ourselves in the enchanted
palace, in the presence of the beautiful princess of the Ebony Isle.
But how different she looked from what she was when I had last seen
her, for she was lying stretched on the ground covered with blood, and
weeping bitterly.

"Traitress!" cried the genius, "is not this man your lover?"

She lifted up her eyes slowly, and looked sadly at me.  "I never saw
him before," she answered slowly.  "I do not know who he is."

"What!" exclaimed the genius, "you owe all your sufferings to him, and
yet you dare to say he is a stranger to you!"

"But if he really is a stranger to me," she replied, "why should I tell
a lie and cause his death?"

"Very well," said the genius, drawing his sword, "take this, and cut
off his head."

"Alas," answered the princess, "I am too weak even to hold the sabre.
And supposing that I had the strength, why should I put an innocent man
to death?"

"You condemn yourself by your refusal," said the genius; then turning
to me, he added, "and you, do you not know her?"

"How should I?"  I replied, resolved to imitate the princess in her
fidelity.  "How should I, when I never saw her before?"

"Cut her head off," then, "if she is a stranger to you, and I shall
believe you are speaking the truth, and will set you at liberty."

"Certainly," I answered, taking the sabre in my hands, and making a
sign to the princess to fear nothing, as it was my own life that I was
about to sacrifice, and not hers.  But the look of gratitude she gave
me shook my courage, and I flung the sabre to the earth.

"I should not deserve to live," I said to the genius, "if I were such a
coward as to slay a lady who is not only unknown to me, but who is at
this moment half dead herself.  Do with me as you will--I am in your
power--but I refuse to obey your cruel command."

"I see," said the genius, "that you have both made up your minds to
brave me, but I will give you a sample of what you may expect." So
saying, with one sweep of his sabre he cut off a hand of the princess,
who was just able to lift the other to wave me an eternal farewell.
Then I lost consciousness for several minutes.

When I came to myself I implored the genius to keep me no longer in
this state of suspense, but to lose no time in putting an end to my
sufferings.  The genius, however, paid no attention to my prayers, but
said sternly, "That is the way in which a genius treats the woman who
has betrayed him.  If I chose, I could kill you also; but I will be
merciful, and content myself with changing you into a dog, an ass, a
lion, or a bird--whichever you prefer."

I caught eagerly at these words, as giving me a faint hope of softening
his wrath.  "O genius!"  I cried, "as you wish to spare my life, be
generous, and spare it altogether.  Grant my prayer, and pardon my
crime, as the best man in the whole world forgave his neighbour who was
eaten up with envy of him." Contrary to my hopes, the genius seemed
interested in my words, and said he would like to hear the story of the
two neighbours; and as I think, madam, it may please you, I will tell
it to you also.



The Story of the Envious Man and of Him Who Was Envied


In a town of moderate size, two men lived in neighbouring houses; but
they had not been there very long before one man took such a hatred of
the other, and envied him so bitterly, that the poor man determined to
find another home, hoping that when they no longer met every day his
enemy would forget all about him.  So he sold his house and the little
furniture it contained, and moved into the capital of the country,
which was luckily at no great distance.  About half a mile from this
city he bought a nice little place, with a large garden and a
fair-sized court, in the centre of which stood an old well.

In order to live a quieter life, the good man put on the robe of a
dervish, and divided his house into a quantity of small cells, where he
soon established a number of other dervishes.  The fame of his virtue
gradually spread abroad, and many people, including several of the
highest quality, came to visit him and ask his prayers.

Of course it was not long before his reputation reached the ears of the
man who envied him, and this wicked wretch resolved never to rest till
he had in some way worked ill to the dervish whom he hated.  So he left
his house and his business to look after themselves, and betook himself
to the new dervish monastery, where he was welcomed by the founder with
all the warmth imaginable.  The excuse he gave for his appearance was
that he had come to consult the chief of the dervishes on a private
matter of great importance.  "What I have to say must not be
overheard," he whispered; "command, I beg of you, that your dervishes
retire into their cells, as night is approaching, and meet me in the
court."

The dervish did as he was asked without delay, and directly they were
alone together the envious man began to tell a long story, edging, as
they walked to and fro, always nearer to the well, and when they were
quite close, he seized the dervish and dropped him in.  He then ran off
triumphantly, without having been seen by anyone, and congratulating
himself that the object of his hatred was dead, and would trouble him
no more.

But in this he was mistaken!  The old well had long been inhabited
(unknown to mere human beings) by a set of fairies and genii, who
caught the dervish as he fell, so that he received no hurt.  The
dervish himself could see nothing, but he took for granted that
something strange had happened, or he must certainly have been dashed
against the side of the well and been killed.  He lay quite still, and
in a moment he heard a voice saying, "Can you guess whom this man is
that we have saved from death?"

"No," replied several other voices.

And the first speaker answered, "I will tell you.  This man, from pure
goodness of heart, forsook the town where he lived and came to dwell
here, in the hope of curing one of his neighbours of the envy he felt
towards him.  But his character soon won him the esteem of all, and the
envious man's hatred grew, till he came here with the deliberate
intention of causing his death.  And this he would have done, without
our help, the very day before the Sultan has arranged to visit this
holy dervish, and to entreat his prayers for the princess, his
daughter."

"But what is the matter with the princess that she needs the dervish's
prayers?" asked another voice.

"She has fallen into the power of the genius Maimoum, the son of
Dimdim," replied the first voice.  "But it would be quite simple for
this holy chief of the dervishes to cure her if he only knew!  In his
convent there is a black cat which has a tiny white tip to its tail.
Now to cure the princess the dervish must pull out seven of these white
hairs, burn three, and with their smoke perfume the head of the
princess.  This will deliver her so completely that Maimoum, the son of
Dimdim, will never dare to approach her again."

The fairies and genii ceased talking, but the dervish did not forget a
word of all they had said; and when morning came he perceived a place
in the side of the well which was broken, and where he could easily
climb out.

The dervishes, who could not imagine what had become of him, were
enchanted at his reappearance.  He told them of the attempt on his life
made by his guest of the previous day, and then retired into his cell.
He was soon joined here by the black cat of which the voice had spoken,
who came as usual to say good-morning to his master.  He took him on
his knee and seized the opportunity to pull seven white hairs out of
his tail, and put them on one side till they were needed.

The sun had not long risen before the Sultan, who was anxious to leave
nothing undone that might deliver the princess, arrived with a large
suite at the gate of the monastery, and was received by the dervishes
with profound respect.  The Sultan lost no time in declaring the object
of his visit, and leading the chief of the dervishes aside, he said to
him, "Noble scheik, you have guessed perhaps what I have come to ask
you?"

"Yes, sire," answered the dervish; "if I am not mistaken, it is the
illness of the princess which has procured me this honour."

"You are right," returned the Sultan, "and you will give me fresh life
if you can by your prayers deliver my daughter from the strange malady
that has taken possession of her."

"Let your highness command her to come here, and I will see what I can
do."

The Sultan, full of hope, sent orders at once that the princess was to
set out as soon as possible, accompanied by her usual staff of
attendants.  When she arrived, she was so thickly veiled that the
dervish could not see her face, but he desired a brazier to be held
over her head, and laid the seven hairs on the burning coals.  The
instant they were consumed, terrific cries were heard, but no one could
tell from whom they proceeded.  Only the dervish guessed that they were
uttered by Maimoum the son of Dimdim, who felt the princess escaping
him.

All this time she had seemed unconscious of what she was doing, but now
she raised her hand to her veil and uncovered her face.  "Where am I?"
she said in a bewildered manner; "and how did I get here?"

The Sultan was so delighted to hear these words that he not only
embraced his daughter, but kissed the hand of the dervish.  Then,
turning to his attendants who stood round, he said to them, "What
reward shall I give to the man who has restored me my daughter?"

They all replied with one accord that he deserved the hand of the
princess.

"That is my own opinion," said he, "and from this moment I declare him
to be my son-in-law."

Shortly after these events, the grand-vizir died, and his post was
given to the dervish.  But he did not hold it for long, for the Sultan
fell a victim to an attack of illness, and as he had no sons, the
soldiers and priests declared the dervish heir to the throne, to the
great joy of all the people.

One day, when the dervish, who had now become Sultan, was making a
royal progress with his court, he perceived the envious man standing in
the crowd.  He made a sign to one of his vizirs, and whispered in his
ear, "Fetch me that man who is standing out there, but take great care
not to frighten him."  The vizir obeyed, and when the envious man was
brought before the Sultan, the monarch said to him, "My friend, I am
delighted to see you again."  Then turning to an officer, he added,
"Give him a thousand pieces of gold out of my treasury, and twenty
waggon-loads of merchandise out of my private stores, and let an escort
of soldiers accompany him home."  He then took leave of the envious
man, and went on his way.

Now when I had ended my story, I proceeded to show the genius how to
apply it to himself.  "O genius," I said, "you see that this Sultan was
not content with merely forgiving the envious man for the attempt on
his life; he heaped rewards and riches upon him."

But the genius had made up his mind, and could not be softened.  "Do
not imagine that you are going to escape so easily," he said.  "All I
can do is to give you bare life; you will have to learn what happens to
people who interfere with me."

As he spoke he seized me violently by the arm; the roof of the palace
opened to make way for us, and we mounted up so high into the air that
the earth looked like a little cloud.  Then, as before, he came down
with the swiftness of lightning, and we touched the ground on a
mountain top.

Then he stooped and gathered a handful of earth, and murmured some
words over it, after which he threw the earth in my face, saying as he
did so, "Quit the form of a man, and assume that of a monkey." This
done, he vanished, and I was in the likeness of an ape, and in a
country I had never seen before.

However there was no use in stopping where I was, so I came down the
mountain and found myself in a flat plain which was bounded by the sea.
I travelled towards it, and was pleased to see a vessel moored about
half a mile from shore.  There were no waves, so I broke off the branch
of a tree, and dragging it down to the water's edge, sat across it,
while, using two sticks for oars, I rowed myself towards the ship.

The deck was full of people, who watched my progress with interest, but
when I seized a rope and swung myself on board, I found that I had only
escaped death at the hands of the genius to perish by those of the
sailors, lest I should bring ill-luck to the vessel and the merchants.
"Throw him into the sea!" cried one.  "Knock him on the head with a
hammer," exclaimed another.  "Let me shoot him with an arrow," said a
third; and certainly somebody would have had his way if I had not flung
myself at the captain's feet and grasped tight hold of his dress.  He
appeared touched by my action and patted my head, and declared that he
would take me under his protection, and that no one should do me any
harm.

At the end of about fifty days we cast anchor before a large town, and
the ship was immediately surrounded by a multitude of small boats
filled with people, who had come either to meet their friends or from
simple curiosity.  Among others, one boat contained several officials,
who asked to see the merchants on board, and informed them that they
had been sent by the Sultan in token of welcome, and to beg them each
to write a few lines on a roll of paper.  "In order to explain this
strange request," continued the officers, "it is necessary that you
should know that the grand-vizir, lately dead, was celebrated for his
beautiful handwriting, and the Sultan is anxious to find a similar
talent in his successor.  Hitherto the search has been a failure, but
his Highness has not yet given up hope."

One after another the merchants set down a few lines upon the roll, and
when they had all finished, I came forward, and snatched the paper from
the man who held it.  At first they all thought I was going to throw it
into the sea, but they were quieted when they saw I held it with great
care, and great was their surprise when I made signs that I too wished
to write something.

"Let him do it if he wants to," said the captain.  "If he only makes a
mess of the paper, you may be sure I will punish him for it.  But if,
as I hope, he really can write, for he is the cleverest monkey I ever
saw, I will adopt him as my son.  The one I lost had not nearly so much
sense!"

No more was said, and I took the pen and wrote the six sorts of writing
in use among the Arabs, and each sort contained an original verse or
couplet, in praise of the Sultan.  And not only did my handwriting
completely eclipse that of the merchants, but it is hardly too much to
say that none so beautiful had ever before been seen in that country.
When I had ended the officials took the roll and returned to the Sultan.

As soon as the monarch saw my writing he did not so much as look at the
samples of the merchants, but desired his officials to take the finest
and most richly caparisoned horse in his stables, together with the
most magnificent dress they could procure, and to put it on the person
who had written those lines, and bring him to court.

The officials began to laugh when they heard the Sultan's command, but
as soon as they could speak they said, "Deign, your highness, to excuse
our mirth, but those lines were not written by a man but by a monkey."

"A monkey!" exclaimed the Sultan.

"Yes, sire," answered the officials.  "They were written by a monkey in
our presence."

"Then bring me the monkey," he replied, "as fast as you can."

The Sultan's officials returned to the ship and showed the royal order
to the captain.

"He is the master," said the good man, and desired that I should be
sent for.

Then they put on me the gorgeous robe and rowed me to land, where I was
placed on the horse and led to the palace.  Here the Sultan was
awaiting me in great state surrounded by his court.

All the way along the streets I had been the object of curiosity to a
vast crowd, which had filled every doorway and every window, and it was
amidst their shouts and cheers that I was ushered into the presence of
the Sultan.

I approached the throne on which he was seated and made him three low
bows, then prostrated myself at his feet to the surprise of everyone,
who could not understand how it was possible that a monkey should be
able to distinguish a Sultan from other people, and to pay him the
respect due to his rank.  However, excepting the usual speech, I
omitted none of the common forms attending a royal audience.

When it was over the Sultan dismissed all the court, keeping with him
only the chief of the eunuchs and a little slave.  He then passed into
another room and ordered food to be brought, making signs to me to sit
at table with him and eat.  I rose from my seat, kissed the ground, and
took my place at the table, eating, as you may suppose, with care and
in moderation.

Before the dishes were removed I made signs that writing materials,
which stood in one corner of the room, should be laid in front of me.
I then took a peach and wrote on it some verses in praise of the
Sultan, who was speechless with astonishment; but when I did the same
thing on a glass from which I had drunk he murmured to himself, "Why, a
man who could do as much would be cleverer than any other man, and this
is only a monkey!"

Supper being over chessmen were brought, and the Sultan signed to me to
know if I would play with him.  I kissed the ground and laid my hand on
my head to show that I was ready to show myself worthy of the honour.
He beat me the first game, but I won the second and third, and seeing
that this did not quite please I dashed off a verse by way of
consolation.

The Sultan was so enchanted with all the talents of which I had given
proof that he wished me to exhibit some of them to other people.  So
turning to the chief of the eunuchs he said, "Go and beg my daughter,
Queen of Beauty, to come here.  I will show her something she has never
seen before."

The chief of the eunuchs bowed and left the room, ushering in a few
moments later the princess, Queen of Beauty.  Her face was uncovered,
but the moment she set foot in the room she threw her veil over her
head.  "Sire," she said to her father, "what can you be thinking of to
summon me like this into the presence of a man?"

"I do not understand you," replied the Sultan.  "There is nobody here
but the eunuch, who is your own servant, the little slave, and myself,
yet you cover yourself with your veil and reproach me for having sent
for you, as if I had committed a crime."

"Sire," answered the princess, "I am right and you are wrong.  This
monkey is really no monkey at all, but a young prince who has been
turned into a monkey by the wicked spells of a genius, son of the
daughter of Eblis."

As will be imagined, these words took the Sultan by surprise, and he
looked at me to see how I should take the statement of the princess.
As I was unable to speak, I placed my hand on my head to show that it
was true.

"But how do you know this, my daughter?" asked he.

"Sire," replied Queen of Beauty, "the old lady who took care of me in
my childhood was an accomplished magician, and she taught me seventy
rules of her art, by means of which I could, in the twinkling of an
eye, transplant your capital into the middle of the ocean.  Her art
likewise teaches me to recognise at first sight all persons who are
enchanted, and tells me by whom the spell was wrought."

"My daughter," said the Sultan, "I really had no idea you were so
clever."

"Sire," replied the princess, "there are many out-of-the-way things it
is as well to know, but one should never boast of them."

"Well," asked the Sultan, "can you tell me what must be done to
disenchant the young prince?"

"Certainly; and I can do it."

"Then restore him to his former shape," cried the Sultan.  "You could
give me no greater pleasure, for I wish to make him my grand-vizir, and
to give him to you for your husband."

"As your Highness pleases," replied the princess.

Queen of Beauty rose and went to her chamber, from which she fetched a
knife with some Hebrew words engraven on the blade.  She then desired
the Sultan, the chief of the eunuchs, the little slave, and myself to
descend into a secret court of the palace, and placed us beneath a
gallery which ran all round, she herself standing in the centre of the
court.  Here she traced a large circle and in it wrote several words in
Arab characters.

When the circle and the writing were finished she stood in the middle
of it and repeated some verses from the Koran.  Slowly the air grew
dark, and we felt as if the earth was about to crumble away, and our
fright was by no means diminished at seeing the genius, son of the
daughter of Eblis, suddenly appear under the form of a colossal lion.

"Dog," cried the princess when she first caught sight of him, "you
think to strike terror into me by daring to present yourself before me
in this hideous shape."

"And you," retorted the lion, "have not feared to break our treaty that
engaged solemnly we should never interfere with each other."

"Accursed genius!" exclaimed the princess, "it is you by whom that
treaty was first broken."

"I will teach you how to give me so much trouble," said the lion, and
opening his huge mouth he advanced to swallow her.  But the princess
expected something of the sort and was on her guard.  She bounded on
one side, and seizing one of the hairs of his mane repeated two or
three words over it.  In an instant it became a sword, and with a sharp
blow she cut the lion's body into two pieces.  These pieces vanished no
one knew where, and only the lion's head remained, which was at once
changed into a scorpion.  Quick as thought the princess assumed the
form of a serpent and gave battle to the scorpion, who, finding he was
getting the worst of it, turned himself into an eagle and took flight.
But in a moment the serpent had become an eagle more powerful still,
who soared up in the air and after him, and then we lost sight of them
both.

We all remained where we were quaking with anxiety, when the ground
opened in front of us and a black and white cat leapt out, its hair
standing on end, and miauing frightfully.  At its heels was a wolf, who
had almost seized it, when the cat changed itself into a worm, and,
piercing the skin of a pomegranate which had tumbled from a tree, hid
itself in the fruit.  The pomegranate swelled till it grew as large as
a pumpkin, and raised itself on to the roof of the gallery, from which
it fell into the court and was broken into bits.  While this was taking
place the wolf, who had transformed himself into a cock, began to
swallow the seed of the pomegranate as fast as he could.  When all were
gone he flew towards us, flapping his wings as if to ask if we saw any
more, when suddenly his eye fell on one which lay on the bank of the
little canal that flowed through the court; he hastened towards it, but
before he could touch it the seed rolled into the canal and became a
fish.  The cock flung himself in after the fish and took the shape of a
pike, and for two hours they chased each other up and down under the
water, uttering horrible cries, but we could see nothing.  At length
they rose from the water in their proper forms, but darting such flames
of fire from their mouths that we dreaded lest the palace should catch
fire.  Soon, however, we had much greater cause for alarm, as the
genius, having shaken off the princess, flew towards us.  Our fate
would have been sealed if the princess, seeing our danger, had not
attracted the attention of the genius to herself.  As it was, the
Sultan's beard was singed and his face scorched, the chief of the
eunuchs was burned to a cinder, while a spark deprived me of the sight
of one eye.  Both I and the Sultan had given up all hope of a rescue,
when there was a shout of "Victory, victory!" from the princess, and
the genius lay at her feet a great heap of ashes.

Exhausted though she was, the princess at once ordered the little
slave, who alone was uninjured, to bring her a cup of water, which she
took in her hand.  First repeating some magic words over it, she dashed
it into my face saying, "If you are only a monkey by enchantment,
resume the form of the man you were before." In an instant I stood
before her the same man I had formerly been, though having lost the
sight of one eye.

I was about to fall on my knees and thank the princess but she did not
give me time.  Turning to the Sultan, her father, she said, "Sire, I
have gained the battle, but it has cost me dear.  The fire has
penetrated to my heart, and I have only a few moments to live.  This
would not have happened if I had only noticed the last pomegranate seed
and eaten it like the rest.  It was the last struggle of the genius,
and up to that time I was quite safe.  But having let this chance slip
I was forced to resort to fire, and in spite of all his experience I
showed the genius that I knew more than he did.  He is dead and in
ashes, but my own death is approaching fast."  "My daughter," cried the
Sultan, "how sad is my condition!  I am only surprised I am alive at
all!  The eunuch is consumed by the flames, and the prince whom you
have delivered has lost the sight of one eye."  He could say no more,
for sobs choked his voice, and we all wept together.

Suddenly the princess shrieked, "I burn, I burn!" and death came to
free her from her torments.

I have no words, madam, to tell you of my feelings at this terrible
sight.  I would rather have remained a monkey all my life than let my
benefactress perish in this shocking manner.  As for the Sultan, he was
quite inconsolable, and his subjects, who had dearly loved the
princess, shared his grief.  For seven days the whole nation mourned,
and then the ashes of the princess were buried with great pomp, and a
superb tomb was raised over her.

As soon as the Sultan recovered from the severe illness which had
seized him after the death of the princess he sent for me and plainly,
though politely, informed me that my presence would always remind him
of his loss, and he begged that I would instantly quit his kingdom, and
on pain of death never return to it.  I was, of course, bound to obey,
and not knowing what was to become of me I shaved my beard and eyebrows
and put on the dress of a calender.  After wandering aimlessly through
several countries, I resolved to come to Bagdad and request an audience
of the Commander of the Faithful.

And that, madam, is my story.

The other Calender then told his story.



The Story of the Third Calendar, Son of a King


My story, said the Third Calender, is quite different from those of my
two friends.  It was fate that deprived them of the sight of their
right eyes, but mine was lost by my own folly.

My name is Agib, and I am the son of a king called Cassib, who reigned
over a large kingdom, which had for its capital one of the finest
seaport towns in the world.

When I succeeded to my father's throne my first care was to visit the
provinces on the mainland, and then to sail to the numerous islands
which lay off the shore, in order to gain the hearts of my subjects.
These voyages gave me such a taste for sailing that I soon determined
to explore more distant seas, and commanded a fleet of large ships to
be got ready without delay.  When they were properly fitted out I
embarked on my expedition.

For forty days wind and weather were all in our favour, but the next
night a terrific storm arose, which blew us hither and thither for ten
days, till the pilot confessed that he had quite lost his bearings.
Accordingly a sailor was sent up to the masthead to try to catch a
sight of land, and reported that nothing was to be seen but the sea and
sky, except a huge mass of blackness that lay astern.

On hearing this the pilot grew white, and, beating his breast, he
cried, "Oh, sir, we are lost, lost!" till the ship's crew trembled at
they knew not what.  When he had recovered himself a little, and was
able to explain the cause of his terror, he replied, in answer to my
question, that we had drifted far out of our course, and that the
following day about noon we should come near that mass of darkness,
which, said he, is nothing but the famous Black Mountain.  This
mountain is composed of adamant, which attracts to itself all the iron
and nails in your ship; and as we are helplessly drawn nearer, the
force of attraction will become so great that the iron and nails will
fall out of the ships and cling to the mountain, and the ships will
sink to the bottom with all that are in them.  This it is that causes
the side of the mountain towards the sea to appear of such a dense
blackness.

As may be supposed--continued the pilot--the mountain sides are very
rugged, but on the summit stands a brass dome supported on pillars, and
bearing on top the figure of a brass horse, with a rider on his back.
This rider wears a breastplate of lead, on which strange signs and
figures are engraved, and it is said that as long as this statue
remains on the dome, vessels will never cease to perish at the foot of
the mountain.

So saying, the pilot began to weep afresh, and the crew, fearing their
last hour had come, made their wills, each one in favour of his fellow.

At noon next day, as the pilot had foretold, we were so near to the
Black Mountain that we saw all the nails and iron fly out of the ships
and dash themselves against the mountain with a horrible noise.  A
moment after the vessels fell asunder and sank, the crews with them.  I
alone managed to grasp a floating plank, and was driven ashore by the
wind, without even a scratch.  What was my joy on finding myself at the
bottom of some steps which led straight up the mountain, for there was
not another inch to the right or the left where a man could set his
foot.  And, indeed, even the steps themselves were so narrow and so
steep that, if the lightest breeze had arisen, I should certainly have
been blown into the sea.

When I reached the top I found the brass dome and the statue exactly as
the pilot had described, but was too wearied with all I had gone
through to do more than glance at them, and, flinging myself under the
dome, was asleep in an instant.  In my dreams an old man appeared to me
and said, "Hearken, Agib!  As soon as thou art awake dig up the ground
underfoot, and thou shalt find a bow of brass and three arrows of lead.
Shoot the arrows at the statue, and the rider shall tumble into the
sea, but the horse will fall down by thy side, and thou shalt bury him
in the place from which thou tookest the bow and arrows.  This being
done the sea will rise and cover the mountain, and on it thou wilt
perceive the figure of a metal man seated in a boat, having an oar in
each hand.  Step on board and let him conduct thee; but if thou
wouldest behold thy kingdom again, see that thou takest not the name of
Allah into thy mouth."

Having uttered these words the vision left me, and I woke, much
comforted.  I sprang up and drew the bow and arrows out of the ground,
and with the third shot the horseman fell with a great crash into the
sea, which instantly began to rise, so rapidly, that I had hardly time
to bury the horse before the boat approached me.  I stepped silently in
and sat down, and the metal man pushed off, and rowed without stopping
for nine days, after which land appeared on the horizon.  I was so
overcome with joy at this sight that I forgot all the old man had told
me, and cried out, "Allah be praised!  Allah be praised!"

The words were scarcely out of my mouth when the boat and man sank from
beneath me, and left me floating on the surface.  All that day and the
next night I swam and floated alternately, making as well as I could
for the land which was nearest to me.  At last my strength began to
fail, and I gave myself up for lost, when the wind suddenly rose, and a
huge wave cast me on a flat shore.  Then, placing myself in safety, I
hastily spread my clothes out to dry in the sun, and flung myself on
the warm ground to rest.

Next morning I dressed myself and began to look about me.  There seemed
to be no one but myself on the island, which was covered with fruit
trees and watered with streams, but seemed a long distance from the
mainland which I hoped to reach.  Before, however, I had time to feel
cast down, I saw a ship making directly for the island, and not knowing
whether it would contain friends or foes, I hid myself in the thick
branches of a tree.

The sailors ran the ship into a creek, where ten slaves landed,
carrying spades and pickaxes.  In the middle of the island they
stopped, and after digging some time, lifted up what seemed to be a
trapdoor.  They then returned to the vessel two or three times for
furniture and provisions, and finally were accompanied by an old man,
leading a handsome boy of fourteen or fifteen years of age.  They all
disappeared down the trapdoor, and after remaining below for a few
minutes came up again, but without the boy, and let down the trapdoor,
covering it with earth as before.  This done, they entered the ship and
set sail.

As soon as they were out of sight, I came down from my tree, and went
to the place where the boy had been buried.  I dug up the earth till I
reached a large stone with a ring in the centre.  This, when removed,
disclosed a flight of stone steps which led to a large room richly
furnished and lighted by tapers.  On a pile of cushions, covered with
tapestry, sat the boy.  He looked up, startled and frightened at the
sight of a stranger in such a place, and to soothe his fears, I at once
spoke:  "Be not alarmed, sir, whoever you may be.  I am a king, and the
son of a king, and will do you no hurt.  On the contrary, perhaps I
have been sent here to deliver you out of this tomb, where you have
been buried alive."

Hearing my words, the young man recovered himself, and when I had
ended, he said, "The reasons, Prince, that have caused me to be buried
in this place are so strange that they cannot but surprise you.  My
father is a rich merchant, owning much land and many ships, and has
great dealings in precious stones, but he never ceased mourning that he
had no child to inherit his wealth.

"At length one day he dreamed that the following year a son would be
born to him, and when this actually happened, he consulted all the wise
men in the kingdom as to the future of the infant.  One and all they
said the same thing.  I was to live happily till I was fifteen, when a
terrible danger awaited me, which I should hardly escape.  If, however,
I should succeed in doing so, I should live to a great old age.  And,
they added, when the statue of the brass horse on the top of the
mountain of adamant is thrown into the sea by Agib, the son of Cassib,
then beware, for fifty days later your son shall fall by his hand!

"This prophecy struck the heart of my father with such woe, that he
never got over it, but that did not prevent him from attending
carefully to my education till I attained, a short time ago, my
fifteenth birthday.  It was only yesterday that the news reached him
that ten days previously the statue of brass had been thrown into the
sea, and he at once set about hiding me in this underground chamber,
which was built for the purpose, promising to fetch me out when the
forty days have passed.  For myself, I have no fears, as Prince Agib is
not likely to come here to look for me."

I listened to his story with an inward laugh as to the absurdity of my
ever wishing to cause the death of this harmless boy, whom I hastened
to assure of my friendship and even of my protection; begging him, in
return, to convey me in his father's ship to my own country.  I need
hardly say that I took special care not to inform him that I was the
Agib whom he dreaded.

The day passed in conversation on various subjects, and I found him a
youth of ready wit and of some learning.  I took on myself the duties
of a servant, held the basin and water for him when he washed, prepared
the dinner and set it on the table.  He soon grew to love me, and for
thirty-nine days we spent as pleasant an existence as could be expected
underground.

The morning of the fortieth dawned, and the young man when he woke gave
thanks in an outburst of joy that the danger was passed.  "My father
may be here at any moment," said he, "so make me, I pray you, a bath of
hot water, that I may bathe, and change my clothes, and be ready to
receive him."

So I fetched the water as he asked, and washed and rubbed him, after
which he lay down again and slept a little.  When he opened his eyes
for the second time, he begged me to bring him a melon and some sugar,
that he might eat and refresh himself.

I soon chose a fine melon out of those which remained, but could find
no knife to cut it with.  "Look in the cornice over my head," said he,
"and I think you will see one."  It was so high above me, that I had
some difficulty in reaching it, and catching my foot in the covering of
the bed, I slipped, and fell right upon the young man, the knife going
straight into his heart.

At this awful sight I shrieked aloud in my grief and pain.  I threw
myself on the ground and rent my clothes and tore my hair with sorrow.
Then, fearing to be punished as his murderer by the unhappy father, I
raised the great stone which blocked the staircase, and quitting the
underground chamber, made everything fast as before.

Scarcely had I finished when, looking out to sea, I saw the vessel
heading for the island, and, feeling that it would be useless for me to
protest my innocence, I again concealed myself among the branches of a
tree that grew near by.

The old man and his slaves pushed off in a boat directly the ship
touched land, and walked quickly towards the entrance to the
underground chamber; but when they were near enough to see that the
earth had been disturbed, they paused and changed colour.  In silence
they all went down and called to the youth by name; then for a moment I
heard no more.  Suddenly a fearful scream rent the air, and the next
instant the slaves came up the steps, carrying with them the body of
the old man, who had fainted from sorrow!  Laying him down at the foot
of the tree in which I had taken shelter, they did their best to
recover him, but it took a long while.  When at last he revived, they
left him to dig a grave, and then laying the young man's body in it,
they threw in the earth.

This ended, the slaves brought up all the furniture that remained
below, and put it on the vessel, and breaking some boughs to weave a
litter, they laid the old man on it, and carried him to the ship, which
spread its sails and stood out to sea.

So once more I was quite alone, and for a whole month I walked daily
over the island, seeking for some chance of escape.  At length one day
it struck me that my prison had grown much larger, and that the
mainland seemed to be nearer.  My heart beat at this thought, which was
almost too good to be true.  I watched a little longer: there was no
doubt about it, and soon there was only a tiny stream for me to cross.

Even when I was safe on the other side I had a long distance to go on
the mud and sand before I reached dry ground, and very tired I was,
when far in front of me I caught sight of a castle of red copper,
which, at first sight, I took to be a fire.  I made all the haste I
could, and after some miles of hard walking stood before it, and gazed
at it in astonishment, for it seemed to me the most wonderful building
I had ever beheld.  While I was still staring at it, there came towards
me a tall old man, accompanied by ten young men, all handsome, and all
blind of the right eye.

Now in its way, the spectacle of ten men walking together, all blind of
the right eye, is as uncommon as that of a copper castle, and I was
turning over in my mind what could be the meaning of this strange fact,
when they greeted me warmly, and inquired what had brought me there.  I
replied that my story was somewhat long, but that if they would take
the trouble to sit down, I should be happy to tell it them.  When I had
finished, the young men begged that I would go with them to the castle,
and I joyfully accepted their offer.  We passed through what seemed to
me an endless number of rooms, and came at length into a large hall,
furnished with ten small blue sofas for the ten young men, which served
as beds as well as chairs, and with another sofa in the middle for the
old man.  As none of the sofas could hold more than one person, they
bade me place myself on the carpet, and to ask no questions about
anything I should see.

After a little while the old man rose and brought in supper, which I
ate heartily, for I was very hungry.  Then one of the young men begged
me to repeat my story, which had struck them all with astonishment, and
when I had ended, the old man was bidden to "do his duty," as it was
late, and they wished to go to bed.  At these words he rose, and went
to a closet, from which he brought out ten basins, all covered with
blue stuff.  He set one before each of the young men, together with a
lighted taper.

When the covers were taken off the basins, I saw they were filled with
ashes, coal-dust, and lamp-black. The young men mixed these all
together, and smeared the whole over their heads and faces.  They then
wept and beat their breasts, crying, "This is the fruit of idleness,
and of our wicked lives."

This ceremony lasted nearly the whole night, and when it stopped they
washed themselves carefully, and put on fresh clothes, and lay down to
sleep.

All this while I had refrained from questions, though my curiosity
almost seemed to burn a hole in me, but the following day, when we went
out to walk, I said to them, "Gentlemen, I must disobey your wishes,
for I can keep silence no more.  You do not appear to lack wit, yet you
do such actions as none but madmen could be capable of.  Whatever
befalls me I cannot forbear asking, `Why you daub your faces with
black, and how it is you are all blind of one eye?'" But they only
answered that such questions were none of my business, and that I
should do well to hold my peace.

During that day we spoke of other things, but when night came, and the
same ceremony was repeated, I implored them most earnestly to let me
know the meaning of it all.

"It is for your own sake," replied one of the young men, "that we have
not granted your request, and to preserve you from our unfortunate
fate.  If, however, you wish to share our destiny we will delay no
longer."

I answered that whatever might be the consequence I wished to have my
curiosity satisfied, and that I would take the result on my own head.
He then assured me that, even when I had lost my eye, I should be
unable to remain with them, as their number was complete, and could not
be added to.  But to this I replied that, though I should be grieved to
part company with such honest gentlemen, I would not be turned from my
resolution on that account.

On hearing my determination my ten hosts then took a sheep and killed
it, and handed me a knife, which they said I should by-and-by find
useful.  "We must sew you into this sheep-skin," said they, "and then
leave you.  A fowl of monstrous size, called a roc, will appear in the
air, taking you to be a sheep.  He will snatch you up and carry you
into the sky, but be not alarmed, for he will bring you safely down and
lay you on the top of a mountain.  When you are on the ground cut the
skin with the knife and throw it off.  As soon as the roc sees you he
will fly away from fear, but you must walk on till you come to a castle
covered with plates of gold, studded with jewels.  Enter boldly at the
gate, which always stands open, but do not ask us to tell you what we
saw or what befel us there, for that you will learn for yourself.  This
only we may say, that it cost us each our right eye, and has imposed
upon us our nightly penance."

After the young gentlemen had been at the trouble of sewing the
sheep-skin on me they left me, and retired to the hall.  In a few
minutes the roc appeared, and bore me off to the top of the mountain in
his huge claws as lightly as if I had been a feather, for this great
white bird is so strong that he has been known to carry even an
elephant to his nest in the hills.

The moment my feet touched the ground I took out my knife and cut the
threads that bound me, and the sight of me in my proper clothes so
alarmed the roc that he spread his wings and flew away.  Then I set out
to seek the castle.

I found it after wandering about for half a day, and never could I have
imagined anything so glorious.  The gate led into a square court, into
which opened a hundred doors, ninety-nine of them being of rare woods
and one of gold.  Through each of these doors I caught glimpses of
splendid gardens or of rich storehouses.

Entering one of the doors which was standing open I found myself in a
vast hall where forty young ladies, magnificently dressed, and of
perfect beauty, were reclining.  As soon as they saw me they rose and
uttered words of welcome, and even forced me to take possession of a
seat that was higher than their own, though my proper place was at
their feet.  Not content with this, one brought me splendid garments,
while another filled a basin with scented water and poured it over my
hands, and the rest busied themselves with preparing refreshments.
After I had eaten and drunk of the most delicate food and rarest wines,
the ladies crowded round me and begged me to tell them all my
adventures.

By the time I had finished night had fallen, and the ladies lighted up
the castle with such a prodigious quantity of tapers that even day
could hardly have been brighter.  We then sat down to a supper of dried
fruits and sweetmeats, after which some sang and others danced.  I was
so well amused that I did not notice how the time was passing, but at
length one of the ladies approached and informed me it was midnight,
and that, as I must be tired, she would conduct me to the room that had
been prepared for me.  Then, bidding me good-night, I was left to sleep.

I spent the next thirty-nine days in much the same way as the first,
but at the close of that time the ladies appeared (as was their custom)
in my room one morning to inquire how I had slept, and instead of
looking cheerful and smiling they were in floods of tears.  "Prince,"
said they, "we must leave you, and never was it so hard to part from
any of our friends.  Most likely we shall never see you again, but if
you have sufficient self-command perhaps we may yet look forward to a
meeting."

"Ladies," I replied, "what is the meaning of these strange words--I
pray you to tell me?"

"Know then," answered one of them, "that we are all princesses--each a
king's daughter.  We live in this castle together, in the way that you
have seen, but at the end of every year secret duties call us away for
the space of forty days.  The time has now come; but before we depart,
we will leave you our keys, so that you may not lack entertainment
during our absence.  But one thing we would ask of you.  The Golden
Door, alone, forbear to open, as you value your own peace, and the
happiness of your life.  That door once unlocked, we must bid you
farewell for ever."

Weeping, I assured them of my prudence, and after embracing me
tenderly, they went their ways.

Every day I opened two or three fresh doors, each of which contained
behind it so many curious things that I had no chance of feeling dull,
much as I regretted the absence of the ladies.  Sometimes it was an
orchard, whose fruit far exceeded in bigness any that grew in my
father's garden.  Sometimes it was a court planted with roses,
jessamine, dafeodils, hyacinths and anemones, and a thousand other
flowers of which I did not know the names.  Or again, it would be an
aviary, fitted with all kinds of singing birds, or a treasury heaped up
with precious stones; but whatever I might see, all was perfect of its
own sort.

Thirty-nine days passed away more rapidly than I could have conceived
possible, and the following morning the princesses were to return to
the castle.  But alas!  I had explored every corner, save only the room
that was shut in by the Golden Door, and I had no longer anything to
amuse myself with.  I stood before the forbidden place for some time,
gazing at its beauty; then a happy inspiration struck me, that because
I unlocked the door it was not necessary that I should enter the
chamber.  It would be enough for me to stand outside and view whatever
hidden wonders might be therein.

Thus arguing against my own conscience, I turned the key, when a smell
rushed out that, pleasant though it was, overcame me completely, and I
fell fainting across the threshold.  Instead of being warned by this
accident, directly I came to myself I went for a few moments into the
air to shake of the effects of the perfume, and then entered boldly.  I
found myself in a large, vaulted room, lighted by tapers, scented with
aloes and ambergris, standing in golden candle-sticks, whilst gold and
silver lamps hung from the ceiling.

Though objects of rare workmanship lay heaped around me, I paid them
scant attention, so much was I struck by a great black horse which
stood in one corner, the handsomest and best-shaped animal I had ever
seen.  His saddle and bridle were of massive gold, curiously wrought;
one side of his trough was filled with clean barley and sesame, and the
other with rose water.  I led the animal into the open air, and then
jumped on his back, shaking the reins as I did so, but as he never
stirred, I touched him lightly with a switch I had picked up in his
stable.  No sooner did he feel the stroke, than he spread his wings
(which I had not perceived before), and flew up with me straight into
the sky.  When he had reached a prodigious height, he next darted back
to earth, and alighted on the terrace belonging to a castle, shaking me
violently out of the saddle as he did so, and giving me such a blow
with his tail, that he knocked out my right eye.

Half-stunned as I was with all that had happened to me, I rose to my
feet, thinking as I did so of what had befallen the ten young men, and
watching the horse which was soaring into the clouds.  I left the
terrace and wandered on till I came to a hall, which I knew to have
been the one from which the roc had taken me, by the ten blue sofas
against the wall.

The ten young men were not present when I first entered, but came in
soon after, accompanied by the old man.  They greeted me kindly, and
bewailed my misfortune, though, indeed, they had expected nothing less.
"All that has happened to you," they said, "we also have undergone, and
we should be enjoying the same happiness still, had we not opened the
Golden Door while the princesses were absent.  You have been no wiser
than we, and have suffered the same punishment.  We would gladly
receive you among us, to perform such penance as we do, but we have
already told you that this is impossible.  Depart, therefore, from
hence and go to the Court of Bagdad, where you shall meet with him that
can decide your destiny." They told me the way I was to travel, and I
left them.

On the road I caused my beard and eyebrows to be shaved, and put on a
Calender's habit.  I have had a long journey, but arrived this evening
in the city, where I met my brother Calenders at the gate, being
strangers like myself.  We wondered much at one another, to see we were
all blind of the same eye, but we had no leisure to discourse at length
of our common calamities.  We had only so much time as to come hither
to implore those favours which you have been generously pleased to
grant us.

He finished, and it was Zobeida's turn to speak:  "Go wherever you
please," she said, addressing all three.  "I pardon you all, but you
must depart immediately out of this house."



The Seven Voyages of Sindbad the Sailor


In the times of the Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid there lived in Bagdad a
poor porter named Hindbad, who on a very hot day was sent to carry a
heavy load from one end of the city to the other.  Before he had
accomplished half the distance he was so tired that, finding himself in
a quiet street where the pavement was sprinkled with rose water, and a
cool breeze was blowing, he set his burden upon the ground, and sat
down to rest in the shade of a grand house.  Very soon he decided that
he could not have chosen a pleasanter place; a delicious perfume of
aloes wood and pastilles came from the open windows and mingled with
the scent of the rose water which steamed up from the hot pavement.
Within the palace he heard some music, as of many instruments cunningly
played, and the melodious warble of nightingales and other birds, and
by this, and the appetising smell of many dainty dishes of which he
presently became aware, he judged that feasting and merry making were
going on.  He wondered who lived in this magnificent house which he had
never seen before, the street in which it stood being one which he
seldom had occasion to pass.  To satisfy his curiosity he went up to
some splendidly dressed servants who stood at the door, and asked one
of them the name of the master of the mansion.

"What," replied he, "do you live in Bagdad, and not know that here
lives the noble Sindbad the Sailor, that famous traveller who sailed
over every sea upon which the sun shines?"

The porter, who had often heard people speak of the immense wealth of
Sindbad, could not help feeling envious of one whose lot seemed to be
as happy as his own was miserable.  Casting his eyes up to the sky he
exclaimed aloud,

"Consider, Mighty Creator of all things, the differences between
Sindbad's life and mine.  Every day I suffer a thousand hardships and
misfortunes, and have hard work to get even enough bad barley bread to
keep myself and my family alive, while the lucky Sindbad spends money
right and left and lives upon the fat of the land!  What has he done
that you should give him this pleasant life--what have I done to
deserve so hard a fate?"

So saying he stamped upon the ground like one beside himself with
misery and despair.  Just at this moment a servant came out of the
palace, and taking him by the arm said, "Come with me, the noble
Sindbad, my master, wishes to speak to you."

Hindbad was not a little surprised at this summons, and feared that his
unguarded words might have drawn upon him the displeasure of Sindbad,
so he tried to excuse himself upon the pretext that he could not leave
the burden which had been entrusted to him in the street.  However the
lackey promised him that it should be taken care of, and urged him to
obey the call so pressingly that at last the porter was obliged to
yield.

He followed the servant into a vast room, where a great company was
seated round a table covered with all sorts of delicacies.  In the
place of honour sat a tall, grave man whose long white beard gave him a
venerable air.  Behind his chair stood a crowd of attendants eager to
minister to his wants.  This was the famous Sindbad himself.  The
porter, more than ever alarmed at the sight of so much magnificence,
tremblingly saluted the noble company.  Sindbad, making a sign to him
to approach, caused him to be seated at his right hand, and himself
heaped choice morsels upon his plate, and poured out for him a draught
of excellent wine, and presently, when the banquet drew to a close,
spoke to him familiarly, asking his name and occupation.

"My lord," replied the porter, "I am called Hindbad."

"I am glad to see you here," continued Sindbad.  "And I will answer for
the rest of the company that they are equally pleased, but I wish you
to tell me what it was that you said just now in the street." For
Sindbad, passing by the open window before the feast began, had heard
his complaint and therefore had sent for him.

At this question Hindbad was covered with confusion, and hanging down
his head, replied, "My lord, I confess that, overcome by weariness and
ill-humour, I uttered indiscreet words, which I pray you to pardon me."

"Oh!" replied Sindbad, "do not imagine that I am so unjust as to blame
you.  On the contrary, I understand your situation and can pity you.
Only you appear to be mistaken about me, and I wish to set you right.
You doubtless imagine that I have acquired all the wealth and luxury
that you see me enjoy without difficulty or danger, but this is far
indeed from being the case.  I have only reached this happy state after
having for years suffered every possible kind of toil and danger.

"Yes, my noble friends," he continued, addressing the company, "I
assure you that my adventures have been strange enough to deter even
the most avaricious men from seeking wealth by traversing the seas.
Since you have, perhaps, heard but confused accounts of my seven
voyages, and the dangers and wonders that I have met with by sea and
land, I will now give you a full and true account of them, which I
think you will be well pleased to hear."

As Sindbad was relating his adventures chiefly on account of the
porter, he ordered, before beginning his tale, that the burden which
had been left in the street should be carried by some of his own
servants to the place for which Hindbad had set out at first, while he
remained to listen to the story.



First Voyage


I had inherited considerable wealth from my parents, and being young
and foolish I at first squandered it recklessly upon every kind of
pleasure, but presently, finding that riches speedily take to
themselves wings if managed as badly as I was managing mine, and
remembering also that to be old and poor is misery indeed, I began to
bethink me of how I could make the best of what still remained to me.
I sold all my household goods by public auction, and joined a company
of merchants who traded by sea, embarking with them at Balsora in a
ship which we had fitted out between us.

We set sail and took our course towards the East Indies by the Persian
Gulf, having the coast of Persia upon our left hand and upon our right
the shores of Arabia Felix.  I was at first much troubled by the uneasy
motion of the vessel, but speedily recovered my health, and since that
hour have been no more plagued by sea-sickness.

From time to time we landed at various islands, where we sold or
exchanged our merchandise, and one day, when the wind dropped suddenly,
we found ourselves becalmed close to a small island like a green
meadow, which only rose slightly above the surface of the water.  Our
sails were furled, and the captain gave permission to all who wished to
land for a while and amuse themselves.  I was among the number, but
when after strolling about for some time we lighted a fire and sat down
to enjoy the repast which we had brought with us, we were startled by a
sudden and violent trembling of the island, while at the same moment
those left upon the ship set up an outcry bidding us come on board for
our lives, since what we had taken for an island was nothing but the
back of a sleeping whale.  Those who were nearest to the boat threw
themselves into it, others sprang into the sea, but before I could save
myself the whale plunged suddenly into the depths of the ocean, leaving
me clinging to a piece of the wood which we had brought to make our
fire.  Meanwhile a breeze had sprung up, and in the confusion that
ensued on board our vessel in hoisting the sails and taking up those
who were in the boat and clinging to its sides, no one missed me and I
was left at the mercy of the waves.  All that day I floated up and
down, now beaten this way, now that, and when night fell I despaired
for my life; but, weary and spent as I was, I clung to my frail
support, and great was my joy when the morning light showed me that I
had drifted against an island.

The cliffs were high and steep, but luckily for me some tree-roots
protruded in places, and by their aid I climbed up at last, and
stretched myself upon the turf at the top, where I lay, more dead than
alive, till the sun was high in the heavens.  By that time I was very
hungry, but after some searching I came upon some eatable herbs, and a
spring of clear water, and much refreshed I set out to explore the
island.  Presently I reached a great plain where a grazing horse was
tethered, and as I stood looking at it I heard voices talking
apparently underground, and in a moment a man appeared who asked me how
I came upon the island.  I told him my adventures, and heard in return
that he was one of the grooms of Mihrage, the king of the island, and
that each year they came to feed their master's horses in this plain.
He took me to a cave where his companions were assembled, and when I
had eaten of the food they set before me, they bade me think myself
fortunate to have come upon them when I did, since they were going back
to their master on the morrow, and without their aid I could certainly
never have found my way to the inhabited part of the island.

Early the next morning we accordingly set out, and when we reached the
capital I was graciously received by the king, to whom I related my
adventures, upon which he ordered that I should be well cared for and
provided with such things as I needed.  Being a merchant I sought out
men of my own profession, and particularly those who came from foreign
countries, as I hoped in this way to hear news from Bagdad, and find
out some means of returning thither, for the capital was situated upon
the sea-shore, and visited by vessels from all parts of the world.  In
the meantime I heard many curious things, and answered many questions
concerning my own country, for I talked willingly with all who came to
me.  Also to while away the time of waiting I explored a little island
named Cassel, which belonged to King Mihrage, and which was supposed to
be inhabited by a spirit named Deggial.  Indeed, the sailors assured me
that often at night the playing of timbals could be heard upon it.
However, I saw nothing strange upon my voyage, saving some fish that
were full two hundred cubits long, but were fortunately more in dread
of us than even we were of them, and fled from us if we did but strike
upon a board to frighten them.  Other fishes there were only a cubit
long which had heads like owls.

One day after my return, as I went down to the quay, I saw a ship which
had just cast anchor, and was discharging her cargo, while the
merchants to whom it belonged were busily directing the removal of it
to their warehouses.  Drawing nearer I presently noticed that my own
name was marked upon some of the packages, and after having carefully
examined them, I felt sure that they were indeed those which I had put
on board our ship at Balsora.  I then recognised the captain of the
vessel, but as I was certain that he believed me to be dead, I went up
to him and asked who owned the packages that I was looking at.

"There was on board my ship," he replied, "a merchant of Bagdad named
Sindbad.  One day he and several of my other passengers landed upon
what we supposed to be an island, but which was really an enormous
whale floating asleep upon the waves.  No sooner did it feel upon its
back the heat of the fire which had been kindled, than it plunged into
the depths of the sea.  Several of the people who were upon it perished
in the waters, and among others this unlucky Sindbad.  This merchandise
is his, but I have resolved to dispose of it for the benefit of his
family if I should ever chance to meet with them."

"Captain," said I, "I am that Sindbad whom you believe to be dead, and
these are my possessions!"

When the captain heard these words he cried out in amazement,
"Lackaday! and what is the world coming to?  In these days there is not
an honest man to be met with.  Did I not with my own eyes see Sindbad
drown, and now you have the audacity to tell me that you are he!  I
should have taken you to be a just man, and yet for the sake of
obtaining that which does not belong to you, you are ready to invent
this horrible falsehood."

"Have patience, and do me the favour to hear my story," said I.

"Speak then," replied the captain, "I'm all attention."

So I told him of my escape and of my fortunate meeting with the king's
grooms, and how kindly I had been received at the palace.  Very soon I
began to see that I had made some impression upon him, and after the
arrival of some of the other merchants, who showed great joy at once
more seeing me alive, he declared that he also recognised me.

Throwing himself upon my neck he exclaimed, "Heaven be praised that you
have escaped from so great a danger.  As to your goods, I pray you take
them, and dispose of them as you please." I thanked him, and praised
his honesty, begging him to accept several bales of merchandise in
token of my gratitude, but he would take nothing.  Of the choicest of
my goods I prepared a present for King Mihrage, who was at first
amazed, having known that I had lost my all.  However, when I had
explained to him how my bales had been miraculously restored to me, he
graciously accepted my gifts, and in return gave me many valuable
things.  I then took leave of him, and exchanging my merchandise for
sandal and aloes wood, camphor, nutmegs, cloves, pepper, and ginger, I
embarked upon the same vessel and traded so successfully upon our
homeward voyage that I arrived in Balsora with about one hundred
thousand sequins.  My family received me with as much joy as I felt
upon seeing them once more.  I bought land and slaves, and built a
great house in which I resolved to live happily, and in the enjoyment
of all the pleasures of life to forget my past sufferings.

Here Sindbad paused, and commanded the musicians to play again, while
the feasting continued until evening.  When the time came for the
porter to depart, Sindbad gave him a purse containing one hundred
sequins, saying, "Take this, Hindbad, and go home, but to-morrow come
again and you shall hear more of my adventures."

The porter retired quite overcome by so much generosity, and you may
imagine that he was well received at home, where his wife and children
thanked their lucky stars that he had found such a benefactor.

The next day Hindbad, dressed in his best, returned to the voyager's
house, and was received with open arms.  As soon as all the guests had
arrived the banquet began as before, and when they had feasted long and
merrily, Sindbad addressed them thus:

"My friends, I beg that you will give me your attention while I relate
the adventures of my second voyage, which you will find even more
astonishing than the first."



Second Voyage


I had resolved, as you know, on my return from my first voyage, to
spend the rest of my days quietly in Bagdad, but very soon I grew tired
of such an idle life and longed once more to find myself upon the sea.

I procured, therefore, such goods as were suitable for the places I
intended to visit, and embarked for the second time in a good ship with
other merchants whom I knew to be honourable men.  We went from island
to island, often making excellent bargains, until one day we landed at
a spot which, though covered with fruit trees and abounding in springs
of excellent water, appeared to possess neither houses nor people.
While my companions wandered here and there gathering flowers and fruit
I sat down in a shady place, and, having heartily enjoyed the
provisions and the wine I had brought with me, I fell asleep, lulled by
the murmur of a clear brook which flowed close by.

How long I slept I know not, but when I opened my eyes and started to
my feet I perceived with horror that I was alone and that the ship was
gone.  I rushed to and fro like one distracted, uttering cries of
despair, and when from the shore I saw the vessel under full sail just
disappearing upon the horizon, I wished bitterly enough that I had been
content to stay at home in safety.  But since wishes could do me no
good, I presently took courage and looked about me for a means of
escape.  When I had climbed a tall tree I first of all directed my
anxious glances towards the sea; but, finding nothing hopeful there, I
turned landward, and my curiosity was excited by a huge dazzling white
object, so far off that I could not make out what it might be.

Descending from the tree I hastily collected what remained of my
provisions and set off as fast as I could go towards it.  As I drew
near it seemed to me to be a white ball of immense size and height, and
when I could touch it, I found it marvellously smooth and soft.  As it
was impossible to climb it--for it presented no foot-hold--I walked
round about it seeking some opening, but there was none.  I counted,
however, that it was at least fifty paces round.  By this time the sun
was near setting, but quite suddenly it fell dark, something like a
huge black cloud came swiftly over me, and I saw with amazement that it
was a bird of extraordinary size which was hovering near.  Then I
remembered that I had often heard the sailors speak of a wonderful bird
called a roc, and it occurred to me that the white object which had so
puzzled me must be its egg.

Sure enough the bird settled slowly down upon it, covering it with its
wings to keep it warm, and I cowered close beside the egg in such a
position that one of the bird's feet, which was as large as the trunk
of a tree, was just in front of me.  Taking off my turban I bound
myself securely to it with the linen in the hope that the roc, when it
took flight next morning, would bear me away with it from the desolate
island.  And this was precisely what did happen.  As soon as the dawn
appeared the bird rose into the air carrying me up and up till I could
no longer see the earth, and then suddenly it descended so swiftly that
I almost lost consciousness.  When I became aware that the roc had
settled and that I was once again upon solid ground, I hastily unbound
my turban from its foot and freed myself, and that not a moment too
soon; for the bird, pouncing upon a huge snake, killed it with a few
blows from its powerful beak, and seizing it up rose into the air once
more and soon disappeared from my view.  When I had looked about me I
began to doubt if I had gained anything by quitting the desolate island.

The valley in which I found myself was deep and narrow, and surrounded
by mountains which towered into the clouds, and were so steep and rocky
that there was no way of climbing up their sides.  As I wandered about,
seeking anxiously for some means of escaping from this trap, I observed
that the ground was strewed with diamonds, some of them of an
astonishing size.  This sight gave me great pleasure, but my delight
was speedily damped when I saw also numbers of horrible snakes so long
and so large that the smallest of them could have swallowed an elephant
with ease.  Fortunately for me they seemed to hide in caverns of the
rocks by day, and only came out by night, probably because of their
enemy the roc.

All day long I wandered up and down the valley, and when it grew dusk I
crept into a little cave, and having blocked up the entrance to it with
a stone, I ate part of my little store of food and lay down to sleep,
but all through the night the serpents crawled to and fro, hissing
horribly, so that I could scarcely close my eyes for terror.  I was
thankful when the morning light appeared, and when I judged by the
silence that the serpents had retreated to their dens I came
tremblingly out of my cave and wandered up and down the valley once
more, kicking the diamonds contemptuously out of my path, for I felt
that they were indeed vain things to a man in my situation.  At last,
overcome with weariness, I sat down upon a rock, but I had hardly
closed my eyes when I was startled by something which fell to the
ground with a thud close beside me.

It was a huge piece of fresh meat, and as I stared at it several more
pieces rolled over the cliffs in different places.  I had always
thought that the stories the sailors told of the famous valley of
diamonds, and of the cunning way which some merchants had devised for
getting at the precious stones, were mere travellers' tales invented to
give pleasure to the hearers, but now I perceived that they were surely
true.  These merchants came to the valley at the time when the eagles,
which keep their eyries in the rocks, had hatched their young.  The
merchants then threw great lumps of meat into the valley.  These,
falling with so much force upon the diamonds, were sure to take up some
of the precious stones with them, when the eagles pounced upon the meat
and carried it off to their nests to feed their hungry broods.  Then
the merchants, scaring away the parent birds with shouts and outcries,
would secure their treasures.  Until this moment I had looked upon the
valley as my grave, for I had seen no possibility of getting out of it
alive, but now I took courage and began to devise a means of escape.  I
began by picking up all the largest diamonds I could find and storing
them carefully in the leathern wallet which had held my provisions;
this I tied securely to my belt.  I then chose the piece of meat which
seemed most suited to my purpose, and with the aid of my turban bound
it firmly to my back; this done I laid down upon my face and awaited
the coming of the eagles.  I soon heard the flapping of their mighty
wings above me, and had the satisfaction of feeling one of them seize
upon my piece of meat, and me with it, and rise slowly towards his
nest, into which he presently dropped me.  Luckily for me the merchants
were on the watch, and setting up their usual outcries they rushed to
the nest scaring away the eagle.  Their amazement was great when they
discovered me, and also their disappointment, and with one accord they
fell to abusing me for having robbed them of their usual profit.
Addressing myself to the one who seemed most aggrieved, I said:  "I am
sure, if you knew all that I have suffered, you would show more
kindness towards me, and as for diamonds, I have enough here of the
very best for you and me and all your company."  So saying I showed
them to him.  The others all crowded round me, wondering at my
adventures and admiring the device by which I had escaped from the
valley, and when they had led me to their camp and examined my
diamonds, they assured me that in all the years that they had carried
on their trade they had seen no stones to be compared with them for
size and beauty.

I found that each merchant chose a particular nest, and took his chance
of what he might find in it.  So I begged the one who owned the nest to
which I had been carried to take as much as he would of my treasure,
but he contented himself with one stone, and that by no means the
largest, assuring me that with such a gem his fortune was made, and he
need toil no more.  I stayed with the merchants several days, and then
as they were journeying homewards I gladly accompanied them.  Our way
lay across high mountains infested with frightful serpents, but we had
the good luck to escape them and came at last to the seashore.  Thence
we sailed to the isle of Rohat where the camphor trees grow to such a
size that a hundred men could shelter under one of them with ease.  The
sap flows from an incision made high up in the tree into a vessel hung
there to receive it, and soon hardens into the substance called
camphor, but the tree itself withers up and dies when it has been so
treated.

In this same island we saw the rhinoceros, an animal which is smaller
than the elephant and larger than the buffalo.  It has one horn about a
cubit long which is solid, but has a furrow from the base to the tip.
Upon it is traced in white lines the figure of a man.  The rhinoceros
fights with the elephant, and transfixing him with his horn carries him
off upon his head, but becoming blinded with the blood of his enemy, he
falls helpless to the ground, and then comes the roc, and clutches them
both up in his talons and takes them to feed his young.  This doubtless
astonishes you, but if you do not believe my tale go to Rohat and see
for yourself.  For fear of wearying you I pass over in silence many
other wonderful things which we saw in this island.  Before we left I
exchanged one of my diamonds for much goodly merchandise by which I
profited greatly on our homeward way.  At last we reached Balsora,
whence I hastened to Bagdad, where my first action was to bestow large
sums of money upon the poor, after which I settled down to enjoy
tranquilly the riches I had gained with so much toil and pain.

Having thus related the adventures of his second voyage, Sindbad again
bestowed a hundred sequins upon Hindbad, inviting him to come again on
the following day and hear how he fared upon his third voyage.  The
other guests also departed to their homes, but all returned at the same
hour next day, including the porter, whose former life of hard work and
poverty had already begun to seem to him like a bad dream.  Again after
the feast was over did Sindbad claim the attention of his guests and
began the account of his third voyage.



Third Voyage


After a very short time the pleasant easy life I led made me quite
forget the perils of my two voyages.  Moreover, as I was still in the
prime of life, it pleased me better to be up and doing.  So once more
providing myself with the rarest and choicest merchandise of Bagdad, I
conveyed it to Balsora, and set sail with other merchants of my
acquaintance for distant lands.  We had touched at many ports and made
much profit, when one day upon the open sea we were caught by a
terrible wind which blew us completely out of our reckoning, and
lasting for several days finally drove us into harbour on a strange
island.

"I would rather have come to anchor anywhere than here," quoth our
captain.  "This island and all adjoining it are inhabited by hairy
savages, who are certain to attack us, and whatever these dwarfs may do
we dare not resist, since they swarm like locusts, and if one of them
is killed the rest will fall upon us, and speedily make an end of us."

These words caused great consternation among all the ship's company,
and only too soon we were to find out that the captain spoke truly.
There appeared a vast multitude of hideous savages, not more than two
feet high and covered with reddish fur.  Throwing themselves into the
waves they surrounded our vessel.  Chattering meanwhile in a language
we could not understand, and clutching at ropes and gangways, they
swarmed up the ship's side with such speed and agility that they almost
seemed to fly.

You may imagine the rage and terror that seized us as we watched them,
neither daring to hinder them nor able to speak a word to deter them
from their purpose, whatever it might be.  Of this we were not left
long in doubt.  Hoisting the sails, and cutting the cable of the
anchor, they sailed our vessel to an island which lay a little further
off, where they drove us ashore; then taking possession of her, they
made off to the place from which they had come, leaving us helpless
upon a shore avoided with horror by all mariners for a reason which you
will soon learn.

Turning away from the sea we wandered miserably inland, finding as we
went various herbs and fruits which we ate, feeling that we might as
well live as long as possible though we had no hope of escape.
Presently we saw in the far distance what seemed to us to be a splendid
palace, towards which we turned our weary steps, but when we reached it
we saw that it was a castle, lofty, and strongly built.  Pushing back
the heavy ebony doors we entered the courtyard, but upon the threshold
of the great hall beyond it we paused, frozen with horror, at the sight
which greeted us.  On one side lay a huge pile of bones--human bones,
and on the other numberless spits for roasting!  Overcome with despair
we sank trembling to the ground, and lay there without speech or
motion.  The sun was setting when a loud noise aroused us, the door of
the hall was violently burst open and a horrible giant entered.  He was
as tall as a palm tree, and perfectly black, and had one eye, which
flamed like a burning coal in the middle of his forehead.  His teeth
were long and sharp and grinned horribly, while his lower lip hung down
upon his chest, and he had ears like elephant's ears, which covered his
shoulders, and nails like the claws of some fierce bird.

At this terrible sight our senses left us and we lay like dead men.
When at last we came to ourselves the giant sat examining us
attentively with his fearful eye.  Presently when he had looked at us
enough he came towards us, and stretching out his hand took me by the
back of the neck, turning me this way and that, but feeling that I was
mere skin and bone he set me down again and went on to the next, whom
he treated in the same fashion; at last he came to the captain, and
finding him the fattest of us all, he took him up in one hand and stuck
him upon a spit and proceeded to kindle a huge fire at which he
presently roasted him.  After the giant had supped he lay down to
sleep, snoring like the loudest thunder, while we lay shivering with
horror the whole night through, and when day broke he awoke and went
out, leaving us in the castle.

When we believed him to be really gone we started up bemoaning our
horrible fate, until the hall echoed with our despairing cries.  Though
we were many and our enemy was alone it did not occur to us to kill
him, and indeed we should have found that a hard task, even if we had
thought of it, and no plan could we devise to deliver ourselves.  So at
last, submitting to our sad fate, we spent the day in wandering up and
down the island eating such fruits as we could find, and when night
came we returned to the castle, having sought in vain for any other
place of shelter.  At sunset the giant returned, supped upon one of our
unhappy comrades, slept and snored till dawn, and then left us as
before.  Our condition seemed to us so frightful that several of my
companions thought it would be better to leap from the cliffs and
perish in the waves at once, rather than await so miserable an end; but
I had a plan of escape which I now unfolded to them, and which they at
once agreed to attempt.

"Listen, my brothers," I added.  "You know that plenty of driftwood
lies along the shore.  Let us make several rafts, and carry them to a
suitable place.  If our plot succeeds, we can wait patiently for the
chance of some passing ship which would rescue us from this fatal
island.  If it fails, we must quickly take to our rafts; frail as they
are, we have more chance of saving our lives with them than we have if
we remain here."

All agreed with me, and we spent the day in building rafts, each
capable of carrying three persons.  At nightfall we returned to the
castle, and very soon in came the giant, and one more of our number was
sacrificed.  But the time of our vengeance was at hand!  As soon as he
had finished his horrible repast he lay down to sleep as before, and
when we heard him begin to snore I, and nine of the boldest of my
comrades, rose softly, and took each a spit, which we made red-hot in
the fire, and then at a given signal we plunged it with one accord into
the giant's eye, completely blinding him.  Uttering a terrible cry, he
sprang to his feet clutching in all directions to try to seize one of
us, but we had all fled different ways as soon as the deed was done,
and thrown ourselves flat upon the ground in corners where he was not
likely to touch us with his feet.

After a vain search he fumbled about till he found the door, and fled
out of it howling frightfully.  As for us, when he was gone we made
haste to leave the fatal castle, and, stationing ourselves beside our
rafts, we waited to see what would happen.  Our idea was that if, when
the sun rose, we saw nothing of the giant, and no longer heard his
howls, which still came faintly through the darkness, growing more and
more distant, we should conclude that he was dead, and that we might
safely stay upon the island and need not risk our lives upon the frail
rafts.  But alas! morning light showed us our enemy approaching us,
supported on either hand by two giants nearly as large and fearful as
himself, while a crowd of others followed close upon their heels.
Hesitating no longer we clambered upon our rafts and rowed with all our
might out to sea.  The giants, seeing their prey escaping them, seized
up huge pieces of rock, and wading into the water hurled them after us
with such good aim that all the rafts except the one I was upon were
swamped, and their luckless crews drowned, without our being able to do
anything to help them.  Indeed I and my two companions had all we could
do to keep our own raft beyond the reach of the giants, but by dint of
hard rowing we at last gained the open sea.  Here we were at the mercy
of the winds and waves, which tossed us to and fro all that day and
night, but the next morning we found ourselves near an island, upon
which we gladly landed.

There we found delicious fruits, and having satisfied our hunger we
presently lay down to rest upon the shore.  Suddenly we were aroused by
a loud rustling noise, and starting up, saw that it was caused by an
immense snake which was gliding towards us over the sand.  So swiftly
it came that it had seized one of my comrades before he had time to
fly, and in spite of his cries and struggles speedily crushed the life
out of him in its mighty coils and proceeded to swallow him.  By this
time my other companion and I were running for our lives to some place
where we might hope to be safe from this new horror, and seeing a tall
tree we climbed up into it, having first provided ourselves with a
store of fruit off the surrounding bushes.  When night came I fell
asleep, but only to be awakened once more by the terrible snake, which
after hissing horribly round the tree at last reared itself up against
it, and finding my sleeping comrade who was perched just below me, it
swallowed him also, and crawled away leaving me half dead with terror.

When the sun rose I crept down from the tree with hardly a hope of
escaping the dreadful fate which had over-taken my comrades; but life
is sweet, and I determined to do all I could to save myself.  All day
long I toiled with frantic haste and collected quantities of dry
brushwood, reeds and thorns, which I bound with faggots, and making a
circle of them under my tree I piled them firmly one upon another until
I had a kind of tent in which I crouched like a mouse in a hole when
she sees the cat coming.  You may imagine what a fearful night I
passed, for the snake returned eager to devour me, and glided round and
round my frail shelter seeking an entrance.  Every moment I feared that
it would succeed in pushing aside some of the faggots, but happily for
me they held together, and when it grew light my enemy retired, baffled
and hungry, to his den.  As for me I was more dead than alive!  Shaking
with fright and half suffocated by the poisonous breath of the monster,
I came out of my tent and crawled down to the sea, feeling that it
would be better to plunge from the cliffs and end my life at once than
pass such another night of horror.  But to my joy and relief I saw a
ship sailing by, and by shouting wildly and waving my turban I managed
to attract the attention of her crew.

A boat was sent to rescue me, and very soon I found myself on board
surrounded by a wondering crowd of sailors and merchants eager to know
by what chance I found myself in that desolate island.  After I had
told my story they regaled me with the choicest food the ship afforded,
and the captain, seeing that I was in rags, generously bestowed upon me
one of his own coats.  After sailing about for some time and touching
at many ports we came at last to the island of Salahat, where sandal
wood grows in great abundance.  Here we anchored, and as I stood
watching the merchants disembarking their goods and preparing to sell
or exchange them, the captain came up to me and said,

"I have here, brother, some merchandise belonging to a passenger of
mine who is dead.  Will you do me the favour to trade with it, and when
I meet with his heirs I shall be able to give them the money, though it
will be only just that you shall have a portion for your trouble."

I consented gladly, for I did not like standing by idle.  Whereupon he
pointed the bales out to me, and sent for the person whose duty it was
to keep a list of the goods that were upon the ship.  When this man
came he asked in what name the merchandise was to be registered.

"In the name of Sindbad the Sailor," replied the captain.

At this I was greatly surprised, but looking carefully at him I
recognised him to be the captain of the ship upon which I had made my
second voyage, though he had altered much since that time.  As for him,
believing me to be dead it was no wonder that he had not recognised me.

"So, captain," said I, "the merchant who owned those bales was called
Sindbad?"

"Yes," he replied.  "He was so named.  He belonged to Bagdad, and
joined my ship at Balsora, but by mischance he was left behind upon a
desert island where we had landed to fill up our water-casks, and it
was not until four hours later that he was missed.  By that time the
wind had freshened, and it was impossible to put back for him."

"You suppose him to have perished then?" said I.

"Alas! yes," he answered.

"Why, captain!"  I cried, "look well at me.  I am that Sindbad who fell
asleep upon the island and awoke to find himself abandoned!"

The captain stared at me in amazement, but was presently convinced that
I was indeed speaking the truth, and rejoiced greatly at my escape.

"I am glad to have that piece of carelessness off my conscience at any
rate," said he.  "Now take your goods, and the profit I have made for
you upon them, and may you prosper in future."

I took them gratefully, and as we went from one island to another I
laid in stores of cloves, cinnamon, and other spices.  In one place I
saw a tortoise which was twenty cubits long and as many broad, also a
fish that was like a cow and had skin so thick that it was used to make
shields.  Another I saw that was like a camel in shape and colour.  So
by degrees we came back to Balsora, and I returned to Bagdad with so
much money that I could not myself count it, besides treasures without
end.  I gave largely to the poor, and bought much land to add to what I
already possessed, and thus ended my third voyage.

When Sindbad had finished his story he gave another hundred sequins to
Hindbad, who then departed with the other guests, but next day when
they had all reassembled, and the banquet was ended, their host
continued his adventures.



Fourth Voyage


Rich and happy as I was after my third voyage, I could not make up my
mind to stay at home altogether.  My love of trading, and the pleasure
I took in anything that was new and strange, made me set my affairs in
order, and begin my journey through some of the Persian provinces,
having first sent off stores of goods to await my coming in the
different places I intended to visit.  I took ship at a distant
seaport, and for some time all went well, but at last, being caught in
a violent hurricane, our vessel became a total wreck in spite of all
our worthy captain could do to save her, and many of our company
perished in the waves.  I, with a few others, had the good fortune to
be washed ashore clinging to pieces of the wreck, for the storm had
driven us near an island, and scrambling up beyond the reach of the
waves we threw ourselves down quite exhausted, to wait for morning.

At daylight we wandered inland, and soon saw some huts, to which we
directed our steps.  As we drew near their black inhabitants swarmed
out in great numbers and surrounded us, and we were led to their
houses, and as it were divided among our captors.  I with five others
was taken into a hut, where we were made to sit upon the ground, and
certain herbs were given to us, which the blacks made signs to us to
eat.  Observing that they themselves did not touch them, I was careful
only to pretend to taste my portion; but my companions, being very
hungry, rashly ate up all that was set before them, and very soon I had
the horror of seeing them become perfectly mad.  Though they chattered
incessantly I could not understand a word they said, nor did they heed
when I spoke to them.  The savages now produced large bowls full of
rice prepared with cocoanut oil, of which my crazy comrades ate
eagerly, but I only tasted a few grains, understanding clearly that the
object of our captors was to fatten us speedily for their own eating,
and this was exactly what happened.  My unlucky companions having lost
their reason, felt neither anxiety nor fear, and ate greedily all that
was offered them.  So they were soon fat and there was an end of them,
but I grew leaner day by day, for I ate but little, and even that
little did me no good by reason of my fear of what lay before me.
However, as I was so far from being a tempting morsel, I was allowed to
wander about freely, and one day, when all the blacks had gone off upon
some expedition leaving only an old man to guard me, I managed to
escape from him and plunged into the forest, running faster the more he
cried to me to come back, until I had completely distanced him.

For seven days I hurried on, resting only when the darkness stopped me,
and living chiefly upon cocoanuts, which afforded me both meat and
drink, and on the eighth day I reached the seashore and saw a party of
white men gathering pepper, which grew abundantly all about.  Reassured
by the nature of their occupation, I advanced towards them and they
greeted me in Arabic, asking who I was and whence I came.  My delight
was great on hearing this familiar speech, and I willingly satisfied
their curiosity, telling them how I had been shipwrecked, and captured
by the blacks.  "But these savages devour men!" said they.  "How did
you escape?"  I repeated to them what I have just told you, at which
they were mightily astonished.  I stayed with them until they had
collected as much pepper as they wished, and then they took me back to
their own country and presented me to their king, by whom I was
hospitably received.  To him also I had to relate my adventures, which
surprised him much, and when I had finished he ordered that I should be
supplied with food and raiment and treated with consideration.

The island on which I found myself was full of people, and abounded in
all sorts of desirable things, and a great deal of traffic went on in
the capital, where I soon began to feel at home and contented.
Moreover, the king treated me with special favour, and in consequence
of this everyone, whether at the court or in the town, sought to make
life pleasant to me.  One thing I remarked which I thought very
strange; this was that, from the greatest to the least, all men rode
their horses without bridle or stirrups.  I one day presumed to ask his
majesty why he did not use them, to which he replied, "You speak to me
of things of which I have never before heard!"  This gave me an idea.
I found a clever workman, and made him cut out under my direction the
foundation of a saddle, which I wadded and covered with choice leather,
adorning it with rich gold embroidery.  I then got a lock-smith to make
me a bit and a pair of spurs after a pattern that I drew for him, and
when all these things were completed I presented them to the king and
showed him how to use them.  When I had saddled one of his horses he
mounted it and rode about quite delighted with the novelty, and to show
his gratitude he rewarded me with large gifts.  After this I had to
make saddles for all the principal officers of the king's household,
and as they all gave me rich presents I soon became very wealthy and
quite an important person in the city.

One day the king sent for me and said, "Sindbad, I am going to ask a
favour of you.  Both I and my subjects esteem you, and wish you to end
your days amongst us.  Therefore I desire that you will marry a rich
and beautiful lady whom I will find for you, and think no more of your
own country."

As the king's will was law I accepted the charming bride he presented
to me, and lived happily with her.  Nevertheless I had every intention
of escaping at the first opportunity, and going back to Bagdad.  Things
were thus going prosperously with me when it happened that the wife of
one of my neighbours, with whom I had struck up quite a friendship,
fell ill, and presently died.  I went to his house to offer my
consolations, and found him in the depths of woe.

"Heaven preserve you," said I, "and send you a long life!"

"Alas!" he replied, "what is the good of saying that when I have but an
hour left to live!"

"Come, come!" said I, "surely it is not so bad as all that.  I trust
that you may be spared to me for many years."

"I hope," answered he, "that your life may be long, but as for me, all
is finished.  I have set my house in order, and to-day I shall be
buried with my wife.  This has been the law upon our island from the
earliest ages--the living husband goes to the grave with his dead wife,
the living wife with her dead husband.  So did our fathers, and so must
we do.  The law changes not, and all must submit to it!"

As he spoke the friends and relations of the unhappy pair began to
assemble.  The body, decked in rich robes and sparkling with jewels,
was laid upon an open bier, and the procession started, taking its way
to a high mountain at some distance from the city, the wretched
husband, clothed from head to foot in a black mantle, following
mournfully.

When the place of interment was reached the corpse was lowered, just as
it was, into a deep pit.  Then the husband, bidding farewell to all his
friends, stretched himself upon another bier, upon which were laid
seven little loaves of bread and a pitcher of water, and he also was
let down-down-down to the depths of the horrible cavern, and then a
stone was laid over the opening, and the melancholy company wended its
way back to the city.

You may imagine that I was no unmoved spectator of these proceedings;
to all the others it was a thing to which they had been accustomed from
their youth up; but I was so horrified that I could not help telling
the king how it struck me.

"Sire," I said, "I am more astonished than I can express to you at the
strange custom which exists in your dominions of burying the living
with the dead.  In all my travels I have never before met with so cruel
and horrible a law."

"What would you have, Sindbad?" he replied.  "It is the law for
everybody.  I myself should be buried with the Queen if she were the
first to die."

"But, your Majesty," said I, "dare I ask if this law applies to
foreigners also?"

"Why, yes," replied the king smiling, in what I could but consider a
very heartless manner, "they are no exception to the rule if they have
married in the country."

When I heard this I went home much cast down, and from that time
forward my mind was never easy.  If only my wife's little finger ached
I fancied she was going to die, and sure enough before very long she
fell really ill and in a few days breathed her last.  My dismay was
great, for it seemed to me that to be buried alive was even a worse
fate than to be devoured by cannibals, nevertheless there was no
escape.  The body of my wife, arrayed in her richest robes and decked
with all her jewels, was laid upon the bier.  I followed it, and after
me came a great procession, headed by the king and all his nobles, and
in this order we reached the fatal mountain, which was one of a lofty
chain bordering the sea.

Here I made one more frantic effort to excite the pity of the king and
those who stood by, hoping to save myself even at this last moment, but
it was of no avail.  No one spoke to me, they even appeared to hasten
over their dreadful task, and I speedily found myself descending into
the gloomy pit, with my seven loaves and pitcher of water beside me.
Almost before I reached the bottom the stone was rolled into its place
above my head, and I was left to my fate.  A feeble ray of light shone
into the cavern through some chink, and when I had the courage to look
about me I could see that I was in a vast vault, bestrewn with bones
and bodies of the dead.  I even fancied that I heard the expiring sighs
of those who, like myself, had come into this dismal place alive.  All
in vain did I shriek aloud with rage and despair, reproaching myself
for the love of gain and adventure which had brought me to such a pass,
but at length, growing calmer, I took up my bread and water, and
wrapping my face in my mantle I groped my way towards the end of the
cavern, where the air was fresher.

Here I lived in darkness and misery until my provisions were exhausted,
but just as I was nearly dead from starvation the rock was rolled away
overhead and I saw that a bier was being lowered into the cavern, and
that the corpse upon it was a man.  In a moment my mind was made up,
the woman who followed had nothing to expect but a lingering death; I
should be doing her a service if I shortened her misery.  Therefore
when she descended, already insensible from terror, I was ready armed
with a huge bone, one blow from which left her dead, and I secured the
bread and water which gave me a hope of life.  Several times did I have
recourse to this desperate expedient, and I know not how long I had
been a prisoner when one day I fancied that I heard something near me,
which breathed loudly.  Turning to the place from which the sound came
I dimly saw a shadowy form which fled at my movement, squeezing itself
through a cranny in the wall.  I pursued it as fast as I could, and
found myself in a narrow crack among the rocks, along which I was just
able to force my way.  I followed it for what seemed to me many miles,
and at last saw before me a glimmer of light which grew clearer every
moment until I emerged upon the sea shore with a joy which I cannot
describe.  When I was sure that I was not dreaming, I realised that it
was doubtless some little animal which had found its way into the
cavern from the sea, and when disturbed had fled, showing me a means of
escape which I could never have discovered for myself.  I hastily
surveyed my surroundings, and saw that I was safe from all pursuit from
the town.

The mountains sloped sheer down to the sea, and there was no road
across them.  Being assured of this I returned to the cavern, and
amassed a rich treasure of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and jewels of
all kinds which strewed the ground.  These I made up into bales, and
stored them into a safe place upon the beach, and then waited hopefully
for the passing of a ship.  I had looked out for two days, however,
before a single sail appeared, so it was with much delight that I at
last saw a vessel not very far from the shore, and by waving my arms
and uttering loud cries succeeded in attracting the attention of her
crew.  A boat was sent off to me, and in answer to the questions of the
sailors as to how I came to be in such a plight, I replied that I had
been shipwrecked two days before, but had managed to scramble ashore
with the bales which I pointed out to them.  Luckily for me they
believed my story, and without even looking at the place where they
found me, took up my bundles, and rowed me back to the ship.  Once on
board, I soon saw that the captain was too much occupied with the
difficulties of navigation to pay much heed to me, though he generously
made me welcome, and would not even accept the jewels with which I
offered to pay my passage.  Our voyage was prosperous, and after
visiting many lands, and collecting in each place great store of goodly
merchandise, I found myself at last in Bagdad once more with unheard of
riches of every description.  Again I gave large sums of money to the
poor, and enriched all the mosques in the city, after which I gave
myself up to my friends and relations, with whom I passed my time in
feasting and merriment.

Here Sindbad paused, and all his hearers declared that the adventures
of his fourth voyage had pleased them better than anything they had
heard before.  They then took their leave, followed by Hindbad, who had
once more received a hundred sequins, and with the rest had been bidden
to return next day for the story of the fifth voyage.

When the time came all were in their places, and when they had eaten
and drunk of all that was set before them Sindbad began his tale.



Fifth Voyage


Not even all that I had gone through could make me contented with a
quiet life.  I soon wearied of its pleasures, and longed for change and
adventure.  Therefore I set out once more, but this time in a ship of
my own, which I built and fitted out at the nearest seaport.  I wished
to be able to call at whatever port I chose, taking my own time; but as
I did not intend carrying enough goods for a full cargo, I invited
several merchants of different nations to join me.  We set sail with
the first favourable wind, and after a long voyage upon the open seas
we landed upon an unknown island which proved to be uninhabited.  We
determined, however, to explore it, but had not gone far when we found
a roc's egg, as large as the one I had seen before and evidently very
nearly hatched, for the beak of the young bird had already pierced the
shell.  In spite of all I could say to deter them, the merchants who
were with me fell upon it with their hatchets, breaking the shell, and
killing the young roc.  Then lighting a fire upon the ground they
hacked morsels from the bird, and proceeded to roast them while I stood
by aghast.

Scarcely had they finished their ill-omened repast, when the air above
us was darkened by two mighty shadows.  The captain of my ship, knowing
by experience what this meant, cried out to us that the parent birds
were coming, and urged us to get on board with all speed.  This we did,
and the sails were hoisted, but before we had made any way the rocs
reached their despoiled nest and hovered about it, uttering frightful
cries when they discovered the mangled remains of their young one.  For
a moment we lost sight of them, and were flattering ourselves that we
had escaped, when they reappeared and soared into the air directly over
our vessel, and we saw that each held in its claws an immense rock
ready to crush us.  There was a moment of breathless suspense, then one
bird loosed its hold and the huge block of stone hurtled through the
air, but thanks to the presence of mind of the helmsman, who turned our
ship violently in another direction, it fell into the sea close beside
us, cleaving it asunder till we could nearly see the bottom.  We had
hardly time to draw a breath of relief before the other rock fell with
a mighty crash right in the midst of our luckless vessel, smashing it
into a thousand fragments, and crushing, or hurling into the sea,
passengers and crew.  I myself went down with the rest, but had the
good fortune to rise unhurt, and by holding on to a piece of driftwood
with one hand and swimming with the other I kept myself afloat and was
presently washed up by the tide on to an island.  Its shores were steep
and rocky, but I scrambled up safely and threw myself down to rest upon
the green turf.

When I had somewhat recovered I began to examine the spot in which I
found myself, and truly it seemed to me that I had reached a garden of
delights.  There were trees everywhere, and they were laden with
flowers and fruit, while a crystal stream wandered in and out under
their shadow.  When night came I slept sweetly in a cosy nook, though
the remembrance that I was alone in a strange land made me sometimes
start up and look around me in alarm, and then I wished heartily that I
had stayed at home at ease.  However, the morning sunlight restored my
courage, and I once more wandered among the trees, but always with some
anxiety as to what I might see next.  I had penetrated some distance
into the island when I saw an old man bent and feeble sitting upon the
river bank, and at first I took him to be some ship-wrecked mariner
like myself.  Going up to him I greeted him in a friendly way, but he
only nodded his head at me in reply.  I then asked what he did there,
and he made signs to me that he wished to get across the river to
gather some fruit, and seemed to beg me to carry him on my back.
Pitying his age and feebleness, I took him up, and wading across the
stream I bent down that he might more easily reach the bank, and bade
him get down.  But instead of allowing himself to be set upon his feet
(even now it makes me laugh to think of it!), this creature who had
seemed to me so decrepit leaped nimbly upon my shoulders, and hooking
his legs round my neck gripped me so tightly that I was well-nigh
choked, and so overcome with terror that I fell insensible to the
ground.  When I recovered my enemy was still in his place, though he
had released his hold enough to allow me breathing space, and seeing me
revive he prodded me adroitly first with one foot and then with the
other, until I was forced to get up and stagger about with him under
the trees while he gathered and ate the choicest fruits.  This went on
all day, and even at night, when I threw myself down half dead with
weariness, the terrible old man held on tight to my neck, nor did he
fail to greet the first glimmer of morning light by drumming upon me
with his heels, until I perforce awoke and resumed my dreary march with
rage and bitterness in my heart.

It happened one day that I passed a tree under which lay several dry
gourds, and catching one up I amused myself with scooping out its
contents and pressing into it the juice of several bunches of grapes
which hung from every bush.  When it was full I left it propped in the
fork of a tree, and a few days later, carrying the hateful old man that
way, I snatched at my gourd as I passed it and had the satisfaction of
a draught of excellent wine so good and refreshing that I even forgot
my detestable burden, and began to sing and caper.

The old monster was not slow to perceive the effect which my draught
had produced and that I carried him more lightly than usual, so he
stretched out his skinny hand and seizing the gourd first tasted its
contents cautiously, then drained them to the very last drop.  The wine
was strong and the gourd capacious, so he also began to sing after a
fashion, and soon I had the delight of feeling the iron grip of his
goblin legs unclasp, and with one vigorous effort I threw him to the
ground, from which he never moved again.  I was so rejoiced to have at
last got rid of this uncanny old man that I ran leaping and bounding
down to the sea shore, where, by the greatest good luck, I met with
some mariners who had anchored off the island to enjoy the delicious
fruits, and to renew their supply of water.

They heard the story of my escape with amazement, saying, "You fell
into the hands of the Old Man of the Sea, and it is a mercy that he did
not strangle you as he has everyone else upon whose shoulders he has
managed to perch himself.  This island is well known as the scene of
his evil deeds, and no merchant or sailor who lands upon it cares to
stray far away from his comrades."  After we had talked for a while
they took me back with them on board their ship, where the captain
received me kindly, and we soon set sail, and after several days
reached a large and prosperous-looking town where all the houses were
built of stone.  Here we anchored, and one of the merchants, who had
been very friendly to me on the way, took me ashore with him and showed
me a lodging set apart for strange merchants.  He then provided me with
a large sack, and pointed out to me a party of others equipped in like
manner.

"Go with them," said he, "and do as they do, but beware of losing sight
of them, for if you strayed your life would be in danger."

With that he supplied me with provisions, and bade me farewell, and I
set out with my new companions.  I soon learnt that the object of our
expedition was to fill our sacks with cocoanuts, but when at length I
saw the trees and noted their immense height and the slippery
smoothness of their slender trunks, I did not at all understand how we
were to do it.  The crowns of the cocoa-palms were all alive with
monkeys, big and little, which skipped from one to the other with
surprising agility, seeming to be curious about us and disturbed at our
appearance, and I was at first surprised when my companions after
collecting stones began to throw them at the lively creatures, which
seemed to me quite harmless.  But very soon I saw the reason of it and
joined them heartily, for the monkeys, annoyed and wishing to pay us
back in our own coin, began to tear the nuts from the trees and cast
them at us with angry and spiteful gestures, so that after very little
labour our sacks were filled with the fruit which we could not
otherwise have obtained.

As soon as we had as many as we could carry we went back to the town,
where my friend bought my share and advised me to continue the same
occupation until I had earned money enough to carry me to my own
country.  This I did, and before long had amassed a considerable sum.
Just then I heard that there was a trading ship ready to sail, and
taking leave of my friend I went on board, carrying with me a goodly
store of cocoanuts; and we sailed first to the islands where pepper
grows, then to Comari where the best aloes wood is found, and where men
drink no wine by an unalterable law.  Here I exchanged my nuts for
pepper and good aloes wood, and went a-fishing for pearls with some of
the other merchants, and my divers were so lucky that very soon I had
an immense number, and those very large and perfect.  With all these
treasures I came joyfully back to Bagdad, where I disposed of them for
large sums of money, of which I did not fail as before to give the
tenth part to the poor, and after that I rested from my labours and
comforted myself with all the pleasures that my riches could give me.

Having thus ended his story, Sindbad ordered that one hundred sequins
should be given to Hindbad, and the guests then withdrew; but after the
next day's feast he began the account of his sixth voyage as follows.



Sixth Voyage


It must be a marvel to you how, after having five times met with
shipwreck and unheard of perils, I could again tempt fortune and risk
fresh trouble.  I am even surprised myself when I look back, but
evidently it was my fate to rove, and after a year of repose I prepared
to make a sixth voyage, regardless of the entreaties of my friends and
relations, who did all they could to keep me at home.  Instead of going
by the Persian Gulf, I travelled a considerable way overland, and
finally embarked from a distant Indian port with a captain who meant to
make a long voyage.  And truly he did so, for we fell in with stormy
weather which drove us completely out of our course, so that for many
days neither captain nor pilot knew where we were, nor where we were
going.  When they did at last discover our position we had small ground
for rejoicing, for the captain, casting his turban upon the deck and
tearing his beard, declared that we were in the most dangerous spot
upon the whole wide sea, and had been caught by a current which was at
that minute sweeping us to destruction.  It was too true!  In spite of
all the sailors could do we were driven with frightful rapidity towards
the foot of a mountain, which rose sheer out of the sea, and our vessel
was dashed to pieces upon the rocks at its base, not, however, until we
had managed to scramble on shore, carrying with us the most precious of
our possessions.  When we had done this the captain said to us:

"Now we are here we may as well begin to dig our graves at once, since
from this fatal spot no shipwrecked mariner has ever returned."

This speech discouraged us much, and we began to lament over our sad
fate.

The mountain formed the seaward boundary of a large island, and the
narrow strip of rocky shore upon which we stood was strewn with the
wreckage of a thousand gallant ships, while the bones of the luckless
mariners shone white in the sunshine, and we shuddered to think how
soon our own would be added to the heap.  All around, too, lay vast
quantities of the costliest merchandise, and treasures were heaped in
every cranny of the rocks, but all these things only added to the
desolation of the scene.  It struck me as a very strange thing that a
river of clear fresh water, which gushed out from the mountain not far
from where we stood, instead of flowing into the sea as rivers
generally do, turned off sharply, and flowed out of sight under a
natural archway of rock, and when I went to examine it more closely I
found that inside the cave the walls were thick with diamonds, and
rubies, and masses of crystal, and the floor was strewn with ambergris.
Here, then, upon this desolate shore we abandoned ourselves to our
fate, for there was no possibility of scaling the mountain, and if a
ship had appeared it could only have shared our doom.  The first thing
our captain did was to divide equally amongst us all the food we
possessed, and then the length of each man's life depended on the time
he could make his portion last.  I myself could live upon very little.

Nevertheless, by the time I had buried the last of my companions my
stock of provisions was so small that I hardly thought I should live
long enough to dig my own grave, which I set about doing, while I
regretted bitterly the roving disposition which was always bringing me
into such straits, and thought longingly of all the comfort and luxury
that I had left.  But luckily for me the fancy took me to stand once
more beside the river where it plunged out of sight in the depths of
the cavern, and as I did so an idea struck me.  This river which hid
itself underground doubtless emerged again at some distant spot.  Why
should I not build a raft and trust myself to its swiftly flowing
waters?  If I perished before I could reach the light of day once more
I should be no worse off than I was now, for death stared me in the
face, while there was always the possibility that, as I was born under
a lucky star, I might find myself safe and sound in some desirable
land.  I decided at any rate to risk it, and speedily built myself a
stout raft of drift-wood with strong cords, of which enough and to
spare lay strewn upon the beach.  I then made up many packages of
rubies, emeralds, rock crystal, ambergris, and precious stuffs, and
bound them upon my raft, being careful to preserve the balance, and
then I seated myself upon it, having two small oars that I had
fashioned laid ready to my hand, and loosed the cord which held it to
the bank.  Once out in the current my raft flew swiftly under the
gloomy archway, and I found myself in total darkness, carried smoothly
forward by the rapid river.  On I went as it seemed to me for many
nights and days.  Once the channel became so small that I had a narrow
escape of being crushed against the rocky roof, and after that I took
the precaution of lying flat upon my precious bales.  Though I only ate
what was absolutely necessary to keep myself alive, the inevitable
moment came when, after swallowing my last morsel of food, I began to
wonder if I must after all die of hunger.  Then, worn out with anxiety
and fatigue, I fell into a deep sleep, and when I again opened my eyes
I was once more in the light of day; a beautiful country lay before me,
and my raft, which was tied to the river bank, was surrounded by
friendly looking black men.  I rose and saluted them, and they spoke to
me in return, but I could not understand a word of their language.
Feeling perfectly bewildered by my sudden return to life and light, I
murmured to myself in Arabic, "Close thine eyes, and while thou
sleepest Heaven will change thy fortune from evil to good."

One of the natives, who understood this tongue, then came forward
saying:

"My brother, be not surprised to see us; this is our land, and as we
came to get water from the river we noticed your raft floating down it,
and one of us swam out and brought you to the shore.  We have waited
for your awakening; tell us now whence you come and where you were
going by that dangerous way?"

I replied that nothing would please me better than to tell them, but
that I was starving, and would fain eat something first.  I was soon
supplied with all I needed, and having satisfied my hunger I told them
faithfully all that had befallen me.  They were lost in wonder at my
tale when it was interpreted to them, and said that adventures so
surprising must be related to their king only by the man to whom they
had happened.  So, procuring a horse, they mounted me upon it, and we
set out, followed by several strong men carrying my raft just as it was
upon their shoulders.  In this order we marched into the city of
Serendib, where the natives presented me to their king, whom I saluted
in the Indian fashion, prostrating myself at his feet and kissing the
ground; but the monarch bade me rise and sit beside him, asking first
what was my name.

"I am Sindbad," I replied, "whom men call `the Sailor,' for I have
voyaged much upon many seas."

"And how come you here?" asked the king.

I told my story, concealing nothing, and his surprise and delight were
so great that he ordered my adventures to be written in letters of gold
and laid up in the archives of his kingdom.

Presently my raft was brought in and the bales opened in his presence,
and the king declared that in all his treasury there were no such
rubies and emeralds as those which lay in great heaps before him.
Seeing that he looked at them with interest, I ventured to say that I
myself and all that I had were at his disposal, but he answered me
smiling:

"Nay, Sindbad.  Heaven forbid that I should covet your riches; I will
rather add to them, for I desire that you shall not leave my kingdom
without some tokens of my good will."  He then commanded his officers
to provide me with a suitable lodging at his expense, and sent slaves
to wait upon me and carry my raft and my bales to my new dwelling
place.  You may imagine that I praised his generosity and gave him
grateful thanks, nor did I fail to present myself daily in his audience
chamber, and for the rest of my time I amused myself in seeing all that
was most worthy of attention in the city.  The island of Serendib being
situated on the equinoctial line, the days and nights there are of
equal length.  The chief city is placed at the end of a beautiful
valley, formed by the highest mountain in the world, which is in the
middle of the island.  I had the curiosity to ascend to its very
summit, for this was the place to which Adam was banished out of
Paradise.  Here are found rubies and many precious things, and rare
plants grow abundantly, with cedar trees and cocoa palms.  On the
seashore and at the mouths of the rivers the divers seek for pearls,
and in some valleys diamonds are plentiful.  After many days I
petitioned the king that I might return to my own country, to which he
graciously consented.  Moreover, he loaded me with rich gifts, and when
I went to take leave of him he entrusted me with a royal present and a
letter to the Commander of the Faithful, our sovereign lord, saying, "I
pray you give these to the Caliph Haroun al Raschid, and assure him of
my friendship."

I accepted the charge respectfully, and soon embarked upon the vessel
which the king himself had chosen for me.  The king's letter was
written in blue characters upon a rare and precious skin of yellowish
colour, and these were the words of it: "The King of the Indies, before
whom walk a thousand elephants, who lives in a palace, of which the
roof blazes with a hundred thousand rubies, and whose treasure house
contains twenty thousand diamond crowns, to the Caliph Haroun al
Raschid sends greeting.  Though the offering we present to you is
unworthy of your notice, we pray you to accept it as a mark of the
esteem and friendship which we cherish for you, and of which we gladly
send you this token, and we ask of you a like regard if you deem us
worthy of it.  Adieu, brother."

The present consisted of a vase carved from a single ruby, six inches
high and as thick as my finger; this was filled with the choicest
pearls, large, and of perfect shape and lustre; secondly, a huge snake
skin, with scales as large as a sequin, which would preserve from
sickness those who slept upon it.  Then quantities of aloes wood,
camphor, and pistachio-nuts; and lastly, a beautiful slave girl, whose
robes glittered with precious stones.

After a long and prosperous voyage we landed at Balsora, and I made
haste to reach Bagdad, and taking the king's letter I presented myself
at the palace gate, followed by the beautiful slave, and various
members of my own family, bearing the treasure.

As soon as I had declared my errand I was conducted into the presence
of the Caliph, to whom, after I had made my obeisance, I gave the
letter and the king's gift, and when he had examined them he demanded
of me whether the Prince of Serendib was really as rich and powerful as
he claimed to be.

"Commander of the Faithful," I replied, again bowing humbly before him,
"I can assure your Majesty that he has in no way exaggerated his wealth
and grandeur.  Nothing can equal the magnificence of his palace.  When
he goes abroad his throne is prepared upon the back of an elephant, and
on either side of him ride his ministers, his favourites, and
courtiers.  On his elephant's neck sits an officer, his golden lance in
his hand, and behind him stands another bearing a pillar of gold, at
the top of which is an emerald as long as my hand.  A thousand men in
cloth of gold, mounted upon richly caparisoned elephants, go before
him, and as the procession moves onward the officer who guides his
elephant cries aloud, `Behold the mighty monarch, the powerful and
valiant Sultan of the Indies, whose palace is covered with a hundred
thousand rubies, who possesses twenty thousand diamond crowns.  Behold
a monarch greater than Solomon and Mihrage in all their glory!'"

"Then the one who stands behind the throne answers:  'This king, so
great and powerful, must die, must die, must die!'"

"And the first takes up the chant again, `All praise to Him who lives
for evermore.'"

"Further, my lord, in Serendib no judge is needed, for to the king
himself his people come for justice."

The Caliph was well satisfied with my report.

"From the king's letter," said he, "I judged that he was a wise man.
It seems that he is worthy of his people, and his people of him."

So saying he dismissed me with rich presents, and I returned in peace
to my own house.

When Sindbad had done speaking his guests withdrew, Hindbad having
first received a hundred sequins, but all returned next day to hear the
story of the seventh voyage, Sindbad thus began.



Seventh and Last Voyage


After my sixth voyage I was quite determined that I would go to sea no
more.  I was now of an age to appreciate a quiet life, and I had run
risks enough.  I only wished to end my days in peace.  One day,
however, when I was entertaining a number of my friends, I was told
that an officer of the Caliph wished to speak to me, and when he was
admitted he bade me follow him into the presence of Haroun al Raschid,
which I accordingly did.  After I had saluted him, the Caliph said:

"I have sent for you, Sindbad, because I need your services.  I have
chosen you to bear a letter and a gift to the King of Serendib in
return for his message of friendship."

The Caliph's commandment fell upon me like a thunderbolt.

"Commander of the Faithful," I answered, "I am ready to do all that
your Majesty commands, but I humbly pray you to remember that I am
utterly disheartened by the unheard of sufferings I have undergone.
Indeed, I have made a vow never again to leave Bagdad."

With this I gave him a long account of some of my strangest adventures,
to which he listened patiently.

"I admit," said he, "that you have indeed had some extraordinary
experiences, but I do not see why they should hinder you from doing as
I wish.  You have only to go straight to Serendib and give my message,
then you are free to come back and do as you will.  But go you must; my
honour and dignity demand it."

Seeing that there was no help for it, I declared myself willing to
obey; and the Caliph, delighted at having got his own way, gave me a
thousand sequins for the expenses of the voyage.  I was soon ready to
start, and taking the letter and the present I embarked at Balsora, and
sailed quickly and safely to Serendib.  Here, when I had disclosed my
errand, I was well received, and brought into the presence of the king,
who greeted me with joy.

"Welcome, Sindbad," he cried.  "I have thought of you often, and
rejoice to see you once more."

After thanking him for the honour that he did me, I displayed the
Caliph's gifts.  First a bed with complete hangings all cloth of gold,
which cost a thousand sequins, and another like to it of crimson stuff.
Fifty robes of rich embroidery, a hundred of the finest white linen
from Cairo, Suez, Cufa, and Alexandria.  Then more beds of different
fashion, and an agate vase carved with the figure of a man aiming an
arrow at a lion, and finally a costly table, which had once belonged to
King Solomon.  The King of Serendib received with satisfaction the
assurance of the Caliph's friendliness toward him, and now my task
being accomplished I was anxious to depart, but it was some time before
the king would think of letting me go.  At last, however, he dismissed
me with many presents, and I lost no time in going on board a ship,
which sailed at once, and for four days all went well.  On the fifth
day we had the misfortune to fall in with pirates, who seized our
vessel, killing all who resisted, and making prisoners of those who
were prudent enough to submit at once, of whom I was one.  When they
had despoiled us of all we possessed, they forced us to put on vile
raiment, and sailing to a distant island there sold us for slaves.  I
fell into the hands of a rich merchant, who took me home with him, and
clothed and fed me well, and after some days sent for me and questioned
me as to what I could do.

I answered that I was a rich merchant who had been captured by pirates,
and therefore I knew no trade.

"Tell me," said he, "can you shoot with a bow?"

I replied that this had been one of the pastimes of my youth, and that
doubtless with practice my skill would come back to me.

Upon this he provided me with a bow and arrows, and mounting me with
him upon his own elephant took the way to a vast forest which lay far
from the town.  When we had reached the wildest part of it we stopped,
and my master said to me:  "This forest swarms with elephants.  Hide
yourself in this great tree, and shoot at all that pass you.  When you
have succeeded in killing one come and tell me."

So saying he gave me a supply of food, and returned to the town, and I
perched myself high up in the tree and kept watch.  That night I saw
nothing, but just after sunrise the next morning a large herd of
elephants came crashing and trampling by.  I lost no time in letting
fly several arrows, and at last one of the great animals fell to the
ground dead, and the others retreated, leaving me free to come down
from my hiding place and run back to tell my master of my success, for
which I was praised and regaled with good things.  Then we went back to
the forest together and dug a mighty trench in which we buried the
elephant I had killed, in order that when it became a skeleton my
master might return and secure its tusks.

For two months I hunted thus, and no day passed without my securing, an
elephant.  Of course I did not always station myself in the same tree,
but sometimes in one place, sometimes in another.  One morning as I
watched the coming of the elephants I was surprised to see that,
instead of passing the tree I was in, as they usually did, they paused,
and completely surrounded it, trumpeting horribly, and shaking the very
ground with their heavy tread, and when I saw that their eyes were
fixed upon me I was terrified, and my arrows dropped from my trembling
hand.  I had indeed good reason for my terror when, an instant later,
the largest of the animals wound his trunk round the stem of my tree,
and with one mighty effort tore it up by the roots, bringing me to the
ground entangled in its branches.  I thought now that my last hour was
surely come; but the huge creature, picking me up gently enough, set me
upon its back, where I clung more dead than alive, and followed by the
whole herd turned and crashed off into the dense forest.  It seemed to
me a long time before I was once more set upon my feet by the elephant,
and I stood as if in a dream watching the herd, which turned and
trampled off in another direction, and were soon hidden in the dense
underwood.  Then, recovering myself, I looked about me, and found that
I was standing upon the side of a great hill, strewn as far as I could
see on either hand with bones and tusks of elephants.  "This then must
be the elephants' burying place," I said to myself, "and they must have
brought me here that I might cease to persecute them, seeing that I
want nothing but their tusks, and here lie more than I could carry away
in a lifetime."

Whereupon I turned and made for the city as fast as I could go, not
seeing a single elephant by the way, which convinced me that they had
retired deeper into the forest to leave the way open to the Ivory Hill,
and I did not know how sufficiently to admire their sagacity.  After a
day and a night I reached my master's house, and was received by him
with joyful surprise.

"Ah! poor Sindbad," he cried, "I was wondering what could have become
of you.  When I went to the forest I found the tree newly uprooted, and
the arrows lying beside it, and I feared I should never see you again.
Pray tell me how you escaped death."

I soon satisfied his curiosity, and the next day we went together to
the Ivory Hill, and he was overjoyed to find that I had told him
nothing but the truth.  When we had loaded our elephant with as many
tusks as it could carry and were on our way back to the city, he said:

"My brother--since I can no longer treat as a slave one who has
enriched me thus--take your liberty and may Heaven prosper you.  I will
no longer conceal from you that these wild elephants have killed
numbers of our slaves every year.  No matter what good advice we gave
them, they were caught sooner or later.  You alone have escaped the
wiles of these animals, therefore you must be under the special
protection of Heaven.  Now through you the whole town will be enriched
without further loss of life, therefore you shall not only receive your
liberty, but I will also bestow a fortune upon you."

To which I replied, "Master, I thank you, and wish you all prosperity.
For myself I only ask liberty to return to my own country."

"It is well," he answered, "the monsoon will soon bring the ivory ships
hither, then I will send you on your way with somewhat to pay your
passage."

So I stayed with him till the time of the monsoon, and every day we
added to our store of ivory till all his ware-houses were overflowing
with it.  By this time the other merchants knew the secret, but there
was enough and to spare for all.  When the ships at last arrived my
master himself chose the one in which I was to sail, and put on board
for me a great store of choice provisions, also ivory in abundance, and
all the costliest curiosities of the country, for which I could not
thank him enough, and so we parted.  I left the ship at the first port
we came to, not feeling at ease upon the sea after all that had
happened to me by reason of it, and having disposed of my ivory for
much gold, and bought many rare and costly presents, I loaded my pack
animals, and joined a caravan of merchants.  Our journey was long and
tedious, but I bore it patiently, reflecting that at least I had not to
fear tempests, nor pirates, nor serpents, nor any of the other perils
from which I had suffered before, and at length we reached Bagdad.  My
first care was to present myself before the Caliph, and give him an
account of my embassy.  He assured me that my long absence had
disquieted him much, but he had nevertheless hoped for the best.  As to
my adventure among the elephants he heard it with amazement, declaring
that he could not have believed it had not my truthfulness been well
known to him.

By his orders this story and the others I had told him were written by
his scribes in letters of gold, and laid up among his treasures.  I
took my leave of him, well satisfied with the honours and rewards he
bestowed upon me; and since that time I have rested from my labours,
and given myself up wholly to my family and my friends.

Thus Sindbad ended the story of his seventh and last voyage, and
turning to Hindbad he added:

"Well, my friend, and what do you think now?  Have you ever heard of
anyone who has suffered more, or had more narrow escapes than I have?
Is it not just that I should now enjoy a life of ease and tranquillity?"

Hindbad drew near, and kissing his hand respectfully, replied, "Sir,
you have indeed known fearful perils; my troubles have been nothing
compared to yours.  Moreover, the generous use you make of your wealth
proves that you deserve it.  May you live long and happily in the
enjoyment in it."

Sindbad then gave him a hundred sequins, and hence-forward counted him
among his friends; also he caused him to give up his profession as a
porter, and to eat daily at his table that he might all his life
remember Sindbad the Sailor.



The Little Hunchback


In the kingdom of Kashgar, which is, as everybody knows, situated on
the frontiers of Great Tartary, there lived long ago a tailor and his
wife who loved each other very much.  One day, when the tailor was hard
at work, a little hunchback came and sat at the entrance of the shop,
and began to sing and play his tambourine.  The tailor was amused with
the antics of the fellow, and thought he would take him home to divert
his wife.  The hunchback having agreed to his proposal, the tailor
closed his shop and they set off together.

When they reached the house they found the table ready laid for supper,
and in a very few minutes all three were sitting before a beautiful
fish which the tailor's wife had cooked with her own hands.  But
unluckily, the hunchback happened to swallow a large bone, and, in
spite of all the tailor and his wife could do to help him, died of
suffocation in an instant.  Besides being very sorry for the poor man,
the tailor and his wife were very much frightened on their own account,
for if the police came to hear of it the worthy couple ran the risk of
being thrown into prison for wilful murder.  In order to prevent this
dreadful calamity they both set about inventing some plan which would
throw suspicion on some one else, and at last they made up their minds
that they could do no better than select a Jewish doctor who lived
close by as the author of the crime.  So the tailor picked up the
hunchback by his head while his wife took his feet and carried him to
the doctor's house.  Then they knocked at the door, which opened
straight on to a steep staircase.  A servant soon appeared, feeling her
way down the dark staircase and inquired what they wanted.

"Tell your master," said the tailor, "that we have brought a very sick
man for him to cure; and," he added, holding out some money, "give him
this in advance, so that he may not feel he is wasting his time." The
servant remounted the stairs to give the message to the doctor, and the
moment she was out of sight the tailor and his wife carried the body
swiftly after her, propped it up at the top of the staircase, and ran
home as fast as their legs could carry them.

Now the doctor was so delighted at the news of a patient (for he was
young, and had not many of them), that he was transported with joy.

"Get a light," he called to the servant, "and follow me as fast as you
can!" and rushing out of his room he ran towards the staircase.  There
he nearly fell over the body of the hunchback, and without knowing what
it was gave it such a kick that it rolled right to the bottom, and very
nearly dragged the doctor after it.  "A light! a light!" he cried
again, and when it was brought and he saw what he had done he was
almost beside himself with terror.

"Holy Moses!" he exclaimed, "why did I not wait for the light?  I have
killed the sick man whom they brought me; and if the sacred Ass of
Esdras does not come to my aid I am lost!  It will not be long before I
am led to jail as a murderer."

Agitated though he was, and with reason, the doctor did not forget to
shut the house door, lest some passers-by might chance to see what had
happened.  He then took up the corpse and carried it into his wife's
room, nearly driving her crazy with fright.

"It is all over with us!" she wailed, "if we cannot find some means of
getting the body out of the house.  Once let the sun rise and we can
hide it no longer!  How were you driven to commit such a terrible
crime?"

"Never mind that," returned the doctor, "the thing is to find a way out
of it."

For a long while the doctor and his wife continued to turn over in
their minds a way of escape, but could not find any that seemed good
enough.  At last the doctor gave it up altogether and resigned himself
to bear the penalty of his misfortune.

But his wife, who had twice his brains, suddenly exclaimed, "I have
thought of something!  Let us carry the body on the roof of the house
and lower it down the chimney of our neighbour the Mussulman." Now this
Mussulman was employed by the Sultan, and furnished his table with oil
and butter.  Part of his house was occupied by a great storeroom, where
rats and mice held high revel.

The doctor jumped at his wife's plan, and they took up the hunchback,
and passing cords under his armpits they let him down into the
purveyor's bed-room so gently that he really seemed to be leaning
against the wall.  When they felt he was touching the ground they drew
up the cords and left him.

Scarcely had they got back to their own house when the purveyor entered
his room.  He had spent the evening at a wedding feast, and had a
lantern in his hand.  In the dim light it cast he was astonished to see
a man standing in his chimney, but being naturally courageous he seized
a stick and made straight for the supposed thief.  "Ah!" he cried, "so
it is you, and not the rats and mice, who steal my butter.  I'll take
care that you don't want to come back!"

So saying he struck him several hard blows.  The corpse fell on the
floor, but the man only redoubled his blows, till at length it occurred
to him it was odd that the thief should lie so still and make no
resistance.  Then, finding he was quite dead, a cold fear took
possession of him.  "Wretch that I am," said he, "I have murdered a
man.  Ah, my revenge has gone too far.  Without the help of Allah I am
undone!  Cursed be the goods which have led me to my ruin." And already
he felt the rope round his neck.

But when he had got over the first shock he began to think of some way
out of the difficulty, and seizing the hunchback in his arms he carried
him out into the street, and leaning him against the wall of a shop he
stole back to his own house, without once looking behind him.

A few minutes before the sun rose, a rich Christian merchant, who
supplied the palace with all sorts of necessaries, left his house,
after a night of feasting, to go to the bath.  Though he was very
drunk, he was yet sober enough to know that the dawn was at hand, and
that all good Mussulmen would shortly be going to prayer.  So he
hastened his steps lest he should meet some one on his way to the
mosque, who, seeing his condition, would send him to prison as a
drunkard.  In his haste he jostled against the hunchback, who fell
heavily upon him, and the merchant, thinking he was being attacked by a
thief, knocked him down with one blow of his fist.  He then called
loudly for help, beating the fallen man all the while.

The chief policeman of the quarter came running up, and found a
Christian ill-treating a Mussulman.  "What are you doing?" he asked
indignantly.

"He tried to rob me," replied the merchant, "and very nearly choked me."

"Well, you have had your revenge," said the man, catching hold of his
arm.  "Come, be off with you!"

As he spoke he held out his hand to the hunchback to help him up, but
the hunchback never moved.  "Oho!" he went on, looking closer, "so this
is the way a Christian has the impudence to treat a Mussulman!" and
seizing the merchant in a firm grasp he took him to the inspector of
police, who threw him into prison till the judge should be out of bed
and ready to attend to his case.  All this brought the merchant to his
senses, but the more he thought of it the less he could understand how
the hunchback could have died merely from the blows he had received.

The merchant was still pondering on this subject when he was summoned
before the chief of police and questioned about his crime, which he
could not deny.  As the hunchback was one of the Sultan's private
jesters, the chief of police resolved to defer sentence of death until
he had consulted his master.  He went to the palace to demand an
audience, and told his story to the Sultan, who only answered,

"There is no pardon for a Christian who kills a Mussulman.  Do your
duty."

So the chief of police ordered a gallows to be erected, and sent criers
to proclaim in every street in the city that a Christian was to be
hanged that day for having killed a Mussulman.

When all was ready the merchant was brought from prison and led to the
foot of the gallows.  The executioner knotted the cord firmly round the
unfortunate man's neck and was just about to swing him into the air,
when the Sultan's purveyor dashed through the crowd, and cried,
panting, to the hangman,

"Stop, stop, don't be in such a hurry.  It was not he who did the
murder, it was I."

The chief of police, who was present to see that everything was in
order, put several questions to the purveyor, who told him the whole
story of the death of the hunchback, and how he had carried the body to
the place where it had been found by the Christian merchant.

"You are going," he said to the chief of police, "to kill an innocent
man, for it is impossible that he should have murdered a creature who
was dead already.  It is bad enough for me to have slain a Mussulman
without having it on my conscience that a Christian who is guiltless
should suffer through my fault."

Now the purveyor's speech had been made in a loud voice, and was heard
by all the crowd, and even if he had wished it, the chief of police
could not have escaped setting the merchant free.

"Loose the cords from the Christian's neck," he commanded, turning to
the executioner, "and hang this man in his place, seeing that by his
own confession he is the murderer."

The hangman did as he was bid, and was tying the cord firmly, when he
was stopped by the voice of the Jewish doctor beseeching him to pause,
for he had something very important to say.  When he had fought his way
through the crowd and reached the chief of police,

"Worshipful sir," he began, "this Mussulman whom you desire to hang is
unworthy of death; I alone am guilty.  Last night a man and a woman who
were strangers to me knocked at my door, bringing with them a patient
for me to cure.  The servant opened it, but having no light was hardly
able to make out their faces, though she readily agreed to wake me and
to hand me the fee for my services.  While she was telling me her story
they seem to have carried the sick man to the top of the staircase and
then left him there.  I jumped up in a hurry without waiting for a
lantern, and in the darkness I fell against something, which tumbled
headlong down the stairs and never stopped till it reached the bottom.
When I examined the body I found it was quite dead, and the corpse was
that of a hunchback Mussulman.  Terrified at what we had done, my wife
and I took the body on the roof and let it down the chimney of our
neighbour the purveyor, whom you were just about to hang.  The
purveyor, finding him in his room, naturally thought he was a thief,
and struck him such a blow that the man fell down and lay motionless on
the floor.  Stooping to examine him, and finding him stone dead, the
purveyor supposed that the man had died from the blow he had received;
but of course this was a mistake, as you will see from my account, and
I only am the murderer; and although I am innocent of any wish to
commit a crime, I must suffer for it all the same, or else have the
blood of two Musselmans on my conscience.  Therefore send away this
man, I pray you, and let me take his place, as it is I who am guilty."

On hearing the declaration of the Jewish doctor, the chief of police
commanded that he should be led to the gallows, and the Sultan's
purveyor go free.  The cord was placed round the Jew's neck, and his
feet had already ceased to touch the ground when the voice of the
tailor was heard beseeching the executioner to pause one moment and to
listen to what he had to say.

"Oh, my lord," he cried, turning to the chief of police, "how nearly
have you caused the death of three innocent people!  But if you will
only have the patience to listen to my tale, you shall know who is the
real culprit.  If some one has to suffer, it must be me!  Yesterday, at
dusk, I was working in my shop with a light heart when the little
hunchback, who was more than half drunk, came and sat in the doorway.
He sang me several songs, and then I invited him to finish the evening
at my house.  He accepted my invitation, and we went away together.  At
supper I helped him to a slice of fish, but in eating it a bone stuck
in his throat, and in spite of all we could do he died in a few
minutes.  We felt deeply sorry for his death, but fearing lest we
should be held responsible, we carried the corpse to the house of the
Jewish doctor.  I knocked, and desired the servant to beg her master to
come down as fast as possible and see a sick man whom we had brought
for him to cure; and in order to hasten his movements I placed a piece
of money in her hand as the doctor's fee.  Directly she had disappeared
I dragged the body to the top of the stairs, and then hurried away with
my wife back to our house.  In descending the stairs the doctor
accidentally knocked over the corpse, and finding him dead believed
that he himself was the murderer.  But now you know the truth set him
free, and let me die in his stead."

The chief of police and the crowd of spectators were lost in
astonishment at the strange events to which the death of the hunchback
had given rise.

"Loosen the Jewish doctor," said he to the hangman, "and string up the
tailor instead, since he has made confession of his crime.  Really, one
cannot deny that this is a very singular story, and it deserves to be
written in letters of gold."

The executioner speedily untied the knots which confined the doctor,
and was passing the cord round the neck of the tailor, when the Sultan
of Kashgar, who had missed his jester, happened to make inquiry of his
officers as to what had become of him.

"Sire," replied they, "the hunchback having drunk more than was good
for him, escaped from the palace and was seen wandering about the town,
where this morning he was found dead.  A man was arrested for having
caused his death, and held in custody till a gallows was erected.  At
the moment that he was about to suffer punishment, first one man
arrived, and then another, each accusing themselves of the murder, and
this went on for a long time, and at the present instant the chief of
police is engaged in questioning a man who declares that he alone is
the true assassin."

The Sultan of Kashgar no sooner heard these words than he ordered an
usher to go to the chief of police and to bring all the persons
concerned in the hunchback's death, together with the corpse, that he
wished to see once again.  The usher hastened on his errand, but was
only just in time, for the tailor was positively swinging in the air,
when his voice fell upon the silence of the crowd, commanding the
hangman to cut down the body.  The hangman, recognising the usher as
one of the king's servants, cut down the tailor, and the usher, seeing
the man was safe, sought the chief of police and gave him the Sultan's
message.  Accordingly, the chief of police at once set out for the
palace, taking with him the tailor, the doctor, the purveyor, and the
merchant, who bore the dead hunchback on their shoulders.

When the procession reached the palace the chief of police prostrated
himself at the feet of the Sultan, and related all that he knew of the
matter.  The Sultan was so much struck by the circumstances that he
ordered his private historian to write down an exact account of what
had passed, so that in the years to come the miraculous escape of the
four men who had thought themselves murderers might never be forgotten.

The Sultan asked everybody concerned in the hunchback's affair to tell
him their stories.  Among others was a prating barber, whose tale of
one of his brothers follows.



The Story of the Barber's Fifth Brother


As long as our father lived Alnaschar was very idle.  Instead of
working for his bread he was not ashamed to ask for it every evening,
and to support himself next day on what he had received the night
before.  When our father died, worn out by age, he only left seven
hundred silver drachmas to be divided amongst us, which made one
hundred for each son.  Alnaschar, who had never possessed so much money
in his life, was quite puzzled to know what to do with it.  After
reflecting upon the matter for some time he decided to lay it out on
glasses, bottles, and things of that sort, which he would buy from a
wholesale merchant.  Having bought his stock he next proceeded to look
out for a small shop in a good position, where he sat down at the open
door, his wares being piled up in an uncovered basket in front of him,
waiting for a customer among the passers-by.

In this attitude he remained seated, his eyes fixed on the basket, but
his thoughts far away.  Unknown to himself he began to talk out loud,
and a tailor, whose shop was next door to his, heard quite plainly what
he was saying.

"This basket," said Alnaschar to himself, "has cost me a hundred
drachmas--all that I possess in the world.  Now in selling the
contents piece by piece I shall turn two hundred, and these hundreds I
shall again lay out in glass, which will produce four hundred.  By this
means I shall in course of time make four thousand drachmas, which will
easily double themselves.  When I have got ten thousand I will give up
the glass trade and become a jeweller, and devote all my time to
trading in pearls, diamonds, and other precious stones.  At last,
having all the wealth that heart can desire, I will buy a beautiful
country house, with horses and slaves, and then I will lead a merry
life and entertain my friends.  At my feasts I will send for musicians
and dancers from the neighbouring town to amuse my guests.  In spite of
my riches I shall not, however, give up trade till I have amassed a
capital of a hundred thousand drachmas, when, having become a man of
much consideration, I shall request the hand of the grand-vizir's
daughter, taking care to inform the worthy father that I have heard
favourable reports of her beauty and wit, and that I will pay down on
our wedding day 3 thousand gold pieces.  Should the vizir refuse my
proposal, which after all is hardly to be expected, I will seize him by
the beard and drag him to my house."

When I shall have married his daughter I will give her ten of the best
eunuchs that can be found for her service.  Then I shall put on my most
gorgeous robes, and mounted on a horse with a saddle of fine gold, and
its trappings blazing with diamonds, followed by a train of slaves, I
shall present myself at the house of the grand-vizir, the people
casting down their eyes and bowing low as I pass along.  At the foot of
the grand-vizir's staircase I shall dismount, and while my servants
stand in a row to right and left I shall ascend the stairs, at the head
of which the grand-vizir will be waiting to receive me.  He will then
embrace me as his son-in-law, and giving me his seat will place himself
below me.  This being done (as I have every reason to expect), two of
my servants will enter, each bearing a purse containing a thousand
pieces of gold.  One of these I shall present to him saying, "Here are
the thousand gold pieces that I offered for your daughter's hand, and
here," I shall continue, holding out the second purse, "are another
thousand to show you that I am a man who is better than his word."
After hearing of such generosity the world will talk of nothing else.

I shall return home with the same pomp as I set out, and my wife will
send an officer to compliment me on my visit to her father, and I shall
confer on the officer the honour of a rich dress and a handsome gift.
Should she send one to me I shall refuse it and dismiss the bearer.  I
shall never allow my wife to leave her rooms on any pretext whatever
without my permission, and my visits to her will be marked by all the
ceremony calculated to inspire respect.  No establishment will be
better ordered than mine, and I shall take care always to be dressed in
a manner suitable to my position.  In the evening, when we retire to
our apartments, I shall sit in the place of honour, where I shall
assume a grand demeanour and speak little, gazing straight before me,
and when my wife, lovely as the full moon, stands humbly in front of my
chair I shall pretend not to see her.  Then her women will say to me,
"Respected lord and master, your wife and slave is before you waiting
to be noticed.  She is mortified that you never deign to look her way;
she is tired of standing so long.  Beg her, we pray you, to be seated."
Of course I shall give no signs of even hearing this speech, which will
vex them mightily.  They will throw themselves at my feet with
lamentations, and at length I will raise my head and throw a careless
glance at her, then I shall go back to my former attitude.  The women
will think that I am displeased at my wife's dress and will lead her
away to put on a finer one, and I on my side shall replace the one I am
wearing with another yet more splendid.  They will then return to the
charge, but this time it will take much longer before they persuade me
even to look at my wife.  It is as well to begin on my wedding-day as I
mean to go on for the rest of our lives.

The next day she will complain to her mother of the way she has been
treated, which will fill my heart with joy.  Her mother will come to
seek me, and, kissing my hands with respect, will say, "My lord" (for
she could not dare to risk my anger by using the familiar title of
"son-in-law"), "My lord, do not, I implore you, refuse to look upon my
daughter or to approach her.  She only lives to please you, and loves
you with all her soul." But I shall pay no more heed to my
mother-in-law's words than I did to those of the women.  Again she will
beseech me to listen to her entreaties, throwing herself this time at
my feet, but all to no purpose.  Then, putting a glass of wine into my
wife's hand, she will say to her, "There, present that to him yourself,
he cannot have the cruelty to reject anything offered by so beautiful a
hand," and my wife will take it and offer it to me tremblingly with
tears in her eyes, but I shall look in the other direction.  This will
cause her to weep still more, and she will hold out the glass crying,
"Adorable husband, never shall I cease my prayers till you have done me
the favour to drink."  Sick of her importunities, these words will goad
me to fury.  I shall dart an angry look at her and give her a sharp
blow on the cheek, at the same time giving her a kick so violent that
she will stagger across the room and fall on to the sofa.

"My brother," pursued the barber, "was so much absorbed in his dreams
that he actually did give a kick with his foot, which unluckily hit the
basket of glass.  It fell into the street and was instantly broken into
a thousand pieces."

His neighbour the tailor, who had been listening to his visions, broke
into a loud fit of laughter as he saw this sight.

"Wretched man!" he cried, "you ought to die of shame at behaving so to
a young wife who has done nothing to you.  You must be a brute for her
tears and prayers not to touch your heart.  If I were the grand-vizir I
would order you a hundred blows from a bullock whip, and would have you
led round the town accompanied by a herald who should proclaim your
crimes."

The accident, so fatal to all his profits, had restored my brother to
his senses, and seeing that the mischief had been caused by his own
insufferable pride, he rent his clothes and tore his hair, and lamented
himself so loudly that the passers-by stopped to listen.  It was a
Friday, so these were more numerous than usual.  Some pitied Alnaschar,
others only laughed at him, but the vanity which had gone to his head
had disappeared with his basket of glass, and he was loudly bewailing
his folly when a lady, evidently a person of consideration, rode by on
a mule.  She stopped and inquired what was the matter, and why the man
wept.  They told her that he was a poor man who had laid out all his
money on this basket of glass, which was now broken.  On hearing the
cause of these loud wails the lady turned to her attendant and said to
him, "Give him whatever you have got with you."  The man obeyed, and
placed in my brother's hands a purse containing five hundred pieces of
gold.  Alnaschar almost died of joy on receiving it.  He blessed the
lady a thousand times, and, shutting up his shop where he had no longer
anything to do, he returned home.

He was still absorbed in contemplating his good fortune, when a knock
came to his door, and on opening it he found an old woman standing
outside.

"My son," she said, "I have a favour to ask of you.  It is the hour of
prayer and I have not yet washed myself.  Let me, I beg you, enter your
house, and give me water."

My brother, although the old woman was a stranger to him, did not
hesitate to do as she wished.  He gave her a vessel of water and then
went back to his place and his thoughts, and with his mind busy over
his last adventure, he put his gold into a long and narrow purse, which
he could easily carry in his belt.  During this time the old woman was
busy over her prayers, and when she had finished she came and
prostrated herself twice before my brother, and then rising called down
endless blessings on his head.  Observing her shabby clothes, my
brother thought that her gratitude was in reality a hint that he should
give her some money to buy some new ones, so he held out two pieces of
gold.  The old woman started back in surprise as if she had received an
insult.  "Good heavens!" she exclaimed, "what is the meaning of this?
Is it possible that you take me, my lord, for one of those miserable
creatures who force their way into houses to beg for alms?  Take back
your money.  I am thankful to say I do not need it, for I belong to a
beautiful lady who is very rich and gives me everything I want."

My brother was not clever enough to detect that the old woman had
merely refused the two pieces of money he had offered her in order to
get more, but he inquired if she could procure him the pleasure of
seeing this lady.

"Willingly," she replied; "and she will be charmed to marry you, and to
make you the master of all her wealth.  So pick up your money and
follow me."

Delighted at the thought that he had found so easily both a fortune and
a beautiful wife, my brother asked no more questions, but concealing
his purse, with the money the lady had given him, in the folds of his
dress, he set out joyfully with his guide.

They walked for some distance till the old woman stopped at a large
house, where she knocked.  The door was opened by a young Greek slave,
and the old woman led my brother across a well-paved court into a
well-furnished hall.  Here she left him to inform her mistress of his
presence, and as the day was hot he flung himself on a pile of cushions
and took off his heavy turban.  In a few minutes there entered a lady,
and my brother perceived at the first glance that she was even more
beautiful and more richly dressed than he had expected.  He rose from
his seat, but the lady signed to him to sit down again and placed
herself beside him.  After the usual compliments had passed between
them she said, "We are not comfortable here, let us go into another
room," and passing into a smaller chamber, apparently communicating
with no other, she continued to talk to him for some time.  Then rising
hastily she left him, saying, "Stay where you are, I will come back in
a moment."

He waited as he was told, but instead of the lady there entered a huge
black slave with a sword in his hand.  Approaching my brother with an
angry countenance he exclaimed, "What business have you here?" His
voice and manner were so terrific that Alnaschar had not strength to
reply, and allowed his gold to be taken from him, and even sabre cuts
to be inflicted on him without making any resistance.  As soon as he
was let go, he sank on the ground powerless to move, though he still
had possession of his senses.  Thinking he was dead, the black ordered
the Greek slave to bring him some salt, and between them they rubbed it
into his wounds, thus giving him acute agony, though he had the
presence of mind to give no sign of life.  They then left him, and
their place was taken by the old woman, who dragged him to a trapdoor
and threw him down into a vault filled with the bodies of murdered men.

At first the violence of his fall caused him to lose consciousness, but
luckily the salt which had been rubbed into his wounds had by its
smarting preserved his life, and little by little he regained his
strength.  At the end of two days he lifted the trapdoor during the
night and hid himself in the courtyard till daybreak, when he saw the
old woman leave the house in search of more prey.  Luckily she did not
observe him, and when she was out of sight he stole from this nest of
assassins and took refuge in my house.

I dressed his wounds and tended him carefully, and when a month had
passed he was as well as ever.  His one thought was how to be revenged
on that wicked old hag, and for this purpose he had a purse made large
enough to contain five hundred gold pieces, but filled it instead with
bits of glass.  This he tied round him with his sash, and, disguising
himself as an old woman, he took a sabre, which he hid under his dress.

One morning as he was hobbling through the streets he met his old enemy
prowling to see if she could find anyone to decoy.  He went up to her
and, imitating the voice of a woman, he said, "Do you happen to have a
pair of scales you could lend me?  I have just come from Persia and
have brought with me five hundred gold pieces, and I am anxious to see
if they are the proper weight."

"Good woman," replied the old hag, "you could not have asked anyone
better.  My son is a money-changer, and if you will follow me he will
weigh them for you himself.  Only we must be quick or he will have gone
to his shop."  So saying she led the way to the same house as before,
and the door was opened by the same Greek slave.

Again my brother was left in the hall, and the pretended son appeared
under the form of the black slave.  "Miserable crone," he said to my
brother, "get up and come with me," and turned to lead the way to the
place of murder.  Alnaschar rose too, and drawing the sabre from under
his dress dealt the black such a blow on his neck that his head was
severed from his body.  My brother picked up the head with one hand,
and seizing the body with the other dragged it to the vault, when he
threw it in and sent the head after it.  The Greek slave, supposing
that all had passed as usual, shortly arrived with the basin of salt,
but when she beheld Alnaschar with the sabre in his hand she let the
basin fall and turned to fly.  My brother, however, was too quick for
her, and in another instant her head was rolling from her shoulders.
The noise brought the old woman running to see what was the matter, and
he seized her before she had time to escape.  "Wretch!" he cried, "do
you know me?"

"Who are you, my lord?" she replied trembling all over.  "I have never
seen you before."

"I am he whose house you entered to offer your hypocritical prayers.
Don't you remember now?"

She flung herself on her knees to implore mercy, but he cut her in four
pieces.

There remained only the lady, who was quite ignorant of all that was
taking place around her.  He sought her through the house, and when at
last he found her, she nearly fainted with terror at the sight of him.
She begged hard for life, which he was generous enough to give her, but
he bade her to tell him how she had got into partnership with the
abominable creatures he had just put to death.

"I was once," replied she, "the wife of an honest merchant, and that
old woman, whose wickedness I did not know, used occasionally to visit
me.  'Madam,' she said to me one day, 'we have a grand wedding at our
house to-day. If you would do us the honour to be present, I am sure
you would enjoy yourself.'  I allowed myself to be persuaded, put on my
richest dress, and took a purse with a hundred pieces of gold.  Once
inside the doors I was kept by force by that dreadful black, and it is
now three years that I have been here, to my great grief."

"That horrible black must have amassed great wealth," remarked my
brother.

"Such wealth," returned she, "that if you succeed in carrying it all
away it will make you rich for ever.  Come and let us see how much
there is."

She led Alnaschar into a chamber filled with coffers packed with gold,
which he gazed at with an admiration he was powerless to conceal.
"Go," she said, "and bring men to carry them away."

My brother did not wait to be told twice, and hurried out into the
streets, where he soon collected ten men.  They all came back to the
house, but what was his surprise to find the door open, and the room
with the chests of gold quite empty.  The lady had been cleverer than
himself, and had made the best use of her time.  However, he tried to
console himself by removing all the beautiful furniture, which more
than made up for the five hundred gold pieces he had lost.

Unluckily, on leaving the house, he forgot to lock the door, and the
neighbours, finding the place empty, informed the police, who next
morning arrested Alnaschar as a thief.  My brother tried to bribe them
to let him off, but far from listening to him they tied his hands, and
forced him to walk between them to the presence of the judge.  When
they had explained to the official the cause of complaint, he asked
Alnaschar where he had obtained all the furniture that he had taken to
his house the day before.

"Sir," replied Alnaschar, "I am ready to tell you the whole story, but
give, I pray you, your word, that I shall run no risk of punishment."

"That I promise," said the judge.  So my brother began at the beginning
and related all his adventures, and how he had avenged himself on those
who had betrayed him.  As to the furniture, he entreated the judge at
least to allow him to keep part to make up for the five hundred pieces
of gold which had been stolen from him.

The judge, however, would say nothing about this, and lost no time in
sending men to fetch away all that Alnaschar had taken from the house.
When everything had been moved and placed under his roof he ordered my
brother to leave the town and never more to enter it on peril of his
life, fearing that if he returned he might seek justice from the
Caliph.  Alnaschar obeyed, and was on his way to a neighbouring city
when he fell in with a band of robbers, who stripped him of his clothes
and left him naked by the roadside.  Hearing of his plight, I hurried
after him to console him for his misfortunes, and to dress him in my
best robe.  I then brought him back disguised, under cover of night, to
my house, where I have since given him all the care I bestow on my
other brothers.



The Story of the Barber's Sixth Brother


There now remains for me to relate to you the story of my sixth
brother, whose name was Schacabac.  Like the rest of us, he inherited a
hundred silver drachmas from our father, which he thought was a large
fortune, but through ill-luck, he soon lost it all, and was driven to
beg.  As he had a smooth tongue and good manners, he really did very
well in his new profession, and he devoted himself specially to making
friends with the servants in big houses, so as to gain access to their
masters.

One day he was passing a splendid mansion, with a crowd of servants
lounging in the courtyard.  He thought that from the appearance of the
house it might yield him a rich harvest, so he entered and inquired to
whom it belonged.

"My good man, where do you come from?" replied the servant.  "Can't you
see for yourself that it can belong to nobody but a Barmecide?" for the
Barmecides were famed for their liberality and generosity.  My brother,
hearing this, asked the porters, of whom there were several, if they
would give him alms.  They did not refuse, but told him politely to go
in, and speak to the master himself.

My brother thanked them for their courtesy and entered the building,
which was so large that it took him some time to reach the apartments
of the Barmecide.  At last, in a room richly decorated with paintings,
he saw an old man with a long white beard, sitting on a sofa, who
received him with such kindness that my brother was emboldened to make
his petition.

"My lord," he said, "you behold in me a poor man who only lives by the
help of persons as rich and as generous as you."

Before he could proceed further, he was stopped by the astonishment
shown by the Barmecide.  "Is it possible," he cried, "that while I am
in Bagdad, a man like you should be starving?  That is a state of
things that must at once be put an end to!  Never shall it be said that
I have abandoned you, and I am sure that you, on your part, will never
abandon me."

"My lord," answered my brother, "I swear that I have not broken my fast
this whole day."

"What, you are dying of hunger?" exclaimed the Barmecide.  "Here,
slave; bring water, that we may wash our hands before meat!" No slave
appeared, but my brother remarked that the Barmecide did not fail to
rub his hands as if the water had been poured over them.

Then he said to my brother, "Why don't you wash your hands too?" and
Schacabac, supposing that it was a joke on the part of the Barmecide
(though he could see none himself), drew near, and imitated his motion.

When the Barmecide had done rubbing his hands, he raised his voice, and
cried, "Set food before us at once, we are very hungry." No food was
brought, but the Barmecide pretended to help himself from a dish, and
carry a morsel to his mouth, saying as he did so, "Eat, my friend, eat,
I entreat.  Help yourself as freely as if you were at home!  For a
starving man, you seem to have a very small appetite."

"Excuse me, my lord," replied Schacabac, imitating his gestures as
before, "I really am not losing time, and I do full justice to the
repast."

"How do you like this bread?" asked the Barmecide.  "I find it
particularly good myself."

"Oh, my lord," answered my brother, who beheld neither meat nor bread,
"never have I tasted anything so delicious."

"Eat as much as you want," said the Barmecide.  "I bought the woman who
makes it for five hundred pieces of gold, so that I might never be
without it."

After ordering a variety of dishes (which never came) to be placed on
the table, and discussing the merits of each one, the Barmecide
declared that having dined so well, they would now proceed to take
their wine.  To this my brother at first objected, declaring that it
was forbidden; but on the Barmecide insisting that it was out of the
question that he should drink by himself, he consented to take a
little.  The Barmecide, however, pretended to fill their glasses so
often, that my brother feigned that the wine had gone into his head,
and struck the Barmecide such a blow on the head, that he fell to the
ground.  Indeed, he raised his hand to strike him a second time, when
the Barmecide cried out that he was mad, upon which my brother
controlled himself, and apologised and protested that it was all the
fault of the wine he had drunk.  At this the Barmecide, instead of
being angry, began to laugh, and embraced him heartily.  "I have long
been seeking," he exclaimed, "a man of your description, and henceforth
my house shall be yours.  You have had the good grace to fall in with
my humour, and to pretend to eat and to drink when nothing was there.
Now you shall be rewarded by a really good supper."

Then he clapped his hands, and all the dishes were brought that they
had tasted in imagination before and during the repast, slaves sang and
played on various instruments.  All the while Schacabac was treated by
the Barmecide as a familiar friend, and dressed in a garment out of his
own wardrobe.

Twenty years passed by, and my brother was still living with the
Barmecide, looking after his house, and managing his affairs.  At the
end of that time his generous benefactor died without heirs, so all his
possessions went to the prince.  They even despoiled my brother of
those that rightly belonged to him, and he, now as poor as he had ever
been in his life, decided to cast in his lot with a caravan of pilgrims
who were on their way to Mecca.  Unluckily, the caravan was attacked
and pillaged by the Bedouins, and the pilgrims were taken prisoners.
My brother became the slave of a man who beat him daily, hoping to
drive him to offer a ransom, although, as Schacabac pointed out, it was
quite useless trouble, as his relations were as poor as himself.  At
length the Bedouin grew tired of tormenting, and sent him on a camel to
the top of a high barren mountain, where he left him to take his
chance.  A passing caravan, on its way to Bagdad, told me where he was
to be found, and I hurried to his rescue, and brought him in a
deplorable condition back to the town.

"This,"--continued the barber,--"is the tale I related to the Caliph,
who, when I had finished, burst into fits of laughter.

"Well were you called `the Silent,'" said he; "no name was ever better
deserved.  But for reasons of my own, which it is not necessary to
mention, I desire you to leave the town, and never to come back."

"I had of course no choice but to obey, and travelled about for several
years until I heard of the death of the Caliph, when I hastily returned
to Bagdad, only to find that all my brothers were dead.  It was at this
time that I rendered to the young cripple the important service of
which you have heard, and for which, as you know, he showed such
profound ingratitude, that he preferred rather to leave Bagdad than to
run the risk of seeing me.  I sought him long from place to place, but
it was only to-day, when I expected it least, that I came across him,
as much irritated with me as ever"--  So saying the tailor went on to
relate the story of the lame man and the barber, which has already been
told.

"When the barber," he continued, "had finished his tale, we came to the
conclusion that the young man had been right, when he had accused him
of being a great chatter-box. However, we wished to keep him with us,
and share our feast, and we remained at table till the hour of
afternoon prayer.  Then the company broke up, and I went back to work
in my shop.

"It was during this interval that the little hunchback, half drunk
already, presented himself before me, singing and playing on his drum.
I took him home, to amuse my wife, and she invited him to supper.
While eating some fish, a bone got into his throat, and in spite of all
we could do, he died shortly.  It was all so sudden that we lost our
heads, and in order to divert suspicion from ourselves, we carried the
body to the house of a Jewish physician.  He placed it in the chamber
of the purveyor, and the purveyor propped it up in the street, where it
was thought to have been killed by the merchant.

"This, Sire, is the story which I was obliged to tell to satisfy your
highness.  It is now for you to say if we deserve mercy or punishment;
life or death?"

The Sultan of Kashgar listened with an air of pleasure which filled the
tailor and his friends with hope.  "I must confess," he exclaimed,
"that I am much more interested in the stories of the barber and his
brothers, and of the lame man, than in that of my own jester.  But
before I allow you all four to return to your own homes, and have the
corpse of the hunchback properly buried, I should like to see this
barber who has earned your pardon.  And as he is in this town, let an
usher go with you at once in search of him."

The usher and the tailor soon returned, bringing with them an old man
who must have been at least ninety years of age.  "O Silent One," said
the Sultan, "I am told that you know many strange stories.  Will you
tell some of them to me?"

"Never mind my stories for the present," replied the barber, "but will
your Highness graciously be pleased to explain why this Jew, this
Christian, and this Mussulman, as well as this dead body, are all here?"

"What business is that of yours?" asked the Sultan with a smile; but
seeing that the barber had some reasons for his question, he commanded
that the tale of the hunchback should be told him.

"It is certainly most surprising," cried he, when he had heard it all,
"but I should like to examine the body."  He then knelt down, and took
the head on his knees, looking at it attentively.  Suddenly he burst
into such loud laughter that he fell right backwards, and when he had
recovered himself enough to speak, he turned to the Sultan.  "The man
is no more dead than I am," he said; "watch me."  As he spoke he drew a
small case of medicines from his pocket and rubbed the neck of the
hunchback with some ointment made of balsam.  Next he opened the dead
man's mouth, and by the help of a pair of pincers drew the bone from
his throat.  At this the hunchback sneezed, stretched himself and
opened his eyes.

The Sultan and all those who saw this operation did not know which to
admire most, the constitution of the hunchback who had apparently been
dead for a whole night and most of one day, or the skill of the barber,
whom everyone now began to look upon as a great man.  His Highness
desired that the history of the hunchback should be written down, and
placed in the archives beside that of the barber, so that they might be
associated in people's minds to the end of time.  And he did not stop
there; for in order to wipe out the memory of what they had undergone,
he commanded that the tailor, the doctor, the purveyor and the
merchant, should each be clothed in his presence with a robe from his
own wardrobe before they returned home.  As for the barber, he bestowed
on him a large pension, and kept him near his own person.



The Adventures of Prince Camaralzaman and the Princess Badoura


Some twenty days' sail from the coast of Persia lies the isle of the
children of Khaledan.  The island is divided into several provinces, in
each of which are large flourishing towns, and the whole forms an
important kingdom.  It was governed in former days by a king named
Schahzaman, who, with good right, considered himself one of the most
peaceful, prosperous, and fortunate monarchs on the earth.  In fact, he
had but one grievance, which was that none of his four wives had given
him an heir.

This distressed him so greatly that one day he confided his grief to
the grand-vizir, who, being a wise counsellor, said:  "Such matters are
indeed beyond human aid.  Allah alone can grant your desire, and I
should advise you, sire, to send large gifts to those holy men who
spend their lives in prayer, and to beg for their intercessions.  Who
knows whether their petitions may not be answered!"

The king took his vizir's advice, and the result of so many prayers for
an heir to the throne was that a son was born to him the following year.

Schahzaman sent noble gifts as thank offerings to all the mosques and
religious houses, and great rejoicings were celebrated in honour of the
birth of the little prince, who was so beautiful that he was named
Camaralzaman, or "Moon of the Century."

Prince Camaralzaman was brought up with extreme care by an excellent
governor and all the cleverest teachers, and he did such credit to them
that when he was grown up, a more charming and accomplished young man
was not to be found.  Whilst he was still a youth the king, his father,
who loved him dearly, had some thoughts of abdicating in his favour.
As usual he talked over his plans with his grand-vizir, who, though he
did not approve the idea, would not state all his objections.

"Sire," he replied, "the prince is still very young for the cares of
state.  Your Majesty fears his growing idle and careless, and doubtless
you are right.  But how would it be if he were first to marry?  This
would attach him to his home, and your Majesty might give him a share
in your counsels, so that he might gradually learn how to wear a crown,
which you can give up to him whenever you find him capable of wearing
it."

The vizir's advice once more struck the king as being good, and he sent
for his son, who lost no time in obeying the summons, and standing
respectfully with downcast eyes before the king asked for his commands.

"I have sent for you," said the king, "to say that I wish you to marry.
What do you think about it?"

The prince was so much overcome by these words that he remained silent
for some time.  At length he said:  "Sire, I beg you to pardon me if I
am unable to reply as you might wish.  I certainly did not expect such
a proposal as I am still so young, and I confess that the idea of
marrying is very distasteful to me.  Possibly I may not always be in
this mind, but I certainly feel that it will require some time to
induce me to take the step which your Majesty desires."

This answer greatly distressed the king, who was sincerely grieved by
his objection to marriage.  However he would not have recourse to
extreme measures, so he said:  "I do not wish to force you; I will give
you time to reflect, but remember that such a step is necessary, for a
prince such as you who will some day be called to rule over a great
kingdom."

From this time Prince Camaralzaman was admitted to the royal council,
and the king showed him every mark of favour.

At the end of a year the king took his son aside, and said: "Well, my
son, have you changed your mind on the subject of marriage, or do you
still refuse to obey my wish?"

The prince was less surprised but no less firm than on the former
occasion, and begged his father not to press the subject, adding that
it was quite useless to urge him any longer.

This answer much distressed the king, who again confided his trouble to
his vizir.

"I have followed your advice," he said; "but Camaralzaman declines to
marry, and is more obstinate than ever."

"Sire," replied the vizir, "much is gained by patience, and your
Majesty might regret any violence.  Why not wait another year and then
inform the Prince in the midst of the assembled council that the good
of the state demands his marriage?  He cannot possibly refuse again
before so distinguished an assemblage, and in our immediate presence."

The Sultan ardently desired to see his son married at once, but he
yielded to the vizir's arguments and decided to wait.  He then visited
the prince's mother, and after telling her of his disappointment and of
the further respite he had given his son, he added: "I know that
Camaralzaman confides more in you than he does in me.  Pray speak very
seriously to him on this subject, and make him realize that he will
most seriously displease me if he remains obstinate, and that he will
certainly regret the measures I shall be obliged to take to enforce my
will."

So the first time the Sultana Fatima saw her son she told him she had
heard of his refusal to marry, adding how distressed she felt that he
should have vexed his father so much.  She asked what reasons he could
have for his objections to obey.

"Madam," replied the prince, "I make no doubt that there are as many
good, virtuous, sweet, and amiable women as there are others very much
the reverse.  Would that all were like you!  But what revolts me is the
idea of marrying a woman without knowing anything at all about her.  My
father will ask the hand of the daughter of some neighbouring
sovereign, who will give his consent to our union.  Be she fair or
frightful, clever or stupid, good or bad, I must marry her, and am left
no choice in the matter.  How am I to know that she will not be proud,
passionate, contemptuous, and recklessly extravagant, or that her
disposition will in any way suit mine?"

"But, my son," urged Fatima, "you surely do not wish to be the last of
a race which has reigned so long and so gloriously over this kingdom?"

"Madam," said the prince, "I have no wish to survive the king, my
father, but should I do so I will try to reign in such a manner as may
be considered worthy of my predecessors."

These and similar conversations proved to the Sultan how useless it was
to argue with his son, and the year elapsed without bringing any change
in the prince's ideas.

At length a day came when the Sultan summoned him before the council,
and there informed him that not only his own wishes but the good of the
empire demanded his marriage, and desired him to give his answer before
the assembled ministers.

At this Camaralzaman grew so angry and spoke with so much heat that the
king, naturally irritated at being opposed by his son in full council,
ordered the prince to be arrested and locked up in an old tower, where
he had nothing but a very little furniture, a few books, and a single
slave to wait on him.

Camaralzaman, pleased to be free to enjoy his books, showed himself
very indifferent to his sentence.

When night came he washed himself, performed his devotions, and, having
read some pages of the Koran, lay down on a couch, without putting out
the light near him, and was soon asleep.

Now there was a deep well in the tower in which Prince Camaralzaman was
imprisoned, and this well was a favourite resort of the fairy Maimoune,
daughter of Damriat, chief of a legion of genii.  Towards midnight
Maimoune floated lightly up from the well, intending, according to her
usual habit, to roam about the upper world as curiosity or accident
might prompt.

The light in the prince's room surprised her, and without disturbing
the slave, who slept across the threshold, she entered the room, and
approaching the bed was still more astonished to find it occupied.

The prince lay with his face half hidden by the coverlet.  Maimoune
lifted it a little and beheld the most beautiful youth she had ever
seen.

"What a marvel of beauty he must be when his eyes are open!" she
thought.  "What can he have done to deserve to be treated like this?"

She could not weary gazing at Camaralzaman, but at length, having
softly kissed his brow and each cheek, she replaced the coverlet and
resumed her flight through the air.

As she entered the middle region she heard the sound of great wings
coming towards her, and shortly met one of the race of bad genii.  This
genie, whose name was Danhasch, recognised Maimoune with terror, for he
knew the supremacy which her goodness gave her over him.  He would
gladly have avoided her altogether, but they were so near that he must
either be prepared to fight or yield to her, so he at once addressed
her in a conciliatory tone:

"Good Maimoune, swear to me by Allah to do me no harm, and on my side I
will promise not to injure you."

"Accursed genie!" replied Maimoune, "what harm can you do me?  But I
will grant your power and give the promise you ask.  And now tell me
what you have seen and done to-night."

"Fair lady," said Danhasch, "you meet me at the right moment to hear
something really interesting.  I must tell you that I come from the
furthest end of China, which is one of the largest and most powerful
kingdoms in the world.  The present king has one only daughter, who is
so perfectly lovely that neither you, nor I, nor any other creature
could find adequate terms in which to describe her marvellous charms.
You must therefore picture to yourself the most perfect features,
joined to a brilliant and delicate complexion, and an enchanting
expression, and even then imagination will fall short of the reality.

"The king, her father, has carefully shielded this treasure from the
vulgar gaze, and has taken every precaution to keep her from the sight
of everyone except the happy mortal he may choose to be her husband.
But in order to give her variety in her confinement he has built her
seven palaces such as have never been seen before.  The first palace is
entirely composed of rock crystal, the second of bronze, the third of
fine steel, the fourth of another and more precious species of bronze,
the fifth of touchstone, the sixth of silver, and the seventh of solid
gold.  They are all most sumptuously furnished, whilst the gardens
surrounding them are laid out with exquisite taste.  In fact, neither
trouble nor cost has been spared to make this retreat agreeable to the
princess.  The report of her wonderful beauty has spread far and wide,
and many powerful kings have sent embassies to ask her hand in
marriage.  The king has always received these embassies graciously, but
says that he will never oblige the princess to marry against her will,
and as she regularly declines each fresh proposal, the envoys have had
to leave as disappointed in the result of their missions as they were
gratified by their magnificent receptions."

"Sire," said the princess to her father, "you wish me to marry, and I
know you desire to please me, for which I am very grateful.  But,
indeed, I have no inclination to change my state, for where could I
find so happy a life amidst so many beautiful and delightful
surroundings?  I feel that I could never be as happy with any husband
as I am here, and I beg you not to press one on me."

"At last an embassy came from a king so rich and powerful that the King
of China felt constrained to urge this suit on his daughter.  He told
her how important such an alliance would be, and pressed her to
consent.  In fact, he pressed her so persistingly that the princess at
length lost her temper and quite forgot the respect due to her father.
"Sire," cried she angrily, "do not speak further of this or any other
marriage or I will plunge this dagger in my breast and so escape from
all these importunities."

"The king of China was extremely indignant with his daughter and
replied: "You have lost your senses and you must be treated
accordingly." So he had her shut in one set of rooms in one of her
palaces, and only allowed her ten old women, of whom her nurse was the
head, to wait on her and keep her company.  He next sent letters to all
the kings who had sued for the princess's hand, begging they would
think of her no longer, as she was quite insane, and he desired his
various envoys to make it known that anyone who could cure her should
have her to wife.

"Fair Maimoune," continued Danhasch, "this is the present state of
affairs.  I never pass a day without going to gaze on this incomparable
beauty, and I am sure that if you would only accompany me you would
think the sight well worth the trouble, and own that you never saw such
loveliness before."

The fairy only answered with a peal of laughter, and when at length she
had control of her voice she cried, "Oh, come, you are making game of
me!  I thought you had something really interesting to tell me instead
of raving about some unknown damsel.  What would you say if you could
see the prince I have just been looking at and whose beauty is really
transcendent?  That is something worth talking about, you would
certainly quite lose your head."

"Charming Maimoune," asked Danhasch, "may I inquire who and what is the
prince of whom you speak?"

"Know," replied Maimoune, "that he is in much the same case as your
princess.  The king, his father, wanted to force him to marry, and on
the prince's refusal to obey he has been imprisoned in an old tower
where I have just seen him."

"I don't like to contradict a lady," said Danhasch, "but you must
really permit me to doubt any mortal being as beautiful as my princess."

"Hold your tongue," cried Maimoune.  "I repeat that is impossible."

"Well, I don't wish to seem obstinate," replied Danhasch, "the best
plan to test the truth of what I say will be for you to let me take you
to see the princess for yourself."

"There is no need for that," retorted Maimoune; "we can satisfy
ourselves in another way.  Bring your princess here and lay her down
beside my prince.  We can then compare them at leisure, and decide
which is in the right."

Danhasch readily consented, and after having the tower where the prince
was confined pointed out to him, and making a wager with Maimoune as to
the result of the comparison, he flew off to China to fetch the
princess.

In an incredibly short time Danhasch returned, bearing the sleeping
princess.  Maimoune led him to the prince's room, and the rival beauty
was placed beside him.

When the prince and princess lay thus side by side, an animated dispute
as to their respective charms arose between the fairy and the genius.
Danhasch began by saying:

"Now you see that my princess is more beautiful than your prince.  Can
you doubt any longer?"

"Doubt!  Of course I do!" exclaimed Maimoune.  "Why, you must be blind
not to see how much my prince excels your princess.  I do not deny that
your princess is very handsome, but only look and you must own that I
am in the right."

"There is no need for me to look longer," said Danhasch, "my first
impression will remain the same; but of course, charming Maimoune, I am
ready to yield to you if you insist on it."

"By no means," replied Maimoune.  "I have no idea of being under any
obligation to an accursed genius like you.  I refer the matter to an
umpire, and shall expect you to submit to his verdict."

Danhasch readily agreed, and on Maimoune striking the floor with her
foot it opened, and a hideous, hump-backed, lame, squinting genius,
with six horns on his head, hands like claws, emerged.  As soon as he
beheld Maimoune he threw himself at her feet and asked her commands.

"Rise, Caschcasch," said she.  "I summoned you to judge between me and
Danhasch.  Glance at that couch, and say without any partiality whether
you think the youth or the maiden lying there the more beautiful."

Caschcasch looked at the prince and princess with every token of
surprise and admiration.  At length, having gazed long without being
able to come to a decision, he said

"Madam, I must confess that I should deceive you were I to declare one
to be handsomer than the other.  There seems to me only one way in
which to decide the matter, and that is to wake one after the other and
judge which of them expresses the greater admiration for the other."

This advice pleased Maimoune and Danhasch, and the fairy at once
transformed herself into the shape of a gnat and settling on
Camaralzaman's throat stung him so sharply that he awoke.  As he did so
his eyes fell on the Princess of China.  Surprised at finding a lady so
near him, he raised himself on one arm to look at her.  The youth and
beauty of the princess at once awoke a feeling to which his heart had
as yet been a stranger, and he could not restrain his delight.

"What loveliness!  What charms!  Oh, my heart, my soul!" he exclaimed,
as he kissed her forehead, her eyes and mouth in a way which would
certainly have roused her had not the genie's enchantments kept her
asleep.

"How, fair lady!" he cried, "you do not wake at the signs of
Camaralzaman's love?  Be you who you may, he is not unworthy of you."

It then suddenly occurred to him, that perhaps this was the bride his
father had destined for him, and that the King had probably had her
placed in this room in order to see how far Camaralzaman's aversion to
marriage would withstand her charms.

"At all events," he thought, "I will take this ring as a remembrance of
her."

So saying he drew off a fine ring which the princess wore on her
finger, and replaced it by one of his own.  After which he lay down
again and was soon fast asleep.

Then Danhasch, in his turn, took the form of a gnat and bit the
princess on her lip.

She started up, and was not a little amazed at seeing a young man
beside her.  From surprise she soon passed to admiration, and then to
delight on perceiving how handsome and fascinating he was.

"Why," cried she, "was it you my father wished me to marry?  How
unlucky that I did not know sooner!  I should not have made him so
angry.  But wake up! wake up! for I know I shall love you with all my
heart."

So saying she shook Camaralzaman so violently that nothing but the
spells of Maimoune could have prevented his waking.

"Oh!" cried the princess.  "Why are you so drowsy?"  So saying she took
his hand and noticed her own ring on his finger, which made her wonder
still more.  But as he still remained in a profound slumber she pressed
a kiss on his cheek and soon fell fast asleep too.

Then Maimoune turning to the genie said:  "Well, are you satisfied that
my prince surpasses your princess?  Another time pray believe me when I
assert anything."

Then turning to Caschcasch:  "My thanks to you, and now do you and
Danhasch bear the princess back to her own home."

The two genii hastened to obey, and Maimoune returned to her well.

On waking next morning the first thing Prince Camaralzaman did was to
look round for the lovely lady he had seen at night, and the next to
question the slave who waited on him about her.  But the slave
persisted so strongly that he knew nothing of any lady, and still less
of how she got into the tower, that the prince lost all patience, and
after giving him a good beating tied a rope round him and ducked him in
the well till the unfortunate man cried out that he would tell
everything.  Then the prince drew him up all dripping wet, but the
slave begged leave to change his clothes first, and as soon as the
prince consented hurried off just as he was to the palace.  Here he
found the king talking to the grand-vizir of all the anxiety his son
had caused him.  The slave was admitted at once and cried:

"Alas, Sire!  I bring sad news to your Majesty.  There can be no doubt
that the prince has completely lost his senses.  He declares that he
saw a lady sleeping on his couch last night, and the state you see me
in proves how violent contradiction makes him." He then gave a minute
account of all the prince had said and done.

The king, much moved, begged the vizir to examine into this new
misfortune, and the latter at once went to the tower, where he found
the prince quietly reading a book.  After the first exchange of
greetings the vizir said:

"I feel really very angry with your slave for alarming his Majesty by
the news he brought him."

"What news?" asked the prince.

"Ah!" replied the vizir, "something absurd, I feel sure, seeing how I
find you."

"Most likely," said the prince; "but now that you are here I am glad of
the opportunity to ask you where is the lady who slept in this room
last night?"

The grand-vizir felt beside himself at this question.

"Prince!" he exclaimed, "how would it be possible for any man, much
less a woman, to enter this room at night without walking over your
slave on the threshold?  Pray consider the matter, and you will realise
that you have been deeply impressed by some dream."

But the prince angrily insisted on knowing who and where the lady was,
and was not to be persuaded by all the vizir's protestations to the
contrary that the plot had not been one of his making.  At last, losing
patience, he seized the vizir by the beard and loaded him with blows.

"Stop, Prince," cried the unhappy vizir, "stay and hear what I have to
say."

The prince, whose arm was getting tired, paused.

"I confess, Prince," said the vizir, "that there is some foundation for
what you say.  But you know well that a minister has to carry out his
master's orders.  Allow me to go and to take to the king any message
you may choose to send."

"Very well," said the prince; "then go and tell him that I consent to
marry the lady whom he sent or brought here last night.  Be quick and
bring me back his answer."

The vizir bowed to the ground and hastened to leave the room and tower.

"Well," asked the king as soon as he appeared, "and how did you find my
son?"

"Alas, sire," was the reply, "the slave's report is only too true!"

He then gave an exact account of his interview with Camaralzaman and of
the prince's fury when told that it was not possible for any lady to
have entered his room, and of the treatment he himself had received.
The king, much distressed, determined to clear up the matter himself,
and, ordering the vizir to follow him, set out to visit his son.

The prince received his father with profound respect, and the king,
making him sit beside him, asked him several questions, to which
Camaralzaman replied with much good sense.  At last the king said: "My
son, pray tell me about the lady who, it is said, was in your room last
night."

"Sire," replied the prince, "pray do not increase my distress in this
matter, but rather make me happy by giving her to me in marriage.
However much I may have objected to matrimony formerly, the sight of
this lovely girl has overcome all my prejudices, and I will gratefully
receive her from your hands."

The king was almost speechless on hearing his son, but after a time
assured him most solemnly that he knew nothing whatever about the lady
in question, and had not connived at her appearance.  He then desired
the prince to relate the whole story to him.

Camaralzaman did so at great length, showed the ring, and implored his
father to help to find the bride he so ardently desired.

"After all you tell me," remarked the king, "I can no longer doubt your
word; but how and whence the lady came, or why she should have stayed
so short a time I cannot imagine.  The whole affair is indeed
mysterious.  Come, my dear son, let us wait together for happier days."

So saying the king took Camaralzaman by the hand and led him back to
the palace, where the prince took to his bed and gave himself up to
despair, and the king shutting himself up with his son entirely
neglected the affairs of state.

The prime minister, who was the only person admitted, felt it his duty
at last to tell the king how much the court and all the people
complained of his seclusion, and how bad it was for the nation.  He
urged the sultan to remove with the prince to a lovely little island
close by, whence he could easily attend public audiences, and where the
charming scenery and fine air would do the invalid so much good as to
enable him to bear his father's occasional absence.

The king approved the plan, and as soon as the castle on the island
could be prepared for their reception he and the prince arrived there,
Schahzaman never leaving his son except for the prescribed public
audiences twice a week.

Whilst all this was happening in the capital of Schahzaman the two
genii had carefully borne the Princess of China back to her own palace
and replaced her in bed.  On waking next morning she first turned from
one side to another and then, finding herself alone, called loudly for
her women.

"Tell me," she cried, "where is the young man I love so dearly, and who
slept near me last night?"

"Princess," exclaimed the nurse, "we cannot tell what you allude to
without more explanation."

"Why," continued the princess, "the most charming and beautiful young
man lay sleeping beside me last night.  I did my utmost to wake him,
but in vain."

"Your Royal Highness wishes to make game of us," said the nurse.  "Is
it your pleasure to rise?"

"I am quite in earnest," persisted the princess, "and I want to know
where he is."

"But, Princess," expostulated the nurse, "we left you quite alone last
night, and we have seen no one enter your room since then."

At this the princess lost all patience, and taking the nurse by her
hair she boxed her ears soundly, crying out:  "You shall tell me, you
old witch, or I'll kill you."

The nurse had no little trouble in escaping, and hurried off to the
queen, to whom she related the whole story with tears in her eyes.

"You see, madam," she concluded, "that the princess must be out of her
mind.  If only you will come and see her, you will be able to judge for
yourself."

The queen hurried to her daughter's apartments, and after tenderly
embracing her, asked her why she had treated her nurse so badly.

"Madam," said the princess, "I perceive that your Majesty wishes to
make game of me, but I can assure you that I will never marry anyone
except the charming young man whom I saw last night.  You must know
where he is, so pray send for him."

The queen was much surprised by these words, but when she declared that
she knew nothing whatever of the matter the princess lost all respect,
and answered that if she were not allowed to marry as she wished she
should kill herself, and it was in vain that the queen tried to pacify
her and bring her to reason.

The king himself came to hear the rights of the matter, but the
princess only persisted in her story, and as a proof showed the ring on
her finger.  The king hardly knew what to make of it all, but ended by
thinking that his daughter was more crazy than ever, and without
further argument he had her placed in still closer confinement, with
only her nurse to wait on her and a powerful guard to keep the door.

Then he assembled his council, and having told them the sad state of
things, added:  "If any of you can succeed in curing the princess, I
will give her to him in marriage, and he shall be my heir."

An elderly emir present, fired with the desire to possess a young and
lovely wife and to rule over a great kingdom, offered to try the magic
arts with which he was acquainted.

"You are welcome to try," said the king, "but I make one condition,
which is, that should you fail you will lose your life."

The emir accepted the condition, and the king led him to the princess,
who, veiling her face, remarked, "I am surprised, sire, that you should
bring an unknown man into my presence."

"You need not be shocked," said the king; "this is one of my emirs who
asks your hand in marriage."

"Sire," replied the princess, "this is not the one you gave me before
and whose ring I wear.  Permit me to say that I can accept no other."

The emir, who had expected to hear the princess talk nonsense, finding
how calm and reasonable she was, assured the king that he could not
venture to undertake a cure, but placed his head at his Majesty's
disposal, on which the justly irritated monarch promptly had it cut off.

This was the first of many suitors for the princess whose inability to
cure her cost them their lives.

Now it happened that after things had been going on in this way for
some time the nurse's son Marzavan returned from his travels.  He had
been in many countries and learnt many things, including astrology.
Needless to say that one of the first things his mother told him was
the sad condition of the princess, his foster-sister. Marzavan asked if
she could not manage to let him see the princess without the king's
knowledge.

After some consideration his mother consented, and even persuaded the
eunuch on guard to make no objection to Marzavan's entering the royal
apartment.

The princess was delighted to see her foster-brother again, and after
some conversation she confided to him all her history and the cause of
her imprisonment.

Marzavan listened with downcast eyes and the utmost attention.  When
she had finished speaking he said,

"If what you tell me, Princess, is indeed the case, I do not despair of
finding comfort for you.  Take patience yet a little longer.  I will
set out at once to explore other countries, and when you hear of my
return be sure that he for whom you sigh is not far off." So saying, he
took his leave and started next morning on his travels.

Marzavan journeyed from city to city and from one island and province
to another, and wherever he went he heard people talk of the strange
story of the Princess Badoura, as the Princess of China was named.

After four months he reached a large populous seaport town named Torf,
and here he heard no more of the Princess Badoura but a great deal of
Prince Camaralzaman, who was reported ill, and whose story sounded very
similar to that of the Princess Badoura.

Marzavan was rejoiced, and set out at once for Prince Camaralzaman's
residence.  The ship on which he embarked had a prosperous voyage till
she got within sight of the capital of King Schahzaman, but when just
about to enter the harbour she suddenly struck on a rock, and foundered
within sight of the palace where the prince was living with his father
and the grand-vizir.

Marzavan, who swam well, threw himself into the sea and managed to land
close to the palace, where he was kindly received, and after having a
change of clothing given him was brought before the grand-vizir. The
vizir was at once attracted by the young man's superior air and
intelligent conversation, and perceiving that he had gained much
experience in the course of his travels, he said, "Ah, how I wish you
had learnt some secret which might enable you to cure a malady which
has plunged this court into affliction for some time past!"

Marzavan replied that if he knew what the illness was he might possibly
be able to suggest a remedy, on which the vizir related to him the
whole history of Prince Camaralzaman.

On hearing this Marzavan rejoiced inwardly, for he felt sure that he
had at last discovered the object of the Princess Badoura's
infatuation.  However, he said nothing, but begged to be allowed to see
the prince.

On entering the royal apartment the first thing which struck him was
the prince himself, who lay stretched out on his bed with his eyes
closed.  The king sat near him, but, without paying any regard to his
presence, Marzavan exclaimed, "Heavens! what a striking likeness!"
And, indeed, there was a good deal of resemblance between the features
of Camaralzaman and those of the Princess of China.

These words caused the prince to open his eyes with languid curiosity,
and Marzavan seized this moment to pay him his compliments, contriving
at the same time to express the condition of the Princess of China in
terms unintelligible, indeed, to the Sultan and his vizir, but which
left the prince in no doubt that his visitor could give him some
welcome information.

The prince begged his father to allow him the favour of a private
interview with Marzavan, and the king was only too pleased to find his
son taking an interest in anyone or anything.  As soon as they were
left alone Marzavan told the prince the story of the Princess Badoura
and her sufferings, adding, "I am convinced that you alone can cure
her; but before starting on so long a journey you must be well and
strong, so do your best to recover as quickly as may be."

These words produced a great effect on the prince, who was so much
cheered by the hopes held out that he declared he felt able to get up
and be dressed.  The king was overjoyed at the result of Marzavan's
interview, and ordered public rejoicings in honour of the prince's
recovery.

Before long the prince was quite restored to his original state of
health, and as soon as he felt himself really strong he took Marzavan
aside and said:

"Now is the time to perform your promise.  I am so impatient to see my
beloved princess once more that I am sure I shall fall ill again if we
do not start soon.  The one obstacle is my father's tender care of me,
for, as you may have noticed, he cannot bear me out of his sight."

"Prince," replied Marzavan, "I have already thought over the matter,
and this is what seems to me the best plan.  You have not been out of
doors since my arrival.  Ask the king's permission to go with me for
two or three days' hunting, and when he has given leave order two good
horses to be held ready for each of us.  Leave all the rest to me."

Next day the prince seized a favourable opportunity for making his
request, and the king gladly granted it on condition that only one
night should be spent out for fear of too great fatigue after such a
long illness.

Next morning Prince Camaralzaman and Marzavan were off betimes,
attended by two grooms leading the two extra horses.  They hunted a
little by the way, but took care to get as far from the towns as
possible.  At night-fall they reached an inn, where they supped and
slept till midnight.  Then Marzavan awoke and roused the prince without
disturbing anyone else.  He begged the prince to give him the coat he
had been wearing and to put on another which they had brought with
them.  They mounted their second horses, and Marzavan led one of the
grooms' horses by the bridle.

By daybreak our travellers found themselves where four cross roads met
in the middle of the forest.  Here Marzavan begged the prince to wait
for him, and leading the groom's horse into a dense part of the wood he
cut its throat, dipped the prince's coat in its blood, and having
rejoined the prince threw the coat on the ground where the roads parted.

In answer to Camaralzaman's inquiries as to the reason for this,
Marzavan replied that the only chance they had of continuing their
journey was to divert attention by creating the idea of the prince's
death.  "Your father will doubtless be plunged in the deepest grief,"
he went on, "but his joy at your return will be all the greater."

The prince and his companion now continued their journey by land and
sea, and as they had brought plenty of money to defray their expenses
they met with no needless delays.  At length they reached the capital
of China, where they spent three days in a suitable lodging to recover
from their fatigues.

During this time Marzavan had an astrologer's dress prepared for the
prince.  They then went to the baths, after which the prince put on the
astrologer's robe and was conducted within sight of the king's palace
by Marzavan, who left him there and went to consult his mother, the
princess's nurse.

Meantime the prince, according to Marzavan's instructions, advanced
close to the palace gates and there proclaimed aloud:

"I am an astrologer and I come to restore health to the Princess
Badoura, daughter of the high and mighty King of China, on the
conditions laid down by His Majesty of marrying her should I succeed,
or of losing my life if I fail."

It was some little time since anyone had presented himself to run the
terrible risk involved in attempting to cure the princess, and a crowd
soon gathered round the prince.  On perceiving his youth, good looks,
and distinguished bearing, everyone felt pity for him.

"What are you thinking of, sir," exclaimed some; "why expose yourself
to certain death?  Are not the heads you see exposed on the town wall
sufficient warning?  For mercy's sake give up this mad idea and retire
whilst you can."

But the prince remained firm, and only repeated his cry with greater
assurance, to the horror of the crowd.

"He is resolved to die!" they cried; "may heaven have pity on him!"

Camaralzaman now called out for the third time, and at last the
grand-vizir himself came out and fetched him in.

The prime minister led the prince to the king, who was much struck by
the noble air of this new adventurer, and felt such pity for the fate
so evidently in store for him, that he tried to persuade the young man
to renounce his project.

But Camaralzaman politely yet firmly persisted in his intentions, and
at length the king desired the eunuch who had the guard of the
princess's apartments to conduct the astrologer to her presence.

The eunuch led the way through long passages, and Camaralzaman followed
rapidly, in haste to reach the object of his desires.  At last they
came to a large hall which was the ante-room to the princess's chamber,
and here Camaralzaman said to the eunuch:

"Now you shall choose.  Shall I cure the princess in her own presence,
or shall I do it from here without seeing her?"

The eunuch, who had expressed many contemptuous doubts as they came
along of the newcomer's powers, was much surprised and said:

"If you really can cure, it is immaterial when you do it.  Your fame
will be equally great."

"Very well," replied the prince:  "then, impatient though I am to see
the princess, I will effect the cure where I stand, the better to
convince you of my power."  He accordingly drew out his writing case
and wrote as follows--"Adorable princess!  The enamoured Camaralzaman
has never forgotten the moment when, contemplating your sleeping
beauty, he gave you his heart.  As he was at that time deprived of the
happiness of conversing with you, he ventured to give you his ring as a
token of his love, and to take yours in exchange, which he now encloses
in this letter.  Should you deign to return it to him he will be the
happiest of mortals, if not he will cheerfully resign himself to death,
seeing he does so for love of you.  He awaits your reply in your
ante-room."

Having finished this note the prince carefully enclosed the ring in it
without letting the eunuch see it, and gave him the letter, saying:

"Take this to your mistress, my friend, and if on reading it and seeing
its contents she is not instantly cured, you may call me an impudent
impostor."

The eunuch at once passed into the princess's room, and handing her the
letter said:

"Madam, a new astrologer has arrived, who declares that you will be
cured as soon as you have read this letter and seen what it contains."

The princess took the note and opened it with languid indifference.
But no sooner did she see her ring than, barely glancing at the
writing, she rose hastily and with one bound reached the doorway and
pushed back the hangings.  Here she and the prince recognised each
other, and in a moment they were locked in each other's arms, where
they tenderly embraced, wondering how they came to meet at last after
so long a separation.  The nurse, who had hastened after her charge,
drew them back to the inner room, where the princess restored her ring
to Camaralzaman.

"Take it back," she said, "I could not keep it without returning yours
to you, and I am resolved to wear that as long as I live."

Meantime the eunuch had hastened back to the king.  "Sire," he cried,
"all the former doctors and astrologers were mere quacks.  This man has
cured the princess without even seeing her." He then told all to the
king, who, overjoyed, hastened to his daughter's apartments, where,
after embracing her, he placed her hand in that of the prince, saying:

"Happy stranger, I keep my promise, and give you my daughter to wife,
be you who you may.  But, if I am not much mistaken, your condition is
above what you appear to be."

The prince thanked the king in the warmest and most respectful terms,
and added:  "As regards my person, your Majesty has rightly guessed
that I am not an astrologer.  It is but a disguise which I assumed in
order to merit your illustrious alliance.  I am myself a prince, my
name is Camaralzaman, and my father is Schahzaman, King of the Isles of
the Children of Khaledan."  He then told his whole history, including
the extraordinary manner of his first seeing and loving the Princess
Badoura.

When he had finished the king exclaimed:  "So remarkable a story must
not be lost to posterity.  It shall be inscribed in the archives of my
kingdom and published everywhere abroad."

The wedding took place next day amidst great pomp and rejoicings.
Marzavan was not forgotten, but was given a lucrative post at court,
with a promise of further advancement.

The prince and princess were now entirely happy, and months slipped by
unconsciously in the enjoyment of each other's society.

One night, however, Prince Camaralzaman dreamt that he saw his father
lying at the point of death, and saying:  "Alas! my son whom I loved so
tenderly, has deserted me and is now causing my death."

The prince woke with such a groan as to startle the princess, who asked
what was the matter.

"Ah!" cried the prince, "at this very moment my father is perhaps no
more!" and he told his dream.

The princess said but little at the time, but next morning she went to
the king, and kissing his hand said:

"I have a favour to ask of your Majesty, and I beg you to believe that
it is in no way prompted by my husband.  It is that you will allow us
both to visit my father-in-law King Schahzaman."

Sorry though the king felt at the idea of parting with his daughter, he
felt her request to be so reasonable that he could not refuse it, and
made but one condition, which was that she should only spend one year
at the court of King Schahzaman, suggesting that in future the young
couple should visit their respective parents alternately.

The princess brought this good news to her husband, who thanked her
tenderly for this fresh proof of her affection.

All preparations for the journey were now pressed forwards, and when
all was ready the king accompanied the travellers for some days, after
which he took an affectionate leave of his daughter, and charging the
prince to take every care of her, returned to his capital.

The prince and princess journeyed on, and at the end of a month reached
a huge meadow interspersed with clumps of big trees which cast a most
pleasant shade.  As the heat was great, Camaralzaman thought it well to
encamp in this cool spot.  Accordingly the tents were pitched, and the
princess entering hers whilst the prince was giving his further orders,
removed her girdle, which she placed beside her, and desiring her women
to leave her, lay down and was soon asleep.

When the camp was all in order the prince entered the tent and, seeing
the princess asleep, he sat down near her without speaking.  His eyes
fell on the girdle which, he took up, and whilst inspecting the
precious stones set in it he noticed a little pouch sewn to the girdle
and fastened by a loop.  He touched it and felt something hard within.
Curious as to what this might be, he opened the pouch and found a
cornelian engraved with various figures and strange characters.

"This cornelian must be something very precious," thought he, "or my
wife would not wear it on her person with so much care."

In truth it was a talisman which the Queen of China had given her
daughter, telling her it would ensure her happiness as long as she
carried it about her.

The better to examine the stone the prince stepped to the open doorway
of the tent.  As he stood there holding it in the open palm of his
hand, a bird suddenly swooped down, picked the stone up in its beak and
flew away with it.

Imagine the prince's dismay at losing a thing by which his wife
evidently set such store!

The bird having secured its prey flew off some yards and alighted on
the ground, holding the talisman it its beak.  Prince Camaralzaman
advanced, hoping the bird would drop it, but as soon as he approached
the thief fluttered on a little further still.  He continued his
pursuit till the bird suddenly swallowed the stone and took a longer
flight than before.  The prince then hoped to kill it with a stone, but
the more hotly he pursued the further flew the bird.

In this fashion he was led on by hill and dale through the entire day,
and when night came the tiresome creature roosted on the top of a very
high tree where it could rest in safety.

The prince in despair at all his useless trouble began to think whether
he had better return to the camp.  "But," thought he, "how shall I find
my way back?  Must I go up hill or down?  I should certainly lose my
way in the dark, even if my strength held out."  Overwhelmed by hunger,
thirst, fatigue and sleep, he ended by spending the night at the foot
of the tree.

Next morning Camaralzaman woke up before the bird left its perch, and
no sooner did it take flight than he followed it again with as little
success as the previous day, only stopping to eat some herbs and fruit
he found by the way.  In this fashion he spent ten days, following the
bird all day and spending the night at the foot of a tree, whilst it
roosted on the topmost bough.  On the eleventh day the bird and the
prince reached a large town, and as soon as they were close to its
walls the bird took a sudden and higher flight and was shortly
completely out of sight, whilst Camaralzaman felt in despair at having
to give up all hopes of ever recovering the talisman of the Princess
Badoura.

Much cast down, he entered the town, which was built near the sea and
had a fine harbour.  He walked about the streets for a long time, not
knowing where to go, but at length as he walked near the seashore he
found a garden door open and walked in.

The gardener, a good old man, who was at work, happened to look up,
and, seeing a stranger, whom he recognised by his dress as a Mussulman,
he told him to come in at once and to shut the door.

Camaralzaman did as he was bid, and inquired why this precaution was
taken.

"Because," said the gardener, "I see that you are a stranger and a
Mussulman, and this town is almost entirely inhabited by idolaters, who
hate and persecute all of our faith.  It seems almost a miracle that
has led you to this house, and I am indeed glad that you have found a
place of safety."

Camaralzaman warmly thanked the kind old man for offering him shelter,
and was about to say more, but the gardener interrupted him with:

"Leave compliments alone.  You are weary and must be hungry.  Come in,
eat, and rest."  So saying he led the prince into his cottage, and
after satisfying his hunger begged to learn the cause of his arrival.

Camaralzaman told him all without disguise, and ended by inquiring the
shortest way to his father's capital.  "For," added he, "if I tried to
rejoin the princess, how should I find her after eleven days'
separation.  Perhaps, indeed, she may be no longer alive!" At this
terrible thought he burst into tears.

The gardener informed Camaralzaman that they were quite a year's land
journey to any Mahomedan country, but that there was a much shorter
route by sea to the Ebony Island, from whence the Isles of the Children
of Khaledan could be easily reached, and that a ship sailed once a year
for the Ebony Island by which he might get so far as his very home.

"If only you had arrived a few days sooner," he said, "you might have
embarked at once.  As it is you must now wait till next year, but if
you care to stay with me I offer you my house, such as it is, with all
my heart."

Prince Camaralzaman thought himself lucky to find some place of refuge,
and gladly accepted the gardener's offer.  He spent his days working in
the garden, and his nights thinking of and sighing for his beloved wife.

Let us now see what had become during this time of the Princess Badoura.

On first waking she was much surprised not to find the prince near her.
She called her women and asked if they knew where he was, and whilst
they were telling her that they had seen him enter the tent, but had
not noticed his leaving it, she took up her belt and perceived that the
little pouch was open and the talisman gone.

She at once concluded that her husband had taken it and would shortly
bring it back.  She waited for him till evening rather impatiently, and
wondering what could have kept him from her so long.  When night came
without him she felt in despair and abused the talisman and its maker
roundly.  In spite of her grief and anxiety however, she did not lose
her presence of mind, but decided on a courageous, though very unusual
step.

Only the princess and her women knew of Camaralzaman's disappearance,
for the rest of the party were sleeping or resting in their tents.
Fearing some treason should the truth be known, she ordered her women
not to say a word which would give rise to any suspicion, and proceeded
to change her dress for one of her husband's, to whom, as has been
already said, she bore a strong likeness.

In this disguise she looked so like the prince that when she gave
orders next morning to break up the camp and continue the journey no
one suspected the change.  She made one of her women enter her litter,
whilst she herself mounted on horseback and the march began.

After a protracted journey by land and sea the princess, still under
the name and disguise of Prince Camaralzaman, arrived at the capital of
the Ebony Island whose king was named Armanos.

No sooner did the king hear that the ship which was just in port had on
board the son of his old friend and ally than he hurried to meet the
supposed prince, and had him and his retinue brought to the palace,
where they were lodged and entertained sumptuously.

After three days, finding that his guest, to whom he had taken a great
fancy, talked of continuing his journey, King Armanos said to him:

"Prince, I am now an old man, and unfortunately I have no son to whom
to leave my kingdom.  It has pleased Heaven to give me only one
daughter, who possesses such great beauty and charm that I could only
give her to a prince as highly born and as accomplished as yourself.
Instead, therefore, of returning to your own country, take my daughter
and my crown and stay with us.  I shall feel that I have a worthy
successor, and shall cheerfully retire from the fatigues of government."

The king's offer was naturally rather embarrassing to the Princess
Badoura.  She felt that it was equally impossible to confess that she
had deceived him, or to refuse the marriage on which he had set his
heart; a refusal which might turn all his kindness to hatred and
persecution.

All things considered, she decided to accept, and after a few moments
silence said with a blush, which the king attributed to modesty:

"Sire, I feel so great an obligation for the good opinion your Majesty
has expressed for my person and of the honour you do me, that, though I
am quite unworthy of it, I dare not refuse.  But, sire, I can only
accept such an alliance if you give me your promise to assist me with
your counsels."

The marriage being thus arranged, the ceremony was fixed for the
following day, and the princess employed the intervening time in
informing the officers of her suite of what had happened, assuring them
that the Princess Badoura had given her full consent to the marriage.
She also told her women, and bade them keep her secret well.

King Armanos, delighted with the success of his plans, lost no time in
assembling his court and council, to whom he presented his successor,
and placing his future son-in-law on the throne made everyone do homage
and take oaths of allegiance to the new king.

At night the whole town was filled with rejoicings, and with much pomp
the Princess Haiatelnefous (this was the name of the king's daughter)
was conducted to the palace of the Princess Badoura.

Now Badoura had thought much of the difficulties of her first interview
with King Armanos' daughter, and she felt the only thing to do was at
once to take her into her confidence.

Accordingly, as soon as they were alone she took Haiatelnefous by the
hand and said:

"Princess, I have a secret to tell you, and must throw myself on your
mercy.  I am not Prince Camaralzaman, but a princess like yourself and
his wife, and I beg you to listen to my story, then I am sure you will
forgive my imposture, in consideration of my sufferings."

She then related her whole history, and at its close Haiatelnefous
embraced her warmly, and assured her of her entire sympathy and
affection.

The two princesses now planned out their future action, and agreed to
combine to keep up the deception and to let Badoura continue to play a
man's part until such time as there might be news of the real
Camaralzaman.

Whilst these things were passing in the Ebony Island Prince
Camaralzaman continued to find shelter in the gardeners cottage in the
town of the idolaters.

Early one morning the gardener said to the prince:

"To-day is a public holiday, and the people of the town not only do not
work themselves but forbid others to do so.  You had better therefore
take a good rest whilst I go to see some friends, and as the time is
near for the arrival of the ship of which I told you I will make
inquiries about it, and try to bespeak a passage for you." He then put
on his best clothes and went out, leaving the prince, who strolled into
the garden and was soon lost in thoughts of his dear wife and their sad
separation.

As he walked up and down he was suddenly disturbed in his reverie by
the noise two large birds were making in a tree.

Camaralzaman stood still and looked up, and saw that the birds were
fighting so savagely with beaks and claws that before long one fell
dead to the ground, whilst the conqueror spread his wings and flew
away.  Almost immediately two other larger birds, who had been watching
the duel, flew up and alighted, one at the head and the other at the
feet of the dead bird.  They stood there some time sadly shaking their
heads, and then dug up a grave with their claws in which they buried
him.

As soon as they had filled in the grave the two flew off, and ere long
returned, bringing with them the murderer, whom they held, one by a
wing and the other by a leg, with their beaks, screaming and struggling
with rage and terror.  But they held tight, and having brought him to
his victim's grave, they proceeded to kill him, after which they tore
open his body, scattered the inside and once more flew away.

The prince, who had watched the whole scene with much interest, now
drew near the spot where it happened, and glancing at the dead bird he
noticed something red lying near which had evidently fallen out of its
inside.  He picked it up, and what was his surprise when he recognised
the Princess Badoura's talisman which had been the cause of many
misfortunes.  It would be impossible to describe his joy; he kissed the
talisman repeatedly, wrapped it up, and carefully tied it round his
arm.  For the first time since his separation from the princess he had
a good night, and next morning he was up at day-break and went
cheerfully to ask what work he should do.

The gardener told him to cut down an old fruit tree which had quite
died away, and Camaralzaman took an axe and fell to vigorously.  As he
was hacking at one of the roots the axe struck on something hard.  On
pushing away the earth he discovered a large slab of bronze, under
which was disclosed a staircase with ten steps.  He went down them and
found himself in a roomy kind of cave in which stood fifty large bronze
jars, each with a cover on it.  The prince uncovered one after another,
and found them all filled with gold dust.  Delighted with his discovery
he left the cave, replaced the slab, and having finished cutting down
the tree waited for the gardener's return.

The gardener had heard the night before that the ship about which he
was inquiring would start ere long, but the exact date not being yet
known he had been told to return next day for further information.  He
had gone therefore to inquire, and came back with good news beaming in
his face.

"My son," said he, "rejoice and hold yourself ready to start in three
days' time.  The ship is to set sail, and I have arranged all about
your passage with the captain.

"You could not bring me better news," replied Camaralzaman, "and in
return I have something pleasant to tell you.  Follow me and see the
good fortune which has befallen you."

He then led the gardener to the cave, and having shown him the treasure
stored up there, said how happy it made him that Heaven should in this
way reward his kind host's many virtues and compensate him for the
privations of many years.

"What do you mean?" asked the gardener.  "Do you imagine that I should
appropriate this treasure?  It is yours, and I have no right whatever
to it.  For the last eighty years I have dug up the ground here without
discovering anything.  It is clear that these riches are intended for
you, and they are much more needed by a prince like yourself than by an
old man like me, who am near my end and require nothing.  This treasure
comes just at the right time, when you are about to return to your own
country, where you will make good use of it."

But the prince would not hear of this suggestion, and finally after
much discussion they agreed to divide the gold.  When this was done the
gardener said:

"My son, the great thing now is to arrange how you can best carry off
this treasure as secretly as possible for fear of losing it.  There are
no olives in the Ebony Island, and those imported from here fetch a
high price.  As you know, I have a good stock of the olives which grew
in this garden.  Now you must take fifty jars, fill each half full of
gold dust and fill them up with the olives.  We will then have them
taken on board ship when you embark."

The prince took this advice, and spent the rest of the day filling the
fifty jars, and fearing lest the precious talisman might slip from his
arm and be lost again, he took the precaution of putting it in one of
the jars, on which he made a mark so as to be able to recognise it.
When night came the jars were all ready, and the prince and his host
went to bed.

Whether in consequence of his great age, or of the fatigues and
excitement of the previous day, I do not know, but the gardener passed
a very bad night.  He was worse next day, and by the morning of the
third day was dangerously ill.  At daybreak the ship's captain and some
of his sailors knocked at the garden door and asked for the passenger
who was to embark.

"I am he," said Camaralzaman, who had opened the door.  "The gardener
who took my passage is ill and cannot see you, but please come in and
take these jars of olives and my bag, and I will follow as soon as I
have taken leave of him."

The sailors did as he asked, and the captain before leaving charged
Camaralzaman to lose no time, as the wind was fair, and he wished to
set sail at once.

As soon as they were gone the prince returned to the cottage to bid
farewell to his old friend, and to thank him once more for all his
kindness.  But the old man was at his last gasp, and had barely
murmured his confession of faith when he expired.

Camaralzaman was obliged to stay and pay him the last offices, so
having dug a grave in the garden he wrapped the kind old man up and
buried him.  He then locked the door, gave up the key to the owner of
the garden, and hurried to the quay only to hear that the ship had
sailed long ago, after waiting three hours for him.

It may well be believed that the prince felt in despair at this fresh
misfortune, which obliged him to spend another year in a strange and
distasteful country.  Moreover, he had once more lost the Princess
Badoura's talisman, which he feared he might never see again.  There
was nothing left for him but to hire the garden as the old man had
done, and to live on in the cottage.  As he could not well cultivate
the garden by himself, he engaged a lad to help him, and to secure the
rest of the treasure he put the remaining gold dust into fifty more
jars, filling them up with olives so as to have them ready for
transport.

Whilst the prince was settling down to this second year of toil and
privation, the ship made a rapid voyage and arrived safely at the Ebony
Island.

As the palace of the new king, or rather of the Princess Badoura,
overlooked the harbour, she saw the ship entering it and asked what
vessel it was coming in so gaily decked with flags, and was told that
it was a ship from the Island of the Idolaters which yearly brought
rich merchandise.

The princess, ever on the look out for any chance of news of her
beloved husband, went down to the harbour attended by some officers of
the court, and arrived just as the captain was landing.  She sent for
him and asked many questions as to his country, voyage, what passengers
he had, and what his vessel was laden with.  The captain answered all
her questions, and said that his passengers consisted entirely of
traders who brought rich stuffs from various countries, fine muslins,
precious stones, musk, amber, spices, drugs, olives, and many other
things.

As soon as he mentioned olives, the princess, who was very partial to
them, exclaimed:

"I will take all you have on board.  Have them unloaded and we will
make our bargain at once, and tell the other merchants to let me see
all their best wares before showing them to other people."

"Sire," replied the captain, "I have on board fifty very large pots of
olives.  They belong to a merchant who was left behind, as in spite of
waiting for him he delayed so long that I was obliged to set sail
without him."

"Never mind," said the princess, "unload them all the same, and we will
arrange the price."

The captain accordingly sent his boat off to the ship and it soon
returned laden with the fifty pots of olives.  The princess asked what
they might be worth.

"Sire," replied the captain, "the merchant is very poor.  Your Majesty
will not overpay him if you give him a thousand pieces of silver."

"In order to satisfy him and as he is so poor," said the princess, "I
will order a thousand pieces of gold to be given you, which you will be
sure to remit to him."

So saying she gave orders for the payment and returned to the palace,
having the jars carried before her.  When evening came the Princess
Badoura retired to the inner part of the palace, and going to the
apartments of the Princess Haiatelnefous she had the fifty jars of
olives brought to her.  She opened one to let her friend taste the
olives and to taste them herself, but great was her surprise when, on
pouring some into a dish, she found them all powdered with gold dust.
"What an adventure! how extraordinary!" she cried.  Then she had the
other jars opened, and was more and more surprised to find the olives
in each jar mixed with gold dust.

But when at length her talisman was discovered in one of the jars her
emotion was so great that she fainted away.  The Princess Haiatelnefous
and her women hastened to restore her, and as soon as she recovered
consciousness she covered the precious talisman with kisses.

Then, dismissing the attendants, she said to her friend:

"You will have guessed, my dear, that it was the sight of this talisman
which has moved me so deeply.  This was the cause of my separation from
my dear husband, and now, I am convinced, it will be the means of our
reunion."

As soon as it was light next day the Princess Badoura sent for the
captain, and made further inquiries about the merchant who owned the
olive jars she had bought.

In reply the captain told her all he knew of the place where the young
man lived, and how, after engaging his passage, he came to be left
behind.

"If that is the case," said the princess, "you must set sail at once
and go back for him.  He is a debtor of mine and must be brought here
at once, or I will confiscate all your merchandise.  I shall now give
orders to have all the warehouses where your cargo is placed under the
royal seal, and they will only be opened when you have brought me the
man I ask for.  Go at once and obey my orders."

The captain had no choice but to do as he was bid, so hastily
provisioning his ship he started that same evening on his return voyage.

When, after a rapid passage, he gained sight of the Island of
Idolaters, he judged it better not to enter the harbour, but casting
anchor at some distance he embarked at night in a small boat with six
active sailors and landed near Camaralzaman's cottage.

The prince was not asleep, and as he lay awake moaning over all the sad
events which had separated him from his wife, he thought he heard a
knock at the garden door.  He went to open it, and was immediately
seized by the captain and sailors, who without a word of explanation
forcibly bore him off to the boat, which took them back to the ship
without loss of time.  No sooner were they on board than they weighed
anchor and set sail.

Camaralzaman, who had kept silence till then, now asked the captain
(whom he had recognised) the reason for this abduction.

"Are you not a debtor of the King of the Ebony Island?" asked the
captain.

"I?  Why, I never even heard of him before, and never set foot in his
kingdom!" was the answer.

"Well, you must know better than I," said the captain.  "You will soon
see him now, and meantime be content where you are and have patience."

The return voyage was as prosperous as the former one, and though it
was night when the ship entered the harbour, the captain lost no time
in landing with his passenger, whom he conducted to the palace, where
he begged an audience with the king.

Directly the Princess Badoura saw the prince she recognised him in
spite of his shabby clothes.  She longed to throw herself on his neck,
but restrained herself, feeling it was better for them both that she
should play her part a little longer.  She therefore desired one of her
officers to take care of him and to treat him well.  Next she ordered
another officer to remove the seals from the warehouse, whilst she
presented the captain with a costly diamond, and told him to keep the
thousand pieces of gold paid for the olives, as she would arrange
matters with the merchant himself.

She then returned to her private apartments, where she told the
Princess Haiatelnefous all that had happened, as well as her plans for
the future, and begged her assistance, which her friend readily
promised.

Next morning she ordered the prince to be taken to the bath and clothed
in a manner suitable to an emir or governor of a province.  He was then
introduced to the council, where his good looks and grand air drew the
attention of all on him.

Princess Badoura, delighted to see him looking himself once more,
turned to the other emirs, saying:

"My lords, I introduce to you a new colleague, Camaralzaman, whom I
have known on my travels and who, I can assure you, you will find well
deserves your regard and admiration."

Camaralzaman was much surprised at hearing the king--whom he never
suspected of being a woman in disguise--asserting their acquaintance,
for he felt sure he had never seen her before.  However he received all
the praises bestowed on him with becoming modesty, and prostrating
himself, said:

"Sire, I cannot find words in which to thank your Majesty for the great
honour conferred on me.  I can but assure you that I will do all in my
power to prove myself worthy of it."

On leaving the council the prince was conducted to a splendid house
which had been prepared for him, where he found a full establishment
and well-filled stables at his orders.  On entering his study his
steward presented him with a coffer filled with gold pieces for his
current expenses.  He felt more and more puzzled by such good fortune,
and little guessed that the Princess of China was the cause of it.

After a few days the Princess Badoura promoted Camaralzaman to the post
of grand treasurer, an office which he filled with so much integrity
and benevolence as to win universal esteem.

He would now have thought himself the happiest of men had it not been
for that separation which he never ceased to bewail.  He had no clue to
the mystery of his present position, for the princess, out of
compliment to the old king, had taken his name, and was generally known
as King Armanos the younger, few people remembering that on her first
arrival she went by another name.

At length the princess felt that the time had come to put an end to her
own and the prince's suspense, and having arranged all her plans with
the Princess Haiatelnefous, she informed Camaralzaman that she wished
his advice on some important business, and, to avoid being disturbed,
desired him to come to the palace that evening.

The prince was punctual, and was received in the private apartment,
when, having ordered her attendants to withdraw, the princess took from
a small box the talisman, and, handing it to Camaralzaman, said:  "Not
long ago an astrologer gave me this talisman.  As you are universally
well informed, you can perhaps tell me what is its use."

Camaralzaman took the talisman and, holding it to the light, cried with
surprise, "Sire, you ask me the use of this talisman.  Alas! hitherto
it has been only a source of misfortune to me, being the cause of my
separation from the one I love best on earth.  The story is so sad and
strange that I am sure your Majesty will be touched by it if you will
permit me to tell it you."

"I will hear it some other time," replied the princess.  "Meanwhile I
fancy it is not quite unknown to me.  Wait here for me.  I will return
shortly."

So saying she retired to another room, where she hastily changed her
masculine attire for that of a woman, and, after putting on the girdle
she wore the day they parted, returned to Camaralzaman.

The prince recognised her at once, and, embracing her with the utmost
tenderness, cried, "Ah, how can I thank the king for this delightful
surprise?"

"Do not expect ever to see the king again," said the princess, as she
wiped the tears of joy from her eyes, "in me you see the king.  Let us
sit down, and I will tell you all about it."

She then gave a full account of all her adventures since their parting,
and dwelt much on the charms and noble disposition of the Princess
Haiatelnefous, to whose friendly assistance she owed so much.  When she
had done she asked to hear the prince's story, and in this manner they
spent most of the night.

Next morning the princess resumed her woman's clothes, and as soon as
she was ready she desired the chief eunuch to beg King Armanos to come
to her apartments.

When the king arrived great was his surprise at finding a strange lady
in company of the grand treasurer who had no actual right to enter the
private apartment.  Seating himself he asked for the king.

"Sire," said the princess, "yesterday I was the king, to-day I am only
the Princess of China and wife to the real Prince Camaralzaman, son of
King Schahzaman, and I trust that when your Majesty shall have heard
our story you will not condemn the innocent deception I have been
obliged to practise."

The king consented to listen, and did so with marked surprise.

At the close of her narrative the princess said, "Sire, as our religion
allows a man to have more than one wife, I would beg your Majesty to
give your daughter, the Princess Haiatelnefous, in marriage to Prince
Camaralzaman.  I gladly yield to her the precedence and title of Queen
in recognition of the debt of gratitude which I owe her."

King Armanos heard the princess with surprise and admiration, then,
turning to Camaralzaman, he said, "My son, as your wife, the Princess
Badoura (whom I have hitherto looked on as my son-in-law), consents to
share your hand and affections with my daughter, I have only to ask if
this marriage is agreeable to you, and if you will consent to accept
the crown which the Princess Badoura deserves to wear all her life, but
which she prefers to resign for love of you."

"Sire," replied Camaralzaman, "I can refuse your Majesty nothing."

Accordingly Camaralzaman was duly proclaimed king, and as duly married
with all pomp to the Princess Haiatelnefous, with whose beauty,
talents, and affections he had every reason to be pleased.

The two queens lived in true sisterly harmony together, and after a
time each presented King Camaralzaman with a son, whose births were
celebrated throughout the kingdom with the utmost rejoicing.



Noureddin and the Fair Persian


Balsora was the capital of a kingdom long tributary to the caliph.
During the time of the Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid the king of Balsora,
who was his cousin, was called Zinebi.  Not thinking one vizir enough
for the administration of his estates he had two, named Khacan and
Saouy.

Khacan was kind, generous, and liberal, and took pleasure in obliging,
as far as in him lay, those who had business with him.  Throughout the
entire kingdom there was no one who did not esteem and praise him as he
deserved.

Saouy was quite a different character, and repelled everyone with whom
he came in contact; he was always gloomy, and, in spite of his great
riches, so miserly that he denied himself even the necessaries of life.
What made him particularly detested was the great aversion he had to
Khacan, of whom he never ceased to speak evil to the king.

One day, while the king amused himself talking with his two vizirs and
other members of the council, the conversation turned on female slaves.
While some declared that it sufficed for a slave to be beautiful,
others, and Khacan was among the number, maintained that beauty alone
was not enough, but that it must be accompanied by wit, wisdom,
modesty, and, if possible, knowledge.

The king not only declared himself to be of this opinion, but charged
Khacan to procure him a slave who should fulfil all these conditions.
Saouy, who had been of the opposite side, and was jealous of the honour
done to Khacan, said, "Sire, it will be very difficult to find a slave
as accomplished as your Majesty desires, and, if she is to be found,
she will be cheap if she cost less than 10,000 gold pieces."

"Saouy," answered the king, "you seem to find that a very great sum.
For you it may be so, but not for me."

And forthwith he ordered his grand treasurer, who was present, to send
10,000 gold pieces to Khacan for the purchase of the slave.

As soon, then, as Khacan returned home he sent for the dealers in
female slaves, and charged them directly they had found such a one as
he described to inform him.  They promised to do their utmost, and no
day passed that they did not bring a slave for his inspection but none
was found without some defect.

At length, early one morning, while Khacan was on his way to the king's
palace, a dealer, throwing himself in his way, announced eagerly that a
Persian merchant, arrived late the previous evening, had a slave to
sell whose wit and wisdom were equal to her incomparable beauty.

Khacan, overjoyed at this news, gave orders that the slave should be
brought for his inspection on his return from the palace.  The dealer
appearing at the appointed hour, Khacan found the slave beautiful
beyond his expectations, and immediately gave her the name of "The Fair
Persian."

Being a man of great wisdom and learning, he perceived in the short
conversation he had with her that he would seek in vain another slave
to surpass her in any of the qualities required by the king, and
therefore asked the dealer what price the merchant put upon her.

"Sir," was the answer, "for less than 10,000 gold pieces he will not
let her go; he declares that, what with masters for her instruction,
and for bodily exercises, not to speak of clothing and nourishment, he
has already spent that sum upon her.  She is in every way fit to be the
slave of a king; she plays every musical instrument, she sings, she
dances, she makes verses, in fact there is no accomplishment in which
she does not excel."

Khacan, who was better able to judge of her merits than the dealer,
wishing to bring the matter to a conclusion, sent for the merchant, and
said to him, "It is not for myself that I wish to buy your slave, but
for the king.  Her price, however, is too high."

"Sir," replied the merchant, "I should esteem it an honour to present
her to his Majesty, did it become a merchant to do such a thing.  I ask
no more than the sum it has cost me to make her such as she is."

Khacan, not wishing to bargain, immediately had the sum counted out,
and given to the merchant, who before withdrawing said:

"Sir, as she is destined for the king, I would have you observe that
she is extremely tired with the long journey, and before presenting her
to his Majesty you would do well to keep her a fortnight in your own
house, and to see that a little care is bestowed upon her.  The sun has
tanned her complexion, but when she has been two or three times to the
bath, and is fittingly dressed, you will see how much her beauty will
be increased."

Khacan thanked the merchant for his advice, and determined to follow
it.  He gave the beautiful Persian an apartment near to that of his
wife, whom he charged to treat her as befitting a lady destined for the
king, and to order for her the most magnificent garments.

Before bidding adieu to the fair Persian, he said to her: "No happiness
can be greater than what I have procured for you; judge for yourself,
you now belong to the king.  I have, however, to warn you of one thing.
I have a son, who, though not wanting in sense, is young, foolish, and
headstrong, and I charge you to keep him at a distance."

The Persian thanked him for his advice, and promised to profit by it.

Noureddin--for so the vizir's son was named--went freely in and out of
his mother's apartments.  He was young, well-made and agreeable, and
had the gift of charming all with whom he came in contact.  As soon as
he saw the beautiful Persian, though aware that she was destined for
the king, he let himself be carried away by her charms, and determined
at once to use every means in his power to retain her for himself.  The
Persian was equally captivated by Noureddin, and said to herself:  "The
vizir does me too great honour in buying me for the king.  I should
esteem myself very happy if he would give me to his son."

Noureddin availed himself of every opportunity to gaze upon her beauty,
to talk and laugh with her, and never would have left her side if his
mother had not forced him.

Some time having elapsed, on account of the long journey, since the
beautiful Persian had been to the bath, five or six days after her
purchase the vizir's wife gave orders that the bath should be heated
for her, and that her own female slaves should attend her there, and
after-wards should array her in a magnificent dress that had been
prepared for her.

Her toilet completed, the beautiful Persian came to present herself to
the vizir's wife, who hardly recognised her, so greatly was her beauty
increased.  Kissing her hand, the beautiful slave said: "Madam, I do
not know how you find me in this dress that you have had prepared for
me; your women assure me that it suits me so well that they hardly knew
me.  If it is the truth they tell me, and not flattery, it is to you I
owe the transformation."

"My daughter," answered the vizir's wife, "they do not flatter you.  I
myself hardly recognised you.  The improvement is not due to the dress
alone, but largely to the beautifying effects of the bath.  I am so
struck by its results, that I would try it on myself."

Acting forthwith on this decision she ordered two little slaves during
her absence to watch over the beautiful Persian, and not to allow
Noureddin to enter should he come.

She had no sooner gone than he arrived, and not finding his mother in
her apartment, would have sought her in that of the Persian.  The two
little slaves barred the entrance, saying that his mother had given
orders that he was not to be admitted.  Taking each by an arm, he put
them out of the anteroom, and shut the door.  Then they rushed to the
bath, informing their mistress with shrieks and tears that Noureddin
had driven them away by force and gone in.

This news caused great consternation to the lady, who, dressing herself
as quickly as possible, hastened to the apartment of the fair Persian,
to find that Noureddin had already gone out.  Much astonished to see
the vizir's wife enter in tears, the Persian asked what misfortune had
happened.

"What!" exclaimed the lady, "you ask me that, knowing that my son
Noureddin has been alone with you?"

"But, madam," inquired the Persian, "what harm is there in that?"

"How!  Has my husband not told you that you are destined for the king?"

"Certainly, but Noureddin has just been to tell me that his father has
changed his mind and has bestowed me upon him.  I believed him, and so
great is my affection for Noureddin that I would willingly pass my life
with him."

"Would to heaven," exclaimed the wife of the vizir, "that what you say
were true; but Noureddin has deceived you, and his father will
sacrifice him in vengeance for the wrong he has done."

So saying, she wept bitterly, and all her slaves wept with her.

Khacan, entering shortly after this, was much astonished to find his
wife and her slaves in tears, and the beautiful Persian greatly
perturbed.  He inquired the cause, but for some time no answer was
forthcoming.  When his wife was at length sufficiently calm to inform
him of what had happened, his rage and mortification knew no bounds.
Wringing his hands and rending his beard, he exclaimed:

"Wretched son! thou destroyest not only thyself but thy father.  The
king will shed not only thy blood but mine."  His wife tried to console
him, saying:  "Do not torment thyself.  With the sale of my jewels I
will obtain 10,000 gold pieces, and with this sum you will buy another
slave."

"Do not suppose," replied her husband, "that it is the loss of the
money that affects me.  My honour is at stake, and that is more
precious to me than all my wealth.  You know that Saouy is my mortal
enemy.  He will relate all this to the king, and you will see the
consequences that will ensue."

"My lord," said his wife, "I am quite aware of Saouy's baseness, and
that he is capable of playing you this malicious trick.  But how can he
or any one else know what takes place in this house?  Even if you are
suspected and the king accuses you, you have only to say that, after
examining the slave, you did not find her worthy of his Majesty.
Reassure yourself, and send to the dealers, saying that you are not
satisfied, and wish them to find you another slave."

This advice appearing reasonable, Khacan decided to follow it, but his
wrath against his son did not abate.  Noureddin dared not appear all
that day, and fearing to take refuge with his usual associates in case
his father should seek him there, he spent the day in a secluded garden
where he was not known.  He did not return home till after his father
had gone to bed, and went out early next morning before the vizir
awoke, and these precautions he kept up during an entire month.

His mother, though knowing very well that he returned to the house
every evening, dare not ask her husband to pardon him.  At length she
took courage and said:

"My lord, I know that a son could not act more basely towards his
father than Noureddin has done towards you, but after all will you now
pardon him?  Do you not consider the harm you may be doing yourself,
and fear that malicious people, seeking the cause of your estrangement,
may guess the real one?"

"Madam," replied the vizir, "what you say is very just, but I cannot
pardon Noureddin before I have mortified him as he deserves."

"He will be sufficiently punished," answered the lady, "if you do as I
suggest.  In the evening, when he returns home, lie in wait for him and
pretend that you will slay him.  I will come to his aid, and while
pointing out that you only yield his life at my supplications, you can
force him to take the beautiful Persian on any conditions you please."
Khacan agreed to follow this plan, and everything took place as
arranged.  On Noureddin's return Khacan pretended to be about to slay
him, but yielding to his wife's intercession, said to his son:

"You owe your life to your mother.  I pardon you on her intercession,
and on the conditions that you take the beautiful Persian for your
wife, and not your slave, that you never sell her, nor put her away."

Noureddin, not hoping for so great indulgence, thanked his father, and
vowed to do as he desired.  Khacan was at great pains frequently to
speak to the king of the difficulties attending the commission he had
given him, but some whispers of what had actually taken place did reach
Saouy's ears.

More than a year after these events the minister took a chill, leaving
the bath while still heated to go out on important business.  This
resulted in inflammation of the lungs, which rapidly increased.  The
vizir, feeling that his end was at hand, sent for Noureddin, and
charged him with his dying breath never to part with the beautiful
Persian.

Shortly afterwards he expired, leaving universal regret throughout the
kingdom; rich and poor alike followed him to the grave.  Noureddin
showed every mark of the deepest grief at his father's death, and for
long refused to see any one.  At length a day came when, one of his
friends being admitted, urged him strongly to be consoled, and to
resume his former place in society.  This advice Noureddin was not slow
to follow, and soon he formed little society of ten young men all about
his own age, with whom he spent all his time in continual feasting and
merry-making.

Sometimes the fair Persian consented to appear at these festivities,
but she disapproved of this lavish expenditure, and did not scruple to
warn Noureddin of the probable consequences.  He, however, only laughed
at her advice, saying, that his father had always kept him in too great
constraint, and that now he rejoiced at his new-found liberty.

What added to the confusion in his affairs was that he refused to look
into his accounts with his steward, sending him away every time he
appeared with his book.

"See only that I live well," he said, "and do not disturb me about
anything else."

Not only did Noureddin's friends constantly partake of his hospitality,
but in every way they took advantage of his generosity; everything of
his that they admired, whether land, houses, baths, or any other source
of his revenue, he immediately bestowed on them.  In vain the Persian
protested against the wrong he did himself; he continued to scatter
with the same lavish hand.

Throughout one entire year Noureddin did nothing but amuse himself, and
dissipate the wealth his father had taken such pains to acquire.  The
year had barely elapsed, when one day, as they sat at table, there came
a knock at the door.  The slaves having been sent away, Noureddin went
to open it himself.  One of his friends had risen at the same time, but
Noureddin was before him, and finding the intruder to be the steward,
he went out and closed the door.  The friend, curious to hear what
passed between them, hid himself behind the hangings, and heard the
following words:

"My lord," said the steward, "I beg a thousand pardons for interrupting
you, but what I have long foreseen has taken place.  Nothing remains of
the sums you gave me for your expenses, and all other sources of income
are also at end, having been transferred by you to others.  If you wish
me to remain in your service, furnish me with the necessary funds, else
I must withdraw."

So great was Noureddin's consternation that he had not a word to say in
reply.

The friend, who had been listening behind the curtain, immediately
hastened to communicate the news to the rest of the company.

"If this is so," they said, "we must cease to come here."

Noureddin re-entering at that moment, they plainly saw, in spite of his
efforts to dissemble, that what they had heard was the truth.  One by
one they rose, and each with a different excuse left the room, till
presently he found himself alone, though little suspecting the
resolution his friends had taken.  Then, seeing the beautiful Persian,
he confided to her the statement of the steward, with many expressions
of regret for his own carelessness.

"Had I but followed your advice, beautiful Persian," he said, "all this
would not have happened, but at least I have this consolation, that I
have spent my fortune in the company of friends who will not desert me
in an hour of need.  To-morrow I will go to them, and amongst them they
will lend me a sum sufficient to start in some business."

Accordingly next morning early Noureddin went to seek his ten friends,
who all lived in the same street.  Knocking at the door of the first
and chief, the slave who opened it left him to wait in a hall while he
announced his visit to his master.  "Noureddin!" he heard him exclaim
quite audibly.  "Tell him, every time he calls, that I am not at home."
The same thing happened at the second door, and also at the third, and
so on with all the ten.  Noureddin, much mortified, recognised too late
that he had confided in false friends, who abandoned him in his hour of
need.  Overwhelmed with grief, he sought consolation from the beautiful
Persian.

"Alas, my lord," she said, "at last you are convinced of the truth of
what I foretold.  There is now no other resource left but to sell your
slaves and your furniture."

First then he sold the slaves, and subsisted for a time on the
proceeds, after that the furniture was sold, and as much of it was
valuable it sufficed for some time.  Finally this resource also came to
an end, and again he sought counsel from the beautiful Persian.

"My lord," she said, "I know that the late vizir, your father, bought
me for 10,000 gold pieces, and though I have diminished in value since,
I should still fetch a large sum.  Do not therefore hesitate to sell
me, and with the money you obtain go and establish yourself in business
in some distant town."

"Charming Persian," answered Noureddin, "how could I be guilty of such
baseness?  I would die rather than part from you whom I love better
than my life."

"My lord," she replied, "I am well aware of your love for me, which is
only equalled by mine for you, but a cruel necessity obliges us to seek
the only remedy."

Noureddin, convinced at length of the truth of her words, yielded, and
reluctantly led her to the slave market, where, showing her to a dealer
named Hagi Hassan, he inquired her value.

Taking them into a room apart, Hagi Hassan exclaimed as soon as she had
unveiled, "My lord, is not this the slave your father bought for 10,000
pieces?"

On learning that it was so, he promised to obtain the highest possible
price for her.  Leaving the beautiful Persian shut up in the room
alone, he went out to seek the slave merchants, announcing to them that
he had found the pearl among slaves, and asking them to come and put a
value upon her.  As soon as they saw her they agreed that less than
4,000 gold pieces could not be asked.  Hagi Hassan, then closing the
door upon her, began to offer her for sale--calling out: "Who will bid
4,000 gold pieces for the Persian slave?"

Before any of the merchants had bid, Saouy happened to pass that way,
and judging that it must be a slave of extraordinary beauty, rode up to
Hagi Hassan and desired to see her.  Now it was not the custom to show
a slave to a private bidder, but as no one dared to disobey the vizir
his request was granted.

As soon as Saouy saw the Persian he was so struck by her beauty, that
he immediately wished to possess her, and not knowing that she belonged
to Noureddin, he desired Hagi Hassan to send for the owner and to
conclude the bargain at once.

Hagi Hassan then sought Noureddin, and told him that his slave was
going far below her value, and that if Saouy bought her he was capable
of not paying the money.  "What you must do," he said, "is to pretend
that you had no real intention of selling your slave, and only swore
you would in a fit of anger against her.  When I present her to Saouy
as if with your consent you must step in, and with blows begin to lead
her away."

Noureddin did as Hagi Hassan advised, to the great wrath of Saouy, who
riding straight at him endeavoured to take the beautiful Persian from
him by force.  Noureddin letting her go, seized Saouy's horse by the
bridle, and, encouraged by the applause of the bystanders, dragged him
to the ground, beat him severely, and left him in the gutter streaming
with blood.  Then, taking the beautiful Persian, he returned home
amidst the acclamations of the people, who detested Saouy so much that
they would neither interfere in his behalf nor allow his slaves to
protect him.

Covered from head to foot with mire and streaming with blood he rose,
and leaning on two of his slaves went straight to the palace, where he
demanded an audience of the king, to whom he related what had taken
place in these words:

"May it please your Majesty, I had gone to the slave market to buy
myself a cook.  While there I heard a slave being offered for 4,000
pieces.  Asking to see her, I found she was of incomparable beauty, and
was being sold by Noureddin, the son of your late vizir, to whom your
Majesty will remember giving a sum of 10,000 gold pieces for the
purchase of a slave.  This is the identical slave, whom instead of
bringing to your Majesty he gave to his own son.  Since the death of
his father this Noureddin has run through his entire fortune, has sold
all his possessions, and is now reduced to selling the slave.  Calling
him to me, I said:  "Noureddin, I will give you 10,000 gold pieces for
your slave, whom I will present to the king.  I will interest him at
the same time in your behalf, and this will be worth much more to you
than what extra money you might obtain from the merchants."  "Bad old
man," he exclaimed, "rather than sell my slave to you I would give her
to a Jew." "But, Noureddin," I remonstrated, "you do not consider that
in speaking thus you wrong the king, to whom your father owed
everything." This remonstrance only irritated him the more.  Throwing
himself on me like a madman, he tore me from my horse, beat me to his
heart's content, and left me in the state your Majesty sees."

So saying Saouy turned aside his head and wept bitterly.

The king's wrath was kindled against Noureddin.  He ordered the captain
of the guard to take with him forty men, to pillage Noureddin's house,
to rase it to the ground, and to bring Noureddin and the slave to him.
A doorkeeper, named Sangiar, who had been a slave of Khacan's, hearing
this order given, slipped out of the king's apartment, and hastened to
warn Noureddin to take flight instantly with the beautiful Persian.
Then, presenting him with forty gold pieces, he disappeared before
Noureddin had time to thank him.

As soon, then, as the fair Persian had put on her veil they fled
together, and had the good fortune to get out of the town without being
observed.  At the mouth of the Euphrates they found a ship just about
to start for Bagdad.  They embarked, and immediately the anchor was
raised and they set sail.

When the captain of the guard reached Noureddin's house he caused his
soldiers to burst open the door and to enter by force, but no trace was
to be found of Noureddin and his slave, nor could the neighbours give
any information about them.  When the king heard that they had escaped,
he issued a proclamation that a reward of 1,000 gold pieces would be
given to whoever would bring him Noureddin and the slave, but that, on
the contrary, whoever hid them would be severely punished.  Meanwhile
Noureddin and the fair Persian had safely reached Bagdad.  When the
vessel had come to an anchor they paid five gold pieces for their
passage and went ashore.  Never having been in Bagdad before, they did
not know where to seek a lodging.  Wandering along the banks of the
Tigris, they skirted a garden enclosed by a high wall.  The gate was
shut, but in front of it was an open vestibule with a sofa on either
side.  "Here," said Noureddin, "let us pass the night," and reclining
on the sofas they soon fell asleep.

Now this garden belonged to the Caliph.  In the middle of it was a vast
pavilion, whose superb saloon had eighty windows, each window having a
lustre, lit solely when the Caliph spent the evening there.  Only the
door-keeper lived there, an old soldier named Scheih Ibrahim, who had
strict orders to be very careful whom he admitted, and never to allow
any one to sit on the sofas by the door.  It happened that evening that
he had gone out on an errand.  When he came back and saw two persons
asleep on the sofas he was about to drive them out with blows, but
drawing nearer he perceived that they were a handsome young man and
beautiful young woman, and decided to awake them by gentler means.
Noureddin, on being awoke, told the old man that they were strangers,
and merely wished to pass the night there.  "Come with me," said Scheih
Ibrahim, "I will lodge you better, and will show you a magnificent
garden belonging to me." So saying the doorkeeper led the way into the
Caliph's garden, the beauties of which filled them with wonder and
amazement.  Noureddin took out two gold pieces, and giving them to
Scheih Ibrahim said,

"I beg you to get us something to eat that we may make merry together."
Being very avaricious, Scheih Ibrahim determined to spend only the
tenth part of the money and to keep the rest to himself.  While he was
gone Noureddin and the Persian wandered through the gardens and went up
the white marble staircase of the pavilion as far as the locked door of
the saloon.  On the return of Scheih Ibrahim they begged him to open
it, and to allow them to enter and admire the magnificence within.
Consenting, he brought not only the key, but a light, and immediately
unlocked the door.  Noureddin and the Persian entering, were dazzled
with the magnificence they beheld.  The paintings and furniture were of
astonishing beauty, and between each window was a silver arm holding a
candle.

Scheih Ibrahim spread the table in front of a sofa, and all three ate
together.  When they had finished eating Noureddin asked the old man to
bring them a bottle of wine.

"Heaven forbid," said Scheih Ibrahim, "that I should come in contact
with wine!  I who have four times made the pilgrimage to Mecca, and
have renounced wine for ever."

"You would, however, do us a great service in procuring us some," said
Noureddin.  "You need not touch it yourself.  Take the ass which is
tied to the gate, lead it to the nearest wine-shop, and ask some
passer-by to order two jars of wine; have them put in the ass's
panniers, and drive him before you.  Here are two pieces of gold for
the expenses."

At sight of the gold, Scheih Ibrahim set off at once to execute the
commission.  On his return, Noureddin said:  "We have still need of
cups to drink from, and of fruit, if you can procure us some." Scheih
Ibrahim disappeared again, and soon returned with a table spread with
cups of gold and silver, and every sort of beautiful fruit.  Then he
withdrew, in spite of repeated invitations to remain.

Noureddin and the beautiful Persian, finding the wine excellent, drank
of it freely, and while drinking they sang.  Both had fine voices, and
Scheih Ibrahim listened to them with great pleasure--first from a
distance, then he drew nearer, and finally put his head in at the door.
Noureddin, seeing him, called to him to come in and keep them company.
At first the old man declined, but was persuaded to enter the room, to
sit down on the edge of the sofa nearest the door, and at last to draw
closer and to seat himself by the beautiful Persian, who urged him so
persistently to drink her health that at length he yielded, and took
the cup she offered.

Now the old man only made a pretence of renouncing wine; he frequented
wine-shops like other people, and had taken none of the precautions
Noureddin had proposed.  Having once yielded, he was easily persuaded
to take a second cup, and a third, and so on till he no longer knew
what he was doing.  Till near midnight they continued drinking,
laughing, and singing together.

About that time the Persian, perceiving that the room was lit by only
one miserable tallow candle, asked Scheih Ibrahim to light some of the
beautiful candles in the silver arms.

"Light them yourself," answered the old man; "you are younger than I,
but let five or six be enough."

She did not stop, however, till she had lit all the eighty, but Scheih
Ibrahim was not conscious of this, and when, soon after that, Noureddin
proposed to have some of the lustres lit, he answered:

"You are more capable of lighting them than I, but not more than three."

Noureddin, far from contenting himself with three, lit all, and opened
all the eighty windows.

The Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid, chancing at that moment to open a window
in the saloon of his palace looking on the garden, was surprised to see
the pavilion brilliantly illuminated.  Calling the grand-vizir, Giafar,
he said to him:

"Negligent vizir, look at the pavilion, and tell me why it is lit up
when I am not there."

When the vizir saw that it was as the Caliph said, he trembled with
fear, and immediately invented an excuse.

"Commander of the Faithful," he said, "I must tell you that four or
five days ago Scheih Ibrahim told me that he wished to have an assembly
of the ministers of his mosque, and asked permission to hold it in the
pavilion.  I granted his request, but forgot since to mention it to
your Majesty."

"Giafar," replied the Caliph, "you have committed three faults--first,
in giving the permission; second, in not mentioning it to me; and
third, in not investigating the matter more closely.  For punishment I
condemn you to spend the rest of the night with me in company of these
worthy people.  While I dress myself as a citizen, go and disguise
yourself, and then come with me."

When they reached the garden gate they found it open, to the great
indignation of the Caliph.  The door of the pavilion being also open,
he went softly upstairs, and looked in at the half-closed door of the
saloon.  Great was his surprise to see Scheih Ibrahim, whose sobriety
he had never doubted, drinking and singing with a young man and a
beautiful lady.  The Caliph, before giving way to his anger, determined
to watch and see who the people were and what they did.

Presently Scheih Ibrahim asked the beautiful Persian if anything were
wanting to complete her enjoyment of the evening.

"If only," she said, "I had an instrument upon which I might play."

Scheih Ibrahim immediately took a lute from a cup-board and gave it to
the Persian, who began to play on it, singing the while with such skill
and taste that the Caliph was enchanted.  When she ceased he went
softly downstairs and said to the vizir:

"Never have I heard a finer voice, nor the lute better played.  I am
determined to go in and make her play to me."

"Commander of the Faithful," said the vizir, "if Scheih Ibrahim
recognises you he will die of fright."

"I should be sorry for that," answered the Caliph, "and I am going to
take steps to prevent it.  Wait here till I return."

Now the Caliph had caused a bend in the river to form a lake in his
garden.  There the finest fish in the Tigris were to be found, but
fishing was strictly forbidden.  It happened that night, however, that
a fisherman had taken advantage of the gate being open to go in and
cast his nets.  He was just about to draw them when he saw the Caliph
approaching.  Recognising him at once in spite of his disguise, he
threw himself at his feet imploring forgiveness.

"Fear nothing," said the Caliph, "only rise up and draw thy nets."

The fisherman did as he was told, and produced five or six fine fish,
of which the Caliph took the two largest.  Then he desired the
fisherman to change clothes with him, and in a few minutes the Caliph
was transformed into a fisherman, even to the shoes and the turban.
Taking the two fish in his hand, he returned to the vizir, who, not
recognising him, would have sent him about his business.  Leaving the
vizir at the foot of the stairs, the Caliph went up and knocked at the
door of the saloon.  Noureddin opened it, and the Caliph, standing on
the threshold, said:

"Scheih Ibrahim, I am the fisher Kerim.  Seeing that you are feasting
with your friends, I bring you these fish."

Noureddin and the Persian said that when the fishes were properly
cooked and dressed they would gladly eat of them.  The Caliph then
returned to the vizir, and they set to work in Scheih Ibrahim's house
to cook the fish, of which they made so tempting a dish that Noureddin
and the fair Persian ate of it with great relish.  When they had
finished Noureddin took thirty gold pieces (all that remained of what
Sangiar had given him) and presented them to the Caliph, who, thanking
him, asked as a further favour if the lady would play him one piece on
the lute.  The Persian gladly consented, and sang and played so as to
delight the Caliph.

Noureddin, in the habit of giving to others whatever they admired,
said, "Fisherman, as she pleases you so much, take her; she is yours."

The fair Persian, astounded that he should wish to part from her, took
her lute, and with tears in her eyes sang her reproaches to its music.

The Caliph (still in the character of fisherman) said to him, "Sir, I
perceive that this fair lady is your slave.  Oblige me, I beg you, by
relating your history."

Noureddin willingly granted this request, and recounted everything from
the purchase of the slave down to the present moment.

"And where do you go now?" asked the Caliph.

"Wherever the hand of Allah leads me," said Noureddin.

"Then, if you will listen to me," said the Caliph, "you will
immediately return to Balsora.  I will give you a letter to the king,
which will ensure you a good reception from him."

"It is an unheard-of thing," said Noureddin, "that a fisherman should
be in correspondence with a king."

"Let not that astonish you," answered the Caliph; "we studied together,
and have always remained the best of friends, though fortune, while
making him a king, left me a humble fisherman."

The Caliph then took a sheet of paper, and wrote the following letter,
at the top of which he put in very small characters this formula to
show that he must be implicitly obeyed:--"In the name of the Most
Merciful God.

"Letter of the Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid to the King of Balsora.

"Haroun-al-Raschid, son of Mahdi, sends this letter to Mohammed Zinebi,
his cousin.  As soon as Noureddin, son of the Vizir Khacan, bearer of
this letter, has given it to thee, and thou hast read it, take off thy
royal mantle, put it on his shoulders, and seat him in thy place
without fail.  Farewell."

The Caliph then gave this letter to Noureddin, who immediately set off,
with only what little money he possessed when Sangiar came to his
assistance.  The beautiful Persian, inconsolable at his departure, sank
on a sofa bathed in tears.

When Noureddin had left the room, Scheih Ibrahim, who had hitherto kept
silence, said:  "Kerim, for two miserable fish thou hast received a
purse and a slave.  I tell thee I will take the slave, and as to the
purse, if it contains silver thou mayst keep one piece, if gold then I
will take all and give thee what copper pieces I have in my purse."

Now here it must be related that when the Caliph went upstairs with the
plate of fish he ordered the vizir to hasten to the palace and bring
back four slaves bearing a change of raiment, who should wait outside
the pavilion till the Caliph should clap his hands.

Still personating the fisherman, the Caliph answered: "Scheih Ibrahim,
whatever is in the purse I will share equally with you, but as to the
slave I will keep her for myself.  If you do not agree to these
conditions you shall have nothing."

The old man, furious at this insolence as he considered it, took a cup
and threw it at the Caliph, who easily avoided a missile from the hand
of a drunken man.  It hit against the wall, and broke into a thousand
pieces.  Scheih Ibrahim, still more enraged, then went out to fetch a
stick.  The Caliph at that moment clapped his hands, and the vizir and
the four slaves entering took off the fisherman's dress and put on him
that which they had brought.

When Scheih Ibrahim returned, a thick stick in his hand, the Caliph was
seated on his throne, and nothing remained of the fisherman but his
clothes in the middle of the room.  Throwing himself on the ground at
the Caliph's feet, he said:  "Commander of the Faithful, your miserable
slave has offended you, and craves forgiveness."

The Caliph came down from his throne, and said:  "Rise, I forgive
thee." Then turning to the Persian he said:  "Fair lady, now you know
who I am; learn also that I have sent Noureddin to Balsora to be king,
and as soon as all necessary preparations are made I will send you
there to be queen.  Meanwhile I will give you an apartment in my
palace, where you will be treated with all honour."

At this the beautiful Persian took courage, and the Caliph was as good
as his word, recommending her to the care of his wife Zobeida.

Noureddin made all haste on his journey to Balsora, and on his arrival
there went straight to the palace of the king, of whom he demanded an
audience.  It was immediately granted, and holding the letter high
above his head he forced his way through the crowd.  While the king
read the letter he changed colour.  He would instantly have executed
the Caliph's order, but first he showed the letter to Saouy, whose
interests were equally at stake with his own.  Pretending that he
wished to read it a second time, Saouy turned aside as if to seek a
better light; unperceived by anyone he tore off the formula from the
top of the letter, put it to his mouth, and swallowed it.  Then,
turning to the king, he said:

"Your majesty has no need to obey this letter.  The writing is indeed
that of the Caliph, but the formula is absent.  Besides, he has not
sent an express with the patent, without which the letter is useless.
Leave all to me, and I will take the consequences."

The king not only listened to the persuasions of Saouy, but gave
Noureddin into his hands.  Such a severe bastinado was first
administered to him, that he was left more dead than alive; then Saouy
threw him into the darkest and deepest dungeon, and fed him only on
bread and water.  After ten days Saouy determined to put an end to
Noureddin's life, but dared not without the king's authority.  To gain
this end, he loaded several of his own slaves with rich gifts, and
presented himself at their head to the king, saying that they were from
the new king on his coronation.

"What!" said the king; "is that wretch still alive?  Go and behead him
at once.  I authorise you."

"Sire," said Saouy, "I thank your Majesty for the justice you do me.  I
would further beg, as Noureddin publicly affronted me, that the
execution might be in front of the palace, and that it might be
proclaimed throughout the city, so that no one may be ignorant of it."

The king granted these requests, and the announcement caused universal
grief, for the memory of Noureddin's father was still fresh in the
hearts of his people.  Saouy, accompanied by twenty of his own slaves,
went to the prison to fetch Noureddin, whom he mounted on a wretched
horse without a saddle.  Arrived at the palace, Saouy went in to the
king, leaving Noureddin in the square, hemmed in not only by Saouy's
slaves but by the royal guard, who had great difficulty in preventing
the people from rushing in and rescuing Noureddin.  So great was the
indignation against Saouy that if anyone had set the example he would
have been stoned on his way through the streets.  Saouy, who witnessed
the agitation of the people from the windows of the king's privy
chambers, called to the executioner to strike at once.  The king,
however, ordered him to delay; not only was he jealous of Saouy's
interference, but he had another reason.  A troop of horsemen was seen
at that moment riding at full gallop towards the square.  Saouy
suspected who they might be, and urged the king to give the signal for
the execution without delay, but this the king refused to do till he
knew who the horsemen were.

Now, they were the vizir Giafar and his suite arriving at full speed
from Bagdad.  For several days after Noureddin's departure with the
letter the Caliph had forgotten to send the express with the patent,
without which the letter was useless.  Hearing a beautiful voice one
day in the women's part of the palace uttering lamentations, he was
informed that it was the voice of the fair Persian, and suddenly
calling to mind the patent, he sent for Giafar, and ordered him to make
for Balsora with the utmost speed--if Noureddin were dead, to hang
Saouy; if he were still alive, to bring him at once to Bagdad along
with the king and Saouy.

Giafar rode at full speed through the square, and alighted at the steps
of the palace, where the king came to greet him.  The vizir's first
question was whether Noureddin were still alive.  The king replied that
he was, and he was immediately led forth, though bound hand and foot.
By the vizir's orders his bonds were immediately undone, and Saouy was
tied with the same cords.  Next day Giafar returned to Bagdad, bearing
with him the king, Saouy, and Noureddin.

When the Caliph heard what treatment Noureddin had received, he
authorised him to behead Saouy with his own hands, but he declined to
shed the blood of his enemy, who was forthwith handed over to the
executioner.  The Caliph also desired Noureddin to reign over Balsora,
but this, too, he declined, saying that after what had passed there he
preferred never to return, but to enter the service of the Caliph.  He
became one of his most intimate courtiers, and lived long in great
happiness with the fair Persian.  As to the king, the Caliph contented
himself with sending him back to Balsora, with the recommendation to be
more careful in future in the choice of his vizir.



Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp


There once lived a poor tailor, who had a son called Aladdin, a
careless, idle boy who would do nothing but play all day long in the
streets with little idle boys like himself.  This so grieved the father
that he died; yet, in spite of his mother's tears and prayers, Aladdin
did not mend his ways.  One day, when he was playing in the streets as
usual, a stranger asked him his age, and if he were not the son of
Mustapha the tailor.

"I am, sir," replied Aladdin; "but he died a long while ago."

On this the stranger, who was a famous African magician, fell on his
neck and kissed him, saying:  "I am your uncle, and knew you from your
likeness to my brother.  Go to your mother and tell her I am coming."

Aladdin ran home, and told his mother of his newly found uncle.

"Indeed, child," she said, "your father had a brother, but I always
thought he was dead."

However, she prepared supper, and bade Aladdin seek his uncle, who came
laden with wine and fruit.  He presently fell down and kissed the place
where Mustapha used to sit, bidding Aladdin's mother not to be
surprised at not having seen him before, as he had been forty years out
of the country.  He then turned to Aladdin, and asked him his trade, at
which the boy hung his head, while his mother burst into tears.  On
learning that Aladdin was idle and would learn no trade, he offered to
take a shop for him and stock it with merchandise.  Next day he bought
Aladdin a fine suit of clothes, and took him all over the city, showing
him the sights, and brought him home at nightfall to his mother, who
was overjoyed to see her son so fine.

Next day the magician led Aladdin into some beautiful gardens a long
way outside the city gates.  They sat down by a fountain, and the
magician pulled a cake from his girdle, which he divided between them.
They then journeyed onwards till they almost reached the mountains.
Aladdin was so tired that he begged to go back, but the magician
beguiled him with pleasant stories, and led him on in spite of himself.

At last they came to two mountains divided by a narrow valley.

"We will go no farther," said the false uncle.  "I will show you
something wonderful; only do you gather up sticks while I kindle a
fire."

When it was lit the magician threw on it a powder he had about him, at
the same time saying some magical words.  The earth trembled a little
and opened in front of them, disclosing a square flat stone with a
brass ring in the middle to raise it by.  Aladdin tried to run away,
but the magician caught him and gave him a blow that knocked him down.

"What have I done, uncle?" he said piteously; whereupon the magician
said more kindly:  "Fear nothing, but obey me.  Beneath this stone lies
a treasure which is to be yours, and no one else may touch it, so you
must do exactly as I tell you."

At the word treasure, Aladdin forgot his fears, and grasped the ring as
he was told, saying the names of his father and grandfather.  The stone
came up quite easily and some steps appeared.

"Go down," said the magician; "at the foot of those steps you will find
an open door leading into three large halls.  Tuck up your gown and go
through them without touching anything, or you will die instantly.
These halls lead into a garden of fine fruit trees.  Walk on till you
come to a niche in a terrace where stands a lighted lamp.  Pour out the
oil it contains and bring it to me."

He drew a ring from his finger and gave it to Aladdin, bidding him
prosper.

Aladdin found everything as the magician had said, gathered some fruit
off the trees, and, having got the lamp, arrived at the mouth of the
cave.  The magician cried out in a great hurry:

"Make haste and give me the lamp."  This Aladdin refused to do until he
was out of the cave.  The magician flew into a terrible passion, and
throwing some more powder on the fire, he said something, and the stone
rolled back into its place.

The magician left Persia for ever, which plainly showed that he was no
uncle of Aladdin's, but a cunning magician who had read in his magic
books of a wonderful lamp, which would make him the most powerful man
in the world.  Though he alone knew where to find it, he could only
receive it from the hand of another.  He had picked out the foolish
Aladdin for this purpose, intending to get the lamp and kill him
afterwards.

For two days Aladdin remained in the dark, crying and lamenting.  At
last he clasped his hands in prayer, and in so doing rubbed the ring,
which the magician had forgotten to take from him.  Immediately an
enormous and frightful genie rose out of the earth, saying:

"What wouldst thou with me?  I am the Slave of the Ring, and will obey
thee in all things."

Aladdin fearlessly replied:  "Deliver me from this place!" whereupon
the earth opened, and he found himself outside.  As soon as his eyes
could bear the light he went home, but fainted on the threshold.  When
he came to himself he told his mother what had passed, and showed her
the lamp and the fruits he had gathered in the garden, which were in
reality precious stones.  He then asked for some food.

"Alas! child," she said, "I have nothing in the house, but I have spun
a little cotton and will go and sell it."

Aladdin bade her keep her cotton, for he would sell the lamp instead.
As it was very dirty she began to rub it, that it might fetch a higher
price.  Instantly a hideous genie appeared, and asked what she would
have.  She fainted away, but Aladdin, snatching the lamp, said boldly:

"Fetch me something to eat!"

The genie returned with a silver bowl, twelve silver plates containing
rich meats, two silver cups, and two bottles of wine.  Aladdin's
mother, when she came to herself, said:

"Whence comes this splendid feast?"

"Ask not, but eat," replied Aladdin.

So they sat at breakfast till it was dinner-time, and Aladdin told his
mother about the lamp.  She begged him to sell it, and have nothing to
do with devils.

"No," said Aladdin, "since chance has made us aware of its virtues, we
will use it and the ring likewise, which I shall always wear on my
finger."  When they had eaten all the genie had brought, Aladdin sold
one of the silver plates, and so on till none were left.  He then had
recourse to the genie, who gave him another set of plates, and thus
they lived for many years.

One day Aladdin heard an order from the Sultan proclaimed that everyone
was to stay at home and close his shutters while the princess, his
daughter, went to and from the bath.  Aladdin was seized by a desire to
see her face, which was very difficult, as she always went veiled.  He
hid himself behind the door of the bath, and peeped through a chink.
The princess lifted her veil as she went in, and looked so beautiful
that Aladdin fell in love with her at first sight.  He went home so
changed that his mother was frightened.  He told her he loved the
princess so deeply that he could not live without her, and meant to ask
her in marriage of her father.  His mother, on hearing this, burst out
laughing, but Aladdin at last prevailed upon her to go before the
Sultan and carry his request.  She fetched a napkin and laid in it the
magic fruits from the enchanted garden, which sparkled and shone like
the most beautiful jewels.  She took these with her to please the
Sultan, and set out, trusting in the lamp.  The grand-vizir and the
lords of council had just gone in as she entered the hall and placed
herself in front of the Sultan.  He, however, took no notice of her.
She went every day for a week, and stood in the same place.

When the council broke up on the sixth day the Sultan said to his
vizir:  "I see a certain woman in the audience-chamber every day
carrying something in a napkin.  Call her next time, that I may find
out what she wants."

Next day, at a sign from the vizir, she went up to the foot of the
throne, and remained kneeling till the Sultan said to her: "Rise, good
woman, and tell me what you want."

She hesitated, so the Sultan sent away all but the vizir, and bade her
speak freely, promising to forgive her beforehand for anything she
might say.  She then told him of her son's violent love for the
princess.

"I prayed him to forget her," she said, "but in vain; he threatened to
do some desperate deed if I refused to go and ask your Majesty for the
hand of the princess.  Now I pray you to forgive not me alone, but my
son Aladdin."

The Sultan asked her kindly what she had in the napkin, whereupon she
unfolded the jewels and presented them.

He was thunderstruck, and turning to the vizir said:  "What sayest
thou?  Ought I not to bestow the princess on one who values her at such
a price?"

The vizir, who wanted her for his own son, begged the Sultan to
withhold her for three months, in the course of which he hoped his son
would contrive to make him a richer present.  The Sultan granted this,
and told Aladdin's mother that, though he consented to the marriage,
she must not appear before him again for three months.

Aladdin waited patiently for nearly three months, but after two had
elapsed his mother, going into the city to buy oil, found everyone
rejoicing, and asked what was going on.

"Do you not know," was the answer, "that the son of the grand-vizir is
to marry the Sultan's daughter to-night?"

Breathless, she ran and told Aladdin, who was overwhelmed at first, but
presently bethought him of the lamp.  He rubbed it, and the genie
appeared, saying:  "What is thy will?"

Aladdin replied:  "The Sultan, as thou knowest, has broken his promise
to me, and the vizir's son is to have the princess.  My command is that
to-night you bring hither the bride and bridegroom."

"Master, I obey," said the genie.

Aladdin then went to his chamber, where, sure enough at midnight the
genie transported the bed containing the vizir's son and the princess.

"Take this new-married man," he said, "and put him outside in the cold,
and return at daybreak."

Whereupon the genie took the vizir's son out of bed, leaving Aladdin
with the princess.

"Fear nothing," Aladdin said to her; "you are my wife, promised to me
by your unjust father, and no harm shall come to you."

The princess was too frightened to speak, and passed the most miserable
night of her life, while Aladdin lay down beside her and slept soundly.
At the appointed hour the genie fetched in the shivering bridegroom,
laid him in his place, and transported the bed back to the palace.

Presently the Sultan came to wish his daughter good-morning.  The
unhappy vizir's son jumped up and hid himself, while the princess would
not say a word, and was very sorrowful.

The Sultan sent her mother to her, who said:  "How comes it, child,
that you will not speak to your father?  What has happened?"

The princess sighed deeply, and at last told her mother how, during the
night, the bed had been carried into some strange house, and what had
passed there.  Her mother did not believe her in the least, but bade
her rise and consider it an idle dream.

The following night exactly the same thing happened, and next morning,
on the princess's refusing to speak, the Sultan threatened to cut off
her head.  She then confessed all, bidding him ask the vizir's son if
it were not so.  The Sultan told the vizir to ask his son, who owned
the truth, adding that, dearly as he loved the princess, he had rather
die than go through another such fearful night, and wished to be
separated from her.  His wish was granted, and there was an end of
feasting and rejoicing.

When the three months were over, Aladdin sent his mother to remind the
Sultan of his promise.  She stood in the same place as before, and the
Sultan, who had forgotten Aladdin, at once remembered him, and sent for
her.  On seeing her poverty the Sultan felt less inclined than ever to
keep his word, and asked the vizir's advice, who counselled him to set
so high a value on the princess that no man living could come up to it.

The Sultan then turned to Aladdin's mother, saying:  "Good woman, a
Sultan must remember his promises, and I will remember mine, but your
son must first send me forty basins of gold brimful of jewels, carried
by forty black slaves, led by as many white ones, splendidly dressed.
Tell him that I await his answer."  The mother of Aladdin bowed low and
went home, thinking all was lost.

She gave Aladdin the message, adding:  "He may wait long enough for
your answer!"

"Not so long, mother, as you think," her son replied "I would do a
great deal more than that for the princess."

He summoned the genie, and in a few moments the eighty slaves arrived,
and filled up the small house and garden.

Aladdin made them set out to the palace, two and two, followed by his
mother.  They were so richly dressed, with such splendid jewels in
their girdles, that everyone crowded to see them and the basins of gold
they carried on their heads.

They entered the palace, and, after kneeling before the Sultan, stood
in a half-circle round the throne with their arms crossed, while
Aladdin's mother presented them to the Sultan.

He hesitated no longer, but said:  "Good woman, return and tell your
son that I wait for him with open arms."

She lost no time in telling Aladdin, bidding him make haste.  But
Aladdin first called the genie.

"I want a scented bath," he said, "a richly embroidered habit, a horse
surpassing the Sultan's, and twenty slaves to attend me.  Besides this,
six slaves, beautifully dressed, to wait on my mother; and lastly, ten
thousand pieces of gold in ten purses."

No sooner said than done.  Aladdin mounted his horse and passed through
the streets, the slaves strewing gold as they went.  Those who had
played with him in his childhood knew him not, he had grown so handsome.

When the Sultan saw him he came down from his throne, embraced him, and
led him into a hall where a feast was spread, intending to marry him to
the princess that very day.

But Aladdin refused, saying, "I must build a palace fit for her," and
took his leave.

Once home he said to the genie:  "Build me a palace of the finest
marble, set with jasper, agate, and other precious stones.  In the
middle you shall build me a large hall with a dome, its four walls of
massy gold and silver, each side having six windows, whose lattices,
all except one, which is to be left unfinished, must be set with
diamonds and rubies.  There must be stables and horses and grooms and
slaves; go and see about it!"

The palace was finished by next day, and the genie carried him there
and showed him all his orders faithfully carried out, even to the
laying of a velvet carpet from Aladdin's palace to the Sultan's.
Aladdin's mother then dressed herself carefully, and walked to the
palace with her slaves, while he followed her on horseback.  The Sultan
sent musicians with trumpets and cymbals to meet them, so that the air
resounded with music and cheers.  She was taken to the princess, who
saluted her and treated her with great honour.  At night the princess
said good-bye to her father, and set out on the carpet for Aladdin's
palace, with his mother at her side, and followed by the hundred
slaves.  She was charmed at the sight of Aladdin, who ran to receive
her.

"Princess," he said, "blame your beauty for my boldness if I have
displeased you."

She told him that, having seen him, she willingly obeyed her father in
this matter.  After the wedding had taken place Aladdin led her into
the hall, where a feast was spread, and she supped with him, after
which they danced till midnight.

Next day Aladdin invited the Sultan to see the palace.  On entering the
hall with the four-and-twenty windows, with their rubies, diamonds, and
emeralds, he cried:

"It is a world's wonder!  There is only one thing that surprises me.
Was it by accident that one window was left unfinished?"

"No, sir, by design," returned Aladdin.  "I wished your Majesty to have
the glory of finishing this palace."

The Sultan was pleased, and sent for the best jewelers in the city.  He
showed them the unfinished window, and bade them fit it up like the
others.

"Sir," replied their spokesman, "we cannot find jewels enough."

The Sultan had his own fetched, which they soon used, but to no
purpose, for in a month's time the work was not half done.  Aladdin,
knowing that their task was vain, bade them undo their work and carry
the jewels back, and the genie finished the window at his command.  The
Sultan was surprised to receive his jewels again and visited Aladdin,
who showed him the window finished.  The Sultan embraced him, the
envious vizir meanwhile hinting that it was the work of enchantment.

Aladdin had won the hearts of the people by his gentle bearing.  He was
made captain of the Sultan's armies, and won several battles for him,
but remained modest and courteous as before, and lived thus in peace
and content for several years.

But far away in Africa the magician remembered Aladdin, and by his
magic arts discovered that Aladdin, instead of perishing miserably in
the cave, had escaped, and had married a princess, with whom he was
living in great honour and wealth.  He knew that the poor tailor's son
could only have accomplished this by means of the lamp, and travelled
night and day till he reached the capital of China, bent on Aladdin's
ruin.  As he passed through the town he heard people talking everywhere
about a marvellous palace.

"Forgive my ignorance," he asked, "what is this palace you speak of?"

"Have you not heard of Prince Aladdin's palace," was the reply, "the
greatest wonder of the world?  I will direct you if you have a mind to
see it."

The magician thanked him who spoke, and having seen the palace knew
that it had been raised by the genie of the lamp, and became half mad
with rage.  He determined to get hold of the lamp, and again plunge
Aladdin into the deepest poverty.

Unluckily, Aladdin had gone a-hunting for eight days, which gave the
magician plenty of time.  He bought a dozen copper lamps, put them into
a basket, and went to the palace, crying:  "New lamps for old!"
followed by a jeering crowd.

The princess, sitting in the hall of four-and-twenty windows, sent a
slave to find out what the noise was about, who came back laughing, so
that the princess scolded her.

"Madam," replied the slave, "who can help laughing to see an old fool
offering to exchange fine new lamps for old ones?"

Another slave, hearing this, said:  "There is an old one on the cornice
there which he can have."

Now this was the magic lamp, which Aladdin had left there, as he could
not take it out hunting with him.  The princess, not knowing its value,
laughingly bade the slave take it and make the exchange.

She went and said to the magician:  "Give me a new lamp for this."

He snatched it and bade the slave take her choice, amid the jeers of
the crowd.  Little he cared, but left off crying his lamps, and went
out of the city gates to a lonely place, where he remained till
nightfall, when he pulled out the lamp and rubbed it.  The genie
appeared, and at the magician's command carried him, together with the
palace and the princess in it, to a lonely place in Africa.

Next morning the Sultan looked out of the window towards Aladdin's
palace and rubbed his eyes, for it was gone.  He sent for the vizir,
and asked what had become of the palace.  The vizir looked out too, and
was lost in astonishment.  He again put it down to enchantment, and
this time the Sultan believed him, and sent thirty men on horseback to
fetch Aladdin in chains.  They met him riding home, bound him, and
forced him to go with them on foot.  The people, however, who loved
him, followed, armed, to see that he came to no harm.  He was carried
before the Sultan, who ordered the executioner to cut off his head.
The executioner made Aladdin kneel down, bandaged his eyes, and raised
his scimitar to strike.

At that instant the vizir, who saw that the crowd had forced their way
into the courtyard and were scaling the walls to rescue Aladdin, called
to the executioner to stay his hand.  The people, indeed, looked so
threatening that the Sultan gave way and ordered Aladdin to be unbound,
and pardoned him in the sight of the crowd.

Aladdin now begged to know what he had done.

"False wretch!" said the Sultan, "come hither," and showed him from the
window the place where his palace had stood.

Aladdin was so amazed that he could not say a word.

"Where is my palace and my daughter?" demanded the Sultan.  "For the
first I am not so deeply concerned, but my daughter I must have, and
you must find her or lose your head."

Aladdin begged for forty days in which to find her, promising if he
failed to return and suffer death at the Sultan's pleasure.  His prayer
was granted, and he went forth sadly from the Sultan's presence.  For
three days he wandered about like a madman, asking everyone what had
become of his palace, but they only laughed and pitied him.  He came to
the banks of a river, and knelt down to say his prayers before throwing
himself in.  In so doing he rubbed the magic ring he still wore.

The genie he had seen in the cave appeared, and asked his will.

"Save my life, genie," said Aladdin, "and bring my palace back."

"That is not in my power," said the genie; "I am only the slave of the
ring; you must ask the slave of the lamp."

"Even so," said Aladdin "but thou canst take me to the palace, and set
me down under my dear wife's window."  He at once found himself in
Africa, under the window of the princess, and fell asleep out of sheer
weariness.

He was awakened by the singing of the birds, and his heart was lighter.
He saw plainly that all his misfortunes were owing to the loss of the
lamp, and vainly wondered who had robbed him of it.

That morning the princess rose earlier than she had done since she had
been carried into Africa by the magician, whose company she was forced
to endure once a day.  She, however, treated him so harshly that he
dared not live there altogether.  As she was dressing, one of her women
looked out and saw Aladdin.  The princess ran and opened the window,
and at the noise she made Aladdin looked up.  She called to him to come
to her, and great was the joy of these lovers at seeing each other
again.

After he had kissed her Aladdin said:  "I beg of you, Princess, in
God's name, before we speak of anything else, for your own sake and
mine, tell me what has become of an old lamp I left on the cornice in
the hall of four-and-twenty windows, when I went a-hunting."

"Alas!" she said "I am the innocent cause of our sorrows," and told him
of the exchange of the lamp.

"Now I know," cried Aladdin, "that we have to thank the African
magician for this!  Where is the lamp?"

"He carries it about with him," said the princess, "I know, for he
pulled it out of his breast to show me.  He wishes me to break my faith
with you and marry him, saying that you were beheaded by my father's
command.  He is forever speaking ill of you, but I only reply by my
tears.  If I persist, I doubt not that he will use violence."

Aladdin comforted her, and left her for a while.  He changed clothes
with the first person he met in the town, and having bought a certain
powder returned to the princess, who let him in by a little side door.

"Put on your most beautiful dress," he said to her, "and receive the
magician with smiles, leading him to believe that you have forgotten
me.  Invite him to sup with you, and say you wish to taste the wine of
his country.  He will go for some, and while he is gone I will tell you
what to do."

She listened carefully to Aladdin, and when he left her arrayed herself
gaily for the first time since she left China.  She put on a girdle and
head-dress of diamonds, and seeing in a glass that she looked more
beautiful than ever, received the magician, saying to his great
amazement:  "I have made up my mind that Aladdin is dead, and that all
my tears will not bring him back to me, so I am resolved to mourn no
more, and have therefore invited you to sup with me; but I am tired of
the wines of China, and would fain taste those of Africa."

The magician flew to his cellar, and the princess put the powder
Aladdin had given her in her cup.  When he returned she asked him to
drink her health in the wine of Africa, handing him her cup in exchange
for his as a sign she was reconciled to him.

Before drinking the magician made her a speech in praise of her beauty,
but the princess cut him short saying:

"Let me drink first, and you shall say what you will afterwards." She
set her cup to her lips and kept it there, while the magician drained
his to the dregs and fell back lifeless.

The princess then opened the door to Aladdin, and flung her arms round
his neck, but Aladdin put her away, bidding her to leave him, as he had
more to do.  He then went to the dead magician, took the lamp out of
his vest, and bade the genie carry the palace and all in it back to
China.  This was done, and the princess in her chamber only felt two
little shocks, and little thought she was at home again.

The Sultan, who was sitting in his closet, mourning for his lost
daughter, happened to look up, and rubbed his eyes, for there stood the
palace as before!  He hastened thither, and Aladdin received him in the
hall of the four-and-twenty windows, with the princess at his side.
Aladdin told him what had happened, and showed him the dead body of the
magician, that he might believe.  A ten days' feast was proclaimed, and
it seemed as if Aladdin might now live the rest of his life in peace;
but it was not to be.

The African magician had a younger brother, who was, if possible, more
wicked and more cunning than himself.  He travelled to China to avenge
his brother's death, and went to visit a pious woman called Fatima,
thinking she might be of use to him.  He entered her cell and clapped a
dagger to her breast, telling her to rise and do his bidding on pain of
death.  He changed clothes with her, coloured his face like hers, put
on her veil and murdered her, that she might tell no tales.  Then he
went towards the palace of Aladdin, and all the people thinking he was
the holy woman, gathered round him, kissing his hands and begging his
blessing.  When he got to the palace there was such a noise going on
round him that the princess bade her slave look out of the window and
ask what was the matter.  The slave said it was the holy woman, curing
people by her touch of their ailments, whereupon the princess, who had
long desired to see Fatima, sent for her.  On coming to the princess
the magician offered up a prayer for her health and prosperity.  When
he had done the princess made him sit by her, and begged him to stay
with her always.  The false Fatima, who wished for nothing better,
consented, but kept his veil down for fear of discovery.  The princess
showed him the hall, and asked him what he thought of it.

"It is truly beautiful," said the false Fatima.  "In my mind it wants
but one thing."

"And what is that?" said the princess.

"If only a roc's egg," replied he, "were hung up from the middle of
this dome, it would be the wonder of the world."

After this the princess could think of nothing but a roc's egg, and
when Aladdin returned from hunting he found her in a very ill humour.
He begged to know what was amiss, and she told him that all her
pleasure in the hall was spoilt for the want of a roc's egg hanging
from the dome.

"It that is all," replied Aladdin, "you shall soon be happy."

He left her and rubbed the lamp, and when the genie appeared commanded
him to bring a roc's egg.  The genie gave such a loud and terrible
shriek that the hall shook.

"Wretch!" he cried, "is it not enough that I have done everything for
you, but you must command me to bring my master and hang him up in the
midst of this dome?  You and your wife and your palace deserve to be
burnt to ashes; but this request does not come from you, but from the
brother of the African magician whom you destroyed.  He is now in your
palace disguised as the holy woman--whom he murdered.  He it was who
put that wish into your wife's head.  Take care of yourself, for he
means to kill you."  So saying the genie disappeared.

Aladdin went back to the princess, saying his head ached, and
requesting that the holy Fatima should be fetched to lay her hands on
it.  But when the magician came near, Aladdin, seizing his dagger,
pierced him to the heart.

"What have you done?" cried the princess.  "You have killed the holy
woman!"

"Not so," replied Aladdin, "but a wicked magician," and told her of how
she had been deceived.

After this Aladdin and his wife lived in peace.  He succeeded the
Sultan when he died, and reigned for many years, leaving behind him a
long line of kings.



The Adventures of Haroun-al-Raschid, Caliph of Bagdad


The Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid sat in his palace, wondering if there was
anything left in the world that could possibly give him a few hours'
amusement, when Giafar the grand-vizir, his old and tried friend,
suddenly appeared before him.  Bowing low, he waited, as was his duty,
till his master spoke, but Haroun-al-Raschid merely turned his head and
looked at him, and sank back into his former weary posture.

Now Giafar had something of importance to say to the Caliph, and had no
intention of being put off by mere silence, so with another low bow in
front of the throne, he began to speak.

"Commander of the Faithful," said he, "I have taken on myself to remind
your Highness that you have undertaken secretly to observe for yourself
the manner in which justice is done and order is kept throughout the
city.  This is the day you have set apart to devote to this object, and
perhaps in fulfilling this duty you may find some distraction from the
melancholy to which, as I see to my sorrow, you are a prey."

"You are right," returned the Caliph, "I had forgotten all about it.
Go and change your coat, and I will change mine."

A few moments later they both re-entered the hall, disguised as foreign
merchants, and passed through a secret door, out into the open country.
Here they turned towards the Euphrates, and crossing the river in a
small boat, walked through that part of the town which lay along the
further bank, without seeing anything to call for their interference.
Much pleased with the peace and good order of the city, the Caliph and
his vizir made their way to a bridge, which led straight back to the
palace, and had already crossed it, when they were stopped by an old
and blind man, who begged for alms.

The Caliph gave him a piece of money, and was passing on, but the blind
man seized his hand, and held him fast.

"Charitable person," he said, "whoever you may be grant me yet another
prayer.  Strike me, I beg of you, one blow.  I have deserved it richly,
and even a more severe penalty."

The Caliph, much surprised at this request, replied gently: "My good
man, that which you ask is impossible.  Of what use would my alms be if
I treated you so ill?"  And as he spoke he tried to loosen the grasp of
the blind beggar.

"My lord," answered the man, "pardon my boldness and my persistence.
Take back your money, or give me the blow which I crave.  I have sworn
a solemn oath that I will receive nothing without receiving
chastisement, and if you knew all, you would feel that the punishment
is not a tenth part of what I deserve."

Moved by these words, and perhaps still more by the fact that he had
other business to attend to, the Caliph yielded, and struck him lightly
on the shoulder.  Then he continued his road, followed by the blessing
of the blind man.  When they were out of earshot, he said to the vizir,
"There must be something very odd to make that man act so--I should
like to find out what is the reason.  Go back to him; tell him who I
am, and order him to come without fail to the palace to-morrow, after
the hour of evening prayer."

So the grand-vizir went back to the bridge; gave the blind beggar first
a piece of money and then a blow, delivered the Caliph's message, and
rejoined his master.

They passed on towards the palace, but walking through a square, they
came upon a crowd watching a young and well-dressed man who was urging
a horse at full speed round the open space, using at the same time his
spurs and whip so unmercifully that the animal was all covered with
foam and blood.  The Caliph, astonished at this proceeding, inquired of
a passer-by what it all meant, but no one could tell him anything,
except that every day at the same hour the same thing took place.

Still wondering, he passed on, and for the moment had to content
himself with telling the vizir to command the horseman also to appear
before him at the same time as the blind man.

The next day, after evening prayer, the Caliph entered the hall, and
was followed by the vizir bringing with him the two men of whom we have
spoken, and a third, with whom we have nothing to do.  They all bowed
themselves low before the throne and then the Caliph bade them rise,
and ask the blind man his name.

"Baba-Abdalla, your Highness," said he.

"Baba-Abdalla," returned the Caliph, "your way of asking alms yesterday
seemed to me so strange, that I almost commanded you then and there to
cease from causing such a public scandal.  But I have sent for you to
inquire what was your motive in making such a curious vow.  When I know
the reason I shall be able to judge whether you can be permitted to
continue to practise it, for I cannot help thinking that it sets a very
bad example to others.  Tell me therefore the whole truth, and conceal
nothing."

These words troubled the heart of Baba-Abdalla, who prostrated himself
at the feet of the Caliph.  Then rising, he answered: "Commander of the
Faithful, I crave your pardon humbly, for my persistence in beseeching
your Highness to do an action which appears on the face of it to be
without any meaning.  No doubt, in the eyes of men, it has none; but I
look on it as a slight expiation for a fearful sin of which I have been
guilty, and if your Highness will deign to listen to my tale, you will
see that no punishment could atone for the crime."



The Story of the Blind Baba-Abdalla


I was born, Commander of the Faithful, in Bagdad, and was left an
orphan while I was yet a very young man, for my parents died within a
few days of each other.  I had inherited from them a small fortune,
which I worked hard night and day to increase, till at last I found
myself the owner of eighty camels.  These I hired out to travelling
merchants, whom I frequently accompanied on their various journeys, and
always returned with large profits.

One day I was coming back from Balsora, whither I had taken a supply of
goods, intended for India, and halted at noon in a lonely place, which
promised rich pasture for my camels.  I was resting in the shade under
a tree, when a dervish, going on foot towards Balsora, sat down by my
side, and I inquired whence he had come and to what place he was going.
We soon made friends, and after we had asked each other the usual
questions, we produced the food we had with us, and satisfied our
hunger.

While we were eating, the dervish happened to mention that in a spot
only a little way off from where we were sitting, there was hidden a
treasure so great that if my eighty camels were loaded till they could
carry no more, the hiding place would seem as full as if it had never
been touched.

At this news I became almost beside myself with joy and greed, and I
flung my arms round the neck of the dervish, exclaiming:  "Good
dervish, I see plainly that the riches of this world are nothing to
you, therefore of what use is the knowledge of this treasure to you?
Alone and on foot, you could carry away a mere handful.  But tell me
where it is, and I will load my eighty camels with it, and give you one
of them as a token of my gratitude."

Certainly my offer does not sound very magnificent, but it was great to
me, for at his words a wave of covetousness had swept over my heart,
and I almost felt as if the seventy-nine camels that were left were
nothing in comparison.

The dervish saw quite well what was passing in my mind, but he did not
show what he thought of my proposal.

"My brother," he answered quietly, "you know as well as I do, that you
are behaving unjustly.  It was open to me to keep my secret, and to
reserve the treasure for myself.  But the fact that I have told you of
its existence shows that I had confidence in you, and that I hoped to
earn your gratitude for ever, by making your fortune as well as mine.
But before I reveal to you the secret of the treasure, you must swear
that, after we have loaded the camels with as much as they can carry,
you will give half to me, and let us go our own ways.  I think you will
see that this is fair, for if you present me with forty camels, I on my
side will give you the means of buying a thousand more."

I could not of course deny that what the dervish said was perfectly
reasonable, but, in spite of that, the thought that the dervish would
be as rich as I was unbearable to me.  Still there was no use in
discussing the matter, and I had to accept his conditions or bewail to
the end of my life the loss of immense wealth.  So I collected my
camels and we set out together under the guidance of the dervish.
After walking some time, we reached what looked like a valley, but with
such a narrow entrance that my camels could only pass one by one.  The
little valley, or open space, was shut up by two mountains, whose sides
were formed of straight cliffs, which no human being could climb.

When we were exactly between these mountains the dervish stopped.

"Make your camels lie down in this open space," he said, "so that we
can easily load them; then we will go to the treasure."

I did what I was bid, and rejoined the dervish, whom I found trying to
kindle a fire out of some dry wood.  As soon as it was alight, he threw
on it a handful of perfumes, and pronounced a few words that I did not
understand, and immediately a thick column of smoke rose high into the
air.  He separated the smoke into two columns, and then I saw a rock,
which stood like a pillar between the two mountains, slowly open, and a
splendid palace appear within.

But, Commander of the Faithful, the love of gold had taken such
possession of my heart, that I could not even stop to examine the
riches, but fell upon the first pile of gold within my reach and began
to heap it into a sack that I had brought with me.

The dervish likewise set to work, but I soon noticed that he confined
himself to collecting precious stones, and I felt I should be wise to
follow his example.  At length the camels were loaded with as much as
they could carry, and nothing remained but to seal up the treasure, and
go our ways.

Before, however, this was done, the dervish went up to a great golden
vase, beautifully chased, and took from it a small wooden box, which he
hid in the bosom of his dress, merely saying that it contained a
special kind of ointment.  Then he once more kindled the fire, threw on
the perfume, and murmured the unknown spell, and the rock closed, and
stood whole as before.

The next thing was to divide the camels, and to charge them with the
treasure, after which we each took command of our own and marched out
of the valley, till we reached the place in the high road where the
routes diverge, and then we parted, the dervish going towards Balsora,
and I to Bagdad.  We embraced each other tenderly, and I poured out my
gratitude for the honour he had done me, in singling me out for this
great wealth, and having said a hearty farewell we turned our backs,
and hastened after our camels.

I had hardly come up with mine when the demon of envy filled my soul.
"What does a dervish want with riches like that?"  I said to myself.
"He alone has the secret of the treasure, and can always get as much as
he wants," and I halted my camels by the roadside, and ran back after
him.

I was a quick runner, and it did not take me very long to come up with
him.  "My brother," I exclaimed, as soon as I could speak, "almost at
the moment of our leave-taking, a reflection occurred to me, which is
perhaps new to you.  You are a dervish by profession, and live a very
quiet life, only caring to do good, and careless of the things of this
world.  You do not realise the burden that you lay upon yourself, when
you gather into your hands such great wealth, besides the fact that no
one, who is not accustomed to camels from his birth, can ever manage
the stubborn beasts.  If you are wise, you will not encumber yourself
with more than thirty, and you will find those trouble enough."

"You are right," replied the dervish, who understood me quite well, but
did not wish to fight the matter.  "I confess I had not thought about
it.  Choose any ten you like, and drive them before you."

I selected ten of the best camels, and we proceeded along the road, to
rejoin those I had left behind.  I had got what I wanted, but I had
found the dervish so easy to deal with, that I rather regretted I had
not asked for ten more.  I looked back.  He had only gone a few paces,
and I called after him.

"My brother," I said, "I am unwilling to part from you without pointing
out what I think you scarcely grasp, that large experience of
camel-driving is necessary to anybody who intends to keep together a
troop of thirty.  In your own interest, I feel sure you would be much
happier if you entrusted ten more of them to me, for with my practice
it is all one to me if I take two or a hundred."

As before, the dervish made no difficulties, and I drove off my ten
camels in triumph, only leaving him with twenty for his share.  I had
now sixty, and anyone might have imagined that I should be content.

But, Commander of the Faithful, there is a proverb that says, "the more
one has, the more one wants."  So it was with me.  I could not rest as
long as one solitary camel remained to the dervish; and returning to
him I redoubled my prayers and embraces, and promises of eternal
gratitude, till the last twenty were in my hands.

"Make a good use of them, my brother," said the holy man.  "Remember
riches sometimes have wings if we keep them for ourselves, and the poor
are at our gates expressly that we may help them."

My eyes were so blinded by gold, that I paid no heed to his wise
counsel, and only looked about for something else to grasp.  Suddenly I
remembered the little box of ointment that the dervish had hidden, and
which most likely contained a treasure more precious than all the rest.
Giving him one last embrace, I observed accidentally, "What are you
going to do with that little box of ointment?  It seems hardly worth
taking with you; you might as well let me have it.  And really, a
dervish who has given up the world has no need of ointment!"

Oh, if he had only refused my request!  But then, supposing he had, I
should have got possession of it by force, so great was the madness
that had laid hold upon me.  However, far from refusing it, the dervish
at once held it out, saying gracefully, "Take it, my friend, and if
there is anything else I can do to make you happy you must let me know."

Directly the box was in my hands I wrenched off the cover.  "As you are
so kind," I said, "tell me, I pray you, what are the virtues of this
ointment?"

"They are most curious and interesting," replied the dervish.  "If you
apply a little of it to your left eye you will behold in an instant all
the treasures hidden in the bowels of the earth.  But beware lest you
touch your right eye with it, or your sight will be destroyed for ever."

His words excited my curiosity to the highest pitch.  "Make trial on
me, I implore you," I cried, holding out the box to the dervish.  "You
will know how to do it better than I!  I am burning with impatience to
test its charms."

The dervish took the box I had extended to him, and, bidding me shut my
left eye, touched it gently with the ointment.  When I opened it again
I saw spread out, as it were before me, treasures of every kind and
without number.  But as all this time I had been obliged to keep my
right eye closed, which was very fatiguing, I begged the dervish to
apply the ointment to that eye also.

"If you insist upon it I will do it," answered the dervish, "but you
must remember what I told you just now--that if it touches your right
eye you will become blind on the spot."

Unluckily, in spite of my having proved the truth of the dervish's
words in so many instances, I was firmly convinced that he was now
keeping concealed from me some hidden and precious virtue of the
ointment.  So I turned a deaf ear to all he said.

"My brother," I replied smiling, "I see you are joking.  It is not
natural that the same ointment should have two such exactly opposite
effects."

"It is true all the same," answered the dervish, "and it would be well
for you if you believed my word."

But I would not believe, and, dazzled by the greed of avarice, I
thought that if one eye could show me riches, the other might teach me
how to get possession of them.  And I continued to press the dervish to
anoint my right eye, but this he resolutely declined to do.

"After having conferred such benefits on you," said he, "I am loth
indeed to work you such evil.  Think what it is to be blind, and do not
force me to do what you will repent as long as you live."

It was of no use.  "My brother," I said firmly, "pray say no more, but
do what I ask.  You have most generously responded to my wishes up to
this time, do not spoil my recollection of you for a thing of such
little consequence.  Let what will happen I take it on my own head, and
will never reproach you."

"Since you are determined upon it," he answered with a sigh, "there is
no use talking," and taking the ointment he laid some on my right eye,
which was tight shut.  When I tried to open it heavy clouds of darkness
floated before me.  I was as blind as you see me now!

"Miserable dervish!"  I shrieked, "so it is true after all!  Into what
a bottomless pit has my lust after gold plunged me.  Ah, now that my
eyes are closed they are really opened.  I know that all my sufferings
are caused by myself alone!  But, good brother, you, who are so kind
and charitable, and know the secrets of such vast learning, have you
nothing that will give me back my sight?"

"Unhappy man," replied the dervish, "it is not my fault that this has
befallen you, but it is a just chastisement.  The blindness of your
heart has wrought the blindness of your body.  Yes, I have secrets;
that you have seen in the short time that we have known each other.
But I have none that will give you back your sight.  You have proved
yourself unworthy of the riches that were given you.  Now they have
passed into my hands, whence they will flow into the hands of others
less greedy and ungrateful than you."

The dervish said no more and left me, speechless with shame and
confusion, and so wretched that I stood rooted to the spot, while he
collected the eighty camels and proceeded on his way to Balsora.  It
was in vain that I entreated him not to leave me, but at least to take
me within reach of the first passing caravan.  He was deaf to my
prayers and cries, and I should soon have been dead of hunger and
misery if some merchants had not come along the track the following day
and kindly brought me back to Bagdad.

From a rich man I had in one moment become a beggar; and up to this
time I have lived solely on the alms that have been bestowed on me.
But, in order to expiate the sin of avarice, which was my undoing, I
oblige each passer-by to give me a blow.

This, Commander of the Faithful, is my story.

When the blind man had ended the Caliph addressed him: "Baba-Abdalla,
truly your sin is great, but you have suffered enough.  Henceforth
repent in private, for I will see that enough money is given you day by
day for all your wants."

At these words Baba-Abdalla flung himself at the Caliph's feet, and
prayed that honour and happiness might be his portion for ever.



The Story of Sidi-Nouman


The Caliph, Haroun-al-Raschid, was much pleased with the tale of the
blind man and the dervish, and when it was finished he turned to the
young man who had ill-treated his horse, and inquired his name also.
The young man replied that he was called Sidi-Nouman.

"Sidi-Nouman," observed the Caliph, "I have seen horses broken all my
life long, and have even broken them myself, but I have never seen any
horse broken in such a barbarous manner as by you yesterday.  Every one
who looked on was indignant, and blamed you loudly.  As for myself, I
was so angry that I was very nearly disclosing who I was, and putting a
stop to it at once.  Still, you have not the air of a cruel man, and I
would gladly believe that you did not act in this way without some
reason.  As I am told that it was not the first time, and indeed that
every day you are to be seen flogging and spurring your horse, I wish
to come to the bottom of the matter.  But tell me the whole truth, and
conceal nothing."

Sidi-Nouman changed colour as he heard these words, and his manner grew
confused; but he saw plainly that there was no help for it.  So he
prostrated himself before the throne of the Caliph and tried to obey,
but the words stuck in his throat, and he remained silent.

The Caliph, accustomed though he was to instant obedience, guessed
something of what was passing in the young man's mind, and sought to
put him at his ease.  "Sidi-Nouman," he said, "do not think of me as
the Caliph, but merely as a friend who would like to hear your story.
If there is anything in it that you are afraid may offend me, take
courage, for I pardon you beforehand.  Speak then openly and without
fear, as to one who knows and loves you."

Reassured by the kindness of the Caliph, Sidi-Nouman at length began
his tale.

"Commander of the Faithful," said he, "dazzled though I am by the
lustre of your Highness' presence, I will do my best to satisfy your
wishes.  I am by no means perfect, but I am not naturally cruel,
neither do I take pleasure in breaking the law.  I admit that the
treatment of my horse is calculated to give your Highness a bad opinion
of me, and to set an evil example to others; yet I have not chastised
it without reason, and I have hopes that I shall be judged more worthy
of pity than punishment."

Commander of the Faithful, I will not trouble to describe my birth; it
is not of sufficient distinction to deserve your Highness' attention.
My ancestors were careful people, and I inherited enough money to
enable me to live comfortably, though without show.

Having therefore a modest fortune, the only thing wanting to my
happiness was a wife who could return my affection, but this blessing I
was not destined to get; for on the very day after my marriage, my
bride began to try my patience in every way that was most hard to bear.

Now, seeing that the customs of our land oblige us to marry without
ever beholding the person with whom we are to pass our lives, a man has
of course no right to complain as long as his wife is not absolutely
repulsive, or is not positively deformed.  And whatever defects her
body may have, pleasant ways and good behaviour will go far to remedy
them.

The first time I saw my wife unveiled, when she had been brought to my
house with the usual ceremonies, I was enchanted to find that I had not
been deceived in regard to the account that had been given me of her
beauty.  I began my married life in high spirits, and the best hopes of
happiness.

The following day a grand dinner was served to us but as my wife did
not appear, I ordered a servant to call her.  Still she did not come,
and I waited impatiently for some time.  At last she entered the room,
and she took our places at the table, and plates of rice were set
before us.

I ate mine, as was natural, with a spoon, but great was my surprise to
notice that my wife, instead of doing the same, drew from her pocket a
little case, from which she selected a long pin, and by the help of
this pin conveyed her rice grain by grain to her mouth.

"Amina," I exclaimed in astonishment, "is that the way you eat rice at
home?  And did you do it because your appetite was so small, or did you
wish to count the grains so that you might never eat more than a
certain number?  If it was from economy, and you are anxious to teach
me not to be wasteful, you have no cause for alarm.  We shall never
ruin ourselves in that way!  Our fortune is large enough for all our
needs, therefore, dear Amina, do not seek to check yourself, but eat as
much as you desire, as I do!"

In reply to my affectionate words, I expected a cheerful answer; yet
Amina said nothing at all, but continued to pick her rice as before,
only at longer and longer intervals.  And, instead of trying the other
dishes, all she did was to put every now and then a crumb, of bread
into her mouth, that would not have made a meal for a sparrow.

I felt provoked by her obstinacy, but to excuse her to myself as far as
I could, I suggested that perhaps she had never been used to eat in the
company of men, and that her family might have taught her that she
ought to behave prudently and discreetly in the presence of her
husband.  Likewise that she might either have dined already or intend
to do so in her own apartments.  So I took no further notice, and when
I had finished left the room, secretly much vexed at her strange
conduct.

The same thing occurred at supper, and all through the next day,
whenever we ate together.  It was quite clear that no woman could live
upon two or three bread-crumbs and a few grains of rice, and I
determined to find out how and when she got food.  I pretended not to
pay attention to anything she did, in the hope that little by little
she would get accustomed to me, and become more friendly; but I soon
saw that my expectations were quite vain.

One night I was lying with my eyes closed, and to, all appearance sound
asleep, when Amina arose softly, and dressed herself without making the
slightest sound.  I could not imagine what she was going to do, and as
my curiosity was great I made up my mind to follow her.  When she was
fully dressed, she stole quietly from the room.

The instant she had let the curtain fall behind her, I flung a garment
on my shoulders and a pair of slippers on my feet.  Looking from a
lattice which opened into the court, I saw her in the act of passing
through the street door, which she carefully left open.

It was bright moonlight, so I easily managed to keep her in sight, till
she entered a cemetery not far from the house.  There I hid myself
under the shadow of the wall, and crouched down cautiously; and hardly
was I concealed, when I saw my wife approaching in company with a
ghoul--one of those demons which, as your Highness is aware, wander
about the country making their lairs in deserted buildings and
springing out upon unwary travellers whose flesh they eat.  If no live
being goes their way, they then betake themselves to the cemeteries,
and feed upon the dead bodies.

I was nearly struck dumb with horror on seeing my wife with this
hideous female ghoul.  They passed by me without noticing me, began to
dig up a corpse which had been buried that day, and then sat down on
the edge of the grave, to enjoy their frightful repast, talking quietly
and cheerfully all the while, though I was too far off to hear what
they said.  When they had finished, they threw back the body into the
grave, and heaped back the earth upon it.  I made no effort to disturb
them, and returned quickly to the house, when I took care to leave the
door open, as I had previously found it.  Then I got back into bed, and
pretended to sleep soundly.

A short time after Amina entered as quietly as she had gone out.  She
undressed and stole into bed, congratulating herself apparently on the
cleverness with which she had managed her expedition.

As may be guessed, after such a scene it was long before I could close
my eyes, and at the first sound which called the faithful to prayer, I
put on my clothes and went to the mosque.  But even prayer did not
restore peace to my troubled spirit, and I could not face my wife until
I had made up my mind what future course I should pursue in regard to
her.  I therefore spent the morning roaming about from one garden to
another, turning over various plans for compelling my wife to give up
her horrible ways; I thought of using violence to make her submit, but
felt reluctant to be unkind to her.  Besides, I had an instinct that
gentle means had the best chance of success; so, a little soothed, I
turned towards home, which I reached about the hour of dinner.

As soon as I appeared, Amina ordered dinner to be served, and we sat
down together.  As usual, she persisted in only picking a few grains of
rice, and I resolved to speak to her at once of what lay so heavily on
my heart.

"Amina," I said, as quietly as possible, "you must have guessed the
surprise I felt, when the day after our marriage you declined to eat
anything but a few morsels of rice, and altogether behaved in such a
manner that most husbands would have been deeply wounded.  However I
had patience with you, and only tried to tempt your appetite by the
choicest dishes I could invent, but all to no purpose.  Still, Amina,
it seems to me that there be some among them as sweet to the taste as
the flesh of a corpse?"

I had no sooner uttered these words than Amina, who instantly
understood that I had followed her to the grave-yard, was seized with a
passion beyond any that I have ever witnessed.  Her face became purple,
her eyes looked as if they would start from her head, and she
positively foamed with rage.

I watched her with terror, wondering what would happen next, but little
thinking what would be the end of her fury.  She seized a vessel of
water that stood at hand, and plunging her hand in it, murmured some
words I failed to catch.  Then, sprinkling it on my face, she cried
madly:

"Wretch, receive the reward of your prying, and become a dog."

The words were not out of her mouth when, without feeling conscious
that any change was passing over me, I suddenly knew that I had ceased
to be a man.  In the greatness of the shock and surprise--for I had no
idea that Amina was a magician--I never dreamed of running away, and
stood rooted to the spot, while Amina grasped a stick and began to beat
me.  Indeed her blows were so heavy, that I only wonder they did not
kill me at once.  However they succeeded in rousing me from my stupor,
and I dashed into the court-yard, followed closely by Amina, who made
frantic dives at me, which I was not quick enough to dodge.  At last
she got tired of pursuing me, or else a new trick entered into her
head, which would give me speedy and painful death; she opened the gate
leading into the street, intending to crush me as I passed through.
Dog though I was, I saw through her design, and stung into presence of
mind by the greatness of the danger, I timed my movements so well that
I contrived to rush through, and only the tip of my tail received a
squeeze as she banged the gate.

I was safe, but my tail hurt me horribly, and I yelped and howled so
loud all along the streets, that the other dogs came and attacked me,
which made matters no better.  In order to avoid them, I took refuge in
a cookshop, where tongues and sheep's heads were sold.

At first the owner showed me great kindness, and drove away the other
dogs that were still at my heels, while I crept into the darkest
corner.  But though I was safe for the moment, I was not destined to
remain long under his protection, for he was one of those who hold all
dogs to be unclean, and that all the washing in the world will hardly
purify you from their contact.  So after my enemies had gone to seek
other prey, he tried to lure me from my corner in order to force me
into the street.  But I refused to come out of my hole, and spent the
night in sleep, which I sorely needed, after the pain inflicted on me
by Amina.

I have no wish to weary your Highness by dwelling on the sad thoughts
which accompanied my change of shape, but it may interest you to hear
that the next morning my host went out early to do his marketing, and
returned laden with the sheep's heads, and tongues and trotters that
formed his stock in trade for the day.  The smell of meat attracted
various hungry dogs in the neighbourhood, and they gathered round the
door begging for some bits.  I stole out of my corner, and stood with
them.

In spite of his objection to dogs, as unclean animals, my protector was
a kind-hearted man, and knowing I had eaten nothing since yesterday, he
threw me bigger and better bits than those which fell to the share of
the other dogs.  When I had finished, I tried to go back into the shop,
but this he would not allow, and stood so firmly at the entrance with a
stout stick, that I was forced to give it up, and seek some other home.

A few paces further on was a baker's shop, which seemed to have a gay
and merry man for a master.  At that moment he was having his
breakfast, and though I gave no signs of hunger, he at once threw me a
piece of bread.  Before gobbling it up, as most dogs are in the habit
of doing, I bowed my head and wagged my tail, in token of thanks, and
he understood, and smiled pleasantly.  I really did not want the bread
at all, but felt it would be ungracious to refuse, so I ate it slowly,
in order that he might see that I only did it out of politeness.  He
understood this also, and seemed quite willing to let me stay in his
shop, so I sat down, with my face to the door, to show that I only
asked his protection.  This he gave me, and indeed encouraged me to
come into the house itself, giving me a corner where I might sleep,
without being in anybody's way.

The kindness heaped on me by this excellent man was far greater than I
could ever have expected.  He was always affectionate in his manner of
treating me, and I shared his breakfast, dinner and supper, while, on
my side, I gave him all the gratitude and attachment to which he had a
right.

I sat with my eyes fixed on him, and he never left the house without
having me at his heels; and if it ever happened that when he was
preparing to go out I was asleep, and did not notice, he would call
"Rufus, Rufus," for that was the name he gave me.

Some weeks passed in this way, when one day a woman came in to buy
bread.  In paying for it, she laid down several pieces of money, one of
which was bad.  The baker perceived this, and declined to take it,
demanding another in its place.  The woman, for her part, refused to
take it back, declaring it was perfectly good, but the baker would have
nothing to do with it.  "It is really such a bad imitation," he
exclaimed at last, "that even my dog would not be taken in.  Here
Rufus!  Rufus!" and hearing his voice, I jumped on to the counter.  The
baker threw down the money before me, and said, "Find out if there is a
bad coin."  I looked at each in turn, and then laid my paw on the false
one, glancing at the same time at my master, so as to point it out.

The baker, who had of course been only in joke, was exceedingly
surprised at my cleverness, and the woman, who was at last convinced
that the man spoke the truth, produced another piece of money in its
place.  When she had gone, my master was so pleased that he told all
the neighbours what I had done, and made a great deal more of it than
there really was.

The neighbours, very naturally, declined to believe his story, and
tried me several times with all the bad money they could collect
together, but I never failed to stand the test triumphantly.

Soon, the shop was filled from morning till night, with people who on
the pretence of buying bread came to see if I was as clever as I was
reported to be.  The baker drove a roaring trade, and admitted that I
was worth my weight in gold to him.

Of course there were plenty who envied him his large custom, and many
was the pitfall set for me, so that he never dared to let me out of his
sight.  One day a woman, who had not been in the shop before, came to
ask for bread, like the rest.  As usual, I was lying on the counter,
and she threw down six coins before me, one of which was false.  I
detected it at once, and put my paw on it, looking as I did so at the
woman.  "Yes," she said, nodding her head.  "You are quite right, that
is the one."  She stood gazing at me attentively for some time, then
paid for the bread, and left the shop, making a sign for me to follow
her secretly.

Now my thoughts were always running on some means of shaking off the
spell laid on me, and noticing the way in which this woman had looked
at me, the idea entered my head that perhaps she might have guessed
what had happened, and in this I was not deceived.  However I let her
go on a little way, and merely stood at the door watching her.  She
turned, and seeing that I was quite still, she again beckoned to me.

The baker all this while was busy with his oven, and had forgotten all
about me, so I stole out softly, and ran after the woman.

When we came to her house, which was some distance off, she opened the
door and then said to me, "Come in, come in; you will never be sorry
that you followed me."  When I had entered she fastened the door, and
took me into a large room, where a beautiful girl was working at a
piece of embroidery.  "My daughter," exclaimed my guide, "I have
brought you the famous dog belonging to the baker which can tell good
money from bad.  You know that when I first heard of him, I told you I
was sure he must be really a man, changed into a dog by magic.  To-day
I went to the baker's, to prove for myself the truth of the story, and
persuaded the dog to follow me here.  Now what do you say?"

"You are right, mother," replied the girl, and rising she dipped her
hand into a vessel of water.  Then sprinkling it over me she said, "If
you were born dog, remain dog; but if you were born man, by virtue of
this water resume your proper form."  In one moment the spell was
broken.  The dog's shape vanished as if it had never been, and it was a
man who stood before her.

Overcome with gratitude at my deliverance, I flung myself at her feet,
and kissed the hem of her garment.  "How can I thank you for your
goodness towards a stranger, and for what you have done?  Henceforth I
am your slave.  Deal with me as you will!"

Then, in order to explain how I came to be changed into a dog, I told
her my whole story, and finished with rendering the mother the thanks
due to her for the happiness she had brought me.

"Sidi-Nouman," returned the daughter, "say no more about the obligation
you are under to us.  The knowledge that we have been of service to you
is ample payment.  Let us speak of Amina, your wife, with whom I was
acquainted before her marriage.  I was aware that she was a magician,
and she knew too that I had studied the same art, under the same
mistress.  We met often going to the same baths, but we did not like
each other, and never sought to become friends.  As to what concerns
you, it is not enough to have broken your spell, she must be punished
for her wickedness.  Remain for a moment with my mother, I beg," she
added hastily, "I will return shortly."

Left alone with the mother, I again expressed the gratitude I felt, to
her as well as to her daughter.

"My daughter," she answered, "is, as you see, as accomplished a
magician as Amina herself, but you would be astonished at the amount of
good she does by her knowledge.  That is why I have never interfered,
otherwise I should have put a stop to it long ago."  As she spoke, her
daughter entered with a small bottle in her hand.

"Sidi-Nouman," she said, "the books I have just consulted tell me that
Amina is not home at present, but she should return at any moment.  I
have likewise found out by their means, that she pretends before the
servants great uneasiness as to your absence.  She has circulated a
story that, while at dinner with her, you remembered some important
business that had to be done at once, and left the house without
shutting the door.  By this means a dog had strayed in, which she was
forced to get rid of by a stick.  Go home then without delay, and await
Amina's return in your room.  When she comes in, go down to meet her,
and in her surprise, she will try to run away.  Then have this bottle
ready, and dash the water it contains over her, saying boldly, "Receive
the reward of your crimes." That is all I have to tell you."

Everything happened exactly as the young magician had foretold.  I had
not been in my house many minutes before Amina returned, and as she
approached I stepped in front of her, with the water in my hand.  She
gave one loud cry, and turned to the door, but she was too late.  I had
already dashed the water in her face and spoken the magic words.  Amina
disappeared, and in her place stood the horse you saw me beating
yesterday.

This, Commander of the Faithful, is my story, and may I venture to hope
that, now you have heard the reason of my conduct, your Highness will
not think this wicked woman too harshly treated?

"Sidi-Nouman," replied the Caliph, "your story is indeed a strange one,
and there is no excuse to be offered for your wife.  But, without
condemning your treatment of her, I wish you to reflect how much she
must suffer from being changed into an animal, and I hope you will let
that punishment be enough.  I do not order you to insist upon the young
magician finding the means to restore your wife to her human shape,
because I know that when once women such as she begin to work evil they
never leave off, and I should only bring down on your head a vengeance
far worse than the one you have undergone already."



The Story of Ali Colia, Merchant of Bagdad


In the reign of Haroun-al-Raschid, there lived in Bagdad a merchant
named Ali Cogia, who, having neither wife nor child, contented himself
with the modest profits produced by his trade.  He had spent some years
quite happily in the house his father had left him, when three nights
running he dreamed that an old man had appeared to him, and reproached
him for having neglected the duty of a good Mussulman, in delaying so
long his pilgrimage to Mecca.

Ali Cogia was much troubled by this dream, as he was unwilling to give
up his shop, and lose all his customers.  He had shut his eyes for some
time to the necessity of performing this pilgrimage, and tried to atone
to his conscience by an extra number of good works, but the dream
seemed to him a direct warning, and he resolved to put the journey off
no longer.

The first thing he did was to sell his furniture and the wares he had
in his shop, only reserving to himself such goods as he might trade
with on the road.  The shop itself he sold also, and easily found a
tenant for his private house.  The only matter he could not settle
satisfactorily was the safe custody of a thousand pieces of gold which
he wished to leave behind him.

After some thought, Ali Cogia hit upon a plan which seemed a safe one.
He took a large vase, and placing the money in the bottom of it, filled
up the rest with olives.  After corking the vase tightly down, he
carried it to one of his friends, a merchant like himself, and said to
him:

"My brother, you have probably heard that I am staffing with a caravan
in a few days for Mecca.  I have come to ask whether you would do me
the favour to keep this vase of olives for me till I come back?"

The merchant replied readily, "Look, this is the key of my shop: take
it, and put the vase wherever you like.  I promise that you shall find
it in the same place on your return."

A few days later, Ali Cogia mounted the camel that he had laden with
merchandise, joined the caravan, and arrived in due time at Mecca.
Like the other pilgrims he visited the sacred Mosque, and after all his
religious duties were performed, he set out his goods to the best
advantage, hoping to gain some customers among the passers-by.

Very soon two merchants stopped before the pile, and when they had
turned it over, one said to the other:

"If this man was wise he would take these things to Cairo, where he
would get a much better price than he is likely to do here."

Ali Cogia heard the words, and lost no time in following the advice.
He packed up his wares, and instead of returning to Bagdad, joined a
caravan that was going to Cairo.  The results of the journey gladdened
his heart.  He sold off everything almost directly, and bought a stock
of Egyptian curiosities, which he intended selling at Damascus; but as
the caravan with which he would have to travel would not be starting
for another six weeks, he took advantage of the delay to visit the
Pyramids, and some of the cities along the banks of the Nile.

Now the attractions of Damascus so fascinated the worthy Ali, that he
could hardly tear himself away, but at length he remembered that he had
a home in Bagdad, meaning to return by way of Aleppo, and after he had
crossed the Euphrates, to follow the course of the Tigris.

But when he reached Mossoul, Ali had made such friends with some
Persian merchants, that they persuaded him to accompany them to their
native land, and even as far as India, and so it came to pass that
seven years had slipped by since he had left Bagdad, and during all
that time the friend with whom he had left the vase of olives had never
once thought of him or of it.  In fact, it was only a month before Ali
Cogia's actual return that the affair came into his head at all, owing
to his wife's remarking one day, that it was a long time since she had
eaten any olives, and would like some.

"That reminds me," said the husband, "that before Ali Cogia went to
Mecca seven years ago, he left a vase of olives in my care.  But really
by this time he must be dead, and there is no reason we should not eat
the olives if we like.  Give me a light, and I will fetch them and see
how they taste."

"My husband," answered the wife, "beware, I pray, of your doing
anything so base!  Supposing seven years have passed without news of
Ali Cogia, he need not be dead for all that, and may come back any day.
How shameful it would be to have to confess that you had betrayed your
trust and broken the seal of the vase!  Pay no attention to my idle
words, I really have no desire for olives now.  And probably after all
this while they are no longer good.  I have a presentiment that Ali
Cogia will return, and what will he think of you?  Give it up, I
entreat."

The merchant, however, refused to listen to her advice, sensible though
it was.  He took a light and a dish and went into his shop.

"If you will be so obstinate," said his wife, "I cannot help it; but do
not blame me if it turns out ill."

When the merchant opened the vase he found the topmost olives were
rotten, and in order to see if the under ones were in better condition
he shook some out into the dish.  As they fell out a few of the gold
pieces fell out too.

The sight of the money roused all the merchant's greed.  He looked into
the vase, and saw that all the bottom was filled with gold.  He then
replaced the olives and returned to his wife.

"My wife," he said, as he entered the room, "you were quite right; the
olives are rotten, and I have recorked the vase so well that Ali Cogia
will never know it has been touched."

"You would have done better to believe me," replied the wife.  "I trust
that no harm will come of it."

These words made no more impression on the merchant than the others had
done; and he spent the whole night in wondering how he could manage to
keep the gold if Ali Cogia should come back and claim his vase.  Very
early next morning he went out and bought fresh new olives; he then
threw away the old ones, took out the gold and hid it, and filled up
the vase with the olives he had bought.  This done he recorked the vase
and put it in the same place where it had been left by Ali Cogia.

A month later Ali Cogia re-entered Bagdad, and as his house was still
let he went to an inn; and the following day set out to see his friend
the merchant, who received him with open arms and many expressions of
surprise.  After a few moments given to inquiries Ali Cogia begged the
merchant to hand him over the vase that he had taken care of for so
long.

"Oh certainly," said he, "I am only glad I could be of use to you in
the matter.  Here is the key of my shop; you will find the vase in the
place where you put it."

Ali Cogia fetched his vase and carried it to his room at the inn, where
he opened it.  He thrust down his hand but could feel no money, but
still was persuaded it must be there.  So he got some plates and
vessels from his travelling kit and emptied out the olives.  To no
purpose.  The gold was not there.  The poor man was dumb with horror,
then, lifting up his hands, he exclaimed, "Can my old friend really
have committed such a crime?"

In great haste he went back to the house of the merchant.  "My friend,"
he cried, "you will be astonished to see me again, but I can find
nowhere in this vase a thousand pieces of gold that I placed in the
bottom under the olives.  Perhaps you may have taken a loan of them for
your business purposes; if that is so you are most welcome.  I will
only ask you to give me a receipt, and you can pay the money at your
leisure."

The merchant, who had expected something of the sort, had his reply all
ready.  "Ali Cogia," he said, "when you brought me the vase of olives
did I ever touch it?"

"I gave you the key of my shop and you put it yourself where you liked,
and did you not find it in exactly the same spot and in the same state?
If you placed any gold in it, it must be there still.  I know nothing
about that; you only told me there were olives.  You can believe me or
not, but I have not laid a finger on the vase."

Ali Cogia still tried every means to persuade the merchant to admit the
truth.  "I love peace," he said, "and shall deeply regret having to
resort to harsh measures.  Once more, think of your reputation.  I
shall be in despair if you oblige me to call in the aid of the law."

"Ali Cogia," answered the merchant, "you allow that it was a vase of
olives you placed in my charge.  You fetched it and removed it
yourself, and now you tell me it contained a thousand pieces of gold,
and that I must restore them to you!  Did you ever say anything about
them before?  Why, I did not even know that the vase had olives in it!
You never showed them to me.  I wonder you have not demanded pearls or
diamonds.  Retire, I pray you, lest a crowd should gather in front of
my shop."

By this time not only the casual passers-by, but also the neighbouring
merchants, were standing round, listening to the dispute, and trying
every now and then to smooth matters between them.  But at the
merchant's last words Ali Cogia resolved to lay the cause of the
quarrel before them, and told them the whole story.  They heard him to
the end, and inquired of the merchant what he had to say.

The accused man admitted that he had kept Ali Cogia's vase in his shop;
but he denied having touched it, and swore that as to what it contained
he only knew what Ali Cogia had told him, and called them all to
witness the insult that had been put upon him.

"You have brought it on yourself," said Ali Cogia, taking him by the
arm, "and as you appeal to the law, the law you shall have!  Let us see
if you will dare to repeat your story before the Cadi."

Now as a good Mussulman the merchant was forbidden to refuse this
choice of a judge, so he accepted the test, and said to Ali Cogia,
"Very well; I should like nothing better.  We shall soon see which of
us is in the right."

So the two men presented themselves before the Cadi, and Ali Cogia
again repeated his tale.  The Cadi asked what witnesses he had.  Ali
Cogia replied that he had not taken this precaution, as he had
considered the man his friend, and up to that time had always found him
honest.

The merchant, on his side, stuck to his story, and offered to swear
solemnly that not only had he never stolen the thousand gold pieces,
but that he did not even know they were there.  The Cadi allowed him to
take the oath, and pronounced him innocent.

Ali Cogia, furious at having to suffer such a loss, protested against
the verdict, declaring that he would appeal to the Caliph,
Haroun-al-Raschid, himself.  But the Cadi paid no attention to his
threats, and was quite satisfied that he had done what was right.

Judgment being given the merchant returned home triumphant, and Ali
Cogia went back to his inn to draw up a petition to the Caliph.  The
next morning he placed himself on the road along which the Caliph must
pass after mid-day prayer, and stretched out his petition to the
officer who walked before the Caliph, whose duty it was to collect such
things, and on entering the palace to hand them to his master.  There
Haroun-al-Raschid studied them carefully.

Knowing this custom, Ali Cogia followed the Caliph into the public hall
of the palace, and waited the result.  After some time the officer
appeared, and told him that the Caliph had read his petition, and had
appointed an hour the next morning to give him audience.  He then
inquired the merchant's address, so that he might be summoned to attend
also.

That very evening, the Caliph, with his grand-vizir Giafar, and
Mesrour, chief of the eunuchs, all three disguised, as was their habit,
went out to take a stroll through the town.

Going down one street, the Caliph's attention was attracted by a noise,
and looking through a door which opened into a court he perceived ten
or twelve children playing in the moonlight.  He hid himself in a dark
corner, and watched them.

"Let us play at being the Cadi," said the brightest and quickest of
them all; "I will be the Cadi.  Bring before me Ali Cogia, and the
merchant who robbed him of the thousand pieces of gold."

The boy's words recalled to the Caliph the petition he had read that
morning, and he waited with interest to see what the children would do.

The proposal was hailed with joy by the other children, who had heard a
great deal of talk about the matter, and they quickly settled the part
each one was to play.  The Cadi took his seat gravely, and an officer
introduced first Ali Cogia, the plaintiff, and then the merchant who
was the defendant.

Ali Cogia made a low bow, and pleaded his cause point by point;
concluding by imploring the Cadi not to inflict on him such a heavy
loss.

The Cadi having heard his case, turned to the merchant, and inquired
why he had not repaid Ali Cogia the sum in question.

The false merchant repeated the reasons that the real merchant had
given to the Cadi of Bagdad, and also offered to swear that he had told
the truth.

"Stop a moment!" said the little Cadi, "before we come to oaths, I
should like to examine the vase with the olives.  Ali Cogia," he added,
"have you got the vase with you?" and finding he had not, the Cadi
continued, "Go and get it, and bring it to me."

So Ali Cogia disappeared for an instant, and then pretended to lay a
vase at the feet of the Cadi, declaring it was his vase, which he had
given to the accused for safe custody; and in order to be quite
correct, the Cadi asked the merchant if he recognised it as the same
vase.  By his silence the merchant admitted the fact, and the Cadi then
commanded to have the vase opened.  Ali Cogia made a movement as if he
was taking off the lid, and the little Cadi on his part made a pretence
of peering into a vase.

"What beautiful olives!" he said, "I should like to taste one," and
pretending to put one in his mouth, he added, "they are really
excellent!

"But," he went on, "it seems to me odd that olives seven years old
should be as good as that!  Send for some dealers in olives, and let us
hear what they say!"

Two children were presented to him as olive merchants, and the Cadi
addressed them.  "Tell me," he said, "how long can olives be kept so as
to be pleasant eating?"

"My lord," replied the merchants, "however much care is taken to
preserve them, they never last beyond the third year.  They lose both
taste and colour, and are only fit to be thrown away."

"If that is so," answered the little Cadi, "examine this vase, and tell
me how long the olives have been in it."

The olive merchants pretended to examine the olives and taste them;
then reported to the Cadi that they were fresh and good.

"You are mistaken," said he, "Ali Cogia declares he put them in that
vase seven years ago."

"My lord," returned the olive merchants, "we can assure you that the
olives are those of the present year.  And if you consult all the
merchants in Bagdad you will not find one to give a contrary opinion."

The accused merchant opened his mouth as if to protest, but the Cadi
gave him no time.  "Be silent," he said, "you are a thief.  Take him
away and hang him."  So the game ended, the children clapping their
hands in applause, and leading the criminal away to be hanged.

Haroun-al-Raschid was lost in astonishment at the wisdom of the child,
who had given so wise a verdict on the case which he himself was to
hear on the morrow.  "Is there any other verdict possible?" he asked
the grand-vizir, who was as much impressed as himself.  "I can imagine
no better judgment."

"If the circumstances are really such as we have heard," replied the
grand-vizir, "it seems to me your Highness could only follow the
example of this boy, in the method of reasoning, and also in your
conclusions."

"Then take careful note of this house," said the Caliph, "and bring me
the boy to-morrow, so that the affair may be tried by him in my
presence.  Summon also the Cadi, to learn his duty from the mouth of a
child.  Bid Ali Cogia bring his vase of olives, and see that two
dealers in olives are present."  So saying the Caliph returned to the
palace.

The next morning early, the grand-vizir went back to the house where
they had seen the children playing, and asked for the mistress and her
children.  Three boys appeared, and the grand-vizir inquired which had
represented the Cadi in their game of the previous evening.  The eldest
and tallest, changing colour, confessed that it was he, and to his
mother's great alarm, the grand-vizir said that he had strict orders to
bring him into the presence of the Caliph.

"Does he want to take my son from me?" cried the poor woman; but the
grand-vizir hastened to calm her, by assuring her that she should have
the boy again in an hour, and she would be quite satisfied when she
knew the reason of the summons.  So she dressed the boy in his best
clothes, and the two left the house.

When the grand-vizir presented the child to the Caliph, he was a little
awed and confused, and the Caliph proceeded to explain why he had sent
for him.  "Approach, my son," he said kindly.  "I think it was you who
judged the case of Ali Cogia and the merchant last night?  I overheard
you by chance, and was very pleased with the way you conducted it.
To-day you will see the real Ali Cogia and the real merchant.  Seat
yourself at once next to me."

The Caliph being seated on his throne with the boy next him, the
parties to the suit were ushered in.  One by one they prostrated
themselves, and touched the carpet at the foot of the throne with their
foreheads.  When they rose up, the Caliph said:  "Now speak.  This
child will give you justice, and if more should be wanted I will see to
it myself."

Ali Cogia and the merchant pleaded one after the other, but when the
merchant offered to swear the same oath that he had taken before the
Cadi, he was stopped by the child, who said that before this was done
he must first see the vase of olives.

At these words, Ali Cogia presented the vase to the Caliph, and
uncovered it.  The Caliph took one of the olives, tasted it, and
ordered the expert merchants to do the same.  They pronounced the
olives good, and fresh that year.  The boy informed them that Ali Cogia
declared it was seven years since he had placed them in the vase; to
which they returned the same answer as the children had done.

The accused merchant saw by this time that his condemnation was
certain, and tried to allege something in his defence.  The boy had too
much sense to order him to be hanged, and looked at the Caliph, saying,
"Commander of the Faithful, this is not a game now; it is for your
Highness to condemn him to death and not for me."

Then the Caliph, convinced that the man was a thief, bade them take him
away and hang him, which was done, but not before he had confessed his
guilt and the place in which he had hidden Ali Cogia's money.  The
Caliph ordered the Cadi to learn how to deal out justice from the mouth
of a child, and sent the boy home, with a purse containing a hundred
pieces of gold as a mark of his favour.



The Enchanted Horse


It was the Feast of the New Year, the oldest and most splendid of all
the feasts in the Kingdom of Persia, and the day had been spent by the
king in the city of Schiraz, taking part in the magnificent spectacles
prepared by his subjects to do honour to the festival.  The sun was
setting, and the monarch was about to give his court the signal to
retire, when suddenly an Indian appeared before his throne, leading a
horse richly harnessed, and looking in every respect exactly like a
real one.

"Sire," said he, prostrating himself as he spoke, "although I make my
appearance so late before your Highness, I can confidently assure you
that none of the wonders you have seen during the day can be compared
to this horse, if you will deign to cast your eyes upon him."

"I see nothing in it," replied the king, "except a clever imitation of
a real one; and any skilled workman might do as much."

"Sire," returned the Indian, "it is not of his outward form that I
would speak, but of the use that I can make of him.  I have only to
mount him, and to wish myself in some special place, and no matter how
distant it may be, in a very few moments I shall find myself there.  It
is this, Sire, that makes the horse so marvellous, and if your Highness
will allow me, you can prove it for yourself."

The King of Persia, who was interested in every thing out of the
common, and had never before come across a horse with such qualities,
bade the Indian mount the animal, and show what he could do.  In an
instant the man had vaulted on his back, and inquired where the monarch
wished to send him.

"Do you see that mountain?" asked the king, pointing to a huge mass
that towered into the sky about three leagues from Schiraz; "go and
bring me the leaf of a palm that grows at the foot."

The words were hardly out of the king's mouth when the Indian turned a
screw placed in the horse's neck, close to the saddle, and the animal
bounded like lightning up into the air, and was soon beyond the sight
even of the sharpest eyes.  In a quarter of an hour the Indian was seen
returning, bearing in his hand the palm, and, guiding his horse to the
foot of the throne, he dismounted, and laid the leaf before the king.

Now the monarch had no sooner proved the astonishing speed of which the
horse was capable than he longed to possess it himself, and indeed, so
sure was he that the Indian would be quite ready to sell it, that he
looked upon it as his own already.

"I never guessed from his mere outside how valuable an animal he was,"
he remarked to the Indian, "and I am grateful to you for having shown
me my error," said he.  "If you will sell it, name your own price."

"Sire," replied the Indian, "I never doubted that a sovereign so wise
and accomplished as your Highness would do justice to my horse, when he
once knew its power; and I even went so far as to think it probable
that you might wish to possess it.  Greatly as I prize it, I will yield
it up to your Highness on one condition.  The horse was not constructed
by me, but it was given me by the inventor, in exchange for my only
daughter, who made me take a solemn oath that I would never part with
it, except for some object of equal value."

"Name anything you like," cried the monarch, interrupting him.  "My
kingdom is large, and filled with fair cities.  You have only to choose
which you would prefer, to become its ruler to the end of your life."

"Sire," answered the Indian, to whom the proposal did not seem nearly
so generous as it appeared to the king, "I am most grateful to your
Highness for your princely offer, and beseech you not to be offended
with me if I say that I can only deliver up my horse in exchange for
the hand of the princess your daughter."

A shout of laughter burst from the courtiers as they heard these words,
and Prince Firouz Schah, the heir apparent, was filled with anger at
the Indian's presumption.  The king, however, thought that it would not
cost him much to part from the princess in order to gain such a
delightful toy, and while he was hesitating as to his answer the prince
broke in.

"Sire," he said, "it is not possible that you can doubt for an instant
what reply you should give to such an insolent bargain.  Consider what
you owe to yourself, and to the blood of your ancestors."

"My son," replied the king, "you speak nobly, but you do not realise
either the value of the horse, or the fact that if I reject the
proposal of the Indian, he will only make the same to some other
monarch, and I should be filled with despair at the thought that anyone
but myself should own this Seventh Wonder of the World.  Of course I do
not say that I shall accept his conditions, and perhaps he may be
brought to reason, but meanwhile I should like you to examine the
horse, and, with the owner's permission, to make trial of its powers."

The Indian, who had overheard the king's speech, thought that he saw in
it signs of yielding to his proposal, so he joyfully agreed to the
monarch's wishes, and came forward to help the prince to mount the
horse, and show him how to guide it:  but, before he had finished, the
young man turned the screw, and was soon out of sight.

They waited some time, expecting that every moment he might be seen
returning in the distance, but at length the Indian grew frightened,
and prostrating himself before the throne, he said to the king, "Sire,
your Highness must have noticed that the prince, in his impatience, did
not allow me to tell him what it was necessary to do in order to return
to the place from which he started.  I implore you not to punish me for
what was not my fault, and not to visit on me any misfortune that may
occur."

"But why," cried the king in a burst of fear and anger, "why did you
not call him back when you saw him disappearing?"

"Sire," replied the Indian, "the rapidity of his movements took me so
by surprise that he was out of hearing before I recovered my speech.
But we must hope that he will perceive and turn a second screw, which
will have the effect of bringing the horse back to earth."

"But supposing he does!" answered the king, "what is to hinder the
horse from descending straight into the sea, or dashing him to pieces
on the rocks?"

"Have no fears, your Highness," said the Indian; "the horse has the
gift of passing over seas, and of carrying his rider wherever he wishes
to go."

"Well, your head shall answer for it," returned the monarch, "and if in
three months he is not safe back with me, or at any rate does not send
me news of his safety, your life shall pay the penalty." So saying, he
ordered his guards to seize the Indian and throw him into prison.

Meanwhile, Prince Firouz Schah had gone gaily up into the air, and for
the space of an hour continued to ascend higher and higher, till the
very mountains were not distinguishable from the plains.  Then he began
to think it was time to come down, and took for granted that, in order
to do this, it was only needful to turn the screw the reverse way; but,
to his surprise and horror, he found that, turn as he might, he did not
make the smallest impression.  He then remembered that he had never
waited to ask how he was to get back to earth again, and understood the
danger in which he stood.  Luckily, he did not lose his head, and set
about examining the horse's neck with great care, till at last, to his
intense joy, he discovered a tiny little peg, much smaller than the
other, close to the right ear.  This he turned, and found him-self
dropping to the earth, though more slowly than he had left it.

It was now dark, and as the prince could see nothing, he was obliged,
not without some feeling of disquiet, to allow the horse to direct his
own course, and midnight was already passed before Prince Firouz Schah
again touched the ground, faint and weary from his long ride, and from
the fact that he had eaten nothing since early morning.

The first thing he did on dismounting was to try to find out where he
was, and, as far as he could discover in the thick darkness, he found
himself on the terraced roof of a huge palace, with a balustrade of
marble running round.  In one corner of the terrace stood a small door,
opening on to a staircase which led down into the palace.

Some people might have hesitated before exploring further, but not so
the prince.  "I am doing no harm," he said, "and whoever the owner may
be, he will not touch me when he sees I am unarmed," and in dread of
making a false step, he went cautiously down the staircase.  On a
landing, he noticed an open door, beyond which was a faintly lighted
hall.

Before entering, the prince paused and listened, but he heard nothing
except the sound of men snoring.  By the light of a lantern suspended
from the roof, he perceived a row of black guards sleeping, each with a
naked sword lying by him, and he understood that the hall must form the
ante-room to the chamber of some queen or princess.

Standing quite still, Prince Firouz Schah looked about him, till his
eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, and he noticed a bright light
shining through a curtain in one corner.  He then made his way softly
towards it, and, drawing aside its folds, passed into a magnificent
chamber full of sleeping women, all lying on low couches, except one,
who was on a sofa; and this one, he knew, must be the princess.

Gently stealing up to the side of her bed he looked at her, and saw
that she was more beautiful than any woman he had ever beheld.  But,
fascinated though he was, he was well aware of the danger of his
position, as one cry of surprise would awake the guards, and cause his
certain death.

So sinking quietly on his knees, he took hold of the sleeve of the
princess and drew her arm lightly towards him.  The princess opened her
eyes, and seeing before her a handsome well-dressed man, she remained
speechless with astonishment.

This favourable moment was seized by the prince, who bowing low while
he knelt, thus addressed her:

"You behold, madame, a prince in distress, son to the King of Persia,
who, owing to an adventure so strange that you will scarcely believe
it, finds himself here, a suppliant for your protection.  But
yesterday, I was in my father's court, engaged in the celebration of
our most solemn festival; to-day, I am in an unknown land, in danger of
my life."

Now the princess whose mercy Prince Firouz Schah implored was the
eldest daughter of the King of Bengal, who was enjoying rest and change
in the palace her father had built her, at a little distance from the
capital.  She listened kindly to what he had to say, and then answered:

"Prince, be not uneasy; hospitality and humanity are practised as
widely in Bengal as they are in Persia.  The protection you ask will be
given you by all.  You have my word for it."  And as the prince was
about to thank her for her goodness, she added quickly, "However great
may be my curiosity to learn by what means you have travelled here so
speedily, I know that you must be faint for want of food, so I shall
give orders to my women to take you to one of my chambers, where you
will be provided with supper, and left to repose."

By this time the princess's attendants were all awake, and listening to
the conversation.  At a sign from their mistress they rose, dressed
themselves hastily, and snatching up some of the tapers which lighted
the room, conducted the prince to a large and lofty room, where two of
the number prepared his bed, and the rest went down to the kitchen,
from which they soon returned with all sorts of dishes.  Then, showing
him cupboards filled with dresses and linen, they quitted the room.

During their absence the Princess of Bengal, who had been greatly
struck by the beauty of the prince, tried in vain to go to sleep again.
It was of no use:  she felt broad awake, and when her women entered the
room, she inquired eagerly if the prince had all he wanted, and what
they thought of him.

"Madame," they replied, "it is of course impossible for us to tell what
impression this young man has made on you.  For ourselves, we think you
would be fortunate if the king your father should allow you to marry
anyone so amiable.  Certainly there is no one in the Court of Bengal
who can be compared with him."

These flattering observations were by no means displeasing to the
princess, but as she did not wish to betray her own feelings she merely
said, "You are all a set of chatterboxes; go back to bed, and let me
sleep."

When she dressed the following morning, her maids noticed that,
contrary to her usual habit, the princess was very particular about her
toilette, and insisted on her hair being dressed two or three times
over.  "For," she said to herself, "if my appearance was not
displeasing to the prince when he saw me in the condition I was, how
much more will he be struck with me when he beholds me with all my
charms."

Then she placed in her hair the largest and most brilliant diamonds she
could find, with a necklace, bracelets and girdle, all of precious
stones.  And over her shoulders her ladies put a robe of the richest
stuff in all the Indies, that no one was allowed to wear except members
of the royal family.  When she was fully dressed according to her
wishes, she sent to know if the Prince of Persia was awake and ready to
receive her, as she desired to present herself before him.

When the princess's messenger entered his room, Prince Firouz Schah was
in the act of leaving it, to inquire if he might be allowed to pay his
homage to her mistress:  but on hearing the princess's wishes, he at
once gave way.  "Her will is my law," he said, "I am only here to obey
her orders."

In a few moments the princess herself appeared, and after the usual
compliments had passed between them, the princess sat down on a sofa,
and began to explain to the prince her reasons for not giving him an
audience in her own apartments.  "Had I done so," she said, "we might
have been interrupted at any hour by the chief of the eunuchs, who has
the right to enter whenever it pleases him, whereas this is forbidden
ground.  I am all impatience to learn the wonderful accident which has
procured the pleasure of your arrival, and that is why I have come to
you here, where no one can intrude upon us.  Begin then, I entreat you,
without delay."

So the prince began at the beginning, and told all the story of the
festival of Nedrouz held yearly in Persia, and of the splendid
spectacles celebrated in its honour.  But when he came to the enchanted
horse, the princess declared that she could never have imagined
anything half so surprising.  "Well then," continued the prince, "you
can easily understand how the King my father, who has a passion for all
curious things, was seized with a violent desire to possess this horse,
and asked the Indian what sum he would take for it.

"The man's answer was absolutely absurd, as you will agree, when I tell
you that it was nothing less than the hand of the princess my sister;
but though all the bystanders laughed and mocked, and I was beside
myself with rage, I saw to my despair that my father could not make up
his mind to treat the insolent proposal as it deserved.  I tried to
argue with him, but in vain.  He only begged me to examine the horse
with a view (as I quite understood) of making me more sensible of its
value."

"To please my father, I mounted the horse, and, without waiting for any
instructions from the Indian, turned the peg as I had seen him do.  In
an instant I was soaring upwards, much quicker than an arrow could fly,
and I felt as if I must be getting so near the sky that I should soon
hit my head against it!  I could see nothing beneath me, and for some
time was so confused that I did not even know in what direction I was
travelling.  At last, when it was growing dark, I found another screw,
and on turning it, the horse began slowly to sink towards the earth.  I
was forced to trust to chance, and to see what fate had in store, and
it was already past midnight when I found myself on the roof of this
palace.  I crept down the little staircase, and made directly for a
light which I perceived through an open door--I peeped cautiously in,
and saw, as you will guess, the eunuchs lying asleep on the floor.  I
knew the risks I ran, but my need was so great that I paid no attention
to them, and stole safely past your guards, to the curtain which
concealed your doorway.

"The rest, Princess, you know; and it only remains for me to thank you
for the kindness you have shown me, and to assure you of my gratitude.
By the law of nations, I am already your slave, and I have only my
heart, that is my own, to offer you.  But what am I saying?  My own?
Alas, madame, it was yours from the first moment I beheld you!"

The air with which he said these words could have left no doubt on the
mind of the princess as to the effect of her charms, and the blush
which mounted to her face only increased her beauty.

"Prince," returned she as soon as her confusion permitted her to speak,
"you have given me the greatest pleasure, and I have followed you
closely in all your adventures, and though you are positively sitting
before me, I even trembled at your danger in the upper regions of the
air!  Let me say what a debt I owe to the chance that has led you to my
house; you could have entered none which would have given you a warmer
welcome.  As to your being a slave, of course that is merely a joke,
and my reception must itself have assured you that you are as free here
as at your father's court.  As to your heart," continued she in tones
of encouragement, "I am quite sure that must have been disposed of long
ago, to some princess who is well worthy of it, and I could not think
of being the cause of your unfaithfulness to her."

Prince Firouz Schah was about to protest that there was no lady with
any prior claims, but he was stopped by the entrance of one of the
princess's attendants, who announced that dinner was served, and, after
all, neither was sorry for the interruption.

Dinner was laid in a magnificent apartment, and the table was covered
with delicious fruits; while during the repast richly dressed girls
sang softly and sweetly to stringed instruments.  After the prince and
princess had finished, they passed into a small room hung with blue and
gold, looking out into a garden stocked with flowers and arbutus trees,
quite different from any that were to be found in Persia.

"Princess," observed the young man, "till now I had always believed
that Persia could boast finer palaces and more lovely gardens than any
kingdom upon earth.  But my eyes have been opened, and I begin to
perceive that, wherever there is a great king he will surround himself
with buildings worthy of him."

"Prince," replied the Princess of Bengal, "I have no idea what a
Persian palace is like, so I am unable to make comparisons.  I do not
wish to depreciate my own palace, but I can assure you that it is very
poor beside that of the King my father, as you will agree when you have
been there to greet him, as I hope you will shortly do."

Now the princess hoped that, by bringing about a meeting between the
prince and her father, the King would be so struck with the young man's
distinguished air and fine manners, that he would offer him his
daughter to wife.  But the reply of the Prince of Persia to her
suggestion was not quite what she wished.

"Madame," he said, "by taking advantage of your proposal to visit the
palace of the King of Bengal, I should satisfy not merely my curiosity,
but also the sentiments of respect with which I regard him.  But,
Princess, I am persuaded that you will feel with me, that I cannot
possibly present myself before so great a sovereign without the
attendants suitable to my rank.  He would think me an adventurer."

"If that is all," she answered, "you can get as many attendants here as
you please.  There are plenty of Persian merchants, and as for money,
my treasury is always open to you.  Take what you please."

Prince Firouz Schah guessed what prompted so much kindness on the part
of the princess, and was much touched by it.  Still his passion, which
increased every moment, did not make him forget his duty.  So he
replied without hesitation:

"I do not know, Princess, how to express my gratitude for your obliging
offer, which I would accept at once if it were not for the recollection
of all the uneasiness the King my father must be suffering on my
account.  I should be unworthy indeed of all the love he showers upon
me, if I did not return to him at the first possible moment.  For,
while I am enjoying the society of the most amiable of all princesses,
he is, I am quite convinced, plunged in the deepest grief, having lost
all hope of seeing me again.  I am sure you will understand my
position, and will feel that to remain away one instant longer than is
necessary would not only be ungrateful on my part, but perhaps even a
crime, for how do I know if my absence may not break his heart?

"But," continued the prince, "having obeyed the voice of my conscience,
I shall count the moments when, with your gracious permission, I may
present myself before the King of Bengal, not as a wanderer, but as a
prince, to implore the favour of your hand.  My father has always
informed me that in my marriage I shall be left quite free, but I am
persuaded that I have only to describe your generosity, for my wishes
to become his own."

The Princess of Bengal was too reasonable not to accept the explanation
offered by Prince Firouz Schah, but she was much disturbed at his
intention of departing at once, for she feared that, no sooner had he
left her, than the impression she had made on him would fade away.  So
she made one more effort to keep him, and after assuring him that she
entirely approved of his anxiety to see his father, begged him to give
her a day or two more of his company.

In common politeness the prince could hardly refuse this request, and
the princess set about inventing every kind of amusement for him, and
succeeded so well that two months slipped by almost unnoticed, in
balls, spectacles and in hunting, of which, when unattended by danger,
the princess was passionately fond.  But at last, one day, he declared
seriously that he could neglect his duty no longer, and entreated her
to put no further obstacles in his way, promising at the same time to
return, as soon as he could, with all the magnificence due both to her
and to himself.

"Princess," he added, "it may be that in your heart you class me with
those false lovers whose devotion cannot stand the test of absence.  If
you do, you wrong me; and were it not for fear of offending you, I
would beseech you to come with me, for my life can only be happy when
passed with you.  As for your reception at the Persian Court, it will
be as warm as your merits deserve; and as for what concerns the King of
Bengal, he must be much more indifferent to your welfare than you have
led me to believe if he does not give his consent to our marriage."

The princess could not find words in which to reply to the arguments of
the Prince of Persia, but her silence and her downcast eyes spoke for
her, and declared that she had no objection to accompanying him on his
travels.

The only difficulty that occurred to her was that Prince Firouz Schah
did not know how to manage the horse, and she dreaded lest they might
find themselves in the same plight as before.  But the prince soothed
her fears so successfully, that she soon had no other thought than to
arrange for their flight so secretly, that no one in the palace should
suspect it.

This was done, and early the following morning, when the whole palace
was wrapped in sleep, she stole up on to the roof, where the prince was
already awaiting her, with his horse's head towards Persia.  He mounted
first and helped the princess up behind; then, when she was firmly
seated, with her hands holding tightly to his belt, he touched the
screw, and the horse began to leave the earth quickly behind him.

He travelled with his accustomed speed, and Prince Firouz Schah guided
him so well that in two hours and a half from the time of starting, he
saw the capital of Persia lying beneath him.  He determined to alight
neither in the great square from which he had started, nor in the
Sultan's palace, but in a country house at a little distance from the
town.  Here he showed the princess a beautiful suite of rooms, and
begged her to rest, while he informed his father of their arrival, and
prepared a public reception worthy of her rank.  Then he ordered a
horse to be saddled, and set out.

All the way through the streets he was welcomed with shouts of joy by
the people, who had long lost all hope of seeing him again.  On
reaching the palace, he found the Sultan surrounded by his ministers,
all clad in the deepest mourning, and his father almost went out of his
mind with surprise and delight at the mere sound of his son's voice.
When he had calmed down a little, he begged the prince to relate his
adventures.

The prince at once seized the opening thus given him, and told the
whole story of his treatment by the Princess of Bengal, not even
concealing the fact that she had fallen in love with him.  "And, Sire,"
ended the prince, "having given my royal word that you would not refuse
your consent to our marriage, I persuaded her to return with me on the
Indian's horse.  I have left her in one of your Highness's country
houses, where she is waiting anxiously to be assured that I have not
promised in vain."

As he said this the prince was about to throw himself at the feet of
the Sultan, but his father prevented him, and embracing him again, said
eagerly:

"My son, not only do I gladly consent to your marriage with the
Princess of Bengal, but I will hasten to pay my respects to her, and to
thank her in my own person for the benefits she has conferred on you.
I will then bring her back with me, and make all arrangements for the
wedding to be celebrated to-day."

So the Sultan gave orders that the habits of mourning worn by the
people should be thrown off and that there should be a concert of
drums, trumpets and cymbals.  Also that the Indian should be taken from
prison, and brought before him.

His commands were obeyed, and the Indian was led into his presence,
surrounded by guards.  "I have kept you locked up," said the Sultan,
"so that in case my son was lost, your life should pay the penalty.  He
has now returned; so take your horse, and begone for ever."

The Indian hastily quitted the presence of the Sultan, and when he was
outside, he inquired of the man who had taken him out of prison where
the prince had really been all this time, and what he had been doing.
They told him the whole story, and how the Princess of Bengal was even
then awaiting in the country palace the consent of the Sultan, which at
once put into the Indian's head a plan of revenge for the treatment he
had experienced.  Going straight to the country house, he informed the
doorkeeper who was left in charge that he had been sent by the Sultan
and by the Prince of Persia to fetch the princess on the enchanted
horse, and to bring her to the palace.

The doorkeeper knew the Indian by sight, and was of course aware that
nearly three months before he had been thrown into prison by the
Sultan; and seeing him at liberty, the man took for granted that he was
speaking the truth, and made no difficulty about leading him before the
Princess of Bengal; while on her side, hearing that he had come from
the prince, the lady gladly consented to do what he wished.

The Indian, delighted with the success of his scheme, mounted the
horse, assisted the princess to mount behind him, and turned the peg at
the very moment that the prince was leaving the palace in Schiraz for
the country house, followed closely by the Sultan and all the court.
Knowing this, the Indian deliberately steered the horse right above the
city, in order that his revenge for his unjust imprisonment might be
all the quicker and sweeter.

When the Sultan of Persia saw the horse and its riders, he stopped
short with astonishment and horror, and broke out into oaths and
curses, which the Indian heard quite unmoved, knowing that he was
perfectly safe from pursuit.  But mortified and furious as the Sultan
was, his feelings were nothing to those of Prince Firouz Schah, when he
saw the object of his passionate devotion being borne rapidly away.
And while he was struck speechless with grief and remorse at not having
guarded her better, she vanished swiftly out of his sight.  What was he
to do?  Should he follow his father into the palace, and there give
reins to his despair?  Both his love and his courage alike forbade it;
and he continued his way to the palace.

The sight of the prince showed the doorkeeper of what folly he had been
guilty, and flinging himself at his master's feet, implored his pardon.
"Rise," said the prince, "I am the cause of this misfortune, and not
you.  Go and find me the dress of a dervish, but beware of saying it is
for me."

At a short distance from the country house, a convent of dervishes was
situated, and the superior, or scheih, was the doorkeeper's friend.  So
by means of a false story made up on the spur of the moment, it was
easy enough to get hold of a dervish's dress, which the prince at once
put on, instead of his own.  Disguised like this and concealing about
him a box of pearls and diamonds he had intended as a present to the
princess, he left the house at nightfall, uncertain where he should go,
but firmly resolved not to return without her.

Meanwhile the Indian had turned the horse in such a direction that,
before many hours had passed, it had entered a wood close to the
capital of the kingdom of Cashmere.  Feeling very hungry, and supposing
that the princess also might be in want of food, he brought his steed
down to the earth, and left the princess in a shady place, on the banks
of a clear stream.

At first, when the princess had found herself alone, the idea had
occurred to her of trying to escape and hide herself.  But as she had
eaten scarcely anything since she had left Bengal, she felt she was too
weak to venture far, and was obliged to abandon her design.  On the
return of the Indian with meats of various kinds, she began to eat
voraciously, and soon had regained sufficient courage to reply with
spirit to his insolent remarks.  Goaded by his threats she sprang to
her feet, calling loudly for help, and luckily her cries were heard by
a troop of horsemen, who rode up to inquire what was the matter.

Now the leader of these horsemen was the Sultan of Cashmere, returning
from the chase, and he instantly turned to the Indian to inquire who he
was, and whom he had with him.  The Indian rudely answered that it was
his wife, and there was no occasion for anyone else to interfere
between them.

The princess, who, of course, was ignorant of the rank of her
deliverer, denied altogether the Indian's story.  "My lord," she cried,
"whoever you may be, put no faith in this impostor.  He is an
abominable magician, who has this day torn me from the Prince of
Persia, my destined husband, and has brought me here on this enchanted
horse."  She would have continued, but her tears choked her, and the
Sultan of Cashmere, convinced by her beauty and her distinguished air
of the truth of her tale, ordered his followers to cut off the Indian's
head, which was done immediately.

But rescued though she was from one peril, it seemed as if she had only
fallen into another.  The Sultan commanded a horse to be given her, and
conducted her to his own palace, where he led her to a beautiful
apartment, and selected female slaves to wait on her, and eunuchs to be
her guard.  Then, without allowing her time to thank him for all he had
done, he bade her repose, saying she should tell him her adventures on
the following day.

The princess fell asleep, flattering herself that she had only to
relate her story for the Sultan to be touched by compassion, and to
restore her to the prince without delay.  But a few hours were to
undeceive her.

When the King of Cashmere had quitted her presence the evening before,
he had resolved that the sun should not set again without the princess
becoming his wife, and at daybreak proclamation of his intention was
made throughout the town, by the sound of drums, trumpets, cymbals, and
other instruments calculated to fill the heart with joy.  The Princess
of Bengal was early awakened by the noise, but she did not for one
moment imagine that it had anything to do with her, till the Sultan,
arriving as soon as she was dressed to inquire after her health,
informed her that the trumpet blasts she heard were part of the solemn
marriage ceremonies, for which he begged her to prepare.  This
unexpected announcement caused the princess such terror that she sank
down in a dead faint.

The slaves that were in waiting ran to her aid, and the Sultan himself
did his best to bring her back to consciousness, but for a long while
it was all to no purpose.  At length her senses began slowly to come
back to her, and then, rather than break faith with the Prince of
Persia by consenting to such a marriage, she determined to feign
madness.  So she began by saying all sorts of absurdities, and using
all kinds of strange gestures, while the Sultan stood watching her with
sorrow and surprise.  But as this sudden seizure showed no sign of
abating, he left her to her women, ordering them to take the greatest
care of her.  Still, as the day went on, the malady seemed to become
worse, and by night it was almost violent.

Days passed in this manner, till at last the Sultan of Cashmere decided
to summon all the doctors of his court to consult together over her sad
state.  Their answer was that madness is of so many different kinds
that it was impossible to give an opinion on the case without seeing
the princess, so the Sultan gave orders that they were to be introduced
into her chamber, one by one, every man according to his rank.

This decision had been foreseen by the princess, who knew quite well
that if once she allowed the physicians to feel her pulse, the most
ignorant of them would discover that she was in perfectly good health,
and that her madness was feigned, so as each man approached, she broke
out into such violent paroxysms, that not one dared to lay a finger on
her.  A few, who pretended to be cleverer than the rest, declared that
they could diagnose sick people only from sight, ordered her certain
potions, which she made no difficulty about taking, as she was
persuaded they were all harmless.

When the Sultan of Cashmere saw that the court doctors could do nothing
towards curing the princess, he called in those of the city, who fared
no better.  Then he had recourse to the most celebrated physicians in
the other large towns, but finding that the task was beyond their
science, he finally sent messengers into the other neighbouring states,
with a memorandum containing full particulars of the princess's
madness, offering at the same time to pay the expenses of any physician
who would come and see for himself, and a handsome reward to the one
who should cure her.  In answer to this proclamation many foreign
professors flocked into Cashmere, but they naturally were not more
successful than the rest had been, as the cure depended neither on them
nor their skill, but only on the princess herself.

It was during this time that Prince Firouz Schah, wandering sadly and
hopelessly from place to place, arrived in a large city of India, where
he heard a great deal of talk about the Princess of Bengal who had gone
out of her senses, on the very day that she was to have been married to
the Sultan of Cashmere.  This was quite enough to induce him to take
the road to Cashmere, and to inquire at the first inn at which he
lodged in the capital the full particulars of the story.  When he knew
that he had at last found the princess whom he had so long lost, he set
about devising a plan for her rescue.

The first thing he did was to procure a doctor's robe, so that his
dress, added to the long beard he had allowed to grow on his travels,
might unmistakably proclaim his profession.  He then lost no time in
going to the palace, where he obtained an audience of the chief usher,
and while apologising for his boldness in presuming to think that he
could cure the princess, where so many others had failed, declared that
he had the secret of certain remedies, which had hitherto never failed
of their effect.

The chief usher assured him that he was heartily welcome, and that the
Sultan would receive him with pleasure; and in case of success, he
would gain a magnificent reward.

When the Prince of Persia, in the disguise of a physician, was brought
before him, the Sultan wasted no time in talking, beyond remarking that
the mere sight of a doctor threw the princess into transports of rage.
He then led the prince up to a room under the roof, which had an
opening through which he might observe the princess, without himself
being seen.

The prince looked, and beheld the princess reclining on a sofa with
tears in her eyes, singing softly to herself a song bewailing her sad
destiny, which had deprived her, perhaps for ever, of a being she so
tenderly loved.  The young man's heart beat fast as he listened, for he
needed no further proof that her madness was feigned, and that it was
love of him which had caused her to resort to this species of trick.
He softly left his hiding-place, and returned to the Sultan, to whom he
reported that he was sure from certain signs that the princess's malady
was not incurable, but that he must see her and speak with her alone.

The Sultan made no difficulty in consenting to this, and commanded that
he should be ushered in to the princess's apartment.  The moment she
caught sight of his physician's robe, she sprang from her seat in a
fury, and heaped insults upon him.  The prince took no notice of her
behaviour, and approaching quite close, so that his words might be
heard by her alone, he said in a low whisper, "Look at me, princess,
and you will see that I am no doctor, but the Prince of Persia, who has
come to set you free."

At the sound of his voice, the Princess of Bengal suddenly grew calm,
and an expression of joy overspread her face, such as only comes when
what we wish for most and expect the least suddenly happens to us.  For
some time she was too enchanted to speak, and Prince Firouz Schah took
advantage of her silence to explain to her all that had occurred, his
despair at watching her disappear before his very eyes, the oath he had
sworn to follow her over the world, and his rapture at finally
discovering her in the palace at Cashmere.  When he had finished, he
begged in his turn that the princess would tell him how she had come
there, so that he might the better devise some means of rescuing her
from the tyranny of the Sultan.

It needed but a few words from the princess to make him acquainted with
the whole situation, and how she had been forced to play the part of a
mad woman in order to escape from a marriage with the Sultan, who had
not had sufficient politeness even to ask her consent.  If necessary,
she added, she had resolved to die sooner than permit herself to be
forced into such a union, and break faith with a prince whom she loved.

The prince then inquired if she knew what had become of the enchanted
horse since the Indian's death, but the princess could only reply that
she had heard nothing about it.  Still she did not suppose that the
horse could have been forgotten by the Sultan, after all she had told
him of its value.

To this the prince agreed, and they consulted together over a plan by
which she might be able to make her escape and return with him into
Persia.  And as the first step, she was to dress herself with care, and
receive the Sultan with civility when he visited her next morning.

The Sultan was transported with delight on learning the result of the
interview, and his opinion of the doctor's skill was raised still
higher when, on the following day, the princess behaved towards him in
such a way as to persuade him that her complete cure would not be long
delayed.  However he contented himself with assuring her how happy he
was to see her health so much improved, and exhorted her to make every
use of so clever a physician, and to repose entire confidence in him.
Then he retired, without awaiting any reply from the princess.

The Prince of Persia left the room at the same time, and asked if he
might be allowed humbly to inquire by what means the Princess of Bengal
had reached Cashmere, which was so far distant from her father's
kingdom, and how she came to be there alone.  The Sultan thought the
question very natural, and told him the same story that the Princess of
Bengal had done, adding that he had ordered the enchanted horse to be
taken to his treasury as a curiosity, though he was quite ignorant how
it could be used.

"Sire," replied the physician, "your Highness's tale has supplied me
with the clue I needed to complete the recovery of the princess.
During her voyage hither on an enchanted horse, a portion of its
enchantment has by some means been communicated to her person, and it
can only be dissipated by certain perfumes of which I possess the
secret.  If your Highness will deign to consent, and to give the court
and the people one of the most astonishing spectacles they have ever
witnessed, command the horse to be brought into the big square outside
the palace, and leave the rest to me.  I promise that in a very few
moments, in presence of all the assembled multitude, you shall see the
princess as healthy both in mind and body as ever she was in her life.
And in order to make the spectacle as impressive as possible, I would
suggest that she should be richly dressed and covered with the noblest
jewels of the crown."

The Sultan readily agreed to all that the prince proposed, and the
following morning he desired that the enchanted horse should be taken
from the treasury, and brought into the great square of the palace.
Soon the rumour began to spread through the town, that something
extraordinary was about to happen, and such a crowd began to collect
that the guards had to be called out to keep order, and to make a way
for the enchanted horse.

When all was ready, the Sultan appeared, and took his place on a
platform, surrounded by the chief nobles and officers of his court.
When they were seated, the Princess of Bengal was seen leaving the
palace, accompanied by the ladies who had been assigned to her by the
Sultan.  She slowly approached the enchanted horse, and with the help
of her ladies, she mounted on its back.  Directly she was in the
saddle, with her feet in the stirrups and the bridle in her hand, the
physician placed around the horse some large braziers full of burning
coals, into each of which he threw a perfume composed of all sorts of
delicious scents.  Then he crossed his hands over his breast, and with
lowered eyes walked three times round the horse, muttering the while
certain words.  Soon there arose from the burning braziers a thick
smoke which almost concealed both the horse and princess, and this was
the moment for which he had been waiting.  Springing lightly up behind
the lady, he leaned forward and turned the peg, and as the horse darted
up into the air, he cried aloud so that his words were heard by all
present, "Sultan of Cashmere, when you wish to marry princesses who
have sought your protection, learn first to gain their consent."

It was in this way that the Prince of Persia rescued the Princess of
Bengal, and returned with her to Persia, where they descended this time
before the palace of the King himself.  The marriage was only delayed
just long enough to make the ceremony as brilliant as possible, and, as
soon as the rejoicings were over, an ambassador was sent to the King of
Bengal, to inform him of what had passed, and to ask his approbation of
the alliance between the two countries, which he heartily gave.



The Story of Two Sisters Who Were Jealous of Their Younger Sister


Once upon a time there reigned over Persia a Sultan named Kosrouschah,
who from his boyhood had been fond of putting on a disguise and seeking
adventures in all parts of the city, accompanied by one of his
officers, disguised like himself.  And no sooner was his father buried
and the ceremonies over that marked his accession to the throne, than
the young man hastened to throw off his robes of state, and calling to
his vizir to make ready likewise, stole out in the simple dress of a
private citizen into the less known streets of the capital.

Passing down a lonely street, the Sultan heard women's voices in loud
discussion; and peeping through a crack in the door, he saw three
sisters, sitting on a sofa in a large hall, talking in a very lively
and earnest manner.  Judging from the few words that reached his ear,
they were each explaining what sort of men they wished to marry.

"I ask nothing better," cried the eldest, "than to have the Sultan's
baker for a husband.  Think of being able to eat as much as one wanted,
of that delicious bread that is baked for his Highness alone!  Let us
see if your wish is as good as mine."

"I," replied the second sister, "should be quite content with the
Sultan's head cook.  What delicate stews I should feast upon!  And, as
I am persuaded that the Sultan's bread is used all through the palace,
I should have that into the bargain.  You see, my dear sister, my taste
is as good as yours."

It was now the turn of the youngest sister, who was by far the most
beautiful of the three, and had, besides, more sense than the other
two.  "As for me," she said, "I should take a higher flight; and if we
are to wish for husbands, nothing less than the Sultan himself will do
for me."

The Sultan was so much amused by the conversation he had overheard,
that he made up his mind to gratify their wishes, and turning to the
grand-vizir, he bade him note the house, and on the following morning
to bring the ladies into his presence.

The grand-vizir fulfilled his commission, and hardly giving them time
to change their dresses, desired the three sisters to follow him to the
palace.  Here they were presented one by one, and when they had bowed
before the Sultan, the sovereign abruptly put the question to them:

"Tell me, do you remember what you wished for last night, when you were
making merry?  Fear nothing, but answer me the truth."

These words, which were so unexpected, threw the sisters into great
confusion, their eyes fell, and the blushes of the youngest did not
fail to make an impression on the heart of the Sultan.  All three
remained silent, and he hastened to continue:  "Do not be afraid, I
have not the slightest intention of giving you pain, and let me tell
you at once, that I know the wishes formed by each one.  You," he said,
turning to the youngest, "who desired to have me for an husband, shall
be satisfied this very day.  And you," he added, addressing himself to
the other two, "shall be married at the same moment to my baker and to
my chief cook."

When the Sultan had finished speaking the three sisters flung
themselves at his feet, and the youngest faltered out, "Oh, sire, since
you know my foolish words, believe, I pray you, that they were only
said in joke.  I am unworthy of the honour you propose to do me, and I
can only ask pardon for my boldness."

The other sisters also tried to excuse themselves, but the Sultan would
hear nothing.

"No, no," he said, "my mind is made up.  Your wishes shall be
accomplished."

So the three weddings were celebrated that same day, but with a great
difference.  That of the youngest was marked by all the magnificence
that was customary at the marriage of the Shah of Persia, while the
festivities attending the nuptials of the Sultan's baker and his chief
cook were only such as were suitable to their conditions.

This, though quite natural, was highly displeasing to the elder
sisters, who fell into a passion of jealousy, which in the end caused a
great deal of trouble and pain to several people.  And the first time
that they had the opportunity of speaking to each other, which was not
till several days later at a public bath, they did not attempt to
disguise their feelings.

"Can you possibly understand what the Sultan saw in that little cat,"
said one to the other, "for him to be so fascinated by her?"

"He must be quite blind," returned the wife of the chief cook.  "As for
her looking a little younger than we do, what does that matter?  You
would have made a far better Sultana than she."

"Oh, I say nothing of myself," replied the elder, "and if the Sultan
had chosen you it would have been all very well; but it really grieves
me that he should have selected a wretched little creature like that.
However, I will be revenged on her somehow, and I beg you will give me
your help in the matter, and to tell me anything that you can think of
that is likely to mortify her."

In order to carry out their wicked scheme the two sisters met
constantly to talk over their ideas, though all the while they
pretended to be as friendly as ever towards the Sultana, who, on her
part, invariably treated them with kindness.  For a long time no plan
occurred to the two plotters that seemed in the least likely to meet
with success, but at length the expected birth of an heir gave them the
chance for which they had been hoping.

They obtained permission of the Sultan to take up their abode in the
palace for some weeks, and never left their sister night or day.  When
at last a little boy, beautiful as the sun, was born, they laid him in
his cradle and carried it down to a canal which passed through the
grounds of the palace.  Then, leaving it to its fate, they informed the
Sultan that instead of the son he had so fondly desired the Sultana had
given birth to a puppy.  At this dreadful news the Sultan was so
overcome with rage and grief that it was with great difficulty that the
grand-vizir managed to save the Sultana from his wrath.

Meanwhile the cradle continued to float peacefully along the canal
till, on the outskirts of the royal gardens, it was suddenly perceived
by the intendant, one of the highest and most respected officials in
the kingdom.

"Go," he said to a gardener who was working near, "and get that cradle
out for me."

The gardener did as he was bid, and soon placed the cradle in the hands
of the intendant.

The official was much astonished to see that the cradle, which he had
supposed to be empty, contained a baby, which, young though it was,
already gave promise of great beauty.  Having no children himself,
although he had been married some years, it at once occurred to him
that here was a child which he could take and bring up as his own.
And, bidding the man pick up the cradle and follow him, he turned
towards home.

"My wife," he exclaimed as he entered the room, "heaven has denied us
any children, but here is one that has been sent in their place.  Send
for a nurse, and I will do what is needful publicly to recognise it as
my son."

The wife accepted the baby with joy, and though the intendant saw quite
well that it must have come from the royal palace, he did not think it
was his business to inquire further into the mystery.

The following year another prince was born and sent adrift, but happily
for the baby, the intendant of the gardens again was walking by the
canal, and carried it home as before.

The Sultan, naturally enough, was still more furious the second time
than the first, but when the same curious accident was repeated in the
third year he could control himself no longer, and, to the great joy of
the jealous sisters, commanded that the Sultana should be executed.
But the poor lady was so much beloved at Court that not even the dread
of sharing her fate could prevent the grand-vizir and the courtiers
from throwing themselves at the Sultan's feet and imploring him not to
inflict so cruel a punishment for what, after all, was not her fault.

"Let her live," entreated the grand-vizir, "and banish her from your
presence for the rest of her days.  That in itself will be punishment
enough."

His first passion spent, the Sultan had regained his self-command.
"Let her live then," he said, "since you have it so much at heart.  But
if I grant her life it shall only be on one condition, which shall make
her daily pray for death.  Let a box be built for her at the door of
the principal mosque, and let the window of the box be always open.
There she shall sit, in the coarsest clothes, and every Mussulman who
enters the mosque shall spit in her face in passing.  Anyone that
refuses to obey shall be exposed to the same punishment himself.  You,
vizir, will see that my orders are carried out."

The grand-vizir saw that it was useless to say more, and, full of
triumph, the sisters watched the building of the box, and then listened
to the jeers of the people at the helpless Sultana sitting inside.  But
the poor lady bore herself with so much dignity and meekness that it
was not long before she had won the sympathy of those that were best
among the crowd.

But it is now time to return to the fate of the third baby, this time a
princess.  Like its brothers, it was found by the intendant of the
gardens, and adopted by him and his wife, and all three were brought up
with the greatest care and tenderness.

As the children grew older their beauty and air of distinction became
more and more marked, and their manners had all the grace and ease that
is proper to people of high birth.  The princes had been named by their
foster-father Bahman and Perviz, after two of the ancient kings of
Persia, while the princess was called Parizade, or the child of the
genii.

The intendant was careful to bring them up as befitted their real rank,
and soon appointed a tutor to teach the young princes how to read and
write.  And the princess, determined not to be left behind, showed
herself so anxious to learn with her brothers, that the intendant
consented to her joining in their lessons, and it was not long before
she knew as much as they did.

From that time all their studies were done in common.  They had the
best masters for the fine arts, geography, poetry, history and science,
and even for sciences which are learned by few, and every branch seemed
so easy to them, that their teachers were astonished at the progress
they made.  The princess had a passion for music, and could sing and
play upon all sorts of instruments she could also ride and drive as
well as her brothers, shoot with a bow and arrow, and throw a javelin
with the same skill as they, and sometimes even better.

In order to set off these accomplishments, the intendant resolved that
his foster children should not be pent up any longer in the narrow
borders of the palace gardens, where he had always lived, so he bought
a splendid country house a few miles from the capital, surrounded by an
immense park.  This park he filled with wild beasts of various sorts,
so that the princes and princess might hunt as much as they pleased.

When everything was ready, the intendant threw himself at the Sultan's
feet, and after referring to his age and his long services, begged his
Highness's permission to resign his post.  This was granted by the
Sultan in a few gracious words, and he then inquired what reward he
could give to his faithful servant.  But the intendant declared that he
wished for nothing except the continuance of his Highness's favour, and
prostrating himself once more, he retired from the Sultan's presence.

Five or six months passed away in the pleasures of the country, when
death attacked the intendant so suddenly that he had no time to reveal
the secret of their birth to his adopted children, and as his wife had
long been dead also, it seemed as if the princes and the princess would
never know that they had been born to a higher station than the one
they filled.  Their sorrow for their father was very deep, and they
lived quietly on in their new home, without feeling any desire to leave
it for court gaieties or intrigues.

One day the princes as usual went out to hunt, but their sister
remained alone in her apartments.  While they were gone an old
Mussulman devotee appeared at the door, and asked leave to enter, as it
was the hour of prayer.  The princess sent orders at once that the old
woman was to be taken to the private oratory in the grounds, and when
she had finished her prayers was to be shown the house and gardens, and
then to be brought before her.

Although the old woman was very pious, she was not at all indifferent
to the magnificence of all around her, which she seemed to understand
as well as to admire, and when she had seen it all she was led by the
servants before the princess, who was seated in a room which surpassed
in splendour all the rest.

"My good woman," said the princess pointing to a sofa, "come and sit
beside me.  I am delighted at the opportunity of speaking for a few
moments with so holy a person."  The old woman made some objections to
so much honour being done her, but the princess refused to listen, and
insisted that her guest should take the best seat, and as she thought
she must be tired ordered refreshments.

While the old woman was eating, the princess put several questions to
her as to her mode of life, and the pious exercises she practiced, and
then inquired what she thought of the house now that she had seen it.

"Madam," replied the pilgrim, "one must be hard indeed to please to
find any fault.  It is beautiful, comfortable and well ordered, and it
is impossible to imagine anything more lovely than the garden.  But
since you ask me, I must confess that it lacks three things to make it
absolutely perfect."

"And what can they be?" cried the princess.  "Only tell me, and I will
lose no time in getting them."

"The three things, madam," replied the old woman, "are, first, the
Talking Bird, whose voice draws all other singing birds to it, to join
in chorus.  And second, the Singing Tree, where every leaf is a song
that is never silent.  And lastly the Golden Water, of which it is only
needful to pour a single drop into a basin for it to shoot up into a
fountain, which will never be exhausted, nor will the basin ever
overflow."

"Oh, how can I thank you," cried the princess, "for telling me of such
treasures!  But add, I pray you, to your goodness by further informing
me where I can find them."

"Madam," replied the pilgrim, "I should ill repay the hospitality you
have shown me if I refused to answer your question.  The three things
of which I have spoken are all to be found in one place, on the borders
of this kingdom, towards India.  Your messenger has only to follow the
road that passes by your house, for twenty days, and at the end of that
time, he is to ask the first person he meets for the Talking Bird, the
Singing Tree, and the Golden Water." She then rose, and bidding
farewell to the princess, went her way.

The old woman had taken her departure so abruptly that the Princess
Parizade did not perceive till she was really gone that the directions
were hardly clear enough to enable the search to be successful.  And
she was still thinking of the subject, and how delightful it would be
to possess such rarities, when the princes, her brothers, returned from
the chase.

"What is the matter, my sister?" asked Prince Bahman; "why are you so
grave?  Are you ill?  Or has anything happened?"

Princess Parizade did not answer directly, but at length she raised her
eyes, and replied that there was nothing wrong.

"But there must be something," persisted Prince Bahman, "for you to
have changed so much during the short time we have been absent.  Hide
nothing from us, I beseech you, unless you wish us to believe that the
confidence we have always had in one another is now to cease."

"When I said that it was nothing," said the princess, moved by his
words, "I meant that it was nothing that affected you, although I admit
that it is certainly of some importance to me.  Like myself, you have
always thought this house that our father built for us was perfect in
every respect, but only to-day I have learned that three things are
still lacking to complete it.  These are the Talking Bird, the Singing
Tree, and the Golden Water."  After explaining the peculiar qualities
of each, the princess continued:  "It was a Mussulman devotee who told
me all this, and where they might all be found.  Perhaps you will think
that the house is beautiful enough as it is, and that we can do quite
well without them; but in this I cannot agree with you, and I shall
never be content until I have got them.  So counsel me, I pray, whom to
send on the undertaking."

"My dear sister," replied Prince Bahman, "that you should care about
the matter is quite enough, even if we took no interest in it
ourselves.  But we both feel with you, and I claim, as the elder, the
right to make the first attempt, if you will tell me where I am to go,
and what steps I am to take."

Prince Perviz at first objected that, being the head of the family, his
brother ought not to be allowed to expose himself to danger; but Prince
Bahman would hear nothing, and retired to make the needful preparations
for his journey.

The next morning Prince Bahman got up very early, and after bidding
farewell to his brother and sister, mounted his horse.  But just as he
was about to touch it with his whip, he was stopped by a cry from the
princess.

"Oh, perhaps after all you may never come back; one never can tell what
accidents may happen.  Give it up, I implore you, for I would a
thousand times rather lose the Talking Bird, and the Singing Tree and
the Golden Water, than that you should run into danger."

"My dear sister," answered the prince, "accidents only happen to
unlucky people, and I hope that I am not one of them.  But as
everything is uncertain, I promise you to be very careful.  Take this
knife," he continued, handing her one that hung sheathed from his belt,
"and every now and then draw it out and look at it.  As long as it
keeps bright and clean as it is to-day, you will know that I am living;
but if the blade is spotted with blood, it will be a sign that I am
dead, and you shall weep for me."

So saying, Prince Bahman bade them farewell once more, and started on
the high road, well mounted and fully armed.  For twenty days he rode
straight on, turning neither to the right hand nor to the left, till he
found himself drawing near the frontiers of Persia.  Seated under a
tree by the wayside he noticed a hideous old man, with a long white
moustache, and beard that almost fell to his feet.  His nails had grown
to an enormous length, and on his head he wore a huge hat, which served
him for an umbrella.

Prince Bahman, who, remembering the directions of the old woman, had
been since sunrise on the look-out for some one, recognised the old man
at once to be a dervish.  He dismounted from his horse, and bowed low
before the holy man, saying by way of greeting, "My father, may your
days be long in the land, and may all your wishes be fulfilled!"

The dervish did his best to reply, but his moustache was so thick that
his words were hardly intelligible, and the prince, perceiving what was
the matter, took a pair of scissors from his saddle pockets, and
requested permission to cut off some of the moustache, as he had a
question of great importance to ask the dervish.  The dervish made a
sign that he might do as he liked, and when a few inches of his hair
and beard had been pruned all round the prince assured the holy man
that he would hardly believe how much younger he looked.  The dervish
smiled at his compliments, and thanked him for what he had done.

"Let me," he said, "show you my gratitude for making me more
comfortable by telling me what I can do for you."

"Gentle dervish," replied Prince Bahman, "I come from far, and I seek
the Talking Bird, the Singing Tree, and the Golden Water.  I know that
they are to be found somewhere in these parts, but I am ignorant of the
exact spot.  Tell me, I pray you, if you can, so that I may not have
travelled on a useless quest."  While he was speaking, the prince
observed a change in the countenance of the dervish, who waited for
some time before he made reply.

"My lord," he said at last, "I do know the road for which you ask, but
your kindness and the friendship I have conceived for you make me loth
to point it out."

"But why not?" inquired the prince.  "What danger can there be?"

"The very greatest danger," answered the dervish.  "Other men, as brave
as you, have ridden down this road, and have put me that question.  I
did my best to turn them also from their purpose, but it was of no use.
Not one of them would listen to my words, and not one of them came
back.  Be warned in time, and seek to go no further."

"I am grateful to you for your interest in me," said Prince Bahman,
"and for the advice you have given, though I cannot follow it.  But
what dangers can there be in the adventure which courage and a good
sword cannot meet?"

"And suppose," answered the dervish, "that your enemies are invisible,
how then?"

"Nothing will make me give it up," replied the prince, "and for the
last time I ask you to tell me where I am to go."

When the dervish saw that the prince's mind was made up, he drew a ball
from a bag that lay near him, and held it out.  "If it must be so," he
said, with a sigh, "take this, and when you have mounted your horse
throw the ball in front of you.  It will roll on till it reaches the
foot of a mountain, and when it stops you will stop also.  You will
then throw the bridle on your horse's neck without any fear of his
straying, and will dismount.  On each side you will see vast heaps of
big black stones, and will hear a multitude of insulting voices, but
pay no heed to them, and, above all, beware of ever turning your head.
If you do, you will instantly become a black stone like the rest.  For
those stones are in reality men like yourself, who have been on the
same quest, and have failed, as I fear that you may fail also.  If you
manage to avoid this pitfall, and to reach the top of the mountain, you
will find there the Talking Bird in a splendid cage, and you can ask of
him where you are to seek the Singing Tree and the Golden Water.  That
is all I have to say.  You know what you have to do, and what to avoid,
but if you are wise you will think of it no more, but return whence you
have come."

The prince smilingly shook his head, and thanking the dervish once
more, he sprang on his horse and threw the ball before him.

The ball rolled along the road so fast that Prince Bahman had much
difficulty in keeping up with it, and it never relaxed its speed till
the foot of the mountain was reached.  Then it came to a sudden halt,
and the prince at once got down and flung the bridle on his horse's
neck.  He paused for a moment and looked round him at the masses of
black stones with which the sides of the mountain were covered, and
then began resolutely to ascend.  He had hardly gone four steps when he
heard the sound of voices around him, although not another creature was
in sight.

"Who is this imbecile?" cried some, "stop him at once."  "Kill him,"
shrieked others, "Help! robbers! murderers! help! help!"  "Oh, let him
alone," sneered another, and this was the most trying of all, "he is
such a beautiful young man; I am sure the bird and the cage must have
been kept for him."

At first the prince took no heed to all this clamour, but continued to
press forward on his way.  Unfortunately this conduct, instead of
silencing the voices, only seemed to irritate them the more, and they
arose with redoubled fury, in front as well as behind.  After some time
he grew bewildered, his knees began to tremble, and finding himself in
the act of falling, he forgot altogether the advice of the dervish.  He
turned to fly down the mountain, and in one moment became a black stone.

As may be imagined, Prince Perviz and his sister were all this time in
the greatest anxiety, and consulted the magic knife, not once but many
times a day.  Hitherto the blade had remained bright and spotless, but
on the fatal hour on which Prince Bahman and his horse were changed
into black stones, large drops of blood appeared on the surface.  "Ah!
my beloved brother," cried the princess in horror, throwing the knife
from her, "I shall never see you again, and it is I who have killed
you.  Fool that I was to listen to the voice of that temptress, who
probably was not speaking the truth.  What are the Talking Bird and the
Singing Tree to me in comparison with you, passionately though I long
for them!"

Prince Perviz's grief at his brother's loss was not less than that of
Princess Parizade, but he did not waste his time on useless
lamentations.

"My sister," he said, "why should you think the old woman was deceiving
you about these treasures, and what would have been her object in doing
so!  No, no, our brother must have met his death by some accident, or
want of precaution, and to-morrow I will start on the same quest."

Terrified at the thought that she might lose her only remaining
brother, the princess entreated him to give up his project, but he
remained firm.  Before setting out, however, he gave her a chaplet of a
hundred pearls, and said, "When I am absent, tell this over daily for
me.  But if you should find that the beads stick, so that they will not
slip one after the other, you will know that my brother's fate has
befallen me.  Still, we must hope for better luck."

Then he departed, and on the twentieth day of his journey fell in with
the dervish on the same spot as Prince Bahman had met him, and began to
question him as to the place where the Talking Bird, the Singing Tree
and the Golden Water were to be found.  As in the case of his brother,
the dervish tried to make him give up his project, and even told him
that only a few weeks since a young man, bearing a strong resemblance
to himself, had passed that way, but had never come back again.

"That, holy dervish," replied Prince Perviz, "was my elder brother, who
is now dead, though how he died I cannot say."

"He is changed into a black stone," answered the dervish, "like all the
rest who have gone on the same errand, and you will become one likewise
if you are not more careful in following my directions." Then he
charged the prince, as he valued his life, to take no heed of the
clamour of voices that would pursue him up the mountain, and handing
him a ball from the bag, which still seemed to be half full, he sent
him on his way.

When Prince Perviz reached the foot of the mountain he jumped from his
horse, and paused for a moment to recall the instructions the dervish
had given him.  Then he strode boldly on, but had scarcely gone five or
six paces when he was startled by a man's voice that seemed close to
his ear, exclaiming:  "Stop, rash fellow, and let me punish your
audacity."  This outrage entirely put the dervish's advice out of the
prince's head.  He drew his sword, and turned to avenge himself, but
almost before he had realised that there was nobody there, he and his
horse were two black stones.

Not a morning had passed since Prince Perviz had ridden away without
Princess Parizade telling her beads, and at night she even hung them
round her neck, so that if she woke she could assure herself at once of
her brother's safety.  She was in the very act of moving them through
her fingers at the moment that the prince fell a victim to his
impatience, and her heart sank when the first pearl remained fixed in
its place.  However she had long made up her mind what she would do in
such a case, and the following morning the princess, disguised as a
man, set out for the mountain.

As she had been accustomed to riding from her childhood, she managed to
travel as many miles daily as her brothers had done, and it was, as
before, on the twentieth day that she arrived at the place where the
dervish was sitting.  "Good dervish," she said politely, "will you
allow me to rest by you for a few moments, and perhaps you will be so
kind as to tell me if you have ever heard of a Talking Bird, a Singing
Tree, and some Golden Water that are to be found somewhere near this?"

"Madam," replied the dervish, "for in spite of your manly dress your
voice betrays you, I shall be proud to serve you in any way I can.  But
may I ask the purpose of your question?"

"Good dervish," answered the princess, "I have heard such glowing
descriptions of these three things, that I cannot rest till I possess
them."

"Madam," said the dervish, "they are far more beautiful than any
description, but you seem ignorant of all the difficulties that stand
in your way, or you would hardly have undertaken such an adventure.
Give it up, I pray you, and return home, and do not ask me to help you
to a cruel death."

"Holy father," answered the princess, "I come from far, and I should be
in despair if I turned back without having attained my object.  You
have spoken of difficulties; tell me, I entreat you, what they are, so
that I may know if I can overcome them, or see if they are beyond my
strength."

So the dervish repeated his tale, and dwelt more firmly than before on
the clamour of the voices, the horrors of the black stones, which were
once living men, and the difficulties of climbing the mountain; and
pointed out that the chief means of success was never to look behind
till you had the cage in your grasp.

"As far as I can see," said the princess, "the first thing is not to
mind the tumult of the voices that follow you till you reach the cage,
and then never to look behind.  As to this, I think I have enough
self-control to look straight before me; but as it is quite possible
that I might be frightened by the voices, as even the boldest men have
been, I will stop up my ears with cotton, so that, let them make as
much noise as they like, I shall hear nothing."

"Madam," cried the dervish, "out of all the number who have asked me
the way to the mountain, you are the first who has ever suggested such
a means of escaping the danger!  It is possible that you may succeed,
but all the same, the risk is great."

"Good dervish," answered the princess, "I feel in my heart that I shall
succeed, and it only remains for me to ask you the way I am to go."

Then the dervish said that it was useless to say more, and he gave her
the ball, which she flung before her.

The first thing the princess did on arriving at the mountain was to
stop her ears with cotton, and then, making up her mind which was the
best way to go, she began her ascent.  In spite of the cotton, some
echoes of the voices reached her ears, but not so as to trouble her.
Indeed, though they grew louder and more insulting the higher she
climbed, the princess only laughed, and said to herself that she
certainly would not let a few rough words stand between her and the
goal.  At last she perceived in the distance the cage and the bird,
whose voice joined itself in tones of thunder to those of the rest:
"Return, return! never dare to come near me."

At the sight of the bird, the princess hastened her steps, and without
vexing herself at the noise which by this time had grown deafening, she
walked straight up to the cage, and seizing it, she said: "Now, my
bird, I have got you, and I shall take good care that you do not
escape."  As she spoke she took the cotton from her ears, for it was
needed no longer.

"Brave lady," answered the bird, "do not blame me for having joined my
voice to those who did their best to preserve my freedom.  Although
confined in a cage, I was content with my lot, but if I must become a
slave, I could not wish for a nobler mistress than one who has shown so
much constancy, and from this moment I swear to serve you faithfully.
Some day you will put me to the proof, for I know who you are better
than you do yourself.  Meanwhile, tell me what I can do, and I will
obey you."

"Bird," replied the princess, who was filled with a joy that seemed
strange to herself when she thought that the bird had cost her the
lives of both her brothers, "bird, let me first thank you for your good
will, and then let me ask you where the Golden Water is to be found."

The bird described the place, which was not far distant, and the
princess filled a small silver flask that she had brought with her for
the purpose.  She then returned to the cage, and said:  "Bird, there is
still something else, where shall I find the Singing Tree?"

"Behind you, in that wood," replied the bird, and the princess wandered
through the wood, till a sound of the sweetest voices told her she had
found what she sought.  But the tree was tall and strong, and it was
hopeless to think of uprooting it.

"You need not do that," said the bird, when she had returned to ask
counsel.  "Break off a twig, and plant it in your garden, and it will
take root, and grow into a magnificent tree."

When the Princess Parizade held in her hands the three wonders promised
her by the old woman, she said to the bird:  "All that is not enough.
It was owing to you that my brothers became black stones.  I cannot
tell them from the mass of others, but you must know, and point them
out to me, I beg you, for I wish to carry them away."

For some reason that the princess could not guess these words seemed to
displease the bird, and he did not answer.  The princess waited a
moment, and then continued in severe tones, "Have you forgotten that
you yourself said that you are my slave to do my bidding, and also that
your life is in my power?"

"No, I have not forgotten," replied the bird, "but what you ask is very
difficult.  However, I will do my best.  If you look round," he went
on, "you will see a pitcher standing near.  Take it, and, as you go
down the mountain, scatter a little of the water it contains over every
black stone and you will soon find your two brothers."

Princess Parizade took the pitcher, and, carrying with her besides the
cage the twig and the flask, returned down the mountain side.  At every
black stone she stopped and sprinkled it with water, and as the water
touched it the stone instantly became a man.  When she suddenly saw her
brothers before her her delight was mixed with astonishment.

"Why, what are you doing here?" she cried.

"We have been asleep," they said.

"Yes," returned the princess, "but without me your sleep would probably
have lasted till the day of judgment.  Have you forgotten that you came
here in search of the Talking Bird, the Singing Tree, and the Golden
Water, and the black stones that were heaped up along the road?  Look
round and see if there is one left.  These gentlemen, and yourselves,
and all your horses were changed into these stones, and I have
delivered you by sprinkling you with the water from this pitcher.  As I
could not return home without you, even though I had gained the prizes
on which I had set my heart, I forced the Talking Bird to tell me how
to break the spell."

On hearing these words Prince Bahman and Prince Perviz understood all
they owed their sister, and the knights who stood by declared
themselves her slaves and ready to carry out her wishes.  But the
princess, while thanking them for their politeness, explained that she
wished for no company but that of her brothers, and that the rest were
free to go where they would.

So saying the princess mounted her horse, and, declining to allow even
Prince Bahman to carry the cage with the Talking Bird, she entrusted
him with the branch of the Singing Tree, while Prince Perviz took care
of the flask containing the Golden Water.

Then they rode away, followed by the knights and gentlemen, who begged
to be permitted to escort them.

It had been the intention of the party to stop and tell their
adventures to the dervish, but they found to their sorrow that he was
dead, whether from old age, or whether from the feeling that his task
was done, they never knew.

As they continued their road their numbers grew daily smaller, for the
knights turned off one by one to their own homes, and only the brothers
and sister finally drew up at the gate of the palace.

The princess carried the cage straight into the garden, and, as soon as
the bird began to sing, nightingales, larks, thrushes, finches, and all
sorts of other birds mingled their voices in chorus.  The branch she
planted in a corner near the house, and in a few days it had grown into
a great tree.  As for the Golden Water it was poured into a great
marble basin specially prepared for it, and it swelled and bubbled and
then shot up into the air in a fountain twenty feet high.

The fame of these wonders soon spread abroad, and people came from far
and near to see and admire.

After a few days Prince Bahman and Prince Perviz fell back into their
ordinary way of life, and passed most of their time hunting.  One day
it happened that the Sultan of Persia was also hunting in the same
direction, and, not wishing to interfere with his sport, the young men,
on hearing the noise of the hunt approaching, prepared to retire, but,
as luck would have it, they turned into the very path down which the
Sultan was coming.  They threw themselves from their horses and
prostrated themselves to the earth, but the Sultan was curious to see
their faces, and commanded them to rise.

The princes stood up respectfully, but quite at their ease, and the
Sultan looked at them for a few moments without speaking, then he asked
who they were and where they lived.

"Sire," replied Prince Bahman, "we are sons of your Highness's late
intendant of the gardens, and we live in a house that he built a short
time before his death, waiting till an occasion should offer itself to
serve your Highness."

"You seem fond of hunting," answered the Sultan.

"Sire," replied Prince Bahman, "it is our usual exercise, and one that
should be neglected by no man who expects to comply with the ancient
customs of the kingdom and bear arms."

The Sultan was delighted with this remark, and said at once, "In that
case I shall take great pleasure in watching you.  Come, choose what
sort of beasts you would like to hunt."

The princes jumped on their horses and followed the Sultan at a little
distance.  They had not gone very far before they saw a number of wild
animals appear at once, and Prince Bahman started to give chase to a
lion and Prince Perviz to a bear.  Both used their javelins with such
skill that, directly they arrived within striking range, the lion and
the bear fell, pierced through and through.  Then Prince Perviz pursued
a lion and Prince Bahman a bear, and in a very few minutes they, too,
lay dead.  As they were making ready for a third assault the Sultan
interfered, and, sending one of his officials to summon them, he said
smiling, "If I let you go on, there will soon be no beasts left to
hunt.  Besides, your courage and manners have so won my heart that I
will not have you expose yourselves to further danger.  I am convinced
that some day or other I shall find you useful as well as agreeable."

He then gave them a warm invitation to stay with him altogether, but
with many thanks for the honour done them, they begged to be excused,
and to be suffered to remain at home.

The Sultan who was not accustomed to see his offers rejected inquired
their reasons, and Prince Bahman explained that they did not wish to
leave their sister, and were accustomed to do nothing without
consulting all three together.

"Ask her advice, then," replied the Sultan, "and to-morrow come and
hunt with me, and give me your answer."

The two princes returned home, but their adventure made so little
impression on them that they quite forgot to speak to their sister on
the subject.  The next morning when they went to hunt they met the
Sultan in the same place, and he inquired what advice their sister had
given.  The young men looked at each other and blushed.  At last Prince
Bahman said, "Sire, we must throw ourselves on your Highness's mercy.
Neither my brother nor myself remembered anything about it."

"Then be sure you do not forget to-day," answered the Sultan, "and
bring me back your reply to-morrow."

When, however, the same thing happened a second time, they feared that
the Sultan might be angry with them for their carelessness.  But he
took it in good part, and, drawing three little golden balls from his
purse, he held them out to Prince Bahman, saying, "Put these in your
bosom and you will not forget a third time, for when you remove your
girdle to-night the noise they will make in falling will remind you of
my wishes."

It all happened as the Sultan had foreseen, and the two brothers
appeared in their sister's apartments just as she was in the act of
stepping into bed, and told their tale.

The Princess Parizade was much disturbed at the news, and did not
conceal her feelings.  "Your meeting with the Sultan is very honourable
to you," she said, "and will, I dare say, be of service to you, but it
places me in a very awkward position.  It is on my account, I know,
that you have resisted the Sultan's wishes, and I am very grateful to
you for it.  But kings do not like to have their offers refused, and in
time he would bear a grudge against you, which would render me very
unhappy.  Consult the Talking Bird, who is wise and far-seeing, and let
me hear what he says."

So the bird was sent for and the case laid before him.

"The princes must on no account refuse the Sultan's proposal," said he,
"and they must even invite him to come and see your house."

"But, bird," objected the princess, "you know how dearly we love each
other; will not all this spoil our friendship?"

"Not at all," replied the bird, "it will make it all the closer."

"Then the Sultan will have to see me," said the princess.

The bird answered that it was necessary that he should see her, and
everything would turn out for the best.

The following morning, when the Sultan inquired if they had spoken to
their sister and what advice she had given them, Prince Bahman replied
that they were ready to agree to his Highness's wishes, and that their
sister had reproved them for their hesitation about the matter.  The
Sultan received their excuses with great kindness, and told them that
he was sure they would be equally faithful to him, and kept them by his
side for the rest of the day, to the vexation of the grand-vizir and
the rest of the court.

When the procession entered in this order the gates of the capital, the
eyes of the people who crowded the streets were fixed on the two young
men, strangers to every one.

"Oh, if only the Sultan had had sons like that!" they murmured, "they
look so distinguished and are about the same age that his sons would
have been!"

The Sultan commanded that splendid apartments should be prepared for
the two brothers, and even insisted that they should sit at table with
him.  During dinner he led the conversation to various scientific
subjects, and also to history, of which he was especially fond, but
whatever topic they might be discussing he found that the views of the
young men were always worth listening to.  "If they were my own sons,"
he said to himself, "they could not be better educated!" and aloud he
complimented them on their learning and taste for knowledge.

At the end of the evening the princes once more prostrated themselves
before the throne and asked leave to return home; and then, encouraged
by the gracious words of farewell uttered by the Sultan, Prince Bahman
said:  "Sire, may we dare to take the liberty of asking whether you
would do us and our sister the honour of resting for a few minutes at
our house the first time the hunt passes that way?"

"With the utmost pleasure," replied the Sultan; "and as I am all
impatience to see the sister of such accomplished young men you may
expect me the day after to-morrow."

The princess was of course most anxious to entertain the Sultan in a
fitting way, but as she had no experience in court customs she ran to
the Talking Bird, and begged he would advise her as to what dishes
should be served.

"My dear mistress," replied the bird, "your cooks are very good and you
can safely leave all to them, except that you must be careful to have a
dish of cucumbers, stuffed with pearl sauce, served with the first
course."

"Cucumbers stuffed with pearls!" exclaimed the princess.  "Why, bird,
who ever heard of such a dish?  The Sultan will expect a dinner he can
eat, and not one he can only admire!  Besides, if I were to use all the
pearls I possess, they would not be half enough."

"Mistress," replied the bird, "do what I tell you and nothing but good
will come of it.  And as to the pearls, if you go at dawn to-morrow and
dig at the foot of the first tree in the park, on the right hand, you
will find as many as you want."

The princess had faith in the bird, who generally proved to be right,
and taking the gardener with her early next morning followed out his
directions carefully.  After digging for some time they came upon a
golden box fastened with little clasps.

These were easily undone, and the box was found to be full of pearls,
not very large ones, but well-shaped and of a good colour.  So leaving
the gardener to fill up the hole he had made under the tree, the
princess took up the box and returned to the house.

The two princes had seen her go out, and had wondered what could have
made her rise so early.  Full of curiosity they got up and dressed, and
met their sister as she was returning with the box under her arm.

"What have you been doing?" they asked, "and did the gardener come to
tell you he had found a treasure?"

"On the contrary," replied the princess, "it is I who have found one,"
and opening the box she showed her astonished brothers the pearls
inside.  Then, on the way back to the palace, she told them of her
consultation with the bird, and the advice it had given her.  All three
tried to guess the meaning of the singular counsel, but they were
forced at last to admit the explanation was beyond them, and they must
be content blindly to obey.

The first thing the princess did on entering the palace was to send for
the head cook and to order the repast for the Sultan When she had
finished she suddenly added, "Besides the dishes I have mentioned there
is one that you must prepare expressly for the Sultan, and that no one
must touch but yourself.  It consists of a stuffed cucumber, and the
stuffing is to be made of these pearls."

The head cook, who had never in all his experience heard of such a
dish, stepped back in amazement.

"You think I am mad," answered the princess, who perceived what was in
his mind.  "But I know quite well what I am doing.  Go, and do your
best, and take the pearls with you."

The next morning the princes started for the forest, and were soon
joined by the Sultan.  The hunt began and continued till mid-day, when
the heat became so great that they were obliged to leave off.  Then, as
arranged, they turned their horses' heads towards the palace, and while
Prince Bahman remained by the side of the Sultan, Prince Perviz rode on
to warn his sister of their approach.

The moment his Highness entered the courtyard, the princess flung
herself at his feet, but he bent and raised her, and gazed at her for
some time, struck with her grace and beauty, and also with the
indefinable air of courts that seemed to hang round this country girl.
"They are all worthy one of the other," he said to himself, "and I am
not surprised that they think so much of her opinions.  I must know
more of them."

By this time the princess had recovered from the first embarrassment of
meeting, and proceeded to make her speech of welcome.

"This is only a simple country house, sire," she said, "suitable to
people like ourselves, who live a quiet life.  It cannot compare with
the great city mansions, much less, of course, with the smallest of the
Sultan's palaces."

"I cannot quite agree with you," he replied; "even the little that I
have seen I admire greatly, and I will reserve my judgment until you
have shown me the whole."

The princess then led the way from room to room, and the Sultan
examined everything carefully.  "Do you call this a simple country
house?" he said at last.  "Why, if every country house was like this,
the towns would soon be deserted.  I am no longer astonished that you
do not wish to leave it.  Let us go into the gardens, which I am sure
are no less beautiful than the rooms."

A small door opened straight into the garden, and the first object that
met the Sultan's eyes was the Golden Water.

"What lovely coloured water!" he exclaimed; "where is the spring, and
how do you make the fountain rise so high?  I do not believe there is
anything like it in the world."  He went forward to examine it, and
when he had satisfied his curiosity, the princess conducted him towards
the Singing Tree.

As they drew near, the Sultan was startled by the sound of strange
voices, but could see nothing.  "Where have you hidden your musicians?"
he asked the princess; "are they up in the air, or under the earth?
Surely the owners of such charming voices ought not to conceal
themselves!"

"Sire," answered the princess, "the voices all come from the tree which
is straight in front of us; and if you will deign to advance a few
steps, you will see that they become clearer."

The Sultan did as he was told, and was so wrapt in delight at what he
heard that he stood some time in silence.

"Tell me, madam, I pray you," he said at last, "how this marvellous
tree came into your garden?  It must have been brought from a great
distance, or else, fond as I am of all curiosities, I could not have
missed hearing of it!  What is its name?"

"The only name it has, sire," replied she, "is the Singing Tree, and it
is not a native of this country.  Its history is mixed up with those of
the Golden Water and the Talking Bird, which you have not yet seen.  If
your Highness wishes I will tell you the whole story, when you have
recovered from your fatigue."

"Indeed, madam," returned he, "you show me so many wonders that it is
impossible to feel any fatigue.  Let us go once more and look at the
Golden Water; and I am dying to see the Talking Bird."

The Sultan could hardly tear himself away from the Golden Water, which
puzzled him more and more.  "You say," he observed to the princess,
"that this water does not come from any spring, neither is brought by
pipes.  All I understand is, that neither it nor the Singing Tree is a
native of this country."

"It is as you say, sire," answered the princess, "and if you examine
the basin, you will see that it is all in one piece, and therefore the
water could not have been brought through it.  What is more astonishing
is, that I only emptied a small flaskful into the basin, and it
increased to the quantity you now see."

"Well, I will look at it no more to-day," said the Sultan.  "Take me to
the Talking Bird."

On approaching the house, the Sultan noticed a vast quantity of birds,
whose voices filled the air, and he inquired why they were so much more
numerous here than in any other part of the garden.

"Sire," answered the princess, "do you see that cage hanging in one of
the windows of the saloon? that is the Talking Bird, whose voice you
can hear above them all, even above that of the nightingale.  And the
birds crowd to this spot, to add their songs to his."

The Sultan stepped through the window, but the bird took no notice,
continuing his song as before.

"My slave," said the princess, "this is the Sultan; make him a pretty
speech."

The bird stopped singing at once, and all the other birds stopped too.

"The Sultan is welcome," he said.  "I wish him long life and all
prosperity."

"I thank you, good bird," answered the Sultan, seating himself before
the repast, which was spread at a table near the window, "and I am
enchanted to see in you the Sultan and King of the Birds."

The Sultan, noticing that his favourite dish of cucumber was placed
before him, proceeded to help himself to it, and was amazed to and that
the stuffing was of pearls.  "A novelty, indeed!" cried he, "but I do
not understand the reason of it; one cannot eat pearls!"

"Sire," replied the bird, before either the princes or the princess
could speak, "surely your Highness cannot be so surprised at beholding
a cucumber stuffed with pearls, when you believed without any
difficulty that the Sultana had presented you, instead of children,
with a dog, a cat, and a log of wood."

"I believed it," answered the Sultan, "because the women attending on
her told me so."

"The women, sire," said the bird, "were the sisters of the Sultana, who
were devoured with jealousy at the honour you had done her, and in
order to revenge themselves invented this story.  Have them examined,
and they will confess their crime.  These are your children, who were
saved from death by the intendant of your gardens, and brought up by
him as if they were his own."

Like a flash the truth came to the mind of the Sultan.  "Bird," he
cried, "my heart tells me that what you say is true.  My children," he
added, "let me embrace you, and embrace each other, not only as
brothers and sister, but as having in you the blood royal of Persia
which could flow in no nobler veins."

When the first moments of emotion were over, the Sultan hastened to
finish his repast, and then turning to his children he exclaimed:
"To-day you have made acquaintance with your father.  To-morrow I will
bring you the Sultana your mother.  Be ready to receive her."

The Sultan then mounted his horse and rode quickly back to the capital.
Without an instant's delay he sent for the grand-vizir, and ordered him
to seize and question the Sultana's sisters that very day.  This was
done.  They were confronted with each other and proved guilty, and were
executed in less than an hour.

But the Sultan did not wait to hear that his orders had been carried
out before going on foot, followed by his whole court to the door of
the great mosque, and drawing the Sultana with his own hand out of the
narrow prison where she had spent so many years, "Madam," he cried,
embracing her with tears in his eyes, "I have come to ask your pardon
for the injustice I have done you, and to repair it as far as I may.  I
have already begun by punishing the authors of this abominable crime,
and I hope you will forgive me when I introduce you to our children,
who are the most charming and accomplished creatures in the whole
world.  Come with me, and take back your position and all the honour
that is due to you."

This speech was delivered in the presence of a vast multitude of
people, who had gathered from all parts on the first hint of what was
happening, and the news was passed from mouth to mouth in a few seconds.

Early next day the Sultan and Sultana, dressed in robes of state and
followed by all the court, set out for the country house of their
children.  Here the Sultan presented them to the Sultana one by one,
and for some time there was nothing but embraces and tears and tender
words.  Then they ate of the magnificent dinner which had been prepared
for them, and after they were all refreshed they went into the garden,
where the Sultan pointed out to his wife the Golden Water and the
Singing Tree.  As to the Talking Bird, she had already made
acquaintance with him.

In the evening they rode together back to the capital, the princes on
each side of their father, and the princess with her mother.  Long
before they reached the gates the way was lined with people, and the
air filled with shouts of welcome, with which were mingled the songs of
the Talking Bird, sitting in its cage on the lap of the princess, and
of the birds who followed it.

And in this manner they came back to their father's palace.







It was late; Councillor Knap, deeply occupied with the times of King
Hans, intended to go home, and malicious Fate managed matters so that
his feet, instead of finding their way to his own galoshes, slipped
into those of Fortune. Thus caparisoned the good man walked out of the
well-lighted rooms into East Street. By the magic power of the shoes he
was carried back to the times of King Hans; on which account his foot
very naturally sank in the mud and puddles of the street, there having
been in those days no pavement in Copenhagen.

"Well! This is too bad! How dirty it is here!" sighed the Councillor.
"As to a pavement, I can find no traces of one, and all the lamps, it
seems, have gone to sleep."

The moon was not yet very high; it was besides rather foggy, so that
in the darkness all objects seemed mingled in chaotic confusion. At the
next corner hung a votive lamp before a Madonna, but the light it gave
was little better than none at all; indeed, he did not observe it before
he was exactly under it, and his eyes fell upon the bright colors of the
pictures which represented the well-known group of the Virgin and the
infant Jesus.

"That is probably a wax-work show," thought he; "and the people delay
taking down their sign in hopes of a late visitor or two."

A few persons in the costume of the time of King Hans passed quickly by
him.

"How strange they look! The good folks come probably from a masquerade!"

Suddenly was heard the sound of drums and fifes; the bright blaze of a
fire shot up from time to time, and its ruddy gleams seemed to contend
with the bluish light of the torches. The Councillor stood still, and
watched a most strange procession pass by. First came a dozen drummers,
who understood pretty well how to handle their instruments; then came
halberdiers, and some armed with cross-bows. The principal person in the
procession was a priest. Astonished at what he saw, the Councillor asked
what was the meaning of all this mummery, and who that man was.

"That's the Bishop of Zealand," was the answer.

"Good Heavens! What has taken possession of the Bishop?" sighed the
Councillor, shaking his head. It certainly could not be the Bishop; even
though he was considered the most absent man in the whole kingdom, and
people told the drollest anecdotes about him. Reflecting on the matter,
and without looking right or left, the Councillor went through East
Street and across the Habro-Platz. The bridge leading to Palace Square
was not to be found; scarcely trusting his senses, the nocturnal
wanderer discovered a shallow piece of water, and here fell in with two
men who very comfortably were rocking to and fro in a boat.

"Does your honor want to cross the ferry to the Holme?" asked they.

"Across to the Holme!" said the Councillor, who knew nothing of the age
in which he at that moment was. "No, I am going to Christianshafen, to
Little Market Street."

Both men stared at him in astonishment.

"Only just tell me where the bridge is," said he. "It is really
unpardonable that there are no lamps here; and it is as dirty as if one
had to wade through a morass."

The longer he spoke with the boatmen, the more unintelligible did their
language become to him.

"I don't understand your Bornholmish dialect," said he at last, angrily,
and turning his back upon them. He was unable to find the bridge: there
was no railway either. "It is really disgraceful what a state this place
is in," muttered he to himself. Never had his age, with which, however,
he was always grumbling, seemed so miserable as on this evening. "I'll
take a hackney-coach!" thought he. But where were the hackney-coaches?
Not one was to be seen.

"I must go back to the New Market; there, it is to be hoped, I
shall find some coaches; for if I don't, I shall never get safe to
Christianshafen."

So off he went in the direction of East Street, and had nearly got to
the end of it when the moon shone forth.

"God bless me! What wooden scaffolding is that which they have set up
there?" cried he involuntarily, as he looked at East Gate, which, in
those days, was at the end of East Street.

He found, however, a little side-door open, and through this he went,
and stepped into our New Market of the present time. It was a huge
desolate plain; some wild bushes stood up here and there, while across
the field flowed a broad canal or river. Some wretched hovels for the
Dutch sailors, resembling great boxes, and after which the place was
named, lay about in confused disorder on the opposite bank.

"I either behold a fata morgana, or I am regularly tipsy," whimpered out
the Councillor. "But what's this?"

He turned round anew, firmly convinced that he was seriously ill. He
gazed at the street formerly so well known to him, and now so strange in
appearance, and looked at the houses more attentively: most of them were
of wood, slightly put together; and many had a thatched roof.

"No--I am far from well," sighed he; "and yet I drank only one glass of
punch; but I cannot suppose it--it was, too, really very wrong to give
us punch and hot salmon for supper. I shall speak about it at the first
opportunity. I have half a mind to go back again, and say what I suffer.
But no, that would be too silly; and Heaven only knows if they are up
still."

He looked for the house, but it had vanished.

"It is really dreadful," groaned he with increasing anxiety; "I cannot
recognise East Street again; there is not a single decent shop from one
end to the other! Nothing but wretched huts can I see anywhere; just
as if I were at Ringstead. Oh! I am ill! I can scarcely bear myself any
longer. Where the deuce can the house be? It must be here on this very
spot; yet there is not the slightest idea of resemblance, to such a
degree has everything changed this night! At all events here are some
people up and stirring. Oh! oh! I am certainly very ill."

He now hit upon a half-open door, through a chink of which a faint light
shone. It was a sort of hostelry of those times; a kind of public-house.
The room had some resemblance to the clay-floored halls in Holstein; a
pretty numerous company, consisting of seamen, Copenhagen burghers, and
a few scholars, sat here in deep converse over their pewter cans, and
gave little heed to the person who entered.

"By your leave!" said the Councillor to the Hostess, who came bustling
towards him. "I've felt so queer all of a sudden; would you have the
goodness to send for a hackney-coach to take me to Christianshafen?"

The woman examined him with eyes of astonishment, and shook her head;
she then addressed him in German. The Councillor thought she did not
understand Danish, and therefore repeated his wish in German. This, in
connection with his costume, strengthened the good woman in the belief
that he was a foreigner. That he was ill, she comprehended directly; so
she brought him a pitcher of water, which tasted certainly pretty strong
of the sea, although it had been fetched from the well.

The Councillor supported his head on his hand, drew a long breath, and
thought over all the wondrous things he saw around him.

"Is this the Daily News of this evening?" he asked mechanically, as he
saw the Hostess push aside a large sheet of paper.

The meaning of this councillorship query remained, of course, a riddle
to her, yet she handed him the paper without replying. It was a coarse
wood-cut, representing a splendid meteor "as seen in the town of
Cologne," which was to be read below in bright letters.

"That is very old!" said the Councillor, whom this piece of antiquity
began to make considerably more cheerful. "Pray how did you come into
possession of this rare print? It is extremely interesting, although the
whole is a mere fable. Such meteorous appearances are to be explained in
this way--that they are the reflections of the Aurora Borealis, and it
is highly probable they are caused principally by electricity."

Those persons who were sitting nearest him and heard his speech,
stared at him in wonderment; and one of them rose, took off his hat
respectfully, and said with a serious countenance, "You are no doubt a
very learned man, Monsieur."

"Oh no," answered the Councillor, "I can only join in conversation on
this topic and on that, as indeed one must do according to the demands
of the world at present."

"Modestia is a fine virtue," continued the gentleman; "however, as to
your speech, I must say mihi secus videtur: yet I am willing to suspend
my judicium."

"May I ask with whom I have the pleasure of speaking?" asked the
Councillor.

"I am a Bachelor in Theologia," answered the gentleman with a stiff
reverence.

This reply fully satisfied the Councillor; the title suited the dress.
"He is certainly," thought he, "some village schoolmaster--some queer
old fellow, such as one still often meets with in Jutland."

"This is no locus docendi, it is true," began the clerical gentleman;
"yet I beg you earnestly to let us profit by your learning. Your reading
in the ancients is, sine dubio, of vast extent?"

"Oh yes, I've read something, to be sure," replied the Councillor. "I
like reading all useful works; but I do not on that account despise the
modern ones; 'tis only the unfortunate 'Tales of Every-day Life' that I
cannot bear--we have enough and more than enough such in reality."

"'Tales of Every-day Life?'" said our Bachelor inquiringly.

"I mean those new fangled novels, twisting and writhing themselves in
the dust of commonplace, which also expect to find a reading public."

"Oh," exclaimed the clerical gentleman smiling, "there is much wit in
them; besides they are read at court. The King likes the history of Sir
Iffven and Sir Gaudian particularly, which treats of King Arthur, and
his Knights of the Round Table; he has more than once joked about it
with his high vassals."

"I have not read that novel," said the Councillor; "it must be quite a
new one, that Heiberg has published lately."

"No," answered the theologian of the time of King Hans: "that book is
not written by a Heiberg, but was imprinted by Godfrey von Gehmen."

"Oh, is that the author's name?" said the Councillor. "It is a very
old name, and, as well as I recollect, he was the first printer that
appeared in Denmark."

"Yes, he is our first printer," replied the clerical gentleman hastily.

So far all went on well. Some one of the worthy burghers now spoke of
the dreadful pestilence that had raged in the country a few years back,
meaning that of 1484. The Councillor imagined it was the cholera that
was meant, which people made so much fuss about; and the discourse
passed off satisfactorily enough. The war of the buccaneers of 1490 was
so recent that it could not fail being alluded to; the English
pirates had, they said, most shamefully taken their ships while in the
roadstead; and the Councillor, before whose eyes the Herostratic
event of 1801 still floated vividly, agreed entirely with the others in
abusing the rascally English. With other topics he was not so fortunate;
every moment brought about some new confusion, and threatened to become
a perfect Babel; for the worthy Bachelor was really too ignorant, and
the simplest observations of the Councillor sounded to him too daring
and phantastical. They looked at one another from the crown of the head
to the soles of the feet; and when matters grew to too high a
pitch, then the Bachelor talked Latin, in the hope of being better
understood--but it was of no use after all.

      Herostratus, or Eratostratus--an Ephesian, who wantonly
     set fire to the famous temple of Diana, in order to
     commemorate his name by so uncommon an action.

"What's the matter?" asked the Hostess, plucking the Councillor by the
sleeve; and now his recollection returned, for in the course of the
conversation he had entirely forgotten all that had preceded it.

"Merciful God, where am I!" exclaimed he in agony; and while he so
thought, all his ideas and feelings of overpowering dizziness, against
which he struggled with the utmost power of desperation, encompassed
him with renewed force. "Let us drink claret and mead, and Bremen beer,"
 shouted one of the guests--"and you shall drink with us!"

Two maidens approached. One wore a cap of two staring colors, denoting
the class of persons to which she belonged. They poured out the liquor,
and made the most friendly gesticulations; while a cold perspiration
trickled down the back of the poor Councillor.

"What's to be the end of this! What's to become of me!" groaned he; but
he was forced, in spite of his opposition, to drink with the rest. They
took hold of the worthy man; who, hearing on every side that he was
intoxicated, did not in the least doubt the truth of this certainly
not very polite assertion; but on the contrary, implored the ladies
and gentlemen present to procure him a hackney-coach: they, however,
imagined he was talking Russian.

Never before, he thought, had he been in such a coarse and ignorant
company; one might almost fancy the people had turned heathens again.
"It is the most dreadful moment of my life: the whole world is leagued
against me!" But suddenly it occurred to him that he might stoop down
under the table, and then creep unobserved out of the door. He did so;
but just as he was going, the others remarked what he was about; they
laid hold of him by the legs; and now, happily for him, off fell his
fatal shoes--and with them the charm was at an end.

The Councillor saw quite distinctly before him a lantern burning, and
behind this a large handsome house. All seemed to him in proper order as
usual; it was East Street, splendid and elegant as we now see it. He lay
with his feet towards a doorway, and exactly opposite sat the watchman
asleep.

"Gracious Heaven!" said he. "Have I lain here in the street and dreamed?
Yes; 'tis East Street! How splendid and light it is! But really it is
terrible what an effect that one glass of punch must have had on me!"

Two minutes later, he was sitting in a hackney-coach and driving to
Frederickshafen. He thought of the distress and agony he had endured,
and praised from the very bottom of his heart the happy reality--our own
time--which, with all its deficiencies, is yet much better than that in
which, so much against his inclination, he had lately been.



"Why, there is a pair of galoshes, as sure as I'm alive!" said the
watchman, awaking from a gentle slumber. "They belong no doubt to the
lieutenant who lives over the way. They lie close to the door."

The worthy man was inclined to ring and deliver them at the house, for
there was still a light in the window; but he did not like disturbing
the other people in their beds, and so very considerately he left the
matter alone.

"Such a pair of shoes must be very warm and comfortable," said he; "the
leather is so soft and supple." They fitted his feet as though they
had been made for him. "'Tis a curious world we live in," continued he,
soliloquizing. "There is the lieutenant, now, who might go quietly to
bed if he chose, where no doubt he could stretch himself at his ease;
but does he do it? No; he saunters up and down his room, because,
probably, he has enjoyed too many of the good things of this world at
his dinner. That's a happy fellow! He has neither an infirm mother, nor
a whole troop of everlastingly hungry children to torment him. Every
evening he goes to a party, where his nice supper costs him nothing:
would to Heaven I could but change with him! How happy should I be!"

While expressing his wish, the charm of the shoes, which he had put on,
began to work; the watchman entered into the being and nature of the
lieutenant. He stood in the handsomely furnished apartment, and held
between his fingers a small sheet of rose-colored paper, on which some
verses were written--written indeed by the officer himself; for who has
not, at least once in his life, had a lyrical moment? And if one then
marks down one's thoughts, poetry is produced. But here was written:

                  OH, WERE I RICH!

     "Oh, were I rich! Such was my wish, yea such
      When hardly three feet high, I longed for much.
       Oh, were I rich! an officer were I,
       With sword, and uniform, and plume so high.
       And the time came, and officer was I!
     But yet I grew not rich. Alas, poor me!
     Have pity, Thou, who all man's wants dost see.

        "I sat one evening sunk in dreams of bliss,
      A maid of seven years old gave me a kiss,
       I at that time was rich in poesy
       And tales of old, though poor as poor could be;
       But all she asked for was this poesy.
     Then was I rich, but not in gold, poor me!
     As Thou dost know, who all men's hearts canst see.

        "Oh, were I rich! Oft asked I for this boon.
      The child grew up to womanhood full soon.
       She is so pretty, clever, and so kind
     Oh, did she know what's hidden in my mind--
       A tale of old. Would she to me were kind!
     But I'm condemned to silence! oh, poor me!
     As Thou dost know, who all men's hearts canst see.

        "Oh, were I rich in calm and peace of mind,
      My grief you then would not here written find!
       O thou, to whom I do my heart devote,
       Oh read this page of glad days now remote,
       A dark, dark tale, which I tonight devote!
     Dark is the future now. Alas, poor me!
     Have pity Thou, who all men's pains dost see."

Such verses as these people write when they are in love! But no man
in his senses ever thinks of printing them. Here one of the sorrows of
life, in which there is real poetry, gave itself vent; not that
barren grief which the poet may only hint at, but never depict in its
detail--misery and want: that animal necessity, in short, to snatch
at least at a fallen leaf of the bread-fruit tree, if not at the fruit
itself. The higher the position in which one finds oneself transplanted,
the greater is the suffering. Everyday necessity is the stagnant pool of
life--no lovely picture reflects itself therein. Lieutenant, love, and
lack of money--that is a symbolic triangle, or much the same as the
half of the shattered die of Fortune. This the lieutenant felt most
poignantly, and this was the reason he leant his head against the
window, and sighed so deeply.

"The poor watchman out there in the street is far happier than I. He
knows not what I term privation. He has a home, a wife, and children,
who weep with him over his sorrows, who rejoice with him when he is
glad. Oh, far happier were I, could I exchange with him my being--with
his desires and with his hopes perform the weary pilgrimage of life! Oh,
he is a hundred times happier than I!"

In the same moment the watchman was again watchman. It was the shoes
that caused the metamorphosis by means of which, unknown to himself, he
took upon him the thoughts and feelings of the officer; but, as we have
just seen, he felt himself in his new situation much less contented,
and now preferred the very thing which but some minutes before he had
rejected. So then the watchman was again watchman.

"That was an unpleasant dream," said he; "but 'twas droll enough
altogether. I fancied that I was the lieutenant over there: and yet
the thing was not very much to my taste after all. I missed my good old
mother and the dear little ones; who almost tear me to pieces for sheer
love."

He seated himself once more and nodded: the dream continued to haunt
him, for he still had the shoes on his feet. A falling star shone in the
dark firmament.

"There falls another star," said he: "but what does it matter; there
are always enough left. I should not much mind examining the little
glimmering things somewhat nearer, especially the moon; for that would
not slip so easily through a man's fingers. When we die--so at least
says the student, for whom my wife does the washing--we shall fly about
as light as a feather from one such a star to the other. That's, of
course, not true: but 'twould be pretty enough if it were so. If I could
but once take a leap up there, my body might stay here on the steps for
what I care."

Behold--there are certain things in the world to which one ought never
to give utterance except with the greatest caution; but doubly careful
must one be when we have the Shoes of Fortune on our feet. Now just
listen to what happened to the watchman.

As to ourselves, we all know the speed produced by the employment of
steam; we have experienced it either on railroads, or in boats when
crossing the sea; but such a flight is like the travelling of a sloth in
comparison with the velocity with which light moves. It flies nineteen
million times faster than the best race-horse; and yet electricity is
quicker still. Death is an electric shock which our heart receives; the
freed soul soars upwards on the wings of electricity. The sun's light
wants eight minutes and some seconds to perform a journey of more than
twenty million of our Danish  miles; borne by electricity, the soul
wants even some minutes less to accomplish the same flight. To it the
space between the heavenly bodies is not greater than the distance
between the homes of our friends in town is for us, even if they live a
short way from each other; such an electric shock in the heart, however,
costs us the use of the body here below; unless, like the watchman of
East Street, we happen to have on the Shoes of Fortune.

      A Danish mile is nearly 4 3/4 English.


In a few seconds the watchman had done the fifty-two thousand of our
miles up to the moon, which, as everyone knows, was formed out of
matter much lighter than our earth; and is, so we should say, as soft
as newly-fallen snow. He found himself on one of the many circumjacent
mountain-ridges with which we are acquainted by means of Dr. Madler's
"Map of the Moon." Within, down it sunk perpendicularly into a caldron,
about a Danish mile in depth; while below lay a town, whose appearance
we can, in some measure, realize to ourselves by beating the white of
an egg in a glass of water. The matter of which it was built was just as
soft, and formed similar towers, and domes, and pillars, transparent and
rocking in the thin air; while above his head our earth was rolling like
a large fiery ball.

He perceived immediately a quantity of beings who were certainly what
we call "men"; yet they looked different to us. A far more correct
imagination than that of the pseudo-Herschel had created them; and
if they had been placed in rank and file, and copied by some skilful
painter's hand, one would, without doubt, have exclaimed involuntarily,
"What a beautiful arabesque!"

This relates to a book published some years ago in Germany, and said
to be by Herschel, which contained a description of the moon and its
inhabitants, written with such a semblance of truth that many were
deceived by the imposture.

Probably a translation of the celebrated Moon hoax, written by Richard
A. Locke, and originally published in New York.


They had a language too; but surely nobody can expect that the soul of
the watchman should understand it. Be that as it may, it did comprehend
it; for in our souls there germinate far greater powers than we poor
mortals, despite all our cleverness, have any notion of. Does she
not show us--she the queen in the land of enchantment--her astounding
dramatic talent in all our dreams? There every acquaintance appears and
speaks upon the stage, so entirely in character, and with the same tone
of voice, that none of us, when awake, were able to imitate it. How
well can she recall persons to our mind, of whom we have not thought for
years; when suddenly they step forth "every inch a man," resembling the
real personages, even to the finest features, and become the heroes
or heroines of our world of dreams. In reality, such remembrances are
rather unpleasant: every sin, every evil thought, may, like a clock with
alarm or chimes, be repeated at pleasure; then the question is if we can
trust ourselves to give an account of every unbecoming word in our heart
and on our lips.

The watchman's spirit understood the language of the inhabitants of the
moon pretty well. The Selenites disputed variously about our earth,
and expressed their doubts if it could be inhabited: the air, they said,
must certainly be too dense to allow any rational dweller in the moon
the necessary free respiration. They considered the moon alone to
be inhabited: they imagined it was the real heart of the universe or
planetary system, on which the genuine Cosmopolites, or citizens of the
world, dwelt. What strange things men--no, what strange things Selenites
sometimes take into their heads!

 Dwellers in the moon.


About politics they had a good deal to say. But little Denmark must
take care what it is about, and not run counter to the moon; that
great realm, that might in an ill-humor bestir itself, and dash down a
hail-storm in our faces, or force the Baltic to overflow the sides of
its gigantic basin.

We will, therefore, not listen to what was spoken, and on no condition
run in the possibility of telling tales out of school; but we will
rather proceed, like good quiet citizens, to East Street, and observe
what happened meanwhile to the body of the watchman.

He sat lifeless on the steps: the morning-star, that is to say, the
heavy wooden staff, headed with iron spikes, and which had nothing else
in common with its sparkling brother in the sky, had glided from his
hand; while his eyes were fixed with glassy stare on the moon, looking
for the good old fellow of a spirit which still haunted it.

The watchmen in Germany, had formerly, and in some places they still
carry with them, on their rounds at night, a sort of mace or club, known
in ancient times by the above denomination.


"What's the hour, watchman?" asked a passer-by. But when the watchman
gave no reply, the merry roysterer, who was now returning home from a
noisy drinking bout, took it into his head to try what a tweak of the
nose would do, on which the supposed sleeper lost his balance, the body
lay motionless, stretched out on the pavement: the man was dead. When
the patrol came up, all his comrades, who comprehended nothing of the
whole affair, were seized with a dreadful fright, for dead he was,
and he remained so. The proper authorities were informed of the
circumstance, people talked a good deal about it, and in the morning the
body was carried to the hospital.

Now that would be a very pretty joke, if the spirit when it came back
and looked for the body in East Street, were not to find one. No doubt
it would, in its anxiety, run off to the police, and then to the
"Hue and Cry" office, to announce that "the finder will be handsomely
rewarded," and at last away to the hospital; yet we may boldly assert
that the soul is shrewdest when it shakes off every fetter, and every
sort of leading-string--the body only makes it stupid.

The seemingly dead body of the watchman wandered, as we have said, to
the hospital, where it was brought into the general viewing-room:
and the first thing that was done here was naturally to pull off the
galoshes--when the spirit, that was merely gone out on adventures, must
have returned with the quickness of lightning to its earthly tenement.
It took its direction towards the body in a straight line; and a few
seconds after, life began to show itself in the man. He asserted that
the preceding night had been the worst that ever the malice of fate had
allotted him; he would not for two silver marks again go through what he
had endured while moon-stricken; but now, however, it was over.

The same day he was discharged from the hospital as perfectly cured; but
the Shoes meanwhile remained behind.


IV. A Moment of Head Importance--An Evening's "Dramatic Readings"--A
Most Strange Journey

Every inhabitant of Copenhagen knows, from personal inspection, how
the entrance to Frederick's Hospital looks; but as it is possible that
others, who are not Copenhagen people, may also read this little work,
we will beforehand give a short description of it.

The extensive building is separated from the street by a pretty high
railing, the thick iron bars of which are so far apart, that in
all seriousness, it is said, some very thin fellow had of a night
occasionally squeezed himself through to go and pay his little visits
in the town. The part of the body most difficult to manage on such
occasions was, no doubt, the head; here, as is so often the case in
the world, long-headed people get through best. So much, then, for the
introduction.

One of the young men, whose head, in a physical sense only, might be
said to be of the thickest, had the watch that evening. The rain poured
down in torrents; yet despite these two obstacles, the young man was
obliged to go out, if it were but for a quarter of an hour; and as
to telling the door-keeper about it, that, he thought, was quite
unnecessary, if, with a whole skin, he were able to slip through the
railings. There, on the floor lay the galoshes, which the watchman
had forgotten; he never dreamed for a moment that they were those of
Fortune; and they promised to do him good service in the wet; so he put
them on. The question now was, if he could squeeze himself through the
grating, for he had never tried before. Well, there he stood.

"Would to Heaven I had got my head through!" said he, involuntarily; and
instantly through it slipped, easily and without pain, notwithstanding
it was pretty large and thick. But now the rest of the body was to be
got through!

"Ah! I am much too stout," groaned he aloud, while fixed as in a vice.
"I had thought the head was the most difficult part of the matter--oh!
oh! I really cannot squeeze myself through!"

He now wanted to pull his over-hasty head back again, but he could not.
For his neck there was room enough, but for nothing more. His first
feeling was of anger; his next that his temper fell to zero. The
Shoes of Fortune had placed him in the most dreadful situation; and,
unfortunately, it never occurred to him to wish himself free. The
pitch-black clouds poured down their contents in still heavier torrents;
not a creature was to be seen in the streets. To reach up to the bell
was what he did not like; to cry aloud for help would have availed him
little; besides, how ashamed would he have been to be found caught in a
trap, like an outwitted fox! How was he to twist himself through! He saw
clearly that it was his irrevocable destiny to remain a prisoner till
dawn, or, perhaps, even late in the morning; then the smith must be
fetched to file away the bars; but all that would not be done so quickly
as he could think about it. The whole Charity School, just opposite,
would be in motion; all the new booths, with their not very
courtier-like swarm of seamen, would join them out of curiosity, and
would greet him with a wild "hurrah!" while he was standing in his
pillory: there would be a mob, a hissing, and rejoicing, and jeering,
ten times worse than in the rows about the Jews some years ago--"Oh, my
blood is mounting to my brain; 'tis enough to drive one mad! I shall go
wild! I know not what to do. Oh! were I but loose; my dizziness would
then cease; oh, were my head but loose!"

You see he ought to have said that sooner; for the moment he expressed
the wish his head was free; and cured of all his paroxysms of love, he
hastened off to his room, where the pains consequent on the fright the
Shoes had prepared for him, did not so soon take their leave.

But you must not think that the affair is over now; it grows much worse.

The night passed, the next day also; but nobody came to fetch the Shoes.

In the evening "Dramatic Readings" were to be given at the little
theatre in King Street. The house was filled to suffocation; and among
other pieces to be recited was a new poem by H. C. Andersen, called, My
Aunt's Spectacles; the contents of which were pretty nearly as follows:

"A certain person had an aunt, who boasted of particular skill in
fortune-telling with cards, and who was constantly being stormed by
persons that wanted to have a peep into futurity. But she was full of
mystery about her art, in which a certain pair of magic spectacles
did her essential service. Her nephew, a merry boy, who was his aunt's
darling, begged so long for these spectacles, that, at last, she lent
him the treasure, after having informed him, with many exhortations,
that in order to execute the interesting trick, he need only repair to
some place where a great many persons were assembled; and then, from a
higher position, whence he could overlook the crowd, pass the company in
review before him through his spectacles. Immediately 'the inner man' of
each individual would be displayed before him, like a game of cards, in
which he unerringly might read what the future of every person presented
was to be. Well pleased the little magician hastened away to prove the
powers of the spectacles in the theatre; no place seeming to him more
fitted for such a trial. He begged permission of the worthy audience,
and set his spectacles on his nose. A motley phantasmagoria presents
itself before him, which he describes in a few satirical touches, yet
without expressing his opinion openly: he tells the people enough to set
them all thinking and guessing; but in order to hurt nobody, he wraps
his witty oracular judgments in a transparent veil, or rather in a lurid
thundercloud, shooting forth bright sparks of wit, that they may fall in
the powder-magazine of the expectant audience."

The humorous poem was admirably recited, and the speaker much applauded.
Among the audience was the young man of the hospital, who seemed to have
forgotten his adventure of the preceding night. He had on the Shoes; for
as yet no lawful owner had appeared to claim them; and besides it was so
very dirty out-of-doors, they were just the thing for him, he thought.

The beginning of the poem he praised with great generosity: he even
found the idea original and effective. But that the end of it, like the
Rhine, was very insignificant, proved, in his opinion, the author's
want of invention; he was without genius, etc. This was an excellent
opportunity to have said something clever.

Meanwhile he was haunted by the idea--he should like to possess such a
pair of spectacles himself; then, perhaps, by using them circumspectly,
one would be able to look into people's hearts, which, he thought, would
be far more interesting than merely to see what was to happen next year;
for that we should all know in proper time, but the other never.

"I can now," said he to himself, "fancy the whole row of ladies and
gentlemen sitting there in the front row; if one could but see into
their hearts--yes, that would be a revelation--a sort of bazar. In that
lady yonder, so strangely dressed, I should find for certain a large
milliner's shop; in that one the shop is empty, but it wants cleaning
plain enough. But there would also be some good stately shops among
them. Alas!" sighed he, "I know one in which all is stately; but there
sits already a spruce young shopman, which is the only thing that's
amiss in the whole shop. All would be splendidly decked out, and we
should hear, 'Walk in, gentlemen, pray walk in; here you will find all
you please to want.' Ah! I wish to Heaven I could walk in and take a
trip right through the hearts of those present!"

And behold! to the Shoes of Fortune this was the cue; the whole man
shrunk together and a most uncommon journey through the hearts of the
front row of spectators, now began. The first heart through which he
came, was that of a middle-aged lady, but he instantly fancied himself
in the room of the "Institution for the cure of the crooked and
deformed," where casts of mis-shapen limbs are displayed in naked
reality on the wall. Yet there was this difference, in the institution
the casts were taken at the entry of the patient; but here they were
retained and guarded in the heart while the sound persons went away.
They were, namely, casts of female friends, whose bodily or mental
deformities were here most faithfully preserved.

With the snake-like writhings of an idea he glided into another female
heart; but this seemed to him like a large holy fane.  The white dove of
innocence fluttered over the altar. How gladly would he have sunk upon
his knees; but he must away to the next heart; yet he still heard the
pealing tones of the organ, and he himself seemed to have become a newer
and a better man; he felt unworthy to tread the neighboring sanctuary
which a poor garret, with a sick bed-rid mother, revealed. But God's
warm sun streamed through the open window; lovely roses nodded from
the wooden flower-boxes on the roof, and two sky-blue birds sang
rejoicingly, while the sick mother implored God's richest blessings on
her pious daughter.

      temple


He now crept on hands and feet through a butcher's shop; at least on
every side, and above and below, there was nought but flesh. It was the
heart of a most respectable rich man, whose name is certain to be found
in the Directory.

He was now in the heart of the wife of this worthy gentleman. It was an
old, dilapidated, mouldering dovecot. The husband's portrait was used as
a weather-cock, which was connected in some way or other with the doors,
and so they opened and shut of their own accord, whenever the stern old
husband turned round.

Hereupon he wandered into a boudoir formed entirely of mirrors, like
the one in Castle Rosenburg; but here the glasses magnified to an
astonishing degree. On the floor, in the middle of the room, sat, like a
Dalai-Lama, the insignificant "Self" of the person, quite confounded at
his own greatness. He then imagined he had got into a needle-case full
of pointed needles of every size.

"This is certainly the heart of an old maid," thought he. But he was
mistaken. It was the heart of a young military man; a man, as people
said, of talent and feeling.

In the greatest perplexity, he now came out of the last heart in the
row; he was unable to put his thoughts in order, and fancied that his
too lively imagination had run away with him.

"Good Heavens!" sighed he. "I have surely a disposition to madness--'tis
dreadfully hot here; my blood boils in my veins and my head is burning
like a coal." And he now remembered the important event of the evening
before, how his head had got jammed in between the iron railings of the
hospital. "That's what it is, no doubt," said he. "I must do something
in time: under such circumstances a Russian bath might do me good. I
only wish I were already on the upper bank."

     In these Russian (vapor) baths the person extends himself
     on a bank or form, and as he gets accustomed to the heat,
     moves to another higher up towards the ceiling, where, of
     course, the vapor is warmest. In this manner he ascends
     gradually to the highest.

And so there he lay on the uppermost bank in the vapor-bath; but with
all his clothes on, in his boots and galoshes, while the hot drops fell
scalding from the ceiling on his face.

"Holloa!" cried he, leaping down. The bathing attendant, on his side,
uttered a loud cry of astonishment when he beheld in the bath, a man
completely dressed.

The other, however, retained sufficient presence of mind to whisper to
him, "'Tis a bet, and I have won it!" But the first thing he did as soon
as he got home, was to have a large blister put on his chest and back to
draw out his madness.

The next morning he had a sore chest and a bleeding back; and, excepting
the fright, that was all that he had gained by the Shoes of Fortune.



The watchman, whom we have certainly not forgotten, thought meanwhile
of the galoshes he had found and taken with him to the hospital; he now
went to fetch them; and as neither the lieutenant, nor anybody else in
the street, claimed them as his property, they were delivered over to
the police-office.

As on the continent, in all law and police practices nothing is verbal,
but any circumstance, however trifling, is reduced to writing, the
labor, as well as the number of papers that thus accumulate, is
enormous. In a police-office, consequently, we find copying-clerks among
many other scribes of various denominations, of which, it seems, our
hero was one.


"Why, I declare the Shoes look just like my own," said one of the
clerks, eying the newly-found treasure, whose hidden powers, even he,
sharp as he was, was not able to discover. "One must have more than
the eye of a shoemaker to know one pair from the other," said he,
soliloquizing; and putting, at the same time, the galoshes in search of
an owner, beside his own in the corner.

"Here, sir!" said one of the men, who panting brought him a tremendous
pile of papers.

The copying-clerk turned round and spoke awhile with the man about the
reports and legal documents in question; but when he had finished, and
his eye fell again on the Shoes, he was unable to say whether those to
the left or those to the right belonged to him. "At all events it must
be those which are wet," thought he; but this time, in spite of his
cleverness, he guessed quite wrong, for it was just those of Fortune
which played as it were into his hands, or rather on his feet. And why,
I should like to know, are the police never to be wrong? So he put them
on quickly, stuck his papers in his pocket, and took besides a few under
his arm, intending to look them through at home to make the necessary
notes. It was noon; and the weather, that had threatened rain, began
to clear up, while gaily dressed holiday folks filled the streets. "A
little trip to Fredericksburg would do me no great harm," thought he;
"for I, poor beast of burden that I am, have so much to annoy me, that I
don't know what a good appetite is. 'Tis a bitter crust, alas! at which
I am condemned to gnaw!"

Nobody could be more steady or quiet than this young man; we therefore
wish him joy of the excursion with all our heart; and it will certainly
be beneficial for a person who leads so sedentary a life. In the park
he met a friend, one of our young poets, who told him that the following
day he should set out on his long-intended tour.

"So you are going away again!" said the clerk. "You are a very free
and happy being; we others are chained by the leg and held fast to our
desk."

"Yes; but it is a chain, friend, which ensures you the blessed bread
of existence," answered the poet. "You need feel no care for the coming
morrow: when you are old, you receive a pension."

"True," said the clerk, shrugging his shoulders; "and yet you are
the better off. To sit at one's ease and poetise--that is a pleasure;
everybody has something agreeable to say to you, and you are always your
own master. No, friend, you should but try what it is to sit from one
year's end to the other occupied with and judging the most trivial
matters."

The poet shook his head, the copying-clerk did the same. Each one kept
to his own opinion, and so they separated.

"It's a strange race, those poets!" said the clerk, who was very fond of
soliloquizing. "I should like some day, just for a trial, to take such
nature upon me, and be a poet myself; I am very sure I should make
no such miserable verses as the others. Today, methinks, is a most
delicious day for a poet. Nature seems anew to celebrate her awakening
into life. The air is so unusually clear, the clouds sail on so
buoyantly, and from the green herbage a fragrance is exhaled that fills
me with delight. For many a year have I not felt as at this moment."

We see already, by the foregoing effusion, that he is become a poet; to
give further proof of it, however, would in most cases be insipid, for
it is a most foolish notion to fancy a poet different from other men.
Among the latter there may be far more poetical natures than many an
acknowledged poet, when examined more closely, could boast of; the
difference only is, that the poet possesses a better mental memory, on
which account he is able to retain the feeling and the thought till they
can be embodied by means of words; a faculty which the others do not
possess. But the transition from a commonplace nature to one that is
richly endowed, demands always a more or less breakneck leap over a
certain abyss which yawns threateningly below; and thus must the sudden
change with the clerk strike the reader.

"The sweet air!" continued he of the police-office, in his dreamy
imaginings; "how it reminds me of the violets in the garden of my aunt
Magdalena! Yes, then I was a little wild boy, who did not go to school
very regularly. O heavens! 'tis a long time since I have thought on
those times. The good old soul! She lived behind the Exchange. She
always had a few twigs or green shoots in water--let the winter rage
without as it might. The violets exhaled their sweet breath, whilst I
pressed against the windowpanes covered with fantastic frost-work the
copper coin I had heated on the stove, and so made peep-holes.
What splendid vistas were then opened to my view! What change--what
magnificence! Yonder in the canal lay the ships frozen up, and deserted
by their whole crews, with a screaming crow for the sole occupant. But
when the spring, with a gentle stirring motion, announced her arrival,
a new and busy life arose; with songs and hurrahs the ice was sawn
asunder, the ships were fresh tarred and rigged, that they might sail
away to distant lands. But I have remained here--must always remain
here, sitting at my desk in the office, and patiently see other people
fetch their passports to go abroad. Such is my fate! Alas!"--sighed he,
and was again silent. "Great Heaven! What is come to me! Never have I
thought or felt like this before! It must be the summer air that affects
me with feelings almost as disquieting as they are refreshing."

He felt in his pocket for the papers. "These police-reports will soon
stem the torrent of my ideas, and effectually hinder any rebellious
overflowing of the time-worn banks of official duties"; he said to
himself consolingly, while his eye ran over the first page. "DAME
TIGBRITH, tragedy in five acts." "What is that? And yet it is undeniably
my own handwriting. Have I written the tragedy? Wonderful, very
wonderful!--And this--what have I here? 'INTRIGUE ON THE RAMPARTS; or
THE DAY OF REPENTANCE: vaudeville with new songs to the most favorite
airs.' The deuce! Where did I get all this rubbish? Some one must have
slipped it slyly into my pocket for a joke. There is too a letter to me;
a crumpled letter and the seal broken."

Yes; it was not a very polite epistle from the manager of a theatre, in
which both pieces were flatly refused.

"Hem! hem!" said the clerk breathlessly, and quite exhausted he seated
himself on a bank. His thoughts were so elastic, his heart so tender;
and involuntarily he picked one of the nearest flowers. It is a simple
daisy, just bursting out of the bud. What the botanist tells us after
a number of imperfect lectures, the flower proclaimed in a minute. It
related the mythus of its birth, told of the power of the sun-light that
spread out its delicate leaves, and forced them to impregnate the air
with their incense--and then he thought of the manifold struggles of
life, which in like manner awaken the budding flowers of feeling in our
bosom. Light and air contend with chivalric emulation for the love of
the fair flower that bestowed her chief favors on the latter; full of
longing she turned towards the light, and as soon as it vanished, rolled
her tender leaves together and slept in the embraces of the air. "It is
the light which adorns me," said the flower.

"But 'tis the air which enables thee to breathe," said the poet's voice.

Close by stood a boy who dashed his stick into a wet ditch. The drops of
water splashed up to the green leafy roof, and the clerk thought of the
million of ephemera which in a single drop were thrown up to a height,
that was as great doubtless for their size, as for us if we were to
be hurled above the clouds. While he thought of this and of the whole
metamorphosis he had undergone, he smiled and said, "I sleep and dream;
but it is wonderful how one can dream so naturally, and know besides so
exactly that it is but a dream. If only to-morrow on awaking, I could
again call all to mind so vividly! I seem in unusually good spirits; my
perception of things is clear, I feel as light and cheerful as though
I were in heaven; but I know for a certainty, that if to-morrow a dim
remembrance of it should swim before my mind, it will then seem nothing
but stupid nonsense, as I have often experienced already--especially
before I enlisted under the banner of the police, for that dispels like
a whirlwind all the visions of an unfettered imagination. All we hear
or say in a dream that is fair and beautiful is like the gold of the
subterranean spirits; it is rich and splendid when it is given us, but
viewed by daylight we find only withered leaves. Alas!" he sighed quite
sorrowful, and gazed at the chirping birds that hopped contentedly from
branch to branch, "they are much better off than I! To fly must be a
heavenly art; and happy do I prize that creature in which it is innate.
Yes! Could I exchange my nature with any other creature, I fain would be
such a happy little lark!"

He had hardly uttered these hasty words when the skirts and sleeves
of his coat folded themselves together into wings; the clothes became
feathers, and the galoshes claws. He observed it perfectly, and laughed
in his heart. "Now then, there is no doubt that I am dreaming; but I
never before was aware of such mad freaks as these." And up he flew into
the green roof and sang; but in the song there was no poetry, for the
spirit of the poet was gone. The Shoes, as is the case with anybody who
does what he has to do properly, could only attend to one thing at a
time. He wanted to be a poet, and he was one; he now wished to be a
merry chirping bird: but when he was metamorphosed into one, the former
peculiarities ceased immediately. "It is really pleasant enough," said
he: "the whole day long I sit in the office amid the driest
law-papers, and at night I fly in my dream as a lark in the gardens of
Fredericksburg; one might really write a very pretty comedy upon it." He
now fluttered down into the grass, turned his head gracefully on every
side, and with his bill pecked the pliant blades of grass, which, in
comparison to his present size, seemed as majestic as the palm-branches
of northern Africa.

Unfortunately the pleasure lasted but a moment. Presently black night
overshadowed our enthusiast, who had so entirely missed his part of
copying-clerk at a police-office; some vast object seemed to be thrown
over him. It was a large oil-skin cap, which a sailor-boy of the quay
had thrown over the struggling bird; a coarse hand sought its way
carefully in under the broad rim, and seized the clerk over the back
and wings. In the first moment of fear, he called, indeed, as loud as
he could--"You impudent little blackguard! I am a copying-clerk at
the police-office; and you know you cannot insult any belonging to the
constabulary force without a chastisement. Besides, you good-for-nothing
rascal, it is strictly forbidden to catch birds in the royal gardens of
Fredericksburg; but your blue uniform betrays where you come from."
 This fine tirade sounded, however, to the ungodly sailor-boy like a mere
"Pippi-pi." He gave the noisy bird a knock on his beak, and walked on.

He was soon met by two schoolboys of the upper class--that is to say as
individuals, for with regard to learning they were in the lowest class
in the school; and they bought the stupid bird. So the copying-clerk
came to Copenhagen as guest, or rather as prisoner in a family living in
Gother Street.

"'Tis well that I'm dreaming," said the clerk, "or I really should get
angry. First I was a poet; now sold for a few pence as a lark; no doubt
it was that accursed poetical nature which has metamorphosed me
into such a poor harmless little creature. It is really pitiable,
particularly when one gets into the hands of a little blackguard,
perfect in all sorts of cruelty to animals: all I should like to know
is, how the story will end."

The two schoolboys, the proprietors now of the transformed clerk,
carried him into an elegant room. A stout stately dame received them
with a smile; but she expressed much dissatisfaction that a common
field-bird, as she called the lark, should appear in such high society.
For to-day, however, she would allow it; and they must shut him in the
empty cage that was standing in the window. "Perhaps he will amuse my
good Polly," added the lady, looking with a benignant smile at a large
green parrot that swung himself backwards and forwards most comfortably
in his ring, inside a magnificent brass-wired cage. "To-day is Polly's
birthday," said she with stupid simplicity: "and the little brown
field-bird must wish him joy."

Mr. Polly uttered not a syllable in reply, but swung to and fro with
dignified condescension; while a pretty canary, as yellow as gold, that
had lately been brought from his sunny fragrant home, began to sing
aloud.

"Noisy creature! Will you be quiet!" screamed the lady of the house,
covering the cage with an embroidered white pocket handkerchief.

"Chirp, chirp!" sighed he. "That was a dreadful snowstorm"; and he
sighed again, and was silent.

The copying-clerk, or, as the lady said, the brown field-bird, was
put into a small cage, close to the Canary, and not far from "my good
Polly." The only human sounds that the Parrot could bawl out
were, "Come, let us be men!" Everything else that he said was as
unintelligible to everybody as the chirping of the Canary, except to the
clerk, who was now a bird too: he understood his companion perfectly.

"I flew about beneath the green palms and the blossoming almond-trees,"
 sang the Canary; "I flew around, with my brothers and sisters, over
the beautiful flowers, and over the glassy lakes, where the bright
water-plants nodded to me from below. There, too, I saw many
splendidly-dressed paroquets, that told the drollest stories, and the
wildest fairy tales without end."

"Oh! those were uncouth birds," answered the Parrot. "They had no
education, and talked of whatever came into their head.

"If my mistress and all her friends can laugh at what I say, so may you
too, I should think. It is a great fault to have no taste for what is
witty or amusing--come, let us be men."

"Ah, you have no remembrance of love for the charming maidens that
danced beneath the outspread tents beside the bright fragrant flowers?
Do you no longer remember the sweet fruits, and the cooling juice in
the wild plants of our never-to-be-forgotten home?" said the former
inhabitant of the Canary Isles, continuing his dithyrambic.

"Oh, yes," said the Parrot; "but I am far better off here. I am well
fed, and get friendly treatment. I know I am a clever fellow; and that
is all I care about. Come, let us be men. You are of a poetical nature,
as it is called--I, on the contrary, possess profound knowledge and
inexhaustible wit. You have genius; but clear-sighted, calm discretion
does not take such lofty flights, and utter such high natural tones.
For this they have covered you over--they never do the like to me; for
I cost more. Besides, they are afraid of my beak; and I have always a
witty answer at hand. Come, let us be men!"

"O warm spicy land of my birth," sang the Canary bird; "I will sing of
thy dark-green bowers, of the calm bays where the pendent boughs
kiss the surface of the water; I will sing of the rejoicing of all my
brothers and sisters where the cactus grows in wanton luxuriance."

"Spare us your elegiac tones," said the Parrot giggling. "Rather speak
of something at which one may laugh heartily. Laughing is an infallible
sign of the highest degree of mental development. Can a dog, or a horse
laugh? No, but they can cry. The gift of laughing was given to man
alone. Ha! ha! ha!" screamed Polly, and added his stereotype witticism.
"Come, let us be men!"

"Poor little Danish grey-bird," said the Canary; "you have been caught
too. It is, no doubt, cold enough in your woods, but there at least
is the breath of liberty; therefore fly away. In the hurry they have
forgotten to shut your cage, and the upper window is open. Fly, my
friend; fly away. Farewell!"

Instinctively the Clerk obeyed; with a few strokes of his wings he was
out of the cage; but at the same moment the door, which was only ajar,
and which led to the next room, began to creak, and supple and creeping
came the large tomcat into the room, and began to pursue him. The
frightened Canary fluttered about in his cage; the Parrot flapped his
wings, and cried, "Come, let us be men!" The Clerk felt a mortal fright,
and flew through the window, far away over the houses and streets. At
last he was forced to rest a little.

The neighboring house had a something familiar about it; a window stood
open; he flew in; it was his own room. He perched upon the table.

"Come, let us be men!" said he, involuntarily imitating the chatter of
the Parrot, and at the same moment he was again a copying-clerk; but he
was sitting in the middle of the table.

"Heaven help me!" cried he. "How did I get up here--and so buried in
sleep, too? After all, that was a very unpleasant, disagreeable dream
that haunted me! The whole story is nothing but silly, stupid nonsense!"



The following day, early in the morning, while the Clerk was still in
bed, someone knocked at his door. It was his neighbor, a young Divine,
who lived on the same floor. He walked in.

"Lend me your Galoshes," said he; "it is so wet in the garden, though
the sun is shining most invitingly. I should like to go out a little."

He got the Galoshes, and he was soon below in a little duodecimo garden,
where between two immense walls a plumtree and an apple-tree were
standing. Even such a little garden as this was considered in the
metropolis of Copenhagen as a great luxury.

The young man wandered up and down the narrow paths, as well as the
prescribed limits would allow; the clock struck six; without was heard
the horn of a post-boy.

"To travel! to travel!" exclaimed he, overcome by most painful and
passionate remembrances. "That is the happiest thing in the world! That
is the highest aim of all my wishes! Then at last would the agonizing
restlessness be allayed, which destroys my existence! But it must be
far, far away! I would behold magnificent Switzerland; I would travel to
Italy, and--"

It was a good thing that the power of the Galoshes worked as
instantaneously as lightning in a powder-magazine would do, otherwise
the poor man with his overstrained wishes would have travelled about
the world too much for himself as well as for us. In short, he was
travelling. He was in the middle of Switzerland, but packed up with
eight other passengers in the inside of an eternally-creaking diligence;
his head ached till it almost split, his weary neck could hardly bear
the heavy load, and his feet, pinched by his torturing boots, were
terribly swollen. He was in an intermediate state between sleeping and
waking; at variance with himself, with his company, with the country,
and with the government. In his right pocket he had his letter of
credit, in the left, his passport, and in a small leathern purse some
double louis d'or, carefully sewn up in the bosom of his waistcoat.
Every dream proclaimed that one or the other of these valuables was
lost; wherefore he started up as in a fever; and the first movement
which his hand made, described a magic triangle from the right pocket to
the left, and then up towards the bosom, to feel if he had them all safe
or not. From the roof inside the carriage, umbrellas, walking-sticks,
hats, and sundry other articles were depending, and hindered the view,
which was particularly imposing. He now endeavored as well as he
was able to dispel his gloom, which was caused by outward chance
circumstances merely, and on the bosom of nature imbibe the milk of
purest human enjoyment.

Grand, solemn, and dark was the whole landscape around. The gigantic
pine-forests, on the pointed crags, seemed almost like little tufts of
heather, colored by the surrounding clouds. It began to snow, a cold
wind blew and roared as though it were seeking a bride.

"Augh!" sighed he, "were we only on the other side the Alps, then we
should have summer, and I could get my letters of credit cashed. The
anxiety I feel about them prevents me enjoying Switzerland. Were I but
on the other side!"

And so saying he was on the other side in Italy, between Florence and
Rome. Lake Thracymene, illumined by the evening sun, lay like flaming
gold between the dark-blue mountain-ridges; here, where Hannibal
defeated Flaminius, the rivers now held each other in their green
embraces; lovely, half-naked children tended a herd of black swine,
beneath a group of fragrant laurel-trees, hard by the road-side.
Could we render this inimitable picture properly, then would everybody
exclaim, "Beautiful, unparalleled Italy!" But neither the young Divine
said so, nor anyone of his grumbling companions in the coach of the
vetturino.

The poisonous flies and gnats swarmed around by thousands; in vain one
waved myrtle-branches about like mad; the audacious insect population
did not cease to sting; nor was there a single person in the
well-crammed carriage whose face was not swollen and sore from their
ravenous bites. The poor horses, tortured almost to death, suffered most
from this truly Egyptian plague; the flies alighted upon them in large
disgusting swarms; and if the coachman got down and scraped them off,
hardly a minute elapsed before they were there again. The sun now set: a
freezing cold, though of short duration pervaded the whole creation;
it was like a horrid gust coming from a burial-vault on a warm summer's
day--but all around the mountains retained that wonderful green tone
which we see in some old pictures, and which, should we not have seen a
similar play of color in the South, we declare at once to be unnatural.
It was a glorious prospect; but the stomach was empty, the body tired;
all that the heart cared and longed for was good night-quarters; yet
how would they be? For these one looked much more anxiously than for the
charms of nature, which every where were so profusely displayed.

The road led through an olive-grove, and here the solitary inn was
situated. Ten or twelve crippled-beggars had encamped outside. The
healthiest of them resembled, to use an expression of Marryat's,
"Hunger's eldest son when he had come of age"; the others were either
blind, had withered legs and crept about on their hands, or withered
arms and fingerless hands. It was the most wretched misery, dragged
from among the filthiest rags. "Excellenza, miserabili!" sighed they,
thrusting forth their deformed limbs to view. Even the hostess, with
bare feet, uncombed hair, and dressed in a garment of doubtful color,
received the guests grumblingly. The doors were fastened with a loop of
string; the floor of the rooms presented a stone paving half torn
up; bats fluttered wildly about the ceiling; and as to the smell
therein--no--that was beyond description.

"You had better lay the cloth below in the stable," said one of the
travellers; "there, at all events, one knows what one is breathing."

The windows were quickly opened, to let in a little fresh air. Quicker,
however, than the breeze, the withered, sallow arms of the beggars were
thrust in, accompanied by the eternal whine of "Miserabili, miserabili,
excellenza!" On the walls were displayed innumerable inscriptions,
written in nearly every language of Europe, some in verse, some in
prose, most of them not very laudatory of "bella Italia."

The meal was served. It consisted of a soup of salted water, seasoned
with pepper and rancid oil. The last ingredient played a very prominent
part in the salad; stale eggs and roasted cocks'-combs furnished the
grand dish of the repast; the wine even was not without a disgusting
taste--it was like a medicinal draught.

At night the boxes and other effects of the passengers were placed
against the rickety doors. One of the travellers kept watch while the
others slept. The sentry was our young Divine. How close it was in the
chamber! The heat oppressive to suffocation--the gnats hummed and stung
unceasingly--the "miserabili" without whined and moaned in their sleep.

"Travelling would be agreeable enough," said he groaning, "if one only
had no body, or could send it to rest while the spirit went on its
pilgrimage unhindered, whither the voice within might call it. Wherever
I go, I am pursued by a longing that is insatiable--that I cannot
explain to myself, and that tears my very heart. I want something better
than what is but what is fled in an instant. But what is it, and where
is it to be found? Yet, I know in reality what it is I wish for. Oh!
most happy were I, could I but reach one aim--could but reach the
happiest of all!"

And as he spoke the word he was again in his home; the long white
curtains hung down from the windows, and in the middle of the floor
stood the black coffin; in it he lay in the sleep of death. His wish
was fulfilled--the body rested, while the spirit went unhindered on its
pilgrimage. "Let no one deem himself happy before his end," were the
words of Solon; and here was a new and brilliant proof of the wisdom of
the old apothegm.

Every corpse is a sphynx of immortality; here too on the black coffin
the sphynx gave us no answer to what he who lay within had written two
days before:

     "O mighty Death! thy silence teaches nought,
       Thou leadest only to the near grave's brink;
      Is broken now the ladder of my thoughts?
     Do I instead of mounting only sink?

     Our heaviest grief the world oft seeth not,
      Our sorest pain we hide from stranger eyes:
      And for the sufferer there is nothing left
     But the green mound that o'er the coffin lies."

Two figures were moving in the chamber. We knew them both; it was the
fairy of Care, and the emissary of Fortune. They both bent over the
corpse.

"Do you now see," said Care, "what happiness your Galoshes have brought
to mankind?"

"To him, at least, who slumbers here, they have brought an imperishable
blessing," answered the other.

"Ah no!" replied Care. "He took his departure himself; he was not called
away. His mental powers here below were not strong enough to reach the
treasures lying beyond this life, and which his destiny ordained he
should obtain. I will now confer a benefit on him."

And she took the Galoshes from his feet; his sleep of death was ended;
and he who had been thus called back again to life arose from his
dread couch in all the vigor of youth. Care vanished, and with her the
Galoshes. She has no doubt taken them for herself, to keep them to all
eternity.




THE FIR TREE

Out in the woods stood a nice little Fir Tree. The place he had was a
very good one: the sun shone on him: as to fresh air, there was enough
of that, and round him grew many large-sized comrades, pines as well as
firs. But the little Fir wanted so very much to be a grown-up tree.

He did not think of the warm sun and of the fresh air; he did not care
for the little cottage children that ran about and prattled when they
were in the woods looking for wild-strawberries. The children often came
with a whole pitcher full of berries, or a long row of them threaded on
a straw, and sat down near the young tree and said, "Oh, how pretty he
is! What a nice little fir!" But this was what the Tree could not bear
to hear.

At the end of a year he had shot up a good deal, and after another year
he was another long bit taller; for with fir trees one can always tell
by the shoots how many years old they are.

"Oh! Were I but such a high tree as the others are," sighed he. "Then I
should be able to spread out my branches, and with the tops to look into
the wide world! Then would the birds build nests among my branches: and
when there was a breeze, I could bend with as much stateliness as the
others!"

Neither the sunbeams, nor the birds, nor the red clouds which morning
and evening sailed above him, gave the little Tree any pleasure.

In winter, when the snow lay glittering on the ground, a hare would
often come leaping along, and jump right over the little Tree. Oh, that
made him so angry! But two winters were past, and in the third the Tree
was so large that the hare was obliged to go round it. "To grow and
grow, to get older and be tall," thought the Tree--"that, after all, is
the most delightful thing in the world!"

In autumn the wood-cutters always came and felled some of the largest
trees. This happened every year; and the young Fir Tree, that had now
grown to a very comely size, trembled at the sight; for the magnificent
great trees fell to the earth with noise and cracking, the branches were
lopped off, and the trees looked long and bare; they were hardly to be
recognised; and then they were laid in carts, and the horses dragged
them out of the wood.

Where did they go to? What became of them?

In spring, when the swallows and the storks came, the Tree asked them,
"Don't you know where they have been taken? Have you not met them
anywhere?"

The swallows did not know anything about it; but the Stork looked
musing, nodded his head, and said, "Yes; I think I know; I met many
ships as I was flying hither from Egypt; on the ships were magnificent
masts, and I venture to assert that it was they that smelt so of fir.
I may congratulate you, for they lifted themselves on high most
majestically!"

"Oh, were I but old enough to fly across the sea! But how does the sea
look in reality? What is it like?"

"That would take a long time to explain," said the Stork, and with these
words off he went.

"Rejoice in thy growth!" said the Sunbeams. "Rejoice in thy vigorous
growth, and in the fresh life that moveth within thee!"

And the Wind kissed the Tree, and the Dew wept tears over him; but the
Fir understood it not.

When Christmas came, quite young trees were cut down: trees which often
were not even as large or of the same age as this Fir Tree, who could
never rest, but always wanted to be off. These young trees, and they
were always the finest looking, retained their branches; they were laid
on carts, and the horses drew them out of the wood.

"Where are they going to?" asked the Fir. "They are not taller than
I; there was one indeed that was considerably shorter; and why do they
retain all their branches? Whither are they taken?"

"We know! We know!" chirped the Sparrows. "We have peeped in at the
windows in the town below! We know whither they are taken! The greatest
splendor and the greatest magnificence one can imagine await them. We
peeped through the windows, and saw them planted in the middle of the
warm room and ornamented with the most splendid things, with gilded
apples, with gingerbread, with toys, and many hundred lights!"

"And then?" asked the Fir Tree, trembling in every bough. "And then?
What happens then?"

"We did not see anything more: it was incomparably beautiful."

"I would fain know if I am destined for so glorious a career," cried
the Tree, rejoicing. "That is still better than to cross the sea! What
a longing do I suffer! Were Christmas but come! I am now tall, and my
branches spread like the others that were carried off last year! Oh!
were I but already on the cart! Were I in the warm room with all the
splendor and magnificence! Yes; then something better, something still
grander, will surely follow, or wherefore should they thus ornament me?
Something better, something still grander must follow--but what? Oh, how
I long, how I suffer! I do not know myself what is the matter with me!"

"Rejoice in our presence!" said the Air and the Sunlight. "Rejoice in
thy own fresh youth!"

But the Tree did not rejoice at all; he grew and grew, and was green
both winter and summer. People that saw him said, "What a fine tree!"
 and towards Christmas he was one of the first that was cut down. The axe
struck deep into the very pith; the Tree fell to the earth with a sigh;
he felt a pang--it was like a swoon; he could not think of happiness,
for he was sorrowful at being separated from his home, from the place
where he had sprung up. He well knew that he should never see his dear
old comrades, the little bushes and flowers around him, anymore; perhaps
not even the birds! The departure was not at all agreeable.

The Tree only came to himself when he was unloaded in a court-yard with
the other trees, and heard a man say, "That one is splendid! We don't
want the others." Then two servants came in rich livery and carried the
Fir Tree into a large and splendid drawing-room. Portraits were hanging
on the walls, and near the white porcelain stove stood two large Chinese
vases with lions on the covers. There, too, were large easy-chairs,
silken sofas, large tables full of picture-books and full of toys, worth
hundreds and hundreds of crowns--at least the children said so. And the
Fir Tree was stuck upright in a cask that was filled with sand; but no
one could see that it was a cask, for green cloth was hung all round it,
and it stood on a large gaily-colored carpet. Oh! how the Tree quivered!
What was to happen? The servants, as well as the young ladies, decorated
it. On one branch there hung little nets cut out of colored paper, and
each net was filled with sugarplums; and among the other boughs gilded
apples and walnuts were suspended, looking as though they had grown
there, and little blue and white tapers were placed among the leaves.
Dolls that looked for all the world like men--the Tree had never beheld
such before--were seen among the foliage, and at the very top a
large star of gold tinsel was fixed. It was really splendid--beyond
description splendid.

"This evening!" they all said. "How it will shine this evening!"

"Oh!" thought the Tree. "If the evening were but come! If the tapers
were but lighted! And then I wonder what will happen! Perhaps the other
trees from the forest will come to look at me! Perhaps the sparrows will
beat against the windowpanes! I wonder if I shall take root here, and
winter and summer stand covered with ornaments!"

He knew very much about the matter--but he was so impatient that for
sheer longing he got a pain in his back, and this with trees is the same
thing as a headache with us.

The candles were now lighted--what brightness! What splendor! The
Tree trembled so in every bough that one of the tapers set fire to the
foliage. It blazed up famously.

"Help! Help!" cried the young ladies, and they quickly put out the fire.

Now the Tree did not even dare tremble. What a state he was in! He was
so uneasy lest he should lose something of his splendor, that he was
quite bewildered amidst the glare and brightness; when suddenly both
folding-doors opened and a troop of children rushed in as if they would
upset the Tree. The older persons followed quietly; the little ones
stood quite still. But it was only for a moment; then they shouted that
the whole place re-echoed with their rejoicing; they danced round the
Tree, and one present after the other was pulled off.

"What are they about?" thought the Tree. "What is to happen now!" And
the lights burned down to the very branches, and as they burned down
they were put out one after the other, and then the children had
permission to plunder the Tree. So they fell upon it with such violence
that all its branches cracked; if it had not been fixed firmly in the
ground, it would certainly have tumbled down.

The children danced about with their beautiful playthings; no one looked
at the Tree except the old nurse, who peeped between the branches; but
it was only to see if there was a fig or an apple left that had been
forgotten.

"A story! A story!" cried the children, drawing a little fat man towards
the Tree. He seated himself under it and said, "Now we are in the shade,
and the Tree can listen too. But I shall tell only one story. Now which
will you have; that about Ivedy-Avedy, or about Humpy-Dumpy, who
tumbled downstairs, and yet after all came to the throne and married the
princess?"

"Ivedy-Avedy," cried some; "Humpy-Dumpy," cried the others. There was
such a bawling and screaming--the Fir Tree alone was silent, and he
thought to himself, "Am I not to bawl with the rest? Am I to do nothing
whatever?" for he was one of the company, and had done what he had to
do.

And the man told about Humpy-Dumpy that tumbled down, who
notwithstanding came to the throne, and at last married the princess.
And the children clapped their hands, and cried. "Oh, go on! Do go on!"
 They wanted to hear about Ivedy-Avedy too, but the little man only told
them about Humpy-Dumpy. The Fir Tree stood quite still and absorbed
in thought; the birds in the wood had never related the like of this.
"Humpy-Dumpy fell downstairs, and yet he married the princess! Yes, yes!
That's the way of the world!" thought the Fir Tree, and believed it all,
because the man who told the story was so good-looking. "Well, well! who
knows, perhaps I may fall downstairs, too, and get a princess as wife!"
 And he looked forward with joy to the morrow, when he hoped to be decked
out again with lights, playthings, fruits, and tinsel.

"I won't tremble to-morrow!" thought the Fir Tree. "I will enjoy to
the full all my splendor! To-morrow I shall hear again the story of
Humpy-Dumpy, and perhaps that of Ivedy-Avedy too." And the whole night
the Tree stood still and in deep thought.

In the morning the servant and the housemaid came in.

"Now then the splendor will begin again," thought the Fir. But they
dragged him out of the room, and up the stairs into the loft: and here,
in a dark corner, where no daylight could enter, they left him. "What's
the meaning of this?" thought the Tree. "What am I to do here? What
shall I hear now, I wonder?" And he leaned against the wall lost in
reverie. Time enough had he too for his reflections; for days and nights
passed on, and nobody came up; and when at last somebody did come, it
was only to put some great trunks in a corner, out of the way. There
stood the Tree quite hidden; it seemed as if he had been entirely
forgotten.

"'Tis now winter out-of-doors!" thought the Tree. "The earth is hard and
covered with snow; men cannot plant me now, and therefore I have been
put up here under shelter till the spring-time comes! How thoughtful
that is! How kind man is, after all! If it only were not so dark here,
and so terribly lonely! Not even a hare! And out in the woods it was
so pleasant, when the snow was on the ground, and the hare leaped by;
yes--even when he jumped over me; but I did not like it then! It is
really terribly lonely here!"

"Squeak! Squeak!" said a little Mouse, at the same moment, peeping out
of his hole. And then another little one came. They snuffed about the
Fir Tree, and rustled among the branches.

"It is dreadfully cold," said the Mouse. "But for that, it would be
delightful here, old Fir, wouldn't it?"

"I am by no means old," said the Fir Tree. "There's many a one
considerably older than I am."

"Where do you come from," asked the Mice; "and what can you do?" They
were so extremely curious. "Tell us about the most beautiful spot on the
earth. Have you never been there? Were you never in the larder, where
cheeses lie on the shelves, and hams hang from above; where one dances
about on tallow candles: that place where one enters lean, and comes out
again fat and portly?"

"I know no such place," said the Tree. "But I know the wood, where the
sun shines and where the little birds sing." And then he told all about
his youth; and the little Mice had never heard the like before; and they
listened and said,

"Well, to be sure! How much you have seen! How happy you must have
been!"

"I!" said the Fir Tree, thinking over what he had himself related.
"Yes, in reality those were happy times." And then he told about
Christmas-eve, when he was decked out with cakes and candles.

"Oh," said the little Mice, "how fortunate you have been, old Fir Tree!"

"I am by no means old," said he. "I came from the wood this winter; I am
in my prime, and am only rather short for my age."

"What delightful stories you know," said the Mice: and the next night
they came with four other little Mice, who were to hear what the Tree
recounted: and the more he related, the more he remembered himself; and
it appeared as if those times had really been happy times. "But they may
still come--they may still come! Humpy-Dumpy fell downstairs, and yet
he got a princess!" and he thought at the moment of a nice little Birch
Tree growing out in the woods: to the Fir, that would be a real charming
princess.

"Who is Humpy-Dumpy?" asked the Mice. So then the Fir Tree told the
whole fairy tale, for he could remember every single word of it; and the
little Mice jumped for joy up to the very top of the Tree. Next night
two more Mice came, and on Sunday two Rats even; but they said the
stories were not interesting, which vexed the little Mice; and they,
too, now began to think them not so very amusing either.

"Do you know only one story?" asked the Rats.

"Only that one," answered the Tree. "I heard it on my happiest evening;
but I did not then know how happy I was."

"It is a very stupid story! Don't you know one about bacon and tallow
candles? Can't you tell any larder stories?"

"No," said the Tree.

"Then good-bye," said the Rats; and they went home.

At last the little Mice stayed away also; and the Tree sighed: "After
all, it was very pleasant when the sleek little Mice sat round me, and
listened to what I told them. Now that too is over. But I will take good
care to enjoy myself when I am brought out again."

But when was that to be? Why, one morning there came a quantity of
people and set to work in the loft. The trunks were moved, the tree was
pulled out and thrown--rather hard, it is true--down on the floor, but a
man drew him towards the stairs, where the daylight shone.

"Now a merry life will begin again," thought the Tree. He felt the fresh
air, the first sunbeam--and now he was out in the courtyard. All passed
so quickly, there was so much going on around him, the Tree quite forgot
to look to himself. The court adjoined a garden, and all was in flower;
the roses hung so fresh and odorous over the balustrade, the lindens
were in blossom, the Swallows flew by, and said, "Quirre-vit! My husband
is come!" but it was not the Fir Tree that they meant.

"Now, then, I shall really enjoy life," said he exultingly, and spread
out his branches; but, alas, they were all withered and yellow! It was
in a corner that he lay, among weeds and nettles. The golden star of
tinsel was still on the top of the Tree, and glittered in the sunshine.

In the court-yard some of the merry children were playing who had danced
at Christmas round the Fir Tree, and were so glad at the sight of him.
One of the youngest ran and tore off the golden star.

"Only look what is still on the ugly old Christmas tree!" said he,
trampling on the branches, so that they all cracked beneath his feet.

And the Tree beheld all the beauty of the flowers, and the freshness in
the garden; he beheld himself, and wished he had remained in his dark
corner in the loft; he thought of his first youth in the wood, of the
merry Christmas-eve, and of the little Mice who had listened with so
much pleasure to the story of Humpy-Dumpy.

"'Tis over--'tis past!" said the poor Tree. "Had I but rejoiced when I
had reason to do so! But now 'tis past, 'tis past!"

And the gardener's boy chopped the Tree into small pieces; there was a
whole heap lying there. The wood flamed up splendidly under the large
brewing copper, and it sighed so deeply! Each sigh was like a shot.

The boys played about in the court, and the youngest wore the gold star
on his breast which the Tree had had on the happiest evening of his
life. However, that was over now--the Tree gone, the story at an end.
All, all was over--every tale must end at last.




THE SNOW QUEEN

FIRST STORY. Which Treats of a Mirror and of the Splinters

Now then, let us begin. When we are at the end of the story, we shall
know more than we know now: but to begin.

Once upon a time there was a wicked sprite, indeed he was the most
mischievous of all sprites. One day he was in a very good humor, for
he had made a mirror with the power of causing all that was good and
beautiful when it was reflected therein, to look poor and mean; but
that which was good-for-nothing and looked ugly was shown magnified
and increased in ugliness. In this mirror the most beautiful landscapes
looked like boiled spinach, and the best persons were turned into
frights, or appeared to stand on their heads; their faces were so
distorted that they were not to be recognised; and if anyone had a mole,
you might be sure that it would be magnified and spread over both nose
and mouth.

"That's glorious fun!" said the sprite. If a good thought passed through
a man's mind, then a grin was seen in the mirror, and the sprite laughed
heartily at his clever discovery. All the little sprites who went to his
school--for he kept a sprite school--told each other that a miracle had
happened; and that now only, as they thought, it would be possible to
see how the world really looked. They ran about with the mirror; and at
last there was not a land or a person who was not represented distorted
in the mirror. So then they thought they would fly up to the sky,
and have a joke there. The higher they flew with the mirror, the more
terribly it grinned: they could hardly hold it fast. Higher and higher
still they flew, nearer and nearer to the stars, when suddenly the
mirror shook so terribly with grinning, that it flew out of their hands
and fell to the earth, where it was dashed in a hundred million and more
pieces. And now it worked much more evil than before; for some of these
pieces were hardly so large as a grain of sand, and they flew about in
the wide world, and when they got into people's eyes, there they stayed;
and then people saw everything perverted, or only had an eye for that
which was evil. This happened because the very smallest bit had the
same power which the whole mirror had possessed. Some persons even got
a splinter in their heart, and then it made one shudder, for their heart
became like a lump of ice. Some of the broken pieces were so large that
they were used for windowpanes, through which one could not see one's
friends. Other pieces were put in spectacles; and that was a sad affair
when people put on their glasses to see well and rightly. Then the
wicked sprite laughed till he almost choked, for all this tickled his
fancy. The fine splinters still flew about in the air: and now we shall
hear what happened next.


SECOND STORY. A Little Boy and a Little Girl

In a large town, where there are so many houses, and so many people,
that there is no roof left for everybody to have a little garden; and
where, on this account, most persons are obliged to content themselves
with flowers in pots; there lived two little children, who had a garden
somewhat larger than a flower-pot. They were not brother and sister; but
they cared for each other as much as if they were. Their parents lived
exactly opposite. They inhabited two garrets; and where the roof of the
one house joined that of the other, and the gutter ran along the extreme
end of it, there was to each house a small window: one needed only to
step over the gutter to get from one window to the other.

The children's parents had large wooden boxes there, in which vegetables
for the kitchen were planted, and little rosetrees besides: there was a
rose in each box, and they grew splendidly. They now thought of placing
the boxes across the gutter, so that they nearly reached from one window
to the other, and looked just like two walls of flowers. The tendrils
of the peas hung down over the boxes; and the rose-trees shot up long
branches, twined round the windows, and then bent towards each other: it
was almost like a triumphant arch of foliage and flowers. The boxes were
very high, and the children knew that they must not creep over them; so
they often obtained permission to get out of the windows to each other,
and to sit on their little stools among the roses, where they could play
delightfully. In winter there was an end of this pleasure. The windows
were often frozen over; but then they heated copper farthings on the
stove, and laid the hot farthing on the windowpane, and then they had a
capital peep-hole, quite nicely rounded; and out of each peeped a gentle
friendly eye--it was the little boy and the little girl who were looking
out. His name was Kay, hers was Gerda. In summer, with one jump, they
could get to each other; but in winter they were obliged first to
go down the long stairs, and then up the long stairs again: and
out-of-doors there was quite a snow-storm.

"It is the white bees that are swarming," said Kay's old grandmother.

"Do the white bees choose a queen?" asked the little boy; for he knew
that the honey-bees always have one.

"Yes," said the grandmother, "she flies where the swarm hangs in the
thickest clusters. She is the largest of all; and she can never remain
quietly on the earth, but goes up again into the black clouds. Many a
winter's night she flies through the streets of the town, and peeps in
at the windows; and they then freeze in so wondrous a manner that they
look like flowers."

"Yes, I have seen it," said both the children; and so they knew that it
was true.

"Can the Snow Queen come in?" said the little girl.

"Only let her come in!" said the little boy. "Then I'd put her on the
stove, and she'd melt."

And then his grandmother patted his head and told him other stories.

In the evening, when little Kay was at home, and half undressed, he
climbed up on the chair by the window, and peeped out of the little
hole. A few snow-flakes were falling, and one, the largest of all,
remained lying on the edge of a flower-pot.

The flake of snow grew larger and larger; and at last it was like a
young lady, dressed in the finest white gauze, made of a million little
flakes like stars. She was so beautiful and delicate, but she was of
ice, of dazzling, sparkling ice; yet she lived; her eyes gazed fixedly,
like two stars; but there was neither quiet nor repose in them. She
nodded towards the window, and beckoned with her hand. The little boy
was frightened, and jumped down from the chair; it seemed to him as if,
at the same moment, a large bird flew past the window.

The next day it was a sharp frost--and then the spring came; the sun
shone, the green leaves appeared, the swallows built their nests, the
windows were opened, and the little children again sat in their pretty
garden, high up on the leads at the top of the house.

That summer the roses flowered in unwonted beauty. The little girl had
learned a hymn, in which there was something about roses; and then she
thought of her own flowers; and she sang the verse to the little boy,
who then sang it with her:

     "The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet,
     And angels descend there the children to greet."

And the children held each other by the hand, kissed the roses, looked
up at the clear sunshine, and spoke as though they really saw angels
there. What lovely summer-days those were! How delightful to be out in
the air, near the fresh rose-bushes, that seem as if they would never
finish blossoming!

Kay and Gerda looked at the picture-book full of beasts and of birds;
and it was then--the clock in the church-tower was just striking
five--that Kay said, "Oh! I feel such a sharp pain in my heart; and now
something has got into my eye!"

The little girl put her arms around his neck. He winked his eyes; now
there was nothing to be seen.

"I think it is out now," said he; but it was not. It was just one of
those pieces of glass from the magic mirror that had got into his eye;
and poor Kay had got another piece right in his heart. It will soon
become like ice. It did not hurt any longer, but there it was.

"What are you crying for?" asked he. "You look so ugly! There's nothing
the matter with me. Ah," said he at once, "that rose is cankered! And
look, this one is quite crooked! After all, these roses are very ugly!
They are just like the box they are planted in!" And then he gave the
box a good kick with his foot, and pulled both the roses up.

"What are you doing?" cried the little girl; and as he perceived her
fright, he pulled up another rose, got in at the window, and hastened
off from dear little Gerda.

Afterwards, when she brought her picture-book, he asked, "What horrid
beasts have you there?" And if his grandmother told them stories, he
always interrupted her; besides, if he could manage it, he would get
behind her, put on her spectacles, and imitate her way of speaking; he
copied all her ways, and then everybody laughed at him. He was soon able
to imitate the gait and manner of everyone in the street. Everything
that was peculiar and displeasing in them--that Kay knew how to imitate:
and at such times all the people said, "The boy is certainly very
clever!" But it was the glass he had got in his eye; the glass that was
sticking in his heart, which made him tease even little Gerda, whose
whole soul was devoted to him.

His games now were quite different to what they had formerly been, they
were so very knowing. One winter's day, when the flakes of snow were
flying about, he spread the skirts of his blue coat, and caught the snow
as it fell.

"Look through this glass, Gerda," said he. And every flake seemed
larger, and appeared like a magnificent flower, or beautiful star; it
was splendid to look at!

"Look, how clever!" said Kay. "That's much more interesting than real
flowers! They are as exact as possible; there is not a fault in them, if
they did not melt!"

It was not long after this, that Kay came one day with large gloves on,
and his little sledge at his back, and bawled right into Gerda's ears,
"I have permission to go out into the square where the others are
playing"; and off he was in a moment.

There, in the market-place, some of the boldest of the boys used to tie
their sledges to the carts as they passed by, and so they were pulled
along, and got a good ride. It was so capital! Just as they were in the
very height of their amusement, a large sledge passed by: it was painted
quite white, and there was someone in it wrapped up in a rough white
mantle of fur, with a rough white fur cap on his head. The sledge drove
round the square twice, and Kay tied on his sledge as quickly as he
could, and off he drove with it. On they went quicker and quicker into
the next street; and the person who drove turned round to Kay, and
nodded to him in a friendly manner, just as if they knew each other.
Every time he was going to untie his sledge, the person nodded to him,
and then Kay sat quiet; and so on they went till they came outside
the gates of the town. Then the snow began to fall so thickly that the
little boy could not see an arm's length before him, but still on he
went: when suddenly he let go the string he held in his hand in order
to get loose from the sledge, but it was of no use; still the little
vehicle rushed on with the quickness of the wind. He then cried as loud
as he could, but no one heard him; the snow drifted and the sledge flew
on, and sometimes it gave a jerk as though they were driving over hedges
and ditches. He was quite frightened, and he tried to repeat the
Lord's Prayer; but all he could do, he was only able to remember the
multiplication table.

The snow-flakes grew larger and larger, till at last they looked just
like great white fowls. Suddenly they flew on one side; the large sledge
stopped, and the person who drove rose up. It was a lady; her cloak and
cap were of snow. She was tall and of slender figure, and of a dazzling
whiteness. It was the Snow Queen.

"We have travelled fast," said she; "but it is freezingly cold. Come
under my bearskin." And she put him in the sledge beside her,
wrapped the fur round him, and he felt as though he were sinking in a
snow-wreath.

"Are you still cold?" asked she; and then she kissed his forehead.
Ah! it was colder than ice; it penetrated to his very heart, which was
already almost a frozen lump; it seemed to him as if he were about to
die--but a moment more and it was quite congenial to him, and he did not
remark the cold that was around him.

"My sledge! Do not forget my sledge!" It was the first thing he thought
of. It was there tied to one of the white chickens, who flew along with
it on his back behind the large sledge. The Snow Queen kissed Kay once
more, and then he forgot little Gerda, grandmother, and all whom he had
left at his home.

"Now you will have no more kisses," said she, "or else I should kiss you
to death!"

Kay looked at her. She was very beautiful; a more clever, or a more
lovely countenance he could not fancy to himself; and she no longer
appeared of ice as before, when she sat outside the window, and beckoned
to him; in his eyes she was perfect, he did not fear her at all, and
told her that he could calculate in his head and with fractions, even;
that he knew the number of square miles there were in the different
countries, and how many inhabitants they contained; and she smiled while
he spoke. It then seemed to him as if what he knew was not enough, and
he looked upwards in the large huge empty space above him, and on she
flew with him; flew high over the black clouds, while the storm moaned
and whistled as though it were singing some old tune. On they flew
over woods and lakes, over seas, and many lands; and beneath them the
chilling storm rushed fast, the wolves howled, the snow crackled; above
them flew large screaming crows, but higher up appeared the moon, quite
large and bright; and it was on it that Kay gazed during the long long
winter's night; while by day he slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.


THIRD STORY. Of the Flower-Garden At the Old Woman's Who Understood
Witchcraft

But what became of little Gerda when Kay did not return? Where could he
be? Nobody knew; nobody could give any intelligence. All the boys knew
was, that they had seen him tie his sledge to another large and splendid
one, which drove down the street and out of the town. Nobody knew
where he was; many sad tears were shed, and little Gerda wept long and
bitterly; at last she said he must be dead; that he had been drowned in
the river which flowed close to the town. Oh! those were very long and
dismal winter evenings!

At last spring came, with its warm sunshine.

"Kay is dead and gone!" said little Gerda.

"That I don't believe," said the Sunshine.

"Kay is dead and gone!" said she to the Swallows.

"That I don't believe," said they: and at last little Gerda did not
think so any longer either.

"I'll put on my red shoes," said she, one morning; "Kay has never seen
them, and then I'll go down to the river and ask there."

It was quite early; she kissed her old grandmother, who was still
asleep, put on her red shoes, and went alone to the river.

"Is it true that you have taken my little playfellow? I will make you a
present of my red shoes, if you will give him back to me."

And, as it seemed to her, the blue waves nodded in a strange manner;
then she took off her red shoes, the most precious things she possessed,
and threw them both into the river. But they fell close to the bank, and
the little waves bore them immediately to land; it was as if the stream
would not take what was dearest to her; for in reality it had not got
little Kay; but Gerda thought that she had not thrown the shoes out far
enough, so she clambered into a boat which lay among the rushes, went
to the farthest end, and threw out the shoes. But the boat was not
fastened, and the motion which she occasioned, made it drift from the
shore. She observed this, and hastened to get back; but before she could
do so, the boat was more than a yard from the land, and was gliding
quickly onward.

Little Gerda was very frightened, and began to cry; but no one heard her
except the sparrows, and they could not carry her to land; but they flew
along the bank, and sang as if to comfort her, "Here we are! Here we
are!" The boat drifted with the stream, little Gerda sat quite still
without shoes, for they were swimming behind the boat, but she could not
reach them, because the boat went much faster than they did.

The banks on both sides were beautiful; lovely flowers, venerable trees,
and slopes with sheep and cows, but not a human being was to be seen.

"Perhaps the river will carry me to little Kay," said she; and then
she grew less sad. She rose, and looked for many hours at the beautiful
green banks. Presently she sailed by a large cherry-orchard, where was
a little cottage with curious red and blue windows; it was thatched,
and before it two wooden soldiers stood sentry, and presented arms when
anyone went past.

Gerda called to them, for she thought they were alive; but they, of
course, did not answer. She came close to them, for the stream drifted
the boat quite near the land.

Gerda called still louder, and an old woman then came out of the
cottage, leaning upon a crooked stick. She had a large broad-brimmed hat
on, painted with the most splendid flowers.

"Poor little child!" said the old woman. "How did you get upon the large
rapid river, to be driven about so in the wide world!" And then the
old woman went into the water, caught hold of the boat with her crooked
stick, drew it to the bank, and lifted little Gerda out.

And Gerda was so glad to be on dry land again; but she was rather afraid
of the strange old woman.

"But come and tell me who you are, and how you came here," said she.

And Gerda told her all; and the old woman shook her head and said,
"A-hem! a-hem!" and when Gerda had told her everything, and asked her if
she had not seen little Kay, the woman answered that he had not passed
there, but he no doubt would come; and she told her not to be cast down,
but taste her cherries, and look at her flowers, which were finer than
any in a picture-book, each of which could tell a whole story. She then
took Gerda by the hand, led her into the little cottage, and locked the
door.

The windows were very high up; the glass was red, blue, and green, and
the sunlight shone through quite wondrously in all sorts of colors. On
the table stood the most exquisite cherries, and Gerda ate as many as
she chose, for she had permission to do so. While she was eating, the
old woman combed her hair with a golden comb, and her hair curled and
shone with a lovely golden color around that sweet little face, which
was so round and so like a rose.

"I have often longed for such a dear little girl," said the old woman.
"Now you shall see how well we agree together"; and while she combed
little Gerda's hair, the child forgot her foster-brother Kay more and
more, for the old woman understood magic; but she was no evil being, she
only practised witchcraft a little for her own private amusement, and
now she wanted very much to keep little Gerda. She therefore went out
in the garden, stretched out her crooked stick towards the rose-bushes,
which, beautifully as they were blowing, all sank into the earth and no
one could tell where they had stood. The old woman feared that if Gerda
should see the roses, she would then think of her own, would remember
little Kay, and run away from her.

She now led Gerda into the flower-garden. Oh, what odour and what
loveliness was there! Every flower that one could think of, and of every
season, stood there in fullest bloom; no picture-book could be gayer or
more beautiful. Gerda jumped for joy, and played till the sun set behind
the tall cherry-tree; she then had a pretty bed, with a red silken
coverlet filled with blue violets. She fell asleep, and had as pleasant
dreams as ever a queen on her wedding-day.

The next morning she went to play with the flowers in the warm sunshine,
and thus passed away a day. Gerda knew every flower; and, numerous as
they were, it still seemed to Gerda that one was wanting, though she
did not know which. One day while she was looking at the hat of the old
woman painted with flowers, the most beautiful of them all seemed to her
to be a rose. The old woman had forgotten to take it from her hat
when she made the others vanish in the earth. But so it is when one's
thoughts are not collected. "What!" said Gerda. "Are there no roses
here?" and she ran about amongst the flowerbeds, and looked, and looked,
but there was not one to be found. She then sat down and wept; but her
hot tears fell just where a rose-bush had sunk; and when her warm tears
watered the ground, the tree shot up suddenly as fresh and blooming as
when it had been swallowed up. Gerda kissed the roses, thought of her
own dear roses at home, and with them of little Kay.

"Oh, how long I have stayed!" said the little girl. "I intended to look
for Kay! Don't you know where he is?" she asked of the roses. "Do you
think he is dead and gone?"

"Dead he certainly is not," said the Roses. "We have been in the earth
where all the dead are, but Kay was not there."

"Many thanks!" said little Gerda; and she went to the other flowers,
looked into their cups, and asked, "Don't you know where little Kay is?"

But every flower stood in the sunshine, and dreamed its own fairy tale
or its own story: and they all told her very many things, but not one
knew anything of Kay.

Well, what did the Tiger-Lily say?

"Hearest thou not the drum? Bum! Bum! Those are the only two tones.
Always bum! Bum! Hark to the plaintive song of the old woman, to the
call of the priests! The Hindoo woman in her long robe stands upon the
funeral pile; the flames rise around her and her dead husband, but the
Hindoo woman thinks on the living one in the surrounding circle; on him
whose eyes burn hotter than the flames--on him, the fire of whose eyes
pierces her heart more than the flames which soon will burn her body to
ashes. Can the heart's flame die in the flame of the funeral pile?"

"I don't understand that at all," said little Gerda.

"That is my story," said the Lily.

What did the Convolvulus say?

"Projecting over a narrow mountain-path there hangs an old feudal
castle. Thick evergreens grow on the dilapidated walls, and around the
altar, where a lovely maiden is standing: she bends over the railing and
looks out upon the rose. No fresher rose hangs on the branches than she;
no appleblossom carried away by the wind is more buoyant! How her silken
robe is rustling!

"'Is he not yet come?'"

"Is it Kay that you mean?" asked little Gerda.

"I am speaking about my story--about my dream," answered the
Convolvulus.

What did the Snowdrops say?

"Between the trees a long board is hanging--it is a swing. Two little
girls are sitting in it, and swing themselves backwards and forwards;
their frocks are as white as snow, and long green silk ribands flutter
from their bonnets. Their brother, who is older than they are, stands up
in the swing; he twines his arms round the cords to hold himself fast,
for in one hand he has a little cup, and in the other a clay-pipe. He is
blowing soap-bubbles. The swing moves, and the bubbles float in charming
changing colors: the last is still hanging to the end of the pipe, and
rocks in the breeze. The swing moves. The little black dog, as light as
a soap-bubble, jumps up on his hind legs to try to get into the swing.
It moves, the dog falls down, barks, and is angry. They tease him; the
bubble bursts! A swing, a bursting bubble--such is my song!"

"What you relate may be very pretty, but you tell it in so melancholy a
manner, and do not mention Kay."

What do the Hyacinths say?

"There were once upon a time three sisters, quite transparent, and very
beautiful. The robe of the one was red, that of the second blue, and
that of the third white. They danced hand in hand beside the calm
lake in the clear moonshine. They were not elfin maidens, but mortal
children. A sweet fragrance was smelt, and the maidens vanished in the
wood; the fragrance grew stronger--three coffins, and in them three
lovely maidens, glided out of the forest and across the lake: the
shining glow-worms flew around like little floating lights. Do the
dancing maidens sleep, or are they dead? The odour of the flowers says
they are corpses; the evening bell tolls for the dead!"

"You make me quite sad," said little Gerda. "I cannot help thinking of
the dead maidens. Oh! is little Kay really dead? The Roses have been in
the earth, and they say no."

"Ding, dong!" sounded the Hyacinth bells. "We do not toll for little
Kay; we do not know him. That is our way of singing, the only one we
have."

And Gerda went to the Ranunculuses, that looked forth from among the
shining green leaves.

"You are a little bright sun!" said Gerda. "Tell me if you know where I
can find my playfellow."

And the Ranunculus shone brightly, and looked again at Gerda. What
song could the Ranunculus sing? It was one that said nothing about Kay
either.

"In a small court the bright sun was shining in the first days of
spring. The beams glided down the white walls of a neighbor's house, and
close by the fresh yellow flowers were growing, shining like gold in
the warm sun-rays. An old grandmother was sitting in the air; her
grand-daughter, the poor and lovely servant just come for a short visit.
She knows her grandmother. There was gold, pure virgin gold in that
blessed kiss. There, that is my little story," said the Ranunculus.

"My poor old grandmother!" sighed Gerda. "Yes, she is longing for me,
no doubt: she is sorrowing for me, as she did for little Kay. But I
will soon come home, and then I will bring Kay with me. It is of no use
asking the flowers; they only know their own old rhymes, and can tell me
nothing." And she tucked up her frock, to enable her to run quicker; but
the Narcissus gave her a knock on the leg, just as she was going to
jump over it. So she stood still, looked at the long yellow flower, and
asked, "You perhaps know something?" and she bent down to the Narcissus.
And what did it say?

"I can see myself--I can see myself! Oh, how odorous I am! Up in the
little garret there stands, half-dressed, a little Dancer. She stands
now on one leg, now on both; she despises the whole world; yet she lives
only in imagination. She pours water out of the teapot over a piece of
stuff which she holds in her hand; it is the bodice; cleanliness is a
fine thing. The white dress is hanging on the hook; it was washed in the
teapot, and dried on the roof. She puts it on, ties a saffron-colored
kerchief round her neck, and then the gown looks whiter. I can see
myself--I can see myself!"

"That's nothing to me," said little Gerda. "That does not concern me."
 And then off she ran to the further end of the garden.

The gate was locked, but she shook the rusted bolt till it was loosened,
and the gate opened; and little Gerda ran off barefooted into the wide
world. She looked round her thrice, but no one followed her. At last she
could run no longer; she sat down on a large stone, and when she looked
about her, she saw that the summer had passed; it was late in the
autumn, but that one could not remark in the beautiful garden, where
there was always sunshine, and where there were flowers the whole year
round.

"Dear me, how long I have staid!" said Gerda. "Autumn is come. I must
not rest any longer." And she got up to go further.

Oh, how tender and wearied her little feet were! All around it looked
so cold and raw: the long willow-leaves were quite yellow, and the fog
dripped from them like water; one leaf fell after the other: the sloes
only stood full of fruit, which set one's teeth on edge. Oh, how dark
and comfortless it was in the dreary world!


FOURTH STORY. The Prince and Princess

Gerda was obliged to rest herself again, when, exactly opposite to her,
a large Raven came hopping over the white snow. He had long been looking
at Gerda and shaking his head; and now he said, "Caw! Caw!" Good day!
Good day! He could not say it better; but he felt a sympathy for the
little girl, and asked her where she was going all alone. The word
"alone" Gerda understood quite well, and felt how much was expressed
by it; so she told the Raven her whole history, and asked if he had not
seen Kay.

The Raven nodded very gravely, and said, "It may be--it may be!"

"What, do you really think so?" cried the little girl; and she nearly
squeezed the Raven to death, so much did she kiss him.

"Gently, gently," said the Raven. "I think I know; I think that it may
be little Kay. But now he has forgotten you for the Princess."

"Does he live with a Princess?" asked Gerda.

"Yes--listen," said the Raven; "but it will be difficult for me to
speak your language. If you understand the Raven language I can tell you
better."

"No, I have not learnt it," said Gerda; "but my grandmother understands
it, and she can speak gibberish too. I wish I had learnt it."

"No matter," said the Raven; "I will tell you as well as I can; however,
it will be bad enough." And then he told all he knew.

"In the kingdom where we now are there lives a Princess, who is
extraordinarily clever; for she has read all the newspapers in the whole
world, and has forgotten them again--so clever is she. She was lately,
it is said, sitting on her throne--which is not very amusing after
all--when she began humming an old tune, and it was just, 'Oh, why
should I not be married?' 'That song is not without its meaning,' said
she, and so then she was determined to marry; but she would have a
husband who knew how to give an answer when he was spoken to--not
one who looked only as if he were a great personage, for that is so
tiresome. She then had all the ladies of the court drummed together; and
when they heard her intention, all were very pleased, and said, 'We are
very glad to hear it; it is the very thing we were thinking of.' You may
believe every word I say," said the Raven; "for I have a tame sweetheart
that hops about in the palace quite free, and it was she who told me all
this.

"The newspapers appeared forthwith with a border of hearts and the
initials of the Princess; and therein you might read that every
good-looking young man was at liberty to come to the palace and speak to
the Princess; and he who spoke in such wise as showed he felt himself at
home there, that one the Princess would choose for her husband.

"Yes, Yes," said the Raven, "you may believe it; it is as true as I am
sitting here. People came in crowds; there was a crush and a hurry, but
no one was successful either on the first or second day. They could all
talk well enough when they were out in the street; but as soon as
they came inside the palace gates, and saw the guard richly dressed
in silver, and the lackeys in gold on the staircase, and the large
illuminated saloons, then they were abashed; and when they stood before
the throne on which the Princess was sitting, all they could do was
to repeat the last word they had uttered, and to hear it again did not
interest her very much. It was just as if the people within were under
a charm, and had fallen into a trance till they came out again into the
street; for then--oh, then--they could chatter enough. There was a whole
row of them standing from the town-gates to the palace. I was there
myself to look," said the Raven. "They grew hungry and thirsty; but from
the palace they got nothing whatever, not even a glass of water. Some
of the cleverest, it is true, had taken bread and butter with them:
but none shared it with his neighbor, for each thought, 'Let him look
hungry, and then the Princess won't have him.'"

"But Kay--little Kay," said Gerda, "when did he come? Was he among the
number?"

"Patience, patience; we are just come to him. It was on the third day
when a little personage without horse or equipage, came marching right
boldly up to the palace; his eyes shone like yours, he had beautiful
long hair, but his clothes were very shabby."

"That was Kay," cried Gerda, with a voice of delight. "Oh, now I've
found him!" and she clapped her hands for joy.

"He had a little knapsack at his back," said the Raven.

"No, that was certainly his sledge," said Gerda; "for when he went away
he took his sledge with him."

"That may be," said the Raven; "I did not examine him so minutely; but
I know from my tame sweetheart, that when he came into the court-yard
of the palace, and saw the body-guard in silver, the lackeys on the
staircase, he was not the least abashed; he nodded, and said to them,
'It must be very tiresome to stand on the stairs; for my part, I shall
go in.' The saloons were gleaming with lustres--privy councillors and
excellencies were walking about barefooted, and wore gold keys; it was
enough to make any one feel uncomfortable. His boots creaked, too, so
loudly, but still he was not at all afraid."

"That's Kay for certain," said Gerda. "I know he had on new boots; I
have heard them creaking in grandmama's room."

"Yes, they creaked," said the Raven. "And on he went boldly up to the
Princess, who was sitting on a pearl as large as a spinning-wheel.
All the ladies of the court, with their attendants and attendants'
attendants, and all the cavaliers, with their gentlemen and gentlemen's
gentlemen, stood round; and the nearer they stood to the door, the
prouder they looked. It was hardly possible to look at the gentleman's
gentleman, so very haughtily did he stand in the doorway."

"It must have been terrible," said little Gerda. "And did Kay get the
Princess?"

"Were I not a Raven, I should have taken the Princess myself, although
I am promised. It is said he spoke as well as I speak when I talk Raven
language; this I learned from my tame sweetheart. He was bold and nicely
behaved; he had not come to woo the Princess, but only to hear her
wisdom. She pleased him, and he pleased her."

"Yes, yes; for certain that was Kay," said Gerda. "He was so clever;
he could reckon fractions in his head. Oh, won't you take me to the
palace?"

"That is very easily said," answered the Raven. "But how are we to
manage it? I'll speak to my tame sweetheart about it: she must advise
us; for so much I must tell you, such a little girl as you are will
never get permission to enter."

"Oh, yes I shall," said Gerda; "when Kay hears that I am here, he will
come out directly to fetch me."

"Wait for me here on these steps," said the Raven. He moved his head
backwards and forwards and flew away.

The evening was closing in when the Raven returned. "Caw--caw!" said he.
"She sends you her compliments; and here is a roll for you. She took
it out of the kitchen, where there is bread enough. You are hungry,
no doubt. It is not possible for you to enter the palace, for you are
barefooted: the guards in silver, and the lackeys in gold, would not
allow it; but do not cry, you shall come in still. My sweetheart knows a
little back stair that leads to the bedchamber, and she knows where she
can get the key of it."

And they went into the garden in the large avenue, where one leaf was
falling after the other; and when the lights in the palace had all
gradually disappeared, the Raven led little Gerda to the back door,
which stood half open.

Oh, how Gerda's heart beat with anxiety and longing! It was just as if
she had been about to do something wrong; and yet she only wanted to
know if little Kay was there. Yes, he must be there. She called to mind
his intelligent eyes, and his long hair, so vividly, she could quite see
him as he used to laugh when they were sitting under the roses at home.
"He will, no doubt, be glad to see you--to hear what a long way you have
come for his sake; to know how unhappy all at home were when he did not
come back."

Oh, what a fright and a joy it was!

They were now on the stairs. A single lamp was burning there; and on the
floor stood the tame Raven, turning her head on every side and looking
at Gerda, who bowed as her grandmother had taught her to do.

"My intended has told me so much good of you, my dear young lady," said
the tame Raven. "Your tale is very affecting. If you will take the lamp,
I will go before. We will go straight on, for we shall meet no one."

"I think there is somebody just behind us," said Gerda; and something
rushed past: it was like shadowy figures on the wall; horses with
flowing manes and thin legs, huntsmen, ladies and gentlemen on
horseback.

"They are only dreams," said the Raven. "They come to fetch the thoughts
of the high personages to the chase; 'tis well, for now you can observe
them in bed all the better. But let me find, when you enjoy honor and
distinction, that you possess a grateful heart."

"Tut! That's not worth talking about," said the Raven of the woods.

They now entered the first saloon, which was of rose-colored satin, with
artificial flowers on the wall. Here the dreams were rushing past,
but they hastened by so quickly that Gerda could not see the high
personages. One hall was more magnificent than the other; one might
indeed well be abashed; and at last they came into the bedchamber. The
ceiling of the room resembled a large palm-tree with leaves of glass,
of costly glass; and in the middle, from a thick golden stem, hung two
beds, each of which resembled a lily. One was white, and in this lay the
Princess; the other was red, and it was here that Gerda was to look for
little Kay. She bent back one of the red leaves, and saw a brown neck.
Oh! that was Kay! She called him quite loud by name, held the lamp
towards him--the dreams rushed back again into the chamber--he awoke,
turned his head, and--it was not little Kay!

The Prince was only like him about the neck; but he was young and
handsome. And out of the white lily leaves the Princess peeped, too,
and asked what was the matter. Then little Gerda cried, and told her her
whole history, and all that the Ravens had done for her.

"Poor little thing!" said the Prince and the Princess. They praised the
Ravens very much, and told them they were not at all angry with them,
but they were not to do so again. However, they should have a reward.
"Will you fly about here at liberty," asked the Princess; "or would you
like to have a fixed appointment as court ravens, with all the broken
bits from the kitchen?"

And both the Ravens nodded, and begged for a fixed appointment; for
they thought of their old age, and said, "It is a good thing to have a
provision for our old days."

And the Prince got up and let Gerda sleep in his bed, and more than this
he could not do. She folded her little hands and thought, "How good men
and animals are!" and she then fell asleep and slept soundly. All the
dreams flew in again, and they now looked like the angels; they drew
a little sledge, in which little Kay sat and nodded his head; but the
whole was only a dream, and therefore it all vanished as soon as she
awoke.

The next day she was dressed from head to foot in silk and velvet. They
offered to let her stay at the palace, and lead a happy life; but she
begged to have a little carriage with a horse in front, and for a small
pair of shoes; then, she said, she would again go forth in the wide
world and look for Kay.

Shoes and a muff were given her; she was, too, dressed very nicely; and
when she was about to set off, a new carriage stopped before the door.
It was of pure gold, and the arms of the Prince and Princess shone
like a star upon it; the coachman, the footmen, and the outriders, for
outriders were there, too, all wore golden crowns. The Prince and the
Princess assisted her into the carriage themselves, and wished her all
success. The Raven of the woods, who was now married, accompanied her
for the first three miles. He sat beside Gerda, for he could not bear
riding backwards; the other Raven stood in the doorway, and flapped her
wings; she could not accompany Gerda, because she suffered from headache
since she had had a fixed appointment and ate so much. The carriage
was lined inside with sugar-plums, and in the seats were fruits and
gingerbread.

"Farewell! Farewell!" cried Prince and Princess; and Gerda wept, and
the Raven wept. Thus passed the first miles; and then the Raven bade her
farewell, and this was the most painful separation of all. He flew into
a tree, and beat his black wings as long as he could see the carriage,
that shone from afar like a sunbeam.


FIFTH STORY. The Little Robber Maiden

They drove through the dark wood; but the carriage shone like a torch,
and it dazzled the eyes of the robbers, so that they could not bear to
look at it.

"'Tis gold! 'Tis gold!" they cried; and they rushed forward, seized
the horses, knocked down the little postilion, the coachman, and the
servants, and pulled little Gerda out of the carriage.

"How plump, how beautiful she is! She must have been fed on
nut-kernels," said the old female robber, who had a long, scrubby beard,
and bushy eyebrows that hung down over her eyes. "She is as good as a
fatted lamb! How nice she will be!" And then she drew out a knife, the
blade of which shone so that it was quite dreadful to behold.

"Oh!" cried the woman at the same moment. She had been bitten in the ear
by her own little daughter, who hung at her back; and who was so wild
and unmanageable, that it was quite amusing to see her. "You naughty
child!" said the mother: and now she had not time to kill Gerda.

"She shall play with me," said the little robber child. "She shall give
me her muff, and her pretty frock; she shall sleep in my bed!" And then
she gave her mother another bite, so that she jumped, and ran round with
the pain; and the Robbers laughed, and said, "Look, how she is dancing
with the little one!"

"I will go into the carriage," said the little robber maiden; and she
would have her will, for she was very spoiled and very headstrong. She
and Gerda got in; and then away they drove over the stumps of felled
trees, deeper and deeper into the woods. The little robber maiden was as
tall as Gerda, but stronger, broader-shouldered, and of dark complexion;
her eyes were quite black; they looked almost melancholy. She embraced
little Gerda, and said, "They shall not kill you as long as I am not
displeased with you. You are, doubtless, a Princess?"

"No," said little Gerda; who then related all that had happened to her,
and how much she cared about little Kay.

The little robber maiden looked at her with a serious air, nodded her
head slightly, and said, "They shall not kill you, even if I am angry
with you: then I will do it myself"; and she dried Gerda's eyes, and put
both her hands in the handsome muff, which was so soft and warm.

At length the carriage stopped. They were in the midst of the court-yard
of a robber's castle. It was full of cracks from top to bottom; and out
of the openings magpies and rooks were flying; and the great bull-dogs,
each of which looked as if he could swallow a man, jumped up, but they
did not bark, for that was forbidden.

In the midst of the large, old, smoking hall burnt a great fire on the
stone floor. The smoke disappeared under the stones, and had to seek
its own egress. In an immense caldron soup was boiling; and rabbits and
hares were being roasted on a spit.

"You shall sleep with me to-night, with all my animals," said the little
robber maiden. They had something to eat and drink; and then went into
a corner, where straw and carpets were lying. Beside them, on laths and
perches, sat nearly a hundred pigeons, all asleep, seemingly; but yet
they moved a little when the robber maiden came. "They are all mine,"
 said she, at the same time seizing one that was next to her by the legs
and shaking it so that its wings fluttered. "Kiss it," cried the little
girl, and flung the pigeon in Gerda's face. "Up there is the rabble of
the wood," continued she, pointing to several laths which were fastened
before a hole high up in the wall; "that's the rabble; they would all
fly away immediately, if they were not well fastened in. And here is my
dear old Bac"; and she laid hold of the horns of a reindeer, that had a
bright copper ring round its neck, and was tethered to the spot. "We are
obliged to lock this fellow in too, or he would make his escape. Every
evening I tickle his neck with my sharp knife; he is so frightened at
it!" and the little girl drew forth a long knife, from a crack in the
wall, and let it glide over the Reindeer's neck. The poor animal kicked;
the girl laughed, and pulled Gerda into bed with her.

"Do you intend to keep your knife while you sleep?" asked Gerda; looking
at it rather fearfully.

"I always sleep with the knife," said the little robber maiden. "There
is no knowing what may happen. But tell me now, once more, all about
little Kay; and why you have started off in the wide world alone." And
Gerda related all, from the very beginning: the Wood-pigeons cooed above
in their cage, and the others slept. The little robber maiden wound her
arm round Gerda's neck, held the knife in the other hand, and snored so
loud that everybody could hear her; but Gerda could not close her eyes,
for she did not know whether she was to live or die. The robbers sat
round the fire, sang and drank; and the old female robber jumped about
so, that it was quite dreadful for Gerda to see her.

Then the Wood-pigeons said, "Coo! Coo! We have seen little Kay! A white
hen carries his sledge; he himself sat in the carriage of the Snow
Queen, who passed here, down just over the wood, as we lay in our nest.
She blew upon us young ones; and all died except we two. Coo! Coo!"

"What is that you say up there?" cried little Gerda. "Where did the Snow
Queen go to? Do you know anything about it?"

"She is no doubt gone to Lapland; for there is always snow and ice
there. Only ask the Reindeer, who is tethered there."

"Ice and snow is there! There it is, glorious and beautiful!" said the
Reindeer. "One can spring about in the large shining valleys! The Snow
Queen has her summer-tent there; but her fixed abode is high up towards
the North Pole, on the Island called Spitzbergen."

"Oh, Kay! Poor little Kay!" sighed Gerda.

"Do you choose to be quiet?" said the robber maiden. "If you don't, I
shall make you."

In the morning Gerda told her all that the Wood-pigeons had said; and
the little maiden looked very serious, but she nodded her head, and
said, "That's no matter--that's no matter. Do you know where Lapland
lies!" she asked of the Reindeer.

"Who should know better than I?" said the animal; and his eyes rolled in
his head. "I was born and bred there--there I leapt about on the fields
of snow."

"Listen," said the robber maiden to Gerda. "You see that the men are
gone; but my mother is still here, and will remain. However, towards
morning she takes a draught out of the large flask, and then she sleeps
a little: then I will do something for you." She now jumped out of bed,
flew to her mother; with her arms round her neck, and pulling her by the
beard, said, "Good morrow, my own sweet nanny-goat of a mother." And her
mother took hold of her nose, and pinched it till it was red and blue;
but this was all done out of pure love.

When the mother had taken a sup at her flask, and was having a nap, the
little robber maiden went to the Reindeer, and said, "I should very much
like to give you still many a tickling with the sharp knife, for then
you are so amusing; however, I will untether you, and help you out,
so that you may go back to Lapland. But you must make good use of your
legs; and take this little girl for me to the palace of the Snow Queen,
where her playfellow is. You have heard, I suppose, all she said; for
she spoke loud enough, and you were listening."

The Reindeer gave a bound for joy. The robber maiden lifted up little
Gerda, and took the precaution to bind her fast on the Reindeer's back;
she even gave her a small cushion to sit on. "Here are your worsted
leggins, for it will be cold; but the muff I shall keep for myself, for
it is so very pretty. But I do not wish you to be cold. Here is a pair
of lined gloves of my mother's; they just reach up to your elbow. On
with them! Now you look about the hands just like my ugly old mother!"

And Gerda wept for joy.

"I can't bear to see you fretting," said the little robber maiden. "This
is just the time when you ought to look pleased. Here are two loaves and
a ham for you, so that you won't starve." The bread and the meat were
fastened to the Reindeer's back; the little maiden opened the door,
called in all the dogs, and then with her knife cut the rope that
fastened the animal, and said to him, "Now, off with you; but take good
care of the little girl!"

And Gerda stretched out her hands with the large wadded gloves towards
the robber maiden, and said, "Farewell!" and the Reindeer flew on over
bush and bramble through the great wood, over moor and heath, as fast as
he could go.

"Ddsa! Ddsa!" was heard in the sky. It was just as if somebody was
sneezing.

"These are my old northern-lights," said the Reindeer, "look how they
gleam!" And on he now sped still quicker--day and night on he went: the
loaves were consumed, and the ham too; and now they were in Lapland.


SIXTH STORY. The Lapland Woman and the Finland Woman

Suddenly they stopped before a little house, which looked very
miserable. The roof reached to the ground; and the door was so low, that
the family were obliged to creep upon their stomachs when they went in
or out. Nobody was at home except an old Lapland woman, who was dressing
fish by the light of an oil lamp. And the Reindeer told her the whole
of Gerda's history, but first of all his own; for that seemed to him of
much greater importance. Gerda was so chilled that she could not speak.

"Poor thing," said the Lapland woman, "you have far to run still. You
have more than a hundred miles to go before you get to Finland; there
the Snow Queen has her country-house, and burns blue lights every
evening. I will give you a few words from me, which I will write on a
dried haberdine, for paper I have none; this you can take with you to
the Finland woman, and she will be able to give you more information
than I can."

When Gerda had warmed herself, and had eaten and drunk, the Lapland
woman wrote a few words on a dried haberdine, begged Gerda to take care
of them, put her on the Reindeer, bound her fast, and away sprang the
animal. "Ddsa! Ddsa!" was again heard in the air; the most charming
blue lights burned the whole night in the sky, and at last they came to
Finland. They knocked at the chimney of the Finland woman; for as to a
door, she had none.

There was such a heat inside that the Finland woman herself went about
almost naked. She was diminutive and dirty. She immediately loosened
little Gerda's clothes, pulled off her thick gloves and boots; for
otherwise the heat would have been too great--and after laying a piece
of ice on the Reindeer's head, read what was written on the fish-skin.
She read it three times: she then knew it by heart; so she put the fish
into the cupboard--for it might very well be eaten, and she never threw
anything away.

Then the Reindeer related his own story first, and afterwards that of
little Gerda; and the Finland woman winked her eyes, but said nothing.

"You are so clever," said the Reindeer; "you can, I know, twist all the
winds of the world together in a knot. If the seaman loosens one knot,
then he has a good wind; if a second, then it blows pretty stiffly; if
he undoes the third and fourth, then it rages so that the forests are
upturned. Will you give the little maiden a potion, that she may possess
the strength of twelve men, and vanquish the Snow Queen?"

"The strength of twelve men!" said the Finland woman. "Much good that
would be!" Then she went to a cupboard, and drew out a large skin rolled
up. When she had unrolled it, strange characters were to be seen written
thereon; and the Finland woman read at such a rate that the perspiration
trickled down her forehead.

But the Reindeer begged so hard for little Gerda, and Gerda looked so
imploringly with tearful eyes at the Finland woman, that she winked, and
drew the Reindeer aside into a corner, where they whispered together,
while the animal got some fresh ice put on his head.

"'Tis true little Kay is at the Snow Queen's, and finds everything there
quite to his taste; and he thinks it the very best place in the world;
but the reason of that is, he has a splinter of glass in his eye, and in
his heart. These must be got out first; otherwise he will never go back
to mankind, and the Snow Queen will retain her power over him."

"But can you give little Gerda nothing to take which will endue her with
power over the whole?"

"I can give her no more power than what she has already. Don't you see
how great it is? Don't you see how men and animals are forced to serve
her; how well she gets through the world barefooted? She must not hear
of her power from us; that power lies in her heart, because she is
a sweet and innocent child! If she cannot get to the Snow Queen by
herself, and rid little Kay of the glass, we cannot help her. Two miles
hence the garden of the Snow Queen begins; thither you may carry the
little girl. Set her down by the large bush with red berries, standing
in the snow; don't stay talking, but hasten back as fast as possible."
 And now the Finland woman placed little Gerda on the Reindeer's back,
and off he ran with all imaginable speed.

"Oh! I have not got my boots! I have not brought my gloves!" cried
little Gerda. She remarked she was without them from the cutting frost;
but the Reindeer dared not stand still; on he ran till he came to the
great bush with the red berries, and there he set Gerda down, kissed her
mouth, while large bright tears flowed from the animal's eyes, and then
back he went as fast as possible. There stood poor Gerda now, without
shoes or gloves, in the very middle of dreadful icy Finland.

She ran on as fast as she could. There then came a whole regiment of
snow-flakes, but they did not fall from above, and they were quite
bright and shining from the Aurora Borealis. The flakes ran along
the ground, and the nearer they came the larger they grew. Gerda well
remembered how large and strange the snow-flakes appeared when she
once saw them through a magnifying-glass; but now they were large and
terrific in another manner--they were all alive. They were the outposts
of the Snow Queen. They had the most wondrous shapes; some looked like
large ugly porcupines; others like snakes knotted together, with their
heads sticking out; and others, again, like small fat bears, with the
hair standing on end: all were of dazzling whiteness--all were living
snow-flakes.

Little Gerda repeated the Lord's Prayer. The cold was so intense that
she could see her own breath, which came like smoke out of her mouth. It
grew thicker and thicker, and took the form of little angels, that grew
more and more when they touched the earth. All had helms on their heads,
and lances and shields in their hands; they increased in numbers; and
when Gerda had finished the Lord's Prayer, she was surrounded by a whole
legion. They thrust at the horrid snow-flakes with their spears, so that
they flew into a thousand pieces; and little Gerda walked on bravely and
in security. The angels patted her hands and feet; and then she felt the
cold less, and went on quickly towards the palace of the Snow Queen.

But now we shall see how Kay fared. He never thought of Gerda, and least
of all that she was standing before the palace.


SEVENTH STORY. What Took Place in the Palace of the Snow Queen, and what
Happened Afterward.

The walls of the palace were of driving snow, and the windows and doors
of cutting winds. There were more than a hundred halls there, according
as the snow was driven by the winds. The largest was many miles in
extent; all were lighted up by the powerful Aurora Borealis, and all
were so large, so empty, so icy cold, and so resplendent! Mirth never
reigned there; there was never even a little bear-ball, with the storm
for music, while the polar bears went on their hind legs and showed off
their steps. Never a little tea-party of white young lady foxes; vast,
cold, and empty were the halls of the Snow Queen. The northern-lights
shone with such precision that one could tell exactly when they were
at their highest or lowest degree of brightness. In the middle of the
empty, endless hall of snow, was a frozen lake; it was cracked in a
thousand pieces, but each piece was so like the other, that it seemed
the work of a cunning artificer. In the middle of this lake sat the Snow
Queen when she was at home; and then she said she was sitting in the
Mirror of Understanding, and that this was the only one and the best
thing in the world.

Little Kay was quite blue, yes nearly black with cold; but he did not
observe it, for she had kissed away all feeling of cold from his body,
and his heart was a lump of ice. He was dragging along some pointed
flat pieces of ice, which he laid together in all possible ways, for he
wanted to make something with them; just as we have little flat pieces
of wood to make geometrical figures with, called the Chinese Puzzle.
Kay made all sorts of figures, the most complicated, for it was
an ice-puzzle for the understanding. In his eyes the figures were
extraordinarily beautiful, and of the utmost importance; for the bit
of glass which was in his eye caused this. He found whole figures which
represented a written word; but he never could manage to represent just
the word he wanted--that word was "eternity"; and the Snow Queen had
said, "If you can discover that figure, you shall be your own master,
and I will make you a present of the whole world and a pair of new
skates." But he could not find it out.

"I am going now to warm lands," said the Snow Queen. "I must have a look
down into the black caldrons." It was the volcanoes Vesuvius and Etna
that she meant. "I will just give them a coating of white, for that is
as it ought to be; besides, it is good for the oranges and the grapes."
 And then away she flew, and Kay sat quite alone in the empty halls of
ice that were miles long, and looked at the blocks of ice, and thought
and thought till his skull was almost cracked. There he sat quite
benumbed and motionless; one would have imagined he was frozen to death.

Suddenly little Gerda stepped through the great portal into the palace.
The gate was formed of cutting winds; but Gerda repeated her evening
prayer, and the winds were laid as though they slept; and the little
maiden entered the vast, empty, cold halls. There she beheld Kay: she
recognised him, flew to embrace him, and cried out, her arms firmly
holding him the while, "Kay, sweet little Kay! Have I then found you at
last?"

But he sat quite still, benumbed and cold. Then little Gerda shed
burning tears; and they fell on his bosom, they penetrated to his
heart, they thawed the lumps of ice, and consumed the splinters of the
looking-glass; he looked at her, and she sang the hymn:

"The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet, And angels descend there
the children to greet."

Hereupon Kay burst into tears; he wept so much that the splinter rolled
out of his eye, and he recognised her, and shouted, "Gerda, sweet little
Gerda! Where have you been so long? And where have I been?" He looked
round him. "How cold it is here!" said he. "How empty and cold!" And he
held fast by Gerda, who laughed and wept for joy. It was so beautiful,
that even the blocks of ice danced about for joy; and when they were
tired and laid themselves down, they formed exactly the letters which
the Snow Queen had told him to find out; so now he was his own master,
and he would have the whole world and a pair of new skates into the
bargain.

Gerda kissed his cheeks, and they grew quite blooming; she kissed his
eyes, and they shone like her own; she kissed his hands and feet, and he
was again well and merry. The Snow Queen might come back as soon as she
liked; there stood his discharge written in resplendent masses of ice.

They took each other by the hand, and wandered forth out of the large
hall; they talked of their old grandmother, and of the roses upon the
roof; and wherever they went, the winds ceased raging, and the sun burst
forth. And when they reached the bush with the red berries, they found
the Reindeer waiting for them. He had brought another, a young one, with
him, whose udder was filled with milk, which he gave to the little ones,
and kissed their lips. They then carried Kay and Gerda--first to the
Finland woman, where they warmed themselves in the warm room, and
learned what they were to do on their journey home; and they went to
the Lapland woman, who made some new clothes for them and repaired their
sledges.

The Reindeer and the young hind leaped along beside them, and
accompanied them to the boundary of the country. Here the first
vegetation peeped forth; here Kay and Gerda took leave of the Lapland
woman. "Farewell! Farewell!" they all said. And the first green buds
appeared, the first little birds began to chirrup; and out of the wood
came, riding on a magnificent horse, which Gerda knew (it was one of the
leaders in the golden carriage), a young damsel with a bright-red cap on
her head, and armed with pistols. It was the little robber maiden, who,
tired of being at home, had determined to make a journey to the north;
and afterwards in another direction, if that did not please her. She
recognised Gerda immediately, and Gerda knew her too. It was a joyful
meeting.

"You are a fine fellow for tramping about," said she to little Kay; "I
should like to know, faith, if you deserve that one should run from one
end of the world to the other for your sake?"

But Gerda patted her cheeks, and inquired for the Prince and Princess.

"They are gone abroad," said the other.

"But the Raven?" asked little Gerda.

"Oh! The Raven is dead," she answered. "His tame sweetheart is a
widow, and wears a bit of black worsted round her leg; she laments most
piteously, but it's all mere talk and stuff! Now tell me what you've
been doing and how you managed to catch him."

And Gerda and Kay both told their story.

And "Schnipp-schnapp-schnurre-basselurre," said the robber maiden; and
she took the hands of each, and promised that if she should some day
pass through the town where they lived, she would come and visit them;
and then away she rode. Kay and Gerda took each other's hand: it was
lovely spring weather, with abundance of flowers and of verdure. The
church-bells rang, and the children recognised the high towers, and the
large town; it was that in which they dwelt. They entered and hastened
up to their grandmother's room, where everything was standing as
formerly. The clock said "tick! tack!" and the finger moved round; but
as they entered, they remarked that they were now grown up. The roses
on the leads hung blooming in at the open window; there stood the little
children's chairs, and Kay and Gerda sat down on them, holding each
other by the hand; they both had forgotten the cold empty splendor of
the Snow Queen, as though it had been a dream. The grandmother sat in
the bright sunshine, and read aloud from the Bible: "Unless ye become as
little children, ye cannot enter the kingdom of heaven."

And Kay and Gerda looked in each other's eyes, and all at once they
understood the old hymn:

"The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet, And angels descend there
the children to greet."

There sat the two grown-up persons; grown-up, and yet children; children
at least in heart; and it was summer-time; summer, glorious summer!




THE LEAP-FROG

A Flea, a Grasshopper, and a Leap-frog once wanted to see which could
jump highest; and they invited the whole world, and everybody else
besides who chose to come to see the festival. Three famous jumpers were
they, as everyone would say, when they all met together in the room.

"I will give my daughter to him who jumps highest," exclaimed the King;
"for it is not so amusing where there is no prize to jump for."

The Flea was the first to step forward. He had exquisite manners, and
bowed to the company on all sides; for he had noble blood, and was,
moreover, accustomed to the society of man alone; and that makes a great
difference.

Then came the Grasshopper. He was considerably heavier, but he was
well-mannered, and wore a green uniform, which he had by right of birth;
he said, moreover, that he belonged to a very ancient Egyptian family,
and that in the house where he then was, he was thought much of. The
fact was, he had been just brought out of the fields, and put in a
pasteboard house, three stories high, all made of court-cards, with the
colored side inwards; and doors and windows cut out of the body of
the Queen of Hearts. "I sing so well," said he, "that sixteen native
grasshoppers who have chirped from infancy, and yet got no house built
of cards to live in, grew thinner than they were before for sheer
vexation when they heard me."

It was thus that the Flea and the Grasshopper gave an account of
themselves, and thought they were quite good enough to marry a Princess.

The Leap-frog said nothing; but people gave it as their opinion, that
he therefore thought the more; and when the housedog snuffed at him
with his nose, he confessed the Leap-frog was of good family. The old
councillor, who had had three orders given him to make him hold his
tongue, asserted that the Leap-frog was a prophet; for that one could
see on his back, if there would be a severe or mild winter, and that
was what one could not see even on the back of the man who writes the
almanac.

"I say nothing, it is true," exclaimed the King; "but I have my own
opinion, notwithstanding."

Now the trial was to take place. The Flea jumped so high that nobody
could see where he went to; so they all asserted he had not jumped at
all; and that was dishonorable.

The Grasshopper jumped only half as high; but he leaped into the King's
face, who said that was ill-mannered.

The Leap-frog stood still for a long time lost in thought; it was
believed at last he would not jump at all.

"I only hope he is not unwell," said the house-dog; when, pop! he made a
jump all on one side into the lap of the Princess, who was sitting on a
little golden stool close by.

Hereupon the King said, "There is nothing above my daughter; therefore
to bound up to her is the highest jump that can be made; but for this,
one must possess understanding, and the Leap-frog has shown that he has
understanding. He is brave and intellectual."

And so he won the Princess.

"It's all the same to me," said the Flea. "She may have the old
Leap-frog, for all I care. I jumped the highest; but in this world
merit seldom meets its reward. A fine exterior is what people look at
now-a-days."

The Flea then went into foreign service, where, it is said, he was
killed.

The Grasshopper sat without on a green bank, and reflected on worldly
things; and he said too, "Yes, a fine exterior is everything--a fine
exterior is what people care about." And then he began chirping his
peculiar melancholy song, from which we have taken this history; and
which may, very possibly, be all untrue, although it does stand here
printed in black and white.




THE ELDERBUSH

Once upon a time there was a little boy who had taken cold. He had
gone out and got his feet wet; though nobody could imagine how it had
happened, for it was quite dry weather. So his mother undressed him, put
him to bed, and had the tea-pot brought in, to make him a good cup of
Elderflower tea. Just at that moment the merry old man came in who
lived up a-top of the house all alone; for he had neither wife nor
children--but he liked children very much, and knew so many fairy tales,
that it was quite delightful.

"Now drink your tea," said the boy's mother; "then, perhaps, you may
hear a fairy tale."

"If I had but something new to tell," said the old man. "But how did the
child get his feet wet?"

"That is the very thing that nobody can make out," said his mother.

"Am I to hear a fairy tale?" asked the little boy.

"Yes, if you can tell me exactly--for I must know that first--how deep
the gutter is in the little street opposite, that you pass through in
going to school."

"Just up to the middle of my boot," said the child; "but then I must go
into the deep hole."

"Ah, ah! That's where the wet feet came from," said the old man. "I
ought now to tell you a story; but I don't know any more."

"You can make one in a moment," said the little boy. "My mother says
that all you look at can be turned into a fairy tale: and that you can
find a story in everything."

"Yes, but such tales and stories are good for nothing. The right sort
come of themselves; they tap at my forehead and say, 'Here we are.'"

"Won't there be a tap soon?" asked the little boy. And his mother
laughed, put some Elder-flowers in the tea-pot, and poured boiling water
upon them.

"Do tell me something! Pray do!"

"Yes, if a fairy tale would come of its own accord; but they are proud
and haughty, and come only when they choose. Stop!" said he, all on a
sudden. "I have it! Pay attention! There is one in the tea-pot!"

And the little boy looked at the tea-pot. The cover rose more and more;
and the Elder-flowers came forth so fresh and white, and shot up long
branches. Out of the spout even did they spread themselves on all sides,
and grew larger and larger; it was a splendid Elderbush, a whole tree;
and it reached into the very bed, and pushed the curtains aside. How
it bloomed! And what an odour! In the middle of the bush sat a
friendly-looking old woman in a most strange dress. It was quite
green, like the leaves of the elder, and was trimmed with large white
Elder-flowers; so that at first one could not tell whether it was a
stuff, or a natural green and real flowers.

"What's that woman's name?" asked the little boy.

"The Greeks and Romans," said the old man, "called her a Dryad; but that
we do not understand. The people who live in the New Booths  have a much
better name for her; they call her 'old Granny'--and she it is to
whom you are to pay attention. Now listen, and look at the beautiful
Elderbush.

      A row of buildings for seamen in Copenhagen.

"Just such another large blooming Elder Tree stands near the New Booths.
It grew there in the corner of a little miserable court-yard; and under
it sat, of an afternoon, in the most splendid sunshine, two old
people; an old, old seaman, and his old, old wife. They had
great-grand-children, and were soon to celebrate the fiftieth
anniversary of their marriage; but they could not exactly recollect the
date: and old Granny sat in the tree, and looked as pleased as now. 'I
know the date,' said she; but those below did not hear her, for they
were talking about old times.

"'Yes, can't you remember when we were very little,' said the old
seaman, 'and ran and played about? It was the very same court-yard where
we now are, and we stuck slips in the ground, and made a garden.'

"'I remember it well,' said the old woman; 'I remember it quite well. We
watered the slips, and one of them was an Elderbush. It took root, put
forth green shoots, and grew up to be the large tree under which we old
folks are now sitting.'

"'To be sure,' said he. 'And there in the corner stood a waterpail,
where I used to swim my boats.'

"'True; but first we went to school to learn somewhat,' said she; 'and
then we were confirmed. We both cried; but in the afternoon we went up
the Round Tower, and looked down on Copenhagen, and far, far away over
the water; then we went to Friedericksberg, where the King and the Queen
were sailing about in their splendid barges.'

"'But I had a different sort of sailing to that, later; and that, too,
for many a year; a long way off, on great voyages.'

"'Yes, many a time have I wept for your sake,' said she. 'I thought you
were dead and gone, and lying down in the deep waters. Many a night have
I got up to see if the wind had not changed: and changed it had, sure
enough; but you never came. I remember so well one day, when the rain
was pouring down in torrents, the scavengers were before the house where
I was in service, and I had come up with the dust, and remained standing
at the door--it was dreadful weather--when just as I was there, the
postman came and gave me a letter. It was from you! What a tour that
letter had made! I opened it instantly and read: I laughed and wept.
I was so happy. In it I read that you were in warm lands where the
coffee-tree grows. What a blessed land that must be! You related so
much, and I saw it all the while the rain was pouring down, and I
standing there with the dust-box. At the same moment came someone who
embraced me.'

"'Yes; but you gave him a good box on his ear that made it tingle!'

"'But I did not know it was you. You arrived as soon as your letter,
and you were so handsome--that you still are--and had a long yellow silk
handkerchief round your neck, and a bran new hat on; oh, you were so
dashing! Good heavens! What weather it was, and what a state the street
was in!'

"'And then we married,' said he. 'Don't you remember? And then we
had our first little boy, and then Mary, and Nicholas, and Peter, and
Christian.'

"'Yes, and how they all grew up to be honest people, and were beloved by
everybody.'

"'And their children also have children,' said the old sailor; 'yes,
those are our grand-children, full of strength and vigor. It was,
methinks about this season that we had our wedding.'

"'Yes, this very day is the fiftieth anniversary of the marriage,' said
old Granny, sticking her head between the two old people; who thought
it was their neighbor who nodded to them. They looked at each other and
held one another by the hand. Soon after came their children, and their
grand-children; for they knew well enough that it was the day of the
fiftieth anniversary, and had come with their gratulations that very
morning; but the old people had forgotten it, although they were able
to remember all that had happened many years ago. And the Elderbush sent
forth a strong odour in the sun, that was just about to set, and shone
right in the old people's faces. They both looked so rosy-cheeked; and
the youngest of the grandchildren danced around them, and called out
quite delighted, that there was to be something very splendid that
evening--they were all to have hot potatoes. And old Nanny nodded in the
bush, and shouted 'hurrah!' with the rest."

"But that is no fairy tale," said the little boy, who was listening to
the story.

"The thing is, you must understand it," said the narrator; "let us ask
old Nanny."

"That was no fairy tale, 'tis true," said old Nanny; "but now it's
coming. The most wonderful fairy tales grow out of that which is
reality; were that not the case, you know, my magnificent Elderbush
could not have grown out of the tea-pot." And then she took the little
boy out of bed, laid him on her bosom, and the branches of the Elder
Tree, full of flowers, closed around her. They sat in an aerial
dwelling, and it flew with them through the air. Oh, it was wondrous
beautiful! Old Nanny had grown all of a sudden a young and pretty
maiden; but her robe was still the same green stuff with white flowers,
which she had worn before. On her bosom she had a real Elderflower,
and in her yellow waving hair a wreath of the flowers; her eyes were so
large and blue that it was a pleasure to look at them; she kissed the
boy, and now they were of the same age and felt alike.

Hand in hand they went out of the bower, and they were standing in the
beautiful garden of their home. Near the green lawn papa's walking-stick
was tied, and for the little ones it seemed to be endowed with life; for
as soon as they got astride it, the round polished knob was turned into
a magnificent neighing head, a long black mane fluttered in the breeze,
and four slender yet strong legs shot out. The animal was strong and
handsome, and away they went at full gallop round the lawn.

"Huzza! Now we are riding miles off," said the boy. "We are riding away
to the castle where we were last year!"

And on they rode round the grass-plot; and the little maiden, who, we
know, was no one else but old Nanny, kept on crying out, "Now we are in
the country! Don't you see the farm-house yonder? And there is an Elder
Tree standing beside it; and the cock is scraping away the earth for the
hens, look, how he struts! And now we are close to the church. It lies
high upon the hill, between the large oak-trees, one of which is half
decayed. And now we are by the smithy, where the fire is blazing, and
where the half-naked men are banging with their hammers till the sparks
fly about. Away! away! To the beautiful country-seat!"

And all that the little maiden, who sat behind on the stick, spoke of,
flew by in reality. The boy saw it all, and yet they were only going
round the grass-plot. Then they played in a side avenue, and marked out
a little garden on the earth; and they took Elder-blossoms from their
hair, planted them, and they grew just like those the old people planted
when they were children, as related before. They went hand in hand, as
the old people had done when they were children; but not to the Round
Tower, or to Friedericksberg; no, the little damsel wound her arms round
the boy, and then they flew far away through all Denmark. And spring
came, and summer; and then it was autumn, and then winter; and a
thousand pictures were reflected in the eye and in the heart of the boy;
and the little girl always sang to him, "This you will never forget."
 And during their whole flight the Elder Tree smelt so sweet and odorous;
he remarked the roses and the fresh beeches, but the Elder Tree had
a more wondrous fragrance, for its flowers hung on the breast of the
little maiden; and there, too, did he often lay his head during the
flight.

"It is lovely here in spring!" said the young maiden. And they stood in
a beech-wood that had just put on its first green, where the woodroof
at their feet sent forth its fragrance, and the pale-red anemony looked
so pretty among the verdure. "Oh, would it were always spring in the
sweetly-smelling Danish beech-forests!"

      Asperula odorata.

"It is lovely here in summer!" said she. And she flew past old castles
of by-gone days of chivalry, where the red walls and the embattled
gables were mirrored in the canal, where the swans were swimming, and
peered up into the old cool avenues. In the fields the corn was waving
like the sea; in the ditches red and yellow flowers were growing; while
wild-drone flowers, and blooming convolvuluses were creeping in the
hedges; and towards evening the moon rose round and large, and the
haycocks in the meadows smelt so sweetly. "This one never forgets!"

"It is lovely here in autumn!" said the little maiden. And suddenly the
atmosphere grew as blue again as before; the forest grew red, and green,
and yellow-colored. The dogs came leaping along, and whole flocks of
wild-fowl flew over the cairn, where blackberry-bushes were hanging
round the old stones. The sea was dark blue, covered with ships full
of white sails; and in the barn old women, maidens, and children were
sitting picking hops into a large cask; the young sang songs, but the
old told fairy tales of mountain-sprites and soothsayers. Nothing could
be more charming.

"It is delightful here in winter!" said the little maiden. And all the
trees were covered with hoar-frost; they looked like white corals; the
snow crackled under foot, as if one had new boots on; and one falling
star after the other was seen in the sky. The Christmas-tree was lighted
in the room; presents were there, and good-humor reigned. In the country
the violin sounded in the room of the peasant; the newly-baked cakes
were attacked; even the poorest child said, "It is really delightful
here in winter!"

Yes, it was delightful; and the little maiden showed the boy everything;
and the Elder Tree still was fragrant, and the red flag, with the white
cross, was still waving: the flag under which the old seaman in the New
Booths had sailed. And the boy grew up to be a lad, and was to go forth
in the wide world-far, far away to warm lands, where the coffee-tree
grows; but at his departure the little maiden took an Elder-blossom from
her bosom, and gave it him to keep; and it was placed between the leaves
of his Prayer-Book; and when in foreign lands he opened the book, it
was always at the place where the keepsake-flower lay; and the more he
looked at it, the fresher it became; he felt as it were, the fragrance
of the Danish groves; and from among the leaves of the flowers he could
distinctly see the little maiden, peeping forth with her bright blue
eyes--and then she whispered, "It is delightful here in Spring, Summer,
Autumn, and Winter"; and a hundred visions glided before his mind.

Thus passed many years, and he was now an old man, and sat with his old
wife under the blooming tree. They held each other by the hand, as the
old grand-father and grand-mother yonder in the New Booths did, and they
talked exactly like them of old times, and of the fiftieth anniversary
of their wedding. The little maiden, with the blue eyes, and with
Elder-blossoms in her hair, sat in the tree, nodded to both of them,
and said, "To-day is the fiftieth anniversary!" And then she took two
flowers out of her hair, and kissed them. First, they shone like silver,
then like gold; and when they laid them on the heads of the old people,
each flower became a golden crown. So there they both sat, like a king
and a queen, under the fragrant tree, that looked exactly like an elder:
the old man told his wife the story of "Old Nanny," as it had been told
him when a boy. And it seemed to both of them it contained much that
resembled their own history; and those parts that were like it pleased
them best.

"Thus it is," said the little maiden in the tree, "some call me 'Old
Nanny,' others a 'Dryad,' but, in reality, my name is 'Remembrance';
'tis I who sit in the tree that grows and grows! I can remember; I can
tell things! Let me see if you have my flower still?"

And the old man opened his Prayer-Book. There lay the Elder-blossom,
as fresh as if it had been placed there but a short time before; and
Remembrance nodded, and the old people, decked with crowns of gold, sat
in the flush of the evening sun. They closed their eyes, and--and--!
Yes, that's the end of the story!

The little boy lay in his bed; he did not know if he had dreamed or
not, or if he had been listening while someone told him the story. The
tea-pot was standing on the table, but no Elder Tree was growing out
of it! And the old man, who had been talking, was just on the point of
going out at the door, and he did go.

"How splendid that was!" said the little boy. "Mother, I have been to
warm countries."

"So I should think," said his mother. "When one has drunk two good
cupfuls of Elder-flower tea, 'tis likely enough one goes into warm
climates"; and she tucked him up nicely, least he should take cold. "You
have had a good sleep while I have been sitting here, and arguing with
him whether it was a story or a fairy tale."

"And where is old Nanny?" asked the little boy.

"In the tea-pot," said his mother; "and there she may remain."




THE BELL

People said "The Evening Bell is sounding, the sun is setting." For a
strange wondrous tone was heard in the narrow streets of a large town.
It was like the sound of a church-bell: but it was only heard for a
moment, for the rolling of the carriages and the voices of the multitude
made too great a noise.

Those persons who were walking outside the town, where the houses were
farther apart, with gardens or little fields between them, could see
the evening sky still better, and heard the sound of the bell much
more distinctly. It was as if the tones came from a church in the still
forest; people looked thitherward, and felt their minds attuned most
solemnly.

A long time passed, and people said to each other--"I wonder if there
is a church out in the wood? The bell has a tone that is wondrous sweet;
let us stroll thither, and examine the matter nearer." And the rich
people drove out, and the poor walked, but the way seemed strangely
long to them; and when they came to a clump of willows which grew on the
skirts of the forest, they sat down, and looked up at the long
branches, and fancied they were now in the depth of the green wood. The
confectioner of the town came out, and set up his booth there; and soon
after came another confectioner, who hung a bell over his stand, as
a sign or ornament, but it had no clapper, and it was tarred over to
preserve it from the rain. When all the people returned home, they said
it had been very romantic, and that it was quite a different sort of
thing to a pic-nic or tea-party. There were three persons who asserted
they had penetrated to the end of the forest, and that they had always
heard the wonderful sounds of the bell, but it had seemed to them as if
it had come from the town. One wrote a whole poem about it, and said the
bell sounded like the voice of a mother to a good dear child, and
that no melody was sweeter than the tones of the bell. The king of the
country was also observant of it, and vowed that he who could discover
whence the sounds proceeded, should have the title of "Universal
Bell-ringer," even if it were not really a bell.

Many persons now went to the wood, for the sake of getting the place,
but one only returned with a sort of explanation; for nobody went far
enough, that one not further than the others. However, he said that
the sound proceeded from a very large owl, in a hollow tree; a sort of
learned owl, that continually knocked its head against the branches. But
whether the sound came from his head or from the hollow tree, that no
one could say with certainty. So now he got the place of "Universal
Bell-ringer," and wrote yearly a short treatise "On the Owl"; but
everybody was just as wise as before.

It was the day of confirmation. The clergyman had spoken so touchingly,
the children who were confirmed had been greatly moved; it was
an eventful day for them; from children they become all at once
grown-up-persons; it was as if their infant souls were now to fly all
at once into persons with more understanding. The sun was shining
gloriously; the children that had been confirmed went out of the town;
and from the wood was borne towards them the sounds of the unknown bell
with wonderful distinctness. They all immediately felt a wish to go
thither; all except three. One of them had to go home to try on a
ball-dress; for it was just the dress and the ball which had caused her
to be confirmed this time, for otherwise she would not have come;
the other was a poor boy, who had borrowed his coat and boots to be
confirmed in from the innkeeper's son, and he was to give them back by
a certain hour; the third said that he never went to a strange place
if his parents were not with him--that he had always been a good boy
hitherto, and would still be so now that he was confirmed, and that one
ought not to laugh at him for it: the others, however, did make fun of
him, after all.

There were three, therefore, that did not go; the others hastened on.
The sun shone, the birds sang, and the children sang too, and each held
the other by the hand; for as yet they had none of them any high office,
and were all of equal rank in the eye of God.

But two of the youngest soon grew tired, and both returned to town; two
little girls sat down, and twined garlands, so they did not go either;
and when the others reached the willow-tree, where the confectioner was,
they said, "Now we are there! In reality the bell does not exist; it is
only a fancy that people have taken into their heads!"

At the same moment the bell sounded deep in the wood, so clear and
solemnly that five or six determined to penetrate somewhat further. It
was so thick, and the foliage so dense, that it was quite fatiguing
to proceed. Woodroof and anemonies grew almost too high; blooming
convolvuluses and blackberry-bushes hung in long garlands from tree to
tree, where the nightingale sang and the sunbeams were playing: it was
very beautiful, but it was no place for girls to go; their clothes would
get so torn. Large blocks of stone lay there, overgrown with moss of
every color; the fresh spring bubbled forth, and made a strange gurgling
sound.

"That surely cannot be the bell," said one of the children, lying down
and listening. "This must be looked to." So he remained, and let the
others go on without him.

They afterwards came to a little house, made of branches and the bark of
trees; a large wild apple-tree bent over it, as if it would shower down
all its blessings on the roof, where roses were blooming. The long stems
twined round the gable, on which there hung a small bell.

Was it that which people had heard? Yes, everybody was unanimous on the
subject, except one, who said that the bell was too small and too fine
to be heard at so great a distance, and besides it was very different
tones to those that could move a human heart in such a manner. It was a
king's son who spoke; whereon the others said, "Such people always want
to be wiser than everybody else."

They now let him go on alone; and as he went, his breast was filled more
and more with the forest solitude; but he still heard the little bell
with which the others were so satisfied, and now and then, when the
wind blew, he could also hear the people singing who were sitting at tea
where the confectioner had his tent; but the deep sound of the bell rose
louder; it was almost as if an organ were accompanying it, and the tones
came from the left hand, the side where the heart is placed. A rustling
was heard in the bushes, and a little boy stood before the King's Son, a
boy in wooden shoes, and with so short a jacket that one could see what
long wrists he had. Both knew each other: the boy was that one among
the children who could not come because he had to go home and return his
jacket and boots to the innkeeper's son. This he had done, and was now
going on in wooden shoes and in his humble dress, for the bell sounded
with so deep a tone, and with such strange power, that proceed he must.

"Why, then, we can go together," said the King's Son. But the poor
child that had been confirmed was quite ashamed; he looked at his wooden
shoes, pulled at the short sleeves of his jacket, and said that he was
afraid he could not walk so fast; besides, he thought that the bell must
be looked for to the right; for that was the place where all sorts of
beautiful things were to be found.

"But there we shall not meet," said the King's Son, nodding at the same
time to the poor boy, who went into the darkest, thickest part of the
wood, where thorns tore his humble dress, and scratched his face and
hands and feet till they bled. The King's Son got some scratches too;
but the sun shone on his path, and it is him that we will follow, for he
was an excellent and resolute youth.

"I must and will find the bell," said he, "even if I am obliged to go to
the end of the world."

The ugly apes sat upon the trees, and grinned. "Shall we thrash him?"
 said they. "Shall we thrash him? He is the son of a king!"

But on he went, without being disheartened, deeper and deeper into the
wood, where the most wonderful flowers were growing. There stood white
lilies with blood-red stamina, skyblue tulips, which shone as they waved
in the winds, and apple-trees, the apples of which looked exactly like
large soapbubbles: so only think how the trees must have sparkled in the
sunshine! Around the nicest green meads, where the deer were playing in
the grass, grew magnificent oaks and beeches; and if the bark of one of
the trees was cracked, there grass and long creeping plants grew in
the crevices. And there were large calm lakes there too, in which white
swans were swimming, and beat the air with their wings. The King's Son
often stood still and listened. He thought the bell sounded from the
depths of these still lakes; but then he remarked again that the tone
proceeded not from there, but farther off, from out the depths of the
forest.

The sun now set: the atmosphere glowed like fire. It was still in the
woods, so very still; and he fell on his knees, sung his evening hymn,
and said: "I cannot find what I seek; the sun is going down, and night
is coming--the dark, dark night. Yet perhaps I may be able once more
to see the round red sun before he entirely disappears. I will climb up
yonder rock."

And he seized hold of the creeping-plants, and the roots of
trees--climbed up the moist stones where the water-snakes were writhing
and the toads were croaking--and he gained the summit before the sun
had quite gone down. How magnificent was the sight from this height! The
sea--the great, the glorious sea, that dashed its long waves against the
coast--was stretched out before him. And yonder, where sea and sky meet,
stood the sun, like a large shining altar, all melted together in the
most glowing colors. And the wood and the sea sang a song of rejoicing,
and his heart sang with the rest: all nature was a vast holy church,
in which the trees and the buoyant clouds were the pillars, flowers and
grass the velvet carpeting, and heaven itself the large cupola. The red
colors above faded away as the sun vanished, but a million stars were
lighted, a million lamps shone; and the King's Son spread out his arms
towards heaven, and wood, and sea; when at the same moment, coming by
a path to the right, appeared, in his wooden shoes and jacket, the poor
boy who had been confirmed with him. He had followed his own path, and
had reached the spot just as soon as the son of the king had done. They
ran towards each other, and stood together hand in hand in the vast
church of nature and of poetry, while over them sounded the invisible
holy bell: blessed spirits floated around them, and lifted up their
voices in a rejoicing hallelujah!




THE OLD HOUSE

In the street, up there, was an old, a very old house--it was almost
three hundred years old, for that might be known by reading the great
beam on which the date of the year was carved: together with tulips and
hop-binds there were whole verses spelled as in former times, and over
every window was a distorted face cut out in the beam. The one story
stood forward a great way over the other; and directly under the eaves
was a leaden spout with a dragon's head; the rain-water should have run
out of the mouth, but it ran out of the belly, for there was a hole in
the spout.

All the other houses in the street were so new and so neat, with large
window panes and smooth walls, one could easily see that they would have
nothing to do with the old house: they certainly thought, "How long is
that old decayed thing to stand here as a spectacle in the street? And
then the projecting windows stand so far out, that no one can see from
our windows what happens in that direction! The steps are as broad as
those of a palace, and as high as to a church tower. The iron railings
look just like the door to an old family vault, and then they have brass
tops--that's so stupid!"

On the other side of the street were also new and neat houses, and they
thought just as the others did; but at the window opposite the old house
there sat a little boy with fresh rosy cheeks and bright beaming eyes:
he certainly liked the old house best, and that both in sunshine and
moonshine. And when he looked across at the wall where the mortar
had fallen out, he could sit and find out there the strangest figures
imaginable; exactly as the street had appeared before, with steps,
projecting windows, and pointed gables; he could see soldiers with
halberds, and spouts where the water ran, like dragons and serpents.
That was a house to look at; and there lived an old man, who wore plush
breeches; and he had a coat with large brass buttons, and a wig that one
could see was a real wig. Every morning there came an old fellow to him
who put his rooms in order, and went on errands; otherwise, the old man
in the plush breeches was quite alone in the old house. Now and then he
came to the window and looked out, and the little boy nodded to him,
and the old man nodded again, and so they became acquaintances, and then
they were friends, although they had never spoken to each other--but
that made no difference. The little boy heard his parents say, "The old
man opposite is very well off, but he is so very, very lonely!"

The Sunday following, the little boy took something, and wrapped it up
in a piece of paper, went downstairs, and stood in the doorway; and when
the man who went on errands came past, he said to him--

"I say, master! will you give this to the old man over the way from me?
I have two pewter soldiers--this is one of them, and he shall have it,
for I know he is so very, very lonely."

And the old errand man looked quite pleased, nodded, and took the pewter
soldier over to the old house. Afterwards there came a message; it was
to ask if the little boy himself had not a wish to come over and pay a
visit; and so he got permission of his parents, and then went over to
the old house.

And the brass balls on the iron railings shone much brighter than ever;
one would have thought they were polished on account of the visit; and
it was as if the carved-out trumpeters--for there were trumpeters, who
stood in tulips, carved out on the door--blew with all their
might, their cheeks appeared so much rounder than before. Yes, they
blew--"Trateratra! The little boy comes! Trateratra!"--and then the door
opened.

The whole passage was hung with portraits of knights in armor, and
ladies in silken gowns; and the armor rattled, and the silken gowns
rustled! And then there was a flight of stairs which went a good way
upwards, and a little way downwards, and then one came on a balcony
which was in a very dilapidated state, sure enough, with large holes and
long crevices, but grass grew there and leaves out of them altogether,
for the whole balcony outside, the yard, and the walls, were overgrown
with so much green stuff, that it looked like a garden; only a balcony.
Here stood old flower-pots with faces and asses' ears, and the flowers
grew just as they liked. One of the pots was quite overrun on all sides
with pinks, that is to say, with the green part; shoot stood by shoot,
and it said quite distinctly, "The air has cherished me, the sun has
kissed me, and promised me a little flower on Sunday! a little flower on
Sunday!"

And then they entered a chamber where the walls were covered with hog's
leather, and printed with gold flowers.

   "The gilding decays,
   But hog's leather stays!"

said the walls.

And there stood easy-chairs, with such high backs, and so carved out,
and with arms on both sides. "Sit down! sit down!" said they. "Ugh! how
I creak; now I shall certainly get the gout, like the old clothespress,
ugh!"

And then the little boy came into the room where the projecting windows
were, and where the old man sat.

"I thank you for the pewter soldier, my little friend!" said the old
man. "And I thank you because you come over to me."

"Thankee! thankee!" or "cranky! cranky!" sounded from all the furniture;
there was so much of it, that each article stood in the other's way, to
get a look at the little boy.

In the middle of the wall hung a picture representing a beautiful lady,
so young, so glad, but dressed quite as in former times, with clothes
that stood quite stiff, and with powder in her hair; she neither said
"thankee, thankee!" nor "cranky, cranky!" but looked with her mild eyes
at the little boy, who directly asked the old man, "Where did you get
her?"

"Yonder, at the broker's," said the old man, "where there are so many
pictures hanging. No one knows or cares about them, for they are all of
them buried; but I knew her in by-gone days, and now she has been dead
and gone these fifty years!"

Under the picture, in a glazed frame, there hung a bouquet of withered
flowers; they were almost fifty years old; they looked so very old!

The pendulum of the great clock went to and fro, and the hands turned,
and everything in the room became still older; but they did not observe
it.

"They say at home," said the little boy, "that you are so very, very
lonely!"

"Oh!" said he. "The old thoughts, with what they may bring with them,
come and visit me, and now you also come! I am very well off!"

Then he took a book with pictures in it down from the shelf; there were
whole long processions and pageants, with the strangest characters,
which one never sees now-a-days; soldiers like the knave of clubs,
and citizens with waving flags: the tailors had theirs, with a pair of
shears held by two lions--and the shoemakers theirs, without boots,
but with an eagle that had two heads, for the shoemakers must have
everything so that they can say, it is a pair! Yes, that was a picture
book!

The old man now went into the other room to fetch preserves, apples, and
nuts--yes, it was delightful over there in the old house.

"I cannot bear it any longer!" said the pewter soldier, who sat on the
drawers. "It is so lonely and melancholy here! But when one has been in
a family circle one cannot accustom oneself to this life! I cannot bear
it any longer! The whole day is so long, and the evenings are still
longer! Here it is not at all as it is over the way at your home, where
your father and mother spoke so pleasantly, and where you and all your
sweet children made such a delightful noise. Nay, how lonely the old man
is--do you think that he gets kisses? Do you think he gets mild eyes,
or a Christmas tree? He will get nothing but a grave! I can bear it no
longer!"

"You must not let it grieve you so much," said the little boy. "I find
it so very delightful here, and then all the old thoughts, with what
they may bring with them, they come and visit here."

"Yes, it's all very well, but I see nothing of them, and I don't know
them!" said the pewter soldier. "I cannot bear it!"

"But you must!" said the little boy.

Then in came the old man with the most pleased and happy face, the most
delicious preserves, apples, and nuts, and so the little boy thought no
more about the pewter soldier.

The little boy returned home happy and pleased, and weeks and days
passed away, and nods were made to the old house, and from the old
house, and then the little boy went over there again.

The carved trumpeters blew, "Trateratra! There is the little boy!
Trateratra!" and the swords and armor on the knights' portraits rattled,
and the silk gowns rustled; the hog's leather spoke, and the old chairs
had the gout in their legs and rheumatism in their backs: Ugh! it was
exactly like the first time, for over there one day and hour was just
like another.

"I cannot bear it!" said the pewter soldier. "I have shed pewter tears!
It is too melancholy! Rather let me go to the wars and lose arms and
legs! It would at least be a change. I cannot bear it longer! Now, I
know what it is to have a visit from one's old thoughts, with what they
may bring with them! I have had a visit from mine, and you may be sure
it is no pleasant thing in the end; I was at last about to jump down
from the drawers.

"I saw you all over there at home so distinctly, as if you really were
here; it was again that Sunday morning; all you children stood before
the table and sung your Psalms, as you do every morning. You stood
devoutly with folded hands; and father and mother were just as pious;
and then the door was opened, and little sister Mary, who is not two
years old yet, and who always dances when she hears music or singing, of
whatever kind it may be, was put into the room--though she ought not to
have been there--and then she began to dance, but could not keep time,
because the tones were so long; and then she stood, first on the one
leg, and bent her head forwards, and then on the other leg, and bent
her head forwards--but all would not do. You stood very seriously all
together, although it was difficult enough; but I laughed to myself, and
then I fell off the table, and got a bump, which I have still--for it
was not right of me to laugh. But the whole now passes before me again
in thought, and everything that I have lived to see; and these are the
old thoughts, with what they may bring with them.

"Tell me if you still sing on Sundays? Tell me something about little
Mary! And how my comrade, the other pewter soldier, lives! Yes, he is
happy enough, that's sure! I cannot bear it any longer!"

"You are given away as a present!" said the little boy. "You must
remain. Can you not understand that?"

The old man now came with a drawer, in which there was much to be seen,
both "tin boxes" and "balsam boxes," old cards, so large and so gilded,
such as one never sees them now. And several drawers were opened, and
the piano was opened; it had landscapes on the inside of the lid, and it
was so hoarse when the old man played on it! and then he hummed a song.

"Yes, she could sing that!" said he, and nodded to the portrait, which
he had bought at the broker's, and the old man's eyes shone so bright!

"I will go to the wars! I will go to the wars!" shouted the pewter
soldier as loud as he could, and threw himself off the drawers right
down on the floor. What became of him? The old man sought, and the
little boy sought; he was away, and he stayed away.

"I shall find him!" said the old man; but he never found him. The floor
was too open--the pewter soldier had fallen through a crevice, and there
he lay as in an open tomb.

That day passed, and the little boy went home, and that week passed,
and several weeks too. The windows were quite frozen, the little boy was
obliged to sit and breathe on them to get a peep-hole over to the old
house, and there the snow had been blown into all the carved work and
inscriptions; it lay quite up over the steps, just as if there was no
one at home--nor was there any one at home--the old man was dead!

In the evening there was a hearse seen before the door, and he was borne
into it in his coffin: he was now to go out into the country, to lie in
his grave. He was driven out there, but no one followed; all his friends
were dead, and the little boy kissed his hand to the coffin as it was
driven away.

Some days afterwards there was an auction at the old house, and the
little boy saw from his window how they carried the old knights and the
old ladies away, the flower-pots with the long ears, the old chairs, and
the old clothes-presses. Something came here, and something came there;
the portrait of her who had been found at the broker's came to the
broker's again; and there it hung, for no one knew her more--no one
cared about the old picture.

In the spring they pulled the house down, for, as people said, it was
a ruin. One could see from the street right into the room with the
hog's-leather hanging, which was slashed and torn; and the green grass
and leaves about the balcony hung quite wild about the falling beams.
And then it was put to rights.

"That was a relief," said the neighboring houses.

A fine house was built there, with large windows, and smooth white
walls; but before it, where the old house had in fact stood, was a
little garden laid out, and a wild grapevine ran up the wall of the
neighboring house. Before the garden there was a large iron railing
with an iron door, it looked quite splendid, and people stood still and
peeped in, and the sparrows hung by scores in the vine, and chattered
away at each other as well as they could, but it was not about the old
house, for they could not remember it, so many years had passed--so many
that the little boy had grown up to a whole man, yes, a clever man, and
a pleasure to his parents; and he had just been married, and, together
with his little wife, had come to live in the house here, where the
garden was; and he stood by her there whilst she planted a field-flower
that she found so pretty; she planted it with her little hand, and
pressed the earth around it with her fingers. Oh! what was that? She
had stuck herself. There sat something pointed, straight out of the soft
mould.

It was--yes, guess! It was the pewter soldier, he that was lost up at
the old man's, and had tumbled and turned about amongst the timber and
the rubbish, and had at last laid for many years in the ground.

The young wife wiped the dirt off the soldier, first with a green leaf,
and then with her fine handkerchief--it had such a delightful smell,
that it was to the pewter soldier just as if he had awaked from a
trance.

"Let me see him," said the young man. He laughed, and then shook his
head. "Nay, it cannot be he; but he reminds me of a story about a pewter
soldier which I had when I was a little boy!" And then he told his wife
about the old house, and the old man, and about the pewter soldier that
he sent over to him because he was so very, very lonely; and he told it
as correctly as it had really been, so that the tears came into the eyes
of his young wife, on account of the old house and the old man.

"It may possibly be, however, that it is the same pewter soldier!" said
she. "I will take care of it, and remember all that you have told me;
but you must show me the old man's grave!"

"But I do not know it," said he, "and no one knows it! All his friends
were dead, no one took care of it, and I was then a little boy!"

"How very, very lonely he must have been!" said she.

"Very, very lonely!" said the pewter soldier. "But it is delightful not
to be forgotten!"

"Delightful!" shouted something close by; but no one, except the pewter
soldier, saw that it was a piece of the hog's-leather hangings; it had
lost all its gilding, it looked like a piece of wet clay, but it had an
opinion, and it gave it:

   "The gilding decays,
   But hog's leather stays!"

This the pewter soldier did not believe.




THE HAPPY FAMILY

Really, the largest green leaf in this country is a dock-leaf; if one
holds it before one, it is like a whole apron, and if one holds it over
one's head in rainy weather, it is almost as good as an umbrella, for
it is so immensely large. The burdock never grows alone, but where there
grows one there always grow several: it is a great delight, and all this
delightfulness is snails' food. The great white snails which persons of
quality in former times made fricassees of, ate, and said, "Hem,
hem! how delicious!" for they thought it tasted so delicate--lived on
dock-leaves, and therefore burdock seeds were sown.

Now, there was an old manor-house, where they no longer ate snails, they
were quite extinct; but the burdocks were not extinct, they grew and
grew all over the walks and all the beds; they could not get the mastery
over them--it was a whole forest of burdocks. Here and there stood an
apple and a plum-tree, or else one never would have thought that it was
a garden; all was burdocks, and there lived the two last venerable old
snails.

They themselves knew not how old they were, but they could remember
very well that there had been many more; that they were of a family
from foreign lands, and that for them and theirs the whole forest was
planted. They had never been outside it, but they knew that there was
still something more in the world, which was called the manor-house, and
that there they were boiled, and then they became black, and were then
placed on a silver dish; but what happened further they knew not; or, in
fact, what it was to be boiled, and to lie on a silver dish, they could
not possibly imagine; but it was said to be delightful, and particularly
genteel. Neither the chafers, the toads, nor the earth-worms, whom they
asked about it could give them any information--none of them had been
boiled or laid on a silver dish.

The old white snails were the first persons of distinction in the
world, that they knew; the forest was planted for their sake, and the
manor-house was there that they might be boiled and laid on a silver
dish.

Now they lived a very lonely and happy life; and as they had no children
themselves, they had adopted a little common snail, which they brought
up as their own; but the little one would not grow, for he was of a
common family; but the old ones, especially Dame Mother Snail, thought
they could observe how he increased in size, and she begged father,
if he could not see it, that he would at least feel the little snail's
shell; and then he felt it, and found the good dame was right.

One day there was a heavy storm of rain.

"Hear how it beats like a drum on the dock-leaves!" said Father Snail.

"There are also rain-drops!" said Mother Snail. "And now the rain pours
right down the stalk! You will see that it will be wet here! I am very
happy to think that we have our good house, and the little one has
his also! There is more done for us than for all other creatures, sure
enough; but can you not see that we are folks of quality in the world?
We are provided with a house from our birth, and the burdock forest is
planted for our sakes! I should like to know how far it extends, and
what there is outside!"

"There is nothing at all," said Father Snail. "No place can be better
than ours, and I have nothing to wish for!"

"Yes," said the dame. "I would willingly go to the manorhouse, be
boiled, and laid on a silver dish; all our forefathers have been treated
so; there is something extraordinary in it, you may be sure!"

"The manor-house has most likely fallen to ruin!" said Father Snail. "Or
the burdocks have grown up over it, so that they cannot come out. There
need not, however, be any haste about that; but you are always in such a
tremendous hurry, and the little one is beginning to be the same. Has he
not been creeping up that stalk these three days? It gives me a headache
when I look up to him!"

"You must not scold him," said Mother Snail. "He creeps so carefully; he
will afford us much pleasure--and we have nothing but him to live for!
But have you not thought of it? Where shall we get a wife for him? Do
you not think that there are some of our species at a great distance in
the interior of the burdock forest?"

"Black snails, I dare say, there are enough of," said the old one.
"Black snails without a house--but they are so common, and so conceited.
But we might give the ants a commission to look out for us; they run
to and fro as if they had something to do, and they certainly know of a
wife for our little snail!"

"I know one, sure enough--the most charming one!" said one of the ants.
"But I am afraid we shall hardly succeed, for she is a queen!"

"That is nothing!" said the old folks. "Has she a house?"

"She has a palace!" said the ant. "The finest ant's palace, with seven
hundred passages!"

"I thank you!" said Mother Snail. "Our son shall not go into an
ant-hill; if you know nothing better than that, we shall give the
commission to the white gnats. They fly far and wide, in rain and
sunshine; they know the whole forest here, both within and without."

"We have a wife for him," said the gnats. "At a hundred human paces from
here there sits a little snail in her house, on a gooseberry bush; she
is quite lonely, and old enough to be married. It is only a hundred
human paces!"

"Well, then, let her come to him!" said the old ones. "He has a whole
forest of burdocks, she has only a bush!"

And so they went and fetched little Miss Snail. It was a whole week
before she arrived; but therein was just the very best of it, for one
could thus see that she was of the same species.

And then the marriage was celebrated. Six earth-worms shone as well as
they could. In other respects the whole went off very quietly, for the
old folks could not bear noise and merriment; but old Dame Snail made
a brilliant speech. Father Snail could not speak, he was too much
affected; and so they gave them as a dowry and inheritance, the whole
forest of burdocks, and said--what they had always said--that it was
the best in the world; and if they lived honestly and decently, and
increased and multiplied, they and their children would once in the
course of time come to the manor-house, be boiled black, and laid on
silver dishes. After this speech was made, the old ones crept into their
shells, and never more came out. They slept; the young couple governed
in the forest, and had a numerous progeny, but they were never boiled,
and never came on the silver dishes; so from this they concluded that
the manor-house had fallen to ruins, and that all the men in the world
were extinct; and as no one contradicted them, so, of course it was so.
And the rain beat on the dock-leaves to make drum-music for their sake,
and the sun shone in order to give the burdock forest a color for their
sakes; and they were very happy, and the whole family was happy; for
they, indeed were so.




THE STORY OF A MOTHER

A mother sat there with her little child. She was so downcast, so
afraid that it should die! It was so pale, the small eyes had closed
themselves, and it drew its breath so softly, now and then, with a
deep respiration, as if it sighed; and the mother looked still more
sorrowfully on the little creature.

Then a knocking was heard at the door, and in came a poor old man
wrapped up as in a large horse-cloth, for it warms one, and he needed
it, as it was the cold winter season! Everything out-of-doors was
covered with ice and snow, and the wind blew so that it cut the face.

As the old man trembled with cold, and the little child slept a moment,
the mother went and poured some ale into a pot and set it on the stove,
that it might be warm for him; the old man sat and rocked the cradle,
and the mother sat down on a chair close by him, and looked at her
little sick child that drew its breath so deep, and raised its little
hand.

"Do you not think that I shall save him?" said she. "Our Lord will not
take him from me!"

And the old man--it was Death himself--he nodded so strangely, it could
just as well signify yes as no. And the mother looked down in her lap,
and the tears ran down over her cheeks; her head became so heavy--she
had not closed her eyes for three days and nights; and now she slept,
but only for a minute, when she started up and trembled with cold.

"What is that?" said she, and looked on all sides; but the old man was
gone, and her little child was gone--he had taken it with him; and the
old clock in the corner burred, and burred, the great leaden weight ran
down to the floor, bump! and then the clock also stood still.

But the poor mother ran out of the house and cried aloud for her child.

Out there, in the midst of the snow, there sat a woman in long, black
clothes; and she said, "Death has been in thy chamber, and I saw him
hasten away with thy little child; he goes faster than the wind, and he
never brings back what he takes!"

"Oh, only tell me which way he went!" said the mother. "Tell me the way,
and I shall find him!"

"I know it!" said the woman in the black clothes. "But before I tell it,
thou must first sing for me all the songs thou hast sung for thy child!
I am fond of them. I have heard them before; I am Night; I saw thy tears
whilst thou sang'st them!"

"I will sing them all, all!" said the mother. "But do not stop me now--I
may overtake him--I may find my child!"

But Night stood still and mute. Then the mother wrung her hands, sang
and wept, and there were many songs, but yet many more tears; and then
Night said, "Go to the right, into the dark pine forest; thither I saw
Death take his way with thy little child!"

The roads crossed each other in the depths of the forest, and she no
longer knew whither she should go! then there stood a thorn-bush;
there was neither leaf nor flower on it, it was also in the cold winter
season, and ice-flakes hung on the branches.

"Hast thou not seen Death go past with my little child?" said the
mother.

"Yes," said the thorn-bush; "but I will not tell thee which way he took,
unless thou wilt first warm me up at thy heart. I am freezing to death;
I shall become a lump of ice!"

And she pressed the thorn-bush to her breast, so firmly, that it might
be thoroughly warmed, and the thorns went right into her flesh, and her
blood flowed in large drops, but the thornbush shot forth fresh green
leaves, and there came flowers on it in the cold winter night, the heart
of the afflicted mother was so warm; and the thorn-bush told her the way
she should go.

She then came to a large lake, where there was neither ship nor boat.
The lake was not frozen sufficiently to bear her; neither was it open,
nor low enough that she could wade through it; and across it she must go
if she would find her child! Then she lay down to drink up the lake, and
that was an impossibility for a human being, but the afflicted mother
thought that a miracle might happen nevertheless.

"Oh, what would I not give to come to my child!" said the weeping
mother; and she wept still more, and her eyes sunk down in the depths of
the waters, and became two precious pearls; but the water bore her up,
as if she sat in a swing, and she flew in the rocking waves to the shore
on the opposite side, where there stood a mile-broad, strange house, one
knew not if it were a mountain with forests and caverns, or if it were
built up; but the poor mother could not see it; she had wept her eyes
out.

"Where shall I find Death, who took away my little child?" said she.

"He has not come here yet!" said the old grave woman, who was appointed
to look after Death's great greenhouse! "How have you been able to find
the way hither? And who has helped you?"

"OUR LORD has helped me," said she. "He is merciful, and you will also
be so! Where shall I find my little child?"

"Nay, I know not," said the woman, "and you cannot see! Many flowers and
trees have withered this night; Death will soon come and plant them over
again! You certainly know that every person has his or her life's tree
or flower, just as everyone happens to be settled; they look like other
plants, but they have pulsations of the heart. Children's hearts can
also beat; go after yours, perhaps you may know your child's; but what
will you give me if I tell you what you shall do more?"

"I have nothing to give," said the afflicted mother, "but I will go to
the world's end for you!"

"Nay, I have nothing to do there!" said the woman. "But you can give
me your long black hair; you know yourself that it is fine, and that
I like! You shall have my white hair instead, and that's always
something!"

"Do you demand nothing else?" said she. "That I will gladly give you!"
 And she gave her her fine black hair, and got the old woman's snow-white
hair instead.

So they went into Death's great greenhouse, where flowers and trees
grew strangely into one another. There stood fine hyacinths under glass
bells, and there stood strong-stemmed peonies; there grew water plants,
some so fresh, others half sick, the water-snakes lay down on them,
and black crabs pinched their stalks. There stood beautiful palm-trees,
oaks, and plantains; there stood parsley and flowering thyme: every tree
and every flower had its name; each of them was a human life, the human
frame still lived--one in China, and another in Greenland--round about
in the world. There were large trees in small pots, so that they stood
so stunted in growth, and ready to burst the pots; in other places,
there was a little dull flower in rich mould, with moss round about it,
and it was so petted and nursed. But the distressed mother bent down
over all the smallest plants, and heard within them how the human heart
beat; and amongst millions she knew her child's.

"There it is!" cried she, and stretched her hands out over a little blue
crocus, that hung quite sickly on one side.

"Don't touch the flower!" said the old woman. "But place yourself here,
and when Death comes--I expect him every moment--do not let him pluck
the flower up, but threaten him that you will do the same with the
others. Then he will be afraid! He is responsible for them to OUR LORD,
and no one dares to pluck them up before HE gives leave."

All at once an icy cold rushed through the great hall, and the blind
mother could feel that it was Death that came.

"How hast thou been able to find thy way hither?" he asked. "How couldst
thou come quicker than I?"

"I am a mother," said she.

And Death stretched out his long hand towards the fine little flower,
but she held her hands fast around his, so tight, and yet afraid that
she should touch one of the leaves. Then Death blew on her hands, and
she felt that it was colder than the cold wind, and her hands fell down
powerless.

"Thou canst not do anything against me!" said Death.

"But OUR LORD can!" said she.

"I only do His bidding!" said Death. "I am His gardener, I take all His
flowers and trees, and plant them out in the great garden of Paradise,
in the unknown land; but how they grow there, and how it is there I dare
not tell thee."

"Give me back my child!" said the mother, and she wept and prayed. At
once she seized hold of two beautiful flowers close by, with each hand,
and cried out to Death, "I will tear all thy flowers off, for I am in
despair."

"Touch them not!" said Death. "Thou say'st that thou art so unhappy, and
now thou wilt make another mother equally unhappy."

"Another mother!" said the poor woman, and directly let go her hold of
both the flowers.

"There, thou hast thine eyes," said Death; "I fished them up from the
lake, they shone so bright; I knew not they were thine. Take them again,
they are now brighter than before; now look down into the deep well
close by; I shall tell thee the names of the two flowers thou wouldst
have torn up, and thou wilt see their whole future life--their whole
human existence: and see what thou wast about to disturb and destroy."

And she looked down into the well; and it was a happiness to see how the
one became a blessing to the world, to see how much happiness and joy
were felt everywhere. And she saw the other's life, and it was sorrow
and distress, horror, and wretchedness.

"Both of them are God's will!" said Death.

"Which of them is Misfortune's flower and which is that of Happiness?"
 asked she.

"That I will not tell thee," said Death; "but this thou shalt know from
me, that the one flower was thy own child! it was thy child's fate thou
saw'st--thy own child's future life!"

Then the mother screamed with terror, "Which of them was my child? Tell
it me! Save the innocent! Save my child from all that misery! Rather
take it away! Take it into God's kingdom! Forget my tears, forget my
prayers, and all that I have done!"

"I do not understand thee!" said Death. "Wilt thou have thy child again,
or shall I go with it there, where thou dost not know!"

Then the mother wrung her hands, fell on her knees, and prayed to our
Lord: "Oh, hear me not when I pray against Thy will, which is the best!
hear me not! hear me not!"

And she bowed her head down in her lap, and Death took her child and
went with it into the unknown land.




THE FALSE COLLAR

There was once a fine gentleman, all of whose moveables were a boot-jack
and a hair-comb: but he had the finest false collars in the world; and
it is about one of these collars that we are now to hear a story.

It was so old, that it began to think of marriage; and it happened that
it came to be washed in company with a garter.

"Nay!" said the collar. "I never did see anything so slender and so
fine, so soft and so neat. May I not ask your name?"

"That I shall not tell you!" said the garter.

"Where do you live?" asked the collar.

But the garter was so bashful, so modest, and thought it was a strange
question to answer.

"You are certainly a girdle," said the collar; "that is to say an inside
girdle. I see well that you are both for use and ornament, my dear young
lady."

"I will thank you not to speak to me," said the garter. "I think I have
not given the least occasion for it."

"Yes! When one is as handsome as you," said the collar, "that is
occasion enough."

"Don't come so near me, I beg of you!" said the garter. "You look so
much like those men-folks."

"I am also a fine gentleman," said the collar. "I have a bootjack and a
hair-comb."

But that was not true, for it was his master who had them: but he
boasted.

"Don't come so near me," said the garter: "I am not accustomed to it."

"Prude!" exclaimed the collar; and then it was taken out of the
washing-tub. It was starched, hung over the back of a chair in the
sunshine, and was then laid on the ironing-blanket; then came the warm
box-iron. "Dear lady!" said the collar. "Dear widow-lady! I feel quite
hot. I am quite changed. I begin to unfold myself. You will burn a hole
in me. Oh! I offer you my hand."

"Rag!" said the box-iron; and went proudly over the collar: for she
fancied she was a steam-engine, that would go on the railroad and draw
the waggons. "Rag!" said the box-iron.

The collar was a little jagged at the edge, and so came the long
scissors to cut off the jagged part. "Oh!" said the collar. "You are
certainly the first opera dancer. How well you can stretch your legs
out! It is the most graceful performance I have ever seen. No one can
imitate you."

"I know it," said the scissors.

"You deserve to be a baroness," said the collar. "All that I have is a
fine gentleman, a boot-jack, and a hair-comb. If I only had the barony!"

"Do you seek my hand?" said the scissors; for she was angry; and without
more ado, she CUT HIM, and then he was condemned.

"I shall now be obliged to ask the hair-comb. It is surprising how well
you preserve your teeth, Miss," said the collar. "Have you never thought
of being betrothed?"

"Yes, of course! you may be sure of that," said the hair-comb. "I AM
betrothed--to the boot-jack!"

"Betrothed!" exclaimed the collar. Now there was no other to court, and
so he despised it.

A long time passed away, then the collar came into the rag chest at the
paper mill; there was a large company of rags, the fine by themselves,
and the coarse by themselves, just as it should be. They all had much to
say, but the collar the most; for he was a real boaster.

"I have had such an immense number of sweethearts!" said the collar.
"I could not be in peace! It is true, I was always a fine starched-up
gentleman! I had both a boot-jack and a hair-comb, which I never used!
You should have seen me then, you should have seen me when I lay down!
I shall never forget MY FIRST LOVE--she was a girdle, so fine, so soft,
and so charming, she threw herself into a tub of water for my sake!
There was also a widow, who became glowing hot, but I left her standing
till she got black again; there was also the first opera dancer, she
gave me that cut which I now go with, she was so ferocious! My
own hair-comb was in love with me, she lost all her teeth from the
heart-ache; yes, I have lived to see much of that sort of thing; but I
am extremely sorry for the garter--I mean the girdle--that went into the
water-tub. I have much on my conscience, I want to become white paper!"

And it became so, all the rags were turned into white paper; but the
collar came to be just this very piece of white paper we here see,
and on which the story is printed; and that was because it boasted so
terribly afterwards of what had never happened to it. It would be well
for us to beware, that we may not act in a similar manner, for we can
never know if we may not, in the course of time, also come into the
rag chest, and be made into white paper, and then have our whole life's
history printed on it, even the most secret, and be obliged to run about
and tell it ourselves, just like this collar.




THE SHADOW

It is in the hot lands that the sun burns, sure enough! there the people
become quite a mahogany brown, ay, and in the HOTTEST lands they are
burnt to Negroes. But now it was only to the HOT lands that a learned
man had come from the cold; there he thought that he could run about
just as when at home, but he soon found out his mistake.

He, and all sensible folks, were obliged to stay within doors--the
window-shutters and doors were closed the whole day; it looked as if the
whole house slept, or there was no one at home.

The narrow street with the high houses, was built so that the sunshine
must fall there from morning till evening--it was really not to be
borne.

The learned man from the cold lands--he was a young man, and seemed to
be a clever man--sat in a glowing oven; it took effect on him, he became
quite meagre--even his shadow shrunk in, for the sun had also an effect
on it. It was first towards evening when the sun was down, that they
began to freshen up again.

In the warm lands every window has a balcony, and the people came out on
all the balconies in the street--for one must have air, even if one be
accustomed to be mahogany! It was lively both up and down the
street. Tailors, and shoemakers, and all the folks, moved out into the
street--chairs and tables were brought forth--and candles burnt--yes,
above a thousand lights were burning--and the one talked and the other
sung; and people walked and church-bells rang, and asses went along with
a dingle-dingle-dong! for they too had bells on. The street boys were
screaming and hooting, and shouting and shooting, with devils and
detonating balls--and there came corpse bearers and hood wearers--for
there were funerals with psalm and hymn--and then the din of carriages
driving and company arriving: yes, it was, in truth, lively enough down
in the street. Only in that single house, which stood opposite that in
which the learned foreigner lived, it was quite still; and yet some one
lived there, for there stood flowers in the balcony--they grew so
well in the sun's heat! and that they could not do unless they were
watered--and some one must water them--there must be somebody there.
The door opposite was also opened late in the evening, but it was dark
within, at least in the front room; further in there was heard the sound
of music. The learned foreigner thought it quite marvellous, but now--it
might be that he only imagined it--for he found everything marvellous
out there, in the warm lands, if there had only been no sun. The
stranger's landlord said that he didn't know who had taken the house
opposite, one saw no person about, and as to the music, it appeared
to him to be extremely tiresome. "It is as if some one sat there, and
practised a piece that he could not master--always the same piece. 'I
shall master it!' says he; but yet he cannot master it, however long he
plays."

 The word mahogany can be understood, in Danish, as having two
meanings. In general, it means the reddish-brown wood itself; but in
jest, it signifies "excessively fine," which arose from an anecdote of
Nyboder, in Copenhagen, (the seamen's quarter.) A sailor's wife, who was
always proud and fine, in her way, came to her neighbor, and complained
that she had got a splinter in her finger. "What of?" asked the
neighbor's wife. "It is a mahogany splinter," said the other. "Mahogany!
It cannot be less with you!" exclaimed the woman--and thence the
proverb, "It is so mahogany!"--(that is, so excessively fine)--is
derived.


One night the stranger awoke--he slept with the doors of the balcony
open--the curtain before it was raised by the wind, and he thought
that a strange lustre came from the opposite neighbor's house; all the
flowers shone like flames, in the most beautiful colors, and in the
midst of the flowers stood a slender, graceful maiden--it was as if she
also shone; the light really hurt his eyes. He now opened them quite
wide--yes, he was quite awake; with one spring he was on the floor; he
crept gently behind the curtain, but the maiden was gone; the flowers
shone no longer, but there they stood, fresh and blooming as ever;
the door was ajar, and, far within, the music sounded so soft and
delightful, one could really melt away in sweet thoughts from it. Yet
it was like a piece of enchantment. And who lived there? Where was the
actual entrance? The whole of the ground-floor was a row of shops, and
there people could not always be running through.

One evening the stranger sat out on the balcony. The light burnt in the
room behind him; and thus it was quite natural that his shadow should
fall on his opposite neighbor's wall. Yes! there it sat, directly
opposite, between the flowers on the balcony; and when the stranger
moved, the shadow also moved: for that it always does.

"I think my shadow is the only living thing one sees over there," said
the learned man. "See, how nicely it sits between the flowers. The door
stands half-open: now the shadow should be cunning, and go into the
room, look about, and then come and tell me what it had seen. Come, now!
Be useful, and do me a service," said he, in jest. "Have the kindness to
step in. Now! Art thou going?" and then he nodded to the shadow, and the
shadow nodded again. "Well then, go! But don't stay away."

The stranger rose, and his shadow on the opposite neighbor's balcony
rose also; the stranger turned round and the shadow also turned round.
Yes! if anyone had paid particular attention to it, they would have
seen, quite distinctly, that the shadow went in through the half-open
balcony-door of their opposite neighbor, just as the stranger went into
his own room, and let the long curtain fall down after him.

Next morning, the learned man went out to drink coffee and read the
newspapers.

"What is that?" said he, as he came out into the sunshine. "I have no
shadow! So then, it has actually gone last night, and not come again. It
is really tiresome!"

This annoyed him: not so much because the shadow was gone, but because
he knew there was a story about a man without a shadow. It was known
to everybody at home, in the cold lands; and if the learned man now came
there and told his story, they would say that he was imitating it, and
that he had no need to do. He would, therefore, not talk about it at
all; and that was wisely thought.

Peter Schlemihl, the shadowless man.


In the evening he went out again on the balcony. He had placed the light
directly behind him, for he knew that the shadow would always have its
master for a screen, but he could not entice it. He made himself little;
he made himself great: but no shadow came again. He said, "Hem! hem!"
 but it was of no use.

It was vexatious; but in the warm lands everything grows so quickly; and
after the lapse of eight days he observed, to his great joy, that a new
shadow came in the sunshine. In the course of three weeks he had a very
fair shadow, which, when he set out for his home in the northern lands,
grew more and more in the journey, so that at last it was so long and so
large, that it was more than sufficient.

The learned man then came home, and he wrote books about what was true
in the world, and about what was good and what was beautiful; and there
passed days and years--yes! many years passed away.

One evening, as he was sitting in his room, there was a gentle knocking
at the door.

"Come in!" said he; but no one came in; so he opened the door, and there
stood before him such an extremely lean man, that he felt quite strange.
As to the rest, the man was very finely dressed--he must be a gentleman.

"Whom have I the honor of speaking?" asked the learned man.

"Yes! I thought as much," said the fine man. "I thought you would not
know me. I have got so much body. I have even got flesh and clothes. You
certainly never thought of seeing me so well off. Do you not know your
old shadow? You certainly thought I should never more return. Things
have gone on well with me since I was last with you. I have, in all
respects, become very well off. Shall I purchase my freedom from
service? If so, I can do it"; and then he rattled a whole bunch of
valuable seals that hung to his watch, and he stuck his hand in the
thick gold chain he wore around his neck--nay! how all his fingers
glittered with diamond rings; and then all were pure gems.

"Nay; I cannot recover from my surprise!" said the learned man. "What is
the meaning of all this?"

"Something common, is it not," said the shadow. "But you yourself do not
belong to the common order; and I, as you know well, have from a child
followed in your footsteps. As soon as you found I was capable to go
out alone in the world, I went my own way. I am in the most brilliant
circumstances, but there came a sort of desire over me to see you once
more before you die; you will die, I suppose? I also wished to see this
land again--for you know we always love our native land. I know you have
got another shadow again; have I anything to pay to it or you? If so,
you will oblige me by saying what it is."

"Nay, is it really thou?" said the learned man. "It is most remarkable:
I never imagined that one's old shadow could come again as a man."

"Tell me what I have to pay," said the shadow; "for I don't like to be
in any sort of debt."

"How canst thou talk so?" said the learned man. "What debt is there to
talk about? Make thyself as free as anyone else. I am extremely glad to
hear of thy good fortune: sit down, old friend, and tell me a little
how it has gone with thee, and what thou hast seen at our opposite
neighbor's there--in the warm lands."

"Yes, I will tell you all about it," said the shadow, and sat down: "but
then you must also promise me, that, wherever you may meet me, you will
never say to anyone here in the town that I have been your shadow. I
intend to get betrothed, for I can provide for more than one family."

"Be quite at thy ease about that," said the learned man; "I shall not
say to anyone who thou actually art: here is my hand--I promise it, and
a man's bond is his word."

"A word is a shadow," said the shadow, "and as such it must speak."

It was really quite astonishing how much of a man it was. It was dressed
entirely in black, and of the very finest cloth; it had patent leather
boots, and a hat that could be folded together, so that it was bare
crown and brim; not to speak of what we already know it had--seals, gold
neck-chain, and diamond rings; yes, the shadow was well-dressed, and it
was just that which made it quite a man.

"Now I shall tell you my adventures," said the shadow; and then he
sat, with the polished boots, as heavily as he could, on the arm of the
learned man's new shadow, which lay like a poodle-dog at his feet.
Now this was perhaps from arrogance; and the shadow on the ground kept
itself so still and quiet, that it might hear all that passed: it wished
to know how it could get free, and work its way up, so as to become its
own master.

"Do you know who lived in our opposite neighbor's house?" said the
shadow. "It was the most charming of all beings, it was Poesy! I was
there for three weeks, and that has as much effect as if one had lived
three thousand years, and read all that was composed and written;
that is what I say, and it is right. I have seen everything and I know
everything!"

"Poesy!" cried the learned man. "Yes, yes, she often dwells a recluse
in large cities! Poesy! Yes, I have seen her--a single short moment,
but sleep came into my eyes! She stood on the balcony and shone as the
Aurora Borealis shines. Go on, go on--thou wert on the balcony, and went
through the doorway, and then--"

"Then I was in the antechamber," said the shadow. "You always sat and
looked over to the antechamber. There was no light; there was a sort
of twilight, but the one door stood open directly opposite the other
through a long row of rooms and saloons, and there it was lighted up. I
should have been completely killed if I had gone over to the maiden; but
I was circumspect, I took time to think, and that one must always do."

"And what didst thou then see?" asked the learned man.

"I saw everything, and I shall tell all to you: but--it is no pride on
my part--as a free man, and with the knowledge I have, not to speak of
my position in life, my excellent circumstances--I certainly wish that
you would say YOU to me!"

 It is the custom in Denmark for intimate acquaintances to use the
second person singular, "Du," (thou) when speaking to each other. When
a friendship is formed between men, they generally affirm it, when
occasion offers, either in public or private, by drinking to each other
and exclaiming, "thy health," at the same time striking their glasses
together. This is called drinking "Duus": they are then, "Duus Brodre,"
 (thou brothers) and ever afterwards use the pronoun "thou," to each
other, it being regarded as more familiar than "De," (you). Father and
mother, sister and brother say thou to one another--without regard to
age or rank. Master and mistress say thou to their servants the superior
to the inferior. But servants and inferiors do not use the same term
to their masters, or superiors--nor is it ever used when speaking to a
stranger, or anyone with whom they are but slightly acquainted--they
then say as in English--you.


"I beg your pardon," said the learned man; "it is an old habit with me.
YOU are perfectly right, and I shall remember it; but now you must tell
me all YOU saw!"

"Everything!" said the shadow. "For I saw everything, and I know
everything!"

"How did it look in the furthest saloon?" asked the learned man. "Was it
there as in the fresh woods? Was it there as in a holy church? Were the
saloons like the starlit firmament when we stand on the high mountains?"

"Everything was there!" said the shadow. "I did not go quite in, I
remained in the foremost room, in the twilight, but I stood there
quite well; I saw everything, and I know everything! I have been in the
antechamber at the court of Poesy."

"But WHAT DID you see? Did all the gods of the olden times pass through
the large saloons? Did the old heroes combat there? Did sweet children
play there, and relate their dreams?"

"I tell you I was there, and you can conceive that I saw everything
there was to be seen. Had you come over there, you would not have been
a man; but I became so! And besides, I learned to know my inward nature,
my innate qualities, the relationship I had with Poesy. At the time I
was with you, I thought not of that, but always--you know it well--when
the sun rose, and when the sun went down, I became so strangely great;
in the moonlight I was very near being more distinct than yourself; at
that time I did not understand my nature; it was revealed to me in the
antechamber! I became a man! I came out matured; but you were no longer
in the warm lands; as a man I was ashamed to go as I did. I was in
want of boots, of clothes, of the whole human varnish that makes a man
perceptible. I took my way--I tell it to you, but you will not put it in
any book--I took my way to the cake woman--I hid myself behind her;
the woman didn't think how much she concealed. I went out first in the
evening; I ran about the streets in the moonlight; I made myself long up
the walls--it tickles the back so delightfully! I ran up, and ran down,
peeped into the highest windows, into the saloons, and on the roofs, I
peeped in where no one could peep, and I saw what no one else saw, what
no one else should see! This is, in fact, a base world! I would not be a
man if it were not now once accepted and regarded as something to be so!
I saw the most unimaginable things with the women, with the men, with
parents, and with the sweet, matchless children; I saw," said the
shadow, "what no human being must know, but what they would all
so willingly know--what is bad in their neighbor. Had I written a
newspaper, it would have been read! But I wrote direct to the persons
themselves, and there was consternation in all the towns where I came.
They were so afraid of me, and yet they were so excessively fond of
me. The professors made a professor of me; the tailors gave me new
clothes--I am well furnished; the master of the mint struck new coin for
me, and the women said I was so handsome! And so I became the man I am.
And I now bid you farewell. Here is my card--I live on the sunny side
of the street, and am always at home in rainy weather!" And so away went
the shadow. "That was most extraordinary!" said the learned man. Years
and days passed away, then the shadow came again. "How goes it?" said
the shadow.

"Alas!" said the learned man. "I write about the true, and the good,
and the beautiful, but no one cares to hear such things; I am quite
desperate, for I take it so much to heart!"

"But I don't!" said the shadow. "I become fat, and it is that one wants
to become! You do not understand the world. You will become ill by it.
You must travel! I shall make a tour this summer; will you go with me?
I should like to have a travelling companion! Will you go with me, as
shadow? It will be a great pleasure for me to have you with me; I shall
pay the travelling expenses!"

"Nay, this is too much!" said the learned man.

"It is just as one takes it!" said the shadow. "It will do you much good
to travel! Will you be my shadow? You shall have everything free on the
journey!"

"Nay, that is too bad!" said the learned man.

"But it is just so with the world!" said the shadow, "and so it will
be!" and away it went again.

The learned man was not at all in the most enviable state; grief and
torment followed him, and what he said about the true, and the good, and
the beautiful, was, to most persons, like roses for a cow! He was quite
ill at last.

"You really look like a shadow!" said his friends to him; and the
learned man trembled, for he thought of it.

"You must go to a watering-place!" said the shadow, who came and visited
him. "There is nothing else for it! I will take you with me for old
acquaintance' sake; I will pay the travelling expenses, and you write
the descriptions--and if they are a little amusing for me on the way!
I will go to a watering-place--my beard does not grow out as it
ought--that is also a sickness--and one must have a beard! Now you be
wise and accept the offer; we shall travel as comrades!"

And so they travelled; the shadow was master, and the master was the
shadow; they drove with each other, they rode and walked together, side
by side, before and behind, just as the sun was; the shadow always took
care to keep itself in the master's place. Now the learned man didn't
think much about that; he was a very kind-hearted man, and particularly
mild and friendly, and so he said one day to the shadow: "As we have
now become companions, and in this way have grown up together from
childhood, shall we not drink 'thou' together, it is more familiar?"

"You are right," said the shadow, who was now the proper master. "It is
said in a very straight-forward and well-meant manner. You, as a learned
man, certainly know how strange nature is. Some persons cannot bear to
touch grey paper, or they become ill; others shiver in every limb if one
rub a pane of glass with a nail: I have just such a feeling on hearing
you say thou to me; I feel myself as if pressed to the earth in my first
situation with you. You see that it is a feeling; that it is not pride:
I cannot allow you to say THOU to me, but I will willingly say THOU to
you, so it is half done!"

So the shadow said THOU to its former master.

"This is rather too bad," thought he, "that I must say YOU and he say
THOU," but he was now obliged to put up with it.

So they came to a watering-place where there were many strangers, and
amongst them was a princess, who was troubled with seeing too well; and
that was so alarming!

She directly observed that the stranger who had just come was quite a
different sort of person to all the others; "He has come here in order
to get his beard to grow, they say, but I see the real cause, he cannot
cast a shadow."

She had become inquisitive; and so she entered into conversation
directly with the strange gentleman, on their promenades. As the
daughter of a king, she needed not to stand upon trifles, so she said,
"Your complaint is, that you cannot cast a shadow?"

"Your Royal Highness must be improving considerably," said the shadow,
"I know your complaint is, that you see too clearly, but it has
decreased, you are cured. I just happen to have a very unusual shadow!
Do you not see that person who always goes with me? Other persons have
a common shadow, but I do not like what is common to all. We give our
servants finer cloth for their livery than we ourselves use, and so I
had my shadow trimmed up into a man: yes, you see I have even given him
a shadow. It is somewhat expensive, but I like to have something for
myself!"

"What!" thought the princess. "Should I really be cured! These baths are
the first in the world! In our time water has wonderful powers. But I
shall not leave the place, for it now begins to be amusing here. I am
extremely fond of that stranger: would that his beard should not grow,
for in that case he will leave us!"

In the evening, the princess and the shadow danced together in the large
ball-room. She was light, but he was still lighter; she had never had
such a partner in the dance. She told him from what land she came, and
he knew that land; he had been there, but then she was not at home; he
had peeped in at the window, above and below--he had seen both the
one and the other, and so he could answer the princess, and make
insinuations, so that she was quite astonished; he must be the wisest
man in the whole world! She felt such respect for what he knew! So that
when they again danced together she fell in love with him; and that the
shadow could remark, for she almost pierced him through with her eyes.
So they danced once more together; and she was about to declare herself,
but she was discreet; she thought of her country and kingdom, and of the
many persons she would have to reign over.

"He is a wise man," said she to herself--"It is well; and he dances
delightfully--that is also good; but has he solid knowledge? That is
just as important! He must be examined."

So she began, by degrees, to question him about the most difficult
things she could think of, and which she herself could not have
answered; so that the shadow made a strange face.

"You cannot answer these questions?" said the princess.

"They belong to my childhood's learning," said the shadow. "I really
believe my shadow, by the door there, can answer them!"

"Your shadow!" said the princess. "That would indeed be marvellous!"

"I will not say for a certainty that he can," said the shadow, "but I
think so; he has now followed me for so many years, and listened to my
conversation--I should think it possible. But your royal highness will
permit me to observe, that he is so proud of passing himself off for
a man, that when he is to be in a proper humor--and he must be so to
answer well--he must be treated quite like a man."

"Oh! I like that!" said the princess.

So she went to the learned man by the door, and she spoke to him about
the sun and the moon, and about persons out of and in the world, and he
answered with wisdom and prudence.

"What a man that must be who has so wise a shadow!" thought she. "It
will be a real blessing to my people and kingdom if I choose him for my
consort--I will do it!"

They were soon agreed, both the princess and the shadow; but no one was
to know about it before she arrived in her own kingdom.

"No one--not even my shadow!" said the shadow, and he had his own
thoughts about it!

Now they were in the country where the princess reigned when she was at
home.

"Listen, my good friend," said the shadow to the learned man. "I have
now become as happy and mighty as anyone can be; I will, therefore, do
something particular for thee! Thou shalt always live with me in the
palace, drive with me in my royal carriage, and have ten thousand
pounds a year; but then thou must submit to be called SHADOW by all and
everyone; thou must not say that thou hast ever been a man; and once
a year, when I sit on the balcony in the sunshine, thou must lie at my
feet, as a shadow shall do! I must tell thee: I am going to marry the
king's daughter, and the nuptials are to take place this evening!"

"Nay, this is going too far!" said the learned man. "I will not have it;
I will not do it! It is to deceive the whole country and the princess
too! I will tell everything! That I am a man, and that thou art a
shadow--thou art only dressed up!"

"There is no one who will believe it!" said the shadow. "Be reasonable,
or I will call the guard!"

"I will go directly to the princess!" said the learned man.

"But I will go first!" said the shadow. "And thou wilt go to prison!"
 and that he was obliged to do--for the sentinels obeyed him whom they
knew the king's daughter was to marry.

"You tremble!" said the princess, as the shadow came into her chamber.
"Has anything happened? You must not be unwell this evening, now that we
are to have our nuptials celebrated."

"I have lived to see the most cruel thing that anyone can live to
see!" said the shadow. "Only imagine--yes, it is true, such a poor
shadow-skull cannot bear much--only think, my shadow has become mad;
he thinks that he is a man, and that I--now only think--that I am his
shadow!"

"It is terrible!" said the princess; "but he is confined, is he not?"

"That he is. I am afraid that he will never recover."

"Poor shadow!" said the princess. "He is very unfortunate; it would be
a real work of charity to deliver him from the little life he has, and,
when I think properly over the matter, I am of opinion that it will be
necessary to do away with him in all stillness!"

"It is certainly hard," said the shadow, "for he was a faithful
servant!" and then he gave a sort of sigh.

"You are a noble character!" said the princess.

The whole city was illuminated in the evening, and the cannons went off
with a bum! bum! and the soldiers presented arms. That was a marriage!
The princess and the shadow went out on the balcony to show themselves,
and get another hurrah!

The learned man heard nothing of all this--for they had deprived him of
life.




THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL

Most terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and
evening--the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness there
went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded, and with naked
feet. When she left home she had slippers on, it is true; but what was
the good of that? They were very large slippers, which her mother had
hitherto worn; so large were they; and the poor little thing lost them
as she scuffled away across the street, because of two carriages that
rolled by dreadfully fast.

One slipper was nowhere to be found; the other had been laid hold of by
an urchin, and off he ran with it; he thought it would do capitally for
a cradle when he some day or other should have children himself. So the
little maiden walked on with her tiny naked feet, that were quite red
and blue from cold. She carried a quantity of matches in an old apron,
and she held a bundle of them in her hand. Nobody had bought anything of
her the whole livelong day; no one had given her a single farthing.

She crept along trembling with cold and hunger--a very picture of
sorrow, the poor little thing!

The flakes of snow covered her long fair hair, which fell in beautiful
curls around her neck; but of that, of course, she never once now
thought. From all the windows the candles were gleaming, and it smelt so
deliciously of roast goose, for you know it was New Year's Eve; yes, of
that she thought.

In a corner formed by two houses, of which one advanced more than the
other, she seated herself down and cowered together. Her little feet
she had drawn close up to her, but she grew colder and colder, and to go
home she did not venture, for she had not sold any matches and could
not bring a farthing of money: from her father she would certainly get
blows, and at home it was cold too, for above her she had only the roof,
through which the wind whistled, even though the largest cracks were
stopped up with straw and rags.

Her little hands were almost numbed with cold. Oh! a match might afford
her a world of comfort, if she only dared take a single one out of the
bundle, draw it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it. She drew
one out. "Rischt!" how it blazed, how it burnt! It was a warm, bright
flame, like a candle, as she held her hands over it: it was a wonderful
light. It seemed really to the little maiden as though she were sitting
before a large iron stove, with burnished brass feet and a brass
ornament at top. The fire burned with such blessed influence; it warmed
so delightfully. The little girl had already stretched out her feet to
warm them too; but--the small flame went out, the stove vanished: she
had only the remains of the burnt-out match in her hand.

She rubbed another against the wall: it burned brightly, and where the
light fell on the wall, there the wall became transparent like a
veil, so that she could see into the room. On the table was spread a
snow-white tablecloth; upon it was a splendid porcelain service, and the
roast goose was steaming famously with its stuffing of apple and dried
plums. And what was still more capital to behold was, the goose hopped
down from the dish, reeled about on the floor with knife and fork in its
breast, till it came up to the poor little girl; when--the match went
out and nothing but the thick, cold, damp wall was left behind.
She lighted another match. Now there she was sitting under the most
magnificent Christmas tree: it was still larger, and more decorated than
the one which she had seen through the glass door in the rich merchant's
house.

Thousands of lights were burning on the green branches, and
gaily-colored pictures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows, looked
down upon her. The little maiden stretched out her hands towards them
when--the match went out. The lights of the Christmas tree rose higher
and higher, she saw them now as stars in heaven; one fell down and
formed a long trail of fire.

"Someone is just dead!" said the little girl; for her old grandmother,
the only person who had loved her, and who was now no more, had told
her, that when a star falls, a soul ascends to God.

She drew another match against the wall: it was again light, and in the
lustre there stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so mild,
and with such an expression of love.

"Grandmother!" cried the little one. "Oh, take me with you! You go
away when the match burns out; you vanish like the warm stove, like the
delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!" And
she rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for
she wanted to be quite sure of keeping her grandmother near her. And
the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at
noon-day: never formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and
so tall. She took the little maiden, on her arm, and both flew in
brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above was neither
cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety--they were with God.

But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the poor girl, with
rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall--frozen
to death on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the
child there with her matches, of which one bundle had been burnt. "She
wanted to warm herself," people said. No one had the slightest suspicion
of what beautiful things she had seen; no one even dreamed of the
splendor in which, with her grandmother she had entered on the joys of a
new year.




THE DREAM OF LITTLE TUK

Ah! yes, that was little Tuk: in reality his name was not Tuk, but that
was what he called himself before he could speak plain: he meant it for
Charles, and it is all well enough if one does but know it. He had now
to take care of his little sister Augusta, who was much younger than
himself, and he was, besides, to learn his lesson at the same time; but
these two things would not do together at all. There sat the poor little
fellow, with his sister on his lap, and he sang to her all the songs he
knew; and he glanced the while from time to time into the geography-book
that lay open before him. By the next morning he was to have learnt
all the towns in Zealand by heart, and to know about them all that is
possible to be known.

His mother now came home, for she had been out, and took little Augusta
on her arm. Tuk ran quickly to the window, and read so eagerly that he
pretty nearly read his eyes out; for it got darker and darker, but his
mother had no money to buy a candle.

"There goes the old washerwoman over the way," said his mother, as she
looked out of the window. "The poor woman can hardly drag herself along,
and she must now drag the pail home from the fountain. Be a good boy,
Tukey, and run across and help the old woman, won't you?"

So Tuk ran over quickly and helped her; but when he came back again into
the room it was quite dark, and as to a light, there was no thought of
such a thing. He was now to go to bed; that was an old turn-up bedstead;
in it he lay and thought about his geography lesson, and of Zealand, and
of all that his master had told him. He ought, to be sure, to have read
over his lesson again, but that, you know, he could not do. He therefore
put his geography-book under his pillow, because he had heard that was
a very good thing to do when one wants to learn one's lesson; but one
cannot, however, rely upon it entirely. Well, there he lay, and thought
and thought, and all at once it was just as if someone kissed his eyes
and mouth: he slept, and yet he did not sleep; it was as though the old
washerwoman gazed on him with her mild eyes and said, "It were a great
sin if you were not to know your lesson tomorrow morning. You have aided
me, I therefore will now help you; and the loving God will do so at all
times." And all of a sudden the book under Tuk's pillow began scraping
and scratching.

"Kickery-ki! kluk! kluk! kluk!"--that was an old hen who came creeping
along, and she was from Kjoge. "I am a Kjoger hen,"  said she, and then
she related how many inhabitants there were there, and about the battle
that had taken place, and which, after all, was hardly worth talking
about.

      Kjoge, a town in the bay of Kjoge. "To see the Kjoge
     hens," is an expression similar to "showing a child London,"
      which is said to be done by taking his head in both bands,
     and so lifting him off the ground. At the invasion of the
     English in 1807, an encounter of a no very glorious nature
     took place between the British troops and the undisciplined
     Danish militia.

"Kribledy, krabledy--plump!" down fell somebody: it was a wooden bird,
the popinjay used at the shooting-matches at Prastoe. Now he said that
there were just as many inhabitants as he had nails in his body; and he
was very proud. "Thorwaldsen lived almost next door to me. Plump! Here
I lie capitally."

 Prastoe, a still smaller town than Kjoge. Some hundred paces from
it lies the manor-house Ny Soe, where Thorwaldsen, the famed sculptor,
generally sojourned during his stay in Denmark, and where he called many
of his immortal works into existence.


But little Tuk was no longer lying down: all at once he was on
horseback. On he went at full gallop, still galloping on and on. A
knight with a gleaming plume, and most magnificently dressed, held him
before him on the horse, and thus they rode through the wood to the old
town of Bordingborg, and that was a large and very lively town. High
towers rose from the castle of the king, and the brightness of many
candles streamed from all the windows; within was dance and song,
and King Waldemar and the young, richly-attired maids of honor danced
together. The morn now came; and as soon as the sun appeared, the whole
town and the king's palace crumbled together, and one tower after the
other; and at last only a single one remained standing where the castle
had been before, and the town was so small and poor, and the school
boys came along with their books under their arms, and said, "2000
inhabitants!" but that was not true, for there were not so many.

Bordingborg, in the reign of King Waldemar, a considerable place, now
an unimportant little town. One solitary tower only, and some remains of
a wall, show where the castle once stood.


And little Tukey lay in his bed: it seemed to him as if he dreamed, and
yet as if he were not dreaming; however, somebody was close beside him.

"Little Tukey! Little Tukey!" cried someone near. It was a seaman,
quite a little personage, so little as if he were a midshipman; but a
midshipman it was not.

"Many remembrances from Corsor. That is a town that is just rising
into importance; a lively town that has steam-boats and stagecoaches:
formerly people called it ugly, but that is no longer true. I lie on
the sea," said Corsor; "I have high roads and gardens, and I have given
birth to a poet who was witty and amusing, which all poets are not. I
once intended to equip a ship that was to sail all round the earth; but
I did not do it, although I could have done so: and then, too, I smell
so deliciously, for close before the gate bloom the most beautiful
roses."

Corsor, on the Great Belt, called, formerly, before the introduction
of steam-vessels, when travellers were often obliged to wait a long time
for a favorable wind, "the most tiresome of towns." The poet Baggesen
was born here.


Little Tuk looked, and all was red and green before his eyes; but as
soon as the confusion of colors was somewhat over, all of a sudden there
appeared a wooded slope close to the bay, and high up above stood a
magnificent old church, with two high pointed towers. From out the
hill-side spouted fountains in thick streams of water, so that there
was a continual splashing; and close beside them sat an old king with
a golden crown upon his white head: that was King Hroar, near the
fountains, close to the town of Roeskilde, as it is now called. And up
the slope into the old church went all the kings and queens of Denmark,
hand in hand, all with their golden crowns; and the organ played and
the fountains rustled. Little Tuk saw all, heard all. "Do not forget the
diet," said King Hroar.

Roeskilde, once the capital of Denmark. The town takes its name from
King Hroar, and the many fountains in the neighborhood. In the beautiful
cathedral the greater number of the kings and queens of Denmark are
interred. In Roeskilde, too, the members of the Danish Diet assemble.


Again all suddenly disappeared. Yes, and whither? It seemed to him
just as if one turned over a leaf in a book. And now stood there an
old peasant-woman, who came from Soroe, where grass grows in the
market-place. She had an old grey linen apron hanging over her head and
back: it was so wet, it certainly must have been raining. "Yes, that it
has," said she; and she now related many pretty things out of Holberg's
comedies, and about Waldemar and Absalon; but all at once she cowered
together, and her head began shaking backwards and forwards, and she
looked as she were going to make a spring. "Croak! croak!" said she.
"It is wet, it is wet; there is such a pleasant deathlike stillness in
Sorbe!" She was now suddenly a frog, "Croak"; and now she was an old
woman. "One must dress according to the weather," said she. "It is wet;
it is wet. My town is just like a bottle; and one gets in by the neck,
and by the neck one must get out again! In former times I had the
finest fish, and now I have fresh rosy-cheeked boys at the bottom of the
bottle, who learn wisdom, Hebrew, Greek--Croak!"

 Sorbe, a very quiet little town, beautifully situated, surrounded by
woods and lakes. Holberg, Denmark's Moliere, founded here an academy
for the sons of the nobles. The poets Hauch and Ingemann were appointed
professors here. The latter lives there still.


When she spoke it sounded just like the noise of frogs, or as if one
walked with great boots over a moor; always the same tone, so uniform
and so tiring that little Tuk fell into a good sound sleep, which, by
the bye, could not do him any harm.

But even in this sleep there came a dream, or whatever else it was: his
little sister Augusta, she with the blue eyes and the fair curling hair,
was suddenly a tall, beautiful girl, and without having wings was yet
able to fly; and she now flew over Zealand--over the green woods and the
blue lakes.

"Do you hear the cock crow, Tukey? Cock-a-doodle-doo! The cocks are
flying up from Kjoge! You will have a farm-yard, so large, oh! so very
large! You will suffer neither hunger nor thirst! You will get on in the
world! You will be a rich and happy man! Your house will exalt itself
like King Waldemar's tower, and will be richly decorated with marble
statues, like that at Prastoe. You understand what I mean. Your name
shall circulate with renown all round the earth, like unto the ship that
was to have sailed from Corsor; and in Roeskilde--"

"Do not forget the diet!" said King Hroar.

"Then you will speak well and wisely, little Tukey; and when at last you
sink into your grave, you shall sleep as quietly--"

"As if I lay in Soroe," said Tuk, awaking. It was bright day, and he was
now quite unable to call to mind his dream; that, however, was not at
all necessary, for one may not know what the future will bring.

And out of bed he jumped, and read in his book, and now all at once he
knew his whole lesson. And the old washerwoman popped her head in at the
door, nodded to him friendly, and said, "Thanks, many thanks, my good
child, for your help! May the good ever-loving God fulfil your loveliest
dream!"

Little Tukey did not at all know what he had dreamed, but the loving God
knew it.




THE NAUGHTY BOY

Along time ago, there lived an old poet, a thoroughly kind old poet. As
he was sitting one evening in his room, a dreadful storm arose without,
and the rain streamed down from heaven; but the old poet sat warm
and comfortable in his chimney-corner, where the fire blazed and the
roasting apple hissed.

"Those who have not a roof over their heads will be wetted to the skin,"
 said the good old poet.

"Oh let me in! Let me in! I am cold, and I'm so wet!" exclaimed suddenly
a child that stood crying at the door and knocking for admittance, while
the rain poured down, and the wind made all the windows rattle.

"Poor thing!" said the old poet, as he went to open the door. There
stood a little boy, quite naked, and the water ran down from his long
golden hair; he trembled with cold, and had he not come into a warm room
he would most certainly have perished in the frightful tempest.

"Poor child!" said the old poet, as he took the boy by the hand. "Come
in, come in, and I will soon restore thee! Thou shalt have wine and
roasted apples, for thou art verily a charming child!" And the boy was
so really. His eyes were like two bright stars; and although the water
trickled down his hair, it waved in beautiful curls. He looked exactly
like a little angel, but he was so pale, and his whole body trembled
with cold. He had a nice little bow in his hand, but it was quite
spoiled by the rain, and the tints of his many-colored arrows ran one
into the other.

The old poet seated himself beside his hearth, and took the little
fellow on his lap; he squeezed the water out of his dripping hair,
warmed his hands between his own, and boiled for him some sweet wine.
Then the boy recovered, his cheeks again grew rosy, he jumped down from
the lap where he was sitting, and danced round the kind old poet.

"You are a merry fellow," said the old man. "What's your name?"

"My name is Cupid," answered the boy. "Don't you know me? There lies my
bow; it shoots well, I can assure you! Look, the weather is now clearing
up, and the moon is shining clear again through the window."

"Why, your bow is quite spoiled," said the old poet.

"That were sad indeed," said the boy, and he took the bow in his hand
and examined it on every side. "Oh, it is dry again, and is not hurt at
all; the string is quite tight. I will try it directly." And he bent his
bow, took aim, and shot an arrow at the old poet, right into his heart.
"You see now that my bow was not spoiled," said he laughing; and away he
ran.

The naughty boy, to shoot the old poet in that way; he who had taken him
into his warm room, who had treated him so kindly, and who had given him
warm wine and the very best apples!

The poor poet lay on the earth and wept, for the arrow had really flown
into his heart.

"Fie!" said he. "How naughty a boy Cupid is! I will tell all children
about him, that they may take care and not play with him, for he will
only cause them sorrow and many a heartache."

And all good children to whom he related this story, took great heed
of this naughty Cupid; but he made fools of them still, for he is
astonishingly cunning. When the university students come from the
lectures, he runs beside them in a black coat, and with a book under his
arm. It is quite impossible for them to know him, and they walk along
with him arm in arm, as if he, too, were a student like themselves; and
then, unperceived, he thrusts an arrow to their bosom. When the young
maidens come from being examined by the clergyman, or go to church to
be confirmed, there he is again close behind them. Yes, he is forever
following people. At the play, he sits in the great chandelier and burns
in bright flames, so that people think it is really a flame, but they
soon discover it is something else. He roves about in the garden of the
palace and upon the ramparts: yes, once he even shot your father and
mother right in the heart. Ask them only and you will hear what they'll
tell you. Oh, he is a naughty boy, that Cupid; you must never have
anything to do with him. He is forever running after everybody. Only
think, he shot an arrow once at your old grandmother! But that is a
long time ago, and it is all past now; however, a thing of that sort she
never forgets. Fie, naughty Cupid! But now you know him, and you know,
too, how ill-behaved he is!




THE RED SHOES

There was once a little girl who was very pretty and delicate, but in
summer she was forced to run about with bare feet, she was so poor, and
in winter wear very large wooden shoes, which made her little insteps
quite red, and that looked so dangerous!

In the middle of the village lived old Dame Shoemaker; she sat and sewed
together, as well as she could, a little pair of shoes out of old red
strips of cloth; they were very clumsy, but it was a kind thought. They
were meant for the little girl. The little girl was called Karen.

On the very day her mother was buried, Karen received the red shoes,
and wore them for the first time. They were certainly not intended for
mourning, but she had no others, and with stockingless feet she followed
the poor straw coffin in them.

Suddenly a large old carriage drove up, and a large old lady sat in it:
she looked at the little girl, felt compassion for her, and then said to
the clergyman:

"Here, give me the little girl. I will adopt her!"

And Karen believed all this happened on account of the red shoes, but
the old lady thought they were horrible, and they were burnt. But Karen
herself was cleanly and nicely dressed; she must learn to read and sew;
and people said she was a nice little thing, but the looking-glass said:
"Thou art more than nice, thou art beautiful!"

Now the queen once travelled through the land, and she had her little
daughter with her. And this little daughter was a princess, and people
streamed to the castle, and Karen was there also, and the little
princess stood in her fine white dress, in a window, and let herself be
stared at; she had neither a train nor a golden crown, but splendid
red morocco shoes. They were certainly far handsomer than those Dame
Shoemaker had made for little Karen. Nothing in the world can be
compared with red shoes.

Now Karen was old enough to be confirmed; she had new clothes and was to
have new shoes also. The rich shoemaker in the city took the measure of
her little foot. This took place at his house, in his room; where stood
large glass-cases, filled with elegant shoes and brilliant boots. All
this looked charming, but the old lady could not see well, and so had
no pleasure in them. In the midst of the shoes stood a pair of red ones,
just like those the princess had worn. How beautiful they were! The
shoemaker said also they had been made for the child of a count, but had
not fitted.

"That must be patent leather!" said the old lady. "They shine so!"

"Yes, they shine!" said Karen, and they fitted, and were bought, but the
old lady knew nothing about their being red, else she would never have
allowed Karen to have gone in red shoes to be confirmed. Yet such was
the case.

Everybody looked at her feet; and when she stepped through the chancel
door on the church pavement, it seemed to her as if the old figures on
the tombs, those portraits of old preachers and preachers' wives, with
stiff ruffs, and long black dresses, fixed their eyes on her red shoes.
And she thought only of them as the clergyman laid his hand upon her
head, and spoke of the holy baptism, of the covenant with God, and how
she should be now a matured Christian; and the organ pealed so solemnly;
the sweet children's voices sang, and the old music-directors sang, but
Karen only thought of her red shoes.

In the afternoon, the old lady heard from everyone that the shoes had
been red, and she said that it was very wrong of Karen, that it was not
at all becoming, and that in future Karen should only go in black shoes
to church, even when she should be older.

The next Sunday there was the sacrament, and Karen looked at the black
shoes, looked at the red ones--looked at them again, and put on the red
shoes.

The sun shone gloriously; Karen and the old lady walked along the path
through the corn; it was rather dusty there.

At the church door stood an old soldier with a crutch, and with a
wonderfully long beard, which was more red than white, and he bowed to
the ground, and asked the old lady whether he might dust her shoes. And
Karen stretched out her little foot.

"See, what beautiful dancing shoes!" said the soldier. "Sit firm when
you dance"; and he put his hand out towards the soles.

And the old lady gave the old soldier alms, and went into the church
with Karen.

And all the people in the church looked at Karen's red shoes, and all
the pictures, and as Karen knelt before the altar, and raised the cup to
her lips, she only thought of the red shoes, and they seemed to swim
in it; and she forgot to sing her psalm, and she forgot to pray, "Our
Father in Heaven!"

Now all the people went out of church, and the old lady got into her
carriage. Karen raised her foot to get in after her, when the old
soldier said,

"Look, what beautiful dancing shoes!"

And Karen could not help dancing a step or two, and when she began her
feet continued to dance; it was just as though the shoes had power over
them. She danced round the church corner, she could not leave off; the
coachman was obliged to run after and catch hold of her, and he lifted
her in the carriage, but her feet continued to dance so that she trod on
the old lady dreadfully. At length she took the shoes off, and then her
legs had peace.

The shoes were placed in a closet at home, but Karen could not avoid
looking at them.

Now the old lady was sick, and it was said she could not recover. She
must be nursed and waited upon, and there was no one whose duty it was
so much as Karen's. But there was a great ball in the city, to which
Karen was invited. She looked at the old lady, who could not recover,
she looked at the red shoes, and she thought there could be no sin in
it; she put on the red shoes, she might do that also, she thought. But
then she went to the ball and began to dance.

When she wanted to dance to the right, the shoes would dance to the
left, and when she wanted to dance up the room, the shoes danced back
again, down the steps, into the street, and out of the city gate. She
danced, and was forced to dance straight out into the gloomy wood.

Then it was suddenly light up among the trees, and she fancied it must
be the moon, for there was a face; but it was the old soldier with
the red beard; he sat there, nodded his head, and said, "Look, what
beautiful dancing shoes!"

Then she was terrified, and wanted to fling off the red shoes, but they
clung fast; and she pulled down her stockings, but the shoes seemed to
have grown to her feet. And she danced, and must dance, over fields and
meadows, in rain and sunshine, by night and day; but at night it was the
most fearful.

She danced over the churchyard, but the dead did not dance--they had
something better to do than to dance. She wished to seat herself on a
poor man's grave, where the bitter tansy grew; but for her there was
neither peace nor rest; and when she danced towards the open church
door, she saw an angel standing there. He wore long, white garments; he
had wings which reached from his shoulders to the earth; his countenance
was severe and grave; and in his hand he held a sword, broad and
glittering.

"Dance shalt thou!" said he. "Dance in thy red shoes till thou art pale
and cold! Till thy skin shrivels up and thou art a skeleton! Dance shalt
thou from door to door, and where proud, vain children dwell, thou shalt
knock, that they may hear thee and tremble! Dance shalt thou--!"

"Mercy!" cried Karen. But she did not hear the angel's reply, for the
shoes carried her through the gate into the fields, across roads and
bridges, and she must keep ever dancing.

One morning she danced past a door which she well knew. Within sounded
a psalm; a coffin, decked with flowers, was borne forth. Then she knew
that the old lady was dead, and felt that she was abandoned by all, and
condemned by the angel of God.

She danced, and she was forced to dance through the gloomy night. The
shoes carried her over stack and stone; she was torn till she bled; she
danced over the heath till she came to a little house. Here, she knew,
dwelt the executioner; and she tapped with her fingers at the window,
and said, "Come out! Come out! I cannot come in, for I am forced to
dance!"

And the executioner said, "Thou dost not know who I am, I fancy? I
strike bad people's heads off; and I hear that my axe rings!"

"Don't strike my head off!" said Karen. "Then I can't repent of my sins!
But strike off my feet in the red shoes!"

And then she confessed her entire sin, and the executioner struck off
her feet with the red shoes, but the shoes danced away with the little
feet across the field into the deep wood.

And he carved out little wooden feet for her, and crutches, taught
her the psalm criminals always sing; and she kissed the hand which had
wielded the axe, and went over the heath.

"Now I have suffered enough for the red shoes!" said she. "Now I will
go into the church that people may see me!" And she hastened towards the
church door: but when she was near it, the red shoes danced before her,
and she was terrified, and turned round. The whole week she was unhappy,
and wept many bitter tears; but when Sunday returned, she said, "Well,
now I have suffered and struggled enough! I really believe I am as good
as many a one who sits in the church, and holds her head so high!"

And away she went boldly; but she had not got farther than the
churchyard gate before she saw the red shoes dancing before her; and she
was frightened, and turned back, and repented of her sin from her heart.

And she went to the parsonage, and begged that they would take her
into service; she would be very industrious, she said, and would do
everything she could; she did not care about the wages, only she wished
to have a home, and be with good people. And the clergyman's wife was
sorry for her and took her into service; and she was industrious and
thoughtful. She sat still and listened when the clergyman read the Bible
in the evenings. All the children thought a great deal of her; but when
they spoke of dress, and grandeur, and beauty, she shook her head.

The following Sunday, when the family was going to church, they asked
her whether she would not go with them; but she glanced sorrowfully,
with tears in her eyes, at her crutches. The family went to hear the
word of God; but she went alone into her little chamber; there was only
room for a bed and chair to stand in it; and here she sat down with her
Prayer-Book; and whilst she read with a pious mind, the wind bore
the strains of the organ towards her, and she raised her tearful
countenance, and said, "O God, help me!"

And the sun shone so clearly, and straight before her stood the angel
of God in white garments, the same she had seen that night at the church
door; but he no longer carried the sharp sword, but in its stead a
splendid green spray, full of roses. And he touched the ceiling with the
spray, and the ceiling rose so high, and where he had touched it there
gleamed a golden star. And he touched the walls, and they widened out,
and she saw the organ which was playing; she saw the old pictures of the
preachers and the preachers' wives. The congregation sat in cushioned
seats, and sang out of their Prayer-Books. For the church itself had
come to the poor girl in her narrow chamber, or else she had come into
the church. She sat in the pew with the clergyman's family, and when
they had ended the psalm and looked up, they nodded and said, "It is
right that thou art come!"

"It was through mercy!" she said.

And the organ pealed, and the children's voices in the choir sounded so
sweet and soft! The clear sunshine streamed so warmly through the window
into the pew where Karen sat! Her heart was so full of sunshine, peace,
and joy, that it broke. Her soul flew on the sunshine to God, and there
no one asked after the RED SHOES.





End of Project Gutenberg's Andersen's Fairy Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen


THE HUT IN THE FOREST.


Outside in the forest there was deep snow. The white snow had crusted
the branches of the pine trees, and piled itself up them till they
bent under its weight. Now and then a snow-laden branch would bend too
far, and huge lumps of snow fell crashing to the ground under the
trees. Then the branch would swing up, and the snow covered it again
with a cold white burden. Sitting in the hut you could hear the
crashing again and again out in the forest, as the tired branches
flung down their loads of snow. Yes, and now and then there was the
howling of wolves far away.

Little Maroosia heard them, and thought of them out there in the dark
as they galloped over the snow. She sat closer to Vanya, her brother,
and they were both as near as they could get to the door of the
stove, where they could see the red fire burning busily, keeping the
whole hut warm. The stove filled a quarter of the hut, but that was
because it was a bed as well. There were blankets on it, and in those
blankets Vanya and Maroosia rolled up and went to sleep at night, as
warm as little baking cakes.

The hut was made of pine logs cut from the forest. You could see the
marks of the axe. Old Peter was the grandfather of Maroosia and Vanya.
He lived alone with them in the hut in the forest, because their
father and mother were both dead. Maroosia and Vanya could hardly
remember them, and they were very happy with old Peter, who was very
kind to them and did all he could to keep them warm and well fed. He
let them help him in everything, even in stuffing the windows with
moss to keep the cold out when winter began. The moss kept the light
out too, but that did not matter. It would be all the jollier in the
spring when the sun came pouring in.

Besides old Peter and Maroosia and Vanya there were Vladimir and
Bayan. Vladimir was a cat, a big black cat, as stately as an emperor,
and just now he was lying in Vanya's arms fast asleep. Bayan was a
dog, a tall gray wolf-dog. He could jump over the table with a single
bound. When he was in the hut he usually lay underneath the table,
because that was the only place where he could lie without being in
the way. And, of course at meal times he was in the way even there.
Just now he was out with old Peter.

"I wonder what story it will be to-night?" said Maroosia.

"So do I," said Vanya. "I wish they'd be quick and come back."

Vladimir stirred suddenly in Vanya's lap, and a minute later they
heard the scrunch of boots in the snow, and the stamping of old
Peter's feet trying to get the snow off his boots. Then the door
opened, and Bayan pushed his way in and shook himself, and licked
Maroosia and Vanya and startled Vladimir, and lay down under the table
and came out again, because he was so pleased to be home. And old
Peter came in after him, with his gun on his back and a hare in his
hand. He shook himself just like Bayan, and the snow flew off like
spray. He hung up his gun, flung the hare into a corner of the hut,
and laughed.

"You are snug in here, little pigeons," he said.

Vanya and Maroosia had jumped up to welcome him, and when he opened
his big sheepskin coat, they tumbled into it together and clung to his
belt. Then he closed the big woolly coat over the top of them and they
squealed; and he opened it a little way and looked down at them over
his beard, and then closed it again for a moment before letting them
out. He did this every night, and Bayan always barked when they were
shut up inside.

Then old Peter took his big coat off and lifted down the samovar from
the shelf. The samovar is like a big tea-urn, with a red-hot fire in
the middle of it keeping the water boiling. It hums like a bee on the
tea-table, and the steam rises in a little jet from a tiny hole in the
top. The boiling water comes out of a tap at the bottom. Old Peter
threw in the lighted sticks and charcoal, and made a draught to draw
the heat, and then set the samovar on the table with the little fire
crackling in its inside. Then he cut some big lumps of black bread.
Then he took a great saucepan full of soup, that was simmering on the
stove, and emptied it into a big wooden bowl. Then he went to the wall
where, on three nails, hung three wooden spoons, deep like ladles.
There were one big spoon, for old Peter; and two little spoons, one
for Vanya and one for Maroosia.

And all the time that old Peter was getting supper ready he was
answering questions and making jokes--old ones, of course, that he
made every day--about how plump the children were, and how fat was
better to eat than butter, and what the Man in the Moon said when he
fell out, and what the wolf said who caught his own tail and ate
himself up before he found out his mistake.

And Vanya and Maroosia danced about the hut and chuckled.

Then they had supper, all three dipping their wooden spoons in the big
bowl together, and eating a tremendous lot of black bread. And, of
course, there were scraps for Vladimir and a bone for Bayan.

After that they had tea with sugar but no milk, because they were
Russians and liked it that way.

Then came the stories. Old Peter made another glass of tea for
himself, not for the children. His throat was old, he said, and took a
lot of keeping wet; and they were young, and would not sleep if they
drank tea too near bedtime. Then he threw a log of wood into the
stove. Then he lit a short little pipe, full of very strong tobacco,
called Mahorka, which has a smell like hot tin. And he puffed, and the
smoke got in his eyes, and he wiped them with the back of his big
hand.

All the time he was doing this Vanya and Maroosia were snuggling
together close by the stove, thinking what story they would ask for,
and listening to the crashing of the snow as it fell from the trees
outside. Now that old Peter was at home, the noise made them feel
comfortable and warm. Before, perhaps, it made them feel a little
frightened.

"Well, little pigeons, little hawks, little bear cubs, what is it to
be?" said old Peter.

"We don't know," said Maroosia.

"Long hair, short sense, little she-pigeon," said old Peter. "All this
time and not thought of a story? Would you like the tale of the little
Snow Girl who was not loved so much as a hen?"

"Not to-night, grandfather," said Vanya.

"We'd like that tale when the snow melts," said Maroosia.

"To-night we'd like a story we've never heard before," said Vanya.

"Well, well," said old Peter, combing his great gray beard with his
fingers, and looking out at them with twinkling eyes from under his
big bushy eyebrows. "Have I ever told you the story of 'The Silver
Saucer and the Transparent Apple'?"

"No, no, never," cried Vanya and Maroosia at once.

Old Peter took a last pull at his pipe, and Vanya and Maroosia
wriggled with excitement. Then he drank a sip of tea. Then he began.




THE TALE OF THE SILVER SAUCER AND THE TRANSPARENT APPLE.


There was once an old peasant, and he must have had more brains under
his hair than ever I had, for he was a merchant, and used to take
things every year to sell at the big fair of Nijni Novgorod. Well, I
could never do that. I could never be anything better than an old
forester.

"Never mind, grandfather," said Maroosia.

God knows best, and He makes some merchants and some foresters, and
some good and some bad, all in His own way. Anyhow this one was a
merchant, and he had three daughters. They were none of them so bad to
look at, but one of them was as pretty as Maroosia. And she was the
best of them too. The others put all the hard work on her, while they
did nothing but look at themselves in the looking-glass and complain
of what they had to eat. They called the pretty one "Little Stupid,"
because she was so good and did all their work for them. Oh, they were
real bad ones, those two. We wouldn't have them in here for a minute.

Well, the time came round for the merchant to pack up and go to the
big fair. He called his daughters, and said, "Little pigeons," just as
I say to you. "Little pigeons," says he, "what would you like me to
bring you from the fair?"

Says the eldest, "I'd like a necklace, but it must be a rich one."

Says the second, "I want a new dress with gold hems."

But the youngest, the good one, Little Stupid, said nothing at all.

"Now little one," says her father, "what is it you want? I must bring
something for you too."

Says the little one, "Could I have a silver saucer and a transparent
apple? But never mind if there are none."

The old merchant says, "Long hair, short sense," just as I say to
Maroosia; but he promised the little pretty one, who was so good that
her sisters called her stupid, that if he could get her a silver
saucer and a transparent apple she should have them.

Then they all kissed each other, and he cracked his whip, and off he
went, with the little bells jingling on the horses' harness.

The three sisters waited till he came back. The two elder ones looked
in the looking-glass, and thought how fine they would look in the new
necklace and the new dress; but the little pretty one took care of her
old mother, and scrubbed and dusted and swept and cooked, and every
day the other two said that the soup was burnt or the bread not
properly baked.

Then one day there were a jingling of bells and a clattering of
horses' hoofs, and the old merchant came driving back from the fair.

The sisters ran out.

"Where is the necklace?" asked the first.

"You haven't forgotten the dress?" asked the second.

But the little one, Little Stupid, helped her old father off with his
coat, and asked him if he was tired.

"Well, little one," says the old merchant, "and don't you want your
fairing too? I went from one end of the market to the other before I
could get what you wanted. I bought the silver saucer from an old Jew,
and the transparent apple from a Finnish hag."

"Oh, thank you, father," says the little one.

"And what will you do with them?" says he.

"I shall spin the apple in the saucer," says the little pretty one,
and at that the old merchant burst out laughing.

"They don't call you 'Little Stupid' for nothing," says he.

Well, they all had their fairings, and the two elder sisters, the bad
ones, they ran off and put on the new dress and the new necklace, and
came out and strutted about, preening themselves like herons, now on
one leg and now on the other, to see how they looked. But Little
Stupid, she just sat herself down beside the stove, and took the
transparent apple and set it in the silver saucer, and she laughed
softly to herself. And then she began spinning the apple in the
saucer.

Round and round the apple spun in the saucer, faster and faster, till
you couldn't see the apple at all, nothing but a mist like a little
whirlpool in the silver saucer. And the little good one looked at it,
and her eyes shone like yours.

Her sisters laughed at her.

"Spinning an apple in a saucer and staring at it, the little stupid,"
they said, as they strutted about the room, listening to the rustle of
the new dress and fingering the bright round stones of the necklace.

But the little pretty one did not mind them. She sat in the corner
watching the spinning apple. And as it spun she talked to it.

"Spin, spin, apple in the silver saucer." This is what she said. "Spin
so that I may see the world. Let me have a peep at the little father
Tzar on his high throne. Let me see the rivers and the ships and the
great towns far away."

And as she looked at the little glass whirlpool in the saucer, there
was the Tzar, the little father--God preserve him!--sitting on his
high throne. Ships sailed on the seas, their white sails swelling in
the wind. There was Moscow with its white stone walls and painted
churches. Why, there were the market at Nijni Novgorod, and the Arab
merchants with their camels, and the Chinese with their blue trousers
and bamboo staves. And then there was the great river Volga, with men
on the banks towing ships against the stream. Yes, and she saw a
sturgeon asleep in a deep pool.

"Oh! oh! oh!" says the little pretty one, as she saw all these things.

And the bad ones, they saw how her eyes shone, and they came and
looked over her shoulder, and saw how all the world was there, in the
spinning apple and the silver saucer. And the old father came and
looked over her shoulder too, and he saw the market at Nijni Novgorod.

"Why, there is the inn where I put up the horses," says he. "You
haven't done so badly after all, Little Stupid."

And the little pretty one, Little Stupid, went on staring into the
glass whirlpool in the saucer, spinning the apple, and seeing all the
world she had never seen before, floating there before her in the
saucer, brighter than leaves in sunlight.

The bad ones, the elder sisters, were sick with envy.

"Little Stupid," says the first, "if you will give me your silver
saucer and your transparent apple, I will give you my fine new
necklace."

"Little Stupid," says the second, "I will give you my new dress with
gold hems if you will give me your transparent apple and your silver
saucer."

"Oh, I couldn't do that," says the Little Stupid, and she goes on
spinning the apple in the saucer and seeing what was happening all
over the world.

So the bad ones put their wicked heads together and thought of a plan.
And they took their father's axe, and went into the deep forest and
hid it under a bush.

The next day they waited till afternoon, when work was done, and the
little pretty one was spinning her apple in the saucer. Then they
said,--

"Come along, Little Stupid; we are all going to gather berries in the
forest."

"Do you really want me to come too?" says the little one. She would
rather have played with her apple and saucer.

But they said, "Why, of course. You don't think we can carry all the
berries ourselves!"

So the little one jumped up, and found the baskets, and went with them
to the forest. But before she started she ran to her father, who was
counting his money, and was not too pleased to be interrupted, for
figures go quickly out of your head when you have a lot of them to
remember. She asked him to take care of the silver saucer and the
transparent apple for fear she would lose them in the forest.

"Very well, little bird," says the old man, and he put the things in a
box with a lock and key to it. He was a merchant, you know, and that
sort are always careful about things, and go clattering about with a
lot of keys at their belt. I've nothing to lock up, and never had, and
perhaps it is just as well, for I could never be bothered with keys.

So the little one picks up all three baskets and runs off after the
others, the bad ones, with black hearts under their necklaces and new
dresses.

They went deep into the forest, picking berries, and the little one
picked so fast that she soon had a basket full. She was picking and
picking, and did not see what the bad ones were doing. They were
fetching the axe.

The little one stood up to straighten her back, which ached after so
much stooping, and she saw her two sisters standing in front of her,
looking at her cruelly. Their baskets lay on the ground quite empty.
They had not picked a berry. The eldest had the axe in her hand.

The little one was frightened.

"What is it, sisters?" says she; "and why do you look at me with cruel
eyes? And what is the axe for? You are not going to cut berries with
an axe."

"No, Little Stupid," says the first, "we are not going to cut berries
with the axe."

"No, Little Stupid," says the second; "the axe is here for something
else."

The little one begged them not to frighten her.

Says the first, "Give me your transparent apple."

Says the second, "Give me your silver saucer."

"If you don't give them up at once, we shall kill you." That is what
the bad ones said.

The poor little one begged them. "O darling sisters, do not kill me! I
haven't got the saucer or the apple with me at all."

"What a lie!" say the bad ones. "You never would leave it behind."

And one caught her by the hair, and the other swung the axe, and
between them they killed the little pretty one, who was called Little
Stupid because she was so good.

Then they looked for the saucer and the apple, and could not find
them. But it was too late now. So they made a hole in the ground, and
buried the little one under a birch tree.

When the sun went down the bad ones came home, and they wailed with
false voices, and rubbed their eyes to make the tears come. They made
their eyes red and their noses too, and they did not look any prettier
for that.

"What is the matter with you, little pigeons?" said the old merchant
and his wife. I would not say "little pigeons" to such bad ones.
Black-hearted crows is what I would call them.

And they wail and lament aloud,--

"We are miserable for ever. Our poor little sister is lost. We looked
for her everywhere. We heard the wolves howling. They must have eaten
her."

The old mother and father cried like rivers in springtime, because
they loved the little pretty one, who was called Little Stupid because
she was so good.

But before their tears were dry the bad ones began to ask for the
silver saucer and the transparent apple.

"No, no," says the old man; "I shall keep them for ever, in memory of
my poor little daughter whom God has taken away."

So the bad ones did not gain by killing their little sister.

"That is one good thing," said Vanya.

"But is that all, grandfather?" said Maroosia.

"Wait a bit, little pigeons. Too much haste set his shoes on fire. You
listen, and you will hear what happened," said old Peter. He took a
pinch of snuff from a little wooden box, and then he went on with his
tale.

Time did not stop with the death of the little girl. Winter came, and
the snow with it. Everything was all white, just as it is now. And the
wolves came to the doors of the huts, even into the villages, and no
one stirred farther than he need. And then the snow melted, and the
buds broke on the trees, and the birds began singing, and the sun
shone warmer every dry. The old people had almost forgotten the little
pretty one who lay dead in the forest. The bad ones had not forgotten,
because now they had to do the work, and they did not like that at
all.

And then one day some lambs strayed away into the forest, and a young
shepherd went after them to bring them safely back to their mothers.
And as he wandered this way and that through the forest, following
their light tracks, he came to a little birch tree, bright with new
leaves, waving over a little mound of earth. And there was a reed
growing in the mound, and that, you know as well as I, is a strange
thing, one reed all by itself under a birch tree in the forest. But it
was no stranger than the flowers, for there were flowers round it,
some red as the sun at dawn and others blue as the summer sky.

Well, the shepherd looks at the reed, and he looks at those flowers,
and he thinks, "I've never seen anything like that before. I'll make a
whistle-pipe of that reed, and keep it for a memory till I grow old."

So he did. He cut the reed, and sat himself down on the mound, and
carved away at the reed with his knife, and got the pith out of it by
pushing a twig through it, and beating it gently till the bark
swelled, made holes in it, and there was his whistle-pipe. And then he
put it to his lips to see what sort of music he could make on it. But
that he never knew, for before his lips touched it the whistle-pipe
began playing by itself and reciting in a girl's sweet voice. This is
what it sang:--

"Play, play, whistle-pipe. Bring happiness to my dear father and to my
little mother. I was killed--yes, my life was taken from me in the
deep forest for the sake of a silver saucer, for the sake of a
transparent apple."

When he heard that the shepherd went back quickly to the village to
show it to the people. And all the way the whistle-pipe went on
playing and reciting, singing its little song. And everyone who heard
it said, "What a strange song! But who is it who was killed?"

"I know nothing about it," says the shepherd, and he tells them about
the mound and the reed and the flowers, and how he cut the reed and
made the whistle-pipe, and how the whistle-pipe does its playing by
itself.

And as he was going through the village, with all the people crowding
about him, the old merchant, that one who was the father of the two
bad ones and of the little pretty one, came along and listened with
the rest. And when he heard the words about the silver saucer and the
transparent apple, he snatched the whistle-pipe from the shepherd boy.
And still it sang:--

"Play, play, whistle-pipe! Bring happiness to my dear father and to my
little mother. I was killed--yes, my life was taken from me in the
deep forest for the sake of a silver saucer, for the sake of a
transparent apple."

And the old merchant remembered the little good one, and his tears
trickled over his cheeks and down his old beard. Old men love little
pigeons, you know. And he said to the shepherd,--

"Take me at once to the mound, where you say you cut the reed."

The shepherd led the way, and the old man walked beside him, crying,
while the whistle-pipe in his hand went on singing and reciting its
little song over and over again.

They came to the mound under the birch tree, and there were the
flowers, shining red and blue, and there in the middle of the mound
was the Stump of the reed which the shepherd had cut.

The whistle-pipe sang on and on.

Well, there and then they dug up the mound, and there was the little
girl lying under the dark earth as if she were asleep.

"O God of mine," says the old merchant, "this is my daughter, my
little pretty one, whom we called Little Stupid." He began to weep
loudly and wring his hands; but the whistle-pipe, playing and
reciting, changed its song. This is what it sang:--

"My sisters took me into the forest to look for the red berries. In
the deep forest they killed poor me for the sake of a silver saucer,
for the sake of a transparent apple. Wake me, dear father, from a
bitter dream, by fetching water from the well of the Tzar."

How the people scowled at the two sisters! They scowled, they cursed
them for the bad ones they were. And the bad ones, the two sisters,
wept, and fell on their knees, and confessed everything. They were
taken, and their hands were tied, and they were shut up in prison.

"Do not kill them," begged the old merchant, "for then I should have
no daughters at all, and when there are no fish in the river we make
shift with crays. Besides, let me go to the Tzar and beg water from
his well. Perhaps my little daughter will wake up, as the
whistle-pipe tells us."

And the whistle-pipe sang again:--

"Wake me, wake me, dear father, from a bitter dream, by fetching water
from the well of the Tzar. Till then, dear father, a blanket of black
earth and the shade of the green birch tree."

So they covered the little girl with her blanket of earth, and the
shepherd with his dogs watched the mound night and day. He begged for
the whistle-pipe to keep him company, poor lad, and all the days and
nights he thought of the sweet face of the little pretty one he had
seen there under the birch tree.

The old merchant harnessed his horse, as if he were going to the town;
and he drove off through the forest, along the roads, till he came to
the palace of the Tzar, the little father of all good Russians. And
then he left his horse and cart and waited on the steps of the palace.

The Tzar, the little father, with rings on his fingers and a gold
crown on his head, came out on the steps in the morning sunshine; and
as for the old merchant, he fell on his knees and kissed the feet of
the Tzar, and begged,--

"O little father, Tzar, give me leave to take water--just a little
drop of water--from your holy well."

"And what will you do with it?" says the Tzar.

"I will wake my daughter from a bitter dream," says the old merchant.
"She was murdered by her sisters--killed in the deep forest--for the
sake of a silver saucer, for the sake of a transparent apple."

"A silver saucer?" says the Tzar--"a transparent apple? Tell me about
that."

And the old merchant told the Tzar everything, just as I have told it
to you.

And the Tzar, the little father, he gave the old merchant a glass of
water from his holy well. "But," says he, "when your daughterkin
wakes, bring her to me, and her sisters with her, and also the silver
saucer and the transparent apple."

The old man kissed the ground before the Tzar, and took the glass of
water and drove home with it, and I can tell you he was careful not to
spill a drop. He carried it all the way in one hand as he drove.

He came to the forest and to the flowering mound under the little
birch tree, and there was the shepherd watching with his dogs. The old
merchant and the shepherd took away the blanket of black earth.
Tenderly, tenderly the shepherd used his fingers, until the little
girl, the pretty one, the good one, lay there as sweet as if she were
not dead.

Then the merchant scattered the holy water from the glass over the
little girl. And his daughterkin blushed as she lay there, and opened
her eyes, and passed a hand across them, as if she were waking from a
dream. And then she leapt up, crying and laughing, and clung about her
old father's neck. And there they stood, the two of them, laughing and
crying with joy. And the shepherd could not take his eyes from her,
and in his eyes, too, there were tears.

But the old father did not forget what he had promised the Tzar. He
set the little pretty one, who had been so good that her wicked
sisters had called her Stupid, to sit beside him on the cart. And he
brought something from the house in a coffer of wood, and kept it
under his coat. And they brought out the two sisters, the bad ones,
from their dark prison, and set them in the cart. And the Little
Stupid kissed them and cried over them, and wanted to loose their
hands, but the old merchant would not let her. And they all drove
together till they came to the palace of the Tzar. The shepherd boy
could not take his eyes from the little pretty one, and he ran all the
way behind the cart.

Well, they came to the palace, and waited on the steps; and the Tzar
came out to take the morning air, and he saw the old merchant, and the
two sisters with their hands tied, and the little pretty, one, as
lovely as a spring day. And the Tzar saw her, and could not take his
eyes from her. He did not see the shepherd boy, who hid away among the
crowd.

Says the great Tzar to his soldiers, pointing to the bad sisters,
"These two are to be put to death at sunset. When the sun goes down
their heads must come off, for they are not fit to see another day."

Then he turns to the little pretty one, and he says: "Little sweet
pigeon, where is your silver saucer, and where is your transparent
apple?"

The old merchant took the wooden box from under his coat, and opened
it with a key at his belt, and gave it to the little one, and she took
out the silver saucer and the transparent apple and gave them to the
Tzar.

"O lord Tzar," says she, "O little father, spin the apple in the
saucer, and you will see whatever you wish to see--your soldiers, your
high hills, your forests, your plains, your rivers, and Everything in
all Russia."

And the Tzar, the little father, spun the apple in the saucer till it
seemed a little whirlpool of white mist, and there he saw glittering
towns, and regiments of soldiers marching to war, and ships, and day
and night, and the clear stars above the trees. He looked at these
things and thought much of them.

Then the little good one threw herself on her knees before him,
weeping.

"O little father, Tzar," she says, "take my transparent apple and my
silver saucer; only forgive my sisters. Do not kill them because of
me. If their heads are cut off when the sun goes down, it would have
been better for me to lie under the blanket of black earth in the
shade of the birch tree in the forest."

The Tzar was pleased with the kind heart of the little pretty one, and
he forgave the bad ones, and their hands were untied, and the little
pretty one kissed them, and they kissed her again and said they were
sorry.

The old merchant looked up at the sun, and saw how the time was going.

"Well, well," says he, "it's time we were getting ready to go home."

They all fell on their knees before the Tzar and thanked him. But the
Tzar could not take his eyes from the little pretty one, and would not
let her go.

"Little sweet pigeon," says he, "will you be my Tzaritza, and a kind
mother to Holy Russia?"

And the little good one did not know what to say. She blushed and
answered, very rightly, "As my father orders, and as my little mother
wishes, so shall it be."

The Tzar was pleased with her answer, and he sent a messenger on a
galloping horse to ask leave from the little pretty one's old mother.
And of course the old mother said that she was more than willing. So
that was all right. Then there was a wedding--such a wedding!--and
every city in Russia sent a silver plate of bread, and a golden
salt-cellar, with their good wishes to the Tzar and Tzaritza.

Only the shepherd boy, when he heard that the little pretty one was to
marry the Tzar, turned sadly away and went off into the forest.

"Are you happy, little sweet pigeon?" says the Tzar.

"Oh yes," says the Little Stupid, who was now Tzaritza and mother of
Holy Russia; "but there is one thing that would make me happier."

"And what is that?" says the lord Tzar.

"I cannot bear to lose my old father and my little mother and my dear
sisters. Let them be with me here in the palace, as they were in my
father's house."

The Tzar laughed at the little pretty one, but he agreed, and the
little pretty one ran to tell them the good news. She said to her
sisters, "Let all be forgotten, and all be forgiven, and may the evil
eye fall on the one who first speaks of what has been!"

For a long time the Tzar lived, and the little pretty one the
Tzaritza, and they had many children, and were very happy together.
And ever since then the Tzars of Russia have kept the silver saucer
and the transparent apple, so that, whenever they wish, they can see
everything that is going on all over Russia. Perhaps even now the
Tzar, the little father--God preserve him!--is spinning the apple in
the saucer, and looking at us, and thinking it is time that two little
pigeons were in bed.

                                   

"Is that the end?" said Vanya.

"That is the end," said old Peter.

"Poor shepherd boy!" said Maroosia.

"I don't know about that," said old Peter. "You see, if he had married
the little pretty one, and had to have all the family to live with
him, he would have had them in a hut like ours instead of in a great
palace, and so he would never have had room to get away from them. And
now, little pigeons, who is going to be first into bed?"




SADKO.


In Novgorod in the old days there was a young man--just a boy he
was--the son of a rich merchant who had lost all his money and died.
So Sadko was very poor. He had not a kopeck in the world, except what
the people gave him when he played his dulcimer for their dancing. He
had blue eyes and curling hair, and he was strong, and would have been
merry; but it is dull work playing for other folk to dance, and Sadko
dared not dance with any young girl, for he had no money to marry on,
and he did not want to be chased away as a beggar. And the young women
of Novgorod, they never looked at the handsome Sadko. No; they smiled
with their bright eyes at the young men who danced with them, and if
they ever spoke to Sadko, it was just to tell him sharply to keep the
music going or to play faster.

So Sadko lived alone with his dulcimer, and made do with half a loaf
when he could not get a whole, and with crust when he had no crumb. He
did not mind so very much what came to him, so long as he could play
his dulcimer and walk along the banks of the little river Volkhov
that flows by Novgorod, or on the shores of the lake, making music for
himself, and seeing the pale mists rise over the water, and dawn or
sunset across the shining river.

"There is no girl in all Novgorod as pretty as my little river," he
used to say, and night after night he would sit by the banks of the
river or on the shores of the lake, playing the dulcimer and singing
to himself.

Sometimes he helped the fishermen on the lake, and they would give him
a little fish for his supper in payment for his strong young arms.

And it happened that one evening the fishermen asked him to watch
their nets for them on the shore, while they went off to take their
fish to sell them in the square at Novgorod.

[Footnote 1: The Volkhov would be a big river if it were in England,
and Sadko and old Peter called it little only because they loved it.]

Sadko sat on the shore, on a rock, and played his dulcimer and sang.
Very sweetly he sang of the fair lake and the lovely river--the little
river that he thought prettier than all the girls of Novgorod. And
while he was singing he saw a whirlpool in the lake, little waves
flying from it across the water, and in the middle a hollow down into
the water. And in the hollow he saw the head of a great man with blue
hair and a gold crown. He knew that the huge man was the Tzar of the
Sea. And the man came nearer, walking up out of the depths of the
lake--a huge, great man, a very giant, with blue hair falling to his
waist over his broad shoulders. The little waves ran from him in all
directions as he came striding up out of the water.

Sadko did not know whether to run or stay; but the Tzar of the Sea
called out to him in a great voice like wind and water in a storm,--

"Sadko of Novgorod, you have played and sung many days by the side of
this lake and on the banks of the little river Volkhov. My daughters
love your music, and it has pleased me too. Throw out a net into the
water, and draw it in, and the waters will pay you for your singing.
And if you are satisfied with the payment, you must come and play to
us down in the green palace of the sea."

With that the Tzar of the Sea went down again into the waters of the
lake. The waves closed over him with a roar, and presently the lake
was as smooth and calm as it had ever been.

Sadko thought, and said to himself: "Well, there is no harm done in
casting out a net." So he threw a net out into the lake.

He sat down again and played on his dulcimer and sang, and when he had
finished his singing the dusk had fallen and the moon shone over the
lake. He put down his dulcimer and took hold of the ropes of the net,
and began to draw it up out of the silver water. Easily the ropes
came, and the net, dripping and glittering in the moonlight.

"I was dreaming," said Sadko; "I was asleep when I saw the Tzar of the
Sea, and there is nothing in the net at all."

And then, just as the last of the net was coming ashore, he saw
something in it, square and dark. He dragged it out, and found it was
a coffer. He opened the coffer, and it was full of precious
stones--green, red, gold--gleaming in the light of the moon. Diamonds
shone there like little bundles of sharp knives.

"There can be no harm in taking these stones," says Sadko, "whether I
dreamed or not."

He took the coffer on his shoulder, and bent under the weight of it,
strong though he was. He put it in a safe place. All night he sat and
watched by the nets, and played and sang, and planned what he would
do.

In the morning the fishermen came, laughing and merry after their
night in Novgorod, and they gave him a little fish for watching their
nets; and he made a fire on the shore, and cooked it and ate it as he
used to do.

"And that is my last meal as a poor man," says Sadko. "Ah me! who
knows if I shall be happier?"

Then he set the coffer on his shoulder and tramped away for Novgorod.

"Who is that?" they asked at the gates.

"Only Sadko the dulcimer player," he replied.

"Turned porter?" said they.

"One trade is as good as another," said Sadko, and he walked into the
city. He sold a few of the stones, two at a time, and with what he got
for them he set up a booth in the market. Small things led to great,
and he was soon one of the richest traders in Novgorod.

And now there was not a girl in the town who could look too sweetly at
Sadko. "He has golden hair," says one. "Blue eyes like the sea," says
another. "He could lift the world on his shoulders," says a third. A
little money, you see, opens everybody's eyes.

But Sadko was not changed by his good fortune. Still he walked and
played by the little river Volkhov. When work was done and the traders
gone, Sadko would take his dulcimer and play and sing on the banks of
the river. And still he said, "There is no girl in all Novgorod as
pretty as my little river." Every time he came back from his long
voyages--for he was trading far and near, like the greatest of
merchants--he went at once to the banks of the river to see how his
sweetheart fared. And always he brought some little present for her
and threw it into the waves.

For twelve years he lived unmarried in Novgorod, and every year made
voyages, buying and selling, and always growing richer and richer.
Many were the mothers in Novgorod who would have liked to see him
married to their daughters. Many were the pillows that were wet with
the tears of the young girls, as they thought of the blue eyes of
Sadko and his golden hair.

And then, in the twelfth year since he walked into Novgorod with the
coffer on his shoulder, he was sailing in a ship on the Caspian Sea,
far, far away. For many days the ship sailed on, and Sadko sat on deck
and played his dulcimer and sang of Novgorod and of the little river
Volkhov that flows under the walls of the town. Blue was the Caspian
Sea, and the waves were like furrows in a field, long lines of white
under the steady wind, while the sails swelled and the ship shot over
the water.

And suddenly the ship stopped.

In the middle of the sea, far from land, the ship stopped and trembled
in the waves, as if she were held by a big hand.

"We are aground!" cry the sailors; and the captain, the great one,
tells them to take soundings. Seventy fathoms by the bow it was, and
seventy fathoms by the stern.

"We are not aground," says the captain, "unless there is a rock
sticking up like a needle in the middle of the Caspian Sea!"

"There is magic in this," say the sailors.

"Hoist more sail," says the captain; and up go the white sails,
swelling out in the wind, while the masts bend and creak. But still
the ship lay shivering and did not move, out there in the middle of
the sea.

"Hoist more sail yet," says the captain; and up go the white sails,
swelling and tugging, while the masts creak and groan. But still the
ship lay there shivering and did not move.

"There is an unlucky one aboard," says an old sailor. "We must draw
lots and find him, and throw him overboard into the sea."

The other sailors agreed to this. And still Sadko sat, and played his
dulcimer and sang.

The sailors cut pieces of string, all of a length, as many as there
were souls in the ship, and one of those strings they cut in half.
Then they made them into a bundle, and each man plucked one string.
And Sadko stopped his playing for a moment to pluck a string, and his
was the string that had been cut in half.

"Magician, sorcerer, unclean one!" shouted the sailors.

"Not so," said Sadko. "I remember now an old promise I made, and I
keep it willingly."

He took his dulcimer in his hand, and leapt from the ship into the
blue Caspian Sea. The waves had scarcely closed over his head before
the ship shot forward again, and flew over the waves like a swan's
feather, and came in the end safely to her harbour.

"And what happened to Sadko?" asked Maroosia.

"You shall hear, little pigeon," said old Peter, and he took a pinch
of snuff. Then he went on.

Sadko dropped into the waves, and the waves closed over him. Down he
sank, like a pebble thrown into a pool, down and down. First the water
was blue, then green, and strange fish with goggle eyes and golden
fins swam round him as he sank. He came at last to the bottom of the
sea.

And there, on the bottom of the sea, was a palace built of green wood.
Yes, all the timbers of all the ships that have been wrecked in all
the seas of the world are in that palace, and they are all green, and
cunningly fitted together, so that the palace is worth a ten days'
journey only to see it. And in front of the palace Sadko saw two big
kobbly sturgeons, each a hundred and fifty feet long, lashing their
tails and guarding the gates. Now, sturgeons are the oldest of all
fish, and these were the oldest of all sturgeons.

Sadko walked between the sturgeons and through the gates of the
palace. Inside there was a great hall, and the Tzar of the Sea lay
resting in the hall, with his gold crown on his head and his blue hair
floating round him in the water, and his great body covered with
scales lying along the hall. The Tzar of the Sea filled the hall--and
there is room in that hall for a village. And there were fish swimming
this way and that in and out of the windows.

"Ah, Sadko," says the Tzar of the Sea, "you took what the sea gave
you, but you have been a long time in coming to sing in the palaces of
the sea. Twelve years I have lain here waiting for you."

"Great Tzar, forgive," says Sadko.

"Sing now," says the Tzar of the Sea, and his voice was like the
beating of waves.

And Sadko played on his dulcimer and sang.

He sang of Novgorod and of the little river Volkhov which he loved. It
was in his song that none of the girls of Novgorod were as pretty as
the little river. And there was the sound of wind over the lake in his
song, the sound of ripples under the prow of a boat, the sound of
ripples on the shore, the sound of the river flowing past the tall
reeds, the whispering sound of the river at night. And all the time he
played cunningly on the dulcimer. The girls of Novgorod had never
danced to so sweet a tune when in the old days Sadko played his
dulcimer to earn kopecks and crusts of bread.

Never had the Tzar of the Sea heard such music.

"I would dance," said the Tzar of the Sea, and he stood up like a tall
tree in the hall.

"Play on," said the Tzar of the Sea, and he strode through the gates.
The sturgeons guarding the gates stirred the water with their tails.

And if the Tzar of the Sea was huge in the hall, he was huger still
when he stood outside on the bottom of the sea. He grew taller and
taller, towering like a mountain. His feet were like small hills. His
blue hair hung down to his waist, and he was covered with green
scales. And he began to dance on the bottom of the sea.

Great was that dancing. The sea boiled, and ships went down. The waves
rolled as big as houses. The sea overflowed its shores, and whole
towns were under water as the Tzar danced mightily on the bottom of
the sea. Hither and thither rushed the waves, and the very earth shook
at the dancing of that tremendous Tzar.

He danced till he was tired, and then he came back to the palace of
green wood, and passed the sturgeons, and shrank into himself and
came through the gates into the hall, where Sadko still played on his
dulcimer and sang.

"You have played well and given me pleasure," says the Tzar of the
Sea. "I have thirty daughters, and you shall choose one and marry her,
and be a Prince of the Sea."

"Better than all maidens I love my little river," says Sadko; and the
Tzar of the Sea laughed and threw his head back, with his blue hair
floating all over the hall.

And then there came in the thirty daughters of the Tzar of the Sea.
Beautiful they were, lovely, and graceful; but twenty-nine of them
passed by, and Sadko fingered his dulcimer and thought of his little
river.

There came in the thirtieth, and Sadko cried out aloud. "Here is the
only maiden in the world as pretty as my little river!" says he. And
she looked at him with eyes that shone like stars reflected in the
river. Her hair was dark, like the river at night. She laughed, and
her voice was like the flowing of the river.

"And what is the name of your little river?" says the Tzar.

"It is the little river Volkhov that flows by Novgorod," says Sadko;
"but your daughter is as fair as the little river, and I would gladly
marry her if she will have me."

"It is a strange thing," says the Tzar, "but Volkhov is the name of my
youngest daughter."

He put Sadko's hand in the hand of his youngest daughter, and they
kissed each other. And as they kissed, Sadko saw a necklace round her
neck, and knew it for one he had thrown into the river as a present
for his sweetheart.

She smiled, and "Come!" says she, and took him away to a palace of her
own, and showed him a coffer; and in that coffer were bracelets and
rings and earrings--all the gifts that he had thrown into the river.

And Sadko laughed for joy, and kissed the youngest daughter of the
Tzar of the Sea, and she kissed him back.

"O my little river!" says he; "there is no girl in all the world but
thou as pretty as my little river."

Well, they were married, and the Tzar of the Sea laughed at the
wedding feast till the palace shook and the fish swam off in all
directions.

And after the feast Sadko and his bride went off together to her
palace. And before they slept she kissed him very tenderly, and she
said,--

"O Sadko, you will not forget me? You will play to me sometimes, and
sing?"

"I shall never lose sight of you, my pretty one," says he; "and as for
music, I will sing and play all the day long."

"That's as may be," says she, and they fell asleep.

And in the middle of the night Sadko happened to turn in bed, and he
touched the Princess with his left foot, and she was cold, cold, cold
as ice in January. And with that touch of cold he woke, and he was
lying under the walls of Novgorod, with his dulcimer in his hand, and
one of his feet was in the little river Volkhov, and the moon was
shining.

"O grandfather! And what happened to him after that?" asked Maroosia.

"There are many tales," said old Peter. "Some say he went into the
town, and lived on alone until he died. But I think with those who say
that he took his dulcimer and swam out into the middle of the river,
and sank under water again, looking for his little Princess. They say
he found her, and lives still in the green palaces of the bottom of
the sea; and when there is a big storm, you may know that Sadko is
playing on his dulcimer and singing, and that the Tzar of the Sea is
dancing his tremendous dance down there, on the bottom, under the
waves."

"Yes, I expect that's what happened," said Ivan. "He'd have found it
very dull in Novgorod, even though it is a big town."




FROST.


The children, in their little sheepskin coats and high felt boots and
fur hats, trudged along the forest path in the snow. Vanya went first,
then Maroosia, and then old Peter. The ground was white and the snow
was hard and crisp, and all over the forest could be heard the
crackling of the frost. And as they walked, old Peter told them the
story of the old woman who wanted Frost to marry her daughters.

Once upon a time there were an old man and an old woman. Now the old
woman was the old man's second wife. His first wife had died, and had
left him with a little daughter: Martha she was called. Then he
married again, and God gave him a cross wife, and with her two more
daughters, and they were very different from the first.

The old woman loved her own daughters, and gave them red kisel jelly
every day, and honey too, as much as they could put into their greedy
little mouths. But poor little Martha, the eldest, she got only what
the others left. When they were cross they threw away what they left,
and then she got nothing at all.

The children grew older, and the stepmother made Martha do all the
work of the house. She had to fetch the wood for the stove, and light
it and keep it burning. She had to draw the water for her sisters to
wash their hands in. She had to make the clothes, and wash them and
mend them. She had to cook the dinner, and clean the dishes after the
others had done before having a bite for herself.

For all that the stepmother was never satisfied, and was for ever
shouting at her: "Look, the kettle is in the wrong place;" "There is
dust on the floor;" "There is a spot on the tablecloth;" or, "The
spoons are not clean, you stupid, ugly, idle hussy." But Martha was
not idle. She worked all day long, and got up before the sun, while
her sisters never stirred from their beds till it was time for dinner.
And she was not stupid. She always had a song on her lips, except when
her stepmother had beaten her. And as for being ugly, she was the
prettiest little girl in the village.

Her father saw all this, but he could not do anything, for the old
woman was mistress at home, and he was terribly afraid of her. And as
for the daughters, they saw how their mother treated Martha, and they
did the same. They were always complaining and getting her into
trouble. It was a pleasure to them to see the tears on her pretty
cheeks.

Well, time went on, and the little girl grew up, and the daughters of
the stepmother were as ugly as could be. Their eyes were always cross,
and their mouths were always complaining. Their mother saw that no one
would want to marry either of them while there was Martha about the
house, with her bright eyes and her songs and her kindness to
everybody.

So she thought of a way to get rid of her stepdaughter, and a cruel
way it was.

"See here, old man," says she, "it is high time Martha was married,
and I have a bridegroom in mind for her. To-morrow morning you must
harness the old mare to the sledge, and put a bit of food together and
be ready to start early, as I'd like to see you back before night."

To Martha she said: "To-morrow you must pack your things in a box, and
put on your best dress to show yourself to your betrothed."

"Who is he?" asked Martha with red cheeks.

"You will know when you see him," said the stepmother.

All that night Martha hardly slept. She could hardly believe that she
was really going to escape from the old woman at last, and have a hut
of her own, where there would be no one to scold her. She wondered who
the young man was. She hoped he was Fedor Ivanovitch, who had such
kind eyes, and such nimble fingers on the balalaika, and such a merry
way of flinging out his heels when he danced the Russian dance. But
although he always smiled at her when they met, she felt she hardly
dared to hope that it was he. Early in the morning she got up and said
her prayers to God, put the whole hut in order, and packed her things
into a little box. That was easy, because she had such few things. It
was the other daughters who had new dresses. Any old thing was good
enough for Martha. But she put on her best blue dress, and there she
was, as pretty a little maid as ever walked under the birch trees in
spring.

The old man harnessed the mare to the sledge and brought it to the
door. The snow was very deep and frozen hard, and the wind peeled the
skin from his ears before he covered them with the flaps of his fur
hat.

"Sit down at the table and have a bite before you go," says the old
woman.

The old man sat down, and his daughter with him, and drank a glass of
tea and ate some black bread. And the old woman put some cabbage soup,
left from the day before, in a saucer, and said to Martha, "Eat this,
my little pigeon, and get ready for the road." But when she said "my
little pigeon," she did not smile with her eyes, but only with her
cruel mouth, and Martha was afraid. The old woman whispered to the old
man: "I have a word for you, old fellow. You will take Martha to her
betrothed, and I'll tell you the way. You go straight along, and then
take the road to the right into the forest ... you know ... straight
to the big fir tree that stands on a hillock, and there you will give
Martha to her betrothed and leave her. He will be waiting for her, and
his name is Frost."

The old man stared, opened his mouth, and stopped eating. The little
maid, who had heard the last words, began to cry,

"Now, what are you whimpering about?" screamed the old woman. "Frost
is a rich bridegroom and a handsome one. See how much he owns. All the
pines and firs are his, and the birch trees. Any one would envy his
possessions, and he himself is a very bogatir, a man of strength
and power."

The old man trembled, and said nothing in reply. And Martha went on
crying quietly, though she tried to stop her tears. The old man
packed up what was left of the black bread, told Martha to put on her
sheepskin coat, set her in the sledge and climbed in, and drove off
along the white, frozen road.

The road was long and the country open, and the wind grew colder and
colder, while the frozen snow blew up from under the hoofs of the mare
and spattered the sledge with white patches. The tale is soon told,
but it takes time to happen, and the sledge was white all over long
before they turned off into the forest.

They came in the end deep into the forest, and left the road, and over
the deep snow through the trees to the great fir. There the old man
stopped, told his daughter to get out of the sledge, set her little
box under the fir, and said, "Wait here for your bridegroom, and when
he comes be sure to receive him with kind words." Then he turned the
mare round and drove home, with the tears running from his eyes and
freezing on his cheeks before they had had time to reach his beard.



The little maid sat and trembled. Her sheepskin coat was worn through,
and in her blue bridal dress she sat, while fits of shivering shook
her whole body. She wanted to run away; but she had not strength to
move, or even to keep her little white teeth from chattering between
her frozen lips.

Suddenly, not far away, she heard Frost crackling among the fir trees,
just as he is crackling now. He was leaping from tree to tree,
crackling as he came.

He leapt at last into the great fir tree, under which the little maid
was sitting. He crackled in the top of the tree, and then called; down
out of the topmost branches,--

"Are you warm, little maid?"

"Warm, warm, little Father Frost."

Frost laughed, and came a little lower in the tree and crackled and
crackled louder than before. Then he asked,--

"Are you still warm, little maid? Are you warm, little red cheeks?"

The little maid could hardly speak. She was nearly dead, but she
answered,--

"Warm, dear Frost; warm, little father."

Frost climbed lower in the tree, and crackled louder than ever, and
asked,--

"Are you still warm, little maid? Are you warm, little red cheeks?
Are you warm, little paws?"

The little maid was benumbed all over, but she whispered so that Frost
could just hear her,--

"Warm, little pigeon, warm, dear Frost,"

And Frost was sorry for her, leapt down with a tremendous crackle and
a scattering of frozen snow, wrapped the little maid up in rich furs,
and covered her with warm blankets.

In the morning the old woman said to her husband, "Drive off now to
the forest, and wake the young couple."

The old man wept when he thought of his little daughter, for he was
sure that he would find her dead. He harnessed the mare, and drove off
through the snow. He came to the tree, and heard his little daughter
singing merrily, while Frost crackled and laughed. There she was,
alive and warm, with a good fur cloak about her shoulders, a rich
veil, costly blankets round her feet, and a box full of splendid
presents.

The old man did not say a word. He was too surprised. He just sat in
the sledge staring, while the little maid lifted her box and the box
of presents, set them in the sledge, climbed in, and sat down beside
him.

They came home, and the little maid, Martha, fell at the feet of her
stepmother. The old woman nearly went off her head with rage when she
saw her alive, with her fur cloak and rich veil, and the box of
splendid presents fit for the daughter of a prince.

"Ah, you slut," she cried, "you won't get round me like that!"

And she would not say another word to the little maid, but went about
all day long biting her nails and thinking what to do.

At night she said to the old man,--

"You must take my daughters, too, to that bridegroom in the forest. He
will give them better gifts than these."

Things take time to happen, but the tale is quickly told. Early next
morning the old woman woke her daughters, fed them with good food,
dressed them like brides, hustled the old man, made him put clean hay
in the sledge and warm blankets, and sent them off to the forest.

The old man did as he was bid--drove to the big fir tree, set the
boxes under the tree, lifted out the stepdaughters and set them on the
boxes side by side, and drove back home.

They were warmly dressed, these two, and well fed, and at first, as
they sat there, they did not think about the cold.

"I can't think what put it into mother's head to marry us both at
once," said the first, "and to send us here to be married. As if there
were not enough young men in the village. Who can tell what sort of
fellows we shall meet here!"

Then they began to quarrel.

"Well," says one of them, "I'm beginning to get the cold shivers. If
our fated ones do not come soon, we shall perish of cold."

"It's a flat lie to say that bridegrooms get ready early. It's already
dinner-time."

"What if only one comes?"

"You'll have to come another time."

"You think he'll look at you?"

"Well, he won't take you, anyhow."

"Of course he'll take me."

"Take you first! It's enough to make any one laugh!"

They began to fight and scratch each other, so that their cloaks fell
open and the cold entered their bosoms.

[Illustration: There she was, a good fur cloak about her shoulders and
costly blankets Round her feet.]

Frost, crackling among the trees, laughing to himself, froze the hands
of the two quarrelling girls, and they hid their hands in the sleeves
of their fur coats and shivered, and went on scolding and jeering at
each other.

"Oh, you ugly mug, dirty nose! What sort of a housekeeper will you
make?"

"And what about you, boasting one? You know nothing but how to gad
about and lick your own face. We'll soon see which of us he'll take."

And the two girls went on wrangling and wrangling till they began to
freeze in good earnest.

Suddenly they cried out together,--

"Devil take these bridegrooms for being so long in coming! You have
turned blue all over."

And together they replied, shivering,--

"No bluer than yourself, tooth-chatterer."

And Frost, not so far away, crackled and laughed, and leapt from fir
tree to fir tree, crackling as he came.

The girls heard that some one was coming through the forest.

"Listen! there's some one coming. Yes, and with bells on his sledge!"

"Shut up, you slut! I can't hear, and the frost is taking the skin off
me."

They began blowing on their fingers.

And Frost came nearer and nearer, crackling, laughing, talking to
himself, just as he is doing to-day. Nearer and nearer he came,
leaping from tree-top to tree-top, till at last he leapt into the
great fir under which the two girls were sitting and quarrelling.

He leant down, looking through the branches, and asked,--

"Are you warm, maidens? Are you warm, little red cheeks? Are you warm,
little pigeons?"

"Ugh, Frost, the cold is hurting us. We are frozen. We are waiting for
our bridegrooms, but the cursed fellows have not turned up."

Frost came a little lower in the tree, and crackled louder and
swifter.

"Are you warm, maidens? Are you warm, my little red cheeks?"

"Go to the devil!" they cried out. "Are you blind? Our hands and feet
are frozen!"

Frost came still lower in the branches, and cracked and crackled
louder than ever.

"Are you warm, maidens?" he asked.

"Into the pit with you, with all the fiends," the girls screamed at
him, "you ugly, wretched fellow!"... And as they were cursing at him
their bad words died on their lips, for the two girls, the cross
children of the cruel stepmother, were frozen stiff where they sat.

Frost hung from the lowest branches of the tree, swaying and crackling
while he looked at the anger frozen on their faces. Then he climbed
swiftly up again, and crackling and cracking, chuckling to himself, he
went off, leaping from fir tree to fir tree, this way and that through
the white, frozen forest.

In the morning the old woman says to her husband,--

"Now then, old man, harness the mare to the sledge, and put new hay in
the sledge to be warm for my little ones, and lay fresh rushes on the
hay to be soft for them; and take warm rugs with you, for maybe they
will be cold, even in their furs. And look sharp about it, and don't
keep them waiting. The frost is hard this morning, and it was harder
in the night."

The old man had not time to eat even a mouthful of black bread before
she had driven him out into the snow. He put hay and rushes and soft
blankets in the sledge, and harnessed the mare, and went off to the
forest. He came to the great fir, and found the two girls sitting
under it dead, with their anger still to be seen on their frozen, ugly
faces.

He picked them up, first one and then the other, and put them in the
rushes and the warm hay, covered them with the blankets, and drove
home.

The old woman saw him coming, far away, over the shining snow. She ran
to meet him, and shouted out,--

"Where are the little ones?"

"In the sledge."

She snatched off the blankets and pulled aside the rushes, and found
the bodies of her two cross daughters.

Instantly she flew at the old man in a storm of rage. "What have you
done to my children, my little red cherries, my little pigeons? I will
kill you with the oven fork! I will break your head with the poker!"

The old man listened till she was out of breath and could not say
another word. That, my dears, is the only wise thing to do when a
woman is in a scolding rage. And as soon as she had no breath left
with which to answer him, he said,--

"My little daughter got riches for soft words, but yours were always
rough of the tongue. And it's not my fault, anyhow, for you yourself
sent them into the forest."

Well, at last the old woman got her breath again, and scolded away
till she was tired out. But in the end she made her peace with the old
man, and they lived together as quietly as could be expected.

As for Martha, Fedor Ivanovitch sought her in marriage, as he had
meant to do all along--yes, and married her; and pretty she looked in
the furs that Frost had given her. I was at the feast, and drank beer
and mead with the rest. And she had the prettiest children that ever
were seen--yes, and the best behaved. For if ever they thought of
being naughty, the old grandfather told them the story of crackling
Frost, and how kind words won kindness, and cross words cold
treatment. And now, listen to Frost. Hear how he crackles away! And
mind, if ever he asks you if you are warm, be as polite to him as you
can. And to do that, the best way is to be good always, like little
Martha. Then it comes easy.

                                   

The children listened, and laughed quietly, because they knew they
were good. Away in the forest they heard Frost, and thought of him
crackling and leaping from one tree to another. And just then they
came home. It was dusk, for dusk comes early in winter, and a little
way through the trees before them they saw the lamp of their hut
glittering on the snow. The big dog barked and ran forward, and the
children with him. The soup was warm on the stove, and in a few
minutes they were sitting at the table, Vanya, Maroosia, and old
Peter, blowing at their steaming spoons.




THE FOOL OF THE WORLD AND THE FLYING SHIP.


There were once upon a time an old peasant and his wife, and they had
three sons. Two of them were clever young men who could borrow money
without being cheated, but the third was the Fool of the World. He was
as simple as a child, simpler than some children, and he never did any
one a harm in his life.

Well, it always happens like that. The father and mother thought a lot
of the two smart young men; but the Fool of the World was lucky if he
got enough to eat, because they always forgot him unless they happened
to be looking at him, and sometimes even then.

But however it was with his father and mother, this is a story that
shows that God loves simple folk, and turns things to their advantage
in the end.

For it happened that the Tzar of that country sent out messengers
along the highroads and the rivers, even to huts in the forest like
ours, to say that he would give his daughter, the Princess, in
marriage to any one who could bring him a flying ship--ay, a ship with
wings, that should sail this way and that through the blue sky, like a
ship sailing on the sea.

"This is a chance for us," said the two clever brothers; and that
same day they set off together, to see if one of them could not build
the flying ship and marry the Tzar's daughter, and so be a great man
indeed.

And their father blessed them, and gave them finer clothes than ever
he wore himself. And their mother made them up hampers of food for the
road, soft white rolls, and several kinds of cooked meats, and bottles
of corn brandy. She went with them as far as the highroad, and waved
her hand to them till they were out of sight. And so the two clever
brothers set merrily off on their adventure, to see what could be done
with their cleverness. And what happened to them I do not know, for
they were never heard of again.

The Fool of the World saw them set off, with their fine parcels of
food, and their fine clothes, and their bottles of corn brandy.

"I'd like to go too," says he, "and eat good meat, with soft white
rolls, and drink corn brandy, and marry the Tzar's daughter."

"Stupid fellow," says his mother, "what's the good of your going? Why,
if you were to stir from the house you would walk into the arms of a
bear; and if not that, then the wolves would eat you before you had
finished staring at them."

But the Fool of the World would not be held back by words.

"I am going," says he. "I am going. I am going. I am going."

He went on saying this over and over again, till the old woman his
mother saw there was nothing to be done, and was glad to get him out
of the house so as to be quit of the sound of his voice. So she put
some food in a bag for him to eat by the way. She put in the bag some
crusts of dry black bread and a flask of water. She did not even
bother to go as far as the footpath to see him on his way. She saw the
last of him at the door of the hut, and he had not taken two steps
before she had gone back into the hut to see to more important
business.

No matter. The Fool of the World set off with his bag over his
shoulder, singing as he went, for he was off to seek his fortune and
marry the Tzar's daughter. He was sorry his mother had not given him
any corn brandy; but he sang merrily for all that. He would have liked
white rolls instead of the dry black crusts; but, after all, the main
thing on a journey is to have something to eat. So he trudged merrily
along the road, and sang because the trees were green and there was a
blue sky overhead.

He had not gone very far when he met an ancient old man with a bent
back, and a long beard, and eyes hidden under his bushy eyebrows.

"Good-day, young fellow," says the ancient old man.

"Good-day, grandfather," says the Fool of the World.

"And where are you off to?" says the ancient old man.

"What!" says the Fool; "haven't you heard? The Tzar is going to give
his daughter to any one who can bring him a flying ship."

"And you can really make a flying ship?" says the ancient old man.

"No, I do not know how."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"God knows," says the Fool of the World.

"Well," says the ancient, "if things are like that, sit you down here.
We will rest together and have a bite of food. Bring out what you have
in your bag."

"I am ashamed to offer you what I have here. It is good enough for me,
but it is not the sort of meal to which one can ask guests."

"Never mind that. Out with it. Let us eat what God has given."

The Fool of the World opened his bag, and could hardly believe his
eyes. Instead of black crusts he saw fresh white rolls and cooked
meats. He handed them out to the ancient, who said, "You see how God
loves simple folk. Although your own mother does not love you, you
have not been done out of your share of the good things. Let's have a
sip at the corn brandy...."

The Fool of the World opened his flask, and instead of water there
came out corn brandy, and that of the best. So the Fool and the
ancient made merry, eating and drinking; and when they had done, and
sung a song or two together, the ancient says to the Fool,--

"Listen to me. Off with you into the forest. Go up to the first big
tree you see. Make the sacred sign of the cross three times before it.
Strike it a blow with your little hatchet. Fall backwards on the
ground, and lie there, full length on your back, until somebody wakes
you up. Then you will find the ship made, all ready to fly. Sit you
down in it, and fly off whither you want to go. But be sure on the way
to give a lift to everyone you meet."

The Fool of the World thanked the ancient old man, said good-bye to
him, and went off to the forest. He walked up to a tree, the first big
tree he saw, made the sign of the cross three times before it, swung
his hatchet round his head, struck a mighty blow on the trunk of the
tree, instantly fell backwards flat on the ground, closed his eyes,
and went to sleep.

A little time went by, and it seemed to the Fool as he slept that
somebody was jogging his elbow. He woke up and opened his eyes. His
hatchet, worn out, lay beside him. The big tree was gone, and in its
place there stood a little ship, ready and finished. The Fool did not
stop to think. He jumped into the ship, seized the tiller, and sat
down. Instantly the ship leapt up into the air, and sailed away over
the tops of the trees.

The little ship answered the tiller as readily as if she were sailing
in water, and the Fool steered for the highroad, and sailed along
above it, for he was afraid of losing his way if he tried to steer a
course across the open country.

He flew on and on, and looked down, and saw a man lying in the road
below him with his ear on the damp ground.

"Good-day to you, uncle," cried the Fool.

"Good-day to you, Sky-fellow," cried the man.

"What are you doing down there?" says the Fool.

"I am listening to all that is being done in the world."

"Take your place in the ship with me."

The man was willing enough, and sat down in the ship with the Fool,
and they flew on together singing songs.

They flew on and on, and looked down, and there was a man on one leg,
with the other tied up to his head.

"Good-day, uncle," says the Fool, bringing the ship to the ground.
"Why are you hopping along on one foot?"

"If I were to untie the other I should move too fast. I should be
stepping across the world in a single stride."

"Sit down with us," says the Fool.

The man sat down with them in the ship, and they flew on together
singing songs.

They flew on and on, and looked down, and there was a man with a gun,
and he was taking aim, but what he was aiming at they could not see.

"Good health to you, uncle," says the Fool. "But what are you shooting
at? There isn't a bird to be seen."

"What!" says the man. "If there were a bird that you could see, I
should not shoot at it. A bird or a beast a thousand versts away,
that's the sort of mark for me."

"Take your seat with us," says the Fool.

The man sat down with them in the ship, and they flew on together.
Louder and louder rose their songs.

They flew on and on, and looked down, and there was a man carrying a
sack full of bread on his back.

"Good health to you, uncle," says the Fool, sailing down. "And where
are you off to?"

"I am going to get bread for my dinner."

"But you've got a full sack on your back."

"That--that little scrap! Why, that's not enough for a single
mouthful."

"Take your seat with us," says the Fool.

The Eater sat down with them in the ship, and they flew on together,
singing louder than ever.

They flew on and on, and looked down, and there was a man walking
round and round a lake.

"Good health to you, uncle," says the Fool. "What are you looking
for?"

"I want a drink, and I can't find any water."

"But there's a whole lake in front of your eyes. Why can't you take a
drink from that?"

"That little drop!" says the man. "Why, there's not enough water there
to wet the back of my throat if I were to drink it at one gulp."

"Take your seat with us," says the Fool.

The Drinker sat down with them, and again they flew on, singing in
chorus.

They flew on and on, and looked down, and there was a man walking
towards the forest, with a fagot of wood on his shoulders.

"Good-day to you, uncle," says the Fool. "Why are you taking wood to
the forest?"

"This isn't simple wood," says the man.

"What is it, then?" says the Fool.

"If it is scattered about, a whole army of soldiers leaps up out of
the ground."

"There's a place for you with us," says the Fool.

The man sat down with them, and the ship rose up into the air, and
flew on, carrying its singing crew.

They flew on and on, and looked down, and there was a man carrying a
sack of straw.

"Good health to you, uncle," says the Fool; "and where are you taking
your straw?"

"To the village."

"Why, are they short of straw in your village?"

"No; but this is such straw that if you scatter it abroad in the very
hottest of the summer, instantly the weather turns cold, and there is
snow and frost."

"There's a place here for you too," says the Fool.

"Very kind of you," says the man, and steps in and sits down, and away
they all sail together, singing like to burst their lungs.

They did not meet any one else, and presently came flying up to the
palace of the Tzar. They flew down and cast anchor in the courtyard.

Just then the Tzar was eating his dinner. He heard their loud singing,
and looked out of the window and saw the ship come sailing down into
his courtyard. He sent his servant out to ask who was the great prince
who had brought him the flying ship, and had come sailing down with
such a merry noise of singing.

The servant came up to the ship, and saw the Fool of the World and his
companions sitting there cracking jokes. He saw they were all moujiks,
simple peasants, sitting in the ship; so he did not stop to ask
questions, but came back quietly and told the Tzar that there were no
gentlemen in the ship at all, but only a lot of dirty peasants.

Now the Tzar was not at all pleased with the idea of giving his only
daughter in marriage to a simple peasant, and he began to think how he
could get out of his bargain. Thinks he to himself, "I'll set them
such tasks that they will not be able to perform, and they'll be glad
to get off with their lives, and I shall get the ship for nothing."

So he told his servant to go to the Fool and tell him that before the
Tzar had finished his dinner the Fool was to bring him some of the
magical water of life.

Now, while the Tzar was giving this order to his servant, the
Listener, the first of the Fool's companions, was listening, and heard
the words of the Tzar and repeated them to the Fool.

"What am I to do now?" says the Fool, stopping short in his jokes. "In
a year, in a whole century, I never could find that water. And he
wants it before he has finished his dinner."

"Don't you worry about that," says the Swift-goer, "I'll deal with
that for you."

The servant came and announced the Tzar's command.

"Tell him he shall have it," says the Fool.

His companion, the Swift-goer, untied his foot from beside his head,
put it to the ground, wriggled it a little to get the stiffness out of
it, ran off, and was out of sight almost before he had stepped from
the ship. Quicker than I can tell it you in words he had come to the
water of life, and put some of it in a bottle.

"I shall have plenty of time to get back," thinks he, and down he sits
under a windmill and goes off to sleep.

The royal dinner was coming to an end, and there wasn't a sign of him.
There were no songs and no jokes in the flying ship. Everybody was
watching for the Swift-goer, and thinking he would not be in time.

The Listener jumped out and laid his right ear to the damp ground,
listened a moment, and said, "What a fellow! He has gone to sleep
under the windmill. I can hear him snoring. And there is a fly buzzing
with its wings, perched on the windmill close above his head."

"This is my affair," says the Far-shooter, and he picked up his gun
from between his knees, aimed at the fly on the windmill, and woke the
Swift-goer with the thud of the bullet on the wood of the mill close
by his head. The Swift-goer leapt up and ran, and in less than a
second had brought the magic water of life and given it to the Fool.
The Fool gave it to the servant, who took it to the Tzar. The Tzar had
not yet left the table, so that his command had been fulfilled as
exactly as ever could be.

"What fellows these peasants are," thought the Tzar. "There is nothing
for it but to set them another task." So the Tzar said to his servant,
"Go to the captain of the flying ship and give him this message: 'If
you are such a cunning fellow, you must have a good appetite. Let you
and your companions eat at a single meal twelve oxen roasted whole,
and as much bread as can be baked in forty ovens!'"

The Listener heard the message, and told the Fool what was coming. The
Fool was terrified, and said, "I can't get through even a single loaf
at a sitting."

"Don't worry about that," said the Eater. "It won't be more than a
mouthful for me, and I shall be glad to have a little snack in place
of my dinner."

The servant came, and announced the Tzar's command.

"Good," says the Fool. "Send the food along, and we'll know what to do
with it."

So they brought twelve oxen roasted whole, and as much bread as could
be baked in forty ovens, and the companions had scarcely sat down to
the meal before the Eater had finished the lot.

"Why," said the Eater, "what a little! They might have given us a
decent meal while they were about it."

The Tzar told his servant to tell the Fool that he and his companions
were to drink forty barrels of wine, with forty bucketfuls in every
barrel.

The Listener told the Fool what message was coming.

"Why," says the Fool, "I never in my life drank more than one bucket
at a time."

"Don't worry," says the Drinker. "You forget that I am thirsty. It'll
be nothing of a drink for me."

They brought the forty barrels of wine, and tapped them, and the
Drinker tossed them down one after another, one gulp for each barrel.
"Little enough," says he, "Why, I am thirsty still."

"Very good," says the Tzar to his servant, when he heard that they had
eaten all the food and drunk all the wine. "Tell the fellow to get
ready for the wedding, and let him go and bathe himself in the
bath-house. But let the bath-house be made so hot that the man will
stifle and frizzle as soon as he sets foot inside. It is an iron
bath-house. Let it be made red hot."

The Listener heard all this and told the Fool, who stopped short with
his mouth open in the middle of a joke.

"Don't you worry," says the moujik with the straw.

Well, they made the bath-house red hot, and called the Fool, and the
Fool went along to the bath-house to wash himself, and with him went
the moujik with the straw.

They shut them both into the bath-house, and thought that that was the
end of them. But the moujik scattered his straw before them as they
went in, and it became so cold in there that the Fool of the World had
scarcely time to wash himself before the water in the cauldrons froze
to solid ice. They lay down on the very stove itself, and spent the
night there, shivering.

In the morning the servants opened the bath-house, and there were the
Fool of the World and the moujik, alive and well, lying on the stove
and singing songs.

They told the Tzar, and the Tzar raged with anger. "There is no
getting rid of this fellow," says he. "But go and tell him that I send
him this message: 'If you are to marry my daughter, you must show that
you are able to defend her. Let me see that you have at least a
regiment of soldiers,'" Thinks he to himself, "How can a simple
peasant raise a troop? He will find it hard enough to raise a single
soldier."

The Listener told the Fool of the World, and the Fool began to lament.
"This time," says he, "I am done indeed. You, my brothers, have saved
me from misfortune more than once, but this time, alas, there is
nothing to be done."

"Oh, what a fellow you are!" says the peasant with the fagot of wood.
"I suppose you've forgotten about me. Remember that I am the man for
this little affair, and don't you worry about it at all."

The Tzar's servant came along and gave his message.

"Very good," says the Fool; "but tell the Tzar that if after this he
puts me off again, I'll make war on his country, and take the Princess
by force."

And then, as the servant went back with the message, the whole crew on
the flying ship set to their singing again, and sang and laughed and
made jokes as if they had not a care in the world.

During the night, while the others slept, the peasant with the fagot
of wood went hither and thither, scattering his sticks. Instantly
where they fell there appeared a gigantic army. Nobody could count
the number of soldiers in it--cavalry, foot soldiers, yes, and guns,
and all the guns new and bright, and the men in the finest uniforms
that ever were seen.

In the morning, as the Tzar woke and looked from the windows of the
palace, he found himself surrounded by troops upon troops of soldiers,
and generals in cocked hats bowing in the courtyard and taking orders
from the Fool of the World, who sat there joking with his companions
in the flying ship. Now it was the Tzar's turn to be afraid. As
quickly as he could he sent his servants to the Fool with presents of
rich jewels and fine clothes, invited him to come to the palace, and
begged him to marry the Princess.

The Fool of the World put on the fine clothes, and stood there as
handsome a young man as a princess could wish for a husband. He
presented himself before the Tzar, fell in love with the Princess and
she with him, married her the same day, received with her a rich
dowry, and became so clever that all the court repeated everything he
said. The Tzar and the Tzaritza liked him very much, and as for the
Princess, she loved him to distraction.




BABA YAGA.


"Tell us about Baba Yaga," begged Maroosia.

"Yes," said Vanya, "please, grandfather, and about the little hut on
hen's legs."

"Baba Yaga is a witch," said old Peter; "a terrible old woman she is,
but sometimes kind enough. You know it was she who told Prince Ivan
how to win one of the daughters of the Tzar of the Sea, and that was
the best daughter of the bunch, Vasilissa the Very Wise. But then Baba
Yaga is usually bad, as in the case of Vasilissa the Very Beautiful,
who was only saved from her iron teeth by the cleverness of her Magic
Doll."

"Tell us the story of the Magic Doll," begged Maroosia.

"I will some day," said old Peter.

"And has Baba Yaga really got iron teeth?" asked Vanya.

"Iron, like the poker and tongs," said old Peter.

"What for?" said Maroosia.

"To eat up little Russian children," said old Peter, "when she can get
them. She usually only eats bad ones, because the good ones get away.
She is bony all over, and her eyes flash, and she drives about in a
mortar, beating it with a pestle, and sweeping up her tracks with a
besom, so that you cannot tell which way she has gone."

"And her hut?" said Vanya. He had often heard about it before, but he
wanted to hear about it again.

"She lives in a little hut which stands on hen's legs. Sometimes it
faces the forest, sometimes it faces the path, and sometimes it walks
solemnly about. But in some of the stories she lives in another kind
of hut, with a railing of tall sticks, and a skull on each stick. And
all night long fire glows in the skulls and fades as the dawn rises."

"Now tell us one of the Baba Yaga stories," said Maroosia.

"Please," said Vanya.

"I will tell you how one little girl got away from her, and then, if
ever she catches you, you will know exactly what to do."

And old Peter put down his pipe and began:--




BABA YAGA AND THE LITTLE GIRL WITH THE KIND HEART.


Once upon a time there was a widowed old man who lived alone in a hut
with his little daughter. Very merry they were together, and they used
to smile at each other over a table just piled with bread and jam.
Everything went well, until the old man took it into his head to marry
again.

Yes, the old man became foolish in the years of his old age, and he
took another wife. And so the poor little girl had a stepmother. And
after that everything changed. There was no more bread and jam on the
table, and no more playing bo-peep, first this side of the samovar and
then that, as she sat with her father at tea. It was worse than that,
for she never did sit at tea. The stepmother said that everything that
went wrong was the little girl's fault. And the old man believed his
new wife, and so there were no more kind words for his little
daughter. Day after day the stepmother used to say that the little
girl was too naughty to sit at table. And then she would throw her a
crust and tell her to get out of the hut and go and eat it somewhere
else.

And the poor little girl used to go away by herself into the shed in
the yard, and wet the dry crust with her tears, and eat it all alone.
Ah me! she often wept for the old days, and she often wept at the
thought of the days that were to come.

Mostly she wept because she was all alone, until one day she found a
little friend in the shed. She was hunched up in a corner of the shed,
eating her crust and crying bitterly, when she heard a little noise.
It was like this: scratch--scratch. It was just that, a little gray
mouse who lived in a hole.

Out he came, his little pointed nose and his long whiskers, his little
round ears and his bright eyes. Out came his little humpy body and his
long tail. And then he sat up on his hind legs, and curled his tail
twice round himself and looked at the little girl.

The little girl, who had a kind heart, forgot all her sorrows, and
took a scrap of her crust and threw it to the little mouse. The
mouseykin nibbled and nibbled, and there, it was gone, and he was
looking for another. She gave him another bit, and presently that was
gone, and another and another, until there was no crust left for the
little girl. Well, she didn't mind that. You see, she was so happy
seeing the little mouse nibbling and nibbling.

When the crust was done the mouseykin looks up at her with his little
bright eyes, and "Thank you," he says, in a little squeaky voice.
"Thank you," he says; "you are a kind little girl, and I am only a
mouse, and I've eaten all your crust. But there is one thing I can do
for you, and that is to tell you to take care. The old woman in the
hut (and that was the cruel stepmother) is own sister to Baba Yaga,
the bony-legged, the witch. So if ever she sends you on a message to
your aunt, you come and tell me. For Baba Yaga would eat you soon
enough with her iron teeth if you did not know what to do."

"Oh, thank you," said the little girl; and just then she heard the
stepmother calling to her to come in and clean up the tea things, and
tidy the house, and brush out the floor, and clean everybody's boots.

So off she had to go.

When she went in she had a good look at her stepmother, and sure
enough she had a long nose, and she was as bony as a fish with all the
flesh picked off, and the little girl thought of Baba Yaga and
shivered, though she did not feel so bad when she remembered the
mouseykin out there in the shed in the yard.

The very next morning it happened. The old man went off to pay a visit
to some friends of his in the next village, just as I go off sometimes
to see old Fedor, God be with him. And as soon as the old man was out
of sight the wicked stepmother called the little girl.

"You are to go to-day to your dear little aunt in the forest," says
she, "and ask her for a needle and thread to mend a shirt."

"But here is a needle and thread," says the little girl.

"Hold your tongue," says the stepmother, and she gnashes her teeth,
and they make a noise like clattering tongs. "Hold your tongue," she
says. "Didn't I tell you you are to go to-day to your dear little aunt
to ask for a needle and thread to mend a shirt?"

"How shall I find her?" says the little girl, nearly ready to cry, for
she knew that her aunt was Baba Yaga, the bony-legged, the witch.

The stepmother took hold of the little girl's nose and pinched it.

"That is your nose," she says. "Can you feel it?"

"Yes," says the poor little girl.

"You must go along the road into the forest till you come to a fallen
tree; then you must turn to your left, and then follow your nose and
you will find her," says the stepmother. "Now, be off with you, lazy
one. Here is some food for you to eat by the way." She gave the little
girl a bundle wrapped up in a towel.

The little girl wanted to go into the shed to tell the mouseykin she
was going to Baba Yaga, and to ask what she should do. But she looked
back, and there was the stepmother at the door watching her. So she
had to go straight on.

She walked along the road through the forest till she came to the
fallen tree. Then she turned to the left. Her nose was still hurting
where the stepmother had pinched it, so she knew she had to go
straight ahead. She was just setting out when she heard a little noise
under the fallen tree. "Scratch--scratch."

And out jumped the little mouse, and sat up in the road in front of
her.

"O mouseykin, mouseykin," says the little girl, "my stepmother has
sent me to her sister. And that is Baba Yaga, the bony-legged, the
witch, and I do not know what to do."

"It will not be difficult," says the little mouse, "because of your
kind heart. Take all the things you find in the road, and do with them
what you like. Then you will escape from Baba Yaga, and everything
will be well."

"Are you hungry, mouseykin?" said the little girl

"I could nibble, I think," says the little mouse.

The little girl unfastened the towel, and there was nothing in it but
stones. That was what the stepmother had given the little girl to eat
by the way.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," says the little girl. "There's nothing for you to
eat."

"Isn't there?" said mouseykin, and as she looked at them the little
girl saw the stones turn to bread and jam. The little girl sat down on
the fallen tree, and the little mouse sat beside her, and they ate
bread and jam until they were not hungry any more.

"Keep the towel," says the little mouse; "I think it will be useful.
And remember what I said about the things you find on the way. And now
good-bye," says he.

"Good-bye," says the little girl, and runs along.

As she was running along she found a nice new handkerchief lying in
the road. She picked it up and took it with her. Then she found a
little bottle of oil. She picked it up and took it with her. Then she
found some scraps of meat.

[Illustration: There she was, beating with the pestle and sweeping
With the besom.]

"Perhaps I'd better take them too," she said; and she took them.

Then she found a gay blue ribbon, and she took that. Then she found a
little loaf of good bread, and she took that too.

"I daresay somebody will like it," she said.

And then she came to the hut of Baba Yaga, the bony-legged, the witch.
There was a high fence round it with big gates. When she pushed them
open they squeaked miserably, as if it hurt them to move. The little
girl was sorry for them.

"How lucky," she says, "that I picked up the bottle of oil!" and she
poured the oil into the hinges of the gates.

Inside the railing was Baba Yaga's hut, and it stood on hen's legs and
walked about the yard. And in the yard there was standing Baba Yaga's
servant, and she was crying bitterly because of the tasks Baba Yaga
set her to do. She was crying bitterly and wiping her eyes on her
petticoat.

"How lucky," says the little girl, "that I picked up a handkerchief!"
And she gave the handkerchief to Baba Yaga's servant, who wiped her
eyes on it and smiled through her tears.

Close by the hut was a huge dog, very thin, gnawing a dry crust.

"How lucky," says the little girl, "that I picked up a loaf!" And she
gave the loaf to the dog, and he gobbled it up and licked his lips.

The little girl went bravely up to the hut and knocked on the door.

"Come in," says Baba Yaga.

The little girl went in, and there was Baba Yaga, the bony-legged, the
witch, sitting weaving at a loom. In a corner of the hut was a thin
black cat watching a mouse-hole.

"Good-day to you, auntie," says the little girl, trying not to
tremble.

"Good-day to you, niece," says Baba Yaga.

"My stepmother has sent me to you to ask for a needle and thread to
mend a shirt."

"Very well," says Baba Yaga, smiling, and showing her iron teeth. "You
sit down here at the loom, and go on with my weaving, while I go and
get you the needle and thread."

The little girl sat down at the loom and began to weave.

Baba Yaga went out and called to her servant, "Go, make the bath hot
and scrub my niece. Scrub her clean. I'll make a dainty meal of her."

The servant came in for the jug. The little girl begged her, "Be not
too quick in making the fire, and carry the water in a sieve." The
servant smiled, but said nothing, because she was afraid of Baba Yaga.
But she took a very long time about getting the bath ready.

Baba Yaga came to the window and asked,--

"Are you weaving, little niece? Are you weaving, my pretty?"

"I am weaving, auntie," says the little girl.

When Baba Yaga went away from the window, the little girl spoke to the
thin black cat who was watching the mouse-hole.

"What are you doing, thin black cat?"

"Watching for a mouse," says the thin black cat. "I haven't had any
dinner for three days."

"How lucky," says the little girl, "that I picked up the scraps of
meat!" And she gave them to the thin black cat. The thin black cat
gobbled them up, and said to the little girl,--

"Little girl, do you want to get out of this?"

"Catkin dear," says the little girl, "I do want to get out of this,
for Baba Yaga is going to eat me with her iron teeth."

"Well," says the cat, "I will help you."

Just then Baba Yaga came to the window.

"Are you weaving, little niece?" she asked. "Are you weaving, my
pretty?"

"I am weaving, auntie," says the little girl, working away, while the
loom went clickety clack, clickety clack.

Baba Yaga went away.

Says the thin black cat to the little girl: "You have a comb in your
hair, and you have a towel. Take them and run for it while Baba Yaga
is in the bath-house. When Baba Yaga chases after you, you must
listen; and when she is close to you, throw away the towel, and it
will turn into a big, wide river. It will take her a little time to
get over that. But when she does, you must listen; and as soon as she
is close to you throw away the comb, and it will sprout up into such a
forest that she will never get through it at all."

"But she'll hear the loom stop," says the little girl.

"I'll see to that," says the thin black cat.

The cat took the little girl's place at the loom.

Clickety clack, clickety clack; the loom never stopped for a moment.

The little girl looked to see that Baba Yaga was in the bath-house,
and then she jumped down from the little hut on hen's legs, and ran to
the gates as fast as her legs could flicker.

The big dog leapt up to tear her to pieces. Just as he was going to
spring on her he saw who she was.

"Why, this is the little girl who gave me the loaf," says he. "A good
journey to you, little girl;" and he lay down again with his head
between his paws.

When she came to the gates they opened quietly, quietly, without
making any noise at all, because of the oil she had poured into their
hinges.

Outside the gates there was a little birch tree that beat her in the
eyes so that she could not go by.

"How lucky," says the little girl, "that I picked up the ribbon!" And
she tied up the birch tree with the pretty blue ribbon. And the birch
tree was so pleased with the ribbon that it stood still, admiring
itself, and let the little girl go by.

How she did run!

Meanwhile the thin black cat sat at the loom. Clickety clack, clickety
clack, sang the loom; but you never saw such a tangle as the tangle
made by the thin black cat.

And presently Baba Yaga came to the window.

"Are you weaving, little niece?" she asked. "Are you weaving, my
pretty?"

"I am weaving, auntie," says the thin black cat, tangling and
tangling, while the loom went clickety clack, clickety clack.

"That's not the voice of my little dinner," says Baba Yaga, and she
jumped into the hut, gnashing her iron teeth; and there was no little
girl, but only the thin black cat, sitting at the loom, tangling and
tangling the threads.

"Grr," says Baba Yaga, and jumps for the cat, and begins banging it
about. "Why didn't you tear the little girl's eyes out?"

"In all the years I have served you," says the cat, "you have only
given me one little bone; but the kind little girl gave me scraps of
meat."

Baba Yaga threw the cat into a corner, and went out into the yard.

"Why didn't you squeak when she opened you?" she asked the gates.

"Why didn't you tear her to pieces?" she asked the dog.

"Why didn't you beat her in the face, and not let her go by?" she
asked the birch tree.

"Why were you so long in getting the bath ready? If you had been
quicker, she never would have got away," said Baba Yaga to the
servant.

And she rushed about the yard, beating them all, and scolding at the
top of her voice.

"Ah!" said the gates, "in all the years we have served you, you never
even eased us with water; but the kind little girl poured good oil
into our hinges."

"Ah!" said the dog, "in all the years I've served you, you never threw
me anything but burnt crusts; but the kind little girl gave me a good
loaf."

"Ah!" said the little birch tree, "in all the years I've served you,
you never tied me up, even with thread; but the kind little girl tied
me up with a gay blue ribbon."

"Ah!" said the servant, "in all the years I've served you, you have
never given me even a rag; but the kind little girl gave me a pretty
handkerchief."

Baba Yaga gnashed at them with her iron teeth. Then she jumped into
the mortar and sat down. She drove it along with the pestle, and swept
up her tracks with a besom, and flew off in pursuit of the little
girl.

The little girl ran and ran. She put her ear to the ground and
listened. Bang, bang, bangety bang! she could hear Baba Yaga beating
the mortar with the pestle. Baba Yaga was quite close. There she was,
beating with the pestle and sweeping with the besom, coming along the
road.

As quickly as she could, the little girl took out the towel and threw
it on the ground. And the towel grew bigger and bigger, and wetter and
wetter, and there was a deep, broad river between Baba Yaga and the
little girl.

The little girl turned and ran on. How she ran!

Baba Yaga came flying up in the mortar. But the mortar could not float
in the river with Baba Yaga inside. She drove it in, but only got wet
for her trouble. Tongs and pokers tumbling down a chimney are nothing
to the noise she made as she gnashed her iron teeth. She turned home,
and went flying back to the little hut on hen's legs. Then she got
together all her cattle and drove them to the river.

"Drink, drink!" she screamed at them; and the cattle drank up all the
river to the last drop. And Baba Yaga, sitting in the mortar, drove it
with the pestle, and swept up her tracks with the besom, and flew over
the dry bed of the river and on in pursuit of the little girl.

The little girl put her ear to the ground and listened. Bang, bang,
bangety bang! She could hear Baba Yaga beating the mortar with the
pestle. Nearer and nearer came the noise, and there was Baba Yaga,
beating with the pestle and sweeping with the besom, coming along the
road close behind.

The little girl threw down the comb, and grew bigger and bigger, and
its teeth sprouted up into a thick forest, thicker than this forest
where we live--so thick that not even Baba Yaga could force her way
through. And Baba Yaga, gnashing her teeth and screaming with rage and
disappointment, turned round and drove away home to her little hut on
hen's legs.

The little girl ran on home. She was afraid to go in and see her
stepmother, so she ran into the shed.

Scratch, scratch! Out came the little mouse.

"So you got away all right, my dear," says the little mouse. "Now run
in. Don't be afraid. Your father is back, and you must tell him all
about it."

The little girl went into the house.

"Where have you been?" says her father; "and why are you so out of
breath?"

The stepmother turned yellow when she saw her, and her eyes glowed,
and her teeth ground together until they broke.

But the little girl was not afraid, and she went to her father and
climbed on his knee, and told him everything just as it had happened.
And when the old man knew that the stepmother had sent his little
daughter to be eaten by Baba Yaga, he was so angry that he drove her
out of the hut, and ever afterwards lived alone with the little girl.
Much better it was for both of them.

"And the little mouse?" said Ivan.

"The little mouse," said old Peter, "came and lived in the hut, and
every day it used to sit up on the table and eat crumbs, and warm its
paws on the little girl's glass of tea."

"Tell us a story about a cat, please, grandfather," said Vanya, who
was sitting with Vladimir curled up in his arms.

"The story of a very happy cat," said Maroosia; and then, scratching
Bayan's nose, she added, "and afterwards a story about a dog."

"I'll tell you the story of a very unhappy cat who became very happy,"
said old Peter. "I'll tell you the story of the Cat who became
Head-forester."




THE CAT WHO BECAME HEAD-FORESTER.


If you drop Vladimir by mistake, you know he always falls on his feet.
And if Vladimir tumbles off the roof of the hut, he always falls on
his feet. Cats always fall on their feet, on their four paws, and
never hurt themselves. And as in tumbling, so it is in life. No cat is
ever unfortunate for very long. The worse things look for a cat, the
better they are going to be.

Well, once upon a time, not so very long ago, an old peasant had a cat
and did not like him. He was a tom-cat, always fighting; and he had
lost one ear, and was not very pretty to look at. The peasant thought
he would get rid of his old cat, and buy a new one from a neighbour.
He did not care what became of the old tom-cat with one ear, so long
as he never saw him again. It was no use thinking of killing him, for
it is a life's work to kill a cat, and it's likely enough that the cat
would come alive at the end.

So the old peasant he took a sack, and he bundled the tom-cat into the
sack, and he sewed up the sack and slung it over his back, and walked
off into the forest. Off he went, trudging along in the summer
sunshine, deep into the forest. And when he had gone very many versts
into the forest, he took the sack with the cat in it and threw it away
among the trees.

"You stay there," says he, "and if you do get out in this desolate
place, much good may it do you, old quarrelsome bundle of bones and
fur!"

And with that he turned round and trudged home again, and bought a
nice-looking, quiet cat from a neighbour in exchange for a little
tobacco, and settled down comfortably at home with the new cat in
front of the stove; and there he may be to this day, so far as I know.
My story does not bother with him, but only with the old tom-cat tied
up in the sack away there out in the forest.

The bag flew through the air, and plumped down through a bush to the
ground. And the old tom-cat landed on his feet inside it, very much
frightened but not hurt. Thinks he, this bag, this flight through the
air, this bump, mean that my life is going to change. Very well; there
is nothing like something new now and again.

And presently he began tearing at the bag with his sharp claws. Soon
there was a hole he could put a paw through. He went on, tearing and
scratching, and there was a hole he could put two paws through. He
went on with his work, and soon he could put his head through, all the
easier because he had only one ear. A minute or two after that he had
wriggled out of the bag, and stood up on his four paws and stretched
himself in the forest.

"The world seems to be larger than the village," he said. "I will walk
on and see what there is in it."

He washed himself all over, curled his tail proudly up in the air,
cocked the only ear he had left, and set off walking under the forest
trees.

"I was the head-cat in the village," says he to himself. "If all goes
well, I shall be head here too." And he walked along as if he were the
Tzar himself.

Well, he walked on and on, and he came to an old hut that had belonged
to a forester. There was nobody there, nor had been for many years,
and the old tom-cat made himself quite at home. He climbed up into
the loft under the roof, and found a little rotten hay.

"A very good bed," says he, and curls up and falls asleep.

When he woke he felt hungry, so he climbed down and went off in the
forest to catch little birds and mice. There were plenty of them in
the forest, and when he had eaten enough he came back to the hut,
climbed into the loft, and spent the night there very comfortably.

You would have thought he would be content. Not he. He was a cat. He
said, "This is a good enough lodging. But I have to catch all my own
food. In the village they fed me every day, and I only caught mice for
fun. I ought to be able to live like that here. A person of my dignity
ought not to have to do all the work for himself."

Next day he went walking in the forest. And as he was walking he met a
fox, a vixen, a very pretty young thing, gay and giddy like all girls.
And the fox saw the cat, and was very much astonished.

"All these years," she said--for though she was young she thought she
had lived a long time--"all these years," she said, "I've lived in
the forest, but I've never seen a wild beast like that before. What a
strange-looking animal! And with only one ear. How handsome!"

And she came up and made her bows to the cat, and said,--

"Tell me, great lord, who you are. What fortunate chance has brought
you to this forest? And by what name am I to call your Excellency?"

Oh! the fox was very polite. It is not every day that you meet a
handsome stranger walking in the forest.

The cat arched his back, and set all his fur on end, and said, very
slowly and quietly,--

"I have been sent from the far forests of Siberia to be Head-forester
over you. And my name is Cat Ivanovitch."

"O Cat Ivanovitch!" says the pretty young fox, and she makes more
bows. "I did not know. I beg your Excellency's pardon. Will your
Excellency honour my humble house by visiting it as a guest?"

"I will," says the cat. "And what do they call you?"

"My name, your Excellency, is Lisabeta Ivanovna."

"I will come with you, Lisabeta," says the cat.

And they went together to the fox's earth. Very snug, very neat it was
inside; and the cat curled himself up in the best place, while
Lisabeta Ivanovna, the pretty young fox, made ready a tasty dish of
game. And while she was making the meal ready, and dusting the
furniture with her tail, she looked at the cat. At last she said,
shyly,--

"Tell me, Cat Ivanovitch, are you married or single?"

"Single," says the cat.

"And I too am unmarried," says the pretty young fox, and goes busily
on with her dusting and cooking.

Presently she looks at the cat again.

"What if we were to marry, Cat Ivanovitch? I would try to be a good
wife to you."

"Very well, Lisabeta," says the cat; "I will marry you."

The fox went to her store and took out all the dainties that she had,
and made a wedding feast to celebrate her marriage to the great Cat
Ivanovitch, who had only one ear, and had come from the far Siberian
forests to be Head-forester.

They ate up everything there was in the place.

Next morning the pretty young fox went off busily into the forest to
get food for her grand husband. But the old tom-cat stayed at home,
and cleaned his whiskers and slept. He was a lazy one, was that cat,
and proud.

The fox was running through the forest, looking for game, when she met
an old friend, the handsome young wolf, and he began making polite
speeches to her.

"What had become of you, gossip?" says he. "I've been to all the best
earths and not found you at all."

"Let be, fool," says the fox very shortly. "Don't talk to me like
that. What are you jesting about? Formerly I was a young, unmarried
fox; now I am a wedded wife."

"Whom have you married, Lisabeta Ivanovna?"

"What!" says the fox, "you have not heard that the great Cat
Ivanovitch, who has only one ear, has been sent from the far Siberian
forests to be Head-forester over all of us? Well, I am now the
Head-forester's wife."

"No, I had not heard, Lisabeta Ivanovna. And when can I pay my
respects to his Excellency?"

"Not now, not now," says the fox. "Cat Ivanovitch will be raging angry
with me if I let any one come near him. Presently he will be taking
his food. Look you. Get a sheep, and make it ready, and bring it as a
greeting to him, to show him that he is welcome and that you know how
to treat him with respect. Leave the sheep near by, and hide yourself
so that he shall not see you; for, if he did, things might be
awkward."

"Thank you, thank you, Lisabeta Ivanovna," says the wolf, and off he
goes to look for a sheep.

The pretty young fox went idly on, taking the air, for she knew that
the wolf would save her the trouble of looking for food.

Presently she met the bear.

"Good-day to you, Lisabeta Ivanovna," says the bear; "as pretty as
ever, I see you are."

"Bandy-legged one," says the fox; "fool, don't come worrying me.
Formerly I was a young, unmarried fox; now I am a wedded wife."

"I beg your pardon," says the bear, "whom have you married, Lisabeta
Ivanovna?"

"The great Cat Ivanovitch has been sent from the far Siberian forests
to be Head-forester over us all. And Cat Ivanovitch is now my
husband," says the fox.

"Is it forbidden to have a look at his Excellency?"

"It is forbidden," says the fox. "Cat Ivanovitch will be raging angry
with me if I let any one come near him. Presently he will be taking
his food. Get along with you quickly; make ready an ox, and bring it
by way of welcome to him. The wolf is bringing a sheep. And look you.
Leave the ox near by, and hide yourself so that the great Cat
Ivanovitch shall not see you; or else, brother, things may be
awkward."

The bear shambled off as fast as he could go to get an ox.

The pretty young fox, enjoying the fresh air of the forest, went
slowly home to her earth, and crept in very quietly, so as not to
awake the great Head-forester, Cat Ivanovitch, who had only one ear
and was sleeping in the best place.

Presently the wolf came through the forest, dragging a sheep he had
killed. He did not dare to go too near the fox's earth, because of Cat
Ivanovitch, the new Head-forester. So he stopped, well out of sight,
and stripped off the skin of the sheep, and arranged the sheep so as
to seem a nice tasty morsel. Then he stood still, thinking what to do
next. He heard a noise, and looked up. There was the bear, struggling
along with a dead ox.

"Good-day, brother Michael Ivanovitch," says the wolf.

"Good-day, brother Levon Ivanovitch," says the bear. "Have you seen
the fox, Lisabeta Ivanovna, with her husband, the Head-forester?"

"No, brother," says the wolf. "For a long time I have been waiting to
see them."

"Go on and call out to them," says the bear.

"No, Michael Ivanovitch," says the wolf, "I will not go. Do you go;
you are bigger and bolder than I."

"No, no, Levon Ivanovitch, I will not go. There is no use in risking
one's life without need."

Suddenly, as they were talking, a little hare came running by. The
bear saw him first, and roared out,--

"Hi, Squinteye! trot along here."

The hare came up, slowly, two steps at a time, trembling with fright.

"Now then, you squinting rascal," says the bear, "do you know where
the fox lives, over there?"

"I know, Michael Ivanovitch."

"Get along there quickly, and tell her that Michael Ivanovitch the
bear and his brother Levon Ivanovitch the wolf have been ready for a
long time, and have brought presents of a sheep and an ox, as
greetings to his Excellency ..."

"His Excellency, mind," says the wolf; "don't forget."

The hare ran off as hard as he could go, glad to have escaped so
easily. Meanwhile the wolf and the bear looked about for good places
in which to hide.

"It will be best to climb trees," says the bear. "I shall go up to the
top of this fir."

"But what am I to do?" says the wolf. "I can't climb a tree for the
life of me. Brother Michael, Brother Michael, hide me somewhere or
other before you climb up. I beg you, hide me, or I shall certainly be
killed."

"Crouch down under these bushes," says the bear, "and I will cover you
with the dead leaves."

"May you be rewarded," says the wolf; and he crouched down under the
bushes, and the bear covered him up with dead leaves, so that only the
tip of his nose could be seen.

Then the bear climbed slowly up into the fir tree, into the very top,
and looked out to see if the fox and Cat Ivanovitch were coming.

They were coming; oh yes, they were coming! The hare ran up and
knocked on the door, and said to the fox,--

"Michael Ivanovitch the bear and his brother Levon Ivanovitch the
wolf have been ready for a long time, and have brought presents of a
sheep and an ox as greetings to his Excellency."

"Get along, Squinteye," says the fox; "we are just coming."

And so the fox and the cat set out together.

The bear, up in the top of the tree, saw them, and called down to the
wolf,--

"They are coming, Brother Levon; they are coming, the fox and her
husband. But what a little one he is, to be sure!"

"Quiet, quiet," whispers the wolf. "He'll hear you, and then we are
done for."

The cat came up, and arched his back and set all his furs on end, and
threw himself on the ox, and began tearing the meat with his teeth and
claws. And as he tore he purred. And the bear listened, and heard the
purring of the cat, and it seemed to him that the cat was angrily
muttering, "Small, small, small...."

And the bear whispers: "He's no giant, but what a glutton! Why, we
couldn't get through a quarter of that, and he finds it not enough.
Heaven help us if he comes after us!"

The wolf tried to see, but could not, because his head, all but his
nose, was covered with the dry leaves. Little by little he moved his
head, so as to clear the leaves away from in front of his eyes. Try as
he would to be quiet, the leaves rustled, so little, ever so little,
but enough to be heard by the one ear of the cat.

The cat stopped tearing the meat and listened.

"I haven't caught a mouse to-day," he thought.

Once more the leaves rustled.

The cat leapt through the air and dropped with all four paws, and his
claws out, on the nose of the wolf. How the wolf yelped! The leaves
flew like dust, and the wolf leapt up and ran off as fast as his legs
could carry him.

Well, the wolf was frightened, I can tell you, but he was not so
frightened as the cat.

When the great wolf leapt up out of the leaves, the cat screamed and
ran up the nearest tree, and that was the tree where Michael
Ivanovitch the bear was hiding in the topmost branches.

"Oh, he has seen me. Cat Ivanovitch has seen me," thought the bear. He
had no time to climb down, and the cat was coming up in long leaps.

The bear trusted to Providence, and jumped from the top of the tree.
Many were the branches he broke as he fell; many were the bones he
broke when he crashed to the ground. He picked himself up and stumbled
off, groaning.

The pretty young fox sat still, and cried out, "Run, run, Brother
Levon!... Quicker on your pins, Brother Michael! His Excellency is
behind you; his Excellency is close behind!"

Ever since then all the wild beasts have been afraid of the cat, and
the cat and the fox live merrily together, and eat fresh meat all the
year round, which the other animals kill for them and leave a little
way off.

And that is what happened to the old tom-cat with one eye, who was
sewn up in a bag and thrown away in the forest.

"Just think what would happen to our handsome Vladimir if we were to
throw him away!" said Vanya.




SPRING IN THE FOREST.


Warmer the sun shone, and warmer yet. The pines were green now. All
the snow had melted off them, drip, drip, the falling drops of water
making tiny wells in the snow under the trees. And the snow under the
trees was melting too. Much had gone, and now there were only patches
of snow in the forest--like scraps of a big white blanket, shrinking
every day.

"Isn't it lucky our blankets don't shrink like that?" said Maroosia.

Old Peter laughed.

"What do you do when the warm weather comes?" he asked. "Do you still
wear sheepskin coats? Do you still roll up at night under the rugs?"

"No," said Maroosia; "I throw the rugs off, and put my fluffy coat
away till next winter."

"Well," said old Peter, "and God, the Father of us all, He does for
the earth just what you do for yourself; but He does it better. For
the blankets He gives the earth in winter get smaller and smaller as
the warm weather comes, little by little, day by day."

"And then a hard frost comes, grandfather," said Ivan.

"God knows all about that, little one," said old Peter, "and it's for
the best. It's good to have a nip or two in the spring, to make you
feel alive. Perhaps it's His way of telling the earth to wake up. For
the whole earth is only His little one after all."

That night, when it was story-time, Ivan and Maroosia consulted
together; and when old Peter asked what the story was to be, they were
ready with an answer.

"The snow is all melting away," said Ivan.

"The summer is coming," said Maroosia.

"We'd like the tale of the little snow girl," said Ivan.

"'The Little Daughter of the Snow,'" said Maroosia.

Old Peter shook out his pipe, and closed his eyes under his bushy
eyebrows, thinking for a minute. Then he began.




THE LITTLE DAUGHTER OF THE SNOW.


There were once an old man, as old as I am, perhaps, and an old woman,
his wife, and they lived together in a hut, in a village on the edge
of the forest. There were many people in the village; quite a town it
was--eight huts at least, thirty or forty souls, good company to be
had for crossing the road. But the old man and the old woman were
unhappy, in spite of living like that in the very middle of the world.
And why do you think they were unhappy? They were unhappy because they
had no little Vanya and no little Maroosia. Think of that. Some would
say they were better off without them.

"Would you say that, grandfather?" asked Maroosia.

"You are a stupid little pigeon," said old Peter, and he went on.

Well, these two were very unhappy. All the other huts had babies in
them--yes, and little ones playing about in the road outside, and
having to be shouted at when any one came driving by. But there were
no babies in their hut, and the old woman never had to go to the door
to see where her little one had strayed to, because she had no little
one.

And these two, the old man and the old woman, used to stand whole
hours, just peeping through their window to watch the children playing
outside. They had dogs and a cat, and cocks and hens, but none of
these made up for having no children. These two would just stand and
watch the children of the other huts. The dogs would bark, but they
took no notice; and the cat would curl up against them, but they never
felt her; and as for the cocks and hens, well, they were fed, but that
was all. The old people did not care for them, and spent all their
time in watching the Vanyas and Maroosias who belonged to the other
huts.

In the winter the children in their little sheepskin coats....

"Like ours?" said Vanya and Maroosia together.

"Like yours," said old Peter.

In their little sheepskin coats, he went on, played in the crisp snow.
They pelted each other with snowballs, and shouted and laughed, and
then they rolled the snow together and made a snow woman--a regular
snow Baba Yaga, a snow witch; such an old fright!

And the old man, watching from the window, saw this, and he says to
the old woman,--

"Wife, let us go into the yard behind and make a little snow girl; and
perhaps she will come alive, and be a little daughter to us."

"Husband," says the old woman, "there's no knowing what may be. Let us
go into the yard and make a little snow girl."

So the two old people put on their big coats and their fur hats, and
went out into the yard, where nobody could see them.

And they rolled up the snow, and began to make a little snow girl.
Very, very tenderly they rolled up the snow to make her little arms
and legs. The good God helped the old people, and their little snow
girl was more beautiful than ever you could imagine. She was lovelier
than a birch tree in spring.

Well, towards evening she was finished--a little girl, all snow, with
blind white eyes, and a little mouth, with snow lips tightly closed.

"Oh, speak to us," says the old man.

"Won't you run about like the others, little white pigeon?" says the
old woman.

And she did, you know, she really did.

Suddenly, in the twilight, they saw her eyes shining blue like the sky
on a clear day. And her lips flushed and opened, and she smiled. And
there were her little white teeth. And look, she had black hair, and
it stirred in the wind.

She began dancing in the snow, like a little white spirit, tossing her
long hair, and laughing softly to herself.

Wildly she danced, like snowflakes whirled in the wind. Her eyes
shone, and her hair flew round her, and she sang, while the old people
watched and wondered, and thanked God.

This is what she sang:--

    "No warm blood in me doth glow,
    Water in my veins doth flow;
    Yet I'll laugh and sing and play
    By frosty night and frosty day--
    Little daughter of the Snow.

    "But whenever I do know
    That you love me little, then
    I shall melt away again.
    Back into the sky I'll go--
    Little daughter of the Snow."

"God of mine, isn't she beautiful!" said the old man. "Run, wife, and
fetch a blanket to wrap her in while you make clothes for her."

The old woman fetched a blanket, and put it round the shoulders of
the little snow girl. And the old man picked her up, and she put her
little cold arms round his neck.

"You must not keep me too warm," she said.

Well, they took her into the hut, and she lay on a bench in the corner
farthest from the stove, while the old woman made her a little coat.

The old man went out to buy a fur hat and boots from a neighbour for
the little girl. The neighbour laughed at the old man; but a rouble is
a rouble everywhere, and no one turns it from the door, and so he sold
the old man a little fur hat, and a pair of little red boots with fur
round the tops.

Then they dressed the little snow girl.

"Too hot, too hot," said the little snow girl. "I must go out into the
cool night."

"But you must go to sleep now," said the old woman.

"By frosty night and frosty day," sang the little girl. "No; I will
play by myself in the yard all night, and in the morning I'll play in
the road with the children."

Nothing the old people said could change her mind.

"I am the little daughter of the Snow," she replied to everything, and
she ran out into the yard into the snow.

How she danced and ran about in the moonlight on the white frozen
snow!

The old people watched her and watched her. At last they went to bed;
but more than once the old man got up in the night to make sure she
was still there. And there she was, running about in the yard, chasing
her shadow in the moonlight and throwing snowballs at the stars.

In the morning she came in, laughing, to have breakfast with the old
people. She showed them how to make porridge for her, and that was
very simple. They had only to take a piece of ice and crush it up in a
little wooden bowl.

Then after breakfast she ran out in the road, to join the other
children. And the old people watched her. Oh, proud they were, I can
tell you, to see a little girl of their own out there playing in the
road! They fairly longed for a sledge to come driving by, so that they
could run out into the road and call to the little snow girl to be
careful.

And the little snow girl played in the snow with the other children.
How she played! She could run faster than any of them. Her little red
boots flashed as she ran about. Not one of the other children was a
match for her at snowballing. And when the children began making a
snow woman, a Baba Yaga, you would have thought the little daughter of
the Snow would have died of laughing. She laughed and laughed, like
ringing peals on little glass bells. But she helped in the making of
the snow woman, only laughing all the time.

When it was done, all the children threw snowballs at it, till it fell
to pieces. And the little snow girl laughed and laughed, and was so
quick she threw more snowballs than any of them.

The old man and the old woman watched her, and were very proud.

"She is all our own," said the old woman.

"Our little white pigeon," said the old man.

In the evening she had another bowl of ice-porridge, and then she went
off again to play by herself in the yard.

"You'll be tired, my dear," says the old man.

"You'll sleep in the hut to-night, won't you, my love," says the old
woman, "after running about all day long?"

But the little daughter of the Snow only laughed. "By frosty night and
frosty day," she sang, and ran out of the door, laughing back at them
with shining eyes.

And so it went on all through the winter. The little daughter of the
Snow was singing and laughing and dancing all the time. She always ran
out into the night and played by herself till dawn. Then she'd come
in and have her ice-porridge. Then she'd play with the children. Then
she'd have ice-porridge again, and off she would go, out into the
night.

She was very good. She did everything the old woman told her. Only she
would never sleep indoors. All the children of the village loved her.
They did not know how they had ever played without her.

It went on so till just about this time of year. Perhaps it was a
little earlier. Anyhow the snow was melting, and you could get about
the paths. Often the children went together a little way into the
forest in the sunny part of the day. The little snow girl went with
them. It would have been no fun without her.

And then one day they went too far into the wood, and when they said
they were going to turn back, little snow girl tossed her head under
her little fur hat, and ran on laughing among the trees. The other
children were afraid to follow her. It was getting dark. They waited
as long as they dared, and then they ran home, holding each other's
hands.

And there was the little daughter of the Snow out in the forest alone.

She looked back for the others, and could not see them. She climbed up
into a tree; but the other trees were thick round her, and she could
not see farther than when she was on the ground.

She called out from the tree,--

"Ai, ai, little friends, have pity on the little snow girl."

An old brown bear heard her, and came shambling up on his heavy paws.

"What are you crying about, little daughter of the Snow?"

"O big bear," says the little snow girl, "how can I help crying? I
have lost my way, and dusk is falling, and all my little friends are
gone."

"I will take you home," says the old brown bear.

"O big bear," says the little snow girl, "I am afraid of you. I think
you would eat me. I would rather go home with some one else."

So the bear shambled away and left her.

An old gray wolf heard her, and came galloping up on his swift feet.
He stood under the tree and asked,--

"What are you crying about, little daughter of the Snow?"

"O gray wolf," says the little snow girl, "how can I help crying? I
have lost my way, and it is getting dark, and all my little friends
are gone."

"I will take you home," says the old gray wolf.

"O gray wolf," says the little snow girl, "I am afraid of you. I think
you would eat me. I would rather go home with some one else."

So the wolf galloped away and left her.

An old red fox heard her, and came running up to the tree on his
little pads. He called out cheerfully,--

"What are you crying about, little daughter of the Snow?"

"O red fox," says the little snow girl, "how can I help crying? I have
lost my way, and it is quite dark, and all my little friends are
gone."

"I will take you home," says the old red fox.

"O red fox," says the little snow girl, "I am not afraid of you. I do
not think you will eat me. I will go home with you, if you will take
me."

So she scrambled down from the tree, and she held the fox by the hair
of his back, and they ran together through the dark forest. Presently
they saw the lights in the windows of the huts, and in a few minutes
they were at the door of the hut that belonged to the old man and the
old woman.

And there were the old man and the old woman, crying and lamenting.

"Oh, what has become of our little snow girl?"

"Oh, where is our little white pigeon?"

"Here I am," says the little snow girl. "The kind red fox has brought
me home. You must shut up the dogs."

The old man shut up the dogs.

"We are very grateful to you," says he to the fox.

"Are you really?" says the old red fox; "for I am very hungry."

"Here is a nice crust for you," says the old woman.

"Oh," says the fox, "but what I would like would be a nice plump hen.
After all, your little snow girl is worth a nice plump hen."

"Very well," says the old woman, but she grumbles to her husband.

"Husband," says she, "we have our little girl again."

"We have," says he; "thanks be for that."

"It seems waste to give away a good plump hen."

"It does," says he.

"Well, I was thinking," says the old woman, and then she tells him
what she meant to do. And he went off and got two sacks.

In one sack they put a fine plump hen, and in the other they put the
fiercest of the dogs. They took the bags outside and called to the
fox. The old red fox came up to them, licking his lips, because he was
so hungry.

They opened one sack, and out the hen fluttered. The old red fox was
just going to seize her, when they opened the other sack, and out
jumped the fierce dog. The poor fox saw his eyes flashing in the dark,
and was so frightened that he ran all the way back into the deep
forest, and never had the hen at all.

"That was well done," said the old man and the old woman. "We have got
our little snow girl, and not had to give away our plump hen."

Then they heard the little snow girl singing in the hut. This is what
she sang:--

    "Old ones, old ones, now I know
    Less you love me than a hen,
    I shall go away again.
    Good-bye, ancient ones, good-bye,
    Back I go across the sky;
    To my motherkin I go--
    Little daughter of the Snow."

They ran into the house. There were a little pool of water in front of
the stove, and a fur hat, and a little coat, and little red boots were
lying in it. And yet it seemed to the old man and the old woman that
they saw the little snow girl, with her bright eyes and her long hair,
dancing in the room.

"Do not go! do not go!" they begged, and already they could hardly see
the little dancing girl.

But they heard her laughing, and they heard her song:--

    "Old ones, old ones, now I know
    Less you love me than a hen,
    I shall melt away again.
    To my motherkin I go--
    Little daughter of the Snow."

And just then the door blew open from the yard, and a cold wind filled
the room, and the little daughter of the Snow was gone.

"You always used to say something else, grandfather," said Maroosia.

Old Peter patted her head, and went on.

"I haven't forgotten. The little snow girl leapt into the arms of
Frost her father and Snow her mother, and they carried her away over
the stars to the far north, and there she plays all through the summer
on the frozen seas. In winter she comes back to Russia, and some day,
you know, when you are making a snow woman, you may find the little
daughter of the Snow standing there instead."

"Wouldn't that be lovely!" said Maroosia.

Vanya thought for a minute, and then he said,--

"I'd love her much more than a hen."




PRINCE IVAN, THE WITCH BABY, AND THE LITTLE SISTER OF THE SUN.


Once upon a time, very long ago, there was a little Prince Ivan who
was dumb. Never a word had he spoken from the day that he was
born--not so much as a "Yes" or a "No," or a "Please" or a "Thank
you." A great sorrow he was to his father because he could not speak.
Indeed, neither his father nor his mother could bear the sight of him,
for they thought, "A poor sort of Tzar will a dumb boy make!" They
even prayed, and said, "If only we could have another child, whatever
it is like, it could be no worse than this tongue-tied brat who cannot
say a word." And for that wish they were punished, as you shall hear.
And they took no sort of care of the little Prince Ivan, and he spent
all his time in the stables, listening to the tales of an old groom.

He was a wise man was the old groom, and he knew the past and the
future, and what was happening under the earth. Maybe he had learnt
his wisdom from the horses. Anyway, he knew more than other folk, and
there came a day when he said to Prince Ivan,--

"Little Prince," says he, "to-day you have a sister, and a bad one at
that. She has come because of your father's prayers and your mother's
wishes. A witch she is, and she will grow like a seed of corn. In six
weeks she'll be a grown witch, and with her iron teeth she will eat up
your father, and eat up your mother, and eat up you too, if she gets
the chance. There's no saving the old people; but if you are quick,
and do what I tell you, you may escape, and keep your soul in your
body. And I love you, my little dumb Prince, and do not wish to think
of your little body between her iron teeth. You must go to your father
and ask him for the best horse he has, and then gallop like the wind,
and away to the end of the world."

The little Prince ran off and found his father. There was his father,
and there was his mother, and a little baby girl was in his mother's
arms, screaming like a little fury.

"Well, she's not dumb," said his father, as if he were well pleased.

"Father," says the little Prince, "may I have the fastest horse in the
stable?" And those were the first words that ever left his mouth.

"What!" says his father, "have you got a voice at last? Yes, take
whatever horse you want. And see, you have a little sister; a fine
little girl she is too. She has teeth already. It's a pity they are
black, but time will put that right, and it's better to have black
teeth than to be born dumb."

Little Prince Ivan shook in his shoes when he heard of the black teeth
of his little sister, for he knew that they were iron. He thanked his
father and ran off to the stable. The old groom saddled the finest
horse there was. Such a horse you never saw. Black it was, and its
saddle and bridle were trimmed with shining silver. And little Prince
Ivan climbed up and sat on the great black horse, and waved his hand
to the old groom, and galloped away, on and on over the wide world.

"It's a big place, this world," thought the little Prince. "I wonder
when I shall come to the end of it." You see, he had never been
outside the palace grounds. And he had only ridden a little Finnish
pony. And now he sat high up, perched on the back of the great black
horse, who galloped with hoofs that thundered beneath him, and leapt
over rivers and streams and hillocks, and anything else that came in
his way.

On and on galloped the little Prince on the great black horse. There
were no houses anywhere to be seen. It was a long time since they had
passed any people, and little Prince Ivan began to feel very lonely,
and to wonder if indeed he had come to the end of the world, and could
bring his journey to an end.

Suddenly, on a wide, sandy plain, he saw two old, old women sitting in
the road.

They were bent double over their work, sewing and sewing, and now one
and now the other broke a needle, and took a new one out of a box
between them, and threaded the needle with thread from another box,
and went on sewing and sewing. Their old noses nearly touched their
knees as they bent over their work.

Little Prince Ivan pulled up the great black horse in a cloud of dust,
and spoke to the old women.

"Grandmothers," said he, "is this the end of the world? Let me stay
here and live with you, and be safe from my baby sister, who is a
witch and has iron teeth. Please let me stay with you, and I'll be
very little trouble, and thread your needles for you when you break
them."

"Prince Ivan, my dear," said one of the old women, "this is not the
end of the world, and little good would it be to you to stay with us.
For as soon as we have broken all our needles and used up all our
thread we shall die, and then where would you be? Your sister with the
iron teeth would have you in a minute."

The little Prince cried bitterly, for he was very little and all
alone. He rode on further over the wide world, the black horse
galloping and galloping, and throwing the dust from his thundering
hoofs.

He came into a forest of great oaks, the biggest oak trees in the
whole world. And in that forest was a dreadful noise--the crashing of
trees falling, the breaking of branches, and the whistling of things
hurled through the air. The Prince rode on, and there before him was
the huge giant, Tree-rooter, hauling the great oaks out of the ground
and flinging them aside like weeds.

"I should be safe with him," thought little Prince Ivan, "and this,
surely, must be the end of the world."

He rode close up under the giant, and stopped the black horse, and
shouted up into the air.

"Please, great giant," says he, "is this the end of the world? And may
I live with you and be safe from my sister, who is a witch, and grows
like a seed of corn, and has iron teeth?"

"Prince Ivan, my dear," says Tree-rooter, "this is not the end of the
world, and little good would it be to you to stay with me. For as soon
as I have rooted up all these trees I shall die, and then where would
you be? Your sister would have you in a minute. And already there are
not many big trees left."

And the giant set to work again, pulling up the great trees and
throwing them aside. The sky was full of flying trees.

Little Prince Ivan cried bitterly, for he was very little and was all
alone. He rode on further over the wide world, the black horse
galloping and galloping under the tall trees, and throwing clods of
earth from his thundering hoofs.

He came among the mountains. And there was a roaring and a crashing in
the mountains as if the earth was falling to pieces. One after another
whole mountains were lifted up into the sky and flung down to earth,
so that they broke and scattered into dust. And the big black horse
galloped through the mountains, and little Prince Ivan sat bravely on
his back. And there, close before him, was the huge giant
Mountain-tosser, picking up the mountains like pebbles and hurling
them to little pieces and dust upon the ground.

"This must be the end of the world," thought the little Prince; "and
at any rate I should be safe with him."

"Please, great giant," says he, "is this the end of the world? And may
I live with you and be safe from my sister, who is a witch, and has
iron teeth, and grows like a seed of corn?"

"Prince Ivan, my dear," says Mountain-tosser, resting for a moment and
dusting the rocks off his great hands, "this is not the end of the
world, and little good would it be to you to stay with me. For as soon
as I have picked up all these mountains and thrown them down again I
shall die, and then where would you be? Your sister would have you in
a minute. And there are not very many mountains left."

And the giant set to work again, lifting up the great mountains and
hurling them away. The sky was full of flying mountains.

Little Prince Ivan wept bitterly, for he was very little and was all
alone. He rode on further over the wide world, the black horse
galloping and galloping along the mountain paths, and throwing the
stones from his thundering hoofs.

At last he came to the end of the world, and there, hanging in the sky
above him, was the castle of the little sister of the Sun. Beautiful
it was, made of cloud, and hanging in the sky, as if it were built of
red roses.

"I should be safe up there," thought little Prince Ivan, and just then
the Sun's little sister opened the window and beckoned to him.

Prince Ivan patted the big black horse and whispered to it, and it
leapt up high into the air and through the window, into the very
courtyard of the castle.

"Stay here and play with me," said the little sister of the Sun; and
Prince Ivan tumbled off the big black horse into her arms, and laughed
because he was so happy.

Merry and pretty was the Sun's little sister, and she was very kind to
little Prince Ivan. They played games together, and when she was tired
she let him do whatever he liked and run about her castle. This way
and that he ran about the battlements of rosy cloud, hanging in the
sky over the end of the world.

But one day he climbed up and up to the topmost turret of the castle.
From there he could see the whole world. And far, far away, beyond the
mountains, beyond the forests, beyond the wide plains, he saw his
father's palace where he had been born. The roof of the palace was
gone, and the walls were broken and crumbling. And little Prince Ivan
came slowly down from the turret, and his eyes were red with weeping.

"My dear," says the Sun's little sister, "why are your eyes so red?"

"It is the wind up there," says little Prince Ivan.

And the Sun's little sister put her head out of the window of the
castle of cloud and whispered to the winds not to blow so hard.

But next day little Prince Ivan went up again to that topmost turret,
and looked far away over the wide world to the ruined palace. "She has
eaten them all with her iron teeth," he said to himself. And his eyes
were red when he came down.

"My dear," says the Sun's little sister, "your eyes are red again."

"It is the wind," says little Prince Ivan.

And the Sun's little sister put her head out of the window and scolded
the wind.

But the third day again little Prince Ivan climbed up the stairs of
cloud to that topmost turret, and looked far away to the broken palace
where his father and mother had lived. And he came down from the
turret with the tears running down his face.

"Why, you are crying, my dear!" says the Sun's little sister. "Tell me
what it is all about."

So little Prince Ivan told the little sister of the Sun how his sister
was a witch, and how he wept to think of his father and mother, and
how he had seen the ruins of his father's palace far away, and how he
could not stay with hen happily until he knew how it was with his
parents.

"Perhaps it is not yet too late to save them from her iron teeth,
though the old groom said that she would certainly eat them, and that
it was the will of God. But let me ride back on my big black horse."

"Do not leave me, my dear," says the Sun's little sister. "I am lonely
here by myself."

"I will ride back on my big black horse, and then I will come to you
again."

"What must be, must," says the Sun's little sister; "though she is
more likely to eat you than you are to save them. You shall go. But
you must take with you a magic comb, a magic brush, and two apples of
youth. These apples would make young once more the oldest things on
earth."

Then she kissed little Prince Ivan, and he climbed up on his big
black horse, and leapt out of the window of the castle down on the end
of the world, and galloped off on his way back over the wide world.

He came to Mountain-tosser, the giant. There was only one mountain
left, and the giant was just picking it up. Sadly he was picking it
up, for he knew that when he had thrown it away his work would be done
and he would have to die.

"Well, little Prince Ivan," says Mountain-tosser, "this is the end;"
and he heaves up the mountain. But before he could toss it away the
little Prince threw his magic brush on the plain, and the brush
swelled and burst, and there were range upon range of high mountains,
touching the sky itself.

"Why," says Mountain-tosser, "I have enough mountains now to last me
for another thousand years. Thank you kindly, little Prince."

And he set to work again, heaving up mountains and tossing them down,
while little Prince Ivan galloped on across the wide world.

He came to Tree-rooter, the giant. There were only two of the great
oaks left, and the giant had one in each hand.

"Ah me, little Prince Ivan," says Tree-rooter, "my life is come to
its end; for I have only to pluck up these two trees and throw them
down, and then I shall die."

"Pluck them up," says little Prince Ivan. "Here are plenty more for
you." And he threw down his comb. There was a noise of spreading
branches, of swishing leaves, of opening buds, all together, and there
before them was a forest of great oaks stretching farther than the
giant could see, tall though he was.

"Why," says Tree-rooter, "here are enough trees to last me for another
thousand years. Thank you kindly, little Prince."

And he set to work again, pulling up the big trees, laughing joyfully
and hurling them over his head, while little Prince Ivan galloped on
across the wide world.

He came to the two old women. They were crying their eyes out.

"There is only one needle left!" says the first.

"There is only one bit of thread in the box!" sobs the second.

"And then we shall die!" they say both together, mumbling with their
old mouths.

"Before you use the needle and thread, just eat these apples," says
little Prince Ivan, and he gives them the two apples of youth.

The two old women took the apples in their old shaking fingers and ate
them, bent double, mumbling with their old lips. They had hardly
finished their last mouthfuls when they sat up straight, smiled with
sweet red lips, and looked at the little Prince with shining eyes.
They had become young girls again, and their gray hair was black as
the raven.

"Thank you kindly, little Prince," say the two young girls. "You must
take with you the handkerchief we have been sewing all these years.
Throw it to the ground, and it will turn into a lake of water. Perhaps
some day it will be useful to you."

"Thank you," says the little Prince, and off he gallops, on and on
over the wide world.

He came at last to his father's palace. The roof was gone, and there
were holes in the walls. He left his horse at the edge of the garden,
and crept up to the ruined palace and peeped through a hole. Inside,
in the great hall, was sitting a huge baby girl, filling the whole
hall. There was no room for her to move. She had knocked off the roof
with a shake of her head. And she sat there in the ruined hall,
sucking her thumb.

And while Prince Ivan was watching through the hole he heard her
mutter to herself,--

    "_Eaten the father, eaten the mother,
    And now to eat the little brother_"

And she began shrinking, getting smaller and smaller every minute.

Little Prince Ivan had only just time to get away from the hole in the
wall when a pretty little baby girl came running out of the ruined
palace.

"You must be my little brother Ivan," she called out to him, and came
up to him smiling. But as she smiled the little Prince saw that her
teeth were black; and as she shut her mouth he heard them clink
together like pokers.

"Come in," says she, and she took little Prince Ivan with her to a
room in the palace, all broken down and cobwebbed. There was a
dulcimer lying in the dust on the floor.

"Well, little brother," says the witch baby, "you play on the dulcimer
and amuse yourself while I get supper ready. But don't stop playing,
or I shall feel lonely." And she ran off and left him.

Little Prince Ivan sat down and played tunes on the dulcimer--sad
enough tunes. You would not play dance music if you thought you were
going to be eaten by a witch.

But while he was playing a little gray mouse came out of a crack in
the floor. Some people think that this was the wise old groom, who had
turned into a little gray mouse to save Ivan from the witch baby.

"Ivan, Ivan," says the little gray mouse, "run while you may. Your
father and mother were eaten long ago, and well they deserved it. But
be quick, or you will be eaten too. Your pretty little sister is
putting an edge on her teeth!"

Little Prince Ivan thanked the mouse, and ran out from the ruined
palace, and climbed up on the back of his big black horse, with its
saddle and bridle trimmed with silver. Away he galloped over the wide
world. The witch baby stopped her work and listened. She heard the
music of the dulcimer, so she made sure he was still there. She went
on sharpening her teeth with a file, and growing bigger and bigger
every minute. And all the time the music of the dulcimer sounded among
the ruins.

As soon as her teeth were quite sharp she rushed off to eat little
Prince Ivan. She tore aside the walls of the room. There was nobody
there--only a little gray mouse running and jumping this way and that
on the strings of the dulcimer.

When it saw the witch baby the little mouse ran across the floor and
into the crack and away, so that she never caught it. How the witch
baby gnashed her teeth! Poker and tongs, poker and tongs--what a noise
they made! She swelled up, bigger and bigger, till she was a baby as
high as the palace. And then she jumped up so that the palace fell to
pieces about her. Then off she ran after little Prince Ivan.

Little Prince Ivan, on the big black horse, heard a noise behind him.
He looked back, and there was the huge witch, towering over the trees.
She was dressed like a little baby, and her eyes flashed and her teeth
clanged as she shut her mouth. She was running with long strides,
faster even than the black horse could gallop--and he was the best
horse in all the world.

Little Prince Ivan threw down the handkerchief that had been sewn by
the two old women who had eaten the apples of youth. It turned into a
deep, broad lake, so that the witch baby had to swim--and swimming is
slower than running. It took her a long time to get across, and all
that time Prince Ivan was galloping on, never stopping for a moment.

The witch baby crossed the lake and came thundering after him. Close
behind she was, and would have caught him; but the giant Tree-rooter
saw the little Prince galloping on the big black horse, and the witch
baby tearing after him. He pulled up the great oaks in armfuls, and
threw them down just in front of the witch baby. He made a huge pile
of the big trees, and the witch baby had to stop and gnaw her way
through them with her iron teeth.

It took her a long time to gnaw through the trees, and the black horse
galloped and galloped ahead. But presently Prince Ivan heard a noise
behind him. He looked back, and there was the witch baby, thirty feet
high, racing after him, clanging with her teeth. Close behind she
was, and the little Prince sat firm on the big black horse, and
galloped and galloped. But she would have caught him if the giant
Mountain-tosser had not seen the little Prince on the big black horse,
and the great witch baby running after him. The giant tore up the
biggest mountain in the world and flung it down in front of her, and
another on the top of that. She had to bite her way through them,
while the little Prince galloped and galloped.

At last little Prince Ivan saw the cloud castle of the little sister
of the Sun, hanging over the end of the world and gleaming in the sky
as if it were made of roses. He shouted with hope, and the black horse
shook his head proudly and galloped on. The witch baby thundered after
him. Nearer she came and nearer.

"Ah, little one," screams the witch baby, "you shan't get away this
time!"

The Sun's little sister was looking from a window of the castle in the
sky, and she saw the witch baby stretching out to grab little Prince
Ivan. She flung the window open, and just in time the big black horse
leapt up, and through the window and into the courtyard, with little
Prince Ivan safe on its back.

How the witch baby gnashed her iron teeth!

"Give him up!" she screams.

"I will not," says the Sun's little sister.

"See you here," says the witch baby, and she makes herself smaller and
smaller and smaller, till she was just like a real little girl. "Let
us be weighed in the great scales, and if I am heavier than Prince
Ivan, I can take him; and if he is heavier than I am, I'll say no more
about it."

The Sun's little sister laughed at the witch baby and teased her, and
she hung the great scales out of the cloud castle so that they swung
above the end of the world.

Little Prince Ivan got into one scale, and down it went.

"Now," says the witch baby, "we shall see."

And she made herself bigger and bigger and bigger, till she was as big
as she had been when she sat and sucked her thumb in the hall of the
ruined palace. "I am the heavier," she shouted, and gnashed her iron
teeth. Then she jumped into the other scale.

She was so heavy that the scale with the little Prince in it shot up
into the air. It shot up so fast that little Prince Ivan flew up into
the sky, up and up and up, and came down on the topmost turret of the
cloud castle of the little sister of the Sun.

The Sun's little sister laughed, and closed the window, and went up to
the turret to meet the little Prince. But the witch baby turned back
the way she had come, and went off, gnashing her iron teeth until
they broke. And ever since then little Prince Ivan and the little
sister of the Sun play together in the castle of cloud that hangs over
the end of the world. They borrow the stars to play at ball, and put
them back at night whenever they remember.

"So when there are no stars?" asked Maroosia.

"It means that Prince Ivan and the Sun's little sister have gone to
sleep over their games and forgotten to put their toys away."




THE STOLEN TURNIPS, THE MAGIC TABLECLOTH, THE SNEEZING GOAT, AND THE
WOODEN WHISTLE.


This is the story which old Peter used to tell whenever either Vanya
or Maroosia was cross. This did not often happen; but it would be no
use to pretend that it never happened at all. Sometimes it was Vanya
who scolded Maroosia, and sometimes it was Maroosia who scolded
Vanya. Sometimes there were two scoldings going on at once. And old
Peter did not like crossness in the hut, whoever did the scolding. He
said it spoilt his tobacco and put a sour taste in the tea. And, of
course, when the children remembered that they were spoiling their
grandfather's tea and tobacco they stopped just as quickly as they
could, unless their tongues had run right away with them--which
happens sometimes, you know, even to grown-up people. This story used
to be told in two ways. It was either the tale of an old man who was
bothered by a cross old woman, or the tale of an old woman who was
bothered by a cross old man. And the moment old Peter began the story
both children would ask at once, "Which is the cross one?"--for t hen
they would know which of them old Peter thought was in the wrong.

"This time it's the old woman," said their grandfather; "but, as like
as not, it will be the old man next."

And then any quarrelling there was came to an end, and was forgotten
before the end of the story. This is the story.

An old man and an old woman lived in a little wooden house. All round
the house there was a garden, crammed with flowers, and potatoes, and
beetroots, and cabbages. And in one corner of the house there was a
narrow wooden stairway which went up and up, twisting and twisting,
into a high tower. In the top of the tower was a dovecot, and on the
top of the dovecot was a flat roof.

Now, the old woman was never content with the doings of the old man.
She scolded all day, and she scolded all night. If there was too much
rain, it was the old man's fault; and if there was a drought, and all
green things were parched for lack of water, well, the old man was to
blame for not altering the weather. And though he was old and tired,
it was all the same to her how much work she put on his shoulders. The
garden was full. There was no room in it at all, not even for a single
pea. And all of a sudden the old woman sets her heart on growing
turnips.

"But there is no room in the garden," says the old man.

"Sow them on the top of the dovecot," says the old woman.

"But there is no earth there."

"Carry earth up and put it there," says she.

So the old man laboured up and down with his tired old bones, and
covered the top of the dovecot with good black earth. He could only
take up a very little at a time, because he was old and weak, and
because the stairs were so narrow and dangerous that he had to hold on
with both hands and carry the earth in a bag which he held in his
teeth. His teeth were strong enough, because he had been biting crusts
all his life. The old woman left him nothing else, for she took all
the crumb for herself. The old man did his best, and by evening the
top of the dovecot was covered with earth, and he had sown it with
turnip seed.

Next day, and the day after that and every day, the old woman scolded
the old man till he went up to the dovecot to see how those turnip
seeds were getting on.

"Are they ready to eat yet?"

"They are not ready to eat."

"Is the green sprouting?"

"The green is sprouting."

And at last there came a day when the old man came down from the
dovecot and said: "The turnips are doing finely--quite big they are
getting; but all the best ones have been stolen away."

"Stolen away?" cried the old woman, shaking with rage. "And have you
lived all these years and not learned how to keep thieves from a
turnip bed, on the top of a dovecot, on the top of a tower, on the top
of a house? Out with you, and don't you dare to come back till you
have caught the thieves."

The old man did not dare to tell her that the door had been bolted,
although he knew it had, because he had bolted it himself. He hurried
away out of the house, more because he wanted to get out of earshot of
her scolding than because he had any hope of finding the thieves.
"They may be birds," thinks he, "or the little brown squirrels. Who
else could climb so high without using the stairs? And how is an old
man like me to get hold of them, flying through the tops of the high
trees and running up and down the branches?"

And so he wandered away without his dinner into the deep forest.

But God is good to old men. Hasn't He given me two little pigeons, who
nearly always are as merry as all little pigeons should be? And God
led the old man through the forest, though the old man thought he was
just wandering on, trying to lose himself and forget the scolding
voice of the old woman.

And after he had walked a long way through the dark green forest, he
saw a little hut standing under the pine trees. There was no smoke
coming from the chimney, but there was such a chattering in the hut
you could hear it far away. It was like coming near a rookery at
evening, or disturbing a lot of starlings. And as the old man came
slowly nearer to the hut, he thought he saw little faces looking at
him through the window and peeping through the door. He could not be
sure, because they were gone so quickly. And all the time the
chattering went on louder and louder, till the old man nearly put his
hands to his ears.

And then suddenly the chattering stopped. There was not a sound--no
noise at all. The old man stood still. A squirrel dropped a fir cone
close by, and the old man was startled by the fall of it, because
everything else was so quiet.

"Whatever there is in the hut, it won't be worse than the old woman,"
says the old man to himself. So he makes the sign of the holy Cross,
and steps up to the little hut and takes a look through the door.

There was no one to be seen. You would have thought the hut was empty.

The old man took a step inside, bending under the little low door.
Still he could see nobody, only a great heap of rags and blankets on
the sleeping-place on the top of the stove. The hut was as clean as if
it had only that minute been swept by Maroosia herself. But in the
middle of the floor there was a scrap of green leaf lying, and the old
man knew in a moment that it was a scrap of green leaf from the top of
a young turnip.

And while the old man looked at it, the heap of blankets and rugs on
the stove moved, first in one place and then in another. Then there
was a little laugh. Then another. And suddenly there was a great stir
in the blankets, and they were all thrown back helter-skelter, and
there were dozens and dozens of little queer children, laughing and
laughing and laughing, and looking at the old man. And every child had
a little turnip, and showed it to the old man and laughed.

Just then the door of the stove flew open, and out tumbled more of the
little queer children, dozens and dozens of them. The more they came
tumbling out into the hut, the more there seemed to be chattering in
the stove and squeezing to get out one over the top of another. The
noise of chattering and laughing would have made your head spin. And
everyone of the children out of the stove had a little turnip like
the others, and waved it about and showed it to the old man, and
laughed like anything.

"Ho," says the old man, "so you are the thieves who have stolen the
turnips from the top of the dovecot?"

"Yes," cried the children, and the chatter rattled as fast as
hailstones on the roof. "Yes! yes! yes! _We_ stole the turnips."

"How did you get on to the top of the dovecot when the door into the
house was bolted and fast?"

At that the children all burst out laughing, and did not answer a
word.

"Laugh you may," said the old man; "but it is I who get the scolding
when the turnips fly away in the night."

"Never mind! never mind!" cried the children. "We'll pay for the
turnips."

"How can you pay for them?" asks the old man. "You have got nothing to
pay with."

All the children chattered together, and looked at the old man and
smiled. Then one of them said to the old man, "Are you hungry,
grandfather?"

"Hungry!" says the old man. "Why, yes, of course I am, my dear. I've
been looking for you all day, and I had to start without my dinner."

"If you are hungry, open the cupboard behind you."

The old man opened the cupboard.

"Take out the tablecloth."

The old man took out the tablecloth.

"Spread it on the table."

The old man spread the tablecloth on the table.

"Now!" shouted the children, chattering like a thousand nests full of
young birds, "we'll all sit down and have dinner."

They pulled out the benches and gave the old man a chair at one end,
and all crowded round the table ready to begin.

"But there's no food," said the old man.

How they laughed!

"Grandfather," one of them sings out from the other end of the table,
"you just tell the tablecloth to turn inside out,"

"How?" says he.

"Tell the tablecloth to turn inside out. That's easy enough."

"There's no harm in doing that," thinks the old man; so he says to the
tablecloth as firmly as he could, "Now then you, tablecloth, turn
inside out!"

The tablecloth hove itself up into the air, and rolled itself this
way and that as if it were in a whirlwind, and then suddenly laid
itself flat on the table again. And somehow or other it had covered
itself with dishes and plates and wooden spoons with pictures on them,
and bowls of soup and mushrooms and kasha, and meat and cakes and fish
and ducks, and everything else you could think of, ready for the best
dinner in the world.

The chattering and laughing stopped, and the old man and those dozens
and dozens of little queer children set to work and ate everything on
the table.

"Which of you washes the dishes?" asked the old man, when they had all
done.

The children laughed.

"Tell the tablecloth to turn outside in."

"Tablecloth," says the old man, "turn outside in."

Up jumped the tablecloth with all the empty dishes and dirty plates
and spoons, whirled itself this way and that in the air, and suddenly
spread itself out flat again on the table, as clean and white as when
it was taken out of the cupboard. There was not a dish or a bowl, or a
spoon or a plate, or a knife to be seen; no, not even a crumb.

"That's a good tablecloth," says the old man.

"See here, grandfather," shouted the children: "you take the
tablecloth along with you, and say no more about those turnips."

"Well, I'm content with that," says the old man. And he folded up the
tablecloth very carefully and put it away inside his shirt, and said
he must be going.

"Good-bye," says he, "and thank you for the dinner and the
tablecloth."

"Good-bye," say they, "and thank you for the turnips."

The old man made his way home, singing through the forest in his
creaky old voice until he came near the little wooden house where he
lived with the old woman. As soon as he came near there he slipped
along like any mouse. And as soon as he put his head inside the door
the old woman began,--

"Have you found the thieves, you old fool?"

"I found the thieves."

"Who were they?"

"They were a whole crowd of little queer children."

"Have you given them a beating they'll remember?"

"No, I have not."

"What? Bring them to me, and I'll teach them to steal my turnips!"

"I haven't got them."

"What have you done with them?"

"I had dinner with them."

Well, at that the old woman flew into such a rage she could hardly
speak. But speak she did--yes, and shout too and scream--and it was
all the old man could do not to run away out of the cottage. But he
stood still and listened, and thought of something else; and when she
had done he said, "They paid for the turnips."

"Paid for the turnips!" scolded the old woman. "A lot of children!
What did they give you? Mushrooms? We can get them without losing our
turnips."

"They gave me a tablecloth," said the old man; "it's a very good
tablecloth."

He pulled it out of his shirt and spread it on the table; and as
quickly as he could, before she began again, he said, "Tablecloth,
turn inside out!"

The old woman stopped short, just when she was taking breath to scold
with, when the tablecloth jumped up and danced in the air and settled
on the table again, covered with things to eat and to drink. She smelt
the meat, took a spoonful of the soup, and tried all the other dishes.

"Look at all the washing up it will mean," says she.

"Tablecloth, turn outside in!" says the old man; and there was a whirl
of white cloth and dishes and everything else, and then the tablecloth
spread itself out on the table as clean as ever you could wish.

"That's not a bad tablecloth," says the old woman; "but, of course,
they owed me something for stealing all those turnips."

The old man said nothing. He was very tired, and he just laid down and
went to sleep.

As soon as he was asleep the old woman took the tablecloth and hid it
away in an iron chest, and put a tablecloth of her own in its place.
"They were my turnips," says she, "and I don't see why he should have
a share in the tablecloth. He's had a meal from it once at my expense,
and once is enough." Then she lay down and went to sleep, grumbling to
herself even in her dreams.

Early in the morning the old woman woke the old man and told him to go
up to the dovecot and see how those turnips were getting on.

He got up and rubbed his eyes. When he saw the tablecloth on the
table, the wish came to him to have a bite of food to begin the day
with. So he stopped in the middle of putting on his shirt, and called
to the tablecloth, "Tablecloth, turn inside out!"

Nothing happened. Why should anything happen? It was not the same
tablecloth.

The old man told the old woman. "You should have made a good feast
yesterday," says he, "for the tablecloth is no good any more. That is,
it's no good that way; it's like any ordinary tablecloth."

"Most tablecloths are," says the old woman. "But what are you dawdling
about? Up you go and have a look at those turnips."

The old man went climbing up the narrow twisting stairs. He held on
with both hands for fear of falling, because they were so steep. He
climbed to the top of the house, to the top of the tower, to the top
of the dovecot, and looked at the turnips. He looked at the turnips,
and he counted the turnips, and then he came slowly down the stairs
again wondering what the old woman would say to him.

"Well," says the old woman in her sharp voice, "are they doing nicely?
Because if not, I know whose fault it is."

"They are doing finely," said the old man; "but some of them have
gone. Indeed, quite a lot of them have been stolen away."

"Stolen away!" screamed the old woman. "How dare you stand there and
tell me that? Didn't you find the thieves yesterday? Go and find
those children again, and take a stick with you, and don't show
yourself here till you can tell me that they won't steal again in a
hurry."

"Let me have a bite to eat," begs the old man. "It's a long way to go
on an empty stomach."

"Not a mouthful!" yells the old woman. "Off with you. Letting my
turnips be stolen every night, and then talking to me about bites of
food!"

So the old man went off again without his dinner, and hobbled away
into the forest as quickly as he could to get out of earshot of the
old woman's scolding tongue.

As soon as he was out of sight the old woman stopped screaming after
him, and went into the house and opened the iron chest and took out
the tablecloth the children had given the old man, and laid it on the
table instead of her own. She told it to turn inside out, and up it
flew and whirled about and flopped down flat again, all covered with
good things. She ate as much as she could hold. Then she told the
tablecloth to turn outside in, and folded it up and hid it away again
in the iron chest.

Meanwhile the old man tightened his belt, because he was so hungry. He
hobbled along through the green forest till he came to the little hut
standing under the pine trees. There was no smoke coming from the
chimney, but there was such a chattering you would have thought that
all the Vanyas and Maroosias in Holy Russia were talking to each other
inside.

He had no sooner come in sight of the hut than the dozens and dozens
of little queer children came pouring out of the door to meet him. And
every single one of them had a turnip, and showed it to the old man,
and laughed and laughed as if it were the best joke in the world.

"I knew it was you," said the old man.

"Of course it was us," cried the children. "_We_ stole the turnips."

"But how did you get to the top of the dovecot when the door into the
house was bolted and fast?"

The children laughed and laughed and did not answer a word.

"Laugh you may," says the old man; "but it is I who get the scolding
when the turnips fly away in the night."

"Never mind! never mind!" cried the children. "We'll pay for the
turnips."

"All very well," says the old man; "but that tablecloth of yours--it
was fine yesterday, but this morning it would not give me even a glass
of tea and a hunk of black bread."

At that the faces of the little queer children were troubled and
grave. For a moment or two they all chattered together, and took no
notice of the old man. Then one of them said,--

"Well, this time we'll give you something better. We'll give you a
goat."

"A goat?" says the old man.

"A goat with a cold in its head," said the children; and they crowded
round him and took him behind the hut where there was a gray goat with
a long beard cropping the short grass.

"It's a good enough goat," says the old man; "I don't see anything
wrong with him."

"It's better than that," cried the children. "You tell it to sneeze."

The old man thought the children might be laughing at him, but he did
not care, and he remembered the tablecloth. So he took off his hat and
bowed to the goat. "Sneeze, goat," says he.

And instantly the goat started sneezing as if it would shake itself to
pieces. And as it sneezed, good gold pieces flew from it in all
directions, till the ground was thick with them.

"That's enough," said the children hurriedly; "tell him to stop, for
all this gold is no use to us, and it's such a bother having to sweep
it away."

"Stop sneezing, goat," says the old man; and the goat stopped
sneezing, and stood there panting and out of breath in the middle of
the sea of gold pieces.

The children began kicking the gold pieces about, spreading them by
walking through them as if they were dead leaves. My old father used
to say that those gold pieces are lying about still for anybody to
pick up; but I doubt if he knew just where to look for them, or he
would have had better clothes on his back and a little more food on
the table. But who knows? Some day we may come upon that little hut
somewhere in the forest, and then we shall know what to look for.

The children laughed and chattered and kicked the gold pieces this way
and that into the green bushes. Then they brought the old man into the
hut and gave him a bowl of kasha to eat, because he had had no dinner.
There was no magic about the kasha; but it was good enough kasha for
all that, and hunger made it better. When the old man had finished the
kasha and drunk a glass of tea and smoked a little pipe, he got up and
made a low bow and thanked the children. And the children tied a rope
to the goat and sent the old man home with it. He hobbled away through
the forest, and as he went he looked back, and there were the little
queer children all dancing together, and he heard them chattering and
shouting: "Who stole the turnips? _We_ stole the turnips. Who paid for
the turnips? _We_ paid for the turnips. Who stole the tablecloth? Who
will pay for the tablecloth? Who will steal turnips again? _We_ will
steal turnips again."

But the old man was too pleased with the goat to give much heed to
what they said; and he hobbled home through the green forest as fast
as he could, with the goat trotting and walking behind him, pulling
leaves off the bushes to chew as they hurried along.

The old woman was waiting in the doorway of the house. She was still
as angry as ever.

"Have you beaten the children?" she screamed. "Have you beaten the
children for stealing my good turnips?"

"No," said the old man; "they paid for the turnips."

"What did they pay?"

"They gave me this goat."

"That skinny old goat! I have three already, and the worst of them is
better than that."

"It has a cold in the head," says the old man.

"Worse than ever!" screams the old woman.

"Wait a minute," says the old man as quickly as he could, to stop her
scolding.--"Sneeze, goat."

And the goat began to shake itself almost to bits, sneezing and
sneezing and sneezing. The good gold pieces flew all ways at once. And
the old woman threw herself after the gold pieces, picking them up
like an old hen picking up corn. As fast as she picked them up more
gold pieces came showering down on her like heavy gold hail, beating
her on her head and her hands as she grubbed after those that had
fallen already.

"Stop sneezing, goat," says the old man; and the goat stood there
tired and panting, trying to get its breath. But the old woman did not
look up till she had gathered everyone of the gold pieces. When she
did look up, she said,--

"There's no supper for you. I've had supper already."

The old man said nothing. He tied up the goat to the doorpost of the
house, where it could eat the green grass. Then he went into the house
and lay down, and fell asleep at once, because he was an old man and
had done a lot of walking.

As soon as he was asleep the old woman untied the goat and took it
away and hid it in the bushes, and tied up one of her own goats
instead. "They were my turnips," says she to herself, "and I don't see
why he should have a share in the gold." Then she went in, and lay
down grumbling to herself.

Early in the morning she woke the old man.

"Get up, you lazy fellow," says she; "you would lie all day and let
all the thieves in the world come in and steal my turnips. Up with
you to the dovecot and see how my turnips are getting on."

The old man got up and rubbed his eyes, and climbed up the rickety
stairs, creak, creak, creak, holding on with both hands, till he came
to the top of the house, to the top of the tower, to the top of the
dovecot, and looked at the turnips.

He was afraid to come down, for there were hardly any turnips left at
all.

And when he did come down, the scolding the old woman gave him was
worse than the other two scoldings rolled into one. She was so angry
that she shook like a rag in the high wind, and the old man put both
hands to his ears and hobbled away into the forest.

He hobbled along as fast as he could hobble, until he came to the hut
under the pine trees. This time the little queer children were not
hiding under the blankets or in the stove, or chattering in the hut.
They were all over the roof of the hut, dancing and crawling about.
Some of them were even sitting on the chimney. And everyone of the
little queer children was playing with a turnip. As soon as they saw
the old man they all came tumbling off the roof, one after another,
head over heels, like a lot of peas rolling off a shovel.

"_We_ stole the turnips!" they shouted, before the old man could say
anything at all.

"I know you did," says the old man; "but that does not make it any
better for me. And it is I who get the scolding when the turnips fly
away in the night."

"Never again!" shouted the children.

"I'm glad to hear that," says the old man.

"And we'll pay for the turnips."

"Thank you kindly," says the old man. He hadn't the heart to be angry
with those little queer children.

Three or four of them ran into the hut and came out again with a
wooden whistle, a regular whistle-pipe, such as shepherds use. They
gave it to the old man.

"I can never play that," says the old man. "I don't know one tune from
another; and if I did, my old fingers are as stiff as oak twigs."

"Blow in it," cried the children; and all the others came crowding
round, laughing and chattering and whispering to each other. "Is he
going to blow in it?" they asked. "He _is_ going to blow in it." How
they laughed!

The old man took the whistle, and gathered his breath and puffed out
his cheeks, and blew in the whistle-pipe as hard as he could. And
before he could take the whistle from his lips, three lively whips had
slipped out of it, and were beating him as hard as they could go,
although there was nobody to hold them. Phew! phew! phew! The three
whips came down on him one after the other.

"Blow again!" the children shouted, laughing as if they were mad.
"Blow again--quick, quick, quick!--and tell the whips to get into the
whistle."

The old man did not wait to be told twice. He blew for all he was
worth, and instantly the three whips stopped beating him. "Into the
whistle!" he cried; and the three lively whips shot up into the
whistle, like three snakes going into a hole. He could hardly have
believed they had been out at all if it had not been for the soreness
of his back.

"You take that home," cried the children. "That'll pay for the
turnips, and put everything right."

"Who knows?" said the old man; and he thanked the children, and set
off home through the green forest.

"Good-bye," cried the little queer children. But as soon as he had
started they forgot all about him. When he looked round to wave his
hand to them, not one of them was thinking of him. They were up again
on the roof of the hut, jumping over each other and dancing and
crawling about, and rolling each other down the roof and climbing up
again, as if they had been doing nothing else all day, and were going
to do nothing else till the end of the world.

The old man hobbled home through the green forest with the whistle
stuck safely away into his shirt. As soon as he came to the door of
the hut, the old woman, who was sitting inside counting the gold
pieces, jumped up and started her scolding.

"What have the children tricked you with this time?" she screamed at
him.

"They gave me a whistle-pipe," says the old man, "and they are not
going to steal the turnips any more."

"A whistle-pipe!" she screamed. "What's the good of that? It's worse
than the tablecloth and the skinny old goat."

The old man said nothing.

"Give it to me!" screamed the old woman. "They were my turnips, so it
is my whistle-pipe."

"Well, whatever you do, don't blow in it," says the old man, and he
hands over the whistle-pipe.

She wouldn't listen to him.

"What?" says she; "I must not blow my own whistle-pipe?"

And with that she put the whistle-pipe to her lips and blew.

Out jumped the three lively whips, flew up in the air, and began to
beat her--phew! phew! phew!--one after another. If they made the old
man sore, it was nothing to what they did to the cross old woman.

"Stop them! Stop them!" she screamed, running this way and that in the
hut, with the whips flying after her beating her all the time. "I'll
never scold again. I am to blame. I stole the magic tablecloth, and
put an old one instead of it. I hid it in the iron chest." She ran to
the iron chest and opened it, and pulled out the tablecloth. "Stop
them! Stop them!" she screamed, while the whips laid it on hard and
fast, one after the other. "I am to blame. The goat that sneezes gold
pieces is hidden in the bushes. The goat by the door is one of the old
ones. I wanted all the gold for myself."

All this time the old man was trying to get hold of the whistle-pipe.
But the old woman was running about the hut so fast, with the whips
flying after her and beating her, that he could not get it out of her
hands. At last he grabbed it. "Into the whistle," says he, and put it
to his lips and blew.

In a moment the three lively whips had hidden themselves in the
whistle. And there was the cross old woman, kissing his hand and
promising never to scold any more.

"That's all right," says the old man; and he fetched the sneezing goat
out of the bushes and made it sneeze a little gold, just to be sure
that it was that goat and no other. Then he laid the tablecloth on
the table and told it to turn inside out. Up it flew, and came down
again with the best dinner that ever was cooked, only waiting to be
eaten. And the old man and the old woman sat down and ate till they
could eat no more. The old woman rubbed herself now and again. And the
old man rubbed himself too. But there was never a cross word between
them, and they went to bed singing like nightingales.

"Is that the end?" Maroosia always asked.

"Is that all?" asked Vanya, though he knew it was not.

"Not quite," said old Peter; "but the tale won't go any quicker than
my old tongue."

In the morning the old woman had forgotten about her promise. And just
from habit, she set about scolding the old man as if the whips had
never jumped out of the whistle. She scolded him for sleeping too
long, sent him upstairs, with a lot of cross words after him, to go to
the top of the dovecot to see how those turnips were getting on.

After a little the old man came down.

"The turnips are coming on grandly," says he, "and not a single one
has gone in the night. I told you the children said they would not
steal any more."

"I don't believe you," said the old woman. "I'll see for myself. And
if any are gone, you shall pay for it, and pay for it well."

Up she jumped, and tried to climb the stairs. But the stairs were
narrow and steep and twisting. She tried and tried, and could not get
up at all. So she gets angrier than ever, and starts scolding the old
man again.

"You must carry me up," says she.

"I have to hold on with both hands, or I couldn't get up myself," says
the old man.

"I'll get in the flour sack, and you must carry me up with your
teeth," says she; "they're strong enough."

And the old woman got into the flour sack.

"Don't ask me any questions," says the old man; and he took the sack
in his teeth and began slowly climbing up the stairs, holding on with
both hands.

He climbed and climbed, but he did not climb fast enough for the old
woman.

"Are we at the top?" says she.

The old man said nothing, but went on, climbing up and up, nearly dead
with the weight of the old woman in the sack which he was holding in
his teeth.

He climbed a little further, and the old woman screamed out,--

"Are we at the top now? We must be at the top. Let me out, you old
fool!"

The old man said nothing; he climbed on and on.

The old woman raged in the flour sack. She jumped about in the sack,
and screamed at the old man,--

"Are we near the top now? Answer me, can't you! Answer me at once, or
you'll pay for it later. Are we near the top?"

"Very near," said the old man.

And as he opened his mouth to say that the sack slipped from between
his teeth, and bump, bump, bumpety bump, the old woman in the sack
fell all the way to the very bottom, bumping on every step. That was
the end of her.

After that the old man lived alone in the hut. When he wanted tobacco
or clothes or a new axe, he made the goat sneeze some gold pieces, and
off he went to the town with plenty of money in his pocket. When he
wanted his dinner he had only to lay the tablecloth. He never had any
washing up to do, because the tablecloth did it for him. When he
wanted to get rid of troublesome guests, he gave them the whistle to
blow. And when he was lonely and wanted company, he went to the
little hut under the pine trees and played with the little queer
children.




LITTLE MASTER MISERY.


Once upon a time there were two brothers, peasants, and one was kind
and the other was cunning. And the cunning one made money and became
rich--very rich--so rich that he thought himself far too good for the
village. He went off to the town, and dressed in fine furs, and
clothed his wife in rich brocades, and made friends among the
merchants, and began to live as merchants live, eating all day long,
no longer like a simple peasant who eats kasha one day, kasha the next
day, and for a change kasha on the third day also. And always he grew
richer and richer.

It was very different with the kind one. He lent money to a neighbour,
and the neighbour never paid it back. He sowed before the last frost,
and lost all his crops. His horse went lame. His cow gave no milk. If
his hens laid eggs, they were stolen; and if he set a night-line in
the river, some one else always pulled it out and stole the fish and
the hooks. Everything went wrong with him, and each day saw him poorer
than the day before. At last there came a time when he had not a crumb
of bread in the house. He and his wife were thin as sticks because
they had nothing to eat, and the children were crying all day long
because of their little empty stomachs. From morning till night he dug
and worked, struggling against poverty like a fish against the ice;
but it was no good. Things went from bad to worse.

At last his wife said to him: "You must go to the town and see that
rich brother of yours. He will surely not refuse to give you a little
help."

And he said: "Truly, wife, there is nothing else to be done. I will go
to the town, and perhaps my rich brother will help me. I am sure he
would not let my children starve. After all, he is their uncle."

So he took his stick and tramped off to the town.

He came to the house of his rich brother. A fine house it was, with
painted eaves and a doorway carved by a master. Many servants were
there and food in plenty, and people coming and going. He went in and
found his brother, and said,--

"Dear brother of mine, I beg you help me, even if only a little. My
wife and children are without bread. All day long they sit hungry and
waiting, and I have no food to give them."

The rich brother looks at him, and hums and strokes his beard. Then
says he: "I will help you. But, of course, you must do something in
return. Stay here and work for me, and at the end of a week you shall
have the help you have earned."

The poor brother thanked him, and bowed and kissed his hand, and
praised God for the kindness of his brother's heart, and set instantly
to work. For a whole week he slaved, and scarcely slept. He cleaned
out the stables and cut the wood, swept the yard, drew water from the
well, and ran errands for the cook. And at the end of the week his
brother called him, and gave him a single loaf of bread.

"You must not forget," says the rich brother, "that I have fed you all
the week you have been here, and all that food counts in the payment."

The poor brother thanked him, and was setting off to carry the loaf to
his wife and children when the rich brother called him back.

"Stop a minute," said he; "I would like you to know that I am well
disposed towards you. To-morrow is my name-day. Come to the feast, and
bring your wife with you."

"How can I do that, brother? Your friends are rich merchants, with
fine clothes, and boots on their feet. And I have nothing but my old
coat, and my legs are bound in rags and my feet shuffle along in straw
slippers. I do not want to shame you before your guests."

"Never mind about that," says the rich brother; "we will find a place
for you."

"Very good, brother, and thank you kindly. God be praised for having
given you a tender heart."

And the poor brother, though he was tired out after all the work he
had done, set off home as fast as he could to take the bread to his
wife and children.

"He might have given you more than that," said his wife.

"But listen," said he; "what do you think of this? To-morrow we are
invited, you and I, as guests, to go to a great feast."

"What do you mean? A feast? Who has invited us?"

"My brother has invited us. To-morrow is his name-day. I always told
you he had a kind heart. We shall be well fed, and I dare say we shall
be able to bring back something for the children."

"A pleasure like that does not often come our way," said his wife.

So early in the morning they got up, and walked all the way to the
town, so as not to shame the rich brother by putting up their old cart
in the yard beside the merchants' fine carriages. They came to the
rich brother's house, and found the guests all assembled and making
merry; rich merchants and their plump wives, all eating and laughing
and drinking and talking.

They wished a long life to the rich brother, and the poor brother
wanted to make a speech, congratulating him on his name-day. But the
rich brother scarcely thanked him, because he was so busy entertaining
the rich merchants and their plump, laughing wives. He was pressing
food on his guests, now this, now that, and calling to the servants to
keep their glasses filled and their plates full of all the tastiest
kinds of food. As for the poor brother and his wife, the rich one
forgot all about them, and they got nothing to eat and never a drop to
drink. They just sat there with empty plates and empty glasses,
watching how the others ate and drank. The poor brother laughed with
the rest, because he did not wish to show that he had been forgotten.

The dinner came to an end. One by one the guests went up to the giver
of the feast to thank him for his good cheer. And the poor brother too
got up from the bench, and bowed low before his brother and thanked
him.

The guests went home, drunken and joyful. A fine noise they made, as
people do on these occasions, shouting jokes to each other and singing
songs at the top of their voices.

The poor brother and his wife went home empty and sad. All that long
way they had walked, and now they had to walk it again, and the feast
was over, and never a bite had they had in their mouths, nor a drop in
their gullets.

"Come, wife," says the poor brother as he trudged along, "let us sing
a song like the others."

"What a fool you are!" says his wife. Hungry and cross she was, as
even Maroosia would be after a day like that watching other people
stuff themselves. "What a fool you are!" says she. "People may very
well sing when they have eaten tasty dishes and drunk good wine. But
what reason have you got for making a merry noise in the night?"

"Why, my dear" says he, "we have been at my brother's name-day feast.
I am ashamed to go home without a song. I'll sing. I'll sing so that
everyone shall think he loaded us with good things like the rest."

"Well, sing if you like; but you'll sing by yourself."

So the peasant, the poor brother, started singing a song with his dry
throat. He lifted his voice and sang like the rest, while his wife
trudged silently beside him.

But as he sang it seemed to the peasant that he heard two voices
singing--his own and another's. He stopped, and asked his wife,--

"Is that you joining in my song with a little thin voice?"

"What's the matter with you? I never thought of singing with you. I
never opened my mouth."

"Who is it then?"

"No one except yourself. Any one would say you had had a drink of wine
after all."

"But I heard some one ... a little weak voice ... a little sad
voice ... joining with mine."

"I heard nothing," said his wife; "but sing again, and I'll listen."

The poor man sang again. He sang alone. His wife listened, and it was
clear that there were two voices singing--the dry voice of the poor
man, and a little miserable voice that came from the shadows under the
trees. The poor man stopped, and asked out loud,--

"Who are you who are singing with me?"

And a little thin voice answered out of the shadows by the roadside,
under the trees,--

"I am Misery."

"So it was you, Misery, who were helping me?"

"Yes, master, I was helping you."

"Well, little Master Misery, come along with us and keep us company."

"I'll do that willingly," says little Master Misery, "and I'll never,
never leave you at all--no, not if you have no other friend in the
world."

And a wretched little man, with a miserable face and little thin legs
and arms, came out of the shadows and went home with the peasant and
his wife.

It was late when they got home, but little Master Misery asked the
peasant to take him to the tavern. "After such a day as this has
been," says he, "there's nothing else to be done."

"But I have no money," says the peasant.

[Illustration: Misery seated himself firmly on his shoulders and
pulled out Handfuls of his hair.]

"What of that?" says little Master Misery. "Spring has begun, and you
have a winter jacket on. It will soon be summer, and whether you have
it or not you won't wear it. Bring it along to the tavern, and change
it for a drink."

The poor man went to the tavern with little Master Misery, and they
sat there and drank the vodka that the tavern-keeper gave them in
exchange for the coat.

Next day, early in the morning, little Master Misery began
complaining. His head ached and he could not open his eyes, and he did
not like the weather, and the children were crying, and there was no
food in the house. He asked the peasant to come with him to the tavern
again and forget all this wretchedness in a drink.

"But I've got no money," says the peasant.

"Rubbish!" says little Master Misery; "you have a sledge and a
cart."

They took the cart and the sledge to the tavern, and stayed there
drinking until the tavern-keeper said they had had all that the cart
and the sledge were worth. Then the tavern-keeper took them and threw
them out of doors into the night, and they picked themselves up and
crawled home.

Next day Misery complained worse than before, and begged the peasant
to come with him to the tavern. There was no getting rid of him, no
keeping him quiet. The peasant sold his barrow and plough, so that he
could no longer work his land. He went to the tavern with little
Master Misery.

A month went by like that, and at the end of it the peasant had
nothing left at all. He had even pledged the hut he lived in to a
neighbour, and taken the money to the tavern.

And every day little Master Misery begged him to come. "There I am not
wretched any longer," says Misery. "There I sing, and even dance,
hitting the floor with my heels and making a merry noise."

"But now I have no money at all, and nothing left to sell," says the
poor peasant. "I'd be willing enough to go with you, but I can't, and
here is an end of it."

"Rubbish!" says Misery; "your wife has two dresses. Leave her one; she
can't wear both at once. Leave her one, and buy a drink with the
other. They are both ragged, but take the better of the two. The
tavern-keeper is a just man, and will give us more drink for the
better one."

The peasant took the dress and sold it; and Misery laughed and danced,
while the peasant thought to himself, "Well, this is the end. I've
nothing left to sell, and my wife has nothing either. We've the
clothes on our backs, and nothing else in the world."

In the morning little Master Misery woke with a headache as usual, and
a mouthful of groans and complaints. But he saw that the peasant had
nothing left to sell, and he called out,--

"Listen to me, master of the house."

"What is it, Misery?" says the peasant, who was master of nothing in
the world.

"Go you to a neighbour and beg the loan of a cart and a pair of good
oxen."

The poor peasant had no will of his own left. He did exactly as he
was told. He went to his neighbour and begged the loan of the oxen and
cart.

"But how will you repay me?" says the neighbour.

"I will do a week's work for you for nothing."

"Very well," says the neighbour; "take the oxen and cart, but be
careful not to give them too heavy a load."

"Indeed I won't," says the peasant, thinking to himself that he had
nothing to load them with. "And thank you very much," says he; and he
goes back to Misery, taking with him the oxen and cart.

Misery looked at him and grumbled in his wretched little voice, "They
are hardly strong enough,"

"They are the best I could borrow," says the peasant; "and you and I
have starved too long to be heavy."

And the peasant and little Master Misery sat together in the cart and
drove off together, Misery holding his head in both hands and groaning
at the jolt of the cart.

As soon as they had left the village, Misery sat up and asked the
peasant,--

"Do you know the big stone that stands alone in the middle of a field
not far from here?"

"Of course I know it," says the peasant.

"Drive straight to it," says Misery, and went on rocking himself to
and fro, and groaning and complaining in his wretched little voice.

They came to the stone, and got down from the cart and looked at the
stone. It was very big and heavy, and was fixed in the ground.

"Heave it up," says Misery.

The poor peasant set to work to heave it up, and Misery helped him,
groaning, and complaining that the peasant was nothing of a fellow
because he could not do his work by himself. Well, they heaved it up,
and there below it was a deep hole, and the hole was filled with gold
pieces to the very top; more gold pieces than ever you will see copper
ones if you live to be a hundred and ten.

"Well, what are you staring at?" says Misery. "Stir yourself, and be
quick about it, and load all this gold into the cart."

The peasant set to work, and piled all the gold into the cart down to
the very last gold piece; while Misery sat on the stone and watched,
groaning and chuckling in his weak, wretched little voice.

"Be quick," says Misery; "and then we can get back to the tavern."

The peasant looked into the pit to see that there was nothing left
there, and then says he,--

"Just take a look, little Master Misery, and see that we have left
nothing behind. You are smaller than I, and can get right down into
the pit...."

Misery slipped down from the stone, grumbling at the peasant, and bent
over the pit.

"You've taken the lot," says he; "there's nothing to be seen."

"But what is that," says the peasant--"there, shining in the corner?"

"I don't see it."

"Jump down into the pit and you'll see it. It would be a pity to waste
a gold piece."

Misery jumped down into the pit, and instantly the peasant rolled the
stone over the hole and shut him in.

"Things will be better so," says the peasant. "If I were to let you
out of that, sooner or later you would drink up all this money, just
as you drank up everything I had."

Then the peasant drove home and hid the gold in the cellar; took the
oxen and cart back to his neighbour, thanked him kindly, and began to
think what he would do, now that Misery was his master no longer, and
he with plenty of money.

"But he had to work for a week to pay for the loan of the oxen and
cart," said Vanya.

"Well, during the week, while he was working, he was thinking all the
time, in his head," said old Peter, a little grumpily. Then he went on
with his tale.

As soon as the week was over, he bought a forest and built himself a
fine house, and began to live twice as richly as his brother in the
town. And his wife had two new dresses, perhaps more; with a lot of
gold and silver braid, and necklaces of big yellow stones, and
bracelets and sparkling rings. His children were well fed every
day--rivers of milk between banks of kisel jelly, and mushrooms with
sauce, and soup, and cakes with little balls of egg and meat hidden in
the middle. And they had toys that squeaked, a little boy feeding a
goose that poked its head into a dish, and a painted hen with a lot of
chickens that all squeaked together.

Time went on, and when his name-day drew near he thought of his
brother, the merchant, and drove off to the town to invite him to take
part in the feast.

"I have not forgotten, brother, that you invited me to yours."

"What a fellow you are!" says his brother; "you have nothing to eat
yourself, and here you are inviting other people for your name-day."

"Yes," said the peasant, "once upon a time, it is true, I had nothing
to eat; but now, praise be to God, I am no poorer than yourself. Come
to my name-day feast and you will see."

"Very well," says his brother, "I'll come; but don't think you can
play any jokes on me."

On the morning of the peasant's name-day his brother, the merchant in
the town, put on his best clothes, and his plump wife dressed in all
her richest, and they got into their cart--a fine cart it was too,
painted in the brightest colours--and off they drove together to the
house of the brother who had once been poor. They took a basket of
food with them, in case he had only been joking when he invited them
to his name-day feast.

They drove to the village, and asked for him at the hut where he used
to be.

An old man hobbling along the road answered them,--

"Oh, you mean our Ivan Ilyitch. Well, he does not live here any
longer. Where have you been that you have not heard? His is the big
new house on the hill. You can see it through the trees over there,
where all these people are walking. He has a kind heart, he has, and
riches have not spoiled it. He has invited the whole village to feast
with him, because to-day is his name-day."

"Riches!" thought the merchant; "a new house!" He was very much
surprised, but as he drove along the road he was more surprised still.
For he passed all the villagers on their way to the feast; and every
one was talking of his brother, and how kind he was and how generous,
and what a feast there was going to be, and how many barrels of mead
and, wine had been taken up to the house. All the folk were hurrying
along the road licking their lips, each one going faster than the
other so as to be sure not to miss any of the good things.

The rich brother from the town drove with his wife into the courtyard
of the fine new house. And there on the steps was the peasant brother,
Ivan Ilyitch, and his wife, receiving their guests. And if the rich
brother was well dressed, the peasant was better dressed; and if the
rich brother's wife was in her fine clothes, the peasant's wife fairly
glittered--what with the gold braid on her bosom and the shining
silver in her hair.

And the peasant brother kissed his brother from the town on both
cheeks, and gave him and his wife the best places at the table. He fed
them--ah, how he fed them!--with little red slips of smoked salmon,
and beetroot soup with cream, and slabs of sturgeon, and meats of
three or four kinds, and game and sweetmeats of the best. There never
was such a feast--no, not even at the wedding of a Tzar. And as for
drink, there were red wine and white wine, and beer and mead in great
barrels, and everywhere the peasant went about among his guests,
filling glasses and seeing that their plates were kept piled with the
foods each one liked best.

And the rich brother wondered and wondered, and at last he could wait
no longer, and he took his brother aside and said,--

"I am delighted to see you so rich. But tell me, I beg you, how it was
that all this good fortune came to you."

The poor brother, never thinking, told him all--the whole truth about
little Master Misery and the pit full of gold, and how Misery was shut
in there under the big stone.

The merchant brother listened, and did not forget a word. He could
hardly bear himself for envy, and as for his wife, she was worse. She
looked at the peasant's wife with her beautiful head-dress, and she
bit her lips till they bled.

As soon as they could, they said good-bye and drove off home.

The merchant brother could not bear the thought that his brother was
richer than he. He said to himself, "I will go to the field, and move
the stone, and let Master Misery out. Then he will go and tear my
brother to pieces for shutting him in; and his riches will not be of
much use to him then, even if Misery does not give them to me as a
token of gratitude. Think of my brother daring to show off his riches
to me!"

So he drove off to the field, and came at last to the big stone. He
moved the stone on one side, and then bent over the pit to see what
was in it.

He had scarcely put his head over the edge before Misery sprang up out
of the pit, seated himself firmly on his shoulders, squeezed his neck
between his little wiry legs, and pulled out handfuls of his hair.

"Scream away!" cried little Master Misery. "You tried to kill me,
shutting me up in there, while you went off and bought fine clothes.
You tried to kill me, and came to feast your eyes on my corpse. Now,
whatever happens, I'll never leave you again."

"Listen, Misery!" screamed the merchant. "Ai, ai! stop pulling my
hair. You are choking me. Ai! Listen. It was not I who shut you in
under the stone...."

"Who was it, if it was not you?" asked Misery, tugging out his hair,
and digging his knees into the merchant's throat.

"It was my brother. I came here on purpose to let you out. I came out
of pity."

Misery tugged the merchant's hair, and twisted the merchant's ears
till they nearly came off.

"Liar, liar!" he shouted in his little, wretched, angry voice. "You
tricked me once. Do you think you'll get the better of me again by a
clumsy lie of that kind? Now then. Gee up! Home we go."

And so the rich brother went trotting home, crying with pain; while
little Master Misery sat firmly on his shoulders, pulling at his
hair.

Instantly Misery was at his old tricks.

"You seem to have bought a good deal with the gold," he said, looking
at the merchant's house. "We'll see how far it will go." And every day
he rode the rich merchant to the tavern, and made him drink up all his
money, and his house, his clothes, his horses and carts and
sledges--everything he had--until he was as poor as his brother had
been in the beginning.

The merchant thought and thought, and puzzled his brain to find a way
to get rid of him. And at last one night, when Misery had groaned
himself to sleep, the merchant went out into the yard and took a big
cart wheel and made two stout wedges of wood, just big enough to fit
into the hub of the wheel. He drove one wedge firmly in at one end of
the hub, and left the wheel in the yard with the other wedge, and a
big hammer lying handy close to it.

In the morning Misery wakes as usual, and cries out to be taken to the
tavern.

"We've sold everything I've got," says the merchant.

"Well, what are you going to do to amuse me?" says Misery.

"Let's play hide-and-seek in the yard," says the merchant.

"Right," says Misery; "but you'll never find me, for I can make myself
so small I can hide in a mouse-hole in the floor."

"We'll see," says the merchant.

The merchant hid first, and Misery found him at once.

"Now it's my turn," says Misery; "but what's the good? You'll never
find me. Why, I could get inside the hub of that wheel if I had a mind
to."

"What a liar you are!" says the merchant; "you never could get into
that little hole."

"Look," says Misery, and he made himself little, little, little, and
sat on the hub of the wheel.

"Look," says he, making himself smaller again; and then, pouf! in he
pops into the hole of the hub.

Instantly the merchant took the other wedge and the hammer, and drove
the wedge into the hole. The first wedge had closed up the other end,
and so there was Misery shut up inside the hub of the cart wheel.

The merchant set the wheel on his shoulders, and took it to the river
and threw it out as far as he could, and it went floating away down to
the sea.

Then he went home and set to work to make money again, and earn his
daily bread; for Misery had made him so poor that he had nothing left,
and had to hire himself out to make a living, just as his peasant
brother used to do.

But what happened to Misery when he went floating away?

He floated away down the river, shut up in the hub of the wheel. He
ought to have starved there. But I am afraid some silly, greedy fellow
thought to get a new wheel for nothing, and pulled the wedges out and
let him go; for, by all I hear, Misery is still wandering about the
world and making people wretched--bad luck to him!




A CHAPTER OF FISH.


Sometimes in spring, when the big river flooded its banks and made
lakes of the meadows, and the little rivers flowed deep, old Peter
spent a few days netting fish. Also in summer he set night-lines in
the little river not far from where it left the forest. And so it
happened that one day he sat in the warm sunshine outside his hut,
mending his nets and making floats for them; not cork floats like
ours, but little rolls of the silver bark of the birch tree.

And while he sat there Vanya and Maroosia watched him, and sometimes
even helped, holding a piece of the net between them, while old Peter
fastened on the little glistening rolls of bark that were to keep it
up in the water. And all the time old Peter worked he smoked, and told
them stories about fish.

First he told them what happened when the first pike was born, and how
it is that all the little fish are not eaten by the great pike with
his huge greedy mouth and his sharp teeth.

                                   

On the night of Ivanov's Day (that is the day of Saint John, which is
Midsummer) there was born the pike, a huge fish, with such teeth as
never were. And when the pike was born the waters of the river foamed
and raged, so that the ships in the river were all but swamped, and
the pretty young girls who were playing on the banks ran away as fast
as they could, frightened, they were, by the roaring of the waves, and
the black wind and the white foam on the water. Terrible was the birth
of the sharp-toothed pike.

And when the pike was born he did not grow up by months or by days,
but by hours. Every day it was two inches longer than the day before.
In a month it was two yards long; in two months it was twelve feet
long; in three months it was raging up and down the river like a
tempest, eating the bream and the perch, and all the small fish that
came in its way. There was a bream or a perch swimming lazily in the
stream. The pike saw it as it raged by, caught it in its great white
mouth, and instantly the bream or the perch was gone, torn to pieces
by the pike's teeth, and swallowed as you would swallow a sunflower
seed. And bream and perch are big fish. It was worse for the little
ones.

[Illustration: "Head in air and tail in sea,
             Fish, fish, listen to me"]

What was to be done? The bream and the perch put their heads together
in a quiet pool. It was clear enough that the great pike would eat
everyone of them. So they called a meeting of all the little fish,
and set to thinking what could be done by way of dealing with the
great pike, which had such sharp teeth and was making so free with
their lives.

They all came to the meeting--bream, and perch, and roach, and dace,
and gudgeon; yes, and the little ersh with his spiny back.

The silly roach said, "Let us kill the pike."

But the gudgeon looked at him with his great eyes, and asked, "Have
you got good teeth?"

"No," says the roach, "I haven't any teeth."

"You'd swallow the pike, I suppose?" says the perch.

"My mouth is too small."

"Then do not use it to talk foolishness," said the gudgeon; and the
roach's fins blushed scarlet, and are red to this day.

"I will set my prickles on end," says the perch, who has a row of
sharp prickles in the fin on his back. "The pike won't find them too
comfortable in his throat."

"Yes," said the bream; "but you will have to go into his throat to put
them there, and he'll swallow you all the same. Besides, we have not
all got prickles."

There was a lot more foolishness talked. Even the minnows had
something to say, until they were made to be quiet by the dace.

Now the little ersh had come to the meeting, with his spiny back, and
his big front fins, and his head all shining in blue and gold and
green. And when he had heard all they had to say, he began to talk.

"Think away," says he, "and break your heads, and spoil your brains,
if ever you had any; but listen for a moment to what I have to say."

And all the fish turned to listen to the ersh, who is the cleverest of
all the little fish, because he has a big head and a small body.

"Listen," says the ersh. "It is clear enough that the pike lives in
this big river, and that he does not give the little fish a chance,
crunches them all with his sharp teeth, and swallows them ten at a
time. I quite agree that it would be much better for everybody if he
could be killed; but not one of us is strong enough for that. We are
not strong enough to kill him; but we can starve him, and save
ourselves at the same time. There's no living in the big river while
he is here. Let all us little fish clear out, and go and live in the
little rivers that flow into the big. There the waters are shallow,
and we can hide among the weeds. No one will touch us there, and we
can live and bring up our children in peace, and only be in danger
when we go visiting from one little river to another. And as for the
great pike, we will leave him alone in the big river to rage hungrily
up and down. His teeth will soon grow blunt, for there will be nothing
for him to eat."

All the little fish waved their fins and danced in the water when they
heard the wisdom of the ersh's speech. And the ersh and the roach,
and the bream and the perch, and the dace and the gudgeon left the big
river and swam up the little rivers between the green meadows. And
there they began again to live in peace and bring up their little
ones, though the cunning fishermen set nets in the little rivers and
caught many of them on their way. From that time on there have never
been many little fish in the big river.

And as for the monstrous pike, he swam up and down the great river,
lashing the waters, and driving his nose through the waves, but found
no food for his sharp teeth. He had to take to worms, and was caught
in the end on a fisherman's hook. Yes, and the fisherman made a soup
of him--the best fish soup that ever was made. He was a friend of mine
when I was a boy, and he gave me a taste in my wooden spoon.

                                   

Then he told them the story of other pike, and particularly of the
pike that was king of a river, and made the little fish come together
on the top of the water so that the young hunter could cross over with
dry feet. And he told them of the pike that hid the lover of the
princess by swallowing him and lying at the bottom of a deep pool, and
how the princess saw her lover sitting in the pike, when the big fish
opened his mouth to snap up a little perch that swam too near his
nose. Then he told them of the big trial in the river, when the fishes
chose judges, and made a case at law against the ersh, and found him
guilty, and how the ersh spat in the faces of the judges and swam
merrily away.

Finally, he told them the story of the Golden Fish. But that is a
long story, and a chapter all by itself, and begins on the next page.




THE GOLDEN FISH.


"This," said old Peter, "is a story against wanting more than enough."

Long ago, near the shore of the blue sea, an old man lived with his
old woman in a little old hut made of earth and moss and logs. They
never had a rouble to spend. A rouble! they never had a kopeck. They
just lived there in the little hut, and the old man caught fish out of
the sea in his old net, and the old woman cooked the fish; and so
they lived, poorly enough in summer and worse in winter. Sometimes
they had a few fish to sell, but not often. In the summer evenings
they sat outside their hut on a broken old bench, and the old man
mended the holes in his ragged old net. There were holes in it a hare
could jump through with his ears standing, let alone one of those
little fishes that live in the sea. The old woman sat on the bench
beside him, and patched his trousers and complained.

Well, one day the old man went fishing, as he always did. All day long
he fished, and caught nothing. And then in the evening, when he was
thinking he might as well give up and go home, he threw his net for
the last time, and when he came to pull it in he began to think he had
caught an island instead of a haul of fish, and a strong and lively
island at that--the net was so heavy and pulled so hard against his
feeble old arms.

"This time," says he, "I have caught a hundred fish at least."

Not a bit of it. The net came in as heavy as if it were full of
fighting fish, but empty ----.

"Empty?" said Maroosia.

"Well, not quite empty," said old Peter, and went on with his tale.

Not quite empty, for when the last of the net came ashore there was
something glittering in it--a golden fish, not very big and not very
little, caught in the meshes. And it was this single golden fish which
had made the net so heavy.

The old fisherman took the golden fish in his hands.

"At least it will be enough for supper," said he.

But the golden fish lay still in his hands, and looked at him with
wise eyes, and spoke--yes, my dears, it spoke, just as if it were you
or I.

"Old man," says the fish, "do not kill me. I beg you throw me back
into the blue waters. Some day I may be able to be of use to you."

"What?" says the old fisherman; "and do you talk with a human voice?"

"I do," says the fish. "And my fish's heart feels pain like yours. It
would be as bitter to me to die as it would be to yourself."

"And is that so?" says the old fisherman. "Well, you shall not die
this time." And he threw the golden fish back into the sea.

You would have thought the golden fish would have splashed with his
tail, and turned head downwards, and swum away into the blue depths of
the sea. Not a bit of it. It stayed there with its tail slowly
flapping in the water so as to keep its head up, and it looked at the
fisherman with its wise eyes, and it spoke again.

"You have given me my life," says the golden fish. "Now ask anything
you wish from me, and you shall have it."

The old fisherman stood there on the shore, combing his beard with his
old fingers, and thinking. Think as he would, he could not call to
mind a single thing he wanted.

"No, fish," he said at last; "I think I have everything I need,"

"Well, if ever you do want anything, come and ask for it," says the
fish, and turns over, flashing gold, and goes down into the blue sea.

The old fisherman went back to his hut, where his wife was waiting for
him.

"What!" she screamed out; "you haven't caught so much as one little
fish for our supper?"

"I caught one fish, mother," says the old man: "a golden fish it was,
and it spoke to me; and I let it go, and it told me to ask for
anything I wanted."

"And what did you ask for? Show me."

"I couldn't think of anything to ask for; so I did not ask for
anything at all."

"Fool," says his wife, "and dolt, and us with no food to put in our
mouths. Go back at once, and ask for some bread."

Well, the poor old fisherman got down his net, and tramped back to the
seashore. And he stood on the shore of the wide blue sea, and he
called out,--

    "Head in air and tail in sea,
    Fish, fish, listen to me."

And in a moment there was the golden fish with his head out of the
water, flapping his tail below him in the water, and looking at the
fisherman with his wise eyes.

"What is it?" said the fish.

"Be so kind," says the fisherman; "be so kind. We have no bread in the
house."

"Go home," says the fish, and turned over and went down into the sea.

"God be good to me," says the old fisherman; "but what shall I say to
my wife, going home like this without the bread?" And he went home
very wretchedly, and slower than he came.

As soon as he came within sight of his hut he saw his wife, and she
was waving her arms and shouting.

"Stir your old bones," she screamed out. "It's as fine a loaf as ever
I've seen."

And he hurried along, and found his old wife cutting up a huge loaf of
white bread, mind you, not black--a huge loaf of white bread, nearly
as big as Maroosia.

"You did not do so badly after all," said his old wife as they sat
there with the samovar on the table between them, dipping their bread
in the hot tea.

But that night, as they lay sleeping on the stove, the old woman poked
the old man in the ribs with her bony elbow. He groaned and woke up.

"I've been thinking," says his wife, "your fish might have given us a
trough to keep the bread in while he was about it. There is a lot left
over, and without a trough it will go bad, and not be fit for
anything. And our old trough is broken; besides, it's too small.
First thing in the morning off you go, and ask your fish to give us a
new trough to put the bread in."

Early in the morning she woke the old man again, and he had to get up
and go down to the seashore. He was very much afraid, because he
thought the fish would not take it kindly. But at dawn, just as the
red sun was rising out of the sea, he stood on the shore, and called
out in his windy old voice,--

    "Head in air and tail in sea,
    Fish, fish, listen to me."

And there in the morning sunlight was the golden fish, looking at him
with its wise eyes.

"I beg your pardon," says the old man, "but could you, just to oblige
my wife, give us some sort of trough to put the bread in?"

"Go home," says the fish; and down it goes into the blue sea.

The old man went home, and there, outside the hut, was the old woman,
looking at the handsomest bread trough that ever was seen on earth.
Painted it was, with little flowers, in three colours, and there were
strips of gilding about its handles.

"Look at this," grumbled the old woman. "This is far too fine a trough
for a tumbledown hut like ours. Why, there is scarcely a place in the
roof where the rain does not come through. If we were to keep this
trough in such a hut, it would be spoiled in a month. You must go back
to your fish and ask it for a new hut."

"I hardly like to do that," says the old man.

"Get along with you," says his wife. "If the fish can make a trough
like this, a hut will be no trouble to him. And, after all, you must
not forget he owes his life to you."

"I suppose that is true," says the old man; but he went back to the
shore with a heavy heart. He stood on the edge of the sea and called
out, doubtfully,--

    "Head in air and tail in sea,
    Fish, fish, listen to me."

Instantly there was a ripple in the water, and the golden fish was
looking at him with its wise eyes.

"Well?" says the fish.

"My old woman is so pleased with the trough that she wants a new hut
to keep it in, because ours, if you could only see it, is really
falling to pieces, and the rain comes in and ----."

"Go home," says the fish.

The old fisherman went home, but he could not find his old hut at all.
At first he thought he had lost his way. But then he saw his wife. And
she was walking about, first one way and then the other, looking at
the finest hut that God ever gave a poor moujik to keep him from the
rain and the cold, and the too great heat of the sun. It was built of
sound logs, neatly finished at the ends and carved. And the
overhanging of the roof was cut in patterns, so neat, so pretty, you
could never think how they had been done. The old woman looked at it
from all sides. And the old man stood, wondering. Then they went in
together. And everything within the hut was new and clean. There were
a fine big stove, and strong wooden benches, and a good table, and a
fire lit in the stove, and logs ready to put in, and a samovar already
on the boil--a fine new samovar of glittering brass.

You would have thought the old woman would have been satisfied with
that. Not a bit of it.

"You don't know how to lift your eyes from the ground," says she. "You
don't know what to ask. I am tired of being a peasant woman and a
moujik's wife. I was made for something better. I want to be a lady,
and have good people to do the work, and see folk bow and curtsy to me
when I meet them walking abroad. Go back at once to the fish, you old
fool, and ask him for that, instead of bothering him for little
trifles like bread troughs and moujiks' huts. Off with you."

The old fisherman went back to the shore with a sad heart; but he was
afraid of his wife, and he dared not disobey her. He stood on the
shore, and called out in his windy old voice,--

    "Head in air and tail in sea,
    Fish, fish, listen to me."

Instantly there was the golden fish looking at him with its wise eyes.

"Well?" says the fish.

"My old woman won't give me a moment's peace," says the old man; "and
since she has the new hut--which is a fine one, I must say; as good a
hut as ever I saw--she won't be content at all. She is tired of being
a peasant's wife, and wants to be a lady with a house and servants,
and to see the good folk curtsy to her when she meets them walking
abroad."

"Go home," says the fish.

The old man went home, thinking about the hut, and how pleasant it
would be to live in it, even if his wife were a lady.

But when he got home the hut had gone, and in its place there was a
fine brick house, three stories high. There were servants running this
way and that in the courtyard. There was a cook in the kitchen, and
there was his old woman, in a dress of rich brocade, sitting idle in a
tall carved chair, and giving orders right and left.

"Good health to you, wife," says the old man.

"Ah, you, clown that you are, how dare you call me your wife! Can't
you see that I'm a lady? Here! Off with this fellow to the stables,
and see that he gets a beating he won't forget in a hurry."

Instantly the servants seized the old man by the collar and lugged him
along to the stables. There the grooms treated him to such a whipping
that he could hardly stand on his feet. After that the old woman made
him doorkeeper. She ordered that a besom should be given him to clean
up the courtyard, and said that he was to have his meals in the
kitchen. A wretched life the old man lived. All day long he was
sweeping up the courtyard, and if there was a speck of dirt to be seen
in it anywhere, he paid for it at once in the stable under the whips
of the grooms.

Time went on, and the old woman grew tired of being only a lady. And
at last there came a day when she sent into the yard to tell the old
man to come before her. The poor old man combed his hair and cleaned
his boots, and came into the house, and bowed low before the old
woman.

"Be off with you, you old good-for-nothing!" says she. "Go and find
your golden fish, and tell him from me that I am tired of being a
lady. I want to be Tzaritza, with generals and courtiers and men of
state to do whatever I tell them."

The old man went along to the seashore, glad enough to be out of the
courtyard and out of reach of the stablemen with their whips. He came
to the shore, and cried out in his windy old voice,--

    "Head in air and tail in sea,
    Fish, fish, listen to me."

And there was the golden fish looking at him with its wise eyes.

"What's the matter now, old man?" says the fish.

"My old woman is going on worse than ever," says the old fisherman.
"My back is sore with the whips of her grooms. And now she says it
isn't enough for her to be a lady; she wants to be a Tzaritza."

"Never you worry about it," says the fish. "Go home and praise God;"
and with that the fish turned over and went down into the sea.

The old man went home slowly, for he did not know what his wife would
do to him if the golden fish did not make her into a Tzaritza.

But as soon as he came near he heard the noise of trumpets and the
beating of drums, and there where the fine stone house had been was
now a great palace with a golden roof. Behind it was a big garden of
flowers, that are fair to look at but have no fruit, and before it was
a meadow of fine green grass. And on the meadow was an army of
soldiers drawn up in squares and all dressed alike. And suddenly the
fisherman saw his old woman in the gold and silver dress of a Tzaritza
come stalking out on the balcony with her generals and boyars to hold
a review of her troops. And the drums beat and the trumpets sounded,
and the soldiers cried "Hurrah!" And the poor old fisherman found a
dark corner in one of the barns, and lay down in the straw.

Time went on, and at last the old woman was tired of being Tzaritza.
She thought she was made for something better. And one day she said to
her chamberlain,--

"Find me that ragged old beggar who is always hanging about in the
courtyard. Find him, and bring him here."

The chamberlain told his officers, and the officers told the servants,
and the servants looked for the old man, and found him at last asleep
on the straw in the corner of one of the barns. They took some of the
dirt off him, and brought him before the Tzaritza, sitting proudly on
her golden throne.

"Listen, old fool!" says she. "Be off to your golden fish, and tell it
I am tired of being Tzaritza. Anybody can be Tzaritza. I want to be
the ruler of the seas, so that all the waters shall obey me, and all
the fishes shall be my servants."

"I don't like to ask that," said the old man, trembling.

"What's that?" she screamed at him. "Do you dare to answer the
Tzaritza? If you do not set off this minute, I'll have your head cut
off and your body thrown to the dogs."

Unwillingly the old man hobbled off. He came to the shore, and cried
out with a windy, quavering old voice,--

    "Head in air and tail in sea,
    Fish, fish, listen to me."

Nothing happened.

The old man thought of his wife, and what would happen to him if she
were still Tzaritza when he came home. Again he called out,--

    "Head in air and tail in sea,
    Fish, fish, listen to me."

Nothing happened, nothing at all.

A third time, with the tears running down his face, he called out in
his windy, creaky, quavering old voice,--

    "Head in air and tail in sea,
    Fish, fish, listen to me."

Suddenly there was a loud noise, louder and louder over the sea. The
sun hid itself. The sea broke into waves, and the waves piled
themselves one upon another. The sky and the sea turned black, and
there was a great roaring wind that lifted the white crests of the
waves and tossed them abroad over the waters. The golden fish came up
out of the storm and spoke out of the sea.

"What is it now?" says he, in a voice more terrible than the voice of
the storm itself.

"O fish," says the old man, trembling like a reed shaken by the storm,
"my old woman is worse than before. She is tired of being Tzaritza.
She wants to be the ruler of the seas, so that all the waters shall
obey her and all the fishes be her servants."

The golden fish said nothing, nothing at all. He turned over and went
down into the deep seas. And the wind from the sea was so strong that
the old man could hardly stand against it. For a long time he waited,
afraid to go home; but at last the storm calmed, and it grew towards
evening, and he hobbled back, thinking to creep in and hide amongst
the straw.

As he came near, he listened for the trumpets and the drums. He heard
nothing except the wind from the sea rustling the little leaves of
birch trees. He looked for the palace. It was gone, and where it had
been was a little tumbledown hut of earth and logs. It seemed to the
old fisherman that he knew the little hut, and he looked at it with
joy. And he went to the door of the hut, and there was sitting his old
woman in a ragged dress, cleaning out a saucepan, and singing in a
creaky old voice. And this time she was glad to see him, and they sat
down together on the bench and drank tea without sugar, because they
had not any money.

They began to live again as they used to live, and the old man grew
happier every day. He fished and fished, and many were the fish that
he caught, and of many kinds; but never again did he catch another
golden fish that could talk like a human being. I doubt whether he
would have said anything to his wife about it, even if he had caught
one every day.

                                   

"What a horrid old woman!" said Maroosia.

"I wonder the old fisherman forgave her," said Ivan.

"I think he might have beaten her a little," said Maroosia. "she
deserved it."

"Well," said old Peter, "supposing we could have everything we wanted
for the asking, I wonder how it would be. Perhaps God knew what He
was doing when He made those golden fishes rare."

"Are there really any of them?" asked Vanya.

"Well, there was once one, anyhow," said old Peter; and then he rolled
his nets neatly together, hung them on the fence, and went into the
hut to make the dinner. And Vanya and Maroosia went in with him to
help him as much as they could; though Vanya was wondering all the
time whether he could make a net, and throw it in the little river
where old Peter fished, and perhaps pull out a golden fish that would
speak to him with the voice of a human being.




WHO LIVED IN THE SKULL?


Once upon a time a horse's skull lay on the open plain. It had been
picked clean by the ants, and shone white in the sunlight.

Little Burrowing Mouse came along, twirling his whiskers and looking
at the world. He saw the white skull, and thought it was as good as a
palace. He stood up in front of it and called out,--

"Little house, little house! Who lives in the little house?"

No one answered, for there was no one inside.

"I will live there myself," says little Burrowing Mouse, and in he
went, and set up house in the horse's skull.

Croaking Frog came along, a jump, three long strides, and a jump
again.

"Little house, little house! Who lives in the little house?"

"I am Burrowing Mouse; who are you?"

"I am Croaking Frog."

"Come in and make yourself at home."

So the frog went in, and they began to live, the two of them together.

Hare Hide-in-the-Hill came running by.

"Little house, little house! Who lives in the little house?"

"Burrowing Mouse and Croaking Frog. Who are you?"

"I am Hare Hide-in-the-Hill."

"Come along in."

So the hare put his ears down and went in, and they began to live, the
three of them together.

Then the fox came running by.

"Little house, little house! Who lives in the little house?"

"Burrowing Mouse and Croaking Frog and Hare Hide-in-the-Hill. Who are
you?"

"I am Fox Run-about-Everywhere."

"Come along in; we've room for you."

So the fox went in, and they began to live, the four of them together.

Then the wolf came prowling by, and saw the skull.

"Little house, little house! Who lives in the little house?"

"Burrowing Mouse, and Croaking Frog, and Hare Hide-in-the-Hill, and
Fox Run-about-Every-where. Who are you?"

"I am Wolf Leap-out-of-the-Bushes."

"Come in then."

So the wolf went in, and they began to live, the five of them
together.

And then there came along the Bear. He was very slow and very heavy.

"Little house, little house! Who lives in the little house?"

"Burrowing Mouse, and Croaking Frog, and Hare Hide-in-the-Hill, and
Fox Run-about-Every-where, and Wolf Leap-out-of-the-Bushes. Who are
you?"

"I am Bear Squash-the-Lot."

And the Bear sat down on the horse's skull, and squashed the whole lot
of them.

                                   

The way to tell that story is to make one hand the skull, and the
fingers and thumb of the other hand the animals that go in one by one.
At least that was the way old Peter told it; and when it came to the
end, and the Bear came along, why, the Bear was old Peter himself, who
squashed both little hands, and Vanya or Maroosia, whichever it was,
all together in one big hug.




ALENOUSHKA AND HER BROTHER.


Once upon a time there were two orphan children, a little boy and a
little girl. Their father and mother were dead, and they had not even
an old grandfather to spend his time in telling them stories. They
were alone. The little boy was called Vanoushka, and the little
girl's name was Alenoushka.

They set out together to walk through the whole of the great wide
world. It was a long journey they set out on, and they did not think
of any end to it, but only of moving on and on, and never stopping
long enough in one place to be unhappy there.

[Footnote 3: That means that they were called Ivan and Elena.
Vanoushka and Alenoushka are affectionate forms of these names.]

They were travelling one day over a broad plain, padding along on
their little bare feet. There were no trees on the plain, no bushes;
open flat country as far as you could see, and the great sun up in the
sky burning the grass and making their throats dry, and the sandy
ground so hot that they could scarcely bear to set their feet on it.
All day from early morning they had been walking, and the heat grew
greater and greater towards noon.

"Oh," said little Vanoushka, "my throat is so dry. I want a drink. I
must have a drink--just a little drink of cool water."

"We must go on," said Alenoushka, "till we come to a well. Then we
will drink."

They went on along the track, with their eyes burning and their
throats as dry as sand on a stove.

But presently Vanoushka cried out joyfully. He saw a horse's hoofmark
in the ground. And it was full of water, like a little well.

"Sister, sister," says he, "the horse has made a little well for me
with his great hoof, and now we can have a drink; and oh, but I am
thirsty!"

"Not yet, brother," says Alenoushka. "If you drink from the hoofmark
of a horse, you will turn into a little foal, and that would never
do."

"I am so very thirsty," says Vanoushka; but he did as his sister told
him, and they walked on together under the burning sun.

A little farther on Vanoushka saw the hoofmark of a cow, and there
was water in it glittering in the sun.

"Sister, sister," says Vanoushka, "the cow has made a little well for
me, and now I can have a drink."

"Not yet, brother," says Alenoushka. "If you drink from the hoofmark
of a cow, you will turn into a little calf, and that would never do.
We must go on till we come to a well. There we will drink and rest
ourselves. There will be trees by the well, and shadows, and we will
lie down there by the quiet water and cool our hands and feet, and
perhaps our eyes will stop burning."

So they went on farther along the track that scorched the bare soles
of their feet, and under the sun that burned their heads and their
little bare necks. The sun was high in the sky above them, and it
seemed to Vanoushka that they would never come to the well.

But when they had walked on and on, and he was nearly crying with
thirst, only that the sun had dried up all his tears and burnt them
before they had time to come into his eyes, he saw another footprint.
It was quite a tiny footprint, divided in the middle--the footprint of
a sheep; and in it was a little drop of clear water, sparkling in the
sun. He said nothing to his sister, nothing at all. But he went down
on his hands and knees and drank that water, that little drop of clear
water, to cool his burning throat. And he had no sooner drunk it than
he had turned into a little lamb...

"A little white lamb," said Maroosia.

"With a black nose," said Vanya.

A little lamb, said old Peter, a little lamb who ran round and round
Alenoushka, frisking and leaping, with its little tail tossing in the
air.

Alenoushka looked round for her brother, but could not see him. But
there was the little lamb, leaping round her, trying to lick her face,
and there in the ground was the print left by the sheep's foot.

She guessed at once what had happened, and burst into tears. There was
a hayrick close by, and under the hayrick Alenoushka sat down and
wept. The little lamb, seeing her so sad, stood gravely in front of
her; but not for long, for he was a little lamb, and he could not help
himself. However sad he felt, he had to leap and frisk in the sun, and
toss his little white tail.

Presently a fine gentleman came riding by on his big black horse. He
stopped when he came to the hayrick. He was very much surprised at
seeing a beautiful little girl sitting there, crying her eyes out,
while a white lamb frisked this way and that, and played before her,
and now and then ran up to her and licked the tears from her face with
its little pink tongue.

"What is your name," says the fine gentleman, "and why are you in
trouble? Perhaps I may be able to help you."

"My name is Alenoushka, and this is my little brother Vanoushka, whom
I love." And she told him the whole story.

"Well, I can hardly believe all that," says the fine gentleman, "But
come with me, and I will dress you in fine clothes, and set silver
ornaments in your hair, and bracelets of gold on your little brown
wrists. And as for the lamb, he shall come too, if you love him.
Wherever you are there he shall be, and you shall never be parted from
him."

And so Alenoushka took her little brother in her arms, and the fine
gentleman lifted them up before him on the big black horse, and
galloped home with them across the plain to his big house not far from
the river. And when he got home he made a feast and married
Alenoushka, and they lived together so happily that good people
rejoiced to see them, and bad ones were jealous. And the little lamb
lived in the house, and never grew any bigger, but always frisked and
played, and followed Alenoushka wherever she went.

And then one day, when the fine gentleman had ridden far away to the
town to buy a new bracelet for Alenoushka, there came an old witch.
Ugly she was, with only one tooth in her head, and wicked as ever went
about the world doing evil to decent folk. She begged from Alenoushka,
and said she was hungry, and Alenoushka begged her to share her
dinner. And she put a spell in the wine that Alenoushka drank, so that
Alenoushka fell ill, and before evening, when the fine gentleman came
riding back, had become pale, pale as snow, and as thin as an old
stick.

"My dear," says the fine gentleman, "what is the matter with you?"

"Perhaps I shall be better to-morrow," says Alenoushka.

Well, the next day the gentleman rode into the fields, and the old hag
came again while he was out.

"Would you like me to cure you?" says she. "I know a way to make you
as well as ever you were. Plump you will be, and pretty again, before
your husband comes riding home."

"And what must I do?" says Alenoushka, crying to think herself so
ugly.

"You must go to the river and bathe this afternoon," says the old
witch. "I will be there and put a spell on the water. Secretly you
must go, for if any one knows whither you have gone my spell will not
work."

So Alenoushka wrapped a shawl about her head, and slipped out of the
house and went to the river. Only the little lamb, Vanoushka, knew
where she had gone. He followed her, leaping about, and tossing his
little white tail. The old witch was waiting for her. She sprang out
of the bushes by the riverside, and seized Alenoushka, and tore off
her pretty white dress, and fastened a heavy stone about her neck, and
threw her from the bank into a deep place, so that she sank to the
bottom of the river. Then the old witch, the wicked hag, put on
Alenoushka's pretty white dress, and cast a spell, and made herself so
like Alenoushka to look at that nobody could tell the difference. Only
the little lamb had seen everything that had happened.

The fine gentleman came riding home in the evening, and he rejoiced
when he saw his dear Alenoushka well again, with plump pink cheeks,
and a smile on her rosy lips.

But the little lamb knew everything. He was sad and melancholy, and
would not eat, and went every morning and every evening to the river,
and there wandered about the banks, and cried, "Baa, baa," and was
answered by the sighing of the wind in the long reeds.

The witch saw that the lamb went off by himself every morning and
every evening. She watched where he went, and when she knew she began
to hate the lamb; and she gave orders for the sticks to be cut, and
the iron cauldron to be heated, and the steel knives made sharp. She
sent a servant to catch the lamb; and she said to the fine gentleman,
who thought all the time that she was Alenoushka, "It is time for the
lamb to be killed, and made into a tasty stew."

The fine gentleman was astonished.

"What," says he, "you want to have the lamb killed? Why, you called it
your brother when first I found you by the hayrick in the plain. You
were always giving it caresses and sweet words. You loved it so much
that I was sick of the sight of it, and now you give orders for its
throat to be cut. Truly," says he, "the mind of woman is like the wind
in summer."

The lamb ran away when he saw that the servant had come to catch him.
He heard the sharpening of the knives, and had seen the cutting of the
wood, and the great cauldron taken from its place. He was frightened,
and he ran away, and came to the river bank, where the wind was
sighing through the tall reeds. And there he sang a farewell song to
his sister, thinking he had not long to live. The servant followed
the lamb cunningly, and crept near to catch him, and heard his little
song. This is what he sang:--

    "Alenoushka, little sister,
    They are going to slaughter me;
    They are cutting wooden fagots,
    They are heating iron cauldrons,
    They are sharpening knives of steel."

And Alenoushka, lamenting, answered the lamb from the bottom of the
river:--

    "O my brother Ivanoushka,
    A heavy stone is round my throat,
    Silken grass grows through my fingers,
    Yellow sand lies on my breast."

The servant listened, and marvelled at the miracle of the lamb
singing, and the sweet voice answering him from the river. He crept
away quietly, and came to the fine gentleman, and told him what he had
heard; and they set out together to the river, to watch the lamb, and
listen, and see what was happening.

[Illustration: He stepped on one of its fiery wings and pressed it to
The ground.]

The little white lamb stood on the bank of the river weeping, so that
his tears fell into the water. And presently he sang again:--

    "Alenoushka, little sister,
    They are going to slaughter me;
    They are cutting wooden fagots,
    They are heating iron cauldrons,
    They are sharpening knives of steel."

And Alenoushka answered him, lamenting, from the bottom of the
river:--

    "O my brother Ivanoushka,
    A heavy stone is round my throat,
    Silken grass grows through my fingers,
    Yellow sand lies on my breast."

The fine gentleman heard, and he was sure that the voice was the voice
of his own dear wife, and he remembered how she had loved the lamb. He
sent his servant to fetch men, and fishing nets and nets of silk. The
men came running, and they dragged the river with fishing nets, and
brought their nets empty to land. Then they tried with nets of fine
silk, and, as they drew them in, there was Alenoushka lying in the
nets as if she were asleep.

They brought her to the bank and untied the stone from her white neck,
and washed her in fresh water and clothed her in white clothes. But
they had no sooner done all this than she woke up, more beautiful than
ever she had been before, though then she was pretty enough, God
knows. She woke, and sprang up, and threw her arms round the neck of
the little white lamb, who suddenly became once more her little
brother Vanoushka, who had been so thirsty as to drink water from the
hoofmark of a sheep. And Vanoushka laughed and shouted in the
sunshine, and the fine gentleman wept tears of joy. And they all
praised God and kissed each other, and went home together, and began
to live as happily as before, even more happily, because Vanoushka was
no longer a lamb. But as soon as they got home the fine gentleman
turned the old witch out of the house. And she became an ugly old hag,
and went away to the deep woods, shrieking as she went.

"And did she ever come back again?" asked Ivan.

"No, she never came back again," said old Peter. "Once was enough."

"And what happened to Vanoushka when he grew up?"

"He grew up as handsome as Alenoushka was pretty. And he became a
great hunter. And he married the sister of the fine gentleman. And
they all lived happily together, and ate honey every day, with white
bread and new milk."




THE FIRE-BIRD, THE HORSE OF POWER, AND THE PRINCESS VASILISSA.


Once upon a time a strong and powerful Tzar ruled in a country far
away. And among his servants was a young archer, and this archer had a
horse--a horse of power--such a horse as belonged to the wonderful men
of long ago--a great horse with a broad chest, eyes like fire, and
hoofs of iron. There are no such horses nowadays. They sleep with the
strong men who rode them, the bogatirs, until the time comes when
Russia has need of them. Then the great horses will thunder up from
under the ground, and the valiant men leap from the graves in the
armour they have worn so long. The strong men will sit those horses of
power, and there will be swinging of clubs and thunder of hoofs, and
the earth will be swept clean from the enemies of God and the Tzar. So
my grandfather used to say, and he was as much older than I as I am
older than you, little ones, and so he should know.

Well, one day long ago, in the green time of the year, the young
archer rode through the forest on his horse of power. The trees were
green; there were little blue flowers on the ground under the trees;
the squirrels ran in the branches, and the hares in the undergrowth;
but no birds sang. The young archer rode along the forest path and
listened for the singing of the birds, but there was no singing. The
forest was silent, and the only noises in it were the scratching of
four-footed beasts, the dropping of fir cones, and the heavy stamping
of the horse of power in the soft path.

"What has come to the birds?" said the young archer.

He had scarcely said this before he saw a big curving feather lying in
the path before him. The feather was larger than a swan's, larger than
an eagle's. It lay in the path, glittering like a flame; for the sun
was on it, and it was a feather of pure gold. Then he knew why there
was no singing in the forest. For he knew that the fire-bird had flown
that way, and that the feather in the path before him was a feather
from its burning breast.

The horse of power spoke and said,--

"Leave the golden feather where it lies. If you take it you will be
sorry for it, and know the meaning of fear."

But the brave young archer sat on the horse of power and looked at
the golden feather, and wondered whether to take it or not. He had no
wish to learn what it was to be afraid, but he thought, "If I take it
and bring it to the Tzar my master, he will be pleased; and he will
not send me away with empty hands, for no Tzar in the world has a
feather from the burning breast of the fire-bird." And the more he
thought, the more he wanted to carry the feather to the Tzar. And in
the end he did not listen to the words of the horse of power. He leapt
from the saddle, picked up the golden feather of the fire-bird,
mounted his horse again, and galloped back through the green forest
till he came to the palace of the Tzar.

He went into the palace, and bowed before the Tzar and said,--

"O Tzar, I have brought you a feather of the fire-bird."

The Tzar looked gladly at the feather, and then at the young archer.

"Thank you," says he; "but if you have brought me a feather of the
fire-bird, you will be able to bring me the bird itself. I should like
to see it. A feather is not a fit gift to bring to the Tzar. Bring the
bird itself, or, I swear by my sword, your head shall no longer sit
between your shoulders!"

The young archer bowed his head and went out. Bitterly he wept, for he
knew now what it was to be afraid. He went out into the courtyard,
where the horse of power was waiting for him, tossing its head and
stamping on the ground.

"Master," says the horse of power, "why do you weep?"

"The Tzar has told me to bring him the fire-bird, and no man on earth
can do that," says the young archer, and he bowed his head on his
breast.

"I told you," says the horse of power, "that if you took the feather
you would learn the meaning of fear. Well, do not be frightened yet,
and do not weep. The trouble is not now; the trouble lies before you.
Go to the Tzar and ask him to have a hundred sacks of maize scattered
over the open field, and let this be done at midnight."

The young archer went back into the palace and begged the Tzar for
this, and the Tzar ordered that at midnight a hundred sacks of maize
should be scattered in the open field.

Next morning, at the first redness in the sky, the young archer rode
out on the horse of power, and came to the open field. The ground was
scattered all over with maize. In the middle of the field stood a
great oak with spreading boughs. The young archer leapt to the ground,
took off the saddle, and let the horse of power loose to wander as he
pleased about the field. Then he climbed up into the oak and hid
himself among the green boughs.

The sky grew red and gold, and the sun rose. Suddenly there was a
noise in the forest round the field. The trees shook and swayed, and
almost fell. There was a mighty wind. The sea piled itself into waves
with crests of foam, and the fire-bird came flying from the other side
of the world. Huge and golden and flaming in the sun, it flew, dropped
down with open wings into the field, and began to eat the maize.

The horse of power wandered in the field. This way he went, and that,
but always he came a little nearer to the fire-bird. Nearer and nearer
came the horse. He came close up to the fire-bird, and then suddenly
stepped on one of its spreading fiery wings and pressed it heavily to
the ground. The bird struggled, flapping mightily with its fiery
wings, but it could not get away. The young archer slipped down from
the tree, bound the fire-bird with three strong ropes, swung it on his
back, saddled the horse, and rode to the palace of the Tzar.

The young archer stood before the Tzar, and his back was bent under
the great weight of the fire-bird, and the broad wings of the bird
hung on either side of him like fiery shields, and there was a trail
of golden feathers on the floor. The young archer swung the magic
bird to the foot of the throne before the Tzar; and the Tzar was glad,
because since the beginning of the world no Tzar had seen the
fire-bird flung before him like a wild duck caught in a snare.

The Tzar looked at the fire-bird and laughed with pride. Then he
lifted his eyes and looked at the young archer, and says he,--

"As you have known how to take the fire-bird, you will know how to
bring me my bride, for whom I have long been waiting. In the land of
Never, on the very edge of the world, where the red sun rises in flame
from behind the sea, lives the Princess Vasilissa. I will marry none
but her. Bring her to me, and I will reward you with silver and gold.
But if you do not bring her, then, by my sword, your head will no
longer sit between your shoulders!"

The young archer wept bitter tears, and went out into the courtyard,
where the horse of power was, stamping the ground with its hoofs of
iron and tossing its thick mane.

"Master, why do you weep?" asked the horse of power.

"The Tzar has ordered me to go to the land of Never, and to bring back
the Princess Vasilissa."

"Do not weep--do not grieve. The trouble is not yet; the trouble is to
come. Go to the Tzar and ask him for a silver tent with a golden roof,
and for all kinds of food and drink to take with us on the journey."

The young archer went in and asked the Tzar for this, and the Tzar
gave him a silver tent with silver hangings and a gold-embroidered
roof, and every kind of rich wine and the tastiest of foods.

Then the young archer mounted the horse of power and rode off to the
land of Never. On and on he rode, many days and nights, and came at
last to the edge of the world, where the red sun rises in flame from
behind the deep blue sea.

On the shore of the sea the young archer reined in the horse of power,
and the heavy hoofs of the horse sank in the sand. He shaded his eyes
and looked out over the blue water, and there was the Princess
Vasilissa in a little silver boat, rowing with golden oars.

The young archer rode back a little way to where the sand ended and
the green world began. There he loosed the horse to wander where he
pleased, and to feed on the green grass. Then on the edge of the
shore, where the green grass ended and grew thin and the sand began,
he set up the shining tent, with its silver hangings and its gold
embroidered roof. In the tent he set out the tasty dishes and the rich
flagons of wine which the Tzar had given him, and he sat himself down
in the tent and began to regale himself, while he waited for the
Princess Vasilissa.

The Princess Vasilissa dipped her golden oars in the blue water, and
the little silver boat moved lightly through the dancing waves. She
sat in the little boat and looked over the blue sea to the edge of the
world, and there, between the golden sand and the green earth, she saw
the tent standing, silver and gold in the sun. She dipped her oars,
and came nearer to see it the better. The nearer she came the fairer
seemed the tent, and at last she rowed to the shore and grounded her
little boat on the golden sand, and stepped out daintily and came up
to the tent. She was a little frightened, and now and again she
stopped and looked back to where the silver boat lay on the sand with
the blue sea beyond it. The young archer said not a word, but went on
regaling himself on the pleasant dishes he had set out there in the
tent.

At last the Princess Vasilissa came up to the tent and looked in.

The young archer rose and bowed before her. Says he,--

"Good-day to you, Princess! Be so kind as to come in and take bread
and salt with me, and taste my foreign wines."

And the Princess Vasilissa came into the tent and sat down with the
young archer, and ate sweetmeats with him, and drank his health in a
golden goblet of the wine the Tzar had given him. Now this wine was
heavy, and the last drop from the goblet had no sooner trickled down
her little slender throat than her eyes closed against her will, once,
twice, and again.

"Ah me!" says the Princess, "it is as if the night itself had perched
on my eyelids, and yet it is but noon."

And the golden goblet dropped to the ground from her little fingers,
and she leant back on a cushion and fell instantly asleep. If she had
been beautiful before, she was lovelier still when she lay in that
deep sleep in the shadow of the tent.

Quickly the young archer called to the horse of power. Lightly he
lifted the Princess in his strong young arms. Swiftly he leapt with
her into the saddle. Like a feather she lay in the hollow of his left
arm, and slept while the iron hoofs of the great horse thundered over
the ground.

They came to the Tzar's palace, and the young archer leapt from the
horse of power and carried the Princess into the palace. Great was the
joy of the Tzar; but it did not last for long.

"Go, sound the trumpets for our wedding," he said to his servants;
"let all the bells be rung."

The bells rang out and the trumpets sounded, and at the noise of the
horns and the ringing of the bells the Princess Vasilissa woke up and
looked about her.

"What is this ringing of bells," says she, "and this noise of
trumpets? And where, oh, where is the blue sea, and my little silver
boat with its golden oars?" And the Princess put her hand to her eyes.

"The blue sea is far away," says the Tzar, "and for your little silver
boat I give you a golden throne. The trumpets sound for our wedding,
and the bells are ringing for our joy."

But the Princess turned her face away from the Tzar; and there was no
wonder in that, for he was old, and his eyes were not kind.

And she looked with love at the young archer; and there was no wonder
in that either, for he was a young man fit to ride the horse of power.

The Tzar was angry with the Princess Vasilissa, but his anger was as
useless as his joy.

"Why, Princess," says he, "will you not marry me, and forget your blue
sea and your silver boat?"

"In the middle of the deep blue sea lies a great stone," says the
Princess, "and under that stone is hidden my wedding dress. If I
cannot wear that dress I will marry nobody at all."

Instantly the Tzar turned to the young archer, who was waiting before
the throne.

"Ride swiftly back," says he, "to the land of Never, where the red sun
rises in flame. There--do you hear what the Princess says?--a great
stone lies in the middle of the sea. Under that stone is hidden her
wedding dress. Ride swiftly. Bring back that dress, or, by my sword,
your head shall no longer sit between your shoulders!"

The young archer wept bitter tears, and went out into the courtyard,
where the horse of power was waiting for him, champing its golden bit.

"There is no way of escaping death this time," he said.

"Master, why do you weep?" asked the horse of power.

"The Tzar has ordered me to ride to the land of Never, to fetch the
wedding dress of the Princess Vasilissa from the bottom of the deep
blue sea. Besides, the dress is wanted for the Tzar's wedding, and I
love the Princess myself."

"What did I tell you?" says the horse of power. "I told you that
there would be trouble if you picked up the golden feather from the
fire-bird's burning breast. Well, do not be afraid. The trouble is not
yet; the trouble is to come. Up! into the saddle with you, and away
for the wedding dress of the Princess Vasilissa!"

The young archer leapt into the saddle, and the horse of power, with
his thundering hoofs, carried him swiftly through the green forests
and over the bare plains, till they came to the edge of the world, to
the land of Never, where the red sun rises in flame from behind the
deep blue sea. There they rested, at the very edge of the sea.

The young archer looked sadly over the wide waters, but the horse of
power tossed its mane and did not look at the sea, but on the shore.
This way and that it looked, and saw at last a huge lobster moving
slowly, sideways, along the golden sand.

Nearer and nearer came the lobster, and it was a giant among lobsters,
the Tzar of all the lobsters; and it moved slowly along the shore,
while the horse of power moved carefully and as if by accident, until
it stood between the lobster and the sea. Then, when the lobster came
close by, the horse of power lifted an iron hoof and set it firmly on
the lobster's tail.

"You will be the death of me!" screamed the lobster--as well he
might, with the heavy foot of the horse of power pressing his tail
into the sand. "Let me live, and I will do whatever you ask of me."

"Very well," says the horse of power; "we will let you live," and he
slowly lifted his foot. "But this is what you shall do for us. In the
middle of the blue sea lies a great stone, and under that stone is
hidden the wedding dress of the Princess Vasilissa. Bring it here."

The lobster groaned with the pain in his tail. Then he cried out in a
voice that could be heard all over the deep blue sea. And the sea was
disturbed, and from all sides lobsters in thousands made their way
towards the bank. And the huge lobster that was the oldest of them all
and the Tzar of all the lobsters that live between the rising and the
setting of the sun, gave them the order and sent them back into the
sea. And the young archer sat on the horse of power and waited.

After a little time the sea was disturbed again, and the lobsters in
their thousands came to the shore, and with them they brought a golden
casket in which was the wedding dress of the Princess Vasilissa. They
had taken it from under the great stone that lay in the middle of the
sea.

The Tzar of all the lobsters raised himself painfully on his bruised
tail and gave the casket into the hands of the young archer, and
instantly the horse of power turned himself about and galloped back to
the palace of the Tzar, far, far away, at the other side of the green
forests and beyond the treeless plains.

The young archer went into the palace and gave the casket into the
hands of the Princess, and looked at her with sadness in his eyes, and
she looked at him with love. Then she went away into an inner chamber,
and came back in her wedding dress, fairer than the spring itself.
Great was the joy of the Tzar. The wedding feast was made ready, and
the bells rang, and flags waved above the palace.

The Tzar held out his hand to the Princess, and looked at her with his
old eyes. But she would not take his hand.

"No," says she; "I will marry nobody until the man who brought me here
has done penance in boiling water."

Instantly the Tzar turned to his servants and ordered them to make a
great fire, and to fill a great cauldron with water and set it on the
fire, and, when the water should be at its hottest, to take the young
archer and throw him into it, to do penance for having taken the
Princess Vasilissa away from the land of Never.

There was no gratitude in the mind of that Tzar.

Swiftly the servants brought wood and made a mighty fire, and on it
they laid a huge cauldron of water, and built the fire round the walls
of the cauldron. The fire burned hot and the water steamed. The fire
burned hotter, and the water bubbled and seethed. They made ready to
take the young archer, to throw him into the cauldron.

"Oh, misery!" thought the young archer. "Why did I ever take the
golden feather that had fallen from the fire-bird's burning breast?
Why did I not listen to the wise words of the horse of power?" And he
remembered the horse of power, and he begged the Tzar,--

"O lord Tzar, I do not complain. I shall presently die in the heat of
the water on the fire. Suffer me, before I die, once more to see my
horse."

"Let him see his horse," says the Princess.

"Very well," says the Tzar. "Say good-bye to your horse, for you will
not ride him again. But let your farewells be short, for we are
waiting."

The young archer crossed the courtyard and came to the horse of power,
who was scraping the ground with his iron hoofs.

"Farewell, my horse of power," says the young archer. "I should have
listened to your words of wisdom, for now the end is come, and we
shall never more see the green trees pass above us and the ground
disappear beneath us, as we race the wind between the earth and the
sky."

"Why so?" says the horse of power.

"The Tzar has ordered that I am to be boiled to death--thrown into
that cauldron that is seething on the great fire."

"Fear not," says the horse of power, "for the Princess Vasilissa has
made him do this, and the end of these things is better than I
thought. Go back, and when they are ready to throw you in the
cauldron, do you run boldly and leap yourself into the boiling water."

The young archer went back across the courtyard, and the servants made
ready to throw him into the cauldron.

"Are you sure that the water is boiling?" says the Princess Vasilissa.

"It bubbles and seethes," said the servants.

"Let me see for myself," says the Princess, and she went to the fire
and waved her hand above the cauldron. And some say there was
something in her hand, and some say there was not.

"It is boiling," says she, and the servants laid hands on the young
archer; but he threw them from him, and ran and leapt boldly before
them all into the very middle of the cauldron.

Twice he sank below the surface, borne round with the bubbles and foam
of the boiling water. Then he leapt from the cauldron and stood before
the Tzar and the Princess. He had become so beautiful a youth that all
who saw cried aloud in wonder.

"This is a miracle," says the Tzar. And the Tzar looked at the
beautiful young archer, and thought of himself--of his age, of his
bent back, and his gray beard, and his toothless gums. "I too will
become beautiful," thinks he, and he rose from his throne and
clambered into the cauldron, and was boiled to death in a moment.

And the end of the story? They buried the Tzar, and made the young
archer Tzar in his place. He married the Princess Vasilissa, and lived
many years with her in love and good fellowship. And he built a golden
stable for the horse of power, and never forgot what he owed to him.




THE HUNTER AND HIS WIFE.


It sometimes happened that the two children asked too many questions
even for old Peter, though he was the kindest old Russian peasant who
ever was a grandfather. Sometimes he was busy; sometimes he was tired,
and really could not think of the right answer; sometimes he did not
know the right answer. And once, when Vanya asked him why the sun was
hot, and his sister Maroosia went on and on asking if the sun was a
fire, who lit it? and if it was burning, why didn't it burn out? old
Peter grumbled that he would not answer any more.

For a moment the two children were quiet, and then Maroosia asked one
more question.

Old Peter looked up from the net he was mending. "Maroosia, my dear,"
he said, "you had better watch the tip of your tongue, or perhaps,
when you are grown up and have a husband, the same thing will happen
to you that happened to the wife of the huntsman who saw a snake in a
burning wood-pile."

"Oh, tell us what happened to her!" said Maroosia.

"That is another question," said old Peter; "but I'll tell you, and
then perhaps you won't ask any more, and will give my old head a
rest."

And then he told them the story of the hunter and his wife.

Once upon a time there was a hunter who went out into the forest to
shoot game. He had a wife and two dogs. His wife was for ever asking
questions, so that he was glad to get away from her into the forest.
And she did not like dogs, and said they were always bringing dirt
into the house with their muddy paws. So that the dogs were glad to
get away into the forest with the hunter.

One day the hunter and the two dogs wandered all day through the deep
woods, and never got a sight of a bird; no, they never even saw a
hare. All day long they wandered on and saw nothing. The hunter had
not fired a cartridge. He did not want to go home and have to answer
his wife's questions about why he had an empty bag, so he went deeper
and deeper into the thick forest. And suddenly, as it grew towards
evening, the sharp smell of burning wood floated through the trees,
and the hunter, looking about him, saw the flickering of a fire. He
made his way towards it, and found a clearing in the forest, and a
wood pile in the middle of it, and it was burning so fiercely that he
could scarcely come near it.

And this was the marvel, that in the middle of the blazing timbers was
sitting a great snake, curled round and round upon itself and waving
its head above the flames.

As soon as it saw the hunter it called out, in a loud hissing voice,
to come near.

He went as near as he could, shading his face from the heat.

"My good man," says the snake, "pull me out of the fire, and you shall
understand the talk of the beasts and the songs of the birds."

"I'll be happy to help you," says the hunter, "but how? for the flames
are so hot that I cannot reach you."

"Put the barrel of your gun into the fire, and I'll crawl out along
it."

The hunter put the barrel of his long gun into the flames, and
instantly the snake wound itself about it, and so escaped out of the
fire.

"Thank you, my good man," says the snake; "you shall know henceforward
the language of all living things. But one thing you must remember.
You must not tell any one of this, for if you tell you will die the
death; and man only dies once, and that will be an end of your life
and your knowledge."

Then the snake slipped off along the ground, and almost before the
hunter knew it was going, it was gone, and he never saw it again.

Well, he went on with the two dogs, looking for something to shoot at;
and when the dark night fell he was still far from home, away in the
deep forest.

"I am tired," he thought, "and perhaps there will be birds stirring in
the early morning. I will sleep the night here, and try my luck at
sunrise."

He made a fire of twigs and broken branches, and lay down beside it,
together with his dogs. He had scarcely lain down to sleep when he
heard the dogs talking together and calling each other "Brother." He
understood every word they said.

"Well, brother," says the first, "you sleep here and look after our
master, while I run home to look after the house and yard. It will
soon be one o'clock, and when the master is away that is the time for
thieves."

"Off with you, brother, and God be with you," says the second.

And the hunter heard the first dog go bounding away through the
undergrowth, while the second lay still, with its head between its
paws, watching its master blinking at the fire.

Early in the morning the hunter was awakened by the noise of the dog
pushing through the brushwood on its way back. He heard how the dogs
greeted each other.

"Well, and how are you, brother?" says the first.

"Finely," says the second; "and how's yourself?"

"Finely too. Did the night pass well?"

"Well enough, thanks be to God. But with you, brother? How was it at
home?"

"Oh, badly. I ran home, and the mistress, when she sees me, sings out,
'What the devil are you doing here without your master? Well, there's
your supper;' and she threw me a crust of bread, burnt to a black
cinder. I snuffed it and snuffed it, but as for eating it, it was
burnt through. No dog alive could have made a meal of it. And with
that she ups with a poker and beats me. Brother, she counted all my
ribs and nearly broke each one of them. But at night, later on--just
as I thought--thieves came into the yard, and were going to clear out
the barn and the larder. But I let loose such a howl, and leapt upon
them so vicious and angry, that they had little thought to spare for
other people's goods, and had all they could do to get away whole
themselves. And so I spent the night."

The hunter heard all that the dogs said, and kept it in mind. "Wait a
bit, my good woman," says he, "and see what I have to say to you when
I get home."

That morning his luck was good, and he came home with a couple of
hares and three or four woodcock.

"Good-day, mistress," says he to his wife, who was standing in the
doorway.

"Good-day, master," says she.

"Last night one of the dogs came home."

"It did," says she.

"And how did you feed it?"

"Feed it, my love?" says she. "I gave it a whole basin of milk, and
crumbled a loaf of bread for it."

"You lie, you old witch," says the hunter; "you gave it nothing but a
burnt crust, and you beat it with the poker."

The old woman was so surprised that she let the truth out of her mouth
before she knew. She says to her husband, "How on earth did you know
all that?"

"I won't tell you," says the hunter.

"Tell me, tell me," begs the old woman, just like Maroosia when she
wants to know too much.

"I can't tell you," says the hunter; "it's forbidden me to tell."

"Tell me, dear one," says she.

"Truly, I can't."

"Tell me, my little pigeon."

"If I tell you I shall die the death."

"Rubbish, my dearest; only tell me."

"But I shall die."

"Just tell me that one little thing. You won't die for that."

And so she bothered him and bothered him, until he thought, "There's
nothing to be done if a woman sets her mind on a thing. I'd better die
and get it over at once."

So he put on a clean white shirt, and lay down on the bench in the
corner, under the sacred images, and made all ready for his death; and
was just going to tell his wife the whole truth about the snake and
the wood-pile, and how he knew the language of all living things. But
just then there was a great clucking in the yard, and some of the hens
ran into the cottage, and after them came the cock, scolding first one
and then another, and boasting,--

"That's the way to deal with you," says the cock; and the hunter,
lying there in his white shirt, ready to die, heard and understood
every word, "Yes," says the cock, as he drove the hens about the room,
"you see I am not such a fool as our master here, who does not know
how to keep a single wife in order. Why, I have thirty of you and
more, and the whole lot hear from me sharp enough if they do not do as
I say."

As soon as the hunter heard this he made up his mind to be a fool no
longer. He jumped up from the bench, and took his whip and gave his
wife such a beating that she never asked him another question to this
day. And she has never yet learnt how it was that he knew what she did
in the hut while he was away in the forest.

                                   

"Yes," said Maroosia, "but then she was a bad woman; and besides, my
husband would never call me an old witch."

"Old witch!" said Vanya, and bolted out of the hut with Maroosia after
him; and so old Peter was left in peace.




THE THREE MEN OF POWER--EVENING, MIDNIGHT, AND SUNRISE.


Long ago there lived a King, and he had three daughters, the
loveliest in all the world. He loved them so well that he built a
palace for them underground, lest the rough winds should blow on them
or the red sun scorch their delicate faces. A wonderful palace it was,
down there underground, with fountains and courts, and lamps burning,
and precious stones glittering in the light of the lamps. And the
three lovely princesses grew up in that palace underground, and knew
no other light but that of the coloured lanterns, and had never seen
the broad world that lies open under the sun by day and under the
stars by night. Indeed, they did not know that there was a world
outside those glittering walls, above that shining ceiling, carved and
gilded and set with precious stones.

But it so happened that among the books that were given them to read
was one in which was written of the world: how the sun shines in the
sky; how trees grow green; how the grass waves in the wind and the
leaves whisper together; how the rivers flow between their green banks
and through the flowery meadows, until they come to the blue sea that
joins the earth and the sky. They read in that book of white-walled
towns, of churches with gilded and painted domes, of the brown wooden
huts of the peasants, of the great forests, of the ships on the
rivers, and of the long roads with the folk moving on them, this way
and that, about the world.

And when the King came to see them, as he was used to do, they asked
him,--

"Father, is it true that there is a garden in the world?"

"Yes," said the King.

"And green grass?"

"Yes," said the King.

"And little shining flowers?"

"Why, yes," said the King, wondering and stroking his silver beard.

And the three lovely princesses all begged him at once,--

"Oh, your Majesty, our own little father, whom, we love, let us out to
see this world. Let us out just so that we may see this garden, and
walk in it on the green grass, and see the shining flowers."

The King turned his head away and tried not to listen to them. But
what could he do? They were the loveliest princesses in the world, and
when they begged him just to let them walk in the garden he could see
the tears in their eyes. And after all, he thought, there were high
walls to the garden.

So he called up his army, and set soldiers all round the garden, and a
hundred soldiers to each gate, so that no one should come in. And then
he let the princesses come up from their underground palace, and step
out into the sunshine in the garden, with ten nurses and maids to each
princess to see that no harm came to her.

The princesses stepped out into the garden, under the blue sky,
shading their eyes at first because they had never before been in the
golden sunlight. Soon they were taking hands, and running this way and
that along the garden paths and over the green grass, and gathering
posies of shining flowers to set in their girdles and to shame their
golden crowns. And the King sat and watched them with love in his
eyes, and was glad to see how happy they were. And after all, he
thought, what with the high walls and the soldiers standing to arms,
nothing could get in to hurt them.

[Illustration: It caught up the princesses and carried them up into
the air.]

But just as he had quieted his old heart a strong whirlwind came down
out of the blue sky, tearing up trees and throwing them aside, and
lifting the roofs from the houses. But it did not touch the palace
roofs, shining green in the sunlight, and it plucked no trees from the
garden. It raged this way and that, and then with its swift whirling
arms it caught up the three lovely princesses, and carried them up
into the air, over the high walls and over the heads of the guarding
soldiers. For a moment the King saw them, his daughters, the three
lovely princesses, spinning round and round, as if they were dancing
in the sky. A moment later they were no more than little whirling
specks, like dust in the sunlight. And then they were out of sight,
and the King and all the maids and nurses were alone in the empty
garden. The noise of the wind had gone. The soldiers did not dare to
speak. The only sound in the King's ears was the sobbing and weeping
of the maids and nurses.

The King called his generals, and made them send the soldiers in all
directions over the country to bring back the princesses, if the
whirlwind should tire and set them again upon the ground. The soldiers
went to the very boundaries of the kingdom, but they came back as they
went. Not one of them had seen the three lovely princesses.

Then the King called together all his faithful servants, and promised
a great reward to any one who should bring news of the three
princesses. It was the same with the servants as with the soldiers.
Far and wide they galloped out. Slowly, one by one, they rode back,
with bent heads, on tired horses. Not one of them had seen the King's
daughters.

Then the King called a grand council of his wise boyars and men of
state. They all sat round and listened as the King told his tale and
asked if one of them would not undertake the task of finding and
rescuing the three princesses. "The wind has not set them down within
the boundaries of my kingdom; and now, God knows, they may be in the
power of wicked men or worse." He said he would give one of the
princesses in marriage to any one who could follow where the wind went
and bring his daughters back; yes, and besides, he would make him the
richest man in the kingdom. But the boyars and the wise men of state
sat round in silence. He asked them one by one. They were all silent
and afraid. For they were boyars and wise men of state, and not one of
them would undertake to follow the whirlwind and rescue the three
princesses.

The King wept bitter tears.

"I see," he said, "I have no friends about me in the palace. My
soldiers cannot, my servants cannot, and my boyars and wise men will
not, bring back my three sweet maids, whom I love better than my
kingdom."

And with that he sent heralds throughout the kingdom to announce the
news, and to ask if there were none among the common folk, the
moujiks, the simple folk like us, who would put his hand to the work
of rescuing the three lovely princesses, since not one of the boyars
and wise men was willing to do it.

Now, at that time in a certain village lived a poor widow, and she had
three sons, strong men, true bogatirs and men of power. All three had
been born in a single night: the eldest at evening, the middle one at
midnight, and the youngest just as the sky was lightening with the
dawn. For this reason they were called Evening, Midnight, and Sunrise.
Evening was dusky, with brown eyes and hair; Midnight was dark, with
eyes and hair as black as charcoal; while Sunrise had hair golden as
the sun, and eyes blue as morning sky. And all three were as strong as
any of the strong men and mighty bogatirs who have shaken this land of
Russia with their tread.

As soon as the King's word had been proclaimed in the village, the
three brothers asked for their mother's blessing, which she gave them,
kissing them on the forehead and on both cheeks. Then they made ready
for the journey and rode off to the capital--Evening on his horse of
dusky brown, Midnight on his black horse, and Sunrise on his horse
that was as white as clouds in summer. They came to the capital, and
as they rode through the streets everybody stopped to look at them,
and all the pretty young women waved handkerchiefs at the windows. But
the three brothers looked neither to right nor left but straight
before them, and they rode to the palace of the King.

They came to the King, bowed low before him, and said,--

"May you live for many years, O King. We have come to you not for
feasting but for service. Let us, O King, ride out to rescue your
three princesses."

"God give you success, my good young men," says the King. "What are
your names?"

"We are three brothers--Evening, Midnight, and Sunrise."

"What will you have to take with you on the road?"

"For ourselves, O King, we want nothing. Only, do not leave our
mother in poverty, for she is old."

The King sent for the old woman, their mother, and gave her a home in
his palace, and made her eat and drink at his table, and gave her new
boots made by his own cobblers, and new clothes sewn by the very
sempstresses who were used to make dresses for the three daughters of
the King, who were the loveliest princesses in the world, and had been
carried away by the whirlwind. No old woman in Russia was better
looked after than the mother of the three young bogatirs and men of
power, Evening, Midnight, and Sunrise, while they were away on their
adventure seeking the King's daughters.

The young men rode out on their journey. A month they rode together,
two months, and in the third month they came to a broad desert plain,
where there were no towns, no villages, no farms, and not a human
being to be seen. They rode on over the sand, through the rank grass,
over the stony wastes. At last, on the other side of that desolate
plain, they came to a thick forest. They found a path through the
thick undergrowth, and rode along that path together into the very
heart of the forest. And there, alone in the heart of the forest, they
came to a hut, with a railed yard and a shed full of cattle and sheep.
They called out with their strong young voices, and were answered by
the lowing of the cattle, the bleating of the sheep, and the strong
wind in the tops of the great trees.

They rode through the railed yard and came to the hut. Evening leant
from his brown horse and knocked on the window. There was no answer.
They forced open the door, and found no one at all.

"Well, brothers," says Evening, "let us make ourselves at home. Let
us stay here awhile. We have been riding three months. Let us rest,
and then ride farther. We shall deal better with our adventure if we
come to it as fresh men, and not dusty and weary from the long road."

The others agreed. They tied up their horses, fed them, drew water
from the well, and gave them to drink; and then, tired out, they went
into the hut, said their prayers to God, and lay down to sleep with
their weapons close to their hands, like true bogatirs and men of
power.

In the morning the youngest brother. Sunrise, said to the eldest
brother, Evening,--

"Midnight and I are going hunting to-day, and you shall rest here, and
see what sort of dinner you can give us when we come back."

"Very well," says Evening; "but to-morrow I shall go hunting, and one
of you shall stay here and cook the dinner."

Nobody made bones about that, and so Evening stood at the door of the
hut while the others rode off--Midnight on his black horse, and
Sunrise on his horse, white as a summer cloud. They rode off into the
forest, and disappeared among the green trees.

Evening watched them out of sight, and then, without thinking twice
about what he was doing, went out into the yard, picked out the finest
sheep he could see, caught it, killed it, skinned it, cleaned it, and
set it in a cauldron on the stove so as to be ready and hot whenever
his brothers should come riding back from the forest. As soon as that
was done, Evening lay down on the broad bench to rest himself.

He had scarcely lain down before there were a knocking and a rattling
and a stumbling, and the door opened, and in walked a little man a
yard high, with a beard seven yards long flowing out behind him
over both his shoulders. He looked round angrily, and saw Evening, who
yawned, and sat up on the bench, and began chuckling at the sight of
him. The little man screamed out,--

"What are you chuckling about? How dare you play the master in my
house? How dare you kill my best sheep?"

Evening answered him, laughing,--

"Grow a little bigger, and it won't be so hard to see you down there.
Till then it will be better for you to keep a civil tongue in your
head."

The little man was angry before, but now he was angrier.

"What?" he screamed. "I am little, am I? Well, see what little does!"


And with that he grabbed an old crust of bread, leapt on Evening's
shoulders, and began beating him over the head. Yes, and the little
fellow was so strong he beat Evening till he was half dead, and was
blind in one eye and could not see out of the other. Then, when he was
tired, he threw Evening under the bench, took the sheep out of the
cauldron, gobbled it up in a few mouthfuls, and, when he had done,
went off again into the forest.

[Footnote 4: The little man was really one arshin high, and his beard
was seven arshins long. An arshin is 0.77 of a yard, so any one who
knows decimals can tell exactly how high the little man was and the
precise length of his beard.]

When Evening came to his senses again, he bound up his head with a
dishcloth, and lay on the ground and groaned.

Midnight and Sunrise rode back, on the black horse and the white, and
came to the hut, where they found their brother groaning on the
ground, unable to see out of his eyes, and with a dishcloth round his
head.

"What are you tied up like that for?" they asked; "and where is our
dinner?"

Evening was ashamed to tell them the truth--how he had been thumped
about with a crust of bread by a little fellow only a yard high. He
moaned and said,--

"O my brothers, I made a fire in the stove, and fell ill from the
great heat in this little hut. My head ached. All day I lay senseless,
and could neither boil nor roast. I thought my head would burst with
the heat, and my brains fly beyond the seventh world."

Next day Sunrise went hunting with Evening, whose head was still bound
up in a dishcloth, and hurting so sorely that he could hardly see.
Midnight stayed at home. It was his turn to see to the dinner. Sunrise
rode out on his cloud-white horse, and Evening on his dusky brown.
Midnight stood in the doorway of the hut, watched them disappear among
the green trees, and then set about getting the dinner.

He lit the fire, but was careful not to make it too hot. Then he went
into the yard, caught the very fattest of the sheep, killed it,
skinned it, cleaned it, cut it up, and set it on the stove. Then, when
all was ready, he lay down on the bench and rested himself.

But before he had lain there long there were a knocking, a stamping, a
rattling, a grumbling, and in came the little old man, one yard high,
with a beard seven yards long, and without wasting words the little
fellow leapt on the shoulders of the bogatir, and set to beating him
and thumping him, first on one side of his head and then on the other.
He gave him such a banging that he very nearly made an end of him
altogether. Then the little fellow ate up the whole of the sheep in a
few mouthfuls, and went off angrily into the forest, with his long
white beard flowing behind him.

Midnight tied up his head with a handkerchief, and lay down under the
bench, groaning and groaning, unable to put his head to the ground, or
even to lay it in the crook of his arm, it was so bruised by the
beating given it by the little old man.

In the evening the brothers rode back, and found Midnight groaning
under the bench, with his head bound up in a handkerchief.

Evening looked at him and said nothing. Perhaps he was thinking of his
own bruised head, which was still tied up in a dishcloth.

"What's the matter with you?" says Sunrise.

"There never was such another stove as this," says Midnight. "I'd no
sooner lit it than it seemed as if the whole hut were on fire. My
head nearly burst. It's aching now; and as for your dinner, why, I've
not been able to put a hand to anything all day."

Evening chuckled to himself, but Sunrise only said, "That's bad,
brother; but you shall go hunting to-morrow, and I'll stay at home,
and see what I can do with the stove."

And so on the third day the two elder brothers went hunting--Midnight
on his black horse, and Evening on his horse of dusky brown. Sunrise
stood in the doorway of the hut, and saw them disappear under the
green trees. The sun shone on his golden curls, and his blue eyes were
like the sky itself. There, never was such another bogatir as he.

He went into the hut and lit the stove. Then he went out into the
yard, chose the best sheep he could find, killed it, skinned it,
cleaned it, cut it up, and set it on the stove. He made everything
ready, and then lay down on the bench.

Before he had lain there very long he heard a stumping, a thumping, a
knocking, a rattling, a grumbling, a rumbling. Sunrise leaped up from
the bench and looked out through the window of the hut. There in the
yard was the little old man, one yard high, with a beard seven yards
long. He was carrying a whole haystack on his head and a great tub of
water in his arms. He came into the middle of the yard, and set down
his tub to water all the beasts. He set down the haystack and
scattered the hay about. All the cattle and the sheep came together to
eat and to drink, and the little man stood and counted them. He
counted the oxen, he counted the goats, and then he counted the sheep.
He counted them once, and his eyes began to flash. He counted them
twice, and he began to grind his teeth. He counted them a third time,
made sure that one was missing, and then he flew into a violent rage,
rushed across the yard and into the hut, and gave Sunrise a terrific
blow on the head.

Sunrise shook his head as if a fly had settled on it. Then he jumped
suddenly and caught the end of the long beard of the little old man,
and set to pulling him this way and that, round and round the hut, as
if his beard was a rope. Phew! how the little man roared.

Sunrise laughed, and tugged him this way and that, and mocked him,
crying out, "If you do not know the ford, it is better not to go into
the water," meaning that the little fellow had begun to beat him
without finding out who was the stronger.

The little old man, one yard high, with a beard seven yards long,
began to pray and to beg,--

"O man of power, O great and mighty bogatir, have mercy upon me. Do
not kill me. Leave me my soul to repent with."

Sunrise laughed, and dragged the little fellow out into the yard,
whirled him round at the end of his beard, and brought him to a great
oak trunk that lay on the ground. Then with a heavy iron wedge he
fixed the end of the little man's beard firmly in the oaken trunk,
and, leaving the little man howling and lamenting, went back to the
hut, set it in order again, saw that the sheep was cooking as it
should, and then lay down in peace to wait for the coming of his
brothers.

Evening and Midnight rode home, leapt from their horses, and came into
the hut to see how the little man had dealt with their brother. They
could hardly believe their eyes when they saw him alive and well,
without a bruise, lying comfortably on the bench.

He sat up and laughed in their faces.

"Well, brothers," says he, "come along with me into the yard, and I
think I can show you that headache of yours. It's a good deal stronger
than it is big, but for the time being you need not be afraid of it,
for it's fastened to an oak timber that all three of us together could
not lift."

He got up and went into the yard. Evening and Midnight followed him
with shamed faces. But when they came to the oaken timber the little
man was not there. Long ago he had torn himself free and run away into
the forest. But half his beard was left, wedged in the trunk, and
Sunrise pointed to that and said,--

"Tell me, brothers, was it the heat of the stove that gave you your
headaches? Or had this long beard something to do with it?"

The brothers grew red, and laughed, and told him the whole truth.

Meanwhile Sunrise had been looking at the end of the beard, the end of
the half beard that was left, and he saw that it had been torn out by
the roots, and that drops of blood from the little man's chin showed
the way he had gone.

Quickly the brothers went back to the hut and ate up the sheep. Then
they leapt on their horses, and rode off into the green forest,
following the drops of blood that had fallen from the little man's
chin. For three days they rode through the green forest, until at last
the red drops of the trail led them to a deep pit, a black hole in the
earth, hidden by thick bushes and going far down into the underworld.

Sunrise left his brothers to guard the hole, while he went off into
the forest and gathered bast, and twisted it, and made a strong rope,
and brought it to the mouth of the pit, and asked his brothers to
lower him down.

He made a loop in the rope. His brothers kissed him on both cheeks,
and he kissed them back. Then he sat in the loop, and Evening and
Midnight lowered him down into the darkness. Down and down he went,
swinging in the dark, till he came into a world under the world, with
a light that was neither that of the sun, nor of the moon, nor of the
stars. He stepped from the loop in the rope of twisted bast, and set
out walking through the underworld, going whither his eyes led him,
for he found no more drops of blood, nor any other traces of the
little old man.

He walked and walked, and came at last to a palace of copper, green
and ruddy in the strange light. He went into that palace, and there
came to meet him in the copper halls a maiden whose cheeks were redder
than the aloe and whiter than the snow. She was the youngest daughter
of the King, and the loveliest of the three princesses, who were the
loveliest in all the world. Sweetly she curtsied to Sunrise, as he
stood there with his golden hair and his eyes blue as the sky at
morning, and sweetly she asked him,--

"How have you come hither, my brave young man--of your own will or
against it?"

"Your father has sent to rescue you and your sisters."

She bade him sit at the table, and gave him food and brought him a
little flask of the water of strength.

"Strong you are," says she, "but not strong enough for what is before
you. Drink this, and your strength will be greater than it is; for you
will need all the strength you have and can win, if you are to rescue
us and live."

Sunrise looked in her sweet eyes, and drank the water of strength in a
single draught, and felt gigantic power forcing its way throughout his
body.

"Now," thought he, "let come what may."

Instantly a violent wind rushed through the copper palace, and the
Princess trembled.

"The snake that holds me here is coming," says she. "He is flying
hither on his strong wings."

She took the great hand of the bogatir in her little fingers, and drew
him to another room, and hid him there.

The copper palace rocked in the wind, and there flew into the great
hall a huge snake with three heads. The snake hissed loudly, and
called out in a whistling voice,--

"I smell the smell of a Russian soul. What visitor have you here?"

"How could any one come here?" said the Princess. "You have been
flying over Russia. There you smelt Russian souls, and the smell is
still in your nostrils, so that you think you smell them here."

"It is true," said the snake: "I have been flying over Russia. I have
flown far. Let me eat and drink, for I am both hungry and thirsty."

All this time Sunrise was watching from the other room.

The Princess brought meat and drink to the snake, and in the drink she
put a philtre of sleep.

The snake ate and drank, and began to feel sleepy. He coiled himself
up in rings, laid his three heads in the lap of the Princess, told her
to scratch them for him, and dropped into a deep sleep.

The Princess called Sunrise, and the bogatir rushed in, swung his
glittering sword three times round his golden head, and cut off all
three heads of the snake. It was like felling three oak trees at a
single blow. Then he made a great fire of wood, and threw upon it the
body of the snake, and, when it was burnt up, scattered the ashes over
the open country.

"And now fare you well," says Sunrise to the Princess; but she threw
her arms about his neck.

"Fare you well," says he. "I go to seek your sisters. As soon as I
have found them I will come back."

And at that she let him go.

He walked on further through the underworld, and came at last to a
palace of silver, gleaming in the strange light.

He went in there, and was met with sweet words and kindness by the
second of the three lovely princesses. In that palace he killed a
snake with six heads. The Princess begged him to stay; but he told her
he had yet to find her eldest sister. At that she wished him the help
of God, and he left her, and went on further.

He walked and walked, and came at last to a palace of gold, glittering
in the light of the underworld. All happened as in the other palaces.
The eldest of the three daughters of the King met him with courtesy
and kindness. And he killed a snake with twelve heads and freed the
Princess from her imprisonment. The Princess rejoiced, and thanked
Sunrise, and set about her packing to go home.

And this was the way of her packing. She went out into the broad
courtyard and waved a scarlet handkerchief, and instantly the whole
palace, golden and glittering, and the kingdom belonging to it, became
little, little, little, till it went into a little golden egg. The
Princess tied the egg in a corner of her handkerchief, and set out
with Sunrise to join her sisters and go home to her father.

Her sisters did their packing in the same way. The silver palace and
its kingdom were packed by the second sister into a little silver egg.
And when they came to the copper palace, the youngest of the three
lovely princesses clapped her hands and kissed Sunrise on both his
cheeks, and waved a scarlet handkerchief, and instantly the copper
palace and its kingdom were packed into a little copper egg, shining
ruddy and green.

And so Sunrise and the three daughters of the King came to the foot of
the deep hole down which he had come into the underworld. And there
was the rope hanging with the loop at its end. And they sat in the
loop, and Evening and Midnight pulled them up one by one, rejoicing
together. Then the three brothers took, each of them, a princess with
him on his horse, and they all rode together back to the old King,
telling talcs and singing songs as they went. The Princess from the
golden palace rode with Evening on his horse of dusky brown; the
Princess from the silver palace rode with Midnight on his horse as
black as charcoal; but the Princess from the copper palace, the
youngest of them all, rode with Sunrise on his horse, white as a
summer cloud. Merry was the journey through the green forest, and
gladly they rode over the open plain, till they came at last to the
palace of her father.

There was the old King, sitting melancholy alone, when the three
brothers with the princesses rode into the courtyard of the palace.
The old King was so glad that he laughed and cried at the same time,
and his tears ran down his beard.

"Ah me!" says the old King, "I am old, and you young men have brought
my daughters back from the very world under the world. Safer they will
be if they have you to guard them, even than they were in the palace I
had built for them underground. But I have only one kingdom and three
daughters."

"Do not trouble about that," laughed the three princesses, and they
all rode out together into the open country, and there the princesses
broke their eggs, one after the other, and there were the palaces of
silver, copper, and gold, with the kingdoms belonging to them, and the
cattle and the sheep and the goats. There was a kingdom for each of
the brothers. Then they made a great feast, and had three weddings all
together, and the old King sat with the mother of the three strong
men, and men of power, the noble bogatirs, Evening, Midnight, and
Sunrise, sitting at his side. Great was the feasting, loud were the
songs, and the King made Sunrise his heir, so that some day he would
wear his crown. But little did Sunrise think of that. He thought of
nothing but the youngest Princess. And little she thought of it, for
she had no eyes but for Sunrise. And merrily they lived together in
the copper palace. And happily they rode together on the horse that
was as white as clouds in summer.




SALT.


One evening, when they were sitting round the table after their
supper, old Peter asked the children what story they would like to
hear. Vanya asked whether there were any stories left which they had
not already heard.

"Why," said old Peter, "you have heard scarcely any of the stories,
for there is a story to be told about everything in the world."

"About everything, grandfather?" asked Vanya.

"About everything," said old Peter.

"About the sky, and the thunder, and the dogs, and the flies, and the
birds, and the trees, and the milk?"

"There is a story about everyone of those things."

"I know something there isn't a story about," said Vanya.

"And what's that?" asked old Peter, smiling in his beard.

"Salt," said Vanya. "There can't be a story about salt." He put the
tip of his finger into the little box of salt on the table, and then
he touched his tongue with his finger to taste.

"But of course there is a story about salt," said old Peter.

"Tell it us," said Maroosia; and presently, when his pipe had been lit
twice and gone out, old Peter began.

                                   

Once upon a time there were three brothers, and their father was a
great merchant who sent his ships far over the sea, and traded here
and there in countries the names of which I, being an old man, can
never rightly call to mind. Well, the names of the two elder brothers
do not matter, but the youngest was called Ivan the Ninny, because he
was always playing and never working; and if there was a silly thing
to do, why, off he went and did it. And so, when the brothers grew up,
the father sent the two elder ones off, each in a fine ship laden with
gold and jewels, and rings and bracelets, and laces and silks, and
sticks with little bits of silver hammered into their handles, and
spoons with patterns of blue and red, and everything else you can
think of that costs too much to buy. But he made Ivan the Ninny stay
at home, and did not give him a ship at all. Ivan saw his brothers go
sailing off over the sea on a summer morning, to make their fortunes
and come back rich men; and then, for the first time in his life, he
wanted to work and do something useful. He went to his father and
kissed his hand, and he kissed the hand of his little old mother, and
he begged his father to give him a ship so that he could try his
fortune like his brothers.

"But you have never done a wise thing in your life, and no one could
count all the silly things you've done if he spent a hundred days in
counting," said his father.

"True," said Ivan; "but now I am going to be wise, and sail the sea
and come back with something in my pockets to show that I am not a
ninny any longer. Give me just a little ship, father mine--just a
little ship for myself."

"Give him a little ship," said the mother. "He may not be a ninny
after all."

"Very well," said his father. "I will give him a little ship; but I am
not going to waste good roubles by giving him a rich cargo."

"Give me any cargo you like," said Ivan.

So his father gave him a little ship, a little old ship, and a cargo
of rags and scraps and things that were not fit for anything but to be
thrown away. And he gave him a crew of ancient old sailormen who were
past work; and Ivan went on board and sailed away at sunset, like the
ninny he was. And the feeble, ancient, old sailormen pulled up the
ragged, dirty sails, and away they went over the sea to learn what
fortune, good or bad, God had in mind for a crew of old men with a
ninny for a master.

The fourth day after they set sail there came a great wind over the
sea. The feeble old men did the best they could with the ship; but the
old, torn sails tore from the masts, and the wind did what it pleased,
and threw the little ship on an unknown island away in the middle of
the sea. Then the wind dropped, and left the little ship on the
beach, and Ivan the Ninny and his ancient old men, like good Russians,
praising God that they were still alive.

"Well, children," said Ivan, for he knew how to talk to sailors, "do
you stay here and mend the sails, and make new ones out of the rags we
carry as cargo, while I go inland and see if there is anything that
could be of use to us."

So the ancient old sailormen sat on deck with their legs crossed, and
made sails out of rags, of torn scraps of old brocades, of soiled
embroidered shawls, of all the rubbish that they had with them for a
cargo. You never saw such sails. The tide came up and floated the
ship, and they threw out anchors at bow and stern, and sat there in
the sunlight, making sails and patching them and talking of the days
when they were young. All this while Ivan the Ninny went walking off
into the island.

Now in the middle of that island was a high mountain, a high mountain
it was, and so white that when he came near it Ivan the Ninny began
thinking of sheepskin coats, although it was midsummer and the sun was
hot in the sky. The trees were green round about, but there was
nothing growing on the mountain at all. It was just a great white
mountain piled up into the sky in the middle of a green island. Ivan
walked a little way up the white slopes of the mountain, and then,
because he felt thirsty, he thought he would let a little snow melt in
his mouth. He took some in his fingers and stuffed it in. Quickly
enough it came out again, I can tell you, for the mountain was not
made of snow but of good Russian salt. And if you want to try what a
mouthful of salt is like, you may.

"No, thank you, grandfather," the children said hurriedly together.

Old Peter went on with his tale.

Ivan the Ninny did not stop to think twice. The salt was so clean and
shone so brightly in the sunlight. He just turned round and ran back
to the shore, and called out to his ancient old sailormen and told
them to empty everything they had on board over into the sea. Over it
all went, rags and tags and rotten timbers, till the little ship was
as empty as a soup bowl after supper. And then those ancient old men
were set to work carrying salt from the mountain and taking it on
board the little ship, and stowing it away below deck till there was
not room for another grain. Ivan the Ninny would have liked to take
the whole mountain, but there was not room in the little ship. And for
that the ancient old sailormen thanked God, because their backs ached
and their old legs were weak, and they said they would have died if
they had had to carry any more.

Then they hoisted up the new sails they had patched together out of
the rags and scraps of shawls and old brocades, and they sailed away
once more over the blue sea. And the wind stood fair, and they sailed
before it, and the ancient old sailors rested their backs, and told
old tales, and took turn and turn about at the rudder.

And after many days' sailing they came to a town, with towers and
churches and painted roofs, all set on the side of a hill that sloped
down into the sea. At the foot of the hill was a quiet harbour, and
they sailed in there and moored the ship and hauled down their
patchwork sails.

Ivan the Ninny went ashore, and took with him a little bag of clean
white salt to show what kind of goods he had for sale, and he asked
his way to the palace of the Tzar of that town. He came to the palace,
and went in and bowed to the ground before the Tzar.

"Who are you?" says the Tzar.

"I, great lord, am a Russian merchant, and here in a bag is some of my
merchandise, and I beg your leave to trade with your subjects in this
town."

"Let me see what is in the bag," says the Tzar. Ivan the Ninny took a
handful from the bag and showed it to the Tzar.

"What is it?" says the Tzar.

"Good Russian salt," says Ivan the Ninny.

Now in that country they had never heard of salt, and the Tzar looked
at the salt, and he looked at Ivan and he laughed.

"Why, this," says he, "is nothing but white dust, and that we can pick
up for nothing. The men of my town have no need to trade with you. You
must be a ninny."

Ivan grew very red, for he knew what his father used to call him. He
was ashamed to say anything. So he bowed to the ground, and went away
out of the palace.

But when he was outside he thought to himself, "I wonder what sort of
salt they use in these parts if they do not know good Russian salt
when they see it. I will go to the kitchen."

So he went round to the back door of the palace, and put his head into
the kitchen, and said, "I am very tired. May I sit down here and rest
a little while?"

"Come in," says one of the cooks. "But you must sit just there, and
not put even your little finger in the way of us; for we are the
Tzar's cooks, and we are in the middle of making ready his dinner."
And the cook put a stool in a corner out of the way, and Ivan slipped
in round the door, and sat down in the corner and looked about him.
There were seven cooks at least, boiling and baking, and stewing and
toasting, and roasting and frying. And as for scullions, they were as
thick as cockroaches, dozens of them, running to and fro, tumbling
over each other, and helping the cooks.

Ivan the Ninny sat on his stool, with his legs tucked under him and
the bag of salt on his knees. He watched the cooks and the scullions,
but he did not see them put anything in the dishes which he thought
could take the place of salt. No; the meat was without salt, the kasha
was without salt, and there was no salt in the potatoes. Ivan nearly
turned sick at the thought of the tastelessness of all that food.

There came the moment when all the cooks and scullions ran out of the
kitchen to fetch the silver platters on which to lay the dishes. Ivan
slipped down from his stool, and running from stove to stove, from
saucepan to frying pan, he dropped a pinch of salt, just what was
wanted, no more no less, in everyone of the dishes. Then he ran back
to the stool in the corner, and sat there, and watched the dishes
being put on the silver platters and carried off in gold-embroidered
napkins to be the dinner of the Tzar.

The Tzar sat at table and took his first spoonful of soup.

"The soup is very good to-day," says he, and he finishes the soup to
the last drop.

"I've never known the soup so good," says the Tzaritza, and she
finishes hers.

"This is the best soup I ever tasted," says the Princess, and down
goes hers, and she, you know, was the prettiest princess who ever had
dinner in this world.

It was the same with the kasha and the same with the meat. The Tzar
and the Tzaritza and the Princess wondered why they had never had so
good a dinner in all their lives before.

"Call the cooks," says the Tzar. And they called the cooks, and the
cooks all came in, and bowed to the ground, and stood in a row before
the Tzar.

"What did you put in the dishes to-day that you never put before?"
says the Tzar.

"We put nothing unusual, your greatness," say the cooks, and bowed to
the ground again.

"Then why do the dishes taste better?"

"We do not know, your greatness," say the cooks.

"Call the scullions," says the Tzar. And the scullions were called,
and they too bowed to the ground, and stood in a row before the Tzar.

"What was done in the kitchen to-day that has not been done there
before?" says the Tzar.

"Nothing, your greatness," say all the scullions except one.

And that one scullion bowed again, and kept on bowing, and then he
said, "Please, your greatness, please, great lord, there is usually
none in the kitchen but ourselves; but to-day there was a young
Russian merchant, who sat on a stool in the corner and said he was
tired."

"Call the merchant," says the Tzar.

So they brought in Ivan the Ninny, and he bowed before the Tzar, and
stood there with his little bag of salt in his hand.

"Did you do anything to my dinner?" says the Tzar.

"I did, your greatness," says Ivan.

"What did you do?"

"I put a pinch of Russian salt in every dish."

"That white dust?" says the Tzar.

"Nothing but that."

"Have you got any more of it?"

"I have a little ship in the harbour laden with nothing else," says
Ivan.

"It is the most wonderful dust in the world," says the Tzar, "and I
will buy every grain of it you have. What do you want for it?"

Ivan the Ninny scratched his head and thought. He thought that if the
Tzar liked it as much as all that it must be worth a fair price, so he
said, "We will put the salt into bags, and for every bag of salt you
must give me three bags of the same weight--one of gold, one of
silver, and one of precious stones. Cheaper than that, your greatness,
I could not possibly sell."

"Agreed," says the Tzar. "And a cheap price, too, for a dust so full
of magic that it makes dull dishes tasty, and tasty dishes so good
that there is no looking away from them."

So all the day long, and far into the night, the ancient old sailormen
bent their backs under sacks of salt, and bent them again under sacks
of gold and silver and precious stones. When all the salt had been put
in the Tzar's treasury--yes, with twenty soldiers guarding it with
great swords shining in the moonlight--and when the little ship was
loaded with riches, so that even the deck was piled high with precious
stones, the ancient old men lay down among the jewels and slept till
morning, when Ivan the Ninny went to bid good-bye to the Tzar.

"And whither shall you sail now?" asked the Tzar.

"I shall sail away to Russia in my little ship," says Ivan.

And the Princess, who was very beautiful, said, "A little Russian
ship?"

"Yes," says Ivan.

"I have never seen a Russian ship," says the Princess, and she begs
her father to let her go to the harbour with her nurses and maids, to
see the little Russian ship before Ivan set sail.

She came with Ivan to the harbour, and the ancient old sailormen took
them on board.

She ran all over the ship, looking now at this and now at that, and
Ivan told her the names of everything--deck, mast, and rudder.

"May I see the sails?" she asked. And the ancient old men hoisted the
ragged sails, and the wind filled the sails and tugged.

"Why doesn't the ship move when the sails are up?" asked the Princess.

"The anchor holds her," said Ivan.

"Please let me see the anchor," says the Princess.

"Haul up the anchor, my children, and show it to the Princess," says
Ivan to the ancient old sailormen.

And the old men hauled up the anchor, and showed it to the Princess;
and she said it was a very good little anchor. But, of course, as soon
as the anchor was up the ship began to move. One of the ancient old
men bent over the tiller, and, with a fair wind behind her, the little
ship slipped out of the harbour and away to the blue sea. When the
Princess looked round, thinking it was time to go home, the little
ship was far from land, and away in the distance she could only see
the gold towers of her father's palace, glittering like pin points in
the sunlight. Her nurses and maids wrung their hands and made an
outcry, and the Princess sat down on a heap of jewels, and put a
handkerchief to her eyes, and cried and cried and cried.

Ivan the Ninny took her hands and comforted her, and told her of the
wonders of the sea that he would show her, and the wonders of the
land. And she looked up at him while he talked, and his eyes were kind
and hers were sweet; and the end of it was that they were both very
well content, and agreed to have a marriage feast as soon as the
little ship should bring them to the home of Ivan's father. Merry was
that voyage. All day long Ivan and the Princess sat on deck and said
sweet things to each other, and at twilight they sang songs, and drank
tea, and told stories. As for the nurses and maids, the Princess told
them to be glad; and so they danced and clapped their hands, and ran
about the ship, and teased the ancient old sailormen.

When they had been sailing many days, the Princess was looking out
over the sea, and she cried out to Ivan, "See, over there, far away,
are two big ships with white sails, not like our sails of brocade and
bits of silk."

Ivan looked, shading his eyes with his hands.

"Why, those are the ships of my elder brothers," said he. "We shall
all sail home together."

And he made the ancient old sailormen give a hail in their cracked old
voices. And the brothers heard them, and came on board to greet Ivan
and his bride. And when they saw that she was a Tzar's daughter, and
that the very decks were heaped with precious stones, because there
was no room below, they said one thing to Ivan and something else to
each other.

To Ivan they said, "Thanks be to God, He has given you good trading."

But to each other, "How can this be?" says one. "Ivan the Ninny
bringing back such a cargo, while we in our fine ships have only a bag
or two of gold."

"And what is Ivan the Ninny doing with a princess?" says the other.

And they ground their teeth, and waited their time, and came up
suddenly, when Ivan was alone in the twilight, and picked him up by
his head and his heels, and hove him overboard into the dark blue sea.

Not one of the old men had seen them, and the Princess was not on
deck. In the morning they said that Ivan the Ninny must have walked
overboard in his sleep. And they drew lots. The eldest brother took
the Princess, and the second brother took the little ship laden with
gold and silver and precious stones. And so the brothers sailed home
very well content. But the Princess sat and wept all day long, looking
down into the blue water. The elder brother could not comfort her, and
the second brother did not try. And the ancient old sailormen muttered
in their beards, and were sorry, and prayed to God to give rest to
Ivan's soul; for although he had been a ninny, and although he had
made them carry a lot of salt and other things, yet they loved him,
because he knew how to talk to ancient old sailormen.

But Ivan was not dead. As soon as he splashed into the water, he
crammed his fur hat a little tighter on his head, and began swimming
in the sea. He swam about until the sun rose, and then, not far away,
he saw a floating timber log, and he swam to the log, and got astride
of it, and thanked God. And he sat there on the log in the middle of
the sea, twiddling his thumbs for want of something to do.

There was a strong current in the sea that carried him along, and at
last, after floating for many days without ever a bite for his teeth
or a drop for his gullet, his feet touched land. Now that was at
night, and he left the log and walked up out of the sea, and lay down
on the shore and waited for morning.

When the sun rose he stood up, and saw that he was on a bare island,
and he saw nothing at all on the island except a huge house as big as
a mountain; and as he was looking at the house the great door creaked
with a noise like that of a hurricane among the pine forests, and
opened; and a giant came walking out, and came to the shore, and stood
there, looking down at Ivan.

"What are you doing here, little one?" says the giant.

Ivan told him the whole story, just as I have told it to you.

The giant listened to the very end, pulling at his monstrous whiskers.
Then he said, "Listen, little one. I know more of the story than you,
for I can tell you that to-morrow morning your eldest brother is going
to marry your Princess. But there is no need for you to take on about
it. If you want to be there, I will carry you and set you down before
the house in time for the wedding. And a fine wedding it is like to
be, for your father thinks well of those brothers of yours bringing
back all those precious stones, and silver and gold enough to buy a
kingdom."

And with that he picked up Ivan the Ninny and set him on his great
shoulders, and set off striding through the sea.

He went so fast that the wind of his going blew off Ivan's hat.

"Stop a moment," shouts Ivan; "my hat has blown off."

"We can't turn back for that," says the giant; "we have already left
your hat five hundred versts behind us." And he rushed on, splashing
through the sea. The sea was up to his armpits. He rushed on, and the
sea was up to his waist. He rushed on, and before the sun had climbed
to the top of the blue sky he was splashing up out of the sea with the
water about his ankles. He lifted Ivan from his shoulders and set him
on the ground.

"Now," says he, "little man, off you run, and you'll be in time for
the feast. But don't you dare to boast about riding on my shoulders.
If you open your mouth about that you'll smart for it, if I have to
come ten thousand thousand versts."

Ivan the Ninny thanked the giant for carrying him through the sea,
promised that he would not boast, and then ran off to his father's
house. Long before he got there he heard the musicians in the
courtyard playing as if they wanted to wear out their instruments
before night. The wedding feast had begun, and when Ivan ran in,
there, at the high board, was sitting the Princess, and beside her his
eldest brother. And there were his father and mother, his second
brother, and all the guests. And everyone of them was as merry as
could be, except the Princess, and she was as white as the salt he had
sold to her father.

Suddenly the blood flushed into her cheeks. She saw Ivan in the
doorway. Up she jumped at the high board, and cried out, "There, there
is my true love, and not this man who sits beside me at the table."

"What is this?" says Ivan's father, and in a few minutes knew the
whole story.

He turned the two elder brothers out of doors, gave their ships to
Ivan, married him to the Princess, and made him his heir. And the
wedding feast began again, and they sent for the ancient old sailormen
to take part in it. And the ancient old sailormen wept with joy when
they saw Ivan and the Princess, like two sweet pigeons, sitting side
by side; yes, and they lifted their flagons with their old shaking
hands, and cheered with their old cracked voices, and poured the wine
down their dry old throats.

There was wine enough and to spare, beer too, and mead--enough to
drown a herd of cattle. And as the guests drank and grew merry and
proud they set to boasting. This one bragged of his riches, that one
of his wife. Another boasted of his cunning, another of his new house,
another of his strength, and this one was angry because they would not
let him show how he could lift the table on one hand. They all drank
Ivan's health, and he drank theirs, and in the end he could not bear
to listen to their proud boasts.

"That's all very well," says he, "but I am the only man in the world
who rode on the shoulders of a giant to come to his wedding feast."

The words were scarcely out of his mouth before there were a
tremendous trampling and a roar of a great wind. The house shook with
the footsteps of the giant as he strode up. The giant bent down over
the courtyard and looked in at the feast.

"Little man, little man," says he, "you promised not to boast of me. I
told you what would come if you did, and here you are and have boasted
already."

"Forgive me," says Ivan; "it was the drink that boasted, not I."

"What sort of drink is it that knows how to boast?" says the giant.

"You shall taste it," says Ivan.

And he made his ancient old sailormen roll a great barrel of wine into
the yard, more than enough for a hundred men, and after that a barrel
of beer that was as big, and then a barrel of mead that was no
smaller.

"Try the taste of that," says Ivan the Ninny.

Well, the giant did not wait to be asked twice. He lifted the barrel
of wine as if it had been a little glass, and emptied it down his
throat. He lifted the barrel of beer as if it had been an acorn, and
emptied it after the wine. Then he lifted the barrel of mead as if it
had been a very small pea, and swallowed every drop of mead that was
in it. And after that he began stamping about and breaking things.
Houses fell to pieces this way and that, and trees were swept flat
like grass. Every step the giant took was followed by the crash of
breaking timbers. Then suddenly he fell flat on his back and slept.
For three days and nights he slept without waking. At last he opened
his eyes.

"Just look about you," says Ivan, "and see the damage that you've
done."

"And did that little drop of drink make me do all that?" says the
giant. "Well, well, I can well understand that a drink like that can
do a bit of bragging. And after that," says he, looking at the wrecks
of houses, and all the broken things scattered about--"after that,"
says he, "you can boast of me for a thousand years, and I'll have
nothing against you."

And he tugged at his great whiskers, and wrinkled his eyes, and went
striding off into the sea.

That is the story about salt, and how it made a rich man of Ivan the
Ninny, and besides, gave him the prettiest wife in the world, and she
a Tzar's daughter.




THE CHRISTENING IN THE VILLAGE.


This chapter is not one of old Peter's stories, though there are,
doubtless, some stories in it. It tells how Vanya and Maroosia drove
to the village to see a new baby.

Old Peter had a sister who lived in the village not so very far away
from the forest. And she had a plump daughter, and the daughter was
called Nastasia, and she was married to a handsome peasant called
Sergie, who had three cows, a lot of pigs, and a flock of fat geese.
And one day when old Peter had gone to the village to buy tobacco and
sugar and sunflower seeds, he came back in the evening, and said to
the children,--

"There's something new in the village."

"What sort of a something?" asked Vanya.

"Alive," said old Peter.

"Is there a lot of it?" asked Vanya.

"No, only one."

"Then it can't be pigs," said Vanya, in a melancholy voice. "I thought
it was pigs."

"Perhaps it is a little calf," said Maroosia.

"I know what it is," said Vanya.

"Well?"

"It's a foal. It's brown all over with white on its nose, and a lot of
white hairs in its tail."

"No."

"What is it then, grandfather?"

"I'll tell you, little pigeons. It's small and red, and it's got a
bumpy head with hair on it like the fluff of a duckling. It has blue
eyes, and ten fingers to its fore paws, and ten toes to its hind
feet--five to each."

"It's a baby," said Maroosia.

"Yes. Nastasia has got a little son, Aunt Sofia has got a grandson,
you have got a new cousin, and I have got a new great-nephew. Think of
that! Already it's a son, and a cousin, and a grandson, and a
great-nephew, and he's only been alive twelve hours. He lost no time
in taking a position for himself. He'll be a great man one of these
days if he goes on as fast as that."

The children had jumped up as soon as they knew it was a baby.

"When is the christening?"

"The day after to-morrow."

"O grandfather!"

"Well?"

"Who is going to the christening?"

"The baby, of course."

"Yes; but other people?"

"All the village."

"And us?"

"I have to go, and I suppose there'll be room in the cart for two
little bear cubs like you."

And so it was settled that Vanya and Maroosia were to go to the
christening of their new cousin, who was only twelve hours old. All
the next day they could think of nothing else, and early on the
morning of the christening they were up and about, Maroosia seeing
that Vanya had on a clean shirt, and herself putting a green ribbon in
her hair. The sun shone, and the leaves on the trees were all new and
bright, and the sky was pale blue through the flickering green leaves.

Old Peter was up early too, harnessing the little yellow horse into
the old cart. The cart was of rough wood, without springs, like a big
box fixed on long larch poles between two pairs of wheels. The larch
poles did instead of springs, bending and creaking, as the cart moved
over the forest track. The shafts came from the front wheels upwards
to the horse's shoulders, and between the ends of them there was a
tall strong hoop of wood, called a douga, which rose high over the
shoulders of the horse, above his collar, and had two little bells
hanging from it at the top. The wooden hoop was painted green with
little red flowers. The harness was mostly of ropes, but that did not
matter so long as it held together. The horse had a long tail and
mane, and looked as untidy as a little boy; but he had a green ribbon
in his forelock in honour of the christening, and he could go like
anything, and never got tired.

When all was ready, old Peter arranged a lot of soft fresh hay in the
cart for the children to sit in. Hay is the best thing in the world to
sit in when you drive in a jolting Russian cart. Old Peter put in a
tremendous lot, so that the horse could eat some of it while waiting
in the village, and yet leave them enough to make them comfortable on
the journey back. Finally, old Peter took a gun that he had spent all
the evening before in cleaning, and laid it carefully in the hay.

"What is the gun for?" asked Vanya.

"I am to be a godparent," said old Peter, "and I want to give him a
present. I could not give him a better present than a gun, for he
shall be a forester, and a good shot, and you cannot begin too early."

Presently Vanya and Maroosia were tucked into the hay, and old Peter
climbed in with the plaited reins, and away they went along the narrow
forest track, where the wheels followed the ruts and splashed through
the deep holes; for the spring was young, and the roads had not yet
dried. Some of the deepest holes had a few pine branches laid in them,
but that was the only road-mending that ever was done. Overhead were
the tall firs and silver birches with their little pale round leaves;
and somewhere, not far away, a cuckoo was calling, while the murmur of
the wild pigeons never stopped for a moment.

They drove on and on through the forest, and at last came out from
among the trees into the open country, a broad, flat plain stretching
to the river. Far away they could see the big square sail of a boat,
swelled out in the light wind, and they knew that there was the river,
on the banks of which stood the village. They could see a small clump
of trees, and, as they came nearer, the pale green cupolas of the
white village church rising above the tops of the birches.

Presently they came to a rough wooden bridge, and crossed over a
little stream that was on its way to join the big river.

Vanya looked at it.

"Grandfather," he asked, "when the frost went, which was water
first--the big river or the little river?"

"Why, the little river, of course," said old Peter. "It's always the
little streams that wake first in the spring, and running down to the
big river make it swell and flood and break up the ice. It's always
been so ever since the quarrel between the Vazouza and the Volga."

"What was that?" said Vanya.

"It was like this," said old Peter.

                                   

The Vazouza and the Volga flow for a long way side by side, and then
they join and flow together. And the Vazouza is a little river; but
the Volga is the mother of all Russia, and the greatest river in the
world.

And the little Vazouza was jealous of the Volga.

"You are big and noisy," she says to the Volga, "and terribly strong;
but as for brains," says she, "why, I have more brains in a single
ripple than you in all that lump of water."

Of course the Volga told her not to be so rude, and said that little
rivers should know their place and not argue with the great.

But the Vazouza would not keep quiet, and at last she said to the
Volga: "Look here, we will lie down and sleep, and we will agree that
the one of us who wakes first and comes first to the sea is the wiser
of the two."

And the Volga said, "Very well, if only you will stop talking."

So the little Vazouza and the big Volga lay and slept, white and
still, all through the winter. And when the spring came, the little
Vazouza woke first, brisk and laughing and hurrying, and rushed away
as hard as she could go towards the sea. When the Volga woke the
little Vazouza was already far ahead. But the Volga did not hurry. She
woke slowly and shook the ice from herself, and then came roaring
after the Vazouza, a huge foaming flood of angry water.

And the little Vazouza listened as she ran, and she heard the Volga
coming after her; and when the Volga caught her up--a tremendous
foaming river, whirling along trees and blocks of ice--she was
frightened, and she said,--

"O Volga, let me be your little sister. I will never argue with you
any more. You are wiser than I and stronger than I. Only take me by
the hand and bring me with you to the sea."

And the Volga forgave the little Vazouza, and took her by the hand and
brought her safely to the sea. And they have never quarrelled again.
But all the same, it is always the little Vazouza that gets up first
in the spring, and tugs at the white blankets of ice and snow, and
wakes her big sister from her winter sleep.

                                   

They drove on over the flat open country, with no hedges, but only
ditches to drain off the floods, and very often not even ditches to
divide one field from another. And huge crows, with gray hoods and
shawls, pecked about in the grass at the roadside or flew heavily in
the sunshine. They passed a little girl with a flock of geese, and
another little girl lying in the grass holding a long rope which was
fastened to the horns of a brown cow. And the little girl lay on her
face and slept among the flowers, while the cow walked slowly round
her, step by step, chewing the grass and thinking about nothing at
all.

And at last they came to the village, where the road was wider; and
instead of one pair of ruts there were dozens, and the cart bumped
worse than ever. The broad earthy road had no stones in it; and in
places where the puddles would have been deeper than the axles of the
wheels, it had been mended by laying down fir logs and small branches
in the puddles, and putting a few spadefuls of earth on the top of
them.

The road ran right through the village. On either side of it were
little wooden huts. The ends of the timbers crossed outside at the
four corners of the huts. They fitted neatly into each other, and some
of them were carved. And there were no slates or tiles on the roofs,
but little thin slips of wood overlapping each other. There was not a
single stone hut or cottage in the village. Only the church was partly
brick, whitewashed, with bright green cupolas up in the air, and thin
gold crosses on the tops of the cupolas, shining in the clear sky.

Outside the church were rows of short posts, with long rough fir
timbers nailed on the top of them, to which the country people tied
their horses when they came to church. There were several carts there
already, with bright-coloured rugs lying on the hay in them; and the
horses were eating hay or biting the logs. Always, except when the
logs are quite new, you can tell the favourite places for tying up
horses to them, because the timbers will have deep holes in them,
where they have been gnawed away by the horses' teeth. They bite the
timbers, while their masters eat sunflower seeds, not for food, but to
pass the time.

"Now then," said old Peter, as he got down from the cart, tied the
horse, gave him an armful of hay from the cart, and lifted the
children out. "Be quick. We shall be late if we don't take care. I
believe we are late already.--Good health to you, Fedor," he said to
an old peasant; "and has the baby gone in?"

"He has, Peter. And my health is not so bad; and how is yours?"

"Good also, Fedor, thanks be to God. And will you see to these two?
for I am a godparent, and must be near the priest."

"Willingly," said the old peasant Fedor. "How they do grow, to be
sure, like young birch trees. Come along then, little pigeons."

Old Peter hurried into the church, followed by Fedor with Vanya and
Maroosia. They all crossed themselves and said a prayer as they went
in.

The ceremony was just beginning.

The priest, in his silk robes, was standing before the gold and
painted screen at the end of the church, and there were the basin of
holy water, and old Peter's sister, and the nurse Babka Tanya, very
proud, holding the baby in a roll of white linen, and rocking it to
and fro. There were coloured pictures of saints all over the screen,
which stretches from one side of the church to the other. Some of the
pictures were framed in gilt frames under glass, and were partly
painted and partly metal. The faces and hands of the saints were
painted, and their clothes were glittering silver or gold. Little
lamps were burning in front of them, and candles.

A Russian christening is very different from an English one. For one
thing, the baby goes right into the water, not once, but three times.
Babka Tanya unrolled the baby, and the priest covered its face with
his hand, and down it went under the water, once, twice, and again.
Then he took some of the sacred ointment on his finger and anointed
the baby's forehead, and feet, and hands, and little round stomach.
Then, with a pair of scissors, he cut a little pinch of fluff from the
baby's head, and rolled it into a pellet with the ointment, and threw
the pellet into the holy water. And after that the baby was carried
solemnly three times round the holy water. The priest blessed it and
prayed for it; and there it was, a little true Russian, ready to be
carried back to its mother, Nastasia, who lay at home in her cottage
waiting for it.

When they got outside the church, they all went to Nastasia's cottage
to congratulate her on her baby, and to tell her what good lungs it
had, and what a handsome face, and how it was exactly like its father.

Nastasia smiled at Vanya and Maroosia; but they had no eyes except for
the baby, and for all that belonged to it, especially its cradle. Now
a Russian baby has a very much finer cradle than an English baby. A
long fir pole is fastened in the middle and at one end to the beams in
the ceiling of the hut, so that the other end swings free, just below
the rafters. From this end is hung a big basket, and on the ropes by
which the basket hangs are fastened shawls of bright colours. The baby
is tucked in the basket, the shawls closed round it; and as the mother
or the nurse sits at her spinning, she just kicks the basket gently
now and again, and it swings up and down from the end of the pole, as
if it were hung from the branch of a tree.

This baby had a fine new basket and a larch pole, newly fixed, white
and shining, under the dark beams of the ceiling. It had presents
besides old Peter's gun. It had a fine wooden spoon with a picture on
it of a cottage and a fish. It had a wooden bowl and a painted mug,
bought from one of the peddling barges that go up and down the rivers
selling chairs and crockery, just like the caravans that travel our
English roads. And also, although it was so young, it had a little
sacred picture, made of metal, a picture of St. Nikolai; because this
was St. Nikolai's day, and the baby was called Nikolai.

There was a samovar already steaming in the cottage, and a great cake
of pastry, and cabbage and egg and fish. And there were cabbage soup
with sour cream, and black bread and a little white bread, and red
kisel jelly and a huge jug of milk.

And everybody ate and drank and talked as if they were never going to
stop. The sun was warm, and presently the men went outside and sat on
a log, leaning their backs against the wall of the hut and making
cigarettes and smoking, or eating sunflower seeds, cracking the husks
with their teeth, taking out the white kernels, and blowing the husks
away. And the women sat in the hut, and now and then brought out
glasses of hot tea to the men, and then went back again to talk of
what a fine man the baby would be, and to remember other babies. And
the old women looked at the young mothers and laughed, and said that
they could remember the days when they were christened--when they were
babies themselves, no bigger than the little Nikolai who swung in the
basket and squalled, or slept proudly, just as if he knew that all the
world belonged to him because he was so very young. And Vanya and
Maroosia ate sunflower seeds too, and sometimes played outside the
cottage and sometimes inside; but mostly stood very quiet close to the
swinging cradle, waiting till old Babka Tanya, the nurse, should pull
the shawls a little way aside and let them see the pink, crumpled
face of the little Nikolai, and the yellow fluff, just like a
duckling's, which covered his bumpy pink head.

At last, towards evening, old Peter packed what was left of the hay
into the cart, and packed Vanya and Maroosia in with the hay.
Everybody said good-byes all round, and Peter climbed in and took up
the rope reins.

"He'll be a fine man," he shouted through the door to Nastasia, "a
fine man; and God grant he'll be as healthy as he is good.--Till we
meet again," he cried out merrily to the villagers; and Vanya and
Maroosia waved their hands, and off they drove, back again to the hut
in the forest.

They were very much quieter on the way back than they had been when
they drove to the village in the morning. And the early summer day was
quiet as it came to its end. There was a corncrake rattling in the
fields, and more than once they saw frogs hop out of the road as they
drove by in the twilight. A hare ran before them through the dusk and
disappeared. And when they came to the wooden bridge over the stream,
a tall gray bird with a long beak rose up from the bank and flew
slowly away, carrying his long legs, like a thin pair of crutches,
straight out behind him.

"Who is that?" asked Vanya sleepily from his nest in the hay.

"That is Mr. Crane," said old Peter. "Perhaps he is on his way to
visit Miss Heron and tell her that this time he has really made up his
mind, and to ask her to let bygones be bygones."

"What bygones?" said Vanya.

Old Peter watched the crane's slow, steady flight above the low marshy
ground on either side of the stream, and then he said,--

"Why, surely you know all about that. It is an old story, little one,
and I must have told it you a dozen times."

"No, never, grandfather," said Maroosia. She was nearly as sleepy as
Vanya after the day in the village, and the fuss and pleasure of the
christening.

"Oh, well," said old Peter; and he told the tale of Mr. Crane and Miss
Heron as the cart bumped slowly along the rough road, while Vanya and
Maroosia looked out with sleepy eyes from their nest of hay and
listened, and the sky turned green, and the trees grew dim, and the
frogs croaked in the ditches.

                                   

Mr. Crane and Miss Heron lived in a marsh five miles across from end to
end. They lived there, and fed on the frogs which they caught in their
long bills, and held up in the air for a moment, and then swallowed,
standing on one leg. The marsh was always damp, and there were always
plenty of frogs, and life went well for them, except that they saw
very little company. They had no one to pass the time of day with. For
Mr. Crane had built his little hut on one side of the marsh, and Miss
Heron had built hers on the other.

So it came into the head of Mr. Crane that it was dull work living
alone. If only I were married, he thought, there would be two of us to
drink our tea beside the samovar at night, and I should not spend my
evenings in melancholy, thinking only of frogs. I will go to see Miss
Heron, and I will offer to marry her.

So off he flew to the other side of the marsh, flap, flap, with his
legs hanging out behind, just as we saw him to-night. He came to the
other side of the marsh, and flew down to the hut of Miss Heron. He
tapped on the door with his long beak.

"Is Miss Heron at home?"

"At home," said Miss Heron.

"Will you marry me?" said Mr. Crane.

"Of course I won't," said Miss Heron; "your legs are long and
ill-shaped, and your coat is short, and you fly awkwardly, and you are
not even rich. You would have no dainties to feed me with. Off with
you, long-bodied one, and don't come bothering me."

She shut the door in his face.

Mr. Crane looked the fool he thought himself, and went off home,
wishing he had never made the journey.

But as soon as he was gone, Miss Heron, sitting alone in her hut,
began to think things over and to be sorry she had spoken in such a
hurry.

"After all," thinks she, "it is poor work living alone. And Mr. Crane,
in spite of what I said about his looks, is really a handsome enough
young fellow. Indeed at evening, when he stands on one leg, he is very
handsome indeed. Yes, I will go and marry him."

So off flew Miss Heron, flap, flap, over five miles of marsh, and came
to the hut of Mr. Crane.

"Is the master at home?"

"At home," said Mr. Crane.

"Ah, Mr. Crane," said Miss Heron, "I was chaffing you just now. When
shall we be married?"

"No, Miss Heron," said Mr. Crane; "I have no need of you at all. I do
not wish to marry, and I would not take you for my wife even if I
did. Clear out, and let me see the last of you." He shut the door.

Miss Heron wept tears of shame, that ran from her eyes down her long
bill and dropped one by one to the ground. Then she flew away home,
wishing she had not come.

As soon as she was gone Mr. Crane began to think, and he said to
himself, "What a fool I was to be so short with Miss Heron! It's dull
living alone. Since she wants it, I will marry her." And he flew off
after Miss Heron. He came to her hut, and told her,--

"Miss Heron, I have thought things over. I have decided to marry you."

"Mr. Crane," said Miss Heron, "I, too, have thought things over. I
would not marry you, not for ten thousand young frogs."

Off flew Mr. Crane.

As soon as he was gone Miss Heron thought, "Why didn't I agree to
marry Mr. Crane? It's dull alone. I will go at once and tell him I
have changed my mind."

She flew off to betroth herself; but Mr. Crane would have none of her,
and she flew back again.

And so they go on to this day--first one and then the other flying
across the marsh with an offer of marriage, and flying back with
shame. They have never married, and never will.

                                   

"Grandfather," whispered Maroosia, tugging at old Peter's sleeve,
"Vanya is asleep."

They drove on through the forest silently, except for the creaking of
the cart and the loud singing of the nightingales in the tops of the
tall firs. They came at last to their hut.

"Ah!" said old Peter, as he lifted them out, first one and then the
other; "it isn't only Vanya who's asleep." And he carried them in, and
put them to bed without waking them.

THE END.





Once upon a time, on a fine afternoon, the Caliph Chasid was seated on
his sofa in Bagdad: he had slept a little, (for it was a hot day,) and
now, after his nap, looked quite happy. He smoked a long pipe of
rosewood, sipped, now and then, a little coffee which a slave poured
out for him, and stroked his beard, well-satisfied, for the flavor
pleased him. In a word, it was evident that the Caliph was in a good
humor. At this season one could easily speak with him, for he was
always very mild and affable; on which account did his Grand-Vizier,
Mansor, seek him at this hour, every day.

On the afternoon in question he also came, but looked very serious,
quite contrary to his usual custom. The Caliph removed the pipe, a
moment, from his mouth, and said, "Wherefore, Grand-Vizier, wearest
thou so thoughtful a visage?"

The Grand-Vizier folded his arms crosswise over his breast, made
reverence to his lord, and answered: "Sir, whether I wear a thoughtful
look, I know not, but there, below the palace, stands a trader who has
such fine goods, that it vexes me not to have abundant money."

The Caliph, who had often before this gladly indulged his Vizier, sent
down his black slave to bring up the merchant, and in a moment they
entered together. He was a short, fat man, of swarthy countenance and
tattered dress. He carried a chest in which were all kinds of
wares--pearls and rings, richly-wrought pistols, goblets, and combs.
The Caliph and his Vizier examined them all, and the former at length
purchased fine pistols for himself and Mansor, and a comb for the
Vizier's wife. When the pedler was about to close his chest, the
Caliph espied a little drawer, and inquired whether there were wares
in that also. The trader drew forth the drawer, and pointed out
therein a box of black powder, and a paper with strange characters,
which neither the Caliph nor Mansor could read.

"I obtained these two articles, some time ago, from a merchant, who
found them in the street at Mecca," said the trader. "I know not what
they contain. They are at your service for a moderate price; I can do
nothing with them." The Caliph, who gladly kept old manuscripts in his
library, though he could not read them, purchased writing and box, and
discharged the merchant. The Caliph, however, thought he would like to
know what the writing contained, and asked the Vizier if he knew any
one who could decipher it.

"Most worthy lord and master," answered he, "near the great Mosque
lives a man called 'Selim the Learned,' who understands all languages:
let him come, perhaps he is acquainted with these mysterious
characters."

The learned Selim was soon brought in. "Selim," said the Caliph to
him, "Selim, they say thou art very wise; look a moment at this
manuscript, and see if thou canst read it. If thou canst, thou shalt
receive from me a new festival-garment; if not, thou shalt have twelve
blows on the cheek, and five and twenty on the soles of the feet,
since, in that case, thou art unjustly called Selim the Learned."

Selim bowed himself and said, "Sire, thy will be done!" For a long
time he pored over the manuscript, but suddenly exclaimed, "This is
Latin, sire, or I will suffer myself to be hung."

"If it is Latin, tell us what is therein," commanded the Caliph. Selim
began to translate:--

"Man, whosoever thou mayest be that findest this, praise Allah for his
goodness! Whoever snuffs of the dust of this powder, and at the same
time says, MUTABOR, can change himself into any animal, and shall also
understand its language. If he wishes to return to the form of a man,
then let him bow three times to the East, and repeat the same word.
But take thou care, if thou be transformed, that thou laugh not;
otherwise shall the magic word fade altogether from thy remembrance,
and thou shalt remain a beast!"

When Selim the Learned had thus read, the Caliph was overjoyed. He
made the translator swear to tell no one of their secret, presented
him a beautiful garment, and discharged him. To his Grand-Vizier,
however, he said: "That I call a good purchase, Mansor! How can I
contain myself until I become an animal! Early in the morning, do thou
come to me. Then will we go together into the country, take a little
snuff out of my box, and hear what is said in the air and in the
water, in the forest and in the field."






Scarcely, on the next morning, had the Caliph Chasid breakfasted and
dressed himself, when the Grand-Vizier appeared, to accompany him, as
he had commanded, on his walk. The Caliph placed the box with the
magic powder in his girdle, and having commanded his train to remain
behind, set out, all alone with Mansor, upon their expedition. They
went at first through the extensive gardens of the Caliph, but looked
around in vain for some living thing, in order to make their strange
experiment. The Vizier finally proposed to go farther on, to a pond,
where he had often before seen many storks, which, by their grave
behavior and clattering, had always excited his attention. The Caliph
approved of the proposition of his Vizier, and went with him to the
pond. When they reached it they saw a stork walking gravely to and
fro, seeking for frogs, and now and then clattering at something
before her. Presently they saw, too, another stork hovering far up in
the air.

"I will wager my beard, most worthy sire," exclaimed the Grand-Vizier,
"that these two long-feet are even now carrying on a fine conversation
with one another. How would it be, if we should become storks?"

"Well spoken!" answered the Caliph. "But first, we will consider how
we may become men again.--Right! Three times bow to the East, and
exclaim 'MUTABOR!' then will I be Caliph once more, and thou Vizier.
Only, for the sake of Heaven, laugh not, or we are lost!"

While the Caliph was thus speaking, he saw the other stork hovering
over their heads, and sinking slowly to the ground. He drew the box
quickly out of his girdle, and took a good pinch; then he presented it
to the Grand-Vizier, who also snuffed some of the powder, and both
exclaimed "MUTABOR!" Immediately their legs shrivelled away and became
slender and red; the handsome yellow slippers of the Caliph and his
companion became misshapen stork's feet; their arms turned to wings;
the neck extended up from the shoulders, and was an ell long; their
beards had vanished, and their whole bodies were covered with soft
feathers.

"You have a beautiful beak, my lord Grand-Vizier," exclaimed the
Caliph after long astonishment. "By the beard of the Prophet, in my
whole life I have not seen any thing like it!"

"Most humble thanks!" responded the Vizier, as he bowed. "But if I
dared venture it, I might assert that your Highness looks almost as
handsome when a stork, as when a Caliph. But suppose, if it be
pleasing to you, that we observe and listen to our comrades, to see,
if we actually understand Storkish."

Meanwhile the other stork reached the earth. He cleaned his feet with
his bill, smoothed his feathers, and moved towards the first. Both the
new birds, thereupon, made haste to draw near, and to their
astonishment, heard the following conversation.

"Good-morning, Madam Long-legs; already, so early, upon the pond?"

"Fine thanks, beloved Clatter-beak. I have brought me a little
breakfast. Would you like, perhaps, the quarter of an eider-duck, or a
little frog's thigh?"

"My best thanks, but this morning I have little appetite. I come to
the pond for a very different reason. I have to dance to-day before
the guests of my father, and I wish to practise a little in private."

Immediately, thereupon, the young lady-stork stepped, in great
excitement, over the plain. The Caliph and Mansor looked on her in
amazement. When, however, she stood in a picturesque attitude upon one
foot, and, at the same time, gracefully moved her wings like a fan,
the two could contain themselves no longer; a loud laugh broke forth
from their bills. The Caliph was the first to recover himself. "That
were once a joke," said he, "which gold could not have purchased.
Pity! that the stupid birds should have been driven away by our
laughter; otherwise they would certainly even yet have been singing."

But already it occurred to the Grand-Vizier that, during their
metamorphosis, laughter was prohibited; he shared his anxiety on this
head with the Caliph. "By Mecca and Medina! that were a sorry jest, if
I am to remain a stork. Bethink thyself, then, of the foolish word,
for I can recall it not."

"Three times must we bow ourselves to the East, and at the same time
say, Mu--mu--mu--"

They turned to the East, and bowed so low that their beaks almost
touched the earth. But, O misery! that magic word had escaped them;
and though the Caliph prostrated himself again and again, though at
the same time the Vizier earnestly cried "Mu--mu--," all recollection
thereof had vanished, and poor Chasid and his Vizier were to remain
storks.






The enchanted ones wandered sorrowfully through the fields, not
knowing, in their calamity, what they should first set about. To the
city they could not return, for the purpose of discovering themselves,
for who would have believed a stork that he was the Caliph? or, if he
should find credit, would the inhabitants of Bagdad have been willing
to have such a bird for their master? Thus, for several days, did they
wander around, supporting themselves on the produce of the fields,
which, however, on account of their long bills, they could not readily
pick up. For eider-ducks and frogs they had no appetite, for they
feared with such dainty morsels to ruin their stomachs. In this
pitiable situation their only consolation was that they could fly, and
accordingly they often winged their way to the roofs of Bagdad, to see
what was going on therein.

On the first day they observed great commotion and mourning in the
streets; but on the fourth after their transformation, they lighted by
chance upon the royal palace, from which they saw, in the street
beneath, a splendid procession. Drums and fifes sounded; on a
richly-caparisoned steed was seated a man, in a scarlet mantle
embroidered with gold, surrounded by gorgeously-attired attendants.
Half Bagdad was running after him, crying, "Hail, Mizra! Lord of
Bagdad!" All this the two storks beheld from the roof of the palace,
and the Caliph Chasid exclaimed,--

"Perceivest thou now why I am enchanted, Grand-Vizier? This Mizra is
the son of my deadly enemy, the mighty sorcerer Kaschnur, who, in an
evil hour, vowed revenge against me. Still I do not abandon all hope.
Come with me, thou faithful companion of my misery; we will go to the
grave of the Prophet; perhaps in that holy spot the charm may be
dissolved." They raised themselves from the roof of the palace, and
flew in the direction of Medina.

In the use of their wings, however, they experienced some difficulty,
for the two storks had, as yet, but little practice. "O Sire!"
groaned out the Vizier, after a couple of hours; "with your
permission, I can hold out no longer; you fly so rapidly! Besides, it
is already evening, and we would do well to seek a shelter for the
night."

Chasid gave ear to the request of his attendant, and thereupon saw, in
the vale beneath, a ruin which appeared to promise safe lodgings; and
thither, accordingly, they flew. The place where they had alighted for
the night, seemed formerly to have been a castle. Gorgeous columns
projected from under the rubbish, and several chambers, which were
still in a state of tolerable preservation, testified to the former
magnificence of the mansion. Chasid and his companion went around
through the corridor, to seek for themselves a dry resting-place;
suddenly the stork Mansor paused. "Lord and master," he whispered
softly, "were it not foolish for a Grand-Vizier, still more for a
stork, to be alarmed at spectres, my mind is very uncomfortable; for
here, close at hand, sighs and groans are very plainly perceptible."
The Caliph now in turn stood still, and quite distinctly heard a low
moaning, which seemed to belong rather to a human being than a beast.
Full of expectation, he essayed to proceed to the place whence the
plaintive sounds issued: but the Vizier, seizing him by the wing with
his beak, entreated him fervently not to plunge them in new and
unknown dangers. In vain! the Caliph, to whom a valiant heart beat
beneath his stork-wing, burst away with the loss of a feather, and
hastened into a gloomy gallery. In a moment he reached a door, which
seemed only on the latch, and out of which he heard distinct sighs,
accompanied by a low moaning. He pushed the door open with his bill,
but stood, chained by amazement, upon the threshold. In the ruinous
apartment, which was now but dimly lighted through a grated window, he
saw a huge screech-owl sitting on the floor. Big tears rolled down
from her large round eyes, and with ardent voice she sent her cries
forth from her crooked bill. As soon, however, as she espied the
Caliph and his Vizier, who meanwhile had crept softly up behind, she
raised a loud cry of joy. She neatly wiped away the tears with her
brown-striped wing, and to the great astonishment of both, exclaimed,
in good human Arabic,--

"Welcome to you, storks! you are to me a good omen of deliverance,
for it was once prophesied to me that, through storks, a great piece
of good fortune is to fall to my lot."

When the Caliph recovered from his amazement, he bowed his long neck,
brought his slender feet into an elegant position, and said:
"Screech-owl, after your words, I venture to believe that I see in you
a companion in misfortune. But, alas! this hope that through us thy
deliverance will take place, is groundless. Thou wilt, thyself,
realize our helplessness, when thou hearest our history."

The Screech-owl entreated him to impart it to her, and the Caliph,
raising himself up, related what we already know.






When the Caliph had told his history to the owl, she thanked him, and
said: "Listen to my story, also, and hear how I am no less unfortunate
than thyself. My father is the king of India; I, his only, unfortunate
daughter, am called Lusa. That same sorcerer Kaschnur, who transformed
you, has plunged me also in this affliction. He came, one day, to my
father, and asked me in marriage for his son Mizra. My father,
however, who is a passionate man, cast him down the steps. The wretch
managed to creep up to me again under another form, and as I was on
one occasion taking the fresh air in my garden, clad as a slave, he
presented me a potion which changed me into this detestable figure. He
brought me hither, swooning through fear, and exclaimed in my ear with
awful voice, 'There shalt thou remain, frightful one, despised even by
beasts, until thy death, or till one, of his own free will, even
under this execrable form, take thee to wife. Thus revenge I myself
upon thee, and thy haughty father!'

"Since then, many months have elapsed; alone and mournfully I live,
like a hermit, in these walls, abhorred by the world, an abomination
even to brutes. Beautiful nature is shut out from me; for I am blind
by day, and only when the moon sheds her wan light upon this ruin,
falls the shrouding veil from mine eye."

The owl ended, and again wiped her eyes with her wing, for the
narration of her wo had called forth tears. The Caliph was plunged in
deep meditation by the story of the Princess. "If I am not altogether
deceived," said he, "you will find that between our misfortunes a
secret connection exists; but where can I find the key to this
enigma?"

The owl answered him, "My lord! this also is plain to me; for once, in
early youth, it was foretold to me by a wise woman, that a stork would
bring me great happiness, and perhaps I might know how we may save
ourselves."

The Caliph was much astonished, and inquired in what way she meant.

"The enchanter who has made us both miserable," said she, "comes once
every month to these ruins. Not far from this chamber is a hall;
there, with many confederates, he is wont to banquet. Already I have
often watched them: they relate to one another their shameful
deeds--perhaps he might then mention the magic word which you have
forgotten."

"Oh, dearest Princess!" exclaimed the Caliph: "tell us--when will he
come, and where is the hall?"

The owl was silent a moment, and then said: "Take it not unkindly, but
only on one condition can I grant your wish."

"Speak out! speak out!" cried Chasid. "Command; whatever it may be, I
am ready to obey."

"It is this: I would fain at the same time be free; this, however, can
only take place, if one of you offer me his hand." At this proposition
the storks seemed somewhat surprised, and the Caliph beckoned to his
attendant to step aside with him a moment. "Grand-Vizier," said the
Caliph before the door, "this is a stupid affair, but you can set it
all right."

"Thus?" rejoined he; "that my wife, when I go home, may scratch my
eyes out? Besides, I am an old man, while you are still young and
unmarried, and can better give your hand to a young and beautiful
princess."

"Ah! that is the point," sighed the Caliph, as he mournfully drooped
his wings: "who told you she is young and fair? That is equivalent to
buying a cat in a sack!" They continued to converse together for a
long time, but finally, when the Caliph saw that Mansor would rather
remain a stork than marry the owl, he determined sooner, himself, to
accept the condition. The owl was overjoyed; she avowed to them that
they could have come at no better time, since, probably, that very
night, the sorcerers would assemble together.

She left the apartment with the storks, in order to lead them to the
saloon; they went a long way through a gloomy passage, until at last a
very bright light streamed upon them through a half-decayed wall. When
they reached this place, the owl advised them to halt very quietly.
From the breach, near which they were standing, they could look down
upon a large saloon, adorned all around with pillars, and splendidly
decorated, in which many colored lamps restored the light of day. In
the midst of the saloon stood a round table, laden with various choice
meats. Around the table extended a sofa, on which eight men were
seated. In one of these men the storks recognised the very merchant,
who had sold them the magic powder. His neighbor desired him to tell
them his latest exploits; whereupon he related, among others, the
story of the Caliph and his Vizier.

"What did you give them for a word?" inquired of him one of the other
magicians.

"A right ponderous Latin one--MUTABOR."






When the storks heard this through their chasm in the wall, they
became almost beside themselves with joy. They ran so quickly with
their long feet to the door of the ruin, that the owl could scarcely
keep up with them. Thereupon spoke the Caliph to her: "Preserver of my
life and that of my friend, in token of our eternal thanks for what
thou hast done for us, take me as thy husband." Then he turned to the
East: three times they bowed their long necks towards the sun, which
was even now rising above the mountains, and at the same moment
exclaimed "MUTABOR!" In a twinkling they were restored, and in the
excessive joy of their newly-bestowed life, alternately laughing and
weeping, were folded in each other's arms. But who can describe their
astonishment when they looked around? A beautiful woman, attired as a
queen, stood before them. Smiling, she gave the Caliph her hand, and
said, "Know you your screech-owl no longer?" It was she; the Caliph
was in such transports at her beauty and pleasantness, as to cry out,
that it was the most fortunate moment in his life, when he became a
stork.

The three now proceeded together to Bagdad. The Caliph found in his
dress, not only the box of magic powder, but also his money-bag. By
means thereof, he purchased at the nearest village what was necessary
for their journey, and accordingly they soon appeared before the gates
of the city. Here, however, the arrival of the Caliph excited great
astonishment. They had given out that he was dead, and the people were
therefore highly rejoiced to have again their beloved lord.

So much the more, however, burned their hatred against the impostor
Mizra. They proceeded to the palace, and caught the old magician and
his son. The old man the Caliph sent to the same chamber in the ruin,
which the princess, as a screech-owl, had inhabited, and there had
him hung; unto the son, however, who understood nothing of his
father's arts, he gave his choice,--to die, or snuff some of the
powder. Having chosen the latter, the Grand-Vizier presented him the
box. A hearty pinch, and the magic word of the Caliph converted him
into a stork. Chasid had him locked up in an iron cage, and hung in
his garden.

Long and happily lived Caliph Chasid with his spouse, the Princess;
his pleasantest hours were always those, when in the afternoon the
Vizier sought him; and whenever the Caliph was in a very good humor,
he would let himself down so far, as to show Mansor how he looked,
when a stork. He would gravely march along, with rigid feet, up and
down the chamber, make a clattering noise, wave his arms like wings,
and show how, in vain, he had prostrated himself to the East, and
cried out, MU--MU. To the Princess and her children, this imitation
always afforded great amusement: when, however, the Caliph clattered,
and bowed, and cried out, too long, then the Vizier would threaten him
that he would disclose to his spouse what had been proposed outside
the door of the Princess Screech-owl!





When Selim Baruch had finished his story, the merchants declared
themselves delighted therewith. "Verily, the afternoon has passed away
from us without our having observed it!" exclaimed one of them,
throwing back the covering of the tent: "the evening wind blows cool,
we can still make a good distance on our journey." To this his
companions agreed; the tents were struck, and the Caravan proceeded on
its way in the same order in which it had come up.

They rode almost all the night long, for it was refreshing and
starry, whereas the day was sultry. At last they arrived at a
convenient stopping-place; here they pitched their tents, and composed
themselves to rest. To the stranger the merchants attended, as a most
valued guest. One gave him cushions, a second covering, a third
slaves; in a word, he was as well provided for as if he had been at
home. The hottest hours of the day had already arrived, when they
awoke again, and they unanimously determined to wait for evening in
this place. After they had eaten together, they moved more closely to
each other, and the young merchant, turning to the oldest, addressed
him: "Selim Baruch yesterday made a pleasant afternoon for us; suppose
Achmet, that you also tell us something, be it either from your long
life, which has known so many adventures, or even a pretty Marchen."

Upon these words Achmet was silent some time, as if he were in doubt
whether to tell this or that; at last he began to speak: "Dear
friends, on this our journey you have proved yourselves faithful
companions, and Selim also deserves my confidence; I will therefore
impart to you something of my life, of which, under other
circumstances, I would speak reluctantly, and, indeed, not to any one:
THE HISTORY OF THE SPECTRE SHIP."




THE HISTORY OF THE SPECTRE SHIP.




My father had a little shop in Balsora; he was neither rich, nor poor,
but one of those who do not like to risk any thing, through fear of
losing the little that they have. He brought me up plainly, but
virtuously, and soon I advanced so far, that I was able to make
valuable suggestions to him in his business. When I reached my
eighteenth year, in the midst of his first speculation of any
importance, he died; probably through anxiety at having intrusted a
thousand gold pieces to the sea. I was obliged, soon after, to deem
him happy in his fortunate death, for in a few weeks the intelligence
reached us, that the vessel, to which my father had committed his
goods, had been wrecked. This misfortune, however, could not depress
my youthful spirits. I converted all that my father had left into
money, and set out to try my fortune in foreign lands, accompanied
only by an old servant of the family, who, on account of ancient
attachment, would not part from me and my destiny.

In the harbor of Balsora we embarked, with a favorable wind. The ship,
in which I had taken passage, was bound to India. We had now for
fifteen days sailed in the usual track, when the Captain predicted to
us a storm. He wore a thoughtful look, for it seemed he knew that, in
this place, there was not sufficient depth of water to encounter a
storm with safety. He ordered them to take in all sail, and we moved
along quite slowly. The night set in clear and cold, and the Captain
began to think that he had been mistaken in his forebodings. All at
once there floated close by ours, a ship which none of us had
observed before. A wild shout and cry ascended from the deck, at
which, occurring at this anxious season, before a storm, I wondered
not a little. But the Captain by my side was deadly pale: "My ship is
lost," cried he; "there sails Death!" Before I could demand an
explanation of these singular words, the sailors rushed in, weeping
and wailing. "Have you seen it?" they exclaimed: "all is now over with
us!"

But the Captain had words of consolation read to them out of the
Koran, and seated himself at the helm. But in vain! The tempest began
visibly to rise with a roaring noise, and, before an hour passed by,
the ship struck and remained aground. The boats were lowered, and
scarcely had the last sailors saved themselves, when the vessel went
down before our eyes, and I was launched, a beggar, upon the sea. But
our misfortune had still no end. Frightfully roared the tempest, the
boat could no longer be governed. I fastened myself firmly to my old
servant, and we mutually promised not to be separated from each other.
At last the day broke, but, with the first glance of the morning-red,
the wind struck and upset the boat in which we were seated. After that
I saw my shipmates no more. The shock deprived me of consciousness,
and when I returned to my senses, I found myself in the arms of my old
faithful attendant, who had saved himself on the boat which had been
upturned, and had come in search of me. The storm had abated; of our
vessel there was nothing any more to be seen, but we plainly descried,
at no great distance from us, another ship, towards which the waves
were driving us. As we approached, I recognised the vessel as the same
which had passed by us in the night, and which had thrown the Captain
into such consternation. I felt a strange horror of this ship; the
intimation of the Captain, which had been so fearfully corroborated,
the desolate appearance of the ship, on which, although as we drew
near we uttered loud cries, no one was visible, alarmed me.
Nevertheless this was our only expedient; accordingly, we praised the
Prophet, who had so miraculously preserved us.

From the fore-part of the ship hung down a long cable; for the purpose
of laying hold of this, we paddled with our hands and feet. At last
we were successful. Loudly I raised my voice, but all remained quiet
as ever, on board the vessel. Then we climbed up by the rope, I, as
the youngest, taking the lead. But horror! what a spectacle was there
presented to my eye, as I stepped upon the deck! The floor was red
with blood; upon it lay twenty or thirty corpses in Turkish costume;
by the middle-mast stood a man richly attired, with sabre in hand--but
his face was wan and distorted; through his forehead passed a large
spike which fastened him to the mast--he was dead! Terror chained my
feet; I dared hardly to breathe. At last my companion stood by my
side; he, too, was overpowered at sight of the deck which exhibited no
living thing, but only so many frightful corpses. After having, in the
anguish of our souls, supplicated the Prophet, we ventured to move
forward. At every step we looked around to see if something new,
something still more horrible, would not present itself. But all
remained as it was--far and wide, no living thing but ourselves, and
the ocean-world. Not once did we dare to speak aloud, through fear
that the dead Captain there nailed to the mast would bend his rigid
eyes upon us, or lest one of the corpses should turn his head. At last
we arrived at a staircase, which led into the hold. There
involuntarily we came to a halt, and looked at each other, for neither
of us exactly ventured to express his thoughts.

"Master," said my faithful servant, "something awful has happened
here. Nevertheless, even if the ship down there below is full of
murderers, still would I rather submit myself to their mercy or
cruelty, than spend a longer time among these dead bodies." I agreed
with him, and so we took heart, and descended, full of apprehension.
But the stillness of death prevailed here also, and there was no sound
save that of our steps upon the stairs. We stood before the door of
the cabin; I applied my ear, and listened--there was nothing to be
heard. I opened it. The room presented a confused appearance; clothes,
weapons, and other articles, lay disordered together. The crew, or at
least the Captain, must shortly before have been carousing, for the
remains of a banquet lay scattered around. We went on from room to
room, from chamber to chamber finding, in all, royal stores of silk,
pearls, and other costly articles. I was beside myself with joy at the
sight, for as there was no one on the ship, I thought I could
appropriate all to myself; but Ibrahim thereupon called to my notice
that we were still far from land, at which we could not arrive, alone
and without human help.

We refreshed ourselves with the meats and drink, which we found in
rich profusion, and at last ascended upon deck. But here again we
shivered at the awful sight of the bodies. We determined to free
ourselves therefrom, by throwing them overboard; but how were we
startled to find, that no one could move them from their places! So
firmly were they fastened to the floor, that to remove them one would
have had to take up the planks of the deck, for which tools were
wanting to us. The Captain, moreover, could not be loosened from the
mast, nor could we even wrest the sabre from his rigid hand. We passed
the day in sorrowful reflection on our condition; and, when night
began to draw near, I gave permission to the old Ibrahim to lie down
to sleep, while I would watch upon the deck, to look out for means of
deliverance. When, however, the moon shone forth, and by the stars I
calculated that it was about the eleventh hour, sleep so irresistibly
overpowered me that I fell back, involuntarily, behind a cask which
stood upon the deck. It was rather lethargy than sleep, for I plainly
heard the sea beat against the side of the vessel, and the sails creak
and whistle in the wind. All at once I thought I heard voices, and the
steps of men upon the deck. I wished to arise and see what it was, but
a strange power fettered my limbs, and I could not once open my eyes.
But still more distinct became the voices; it appeared to me as if a
merry crew were moving around upon the deck. In the midst of this I
thought I distinguished the powerful voice of a commander, followed by
the noise of ropes and sails. Gradually my senses left me; I fell into
a deep slumber, in which I still seemed to hear the din of weapons,
and awoke only when the sun was high in the heavens, and sent down his
burning rays upon my face. Full of wonder, I gazed about me; storm,
ship, the bodies, and all that I had heard in the night, recurred to
me as a dream; but when I looked around, I found all as it had been
the day before. Immoveable lay the bodies, immoveably was the Captain
fastened to the mast; I laughed at my dream, and proceeded in search
of my old companion.

The latter was seated in sorrowful meditation in the cabin. "O
master," he exclaimed as I entered, "rather would I lie in the deepest
bottom of the sea, than pass another night in this enchanted ship." I
asked him the reason of his grief, and thus he answered me:--

"When I had slept an hour, I awoke, and heard the noise of walking to
and fro over my head. I thought at first that it was you, but there
were at least twenty running around; I also heard conversation and
cries. At length came heavy steps upon the stairs. After this I was no
longer conscious; but at times my recollection returned for a moment,
and then I saw the same man who is nailed to the mast, sit down at
that table, singing and drinking; and he who lies not far from him on
the floor, in a scarlet cloak, sat near him, and helped him to drink."
Thus spoke my old servant to me.

You may believe me, my friends, that all was not right to my mind;
for there was no delusion--I too had plainly heard the dead. To sail
in such company was to me horrible; my Ibrahim, however, was again
absorbed in deep reflection. "I have it now!" he exclaimed at length;
there occurred to him, namely, a little verse, which his grandfather,
a man of experience and travel, had taught him, and which could give
assistance against every ghost and spectre. He also maintained that we
could, the next night, prevent the unnatural sleep which had come upon
us, by repeating right fervently sentences out of the Koran.

The proposition of the old man pleased me well. In anxious expectation
we saw the night set in. Near the cabin was a little room, to which we
determined to retire. We bored several holes in the door, large enough
to give us a view of the whole cabin; then we shut it as firmly as we
could from within, and Ibrahim wrote the name of the Prophet in all
four corners of the room. Thus we awaited the terrors of the night.

It might again have been about the eleventh hour, when a strong
inclination for sleep began to overpower me. My companion, thereupon,
advised me to repeat some sentences from the Koran, which assisted me
to retain my consciousness. All at once it seemed to become lively
overhead; the ropes creaked, there were steps upon the deck, and
several voices were plainly distinguishable. We remained, a few
moments, in intense anxiety; then we heard something descending the
cabin stairs. When the old man became aware of this, he began to
repeat the words which his grandfather had taught him to use against
spirits and witchcraft:

    "Come you, from the air descending,
      Rise you from the deep sea-cave,
    Spring you forth where flames are blending,
      Glide you in the dismal grave:
    Allah reigns, let all adore him!
    Own him, spirits--bow before him!"

I must confess I did not put much faith in this verse, and my hair
stood on end when the door flew open. The same large, stately man
entered, whom I had seen nailed to the mast. The spike still passed
through the middle of his brain, but he had sheathed his sword. Behind
him entered another, attired with less magnificence, whom also I had
seen lying on the deck. The Captain, for he was unquestionably of this
rank, had a pale countenance, a large black beard, and wildly-rolling
eyes, with which he surveyed the whole apartment. I could see him
distinctly, for he moved over opposite to us; but he appeared not to
observe the door which concealed us. The two seated themselves at the
table, which stood in the centre of the cabin, and spoke loud and
fast, shouting together in an unknown tongue. They continually became
more noisy and earnest, until at length, with doubled fist, the
Captain brought the table a blow which shook the whole apartment. With
wild laughter the other sprang up, and beckoned to the Captain to
follow him. The latter rose, drew his sabre, and then both left the
apartment. We breathed more freely when they were away; but our
anxiety had still for a long time no end. Louder and louder became the
noise upon deck; we heard hasty running to and fro, shouting,
laughing, and howling. At length there came an actually hellish sound,
so that we thought the deck and all the sails would fall down upon us,
the clash of arms, and shrieks--of a sudden all was deep silence.
When, after many hours, we ventured to go forth, we found every thing
as before; not one lay differently--all were as stiff as wooden
figures.



Thus passed we several days on the vessel; it moved continually
towards the East, in which direction, according to my calculation, lay
the land; but if by day it made many miles, by night it appeared to go
back again, for we always found ourselves in the same spot when the
sun went down. We could explain this in no other way, than that the
dead men every night sailed back again with a full breeze. In order to
prevent this, we took in all the sail before it became night, and
employed the same means as at the door in the cabin; we wrote on
parchment the name of the Prophet, and also, in addition, the little
stanza of the grandfather, and bound them upon the furled sail.
Anxiously we awaited the result in our chamber. The ghosts appeared
this time not to rage so wickedly; and, mark, the next morning the
sails were still rolled up as we had left them. During the day we
extended only as much as was necessary to bear the ship gently along,
and so in five days we made considerable headway.

At last, on the morning of the sixth day, we espied land at a short
distance, and thanked Allah and his Prophet for our wonderful
deliverance. This day and the following night we sailed along the
coast, and on the seventh morning thought we discovered a city at no
great distance: with a good deal of trouble we cast an anchor into the
sea, which soon reached the bottom; then launching a boat which stood
upon the deck, we rowed with all our might towards the city. After
half an hour we ran into a river that emptied into the sea, and
stepped ashore. At the gate we inquired what the place was called, and
learned that it was an Indian city, not far from the region to which
at first I had intended to sail. We repaired to a Caravansery, and
refreshed ourselves after our adventurous sail. I there inquired for a
wise and intelligent man, at the same time giving the landlord to
understand that I would like to have one tolerably conversant with
magic. He conducted me to an unsightly house in a remote street,
knocked thereat, and one let me in with the injunction that I should
ask only for Muley.

In the house, came to me a little old man with grizzled beard and a
long nose, to demand my business. I told him I was in search of the
wise Muley; he answered me that he was the man. I then asked his
advice as to what I should do to the dead bodies, and how I must
handle them in order to remove them from the ship.

He answered me that the people of the ship were probably enchanted on
account of a crime somewhere upon the sea: he thought the spell would
be dissolved by bringing them to land, but this could be done only by
taking up the planks on which they lay. In the sight of God and
justice, he said that the ship, together with all the goods, belonged
to me, since I had, as it were, found it; and, if I would keep it very
secret, and make him a small present out of my abundance, he would
assist me with his slaves to remove the bodies. I promised to reward
him richly, and we set out on our expedition with five slaves, who
were supplied with saws and hatchets. On the way, the magician Muley
could not sufficiently praise our happy expedient of binding the
sails around with the sentences from the Koran. He said this was the
only means, by which we could have saved ourselves.

It was still pretty early in the day when we reached the ship. We
immediately set to work, and in an hour placed four in the boat. Some
of the slaves were then obliged to row to land to bury them there.
They told us, when they returned, that the bodies had spared them the
trouble of burying, since, the moment they laid them on the earth,
they had fallen to dust. We diligently set to work to saw off the
bodies, and before evening all were brought to land. There were, at
last, no more on board than the one that was nailed to the mast.
Vainly sought we to draw the nail out of the wood, no strength was
able to start it even a hair's-breadth. I knew not what next to do,
for we could not hew down the mast in order to bring him to land; but
in this dilemma Muley came to my assistance. He quickly ordered a
slave to row to land and bring a pot of earth. When he had arrived
with it, the magician pronounced over it some mysterious words, and
cast it on the dead man's head. Immediately the latter opened his
eyes, drew a deep breath, and the wound of the nail in his forehead
began to bleed. We now drew it lightly forth, and the wounded man fell
into the arms of one of the slaves.

"Who bore me hither?" he exclaimed, after he seemed to have recovered
himself a little. Muley made signs to me, and I stepped up to him.

"Thank thee, unknown stranger; thou hast freed me from long torment.
For fifty years has my body been sailing through these waves, and my
spirit was condemned to return to it every night. But now my head has
come in contact with the earth, and, my crime expiated, I can go to my
fathers!"

I entreated him, thereupon, to tell how he had been brought to this
horrible state, and he began--

"Fifty years ago, I was an influential, distinguished man, and resided
in Algiers: a passion for gain urged me on to fit out a ship, and turn
pirate. I had already followed this business some time, when once, at
Zante, I took on board a Dervise, who wished to travel for nothing. I
and my companions were impious men, and paid no respect to the
holiness of the man; I, in particular, made sport of him. When,
however, on one occasion he upbraided me with holy zeal for my wicked
course of life, that same evening, after I had been drinking to excess
with my pilot in the cabin, anger overpowered me. Reflecting on what
the Dervise had said to me, which I would not have borne from a
Sultan, I rushed upon deck, and plunged my dagger into his breast.
Dying, he cursed me and my crew, and doomed us not to die and not to
live, until we should lay our heads upon the earth.

"The Dervise expired, and we cast him overboard, laughing at his
menaces; that same night, however, were his words fulfilled. One
portion of my crew rose against me; with terrible courage the struggle
continued, until my supporters fell, and I myself was nailed to the
mast. The mutineers, however, also sank under their wounds, and soon
my ship was but one vast grave. My eyes also closed, my breath
stopped--I thought I was dying. But it was only a torpor which held me
chained: the following night, at the same hour in which we had cast
the Dervise into the sea, I awoke, together with all my comrades;
life returned, but we could do and say nothing but what had been done
and said on that fatal night. Thus we sailed for fifty years, neither
living nor dying, for how could we reach the land? With mad joy we
ever dashed along, with full sails, before the storm, for we hoped at
last to be wrecked upon some cliff, and to compose our weary heads to
rest upon the bottom of the sea; but in this we never succeeded. Now I
shall die! Once again, unknown preserver, accept my thanks, and if
treasures can reward thee, then take my ship in token of my
gratitude."

With these words the Captain let his head drop, and expired. Like his
companions, he immediately fell to dust. We collected this in a little
vessel, and buried it on the shore: and I took workmen from the city
to put the ship in good condition. After I had exchanged, with great
advantage, the wares I had on board for others, I hired a crew, richly
rewarded my friend Muley, and set sail for my fatherland. I took a
circuitous route, in the course of which I landed at several islands
and countries, to bring my goods to market. The Prophet blessed my
undertaking. After several years I ran into Balsora, twice as rich as
the dying Captain had made me. My fellow-citizens were amazed at my
wealth and good fortune, and would believe nothing else but that I had
found the diamond-valley of the far-famed traveller Sinbad. I left
them to their belief; henceforth must the young folks of Balsora, when
they have scarcely arrived at their eighteenth year, go forth into the
world, like me, to seek their fortunes. I, however, live in peace and
tranquillity, and every five years make a journey to Mecca, to thank
the Lord for his protection, in that holy place, and to entreat for
the Captain and his crew, that He will admit them into Paradise.





The march of the Caravan proceeded the next day without hinderance,
and when they halted, Selim the Stranger began thus to speak to Muley,
the youngest of the merchants:

"You are, indeed, the youngest of us, nevertheless you are always in
fine spirits, and, to a certainty, know for us, some right merry
story. Out with it then, that it may refresh us after the heat of the
day."

"I might easily tell you something," answered Muley, "which would
amuse you, nevertheless modesty becomes youth in all things; therefore
must my older companions have the precedence. Zaleukos is ever so
grave and reserved; should not he tell us what has made his life so
serious? Perhaps we could assuage his grief, if such he have; for
gladly would we serve a brother, even if he belong to another creed."

The person alluded to was a Grecian merchant of middle age, handsome
and strongly built, but very serious. Although he was an unbeliever,
(that is, no Mussulman,) still his companions were much attached to
him, for his whole conduct had inspired them with respect and
confidence. He had only one hand, and some of his companions
conjectured that, perhaps, this loss gave so grave a tone to his
character. Zaleukos thus answered Muley's friendly request:

"I am much honored by your confidence: grief have I none, at least
none from which, even with your best wishes, you can relieve me.
Nevertheless, since Muley appears to blame me for my seriousness, I
will relate to you something which will justify me when I am more
grave than others. You see that I have lost my left hand; this came
not to me at my birth, but I lost it in the most unhappy days of my
life. Whether I bear the fault thereof, whether I am wrong to be more
serious than my condition in life would seem to make me, you must
decide, when I have told you the STORY OF THE HEWN-OFF HAND."






THE STORY OF THE HEWN OFF HAND.


I was born in Constantinople; my father was a Dragoman of the Ottoman
Porte, and carried on, besides, a tolerably lucrative trade in
essences and silk goods. He gave me a good education, since he partly
superintended it himself, and partly had me instructed by one of our
priests. At first, he intended that I should one day take charge of
his business: but since I displayed greater capacity than he expected,
with the advice of his friends, he resolved that I should study
medicine; for a physician, if he only knows more than a common quack,
can make his fortune in Constantinople.

Many Frenchmen were in the habit of coming to our house, and one of
them prevailed upon my father to let me go to the city of Paris, in
his fatherland, where one could learn the profession gratuitously, and
with the best advantages: he himself would take me with him, at his
own expense, when he returned. My father, who in his youth had also
been a traveller, consented, and the Frenchman told me to hold myself
in readiness in three months. I was beside myself with delight to see
foreign lands, and could not wait for the moment in which we should
embark. At last the stranger had finished his business, and was ready
to start.

On the evening preceding our voyage, my father conducted me into his
sleeping apartment; there I saw fine garments and weapons lying on the
table; but what most attracted my eye was a large pile of gold, for I
had never before seen so much together. My father embraced me, and
said,

"See, my son, I have provided thee with garments for thy journey.
These weapons are thine; they are those which thy grandfather hung
upon me, when I went forth into foreign lands. I know thou canst wield
them; but use them not, unless thou art attacked; then, however, lay
on with right good-will. My wealth is not great; see! I have divided
it into three parts: one is thine; one shall be for my support, and
spare money in case of necessity; the third shall be sacred and
untouched by me, it may serve thee in the hour of need." Thus spoke my
old father, while tears hung in his eyes, perhaps from a presentiment,
for I have never seen him since.

Our voyage was favorable; we soon reached the land of the Franks, and
six days' journey brought us to the large city, Paris. Here my French
friend hired me a room, and advised me to be prudent in spending my
money, which amounted to two thousand thalers. In this city I lived
three years, and learned all that a well-educated physician should
know. I would be speaking falsely, however, if I said that I was very
happy, for the customs of the people pleased me not; moreover, I had
but few good friends among them, but these were young men of
nobility.

The longing after my native land at length became irresistible; during
the whole time I had heard nothing from my father, and I therefore
seized a favorable opportunity to return home. There was going an
embassy from France to the Supreme Porte: I agreed to join the train
of the ambassador as surgeon, and soon arrived once more at Stamboul.

My father's dwelling, however, I found closed, and the neighbors,
astonished at seeing me, said that my father had been dead for two
months. The priest, who had instructed me in youth, brought me the
key. Alone and forsaken, I entered the desolate house. I found all as
my father had left it; but the gold which he promised to leave to me,
was missing. I inquired of the priest respecting it, and he bowed and
said:

"Your father died like a holy man, for he left his gold to the
Church!"

This was incomprehensible to me; nevertheless, what could I do? I had
no proofs against the priest, and could only congratulate myself that
he had not also looked upon the house, and wares of my father, in the
light of a legacy. This was the first misfortune that met me; but after
this came one upon another. My reputation as a physician would not
extend itself, because I was ashamed to play the quack; above all, I
missed the recommendation of my father, who had introduced me to the
richest and most respectable families; but now they thought no more of
the poor Zaleukos. Moreover, the wares of my father found no sale, for
his customers had been scattered at his death, and new ones came only
after a long time. One day, as I was reflecting sorrowfully upon my
situation, it occurred to me that in France I had often seen countrymen
of mine, who travelled through the land, and exposed their goods at the
market-places of the cities: I recollected that people gladly purchased
of them, because they came from foreign lands; and that by such a
trade, one could make a hundred-fold. My resolution was forthwith
taken; I sold my paternal dwelling, gave a portion of the money
obtained thereby to a tried friend to preserve for me, and with the
remainder purchased such articles as were rare in France,--shawls,
silken goods, ointments, and oils; for these I hired a place upon a
vessel, and thus began my second voyage to France. It appeared as if
fortune became favorable to me, the moment I had the Straits of the
Dardanelles upon my back. Our voyage was short and prosperous. I
travelled through the cities of France, large and small, and found, in
all, ready purchasers for my goods. My friend in Stamboul continually
sent me fresh supplies, and I became richer from day to day. At last
when I had husbanded so well, that I believed myself able to venture on
some more extensive undertaking, I went with my wares into Italy. I
must, however, mention something that brought me in no little money; I
called my profession also to my assistance. As soon as I arrived in a
city I announced, by means of bills, that a Grecian physician was
there, who had already cured many; and, truly, my balsam, and my
medicines, had brought me in many a zechin.

Thus at last I reached the city of Florence, in Italy. I proposed to
myself to remain longer than usual in this place, partly because it
pleased me so well, partly, moreover, that I might recover from the
fatigues of my journey. I hired myself a shop in the quarter of the
city called St. Croce, and in a tavern not far therefrom, took a
couple of fine rooms which led out upon a balcony. Immediately I had
my bills carried around, which announced me as a physician and
merchant. I had no sooner opened my shop than buyers streamed in upon
me, and although I asked a tolerably high price, still I sold more
than others, because I was attentive and friendly to my customers.

Well satisfied, I had spent four days in Florence, when one evening,
after I had shut my shop, and according to custom was examining my
stock of ointment-boxes, I found, in one of the smaller ones, a letter
which I did not remember to have put in. I opened it and found therein
an invitation to repair that night, punctually at twelve, to the
bridge called the Ponte Vecchio. For some time I reflected upon this,
as to who it could be that had thus invited me; as, however, I knew
not a soul in Florence, I thought, as had often happened already, that
one wished to lead me privately to some sick person. Accordingly I
resolved to go; nevertheless, as a precautionary measure, I put on
the sabre which my father had given me. As it was fast approaching
midnight, I set out upon my way, and soon arrived at the Ponte
Vecchio; I found the bridge forsaken and desolate, and resolved to
wait until it should appear who had addressed me.

It was a cold night; the moon shone clear as I looked down upon the
waters of the Arno, which sparkled in her light. On the church of the
city the twelfth hour was sounding, when I looked up, and before me
stood a tall man, entirely covered with a red cloak, a corner of which
he held before his face. At this sudden apparition I was at first
somewhat startled, but I soon recovered myself and said--

"If you have summoned me hither, tell me, what is your pleasure?"

The Red-mantle turned, and solemnly ejaculated, "Follow!"

My mind was nevertheless somewhat uneasy at the idea of going alone
with this Unknown; I stood still and said, "Not so, dear sir; you will
first tell me whither; moreover, you may show me your face a little,
that I may see whether you have good intentions towards me."

The Stranger, however, appeared not to be concerned thereat. "If thou
wishest it not, Zaleukos, then remain!" answered he, moving away. At
this my anger burned.

"Think you," I cried, "that I will suffer a man to play the fool with
me, and wait here this cold night for nothing?" In three bounds I
reached him; crying still louder, I seized him by the cloak, laying
the other hand upon my sabre; but the mantle remained in my hand, and
the Unknown vanished around the nearest corner. My anger gradually
cooled; I still had the cloak, and this should furnish the key to this
strange adventure. I put it on, and moved towards home. Before I had
taken a hundred steps, somebody passed very near, and whispered in the
French tongue, "Observe, Count, to-night, we can do nothing." Before I
could look around, this somebody had passed, and I saw only a shadow
hovering near the houses. That this exclamation was addressed to the
mantle, and not to me, I plainly perceived; nevertheless, this threw
no light upon the matter. Next morning I considered what was best to
be done. At first I thought of having proclamation made respecting
the cloak, that I had found it; but in that case the Unknown could
send for it by a third person, and I would have no explanation of the
matter. While thus meditating I took a nearer view of the garment. It
was of heavy Genoese velvet, of dark red color, bordered with fur from
Astrachan, and richly embroidered with gold. The gorgeousness of the
cloak suggested to me a plan, which I resolved to put in execution. I
carried it to my shop and offered it for sale, taking care, however,
to set so high a price upon it, that I would be certain to find no
purchaser. My object in this was to fix my eye keenly upon every one
who should come to inquire after it; for the figure of the Unknown,
which, after the loss of the mantle, had been exposed to me distinctly
though transiently, I could recognise out of thousands. Many merchants
came after the cloak, the extraordinary beauty of which drew all eyes
upon it; but none bore the slightest resemblance to the Unknown, none
would give for it the high price of two hundred zechins. It was
surprising to me, that when I asked one and another whether there was
a similar mantle in Florence, all answered in the negative, and
protested that they had never seen such costly and elegant
workmanship.

It was just becoming evening, when at last there came a young man who
had often been in there, and had also that very day bid high for the
mantle; he threw upon the table a bag of zechins, exclaiming--

"By Heaven! Zaleukos, I must have your mantle, should I be made a
beggar by it." Immediately he began to count out his gold pieces. I
was in a great dilemma; I had exposed the mantle, in order thereby to
get a sight of my unknown friend, and now came a young simpleton to
give the unheard-of price. Nevertheless, what remained for me? I
complied, for on the other hand the reflection consoled me, that my
night adventure would be so well rewarded. The young man put on the
cloak and departed; he turned, however, upon the threshold, while he
loosened a paper which was attached to the collar, and threw it
towards me, saying, "Here, Zaleukos, hangs something, that does not
properly belong to my purchase." Indifferently, I received the note;
but lo! these were the contents:--

"This night, at the hour thou knowest, bring the mantle to the Ponte
Vecchio; four hundred zechins await thee!"

I stood as one thunder-struck: thus had I trifled with fortune, and
entirely missed my aim. Nevertheless, I reflected not long; catching
up the two hundred zechins, I bounded to the side of the young man and
said, "Take your zechins again, my good friend, and leave me the
cloak; I cannot possibly part with it."

At first he treated the thing as a jest, but when he saw it was
earnest, he fell in a passion at my presumption, and called me a fool;
and thus at last we came to blows. I was fortunate enough to seize the
mantle in the scuffle, and was already making off with it, when the
young man called the police to his assistance, and had both of us
carried before a court of justice. The magistrate was much astonished
at the accusation, and adjudged the cloak to my opponent. I however,
offered the young man twenty, fifty, eighty, at last a hundred,
zechins, in addition to his two hundred, if he would surrender it to
me. What my entreaties could not accomplish, my gold did. He took my
good zechins, while I went off in triumph with the mantle, obliged to
be satisfied with being taken for a madman by every one in Florence.
Nevertheless, the opinion of the people was a matter of indifference
to me, for I knew better than they, that I would still gain by the
bargain.

With impatience I awaited the night; at the same hour as the preceding
day, I proceeded to the Ponte Vecchio, the mantle under my arm. With
the last stroke of the clock, came the figure out of darkness to my
side: beyond a doubt it was the man of the night before.

"Hast thou the cloak?" I was asked.

"Yes, sir," I replied, "but it cost me a hundred zechins cash."

"I know it," rejoined he; "look, here are four hundred." He moved with
me to the broad railing of the bridge and counted out the gold pieces;
brightly they glimmered in the moonshine, their lustre delighted my
heart--ah! it did not foresee that this was to be its last joy. I put
the money in my pocket, and then wished to get a good view of the
generous stranger, but he had a mask before his face, through which
two dark eyes frightfully beamed upon me.

"I thank you, sir, for your kindness," said I to him; "what further
desire you of me? I told you before, however, that it must be nothing
evil."

"Unnecessary trouble," answered he, throwing the cloak over his
shoulders; "I needed your assistance as a physician, nevertheless not
for a living, but for a dead person."

"How can that be?" exclaimed I in amazement.

"I came with my sister from a distant land," rejoined he, at the same
time motioning me to follow him, "and took up my abode with a friend
of our family. A sudden disease carried off my sister yesterday, and
our relations wished to bury her this morning. According to an old
usage of our family, however, all are to repose in the sepulchre of
our fathers; many who have died in foreign lands, nevertheless sleep
there embalmed. To my relations now I grant the body, but to my father
must I bring at least the head of his daughter, that he may see it
once again."

In this custom of severing the head from near relatives there was to
me, indeed, something awful; nevertheless, I ventured to say nothing
against it, through fear of offending the Unknown. I told him,
therefore, that I was well acquainted with the art of embalming the
dead, and asked him to lead me to the body. Notwithstanding, I could
not keep myself from inquiring why all this must be done so secretly
in the night. He answered me that his relations, who considered his
purpose inhuman, would prevent him from accomplishing it by day; but
only let the head once be cut off, and they could say little more
about it: he could, indeed, have brought the head to me, but a natural
feeling prevented him from cutting it off himself.

These words brought us to a large splendid house; my companion pointed
it out to me as the termination of our nocturnal walk. We passed the
principal door, and entering a small gate, which the stranger
carefully closed after him, ascended, in the dark, a narrow, winding
staircase. This brought us to a dimly-lighted corridor, from which we
entered an apartment; a lamp, suspended from the ceiling, shed its
brilliant rays around.

In this chamber stood a bed, on which lay the corpse; the Unknown
turned away his face, as if wishing to conceal his tears. He beckoned
me to the bed, and bidding me set about my business speedily yet
carefully, went out by the door.

I seized my knives, which, as a physician, I constantly carried with
me, and approached the bed. Only the head of the corpse was visible,
but that was so beautiful that the deepest compassion involuntarily
came over me. In long braids the dark hair hung down; the face was
pale, the eyes closed. At first, I made an incision in the skin,
according to the practice of surgeons when they remove a limb. Then I
took my sharpest knife and cut entirely through the throat. But,
horror! the dead opened her eyes--shut them again--and in a deep sigh
seemed now, for the first time, to breathe forth her life! Straightway
a stream of hot blood sprang forth from the wound. I was convinced
that I had killed the poor girl; for that she was dead there could be
no doubt--from such a wound there was no chance of recovering. I stood
some moments in anxious wo, thinking on what had happened. Had the
Red-mantle deceived me, or was his sister, perhaps, only apparently
dead? The latter appeared to me more probable. Yet I dared not tell
the brother of the deceased, that, perhaps, a less rash blow would
have aroused, without having killed her; therefore I began to sever
the head entirely--but once again the dying one groaned, stretched
herself out in a convulsion of pain, and breathed her last. Then
terror overpowered me, and I rushed shivering out of the apartment.

But outside in the corridor it was dark, for the lamp had died out; no
trace of my companion was perceptible, and I was obliged to move along
by the wall, at hazard in the dark, in order to reach the
winding-stairs. I found them at last, and descended, half falling,
half gliding. There was no one below; the door was only latched, and I
breathed more freely when I was in the street, out of the uneasy
atmosphere of the house. Spurred on by fear, I ran to my dwelling, and
buried myself in the pillow of my bed, in order to forget the horrid
crime I had committed. But sleep fled my eyelids, and soon morning
admonished me again to collect myself. It seemed probable to me, that
the man who had led me to this villainous deed, as it now appeared to
me, would not denounce me. I immediately resolved to attend to my
business in my shop, and to put on as careless an air as possible.
But, alas! a new misfortune, which I now for the first time observed,
augmented my sorrow. My cap and girdle, as also my knives, were
missing; and I knew not whether they had been left in the chamber of
the dead, or lost during my flight. Alas! the former seemed more
probable, and they could discover in me the murderer.

I opened my shop at the usual time; a neighbor stepped in, as was his
custom, being a communicative man. "Ah! what say you to the horrid
deed," he cried, "that was committed last night?" I started as if I
knew nothing. "How! know you not that with which the whole city is
filled? Know you not that last night, the fairest flower in Florence,
Bianca, the daughter of the Governor, was murdered? Ah! only yesterday
I saw her walking happily through the streets with her bridegroom, for
to-day she would have had her nuptial festival!"

Every word of my neighbor was a dagger to my heart; and how often
returned my torments! for each of my customers told me the story, one
more frightfully than another; yet not one could tell it half so
horribly as it had seemed to me. About mid-day, an officer of justice
unexpectedly walked into my shop, and asked me to clear it of the
bystanders.

"Signor Zaleukos," said he, showing me the articles I had lost,
"belong these things to you?" I reflected whether I should not
entirely disown them; but when I saw through the half-opened door, my
landlord and several acquaintances, who could readily testify against
me, I determined not to make the matter worse by a falsehood, and
acknowledged the articles exhibited as my own. The officer told me to
follow him, and conducted me to a spacious building, which I soon
recognised as the prison. Then, a little farther on, he showed me into
an apartment.

My situation was terrible, as I reflected on it in my solitude. The
thought of having committed a murder, even against my wish, returned
again and again. Moreover, I could not conceal from myself that the
glance of the gold had dazzled my senses; otherwise I would not have
fallen so blindly into the snare.

Two hours after my arrest, I was led from my chamber, and after
descending several flights of stairs, entered a spacious saloon.
Around a long table hung with black, were seated twelve men, mostly
gray with age. Along the side of the room, benches were arranged, on
which were seated the first people of Florence. In the gallery, which
was built quite high, stood the spectators, closely crowded together.
As soon as I reached the black table, a man with a gloomy, sorrowful
air arose--it was the Governor. He told the audience that, as a
father, he could not judge impartially in this matter, and that he,
for this occasion, would surrender his seat to the oldest of the
senators. The latter was a gray-headed man, of at least ninety years.
He arose, stooping beneath the weight of age; his temples were covered
with thin white hair, but his eyes still burned brightly, and his
voice was strong and steady. He began by asking me whether I confessed
the murder. I entreated his attention, and with dauntless, distinct
voice, related what I had done and all that I knew. I observed that
the Governor during my recital turned first pale, then red, and when I
concluded, became furious. "How, wretch!" he cried out to me,
"wishest thou thus to lay upon another, the crime thy avarice has
committed?"

The Senator rebuked him for his interruption, after having of his own
free will resigned his right; moreover, that it was not so clear, that
I had done the deed through avarice, for according to his own
testimony, nothing had been taken from the corpse. Yes, he went still
further; he told the Governor that he must give an account of his
daughter's early life, for in this way only could one conclude whether
I had told the truth or not. Immediately he closed the court for that
day, for the purpose, as he said, of consulting the papers of the
deceased, which the Governor was to give him. I was carried back to my
prison, where I passed a sorrowful day, constantly occupied with the
ardent hope, that they would in some way discover the connection
between the deceased and the Red-mantle.

Full of hope, I proceeded the next day to the justice-hall. Several
letters lay upon the table; the old Senator asked whether they were of
my writing. I looked at them, and found that they were by the same
hand as both the letters that I had received. This I disclosed to the
Senator; but he seemed to give but little weight to it, answering that
I must have written both, for the name subscribed was unquestionably a
Z, the initial of my name. The letters, however, contained menaces
against the deceased, and warnings against the marriage which she was
on the point of consummating. The Governor seemed to have imparted
something strange and untrue, with respect to my person; for I was
treated this day with more suspicion and severity. For my
justification, I appealed to the papers, which would be found in my
room, but I was informed that search had been made and nothing found.
Thus, at the close of the court, vanished all my hope; and when, on
the third day, I was led again to the hall, the judgment was read
aloud, that I was convicted of a premeditated murder, and sentenced to
death. To such extremity had I come; forsaken by all that was dear to
me on earth, far from my native land, innocent and in the bloom of my
years, I was to die by the axe!

On the evening of this terrible day which had decided my fate, I was
seated in my lonely dungeon, my hopes past, my thoughts seriously
turned upon death, when the door of my prison opened, and a man
entered who regarded me long in silence.

"Do I see you again, in this situation, Zaleukos?" he began. By the
dim light of my lamp I had not recognised him, but the sound of his
voice awoke within me old recollections. It was Valetty, one of the
few friends I had made during my studies at Paris. He said that he had
casually come to Florence, where his father, a distinguished man,
resided; he had heard of my story, and come to see me once more, to
inquire with his own lips, how I could have been guilty of such an
awful crime. I told him the whole history: he seemed lost in wonder,
and conjured me to tell him, my only friend, all the truth, and not to
depart with a lie upon my tongue. I swore to him with the most solemn
oath, that I had spoken the truth; and that no other guilt could be
attached to me, than that, having been blinded by the glance of the
gold, I had not seen the improbability of the Stranger's story. "Then
did you not know Bianca?" asked he. I assured him that I had never
seen her. Valetty thereupon told me that there was a deep mystery in
the matter; that the Governor in great haste had urged my
condemnation, and that a report was current among the people, that I
had known Bianca for a long time, and had murdered her out of revenge
for her intended marriage with another. I informed him that all this
was probably true of the Red-mantle, but that I could not prove his
participation in the deed. Valetty embraced me, weeping, and promised
me to do all that he could; to save my life, if nothing more. I had
not much hope; nevertheless, I knew that my friend was a wise man, and
well acquainted with the laws, and that he would do all in his power
to preserve me.

Two long days was I in suspense; at length Valetty appeared. "I bring
consolation, though even that is attended with sorrow. You shall live
and be free, but with the loss of a hand!"

Overjoyed, I thanked my friend for my life. He told me that the
Governor had been inexorable, and would not once look into the matter:
that at length, however, rather than appear unjust, he had agreed, if
a similar case could be found in the annals of Florentine history,
that my penalty should be regulated by the punishment that was then
inflicted. He and his father had searched, day and night, in the old
books, and had at length found a case similar in every respect to
mine; the sentence there ran thus:--

"He shall have his left hand cut off; his goods shall be confiscated,
and he himself banished forever!"

Such now was my sentence, also, and I was to prepare for the painful
hour that awaited me. I will not bring before your eyes the frightful
moment, in which, at the open market-place, I laid my hand upon the
block; in which my own blood in thick streams flowed over me!

Valetty took me to his house until I had recovered, and then
generously supplied me with money for my journey, for all that I had
so laboriously acquired was confiscated to Justice. I went from
Florence to Sicily, and thence, by the first ship I could find, to
Constantinople. My hopes, which rested on the sum of money I had left
with my friend, were not disappointed. I proposed that I should live
with him--how astonished was I, when he asked why I occupied not my
own house! He told me that a strange man had, in my name, bought a
house in the quarter of the Greeks, and told the neighbors that I
would soon, myself, return. I immediately proceeded to it with my
friend, and was joyfully received by all my old acquaintances. An aged
merchant handed me a letter which the man who purchased for me had
left. I read:--

"Zaleukos! two hands stand ready to work unceasingly, that thou mayest
not feel the loss of one. That house which thou seest and all therein
are thine, and every year shalt thou receive so much, that thou shalt
be among the rich of thy nation. Mayest thou forgive one who is more
unhappy than thyself!"

I could guess who was the writer, and the merchant told me, in answer
to my inquiry that it was a man covered with a red cloak, whom he had
taken for a Frenchman. I knew enough to convince me that the Unknown
was not entirely devoid of generous feeling. In my new house I found
all arranged in the best style; a shop, moreover, full of wares, finer
than any I had ever had. Ten years have elapsed since then; more in
compliance with ancient custom, than because it is necessary, do I
continue to travel in foreign lands for purposes of trade, but the
land which was so fatal to me I have never seen since. Every year I
receive a thousand pieces of gold; but although it rejoices me to know
that this Unfortunate is so noble, still can his money never remove wo
from my soul, for there lives forever the heart-rending image of the
murdered Bianca!





Thus ended the story of Zaleukos, the Grecian merchant. With great
interest had the others listened; the stranger, in particular, seemed
to be wrapt up in it: more than once he had drawn a deep sigh, and
Muley looked as if he had had tears in his eyes. No one spoke for some
time after the recital.

"And hate you not the Unknown, who so basely cost you a noble member
of your body, and even put your life in danger?" inquired Selim.

"Perhaps there were hours at first," answered the Greek, "in which my
heart accused him before God, of having brought this misfortune upon
me, and embittered my life; but I found consolation in the religion of
my fathers, which commanded me to love my enemies. Moreover, he
probably is more unhappy than myself."

"You are a noble man!" exclaimed Selim, cordially pressing the hand of
the Greek.

The leader of the escort, however, here interrupted their
conversation. He came with a troubled air into the tent, and told them
that they could not give themselves up to repose, for this was the
place in which Caravans were usually attacked, and his guards imagined
they had seen several horsemen in the distance.

The merchants were confounded at this intelligence. Selim, the
stranger, however, expressed wonder at their alarm, saying they were
so well escorted they need not fear a troop of Arabian robbers.

"Yes, sir," rejoined to him the leader of the guard; "were he only a
common outlaw, we could compose ourselves to rest without anxiety; but
for some time back, the frightful Orbasan has shown himself again, and
it is well to be upon our guard."

The stranger inquired who this Orbasan was, and Achmet, the old
merchant, answered him:--

"Various rumors are current among the people with respect to this
wonderful man. Some hold him to be a supernatural being, because, with
only five or six men, he has frequently fallen upon a whole
encampment; others regard him as a bold Frenchman, whom misfortune has
driven into this region: out of all this, however, thus much alone is
certain, that he is an abandoned robber and highwayman."

"That can you not prove," answered Lezah, one of the merchants.
"Robber as he is, he is still a noble man, and such has he shown
himself to my brother, as I can relate to you. He has formed his
whole band of well-disciplined men, and as long as he marches through
the desert, no other band ventures to show itself. Moreover, he robs
not as others, but only exacts a tribute from the caravans; whoever
willingly pays this, proceeds without further danger, for Orbasan is
lord of the wilderness!"

Thus did the travellers converse together in the tent; the guards,
however, who were stationed around the resting-place, began to become
uneasy. A tolerably large band of armed horsemen showed themselves at
the distance of half a league. They appeared to be riding straight to
the encampment; one of the guard came into the tent, to inform them
that they would probably be attacked.



The merchants consulted among themselves as to what they should do,
whether to march against them, or await the attack. Achmet and the two
elder merchants inclined to the latter course; the fiery Muley,
however, and Zaleukos desired the former, and summoned the stranger to
their assistance. He, however, quietly drew forth from his girdle a
little blue cloth spangled with red stars, bound it upon a lance,
and commanded one of the slaves to plant it in front of the tent: he
would venture his life upon it, he said, that the horsemen, when they
saw this signal, would quietly march back again. Muley trusted not the
result; still the slave put out the lance in front of the tent.
Meanwhile all in the camp had seized their weapons, and were looking
upon the horsemen in eager expectation. The latter, however, appeared
to have espied the signal; they suddenly swerved from their direct
course towards the encampment, and, in a large circle, moved off to
the side.

Struck with wonder, the travellers stood some moments, gazing
alternately at the horsemen and the stranger. The latter stood in
front of the tent quite indifferently, as though nothing had happened,
looking upon the plain before him. At last Muley broke the silence.

"Who art thou, mighty stranger," he exclaimed, "that restrainest with
a glance the wild hordes of the desert?"

"You rate my art higher than it deserves," answered Selim Baruch. "I
observed this signal when I fled from captivity; what it means, I know
not--only this much I know, that whoever travels with this sign, is
under great protection."

The merchants thanked the stranger, and called him their preserver;
indeed, the number of the robbers was so great, that the Caravan could
not, probably, for any length of time, have offered an effectual
resistance.

With lighter hearts they now gave themselves to sleep; and when the
sun began to sink, and the evening wind to pass over the sand-plain,
they struck their tents, and marched on. The next day they halted
safely, only one day's journey from the entrance of the desert. When
the travellers had once more collected in the large tent, Lezah, the
merchant, took up the discourse.

"I told you, yesterday, that the dreaded Orbasan was a noble man;
permit me to prove it to you, to-day, by the relation of my brother's
adventure. My father was Cadi of Acara. He had three children; I was
the eldest, my brother and sister being much younger than myself. When
I was twenty years old, a brother of my father took me under his
protection; he made me heir to his property, on condition that I
should remain with him until his death. He however had reached an old
age, so that before two years I returned to my native land, having
known nothing, before, of the misfortune which had meanwhile fallen
upon my family, and how Allah had turned it to advantage."






FATIMA'S DELIVERANCE.


My brother Mustapha and my sister Fatima were almost of the same age;
the former was at most but two years older. They loved each other
fervently, and did in concert, all that could lighten, for our
suffering father, the burden of his old age. On Fatima's seventeenth
birthday, my brother prepared a festival. He invited all her
companions, and set before them a choice banquet in the gardens of
our father, and, towards evening, proposed to them to take a little
sail upon the sea, in a boat which he had hired, and adorned in grand
style. Fatima and her companions agreed with joy, for the evening was
fine, and the city, particularly when viewed by evening from the sea,
promised a magnificent prospect. The girls, however, were so well
pleased upon the bark, that they continually entreated my brother to
go farther out upon the sea. Mustapha, however, yielded reluctantly,
because a Corsair had been seen, for several days back, in that
vicinity.

Not far from the city, a promontory projected into the sea; thither
the maidens were anxious to go, in order to see the sun sink into the
water. Having rowed thither, they beheld a boat occupied by armed men.
Anticipating no good, my brother commanded the oarsmen to turn the
vessel, and make for land. His apprehensions seemed, indeed, to be
confirmed, for the boat quickly approached that of my brother, and
getting ahead of it, (for it had more rowers,) ran between it and the
land. The young girls, moreover, when they knew the danger to which
they were exposed, sprang up with cries and lamentations: in vain
Mustapha sought to quiet them, in vain enjoined upon them to be still,
lest their running to and fro should upset the vessel. It was of no
avail; and when, in consequence of the proximity of the other boat,
all ran upon the further side, it was upset.

Meanwhile, they had observed from the land the approach of the strange
boat, and, inasmuch as, for some time back, they had been in anxiety
on account of Corsairs, their suspicions were excited, and several
boats put off from the land to their assistance: but they only came in
time to pick up the drowning. In the confusion, the hostile boat
escaped. In both barks, however, which had taken in those who were
preserved, they were uncertain whether all had been saved. They
approached each other, and, alas! found that my sister and one of her
companions were missing; at the same time, in their number a stranger
was discovered, who was known to none. In answer to Mustapha's
threats, he confessed that he belonged to the hostile ship, which was
lying at anchor two miles to the eastward, and that his companions had
left him behind in their hasty flight, while he was engaged in
assisting to pick up the maidens; moreover, he said he had seen two
taken on board their boat.

The grief of my old father was without bounds, but Mustapha also was
afflicted unto death, for not only had his beloved sister been lost,
and did he accuse himself of having been the cause of her misfortune,
but, also, her companion who had shared it with her, had been promised
to him by her parents as his wife; still had he not dared to avow it
to our father, because her family was poor, and of low descent. My
father, however, was a stern man; as soon as his sorrow had subsided a
little, he called Mustapha before him, and thus spake to him:--

"Thy folly has deprived me of the consolation of my old age, and the
joy of my eyes. Go! I banish thee forever from my sight! I curse thee
and thine offspring--and only when thou shalt restore to me my Fatima,
shall thy head be entirely free from a father's execrations!"

This my poor brother had not expected; already, before this, he had
determined to go in search of his sister and her friend, after having
asked the blessing of his father upon his efforts, and now that father
had sent him forth into the world, laden with his curse. As, however,
his former grief had bowed him down, so this consummation of
misfortune, which he had not deserved, tended to steel his mind. He
went to the imprisoned pirate, and, demanding whither the ship was
bound, learned that she carried on a trade in slaves, and usually had
a great sale thereof in Balsora.

On his return to the house, in order to prepare for his journey, the
anger of his father seemed to have subsided a little, for he sent him
a purse full of gold, to support him during his travels. Mustapha,
thereupon, in tears took leave of the parents of Zoraida, (for so his
affianced was called,) and set out upon the route to Balsora.

Mustapha travelled by land, because from our little city there was no
ship that went direct to Balsora. He was obliged, therefore, to use
all expedition, in order not to arrive too long after the sea-robbers.
Having a good horse and no luggage, he hoped to reach this city by the
end of the sixth day. On the evening of the fourth, however, as he
was riding all alone upon his way, three men came suddenly upon him.
Having observed that they were well-armed and powerful men, and sought
his money and his horse, rather than his life, he cried out that he
would yield himself to them. They dismounted, and tied his feet
together under his horse; then they placed him in their midst, and,
without a word spoken, trotted quickly away with him; one of them
having seized his bridle.

Mustapha gave himself up to a feeling of gloomy despair; the curse of
his father seemed already to be undergoing its accomplishment on the
unfortunate one, and how could he hope to save his sister and Zoraida,
should he, robbed of all his means, even be able to devote his poor
life to their deliverance? Mustapha and his silent companions might
have ridden about an hour, when they entered a little valley. The vale
was enclosed by lofty trees; a soft, dark-green turf, and a stream
which ran swiftly through its midst, invited to repose. In this place
were pitched from fifteen to twenty tents, to the stakes of which were
fastened camels and fine horses: from one of these tents distinctly
sounded the melody of a guitar, blended with two fine manly voices. It
seemed to my brother as if people who had chosen so blithesome a
resting-place, could have no evil intentions towards himself; and
accordingly, without apprehension, he obeyed the summons of his
conductors, who had unbound his feet, and made signs to him to follow.
They led him into a tent which was larger than the rest, and on the
inside was magnificently fitted up. Splendid cushions embroidered with
gold, woven carpets, gilded censers, would elsewhere have bespoken
opulence and respectability, but here seemed only the booty of a
robber band. Upon one of the cushions an old and small-sized man was
reclining: his countenance was ugly; a dark-brown and shining skin, a
disgusting expression around his eyes, and a mouth of malicious
cunning, combined to render his whole appearance odious. Although this
man sought to put on a commanding air, still Mustapha soon perceived
that not for him was the tent so richly adorned, and the conversation
of his conductors seemed to confirm him in his opinion.

"Where is the Mighty?" inquired they of the little man.

"He is out upon a short hunt," was the answer; "but he has
commissioned me to attend to his affairs."

"That has he not wisely done," rejoined one of the robbers; "for it
must soon be determined whether this dog is to die or be ransomed, and
that the Mighty knows better than thou."

Being very sensitive in all that related to his usurped dignity, the
little man, raising himself, stretched forward in order to reach the
other's ear with the extremity of his hand, for he seemed desirous of
revenging himself by a blow; but when he saw that his attempt was
fruitless, he set about abusing him (and indeed the others did not
remain much in his debt) to such a degree, that the tent resounded
with their strife. Thereupon, of a sudden, the tent-door opened, and
in walked a tall, stately man, young and handsome as a Persian prince.
His garments and weapons, with the exception of a richly-mounted
poniard and gleaming sabre, were plain and simple; his serious eye,
however, and his whole appearance, demanded respect without exciting
fear.

"Who is it that dares to engage in strife within my tent?" exclaimed
he, as they started back aghast. For a long time deep stillness
prevailed, till at last one of those who had captured Mustapha,
related to him how it had begun. Thereupon the countenance of "the
Mighty," as they had called him, seemed to grow red with passion.

"When would I have placed thee, Hassan, over my concerns?" he cried,
in frightful accents, to the little man. The latter, in his fear,
shrunk until he seemed even smaller than before, and crept towards the
door of the tent. One step of the Mighty was sufficient to send him
through the entrance with a long singular bound. As soon as the little
man had vanished, the three led Mustapha before the master of the
tent, who had meanwhile reclined upon the cushion.

"Here bring we thee him, whom thou commandedst us to take." He
regarded the prisoner for some time, and then said, "Bashaw of
Sulieika, thine own conscience will tell thee why thou standest before
Orbasan." When my brother heard this, he bowed low and answered:--

"My lord, you appear to labor under a mistake; I am a poor
unfortunate, not the Bashaw, whom you seek." At this all were amazed;
the master of the tent, however, said:--

"Dissimulation can help you little, for I will summon the people who
know you well." He commanded them to bring in Zuleima. An old woman
was led into the tent, who, on being asked whether in my brother she
recognised the Bashaw of Sulieika, answered:--

"Yes, verily! And I swear by the grave of the Prophet, it is the
Bashaw, and no other!"

"Seest thou, wretch, that thy dissimulation has become as water?"
cried out the Mighty in a furious tone. "Thou art too pitiful for me
to stain my good dagger with thy blood, but to-morrow, when the sun is
up, will I bind thee to the tail of my horse, and gallop with thee
through the woods, until they separate behind the hills of Sulieika!"
Then sank my poor brother's courage within him.

"It is my cruel father's curse, that urges me to an ignominious
death," exclaimed he, weeping; "and thou, too, art lost, sweet
sister, and thou, Zoraida!"

"Thy dissimulation helps thee not," said one of the robbers, as he
bound his hands behind his back. "Come, out of the tent with thee! for
the Mighty is biting his lips, and feeling for his dagger. If thou
wouldst live another night, bestir thyself!"

Just as the robbers were leading my brother from the tent, they met
three of their companions, who were also pushing a captive before
them. They entered with him. "Here bring we the Bashaw, as thou hast
commanded," said they, conducting the prisoner before the cushion of
the Mighty. While they were so doing, my brother had an opportunity of
examining him, and was struck with surprise at the remarkable
resemblance which this man bore to himself; the only difference being,
that he was of more gloomy aspect, and had a black beard. The Mighty
seemed much astonished at the resemblance of the two captives.

"Which of you is the right one?" he asked, looking alternately at
Mustapha and the other.

"If thou meanest the Bashaw of Sulieika," answered the latter in a
haughty tone, "I am he!"

The Mighty regarded him for a long time with his grave, terrible eye,
and then silently motioned to them to lead him off. This having been
done, he approached my brother, severed his bonds with his dagger, and
invited him by signs to sit upon the cushion beside him. "It grieves
me, stranger," he said, "that I took you for this villain. It has
happened, however, by some mysterious interposition of Providence,
which placed you in the hands of my companions, at the very hour in
which the destruction of this wretch was ordained."

Mustapha, thereupon, entreated him only for permission to pursue his
journey immediately, for this delay might cost him much. The Mighty
asked what business it could be that required such haste, and, when
Mustapha had told him all, he persuaded him to spend that night in his
tent, and allow his horse some rest; and promised the next morning to
show him a route which would bring him to Balsora in a day and a half.
My brother consented, was sumptuously entertained, and slept soundly
till morning in the robber's tent.

Upon awaking, he found himself all alone in the tent, but, before the
entrance, heard several voices in conversation, which seemed to belong
to the swarthy little man and the bandit-chief. He listened awhile,
and to his horror heard the little man eagerly urging the other to
slay the stranger, since, if he were let go, he could betray them all.
Mustapha immediately perceived that the little man hated him, for
having been the cause of his rough treatment the day before. The
Mighty seemed to be reflecting a moment.

"No," said he; "he is my guest, and the laws of hospitality are with
me sacred: moreover, he does not look like one that would betray us."

Having thus spoken, he threw back the tent-cover, and walked in.
"Peace be with thee, Mustapha!" he said: "let us taste the
morning-drink, and then prepare thyself for thy journey." He offered
my brother a cup of sherbet, and after they had drunk, they saddled
their horses, and Mustapha mounted, with a lighter heart, indeed, than
when he entered the vale. They had soon turned their backs upon the
tents, and took a broad path, which led into the forest. The Mighty
informed my brother, that this Bashaw whom they had captured in the
chase, had promised them that they should remain undisturbed within
his jurisdiction; but some weeks before, he had taken one of their
bravest men, and had him hung, after the most terrible tortures. He
had waited for him a long time, and to-day he must die. Mustapha
ventured not to say a word in opposition, for he was glad to have
escaped himself with a whole skin.

At the entrance of the forest, the Mighty checked his horse, showed
Mustapha the way, and gave him his hand with these words: "Mustapha,
thou becamest in a strange way the guest of the robber Orbasan. I will
not ask thee not to betray what thou hast seen and heard. Thou hast
unjustly endured the pains of death, and I owe thee a recompense. Take
this dagger as a remembrance, and when thou hast need of help, send it
to me, and I will hasten to thy assistance. This purse thou wilt
perhaps need upon thy journey."

My brother thanked him for his generosity; he took the dagger, but
refused the purse. Orbasan, however, pressed once again his hand, let
the money fall to the ground, and galloped with the speed of the wind
into the forest. Mustapha, seeing that he could not overtake him,
dismounted to secure the purse, and was astonished at the great
magnanimity of his host, for it contained a large sum of gold. He
thanked Allah for his deliverance, commended the generous robber to
his mercy, and again started, with fresh courage, upon the route to
Balsora.



Lezah paused, and looked inquiringly at Achmet, the old merchant.

"No! if it be so," said the latter, "then will I gladly correct my
opinion of Orbasan; for indeed he acted nobly towards thy brother."

"He behaved like a brave Mussulman," exclaimed Muley; "but I hope thou
hast not here finished thy story, for, as it seems to me, we are all
eager to hear still further, how it went with thy brother, and whether
he succeeded in rescuing thy sister and the fair Zoraida."

"I will willingly proceed," rejoined Lezah, "if it be not tiresome to
you; for my brother's history is, throughout, full of the most
wonderful adventures."



About the middle of the seventh day after his departure, Mustapha
entered the gate of Balsora. As soon as he had arrived at a
caravansery, he inquired whether the slave-market, which was held here
every year, had opened; but received the startling answer, that he had
come two days too late. His informer deplored his tardiness, telling
him that on the last day of the market, two female slaves had arrived,
of such great beauty as to attract to themselves the eyes of all the
merchants.

He inquired more particularly as to their appearance, and there was no
doubt in his mind, that they were the unfortunate ones of whom he was
in search. Moreover, he learned that the man who had purchased them
both, was called Thiuli-Kos, and lived forty leagues from Balsora, an
illustrious and wealthy, but quite old man, who had been in his early
years Capudan-Bashaw of the Sultan, but had now settled down into
private life with the riches he had acquired.

Mustapha was, at first, on the point of remounting his horse with all
possible speed, in order to overtake Thiuli-Kos, who could scarcely
have had a day's start; but when he reflected that, as a single man,
he could not prevail against the powerful traveller, could still less
rescue from him his prey, he set about reflecting for another plan,
and soon hit upon one. His resemblance to the Bashaw of Sulieika,
which had almost been fatal to him, suggested to him the thought of
going to the house of Thiuli-Kos under this name, and, in that way,
making an attempt for the deliverance of the two unfortunate maidens.
Accordingly he hired attendants and horses, in which the money of
Orbasan opportunely came to his assistance, furnished himself and his
servants with splendid garments, and set out in the direction of
Thiuli's castle. After five days he arrived in its vicinity. It was
situated in a beautiful plain, and was surrounded on all sides by
lofty walls, which were but slightly overtopped by the structure
itself. When Mustapha had arrived quite near, he dyed his hair and
beard black, and stained his face with the juice of a plant, which
gave it a brownish color, exactly similar to that of the Bashaw. From
this place he sent forward one of his attendants to the castle, and
bade him ask a night's lodging, in the name of the Bashaw of
Sulieika. The servant soon returned in company with four
finely-attired slaves, who took Mustapha's horse by the bridle, and
led him into the court-yard. There they assisted him to dismount, and
four others escorted him up a wide marble staircase, into the presence
of Thiuli.

The latter personage, an old, robust man, received my brother
respectfully, and had set before him the best that his castle could
afford. After the meal, Mustapha gradually turned the conversation
upon the new slaves; whereupon, Thiuli praised their beauty, but
expressed regret because they were so sorrowful; nevertheless he
believed that would go over after a time. My brother was much
delighted at his reception, and, with hope beating high in his bosom,
lay down to rest.

He might, perhaps, have been sleeping an hour, when he was awakened by
the rays of a lamp, which fell dazzlingly upon his eyes. When he had
raised himself up, he believed himself dreaming, for there before him
stood the very same little, swarthy fellow of Orbasan's tent, a lamp
in his hand, his wide mouth distended with a disgusting laugh.
Mustapha pinched himself in the arm, and pulled his nose, in order to
see if he were really awake, but the figure remained as before.

"What wishest thou by my bed?" exclaimed Mustapha, recovering from his
amazement.

"Do not disquiet yourself so much, my friend," answered the little
man. "I made a good guess as to the motive that brought you hither.
Although your worthy countenance was still well remembered by me,
nevertheless, had I not with my own hand assisted to hang the Bashaw,
you might, perhaps, have deceived even me. Now, however, I am here to
propose a question."

"First of all, tell me why you came hither," interrupted Mustapha,
full of resentment at finding himself detected.

"That I will explain to you," rejoined the other: "I could not put up
with the Mighty any longer, and therefore ran away; but you, Mustapha,
were properly the cause of our quarrel, and so you must give me your
sister to wife, and I will help you in your flight; give her not, and
I will go to my new master, and tell him something of our new Bashaw."

Mustapha was beside himself with fear and anger; at the very moment
when he thought he had arrived at the happy accomplishment of his
wishes, must this wretch come, and frustrate them all! It was the only
way to carry his plan into execution--he must slay the little monster:
with one bound, he sprang from the bed upon him; but the other, who
might perhaps have anticipated something of the kind, let the lamp
fall, which was immediately extinguished, and rushed forth in the
dark, crying vehemently for help.

Now was the time for decisive action; the maids he was obliged, for
the moment, to abandon, and attend only to his own safety:
accordingly, he approached the window, to see if he could not spring
from it. It was a tolerable distance from the ground, and on the other
side stood a lofty wall, which he would have to surmount. Reflecting,
he stood by the window until he heard many voices approaching his
chamber: already were they at the door, when seizing desperately his
dagger, and garments, he let himself down from the window. The fall
was hard, but he felt that no bone was broken; immediately he sprang
up, and ran to the wall which surrounded the court. This, to the
astonishment of his pursuers, he mounted, and soon found himself at
liberty. He ran on until he came to a little forest, where he sank
down exhausted. Here he reflected on what was to be done; his horses
and attendants he was obliged to leave behind, but the money, which he
had placed in his girdle, he had saved.

His inventive genius, however, soon pointed him to another means of
deliverance. He walked through the wood until he arrived at a village,
where for a small sum he purchased a horse, with the help of which, in
a short time, he reached a city. There he inquired for a physician,
and was directed to an old experienced man. On this one he prevailed,
by a few gold pieces, to furnish him with a medicine to produce a
death-like sleep, which, by means of another, might be instantaneously
removed. Having obtained this, he purchased a long false beard, a
black gown, and various boxes and retorts, so that he could readily
pass for a travelling physician; these articles he placed upon an ass,
and rode back to the castle of Thiuli-Kos. He was certain, this time,
of not being recognised, for the beard disfigured him so that he
scarcely knew himself.

Arrived in the vicinity of the castle, he announced himself as the
physician Chakamankabudibaba, and matters turned out as he had
expected. The splendor of the name procured him extraordinary favor
with the old fool, who invited him to table. Chakamankabudibaba
appeared before Thiuli, and, having conversed with him scarcely an
hour, the old man resolved that all his female slaves should submit to
the examination of the wise physician. The latter could scarcely
conceal his joy at the idea of once more beholding his beloved sister,
and with palpitating heart followed Thiuli, who conducted him to his
seraglio. They reached an unoccupied room, which was beautifully
furnished.

"Chambaba, or whatever thou mayest be called, my good physician," said
Thiuli-Kos, "look once at that hole in the wall; thence shall each of
my slaves stretch forth her arm, and thou canst feel whether the pulse
betoken sickness or health."

Answer as he might, Mustapha could not arrange it so that he might see
them; nevertheless, Thiuli agreed to tell him, each time, the usual
health of the one he was examining. Thiuli drew forth a long list from
his girdle, and began, with loud voice, to call out, one by one, the
names of his slaves; whereupon, each time, a hand came forth from the
wall, and the physician felt the pulse. Six had been read off, and
declared entirely well, when Thiuli, for the seventh called Fatima,
and a small white hand slipped forth from the wall. Trembling with
joy, Mustapha grasped it, and with an important air pronounced her
seriously ill. Thiuli became very anxious, and commanded his wise
Chakamankabudibaba straightway to prescribe some medicine for her. The
physician left the room, and wrote a little scroll:

"Fatima, I will preserve thee, if thou canst make up thy mind to take
a draught, which for two days will make thee dead; nevertheless, I
possess the means of restoring thee to life. If thou wilt, then only
return answer, that this liquid has been of no assistance, and it will
be to me a token that thou agreest."

In a moment he returned to the room, where Thiuli had remained. He
brought with him an innocent drink, felt the pulse of the sick Fatima
once more, pushed the note beneath her bracelet, and then handed her
the liquid through the opening in the wall. Thiuli seemed to be in
great anxiety on Fatima's account, and postponed the examination of
the rest to a more fitting opportunity. As he left the room with
Mustapha, he addressed him in sorrowful accents:

"Chadibaba, tell me plainly, what thinkest thou of Fatima's illness?"

My brother answered with a deep sigh: "Ah, sir, may the Prophet give
you consolation! she has a slow fever, which may, perhaps, cost her
life!"

Then burned Thiuli's anger: "What sayest thou, cursed dog of a
physician? She, for whom I gave two thousand gold pieces--shall she
die like a cow? Know, if thou preservest her not, I will chop off
thine head!"

My brother immediately saw that he had made a misstep, and again
inspired Thiuli with hope. While they were yet conversing, a black
slave came from the seraglio to tell the physician, that the drink had
been of no assistance.

"Put forth all thy skill, Chakamdababelda, or whatever thy name may
be; I will pay thee what thou askest!" cried out Thiuli-Kos, well-nigh
howling with sorrow, at the idea of losing so much gold.

"I will give her a potion, which will put her out of all danger,"
answered the physician.

"Yes, yes!--give it her," sobbed the old Thiuli.

With joyful heart Mustapha went to bring his soporific, and having
given it to the black slave, and shown him how much it was necessary
to take for a dose, he went to Thiuli, and, telling him he must
procure some medicinal herbs from the sea, hastened through the gate.
On the shore, which was not far from the castle, he removed his false
garments, and cast them into the water, where they floated merrily
around; concealing himself, however, in a thicket, he awaited the
night, and then stole softly to the burying-place of Thiuli's castle.

Hardly an hour had Mustapha been absent, when they brought Thiuli the
intelligence that his slave Fatima was in the agonies of death. He
sent them to the sea-coast to bring the physician back with all speed,
but his messengers returned alone, with the news that the poor
physician had fallen into the water, and was drowned; that they had
espied his black gown floating upon the surface, and that now and then
his large beard peeped forth from amid the billows. Thiuli seeing now
no help, cursed himself and the whole world; plucked his beard, and
dashed his head against the wall. But all this was of no use, for soon
Fatima gave up the ghost, in the arms of her companions. When the
unfortunate man heard the news of her death, he commanded them quickly
to make a coffin, for he could not tolerate a dead person in his
house; and bade them bear forth the corpse to the place of burial. The
carriers brought in the coffin, but quickly set it down and fled, for
they heard sighs and sobs among the other piles.

Mustapha, who, concealed behind the coffins, had inspired the
attendants with such terror, came forth and lighted a lamp, which he
had brought for that purpose. Then he drew out a vial which contained
the life-restoring medicine, and lifted the lid of Fatima's coffin.
But what amazement seized him, when by the light of the lamp, strange
features met his gaze! Neither my sister, nor Zoraida, but an entire
stranger, lay in the coffin! It was some time before he could recover
from this new stroke of destiny; at last, however, compassion
triumphed over anger. He opened the vial, and administered the liquid.
She breathed--she opened her eyes--and seemed for some time to be
reflecting where she was. At length, recalling all that had happened,
she rose from the coffin, and threw herself, sobbing, at Mustapha's
feet.

"How may I thank thee, excellent being," she exclaimed, "for having
freed me from my frightful prison?" Mustapha interrupted her
expressions of gratitude by inquiring, how it happened that she, and
not his sister Fatima, had been preserved. The maiden looked in
amazement.

"Now is my deliverance explained, which was before incomprehensible,"
answered she. "Know that in this castle I am called Fatima, and it was
to me thou gavest thy note, and the preserving-drink."

My brother entreated her to give him intelligence of his sister and
Zoraida, and learned that they were both in the castle, but, according
to Thiuli's custom, had received different names; they were now
called Mirza and Nurmahal. When Fatima, the rescued slave, saw that my
brother was so cast down by this failure of his enterprise, she bade
him take courage, and promised to show him means whereby he could
still deliver both the maidens. Aroused by this thought, Mustapha was
filled with new hope, and besought her to point out to him the way.

"Only five months," said she, "have I been Thiuli's slave;
nevertheless, from the first, I have been continually meditating an
escape; but for myself alone it was too difficult. In the inner court
of the castle, you may have observed a fountain, which pours forth
water from ten tubes; this fountain riveted my attention. I remembered
in my father's house to have seen a similar one, the water of which
was led up through a spacious aqueduct. In order to learn whether this
fountain was constructed in the same manner, I one day praised its
magnificence to Thiuli, and inquired after its architect. 'I myself
built it,' answered he, 'and what thou seest here is still the
smallest part; for the water comes hither into it from a brook at
least a thousand paces off, flowing through a vaulted aqueduct, which
is as high as a man. And all this have I myself planned.' After
hearing this, I often wished only for a moment to have a man's
strength, in order to roll away the stone from the side of the
fountain; then could I have fled whither I would. The aqueduct now
will I show to you; through it you can enter the castle by night, and
set them free. Only you must have at least two men with you, in order
to overpower the slaves which, by night, guard the seraglio."

Thus she spoke, and my brother Mustapha, although twice disappointed
already in his expectations, once again took courage, and hoped with
Allah's assistance to carry out the plan of the slave. He promised to
conduct her in safety to her native land, if she would assist him in
entering the castle. But one thought still troubled him, namely, where
he could find two or three faithful assistants. Thereupon the dagger
of Orbasan occurred to him, and the promise of the robber to hasten to
his assistance, when he should stand in need of help, and he therefore
started with Fatima from the burying-ground, to seek the chieftain.

In the same city where he had converted himself into a physician,
with his last money he purchased a horse, and procured lodgings for
Fatima, with a poor woman in the suburbs. He, however, hastened
towards the mountain where he had first met Orbasan, and reached it in
three days. He soon found the tent, and unexpectedly walked in before
the chieftain, who welcomed him with friendly courtesy. He related to
him his unsuccessful attempts, whereupon the grave Orbasan could not
restrain himself from laughing a little now and then, particularly
when he announced himself as the physician Chakamankabudibaba. At the
treachery of the little man, however, he was furious; and swore, if he
could find him, to hang him with his own hand. He assured my brother
that he was ready to assist him the moment he should be sufficiently
recovered from his ride. Accordingly, Mustapha remained that night
again in the robber's tent, and with the first morning-red they set
out, Orbasan taking with him three of his bravest men, well mounted
and armed. They rode rapidly, and in two days arrived at the little
city, where Mustapha had left the rescued Fatima. Thence they rode on
with her unto the forest, from which, at a little distance, they could
see Thiuli's castle; there they concealed themselves, to await the
night. As soon as it was dark, guided by Fatima, they proceeded softly
to the brook, where the aqueduct commenced, and soon found it. There
they left Fatima and a servant with the horses, and prepared
themselves for the descent: before they started, however, Fatima once
more repeated, with precision, the directions she had given; namely,
that, on emerging from the fountain into the inner court-yard, they
would find a tower in each corner on the right and left; that inside
the sixth gate from the right tower, they would find Fatima and
Zoraida, guarded by two black slaves. Well provided with weapons and
iron implements for forcing the doors, Mustapha, Orbasan, and the two
other men, descended through the aqueduct; they sank, indeed, in
water, up to the middle, but not the less vigorously on that account
did they press forward.

In a half hour they arrived at the fountain, and immediately began to
ply their tools. The wall was thick and firm, but could not long
resist the united strength of the four men; they soon made a breach
sufficiently large to allow them to slip through without difficulty.
Orbasan was the first to emerge, and then assisted the others. Being
now all in the court-yard, they examined the side of the castle which
lay before them, in order to find the door which had been described.
But they could not agree as to which it was, for on counting from the
right tower to the left, they found one door which had been walled up,
and they knew not whether Fatima had included this in her calculation.
But Orbasan was not long in making up his mind: "My good sword will
open to me this gate," he exclaimed, advancing to the sixth, while the
others followed him. They opened it, and found six black slaves lying
asleep upon the floor; imagining that they had missed the object of
their search, they were already softly drawing back, when a figure
raised itself in the corner, and in well-known accents called for
help. It was the little man of the robber-encampment. But ere the
slaves knew what had taken place, Orbasan sprang upon the little man,
tore his girdle in two, stopped his mouth, and bound his hands behind
his back; then he turned to the slaves, some of whom were already
half bound by Mustapha and the two others, and assisted in completely
overpowering them. They presented their daggers to the breasts of the
slaves, and asked where Nurmahal and Mirza were: they confessed that
they were in the next chamber. Mustapha rushed into the room, and
found Fatima and Zoraida awakened by the noise. They were not long in
collecting their jewels and garments, and following my brother.

Meanwhile the two robbers proposed to Orbasan to carry off what they
could find, but he forbade them, saying: "It shall never be told of
Orbasan, that he enters houses by night, to steal gold." Mustapha, and
those he had preserved, quickly stepped into the aqueduct, whither
Orbasan promised to follow them immediately. As soon as they had
departed, the chieftain and one of the robbers led forth the little
man into the court-yard; there, having fastened around his neck a
silken cord, which they had brought for that purpose, they hung him on
the highest point of the fountain. After having thus punished the
treachery of the wretch, they also entered the aqueduct, and followed
Mustapha. With tears the two maidens thanked their brave preserver,
Orbasan; but he urged them in haste to their flight, for it was very
probable that Thiuli-Kos would seek them in every direction.

With deep emotion, on the next day, did Mustapha and the rescued
maidens part with Orbasan. Indeed, they never will forget him! Fatima,
the freed slave, left us in disguise for Balsora, in order to take
passage thence to her native land.

After a short and agreeable journey, my brother and his companions
reached home. Delight at seeing them once more, almost killed my old
father; the next day after their arrival, he gave a great festival, to
which all the city was invited. Before a large assemblage of relations
and friends, my brother had to relate his story, and with one voice
they praised him and the noble robber.

When, however, Mustapha had finished, my father arose and led Zoraida
to him. "Thus remove I," said he with solemn voice, "the curse from
thy head; take this maiden as the reward which thy unwearied courage
has merited. Receive my fatherly blessing: and may there never be
wanting to our city, men who, in brotherly love, in prudence, and
bravery, may be thy equals!"





The Caravan had reached the end of the desert, and gladly did the
travellers salute the green meadows, and thickly-leaved trees, of
whose charms they had been deprived for so many days. In a lovely
valley lay a caravansery, which they selected as their resting-place
for the night; and though it offered but limited accommodations and
refreshment, still was the whole company more happy and sociable than
ever: for the thought of having passed through the dangers and
hardships, with which a journey through the desert is ever
accompanied, had opened every heart, and attuned their minds to jest
and gayety. Muley, the young and merry merchant, went through a comic
dance, and sang songs thereto, which elicited a laugh, even from
Zaleukos, the serious Greek. But not content with having raised the
spirits of his comrades by dance and merriment, he also gave them, in
the best style, the story he had promised, and, as soon as he could
recover breath from his gambols, began the following tale.






LITTLE MUCK.


In Nicea, my beloved father-city, lived a man, whom people called
"Little Muck." Though at that time I was quite young, I can recollect
him very well, particularly since, on one occasion, I was flogged
almost to death, by my father, on his account. The Little Muck, even
then, when I knew him, an old man, was nevertheless but three or four
feet high: he had a singular figure, for his body, little and smart
as it was, carried a head much larger and thicker than that of others.
He lived all alone in a large house, and even cooked for himself;
moreover, it would not have been known in the city whether he was
alive or dead, (for he went forth but once in four weeks,) had not
every day, about the hour of noon, strong fumes come forth from the
house. Nevertheless, in the evening he was often to be seen walking to
and fro upon his roof; although, from the street, it seemed as if it
were his head alone that was running around there.

I and my comrades were wicked fellows, who teased and ridiculed every
one; accordingly, to us it was a holiday when the Little Muck went
forth: on the appointed day we would assemble before his house, and
wait for him to come out. When, then, the door opened, and at first
the immense head and still larger turban peered forth, when the rest
of the body followed covered with a small cloak which had been
irregularly curtailed, with wide pantaloons, and a broad girdle in
which hung a long dagger, so long that one could not tell whether Muck
was fastened to the dagger, or the dagger to Muck--when in this guise
he came forth, then would the air resound with our cries of joy; then
would we fling our caps aloft, and dance round him, like mad. Little
Muck, however, would salute us with a serious bow, and walk with long
strides through the street, shuffling now and then his feet, for he
wore large wide slippers, such as I have never elsewhere seen. We boys
would run behind him, crying continually, "Little Muck! Little Muck!"
We also had a droll little verse, which we would now and then sing in
his honor; it ran thus:--

    "Little Muck, oh Little Muck!
    What a fine, brave dwarf art thou!
      Livest in a house so tall;
    Goest forth but once a month,
      Mountain-headed, though so small.
    Turn thyself but once, and look!
      Run, and catch us, Little Muck."

In this way had we often carried on our sport, and, to my shame, I
must confess that I took the most wicked part in it, for I often
plucked him by the mantle, and once trod from behind on his large
slippers, so that he fell down. This was, at first, a source of the
greatest amusement to me, but my laughter soon ceased when I saw the
Little Muck go up to my father's house; he walked straight in, and
remained there some time. I concealed myself near the door, and saw
Muck come forth again, escorted by my father, who respectfully shook
his hand, and with many bows parted with him at the door. My mind was
uneasy, and I remained some time in my concealment; at length,
however, hunger, which I feared more than blows, drove me in, and
ashamed and with downcast head, I walked in before my father.

"Thou hast, as I hear, insulted the good Muck," said he with a very
serious tone. "I will tell thee the history of this Muck, and then I
am sure thou wilt ridicule him no more. But first, thou shalt receive
thy allowance." The allowance was five-and-twenty lashes, which he
took care to count only too honestly. He thereupon took a long
pipe-stem, unscrewed the amber mouthpiece, and beat me more severely
than he had ever done before.

When the five-and-twenty were all made up, he commanded me to attend,
and told me the following story of Little Muck.



The father of Little Muck, who is properly called Mukrah, lived here
in Nicea, a respectable, but poor man. He kept himself almost as
retired as his son does now. The latter he could not endure, because
he was ashamed of his dwarfish figure, and let him therefore grow up
in perfect ignorance. When the Little Muck was still in his
seventeenth year, a merry child, his father, a grave man, kept
continually reproaching him, that he, who ought long before to have
trodden down the shoes of infancy, was still so stupid and childish.

The old man, however, one day had a bad fall, from the effects of
which he died, and Little Muck was left behind, poor and ignorant. His
cruel relations, to whom the deceased owed more than he could pay,
turned the poor fellow out of the house, and advised him to go forth
into the world, and seek his fortune. Muck answered that he was all
ready, only asking them for his father's dress, which they willingly
granted him. His father had been a large, portly man, and the garments
on that account did not fit him. Muck, however, soon hit upon an
expedient; he cut off what was too long, and then put them on. He
seemed, however, to have forgotten that he must also take from their
width; hence the strange dress that he wears at the present day; the
huge turban, the broad girdle, the wide breeches, the blue cloak, all
these he has inherited from his father, and worn ever since. The long
Damascus dagger of his father, too, he attached to his girdle, and
seizing a little staff, set out from the door.

Gayly he wandered, the whole day, for he had set out to seek his
fortune: if he saw upon the ground a potsherd shining in the sunlight,
he took care to pick it up, in the belief that he could change it into
a diamond of the first water; if he saw in the distance the cupola of
a Mosque sparkling like fire, or the sea glittering like a mirror, he
would hasten up, fully persuaded that he had arrived at fairy-land.
But ah! these phantoms vanished as he approached, and too soon
fatigue, and his stomach gnawed by hunger, convinced him that he was
still in the land of mortals. In this way he travelled two days, in
hunger and grief, and despaired of finding his fortune; the produce of
the field was his only support, the hard earth his bed. On the
morning of the third day, he espied a large city upon an eminence.
Brightly shone the crescent upon her pinnacles, variegated flags waved
over the roofs, and seemed to be beckoning Little Muck to themselves.
In surprise he stood still, contemplating the city and the surrounding
country.

"There at length will Klein-Muck find his fortune," said he to
himself, and in spite of his fatigue bounded in the air; "there or
nowhere!" He collected all his strength, and walked towards the city.
But although the latter seemed quite near, he could not reach it until
mid-day, for his little limbs almost entirely refused him their
assistance, and he was obliged to sit down to rest in the shade of a
palm-tree. At last he reached the gate; he fixed the mantle jauntily,
wound the turban still more tastily around his head, made the girdle
broader, and arranged the dagger so as to fall still more obliquely:
then, wiping the dust from his shoes, and seizing his cane, he marched
bravely through the gate.

He had already wandered through a few streets, but nowhere did any
door open to him, nowhere did any one exclaim, as he had anticipated:
"Little Muck, come in and eat and drink, and rest thy little feet."

He was looking very wistfully straight at a large fine house, when a
window opened, and an old woman, putting out her head, exclaimed in a
singing tone--

    "Hither, come hither!
      The porridge is here;
    The table I've spread,
      Come taste of my cheer.
    Hither, come hither!
      The porridge is hot;
    Your neighbors bring with you,
      To dip in the pot!"

The door opened, and Muck saw many dogs and cats walking in. For a
moment he stood in doubt whether he should accept the invitation; at
last, however, he took heart and entered the mansion. Before him
proceeded a couple of genteel kittens, and he resolved to follow them,
since they, perhaps, knew the way to the kitchen better than himself.

When Muck had ascended the steps, he met the same old woman who had
looked forth from the window. With frowning air she asked what he
wanted.

"Thou hast invited every one to thy porridge," answered Little Muck,
"and as I was very hungry, I came too."

The old woman laughed, saying, "Whence come you then, strange fellow?
The whole city knows that I cook for no one but my dear cats, and now
and then, as you see, I invite their companions from the
neighborhood." Little Muck told her how hard it had gone with him
since his father's death, and entreated her to let him dine, that day,
with her cats. The old woman, on whom the frank relation of the little
fellow made quite an impression, permitted him to become her guest,
and gave him abundance to eat and drink. When he was satisfied and
refreshed, she looked at him for some time, and then said:--

"Little Muck, remain with me in my service; you will have little to
do, and shall be well taken care of." Muck, who had relished the
cat-porridge, agreed, and thus became the servant of the Frau Ahavzi.
His duties were light but singular: Frau Ahavzi had two male, and four
female cats; every morning Little Muck had to comb their hair, and
anoint them with costly ointment. When the Frau went out, he had to
give them all his attention; when they ate, he placed their bowls
before them; and, at night, he had to lay them on silken cushions, and
wrap them up in velvet coverings. There were, moreover, a few little
dogs in the house, on which he was obliged to wait; but there were not
so many ceremonies gone through with these as with the cats, whom Frau
Ahavzi treated as her own children. As for the rest, Muck led as
retired a life as in his father's house, for with the exception of the
Frau, he saw every day only dogs and cats.

For a long time it went very well with Little Muck; he had enough to
eat, and but little to do; and the old woman seemed to be perfectly
satisfied with him. But, by-and-by, the cats began to behave very
badly; the moment the Frau went out, they ran around the rooms as if
possessed, threw down every thing in confusion, and broke considerable
fine crockery, which stood in their way. When, however, they heard
their mistress coming up the steps, they would creep to their
cushions, and wag their tails, when they saw her, as if nothing had
happened. The Frau Ahavzi always fell in a passion when she saw her
rooms so disordered, and attributed all to Muck; assert his innocence
as he might, she believed her cats who looked so demure, in preference
to her servant.

Little Muck was very sorry that here also he had been disappointed in
finding his fortune, and determined in his own mind to leave the
service of the Frau Ahavzi. As, however, on his first journey, he had
learned how badly one lives without money, he resolved to procure, in
some way, for himself the wages which his mistress had once promised
him, but had never paid. In the house of the Frau Ahavzi was a room,
which was always closed, and the inside of which he had never seen.
Nevertheless, he had often heard the Frau making a noise therein, and
he would have willingly risked his life to know what was there
concealed. Reflecting upon his travelling-money, it occurred to him
that there his mistress might conceal her treasures. But the door was
always tightly closed, and therefore he could not get at them.

One morning, after the Frau Ahavzi had gone out, one of the little
dogs who was treated by her in a very stepmother-like manner, but
whose favor he had in a great degree gained by various acts of
kindness, pulled him by his wide pantaloons, and acted as if he wanted
Muck to follow him. Muck, who always gladly played with him, did so,
and perceived that the dog was leading him to the sleeping apartment
of his mistress; he stopped before a door, which the little fellow had
never before observed, and which was now wide open. The dog entered,
and Muck, following, was overjoyed at finding himself in the very
chamber, which had so long been the object of his curiosity. He looked
all around for money, but could find none: old garments only, and
strangely-fashioned vases were scattered around. One of the latter, in
particular, attracted his attention; it was of crystal, and fine
figures were cut thereon. He lifted it up and turned it on all sides;
but, oh horror! he had not observed that it had a lid, which was but
insecurely fastened on: it fell to the floor, and broke into a
thousand pieces.

For a long time stood Little Muck motionless through terror; now was
his fate decided, now must he fly, or be killed by the old woman. His
departure was immediately resolved on; he only looked around, to see
if he could not use some of the goods of the Frau Ahavzi upon his
journey. Thereupon, a formidable pair of huge slippers met his eye;
they were not, it is true, beautiful, but his own could hold out no
longer; moreover their size was an inducement, for when he had these
upon his feet, people would see, he hoped, that he had cast off the
shoes of childhood. He quickly took off his own slippers, and put on
the others. A walking-stick, also, with a fine lion's head cut upon
the handle, seemed to be standing too idly in the corner; so he seized
it, and hurried from the apartment. He hastened to his own room, put
on his cloak, arranged his paternal turban, placed the dagger in his
girdle, and ran as fast as his feet would carry him, out of the house,
and out of the city. Fear of his old mistress drove him farther and
still farther, until, from fatigue, he could scarcely run any more. He
had never gone so quickly in his life; nay, it appeared to him as if
he could not cease running, for an invisible power seemed propelling
him on. At last he observed that this must be connected with the
slippers, for they would continually shoot forward and bear him along
with them. He endeavored in various ways, to stand still, but could
not succeed; at last, in the greatest distress, he cried out to
himself, as a man calls to his horse, "Wo--wo!" Then the slippers
stopped, and Muck fell exhausted upon the earth.

The slippers were a source of great joy to him. Thus had he, by his
services, gained something that would help him on his way through the
world to seek his fortune. In spite of his joy, he fell asleep through
fatigue; for the body of Little Muck, which had to carry so heavy a
head, could not hold out long. In his dream the little dog appeared to
him, which had assisted him to the slippers in the house of the Frau
Ahavzi, and thus spoke:--

"Dear Muck, thou dost not still rightly understand the use of the
slippers: know that if, in them, thou turnest thyself three times
around upon the heel, thou canst fly wherever thou wilt; and with the
staff thou canst find treasures, for, wherever gold is buried, it will
beat three times upon the earth; where silver, twice."

Thus dreamed Little Muck. When he awoke, he reflected on the singular
vision, and resolved to make the experiment immediately. He put on the
slippers, lifted one foot, and began to turn around upon his heel. But
whoever has attempted to perform this manoeuvre in an enormously wide
slipper, will not wonder that the Little Muck could not succeed,
particularly when he remembers that his heavy head kept falling on
this side and on that.

The poor little fellow fell several times violently upon his nose;
nevertheless, that did not deter him from making the trial again, and
at last he succeeded. Like a wheel he went around upon his heel,
wishing himself in the nearest large city, and--the slippers mounted
into the air, ran with the speed of the wind through the clouds, and
before Little Muck knew what to make of it, he found himself in a
large market-place, where many stalls were erected, and innumerable
men were busily running to and fro. He moved among the people, but
considered it more prudent to retire into a less frequented street,
for near the market one of the slippers bore him along so rapidly,
that he almost fell down, or else ran against one and another with
his projecting dagger, so that it was with difficulty he avoided their
blows.

Little Muck now seriously reflected what he should set about, in order
to earn a piece of money. He had, it is true, a staff which would show
him concealed treasures, but how could he find a place where gold or
silver was buried. He could, indeed, in this emergency, have exhibited
himself for money, but for this he was too proud. At last the
quickness of his gait occurred to him. Perhaps, thought he, my
slippers can procure me support, and he determined to hire himself out
as a courier. He ventured to hope that the king of the city rewarded
such service well, so he inquired for the palace. Before the door of
the palace stood a guard, who asked him what he sought there. On
answering that he was in search of service, they led him to the
overseer of the slaves. Before this one he laid his request, and
entreated that he might be admitted among the royal couriers. The
overseer measured him with his eyes from head to foot, and said: "How!
with thy little feet, which are scarcely a span long, wishest thou to
become a royal messenger? Away with thee! I cannot play with every
fool."

Little Muck assured him, however, that his proposal was made in
perfect seriousness, and that he would let it come to a trial with the
swiftest, upon a wager. The matter seemed very ludicrous to the
overseer. He commanded him to hold himself in readiness for a race in
the afternoon, and leading him into the kitchen, saw that he was
furnished with proper meat and drink. He himself, however, repaired
unto the king, and told him of the little man and his proposal. The
king was a merry lord, and therefore it pleased him well that the
overseer had kept the little man for their amusement. He directed him
to make preparations in a large meadow behind the castle, that the
race might be conveniently beheld by his whole court, and once more
commanded him to take great care of the dwarf. The king told his
princes, and princesses, what a pastime they were to enjoy that
afternoon; these told it again to their attendants, and when the time
arrived all were in great expectation; and as many as had feet poured
into the meadow, where a scaffolding had been erected, in order to
see the boastful dwarf run.

As soon as the king and his sons and daughters had taken their places
upon the platform, the Little Muck walked forth upon the meadow, and
made before the noble sovereign a very elegant bow. A universal cry of
joy arose, the moment they beheld the little fellow; such a figure had
they never seen. The small body with the mighty head, the little
cloak, and the wide pantaloons, the long dagger in the broad girdle,
the tiny feet in the immense slippers--no! it was so droll a sight
they could not keep from laughing aloud. Little Muck, however, was not
disconcerted by their laughter. He proudly walked forward, supported
by his cane, and awaited his opponent. At Muck's own desire, the
overseer of the slaves had selected the best runner. Walking in, he
placed himself near the dwarf, and both looked for the signal.
Thereupon the Princess Amarza made a sign with her veil as had been
preconcerted, and, like two arrows shot from the same bow, the racers
flew over the meadow.

At first the courier took a tremendous bound, but Muck pursued him in
his slipper carriage, overtook him, passed him, and had been standing
for some time at the goal, when his opponent, gasping for breath, ran
up. Amazement for a few moments enchained the spectators: the king was
the first to clap his hands; then shouted the crowd for joy, all
exclaiming, "Long live the Little Muck, the victor in the race!"

Meanwhile they had brought up the little man; he prostrated himself
before the king, saying, "Most mighty King, I have here given thee but
a small proof of my powers; allow them, I pray thee, to give me a
place among thy couriers." The king answered:--

"Nay, dear Muck, thou shalt be my favorite messenger, and shalt remain
about my person; every year shalt thou have a hundred gold pieces as
thy wages, and thou shalt sup at the table of my first attendant."

Then Muck thought he had at last found the fortune, of which he had so
long been in search, and was merry and light-hearted. Moreover, he
rejoiced in the peculiar favor of the king, for the latter employed
him on his quickest and most secret errands, which he performed with
the greatest care, and with inconceivable rapidity.

But the other attendants of the king were not well affected towards
him, because they reluctantly saw themselves displaced from their
lord's favor by a dwarf, who knew how to do nothing, but to run fast.
They set on foot many a conspiracy against him in order to work his
destruction, but all failed, through the confidence which the king
placed in his private Oberleiblaufer, (for to this dignity had he in
so short a time arrived.)

Muck, upon whom these movements against himself produced no effect,
thought not of revenge; for that he had too good a heart: no, he
reflected upon the means of making himself necessary to his enemies,
and beloved by them. Thereupon the staff, which in his good fortune he
had forgotten, occurred to him; if he could find treasures, he thought
the lords would be more favorably disposed towards him. He had before
this often heard that the father of the present king had buried much
of his gold, when the enemy had invaded the land; they said, moreover,
that he had died without imparting the secret to his son. From this
time Muck always carried his cane, in the hope that he would some
time pass over the place where the money of the old king was buried.

One evening, chance led him into a remote portion of the
castle-garden, which he seldom visited, when suddenly he felt the
staff move in his hand, and three times it beat upon the ground. He
knew in an instant what this indicated; accordingly he drew forth his
dagger, made marks on the surrounding trees, and then slipped back
into the castle. Then he procured a spade, and awaited night for his
undertaking.

Treasure-digging, however, gave Muck more trouble than he had
anticipated. His arms were very feeble, his spade large and heavy; he
might perhaps have been laboring a couple of hours, without getting
any farther down than as many feet. At length he hit upon something
hard, which sounded like iron: he then set to work still more
diligently, and soon brought up a large cover; he then descended into
the hole, in order to examine what the cover concealed, and found a
large pot completely full of gold pieces. His feeble wisdom, however,
did not teach him to lift up the pot; but he put in his pantaloons
and girdle as much as he could carry, filled his cloak, and then
carefully covering up the rest, placed the load upon his back. But,
indeed, if he had not had the slippers on his feet, he could not have
stirred, so heavily did the gold weigh him down. Then, unobserved, he
reached his room, and secured the money under the cushions of his
sofa.

When the little man saw so much gold in his possession, he thought the
tables would now be turned, and that from among his enemies at court,
he could gain many well-wishers and warm friends. But even in this,
one could see that the good Muck had enjoyed no very careful
education; otherwise he would not have imagined that he could buy true
friends with gold. Ah! that he had then put on his slippers, and with
his mantle full of gold, scampered away!

The gold which from this time Little Muck distributed with lavish
hand, awakened the envy of the other court-attendants. The
kitchen-master, Ahuli, said, "He is a counterfeiter." The
slave-overseer, Achmet, said, "He has cajoled the king." But Archaz,
the treasurer, his most wicked enemy, who himself, even, now and then
put his hand into his lord's coffers, exclaimed, "He is a thief." In
order to be sure of the thing, they consulted together, and the head
cup-bearer, Korchuz, placed himself one day, with a very sorrowful and
depressed air, before the eyes of the king. He made his wo so
apparent, that the king asked him what was the matter.

"Ah!" answered he, "I am sorry that I have lost the favor of my lord!"

"Why talkest thou idly, friend Korchuz?" rejoined the monarch. "Since
when have I veiled from thee the sun of my favor?"

The cup-bearer answered, that he loaded his private Oberleiblaufer
with money, but gave his poor faithful servants nothing. The king was
much astonished at this accusation, had the story of Muck's
gold-distribution told him, and the conspirators soon aroused in him
the suspicion that the dwarf had, in some way or other, stolen the
money from the treasure-chamber. Very pleasant was this turn of the
matter to the treasurer, who would not otherwise have willingly
submitted his accounts to examination. The king thereupon commanded
that they should secretly watch all the movements of the dwarf, in
order, if possible, to surprise him in the act. When, now, on the
night which followed the fatal day, seeing his funds almost exhausted
by his generosity, Muck crept forth, with his spade, into the
castle-garden, to bring new supplies from his secret treasury, the
watch followed him in the distance, led by Ahuli and Archaz; and, at
the moment when he was removing the gold from the pot to his cloak,
they fell upon him, bound him, and immediately led him before the
king. The latter, whom, independently of any thing else, this
interruption of his sleep would have enraged, received his poor dwarf
very ungraciously, and ordered an immediate trial. Meanwhile they had
dug the full pot out of the ground, and with the spade and cloak full
of gold had placed it before the king. The treasurer said that he had
surprised Muck with his guard, just as he had buried this vessel of
gold in the earth.

The king thereupon inquired of the accused, whether it was true, and
whence the gold had come.

Little Muck, conscious of innocence, answered that he had discovered
this pot in the garden; that he had not buried it, but had brought it
to light.

All present laughed aloud at this defence; the king, however, provoked
in the highest degree by the supposed impudence of the dwarf,
exclaimed, "How, wretch! wilt thou so stupidly and shamelessly lie to
thy king, after having stolen from him? Treasurer Archaz, I command
thee to say whether thou knowest this sum of gold to be the same that
is missing from my treasury."

The treasurer thereupon answered that he was sure of the thing; that
so much and even more had been missing from the royal treasures; and
he could take his oath that this was the stolen money. Then the king
commanded them to place Little Muck in galling chains, and convey him
to prison: to Archaz, however, he gave the gold, that he might restore
it to the treasury. Delighted at the fortunate issue of the matter,
the officer took it, and counted out, at home, the glittering gold
pieces; but the bad man never disclosed that down in the pot lay a
letter, to the following purport:--

    "The enemy has overrun my land; therefore I here conceal
    a portion of my treasure. Whoever may find it, the curse
    of his king fall upon him, if he do not immediately
    deliver it to my son!

        KING SADI."

In his dungeon, poor Muck gave way to sorrowful reflections; he knew
that for taking royal property death was the penalty; and yet--he
could not betray the secret of his staff unto the king, because, in
that case, he justly feared being deprived of both that, and his
slippers. His slippers, alas! could render him no help, for there by
close fetters he was fastened to the wall, and, torment himself as he
might, he could not turn around upon his heel. When, however, on the
next day, sentence of death was pronounced, he thought it would be
better to live without the magic staff, than to die with it; and,
having asked a private audience with the king, disclosed to him the
secret. At first the king gave no credit to his assertions, but Little
Muck promised him a proof, if he would respite him from death. The
king gave him his word upon it, and having had some gold buried in the
earth, unseen by Muck, commanded him to find it with his cane. In a
few moments he succeeded in doing so, for the staff beat three times
distinctly upon the ground. Then the king saw that his treasurer had
betrayed him, and sent him, as is customary in the East, a silken
cord, wherewith he should strangle himself. To Little Muck, however,
he said:--

"I have indeed promised thee thy life, but it seems to me that this is
not the only secret thou art possessed of, connected with this staff.
Therefore thou shalt remain in everlasting captivity, if thou do not
confess what relation exists between it and thy rapid running."

Little Muck, whom one night in his dungeon had deprived of all desire
for further confinement, acknowledged that his whole art lay in the
slippers; nevertheless, he informed not the king of the wonderful
effect of turning three times upon the heel. The king put on the
slippers, himself, in order to make the experiment, and ran, like mad,
through the garden; often did he wish to hold up, but he knew not how
to bring the slippers to a halt, and Muck, who could not deny himself
this revenge, let him run on, until he fell down exhausted.

When the king returned to consciousness, he was terribly angry at
Little Muck, who had suffered him to run until so entirely out of
breath. "I have promised thee thy freedom and life," said he, "but
within twelve hours must thou leave my land; otherwise will I have
thee hung." The slippers and cane, however, he commanded them to bear
to his treasure-chamber.

Thus, poor as ever, wandered the little fellow forth through the land,
cursing the folly which had led him astray, and prevented his playing
an important part at court. The land from which he was banished, was
fortunately not extensive, and accordingly eight hours brought him to
the frontier; but travelling, now that he was used to his dear
slippers, came very hard to him. Having arrived at the border, he
chose the usual road for reaching the most lonely part of the forest,
for he hated all men, and resolved to live there by himself. In a
thick portion of the wood, he lighted on a place, which seemed to him
quite suitable for the resolution he had taken. A clear brook,
surrounded by large shady fig-trees, and a soft turf, invited him: he
threw himself down, determined to taste food no more, but calmly to
await his end. Amid his sorrowful reflections on death, he fell
asleep; when he awoke, he was tormented by hunger, and began to think
that starving to death was rather an unpleasant affair; so he looked
around to find something to eat.

Fine ripe figs hung upon the tree beneath which he had slept; he
stretched forth his hand to pluck some; their taste was delicious, and
then he descended into the brook to slake his thirst. But what was his
horror, when the water showed his head adorned with two immense ears,
and a long thick nose! Amazed, he clapped his hands upon his ears, and
they were really more than half an ell long.

"I deserve ass's ears!" he exclaimed; "for, like an ass, have I
trodden Fortune under my feet." He wandered around among the trees,
and feeling hunger again, was obliged to have recourse once more to
the fig-tree, for he could find nothing else that was eatable. After
the second portion of figs, it struck him that if his ears could find
room beneath his large turban, he would not look so ridiculous, and,
on trying it, he found that his ears had vanished. He ran straight
back to the stream, in order to convince himself thereof; it was
actually so; his ears had resumed their original figure, his long
misshapen nose was no more! He soon perceived how all this had
happened; from the first fig-tree he had received the long nose and
ears, the second had relieved him of them: he saw with joy that kind
destiny yet again placed in his hands the means of becoming fortunate.
He plucked, therefore, from each tree as many figs as he could carry,
and went back to the land which shortly before he had left. There, in
the first town, he disguised himself by means of different garments;
then, turning again to the city inhabited by the king, he soon arrived
at it.

For about a year ripe fruit had been quite scarce; Little Muck,
therefore, placed himself before the gate of the palace, for from his
former residence there, it was well known to him, that here such
rareties would be purchased by the kitchen-master for the royal table.
Muck had not long been seated, when he saw that dignitary walking
across the court-yard. He examined the articles of the traders who
had placed themselves at the palace-gate; at length his eye fell upon
Muck's little basket.

"Ah! a dainty morsel!" said he, "which will certainly please his
majesty: what wish you for the whole basket?" Muck set a high price
upon them, and the bargain was soon struck. The kitchen-master gave
the basket to his slave, and went his way: meantime Little Muck stole
away, for he feared, when the change should show itself on the heads
of the court, that he, as the one who sold them, would be sought for
punishment.

At table the king was well pleased, and praised his kitchen-master
more than ever, on account of his good kitchen, and the care with
which he always sought the rarest morsels for his table; the officer,
however, who well knew what dainties he had in the back-ground, smiled
pleasantly, and let fall but few words: "The day is not all past till
evening," or "End good, all good;" so that the princesses were very
curious to know what he would still bring on. The moment, however, he
had the fine, inviting figs set upon the table, a universal "Ah!"
escaped the lips of those who were present. "How ripe! how delicate!"
exclaimed the king; "kitchen-master, thou art a whole-souled man, and
deservest our peculiar favor!" Thus speaking, the king, who with such
choice dishes took care to be very sparing, with his own hands
distributed the figs around the table. Each prince and princess
received two; the ladies of the court, the Viziers and Agas, each one;
the rest he placed before himself, and began to swallow them with
great delight.

"In the name of heaven, father, why lookest thou so strange?" suddenly
exclaimed the Princess Amarza. All gazed in astonishment upon the
king; vast ears hung down from his head, a long nose stretched itself
bridge-like, over above his chin; upon themselves also they looked,
one upon another, with amazement and horror; all, more or less, were
adorned with the same strange headdress.

The horror of the court may be imagined. All the physicians in the
city were immediately sent for; they came with a blustering air,
prescribed pills and mixtures, but ears and noses remained. They
operated on one of the princes, but the ears grew out again.

From the place of concealment into which he had withdrawn, Muck had
heard the whole story, and perceived that it was now time for him to
commence operations. He had already, with the money obtained by the
sale of his figs, procured a dress which would represent him as a
learned man; a long beard of goat's hair completed the illusion. With
a small sack full of figs he repaired to the royal palace, and offered
his assistance as a foreign physician. At first they were quite
incredulous; but when Little Muck gave a fig to one of the princes,
and thereby restored ears and nose to their original shape, then were
all eager to be cured by the stranger. But the king took him silently
by the hand, and led him to his apartment; then, opening a door that
led into the treasure-chamber, he made signs to Muck to follow.

"Here are my treasures," said the king; "choose for thyself: whatever
it may be, it shall be thine, if thou wilt free me from this shameful
evil." This was sweet music in the ears of Little Muck: at the moment
of entering he had seen his slippers standing upon the floor, and hard
by lay his little staff. He moved around the room, as if in wonder at
the royal treasures; but no sooner had he reached his beloved shoes,
than he hastily slipped into them, and seizing the little cane, tore
off his false beard, and displayed to the astonished king the
well-known countenance of his exiled Muck.



"False king!" said he, "who rewardest faithful service with
ingratitude, take, as well-deserved punishment, the deformity which
thou now hast. The ears I leave thee, that, each day they may remind
thee of Little Muck." Having thus spoken, he turned quickly around
upon his heel, wished himself far away, and before the king could call
for help Little Muck had vanished. Ever since, he has lived here in
great affluence, but alone, for men he despises. Experience has made
him a wise man--one who, though there is something offensive in his
exterior, deserves rather your admiration than your ridicule.



Such was my father's story. I assured him that I sincerely repented of
my behavior towards the good little man, and he remitted the other
half of the punishment which he had intended for me. To my comrades I
told the wonderful history of the dwarf, and we conceived such an
affection for him, that no one insulted him any more. On the contrary,
we honored him as long as he lived, and bowed as low to him as to Cadi
or Mufti.



The travellers determined to rest a day in this caravansery, in order
to refresh themselves and their beasts for the rest of their journey.
The gayety of the day before again prevailed, and they diverted
themselves with various sports. After the meal, however, they called
upon the fifth merchant, Ali Sizah, to perform his duty to the rest,
and give them a story. He answered, that his life was too poor in
remarkable adventures for him to relate one connected therewith, but
he would tell them something which had no relation to it: "The story
of the False Prince."






THE FALSE PRINCE.


There was once an honest journeyman tailor, by name Labakan, who
learned his trade with an excellent master in Alexandria. It could not
be said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he
could make excellent work: moreover, one would have done him injustice
to have called him lazy. Nevertheless, his companions knew not what to
make of him, for he would often sew for hours together so rapidly
that the needle would glow in his hand, and the thread smoke, and that
none could equal him. At another time, however, (and this, alas!
happened more frequently,) he would sit in deep meditation, looking
with his staring eyes straight before him, and with a countenance and
air so peculiar, that his master and fellow-journeymen could say of
his appearance nothing else than, "Labakan has on again, his
aristocratic face."

On Friday, however, when others quietly returned home from prayers to
their labor, Labakan would come forth from the mosque in a fine
garment which with great pains he had made for himself, and walk with
slow and haughty steps through the squares and streets of the city. At
such times, if one of his companions cried, "Joy be with thee!" or,
"How goes it, friend Labakan?" he would patronizingly give a token of
recognition with his hand, or, if he felt called upon to be very
polite, would bow genteelly with the head. Whenever his master said to
him in jest, "Labakan, in thee a prince is lost," he would be
rejoiced, and answer, "Have you too observed it?" or, "I have already
long thought it."

In this manner did the honest journeyman tailor conduct himself for a
long time, while his master tolerated his folly, because, in other
respects, he was a good man and an excellent workman. But one day,
Selim, the sultan's brother, who was travelling through Alexandria,
sent a festival-garment to his master to have some change made in it,
and the master gave it to Labakan, because he did the finest work. In
the evening, when the apprentices had all gone forth to refresh
themselves after the labor of the day, an irresistible desire drove
Labakan back into the workshop, where the garment of the sultan's
brother was hanging. He stood some time, in reflection, before it,
admiring now the splendor of the embroidery, now the varied colors of
the velvet and silk. He cannot help it, he must put it on; and, lo! it
fits him as handsomely as if it were made for him. "Am not I as good a
prince as any?" asked he of himself, as he strutted up and down the
room. "Has not my master himself said, that I was born for a prince?"
With the garments, the apprentice seemed to have assumed quite a
kingly carriage; he could believe nothing else, than that he was a
king's son in obscurity, and as such he resolved to travel forth into
the world, leaving a city where the people hitherto had been so
foolish as not to discover his innate dignity beneath the veil of his
inferior station. The splendid garment seemed sent to him by a good
fairy; resolving therefore not to slight so precious a gift, he put
his little stock of money in his pocket, and, favored by the darkness
of the night, wandered forth from Alexandria's gates.

The new prince excited admiration everywhere upon his route, for the
splendid garment, and his serious majestic air, would not allow him to
pass for a common pedestrian. If one inquired of him about it, he took
care to answer, with a mysterious look, that he had his reasons for
it. Perceiving, however, that he rendered himself an object of
ridicule by travelling on foot, he purchased for a small sum an old
horse, which suited him very well, for it never brought his habitual
quiet and mildness into difficulty, by compelling him to show himself
off as an excellent rider, a thing which in reality he was not.

One day, as he was proceeding on his way, step by step, upon his
Murva, (thus had he named his horse,) a stranger joined him, and asked
permission to travel in his company, since to him the distance would
seem much shorter, in conversation with another. The rider was a gay
young man, elegant and genteel in manners. He soon knit up a
conversation with Labakan, with respect to his whence and whither, and
it turned out that he also, like the journeyman tailor, was travelling
without purpose, in the world. He said his name was Omar, that he was
the nephew of Elfi Bey, the unfortunate bashaw of Cairo, and was now
on his way to execute a commission which his uncle had delivered to
him upon his dying-bed. Labakan was not so frank with respect to his
circumstances; he gave him to understand that he was of lofty descent,
and was travelling for pleasure.

The two young men were pleased with each other, and rode on in
company. On the second day, Labakan interrogated his companion Omar,
respecting the commission with which he was charged, and to his
astonishment learned the following. Elfi Bey, the bashaw of Cairo, had
brought up Omar from his earliest childhood; the young man had never
known his parents. But shortly before, Elfi Bey, having been attacked
by his enemies, and, after three disastrous engagements, mortally
wounded, was obliged to flee, and disclosed to his charge that he was
not his nephew, but the son of a powerful lord, who, inspired with
fear by the prophecy of his astrologer, had sent the young prince away
from his court, with an oath never to see him again until his
twenty-second birthday. Elfi Bey had not told him his father's name,
but had enjoined upon him with the greatest precision, on the fourth
day of the coming month Ramadan, on which day he would be
two-and-twenty years old, to repair to the celebrated pillar
El-Serujah, four days' journey east of Alexandria: there he should
offer to the men who would be standing by the pillar, a dagger which
he gave him, with these words, "Here am I, whom ye seek!" If they
answered, "Blessed be the Prophet, who has preserved thee!" then he
was to follow them--they would lead him to his father.

The journeyman tailor, Labakan, was much astonished at this
information; from this time he looked upon Prince Omar with envious
eyes, irritated because fortune conferred upon him, though already he
passed for the nephew of a mighty bashaw, the dignity of a king's son;
but on him, whom she had endowed with all things necessary for a
prince, bestowed in ridicule, an obscure lineage, and an every-day
vocation. He instituted a comparison between himself and the prince.
He was obliged to confess that the latter was a man of very lively
aspect; that fine sparkling eyes belonged to him, a boldly-arched
nose, a gentlemanly, complaisant demeanor, in a word, all the external
accomplishments, which every one is wont to commend. But numerous as
were the charms he found in his companion, still he was compelled to
acknowledge to himself, that a Labakan would be no less acceptable to
the royal father than the genuine prince.

These thoughts pursued Labakan the whole day; with them he went to
sleep in the nearest night-lodgings; but when he awoke in the morning,
and his eye rested upon Omar sleeping near him, who was reposing so
quietly, and could dream of his now certain fortune, then arose in him
the thought of gaining, by stratagem or violence, what unpropitious
destiny had denied him. The dagger, the returning prince's token of
recognition, hung in the sleeper's girdle; he softly drew it forth, to
plunge it in the breast of its owner. Nevertheless, the peaceable soul
of the journeyman recoiled before thoughts of murder; he contented
himself with appropriating the dagger, and bridling for himself the
faster horse of the prince; and, ere Omar awoke to see himself
despoiled of all his hopes, his perfidious companion was several miles
upon his way.

The day on which Labakan robbed the prince was the first of the holy
month Ramadan, and he had therefore four days to reach the pillar
El-Serujah, the locality of which was well known to him. Although the
region wherein it was situated could at farthest be at a distance of
but four days' journey, still he hastened to reach it, through a
constant fear of being overtaken by the real prince.

By the end of the second day, he came in sight of the pillar
El-Serujah. It stood upon a little elevation, in the midst of an
extensive plain, and could be seen at a distance of two or three
leagues. Labakan's heart beat high at the sight: though he had had
time enough on horseback, for the last two days, to think of the part
he was to play, still a consciousness of guilt made him anxious; the
thought that he was born for a prince, however, encouraged him again,
and he advanced towards the mark with renewed confidence.

The country around the pillar was uninhabited and desert, and the new
prince would have experienced some difficulty in finding sustenance,
if he had not previously supplied himself for several days. He lay
down beside his horse beneath some palm-trees, and there awaited his
distant destiny.

Towards the middle of the next day, he saw a large procession of
horses and camels crossing the plain in the direction of the pillar
El-Serujah. It reached the foot of the hill, on which the pillar
stood; there they pitched splendid tents, and the whole looked like
the travelling-suite of some rich bashaw or sheik. Labakan perceived
that the numerous train which met his eye, had taken the pains to come
hither on his account, and gladly would he that moment have shown them
their future lord; but he mastered his eager desire to walk as
prince; for, indeed, the next morning would consummate his boldest
wishes.

The morning sun awoke the too happy tailor to the most important
moment of his life, which would elevate him from an inferior
situation, to the side of a royal father. As he was bridling his horse
to ride to the pillar, the injustice of his course, indeed, occurred
to him; his thoughts pictured to him the anguish of the true prince,
betrayed in his fine hopes; but the die was cast: what was done could
not be undone, and self-love whispered to him that he looked stately
enough to pass for the son of the mightiest king. Inspirited by these
reflections, he sprang upon his horse, and collecting all his courage
to bring him to an ordinary gallop, in less than a quarter of an hour,
reached the foot of the hill. He dismounted from his horse, and
fastened it to one of the shrubs that were growing near; then he drew
the dagger of Prince Omar, and proceeded up the hill. At the base of
the pillar six persons were standing around an old gray-haired man, of
lofty king-like aspect. A splendid caftan of gold cloth surrounded by
a white Cashmere shawl, a snowy turban spangled with glittering
precious stones, pointed him out as a man of opulence and nobility. To
him Labakan proceeded, and bowing low before him, said, as he extended
the dagger--

"Here am I, whom you seek."

"Praise to the Prophet who has preserved thee!" answered the
gray-haired one, with tears of joy. "Omar, my beloved son, embrace
thine old father!" The good tailor was deeply affected by these solemn
words, and sank, with mingled emotions of joy and shame, into the arms
of the old noble.

But only for a moment was he to enjoy the unclouded delight of his new
rank; raising himself from the arms of the king, he saw a rider
hastening over the plain in the direction of the hill. The traveller
and his horse presented a strange appearance; the animal, either from
obstinacy or fatigue, seemed unwilling to proceed. He went along with
a stumbling gait, which was neither a pace nor a trot; but the rider
urged him on, with hands and feet, to a faster run. Only too soon did
Labakan recognise his horse Murva, and the real Prince Omar. But the
evil spirit of falsehood once more prevailed within him, and he
resolved, come what might, with unmoved front to support the rights he
had usurped. Already, in the distance, had they observed the horseman
making signs; at length, in spite of Murva's slow gait, having reached
the bottom of the hill, he threw himself from his horse, and began
rapidly to ascend.

"Hold!" cried he. "Hold! whoever you may be, and suffer not yourselves
to be deceived by a most infamous impostor! I am called Omar, and let
no mortal venture to misuse my name!"

Great astonishment was depicted on the countenances of the bystanders
at this turn of the affair; the old man, in particular, seemed to be
much amazed, as he looked inquiringly on one and another. Thereupon
Labakan spoke, with a composure gained only by the most powerful
effort.

"Most gracious lord and father, be not led astray by this man. He is,
as far as I know, a mad journeyman tailor of Alexandria, by name
Labakan, who deserves rather our pity than our anger."

These words excited the prince almost to phrensy. Foaming with
passion, he would have sprung upon Labakan, but the bystanders,
throwing themselves between, secured him, while the old man said:
"Truly, my beloved son, the poor man is crazed. Let them bind him and
place him on one of our dromedaries; perhaps we may be of some
assistance to the unfortunate."

The anger of the prince had abated; in tears, he cried out to the old
man, "My heart tells me that you are my father; by the memory of my
mother, I conjure you--hear me!"

"Alas! God guard us!" answered he: "already he again begins to talk
wildly. How can the man come by such crazy thoughts?" Thereupon,
seizing Labakan's arm, he made him accompany him down the hill. They
both mounted fine and richly-caparisoned coursers, and rode at the
head of the procession, across the plain. They tied the hands of the
unfortunate prince, however, and bound him securely upon a dromedary.
Two horsemen rode constantly by his side, who kept a watchful eye upon
his every movement.

The old prince was Saoud, sultan of the Wechabites. For some time had
he lived without children; at last a prince, for whom he had so
ardently longed, was born to him. But the astrologer, whom he
consulted respecting the destiny of his son, told him that, until his
twenty-second year, he would be in danger of being supplanted by an
enemy. On that account, in order that he might be perfectly safe, had
the sultan given him, to be brought up, to his old and tried friend,
Elfi Bey; and twenty-two sad years had lived without looking upon him.

This did the sultan impart to his supposed son, and seemed delighted
beyond measure with his figure and dignified demeanor.

When they reached the sultan's dominions, they were everywhere
received by the inhabitants with shouts of joy; for the rumor of the
prince's arrival had spread like wildfire through the cities and
towns. In the streets through which they proceeded, arches of flowers
and branches were erected; bright carpets of all colors adorned the
houses; and the people loudly praised God and his prophet, who had
discovered to them so noble a prince. All this filled the proud heart
of the tailor with delight: so much the more unhappy did it make the
real Omar, who, still bound, followed the procession in silent
despair. In this universal jubilee, though it was all in his honor, no
one paid him any attention. A thousand, and again a thousand, voices
shouted the name of Omar; but of him who really bore this name, of him
none took notice: at most, only one or two inquired whom they were
carrying with them, so tightly bound, and frightfully in the ears of
the prince sounded the answer of his guards, "It is a mad tailor."

The procession at last reached the capital of the sultan, where all
was prepared for their reception with still more brilliancy than in
the other cities. The sultana, an elderly woman of majestic
appearance, awaited them, with her whole court, in the most splendid
saloon of the castle. The floor of this room was covered with a large
carpet; the walls were adorned with bright blue tapestry, which was
suspended from massive silver hooks, by cords and tassels of gold.



It was dark by the time the procession came up, and accordingly many
globular colored lamps were lighted in the saloon, which made night
brilliant as day; but with the clearest brilliancy and most varied
colors, shone those in the farthest part of the saloon, where the
sultana was seated upon a throne. The throne stood upon four steps,
and was of pure gold, inlaid with amethysts. The four most illustrious
emirs held a canopy of crimson silk over the head of their mistress;
and the sheik of Medina cooled her with a fan of peacock feathers.
Thus awaited the sultana her husband and son; the latter she had never
looked on since his birth, but significant dreams had so plainly shown
her the object of her longings, that she would know him out of
thousands.

Now they heard the noise of the approaching troop; trumpets and drums
mingled with the huzzas of the populace; the hoofs of the horses
sounded on the court of the palace; steps came nearer and nearer; the
doors of the room flew open, and, through rows of prostrate
attendants, hastened the sultan, holding his son by the hand, towards
the mother's throne.

"Here," said he, "do I bring to thee, him for whom thou hast so often
longed."

The sultana, however, interrupted him, crying: "This is not my son!
These are not the features which the Prophet has shown me in my
dreams!"

Just as the sultan was about to rebuke her superstition, the door of
the saloon sprang open, and Prince Omar rushed in, followed by his
guards, whom an exertion of his whole strength had enabled him to
escape. Breathless, he threw himself before the throne, exclaiming:--

"Here will I die! Kill me, cruel father, for this disgrace I can
endure no longer!"

All were confounded at these words; they pressed around the
unfortunate one, and already were the guards, who had hurried up, on
the point of seizing him and replacing his fetters, when the sultana,
who had thus far looked on in mute astonishment, sprang from the
throne.

"Hold!" she cried; "this, and no other, is my son! This is he, who,
though my eyes have never seen him, is well known to my heart!" The
guards had involuntarily fallen back from Omar, but the sultan,
foaming with rage, commanded them to bind the madman.

"It is mine to decide," he cried with commanding tone; "and here we
will judge, not by a woman's dreams, but by sure and infallible
signs. This," pointing to Labakan, "is my son, for he has brought me
the dagger, the real token of my friend Elfi."

"He stole it," cried Omar; "my unsuspicious confidence has he
treacherously abused!" But the sultan hearkened not to the voice of
his son, for he was wont in all things obstinately to follow his own
judgment. He bade them forcibly drag the unfortunate Omar from the
saloon, and himself retired with Labakan to his chamber, filled with
anger at his wife, with whom, nevertheless, he had lived in happiness
for five-and-twenty years. The sultana was full of grief at this
affair; she was perfectly convinced that an impostor had taken
possession of the sultan's heart, so numerous and distinct had been
the dreams which pointed out the unhappy Omar as her son. When her
sorrow had a little abated, she reflected on the means of convincing
her husband of his mistake. This was indeed difficult, for he who had
passed himself off as her son, had presented the dagger, the token of
recognition, and had, moreover, as she learned, become acquainted with
so much of Omar's early life from the lips of the prince himself, as
to be able to play his part without betraying himself.

She called to her the men who had attended the sultan to the pillar
El-Serujah, in order to have the whole matter exactly laid before her,
and then took counsel with her most trusty female slaves. She chose,
and in a moment rejected, this means and that; at length, Melechsalah,
an old and cunning Circassian, spoke.

"If I have heard rightly, honored mistress, the one who bore this
dagger called him whom thou holdest to be thy son, a crazy tailor,
Labakan?"

"Yes, it is so," answered the sultana; "but what wilt thou make of
that?"

"What think you," proceeded the slave, "of this impostor's having
stitched his own name upon your son? If this be so, we have an
excellent way of catching the deceiver, which I will impart to you in
private."

The sultana gave ear to her slave, and the latter whispered to her a
plan which seemed to please her, for she immediately got ready to go
to the sultan. The sultana was a sensible woman, and knew not only
the weak side of her husband, but also the way to take advantage of
it. She seemed therefore to give up, and to be willing to acknowledge
her son, only offering one condition: the sultan, whom the outbreak
between himself and his wife had grieved, agreed thereto, and she
said:--

"I would fain have from each a proof of his skill; another, perhaps,
would have them contend in riding, in single conflict, or in hurling
spears: but these are things which every one can do; I will give them
something which will require both knowledge and dexterity. It shall be
this; each shall make a caftan, and a pair of pantaloons, and then
will we see at once who can make the finest ones."

The sultan laughingly answered, "Ah! thou hast hit on a fine
expedient! Shall my son contend with a mad tailor, to see who can make
the best caftan? No! that cannot be." The sultana, however, cried out,
that he had already agreed to the condition, and her husband, who was
a man of his word, at length yielded, though he swore, should the mad
tailor make his caftan ever so beautiful, he would never acknowledge
him as his son.

The sultan thereupon went to his son, and entreated him to submit to
the caprices of his mother, who now positively wished to see a caftan
from his hands. The heart of the good Labakan laughed with delight; if
that be all that is wanting, thought he to himself, then shall the
lady sultana soon behold me with joy. Two rooms had been fitted up,
one for the prince, the other for the tailor; there were they to try
their skill, and each was furnished with shears, needles, thread, and
a sufficient quantity of silk.

The sultan was very eager to see what sort of a caftan his son would
bring to light, but the heart of the sultana beat unquietly, from
apprehension lest her stratagem might be unsuccessful. Two days had
they been confined to their work; on the third, the sultan sent for
his wife, and when she appeared, dispatched her to the apartments to
bring the two caftans and their makers. With triumphant air Labakan
walked in, and extended his garment before the astonished eyes of the
sultan.

"Behold, father," said he, "look, mother! see if this be not a
masterpiece of a caftan. I will leave it to the most skilful
court-tailor, upon a wager, whether he can produce such another."

The sultana, smiling, turned to Omar:-- "And thou, my son, what hast
thou brought?"

Indignantly he cast the silk and shears upon the floor.

"They have taught me to tame horses, and to swing my sabre; and my
lance will strike you a mark at sixty paces. But the art of the needle
is unknown to me; it were unworthy a pupil of Elfi Bey, the lord of
Cairo!"

"Oh, thou true son of my heart!" exclaimed the sultana. "Ah, that I
might embrace thee, and call thee, son! Forgive me, husband and
master," she continued, turning to the sultan, "for having set on foot
this stratagem against you. See you not now who is prince, and who
tailor? Of a truth the caftan which your lord son has made, is
magnificent, and I would fain ask with what master he has learned!"

The sultan was lost in deep reflection, looking with distrust, now on
his wife, now on Labakan, who vainly sought to conceal his blushes and
consternation at having so stupidly betrayed himself. "This proof
pleases me not," said he; "but, Allah be praised! I know a means of
learning whether I am deceived." He commanded them to bring his
swiftest horse, mounted, and rode to a forest, which commenced not far
from the city. There, according to an old tradition, lived a good
fairy, named Adolzaide, who had often before this assisted with her
advice the monarchs of his family, in the hour of need: thither
hastened the sultan.

In the middle of the wood was an open place, surrounded by lofty
cedars. There, the story said, lived the fairy; and seldom did a
mortal visit this spot, for a certain awe connected with it had, from
olden time, descended from father to son. When the sultan had drawn
near he dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and placing himself in
the middle of the open space, cried with loud voice:--

"If it be true that thou hast given good counsel to my fathers, in the
hour of need, then disdain not the request of their descendant, and
advise me in a case where human understanding is too short-sighted."

Hardly had he uttered the last word, when one of the cedars opened,
and a veiled lady, in long white garments, stepped forth.

"I know, Sultan Saoud, why thou comest to me; thy wish is fair,
therefore shall my assistance be thine. Take these two chests; let
each of the two who claim to be thy son, choose; I know that he who is
the real one, will not make a wrong selection." Thus speaking, the
veiled lady extended to him two little caskets of ivory, richly
adorned with gold and pearls: upon the lids, which he vainly sought to
open, were inscriptions formed by inlaid diamonds.

As he was riding home, the sultan tormented himself with various
conjectures, as to what might be the contents of the caskets, which,
do his best, he could not open. The words on the outside threw no
light upon the matter; for on one was inscribed, HONOR AND FAME; upon
the other, FORTUNE AND WEALTH. Saoud thought it would be difficult to
make choice between these two, which seemed equally attractive,
equally alluring. When he reached the palace, he sent for his wife,
and told her the answer of the fairy: it filled her with an eager
hope, that he to whom her heart clung, might select the casket which
would indicate his royal origin.

Two tables were brought in before the sultan's throne; on these, with
his own hand, Saoud placed the two boxes; then, ascending to his seat,
he gave the signal to one of his slaves to open the door of the
saloon. A brilliant throng of bashaws and emirs of the realm poured
through the open door: they seated themselves on the splendid
cushions, which were arranged around the walls. When they had done
this, Saoud gave a second signal, and Labakan was introduced; with
haughty step he walked through the apartment, and prostrated himself
before the throne with these words:--

"What is the command of my lord and father?" The sultan raised himself
in his throne, and said:--

"My son, doubts are entertained as to the genuineness of thy claims to
this name; one of these chests contains the confirmation of thy real
birth. Choose! I doubt not thou wilt select the right one!" Labakan
raised himself, and advanced towards the boxes; for a long time he
reflected as to which he should choose, at last he said:--

"Honored father, what can be loftier than the fortune of being thy
son? What more noble than the wealth of thy favor? I choose the chest
which bears the inscription, FORTUNE AND WEALTH."

"We will soon learn whether thou hast made the right choice; meanwhile
sit down upon that cushion, near the bashaw of Medina," said the
sultan, again motioning to his slaves.

Omar was led in; his eye was mournful, his air dejected, and his
appearance excited universal sympathy among the spectators. He threw
himself before the throne, and inquired after the sultan's pleasure.
Saoud informed him that he was to choose one of the chests: he arose,
and approached the table. He read attentively both inscriptions, and
said:--

"The few last days have informed me how insecure is fortune, how
transient is wealth; but they have also taught me that, in the breast
of the brave, lives what can never be destroyed, HONOR, and that the
bright star of RENOWN sets not with fortune. The die is cast! should I
resign a crown, Honor and Fame, you are my choice!" He placed his hand
upon the casket that he had chosen, but the sultan commanded him not
to unclose it, while he motioned to Labakan to advance, in like
manner, before his table. He did so, and at the same time grasped his
box. The sultan, however, had a chalice brought in, with water from
Zemzem, the holy fountain of Mecca, washed his hands for supplication,
and, turning his face to the East, prostrated himself in prayer:

"God of my fathers! Thou, who for centuries hast established our
family, pure and unadulterated, grant that no unworthy one disgrace
the name of the Abasside; be with thy protection near my real son, in
this hour of trial." The sultan arose, and reascended his throne.
Universal expectation enchained all present; they scarcely breathed;
one could have heard a mouse crawl over the hall, so mute and
attentive were all. The hindmost extended their necks, in order to get
a view of the chests, over the heads of those in front. The sultan
spoke: "Open the chests;" and they, which before no violence could
force, now sprang open of their own accord.

In the one which Omar had chosen, lay upon a velvet cushion, a small
golden crown, and a sceptre: in Labakan's, a large needle, and a
little linen thread. The sultan commanded both to bring their caskets
before him: he took the little crown from the cushion in his hand,
and, wonderful to see! it became larger and larger, until it reached
the size of a real crown. Placing it on his son Omar, who kneeled
before him, he kissed his forehead, and bade him sit upon his right
hand. To Labakan, however, he turned and said:--

"There is an old proverb, 'Shoemaker, stick to thy last;' it seems
that thou shouldst stick to thy needle. Thou hast not, indeed, merited
much mercy at my hands, but one has supplicated for thee, whom this
day I can refuse nothing; therefore give I thee thy paltry life; but,
if I may advise, haste thee to leave my land."

Ashamed, ruined as he was, the poor tailor could answer nothing: he
threw himself before the prince, and tears came into his eyes.

"Can you forgive me, prince?" he said.

"To be true to a friend, magnanimous to a foe, is the pride of the
Abasside!" answered the prince, raising him. "Go in peace!"

"My true son!" cried the old sultan, deeply affected, and sinking upon
Omar's breast. The emirs and bashaws, and all the nobles of the
realm, arose from their seats, to welcome the new prince, and amid
this universal jubilee, Labakan, his chest under his arm, crept out of
the saloon.

He went down into the sultan's stable, bridled his horse Murva, and
rode forth from the gate towards Alexandria. His whole career as
prince recurred to him as a dream, and the splendid chest, richly
adorned with pearls and diamonds, alone convinced him that it was not
all an idle vision. Having at last reached Alexandria, he rode to the
house of his old master, dismounted, and fastening his horse to the
door, walked into the workshop. The master, who did not even know him,
made a low bow and asked what was his pleasure: when, however, he had
a nearer view of his guest, and recognised his old Labakan, he called
to his journeymen and apprentices, and all precipitated themselves,
like mad, upon poor Labakan, who expected no such reception; they
bruised and beat him with smoothing-irons and yard-sticks, pricked him
with needles, and pinched him with sharp shears, until he sank down,
exhausted, on a heap of old clothes. As he lay there, the master
ceased, for a moment, from his blows, to ask after the stolen
garments: in vain Labakan assured him that he had come back on that
account alone, to set all right; in vain offered him threefold
compensation for his loss; the master and his journeymen fell upon him
again, beat him terribly, and turned him out of doors. Sore and
bruised, he mounted Murva, and rode to a caravansery. There he laid
down his weary lacerated head, reflecting on the sorrows of earth, on
merit so often unrewarded, and on the nothingness and transientness of
all human blessings. He went to sleep with the determination to give
up all hopes of greatness, and to become an honest burgher. Nor on the
following day did he repent of his resolution, for the heavy hands of
his master, and the journeymen, had cudgelled out of him all thoughts
of nobility.

He sold his box to a jeweller for a high price, and fitted up a
workshop for his business. When he had arranged all, and had hung out,
before his window, a sign with the inscription, LABAKAN, MERCHANT
TAILOR, he sat down and began with the needle and thread he had found
in the chest, to mend the coat which his master had so shockingly
torn. He was called off from his work, but on returning to it, what a
wonderful sight met his eyes! The needle was sewing industriously
away, without being touched by any one; it took fine, elegant
stitches, such as Labakan himself had never made even in his most
skilful moments.

Truly the smallest present of a kind fairy is useful, and of great
value! Still another good quality had the gift; be the needle as
industrious as it might, the little stock of thread never gave out.

Labakan obtained many customers, and was soon the most famous tailor
for miles around. He cut out the garments, and took the first stitch
therein with the needle, and immediately the latter worked away,
without cessation, until the whole was completed. Master Labakan soon
had the whole city for customers, for his work was beautiful, and his
charges low; and only one thing troubled the brains of the people of
Alexandria, namely, how he finished his work entirely without
journeymen, and with closed doors.

Thus was the motto of the chest which promised fortune and wealth
undergoing its accomplishment. FORTUNE AND WEALTH accompanied, with
gradual increase, the steps of the good tailor, and when he listened
to the praises of the young sultan Omar, who lived in every mouth;
when he heard that this brave man was the object of his people's pride
and love, the terror of his enemies; then would the quondam prince say
to himself, "Still is it better that I remained a tailor, for HONOR
AND FAME are ever accompanied by danger."

Thus lived Labakan, contented with himself, respected by his
fellow-burghers; and if the needle, meanwhile, has not lost her
cunning, she is still sewing with the everlasting thread of the good
Fairy Adolzaide.





At sundown the Caravan set out, and soon reached Birket-el-had, or
"the Pilgrims' Fountain," whence the distance to Cairo was three
leagues. The Caravan had been expected at this time, and the merchants
soon had the pleasure of seeing their friends coming forth from the
city to meet them. They entered through the gate Bebel-Falch, for it
was considered a good omen for those who came from Mecca to enter by
this gate, because the Prophet himself had passed through it.

At the market-place the four Turkish merchants took leave of the
stranger and the Greek Zaleukos, and went home with their friends.
Zaleukos, however, showed his companion a good caravansery, and
invited him to dine with him. The stranger agreed, and promised to
make his appearance as soon as he should have changed his dress. The
Greek made every arrangement for giving a fine entertainment to the
stranger, for whom, upon the journey, he had conceived a deep feeling
of esteem; and when the meats and drink had been brought in in proper
order, he seated himself, waiting for his guest.

He heard slow and heavy steps approaching through the gallery which
led to their apartment. He arose in order to meet him as a friend, and
welcome him upon the threshold; but, full of horror, he started back
as the door opened--the same frightful Red-mantle walked in before
him! His eyes were still turned upon him; it was no illusion: the same
lofty, commanding figure, the mask, from beneath which shone forth the
dark eyes, the red cloak with embroidery of gold--all were but too
well known to him, impressed upon his mind as they had been during the
most awful moments of his life.

The breast of Zaleukos heaved with contending emotions; he had long
since felt reconciled towards this too-well-remembered apparition, and
forgiven him; nevertheless his sudden appearance opened every wound
afresh. All those torturing hours of anguish, that wo which had
envenomed the bloom of his life, rushed back for a moment, crowding
upon his soul.

"What wishest thou, terrible one?" cried the Greek, as the apparition
still stood motionless upon the threshold. "Away with thee, that I may
curse thee not!"

"Zaleukos!" said a well-known voice from under the mask: "Zaleukos! is
it thus that you receive your guest?" The speaker removed the mask,
and threw back his cloak: it was Selim Baruch, the stranger! But still
Zaleukos seemed not at ease, for he too plainly recognised in him the
Unknown of the Ponte Vecchio: nevertheless, old habits of hospitality
conquered; he silently motioned to the stranger to seat himself at the
table.

"I can guess your thoughts," commenced the latter, when they had taken
their places: "your eyes look inquiringly upon me. I might have been
silent, and your gaze would never more have beheld me; but I owe you
an explanation, and therefore did I venture to appear before you in my
former guise, even at the risk of receiving your curse. You once said
to me, 'The faith of my fathers bids me love him; and he is probably
more unhappy than myself:' be assured of this, my friend, and listen
to my justification.

"I must begin far back, in order that you may fully understand my
story. I was born in Alexandria, of Christian parents. My father, the
youngest son of an ancient illustrious French family, was consul for
his native land in the city I have just mentioned. From my tenth year
I was brought up in France, by one of my mother's brothers, and left
my fatherland for the first time a few years after the revolution
broke out there, in company with my uncle, who was no longer safe in
the land of his ancestors, in order to seek refuge with my parents
beyond the sea. We landed eagerly, hoping to find in my father's house
the rest and quiet of which the troubles of France had deprived us.
But ah! in my father's house I found not all as it should be: the
external storms of these stirring times had not, it is true, reached
it; but the more unexpectedly had misfortune made her home in the
inmost hearts of my family. My brother, a promising young man, first
secretary of my father, had shortly before married a young lady, the
daughter of a Florentine noble who lived in our vicinity: two days
before our arrival she had suddenly disappeared, and neither our
family nor her own father could discern the slightest trace of her.
At last they came to the conclusion that she had ventured too far in a
walk, and had fallen into the hands of robbers. Almost agreeable was
this thought to my poor brother, when compared to the truth, which
only too soon became known. The perfidious one had eloped with a young
Neapolitan, with whom she had become acquainted in her father's house.
My brother, who was exceedingly affected by this step, employed every
means to bring the guilty one to punishment; but in vain: his
attempts, which in Naples and Florence had excited wonder, served only
to complete his and our misfortune. The Florentine nobleman returned
to his native land, under the pretence of seeing justice done to my
brother, but with the real determination of destroying us all. He
frustrated all those examinations which my brother had set on foot,
and knew how to use his influence, which he had obtained in various
ways, so well, that my father and brother fell under suspicion of
their government, were seized in the most shameful manner, carried to
France, and there suffered death by the axe of the executioner. My
poor mother lost her mind; and not until ten long months had passed,
did death release her from her awful situation, though for the few
last days she was possessed of perfect consciousness. Thus did I now
stand isolated in the world: one thought alone occupied my whole soul,
one thought alone bade me forget my sorrows; it was the mighty flame
which my mother in her last moments had kindled within me.

"In her last moments, as I said, recollection returned; she had me
summoned, and spoke with composure of our fate, and her own death.
Then she sent all out of the room, raised herself, with a solemn air,
from her miserable bed, and said that I should receive her blessing,
if I would swear to accomplish something with which she would charge
me. Amazed at the words of my dying mother, I promised with an oath to
do whatever she should tell me. She thereupon broke forth in
imprecations against the Florentine and his daughter, and charged me,
with the most frightful threats of her curse, to avenge upon him the
misfortunes of my house. She died in my arms. This thought of
vengeance had long slumbered in my soul; it now awoke in all its
might. I collected what remained of my paternal property, and bound
myself by an oath to stake it all upon revenge, and, rather than be
unsuccessful, to perish in the attempt.

"I soon arrived in Florence, where I kept myself as private as
possible; it was very difficult to put my plan in execution on account
of the situation which my enemy occupied. The old Florentine had
become governor, and thus had in his hand all the means of destroying
me, should he entertain the slightest suspicion. An accident came to
my assistance. One evening I saw a man in well-known livery, walking
through the streets: his uncertain gait, his gloomy appearance, and
the muttered 'Santo sacramento,' and 'Maledetto diavolo,' soon made me
recognise old Pietro, a servant of the Florentine, whom I had formerly
known in Alexandria. There was no doubt but that he was in a passion
with his master, and I resolved to turn his humor to my advantage. He
appeared much surprised to see me there, told me his grievances, that
he could do nothing aright for his master since he had become
governor, and my gold supported by his anger soon brought him over to
my side. Most of the difficulty was now removed: I had a man in my
pay, who would open to me at any hour the doors of my enemy, and from
this time my plan of vengeance advanced to maturity with still greater
rapidity. The life of the old Florentine seemed to me too pitiful a
thing, to be put into the balance with that of my whole family.
Murdered before him, he must see the dearest object of his love, and
this was his daughter Bianca. It was she that had so shamefully
wronged my brother, it was she that had been the author of our
misfortunes. My heart, thirsting for revenge, eagerly drank in the
intelligence, that Bianca was on the point of being married a second
time; it was settled--she must die. But as my soul recoiled at the
deed, and I attributed too little nerve to Pietro, we looked around
for a man to accomplish our fell design. I could hire no Florentine,
for there was none that would have undertaken such a thing against the
governor. Thereupon Pietro hit upon a plan, which I afterwards
adopted, and he thereupon proposed you, being a foreigner and a
physician, as the proper person. The result you know: only, through
your excessive foresight and honesty, my undertaking seemed, at one
time, to be tottering; hence the scene with the mantle.

"Pietro opened for us the little gate in the governor's palace; he
would have let us out, also, in the same secret manner, if we had not
fled, overcome by horror at the frightful spectacle, which, through
the crack of the door, presented itself to our eyes. Pursued by terror
and remorse, I ran on about two hundred paces, until I sank down upon
the steps of a church. There I collected myself again, and my first
thought was of you, and your awful fate, if found within the house.

"I crept back to the palace, but neither of Pietro nor yourself could
I discover a single trace. The door, however, was open, and I could at
least hope that you had not neglected this opportunity of flight.

"But when the day broke, fear of detection, and an unconquerable
feeling of remorse, allowed me to remain no longer within the walls of
Florence. I hastened to Rome. Imagine my consternation, when, after a
few days, the story was everywhere told, with the addition that, in a
Grecian physician, they had detected the murderer. In anxious fear, I
returned to Florence; my vengeance now seemed too great: I cursed it
again and again, for with your life it was purchased all too dearly. I
arrived on the same day which cost you a hand. I will not tell you
what I felt, when I saw you ascend the scaffold, and bear all with
such heroism. But when the blood gushed forth in streams, then was my
resolution taken, to sweeten the rest of your days. What has since
happened you know; it only now remains to tell you, why I have
travelled with you. As the thought that you had never yet forgiven me,
pressed heavily upon me, I determined to spend some days with you, and
at last to give you an explanation of what I had done."

Silently had the Greek listened to his guest; with a kind look, as he
finished, he offered him his right hand.

"I knew very well that you must be more unhappy than I, for that awful
deed will, like a thick cloud, forever darken your days. From my heart
I forgive you. But answer me yet one question: how came you under this
form, in the wilderness? What did you set about, after purchasing my
house in Constantinople?"

"I returned to Alexandria," answered the guest. "Hate against all
mankind raged in my bosom; burning hate, in particular, against that
people, whom they call 'the polished nation.' Believe me, my Moslem
friends pleased me better. Scarcely a month had I been in Alexandria,
when the invasion of my countrymen took place. I saw in them only the
executioners of my father and brother; I, therefore, collected some
young people of my acquaintance, who were of the same mind as myself,
and joined those brave Mamelukes, who were so often the terror of the
French host. When the campaign was finished, I could not make up my
mind to return to the peaceful arts. With my little band of congenial
friends, I led a restless, careless life, devoted to the field and the
chase. I live contented among this people, who honor me as their
chief; for though my Asiatics are not quite so refined as your
Europeans, yet are they far removed from envy and slander, from
selfishness and ambition."

Zaleukos thanked the stranger for his relation, but did not conceal
from him, that he would find things better suited to his rank and
education, if he would live and work in Christian, in European lands.
With delight his companion looked upon him.

"I know by this," said he, "that you have entirely forgiven me, that
you love me: receive, in return, my heartfelt thanks." He sprang up,
and stood in full height before the Greek, whom the warlike air, the
dark sparkling eyes, the deep mysterious voice of his guest, almost
inspired with fear. "Thy proposal is intended kindly," continued he;
"for another it might have charms; but I--I cannot accept it. Already
stands my horse saddled: already do my attendants await me. Farewell,
Zaleukos!"

The friends whom destiny had so strangely thrown together, embraced at
parting. "And how may I call thee? What is the name of my guest, who
will forever live in my remembrance?" exclaimed the Greek.

The stranger gazed at him some time, and said, as he pressed his hand
once more: "They call me 'the lord of the wilderness;' I am THE ROBBER
ORBASAN!"

THE END.




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Transcriber's Note

Minor punctuation errors have been corrected without note. There is
some archaic spelling in this text, which has been retained as printed,
for example, pedler, phrensy, wo, etc. The single oe ligature has not
been retained.

The author dedication at the beginning of the book appears exactly as
printed in the original, although it appears that there is some text
missing from the start of it.

The following amendments have been made:

    Page 101--thus amended to this--"... only this much I
    know, that whoever ..."

    Page 136--Nourmahal amended to Nurmahal--"... and asked
    where Nurmahal and Mirza were."

    Page 188--Saaud amended to Saoud--"The old prince was
    Saoud, sultan of the Wechabites."

    Page 204--sheers amended to shears--"... and pinched him
    with sharp shears, until he sank down, ..."

Illustrations have been moved slightly where they were previously
located in the middle of a paragraph. The frontispiece illustration
has been moved to follow the title page.

Advertising material has been moved to the end of the text.


JEWISH FAIRY TALES AND LEGENDS

The Palace of the Eagles


East of the Land of the Rising Sun there dwelled a king who spent all
his days and half his nights in pleasure. His kingdom was on the edge
of the world, according to the knowledge of those times, and almost
entirely surrounded by the sea. Nobody seemed to care what lay beyond
the barrier of rocks that shut off the land from the rest of the
world. For the matter of that, nobody appeared to trouble much about
anything in that kingdom.

Most of the people followed the example of the king and led idle,
careless lives, giving no thought to the future. The king regarded the
task of governing his subjects as a big nuisance; he did not care to
be worried with proposals concerning the welfare of the masses, and
documents brought to him by his advisors for signature were never
read. For aught he knew they may have referred to the school
regulations of the moon, instead of the laws of trading and such like
public matters.

"Don't bother me," was his usual remark. "You are my advisors and
officers of state. Deal with affairs as you think best."

And off he would go to his beloved hunting which was his favorite
pastime.

The land was fertile, and nobody had ever entertained an idea that bad
weather might some year affect the crops and cause a scarcity of
grain. They took no precautions to lay in stocks of wheat, and so when
one summer there was a great lack of rain and the fields were parched,
the winter that followed was marked by suffering. The kingdom was
faced by famine, and the people did not like it. They did not know
what to do, and when they appealed to the king, he could not help
them. Indeed, he could not understand the difficulty. He passed it off
very lightly.

"I am a mighty hunter," he said. "I can always kill enough beasts to
provide a sufficiency of food."

But the drought had withered away the grass and the trees, and the
shortage of such food had greatly reduced the number of animals. The
king found the forests empty of deer and birds. Still he failed to
realize the gravity of the situation and what he considered an
exceedingly bright idea struck him.

"I will explore the unknown territory beyond the barrier of rocky
hills," he said. "Surely there will I find a land of plenty. And, at
least" he added, "it will be a pleasant adventure with good hunting."

A great expedition was therefore arranged, and the king and his
hunting companions set forth to find a path over the rocks. This was
not at all difficult, and on the third day, a pass was discovered
among the crags and peaks that formed the summit of the barrier, and
the king saw the region beyond.

It seemed a vast and beautiful land, stretching away as far as the eye
could see in a forest of huge trees. Carefully, the hunters descended
the other side of the rock barrier and entered the unknown land.

It seemed uninhabited. Nor was there any sign of beast or bird of any
kind. No sound disturbed the stillness of the forest, no tracks were
visible. As well as the hunters could make out, no foot had ever
trodden the region before. Even nature seemed at rest. The trees were
all old, their trunks gnarled into fantastic shapes, their leaves
yellow and sere as if growth had stopped ages ago.

Altogether the march through the forest was rather eerie, and the
hunters proceeded in single file, which added to the impressiveness of
the strange experience. The novelty, however, made it pleasant to the
king, and he kept on his way for four days.

Then the forest ended abruptly, and the explorers came to a vast open
plain, a desert, through which a wide river flowed. Far beyond rose a
mountain capped by rocks of regular shape. At any rate, they appeared
to be rocks, but the distance was too great to enable anyone to speak
with certainty.

"Water," said the vizier, "is a sign of life."

So the king decided to continue as far as the mountain. A ford was
discovered in the river, and once on the other side it was possible to
make out the rocks crowning the mountain. They looked too regular to
be mere rocks, and on approaching nearer the king was sure that a huge
building must be at the top of the mountain. When they arrived quite
close, there was no doubt about it. Either a town, or a palace, stood
on the summit, and it was decided to make the ascent next day.

During the night no sound was heard, but to everybody's surprise a
distinct path up the mountain was noticed in the morning. It was so
overgrown with weeds and moss and straggling creepers that it was
obvious it had not been used for a long time. The ascent was
accordingly difficult, but half way up the first sign of life, noticed
since the expedition began, made itself visible.

It was an eagle. Suddenly it flew down from the mountain top and
circled above the hunters, screaming, but making no attempt to attack.

At length the summit was gained. It was a flat plateau of great
expanse, almost the whole of which was covered by an enormous building
of massive walls and stupendous towers.

"This is the palace of a great monarch," said the king.

But no entrance of any kind could be seen. The rest of the day was
spent in wandering round, but nowhere was a door, or window, or
opening visible. It was decided to make a more serious effort next
morning to gain entry.

However, it seemed a greater puzzle than ever. At length, one of the
most venturesome of the party discovered an eagle's nest on one of the
smallest towers, and with great difficulty he secured the bird and
brought it down to the king. His majesty bade one of his wise men,
Muflog, learned in bird languages, to speak to it. He did so.

In a harsh croaking voice, the eagle replied, "I am but a young bird,
only seven centuries old. I know naught. On a tower higher than that
on which I dwell, is the eyrie of my father. He may be able to give
you information."

More he would not say. The only thing to do was to climb the higher
tower and question the father eagle. This was done, and the bird
answered:

"On a tower still higher dwells my father, and on yet a higher tower
my grandfather, who is two thousand years old. He may know something.
I know nothing."

After considerable difficulty the topmost tower was reached and the
venerable bird discovered. He seemed asleep and was only awakened
after much coaxing. Then he surveyed the hunters warily.

"Let me see, let me think," he muttered slowly. "I did hear, when I
was a tiny eagle chick, but a few years old--that was long, long
ago--that my great-grandfather had said that his great-grandfather had
told him he had heard that long, long, long ago--oh, ever so much
longer than that--a king lived in this palace; that he died and left
it to the eagles; and that in the course of many, many, many thousands
of years the door had been covered up by the dust brought by the
winds."

"Where is the door?" asked Muflog.

That was a puzzle the ancient bird could not answer readily. He
thought and thought and fell asleep and had to be kept being awakened
until at last he remembered.

"When the sun shines in the morning," he croaked, "its first ray falls
on the door."

Then, worn out with all his thinking and talking, he fell asleep
again.

There was no rest for the party that night. They all watched to make
certain of seeing the first ray of the rising sun strike the palace.
When it did so, the spot was carefully noted. But no door could be
seen. Digging was therefore begun and after many hours, an opening was
found.

Through this an entrance was effected into the palace. What a
wonderful and mysterious place it was, all overgrown with the weeds of
centuries! Tangled masses of creepers lay everywhere--over what were
once trimly kept pathways, and almost completely hiding the lower
buildings. In the crevices of the walls, roots had insinuated
themselves, and by their growth had forced the stones apart. It was
all a terrible scene of desolation. The king's men had to hack a way
laboriously through the wilderness of weeds with their swords to the
central building, and when they did so they came to a door on which
was an inscription cut deep into the wood. The language was unknown to
all but Muflog, who deciphered it as follows:

    "We, the Dwellers in this Palace, lived for many years in
    Comfort and Luxury. Then Hunger came. We had made no
    preparation. We had amassed jewels in abundance but not Corn. We
    ground Pearls and Rubies to fine flour, but could make no Bread.
    Wherefore we die, bequeathing this Palace to the eagles who will
    devour our bodies and build their eyries on our towers."

A dread silence fell on the whole party when Muflog read these strange
words, and the king turned pale. This warning from the dead past was
making the adventure far from enjoyable. Some of the party suggested
the immediate abandonment of the expedition and the prompt return
home. They feared hidden dangers now. But the king remained resolute.

"I must investigate this to the end," he said in a firm voice. "Those
who are seized by fear may return. I will go on, if needs be, alone."

Encouraged by these words, the hunters decided to remain with the
king. One of them began to batter at the door, but the king was
anxious to preserve the inscription, and after more cutting away of
weeds, the key was seen to be sticking in the keyhole. Unlocking the
door, however, was no light task, for ages of rust had accumulated.
When finally this was accomplished the door creaked heavily on its
hinges and a musty smell came from the dank corridor that was
revealed.

The explorers walked ankle-deep in dust through a maze of rooms until
they came to a big central hall of statues. So artistically fashioned
were they that they seemed lifelike in their attitudes, and for a
moment all held their breath. This hall was dustless, and Muflog
pointed out that it was an airtight chamber. Evidently it had been
specifically devised to preserve the statues.

"These must be the effigies of kings," said his majesty, and on
reading the inscriptions, Muflog said that was so.

At the far end of the hall, on a pedestal higher than the others, was
a statue bigger than the rest. In addition to the name there was an
inscription on the pedestal. Muflog read it amid an awed stillness:

    "I am the last of the kings--yea, the last of men, and with my
    own hands have completed this work. I ruled over a thousand
    cities, rode on a thousand horses, and received the homage of a
    thousand vassal princes; but when Famine came I was powerless.
    Ye who may read this, take heed of the fate that has overwhelmed
    this land. Take but one word of counsel from the last of the
    mortals; prepare thy meal while the daylight lasts   "

The words broke off: the rest was undecipherable.

"Enough," cried the king, and his voice was not steady. "This has
indeed been good hunting. I have learned, in my folly and pursuit of
pleasure, what I had failed to see for myself. Let us return and act
upon the counsel of this king who has met the end that will surely be
our own should we forget his warning."

Looking out across the plain they had traversed, his majesty seemed to
see a vision of prosperous cities and smiling fertile fields. In
imagination, he saw caravans laden with merchandise journeying across
the intervening spaces. Then, as darker thoughts followed, a cloud
appeared to settle over the whole land. The cities crumbled and
disappeared, the eagles swooped down and took possession of that which
man had failed to appreciate and hold; and after the eagles the dust
of the ages settled slowly, piling itself up year by year until
everything was covered and only the desert was visible.

Scarcely a word was spoken as the king and his hunters made their way
back to the land East of the Rising Sun. In all, they had been away
forty days when they re-crossed the barrier of rocks. They were
joyously welcomed.

"What have you brought," asked the populace. "In a little while we
shall be starving."

"Ye shall not starve," said the king. "I have brought wisdom from the
Palace of the Eagles. From the fate and sufferings of others I have
learned a lesson--my duty."

At once he set to work to organize the proper distribution of the food
supply and the cultivation of the land. He wasted no more time on
foolish pleasures, and in due course the land East of the Rising Sun
enjoyed happiness and prosperity and even established fruitful
colonies in the plain overlooked by the Palace of the Eagles.

   [Illustration: Og, riding gaily on the unicorn behind the Ark,
   was quite happy. (_Page 30_).]




The Giant of the Flood


Just before the world was drowned all the animals gathered in front of
the Ark and Father Noah carefully inspected them.

"All ye that lie down shall enter and be saved from the deluge that is
about to destroy the world," he said. "Ye that stand cannot enter."

Then the various creatures began to march forward into the Ark. Father
Noah watched them closely. He seemed troubled.

"I wonder," he said to himself, "how I shall obtain a unicorn, and how
I shall get it into the Ark."

"I can bring thee a unicorn, Father Noah," he heard in a voice of
thunder, and turning round he saw the giant, Og. "But thou must agree
to save me, too, from the flood."

"Begone," cried Noah. "Thou art a demon, not a human being. I can have
no dealings with thee."

"Pity me," whined the giant. "See how my figure is shrinking. Once I
was so tall that I could drink water from the clouds and toast fish at
the sun. I fear not that I shall be drowned, but that all the food
will be destroyed and that I shall perish of hunger."

Noah, however, only smiled; but he grew serious again when Og brought
a unicorn. It was as big as a mountain, although the giant said it was
the smallest he could find. It lay down in front of the Ark and Noah
saw by that action that he must save it. For some time he was puzzled
what to do, but at last a bright idea struck him. He attached the huge
beast to the Ark by a rope fastened to its horn so that it could swim
alongside and be fed.

Og seated himself on a mountain near at hand and watched the rain
pouring down. Faster and faster it fell in torrents until the rivers
overflowed and the waters began to rise rapidly on the land and sweep
all things away. Father Noah stood gloomily before the door of the Ark
until the water reached his neck. Then it swept him inside. The door
closed with a bang, and the Ark rose gallantly on the flood and began
to move along. The unicorn swam alongside, and as it passed Og, the
giant jumped on to its back.

"See, Father Noah," he cried, with a huge chuckle, "you will have to
save me after all. I will snatch all the food you put through the
window for the unicorn."

Noah saw that it was useless to argue with Og, who might, indeed, sink
the Ark with his tremendous strength.

"I will make a bargain with thee," he shouted from a window. "I will
feed thee, but thou must promise to be a servant to my descendants."

Og was very hungry, so he accepted the conditions and devoured his
first breakfast.

The rain continued to fall in great big sheets that shut out the light
of day. Inside the Ark, however, all was bright and cheerful, for Noah
had collected the most precious of the stones of the earth and had
used them for the windows. Their radiance illumined the whole of the
three stories in the Ark. Some of the animals were troublesome and
Noah got no sleep at all. The lion had a bad attack of fever. In a
corner a bird slept the whole of the time. This was the phoenix.

"Wake up," said Noah, one day. "It is feeding time."

"Thank you," returned the bird. "I saw thou wert busy, Father Noah,
so I would not trouble thee."

"Thou art a good bird," said Noah, much touched, "therefore thou shalt
never die."

One day the rain ceased, the clouds rolled away and the sun shone
brilliantly again. How strange the world looked! It was like a vast
ocean. Nothing but water could be seen anywhere, and only one or two
of the highest mountain tops peeped above the flood. All the world was
drowned, and Noah gazed on the desolate scene from one of the windows
with tears in his eyes. Og, riding gaily on the unicorn behind the
Ark, was quite happy.

"Ha, ha!" he laughed gleefully. "I shall be able to eat and drink just
as much as I like now and shall never be troubled by those tiny little
creatures, the mortals."

"Be not so sure," said Noah. "Those tiny mortals shall be thy masters
and shall outlive thee and the whole race of giants and demons."

The giant did not relish this prospect. He knew that whatever Noah
prophesied would come true, and he was so sad that he ate no food for
two days and began to grow smaller and thinner. He became more and
more unhappy as day by day the water subsided and the mountains began
to appear. At last the Ark rested on Mount Ararat, and Og's long ride
came to an end.

"I will soon leave thee, Father Noah," he said. "I shall wander round
the world to see what is left of it."

"Thou canst not go until I permit thee," said Noah. "Hast thou
forgotten our compact so soon? Thou must be my servant. I have work
for thee."

Giants are not fond of work, and Og, who was the father of all the
giants, was particularly lazy. He cared only to eat and sleep, but he
knew he was in Noah's power, and he shed bitter tears when he saw the
land appear again.

"Stop," commanded Noah. "Dost thou wish to drown the world once more
with thy big tears?"

So Og sat on a mountain and rocked from side to side, weeping silently
to himself. He watched the animals leave the Ark and had to do all the
hard work when Noah's children built houses. Daily he complained that
he was shrinking to the size of the mortals, for Noah said there was
not too much food.

One day Noah said to him, "Come with me, Og. I am going around the
world. I am commanded to plant fruit and flowers to make the earth
beautiful. I need thy help."

For many days they wandered all over the earth, and Og was compelled
to carry the heavy bag of seeds. The last thing Noah planted was the
grape vine.

"What is this--food, or drink?" asked Og.

"Both," replied Noah. "It can be eaten, or its juice made into wine,"
and as he planted it, he blessed the grape. "Be thou," he said, "a
plant pleasing to the eye, bear fruit that will be food for the hungry
and a health-giving drink to the thirsty and sick."

Og grunted.

"I will offer up sacrifice to this wonderful fruit," he said. "May I
not do so now that our labors are over?"

Noah agreed, and the giant brought a sheep, a lion, a pig and a
monkey. First, he slaughtered the sheep, then the lion.

"When a man shall taste but a few drops of the wine," he said, "he
shall be as harmless as a sheep. When he takes a little more he shall
be as strong as a lion."

Then Og began to dance around the plant, and he killed the pig and the
monkey. Noah was very much surprised.

"I am giving thy descendants two extra blessings," said Og, chuckling.

He rolled over and over on the ground in great glee and then said:

"When a man shall drink too much of the juice of the wine, then shall
he become a beast like the pig, and if then he still continues to
drink, he shall behave foolishly like a monkey."

And that is why, unto this day, too much wine makes a man silly.

Og himself often drank too much, and many years afterward, when he was
a servant to the patriarch Abraham, the latter scolded him until he
became so frightened that he dropped a tooth. Abraham made an ivory
chair for himself from this tooth. Afterwards Og became King of
Bashan, but he forgot his compact with Noah and instead of helping the
Israelites to obtain Canaan he opposed them.

"I will kill them all with one blow," he declared.

Exerting all his enormous strength he uprooted a mountain, and raising
it high above his head he prepared to drop it on the camp of the
Israelites and crush it.

But a wonderful thing happened. The mountain was full of grasshoppers
and ants who had bored millions of tiny holes in it. When King Og
raised the great mass it crumbled in his hands and fell over his head
and round his neck like a collar. He tried to pull it off, but his
teeth became entangled in the mass. As he danced about in rage and
pain, Moses, the leader of the Israelites, approached him.

Moses was a tiny man compared with Og. He was only ten ells high, and
he carried with him a sword of the same length. With a mighty effort
he jumped ten ells into the air, and raising the sword, he managed to
strike the giant on the ankle and wound him mortally.

Thus, after many years, did the terrible giant of the flood perish for
breaking his word to Father Noah.




The Fairy Princess of Ergetz



In a great and beautiful city that stood by the sea, an old man lay
dying. Mar Shalmon was his name, and he was the richest man in the
land. Propped up with pillows on a richly decorated bed in a luxurious
chamber, he gazed, with tears in his eyes, through the open window at
the setting sun. Like a ball of fire it sank lower and lower until it
almost seemed to rest on the tranquil waters beyond the harbor.
Suddenly, Mar Shalmon roused himself.

"Where is my son, Bar Shalmon?" he asked in a feeble voice, and his
hand crept tremblingly along the silken coverlet of the bed as if in
search of something.

"I am here, my father," replied his son who was standing by the side
of his bed. His eyes were moist with tears, but his voice was steady.

"My son," said the old man, slowly, and with some difficulty, "I am
about to leave this world. My soul will take flight from this frail
body when the sun has sunk behind the horizon. I have lived long and
have amassed great wealth which will soon be thine. Use it well, as I
have taught thee, for thou, my son, art a man of learning, as befits
our noble Jewish faith. One thing I must ask thee to promise me."

   [Illustration: A strange crowd of demons of all shapes and
   sizes poured into the synagogue with threatening gestures.
   (_Page 40_).]

"I will, my father," returned Bar Shalmon, sobbing.

"Nay, weep not, my son," said the old man. "My day is ended; my life
has not been ill-spent. I would spare thee the pain that was mine in
my early days, when, as a merchant, I garnered my fortune. The sea out
there that will soon swallow up the sun is calm now. But beware of it,
my son, for it is treacherous. Promise me--nay, swear unto me--that
never wilt thou cross it to foreign lands."

Bar Shalmon placed his hands on those of his father.

"Solemnly I swear," he said, in a broken voice, "to do thy wish--never
to journey on the sea, but to remain here in this, my native land.
'Tis a vow before thee, my father."

"'Tis an oath before heaven," said the old man. "Guard it, keep it,
and heaven will bless thee. Remember! See, the sun is sinking."

Mar Shalmon fell back upon his pillows and spoke no more. Bar Shalmon
stood gazing out of the window until the sun had disappeared, and
then, silently sobbing, he left the chamber of death.

The whole city wept when the sad news was made known, for Mar Shalmon
was a man of great charity, and almost all the inhabitants followed
the remains to the grave. Then Bar Shalmon, his son, took his father's
place of honor in the city, and in him, too, the poor and needy found
a friend whose purse was ever open and whose counsel was ever wisdom.

Thus years passed away.

One day there arrived in the harbor of the city a strange ship from a
distant land. Its captain spoke a tongue unknown, and Bar Shalmon,
being a man of profound knowledge, was sent for. He alone in the city
could understand the language of the captain. To his astonishment, he
learned that the cargo of the vessel was for Mar Shalmon, his father.

"I am the son of Mar Shalmon," he said. "My father is dead, and all
his possessions he left to me."

"Then, verily, art thou the most fortunate mortal, and the richest, on
earth," answered the captain. "My good ship is filled with a vast
store of jewels, precious stones and other treasures. And know you, O
most favored son of Mar Shalmon, this cargo is but a small portion of
the wealth that is thine in a land across the sea."

"'Tis strange," said Bar Shalmon, in surprise; "my father said nought
of this to me. I knew that in his younger days he had traded with
distant lands, but nothing did he ever say of possessions there. And,
moreover, he warned me never to leave this shore."

The captain looked perplexed.

"I understand it not," he said. "I am but performing my father's
bidding. He was thy father's servant, and long years did he wait for
Mar Shalmon's return to claim his riches. On his death-bed he bade me
vow that I would seek his master, or his son, and this have I done."

He produced documents, and there could be no doubt that the vast
wealth mentioned in them belonged now to Bar Shalmon.

"Thou art now my master," said the captain, "and must return with me
to the land across the sea to claim thine inheritance. In another year
it will be too late, for by the laws of the country it will be
forfeit."

"I cannot return with thee," said Bar Shalmon. "I have a vow before
heaven never to voyage on the sea."

The captain laughed.

"In very truth, I understand thee not, as my father understood not
thine," he replied. "My father was wont to say that Mar Shalmon was
strange and peradventure not possessed of all his senses to neglect
his store of wealth and treasure."

With an angry gesture Bar Shalmon stopped the captain, but he was
sorely troubled. He recalled now that his father had often spoken
mysteriously of foreign lands, and he wondered, indeed, whether Mar
Shalmon could have been in his proper senses not to have breathed a
word of his riches abroad. For days he discussed the matter with the
captain, who at last persuaded him to make the journey.

"Fear not thy vow," said the captain. "Thy worthy father must, of a
truth, have been bereft of reason in failing to tell thee of his full
estate, and an oath to a man of mind unsound is not binding. That is
the law in our land."

"So it is here," returned Bar Shalmon, and with this remark his last
scruple vanished.

He bade a tender farewell to his wife, his child, and his friends,
and set sail on the strange ship to the land beyond the sea.

For three days all went well, but on the fourth the ship was becalmed
and the sails flapped lazily against the masts. The sailors had
nothing to do but lie on deck and wait for a breeze, and Bar Shalmon
took advantage of the occasion to treat them to a feast.

Suddenly, in the midst of the feasting, they felt the ship begin to
move. There was no wind, but the vessel sped along very swiftly. The
captain himself rushed to the helm. To his alarm he found the vessel
beyond control.

"The ship is bewitched," he exclaimed. "There is no wind, and no
current, and yet we are being borne along as if driven before a storm.
We shall be lost."

Panic seized the sailors, and Bar Shalmon was unable to pacify them.

"Someone on board has brought us ill-luck," said the boatswain,
looking pointedly at Bar Shalmon; "we shall have to heave him
overboard."

His comrades assented and rushed toward Bar Shalmon.

Just at that moment, however, the look-out in the bow cried excitedly,
"Land ahead!"

The ship still refused to answer the helm and grounded on a sandbank.
She shivered from stem to stern but did not break up. No rocks were
visible, only a desolate tract of desert land was to be seen, with
here and there a solitary tree.

"We seem to have sustained no damage," said the captain, when he had
recovered from his first astonishment, "but how we are going to get
afloat again I do not know. This land is quite strange to me."

He could not find it marked on any of his charts or maps, and the
sailors stood looking gloomily at the mysterious shore.

"Had we not better explore the land?" said Bar Shalmon.

"No, no," exclaimed the boatswain, excitedly. "See, no breakers strike
on the shore. This is not a human land. This is a domain of demons. We
are lost unless we cast overboard the one who has brought on us this
ill-luck."

Said Bar Shalmon, "I will land, and I will give fifty silver crowns to
all who land with me."

Not one of the sailors moved, however, even when he offered fifty
golden crowns, and at last Bar Shalmon said he would land alone,
although the captain strongly urged him not to do so.

Bar Shalmon sprang lightly to the shore, and as he did so the ship
shook violently.

"What did I tell you?" shouted the boatswain. "Bar Shalmon is the one
who has brought us this misfortune. Now we shall refloat the ship."

But it still remained firmly fixed on the sand. Bar Shalmon walked
towards a tree and climbed it. In a few moments he returned, holding a
twig in his hand.

"The land stretches away for miles just as you see it here," he called
to the captain. "There is no sign of man or habitation."

He prepared to board the vessel again, but the sailors would not allow
him. The boatswain stood in the bow and threatened him with a sword.
Bar Shalmon raised the twig to ward off the blow and struck the ship
which shivered from stern to stern again.

"Is not this proof that the vessel is bewitched?" cried the sailors,
and when the captain sternly bade them remember that Bar Shalmon was
their master, they threatened him too.

Bar Shalmon, amused at the fears of the men, again struck the vessel
with the twig. Once more it trembled. A third time he raised the
twig.

"If the ship is bewitched," he said, "something will happen after the
third blow."

"Swish" sounded the branch through the air, and the third blow fell on
the vessel's bow. Something did happen. The ship almost leaped from
the sand, and before Bar Shalmon could realize what had happened it
was speeding swiftly away.

"Come back, come back," he screamed, and he could see the captain
struggling with the helm. But the vessel refused to answer, and Bar
Shalmon saw it grow smaller and smaller and finally disappear. He was
alone on an uninhabited desert land.

"What a wretched plight for the richest man in the world," he said to
himself, and the next moment he realized that he was in danger indeed.

A terrible roar made him look around. To his horror he saw a lion
making toward him. As quick as a flash Bar Shalmon ran to the tree and
hastily scrambled into the branches. The lion dashed itself furiously
against the trunk of the tree, but, for the present, Bar Shalmon was
safe. Night, however, was coming on, and the lion squatted at the foot
of the tree, evidently intending to wait for him. All night the lion
remained, roaring at intervals, and Bar Shalmon clung to one of the
upper branches afraid to sleep lest he should fall off and be
devoured. When morning broke, a new danger threatened him. A huge
eagle flew round the tree and darted at him with its cruel beak. Then
the great bird settled on the thickest branch, and Bar Shalmon moved
stealthily forward with a knife which he drew from his belt. He crept
behind the bird, but as he approached it spread its big wings, and Bar
Shalmon, to prevent himself being swept from the tree, dropped the
knife and clutched at the bird's feathers. Immediately, to his dismay,
the bird rose from the tree. Bar Shalmon clung to its back with all
his might.

Higher and higher soared the eagle until the trees below looked like
mere dots on the land. Swiftly flew the eagle over miles and miles of
desert until Bar Shalmon began to feel giddy. He was faint with hunger
and feared that he would not be able to retain his hold. All day the
bird flew without resting, across island and sea. No houses, no ships,
no human beings could be seen. Toward night, however, Bar Shalmon, to
his great joy, beheld the lights of a city surrounded by trees, and as
the eagle came near, he made a bold dive to the earth. Headlong he
plunged downward. He seemed to be hours in falling. At last he struck
a tree. The branches broke beneath the weight and force of his falling
body, and he continued to plunge downward. The branches tore his
clothes to shreds and bruised his body, but they broke his terrible
fall, and when at last he reached the ground he was not much hurt.



Bar Shalmon found himself on the outskirts of the city, and cautiously
he crept forward. To his intense relief, he saw that the first
building was a synagogue. The door, however, was locked. Weary, sore,
and weak with long fasting, Bar Shalmon sank down on the steps and
sobbed like a child.

Something touched him on the arm. He looked up. By the light of the
moon he saw a boy standing before him. Such a queer boy he was, too.
He had cloven feet, and his coat, if it was a coat, seemed to be made
in the shape of wings.

"_Ivri Onochi_," said Bar Shalmon, "I am a Hebrew."

"So am I," said the boy. "Follow me."

He walked in front with a strange hobble, and when they reached a
house at the back of the synagogue, he leaped from the ground,
spreading his coat wings as he did so, to a window about twenty feet
from the ground. The next moment a door opened, and Bar Shalmon, to
his surprise, saw that the boy had jumped straight through the window
down to the door which he had unfastened from the inside. The boy
motioned him to enter a room. He did so. An aged man, who he saw was a
rabbi, rose to greet him.

"Peace be with you," said the rabbi, and pointed to a seat. He clapped
his hand and immediately a table with food appeared before Bar
Shalmon. The latter was far too hungry to ask any questions just then,
and the rabbi was silent, too, while he ate. When he had finished, the
rabbi clapped his hands and the table vanished.

"Now tell me your story," said the rabbi.

Bar Shalmon did so.

"Alas! I am an unhappy man," he concluded. "I have been punished for
breaking my vow. Help me to return to my home. I will reward thee
well, and will atone for my sin."

"Thy story is indeed sad," said the rabbi, gravely, "but thou knowest
not the full extent of thy unfortunate plight. Art thou aware what
land it is into which thou hast been cast?"

"No," said Bar Shalmon, becoming afraid again.

"Know then," said the rabbi, "thou art not in a land of human beings.
Thou hast fallen into Ergetz, the land of demons, of djinns, and of
fairies."

"But art thou not a Jew?" asked Bar Shalmon, in astonishment.

"Truly," replied the rabbi. "Even in this realm we have all manner of
religions just as you mortals have."

"What will happen to me?" asked Bar Shalmon, in a whisper.

"I know not," replied the rabbi. "Few mortals come here, and mostly, I
fear they are put to death. The demons love them not."

"Woe, woe is me," cried Bar Shalmon, "I am undone."

"Weep not," said the rabbi. "I, as a Jew, love not death by violence
and torture, and will endeavor to save thee."

"I thank thee," cried Bar Shalmon.

"Let thy thanks wait," said the rabbi, kindly. "There is human blood
in my veins. My great-grandfather was a mortal who fell into this
land and was not put to death. Being of mortal descent, I have been
made rabbi. Perhaps thou wilt find favor here and be permitted to live
and settle in this land."

"But I desire to return home," said Bar Shalmon.

The rabbi shook his head.

"Thou must sleep now," he said.

He passed his hands over Bar Shalmon's eyes and he fell into a
profound slumber. When he awoke it was daylight, and the boy stood by
his couch. He made a sign to Bar Shalmon to follow, and through an
underground passage he conducted him into the synagogue and placed him
near the rabbi.

"Thy presence has become known," whispered the rabbi, and even as he
spoke a great noise was heard. It was like the wild chattering of many
high-pitched voices. Through all the windows and the doors a strange
crowd poured into the synagogue. There were demons of all shapes and
sizes. Some had big bodies with tiny heads, others huge heads and
quaint little bodies. Some had great staring eyes, others had long
wide mouths, and many had only one leg each. They surrounded Bar
Shalmon with threatening gestures and noises. The rabbi ascended the
pulpit.

"Silence!" he commanded, and immediately the noise ceased. "Ye who
thirst for mortal blood, desecrate not this holy building wherein I am
master. What ye have to say must wait until after the morning
service."

Silently and patiently they waited, sitting in all manner of queer
places. Some of them perched on the backs of the seats, a few clung
like great big flies to the pillars, others sat on the window-sills,
and several of the tiniest hung from the rafters in the ceiling. As
soon as the service was over, the clamor broke out anew.

"Give to us the perjurer," screamed the demons. "He is not fit to
live."

With some difficulty, the rabbi stilled the tumult, and said:

"Listen unto me, ye demons and sprites of the land of Ergetz. This man
has fallen into my hands, and I am responsible for him. Our king,
Ashmedai, must know of his arrival. We must not condemn a man unheard.
Let us petition the king to grant him a fair trial."

After some demur, the demons agreed to this proposal, and they trooped
out of the synagogue in the same peculiar manner in which they came.
Each was compelled to leave by the same door or window at which he
entered.

Bar Shalmon was carried off to the palace of King Ashmedai, preceded
and followed by a noisy crowd of demons and fairies. There seemed to
be millions of them, all clattering and pointing at him. They hobbled
and hopped over the ground, jumped into the air, sprang from housetop
to housetop, made sudden appearances from holes in the ground and
vanished through solid walls.

The palace was a vast building of white marble that seemed as delicate
as lace work. It stood in a magnificent square where many beautiful
fountains spouted jets of crystal water. King Ashmedai came forth on
the balcony, and at his appearance all the demons and fairies became
silent and went down on their knees.

"What will ye with me?" he cried, in a voice of thunder, and the rabbi
approached and bowed before his majesty.

"A mortal, a Jew, has fallen into my hands," he said, "and thy
subjects crave for his blood. He is a perjurer, they say. Gracious
majesty, I would petition for a trial."

"What manner of mortal is he?" asked Ashmedai.

Bar Shalmon stepped forward.

"Jump up here so I may see thee," commanded the king.

"Jump, jump," cried the crowd.

"I cannot," said Bar Shalmon, as he looked up at the balcony thirty
feet above the ground.

"Try," said the rabbi.

Bar Shalmon did try, and found, the moment he lifted his feet from the
ground, that he was standing on the balcony.

"Neatly done," said the king. "I see thou art quick at learning."

"So my teachers always said," replied Bar Shalmon.

"A proper answer," said the king. "Thou art, then, a scholar."

"In my own land," returned Bar Shalmon, "men said I was great among
the learned."

"So," said the king. "And canst thou impart the wisdom of man and of
the human world to others?"

"I can," said Bar Shalmon.

"We shall see," said the king. "I have a son with a desire for such
knowledge. If thou canst make him acquainted with thy store of
learning, thy life shall be spared. The petition for a trial is
granted."

The king waved his scepter and two slaves seized Bar Shalmon by the
arms. He felt himself lifted from the balcony and carried swiftly
through the air. Across the vast square the slaves flew with him, and
when over the largest of the fountains they loosened their hold. Bar
Shalmon thought he would fall into the fountain, but to his amazement
he found himself standing on the roof of a building. By his side was
the rabbi.

"Where are we?" asked Bar Shalmon. "I feel bewildered."

"We are at the Court of Justice, one hundred miles from the palace,"
replied the rabbi.

A door appeared before them. They stepped through, and found
themselves in a beautiful hall. Three judges in red robes and purple
wigs were seated on a platform, and an immense crowd filled the
galleries in the same queer way as in the synagogue. Bar Shalmon was
placed on a small platform in front of the judges. A tiny sprite, only
about six inches high, stood on another small platform at his right
hand and commenced to read from a scroll that seemed to have no
ending. He read the whole account of Bar Shalmon's life. Not one
little event was missing.

"The charge against Bar Shalmon, the mortal," the sprite concluded,
"is that he has violated the solemn oath sworn at his father's
death-bed."

Then the rabbi pleaded for him and declared that the oath was not
binding because Bar Shalmon's father had not informed him of his
treasures abroad and could not therefore have been in his right
senses. Further, he added, Bar Shalmon was a scholar and the king
desired him to teach his wisdom to the crown prince.

The chief justice rose to pronounce sentence.

"Bar Shalmon," he said, "rightly thou shouldst die for thy broken
oath. It is a grievous sin. But there is the doubt that thy father may
not have been in his right mind. Therefore, thy life shall be spared."

Bar Shalmon expressed his thanks.

"When may I return to my home?" he asked.

"Never," replied the chief justice.

Bar Shalmon left the court, feeling very downhearted. He was safe now.
The demons dared not molest him, but he longed to return to his home.

"How am I to get back to the palace?" he asked the rabbi. "Perhaps
after I have imparted my learning to the crown prince, the king will
allow me to return to my native land."

"That I cannot say. Come, fly with me," said the rabbi.

"Fly!"

"Yes; see thou hast wings."

Bar Shalmon noticed that he was now wearing a garment just like all
the demons. When he spread his arms, he found he could fly, and he
sailed swiftly through the air to the palace. With these wings, he
thought, he would be able to fly home.

"Think not that," said the rabbi, who seemed to be able to read his
thoughts, "for thy wings are useless beyond this land."

Bar Shalmon found that it would be best for him to carry out his
instructions for the present, and he set himself diligently to teach
the crown prince. The prince was an apt pupil, and the two became
great friends. King Ashmedai was delighted and made Bar Shalmon one of
his favorites.

One day the king said to him: "I am about to leave the city for a
while to undertake a campaign against a rebellious tribe of demons
thousands of miles away. I must take the crown prince with me. I leave
thee in charge of the palace."

The king gave him a huge bunch of keys.

"These," he said, "will admit into all but one of the thousand rooms
in the palace. For that one there is no key, and thou must not enter
it. Beware."

For several days Bar Shalmon amused himself by examining the hundreds
of rooms in the vast palace until one day he came to the door for
which he had no key. He forgot the king's warning and his promise to
obey.

"Open this door for me," he said to his attendants, but they replied
that they could not.

"You must," he said angrily, "burst it open."

"We do not know how to burst open a door," they said. "We are not
mortal. If we were permitted to enter the room we should just walk
through the walls."

Bar Shalmon could not do this, so he put his shoulder to the door and
it yielded quite easily.

A strange sight met his gaze. A beautiful woman, the most beautiful he
had ever seen, was seated on a throne of gold, surrounded by fairy
attendants who vanished the moment he entered.

"Who art thou?" asked Bar Shalmon, in great astonishment.

"The daughter of the king," replied the princess, "and thy future
wife."

"Indeed! How know you that?" he asked.

"Thou hast broken thy promise to my father, the king, not to enter
this room," she replied. "Therefore, thou must die, unless--"

"Tell me quickly," interrupted Bar Shalmon, turning pale, "how my life
can be saved."

"Thou must ask my father for my hand," replied the princess. "Only by
becoming my husband canst thou be saved."

"But I have a wife and child in my native land," said Bar Shalmon,
sorely troubled.

"Thou hast now forfeited thy hopes of return," said the princess,
slowly. "Once more hast thou broken a promise. It seems to come easy
to thee now."

Bar Shalmon had no wish to die, and he waited, in fear and trembling
for the king's return. Immediately he heard of King Ashmedai's
approach, he hastened to meet him and flung himself on the ground at
his majesty's feet.

"O King," he cried, "I have seen thy daughter, the princess, and I
desire to make her my wife."

"I cannot refuse," returned the king. "Such is our law--that he who
first sees the princess must become her husband, or die. But, have a
care, Bar Shalmon. Thou must swear to love and be faithful ever."

"I swear," said Bar Shalmon.

The wedding took place with much ceremony. The princess was attended
by a thousand fairy bridesmaids, and the whole city was brilliantly
decorated and illuminated until Bar Shalmon was almost blinded by the
dazzling spectacle.

The rabbi performed the marriage ceremony, and Bar Shalmon had to
swear an oath by word of mouth and in writing that he loved the
princess and would never desert her. He was given a beautiful palace
full of jewels as a dowry, and the wedding festivities lasted six
months. All the fairies and demons invited them in turn; they had to
attend banquets and parties and dances in grottoes and caves and in
the depths of the fairy fountains in the square. Never before in
Ergetz had there been such elaborate rejoicings.



Some years rolled by and still Bar Shalmon thought of his native land.
One day the princess found him weeping quietly.

"Why art thou sad, husband mine?" she asked. "Dost thou no longer love
me, and am I not beautiful now?"

"No, it is not that," he said, but for a long time he refused to say
more. At last he confessed that he had an intense longing to see his
home again.

"But thou art bound to me by an oath," said the princess.

"I know," replied Bar Shalmon, "and I shall not break it. Permit me to
visit my home for a brief while, and I will return and prove myself
more devoted to thee than ever."

On these conditions, the princess agreed that he should take leave for
a whole year. A big, black demon flew swiftly with him to his native
city.

No sooner had Bar Shalmon placed his feet on the ground than he
determined not to return to the land of Ergetz.

"Tell thy royal mistress," he said to the demon, "that I shall never
return to her."

He tore his clothes to make himself look poor, but his wife was
overjoyed to see him. She had mourned him as dead. He did not tell of
his adventures, but merely said he had been ship-wrecked and had
worked his way back as a poor sailor. He was delighted to be among
human beings again, to hear his own language and to see solid
buildings that did not appear and disappear just when they pleased,
and as the days passed he began to think his adventures in fairyland
were but a dream.

Meanwhile, the princess waited patiently until the year was ended.

Then she sent the big, black demon to bring Bar Shalmon back.

Bar Shalmon met the messenger one night when walking alone in his
garden.

"I have come to take thee back," said the demon.

Bar Shalmon was startled. He had forgotten that the year was up. He
felt that he was lost, but as the demon did not seize him by force, he
saw that there was a possibility of escape.

"Return and tell thy mistress I refuse," he said.

"I will take thee by force," said the demon.

"Thou canst not," Bar Shalmon said, "for I am the son-in-law of the
king."

The demon was helpless and returned to Ergetz alone.

King Ashmedai was very angry, but the princess counseled patience.

"I will devise means to bring my husband back," she said. "I will send
other messengers."

Thus it was that Bar Shalmon found a troupe of beautiful fairies in
the garden the next evening. They tried their utmost to induce him to
return with them, but he would not listen. Every day different
messengers came--big, ugly demons who threatened, pretty fairies who
tried to coax him, and troublesome sprites and goblins who only
annoyed him. Bar Shalmon could not move without encountering
messengers from the princess in all manner of queer places. Nobody
else could see them, and often he was heard talking to invisible
people. His friends began to regard him as strange in his behavior.

King Ashmedai grew angrier every day, and he threatened to go for Bar
Shalmon himself.

"Nay, I will go," said the princess; "it will be impossible for my
husband to resist me."

She selected a large number of attendants, and the swift flight of the
princess and her retinue through the air caused a violent storm to
rage over the lands they crossed. Like a thick black cloud they
swooped down on the land where Bar Shalmon dwelt, and their weird
cries seemed like the wild shrieking of a mighty hurricane. Down they
swept in a tremendous storm such as the city had never known. Then, as
quickly as it came, the storm ceased, and the people who had fled into
their houses, ventured forth again.

The little son of Bar Shalmon went out into the garden, but quickly
rushed back into the house.

"Father, come forth and see," he cried. "The garden is full of strange
creatures brought by the storm. All manner of creeping, crawling
things have invaded the garden--lizards, toads, and myriads of
insects. The trees, the shrubs, the paths are covered, and some shine
in the twilight like tiny lanterns."

Bar Shalmon went out into the garden, but he did not see toads and
lizards. What he beheld was a vast array of demons and goblins and
sprites, and in a rose-bush the princess, his wife, shining like a
star, surrounded by her attendant fairies. She stretched forth her
arms to him.

"Husband mine," she pleaded, "I have come to implore thee to return to
the land of Ergetz with me. Sadly have I missed thee; long have I
waited for thy coming, and difficult has it been to appease my
father's anger. Come, husband mine, return with me; a great welcome
awaits thee."

"I will not return," said Bar Shalmon.

"Kill him, kill him," shrieked the demons, and they surrounded him,
gesticulating fiercely.

"Nay, harm him not," commanded the princess. "Think well, Bar
Shalmon, ere you answer again. The sun has set and night is upon us.
Think well, until sunrise. Come to me, return, and all shall be well.
Refuse, and thou shalt be dealt with as thou hast merited. Think well
before the sunrise."

"And what will happen at sunrise, if I refuse?" asked Bar Shalmon.

"Thou shalt see," returned the princess. "Bethink thee well, and
remember, I await thee here until the sunrise."

"I have answered; I defy thee," said Bar Shalmon, and he went indoors.

Night passed with strange, mournful music in the garden, and the sun
rose in its glory and spread its golden beams over the city. And with
the coming of the light, more strange sounds woke the people of the
city. A wondrous sight met their gaze in the market place. It was
filled with hundreds upon hundreds of the queerest creatures they had
ever seen, goblins and brownies, demons and fairies. Dainty little
elves ran about the square to the delight of the children, and quaint
sprites clambered up the lamposts and squatted on the gables of the
council house. On the steps of that building was a glittering array of
fairies and attendant genii, and in their midst stood the princess, a
dazzling vision, radiant as the dawn.

The mayor of the city knew not what to do. He put on his chain of
office and made a long speech of welcome to the princess.

"Thank you for your cordial welcome," said the princess, in reply,
"and you the mayor, and ye the good people of this city of mortals,
hearken unto me. I am the princess of the Fairyland of Ergetz where my
father, Ashmedai, rules as king. There is one among ye who is my
husband."

"Who is he?" the crowd asked in astonishment.

"Bar Shalmon is his name," replied the princess, "and to him am I
bound by vows that may not be broken."

"'Tis false," cried Bar Shalmon from the crowd.

"'Tis true. Behold our son," answered the princess, and there stepped
forward a dainty elfin boy whose face was the image of Bar Shalmon.

"I ask of you mortals of the city," the princess continued, "but one
thing, justice--that same justice which we in the land of Ergetz did
give unto Bar Shalmon when, after breaking his oath unto his father,
he set sail for a foreign land and was delivered into our hands. We
spared his life; we granted his petition for a new trial. I but ask
that ye should grant me the same petition. Hear me in your Court of
Justice."

"Thy request is but reasonable, princess," said the mayor. "It shall
not be said that strangers here are refused justice. Bar Shalmon,
follow me."

He led the way into the Chamber of Justice, and the magistrates of the
city heard all that the princess and her witnesses, among whom was the
rabbi, and also all that Bar Shalmon, had to say.

"'Tis plain," said the mayor, delivering judgment, "that her royal
highness, the princess of the Fairyland of Ergetz, has spoken that
which is true. But Bar Shalmon has in this city wife and child to whom
he is bound by ties that may not be broken. Bar Shalmon must divorce
the princess and return unto her the dowry received by him on their
marriage."

"If such be your law, I am content," said the princess.

"What sayest thou, Bar Shalmon?" asked the mayor.

"Oh! I'm content," he answered gruffly. "I agree to anything that
will rid me of the demon princess."

The princess flushed crimson with shame and rage at these cruel words.

"These words I have not deserved," she exclaimed, proudly. "I have
loved thee, and have been faithful unto thee, Bar Shalmon. I accept
the decree of your laws and shall return to the land of Ergetz a
widow. I ask not for your pity. I ask but for that which is my right,
one last kiss."

"Very well," said Bar Shalmon, still more gruffly, "anything to have
done with thee."

The princess stepped proudly forward to him and kissed him on the
lips.

Bar Shalmon turned deadly pale and would have fallen had not his
friends caught him.

"Take thy punishment for all thy sins," cried the princess, haughtily,
"for thy broken vows and thy false promises--thy perjury to thy God,
to thy father, to my father and to me."

As she spoke Bar Shalmon fell dead at her feet. At a sign from the
princess, her retinue of fairies and demons flew out of the building
and up into the air with their royal mistress in their midst and
vanished.




The Higgledy-Piggledy Palace


Sarah, the wife of the patriarch Abraham, and the great mother of the
Jewish people, was the most beautiful woman who ever lived. Everybody
who saw her marveled at the dazzling radiance of her countenance; they
stood spellbound before the glorious light that shone in her eyes and
the wondrous clearness of her complexion. This greatly troubled
Abraham when he fled from Canaan to Egypt. It was disconcerting to
have crowds of travelers gazing at his wife as if she were something
more than human. Besides, he feared that the Egyptians would seize
Sarah for the king's harem.

So, after much meditation, he concealed his wife in a big box. When he
arrived at the Egyptian frontier, the customs officials asked him what
it contained.

"Barley," he replied.

"You say that because the duty on barley is the lowest," they said.
"The box must surely be packed with wheat."

   [Illustration: He could not see what Sarah saw--a figure, a
   spirit, clutching a big stick. (_Page 72_).]

"I will pay the duty on wheat," said Abraham, who was most anxious
they should not open the box.

The officials were surprised, for, as a rule, people endeavored to
avoid paying the duties.

"If you are so ready to pay the higher tax," they said, "the box must
contain something of greater value. Perhaps it contains spices."

Abraham intimated his readiness to pay the duty on spices.

"Oh, Oh!" laughed the officers. "Here is a strange person ready to pay
heavy dues. He must be anxious to conceal something--gold, perchance."

"I will pay the duty on gold," said Abraham, quietly.

The officers were now completely bewildered.

"Our highest duty," said their chief, "is on precious stones, and
since you decline to open the box, we must demand the tax on the
costliest gems."

"I will pay it," said Abraham, simply.

The officers could not understand this at all, and after consulting
among themselves, they decided that the box must be opened.

"It may contain something highly dangerous," they argued.

Abraham protested, but he was arrested by the guards and the box
forced open. When Sarah was revealed, the officials stepped back in
amazement and admiration.

"Indeed, a rare jewel," said the chief.

It was immediately decided to send Sarah to the king. When Pharaoh
beheld her, he was enraptured. She was simply dressed in the garments
of a peasant woman, with no adornment and no jewels, and yet the king
thought he had never seen a woman so entrancingly beautiful. When he
saw Abraham, however, his brow clouded.

"Who is this man?" he demanded of Sarah.

Fearing that he might be imprisoned, or even put to death if she
acknowledged him as her husband, Sarah replied that he was her
brother.

Pharaoh felt relieved. He smiled on Abraham and greeted him
pleasantly.

"Thy sister is exceeding fair to gaze upon," he said, "and comely of
form. She hath bewitched me by her matchless charm. She shall become
the favorite of my harem. I will recompense thee well for thy loss of
her. Thou shalt be loaded with gifts."

Abraham was too wise to betray the anger that surged in his heart.

"Courage, my beloved," he whispered to Sarah. "The good God will not
forsake us."

He made pretense of agreeing to Pharaoh's suggestion, and the chief
steward of the king gave him an abundant store of gold and silver and
jewels, also sheep and oxen and camels. Abraham was conducted to a
beautiful palace, where many slaves attended him and bowed before him,
for one on whom the monarch had showered favors was a great man in the
land of Pharaoh. Left alone, Abraham began to pray most devoutly.

Meanwhile, Sarah was led into a gorgeous apartment where the queen's
own attendants were ordered to array her in the richest of the royal
garments. Then she was brought before Pharaoh who dismissed all the
attendants.

"I desire to be alone with thee," said the king to Sarah. "I have much
to say to thee, and I long to feast my eyes on those features of
beauty rare."

But Sarah shrank from him. To her, he appeared ugly and loathsome. His
smile was a vicious leer, and his voice sounded like a harsh croak.

"Fear not," he said, trying to speak tenderly and kindly. "I will do
thee no harm. Nay, I will load thee with honors. I will grant any
request that thou makest."

"Then let me go hence," said Sarah, quickly. "I desire naught but that
thou shouldst permit me to depart with my brother."

"Thou jestest," said Pharaoh. "That cannot be. I will make thee
queen," he cried, passionately and he made a move toward her.

"Stop!" cried Sarah. "If thou approachest one step nearer...."

Pharaoh interrupted with a laugh. To threaten a king was so funny that
he could not refrain from a hoarse cackle. But Sarah had become
suddenly silent. She was looking not at him, but behind him. Pharaoh
turned, but observed nothing. He could not see what Sarah saw--a
figure, a spirit, clutching a big stick.

"Come," said the king, "be not foolish. I cannot be angry with a
creature so fair as thou art. But it is not meet--nay, it is not
wise--to utter threats to one who wears a crown."

Sarah made no reply. She was no longer afraid. She knew that her
prayers, and those of Abraham, had been answered, and that no harm
would befall her. Pharaoh mistook her silence and advanced toward her.
As he did so, however, he felt a tremendous blow on the head. He was
stunned for a moment. On recovering himself he looked all round the
room, but could see nothing. Sarah continued to stand motionless.

"Strange," muttered Pharaoh. "I--I thought some one had entered the
room."

Again he moved toward Sarah, and once more he received a staggering
blow--this time on the shoulder. It was only by a great effort of will
that he did not cry out in pain. He concluded he must have been seized
by some sudden illness, but after a moment he felt better and bravely
tried to smile at Sarah.

"I--I just thought of something most important," said he, attempting
to offer some explanation for nearly toppling over in an undignified
manner. He stood nearer to Sarah and began to raise his hand to touch
her.

"If thou layest but a finger on me, it will be at thy peril,"
exclaimed Sarah, her eyes flashing angrily.

"Pshaw!" he cried, losing patience, and he raised his hand.

This time the cudgel of the spirit invisible to Pharaoh did not strike
him: it came down gently and rested lightly on the king's
out-stretched arm. And Pharaoh could not move it. He grew pale and
trembled.

"Art thou a witch?" he gasped, at last.

Sarah was so angry when she heard this insult that she flashed a
signal with her eyes to the spirit, and the latter plied his cudgel
lustily about the king's head and shoulders, making the monarch break
out in most unkingly howls of pain.

"Thy pardon, thy pardon, I crave," he managed to scream. "I mean not
what I said. I am ill--very ill. My body aches. My arm is paralyzed."

The cudgeling ceased and Pharaoh was able to move his arm. He writhed
in agony, for he was bruised all over. He rushed hastily away, saying
he would return on the morrow. Sarah found herself locked in, but she
was not again disturbed.

Pharaoh, however, had further adventures. The spirit was in merry mood
and had a night's entertainment at the king's expense. No sooner did
the king lie down upon his bed than the spirit tilted it and sent him
sprawling on the floor. Whenever Pharaoh tried to lie down the same
thing happened. He went from one room to another, but all efforts at
rest were unavailing. Every bed rejected him and every chair and
couch did the same, although when he commanded others to lie down they
did so quite comfortably. He tried lying down with one of his
attendants, but while the latter was able to remain undisturbed,
Pharaoh found himself bodily lifted, stood upon his head, spun around
and then rolled over on the ground.

His physicians could provide no remedy, his magicians--hastily
summoned from their own slumbers--could afford no explanation, and
Pharaoh spent a terrible night wandering from room to room and up and
down the corridors, where the corners seemed to go out of their way to
bump against him and the stairs seemed to go down when he wanted to
walk up, and vice-versa. Such a higgledy-piggeldy palace was never
seen. Worse still, with the first streak of dawn he noticed that he
was smitten with leprosy.

Hastily he sent for Abraham and said: "Who and what thou art I know
not. Thou and thy sister have brought a plague upon me. I desired to
make her my queen, but now I say to you: Rid me of this leprosy and
get thee hence with thy sister. I will bestow riches on ye, but get ye
gone, and speedily."

With a magic jewel which he wore on his breast, Abraham restored
Pharaoh to health, and then departed with Sarah. These final words he
said to Pharaoh:

"Sarah is not my sister, but my wife. I give thee this warning. Should
thy descendants at any time seek to persecute our descendants, then
will our God, He, the One God of the universe, surely punish the king
with plague again."

And, many years afterward, as you read in the Bible, the prediction
came true.




The Red Slipper


Rosy-red was a sweet little girl, with beautiful blue eyes, soft pink
cheeks and glorious ruddy-gold hair of the tinge that artists love to
paint. Her mother died the day she was born, but her grandmother
looked after her with such tender care that Rosy-red regarded her as
her mother. She was very happy, was Rosy-red. All day long she sang,
as she tripped gaily about the house or the woods that surrounded it,
and so melodious was her voice that the birds gathered on the trees to
listen to her and to encourage her to continue, by daintily chirruping
whenever she ceased.

Merrily Rosy-red performed all the little duties her grandmother
called upon her to do, and on festivals she was allowed to wear a
delightful pair of red leather slippers, her father's gift to her on
her first birthday. Now, although neither she nor her father knew it,
they were magic slippers which grew larger as her feet grew. Rosy-red
was only a child and so did not know that slippers don't usually grow.
Her grandmother knew the secret of the slippers, but she did not tell,
and her father had become too moody and too deeply absorbed in his own
thoughts and affairs to notice anything.

One day--Rosy-red remembered it only too sadly--she returned from the
woods to find her grandmother gone and three strange women in the
house. She stopped suddenly in the midst of her singing and her cheeks
turned pale, for she did not like the appearance of the strangers.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I am your new mother," answered the eldest of the three, "and these
are my daughters, your two new sisters."

Rosy-red trembled with fear. They were all three so ugly, and she
began to cry.

Her new sisters scolded her for that and would have beaten her had not
her father appeared. He spoke kindly, telling her he had married
again, because he was lonely and that her step-mother and step-sisters
would be good to her. But Rosy-red knew different. She hastened away
to her own little room and hid her slippers of which she was very
proud.

"They have turned my dear granny out of doors; they will take from me
my beautiful slippers," she sobbed.

After that, Rosy-red sang no more. She became a somber girl and a
drudge. The birds could not understand. They followed her through the
woods, but she was silent, as if she had been stricken dumb, and her
eyes always seemed eager to be shedding tears. Also, she was too busy
to notice her feathered friends.

She had to collect firewood for the home, to draw water from the well
and struggle along with the heavy bucket whose weight made her arms
and her back ache with pain. Sometimes, too, her white arms were
scarred with bruises, for her cruel and selfish step-sisters did not
hesitate to beat her. Often they went out to parties, or to dances,
and on these occasions she had to act as their maid and help them to
dress. Rosy-red did not mind; she was only happy when they were out of
the house. Then only did she sing softly to herself, and the birds
came to listen.

And thus many unhappy years passed away.

Once, when her father was away from home, her step-sisters went off to
a wedding dance. They told her not to forget to draw water from the
well, and warned her that if she forgot, as she did the last time,
they would beat her without mercy when they returned.

So Rosy-red, tired though she was, went out in the darkness to draw
water. She lowered the bucket, but the cord broke and the pail fell to
the bottom of the well. She ran back home for a long stick with a hook
at the end of it to recover the bucket, and as she put it into the
water she sang:

    Swing and sweep till all does cling
    And to the surface safely bring.

Now it so happened that a sleeping jinn dwelt at the bottom of the
well. He could only be awakened by a spell, and although Rosy-red did
not know it, the words she uttered, which she had once heard her
granny use, were the spell.

The jinn awoke, and he was so delighted with the sweet voice that he
promptly decided to help the girl whom he saw peering down into the
water. He fastened the bucket to the stick and, taking some jewels
from a treasure of which he was the guardian, he put them inside.

"Oh, how beautiful," cried Rosy-red when she saw the glittering gems.
"They are ever so much nicer than those my sisters put on to go to
the ball."

Then she sat thinking for a while and a bright idea came into her
head.

"I will give these jewels to my sisters," she said. "Perhaps they will
be kinder to me."

She waited impatiently until the sisters returned from the dance and
immediately told them. For a moment they were too dazed to speak when
they saw the sparkling precious stones. Then they looked meaningly at
one another and asked how she came by them. Rosy told them of the
words she had sung.

"Ah, we thought so," said the sisters, to her horror. "The jewels are
ours. We hid them in the well for safety. You have stolen them."

In vain Rosy-red protested. Her sisters would not listen. They beat
her severely, told her to hurry off to bed, and then, snatching the
bucket, they hurried off to the well. They lowered the bucket and sang
the words that Rosy-red had sung. At least they thought they sang; but
their voices were harsh. The sleeping jinn awoke again, but he did not
like the croaking sound the sisters made.

"Ha, ha!" he laughed. "I will teach you to disturb my sleep with
hideous noises and shall punish such pranks played on me. Here are
some more croakers," and he filled the bucket with slimy toads and
frogs.

The sisters were so enraged that they ran back home and dragged poor
Rosy-red from her bed.

"You cat, you thief," screamed one.

"You cheat," exclaimed the other. "Off you go. Not another day can you
remain in this house."

Rosy-red was too much taken by surprise to say anything. It was an
outrage to turn her out of her father's house while he was away on a
journey, but the thought came to her that she could hardly be less
happy living alone in the woods.

She had only time to snatch her pretty red slippers, and as soon as
she was out of sight of the house she put them on. It made her feel
less miserable. The sun was now rising and when its rays shone on her
she began to sing. With her old friends, the birds, twittering all
about her, she felt quite happy.

On and on she walked, much farther into the woods than ever before.
When she grew tired there was always a pleasant shady nook where she
could rest; when she became hungry, there were fruit trees in
abundance; and when she was thirsty she always came to a spring of
clear, fresh water. The magic slippers guided her. All day long she
wandered, and when toward evening she noticed her slippers were muddy
she took them off to clean. And then darkness fell. It began to rain
and she grew frightened. She crouched under a tree until she noticed a
light some short distance away. She got up and walked toward it.

When quite close, she saw that the light came from a cave dwelling. An
old woman came out to meet her. It was her grandmother, but so many
years had passed that Rosy-red did not recognize her. Granny, however,
at once knew her. "Come in, my child, and take shelter from the rain,"
she said kindly, and Rosy-red was only too glad to accept the
invitation.

The inside of the cave was quite cosy, and Rosy-red, who was almost
completely exhausted, quickly fell fast asleep. She awoke with a
start.

"My pretty red slippers," she cried. "Where are they?"

She put her hand in the pocket of her tattered dress, but could only
find one.

"I must have lost the other," she sobbed. "I must go out and look for
it."

"No, no," said granny. "You cannot do that. A storm is raging."

Rosy-red peered out through the door of the cave and drew back in fear
as she saw the lightning flash and heard the thunder rolling. She
sobbed herself to sleep again, and this time was awakened by voices.
She feared it might be her sisters who had discovered her hiding place
and had come to drag her forcibly back home again. So she crept into a
corner of the cave and listened intently.

A man was speaking.

"Know you to whom this red slipper belongs?" he was asking. "I found
it in the woods."

Rosy-red was on the point of rushing out to regain her lost slipper
when her granny's voice--very loud on purpose that she should
hear--restrained her.

"No, no, I know not," she repeated again and again, and at length the
man departed.

Granny came back into the cave and said, "I am sorry, Rosy-red, but
for aught I knew, he might be a messenger from your cruel sisters;
and, of course, I cannot let anyone take you back to them."

Next day, the man called again, this time with several attendants.
Again, Rosy-red concealed herself.

"I am a chieftain's son, and wealthy," said the man. "I must find the
wearer of this shoe. Only a graceful and beautiful girl can wear such
a dainty slipper."

Rosy-red did not know whether to be more frightened or pleased, when
her granny told her the man was very handsome and of noble bearing.

Day after day he came, each time with more retainers, and, finally, he
arrived mounted on a richly caparisoned camel with a hundred and one
followers, all mounted as he was.

"The girl I seek is here," he said. "Deny it no longer. My servants
have scoured the woods and the whole neighborhood. One is prepared to
swear he heard a young girl singing yesterday."

Rosy-red saw that concealment was no longer possible. She liked the
man's voice, and she stepped out bravely, wearing her one slipper.

The stranger, bowing low before her, held out the other, and Rosy-red
took it and put it on. It fitted perfectly.

"Many girls have tried to put on that shoe," said the young man, "but
all have failed. And I have sworn to make the wearer my bride. I am a
chieftain's son, and thou shalt be a princess."

So Rosy-red left the cave with her granny, and mounting a camel was
led through the woods to her new home where she knew naught but
happiness and the days of her sufferings were quite forgotten. And
always she wore her magic red slippers.




The Star-Child


When Abraham was born, his father, Terah, who was one of the chief
officers of King Nimrod, gave a banquet to a large number of his
friends. He entertained them most sumptuously, and the merriest of the
guests was the chief of the king's magicians. He was an old man,
exceedingly fond of wine, and he drank deeply. The feast lasted
throughout the night, and the gray dawn of early morning appeared in
the sky before Terah's friends thought of rising from the table.

Suddenly the old magician jumped to his feet.

"See," he cried, excitedly, pointing through the open door to the sky.
"See yon bright star in the east. It flashes across the heavens."

The others looked, but said they could see nothing.

"Fools," shouted the old man, "ye may not see, but I do. I, the wisest
of the king's magicians and astrologers, tell you it is an omen. See
how the brilliant star darts across the sky! It has swallowed a
smaller star, and another, even a third, yet a fourth. It is an omen,
I say, a portent that bodes ill. And, moreover," he added, growing
still more excited, "it is an omen connected with the birth of the
little son of Terah."

   [Illustration: "The big fellow here got angry, beat the others
   and smashed them to bits." (_Page 95_).]

"Nonsense," cried Terah.

"Talk not to me of nonsense," said the magician, sternly. "I must
hasten to inform the king."

Hurriedly he left the house of Terah, followed by the other magicians,
some of whom now said they also had seen a star swallow four others.
They did not think it wise to contradict their chief, although he had
drunk a great deal of wine and could not walk steadily.

King Nimrod was awakened from his sleep, and his magicians appeared
before him.

"O King, live for ever," said the chief, by way of salute. "Grave
indeed is the news that has led us to disturb thee in thy slumbers.
This night a son has been born unto thy officer, Terah, and with the
coming of the dawn a warning has appeared to us in the skies. I, the
chief of thy magicians, did observe a brilliant star rise in the east
and dart across the heavens and swallow four smaller stars."

"We observed it, too," said the other magicians.

"And what means this?" inquired the king.

"It means," said the chief magician, mysteriously, "that this
star-child will destroy other children, that his descendants will
conquer thine. Take warning. Purchase this child from thy officer,
Terah, and slay it so that it may not grow up a danger to thee."

"Thy advice pleases me," said the cruel king.

In vain Terah protested. King Nimrod would not disregard the warning
of his magicians, but he consented to give Terah three days in which
to deliver up the child. Sad at heart Terah returned home, and on the
second day told his wife the terrible news.

"We must not allow our little son, Abraham, to be slain," she said.
"If he is to become great he must live. I have a plan. King Nimrod
will not be satisfied unless a child is slain. Therefore, take thou
the child of a slave to him and tell him it is Abraham. He will not
know the difference. And so that the trick shall not be discovered,
take our child away and hide it for a time."

Terah thought this an excellent idea, and he carried it out. The sick
child of a slave, which was born only a few hours before Abraham, was
taken to King Nimrod who killed it with his own hands, and Terah's
little boy was secretly carried by his nurse to a cave in a forest.
There Abraham was carefully nurtured and brought up.

From time to time Abraham was visited by his father and mother, and
not until he was ten years old did they think it safe to bring him
from the cave in the forest to their home. Even then they deemed it
best to be careful. Their elder son, Haran, was a maker of idols and
Abraham became his helper without Haran being told it was his brother.

Abraham, the star-child, was a strange little boy. He did not believe
in the idols.

"I worship the sun by day and the moon and the stars by night," he
said to Haran.

"There are times when you cannot see the sun by day, nor the moon and
stars by night," said Haran, "but you can always have your idol with
you."

This troubled little Abraham for a while, but one day he came running
to his brother and said, "I have made a discovery. I shall no longer
worship the sun, nor the moon, nor the stars. There must be some
mighty power behind them that orders them to shine, the sun by day and
the moon and stars by night. That great power shall be my God."

Abraham asked all sorts of queer questions of his father. "Who made
the sun and the moon and the stars?" he asked.

"I know not," replied Terah.

"I have asked all your idols, your gods, and they answer not," said
Abraham.

"They cannot speak," said Terah.

"Then why do you pray to them and worship them?" persisted the boy.

Terah did not answer. Abraham asked his mother, but she could only
tell him that the gods who created everything were with them in the
house.

"But Haran made those silly things of wood and clay," said Abraham,
and at last they refused to answer his awkward questions.

Mostly he stood at the door of the house, gazing at the sky as if
trying to read the secrets behind the sun and stars.

"Thou shouldst have been placed with an astrologer," said Haran to him
one day. "Thou art a child of the stars."

Terah heard this and was angry with Haran, for he feared that the
secret of the child's birth might be betrayed.

"I know not why my father keeps thee here," said Haran afterward to
Abraham. "Thou art becoming lazy. I have worked enough this day and
will go out to the woods to watch the hunting. Stay thou here.
Perchance a purchaser may come. Be heedful and obtain good payment for
the idols."

Not long after Haran left, an old man entered the shop and said he
wished to buy an idol.

"I dropped my idol on the ground yesterday and it broke," he said. "I
must have a stronger one."

"Certainly thou must have a god so strong that naught can break it,"
answered Abraham. "Tell me, how old art thou?"

"Full sixty years, boy," replied the man.

"And yet thou hast not reached years of wisdom," said Abraham. "See
how easy it is to break thy gods," and he took a stick and smashed one
of the idols with a single blow.

The old man fled from the shop horrified.

Next, a woman entered.

"I am too poor to have an idol of my own," she said. "Therefore, I
have brought a little food as an offering to one of the many gods
here."

"Offer it to any idol that pleases thee," said Abraham, with a laugh.

The woman placed it before the smallest idol.

"This idol is small and surly," said the boy. "It does not accept thy
offering," and he raised his stick and smashed it.

"Try a bigger idol with thy offering," he said, and the woman did so.

"Thou also hast no manners," said Abraham, addressing the god; "eat,
or I shall smash thee to pieces."

The idol, of course, did not eat, and so Abraham broke it, and the
woman rushed out into the street in great alarm.

Abraham tried all the idols in turn with the food, and as each was
unable to eat, he broke them all except the largest. Before this idol,
which was as tall as a man, he paused. Then, laughing loudly, he
placed the stick which he had used in the idol's hand.

By this time, a crowd, attracted by the cries of the old man and the
woman, had gathered at the door.

"What hast thou done?" they demanded, angrily.

"I? Nothing," answered Abraham. "See, the largest idol holds in its
hand a big stick. It seems to me that he has been angry and has killed
all the others. Ask him why he did this."

The people stood bewildered until Terah and Haran returned.

"What is the meaning of this?" they asked, pointing to the broken
idols.

"Oh! Such fun," replied Abraham. "There has been a fight here. A woman
brought a food offering to the gods, and they quarrelled because they
all wanted it. So the big fellow here got angry, and, taking up the
stick which you see he still holds, he beat the others and smashed
them to bits."

"Absurd!" cried Haran. "The idols cannot do these things."

"Ask the big fellow to strike me if I have told lies," returned
Abraham.

"Cease your nonsense," commanded his father.

"What funny gods yours are," said Abraham, musingly, standing before
the big idol. "Do you think he will hit me if I smack his face?"

Before anybody could stop him, he smacked the idol's face and then
knocked off its head with the stick.

Some of the people ran off to the palace, and soon came an order from
King Nimrod that the idol-breaker should be brought before him.
Abraham, Haran and Terah were seized by the guards and marched off to
the palace.

"Which of you broke the idols?" asked the king, angrily.

"I did, because they were rude and would not accept the offering,"
said Abraham. "How can they be gods if they have no sense?"

"Not altogether a foolish remark," said Nimrod, smiling. "If idols
please thee not, then worship fire which has the power to consume."

"Fire itself can be quenched by water," replied Abraham.

"Then worship water," returned Nimrod.

"But water is absorbed by the clouds," said the boy.

"And clouds are blown by the wind," said Nimrod.

"Man can withstand the force of the wind," said Abraham.

"So he will talk all day long, this child of the stars," exclaimed
Haran.

"Child of the stars!" said the chief magician. "Now I understand. O
king, this must be no other than the child of Terah against whom, at
his birth, we warned your majesty. The message of the stars has come
true. He has dared to destroy our gods. Soon he will destroy us."

"Is this, in truth, the child of the stars?" asked Nimrod, of Terah,
but the latter did not answer.

"It is in truth, your majesty," said Haran. "I have long suspected
it."

"Then why didst thou not inform me?" exclaimed the king in a rage. "I
will test this star-child with the power of my god, fire. And thou,
Haran, for thy neglect, must also suffer. Guards, let them be bound
and cast into the furnace to which I pray daily. Terah, thou art their
father. I can forgive thee; thou wilt suffer sufficiently in losing
both thy sons to my god."

The fire was made so hot that the men who endeavored to cast Abraham
and Haran into the flames were caught and burned to death. Twelve men
in all perished before Terah's sons were thrown into the furnace.
Haran was burned to ashes at once, but to the surprise of the vast
crowd that stood at a safe distance, Abraham walked unharmed in the
flames, the fetters which bound him having been consumed.

When King Nimrod saw this, he trembled.

"Come forth, boy," he cried to Abraham, "and I will pardon thee."

"Bid your men take me out," he answered.

All who approached the terrific fire, however, were burned to death,
and at last when Nimrod said he would bow down before Abraham's God
the boy came forth unharmed.

All the people bowed down before the boy who told them to rise,
saying, "Worship not me, but the true God who dwells in Heaven beyond
the sun and the stars and whose glory is everywhere."

King Nimrod loaded the boy with presents and bade him return home in
peace.




Abi Fressah's Feast


There was not in the whole city of Bagdad a greedier man than Abi
Fressah, and you may be sure he was not popular. It was not that he
was rich and refused to give heed to the needs of the poor. He was, in
truth, a merchant in moderately affluent circumstances, and he did not
withhold charity from the deserving; but he was a man of enormous
appetite and did not scruple to descend to trickery to secure an
invitation to a meal.

So skilful, indeed, did he become in wheedling these favors from his
friends and from those with whom he traded, that he devoted the major
portion of each day to feeding and left himself little time to attend
to his business affairs. Moreover, he grew unpleasantly fat. His face
was red and bloated with much wine drinking. He was not a nice person
to look upon at all, and those who had aforetime been his friends came
to the conclusion that the day had arrived when he should be taught a
severe lesson.

   [Illustration: He sprang from his stool, spluttering and
   cursing. (_Page 110_).]

And so it came to pass that when Abi Fressah was standing in the
bazaar at the hour of the mid-day meal and eagerly scanning the crowd
to discover some acquaintance whom he could induce to ask him to
dinner, he saw Ben Maslia, one of the wealthiest and most generous of
men in Bagdad.

"Ah, my excellent friend," Abi cried, warmly greeting Ben Maslia,
"'tis almost an eternity since my unworthy eyes were cast upon thy
pleasant countenance. Peace be on thee and thine unto the end of
days."

"Also to thee," returned Ben Maslia.

"And whence comest thou? And whither goest thou, oh most hospitable
friend?" Abi Fressah asked these questions hastily, his beady eyes
searching the other's face hungrily for a sign upon which he could
seize to invite himself to a meal. "It is the hour of the mid-day
meal. Goest thou, perchance, to thy pious home?"

"Thither go I," said Ben Maslia.

"My path lies in the same direction," said Abi Fressah. "It will be
pleasant to walk together. Come," and he grasped Ben Maslia by the
arm.

"It is kind of thee, friend Abi Fressah," rejoined the other, "but I
have built me a new abode on the other side of the city."

Abi Fressah's face fell for a moment, but he was clever enough to take
advantage of the news.

"A new dwelling erected by the wealthy Ben Maslia," he said,
winningly, "must be a building of magnificence, worth seeing."

"Indeed it is as thou sayest," cried the other enthusiastically, and
forthwith he launched into a lavish description of his residence.

Abi Fressah grew impatient when Ben Maslia began to describe each room
in detail, his hunger increased when, in glowing words, his friend
painted the gorgeous dining-room, and his mouth watered at the
information that the cellars were stocked with a thousand bottles of
wine.

"Blessings on thee and thy wine-cellar and thy house," murmured Abi
Fressah, when he could get in a word. "I have no business of
consequence to transact this afternoon. I could not pay thee a better
compliment than to spend it examining thy treasures."

"Of a certainty thou couldst not," assented the other, to his great
glee.

"Then let us proceed," said Abi Fressah.

So they set out, Ben Maslia still continuing his glowing account of
his wonderful house.

"It must be as spacious as a palace," put in Abi Fressah.

"Thou speakest truth," agreed Ben Maslia. "I will illustrate to thee
the vast expanse of my new residence."

He stopped in his walk, measured one hundred paces in the street, and
intimated that this represented the width of the central courtyard.

Abi Fressah was overwhelmed with surprise, but he was growing
momentarily hungrier, and it was with difficulty he could restrain his
impatience.

"Yes, yes," he said, "I would fain gaze upon the outer door of thy
dwelling."

"Such an outer door," said Ben Maslia, "hast thou never seen. Its
width...." and again he began to measure the street to indicate its
dimensions.

"And further," he added, calmly, either failing to notice, or
deliberately overlooking Abi Fressah's growing distress, "its shape
and design are...!" and he dragged the other through several streets
until he found a door to which he could point as being not altogether
unlike his own.

"But I weary thee," he said, suddenly, as if regretful of the time he
had wasted.

"Nay, nay, not at all," Abi Fressah assured him, although he was
inwardly fuming at the delay. "Thy descriptions delight me
immeasurably. Thou hast not yet unfolded to me the wonders of thy
dining-room."

Thereupon Ben Maslia took up the tale of the dining-room and its
furniture, and he dragged his companion half a mile out of their path
to show him the furniture emporium where he had purchased the tables
and the couches. Then he retraced his steps to point out a building
from which he had borrowed certain ideas of decoration.

Abi Fressah's fat body was unused to such exertion. He perspired
freely, his legs tottered beneath him, and his tongue was parched. He
was really very uncomfortable, and the pangs of hunger from which he
suffered were not lessened when Ben Maslia stopped outside a
restaurant to speak to a friend who was just going in.

The conversation was prolonged, and all the time Abi Fressah's nose
was tickled by the smell of the cooking. He endured agonies,
especially when the friend invited Ben Maslia to dine with him, and
Ben Maslia, after a few moment's hesitation, firmly declined.

"I must apologize to thee for this delay," said Ben Maslia, when at
length he left his friend, "but the matter was urgent. I will make up
to thee by the magnificence of the feast."

Abi Fressah thanked him cordially for his consideration, but his pain
was intense when Ben Maslia insisted on giving him fullest particulars
of all the dishes he would enjoy.

"Yes, yes," Abi kept saying, but Ben Maslia stayed his interruptions.

"Thy dwelling is far from the center of the city," Abi Fressah managed
to say at last.

"That is a virtue," commented Ben Maslia, and he followed it up with
the advice given to him by a renowned physician that a house was
healthiest when it stood alone, away from the busy haunts of men. To
all this and more, Abi Fressah was compelled to listen. His whole fat
body ached with weariness, he was tortured by a raging thirst, and he
fancied he felt himself growing thinner--so fearfully hungry was he.

The sun was sinking when at last they reached the house, and Abi
Fressah was afraid for a moment that his host would enlarge upon its
architecture. To his relief, however, they entered straightway, and
Ben Maslia said to him, "Thou must be fatigued after thy walk. Rest
awhile."

Abi Fressah was truly grateful, and taking off his shoes he stretched
himself on a comfortable couch. He dozed for a while, but was awakened
by the noise of clattering dishes and the smell of savory cooking. He
almost forgot his unpleasant afternoon in the prospect of the coming
feast, but Ben Maslia came not. Abi Fressah soon felt angry. He could
not restrain himself from banging a big brass gong to summon a
servant. But although he banged several times, no servant answered the
call. Abi Fressah nearly shed tears in his despair.

Suddenly Ben Maslia appeared before him.

"I thought I would give thee ample rest," he said suavely. "Come, we
must perform our ablutions."

Abi Fressah would have preferred to have dispensed with this ceremony,
but he could not offend his host by declining to conform to the custom
of the period. Ben Maslia led the way to the bath-chamber, and there
they spent quite an hour. Then, thoroughly refreshed, the host said,
"Now I will show thee the wonders and beauties of my domain."

Abi Fressah was almost stupified with hunger, but he had to permit
himself to be led through each room and to hear again the praises that
had already been poured into his ears all the afternoon. Only the
smell of the cooking fortified his spirit and enabled him to undergo
the ordeal. He seemed to wake up from a stupor when his host opened a
door and exclaimed, "This is the feasting-chamber."

A scene of splendor burst upon the eyes of Abi Fressah. He rubbed his
hands in glee and was ready to forget and forgive the discomforts of
the past few hours. The dining-room presented a magnificent
appearance, with its gorgeous hangings, its many lamps, and its marble
floor. But these things Abi Fressah scarcely noted. His gaze was
promptly directed on the table.

It was spread with the most sumptuous repast that ever he had seen.
There were dishes upon dishes of tasty sweetmeats, huge platters of
luscious fruits, many bottles of wine, and covered bowls from which
arose the most appetizing aroma. Abi Fressah's mouth began to twitch
and his eyes glowed. He moved forward to a seat.

"Good friend," said his host, "let me first introduce to your notice
my staff of servants."

He clapped his hands, and immediately, in quite startling fashion, a
dozen servants stepped from behind the hangings which had hidden them
and bowed before their master. With a dozen attendants to wait upon
him, Abi Fressah saw that he was going to enjoy a meal worthy of the
occasion. He looked upon the slaves with satisfaction.

"Note, my worthy Abi Fressah," said Ben Maslia, "that this is no
ordinary retinue of servants. Each one comes from a different part of
the known world. Rosh, the big man there, head of them all, is the
only native of Bagdad. He has an interesting history. He has been in
my service since his birth. His father was likewise in the service of
my sainted father, and his grandfather.... But let that suffice. I
would not imprison thy appetite longer. Sheni--that is the second
servant, the big black Nubian there--bring hither the first dish."

Sheni took up one of the dishes from the table and placed himself by
the side of his master.

"Stands he not well?" asked Ben Maslia, in admiring tones. "He is a
descendant of kings. In ancient days his ancestors sat on a throne and
ruled over a huge territory beyond the deserts of Africa. I obtained
him during my journey in that country. And on that occasion I
discovered this beautiful rug in a shop in Cairo."

Saying which, Ben Maslia rose from his seat and fingered lovingly one
of the hangings of the room. Abi Fressah did not rise. He was trying
to keep his temper. The dish which Sheni held so tantalizingly under
his very nose made him mad with hunger and desire.

But Ben Maslia took no heed. He began to dilate upon the virtues of
another piece of tapestry.

"This," he said, "I bought in the famous bazaar of Damascus. It is
hundreds of years old. And in that city, too, I became possessed of my
third servant, Shelishi there, a true-born son of the Holy Land and
the keeper of my camels. Our meeting was an adventure...."

Abi Fressah was not listening. This was beyond endurance. He felt that
soon he would collapse in a faint on the floor. And still Ben Maslia
droned on. There was a servant from China and also a cunningly wrought
vase from that land; a brown page boy in a red turban from India from
which land his host had also brought the lamp standing in the center
of the table and some of the flowers which adorned the room.

"You would not guess," he was saying, "that many of these blooms are
not natural. They are artificial but mixed so skilfully with the real
that even experts would be deluded."

By this time Abi Fressah was beyond the power of speech. Two or three
times, he tried to speak but could not. He was really too weak. Never
in his life before had he been so hungry, so tortured. It was some
time, however, before Ben Maslia noticed his plight.

"Art thou ill?" he exclaimed. "That grieves me. But, fortunately, I
have in the house an experienced apothecary who can apply leeches and
relieve thee of foul blood."

"No, no," pleaded the unhappy Abi Fressah, finding his tongue at this
dismal prospect.

"Perchance a glass of rare cordial will revive thee," said Ben Maslia,
taking one of the bottles from the table.

Abi Fressah managed to gasp the word "Yes," and Rosh held a goblet
into which Ben Maslia poured a rich, red fluid.

"Drink this," he said kindly, holding the cup to his guest's lip.

"At last," thought Abi Fressah, as he opened his mouth.

The next moment he sprang from his stool with astonishing agility,
spluttering and cursing. The liquid was bitter in the extreme, the
taste it left in his mouth most horrid.

"Now I know I have been hoodwinked," he screamed in rage, and he
dashed toward the outer door.

"Stay, stay--what ails thee?" cried Ben Maslia.

"Stop, stop," echoed the servants, as Abi Fressah commenced to run.

The cry was taken up in the street by those who saw a fat man panting
along in the darkness, pursued by a number of servants.

"Stop thief!" was the cry of one man in his excitement. The town
guards heard, and without any ado they seized Abi Fressah and hauled
him off to the jail. In vain he begged for mercy and struggled for
freedom.

"If thou wilt not behave, we shall use force," the guards said, and
they beat him with staves.

At the jail, Abi Fressah was flung into a cell, and there, on a bed of
straw on the ground, he spent a horrible, sleepless night. He ached in
every bone in his body, he was bruised all over, and his hunger was
such that he felt he had never eaten in his life. His reflections were
sad, as you may well imagine, and they led him to a vow that never
again would he seek the hospitality of his friends. He realized at
last that he had made himself obnoxious and had been cleverly and
deservedly well punished.

Even yet his sufferings were not at an end, for next morning, when he
was released and sent for his physician, the latter prescribed a diet
of gruel and barley water for a whole week!

   [Illustration: He found a beautiful youth, clad in a deer skin,
   lying on the ground. (_Page 115_).]




The Beggar King


Proud King Hagag sat on his throne in state, and the high priest,
standing by his side, read from the Holy Book, as was his daily
custom. He read these words: "For riches are not for ever: and doth
the crown endure to every generation?"

"Cease!" cried the king. "Who wrote those words?"

"They are the words of the Holy Book," answered the high priest.

"Give me the book," commanded the king.

With trembling hands the high priest placed it before his majesty.
King Hagag gazed earnestly at the words that had been read, and he
frowned. Raising his hand, he tore the page from the book and threw it
to the ground.

"I, Hagag, am king," he said, "and all such passages that offend me
shall be torn out."

He flung the volume angrily from him while the high priest and all his
courtiers looked on in astonishment.

"I have heard enough for today," he said. "Too long have I delayed my
hunting expedition. Let the horses be got ready."

He descended from the throne, stalked haughtily past the trembling
figure of the high priest, and went forth to the hunt. Soon he was
riding furiously across an open plain toward a forest where a wild
stag had been seen. A trumpet sounded the signal that the deer had
been driven from its hiding place, and the king urged his horse
forward to be the first in the chase. His majesty's steed was the
swiftest in the land. Quickly it carried him out of sight of his
nobles and attendants. But the deer was surprisingly fleet and the
king could not catch up with it. Coming to a river, the animal plunged
in and swam across. Scrambling up the opposite bank its antlers caught
in the branch of a tree, and the king, arriving at the river, gave a
cry of joy.

"Now I have thee," he said. Springing from his horse and divesting
himself of his clothing he swam across with naught but a sword.

As he reached the opposite bank, however, the deer freed itself from
the tree and plunged into a thicket. The king, with his sword in his
hand, followed quickly, but no deer could he see. Instead, he found,
lying on the ground beyond the thicket, a beautiful youth clad in a
deer-skin. He was panting as if after a long run. The king stood still
in surprise and the youth sprang to his feet.

"I am the deer," he said. "I am a genii and I have lured thee to this
spot, proud king, to teach thee a lesson for thy words this morning."

Before King Hagag could recover from his surprise the youth ran back
to the river and swam across. Quickly he dressed himself in the king's
clothes and mounted the horse just as the other hunters came up. They
thought the genii was King Hagag and they halted before him.

"Let us return," said the genii. "The deer has crossed the river and
has escaped."

King Hagag from the thicket on the opposite side watched them ride
away and then flung himself on the ground and wept bitterly. There he
lay until a wood-cutter found him.

"What do you here?" asked the man.

"I am King Hagag," returned the monarch.

"Thou art a fool," said the wood-cutter. "Thou art a lazy
good-for-naught to talk so. Come, carry my bundle of sticks and I will
give thee food and an old garment."

In vain the king protested. The wood-cutter only laughed the more,
and at last, losing patience, he beat him and drove him away. Tired
and hungry, and clad only in the rags which the wood-cutter had given
him, King Hagag reached the palace late at night.

"I am King Hagag," he said to the guards, but roughly they bade him
begone, and after spending a wretched night in the streets of the
city, his majesty, next morning, was glad to accept some bread and
milk offered to him by a poor old woman who took pity on him. He stood
at a street corner not knowing what to do. Little children teased him;
others took him for a beggar and offered him money. Later in the day
he saw the genii ride through the streets on his horse. All the people
bowed down before him and cried, "Long live the king!"

"Woe is me," cried Hagag, in his wretchedness. "I am punished for my
sin in scoffing at the words of the Holy Book."

He saw that it would be useless for him to go to the palace again, and
he went into the fields and tried to earn his bread as a laborer. He
was not used to work, however, and but for the kindness of the very
poorest he would have died of starvation. He wandered miserably from
place to place until he fell in with some blind beggars who had been
deserted by their guide. Joyfully he accepted their offer to take the
guide's place.

Months rolled by, and one morning the royal heralds went forth and
announced that "Good King Hagag" would give a feast a week from that
day to all the beggars in the land.

From far and near came beggars in hundreds, to partake of the king's
bounty, and Hagag stood among them, with his blind companions, in the
courtyard of the palace waiting for his majesty to appear. He knew the
place well, and he hung his head and wept.

"His majesty will speak to each one of you who are his guests today,"
cried a herald, and one by one they passed into the palace and stood
before the throne. When it came to Hagag's turn, he trembled so much
that he had to be supported by the guards.

The genii on the throne and Hagag looked long at each other.

"Art thou, too, a beggar?" said the genii.

"Nay, gracious majesty," answered Hagag with bent head. "I have sinned
grievously and have been punished. I am but the servant of a troop of
blind beggars to whom I act as guide."

The genii king signed to his courtiers that he desired to be left
alone with Hagag. Then he said:

"Hagag, I know thee. I see that thou hast repented. It is well. Now
canst thou resume thy rightful place."

"Gracious majesty," said Hagag, "I have learned humility and wisdom.
The throne is not for me. The blind beggars need me. Let me remain in
their service."

"It cannot be," said the genii. "I see that thou art truly penitent.
Thy lesson is learned and my task is done. I will see that the blind
beggars lack not."

With his own hands he placed the royal robes on Hagag and himself
donned those of the beggar. When the courtiers returned they saw no
difference. King Hagag sat on the throne again, and nowhere in the
whole world was there a monarch who ruled more wisely or showed more
kindness and sympathy to all his subjects.




The Quarrel of the Cat and Dog


In the childhood of the world, when Adam named all the animals and
ruled over them, the dog and the cat were the greatest good friends.
They were inseparable chums in their recreations, faithful partners in
their transactions, and devoted comrades in all their adventures,
their pleasures and their sorrows. They lived together, shared each
other's food and confided their secrets to none but themselves. It
seemed that no possible difference would ever arise to cause trouble
between them.

Then winter came. It was a new experience to them to feel the cold
wind cutting through their skins and making them shiver. The dismal
prospect of the leafless trees and the hard cold ground weighed
heavily upon their hearts, and, worse still, there was less food. The
scarcity grew serious, and hunger plunged them into unhappiness and
despair. Doggie became melancholy, while Pussie grew peevish, then
petulant, and finally developed a horrid temper.

"We can't go on like this," moaned the cat. "I think we had better
dissolve partnership. We can't find enough to share when we are
together, but separately we ought each to discover sufficient forage
in our hunting."

"I think I can help you, because I am the stronger," said the dog.

Pussie did not contradict, but she thought the dog a bit of a fool and
too good-natured. She knew herself to be sly and intended to rely on
that quality for her future sustenance. Doggie was deeply hurt at
Pussie's desire to end their happy compact, but he said quietly, "Of
course, if you insist on parting, I will agree."

"It is agreed then," purred Pussie.

"Where will you go?" asked Doggie.

"To the house of Adam," promptly replied the cat, who had evidently
made up her mind. "There are mice there. Adam will be grateful if I
clear them away. I shall have food to eat."

"Very well," assented the dog. "I will wander further afield."

Then the cat said solemnly: "We must each take an oath never to cross
the other's path. That is the proper way to terminate a business
agreement. The serpent says so, and he is the wisest of all animals."

They put their right fore-paws together and gravely repeated an oath
never to interfere with each other by going to the same place. Then
they parted. Doggie trotted off sorrowfully with his head hanging
down. Once he looked back, but Puss did not do so. She scampered off
as fast as she could to the house of Adam.

"Father Adam," she cried, "I have come to be your slave. You are
troubled with mice in the house. I can rid you of them, and I want
nothing else for my services."

"Thou art welcome," said Father Adam, stroking Pussie's warm fur.

Puss rubbed her head against his feet, purred contentedly, and ran off
to look for mice. She found plenty and soon grew fat and comfortable.
Adam treated her kindly, and she soon forgot all about her former
comrade.

Poor Doggie did not fare so well. Indeed, he had a rough time. He
wandered aimlessly about over the frozen ground and could not find the
slightest scrap of food. After three days, weary, paw-sore and
dispirited, he came to a wolf's lair and begged for shelter. The wolf
took pity on him, gave him some scraps of food, and permitted him to
sleep in the lair. Doggie was most thankful, and sleeping with his
ears on the alert, he heard stealthy footsteps in the night. He told
the wolf.

"Drive the intruders away," said his host in a surly tone.

Doggie went out obediently to do so. But the marauders were wild
animals and they nearly killed him. He was lucky to escape with his
life. After bathing his wounds at a pool in the early morning he
wandered all day long, but again could find nothing. Toward night,
when he could scarcely drag his famished and wounded body along, he
saw a monkey in a tree.

"Kind monkey," he pleaded, "give me shelter for the night. I am
exhausted and starving."

"Go away, go away, go away," chattered the monkey, jumping and
swinging swiftly from branch to branch, moving his lips quickly and
opening and shutting his eyes comically. Doggie hesitated, and, to
frighten him away, the monkey pulled cocoanuts from the tree and
pelted him.

Poor Doggie crawled miserably away.

"What shall I do?" he moaned.

Hearing the bleating of some sheep, he made his way to them and asked
them to take compassion on him.

"We will," they replied, "if you will keep watch over us and tell us
when the wolf comes."

Doggie agreed willingly, and, after he had devoured some food, he
stretched himself to sleep like a faithful watch-dog, with one eye
open.

In the middle of the night he heard the wolves approaching, and,
anxious to serve the sheep who had treated him kindly, he sprang to
his feet and began to bark loudly. This aroused the sheep, who awoke
and started to run in all directions. Some of them ran right into the
pack of wolves and were killed and eaten. Poor Doggie was nearly
heart-broken.

"It is my fault, my fault," he wailed. "I barked too soon. Oh, what an
unhappy creature I am. I shall keep away from all animals now."

Once again he set off on his travels. Whenever he met an animal he ran
off in the opposite direction. He had to make his journey by the
loneliest paths and the most unfrequented routes, and the difficulty
of finding food grew steadily greater. At last he grew so weak and
thin that he hardly had strength to crawl and he had several narrow
escapes from falling a prey to ferocious beasts.

One night he came to a house and begged a morsel of food. It was
given, and during the night he woke the man and warned him that wild
animals were making a raid. The man jumped up, seized his bow and
arrow and drove the thieves away. Then he patted Doggie.

"Good dog," he said. "You are a wise animal. Stay with me always. You
will find Father Adam kind."

"Father Adam!" cried Doggie, in alarm. "I must not stay here."

"Nonsense. I say you must," answered Adam, and Doggie was compelled to
obey.

In the morning, Pussie learned that the dog had joined the household
and she complained to Adam.

"The dog has violated the oath he swore not to come to the place where
I am," she said.

"He did not know you were here," said Adam, desirous of maintaining
peace. "He is very useful. I want him to remain. He won't hurt you.
There is ample room for both."

"No, there isn't," said Puss spitefully, arching up her back and
getting cross. "He broke his oath. He is a wicked creature. You dare
not overlook his offense."

Poor Doggie stood dejectedly apart, with his tail between his legs.

"I didn't know it was Adam's house, and I was so hungry and miserable
and tired," he said.

But Pussie would not be pacified. She thrust out her ugly claws and
tried to scratch her former partner. The dog kept out of her way as
much as possible, but she quarrelled with him at every opportunity,
and at last he determined to tolerate her conduct no longer.

"I must leave you, Father Adam," he said. "Pussie is making my life
unbearable."

"But I want you," said Adam.

"I'm sorry," said Doggie, firmly, "but it is really impossible for me
to continue in your service. I've got another situation at the house
of Seth. He wants me, too."

"Won't you make friends with Pussie?" asked Adam.

"With pleasure, if she will let me, but she won't."

"You blame each other," said Adam, losing patience. "I can't make you
out. You look like quarrelling for ever."

Adam's words have proved true. Ever since that time the cat and dog
have failed to agree, and Pussie will never consent to be friendly
again with Doggie.

   [Illustration: With a cry, he put his fingers in his mouth to
   ease the pain and burned his tongue. (_Page 131_).]




The Water-Babe


Floating in a basket on the River Nile, Princess Bathia, the daughter
of Pharaoh, King of Egypt, found a tiny little water-babe. Princess
Bathia was a widow and had no children, and she was so delighted that
she took the child home to the palace and brought it up as her own.
She called the babe Moses.

He was a pretty little boy, full of fun and frolic as he grew up, and
he became a favorite with everybody in the palace. Even the cruel King
Pharaoh, who had ordered that all the Hebrew boy babes should be
drowned, loved to play with him. His ministers of state and magicians,
however, frowned when they saw Moses, as soon as he could toddle and
talk, making a play-mate of the king. They warned Pharaoh that it was
dangerous to give a strange child such privileges, but Princess Bathia
only laughed at them. So did her mother, the queen, and King Pharaoh
took no notice.

When Moses was three years old, Princess Bathia gave a birthday party
in his honor. It was really a big banquet and was attended by the king
and queen and all the courtiers. Moses was seated at the head of the
table and his eyes opened very wide with wonderment at everything he
saw. It seemed such a ridiculous lot of solemn fuss to him. He would
rather have played on the floor, or climbed on to the table, but of
course they would not allow him.

"What does all this mean?" he asked of the king who was seated next to
him. "Tell me," and he playfully pulled King Pharaoh's beard.

The courtiers looked on horrified, and Bilam, the chief magician,
cried out, "Beware, O king, this is not play."

"Heed not these words, my father," said the princess. "Bilam is ever
warning thee. If thou wert to take notice of all that he says, thou
wouldst not have a moment's peace. Take our little babe on thy knee
and play with him."

To please the princess, King Pharaoh did so, and Moses amused himself
by playing with the glittering jewels on his majesty's robes. Then he
looked up and stared hard at the king's head.

"What is that?" he asked, pointing.

"That is the royal crown," answered Pharaoh.

"No it is not; it is only a funny hat," replied Moses.

"Beware," chimed in Bilam, solemnly.

"Let me put the hat on," said Moses, reaching up his little hands, and
before they could stop him, he had taken the crown from the king's
head and had put it on his own.

Princess Bathia and the queen laughed merrily, but Bilam looked very
grave.

"Your majesty," he said, in a voice trembling with passion, "this is
not the foolish play of a babe. This child, remember, is not as other
children. Came he not from the river? There is meaning in his action.
Already does he seek to rob thee of thy royal crown. 'Tis a portent of
evil."

Pharaoh thoughtfully stroked his beard.

"What sayeth Reuel?" he asked, turning to his second chief magician.

"I say the child is but a babe and that this action means nothing,"
answered Reuel.

The queen and the princess agreed with Reuel, who was their favorite,
but Bilam would not allow the matter to pass lightly.

"I, Bilam, am chief of thy counselors," he said, "and deeply learned
in the mysteries of signs and portents. There is a meaning in all
things. Remember, O King, this child is of the Hebrews, and escaped
thy decree. This play of his hath a meaning. Should he be permitted to
grow up, he will rebel against thee and seek to destroy thy rule. Let
him be judged, O king."

"Thy words are wise," said Pharaoh, who was himself annoyed with
Moses, and he ordered three judges to try the child for his offence.

Moses thought it was a new game and he clapped his hands gleefully
when they took him to the court of justice and stood him in front of
the judges. He heard Reuel plead on his behalf, but he did not
understand it.

"I say he is but a babe and does things without meaning," Reuel
exclaimed. "Put him to the test, and see if he knows the difference
between fire and gold. Place before him a dish of fire and a dish of
jewels and gold. If he grasps the jewels, it will prove that he is no
ordinary child; if he places his hand to the fire, then shall we be
assured he is merely a foolish babe."

"So be it," said Bilam, "and if he grasps the jewels let his
punishment be instant death."

Pharaoh and the judges agreed, and two dishes, one containing burning
coals and the other gold and precious stones were brought in and
placed before Moses. Everybody looked on keenly as Moses stared at
the dishes. Princess Bathia made signs to him, but Bilam ordered her
to cease and it was Reuel who comforted her and dried her tears.

"Take my magic staff," he said, handing to her a stick that seemed to
be made of one large precious stone. "This was given to Adam when he
left the Garden of Eden and has been handed down to me through Enoch
and Noah, through Abraham and Jacob unto Joseph who left it in my
keeping. Take the staff and Moses will obey whatsoever be thy wish."

The princess took the staff and pressed it to her lips.

"I wish," she said, "that my little water-babe shall seize the burning
coals."

Moses thrust his fingers into the fire and pulled out a glowing coal.
With a cry, he put his fingers in his mouth to ease the pain and
burned his tongue with the coal. Ever afterward he lisped.

The princess snatched Moses and pressed him tightly to her bosom.

"Give me the magic stick," she said to Reuel, "so that I may guard and
protect the child."

"Canst thou read this word?" asked Reuel, pointing to a word engraved
on the staff.

"No," said the princess.

"Then it cannot be thine," answered Reuel. "Whosoever reads this name
can understand all things, even the thoughts of animals and birds.
Fear not for Moses. In years to come this staff shall be his."

And so it came to pass. Years afterward, when Moses was a man and fled
from Egypt, he married a daughter of Reuel who became a Hebrew and
took the name of Jethro. Reuel planted the staff in his garden and
Moses saw it. He read the magic word, and touching the staff it came
out of the ground into his hands. With this staff Moses performed the
wonderful things in Egypt when he delivered the children of Israel
from bondage, as is related in the Bible.




Sinbad of the Talmud


"Rabba, Rabba, silly, silly Rabba, have you caught another whale
to-day?"

With this strange cry a number of children followed an elderly man
through the streets of a town in the East. Their parents looked on in
amusement and some of them called after the man as the little ones
did. Rabba, however, took no notice, but walked straight on with a
faraway look in his eyes, as if his thoughts were elsewhere.
Presently, on turning the corner of a street, he nearly ran into an
Arab coming in the opposite direction. As soon as the children saw the
Arab they turned and fled.

"Ali Rabba is coming," they cried to one another in warning, and as
fast as their legs would carry them they made off to their homes.

The Arab shook his fist threateningly after the children. Then he
turned to the man whom they had followed.

"It is a shame," he said, hotly, "that the impudent ragamuffins of
the town should be allowed to cast words of disrespect in the public
streets at my sainted master, Rabba bar Chana, the man of profound
learning and the famous traveller--"

   [Illustration: They saw the land rise up like a huge mountain
   and a tremendous stream of water gush forth. (_Page 138_).]

"Be gentle, good Ali," interrupted Rabba. "Remember they are little
more than babes and have not full understanding. And how can they be
respectful when their parents, who should have wisdom and faith,
accept not our stories of the many adventures we have had? Yesterday,
I told them of the day when our ship had been surrounded by five
thousand whales, each a mile long, and they jeered and cried
'Impossible!'"

"Impossible!" echoed Ali, in a rage. "Was I not there with thee, my
master? Did I not count every single whale myself? Who dares to doubt
my word? Have I not, for years, been thy faithful guide on thy
marvelous journeys? Bah! What know these town fools, whose lives are
no wider than the narrow streets in which they dwell, of the wonders
of the vast world beyond the seas? Fools, ignorant fools, every one of
them, my good master. Why stay you here with them and brook their
insults and their sneers? Let us journey forth again this very day. A
good ship waits in the harbor."

Ali's voice grew louder as his rage became stronger and a crowd was
collecting. Rabba hurried him away and together they made for the
harbor. There they were soon engaged in earnest conversation with the
captain of a vessel that had come from a distant land.

"I shall be glad to have two such famous travelers on my ship," said
the captain. "I have heard of your adventures, and in my country 'tis
said that only those meet with wonders who dare to seek them and
believe in them. I, too, would see the wonders of the world, and
gladly will I give you passage on my ship."

Next day Rabba and Ali stood on the deck of the vessel as the sail was
hoisted, and it moved slowly from the harbor to the accompaniment of
cheering and some laughter from a crowd on shore.

"Silly Rabba and Ali Rabba, don't forget to bring back the moon," they
cried. "Find out where it goes when it is not here."

Soon the land was out of sight, and scudding before favorable breezes
the ship made good progress. In ten days it had reached a sea in which
no vessel had ever sailed before. Ali said he could tell this because
the fishes behaved queerly. They poked their heads out of the water
to gaze at the ship and then darted swiftly out of sight again. It was
quite plain that they had never before seen a ship, and they evidently
mistook it for some strange sea monster. Every day the fishes grew
larger, but no land was sighted until another five days had passed.
Then a desert island appeared straight ahead, and the captain steered
toward it. A few blades of grass grew here and there, and Rabba
determined to land and explore the island.

Accompanied by his faithful Ali, he entered a small boat and was rowed
to the shore. They found a few vegetables growing that they had never
seen before, and so, collecting twigs from the short, stumpy bushes,
they made a fire to cook them. While the vegetables were cooking they
looked around.

"It seems a vast land," said Rabba, "and yet over there, about three
or four miles away, I think I see water."

"I think so, too," said Ali. "This must be the width of the land, but
in the other directions I can see no end. But hark! What sound is
that?"

"'Tis like the rumbling of an earthquake," said Rabba, "and I am sure
I felt the ground move. Indeed, it seems to me as if it is heaving up
and down, like a living thing."

A shout from the boat caused them to look in that direction, and they
saw their comrades pointing wildly and calling upon them to come back.
Looking in the direction indicated, they saw the land rise up like a
huge mountain and a tremendous stream of water gush forth.

"This is not land; this is a whale," cried Rabba, in alarm. "Our fire
has wakened it from slumber. Let us hasten to the ship before the
monster plunges and drowns us."

They hurried back to the boat and boarded the ship just as the whale
began to move. It sank below the waves to quench the fire on its back,
but it rose again, and then the vessel found itself in a new danger.
It was lying between the body of the monster and one of its fins.

"Let me take command," said Ali. "I know best how to act in times of
danger like this. We must avoid being struck by the fin, or we shall
be destroyed. We must find which way the monster is moving and go in
the opposite direction; otherwise we shall be wrecked when we come to
the place where the fin joins the body."

There was no sleep for the crew that night. Everyone watched
carefully, for the least false move may have meant instant disaster.
Luckily the whale began to move on the surface of the sea against the
wind, so that the ship, traveling in the opposite direction, had the
wind behind it. Swiftly flew the ship before the breeze, but the fin
seemed to have no end, although the whale was traveling fast, too.
Three days and three nights the ship continued before it came to the
end of the fin. Then everyone on board breathed more freely.

"That was a lucky escape," said the captain to Rabba.

"Speak not too soon," replied the latter. "I have fears yet. We must
hasten to get completely away from this monster, but the wind does not
favor any alteration of our course."

Even as he spoke there was a great commotion in the water, and the
whale began to move backward at so fearful a speed that they could
scarcely see it. The water was violently agitated and the ship was
tossed about as if it were a mere cork. A whole day this lasted. Then
the motion grew slower as the head of the whale came past the ship.

"See," cried Ali, excitedly. "A small fish has stuck in the nostril of
the monster. That is the cause of this commotion. The monster will
surely be killed."

The agitation of the water now died down, and it was seen that the
whale was beginning to turn over.

"The monster is dead," said Rabba. "It will float on the waves like a
vast desert land and will be a danger to ships."

For several days the vessel was compelled to follow the dead whale.
Whenever an attempt was made to move away, the current or the wind
changed and the carcass of the monster followed the ship. The captain
did not like this at all, for it was dangerous in the extreme. He was
afraid that the dead whale would strike the vessel and wreck it.

At last land was sighted. Not even Rabba and Ali could recognize the
country. They said they had never seen it before. Beautiful cities
dotted the shore, but to everybody's alarm, the body of the whale
began to float toward the land.

To make matters worse, a storm arose, and the monster rose and fell
with each motion of the angry waves.

"The cities will be destroyed if the whale strikes them," cried Rabba,
"and it is impossible for us to warn the people."

Nearer and nearer the whale was driven, while the captain of the ship
did his utmost to keep away so as not to be struck by the backwash.

At length, with a tremendous crash, the monster was flung by the
waves, which had increased to a great height, against the shore. Above
the shrieking of the wind could be heard the noise of falling
buildings and the wild cries of the people. A huge wave caught the
ship and carried it a mile out to sea and then whirled it back again
at a speed that made the crew hold their breath in awe.

It seemed certain that the vessel would be dashed to pieces on the
land, and the crew, with cries of warning and alarm, made haste to
lash themselves to the masts. The mighty wave swept over the land,
over the ruins of the towns, carrying the ship with it, and finally
deposited it among the trees of a dense forest a mile from the shore.

"At least we are safe for the present," said Rabba, when he had
recovered from the shock and the surprise. "We are more fortunate than
the poor people who have been overwhelmed by this strange disaster."

"I should like to know how I am going to get my ship back to the sea,"
said the captain. "I never heard of such a predicament before."

Rabba merely shrugged his shoulders, and with Ali he walked to the
shore. An extraordinary sight met their gaze. Thousands of people
were rushing madly to the forests. Everywhere was ruin and
desolation. All the towns along the coast, sixty in number they
learned afterward, had been destroyed by the stranding of the monster
and the tidal wave that followed, and what had not been leveled and
swept out to sea had been carried inland to the forests and beyond.
All along the coast, as far as the eye could see, lay the body of the
whale like a mountain range, and hundreds of people ran up and down,
weeping bitterly and wringing their hands.

Rabba gathered as many of them as he could together and addressed
them.

"Good people," he said, "ye are the victims of a terrible calamity
that has robbed you at one cruel blow of your homes, and many of you
of your families. But ye that have survived have duties to yourselves
and to the future. In this hour of grief, despair not. There lies the
fearful monster that has been your destruction. It shall also be your
salvation. Its body can supply you all with food. What you cannot eat,
you can salt and store for the future. Thousands of casks of oil can
be obtained from its blubber, and with this ye can trade. Then, too,
its bones are valuable."

The people thanked Rabba for his good advice, and immediately they
set about doing what he bade them. They told him this was a bewitched
land, the country of Kishef, abounding with terrible monsters both on
land and in the sea, and ruled over by a malignant jinn, named Hormuz,
who gave them no peace. They asked Rabba to try and kill this sprite
who said that only a stranger to the land could do him harm, and so
Rabba and his faithful Ali, mounted on horses, set forth on their
adventures.

"I think I know this country," said Ali. "I believe I landed once on
the other shore. We cannot be far from the wilderness in which the
Israelites wandered."

For several days they journeyed through forests and across plains and
nothing happened. At last they came to a broad, high wall which barred
their progress. They could find no opening through which to pass, and
while they were wondering what to do, a strange figure suddenly
appeared on the wall. One of his legs was longer than the other, and
his arms were also of different length. His ears and eyes were also
unequal, and he hopped and bounded along the wall at amazing speed.

"My name is Hormuz," he cried. "Who are ye?"

"Strangers," called Rabba, and as soon as he heard the word, the
sprite darted swiftly off along the top of the wall. But although the
horses ran at topmost speed, they could not overtake him, and he
quickly disappeared. Where he was lost to sight, however, there was a
hole in the wall, and through this Rabba and Ali just managed to take
their horses. A vast wilderness lay before them.

Ali picked up two clods of earth and smelt them.

"As I thought," he said, "this is the wilderness of the Israelites.
Come, I will show thee strange sights."

Before nightfall, they came to a place where the bodies of a large
number of men lay strewn on the ground.

"These men must have been giants," said Rabba, as Ali, with his spear
uplifted, rode under the raised knee of one of the bodies. "These must
be the bodies of the Ephraimites who left Egypt before the rest of the
children of Israel and were slain."

He cut off a portion of a garment that still covered one of the
bodies, but when he tried to move he could not. He seemed to be rooted
to the spot. Nor could his horse move.

"Oh, oh," cried Ali, "my horse has lost its power to move. Thou must
have taken something from the dead. Return it, good master, or we
shall be held fast here until we perish."

Rabba returned the piece of garment, and they were able to move again.
They hurried from the place and came to a chasm in the ground from
which smoke was rising.

"This is the pit in which Korah and his children were swallowed," said
Ali.

"That must have been a wonderful sight," said Rabba. "I have heard
that the pit became like a funnel and that the air all about eddied
and sucked in everything that belonged to Korah. Even the things that
people had borrowed from him, such as dishes, rolled along the ground
from a distance and into the pit. Come, let us hasten away."

They continued their journey for many days, but could not see the
demon again. One day the desert ended and they came to the sea. They
encamped for the night, and when morning broke Rabba was surprised to
find that the basket, in which they kept their provisions, had
disappeared.

"I think I can explain," said Ali. "No thieves have been here, but
this is the end of the world, the edge of the earth. Here, once in
every twenty-four hours, the sky and the earth in their revolution,
scrape together. The sky must have caught up your basket and carried
it away. It will be returned at the same hour tomorrow morning."

Rabba awoke next morning before the sunrise and saw his basket
floating down to earth on a cloud. Both he and Ali were overjoyed when
they recovered it, for they were very hungry. While they were eating,
the sky grew dark, and looking up they saw what appeared to be a great
cloud above their heads. Out of the sea a mighty tree seemed suddenly
to have grown. They moved cautiously forward to investigate.

"Take heed," cried a voice of thunder. "I am a bird standing in the
water. It is so deep, with such swift currents, that seven years ago
an axe fell in and has not yet reached the bottom."

Rabba and Ali crouched on the ground in great fear, until at last
Rabba called: "Mighty bird, we seek your help. We are anxious to find
the wicked jinn, Hormuz, and slay him so that people shall be free."

"Follow me," answered the bird, and like a spreading cloud it flew
along the coast. Rabba and Ali followed on their horses.

"Look," cried Ali, suddenly, pointing out to sea.

A huge snake and dragon were fighting, and at last the sea-serpent,
which was almost as big as the whale that had destroyed the towns,
swallowed the dragon. No sooner had it done so, however, than the
giant bird swooped down and gobbled up the snake.

"That was a good fat worm for breakfast," called the bird. "Now I
shall rest."

It flew toward a gigantic tree which now appeared. So tall was it that
its upper branches were lost in the clouds. The bird perched on a
branch of the tree.

"Proceed along the coast until you come to two bridges," said the
bird. "There you will find Hormuz. Give him two cups of wine to drink,
then you can slay him. But be sure you take the diamond from his cap.
I, the ziz, give you this warning."

Rabba thanked the bird for its information, and with Ali continued on
his journey. After three days they came to a river crossed by two
bridges, and with one foot on each stood Hormuz.

As soon as he saw them he began to run, but Rabba called after him,
"We bring thee an offering of good wine," and he promptly returned.
Rabba filled the two cups which he had from a leathern bottle, and
Hormuz took a cup in each hand, smacking his lips as he did so.

"See," he said, and he tossed the wine into the air, and the wine from
the right hand cup fell into the left hand cup and that from the left
hand cup into the right and not a drop was spilt. Then he swallowed
them both at one gulp.

Almost immediately he fell down in a stupor, and Rabba stabbed him
again and again with his spear. Yet, when he seemed quite dead, he
jumped up again.

"The diamond," cried Rabba, excitedly, and Ali snatched it from the
cap of Hormuz. Then the demon fell dead.

"We can return now," said Rabba, and they set out at once, taking the
body with them. They halted only to take food, and the first time they
did so a funny thing happened. Ali had killed an animal and Rabba had
caught some fish, and, while these were cooking, Rabba took the jinn's
diamond from his pocket and examined it. At once the fish and the
animal came to life again, jumped out of the cooking pot and made off.

"This is a magic diamond," said Rabba, "that has the power to bring
dead things to life. We keep it covered when we wish to eat."

They did so, and after long journeying they came in sight of the great
wall and at last reached the place from which they had started. They
had been away twelve months in all, and the people were heartily glad
to see them, especially when they heard that Hormuz had been killed
and saw his body. They had worked hard on the carcass of the huge
whale and were rebuilding the sixty towns and villages that had been
destroyed, with the bones of the monster, using the skin as coverings
for their tents.

With the help of the magic diamond, Rabba called the ziz, and it took
the ship which had been carried into the forest in its beak and flew
with it to the sea. Gathering their old comrades, Rabba and Ali set
sail for home.

All the inhabitants stood on shore and cheered as long as the ship was
in sight. They were sorry that Rabba was gone, but they felt certain
now that Hormuz was dead, that nevermore would they be troubled by
monsters which brought them such terrible disasters.

   [Illustration: He looked up and beheld the most beautiful woman
   his eyes had ever seen. (_Page 157_).]




The Outcast Prince


There lived a king who had an only son, on whom he doted. No one, not
even his oldest tutor, was permitted to utter a word of correction to
the prince whenever he did anything wrong, and so he grew up
completely spoiled. He had many faults, but the worst features of his
character were that he was proud, arrogant and cruel. Naturally, too,
he was selfish and disobedient. When he was called to his lessons, he
refused, saying, "I am a prince. Before many years I shall be your
king. I have no need to learn what common people must know. Enough for
me that I shall occupy the throne and shall rule. My will alone shall
prevail. Says not the law of the land, 'The king can do no wrong'?"

Handsome and haughty, even as a youth, he made the king's subjects
fear him by his imperious manner. His appearance in the streets was
the signal for everyone to run into his house, bar the doors, and peer
nervously through the casements. He was a reckless rider, and woe
betide the unfortunate persons who happened to be in his way. Sparing
neither man, woman, nor child, he callously rode over them, or lashed
out vindictively with the long whip he always carried, laughing when
anyone screamed with pain.

So outrageous did his public conduct become that the people determined
to suffer in silence no longer. They denounced the prince in public,
they petitioned the king himself to restrain his son, and his majesty
could not disregard the complaints. At first he was merely annoyed,
then he was indignant, but when he saw that the people were thoroughly
aroused and threatened revolt, he deemed it wise to inquire into the
charges against his son.

A commission of three judges was appointed to investigate. They made
fullest inquiry and finally laid a document before the king
summarizing what they did not hesitate to declare the "infamous
actions of His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince."

The king's sense of justice and righteousness at once overcame his
foolish pride.

"My people stand justified in their attitude which at first I thought
only disrespectful to my royal person," he said. "I owe them an
apology and recompense. I shall atone. And my son shall atone, too.
He shall not escape punishment."

He summoned his son to appear before him, and the prince entered the
royal justice chamber with the air of a braggart, smiling
contemptuously at the learned judges who were seated to right and left
of his majesty, and defiantly cracking his whip.

"Knowest thou why thou hast been bidden to stand before the judges of
the land?" asked the king.

"I know not and I care not," was the haughty answer. "The foolish
chatter of the mob interests me not."

The king frowned. He had not seen the prince behave in this fashion
before. In the presence of his father, he had always been respectful.

"Thou hast disgraced thy honored name and thy mother's sacred memory,
foolish prince," exclaimed the monarch angrily. "Thou hast humiliated
thyself and me before the people."

Still the prince tried to laugh off the matter as a joke, but he
quickly discovered that the king was in no mood for trifling. Standing
grave and erect, his majesty pronounced sentence in a loud and firm
voice.

"Know all men," he said, while all the judges, counselors, officers of
state and representatives of the people stood awed to silence, "that
it having been proved on indisputable evidence that the prince, my
son, hath grievously transgressed against the righteous laws of this
land and against the people, my subjects, on whom he hath heaped
insult, I have taken counsel with my advisers, the ministers of state,
and it is my royal will and pleasure to pronounce sentence. Wherefore,
I declare that my son, the prince, shall be cast forth into the world,
penniless, and shall not return until he shall have learned how to
Count Five. And be it further known that none may minister unto his
wants should he crave assistance by declaring he is my son, the
prince."

The prince stood astounded. What did the mysterious sentence mean?
None could tell him. The only answer to his inquiries was a shrug of
the shoulders, for nobody would speak to him.

In the dead of night, with only the stars gazing down on the strange
scene, the prince, clad in the cast-off garments of a common laborer,
with his golden curls cut off and not a solitary coin in his pocket,
was conducted outside the palace grounds and left alone in the road.

He was too much dazed to weep. He told himself this was some horrible
dream from which he would waken in the morning, to find himself in his
own beautiful room, lying on his gilded bed under the richly
embroidered silken coverlet.

When dawn broke, however, he found himself hungry, tired, and his body
painfully stiff, under a hedge. He knew now it was no dream but a
reality. He was alone and friendless, with no means of earning his
food. He understood then what hardships the poor were compelled to
undergo, and he began to realize how he had made them suffer, and how,
in turn, he was now to pay a heavy price for his brutal treatment of
the people.

All that day he wandered aimlessly, until, foot-sore and exhausted, he
sank down at the door of a wayside cottage and begged for food and
shelter. These were given to him, and next day he was set to work in
the fields. But his hands were not used to labor, and he was sent
adrift, his fellow workers jeering at him. With a heavy heart, and his
pride humbled, he set forth again to learn the mystery of how to Count
Five.

Long days and endless nights, through the heat of the summer, through
the snows of winter, the autumnal rains and cold blasts of early
spring, he wandered.

A whole year passed away, and he had learned nothing. In truth, he had
almost forgotten why he was aimlessly drifting from place to place,
farther and farther from his home.

Hunger and thirst were more often than not his daily portion, and the
cold earth by night was frequently his couch. Time seemed to drag
along without meaning, and oft-times for a week he heard not the sound
of a human voice.

He was a beggar, generally accepting gratefully what was given to him,
sometimes with harsh words, often with kindly expressions. When he
could, he worked, doing anything for small coins, for a rabbi, who had
taken compassion on him, had said, "Do any honest work, however
repugnant it may at first seem, rather than say haughtily, 'I am the
son of a rich father.'"

For a moment he wondered whether the rabbi had guessed his secret, but
the learned man said to him he was but repeating a maxim from the
Talmud.

Exactly a year from the date of his sentence, as well as he could keep
count, the prince found himself in a strange land on the outskirts of
a great city. There he fell in with a beggar who hailed him as a
brother.

"Come with me," said the beggar. "I know the lore of our fraternity
as few do. I know where to obtain the best food and shelter for
naught. Here, in this city, a beautiful and noble princess has
established a place where all wayfarers may rest and refresh. None are
turned away. I will take you thither."

The beggar was as good as his word, and the prince enjoyed the best
meal and the most comfortable shelter since he had been an outcast.
Overcome with emotion at the thoughts which were conjured up, he
retired into a corner and wept. Suddenly he heard a voice of
entrancing sweetness say, "Why do you weep?"

He looked up and beheld the most beautiful woman his eyes had ever
seen. Instinctively, he rose and bowed low, but made no answer.

"The princess speaks. It is your duty to answer," said another voice,
that of an attendant.

A princess! Of course, none but a princess could be so fair. And what
a sympathetic voice she possessed. As a prince, he remembered, he had
spoken harshly as a rule, and had never visited any of the charitable
institutions.

"You must have a history," said the princess, kindly. "Tell it to me.
If it is to be kept a secret, you may place confidence in me. I shall
not betray you."

The prince was on the point of telling her everything but he hesitated
and said:

"Alas! I am an unhappy, wandering beggar, as you see, O most gracious
princess. But pity me not. I am not worthy of your kind thoughts. A
year ago I dwelt in a--a beautiful house. I was the only son of
a--rich merchant, and my father lavished all his love and wealth on
me. But I was wicked. I was unkind to people, and I was cast forth and
ordered not to return until I had learned to Count Five. I have not
yet learned. I am doomed to a wretched life. That is the whole of my
history."

"Strange," murmured the princess. "I will help thee if I can."

Next day she came again to the shelter, and with her was the rabbi who
had given the prince good counsel. The rabbi made no sign that he had
seen the stranger before.

"This sage of the Jews is a wise man and will teach thee," said the
princess, and, at her bidding, the prince repeated what he had said
the previous night.

"It is a simple lesson," said the rabbi, "so absurdly simple,
unfortunately, that proud people overlook it. Tell me, my son," he
added. "Hast thou experienced hunger?"

"That I have," returned the prince, sadly.

"Then canst thou count One. Dost thou know what it is to feel cold?"

"I do."

"Two canst thou count. Tell me, further, dost thou know what kindness
of heart is?"

"That have I received from the poorest and also from the gracious
princess."

"Thou hast proceeded far in thy lesson," said the rabbi. "Thou canst
now count Three. Hast thou ever felt gratitude?"

"Indeed I have, often during this past year, and now most
particularly."

"Four is now the toll of thy count," said the rabbi. "Tell me, my son,
hast thou learned the greatest lesson of all? Dost thou feel humble in
spirit?"

With tears in his eyes, the prince answered, "I do, most sincerely."

"Then hast thou truly learned to Count Five. Return to thy father. He
must be a wise and just man to impose on thee this lesson. He will
assuredly forgive thee. Go, with my blessing," and the rabbi raised
his hands above the young man's head and uttered a benediction.

"Take also my good wishes," said the princess, and she offered him her
hand to kiss.

"Gracious princess," he said, "it is not meet that a beggar in rags
should speak what is in his heart. But I shall return, and if thou
deemest me worthy, perchance thou wilt grant a request that I shall
make."

"Perchance," replied the princess, with a laugh.

The prince made haste to return to his father's palace and related all
his adventures. The old man listened quietly, then he clasped his son
in his arms, forgave him, and proudly proclaimed him prince before all
the people again. He was a changed man, and nevermore guilty of a
cruel action.

Before many months had passed, he returned to the city where he had
seen the princess, with a long retinue of attendants, all bearing
presents.

"Gracious princess," he said, when he had been granted an audience. "I
said I would return."

"Indeed! I know thee not."

The prince told her of their former meeting and she seemed highly
pleased.

"Now," he said, "put the crown on thy work which restored to me the
manhood I had foolishly cast away by my conduct. I would make thee my
bride, and with thee ever my guide and counselor, I shall be the most
faithful of kings, and thou a queen of goodness and beauty and wisdom
such as the world has not yet seen."

The princess did not give her answer immediately, but in due course
she did; and once again, the prince returned home, this time happier
than ever. Sitting by his side in the chariot of state, was the
princess, radiant in smiles, for the people welcomed her heartily,
strewing flowers in her path. And ever afterward there was happiness
throughout the land.

   [Illustration: As the Shah raised his sword an old man stepped
   from behind the tree. (_Page 166_).]




The Story of Bostanai


In the days of long ago, when Persia was a famous and beautiful land,
with innumerable rose gardens that perfumed the whole country and
gorgeous palaces, there lived a king, named Hormuz. He was a cruel
monarch, this Shah of Persia. He tyrannized over his people and never
allowed them to live in peace. Above all, he hated the Jews.

"These descendants of Abraham," he said to his grand vizier, "never
know when they are beaten. How many times it has been reported to me
that they have been wiped out of existence, or driven from the land, I
know not. Yet nothing, it seems, can crush their spirit. Tell me, why
is this?"

"It is because they have a firm faith in their future," answered the
vizier.

"What mean you by those words?" demanded the king, angrily.

"I speak only of what I have heard from their wise men," the vizier
replied, hastily. "They hold the belief that they will be restored as
a united people to their own land."

"Under their own king?" interrupted Hormuz.

"Under a descendant of the royal House of David," the vizier answered,
solemnly.

The king stamped his foot with rage.

"How dare they think of any other Shah but me," he exclaimed, for his
one idea of ruling over people was that he had every right to be cruel
to them. Then he said suddenly, "Think you that if there were no more
people who could trace their ancestry to this--this David, their faith
would be shattered?"

"Peradventure, it may be so."

"It shall be so," cried the king. "There shall be no remnants of this
House of David."

He summoned his executioners, and when they were lined up before him,
he surveyed the evil-looking band with a cunning gleam in his eye.

"Unto you," he said, in a rasping voice, "I hand over all the
descendants of the House of David to be found among the Jews in the
whole of the realm of Persia. Slay them instantly. See to it that not
a single one--man, woman, or child--is left alive. Woe betide you, and
you my counselors"--this with a meaning glance at the grand
vizier--"if my commands are not carried out to the letter. To your
duties. Ye are dismissed from the presence."

Waving them away, he indulged his fancy in thoughts of the coming
executions, chuckling the while.

From day to day he received reports that his commands were being
carried out. The land was filled with weeping, for the cruel butchery
was worse than war. None could defend themselves. Mere suspicion was
enough for the executioners. They wasted no time with doubts, but slew
all who were said to belong to the House of David. The Shah looked
over the list each night and chuckled. At last he was informed that
all had been slaughtered.

"'Tis well, 'tis well," he said, rubbing his hands, gleefully, "I
shall sleep in peace tonight."

He slept in a bower in a rose garden, and nowhere in the world are the
roses so magnificent and so sweet-scented as in Persia.

"I shall have pleasant dreams," he muttered, but instead he had a
nightmare that frightened him terribly.

He dreamed that he was walking in his rose garden, but instead of
deriving pleasure from the beautiful trees, he was only angered.

"Are there no white, or yellow, or pink roses?" he asked, but received
no answer. "All red, deep, deep red," he muttered, in his troubled
manner.

"Tell me," he demanded fiercely, stopping before a tree heavily laden
with flowers, "why are you so red today?"

And the roses spoke and replied, "Because of the innocent blood that
has been shed. It is royal blood that has drenched the ground, and
none but crimson roses shall bloom this year in Persia."

"Bah!" screamed the enraged Shah and, drawing his scimitar, he began
hacking right and left among the flowers. The beautiful blooms fell to
the ground in great showers until the garden was so littered with the
red petals that it seemed flooded with a pool of blood. At last only
one tree remained, and as the Shah raised his sword to cut it down, an
old man stepped from behind it and confronted the king.

"Who art thou, and whence camest thou?" the monarch asked fiercely.

No answer did the old man make. Gazing sternly into the eyes of the
Shah, he raised his hand suddenly and unexpectedly, and struck the
king such a violent blow that he fell sprawling to the ground. He lay
half-stunned among the red petals, looking up at the old man.

"Art thou not satisfied with the destruction thou hast wrought?" the
old man asked. "Must thou take the life of the last rose tree?"

The old man stooped to pick up the scimitar which had fallen from the
king's grasp.

"No, no," screamed Hormuz, fearing that he was to be slain. He
scrambled to his knees and with clasped hands pleaded to the old man.
"Take not my life," he begged. "Spare me, and I shall spare the last
tree and cherish it tenderly."

"So be it," said the old man, holding the sword above his head. It
dropped to the ground, and looking up, Hormuz saw that the stranger
had vanished.

The Shah awoke. His body trembled with fear, his head was wracked by a
burning pain. He looked round shudderingly to see if the angry old man
still stood above him with the threatening sword. Then he sent for his
wizards.

"Expound to me my horrid dream," he said.

Their interpretations, however, did not please him.

"Ye are fools," he cried. "Make search and find me a man of wisdom who
understands these mysteries. Seek a sage among the Jews."

The royal servants hastened to do the king's bidding. Full well they
knew that when Hormuz was in a rage, lives were quickly forfeit.

They seized the aged rabbi of the city and brought him before the
Shah.

"Canst thou interpret dreams?" asked the king, abruptly, dispensing
with the usual ceremonies.

"I can explain the meaning of certain things," returned the rabbi.

"Then fail not to unravel the mystery of my dream," said Hormuz, and
he related it. "The secret I must know," he concluded, "or----." But
he stopped. He was afraid to add the usual threat of death that
morning.

"'Tis a simple dream," said the rabbi, slowly. "The things of which
men--and even kings are but men--dream in their sleep are connected
with the deeds performed by day. Thy garden represents the House of
David which thou hast sought to destroy. The old man was King David
himself, and thou hast promised to cherish and nurture his one
remaining descendant."

The Shah listened in silence. Then, with a flash in his eye he said,
"But all the descendants of this King David were slain."

"All but one," said the rabbi. "There is a boy babe, born on the day
the executions ceased."

"Where is he?" asked Hormuz.

"Your vow...." the rabbi began, nervously, for he did not wish to hand
over this child to death.

"My promise shall be faithfully carried out," interrupted the monarch.

"The boy is in my house," said the rabbi. "His mother, who escaped the
massacre, died when he was born."

"Bring him hither," commanded Hormuz. "Fear not."

From his finger he drew a ring and handed it to the learned man.

"This is my bond," he said. "The possession of this ensures thy
safety."

The child was brought to the palace, and the Shah looked at him with
intent gaze.

"He shall be brought up as a prince," said the king. "Servants,
attendants and slaves shall he have in great number to minister unto
all his needs. He shall be treated with the utmost kindness. And
because of my dream in the garden, I name him Bostanai."

The Shah did this because "bostan" is the Persian word for rose
garden.

He touched the child with his jeweled scepter and all present bowed
low before the babe and showed him the respect and devotion due to a
prince.

Hormuz, however, was too cruel to be quite satisfied. He feared to
harm the boy, but he wanted some proof that Bostanai was really a
descendant of King David. The child grew up into a handsome, clever
youth, and Hormuz, partly out of fear, but partly because he had
really grown to love the boy, kept him constantly by his side.

One day, while sitting in the bower in the garden, he watched the boy
among the roses. The day was hot and a drowsiness came over the king.
He had not slept in that bower since the night of his fateful dream,
and he was not happy about doing so now. But he did not lack courage,
and he called the boy to him.

"Bostanai," he said, "stand guard by the door, and move not while I
sleep."

Hormuz slept soundly and peacefully for some time, and when he awoke
he saw the lad standing motionless where he had placed himself.

"Bostanai," he called, and when the boy turned, he was startled to see
blood trickling from a wound on his face.

"What is that?" he asked, anxiously.

"The sting of a wasp," Bostanai replied.

"Is it not painful?"

For answer, the boy only smiled.

"How did it happen?" asked the king.

"The wasp stung me while I stood guard."

"But couldst thou not brush it away?"

"No," replied the boy, proudly. "King David was my ancestor, and in
the presence of a king I must stand motionless until bidden to make
any movement."

Then, before the king could catch him, he swooned from loss of blood,
and fell to the ground. He soon recovered, however, and the Shah's
doubts were set at rest.

"I know now thou art truly of the House of David," he said, "for none
other could have shown such fortitude."

Bostanai became the Shah's favorite, and when he grew up he was made
the ruler of a province. He lived happily, and through him the Jews of
the land also lived in prosperity and peace.

   [Illustration: Behind him a fierce roar indicated that the lion
   was in pursuit. (_Page 176_).]




From Shepherd-Boy to King


On a desolate plain, a little shepherd-boy stood alone. His day's work
was over and he had wandered through field and forest listening to the
twittering of the birds and the soft sound of the summer breezes as
they gently swayed the branches of the trees. He seemed to understand
what the birds were saying, and the murmuring of the brook that wound
its way through the forest was like a message of Nature to him. Sweet
sounds were always in his ears, his heart was ever singing, for the
shepherd-boy was a poet. At times he would turn around sharply,
thinking he had heard some one calling. One day he was quite startled.

"David, David," he thought he heard a voice calling, "thou shalt be
King of Israel."

But he could see nothing, except the trees and the flowers, and so he
left the forest and stood in the desolate plain. In the distance he
saw a very high hill and as he approached nearer he noticed on the
summit a tall tree, without branches or leaves. With great difficulty
he climbed the hill. It was quite smooth, bare of vegetation and
without rocks, and little David noticed that it gave forth none of
those sweet sounds like music that came from other hills.

The summit gained, he looked at the tree in wonderment. It was not of
wood, but of horn.

"'Tis strange," said the boy. "This must be a magic mountain. No tree,
or flower, or shrub, can grow in this barren earth."

He tried to dig a clod of earth out of the ground, but could not do
so, even with his knife, for the ground was as hard as if covered with
tough hide.

David was greatly puzzled, but, being a boy of courage, he did not
begin to run down the mountain.

"I wonder what will happen if I stay here," he said, and he seated
himself at the foot of the mysterious horn that grew at the summit and
looked about him.

Then he noticed a most peculiar thing. The ground was rising and
falling in places as if moved by some power beneath. Listening
intently, he also heard a curious rumbling noise, and then a
loud-sounding swish. At the same time he saw something rising from
the other end of the mountain and whirl through the air.

"That is just like a tail," exclaimed David in surprise.

The next minute he had to cling with all his might to the horn, for
the whole mountain was moving. It was rising, and soon David was quite
near the clouds. The earth was a great distance away, and, judging by
a tremendous shadow cast by the sun, David could see that he was
clinging to the horn of a gigantic animal.

"I know what it is now," he said. "This is not a mountain, but a
unicorn. The monster must have been lying asleep when I mistook it for
a hill."

David began to puzzle his brain as to a means of getting down from his
perilous perch.

"I must wait," he said, "until the animal feeds. He will surely lower
his head to the ground then and I will slip off."

But a new terror awaited him. The roar of a lion was heard in the
distance, and David found that he could understand it.

"Bow to me, for I am king of the beasts," the lion roared.

The lion, however, was so small compared with the unicorn that David
could scarcely see it. The unicorn, as soon as it heard the command,
began to lower its head, and soon David was enabled to slip to the
ground. To his alarm he found himself just in front of the lion. The
king of the beasts stood before him with blazing eyes, lashing its
sides with his tail. David lost not a moment. Drawing his knife from
his belt, the brave boy advanced boldly toward the lion.

Just then a sound attracted the attention of both the boy and the
beast. It was a deer.

"I will save thee, boy," it cried. "Mount my back and trust to my
speed."

Before the lion could recover from its surprise, David had sprung on
to the back of the deer which started to run at lightning speed. David
clung tightly to its back. Behind him a fierce roar indicated that the
lion was in pursuit. Across the desolate plain and through the forest
the chase continued, and when David came within sight of human
habitations again, the deer stopped.

"Thou art safe now," the deer said to him. "Thou art to become king,
and my command was to save thee. Fear not, I will lead the lion
astray."

David thanked the deer that had so gallantly saved his life, and as
soon as he had slid from its back it dashed off again, faster than
ever with the lion still in pursuit. Soon both were out of sight.

David sang light-heartedly as he returned to his humble home and years
afterward, when he was king of Israel and remembered his escape, he
put the words of his song into one of his Psalms.

   [Illustration: The gates opened from within and the Arab stood
   before them. (_P. 185_).]




The Magic Palace


Ibrahim, the most learned and pious man of the city, whom everybody
held in esteem, fell on troubled days. To none did he speak of his
sufferings, for he was proud and would have been compelled to refuse
the help which he knew would have been offered to him. His noble wife
and five faithful sons suffered in silence, but Ibrahim was sorely
troubled when he saw their clothes wearing away to rags and their
bodies wasting with hunger.

One day Ibrahim was seated in front of the Holy Book, but he saw not
the words on its pages. His eyes were dimmed with tears and his
thoughts were far away. He was day-dreaming of a region where hunger
and thirst and lack of clothes and shelter were unknown. He sighed
heavily and his wife heard.

"My dear husband," she said to him gently, "we are starving. You must
go forth to seek work for the sake of our five little sons."

"Yes, yes," he replied, sadly, "and for you, too, my devoted wife,
but"--and he pointed to his tattered garments--"how can I go out in
these? Who will employ a man so miserably clad?"

"I will ask our kind neighbors to lend you some raiment," said his
wife, and although he made some demur at first, she did so and was
successful in obtaining the loan of a cloak which completely covered
Ibrahim and restored to him his dignified appearance.

His good wife cheered him with brave words. He took his staff and set
out with head erect and his heart filled with a great hope. All people
saluted the learned Ibrahim, for it was not often he was seen abroad
in the busy streets of the city. He returned their greetings with
kindly smiles, but halted not in his walk. He had no wish to make any
claims upon his fellow citizens, who would no doubt have gladly
assisted him. He desired to go among strangers and work so that he
should not be beholden to anyone.

Beyond the city gates, where the palm trees grew and the camels
trudged lazily toward the distant desert, he was suddenly accosted by
a stranger dressed as an Arab.

"O learned and holy man of the city," he said, "command me, for I am
thy slave." At the same time he made a low bow before Ibrahim.

"My slave!" returned Ibrahim, in surprise. "You mock me, stranger. I
am wretchedly poor. I seek but the opportunity to sell myself, even as
a slave, to any man who will provide food and clothing for my wife and
children."

"Sell not thyself," said the Arab. "Offer me for sale instead. I am a
marvelous builder. Behold these plans and models, specimens of my
skill and handiwork."

From beneath the folds of his ample robes, the Arab produced a scroll
and a box and held them out to Ibrahim. The latter took them,
wonderingly. On the scroll were traced designs of stately buildings.
Within the box was an exquisite model of a palace, a marvelous piece
of work, perfect in detail and workmanship. Ibrahim examined it with
great care.

"I have never seen anything so beautiful," he admitted. "It is wrought
and fashioned with exceeding good taste. It is in itself a work of
art. You must indeed be a wondrous craftsman. Whence come you?"

"What matters that?" replied the Arab. "I am thy slave. Is there not
in this city some rich merchant or nobleman who needs the services of
such talents as I possess? Seek him out and dispose of me to him. To
thee he will give ear; to me he will not listen."

Ibrahim pondered over this strange request for a while.

"Agreed!" he said, at length.

Together they returned to the city. There Ibrahim made inquiries in
the bazaar where the wealthy traders met to discuss their affairs, and
soon learned of a rich dealer in precious stones, a man of a multitude
of charitable deeds, who was anxious to erect an imposing residence.
He called upon the jeweler.

"Noble sir," he said, "I hear that it is thy intention to erect a
palace the like of which this city has not yet seen, an edifice that
will be an everlasting joy to its possessor, a delight to all who gaze
upon it, and which will bring renown to this city."

"That is so," said the merchant. "You have interpreted the desire of
my heart as if you had read its secret. I would fain dedicate to the
uses of the ruler of this city a palace that will shed luster on his
name."

"It is well," returned Ibrahim. "I have brought thee an architect and
builder of genius. Examine his plans and designs. If they please thee,
as assuredly they will, purchase the man from me, for he is my slave."

The jeweler could not understand the plans on the scroll, but on the
model in the box he feasted his eyes for several minutes in speechless
amazement.

"It is indeed remarkable," he said at last. "I will give thee eighty
thousand gold pieces for thy slave, who must build for me just such a
palace."

Ibrahim immediately informed the Arab, who at once consented to
perform the task, and then the pious man hastened home to his wife and
children with the good news and the money, which made him rich for the
rest of his days.

To the Arab the jeweler said, "Thou wilt regain thy liberty if thou
wilt succeed in thy undertaking. Begin at once. I will forthwith
engage the workmen."

"I need no workmen," was the Arab's singular reply. "Take me to the
land whereon I must build, and to-morrow thy palace shall be
complete."

"Tomorrow!"

"Even as I say," answered the Arab.

The sun was setting in golden glory when they reached the ground, and
pointing to the sky the Arab said: "Tomorrow, when the great orb of
light rises above the distant hills, its rays will strike the minarets
and domes and towers of thy palace, noble sir. Leave me now. I must
pray."

In perfect bewilderment, the merchant left the stranger. From a
distance he watched the man devoutly praying. He had made up his mind
to watch all the night; but when the moon rose, deep sleep overcame
him and he dreamed. He dreamed that he saw myriads of men swarming
about strange machines and scaffolding which grew higher and higher,
hiding a vast structure.

Ibrahim dreamed, too, but in his vision one figure, that of the Arab,
stood out above all other things. Ibrahim scanned the features of the
stranger closely; he followed, as it were, the man's every movement.
He noticed how all the workmen and particularly the supervisors did
the stranger great honor, showing him the deference due to one of the
highest position. And with grave and dignified mien, the Arab
responded kindly. From the heavens a bright light shone upon the
scene, the radiance being softest wherever the Arab stood.

In his dream, it so appeared to Ibrahim, he rose from his bed, went
out into the night, and approached the palace magically rising from
the waste ground beyond the city. Nearer and nearer his footsteps took
him, until he stood beside the Arab again. One of the chief workmen
approached and addressed the stranger--by name!

Then it was Ibrahim understood--and he awoke. The sun was streaming in
through the lattice of his bedroom. He sprang from his bed and looked
out upon a magnificent spectacle. Beyond the city the sun's rays were
reflected by a dazzling array of gilded cupolas and glittering spires,
the towers of the palace of marble that he had seen builded in his
dream. Instantly he went out and made haste to the palace to assure
himself that his dream was really over. Ibrahim and the jeweler
arrived before the gates at the same moment. They stood speechless
with amazement and admiration before the model of the Arab grown to
immense proportions.

Almost at the same moment, the gates, ornamented with beaten gold,
opened from within and the Arab stood before them. Ibrahim bent low
his head.

The Arab addressed the merchant.

"Have I fulfilled my promise and earned my freedom?" he asked.

"Verily thou hast," answered the merchant.

"Then farewell, and may blessings rest on thee and the good Ibrahim
and on all your works."

Thus spoke the Arab, raising his hands in benediction. Then he
disappeared within the golden doors.

The jeweler and Ibrahim followed quickly, but though they hastened
through the halls and corridors of many colored marbles, in and out of
rooms lighted by windows of clearest crystal, and up and down
staircases of burnished metal, they could find no one. Emerging into
the open again, they saw a huge crowd standing in wonderment before
the gates.

"Tell me," said the jeweler, "who was the builder of this magic
palace."

"Elijah, the Prophet," said Ibrahim, "the benefactor of mankind, who
revisits the earth to assist in their distress those deemed worthy.
Blessed am I, and blessed art thou for thy good deeds, for we have
been truly honored."

To show his gratitude, the merchant gave a banquet in his palace to
all the people in the city and scattered gold and silver pieces among
the crowds that thronged the streets.




The Sleep of One Hundred Years


It was at the time of the destruction of the First Temple. The cruel
war had laid Jerusalem desolate, and terrible was the suffering of the
people.

Rabbi Onias, mounted on a camel, was sorrowfully making his way toward
the unhappy city. He had traveled many days and was weary from lack of
sleep and faint with hunger, yet he would not touch the basket of
dates he had with him, nor would he drink from the water in a leather
bottle attached to the saddle.

"Perchance," he said, "I shall meet some one who needs them more than
I."

But everywhere the land was deserted. One day, nearing the end of the
journey, he saw a man planting a carob tree at the foot of a hill.

"The Chaldeans," said the man, "have destroyed my beautiful vineyards
and all my crops, but I must sow and plant anew, so that the land may
live again."

   [Illustration: The sun was shining on a noble city of pinnacles
   and minarets. (_P. 191_).]

Onias passed sorrowfully on and at the top of the hill he stopped.
Before him lay Jerusalem, not the once beautiful city with its
hundreds of domes and minarets that caught the first rays of the sun
each morning, but a vast heap of ruins and charred buildings. Onias
threw himself on the ground and wept bitterly. No human being could he
see, and the sun was setting over what looked like a city of the dead.

"Woe, woe," he cried. "Zion, my beautiful Zion, is no more. Can it
ever rise again? Not in a hundred years can its glory be renewed."

The sun sank lower as he continued to gaze upon the ruined city, and
darkness gathered over the scene. Utterly exhausted, Onias, laying his
head upon his camel on the ground, fell into a deep sleep.

The silver moon shone serenely through the night and paled with the
dawn, and the sun cast its bright rays on the sleeping rabbi. Darkness
spread its mantle of night once more, and again the sun rose, and
still Onias slept. Days passed into weeks, the weeks merged into
months, and the months rolled on until years went by; but Rabbi Onias
did not waken.

Seeds, blown by the winds and brought by the birds, dropped around
him, took root and grew into shrubs, and soon a thick hedge
surrounded him and screened him from all who passed. A date that had
fallen from his basket, took root also, and in time there rose a
beautiful palm tree which cast a shade over the sleeping figure.

And thus a hundred years rolled by.

Suddenly, Onias moved, stretched himself and yawned. He was awake
again. He looked around confused.

"Strange," he muttered. "Did I not fall asleep on a hill overlooking
Jerusalem last night? How comes it now that I am hemmed in by a
thicket and am lying in the shade of this noble date palm?"

With great difficulty he rose to his feet.

"Oh, how my bones do ache!" he cried. "I must have overslept myself.
And where is my camel?"

Puzzled, he put his hand to his beard. Then he gave a cry of anguish.

"What is this? My beard is snow-white and so long that it almost
reaches to the ground."

He sank down again, but the mound on which he sat was but a heap of
rubbish and collapsed under his weight. Beneath it were bones. Hastily
clearing away the rubbish, he saw the skeleton of a camel.

"This surely must be my camel," he said. "Can I have slept so long?
The saddle-bags have rotted, too. But what is this?" and he picked up
the basket of dates and the water-bottle. The dates and the water were
quite fresh.

"This must be some miracle," he said. "This must be a sign for me to
continue my journey. But, alas, that Jerusalem should be destroyed!"

He looked around and was more puzzled than ever. When he had fallen
asleep the hill had been bare of vegetation. Now it was covered with
carob trees.

"I think I remember a man planting a carob tree yesterday," he said.
"But was it yesterday?"

He turned in the other direction and gave a cry of astonishment. The
sun was shining on a noble city of glittering pinnacles and minarets,
and around it were smiling fields and vineyards.

"Jerusalem still lives," he exclaimed. "Of a truth I have been
dreaming--dreaming that it was destroyed. Praise be to God that it was
but a dream."

With all speed he made his way across the plain to the city. People
looked at him strangely and pointed him out to one another, and the
children ran after him and called him names he did not understand.
But he took no notice. Near the outskirts of the city he paused.

"Canst thou tell me, father," he said to an old man, "which is the
house of Onias, the rabbi?"

"'Tis thy wit, or thy lack of it, that makes thee call me father,"
replied the man. "I must be but a child compared with thee."

Others gathered around and stared hard at Onias.

"Didst thou speak of Rabbi Onias?" asked one. "I know of one who says
that was the name of his grandfather. I will bring him."

He hastened away and soon returned with an aged man of about eighty.

"Who art thou?" Onias asked.

"Onias is my name," was the reply. "I am called so in honor of my
sainted grandfather, Rabbi Onias, who disappeared mysteriously one
hundred years ago, after the destruction of the First Temple."

"A hundred years," murmured Onias. "Can I have slept so long?"

"By thy appearance, it would seem so," replied the other Onias. "The
Temple has been rebuilt since then."

"Then it was not a dream," said the old man.

They led him gently indoors, but everything was strange to him. The
customs, the manners, the habits of the people, their dress, their
talk, was all different, and every time he spoke they laughed.

"Thou seemest like a creature from another world," they said. "Thou
speakest only of the things that have long passed away."

One day he called his grandson.

"Lead me," he said, "to the place of my long sleep. Perchance I will
sleep again. I am not of this world, my child. I am alone, a stranger
here, and would fain leave ye."

Taking the dates and the bottle of water which still remained fresh,
he made his way to where he had slept for a hundred years, and there
his prayer for peace was answered. He slept again, but not in this
world will he awaken.

   [Illustration: He heard a cry of alarm and saw a huge stone
   fall on the soldier riding behind him. (_Page 201_).]




King for Three Days


Godfrey de Bouillon was a famous warrior, a daring general and bold
leader of men, who gained victories in several countries. And so, in
the year 1095, when the first Crusade came to be arranged, he was
entrusted with the command of one of the armies and led it across
Europe in the historic march to the Holy Land.

Like many a great soldier of his period, Godfrey was a cruel man, and,
above all, he hated the Jews.

"In this, our Holy War," he said to his men, "we shall slay all the
children of Israel wherever we shall fall in with them. I shall not
rest content until I have exterminated the Jews."

True to his inhuman oath, Godfrey and his soldiers massacred large
numbers of Jews. They did this without pity or mercy, saying: "We are
performing a sacred duty, for we have the blessings of the priests on
our enterprise."

Godfrey felt sure he would be victorious, but he also wanted to
obtain the blessing of a rabbi. It was a curious desire, but in those
days such things were not considered at all strange, and so Godfrey de
Bouillon sent for the learned Rabbi Solomon ben Isaac, better known by
his world-famed name of Rashi.

Rashi, one of the wisest sages of the Jews, came to Godfrey, and the
two men stood facing each other.

"Thou hast heard of my undertaking to capture Jerusalem," said
Godfrey, haughtily. "I demand thy blessing on my venture."

"Blessings are not in the gift of man; they are bestowed by Heaven--on
worthy objects," answered Rashi.

"Trifle not with words," retorted the warrior, "or they may cost thee
dear. A holy man can invoke a blessing."

But Rashi was not afraid. He was becoming an old man then, but he was
as brave as the swaggering soldier, and he faced Godfrey
unflinchingly.

"I can make no claim on the God of Israel on behalf of one who has
sworn to destroy all the descendants of His chosen people," he said.

"So, ho!" exclaimed Godfrey, "you defy me."

But he stopped his angry words abruptly. He had no wish to quarrel
with any holy man, for that might make him nervous. And nervousness,
then, was misunderstood as superstition. Besides, the rabbi might
curse him.

"If you will not bless," he said, "perhaps you will deign to raise the
veil of the future for me. You wise men of the Jews are seers and can
foretell events--so they say. A hundred thousand chariots filled with
soldiers brave, determined and strong, are at my command. Tell me,
shall I succeed, or fail?"

"Thou wilt do both." Rashi replied.

"What mean you?" demanded Godfrey, angrily.

"This. Jerusalem will fall to thee. So it is ordained, and thou wilt
become its king."

"Ha, ha! So you deem it wisest to pronounce a blessing after all,"
interrupted Godfrey. "I am content."

"I have not spoken all," said the rabbi, gravely. "Three days wilt
thou rule and no more."

Godfrey turned pale.

"Shall I return?" he asked, slowly.

"Not with thy multitude of chariots. Thy vast army will have dwindled
to three horses and three men when thou reachest this city."

"Enough," cried Godfrey. "If you think to affright me with these
ominous words, you fail in your intent. And hearken, Rabbi of the
Jews, your words shall be remembered. Should they prove incorrect in
the minutest detail--if I am King of Jerusalem for four days, or
return with four horsemen--you shall pay the penalty of a false
prophet and shall be consigned to the flames. Do you understand? You
shall be put to death."

"I understand well," returned Rashi, quite unmoved, "it is a sentence
which you and your kind love to pronounce with or without the sanction
of those whom you call your holy men. It is not I who fear, Godfrey de
Bouillon. I seek not to peer into the future to assure my own safety."

With these words they parted, the rabbi returning to his prayers and
to his studies which have enriched the learning of the Jews, while
Godfrey proceeded to lay a trail of innocent Jewish blood along the
banks of the Rhine in his march to Palestine.

History has set on record the events of the Crusade. Godfrey, after
many battles, laid siege to the Holy City, captured it, and drove the
Jews into one of the synagogues and burned them alive. Eight days
afterward, his soldiers raised him on their shields and proclaimed him
king.

Godfrey was delighted, but two days later he thought the matter over
carefully and decided that he could not live in Jerusalem always. So
next day he called together his captains and said:

"You have done me great honor. But I must return to Europe, and it
would be more befitting that I should be styled Duke of Jerusalem and
Guardian of the Holy City than its sovereign."

That night, however, he suddenly remembered the prediction of Rashi.

"For three days I have been King of Jerusalem," he muttered. "The
rabbi of the Jews spoke truth."

He could not help wondering whether the rest of the prophecy would be
fulfilled, and he became moody. He was joyful when he gained a
victory, but there came also disasters, and he was plunged into
despondency. The reverses affected the buoyancy of his troops, disease
decimated their ranks, and desertions further depleted their numbers.
Slowly but surely his mighty army dwindled away to a mere handful of
dissatisfied men and decrepit horses.

It was a ragged and wretched procession that he led back across
Europe, and daily his retinue grew smaller. Men and horses dropped
from sheer fatigue helpless by the wayside, and were left there to
die, with the hungry vultures perched on trees, patiently waiting for
the last flicker of life to depart before they set to work to pick the
bones of all flesh.

Godfrey de Bouillon had gained his victory, but at what cost?
Thousands of men, women and children had been murdered, thousands of
his soldiers had fallen in battle, and now hundreds of others had
dropped out of the ranks to end their last hours on the ghastly road
that led from Jerusalem back to western Europe. Do you wonder that
Godfrey was unhappy, and that he thought every moment of the words of
Rashi?

At length he reached the city of Worms where Rashi dwelt. With him
were four men, mounted on horses.

"It is well," he said, with as much cheerfulness as he could muster,
as he surveyed the remnants of his once proud army. "The rabbi has
failed."

Godfrey bade his men fall into line behind him and he proudly rode
through the gate of the city. As he did so, he heard a cry of alarm.
He turned hastily and saw a huge stone falling from the city's gate.
It dropped on the soldier riding just behind him, killing both man and
horse.

"You have spoken truth; would that I had taken heed of your words," he
said to the rabbi. "I am a broken man. You will assuredly achieve
great fame in Israel."

And so it has come to pass. Should you, by chance, ever visit the city
of Brussels, the capital of Belgium, fail not to look upon the statue
of Godfrey de Bouillon, with his sword proudly raised. It stands in
the Place Royale but a few minutes' walk from the synagogue. Should
you ever be in the ancient city of Worms that stands on the Rhine, do
as other visitors, Jews and Gentiles--enter the synagogue that was
built many centuries ago, and you will see the room where Rashi
studied and the stone seat on which he sat. And not far from the
synagogue you will see the ancient gate of the city, named in honor of
Rabbi Solomon ben Isaac, the Rashi Gate. Perhaps it is the very one
under which Godfrey de Bouillon passed into the city with his three
mounted companions, as the legend tells.

   [Illustration: The four youths mounted the eagles which flew
   aloft to the extremity of their cords. (_Page 211_).]




The Palace in the Clouds


Ikkor, the Jewish vizier of the king of Assyria, was the wisest man in
the land, but he was not happy. He was the greatest favorite of the
king who heaped honors upon him, and the idol of the people who bowed
before him in the streets and cast themselves on the ground at his
feet to kiss the hem of his garment. Always he had a kindly word and a
smile for those who sought his advice and guidance, but his eyes were
ever sad, and tears would trickle down his cheeks as he watched the
little children at play in the streets.

His fame as a man of wisdom was known far beyond the borders of
Assyria, and rulers feared to give offense to the king who had Ikkor
as the chief of his counselors to assist in the affairs of state. But
Ikkor would oft sit alone in his beautiful palace and sigh heavily. No
sound of children's laughter was ever heard in the palace of Ikkor,
and that was the cause of his sorrow. Ikkor was a pious man and
deeply learned in the Holy Law; and he had prayed long and devoutly
and had listened unto the advice of magicians that he might be blessed
with but one son, or even a daughter, to carry down his name and
renown. But the years passed and no child was born to him.

Every year, on the advice of the king, he married another wife, and
now he had in his harem thirty wives, all childless. He determined to
take unto himself no more wives, and one night he dreamed a dream in
which a spirit appeared to him and said:

"Ikkor, thou wilt die full of years and honor, but childless.
Therefore, take Nadan, the son of thy widowed sister and let him be a
son to thee."

Nadan was a handsome youth of fifteen, and Ikkor related his dream to
the boy's mother who permitted him to take Nadan to his palace and
there bring him up as his own son. The sadness faded from the vizier's
eyes as he watched the lad at his games and his lessons, and Ikkor
himself imparted wisdom to Nadan. But, first to his surprise, and then
to his grief, Nadan was not thankful for the riches and love lavished
upon him. He neglected his lessons and grew proud, haughty and
arrogant. He treated the servants of the household harshly and did not
obey the wise maxims of Ikkor.

The vizier, however, was hopeful that he would reform and gain wisdom
with years, and he took him to the palace of the king and appointed
him an officer of the royal guard. For Ikkor's sake, the king made
Nadan one of his favorites, and all in the land looked upon the young
man as the successor of Ikkor and the future vizier. This only served
to make Nadan still more arrogant, and a wicked idea entered his head
to gain further favor with the king and supplant Ikkor at once.

"O King, live for ever!" he said one day, when Ikkor was absent in a
distant part of the land; "it grieves me to have to utter words of
warning against Ikkor, the wise, the father who has adopted me. But he
conspires to destroy thee."

The king laughed at this suggestion, but he became serious when Nadan
promised to give him proof in three days. Nadan then set to work and
wrote two letters. One was addressed to Pharaoh, king of Egypt, and
read as follows:

"Pharaoh, son of the Sun and mighty ruler on earth, live for ever!
Thou wouldst reign over Assyria. Give ear then to my words and on the
tenth day of the next month come with thy troops to the Eagle Plain
beyond the city, and I, Ikkor, the grand vizier, will deliver thine
enemy, the King of Assyria, into thy hands."

To this letter he forged Ikkor's name; then he took it to the king.

"I have found this," he said, "and have brought it to thee. It shows
thee that Ikkor would deliver this country to thine enemy."

The king was very angry and would have sent for Ikkor at once, but
Nadan counseled patience.

"Wait until the tenth of next month, the day of the annual review, and
thou wilt see what will surprise thee still more," he said.

Then he wrote the second letter. This was to Ikkor and was forged with
the king's name and sealed with the king's seal which he obtained. It
bade Ikkor on the tenth of the next month to assemble the troops on
the Eagle Plain to show how numerous they were to the foreign envoys
and to pretend to attack the king, so as to demonstrate how well they
were drilled.

The vizier returned the day before the review, and while the king
stood with Nadan and the foreign envoys, Ikkor and the troops, acting
on their instructions, made a pretense of attacking his majesty.

"Do you not see?" said Nadan. "The king of Egypt not being here, Ikkor
threatens thee," and he immediately gave orders to the royal
trumpeters to sound "Halt!"

Ikkor was brought before the king and confronted with the letter to
Pharaoh.

"Explain this, if thou canst," exclaimed the king, angrily. "I have
trusted thee and loaded thee with riches and honors and thou wouldst
betray me. Is not this thy signature, and is not thy seal appended?"

Ikkor was too much astounded to reply, and Nadan whispered to the king
that this proved his guilt.

"Lead him to the execution," cried the king, "and let his head be
severed from his body and cast one hundred ells away."

Falling on his knees, Ikkor pleaded that at least he should be granted
the privilege of being executed within his own house so that he might
be buried there.

This request was granted, and Nabu Samak, the executioner, led Ikkor a
prisoner to his palace. Nabu Samak was a great friend to Ikkor and it
grieved him to have to carry out the king's order.

"Ikkor," he said, "I am certain that thou art innocent, and I would
save thee. Hearken unto me. In the prison is a wretched highwayman who
has committed murder and who deserves death. His beard and hair are
like thine, and at a little distance he can easily be mistaken for
thee. Him will I behead and his head will I show to the crowd, whilst
thou canst hide and live in secret."

Ikkor thanked his friend and the plan was carried out. The robber's
head was exhibited to the crowd from the roof of the house and the
people wept because they thought it was the head of the good Ikkor.
Meanwhile, the vizier descended into a cellar deep beneath his palace
and was there fed, while his adopted son, Nadan, was appointed chief
of the king's counselors in his stead.

Now, when Pharaoh, king of Egypt, heard that Ikkor, the wise, had been
executed, he determined to make war upon Assyria. Therefore, he
dispatched a letter to the king, asking him to send an architect to
design and build a palace in the clouds.

"If this thou doest," he wrote, "I, Pharaoh, son of the Sun, will pay
thee tribute; if thou failest, thou must pay me tribute."

The king of Assyria was perplexed when he received this letter which
had to be answered in three months. Nadan could not advise him what to
do, and he bitterly regretted that Ikkor, the man of wisdom, was no
longer by his side to advise him.

"I would give one-fourth of my kingdom to bring Ikkor to life again,"
he exclaimed.

Hearing these words, Nabu Samak, the executioner, fell on his knees
and confessed that Ikkor was alive.

"Bring him hither at once," cried the king.

Ikkor could scarcely credit the truth when his friend came to him in
the cellar with the news, and the people wept tears of joy and pity
when the old vizier was led through the streets. He presented a most
extraordinary spectacle.

For twelve months he had been immured in the cellar and his beard had
grown down to the ground, his hair descended below his shoulders and
his finger nails were several inches long. The king wept, too, when he
saw his old vizier.

"Ikkor," he said, "for months have I felt that thou wert innocent, and
I have missed thy wise counsels. Help me in my difficulty and thou
shalt be pardoned."

"Your majesty," said Ikkor, "I desire nothing more than to serve thee.
I am innocent. Time will prove me guiltless."

When he saw Pharaoh's demand, he smiled.

"'Tis easy," he said. "I will go to Egypt and outwit Pharaoh."

He gave orders that four of the tame eagles in the gardens of the
palace should be brought to him with cords five hundred ells long
attached to their claws. Then he selected four youths, lithe of
figure, and trained them to sit on the backs of the eagles and soar
aloft. This done, he set out for Egypt with a big caravan and a long
retinue of slaves.

"What is thy name?" asked Pharaoh, when he presented himself.

"My name is Akbam, and I am but the lowest of my king's advisers."

"Does thy master then think my demand so simple?" asked Pharaoh.

Ikkor bowed to indicate that this was so, and Pharaoh was much annoyed
and puzzled.

"Perform thy task and at once," he commanded.

At a sign from Ikkor, the four youths mounted the eagles which flew
aloft to the extremity of their cords. The birds remained in the air
two hundred ells apart, as they had been trained, and the lads held
cords in the form of a square.

"That is the plan of the palace in the clouds," said Ikkor, pointing
aloft. "Bid your men carry up bricks and mortar. The task is so simple
that the boys will build."

Pharaoh frowned. He had not expected to be thus outwitted, but he
would not immediately acknowledge this.

"In this land," he said, sarcastically, "we use no mortar. We sew the
stones together. Canst thou do this?"

"Easily," replied Ikkor, "if your wise men can make me a thread of
sand."

"And canst thou weave a thread of sand?" asked Pharaoh.

"I can," responded Ikkor.

Noting the direction of the sun, he bored a tiny hole in the wall, and
a thin sunbeam gleamed through. Then, taking a few grains of sand he
blew them through the hole and in the sunbeam they seemed like a
thread.

"Take it, quickly," he cried, but of course nobody could do this.

Pharaoh looked long and earnestly at Ikkor.

"Truly, thou art a man of wisdom," he said. "If he were not dead I
should say thou wert Ikkor, the wise."

"I am Ikkor," answered the vizier, and he told the story of his
escape.

"I will prove thy innocence," exclaimed Pharaoh. "I will write a
letter to your royal master."

Not only did he do so, but he gave Ikkor many valuable presents and
the vizier returned to Assyria, resumed his place by the king's side,
and became a greater favorite than before. Nadan was banished and was
never heard of again.




The Pope's Game of Chess


Nearly a thousand years ago in the town of Mayence, on the bank of the
Rhine, there dwelt a pious Jew of the name of Simon ben Isaac. Of a
most charitable disposition, learned and ever ready to assist the poor
with money and wise counsel, he was reverenced by all, and it was
believed he was a direct descendant of King David. Everybody was proud
to do him honor.

Simon ben Isaac had one little son, a bright boy of the name of
Elkanan, who he intended should be trained as a rabbi. Little Elkanan
was very diligent in his studies and gave early promise of developing
into an exceptionally clever student. Even the servants in the
household loved him for his keen intelligence. One of them, indeed,
was unduly interested in him.

She was the Sabbath-fire woman who only came into the house on the
Sabbath day to attend to the fires, because, as you know, the Jewish
servants could not perform this duty. The Sabbath-fire woman was a
devoted Catholic and she spoke of Elkanan to a priest. The latter was
considerably impressed.

   [Illustration: "Thou canst only be my long lost son Elkanan!"
   (_Page 224_).]

"What a pity," he remarked, "that so talented a boy should be a Jew.
If he were a Christian, now," he added, winningly, "he could enter the
Holy Church and become famous."

The Sabbath-fire woman knew exactly what the priest meant.

"Do you think he could rise to be a bishop?" she asked.

"He might rise even higher--to be the Pope himself," replied the
priest.

"It would be a great thing to give a bishop to the Church, would it
not?" said the woman.

"It is a great thing to give anyone to the Church of Rome," the priest
assured her.

Then they spoke in whispers. The woman appeared a little troubled, but
the priest promised her that all would be well, that she would be
rewarded, and that nobody would dare to accuse her of doing anything
wrong.

Convinced that she was performing a righteous action, she agreed to do
what the priest suggested.

Accordingly, the following Friday night when the household of Simon
ben Isaac was wrapped in slumber, she crept stealthily and silently
into the boy's bedroom. Taking him gently in her arms, she stole
silently out of the house and carried him to the priest who was
waiting. Elkanan was well wrapped up in blankets, and so cautiously
did the woman move that he did not waken.

The priest said not a word. He just nodded to the woman, and then
placed Elkanan in a carriage which he had in waiting.

Elkanan slept peacefully, totally unaware of his adventure, and when
he opened his eyes he thought he must be dreaming. He was not in his
own room, but a much smaller one which seemed to be jolting and
moving, like a carriage, and opposite to him was a priest.

"Where am I?" he asked in alarm.

"Lie still, Andreas," was the reply.

"But my name is not Andreas," he answered. "That is not a Jewish name.
I am Elkanan, the son of Simon."

To his amazement, however, the priest looked at him pityingly and
shook his head.

"You have had a nasty accident," he said, "and it has affected your
head. You must not speak."

Not another word would he say in response to all the boy's eager
queries. He simply ignored Elkanan who puzzled his head over the
matter until he really began to feel ill and to wonder whether he was
Elkanan after all. Tired out, he fell asleep again, and next time he
awoke he was lying on a bed in a bare room. A bell was tolling, and he
heard a chanting chorus. By his side stood a priest.

Elkanan looked at the priest like one dazed. Before he could utter a
word, the priest said: "Rise, Andreas, and follow me."

The boy had no alternative but to obey. To his horror he was taken
into a chapel and made to kneel. The priests sprinkled water on him.
He did not understand what the service meant, and when it was over he
began to cry for his father and mother. For days nobody took the
slightest notice of his continual questionings until a priest, with a
harsh, cruel face, spoke to him severely one day.

"I perceive, Andreas," he said, "thou hast a stubborn spirit. It shall
be curbed. Thy father and mother are dead--all the world is dead to
thee. Thou hast strange notions in thy head. We shall rid thee of
them."

Elkanan cried so much on hearing these terrible words that he made
himself seriously ill. How long he was kept in bed he knew not, but
when he recovered, he found himself a prisoner in a monastery. All the
priests called him Andreas, they were kind to him, and in time he
began to doubt himself whether he was Elkanan, the son of Simon, the
pious Jew of Mayence.

To put an end to the unrest in his mind, he devoted himself earnestly
to his lessons. His tutors never had so brilliant a pupil, nor so
intelligent a companion. He was a remarkable chess player.

"Where did you learn?" they asked him.

"My father, Simon ben Isaac, of Mayence, taught me," he replied, with
a sob in his voice.

"It is well," they replied, having received their instructions what to
say in answer to such remarks, "thou art blessed from Heaven, Andreas.
Not only dost thou absorb learning in the hours of daylight, but
angels and dead sages visit thee in they sleep and impart knowledge
unto thee."

He could obtain no more satisfactory words from his tutors, and in
time he made no mention whatever of the past, and his tutors and
companions refrained from touching upon the subject either. Once or
twice he formed the idea of endeavoring to escape, but he soon
discovered the project impossible. He was never allowed to be alone
for a moment; he was virtually a prisoner, although all men began to
do him honor because of his amazing knowledge and learning.

In due time, he became a priest and a tutor and was even called to
Rome and was created a cardinal. He wore a red cap and cloak, people
kneeled to him and sought his blessing, and all spoke of him as the
wisest, kindliest and most scholarly man in the Church.

He had not spoken of his boyhood for years, but he never ceased to
think of those happy days. And although he tried hard, he could not
believe that it was all a dream. Whenever he played a game of chess,
which was his one pastime, he seemed to see himself in his old room at
Mayence, and he sighed. His fellow priests wondered why he did this,
and he laughingly told them it was because he had no idea how to lose
a game.

Then a great event happened. The Pope died and Andreas was elected his
successor. He was placed on a throne, a crown was put upon his head,
and he was called Holy Father. The power of life and death over
millions of people in many countries was vested in him; kings,
princes and nobles visited him in his great palace to do him homage,
and his fame spread far and wide. But he himself grew more thoughtful
and silent and sought only to exercise his great powers for the
people's good.

This, however, did not altogether please some of his counselors.

"The Church needs money," they told him. "We must squeeze it out of
the Jews."

But Andreas steadfastly refused to countenance any persecutions. Many
edicts were placed before him for his signature, giving permission to
bishops in certain districts to threaten the Jews unless they paid
huge sums of money in tribute, but Andreas declined to assent to any
one of them.

One day a document was submitted to him from the archbishop of the
Rhine district, craving permission to drive the Jews from the city of
Mayence. The Pope's face hardened when he read the iniquitous letter.
He gave instant orders that the archbishop should be summoned to Rome,
and to the utter amazement of his cardinals he also commanded them to
bring before him three leading Jews from Mayence, to state their
case.

"It shall not be said," he declared, "that the Pope issued a decree of
punishment without giving the people condemned an opportunity of
defending themselves."

When the news reached Mayence there was great wailing and sorrow among
the Jews, for, alas! bitter experience had taught them to expect no
mercy from Rome. Delegates were selected, and when they arrived at the
Vatican they were asked for their names. These were given and
communicated to the Pope.

"The delegates of the Jews of the city of Mayence," announced a
secretary, "humbly crave audience of Your Holiness."

"Their names?" demanded the Pope.

"Simon ben Isaac, Abraham ben Moses, and Issachar, the priest."

"Let them enter," said the Pope, in a quiet, firm voice. He had heard
but one name; his plan had proved successful, for he had counted upon
Simon being one of the chosen delegates.

The three men entered the audience chamber and stood expectant before
the Pope. His Holiness appeared to be lost in deep thought. Suddenly
he aroused himself from his reverie and looked keenly at the aged
leader of the party.

"Simon of Mayence, stand forth," he said, "and give voice to thy plea.
We give thee attention."

The old man approached a few paces nearer, and in simple, but eloquent
language, pleaded that the Jews should be permitted to remain
unmolested in Mayence in which city their community had been long
established.

"Thy prayer" said the Pope, when he had finished, "shall have full
consideration, and my answer shall be made known to thee without
delay. Now tell me, Simon of Mayence, something of thyself and thy
co-delegates. Who are ye in the city?"

Simon gave the information.

"Have ye come hither alone?" asked the Pope. "Or have ye been escorted
by members of your families--your sons?"

The Pope's voice was scarcely steady, but none noticed.

"I have no son," said Simon, with a weary sigh.

"Hast thou never been blessed with offspring?"

Simon looked sharply at the Pope before answering. Then, with bowed
head and broken voice, he said: "God blessed me with one son, but he
was stolen from me in childhood. That has been the sorrow of my life."

The old man's voice was choked with sobs.

"I have heard," said the Pope, after a while, "that thou art famed as
a chess-player. I, too, am credited with some skill in the game. I
would fain pit it against thine. Hearken! If thou prove the victor in
the game, then shall thy appeal prevail."

"I consent," said the old man, proudly. "It is many years since I have
sustained defeat."

It was arranged that the game should be played that evening.
Naturally, the strange contest aroused the keenest interest. The game
was followed closely by the papal secretaries and the Jewish
delegates. It was a wonderful trial of subtle play. The two players
seemed about evenly matched. First one and then the other made a
daring move which appeared to place his opponent in difficulties, but
each time disaster was ingeniously evaded. A draw seemed the likeliest
result until, suddenly, the Pope made a brilliant move which startled
the onlookers. It was considered impossible now for Simon to avoid
defeat.

No one was more astounded at the Pope's move than the old Jew. He rose
tremblingly from his chair, gazed with piercing eyes into the face of
the Pope and said huskily, "Where didst thou learn that move? I taught
it to but one other."

"Who?" demanded the Pope, eagerly.

"I will tell thee alone," said Simon.

The Pope made a sign, and the others left the room in great surprise.

Then Simon exclaimed excitedly, "Unless thou art the devil himself,
thou canst only be my long lost son, Elkanan."

"Father!" cried the Pope, and the old man clasped him in his arms.

When the others re-entered the room, the Pope said quietly, "We have
decided to call the game a draw, and in thankfulness for the rare
pleasure of a game of chess with so skilled a player as Simon of
Mayence, I grant the prayer of the delegates of that city. It is my
will that the Jews shall live in peace."

Shortly afterward, a new Pope was elected. Various rumors gained
currency. One was that Andreas had thrown himself into the flames;
another that he had mysteriously disappeared. And at the same time a
stranger arrived in Mayence and was welcomed by Simon joyfully as his
son, Elkanan.




The Slave's Fortune


Ahmed was the only child of the wealthiest merchant in Damascus. His
father devoted his days to doing everything possible to anticipate his
wishes. The boy returned his father's love with interest, and the two
lived together in the utmost happiness. They were seldom apart, the
father curtailing his business journeys so that he could hastily
return to Damascus, and finally restricting his affairs to those which
he could perform in his own home.

For safety's sake, Ahmed, whenever he was out of his father's sight,
was attended, by a big negro slave, Pedro, an imposing looking person,
richly attired as befitted his station and duties. Pedro was a
faithful servant, and he and Ahmed were the firmest friends.

When Ahmed grew up to be a youth, his father decided to send him to
Jerusalem to be educated. He did so reluctantly, knowing, however,
that it was the wisest course to adopt Gently he broke the news to
Ahmed, for he knew the latter would dislike to leave home. Ahmed was
truly sorry to have to be parted from his father, but he kept back his
tears and said bravely:

"It is thy wish, father, therefore I question it not. I know that thou
desirest only my welfare."

"Well spoken, my son," said his father.

"May I take Pedro with me?" asked Ahmed.

"Nay, that would not be seemly," answered his father, gently. "It
would make thee appear anxious to display thy wealth. Such ostentation
will induce people to regard thee and thy father as foolish persons,
possessed of more wealth than is good for the exercise of wisdom.
Also, my son, thy future teaching must be not confined to the learning
that wise men can impart unto thee. Thou art going to the great city
to learn the ways of the world, to train thyself in self-reliance, and
to prepare thyself for all the duties of manhood."

The youth was somewhat disappointed to hear this. It was the first
occasion, as far as his memory served him, that his father had failed
to grant his wish; but he was nevertheless flattered by the prospect
of quickly becoming a man, and he answered, "I bow to thy wisdom, my
father."

He left for Jerusalem, after bidding the merchant an affectionate
farewell, and in the Holy City he applied himself diligently to his
studies. He delighted his teachers with his cheerful attention to his
lessons, and discovered a new source of happiness in learning things
for himself from observation. Also, it was a pleasant sensation to
conduct his own affairs, and in the great city, with its busy narrow
thoroughfares and its wonderful buildings, he daily grew less
homesick. Regularly he received letters by messengers from his father,
and dutifully he returned, by the same means, long epistles, setting
out all the big and little things that made up his life.

A year passed, and one day the usual message that Ahmed expected came
to him in a strange hand-writing.

He opened it hastily, with a foreboding of evil and alarm. The writer
of the letter was one of the merchant's closest friends. He said:

"O worthy son of a most worthy father, greeting to thee, and may God
give thee strength to hear the terrible and sad tidings which it is my
sorrowful duty to convey unto thee. Know then that it hath pleased
God in his wisdom to call from this earth thy saintly father, to sit
with the righteous ones in Heaven. Here in the city of Damascus there
is great weeping, for thy honored father was the most upright of men,
a friend to all in distress, a man whose bounteous charity to the poor
and unfortunate was unsurpassed. But our grief, deep and heartfelt as
it is, cannot be compared to thine. We have all lost a wise counselor,
a trusty friend, a guide in all things. But thou hast lost more. Thou
hast lost a father. Thou art his only son, and on thee his duties will
now devolve. Know then thy profound grief we share with thee. We
tender to thee our sincere sympathy, and eagerly do we await thy
coming. Thou hast a noble position to occupy and a tradition to
continue. We, thy father's friends and thine, O Ahmed, will assist
thee."

The young man was dumbfounded when he gathered the purport of the
letter. For some moments he spoke not, but sat on the ground, weeping
silently. Then, remembering his father's admonitions, he promptly took
up the task of settling his affairs in Jerusalem prior to his
departure for Damascus.

"I will take with me," he said, "the good rabbi who has been my
religious instructor, for I am not fully prepared to undertake all the
duties that will fall to my lot and need some strengthening counsel."

On arrival at Damascus he was greeted by a large concourse of people
who expressed their sympathy with him and spoke in terms of highest
praise of his father's benevolence.

After the funeral, Ahmed called the leading townspeople together to
hear his father's will read, for he was certain that many gifts to
charities would be announced. Such was the case, and there were
subdued murmurs of applause when the amounts were read forth.

Then suddenly the friend who had written to the young man and was
reading the will, paused.

"I fear there must be a mistake," he said, in a whisper to Ahmed.

"Go on," urged the assembled people, and the man read in a strange
voice:

"And now, having as I hope, faithfully performed my duty to the poor,
I bequeath the rest of my possessions unto my devoted negro slave,
Pedro."

"Pedro!" cried the astonished crowd.

They looked at the massive figure of the black attendant, but he stood
motionless and impassive, betraying no sign whatsoever of joy or
surprise.

Ahmed could not conceal his bewilderment.

"Is naught left unto me?" he managed to ask.

"Yes," returned his friend, and amid a sudden silence, he continued to
read: "This bequest is subject to the following proviso: that one
thing be given to my son before the division of my property, the same
to be selected by him within twenty-four hours of the reading of this
will unto him."

The crowd melted away with mutterings of sympathy mingled with
astonishment, but out of earshot of Ahmed, all said the merchant must
have been mad to draw up so absurd a testament. Ahmed himself could
hardly realize the great blow that had befallen him. He consulted with
his father's friend and the rabbi, but, although they re-read the
document many times, they could find no fault or flaw in it.

"Legally, this is correct and in perfect order and cannot be altered,"
said the friend.

"My father must have made a foolish mistake and must have misplaced
the two words 'son' and 'slave,'" said Ahmed, bitterly.

"That does not so appear," said the rabbi; "thy father was a scholar
and wise man. Speak not hastily, and above all act not rashly without
thought. I would counsel thee to sleep over this matter, and in the
morning we shall solve this puzzle."

Ahmed, who was exhausted with grief and rage and surprise, soon fell
into a deep sleep, and when he awoke the rabbi was reciting his
morning prayers.

"It is a beautiful day," he said, when he had finished. "The sun
shines on thy happiness, Ahmed."

Ahmed was too depressed to make any comment, nor was he completely
satisfied when the rabbi assured him all would be well.

"I have pondered deeply and long over thy father's words," he said. "I
sat up through the night until the dawn, and I have been impelled to
the conclusion that thy father was truly a wise man."

Ahmed interrupted with a gesture of disapproval. The rabbi took no
notice but proceeded quietly: "Thy father must have feared that in thy
absence after his death and pending thy possible delay in returning
hither, slaves and others might rob thee of thy inheritance. Pedro, I
have discovered, knew of the terms of the will. By informing him and
making his strange will, thy father, O fortunate Ahmed, made sure of
thy inheritance unto thee."

"I understand not," muttered Ahmed.

"It is perfectly clear," said the rabbi. "As soon as thou art ready,
thou shalt make thy choice of one thing. Do as I bid thee, and thou
shalt see thy father's wisdom."

Ahmed had no option but to agree. He could find no solution himself,
and wretched though he felt, reason told him that his father loved him
and that the rabbi was renowned for shrewdness.

The townspeople gathered early to hear Ahmed make his choice of one
thing--and one only--from his father's possessions. Ahmed looked less
troubled than they expected, the rabbi wore his most benign
expression, and Pedro stationed himself in his usual place at the
door, statuesque, obedient, and expressionless as ever.

Ahmed held up his hand to obtain silence.

"Acting under the terms of my father's will," he said, solemnly, "at
this moment when all, before division, belongs to his estate, I choose
but one of my father's possessions--Pedro, the black slave."

Then everybody saw the wisdom of the strange will, for with Pedro,
Ahmed became possessed of his father's vast wealth.

To Pedro, who still stood motionless, Ahmed said, "And thou, my good
friend, shalt have thy freedom and possessions sufficient to keep thee
in comfort for the rest of thy days."

"I desire naught but to serve thee," Pedro answered, "I wish to remain
the faithful attendant of one who will follow nobly in the footsteps
of thy father."

So everybody was satisfied.

   [Illustration: He crouched on his throne and imagined he saw
   angels and demons and fairies. (_Page 241_).]




The Paradise in the Sea


Hiram, king of Tyre, was a foolish old man. He lived so long and grew
to such a venerable age that he absuredly imagined he would never die.
The idea gained strength daily in his mind and thus he mused:

"David, king of the Jews, I knew, and afterward his son, the wise King
Solomon. But wise as he was, Solomon had to appeal to me for
assistance in building his wondrous Temple, and it was only with the
aid of the skilled workmen I sent to him that he successfully
accomplished the erection of that structure. David, the sweet singer
in Israel, who, as a mere boy slew the giant Goliath, has passed away.
I still live. It must be that I shall never die. Men die. Gods live
for ever. I must be a god, and why not?"

He put that question to the chief of his counselors, who, however, was
much too wise to answer it. Now the counselors of the king had never
yet failed to answer his queries, and so Hiram felt sure he had at
last puzzled them by a question beyond the power of mortal man to
answer. That was another proof, he told himself, that he was different
from other men and kings--that, in short, he was a god.

"I must be, I must be," he muttered to himself, and he repeated this
to himself so regularly that he came to the conclusion it was true.

"It is not I, but the voice of the Spirit of God that is in me that
speaks," he said to himself, and he thought this remark so clever that
he regarded it as still further proof. It is so easy to delude one's
self.

Then he decided to make the great secret known to the people, and the
doddering old man thought if he would do this in an unusual way, his
subjects would have no doubts. He did not make a proclamation
commanding everybody to believe in him as a god; he whispered the
secret first to his chief counselor and instructed him to tell it to
one person daily and to order all who were informed to do likewise. In
this way the news soon spread to the remotest corners of the country,
for if you work out a little sum you will discover that if you take
the figure one and double it thus: two, four, eight, sixteen, and so
on, it will run into millions.

In spite of this, nothing happened. Hiram, now quite idiotic,
commanded the people to worship him. Some obeyed, fearing that if they
refused they would be punished, or even put to death. Others declared
there was no evidence that the king was a god. This came to the
knowledge of Hiram and troubled him sorely.

"What proof do the unbelievers require?" he asked of his counselors.

They hesitated to reply, but presently the vizier, a shrewd old man
with a long beard, said quietly, "I have heard people say a god must
have a heaven from which to hurl lightning and thunderbolts, and a
paradise in which to dwell."

"I shall have a heaven and a paradise," said Hiram, after a few
moments' silence, adding to himself: "If Solomon could build a
marvelous temple by the help of my workmen, surely I can devise a
paradise."

He spent so much thought over this that it seemed to become easier
each day. Besides, it would be so nice to live in a paradise all to
himself. At first he decided to build a great big palace of gold, with
windows of precious stones. There would be a high tower on which the
throne would be placed so far above the people that they must be
impressed with the fact that he was God.

Then it occurred to him this would not do. A palace, however vast and
beautiful, would only be a building, not a paradise. Day and night he
pondered and worried until his head ached badly. Then one day, while
watching a ship on the sea, an extraordinary idea came into his head.

"I will build a palace which will seem to hang above the water on
nothing!" he said to himself, chuckling. "None but a god could
conceive such a brilliant idea."

Hiram set about his ingenious plan at once. He sent trusted envoys far
and wide for skilled divers. Only those who did not know the language
of the country were selected. Hiram himself gave them their orders and
they worked only at night, so that none should see or know of their
work. Their task was to fasten four huge pillars to the bottom of the
sea. Their work completed, the divers were well paid and sent away.

Next, a different gang of workmen was brought from a strange land.
They constructed a platform on the pillars in the sea. Then a third
lot of artisans began to erect a wonderful edifice on the platform.
They, too, only worked at night, but the building could no longer be
concealed. It was showing itself above the sea. The people were
therefore told, by royal proclamation, in these words:

    I, Hiram of Tyre, the King, and of all the People,

  GOD OMNIPOTENT,

    Hereby make known to you that it has become my pleasure to
    reveal unto you my

  PARADISE

    which hitherto I have concealed in the clouds. Ye who are worthy
    shall behold it

  TODAY!

Of all the clever things he had done, Hiram believed the composition
of that proclamation the cleverest.

"Those who do not see, will think themselves unworthy," he said, "and
will tremble in fear of my wrath. They will see a little more each day
and will think themselves growing worthy. And they will believe; they
must, when they see it all. Besides, they will look upward, toward the
clouds, to see the paradise descending. They will never think of
looking below to see it rising."

And so it happened. The people could not help but be impressed when
they saw the amazing structure. It grew daily, apparently of its own
accord, for no workmen were seen; and most wonderful of all, it seemed
to rest on nothing in the air!

This was because the first story was of clearest glass, so clear,
indeed, that the people saw through it and thought they saw nothing.
On this the other stories were erected, and, of course, they appeared
to be suspended in space.

There were seven stories to represent seven heavens. The second, the
one above the glass, was constructed of iron, the third was of lead,
the fourth of shining brass, the fifth of burnished copper, the sixth
of glistening silver, and the last story of all, of pure gold.

The whole building was lavishly studded with precious stones, gems and
jewels of many hues. By day, when the sun shone and was reflected from
the thousands of jewels and the polished metals, the appearance was
dazzling; the people could not help but regard as a heaven that which
they could scarcely look upon without being blinded. In the setting
sun the uppermost story, with its huge golden dome, glowed like an
expanse of fire; and by night, the myriad gems twinkled like
additional stars.

Yet some people would not believe this was a paradise, and so Hiram
had to set his wits to work again.

"Thunder and lightning I must produce," he said, and this part of his
ambition he found not at all difficult.

In the second story he kept huge boulders and round heavy stones. When
these were rolled about the people thought the noise was thunder. By
means of many revolving windows and reflectors, Hiram could flash a
light on the town and delude simple people, who were easily impressed
and frightened, into the belief that they saw lightning.

"When I am seated here above the forces of the storm," said Hiram,
"the people must surely accept me as God and extol me above all mortal
kings."

He was foolishly happy on his throne in the clouds, but his counselors
shook their heads. They knew that such folly would meet with its due
punishment. They warned Hiram against remaining in his paradise during
a storm, but he replied, in a rage: "I, the God of the storm, am not
afraid."

But when the real thunder rolled and the lightning flashed all around
his paradise, Hiram lost his boastful courage. He saw visions.
Trembling in every limb, he crouched on his throne and imagined he saw
angels and demons and fairies dancing round him and jeering at his
pretensions and his wonderful structure.

The storm grew fiercer, the lightning more vivid, the thunder-crashes
louder, and Hiram screamed when there was a tremendous noise of
crashing glass. The first story could not withstand the terrible
buffeting of the waves. It cracked and crumbled. There was no support
left for the six heavens above. They could no longer hang in space.

With a mighty crash, that struck terror into the hearts of the
beholders, the whole structure collapsed in a thousand pieces in the
sea.

Marvelous to relate, Hiram was not killed or drowned. It seemed a
miracle that he should be saved, but such was the case; and some
people thought that proved him to be a god more than his unfortunate
paradise. But his life was only spared to end in greater misery and
sorrow. He was dethroned by Nebuchadnezzar and ended his days a
wretched captive. And all the people knew that Hiram, once the great
king of Tyre, the friend of King David and King Solomon, was but a
mortal and a foolish one.




The Rabbi's Bogey-Man


Rabbi Lion, of the ancient city of Prague, sat in his study in the
Ghetto looking very troubled. Through the window he could see the
River Moldau with the narrow streets of the Jewish quarter clustered
around the cemetery, which still stands to-day, and where is to be
seen this famous man's tomb. Beyond the Ghetto rose the towers and
spires of the city, but just at that moment it was not the cruelty of
the people to the Jews that occupied the rabbi's thoughts. He was
unable to find a servant, even one to attend the fire on the Sabbath
for him.

The truth was that the people were a little afraid of the rabbi. He
was a very learned man, wise and studious, and a scientist; and
because he did wonderful things people called him a magician. His
experiments in chemistry frightened them. Late at nights they saw
little spurts of blue and red flame shine from his window, and they
said that demons and witches came at his beck and call. So nobody
would enter his service.

   [Illustration: The monster was battering down the door of the
   synagogue. (_Page 249_).]

"If, as they declare, I am truly a magician," he said to himself, "why
should I not make for myself a servant, one that will tend the fire
for me on the Sabbath?"

He set to work on his novel idea and in a few weeks had completed his
mechanical creature, a woman. She looked like a big, strong, laboring
woman, and the rabbi was greatly pleased with his handiwork.

"Now to endow it with life," he said.

Carefully, in the silence of his mysterious study at midnight, he
wrote out the Unpronounceable Sacred Name of God on a piece of
parchment. Then he rolled it up and placed it in the mouth of the
creature.

Immediately it sprang up and began to move like a living thing. It
rolled its eyes, waved its arms, and nearly walked through the window.
In alarm, Rabbi Lion snatched the parchment from its mouth and the
creature fell helpless to the floor.

"I must be careful," said the rabbi. "It is a wonderful machine with
its many springs and screws and levers, and will be most useful to me
as soon as I learn to control it properly."

All the people marveled when they saw the rabbi's machine-woman
running errands and doing many duties, controlled only by his
thoughts. She could do everything but speak, and Rabbi Lion discovered
that he must take the Name from her mouth before he went to sleep.
Otherwise, she might have done mischief.

One cold Sabbath afternoon, the rabbi was preaching in the synagogue
and the little children stood outside his house looking at the
machine-woman seated by the window. When they rolled their eyes she
did, and at last they shouted: "Come and play with us."

She promptly jumped through the window and stood among the boys and
girls.

"We are cold," said one. "Canst thou make a fire for us?"

The creature was made to obey orders, so she at once collected sticks
and lit a fire in the street. Then, with the children, she danced
round the blaze in great glee. She piled on all the sticks and old
barrels she could find, and soon the fire spread and caught a house.
The children ran away in fear while the fire blazed so furiously that
the whole town became alarmed. Before the flames could be
extinguished, a number of houses had been burned down and much damage
done. The creature could not be found, and only when the parchment
with the Name, which could not burn, was discovered amid the ashes,
was it known that she had been destroyed in the conflagration.

The Council of the city was indignant when it learned of the strange
occurrence, and Rabbi Lion was summoned to appear before King Rudolf.

"What is this I hear," asked his majesty. "Is it not a sin to make a
living creature?"

"It had no life but that which the Sacred Name gave it," replied the
rabbi.

"I understand it not," said the king. "Thou wilt be imprisoned and
must make another creature, so that I may see it for myself. If it is
as thou sayest, thy life shall be spared. If not--if, in truth, thou
profanest God's sacred law and makest a living thing, thou shalt die
and all thy people shall be expelled from this city."

Rabbi Lion at once set to work, and this time made a man, much bigger
than the woman that had been burned.

"As your majesty sees," said the rabbi, when his task was completed,
"it is but a creature of wood and glue with springs at the joints. Now
observe," and he put the Sacred Name in its mouth.

Slowly the creature rose to its feet and saluted the monarch who was
so delighted that he cried: "Give him to me, rabbi."

"That cannot be," said Rabbi Lion, solemnly. "The Sacred Name must not
pass from my possession. Otherwise the creature may do great damage
again. This time I shall take care and will not use the man on the
Sabbath."

The king saw the wisdom of this and set the rabbi at liberty and
allowed him to take the creature to his house. The Jews looked on in
wonderment when they saw the creature walking along the street by the
side of Rabbi Lion, but the children ran away in fear, crying: "The
bogey-man."

The rabbi exercised caution with his bogey-man this time, and every
Friday, just before Sabbath commenced, he took the name from its mouth
so as to render it powerless.

It became more wonderful every day, and one evening it startled the
rabbi from a doze by beginning to speak.

"I want to be a soldier," it said, "and fight for the king. I belong
to the king. You made me for him."

"Silence," cried Rabbi Lion, and it had to obey. "I like not this,"
said the rabbi to himself. "This monster must not become my master,
or it may destroy me and perhaps all the Jews."

He could not help but wonder whether the king was right and that it
must be a sin to create a man. The creature not only spoke, but grew
surly and disobedient, and yet the rabbi hesitated to break it up, for
it was most useful to him. It did all his cooking, washing and
cleaning, and three servants could not have performed the work so
neatly and quickly.

One Friday afternoon when the rabbi was preparing to go to the
synagogue, he heard a loud noise in the street.

"Come quickly," the people shouted at his door. "Your bogey-man is
trying to get into the synagogue."

Rabbi Lion rushed out in a state of alarm. The monster had slipped
from the house and was battering down the door of the synagogue.

"What art thou doing?" demanded the rabbi, sternly.

"Trying to get into the synagogue to destroy the scrolls of the Holy
Law," answered the monster. "Then wilt thou have no power over me, and
I shall make a great army of bogey-men who shall fight for the king
and kill all the Jews."

"I will kill thee first," exclaimed Rabbi Lion, and springing forward
he snatched the parchment with the Name so quickly from the creature's
mouth that it collapsed at his feet a mass of broken springs and
pieces of wood and glue.

For many years afterward these pieces were shown to visitors in the
attic of the synagogue when the story was told of the rabbi's
bogey-man.




The Fairy Frog


Once upon a time there lived a man of learning and wealth who had an
only son, named Hanina. To this son, who was grown up and married, he
sent a messenger asking that he should immediately come to his father.
Hanina obeyed, and found both his father and mother lying ill.

"Know, my son," said the old man, "we are about to die. Grieve not,
for it has been so ordained. We have been companions through life, and
we are to be privileged to leave this world together. You will mourn
for us the customary seven days. They will end on the eve of the
festival of the Passover. On that day go forth into the market place
and purchase the first thing offered to thee, no matter what it is, or
what the cost that may be demanded. It will in due course bring thee
good fortune. Hearken unto my words, my son, and all will be well."

   [Illustration: Hanina and his wife followed the giant frog.
   (_Page 255_).]

Hanina promised obedience to this strange injunction of his father,
and events fell out in accordance with the old man's prediction. The
aged couple died on the same day, were buried together and after the
week of mourning, on the day preceding the Passover festival, Hanina
made his way to the market place wondering what adventure was in store
for him.

He had scarcely entered the market place, where all manner of wares
were displayed, when an old man approached him, carrying a silver
casket of curious design.

"Purchase this, my son," he said, "and it will bring thee good
fortune."

"What does it contain?" asked Hanina.

"That I may not inform thee," was the reply. "Indeed I cannot, for I
know not. Only the purchaser can open it at the feast which begins the
Passover."

Naturally, Hanina was impressed by these words. Matters were shaping
just as his father foretold.

"What is the price?" he asked.

"A thousand gold pieces."

That was an enormous sum, nearly the whole that he possessed, but
Hanina, remembering his vow, paid the money and took the casket home.
It was placed upon the table that night when the Passover festival
began. On being opened it was found to contain a smaller casket. This
was opened and out sprang a frog.

Hanina's wife was sorely disappointed, but she gave food to the frog
which devoured everything greedily. So much did the creature eat that
when the Passover had ended, in eight days it had grown to an enormous
size. Hanina built a cabinet for his strange possession, but it
continued to grow and soon required a special shed.

Hanina was seriously puzzled, for the frog ate so ravenously that he
and his wife had little food for themselves. But they made no
complaint, although their hardships increased daily. They were
compelled to dispose of almost everything they possessed to keep the
frog supplied with food, and at last they were left in a state of
abject poverty. Then only did the courage of Hanina's wife give way
and she began to cry.

To her astonishment, the frog, which was now bigger than a man, spoke
to her.

"Listen to me, wife of the faithful Hanina," it said. "Ye have treated
me well. Therefore, ask of me what ye will, and I shall carry out your
wishes."

"Give us food," sobbed the woman.

"It is there," said the frog, and at that very moment there was a
knock at the door and a huge basket of food was delivered.

Hanina had not yet spoken, and the frog asked him to name his desire.

"A frog that speaks and performs wonders must be wise and learned,"
said Hanina. "I wish that thou shouldst teach me the lore of men."

The frog agreed, and his method of teaching was exceedingly strange.
He wrote out the Law and the seventy known languages on strips of
paper. These he ordered Hanina to swallow. Hanina did so and became
acquainted with everything, even the language of the beasts and the
birds. All men regarded him as the most learned sage of his time.

One day the frog spoke again.

"The day has arrived," he said, "when I must repay you for all the
kindness you have shown me. Your reward shall be great. Come with me
to the woods and you shall see marvels performed."

Hanina and his wife followed the giant frog to the woods very early
one morning, and a comical figure it presented as it hobbled along.
Arrived at the woods, the frog cried out, in its croaking voice:

"Come to me all ye inhabitants of the trees, the caves and streams,
and do my bidding. Bring precious stones from the depths of the earth
and roots and herbs."

Then began the queerest procession. Hundreds upon hundreds of birds
came twittering through the trees; thousands upon thousands of insects
came crawling from holes in the ground; and all the animals in the
woods, from the tiniest to the monsters, came in answer to the call of
the frog. Each group brought some gift and laid it at the feet of
Hanina and his wife who stood in some alarm. Soon a great pile of
precious stones and herbs was heaped before them.

"All these belong to you," said the frog, pointing to the jewels. "Of
equal worth are the herbs and the roots with which ye can cure all
diseases. Because ye obeyed the wishes of the dying and did not
question me, ye are now rewarded."

Hanina and his wife thanked the frog and then the former said: "May we
not know who thou art?"

"Yes," replied the frog. "I am the fairy son of Adam, gifted with the
power of assuming any form. Farewell."

With these words, the frog began to grow smaller and smaller until it
was the size of an ordinary frog. Then it hopped into a stream and
disappeared and all the denizens of the woods returned to their
haunts.

Hanina and his wife made their way home with their treasures. They
became famous for their wealth, their wisdom and their charity, and
lived in happiness with all peoples for many, many years.

   [Illustration: The giant bird did not seem to notice its burden
   at all. (_Page 274_).]




The Princess of the Tower



Princess Solima was sick, not exactly ill, but so much out of sorts
that her father, King Zuliman, was both annoyed and perturbed. The
princess was as beautiful as a princess of those days should be; her
long tresses were like threads of gold, her blue eyes rivaled the
color of the sky on the balmiest summer day; and her smile was as
radiant as the sunshine itself.

She was learned and clever, too, and her goodness of heart gained for
her as great a renown as her peerless beauty. Despite all this,
Princess Solima was not happy. Indeed, she was wretched to
despondency, and her melancholy weighed heavily upon her father.

"What ails you, my precious daughter?" he asked her a hundred times,
but she made no answer.

She just sat and silently moped. She did not waste away, which puzzled
the physicians; she did not grow pale, which surprised her
attendants; and she did not weep, which astonished herself. But she
felt as if her heart had grown heavy, as if there was no use in
anything.

The king squared his shoulders to show his determination and summoned
his magicians and wizards and sorcerers and commanded them to perform
their arts and solve the mystery of the illness of Princess Solima. A
strange crew they were, ranged in a semi-circle before the king. There
was the renowned astrologer from Egypt, a little man with a humpback;
the mixer of mysterious potions from China, a long, lank yellow man,
with tiny eyes; the alchemist from Arabia, a scowling man with his
face almost concealed by whiskers; there was a Greek and a Persian and
a Phoenician, each with some special knowledge and fearfully anxious
to display it. They set to work.

One studied the stars, another concocted a sweet-smelling fluid, a
third retired to the woods and thought deeply, a fourth made abstruse
calculations with diagrams and figures, a fifth questioned the
princess' handmaidens, and a sixth conceived the brilliant notion of
talking with the princess herself. He was certainly an original
wizard, and he learned more than all the others.

Then they met in consultation and talked foreign languages and
pretended very seriously to understand one another. One said the stars
were in opposition, another said he had gazed into a crystal and had
seen a glow-worm chasing a hippopotamus which a third interpreted as
meaning the princess would die if the glow-worm won the race.

"Rubbish!" exclaimed the magician who had spoken to the princess;
"likewise stuff and nonsense and the equivalent thereof in the seventy
unknown languages."

That was an impertinent comment on their divinations, and so they
listened seriously.

"The princess," he said, "is just tired. That is a disease which will
become popular and fashionable as the world grows older and more
people amass riches. She is sick of being waited on hand and foot and
bowed down to and all that sort of thing. She has never been allowed
to romp as a child, to choose her own companions and the rest of it.
Therefore, she is bored with all the etcetras. The case is
comprehensible and comprehensive: it needs the exercise of imagination
stimulated by prescience, conscience, patience...."

The others yawned and began to collect dictionaries, and fearing that
they might be tempted to fling them at him after they had found the
meaning of his big words, he ceased.

"I agree," said the president of the assembly, the oldest wizard,
"only I diagnose the disease in simpler form. The princess is in
love."

That set them all jabbering together, and they finally agreed to
report to the king that the time had arrived when the princess should
marry, so that she should be able to go away to a new land, amid other
people and different scenes.

The king agreed reluctantly, for he dearly loved his daughter and
wished her to remain with him always if possible. Heralds and
messengers were sent out far and wide, and very soon a procession of
suitors for the princess' hand began to file past the lady. They were
princes of all shapes and sizes, of all complexions and colors; some
were resplendent with jewels, others were followed by retinues of
slaves bearing gifts; a few entered the competition by proxy--that is,
they sent somebody else to see the lady first and pronounce judgment
upon her. These she dismissed summarily, declaring that they were
disqualified by the rules of fair play.

When all the entrants had been inspected by the king, he said to his
daughter:

"Pick the one you love the best, Solima dear."

"None," she answered promptly.

"Dear, dear me--that is very awkward. We shall have to return the
entrance fees--I mean the presents," he said.

That prospect did not seem to worry the princess in the least; nor did
her father's appeal not to belittle him in the eyes of his fellow
monarchs have the slightest effect on her.

"At least," he said, growing impatient, "tell me what you do want."

"I will marry any man," she replied, while he wondered gravely what
else she could have said, "who is not such a fool as to think himself
the only person in the world who is of consequence."

The king was not without wisdom, and he knew that this remark is
foolish, or sensible, according to the mood in which it is said, and
the thoughts behind it.

"You do not regard any one of the princes," the king said gently, "as
worthy of----"

"Any woman," interrupted his daughter. "Listen, my father, you have
tried to make me happy always and until recently you have succeeded. I
wish to obey you in all things, even in the choice of a husband. Would
you really have me marry any one of these fools? Be not angry. Did
any one reveal a gleam of wisdom, or common-sense? Were they not all
just ridiculous fops? Let me enumerate:

"There was Prince Hafiz who talked only of his wars--of the men--aye
and women and children--his soldiers had butchered. The soldiers
fought and Prince Hafiz posed before me as a warrior and hero. I will
not be queen in a land where people cannot live in peace.

"Then there was Prince Aziz who boasted that he spends all his life
with his horses and dogs and falcons in the hunting field. He knows
the needs of beasts, but not of men. I will not be the bride of a
prince who allows his subjects to starve in wretchedness and poverty
while he enjoys himself with the slaughter of wild beasts.

"Prince Guzman had nothing else to impart to me but his taste in
jewels and dress. Prince Abdul knew exactly how many bottles of wine
he drank daily, but he could not tell me how many schools there were
in his city. Prince Hassan had not the slightest notion how the
majority of his people lived, whether by trading, or thieving, or
working, or begging."

King Zuliman listened intently. This was a singular speech for a
princess, but reason told him this was profoundest wisdom.

"Oh, I am tired," burst out Princess Solima, in tears. "I have no
desire for life if to be a ruler over men and women and children means
that you must take no interest in their welfare. My father, hearken. I
will not be queen in a land where the king thinks the people live only
to make him great. I shall be proud and happy to reign where the king
understands that it is his duty to make his people happy and his
country prosperous and peaceful."

The king left his daughter, and, deeply concerned, sought his wizards.

"My daughter has been born thousands of years before her time," he
declared, petulantly. "The stars have played a trick on me, and have
sent me my great-great-great-great ever so much great granddaughter
out of her turn."

The magicians did not laugh at this: they thought it a wonderfully
sage remark, and after much mysterious whispering among themselves and
consultation of old books, and gazing into crystals, they informed the
king that the stars foretold that Princess Solima would marry a poor
man!

They flattered themselves on their cleverness in arriving at this
conclusion, which they deduced from the princess contempt for
princes.

King Zuliman's patience was exhausted by this time. In a towering
rage, he told his daughter what the wizards had said, and when she
merely said, "How nice," he swore he would imprison her in his
fortress in the sea.

His majesty meant it, too, and at once had the fortress, which stood
on a tiny island miles from land, luxuriously furnished and fitted up
for his daughter's reception. Thither she was conveyed secretly one
night, but to her father's disgust she made no protest.

"I shall be free for a while," she said, "of all the absurd flummery
of the palace."


II.

The people were sad when the princess disappeared. She had been good
and kind to them, had understood them, and they did not know whether
she had died, or had deserted them without a word of farewell, though
that was hardly possible. All that they knew was that the king
suddenly became morose and sullen. Strangely enough, he began to take
an interest in the poor. He asked them funny questions--for a king.
How did they earn money? What was their occupation? Had they any
pleasures? And what were their thoughts?

Young people laughed, but old men said the king intended to promote
laws which would do good. Anyway, the king's interest did make his
subjects happier, and the officers of state became very busy with
projects and schemes for improving trade, providing work and for
educating children.

"They do say," remarked one old woman, who kept an apple stall in the
market place, "that a law will be passed that the sun should shine
every day, and that it should never rain on the days of the market.
Ah! that will be good," and she rubbed her hands at the prospect of
not having to crouch under a leaky awning when the rain came pelting
down, or over a tiny fire in a brass bowl in the winter, to thaw her
frozen and benumbed hands.

Even the laborers in the fields, who were mainly dull-witted people
with no learning whatsoever, heard the news; and they actually
pondered over it and wondered whether it meant that they would never
more be hungry and wretchedly clad.

One who thought deeply was a shepherd lad. He loved to bask lazily in
the sun, to listen to the birds chirruping, and to all the sounds of
the air and the fields and the forests. He seemed to understand them;
the murmuring of the brooks on a warm day was like a gentle cradle
song lulling him to sleep; on a day when the wind howled, its sulky
growl as it dashed over the stones warned him that floods might come,
and that he must move his flocks to safer ground.

"I wonder," he mused, "if I shall learn to read the written word and
even to pen it myself. I could then write the song of the brook and
the birds, so that others should know it."

And musing thus, he fell asleep. He slept longer than usual, and when
he awoke, he was alarmed to see that the sun had set. Darkness was
falling fast, and he had his flock to see safely home. The cows and
sheep had begun to collect themselves as a matter of habit, and it was
their noise that woke him. They were already trudging the well-known
route, and all he had to do in following was to see that none strayed,
or tumbled into the brook.

All went well until he came in sight of home. Then a huge bird, a ziz,
bigger than several houses, appeared in the sky and swooped down on
the cows and sheep.

The shepherd beat the monster off as long as he could with a big
stick, while the affrighted animals scampered hastily homeward. The
ziz however, was evidently determined not to be balked of its prey.
It dug its talons deep into the flanks of an ox that had stampeded in
the wrong direction and was lagging behind the others.

The poor animal bellowed in pain, and the shepherd, rushing to the
rescue, seized it by the forelegs as it was being raised from the
ground. Curling his leg round the slender trunk of a tree, the young
man began a struggle with the ziz. The mighty bird, its eyes glowing
like two signal lamps, tried to strike at him with his tremendous
beak, one stroke of which would have been fatal.

In the fast gathering darkness it missed, fortunately for the
shepherd, but the thrust of the beak caught the upper part of the tree
trunk. It snapped under the blow, and the shepherd was compelled to
release his hold. He still gripped tightly the forelegs of the ox, but
with naught now to hold it back, the great bird had no difficulty in
rising into the air. Before he fully grasped what had happened, the
shepherd found himself high above the trees.

To release his hold would have meant destruction. He held on grimly,
clutching the legs of the ox with all his might, and even swinging up
his feet to grip the hind-legs of the animal.

Higher and higher the ziz rose into the air, spreading its vast wings
majestically, and flying silently and swiftly over the land. It made
the shepherd giddy to glance down at the ground scurrying rapidly past
far below him. So he closed his eyes, but opening them again for a
moment, he was horrified to notice that the bird was now flying over
the sea on which the moon was shining with silvery radiance. With a
heavy sigh he gave himself up for lost, and began to consider whether
it would be better to release his hold and fall down and be drowned,
rather than be devoured by the gigantic bird.

Before he could make up his mind, the bird stopped, and the shepherd
was bumped down on something with such violence that for a moment he
was stunned. Looking around, when he regained his senses, he saw that
he was on the top of a tower in the sea. Beside him was the carcass of
the ox. Above them stood the ziz, its eyes glowing like twin fires,
its beak thrust down to strike.

With a quick movement, the shepherd drew a knife which he carried in
his girdle, and struck at the opening of the descending beak. The bird
uttered a shrill cry of pain as the knife pierced its tongue, and in a
few moments it had disappeared in the air. So swift was its flight
that almost instantly it was a mere speck in the moonlit sky.

Thoroughly exhausted, the shepherd slept until awakened by the sound
of a voice. Opening his eyes, he saw that the sun had risen. Above him
stood a woman of ravishing beauty. He sprang to his feet and bowed
low.

"Who are you?" asked Princess Solima, for she it was. "And tell me how
came you here with this carcass of an ox, so distant from the land, so
high up as this tower in the sea?"

"Of a truth I scarcely know," answered the shepherd. "It may be that I
am bewitched, or dreaming, for my adventure passes all belief," and he
related it.

The princess made no comment, but motioned to him that he should
follow her. He did so and she placed food before him. He was
ravenously hungry and did full justice to the meal. Then she led him
to the bath chamber.

"Wash and robe thyself," she said, giving him some clothes, "and then
I have much to inquire of thee."

The shepherd felt ever so much better when he had bathed, and then
attired in the strange garments she had given him, he appeared before
the princess.

She gazed at him so long and searchingly that he blushed in confusion.

"Thou art fair to look upon and of manly stature," said the princess.

The shepherd could only stammer a reply, but after a while he said,
"Fair lady, who and what thou art I know not. Such beauty as thine is
the right of princesses only. I am but a poor shepherd."

"And may not a shepherd be handsome?" she asked. "Tell me: who hath
laid down a law that only royal personages may be fair to behold? I
have seen princes of vile countenance."

She stopped suddenly, for she did not wish to betray her secret. They
sat in a little room in the tower, unknown to the many guards down
below, and, although the shepherd protested, the princess waited on
him herself, bringing him food, and cushions on which he could rest
that night.

Next morning they ascended the tower together.

"I come here every morning," said the princess.

"Why?" the shepherd asked.

"To see if my husband cometh," was the answer.

"Who is he?" asked the shepherd.

The princess laughed.

"I know not," she said. "Some mornings when I have stood here and
grieved at my loneliness, I have felt inclined to make a vow that I
would marry the first man who came hither."

The shepherd was silent. Then he looked boldly into the princess' eyes
and said: "Thou hast told me I am the first man who has come to thee.
I am emboldened to declare my love for thee, a feeling that swept over
me the moment my eyes beheld thee. Who thou art, what thou art, I know
not, I care not. Shall we be husband and wife?"

The princess gave him her hand.

"It is ordained," she said, and thus their troth was plighted.

"We cannot remain here forever," said the princess, presently. "Canst
thou, husband of my heart's choice, devise some means of escape?"

He looked down at the carcass of the ox thoughtfully for a few
moments.

"I have it," he exclaimed, excitedly. "It is a safe assumption that
the monster bird that brought me will return for his meal. He can then
carry us away. If the heavens approve," he said, fervently, "thus it
shall be."

That very night the ziz returned and feasted on the ox, and while it
was fully occupied appeasing its hunger, the shepherd managed to
attach strong ropes to its legs. To this he attached a large basket in
which he and his bride made themselves comfortable with cushions. Nor
did they forget to take a store of food.

Toward morning the ziz rose slowly into the air, and the lovers
clutched each other tightly as the basket spun round and round. The
giant bird did not seem to notice its burden at all, and after a
moment it began a swift flight over the sea. After many hours a city
became visible, and as it was approached the shepherd could note the
excitement caused by the appearance of the ziz. The bird was getting
tired, and having at last noticed the weight tied to its feet was
evidently seeking to get rid of it.

Flying low it dashed the basket against a tower. The occupants feared
they might be killed, but suddenly the cords snapped, the basket
rested on the parapet of the tower, and the bird flew swiftly away.

No sooner had the shepherd extricated himself and his bride from the
basket, than armed guards appeared. At sight of the princess they
lowered their weapons and fell upon their faces.

"Inform my father I have returned," she said, and they immediately
rose to do her bidding.

"Know you where you are?" asked the shepherd.

"Yes; this is the king's palace," was the reply.

Soon the king appeared, and with almost hysterical joy he embraced his
daughter.

"I am happy to see thee again," he cried. "I crave thy pardon for
immuring thee in the sea fortress. Thou shalt tell me all thy
adventures."

Then he caught sight of the shepherd.

"Who is this?" he demanded.

"Thy son-in-law, my husband," said the princess, her joy showing in
her bright eyes.

"What prince art thou?" asked the king.

"A prince among men," answered the princess quickly. "A man without
riches, who comes from the people and will teach us their needs and
how to rule them."

The king bowed to the inevitable. He blessed his son-in-law and
daughter, appointed them to rule over a province, and they settled
down to make everybody thoroughly happy, contented and prosperous.

   [Illustration: Then the door slowly opened and a figure in
   white stood in the entry. (_Page 286_).]




King Alexander's Adventures



More than two thousand years ago there lived a king in the land of
Macedon who was a great conqueror, and when his son, Alexander, was
born, the soothsayers and the priestesses of the temples predicted
that he would be a greater warrior than his father. Alexander was a
wonderful boy, and his father, King Philip, was very proud of him when
he tamed a spirited horse which nobody else could manage. The wisest
philosophers of the day were Alexander's teachers, and when he was
only sixteen years of age, Philip left him in charge of the country
when he went to subdue Byzantium. Alexander was only twenty when he
ascended the throne, but before then he had suppressed a rebellion and
had proved himself possessed of exceptional daring and courage.

"I shall conquer the whole world," he said, and although he only
reigned thirteen years and died at the age of thirty-three, he
accomplished his ambition. All the countries which were then known had
to acknowledge his supremacy.

King Alexander was a drunkard and very cruel, but he treated the Jews
kindly. When they heard he had been victorious over Darius, king of
Persia, who was their ruler, and that he was marching on Jerusalem,
they became seriously alarmed. Jadua, the high priest, however,
counseled the people to welcome Alexander with great ceremony.

All the priests and the Levites donned their most gorgeous robes, the
populace put on their holiday garb, and the streets of the city were
gaily decorated with many colored banners and garlands of flowers. The
night before Alexander arrived at the head of his army, a long
procession was formed of the priests, the Levites, and the elders of
the city, each carrying a lighted torch. At the gates of the city they
awaited the approach of the mighty warrior.

In the early morning, before the sun had risen, Alexander made his
appearance and was astonished at the magnificent spectacle which met
his gaze. At the head of the procession stood the high priest in his
shining white robes, with the jewels of the ephod glittering on his
breast. To the surprise of his generals, Alexander descended from his
horse and bowed low before the high priest.

"Like unto an angel dost thou appear to me," he said.

"Let thy coming bring peace," replied Jadua.

Parmenio, the chief of Alexander's generals, had promised the soldiers
rich store of plunder in Jerusalem, and he approached the king and
said:

"Wherefore do you honor this priest of the Jews above all men?"

"I will tell thee," answered Alexander. "In dreams have I often seen
this dignified priest. Ever he bade me be of good courage and always
did he predict victory for me. Shall I not then pay homage to my
guardian angel?"

Turning to the priest, he said, "Lead me to your Temple that I may
offer up thanksgiving to the God of my guardian angel."

It was now daylight, and the priests walked in procession before King
Alexander past cheering multitudes of people. At the Temple the king
removed his sandals, but the priests gave him a pair of jeweled
slippers, fearing that he might slip on the pavement. The king was
pleased with all that he saw and desired that a statue of himself, or
a portrait, should be placed in the holy building.

"That may not be," replied the high priest, "but in honor of thy visit
all the boys born in Jerusalem this year shall be named Alexander."

"It is well," said the king, much pleased; "ask of me what you will,
and if it be in my power I shall grant it."

"Mighty monarch," said Jadua, "we desire naught but to be permitted to
serve our God according to our laws. Permit us to practice our
religious observances free and unhindered. Grant also this privilege
to the Jews who dwell in all thy dominions, and we shall ever pray for
thy long life and triumph."

"It is but little that ye ask," replied the king, "and that little is
easily granted."

The people cheered loudly when they heard the good news, and many Jews
enrolled themselves in the army.

Alexander stayed some time in Jerusalem, and messengers arrived from
Canaan to ask him to compel the Jews to restore them their land.

"It is written in the Books of Moses," they said, "that Canaan and its
boundaries belong to the Canaanites."

Gebiah, a hunchback, undertook to answer.

"It is also written in the Books of Moses," he said, "'Cursed be
Canaan; a servant shall he be unto his brethren.' The property of a
slave belongs to his master, therefore Canaan is ours."

Alexander gave the envoys of Canaan three days in which to reply to
this, but they fled from Jerusalem.

Messengers from Egypt came next, asking for the return of the gold and
silver taken by the Israelites from the land of Pharaoh.

"What says Gebiah to this?" asked Alexander.

"We shall return the gold and silver," answered the hunchback, "when
we have been paid for the many, many years of labor of our ancestors
in Egypt."

"Truly a wise answer," said Alexander, and he gave the Egyptians three
days to consider it. But they also fled.

When Alexander left Jerusalem he sought the advice of the wise men of
Israel.

"I desire," he said, "to conquer the land beyond the Mountains of
Darkness in Africa; it is also my wish to fly above the clouds and
behold the heavens, and also to descend into the depths of the sea and
gaze with mine own eyes on the monsters of the deep."

How to accomplish these things he was instructed by the wise men, but
they warned him never to enter Babylon.

"For shouldst thou ever enter the city of Babylon," they said, "thou
wilt assuredly die."

King Alexander thanked them for the advice and the warning, and set
forth on his adventures.



After many days King Alexander came to the Mountains of Darkness.
Acting on the advice of the wise men, he had provided himself with
asses from the land of Libya, for they have the power of seeing in the
dark, and also with a cord of great length. Mounted on the asses, he
and his men plunged into the realms of darkness, unwinding the cord as
they went, so that they might find their way back with it.

Around them was blackest darkness and a silence that inspired the men
with awe. The asses, however, picked their way through the tall trees
that grew so high and so thick that not the least ray of light could
penetrate. How many days they traveled thus they knew not, for day
and night were alike. The men slept when they were tired, ate when
they were hungry and trusted to the asses and the cord.

At last when they emerged into the light they were almost blinded by
the sun, and it was some time before they could see properly. Then, to
their great astonishment, they found that there were no men in the
land, only women, tall and finely proportioned, clothed in skins and
armed with bows and arrows.

"Who are ye?" asked Alexander.

"We are the Amazons, women who are skilled in war and in the art of
hunting," they answered.

"Lead me to your queen," commanded Alexander, "and bid her surrender,
for I am Alexander, the Great, of Macedon, and conqueror of the world.
I fight not by night, for I scorn to steal victories in the dark, and
my men are armed with magic spears of gold and silver and are
therefore invincible."

The queen of the Amazons appeared before him, a beautiful woman, with
long raven hair.

"Greeting to thee, mighty warrior," she said. "Hast thou come to slay
women?"

"Perchance it is you who will triumph over me," replied Alexander.

The queen of the Amazons smiled.

"Then shall it be said of thee," she replied, "that thou wert a
valiant warrior who conquered the world, but was himself conquered by
women. Is that to be your message to history?"

King Alexander was a man of learning and of wisdom, as well as a great
soldier, but the words of the queen of the Amazons were such that he
could not answer. He bowed low before the queen and with a gesture
indicated that he had naught to say.

"Then it is to be peace," said the queen. "At least, before thy
return, let me prepare for thee a banquet."

In a hut made of logs and decorated with skins, a rough wooden table
was placed before Alexander and on it was laid a loaf of gold.

"Do ye eat bread of gold?" asked the king, much surprised.

"Nay," replied the queen. "We are women of simple tastes, but thou art
a mighty king. If thou didst but wish to eat ordinary bread in this
land, why didst thou desire to conquer it? Is there no more bread in
your own land that thou shouldst brave the dangers of the dark
mountains to eat it here?"

Alexander bowed his head on his breast. Never before had he felt
ashamed.

"I, Alexander of Macedon," he said, "was a fool until I came to the
land beyond the Mountains of Darkness and learned wisdom from women."

With all haste he returned through the land of eternal night on his
Libyan asses. But in the flight the cord was broken. He had to trust
entirely to the asses, and many long and weary days and nights did he
journey before he saw the light once more.

Alexander found himself in a new and beautiful land. There were no
signs of human beings, nor of animals, and a river of the clearest
water he had ever seen, flowed gently along. It was full of fish which
the soldiers caught quite easily. But a strange thing happened when,
after having cut up the fish ready for cooking, they took them to the
river to clean them. All the fish came to life again; the pieces
joined together and darted away in the water.

At first Alexander would not believe this, but after he had made an
experiment himself, he said: "Let all who are wounded bathe in this
river, for surely it will cure every ill. This must be the River of
Life which flows from Paradise."

He determined to follow the stream to its source and find the Garden
of Eden. As he marched along, the valley through which the stream
flowed, became narrower and narrower, until, at last, only one person
could pass. Alexander continued his journey on foot with a few of his
generals walking behind. Mountains, thickly covered with greenest
verdure, towered up on either side, the silent river narrowed until it
seemed a mere streak of silver flowing gently along, and there was a
delicious odor in the air.

At length, where the mountains on either side met, Alexander's path
was barred by a great wall of rock. From a tiny fissure the River of
Life trickled forth, and beside it was a door of gold, beautifully
ornamented. Before this door Alexander paused. Then, drawing his
sword, he struck the Gate of Paradise with the hilt.

There was no answer, and Alexander knocked a second time. Again there
was no reply, and a third time Alexander knocked with some impatience.

Then the door slowly opened, and a figure in white stood in the entry.
In its hand it held a skull, made of gold, with eyes of rubies.

"Who knocks so rudely at the Gate of Paradise?" asked the angel.

"I, Alexander, the Great, of Macedon, the conqueror of the world,"
answered Alexander, proudly. "I demand admittance to Paradise."

"Hast thou brought peace to the whole world that thou sayest thou art
its conqueror?" demanded the angel.

Alexander made no answer.

"Only the righteous who bring peace to mankind may enter Paradise
alive," said the angel, gently.

Alexander hung his head abashed; then, in a voice broken with emotion,
he begged that at least he should be given a memento of his visit.

The angel handed him the skull, saying: "Take this and ponder o'er its
meaning."

The angel vanished and the golden door closed.

The skull was so heavy that, with all his great strength, Alexander
could scarcely carry it. When he placed it in a balance to ascertain
its weight, he found that it was heavier than all his treasures. None
of his wise men could explain this mystery and so Alexander sought out
a Jew among his soldiers, one who had been a student with the rabbis.

Taking a handfull of earth the Jew placed it over the eyes and the
skull was then as light as air.

"The meaning is plain," said the Jew. "Not until the human eye is
covered with earth--in the grave--is it satisfied. Not until after
death can man hope to enter Paradise."

Alexander was anxious to hasten away from that strange region, but
many of his soldiers declared that they would settle down by the banks
of the River of Life. Next morning, however, the river had vanished.
Where all had been beautiful was now only a desolate plain, bounded by
bare rocky mountains, reaching to the clouds.

With heavy hearts Alexander's men began their march back.


III--THE WONDERS OF THE WORLD

One day a strange rumbling noise was heard, and toward evening the
army halted by the side of a river even more mysterious than the River
of Life. It was not a river of water, but of sand and stones. It
flowed along with a roaring sound and every few minutes great stones
were shot up into the air.

Alexander asked the Jewish soldier if he could explain.

"This," said the Jew, "is the Sambatyon, the river which ceases to
flow on the Sabbath."

"And what lies beyond?"

"The land of the Lost Ten Tribes of Israel," was the answer. "None
have seen this country."

"Cannot the river then be crossed?" asked Alexander.

"Not by all who wish to cross."

The next day was Friday, and Alexander waited until the evening to see
what would happen.

An hour before sunset, at the time of the commencement of Sabbath, the
river ceased to flow. The rumbling died down and the Sambatyon
appeared like a broad expanse of shining yellow sand.

"To-morrow I shall cross with my army," said Alexander, but next
morning the Sambatyon was enveloped in dense black clouds.

Alexander could not see a yard in front of him, and when he ventured
on to the sand, the horses sank into it. Flames were also seen in the
clouds. After the sun had set and the Sabbath had ended, the clouds
cleared away, the rumbling began again and the sand flowed once more
like a river.

Alexander was disappointed for a while, but at last he consoled
himself with the thought that he had conquered the whole world.

"Now must I carry out my project of ascending above the clouds and
afterward descending into the sea," he said, and he proceeded to carry
out the instructions given to him in Jerusalem.

Four huge eagles were caught and chained to a big box. At each end of
the box was a pole, and on the end of each a brilliant jewel was
placed. When all was in readiness, Alexander entered the box and
carefully closed the doors.

"Thus did Nimrod ascend into the sky," he said, "but he was a fool. He
shot arrows into the air, and when the angels returned them stained
with blood, he thought he had killed God. I desire only to see the
heavens, not to conquer them."

He gave the signal, and the heads of the eagles chained to the poles
were uncovered. The moment they saw the dazzling jewels they tried to
snatch them, but could not. So they continued to rise higher and
higher until the box was carried above the clouds. By looking through
the windows at the top and bottom of the box, Alexander could see how
high he was. For a long time he saw nothing but clouds, which appeared
like a vast sea beneath him, but when these cleared away, he saw the
earth again.

So high was he that the world looked like a ball. Until then he had
not known the earth was round. The seas enveloping the greater part of
the globe looked like writhing serpents.

"Now I can understand," he said, "why the wise rabbis say that the
great fish, the leviathan, surrounds the world with its tail in its
mouth."

Then he looked above. The sun seemed further away than ever.

"Heaven is not so near as I thought," he said, and seeing himself but
a tiny speck miles above the earth and still further away from the
heavens, he grew afraid for the first time in his life. With a stick
he knocked the jewels from the poles outside the box, and the eagles,
seeing them no longer, began to descend. Alexander breathed more
freely when he was safe on the ground again, but he would not tell his
generals what he had seen.

"Wait until I have descended into the sea," he said.

Under his orders, a diving bell of clear thick glass, bound with iron,
had been constructed. Alexander entered the bell, all the joints were
then tightly secured with pitch, and the bell lowered from a ship into
the ocean by means of chains.

Before he entered, Alexander took the precaution to put on a magic
ring, which his wife, Roxana, had sent him. This, she said, would
protect him against the monsters of the deep.

Down, down into the watery deep sank the bell, and for some time
Alexander could see nothing. When his eyes grew accustomed to the
strange, greenish light, he noticed multitudes of queer fish darting
round about the bell. Many were of a shape never conjectured by man,
some were so tiny that he could scarcely see them, and others so large
that one of these monsters actually tried to swallow the bell. But
Alexander showed the magic ring which glowed like a blazing star and
the monster darted away.

So deep down sank the bell that no light could at last penetrate from
the sun. Most of the fish, however, were luminous, and Alexander was
almost dazzled by the changing of the brilliant lights as the denizens
of the deep swam swiftly around the bell. Shells of wondrous beauty
did he see, together with pearls of great size. The treasures of the
deep were revealed to him, and he saw that the riches on land were as
nothing compared with them. He saw the coral insects at their work of
building, and of entrancing beauty growing in the oozy bed of the
ocean.

"I wonder," said Alexander, "if I dare venture forth and take some of
these beautiful gems back with me. The ring will protect me."

Alexander was one of the bravest men that ever lived, and he
immediately set about trying to open the bell. In doing so, he rattled
the chains by which it was lowered, and Robus, the officer in charge,
took this as a signal to raise the bell.

In his excitement he dropped the chains into the sea, and they fell
with a big crash on the bell and smashed it to pieces. When Robus saw
what had happened, he cast himself into the sea in a gallant endeavor
to rescue his master.

Down below in the glittering depths of the ocean, Alexander saw the
fish hurrying away in great fear and he heard the rattling of the
chains as they dropped through the water. He looked up and saw them
crash on the bell. A terrible, buzzing sound filled his ears, a
thousand dazzling colors danced before his eyes and made him giddy.

With great presence of mind he remembered his ring, and immediately a
big fish swam underneath him, raised him from the wreckage of the bell
and rose swiftly to the surface. Alexander emerged just as Robus dived
into the sea. At once he showed the fish his ring and it dived and
brought his gallant officer safe to his side.

"I have seen enough," said Alexander, when he was safe on land, "more
than mortals should see. I have learned that the earth is for man and
that the air above and the waters beneath are for the other and more
wonderful creatures of God."

He made preparations to return to Macedon, but his army was wearied
with long marching and begged of him to let them rest. Accordingly, he
halted outside Babylon. Sickness seized him, but he remembered the
warning of the rabbis and would not enter the city. For days he
wandered around until his soldiers showed signs of mutiny. Then,
throwing caution to the winds, Alexander entered Babylon.

At once his illness took a serious turn, and in a few days he died.
When the Jews heard the news, they mourned him sincerely, for they
knew that they had lost a good friend. All that remains as a memorial
of Alexander is the city of Alexandria, which he founded in Egypt. It
stands to this day.




                                   




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We will pay a visit to Switzerland, and wander through that
country of mountains, whose steep and rocky sides are overgrown with
forest trees. Let us climb to the dazzling snow-fields at their
summits, and descend again to the green meadows beneath, through which
rivers and brooks rush along as if they could not quickly enough reach
the sea and vanish. Fiercely shines the sun over those deep valleys,
as well as upon the heavy masses of snow which lie on the mountains.

During the year these accumulations thaw or fall in the rolling
avalance, or are piled up in shining glaciers. Two of these glaciers
lie in the broad, rocky cliffs, between the Schreckhorn and the
Wetterhorn, near the little town of Grindelwald. They are wonderful to
behold, and therefore in the summer time strangers come here from
all parts of the world to see them. They cross snow-covered mountains,
and travel through the deep valleys, or ascend for hours, higher and
still higher, the valleys appearing to sink lower and lower as they
proceed, and become as small as if seen from an air balloon. Over
the lofty summits of these mountains the clouds often hang like a dark
veil; while beneath in the valley, where many brown, wooden houses are
scattered about, the bright rays of the sun may be shining upon a
little brilliant patch of green, making it appear almost
transparent. The waters foam and dash along in the valleys beneath;
the streams from above trickle and murmur as they fall down the
rocky mountain's side, looking like glittering silver bands.

On both sides of the mountain-path stand these little wooden
houses; and, as within, there are many children and many mouths to
feed, each house has its own little potato garden. These children rush
out in swarms, and surround travellers, whether on foot or in
carriages. They are all clever at making a bargain. They offer for
sale the sweetest little toy-houses, models of the mountain cottages
in Switzerland. Whether it be rain or sunshine, these crowds of
children are always to be seen with their wares.

About twenty years ago, there might be seen occasionally, standing
at a short distance from the other children, a little boy, who was
also anxious to sell his curious wares. He had an earnest,
expressive countenance, and held the box containing his carved toys
tightly with both hands, as if unwilling to part with it. His
earnest look, and being also a very little boy, made him noticed by
the strangers; so that he often sold the most, without knowing why. An
hour's walk farther up the ascent lived his grandfather, who cut and
carved the pretty little toy-houses; and in the old man's room stood a
large press, full of all sorts of carved things--nut-crackers,
knives and forks, boxes with beautifully carved foliage, leaping
chamois. It contained everything that could delight the eyes of a
child. But the boy, who was named Rudy, looked with still greater
pleasure and longing at some old fire-arms which hung upon the
rafters, under the ceiling of the room. His grandfather promised him
that he should have them some day, but that he must first grow big and
strong, and learn how to use them. Small as he was, the goats were
placed in his care, and a good goat-keeper should also be a good
climber, and such Rudy was; he sometimes, indeed, climbed higher
than the goats, for he was fond of seeking for birds'-nests at the top
of high trees; he was bold and daring, but was seldom seen to smile,
excepting when he stood by the roaring cataract, or heard the
descending roll of the avalanche. He never played with the other
children, and was not seen with them, unless his grandfather sent
him down to sell his curious workmanship. Rudy did not much like
trade; he loved to climb the mountains, or to sit by his grandfather
and listen to his tales of olden times, or of the people in Meyringen,
the place of his birth.

"In the early ages of the world," said the old man, "these
people could not be found in Switzerland. They are a colony from the
north, where their ancestors still dwell, and are called Swedes."

This was something for Rudy to know, but he learnt more from other
sources, particularly from the domestic animals who belonged to the
house. One was a large dog, called Ajola, which had belonged to his
father; and the other was a tom-cat. This cat stood very high in
Rudy's favor, for he had taught him to climb.

"Come out on the roof with me," said the cat; and Rudy quite
understood him, for the language of fowls, ducks, cats, and dogs, is
as easily understood by a young child as his own native tongue. But it
must be at the age when grandfather's stick becomes a neighing
horse, with head, legs, and tail. Some children retain these ideas
later than others, and they are considered backwards and childish
for their age. People say so; but is it so?

"Come out on the roof with me, little Rudy," was the first thing
he heard the cat say, and Rudy understood him. "What people say
about falling down is all nonsense," continued the cat; "you will
not fall, unless you are afraid. Come, now, set one foot here and
another there, and feel your way with your fore-feet. Keep your eyes
wide open, and move softly, and if you come to a hole jump over it,
and cling fast as I do." And this was just what Rudy did. He was often
on the sloping roof with the cat, or on the tops of high trees. But,
more frequently, higher still on the ridges of the rocks where puss
never came.

"Higher, higher!" cried the trees and the bushes, "see to what
height we have grown, and how fast we hold, even to the narrow edges
of the rocks."

Rudy often reached the top of the mountain before the sunrise, and
there inhaled his morning draught of the fresh, invigorating
mountain air,--God's own gift, which men call the sweet fragrance of
plant and herb on the mountain-side, and the mint and wild thyme in
the valleys. The overhanging clouds absorb all heaviness from the air,
and the winds convey them away over the pine-tree summits. The
spirit of fragrance, light and fresh, remained behind, and this was
Rudy's morning draught. The sunbeams--those blessing-bringing
daughters of the sun--kissed his cheeks. Vertigo might be lurking on
the watch, but he dared not approach him. The swallows, who had not
less than seven nests in his grandfather's house, flew up to him and
his goats, singing, "We and you, you and we." They brought him
greetings from his grandfather's house, even from two hens, the only
birds of the household; but Rudy was not intimate with them.

Although so young and such a little fellow, Rudy had travelled a
great deal. He was born in the canton of Valais, and brought to his
grandfather over the mountains. He had walked to Staubbach--a little
town that seems to flutter in the air like a silver veil--the
glittering, snow-clad mountain Jungfrau. He had also been to the great
glaciers; but this is connected with a sad story, for here his
mother met her death, and his grandfather used to say that all
Rudy's childish merriment was lost from that time. His mother had
written in a letter, that before he was a year old he had laughed more
than he cried; but after his fall into the snow-covered crevasse,
his disposition had completely changed. The grandfather seldom spoke
of this, but the fact was generally known. Rudy's father had been a
postilion, and the large dog which now lived in his grandfather's
cottage had always followed him on his journeys over the Simplon to
the lake of Geneva. Rudy's relations, on his father's side, lived in
the canton of Valais, in the valley of the Rhone. His uncle was a
chamois hunter, and a well-known guide. Rudy was only a year old
when his father died, and his mother was anxious to return with her
child to her own relations, who lived in the Bernese Oberland. Her
father dwelt at a few hours' distance from Grindelwald; he was a
carver in wood, and gained so much by it that he had plenty to live
upon. She set out homewards in the month of June, carrying her
infant in her arms, and, accompanied by two chamois hunters, crossed
the Gemmi on her way to Grindelwald. They had already left more than
half the journey behind them. They had crossed high ridges, and
traversed snow-fields; they could even see her native valley, with its
familiar wooden cottages. They had only one more glacier to climb.
Some newly fallen snow concealed a cleft which, though it did not
extend to the foaming waters in the depths beneath, was still much
deeper than the height of a man. The young woman, with the child in
her arms, slipped upon it, sank in, and disappeared. Not a shriek, not
a groan was heard; nothing but the whining of a little child. More
than an hour elapsed before her two companions could obtain from the
nearest house ropes and poles to assist in raising them; and it was
with much exertion that they at last succeeded in raising from the
crevasse what appeared to be two dead bodies. Every means was used
to restore them to life. With the child they were successful, but
not with the mother; so the old grandfather received his daughter's
little son into his house an orphan,--a little boy who laughed more
than he cried; but it seemed as if laughter had left him in the cold
ice-world into which he had fallen, where, as the Swiss peasants
say, the souls of the lost are confined till the judgment-day.

The glaciers appear as if a rushing stream had been frozen in
its course, and pressed into blocks of green crystal, which,
balanced one upon another, form a wondrous palace of crystal for the
Ice Maiden--the queen of the glaciers. It is she whose mighty power
can crush the traveller to death, and arrest the flowing river in
its course. She is also a child of the air, and with the swiftness
of the chamois she can reach the snow-covered mountain tops, where the
boldest mountaineer has to cut footsteps in the ice to ascend. She
will sail on a frail pine-twig over the raging torrents beneath, and
spring lightly from one iceberg to another, with her long,
snow-white hair flowing around her, and her dark-green robe glittering
like the waters of the deep Swiss lakes. "Mine is the power to seize
and crush," she cried. "Once a beautiful boy was stolen from me by
man,--a boy whom I had kissed, but had not kissed to death. He is
again among mankind, and tends the goats on the mountains. He is
always climbing higher and higher, far away from all others, but not
from me. He is mine; I will send for him." And she gave Vertigo the
commission.

It was summer, and the Ice Maiden was melting amidst the green
verdure, when Vertigo swung himself up and down. Vertigo has many
brothers, quite a troop of them, and the Ice Maiden chose the
strongest among them. They exercise their power in different ways, and
everywhere. Some sit on the banisters of steep stairs, others on the
outer rails of lofty towers, or spring like squirrels along the ridges
of the mountains. Others tread the air as a swimmer treads the
water, and lure their victims here and there till they fall into the
deep abyss. Vertigo and the Ice Maiden clutch at human beings, as
the polypus seizes upon all that comes within its reach. And now
Vertigo was to seize Rudy.

"Seize him, indeed," cried Vertigo; "I cannot do it. That
monster of a cat has taught him her tricks. That child of the human
race has a power within him which keeps me at a distance; I cannot
possibly reach the boy when he hangs from the branches of trees,
over the precipice; or I would gladly tickle his feet, and send him
heels over head through the air; but I cannot accomplish it."

"We must accomplish it," said the Ice Maiden; "either you or I
must; and I will--I will!"

"No, no!" sounded through the air, like an echo on the mountain
church bells chime. It was an answer in song, in the melting tones
of a chorus from others of nature's spirits--good and loving
spirits, the daughters of the sunbeam. They who place themselves in
a circle every evening on the mountain peaks; there they spread out
their rose-colored wings, which, as the sun sinks, become more flaming
red, until the lofty Alps seem to burn with fire. Men call this the
Alpine glow. After the sun has set, they disappear within the white
snow on the mountain-tops, and slumber there till sunrise, when they
again come forth. They have great love for flowers, for butterflies,
and for mankind; and from among the latter they had chosen little
Rudy. "You shall not catch him; you shall not seize him!" they sang.

"Greater and stronger than he have I seized!" said the Ice Maiden.

Then the daughters of the sun sang a song of the traveller,
whose cloak had been carried away by the wind. "The wind took the
covering, but not the man; it could even seize upon him, but not
hold him fast. The children of strength are more powerful, more
ethereal, even than we are. They can rise higher than our parent,
the sun. They have the magic words that rule the wind and the waves,
and compel them to serve and obey; and they can, at last, cast off the
heavy, oppressive weight of mortality, and soar upwards." Thus sweetly
sounded the bell-like tones of the chorus.

And each morning the sun's rays shone through the one little
window of the grandfather's house upon the quiet child. The
daughters of the sunbeam kissed him; they wished to thaw, and melt,
and obliterate the ice kiss which the queenly maiden of the glaciers
had given him as he lay in the lap of his dead mother, in the deep
crevasse of ice from which he had been so wonderfully rescued.



Rudy was just eight years old, when his uncle, who lived on the
other side of the mountain, wished to have the boy, as he thought he
might obtain a better education with him, and learn something more.
His grandfather thought the same, so he consented to let him go.
Rudy had many to say farewell to, as well as his grandfather. First,
there was Ajola, the old dog.

"Your father was the postilion, and I was the postilion's dog,"
said Ajola. "We have often travelled the same journey together; I knew
all the dogs and men on this side of the mountain. It is not my
habit to talk much; but now that we have so little time to converse
together, I will say something more than usual. I will relate to you a
story, which I have reflected upon for a long time. I do not
understand it, and very likely you will not, but that is of no
consequence. I have, however, learnt from it that in this world things
are not equally divided, neither for dogs nor for men. All are not
born to lie on the lap and to drink milk: I have never been petted
in this way, but I have seen a little dog seated in the place of a
gentleman or lady, and travelling inside a post-chaise. The lady,
who was his mistress, or of whom he was master, carried a bottle of
milk, of which the little dog now and then drank; she also offered him
pieces of sugar to crunch. He sniffed at them proudly, but would not
eat one, so she ate them herself. I was running along the dirty road
by the side of the carriage as hungry as a dog could be, chewing the
cud of my own thoughts, which were rather in confusion. But many other
things seemed in confusion also. Why was not I lying on a lap and
travelling in a coach? I could not tell; yet I knew I could not
alter my own condition, either by barking or growling."

This was Ajola's farewell speech, and Rudy threw his arms round
the dog's neck and kissed his cold nose. Then he took the cat in his
arms, but he struggled to get free.

"You are getting too strong for me," he said; "but I will not
use my claws against you. Clamber away over the mountains; it was I
who taught you to climb. Do not fancy you are going to fall, and you
will be quite safe." Then the cat jumped down and ran away; he did not
wish Rudy to see that there were tears in his eyes.

The hens were hopping about the floor; one of them had no tail;
a traveller, who fancied himself a sportsman, had shot off her tail,
he had mistaken her for a bird of prey.

"Rudy is going away over the mountains," said one of the hens.

"He is always in such a hurry," said the other; "and I don't
like taking leave," so they both hopped out.

But the goats said farewell; they bleated and wanted to go with
him, they were so very sorry.

Just at this time two clever guides were going to cross the
mountains to the other side of the Gemmi, and Rudy was to go with them
on foot. It was a long walk for such a little boy, but he had plenty
of strength and invincible courage. The swallows flew with him a
little way, singing, "We and you--you and we." The way led across
the rushing Lutschine, which falls in numerous streams from the dark
clefts of the Grindelwald glaciers. Trunks of fallen trees and
blocks of stone form bridges over these streams. After passing a
forest of alders, they began to ascend, passing by some blocks of
ice that had loosened themselves from the side of the mountain and lay
across their path; they had to step over these ice-blocks or walk
round them. Rudy crept here and ran there, his eyes sparkling with
joy, and he stepped so firmly with his iron-tipped mountain shoe, that
he left a mark behind him wherever he placed his foot.

The earth was black where the mountain torrents or the melted
ice had poured upon it, but the bluish green, glassy ice sparkled
and glittered. They had to go round little pools, like lakes, enclosed
between large masses of ice; and, while thus wandering out of their
path, they came near an immense stone, which lay balanced on the
edge of an icy peak. The stone lost its balance just as they reached
it, and rolled over into the abyss beneath, while the noise of its
fall was echoed back from every hollow cliff of the glaciers.

They were always going upwards. The glaciers seemed to spread
above them like a continued chain of masses of ice, piled up in wild
confusion between bare and rugged rocks. Rudy thought for a moment
of what had been told him, that he and his mother had once lain buried
in one of these cold, heart-chilling fissures; but he soon banished
such thoughts, and looked upon the story as fabulous, like many
other stories which had been told him. Once or twice, when the men
thought the way was rather difficult for such a little boy, they
held out their hands to assist him; but he would not accept their
assistance, for he stood on the slippery ice as firmly as if he had
been a chamois. They came at length to rocky ground; sometimes
stepping upon moss-covered stones, sometimes passing beneath stunted
fir-trees, and again through green meadows. The landscape was always
changing, but ever above them towered the lofty snow-clad mountains,
whose names not only Rudy but every other child knew--"The
Jungfrau," "The Monk and the Eiger."

Rudy had never been so far away before; he had never trodden on
the wide-spreading ocean of snow that lay here with its immovable
billows, from which the wind blows off the snowflake now and then,
as it cuts the foam from the waves of the sea. The glaciers stand here
so close together it might almost be said they are hand-in-hand; and
each is a crystal palace for the Ice Maiden, whose power and will it
is to seize and imprison the unwary traveller.

The sun shone warmly, and the snow sparkled as if covered with
glittering diamonds. Numerous insects, especially butterflies and
bees, lay dead in heaps on the snow. They had ventured too high, or
the wind had carried them here and left them to die of cold.

Around the Wetterhorn hung a feathery cloud, like a woolbag, and a
threatening cloud too, for as it sunk lower it increased in size,
and concealed within was a "fohn," fearful in its violence should it
break loose. This journey, with its varied incidents,--the wild paths,
the night passed on the mountain, the steep rocky precipices, the
hollow clefts, in which the rustling waters from time immemorial had
worn away passages for themselves through blocks of stone,--all
these were firmly impressed on Rudy's memory.

In a forsaken stone building, which stood just beyond the seas
of snow, they one night took shelter. Here they found some charcoal
and pine branches, so that they soon made a fire. They arranged
couches to lie on as well as they could, and then the men seated
themselves by the fire, took out their pipes, and began to smoke. They
also prepared a warm, spiced drink, of which they partook and Rudy was
not forgotten--he had his share. Then they began to talk of those
mysterious beings with which the land of the Alps abounds; the hosts
of apparitions which come in the night, and carry off the sleepers
through the air, to the wonderful floating town of Venice; of the wild
herds-man, who drives the black sheep across the meadows. These flocks
are never seen, yet the tinkle of their little bells has often been
heard, as well as their unearthly bleating. Rudy listened eagerly, but
without fear, for he knew not what fear meant; and while he
listened, he fancied he could hear the roaring of the spectral herd.
It seemed to come nearer and roar louder, till the men heard it also
and listened in silence, till, at length, they told Rudy that he
must not dare to sleep. It was a "fohn," that violent storm-wind which
rushes from the mountain to the valley beneath, and in its fury
snaps asunder the trunks of large trees as if they were but slender
reeds, and carries the wooden houses from one side of a river to the
other as easily as we could move the pieces on a chess-board. After an
hour had passed, they told Rudy that it was all over, and he might
go to sleep; and, fatigued with his long walk, he readily slept at the
word of command.

Very early the following morning they again set out. The sun on
this day lighted up for Rudy new mountains, new glaciers, and new
snow-fields. They had entered the Canton Valais, and found
themselves on the ridge of the hills which can be seen from
Grindelwald; but he was still far from his new home. They pointed
out to him other clefts, other meadows, other woods and rocky paths,
and other houses. Strange men made their appearance before him, and
what men! They were misshapen, wretched-looking creatures, with yellow
complexions; and on their necks were dark, ugly lumps of flesh,
hanging down like bags. They were called cretins. They dragged
themselves along painfully, and stared at the strangers with vacant
eyes. The women looked more dreadful than the men. Poor Rudy! were
these the sort of people he should see at his new home?



Rudy arrived at last at his uncle's house, and was thankful to
find the people like those he had been accustomed to see. There was
only one cretin amongst them, a poor idiot boy, one of those
unfortunate beings who, in their neglected conditions, go from house
to house, and are received and taken care of in different families,
for a month or two at a time.

Poor Saperli had just arrived at his uncle's house when Rudy came.
The uncle was an experienced hunter; he also followed the trade of a
cooper; his wife was a lively little person, with a face like a
bird, eyes like those of an eagle, and a long, hairy throat.
Everything was new to Rudy--the fashion of the dress, the manners, the
employments, and even the language; but the latter his childish ear
would soon learn. He saw also that there was more wealth here, when
compared with his former home at his grandfather's. The rooms were
larger, the walls were adorned with the horns of the chamois, and
brightly polished guns. Over the door hung a painting of the Virgin
Mary, fresh alpine roses and a burning lamp stood near it. Rudy's
uncle was, as we have said, one of the most noted chamois hunters in
the whole district, and also one of the best guides. Rudy soon
became the pet of the house; but there was another pet, an old
hound, blind and lazy, who would never more follow the hunt, well as
he had once done so. But his former good qualities were not forgotten,
and therefore the animal was kept in the family and treated with every
indulgence. Rudy stroked the old hound, but he did not like strangers,
and Rudy was as yet a stranger; he did not, however, long remain so,
he soon endeared himself to every heart, and became like one of the
family.

"We are not very badly off, here in the canton Valais," said his
uncle one day; "we have the chamois, they do not die so fast as the
wild goats, and it is certainly much better here now than in former
times. How highly the old times have been spoken of, but ours is
better. The bag has been opened, and a current of air now blows
through our once confined valley. Something better always makes its
appearance when old, worn-out things fail."

When his uncle became communicative, he would relate stories of
his youthful days, and farther back still of the warlike times in
which his father had lived. Valais was then, as he expressed it,
only a closed-up bag, quite full of sick people, miserable cretins;
but the French soldiers came, and they were capital doctors, they soon
killed the disease and the sick people, too. The French people knew
how to fight in more ways than one, and the girls knew how to
conquer too; and when he said this the uncle nodded at his wife, who
was a French woman by birth, and laughed. The French could also do
battle on the stones. "It was they who cut a road out of the solid
rock over the Simplon--such a road, that I need only say to a child of
three years old, 'Go down to Italy, you have only to keep in the
high road,' and the child will soon arrive in Italy, if he followed my
directions."

Then the uncle sang a French song, and cried, "Hurrah! long live
Napoleon Buonaparte." This was the first time Rudy had ever heard of
France, or of Lyons, that great city on the Rhone where his uncle
had once lived. His uncle said that Rudy, in a very few years, would
become a clever hunter, he had quite a talent for it; he taught the
boy to hold a gun properly, and to load and fire it. In the hunting
season he took him to the hills, and made him drink the warm blood
of the chamois, which is said to prevent the hunter from becoming
giddy; he taught him to know the time when, from the different
mountains, the avalanche is likely to fall, namely, at noontide or
in the evening, from the effects of the sun's rays; he made him
observe the movements of the chamois when he gave a leap, so that he
might fall firmly and lightly on his feet. He told him that when on
the fissures of the rocks he could find no place for his feet, he must
support himself on his elbows, and cling with his legs, and even
lean firmly with his back, for this could be done when necessary. He
told him also that the chamois are very cunning, they place
lookers-out on the watch; but the hunter must be more cunning than
they are, and find them out by the scent.

One day, when Rudy went out hunting with his uncle, he hung a coat
and hat on an alpine staff, and the chamois mistook it for a man, as
they generally do. The mountain path was narrow here; indeed it was
scarcely a path at all, only a kind of shelf, close to the yawning
abyss. The snow that lay upon it was partially thawed, and the
stones crumbled beneath the feet. Every fragment of stone broken off
struck the sides of the rock in its fall, till it rolled into the
depths beneath, and sunk to rest. Upon this shelf Rudy's uncle laid
himself down, and crept forward. At about a hundred paces behind him
stood Rudy, upon the highest point of the rock, watching a great
vulture hovering in the air; with a single stroke of his wing the bird
might easily cast the creeping hunter into the abyss beneath, and make
him his prey. Rudy's uncle had eyes for nothing but the chamois,
who, with its young kid, had just appeared round the edge of the rock.
So Rudy kept his eyes fixed on the bird, he knew well what the great
creature wanted; therefore he stood in readiness to discharge his
gun at the proper moment. Suddenly the chamois made a spring, and
his uncle fired and struck the animal with the deadly bullet; while
the young kid rushed away, as if for a long life he had been
accustomed to danger and practised flight. The large bird, alarmed
at the report of the gun, wheeled off in another direction, and Rudy's
uncle was saved from danger, of which he knew nothing till he was told
of it by the boy.

While they were both in pleasant mood, wending their way
homewards, and the uncle whistling the tune of a song he had learnt in
his young days, they suddenly heard a peculiar sound which seemed to
come from the top of the mountain. They looked up, and saw above them,
on the over-hanging rock, the snow-covering heave and lift itself as a
piece of linen stretched on the ground to dry raises itself when the
wind creeps under it. Smooth as polished marble slabs, the waves of
snow cracked and loosened themselves, and then suddenly, with the
rumbling noise of distant thunder, fell like a foaming cataract into
the abyss. An avalanche had fallen, not upon Rudy and his uncle, but
very near them. Alas, a great deal too near!

"Hold fast, Rudy!" cried his uncle; "hold fast, with all your
might."

Then Rudy clung with his arms to the trunk of the nearest tree,
while his uncle climbed above him, and held fast by the branches.
The avalanche rolled past them at some distance; but the gust of
wind that followed, like the storm-wings of the avalanche, snapped
asunder the trees and bushes over which it swept, as if they had
been but dry rushes, and threw them about in every direction. The tree
to which Rudy clung was thus overthrown, and Rudy dashed to the
ground. The higher branches were snapped off, and carried away to a
great distance; and among these shattered branches lay Rudy's uncle,
with his skull fractured. When they found him, his hand was still
warm; but it would have been impossible to recognize his face. Rudy
stood by, pale and trembling; it was the first shock of his life,
the first time he had ever felt fear. Late in the evening he
returned home with the fatal news,--to that home which was now to be
so full of sorrow. His uncle's wife uttered not a word, nor shed a
tear, till the corpse was brought in; then her agony burst forth.
The poor cretin crept away to his bed, and nothing was seen of him
during the whole of the following day. Towards evening, however, he
came to Rudy, and said, "Will you write a letter for me? Saperli
cannot write; Saperli can only take the letters to the post."

"A letter for you!" said Rudy; "who do you wish to write to?"

"To the Lord Christ," he replied.

"What do you mean?" asked Rudy.

Then the poor idiot, as the cretin was often called, looked at
Rudy with a most touching expression in his eyes, clasped his hands,
and said, solemnly and devoutly, "Saperli wants to send a letter to
Jesus Christ, to pray Him to let Saperli die, and not the master of
the house here."

Rudy pressed his hand, and replied, "A letter would not reach
Him up above; it would not give him back whom we have lost."

It was not, however, easy for Rudy to convince Saperli of the
impossibility of doing what he wished.

"Now you must work for us," said his foster-mother; and Rudy
very soon became the entire support of the house.



Who was the best marksman in the canton Valais? The chamois knew
well. "Save yourselves from Rudy," they might well say. And who is the
handsomest marksman? "Oh, it is Rudy," said the maidens; but they
did not say, "Save yourselves from Rudy." Neither did anxious
mothers say so; for he bowed to them as pleasantly as to the young
girls. He was so brave and cheerful. His cheeks were brown, his
teeth white, and his eyes dark and sparkling. He was now a handsome
young man of twenty years. The most icy water could not deter him from
swimming; he could twist and turn like a fish. None could climb like
he, and he clung as firmly to the edges of the rocks as a limpet. He
had strong muscular power, as could be seen when he leapt from rock to
rock. He had learnt this first from the cat, and more lately from
the chamois. Rudy was considered the best guide over the mountains;
every one had great confidence in him. He might have made a great deal
of money as guide. His uncle had also taught him the trade of a
cooper; but he had no inclination for either; his delight was in
chamois-hunting, which also brought him plenty of money. Rudy would be
a very good match, as people said, if he would not look above his
own station. He was also such a famous partner in dancing, that the
girls often dreamt about him, and one and another thought of him
even when awake.

"He kissed me in the dance," said Annette, the schoolmaster's
daughter, to her dearest friend; but she ought not to have told
this, even to her dearest friend. It is not easy to keep such secrets;
they are like sand in a sieve; they slip out. It was therefore soon
known that Rudy, so brave and so good as he was, had kissed some one
while dancing, and yet he had never kissed her who was dearest to him.

"Ah, ah," said an old hunter, "he has kissed Annette, has he? he
has begun with A, and I suppose he will kiss through the whole
alphabet."

But a kiss in the dance was all the busy tongues could accuse
him of. He certainly had kissed Annette, but she was not the flower of
his heart.

Down in the valley, near Bex, among the great walnut-trees, by the
side of a little rushing mountain-stream, lived a rich miller. His
dwelling-house was a large building, three storeys high, with little
turrets. The roof was covered with chips, bound together with tin
plates, that glittered in sunshine and in the moonlight. The largest
of the turrets had a weather-cock, representing an apple pierced by
a glittering arrow, in memory of William Tell. The mill was a neat and
well-ordered place, that allowed itself to be sketched and written
about; but the miller's daughter did not permit any to sketch or write
about her. So, at least, Rudy would have said, for her image was
pictured in his heart; her eyes shone in it so brightly, that quite
a flame had been kindled there; and, like all other fires, it had
burst forth so suddenly, that the miller's daughter, the beautiful
Babette, was quite unaware of it. Rudy had never spoken a word to
her on the subject. The miller was rich, and, on that account, Babette
stood very high, and was rather difficult to aspire to. But said
Rudy to himself, "Nothing is too high for a man to reach: he must
climb with confidence in himself, and he will not fail." He had learnt
this lesson in his youthful home.

It happened once that Rudy had some business to settle at Bex.
It was a long journey at that time, for the railway had not been
opened. From the glaciers of the Rhone, at the foot of the Simplon,
between its ever-changing mountain summits, stretches the valley of
the canton Valais. Through it runs the noble river of the Rhone, which
often overflows its banks, covering fields and highways, and
destroying everything in its course. Near the towns of Sion and St.
Maurice, the valley takes a turn, and bends like an elbow, and
behind St. Maurice becomes so narrow that there is only space enough
for the bed of the river and a narrow carriage-road. An old tower
stands here, as if it were guardian to the canton Valais, which ends
at this point; and from it we can look across the stone bridge to
the toll-house on the other side, where the canton Vaud commences. Not
far from this spot stands the town of Bex, and at every step can be
seen an increase of fruitfulness and verdure. It is like entering a
grove of chestnut and walnut-trees. Here and there the cypress and
pomegranate blossoms peep forth; and it is almost as warm as an
Italian climate. Rudy arrived at Bex, and soon finished the business
which had brought him there, and then walked about the town; but not
even the miller's boy could be seen, nor any one belonging to the
mill, not to mention Babette. This did not please him at all.
Evening came on. The air was filled with the perfume of the wild thyme
and the blossoms of the lime-trees, and the green woods on the
mountains seemed to be covered with a shining veil, blue as the sky.
Over everything reigned a stillness, not of sleep or of death, but
as if Nature were holding her breath, that her image might be
photographed on the blue vault of heaven. Here and there, amidst the
trees of the silent valley, stood poles which supported the wires of
the electric telegraph. Against one of these poles leaned an object so
motionless that it might have been mistaken for the trunk of a tree;
but it was Rudy, standing there as still as at that moment was
everything around him. He was not asleep, neither was he dead; but
just as the various events in the world--matters of momentous
importance to individuals--were flying through the telegraph wires,
without the quiver of a wire or the slightest tone, so, through the
mind of Rudy, thoughts of overwhelming importance were passing,
without an outward sign of emotion. The happiness of his future life
depended upon the decision of his present reflections. His eyes were
fixed on one spot in the distance--a light that twinkled through the
foliage from the parlor of the miller's house, where Babette dwelt.
Rudy stood so still, that it might have been supposed he was
watching for a chamois; but he was in reality like a chamois, who will
stand for a moment, looking as if it were chiselled out of the rock,
and then, if only a stone rolled by, would suddenly bound forward with
a spring, far away from the hunter. And so with Rudy: a sudden roll of
his thoughts roused him from his stillness, and made him bound forward
with determination to act.

"Never despair!" cried he. "A visit to the mill, to say good
evening to the miller, and good evening to little Babette, can do no
harm. No one ever fails who has confidence in himself. If I am to be
Babette's husband, I must see her some time or other."

Then Rudy laughed joyously, and took courage to go to the mill. He
knew what he wanted; he wanted to marry Babette. The clear water of
the river rolled over its yellow bed, and willows and lime-trees
were reflected in it, as Rudy stepped along the path to the miller's
house. But, as the children sing--

  "There was no one at home in the house,
  Only a kitten at play."


The cat standing on the steps put up its back and cried "mew." But
Rudy had no inclination for this sort of conversation; he passed on,
and knocked at the door. No one heard him, no one opened the door.
"Mew," said the cat again; and had Rudy been still a child, he would
have understood this language, and known that the cat wished to tell
him there was no one at home. So he was obliged to go to the mill
and make inquiries, and there he heard that the miller had gone on a
journey to Interlachen, and taken Babette with him, to the great
shooting festival, which began that morning, and would continue for
eight days, and that people from all the German settlements would be
there.

Poor Rudy! we may well say. It was not a fortunate day for his
visit to Bex. He had just to return the way he came, through St.
Maurice and Sion, to his home in the valley. But he did not despair.
When the sun rose the next morning, his good spirits had returned;
indeed he had never really lost them. "Babette is at Interlachen,"
said Rudy to himself, "many days' journey from here. It is certainly a
long way for any one who takes the high-road, but not so far if he
takes a short cut across the mountain, and that just suits a
chamois-hunter. I have been that way before, for it leads to the
home of my childhood, where, as a little boy, I lived with my
grandfather. And there are shooting matches at Interlachen. I will go,
and try to stand first in the match. Babette will be there, and I
shall be able to make her acquaintance."

Carrying his light knapsack, which contained his Sunday clothes,
on his back, and with his musket and his game-bag over his shoulder,
Rudy started to take the shortest way across the mountain. Still it
was a great distance. The shooting matches were to commence on that
day, and to continue for a whole week. He had been told also that
the miller and Babette would remain that time with some relatives at
Interlachen. So over the Gemmi Rudy climbed bravely, and determined to
descend the side of the Grindelwald. Bright and joyous were his
feelings as he stepped lightly onwards, inhaling the invigorating
mountain air. The valley sunk as he ascended, the circle of the
horizon expanded. One snow-capped peak after another rose before
him, till the whole of the glittering Alpine range became visible.
Rudy knew each ice-clad peak, and he continued his course towards
the Schreckhorn, with its white powdered stone finger raised high in
the air. At length he had crossed the highest ridges, and before him
lay the green pasture lands sloping down towards the valley, which was
once his home. The buoyancy of the air made his heart light. Hill
and valley were blooming in luxuriant beauty, and his thoughts were
youthful dreams, in which old age or death were out of the question.
Life, power, and enjoyment were in the future, and he felt free and
light as a bird. And the swallows flew round him, as in the days of
his childhood, singing "We and you--you and we." All was overflowing
with joy. Beneath him lay the meadows, covered with velvety green,
with the murmuring river flowing through them, and dotted here and
there were small wooden houses. He could see the edges of the
glaciers, looking like green glass against the soiled snow, and the
deep chasms beneath the loftiest glacier. The church bells were
ringing, as if to welcome him to his home with their sweet tones.
His heart beat quickly, and for a moment he seemed to have
foregotten Babette, so full were his thoughts of old recollections. He
was, in imagination, once more wandering on the road where, when a
little boy, he, with other children, came to sell their curiously
carved toy houses. Yonder, behind the fir-trees, still stood his
grandfather's house, his mother's father, but strangers dwelt in it
now. Children came running to him, as he had once done, and wished
to sell their wares. One of them offered him an Alpine rose. Rudy took
the rose as a good omen, and thought of Babette. He quickly crossed
the bridge where the two rivers flow into each other. Here he found
a walk over-shadowed with large walnut-trees, and their thick
foliage formed a pleasant shade. Very soon he perceived in the
distance, waving flags, on which glittered a white cross on a red
ground--the standard of the Danes as well as of the Swiss--and
before him lay Interlachen.

"It is really a splendid town, like none other that I have ever
seen," said Rudy to himself. It was indeed a Swiss town in its holiday
dress. Not like the many other towns, crowded with heavy stone houses,
stiff and foreign looking. No; here it seemed as if the wooden
houses on the hills had run into the valley, and placed themselves
in rows and ranks by the side of the clear river, which rushes like an
arrow in its course. The streets were rather irregular, it is true,
but still this added to their picturesque appearance. There was one
street which Rudy thought the prettiest of them all; it had been built
since he had visited the town when a little boy. It seemed to him as
if all the neatest and most curiously carved toy houses which his
grandfather once kept in the large cupboard at home, had been
brought out and placed in this spot, and that they had increased in
size since then, as the old chestnut trees had done. The houses were
called hotels; the woodwork on the windows and balconies was curiously
carved. The roofs were gayly painted, and before each house was a
flower garden, which separated it from the macadamized high-road.
These houses all stood on the same side of the road, so that the
fresh, green meadows, in which were cows grazing, with bells on
their necks, were not hidden. The sound of these bells is often
heard amidst Alpine scenery. These meadows were encircled by lofty
hills, which receded a little in the centre, so that the most
beautifully formed of Swiss mountains--the snow-crowned Jungfrau--could
be distinctly seen glittering in the distance. A number of
elegantly dressed gentlemen and ladies from foreign lands, and
crowds of country people from the neighboring cantons, were
assembled in the town. Each marksman wore the number of hits he had
made twisted in a garland round his hat. Here were music and singing
of all descriptions: hand-organs, trumpets, shouting, and noise. The
houses and bridges were adorned with verses and inscriptions. Flags
and banners were waving. Shot after shot was fired, which was the best
music to Rudy's ears. And amidst all this excitement he quite forgot
Babette, on whose account only he had come. The shooters were
thronging round the target, and Rudy was soon amongst them. But when
he took his turn to fire, he proved himself the best shot, for he
always struck the bull's-eye.

"Who may that young stranger be?" was the inquiry on all sides.
"He speaks French as it is spoken in the Swiss cantons."

"And makes himself understood very well when he speaks German,"
said some.

"He lived here, when a child, with his grandfather, in a house
on the road to Grindelwald," remarked one of the sportsmen.

And full of life was this young stranger; his eyes sparkled, his
glance was steady, and his arm sure, therefore he always hit the mark.
Good fortune gives courage, and Rudy was always courageous. He soon
had a circle of friends gathered round him. Every one noticed him, and
did him homage. Babette had quite vanished from his thoughts, when
he was struck on the shoulder by a heavy hand, and a deep voice said
to him in French, "You are from the canton Valais."

Rudy turned round, and beheld a man with a ruddy, pleasant face,
and a stout figure. It was the rich miller from Bex. His broad, portly
person, hid the slender, lovely Babette; but she came forward and
glanced at him with her bright, dark eyes. The rich miller was very
much flattered at the thought that the young man, who was acknowledged
to be the best shot, and was so praised by every one, should be from
his own canton. Now was Rudy really fortunate: he had travelled all
this way to this place, and those he had forgotten were now come to
seek him. When country people go far from home, they often meet with
those they know, and improve their acquaintance. Rudy, by his
shooting, had gained the first place in the shooting-match, just as
the miller at home at Bex stood first, because of his money and his
mill. So the two men shook hands, which they had never done before.
Babette, too, held out her hand to Rudy frankly, and he pressed it
in his, and looked at her so earnestly, that she blushed deeply. The
miller talked of the long journey they had travelled, and of the
many towns they had seen. It was his opinion that he had really made
as great a journey as if he had travelled in a steamship, a railway
carriage, or a post-chaise.

"I came by a much shorter way," said Rudy; "I came over the
mountains. There is no road so high that a man may not venture upon
it."

"Ah, yes; and break your neck," said the miller; "and you look
like one who will break his neck some day, you are so daring."

"Oh, nothing ever happens to a man if he has confidence in
himself," replied Rudy.

The miller's relations at Interlachen, with whom the miller and
Babette were staying, invited Rudy to visit them, when they found he
came from the same canton as the miller. It was a most pleasant visit.
Good fortune seemed to follow him, as it does those who think and
act for themselves, and who remember the proverb, "Nuts are given to
us, but they are not cracked for us." And Rudy was treated by the
miller's relations almost like one of the family, and glasses of
wine were poured out to drink to the welfare of the best shooter.
Babette clinked glasses with Rudy, and he returned thanks for the
toast. In the evening they all took a delightful walk under the
walnut-trees, in front of the stately hotels; there were so many
people, and such crowding, that Rudy was obliged to offer his arm to
Babette. Then he told her how happy it made him to meet people from
the canton Vaud,--for Vaud and Valais were neighboring cantons. He
spoke of this pleasure so heartily that Babette could not resist
giving his arm a slight squeeze; and so they walked on together, and
talked and chatted like old acquaintances. Rudy felt inclined to laugh
sometimes at the absurd dress and walk of the foreign ladies; but
Babette did not wish to make fun of them, for she knew there must be
some good, excellent people amongst them; she, herself, had a
godmother, who was a high-born English lady. Eighteen years before,
when Babette was christened, this lady was staying at Bex, and she
stood godmother for her, and gave her the valuable brooch she now wore
in her bosom.

Her godmother had twice written to her, and this year she was
expected to visit Interlachen with her two daughters; "but they are
old-maids," added Babette, who was only eighteen: "they are nearly
thirty." Her sweet little mouth was never still a moment, and all that
she said sounded in Rudy's ears as matters of the greatest importance,
and at last he told her what he was longing to tell. How often he
had been at Bex, how well he knew the mill, and how often he had
seen Babette, when most likely she had not noticed him; and lastly,
that full of many thoughts which he could not tell her, he had been to
the mill on the evening when she and her father has started on their
long journey, but not too far for him to find a way to overtake
them. He told her all this, and a great deal more; he told her how
much he could endure for her; and that it was to see her, and not
the shooting-match, which had brought him to Interlachen. Babette
became quite silent after hearing all this; it was almost too much,
and it troubled her.

And while they thus wandered on, the sun sunk behind the lofty
mountains. The Jungfrau stood out in brightness and splendor, as a
back-ground to the green woods of the surrounding hills. Every one
stood still to look at the beautiful sight, Rudy and Babette among
them.

"Nothing can be more beautiful than this," said Babette.

"Nothing!" replied Rudy, looking at Babette.

"To-morrow I must return home," remarked Rudy a few minutes
afterwards.

"Come and visit us at Bex," whispered Babette; "my father will
be pleased to see you."



Oh, what a number of things Rudy had to carry over the
mountains, when he set out to return home! He had three silver cups,
two handsome pistols, and a silver coffee-pot. This latter would be
useful when he began housekeeping. But all these were not the heaviest
weight he had to bear; something mightier and more important he
carried with him in his heart, over the high mountains, as he
journeyed homeward.

The weather was dismally dark, and inclined to rain; the clouds
hung low, like a mourning veil on the tops of the mountains, and
shrouded their glittering peaks. In the woods could be heard the sound
of the axe and the heavy fall of the trunks of the trees, as they
rolled down the slopes of the mountains. When seen from the heights,
the trunks of these trees looked like slender stems; but on a nearer
inspection they were found to be large and strong enough for the masts
of a ship. The river murmured monotonously, the wind whistled, and the
clouds sailed along hurriedly.

Suddenly there appeared, close by Rudy's side, a young maiden;
he had not noticed her till she came quite near to him. She was also
going to ascend the mountain. The maiden's eyes shone with an
unearthly power, which obliged you to look into them; they were
strange eyes,--clear, deep, and unfathomable.

"Hast thou a lover?" asked Rudy; all his thoughts were naturally
on love just then.

"I have none," answered the maiden, with a laugh; it was as if she
had not spoken the truth.

"Do not let us go such a long way round," said she. "We must
keep to the left; it is much shorter."

"Ah, yes," he replied; "and fall into some crevasse. Do you
pretend to be a guide, and not know the road better than that?"

"I know every step of the way," said she; "and my thoughts are
collected, while yours are down in the valley yonder. We should
think of the Ice Maiden while we are up here; men say she is not
kind to their race."

"I fear her not," said Rudy. "She could not keep me when I was a
child; I will not give myself up to her now I am a man."

Darkness came on, the rain fell, and then it began to snow, and
the whiteness dazzled the eyes.

"Give me your hand," said the maiden; "I will help you to
mount." And he felt the touch of her icy fingers.

"You help me," cried Rudy; "I do not yet require a woman to help
me to climb." And he stepped quickly forwards away from her.

The drifting snow-shower fell like a veil between them, the wind
whistled, and behind him he could hear the maiden laughing and
singing, and the sound was most strange to hear.

"It certainly must be a spectre or a servant of the Ice Maiden,"
thought Rudy, who had heard such things talked about when he was a
little boy, and had stayed all night on the mountain with the guides.

The snow fell thicker than ever, the clouds lay beneath him; he
looked back, there was no one to be seen, but he heard sounds of
mocking laughter, which were not those of a human voice.

When Rudy at length reached the highest part of the mountain,
where the path led down to the valley of the Rhone, the snow had
ceased, and in the clear heavens he saw two bright stars twinkling.
They reminded him of Babette and of himself, and of his future
happiness, and his heart glowed at the thought.



"What beautiful things you have brought home!" said his old
foster-mother; and her strange-looking eagle-eyes sparkled, while
she wriggled and twisted her skinny neck more quickly and strangely
than ever. "You have brought good luck with you, Rudy. I must give you
a kiss, my dear boy."

Rudy allowed himself to be kissed; but it could be seen by his
countenance that he only endured the infliction as a homely duty.

"How handsome you are, Rudy!" said the old woman.

"Don't flatter," said Rudy, with a laugh; but still he was
pleased.

"I must say once more," said the old woman, "that you are very
lucky."

"Well, in that I believe you are right," said he, as he thought of
Babette. Never had he felt such a longing for that deep valley as he
now had. "They must have returned home by this time," said he to
himself, "it is already two days over the time which they fixed
upon. I must go to Bex."

So Rudy set out to go to Bex; and when he arrived there, he
found the miller and his daughter at home. They received him kindly,
and brought him many greetings from their friends at Interlachen.
Babette did not say much. She seemed to have become quite silent;
but her eyes spoke, and that was quite enough for Rudy. The miller had
generally a great deal to talk about, and seemed to expect that
every one should listen to his jokes, and laugh at them; for was not
he the rich miller? But now he was more inclined to hear Rudy's
adventures while hunting and travelling, and to listen to his
descriptions of the difficulties the chamois-hunter has to overcome on
the mountain-tops, or of the dangerous snow-drifts which the wind
and weather cause to cling to the edges of the rocks, or to lie in the
form of a frail bridge over the abyss beneath. The eyes of the brave
Rudy sparkled as he described the life of a hunter, or spoke of the
cunning of the chamois and their wonderful leaps; also of the powerful
fohn and the rolling avalanche. He noticed that the more he described,
the more interested the miller became, especially when he spoke of the
fierce vulture and of the royal eagle. Not far from Bex, in the canton
Valais, was an eagle's nest, more curiously built under a high,
over-hanging rock. In this nest was a young eagle; but who would
venture to take it? A young Englishman had offered Rudy a whole
handful of gold, if he would bring him the young eagle alive.

"There is a limit to everything," was Rudy's reply. "The eagle
could not be taken; it would be folly to attempt it."

The wine was passed round freely, and the conversation kept up
pleasantly; but the evening seemed too short for Rudy, although it was
midnight when he left the miller's house, after this his first visit.

While the lights in the windows of the miller's house still
twinkled through the green foliage, out through the open skylight came
the parlor-cat on to the roof, and along the water-pipe walked the
kitchen-cat to meet her.

"What is the news at the mill?" asked the parlor-cat. "Here in the
house there is secret love-making going on, which the father knows
nothing about. Rudy and Babette have been treading on each other's
paws, under the table, all the evening. They trod on my tail twice,
but I did not mew; that would have attracted notice."

"Well, I should have mewed," said the kitchen-cat.

"What might suit the kitchen would not suit the parlor," said
the other. "I am quite curious to know what the miller will say when
he finds out this engagement."

Yes, indeed; what would the miller say? Rudy himself was anxious
to know that; but to wait till the miller heard of it from others
was out of the question. Therefore, not many days after this visit, he
was riding in the omnibus that runs between the two cantons, Valais
and Vaud. These cantons are separated by the Rhone, over which is a
bridge that unites them. Rudy, as usual, had plenty of courage, and
indulged in pleasant thoughts of the favorable answer he should
receive that evening. And when the omnibus returned, Rudy was again
seated in it, going homewards; and at the same time the parlor-cat
at the miller's house ran out quickly, crying,--

"Here, you from the kitchen, what do you think? The miller knows
all now. Everything has come to a delightful end. Rudy came here
this evening, and he and Babette had much whispering and secret
conversation together. They stood in the path near the miller's
room. I lay at their feet; but they had no eyes or thoughts for me.

"'I will go to your father at once,' said he; 'it is the most
honorable way.'

"'Shall I go with you?' asked Babette; 'it will give you courage.'

"'I have plenty of courage,' said Rudy; 'but if you are with me,
he must be friendly, whether he says Yes or No.'

"So they turned to go in, and Rudy trod heavily on my tail; he
certainly is very clumsy. I mewed; but neither he nor Babette had
any ears for me. They opened the door, and entered together. I was
before them, and jumped on the back of a chair. I hardly know what
Rudy said; but the miller flew into a rage, and threatened to kick him
out of the house. He told him he might go to the mountains, and look
after the chamois, but not after our little Babette."

"And what did they say? Did they speak?" asked the kitchen-cat.

"What did they say! why, all that people generally do say when
they go a-wooing--'I love her, and she loves me; and when there is
milk in the can for one, there is milk in the can for two.'

"'But she is so far above you,' said the miller; 'she has heaps of
gold, as you know. You should not attempt to reach her.'

"'There is nothing so high that a man cannot reach, if he will,'
answered Rudy; for he is a brave youth.

"'Yet you could not reach the young eagle,' said the miller,
laughing. 'Babette is higher than the eagle's nest.'

"'I will have them both,' said Rudy.

"'Very well; I will give her to you when you bring me the young
eaglet alive,' said the miller; and he laughed till the tears stood in
his eyes. 'But now I thank you for this visit, Rudy; and if you come
to-morrow, you will find nobody at home. Good-bye, Rudy.'

"Babette also wished him farewell; but her voice sounded as
mournful as the mew of a little kitten that has lost its mother.

"'A promise is a promise between man and man,' said Rudy. 'Do
not weep, Babette; I shall bring the young eagle.'

"'You will break your neck, I hope,' said the miller, 'and we
shall be relieved from your company.'

"I call that kicking him out of the house," said the parlor-cat.
"And now Rudy is gone, and Babette sits and weeps, while the miller
sings German songs that he learnt on his journey; but I do not trouble
myself on the matter,--it would be of no use."

"Yet, for all that, it is a very strange affair," said the
kitchen-cat.



From the mountain-path came a joyous sound of some person
whistling, and it betokened good humor and undaunted courage. It was
Rudy, going to meet his friend Vesinaud. "You must come and help,"
said he. "I want to carry off the young eaglet from the top of the
rock. We will take young Ragli with us."

"Had you not better first try to take down the moon? That would be
quite as easy a task," said Vesinaud. "You seem to be in good
spirits."

"Yes, indeed I am. I am thinking of my wedding. But to be serious,
I will tell you all about it, and how I am situated."

Then he explained to Vesinaud and Ragli what he wished to do,
and why.

"You are a daring fellow," said they; "but it is no use; you
will break your neck."

"No one falls, unless he is afraid," said Rudy.

So at midnight they set out, carrying with them poles, ladders,
and ropes. The road lay amidst brushwood and underwood, over rolling
stones, always upwards higher and higher in the dark night. Waters
roared beneath them, or fell in cascades from above. Humid clouds were
driving through the air as the hunters reached the precipitous ledge
of the rock. It was even darker here, for the sides of the rocks
almost met, and the light penetrated only through a small opening at
the top. At a little distance from the edge could be heard the sound
of the roaring, foaming waters in the yawning abyss beneath them.
The three seated themselves on a stone, to await in stillness the dawn
of day, when the parent eagle would fly out, as it would be
necessary to shoot the old bird before they could think of gaining
possession of the young one. Rudy sat motionless, as if he had been
part of the stone on which he sat. He held his gun ready to fire, with
his eyes fixed steadily on the highest point of the cliff, where the
eagle's nest lay concealed beneath the overhanging rock.

The three hunters had a long time to wait. At last they heard a
rustling, whirring sound above them, and a large hovering object
darkened the air. Two guns were ready to aim at the dark body of the
eagle as it rose from the nest. Then a shot was fired; for an
instant the bird fluttered its wide-spreading wings, and seemed as
if it would fill up the whole of the chasm, and drag down the
hunters in its fall. But it was not so; the eagle sunk gradually
into the abyss beneath, and the branches of trees and bushes were
broken by its weight. Then the hunters roused themselves: three of the
longest ladders were brought and bound together; the topmost ring of
these ladders would just reach the edge of the rock which hung over
the abyss, but no farther. The point beneath which the eagle's nest
lay sheltered was much higher, and the sides of the rock were as
smooth as a wall. After consulting together, they determined to bind
together two more ladders, and to hoist them over the cavity, and so
form a communication with the three beneath them, by binding the upper
ones to the lower. With great difficulty they contrived to drag the
two ladders over the rock, and there they hung for some moments,
swaying over the abyss; but no sooner had they fastened them together,
than Rudy placed his foot on the lowest step.

It was a bitterly cold morning; clouds of mist were rising from
beneath, and Rudy stood on the lower step of the ladder as a fly rests
on a piece of swinging straw, which a bird may have dropped from the
edge of the nest it was building on some tall factory chimney; but the
fly could fly away if the straw were shaken, Rudy could only break his
neck. The wind whistled around him, and beneath him the waters of
the abyss, swelled by the thawing of the glaciers, those palaces of
the Ice Maiden, foamed and roared in their rapid course. When Rudy
began to ascend, the ladder trembled like the web of the spider,
when it draws out the long, delicate threads; but as soon as he
reached the fourth of the ladders, which had been bound together, he
felt more confidence,--he knew that they had been fastened securely by
skilful hands. The fifth ladder, that appeared to reach the nest,
was supported by the sides of the rock, yet it swung to and fro, and
flapped about like a slender reed, and as if it had been bound by
fishing lines. It seemed a most dangerous undertaking to ascend it,
but Rudy knew how to climb; he had learnt that from the cat, and he
had no fear. He did not observe Vertigo, who stood in the air behind
him, trying to lay hold of him with his outstretched polypous arms.

When at length he stood on the topmost step of the ladder, he
found that he was still some distance below the nest, and not even
able to see into it. Only by using his hands and climbing could he
possibly reach it. He tried the strength of the stunted trees, and the
thick underwood upon which the nest rested, and of which it was
formed, and finding they would support his weight, he grasped them
firmly, and swung himself up from the ladder till his head and
breast were above the nest, and then what an overpowering stench
came from it, for in it lay the putrid remains of lambs, chamois,
and birds. Vertigo, although he could not reach him, blew the
poisonous vapor in his face, to make him giddy and faint; and beneath,
in the dark, yawning deep, on the rushing waters, sat the Ice
Maiden, with her long, pale, green hair falling around her, and her
death-like eyes fixed upon him, like the two barrels of a gun. "I have
thee now," she cried.

In a corner of the eagle's nest sat the young eaglet, a large
and powerful bird, though still unable to fly. Rudy fixed his eyes
upon it, held on by one hand with all his strength, and with the other
threw a noose round the young eagle. The string slipped to its legs.
Rudy tightened it, and thus secured the bird alive. Then flinging
the sling over his shoulder, so that the creature hung a good way down
behind him, he prepared to descend with the help of a rope, and his
foot soon touched safely the highest step of the ladder. Then Rudy,
remembering his early lesson in climbing, "Hold fast, and do not
fear," descended carefully down the ladders, and at last stood
safely on the ground with the young living eaglet, where he was
received with loud shouts of joy and congratulations.



"There is what you asked for," said Rudy, as he entered the
miller's house at Bex, and placed on the floor a large basket. He
removed the lid as he spoke, and a pair of yellow eyes, encircled by a
black ring, stared forth with a wild, fiery glance, that seemed
ready to burn and destroy all that came in its way. Its short,
strong beak was open, ready to bite, and on its red throat were
short feathers, like stubble.

"The young eaglet!" cried the miller.

Babette screamed, and started back, while her eyes wandered from
Rudy to the bird in astonishment.

"You are not to be discouraged by difficulties, I see," said the
miller.

"And you will keep your word," replied Rudy. "Each has his own
characteristic, whether it is honor or courage."

"But how is it you did not break your neck?" asked the miller.

"Because I held fast," answered Rudy; "and I mean to hold fast
to Babette."

"You must get her first," said the miller, laughing; and Babette
thought this a very good sign.

"We must take the bird out of the basket," said she. "It is
getting into a rage; how its eyes glare. How did you manage to conquer
it?"

Then Rudy had to describe his adventure, and the miller's eyes
opened wide as he listened.

"With your courage and your good fortune you might win three
wives," said the miller.

"Oh, thank you," cried Rudy.

"But you have not won Babette yet," said the miller, slapping
the young Alpine hunter on the shoulder playfully.

"Have you heard the fresh news at the mill?" asked the
parlor-cat of the kitchen-cat. "Rudy has brought us the young eagle,
and he is to take Babette in exchange. They kissed each other in the
presence of the old man, which is as good as an engagement. He was
quite civil about it; drew in his claws, and took his afternoon nap,
so that the two were left to sit and wag their tails as much as they
pleased. They have so much to talk about that it will not be
finished till Christmas." Neither was it finished till Christmas.

The wind whirled the faded, fallen leaves; the snow drifted in the
valleys, as well as upon the mountains, and the Ice Maiden sat in
the stately palace which, in winter time, she generally occupied.
The perpendicular rocks were covered with slippery ice, and where in
summer the stream from the rocks had left a watery veil, icicles large
and heavy hung from the trees, while the snow-powdered fir-trees
were decorated with fantastic garlands of crystal. The Ice Maiden rode
on the howling wind across the deep valleys, the country, as far as
Bex, was covered with a carpet of snow, so that the Ice Maiden could
follow Rudy, and see him, when he visited the mill; and while in the
room at the miller's house, where he was accustomed to spend so much
of his time with Babette. The wedding was to take place in the
following summer, and they heard enough of it, for so many of their
friends spoke of the matter.

Then came sunshine to the mill. The beautiful Alpine roses
bloomed, and joyous, laughing Babette, was like the early spring,
which makes all the birds sing of summer time and bridal days.

"How those two do sit and chatter together," said the
parlor-cat; "I have had enough of their mewing."



The walnut and chestnut trees, which extend from the bridge of St.
Maurice, by the river Rhone, to the shores of the lake of Geneva, were
already covered with the delicate green garlands of early spring, just
bursting into bloom, while the Rhone rushed wildly from its source
among the green glaciers which form the ice palace of the Ice
Maiden. She sometimes allows herself to be carried by the keen wind to
the lofty snow-fields, where she stretches herself in the sunshine
on the soft snowy-cushions. From thence she throws her far-seeing
glance into the deep valley beneath, where human beings are busily
moving about like ants on a stone in the sun. "Spirits of strength, as
the children of the sun call you," cried the Ice Maiden, "ye are but
worms! Let but a snow-ball roll, and you and your houses and your
towns are crushed and swept away." And she raised her proud head,
and looked around her with eyes that flashed death from their
glance. From the valley came a rumbling sound; men were busily at work
blasting the rocks to form tunnels, and laying down roads for the
railway. "They are playing at work underground, like moles," said she.
"They are digging passages beneath the earth, and the noise is like
the reports of cannons. I shall throw down my palaces, for the
clamor is louder than the roar of thunder." Then there ascended from
the valley a thick vapor, which waved itself in the air like a
fluttering veil. It rose, as a plume of feathers, from a steam engine,
to which, on the lately-opened railway, a string of carriages was
linked, carriage to carriage, looking like a winding serpent. The
train shot past with the speed of an arrow. "They play at being
masters down there, those spirits of strength!" exclaimed the Ice
Maiden; "but the powers of nature are still the rulers." And she
laughed and sang till her voice sounded through the valley, and people
said it was the rolling of an avalanche. But the children of the sun
sang in louder strains in praise of the mind of man, which can span
the sea as with a yoke, can level mountains, and fill up valleys. It
is the power of thought which gives man the mastery over nature.

Just at this moment there came across the snow-field, where the
Ice Maiden sat, a party of travellers. They had bound themselves
fast to each other, so that they looked like one large body on the
slippery plains of ice encircling the deep abyss.

"Worms!" exclaimed the Ice Maiden. "You, the lords of the powers
of nature!" And she turned away and looked maliciously at the deep
valley where the railway train was rushing by. "There they sit,
these thoughts!" she exclaimed. "There they sit in their power over
nature's strength. I see them all. One sits proudly apart, like a
king; others sit together in a group; yonder, half of them are asleep;
and when the steam dragon stops, they will get out and go their way.
The thoughts go forth into the world," and she laughed.

"There goes another avalanche," said those in the valley beneath.

"It will not reach us," said two who sat together behind the steam
dragon. "Two hearts and one beat," as people say. They were Rudy and
Babette, and the miller was with them. "I am like the luggage," said
he; "I am here as a necessary appendage."

"There sit those two," said the Ice Maiden. "Many a chamois have I
crushed. Millions of Alpine roses have I snapped and broken off; not a
root have I spared. I know them all, and their thoughts, those spirits
of strength!" and again she laughed.

"There rolls another avalanche," said those in the valley.



At Montreux, one of the towns which encircle the northeast part of
the lake of Geneva, lived Babette's godmother, the noble English lady,
with her daughters and a young relative. They had only lately arrived,
yet the miller had paid them a visit, and informed them of Babette's
engagement to Rudy. The whole story of their meeting at Interlachen,
and his brave adventure with the eaglet, were related to them, and
they were all very much interested, and as pleased about Rudy and
Babette as the miller himself. The three were invited to come to
Montreux; it was but right for Babette to become acquainted with her
godmother, who wished to see her very much. A steam-boat started
from the town of Villeneuve, at one end of the lake of Geneva, and
arrived at Bernex, a little town beyond Montreux, in about half an
hour. And in this boat, the miller, with his daughter and Rudy, set
out to visit her godmother. They passed the coast which has been so
celebrated in song. Here, under the walnut-trees, by the deep blue
lake, sat Byron, and wrote his melodious verses about the prisoner
confined in the gloomy castle of Chillon. Here, where Clarens, with
its weeping-willows, is reflected in the clear water, wandered
Rousseau, dreaming of Heloise. The river Rhone glides gently by
beneath the lofty snow-capped hills of Savoy, and not far from its
mouth lies a little island in the lake, so small that, seen from the
shore, it looks like a ship. The surface of the island is rocky; and
about a hundred years ago, a lady caused the ground to be covered with
earth, in which three acacia-trees were planted, and the whole
enclosed with stone walls. The acacia-trees now overshadow every
part of the island. Babette was enchanted with the spot; it seemed
to her the most beautiful object in the whole voyage, and she
thought how much she should like to land there. But the steam-ship
passed it by, and did not stop till it reached Bernex. The little
party walked slowly from this place to Montreux, passing the sun-lit
walls with which the vineyards of the little mountain town of Montreux
are surrounded, and peasants' houses, overshadowed by fig-trees,
with gardens in which grow the laurel and the cypress.

Halfway up the hill stood the boarding-house in which Babette's
godmother resided. She was received most cordially; her godmother
was a very friendly woman, with a round, smiling countenance. When a
child, her head must have resembled one of Raphael's cherubs; it was
still an angelic face, with its white locks of silvery hair. The
daughters were tall, elegant, slender maidens.

The young cousin, whom they had brought with them, was dressed
in white from head to foot; he had golden hair and golden whiskers,
large enough to be divided amongst three gentlemen; and he began
immediately to pay the greatest attention to Babette.

Richly bound books, note-paper, and drawings, lay on the large
table. The balcony window stood open, and from it could be seen the
beautiful wide extended lake, the water so clear and still, that the
mountains of Savoy, with their villages, woods, and snow-crowned
peaks, were clearly reflected in it.

Rudy, who was usually so lively and brave, did not in the least
feel himself at home; he acted as if he were walking on peas, over a
slippery floor. How long and wearisome the time appeared; it was
like being in a treadmill. And then they went out for a walk, which
was very slow and tedious. Two steps forward and one backwards had
Rudy to take to keep pace with the others. They walked down to
Chillon, and went over the old castle on the rocky island. They saw
the implements of torture, the deadly dungeons, the rusty fetters in
the rocky walls, the stone benches for those condemned to death, the
trap-doors through which the unhappy creatures were hurled upon iron
spikes, and impaled alive. They called looking at all these a
pleasure. It certainly was the right place to visit. Byron's poetry
had made it celebrated in the world. Rudy could only feel that it
was a place of execution. He leaned against the stone framework of the
window, and gazed down into the deep, blue water, and over to the
little island with the three acacias, and wished himself there, away
and free from the whole chattering party. But Babette was most
unusually lively and good-tempered.

"I have been so amused," she said.

The cousin had found her quite perfect.

"He is a perfect fop," said Rudy; and this was the first time Rudy
had said anything that did not please Babette.

The Englishman had made her a present of a little book, in
remembrance of their visit to Chillon. It was Byron's poem, "The
Prisoner of Chillon," translated into French, so that Babette could
read it.

"The book may be very good," said Rudy; "but that finely combed
fellow who gave it to you is not worth much."

"He looks something like a flour-sack without any flour," said the
miller, laughing at his own wit. Rudy laughed, too, for so had he
appeared to him.



When Rudy went a few days after to pay a visit to the mill, he
found the young Englishman there. Babette was just thinking of
preparing some trout to set before him. She understood well how to
garnish the dish with parsley, and make it look quite tempting. Rudy
thought all this quite unnecessary. What did the Englishman want
there? What was he about? Why should he be entertained, and waited
upon by Babette? Rudy was jealous, and that made Babette happy. It
amused her to discover all the feelings of his heart; the strong
points and weak ones. Love was to her as yet only a pastime, and she
played with Rudy's whole heart. At the same time it must be
acknowledged that her fortune, her whole life, her inmost thoughts,
her best and most noble feelings in this world were all for him. Still
the more gloomy he looked, the more her eyes laughed. She could almost
have kissed the fair Englishman, with the golden whiskers, if by so
doing she could have put Rudy in a rage, and made him run out of the
house. That would have proved how much he loved her. All this was
not right in Babette, but she was only nineteen years of age, and
she did not reflect on what she did, neither did she think that her
conduct would appear to the young Englishman as light, and not even
becoming the modest and much-loved daughter of the miller.

The mill at Bex stood in the highway, which passed under the
snow-clad mountains, and not far from a rapid mountain-stream, whose
waters seemed to have been lashed into a foam like soap-suds. This
stream, however, did not pass near enough to the mill, and therefore
the mill-wheel was turned by a smaller stream which tumbled down the
rocks on the opposite side, where it was opposed by a stone
mill-dam, and obtained greater strength and speed, till it fell into a
large basin, and from thence through a channel to the mill-wheel. This
channel sometimes overflowed, and made the path so slippery that any
one passing that way might easily fall in, and be carried towards
the mill wheel with frightful rapidity. Such a catastrophe nearly
happened to the young Englishman. He had dressed himself in white
clothes, like a miller's man, and was climbing the path to the
miller's house, but he had never been taught to climb, and therefore
slipped, and nearly went in head-foremost. He managed, however, to
scramble out with wet sleeves and bespattered trousers. Still, wet and
splashed with mud, he contrived to reach Babette's window, to which he
had been guided by the light that shone from it. Here he climbed the
old linden-tree that stood near it, and began to imitate the voice
of an owl, the only bird he could venture to mimic. Babette heard
the noise, and glanced through the thin window curtain; but when she
saw the man in white, and guessed who he was, her little heart beat
with terror as well as anger. She quickly put out the light, felt if
the fastening of the window was secure, and then left him to howl as
long as he liked. How dreadful it would be, thought Babette, if Rudy
were here in the house. But Rudy was not in the house. No, it was much
worse, he was outside, standing just under the linden-tree. He was
speaking loud, angry words. He could fight, and there might be murder!
Babette opened the window in alarm, and called Rudy's name; she told
him to go away, she did not wish him to remain there.

"You do not wish me to stay," cried he; "then this is an
appointment you expected--this good friend whom you prefer to me.
Shame on you, Babette!"

"You are detestable!" exclaimed Babette, bursting into tears.
"Go away. I hate you."

"I have not deserved this," said Rudy, as he turned away, his
cheeks burning, and his heart like fire.

Babette threw herself on the bed, and wept bitterly. "So much as I
loved thee, Rudy, and yet thou canst think ill of me."

Thus her anger broke forth; it relieved her, however: otherwise
she would have been more deeply grieved; but now she could sleep
soundly, as youth only can sleep.



Rudy left Bex, and took his way home along the mountain path.
The air was fresh, but cold; for here amidst the deep snow, the Ice
Maiden reigned. He was so high up that the large trees beneath him,
with their thick foliage, appeared like garden plants, and the pines
and bushes even less. The Alpine roses grew near the snow, which lay
in detached stripes, and looked like linen laid out to bleach. A
blue gentian grew in his path, and he crushed it with the butt end
of his gun. A little higher up, he espied two chamois. Rudy's eyes
glistened, and his thoughts flew at once in a different direction; but
he was not near enough to take a sure aim. He ascended still higher,
to a spot where a few rough blades of grass grew between the blocks of
stone and the chamois passed quietly on over the snow-fields. Rudy
walked hurriedly, while the clouds of mist gathered round him.
Suddenly he found himself on the brink of a precipitous rock. The rain
was falling in torrents. He felt a burning thirst, his head was hot,
and his limbs trembled with cold. He seized his hunting-flask, but
it was empty; he had not thought of filling it before ascending the
mountain. He had never been ill in his life, nor ever experienced such
sensations as those he now felt. He was so tired that he could
scarcely resist lying down at his full length to sleep, although the
ground was flooded with the rain. Yet when he tried to rouse himself a
little, every object around him danced and trembled before his eyes.

Suddenly he observed in the doorway of a hut newly built under the
rock, a young maiden. He did not remember having seen this hut before,
yet there it stood; and he thought, at first, that the young maiden
was Annette, the schoolmaster's daughter, whom he had once kissed in
the dance. The maiden was not Annette; yet it seemed as if he had seen
her somewhere before, perhaps near Grindelwald, on the evening of
his return home from Interlachen, after the shooting-match.

"How did you come here?" he asked.

"I am at home," she replied; "I am watching my flocks."

"Your flocks!" he exclaimed; "where do they find pasture? There is
nothing here but snow and rocks."

"Much you know of what grows here," she replied, laughing. "Not
far beneath us there is beautiful pasture-land. My goats go there. I
tend them carefully; I never miss one. What is once mine remains
mine."

"You are bold," said Rudy.

"And so are you," she answered.

"Have you any milk in the house?" he asked; "if so, give me some
to drink; my thirst is intolerable."

"I have something better than milk," she replied, "which I will
give you. Some travellers who were here yesterday with their guide
left behind them a half a flask of wine, such as you have never
tasted. They will not come back to fetch it, I know, and I shall not
drink it; so you shall have it."

Then the maiden went to fetch the wine, poured some into a
wooden cup, and offered it to Rudy.

"How good it is!" said he; "I have never before tasted such
warm, invigorating wine." And his eyes sparkled with new life; a
glow diffused itself over his frame; it seemed as if every sorrow,
every oppression were banished from his mind, and a fresh, free nature
were stirring within him. "You are surely Annette, the schoolmaster's
daughter," cried he; "will you give me a kiss?"

"Yes, if you will give me that beautiful ring which you wear on
your finger."

"My betrothal ring?" he replied.

"Yes, just so," said the maiden, as she poured out some more wine,
and held it to his lips. Again he drank, and a living joy streamed
through every vein.

"The whole world is mine, why therefore should I grieve?"
thought he. "Everything is created for our enjoyment and happiness.
The stream of life is a stream of happiness; let us flow on with it to
joy and felicity."

Rudy gazed on the young maiden; it was Annette, and yet it was not
Annette; still less did he suppose it was the spectral phantom, whom
he had met near Grindelwald. The maiden up here on the mountain was
fresh as the new fallen snow, blooming as an Alpine rose, and as
nimble-footed as a young kid. Still, she was one of Adam's race,
like Rudy. He flung his arms round the beautiful being, and gazed into
her wonderfully clear eyes,--only for a moment; but in that moment
words cannot express the effect of his gaze. Was it the spirit of life
or of death that overpowered him? Was he rising higher, or sinking
lower and lower into the deep, deadly abyss? He knew not; but the
walls of ice shone like blue-green glass; innumerable clefts yawned
around him, and the water-drops tinkled like the chiming of church
bells, and shone clearly as pearls in the light of a pale-blue
flame. The Ice Maiden, for she it was, kissed him, and her kiss sent a
chill as of ice through his whole frame. A cry of agony escaped from
him; he struggled to get free, and tottered from her. For a moment all
was dark before his eyes, but when he opened them again it was
light, and the Alpine maiden had vanished. The powers of evil had
played their game; the sheltering hut was no more to be seen. The
water trickled down the naked sides of the rocks, and snow lay thickly
all around. Rudy shivered with cold; he was wet through to the skin;
and his ring was gone,--the betrothal ring that Babette had given him.
His gun lay near him in the snow; he took it up and tried to discharge
it, but it missed fire. Heavy clouds lay on the mountain clefts,
like firm masses of snow. Upon one of these Vertigo sat, lurking after
his powerless prey, and from beneath came a sound as if a piece of
rock had fallen from the cleft, and was crushing everything that stood
in its way or opposed its course.

But, at the miller's, Babette sat alone and wept. Rudy had not
been to see her for six days. He who was in the wrong, and who ought
to ask her forgiveness; for did she not love him with her whole heart?



"What strange creatures human beings are," said the parlor-cat
to the kitchen-cat; "Babette and Rudy have fallen out with each other.
She sits and cries, and he thinks no more about her."

"That does not please me to hear," said the kitchen-cat.

"Nor me either," replied the parlor-cat; "but I do not take it
to heart. Babette may fall in love with the red whiskers, if she
likes, but he has not been here since he tried to get on the roof."

The powers of evil carry on their game both around us and within
us. Rudy knew this, and thought a great deal about it. What was it
that had happened to him on the mountain? Was it really a ghostly
apparition, or a fever dream? Rudy knew nothing of fever, or any other
ailment. But, while he judged Babette, he began to examine his own
conduct. He had allowed wild thoughts to chase each other in his
heart, and a fierce tornado to break loose. Could he confess to
Babette, indeed, every thought which in the hour of temptation might
have led him to wrong doing? He had lost her ring, and that very
loss had won him back to her. Could she expect him to confess? He felt
as if his heart would break while he thought of it, and while so
many memories lingered on his mind. He saw her again, as she once
stood before him, a laughing, spirited child; many loving words, which
she had spoken to him out of the fulness of her love, came like a
ray of sunshine into his heart, and soon it was all sunshine as he
thought of Babette. But she must also confess she was wrong; that
she should do.

He went to the mill--he went to confession. It began with a
kiss, and ended with Rudy being considered the offender. It was such a
great fault to doubt Babette's truth--it was most abominable of him.
Such mistrust, such violence, would cause them both great unhappiness.
This certainly was very true, she knew that; and therefore Babette
preached him a little sermon, with which she was herself much
amused, and during the preaching of which she looked quite lovely. She
acknowledged, however, that on one point Rudy was right. Her
godmother's nephew was a fop: she intended to burn the book which he
had given her, so that not the slightest thing should remain to remind
her of him.

"Well, that quarrel is all over," said the kitchen-cat. "Rudy is
come back, and they are friends again, which they say is the
greatest of all pleasures."

"I heard the rats say one night," said the kitchen-cat, "that
the greatest pleasure in the world was to eat tallow candles and to
feast on rancid bacon. Which are we to believe, the rats or the
lovers?"

"Neither of them," said the parlor-cat; "it is always the safest
plan to believe nothing you hear."

The greatest happiness was coming for Rudy and Babette. The
happy day, as it is called, that is, their wedding-day, was near at
hand. They were not to be married at the church at Bex, nor at the
miller's house; Babette's godmother wished the nuptials to be
solemnized at Montreux, in the pretty little church in that town.
The miller was very anxious that this arrangement should be agreed to.
He alone knew what the newly-married couple would receive from
Babette's godmother, and he knew also that it was a wedding present
well worth a concession. The day was fixed, and they were to travel as
far as Villeneuve the evening before, to be in time for the steamer
which sailed in the morning for Montreux, and the godmother's
daughters were to dress and adorn the bride.

"Here in this house there ought to be a wedding-day kept," said
the parlor-cat, "or else I would not give a mew for the whole affair."

"There is going to be great feasting," replied the kitchen-cat.
"Ducks and pigeons have been killed, and a whole roebuck hangs on
the wall. It makes me lick my lips when I think of it."

"To-morrow morning they will begin the journey."

Yes, to-morrow! And this evening, for the last time, Rudy and
Babette sat in the miller's house as an engaged couple. Outside, the
Alps glowed in the evening sunset, the evening bells chimed, and the
children of the sunbeam sang, "Whatever happens is best."



The sun had gone down, and the clouds lay low on the valley of the
Rhone. The wind blew from the south across the mountains; it was an
African wind, a wind which scattered the clouds for a moment, and then
suddenly fell. The broken clouds hung in fantastic forms upon the
wood-covered hills by the rapid Rhone. They assumed the shapes of
antediluvian animals, of eagles hovering in the air, of frogs
leaping over a marsh, and then sunk down upon the rushing stream and
appeared to sail upon it, although floating in the air. An uprooted
fir-tree was being carried away by the current, and marking out its
path by eddying circles on the water. Vertigo and his sisters were
dancing upon it, and raising these circles on the foaming river. The
moon lighted up the snow on the mountain-tops, shone on the dark
woods, and on the drifting clouds those fantastic forms which at night
might be taken for spirits of the powers of nature. The
mountain-dweller saw them through the panes of his little window. They
sailed in hosts before the Ice Maiden as she came out of her palace of
ice. Then she seated herself on the trunk of the fir-tree as on a
broken skiff, and the water from the glaciers carried her down the
river to the open lake.

"The wedding guests are coming," sounded from air and sea. These
were the sights and sounds without; within there were visions, for
Babette had a wonderful dream. She dreamt that she had been married to
Rudy for many years, and that, one day when he was out chamois
hunting, and she alone in their dwelling at home, the young Englishman
with the golden whiskers sat with her. His eyes were quite eloquent,
and his words possessed a magic power; he offered her his hand, and
she was obliged to follow him. They went out of the house and
stepped downwards, always downwards, and it seemed to Babette as if
she had a weight on her heart which continually grew heavier. She felt
she was committing a sin against Rudy, a sin against God. Suddenly she
found herself forsaken, her clothes torn by the thorns, and her hair
gray; she looked upwards in her agony, and there, on the edge of the
rock, she espied Rudy. She stretched out her arms to him, but she
did not venture to call him or to pray; and had she called him, it
would have been useless, for it was not Rudy, only his hunting coat
and hat hanging on an alpenstock, as the hunters sometimes arrange
them to deceive the chamois. "Oh!" she exclaimed in her agony; "oh,
that I had died on the happiest day of my life, my wedding-day. O my
God, it would have been a mercy and a blessing had Rudy travelled
far away from me, and I had never known him. None know what will
happen in the future." And then, in ungodly despair, she cast
herself down into the deep rocky gulf. The spell was broken; a cry
of terror escaped her, and she awoke.

The dream was over; it had vanished. But she knew she had dreamt
something frightful about the young Englishman, yet months had
passed since she had seen him or even thought of him. Was he still
at Montreux, and should she meet him there on her wedding day? A
slight shadow passed over her pretty mouth as she thought of this, and
she knit her brows; but the smile soon returned to her lip, and joy
sparkled in her eyes, for this was the morning of the day on which she
and Rudy were to be married, and the sun was shining brightly. Rudy
was already in the parlor when she entered it, and they very soon
started for Villeneuve. Both of them were overflowing with
happiness, and the miller was in the best of tempers, laughing and
merry; he was a good, honest soul, and a kind father.

"Now we are masters of the house," said the parlor-cat.



It was early in the afternoon, and just at dinner-time, when the
three joyous travellers reached Villeneuve. After dinner, the miller
placed himself in the arm-chair, smoked his pipe, and had a little
nap. The bridal pair went arm-in-arm out through the town and along
the high road, at the foot of the wood-covered rocks, and by the deep,
blue lake.

The gray walls, and the heavy clumsy-looking towers of the
gloomy castle of Chillon, were reflected in the clear flood. The
little island, on which grew the three acacias, lay at a short
distance, looking like a bouquet rising from the lake. "How delightful
it must be to live there," said Babette, who again felt the greatest
wish to visit the island; and an opportunity offered to gratify her
wish at once, for on the shore lay a boat, and the rope by which it
was moored could be very easily loosened. They saw no one near, so
they took possession of it without asking permission of any one, and
Rudy could row very well. The oars divided the pliant water like the
fins of a fish--that water which, with all its yielding softness, is
so strong to bear and to carry, so mild and smiling when at rest,
and yet so terrible in its destroying power. A white streak of foam
followed in the wake of the boat, which, in a few minutes, carried
them both to the little island, where they went on shore; but there
was only just room enough for two to dance. Rudy swung Babette round
two or three times; and then, hand-in-hand, they sat down on a
little bench under the drooping acacia-tree, and looked into each
other's eyes, while everything around them glowed in the rays of the
setting sun.

The fir-tree forests on the mountains were covered with a purple
hue like the heather bloom; and where the woods terminated, and the
rocks became prominent, they looked almost transparent in the rich
crimson glow of the evening sky. The surface of the lake was like a
bed of pink rose-leaves.

As the evening advanced, the shadows fell upon the snow-capped
mountains of Savoy painting them in colors of deep blue, while their
topmost peaks glowed like red lava; and for a moment this light was
reflected on the cultivated parts of the mountains, making them appear
as if newly risen from the lap of earth, and giving to the
snow-crested peak of the Dent du Midi the appearance of the full
moon as it rises above the horizon.

Rudy and Babette felt that they had never seen the Alpine glow
in such perfection before. "How very beautiful it is, and what
happiness to be here!" exclaimed Babette.

"Earth has nothing more to bestow upon me," said Rudy; "an evening
like this is worth a whole life. Often have I realized my good
fortune, but never more than in this moment. I feel that if my
existence were to end now, I should still have lived a happy life.
What a glorious world this is; one day ends, and another begins even
more beautiful than the last. How infinitely good God is, Babette!"

"I have such complete happiness in my heart," said she.

"Earth has no more to bestow," answered Rudy. And then came the
sound of the evening bells, borne upon the breeze over the mountains
of Switzerland and Savoy, while still, in the golden splendor of the
west, stood the dark blue mountains of Jura.

"God grant you all that is brightest and best!" exclaimed Babette.

"He will," said Rudy. "He will to-morrow. To-morrow you will be
wholly mine, my own sweet wife."

"The boat!" cried Babette, suddenly. The boat in which they were
to return had broken loose, and was floating away from the island.

"I will fetch it back," said Rudy; throwing off his coat and
boots, he sprang into the lake, and swam with strong efforts towards
it.

The dark-blue water, from the glaciers of the mountains, was icy
cold and very deep. Rudy gave but one glance into the water beneath;
but in that one glance he saw a gold ring rolling, glittering, and
sparkling before him. His engaged ring came into his mind; but this
was larger, and spread into a glittering circle, in which appeared a
clear glacier. Deep chasms yawned around it, the water-drops glittered
as if lighted with blue flame, and tinkled like the chiming of
church bells. In one moment he saw what would require many words to
describe. Young hunters, and young maidens--men and women who had sunk
in the deep chasms of the glaciers--stood before him here in
lifelike forms, with eyes open and smiles on their lips; and far
beneath them could be heard the chiming of the church bells of
buried villages, where the villagers knelt beneath the vaulted
arches of churches in which ice-blocks formed the organ pipes, and the
mountain stream the music.

On the clear, transparent ground sat the Ice Maiden. She raised
herself towards Rudy, and kissed his feet; and instantly a cold,
deathly chill, like an electric shock, passed through his limbs. Ice
or fire! It was impossible to tell, the shock was so instantaneous.

"Mine! mine!" sounded around him, and within him; "I kissed thee
when thou wert a little child. I once kissed thee on the mouth, and
now I have kissed thee from heel to toe; thou art wholly mine." And
then he disappeared in the clear, blue water.

All was still. The church bells were silent; the last tone floated
away with the last red glimmer on the evening clouds. "Thou art mine,"
sounded from the depths below: but from the heights above, from the
eternal world, also sounded the words, "Thou art mine!" Happy was he
thus to pass from life to life, from earth to heaven. A chord was
loosened, and tones of sorrow burst forth. The icy kiss of death had
overcome the perishable body; it was but the prelude before life's
real drama could begin, the discord which was quickly lost in harmony.
Do you think this a sad story? Poor Babette! for her it was
unspeakable anguish.

The boat drifted farther and farther away. No one on the
opposite shore knew that the betrothed pair had gone over to the
little island. The clouds sunk as the evening drew on, and it became
dark. Alone, in despair, she waited and trembled. The weather became
fearful; flash after flash lighted up the mountains of Jura, Savoy,
and Switzerland, while peals of thunder, that lasted for many minutes,
rolled over her head. The lightning was so vivid that every single
vine stem could be seen for a moment as distinctly as in the
sunlight at noon-day; and then all was veiled in darkness. It
flashed across the lake in winding, zigzag lines, lighting it up on
all sides; while the echoes of the thunder grew louder and stronger.
On land, the boats were all carefully drawn up on the beach, every
living thing sought shelter, and at length the rain poured down in
torrents.

"Where can Rudy and Babette be in this awful weather?" said the
miller.

Poor Babette sat with her hands clasped, and her head bowed
down, dumb with grief; she had ceased to weep and cry for help.

"In the deep water!" she said to herself; "far down he lies, as if
beneath a glacier."

Deep in her heart rested the memory of what Rudy had told her of
the death of his mother, and of his own recovery, even after he had
been taken up as dead from the cleft in the glacier.

"Ah," she thought, "the Ice Maiden has him at last."

Suddenly there came a flash of lightning, as dazzling as the
rays of the sun on the white snow. The lake rose for a moment like a
shining glacier; and before Babette stood the pallid, glittering,
majestic form of the Ice Maiden, and at her feet lay Rudy's corpse.

"Mine!" she cried, and again all was darkness around the heaving
water.

"How cruel," murmured Babette; "why should he die just as the
day of happiness drew near? Merciful God, enlighten my understanding,
shed light upon my heart; for I cannot comprehend the arrangements
of Thy providence, even while I bow to the decree of Thy almighty
wisdom and power." And God did enlighten her heart.

A sudden flash of thought, like a ray of mercy, recalled her dream
of the preceding night; all was vividly represented before her. She
remembered the words and wishes she had then expressed, that what
was best for her and for Rudy she might piously submit to.

"Woe is me," she said; "was the germ of sin really in my heart?
was my dream a glimpse into the course of my future life, whose thread
must be violently broken to rescue me from sin? Oh, miserable creature
that I am!"

Thus she sat lamenting in the dark night, while through the deep
stillness the last words of Rudy seemed to ring in her ears. "This
earth has nothing more to bestow." Words, uttered in the fulness of
joy, were again heard amid the depths of sorrow.

Years have passed since this sad event happened. The shores of the
peaceful lake still smile in beauty. The vines are full of luscious
grapes. Steamboats, with waving flags, pass swiftly by.
Pleasure-boats, with their swelling sails, skim lightly over the
watery mirror, like white butterflies. The railway is opened beyond
Chillon, and goes far into the deep valley of the Rhone. At every
station strangers alight with red-bound guide-books in their hands, in
which they read of every place worth seeing. They visit Chillon, and
observe on the lake the little island with the three acacias, and then
read in their guide-book the story of the bridal pair who, in the year
1856, rowed over to it. They read that the two were missing till the
next morning, when some people on the shore heard the despairing cries
of the bride, and went to her assistance, and by her were told of
the bridegroom's fate.

But the guide-book does not speak of Babette's quiet life
afterwards with her father, not at the mill--strangers dwell there
now--but in a pretty house in a row near the station. On many an
evening she sits at her window, and looks out over the chestnut-trees
to the snow-capped mountains on which Rudy once roamed. She looks at
the Alpine glow in the evening sky, which is caused by the children
of the sun retiring to rest on the mountain-tops; and again they
breathe their song of the traveller whom the whirlwind could deprive
of his cloak but not of his life. There is a rosy tint on the mountain
snow, and there are rosy gleams in each heart in which dwells the
thought, "God permits nothing to happen, which is not the best for
us." But this is not often revealed to all, as it was revealed to
Babette in her wonderful dream.




THE JEWISH MAIDEN

In a charity school, among the children, sat a little Jewish girl.
She was a good, intelligent child, and very quick at her lessons;
but the Scripture-lesson class she was not allowed to join, for this
was a Christian school. During the hour of this lesson, the Jewish
girl was allowed to learn her geography, or to work her sum for the
next day; and when her geography lesson was perfect, the book remained
open before her, but she read not another word, for she sat silently
listening to the words of the Christian teacher. He soon became
aware that the little one was paying more attention to what he said
than most of the other children. "Read your book, Sarah," he said to
her gently.

But again and again he saw her dark, beaming eyes fixed upon
him; and once, when he asked her a question, she could answer him even
better than the other children. She had not only heard, but understood
his words, and pondered them in her heart. Her father, a poor but
honest man, had placed his daughter at the school on the conditions
that she should not be instructed in the Christian faith. But it might
have caused confusion, or raised discontent in the minds of the
other children if she had been sent out of the room, so she
remained; and now it was evident this could not go on. The teacher
went to her father, and advised him to remove his daughter from the
school, or to allow her to become a Christian. "I cannot any longer be
an idle spectator of those beaming eyes, which express such a deep and
earnest longing for the words of the gospel," said he.

Then the father burst into tears. "I know very little of the law
of my fathers," said he; "but Sarah's mother was firm in her belief as
a daughter of Israel, and I vowed to her on her deathbed that our
child should never be baptized. I must keep my vow: it is to me even
as a covenant with God Himself." And so the little Jewish girl left
the Christian school.

Years rolled by. In one of the smallest provincial towns, in a
humble household, lived a poor maiden of the Jewish faith, as a
servant. Her hair was black as ebony, her eye dark as night, yet
full of light and brilliancy so peculiar to the daughters of the east.
It was Sarah. The expression in the face of the grown-up maiden was
still the same as when, a child, she sat on the schoolroom form
listening with thoughtful eyes to the words of the Christian
teacher. Every Sunday there sounded forth from a church close by the
tones of an organ and the singing of the congregation. The Jewish girl
heard them in the house where, industrious and faithful in all things,
she performed her household duties. "Thou shalt keep the Sabbath
holy," said the voice of the law in her heart; but her Sabbath was a
working day among the Christians, which was a great trouble to her.
And then as the thought arose in her mind, "Does God reckon by days
and hours?" her conscience felt satisfied on this question, and she
found it a comfort to her, that on the Christian Sabbath she could
have an hour for her own prayers undisturbed. The music and singing of
the congregation sounded in her ears while at work in her kitchen,
till the place itself became sacred to her. Then she would read in the
Old Testament, that treasure and comfort to her people, and it was
indeed the only Scriptures she could read. Faithfully in her inmost
thoughts had she kept the words of her father to her teacher when
she left the school, and the vow he had made to her dying mother
that she should never receive Christian baptism. The New Testament
must remain to her a sealed book, and yet she knew a great deal of its
teaching, and the sound of the gospel truths still lingered among
the recollections of her childhood.

One evening she was sitting in a corner of the dining-room,
while her master read aloud. It was not the gospel he read, but an old
story-book; therefore she might stay and listen to him. The story
related that a Hungarian knight, who had been taken prisoner by a
Turkish pasha, was most cruelly treated by him. He caused him to be
yoked with his oxen to the plough, and driven with blows from the whip
till the blood flowed, and he almost sunk with exhaustion and pain.
The faithful wife of the knight at home gave up all her jewels,
mortgaged her castle and land, and his friends raised large sums to
make up the ransom demanded for his release, which was most enormously
high. It was collected at last, and the knight released from slavery
and misery. Sick and exhausted, he reached home.

Ere long came another summons to a struggle with the foes of
Christianity. The still living knight heard the sound; he could endure
no more, he had neither peace nor rest. He caused himself to be lifted
on his war-horse; the color came into his cheeks, and his strength
returned to him again as he went forth to battle and to victory. The
very same pasha who had yoked him to the plough, became his
prisoner, and was dragged to a dungeon in the castle. But an hour
had scarcely passed, when the knight stood before the captive pasha,
and inquired, "What do you suppose awaiteth thee?"

"I know," replied the pasha; "retribution."

"Yes, the retribution of a Christian," replied the knight. "The
teaching of Christ, the Teacher, commands us to forgive our enemies,
to love our neighbors; for God is love. Depart in peace: return to thy
home. I give thee back to thy loved ones. But in future be mild and
humane to all who are in trouble."

Then the prisoner burst into tears, and exclaimed, "Oh how could I
imagine such mercy and forgiveness! I expected pain and torment. It
seemed to me so sure that I took poison, which I secretly carried
about me; and in a few hours its effects will destroy me. I must
die! Nothing can save me! But before I die, explain to me the teaching
which is so full of love and mercy, so great and God-like. Oh, that
I may hear his teaching, and die a Christian!" And his prayer was
granted.

This was the legend which the master read out of the old
story-book. Every one in the house who was present listened, and
shared the pleasure; but Sarah, the Jewish girl, sitting so still in a
corner, felt her heart burn with excitement. Great tears came into her
shining dark eyes; and with the same gentle piety with which she had
once listened to the gospel while sitting on the form at school, she
felt its grandeur now, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. Then
the last words of her dying mother rose before her, "Let not my
child become a Christian;" and with them sounded in her heart the
words of the law, "Honor thy father and thy mother."

"I am not admitted among the Christians," she said; "they mock
me as a Jewish girl; the neighbors' boys did so last Sunday when I
stood looking in through the open church door at the candles burning
on the altar, and listening to the singing. Ever since I sat on the
school-bench I have felt the power of Christianity; a power which,
like a sunbeam, streams into my heart, however closely I may close
my eyes against it. But I will not grieve thee, my mother, in thy
grave. I will not be unfaithful to my father's vow. I will not read
the Bible of the Christian. I have the God of my fathers, and in Him I
will trust."

And again years passed by. Sarah's master died, and his widow
found herself in such reduced circumstances that she wished to dismiss
her servant maid; but Sarah refused to leave the house, and she became
a true support in time of trouble, and kept the household together
by working till late at night, with her busy hands, to earn their
daily bread. Not a relative came forward to assist them, and the widow
was confined to a sick bed for months and grew weaker from day to day.
Sarah worked hard, but contrived to spare time to amuse her and
watch by the sick bed. She was gentle and pious, an angel of
blessing in that house of poverty.

"My Bible lies on the table yonder," said the sick woman one day
to Sarah. "Read me something from it; the night appears so long, and
my spirit thirsts to hear the word of God."

And Sarah bowed her head. She took the book, and folded her hand
over the Bible of the Christians, and at last opened it, and read to
the sick woman. Tears stood in her eyes as she read, and they shone
with brightness, for in her heart it was light.

"Mother," she murmured, "thy child may not receive Christian
baptism, nor be admitted into the congregation of Christian people.
Thou hast so willed it, and I will respect thy command. We are
therefore still united here on earth; but in the next world there will
be a higher union, even with God Himself, who leads and guides His
people till death. He came down from heaven to earth to suffer for us,
that we should bring forth the fruits of repentance. I understand it
now. I know not how I learnt this truth, unless it is through the name
of Christ." Yet she trembled as she pronounced the holy name. She
struggled against these convictions of the truth of Christianity for
some days, till one evening while watching her mistress she was
suddenly taken very ill; her limbs tottered under her, and she sank
fainting by the bedside of the sick woman.

"Poor Sarah," said the neighbors; "she is overcome with hard
work and night watching." And then they carried her to the hospital
for the sick poor. There she died; and they bore her to her
resting-place in the earth, but not to the churchyard of the
Christians. There was no place for the Jewish girl; but they dug a
grave for her outside the wall. And God's sun, which shines upon the
graves of the churchyard of the Christians, also throws its beams on
the grave of the Jewish maiden beyond the wall. And when the psalms of
the Christians sound across the churchyard, their echo reaches her
lonely resting-place; and she who sleeps there will be counted
worthy at the resurrection, through the name of Christ the Lord, who
said to His disciples, "John baptized you with water, but I will
baptize you with the Holy Ghost."




THE JUMPER

The Flea, the Grasshopper, and the Skipjack once wanted to see
which of them could jump highest; and they invited the whole world,
and whoever else would come, to see the grand sight. And there the
three famous jumpers were met together in the room.

"Yes, I'll give my daughter to him who jumps highest," said the
King, "for it would be mean to let these people jump for nothing."

The Flea stepped out first. He had very pretty manners, and
bowed in all directions, for he had young ladies' blood in his
veins, and was accustomed to consort only with human beings; and
that was of great consequence.

Then came the Grasshopper: he was certainly much heavier, but he
had a good figure, and wore the green uniform that was born with
him. This person, moreover, maintained that he belonged to a very
old family in the land of Egypt, and that he was highly esteemed
there. He had just come from the field, he said, and had been put into
a card house three stories high, and all made of picture cards with
the figures turned inwards. There were doors and windows in the house,
cut in the body of the Queen of Hearts.

"I sing so," he said, "that sixteen native crickets who have
chirped from their youth up, and have never yet had a card house of
their own, would become thinner than they are with envy if they were
to hear me."

Both of them, the Flea and the Grasshopper, took care to
announce who they were, and that they considered themselves entitled
to marry a Princess.

The Skipjack said nothing, but it was said of him that he
thought all the more; and directly the Yard Dog had smelt at him he
was ready to assert that the Skipjack was of good family, and formed
from the breastbone of an undoubted goose. The old councillor, who had
received three medals for holding his tongue, declared that the
Skipjack possessed the gift of prophecy; one could tell by his bones
whether there would be a severe winter or a mild one; and that's
more than one can always tell from the breastbone of the man who
writes the almanac.

"I shall not say anything more," said the old King. "I only go
on quietly, and always think the best."

Now they were to take their jump. The Flea sprang so high that
no one could see him; and then they asserted that he had not jumped at
all. That was very mean. The Grasshopper only sprang half as high, but
he sprang straight into the King's face, and the King declared that
was horribly rude. The Skipjack stood a long time considering; at last
people thought that he could not jump at all.

"I only hope he's not become unwell," said the Yard Dog, and
then he smelt at him again.

"Tap!" he sprang with a little crooked jump just into the lap of
the Princess, who sat on a low golden stool.

Then the King said, "The highest leap was taken by him who
jumped up to my daughter; for therein lies the point; but it
requires head to achieve that, and the Skipjack has shown that he
has a head."

And so he had the Princess.

"I jumped highest, after all," said the Flea. "But it's all the
same. Let her have the goose-bone with its lump of wax and bit of
stick. I jumped to the highest; but in this world a body is required
if one wishes to be seen."

And the Flea went into foreign military service, where it is
said he was killed.

The Grasshopper seated himself out in the ditch, and thought and
considered how things happened in the world. And he too said, "Body is
required! body is required!" And then he sang his own melancholy song,
and from that we have gathered this story, which they say is not true,
though it's in print.




THE LAST DREAM OF THE OLD OAK

In the forest, high up on the steep shore, and not far from the
open seacoast, stood a very old oak-tree. It was just three hundred
and sixty-five years old, but that long time was to the tree as the
same number of days might be to us; we wake by day and sleep by night,
and then we have our dreams. It is different with the tree; it is
obliged to keep awake through three seasons of the year, and does
not get any sleep till winter comes. Winter is its time for rest;
its night after the long day of spring, summer, and autumn. On many
a warm summer, the Ephemera, the flies that exist for only a day,
had fluttered about the old oak, enjoyed life and felt happy and if,
for a moment, one of the tiny creatures rested on one of his large
fresh leaves, the tree would always say, "Poor little creature! your
whole life consists only of a single day. How very short. It must be
quite melancholy."

"Melancholy! what do you mean?" the little creature would always
reply. "Everything around me is so wonderfully bright and warm, and
beautiful, that it makes me joyous."

"But only for one day, and then it is all over."

"Over!" repeated the fly; "what is the meaning of all over? Are
you all over too?"

"No; I shall very likely live for thousands of your days, and my
day is whole seasons long; indeed it is so long that you could never
reckon it out."

"No? then I don't understand you. You may have thousands of my
days, but I have thousands of moments in which I can be merry and
happy. Does all the beauty of the world cease when you die?"

"No," replied the tree; "it will certainly last much longer,--infinitely
longer than I can even think of."

"Well, then," said the little fly, "we have the same time to live;
only we reckon differently." And the little creature danced and floated
in the air, rejoicing in her delicate wings of gauze and velvet,
rejoicing in the balmy breezes, laden with the fragrance of
clover-fields and wild roses, elder-blossoms and honeysuckle, from the
garden hedges, wild thyme, primroses, and mint, and the scent of all
these was so strong that the perfume almost intoxicated the little fly.
The long and beautiful day had been so full of joy and sweet delights,
that when the sun sank low it felt tired of all its happiness and
enjoyment. Its wings could sustain it no longer, and gently and slowly
it glided down upon the soft waving blades of grass, nodded its little
head as well as it could nod, and slept peacefully and sweetly. The
fly was dead.

"Poor little Ephemera!" said the oak; "what a terribly short
life!" And so, on every summer day the dance was repeated, the same
questions asked, and the same answers given. The same thing was
continued through many generations of Ephemera; all of them felt
equally merry and equally happy.

The oak remained awake through the morning of spring, the noon
of summer, and the evening of autumn; its time of rest, its night drew
nigh--winter was coming. Already the storms were singing, "Good-night,
good-night." Here fell a leaf and there fell a leaf. "We will rock you
and lull you. Go to sleep, go to sleep. We will sing you to sleep, and
shake you to sleep, and it will do your old twigs good; they will even
crackle with pleasure. Sleep sweetly, sleep sweetly, it is your
three-hundred-and-sixty-fifth night. Correctly speaking, you are but a
youngster in the world. Sleep sweetly, the clouds will drop snow
upon you, which will be quite a cover-lid, warm and sheltering to your
feet. Sweet sleep to you, and pleasant dreams." And there stood the
oak, stripped of all its leaves, left to rest during the whole of a
long winter, and to dream many dreams of events that had happened in
its life, as in the dreams of men. The great tree had once been small;
indeed, in its cradle it had been an acorn. According to human
computation, it was now in the fourth century of its existence. It was
the largest and best tree in the forest. Its summit towered above
all the other trees, and could be seen far out at sea, so that it
served as a landmark to the sailors. It had no idea how many eyes
looked eagerly for it. In its topmost branches the wood-pigeon built
her nest, and the cuckoo carried out his usual vocal performances, and
his well-known notes echoed amid the boughs; and in autumn, when the
leaves looked like beaten copper plates, the birds of passage would
come and rest upon the branches before taking their flight across
the sea. But now it was winter, the tree stood leafless, so that every
one could see how crooked and bent were the branches that sprang forth
from the trunk. Crows and rooks came by turns and sat on them, and
talked of the hard times which were beginning, and how difficult it
was in winter to obtain food.

It was just about holy Christmas time that the tree dreamed a
dream. The tree had, doubtless, a kind of feeling that the festive
time had arrived, and in his dream fancied he heard the bells
ringing from all the churches round, and yet it seemed to him to be
a beautiful summer's day, mild and warm. His mighty summits was
crowned with spreading fresh green foliage; the sunbeams played
among the leaves and branches, and the air was full of fragrance
from herb and blossom; painted butterflies chased each other; the
summer flies danced around him, as if the world had been created
merely for them to dance and be merry in. All that had happened to the
tree during every year of his life seemed to pass before him, as in
a festive procession. He saw the knights of olden times and noble
ladies ride by through the wood on their gallant steeds, with plumes
waving in their hats, and falcons on their wrists. The hunting horn
sounded, and the dogs barked. He saw hostile warriors, in colored
dresses and glittering armor, with spear and halberd, pitching their
tents, and anon striking them. The watchfires again blazed, and men
sang and slept under the hospitable shelter of the tree. He saw lovers
meet in quiet happiness near him in the moonshine, and carve the
initials of their names in the grayish-green bark on his trunk.
Once, but long years had intervened since then, guitars and Eolian
harps had been hung on his boughs by merry travellers; now they seemed
to hang there again, and he could hear their marvellous tones. The
wood-pigeons cooed as if to explain the feelings of the tree, and
the cuckoo called out to tell him how many summer days he had yet to
live. Then it seemed as if new life was thrilling through every
fibre of root and stem and leaf, rising even to the highest
branches. The tree felt itself stretching and spreading out, while
through the root beneath the earth ran the warm vigor of life. As he
grew higher and still higher, with increased strength, his topmost
boughs became broader and fuller; and in proportion to his growth,
so was his self-satisfaction increased, and with it arose a joyous
longing to grow higher and higher, to reach even to the warm, bright
sun itself. Already had his topmost branches pierced the clouds, which
floated beneath them like troops of birds of passage, or large white
swans; every leaf seemed gifted with sight, as if it possessed eyes to
see. The stars became visible in broad daylight, large and
sparkling, like clear and gentle eyes. They recalled to the memory the
well-known look in the eyes of a child, or in the eyes of lovers who
had once met beneath the branches of the old oak. These were wonderful
and happy moments for the old tree, full of peace and joy; and yet,
amidst all this happiness, the tree felt a yearning, longing desire
that all the other trees, bushes, herbs, and flowers beneath him,
might be able also to rise higher, as he had done, and to see all this
splendor, and experience the same happiness. The grand, majestic oak
could not be quite happy in the midst of his enjoyment, while all
the rest, both great and small, were not with him. And this feeling of
yearning trembled through every branch, through every leaf, as
warmly and fervently as if they had been the fibres of a human
heart. The summit of the tree waved to and fro, and bent downwards
as if in his silent longing he sought for something. Then there came
to him the fragrance of thyme, followed by the more powerful scent
of honeysuckle and violets; and he fancied he heard the note of the
cuckoo. At length his longing was satisfied. Up through the clouds
came the green summits of the forest trees, and beneath him, the oak
saw them rising, and growing higher and higher. Bush and herb shot
upward, and some even tore themselves up by the roots to rise more
quickly. The birch-tree was the quickest of all. Like a lightning
flash the slender stem shot upwards in a zigzag line, the branches
spreading around it like green gauze and banners. Every native of
the wood, even to the brown and feathery rushes, grew with the rest,
while the birds ascended with the melody of song. On a blade of grass,
that fluttered in the air like a long, green ribbon, sat a
grasshopper, cleaning his wings with his legs. May beetles hummed, the
bees murmured, the birds sang, each in his own way; the air was filled
with the sounds of song and gladness.

"But where is the little blue flower that grows by the water?"
asked the oak, "and the purple bell-flower, and the daisy?" You see
the oak wanted to have them all with him.

"Here we are, we are here," sounded in voice and song.

"But the beautiful thyme of last summer, where is that? and the
lilies-of-the-valley, which last year covered the earth with their
bloom? and the wild apple-tree with its lovely blossoms, and all the
glory of the wood, which has flourished year after year? even what may
have but now sprouted forth could be with us here."

"We are here, we are here," sounded voices higher in the air, as
if they had flown there beforehand.

"Why this is beautiful, too beautiful to be believed," said the
oak in a joyful tone. "I have them all here, both great and small; not
one has been forgotten. Can such happiness be imagined?" It seemed
almost impossible.

"In heaven with the Eternal God, it can be imagined, and it is
possible," sounded the reply through the air.

And the old tree, as it still grew upwards and onwards, felt
that his roots were loosening themselves from the earth.

"It is right so, it is best," said the tree, "no fetters hold me
now. I can fly up to the very highest point in light and glory. And
all I love are with me, both small and great. All--all are here."

Such was the dream of the old oak: and while he dreamed, a
mighty storm came rushing over land and sea, at the holy Christmas
time. The sea rolled in great billows towards the shore. There was a
cracking and crushing heard in the tree. The root was torn from the
ground just at the moment when in his dream he fancied it was being
loosened from the earth. He fell--his three hundred and sixty-five
years were passed as the single day of the Ephemera. On the morning of
Christmas-day, when the sun rose, the storm had ceased. From all the
churches sounded the festive bells, and from every hearth, even of the
smallest hut, rose the smoke into the blue sky, like the smoke from
the festive thank-offerings on the Druids' altars. The sea gradually
became calm, and on board a great ship that had withstood the
tempest during the night, all the flags were displayed, as a token
of joy and festivity. "The tree is down! The old oak,--our landmark on
the coast!" exclaimed the sailors. "It must have fallen in the storm
of last night. Who can replace it? Alas! no one." This was a funeral
oration over the old tree; short, but well-meant. There it lay
stretched on the snow-covered shore, and over it sounded the notes
of a song from the ship--a song of Christmas joy, and of the
redemption of the soul of man, and of eternal life through Christ's
atoning blood.

  "Sing aloud on the happy morn,
  All is fulfilled, for Christ is born;
  With songs of joy let us loudly sing,
  'Hallelujahs to Christ our King.'"

Thus sounded the old Christmas carol, and every one on board the
ship felt his thoughts elevated, through the song and the prayer, even
as the old tree had felt lifted up in its last, its beautiful dream on
that Christmas morn.




THE LAST PEARL

We are in a rich, happy house, where the master, the servants, the
friends of the family are full of joy and felicity. For on this day
a son and heir has been born, and mother and child are doing well. The
lamp in the bed-chamber had been partly shaded, and the windows were
covered with heavy curtains of some costly silken material. The carpet
was thick and soft, like a covering of moss. Everything invited to
slumber, everything had a charming look of repose; and so the nurse
had discovered, for she slept; and well she might sleep, while
everything around her told of happiness and blessing. The guardian
angel of the house leaned against the head of the bed; while over
the child was spread, as it were, a net of shining stars, and each
star was a pearl of happiness. All the good stars of life had
brought their gifts to the newly born; here sparkled health, wealth,
fortune, and love; in short, there seemed to be everything for which
man could wish on earth.

"Everything has been bestowed here," said the guardian angel.

"No, not everything," said a voice near him--the voice of the good
angel of the child; "one fairy has not yet brought her gift, but she
will, even if years should elapse, she will bring her gift; it is
the last pearl that is wanting."

"Wanting!" cried the guardian angel; "nothing must be wanting
here; and if it is so, let us fetch it; let us seek the powerful
fairy; let us go to her."

"She will come, she will come some day unsought!"

"Her pearl must not be missing; it must be there, that the
crown, when worn, may be complete. Where is she to be found? Where
does she dwell?" said the guardian angel. "Tell me, and I will procure
the pearl."

"Will you do that?" replied the good angel of the child. "Then I
will lead you to her directly, wherever she may be. She has no abiding
place; she rules in the palace of the emperor, sometimes she enters
the peasant's humble cot; she passes no one without leaving a trace of
her presence. She brings her gift with her, whether it is a world or a
bauble. To this child she must come. You think that to wait for this
time would be long and useless. Well, then, let us go for this
pearl--the only one lacking amidst all this wealth."

Then hand-in-hand they floated away to the spot where the fairy
was now lingering. It was in a large house with dark windows and empty
rooms, in which a peculiar stillness reigned. A whole row of windows
stood open, so that the rude wind could enter at its pleasure, and the
long white curtains waved to and fro in the current of air. In the
centre of one of the rooms stood an open coffin, in which lay the body
of a woman, still in the bloom of youth and very beautiful. Fresh
roses were scattered over her. The delicate folded hands and the noble
face glorified in death by the solemn, earnest look, which spoke of an
entrance into a better world, were alone visible. Around the coffin
stood the husband and children, a whole troop, the youngest in the
father's arms. They were come to take a last farewell look of their
mother. The husband kissed her hand, which now lay like a withered
leaf, but which a short time before had been diligently employed in
deeds of love for them all. Tears of sorrow rolled down their
cheeks, and fell in heavy drops on the floor, but not a word was
spoken. The silence which reigned here expressed a world of grief.
With silent steps, still sobbing, they left the room. A burning
light remained in the room, and a long, red wick rose far above the
flame, which fluttered in the draught of air. Strange men came in
and placed the lid of the coffin over the dead, and drove the nails
firmly in; while the blows of the hammer resounded through the
house, and echoed in the hearts that were bleeding.

"Whither art thou leading me?" asked the guardian angel. "Here
dwells no fairy whose pearl could be counted amongst the best gifts of
life."

"Yes, she is here; here in this sacred hour," replied the angel,
pointing to a corner of the room; and there,--where in her
life-time, the mother had taken her seat amidst flowers and
pictures: in that spot, where she, like the blessed fairy of the
house, had welcomed husband, children, and friends, and, like a
sunbeam, had spread joy and cheerfulness around her, the centre and
heart of them all,--there, in that very spot, sat a strange woman,
clothed in long, flowing garments, and occupying the place of the dead
wife and mother. It was the fairy, and her name was "Sorrow." A hot
tear rolled into her lap, and formed itself into a pearl, glowing with
all the colors of the rainbow. The angel seized it: the pearl
glittered like a star with seven-fold radiance. The pearl of Sorrow,
the last, which must not be wanting, increases the lustre, and
explains the meaning of all the other pearls.

"Do you see the shimmer of the rainbow, which unites earth to
heaven?" So has there been a bridge built between this world and the
next. Through the night of the grave we gaze upwards beyond the
stars to the end of all things. Then we glance at the pearl of Sorrow,
in which are concealed the wings which shall carry us away to
eternal happiness.




LITTLE CLAUS AND BIG CLAUS

In a village there once lived two men who had the same name.
They were both called Claus. One of them had four horses, but the
other had only one; so to distinguish them, people called the owner of
the four horses, "Great Claus," and he who had only one, "Little
Claus." Now we shall hear what happened to them, for this is a true
story.

Through the whole week, Little Claus was obliged to plough for
Great Claus, and lend him his one horse; and once a week, on a Sunday,
Great Claus lent him all his four horses. Then how Little Claus
would smack his whip over all five horses, they were as good as his
own on that one day. The sun shone brightly, and the church bells were
ringing merrily as the people passed by, dressed in their best
clothes, with their prayer-books under their arms. They were going
to hear the clergyman preach. They looked at Little Claus ploughing
with his five horses, and he was so proud that he smacked his whip,
and said, "Gee-up, my five horses."

"You must not say that," said Big Claus; "for only one of them
belongs to you." But Little Claus soon forgot what he ought to say,
and when any one passed he would call out, "Gee-up, my five horses!"

"Now I must beg you not to say that again," said Big Claus; "for
if you do, I shall hit your horse on the head, so that he will drop
dead on the spot, and there will be an end of him."

"I promise you I will not say it any more," said the other; but as
soon as people came by, nodding to him, and wishing him "Good day," he
became so pleased, and thought how grand it looked to have five horses
ploughing in his field, that he cried out again, "Gee-up, all my
horses!"

"I'll gee-up your horses for you," said Big Claus; and seizing a
hammer, he struck the one horse of Little Claus on the head, and he
fell dead instantly.

"Oh, now I have no horse at all," said Little Claus, weeping. But
after a while he took off the dead horse's skin, and hung the hide
to dry in the wind. Then he put the dry skin into a bag, and,
placing it over his shoulder, went out into the next town to sell
the horse's skin. He had a very long way to go, and had to pass
through a dark, gloomy forest. Presently a storm arose, and he lost
his way, and before he discovered the right path, evening came on, and
it was still a long way to the town, and too far to return home before
night. Near the road stood a large farmhouse. The shutters outside the
windows were closed, but lights shone through the crevices at the top.
"I might get permission to stay here for the night," thought Little
Claus; so he went up to the door and knocked. The farmer's wife opened
the door; but when she heard what he wanted, she told him to go
away, as her husband would not allow her to admit strangers. "Then I
shall be obliged to lie out here," said Little Claus to himself, as
the farmer's wife shut the door in his face. Near to the farmhouse
stood a large haystack, and between it and the house was a small shed,
with a thatched roof. "I can lie up there," said Little Claus, as he
saw the roof; "it will make a famous bed, but I hope the stork will
not fly down and bite my legs;" for on it stood a living stork,
whose nest was in the roof. So Little Claus climbed to the roof of the
shed, and while he turned himself to get comfortable, he discovered
that the wooden shutters, which were closed, did not reach to the tops
of the windows of the farmhouse, so that he could see into a room,
in which a large table was laid out with wine, roast meat, and a
splendid fish. The farmer's wife and the sexton were sitting at the
table together; and she filled his glass, and helped him plenteously
to fish, which appeared to be his favorite dish. "If I could only
get some, too," thought Little Claus; and then, as he stretched his
neck towards the window he spied a large, beautiful pie,--indeed
they had a glorious feast before them.

At this moment he heard some one riding down the road, towards the
farmhouse. It was the farmer returning home. He was a good man, but
still he had a very strange prejudice,--he could not bear the sight of
a sexton. If one appeared before him, he would put himself in a
terrible rage. In consequence of this dislike, the sexton had gone
to visit the farmer's wife during her husband's absence from home, and
the good woman had placed before him the best she had in the house
to eat. When she heard the farmer coming she was frightened, and
begged the sexton to hide himself in a large empty chest that stood in
the room. He did so, for he knew her husband could not endure the
sight of a sexton. The woman then quickly put away the wine, and hid
all the rest of the nice things in the oven; for if her husband had
seen them he would have asked what they were brought out for.

"Oh, dear," sighed Little Claus from the top of the shed, as he
saw all the good things disappear.

"Is any one up there?" asked the farmer, looking up and
discovering Little Claus. "Why are you lying up there? Come down,
and come into the house with me." So Little Claus came down and told
the farmer how he had lost his way and begged for a night's lodging.

"All right," said the farmer; "but we must have something to eat
first."

The woman received them both very kindly, laid the cloth on a
large table, and placed before them a dish of porridge. The farmer was
very hungry, and ate his porridge with a good appetite, but Little
Claus could not help thinking of the nice roast meat, fish and pies,
which he knew were in the oven. Under the table, at his feet, lay
the sack containing the horse's skin, which he intended to sell at the
next town. Now Little Claus did not relish the porridge at all, so
he trod with his foot on the sack under the table, and the dry skin
squeaked quite loud. "Hush!" said Little Claus to his sack, at the
same time treading upon it again, till it squeaked louder than before.

"Hallo! what have you got in your sack!" asked the farmer.

"Oh, it is a conjuror," said Little Claus; "and he says we need
not eat porridge, for he has conjured the oven full of roast meat,
fish, and pie."

"Wonderful!" cried the farmer, starting up and opening the oven
door; and there lay all the nice things hidden by the farmer's wife,
but which he supposed had been conjured there by the wizard under
the table. The woman dared not say anything; so she placed the
things before them, and they both ate of the fish, the meat, and the
pastry.

Then Little Claus trod again upon his sack, and it squeaked as
before. "What does he say now?" asked the farmer.

"He says," replied Little Claus, "that there are three bottles
of wine for us, standing in the corner, by the oven."

So the woman was obliged to bring out the wine also, which she had
hidden, and the farmer drank it till he became quite merry. He would
have liked such a conjuror as Little Claus carried in his sack. "Could
he conjure up the evil one?" asked the farmer. "I should like to see
him now, while I am so merry."

"Oh, yes!" replied Little Claus, "my conjuror can do anything I
ask him,--can you not?" he asked, treading at the same time on the
sack till it squeaked. "Do you hear? he answers 'Yes,' but he fears
that we shall not like to look at him."

"Oh, I am not afraid. What will he be like?"

"Well, he is very much like a sexton."

"Ha!" said the farmer, "then he must be ugly. Do you know I cannot
endure the sight of a sexton. However, that doesn't matter, I shall
know who it is; so I shall not mind. Now then, I have got up my
courage, but don't let him come too near me."

"Stop, I must ask the conjuror," said Little Claus; so he trod
on the bag, and stooped his ear down to listen.

"What does he say?"

"He says that you must go and open that large chest which stands
in the corner, and you will see the evil one crouching down inside;
but you must hold the lid firmly, that he may not slip out."

"Will you come and help me hold it?" said the farmer, going
towards the chest in which his wife had hidden the sexton, who now lay
inside, very much frightened. The farmer opened the lid a very
little way, and peeped in.

"Oh," cried he, springing backwards, "I saw him, and he is exactly
like our sexton. How dreadful it is!" So after that he was obliged
to drink again, and they sat and drank till far into the night.

"You must sell your conjuror to me," said the farmer; "ask as much
as you like, I will pay it; indeed I would give you directly a whole
bushel of gold."

"No, indeed, I cannot," said Little Claus; "only think how much
profit I could make out of this conjuror."

"But I should like to have him," said the fanner, still continuing
his entreaties.

"Well," said Little Claus at length, "you have been so good as
to give me a night's lodging, I will not refuse you; you shall have
the conjuror for a bushel of money, but I will have quite full
measure."

"So you shall," said the farmer; "but you must take away the chest
as well. I would not have it in the house another hour; there is no
knowing if he may not be still there."

So Little Claus gave the farmer the sack containing the dried
horse's skin, and received in exchange a bushel of money--full
measure. The farmer also gave him a wheelbarrow on which to carry away
the chest and the gold.

"Farewell," said Little Claus, as he went off with his money and
the great chest, in which the sexton lay still concealed. On one
side of the forest was a broad, deep river, the water flowed so
rapidly that very few were able to swim against the stream. A new
bridge had lately been built across it, and in the middle of this
bridge Little Claus stopped, and said, loud enough to be heard by
the sexton, "Now what shall I do with this stupid chest; it is as
heavy as if it were full of stones: I shall be tired if I roll it
any farther, so I may as well throw it in the river; if it swims after
me to my house, well and good, and if not, it will not much matter."

So he seized the chest in his hand and lifted it up a little, as
if he were going to throw it into the water.

"No, leave it alone," cried the sexton from within the chest; "let
me out first."

"Oh," exclaimed Little Claus, pretending to be frightened, "he
is in there still, is he? I must throw him into the river, that he may
be drowned."

"Oh, no; oh, no," cried the sexton; "I will give you a whole
bushel full of money if you will let me go.

"Why, that is another matter," said Little Claus, opening the
chest. The sexton crept out, pushed the empty chest into the water,
and went to his house, then he measured out a whole bushel full of
gold for Little Claus, who had already received one from the farmer,
so that now he had a barrow full.

"I have been well paid for my horse," said he to himself when he
reached home, entered his own room, and emptied all his money into a
heap on the floor. "How vexed Great Claus will be when he finds out
how rich I have become all through my one horse; but I shall not
tell him exactly how it all happened." Then he sent a boy to Great
Claus to borrow a bushel measure.

"What can he want it for?" thought Great Claus; so he smeared
the bottom of the measure with tar, that some of whatever was put into
it might stick there and remain. And so it happened; for when the
measure returned, three new silver florins were sticking to it.

"What does this mean?" said Great Claus; so he ran off directly to
Little Claus, and asked, "Where did you get so much money?"

"Oh, for my horse's skin, I sold it yesterday."

"It was certainly well paid for then," said Great Claus; and he
ran home to his house, seized a hatchet, and knocked all his four
horses on the head, flayed off their skins, and took them to the
town to sell. "Skins, skins, who'll buy skins?" he cried, as he went
through the streets. All the shoemakers and tanners came running,
and asked how much he wanted for them.

"A bushel of money, for each," replied Great Claus.

"Are you mad?" they all cried; "do you think we have money to
spend by the bushel?"

"Skins, skins," he cried again, "who'll buy skins?" but to all who
inquired the price, his answer was, "a bushel of money."

"He is making fools of us," said they all; then the shoemakers
took their straps, and the tanners their leather aprons, and began
to beat Great Claus.

"Skins, skins!" they cried, mocking him; "yes, we'll mark your
skin for you, till it is black and blue."

"Out of the town with him," said they. And Great Claus was obliged
to run as fast as he could, he had never before been so thoroughly
beaten.

"Ah," said he, as he came to his house; "Little Claus shall pay me
for this; I will beat him to death."

Meanwhile the old grandmother of Little Claus died. She had been
cross, unkind, and really spiteful to him; but he was very sorry,
and took the dead woman and laid her in his warm bed to see if he
could bring her to life again. There he determined that she should lie
the whole night, while he seated himself in a chair in a corner of the
room as he had often done before. During the night, as he sat there,
the door opened, and in came Great Claus with a hatchet. He knew
well where Little Claus's bed stood; so he went right up to it, and
struck the old grandmother on the head, thinking it must be Little
Claus.

"There," cried he, "now you cannot make a fool of me again;" and
then he went home.

"That is a very wicked man," thought Little Claus; "he meant to
kill me. It is a good thing for my old grandmother that she was
already dead, or he would have taken her life." Then he dressed his
old grandmother in her best clothes, borrowed a horse of his neighbor,
and harnessed it to a cart. Then he placed the old woman on the back
seat, so that she might not fall out as he drove, and rode away
through the wood. By sunrise they reached a large inn, where Little
Claus stopped and went to get something to eat. The landlord was a
rich man, and a good man too; but as passionate as if he had been made
of pepper and snuff.

"Good morning," said he to Little Claus; "you are come betimes
to-day."

"Yes," said Little Claus; "I am going to the town with my old
grandmother; she is sitting at the back of the wagon, but I cannot
bring her into the room. Will you take her a glass of mead? but you
must speak very loud, for she cannot hear well."

"Yes, certainly I will," replied the landlord; and, pouring out
a glass of mead, he carried it out to the dead grandmother, who sat
upright in the cart. "Here is a glass of mead from your grandson,"
said the landlord. The dead woman did not answer a word, but sat quite
still. "Do you not hear?" cried the landlord as loud as he could;
"here is a glass of mead from your grandson."

Again and again he bawled it out, but as she did not stir he
flew into a passion, and threw the glass of mead in her face; it
struck her on the nose, and she fell backwards out of the cart, for
she was only seated there, not tied in.

"Hallo!" cried Little Claus, rushing out of the door, and seizing
hold of the landlord by the throat; "you have killed my grandmother;
see, here is a great hole in her forehead."

"Oh, how unfortunate," said the landlord, wringing his hands.
"This all comes of my fiery temper. Dear Little Claus, I will give you
a bushel of money; I will bury your grandmother as if she were my own;
only keep silent, or else they will cut off my head, and that would be
disagreeable."

So it happened that Little Claus received another bushel of money,
and the landlord buried his old grandmother as if she had been his
own. When Little Claus reached home again, he immediately sent a boy
to Great Claus, requesting him to lend him a bushel measure. "How is
this?" thought Great Claus; "did I not kill him? I must go and see for
myself." So he went to Little Claus, and took the bushel measure
with him. "How did you get all this money?" asked Great Claus, staring
with wide open eyes at his neighbor's treasures.

"You killed my grandmother instead of me," said Little Claus;
"so I have sold her for a bushel of money."

"That is a good price at all events," said Great Claus. So he went
home, took a hatchet, and killed his old grandmother with one blow.
Then he placed her on a cart, and drove into the town to the
apothecary, and asked him if he would buy a dead body.

"Whose is it, and where did you get it?" asked the apothecary.

"It is my grandmother," he replied; "I killed her with a blow,
that I might get a bushel of money for her."

"Heaven preserve us!" cried the apothecary, "you are out of your
mind. Don't say such things, or you will lose your head." And then
he talked to him seriously about the wicked deed he had done, and told
him that such a wicked man would surely be punished. Great Claus got
so frightened that he rushed out of the surgery, jumped into the cart,
whipped up his horses, and drove home quickly. The apothecary and
all the people thought him mad, and let him drive where he liked.

"You shall pay for this," said Great Claus, as soon as he got into
the highroad, "that you shall, Little Claus." So as soon as he reached
home he took the largest sack he could find and went over to Little
Claus. "You have played me another trick," said he. "First, I killed
all my horses, and then my old grandmother, and it is all your
fault; but you shall not make a fool of me any more." So he laid
hold of Little Claus round the body, and pushed him into the sack,
which he took on his shoulders, saying, "Now I'm going to drown you in
the river."

He had a long way to go before he reached the river, and Little
Claus was not a very light weight to carry. The road led by the
church, and as they passed he could hear the organ playing and the
people singing beautifully. Great Claus put down the sack close to the
church-door, and thought he might as well go in and hear a psalm
before he went any farther. Little Claus could not possibly get out of
the sack, and all the people were in church; so in he went.

"Oh dear, oh dear," sighed Little Claus in the sack, as he
turned and twisted about; but he found he could not loosen the
string with which it was tied. Presently an old cattle driver, with
snowy hair, passed by, carrying a large staff in his hand, with
which he drove a large herd of cows and oxen before him. They stumbled
against the sack in which lay Little Claus, and turned it over. "Oh
dear," sighed Little Claus, "I am very young, yet I am soon going to
heaven."

"And I, poor fellow," said the drover, "I who am so old already,
cannot get there."

"Open the sack," cried Little Claus; "creep into it instead of me,
and you will soon be there."

"With all my heart," replied the drover, opening the sack, from
which sprung Little Claus as quickly as possible. "Will you take
care of my cattle?" said the old man, as he crept into the bag.

"Yes," said Little Claus, and he tied up the sack, and then walked
off with all the cows and oxen.

When Great Claus came out of church, he took up the sack, and
placed it on his shoulders. It appeared to have become lighter, for
the old drover was not half so heavy as Little Claus.

"How light he seems now," said he. "Ah, it is because I have
been to a church." So he walked on to the river, which was deep and
broad, and threw the sack containing the old drover into the water,
believing it to be Little Claus. "There you may lie!" he exclaimed;
"you will play me no more tricks now." Then he turned to go home,
but when he came to a place where two roads crossed, there was
Little Claus driving the cattle. "How is this?" said Great Claus. "Did
I not drown you just now?"

"Yes," said Little Claus; "you threw me into the river about
half an hour ago."

"But wherever did you get all these fine beasts?" asked Great
Claus.

"These beasts are sea-cattle," replied Little Claus. "I'll tell
you the whole story, and thank you for drowning me; I am above you
now, I am really very rich. I was frightened, to be sure, while I
lay tied up in the sack, and the wind whistled in my ears when you
threw me into the river from the bridge, and I sank to the bottom
immediately; but I did not hurt myself, for I fell upon beautifully
soft grass which grows down there; and in a moment, the sack opened,
and the sweetest little maiden came towards me. She had snow-white
robes, and a wreath of green leaves on her wet hair. She took me by
the hand, and said, 'So you are come, Little Claus, and here are
some cattle for you to begin with. About a mile farther on the road,
there is another herd for you.' Then I saw that the river formed a
great highway for the people who live in the sea. They were walking
and driving here and there from the sea to the land at the, spot where
the river terminates. The bed of the river was covered with the
loveliest flowers and sweet fresh grass. The fish swam past me as
rapidly as the birds do here in the air. How handsome all the people
were, and what fine cattle were grazing on the hills and in the
valleys!"

"But why did you come up again," said Great Claus, "if it was
all so beautiful down there? I should not have done so?"

"Well," said Little Claus, "it was good policy on my part; you
heard me say just now that I was told by the sea-maiden to go a mile
farther on the road, and I should find a whole herd of cattle. By
the road she meant the river, for she could not travel any other
way; but I knew the winding of the river, and how it bends,
sometimes to the right and sometimes to the left, and it seemed a long
way, so I chose a shorter one; and, by coming up to the land, and then
driving across the fields back again to the river, I shall save half a
mile, and get all my cattle more quickly."

"What a lucky fellow you are!" exclaimed Great Claus. "Do you
think I should get any sea-cattle if I went down to the bottom of
the river?"

"Yes, I think so," said Little Claus; "but I cannot carry you
there in a sack, you are too heavy. However if you will go there
first, and then creep into a sack, I will throw you in with the
greatest pleasure."

"Thank you," said Great Claus; "but remember, if I do not get
any sea-cattle down there I shall come up again and give you a good
thrashing."

"No, now, don't be too fierce about it!" said Little Claus, as
they walked on towards the river. When they approached it, the cattle,
who were very thirsty, saw the stream, and ran down to drink.

"See what a hurry they are in," said Little Claus, "they are
longing to get down again."

"Come, help me, make haste," said Great Claus; "or you'll get
beaten." So he crept into a large sack, which had been lying across
the back of one of the oxen.

"Put in a stone," said Great Claus, "or I may not sink."

"Oh, there's not much fear of that," he replied; still he put a
large stone into the bag, and then tied it tightly, and gave it a
push.

"Plump!" In went Great Claus, and immediately sank to the bottom
of the river.

"I'm afraid he will not find any cattle," said Little Claus, and
then he drove his own beasts homewards.




THE LITTLE ELDER-TREE MOTHER

There was once a little boy who had caught cold; he had gone out
and got wet feet. Nobody had the least idea how it had happened; the
weather was quite dry. His mother undressed him, put him to bed, and
ordered the teapot to be brought in, that she might make him a good
cup of tea from the elder-tree blossoms, which is so warming. At the
same time, the kind-hearted old man who lived by himself in the
upper storey of the house came in; he led a lonely life, for he had no
wife and children; but he loved the children of others very much,
and he could tell so many fairy tales and stories, that it was a
pleasure to hear him.

"Now, drink your tea," said the mother; "perhaps you will hear a
story."

"Yes, if I only knew a fresh one," said the old man, and nodded
smilingly. "But how did the little fellow get his wet feet?" he then
asked.

"That," replied the mother, "nobody can understand."

"Will you tell me a story?" asked the boy.

"Yes, if you can tell me as nearly as possible how deep is the
gutter in the little street where you go to school."

"Just half as high as my top-boots," replied the boy; "but then
I must stand in the deepest holes."

"There, now we know where you got your wet feet," said the old
man. "I ought to tell you a story, but the worst of it is, I do not
know any more."

"You can make one up," said the little boy. "Mother says you can
tell a fairy tale about anything you look at or touch."

"That is all very well, but such tales or stories are worth
nothing! No, the right ones come by themselves and knock at my
forehead saying: 'Here I am.'"

"Will not one knock soon?" asked the boy; and the mother smiled
while she put elder-tree blossoms into the teapot and poured boiling
water over them. "Pray, tell me a story."

"Yes, if stories came by themselves; they are so proud, they
only come when they please.--But wait," he said suddenly, "there is
one. Look at the teapot; there is a story in it now."

And the little boy looked at the teapot; the lid rose up
gradually, the elder-tree blossoms sprang forth one by one, fresh
and white; long boughs came forth; even out of the spout they grew
up in all directions, and formed a bush--nay, a large elder tree,
which stretched its branches up to the bed and pushed the curtains
aside; and there were so many blossoms and such a sweet fragrance!
In the midst of the tree sat a kindly-looking old woman with a strange
dress; it was as green as the leaves, and trimmed with large white
blossoms, so that it was difficult to say whether it was real cloth,
or the leaves and blossoms of the elder-tree.

"What is this woman's name?" asked the little boy.

"Well, the Romans and Greeks used to call her a Dryad," said the
old man; "but we do not understand that. Out in the sailors' quarter
they give her a better name; there she is called elder-tree mother.
Now, you must attentively listen to her and look at the beautiful
elder-tree.

"Just such a large tree, covered with flowers, stands out there;
it grew in the corner of an humble little yard; under this tree sat
two old people one afternoon in the beautiful sunshine. He was an old,
old sailor, and she his old wife; they had already great-grandchildren,
and were soon to celebrate their golden wedding, but they could not
remember the date, and the elder-tree mother was sitting in the tree
and looked as pleased as this one here. 'I know very well when the
golden wedding is to take place,' she said; but they did not hear
it--they were talking of bygone days.

"'Well, do you remember?' said the old sailor, 'when we were quite
small and used to run about and play--it was in the very same yard
where we now are--we used to put little branches into the ground and
make a garden.'

"'Yes,' said the old woman, 'I remember it very well; we used to
water the branches, and one of them, an elder-tree branch, took
root, and grew and became the large tree under which we are now
sitting as old people.'

"'Certainly, you are right,' he said; 'and in yonder corner
stood a large water-tub; there I used to sail my boat, which I had cut
out myself--it sailed so well; but soon I had to sail somewhere else.'

"'But first we went to school to learn something,' she said,
'and then we were confirmed; we both wept on that day, but in the
afternoon we went out hand in hand, and ascended the high round
tower and looked out into the wide world right over Copenhagen and the
sea; then we walked to Fredericksburg, where the king and the queen
were sailing about in their magnificent boat on the canals.'

"'But soon I had to sail about somewhere else, and for many
years I was travelling about far away from home.'

"'And I often cried about you, for I was afraid lest you were
drowned and lying at the bottom of the sea. Many a time I got up in
the night and looked if the weathercock had turned; it turned often,
but you did not return. I remember one day distinctly: the rain was
pouring down in torrents; the dust-man had come to the house where I
was in service; I went down with the dust-bin and stood for a moment
in the doorway, and looked at the dreadful weather. Then the postman
gave me a letter; it was from you. Heavens! how that letter had
travelled about. I tore it open and read it; I cried and laughed at
the same time, and was so happy! Therein was written that you were
staying in the hot countries, where the coffee grows. These must be
marvellous countries. You said a great deal about them, and I read all
while the rain was pouring down and I was standing there with the
dust-bin. Then suddenly some one put his arm round my waist-'

"'Yes, and you gave him a hearty smack on the cheek,' said the old
man.

"'I did not know that it was you--you had come as quickly as
your letter; and you looked so handsome, and so you do still. You
had a large yellow silk handkerchief in your pocket and a shining
hat on. You looked so well, and the weather in the street was
horrible!'

"'Then we married,' he said. 'Do you remember how we got our first
boy, and then Mary, Niels, Peter, John, and Christian?'

"'Oh yes; and now they have all grown up, and have become useful
members of society, whom everybody cares for.'

"'And their children have had children again,' said the old
sailor. 'Yes, these are children's children, and they are strong and
healthy. If I am not mistaken, our wedding took place at this season
of the year.'

"'Yes, to-day is your golden wedding-day,' said the little
elder-tree mother, stretching her head down between the two old
people, who thought that she was their neighbour who was nodding to
them; they looked at each other and clasped hands. Soon afterwards the
children and grandchildren came, for they knew very well that it was
the golden wedding-day; they had already wished them joy and happiness
in the morning, but the old people had forgotten it, although they
remembered things so well that had passed many, many years ago. The
elder-tree smelt strongly, and the setting sun illuminated the faces
of the two old people, so that they looked quite rosy; the youngest of
the grandchildren danced round them, and cried merrily that there
would be a feast in the evening, for they were to have hot potatoes;
and the elder mother nodded in the tree and cried 'Hooray' with the
others."

"But that was no fairy tale," said the little boy who had listened
to it.

"You will presently understand it," said the old man who told
the story. "Let us ask little elder-tree mother about it."

"That was no fairy tale," said the little elder-tree mother;
"but now it comes! Real life furnishes us with subjects for the most
wonderful fairy tales; for otherwise my beautiful elder-bush could not
have grown forth out of the teapot."

And then she took the little boy out of bed and placed him on
her bosom; the elder branches, full of blossoms, closed over them;
it was as if they sat in a thick leafy bower which flew with them
through the air; it was beautiful beyond all description. The little
elder-tree mother had suddenly become a charming young girl, but her
dress was still of the same green material, covered with white
blossoms, as the elder-tree mother had worn; she had a real elder
blossom on her bosom, and a wreath of the same flowers was wound round
her curly golden hair; her eyes were so large and so blue that it
was wonderful to look at them. She and the boy kissed each other,
and then they were of the same age and felt the same joys. They walked
hand in hand out of the bower, and now stood at home in a beautiful
flower garden. Near the green lawn the father's walking-stick was tied
to a post. There was life in this stick for the little ones, for as
soon as they seated themselves upon it the polished knob turned into a
neighing horse's head, a long black mane was fluttering in the wind,
and four strong slender legs grew out. The animal was fiery and
spirited; they galloped round the lawn. "Hooray! now we shall ride far
away, many miles!" said the boy; "we shall ride to the nobleman's
estate where we were last year." And they rode round the lawn again,
and the little girl, who, as we know, was no other than the little
elder-tree mother, continually cried, "Now we are in the country! Do
you see the farmhouse there, with the large baking stove, which
projects like a gigantic egg out of the wall into the road? The
elder-tree spreads its branches over it, and the cock struts about and
scratches for the hens. Look how proud he is! Now we are near the
church; it stands on a high hill, under the spreading oak trees; one
of them is half dead! Now we are at the smithy, where the fire roars
and the half-naked men beat with their hammers so that the sparks
fly far and wide. Let's be off to the beautiful farm!" And they passed
by everything the little girl, who was sitting behind on the stick,
described, and the boy saw it, and yet they only went round the
lawn. Then they played in a side-walk, and marked out a little
garden on the ground; she took elder-blossoms out of her hair and
planted them, and they grew exactly like those the old people
planted when they were children, as we have heard before. They
walked about hand in hand, just as the old couple had done when they
were little, but they did not go to the round tower nor to the
Fredericksburg garden. No; the little girl seized the boy round the
waist, and then they flew far into the country. It was spring and it
became summer, it was autumn and it became winter, and thousands of
pictures reflected themselves in the boy's eyes and heart, and the
little girl always sang again, "You will never forget that!" And
during their whole flight the elder-tree smelt so sweetly; he
noticed the roses and the fresh beeches, but the elder-tree smelt much
stronger, for the flowers were fixed on the little girl's bosom,
against which the boy often rested his head during the flight.

"It is beautiful here in spring," said the little girl, and they
were again in the green beechwood, where the thyme breathed forth
sweet fragrance at their feet, and the pink anemones looked lovely
in the green moss. "Oh! that it were always spring in the fragrant
beechwood!"

"Here it is splendid in summer!" she said, and they passed by
old castles of the age of chivalry. The high walls and indented
battlements were reflected in the water of the ditches, on which swans
were swimming and peering into the old shady avenues. The corn waved
in the field like a yellow sea. Red and yellow flowers grew in the
ditches, wild hops and convolvuli in full bloom in the hedges. In
the evening the moon rose, large and round, and the hayricks in the
meadows smelt sweetly. "One can never forget it!"

"Here it is beautiful in autumn!" said the little girl, and the
atmosphere seemed twice as high and blue, while the wood shone with
crimson, green, and gold. The hounds were running off, flocks of
wild fowl flew screaming over the barrows, while the bramble bushes
twined round the old stones. The dark-blue sea was covered with
white-sailed ships, and in the barns sat old women, girls, and
children picking hops into a large tub; the young ones sang songs, and
the old people told fairy tales about goblins and sorcerers. It
could not be more pleasant anywhere.

"Here it's agreeable in winter!" said the little girl, and all the
trees were covered with hoar-frost, so that they looked like white
coral. The snow creaked under one's feet, as if one had new boots
on. One shooting star after another traversed the sky. In the room the
Christmas tree was lit, and there were song and merriment. In the
peasant's cottage the violin sounded, and games were played for
apple quarters; even the poorest child said, "It is beautiful in
winter!"

And indeed it was beautiful! And the little girl showed everything
to the boy, and the elder-tree continued to breathe forth sweet
perfume, while the red flag with the white cross was streaming in
the wind; it was the flag under which the old sailor had served. The
boy became a youth; he was to go out into the wide world, far away
to the countries where the coffee grows. But at parting the little
girl took an elder-blossom from her breast and gave it to him as a
keepsake. He placed it in his prayer-book, and when he opened it in
distant lands it was always at the place where the flower of
remembrance was lying; and the more he looked at it the fresher it
became, so that he could almost smell the fragrance of the woods at
home. He distinctly saw the little girl, with her bright blue eyes,
peeping out from behind the petals, and heard her whispering, "Here it
is beautiful in spring, in summer, in autumn, and in winter," and
hundreds of pictures passed through his mind.

Thus many years rolled by. He had now become an old man, and was
sitting, with his old wife, under an elder-tree in full bloom. They
held each other by the hand exactly as the great-grandfather and the
great-grandmother had done outside, and, like them, they talked
about bygone days and of their golden wedding. The little girl with
the blue eyes and elder-blossoms in her hair was sitting high up in
the tree, and nodded to them, saying, "To-day is the golden
wedding!" And then she took two flowers out of her wreath and kissed
them. They glittered at first like silver, then like gold, and when
she placed them on the heads of the old people each flower became a
golden crown. There they both sat like a king and queen under the
sweet-smelling tree, which looked exactly like an elder-tree, and he
told his wife the story of the elder-tree mother as it had been told
him when he was a little boy. They were both of opinion that the story
contained many points like their own, and these similarities they
liked best.

"Yes, so it is," said the little girl in the tree. "Some call me
Little Elder-tree Mother; others a Dryad; but my real name is
'Remembrance.' It is I who sit in the tree which grows and grows. I
can remember things and tell stories! But let's see if you have
still got your flower."

And the old man opened his prayer-book; the elder-blossom was
still in it, and as fresh as if it had only just been put in.
Remembrance nodded, and the two old people, with the golden crowns
on their heads, sat in the glowing evening sun. They closed their eyes
and--and--

Well, now the story is ended! The little boy in bed did not know
whether he had dreamt it or heard it told; the teapot stood on the
table, but no elder-tree was growing out of it, and the old man who
had told the story was on the point of leaving the room, and he did go
out.

"How beautiful it was!" said the little boy. "Mother, I have
been to warm countries!"

"I believe you," said the mother; "if one takes two cups of hot
elder-tea it is quite natural that one gets into warm countries!"
And she covered him up well, so that he might not take cold. "You have
slept soundly while I was arguing with the old man whether it was a
story or a fairy tale!"

"And what has become of the little elder-tree mother?" asked the
boy.

"She is in the teapot," said the mother; "and there she may
remain."




LITTLE IDA'S FLOWERS

"My poor flowers are quite dead," said little Ida, "they were so
pretty yesterday evening, and now all the leaves are hanging down
quite withered. What do they do that for," she asked, of the student
who sat on the sofa; she liked him very much, he could tell the most
amusing stories, and cut out the prettiest pictures; hearts, and
ladies dancing, castles with doors that opened, as well as flowers; he
was a delightful student. "Why do the flowers look so faded to-day?"
she asked again, and pointed to her nosegay, which was quite withered.

"Don't you know what is the matter with them?" said the student.
"The flowers were at a ball last night, and therefore, it is no wonder
they hang their heads."

"But flowers cannot dance?" cried little Ida.

"Yes indeed, they can," replied the student. "When it grows
dark, and everybody is asleep, they jump about quite merrily. They
have a ball almost every night."

"Can children go to these balls?"

"Yes," said the student, "little daisies and lilies of the
valley."

"Where do the beautiful flowers dance?" asked little Ida.

"Have you not often seen the large castle outside the gates of the
town, where the king lives in summer, and where the beautiful garden
is full of flowers? And have you not fed the swans with bread when
they swam towards you? Well, the flowers have capital balls there,
believe me."

"I was in the garden out there yesterday with my mother," said
Ida, "but all the leaves were off the trees, and there was not a
single flower left. Where are they? I used to see so many in the
summer."

"They are in the castle," replied the student. "You must know that
as soon as the king and all the court are gone into the town, the
flowers run out of the garden into the castle, and you should see
how merry they are. The two most beautiful roses seat themselves on
the throne, and are called the king and queen, then all the red
cockscombs range themselves on each side, and bow, these are the
lords-in-waiting. After that the pretty flowers come in, and there
is a grand ball. The blue violets represent little naval cadets, and
dance with hyacinths and crocuses which they call young ladies. The
tulips and tiger-lilies are the old ladies who sit and watch the
dancing, so that everything may be conducted with order and
propriety."

"But," said little Ida, "is there no one there to hurt the flowers
for dancing in the king's castle?"

"No one knows anything about it," said the student. "The old
steward of the castle, who has to watch there at night, sometimes
comes in; but he carries a great bunch of keys, and as soon as the
flowers hear the keys rattle, they run and hide themselves behind
the long curtains, and stand quite still, just peeping their heads
out. Then the old steward says, 'I smell flowers here,' but he
cannot see them."

"Oh how capital," said little Ida, clapping her hands. "Should I
be able to see these flowers?"

"Yes," said the student, "mind you think of it the next time you
go out, no doubt you will see them, if you peep through the window.
I did so to-day, and I saw a long yellow lily lying stretched out on
the sofa. She was a court lady."

"Can the flowers from the Botanical Gardens go to these balls?"
asked Ida. "It is such a distance!"

"Oh yes," said the student, "whenever they like, for they can
fly. Have you not seen those beautiful red, white, and yellow
butterflies, that look like flowers? They were flowers once. They have
flown off their stalks into the air, and flap their leaves as if
they were little wings to make them fly. Then, if they behave well,
they obtain permission to fly about during the day, instead of being
obliged to sit still on their stems at home, and so in time their
leaves become real wings. It may be, however, that the flowers in
the Botanical Gardens have never been to the king's palace, and,
therefore, they know nothing of the merry doings at night, which
take place there. I will tell you what to do, and the botanical
professor, who lives close by here, will be so surprised. You know him
very well, do you not? Well, next time you go into his garden, you
must tell one of the flowers that there is going to be a grand ball at
the castle, then that flower will tell all the others, and they will
fly away to the castle as soon as possible. And when the professor
walks into his garden, there will not be a single flower left. How
he will wonder what has become of them!"

"But how can one flower tell another? Flowers cannot speak?"

"No, certainly not," replied the student; "but they can make
signs. Have you not often seen that when the wind blows they nod at
one another, and rustle all their green leaves?"

"Can the professor understand the signs?" asked Ida.

"Yes, to be sure he can. He went one morning into his garden,
and saw a stinging nettle making signs with its leaves to a
beautiful red carnation. It was saying, 'You are so pretty, I like you
very much.' But the professor did not approve of such nonsense, so
he clapped his hands on the nettle to stop it. Then the leaves,
which are its fingers, stung him so sharply that he has never ventured
to touch a nettle since."

"Oh how funny!" said Ida, and she laughed.

"How can anyone put such notions into a child's head?" said a
tiresome lawyer, who had come to pay a visit, and sat on the sofa.
He did not like the student, and would grumble when he saw him cutting
out droll or amusing pictures. Sometimes it would be a man hanging
on a gibbet and holding a heart in his hand as if he had been stealing
hearts. Sometimes it was an old witch riding through the air on a
broom and carrying her husband on her nose. But the lawyer did not
like such jokes, and he would say as he had just said, "How can anyone
put such nonsense into a child's head! what absurd fancies there are!"

But to little Ida, all these stories which the student told her
about the flowers, seemed very droll, and she thought over them a
great deal. The flowers did hang their heads, because they had been
dancing all night, and were very tired, and most likely they were ill.
Then she took them into the room where a number of toys lay on a
pretty little table, and the whole of the table drawer besides was
full of beautiful things. Her doll Sophy lay in the doll's bed asleep,
and little Ida said to her, "You must really get up Sophy, and be
content to lie in the drawer to-night; the poor flowers are ill, and
they must lie in your bed, then perhaps they will get well again."
So she took the doll out, who looked quite cross, and said not a
single word, for she was angry at being turned out of her bed. Ida
placed the flowers in the doll's bed, and drew the quilt over them.
Then she told them to lie quite still and be good, while she made some
tea for them, so that they might be quite well and able to get up
the next morning. And she drew the curtains close round the little
bed, so that the sun might not shine in their eyes. During the whole
evening she could not help thinking of what the student had told
her. And before she went to bed herself, she was obliged to peep
behind the curtains into the garden where all her mother's beautiful
flowers grew, hyacinths and tulips, and many others. Then she
whispered to them quite softly, "I know you are going to a ball
to-night." But the flowers appeared as if they did not understand, and
not a leaf moved; still Ida felt quite sure she knew all about it. She
lay awake a long time after she was in bed, thinking how pretty it
must be to see all the beautiful flowers dancing in the king's garden.
"I wonder if my flowers have really been there," she said to
herself, and then she fell asleep. In the night she awoke; she had
been dreaming of the flowers and of the student, as well as of the
tiresome lawyer who found fault with him. It was quite still in
Ida's bedroom; the night-lamp burnt on the table, and her father and
mother were asleep. "I wonder if my flowers are still lying in Sophy's
bed," she thought to herself; "how much I should like to know." She
raised herself a little, and glanced at the door of the room where all
her flowers and playthings lay; it was partly open, and as she
listened, it seemed as if some one in the room was playing the
piano, but softly and more prettily than she had ever before heard it.
"Now all the flowers are certainly dancing in there," she thought, "oh
how much I should like to see them," but she did not dare move for
fear of disturbing her father and mother. "If they would only come
in here," she thought; but they did not come, and the music
continued to play so beautifully, and was so pretty, that she could
resist no longer. She crept out of her little bed, went softly to
the door and looked into the room. Oh what a splendid sight there
was to be sure! There was no night-lamp burning, but the room appeared
quite light, for the moon shone through the window upon the floor, and
made it almost like day. All the hyacinths and tulips stood in two
long rows down the room, not a single flower remained in the window,
and the flower-pots were all empty. The flowers were dancing
gracefully on the floor, making turns and holding each other by
their long green leaves as they swung round. At the piano sat a
large yellow lily which little Ida was sure she had seen in the
summer, for she remembered the student saying she was very much like
Miss Lina, one of Ida's friends. They all laughed at him then, but now
it seemed to little Ida as if the tall, yellow flower was really
like the young lady. She had just the same manners while playing,
bending her long yellow face from side to side, and nodding in time to
the beautiful music. Then she saw a large purple crocus jump into
the middle of the table where the playthings stood, go up to the
doll's bedstead and draw back the curtains; there lay the sick
flowers, but they got up directly, and nodded to the others as a
sign that they wished to dance with them. The old rough doll, with the
broken mouth, stood up and bowed to the pretty flowers. They did not
look ill at all now, but jumped about and were very merry, yet none of
them noticed little Ida. Presently it seemed as if something fell from
the table. Ida looked that way, and saw a slight carnival rod
jumping down among the flowers as if it belonged to them; it was,
however, very smooth and neat, and a little wax doll with a broad
brimmed hat on her head, like the one worn by the lawyer, sat upon it.
The carnival rod hopped about among the flowers on its three red
stilted feet, and stamped quite loud when it danced the Mazurka; the
flowers could not perform this dance, they were too light to stamp
in that manner. All at once the wax doll which rode on the carnival
rod seemed to grow larger and taller, and it turned round and said
to the paper flowers, "How can you put such things in a child's
head? they are all foolish fancies;" and then the doll was exactly
like the lawyer with the broad brimmed hat, and looked as yellow and
as cross as he did; but the paper dolls struck him on his thin legs,
and he shrunk up again and became quite a little wax doll. This was
very amusing, and Ida could not help laughing. The carnival rod went
on dancing, and the lawyer was obliged to dance also. It was no use,
he might make himself great and tall, or remain a little wax doll with
a large black hat; still he must dance. Then at last the other flowers
interceded for him, especially those who had lain in the doll's bed,
and the carnival rod gave up his dancing. At the same moment a loud
knocking was heard in the drawer, where Ida's doll Sophy lay with many
other toys. Then the rough doll ran to the end of the table, laid
himself flat down upon it, and began to pull the drawer out a little
way.

Then Sophy raised himself, and looked round quite astonished,
"There must be a ball here to-night," said Sophy. "Why did not
somebody tell me?"

"Will you dance with me?" said the rough doll.

"You are the right sort to dance with, certainly," said she,
turning her back upon him.

Then she seated herself on the edge of the drawer, and thought
that perhaps one of the flowers would ask her to dance; but none of
them came. Then she coughed, "Hem, hem, a-hem;" but for all that not
one came. The shabby doll now danced quite alone, and not very
badly, after all. As none of the flowers seemed to notice Sophy, she
let herself down from the drawer to the floor, so as to make a very
great noise. All the flowers came round her directly, and asked if she
had hurt herself, especially those who had lain in her bed. But she
was not hurt at all, and Ida's flowers thanked her for the use of
the nice bed, and were very kind to her. They led her into the
middle of the room, where the moon shone, and danced with her, while
all the other flowers formed a circle round them. Then Sophy was
very happy, and said they might keep her bed; she did not mind lying
in the drawer at all. But the flowers thanked her very much, and
said,--

"We cannot live long. To-morrow morning we shall be quite dead;
and you must tell little Ida to bury us in the garden, near to the
grave of the canary; then, in the summer we shall wake up and be
more beautiful than ever."

"No, you must not die," said Sophy, as she kissed the flowers.

Then the door of the room opened, and a number of beautiful
flowers danced in. Ida could not imagine where they could come from,
unless they were the flowers from the king's garden. First came two
lovely roses, with little golden crowns on their heads; these were the
king and queen. Beautiful stocks and carnations followed, bowing to
every one present. They had also music with them. Large poppies and
peonies had pea-shells for instruments, and blew into them till they
were quite red in the face. The bunches of blue hyacinths and the
little white snowdrops jingled their bell-like flowers, as if they
were real bells. Then came many more flowers: blue violets, purple
heart's-ease, daisies, and lilies of the valley, and they all danced
together, and kissed each other. It was very beautiful to behold.

At last the flowers wished each other good-night. Then little
Ida crept back into her bed again, and dreamt of all she had seen.
When she arose the next morning, she went quickly to the little table,
to see if the flowers were still there. She drew aside the curtains of
the little bed. There they all lay, but quite faded; much more so than
the day before. Sophy was lying in the drawer where Ida had placed
her; but she looked very sleepy.

"Do you remember what the flowers told you to say to me?" said
little Ida. But Sophy looked quite stupid, and said not a single word.

"You are not kind at all," said Ida; "and yet they all danced with
you."

Then she took a little paper box, on which were painted
beautiful birds, and laid the dead flowers in it.

"This shall be your pretty coffin," she said; "and by and by, when
my cousins come to visit me, they shall help me to bury you out in the
garden; so that next summer you may grow up again more beautiful
than ever."

Her cousins were two good-tempered boys, whose names were James
and Adolphus. Their father had given them each a bow and arrow, and
they had brought them to show Ida. She told them about the poor
flowers which were dead; and as soon as they obtained permission, they
went with her to bury them. The two boys walked first, with their
crossbows on their shoulders, and little Ida followed, carrying the
pretty box containing the dead flowers. They dug a little grave in the
garden. Ida kissed her flowers and then laid them, with the box, in
the earth. James and Adolphus then fired their crossbows over the
grave, as they had neither guns nor cannons.




THE LITTLE MATCH-SELLER

It was terribly cold and nearly dark on the last evening of the
old year, and the snow was falling fast. In the cold and the darkness,
a poor little girl, with bare head and naked feet, roamed through
the streets. It is true she had on a pair of slippers when she left
home, but they were not of much use. They were very large, so large,
indeed, that they had belonged to her mother, and the poor little
creature had lost them in running across the street to avoid two
carriages that were rolling along at a terrible rate. One of the
slippers she could not find, and a boy seized upon the other and ran
away with it, saying that he could use it as a cradle, when he had
children of his own. So the little girl went on with her little
naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In an old
apron she carried a number of matches, and had a bundle of them in her
hands. No one had bought anything of her the whole day, nor had any
one given here even a penny. Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept
along; poor little child, she looked the picture of misery. The
snowflakes fell on her long, fair hair, which hung in curls on her
shoulders, but she regarded them not.

Lights were shining from every window, and there was a savory
smell of roast goose, for it was New-year's eve--yes, she remembered
that. In a corner, between two houses, one of which projected beyond
the other, she sank down and huddled herself together. She had drawn
her little feet under her, but she could not keep off the cold; and
she dared not go home, for she had sold no matches, and could not take
home even a penny of money. Her father would certainly beat her;
besides, it was almost as cold at home as here, for they had only
the roof to cover them, through which the wind howled, although the
largest holes had been stopped up with straw and rags. Her little
hands were almost frozen with the cold. Ah! perhaps a burning match
might be some good, if she could draw it from the bundle and strike it
against the wall, just to warm her fingers. She drew one
out-"scratch!" how it sputtered as it burnt! It gave a warm, bright
light, like a little candle, as she held her hand over it. It was
really a wonderful light. It seemed to the little girl that she was
sitting by a large iron stove, with polished brass feet and a brass
ornament. How the fire burned! and seemed so beautifully warm that the
child stretched out her feet as if to warm them, when, lo! the flame
of the match went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the
remains of the half-burnt match in her hand.

She rubbed another match on the wall. It burst into a flame, and
where its light fell upon the wall it became as transparent as a veil,
and she could see into the room. The table was covered with a snowy
white table-cloth, on which stood a splendid dinner service, and a
steaming roast goose, stuffed with apples and dried plums. And what
was still more wonderful, the goose jumped down from the dish and
waddled across the floor, with a knife and fork in its breast, to
the little girl. Then the match went out, and there remained nothing
but the thick, damp, cold wall before her.

She lighted another match, and then she found herself sitting
under a beautiful Christmas-tree. It was larger and more beautifully
decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door at
the rich merchant's. Thousands of tapers were burning upon the green
branches, and colored pictures, like those she had seen in the
show-windows, looked down upon it all. The little one stretched out
her hand towards them, and the match went out.

The Christmas lights rose higher and higher, till they looked to
her like the stars in the sky. Then she saw a star fall, leaving
behind it a bright streak of fire. "Some one is dying," thought the
little girl, for her old grandmother, the only one who had ever
loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star
falls, a soul was going up to God.

She again rubbed a match on the wall, and the light shone round
her; in the brightness stood her old grandmother, clear and shining,
yet mild and loving in her appearance. "Grandmother," cried the little
one, "O take me with you; I know you will go away when the match burns
out; you will vanish like the warm stove, the roast goose, and the
large, glorious Christmas-tree." And she made haste to light the whole
bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother there. And
the matches glowed with a light that was brighter than the noon-day,
and her grandmother had never appeared so large or so beautiful. She
took the little girl in her arms, and they both flew upwards in
brightness and joy far above the earth, where there was neither cold
nor hunger nor pain, for they were with God.


In the dawn of morning there lay the poor little one, with pale
cheeks and smiling mouth, leaning against the wall; she had been
frozen to death on the last evening of the year; and the New-year's
sun rose and shone upon a little corpse! The child still sat, in the
stiffness of death, holding the matches in her hand, one bundle of
which was burnt. "She tried to warm herself," said some. No one
imagined what beautiful things she had seen, nor into what glory she
had entered with her grandmother, on New-year's day.




THE LITTLE MERMAID

Far out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the
prettiest cornflower, and as clear as crystal, it is very, very
deep; so deep, indeed, that no cable could fathom it: many church
steeples, piled one upon another, would not reach from the ground
beneath to the surface of the water above. There dwell the Sea King
and his subjects. We must not imagine that there is nothing at the
bottom of the sea but bare yellow sand. No, indeed; the most
singular flowers and plants grow there; the leaves and stems of
which are so pliant, that the slightest agitation of the water
causes them to stir as if they had life. Fishes, both large and small,
glide between the branches, as birds fly among the trees here upon
land. In the deepest spot of all, stands the castle of the Sea King.
Its walls are built of coral, and the long, gothic windows are of
the clearest amber. The roof is formed of shells, that open and
close as the water flows over them. Their appearance is very
beautiful, for in each lies a glittering pearl, which would be fit for
the diadem of a queen.

The Sea King had been a widower for many years, and his aged
mother kept house for him. She was a very wise woman, and
exceedingly proud of her high birth; on that account she wore twelve
oysters on her tail; while others, also of high rank, were only
allowed to wear six. She was, however, deserving of very great praise,
especially for her care of the little sea-princesses, her
grand-daughters. They were six beautiful children; but the youngest
was the prettiest of them all; her skin was as clear and delicate as a
rose-leaf, and her eyes as blue as the deepest sea; but, like all
the others, she had no feet, and her body ended in a fish's tail.
All day long they played in the great halls of the castle, or among
the living flowers that grew out of the walls. The large amber windows
were open, and the fish swam in, just as the swallows fly into our
houses when we open the windows, excepting that the fishes swam up
to the princesses, ate out of their hands, and allowed themselves to
be stroked. Outside the castle there was a beautiful garden, in
which grew bright red and dark blue flowers, and blossoms like
flames of fire; the fruit glittered like gold, and the leaves and
stems waved to and fro continually. The earth itself was the finest
sand, but blue as the flame of burning sulphur. Over everything lay
a peculiar blue radiance, as if it were surrounded by the air from
above, through which the blue sky shone, instead of the dark depths of
the sea. In calm weather the sun could be seen, looking like a
purple flower, with the light streaming from the calyx. Each of the
young princesses had a little plot of ground in the garden, where
she might dig and plant as she pleased. One arranged her flower-bed
into the form of a whale; another thought it better to make hers
like the figure of a little mermaid; but that of the youngest was
round like the sun, and contained flowers as red as his rays at
sunset. She was a strange child, quiet and thoughtful; and while her
sisters would be delighted with the wonderful things which they
obtained from the wrecks of vessels, she cared for nothing but her
pretty red flowers, like the sun, excepting a beautiful marble statue.
It was the representation of a handsome boy, carved out of pure
white stone, which had fallen to the bottom of the sea from a wreck.
She planted by the statue a rose-colored weeping willow. It grew
splendidly, and very soon hung its fresh branches over the statue,
almost down to the blue sands. The shadow had a violet tint, and waved
to and fro like the branches; it seemed as if the crown of the tree
and the root were at play, and trying to kiss each other. Nothing gave
her so much pleasure as to hear about the world above the sea. She
made her old grandmother tell her all she knew of the ships and of the
towns, the people and the animals. To her it seemed most wonderful and
beautiful to hear that the flowers of the land should have
fragrance, and not those below the sea; that the trees of the forest
should be green; and that the fishes among the trees could sing so
sweetly, that it was quite a pleasure to hear them. Her grandmother
called the little birds fishes, or she would not have understood
her; for she had never seen birds.

"When you have reached your fifteenth year," said the
grand-mother, "you will have permission to rise up out of the sea,
to sit on the rocks in the moonlight, while the great ships are
sailing by; and then you will see both forests and towns."

In the following year, one of the sisters would be fifteen: but as
each was a year younger than the other, the youngest would have to
wait five years before her turn came to rise up from the bottom of the
ocean, and see the earth as we do. However, each promised to tell
the others what she saw on her first visit, and what she thought the
most beautiful; for their grandmother could not tell them enough;
there were so many things on which they wanted information. None of
them longed so much for her turn to come as the youngest, she who
had the longest time to wait, and who was so quiet and thoughtful.
Many nights she stood by the open window, looking up through the
dark blue water, and watching the fish as they splashed about with
their fins and tails. She could see the moon and stars shining
faintly; but through the water they looked larger than they do to
our eyes. When something like a black cloud passed between her and
them, she knew that it was either a whale swimming over her head, or a
ship full of human beings, who never imagined that a pretty little
mermaid was standing beneath them, holding out her white hands towards
the keel of their ship.

As soon as the eldest was fifteen, she was allowed to rise to
the surface of the ocean. When she came back, she had hundreds of
things to talk about; but the most beautiful, she said, was to lie
in the moonlight, on a sandbank, in the quiet sea, near the coast, and
to gaze on a large town nearby, where the lights were twinkling like
hundreds of stars; to listen to the sounds of the music, the noise
of carriages, and the voices of human beings, and then to hear the
merry bells peal out from the church steeples; and because she could
not go near to all those wonderful things, she longed for them more
than ever. Oh, did not the youngest sister listen eagerly to all these
descriptions? and afterwards, when she stood at the open window
looking up through the dark blue water, she thought of the great city,
with all its bustle and noise, and even fancied she could hear the
sound of the church bells, down in the depths of the sea.

In another year the second sister received permission to rise to
the surface of the water, and to swim about where she pleased. She
rose just as the sun was setting, and this, she said, was the most
beautiful sight of all. The whole sky looked like gold, while violet
and rose-colored clouds, which she could not describe, floated over
her; and, still more rapidly than the clouds, flew a large flock of
wild swans towards the setting sun, looking like a long white veil
across the sea. She also swam towards the sun; but it sunk into the
waves, and the rosy tints faded from the clouds and from the sea.

The third sister's turn followed; she was the boldest of them all,
and she swam up a broad river that emptied itself into the sea. On the
banks she saw green hills covered with beautiful vines; palaces and
castles peeped out from amid the proud trees of the forest; she
heard the birds singing, and the rays of the sun were so powerful that
she was obliged often to dive down under the water to cool her burning
face. In a narrow creek she found a whole troop of little human
children, quite naked, and sporting about in the water; she wanted
to play with them, but they fled in a great fright; and then a
little black animal came to the water; it was a dog, but she did not
know that, for she had never before seen one. This animal barked at
her so terribly that she became frightened, and rushed back to the
open sea. But she said she should never forget the beautiful forest,
the green hills, and the pretty little children who could swim in
the water, although they had not fish's tails.

The fourth sister was more timid; she remained in the midst of the
sea, but she said it was quite as beautiful there as nearer the
land. She could see for so many miles around her, and the sky above
looked like a bell of glass. She had seen the ships, but at such a
great distance that they looked like sea-gulls. The dolphins sported
in the waves, and the great whales spouted water from their nostrils
till it seemed as if a hundred fountains were playing in every
direction.

The fifth sister's birthday occurred in the winter; so when her
turn came, she saw what the others had not seen the first time they
went up. The sea looked quite green, and large icebergs were
floating about, each like a pearl, she said, but larger and loftier
than the churches built by men. They were of the most singular shapes,
and glittered like diamonds. She had seated herself upon one of the
largest, and let the wind play with her long hair, and she remarked
that all the ships sailed by rapidly, and steered as far away as
they could from the iceberg, as if they were afraid of it. Towards
evening, as the sun went down, dark clouds covered the sky, the
thunder rolled and the lightning flashed, and the red light glowed
on the icebergs as they rocked and tossed on the heaving sea. On all
the ships the sails were reefed with fear and trembling, while she sat
calmly on the floating iceberg, watching the blue lightning, as it
darted its forked flashes into the sea.

When first the sisters had permission to rise to the surface, they
were each delighted with the new and beautiful sights they saw; but
now, as grown-up girls, they could go when they pleased, and they
had become indifferent about it. They wished themselves back again
in the water, and after a month had passed they said it was much
more beautiful down below, and pleasanter to be at home. Yet often, in
the evening hours, the five sisters would twine their arms round
each other, and rise to the surface, in a row. They had more beautiful
voices than any human being could have; and before the approach of a
storm, and when they expected a ship would be lost, they swam before
the vessel, and sang sweetly of the delights to be found in the depths
of the sea, and begging the sailors not to fear if they sank to the
bottom. But the sailors could not understand the song, they took it
for the howling of the storm. And these things were never to be
beautiful for them; for if the ship sank, the men were drowned, and
their dead bodies alone reached the palace of the Sea King.

When the sisters rose, arm-in-arm, through the water in this
way, their youngest sister would stand quite alone, looking after
them, ready to cry, only that the mermaids have no tears, and
therefore they suffer more. "Oh, were I but fifteen years old," said
she: "I know that I shall love the world up there, and all the
people who live in it."

At last she reached her fifteenth year. "Well, now, you are
grown up," said the old dowager, her grandmother; "so you must let
me adorn you like your other sisters;" and she placed a wreath of
white lilies in her hair, and every flower leaf was half a pearl. Then
the old lady ordered eight great oysters to attach themselves to the
tail of the princess to show her high rank.

"But they hurt me so," said the little mermaid.

"Pride must suffer pain," replied the old lady. Oh, how gladly she
would have shaken off all this grandeur, and laid aside the heavy
wreath! The red flowers in her own garden would have suited her much
better, but she could not help herself: so she said, "Farewell," and
rose as lightly as a bubble to the surface of the water. The sun had
just set as she raised her head above the waves; but the clouds were
tinted with crimson and gold, and through the glimmering twilight
beamed the evening star in all its beauty. The sea was calm, and the
air mild and fresh. A large ship, with three masts, lay becalmed on
the water, with only one sail set; for not a breeze stiffed, and the
sailors sat idle on deck or amongst the rigging. There was music and
song on board; and, as darkness came on, a hundred colored lanterns
were lighted, as if the flags of all nations waved in the air. The
little mermaid swam close to the cabin windows; and now and then, as
the waves lifted her up, she could look in through clear glass
window-panes, and see a number of well-dressed people within. Among
them was a young prince, the most beautiful of all, with large black
eyes; he was sixteen years of age, and his birthday was being kept
with much rejoicing. The sailors were dancing on deck, but when the
prince came out of the cabin, more than a hundred rockets rose in
the air, making it as bright as day. The little mermaid was so
startled that she dived under water; and when she again stretched
out her head, it appeared as if all the stars of heaven were falling
around her, she had never seen such fireworks before. Great suns
spurted fire about, splendid fireflies flew into the blue air, and
everything was reflected in the clear, calm sea beneath. The ship
itself was so brightly illuminated that all the people, and even the
smallest rope, could be distinctly and plainly seen. And how
handsome the young prince looked, as he pressed the hands of all
present and smiled at them, while the music resounded through the
clear night air.

It was very late; yet the little mermaid could not take her eyes
from the ship, or from the beautiful prince. The colored lanterns
had been extinguished, no more rockets rose in the air, and the cannon
had ceased firing; but the sea became restless, and a moaning,
grumbling sound could be heard beneath the waves: still the little
mermaid remained by the cabin window, rocking up and down on the
water, which enabled her to look in. After a while, the sails were
quickly unfurled, and the noble ship continued her passage; but soon
the waves rose higher, heavy clouds darkened the sky, and lightning
appeared in the distance. A dreadful storm was approaching; once
more the sails were reefed, and the great ship pursued her flying
course over the raging sea. The waves rose mountains high, as if
they would have overtopped the mast; but the ship dived like a swan
between them, and then rose again on their lofty, foaming crests. To
the little mermaid this appeared pleasant sport; not so to the
sailors. At length the ship groaned and creaked; the thick planks gave
way under the lashing of the sea as it broke over the deck; the
mainmast snapped asunder like a reed; the ship lay over on her side;
and the water rushed in. The little mermaid now perceived that the
crew were in danger; even she herself was obliged to be careful to
avoid the beams and planks of the wreck which lay scattered on the
water. At one moment it was so pitch dark that she could not see a
single object, but a flash of lightning revealed the whole scene;
she could see every one who had been on board excepting the prince;
when the ship parted, she had seen him sink into the deep waves, and
she was glad, for she thought he would now be with her; and then she
remembered that human beings could not live in the water, so that when
he got down to her father's palace he would be quite dead. But he must
not die. So she swam about among the beams and planks which strewed
the surface of the sea, forgetting that they could crush her to
pieces. Then she dived deeply under the dark waters, rising and
falling with the waves, till at length she managed to reach the
young prince, who was fast losing the power of swimming in that stormy
sea. His limbs were failing him, his beautiful eyes were closed, and
he would have died had not the little mermaid come to his
assistance. She held his head above the water, and let the waves drift
them where they would.

In the morning the storm had ceased; but of the ship not a
single fragment could be seen. The sun rose up red and glowing from
the water, and its beams brought back the hue of health to the
prince's cheeks; but his eyes remained closed. The mermaid kissed
his high, smooth forehead, and stroked back his wet hair; he seemed to
her like the marble statue in her little garden, and she kissed him
again, and wished that he might live. Presently they came in sight
of land; she saw lofty blue mountains, on which the white snow
rested as if a flock of swans were lying upon them. Near the coast
were beautiful green forests, and close by stood a large building,
whether a church or a convent she could not tell. Orange and citron
trees grew in the garden, and before the door stood lofty palms. The
sea here formed a little bay, in which the water was quite still,
but very deep; so she swam with the handsome prince to the beach,
which was covered with fine, white sand, and there she laid him in the
warm sunshine, taking care to raise his head higher than his body.
Then bells sounded in the large white building, and a number of
young girls came into the garden. The little mermaid swam out
farther from the shore and placed herself between some high rocks that
rose out of the water; then she covered her head and neck with the
foam of the sea so that her little face might not be seen, and watched
to see what would become of the poor prince. She did not wait long
before she saw a young girl approach the spot where he lay. She seemed
frightened at first, but only for a moment; then she fetched a
number of people, and the mermaid saw that the prince came to life
again, and smiled upon those who stood round him. But to her he sent
no smile; he knew not that she had saved him. This made her very
unhappy, and when he was led away into the great building, she dived
down sorrowfully into the water, and returned to her father's
castle. She had always been silent and thoughtful, and now she was
more so than ever. Her sisters asked her what she had seen during
her first visit to the surface of the water; but she would tell them
nothing. Many an evening and morning did she rise to the place where
she had left the prince. She saw the fruits in the garden ripen till
they were gathered, the snow on the tops of the mountains melt away;
but she never saw the prince, and therefore she returned home,
always more sorrowful than before. It was her only comfort to sit in
her own little garden, and fling her arm round the beautiful marble
statue which was like the prince; but she gave up tending her flowers,
and they grew in wild confusion over the paths, twining their long
leaves and stems round the branches of the trees, so that the whole
place became dark and gloomy. At length she could bear it no longer,
and told one of her sisters all about it. Then the others heard the
secret, and very soon it became known to two mermaids whose intimate
friend happened to know who the prince was. She had also seen the
festival on board ship, and she told them where the prince came
from, and where his palace stood.

"Come, little sister," said the other princesses; then they
entwined their arms and rose up in a long row to the surface of the
water, close by the spot where they knew the prince's palace stood. It
was built of bright yellow shining stone, with long flights of
marble steps, one of which reached quite down to the sea. Splendid
gilded cupolas rose over the roof, and between the pillars that
surrounded the whole building stood life-like statues of marble.
Through the clear crystal of the lofty windows could be seen noble
rooms, with costly silk curtains and hangings of tapestry; while the
walls were covered with beautiful paintings which were a pleasure to
look at. In the centre of the largest saloon a fountain threw its
sparkling jets high up into the glass cupola of the ceiling, through
which the sun shone down upon the water and upon the beautiful
plants growing round the basin of the fountain. Now that she knew
where he lived, she spent many an evening and many a night on the
water near the palace. She would swim much nearer the shore than any
of the others ventured to do; indeed once she went quite up the narrow
channel under the marble balcony, which threw a broad shadow on the
water. Here she would sit and watch the young prince, who thought
himself quite alone in the bright moonlight. She saw him many times of
an evening sailing in a pleasant boat, with music playing and flags
waving. She peeped out from among the green rushes, and if the wind
caught her long silvery-white veil, those who saw it believed it to be
a swan, spreading out its wings. On many a night, too, when the
fishermen, with their torches, were out at sea, she heard them
relate so many good things about the doings of the young prince,
that she was glad she had saved his life when he had been tossed about
half-dead on the waves. And she remembered that his head had rested on
her bosom, and how heartily she had kissed him; but he knew nothing of
all this, and could not even dream of her. She grew more and more fond
of human beings, and wished more and more to be able to wander about
with those whose world seemed to be so much larger than her own.
They could fly over the sea in ships, and mount the high hills which
were far above the clouds; and the lands they possessed, their woods
and their fields, stretched far away beyond the reach of her sight.
There was so much that she wished to know, and her sisters were unable
to answer all her questions. Then she applied to her old
grandmother, who knew all about the upper world, which she very
rightly called the lands above the sea.

"If human beings are not drowned," asked the little mermaid,
"can they live forever? do they never die as we do here in the sea?"

"Yes," replied the old lady, "they must also die, and their term
of life is even shorter than ours. We sometimes live to three
hundred years, but when we cease to exist here we only become the foam
on the surface of the water, and we have not even a grave down here of
those we love. We have not immortal souls, we shall never live
again; but, like the green sea-weed, when once it has been cut off, we
can never flourish more. Human beings, on the contrary, have a soul
which lives forever, lives after the body has been turned to dust.
It rises up through the clear, pure air beyond the glittering stars.
As we rise out of the water, and behold all the land of the earth,
so do they rise to unknown and glorious regions which we shall never
see."

"Why have not we an immortal soul?" asked the little mermaid
mournfully; "I would give gladly all the hundreds of years that I have
to live, to be a human being only for one day, and to have the hope of
knowing the happiness of that glorious world above the stars."

"You must not think of that," said the old woman; "we feel
ourselves to be much happier and much better off than human beings."

"So I shall die," said the little mermaid, "and as the foam of the
sea I shall be driven about never again to hear the music of the
waves, or to see the pretty flowers nor the red sun. Is there anything
I can do to win an immortal soul?"

"No," said the old woman, "unless a man were to love you so much
that you were more to him than his father or mother; and if all his
thoughts and all his love were fixed upon you, and the priest placed
his right hand in yours, and he promised to be true to you here and
hereafter, then his soul would glide into your body and you would
obtain a share in the future happiness of mankind. He would give a
soul to you and retain his own as well; but this can never happen.
Your fish's tail, which amongst us is considered so beautiful, is
thought on earth to be quite ugly; they do not know any better, and
they think it necessary to have two stout props, which they call legs,
in order to be handsome."

Then the little mermaid sighed, and looked sorrowfully at her
fish's tail. "Let us be happy," said the old lady, "and dart and
spring about during the three hundred years that we have to live,
which is really quite long enough; after that we can rest ourselves
all the better. This evening we are going to have a court ball."

It is one of those splendid sights which we can never see on
earth. The walls and the ceiling of the large ball-room were of thick,
but transparent crystal. May hundreds of colossal shells, some of a
deep red, others of a grass green, stood on each side in rows, with
blue fire in them, which lighted up the whole saloon, and shone
through the walls, so that the sea was also illuminated. Innumerable
fishes, great and small, swam past the crystal walls; on some of
them the scales glowed with a purple brilliancy, and on others they
shone like silver and gold. Through the halls flowed a broad stream,
and in it danced the mermen and the mermaids to the music of their own
sweet singing. No one on earth has such a lovely voice as theirs.
The little mermaid sang more sweetly than them all. The whole court
applauded her with hands and tails; and for a moment her heart felt
quite gay, for she knew she had the loveliest voice of any on earth or
in the sea. But she soon thought again of the world above her, for she
could not forget the charming prince, nor her sorrow that she had
not an immortal soul like his; therefore she crept away silently out
of her father's palace, and while everything within was gladness and
song, she sat in her own little garden sorrowful and alone. Then she
heard the bugle sounding through the water, and thought--"He is
certainly sailing above, he on whom my wishes depend, and in whose
hands I should like to place the happiness of my life. I will
venture all for him, and to win an immortal soul, while my sisters are
dancing in my father's palace, I will go to the sea witch, of whom I
have always been so much afraid, but she can give me counsel and
help."

And then the little mermaid went out from her garden, and took the
road to the foaming whirlpools, behind which the sorceress lived.
She had never been that way before: neither flowers nor grass grew
there; nothing but bare, gray, sandy ground stretched out to the
whirlpool, where the water, like foaming mill-wheels, whirled round
everything that it seized, and cast it into the fathomless deep.
Through the midst of these crushing whirlpools the little mermaid
was obliged to pass, to reach the dominions of the sea witch; and also
for a long distance the only road lay right across a quantity of warm,
bubbling mire, called by the witch her turfmoor. Beyond this stood her
house, in the centre of a strange forest, in which all the trees and
flowers were polypi, half animals and half plants; they looked like
serpents with a hundred heads growing out of the ground. The
branches were long slimy arms, with fingers like flexible worms,
moving limb after limb from the root to the top. All that could be
reached in the sea they seized upon, and held fast, so that it never
escaped from their clutches. The little mermaid was so alarmed at what
she saw, that she stood still, and her heart beat with fear, and she
was very nearly turning back; but she thought of the prince, and of
the human soul for which she longed, and her courage returned. She
fastened her long flowing hair round her head, so that the polypi
might not seize hold of it. She laid her hands together across her
bosom, and then she darted forward as a fish shoots through the water,
between the supple arms and fingers of the ugly polypi, which were
stretched out on each side of her. She saw that each held in its grasp
something it had seized with its numerous little arms, as if they were
iron bands. The white skeletons of human beings who had perished at
sea, and had sunk down into the deep waters, skeletons of land
animals, oars, rudders, and chests of ships were lying tightly grasped
by their clinging arms; even a little mermaid, whom they had caught
and strangled; and this seemed the most shocking of all to the
little princess.

She now came to a space of marshy ground in the wood, where large,
fat water-snakes were rolling in the mire, and showing their ugly,
drab-colored bodies. In the midst of this spot stood a house, built
with the bones of shipwrecked human beings. There sat the sea witch,
allowing a toad to eat from her mouth, just as people sometimes feed a
canary with a piece of sugar. She called the ugly water-snakes her
little chickens, and allowed them to crawl all over her bosom.

"I know what you want," said the sea witch; "it is very stupid
of you, but you shall have your way, and it will bring you to
sorrow, my pretty princess. You want to get rid of your fish's tail,
and to have two supports instead of it, like human beings on earth, so
that the young prince may fall in love with you, and that you may have
an immortal soul." And then the witch laughed so loud and
disgustingly, that the toad and the snakes fell to the ground, and lay
there wriggling about. "You are but just in time," said the witch;
"for after sunrise to-morrow I should not be able to help you till the
end of another year. I will prepare a draught for you, with which
you must swim to land tomorrow before sunrise, and sit down on the
shore and drink it. Your tail will then disappear, and shrink up
into what mankind calls legs, and you will feel great pain, as if a
sword were passing through you. But all who see you will say that
you are the prettiest little human being they ever saw. You will still
have the same floating gracefulness of movement, and no dancer will
ever tread so lightly; but at every step you take it will feel as if
you were treading upon sharp knives, and that the blood must flow.
If you will bear all this, I will help you."

"Yes, I will," said the little princess in a trembling voice, as
she thought of the prince and the immortal soul.

"But think again," said the witch; "for when once your shape has
become like a human being, you can no more be a mermaid. You will
never return through the water to your sisters, or to your father's
palace again; and if you do not win the love of the prince, so that he
is willing to forget his father and mother for your sake, and to
love you with his whole soul, and allow the priest to join your
hands that you may be man and wife, then you will never have an
immortal soul. The first morning after he marries another your heart
will break, and you will become foam on the crest of the waves."

"I will do it," said the little mermaid, and she became pale as
death.

"But I must be paid also," said the witch, "and it is not a trifle
that I ask. You have the sweetest voice of any who dwell here in the
depths of the sea, and you believe that you will be able to charm
the prince with it also, but this voice you must give to me; the
best thing you possess will I have for the price of my draught. My own
blood must be mixed with it, that it may be as sharp as a two-edged
sword."

"But if you take away my voice," said the little mermaid, "what is
left for me?"

"Your beautiful form, your graceful walk, and your expressive
eyes; surely with these you can enchain a man's heart. Well, have
you lost your courage? Put out your little tongue that I may cut it
off as my payment; then you shall have the powerful draught."

"It shall be," said the little mermaid.

Then the witch placed her cauldron on the fire, to prepare the
magic draught.

"Cleanliness is a good thing," said she, scouring the vessel
with snakes, which she had tied together in a large knot; then she
pricked herself in the breast, and let the black blood drop into it.
The steam that rose formed itself into such horrible shapes that no
one could look at them without fear. Every moment the witch threw
something else into the vessel, and when it began to boil, the sound
was like the weeping of a crocodile. When at last the magic draught
was ready, it looked like the clearest water. "There it is for you,"
said the witch. Then she cut off the mermaid's tongue, so that she
became dumb, and would never again speak or sing. "If the polypi
should seize hold of you as you return through the wood," said the
witch, "throw over them a few drops of the potion, and their fingers
will be torn into a thousand pieces." But the little mermaid had no
occasion to do this, for the polypi sprang back in terror when they
caught sight of the glittering draught, which shone in her hand like a
twinkling star.

So she passed quickly through the wood and the marsh, and
between the rushing whirlpools. She saw that in her father's palace
the torches in the ballroom were extinguished, and all within
asleep; but she did not venture to go in to them, for now she was dumb
and going to leave them forever, she felt as if her heart would break.
She stole into the garden, took a flower from the flower-beds of
each of her sisters, kissed her hand a thousand times towards the
palace, and then rose up through the dark blue waters. The sun had not
risen when she came in sight of the prince's palace, and approached
the beautiful marble steps, but the moon shone clear and bright.
Then the little mermaid drank the magic draught, and it seemed as if a
two-edged sword went through her delicate body: she fell into a swoon,
and lay like one dead. When the sun arose and shone over the sea,
she recovered, and felt a sharp pain; but just before her stood the
handsome young prince. He fixed his coal-black eyes upon her so
earnestly that she cast down her own, and then became aware that her
fish's tail was gone, and that she had as pretty a pair of white
legs and tiny feet as any little maiden could have; but she had no
clothes, so she wrapped herself in her long, thick hair. The prince
asked her who she was, and where she came from, and she looked at
him mildly and sorrowfully with her deep blue eyes; but she could
not speak. Every step she took was as the witch had said it would
be, she felt as if treading upon the points of needles or sharp
knives; but she bore it willingly, and stepped as lightly by the
prince's side as a soap-bubble, so that he and all who saw her
wondered at her graceful-swaying movements. She was very soon
arrayed in costly robes of silk and muslin, and was the most beautiful
creature in the palace; but she was dumb, and could neither speak
nor sing.

Beautiful female slaves, dressed in silk and gold, stepped forward
and sang before the prince and his royal parents: one sang better than
all the others, and the prince clapped his hands and smiled at her.
This was great sorrow to the little mermaid; she knew how much more
sweetly she herself could sing once, and she thought, "Oh if he
could only know that! I have given away my voice forever, to be with
him."

The slaves next performed some pretty fairy-like dances, to the
sound of beautiful music. Then the little mermaid raised her lovely
white arms, stood on the tips of her toes, and glided over the
floor, and danced as no one yet had been able to dance. At each moment
her beauty became more revealed, and her expressive eyes appealed more
directly to the heart than the songs of the slaves. Every one was
enchanted, especially the prince, who called her his little foundling;
and she danced again quite readily, to please him, though each time
her foot touched the floor it seemed as if she trod on sharp knives.

The prince said she should remain with him always, and she
received permission to sleep at his door, on a velvet cushion. He
had a page's dress made for her, that she might accompany him on
horseback. They rode together through the sweet-scented woods, where
the green boughs touched their shoulders, and the little birds sang
among the fresh leaves. She climbed with the prince to the tops of
high mountains; and although her tender feet bled so that even her
steps were marked, she only laughed, and followed him till they
could see the clouds beneath them looking like a flock of birds
travelling to distant lands. While at the prince's palace, and when
all the household were asleep, she would go and sit on the broad
marble steps; for it eased her burning feet to bathe them in the
cold sea-water; and then she thought of all those below in the deep.

Once during the night her sisters came up arm-in-arm, singing
sorrowfully, as they floated on the water. She beckoned to them, and
then they recognized her, and told her how she had grieved them. After
that, they came to the same place every night; and once she saw in the
distance her old grandmother, who had not been to the surface of the
sea for many years, and the old Sea King, her father, with his crown
on his head. They stretched out their hands towards her, but they
did not venture so near the land as her sisters did.

As the days passed, she loved the prince more fondly, and he loved
her as he would love a little child, but it never came into his head
to make her his wife; yet, unless he married her, she could not
receive an immortal soul; and, on the morning after his marriage
with another, she would dissolve into the foam of the sea.

"Do you not love me the best of them all?" the eyes of the
little mermaid seemed to say, when he took her in his arms, and kissed
her fair forehead.

"Yes, you are dear to me," said the prince; "for you have the best
heart, and you are the most devoted to me; you are like a young maiden
whom I once saw, but whom I shall never meet again. I was in a ship
that was wrecked, and the waves cast me ashore near a holy temple,
where several young maidens performed the service. The youngest of
them found me on the shore, and saved my life. I saw her but twice,
and she is the only one in the world whom I could love; but you are
like her, and you have almost driven her image out of my mind. She
belongs to the holy temple, and my good fortune has sent you to me
instead of her; and we will never part."

"Ah, he knows not that it was I who saved his life," thought the
little mermaid. "I carried him over the sea to the wood where the
temple stands: I sat beneath the foam, and watched till the human
beings came to help him. I saw the pretty maiden that he loves
better than he loves me;" and the mermaid sighed deeply, but she could
not shed tears. "He says the maiden belongs to the holy temple,
therefore she will never return to the world. They will meet no
more: while I am by his side, and see him every day. I will take
care of him, and love him, and give up my life for his sake."

Very soon it was said that the prince must marry, and that the
beautiful daughter of a neighboring king would be his wife, for a fine
ship was being fitted out. Although the prince gave out that he merely
intended to pay a visit to the king, it was generally supposed that he
really went to see his daughter. A great company were to go with
him. The little mermaid smiled, and shook her head. She knew the
prince's thoughts better than any of the others.

"I must travel," he had said to her; "I must see this beautiful
princess; my parents desire it; but they will not oblige me to bring
her home as my bride. I cannot love her; she is not like the beautiful
maiden in the temple, whom you resemble. If I were forced to choose
a bride, I would rather choose you, my dumb foundling, with those
expressive eyes." And then he kissed her rosy mouth, played with her
long waving hair, and laid his head on her heart, while she dreamed of
human happiness and an immortal soul. "You are not afraid of the
sea, my dumb child," said he, as they stood on the deck of the noble
ship which was to carry them to the country of the neighboring king.
And then he told her of storm and of calm, of strange fishes in the
deep beneath them, and of what the divers had seen there; and she
smiled at his descriptions, for she knew better than any one what
wonders were at the bottom of the sea.

In the moonlight, when all on board were asleep, excepting the man
at the helm, who was steering, she sat on the deck, gazing down
through the clear water. She thought she could distinguish her
father's castle, and upon it her aged grandmother, with the silver
crown on her head, looking through the rushing tide at the keel of the
vessel. Then her sisters came up on the waves, and gazed at her
mournfully, wringing their white hands. She beckoned to them, and
smiled, and wanted to tell them how happy and well off she was; but
the cabin-boy approached, and when her sisters dived down he thought
it was only the foam of the sea which he saw.

The next morning the ship sailed into the harbor of a beautiful
town belonging to the king whom the prince was going to visit. The
church bells were ringing, and from the high towers sounded a flourish
of trumpets; and soldiers, with flying colors and glittering bayonets,
lined the rocks through which they passed. Every day was a festival;
balls and entertainments followed one another.

But the princess had not yet appeared. People said that she was
being brought up and educated in a religious house, where she was
learning every royal virtue. At last she came. Then the little
mermaid, who was very anxious to see whether she was really beautiful,
was obliged to acknowledge that she had never seen a more perfect
vision of beauty. Her skin was delicately fair, and beneath her long
dark eye-lashes her laughing blue eyes shone with truth and purity.

"It was you," said the prince, "who saved my life when I lay
dead on the beach," and he folded his blushing bride in his arms. "Oh,
I am too happy," said he to the little mermaid; "my fondest hopes
are all fulfilled. You will rejoice at my happiness; for your devotion
to me is great and sincere."

The little mermaid kissed his hand, and felt as if her heart
were already broken. His wedding morning would bring death to her, and
she would change into the foam of the sea. All the church bells
rung, and the heralds rode about the town proclaiming the betrothal.
Perfumed oil was burning in costly silver lamps on every altar. The
priests waved the censers, while the bride and bridegroom joined their
hands and received the blessing of the bishop. The little mermaid,
dressed in silk and gold, held up the bride's train; but her ears
heard nothing of the festive music, and her eyes saw not the holy
ceremony; she thought of the night of death which was coming to her,
and of all she had lost in the world. On the same evening the bride
and bridegroom went on board ship; cannons were roaring, flags waving,
and in the centre of the ship a costly tent of purple and gold had
been erected. It contained elegant couches, for the reception of the
bridal pair during the night. The ship, with swelling sails and a
favorable wind, glided away smoothly and lightly over the calm sea.
When it grew dark a number of colored lamps were lit, and the
sailors danced merrily on the deck. The little mermaid could not
help thinking of her first rising out of the sea, when she had seen
similar festivities and joys; and she joined in the dance, poised
herself in the air as a swallow when he pursues his prey, and all
present cheered her with wonder. She had never danced so elegantly
before. Her tender feet felt as if cut with sharp knives, but she
cared not for it; a sharper pang had pierced through her heart. She
knew this was the last evening she should ever see the prince, for
whom she had forsaken her kindred and her home; she had given up her
beautiful voice, and suffered unheard-of pain daily for him, while
he knew nothing of it. This was the last evening that she would
breathe the same air with him, or gaze on the starry sky and the
deep sea; an eternal night, without a thought or a dream, awaited her:
she had no soul and now she could never win one. All was joy and
gayety on board ship till long after midnight; she laughed and
danced with the rest, while the thoughts of death were in her heart.
The prince kissed his beautiful bride, while she played with his raven
hair, till they went arm-in-arm to rest in the splendid tent. Then all
became still on board the ship; the helmsman, alone awake, stood at
the helm. The little mermaid leaned her white arms on the edge of
the vessel, and looked towards the east for the first blush of
morning, for that first ray of dawn that would bring her death. She
saw her sisters rising out of the flood: they were as pale as herself;
but their long beautiful hair waved no more in the wind, and had
been cut off.

"We have given our hair to the witch," said they, "to obtain
help for you, that you may not die to-night. She has given us a knife:
here it is, see it is very sharp. Before the sun rises you must plunge
it into the heart of the prince; when the warm blood falls upon your
feet they will grow together again, and form into a fish's tail, and
you will be once more a mermaid, and return to us to live out your
three hundred years before you die and change into the salt sea
foam. Haste, then; he or you must die before sunrise. Our old
grandmother moans so for you, that her white hair is falling off
from sorrow, as ours fell under the witch's scissors. Kill the
prince and come back; hasten: do you not see the first red streaks
in the sky? In a few minutes the sun will rise, and you must die." And
then they sighed deeply and mournfully, and sank down beneath the
waves.

The little mermaid drew back the crimson curtain of the tent,
and beheld the fair bride with her head resting on the prince's
breast. She bent down and kissed his fair brow, then looked at the sky
on which the rosy dawn grew brighter and brighter; then she glanced at
the sharp knife, and again fixed her eyes on the prince, who whispered
the name of his bride in his dreams. She was in his thoughts, and
the knife trembled in the hand of the little mermaid: then she flung
it far away from her into the waves; the water turned red where it
fell, and the drops that spurted up looked like blood. She cast one
more lingering, half-fainting glance at the prince, and then threw
herself from the ship into the sea, and thought her body was
dissolving into foam. The sun rose above the waves, and his warm
rays fell on the cold foam of the little mermaid, who did not feel
as if she were dying. She saw the bright sun, and all around her
floated hundreds of transparent beautiful beings; she could see
through them the white sails of the ship, and the red clouds in the
sky; their speech was melodious, but too ethereal to be heard by
mortal ears, as they were also unseen by mortal eyes. The little
mermaid perceived that she had a body like theirs, and that she
continued to rise higher and higher out of the foam. "Where am I?"
asked she, and her voice sounded ethereal, as the voice of those who
were with her; no earthly music could imitate it.

"Among the daughters of the air," answered one of them. "A mermaid
has not an immortal soul, nor can she obtain one unless she wins the
love of a human being. On the power of another hangs her eternal
destiny. But the daughters of the air, although they do not possess an
immortal soul, can, by their good deeds, procure one for themselves.
We fly to warm countries, and cool the sultry air that destroys
mankind with the pestilence. We carry the perfume of the flowers to
spread health and restoration. After we have striven for three hundred
years to all the good in our power, we receive an immortal soul and
take part in the happiness of mankind. You, poor little mermaid,
have tried with your whole heart to do as we are doing; you have
suffered and endured and raised yourself to the spirit-world by your
good deeds; and now, by striving for three hundred years in the same
way, you may obtain an immortal soul."

The little mermaid lifted her glorified eyes towards the sun,
and felt them, for the first time, filling with tears. On the ship, in
which she had left the prince, there were life and noise; she saw
him and his beautiful bride searching for her; sorrowfully they
gazed at the pearly foam, as if they knew she had thrown herself
into the waves. Unseen she kissed the forehead of her bride, and
fanned the prince, and then mounted with the other children of the air
to a rosy cloud that floated through the aether.

"After three hundred years, thus shall we float into the kingdom
of heaven," said she. "And we may even get there sooner," whispered
one of her companions. "Unseen we can enter the houses of men, where
there are children, and for every day on which we find a good child,
who is the joy of his parents and deserves their love, our time of
probation is shortened. The child does not know, when we fly through
the room, that we smile with joy at his good conduct, for we can count
one year less of our three hundred years. But when we see a naughty or
a wicked child, we shed tears of sorrow, and for every tear a day is
added to our time of trial!"




LITTLE TINY OR THUMBELINA

There was once a woman who wished very much to have a little
child, but she could not obtain her wish. At last she went to a fairy,
and said, "I should so very much like to have a little child; can
you tell me where I can find one?"

"Oh, that can be easily managed," said the fairy. "Here is a
barleycorn of a different kind to those which grow in the farmer's
fields, and which the chickens eat; put it into a flower-pot, and
see what will happen."

"Thank you," said the woman, and she gave the fairy twelve
shillings, which was the price of the barleycorn. Then she went home
and planted it, and immediately there grew up a large handsome flower,
something like a tulip in appearance, but with its leaves tightly
closed as if it were still a bud. "It is a beautiful flower," said the
woman, and she kissed the red and golden-colored leaves, and while she
did so the flower opened, and she could see that it was a real
tulip. Within the flower, upon the green velvet stamens, sat a very
delicate and graceful little maiden. She was scarcely half as long
as a thumb, and they gave her the name of "Thumbelina," or Tiny,
because she was so small. A walnut-shell, elegantly polished, served
her for a cradle; her bed was formed of blue violet-leaves, with a
rose-leaf for a counterpane. Here she slept at night, but during the
day she amused herself on a table, where the woman had placed a
plateful of water. Round this plate were wreaths of flowers with their
stems in the water, and upon it floated a large tulip-leaf, which
served Tiny for a boat. Here the little maiden sat and rowed herself
from side to side, with two oars made of white horse-hair. It really
was a very pretty sight. Tiny could, also, sing so softly and
sweetly that nothing like her singing had ever before been heard.
One night, while she lay in her pretty bed, a large, ugly, wet toad
crept through a broken pane of glass in the window, and leaped right
upon the table where Tiny lay sleeping under her rose-leaf quilt.

"What a pretty little wife this would make for my son," said the
toad, and she took up the walnut-shell in which little Tiny lay
asleep, and jumped through the window with it into the garden.

In the swampy margin of a broad stream in the garden lived the
toad, with her son. He was uglier even than his mother, and when he
saw the pretty little maiden in her elegant bed, he could only cry,
"Croak, croak, croak."

"Don't speak so loud, or she will wake," said the toad, "and
then she might run away, for she is as light as swan's down. We will
place her on one of the water-lily leaves out in the stream; it will
be like an island to her, she is so light and small, and then she
cannot escape; and, while she is away, we will make haste and
prepare the state-room under the marsh, in which you are to live
when you are married."

Far out in the stream grew a number of water-lilies, with broad
green leaves, which seemed to float on the top of the water. The
largest of these leaves appeared farther off than the rest, and the
old toad swam out to it with the walnut-shell, in which little Tiny
lay still asleep. The tiny little creature woke very early in the
morning, and began to cry bitterly when she found where she was, for
she could see nothing but water on every side of the large green leaf,
and no way of reaching the land. Meanwhile the old toad was very
busy under the marsh, decking her room with rushes and wild yellow
flowers, to make it look pretty for her new daughter-in-law. Then
she swam out with her ugly son to the leaf on which she had placed
poor little Tiny. She wanted to fetch the pretty bed, that she might
put it in the bridal chamber to be ready for her. The old toad bowed
low to her in the water, and said, "Here is my son, he will be your
husband, and you will live happily in the marsh by the stream."

"Croak, croak, croak," was all her son could say for himself; so
the toad took up the elegant little bed, and swam away with it,
leaving Tiny all alone on the green leaf, where she sat and wept.
She could not bear to think of living with the old toad, and having
her ugly son for a husband. The little fishes, who swam about in the
water beneath, had seen the toad, and heard what she said, so they
lifted their heads above the water to look at the little maiden. As
soon as they caught sight of her, they saw she was very pretty, and it
made them very sorry to think that she must go and live with the
ugly toads. "No, it must never be!" so they assembled together in
the water, round the green stalk which held the leaf on which the
little maiden stood, and gnawed it away at the root with their
teeth. Then the leaf floated down the stream, carrying Tiny far away
out of reach of land.

Tiny sailed past many towns, and the little birds in the bushes
saw her, and sang, "What a lovely little creature;" so the leaf swam
away with her farther and farther, till it brought her to other lands.
A graceful little white butterfly constantly fluttered round her,
and at last alighted on the leaf. Tiny pleased him, and she was glad
of it, for now the toad could not possibly reach her, and the
country through which she sailed was beautiful, and the sun shone upon
the water, till it glittered like liquid gold. She took off her girdle
and tied one end of it round the butterfly, and the other end of the
ribbon she fastened to the leaf, which now glided on much faster
than ever, taking little Tiny with it as she stood. Presently a
large cockchafer flew by; the moment he caught sight of her, he seized
her round her delicate waist with his claws, and flew with her into
a tree. The green leaf floated away on the brook, and the butterfly
flew with it, for he was fastened to it, and could not get away.

Oh, how frightened little Tiny felt when the cockchafer flew
with her to the tree! But especially was she sorry for the beautiful
white butterfly which she had fastened to the leaf, for if he could
not free himself he would die of hunger. But the cockchafer did not
trouble himself at all about the matter. He seated himself by her side
on a large green leaf, gave her some honey from the flowers to eat,
and told her she was very pretty, though not in the least like a
cockchafer. After a time, all the cockchafers turned up their feelers,
and said, "She has only two legs! how ugly that looks." "She has no
feelers," said another. "Her waist is quite slim. Pooh! she is like
a human being."

"Oh! she is ugly," said all the lady cockchafers, although Tiny
was very pretty. Then the cockchafer who had run away with her,
believed all the others when they said she was ugly, and would have
nothing more to say to her, and told her she might go where she liked.
Then he flew down with her from the tree, and placed her on a daisy,
and she wept at the thought that she was so ugly that even the
cockchafers would have nothing to say to her. And all the while she
was really the loveliest creature that one could imagine, and as
tender and delicate as a beautiful rose-leaf. During the whole
summer poor little Tiny lived quite alone in the wide forest. She wove
herself a bed with blades of grass, and hung it up under a broad leaf,
to protect herself from the rain. She sucked the honey from the
flowers for food, and drank the dew from their leaves every morning.
So passed away the summer and the autumn, and then came the winter,--the
long, cold winter. All the birds who had sung to her so sweetly
were flown away, and the trees and the flowers had withered. The large
clover leaf under the shelter of which she had lived, was now rolled
together and shrivelled up, nothing remained but a yellow withered
stalk. She felt dreadfully cold, for her clothes were torn, and she
was herself so frail and delicate, that poor little Tiny was nearly
frozen to death. It began to snow too; and the snow-flakes, as they
fell upon her, were like a whole shovelful falling upon one of us, for
we are tall, but she was only an inch high. Then she wrapped herself
up in a dry leaf, but it cracked in the middle and could not keep
her warm, and she shivered with cold. Near the wood in which she had
been living lay a corn-field, but the corn had been cut a long time;
nothing remained but the bare dry stubble standing up out of the
frozen ground. It was to her like struggling through a large wood. Oh!
how she shivered with the cold. She came at last to the door of a
field-mouse, who had a little den under the corn-stubble. There
dwelt the field-mouse in warmth and comfort, with a whole roomful of
corn, a kitchen, and a beautiful dining room. Poor little Tiny stood
before the door just like a little beggar-girl, and begged for a small
piece of barley-corn, for she had been without a morsel to eat for two
days.

"You poor little creature," said the field-mouse, who was really a
good old field-mouse, "come into my warm room and dine with me." She
was very pleased with Tiny, so she said, "You are quite welcome to
stay with me all the winter, if you like; but you must keep my rooms
clean and neat, and tell me stories, for I shall like to hear them
very much." And Tiny did all the field-mouse asked her, and found
herself very comfortable.

"We shall have a visitor soon," said the field-mouse one day;
"my neighbor pays me a visit once a week. He is better off than I
am; he has large rooms, and wears a beautiful black velvet coat. If
you could only have him for a husband, you would be well provided
for indeed. But he is blind, so you must tell him some of your
prettiest stories."

But Tiny did not feel at all interested about this neighbor, for
he was a mole. However, he came and paid his visit dressed in his
black velvet coat.

"He is very rich and learned, and his house is twenty times larger
than mine," said the field-mouse.

He was rich and learned, no doubt, but he always spoke slightingly
of the sun and the pretty flowers, because he had never seen them.
Tiny was obliged to sing to him, "Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away
home," and many other pretty songs. And the mole fell in love with her
because she had such a sweet voice; but he said nothing yet, for he
was very cautious. A short time before, the mole had dug a long
passage under the earth, which led from the dwelling of the
field-mouse to his own, and here she had permission to walk with
Tiny whenever she liked. But he warned them not to be alarmed at the
sight of a dead bird which lay in the passage. It was a perfect
bird, with a beak and feathers, and could not have been dead long, and
was lying just where the mole had made his passage. The mole took a
piece of phosphorescent wood in his mouth, and it glittered like
fire in the dark; then he went before them to light them through the
long, dark passage. When they came to the spot where lay the dead
bird, the mole pushed his broad nose through the ceiling, the earth
gave way, so that there was a large hole, and the daylight shone
into the passage. In the middle of the floor lay a dead swallow, his
beautiful wings pulled close to his sides, his feet and his head drawn
up under his feathers; the poor bird had evidently died of the cold.
It made little Tiny very sad to see it, she did so love the little
birds; all the summer they had sung and twittered for her so
beautifully. But the mole pushed it aside with his crooked legs, and
said, "He will sing no more now. How miserable it must be to be born a
little bird! I am thankful that none of my children will ever be
birds, for they can do nothing but cry, 'Tweet, tweet,' and always die
of hunger in the winter."

"Yes, you may well say that, as a clever man!" exclaimed the
field-mouse, "What is the use of his twittering, for when winter comes
he must either starve or be frozen to death. Still birds are very high
bred."

Tiny said nothing; but when the two others had turned their
backs on the bird, she stooped down and stroked aside the soft
feathers which covered the head, and kissed the closed eyelids.
"Perhaps this was the one who sang to me so sweetly in the summer,"
she said; "and how much pleasure it gave me, you dear, pretty bird."

The mole now stopped up the hole through which the daylight shone,
and then accompanied the lady home. But during the night Tiny could
not sleep; so she got out of bed and wove a large, beautiful carpet of
hay; then she carried it to the dead bird, and spread it over him;
with some down from the flowers which she had found in the
field-mouse's room. It was as soft as wool, and she spread some of
it on each side of the bird, so that he might lie warmly in the cold
earth. "Farewell, you pretty little bird," said she, "farewell;
thank you for your delightful singing during the summer, when all
the trees were green, and the warm sun shone upon us." Then she laid
her head on the bird's breast, but she was alarmed immediately, for it
seemed as if something inside the bird went "thump, thump." It was the
bird's heart; he was not really dead, only benumbed with the cold, and
the warmth had restored him to life. In autumn, all the swallows fly
away into warm countries, but if one happens to linger, the cold
seizes it, it becomes frozen, and falls down as if dead; it remains
where it fell, and the cold snow covers it. Tiny trembled very much;
she was quite frightened, for the bird was large, a great deal
larger than herself,--she was only an inch high. But she took courage,
laid the wool more thickly over the poor swallow, and then took a leaf
which she had used for her own counterpane, and laid it over the
head of the poor bird. The next morning she again stole out to see
him. He was alive but very weak; he could only open his eyes for a
moment to look at Tiny, who stood by holding a piece of decayed wood
in her hand, for she had no other lantern. "Thank you, pretty little
maiden," said the sick swallow; "I have been so nicely warmed, that
I shall soon regain my strength, and be able to fly about again in the
warm sunshine."

"Oh," said she, "it is cold out of doors now; it snows and
freezes. Stay in your warm bed; I will take care of you."

Then she brought the swallow some water in a flower-leaf, and
after he had drank, he told her that he had wounded one of his wings
in a thorn-bush, and could not fly as fast as the others, who were
soon far away on their journey to warm countries. Then at last he
had fallen to the earth, and could remember no more, nor how he came
to be where she had found him. The whole winter the swallow remained
underground, and Tiny nursed him with care and love. Neither the
mole nor the field-mouse knew anything about it, for they did not like
swallows. Very soon the spring time came, and the sun warmed the
earth. Then the swallow bade farewell to Tiny, and she opened the hole
in the ceiling which the mole had made. The sun shone in upon them
so beautifully, that the swallow asked her if she would go with him;
she could sit on his back, he said, and he would fly away with her
into the green woods. But Tiny knew it would make the field-mouse very
grieved if she left her in that manner, so she said, "No, I cannot."

"Farewell, then, farewell, you good, pretty little maiden," said
the swallow; and he flew out into the sunshine.

Tiny looked after him, and the tears rose in her eyes. She was
very fond of the poor swallow.

"Tweet, tweet," sang the bird, as he flew out into the green
woods, and Tiny felt very sad. She was not allowed to go out into
the warm sunshine. The corn which had been sown in the field over
the house of the field-mouse had grown up high into the air, and
formed a thick wood to Tiny, who was only an inch in height.

"You are going to be married, Tiny," said the field-mouse. "My
neighbor has asked for you. What good fortune for a poor child like
you. Now we will prepare your wedding clothes. They must be both
woollen and linen. Nothing must be wanting when you are the mole's
wife."

Tiny had to turn the spindle, and the field-mouse hired four
spiders, who were to weave day and night. Every evening the mole
visited her, and was continually speaking of the time when the
summer would be over. Then he would keep his wedding-day with Tiny;
but now the heat of the sun was so great that it burned the earth, and
made it quite hard, like a stone. As soon, as the summer was over, the
wedding should take place. But Tiny was not at all pleased; for she
did not like the tiresome mole. Every morning when the sun rose, and
every evening when it went down, she would creep out at the door,
and as the wind blew aside the ears of corn, so that she could see the
blue sky, she thought how beautiful and bright it seemed out there,
and wished so much to see her dear swallow again. But he never
returned; for by this time he had flown far away into the lovely green
forest.

When autumn arrived, Tiny had her outfit quite ready; and the
field-mouse said to her, "In four weeks the wedding must take place."

Then Tiny wept, and said she would not marry the disagreeable
mole.

"Nonsense," replied the field-mouse. "Now don't be obstinate, or I
shall bite you with my white teeth. He is a very handsome mole; the
queen herself does not wear more beautiful velvets and furs. His
kitchen and cellars are quite full. You ought to be very thankful
for such good fortune."

So the wedding-day was fixed, on which the mole was to fetch
Tiny away to live with him, deep under the earth, and never again to
see the warm sun, because he did not like it. The poor child was
very unhappy at the thought of saying farewell to the beautiful sun,
and as the field-mouse had given her permission to stand at the
door, she went to look at it once more.

"Farewell bright sun," she cried, stretching out her arm towards
it; and then she walked a short distance from the house; for the
corn had been cut, and only the dry stubble remained in the fields.
"Farewell, farewell," she repeated, twining her arm round a little red
flower that grew just by her side. "Greet the little swallow from
me, if you should see him again."

"Tweet, tweet," sounded over her head suddenly. She looked up, and
there was the swallow himself flying close by. As soon as he spied
Tiny, he was delighted; and then she told him how unwilling she felt
to marry the ugly mole, and to live always beneath the earth, and
never to see the bright sun any more. And as she told him she wept.

"Cold winter is coming," said the swallow, "and I am going to
fly away into warmer countries. Will you go with me? You can sit on my
back, and fasten yourself on with your sash. Then we can fly away from
the ugly mole and his gloomy rooms,--far away, over the mountains,
into warmer countries, where the sun shines more brightly--than
here; where it is always summer, and the flowers bloom in greater
beauty. Fly now with me, dear little Tiny; you saved my life when I
lay frozen in that dark passage."

"Yes, I will go with you," said Tiny; and she seated herself on
the bird's back, with her feet on his outstretched wings, and tied her
girdle to one of his strongest feathers.

Then the swallow rose in the air, and flew over forest and over
sea, high above the highest mountains, covered with eternal snow. Tiny
would have been frozen in the cold air, but she crept under the bird's
warm feathers, keeping her little head uncovered, so that she might
admire the beautiful lands over which they passed. At length they
reached the warm countries, where the sun shines brightly, and the sky
seems so much higher above the earth. Here, on the hedges, and by
the wayside, grew purple, green, and white grapes; lemons and
oranges hung from trees in the woods; and the air was fragrant with
myrtles and orange blossoms. Beautiful children ran along the
country lanes, playing with large gay butterflies; and as the
swallow flew farther and farther, every place appeared still more
lovely.

At last they came to a blue lake, and by the side of it, shaded by
trees of the deepest green, stood a palace of dazzling white marble,
built in the olden times. Vines clustered round its lofty pillars, and
at the top were many swallows' nests, and one of these was the home of
the swallow who carried Tiny.

"This is my house," said the swallow; "but it would not do for you
to live there--you would not be comfortable. You must choose for
yourself one of those lovely flowers, and I will put you down upon it,
and then you shall have everything that you can wish to make you
happy."

"That will be delightful," she said, and clapped her little
hands for joy.

A large marble pillar lay on the ground, which, in falling, had
been broken into three pieces. Between these pieces grew the most
beautiful large white flowers; so the swallow flew down with Tiny, and
placed her on one of the broad leaves. But how surprised she was to
see in the middle of the flower, a tiny little man, as white and
transparent as if he had been made of crystal! He had a gold crown
on his head, and delicate wings at his shoulders, and was not much
larger than Tiny herself. He was the angel of the flower; for a tiny
man and a tiny woman dwell in every flower; and this was the king of
them all.

"Oh, how beautiful he is!" whispered Tiny to the swallow.

The little prince was at first quite frightened at the bird, who
was like a giant, compared to such a delicate little creature as
himself; but when he saw Tiny, he was delighted, and thought her the
prettiest little maiden he had ever seen. He took the gold crown
from his head, and placed it on hers, and asked her name, and if she
would be his wife, and queen over all the flowers.

This certainly was a very different sort of husband to the son
of a toad, or the mole, with my black velvet and fur; so she said,
"Yes," to the handsome prince. Then all the flowers opened, and out of
each came a little lady or a tiny lord, all so pretty it was quite a
pleasure to look at them. Each of them brought Tiny a present; but the
best gift was a pair of beautiful wings, which had belonged to a large
white fly and they fastened them to Tiny's shoulders, so that she
might fly from flower to flower. Then there was much rejoicing, and
the little swallow who sat above them, in his nest, was asked to
sing a wedding song, which he did as well as he could; but in his
heart he felt sad for he was very fond of Tiny, and would have liked
never to part from her again.

"You must not be called Tiny any more," said the spirit of the
flowers to her. "It is an ugly name, and you are so very pretty. We
will call you Maia."

"Farewell, farewell," said the swallow, with a heavy heart as he
left the warm countries to fly back into Denmark. There he had a
nest over the window of a house in which dwelt the writer of fairy
tales. The swallow sang, "Tweet, tweet," and from his song came the
whole story.




LITTLE TUK

Yes, they called him Little Tuk, but it was not his real name;
he had called himself so before he could speak plainly, and he meant
it for Charles. It was all very well for those who knew him, but not
for strangers.

Little Tuk was left at home to take care of his little sister,
Gustava, who was much younger than himself, and he had to learn his
lessons at the same time, and the two things could not very well be
performed together. The poor boy sat there with his sister on his lap,
and sung to her all the songs he knew, and now and then he looked into
his geography lesson that lay open before him. By the next morning
he had to learn by heart all the towns in Zealand, and all that
could be described of them.

His mother came home at last, and took little Gustava in her arms.
Then Tuk ran to the window, and read so eagerly that he nearly read
his eyes out; for it had become darker and darker every minute, and
his mother had no money to buy a light.

"There goes the old washerwoman up the lane," said the mother,
as she looked out of the window; "the poor woman can hardly drag
herself along, and now she had to drag a pail of water from the
well. Be a good boy, Tuk, and run across and help the old woman, won't
you?"

So Tuk ran across quickly, and helped her, but when he came back
into the room it was quite dark, and there was not a word said about a
light, so he was obliged to go to bed on his little truckle
bedstead, and there he lay and thought of his geography lesson, and of
Zealand, and of all the master had told him. He ought really to have
read it over again, but he could not for want of light. So he put
the geography book under his pillow, for he had heard that this was
a great help towards learning a lesson, but not always to be
depended upon. He still lay thinking and thinking, when all at once it
seemed as if some one kissed him on his eyes and mouth. He slept and
yet he did not sleep; and it appeared as if the old washerwoman looked
at him with kind eyes and said, "It would be a great pity if you did
not know your lesson to-morrow morning; you helped me, and now I
will help you, and Providence will always keep those who help
themselves;" and at the same time the book under Tuk's pillow began to
move about. "Cluck, cluck, cluck," cried a hen as she crept towards
him. "I am a hen from Kjoge," and then she told him how many
inhabitants the town contained, and about a battle that had been
fought there, which really was not worth speaking of.

"Crack, crack," down fell something. It was a wooden bird, the
parrot which is used as a target as Prastoe. He said there were as
many inhabitants in that town as he had nails in his body. He was very
proud, and said, "Thorwalsden lived close to me, and here I am now,
quite comfortable."

But now little Tuk was no longer in bed; all in a moment he
found himself on horseback. Gallop, gallop, away he went, seated in
front of a richly-attired knight, with a waving plume, who held him on
the saddle, and so they rode through the wood by the old town of
Wordingburg, which was very large and busy. The king's castle was
surrounded by lofty towers, and radiant light streamed from all the
windows. Within there were songs and dancing; King Waldemar and the
young gayly-dressed ladies of the court were dancing together. Morning
dawned, and as the sun rose, the whole city and the king's castle sank
suddenly down together. One tower after another fell, till at last
only one remained standing on the hill where the castle had formerly
been.

The town now appeared small and poor, and the school-boys read
in their books, which they carried under their arms, that it contained
two thousand inhabitants; but this was a mere boast, for it did not
contain so many.

And again little Tuk lay in his bed, scarcely knowing whether he
was dreaming or not, for some one stood by him.

"Tuk! little Tuk!" said a voice. It was a very little person who
spoke. He was dressed as a sailor, and looked small enough to be a
middy, but he was not one. "I bring you many greetings from Corsor. It
is a rising town, full of life. It has steamships and mail-coaches. In
times past they used to call it ugly, but that is no longer true. I
lie on the sea-shore," said Corsor; "I have high-roads and
pleasure-gardens; I have given birth to a poet who was witty and
entertaining, which they are not all. I once wanted to fit out a
ship to sail round the world, but I did not accomplish it, though most
likely I might have done so. But I am fragrant with perfume, for close
to my gates most lovely roses bloom."

Then before the eyes of little Tuk appeared a confusion of colors,
red and green; but it cleared off, and he could distinguish a cliff
close to the bay, the slopes of which were quite overgrown with
verdure, and on its summit stood a fine old church with pointed
towers. Springs of water flowed out of the cliff in thick waterspouts,
so that there was a continual splashing. Close by sat an old king with
a golden crown on his white head. This was King Hroar of the Springs
and near the springs stood the town of Roeskilde, as it is called.
Then all the kings and queens of Denmark went up the ascent to the old
church, hand in hand, with golden crowns on their heads, while the
organ played and the fountains sent forth jets of water.

Little Tuk saw and heard it all. "Don't forget the names of
these towns," said King Hroar.

All at once everything vanished; but where! It seemed to him
like turning over the leaves of a book. And now there stood before him
an old peasant woman, who had come from Soroe where the grass grows in
the market-place. She had a green linen apron thrown over her head and
shoulders, and it was quite wet, as if it had been raining heavily.
"Yes, that it has," said she, and then, just as she was going to
tell him a great many pretty stories from Holberg's comedies, and
about Waldemar and Absalom, she suddenly shrunk up together, and
wagged her head as if she were a frog about to spring. "Croak," she
cried; "it is always wet, and as quiet as death in Soroe." Then little
Tuk saw she was changed into a frog. "Croak," and again she was an old
woman. "One must dress according to the weather," said she. "It is
wet, and my town is just like a bottle. By the cork we must go in, and
by the cork we must come out again. In olden times I had beautiful
fish, and now I have fresh, rosy-cheeked boys in the bottom of the
bottle, and they learn wisdom, Hebrew and Greek."

"Croak." How it sounded like the cry of the frogs on the moor,
or like the creaking of great boots when some one is marching,--always
the same tone, so monotonous and wearing, that little Tuk at length
fell fast asleep, and then the sound could not annoy him. But even
in this sleep came a dream or something like it. His little sister
Gustava, with her blue eyes, and fair curly hair, had grown up a
beautiful maiden all at once, and without having wings she could
fly. And they flew together over Zealand, over green forests and
blue lakes.

"Hark, so you hear the cock crow, little Tuk. 'Cock-a-doodle-doo.'
The fowls are flying out of Kjoge. You shall have a large farm-yard.
You shall never suffer hunger or want. The bird of good omen shall
be yours, and you shall become a rich and happy man; your house
shall rise up like King Waldemar's towers, and shall be richly adorned
with marble statues, like those at Prastoe. Understand me well; your
name shall travel with fame round the world like the ship that was
to sail from Corsor, and at Roeskilde,--Don't forget the names of
the towns, as King Hroar said,--you shall speak well and clearly
little Tuk, and when at last you lie in your grave you shall sleep
peacefully, as--"

"As if I lay in Soroe," said little Tuk awaking. It was bright
daylight, and he could not remember his dream, but that was not
necessary, for we are not to know what will happen to us in the
future. Then he sprang out of bed quickly, and read over his lesson in
the book, and knew it all at once quite correctly. The old washerwoman
put her head in at the door, and nodded to him quite kindly, and said,
"Many thanks, you good child, for your help yesterday. I hope all your
beautiful dreams will come true."

Little Tuk did not at all know what he had dreamt, but One above
did.




THE LOVELIEST ROSE IN THE WORLD

There lived once a great queen, in whose garden were found at
all seasons the most splendid flowers, and from every land in the
world. She specially loved roses, and therefore she possessed the most
beautiful varieties of this flower, from the wild hedge-rose, with its
apple-scented leaves, to the splendid Provence rose. They grew near
the shelter of the walls, wound themselves round columns and
window-frames, crept along passages and over the ceilings of the
halls. They were of every fragrance and color.

But care and sorrow dwelt within these halls; the queen lay upon a
sick bed, and the doctors declared that she must die. "There is
still one thing that could save her," said one of the wisest among
them. "Bring her the loveliest rose in the world; one which exhibits
the purest and brightest love, and if it is brought to her before
her eyes close, she will not die."

Then from all parts came those who brought roses that bloomed in
every garden, but they were not the right sort. The flower must be one
from the garden of love; but which of the roses there showed forth the
highest and purest love? The poets sang of this rose, the loveliest in
the world, and each named one which he considered worthy of that
title; and intelligence of what was required was sent far and wide
to every heart that beat with love; to every class, age, and
condition.

"No one has yet named the flower," said the wise man. "No one
has pointed out the spot where it blooms in all its splendor. It is
not a rose from the coffin of Romeo and Juliet, or from the grave of
Walburg, though these roses will live in everlasting song. It is not
one of the roses which sprouted forth from the blood-stained fame of
Winkelreid. The blood which flows from the breast of a hero who dies
for his country is sacred, and his memory is sweet, and no rose can be
redder than the blood which flows from his veins. Neither is it the
magic flower of Science, to obtain which wondrous flower a man devotes
many an hour of his fresh young life in sleepless nights, in a
lonely chamber."

"I know where it blooms," said a happy mother, who came with her
lovely child to the bedside of the queen. "I know where the
loveliest rose in the world is. It is seen on the blooming cheeks of
my sweet child, when it expresses the pure and holy love of infancy;
when refreshed by sleep it opens its eyes, and smiles upon me with
childlike affection."

"This is a lovely rose," said the wise man; "but there is one
still more lovely."

"Yes, one far more lovely," said one of the women. "I have seen
it, and a loftier and purer rose does not bloom. But it was white,
like the leaves of a blush-rose. I saw it on the cheeks of the
queen. She had taken off her golden crown, and through the long,
dreary night, she carried her sick child in her arms. She wept over
it, kissed it, and prayed for it as only a mother can pray in that
hour of her anguish."

"Holy and wonderful in its might is the white rose of grief, but
it is not the one we seek."

"No; the loveliest rose in the world I saw at the Lord's table,"
said the good old bishop. "I saw it shine as if an angel's face had
appeared. A young maiden knelt at the altar, and renewed the vows made
at her baptism; and there were white roses and red roses on the
blushing cheeks of that young girl. She looked up to heaven with all
the purity and love of her young spirit, in all the expression of
the highest and purest love."

"May she be blessed!" said the wise man: "but no one has yet named
the loveliest rose in the world."

Then there came into the room a child--the queen's little son.
Tears stood in his eyes, and glistened on his cheeks; he carried a
great book and the binding was of velvet, with silver clasps.
"Mother," cried the little boy; "only hear what I have read." And
the child seated himself by the bedside, and read from the book of Him
who suffered death on the cross to save all men, even who are yet
unborn. He read, "Greater love hath no man than this," and as he
read a roseate hue spread over the cheeks of the queen, and her eyes
became so enlightened and clear, that she saw from the leaves of the
book a lovely rose spring forth, a type of Him who shed His blood on
the cross.

"I see it," she said. "He who beholds this, the loveliest rose
on earth, shall never die."




THE MAIL-COACH PASSENGERS

It was bitterly cold, the sky glittered with stars, and not a
breeze stirred. "Bump"--an old pot was thrown at a neighbor's door;
and "bang, bang," went the guns; for they were greeting the New
Year. It was New Year's Eve, and the church clock was striking twelve.
"Tan-ta-ra-ra, tan-ta-ra-ra," sounded the horn, and the mail-coach
came lumbering up. The clumsy vehicle stopped at the gate of the town;
all the places had been taken, for there were twelve passengers in the
coach.

"Hurrah! hurrah!" cried the people in the town; for in every house
the New Year was being welcomed; and as the clock struck, they stood
up, the full glasses in their hands, to drink success to the new
comer. "A happy New Year," was the cry; "a pretty wife, plenty of
money, and no sorrow or care."

The wish passed round, and the glasses clashed together till
they rang again; while before the town-gate the mail coach stopped
with the twelve strange passengers. And who were these strangers? Each
of them had his passport and his luggage with him; they even brought
presents for me, and for you, and for all the people in the town. "Who
were they? what did they want? and what did they bring with them?"

"Good-morning," they cried to the sentry at the town-gate.

"Good-morning," replied the sentry; for the clock had struck
twelve. "Your name and profession?" asked the sentry of the one who
alighted first from the carriage.

"See for yourself in the passport," he replied. "I am myself;" and
a famous fellow he looked, arrayed in bear-skin and fur boots. "I am
the man on whom many persons fix their hopes. Come to me to-morrow,
and I'll give you a New Year's present. I throw shillings and pence
among the people; I give balls, no less than thirty-one; indeed,
that is the highest number I can spare for balls. My ships are often
frozen in, but in my offices it is warm and comfortable. My name is
JANUARY. I'm a merchant, and I generally bring my accounts with me."

Then the second alighted. He seemed a merry fellow. He was a
director of a theatre, a manager of masked balls, and a leader of
all the amusements we can imagine. His luggage consisted of a great
cask.

"We'll dance the bung out of the cask at carnival time," said
he; "I'll prepare a merry tune for you and for myself too.
Unfortunately I have not long to live--the shortest time, in fact,
of my whole family--only twenty-eight days. Sometimes they pop me in a
day extra; but I trouble myself very little about that. Hurrah!"

"You must not shout so," said the sentry.

"Certainly I may shout," retorted the man; "I'm Prince Carnival,
travelling under the name of FEBRUARY."

The third now got out. He looked a personification of fasting; but
he carried his nose very high, for he was related to the "forty
(k)nights," and was a weather prophet. But that is not a very
lucrative office, and therefore he praised fasting. In his button-hole
he carried a little bunch of violets, but they were very small.

"MARCH, March," the fourth called after him, slapping him on the
shoulder, "don't you smell something? Make haste into the guard
room; they're drinking punch there; that's your favorite drink. I
can smell it out here already. Forward, Master March." But it was
not true; the speaker only wanted to remind him of his name, and to
make an APRIL fool of him; for with that fun the fourth generally
began his career. He looked very jovial, did little work, and had
the more holidays. "If the world were only a little more settled,"
said he: "but sometimes I'm obliged to be in a good humor, and
sometimes a bad one, according to circumstances; now rain, now
sunshine. I'm kind of a house agent, also a manager of funerals. I can
laugh or cry, according to circumstances. I have my summer wardrobe in
this box here, but it would be very foolish to put it on now. Here I
am. On Sundays I go out walking in shoes and white silk stockings, and
a muff."

After him, a lady stepped out of the coach. She called herself
Miss MAY. She wore a summer dress and overshoes; her dress was a light
green, and she wore anemones in her hair. She was so scented with
wild-thyme, that it made the sentry sneeze.

"Your health, and God bless you," was her salutation to him.

How pretty she was! and such a singer! not a theatre singer, nor a
ballad singer; no, but a singer of the woods; for she wandered through
the gay green forest, and had a concert there for her own amusement.

"Now comes the young lady," said those in the carriage; and out
stepped a young dame, delicate, proud, and pretty. It was Mistress
JUNE, in whose service people become lazy and fond of sleeping for
hours. She gives a feast on the longest day of the year, that there
may be time for her guests to partake of the numerous dishes at her
table. Indeed, she keeps her own carriage; but still she travelled
by the mail, with the rest, because she wished to show that she was
not high-minded. But she was not without a protector; her younger
brother, JULY, was with her. He was a plump young fellow, clad in
summer garments and wearing a straw hat. He had but very little
luggage with him, because it was so cumbersome in the great heat; he
had, however, swimming-trousers with him, which are nothing to
carry. Then came the mother herself, in crinoline, Madame AUGUST, a
wholesale dealer in fruit, proprietress of a large number of fish
ponds and a land cultivator. She was fat and heated, yet she could use
her hands well, and would herself carry out beer to the laborers in
the field. "In the sweat of the face shalt thou eat bread," said
she; "it is written in the Bible." After work, came the recreations,
dancing and playing in the greenwood, and the "harvest homes." She was
a thorough housewife.

After her a man came out of the coach, who is a painter; he is the
great master of colors, and is named SEPTEMBER. The forest, on his
arrival, had to change its colors when he wished it; and how beautiful
are the colors he chooses! The woods glow with hues of red and gold
and brown. This great master painter could whistle like a blackbird.
He was quick in his work, and soon entwined the tendrils of the hop
plant around his beer jug. This was an ornament to the jug, and he has
a great love for ornament. There he stood with his color pot in his
hand, and that was the whole of his luggage. A land-owner followed,
who in the month for sowing seed attended to the ploughing and was
fond of field sports. Squire OCTOBER brought his dog and his gun
with him, and had nuts in his game bag. "Crack, crack." He had a great
deal of luggage, even an English plough. He spoke of farming, but what
he said could scarcely be heard for the coughing and gasping of his
neighbor. It was NOVEMBER, who coughed violently as he got out. He had
a cold, which caused him to use his pocket-handkerchief continually;
and yet he said he was obliged to accompany servant girls to their new
places, and initiate them into their winter service. He said he
thought his cold would never leave him when he went out woodcutting,
for he was a master sawyer, and had to supply wood to the whole
parish. He spent his evenings preparing wooden soles for skates, for
he knew, he said, that in a few weeks these shoes would be wanted
for the amusement of skating. At length the last passenger made her
appearance,--old Mother DECEMBER, with her fire-stool. The dame was
very old, but her eyes glistened like two stars. She carried on her
arm a flower-pot, in which a little fir-tree was growing. "This tree I
shall guard and cherish," she said, "that it may grow large by
Christmas Eve, and reach from the ground to the ceiling, to be covered
and adorned with flaming candles, golden apples, and little figures.
The fire-stool will be as warm as a stove, and I shall then bring a
story book out of my pocket, and read aloud till all the children in
the room are quite quiet. Then the little figures on the tree will
become lively, and the little waxen angel at the top spread out his
wings of gold-leaf, and fly down from his green perch. He will kiss
every one in the room, great and small; yes, even the poor children
who stand in the passage, or out in the street singing a carol about
the 'Star of Bethlehem.'"

"Well, now the coach may drive away," said the sentry; "we have
the whole twelve. Let the horses be put up."

"First, let all the twelve come to me," said the captain on
duty, "one after another. The passports I will keep here. Each of them
is available for one month; when that has passed, I shall write the
behavior of each on his passport. Mr. JANUARY, have the goodness to
come here." And Mr. January stepped forward.

When a year has passed, I think I shall be able to tell you what
the twelve passengers have brought to you, to me, and to all of us.
Now I do not know, and probably even they don't know themselves, for
we live in strange times.




THE MARSH KING'S DAUGHTER

The storks relate to their little ones a great many stories, and
they are all about moors and reed banks, and suited to their age and
capacity. The youngest of them are quite satisfied with "kribble,
krabble," or such nonsense, and think it very grand; but the elder
ones want something with a deeper meaning, or at least something about
their own family.

We are only acquainted with one of the two longest and oldest
stories which the storks relate--it is about Moses, who was exposed by
his mother on the banks of the Nile, and was found by the king's
daughter, who gave him a good education, and he afterwards became a
great man; but where he was buried is still unknown.

Every one knows this story, but not the second; very likely
because it is quite an inland story. It has been repeated from mouth
to mouth, from one stork-mamma to another, for thousands of years; and
each has told it better than the last; and now we mean to tell it
better than all.

The first stork pair who related it lived at the time it happened,
and had their summer residence on the rafters of the Viking's house,
which stood near the wild moorlands of Wendsyssell; that is, to
speak more correctly, the great moorheath, high up in the north of
Jutland, by the Skjagen peak. This wilderness is still an immense wild
heath of marshy ground, about which we can read in the "Official
Directory." It is said that in olden times the place was a lake, the
ground of which had heaved up from beneath, and now the moorland
extends for miles in every direction, and is surrounded by damp
meadows, trembling, undulating swamps, and marshy ground covered
with turf, on which grow bilberry bushes and stunted trees. Mists
are almost always hovering over this region, which, seventy years ago,
was overrun with wolves. It may well be called the Wild Moor; and
one can easily imagine, with such a wild expanse of marsh and lake,
how lonely and dreary it must have been a thousand years ago. Many
things may be noticed now that existed then. The reeds grow to the
same height, and bear the same kind of long, purple-brown leaves, with
their feathery tips. There still stands the birch, with its white bark
and its delicate, loosely hanging leaves; and with regard to the
living beings who frequented this spot, the fly still wears a gauzy
dress of the same cut, and the favorite colors of the stork are white,
with black and red for stockings. The people, certainly, in those
days, wore very different dresses to those they now wear, but if any
of them, be he huntsman or squire, master or servant, ventured on
the wavering, undulating, marshy ground of the moor, they met with the
same fate a thousand years ago as they would now. The wanderer sank,
and went down to the Marsh King, as he is named, who rules in the
great moorland empire beneath. They also called him "Gunkel King," but
we like the name of "Marsh King" better, and we will give him that
name as the storks do. Very little is known of the Marsh King's
rule, but that, perhaps, is a good thing.

In the neighborhood of the moorlands, and not far from the great
arm of the North Sea and the Cattegat which is called the
Lumfjorden, lay the castle of the Viking, with its water-tight stone
cellars, its tower, and its three projecting storeys. On the ridge
of the roof the stork had built his nest, and there the stork-mamma
sat on her eggs and felt sure her hatching would come to something.

One evening, stork-papa stayed out rather late, and when he came
home he seemed quite busy, bustling, and important. "I have
something very dreadful to tell you," said he to the stork-mamma.

"Keep it to yourself then," she replied. "Remember that I am
hatching eggs; it may agitate me, and will affect them."

"You must know it at once," said he. "The daughter of our host
in Egypt has arrived here. She has ventured to take this journey,
and now she is lost."

"She who sprung from the race of the fairies, is it?" cried the
mother stork. "Oh, tell me all about it; you know I cannot bear to
be kept waiting at a time when I am hatching eggs."

"Well, you see, mother," he replied, "she believed what the
doctors said, and what I have heard you state also, that the
moor-flowers which grow about here would heal her sick father; and she
has flown to the north in swan's plumage, in company with some other
swan-princesses, who come to these parts every year to renew their
youth. She came, and where is she now!"

"You enter into particulars too much," said the mamma stork,
"and the eggs may take cold; I cannot bear such suspense as this."

"Well," said he, "I have kept watch; and this evening I went among
the rushes where I thought the marshy ground would bear me, and
while I was there three swans came. Something in their manner of
flying seemed to say to me, 'Look carefully now; there is one not
all swan, only swan's feathers.' You know, mother, you have the same
intuitive feeling that I have; you know whether a thing is right or
not immediately."

"Yes, of course," said she; "but tell me about the princess; I
am tired of hearing about the swan's feathers."

"Well, you know that in the middle of the moor there is
something like a lake," said the stork-papa. "You can see the edge
of it if you raise yourself a little. Just there, by the reeds and the
green banks, lay the trunk of an elder-tree; upon this the three swans
stood flapping their wings, and looking about them; one of them
threw off her plumage, and I immediately recognized her as one of
the princesses of our home in Egypt. There she sat, without any
covering but her long, black hair. I heard her tell the two others
to take great care of the swan's plumage, while she dipped down into
the water to pluck the flowers which she fancied she saw there. The
others nodded, and picked up the feather dress, and took possession of
it. I wonder what will become of it? thought I, and she most likely
asked herself the same question. If so, she received an answer, a very
practical one; for the two swans rose up and flew away with her swan's
plumage. 'Dive down now!' they cried; 'thou shalt never more fly in
the swan's plumage, thou shalt never again see Egypt; here, on the
moor, thou wilt remain.' So saying, they tore the swan's plumage
into a thousand pieces, the feathers drifted about like a snow-shower,
and then the two deceitful princesses flew away."

"Why, that is terrible," said the stork-mamma; "I feel as if I
could hardly bear to hear any more, but you must tell me what happened
next."

"The princess wept and lamented aloud; her tears moistened the
elder stump, which was really not an elder stump but the Marsh King
himself, he who in marshy ground lives and rules. I saw myself how the
stump of the tree turned round, and was a tree no more, while long,
clammy branches like arms, were extended from it. Then the poor
child was terribly frightened, and started up to run away. She
hastened to cross the green, slimy ground; but it will not bear any
weight, much less hers. She quickly sank, and the elder stump dived
immediately after her; in fact, it was he who drew her down. Great
black bubbles rose up out of the moor-slime, and with these every
trace of the two vanished. And now the princess is buried in the
wild marsh, she will never now carry flowers to Egypt to cure her
father. It would have broken your heart, mother, had you seen it."

"You ought not to have told me," said she, "at such a time as
this; the eggs might suffer. But I think the princess will soon find
help; some one will rise up to help her. Ah! if it had been you or
I, or one of our people, it would have been all over with us."

"I mean to go every day," said he, "to see if anything comes to
pass;" and so he did.

A long time went by, but at last he saw a green stalk shooting
up out of the deep, marshy ground. As it reached the surface of the
marsh, a leaf spread out, and unfolded itself broader and broader, and
close to it came forth a bud.

One morning, when the stork-papa was flying over the stem, he
saw that the power of the sun's rays had caused the bud to open, and
in the cup of the flower lay a charming child--a little maiden,
looking as if she had just come out of a bath. The little one was so
like the Egyptian princess, that the stork, at the first moment,
thought it must be the princess herself, but after a little reflection
he decided that it was much more likely to be the daughter of the
princess and the Marsh King; and this explained also her being
placed in the cup of a water-lily. "But she cannot be left to lie
here," thought the stork, "and in my nest there are already so many.
But stay, I have thought of something: the wife of the Viking has no
children, and how often she has wished for a little one. People always
say the stork brings the little ones; I will do so in earnest this
time. I shall fly with the child to the Viking's wife; what
rejoicing there will be!"

And then the stork lifted the little girl out of the flower-cup,
flew to the castle, picked a hole with his beak in the bladder-covered
window, and laid the beautiful child in the bosom of the Viking's
wife. Then he flew back quickly to the stork-mamma and told her
what he had seen and done; and the little storks listened to it
all, for they were then quite old enough to do so. "So you see,"
he continued, "that the princess is not dead, for she must have sent
her little one up here; and now I have found a home for her."

"Ah, I said it would be so from the first," replied the
stork-mamma; "but now think a little of your own family. Our
travelling time draws near, and I sometimes feel a little irritation
already under the wings. The cuckoos and the nightingale are already
gone, and I heard the quails say they should go too as soon as the
wind was favorable. Our youngsters will go through all the
manoeuvres at the review very well, or I am much mistaken in them."

The Viking's wife was above measure delighted when she awoke the
next morning and found the beautiful little child lying in her
bosom. She kissed it and caressed it; but it cried terribly, and
struck out with its arms and legs, and did not seem to be pleased at
all. At last it cried itself to sleep; and as it lay there so still
and quiet, it was a most beautiful sight to see. The Viking's wife was
so delighted, that body and soul were full of joy. Her heart felt so
light within her, that it seemed as if her husband and his soldiers,
who were absent, must come home as suddenly and unexpectedly as the
little child had done. She and her whole household therefore busied
themselves in preparing everything for the reception of her lord.
The long, colored tapestry, on which she and her maidens had worked
pictures of their idols, Odin, Thor, and Friga, was hung up. The
slaves polished the old shields that served as ornaments; cushions
were placed on the seats, and dry wood laid on the fireplaces in the
centre of the hall, so that the flames might be fanned up at a
moment's notice. The Viking's wife herself assisted in the work, so
that at night she felt very tired, and quickly fell into a sound
sleep. When she awoke, just before morning, she was terribly alarmed
to find that the infant had vanished. She sprang from her couch,
lighted a pine-chip, and searched all round the room, when, at last,
in that part of the bed where her feet had been, lay, not the child,
but a great, ugly frog. She was quite disgusted at this sight, and
seized a heavy stick to kill the frog; but the creature looked at
her with such strange, mournful eyes, that she was unable to strike
the blow. Once more she searched round the room; then she started at
hearing the frog utter a low, painful croak. She sprang from the couch
and opened the window hastily; at the same moment the sun rose, and
threw its beams through the window, till it rested on the couch
where the great frog lay. Suddenly it appeared as if the frog's
broad mouth contracted, and became small and red. The limbs moved
and stretched out and extended themselves till they took a beautiful
shape; and behold there was the pretty child lying before her, and the
ugly frog was gone. "How is this?" she cried, "have I had a wicked
dream? Is it not my own lovely cherub that lies there." Then she
kissed it and fondled it; but the child struggled and fought, and
bit as if she had been a little wild cat.

The Viking did not return on that day, nor the next; he was,
however, on the way home; but the wind, so favorable to the storks,
was against him; for it blew towards the south. A wind in favor of one
is often against another.

After two or three days had passed, it became clear to the
Viking's wife how matters stood with the child; it was under the
influence of a powerful sorcerer. By day it was charming in appearance
as an angel of light, but with a temper wicked and wild; while at
night, in the form of an ugly frog, it was quiet and mournful, with
eyes full of sorrow. Here were two natures, changing inwardly and
outwardly with the absence and return of sunlight. And so it
happened that by day the child, with the actual form of its mother,
possessed the fierce disposition of its father; at night, on the
contrary, its outward appearance plainly showed its descent on the
father's side, while inwardly it had the heart and mind of its mother.
Who would be able to loosen this wicked charm which the sorcerer had
worked upon it? The wife of the Viking lived in constant pain and
sorrow about it. Her heart clung to the little creature, but she could
not explain to her husband the circumstances in which it was placed.
He was expected to return shortly; and were she to tell him, he
would very likely, as was the custom at that time, expose the poor
child in the public highway, and let any one take it away who would.
The good wife of the Viking could not let that happen, and she
therefore resolved that the Viking should never see the child
excepting by daylight.

One morning there sounded a rushing of storks' wings over the
roof. More than a hundred pair of storks had rested there during the
night, to recover themselves after their excursion; and now they
soared aloft, and prepared for the journey southward.

"All the husbands are here, and ready!" they cried; "wives and
children also!"

"How light we are!" screamed the young storks in chorus.
"Something pleasant seems creeping over us, even down to our toes,
as if we were full of live frogs. Ah, how delightful it is to travel
into foreign lands!"

"Hold yourselves properly in the line with us," cried papa and
mamma. "Do not use your beaks so much; it tries the lungs." And then
the storks flew away.

About the same time sounded the clang of the warriors' trumpets
across the heath. The Viking had landed with his men. They were
returning home, richly laden with spoil from the Gallic coast, where
the people, as did also the inhabitants of Britain, often cried in
alarm, "Deliver us from the wild northmen."

Life and noisy pleasure came with them into the castle of the
Viking on the moorland. A great cask of mead was drawn into the
hall, piles of wood blazed, cattle were slain and served up, that they
might feast in reality, The priest who offered the sacrifice sprinkled
the devoted parishioners with the warm blood; the fire crackled, and
the smoke rolled along beneath the roof; the soot fell upon them
from the beams; but they were used to all these things. Guests were
invited, and received handsome presents. All wrongs and unfaithfulness
were forgotten. They drank deeply, and threw in each other's faces the
bones that were left, which was looked upon as a sign of good
feeling amongst them. A bard, who was a kind of musician as well as
warrior, and who had been with the Viking in his expedition, and
knew what to sing about, gave them one of his best songs, in which
they heard all their warlike deeds praised, and every wonderful action
brought forward with honor. Every verse ended with this refrain,--

  "Gold and possessions will flee away,
  Friends and foes must die one day;
  Every man on earth must die,
  But a famous name will never die."

And with that they beat upon their shields, and hammered upon the
table with knives and bones, in a most outrageous manner.

The Viking's wife sat upon a raised cross seat in the open hall.
She wore a silk dress, golden bracelets, and large amber beads. She
was in costly attire, and the bard named her in his song, and spoke of
the rich treasure of gold which she had brought to her husband. Her
husband had already seen the wonderfully beautiful child in the
daytime, and was delighted with her beauty; even her wild ways pleased
him. He said the little maiden would grow up to be a heroine, with the
strong will and determination of a man. She would never wink her eyes,
even if, in joke, an expert hand should attempt to cut off her
eye-brows with a sharp sword.

The full cask of mead soon became empty, and a fresh one was
brought in; for these were people who liked plenty to eat and drink.
The old proverb, which every one knows, says that "the cattle know
when to leave their pasture, but a foolish man knows not the measure
of his own appetite." Yes, they all knew this; but men may know what
is right, and yet often do wrong. They also knew "that even the
welcome guest becomes wearisome when he sits too long in the house."
But there they remained; for pork and mead are good things. And so
at the Viking's house they stayed, and enjoyed themselves; and at
night the bondmen slept in the ashes, and dipped their fingers in
the fat, and licked them. Oh, it was a delightful time!

Once more in the same year the Viking went forth, though the
storms of autumn had already commenced to roar. He went with his
warriors to the coast of Britain; he said that it was but an excursion
of pleasure across the water, so his wife remained at home with the
little girl. After a while, it is quite certain the foster-mother
began to love the poor frog, with its gentle eyes and its deep
sighs, even better than the little beauty who bit and fought with
all around her.

The heavy, damp mists of autumn, which destroy the leaves of the
wood, had already fallen upon forest and heath. Feathers of plucked
birds, as they call the snow, flew about in thick showers, and
winter was coming. The sparrows took possession of the stork's nest,
and conversed about the absent owners in their own fashion; and
they, the stork pair and all their young ones, where were they staying
now? The storks might have been found in the land of Egypt, where
the sun's rays shone forth bright and warm, as it does here at
midsummer. Tamarinds and acacias were in full bloom all over the
country, the crescent of Mahomet glittered brightly from the cupolas
of the mosques, and on the slender pinnacles sat many of the storks,
resting after their long journey. Swarms of them took divided
possession of the nests--nests which lay close to each other between
the venerable columns, and crowded the arches of temples in
forgotten cities. The date and the palm lifted themselves as a
screen or as a sun-shade over them. The gray pyramids looked like
broken shadows in the clear air and the far-off desert, where the
ostrich wheels his rapid flight, and the lion, with his subtle eyes,
gazes at the marble sphinx which lies half buried in sand. The
waters of the Nile had retreated, and the whole bed of the river was
covered with frogs, which was a most acceptable prospect for the stork
families. The young storks thought their eyes deceived them,
everything around appeared so beautiful.

"It is always like this here, and this is how we live in our
warm country," said the stork-mamma; and the thought made the young
ones almost beside themselves with pleasure.

"Is there anything more to see?" they asked; "are we going farther
into the country?"

"There is nothing further for us to see," answered the
stork-mamma. "Beyond this delightful region there are immense forests,
where the branches of the trees entwine round each other, while
prickly, creeping plants cover the paths, and only an elephant could
force a passage for himself with his great feet. The snakes are too
large, and the lizards too lively for us to catch. Then there is the
desert; if you went there, your eyes would soon be full of sand with
the lightest breeze, and if it should blow great guns, you would
most likely find yourself in a sand-drift. Here is the best place
for you, where there are frogs and locusts; here I shall remain, and
so must you." And so they stayed.

The parents sat in the nest on the slender minaret, and rested,
yet still were busily employed in cleaning and smoothing their
feathers, and in sharpening their beaks against their red stockings;
then they would stretch out their necks, salute each other, and
gravely raise their heads with the high-polished forehead, and soft,
smooth feathers, while their brown eyes shone with intelligence. The
female young ones strutted about amid the moist rushes, glancing at
the other young storks and making acquaintances, and swallowing a frog
at every third step, or tossing a little snake about with their beaks,
in a way they considered very becoming, and besides it tasted very
good. The young male storks soon began to quarrel; they struck at each
other with their wings, and pecked with their beaks till the blood
came. And in this manner many of the young ladies and gentlemen were
betrothed to each other: it was, of course, what they wanted, and
indeed what they lived for. Then they returned to a nest, and there
the quarrelling began afresh; for in hot countries people are almost
all violent and passionate. But for all that it was pleasant,
especially for the old people, who watched them with great joy: all
that their young ones did suited them. Every day here there was
sunshine, plenty to eat, and nothing to think of but pleasure. But
in the rich castle of their Egyptian host, as they called him,
pleasure was not to be found. The rich and mighty lord of the castle
lay on his couch, in the midst of the great hall, with its many
colored walls looking like the centre of a great tulip; but he was
stiff and powerless in all his limbs, and lay stretched out like a
mummy. His family and servants stood round him; he was not dead,
although he could scarcely be said to live. The healing moor-flower
from the north, which was to have been found and brought to him by her
who loved him so well, had not arrived. His young and beautiful
daughter who, in swan's plumage, had flown over land and seas to the
distant north, had never returned. She is dead, so the two
swan-maidens had said when they came home; and they made up quite a
story about her, and this is what they told,--

"We three flew away together through the air," said they: "a
hunter caught sight of us, and shot at us with an arrow. The arrow
struck our young friend and sister, and slowly singing her farewell
song she sank down, a dying swan, into the forest lake. On the
shores of the lake, under a spreading birch-tree, we laid her in the
cold earth. We had our revenge; we bound fire under the wings of a
swallow, who had a nest on the thatched roof of the huntsman. The
house took fire, and burst into flames; the hunter was burnt with
the house, and the light was reflected over the sea as far as the
spreading birch, beneath which we laid her sleeping dust. She will
never return to the land of Egypt." And then they both wept. And
stork-papa, who heard the story, snapped with his beak so that it
might be heard a long way off.

"Deceit and lies!" cried he; "I should like to run my beak deep
into their chests."

"And perhaps break it off," said the mamma stork, "then what a
sight you would be. Think first of yourself, and then of your
family; all others are nothing to us."

"Yes, I know," said the stork-papa; "but to-morrow I can easily
place myself on the edge of the open cupola, when the learned and wise
men assemble to consult on the state of the sick man; perhaps they may
come a little nearer to the truth." And the learned and wise men
assembled together, and talked a great deal on every point; but the
stork could make no sense out of anything they said; neither were
there any good results from their consultations, either for the sick
man, or for his daughter in the marshy heath. When we listen to what
people say in this world, we shall hear a great deal; but it is an
advantage to know what has been said and done before, when we listen
to a conversation. The stork did, and we know at least as much as
he, the stork.

"Love is a life-giver. The highest love produces the highest life.
Only through love can the sick man be cured." This had been said by
many, and even the learned men acknowledged that it was a wise saying.

"What a beautiful thought!" exclaimed the papa stork immediately.

"I don't quite understand it," said the mamma stork, when her
husband repeated it; "however, it is not my fault, but the fault of
the thought; whatever it may be, I have something else to think of."

Now the learned men had spoken also of love between this one and
that one; of the difference of the love which we have for our
neighbor, to the love that exists between parents and children; of the
love of the plant for the light, and how the germ springs forth when
the sunbeam kisses the ground. All these things were so elaborately
and learnedly explained, that it was impossible for stork-papa to
follow it, much less to talk about it. His thoughts on the subject
quite weighed him down; he stood the whole of the following day on one
leg, with half-shut eyes, thinking deeply. So much learning was
quite a heavy weight for him to carry. One thing, however, the papa
stork could understand. Every one, high and low, had from their inmost
hearts expressed their opinion that it was a great misfortune for so
many thousands of people--the whole country indeed--to have this man
so sick, with no hopes of his recovery. And what joy and blessing it
would spread around if he could by any means be cured! But where
bloomed the flower that could bring him health? They had searched
for it everywhere; in learned writings, in the shining stars, in the
weather and wind. Inquiries had been made in every by-way that could
be thought of, until at last the wise and learned men has asserted, as
we have been already told, that "love, the life-giver, could alone
give new life to a father;" and in saying this, they had overdone
it, and said more than they understood themselves. They repeated it,
and wrote it down as a recipe, "Love is a life-giver." But how could
such a recipe be prepared--that was a difficulty they could not
overcome. At last it was decided that help could only come from the
princess herself, whose whole soul was wrapped up in her father,
especially as a plan had been adopted by her to enable her to obtain a
remedy.

More than a year had passed since the princess had set out at
night, when the light of the young moon was soon lost beneath the
horizon. She had gone to the marble sphinx in the desert, shaking
the sand from her sandals, and then passed through the long passage,
which leads to the centre of one of the great pyramids, where the
mighty kings of antiquity, surrounded with pomp and splendor, lie
veiled in the form of mummies. She had been told by the wise men, that
if she laid her head on the breast of one of them, from the head she
would learn where to find life and recovery for her father. She had
performed all this, and in a dream had learnt that she must bring home
to her father the lotus flower, which grows in the deep sea, near
the moors and heath in the Danish land. The very place and situation
had been pointed out to her, and she was told that the flower would
restore her father to health and strength. And, therefore, she had
gone forth from the land of Egypt, flying over to the open marsh and
the wild moor in the plumage of a swan.

The papa and mamma storks knew all this, and we also know it
now. We know, too, that the Marsh King has drawn her down to
himself, and that to the loved ones at home she is forever dead. One
of the wisest of them said, as the stork-mamma also said, "That in
some way she would, after all, manage to succeed;" and so at last they
comforted themselves with this hope, and would wait patiently; in
fact, they could do nothing better.

"I should like to get away the swan's feathers from those two
treacherous princesses," said the papa stork; "then, at least, they
would not be able to fly over again to the wild moor, and do more
wickedness. I can hide the two suits of feathers over yonder, till
we find some use for them."

"But where will you put them?" asked the mamma stork.

"In our nest on the moor. I and the young ones will carry them
by turns during our flight across; and as we return, should they prove
too heavy for us, we shall be sure to find plenty of places on the way
in which we can conceal them till our next journey. Certainly one suit
of swan's feathers would be enough for the princess, but two are
always better. In those northern countries no one can have too many
travelling wrappers."

"No one will thank you for it," said stork-mamma; "but you are
master; and, excepting at breeding time, I have nothing to say."

In the Viking's castle on the wild moor, to which the storks
directed their flight in the following spring, the little maiden still
remained. They had named her Helga, which was rather too soft a name
for a child with a temper like hers, although her form was still
beautiful. Every month this temper showed itself in sharper
outlines; and in the course of years, while the storks still made
the same journeys in autumn to the hill, and in spring to the moors,
the child grew to be almost a woman, and before any one seemed aware
of it, she was a wonderfully beautiful maiden of sixteen. The casket
was splendid, but the contents were worthless. She was, indeed, wild
and savage even in those hard, uncultivated times. It was a pleasure
to her to splash about with her white hands in the warm blood of the
horse which had been slain for sacrifice. In one of her wild moods she
bit off the head of the black cock, which the priest was about to slay
for the sacrifice. To her foster-father she said one day, "If thine
enemy were to pull down thine house about thy ears, and thou shouldest
be sleeping in unconscious security, I would not wake thee; even if
I had the power I would never do it, for my ears still tingle with the
blow that thou gavest me years ago. I have never forgotten it." But
the Viking treated her words as a joke; he was, like every one else,
bewitched with her beauty, and knew nothing of the change in the
form and temper of Helga at night. Without a saddle, she would sit
on a horse as if she were a part of it, while it rushed along at
full speed; nor would she spring from its back, even when it
quarrelled with other horses and bit them. She would often leap from
the high shore into the sea with all her clothes on, and swim to
meet the Viking, when his boat was steering home towards the shore.
She once cut off a long lock of her beautiful hair, and twisted it
into a string for her bow. "If a thing is to be done well," said
she, "I must do it myself."

The Viking's wife was, for the time in which she lived, a woman of
strong character and will; but, compared to her daughter, she was a
gentle, timid woman, and she knew that a wicked sorcerer had the
terrible child in his power. It was sometimes as if Helga acted from
sheer wickedness; for often when her mother stood on the threshold
of the door, or stepped into the yard, she would seat herself on the
brink of the well, wave her arms and legs in the air, and suddenly
fall right in. Here she was able, from her frog nature, to dip and
dive about in the water of the deep well, until at last she would
climb forth like a cat, and come back into the hall dripping with
water, so that the green leaves that were strewed on the floor were
whirled round, and carried away by the streams that flowed from her.

But there was one time of the day which placed a check upon Helga.
It was the evening twilight; when this hour arrived she became quiet
and thoughtful, and allowed herself to be advised and led; then also a
secret feeling seemed to draw her towards her mother. And as usual,
when the sun set, and the transformation took place, both in body
and mind, inwards and outwards, she would remain quiet and mournful,
with her form shrunk together in the shape of a frog. Her body was
much larger than those animals ever are, and on this account it was
much more hideous in appearance; for she looked like a wretched dwarf,
with a frog's head, and webbed fingers. Her eyes had a most piteous
expression; she was without a voice, excepting a hollow, croaking
sound, like the smothered sobs of a dreaming child.

Then the Viking's wife took her on her lap, and forgot the ugly
form, as she looked into the mournful eyes, and often said, "I could
wish that thou wouldst always remain my dumb frog child, for thou
art too terrible when thou art clothed in a form of beauty." And the
Viking woman wrote Runic characters against sorcery and spells of
sickness, and threw them over the wretched child; but they did no
good.

"One can scarcely believe that she was ever small enough to lie in
the cup of the water-lily," said the papa stork; "and now she is grown
up, and the image of her Egyptian mother, especially about the eyes.
Ah, we shall never see her again; perhaps she has not discovered how
to help herself, as you and the wise men said she would. Year after
year have I flown across and across the moor, but there was no sign of
her being still alive. Yes, and I may as well tell you that you that
each year, when I arrived a few days before you to repair the nest,
and put everything in its place, I have spent a whole night flying
here and there over the marshy lake, as if I had been an owl or a bat,
but all to no purpose. The two suit of swan's plumage, which I and the
young ones dragged over here from the land of the Nile, are of no use;
trouble enough it was to us to bring them here in three journeys,
and now they are lying at the bottom of the nest; and if a fire should
happen to break out, and the wooden house be burnt down, they would be
destroyed."

"And our good nest would be destroyed, too," said the mamma stork;
"but you think less of that than of your plumage stuff and your
moor-princess. Go and stay with her in the marsh if you like. You
are a bad father to your own children, as I have told you already,
when I hatched my first brood. I only hope neither we nor our children
may have an arrow sent through our wings, owing to that wild girl.
Helga does not know in the least what she is about. We have lived in
this house longer than she has, she should think of that, and we
have never forgotten our duty. We have paid every year our toll of a
feather, an egg, and a young one, as it is only right we should do.
You don't suppose I can wander about the court-yard, or go
everywhere as I used to do in old times. I can do it in Egypt, where I
can be a companion of the people, without forgetting myself. But
here I cannot go and peep into the pots and kettles as I do there. No,
I can only sit up here and feel angry with that girl, the little
wretch; and I am angry with you, too; you should have left her lying
in the water lily, then no one would have known anything about her."

"You are far better than your conversation," said the papa
stork; "I know you better than you know yourself." And with that he
gave a hop, and flapped his wings twice, proudly; then he stretched
his neck and flew, or rather soared away, without moving his outspread
wings. He went on for some distance, and then he gave a great flap
with his wings and flew on his course at a rapid rate, his head and
neck bending proudly before him, while the sun's rays fell on his
glossy plumage.

"He is the handsomest of them all," said the mamma stork, as she
watched him; "but I won't tell him so."

Early in the autumn, the Viking again returned home laden with
spoil, and bringing prisoners with him. Among them was a young
Christian priest, one of those who contemned the gods of the north.
Often lately there had been, both in hall and chamber, a talk of the
new faith which was spreading far and wide in the south, and which,
through the means of the holy Ansgarius, had already reached as far as
Hedeby on the Schlei. Even Helga had heard of this belief in the
teachings of One who was named Christ, and who for the love of
mankind, and for their redemption, had given up His life. But to her
all this had, as it were, gone in one ear and out the other. It seemed
that she only understood the meaning of the word "love," when in the
form of a miserable frog she crouched together in the corner of the
sleeping chamber; but the Viking's wife had listened to the
wonderful story, and had felt herself strangely moved by it.

On their return, after this voyage, the men spoke of the beautiful
temples built of polished stone, which had been raised for the
public worship of this holy love. Some vessels, curiously formed of
massive gold, had been brought home among the booty. There was a
peculiar fragrance about them all, for they were incense vessels,
which had been swung before the altars in the temples by the Christian
priests. In the deep stony cellars of the castle, the young
Christian priest was immured, and his hands and feet tied together
with strips of bark. The Viking's wife considered him as beautiful
as Baldur, and his distress raised her pity; but Helga said he ought
to have ropes fastened to his heels, and be tied to the tails of
wild animals.

"I would let the dogs loose after him" she said; "over the moor
and across the heath. Hurrah! that would be a spectacle for the
gods, and better still to follow in its course."

But the Viking would not allow him to die such a death as that,
especially as he was the disowned and despiser of the high gods. In
a few days, he had decided to have him offered as a sacrifice on the
blood-stone in the grove. For the first time, a man was to be
sacrificed here. Helga begged to be allowed to sprinkle the
assembled people with the blood of the priest. She sharpened her
glittering knife; and when one of the great, savage dogs, who were
running about the Viking's castle in great numbers, sprang towards
her, she thrust the knife into his side, merely, as she said, to prove
its sharpness.

The Viking's wife looked at the wild, badly disposed girl, with
great sorrow; and when night came on, and her daughter's beautiful
form and disposition were changed, she spoke in eloquent words to
Helga of the sorrow and deep grief that was in her heart. The ugly
frog, in its monstrous shape, stood before her, and raised its brown
mournful eyes to her face, listening to her words, and seeming to
understand them with the intelligence of a human being.

"Never once to my lord and husband has a word passed my lips of
what I have to suffer through you; my heart is full of grief about
you," said the Viking's wife. "The love of a mother is greater and
more powerful than I ever imagined. But love never entered thy
heart; it is cold and clammy, like the plants on the moor."

Then the miserable form trembled; it was as if these words had
touched an invisible bond between body and soul, for great tears stood
in the eyes.

"A bitter time will come for thee at last," continued the Viking's
wife; "and it will be terrible for me too. It had been better for thee
if thou hadst been left on the high-road, with the cold night wind
to lull thee to sleep." And the Viking's wife shed bitter tears, and
went away in anger and sorrow, passing under the partition of furs,
which hung loose over the beam and divided the hall.

The shrivelled frog still sat in the corner alone. Deep silence
reigned around. At intervals, a half-stifled sigh was heard from its
inmost soul; it was the soul of Helga. It seemed in pain, as if a
new life were arising in her heart. Then she took a step forward and
listened; then stepped again forward, and seized with her clumsy hands
the heavy bar which was laid across the door. Gently, and with much
trouble, she pushed back the bar, as silently lifted the latch, and
then took up the glimmering lamp which stood in the ante-chamber of
the hall. It seemed as if a stronger will than her own gave her
strength. She removed the iron bolt from the closed cellar-door, and
slipped in to the prisoner. He was slumbering. She touched him with
her cold, moist hand, and as he awoke and caught sight of the
hideous form, he shuddered as if he beheld a wicked apparition. She
drew her knife, cut through the bonds which confined his hands and
feet, and beckoned to him to follow her. He uttered some holy names
and made the sign of the cross, while the form remained motionless
by his side.

"Who art thou?" he asked, "whose outward appearance is that of
an animal, while thou willingly performest acts of mercy?"

The frog-figure beckoned to him to follow her, and led him through
a long gallery concealed by hanging drapery to the stables, and then
pointed to a horse. He mounted upon it, and she sprang up also
before him, and held tightly by the animal's mane. The prisoner
understood her, and they rode on at a rapid trot, by a road which he
would never have found by himself, across the open heath. He forgot
her ugly form, and only thought how the mercy and loving-kindness of
the Almighty was acting through this hideous apparition. As he offered
pious prayers and sang holy songs of praise, she trembled. Was it
the effect of prayer and praise that caused this? or, was she
shuddering in the cold morning air at the thought of approaching
twilight? What were her feelings? She raised herself up, and wanted to
stop the horse and spring off, but the Christian priest held her
back with all his might, and then sang a pious song, as if this
could loosen the wicked charm that had changed her into the
semblance of a frog.

And the horse galloped on more wildly than before. The sky painted
itself red, the first sunbeam pierced through the clouds, and in the
clear flood of sunlight the frog became changed. It was Helga again,
young and beautiful, but with a wicked demoniac spirit. He held now
a beautiful young woman in his arms, and he was horrified at the
sight. He stopped the horse, and sprang from its back. He imagined
that some new sorcery was at work. But Helga also leaped from the
horse and stood on the ground. The child's short garment reached
only to her knee. She snatched the sharp knife from her girdle, and
rushed like lightning at the astonished priest. "Let me get at
thee!" she cried; "let me get at thee, that I may plunge this knife
into thy body. Thou art pale as ashes, thou beardless slave." She
pressed in upon him. They struggled with each other in heavy combat,
but it was as if an invisible power had been given to the Christian in
the struggle. He held her fast, and the old oak under which they stood
seemed to help him, for the loosened roots on the ground became
entangled in the maiden's feet, and held them fast. Close by rose a
bubbling spring, and he sprinkled Helga's face and neck with the
water, commanded the unclean spirit to come forth, and pronounced upon
her a Christian blessing. But the water of faith has no power unless
the well-spring of faith flows within. And yet even here its power was
shown; something more than the mere strength of a man opposed
itself, through his means, against the evil which struggled within
her. His holy action seemed to overpower her. She dropped her arms,
glanced at him with pale cheeks and looks of amazement. He appeared to
her a mighty magician skilled in secret arts; his language was the
darkest magic to her, and the movements of his hands in the air were
as the secret signs of a magician's wand. She would not have blinked
had he waved over her head a sharp knife or a glittering axe; but
she shrunk from him as he signed her with the sign of the cross on her
forehead and breast, and sat before him like a tame bird, with her
head bowed down. Then he spoke to her, in gentle words, of the deed of
love she had performed for him during the night, when she had come
to him in the form of an ugly frog, to loosen his bonds, and to lead
him forth to life and light; and he told her that she was bound in
closer fetters than he had been, and that she could recover also
life and light by his means. He would take her to Hedeby to St.
Ansgarius, and there, in that Christian town, the spell of the
sorcerer would be removed. But he would not let her sit before him
on the horse, though of her own free will she wished to do so. "Thou
must sit behind me, not before me," said he. "Thy magic beauty has a
magic power which comes from an evil origin, and I fear it; still I am
sure to overcome through my faith in Christ." Then he knelt down,
and prayed with pious fervor. It was as if the quiet woodland were a
holy church consecrated by his worship. The birds sang as if they were
also of this new congregation; and the fragrance of the wild flowers
was as the ambrosial perfume of incense; while, above all, sounded the
words of Scripture, "A light to them that sit in darkness and in the
shadow of death, to guide their feet into the way of peace." And he
spoke these words with the deep longing of his whole nature.

Meanwhile, the horse that had carried them in wild career stood
quietly by, plucking at the tall bramble-bushes, till the ripe young
berries fell down upon Helga's hands, as if inviting her to eat.
Patiently she allowed herself to be lifted on the horse, and sat there
like a somnambulist--as one who walked in his sleep. The Christian
bound two branches together with bark, in the form of a cross, and
held it on high as they rode through the forest. The way gradually
grew thicker of brushwood, as they rode along, till at last it
became a trackless wilderness. Bushes of the wild sloe here and
there blocked up the path, so that they had to ride over them. The
bubbling spring formed not a stream, but a marsh, round which also
they were obliged to guide the horse; still there were strength and
refreshment in the cool forest breeze, and no trifling power in the
gentle words spoken in faith and Christian love by the young priest,
whose inmost heart yearned to lead this poor lost one into the way
of light and life. It is said that rain-drops can make a hollow in the
hardest stone, and the waves of the sea can smooth and round the rough
edges of the rocks; so did the dew of mercy fall upon Helga, softening
what was hard, and smoothing what was rough in her character. These
effects did not yet appear; she was not herself aware of them; neither
does the seed in the lap of earth know, when the refreshing dew and
the warm sunbeams fall upon it, that it contains within itself power
by which it will flourish and bloom. The song of the mother sinks into
the heart of the child, and the little one prattles the words after
her, without understanding their meaning; but after a time the
thoughts expand, and what has been heard in childhood seems to the
mind clear and bright. So now the "Word," which is all-powerful to
create, was working in the heart of Helga.

They rode forth from the thick forest, crossed the heath, and
again entered a pathless wood. Here, towards evening, they met with
robbers.

"Where hast thou stolen that beauteous maiden?" cried the robbers,
seizing the horse by the bridle, and dragging the two riders from
its back.

The priest had nothing to defend himself with, but the knife he
had taken from Helga, and with this he struck out right and left.
One of the robbers raised his axe against him; but the young priest
sprang on one side, and avoided the blow, which fell with great
force on the horse's neck, so that the blood gushed forth, and the
animal sunk to the ground. Then Helga seemed suddenly to awake from
her long, deep reverie; she threw herself hastily upon the dying
animal. The priest placed himself before her, to defend and shelter
her; but one of the robbers swung his iron axe against the Christian's
head with such force that it was dashed to pieces, the blood and
brains were scattered about, and he fell dead upon the ground. Then
the robbers seized beautiful Helga by her white arms and slender
waist; but at that moment the sun went down, and as its last ray
disappeared, she was changed into the form of a frog. A greenish white
mouth spread half over her face; her arms became thin and slimy; while
broad hands, with webbed fingers, spread themselves out like fans.
Then the robbers, in terror, let her go, and she stood among them, a
hideous monster; and as is the nature of frogs to do, she hopped up as
high as her own size, and disappeared in the thicket. Then the robbers
knew that this must be the work of an evil spirit or some secret
sorcery, and, in a terrible fright, they ran hastily from the spot.

The full moon had already risen, and was shining in all her
radiant splendor over the earth, when from the thicket, in the form of
a frog, crept poor Helga. She stood still by the corpse of the
Christian priest, and the carcase of the dead horse. She looked at
them with eyes that seemed to weep, and from the frog's head came
forth a croaking sound, as when a child bursts into tears. She threw
herself first upon one, and then upon the other; brought water in
her hand, which, from being webbed, was large and hollow, and poured
it over them; but they were dead, and dead they would remain. She
understood that at last. Soon wild animals would come and tear their
dead bodies; but no, that must not happen. Then she dug up the
earth, as deep as she was able, that she might prepare a grave for
them. She had nothing but a branch of a tree and her two hands,
between the fingers of which the webbed skin stretched, and they
were torn by the work, while the blood ran down her hands. She saw
at last that her work would be useless, more than she could
accomplish; so she fetched more water, and washed the face of the
dead, and then covered it with fresh green leaves; she also brought
large boughs and spread over him, and scattered dried leaves between
the branches. Then she brought the heaviest stones that she could
carry, and laid them over the dead body, filling up the crevices
with moss, till she thought she had fenced in his resting-place
strongly enough. The difficult task had employed her the whole
night; and as the sun broke forth, there stood the beautiful Helga
in all her loveliness, with her bleeding hands, and, for the first
time, with tears on her maiden cheeks. It was, in this transformation,
as if two natures were striving together within her; her whole frame
trembled, and she looked around her as if she had just awoke from a
painful dream. She leaned for support against the trunk of a slender
tree, and at last climbed to the topmost branches, like a cat, and
seated herself firmly upon them. She remained there the whole day,
sitting alone, like a frightened squirrel, in the silent solitude of
the wood, where the rest and stillness is as the calm of death.

Butterflies fluttered around her, and close by were several
ant-hills, each with its hundreds of busy little creatures moving
quickly to and fro. In the air, danced myriads of gnats, swarm upon
swarm, troops of buzzing flies, ladybirds, dragon-flies with golden
wings, and other little winged creatures. The worm crawled forth
from the moist ground, and the moles crept out; but, excepting
these, all around had the stillness of death: but when people say
this, they do not quite understand themselves what they mean. None
noticed Helga but a flock of magpies, which flew chattering round
the top of the tree on which she sat. These birds hopped close to
her on the branches with bold curiosity. A glance from her eyes was
a signal to frighten them away, and they were not clever enough to
find out who she was; indeed she hardly knew herself.

When the sun was near setting, and the evening's twilight about to
commence, the approaching transformation aroused her to fresh
exertion. She let herself down gently from the tree, and, as the
last sunbeam vanished, she stood again in the wrinkled form of a frog,
with the torn, webbed skin on her hands, but her eyes now gleamed with
more radiant beauty than they had ever possessed in her most beautiful
form of loveliness; they were now pure, mild maidenly eyes that
shone forth in the face of a frog. They showed the existence of deep
feeling and a human heart, and the beauteous eyes overflowed with
tears, weeping precious drops that lightened the heart.

On the raised mound which she had made as a grave for the dead
priest, she found the cross made of the branches of a tree, the last
work of him who now lay dead and cold beneath it. A sudden thought
came to Helga, and she lifted up the cross and planted it upon the
grave, between the stones that covered him and the dead horse. The sad
recollection brought the tears to her eyes, and in this gentle
spirit she traced the same sign in the sand round the grave; and as
she formed, with both her hands, the sign of the cross, the web skin
fell from them like a torn glove. She washed her hands in the water of
the spring, and gazed with astonishment at their delicate whiteness.
Again she made the holy sign in the air, between herself and the
dead man; her lips trembled, her tongue moved, and the name which
she in her ride through the forest had so often heard spoken, rose
to her lips, and she uttered the words, "Jesus Christ." Then the
frog skin fell from her; she was once more a lovely maiden. Her head
bent wearily, her tired limbs required rest, and then she slept.

Her sleep, however, was short. Towards midnight, she awoke; before
her stood the dead horse, prancing and full of life, which shone forth
from his eyes and from his wounded neck. Close by his side appeared
the murdered Christian priest, more beautiful than Baldur, as the
Viking's wife had said; but now he came as if in a flame of fire. Such
gravity, such stern justice, such a piercing glance shone from his
large, gentle eyes, that it seemed to penetrate into every corner of
her heart. Beautiful Helga trembled at the look, and her memory
returned with a power as if it had been the day of judgment. Every
good deed that had been done for her, every loving word that had
been said, were vividly before her mind. She understood now that
love had kept her here during the day of her trial; while the creature
formed of dust and clay, soul and spirit, had wrestled and struggled
with evil. She acknowledged that she had only followed the impulses of
an evil disposition, that she had done nothing to cure herself;
everything had been given her, and all had happened as it were by
the ordination of Providence. She bowed herself humbly, confessed
her great imperfections in the sight of Him who can read every fault
of the heart, and then the priest spoke. "Daughter of the moorland,
thou hast come from the swamp and the marshy earth, but from this thou
shalt arise. The sunlight shining into thy inmost soul proves the
origin from which thou hast really sprung, and has restored the body
to its natural form. I am come to thee from the land of the dead,
and thou also must pass through the valley to reach the holy mountains
where mercy and perfection dwell. I cannot lead thee to Hedeby that
thou mayst receive Christian baptism, for first thou must remove the
thick veil with which the waters of the moorland are shrouded, and
bring forth from its depths the living author of thy being and thy
life. Till this is done, thou canst not receive consecration."

Then he lifted her on the horse and gave her a golden censer,
similar to those she had already seen at the Viking's house. A sweet
perfume arose from it, while the open wound in the forehead of the
slain priest, shone with the rays of a diamond. He took the cross from
the grave, and held it aloft, and now they rode through the air over
the rustling trees, over the hills where warriors lay buried each by
his dead war-horse; and the brazen monumental figures rose up and
galloped forth, and stationed themselves on the summits of the
hills. The golden crescent on their foreheads, fastened with golden
knots, glittered in the moonlight, and their mantles floated in the
wind. The dragon, that guards buried treasure, lifted his head and
gazed after them. The goblins and the satyrs peeped out from beneath
the hills, and flitted to and fro in the fields, waving blue, red, and
green torches, like the glowing sparks in burning paper. Over woodland
and heath, flood and fen, they flew on, till they reached the wild
moor, over which they hovered in broad circles. The Christian priest
held the cross aloft, and it glittered like gold, while from his
lips sounded pious prayers. Beautiful Helga's voice joined with his in
the hymns he sung, as a child joins in her mother's song. She swung
the censer, and a wonderful fragrance of incense arose from it; so
powerful, that the reeds and rushes of the moor burst forth into
blossom. Each germ came forth from the deep ground: all that had
life raised itself. Blooming water-lilies spread themselves forth like
a carpet of wrought flowers, and upon them lay a slumbering woman,
young and beautiful. Helga fancied that it was her own image she saw
reflected in the still water. But it was her mother she beheld, the
wife of the Marsh King, the princess from the land of the Nile.

The dead Christian priest desired that the sleeping woman should
be lifted on the horse, but the horse sank beneath the load, as if
he had been a funeral pall fluttering in the wind. But the sign of the
cross made the airy phantom strong, and then the three rode away
from the marsh to firm ground.

At the same moment the cock crew in the Viking's castle, and the
dream figures dissolved and floated away in the air, but mother and
daughter stood opposite to each other.

"Am I looking at my own image in the deep water?" said the mother.

"Is it myself that I see represented on a white shield?" cried the
daughter.

Then they came nearer to each other in a fond embrace. The
mother's heart beat quickly, and she understood the quickened
pulses. "My child!" she exclaimed, "the flower of my heart--my lotus
flower of the deep water!" and she embraced her child again and
wept, and the tears were as a baptism of new life and love for
Helga. "In swan's plumage I came here," said the mother, "and here I
threw off my feather dress. Then I sank down through the wavering
ground, deep into the marsh beneath, which closed like a wall around
me; I found myself after a while in fresher water; still a power
drew me down deeper and deeper. I felt the weight of sleep upon my
eyelids. Then I slept, and dreams hovered round me. It seemed to me as
if I were again in the pyramids of Egypt, and yet the waving elder
trunk that had frightened me on the moor stood ever before me. I
observed the clefts and wrinkles in the stem; they shone forth in
strange colors, and took the form of hieroglyphics. It was the mummy
case on which I gazed. At last it burst, and forth stepped the
thousand years' old king, the mummy form, black as pitch, black as the
shining wood-snail, or the slimy mud of the swamp. Whether it was
really the mummy or the Marsh King I know not. He seized me in his
arms, and I felt as if I must die. When I recovered myself, I found in
my bosom a little bird, flapping its wings, twittering and fluttering.
The bird flew away from my bosom, upwards towards the dark, heavy
canopy above me, but a long, green band kept it fastened to me. I
heard and understood the tenor of its longings. Freedom! sunlight!
to my father! Then I thought of my father, and the sunny land of my
birth, my life, and my love. Then I loosened the band, and let the
bird fly away to its home--to a father. Since that hour I have
ceased to dream; my sleep has been long and heavy, till in this very
hour, harmony and fragrance awoke me, and set me free."

The green band which fastened the wings of the bird to the
mother's heart, where did it flutter now? whither had it been
wafted? The stork only had seen it. The band was the green stalk,
the cup of the flower the cradle in which lay the child, that now in
blooming beauty had been folded to the mother's heart.

And while the two were resting in each other's arms, the old stork
flew round and round them in narrowing circles, till at length he flew
away swiftly to his nest, and fetched away the two suits of swan's
feathers, which he had preserved there for many years. Then he
returned to the mother and daughter, and threw the swan's plumage over
them; the feathers immediately closed around them, and they rose up
from the earth in the form of two white swans.

"And now we can converse with pleasure," said the stork-papa;
"we can understand one another, although the beaks of birds are so
different in shape. It is very fortunate that you came to-night.
To-morrow we should have been gone. The mother, myself and the
little ones, we're about to fly to the south. Look at me now: I am
an old friend from the Nile, and a mother's heart contains more than
her beak. She always said that the princess would know how to help
herself. I and the young ones carried the swan's feathers over here,
and I am glad of it now, and how lucky it is that I am here still.
When the day dawns we shall start with a great company of other
storks. We'll fly first, and you can follow in our track, so that
you cannot miss your way. I and the young ones will have an eye upon
you."

"And the lotus-flower which I was to take with me," said the
Egyptian princess, "is flying here by my side, clothed in swan's
feathers. The flower of my heart will travel with me; and so the
riddle is solved. Now for home! now for home!"

But Helga said she could not leave the Danish land without once
more seeing her foster-mother, the loving wife of the Viking. Each
pleasing recollection, each kind word, every tear from the heart which
her foster-mother had wept for her, rose in her mind, and at that
moment she felt as if she loved this mother the best.

"Yes, we must go to the Viking's castle," said the stork;
"mother and the young ones are waiting for me there. How they will
open their eyes and flap their wings! My wife, you see, does not say
much; she is short and abrupt in her manner; but she means well, for
all that. I will flap my wings at once, that they may hear us coming."
Then stork-papa flapped his wings in first-rate style, and he and
the swans flew away to the Viking's castle.

In the castle, every one was in a deep sleep. It had been late
in the evening before the Viking's wife retired to rest. She was
anxious about Helga, who, three days before, had vanished with the
Christian priest. Helga must have helped him in his flight, for it was
her horse that was missed from the stable; but by what power had all
this been accomplished? The Viking's wife thought of it with wonder,
thought on the miracles which they said could be performed by those
who believed in the Christian faith, and followed its teachings. These
passing thoughts formed themselves into a vivid dream, and it seemed
to her that she was still lying awake on her couch, while without
darkness reigned. A storm arose; she heard the lake dashing and
rolling from east and west, like the waves of the North Sea or the
Cattegat. The monstrous snake which, it is said, surrounds the earth
in the depths of the ocean, was trembling in spasmodic convulsions.
The night of the fall of the gods was come, "Ragnorock," as the
heathens call the judgment-day, when everything shall pass away,
even the high gods themselves. The war trumpet sounded; riding upon
the rainbow, came the gods, clad in steel, to fight their last
battle on the last battle-field. Before them flew the winged vampires,
and the dead warriors closed up the train. The whole firmament was
ablaze with the northern lights, and yet the darkness triumphed. It
was a terrible hour. And, close to the terrified woman, Helga seemed
to be seated on the floor, in the hideous form of a frog, yet
trembling, and clinging to her foster-mother, who took her on her lap,
and lovingly caressed her, hideous and frog-like as she was. The air
was filled with the clashing of arms and the hissing of arrows, as
if a storm of hail was descending upon the earth. It seemed to her the
hour when earth and sky would burst asunder, and all things be
swallowed up in Saturn's fiery lake; but she knew that a new heaven
and a new earth would arise, and that corn-fields would wave where now
the lake rolled over desolate sands, and the ineffable God reign. Then
she saw rising from the region of the dead, Baldur the gentle, the
loving, and as the Viking's wife gazed upon him, she recognized his
countenance. It was the captive Christian priest. "White Christian!"
she exclaimed aloud, and with the words, she pressed a kiss on the
forehead of the hideous frog-child. Then the frog-skin fell off, and
Helga stood before her in all her beauty, more lovely and
gentle-looking, and with eyes beaming with love. She kissed the
hands of her foster-mother, blessed her for all her fostering love and
care during the days of her trial and misery, for the thoughts she had
suggested and awoke in her heart, and for naming the Name which she
now repeated. Then beautiful Helga rose as a mighty swan, and spread
her wings with the rushing sound of troops of birds of passage
flying through the air.

Then the Viking's wife awoke, but she still heard the rushing
sound without. She knew it was the time for the storks to depart,
and that it must be their wings which she heard. She felt she should
like to see them once more, and bid them farewell. She rose from her
couch, stepped out on the threshold, and beheld, on the ridge of the
roof, a party of storks ranged side by side. Troops of the birds
were flying in circles over the castle and the highest trees; but just
before her, as she stood on the threshold and close to the well
where Helga had so often sat and alarmed her with her wildness, now
stood two swans, gazing at her with intelligent eyes. Then she
remembered her dream, which still appeared to her as a reality. She
thought of Helga in the form of a swan. She thought of a Christian
priest, and suddenly a wonderful joy arose in her heart. The swans
flapped their wings and arched their necks as if to offer her a
greeting, and the Viking's wife spread out her arms towards them, as
if she accepted it, and smiled through her tears. She was roused
from deep thought by a rustling of wings and snapping of beaks; all
the storks arose, and started on their journey towards the south.

"We will not wait for the swans," said the mamma stork; "if they
want to go with us, let them come now; we can't sit here till the
plovers start. It is a fine thing after all to travel in families, not
like the finches and the partridges. There the male and the female
birds fly in separate flocks, which, to speak candidly, I consider
very unbecoming."

"What are those swans flapping their wings for?"

"Well, every one flies in his own fashion," said the papa stork.
"The swans fly in an oblique line; the cranes, in the form of a
triangle; and the plovers, in a curved line like a snake."

"Don't talk about snakes while we are flying up here," said
stork-mamma. "It puts ideas into the children's heads that can not
be realized."

"Are those the high mountains I have heard spoken of?" asked
Helga, in the swan's plumage.

"They are storm-clouds driving along beneath us," replied her
mother.

"What are yonder white clouds that rise so high?" again inquired
Helga.

"Those are mountains covered with perpetual snows, that you see
yonder," said her mother. And then they flew across the Alps towards
the blue Mediterranean.

"Africa's land! Egyptia's strand!" sang the daughter of the
Nile, in her swan's plumage, as from the upper air she caught sight of
her native land, a narrow, golden, wavy strip on the shores of the
Nile; the other birds espied it also and hastened their flight.

"I can smell the Nile mud and the wet frogs," said the
stork-mamma, "and I begin to feel quite hungry. Yes, now you shall
taste something nice, and you will see the marabout bird, and the
ibis, and the crane. They all belong to our family, but they are not
nearly so handsome as we are. They give themselves great airs,
especially the ibis. The Egyptians have spoilt him. They make a
mummy of him, and stuff him with spices. I would rather be stuffed
with live frogs, and so would you, and so you shall. Better have
something in your inside while you are alive, than to be made a parade
of after you are dead. That is my opinion, and I am always right."

"The storks are come," was said in the great house on the banks of
the Nile, where the lord lay in the hall on his downy cushions,
covered with a leopard skin, scarcely alive, yet not dead, waiting and
hoping for the lotus-flower from the deep moorland in the far north.
Relatives and servants were standing by his couch, when the two
beautiful swans who had come with the storks flew into the hall.
They threw off their soft white plumage, and two lovely female forms
approached the pale, sick old man, and threw back their long hair, and
when Helga bent over her grandfather, redness came back to his cheeks,
his eyes brightened, and life returned to his benumbed limbs. The
old man rose up with health and energy renewed; daughter and
grandchild welcomed him as joyfully as if with a morning greeting
after a long and troubled dream.

Joy reigned through the whole house, as well as in the stork's
nest; although there the chief cause was really the good food,
especially the quantities of frogs, which seemed to spring out of
the ground in swarms.

Then the learned men hastened to note down, in flying
characters, the story of the two princesses, and spoke of the
arrival of the health-giving flower as a mighty event, which had
been a blessing to the house and the land. Meanwhile, the stork-papa
told the story to his family in his own way; but not till they had
eaten and were satisfied; otherwise they would have had something else
to do than to listen to stories.

"Well," said the stork-mamma, when she had heard it, "you will
be made something of at last; I suppose they can do nothing less."

"What could I be made?" said stork-papa; "what have I done?--just
nothing."

"You have done more than all the rest," she replied. "But for
you and the youngsters the two young princesses would never have
seen Egypt again, and the recovery of the old man would not have
been effected. You will become something. They must certainly give you
a doctor's hood, and our young ones will inherit it, and their
children after them, and so on. You already look like an Egyptian
doctor, at least in my eyes."

"I cannot quite remember the words I heard when I listened on
the roof," said stork-papa, while relating the story to his family;
"all I know is, that what the wise men said was so complicated and
so learned, that they received not only rank, but presents; even the
head cook at the great house was honored with a mark of distinction,
most likely for the soup."

"And what did you receive?" said the stork-mamma. "They
certainly ought not to forget the most important person in the affair,
as you really are. The learned men have done nothing at all but use
their tongues. Surely they will not overlook you."

Late in the night, while the gentle sleep of peace rested on the
now happy house, there was still one watcher. It was not stork-papa,
who, although he stood on guard on one leg, could sleep soundly. Helga
alone was awake. She leaned over the balcony, gazing at the
sparkling stars that shone clearer and brighter in the pure air than
they had done in the north, and yet they were the same stars. She
thought of the Viking's wife in the wild moorland, of the gentle
eyes of her foster-mother, and of the tears she had shed over the poor
frog-child that now lived in splendor and starry beauty by the
waters of the Nile, with air balmy and sweet as spring. She thought of
the love that dwelt in the breast of the heathen woman, love that
had been shown to a wretched creature, hateful as a human being, and
hideous when in the form of an animal. She looked at the glittering
stars, and thought of the radiance that had shone forth on the
forehead of the dead man, as she had fled with him over the woodland
and moor. Tones were awakened in her memory; words which she had heard
him speak as they rode onward, when she was carried, wondering and
trembling, through the air; words from the great Fountain of love, the
highest love that embraces all the human race. What had not been won
and achieved by this love?

Day and night beautiful Helga was absorbed in the contemplation of
the great amount of her happiness, and lost herself in the
contemplation, like a child who turns hurriedly from the giver to
examine the beautiful gifts. She was over-powered with her good
fortune, which seemed always increasing, and therefore what might it
become in the future? Had she not been brought by a wonderful
miracle to all this joy and happiness? And in these thoughts she
indulged, until at last she thought no more of the Giver. It was the
over-abundance of youthful spirits unfolding its wings for a daring
flight. Her eyes sparkled with energy, when suddenly arose a loud
noise in the court below, and the daring thought vanished. She
looked down, and saw two large ostriches running round quickly in
narrow circles; she had never seen these creatures before,--great,
coarse, clumsy-looking birds with curious wings that looked as if they
had been clipped, and the birds themselves had the appearance of
having been roughly used. She inquired about them, and for the first
time heard the legend which the Egyptians relate respecting the
ostrich.

Once, say they, the ostriches were a beautiful and glorious race
of birds, with large, strong wings. One evening the other large
birds of the forest said to the ostrich, "Brother, shall we fly to the
river to-morrow morning to drink, God willing?" and the ostrich
answered, "I will."

With the break of day, therefore, they commenced their flight;
first rising high in the air, towards the sun, which is the eye of
God; still higher and higher the ostrich flew, far above the other
birds, proudly approaching the light, trusting in its own strength,
and thinking not of the Giver, or saying, "if God will." When suddenly
the avenging angel drew back the veil from the flaming ocean of
sunlight, and in a moment the wings of the proud bird were scorched
and shrivelled, and they sunk miserably to the earth. Since that
time the ostrich and his race have never been able to rise in the air;
they can only fly terror-stricken along the ground, or run round and
round in narrow circles. It is a warning to mankind, that in all our
thoughts and schemes, and in every action we undertake, we should say,
"if God will."

Then Helga bowed her head thoughtfully and seriously, and looked
at the circling ostrich, as with timid fear and simple pleasure it
glanced at its own great shadow on the sunlit walls. And the story
of the ostrich sunk deeply into the heart and mind of Helga: a life of
happiness, both in the present and in the future, seemed secure for
her, and what was yet to come might be the best of all, God willing.

Early in the spring, when the storks were again about to journey
northward, beautiful Helga took off her golden bracelets, scratched
her name on them, and beckoned to the stork-father. He came to her,
and she placed the golden circlet round his neck, and begged him to
deliver it safely to the Viking's wife, so that she might know that
her foster-daughter still lived, was happy, and had not forgotten her.

"It is rather heavy to carry," thought stork-papa, when he had
it on his neck; "but gold and honor are not to be flung into the
street. The stork brings good fortune--they'll be obliged to
acknowledge that at last."

"You lay gold, and I lay eggs," said stork-mamma; "with you it
is only once in a way, I lay eggs every year But no one appreciates
what we do; I call it very mortifying."

"But then we have a consciousness of our own worth, mother,"
replied stork-papa.

"What good will that do you?" retorted stork-mamma; "it will
neither bring you a fair wind, nor a good meal."

"The little nightingale, who is singing yonder in the tamarind
grove, will soon be going north, too." Helga said she had often
heard her singing on the wild moor, so she determined to send a
message by her. While flying in the swan's plumage she had learnt
the bird language; she had often conversed with the stork and the
swallow, and she knew that the nightingale would understand. So she
begged the nightingale to fly to the beechwood, on the peninsula of
Jutland, where a mound of stone and twigs had been raised to form
the grave, and she begged the nightingale to persuade all the other
little birds to build their nests round the place, so that evermore
should resound over that grave music and song. And the nightingale
flew away, and time flew away also.

In the autumn, an eagle, standing upon a pyramid, saw a stately
train of richly laden camels, and men attired in armor on foaming
Arabian steeds, whose glossy skins shone like silver, their nostrils
were pink, and their thick, flowing manes hung almost to their slender
legs. A royal prince of Arabia, handsome as a prince should be, and
accompanied by distinguished guests, was on his way to the stately
house, on the roof of which the storks' empty nests might be seen.
They were away now in the far north, but expected to return very soon.
And, indeed, they returned on a day that was rich in joy and gladness.

A marriage was being celebrated, in which the beautiful Helga,
glittering in silk and jewels, was the bride, and the bridegroom the
young Arab prince. Bride and bridegroom sat at the upper end of the
table, between the bride's mother and grandfather. But her gaze was
not on the bridegroom, with his manly, sunburnt face, round which
curled a black beard, and whose dark fiery eyes were fixed upon her;
but away from him, at a twinkling star, that shone down upon her
from the sky. Then was heard the sound of rushing wings beating the
air. The storks were coming home; and the old stork pair, although
tired with the journey and requiring rest, did not fail to fly down at
once to the balustrades of the verandah, for they knew already what
feast was being celebrated. They had heard of it on the borders of the
land, and also that Helga had caused their figures to be represented
on the walls, for they belonged to her history.

"I call that very sensible and pretty," said stork-papa.

"Yes, but it is very little," said mamma stork; "they could not
possibly have done less."

But, when Helga saw them, she rose and went out into the
verandah to stroke the backs of the storks. The old stork pair bowed
their heads, and curved their necks, and even the youngest among the
young ones felt honored by this reception.

Helga continued to gaze upon the glittering star, which seemed
to glow brighter and purer in its light; then between herself and
the star floated a form, purer than the air, and visible through it.
It floated quite near to her, and she saw that it was the dead
Christian priest, who also was coming to her wedding feast--coming
from the heavenly kingdom.

"The glory and brightness, yonder, outshines all that is known
on earth," said he.

Then Helga the fair prayed more gently, and more earnestly, than
she had ever prayed in her life before, that she might be permitted to
gaze, if only for a single moment, at the glory and brightness of
the heavenly kingdom. Then she felt herself lifted up, as it were,
above the earth, through a sea of sound and thought; not only around
her, but within her, was there light and song, such as words cannot
express.

"Now we must return;" he said; "you will be missed."

"Only one more look," she begged; "but one short moment more."

"We must return to earth; the guests will have all departed.
Only one more look!--the last!"

Then Helga stood again in the verandah. But the marriage lamps
in the festive hall had been all extinguished, and the torches outside
had vanished. The storks were gone; not a guest could be seen; no
bridegroom--all in those few short moments seemed to have died. Then a
great dread fell upon her. She stepped from the verandah through the
empty hall into the next chamber, where slept strange warriors. She
opened a side door, which once led into her own apartment, but now, as
she passed through, she found herself suddenly in a garden which she
had never before seen here, the sky blushed red, it was the dawn of
morning. Three minutes only in heaven, and a whole night on earth
had passed away! Then she saw the storks, and called to them in
their own language.

Then stork-papa turned his head towards here, listened to her
words, and drew near. "You speak our language," said he, "what do
you wish? Why do you appear,--you--a strange woman?"

"It is I--it is Helga! Dost thou not know me? Three minutes ago we
were speaking together yonder in the verandah."

"That is a mistake," said the stork, "you must have dreamed all
this."

"No, no," she exclaimed. Then she reminded him of the Viking's
castle, of the great lake, and of the journey across the ocean.

Then stork-papa winked his eyes, and said, "Why that's an old
story which happened in the time of my grandfather. There certainly
was a princess of that kind here in Egypt once, who came from the
Danish land, but she vanished on the evening of her wedding day,
many hundred years ago, and never came back. You may read about it
yourself yonder, on a monument in the garden. There you will find
swans and storks sculptured, and on the top is a figure of the
princess Helga, in marble."

And so it was; Helga understood it all now, and sank on her knees.
The sun burst forth in all its glory, and, as in olden times, the form
of the frog vanished in his beams, and the beautiful form stood
forth in all its loveliness; so now, bathed in light, rose a beautiful
form, purer, clearer than air--a ray of brightness--from the Source of
light Himself. The body crumbled into dust, and a faded lotus-flower
lay on the spot on which Helga had stood.

"Now that is a new ending to the story," said stork-papa; "I
really never expected it would end in this way, but it seems a very
good ending."

"And what will the young ones say to it, I wonder?" said
stork-mamma.

"Ah, that is a very important question," replied the stork.




THE METAL PIG

In the city of Florence, not far from the Piazza del Granduca,
runs a little street called Porta Rosa. In this street, just in
front of the market-place where vegetables are sold, stands a pig,
made of brass and curiously formed. The bright color has been
changed by age to dark green; but clear, fresh water pours from the
snout, which shines as if it had been polished, and so indeed it
has, for hundreds of poor people and children seize it in their
hands as they place their mouths close to the mouth of the animal,
to drink. It is quite a picture to see a half-naked boy clasping the
well-formed creature by the head, as he presses his rosy lips
against its jaws. Every one who visits Florence can very quickly
find the place; he has only to ask the first beggar he meets for the
Metal Pig, and he will be told where it is.

It was late on a winter evening; the mountains were covered with
snow, but the moon shone brightly, and moonlight in Italy is like a
dull winter's day in the north; indeed it is better, for clear air
seems to raise us above the earth, while in the north a cold, gray,
leaden sky appears to press us down to earth, even as the cold damp
earth shall one day press on us in the grave. In the garden of the
grand duke's palace, under the roof of one of the wings, where a
thousand roses bloom in winter, a little ragged boy had been sitting
the whole day long; a boy, who might serve as a type of Italy,
lovely and smiling, and yet still suffering. He was hungry and
thirsty, yet no one gave him anything; and when it became dark, and
they were about to close the gardens, the porter turned him out. He
stood a long time musing on the bridge which crosses the Arno, and
looking at the glittering stars, reflected in the water which flowed
between him and the elegant marble bridge Della Trinita. He then
walked away towards the Metal Pig, half knelt down, clasped it with
his arms, and then put his mouth to the shining snout and drank deep
draughts of the fresh water. Close by, lay a few salad-leaves and
two chestnuts, which were to serve for his supper. No one was in the
street but himself; it belonged only to him, so he boldly seated
himself on the pig's back, leaned forward so that his curly head could
rest on the head of the animal, and, before he was aware, he fell
asleep.

It was midnight. The Metal Pig raised himself gently, and the
boy heard him say quite distinctly, "Hold tight, little boy, for I
am going to run;" and away he started for a most wonderful ride.
First, they arrived at the Piazza del Granduca, and the metal horse
which bears the duke's statue, neighed aloud. The painted
coats-of-arms on the old council-house shone like transparent
pictures, and Michael Angelo's David tossed his sling; it was as if
everything had life. The metallic groups of figures, among which
were Perseus and the Rape of the Sabines, looked like living
persons, and cries of terror sounded from them all across the noble
square. By the Palazzo degli Uffizi, in the arcade, where the nobility
assemble for the carnival, the Metal Pig stopped. "Hold fast," said
the animal; "hold fast, for I am going up stairs."

The little boy said not a word; he was half pleased and half
afraid. They entered a long gallery, where the boy had been before.
The walls were resplendent with paintings; here stood statues and
busts, all in a clear light as if it were day. But the grandest
appeared when the door of a side room opened; the little boy could
remember what beautiful things he had seen there, but to-night
everything shone in its brightest colors. Here stood the figure of a
beautiful woman, as beautifully sculptured as possible by one of the
great masters. Her graceful limbs appeared to move; dolphins sprang at
her feet, and immortality shone from her eyes. The world called her
the Venus de' Medici. By her side were statues, in which the spirit of
life breathed in stone; figures of men, one of whom whetted his sword,
and was named the Grinder; wrestling gladiators formed another
group, the sword had been sharpened for them, and they strove for
the goddess of beauty. The boy was dazzled by so much glitter; for the
walls were gleaming with bright colors, all appeared living reality.

As they passed from hall to hall, beauty everywhere showed itself;
and as the Metal Pig went step by step from one picture to the
other, the little boy could see it all plainly. One glory eclipsed
another; yet there was one picture that fixed itself on the little
boy's memory, more especially because of the happy children it
represented, for these the little boy had seen in daylight. Many
pass this picture by with indifference, and yet it contains a treasure
of poetic feeling; it represents Christ descending into Hades. They
are not the lost whom the spectator sees, but the heathen of olden
times. The Florentine, Angiolo Bronzino, painted this picture; most
beautiful is the expression on the face of the two children, who
appear to have full confidence that they shall reach heaven at last.
They are embracing each other, and one little one stretches out his
hand towards another who stands below him, and points to himself, as
if he were saying, "I am going to heaven." The older people stand as
if uncertain, yet hopeful, and they bow in humble adoration to the
Lord Jesus. On this picture the boy's eyes rested longer than on any
other: the Metal Pig stood still before it. A low sigh was heard.
Did it come from the picture or from the animal? The boy raised his
hands towards the smiling children, and then the Pig ran off with
him through the open vestibule.

"Thank you, thank you, you beautiful animal," said the little boy,
caressing the Metal Pig as it ran down the steps.

"Thanks to yourself also," replied the Metal Pig; "I have helped
you and you have helped me, for it is only when I have an innocent
child on my back that I receive the power to run. Yes; as you see, I
can even venture under the rays of the lamp, in front of the picture
of the Madonna, but I may not enter the church; still from without,
and while you are upon my back, I may look in through the open door.
Do not get down yet, for if you do, then I shall be lifeless, as you
have seen me in the Porta Rosa."

"I will stay with you, my dear creature," said the little boy.
So then they went on at a rapid pace through the streets of
Florence, till they came to the square before the church of Santa
Croce. The folding-doors flew open, and light streamed from the
altar through the church into the deserted square. A wonderful blaze
of light streamed from one of the monuments in the left-side aisle,
and a thousand moving stars seemed to form a glory round it; even
the coat-of-arms on the tomb-stone shone, and a red ladder on a blue
field gleamed like fire. It was the grave of Galileo. The monument
is unadorned, but the red ladder is an emblem of art, signifying
that the way to glory leads up a shining ladder, on which the prophets
of mind rise to heaven, like Elias of old. In the right aisle of the
church every statue on the richly carved sarcophagi seemed endowed
with life. Here stood Michael Angelo; there Dante, with the laurel
wreath round his brow; Alfieri and Machiavelli; for here side by
side rest the great men--the pride of Italy. The church itself is very
beautiful, even more beautiful than the marble cathedral at
Florence, though not so large. It seemed as if the carved vestments
stirred, and as if the marble figures they covered raised their
heads higher, to gaze upon the brightly colored glowing altar where
the white-robed boys swung the golden censers, amid music and song,
while the strong fragrance of incense filled the church, and
streamed forth into the square. The boy stretched forth his hands
towards the light, and at the same moment the Metal Pig started
again so rapidly that he was obliged to cling tightly to him. The wind
whistled in his ears, he heard the church door creak on its hinges
as it closed, and it seemed to him as if he had lost his senses--then
a cold shudder passed over him, and he awoke.

It was morning; the Metal Pig stood in its old place on the
Porta Rosa, and the boy found he had slipped nearly off its back. Fear
and trembling came upon him as he thought of his mother; she had
sent him out the day before to get some money, he had not done so, and
now he was hungry and thirsty. Once more he clasped the neck of his
metal horse, kissed its nose, and nodded farewell to it. Then he
wandered away into one of the narrowest streets, where there was
scarcely room for a loaded donkey to pass. A great iron-bound door
stood ajar; he passed through, and climbed up a brick staircase,
with dirty walls and a rope for a balustrade, till he came to an
open gallery hung with rags. From here a flight of steps led down to a
court, where from a well water was drawn up by iron rollers to the
different stories of the house, and where the water-buckets hung
side by side. Sometimes the roller and the bucket danced in the air,
splashing the water all over the court. Another broken-down
staircase led from the gallery, and two Russian sailors running down
it almost upset the poor boy. They were coming from their nightly
carousal. A woman not very young, with an unpleasant face and a
quantity of black hair, followed them. "What have you brought home?"
she asked, when she saw the boy.

"Don't be angry," he pleaded; "I received nothing, I have
nothing at all;" and he seized his mother's dress and would have
kissed it. Then they went into a little room. I need not describe
it, but only say that there stood in it an earthen pot with handles,
made for holding fire, which in Italy is called a marito. This pot she
took in her lap, warmed her fingers, and pushed the boy with her
elbow.

"Certainly you must have some money," she said. The boy began to
cry, and then she struck him with her foot till he cried out louder.

"Will you be quiet? or I'll break your screaming head;" and she
swung about the fire-pot which she held in her hand, while the boy
crouched to the earth and screamed.

Then a neighbor came in, and she had also a marito under her
arm. "Felicita," she said, "what are you doing to the child?"

"The child is mine," she answered; "I can murder him if I like,
and you too, Giannina." And then she swung about the fire-pot. The
other woman lifted up hers to defend herself, and the two pots clashed
together so violently that they were dashed to pieces, and fire and
ashes flew about the room. The boy rushed out at the sight, sped
across the courtyard, and fled from the house. The poor child ran till
he was quite out of breath; at last he stopped at the church, the
doors of which were opened to him the night before, and went in.
Here everything was bright, and the boy knelt down by the first tomb
on his right, the grave of Michael Angelo, and sobbed as if his
heart would break. People came and went, mass was performed, but no
one noticed the boy, excepting an elderly citizen, who stood still and
looked at him for a moment, and then went away like the rest. Hunger
and thirst overpowered the child, and he became quite faint and ill.
At last he crept into a corner behind the marble monuments, and went
to sleep. Towards evening he was awakened by a pull at his sleeve;
he started up, and the same old citizen stood before him.

"Are you ill? where do you live? have you been here all day?" were
some of the questions asked by the old man. After hearing his answers,
the old man took him home to a small house close by, in a back street.
They entered a glovemaker's shop, where a woman sat sewing busily. A
little white poodle, so closely shaven that his pink skin could
plainly be seen, frisked about the room, and gambolled upon the boy.

"Innocent souls are soon intimate," said the woman, as she
caressed both the boy and the dog. These good people gave the child
food and drink, and said he should stay with them all night, and
that the next day the old man, who was called Giuseppe, would go and
speak to his mother. A little homely bed was prepared for him, but
to him who had so often slept on the hard stones it was a royal couch,
and he slept sweetly and dreamed of the splendid pictures and of the
Metal Pig. Giuseppe went out the next morning, and the poor child
was not glad to see him go, for he knew that the old man was gone to
his mother, and that, perhaps, he would have to go back. He wept at
the thought, and then he played with the little, lively dog, and
kissed it, while the old woman looked kindly at him to encourage
him. And what news did Giuseppe bring back? At first the boy could not
hear, for he talked a great deal to his wife, and she nodded and
stroked the boy's cheek.

Then she said, "He is a good lad, he shall stay with us, he may
become a clever glovemaker, like you. Look what delicate fingers he
has got; Madonna intended him for a glovemaker." So the boy stayed
with them, and the woman herself taught him to sew; and he ate well,
and slept well, and became very merry. But at last he began to tease
Bellissima, as the little dog was called. This made the woman angry,
and she scolded him and threatened him, which made him very unhappy,
and he went and sat in his own room full of sad thoughts. This chamber
looked upon the street, in which hung skins to dry, and there were
thick iron bars across his window. That night he lay awake, thinking
of the Metal Pig; indeed, it was always in his thoughts. Suddenly he
fancied he heard feet outside going pit-a-pat. He sprung out of bed
and went to the window. Could it be the Metal Pig? But there was
nothing to be seen; whatever he had heard had passed already. Next
morning, their neighbor, the artist, passed by, carrying a paint-box
and a large roll of canvas.

"Help the gentleman to carry his box of colors," said the woman to
the boy; and he obeyed instantly, took the box, and followed the
painter. They walked on till they reached the picture gallery, and
mounted the same staircase up which he had ridden that night on the
Metal Pig. He remembered all the statues and pictures, the beautiful
marble Venus, and again he looked at the Madonna with the Saviour
and St. John. They stopped before the picture by Bronzino, in which
Christ is represented as standing in the lower world, with the
children smiling before Him, in the sweet expectation of entering
heaven; and the poor boy smiled, too, for here was his heaven.

"You may go home now," said the painter, while the boy stood
watching him, till he had set up his easel.

"May I see you paint?" asked the boy; "may I see you put the
picture on this white canvas?"

"I am not going to paint yet," replied the artist; then he brought
out a piece of chalk. His hand moved quickly, and his eye measured the
great picture; and though nothing appeared but a faint line, the
figure of the Saviour was as clearly visible as in the colored
picture.

"Why don't you go?" said the painter. Then the boy wandered home
silently, and seated himself on the table, and learned to sew
gloves. But all day long his thoughts were in the picture gallery; and
so he pricked his fingers and was awkward. But he did not tease
Bellissima. When evening came, and the house door stood open, he
slipped out. It was a bright, beautiful, starlight evening, but rather
cold. Away he went through the already-deserted streets, and soon came
to the Metal Pig; he stooped down and kissed its shining nose, and
then seated himself on its back.

"You happy creature," he said; "how I have longed for you! we must
take a ride to-night."

But the Metal Pig lay motionless, while the fresh stream gushed
forth from its mouth. The little boy still sat astride on its back,
when he felt something pulling at his clothes. He looked down, and
there was Bellissima, little smooth-shaven Bellissima, barking as if
she would have said, "Here I am too; why are you sitting there?"

A fiery dragon could not have frightened the little boy so much as
did the little dog in this place. "Bellissima in the street, and not
dressed!" as the old lady called it; "what would be the end of this?"

The dog never went out in winter, unless she was attired in a
little lambskin coat which had been made for her; it was fastened
round the little dog's neck and body with red ribbons, and was
decorated with rosettes and little bells. The dog looked almost like a
little kid when she was allowed to go out in winter, and trot after
her mistress. And now here she was in the cold, and not dressed. Oh,
how would it end? All his fancies were quickly put to flight; yet he
kissed the Metal Pig once more, and then took Bellissima in his
arms. The poor little thing trembled so with cold, that the boy ran
homeward as fast as he could.

"What are you running away with there?" asked two of the police
whom he met, and at whom the dog barked. "Where have you stolen that
pretty dog?" they asked; and they took it away from him.

"Oh, I have not stolen it; do give it to me back again," cried the
boy, despairingly.

"If you have not stolen it, you may say at home that they can send
to the watch-house for the dog." Then they told him where the
watch-house was, and went away with Bellissima.

Here was a dreadful trouble. The boy did not know whether he had
better jump into the Arno, or go home and confess everything. They
would certainly kill him, he thought.

"Well, I would gladly be killed," he reasoned; "for then I shall
die, and go to heaven:" and so he went home, almost hoping for death.

The door was locked, and he could not reach the knocker. No one
was in the street; so he took up a stone, and with it made a
tremendous noise at the door.

"Who is there?" asked somebody from within.

"It is I," said he. "Bellissima is gone. Open the door, and then
kill me."

Then indeed there was a great panic. Madame was so very fond of
Bellissima. She immediately looked at the wall where the dog's dress
usually hung; and there was the little lambskin.

"Bellissima in the watch-house!" she cried. "You bad boy! how
did you entice her out? Poor little delicate thing, with those rough
policemen! and she'll be frozen with cold."

Giuseppe went off at once, while his wife lamented, and the boy
wept. Several of the neighbors came in, and amongst them the
painter. He took the boy between his knees, and questioned him; and,
in broken sentences, he soon heard the whole story, and also about the
Metal Pig, and the wonderful ride to the picture-gallery, which was
certainly rather incomprehensible. The painter, however, consoled
the little fellow, and tried to soften the lady's anger; but she would
not be pacified till her husband returned with Bellissima, who had
been with the police. Then there was great rejoicing, and the
painter caressed the boy, and gave him a number of pictures. Oh,
what beautiful pictures these were!--figures with funny heads; and,
above all, the Metal Pig was there too. Oh, nothing could be more
delightful. By means of a few strokes, it was made to appear on the
paper; and even the house that stood behind it had been sketched in.
Oh, if he could only draw and paint! He who could do this could
conjure all the world before him. The first leisure moment during
the next day, the boy got a pencil, and on the back of one of the
other drawings he attempted to copy the drawing of the Metal Pig,
and he succeeded. Certainly it was rather crooked, rather up and down,
one leg thick, and another thin; still it was like the copy, and he
was overjoyed at what he had done. The pencil would not go quite as it
ought,--he had found that out; but the next day he tried again. A
second pig was drawn by the side of the first, and this looked a
hundred times better; and the third attempt was so good, that
everybody might know what it was meant to represent.

And now the glovemaking went on but slowly. The orders given by
the shops in the town were not finished quickly; for the Metal Pig had
taught the boy that all objects may be drawn upon paper; and
Florence is a picture-book in itself for any one who chooses to turn
over its pages. On the Piazza dell Trinita stands a slender pillar,
and upon it is the goddess of Justice, blindfolded, with her scales in
her hand. She was soon represented on paper, and it was the
glovemaker's boy who placed her there. His collection of pictures
increased; but as yet they were only copies of lifeless objects,
when one day Bellissima came gambolling before him: "Stand still,"
cried he, "and I will draw you beautifully, to put amongst my
collection."

But Bellissima would not stand still, so she must be bound fast in
one position. He tied her head and tail; but she barked and jumped,
and so pulled and tightened the string, that she was nearly strangled;
and just then her mistress walked in.

"You wicked boy! the poor little creature!" was all she could
utter.

She pushed the boy from her, thrust him away with her foot, called
him a most ungrateful, good-for-nothing, wicked boy, and forbade him
to enter the house again. Then she wept, and kissed her little
half-strangled Bellissima. At this moment the painter entered the
room.



In the year 1834 there was an exhibition in the Academy of Arts at
Florence. Two pictures, placed side by side, attracted a large
number of spectators. The smaller of the two represented a little
boy sitting at a table, drawing; before him was a little white poodle,
curiously shaven; but as the animal would not stand still, it had been
fastened with a string to its head and tail, to keep it in one
position. The truthfulness and life in this picture interested every
one. The painter was said to be a young Florentine, who had been found
in the streets, when a child, by an old glovemaker, who had brought
him up. The boy had taught himself to draw: it was also said that a
young artist, now famous, had discovered talent in the child just as
he was about to be sent away for having tied up madame's favorite
little dog, and using it as a model. The glovemaker's boy had also
become a great painter, as the picture proved; but the larger
picture by its side was a still greater proof of his talent. It
represented a handsome boy, clothed in rags, lying asleep, and leaning
against the Metal Pig in the street of the Porta Rosa. All the
spectators knew the spot well. The child's arms were round the neck of
the Pig, and he was in a deep sleep. The lamp before the picture of
the Madonna threw a strong, effective light on the pale, delicate face
of the child. It was a beautiful picture. A large gilt frame
surrounded it, and on one corner of the frame a laurel wreath had been
hung; but a black band, twined unseen among the green leaves, and a
streamer of crape, hung down from it; for within the last few days the
young artist had--died.




THE MONEY-BOX

In a nursery where a number of toys lay scattered about, a
money-box stood on the top of a very high wardrobe. It was made of
clay in the shape of a pig, and had been bought of the potter. In
the back of the pig was a slit, and this slit had been enlarged with a
knife, so that dollars, or crown pieces, might slip through; and,
indeed there were two in the box, besides a number of pence. The
money-pig was stuffed so full that it could no longer rattle, which is
the highest state of perfection to which a money-pig can attain. There
he stood upon the cupboard, high and lofty, looking down upon
everything else in the room. He knew very well that he had enough
inside him to buy up all the other toys, and this gave him a very good
opinion of his own value. The rest thought of this fact also, although
they did not express it, for there were so many other things to talk
about. A large doll, still handsome, though rather old, for her neck
had been mended, lay inside one of the drawers which was partly
open. She called out to the others, "Let us have a game at being men
and women, that is something worth playing at."

Upon this there was a great uproar; even the engravings, which
hung in frames on the wall, turned round in their excitement, and
showed that they had a wrong side to them, although they had not the
least intention to expose themselves in this way, or to object to
the game. It was late at night, but as the moon shone through the
windows, they had light at a cheap rate. And as the game was now to
begin, all were invited to take part in it, even the children's wagon,
which certainly belonged to the coarser playthings. "Each has its
own value," said the wagon; "we cannot all be noblemen; there must
be some to do the work."

The money-pig was the only one who received a written
invitation. He stood so high that they were afraid he would not accept
a verbal message. But in his reply, he said, if he had to take a part,
he must enjoy the sport from his own home; they were to arrange for
him to do so; and so they did. The little toy theatre was therefore
put up in such a way that the money-pig could look directly into it.
Some wanted to begin with a comedy, and afterwards to have a tea party
and a discussion for mental improvement, but they commenced with the
latter first. The rocking-horse spoke of training and races; the wagon
of railways and steam power, for these subjects belonged to each of
their professions, and it was right they should talk of them. The
clock talked politics--"tick, tick;" he professed to know what was the
time of day, but there was a whisper that he did not go correctly. The
bamboo cane stood by, looking stiff and proud: he was vain of his
brass ferrule and silver top, and on the sofa lay two worked cushions,
pretty but stupid. When the play at the little theatre began, the rest
sat and looked on; they were requested to applaud and stamp, or crack,
when they felt gratified with what they saw. But the riding-whip
said he never cracked for old people, only for the young who were
not yet married. "I crack for everybody," said the cracker.

"Yes, and a fine noise you make," thought the audience, as the
play went on.

It was not worth much, but it was very well played, and all the
characters turned their painted sides to the audience, for they were
made only to be seen on one side. The acting was wonderful,
excepting that sometimes they came out beyond the lamps, because the
wires were a little too long. The doll, whose neck had been darned,
was so excited that the place in her neck burst, and the money-pig
declared he must do something for one of the players, as they had
all pleased him so much. So he made up his mind to remember one of
them in his will, as the one to be buried with him in the family
vault, whenever that event should happen. They all enjoyed the
comedy so much, that they gave up all thoughts of the tea party, and
only carried out their idea of intellectual amusement, which they
called playing at men and women; and there was nothing wrong about it,
for it was only play. All the while, each one thought most of himself,
or of what the money-pig could be thinking. His thoughts were on, as
he supposed, a very distant time--of making his will, and of his
burial, and of when it might all come to pass. Certainly sooner than
he expected--for all at once down he came from the top of the press,
fell on the ground, and was broken to pieces. Then the pennies
hopped and danced about in the most amusing manner. The little ones
twirled round like tops, and the large ones rolled away as far as they
could, especially the one great silver crown piece who had often to go
out into the world, and now he had his wish as well as all the rest of
the money. The pieces of the money-pig were thrown into the
dust-bin, and the next day there stood a new money-pig on the
cupboard, but it had not a farthing in its inside yet, and
therefore, like the old one, it could not rattle. This was the
beginning with him, and we will make it the end of our story.




WHAT THE MOON SAW

INTRODUCTION

It is a strange thing, when I feel most fervently and most deeply,
my hands and my tongue seem alike tied, so that I cannot rightly
describe or accurately portray the thoughts that are rising within me;
and yet I am a painter; my eye tells me as much as that, and all my
friends who have seen my sketches and fancies say the same.

I am a poor lad, and live in one of the narrowest of lanes; but
I do not want for light, as my room is high up in the house, with an
extensive prospect over the neighbouring roofs. During the first few
days I went to live in the town, I felt low-spirited and solitary
enough. Instead of the forest and the green hills of former days, I
had here only a forest of chimney-pots to look out upon. And then I
had not a single friend; not one familiar face greeted me.

So one evening I sat at the window, in a desponding mood; and
presently I opened the casement and looked out. Oh, how my heart
leaped up with joy! Here was a well-known face at last--a round,
friendly countenance, the face of a good friend I had known at home.
In, fact, it was the MOON that looked in upon me. He was quite
unchanged, the dear old Moon, and had the same face exactly that he
used to show when he peered down upon me through the willow trees on
the moor. I kissed my hand to him over and over again, as he shone far
into my little room; and he, for his part, promised me that every
evening, when he came abroad, he would look in upon me for a few
moments. This promise he has faithfully kept. It is a pity that he can
only stay such a short time when he comes. Whenever he appears, he
tells me of one thing or another that he has seen on the previous
night, or on that same evening. "Just paint the scenes I describe to
you"--this is what he said to me--"and you will have a very pretty
picture-book." I have followed his injunction for many evenings. I
could make up a new "Thousand and One Nights," in my own way, out of
these pictures, but the number might be too great, after all. The
pictures I have here given have not been chosen at random, but
follow in their proper order, just as they were described to me.
Some great gifted painter, or some poet or musician, may make
something more of them if he likes; what I have given here are only
hasty sketches, hurriedly put upon the paper, with some of my own
thoughts, interspersed; for the Moon did not come to me every
evening--a cloud sometimes hid his face from me.


FIRST EVENING

"Last night"--I am quoting the Moon's own words--"last night I was
gliding through the cloudless Indian sky. My face was mirrored in
the waters of the Ganges, and my beams strove to pierce through the
thick intertwining boughs of the bananas, arching beneath me like
the tortoise's shell. Forth from the thicket tripped a Hindoo maid,
light as a gazelle, beautiful as Eve. Airy and etherial as a vision,
and yet sharply defined amid the surrounding shadows, stood this
daughter of Hindostan: I could read on her delicate brow the thought
that had brought her hither. The thorny creeping plants tore her
sandals, but for all that she came rapidly forward. The deer that
had come down to the river to quench her thirst, sprang by with a
startled bound, for in her hand the maiden bore a lighted lamp. I
could see the blood in her delicate finger tips, as she spread them
for a screen before the dancing flame. She came down to the stream,
and set the lamp upon the water, and let it float away. The flame
flickered to and fro, and seemed ready to expire; but still the lamp
burned on, and the girl's black sparkling eyes, half veiled behind
their long silken lashes, followed it with a gaze of earnest
intensity. She knew that if the lamp continued to burn so long as
she could keep it in sight, her betrothed was still alive; but if
the lamp was suddenly extinguished, he was dead. And the lamp burned
bravely on, and she fell on her knees, and prayed. Near her in the
grass lay a speckled snake, but she heeded it not--she thought only of
Bramah and of her betrothed. 'He lives!' she shouted joyfully, 'he
lives!' And from the mountains the echo came back upon her, 'he
lives!"


SECOND EVENING

"Yesterday," said the Moon to me, "I looked down upon a small
courtyard surrounded on all sides by houses. In the courtyard sat a
clucking hen with eleven chickens; and a pretty little girl was
running and jumping around them. The hen was frightened, and screamed,
and spread out her wings over the little brood. Then the girl's father
came out and scolded her; and I glided away and thought no more of the
matter.

"But this evening, only a few minutes ago, I looked down into
the same courtyard. Everything was quiet. But presently the little
girl came forth again, crept quietly to the hen-house, pushed back the
bolt, and slipped into the apartment of the hen and chickens. They
cried out loudly, and came fluttering down from their perches, and ran
about in dismay, and the little girl ran after them. I saw it quite
plainly, for I looked through a hole in the hen-house wall. I was
angry with the willful child, and felt glad when her father came out
and scolded her more violently than yesterday, holding her roughly
by the arm; she held down her head, and her blue eyes were full of
large tears. 'What are you about here?' he asked. She wept and said,
'I wanted to kiss the hen and beg her pardon for frightening her
yesterday; but I was afraid to tell you.'

"And the father kissed the innocent child's forehead, and I kissed
her on the mouth and eyes."


THIRD EVENING

"In the narrow street round the corner yonder--it is so narrow
that my beams can only glide for a minute along the walls of the
house, but in that minute I see enough to learn what the world is made
of--in that narrow street I saw a woman. Sixteen years ago that
woman was a child, playing in the garden of the old parsonage, in
the country. The hedges of rose-bush were old, and the flowers were
faded. They straggled wild over the paths, and the ragged branches
grew up among the boughs of the apple trees; here and there were a few
roses still in bloom--not so fair as the queen of flowers generally
appears, but still they had colour and scent too. The clergyman's
little daughter appeared to me a far lovelier rose, as she sat on
her stool under the straggling hedge, hugging and caressing her doll
with the battered pasteboard cheeks.

"Ten years afterwards I saw her again. I beheld her in a
splendid ballroom: she was the beautiful bride of a rich merchant. I
rejoiced at her happiness, and sought her on calm quiet evenings--ah,
nobody thinks of my clear eye and my silent glance! Alas! my
rose ran wild, like the rose bushes in the garden of the parsonage.
There are tragedies in every-day life, and tonight I saw the last
act of one.

"She was lying in bed in a house in that narrow street: she was
sick unto death, and the cruel landlord came up, and tore away the
thin coverlet, her only protection against the cold. 'Get up!' said
he; 'your face is enough to frighten one. Get up and dress yourself,
give me money, or I'll turn you out into the street! Quick--get up!'
She answered, 'Alas! death is gnawing at my heart. Let me rest.' But
he forced her to get up and bathe her face, and put a wreath of
roses in her hair; and he placed her in a chair at the window, with
a candle burning beside her, and went away.

"I looked at her, and she was sitting motionless, with her hands
in her lap. The wind caught the open window and shut it with a
crash, so that a pane came clattering down in fragments; but still she
never moved. The curtain caught fire, and the flames played about
her face; and I saw that she was dead. There at the open window sat
the dead woman, preaching a sermon against sin--my poor faded rose out
of the parsonage garden!"


FOURTH EVENING

"This evening I saw a German play acted," said the Moon. "It was
in a little town. A stable had been turned into a theatre; that is
to say, the stable had been left standing, and had been turned into
private boxes, and all the timber work had been covered with
coloured paper. A little iron chandelier hung beneath the ceiling, and
that it might be made to disappear into the ceiling, as it does in
great theatres, when the ting-ting of the prompter's bell is heard,
a great inverted tub has been placed just above it.

"'Ting-ting!' and the little iron chandelier suddenly rose at
least half a yard and disappeared in the tub; and that was the sign
that the play was going to begin. A young nobleman and his lady, who
happened to be passing through the little town, were present at the
performance, and consequently the house was crowded. But under the
chandelier was a vacant space like a little crater: not a single
soul sat there, for the tallow was dropping, drip, drip! I saw
everything, for it was so warm in there that every loophole had been
opened. The male and female servants stood outside, peeping through
the chinks, although a real policeman was inside, threatening them
with a stick. Close by the orchestra could be seen the noble young
couple in two old arm-chairs, which were usually occupied by his
worship the mayor and his lady; but these latter were to-day obliged
to content themselves with wooden forms, just as if they had been
ordinary citizens; and the lady observed quietly to herself, 'One
sees, now, that there is rank above rank;' and this incident gave an
air of extra festivity to the whole proceedings. The chandelier gave
little leaps, the crowd got their knuckles rapped, and I, the Moon,
was present at the performance from beginning to end."


FIFTH EVENING

"Yesterday," began the Moon, "I looked down upon the turmoil of
Paris. My eye penetrated into an apartment of the Louvre. An old
grandmother, poorly clad--she belonged to the working class--was
following one of the under-servants into the great empty
throne-room, for this was the apartment she wanted to see--that she
was resolved to see; it had cost her many a little sacrifice, and many
a coaxing word, to penetrate thus far. She folded her thin hands,
and looked round with an air of reverence, as if she had been in a
church.

"'Here it was!' she said, 'here!' and she approached the throne,
from which hung the rich velvet fringed with gold lace. 'There,' she
exclaimed, 'there!' and she knelt and kissed the purple carpet. I
think she was actually weeping.

"'But it was not this very velvet!' observed the footman, and a
smile played about his mouth. 'True, but it was this very place,'
replied the woman, 'and it must have looked just like this. 'It looked
so, and yet it did not,' observed the man: 'the windows were beaten
in, and the doors were off their hinges, and there was blood upon
the floor.' 'But for all that you can say, my grandson died upon the
throne of France. Died!' mournfully repeated the old woman. I do not
think another word was spoken, and they soon quitted the hall. The
evening twilight faded and my light shone doubly vivid upon the rich
velvet that covered the throne of France.

"Now who do you think this poor woman was? Listen, I will tell you
a story.

"It happened, in the Revolution of July, on the evening of the
most brilliantly victorious day, when every house was a fortress,
every window a breastwork. The people stormed the Tuileries. Even
women and children were to be found among the combatants. They
penetrated into the apartments and halls of the palace. A poor
half-grown boy in a ragged blouse fought among the older insurgents.
Mortally wounded with several bayonet thrusts, he sank down. This
happened in the throne-room. They laid the bleeding youth upon the
throne of France, wrapped the velvet around his wounds, and his
blood streamed forth upon the imperial purple. There was a picture!
The splendid hall, the fighting groups! A torn flag upon the ground,
the tricolor was waving above the bayonets, and on the throne lay
the poor lad with the pale glorified countenance, his eyes turned
towards the sky, his limbs writhing in the death agony, his breast
bare, and his poor tattered clothing half hidden by the rich velvet
embroidered with silver lilies. At the boy's cradle a prophecy had
been spoken: 'He will die on the throne of France!' The mother's heart
dreamt of a second Napoleon.

"My beams have kissed the wreath of immortelles on his grave,
and this night they kissed the forehead of the old grandame, while
in a dream the picture floated before her which thou mayest draw--the
poor boy on the throne of France."


SIXTH EVENING

"I've been in Upsala," said the Moon: "I looked down upon the
great plain covered with coarse grass, and upon the barren fields. I
mirrored my face in the Tyris river, while the steamboat drove the
fish into the rushes. Beneath me floated the waves, throwing long
shadows on the so-called graves of Odin, Thor, and Friga. In the
scanty turf that covers the hill-side names have been cut. There is no
monument here, no memorial on which the traveller can have his name
carved, no rocky wall on whose surface he can get it painted; so
visitors have the turf cut away for that purpose. The naked earth
peers through in the form of great letters and names; these form a
network over the whole hill. Here is an immortality, which lasts
till the fresh turf grows!

"Up on the hill stood a man, a poet. He emptied the mead horn with
the broad silver rim, and murmured a name. He begged the winds not
to betray him, but I heard the name. I knew it. A count's coronet
sparkles above it, and therefore he did not speak it out. I smiled,
for I knew that a poet's crown adorns his own name. The nobility of
Eleanora d'Este is attached to the name of Tasso. And I also know
where the Rose of Beauty blooms!"

Thus spake the Moon, and a cloud came between us. May no cloud
separate the poet from the rose!


SEVENTH EVENING

"Along the margin of the shore stretches a forest of firs and
beeches, and fresh and fragrant is this wood; hundreds of nightingales
visit it every spring. Close beside it is the sea, the ever-changing
sea, and between the two is placed the broad high-road. One carriage
after another rolls over it; but I did not follow them, for my eye
loves best to rest upon one point. A Hun's Grave lies there, and the
sloe and blackthorn grow luxuriantly among the stones. Here is true
poetry in nature.

"And how do you think men appreciate this poetry? I will tell
you what I heard there last evening and during the night.

"First, two rich landed proprietors came driving by. 'Those are
glorious trees!' said the first. 'Certainly; there are ten loads of
firewood in each,' observed the other: 'it will be a hard winter,
and last year we got fourteen dollars a load'--and they were gone.
'The road here is wretched,' observed another man who drove past.
'That's the fault of those horrible trees,' replied his neighbour;
'there is no free current of air; the wind can only come from the
sea'--and they were gone. The stage coach went rattling past. All
the passengers were asleep at this beautiful spot. The postillion blew
his horn, but he only thought, 'I can play capitally. It sounds well
here. I wonder if those in there like it?'--and the stage coach
vanished. Then two young fellows came gallopping up on horseback.
There's youth and spirit in the blood here! thought I; and, indeed,
they looked with a smile at the moss-grown hill and thick forest. 'I
should not dislike a walk here with the miller's Christine,' said
one--and they flew past.

"The flowers scented the air; every breath of air was hushed; it
seemed as if the sea were a part of the sky that stretched above the
deep valley. A carriage rolled by. Six people were sitting in it. Four
of them were asleep; the fifth was thinking of his new summer coat,
which would suit him admirably; the sixth turned to the coachman and
asked him if there were anything remarkable connected with yonder heap
of stones. 'No,' replied the coachman, 'it's only a heap of stones;
but the trees are remarkable.' 'How so?' 'Why I'll tell you how they
are very remarkable. You see, in winter, when the snow lies very deep,
and has hidden the whole road so that nothing is to be seen, those
trees serve me for a landmark. I steer by them, so as not to drive
into the sea; and you see that is why the trees are remarkable.'

"Now came a painter. He spoke not a word, but his eyes sparkled.
He began to whistle. At this the nightingales sang louder than ever.
'Hold your tongues!' he cried testily; and he made accurate notes of
all the colours and transitions--blue, and lilac, and dark brown.
'That will make a beautiful picture,' he said. He took it in just as a
mirror takes in a view; and as he worked he whistled a march of
Rossini. And last of all came a poor girl. She laid aside the burden
she carried, and sat down to rest upon the Hun's Grave. Her pale
handsome face was bent in a listening attitude towards the forest. Her
eyes brightened, she gazed earnestly at the sea and the sky, her hands
were folded, and I think she prayed, 'Our Father.' She herself could
not understand the feeling that swept through her, but I know that
this minute, and the beautiful natural scene, will live within her
memory for years, far more vividly and more truly than the painter
could portray it with his colours on paper. My rays followed her
till the morning dawn kissed her brow."


EIGHTH EVENING

Heavy clouds obscured the sky, and the Moon did not make his
appearance at all. I stood in my little room, more lonely than ever,
and looked up at the sky where he ought to have shown himself. My
thoughts flew far away, up to my great friend, who every evening
told me such pretty tales, and showed me pictures. Yes, he has had
an experience indeed. He glided over the waters of the Deluge, and
smiled on Noah's ark just as he lately glanced down upon me, and
brought comfort and promise of a new world that was to spring forth
from the old. When the Children of Israel sat weeping by the waters of
Babylon, he glanced mournfully upon the willows where hung the
silent harps. When Romeo climbed the balcony, and the promise of
true love fluttered like a cherub toward heaven, the round Moon
hung, half hidden among the dark cypresses, in the lucid air. He saw
the captive giant at St. Helena, looking from the lonely rock across
the wide ocean, while great thoughts swept through his soul. Ah!
what tales the Moon can tell. Human life is like a story to him.
To-night I shall not see thee again, old friend. Tonight I can draw no
picture of the memories of thy visit. And, as I looked dreamily
towards the clouds, the sky became bright. There was a glancing light,
and a beam from the Moon fell upon me. It vanished again, and dark
clouds flew past: but still it was a greeting, a friendly good-night
offered to me by the Moon.


NINTH EVENING

The air was clear again. Several evenings had passed, and the Moon
was in the first quarter. Again he gave me an outline for a sketch.
Listen to what he told me.

"I have followed the polar bird and the swimming whale to the
eastern coast of Greenland. Gaunt ice-covered rocks and dark clouds
hung over a valley, where dwarf willows and barberry bushes stood
clothed in green. The blooming lychnis exhaled sweet odours. My
light was faint, my face pale as the water lily that, torn from its
stem, has been drifting for weeks with the tide. The crown-shaped
Northern Light burned fiercely in the sky. Its ring was broad, and
from its circumference the rays shot like whirling shafts of fire
across the whole sky, flashing in changing radiance from green to red.
The inhabitants of that icy region were assembling for dance and
festivity; but, accustomed to this glorious spectacle, they scarcely
deigned to glance at it. 'Let us leave the soul of the dead to their
ball-play with the heads of the walruses,' they thought in their
superstition, and they turned their whole attention to the song and
dance. In the midst of the circle, and divested of his furry cloak,
stood a Greenlander, with a small pipe, and he played and sang a
song about catching the seal, and the chorus around chimed in with,
'Eia, Eia, Ah.' And in their white furs they danced about in the
circle, till you might fancy it was a polar bear's ball.

"And now a Court of Judgment was opened. Those Greenlanders who
had quarrelled stepped forward, and the offended person chanted
forth the faults of his adversary in an extempore song, turning them
sharply into ridicule, to the sound of the pipe and the measure of the
dance. The defendant replied with satire as keen, while the audience
laughed, and gave their verdict. The rocks heaved, the glaciers
melted, and great masses of ice and snow came crashing down, shivering
to fragments as they fall; it was a glorious Greenland summer night. A
hundred paces away, under the open tent of hides, lay a sick man. Life
still flowed through his warm blood, but still he was to die--he
himself felt it, and all who stood round him knew it also; therefore
his wife was already sewing round him the shroud of furs, that she
might not afterwards be obliged to touch the dead body. And she asked,
'Wilt thou be buried on the rock, in the firm snow? I will deck the
spot with thy kayak, and thy arrows, and the angekokk shall dance over
it. Or wouldst thou rather be buried in the sea?' 'In the sea,' he
whispered, and nodded with a mournful smile. 'Yes, it is a pleasant
summer tent, the sea,' observed the wife. 'Thousands of seals sport
there, the walrus shall lie at thy feet, and the hunt will be safe and
merry!' And the yelling children tore the outspread hide from the
window-hole, that the dead man might be carried to the ocean, the
billowy ocean, that had given him food in life, and that now, in
death, was to afford him a place of rest. For his monument, he had the
floating, ever-changing icebergs, whereon the seal sleeps, while the
storm bird flies round their gleaming summits!"


TENTH EVENING

"I knew an old maid," said the Moon. "Every winter she wore a
wrapper of yellow satin, and it always remained new, and was the
only fashion she followed. In summer she always wore the same straw
hat, and I verily believe the very same gray-blue dress.

"She never went out, except across the street to an old female
friend; and in later years she did not even take this walk, for the
old friend was dead. In her solitude my old maid was always busy at
the window, which was adorned in summer with pretty flowers, and in
winter with cress, grown upon felt. During the last months I saw her
no more at the window, but she was still alive. I knew that, for I had
not yet seen her begin the 'long journey,' of which she often spoke
with her friend. 'Yes, yes,' she was in the habit of saying, when I
come to die I shall take a longer journey than I have made my whole
life long. Our family vault is six miles from here. I shall be carried
there, and shall sleep there among my family and relatives.' Last
night a van stopped at the house. A coffin was carried out, and then I
knew that she was dead. They placed straw round the coffin, and the
van drove away. There slept the quiet old lady, who had not gone out
of her house once for the last year. The van rolled out through the
town-gate as briskly as if it were going for a pleasant excursion.
On the high-road the pace was quicker yet. The coachman looked
nervously round every now and then--I fancy he half expected to see
her sitting on the coffin, in her yellow satin wrapper. And because he
was startled, he foolishly lashed his horses, while he held the
reins so tightly that the poor beasts were in a foam: they were
young and fiery. A hare jumped across the road and startled them,
and they fairly ran away. The old sober maiden, who had for years
and years moved quietly round and round in a dull circle, was now,
in death, rattled over stock and stone on the public highway. The
coffin in its covering of straw tumbled out of the van, and was left
on the high-road, while horses, coachman, and carriage flew past in
wild career. The lark rose up carolling from the field, twittering her
morning lay over the coffin, and presently perched upon it, picking
with her beak at the straw covering, as though she would tear it up.
The lark rose up again, singing gaily, and I withdrew behind the red
morning clouds."


ELEVENTH EVENING

"I will give you a picture of Pompeii," said the Moon. "I was in
the suburb in the Street of Tombs, as they call it, where the fair
monuments stand, in the spot where, ages ago, the merry youths,
their temples bound with rosy wreaths, danced with the fair sisters of
Lais. Now, the stillness of death reigned around. German
mercenaries, in the Neapolitan service, kept guard, played cards,
and diced; and a troop of strangers from beyond the mountains came
into the town, accompanied by a sentry. They wanted to see the city
that had risen from the grave illumined by my beams; and I showed them
the wheel-ruts in the streets paved with broad lava slabs; I showed
them the names on the doors, and the signs that hung there yet: they
saw in the little courtyard the basins of the fountains, ornamented
with shells; but no jet of water gushed upwards, no songs sounded
forth from the richly-painted chambers, where the bronze dog kept
the door.

"It was the City of the Dead; only Vesuvius thundered forth his
everlasting hymn, each separate verse of which is called by men an
eruption. We went to the temple of Venus, built of snow-white
marble, with its high altar in front of the broad steps, and the
weeping willows sprouting freshly forth among the pillars. The air was
transparent and blue, and black Vesuvius formed the background, with
fire ever shooting forth from it, like the stem of the pine tree.
Above it stretched the smoky cloud in the silence of the night, like
the crown of the pine, but in a blood-red illumination. Among the
company was a lady singer, a real and great singer. I have witnessed
the homage paid to her in the greatest cities of Europe. When they
came to the tragic theatre, they all sat down on the amphitheatre
steps, and thus a small part of the house was occupied by an audience,
as it had been many centuries ago. The stage still stood unchanged,
with its walled side-scenes, and the two arches in the background,
through which the beholders saw the same scene that had been exhibited
in the old times--a scene painted by nature herself, namely, the
mountains between Sorento and Amalfi. The singer gaily mounted the
ancient stage, and sang. The place inspired her, and she reminded me
of a wild Arab horse, that rushes headlong on with snorting nostrils
and flying mane--her song was so light and yet so firm. Anon I thought
of the mourning mother beneath the cross at Golgotha, so deep was
the expression of pain. And, just as it had done thousands of years
ago, the sound of applause and delight now filled the theatre. 'Happy,
gifted creature!' all the hearers exclaimed. Five minutes more, and
the stage was empty, the company had vanished, and not a sound more
was heard--all were gone. But the ruins stood unchanged, as they
will stand when centuries shall have gone by, and when none shall know
of the momentary applause and of the triumph of the fair songstress;
when all will be forgotten and gone, and even for me this hour will be
but a dream of the past."


TWELFTH EVENING

"I looked through the windows of an editor's house," said the
Moon. "It was somewhere in Germany. I saw handsome furniture, many
books, and a chaos of newspapers. Several young men were present:
the editor himself stood at his desk, and two little books, both by
young authors, were to be noticed. 'This one has been sent to me,'
said he. 'I have not read it yet; what think you of the contents?'
'Oh,' said the person addressed--he was a poet himself--'it is good
enough; a little broad, certainly; but, you see, the author is still
young. The verses might be better, to be sure; the thoughts are sound,
though there is certainly a good deal of common-place among them.
But what will you have? You can't be always getting something new.
That he'll turn out anything great I don't believe, but you may safely
praise him. He is well read, a remarkable Oriental scholar, and has
a good judgment. It was he who wrote that nice review of my
'Reflections on Domestic Life.' We must be lenient towards the young
man."

"'But he is a complete hack!' objected another of the gentlemen.
'Nothing worse in poetry than mediocrity, and he certainly does not go
beyond this.'

"'Poor fellow,' observed a third, 'and his aunt is so happy
about him. It was she, Mr. Editor, who got together so many
subscribers for your last translation.'

"'Ah, the good woman! Well, I have noticed the book briefly.
Undoubted talent--a welcome offering--a flower in the garden of
poetry--prettily brought out--and so on. But this other book--I
suppose the author expects me to purchase it? I hear it is praised. He
has genius, certainly: don't you think so?'

"'Yes, all the world declares as much,' replied the poet, 'but
it has turned out rather wildly. The punctuation of the book, in
particular, is very eccentric.'

"'It will be good for him if we pull him to pieces, and anger
him a little, otherwise he will get too good an opinion of himself.'

"'But that would be unfair,' objected the fourth. 'Let us not carp
at little faults, but rejoice over the real and abundant good that
we find here: he surpasses all the rest.'

"'Not so. If he is a true genius, he can bear the sharp voice of
censure. There are people enough to praise him. Don't let us quite
turn his head.'

"'Decided talent,' wrote the editor, 'with the usual carelessness.
that he can write incorrect verses may be seen in page 25, where there
are two false quantities. We recommend him to study the ancients,
etc.'

"I went away," continued the Moon, "and looked through the windows
in the aunt's house. There sat the be-praised poet, the tame one;
all the guests paid homage to him, and he was happy.

"I sought the other poet out, the wild one; him also I found in
a great assembly at his patron's, where the tame poet's book was being
discussed.

"'I shall read yours also,' said Maecenas; 'but to speak honestly--you
know I never hide my opinion from you--I don't expect much from
it, for you are much too wild, too fantastic. But it must be allowed
that, as a man, you are highly respectable.'

"A young girl sat in a corner; and she read in a book these words:

  "'In the dust lies genius and glory,
    But ev'ry-day talent will pay.
  It's only the old, old story,
    But the piece is repeated each day.'"


THIRTEENTH EVENING

The Moon said, "Beside the woodland path there are two small
farm-houses. The doors are low, and some of the windows are placed
quite high, and others close to the ground; and whitethorn and
barberry bushes grow around them. The roof of each house is
overgrown with moss and with yellow flowers and houseleek. Cabbage and
potatoes are the only plants cultivated in the gardens, but out of the
hedge there grows a willow tree, and under this willow tree sat a
little girl, and she sat with her eyes fixed upon the old oak tree
between the two huts.

"It was an old withered stem. It had been sawn off at the top, and
a stork had built his nest upon it; and he stood in this nest clapping
with his beak. A little boy came and stood by the girl's side: they
were brother and sister.

"'What are you looking at?' he asked.

"'I'm watching the stork,' she replied: 'our neighbors told me
that he would bring us a little brother or sister to-day; let us watch
to see it come!'

"'The stork brings no such things,' the boy declared, 'you may
be sure of that. Our neighbor told me the same thing, but she
laughed when she said it, and so I asked her if she could say 'On my
honor,' and she could not; and I know by that the story about the
storks is not true, and that they only tell it to us children for
fun.'

 "'But where do babies come from, then?' asked the girl.

"'Why, an angel from heaven brings them under his cloak, but no
man can see him; and that's why we never know when he brings them.'

"At that moment there was a rustling in the branches of the willow
tree, and the children folded their hands and looked at one another:
it was certainly the angel coming with the baby. They took each
other's hand, and at that moment the door of one of the houses opened,
and the neighbour appeared.

"'Come in, you two,' she said. 'See what the stork has brought. It
is a little brother.'

"And the children nodded gravely at one another, for they had felt
quite sure already that the baby was come."


FOURTEENTH EVENING

"I was gliding over the Luneburg Heath," the Moon said. "A
lonely hut stood by the wayside, a few scanty bushes grew near it, and
a nightingale who had lost his way sang sweetly. He died in the
coldness of the night: it was his farewell song that I heard.

"The morning dawn came glimmering red. I saw a caravan of emigrant
peasant families who were bound to Hamburgh, there to take ship for
America, where fancied prosperity would bloom for them. The mothers
carried their little children at their backs, the elder ones
tottered by their sides, and a poor starved horse tugged at a cart
that bore their scanty effects. The cold wind whistled, and
therefore the little girl nestled closer to the mother, who, looking
up at my decreasing disc, thought of the bitter want at home, and
spoke of the heavy taxes they had not been able to raise. The whole
caravan thought of the same thing; therefore, the rising dawn seemed
to them a message from the sun, of fortune that was to gleam
brightly upon them. They heard the dying nightingale sing; it was no
false prophet, but a harbinger of fortune. The wind whistled,
therefore they did not understand that the nightingale sung, 'Fare
away over the sea! Thou hast paid the long passage with all that was
thine, and poor and helpless shalt thou enter Canaan. Thou must sell
thyself, thy wife, and thy children. But your griefs shall not last
long. Behind the broad fragrant leaves lurks the goddess of Death, and
her welcome kiss shall breathe fever into thy blood. Fare away, fare
away, over the heaving billows.' And the caravan listened well pleased
to the song of the nightingale, which seemed to promise good
fortune. Day broke through the light clouds; country people went
across the heath to church; the black-gowned women with their white
head-dresses looked like ghosts that had stepped forth from the church
pictures. All around lay a wide dead plain, covered with faded brown
heath, and black charred spaces between the white sand hills. The
women carried hymn books, and walked into the church. Oh, pray, pray
for those who are wandering to find graves beyond the foaming
billows."


FIFTEENTH EVENING

"I know a Pulcinella," the Moon told me. "The public applaud
vociferously directly they see him. Every one of his movements is
comic, and is sure to throw the house into convulsions of laughter;
and yet there is no art in it all--it is complete nature. When he
was yet a little boy, playing about with other boys, he was already
Punch. Nature had intended him for it, and had provided him with a
hump on his back, and another on his breast; but his inward man, his
mind, on the contrary, was richly furnished. No one could surpass
him in depth of feeling or in readiness of intellect. The theatre
was his ideal world. If he had possessed a slender well-shaped figure,
he might have been the first tragedian on any stage; the heroic, the
great, filled his soul; and yet he had to become a Pulcinella. His
very sorrow and melancholy did but increase the comic dryness of his
sharply-cut features, and increased the laughter of the audience,
who showered plaudits on their favourite. The lovely Columbine was
indeed kind and cordial to him; but she preferred to marry the
Harlequin. It would have been too ridiculous if beauty and ugliness
had in reality paired together.

"When Pulcinella was in very bad spirits, she was the only one who
could force a hearty burst of laughter, or even a smile from him:
first she would be melancholy with him, then quieter, and at last
quite cheerful and happy. 'I know very well what is the matter with
you,' she said; 'yes, you're in love!' And he could not help laughing.
'I and Love," he cried, "that would have an absurd look. How the
public would shout!' 'Certainly, you are in love,' she continued;
and added with a comic pathos, 'and I am the person you are in love
with.' You see, such a thing may be said when it is quite out of the
question--and, indeed, Pulcinella burst out laughing, and gave a
leap into the air, and his melancholy was forgotten.

"And yet she had only spoken the truth. He did love her, love
her adoringly, as he loved what was great and lofty in art. At her
wedding he was the merriest among the guests, but in the stillness
of night he wept: if the public had seen his distorted face then, they
would have applauded rapturously.

"And a few days ago, Columbine died. On the day of the funeral,
Harlequin was not required to show himself on the boards, for he was a
disconsolate widower. The director had to give a very merry piece,
that the public might not too painfully miss the pretty Columbine
and the agile Harlequin. Therefore Pulcinella had to be more
boisterous and extravagant than ever; and he danced and capered,
with despair in his heart; and the audience yelled, and shouted
'bravo, bravissimo!' Pulcinella was actually called before the
curtain. He was pronounced inimitable.

"But last night the hideous little fellow went out of the town,
quite alone, to the deserted churchyard. The wreath of flowers on
Columbine's grave was already faded, and he sat down there. It was a
study for a painter. As he sat with his chin on his hands, his eyes
turned up towards me, he looked like a grotesque monument--a Punch
on a grave--peculiar and whimsical! If the people could have seen
their favourite, they would have cried as usual, 'Bravo, Pulcinella;
bravo, bravissimo!'"


SIXTEENTH EVENING

Hear what the Moon told me. "I have seen the cadet who had just
been made an officer put on his handsome uniform for the first time; I
have seen the young bride in her wedding dress, and the princess
girl-wife happy in her gorgeous robes; but never have I seen a
felicity equal to that of a little girl of four years old, whom I
watched this evening. She had received a new blue dress, and a new
pink hat, the splendid attire had just been put on, and all were
calling for a candle, for my rays, shining in through the windows of
the room, were not bright enough for the occasion, and further
illumination was required. There stood the little maid, stiff and
upright as a doll, her arms stretched painfully straight out away from
the dress, and her fingers apart; and oh, what happiness beamed from
her eyes, and from her whole countenance! 'To-morrow you shall go
out in your new clothes,' said her mother; and the little one looked
up at her hat, and down at her frock, and smiled brightly. 'Mother,'
she cried, 'what will the little dogs think, when they see me in these
splendid new things?'"


SEVENTEENTH EVENING

"I have spoken to you of Pompeii," said the Moon; "that corpse
of a city, exposed in the view of living towns: I know another sight
still more strange, and this is not the corpse, but the spectre of a
city. Whenever the jetty fountains splash into the marble basins, they
seem to me to be telling the story of the floating city. Yes, the
spouting water may tell of her, the waves of the sea may sing of her
fame! On the surface of the ocean a mist often rests, and that is
her widow's veil. The bridegroom of the sea is dead, his palace and
his city are his mausoleum! Dost thou know this city? She has never
heard the rolling of wheels or the hoof-tread of horses in her
streets, through which the fish swim, while the black gondola glides
spectrally over the green water. I will show you the place," continued
the Moon, "the largest square in it, and you will fancy yourself
transported into the city of a fairy tale. The grass grows rank
among the broad flagstones, and in the morning twilight thousands of
tame pigeons flutter around the solitary lofty tower. On three sides
you find yourself surrounded by cloistered walks. In these the
silent Turk sits smoking his long pipe, the handsome Greek leans
against the pillar and gazes at the upraised trophies and lofty masts,
memorials of power that is gone. The flags hang down like mourning
scarves. A girl rests there: she has put down her heavy pails filled
with water, the yoke with which she has carried them rests on one of
her shoulders, and she leans against the mast of victory. That is
not a fairy palace you see before you yonder, but a church: the gilded
domes and shining orbs flash back my beams; the glorious bronze horses
up yonder have made journeys, like the bronze horse in the fairy tale:
they have come hither, and gone hence, and have returned again. Do you
notice the variegated splendour of the walls and windows? It looks
as if Genius had followed the caprices of a child, in the adornment of
these singular temples. Do you see the winged lion on the pillar?
The gold glitters still, but his wings are tied--the lion is dead, for
the king of the sea is dead; the great halls stand desolate, and where
gorgeous paintings hung of yore, the naked wall now peers through. The
lazzarone sleeps under the arcade, whose pavement in old times was
to be trodden only by the feet of high nobility. From the deep
wells, and perhaps from the prisons by the Bridge of Sighs, rise the
accents of woe, as at the time when the tambourine was heard in the
gay gondolas, and the golden ring was cast from the Bucentaur to
Adria, the queen of the seas. Adria! shroud thyself in mists; let
the veil of thy widowhood shroud thy form, and clothe in the weeds
of woe the mausoleum of thy bridegroom--the marble, spectral Venice."


EIGHTEENTH EVENING

"I looked down upon a great theatre," said the Moon. "The house
was crowded, for a new actor was to make his first appearance that
night. My rays glided over a little window in the wall, and I saw a
painted face with the forehead pressed against the panes. It was the
hero of the evening. The knighly beard curled crisply about the
chin; but there were tears in the man's eyes, for he had been hissed
off, and indeed with reason. The poor Incapable! But Incapables cannot
be admitted into the empire of Art. He had deep feeling, and loved his
art enthusiastically, but the art loved not him. The prompter's bell
sounded; 'the hero enters with a determined air,' so ran the stage
direction in his part, and he had to appear before an audience who
turned him into ridicule. When the piece was over, I saw a form
wrapped in a mantle, creeping down the steps: it was the vanquished
knight of the evening. The scene-shifters whispered to one another,
and I followed the poor fellow home to his room. To hang one's self is
to die a mean death, and poison is not always at hand, I know; but
he thought of both. I saw how he looked at his pale face in the glass,
with eyes half closed, to see if he should look well as a corpse. A
man may be very unhappy, and yet exceedingly affected. He thought of
death, of suicide; I believe he pitied himself, for he wept
bitterly, and when a man has had his cry out he doesn't kill himself.

"Since that time a year had rolled by. Again a play was to be
acted, but in a little theatre, and by a poor strolling company. Again
I saw the well-remembered face, with the painted cheeks and the
crisp beard. He looked up at me and smiled; and yet he had been hissed
off only a minute before--hissed off from a wretched theatre, by a
miserable audience. And tonight a shabby hearse rolled out of the
town-gate. It was a suicide--our painted, despised hero. The driver of
the hearse was the only person present, for no one followed except
my beams. In a corner of the churchyard the corpse of the suicide
was shovelled into the earth, and nettles will soon be growing
rankly over his grave, and the sexton will throw thorns and weeds from
the other graves upon it."


NINETEENTH EVENING

"I come from Rome," said the Moon. "In the midst of the city, upon
one of the seven hills, lie the ruins of the imperial palace. The wild
fig tree grows in the clefts of the wall, and covers the nakedness
thereof with its broad grey-green leaves; trampling among heaps of
rubbish, the ass treads upon green laurels, and rejoices over the rank
thistles. From this spot, whence the eagles of Rome once flew
abroad, whence they 'came, saw, and conquered,' our door leads into
a little mean house, built of clay between two pillars; the wild
vine hangs like a mourning garland over the crooked window. An old
woman and her little granddaughter live there: they rule now in the
palace of the Caesars, and show to strangers the remains of its past
glories. Of the splendid throne-hall only a naked wall yet stands, and
a black cypress throws its dark shadow on the spot where the throne
once stood. The dust lies several feet deep on the broken pavement;
and the little maiden, now the daughter of the imperial palace,
often sits there on her stool when the evening bells ring. The keyhole
of the door close by she calls her turret window; through this she can
see half Rome, as far as the mighty cupola of St. Peter's.

"On this evening, as usual, stillness reigned around; and in the
full beam of my light came the little granddaughter. On her head she
carried an earthen pitcher of antique shape filled with water. Her
feet were bare, her short frock and her white sleeves were torn. I
kissed her pretty round shoulders, her dark eyes, and black shining
hair. She mounted the stairs; they were steep, having been made up
of rough blocks of broken marble and the capital of a fallen pillar.
The coloured lizards slipped away, startled, from before her feet, but
she was not frightened at them. Already she lifted her hand to pull
the door-bell--a hare's foot fastened to a string formed the
bell-handle of the imperial palace. She paused for a moment--of what
might she be thinking? Perhaps of the beautiful Christ-child,
dressed in gold and silver, which was down below in the chapel,
where the silver candlesticks gleamed so bright, and where her
little friends sung the hymns in which she also could join? I know
not. Presently she moved again--she stumbled: the earthen vessel
fell from her head, and broke on the marble steps. She burst into
tears. The beautiful daughter of the imperial palace wept over the
worthless broken pitcher; with her bare feet she stood there
weeping; and dared not pull the string, the bell-rope of the
imperial palace!"


TWENTIETH EVENING

It was more than a fortnight since the Moon had shone. Now he
stood once more, round and bright, above the clouds, moving slowly
onward. Hear what the Moon told me.

"From a town in Fezzan I followed a caravan. On the margin of
the sandy desert, in a salt plain, that shone like a frozen lake,
and was only covered in spots with light drifting sand, a halt was
made. The eldest of the company--the water gourd hung at his girdle,
and on his head was a little bag of unleavened bread--drew a square in
the sand with his staff, and wrote in it a few words out of the Koran,
and then the whole caravan passed over the consecrated spot. A young
merchant, a child of the East, as I could tell by his eye and his
figure, rode pensively forward on his white snorting steed. Was he
thinking, perchance, of his fair young wife? It was only two days
ago that the camel, adorned with furs and with costly shawls, had
carried her, the beauteous bride, round the walls of the city, while
drums and cymbals had sounded, the women sang, and festive shots, of
which the bridegroom fired the greatest number, resounded round the
camel; and now he was journeying with the caravan across the desert.

"For many nights I followed the train. I saw them rest by the
wellside among the stunted palms; they thrust the knife into the
breast of the camel that had fallen, and roasted its flesh by the
fire. My beams cooled the glowing sands, and showed them the black
rocks, dead islands in the immense ocean of sand. No hostile tribes
met them in their pathless route, no storms arose, no columns of
sand whirled destruction over the journeying caravan. At home the
beautiful wife prayed for her husband and her father. 'Are they dead?'
she asked of my golden crescent; 'Are they dead?' she cried to my full
disc. Now the desert lies behind them. This evening they sit beneath
the lofty palm trees, where the crane flutters round them with its
long wings, and the pelican watches them from the branches of the
mimosa. The luxuriant herbage is trampled down, crushed by the feet of
elephants. A troop of negroes are returning from a market in the
interior of the land: the women, with copper buttons in their black
hair, and decked out in clothes dyed with indigo, drive the
heavily-laden oxen, on whose backs slumber the naked black children. A
negro leads a young lion which he has brought, by a string. They
approach the caravan; the young merchant sits pensive and
motionless, thinking of his beautiful wife, dreaming, in the land of
the blacks, of his white lily beyond the desert. He raises his head,
and--" But at this moment a cloud passed before the Moon, and then
another. I heard nothing more from him this evening.


TWENTY-FIRST EVENING

"I saw a little girl weeping," said the Moon; "she was weeping
over the depravity of the world. She had received a most beautiful
doll as a present. Oh, that was a glorious doll, so fair and delicate!
She did not seem created for the sorrows of this world. But the
brothers of the little girl, those great naughty boys, had set the
doll high up in the branches of a tree and had run away.

"The little girl could not reach up to the doll, and could not
help her down, and that is why she was crying. The doll must certainly
have been crying too, for she stretched out her arms among the green
branches, and looked quite mournful. Yes, these are the troubles of
life of which the little girl had often heard tell. Alas, poor doll!
it began to grow dark already; and suppose night were to come on
completely! Was she to be left sitting on the bough all night long?
No, the little maid could not make up her mind to that. 'I'll stay
with you,' she said, although she felt anything but happy in her mind.
She could almost fancy she distinctly saw little gnomes, with their
high-crowned hats, sitting in the bushes; and further back in the long
walk, tall spectres appeared to be dancing. They came nearer and
nearer, and stretched out their hands towards the tree on which the
doll sat; they laughed scornfully, and pointed at her with their
fingers. Oh, how frightened the little maid was! 'But if one has not
done anything wrong,' she thought, 'nothing evil can harm one. I
wonder if I have done anything wrong?' And she considered. 'Oh, yes! I
laughed at the poor duck with the red rag on her leg; she limped along
so funnily, I could not help laughing; but it's a sin to laugh at
animals.' And she looked up at the doll. 'Did you laugh at the duck
too?' she asked; and it seemed as if the doll shook her head."


TWENTY-SECOND EVENING

"I looked down upon Tyrol," said the Moon, "and my beams caused
the dark pines to throw long shadows upon the rocks. I looked at the
pictures of St. Christopher carrying the Infant Jesus that are painted
there upon the walls of the houses, colossal figures reaching from the
ground to the roof. St. Florian was represented pouring water on the
burning house, and the Lord hung bleeding on the great cross by the
wayside. To the present generation these are old pictures, but I saw
when they were put up, and marked how one followed the other. On the
brow of the mountain yonder is perched, like a swallow's nest, a
lonely convent of nuns. Two of the sisters stood up in the tower
tolling the bell; they were both young, and therefore their glances
flew over the mountain out into the world. A travelling coach passed
by below, the postillion wound his horn, and the poor nuns looked
after the carriage for a moment with a mournful glance, and a tear
gleamed in the eyes of the younger one. And the horn sounded faint and
more faintly, and the convent bell drowned its expiring echoes."


TWENTY-THIRD EVENING

Hear what the Moon told me. "Some years ago, here in Copenhagen, I
looked through the window of a mean little room. The father and mother
slept, but the little son was not asleep. I saw the flowered cotton
curtains of the bed move, and the child peep forth. At first I thought
he was looking at the great clock, which was gaily painted in red
and green. At the top sat a cuckoo, below hung the heavy leaden
weights, and the pendulum with the polished disc of metal went to
and fro, and said 'tick, tick.' But no, he was not looking at the
clock, but at his mother's spinning wheel, that stood just
underneath it. That was the boy's favourite piece of furniture, but he
dared not touch it, for if he meddled with it he got a rap on the
knuckles. For hours together, when his mother was spinning, he would
sit quietly by her side, watching the murmuring spindle and the
revolving wheel, and as he sat he thought of many things. Oh, if he
might only turn the wheel himself! Father and mother were asleep; he
looked at them, and looked at the spinning wheel, and presently a
little naked foot peered out of the bed, and then a second foot, and
then two little white legs. There he stood. He looked round once more,
to see if father and mother were still asleep--yes, they slept; and
now he crept softly, softly, in his short little nightgown, to the
spinning wheel, and began to spin. The thread flew from the wheel, and
the wheel whirled faster and faster. I kissed his fair hair and his
blue eyes, it was such a pretty picture.

"At that moment the mother awoke. The curtain shook, she looked
forth, and fancied she saw a gnome or some other kind of little
spectre. 'In Heaven's name!' she cried, and aroused her husband in a
frightened way. He opened his eyes, rubbed them with his hands, and
looked at the brisk little lad. 'Why, that is Bertel,' said he. And my
eye quitted the poor room, for I have so much to see. At the same
moment I looked at the halls of the Vatican, where the marble gods are
enthroned. I shone upon the group of the Laocoon; the stone seemed
to sigh. I pressed a silent kiss on the lips of the Muses, and they
seemed to stir and move. But my rays lingered longest about the Nile
group with the colossal god. Leaning against the Sphinx, he lies there
thoughtful and meditative, as if he were thinking on the rolling
centuries; and little love-gods sport with him and with the
crocodiles. In the horn of plenty sat with folded arms a little tiny
love-god, contemplating the great solemn river-god, a true picture
of the boy at the spinning wheel--the features were exactly the
same. Charming and life-like stood the little marble form, and yet the
wheel of the year has turned more than a thousand times since the time
when it sprang forth from the stone. Just as often as the boy in the
little room turned the spinning wheel had the great wheel murmured,
before the age could again call forth marble gods equal to those he
afterwards formed.

"Years have passed since all this happened," the Moon went on to
say. "Yesterday I looked upon a bay on the eastern coast of Denmark.
Glorious woods are there, and high trees, an old knightly castle
with red walls, swans floating in the ponds, and in the background
appears, among orchards, a little town with a church. Many boats,
the crews all furnished with torches, glided over the silent
expanse--but these fires had not been kindled for catching fish, for
everything had a festive look. Music sounded, a song was sung, and
in one of the boats the man stood erect to whom homage was paid by the
rest, a tall sturdy man, wrapped in a cloak. He had blue eyes and long
white hair. I knew him, and thought of the Vatican, and of the group
of the Nile, and the old marble gods. I thought of the simple little
room where little Bertel sat in his night-shirt by the spinning wheel.
The wheel of time has turned, and new gods have come forth from the
stone. From the boats there arose a shout: 'Hurrah, hurrah for
Bertel Thorwaldsen!'"


TWENTY-FOURTH EVENING

"I will now give you a picture from Frankfort," said the Moon.
"I especially noticed one building there. It was not the house in
which Goethe was born, nor the old Council House, through whose grated
windows peered the horns of the oxen that were roasted and given to
the people when the emperors were crowned. No, it was a private house,
plain in appearance, and painted green. It stood near the old Jews'
Street. It was Rothschild's house.

"I looked through the open door. The staircase was brilliantly
lighted: servants carrying wax candles in massive silver
candlesticks stood there, and bowed low before an old woman, who was
being brought downstairs in a litter. The proprietor of the house
stood bare-headed, and respectfully imprinted a kiss on the hand of
the old woman. She was his mother. She nodded in a friendly manner
to him and to the servants, and they carried her into the dark
narrow street, into a little house, that was her dwelling. Here her
children had been born, from hence the fortune of the family had
arisen. If she deserted the despised street and the little house,
fortune would also desert her children. That was her firm belief."

The Moon told me no more; his visit this evening was far too
short. But I thought of the old woman in the narrow despised street.
It would have cost her but a word, and a brilliant house would have
arisen for her on the banks of the Thames--a word, and a villa would
have been prepared in the Bay of Naples.

"If I deserted the lowly house, where the fortunes of my sons
first began to bloom, fortune would desert them!" It was a
superstition, but a superstition of such a class, that he who knows
the story and has seen this picture, need have only two words placed
under the picture to make him understand it; and these two words
are: "A mother."


TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING

"It was yesterday, in the morning twilight"--these are the words
the Moon told me--"in the great city no chimney was yet smoking--and
it was just at the chimneys that I was looking. Suddenly a little head
emerged from one of them, and then half a body, the arms resting on
the rim of the chimney-pot. 'Ya-hip! ya-hip!' cried a voice. It was
the little chimney-sweeper, who had for the first time in his life
crept through a chimney, and stuck out his head at the top. 'Ya-hip!
ya-hip' Yes, certainly that was a very different thing to creeping
about in the dark narrow chimneys! the air blew so fresh, and he could
look over the whole city towards the green wood. The sun was just
rising. It shone round and great, just in his face, that beamed with
triumph, though it was very prettily blacked with soot.

"'The whole town can see me now,' he exclaimed, 'and the moon
can see me now, and the sun too. Ya-hip! ya-hip!' And he flourished
his broom in triumph."


TWENTY-SIXTH EVENING

"Last night I looked down upon a town in China," said the Moon.
"My beams irradiated the naked walls that form the streets there.
Now and then, certainly, a door is seen; but it is locked, for what
does the Chinaman care about the outer world? Close wooden shutters
covered the windows behind the walls of the houses; but through the
windows of the temple a faint light glimmered. I looked in, and saw
the quaint decorations within. From the floor to the ceiling
pictures are painted, in the most glaring colours, and richly
gilt--pictures representing the deeds of the gods here on earth. In
each niche statues are placed, but they are almost entirely hidden by the
coloured drapery and the banners that hang down. Before each idol (and
they are all made of tin) stood a little altar of holy water, with
flowers and burning wax lights on it. Above all the rest stood Fo, the
chief deity, clad in a garment of yellow silk, for yellow is here
the sacred colour. At the foot of the altar sat a living being, a
young priest. He appeared to be praying, but in the midst of his
prayer he seemed to fall into deep thought, and this must have been
wrong, for his cheeks glowed and he held down his head. Poor
Soui-Hong! Was he, perhaps, dreaming of working in the little flower
garden behind the high street wall? And did that occupation seem
more agreeable to him than watching the wax lights in the temple? Or
did he wish to sit at the rich feast, wiping his mouth with silver
paper between each course? Or was his sin so great that, if he dared
utter it, the Celestial Empire would punish it with death? Had his
thoughts ventured to fly with the ships of the barbarians, to their
homes in far distant England? No, his thoughts did not fly so far, and
yet they were sinful, sinful as thoughts born of young hearts,
sinful here in the temple, in the presence of Fo and the other holy
gods.

"I know whither his thoughts had strayed. At the farther end of
the city, on the flat roof paved with porcelain, on which stood the
handsome vases covered with painted flowers, sat the beauteous Pu,
of the little roguish eyes, of the full lips, and of the tiny feet.
The tight shoe pained her, but her heart pained her still more. She
lifted her graceful round arm, and her satin dress rustled. Before her
stood a glass bowl containing four gold-fish. She stirred the bowl
carefully with a slender lacquered stick, very slowly, for she, too,
was lost in thought. Was she thinking, perchance, how the fishes
were richly clothed in gold, how they lived calmly and peacefully in
their crystal world, how they were regularly fed, and yet how much
happier they might be if they were free? Yes, that she could well
understand, the beautiful Pu. Her thoughts wandered away from her
home, wandered to the temple, but not for the sake of holy things.
Poor Pu! Poor Soui-hong!

"Their earthly thoughts met, but my cold beam lay between the two,
like the sword of the cherub."


TWENTY-SEVENTH EVENING

"The air was calm," said the Moon; "the water was transparent as
the purest ether through which I was gliding, and deep below the
surface I could see the strange plants that stretched up their long
arms towards me like the gigantic trees of the forest. The fishes swam
to and fro above their tops. High in the air a flight of wild swans
were winging their way, one of which sank lower and lower, with
wearied pinions, his eyes following the airy caravan, that melted
farther and farther into the distance. With outspread wings he sank
slowly, as a soap bubble sinks in the still air, till he touched the
water. At length his head lay back between his wings, and silently
he lay there, like a white lotus flower upon the quiet lake. And a
gentle wind arose, and crisped the quiet surface, which gleamed like
the clouds that poured along in great broad waves; and the swan raised
his head, and the glowing water splashed like blue fire over his
breast and back. The morning dawn illuminated the red clouds, the swan
rose strengthened, and flew towards the rising sun, towards the bluish
coast whither the caravan had gone; but he flew alone, with a
longing in his breast. Lonely he flew over the blue swelling billows."


TWENTY-EIGHTH EVENING

"I will give you another picture of Sweden," said the Moon. "Among
dark pine woods, near the melancholy banks of the Stoxen, lies the old
convent church of Wreta. My rays glided through the grating into the
roomy vaults, where kings sleep tranquilly in great stone coffins.
On the wall, above the grave of each, is placed the emblem of
earthly grandeur, a kingly crown; but it is made only of wood, painted
and gilt, and is hung on a wooden peg driven into the wall. The
worms have gnawed the gilded wood, the spider has spun her web from
the crown down to the sand, like a mourning banner, frail and
transient as the grief of mortals. How quietly they sleep! I can
remember them quite plainly. I still see the bold smile on their lips,
that so strongly and plainly expressed joy or grief. When the
steamboat winds along like a magic snail over the lakes, a stranger
often comes to the church, and visits the burial vault; he asks the
names of the kings, and they have a dead and forgotten sound. He
glances with a smile at the worm-eaten crowns, and if he happens to be
a pious, thoughtful man, something of melancholy mingles with the
smile. Slumber on, ye dead ones! The Moon thinks of you, the Moon at
night sends down his rays into your silent kingdom, over which hangs
the crown of pine wood."


TWENTY-NINTH EVENING

"Close by the high-road," said the Moon, "is an inn, and
opposite to it is a great waggon-shed, whose straw roof was just being
re-thatched. I looked down between the bare rafters and through the
open loft into the comfortless space below. The turkey-cock slept on
the beam, and the saddle rested in the empty crib. In the middle of
the shed stood a travelling carriage; the proprietor was inside,
fast asleep, while the horses were being watered. The coachman
stretched himself, though I am very sure that he had been most
comfortably asleep half the last stage. The door of the servants' room
stood open, and the bed looked as if it had been turned over and over;
the candle stood on the floor, and had burnt deep down into the
socket. The wind blew cold through the shed: it was nearer to the dawn
than to midnight. In the wooden frame on the ground slept a wandering
family of musicians. The father and mother seemed to be dreaming of
the burning liquor that remained in the bottle. The little pale
daughter was dreaming too, for her eyes were wet with tears. The harp
stood at their heads, and the dog lay stretched at their feet."


THIRTIETH EVENING

"It was in a little provincial town," the Moon said; "it certainly
happened last year, but that has nothing to do with the matter. I
saw it quite plainly. To-day I read about it in the papers, but
there it was not half so clearly expressed. In the taproom of the
little inn sat the bear leader, eating his supper; the bear was tied
up outside, behind the wood pile--poor Bruin, who did nobody any harm,
though he looked grim enough. Up in the garret three little children
were playing by the light of my beams; the eldest was perhaps six
years old, the youngest certainly not more than two. 'Tramp,
tramp'--somebody was coming upstairs: who might it be? The door was
thrust open--it was Bruin, the great, shaggy Bruin! He had got tired of
waiting down in the courtyard, and had found his way to the stairs.
I saw it all," said the Moon. "The children were very much
frightened at first at the great shaggy animal; each of them crept
into a corner, but he found them all out, and smelt at them, but did
them no harm. 'This must be a great dog,' they said, and began to
stroke him. He lay down upon the ground, the youngest boy clambered on
his back, and bending down a little head of golden curls, played at
hiding in the beast's shaggy skin. Presently the eldest boy took his
drum, and beat upon it till it rattled again; the bear rose upon his
hind legs, and began to dance. It was a charming sight to behold. Each
boy now took his gun, and the bear was obliged to have one too, and he
held it up quite properly. Here was a capital playmate they had found;
and they began marching--one, two; one, two.

"Suddenly some one came to the door, which opened, and the
mother of the children appeared. You should have seen her in her
dumb terror, with her face as white as chalk, her mouth half open, and
her eyes fixed in a horrified stare. But the youngest boy nodded to
her in great glee, and called out in his infantile prattle, 'We're
playing at soldiers.' And then the bear leader came running up."


THIRTY-FIRST EVENING

The wind blew stormy and cold, the clouds flew hurriedly past;
only for a moment now and then did the Moon become visible. He said,
"I looked down from the silent sky upon the driving clouds, and saw
the great shadows chasing each other across the earth. I looked upon a
prison. A closed carriage stood before it; a prisoner was to be
carried away. My rays pierced through the grated window towards the
wall; the prisoner was scratching a few lines upon it, as a parting
token; but he did not write words, but a melody, the outpouring of his
heart. The door was opened, and he was led forth, and fixed his eyes
upon my round disc. Clouds passed between us, as if he were not to see
his face, nor I his. He stepped into the carriage, the door was
closed, the whip cracked, and the horses gallopped off into the
thick forest, whither my rays were not able to follow him; but as I
glanced through the grated window, my rays glided over the notes,
his last farewell engraved on the prison wall--where words fail,
sounds can often speak. My rays could only light up isolated notes, so
the greater part of what was written there will ever remain dark to
me. Was it the death-hymn he wrote there? Were these the glad notes of
joy? Did he drive away to meet death, or hasten to the embraces of his
beloved? The rays of the Moon do not read all that is written by
mortals."


THIRTY-SECOND EVENING

"I love the children," said the Moon, "especially the quite little
ones--they are so droll. Sometimes I peep into the room, between the
curtain and the window frame, when they are not thinking of me. It
gives me pleasure to see them dressing and undressing. First, the
little round naked shoulder comes creeping out of the frock, then
the arm; or I see how the stocking is drawn off, and a plump little
white leg makes its appearance, and a white little foot that is fit to
be kissed, and I kiss it too.

"But about what I was going to tell you. This evening I looked
through a window, before which no curtain was drawn, for nobody
lives opposite. I saw a whole troop of little ones, all of one family,
and among them was a little sister. She is only four years old, but
can say her prayers as well as any of the rest. The mother sits by her
bed every evening, and hears her say her prayers; and then she has a
kiss, and the mother sits by the bed till the little one has gone to
sleep, which generally happens as soon as ever she can close her eyes.

"This evening the two elder children were a little boisterous. One
of them hopped about on one leg in his long white nightgown, and the
other stood on a chair surrounded by the clothes of all the
children, and declared he was acting Grecian statues. The third and
fourth laid the clean linen carefully in the box, for that is a
thing that has to be done; and the mother sat by the bed of the
youngest, and announced to all the rest that they were to be quiet,
for little sister was going to say her prayers.

"I looked in, over the lamp, into the little maiden's bed, where
she lay under the neat white coverlet, her hands folded demurely and
her little face quite grave and serious. She was praying the Lord's
prayer aloud. But her mother interrupted her in the middle of her
prayer. 'How is it,' she asked, 'that when you have prayed for daily
bread, you always add something I cannot understand? You must tell
me what that is.' The little one lay silent, and looked at her
mother in embarrassment. 'What is it you say after our daily bread?'
'Dear mother, don't be angry: I only said, and plenty of butter on
it.'"




THE NEIGHBOURING FAMILIES

One would have thought that something important was going on in
the duck-pond, but it was nothing after all. All the ducks lying
quietly on the water or standing on their heads in it--for they
could do that--at once swarm to the sides; the traces of their feet
were seen in the wet earth, and their cackling was heard far and wide.
The water, which a few moments before had been as clear and smooth
as a mirror, became very troubled. Before, every tree, every
neighbouring bush, the old farmhouse with the holes in the roof and
the swallows' nest, and especially the great rose-bush full of
flowers, had been reflected in it. The rose-bush covered the wall
and hung out over the water, in which everything was seen as if in a
picture, except that it all stood on its head; but when the water
was troubled everything got mixed up, and the picture was gone. Two
feathers which the fluttering ducks had lost floated up and down;
suddenly they took a rush as if the wind were coming, but as it did
not come they had to lie still, and the water once more became quiet
and smooth. The roses were again reflected; they were very
beautiful, but they did not know it, for no one had told them. The sun
shone among the delicate leaves; everything breathed forth the
loveliest fragrance, and all felt as we do when we are filled with joy
at the thought of our happiness.

"How beautiful existence is!" said each rose. "The only thing that
I wish for is to be able to kiss the sun, because it is so warm and
bright. I should also like to kiss those roses down in the water,
which are so much like us, and the pretty little birds down in the
nest. There are some up above too; they put out their heads and pipe
softly; they have no feathers like their father and mother. We have
good neighbours, both below and above. How beautiful existence is!"

The young ones above and below--those below were really only
shadows in the water--were sparrows; their parents were sparrows
too, and had taken possession of the empty swallows' nest of last
year, and now lived in it as if it were their own property.

"Are those the duck's children swimming here?" asked the young
sparrows when they saw the feathers on the water.

"If you must ask questions, ask sensible ones," said their mother.
"Don't you see that they are feathers, such as I wear and you will
wear too? But ours are finer. Still, I should like to have them up
in the nest, for they keep one warm. I am very curious to know what
the ducks were so startled about; not about us, certainly, although
I did say 'peep' to you pretty loudly. The thick-headed roses ought to
know why, but they know nothing at all; they only look at themselves
and smell. I am heartily tired of such neighbours."

"Listen to the dear little birds up there," said the roses;
"they begin to want to sing too, but are not able to manage it yet.
But it will soon come. What a pleasure that must be! It is fine to
have such cheerful neighbours."

Suddenly two horses came galloping up to be watered. A peasant boy
rode on one, and he had taken off all his clothes except his large
broad black hat. The boy whistled like a bird, and rode into the
pond where it was deepest, and as he passed the rose-bush he plucked a
rose and stuck it in his hat. Now he looked dressed, and rode on.
The other roses looked after their sister, and asked each other,
"Where can she be going to?" But none of them knew.

"I should like to go out into the world for once," said one;
"but here at home among our green leaves it is beautiful too. The
whole day long the sun shines bright and warm, and in the night the
sky shines more beautifully still; we can see that through all the
little holes in it."

They meant the stars, but they knew no better.

"We make it lively about the house," said the sparrow-mother; "and
people say that a swallows' nest brings luck; so they are glad of
us. But such neighbours as ours! A rose-bush on the wall like that
causes damp. I daresay it will be taken away; then we shall,
perhaps, have some corn growing here. The roses are good for nothing
but to be looked at and to be smelt, or at most to be stuck in a
hat. Every year, as I have been told by my mother, they fall off.
The farmer's wife preserves them and strews salt among them; then they
get a French name which I neither can pronounce nor care to, and are
put into the fire to make a nice smell. You see, that's their life;
they exist only for the eye and the nose. Now you know."

In the evening, when the gnats were playing about in the warm
air and in the red clouds, the nightingale came and sang to the
roses that the beautiful was like sunshine to the world, and that
the beautiful lived for ever. The roses thought that the nightingale
was singing about itself, and that one might easily have believed;
they had no idea that the song was about them. But they were very
pleased with it, and wondered whether all the little sparrows could
become nightingales.

"I understand the song of that bird very well," said the young
sparrows. "There was only one word that was not clear to me. What does
'the beautiful' mean?"

"Nothing at all," answered their mother; "that's only something
external. Up at the Hall, where the pigeons have their own house,
and corn and peas are strewn before them every day--I have dined
with them myself, and that you shall do in time, too; for tell me what
company you keep and I'll tell you who you are--up at the Hall they
have two birds with green necks and a crest upon their heads; they can
spread out their tails like a great wheel, and these are so bright
with various colours that it makes one's eyes ache. These birds are
called peacocks, and that is 'the beautiful.' If they were only
plucked a little they would look no better than the rest of us. I
would have plucked them already if they had not been so big."

"I'll pluck them," piped the young sparrow, who had no feathers
yet.

In the farmhouse lived a young married couple; they loved each
other dearly, were industrious and active, and everything in their
home looked very nice. On Sundays the young wife came down early,
plucked a handful of the most beautiful roses, and put them into a
glass of water, which she placed upon the cupboard.

"Now I see that it is Sunday," said the husband, kissing his
little wife. They sat down, read their hymn-book, and held each
other by the hand, while the sun shone down upon the fresh roses and
upon them.

"This sight is really too tedious," said the sparrow-mother, who
could see into the room from her nest; and she flew away.

The same thing happened on the following Sunday, for every
Sunday fresh roses were put into the glass; but the rose-bush
bloomed as beautifully as ever. The young sparrows now had feathers,
and wanted very much to fly with their mother; but she would not allow
it, and so they had to stay at home. In one of her flights, however it
may have happened, she was caught, before she was aware of it, in a
horse-hair net which some boys had attached to a tree. The
horse-hair was drawn tightly round her leg--as tightly as if the
latter were to be cut off; she was in great pain and terror. The
boys came running up and seized her, and in no gentle way either.

"It's only a sparrow," they said; they did not, however, let her
go, but took her home with them, and every time she cried they hit her
on the beak.

In the farmhouse was an old man who understood making soap into
cakes and balls, both for shaving and washing. He was a merry old man,
always wandering about. On seeing the sparrow which the boys had
brought, and which they said they did not want, he asked, "Shall we
make it look very pretty?"

At these words an icy shudder ran through the sparrow-mother.

Out of his box, in which were the most beautiful colours, the
old man took a quantity of shining leaf-gold, while the boys had to go
and fetch some white of egg, with which the sparrow was to be
smeared all over; the gold was stuck on to this, and the
sparrow-mother was now gilded all over. But she, trembling in every
limb, did not think of the adornment. Then the soap-man tore off a
small piece from the red lining of his old jacket, and cutting it so
as to make it look like a cock's comb, he stuck it to the bird's head.

"Now you will see the gold-jacket fly," said the old man,
letting the sparrow go, which flew away in deadly fear, with the sun
shining upon her. How she glittered! All the sparrows, and even a
crow--and an old boy he was too--were startled at the sight; but still
they flew after her to learn what kind of strange bird she was.

Driven by fear and horror, she flew homeward; she was almost
sinking fainting to the earth, while the flock of pursuing birds
increased, some even attempting to peck at her.

"Look at her! Look at her!" they all cried.

"Look at her! Look at her" cried her little ones, as she
approached the nest. "That is certainly a young peacock, for it
glitters in all colours; it makes one's eyes ache, as mother told
us. Peep! that's 'the beautiful'." And then they pecked at the bird
with their little beaks so that it was impossible for her to get
into the nest; she was so exhausted that she couldn't even say "Peep!"
much less "I am your own mother!" The other birds, too, now fell
upon the sparrow and plucked off feather after feather until she
fell bleeding into the rose-bush.

"Poor creature!" said all the roses; "only be still, and we will
hide you. Lean your little head against us."

The sparrow spread out her wings once more, then drew them closely
to her, and lay dead near the neighbouring family, the beautiful fresh
roses.

"Peep!" sounded from the nest. "Where can mother be so long?
It's more than I can understand. It cannot be a trick of hers, and
mean that we are now to take care of ourselves. She has left us the
house as an inheritance; but to which of us is it to belong when we
have families of our own?"

"Yes, it won't do for you to stay with me when I increase my
household with a wife and children,"' said the smallest.

"I daresay I shall have more wives and children than you," said
the second.

"But I am the eldest!" exclaimed the third. Then they all got
excited; they hit out with their wings, pecked with their beaks, and
flop! one after another was thrown out of the nest. There they lay
with their anger, holding their heads on one side and blinking the eye
that was turned upwards. That was their way of looking foolish.

They could fly a little; by practice they learned to improve,
and at last they agreed upon a sign by which to recognise each other
if they should meet in the world later on. It was to be one "Peep!"
and three scratches on the ground with the left foot.

The young one who had remained behind in the nest made himself
as broad as he could, for he was the proprietor. But this greatness
did not last long. In the night the red flames burst through the
window and seized the roof, the dry straw blazed up high, and the
whole house, together with the young sparrow, was burned. The two
others, who wanted to marry, thus saved their lives by a stroke of
luck.

When the sun rose again and everything looked as refreshed as if
it had had a quiet sleep, there only remained of the farmhouse a few
black charred beams leaning against the chimney, which was now its own
master. Thick smoke still rose from the ruins, but the rose-bush stood
yonder, fresh, blooming, and untouched, every flower and every twig
being reflected in the clear water.

"How beautifully the roses bloom before the ruined house,"
exclaimed a passer-by. "A pleasanter picture cannot be imagined. I
must have that." And the man took out of his portfolio a little book
with white leaves: he was a painter, and with his pencil he drew the
smoking house, the charred beams and the overhanging chimney, which
bent more and more; in the foreground he put the large, blooming
rose-bush, which presented a charming view. For its sake alone the
whole picture had been drawn.

Later in the day the two sparrows who had been born there came by.
"Where is the house?" they asked. "Where is the nest? Peep! All is
burned and our strong brother too. That's what he has now for
keeping the nest. The roses got off very well; there they still
stand with their red cheeks. They certainly do not mourn at their
neighbours' misfortunes. I don't want to talk to them, and it looks
miserable here--that's my opinion." And away they went.

On a beautiful sunny autumn day--one could almost have believed it
was still the middle of summer--there hopped about in the dry
clean-swept courtyard before the principal entrance of the Hall a
number of black, white, and gaily-coloured pigeons, all shining in the
sunlight. The pigeon-mothers said to their young ones: "Stand in
groups, stand in groups! for that looks much better."

"What kind of creatures are those little grey ones that run
about behind us?" asked an old pigeon, with red and green in her eyes.
"Little grey ones! Little grey ones!" she cried.

"They are sparrows, and good creatures. We have always had the
reputation of being pious, so we will allow them to pick up the corn
with us; they don't interrupt our talk, and they scrape so prettily
when they bow."

Indeed they were continually making three foot-scrapings with
the left foot and also said "Peep!" By this means they recognised each
other, for they were the sparrows from the nest on the burned house.

"Here is excellent fare!" said the sparrow. The pigeons strutted
round one another, puffed out their chests mightily, and had their own
private views and opinions.

"Do you see that pouter pigeon?" said one to the other. "Do you
see how she swallows the peas? She eats too many, and the best ones
too. Curoo! Curoo! How she lifts her crest, the ugly, spiteful
creature! Curoo! Curoo!" And the eyes of all sparkled with malice.
"Stand in groups! Stand in groups! Little grey ones, little grey ones!
Curoo, curoo, curoo!"

So their chatter ran on, and so it will run on for thousands of
years. The sparrows ate lustily; they listened attentively, and even
stood in the ranks with the others, but it did not suit them at all.
They were full, and so they left the pigeons, exchanging opinions
about them, slipped in under the garden palings, and when they found
the door leading into the house open, one of them, who was more than
full, and therefore felt brave, hopped on to the threshold. "Peep!"
said he; "I may venture that."

"Peep!" said the other; "so may I, and something more too!" and he
hopped into the room. No one was there; the third sparrow, seeing
this, flew still farther into the room, exclaiming, "All or nothing!
It is a curious man's nest all the same; and what have they put up
here? What is it?"

Close to the sparrows the roses were blooming; they were reflected
in the water, and the charred beams leaned against the overhanging
chimney. "Do tell me what this is. How comes this in a room at the
Hall?" And all three sparrows wanted to fly over the roses and the
chimney, but flew against a flat wall. It was all a picture, a great
splendid picture, which the artist had painted from a sketch.

"Peep!" said the sparrows, "it's nothing. It only looks like
something. Peep! that is 'the beautiful.' Do you understand it? I
don't."

And they flew away, for some people came into the room.

Days and years went by. The pigeons had often cooed, not to say
growled--the spiteful creatures; the sparrows had been frozen in
winter and had lived merrily in summer: they were all betrothed, or
married, or whatever you like to call it. They had little ones, and of
course each one thought his own the handsomest and cleverest; one flew
this way, another that, and when they met they recognised each other
by their "Peep!" and the three scrapes with the left foot. The
eldest had remained an old maid and had no nest nor young ones. It was
her pet idea to see a great city, so she flew to Copenhagen.

There was a large house painted in many gay colours standing close
to the castle and the canal, upon which latter were to be seen many
ships laden with apples and pottery. The windows of the house were
broader at the bottom than at the top, and when the sparrows looked
through them, every room appeared to them like a tulip with the
brightest colours and shades. But in the middle of the tulip stood
white men, made of marble; a few were of plaster; still, looked at
with sparrows' eyes, that comes to the same thing. Up on the roof
stood a metal chariot drawn by metal horses, and the goddess of
Victory, also of metal, was driving. It was Thorwaldsen's Museum.

"How it shines! how it shines!" said the maiden sparrow. "I
suppose that is 'the beautiful.' Peep! But here it is larger than a
peacock." She still remembered what in her childhood's days her mother
had looked upon as the greatest among the beautiful. She flew down
into the courtyard: there everything was extremely fine. Palms and
branches were painted on the walls, and in the middle of the court
stood a great blooming rose-tree spreading out its fresh boughs,
covered with roses, over a grave. Thither flew the maiden sparrow, for
she saw several of her own kind there. A "peep" and three
foot-scrapings--in this way she had often greeted throughout the year,
and no one here had responded, for those who are once parted do not
meet every day; and so this greeting had become a habit with her.
But to-day two old sparrows and a young one answered with a "peep" and
the thrice-repeated scrape with the left foot.

"Ah! Good-day! good-day!" They were two old ones from the nest and
a little one of the family. "Do we meet here? It's a grand place,
but there's not much to eat. This is 'the beautiful.' Peep!"

Many people came out of the side rooms where the beautiful
marble statues stood and approached the grave where lay the great
master who had created these works of art. All stood with enraptured
faces round Thorwaldsen's grave, and a few picked up the fallen
rose-leaves and preserved them. They had come from afar: one from
mighty England, others from Germany and France. The fairest of the
ladies plucked one of the roses and hid it in her bosom. Then the
sparrows thought that the roses reigned here, and that the house had
been built for their sake. That appeared to them to be really too
much, but since all the people showed their love for the roses, they
did not wish to be behindhand. "Peep!" they said sweeping the ground
with their tails, and blinking with one eye at the roses, they had not
looked at them long before they were convinced that they were their
old neighbours. And so they really were. The painter who had drawn the
rose-bush near the ruined house, had afterwards obtained permission to
dig it up, and had given it to the architect, for finer roses had
never been seen. The architect had planted it upon Thorwaldsen's
grave, where it bloomed as an emblem of 'the beautiful' and yielded
fragrant red rose-leaves to be carried as mementoes to distant lands.

"Have you obtained an appointment here in the city?" asked the
sparrows. The roses nodded; they recognized their grey neighbours
and were pleased to see them again. "How glorious it is to live and to
bloom, to see old friends again, and happy faces every day. It is as
if every day were a festival." "Peep!" said the sparrows. "Yes, they
are really our old neighbours; we remember their origin near the pond.
Peep! how they have got on. Yes, some succeed while they are asleep.
Ah! there's a faded leaf; I can see that quite plainly." And they
pecked at it till it fell off. But the tree stood there fresher and
greener than ever; the roses bloomed in the sunshine on
Thorwaldsen's grave and became associated with his immortal name.




THE NIGHTINGALE

In China, you know, the emperor is a Chinese, and all those
about him are Chinamen also. The story I am going to tell you happened
a great many years ago, so it is well to hear it now before it is
forgotten. The emperor's palace was the most beautiful in the world.
It was built entirely of porcelain, and very costly, but so delicate
and brittle that whoever touched it was obliged to be careful. In
the garden could be seen the most singular flowers, with pretty silver
bells tied to them, which tinkled so that every one who passed could
not help noticing the flowers. Indeed, everything in the emperor's
garden was remarkable, and it extended so far that the gardener
himself did not know where it ended. Those who travelled beyond its
limits knew that there was a noble forest, with lofty trees, sloping
down to the deep blue sea, and the great ships sailed under the shadow
of its branches. In one of these trees lived a nightingale, who sang
so beautifully that even the poor fishermen, who had so many other
things to do, would stop and listen. Sometimes, when they went at
night to spread their nets, they would hear her sing, and say, "Oh, is
not that beautiful?" But when they returned to their fishing, they
forgot the bird until the next night. Then they would hear it again,
and exclaim "Oh, how beautiful is the nightingale's song!"

Travellers from every country in the world came to the city of the
emperor, which they admired very much, as well as the palace and
gardens; but when they heard the nightingale, they all declared it
to be the best of all. And the travellers, on their return home,
related what they had seen; and learned men wrote books, containing
descriptions of the town, the palace, and the gardens; but they did
not forget the nightingale, which was really the greatest wonder.
And those who could write poetry composed beautiful verses about the
nightingale, who lived in a forest near the deep sea. The books
travelled all over the world, and some of them came into the hands
of the emperor; and he sat in his golden chair, and, as he read, he
nodded his approval every moment, for it pleased him to find such a
beautiful description of his city, his palace, and his gardens. But
when he came to the words, "the nightingale is the most beautiful of
all," he exclaimed, "What is this? I know nothing of any
nightingale. Is there such a bird in my empire? and even in my garden?
I have never heard of it. Something, it appears, may be learnt from
books."

Then he called one of his lords-in-waiting, who was so
high-bred, that when any in an inferior rank to himself spoke to
him, or asked him a question, he would answer, "Pooh," which means
nothing.

"There is a very wonderful bird mentioned here, called a
nightingale," said the emperor; "they say it is the best thing in my
large kingdom. Why have I not been told of it?"

"I have never heard the name," replied the cavalier; "she has
not been presented at court."

"It is my pleasure that she shall appear this evening." said the
emperor; "the whole world knows what I possess better than I do
myself."

"I have never heard of her," said the cavalier; "yet I will
endeavor to find her."

But where was the nightingale to be found? The nobleman went up
stairs and down, through halls and passages; yet none of those whom he
met had heard of the bird. So he returned to the emperor, and said
that it must be a fable, invented by those who had written the book.
"Your imperial majesty," said he, "cannot believe everything contained
in books; sometimes they are only fiction, or what is called the black
art."

"But the book in which I have read this account," said the
emperor, "was sent to me by the great and mighty emperor of Japan, and
therefore it cannot contain a falsehood. I will hear the
nightingale, she must be here this evening; she has my highest
favor; and if she does not come, the whole court shall be trampled
upon after supper is ended."

"Tsing-pe!" cried the lord-in-waiting, and again he ran up and
down stairs, through all the halls and corridors; and half the court
ran with him, for they did not like the idea of being trampled upon.
There was a great inquiry about this wonderful nightingale, whom all
the world knew, but who was unknown to the court.

At last they met with a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said,
"Oh, yes, I know the nightingale quite well; indeed, she can sing.
Every evening I have permission to take home to my poor sick mother
the scraps from the table; she lives down by the sea-shore, and as I
come back I feel tired, and I sit down in the wood to rest, and listen
to the nightingale's song. Then the tears come into my eyes, and it is
just as if my mother kissed me."

"Little maiden," said the lord-in-waiting, "I will obtain for
you constant employment in the kitchen, and you shall have
permission to see the emperor dine, if you will lead us to the
nightingale; for she is invited for this evening to the palace." So
she went into the wood where the nightingale sang, and half the
court followed her. As they went along, a cow began lowing.

"Oh," said a young courtier, "now we have found her; what
wonderful power for such a small creature; I have certainly heard it
before."

"No, that is only a cow lowing," said the little girl; "we are a
long way from the place yet."

Then some frogs began to croak in the marsh.

"Beautiful," said the young courtier again. "Now I hear it,
tinkling like little church bells."

"No, those are frogs," said the little maiden; "but I think we
shall soon hear her now:" and presently the nightingale began to sing.

"Hark, hark! there she is," said the girl, "and there she sits,"
she added, pointing to a little gray bird who was perched on a bough.

"Is it possible?" said the lord-in-waiting, "I never imagined it
would be a little, plain, simple thing like that. She has certainly
changed color at seeing so many grand people around her."

"Little nightingale," cried the girl, raising her voice, "our most
gracious emperor wishes you to sing before him."

"With the greatest pleasure," said the nightingale, and began to
sing most delightfully.

"It sounds like tiny glass bells," said the lord-in-waiting,
"and see how her little throat works. It is surprising that we have
never heard this before; she will be a great success at court."

"Shall I sing once more before the emperor?" asked the
nightingale, who thought he was present.

"My excellent little nightingale," said the courtier, "I have
the great pleasure of inviting you to a court festival this evening,
where you will gain imperial favor by your charming song."

"My song sounds best in the green wood," said the bird; but
still she came willingly when she heard the emperor's wish.

The palace was elegantly decorated for the occasion. The walls and
floors of porcelain glittered in the light of a thousand lamps.
Beautiful flowers, round which little bells were tied, stood in the
corridors: what with the running to and fro and the draught, these
bells tinkled so loudly that no one could speak to be heard. In the
centre of the great hall, a golden perch had been fixed for the
nightingale to sit on. The whole court was present, and the little
kitchen-maid had received permission to stand by the door. She was not
installed as a real court cook. All were in full dress, and every
eye was turned to the little gray bird when the emperor nodded to
her to begin. The nightingale sang so sweetly that the tears came into
the emperor's eyes, and then rolled down his cheeks, as her song
became still more touching and went to every one's heart. The
emperor was so delighted that he declared the nightingale should
have his gold slipper to wear round her neck, but she declined the
honor with thanks: she had been sufficiently rewarded already. "I have
seen tears in an emperor's eyes," she said, "that is my richest
reward. An emperor's tears have wonderful power, and are quite
sufficient honor for me;" and then she sang again more enchantingly
than ever.

"That singing is a lovely gift;" said the ladies of the court to
each other; and then they took water in their mouths to make them
utter the gurgling sounds of the nightingale when they spoke to any
one, so that they might fancy themselves nightingales. And the footmen
and chambermaids also expressed their satisfaction, which is saying
a great deal, for they are very difficult to please. In fact the
nightingale's visit was most successful. She was now to remain at
court, to have her own cage, with liberty to go out twice a day, and
once during the night. Twelve servants were appointed to attend her on
these occasions, who each held her by a silken string fastened to
her leg. There was certainly not much pleasure in this kind of flying.

The whole city spoke of the wonderful bird, and when two people
met, one said "nightin," and the other said "gale," and they
understood what was meant, for nothing else was talked of. Eleven
peddlers' children were named after her, but not of them could sing
a note.

One day the emperor received a large packet on which was written
"The Nightingale." "Here is no doubt a new book about our celebrated
bird," said the emperor. But instead of a book, it was a work of art
contained in a casket, an artificial nightingale made to look like a
living one, and covered all over with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires.
As soon as the artificial bird was wound up, it could sing like the
real one, and could move its tail up and down, which sparkled with
silver and gold. Round its neck hung a piece of ribbon, on which was
written "The Emperor of China's nightingale is poor compared with that
of the Emperor of Japan's."

"This is very beautiful," exclaimed all who saw it, and he who had
brought the artificial bird received the title of "Imperial
nightingale-bringer-in-chief."

"Now they must sing together," said the court, "and what a duet it
will be." But they did not get on well, for the real nightingale
sang in its own natural way, but the artificial bird sang only
waltzes.

"That is not a fault," said the music-master, "it is quite perfect
to my taste," so then it had to sing alone, and was as successful as
the real bird; besides, it was so much prettier to look at, for it
sparkled like bracelets and breast-pins. Three and thirty times did it
sing the same tunes without being tired; the people would gladly
have heard it again, but the emperor said the living nightingale ought
to sing something. But where was she? No one had noticed her when
she flew out at the open window, back to her own green woods.

"What strange conduct," said the emperor, when her flight had been
discovered; and all the courtiers blamed her, and said she was a
very ungrateful creature.

"But we have the best bird after all," said one, and then they
would have the bird sing again, although it was the thirty-fourth time
they had listened to the same piece, and even then they had not learnt
it, for it was rather difficult. But the music-master praised the bird
in the highest degree, and even asserted that it was better than a
real nightingale, not only in its dress and the beautiful diamonds,
but also in its musical power. "For you must perceive, my chief lord
and emperor, that with a real nightingale we can never tell what is
going to be sung, but with this bird everything is settled. It can
be opened and explained, so that people may understand how the waltzes
are formed, and why one note follows upon another."

"This is exactly what we think," they all replied, and then the
music-master received permission to exhibit the bird to the people
on the following Sunday, and the emperor commanded that they should be
present to hear it sing. When they heard it they were like people
intoxicated; however it must have been with drinking tea, which is
quite a Chinese custom. They all said "Oh!" and held up their
forefingers and nodded, but a poor fisherman, who had heard the real
nightingale, said, "it sounds prettily enough, and the melodies are
all alike; yet there seems something wanting, I cannot exactly tell
what."

And after this the real nightingale was banished from the
empire, and the artificial bird placed on a silk cushion close to
the emperor's bed. The presents of gold and precious stones which
had been received with it were round the bird, and it was now advanced
to the title of "Little Imperial Toilet Singer," and to the rank of
No. 1 on the left hand; for the emperor considered the left side, on
which the heart lies, as the most noble, and the heart of an emperor
is in the same place as that of other people.

The music-master wrote a work, in twenty-five volumes, about the
artificial bird, which was very learned and very long, and full of the
most difficult Chinese words; yet all the people said they had read
it, and understood it, for fear of being thought stupid and having
their bodies trampled upon.

So a year passed, and the emperor, the court, and all the other
Chinese knew every little turn in the artificial bird's song; and
for that same reason it pleased them better. They could sing with
the bird, which they often did. The street-boys sang, "Zi-zi-zi,
cluck, cluck, cluck," and the emperor himself could sing it also. It
was really most amusing.

One evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and
the emperor lay in bed listening to it, something inside the bird
sounded "whizz." Then a spring cracked. "Whir-r-r-r" went all the
wheels, running round, and then the music stopped. The emperor
immediately sprang out of bed, and called for his physician; but
what could he do? Then they sent for a watchmaker; and, after a
great deal of talking and examination, the bird was put into something
like order; but he said that it must be used very carefully, as the
barrels were worn, and it would be impossible to put in new ones
without injuring the music. Now there was great sorrow, as the bird
could only be allowed to play once a year; and even that was dangerous
for the works inside it. Then the music-master made a little speech,
full of hard words, and declared that the bird was as good as ever;
and, of course no one contradicted him.

Five years passed, and then a real grief came upon the land. The
Chinese really were fond of their emperor, and he now lay so ill
that he was not expected to live. Already a new emperor had been
chosen and the people who stood in the street asked the
lord-in-waiting how the old emperor was; but he only said, "Pooh!" and
shook his head.

Cold and pale lay the emperor in his royal bed; the whole court
thought he was dead, and every one ran away to pay homage to his
successor. The chamberlains went out to have a talk on the matter, and
the ladies'-maids invited company to take coffee. Cloth had been
laid down on the halls and passages, so that not a footstep should
be heard, and all was silent and still. But the emperor was not yet
dead, although he lay white and stiff on his gorgeous bed, with the
long velvet curtains and heavy gold tassels. A window stood open,
and the moon shone in upon the emperor and the artificial bird. The
poor emperor, finding he could scarcely breathe with a strange
weight on his chest, opened his eyes, and saw Death sitting there.
He had put on the emperor's golden crown, and held in one hand his
sword of state, and in the other his beautiful banner. All around
the bed and peeping through the long velvet curtains, were a number of
strange heads, some very ugly, and others lovely and gentle-looking.
These were the emperor's good and bad deeds, which stared him in the
face now Death sat at his heart.

"Do you remember this?" "Do you recollect that?" they asked one
after another, thus bringing to his remembrance circumstances that
made the perspiration stand on his brow.

"I know nothing about it," said the emperor. "Music! music!" he
cried; "the large Chinese drum! that I may not hear what they say."
But they still went on, and Death nodded like a Chinaman to all they
said. "Music! music!" shouted the emperor. "You little precious golden
bird, sing, pray sing! I have given you gold and costly presents; I
have even hung my golden slipper round your neck. Sing! sing!" But the
bird remained silent. There was no one to wind it up, and therefore it
could not sing a note.

Death continued to stare at the emperor with his cold, hollow
eyes, and the room was fearfully still. Suddenly there came through
the open window the sound of sweet music. Outside, on the bough of a
tree, sat the living nightingale. She had heard of the emperor's
illness, and was therefore come to sing to him of hope and trust.
And as she sung, the shadows grew paler and paler; the blood in the
emperor's veins flowed more rapidly, and gave life to his weak
limbs; and even Death himself listened, and said, "Go on, little
nightingale, go on."

"Then will you give me the beautiful golden sword and that rich
banner? and will you give me the emperor's crown?" said the bird.

So Death gave up each of these treasures for a song; and the
nightingale continued her singing. She sung of the quiet churchyard,
where the white roses grow, where the elder-tree wafts its perfume
on the breeze, and the fresh, sweet grass is moistened by the
mourners' tears. Then Death longed to go and see his garden, and
floated out through the window in the form of a cold, white mist.

"Thanks, thanks, you heavenly little bird. I know you well. I
banished you from my kingdom once, and yet you have charmed away the
evil faces from my bed, and banished Death from my heart, with your
sweet song. How can I reward you?"

"You have already rewarded me," said the nightingale. "I shall
never forget that I drew tears from your eyes the first time I sang to
you. These are the jewels that rejoice a singer's heart. But now
sleep, and grow strong and well again. I will sing to you again."

And as she sung, the emperor fell into a sweet sleep; and how mild
and refreshing that slumber was! When he awoke, strengthened and
restored, the sun shone brightly through the window; but not one of
his servants had returned--they all believed he was dead; only the
nightingale still sat beside him, and sang.

"You must always remain with me," said the emperor. "You shall
sing only when it pleases you; and I will break the artificial bird
into a thousand pieces."

"No; do not do that," replied the nightingale; "the bird did
very well as long as it could. Keep it here still. I cannot live in
the palace, and build my nest; but let me come when I like. I will sit
on a bough outside your window, in the evening, and sing to you, so
that you may be happy, and have thoughts full of joy. I will sing to
you of those who are happy, and those who suffer; of the good and
the evil, who are hidden around you. The little singing bird flies far
from you and your court to the home of the fisherman and the peasant's
cot. I love your heart better than your crown; and yet something
holy lingers round that also. I will come, I will sing to you; but you
must promise me one thing."

"Everything," said the emperor, who, having dressed himself in his
imperial robes, stood with the hand that held the heavy golden sword
pressed to his heart.

"I only ask one thing," she replied; "let no one know that you
have a little bird who tells you everything. It will be best to
conceal it." So saying, the nightingale flew away.

The servants now came in to look after the dead emperor; when, lo!
there he stood, and, to their astonishment, said, "Good morning."




THERE IS NO DOUBT ABOUT IT

"That was a terrible affair!" said a hen, and in a quarter of the
town, too, where it had not taken place. "That was a terrible affair
in a hen-roost. I cannot sleep alone to-night. It is a good thing that
many of us sit on the roost together." And then she told a story
that made the feathers on the other hens bristle up, and the cock's
comb fall. There was no doubt about it.

But we will begin at the beginning, and that is to be found in a
hen-roost in another part of the town. The sun was setting, and the
fowls were flying on to their roost; one hen, with white feathers
and short legs, used to lay her eggs according to the regulations, and
was, as a hen, respectable in every way. As she was flying upon the
roost, she plucked herself with her beak, and a little feather came
out.

"There it goes," she said; "the more I pluck, the more beautiful
do I get." She said this merrily, for she was the best of the hens,
and, moreover, as had been said, very respectable. With that she
went to sleep.

It was dark all around, and hen sat close to hen, but the one
who sat nearest to her merry neighbour did not sleep. She had heard
and yet not heard, as we are often obliged to do in this world, in
order to live at peace; but she could not keep it from her neighbour
on the other side any longer. "Did you hear what was said? I mention
no names, but there is a hen here who intends to pluck herself in
order to look well. If I were a cock, I should despise her."

Just over the fowls sat the owl, with father owl and the little
owls. The family has sharp ears, and they all heard every word that
their neighbour had said. They rolled their eyes, and mother owl,
beating her wings, said: "Don't listen to her! But I suppose you heard
what was said? I heard it with my own ears, and one has to hear a
great deal before they fall off. There is one among the fowls who
has so far forgotten what is becoming to a hen that she plucks out all
her feathers and lets the cock see it."

"Prenez garde aux enfants!" said father owl; "children should
not hear such things."

"But I must tell our neighbour owl about it; she is such an
estimable owl to talk to." And with that she flew away.

"Too-whoo! Too-whoo!" they both hooted into the neighbour's
dove-cot to the doves inside. "Have you heard? Have you heard?
Too-whoo! There is a hen who has plucked out all her feathers for
the sake of the cock; she will freeze to death, if she is not frozen
already. Too-whoo!"

"Where? where?" cooed the doves.

"In the neighbour's yard. I have as good as seen it myself. It
is almost unbecoming to tell the story, but there is no doubt about
it."

"Believe every word of what we tell you," said the doves, and
cooed down into their poultry-yard. "There is a hen--nay, some say
that there are two--who have plucked out all their feathers, in
order not to look like the others, and to attract the attention of the
cock. It is a dangerous game, for one can easily catch cold and die
from fever, and both of these are dead already."

"Wake up! wake up!" crowed the cock, and flew upon his board.
Sleep was still in his eyes, but yet he crowed out: "Three hens have
died of their unfortunate love for a cock. They had plucked out all
their feathers. It is a horrible story: I will not keep it to
myself, but let it go farther."

"Let it go farther," shrieked the bats, and the hens clucked and
the cocks crowed, "Let it go farther! Let it go farther!" In this
way the story travelled from poultry-yard to poultry-yard, and at last
came back to the place from which it had really started.

"Five hens," it now ran, "have plucked out all their feathers to
show which of them had grown leanest for love of the cock, and then
they all pecked at each other till the blood ran down and they fell
down dead, to the derision and shame of their family, and to the great
loss of their owner."

The hen who had lost the loose little feather naturally did not
recognise her own story, and being a respectable hen, said: "I despise
those fowls; but there are more of that kind. Such things ought not to
be concealed, and I will do my best to get the story into the
papers, so that it becomes known throughout the land; the hens have
richly deserved it, and their family too."

It got into the papers, it was printed; and there is no doubt
about it, one little feather may easily grow into five hens.




IN THE NURSERY

Father, and mother, and brothers, and sisters, were gone to the
play; only little Anna and her grandpapa were left at home.

"We'll have a play too," he said, "and it may begin immediately."

"But we have no theatre," cried little Anna, "and we have no one
to act for us; my old doll cannot, for she is a fright, and my new one
cannot, for she must not rumple her new clothes."

"One can always get actors if one makes use of what one has,"
observed grandpapa.

"Now we'll go into the theatre. Here we will put up a book,
there another, and there a third, in a sloping row. Now three on the
other side; so, now we have the side scenes. The old box that lies
yonder may be the back stairs; and we'll lay the flooring on top of
it. The stage represents a room, as every one may see. Now we want the
actors. Let us see what we can find in the plaything-box. First the
personages, and then we will get the play ready. One after the
other; that will be capital! Here's a pipe-head, and yonder an odd
glove; they will do very well for father and daughter."

"But those are only two characters," said little Anna. "Here's
my brother's old waistcoat--could not that play in our piece, too?"

"It's big enough, certainly," replied grandpapa. "It shall be
the lover. There's nothing in the pockets, and that's very
interesting, for that's half of an unfortunate attachment. And here we
have the nut-cracker's boots, with spurs to them. Row, dow, dow! how
they can stamp and strut! They shall represent the unwelcome wooer,
whom the lady does not like. What kind of a play will you have now?
Shall it be a tragedy, or a domestic drama?"

"A domestic drama, please," said little Anna, "for the others
are so fond of that. Do you know one?"

"I know a hundred," said grandpapa. "Those that are most in
favor are from the French, but they are not good for little girls.
In the meantime, we may take one of the prettiest, for inside
they're all very much alike. Now I shake the pen! Cock-a-lorum! So
now, here's the play, brin-bran-span new! Now listen to the
play-bill."

And grandpapa took a newspaper, and read as if he were reading
from it:

                 THE PIPE-HEAD AND THE GOOD HEAD
                    A Family Drama in One Act
                            CHARACTERS

      MR. PIPE-HEAD, a father.           MR. WAISTCOAT, a lover.
      MISS GLOVE, a daughter.            MR. DE BOOTS, a suitor.


"And now we're going to begin. The curtain rises. We have no
curtain, so it has risen already. All the characters are there, and so
we have them at hand. Now I speak as Papa Pipe-head! He's angry
to-day. One can see that he's a colored meerschaum.

"'Snik, snak, snurre, bassellurre! I'm master of this house! I'm
the father of my daughter! Will you hear what I have to say? Mr. de
Boots is a person in whom one may see one's face; his upper part is of
morocco, and he has spurs into the bargain. Snikke, snakke, snak! He
shall have my daughter!"

"Now listen to what the Waistcoat says, little Anna," said
grandpapa. "Now the Waistcoat's speaking. The Waistcoat has a
laydown collar, and is very modest; but he knows his own value, and
has quite a right to say what he says:

"'I haven't a spot on me! Goodness of material ought to be
appreciated. I am of real silk, and have strings to me.'

"'--On the wedding day, but no longer; you don't keep your color
in the wash.' This is Mr. Pipe-head who is speaking. 'Mr. de Boots
is water-tight, of strong leather, and yet very delicate; he can
creak, and clank with his spurs, and has an Italian physiognomy-'"

"But they ought to speak in verses," said Anna, "for I've heard
that's the most charming way of all."

"They can do that too," replied grandpapa; "and if the public
demands it, they will talk in that way. Just look at little Miss
Glove, how she's pointing her fingers!

  "'Could I but have my love,
    Who then so happy as Glove!
             Ah!
    If I from him must part,
    I'm sure 'twill break my heart!'
             'Bah!'

The last word was spoken by Mr. Pipe-head; and now it's Mr.
Waistcoat's turn:

  "'O Glove, my own dear,
    Though it cost thee a tear,
               Thou must be mine,
    For Holger Danske has sworn it!'


"Mr. de Boots, hearing this, kicks up, jingles his spurs, and
knocks down three of the side-scenes."

"That's exceedingly charming!" cried little Anna.

"Silence! silence!" said grandpapa. "Silent approbation will
show that you are the educated public in the stalls. Now Miss Glove
sings her great song with startling effects:

  "'I can't see, heigho!
    And therefore I'll crow!
  Kikkeriki, in the lofty hall!'


"Now comes the exciting part, little Anna. This is the most
important in all the play. Mr. Waistcoat undoes himself, and addresses
his speech to you, that you may applaud; but leave it alone,--that's
considered more genteel.

"'I am driven to extremities! Take care of yourself! Now comes the
plot! You are the Pipe-head, and I am the good head--snap! there you
go!"

"Do you notice this, little Anna?" asked grandpapa. "That's a most
charming comedy. Mr. Waistcoat seized the old Pipe-head and put him in
his pocket; there he lies, and the Waistcoat says:

"'You are in my pocket; you can't come out till you promise to
unite me to your daughter Glove on the left. I hold out my right
hand.'"

"That's awfully pretty," said little Anna.

"And now the old Pipe-head replies:

  "'Though I'm all ear,
    Very stupid I appear:
  Where's my humor? Gone, I fear,
  And I feel my hollow stick's not here,
    Ah! never, my dear,
    Did I feel so queer.
    Oh! pray let me out,
  And like a lamb led to slaughter
    I'll betroth you, no doubt,
         To my daughter.'"


"Is the play over already?" asked little Anna.

"By no means," replied grandpapa. "It's only all over with Mr.
de Boots. Now the lovers kneel down, and one of them sings:

  "'Father!'

and the other,

  'Come, do as you ought to do,--
  Bless your son and daughter.'

And they receive his blessing, and celebrate their wedding, and all
the pieces of furniture sing in chorus,

  "'Klink! clanks!
    A thousand thanks;
  And now the play is over!'


"And now we'll applaud," said grandpapa. "We'll call them all out,
and the pieces of furniture too, for they are of mahogany."

"And is not our play just as good as those which the others have
in the real theatre?"

"Our play is much better," said grandpapa. "It is shorter, the
performers are natural, and it has passed away the interval before
tea-time."




THE OLD BACHELOR'S NIGHTCAP

There is a street in Copenhagen with a very strange name. It is
called "Hysken" street. Where the name came from, and what it means is
very uncertain. It is said to be German, but that is unjust to the
Germans, for it would then be called "Hauschen," not "Hysken."
"Hauschen," means a little house; and for many years it consisted only
of a few small houses, which were scarcely larger than the wooden
booths we see in the market-places at fair time. They were perhaps a
little higher, and had windows; but the panes consisted of horn or
bladder-skins, for glass was then too dear to have glazed windows in
every house. This was a long time ago, so long indeed that our
grandfathers, and even great-grandfathers, would speak of those days
as "olden times;" indeed, many centuries have passed since then.

The rich merchants in Bremen and Lubeck, who carried on trade in
Copenhagen, did not reside in the town themselves, but sent their
clerks, who dwelt in the wooden booths in the Hauschen street, and
sold beer and spices. The German beer was very good, and there were
many sorts--from Bremen, Prussia, and Brunswick--and quantities of all
sorts of spices, saffron, aniseed, ginger, and especially pepper;
indeed, pepper was almost the chief article sold here; so it
happened at last that the German clerks in Denmark got their
nickname of "pepper gentry." It had been made a condition with these
clerks that they should not marry; so that those who lived to be old
had to take care of themselves, to attend to their own comforts, and
even to light their own fires, when they had any to light. Many of
them were very aged; lonely old boys, with strange thoughts and
eccentric habits. From this, all unmarried men, who have attained a
certain age, are called, in Denmark, "pepper gentry;" and this must be
remembered by all those who wish to understand the story. These
"pepper gentlemen," or, as they are called in England, "old
bachelors," are often made a butt of ridicule; they are told to put on
their nightcaps, draw them over their eyes, and go to sleep. The
boys in Denmark make a song of it, thus:--

  "Poor old bachelor, cut your wood,
    Such a nightcap was never seen;
    Who would think it was ever clean?
  Go to sleep, it will do you good."


So they sing about the "pepper gentleman;" so do they make sport
of the poor old bachelor and his nightcap, and all because they really
know nothing of either. It is a cap that no one need wish for, or
laugh at. And why not? Well, we shall hear in the story.

In olden times, Hauschen Street was not paved, and passengers
would stumble out of one hole into another, as they generally do in
unfrequented highways; and the street was so narrow, and the booths
leaning against each other were so close together, that in the
summer time a sail would be stretched across the street from one booth
to another opposite. At these times the odor of the pepper, saffron,
and ginger became more powerful than ever. Behind the counter, as a
rule, there were no young men. The clerks were almost all old boys;
but they did not dress as we are accustomed to see old men
represented, wearing wigs, nightcaps, and knee-breeches, and with coat
and waistcoat buttoned up to the chin. We have seen the portraits of
our great-grandfathers dressed in this way; but the "pepper gentlemen"
had no money to spare to have their portraits taken, though one of
them would have made a very interesting picture for us now, if taken
as he appeared standing behind his counter, or going to church, or
on holidays. On these occasions, they wore high-crowned, broad-brimmed
hats, and sometimes a younger clerk would stick a feather in his.
The woollen shirt was concealed by a broad, linen collar; the close
jacket was buttoned up to the chin, and the cloak hung loosely over
it; the trousers were tucked into the broad, tipped shoes, for the
clerks wore no stockings. They generally stuck a table-knife and spoon
in their girdles, as well as a larger knife, as a protection to
themselves; and such a weapon was often very necessary.

After this fashion was Anthony dressed on holidays and
festivals, excepting that, instead of a high-crowned hat, he wore a
kind of bonnet, and under it a knitted cap, a regular nightcap, to
which he was so accustomed that it was always on his head; he had two,
nightcaps I mean, not heads. Anthony was one of the oldest of the
clerks, and just the subject for a painter. He was as thin as a
lath, wrinkled round the mouth and eyes, had long, bony fingers,
bushy, gray eyebrows, and over his left eye hung a thick tuft of hair,
which did not look handsome, but made his appearance very
remarkable. People knew that he came from Bremen; it was not exactly
his home, although his master resided there. His ancestors were from
Thuringia, and had lived in the town of Eisenach, close by Wartburg.
Old Anthony seldom spoke of this place, but he thought of it all the
more.

The old clerks of Hauschen Street very seldom met together; each
one remained in his own booth, which was closed early enough in the
evening, and then it looked dark and dismal out in the street. Only
a faint glimmer of light struggled through the horn panes in the
little window on the roof, while within sat the old clerk, generally
on his bed, singing his evening hymn in a low voice; or he would be
moving about in his booth till late in the night, busily employed in
many things. It certainly was not a very lively existence. To be a
stranger in a strange land is a bitter lot; no one notices you
unless you happen to stand in their way. Often, when it was dark night
outside, with rain or snow falling, the place looked quite deserted
and gloomy. There were no lamps in the street, excepting a very
small one, which hung at one end of the street, before a picture of
the Virgin, which had been painted on the wall. The dashing of the
water against the bulwarks of a neighboring castle could plainly be
heard. Such evenings are long and dreary, unless people can find
something to do; and so Anthony found it. There were not always things
to be packed or unpacked, nor paper bags to be made, nor the scales to
be polished. So Anthony invented employment; he mended his clothes and
patched his boots, and when he at last went to bed,--his nightcap,
which he had worn from habit, still remained on his head; he had
only to pull it down a little farther over his forehead. Very soon,
however, it would be pushed up again to see if the light was
properly put out; he would touch it, press the wick together, and at
last pull his nightcap over his eyes and lie down again on the other
side. But often there would arise in his mind a doubt as to whether
every coal had been quite put out in the little fire-pan in the shop
below. If even a tiny spark had remained it might set fire to
something, and cause great damage. Then he would rise from his bed,
creep down the ladder--for it could scarcely be called a flight of
stairs--and when he reached the fire-pan not a spark could be seen; so
he had just to go back again to bed. But often, when he had got half
way back, he would fancy the iron shutters of the door were not
properly fastened, and his thin legs would carry him down again. And
when at last he crept into bed, he would be so cold that his teeth
chattered in his head. He would draw the coverlet closer round him,
pull his nightcap over his eyes, and try to turn his thoughts from
trade, and from the labors of the day, to olden times. But this was
scarcely an agreeable entertainment; for thoughts of olden memories
raise the curtains from the past, and sometimes pierce the heart
with painful recollections till the agony brings tears to the waking
eyes. And so it was with Anthony; often the scalding tears, like
pearly drops, would fall from his eyes to the coverlet and roll on the
floor with a sound as if one of his heartstrings had broken.
Sometimes, with a lurid flame, memory would light up a picture of life
which had never faded from his heart. If he dried his eyes with his
nightcap, then the tear and the picture would be crushed; but the
source of the tears remained and welled up again in his heart. The
pictures did not follow one another in order, as the circumstances
they represented had occurred; very often the most painful would
come together, and when those came which were most full of joy, they
had always the deepest shadow thrown upon them.

The beech woods of Denmark are acknowledged by every one to be
very beautiful, but more beautiful still in the eyes of old Anthony
were the beech woods in the neighborhood of Wartburg. More grand and
venerable to him seemed the old oaks around the proud baronial castle,
where the creeping plants hung over the stony summits of the rocks;
sweeter was the perfume there of the apple-blossom than in all the
land of Denmark. How vividly were represented to him, in a
glittering tear that rolled down his cheek, two children at play--a
boy and a girl. The boy had rosy cheeks, golden ringlets, and clear,
blue eyes; he was the son of Anthony, a rich merchant; it was himself.
The little girl had brown eyes and black hair, and was clever and
courageous; she was the mayor's daughter, Molly. The children were
playing with an apple; they shook the apple, and heard the pips
rattling in it. Then they cut it in two, and each of them took half.
They also divided the pips and ate all but one, which the little
girl proposed should be placed in the ground.

"You will see what will come out," she said; "something you
don't expect. A whole apple-tree will come out, but not directly."
Then they got a flower-pot, filled it with earth, and were soon both
very busy and eager about it. The boy made a hole in the earth with
his finger, and the little girl placed the pip in the hole, and then
they both covered it over with earth.

"Now you must not take it out to-morrow to see if it has taken
root," said Molly; "no one ever should do that. I did so with my
flowers, but only twice; I wanted to see if they were growing. I
didn't know any better then, and the flowers all died."

Little Anthony kept the flower-pot, and every morning during the
whole winter he looked at it, but there was nothing to be seen but
black earth. At last, however, the spring came, and the sun shone warm
again, and then two little green leaves sprouted forth in the pot.

"They are Molly and me," said the boy. "How wonderful they are,
and so beautiful!"

Very soon a third leaf made its appearance.

"Who does that stand for?" thought he, and then came another and
another. Day after day, and week after week, till the plant became
quite a tree. And all this about the two children was mirrored to
old Anthony in a single tear, which could soon be wiped away and
disappear, but might come again from its source in the heart of the
old man.

In the neighborhood of Eisenach stretches a ridge of stony
mountains, one of which has a rounded outline, and shows itself
above the rest without tree, bush, or grass on its barren summits.
It is called the "Venus Mountain," and the story goes that the "Lady
Venus," one of the heathen goddesses, keeps house there. She is also
called "Lady Halle," as every child round Eisenach well knows. She
it was who enticed the noble knight, Tannhauser, the minstrel, from
the circle of singers at Wartburg into her mountain.

Little Molly and Anthony often stood by this mountain, and one day
Molly said, "Do you dare to knock and say, 'Lady Halle, Lady Halle,
open the door: Tannhauser is here!'" But Anthony did not dare.
Molly, however, did, though she only said the words, "Lady Halle, Lady
Halle," loudly and distinctly; the rest she muttered so much under her
breath that Anthony felt certain she had really said nothing; and
yet she looked quite bold and saucy, just as she did sometimes when
she was in the garden with a number of other little girls; they
would all stand round him together, and want to kiss him, because he
did not like to be kissed, and pushed them away. Then Molly was the
only one who dared to resist him. "I may kiss him," she would say
proudly, as she threw her arms round his neck; she was vain of her
power over Anthony, for he would submit quietly and think nothing of
it. Molly was very charming, but rather bold; and how she did tease!

They said Lady Halle was beautiful, but her beauty was that of a
tempting fiend. Saint Elizabeth, the tutelar saint of the land, the
pious princess of Thuringia, whose good deeds have been immortalized
in so many places through stories and legends, had greater beauty
and more real grace. Her picture hung in the chapel, surrounded by
silver lamps; but it did not in the least resemble Molly.

The apple-tree, which the two children had planted, grew year
after year, till it became so large that it had to be transplanted
into the garden, where the dew fell and the sun shone warmly. And
there it increased in strength so much as to be able to withstand
the cold of winter; and after passing through the severe weather, it
seemed to put forth its blossoms in spring for very joy that the
cold season had gone. In autumn it produced two apples, one for
Molly and one for Anthony; it could not well do less. The tree after
this grew very rapidly, and Molly grew with the tree. She was as fresh
as an apple-blossom, but Anthony was not to behold this flower for
long. All things change; Molly's father left his old home, and Molly
went with him far away. In our time, it would be only a journey of a
few hours, but then it took more than a day and a night to travel so
far eastward from Eisenbach to a town still called Weimar, on the
borders of Thuringia. And Molly and Anthony both wept, but these tears
all flowed together into one tear which had the rosy shimmer of joy.
Molly had told him that she loved him--loved him more than all the
splendors of Weimar.

One, two, three years went by, and during the whole time he
received only two letters. One came by the carrier, and the other a
traveller brought. The way was very long and difficult, with many
turnings and windings through towns and villages. How often had
Anthony and Molly heard the story of Tristan and Isolda, and Anthony
had thought the story applied to him, although Tristan means born in
sorrow, which Anthony certainly was not; nor was it likely he would
ever say of Molly as Tristan said of Isolda, "She has forgotten me."
But in truth, Isolda had not forgotten him, her faithful friend; and
when both were laid in their graves, one, on each side of the
church, the linden-trees that grew by each grave spread over the roof,
and, bending towards each other, mingled their blossoms together.
Anthony thought it a very beautiful but mournful story; yet he never
feared anything so sad would happen to him and Molly, as he passed the
spot, whistling the air of a song, composed by the minstrel Walter,
called the "Willow bird," beginning--

  "Under the linden-trees,
    Out on the heath."


One stanza pleased him exceedingly--

  "Through the forest, and in the vale,
  Sweetly warbles the nightingale.


This song was often in his mouth, and he sung or whistled it on
a moonlight night, when he rode on horseback along the deep, hollow
way, on his road to Weimar, to visit Molly. He wished to arrive
unexpectedly, and so indeed he did. He was received with a hearty
welcome, and introduced to plenty of grand and pleasant company, where
overflowing winecups were passed about. A pretty room and a good bed
were provided for him, and yet his reception was not what he had
expected and dreamed it would be. He could not comprehend his own
feelings nor the feelings of others; but it is easily understood how a
person can be admitted into a house or a family without becoming one
of them. We converse in company with those we meet, as we converse
with our fellow-travellers in a stage-coach, on a journey; we know
nothing of them, and perhaps all the while we are incommoding one
another, and each is wishing himself or his neighbor away. Something
of this kind Anthony felt when Molly talked to him of old times.

"I am a straightforward girl," she said, "and I will tell you
myself how it is. There have been great changes since we were children
together; everything is different, both inwardly and outwardly. We
cannot control our wills, nor the feelings of our hearts, by the force
of custom. Anthony, I would not, for the world, make an enemy of you
when I am far away. Believe me, I entertain for you the kindest wishes
in my heart; but to feel for you what I now know can be felt for
another man, can never be. You must try and reconcile yourself to
this. Farewell, Anthony."

Anthony also said, "Farewell." Not a tear came into his eye; he
felt he was no longer Molly's friend. Hot iron and cold iron alike
take the skin from our lips, and we feel the same sensation if we kiss
either; and Anthony's kiss was now the kiss of hatred, as it had
once been the kiss of love. Within four-and-twenty hours Anthony was
back again to Eisenach, though the horse that he rode was entirely
ruined.

"What matters it?" said he; "I am ruined also. I will destroy
everything that can remind me of her, or of Lady Halle, or Lady Venus,
the heathen woman. I will break down the apple-tree, and tear it up by
the roots; never more shall it blossom or bear fruit."

The apple-tree was not broken down; for Anthony himself was struck
with a fever, which caused him to break down, and confined him to
his bed. But something occurred to raise him up again. What was it?
A medicine was offered to him, which he was obliged to take: a
bitter remedy, at which the sick body and the oppressed spirit alike
shuddered. Anthony's father lost all his property, and, from being
known as one of the richest merchants, he became very poor. Dark days,
heavy trials, with poverty at the door, came rolling into the house
upon them like the waves of the sea. Sorrow and suffering deprived
Anthony's father of his strength, so that he had something else to
think of besides nursing his love-sorrows and his anger against Molly.
He had to take his father's place, to give orders, to act with energy,
to help, and, at last, to go out into the world and earn his bread.
Anthony went to Bremen, and there he learnt what poverty and hard
living really were. These things often harden the character, but
sometimes soften the heart, even too much.

How different the world, and the people in it, appeared to Anthony
now, to what he had thought in his childhood! What to him were the
minstrel's songs? An echo of the past, sounds long vanished. At
times he would think in this way; yet again and again the songs
would sound in his soul, and his heart become gentle and pious.

"God's will is the best," he would then say. "It was well that I
was not allowed to keep my power over Molly's heart, and that she
did not remain true to me. How I should have felt it now, when fortune
has deserted me! She left me before she knew of the change in my
circumstances, or had a thought of what was before me. That is a
merciful providence for me. All has happened for the best. She could
not help it, and yet I have been so bitter, and in such enmity against
her."

Years passed by: Anthony's father died, and strangers lived in the
old house. He had seen it once again since then. His rich master
sent him journeys on business, and on one occasion his way led him
to his native town of Eisenach. The old Wartburg castle stood
unchanged on the rock where the monk and the nun were hewn out of
the stone. The great oaks formed an outline to the scene which he so
well remembered in his childhood. The Venus mountain stood out gray
and bare, overshadowing the valley beneath. He would have been glad to
call out "Lady Halle, Lady Halle, unlock the mountain. I would fain
remain here always in my native soil." That was a sinful thought,
and he offered a prayer to drive it away. Then a little bird in the
thicket sang out clearly, and old Anthony thought of the minstrel's
song. How much came back to his remembrance as he looked through the
tears once more on his native town! The old house was still standing
as in olden times, but the garden had been greatly altered; a
pathway led through a portion of the ground, and outside the garden,
and beyond the path, stood the old apple-tree, which he had not broken
down, although he talked of doing so in his trouble. The sun still
threw its rays upon the tree, and the refreshing dew fell upon it as
of old; and it was so overloaded with fruit that the branches bent
towards the earth with the weight. "That flourishes still," said he,
as he gazed. One of the branches of the tree had, however, been
broken: mischievous hands must have done this in passing, for the tree
now stood in a public thoroughfare. "The blossoms are often
plucked," said Anthony; "the fruit is stolen and the branches broken
without a thankful thought of their profusion and beauty. It might
be said of a tree, as it has been said of some men--it was not
predicted at his cradle that he should come to this. How brightly
began the history of this tree, and what is it now? Forsaken and
forgotten, in a garden by a hedge in a field, and close to a public
road. There it stands, unsheltered, plundered, and broken. It
certainly has not yet withered; but in the course of years the
number of blossoms from time to time will grow less, and at last it
was cease altogether to bear fruit; and then its history will be
over."

Such were Anthony's thoughts as he stood under the tree, and
during many a long night as he lay in his lonely chamber in the wooden
house in Hauschen Street, Copenhagen, in the foreign land to which the
rich merchant of Bremen, his employer, had sent him on condition
that he should never marry. "Marry! ha, ha!" and he laughed bitterly
to himself at the thought.

Winter one year set in early, and it was freezing hard. Without, a
snowstorm made every one remain at home who could do so. Thus it
happened that Anthony's neighbors, who lived opposite to him, did
not notice that his house remained unopened for two days, and that
he had not showed himself during that time, for who would go out in
such weather unless he were obliged to do so. They were gray, gloomy
days, and in the house whose windows were not glass, twilight and dark
nights reigned in turns. During these two days old Anthony had not
left his bed, he had not the strength to do so. The bitter weather had
for some time affected his limbs. There lay the old bachelor, forsaken
by all, and unable to help himself. He could scarcely reach the
water jug that he had placed by his bed, and the last drop was gone.
It was not fever, nor sickness, but old age, that had laid him low. In
the little corner, where his bed lay, he was over-shadowed as it
were by perpetual night. A little spider, which he could however not
see, busily and cheerfully spun its web above him, so that there
should be a kind of little banner waving over the old man, when his
eyes closed. The time passed slowly and painfully. He had no tears
to shed, and he felt no pain; no thought of Molly came into his
mind. He felt as if the world was now nothing to him, as if he were
lying beyond it, with no one to think of him. Now and then he felt
slight sensations of hunger and thirst; but no one came to him, no one
tended him. He thought of all those who had once suffered from
starvation, of Saint Elizabeth, who once wandered on the earth, the
saint of his home and his childhood, the noble Duchess of Thuringia,
that highly esteemed lady who visited the poorest villages, bringing
hope and relief to the sick inmates. The recollection of her pious
deeds was as light to the soul of poor Anthony. He thought of her as
she went about speaking words of comfort, binding up the wounds of the
afflicted and feeding the hungry, although often blamed for it by
her stern husband. He remembered a story told of her, that on one
occasion, when she was carrying a basket full of wine and
provisions, her husband, who had watched her footsteps, stepped
forward and asked her angrily what she carried in her basket,
whereupon, with fear and trembling, she answered, "Roses, which I have
plucked from the garden." Then he tore away the cloth which covered
the basket, and what could equal the surprise of the pious woman, to
find that by a miracle, everything in her basket--the wine, the
bread--had all been changed into roses.

In this way the memory of the kind lady dwelt in the calm mind
of Anthony. She was as a living reality in his little dwelling in
the Danish land. He uncovered his face that he might look into her
gentle eyes, while everything around him changed from its look of
poverty and want, to a bright rose tint. The fragrance of roses spread
through the room, mingled with the sweet smell of apples. He saw the
branches of an apple-tree spreading above him. It was the tree which
he and Molly had planted together. The fragrant leaves of the tree
fell upon him and cooled his burning brow; upon his parched lips
they seemed like refreshing bread and wine; and as they rested on
his breast, a peaceful calm stole over him, and he felt inclined to
sleep. "I shall sleep now," he whispered to himself. "Sleep will do me
good. In the morning I shall be upon my feet again, strong and well.
Glorious! wonderful! That apple-tree, planted in love, now appears
before me in heavenly beauty." And he slept.

The following day, the third day during which his house had been
closed, the snow-storm ceased. Then his opposite neighbor stepped over
to the house in which old Anthony lived, for he had not yet showed
himself. There he lay stretched on his bed, dead, with his old
nightcap tightly clasped in his two hands. The nightcap, however,
was not placed on his head in his coffin; he had a clean white one
on then. Where now were the tears he had shed? What had become of
those wonderful pearls? They were in the nightcap still. Such tears as
these cannot be washed out, even when the nightcap is forgotten. The
old thoughts and dreams of a bachelor's nightcap still remain. Never
wish for such a nightcap. It would make your forehead hot, cause
your pulse to beat with agitation, and conjure up dreams which would
appear realities.

The first who wore old Anthony's cap felt the truth of this,
though it was half a century afterwards. That man was the mayor
himself, who had already made a comfortable home for his wife and
eleven children, by his industry. The moment he put the cap on he
dreamed of unfortunate love, of bankruptcy, and of dark days.
"Hallo! how the nightcap burns!" he exclaimed, as he tore it from
his bead. Then a pearl rolled out, and then another, and another,
and they glittered and sounded as they fell. "What can this be? Is
it paralysis, or something dazzling my eyes?" They were the tears
which old Anthony had shed half a century before.

To every one who afterwards put this cap on his head, came visions
and dreams which agitated him not a little. His own history was
changed into that of Anthony till it became quite a story, and many
stories might be made by others, so we will leave them to relate their
own. We have told the first; and our last word is, don't wish for a
"bachelor's nightcap."




THE OLD CHURCH BELL

(WRITTEN FOR THE SCHILLER ALBUM)

In the country of Wurtemburg, in Germany, where the acacias grow
by the public road, where the apple-trees and the pear-trees in autumn
bend to the earth with the weight of the precious fruit, lies the
little town of Marbach. As is often the case with many of these towns,
it is charmingly situated on the banks of the river Neckar, which
rushes rapidly by, passing villages, old knights' castles, and green
vineyards, till its waters mingle with those of the stately Rhine.
It was late in the autumn; the vine-leaves still hung upon the
branches of the vines, but they were already tinted with red and gold;
heavy showers fell on the surrounding country, and the cold autumn
wind blew sharp and strong. It was not at all pleasant weather for the
poor. The days grew shorter and more gloomy, and, dark as it was out
of doors in the open air, it was still darker within the small,
old-fashioned houses of the village. The gable end of one of these
houses faced the street, and with its small, narrow windows, presented
a very mean appearance. The family who dwelt in it were also very poor
and humble, but they treasured the fear of God in their innermost
hearts. And now He was about to send them a child. It was the hour
of the mother's sorrow, when there pealed forth from the church
tower the sound of festive bells. In that solemn hour the sweet and
joyous chiming filled the hearts of those in the humble dwelling
with thankfulness and trust; and when, amidst these joyous sounds, a
little son was born to them, the words of prayer and praise arose from
their overflowing hearts, and their happiness seemed to ring out
over town and country in the liquid tones of the church bells'
chime. The little one, with its bright eyes and golden hair, had
been welcomed joyously on that dark November day. Its parents kissed
it lovingly, and the father wrote these words in the Bible, "On the
tenth of November, 1759, God sent us a son." And a short time after,
when the child had been baptized, the names he had received were
added, "John Christopher Frederick."

And what became of the little lad?--the poor boy of the humble
town of Marbach? Ah, indeed, there was no one who thought or supposed,
not even the old church bell which had been the first to sound and
chime for him, that he would be the first to sing the beautiful song
of "The Bell." The boy grew apace, and the world advanced with him.

While he was yet a child, his parents removed from Marbach, and
went to reside in another town; but their dearest friends remained
behind at Marbach, and therefore sometimes the mother and her son
would start on a fine day to pay a visit to the little town. The boy
was at this time about six years old, and already knew a great many
stories out of the Bible, and several religious psalms. While seated
in the evening on his little cane-chair, he had often heard his father
read from Gellert's fables, and sometimes from Klopstock's grand poem,
"The Messiah." He and his sister, two years older than himself, had
often wept scalding tears over the story of Him who suffered death
on the cross for us all.

On his first visit to Marbach, the town appeared to have changed
but very little, and it was not far enough away to be forgotten. The
house, with its pointed gable, narrow windows, overhanging walls and
stories, projecting one beyond another, looked just the same as in
former times. But in the churchyard there were several new graves; and
there also, in the grass, close by the wall, stood the old church
bell! It had been taken down from its high position, in consequence of
a crack in the metal which prevented it from ever chiming again, and a
new bell now occupied its place. The mother and son were walking in
the churchyard when they discovered the old bell, and they stood still
to look at it. Then the mother reminded her little boy of what a
useful bell this had been for many hundred years. It had chimed for
weddings and for christenings; it had tolled for funerals, and to give
the alarm in case of fire. With every event in the life of man the
bell had made its voice heard. His mother also told him how the
chiming of that old bell had once filled her heart with joy and
confidence, and that in the midst of the sweet tones her child had
been given to her. And the boy gazed on the large, old bell with the
deepest interest. He bowed his head over it and kissed it, old, thrown
away, and cracked as it was, and standing there amidst the grass and
nettles. The boy never forgot what his mother told him, and the
tones of the old bell reverberated in his heart till he reached
manhood. In such sweet remembrance was the old bell cherished by the
boy, who grew up in poverty to be tall and slender, with a freckled
complexion and hair almost red; but his eyes were clear and blue as
the deep sea, and what was his career to be? His career was to be
good, and his future life enviable. We find him taking high honors
at the military school in the division commanded by the member of a
family high in position, and this was an honor, that is to say, good
luck. He wore gaiters, stiff collars, and powdered hair, and by this
he was recognized; and, indeed, he might be known by the word of
command--"March! halt! front!"

The old church bell had long been quite forgotten, and no one
imagined it would ever again be sent to the melting furnace to make it
as it was before. No one could possibly have foretold this. Equally
impossible would it have been to believe that the tones of the old
bell still echoed in the heart of the boy from Marbach; or that one
day they would ring out loud enough and strong enough to be heard
all over the world. They had already been heard in the narrow space
behind the school-wall, even above the deafening sounds of "March!
halt! front!" They had chimed so loudly in the heart of the youngster,
that he had sung them to his companions, and their tones resounded
to the very borders of the country. He was not a free scholar in the
military school, neither was he provided with clothes or food. But
he had his number, and his own peg; for everything here was ordered
like clockwork, which we all know is of the greatest utility--people
get on so much better together when their position and duties are
understood. It is by pressure that a jewel is stamped. The pressure of
regularity and discipline here stamped the jewel, which in the
future the world so well knew.

In the chief town of the province a great festival was being
celebrated. The light streamed forth from thousands of lamps, and
the rockets shot upwards towards the sky, filling the air with showers
of colored fiery sparks. A record of this bright display will live
in the memory of man, for through it the pupil in the military
school was in tears and sorrow. He had dared to attempt to reach
foreign territories unnoticed, and must therefore give up
fatherland, mother, his dearest friends, all, or sink down into the
stream of common life. The old church bell had still some comfort;
it stood in the shelter of the church wall in Marbach, once so
elevated, now quite forgotten. The wind roared around it, and could
have readily related the story of its origin and of its sweet
chimes, and the wind could also tell of him to whom he had brought
fresh air when, in the woods of a neighboring country, he had sunk
down exhausted with fatigue, with no other worldly possessions than
hope for the future, and a written leaf from "Fiesco." The wind
could have told that his only protector was an artist, who, by reading
each leaf to him, made it plain; and that they amused themselves by
playing at nine-pins together. The wind could also describe the pale
fugitive, who, for weeks and months, lay in a wretched little
road-side inn, where the landlord got drunk and raved, and where the
merry-makers had it all their own way. And he, the pale fugitive, sang
of the ideal.

For many heavy days and dark nights the heart must suffer to
enable it to endure trial and temptation; yet, amidst it all, would
the minstrel sing. Dark days and cold nights also passed over the
old bell, and it noticed them not; but the bell in the man's heart
felt it to be a gloomy time. What would become of this young man,
and what would become of the old bell?

The old bell was, after a time, carried away to a greater distance
than any one, even the warder in the bell tower, ever imagined; and
the bell in the breast of the young man was heard in countries where
his feet had never wandered. The tones went forth over the wide
ocean to every part of the round world.

We will now follow the career of the old bell. It was, as we
have said, carried far away from Marbach and sold as old copper;
then sent to Bavaria to be melted down in a furnace. And then what
happened?

In the royal city of Bavaria, many years after the bell had been
removed from the tower and melted down, some metal was required for
a monument in honor of one of the most celebrated characters which a
German people or a German land could produce. And now we see how
wonderfully things are ordered. Strange things sometimes happen in
this world.

In Denmark, in one of those green islands where the foliage of the
beech-woods rustles in the wind, and where many Huns' graves may be
seen, was another poor boy born. He wore wooden shoes, and when his
father worked in a ship-yard, the boy, wrapped up in an old worn-out
shawl, carried his dinner to him every day. This poor child was now
the pride of his country; for the sculptured marble, the work of his
hands, had astonished the world. To him was offered the honor of
forming from the clay, a model of the figure of him whose name,
"John Christopher Frederick," had been written by his father in the
Bible. The bust was cast in bronze, and part of the metal used for
this purpose was the old church bell, whose tones had died away from
the memory of those at home and elsewhere. The metal, glowing with
heat, flowed into the mould, and formed the head and bust of the
statue which was unveiled in the square in front of the old castle.
The statue represented in living, breathing reality, the form of him
who was born in poverty, the boy from Marbach, the pupil of the
military school, the fugitive who struggled against poverty and
oppression, from the outer world; Germany's great and immortal poet,
who sung of Switzerland's deliverer, William Tell, and of the
heaven-inspired Maid of Orleans.

It was a beautiful sunny day; flags were waving from tower and
roof in royal Stuttgart, and the church bells were ringing a joyous
peal. One bell was silent; but it was illuminated by the bright
sunshine which streamed from the head and bust of the renowned figure,
of which it formed a part. On this day, just one hundred years had
passed since the day on which the chiming of the old church bell at
Marbach had filled the mother's heart with trust and joy--the day on
which her child was born in poverty, and in a humble home; the same
who, in after-years, became rich, became the noble woman-hearted poet,
a blessing to the world--the glorious, the sublime, the immortal bard,
John Christoper Frederick Schiller!


 The Danish sculptor Thorwaldsen.




THE OLD GRAVE-STONE

In a house, with a large courtyard, in a provincial town, at
that time of the year in which people say the evenings are growing
longer, a family circle were gathered together at their old home. A
lamp burned on the table, although the weather was mild and warm,
and the long curtains hung down before the open windows, and without
the moon shone brightly in the dark-blue sky.

But they were not talking of the moon, but of a large, old stone
that lay below in the courtyard not very far from the kitchen door.
The maids often laid the clean copper saucepans and kitchen vessels on
this stone, that they might dry in the sun, and the children were fond
of playing on it. It was, in fact, an old grave-stone.

"Yes," said the master of the house, "I believe the stone came
from the graveyard of the old church of the convent which was pulled
down, and the pulpit, the monuments, and the grave-stones sold. My
father bought the latter; most of them were cut in two and used for
paving-stones, but that one stone was preserved whole, and laid in the
courtyard."

"Any one can see that it is a grave-stone," said the eldest of the
children; "the representation of an hour-glass and part of the
figure of an angel can still be traced, but the inscription beneath is
quite worn out, excepting the name 'Preben,' and a large 'S' close
by it, and a little farther down the name of 'Martha' can be easily
read. But nothing more, and even that cannot be seen unless it has
been raining, or when we have washed the stone."

"Dear me! how singular. Why that must be the grave-stone of Preben
Schwane and his wife."

The old man who said this looked old enough to be the
grandfather of all present in the room.

"Yes," he continued, "these people were among the last who were
buried in the churchyard of the old convent. They were a very worthy
old couple, I can remember them well in the days of my boyhood.
Every one knew them, and they were esteemed by all. They were the
oldest residents in the town, and people said they possessed a ton
of gold, yet they were always very plainly dressed, in the coarsest
stuff, but with linen of the purest whiteness. Preben and Martha
were a fine old couple, and when they both sat on the bench, at the
top of the steep stone steps, in front of their house, with the
branches of the linden-tree waving above them, and nodded in a gentle,
friendly way to passers by, it really made one feel quite happy.
They were very good to the poor; they fed them and clothed them, and
in their benevolence there was judgment as well as true
Christianity. The old woman died first; that day is still quite
vividly before my eyes. I was a little boy, and had accompanied my
father to the old man's house. Martha had fallen into the sleep of
death just as we arrived there. The corpse lay in a bedroom, near to
the one in which we sat, and the old man was in great distress and
weeping like a child. He spoke to my father, and to a few neighbors
who were there, of how lonely he should feel now she was gone, and how
good and true she, his dead wife, had been during the number of
years that they had passed through life together, and how they had
become acquainted, and learnt to love each other. I was, as I have
said, a boy, and only stood by and listened to what the others said;
but it filled me with a strange emotion to listen to the old man,
and to watch how the color rose in his cheeks as he spoke of the
days of their courtship, of how beautiful she was, and how many little
tricks he had been guilty of, that he might meet her. And then he
talked of his wedding-day; and his eyes brightened, and he seemed to
be carried back, by his words, to that joyful time. And yet there
she was, lying in the next room, dead--an old woman, and he was an old
man, speaking of the days of hope, long passed away. Ah, well, so it
is; then I was but a child, and now I am old, as old as Preben Schwane
then was. Time passes away, and all things changed. I can remember
quite well the day on which she was buried, and how Old Preben
walked close behind the coffin.

"A few years before this time the old couple had had their
grave-stone prepared, with an inscription and their names, but not the
date. In the evening the stone was taken to the churchyard, and laid
on the grave. A year later it was taken up, that Old Preben might be
laid by the side of his wife. They did not leave behind them wealth,
they left behind them far less than people had believed they
possessed; what there was went to families distantly related to
them, of whom, till then, no one had ever heard. The old house, with
its balcony of wickerwork, and the bench at the top of the high steps,
under the lime-tree, was considered, by the road-inspectors, too old
and rotten to be left standing. Afterwards, when the same fate
befell the convent church, and the graveyard was destroyed, the
grave-stone of Preben and Martha, like everything else, was sold to
whoever would buy it. And so it happened that this stone was not cut
in two as many others had been, but now lies in the courtyard below, a
scouring block for the maids, and a playground for the children. The
paved street now passes over the resting place of Old Preben and his
wife; no one thinks of them any more now."

And the old man who had spoken of all this shook his head
mournfully, and said, "Forgotten! Ah, yes, everything will be
forgotten!" And then the conversation turned on other matters.

But the youngest child in the room, a boy, with large, earnest
eyes, mounted upon a chair behind the window curtains, and looked
out into the yard, where the moon was pouring a flood of light on
the old gravestone,--the stone that had always appeared to him so dull
and flat, but which lay there now like a great leaf out of a book of
history. All that the boy had heard of Old Preben and his wife
seemed clearly defined on the stone, and as he gazed on it, and
glanced at the clear, bright moon shining in the pure air, it was as
if the light of God's countenance beamed over His beautiful world.

"Forgotten! Everything will be forgotten!" still echoed through
the room, and in the same moment an invisible spirit whispered to
the heart of the boy, "Preserve carefully the seed that has been
entrusted to thee, that it may grow and thrive. Guard it well. Through
thee, my child, shall the obliterated inscription on the old,
weather-beaten grave-stone go forth to future generations in clear,
golden characters. The old pair shall again wander through the streets
arm-in-arm, or sit with their fresh, healthy cheeks on the bench under
the lime-tree, and smile and nod at rich and poor. The seed of this
hour shall ripen in the course of years into a beautiful poem. The
beautiful and the good are never forgotten, they live always in
story or in song."




THE OLD HOUSE

A very old house stood once in a street with several that were
quite new and clean. The date of its erection had been carved on one
of the beams, and surrounded by scrolls formed of tulips and
hop-tendrils; by this date it could be seen that the old house was
nearly three hundred years old. Verses too were written over the
windows in old-fashioned letters, and grotesque faces, curiously
carved, grinned at you from under the cornices. One story projected
a long way over the other, and under the roof ran a leaden gutter,
with a dragon's head at the end. The rain was intended to pour out
at the dragon's mouth, but it ran out of his body instead, for there
was a hole in the gutter. The other houses in the street were new
and well built, with large window panes and smooth walls. Any one
could see they had nothing to do with the old house. Perhaps they
thought, "How long will that heap of rubbish remain here to be a
disgrace to the whole street. The parapet projects so far forward that
no one can see out of our windows what is going on in that
direction. The stairs are as broad as the staircase of a castle, and
as steep as if they led to a church-tower. The iron railing looks like
the gate of a cemetery, and there are brass knobs upon it. It is
really too ridiculous."

Opposite to the old house were more nice new houses, which had
just the same opinion as their neighbors.

At the window of one of them sat a little boy with fresh rosy
cheeks, and clear sparkling eyes, who was very fond of the old
house, in sunshine or in moonlight. He would sit and look at the
wall from which the plaster had in some places fallen off, and fancy
all sorts of scenes which had been in former times. How the street
must have looked when the houses had all gable roofs, open staircases,
and gutters with dragons at the spout. He could even see soldiers
walking about with halberds. Certainly it was a very good house to
look at for amusement.

An old man lived in it, who wore knee-breeches, a coat with
large brass buttons, and a wig, which any one could see was a real
wig. Every morning an old man came to clean the rooms, and to wait
upon him, otherwise the old man in the knee-breeches would have been
quite alone in the house. Sometimes he came to one of the windows
and looked out; then the little boy nodded to him, and the old man
nodded back again, till they became acquainted, and were friends,
although they had never spoken to each other; but that was of no
consequence.

The little boy one day heard his parents say, "The old man
opposite is very well off, but is terribly lonely." The next Sunday
morning the little boy wrapped something in a piece of paper and
took it to the door of the old house, and said to the attendant who
waited upon the old man, "Will you please give this from me to the
gentleman who lives here; I have two tin soldiers, and this is one
of them, and he shall have it, because I know he is terribly lonely."

And the old attendant nodded and looked very pleased, and then
he carried the tin soldier into the house.

Afterwards he was sent over to ask the little boy if he would
not like to pay a visit himself. His parents gave him permission,
and so it was that he gained admission to the old house.

The brassy knobs on the railings shone more brightly than ever, as
if they had been polished on account of his visit; and on the door
were carved trumpeters standing in tulips, and it seemed as if they
were blowing with all their might, their cheeks were so puffed out.
"Tanta-ra-ra, the little boy is coming; Tanta-ra-ra, the little boy is
coming."

Then the door opened. All round the hall hung old portraits of
knights in armor, and ladies in silk gowns; and the armor rattled, and
the silk dresses rustled. Then came a staircase which went up a long
way, and then came down a little way and led to a balcony, which was
in a very ruinous state. There were large holes and long cracks, out
of which grew grass and leaves, indeed the whole balcony, the
courtyard, and the walls were so overgrown with green that they looked
like a garden. In the balcony stood flower-pots, on which were heads
having asses' ears, but the flowers in them grew just as they pleased.
In one pot pinks were growing all over the sides, at least the green
leaves were shooting forth stalk and stem, and saying as plainly as
they could speak, "The air has fanned me, the sun has kissed me, and I
am promised a little flower for next Sunday--really for next Sunday."

Then they entered a room in which the walls were covered with
leather, and the leather had golden flowers stamped upon it.

  "Gilding will fade in damp weather,
  To endure, there is nothing like leather,"

said the walls. Chairs handsomely carved, with elbows on each side,
and with very high backs, stood in the room, and as they creaked
they seemed to say, "Sit down. Oh dear, how I am creaking. I shall
certainly have the gout like the old cupboard. Gout in my back, ugh."

And then the little boy entered the room where the old man sat.

"Thank you for the tin soldier my little friend," said the old
man, "and thank you also for coming to see me."

"Thanks, thanks," or "Creak, creak," said all the furniture.

There was so much that the pieces of furniture stood in each
other's way to get a sight of the little boy.

On the wall near the centre of the room hung the picture of a
beautiful lady, young and gay, dressed in the fashion of the olden
times, with powdered hair, and a full, stiff skirt. She said neither
"thanks" nor "creak," but she looked down upon the little boy with her
mild eyes; and then he said to the old man,

"Where did you get that picture?"

"From the shop opposite," he replied. "Many portraits hang there
that none seem to trouble themselves about. The persons they represent
have been dead and buried long since. But I knew this lady many
years ago, and she has been dead nearly half a century."

Under a glass beneath the picture hung a nosegay of withered
flowers, which were no doubt half a century old too, at least they
appeared so.

And the pendulum of the old clock went to and fro, and the hands
turned round; and as time passed on, everything in the room grew
older, but no one seemed to notice it.

"They say at home," said the little boy, "that you are very
lonely."

"Oh," replied the old man, "I have pleasant thoughts of all that
has passed, recalled by memory; and now you are come to visit me,
and that is very pleasant."

Then he took from the book-case, a book full of pictures
representing long processions of wonderful coaches, such as are
never seen at the present time. Soldiers like the knave of clubs,
and citizens with waving banners. The tailors had a flag with a pair
of scissors supported by two lions, and on the shoemakers' flag
there were not boots, but an eagle with two heads, for the
shoemakers must have everything arranged so that they can say, "This
is a pair." What a picture-book it was; and then the old man went into
another room to fetch apples and nuts. It was very pleasant,
certainly, to be in that old house.

"I cannot endure it," said the tin soldier, who stood on a
shelf, "it is so lonely and dull here. I have been accustomed to
live in a family, and I cannot get used to this life. I cannot bear
it. The whole day is long enough, but the evening is longer. It is not
here like it was in your house opposite, when your father and mother
talked so cheerfully together, while you and all the dear children
made such a delightful noise. No, it is all lonely in the old man's
house. Do you think he gets any kisses? Do you think he ever has
friendly looks, or a Christmas tree? He will have nothing now but
the grave. Oh, I cannot bear it."

"You must not look only on the sorrowful side," said the little
boy; "I think everything in this house is beautiful, and all the old
pleasant thoughts come back here to pay visits."

"Ah, but I never see any, and I don't know them," said the tin
soldier, "and I cannot bear it."

"You must bear it," said the little boy. Then the old man came
back with a pleasant face; and brought with him beautiful preserved
fruits, as well as apples and nuts; and the little boy thought no more
of the tin soldier. How happy and delighted the little boy was; and
after he returned home, and while days and weeks passed, a great
deal of nodding took place from one house to the other, and then the
little boy went to pay another visit. The carved trumpeters blew
"Tanta-ra-ra. There is the little boy. Tanta-ra-ra." The swords and
armor on the old knight's pictures rattled. The silk dresses
rustled, the leather repeated its rhyme, and the old chairs had the
gout in their backs, and cried, "Creak;" it was all exactly like the
first time; for in that house, one day and one hour were just like
another. "I cannot bear it any longer," said the tin soldier; "I
have wept tears of tin, it is so melancholy here. Let me go to the
wars, and lose an arm or a leg, that would be some change; I cannot
bear it. Now I know what it is to have visits from one's old
recollections, and all they bring with them. I have had visits from
mine, and you may believe me it is not altogether pleasant. I was very
nearly jumping from the shelf. I saw you all in your house opposite,
as if you were really present. It was Sunday morning, and you children
stood round the table, singing the hymn that you sing every morning.
You were standing quietly, with your hands folded, and your father and
mother. You were standing quietly, with your hands folded, and your
father and mother were looking just as serious, when the door
opened, and your little sister Maria, who is not two years old, was
brought into the room. You know she always dances when she hears music
and singing of any sort; so she began to dance immediately, although
she ought not to have done so, but she could not get into the right
time because the tune was so slow; so she stood first on one leg and
then on the other, and bent her head very low, but it would not suit
the music. You all stood looking very grave, although it was very
difficult to do so, but I laughed so to myself that I fell down from
the table, and got a bruise, which is there still; I know it was not
right to laugh. So all this, and everything else that I have seen,
keeps running in my head, and these must be the old recollections that
bring so many thoughts with them. Tell me whether you still sing on
Sundays, and tell me about your little sister Maria, and how my old
comrade is, the other tin soldier. Ah, really he must be very happy; I
cannot endure this life."

"You are given away," said the little boy; "you must stay. Don't
you see that?" Then the old man came in, with a box containing many
curious things to show him. Rouge-pots, scent-boxes, and old cards, so
large and so richly gilded, that none are ever seen like them in these
days. And there were smaller boxes to look at, and the piano was
opened, and inside the lid were painted landscapes. But when the old
man played, the piano sounded quite out of tune. Then he looked at the
picture he had bought at the broker's, and his eyes sparkled
brightly as he nodded at it, and said, "Ah, she could sing that tune."

"I will go to the wars! I will go to the wars!" cried the tin
soldier as loud as he could, and threw himself down on the floor.
Where could he have fallen? The old man searched, and the little boy
searched, but he was gone, and could not be found. "I shall find him
again," said the old man, but he did not find him. The boards of the
floor were open and full of holes. The tin soldier had fallen
through a crack between the boards, and lay there now in an open
grave. The day went by, and the little boy returned home; the week
passed, and many more weeks. It was winter, and the windows were quite
frozen, so the little boy was obliged to breathe on the panes, and rub
a hole to peep through at the old house. Snow drifts were lying in all
the scrolls and on the inscriptions, and the steps were covered with
snow as if no one were at home. And indeed nobody was home, for the
old man was dead. In the evening, a hearse stopped at the door, and
the old man in his coffin was placed in it. He was to be taken to
the country to be buried there in his own grave; so they carried him
away; no one followed him, for all his friends were dead; and the
little boy kissed his hand to the coffin as the hearse moved away with
it. A few days after, there was an auction at the old house, and
from his window the little boy saw the people carrying away the
pictures of old knights and ladies, the flower-pots with the long
ears, the old chairs, and the cup-boards. Some were taken one way,
some another. Her portrait, which had been bought at the picture
dealer's, went back again to his shop, and there it remained, for no
one seemed to know her, or to care for the old picture. In the spring;
they began to pull the house itself down; people called it complete
rubbish. From the street could be seen the room in which the walls
were covered with leather, ragged and torn, and the green in the
balcony hung straggling over the beams; they pulled it down quickly,
for it looked ready to fall, and at last it was cleared away
altogether. "What a good riddance," said the neighbors' houses. Very
shortly, a fine new house was built farther back from the road; it had
lofty windows and smooth walls, but in front, on the spot where the
old house really stood, a little garden was planted, and wild vines
grew up over the neighboring walls; in front of the garden were
large iron railings and a great gate, which looked very stately.
People used to stop and peep through the railings. The sparrows
assembled in dozens upon the wild vines, and chattered all together as
loud as they could, but not about the old house; none of them could
remember it, for many years had passed by, so many indeed, that the
little boy was now a man, and a really good man too, and his parents
were very proud of him. He was just married, and had come, with his
young wife, to reside in the new house with the garden in front of it,
and now he stood there by her side while she planted a field flower
that she thought very pretty. She was planting it herself with her
little hands, and pressing down the earth with her fingers. "Oh
dear, what was that?" she exclaimed, as something pricked her. Out
of the soft earth something was sticking up. It was--only think!--it
was really the tin soldier, the very same which had been lost up in
the old man's room, and had been hidden among old wood and rubbish for
a long time, till it sunk into the earth, where it must have been
for many years. And the young wife wiped the soldier, first with a
green leaf, and then with her fine pocket-handkerchief, that smelt
of such beautiful perfume. And the tin soldier felt as if he was
recovering from a fainting fit. "Let me see him," said the young
man, and then he smiled and shook his head, and said, "It can scarcely
be the same, but it reminds me of something that happened to one of my
tin soldiers when I was a little boy." And then he told his wife about
the old house and the old man, and of the tin soldier which he had
sent across, because he thought the old man was lonely; and he related
the story so clearly that tears came into the eyes of the young wife
for the old house and the old man. "It is very likely that this is
really the same soldier," said she, "and I will take care of him, and
always remember what you have told me; but some day you must show me
the old man's grave."

"I don't know where it is," he replied; "no one knows. All his
friends are dead; no one took care of him, and I was only a little
boy."

"Oh, how dreadfully lonely he must have been," said she.

"Yes, terribly lonely," cried the tin soldier; "still it is
delightful not to be forgotten."

"Delightful indeed," cried a voice quite near to them; no one
but the tin soldier saw that it came from a rag of the leather which
hung in tatters; it had lost all its gilding, and looked like wet
earth, but it had an opinion, and it spoke it thus:--

  "Gilding will fade in damp weather,
  To endure, there is nothing like leather."


But the tin soldier did not believe any such thing.




WHAT THE OLD MAN DOES IS ALWAYS RIGHT

I will tell you a story that was told me when I was a little
boy. Every time I thought of this story, it seemed to me more and more
charming; for it is with stories as it is with many people--they
become better as they grow older.

I have no doubt that you have been in the country, and seen a very
old farmhouse, with a thatched roof, and mosses and small plants
growing wild upon it. There is a stork's nest on the ridge of the
gable, for we cannot do without the stork. The walls of the house
are sloping, and the windows are low, and only one of the latter is
made to open. The baking-oven sticks out of the wall like a great
knob. An elder-tree hangs over the palings; and beneath its
branches, at the foot of the paling, is a pool of water, in which a
few ducks are disporting themselves. There is a yard-dog too, who
barks at all corners. Just such a farmhouse as this stood in a country
lane; and in it dwelt an old couple, a peasant and his wife. Small
as their possessions were, they had one article they could not do
without, and that was a horse, which contrived to live upon the
grass which it found by the side of the high road. The old peasant
rode into the town upon this horse, and his neighbors often borrowed
it of him, and paid for the loan of it by rendering some service to
the old couple. After a time they thought it would be as well to
sell the horse, or exchange it for something which might be more
useful to them. But what might this something be?

"You'll know best, old man," said the wife. "It is fair-day
to-day; so ride into town, and get rid of the horse for money, or make
a good exchange; whichever you do will be right to me, so ride to the
fair."

And she fastened his neckerchief for him; for she could do that
better than he could, and she could also tie it very prettily in a
double bow. She also smoothed his hat round and round with the palm of
her hand, and gave him a kiss. Then he rode away upon the horse that
was to be sold or bartered for something else. Yes, the old man knew
what he was about. The sun shone with great heat, and not a cloud
was to be seen in the sky. The road was very dusty; for a number of
people, all going to the fair, were driving, riding, or walking upon
it. There was no shelter anywhere from the hot sunshine. Among the
rest a man came trudging along, and driving a cow to the fair. The cow
was as beautiful a creature as any cow could be.

"She gives good milk, I am certain," said the peasant to
himself. "That would be a very good exchange: the cow for the horse.
Hallo there! you with the cow," he said. "I tell you what; I dare
say a horse is of more value than a cow; but I don't care for that,--a
cow will be more useful to me; so, if you like, we'll exchange."

"To be sure I will," said the man.

Accordingly the exchange was made; and as the matter was
settled, the peasant might have turned back; for he had done the
business he came to do. But, having made up his mind to go to the
fair, he determined to do so, if only to have a look at it; so on he
went to the town with his cow. Leading the animal, he strode on
sturdily, and, after a short time, overtook a man who was driving a
sheep. It was a good fat sheep, with a fine fleece on its back.

"I should like to have that fellow," said the peasant to
himself. "There is plenty of grass for him by our palings, and in
the winter we could keep him in the room with us. Perhaps it would
be more profitable to have a sheep than a cow. Shall I exchange?"
The man with the sheep was quite ready, and the bargain was
quickly made. And then our peasant continued his way on the
high-road with his sheep. Soon after this, he overtook another man,
who had come into the road from a field, and was carrying a large
goose under his arm.

"What a heavy creature you have there!" said the peasant; "it
has plenty of feathers and plenty of fat, and would look well tied
to a string, or paddling in the water at our place. That would be very
useful to my old woman; she could make all sorts of profits out of it.
How often she has said, 'If now we only had a goose!' Now here is an
opportunity, and, if possible, I will get it for her. Shall we
exchange? I will give you my sheep for your goose, and thanks into the
bargain."

The other had not the least objection, and accordingly the
exchange was made, and our peasant became possessor of the goose. By
this time he had arrived very near the town. The crowd on the high
road had been gradually increasing, and there was quite a rush of
men and cattle. The cattle walked on the path and by the palings,
and at the turnpike-gate they even walked into the toll-keeper's
potato-field, where one fowl was strutting about with a string tied to
its leg, for fear it should take fright at the crowd, and run away and
get lost. The tail-feathers of the fowl were very short, and it winked
with both its eyes, and looked very cunning, as it said "Cluck,
cluck." What were the thoughts of the fowl as it said this I cannot
tell you; but directly our good man saw it, he thought, "Why that's
the finest fowl I ever saw in my life; it's finer than our parson's
brood hen, upon my word. I should like to have that fowl. Fowls can
always pick up a few grains that lie about, and almost keep
themselves. I think it would be a good exchange if I could get it
for my goose. Shall we exchange?" he asked the toll-keeper.

"Exchange," repeated the man; "well, it would not be a bad thing."

And so they made an exchange,--the toll-keeper at the
turnpike-gate kept the goose, and the peasant carried off the fowl.
Now he had really done a great deal of business on his way to the
fair, and he was hot and tired. He wanted something to eat, and a
glass of ale to refresh himself; so he turned his steps to an inn.
He was just about to enter when the ostler came out, and they met at
the door. The ostler was carrying a sack. "What have you in that
sack?" asked the peasant.

"Rotten apples," answered the ostler; "a whole sackful of them.
They will do to feed the pigs with."

"Why that will be terrible waste," he replied; "I should like to
take them home to my old woman. Last year the old apple-tree by the
grass-plot only bore one apple, and we kept it in the cupboard till it
was quite withered and rotten. It was always property, my old woman
said; and here she would see a great deal of property--a whole
sackful; I should like to show them to her."

"What will you give me for the sackful?" asked the ostler.

"What will I give? Well, I will give you my fowl in exchange."

So he gave up the fowl, and received the apples, which he
carried into the inn parlor. He leaned the sack carefully against
the stove, and then went to the table. But the stove was hot, and he
had not thought of that. Many guests were present--horse dealers,
cattle drovers, and two Englishmen. The Englishmen were so rich that
their pockets quite bulged out and seemed ready to burst; and they
could bet too, as you shall hear. "Hiss-s-s, hiss-s-s." What could
that be by the stove? The apples were beginning to roast. "What is
that?" asked one.

"Why, do you know"--said our peasant. And then he told them the
whole story of the horse, which he had exchanged for a cow, and all
the rest of it, down to the apples.

"Well, your old woman will give it you well when you get home,"
said one of the Englishmen. "Won't there be a noise?"

"What! Give me what?" said the peasant. "Why, she will kiss me,
and say, 'what the old man does is always right.'"

"Let us lay a wager on it," said the Englishmen. "We'll wager
you a ton of coined gold, a hundred pounds to the hundred-weight."

"No; a bushel will be enough," replied the peasant. "I can only
set a bushel of apples against it, and I'll throw myself and my old
woman into the bargain; that will pile up the measure, I fancy."

"Done! taken!" and so the bet was made.

Then the landlord's coach came to the door, and the two Englishmen
and the peasant got in, and away they drove, and soon arrived and
stopped at the peasant's hut. "Good evening, old woman." "Good
evening, old man." "I've made the exchange."

"Ah, well, you understand what you're about," said the woman. Then
she embraced him, and paid no attention to the strangers, nor did
she notice the sack.

"I got a cow in exchange for the horse."

"Thank Heaven," said she. "Now we shall have plenty of milk, and
butter, and cheese on the table. That was a capital exchange."

"Yes, but I changed the cow for a sheep."

"Ah, better still!" cried the wife. "You always think of
everything; we have just enough pasture for a sheep. Ewe's milk and
cheese, woollen jackets and stockings! The cow could not give all
these, and her hair only falls off. How you think of everything!"

"But I changed away the sheep for a goose."

"Then we shall have roast goose to eat this year. You dear old
man, you are always thinking of something to please me. This is
delightful. We can let the goose walk about with a string tied to
her leg, so she will be fatter still before we roast her."

"But I gave away the goose for a fowl."

"A fowl! Well, that was a good exchange," replied the woman.
"The fowl will lay eggs and hatch them, and we shall have chickens; we
shall soon have a poultry-yard. Oh, this is just what I was wishing
for."

"Yes, but I exchanged the fowl for a sack of shrivelled apples."

"What! I really must give you a kiss for that!" exclaimed the
wife. "My dear, good husband, now I'll tell you something. Do you
know, almost as soon as you left me this morning, I began to think
of what I could give you nice for supper this evening, and then I
thought of fried eggs and bacon, with sweet herbs; I had eggs and
bacon, but I wanted the herbs; so I went over to the schoolmaster's: I
knew they had plenty of herbs, but the schoolmistress is very mean,
although she can smile so sweetly. I begged her to lend me a handful
of herbs. 'Lend!' she exclaimed, 'I have nothing to lend; nothing at
all grows in our garden, not even a shrivelled apple; I could not even
lend you a shrivelled apple, my dear woman. But now I can lend her
ten, or a whole sackful, which I'm very glad of; it makes me laugh
to think about it;" and then she gave him a hearty kiss.

"Well, I like all this," said both the Englishmen; "always going
down the hill, and yet always merry; it's worth the money to see
it." So they paid a hundred-weight of gold to the peasant, who,
whatever he did, was not scolded but kissed.

Yes, it always pays best when the wife sees and maintains that her
husband knows best, and whatever he does is right.

That is a story which I heard when I was a child; and now you have
heard it too, and know that "What the old man does is always right."




THE OLD STREET LAMP

Did you ever hear the story of the old street lamp? It is not
remarkably interesting, but for once in a way you may as well listen
to it. It was a most respectable old lamp, which had seen many, many
years of service, and now was to retire with a pension. It was this
evening at its post for the last time, giving light to the street. His
feelings were something like those of an old dancer at the theatre,
who is dancing for the last time, and knows that on the morrow she
will be in her garret, alone and forgotten. The lamp had very great
anxiety about the next day, for he knew that he had to appear for
the first time at the town hall, to be inspected by the mayor and
the council, who were to decide if he were fit for further service
or not;--whether the lamp was good enough to be used to light the
inhabitants of one of the suburbs, or in the country, at some factory;
and if not, it would be sent at once to an iron foundry, to be
melted down. In this latter case it might be turned into anything, and
he wondered very much whether he would then be able to remember that
he had once been a street lamp, and it troubled him exceedingly.
Whatever might happen, one thing seemed certain, that he would be
separated from the watchman and his wife, whose family he looked
upon as his own. The lamp had first been hung up on that very
evening that the watchman, then a robust young man, had entered upon
the duties of his office. Ah, well, it was a very long time since
one became a lamp and the other a watchman. His wife had a little
pride in those days; she seldom condescended to glance at the lamp,
excepting when she passed by in the evening, never in the daytime. But
in later years, when all these,--the watchman, the wife, and the
lamp--had grown old, she had attended to it, cleaned it, and supplied it
with oil. The old people were thoroughly honest, they had never
cheated the lamp of a single drop of the oil provided for it.

This was the lamp's last night in the street, and to-morrow he
must go to the town-hall,--two very dark things to think of. No wonder
he did not burn brightly. Many other thoughts also passed through
his mind. How many persons he had lighted on their way, and how much
he had seen; as much, very likely, as the mayor and corporation
themselves! None of these thoughts were uttered aloud, however; for he
was a good, honorable old lamp, who would not willingly do harm to any
one, especially to those in authority. As many things were recalled to
his mind, the light would flash up with sudden brightness; he had,
at such moments, a conviction that he would be remembered. "There
was a handsome young man once," thought he; "it is certainly a long
while ago, but I remember he had a little note, written on pink
paper with a gold edge; the writing was elegant, evidently a lady's
hand: twice he read it through, and kissed it, and then looked up at
me, with eyes that said quite plainly, 'I am the happiest of men!'
Only he and I know what was written on this his first letter from
his lady-love. Ah, yes, and there was another pair of eyes that I
remember,--it is really wonderful how the thoughts jump from one thing
to another! A funeral passed through the street; a young and beautiful
woman lay on a bier, decked with garlands of flowers, and attended
by torches, which quite overpowered my light. All along the street
stood the people from the houses, in crowds, ready to join the
procession. But when the torches had passed from before me, and I
could look round, I saw one person alone, standing, leaning against my
post, and weeping. Never shall I forget the sorrowful eyes that looked
up at me." These and similar reflections occupied the old street lamp,
on this the last time that his light would shine. The sentry, when
he is relieved from his post, knows at least who will succeed him, and
may whisper a few words to him, but the lamp did not know his
successor, or he could have given him a few hints respecting rain,
or mist, and could have informed him how far the moon's rays would
rest on the pavement, and from which side the wind generally blew, and
so on.

On the bridge over the canal stood three persons, who wished to
recommend themselves to the lamp, for they thought he could give the
office to whomsoever he chose. The first was a herring's head, which
could emit light in the darkness. He remarked that it would be a great
saving of oil if they placed him on the lamp-post. Number two was a
piece of rotten wood, which also shines in the dark. He considered
himself descended from an old stem, once the pride of the forest.
The third was a glow-worm, and how he found his way there the lamp
could not imagine, yet there he was, and could really give light as
well as the others. But the rotten wood and the herring's head
declared most solemnly, by all they held sacred, that the glow-worm
only gave light at certain times, and must not be allowed to compete
with themselves. The old lamp assured them that not one of them
could give sufficient light to fill the position of a street lamp; but
they would believe nothing he said. And when they discovered that he
had not the power of naming his successor, they said they were very
glad to hear it, for the lamp was too old and worn-out to make a
proper choice.

At this moment the wind came rushing round the corner of the
street, and through the air-holes of the old lamp. "What is this I
hear?" said he; "that you are going away to-morrow? Is this evening
the last time we shall meet? Then I must present you with a farewell
gift. I will blow into your brain, so that in future you shall not
only be able to remember all that you have seen or heard in the
past, but your light within shall be so bright, that you shall be able
to understand all that is said or done in your presence."

"Oh, that is really a very, very great gift," said the old lamp;
"I thank you most heartily. I only hope I shall not be melted down."

"That is not likely to happen yet," said the wind; "and I will
also blow a memory into you, so that should you receive other
similar presents your old age will pass very pleasantly."

"That is if I am not melted down," said the lamp. "But should I in
that case still retain my memory?"

"Do be reasonable, old lamp," said the wind, puffing away.

At this moment the moon burst forth from the clouds. "What will
you give the old lamp?" asked the wind.

"I can give nothing," she replied; "I am on the wane, and no lamps
have ever given me light while I have frequently shone upon them." And
with these words the moon hid herself again behind the clouds, that
she might be saved from further importunities. Just then a drop fell
upon the lamp, from the roof of the house, but the drop explained that
he was a gift from those gray clouds, and perhaps the best of all
gifts. "I shall penetrate you so thoroughly," he said, "that you
will have the power of becoming rusty, and, if you wish it, to crumble
into dust in one night."

But this seemed to the lamp a very shabby present, and the wind
thought so too. "Does no one give any more? Will no one give any
more?" shouted the breath of the wind, as loud as it could. Then a
bright falling star came down, leaving a broad, luminous streak behind
it.

"What was that?" cried the herring's head. "Did not a star fall? I
really believe it went into the lamp. Certainly, when such high-born
personages try for the office, we may as well say 'Good-night,' and go
home."

And so they did, all three, while the old lamp threw a wonderfully
strong light all around him.

"This is a glorious gift," said he; "the bright stars have
always been a joy to me, and have always shone more brilliantly than I
ever could shine, though I have tried with my whole might; and now
they have noticed me, a poor old lamp, and have sent me a gift that
will enable me to see clearly everything that I remember, as if it
still stood before me, and to be seen by all those who love me. And
herein lies the truest pleasure, for joy which we cannot share with
others is only half enjoyed."

"That sentiment does you honor," said the wind; "but for this
purpose wax lights will be necessary. If these are not lighted in you,
your particular faculties will not benefit others in the least. The
stars have not thought of this; they suppose that you and every
other light must be a wax taper: but I must go down now." So he laid
himself to rest.

"Wax tapers, indeed!" said the lamp, "I have never yet had
these, nor is it likely I ever shall. If I could only be sure of not
being melted down!"

The next day. Well, perhaps we had better pass over the next
day. The evening had come, and the lamp was resting in a grandfather's
chair, and guess where! Why, at the old watchman's house. He had
begged, as a favor, that the mayor and corporation would allow him
to keep the street lamp, in consideration of his long and faithful
service, as he had himself hung it up and lit it on the day he first
commenced his duties, four-and-twenty years ago. He looked upon it
almost as his own child; he had no children, so the lamp was given
to him. There it lay in the great arm-chair near to the warm stove. It
seemed almost as if it had grown larger, for it appeared quite to fill
the chair. The old people sat at their supper, casting friendly
glances at the old lamp, whom they would willingly have admitted to
a place at the table. It is quite true that they dwelt in a cellar,
two yards deep in the earth, and they had to cross a stone passage
to get to their room, but within it was warm and comfortable and
strips of list had been nailed round the door. The bed and the
little window had curtains, and everything looked clean and neat. On
the window seat stood two curious flower-pots which a sailor, named
Christian, had brought over from the East or West Indies. They were of
clay, and in the form of two elephants, with open backs; they were
hollow and filled with earth, and through the open space flowers
bloomed. In one grew some very fine chives or leeks; this was the
kitchen garden. The other elephant, which contained a beautiful
geranium, they called their flower garden. On the wall hung a large
colored print, representing the congress of Vienna, and all the
kings and emperors at once. A clock, with heavy weights, hung on the
wall and went "tick, tick," steadily enough; yet it was always
rather too fast, which, however, the old people said was better than
being too slow. They were now eating their supper, while the old
street lamp, as we have heard, lay in the grandfather's arm-chair near
the stove. It seemed to the lamp as if the whole world had turned
round; but after a while the old watchman looked at the lamp, and
spoke of what they had both gone through together,--in rain and in
fog; during the short bright nights of summer, or in the long winter
nights, through the drifting snow-storms, when he longed to be at home
in the cellar. Then the lamp felt it was all right again. He saw
everything that had happened quite clearly, as if it were passing
before him. Surely the wind had given him an excellent gift. The old
people were very active and industrious, they were never idle for even
a single hour. On Sunday afternoons they would bring out some books,
generally a book of travels which they were very fond of. The old
man would read aloud about Africa, with its great forests and the wild
elephants, while his wife would listen attentively, stealing a
glance now and then at the clay elephants, which served as
flower-pots.

"I can almost imagine I am seeing it all," she said; and then
how the lamp wished for a wax taper to be lighted in him, for then the
old woman would have seen the smallest detail as clearly as he did
himself. The lofty trees, with their thickly entwined branches, the
naked negroes on horseback, and whole herds of elephants treading down
bamboo thickets with their broad, heavy feet.

"What is the use of all my capabilities," sighed the old lamp,
"when I cannot obtain any wax lights; they have only oil and tallow
here, and these will not do." One day a great heap of wax-candle
ends found their way into the cellar. The larger pieces were burnt,
and the smaller ones the old woman kept for waxing her thread. So
there were now candles enough, but it never occurred to any one to put
a little piece in the lamp.

"Here I am now with my rare powers," thought the lamp, "I have
faculties within me, but I cannot share them; they do not know that
I could cover these white walls with beautiful tapestry, or change
them into noble forests, or, indeed, to anything else they might
wish for." The lamp, however, was always kept clean and shining in a
corner where it attracted all eyes. Strangers looked upon it as
lumber, but the old people did not care for that; they loved the lamp.
One day--it was the watchman's birthday--the old woman approached
the lamp, smiling to herself, and said, "I will have an illumination
to-day in honor of my old man." And the lamp rattled in his metal
frame, for he thought, "Now at last I shall have a light within me,"
but after all no wax light was placed in the lamp, but oil as usual.
The lamp burned through the whole evening, and began to perceive too
clearly that the gift of the stars would remain a hidden treasure
all his life. Then he had a dream; for, to one with his faculties,
dreaming was no difficulty. It appeared to him that the old people
were dead, and that he had been taken to the iron foundry to be melted
down. It caused him quite as much anxiety as on the day when he had
been called upon to appear before the mayor and the council at the
town-hall. But though he had been endowed with the power of falling
into decay from rust when he pleased, he did not make use of it. He
was therefore put into the melting-furnace and changed into as elegant
an iron candlestick as you could wish to see, one intended to hold a
wax taper. The candlestick was in the form of an angel holding a
nosegay, in the centre of which the wax taper was to be placed. It was
to stand on a green writing table, in a very pleasant room; many books
were scattered about, and splendid paintings hung on the walls. The
owner of the room was a poet, and a man of intellect; everything he
thought or wrote was pictured around him. Nature showed herself to him
sometimes in the dark forests, at others in cheerful meadows where the
storks were strutting about, or on the deck of a ship sailing across
the foaming sea with the clear, blue sky above, or at night the
glittering stars. "What powers I possess!" said the lamp, awaking from
his dream; "I could almost wish to be melted down; but no, that must
not be while the old people live. They love me for myself alone,
they keep me bright, and supply me with oil. I am as well off as the
picture of the congress, in which they take so much pleasure." And
from that time he felt at rest in himself, and not more so than such
an honorable old lamp really deserved to be.




OLE-LUK-OIE, THE DREAM-GOD

There is nobody in the world who knows so many stories as
Ole-Luk-Oie, or who can relate them so nicely. In the evening, while
the children are seated at the table or in their little chairs, he
comes up the stairs very softly, for he walks in his socks, then he
opens the doors without the slightest noise, and throws a small
quantity of very fine dust in their eyes, just enough to prevent
them from keeping them open, and so they do not see him. Then he
creeps behind them, and blows softly upon their necks, till their
heads begin to droop. But Ole-Luk-Oie does not wish to hurt them,
for he is very fond of children, and only wants them to be quiet
that he may relate to them pretty stories, and they never are quiet
until they are in bed and asleep. As soon as they are asleep,
Ole-Luk-Oie seats himself upon the bed. He is nicely dressed; his coat
is made of silken stuff; it is impossible to say of what color, for it
changes from green to red, and from red to blue as he turns from
side to side. Under each arm he carries an umbrella; one of them, with
pictures on the inside, he spreads over the good children, and then
they dream the most beautiful stories the whole night. But the other
umbrella has no pictures, and this he holds over the naughty
children so that they sleep heavily, and wake in the morning without
having dreamed at all.

Now we shall hear how Ole-Luk-Oie came every night during a
whole week to the little boy named Hjalmar, and what he told him.
There were seven stories, as there are seven days in the week.


MONDAY

"Now pay attention," said Ole-Luk-Oie, in the evening, when
Hjalmar was in bed, "and I will decorate the room."

Immediately all the flowers in the flower-pots became large trees,
with long branches reaching to the ceiling, and stretching along the
walls, so that the whole room was like a greenhouse. All the
branches were loaded with flowers, each flower as beautiful and as
fragrant as a rose; and, had any one tasted them, he would have
found them sweeter even than jam. The fruit glittered like gold, and
there were cakes so full of plums that they were nearly bursting. It
was incomparably beautiful. At the same time sounded dismal moans from
the table-drawer in which lay Hjalmar's school books.

"What can that be now?" said Ole-Luk-Oie, going to the table and
pulling out the drawer.

It was a slate, in such distress because of a false number in
the sum, that it had almost broken itself to pieces. The pencil pulled
and tugged at its string as if it were a little dog that wanted to
help, but could not.

And then came a moan from Hjalmar's copy-book. Oh, it was quite
terrible to hear! On each leaf stood a row of capital letters, every
one having a small letter by its side. This formed a copy; under these
were other letters, which Hjalmar had written: they fancied they
looked like the copy, but they were mistaken; for they were leaning on
one side as if they intended to fall over the pencil-lines.

"See, this is the way you should hold yourselves," said the
copy. "Look here, you should slope thus, with a graceful curve."

"Oh, we are very willing to do so, but we cannot," said
Hjalmar's letters; "we are so wretchedly made."

"You must be scratched out, then," said Ole-Luk-Oie.

"Oh, no!" they cried, and then they stood up so gracefully it
was quite a pleasure to look at them.

"Now we must give up our stories, and exercise these letters,"
said Ole-Luk-Oie; "One, two--one, two--" So he drilled them till
they stood up gracefully, and looked as beautiful as a copy could
look. But after Ole-Luk-Oie was gone, and Hjalmar looked at them in
the morning, they were as wretched and as awkward as ever.


TUESDAY

As soon as Hjalmar was in bed, Ole-Luk-Oie touched, with his
little magic wand, all the furniture in the room, which immediately
began to chatter, and each article only talked of itself.

Over the chest of drawers hung a large picture in a gilt frame,
representing a landscape, with fine old trees, flowers in the grass,
and a broad stream, which flowed through the wood, past several
castles, far out into the wild ocean. Ole-Luk-Oie touched the
picture with his magic wand, and immediately the birds commenced
singing, the branches of the trees rustled, and the clouds moved
across the sky, casting their shadows on the landscape beneath them.
Then Ole-Luk-Oie lifted little Hjalmar up to the frame, and placed his
feet in the picture, just on the high grass, and there he stood with
the sun shining down upon him through the branches of the trees. He
ran to the water, and seated himself in a little boat which lay there,
and which was painted red and white. The sails glittered like
silver, and six swans, each with a golden circlet round its neck,
and a bright blue star on its forehead, drew the boat past the green
wood, where the trees talked of robbers and witches, and the flowers
of beautiful little elves and fairies, whose histories the butterflies
had related to them. Brilliant fish, with scales like silver and gold,
swam after the boat, sometimes making a spring and splashing the water
round them, while birds, red and blue, small and great, flew after him
in two long lines. The gnats danced round them, and the cockchafers
cried "Buz, buz." They all wanted to follow Hjalmar, and all had
some story to tell him. It was a most pleasant sail. Sometimes the
forests were thick and dark, sometimes like a beautiful garden, gay
with sunshine and flowers; then he passed great palaces of glass and
of marble, and on the balconies stood princesses, whose faces were
those of little girls whom Hjalmar knew well, and had often played
with. One of them held out her hand, in which was a heart made of
sugar, more beautiful than any confectioner ever sold. As Hjalmar
sailed by, he caught hold of one side of the sugar heart, and held
it fast, and the princess held fast also, so that it broke in two
pieces. Hjalmar had one piece, and the princess the other, but
Hjalmar's was the largest. At each castle stood little princes
acting as sentinels. They presented arms, and had golden swords, and
made it rain plums and tin soldiers, so that they must have been
real princes.

Hjalmar continued to sail, sometimes through woods, sometimes as
it were through large halls, and then by large cities. At last he came
to the town where his nurse lived, who had carried him in her arms
when he was a very little boy, and had always been kind to him. She
nodded and beckoned to him, and then sang the little verses she had
herself composed and set to him,--

  "How oft my memory turns to thee,
    My own Hjalmar, ever dear!
  When I could watch thy infant glee,
    Or kiss away a pearly tear.
  'Twas in my arms thy lisping tongue
    First spoke the half-remembered word,
  While o'er thy tottering steps I hung,
    My fond protection to afford.
  Farewell! I pray the Heavenly Power
  To keep thee till thy dying hour."

And all the birds sang the same tune, the flowers danced on their
stems, and the old trees nodded as if Ole-Luk-Oie had been telling
them stories as well.


WEDNESDAY

How the rain did pour down! Hjalmar could hear it in his sleep;
and when Ole-Luk-Oie opened the window, the water flowed quite up to
the window-sill. It had the appearance of a large lake outside, and
a beautiful ship lay close to the house.

"Wilt thou sail with me to-night, little Hjalmar?" said
Ole-Luk-Oie; "then we shall see foreign countries, and thou shalt
return here in the morning."

All in a moment, there stood Hjalmar, in his best clothes, on
the deck of the noble ship; and immediately the weather became fine.
They sailed through the streets, round by the church, and on every
side rolled the wide, great sea. They sailed till the land
disappeared, and then they saw a flock of storks, who had left their
own country, and were travelling to warmer climates. The storks flew
one behind the other, and had already been a long, long time on the
wing. One of them seemed so tired that his wings could scarcely
carry him. He was the last of the row, and was soon left very far
behind. At length he sunk lower and lower, with outstretched wings,
flapping them in vain, till his feet touched the rigging of the
ship, and he slided from the sails to the deck, and stood before them.
Then a sailor-boy caught him, and put him in the hen-house, with the
fowls, the ducks, and the turkeys, while the poor stork stood quite
bewildered amongst them.

"Just look at that fellow," said the chickens.

Then the turkey-cock puffed himself out as large as he could,
and inquired who he was; and the ducks waddled backwards, crying,
"Quack, quack."

Then the stork told them all about warm Africa, of the pyramids,
and of the ostrich, which, like a wild horse, runs across the
desert. But the ducks did not understand what he said, and quacked
amongst themselves, "We are all of the same opinion; namely, that he
is stupid."

"Yes, to be sure, he is stupid," said the turkey-cock; and
gobbled.

Then the stork remained quite silent, and thought of his home in
Africa.

"Those are handsome thin legs of yours," said the turkey-cock.
"What do they cost a yard?"

"Quack, quack, quack," grinned the ducks; but, the stork pretended
not to hear.

"You may as well laugh," said the turkey; "for that remark was
rather witty, or perhaps it was above you. Ah, ah, is he not clever?
He will be a great amusement to us while he remains here." And then he
gobbled, and the ducks quacked, "Gobble, gobble; Quack, quack."

What a terrible uproar they made, while they were having such
fun among themselves!

Then Hjalmar went to the hen-house; and, opening the door,
called to the stork. Then he hopped out on the deck. He had rested
himself now, and he looked happy, and seemed as if he nodded to
Hjalmar, as if to thank him. Then he spread his wings, and flew away
to warmer countries, while the hens clucked, the ducks quacked, and
the turkey-cock turned quite scarlet in the head.

"To-morrow you shall be made into soup," said Hjalmar to the
fowls; and then he awoke, and found himself lying in his little bed.

It was a wonderful journey which Ole-Luk-Oie had made him take
this night.


THURSDAY

"What do you think I have got here?" said Ole-Luk-Oie, "Do not
be frightened, and you shall see a little mouse." And then he held out
his hand to him, in which lay a lovely little creature. "It has come
to invite you to a wedding. Two little mice are going to enter into
the marriage state tonight. They reside under the floor of your
mother's store-room, and that must be a fine dwelling-place."

"But how can I get through the little mouse-hole in the floor?"
asked Hjalmar.

"Leave me to manage that," said Ole-Luk-Oie. "I will soon make you
small enough." And then he touched Hjalmar with his magic wand,
whereupon he became less and less, until at last he was not longer
than a little finger. "Now you can borrow the dress of the tin
soldier. I think it will just fit you. It looks well to wear a uniform
when you go into company."

"Yes, certainly," said Hjalmar; and in a moment he was dressed
as neatly as the neatest of all tin soldiers.

"Will you be so good as to seat yourself in your mamma's thimble,"
said the little mouse, "that I may have the pleasure of drawing you to
the wedding."

"Will you really take so much trouble, young lady?" said
Hjalmar. And so in this way he rode to the mouse's wedding.

First they went under the floor, and then passed through a long
passage, which was scarcely high enough to allow the thimble to
drive under, and the whole passage was lit up with the phosphorescent
light of rotten wood.

"Does it not smell delicious?" asked the mouse, as she drew him
along. "The wall and the floor have been smeared with bacon-rind;
nothing can be nicer."

Very soon they arrived at the bridal hall. On the right stood
all the little lady-mice, whispering and giggling, as if they were
making game of each other. To the left were the gentlemen-mice,
stroking their whiskers with their fore-paws; and in the centre of the
hall could be seen the bridal pair, standing side by side, in a hollow
cheese-rind, and kissing each other, while all eyes were upon them;
for they had already been betrothed, and were soon to be married. More
and more friends kept arriving, till the mice were nearly treading
each other to death; for the bridal pair now stood in the doorway, and
none could pass in or out.

The room had been rubbed over with bacon-rind, like the passage,
which was all the refreshment offered to the guests. But for dessert
they produced a pea, on which a mouse belonging to the bridal pair had
bitten the first letters of their names. This was something quite
uncommon. All the mice said it was a very beautiful wedding, and
that they had been very agreeably entertained.

After this, Hjalmar returned home. He had certainly been in
grand society; but he had been obliged to creep under a room, and to
make himself small enough to wear the uniform of a tin soldier.


FRIDAY

"It is incredible how many old people there are who would be
glad to have me at night," said Ole-Luk-Oie, "especially those who
have done something wrong. 'Good little Ole,' say they to me, 'we
cannot close our eyes, and we lie awake the whole night and see all
our evil deeds sitting on our beds like little imps, and sprinkling us
with hot water. Will you come and drive them away, that we may have
a good night's rest?' and then they sigh so deeply and say, 'We
would gladly pay you for it. Good-night, Ole-Luk, the money lies on
the window.' But I never do anything for gold." "What shall we do
to-night?" asked Hjalmar. "I do not know whether you would care to
go to another wedding," he replied, "although it is quite a
different affair to the one we saw last night. Your sister's large
doll, that is dressed like a man, and is called Herman, intends to
marry the doll Bertha. It is also the dolls' birthday, and they will
receive many presents."

"Yes, I know that already," said Hjalmar, "my sister always allows
her dolls to keep their birthdays or to have a wedding when they
require new clothes; that has happened already a hundred times, I am
quite sure."

"Yes, so it may; but to-night is the hundred and first wedding,
and when that has taken place it must be the last, therefore this is
to be extremely beautiful. Only look."

Hjalmar looked at the table, and there stood the little card-board
doll's house, with lights in all the windows, and drawn up before it
were the tin soldiers presenting arms. The bridal pair were seated
on the floor, leaning against the leg of the table, looking very
thoughtful, and with good reason. Then Ole-Luk-Oie dressed up in
grandmother's black gown married them.

As soon as the ceremony was concluded, all the furniture in the
room joined in singing a beautiful song, which had been composed by
the lead pencil, and which went to the melody of a military tattoo.

  "What merry sounds are on the wind,
  As marriage rites together bind
  A quiet and a loving pair,
  Though formed of kid, yet smooth and fair!
  Hurrah! If they are deaf and blind,
  We'll sing, though weather prove unkind."


And now came the present; but the bridal pair had nothing to
eat, for love was to be their food.

"Shall we go to a country house, or travel?" asked the bridegroom.

Then they consulted the swallow who had travelled so far, and
the old hen in the yard, who had brought up five broods of chickens.

And the swallow talked to them of warm countries, where the grapes
hang in large clusters on the vines, and the air is soft and mild, and
about the mountains glowing with colors more beautiful than we can
think of.

"But they have no red cabbage like we have," said the hen, "I
was once in the country with my chickens for a whole summer, there was
a large sand-pit, in which we could walk about and scratch as we
liked. Then we got into a garden in which grew red cabbage; oh, how
nice it was, I cannot think of anything more delicious."

"But one cabbage stalk is exactly like another," said the swallow;
"and here we have often bad weather."

"Yes, but we are accustomed to it," said the hen.

"But it is so cold here, and freezes sometimes."

"Cold weather is good for cabbages," said the hen; "besides we
do have it warm here sometimes. Four years ago, we had a summer that
lasted more than five weeks, and it was so hot one could scarcely
breathe. And then in this country we have no poisonous animals, and we
are free from robbers. He must be wicked who does not consider our
country the finest of all lands. He ought not to be allowed to live
here." And then the hen wept very much and said, "I have also
travelled. I once went twelve miles in a coop, and it was not pleasant
travelling at all."

"The hen is a sensible woman," said the doll Bertha. "I don't care
for travelling over mountains, just to go up and come down again.
No, let us go to the sand-pit in front of the gate, and then take a
walk in the cabbage garden."

And so they settled it.


SATURDAY

"Am I to hear any more stories?" asked little Hjalmar, as soon
as Ole-Luk-Oie had sent him to sleep.

"We shall have no time this evening," said he, spreading out his
prettiest umbrella over the child. "Look at these Chinese," and then
the whole umbrella appeared like a large china bowl, with blue trees
and pointed bridges, upon which stood little Chinamen nodding their
heads. "We must make all the world beautiful for to-morrow morning,"
said Ole-Luk-Oie, "for it will be a holiday, it is Sunday. I must
now go to the church steeple and see if the little sprites who live
there have polished the bells, so that they may sound sweetly. Then
I must go into the fields and see if the wind has blown the dust
from the grass and the leaves, and the most difficult task of all
which I have to do, is to take down all the stars and brighten them
up. I have to number them first before I put them in my apron, and
also to number the places from which I take them, so that they may
go back into the right holes, or else they would not remain, and we
should have a number of falling stars, for they would all tumble
down one after the other."

"Hark ye! Mr. Luk-Oie," said an old portrait which hung on the
wall of Hjalmar's bedroom. "Do you know me? I am Hjalmar's
great-grandfather. I thank you for telling the boy stories, but you
must not confuse his ideas. The stars cannot be taken down from the
sky and polished; they are spheres like our earth, which is a good
thing for them."

"Thank you, old great-grandfather," said Ole-Luk-Oie. "I thank
you; you may be the head of the family, as no doubt you are, but I
am older than you. I am an ancient heathen. The old Romans and
Greeks named me the Dream-god. I have visited the noblest houses,
and continue to do so; still I know how to conduct myself both to high
and low, and now you may tell the stories yourself:" and so
Ole-Luk-Oie walked off, taking his umbrellas with him.

"Well, well, one is never to give an opinion, I suppose," grumbled
the portrait. And it woke Hjalmar.


SUNDAY

"Good evening," said Ole-Luk-Oie.

Hjalmar nodded, and then sprang out of bed, and turned his
great-grandfather's portrait to the wall, so that it might not
interrupt them as it had done yesterday. "Now," said he, "you must
tell me some stories about five green peas that lived in one pod; or
of the chickseed that courted the chickweed; or of the darning needle,
who acted so proudly because she fancied herself an embroidery
needle."

"You may have too much of a good thing," said Ole-Luk-Oie. "You
know that I like best to show you something, so I will show you my
brother. He is also called Ole-Luk-Oie but he never visits any one but
once, and when he does come, he takes him away on his horse, and tells
him stories as they ride along. He knows only two stories. One of
these is so wonderfully beautiful, that no one in the world can
imagine anything at all like it; but the other is just as ugly and
frightful, so that it would be impossible to describe it." Then
Ole-Luk-Oie lifted Hjalmar up to the window. "There now, you can see
my brother, the other Ole-Luk-Oie; he is also called Death. You
perceive he is not so bad as they represent him in picture books;
there he is a skeleton, but now his coat is embroidered with silver,
and he wears the splendid uniform of a hussar, and a mantle of black
velvet flies behind him, over the horse. Look, how he gallops
along." Hjalmar saw that as this Ole-Luk-Oie rode on, he lifted up old
and young, and carried them away on his horse. Some he seated in front
of him, and some behind, but always inquired first, "How stands the
mark-book?"

"Good," they all answered.

"Yes, but let me see for myself," he replied; and they were
obliged to give him the books. Then all those who had "Very good,"
or "Exceedingly good," came in front of the horse, and heard the
beautiful story; while those who had "Middling," or "Tolerably
good," in their books, were obliged to sit behind, and listen to the
frightful tale. They trembled and cried, and wanted to jump down
from the horse, but they could not get free, for they seemed
fastened to the seat.

"Why, Death is a most splendid Luk-Oie," said Hjalmar. "I am not
in the least afraid of him."

"You need have no fear of him," said Ole-Luk-Oie, "if you take
care and keep a good conduct book."

"Now I call that very instructive," murmured the
great-grandfather's portrait. "It is useful sometimes to express an
opinion;" so he was quite satisfied.

These are some of the doings and sayings of Ole-Luk-Oie. I hope he
may visit you himself this evening, and relate some more.




OLE THE TOWER-KEEPER

"In the world it's always going up and down; and now I can't go up
any higher!" So said Ole the tower-keeper. "Most people have to try
both the ups and the downs; and, rightly considered, we all get to
be watchmen at last, and look down upon life from a height."

Such was the speech of Ole, my friend, the old tower-keeper, a
strange, talkative old fellow, who seemed to speak out everything that
came into his head, and who for all that had many a serious thought
deep in his heart. Yes, he was the child of respectable people, and
there were even some who said that he was the son of a privy
councillor, or that he might have been. He had studied, too, and had
been assistant teacher and deputy clerk; but of what service was all
that to him? In those days he lived in the clerk's house, and was to
have everything in the house--to be at free quarters, as the saying
is; but he was still, so to speak, a fine young gentleman. He wanted
to have his boots cleaned with patent blacking, and the clerk could
only afford ordinary grease; and upon that point they split. One spoke
of stinginess, the other of vanity, and the blacking became the
black cause of enmity between them, and at last they parted.

This is what he demanded of the world in general, namely, patent
blacking, and he got nothing but grease. Accordingly, he at last
drew back from all men, and became a hermit; but the church tower is
the only place in a great city where hermitage, office and bread can
be found together. So he betook himself up thither, and smoked his
pipe as he made his solitary rounds. He looked upward and downward,
and had his own thoughts, and told in his own way of what he read in
books and in himself. I often lent him books--good books; and you
may know by the company he keeps. He loved neither the English
governess novels nor the French ones, which he called a mixture of
empty wind and raisin-stalks: he wanted biographies, and
descriptions of the wonders of, the world. I visited him at least once
a year, generally directly after New Year's day, and then he always
spoke of this and that which the change of the year had put into his
head.

I will tell the story of three of these visits, and will reproduce
his own words whenever I can remember them.


FIRST VISIT

Among the books which I had lately lent Ole, was one which had
greatly rejoiced and occupied him. It was a geological book,
containing an account of the boulders.

"Yes, they're rare old fellows, those boulders!" he said; "and
to think that we should pass them without noticing them! And over
the street pavement, the paving stones, those fragments of the
oldest remains of antiquity, one walks without ever thinking about
them. I have done the very thing myself. But now I look respectfully
at every paving-stone. Many thanks for the book! It has filled me with
thought, and has made me long to read more on the subject. The romance
of the earth is, after all, the most wonderful of all romances. It's a
pity one can't read the first volume of it, because it is written in a
language that we don't understand. One must read in the different
strata, in the pebble-stones, for each separate period. Yes, it is a
romance, a very wonderful romance, and we all have our place in it. We
grope and ferret about, and yet remain where we are; but the ball
keeps turning, without emptying the ocean over us; the clod on which
we move about, holds, and does not let us through. And then it's a
story that has been acting for thousands upon thousands of years and
is still going on. My best thanks for the book about the boulders.
Those are fellows indeed! They could tell us something worth
hearing, if they only knew how to talk. It's really a pleasure now and
then to become a mere nothing, especially when a man is as highly
placed as I am. And then to think that we all, even with patent
lacquer, are nothing more than insects of a moment on that ant-hill
the earth, though we may be insects with stars and garters, places and
offices! One feels quite a novice beside these venerable
million-year-old boulders. On last New Year's eve I was reading the
book, and had lost myself in it so completely, that I forgot my
usual New Year's diversion, namely, the wild hunt to Amack. Ah, you
don't know what that is!

"The journey of the witches on broomsticks is well enough known--that
journey is taken on St. John's eve, to the Brocken; but we have a
wild journey, also which is national and modern, and that is the
journey to Amack on the night of the New Year. All indifferent poets
and poetesses, musicians, newspaper writers, and artistic
notabilities,--I mean those who are no good,--ride in the New Year's
night through the air to Amack. They sit backwards on their painting
brushes or quill pens, for steel pens won't bear them--they're too
stiff. As I told you, I see that every New Year's night, and could
mention the majority of the riders by name, but I should not like to
draw their enmity upon myself, for they don't like people to talk
about their ride to Amack on quill pens. I've a kind of niece, who
is a fishwife, and who, as she tells me, supplies three respectable
newspapers with the terms of abuse and vituperation they use, and
she has herself been at Amack as an invited guest; but she was carried
out thither, for she does not own a quill pen, nor can she ride. She
has told me all about it. Half of what she said is not true, but the
other half gives us information enough. When she was out there, the
festivities began with a song; each of the guests had written his
own song, and each one sang his own song, for he thought that the
best, and it was all one, all the same melody. Then those came
marching up, in little bands, who are only busy with their mouths.
There were ringing bells that rang alternately; and then came the
little drummers that beat their tattoo in the family circle; and
acquaintance was made with those who write without putting their
names, which here means as much as using grease instead of patent
blacking; and then there was the beadle with his boy, and the boy
was worst off, for in general he gets no notice taken of him; then,
too, there was the good street sweeper with his cart, who turns over
the dust-bin, and calls it 'good, very good, remarkably good.' And
in the midst of the pleasure that was afforded by the mere meeting
of these folks, there shot up out of the great dirt-heap at Amack a
stem, a tree, an immense flower, a great mushroom, a perfect roof,
which formed a sort of warehouse for the worthy company, for in it
hung everything they had given to the world during the Old Year. Out
of the tree poured sparks like flames of fire; these were the ideas
and thoughts, borrowed from others, which they had used, and which now
got free and rushed away like so many fireworks. They played at 'the
stick burns,' and the young poets played at 'heart-burns,' and the
witlings played off their jests, and the jests rolled away with a
thundering sound, as if empty pots were being shattered against doors.
'It was very amusing!' my niece said; in fact, she said many things
that were very malicious but very amusing, but I won't mention them,
for a man must be good-natured, and not a carping critic. But you will
easily perceive that when a man once knows the rights of the journey
to Amack, as I know them, it's quite natural that on the New Year's
night one should look out to see the wild chase go by. If in the New
Year I miss certain persons who used to be there, I am sure to
notice others who are new arrivals; but this year I omitted taking
my look at the guests, I bowled away on the boulders, rolled back
through millions of years, and saw the stones break loose high up in
the north, saw them drifting about on icebergs, long before Noah's ark
was constructed, saw them sink down to the bottom of the sea, and
re-appear with a sand-bank, with that one that peered forth from the
flood and said, 'This shall be Zealand!' I saw them become the
dwelling-place of birds that are unknown to us, and then become the
seat of wild chiefs of whom we know nothing, until with their axes
they cut their Runic signs into a few of these stones, which then came
into the calendar of time. But as for me, I had gone quite beyond
all lapse of time, and had become a cipher and a nothing. Then three
or four beautiful falling stars came down, which cleared the air,
and gave my thoughts another direction. You know what a falling star
is, do you not? The learned men are not at all clear about it. I
have my own ideas about shooting stars, as the common people in many
parts call them, and my idea is this: How often are silent
thanksgivings offered up for one who has done a good and noble action!
The thanks are often speechless, but they are not lost for all that. I
think these thanks are caught up, and the sunbeams bring the silent,
hidden thankfulness over the head of the benefactor; and if it be a
whole people that has been expressing its gratitude through a long
lapse of time, the thankfulness appears as a nosegay of flowers, and
at length falls in the form of a shooting star over the good man's
grave. I am always very much pleased when I see a shooting star,
especially in the New Year's night, and then find out for whom the
gift of gratitude was intended. Lately a gleaming star fell in the
southwest, as a tribute of thanksgiving to many--many! 'For whom was
that star intended?' thought I. It fell, no doubt, on the hill by
the Bay of Plensberg, where the Danebrog waves over the graves of
Schleppegrell, Lasloes, and their comrades. One star also fell in
the midst of the land, fell upon Soro, a flower on the grave of
Holberg, the thanks of the year from a great many--thanks for his
charming plays!

"It is a great and pleasant thought to know that a shooting star
falls upon our graves. On mine certainly none will fall--no sunbeam
brings thanks to me, for here there is nothing worthy of thanks. I
shall not get the patent lacquer," said Ole, "for my fate on earth
is only grease, after all."


SECOND VISIT

It was New Year's day, and I went up on the tower. Ole spoke of
the toasts that were drunk on the transition from the Old Year into
the New--from one grave into the other, as he said. And he told me a
story about the glasses, and this story had a very deep meaning. It
was this:

"When on the New Year's night the clock strikes twelve, the people
at the table rise up with full glasses in their hands, and drain these
glasses, and drink success to the New Year. They begin the year with
the glass in their hands; that is a good beginning for drunkards. They
begin the New Year by going to bed, and that's a good beginning for
drones. Sleep is sure to play a great part in the New Year, and the
glass likewise. Do you know what dwells in the glass?" asked Ole. "I
will tell you. There dwell in the glass, first, health, and then
pleasure, then the most complete sensual delight; and misfortune and
the bitterest woe dwell in the glass also. Now, suppose we count the
glasses--of course I count the different degrees in the glasses for
different people.

"You see, the first glass, that's the glass of health, and in that
the herb of health is found growing. Put it up on the beam in the
ceiling, and at the end of the year you may be sitting in the arbor of
health.

"If you take the second glass--from this a little bird soars
upward, twittering in guileless cheerfulness, so that a man may listen
to his song, and perhaps join in 'Fair is life! no downcast looks!
Take courage, and march onward!'

"Out of the third glass rises a little winged urchin, who cannot
certainly be called an angel child, for there is goblin blood in his
veins, and he has the spirit of a goblin--not wishing to hurt or
harm you, indeed, but very ready to play off tricks upon you. He'll
sit at your ear and whisper merry thoughts to you; he'll creep into
your heart and warm you, so that you grow very merry, and become a
wit, so far as the wits of the others can judge.

"In the fourth glass is neither herb, bird, nor urchin. In that
glass is the pause drawn by reason, and one may never go beyond that
sign.

"Take the fifth glass, and you will weep at yourself, you will
feel such a deep emotion; or it will affect you in a different way.
Out of the glass there will spring with a bang Prince Carnival, nine
times and extravagantly merry. He'll draw you away with him; you'll
forget your dignity, if you have any, and you'll forget more than
you should or ought to forget. All is dance, song and sound: the masks
will carry you away with them, and the daughters of vanity, clad in
silk and satin, will come with loose hair and alluring charms; but
tear yourself away if you can!

"The sixth glass! Yes, in that glass sits a demon, in the form
of a little, well dressed, attractive and very fascinating man, who
thoroughly understands you, agrees with you in everything, and becomes
quite a second self to you. He has a lantern with him, to give you
light as he accompanies you home. There is an old legend about a saint
who was allowed to choose one of the seven deadly sins, and who
accordingly chose drunkenness, which appeared to him the least, but
which led him to commit all the other six. The man's blood is
mingled with that of the demon. It is the sixth glass, and with that
the germ of all evil shoots up within us; and each one grows up with a
strength like that of the grains of mustard-seed, and shoots up into a
tree, and spreads over the whole world: and most people have no choice
but to go into the oven, to be re-cast in a new form.

"That's the history of the glasses," said the tower-keeper Ole,
"and it can be told with lacquer or only with grease; but I give it
you with both!"


THIRD VISIT

On this occasion I chose the general "moving-day" for my visit
to Ole, for on that day it is anything but agreeable down in the
streets in the town; for they are full of sweepings, shreds, and
remnants of all sorts, to say nothing of the cast-off rubbish in which
one has to wade about. But this time I happened to see two children
playing in this wilderness of sweepings. They were playing at "going
to bed," for the occasion seemed especially favorable for this
sport. They crept under the straw, and drew an old bit of ragged
curtain over themselves by way of coverlet. "It was splendid!" they
said; but it was a little too strong for me, and besides, I was
obliged to mount up on my visit to Ole.

"It's moving-day to day," he said; "streets and houses are like
a dust-bin--a large dust-bin; but I'm content with a cartload. I may
get something good out of that, and I really did get something good
out of it once. Shortly after Christmas I was going up the street;
it was rough weather, wet and dirty--the right kind of weather to
catch cold in. The dustman was there with his cart, which was full,
and looked like a sample of streets on moving-day. At the back of
the cart stood a fir tree, quite green still, and with tinsel on its
twigs; it had been used on Christmas eve, and now it was thrown out
into the street, and the dustman had stood it up at the back of his
cart. It was droll to look at, or you may say it was mournful--all
depends on what you think of when you see it; and I thought about
it, and thought this and that of many things that were in the cart: or
I might have done so, and that comes to the same thing. There was an
old lady's glove, too: I wonder what that was thinking of? Shall I
tell you? The glove was lying there, pointing with its little finger
at the tree. 'I'm sorry for the tree,' it thought; 'and I was also
at the feast, where the chandeliers glittered. My life was, so to
speak, a ball night--a pressure of the hand, and I burst! My memory
keeps dwelling upon that, and I have really nothing else to live for!'
This is what the glove thought, or what it might have thought. 'That's
a stupid affair with yonder fir tree,' said the potsherds. You see,
potsherds think everything is stupid. 'When one is in the
dust-cart,' they said, 'one ought not to give one's self airs and wear
tinsel. I know that I have been useful in the world--far more useful
than such a green stick.' This was a view that might be taken, and I
don't think it quite a peculiar one; but for all that, the fir tree
looked very well: it was like a little poetry in the dust-heap; and
truly there is dust enough in the streets on moving-day. The way is
difficult and troublesome then, and I feel obliged to run away out
of the confusion; or, if I am on the tower, I stay there and look
down, and it is amusing enough.

"There are the good people below, playing at 'changing houses.'
They toil and tug away with their goods and chattels, and the
household goblin sits in an old tub and moves with them. All the
little griefs of the lodging and the family, and the real cares and
sorrows, move with them out of the old dwelling into the new; and what
gain is there for them or for us in the whole affair? Yes, there was
written long ago the good old maxim: 'Think on the great moving-day of
death!' That is a serious thought. I hope it is not disagreeable to
you that I should have touched upon it? Death is the most certain
messenger, after all, in spite of his various occupations. Yes,
Death is the omnibus conductor, and he is the passport writer, and
he countersigns our service-book, and he is director of the savings
bank of life. Do you understand me? All the deeds of our life, the
great and the little alike, we put into this savings bank; and when
Death calls with his omnibus, and we have to step in, and drive with
him into the land of eternity, then on the frontier he gives us our
service-book as a pass. As a provision for the journey, he takes
this or that good deed we have done, and lets it accompany us; and
this may be very pleasant or very terrific. Nobody has ever escaped
the omnibus journey. There is certainly a talk about one who was not
allowed to go--they call him the Wandering Jew: he has to ride
behind the omnibus. If he had been allowed to get in, he would have
escaped the clutches of the poets.

"Just cast your mind's eye into that great omnibus. The society is
mixed, for king and beggar, genius and idiot, sit side by side. They
must go without their property and money; they have only the
service-book and the gift out of the savings bank with them. But which
of our deeds is selected and given to us? Perhaps quite a little
one, one that we have forgotten, but which has been recorded--small as
a pea, but the pea can send out a blooming shoot. The poor bumpkin who
sat on a low stool in the corner, and was jeered at and flouted,
will perhaps have his worn-out stool given him as a provision; and the
stool may become a litter in the land of eternity, and rise up then as
a throne, gleaming like gold and blooming as an arbor. He who always
lounged about, and drank the spiced draught of pleasure, that he might
forget the wild things he had done here, will have his barrel given to
him on the journey, and will have to drink from it as they go on;
and the drink is bright and clear, so that the thoughts remain pure,
and all good and noble feelings are awakened, and he sees and feels
what in life he could not or would not see; and then he has within him
the punishment, the gnawing worm, which will not die through time
incalculable. If on the glasses there stood written 'oblivion,' on the
barrel 'remembrance' is inscribed.

"When I read a good book, an historical work, I always think at
last of the poetry of what I am reading, and of the omnibus of
death, and wonder, which of the hero's deeds Death took out of the
savings bank for him, and what provisions he got on the journey into
eternity. There was once a French king--I have forgotten his name, for
the names of good people are sometimes forgotten, even by me, but it
will come back some day;--there was a king who, during a famine,
became the benefactor of his people; and the people raised up to his
memory a monument of snow, with the inscription, 'Quicker than this
melts didst thou bring help!' I fancy that Death, looking back upon
the monument, gave him a single snow-flake as provision, a
snow-flake that never melts, and this flake floated over his royal
head, like a white butterfly, into the land of eternity. Thus, too,
there was Louis XI. I have remembered his name, for one remembers what
is bad--a trait of him often comes into my thoughts, and I wish one
could say the story is not true. He had his lord high constable
executed, and he could execute him, right or wrong; but he had the
innocent children of the constable, one seven and the other eight
years old, placed under the scaffold so that the warm blood of their
father spurted over them, and then he had them sent to the Bastille,
and shut up in iron cages, where not even a coverlet was given them to
protect them from the cold. And King Louis sent the executioner to
them every week, and had a tooth pulled out of the head of each,
that they might not be too comfortable; and the elder of the boys
said, 'My mother would die of grief if she knew that my younger
brother had to suffer so cruelly; therefore pull out two of my
teeth, and spare him.' The tears came into the hangman's eyes, but the
king's will was stronger than the tears; and every week two little
teeth were brought to him on a silver plate; he had demanded them, and
he had them. I fancy that Death took these two teeth out of the
savings bank of life, and gave them to Louis XI, to carry with him
on the great journey into the land of immortality; they fly before him
like two flames of fire; they shine and burn, and they bite him, the
innocent children's teeth.

"Yes, that's a serious journey, the omnibus ride on the great
moving-day! And when is it to be undertaken? That's just the serious
part of it. Any day, any hour, any minute, the omnibus may draw up.
Which of our deeds will Death take out of the savings bank, and give
to us as provision? Let us think of the moving-day that is not
marked in the calendar."




OUR AUNT

You ought to have known our aunt; she was charming! That is to
say, she was not charming at all as the word is usually understood;
but she was good and kind, amusing in her way, and was just as any one
ought to be whom people are to talk about and to laugh at. She might
have been put into a play, and wholly and solely on account of the
fact that she only lived for the theatre and for what was done
there. She was an honorable matron; but Agent Fabs, whom she used to
call "Flabs," declared that our aunt was stage-struck.

"The theatre is my school," said she, "the source of my knowledge.
From thence I have resuscitated Biblical history. Now, 'Moses' and
'Joseph in Egypt'--there are operas for you! I get my universal
history from the theatre, my geography, and my knowledge of men. Out
of the French pieces I get to know life in Paris--slippery, but
exceedingly interesting. How I have cried over 'La Famille
Roquebourg'--that the man must drink himself to death, so that she may
marry the young fellow! Yes, how many tears I have wept in the fifty
years I have subscribed to the theatre!"

Our aunt knew every acting play, every bit of scenery, every
character, every one who appeared or had appeared. She seemed really
only to live during the nine months the theatre was open. Summertime
without a summer theatre seemed to be only a time that made her old;
while, on the other hand, a theatrical evening that lasted till
midnight was a lengthening of her life. She did not say, as other
people do, "Now we shall have spring, the stork is here," or, "They've
advertised the first strawberries in the papers." She, on the
contrary, used to announce the coming of autumn, with "Have you
heard they're selling boxes for the theatre? now the performances will
begin."

She used to value a lodging entirely according to its proximity to
the theatre. It was a real sorrow to her when she had to leave the
little lane behind the playhouse, and move into the great street
that lay a little farther off, and live there in a house where she had
no opposite neighbors.

"At home," said she, "my windows must be my opera-box. One
cannot sit and look into one's self till one's tired; one must see
people. But now I live just as if I'd go into the country. If I want
to see human beings, I must go into my kitchen, and sit down on the
sink, for there only I have opposite neighbors. No; when I lived in my
dear little lane, I could look straight down into the ironmonger's
shop, and had only three hundred paces to the theatre; and now I've
three thousand paces to go, military measurement."

Our aunt was sometimes ill, but however unwell she might feel, she
never missed the play. The doctor prescribed one day that she should
put her feet in a bran bath, and she followed his advice; but she
drove to the theatre all the same, and sat with her feet in bran
there. If she had died there, she would have been very glad.
Thorwaldsen died in the theatre, and she called that a happy death.

She could not imagine but that in heaven there must be a theatre
too. It had not, indeed, been promised us, but we might very well
imagine it. The many distinguished actors and actresses who had passed
away must surely have a field for their talent.

Our aunt had an electric wire from the theatre to her room. A
telegram used to be dispatched to her at coffee-time, and it used to
consist of the words, "Herr Sivertsen is at the machinery;" for it was
he who gave the signal for drawing the curtain up and down and for
changing the scenes.

From him she used to receive a short and concise description of
every piece. His opinion of Shakspeare's "Tempest," was, "Mad
nonsense! There's so much to put up, and the first scene begins with
'Water to the front of the wings.'" That is to say, the water had to
come forward so far. But when, on the other hand, the same interior
scene remained through five acts, he used to pronounce it a
sensible, well-written play, a resting play, which performed itself,
without putting up scenes.

In earlier times, by which name our aunt used to designate
thirty years ago, she and the before-mentioned Herr Sivertsen had been
younger. At that time he had already been connected with the
machinery, and was, as she said, her benefactor. It used to be the
custom in those days that in the evening performances in the only
theatre the town possessed, spectators were admitted to the part
called the "flies," over the stage, and every machinist had one or two
places to give away. Often the flies were quite full of good
company; it was said that generals' wives and privy councillors' wives
had been up there. It was quite interesting to look down behind the
scenes, and to see how the people walked to and fro on the stage
when the curtain was down.

Our aunt had been there several times, as well when there was a
tragedy as when there was a ballet; for the pieces in which there were
the greatest number of characters on the stage were the most
interesting to see from the flies. One sat pretty much in the dark
up there, and most people took their supper up with them. Once three
apples and a great piece of bread and butter and sausage fell down
right into the dungeon of Ugolino, where that unhappy man was to be
starved to death; and there was great laughter among the audience. The
sausage was one of the weightiest reasons why the worthy management
refused in future to have any spectators up in the flies.

"But I was there seven-and-thirty times," said our aunt, "and I
shall always remember Mr. Sivertsen for that."

On the very last evening when the flies were still open to the
public, the "Judgment of Solomon" was performed, as our aunt
remembered very well. She had, through the influence of her
benefactor, Herr Sivertsen, procured a free admission for the Agent
Fabs, although he did not deserve it in the least, for he was always
cutting his jokes about the theatre and teasing our aunt; but she
had procured him a free admission to the flies, for all that. He
wanted to look at this player-stuff from the other side.

"Those were his own words, and they were just like him," said
our aunt.

He looked down from above on the 'Judgment of Solomon,' and fell
asleep over it. One would have thought that he had come from a
dinner where many toasts had been given. He went to sleep, and was
locked in. And there he sat through the dark night in the flies, and
when he woke, he told a story, but our aunt would not believe it.

"The 'Judgment of Solomon' was over," he said, "and all the people
had gone away, up stairs and down stairs; but now the real play began,
the after-piece, which was the best of all," said the agent. "Then
life came into the affair. It was not the 'Judgment of Solomon' that
was performed; no, a real court of judgment was held upon the
stage." And Agent Fabs had the impudence to try and make our aunt
believe all this. That was the thanks she got for having got him a
place in the flies.

What did the agent say? Why, it was curious enough to hear, but
there was malice and satire in it.

"It looked dark enough up there," said the agent; "but then the
magic business began--a great performance, 'The Judgment in the
Theatre.' The box-keepers were at their posts, and every spectator had
to show his ghostly pass-book, that it might be decided if he was to
be admitted with hands loose or bound, and with or without a muzzle.
Grand people who came too late, when the performance had begun, and
young people, who could not always watch the time, were tied up
outside, and had list slippers put on their feet, with which they were
allowed to go in before the beginning of the next act, and they had
muzzles too. And then the 'Judgment on the Stage' began."

"All malice, and not a bit of truth in it," said our aunt.

The painter, who wanted to get to Paradise, had to go up a
staircase which he had himself painted, but which no man could
mount. That was to expiate his sins against perspective. All the
plants and buildings, which the property-man had placed, with infinite
pains, in countries to which they did not belong, the poor fellow
was obliged to put in their right places before cockcrow, if he wanted
to get into Paradise. Let Herr Fabs see how he would get in himself;
but what he said of the performers, tragedians and comedians,
singers and dancers, that was the most rascally of all. Mr. Fabs,
indeed!--Flabs! He did not deserve to be admitted at all, and our aunt
would not soil her lips with what he said. And he said, did Flabs,
that the whole was written down, and it should be printed when he
was dead and buried, but not before, for he would not risk having
his arms and legs broken.

Once our aunt had been in fear and trembling in her temple of
happiness, the theatre. It was on a winter day, one of those days in
which one has a couple of hours of daylight, with a gray sky. It was
terribly cold and snowy, but aunt must go to the theatre. A little
opera and a great ballet were performed, and a prologue and an
epilogue into the bargain; and that would last till late at night. Our
aunt must needs go; so she borrowed a pair of fur boots of her
lodger--boots with fur inside and out, and which reached far up
her legs.

She got to the theatre, and to her box; the boots were warm, and
she kept them on. Suddenly there was a cry of "Fire!" Smoke was coming
from one of the side scenes, and streamed down from the flies, and
there was a terrible panic. The people came rushing out, and our
aunt was the last in the box, "on the second tier, left-hand side, for
from there the scenery looks best," she used to say. "The scenes are
always arranged that they look best from the King's side." Aunt wanted
to come out, but the people before her, in their fright and
heedlessness, slammed the door of the box; and there sat our aunt, and
couldn't get out, and couldn't get in; that is to say, she couldn't
get into the next box, for the partition was too high for her. She
called out, and no one heard her; she looked down into the tier of
boxes below her, and it was empty, and low, and looked quite near, and
aunt in her terror felt quite young and light. She thought of
jumping down, and had got one leg over the partition, the other
resting on the bench. There she sat astride, as if on horseback,
well wrapped up in her flowered cloak with one leg hanging out--a
leg in a tremendous fur boot. That was a sight to behold; and when
it was beheld, our aunt was heard too, and was saved from burning, for
the theatre was not burned down.

That was the most memorable evening of her life, and she was
glad that she could not see herself, for she would have died with
confusion.

Her benefactor in the machinery department, Herr Sivertsen,
visited her every Sunday, but it was a long time from Sunday to
Sunday. In the latter time, therefore, she used to have in a little
child "for the scraps;" that is to say, to eat up the remains of the
dinner. It was a child employed in the ballet, one that certainly
wanted feeding. The little one used to appear, sometimes as an elf,
sometimes as a page; the most difficult part she had to play was the
lion's hind leg in the "Magic Flute;" but as she grew larger she could
represent the fore-feet of the lion. She certainly only got half a
guilder for that, whereas the hind legs were paid for with a whole
guilder; but then she had to walk bent, and to do without fresh air.
"That was all very interesting to hear," said our aunt.

She deserved to live as long as the theatre stood, but she could
not last so long; and she did not die in the theatre, but
respectably in her bed. Her last words were, moreover, not without
meaning. She asked,

"What will the play be to-morrow?"

At her death she left about five hundred dollars. We presume
this from the interest, which came to twenty dollars. This our aunt
had destined as a legacy for a worthy old spinster who had no friends;
it was to be devoted to a yearly subscription for a place in the
second tier, on the left side, for the Saturday evening, "for on
that evening two pieces were always given," it said in the will; and
the only condition laid upon the person who enjoyed the legacy was,
that she should think, every Saturday evening, of our aunt, who was
lying in her grave.

This was our aunt's religion.




THE GARDEN OF PARADISE

There was once a king's son who had a larger and more beautiful
collection of books than any one else in the world, and full of
splendid copper-plate engravings. He could read and obtain information
respecting every people of every land; but not a word could he find to
explain the situation of the garden of paradise, and this was just
what he most wished to know. His grandmother had told him when he
was quite a little boy, just old enough to go to school, that each
flower in the garden of paradise was a sweet cake, that the pistils
were full of rich wine, that on one flower history was written, on
another geography or tables; so those who wished to learn their
lessons had only to eat some of the cakes, and the more they ate,
the more history, geography, or tables they knew. He believed it all
then; but as he grew older, and learnt more and more, he became wise
enough to understand that the splendor of the garden of paradise
must be very different to all this. "Oh, why did Eve pluck the fruit
from the tree of knowledge? why did Adam eat the forbidden fruit?"
thought the king's son: "if I had been there it would never have
happened, and there would have been no sin in the world." The garden
of paradise occupied all his thoughts till he reached his
seventeenth year.

One day he was walking alone in the wood, which was his greatest
pleasure, when evening came on. The clouds gathered, and the rain
poured down as if the sky had been a waterspout; and it was as dark as
the bottom of a well at midnight; sometimes he slipped over the smooth
grass, or fell over stones that projected out of the rocky ground.
Every thing was dripping with moisture, and the poor prince had not
a dry thread about him. He was obliged at last to climb over great
blocks of stone, with water spurting from the thick moss. He began
to feel quite faint, when he heard a most singular rushing noise,
and saw before him a large cave, from which came a blaze of light.
In the middle of the cave an immense fire was burning, and a noble
stag, with its branching horns, was placed on a spit between the
trunks of two pine-trees. It was turning slowly before the fire, and
an elderly woman, as large and strong as if she had been a man in
disguise, sat by, throwing one piece of wood after another into the
flames.

"Come in," she said to the prince; "sit down by the fire and dry
yourself."

"There is a great draught here," said the prince, as he seated
himself on the ground.

"It will be worse when my sons come home," replied the woman; "you
are now in the cavern of the Winds, and my sons are the four Winds
of heaven: can you understand that?"

"Where are your sons?" asked the prince.

"It is difficult to answer stupid questions," said the woman.
"My sons have plenty of business on hand; they are playing at
shuttlecock with the clouds up yonder in the king's hall," and she
pointed upwards.

"Oh, indeed," said the prince; "but you speak more roughly and
harshly and are not so gentle as the women I am used to."

"Yes, that is because they have nothing else to do; but I am
obliged to be harsh, to keep my boys in order, and I can do it,
although they are so head-strong. Do you see those four sacks
hanging on the wall? Well, they are just as much afraid of those
sacks, as you used to be of the rat behind the looking-glass. I can
bend the boys together, and put them in the sacks without any
resistance on their parts, I can tell you. There they stay, and dare
not attempt to come out until I allow them to do so. And here comes
one of them."

It was the North Wind who came in, bringing with him a cold,
piercing blast; large hailstones rattled on the floor, and
snowflakes were scattered around in all directions. He wore a bearskin
dress and cloak. His sealskin cap was drawn over his ears, long
icicles hung from his beard, and one hailstone after another rolled
from the collar of his jacket.

"Don't go too near the fire," said the prince, "or your hands
and face will be frost-bitten."

"Frost-bitten!" said the North Wind, with a loud laugh; "why frost
is my greatest delight. What sort of a little snip are you, and how
did you find your way to the cavern of the Winds?"

"He is my guest," said the old woman, "and if you are not
satisfied with that explanation you can go into the sack. Do you
understand me?"

That settled the matter. So the North Wind began to relate his
adventures, whence he came, and where he had been for a whole month.
"I come from the polar seas," he said; "I have been on the Bear's
Island with the Russian walrus-hunters. I sat and slept at the helm of
their ship, as they sailed away from North Cape. Sometimes when I
woke, the storm-birds would fly about my legs. They are curious birds;
they give one flap with their wings, and then on their outstretched
pinions soar far away.

"Don't make such a long story of it," said the mother of the
winds; "what sort of a place is Bear's Island?"

"A very beautiful place, with a floor for dancing as smooth and
flat as a plate. Half-melted snow, partly covered with moss, sharp
stones, and skeletons of walruses and polar-bears, lie all about,
their gigantic limbs in a state of green decay. It would seem as if
the sun never shone there. I blew gently, to clear away the mist,
and then I saw a little hut, which had been built from the wood of a
wreck, and was covered with the skins of the walrus, the fleshy side
outwards; it looked green and red, and on the roof sat a growling
bear. Then I went to the sea shore, to look after birds' nests, and
saw the unfledged nestlings opening their mouths and screaming for
food. I blew into the thousand little throats, and quickly stopped
their screaming. Farther on were the walruses with pig's heads, and
teeth a yard long, rolling about like great worms.

"You relate your adventures very well, my son," said the mother,
"it makes my mouth water to hear you.

"After that," continued the North Wind, "the hunting commenced.
The harpoon was flung into the breast of the walrus, so that a smoking
stream of blood spurted forth like a fountain, and besprinkled the
ice. Then I thought of my own game; I began to blow, and set my own
ships, the great icebergs sailing, so that they might crush the boats.
Oh, how the sailors howled and cried out! but I howled louder than
they. They were obliged to unload their cargo, and throw their
chests and the dead walruses on the ice. Then I sprinkled snow over
them, and left them in their crushed boats to drift southward, and
to taste salt water. They will never return to Bear's Island."

"So you have done mischief," said the mother of the Winds.

"I shall leave others to tell the good I have done," he replied.
"But here comes my brother from the West; I like him best of all,
for he has the smell of the sea about him, and brings in a cold, fresh
air as he enters."

"Is that the little Zephyr?" asked the prince.

"Yes, it is the little Zephyr," said the old woman; "but he is not
little now. In years gone by he was a beautiful boy; now that is all
past."

He came in, looking like a wild man, and he wore a slouched hat to
protect his head from injury. In his hand he carried a club, cut
from a mahogany tree in the American forests, not a trifle to carry.

"Whence do you come?" asked the mother.

"I come from the wilds of the forests, where the thorny brambles
form thick hedges between the trees; where the water-snake lies in the
wet grass, and mankind seem to be unknown."

"What were you doing there?"

"I looked into the deep river, and saw it rushing down from the
rocks. The water drops mounted to the clouds and glittered in the
rainbow. I saw the wild buffalo swimming in the river, but the
strong tide carried him away amidst a flock of wild ducks, which
flew into the air as the waters dashed onwards, leaving the buffalo to
be hurled over the waterfall. This pleased me; so I raised a storm,
which rooted up old trees, and sent them floating down the river."

"And what else have you done?" asked the old woman.

"I have rushed wildly across the savannahs; I have stroked the
wild horses, and shaken the cocoa-nuts from the trees. Yes, I have
many stories to relate; but I need not tell everything I know. You
know it all very well, don't you, old lady?" And he kissed his
mother so roughly, that she nearly fell backwards. Oh, he was, indeed,
a wild fellow.

Now in came the South Wind, with a turban and a flowing Bedouin
cloak.

"How cold it is here!" said he, throwing more wood on the fire.
"It is easy to feel that the North Wind has arrived here before me."

"Why it is hot enough here to roast a bear," said the North Wind.

"You are a bear yourself," said the other.

"Do you want to be put in the sack, both of you?" said the old
woman. "Sit down, now, on that stone, yonder, and tell me where you
have been."

"In Africa, mother. I went out with the Hottentots, who were
lion-hunting in the Kaffir land, where the plains are covered with
grass the color of a green olive; and here I ran races with the
ostrich, but I soon outstripped him in swiftness. At last I came to
the desert, in which lie the golden sands, looking like the bottom
of the sea. Here I met a caravan, and the travellers had just killed
their last camel, to obtain water; there was very little for them, and
they continued their painful journey beneath the burning sun, and over
the hot sands, which stretched before them a vast, boundless desert.
Then I rolled myself in the loose sand, and whirled it in burning
columns over their heads. The dromedarys stood still in terror,
while the merchants drew their caftans over their heads, and threw
themselves on the ground before me, as they do before Allah, their
god. Then I buried them beneath a pyramid of sand, which covers them
all. When I blow that away on my next visit, the sun will bleach their
bones, and travellers will see that others have been there before
them; otherwise, in such a wild desert, they might not believe it
possible."

"So you have done nothing but evil," said the mother. "Into the
sack with you;" and, before he was aware, she had seized the South
Wind round the body, and popped him into the bag. He rolled about on
the floor, till she sat herself upon him to keep him still.

"These boys of yours are very lively," said the prince.

"Yes," she replied, "but I know how to correct them, when
necessary; and here comes the fourth." In came the East Wind,
dressed like a Chinese.

"Oh, you come from that quarter, do you?" said she; "I thought you
had been to the garden of paradise."

"I am going there to-morrow," he replied; "I have not been there
for a hundred years. I have just come from China, where I danced round
the porcelain tower till all the bells jingled again. In the streets
an official flogging was taking place, and bamboo canes were being
broken on the shoulders of men of every high position, from the
first to the ninth grade. They cried, 'Many thanks, my fatherly
benefactor;' but I am sure the words did not come from their hearts,
so I rang the bells till they sounded, 'ding, ding-dong.'"

"You are a wild boy," said the old woman; "it is well for you that
you are going to-morrow to the garden of paradise; you always get
improved in your education there. Drink deeply from the fountain of
wisdom while you are there, and bring home a bottleful for me."

"That I will," said the East Wind; "but why have you put my
brother South in a bag? Let him out; for I want him to tell me about
the phoenix-bird. The princess always wants to hear of this bird
when I pay her my visit every hundred years. If you will open the
sack, sweetest mother, I will give you two pocketfuls of tea, green
and fresh as when I gathered it from the spot where it grew."

"Well, for the sake of the tea, and because you are my own boy,
I will open the bag."

She did so, and the South Wind crept out, looking quite cast down,
because the prince had seen his disgrace.

"There is a palm-leaf for the princess," he said. "The old
phoenix, the only one in the world, gave it to me himself. He has
scratched on it with his beak the whole of his history during the
hundred years he has lived. She can there read how the old phoenix set
fire to his own nest, and sat upon it while it was burning, like a
Hindoo widow. The dry twigs around the nest crackled and smoked till
the flames burst forth and consumed the phoenix to ashes. Amidst the
fire lay an egg, red hot, which presently burst with a loud report,
and out flew a young bird. He is the only phoenix in the world, and
the king over all the other birds. He has bitten a hole in the leaf
which I give you, and that is his greeting to the princess."

"Now let us have something to eat," said the mother of the
Winds. So they all sat down to feast on the roasted stag; and as the
prince sat by the side of the East Wind, they soon became good
friends.

"Pray tell me," said the prince, "who is that princess of whom you
have been talking! and where lies the garden of paradise?"

"Ho! ho!" said the East Wind, "would you like to go there? Well,
you can fly off with me to-morrow; but I must tell you one thing--no
human being has been there since the time of Adam and Eve. I suppose
you have read of them in your Bible."

"Of course I have," said the prince.

"Well," continued the East Wind, "when they were driven out of the
garden of paradise, it sunk into the earth; but it retained its warm
sunshine, its balmy air, and all its splendor. The fairy queen lives
there, in the island of happiness, where death never comes, and all is
beautiful. I can manage to take you there to-morrow, if you will sit
on my back. But now don't talk any more, for I want to go to sleep;"
and then they all slept.

When the prince awoke in the early morning, he was not a little
surprised at finding himself high up above the clouds. He was seated
on the back of the East Wind, who held him faithfully; and they were
so high in the air that woods and fields, rivers and lakes, as they
lay beneath them, looked like a painted map.

"Good morning," said the East Wind. "You might have slept on a
while; for there is very little to see in the flat country over
which we are passing unless you like to count the churches; they
look like spots of chalk on a green board." The green board was the
name he gave to the green fields and meadows.

"It was very rude of me not to say good-bye to your mother and
your brothers," said the prince.

"They will excuse you, as you were asleep," said the East Wind;
and then they flew on faster than ever.

The leaves and branches of the trees rustled as they passed.
When they flew over seas and lakes, the waves rose higher, and the
large ships dipped into the water like diving swans. As darkness
came on, towards evening, the great towns looked charming; lights were
sparkling, now seen now hidden, just as the sparks go out one after
another on a piece of burnt paper. The prince clapped his hands with
pleasure; but the East Wind advised him not to express his
admiration in that manner, or he might fall down, and find himself
hanging on a church steeple. The eagle in the dark forests flies
swiftly; but faster than he flew the East Wind. The Cossack, on his
small horse, rides lightly o'er the plains; but lighter still passed
the prince on the winds of the wind.

"There are the Himalayas, the highest mountains in Asia," said the
East Wind. "We shall soon reach the garden of paradise now."

Then, they turned southward, and the air became fragrant with
the perfume of spices and flowers. Here figs and pomegranates grew
wild, and the vines were covered with clusters of blue and purple
grapes. Here they both descended to the earth, and stretched
themselves on the soft grass, while the flowers bowed to the breath of
the wind as if to welcome it. "Are we now in the garden of
paradise?" asked the prince.

"No, indeed," replied the East Wind; "but we shall be there very
soon. Do you see that wall of rocks, and the cavern beneath it, over
which the grape vines hang like a green curtain? Through that cavern
we must pass. Wrap your cloak round you; for while the sun scorches
you here, a few steps farther it will be icy cold. The bird flying
past the entrance to the cavern feels as if one wing were in the
region of summer, and the other in the depths of winter."

"So this then is the way to the garden of paradise?" asked the
prince, as they entered the cavern. It was indeed cold; but the cold
soon passed, for the East Wind spread his wings, and they gleamed like
the brightest fire. As they passed on through this wonderful cave, the
prince could see great blocks of stone, from which water trickled,
hanging over their heads in fantastic shapes. Sometimes it was so
narrow that they had to creep on their hands and knees, while at other
times it was lofty and wide, like the free air. It had the
appearance of a chapel for the dead, with petrified organs and
silent pipes. "We seem to be passing through the valley of death to
the garden of paradise," said the prince.

But the East Wind answered not a word, only pointed forwards to
a lovely blue light which gleamed in the distance. The blocks of stone
assumed a misty appearance, till at last they looked like white clouds
in moonlight. The air was fresh and balmy, like a breeze from the
mountains perfumed with flowers from a valley of roses. A river, clear
as the air itself, sparkled at their feet, while in its clear depths
could be seen gold and silver fish sporting in the bright water, and
purple eels emitting sparks of fire at every moment, while the broad
leaves of the water-lilies, that floated on its surface, flickered
with all the colors of the rainbow. The flower in its color of flame
seemed to receive its nourishment from the water, as a lamp is
sustained by oil. A marble bridge, of such exquisite workmanship
that it appeared as if formed of lace and pearls, led to the island of
happiness, in which bloomed the garden of paradise. The East Wind took
the prince in his arms, and carried him over, while the flowers and
the leaves sang the sweet songs of his childhood in tones so full
and soft that no human voice could venture to imitate. Within the
garden grew large trees, full of sap; but whether they were palm-trees
or gigantic water-plants, the prince knew not. The climbing plants
hung in garlands of green and gold, like the illuminations on the
margins of old missals or twined among the initial letters. Birds,
flowers, and festoons appeared intermingled in seeming confusion.
Close by, on the grass, stood a group of peacocks, with radiant
tails outspread to the sun. The prince touched them, and found, to his
surprise, that they were not really birds, but the leaves of the
burdock tree, which shone with the colors of a peacock's tail. The
lion and the tiger, gentle and tame, were springing about like playful
cats among the green bushes, whose perfume was like the fragrant
blossom of the olive. The plumage of the wood-pigeon glistened like
pearls as it struck the lion's mane with its wings; while the
antelope, usually so shy, stood near, nodding its head as if it wished
to join in the frolic. The fairy of paradise next made her appearance.
Her raiment shone like the sun, and her serene countenance beamed with
happiness like that of a mother rejoicing over her child. She was
young and beautiful, and a train of lovely maidens followed her,
each wearing a bright star in her hair. The East Wind gave her the
palm-leaf, on which was written the history of the phoenix; and her
eyes sparkled with joy. She then took the prince by the hand, and
led him into her palace, the walls of which were richly colored,
like a tulip-leaf when it is turned to the sun. The roof had the
appearance of an inverted flower, and the colors grew deeper and
brighter to the gazer. The prince walked to a window, and saw what
appeared to be the tree of knowledge of good and evil, with Adam and
Eve standing by, and the serpent near them. "I thought they were
banished from paradise," he said.

The princess smiled, and told him that time had engraved each
event on a window-pane in the form of a picture; but, unlike other
pictures, all that it represented lived and moved,--the leaves
rustled, and the persons went and came, as in a looking-glass. He
looked through another pane, and saw the ladder in Jacob's dream, on
which the angels were ascending and descending with outspread wings.
All that had ever happened in the world here lived and moved on the
panes of glass, in pictures such as time alone could produce. The
fairy now led the prince into a large, lofty room with transparent
walls, through which the light shone. Here were portraits, each one
appearing more beautiful than the other--millions of happy beings,
whose laughter and song mingled in one sweet melody: some of these
were in such an elevated position that they appeared smaller than
the smallest rosebud, or like pencil dots on paper. In the centre of
the hall stood a tree, with drooping branches, from which hung
golden apples, both great and small, looking like oranges amid the
green leaves. It was the tree of knowledge of good and evil, from
which Adam and Eve had plucked and eaten the forbidden fruit, and from
each leaf trickled a bright red dewdrop, as if the tree were weeping
tears of blood for their sin. "Let us now take the boat," said the
fairy: "a sail on the cool waters will refresh us. But we shall not
move from the spot, although the boat may rock on the swelling
water; the countries of the world will glide before us, but we shall
remain still."

It was indeed wonderful to behold. First came the lofty Alps,
snow-clad, and covered with clouds and dark pines. The horn resounded,
and the shepherds sang merrily in the valleys. The banana-trees bent
their drooping branches over the boat, black swans floated on the
water, and singular animals and flowers appeared on the distant shore.
New Holland, the fifth division of the world, now glided by, with
mountains in the background, looking blue in the distance. They
heard the song of the priests, and saw the wild dance of the savage to
the sound of the drums and trumpets of bone; the pyramids of Egypt
rising to the clouds; columns and sphinxes, overthrown and buried in
the sand, followed in their turn; while the northern lights flashed
out over the extinguished volcanoes of the north, in fireworks none
could imitate.

The prince was delighted, and yet he saw hundreds of other
wonderful things more than can be described. "Can I stay here
forever?" asked he.

"That depends upon yourself," replied the fairy. "If you do not,
like Adam, long for what is forbidden, you can remain here always."

"I should not touch the fruit on the tree of knowledge," said
the prince; "there is abundance of fruit equally beautiful."

"Examine your own heart," said the princess, "and if you do not
feel sure of its strength, return with the East Wind who brought
you. He is about to fly back, and will not return here for a hundred
years. The time will not seem to you more than a hundred hours, yet
even that is a long time for temptation and resistance. Every evening,
when I leave you, I shall be obliged to say, 'Come with me,' and to
beckon to you with my hand. But you must not listen, nor move from
your place to follow me; for with every step you will find your
power to resist weaker. If once you attempted to follow me, you
would soon find yourself in the hall, where grows the tree of
knowledge, for I sleep beneath its perfumed branches. If you stooped
over me, I should be forced to smile. If you then kissed my lips,
the garden of paradise would sink into the earth, and to you it
would be lost. A keen wind from the desert would howl around you; cold
rain fall on your head, and sorrow and woe be your future lot."

"I will remain," said the prince.

So the East Wind kissed him on the forehead, and said, "Be firm;
then shall we meet again when a hundred years have passed. Farewell,
farewell." Then the East Wind spread his broad pinions, which shone
like the lightning in harvest, or as the northern lights in a cold
winter.

"Farewell, farewell," echoed the trees and the flowers.

Storks and pelicans flew after him in feathery bands, to accompany
him to the boundaries of the garden.

"Now we will commence dancing," said the fairy; "and when it is
nearly over at sunset, while I am dancing with you, I shall make a
sign, and ask you to follow me: but do not obey. I shall be obliged to
repeat the same thing for a hundred years; and each time, when the
trial is past, if you resist, you will gain strength, till
resistance becomes easy, and at last the temptation will be quite
overcome. This evening, as it will be the first time, I have warned
you."

After this the fairy led him into a large hall, filled with
transparent lilies. The yellow stamina of each flower formed a tiny
golden harp, from which came forth strains of music like the mingled
tones of flute and lyre. Beautiful maidens, slender and graceful in
form, and robed in transparent gauze, floated through the dance, and
sang of the happy life in the garden of paradise, where death never
entered, and where all would bloom forever in immortal youth. As the
sun went down, the whole heavens became crimson and gold, and tinted
the lilies with the hue of roses. Then the beautiful maidens offered
to the prince sparkling wine; and when he had drank, he felt happiness
greater than he had ever known before. Presently the background of the
hall opened and the tree of knowledge appeared, surrounded by a halo
of glory that almost blinded him. Voices, soft and lovely as his
mother's sounded in his ears, as if she were singing to him, "My
child, my beloved child." Then the fairy beckoned to him, and said
in sweet accents, "Come with me, come with me." Forgetting his
promise, forgetting it even on the very first evening, he rushed
towards her, while she continued to beckon to him and to smile. The
fragrance around him overpowered his senses, the music from the
harps sounded more entrancing, while around the tree appeared millions
of smiling faces, nodding and singing. "Man should know everything;
man is the lord of the earth." The tree of knowledge no longer wept
tears of blood, for the dewdrops shone like glittering stars.

"Come, come," continued that thrilling voice, and the prince
followed the call. At every step his cheeks glowed, and the blood
rushed wildly through his veins. "I must follow," he cried; "it is not
a sin, it cannot be, to follow beauty and joy. I only want to see
her sleep, and nothing will happen unless I kiss her, and that I
will not do, for I have strength to resist, and a determined will."

The fairy threw off her dazzling attire, bent back the boughs, and
in another moment was hidden among them.

"I have not sinned yet," said the prince, "and I will not;" and
then he pushed aside the boughs to follow the princess. She was
lying already asleep, beautiful as only a fairy in the garden of
paradise could be. She smiled as he bent over her, and he saw tears
trembling out of her beautiful eyelashes. "Do you weep for me?" he
whispered. "Oh weep not, thou loveliest of women. Now do I begin to
understand the happiness of paradise; I feel it to my inmost soul,
in every thought. A new life is born within me. One moment of such
happiness is worth an eternity of darkness and woe." He stooped and
kissed the tears from her eyes, and touched her lips with his.

A clap of thunder, loud and awful, resounded through the trembling
air. All around him fell into ruin. The lovely fairy, the beautiful
garden, sunk deeper and deeper. The prince saw it sinking down in
the dark night till it shone only like a star in the distance
beneath him. Then he felt a coldness, like death, creeping over him;
his eyes closed, and he became insensible.

When he recovered, a chilling rain was beating upon him, and a
sharp wind blew on his head. "Alas! what have I done?" he sighed; "I
have sinned like Adam, and the garden of paradise has sunk into the
earth." He opened his eyes, and saw the star in the distance, but it
was the morning star in heaven which glittered in the darkness.

Presently he stood up and found himself in the depths of the
forest, close to the cavern of the Winds, and the mother of the
Winds sat by his side. She looked angry, and raised her arm in the air
as she spoke. "The very first evening!" she said. "Well, I expected
it! If you were my son, you should go into the sack."

"And there he will have to go at last," said a strong old man,
with large black wings, and a scythe in his hand, whose name was
Death. "He shall be laid in his coffin, but not yet. I will allow
him to wander about the world for a while, to atone for his sin, and
to give him time to become better. But I shall return when he least
expects me. I shall lay him in a black coffin, place it on my head,
and fly away with it beyond the stars. There also blooms a garden of
paradise, and if he is good and pious he will be admitted; but if
his thoughts are bad, and his heart is full of sin, he will sink
with his coffin deeper than the garden of paradise has sunk. Once in
every thousand years I shall go and fetch him, when he will either
be condemned to sink still deeper, or be raised to a happier life in
the world beyond the stars."




THE PEA BLOSSOM

There were once five peas in one shell, they were green, the shell
was green, and so they believed that the whole world must be green
also, which was a very natural conclusion. The shell grew, and the
peas grew, they accommodated themselves to their position, and sat all
in a row. The sun shone without and warmed the shell, and the rain
made it clear and transparent; it was mild and agreeable in broad
daylight, and dark at night, as it generally is; and the peas as
they sat there grew bigger and bigger, and more thoughtful as they
mused, for they felt there must be something else for them to do.

"Are we to sit here forever?" asked one; "shall we not become hard
by sitting so long? It seems to me there must be something outside,
and I feel sure of it."

And as weeks passed by, the peas became yellow, and the shell
became yellow.

"All the world is turning yellow, I suppose," said they,--and
perhaps they were right.

Suddenly they felt a pull at the shell; it was torn off, and
held in human hands, then slipped into the pocket of a jacket in
company with other full pods.

"Now we shall soon be opened," said one,--just what they all
wanted.

"I should like to know which of us will travel furthest," said the
smallest of the five; "we shall soon see now."

"What is to happen will happen," said the largest pea.

"Crack" went the shell as it burst, and the five peas rolled out
into the bright sunshine. There they lay in a child's hand. A little
boy was holding them tightly, and said they were fine peas for his
pea-shooter. And immediately he put one in and shot it out.

"Now I am flying out into the wide world," said he; "catch me if
you can;" and he was gone in a moment.

"I," said the second, "intend to fly straight to the sun, that
is a shell that lets itself be seen, and it will suit me exactly;" and
away he went.

"We will go to sleep wherever we find ourselves," said the two
next, "we shall still be rolling onwards;" and they did certainly fall
on the floor, and roll about before they got into the pea-shooter; but
they were put in for all that. "We shall go farther than the
others," said they.

"What is to happen will happen," exclaimed the last, as he was
shot out of the pea-shooter; and as he spoke he flew up against an old
board under a garret-window, and fell into a little crevice, which was
almost filled up with moss and soft earth. The moss closed itself
round him, and there he lay, a captive indeed, but not unnoticed by
God.

"What is to happen will happen," said he to himself.

Within the little garret lived a poor woman, who went out to clean
stoves, chop wood into small pieces and perform such-like hard work,
for she was strong and industrious. Yet she remained always poor,
and at home in the garret lay her only daughter, not quite grown up,
and very delicate and weak. For a whole year she had kept her bed, and
it seemed as if she could neither live nor die.

"She is going to her little sister," said the woman; "I had but
the two children, and it was not an easy thing to support both of
them; but the good God helped me in my work, and took one of them to
Himself and provided for her. Now I would gladly keep the other that
was left to me, but I suppose they are not to be separated, and my
sick girl will very soon go to her sister above." But the sick girl
still remained where she was, quietly and patiently she lay all the
day long, while her mother was away from home at her work.

Spring came, and one morning early the sun shone brightly
through the little window, and threw its rays over the floor of the
room. Just as the mother was going to her work, the sick girl fixed
her gaze on the lowest pane of the window--"Mother," she exclaimed,
"what can that little green thing be that peeps in at the window? It
is moving in the wind."

The mother stepped to the window and half opened it. "Oh!" she
said, "there is actually a little pea which has taken root and is
putting out its green leaves. How could it have got into this crack?
Well now, here is a little garden for you to amuse yourself with."
So the bed of the sick girl was drawn nearer to the window, that she
might see the budding plant; and the mother went out to her work.

"Mother, I believe I shall get well," said the sick child in the
evening, "the sun has shone in here so brightly and warmly to-day, and
the little pea is thriving so well: I shall get on better, too, and go
out into the warm sunshine again."

"God grant it!" said the mother, but she did not believe it
would be so. But she propped up with the little stick the green
plant which had given her child such pleasant hopes of life, so that
it might not be broken by the winds; she tied the piece of string to
the window-sill and to the upper part of the frame, so that the
pea-tendrils might twine round it when it shot up. And it did shoot
up, indeed it might almost be seen to grow from day to day.

"Now really here is a flower coming," said the old woman one
morning, and now at last she began to encourage the hope that her sick
daughter might really recover. She remembered that for some time the
child had spoken more cheerfully, and during the last few days had
raised herself in bed in the morning to look with sparkling eyes at
her little garden which contained only a single pea-plant. A week
after, the invalid sat up for the first time a whole hour, feeling
quite happy by the open window in the warm sunshine, while outside
grew the little plant, and on it a pink pea-blossom in full bloom. The
little maiden bent down and gently kissed the delicate leaves. This
day was to her like a festival.

"Our heavenly Father Himself has planted that pea, and made it
grow and flourish, to bring joy to you and hope to me, my blessed
child," said the happy mother, and she smiled at the flower, as if
it had been an angel from God.

But what became of the other peas? Why the one who flew out into
the wide world, and said, "Catch me if you can," fell into a gutter
on the roof of a house, and ended his travels in the crop of a
pigeon. The two lazy ones were carried quite as far, for they also
were eaten by pigeons, so they were at least of some use; but the
fourth, who wanted to reach the sun, fell into a sink and lay there
in the dirty water for days and weeks, till he had swelled to a great
size.

"I am getting beautifully fat," said the pea, "I expect I shall
burst at last; no pea could do more that that, I think; I am the
most remarkable of all the five which were in the shell." And the sink
confirmed the opinion.

But the young maiden stood at the open garret window, with
sparkling eyes and the rosy hue of health on her cheeks, she folded
her thin hands over the pea-blossom, and thanked God for what He had
done.

"I," said the sink, "shall stand up for my pea."




THE PEN AND THE INKSTAND

In a poet's room, where his inkstand stood on the table, the
remark was once made, "It is wonderful what can be brought out of an
inkstand. What will come next? It is indeed wonderful."

"Yes, certainly," said the inkstand to the pen, and to the other
articles that stood on the table; "that's what I always say. It is
wonderful and extraordinary what a number of things come out of me.
It's quite incredible, and I really don't know what is coming next
when that man dips his pen into me. One drop out of me is enough for
half a page of paper, and what cannot half a page contain? From me,
all the works of a poet are produced; all those imaginary characters
whom people fancy they have known or met. All the deep feeling, the
humor, and the vivid pictures of nature. I myself don't understand how
it is, for I am not acquainted with nature, but it is certainly in me.
From me have gone forth to the world those wonderful descriptions of
troops of charming maidens, and of brave knights on prancing steeds;
of the halt and the blind, and I know not what more, for I assure
you I never think of these things."

"There you are right," said the pen, "for you don't think at
all; if you did, you would see that you can only provide the means.
You give the fluid that I may place upon the paper what dwells in
me, and what I wish to bring to light. It is the pen that writes: no
man doubts that; and, indeed, most people understand as much about
poetry as an old inkstand."

"You have had very little experience," replied the inkstand.
"You have hardly been in service a week, and are already half worn
out. Do you imagine you are a poet? You are only a servant, and before
you came I had many like you, some of the goose family, and others
of English manufacture. I know a quill pen as well as I know a steel
one. I have had both sorts in my service, and I shall have many more
when he comes--the man who performs the mechanical part--and writes
down what he obtains from me. I should like to know what will be the
next thing he gets out of me."

"Inkpot!" exclaimed the pen contemptuously.

Late in the evening the poet came home. He had been to a
concert, and had been quite enchanted with the admirable performance
of a famous violin player whom he had heard there. The performer had
produced from his instrument a richness of tone that sometimes sounded
like tinkling waterdrops or rolling pearls; sometimes like the birds
twittering in chorus, and then rising and swelling in sound like the
wind through the fir-trees. The poet felt as if his own heart were
weeping, but in tones of melody like the sound of a woman's voice.
It seemed not only the strings, but every part of the instrument
from which these sounds were produced. It was a wonderful
performance and a difficult piece, and yet the bow seemed to glide
across the strings so easily that it was as if any one could do it who
tried. Even the violin and the bow appeared to perform independently
of their master who guided them; it was as if soul and spirit had been
breathed into the instrument, so the audience forgot the performer
in the beautiful sounds he produced. Not so the poet; he remembered
him, and named him, and wrote down his thoughts on the subject. "How
foolish it would be for the violin and the bow to boast of their
performance, and yet we men often commit that folly. The poet, the
artist, the man of science in his laboratory, the general,--we all
do it; and yet we are only the instruments which the Almighty uses; to
Him alone the honor is due. We have nothing of ourselves of which we
should be proud." Yes, this is what the poet wrote down. He wrote it
in the form of a parable, and called it "The Master and the
Instruments."

"That is what you have got, madam," said the pen to the
inkstand, when the two were alone again. "Did you hear him read
aloud what I had written down?"

"Yes, what I gave you to write," retorted the inkstand. "That
was a cut at you because of your conceit. To think that you could
not understand that you were being quizzed. I gave you a cut from
within me. Surely I must know my own satire."

"Ink-pitcher!" cried the pen.

"Writing-stick!" retorted the inkstand. And each of them felt
satisfied that he had given a good answer. It is pleasing to be
convinced that you have settled a matter by your reply; it is
something to make you sleep well, and they both slept well upon it.
But the poet did not sleep. Thoughts rose up within him like the
tones of the violin, falling like pearls, or rushing like the strong
wind through the forest. He understood his own heart in these
thoughts; they were as a ray from the mind of the Great Master of all
minds.

"To Him be all the honor."




THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE

Far away towards the east, in India, which seemed in those days
the world's end, stood the Tree of the Sun; a noble tree, such as we
have never seen, and perhaps never may see.

The summit of this tree spread itself for miles like an entire
forest, each of its smaller branches forming a complete tree. Palms,
beech-trees, pines, plane-trees, and various other kinds, which are
found in all parts of the world, were here like small branches,
shooting forth from the great tree; while the larger boughs, with
their knots and curves, formed valleys and hills, clothed with velvety
green and covered with flowers. Everywhere it was like a blooming
meadow or a lovely garden. Here were birds from all quarters of the
world assembled together; birds from the primeval forests of
America, from the rose gardens of Damascus, and from the deserts of
Africa, in which the elephant and the lion may boast of being the only
rulers. Birds from the Polar regions came flying here, and of course
the stork and the swallow were not absent. But the birds were not
the only living creatures. There were stags, squirrels, antelopes, and
hundreds of other beautiful and light-footed animals here found a
home.

The summit of the tree was a wide-spreading garden, and in the
midst of it, where the green boughs formed a kind of hill, stood a
castle of crystal, with a view from it towards every quarter of
heaven. Each tower was erected in the form of a lily, and within the
stern was a winding staircase, through which one could ascend to the
top and step out upon the leaves as upon balconies. The calyx of the
flower itself formed a most beautiful, glittering, circular hall,
above which no other roof arose than the blue firmament and the sun
and stars.

Just as much splendor, but of another kind, appeared below, in the
wide halls of the castle. Here, on the walls, were reflected
pictures of the world, which represented numerous and varied scenes of
everything that took place daily, so that it was useless to read the
newspapers, and indeed there were none to be obtained in this spot.
All was to be seen in living pictures by those who wished it, but
all would have been too much for even the wisest man, and this man
dwelt here. His name is very difficult; you would not be able to
pronounce it, so it may be omitted. He knew everything that a man on
earth can know or imagine. Every invention already in existence or yet
to be, was known to him, and much more; still everything on earth
has a limit. The wise king Solomon was not half so wise as this man.
He could govern the powers of nature and held sway over potent
spirits; even Death itself was obliged to give him every morning a
list of those who were to die during the day. And King Solomon himself
had to die at last, and this fact it was which so often occupied the
thoughts of this great man in the castle on the Tree of the Sun. He
knew that he also, however high he might tower above other men in
wisdom, must one day die. He knew that his children would fade away
like the leaves of the forest and become dust. He saw the human race
wither and fall like leaves from the tree; he saw new men come to fill
their places, but the leaves that fell off never sprouted forth again;
they crumbled to dust or were absorbed into other plants.

"What happens to man," asked the wise man of himself, "when
touched by the angel of death? What can death be? The body decays, and
the soul. Yes; what is the soul, and whither does it go?"

"To eternal life," says the comforting voice of religion.

"But what is this change? Where and how shall we exist?"

"Above; in heaven," answers the pious man; "it is there we hope to
go."

"Above!" repeated the wise man, fixing his eyes upon the moon
and stars above him. He saw that to this earthly sphere above and
below were constantly changing places, and that the position varied
according to the spot on which a man found himself. He knew, also,
that even if he ascended to the top of the highest mountain which
rears its lofty summit on this earth, the air, which to us seems clear
and transparent, would there be dark and cloudy; the sun would have
a coppery glow and send forth no rays, and our earth would lie beneath
him wrapped in an orange-colored mist. How narrow are the limits which
confine the bodily sight, and how little can be seen by the eye of the
soul. How little do the wisest among us know of that which is so
important to us all.

In the most secret chamber of the castle lay the greatest treasure
on earth--the Book of Truth. The wise man had read it through page
after page. Every man may read in this book, but only in fragments. To
many eyes the characters seem so mixed in confusion that the words
cannot be distinguished. On certain pages the writing often appears so
pale or so blurred that the page becomes a blank. The wiser a man
becomes, the more he will read, and those who are wisest read most.

The wise man knew how to unite the sunlight and the moonlight with
the light of reason and the hidden powers of nature; and through
this stronger light, many things in the pages were made clear to
him. But in the portion of the book entitled "Life after Death" not
a single point could he see distinctly. This pained him. Should he
never be able here on earth to obtain a light by which everything
written in the Book of Truth should become clear to him? Like the wise
King Solomon, he understood the language of animals, and could
interpret their talk into song; but that made him none the wiser. He
found out the nature of plants and metals, and their power in curing
diseases and arresting death, but none to destroy death itself. In all
created things within his reach he sought the light that should
shine upon the certainty of an eternal life, but he found it not.
The Book of Truth lay open before him, but, its pages were to him as
blank paper. Christianity placed before him in the Bible a promise
of eternal life, but he wanted to read it in his book, in which
nothing on the subject appeared to be written.

He had five children; four sons, educated as the children of
such a wise father should be, and a daughter, fair, gentle, and
intelligent, but she was blind; yet this deprivation appeared as
nothing to her; her father and brothers were outward eyes to her,
and a vivid imagination made everything clear to her mental sight. The
sons had never gone farther from the castle than the branches of the
trees extended, and the sister had scarcely ever left home. They
were happy children in that home of their childhood, the beautiful and
fragrant Tree of the Sun. Like all children, they loved to hear
stories related to them, and their father told them many things
which other children would not have understood; but these were as
clever as most grownup people are among us. He explained to them
what they saw in the pictures of life on the castle walls--the
doings of man, and the progress of events in all the lands of the
earth; and the sons often expressed a wish that they could be present,
and take a part in these great deeds. Then their father told them that
in the world there was nothing but toil and difficulty: that it was
not quite what it appeared to them, as they looked upon it in their
beautiful home. He spoke to them of the true, the beautiful, and the
good, and told them that these three held together in the world, and
by that union they became crystallized into a precious jewel,
clearer than a diamond of the first water--a jewel, whose splendor had
a value even in the sight of God, in whose brightness all things are
dim. This jewel was called the philosopher's stone. He told them that,
by searching, man could attain to a knowledge of the existence of God,
and that it was in the power of every man to discover the certainty
that such a jewel as the philosopher's stone really existed. This
information would have been beyond the perception of other children;
but these children understood, and others will learn to comprehend its
meaning after a time. They questioned their father about the true, the
beautiful, and the good, and he explained it to them in many ways.
He told them that God, when He made man out of the dust of the
earth, touched His work five times, leaving five intense feelings,
which we call the five senses. Through these, the true, the beautiful,
and the good are seen, understood, and perceived, and through these
they are valued, protected, and encouraged. Five senses have been
given mentally and corporeally, inwardly and outwardly, to body and
soul.

The children thought deeply on all these things, and meditated
upon them day and night. Then the eldest of the brothers dreamt a
splendid dream. Strange to say, not only the second brother but also
the third and fourth brothers all dreamt exactly the same thing;
namely, that each went out into the world to find the philosopher's
stone. Each dreamt that he found it, and that, as he rode back on
his swift horse, in the morning dawn, over the velvety green
meadows, to his home in the castle of his father, that the stone
gleamed from his forehead like a beaming light; and threw such a
bright radiance upon the pages of the Book of Truth that every word
was illuminated which spoke of the life beyond the grave. But the
sister had no dream of going out into the wide world; it never entered
her mind. Her world was her father's house.

"I shall ride forth into the wide world," said the eldest brother.
"I must try what life is like there, as I mix with men. I will
practise only the good and true; with these I will protect the
beautiful. Much shall be changed for the better while I am there."

Now these thoughts were great and daring, as our thoughts
generally are at home, before we have gone out into the world, and
encountered its storms and tempests, its thorns and its thistles. In
him, and in all his brothers, the five senses were highly
cultivated, inwardly and outwardly; but each of them had one sense
which in keenness and development surpassed the other four. In the
case of the eldest, this pre-eminent sense was sight, which he hoped
would be of special service. He had eyes for all times and all people;
eyes that could discover in the depths of the earth hidden
treasures, and look into the hearts of men, as through a pane of
glass; he could read more than is often seen on the cheek that blushes
or grows pale, in the eye that droops or smiles. Stags and antelopes
accompanied him to the western boundary of his home, and there he
found the wild swans. These he followed, and found himself far away in
the north, far from the land of his father, which extended eastward to
the ends of the earth. How he opened his eyes with astonishment! How
many things were to be seen here! and so different to the mere
representation of pictures such as those in his father's house. At
first he nearly lost his eyes in astonishment at the rubbish and
mockery brought forward to represent the beautiful; but he kept his
eyes, and soon found full employment for them. He wished to go
thoroughly and honestly to work in his endeavor to understand the
true, the beautiful, and the good. But how were they represented in
the world? He observed that the wreath which rightly belonged to the
beautiful was often given the hideous; that the good was often
passed by unnoticed, while mediocrity was applauded, when it should
have been hissed. People look at the dress, not at the wearer; thought
more of a name than of doing their duty; and trusted more to
reputation than to real service. It was everywhere the same.

"I see I must make a regular attack on these things," said he; and
he accordingly did not spare them. But while looking for the truth,
came the evil one, the father of lies, to intercept him. Gladly
would the fiend have plucked out the eyes of this Seer, but that would
have been a too straightforward path for him; he works more cunningly.
He allowed the young man to seek for, and discover, the beautiful
and the good; but while he was contemplating them, the evil spirit
blew one mote after another into each of his eyes; and such a
proceeding would injure the strongest sight. Then he blew upon the
motes, and they became beams, so that the clearness of his sight was
gone, and the Seer was like a blind man in the world, and had no
longer any faith in it. He had lost his good opinion of the world,
as well as of himself; and when a man gives up the world, and
himself too, it is all over with him.

"All over," said the wild swan, who flew across the sea to the
east.

"All over," twittered the swallows, who were also flying
eastward towards the Tree of the Sun. It was no good news which they
carried home.

"I think the Seer has been badly served," said the second brother,
"but the Hearer may be more successful."

This one possessed the sense of hearing to a very high degree:
so acute was this sense, that it was said he could hear the grass
grow. He took a fond leave of all at home, and rode away, provided
with good abilities and good intentions. The swallows escorted him,
and he followed the swans till he found himself out in the world,
and far away from home. But he soon discovered that one may have too
much of a good thing. His hearing was too fine. He not only heard
the grass grow, but could hear every man's heart beat, whether in
sorrow or in joy. The whole world was to him like a clockmaker's great
workshop, in which all the clocks were going "tick, tick," and all the
turret clocks striking "ding, dong." It was unbearable. For a long
time his ears endured it, but at last all the noise and tumult
became too much for one man to bear.

There were rascally boys of sixty years old--for years do not
alone make a man--who raised a tumult, which might have made the
Hearer laugh, but for the applause which followed, echoing through
every street and house, and was even heard in country roads. Falsehood
thrust itself forward and played the hypocrite; the bells on the
fool's cap jingled, and declared they were church-bells, and the noise
became so bad for the Hearer that he thrust his fingers into his ears.
Still, he could hear false notes and bad singing, gossip and idle
words, scandal and slander, groaning and moaning, without and
within. "Heaven help us!" He thrust his fingers farther and farther
into his ears, till at last the drums burst. And now he could hear
nothing more of the true, the beautiful, and the good; for his hearing
was to have been the means by which he hoped to acquire his knowledge.
He became silent and suspicious, and at last trusted no one, not
even himself, and no longer hoping to find and bring home the costly
jewel, he gave it up, and gave himself up too, which was worse than
all.

The birds in their flight towards the east, carried the tidings,
and the news reached the castle in the Tree of the Sun.

"I will try now," said the third brother; "I have a keen nose."
Now that was not a very elegant expression, but it was his way, and we
must take him as he was. He had a cheerful temper, and was, besides, a
real poet; he could make many things appear poetical, by the way in
which he spoke of them, and ideas struck him long before they occurred
to the minds of others. "I can smell," he would say; and he attributed
to the sense of smelling, which he possessed in a high degree, a great
power in the region of the beautiful. "I can smell," he would say,
"and many places are fragrant or beautiful according to the taste of
the frequenters. One man feels at home in the atmosphere of the
tavern, among the flaring tallow candles, and when the smell of
spirits mingles with the fumes of bad tobacco. Another prefers sitting
amidst the overpowering scent of jasmine, or perfuming himself with
scented olive oil. This man seeks the fresh sea breeze, while that one
climbs the lofty mountain-top, to look down upon the busy life in
miniature beneath him."

As he spoke in this way, it seemed as if he had already been out
in the world, as if he had already known and associated with man.
But this experience was intuitive--it was the poetry within him, a
gift from Heaven bestowed on him in his cradle. He bade farewell to
his parental roof in the Tree of the Sun, and departed on foot, from
the pleasant scenes that surrounded his home. Arrived at its confines,
he mounted on the back of an ostrich, which runs faster than a
horse, and afterwards, when he fell in with the wild swans, he swung
himself on the strongest of them, for he loved change, and away he
flew over the sea to distant lands, where there were great forests,
deep lakes, lofty mountains, and proud cities. Wherever he came it
seemed as if sunshine travelled with him across the fields, for
every flower, every bush, exhaled a renewed fragrance, as if conscious
that a friend and protector was near; one who understood them, and
knew their value. The stunted rose-bush shot forth twigs, unfolded its
leaves, and bore the most beautiful roses; every one could see it, and
even the black, slimy wood-snail noticed its beauty. "I will give my
seal to the flower," said the snail, "I have trailed my slime upon it,
I can do no more.

"Thus it always fares with the beautiful in this world," said
the poet. And he made a song upon it, and sung it after his own
fashion, but nobody listened. Then he gave a drummer twopence and a
peacock's feather, and composed a song for the drum, and the drummer
beat it through the streets of the town, and when the people heard
it they said, "That is a capital tune." The poet wrote many songs
about the true, the beautiful, and the good. His songs were listened
to in the tavern, where the tallow candles flared, in the fresh clover
field, in the forest, and on the high-seas; and it appeared as if this
brother was to be more fortunate than the other two.

But the evil spirit was angry at this, so he set to work with soot
and incense, which he can mix so artfully as to confuse an angel,
and how much more easily a poor poet. The evil one knew how to
manage such people. He so completely surrounded the poet with
incense that the man lost his head, forgot his mission and his home,
and at last lost himself and vanished in smoke.

But when the little birds heard of it, they mourned, and for three
days they sang not one song. The black wood-snail became blacker
still; not for grief, but for envy. "They should have offered me
incense," he said, "for it was I who gave him the idea of the most
famous of his songs--the drum song of 'The Way of the World;' and it
was I who spat at the rose; I can bring a witness to that fact."

But no tidings of all this reached the poet's home in India. The
birds had all been silent for three days, and when the time of
mourning was over, so deep had been their grief, that they had
forgotten for whom they wept. Such is the way of the world.

"Now I must go out into the world, and disappear like the rest,"
said the fourth brother. He was as good-tempered as the third, but
no poet, though he could be witty.

The two eldest had filled the castle with joyfulness, and now
the last brightness was going away. Sight and hearing have always been
considered two of the chief senses among men, and those which they
wish to keep bright; the other senses are looked upon as of less
importance.

But the younger son had a different opinion; he had cultivated his
taste in every way, and taste is very powerful. It rules over what
goes into the mouth, as well as over all which is presented to the
mind; and, consequently, this brother took upon himself to taste
everything stored up in bottles or jars; this he called the rough part
of his work. Every man's mind was to him as a vessel in which
something was concocting; every land a kind of mental kitchen.
"There are no delicacies here," he said; so he wished to go out into
the world to find something delicate to suit his taste. "Perhaps
fortune may be more favorable to me than it was to my brothers. I
shall start on my travels, but what conveyance shall I choose? Are air
balloons invented yet?" he asked of his father, who knew of all
inventions that had been made, or would be made.

Air balloons had not then been invented, nor steam-ships, nor
railways.

"Good," said he; "then I shall choose an air balloon; my father
knows how they are to be made and guided. Nobody has invented one yet,
and the people will believe that it is an aerial phantom. When I
have done with the balloon I shall burn it, and for this purpose,
you must give me a few pieces of another invention, which will come
next; I mean a few chemical matches."

He obtained what he wanted, and flew away. The birds accompanied
him farther than they had the other brothers. They were curious to
know how this flight would end. Many more of them came swooping
down; they thought it must be some new bird, and he soon had a
goodly company of followers. They came in clouds till the air became
darkened with birds as it was with the cloud of locusts over the
land of Egypt.

And now he was out in the wide world. The balloon descended over
one of the greatest cities, and the aeronaut took up his station at
the highest point, on the church steeple. The balloon rose again
into the air, which it ought not to have done; what became of it is
not known, neither is it of any consequence, for balloons had not then
been invented.

There he sat on the church steeple. The birds no longer hovered
over him; they had got tired of him, and he was tired of them. All the
chimneys in the town were smoking.

"There are altars erected to my honor," said the wind, who
wished to say something agreeable to him as he sat there boldly
looking down upon the people in the street. There was one stepping
along, proud of his purse; another, of the key he carried behind
him, though he had nothing to lock up; another took a pride in his
moth-eaten coat; and another, in his mortified body. "Vanity, all
vanity!" he exclaimed. "I must go down there by-and-by, and touch
and taste; but I shall sit here a little while longer, for the wind
blows pleasantly at my back. I shall remain here as long as the wind
blows, and enjoy a little rest. It is comfortable to sleep late in the
morning when one had a great deal to do," said the sluggard; "so I
shall stop here as long as the wind blows, for it pleases me."

And there he stayed. But as he was sitting on the weather-cock
of the steeple, which kept turning round and round with him, he was
under the false impression that the same wind still blew, and that
he could stay where he was without expense.

But in India, in the castle on the Tree of the Sun, all was
solitary and still, since the brothers had gone away one after the
other.

"Nothing goes well with them," said the father; "they will never
bring the glittering jewel home, it is not made for me; they are all
dead and gone." Then he bent down over the Book of Truth, and gazed on
the page on which he should have read of the life after death, but for
him there was nothing to be read or learned upon it.

His blind daughter was his consolation and joy; she clung to him
with sincere affection, and for the sake of his happiness and peace
she wished the costly jewel could be found and brought home.

With longing tenderness she thought of her brothers. Where were
they? Where did they live? How she wished she might dream of them; but
it was strange that not even in dreams could she be brought near to
them. But at last one night she dreamt that she heard the voices of
her brothers calling to her from the distant world, and she could
not refrain herself, but went out to them, and yet it seemed in her
dream that she still remained in her father's house. She did not see
her brothers, but she felt as it were a fire burning in her hand,
which, however, did not hurt her, for it was the jewel she was
bringing to her father. When she awoke she thought for a moment that
she still held the stone, but she only grasped the knob of her
distaff.

During the long evenings she had spun constantly, and round the
distaff were woven threads finer than the web of a spider; human
eyes could never have distinguished these threads when separated
from each other. But she had wetted them with her tears, and the twist
was as strong as a cable. She rose with the impression that her
dream must be a reality, and her resolution was taken.

It was still night, and her father slept; she pressed a kiss
upon his hand, and then took her distaff and fastened the end of the
thread to her father's house. But for this, blind as she was, she
would never have found her way home again; to this thread she must
hold fast, and trust not to others or even to herself. From the Tree
of the Sun she broke four leaves; which she gave up to the wind and
the weather, that they might be carried to her brothers as letters and
a greeting, in case she did not meet them in the wide world. Poor
blind child, what would become of her in those distant regions? But
she had the invisible thread, to which she could hold fast; and she
possessed a gift which all the others lacked. This was a determination
to throw herself entirely into whatever she undertook, and it made her
feel as if she had eyes even at the tips of her fingers, and could
hear down into her very heart. Quietly she went forth into the
noisy, bustling, wonderful world, and wherever she went the skies grew
bright, and she felt the warm sunbeam, and a rainbow above in the blue
heavens seemed to span the dark world. She heard the song of the
birds, and smelt the scent of the orange groves and apple orchards
so strongly that she seemed to taste it. Soft tones and charming songs
reached her ear, as well as harsh sounds and rough words--thoughts and
opinions in strange contradiction to each other. Into the deepest
recesses of her heart penetrated the echoes of human thoughts and
feelings. Now she heard the following words sadly sung,--

  "Life is a shadow that flits away
  In a night of darkness and woe."

But then would follow brighter thoughts:

  "Life has the rose's sweet perfume
  With sunshine, light, and joy."

And if one stanza sounded painfully--

  "Each mortal thinks of himself alone,
  Is a truth, alas, too clearly known;"

Then, on the other hand, came the answer--

  "Love, like a mighty flowing stream,
  Fills every heart with its radiant gleam."

She heard, indeed, such words as these--

  "In the pretty turmoil here below,
  All is a vain and paltry show.

Then came also words of comfort--

  "Great and good are the actions done
  By many whose worth is never known."

And if sometimes the mocking strain reached her--

  "Why not join in the jesting cry
  That contemns all gifts from the throne on high?"

In the blind girl's heart a stronger voice repeated--

  "To trust in thyself and God is best,
  In His holy will forever to rest."


But the evil spirit could not see this and remain contented. He
has more cleverness than ten thousand men, and he found means to
compass his end. He betook himself to the marsh, and collected a few
little bubbles of stagnant water. Then he uttered over them the echoes
of lying words that they might become strong. He mixed up together
songs of praise with lying epitaphs, as many as he could find,
boiled them in tears shed by envy; put upon them rouge, which he had
scraped from faded cheeks, and from these he produced a maiden, in
form and appearance like the blind girl, the angel of completeness, as
men called her. The evil one's plot was successful. The world knew not
which was the true, and indeed how should the world know?

  "To trust in thyself and God is best,
  In his Holy will forever to rest."

So sung the blind girl in full faith. She had entrusted the four green
leaves from the Tree of the Sun to the winds, as letters of greeting
to her brothers, and she had full confidence that the leaves would
reach them. She fully believed that the jewel which outshines all
the glories of the world would yet be found, and that upon the
forehead of humanity it would glitter even in the castle of her
father. "Even in my father's house," she repeated. "Yes, the place
in which this jewel is to be found is earth, and I shall bring more
than the promise of it with me. I feel it glow and swell more and more
in my closed hand. Every grain of truth which the keen wind carried up
and whirled towards me I caught and treasured. I allowed it to be
penetrated with the fragrance of the beautiful, of which there is so
much in the world, even for the blind. I took the beatings of a
heart engaged in a good action, and added them to my treasure. All
that I can bring is but dust; still, it is a part of the jewel we
seek, and there is plenty, my hand is quite full of it."

She soon found herself again at home; carried thither in a
flight of thought, never having loosened her hold of the invisible
thread fastened to her father's house. As she stretched out her hand
to her father, the powers of evil dashed with the fury of a
hurricane over the Tree of the Sun; a blast of wind rushed through the
open doors, and into the sanctuary, where lay the Book of Truth.

"It will be blown to dust by the wind," said the father, as he
seized the open hand she held towards him.

"No," she replied, with quiet confidence, "it is indestructible. I
feel its beam warming my very soul."

Then her father observed that a dazzling flame gleamed from the
white page on which the shining dust had passed from her hand. It
was there to prove the certainty of eternal life, and on the book
glowed one shining word, and only one, the word BELIEVE. And soon
the four brothers were again with the father and daughter. When the
green leaf from home fell on the bosom of each, a longing had seized
them to return. They had arrived, accompanied by the birds of passage,
the stag, the antelope, and all the creatures of the forest who wished
to take part in their joy.

We have often seen, when a sunbeam burst through a crack in the
door into a dusty room, how a whirling column of dust seems to
circle round. But this was not poor, insignificant, common dust, which
the blind girl had brought; even the rainbow's colors are dim when
compared with the beauty which shone from the page on which it had
fallen. The beaming word BELIEVE, from every grain of truth, had the
brightness of the beautiful and the good, more bright than the
mighty pillar of flame that led Moses and the children of Israel to
the land of Canaan, and from the word BELIEVE arose the bridge of
hope, reaching even to the unmeasurable Love in the realms of the
infinite.




THE PHOENIX BIRD

In the Garden of Paradise, beneath the Tree of Knowledge,
bloomed a rose bush. Here, in the first rose, a bird was born. His
flight was like the flashing of light, his plumage was beauteous,
and his song ravishing. But when Eve plucked the fruit of the tree
of knowledge of good and evil, when she and Adam were driven from
Paradise, there fell from the flaming sword of the cherub a spark into
the nest of the bird, which blazed up forthwith. The bird perished
in the flames; but from the red egg in the nest there fluttered
aloft a new one--the one solitary Phoenix bird. The fable tells that
he dwells in Arabia, and that every hundred years, he burns himself to
death in his nest; but each time a new Phoenix, the only one in the
world, rises up from the red egg.

The bird flutters round us, swift as light, beauteous in color,
charming in song. When a mother sits by her infant's cradle, he stands
on the pillow, and, with his wings, forms a glory around the
infant's head. He flies through the chamber of content, and brings
sunshine into it, and the violets on the humble table smell doubly
sweet.

But the Phoenix is not the bird of Arabia alone. He wings his
way in the glimmer of the Northern Lights over the plains of
Lapland, and hops among the yellow flowers in the short Greenland
summer. Beneath the copper mountains of Fablun, and England's coal
mines, he flies, in the shape of a dusty moth, over the hymnbook
that rests on the knees of the pious miner. On a lotus leaf he
floats down the sacred waters of the Ganges, and the eye of the Hindoo
maid gleams bright when she beholds him.

The Phoenix bird, dost thou not know him? The Bird of Paradise,
the holy swan of song! On the car of Thespis he sat in the guise of
a chattering raven, and flapped his black wings, smeared with the lees
of wine; over the sounding harp of Iceland swept the swan's red
beak; on Shakspeare's shoulder he sat in the guise of Odin's raven,
and whispered in the poet's ear "Immortality!" and at the minstrels'
feast he fluttered through the halls of the Wartburg.

The Phoenix bird, dost thou not know him? He sang to thee the
Marseillaise, and thou kissedst the pen that fell from his wing; he
came in the radiance of Paradise, and perchance thou didst turn away
from him towards the sparrow who sat with tinsel on his wings.

The Bird of Paradise--renewed each century--born in flame,
ending in flame! Thy picture, in a golden frame, hangs in the halls of
the rich, but thou thyself often fliest around, lonely and
disregarded, a myth--"The Phoenix of Arabia."

In Paradise, when thou wert born in the first rose, beneath the
Tree of Knowledge, thou receivedst a kiss, and thy right name was
given thee--thy name, Poetry.




THE PORTUGUESE DUCK

A duck once arrived from Portugal, but there were some who said
she came from Spain, which is almost the same thing. At all events,
she was called the "Portuguese," and she laid eggs, was killed, and
cooked, and there was an end of her. But the ducklings which crept
forth from the eggs were also called "Portuguese," and about that
there may be some question. But of all the family one only remained in
the duckyard, which may be called a farmyard, as the chickens were
admitted, and the cock strutted about in a very hostile manner. "He
annoys me with his loud crowing," said the Portuguese duck; "but,
still, he's a handsome bird, there's no denying that, although he's
not a drake. He ought to moderate his voice, like those little birds
who are singing in the lime-trees over there in our neighbor's garden,
but that is an art only acquired in polite society. How sweetly they
sing there; it is quite a pleasure to listen to them! I call it
Portuguese singing. If I had only such a little singing-bird, I'd be
kind and good as a mother to him, for it's in my nature, in my
Portuguese blood."

While she was speaking, one of the little singing-birds came
tumbling head over heels from the roof into the yard. The cat was
after him, but he had escaped from her with a broken wing, and so came
tumbling into the yard. "That's just like the cat, she's a villain,"
said the Portuguese duck. "I remember her ways when I had children
of my own. How can such a creature be allowed to live, and wander
about upon the roofs. I don't think they allow such things in
Portugal." She pitied the little singing-bird, and so did all the
other ducks who were not Portuguese.

"Poor little creature!" they said, one after another, as they came
up. "We can't sing, certainly; but we have a sounding-board, or
something of the kind, within us; we can feel that, though we don't
talk about it."

"But I can talk," said the Portuguese duck; "and I'll do something
for the little fellow; it's my duty;" and she stepped into the
water-trough, and beat her wings upon the water so strongly that the
bird was nearly drowned by a shower-bath; but the duck meant it
kindly. "That is a good deed," she said; "I hope the others will
take example by it."

"Tweet, tweet!" said the little bird, for one of his wings being
broken, he found it difficult to shake himself; but he quite
understood that the bath was meant kindly, and he said, "You are
very kind-hearted, madam;" but he did not wish for a second bath.

"I have never thought about my heart," replied the Portuguese
duck, "but I know that I love all my fellow-creatures, except the cat,
and nobody can expect me to love her, for she ate up two of my
ducklings. But pray make yourself at home; it is easy to make one's
self comfortable. I am myself from a foreign country, as you may see
by my feathery dress. My drake is a native of these parts; he's not of
my race; but I am not proud on that account. If any one here can
understand you, I may say positively I am that person."

"She's quite full of 'Portulak,'" said a little common duck, who
was witty. All the common ducks considered the word "Portulak" a
good joke, for it sounded like Portugal. They nudged each other, and
said, "Quack! that was witty!"

Then the other ducks began to notice the little bird. "The
Portuguese had certainly a great flow of language," they said to the
little bird. "For our part we don't care to fill our beaks with such
long words, but we sympathize with you quite as much. If we don't do
anything else, we can walk about with you everywhere, and we think
that is the best thing we can do."

"You have a lovely voice," said one of the eldest ducks; "it
must be great satisfaction to you to be able to give so much
pleasure as you do. I am certainly no judge of your singing so I
keep my beak shut, which is better than talking nonsense, as others
do."

"Don't plague him so," interposed the Portuguese duck; "he requires
rest and nursing. My little singing-bird do you wish me to prepare
another bath for you?"

"Oh, no! no! pray let me dry," implored the little bird.

"The water-cure is the only remedy for me, when I am not well,"
said the Portuguese. "Amusement, too, is very beneficial. The fowls
from the neighborhood will soon be here to pay you a visit. There
are two Cochin Chinese amongst them; they wear feathers on their legs,
and are well educated. They have been brought from a great distance,
and consequently I treat them with greater respect than I do the
others."

Then the fowls arrived, and the cock was polite enough to-day to
keep from being rude. "You are a real songster," he said, "you do as
much with your little voice as it is possible to do; but there
requires more noise and shrillness in any one who wishes it to be
known who he is."

The two Chinese were quite enchanted with the appearance of the
singing-bird. His feathers had been much ruffled by his bath, so
that he seemed to them quite like a tiny Chinese fowl. "He's
charming," they said to each other, and began a conversation with
him in whispers, using the most aristocratic Chinese dialect: "We
are of the same race as yourself," they said. "The ducks, even the
Portuguese, are all aquatic birds, as you must have noticed. You do
not know us yet,--very few know us, or give themselves the trouble
to make our acquaintance, not even any of the fowls, though we are
born to occupy a higher grade in society than most of them. But that
does not disturb us, we quietly go on in our own way among the rest,
whose ideas are certainly not ours; for we look at the bright side
of things, and only speak what is good, although that is sometimes
very difficult to find where none exists. Except ourselves and the
cock there is not one in the yard who can be called talented or
polite. It cannot even be said of the ducks, and we warn you, little
bird, not to trust that one yonder, with the short tail feathers,
for she is cunning; that curiously marked one, with the crooked
stripes on her wings, is a mischief-maker, and never lets any one have
the last word, though she is always in the wrong. That fat duck yonder
speaks evil of every one, and that is against our principles. If we
have nothing good to tell, we close our beaks. The Portuguese is the
only one who has had any education, and with whom we can associate,
but she is passionate, and talks too much about 'Portugal.'"

"I wonder what those two Chinese are whispering about,"
whispered one duck to another; "they are always doing it, and it
annoys me. We never speak to them."

Now the drake came up, and he thought the little singing-bird
was a sparrow. "Well, I don't understand the difference," he said; "it
appears to me all the same. He's only a plaything, and if people
will have playthings, why let them, I say."

"Don't take any notice of what he says," whispered the Portuguese;
"he's very well in matters of business, and with him business is
placed before everything. But now I shall lie down and have a little
rest. It is a duty we owe to ourselves that we may be nice and fat
when we come to be embalmed with sage and onions and apples." So she
laid herself down in the sun and winked with one eye; she had a very
comfortable place, and felt so comfortable that she fell asleep. The
little singing-bird busied himself for some time with his broken wing,
and at last he lay down, too, quite close to his protectress. The
sun shone warm and bright, and he found out that it was a very good
place. But the fowls of the neighborhood were all awake, and, to
tell the truth, they had paid a visit to the duckyard, simply and
solely to find food for themselves. The Chinese were the first to
leave, and the other fowls soon followed them.

The witty little duck said of the Portuguese, that the old lady
was getting quite a "doting ducky," All the other ducks laughed at
this. "Doting ducky," they whispered. "Oh, that's too 'witty!'" And
then they repeated the former joke about "Portulak," and declared it
was most amusing. Then they all lay down to have a nap.

They had been lying asleep for some time, when suddenly
something was thrown into the yard for them to eat. It came down
with such a bang, that the whole company started up and clapped
their wings. The Portuguese awoke too, and rushed over to the other
side: in so doing she trod upon the little singing-bird.

"Tweet," he cried; "you trod very hard upon me, madam."

"Well, then, why do you lie in my way?" she retorted, "you must
not be so touchy. I have nerves of my own, but I do not cry 'tweet.'"

"Don't be angry," said the little bird; "the 'tweet' slipped out
of my beak unawares."

The Portuguese did not listen to him, but began eating as fast
as she could, and made a good meal. When she had finished, she lay
down again, and the little bird, who wished to be amiable, began to
sing,--

  "Chirp and twitter,
    The dew-drops glitter,
  In the hours of sunny spring,
    I'll sing my best,
    Till I go to rest,
  With my head behind my wing."


"Now I want rest after my dinner," said the Portuguese; "you
must conform to the rules of the house while you are here. I want to
sleep now."

The little bird was quite taken aback, for he meant it kindly.
When madam awoke afterwards, there he stood before her with a little
corn he had found, and laid it at her feet; but as she had not slept
well, she was naturally in a bad temper. "Give that to a chicken," she
said, "and don't be always standing in my way."

"Why are you angry with me?" replied the little singing-bird,
"what have I done?"

"Done!" repeated the Portuguese duck, "your mode of expressing
yourself is not very polite. I must call your attention to that fact."

"It was sunshine here yesterday," said the little bird, "but
to-day it is cloudy and the air is close."

"You know very little about the weather, I fancy," she retorted,
"the day is not over yet. Don't stand there, looking so stupid."

"But you are looking at me just as the wicked eyes looked when I
fell into the yard yesterday."

"Impertinent creature!" exclaimed the Portuguese duck: "would
you compare me with the cat--that beast of prey? There's not a drop of
malicious blood in me. I've taken your part, and now I'll teach you
better manners." So saying, she made a bite at the little
singing-bird's head, and he fell dead on the ground. "Now whatever
is the meaning of this?" she said; "could he not bear even such a
little peck as I gave him? Then certainly he was not made for this
world. I've been like a mother to him, I know that, for I've a good
heart."

Then the cock from the neighboring yard stuck his head in, and
crowed with steam-engine power.

"You'll kill me with your crowing," she cried, "it's all your
fault. He's lost his life, and I'm very near losing mine."

"There's not much of him lying there," observed the cock.

"Speak of him with respect," said the Portuguese duck, "for he had
manners and education, and he could sing. He was affectionate and
gentle, and that is as rare a quality in animals as in those who
call themselves human beings."

Then all the ducks came crowding round the little dead bird. Ducks
have strong passions, whether they feel envy or pity. There was
nothing to envy here, so they all showed a great deal of pity, even
the two Chinese. "We shall never have another singing-bird again
amongst us; he was almost a Chinese," they whispered, and then they
wept with such a noisy, clucking sound, that all the other fowls
clucked too, but the ducks went about with redder eyes afterwards. "We
have hearts of our own," they said, "nobody can deny that."

"Hearts!" repeated the Portuguese, "indeed you have, almost as
tender as the ducks in Portugal."

"Let us think of getting something to satisfy our hunger," said
the drake, "that's the most important business. If one of our toys is
broken, why we have plenty more."




THE PORTER'S SON

The General lived in the grand first floor, and the porter lived
in the cellar. There was a great distance between the two families--the
whole of the ground floor, and the difference in rank; but they
lived in the same house, and both had a view of the street, and of the
courtyard. In the courtyard was a grass-plot, on which grew a blooming
acacia tree (when it was in bloom), and under this tree sat
occasionally the finely-dressed nurse, with the still more
finely-dressed child of the General--little Emily. Before them
danced about barefoot the little son of the porter, with his great
brown eyes and dark hair; and the little girl smiled at him, and
stretched out her hands towards him; and when the General saw that
from the window, he would nod his head and cry, "Charming!" The
General's lady (who was so young that she might very well have been
her husband's daughter from an early marriage) never came to the
window that looked upon the courtyard. She had given orders, though,
that the boy might play his antics to amuse her child, but must
never touch it. The nurse punctually obeyed the gracious lady's
orders.

The sun shone in upon the people in the grand first floor, and
upon the people in the cellar; the acacia tree was covered with
blossoms, and they fell off, and next year new ones came. The tree
bloomed, and the porter's little son bloomed too, and looked like a
fresh tulip.

The General's little daughter became delicate and pale, like the
leaf of the acacia blossom. She seldom came down to the tree now,
for she took the air in a carriage. She drove out with her mamma,
and then she would always nod at the porter's George; yes, she used
even to kiss her hand to him, till her mamma said she was too old to
do that now.

One morning George was sent up to carry the General the letters
and newspapers that had been delivered at the porter's room in the
morning. As he was running up stairs, just as he passed the door of
the sand-box, he heard a faint piping. He thought it was some young
chicken that had strayed there, and was raising cries of distress; but
it was the General's little daughter, decked out in lace and finery.

"Don't tell papa and mamma," she whimpered; "they would be angry."

"What's the matter, little missie?" asked George.

"It's all on fire!" she answered. "It's burning with a bright
flame!" George hurried up stairs to the General's apartments; he
opened the door of the nursery. The window curtain was almost entirely
burnt, and the wooden curtain-pole was one mass of flame. George
sprang upon a chair he brought in haste, and pulled down the burning
articles; he then alarmed the people. But for him, the house would
have been burned down.

The General and his lady cross-questioned little Emily.

"I only took just one lucifer-match," she said, "and it was
burning directly, and the curtain was burning too. I spat at it, to
put it out; I spat at it as much as ever I could, but I could not
put it out; so I ran away and hid myself, for papa and mamma would
be angry."

"I spat!" cried the General's lady; "what an expression! Did you
ever hear your papa and mamma talk about spitting? You must have got
that from down stairs!"

And George had a penny given him. But this penny did not go to the
baker's shop, but into the savings-box; and soon there were so many
pennies in the savings-box that he could buy a paint-box and color the
drawings he made, and he had a great number of drawings. They seemed
to shoot out of his pencil and out of his fingers' ends. His first
colored pictures he presented to Emily.

"Charming!" said the General, and even the General's lady
acknowledged that it was easy to see what the boy had meant to draw.
"He has genius." Those were the words that were carried down into
the cellar.

The General and his gracious lady were grand people. They had
two coats of arms on their carriage, a coat of arms for each of
them, and the gracious lady had had this coat of arms embroidered on
both sides of every bit of linen she had, and even on her nightcap and
her dressing-bag. One of the coats of arms, the one that belonged to
her, was a very dear one; it had been bought for hard cash by her
father, for he had not been born with it, nor had she; she had come
into the world too early, seven years before the coat of arms, and
most people remembered this circumstance, but the family did not
remember it. A man might well have a bee in his bonnet, when he had
such a coat of arms to carry as that, let alone having to carry two;
and the General's wife had a bee in hers when she drove to the court
ball, as stiff and as proud as you please.

The General was old and gray, but he had a good seat on horseback,
and he knew it, and he rode out every day, with a groom behind him
at a proper distance. When he came to a party, he looked somehow as if
he were riding into the room upon his high horse; and he had orders,
too, such a number that no one would have believed it; but that was
not his fault. As a young man he had taken part in the great autumn
reviews which were held in those days. He had an anecdote that he told
about those days, the only one he knew. A subaltern under his orders
had cut off one of the princes, and taken him prisoner, and the Prince
had been obliged to ride through the town with a little band of
captured soldiers, himself a prisoner behind the General. This was
an ever-memorable event, and was always told over and over again every
year by the General, who, moreover, always repeated the remarkable
words he had used when he returned his sword to the Prince; those
words were, "Only my subaltern could have taken your Highness
prisoner; I could never have done it!" And the Prince had replied,
"You are incomparable." In a real war the General had never taken
part. When war came into the country, he had gone on a diplomatic
career to foreign courts. He spoke the French language so fluently
that he had almost forgotten his own; he could dance well, he could
ride well, and orders grew on his coat in an astounding way. The
sentries presented arms to him, one of the most beautiful girls
presented arms to him, and became the General's lady, and in time they
had a pretty, charming child, that seemed as if it had dropped from
heaven, it was so pretty; and the porter's son danced before it in the
courtyard, as soon as it could understand it, and gave her all his
colored pictures, and little Emily looked at them, and was pleased,
and tore them to pieces. She was pretty and delicate indeed.

"My little Roseleaf!" cried the General's lady, "thou art born
to wed a prince."

The prince was already at the door, but they knew nothing of it;
people don't see far beyond the threshold.

"The day before yesterday our boy divided his bread and butter
with her!" said the porter's wife. There was neither cheese nor
meat upon it, but she liked it as well as if it had been roast beef.
There would have been a fine noise if the General and his wife had
seen the feast, but they did not see it.

George had divided his bread and butter with little Emily, and
he would have divided his heart with her, if it would have pleased
her. He was a good boy, brisk and clever, and he went to the night
school in the Academy now, to learn to draw properly. Little Emily was
getting on with her education too, for she spoke French with her
"bonne," and had a dancing master.


"George will be confirmed at Easter," said the porter's wife;
for George had got so far as this.

"It would be the best thing, now, to make an apprentice of him,"
said his father. "It must be to some good calling--and then he would
be out of the house."

"He would have to sleep out of the house," said George's mother.
"It is not easy to find a master who has room for him at night, and we
shall have to provide him with clothes too. The little bit of eating
that he wants can be managed for him, for he's quite happy with a
few boiled potatoes; and he gets taught for nothing. Let the boy go
his own way. You will say that he will be our joy some day, and the
Professor says so too."

The confirmation suit was ready. The mother had worked it herself;
but the tailor who did repairs had cut them out, and a capital
cutter-out he was.

"If he had had a better position, and been able to keep a workshop
and journeymen," the porter's wife said, "he might have been a court
tailor."

The clothes were ready, and the candidate for confirmation was
ready. On his confirmation day, George received a great pinchbeck
watch from his godfather, the old iron monger's shopman, the richest
of his godfathers. The watch was an old and tried servant. It always
went too fast, but that is better than to be lagging behind. That
was a costly present. And from the General's apartment there arrived a
hymn-book bound in morocco, sent by the little lady to whom George had
given pictures. At the beginning of the book his name was written, and
her name, as "his gracious patroness." These words had been written at
the dictation of the General's lady, and the General had read the
inscription, and pronounced it "Charming!"

"That is really a great attention from a family of such position,"
said the porter's wife; and George was sent up stairs to show
himself in his confirmation clothes, with the hymn-book in his hand.

The General's lady was sitting very much wrapped up, and had the
bad headache she always had when time hung heavy upon her hands. She
looked at George very pleasantly, and wished him all prosperity, and
that he might never have her headache. The General was walking about
in his dressing-gown. He had a cap with a long tassel on his head, and
Russian boots with red tops on his feet. He walked three times up
and down the room, absorbed in his own thoughts and recollections, and
then stopped and said:

"So little George is a confirmed Christian now. Be a good man, and
honor those in authority over you. Some day, when you are an old
man, you can say that the General gave you this precept."

That was a longer speech than the General was accustomed to
make, and then he went back to his ruminations, and looked very
aristocratic. But of all that George heard and saw up there, little
Miss Emily remained most clear in his thoughts. How graceful she
was, how gentle, and fluttering, and pretty she looked. If she were to
be drawn, it ought to be on a soap-bubble. About her dress, about
her yellow curled hair, there was a fragrance as of a fresh-blown
rose; and to think that he had once divided his bread and butter
with her, and that she had eaten it with enormous appetite, and nodded
to him at every second mouthful! Did she remember anything about it?
Yes, certainly, for she had given him the beautiful hymn-book in
remembrance of this; and when the first new moon in the first new year
after this event came round, he took a piece of bread, a penny, and
his hymn-book, and went out into the open air, and opened the book
to see what psalm he should turn up. It was a psalm of praise and
thanksgiving. Then he opened the book again to see what would turn
up for little Emily. He took great pains not to open the book in the
place where the funeral hymns were, and yet he got one that referred
to the grave and death. But then he thought this was not a thing in
which one must believe; for all that he was startled when soon
afterwards the pretty little girl had to lie in bed, and the
doctor's carriage stopped at the gate every day.

"They will not keep her with them," said the porter's wife. "The
good God knows whom He will summon to Himself."

But they kept her after all; and George drew pictures and sent
them to her. He drew the Czar's palace; the old Kremlin at Moscow,
just as it stood, with towers and cupolas; and these cupolas looked
like gigantic green and gold cucumbers, at least in George's
drawing. Little Emily was highly pleased, and consequently, when a
week had elapsed, George sent her a few more pictures, all with
buildings in them; for, you see, she could imagine all sorts of things
inside the windows and doors.

He drew a Chinese house, with bells hanging from every one of
sixteen stories. He drew two Grecian temples with slender marble
pillars, and with steps all round them. He drew a Norwegian church. It
was easy to see that this church had been built entirely of wood, hewn
out and wonderfully put together; every story looked as if it had
rockers, like a cradle. But the most beautiful of all was the
castle, drawn on one of the leaves, and which he called "Emily's
Castle." This was the kind of place in which she must live. That is
what George had thought, and consequently he had put into this
building whatever he thought most beautiful in all the others. It
had carved wood-work, like the Norwegian church; marble pillars,
like the Grecian temple; bells in every story; and was crowned with
cupolas, green and gilded, like those of the Kremlin of the Czar. It
was a real child's castle, and under every window was written what the
hall or the room inside was intended to be; for instance: "Here
Emily sleeps;" "Here Emily dances;" "Here Emily plays at receiving
visitors." It was a real pleasure to look at the castle, and right
well was the castle looked at accordingly.

"Charming!" said the General.

But the old Count--for there was an old Count there, who was still
grander than the General, and had a castle of his own--said nothing at
all; he heard that it had been designed and drawn by the porter's
little son. Not that he was so very little, either, for he had already
been confirmed. The old Count looked at the pictures, and had his
own thoughts as he did so.

One day, when it was very gloomy, gray, wet weather, the brightest
of days dawned for George; for the Professor at the Academy called him
into his room.

"Listen to me, my friend," said the Professor; "I want to speak to
you. The Lord has been good to you in giving you abilities, and He has
also been good in placing you among kind people. The old Count at
the corner yonder has been speaking to me about you. I have also
seen your sketches; but we will not say any more about those, for
there is a good deal to correct in them. But from this time forward
you may come twice a-week to my drawing-class, and then you will
soon learn how to do them better. I think there's more of the
architect than of the painter in you. You will have time to think that
over; but go across to the old Count this very day, and thank God
for having sent you such a friend."

It was a great house--the house of the old Count at the corner.
Round the windows elephants and dromedaries were carved, all from
the old times; but the old Count loved the new time best, and what
it brought, whether it came from the first floor, or from the
cellar, or from the attic.

"I think," said, the porter's wife, "the grander people are, the
fewer airs do they give themselves. How kind and straightforward the
old count is! and he talks exactly like you and me. Now, the General
and his lady can't do that. And George was fairly wild with delight
yesterday at the good reception he met with at the Count's, and so
am I to-day, after speaking to the great man. Wasn't it a good thing
that we didn't bind George apprentice to a handicraftsman? for he
has abilities of his own."

"But they must be helped on by others," said the father.

"That help he has got now," rejoined the mother; "for the Count
spoke out quite clearly and distinctly."

"But I fancy it began with the General," said the father, "and
we must thank them too."

"Let us do so with all my heart," cried the mother, "though I
fancy we have not much to thank them for. I will thank the good God;
and I will thank Him, too, for letting little Emily get well."

Emily was getting on bravely, and George got on bravely too. In
the course of the year he won the little silver prize medal of the
Academy, and afterwards he gained the great one too.


"It would have been better, after all, if he had been
apprenticed to a handicraftsman," said the porter's wife, weeping;
"for then we could have kept him with us. What is he to do in Rome?
I shall never get a sight of him again, not even if he comes back; but
that he won't do, the dear boy."

"It is fortune and fame for him," said the father.

"Yes, thank you, my friend," said the mother; "you are saying what
you do not mean. You are just as sorrowful as I am."

And it was all true about the sorrow and the journey. But
everybody said it was a great piece of good fortune for the young
fellow. And he had to take leave, and of the General too. The
General's lady did not show herself, for she had her bad headache.
On this occasion the General told his only anecdote, about what he had
said to the Prince, and how the Prince had said to him, "You are
incomparable." And he held out a languid hand to George.

Emily gave George her hand too, and looked almost sorry; and
George was the most sorry of all.


Time goes by when one has something to do; and it goes by, too,
when one has nothing to do. The time is equally long, but not
equally useful. It was useful to George, and did not seem long at all,
except when he happened to be thinking of his home. How might the good
folks be getting on, up stairs and down stairs? Yes, there was writing
about that, and many things can be put into a letter--bright
sunshine and dark, heavy days. Both of these were in the letter
which brought the news that his father was dead, and that his mother
was alone now. She wrote that Emily had come down to see her, and
had been to her like an angel of comfort; and concerning herself,
she added that she had been allowed to keep her situation as
porteress.

The General's lady kept a diary, and in this diary was recorded
every ball she attended and every visit she received. The diary was
illustrated by the insertion of the visiting cards of the diplomatic
circle and of the most noble families; and the General's lady was
proud of it. The diary kept growing through a long time, and amid many
severe headaches, and through a long course of half-nights, that is to
say, of court balls. Emily had now been to a court ball for the
first time. Her mother had worn a bright red dress, with black lace,
in the Spanish style; the daughter had been attired in white, fair and
delicate; green silk ribbons fluttered like flag-leaves among her
yellow locks, and on her head she wore a wreath of water-lillies.
Her eyes were so blue and clear, her mouth was so delicate and red,
she looked like a little water spirit, as beautiful as such a spirit
can be imagined. The Princes danced with her, one after another of
course; and the General's lady had not a headache for a week
afterwards.

But the first ball was not the last, and Emily could not stand it;
it was a good thing, therefore, that summer brought with it rest,
and exercise in the open air. The family had been invited by the old
Count to visit him at him castle. That was a castle with a garden
which was worth seeing. Part of this garden was laid out quite in
the style of the old days, with stiff green hedges; you walked as if
between green walls with peep-holes in them. Box trees and yew trees
stood there trimmed into the form of stars and pyramids, and water
sprang from fountains in large grottoes lined with shells. All
around stood figures of the most beautiful stone--that could be seen
in their clothes as well as in their faces; every flower-bed had a
different shape, and represented a fish, or a coat of arms, or a
monogram. That was the French part of the garden; and from this part
the visitor came into what appeared like the green, fresh forest,
where the trees might grow as they chose, and accordingly they were
great and glorious. The grass was green, and beautiful to walk on, and
it was regularly cut, and rolled, and swept, and tended. That was
the English part of the garden.

"Old time and new time," said the Count, "here they run well
into one another. In two years the building itself will put on a
proper appearance, there will be a complete metamorphosis in beauty
and improvement. I shall show you the drawings, and I shall show you
the architect, for he is to dine here to-day."

"Charming!" said the General.

"'Tis like Paradise here," said the General's lady, "and yonder
you have a knight's castle!"

"That's my poultry-house," observed the Count. "The pigeons live
in the tower, the turkeys in the first floor, but old Elsie rules in
the ground floor. She has apartments on all sides of her. The
sitting hens have their own room, and the hens with chickens have
theirs; and the ducks have their own particular door leading to the
water."

"Charming!" repeated the General.

And all sailed forth to see these wonderful things. Old Elsie
stood in the room on the ground floor, and by her side stood Architect
George. He and Emily now met for the first time after several years,
and they met in the poultry-house.

Yes, there he stood, and was handsome enough to be looked at.
His face was frank and energetic; he had black shining hair, and a
smile about his mouth, which said, "I have a brownie that sits in my
ear, and knows every one of you, inside and out." Old Elsie had pulled
off her wooden shoes, and stood there in her stockings, to do honor to
the noble guests. The hens clucked, and the cocks crowed, and the
ducks waddled to and fro, and said, "Quack, quack!" But the fair, pale
girl, the friend of his childhood, the daughter of the General,
stood there with a rosy blush on her usually pale cheeks, and her eyes
opened wide, and her mouth seemed to speak without uttering a word,
and the greeting he received from her was the most beautiful
greeting a young man can desire from a young lady, if they are not
related, or have not danced many times together, and she and the
architect had never danced together.

The Count shook hands with him, and introduced him.

"He is not altogether a stranger, our young friend George."

The General's lady bowed to him, and the General's daughter was
very nearly giving him her hand; but she did not give it to him.

"Our little Master George!" said the General. "Old friends!
Charming!"

"You have become quite an Italian," said the General's lady,
"and I presume you speak the language like a native?"

"My wife sings the language, but she does not speak it,"
observed the General.

At dinner, George sat at the right hand of Emily, whom the General
had taken down, while the Count led in the General's lady.

Mr. George talked and told of his travels; and he could talk well,
and was the life and soul of the table, though the old Count could
have been it too. Emily sat silent, but she listened, and her eyes
gleamed, but she said nothing.

In the verandah, among the flowers, she and George stood together;
the rose-bushes concealed them. And George was speaking again, for
he took the lead now.

"Many thanks for the kind consideration you showed my old mother,"
he said. "I know that you went down to her on the night when my father
died, and you stayed with her till his eyes were closed. My
heartiest thanks!"

He took Emily's hand and kissed it--he might do so on such an
occasion. She blushed deeply, but pressed his hand, and looked at
him with her dear blue eyes.

"Your mother was a dear soul!" she said. "How fond she was of
her son! And she let me read all your letters, so that I almost
believe I know you. How kind you were to me when I was little girl!
You used to give me pictures."

"Which you tore in two," said George.

"No, I have still your drawing of the castle."

"I must build the castle in reality now," said George; and he
became quite warm at his own words.

The General and the General's lady talked to each other in their
room about the porter's son--how he knew how to behave, and to express
himself with the greatest propriety.

"He might be a tutor," said the General.

"Intellect!" said the General's lady; but she did not say anything
more.

During the beautiful summer-time Mr. George several times
visited the Count at his castle; and he was missed when he did not
come.

"How much the good God has given you that he has not given to us
poor mortals," said Emily to him. "Are you sure you are very
grateful for it?"

It flattered George that the lovely young girl should look up to
him, and he thought then that Emily had unusually good abilities.
And the General felt more and more convinced that George was no
cellar-child.

"His mother was a very good woman," he observed. "It is only right
I should do her that justice now she is in her grave."


The summer passed away, and the winter came; again there was
talk about Mr. George. He was highly respected, and was received in
the first circles. The General had met him at a court ball.

And now there was a ball to be given in the General's house for
Emily, and could Mr. George be invited to it?

"He whom the King invites can be invited by the General also,"
said the General, and drew himself up till he stood quite an inch
higher than before.

Mr. George was invited, and he came; princes and counts came,
and they danced, one better than the other. But Emily could only dance
one dance--the first; for she made a false step--nothing of
consequence; but her foot hurt her, so that she had to be careful, and
leave off dancing, and look at the others. So she sat and looked on,
and the architect stood by her side.

"I suppose you are giving her the whole history of St. Peter's,"
said the General, as he passed by; and smiled, like the
personification of patronage.

With the same patronizing smile he received Mr. George a few
days afterwards. The young man came, no doubt, to return thanks for
the invitation to the ball. What else could it be? But indeed there
was something else, something very astonishing and startling. He spoke
words of sheer lunacy, so that the General could hardly believe his
own ears. It was "the height of rhodomontade," an offer, quite an
inconceivable offer--Mr. George came to ask the hand of Emily in
marriage!

"Man!" cried the General, and his brain seemed to be boiling. "I
don't understand you at all. What is it you say? What is it you
want? I don't know you. Sir! Man! What possesses you to break into
my house? And am I to stand here and listen to you?" He stepped
backwards into his bed-room, locked the door behind him, and left
Mr. George standing alone. George stood still for a few minutes, and
then turned round and left the room. Emily was standing in the
corridor.

"My father has answered?" she said, and her voice trembled.

George pressed her hand.

"He has escaped me," he replied; "but a better time will come."

There were tears in Emily's eyes, but in the young man's eyes
shone courage and confidence; and the sun shone through the window,
and cast his beams on the pair, and gave them his blessing.

The General sat in his room, bursting hot. Yes, he was still
boiling, until he boiled over in the exclamation, "Lunacy! porter!
madness!"

Not an hour was over before the General's lady knew it out of
the General's own mouth. She called Emily, and remained alone with
her.

"You poor child," she said; "to insult you so! to insult us so!
There are tears in your eyes, too, but they become you well. You
look beautiful in tears. You look as I looked on my wedding-day.
Weep on, my sweet Emily."

"Yes, that I must," said Emily, "if you and my father do not say
'yes.'"

"Child!" screamed the General's lady; "you are ill! You are
talking wildly, and I shall have a most terrible headache! Oh, what
a misfortune is coming upon our house! Don't make your mother die,
Emily, or you will have no mother."

And the eyes of the General's lady were wet, for she could not
bear to think of her own death.


In the newspapers there was an announcement. "Mr. George has
been elected Professor of the Fifth Class, number Eight."

"It's a pity that his parents are dead and cannot read it," said
the new porter people, who now lived in the cellar under the General's
apartments. They knew that the Professor had been born and grown up
within their four walls.

"Now he'll get a salary," said the man.

"Yes, that's not much for a poor child," said the woman.

"Eighteen dollars a year," said the man. "Why, it's a good deal of
money."

"No, I mean the honor of it," replied the wife. "Do you think he
cares for the money? Those few dollars he can earn a hundred times
over, and most likely he'll get a rich wife into the bargain. If we
had children of our own, husband, our child should be an architect and
a professor too."

George was spoken well of in the cellar, and he was spoken well of
in the first floor. The old Count took upon himself to do that.

The pictures he had drawn in his childhood gave occasion for it.
But how did the conversation come to turn on these pictures? Why, they
had been talking of Russia and of Moscow, and thus mention was made of
the Kremlin, which little George had once drawn for Miss Emily. He had
drawn many pictures, but the Count especially remembered one, "Emily's
Castle," where she was to sleep, and to dance, and to play at
receiving guests.

"The Professor was a true man," said the Count, "and would be a
privy councillor before he died, it was not at all unlikely; and he
might build a real castle for the young lady before that time came:
why not?"

"That was a strange jest," remarked the General's lady, when the
Count had gone away. The General shook his head thoughtfully, and went
out for a ride, with his groom behind him at a proper distance, and he
sat more stiffly than ever on his high horse.

It was Emily's birthday. Flowers, books, letters, and visiting
cards came pouring in. The General's lady kissed her on the mouth, and
the General kissed her on the forehead; they were affectionate
parents, and they and Emily had to receive grand visitors, two of
the Princes. They talked of balls and theatres, of diplomatic
missions, of the government of empires and nations; and then they
spoke of talent, native talent; and so the discourse turned upon the
young architect.

"He is building up an immortality for himself," said one, "and
he will certainly build his way into one of our first families."

"One of our first families!" repeated the General and afterwards
the General's lady; "what is meant by one of our first families?"

"I know for whom it was intended," said the General's lady, "but I
shall not say it. I don't think it. Heaven disposes, but I shall be
astonished."

"I am astonished also!" said the General. "I haven't an idea in my
head!" And he fell into a reverie, waiting for ideas.

There is a power, a nameless power, in the possession of favor
from above, the favor of Providence, and this favor little George had.
But we are forgetting the birthday.

Emily's room was fragrant with flowers, sent by male and female
friends; on the table lay beautiful presents for greeting and
remembrance, but none could come from George--none could come from
him; but it was not necessary, for the whole house was full of
remembrances of him. Even out of the ash-bin the blossom of memory
peeped forth, for Emily had sat whimpering there on the day when the
window-curtain caught fire, and George arrived in the character of
fire engine. A glance out of the window, and the acacia tree
reminded of the days of childhood. Flowers and leaves had fallen,
but there stood the tree covered with hoar frost, looking like a
single huge branch of coral, and the moon shone clear and large
among the twigs, unchanged in its changings, as it was when George
divided his bread and butter with little Emily.

Out of a box the girl took the drawings of the Czar's palace and
of her own castle--remembrances of George. The drawings were looked
at, and many thoughts came. She remembered the day when, unobserved by
her father and mother, she had gone down to the porter's wife who
lay dying. Once again she seemed to sit beside her, holding the
dying woman's hand in hers, hearing the dying woman's last words:
"Blessing George!" The mother was thinking of her son, and now Emily
gave her own interpretation to those words. Yes, George was
certainly with her on her birthday.

It happened that the next day was another birthday in that
house, the General's birthday. He had been born the day after his
daughter, but before her of course--many years before her. Many
presents arrived, and among them came a saddle of exquisite
workmanship, a comfortable and costly saddle--one of the Princes had
just such another. Now, from whom might this saddle come? The
General was delighted. There was a little note with the saddle. Now if
the words on the note had been "many thanks for yesterday's
reception," we might easily have guessed from whom it came. But the
words were "From somebody whom the General does not know."

"Whom in the world do I not know?" exclaimed the General. "I
know everybody;" and his thoughts wandered all through society, for he
knew everybody there. "That saddle comes from my wife!" he said at
last. "She is teasing me--charming!"

But she was not teasing him; those times were past.


Again there was a feast, but it was not in the General's house, it
was a fancy ball at the Prince's, and masks were allowed too.

The General went as Rubens, in a Spanish costume, with a little
ruff round his neck, a sword by his side, and a stately manner. The
General's lady was Madame Rubens, in black velvet made high round
the neck, exceedingly warm, and with a mill-stone round her neck in
the shape of a great ruff--accurately dressed after a Dutch picture in
the possession of the General, in which the hands were especially
admired. They were just like the hands of the General's lady.

Emily was Psyche. In white crape and lace she was like a
floating swan. She did not want wings at all. She only wore them as
emblematic of Psyche.

Brightness, splendor, light and flowers, wealth and taste appeared
at the ball; there was so much to see, that the beautiful hands of
Madame Rubens made no sensation at all.

A black domino, with an acacia blossom in his cap, danced with
Psyche.

"Who is that?" asked the General's lady.

"His Royal Highness," replied the General. "I am quite sure of it.
I knew him directly by the pressure of his hand."

The General's lady doubted it.

General Rubens had no doubts about it. He went up to the black
domino and wrote the royal letters in the mask's hand. These were
denied, but the mask gave him a hint.

The words that came with the saddle: "One whom you do not know,
General."

"But I do know you," said the General. "It was you who sent me the
saddle."

The domino raised his hand, and disappeared among the other
guests.

"Who is that black domino with whom you were dancing, Emily?"
asked the General's lady.

"I did not ask his name," she replied, "because you knew it. It is
the Professor. Your protege is here, Count!" she continued, turning to
that nobleman, who stood close by. "A black domino with acacia
blossoms in his cap."

"Very likely, my dear lady," replied the Count. "But one of the
Princes wears just the same costume."

"I knew the pressure of the hand," said the General. "The saddle
came from the Prince. I am so certain of it that I could invite that
domino to dinner."

"Do so. If it be the Prince he will certainly come," replied the
Count.

"And if it is the other he will not come," said the General, and
approached the black domino, who was just speaking with the King.
The General gave a very respectful invitation "that they might make
each other's acquaintance," and he smiled in his certainty
concerning the person he was inviting. He spoke loud and distinctly.

The domino raised his mask, and it was George. "Do you repeat your
invitation, General?" he asked.

The General certainly seemed to grow an inch taller, assumed a
more stately demeanor, and took two steps backward and one step
forward, as if he were dancing a minuet, and then came as much gravity
and expression into the face of the General as the General could
contrive to infuse into it; but he replied,

"I never retract my words! You are invited, Professor!" and he
bowed with a glance at the King, who must have heard the whole
dialogue.


Now, there was a company to dinner at the General's, but only
the old Count and his protege were invited.

"I have my foot under his table," thought George. "That's laying
the foundation stone."

And the foundation stone was really laid, with great ceremony,
at the house of the General and of the General's lady.

The man had come, and had spoken quite like a person in good
society, and had made himself very agreeable, so that the General
had often to repeat his "Charming!" The General talked of this dinner,
talked of it even to a court lady; and this lady, one of the most
intellectual persons about the court, asked to be invited to meet
the Professor the next time he should come. So he had to be invited
again; and he was invited, and came, and was charming again; he
could even play chess.

"He's not out of the cellar," said the General; "he's quite a
distinguished person. There are many distinguished persons of that
kind, and it's no fault of his."

The Professor, who was received in the King's palace, might very
well be received by the General; but that he could ever belong to
the house was out of the question, only the whole town was talking
of it.


He grew and grew. The dew of favor fell from above, so no one
was surprised after all that he should become a Privy Councillor,
and Emily a Privy Councillor's lady.

"Life is either a tragedy or a comedy," said the General. "In
tragedies they die, in comedies they marry one another."

In this case they married. And they had three clever boys--but not
all at once.

The sweet children rode on their hobby-horses through all the
rooms when they came to see the grandparents. And the General also
rode on his stick; he rode behind them in the character of groom to
the little Privy Councillors.

And the General's lady sat on her sofa and smiled at them, even
when she had her severest headache.


So far did George get, and much further; else it had not been
worth while to tell the story of THE PORTER'S SON.




POULTRY MEG'S FAMILY

Poultry Meg was the only person who lived in the new stately
dwelling that had been built for the fowls and ducks belonging to
the manor house. It stood there where once the old knightly building
had stood with its tower, its pointed gables, its moat, and its
drawbridge. Close by it was a wilderness of trees and thicket; here
the garden had been, and had stretched out to a great lake, which
was now moorland. Crows and choughs flew screaming over the old trees,
and there were crowds of birds; they did not seem to get fewer when
any one shot among them, but seemed rather to increase. One heard
the screaming into the poultry-house, where Poultry Meg sat with the
ducklings running to and fro over her wooden shoes. She knew every
fowl and every duck from the moment it crept out of the shell; and she
was fond of her fowls and her ducks, and proud of the stately house
that had been built for them. Her own little room in the house was
clean and neat, for that was the wish of the gracious lady to whom the
house belonged. She often came in the company of grand noble guests,
to whom she showed "the hens' and ducks' barracks," as she called
the little house.

Here were a clothes cupboard, and an arm-chair, and even a
chest of drawers; and on these drawers a polished metal plate had been
placed, whereon was engraved the word "Grubbe," and this was the
name of the noble family that had lived in the house of old. The brass
plate had been found when they were digging the foundation; and the
clerk has said it had no value except in being an old relic. The clerk
knew all about the place, and about the old times, for he had his
knowledge from books, and many a memorandum had been written and put
in his table-drawer. But the oldest of the crows perhaps knew more
than he, and screamed it out in her own language; but that was the
crow's language, and the clerk did not understand that, clever as he
was.

After the hot summer days the mist sometimes hung over the
moorland as if a whole lake were behind the old trees, among which the
crows and the daws were fluttering; and thus it had looked when the
good Knight Grubbe had lived here--when the old manor house stood with
its thick red walls. The dog-chain used to reach in those days quite
over the gateway; through the tower one went into a paved passage
which led to the rooms; the windows were narrow, and the panes were
small, even in the great hall where the dancing used to be; but in the
time of the last Grubbe, there had been no dancing in the hall
within the memory of man, although an old drum still lay there that
had served as part of the music. Here stood a quaintly carved
cupboard, in which rare flower-roots were kept, for my Lady Grubbe was
fond of plants and cultivated trees and shrubs. Her husband
preferred riding out to shoot wolves and boars; and his little
daughter Marie always went with him part of the way. When she was only
five years old, she would sit proudly on her horse, and look saucily
round with her great black eyes. It was a great amusement to her to
hit out among the hunting-dogs with her whip; but her father would
rather have seen her hit among the peasant boys, who came running up
to stare at their lord.

The peasant in the clay hut close by the knightly house had a
son named Soren, of the same age as the gracious little lady. The
boy could climb well, and had always to bring her down the bird's
nests. The birds screamed as loud as they could, and one of the
greatest of them hacked him with its beak over the eye so that the
blood ran down, and it was at first thought the eye had been
destroyed; but it had not been injured after all. Marie Grubbe used to
call him her Soren, and that was a great favor, and was an advantage
to Soren's father--poor Jon, who had one day committed a fault, and
was to be punished by riding on the wooden horse. This same horse
stood in the courtyard, and had four poles for legs, and a single
narrow plant for a back; on this Jon had to ride astride, and some
heavy bricks were fastened to his feet into the bargain, that he might
not sit too comfortably. He made horrible grimaces, and Soren wept and
implored little Marie to interfere. She immediately ordered that
Soren's father should be taken down, and when they did not obey her,
she stamped on the floor, and pulled at her father's sleeve till it
was torn to pieces. She would have her way, and she got her way, and
Soren's father was taken down.

Lady Grubbe, who now came up, parted her little daughter's hair
from the child's brow, and looked at her affectionately; but Marie did
not understand why.

She wanted to go to the hounds, and not to her mother, who went
down into the garden, to the lake where the water-lily bloomed, and
the heads of bulrushes nodded amid the reeds; and she looked at all
this beauty and freshness. "How pleasant!" she said. In the garden
stood at that time a rare tree, which she herself had planted. It
was called the blood-beech--a kind of negro growing among the other
trees, so dark brown were the leaves. This tree required much
sunshine, for in continual shade it would become bright green like the
other trees, and thus lose its distinctive character. In the lofty
chestnut trees were many birds' nests, and also in the thickets and in
the grassy meadows. It seemed as though the birds knew that they
were protected here, and that no one must fire a gun at them.

Little Marie came here with Soren. He knew how to climb, as we
have already said, and eggs and fluffy-feathered young birds were
brought down. The birds, great and small, flew about in terror and
tribulation; the peewit from the fields, and the crows and daws from
the high trees, screamed and screamed; it was just such din as the
family will raise to the present day.

"What are you doing, you children?" cried the gentle lady; "that
is sinful!"

Soren stood abashed, and even the little gracious lady looked down
a little; but then he said, quite short and pretty,

"My father lets me do it!"

"Craw-craw! away-away from here!" cried the great black birds, and
they flew away; but on the following day they came back, for they were
at home here.

The quiet gentle lady did not remain long at home here on earth,
for the good God called her away; and, indeed, her home was rather
with Him than in the knightly house; and the church bells tolled
solemnly when her corpse was carried to the church, and the eyes of
the poor people were wet with tears, for she had been good to them.

When she was gone, no one attended to her plantations, and the
garden ran to waste. Grubbe the knight was a hard man, they said;
but his daughter, young as she was, knew how to manage him. He used to
laugh and let her have her way. She was now twelve years old, and
strongly built. She looked the people through and through with her
black eyes, rode her horse as bravely as a man, and could fire off her
gun like a practiced hunter.

One day there were great visitors in the neighborhood, the
grandest visitors who could come. The young King, and his half-brother
and comrade, the Lord Ulric Frederick Gyldenlowe. They wanted to
hunt the wild boar, and to pass a few days at the castle of Grubbe.

Gyldenlowe sat at table next to Marie Grubbe, and he took her by
the hand and gave her a kiss, as if she had been a relation; but she
gave him a box on the ear, and told him she could not bear him, at
which there was great laughter, as if that had been a very amusing
thing.

And perhaps it was very amusing, for, five years afterwards,
when Marie had fulfilled her seventeenth year, a messenger arrived
with a letter, in which Lord Gyldenlowe proposed for the hand of the
noble young lady. There was a thing for you!

"He is the grandest and most gallant gentleman in the whole
country," said Grubbe the knight; "that is not a thing to despise."

"I don't care so very much about him," said Marie Grubbe; but
she did not despise the grandest man of all the country, who sat by
the king's side.

Silver plate, and fine linen and woollen, went off to Copenhagen
in a ship, while the bride made the journey by land in ten days. But
the outfit met with contrary winds, or with no winds at all, for
four months passed before it arrived; and when it came, my Lady
Gyldenlowe was gone.

"I'd rather lie on coarse sacking than lie in his silken beds,"
she declared. "I'd rather walk barefoot than drive with him in a
coach!"

Late one evening in November two women came riding into the town
of Aarhuus. They were the gracious Lady Gyldenlowe (Marie Grubbe)
and her maid. They came from the town of Weile, whither they had
come in a ship from Copenhagen. They stopped at Lord Grubbe's stone
mansion in Aarhuus. Grubbe was not well pleased with this visit. Marie
was accosted in hard words; but she had a bedroom given her, and got
her beer soup of a morning; but the evil part of her father's nature
was aroused against her, and she was not used to that. She was not
of a gentle temper, and we often answer as we are addressed. She
answered openly, and spoke with bitterness and hatred of her
husband, with whom she declared she would not live; she was too
honorable for that.

A year went by, but it did not go by pleasantly. There were evil
words between the father and the daughter, and that ought never to be.
Bad words bear bad fruit. What could be the end of such a state of
things?

"We two cannot live under the same roof," said the father one day.
"Go away from here to our old manor house; but you had better bite
your tongue off than spread any lies among the people."

And so the two parted. She went with her maid to the old castle
where she had been born, and near which the gentle, pious lady, her
mother, was lying in the church vault. An old cowherd lived in the
courtyard, and was the only other inhabitant of the place. In the
rooms heavy black cobwebs hung down, covered with dust; in the
garden everything grew just as it would; hops and climbing plants
ran like a net between the trees and bushes, and the hemlock and
nettle grew larger and stronger. The blood-beech had been outgrown
by other trees, and now stood in the shade; and its leaves were
green like those of the common trees, and its glory had departed.
Crows and choughs, in great close masses, flew past over the tall
chestnut trees, and chattered and screamed as if they had something
very important to tell one another--as if they were saying, "Now she's
come back again, the little girl who had their eggs and their young
ones stolen from them; and as for the thief who had got them down,
he had to climb up a leafless tree, for he sat on a tall ship's
mast, and was beaten with a rope's end if he did not behave himself."

The clerk told all this in our own times; he had collected it
and looked it up in books and memoranda. It was to be found, with many
other writings, locked up in his table-drawer.

"Upward and downward is the course of the world," said he. "It
is strange to hear."

And we will hear how it went with Marie Grubbe. We need not for
that forget Poultry Meg, who is sitting in her capital hen-house, in
our own time. Marie Grubbe sat down in her times, but not with the
same spirit that old Poultry Meg showed.

The winter passed away, and the spring and the summer passed away,
and the autumn came again, with the damp, cold sea-fog. It was a
lonely, desolate life in the old manor house. Marie Grubbe took her
gun in her hand and went out to the heath, and shot hares and foxes,
and whatever birds she could hit. More than once she met the noble Sir
Palle Dyre, of Norrebak, who was also wandering about with his gun and
his dogs. He was tall and strong, and boasted of this when they talked
together. He could have measured himself against the deceased Mr.
Brockenhuus, of Egeskov, of whom the people still talked. Palle Dyre
had, after the example of Brockenhuus, caused an iron chain with a
hunting-horn to be hung in his gateway; and when he came riding
home, he used to seize the chain, and lift himself and his horse
from the ground, and blow the horn.

"Come yourself, and see me do that, Dame Marie," he said. 'One can
breathe fresh and free at Norrebak.

When she went to his castle is not known, but on the altar
candlestick in the church of Norrebak it was inscribed that they
were the gift of Palle Dyre and Marie Grubbe, of Norrebak Castle.

A great stout man was Palle Dyre. He drank like a sponge. He was
like a tub that could never get full; he snored like a whole sty of
pigs, and he looked red and bloated.

"He is treacherous and malicious," said Dame Pally Dyre,
Grubbe's daughter. Soon she was weary of her life with him, but that
did not make it better.

One day the table was spread, and the dishes grew cold. Palle Dyre
was out hunting foxes, and the gracious lady was nowhere to be
found. Towards midnight Palle Dyre came home, but Dame Dyre came
neither at midnight, nor next morning. She had turned her back upon
Norrebak, and had ridden away without saying good-bye.

It was gray, wet weather; the wind grew cold, and a flight of
black screaming birds flew over her head. They were not so homeless as
she.

First she journeyed southward, quite down into the German land.
A couple of golden rings with costly stones were turned into money;
and then she turned to the east, and then she turned again and went
towards the west. She had no food before her eyes, and murmured
against everything, even against the good God himself, so wretched was
her soul. Soon her body became wretched too, and she was scarcely able
to move a foot. The peewit flew up as she stumbled over the mound of
earth where it had built its nest. The bird cried, as it always cried,
"You thief! you thief!" She had never stolen her neighbor's goods; but
as a little girl she had caused eggs and young birds to be taken
from the trees, and she thought of that now.

From where she lay she could see the sand-dunes. By the seashore
lived fishermen; but she could not get so far, she was so ill. The
great white sea-mews flew over her head, and screamed as the crows and
daws screamed at home in the garden of the manor house. The birds flew
quite close to her, and at last it seemed to her as if they became
black as crows, and then all was night before her eyes.

When she opened her eyes again, she was being lifted and
carried. A great strong man had taken her up in his arms, and she
was looking straight into his bearded face. He had a scar over one
eye, which seemed to divide the eyebrow into two parts. Weak as she
was, he carried her to the ship, where he got a rating for it from the
captain.

The next day the ship sailed away. Madame Grubbe had not been
put ashore, so she sailed away with it. But she will return, will
she not? Yes, but where, and when?

The clerk could tell about this too, and it was not a story
which he patched together himself. He had the whole strange history
out of an old authentic book, which we ourselves can take out and
read. The Danish historian, Ludwig Holberg, who has written so many
useful books and merry comedies, from which we can get such a good
idea of his times and their people, tells in his letters of Marie
Grubbe, where and how he met her. It is well worth hearing; but for
all that, we don't at all forget Poultry Meg, who is sitting
cheerful and comfortable in the charming fowl-house.

The ship sailed away with Marie Grubbe. That's where we left off.

Long years went by.

The plague was raging at Copenhagen; it was in the year 1711.
The Queen of Denmark went away to her German home, the King quitted
the capital, and everybody who could do so hurried away. The students,
even those who had board and lodging gratis, left the city. One of
these students, the last who had remained in the free college, at last
went away too. It was two o'clock in the morning. He was carrying
his knapsack, which was better stacked with books and writings than
with clothes. A damp mist hung over the town; not a person was to be
seen in the streets; the street-doors around were marked with crosses,
as a sign that the plague was within, or that all the inmates were
dead. A great wagon rattled past him; the coachman brandished his
whip, and the horses flew by at a gallop. The wagon was filled with
corpses. The young student kept his hand before his face, and smelt at
some strong spirits that he had with him on a sponge in a little brass
scent-case. Out of a small tavern in one of the streets there were
sounds of singing and of unhallowed laughter, from people who drank
the night through to forget that the plague was at their doors, and
that they might be put into the wagon as the others had been. The
student turned his steps towards the canal at the castle bridge, where
a couple of small ships were lying; one of these was weighing
anchor, to get away from the plague-stricken city.

"If God spares our lives and grants us a fair wind, we are going
to Gronmud, near Falster," said the captain; and he asked the name
of the student who wished to go with him.

"Ludwig Holberg," answered the student; and the name sounded
like any other. But now there sounds in it one of the proudest names
of Denmark; then it was the name of a young, unknown student.

The ship glided past the castle. It was not yet bright day when it
was in the open sea. A light wind filled the sails, and the young
student sat down with his face turned towards the fresh wind, and went
to sleep, which was not exactly the most prudent thing he could have
done.

Already on the third day the ship lay by the island of Falster.

"Do you know any one here with whom I could lodge cheaply?"
Holberg asked the captain.

"I should think you would do well to go to the ferry-woman in
Borrehaus," answered the captain. "If you want to be very civil to
her, her name is Mother Soren Sorensen Muller. But it may happen
that she may fly into a fury if you are too polite to her. The man
is in custody for a crime, and that's why she manages the ferry-boat
herself--she has fists of her own."

The student took his knapsack and betook himself to the
ferry-house. The house door was not locked--it opened, and he went
into a room with a brick floor, where a bench, with a great coverlet
of leather, formed the chief article of furniture. A white hen, who
had a brood of chickens, was fastened to the bench, and had overturned
the pipkin of water, so that the wet ran across the floor. There
were no people either here or in the adjoining room; only a cradle
stood there, in which was a child. The ferry-boat came back with
only one person in it. Whether that person was a man or a woman was
not an easy matter to determine. The person in question was wrapped in
a great cloak, and wore a kind of hood. Presently the boat lay to.

It was a woman who got out of it and came into the room. She
looked very stately when she straightened her back; two proud eyes
looked forth from beneath her black eyebrows. It was Mother Soren, the
ferry-wife. The crows and daws might have called out another name
for her, which we know better.

She looked morose, and did not seem to care to talk; but this much
was settled, that the student should board in her house for an
indefinite time, while things looked so bad in Copenhagen.

This or that honest citizen would often come to the ferry-house
from the neighboring little town. There came Frank the cutler, and
Sivert the exciseman. They drank a mug of beer in the ferry-house, and
used to converse with the student, for he was a clever young man,
who knew his "Practica," as they called it; he could read Greek and
Latin, and was well up in learned subjects.

"The less one knows, the less it presses upon one," said Mother
Soren.

"You have to work hard," said Holberg one day, when she was
dipping clothes in the strong soapy water, and was obliged herself
to split the logs for the fire.

"That's my affair," she replied.

"Have you been obliged to toil in this way from your childhood?"

"You can read that from my hands," she replied, and held out her
hands, that were small indeed, but hard and strong, with bitten nails.
"You are learned, and can read."

At Christmas-time it began to snow heavily. The cold came on,
the wind blue sharp, as if there were vitriol in it to wash the
people's faces. Mother Soren did not let that disturb her; she threw
her cloak around her, and drew her hood over her head. Early in the
afternoon--it was already dark in the house--she laid wood and turf on
the hearth, and then she sat down to darn her stockings, for there was
no one to do it for her. Towards evening she spoke more words to the
student than it was customary with her to use; she spoke of her
husband.

"He killed a sailor of Dragor by mischance, and for that he has to
work for three years in irons. He's only a common sailor, and
therefore the law must take its course."

"The law is there for people of high rank, too," said Holberg.

"Do you think so?" said Mother Soren; then she looked into the
fire for a while; but after a time she began to speak again. "Have you
heard of Kai Lykke, who caused a church to be pulled down, and when
the clergyman, Master Martin, thundered from the pulpit about it, he
had him put in irons, and sat in judgment upon him, and condemned
him to death? Yes, and the clergyman was obliged to bow his head to
the stroke. And yet Kai Lykke went scot-free."

"He had a right to do as he did in those times," said Holberg;
"but now we have left those times behind us."

"You may get a fool to believe that," cried Mother Soren; and
she got up and went into the room where the child lay. She lifted up
the child, and laid it down more comfortably. Then she arranged the
bed-place of the student. He had the green coverlet, for he felt the
cold more than she, though he was born in Norway.

On New Year's morning it was a bright sunshiny day. The frost
had been so strong, and was still so strong, that the fallen snow
had become a hard mass, and one could walk upon it. The bells of the
little town were tolling for church. Student Holberg wrapped himself
up in his woollen cloak, and wanted to go to the town.

Over the ferry-house the crows and daws were flying with loud
cries; one could hardly hear the church bells for their screaming.
Mother Soren stood in front of the house, filling a brass pot with
snow, which she was going to put on the fire to get drinking water.
She looked up to the crowd of birds, and thought her own thoughts.

Student Holberg went to church. On his way there and on his return
he passed by the house of tax-collector Sivert, by the town-gate. Here
he was invited to take a mug of brown beer with treacle and sugar. The
discourse fell upon Mother Soren, but the tax collector did not know
much about her, and, indeed, few knew much about her. She did not
belong to the island of Falster, he said; she had a little property of
her own at one time. Her husband was a common sailor, a fellow of a
very hot temper, and had killed a sailor of Dragor; and he beat his
wife, and yet she defended him.

"I should not endure such treatment," said the tax-collector's
wife. "I am come of more respectable people. My father was
stocking-weaver to the Court."

"And consequently you have married a governmental official,"
said Holberg, and made a bow to her and to the collector.

It was on Twelfth Night, the evening of the festival of the
Three Kings, Mother Soren lit up for Holberg a three-king candle, that
is, a tallow candle with three wicks, which she had herself prepared.

"A light for each man," said Holberg.

"For each man?" repeated the woman, looking sharply at him.

"For each of the wise men from the East," said Holberg.

"You mean it that way," said she, and then she was silent for a
long time. But on this evening he learned more about her than he had
yet known.

"You speak very affectionately of your husband," observed Holberg,
"and yet the people say that he ill-uses you every day."

"That's no one's business but mine," she replied. "The blows might
have done me good when I was a child; now, I suppose, I get them for
my sins. But I know what good he has done me," and she rose up.
"When I lay sick upon the desolate heath, and no one would have pity
on me, and no one would have anything to do with me, except the
crows and daws, which came to peck me to bits, he carried me in his
arms, and had to bear hard words because of the burden he brought on
board ship. It's not in my nature to be sick, and so I got well. Every
man has his own way, and Soren has his; but the horse must not be
judged by the halter. Taking one thing with another, I have lived more
agreeably with him than with the man whom they called the most noble
and gallant of the King's subjects. I have had the Stadtholder
Gyldenlowe, the King's half-brother, for my husband; and afterwards
I took Palle Dyre. One is as good as another, each in his own way, and
I in mine. That was a long gossip, but now you know all about me."

And with those words she left the room.


It was Marie Grubbe! so strangely had fate played with her. She
did not live to see many anniversaries of the festival of the Three
Kings; Holberg has recorded that she died in June, 1716; but he has
not written down, for he did not know, that a number of great black
birds circled over the ferry-house, when Mother Soren, as she was
called, was lying there a corpse. They did not scream, as if they knew
that at a burial silence should be observed. So soon as she lay in the
earth, the birds disappeared; but on the same evening in Jutland, at
the old manor house, an enormous number of crows and choughs were
seen; they all cried as loud as they could, as if they had some
announcement to make. Perhaps they talked of him who, as a little boy,
had taken away their eggs and their young; of the peasant's son, who
had to wear an iron garter, and of the noble young lady, who ended
by being a ferryman's wife.

"Brave! brave!" they cried.

And the whole family cried, "Brave! brave!" when the old house was
pulled down.

"They are still crying, and yet there's nothing to cry about,"
said the clerk, when he told the story. "The family is extinct, the
house has been pulled down, and where it stood is now the stately
poultry-house, with gilded weathercocks, and the old Poultry Meg.
She rejoices greatly in her beautiful dwelling. If she had not come
here," the old clerk added, "she would have had to go into the
work-house."

The pigeons cooed over her, the turkey-cocks gobbled, and the
ducks quacked.

"Nobody knew her," they said; "she belongs to no family. It's pure
charity that she is here at all. She has neither a drake father nor
a hen mother, and has no descendants."

She came of a great family, for all that; but she did not know it,
and the old clerk did not know it, though he had so much written down;
but one of the old crows knew about it, and told about it. She had
heard from her own mother and grandmother about Poultry Meg's mother
and grandmother. And we know the grandmother too. We saw her ride,
as child, over the bridge, looking proudly around her, as if the whole
world belonged to her, and all the birds' nests in it; and we saw
her on the heath, by the sand-dunes; and, last of all, in the
ferry-house. The granddaughter, the last of her race, had come back to
the old home, where the old castle had stood, where the black wild
birds were screaming; but she sat among the tame birds, and these knew
her and were fond of her. Poultry Meg had nothing left to wish for;
she looked forward with pleasure to her death, and she was old
enough to die.

"Grave, grave!" cried the crows.

And Poultry Meg has a good grave, which nobody knew except the old
crow, if the old crow is not dead already.

And now we know the story of the old manor house, of its old
proprietors, and of all Poultry Meg's family.




THE PRINCESS AND THE PEA

Once upon a time there was a prince who wanted to marry a
princess; but she would have to be a real princess. He travelled all
over the world to find one, but nowhere could he get what he wanted.
There were princesses enough, but it was difficult to find out whether
they were real ones. There was always something about them that was
not as it should be. So he came home again and was sad, for he would
have liked very much to have a real princess.

One evening a terrible storm came on; there was thunder and
lightning, and the rain poured down in torrents. Suddenly a knocking
was heard at the city gate, and the old king went to open it.

It was a princess standing out there in front of the gate. But,
good gracious! what a sight the rain and the wind had made her look.
The water ran down from her hair and clothes; it ran down into the
toes of her shoes and out again at the heels. And yet she said that
she was a real princess.

"Well, we'll soon find that out," thought the old queen. But she
said nothing, went into the bed-room, took all the bedding off the
bedstead, and laid a pea on the bottom; then she took twenty
mattresses and laid them on the pea, and then twenty eider-down beds
on top of the mattresses.

On this the princess had to lie all night. In the morning she
was asked how she had slept.

"Oh, very badly!" said she. "I have scarcely closed my eyes all
night. Heaven only knows what was in the bed, but I was lying on
something hard, so that I am black and blue all over my body. It's
horrible!"

Now they knew that she was a real princess because she had felt
the pea right through the twenty mattresses and the twenty
eider-down beds.

Nobody but a real princess could be as sensitive as that.

So the prince took her for his wife, for now he knew that he had a
real princess; and the pea was put in the museum, where it may still
be seen, if no one has stolen it.

There, that is a true story.




THE PSYCHE

In the fresh morning dawn, in the rosy air gleams a great Star,
the brightest Star of the morning. His rays tremble on the white wall,
as if he wished to write down on it what he can tell, what he has seen
there and elsewhere during thousands of years in our rolling world.
Let us hear one of his stories.

"A short time ago"--the Star's "short time ago" is called among
men "centuries ago"--"my rays followed a young artist. It was in the
city of the Popes, in the world-city, Rome. Much has been changed
there in the course of time, but the changes have not come so
quickly as the change from youth to old age. Then already the palace
of the Caesars was a ruin, as it is now; fig trees and laurels grew
among the fallen marble columns, and in the desolate bathing-halls,
where the gilding still clings to the wall; the Coliseum was a
gigantic ruin; the church bells sounded, the incense sent up its
fragrant cloud, and through the streets marched processions with
flaming tapers and glowing canopies. Holy Church was there, and art
was held as a high and holy thing. In Rome lived the greatest
painter in the world, Raphael; there also dwelt the first of
sculptors, Michael Angelo. Even the Pope paid homage to these two, and
honored them with a visit. Art was recognized and honored, and was
rewarded also. But, for all that, everything great and splendid was
not seen and known.

"In a narrow lane stood an old house. Once it had been a temple; a
young sculptor now dwelt there. He was young and quite unknown. He
certainly had friends, young artists, like himself, young in spirit,
young in hopes and thoughts; they told him he was rich in talent,
and an artist, but that he was foolish for having no faith in his
own power; for he always broke what he had fashioned out of clay,
and never completed anything; and a work must be completed if it is to
be seen and to bring money.

"'You are a dreamer,' they went on to say to him, 'and that's your
misfortune. But the reason of this is, that you have never lived,
you have never tasted life, you have never enjoyed it in great
wholesome draughts, as it ought to be enjoyed. In youth one must
mingle one's own personality with life, that they may become one. Look
at the great master Raphael, whom the Pope honors and the world
admires. He's no despiser of wine and bread.'

"'And he even appreciates the baker's daughter, the pretty
Fornarina,' added Angelo, one of the merriest of the young friends.

"Yes, they said a good many things of the kind, according to their
age and their reason. They wanted to draw the young artist out with
them into the merry wild life, the mad life as it might also be
called; and at certain times he felt an inclination for it. He had
warm blood, a strong imagination, and could take part in the merry
chat, and laugh aloud with the rest; but what they called 'Raphael's
merry life' disappeared before him like a vapor when he saw the divine
radiance that beamed forth from the pictures of the great master;
and when he stood in the Vatican, before the forms of beauty which the
masters had hewn out of marble thousands of years since, his breast
swelled, and he felt within himself something high, something holy,
something elevating, great and good, and he wished that he could
produce similar forms from the blocks of marble. He wished to make a
picture of that which was within him, stirring upward from his heart
to the realms of the Infinite; but how, and in what form? The soft
clay was fashioned under his fingers into forms of beauty, but the
next day he broke what he had fashioned, according to his wont.

"One day he walked past one of those rich palaces of which Rome
has many to show. He stopped before the great open portal, and
beheld a garden surrounded by cloistered walks. The garden bloomed
with a goodly show of the fairest roses. Great white lilies with green
juicy leaves shot upward from the marble basin in which the clear
water was splashing; and a form glided past, the daughter of the
princely house, graceful, delicate, and wonderfully fair. Such a
form of female loveliness he had never before beheld--yet stay: he had
seen it, painted by Raphael, painted as a Psyche, in one of the
Roman palaces. Yes, there it had been painted; but here it passed by
him in living reality.

"The remembrance lived in his thoughts, in his heart. He went home
to his humble room, and modelled a Psyche of clay. It was the rich
young Roman girl, the noble maiden; and for the first time he looked
at his work with satisfaction. It had a meaning for him, for it was
she. And the friends who saw his work shouted aloud for joy; they
declared that this work was a manifestation of his artistic power,
of which they had long been aware, and that now the world should be
made aware of it too.

"The clay figure was lifelike and beautiful, but it had not the
whiteness or the durability of marble. So they declared that the
Psyche must henceforth live in marble. He already possessed a costly
block of that stone. It had been lying for years, the property of
his parents, in the courtyard. Fragments of glass, climbing weeds, and
remains of artichokes had gathered about it and sullied its purity;
but under the surface the block was as white as the mountain snow; and
from this block the Psyche was to arise."

Now, it happened one morning--the bright Star tells nothing
about this, but we know it occurred--that a noble Roman company came
into the narrow lane. The carriage stopped at the top of the lane, and
the company proceeded on foot towards the house, to inspect the
young sculptor's work, for they had heard him spoken of by chance. And
who were these distinguished guests? Poor young man! or fortunate
young man he might be called. The noble young lady stood in the room
and smiled radiantly when her father said to her, "It is your living
image." That smile could not be copied, any more than the look could
be reproduced, the wonderful look which she cast upon the young
artist. It was a fiery look, that seemed at once to elevate and to
crush him.

"The Psyche must be executed in marble," said the wealthy
patrician. And those were words of life for the dead clay and the
heavy block of marble, and words of life likewise for the deeply-moved
artist. "When the work is finished I will purchase it," continued
the rich noble.

A new era seemed to have arisen in the poor studio. Life and
cheerfulness gleamed there, and busy industry plied its work. The
beaming Morning Star beheld how the work progressed. The clay itself
seemed inspired since she had been there, and moulded itself, in
heightened beauty, to a likeness of the well-known features.

"Now I know what life is," cried the artist rejoicingly; "it is
Love! It is the lofty abandonment of self for the dawning of the
beautiful in the soul! What my friends call life and enjoyment is a
passing shadow; it is like bubbles among seething dregs, not the
pure heavenly wine that consecrates us to life."

The marble block was reared in its place. The chisel struck
great fragments from it; the measurements were taken, points and lines
were made, the mechanical part was executed, till gradually the
stone assumed a human female form, a shape of beauty, and became
converted into the Psyche, fair and glorious--a divine being in
human shape. The heavy stone appeared as a gliding, dancing, airy
Psyche, with the heavenly innocent smile--the smile that had
mirrored itself in the soul of the young artist.

The Star of the roseate dawn beheld and understood what was
stirring within the young man, and could read the meaning of the
changing color of his cheek, of the light that flashed from his eye,
as he stood busily working, reproducing what had been put into his
soul from above.

"Thou art a master like those masters among the ancient Greeks,"
exclaimed his delighted friends; "soon shall the whole world admire
thy Psyche."

"My Psyche!" he repeated. "Yes, mine. She must be mine. I, too, am
an artist, like those great men who are gone. Providence has granted
me the boon, and has made me the equal of that lady of noble birth."

And he knelt down and breathed a prayer of thankfulnesss to
Heaven, and then he forgot Heaven for her sake--for the sake of her
picture in stone--for her Psyche which stood there as if formed of
snow, blushing in the morning dawn.

He was to see her in reality, the living, graceful Psyche, whose
words sounded like music in his ears. He could now carry the news into
the rich palace that the marble Psyche was finished. He betook himself
thither, strode through the open courtyard where the waters ran
splashing from the dolphin's jaws into the marble basins, where the
snowy lilies and the fresh roses bloomed in abundance. He stepped into
the great lofty hall, whose walls and ceilings shone with gilding
and bright colors and heraldic devices. Gayly-dressed serving-men,
adorned with trappings like sleigh horses, walked to and fro, and some
reclined at their ease upon the carved oak seats, as if they were
the masters of the house. He told them what had brought him to the
palace, and was conducted up the shining marble staircase, covered
with soft carpets and adorned with many a statue. Then he went on
through richly-furnished chambers, over mosaic floors, amid gorgeous
pictures. All this pomp and luxury seemed to weary him; but soon he
felt relieved, for the princely old master of the house received him
most graciously, almost heartily; and when he took his leave he was
requested to step into the Signora's apartment, for she, too, wished
to see him. The servants led him through more luxurious halls and
chambers into her room, where she appeared the chief and leading
ornament.

She spoke to him. No hymn of supplication, no holy chant, could
melt his soul like the sound of her voice. He took her hand and lifted
it to his lips. No rose was softer, but a fire thrilled through him
from this rose--a feeling of power came upon him, and words poured
from his tongue--he knew not what he said. Does the crater of the
volcano know that the glowing lava is pouring from it? He confessed
what he felt for her. She stood before him astonished, offended,
proud, with contempt in her face, an expression of disgust, as if
she had suddenly touched a cold unclean reptile. Her cheeks
reddened, her lips grew white, and her eyes flashed fire, though
they were dark as the blackness of night.

"Madman!" she cried, "away! begone!"

And she turned her back upon him. Her beautiful face wore an
expression like that of the stony countenance with the snaky locks.

Like a stricken, fainting man, he tottered down the staircase
and out into the street. Like a man walking in his sleep, he found his
way back to his dwelling. Then he woke up to madness and agony, and
seized his hammer, swung it high in the air, and rushed forward to
shatter the beautiful marble image. But, in his pain, he had not
noticed that his friend Angelo stood beside him; and Angelo held
back his arm with a strong grasp, crying,

"Are you mad? What are you about?"

They struggled together. Angelo was the stronger; and, with a deep
sigh of exhaustion, the young artist threw himself into a chair.

"What has happened?" asked Angelo. "Command yourself. Speak!"

But what could he say? How could he explain? And as Angelo could
make no sense of his friend's incoherent words, he forbore to question
him further, and merely said,

"Your blood grows thick from your eternal dreaming. Be a man, as
all others are, and don't go on living in ideals, for that is what
drives men crazy. A jovial feast will make you sleep quietly and
happily. Believe me, the time will come when you will be old, and your
sinews will shrink, and then, on some fine sunshiny day, when
everything is laughing and rejoicing, you will lie there a faded
plant, that will grow no more. I do not live in dreams, but in
reality. Come with me. Be a man!"

And he drew the artist away with him. At this moment he was able
to do so, for a fire ran in the blood of the young sculptor; a
change had taken place in his soul; he felt a longing to tear from the
old, the accustomed--to forget, if possible, his own individuality;
and therefore it was that he followed Angelo.

In an out-of-the-way suburb of Rome lay a tavern much visited by
artists. It was built on the ruins of some ancient baths. The great
yellow citrons hung down among the dark shining leaves, and covered
a part of the old reddish-yellow walls. The tavern consisted of a
vaulted chamber, almost like a cavern, in the ruins. A lamp burned
there before the picture of the Madonna. A great fire gleamed on the
hearth, and roasting and boiling was going on there; without, under
the citron trees and laurels, stood a few covered tables.

The two artists were received by their friends with shouts of
welcome. Little was eaten, but much was drunk, and the spirits of
the company rose. Songs were sung and ditties were played on the
guitar; presently the Salterello sounded, and the merry dance began.
Two young Roman girls, who sat as models to the artists, took part
in the dance and in the festivity. Two charming Bacchantes were
they; certainly not Psyches--not delicate, beautiful roses, but fresh,
hearty, glowing carnations.

How hot it was on that day! Even after sundown it was hot. There
was fire in the blood, fire in every glance, fire everywhere. The
air gleamed with gold and roses, and life seemed like gold and roses.

"At last you have joined us, for once," said his friends. "Now let
yourself be carried by the waves within and around you."

"Never yet have I felt so well, so merry!" cried the young artist.
"You are right--you are all of you right. I was a fool--a dreamer. Man
belongs to reality, and not to fancy."

With songs and with sounding guitars the young people returned
that evening from the tavern, through the narrow streets; the two
glowing carnations, daughters of the Campagna, went with them.

In Angelo's room, among a litter of colored sketches (studies) and
glowing pictures, the voices sounded mellower, but not less merrily.
On the ground lay many a sketch that resembled the daughters of the
Campagna, in their fresh, hearty comeliness, but the two originals
were far handsomer than their portraits. All the burners of the
six-armed lamp flared and flamed; and the human flamed up from within,
and appeared in the glare as if it were divine.

"Apollo! Jupiter! I feel myself raised to our heaven--to your
glory! I feel as if the blossom of life were unfolding itself in my
veins at this moment!"

Yes, the blossom unfolded itself, and then burst and fell, and
an evil vapor arose from it, blinding the sight, leading astray the
fancy; the firework of the senses went out, and it became dark.

He was again in his own room. There he sat down on his bed and
collected his thoughts.

"Fie on thee!" these were the words that sounded out of his
mouth from the depths of his heart. "Wretched man, go, begone!" And
a deep painful sigh burst from his bosom.

"Away! begone!" These, her words, the words of the living
Psyche, echoed through his heart, escaped from his lips. He buried his
head in the pillows, his thoughts grew confused, and he fell asleep.

In the morning dawn he started up, and collected his thoughts
anew. What had happened? Had all the past been a dream? The visit to
her, the feast at the tavern, the evening with the purple carnations
of the Campagna? No, it was all real--a reality he had never before
experienced.

In the purple air gleamed the bright Star, and its beams fell upon
him and upon the marble Psyche. He trembled as he looked at that
picture of immortality, and his glance seemed impure to him. He
threw the cloth over the statue, and then touched it once more to
unveil the form--but he was not able to look again at his own work.

Gloomy, quiet, absorbed in his own thoughts, he sat there
through the long day; he heard nothing of what was going on around
him, and no man guessed what was passing in this human soul.

And days and weeks went by, but the nights passed more slowly than
the days. The flashing Star beheld him one morning as he rose, pale
and trembling with fever, from his sad couch; then he stepped
towards the statue, threw back the covering, took one long,
sorrowful gaze at his work, and then, almost sinking beneath the
burden, he dragged the statue out into the garden. In that place was
an old dry well, now nothing but a hole. Into this he cast the Psyche,
threw earth in above her, and covered up the spot with twigs and
nettles.

"Away! begone!" Such was the short epitaph he spoke.

The Star beheld all this from the pink morning sky, and its beam
trembled upon two great tears upon the pale feverish cheeks of the
young man; and soon it was said that he was sick unto death, and he
lay stretched upon a bed of pain.

The convent Brother Ignatius visited him as a physician and a
friend, and brought him words of comfort, of religion, and spoke to
him of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sinfulness of
man, of rest and mercy to be found in heaven.

And the words fell like warm sunbeams upon a teeming soil. The
soil smoked and sent up clouds of mist, fantastic pictures, pictures
in which there was reality; and from these floating islands he
looked across at human life. He found it vanity and delusion--and
vanity and delusion it had been to him. They told him that art was a
sorcerer, betraying us to vanity and to earthly lusts; that we are
false to ourselves, unfaithful to our friends, unfaithful towards
Heaven; and that the serpent was always repeating within us, "Eat, and
thou shalt become as God."

And it appeared to him as if now, for the first time, he knew
himself, and had found the way that leads to truth and to peace. In
the church was the light and the brightness of God--in the monk's cell
he should find the rest through which the tree of human life might
grow on into eternity.

Brother Ignatius strengthened his longings, and the
determination became firm within him. A child of the world became a
servant of the church--the young artist renounced the world, and
retired into the cloister.

The brothers came forward affectionately to welcome him, and his
inauguration was as a Sunday feast. Heaven seemed to him to dwell in
the sunshine of the church, and to beam upon him from the holy
pictures and from the cross. And when, in the evening, at the sunset
hour, he stood in his little cell, and, opening the window, looked out
upon old Rome, upon the desolated temples, and the great dead
Coliseum--when he saw all this in its spring garb, when the acacias
bloomed, and the ivy was fresh, and roses burst forth everywhere,
and the citron and orange were in the height of their beauty, and
the palm trees waved their branches--then he felt a deeper emotion
than had ever yet thrilled through him. The quiet open Campagna spread
itself forth towards the blue snow-covered mountains, which seemed
to be painted in the air; all the outlines melting into each other,
breathing peace and beauty, floating, dreaming--and all appearing like
a dream!

Yes, this world was a dream, and the dream lasts for hours, and
may return for hours; but convent life is a life of years--long years,
and many years.

From within comes much that renders men sinful and impure. He
fully realized the truth of this. What flames arose up in him at
times! What a source of evil, of that which we would not, welled up
continually! He mortified his body, but the evil came from within.


One day, after the lapse of many years, he met Angelo, who
recognized him.

"Man!" exclaimed Angelo. "Yes, it is thou! Art thou happy now?
Thou hast sinned against God, and cast away His boon from thee--hast
neglected thy mission in this world! Read the parable of the intrusted
talent! The MASTER, who spoke that parable, spoke the truth! What hast
thou gained? What hast thou found? Dost thou not fashion for thyself a
religion and a dreamy life after thine own idea, as almost all do?
Suppose all this is a dream, a fair delusion!"

"Get thee away from me, Satan!" said the monk; and he quitted
Angelo.

"There is a devil, a personal devil! This day I have seen him!"
said the monk to himself. "Once I extended a finger to him, and he
took my whole hand. But now," he sighed, "the evil is within me, and
it is in yonder man; but it does not bow him down; he goes abroad with
head erect, and enjoys his comfort; and I grasped at comfort in the
consolations of religion. If it were nothing but a consolation?
Supposing everything here were, like the world I have quitted, only
a beautiful fancy, a delusion like the beauty of the evening clouds,
like the misty blue of the distant hills!--when you approach them,
they are very different! O eternity! Thou actest like the great calm
ocean, that beckons us, and fills us with expectation--and when we
embark upon thee, we sink, disappear, and cease to be. Delusion!
away with it! begone!"

And tearless, but sunk in bitter reflection, he sat upon his
hard couch, and then knelt down--before whom? Before the stone cross
fastened to the wall? No, it was only habit that made him take this
position.

The more deeply he looked into his own heart, the blacker did
the darkness seem. "Nothing within, nothing without--this life
squandered and cast away!" And this thought rolled and grew like a
snowball, until it seemed to crush him.

"I can confide my griefs to none. I may speak to none of the
gnawing worm within. My secret is my prisoner; if I let the captive
escape, I shall be his!"

And the godlike power that dwelt within him suffered and strove.

"O Lord, my Lord!" he cried, in his despair, "be merciful and
grant me faith. I threw away the gift thou hadst vouchsafed to me, I
left my mission unfulfilled. I lacked strength, and strength thou
didst not give me. Immortality--the Psyche in my breast--away with
it!--it shall be buried like that Psyche, the best gleam of my life;
never will it arise out of its grave!"

The Star glowed in the roseate air, the Star that shall surely
be extinguished and pass away while the soul still lives on; its
trembling beam fell upon the white wall, but it wrote nothing there
upon being made perfect in God, nothing of the hope of mercy, of the
reliance on the divine love that thrills through the heart of the
believer.

"The Psyche within can never die. Shall it live in
consciousness? Can the incomprehensible happen? Yes, yes. My being
is incomprehensible. Thou art unfathomable, O Lord. Thy whole world is
incomprehensible--a wonder-work of power, of glory and of love."

His eyes gleamed, and then closed in death. The tolling of the
church bell was the last sound that echoed above him, above the dead
man; and they buried him, covering him with earth that had been
brought from Jerusalem, and in which was mingled the dust of many of
the pious dead.

When years had gone by his skeleton was dug up, as the skeletons
of the monks who had died before him had been; it was clad in a
brown frock, a rosary was put into the bony hand, and the form was
placed among the ranks of other skeletons in the cloisters of the
convent. And the sun shone without, while within the censers were
waved and the Mass was celebrated.


And years rolled by.

The bones fell asunder and became mingled with others. Skulls were
piled up till they formed an outer wall around the church; and there
lay also his head in the burning sun, for many dead were there, and no
one knew their names, and his name was forgotten also. And see,
something was moving in the sunshine, in the sightless cavernous eyes!
What might that be? A sparkling lizard moved about in the skull,
gliding in and out through the sightless holes. The lizard now
represented all the life left in that head, in which once great
thoughts, bright dreams, the love of art and of the glorious, had
arisen, whence hot tears had rolled down, where hope and immortality
had had their being. The lizard sprang away and disappeared, and the
skull itself crumbled to pieces and became dust among dust.

Centuries passed away. The bright Star gleamed unaltered,
radiant and large, as it had gleamed for thousands of years, and the
air glowed red with tints fresh as roses, crimson like blood.

There, where once had stood the narrow lane containing the ruins
of the temple, a nunnery was now built. A grave was being dug in the
convent garden for a young nun who had died, and was to be laid in the
earth this morning. The spade struck against a hard substance; it
was a stone, that shone dazzling white. A block of marble soon
appeared, a rounded shoulder was laid bare; and now the spade was
plied with a more careful hand, and presently a female head was
seen, and butterflies' wings. Out of the grave in which the young
nun was to be laid they lifted, in the rosy morning, a wonderful
statue of a Psyche carved in white marble.

"How beautiful, how perfect it is!" cried the spectators. "A relic
of the best period of art."

And who could the sculptor have been? No one knew; no one
remembered him, except the bright star that had gleamed for
thousands of years. The star had seen the course of that life on
earth, and knew of the man's trials, of his weakness--in fact, that he
had been but human. The man's life had passed away, his dust had
been scattered abroad as dust is destined to be; but the result of his
noblest striving, the glorious work that gave token of the divine
element within him--the Psyche that never dies, that lives beyond
posterity--the brightness even of this earthly Psyche remained here
after him, and was seen and acknowledged and appreciated.

The bright Morning Star in the roseate air threw its glancing
ray downward upon the Psyche, and upon the radiant countenances of the
admiring spectators, who here beheld the image of the soul portrayed
in marble.

What is earthly will pass away and be forgotten, and the Star in
the vast firmament knows it. What is heavenly will shine brightly
through posterity; and when the ages of posterity are past, the
Psyche--the soul--will still live on!




THE PUPPET-SHOW MAN

On board a steamer I once met an elderly man, with such a merry
face that, if it was really an index of his mind, he must have been
the happiest fellow in creation; and indeed he considered himself
so, for I heard it from his own mouth. He was a Dane, the owner of a
travelling theatre. He had all his company with him in a large box,
for he was the proprietor of a puppet-show. His inborn cheerfulness,
he said, had been tested by a member of the Polytechnic Institution,
and the experiment had made him completely happy. I did not at first
understand all this, but afterwards he explained the whole story to
me; and here it is:--

"I was giving a representation," he said, "in the hall of the
posting-house in the little town of Slagelse; there was a splendid
audience, entirely juvenile excepting two respectable matrons. All
at once, a person in black, of student-like appearance, entered the
room, and sat down; he laughed aloud at the telling points, and
applauded quite at the proper time. This was a very unusual
spectator for me, and I felt anxious to know who he was. I heard
that he was a member of the Polytechnic Institution in Copenhagen, who
had been sent out to lecture to the people in the provinces.
Punctually at eight o'clock my performance closed, for children must
go early to bed, and a manager must also consult the convenience of
the public.

"At nine o'clock the lecturer commenced his lecture and his
experiments, and then I formed a part of his audience. It was
wonderful both to hear and to see. The greater part of it was beyond
my comprehension, but it led me to think that if we men can acquire so
much, we must surely be intended to last longer than the little span
which extends only to the time when we are hidden away under the
earth. His experiments were quite miracles on a small scale, and yet
the explanations flowed as naturally as water from his lips. At the
time of Moses and the prophets, such a man would have been placed
among the sages of the land; in the middle ages they would have
burnt him at the stake.

"All night long I could not sleep; and the next evening when I
gave another performance and the lecturer was present, I was in one of
my best moods.

"I once heard of an actor, who, when he had to act the part of a
lover, always thought of one particular lady in the audience; he
only played for her, and forgot all the rest of the house, and now the
Polytechnic lecturer was my she, my only auditor, for whom alone I
played.

"When the performance was over, and the puppets removed behind the
curtain, the Polytechnic lecturer invited me into his room to take a
glass of wine. He talked of my comedies, and I of his science, and I
believe we were both equally pleased. But I had the best of it, for
there was much in what he did that he could not always explain to
me. For instance, why a piece of iron which is rubbed on a cylinder,
should become magnetic. How does this happen? The magnetic sparks come
to it,--but how? It is the same with people in the world; they are
rubbed about on this spherical globe till the electric spark comes
upon them, and then we have a Napoleon, or a Luther, or some one of
the kind.

"'The whole world is but a series of miracles,' said the lecturer,
'but we are so accustomed to them that we call them everyday matters.'
And he went on explaining things to me till my skull seemed lifted
from my brain, and I declared that were I not such an old fellow, I
would at once become a member of the Polytechnic Institution, that I
might learn to look at the bright side of everything, although I was
one of the happiest of men.

"'One of the happiest!' said the lecturer, as if the idea
pleased him; 'are you really happy?'

"'Yes,' I replied; 'for I am welcomed in every town, when I arrive
with my company; but I certainly have one wish which sometimes
weighs upon my cheerful temper like a mountain of lead. I should
like to become the manager of a real theatre, and the director of a
real troupe of men and women.'

"'I understand,' he said; 'you would like to have life breathed
into your puppets, so that they might be living actors, and you
their director. And would you then be quite happy?'

"I said I believed so. But he did not; and we talked it over in
all manner of ways, yet could not agree on the subject. However, the
wine was excellent, and we clanked our glasses together as we drank.
There must have been magic in it, or I should most certainly become
tipsy; but that did not happen, for my mind seemed quite clear; and,
indeed, a kind of sunshine filled the room, and beamed from the eyes
of the Polytechnic lecturer. It made me think of the old stories
when the gods, in their immortal youth, wandered upon this earth,
and paid visits to mankind. I said so to him, and he smiled; and I
could have sworn that he was one of these ancient deities in disguise,
or, at all events, that he belonged to the race of the gods. The
result seemed to prove I was right in my suspicions; for it was
arranged that my highest wish should be granted, that my puppets
were to be gifted with life, and that I was to be the manager of a
real company. We drank to my success, and clanked our glasses. Then he
packed all my dolls into the box, and fastened it on my back, and I
felt as if I were spinning round in a circle, and presently found
myself lying on the floor. I remember that quite well. And then the
whole company sprang from the box. The spirit had come upon us all;
the puppets had become distinguished actors--at least, so they said
themselves--and I was their director.

"When all was ready for the first representation, the whole
company requested permission to speak to me before appearing in
public. The dancing lady said the house could not be supported
unless she stood on one leg; for she was a great genius, and begged to
be treated as such. The lady who acted the part of the queen
expected to be treated as a queen off the stage, as well as on it,
or else she said she should get out of practice. The man whose duty it
was to deliver a letter gave himself as many airs as he who took the
part of first lover in the piece; he declared that the inferior
parts were as important as the great ones, and deserving equal
consideration, as parts of an artistic whole. The hero of the piece
would only play in a part containing points likely to bring down the
applause of the house. The 'prima donna' would only act when the
lights were red, for she declared that a blue light did not suit her
complexion. It was like a company of flies in a bottle, and I was in
the bottle with them; for I was their director. My breath was taken
away, my head whirled, and I was as miserable as a man could be. It
was quite a novel, strange set of beings among whom I now found
myself. I only wished I had them all in my box again, and that I had
never been their director. So I told them roundly that, after all,
they were nothing but puppets; and then they killed me. After a
while I found myself lying on my bed in my room; but how I got
there, or how I got away at all from the Polytechnic professor, he may
perhaps know, I don't. The moon shone upon the floor, the box lay
open, and the dolls were all scattered about in great confusion; but I
was not idle. I jumped off the bed, and into the box they all had to
go, some on their heads, some on their feet. Then I shut down the lid,
and seated myself upon the box. 'Now you'll have to stay,' said I,
'and I shall be cautious how I wish you flesh and blood again.'

"I felt quite light, my cheerfulness had returned, and I was the
happiest of mortals. The Polytechnic professor had fully cured me. I
was as happy as a king, and went to sleep on the box. Next
morning--correctly speaking, it was noon, for I slept remarkably late
that day--I found myself still sitting there, in happy consciousness that
my former wish had been a foolish one. I inquired for the Polytechnic
professor; but he had disappeared like the Greek and Roman gods;
from that time I have been the happiest man in the world. I am a happy
director; for none of my company ever grumble, nor the public
either, for I always make them merry. I can arrange my pieces just
as I please. I choose out of every comedy what I like best, and no one
is offended. Plays that are neglected now-a-days by the great public
were ran after thirty years ago, and listened to till the tears ran
down the cheeks of the audience. These are the pieces I bring forward.
I place them before the little ones, who cry over them as papa and
mamma used to cry thirty years ago. But I make them shorter, for the
youngsters don't like long speeches; and if they have anything
mournful, they like it to be over quickly."




THE RACES

A prize, or rather two prizes, a great one and a small one, had
been awarded for the greatest swiftness in running,--not in a single
race, but for the whole year.

"I obtained the first prize," said the hare. "Justice must still
be carried out, even when one has relations and good friends among the
prize committee; but that the snail should have received the second
prize, I consider almost an insult to myself."

"No," said the fence-rail, who had been a witness at the
distribution of prizes; "there should be some consideration for
industry and perseverance. I have heard many respectable people say
so, and I can quite understand it. The snail certainly took half a
year to get over the threshold of the door; but he injured himself,
and broke his collar-bone by the haste he made. He gave himself up
entirely to the race, and ran with his house on his back, which was
all, of course, very praiseworthy; and therefore he obtained the
second prize."

"I think I ought to have had some consideration too," said the
swallow. "I should imagine no one can be swifter in soaring and flight
than I am; and how far I have been! far, far away."

"Yes, that is your misfortune," said the fence-rail; "you are so
fickle, so unsettled; you must always be travelling about into foreign
lands when the cold commences here. You have no love of fatherland
in you. There can be no consideration for you."

"But now, if I have been lying the whole winter in the moor," said
the swallow, "and suppose I slept the whole time, would that be
taken into account?"

"Bring a certificate from the old moor-hen," said he, "that you
have slept away half your time in fatherland; then you will be treated
with some consideration."

"I deserved the first prize, and not the second," said the
snail. "I know so much, at least, that the hare only ran from
cowardice, and because he thought there was danger in delay. I, on the
other hand, made running the business of my life, and have become a
cripple in the service. If any one had a first prize, it ought to have
been myself. But I do not understand chattering and boasting; on the
contrary, I despise it." And the snail spat at them with contempt.

"I am able to affirm with word of oath, that each prize--at least,
those for which I voted--was given with just and proper
consideration," said the old boundary post in the wood, who was a
member of the committee of judges. "I always act with due order,
consideration, and calculation. Seven times have I already had the
honor to be present at the distribution of the prizes, and to vote;
but to-day is the first time I have been able to carry out my will.
I always reckon the first prize by going through the alphabet from the
beginning, and the second by going through from the end. Be so kind as
to give me your attention, and I will explain to you how I reckon from
the beginning. The eighth letter from A is H, and there we have H
for hare; therefore I awarded to the hare the first prize. The
eighth letter from the end of the alphabet is S, and therefore the
snail received the second prize. Next year, the letter I will have its
turn for the first prize, and the letter R for the second."

"I should really have voted for myself," said the mule, "if I
had not been one of the judges on the committee. Not only the rapidity
with which advance is made, but every other quality should have due
consideration; as, for instance, how much weight a candidate is able
to draw; but I have not brought this quality forward now, nor the
sagacity of the hare in his flight, nor the cunning with which he
suddenly springs aside and doubles, to lead people on a false track,
thinking he has concealed himself. No; there is something else on
which more stress should be laid, and which ought not be left
unnoticed. I mean that which mankind call the beautiful. It is on
the beautiful that I particularly fix my eyes. I observed the
well-grown ears of the hare; it is a pleasure to me to observe how
long they are. It seemed as if I saw myself again in the days of my
childhood; and so I voted for the hare."

"Buz," said the fly; "there, I'm not going to make a long
speech; but I wish to say something about hares. I have really
overtaken more than one hare, when I have been seated on the engine in
front of a railway train. I often do so. One can then so easily
judge of one's own swiftness. Not long ago, I crushed the hind legs of
a young hare. He had been running a long time before the engine; he
had no idea that I was travelling there. At last he had to stop in his
career, and the engine ran over his hind legs, and crushed them; for I
set upon it. I left him lying there, and rode on farther. I call
that conquering him; but I do not want the prize."

"It really seems to me," thought the wild rose, though she did not
express her opinion aloud--it is not in her nature to do so,--though
it would have been quite as well if she had; "it certainly seems to me
that the sunbeam ought to have had the honor of receiving the first
prize. The sunbeam flies in a few minutes along the immeasurable
path from the sun to us. It arrives in such strength, that all
nature awakes to loveliness and beauty; we roses blush and exhale
fragrance in its presence. Our worshipful judges don't appear to
have noticed this at all. Were I the sunbeam, I would give each one of
them a sun stroke; but that would only make them mad, and they are mad
enough already. I only hope," continued the rose, "that peace may
reign in the wood. It is glorious to bloom, to be fragrant, and to
live; to live in story and in song. The sunbeam will outlive us all."

"What is the first prize?" asked the earthworm, who had
overslept the time, and only now came up.

"It contains a free admission to a cabbage-garden," replied the
mule. "I proposed that as one of the prizes. The hare most decidedly
must have it; and I, as an active and thoughtful member of the
committee, took especial care that the prize should be one of
advantage to him; so now he is provided for. The snail can now sit
on the fence, and lick up moss and sunshine. He has also been
appointed one of the first judges of swiftness in racing. It is
worth much to know that one of the numbers is a man of talent in the
thing men call a 'committee.' I must say I expect much in the
future; we have already made such a good beginning."




THE RED SHOES

Once upon a time there was little girl, pretty and dainty. But
in summer time she was obliged to go barefooted because she was
poor, and in winter she had to wear large wooden shoes, so that her
little instep grew quite red.

In the middle of the village lived an old shoemaker's wife; she
sat down and made, as well as she could, a pair of little shoes out of
some old pieces of red cloth. They were clumsy, but she meant well,
for they were intended for the little girl, whose name was Karen.

Karen received the shoes and wore them for the first time on the
day of her mother's funeral. They were certainly not suitable for
mourning; but she had no others, and so she put her bare feet into
them and walked behind the humble coffin.

Just then a large old carriage came by, and in it sat an old lady;
she looked at the little girl, and taking pity on her, said to the
clergyman, "Look here, if you will give me the little girl, I will
take care of her."

Karen believed that this was all on account of the red shoes,
but the old lady thought them hideous, and so they were burnt. Karen
herself was dressed very neatly and cleanly; she was taught to read
and to sew, and people said that she was pretty. But the mirror told
her, "You are more than pretty--you are beautiful."

One day the Queen was travelling through that part of the country,
and had her little daughter, who was a princess, with her. All the
people, amongst them Karen too, streamed towards the castle, where the
little princess, in fine white clothes, stood before the window and
allowed herself to be stared at. She wore neither a train nor a golden
crown, but beautiful red morocco shoes; they were indeed much finer
than those which the shoemaker's wife had sewn for little Karen. There
is really nothing in the world that can be compared to red shoes!

Karen was now old enough to be confirmed; she received some new
clothes, and she was also to have some new shoes. The rich shoemaker
in the town took the measure of her little foot in his own room, in
which there stood great glass cases full of pretty shoes and white
slippers. It all looked very lovely, but the old lady could not see
very well, and therefore did not get much pleasure out of it.
Amongst the shoes stood a pair of red ones, like those which the
princess had worn. How beautiful they were! and the shoemaker said
that they had been made for a count's daughter, but that they had
not fitted her.

"I suppose they are of shiny leather?" asked the old lady. "They
shine so."

"Yes, they do shine," said Karen. They fitted her, and were
bought. But the old lady knew nothing of their being red, for she
would never have allowed Karen to be confirmed in red shoes, as she
was now to be.

Everybody looked at her feet, and the whole of the way from the
church door to the choir it seemed to her as if even the ancient
figures on the monuments, in their stiff collars and long black robes,
had their eyes fixed on her red shoes. It was only of these that she
thought when the clergyman laid his hand upon her head and spoke of
the holy baptism, of the covenant with God, and told her that she
was now to be a grown-up Christian. The organ pealed forth solemnly,
and the sweet children's voices mingled with that of their old leader;
but Karen thought only of her red shoes. In the afternoon the old lady
heard from everybody that Karen had worn red shoes. She said that it
was a shocking thing to do, that it was very improper, and that
Karen was always to go to church in future in black shoes, even if
they were old.

On the following Sunday there was Communion. Karen looked first at
the black shoes, then at the red ones--looked at the red ones again,
and put them on.

The sun was shining gloriously, so Karen and the old lady went
along the footpath through the corn, where it was rather dusty.

At the church door stood an old crippled soldier leaning on a
crutch; he had a wonderfully long beard, more red than white, and he
bowed down to the ground and asked the old lady whether he might
wipe her shoes. Then Karen put out her little foot too. "Dear me, what
pretty dancing-shoes!" said the soldier. "Sit fast, when you dance,"
said he, addressing the shoes, and slapping the soles with his hand.

The old lady gave the soldier some money and then went with
Karen into the church.

And all the people inside looked at Karen's red shoes, and all the
figures gazed at them; when Karen knelt before the altar and put the
golden goblet to her mouth, she thought only of the red shoes. It
seemed to her as though they were swimming about in the goblet, and
she forgot to sing the psalm, forgot to say the "Lord's Prayer."

Now every one came out of church, and the old lady stepped into
her carriage. But just as Karen was lifting up her foot to get in too,
the old soldier said: "Dear me, what pretty dancing shoes!" and
Karen could not help it, she was obliged to dance a few steps; and
when she had once begun, her legs continued to dance. It seemed as
if the shoes had got power over them. She danced round the church
corner, for she could not stop; the coachman had to run after her
and seize her. He lifted her into the carriage, but her feet continued
to dance, so that she kicked the good old lady violently. At last they
took off her shoes, and her legs were at rest.

At home the shoes were put into the cupboard, but Karen could
not help looking at them.

Now the old lady fell ill, and it was said that she would not rise
from her bed again. She had to be nursed and waited upon, and this was
no one's duty more than Karen's. But there was a grand ball in the
town, and Karen was invited. She looked at the red shoes, saying to
herself that there was no sin in doing that; she put the red shoes on,
thinking there was no harm in that either; and then she went to the
ball; and commenced to dance.

But when she wanted to go to the right, the shoes danced to the
left, and when she wanted to dance up the room, the shoes danced
down the room, down the stairs through the street, and out through the
gates of the town. She danced, and was obliged to dance, far out
into the dark wood. Suddenly something shone up among the trees, and
she believed it was the moon, for it was a face. But it was the old
soldier with the red beard; he sat there nodding his head and said:
"Dear me, what pretty dancing shoes!"

She was frightened, and wanted to throw the red shoes away; but
they stuck fast. She tore off her stockings, but the shoes had grown
fast to her feet. She danced and was obliged to go on dancing over
field and meadow, in rain and sunshine, by night and by day--but by
night it was most horrible.

She danced out into the open churchyard; but the dead there did
not dance. They had something better to do than that. She wanted to
sit down on the pauper's grave where the bitter fern grows; but for
her there was neither peace nor rest. And as she danced past the
open church door she saw an angel there in long white robes, with
wings reaching from his shoulders down to the earth; his face was
stern and grave, and in his hand he held a broad shining sword.

"Dance you shall," said he, "dance in your red shoes till you
are pale and cold, till your skin shrivels up and you are a
skeleton! Dance you shall, from door to door, and where proud and
wicked children live you shall knock, so that they may hear you and
fear you! Dance you shall, dance--!"

"Mercy!" cried Karen. But she did not hear what the angel
answered, for the shoes carried her through the gate into the
fields, along highways and byways, and unceasingly she had to dance.

One morning she danced past a door that she knew well; they were
singing a psalm inside, and a coffin was being carried out covered
with flowers. Then she knew that she was forsaken by every one and
damned by the angel of God.

She danced, and was obliged to go on dancing through the dark
night. The shoes bore her away over thorns and stumps till she was all
torn and bleeding; she danced away over the heath to a lonely little
house. Here, she knew, lived the executioner; and she tapped with
her finger at the window and said:

"Come out, come out! I cannot come in, for I must dance."

And the executioner said: "I don't suppose you know who I am. I
strike off the heads of the wicked, and I notice that my axe is
tingling to do so."

"Don't cut off my head!" said Karen, "for then I could not
repent of my sin. But cut off my feet with the red shoes."

And then she confessed all her sin, and the executioner struck off
her feet with the red shoes; but the shoes danced away with the little
feet across the field into the deep forest.

And he carved her a pair of wooden feet and some crutches, and
taught her a psalm which is always sung by sinners; she kissed the
hand that guided the axe, and went away over the heath.

"Now, I have suffered enough for the red shoes," she said; "I will
go to church, so that people can see me." And she went quickly up to
the church-door; but when she came there, the red shoes were dancing
before her, and she was frightened, and turned back.

During the whole week she was sad and wept many bitter tears,
but when Sunday came again she said: "Now I have suffered and
striven enough. I believe I am quite as good as many of those who
sit in church and give themselves airs." And so she went boldly on;
but she had not got farther than the churchyard gate when she saw
the red shoes dancing along before her. Then she became terrified, and
turned back and repented right heartily of her sin.

She went to the parsonage, and begged that she might be taken into
service there. She would be industrious, she said, and do everything
that she could; she did not mind about the wages as long as she had
a roof over her, and was with good people. The pastor's wife had
pity on her, and took her into service. And she was industrious and
thoughtful. She sat quiet and listened when the pastor read aloud from
the Bible in the evening. All the children liked her very much, but
when they spoke about dress and grandeur and beauty she would shake
her head.

On the following Sunday they all went to church, and she was asked
whether she wished to go too; but, with tears in her eyes, she
looked sadly at her crutches. And then the others went to hear God's
Word, but she went alone into her little room; this was only large
enough to hold the bed and a chair. Here she sat down with her
hymn-book, and as she was reading it with a pious mind, the wind
carried the notes of the organ over to her from the church, and in
tears she lifted up her face and said: "O God! help me!"

Then the sun shone so brightly, and right before her stood an
angel of God in white robes; it was the same one whom she had seen
that night at the church-door. He no longer carried the sharp sword,
but a beautiful green branch, full of roses; with this he touched
the ceiling, which rose up very high, and where he had touched it
there shone a golden star. He touched the walls, which opened wide
apart, and she saw the organ which was pealing forth; she saw the
pictures of the old pastors and their wives, and the congregation
sitting in the polished chairs and singing from their hymn-books.
The church itself had come to the poor girl in her narrow room, or the
room had gone to the church. She sat in the pew with the rest of the
pastor's household, and when they had finished the hymn and looked up,
they nodded and said, "It was right of you to come, Karen."

"It was mercy," said she.

The organ played and the children's voices in the choir sounded
soft and lovely. The bright warm sunshine streamed through the
window into the pew where Karen sat, and her heart became so filled
with it, so filled with peace and joy, that it broke. Her soul flew on
the sunbeams to Heaven, and no one was there who asked after the Red
Shoes.




EVERYTHING IN THE RIGHT PLACE

It is more than a hundred years ago! At the border of the wood,
near a large lake, stood the old mansion: deep ditches surrounded it
on every side, in which reeds and bulrushes grew. Close by the
drawbridge, near the gate, there was an old willow tree, which bent
over the reeds.

From the narrow pass came the sound of bugles and the trampling of
horses' feet; therefore a little girl who was watching the geese
hastened to drive them away from the bridge, before the whole
hunting party came galloping up; they came, however, so quickly,
that the girl, in order to avoid being run over, placed herself on one
of the high corner-stones of the bridge. She was still half a child
and very delicately built; she had bright blue eyes, and a gentle,
sweet expression. But such things the baron did not notice; while he
was riding past the little goose-girl, he reversed his hunting crop,
and in rough play gave her such a push with it that she fell
backward into the ditch.

"Everything in the right place!" he cried. "Into the ditch with
you."

Then he burst out laughing, for that he called fun; the others
joined in--the whole party shouted and cried, while the hounds barked.

While the poor girl was falling she happily caught one of the
branches of the willow tree, by the help of which she held herself
over the water, and as soon as the baron with his company and the dogs
had disappeared through the gate, the girl endeavoured to scramble up,
but the branch broke off, and she would have fallen backward among the
rushes, had not a strong hand from above seized her at this moment. It
was the hand of a pedlar; he had witnessed what had happened from a
short distance, and now hastened to assist her.

"Everything in the right place," he said, imitating the noble
baron, and pulling the little maid up to the dry ground. He wished
to put the branch back in the place it had been broken off, but it
is not possible to put everything in the right place; therefore he
stuck the branch into the soft ground.

"Grow and thrive if you can, and produce a good flute for them
yonder at the mansion," he said; it would have given him great
pleasure to see the noble baron and his companions well thrashed. Then
he entered the castle--but not the banqueting hall; he was too
humble for that. No; he went to the servants' hall. The men-servants
and maids looked over his stock of articles and bargained with him;
loud crying and screaming were heard from the master's table above:
they called it singing--indeed, they did their best. Laughter and
the howls of dogs were heard through the open windows: there they were
feasting and revelling; wine and strong old ale were foaming in the
glasses and jugs; the favourite dogs ate with their masters; now and
then the squires kissed one of these animals, after having wiped its
mouth first with the tablecloth. They ordered the pedlar to come up,
but only to make fun of him. The wine had got into their heads, and
reason had left them. They poured beer into a stocking that he could
drink with them, but quick. That's what they called fun, and it made
them laugh. Then meadows, peasants, and farmyards were staked on one
card and lost.

"Everything in the right place!" the pedlar said when he had at
last safely got out of Sodom and Gomorrah, as he called it. "The
open high road is my right place; up there I did not feel at ease."

The little maid, who was still watching the geese, nodded kindly
to him as he passed through the gate.

Days and weeks passed, and it was seen that the broken
willow-branch which the peddlar had stuck into the ground near the
ditch remained fresh and green--nay, it even put forth fresh twigs;
the little goose-girl saw that the branch had taken root, and was very
pleased; the tree, so she said, was now her tree. While the tree was
advancing, everything else at the castle was going backward, through
feasting and gambling, for these are two rollers upon which nobody
stands safely. Less than six years afterwards the baron passed out
of his castle-gate a poor beggar, while the baronial seat had been
bought by a rich tradesman. He was the very pedlar they had made fun
of and poured beer into a stocking for him to drink; but honesty and
industry bring one forward, and now the pedlar was the possessor of
the baronial estate. From that time forward no card-playing was
permitted there.

"That's a bad pastime," he said; "when the devil saw the Bible for
the first time he wanted to produce a caricature in opposition to
it, and invented card-playing."

The new proprietor of the estate took a wife, and whom did he
take?--The little goose-girl, who had always remained good and kind,
and who looked as beautiful in her new clothes as if she had been a
lady of high birth. And how did all this come about? That would be too
long a tale to tell in our busy time, but it really happened, and
the most important events have yet to be told.

It was pleasant and cheerful to live in the old place now: the
mother superintended the household, and the father looked after things
out-of-doors, and they were indeed very prosperous.

Where honesty leads the way, prosperity is sure to follow. The old
mansion was repaired and painted, the ditches were cleaned and
fruit-trees planted; all was homely and pleasant, and the floors
were as white and shining as a pasteboard. In the long winter evenings
the mistress and her maids sat at the spinning-wheel in the large
hall; every Sunday the counsellor--this title the pedlar had obtained,
although only in his old days--read aloud a portion from the Bible.
The children (for they had children) all received the best
education, but they were not all equally clever, as is the case in all
families.

In the meantime the willow tree near the drawbridge had grown up
into a splendid tree, and stood there, free, and was never clipped.
"It is our genealogical tree," said the old people to their
children, "and therefore it must be honoured."

A hundred years had elapsed. It was in our own days; the lake
had been transformed into marsh land; the whole baronial seat had,
as it were, disappeared. A pool of water near some ruined walls was
the only remainder of the deep ditches; and here stood a magnificent
old tree with overhanging branches--that was the genealogical tree.
Here it stood, and showed how beautiful a willow can look if one
does not interfere with it. The trunk, it is true, was cleft in the
middle from the root to the crown; the storms had bent it a little,
but it still stood there, and out of every crevice and cleft, in which
wind and weather had carried mould, blades of grass and flowers sprang
forth. Especially above, where the large boughs parted, there was
quite a hanging garden, in which wild raspberries and hart's-tongue
ferns throve, and even a little mistletoe had taken root, and grew
gracefully in the old willow branches, which were reflected in the
dark water beneath when the wind blew the chickweed into the corner of
the pool. A footpath which led across the fields passed close by the
old tree. High up, on the woody hillside, stood the new mansion. It
had a splendid view, and was large and magnificent; its window panes
were so clear that one might have thought there were none there at
all. The large flight of steps which led to the entrance looked like a
bower covered with roses and broad-leaved plants. The lawn was as
green as if each blade of grass was cleaned separately morning and
evening. Inside, in the hall, valuable oil paintings were hanging on
the walls. Here stood chairs and sofas covered with silk and velvet,
which could be easily rolled about on castors; there were tables
with polished marble tops, and books bound in morocco with gilt edges.
Indeed, well-to-do and distinguished people lived here; it was the
dwelling of the baron and his family. Each article was in keeping with
its surroundings. "Everything in the right place" was the motto
according to which they also acted here, and therefore all the
paintings which had once been the honour and glory of the old
mansion were now hung up in the passage which led to the servants'
rooms. It was all old lumber, especially two portraits--one
representing a man in a scarlet coat with a wig, and the other a
lady with powdered and curled hair holding a rose in her hand, each of
them being surrounded by a large wreath of willow branches. Both
portraits had many holes in them, because the baron's sons used the
two old people as targets for their crossbows. They represented the
counsellor and his wife, from whom the whole family descended. "But
they did not properly belong to our family," said one of the boys; "he
was a pedlar and she kept the geese. They were not like papa and
mamma." The portraits were old lumber, and "everything in its right
place." That was why the great-grandparents had been hung up in the
passage leading to the servants' rooms.

The son of the village pastor was tutor at the mansion. One day he
went for a walk across the fields with his young pupils and their
elder sister, who had lately been confirmed. They walked along the
road which passed by the old willow tree, and while they were on the
road she picked a bunch of field-flowers. "Everything in the right
place," and indeed the bunch looked very beautiful. At the same time
she listened to all that was said, and she very much liked to hear the
pastor's son speak about the elements and of the great men and women
in history. She had a healthy mind, noble in thought and deed, and
with a heart full of love for everything that God had created. They
stopped at the old willow tree, as the youngest of the baron's sons
wished very much to have a flute from it, such as had been cut for him
from other willow trees; the pastor's son broke a branch off. "Oh,
pray do not do it!" said the young lady; but it was already done.
"That is our famous old tree. I love it very much. They often laugh at
me at home about it, but that does not matter. There is a story
attached to this tree." And now she told him all that we already
know about the tree--the old mansion, the pedlar and the goose-girl
who had met there for the first time, and had become the ancestors
of the noble family to which the young lady belonged.

"They did not like to be knighted, the good old people," she said;
"their motto was 'everything in the right place,' and it would not
be right, they thought, to purchase a title for money. My grandfather,
the first baron, was their son. They say he was a very learned man,
a great favourite with the princes and princesses, and was invited
to all court festivities. The others at home love him best; but, I
do not know why, there seemed to me to be something about the old
couple that attracts my heart! How homely, how patriarchal, it must
have been in the old mansion, where the mistress sat at the
spinning-wheel with her maids, while her husband read aloud out of the
Bible!"

"They must have been excellent, sensible people," said the
pastor's son. And with this the conversation turned naturally to
noblemen and commoners; from the manner in which the tutor spoke about
the significance of being noble, it seemed almost as if he did not
belong to a commoner's family.

"It is good fortune to be of a family who have distinguished
themselves, and to possess as it were a spur in oneself to advance
to all that is good. It is a splendid thing to belong to a noble
family, whose name serves as a card of admission to the highest
circles. Nobility is a distinction; it is a gold coin that bears the
stamp of its own value. It is the fallacy of the time, and many
poets express it, to say that all that is noble is bad and stupid, and
that, on the contrary, the lower one goes among the poor, the more
brilliant virtues one finds. I do not share this opinion, for it is
wrong. In the upper classes one sees many touchingly beautiful traits;
my own mother has told me of such, and I could mention several. One
day she was visiting a nobleman's house in town; my grandmother, I
believe, had been the lady's nurse when she was a child. My mother and
the nobleman were alone in the room, when he suddenly noticed an old
woman on crutches come limping into the courtyard; she came every
Sunday to carry a gift away with her.

"'There is the poor old woman,' said the nobleman; 'it is so
difficult for her to walk.'

"My mother had hardly understood what he said before he
disappeared from the room, and went downstairs, in order to save her
the troublesome walk for the gift she came to fetch. Of course this is
only a little incident, but it has its good sound like the poor
widow's two mites in the Bible, the sound which echoes in the depth of
every human heart; and this is what the poet ought to show and point
out--more especially in our own time he ought to sing of this; it does
good, it mitigates and reconciles! But when a man, simply because he
is of noble birth and possesses a genealogy, stands on his hind legs
and neighs in the street like an Arabian horse, and says when a
commoner has been in a room: 'Some people from the street have been
here,' there nobility is decaying; it has become a mask of the kind
that Thespis created, and it is amusing when such a person is
exposed in satire."

Such was the tutor's speech; it was a little long, but while he
delivered it he had finished cutting the flute.

There was a large party at the mansion; many guests from the
neighbourhood and from the capital had arrived. There were ladies with
tasteful and with tasteless dresses; the big hall was quite crowded
with people. The clergymen stood humbly together in a corner, and
looked as if they were preparing for a funeral, but it was a
festival--only the amusement had not yet begun. A great concert was to
take place, and that is why the baron's young son had brought his willow
flute with him; but he could not make it sound, nor could his
father, and therefore the flute was good for nothing.

There was music and songs of the kind which delight most those
that perform them; otherwise quite charming!

"Are you an artist?" said a cavalier, the son of his father;
"you play on the flute, you have made it yourself; it is genius that
rules--the place of honour is due to you."

"Certainly not! I only advance with the time, and that of course
one can't help."

"I hope you will delight us all with the little instrument--will
you not?" Thus saying he handed to the tutor the flute which had
been cut from the willow tree by the pool; and then announced in a
loud voice that the tutor wished to perform a solo on the flute.
They wished to tease him--that was evident, and therefore the tutor
declined to play, although he could do so very well. They urged and
requested him, however, so long, that at last he took up the flute and
placed it to his lips.

That was a marvellous flute! Its sound was as thrilling as the
whistle of a steam engine; in fact it was much stronger, for it
sounded and was heard in the yard, in the garden, in the wood, and
many miles round in the country; at the same time a storm rose and
roared; "Everything in the right place." And with this the baron, as
if carried by the wind, flew out of the hall straight into the
shepherd's cottage, and the shepherd flew--not into the hall,
thither he could not come--but into the servants' hall, among the
smart footmen who were striding about in silk stockings; these haughty
menials looked horror-struck that such a person ventured to sit at
table with them. But in the hall the baron's daughter flew to the
place of honour at the end of the table--she was worthy to sit
there; the pastor's son had the seat next to her; the two sat there as
if they were a bridal pair. An old Count, belonging to one of the
oldest families of the country, remained untouched in his place of
honour; the flute was just, and it is one's duty to be so. The
sharp-tongued cavalier who had caused the flute to be played, and
who was the child of his parents, flew headlong into the fowl-house,
but not he alone.

The flute was heard at the distance of a mile, and strange
events took place. A rich banker's family, who were driving in a coach
and four, were blown out of it, and could not even find room behind it
with their footmen. Two rich farmers who had in our days shot up
higher than their own corn-fields, were flung into the ditch; it was a
dangerous flute. Fortunately it burst at the first sound, and that was
a good thing, for then it was put back into its owner's pocket--"its
right place."

The next day, nobody spoke a word about what had taken place; thus
originated the phrase, "to pocket the flute." Everything was again
in its usual order, except that the two old pictures of the peddlar
and the goose-girl were hanging in the banqueting-hall. There they
were on the wall as if blown up there; and as a real expert said
that they were painted by a master's hand, they remained there and
were restored. "Everything in the right place," and to this it will
come. Eternity is long, much longer indeed than this story.




A ROSE FROM HOMER'S GRAVE

Al the songs of the east speak of the love of the nightingale for
the rose in the silent starlight night. The winged songster
serenades the fragrant flowers.

Not far from Smyrna, where the merchant drives his loaded
camels, proudly arching their long necks as they journey beneath the
lofty pines over holy ground, I saw a hedge of roses. The
turtle-dove flew among the branches of the tall trees, and as the
sunbeams fell upon her wings, they glistened as if they were
mother-of-pearl. On the rose-bush grew a flower, more beautiful than
them all, and to her the nightingale sung of his woes; but the rose
remained silent, not even a dewdrop lay like a tear of sympathy on her
leaves. At last she bowed her head over a heap of stones, and said,
"Here rests the greatest singer in the world; over his tomb will I
spread my fragrance, and on it I will let my leaves fall when the
storm scatters them. He who sung of Troy became earth, and from that
earth I have sprung. I, a rose from the grave of Homer, am too lofty
to bloom for a nightingale." Then the nightingale sung himself to
death. A camel-driver came by, with his loaded camels and his black
slaves; his little son found the dead bird, and buried the lovely
songster in the grave of the great Homer, while the rose trembled in
the wind.

The evening came, and the rose wrapped her leaves more closely
round her, and dreamed: and this was her dream.

It was a fair sunshiny day; a crowd of strangers drew near who had
undertaken a pilgrimage to the grave of Homer. Among the strangers was
a minstrel from the north, the home of the clouds and the brilliant
lights of the aurora borealis. He plucked the rose and placed it in
a book, and carried it away into a distant part of the world, his
fatherland. The rose faded with grief, and lay between the leaves of
the book, which he opened in his own home, saying, "Here is a rose
from the grave of Homer."

Then the flower awoke from her dream, and trembled in the wind.
A drop of dew fell from the leaves upon the singer's grave. The sun
rose, and the flower bloomed more beautiful than ever. The day was
hot, and she was still in her own warm Asia. Then footsteps
approached, strangers, such as the rose had seen in her dream, came
by, and among them was a poet from the north; he plucked the rose,
pressed a kiss upon her fresh mouth, and carried her away to the
home of the clouds and the northern lights. Like a mummy, the flower
now rests in his "Iliad," and, as in her dream, she hears him say,
as he opens the book, "Here is a rose from the grave of Homer."




THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE-TREE

Round about the garden ran a hedge of hazel-bushes; beyond the
hedge were fields and meadows with cows and sheep; but in the middle
of the garden stood a Rose-tree in bloom, under which sat a Snail,
whose shell contained a great deal--that is, himself.

"Only wait till my time comes," he said; "I shall do more than
grow roses, bear nuts, or give milk, like the hazel-bush, the cows and
the sheep."

"I expect a great deal from you," said the rose-tree. "May I ask
when it will appear?"

"I take my time," said the snail. "You're always in such a
hurry. That does not excite expectation."

The following year the snail lay in almost the same spot, in the
sunshine under the rose-tree, which was again budding and bearing
roses as fresh and beautiful as ever. The snail crept half out of
his shell, stretched out his horns, and drew them in again.

"Everything is just as it was last year! No progress at all; the
rose-tree sticks to its roses and gets no farther."

The summer and the autumn passed; the rose-tree bore roses and
buds till the snow fell and the weather became raw and wet; then it
bent down its head, and the snail crept into the ground.

A new year began; the roses made their appearance, and the snail
made his too.

"You are an old rose-tree now," said the snail. "You must make
haste and die. You have given the world all that you had in you;
whether it was of much importance is a question that I have not had
time to think about. But this much is clear and plain, that you have
not done the least for your inner development, or you would have
produced something else. Have you anything to say in defence? You will
now soon be nothing but a stick. Do you understand what I say?"

"You frighten me," said the rose--tree. "I have never thought of
that."

"No, you have never taken the trouble to think at all. Have you
ever given yourself an account why you bloomed, and how your
blooming comes about--why just in that way and in no other?"

"No," said the rose-tree. "I bloom in gladness, because I cannot
do otherwise. The sun shone and warmed me, and the air refreshed me; I
drank the clear dew and the invigorating rain. I breathed and I lived!
Out of the earth there arose a power within me, whilst from above I
also received strength; I felt an ever-renewed and ever-increasing
happiness, and therefore I was obliged to go on blooming. That was
my life; I could not do otherwise."

"You have led a very easy life," remarked the snail.

"Certainly. Everything was given me," said the rose-tree. "But
still more was given to you. Yours is one of those deep-thinking
natures, one of those highly gifted minds that astonishes the world."

"I have not the slightest intention of doing so," said the
snail. "The world is nothing to me. What have I to do with the
world? I have enough to do with myself, and enough in myself."

"But must we not all here on earth give up our best parts to
others, and offer as much as lies in our power? It is true, I have
only given roses. But you--you who are so richly endowed--what have
you given to the world? What will you give it?"

"What have I given? What am I going to give? I spit at it; it's
good for nothing, and does not concern me. For my part, you may go
on bearing roses; you cannot do anything else. Let the hazel bush bear
nuts, and the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public. I
have mine in myself. I retire within myself and there I stop. The
world is nothing to me."

With this the snail withdrew into his house and blocked up the
entrance.

"That's very sad," said the rose tree. "I cannot creep into
myself, however much I might wish to do so; I have to go on bearing
roses. Then they drop their leaves, which are blown away by the
wind. But I once saw how a rose was laid in the mistress's
hymn-book, and how one of my roses found a place in the bosom of a
young beautiful girl, and how another was kissed by the lips of a
child in the glad joy of life. That did me good; it was a real
blessing. Those are my recollections, my life."

And the rose tree went on blooming in innocence, while the snail
lay idling in his house--the world was nothing to him.

Years passed by.

The snail had turned to earth in the earth, and the rose tree too.
Even the souvenir rose in the hymn-book was faded, but in the garden
there were other rose trees and other snails. The latter crept into
their houses and spat at the world, for it did not concern them.

Shall we read the story all over again? It will be just the same.




A STORY FROM THE SAND-HILLS

This story is from the sand-dunes or sand-hills of Jutland, but it
does not begin there in the North, but far away in the South, in
Spain. The wide sea is the highroad from nation to nation; journey
in thought; then, to sunny Spain. It is warm and beautiful there;
the fiery pomegranate flowers peep from among dark laurels; a cool
refreshing breeze from the mountains blows over the orange gardens,
over the Moorish halls with their golden cupolas and coloured walls.
Children go through the streets in procession with candles and
waving banners, and the sky, lofty and clear with its glittering
stars, rises above them. Sounds of singing and castanets can be heard,
and youths and maidens dance upon the flowering acacia trees, while
even the beggar sits upon a block of marble, refreshing himself with a
juicy melon, and dreamily enjoying life. It all seems like a beautiful
dream.

Here dwelt a newly married couple who completely gave themselves
up to the charm of life; indeed they possessed every good thing they
could desire--health and happiness, riches and honour.

"We are as happy as human beings can be," said the young couple
from the depths of their hearts. They had indeed only one step
higher to mount on the ladder of happiness--they hoped that God
would give them a child, a son like them in form and spirit. The happy
little one was to be welcomed with rejoicing, to be cared for with
love and tenderness, and enjoy every advantage of wealth and luxury
that a rich and influential family can give. So the days went by
like a joyous festival.

"Life is a gracious gift from God, almost too great a gift for
us to appreciate!" said the young wife. "Yet they say that fulness
of joy for ever and ever can only be found in the future life. I
cannot realise it!"

"The thought arises, perhaps, from the arrogance of men," said the
husband. "It seems a great pride to believe that we shall live for
ever, that we shall be as gods! Were not these the words of the
serpent, the father of lies?"

"Surely you do not doubt the existence of a future life?"
exclaimed the young wife. It seemed as if one of the first shadows
passed over her sunny thoughts.

"Faith realises it, and the priests tell us so," replied her
husband; "but amid all my happiness I feel that it is arrogant to
demand a continuation of it--another life after this. Has not so
much been given us in this world that we ought to be, we must be,
contented with it?"

"Yes, it has been given to us," said the young wife, "but this
life is nothing more than one long scene of trial and hardship to many
thousands. How many have been cast into this world only to endure
poverty, shame, illness, and misfortune? If there were no future life,
everything here would be too unequally divided, and God would not be
the personification of justice."

"The beggar there," said her husband, "has joys of his own which
seem to him great, and cause him as much pleasure as a king would find
in the magnificence of his palace. And then do you not think that
the beast of burden, which suffers blows and hunger, and works
itself to death, suffers just as much from its miserable fate? The
dumb creature might demand a future life also, and declare the law
unjust that excludes it from the advantages of the higher creation."

"Christ said: 'In my father's house are many mansions,'" she
answered. "Heaven is as boundless as the love of our Creator; the dumb
animal is also His creature, and I firmly believe that no life will be
lost, but each will receive as much happiness as he can enjoy, which
will be sufficient for him."

"This world is sufficient for me," said the husband, throwing
his arm round his beautiful, sweet-tempered wife. He sat by her side
on the open balcony, smoking a cigarette in the cool air, which was
loaded with the sweet scent of carnations and orange blossoms.
Sounds of music and the clatter of castanets came from the road
beneath, the stars shone above then, and two eyes full of
affection--those of his wife--looked upon him with the expression of
undying love. "Such a moment," he said, "makes it worth while to be
born, to die, and to be annihilated!" He smiled--the young wife raised
her hand in gentle reproof, and the shadow passed away from her mind,
and they were happy--quite happy.

Everything seemed to work together for their good. They advanced
in honour, in prosperity, and in happiness. A change came certainly,
but it was only a change of place and not of circumstances.

The young man was sent by his Sovereign as ambassador to the
Russian Court. This was an office of high dignity, but his birth and
his acquirements entitled him to the honour. He possessed a large
fortune, and his wife had brought him wealth equal to his own, for she
was the daughter of a rich and respected merchant. One of this
merchant's largest and finest ships was to be sent that year to
Stockholm, and it was arranged that the dear young couple, the
daughter and the son-in-law, should travel in it to St. Petersburg.
All the arrangements on board were princely and silk and luxury on
every side.

In an old war song, called "The King of England's Son," it says:

  "Farewell, he said, and sailed away.
   And many recollect that day.
   The ropes were of silk, the anchor of gold,
   And everywhere riches and wealth untold."


These words would aptly describe the vessel from Spain, for here
was the same luxury, and the same parting thought naturally arose:

  "God grant that we once more may meet
   In sweet unclouded peace and joy."


There was a favourable wind blowing as they left the Spanish
coast, and it would be but a short journey, for they hoped to reach
their destination in a few weeks; but when they came out upon the wide
ocean the wind dropped, the sea became smooth and shining, and the
stars shone brightly. Many festive evenings were spent on board. At
last the travellers began to wish for wind, for a favourable breeze;
but their wish was useless--not a breath of air stirred, or if it
did arise it was contrary. Weeks passed by in this way, two whole
months, and then at length a fair wind blew from the south-west. The
ship sailed on the high seas between Scotland and Jutland; then the
wind increased, just as it did in the old song of "The King of
England's Son."

  "'Mid storm and wind, and pelting hail,
  Their efforts were of no avail.
  The golden anchor forth they threw;
  Towards Denmark the west wind blew."


This all happened a long time ago; King Christian VII, who sat
on the Danish throne, was still a young man. Much has happened since
then, much has altered or been changed. Sea and moorland have been
turned into green meadows, stretches of heather have become arable
land, and in the shelter of the peasant's cottages, apple-trees and
rose-bushes grow, though they certainly require much care, as the
sharp west wind blows upon them. In West Jutland one may go back in
thought to old times, farther back than the days when Christian VII
ruled. The purple heather still extends for miles, with its barrows
and aerial spectacles, intersected with sandy uneven roads, just as it
did then; towards the west, where broad streams run into the bays, are
marshes and meadows encircled by lofty, sandy hills, which, like a
chain of Alps, raise their pointed summits near the sea; they are only
broken by high ridges of clay, from which the sea, year by year, bites
out great mouthfuls, so that the overhanging banks fall down as if
by the shock of an earthquake. Thus it is there today and thus it
was long ago, when the happy pair were sailing in the beautiful ship.

It was a Sunday, towards the end of September; the sun was
shining, and the chiming of the church bells in the Bay of Nissum
was carried along by the breeze like a chain of sounds. The churches
there are almost entirely built of hewn blocks of stone, each like a
piece of rock. The North Sea might foam over them and they would not
be disturbed. Nearly all of them are without steeples, and the bells
are hung outside between two beams. The service was over, and the
congregation passed out into the churchyard, where not a tree or
bush was to be seen; no flowers were planted there, and they had not
placed a single wreath upon any of the graves. It is just the same
now. Rough mounds show where the dead have been buried, and rank
grass, tossed by the wind, grows thickly over the whole churchyard;
here and there a grave has a sort of monument, a block of half-decayed
wood, rudely cut in the shape of a coffin; the blocks are brought from
the forest of West Jutland, but the forest is the sea itself, and
the inhabitants find beams, and planks, and fragments which the
waves have cast upon the beach. One of these blocks had been placed by
loving hands on a child's grave, and one of the women who had come out
of the church walked up to it; she stood there, her eyes resting on
the weather-beaten memorial, and a few moments afterwards her
husband joined her. They were both silent, but he took her hand, and
they walked together across the purple heath, over moor and meadow
towards the sandhills. For a long time they went on without speaking.

"It was a good sermon to-day," the man said at last. "If we had
not God to trust in, we should have nothing."

"Yes," replied the woman, "He sends joy and sorrow, and He has a
right to send them. To-morrow our little son would have been five
years old if we had been permitted to keep him."

"It is no use fretting, wife," said the man. "The boy is well
provided for. He is where we hope and pray to go to."

They said nothing more, but went out towards their houses among
the sand-hills. All at once, in front of one of the houses where the
sea grass did not keep the sand down with its twining roots, what
seemed to be a column of smoke rose up. A gust of wind rushed
between the hills, hurling the particles of sand high into the air;
another gust, and the strings of fish hung up to dry flapped and
beat violently against the walls of the cottage; then everything was
quiet once more, and the sun shone with renewed heat.

The man and his wife went into the cottage. They had soon taken
off their Sunday clothes and come out again, hurrying over the dunes
which stood there like great waves of sand suddenly arrested in
their course, while the sandweeds and dune grass with its bluish
stalks spread a changing colour over them. A few neighbours also
came out, and helped each other to draw the boats higher up on the
beach. The wind now blew more keenly, it was chilly and cold, and when
they went back over the sand-hills, sand and little sharp stones
blew into their faces. The waves rose high, crested with white foam,
and the wind cut off their crests, scattering the foam far and wide.

Evening came; there was a swelling roar in the air, a wailing or
moaning like the voices of despairing spirits, that sounded above
the thunder of the waves. The fisherman's little cottage was on the
very margin, and the sand rattled against the window panes; every
now and then a violent gust of wind shook the house to its foundation.
It was dark, but about midnight the moon would rise. Later on the
air became clearer, but the storm swept over the perturbed sea with
undiminished fury; the fisher folks had long since gone to bed, but in
such weather there was no chance of closing an eye. Presently there
was a tapping at the window; the door was opened, and a voice said:

"There's a large ship stranded on the farthest reef."

In a moment the fisher people sprung from their beds and hastily
dressed themselves. The moon had risen, and it was light enough to
make the surrounding objects visible to those who could open their
eyes in the blinding clouds of sand; the violence of the wind was
terrible, and it was only possible to pass among the sand-hills if one
crept forward between the gusts; the salt spray flew up from the sea
like down, and the ocean foamed like a roaring cataract towards the
beach. Only a practised eye could discern the vessel out in the
offing; she was a fine brig, and the waves now lifted her over the
reef, three or four cables' length out of the usual channel. She drove
towards the shore, struck on the second reef, and remained fixed.

It was impossible to render assistance; the sea rushed in upon the
vessel, making a clean breach over her. Those on shore thought they
heard cries for help from those on board, and could plainly
distinguish the busy but useless efforts made by the stranded sailors.
Now a wave came rolling onward. It fell with enormous force on the
bowsprit, tearing it from the vessel, and the stern was lifted high
above the water. Two people were seen to embrace and plunge together
into the sea, and the next moment one of the largest waves that rolled
towards the sand-hills threw a body on the beach. It was a woman;
the sailors said that she was quite dead, but the women thought they
saw signs of life in her, so the stranger was carried across the
sand-hills to the fisherman's cottage. How beautiful and fair she was!
She must be a great lady, they said.

They laid her upon the humble bed; there was not a yard of linen
on it, only a woollen coverlet to keep the occupant warm.

Life returned to her, but she was delirious, and knew nothing of
what had happened or where she was; and it was better so, for
everything she loved and valued lay buried in the sea. The same
thing happened to her ship as to the one spoken of in the song about
"The King of England's Son."

  "Alas! how terrible to see
  The gallant bark sink rapidly."


Fragments of the wreck and pieces of wood were washed ashore; they
were all that remained of the vessel. The wind still blew violently on
the coast.

For a few moments the strange lady seemed to rest; but she awoke
in pain, and uttered cries of anguish and fear. She opened her
wonderfully beautiful eyes, and spoke a few words, but nobody
understood her.--And lo! as a reward for the sorrow and suffering
she had undergone, she held in her arms a new-born babe. The child
that was to have rested upon a magnificent couch, draped with silken
curtains, in a luxurious home; it was to have been welcomed with joy
to a life rich in all the good things of this world; and now Heaven
had ordained that it should be born in this humble retreat, that it
should not even receive a kiss from its mother, for when the
fisherman's wife laid the child upon the mother's bosom, it rested
on a heart that beat no more--she was dead.

The child that was to have been reared amid wealth and luxury
was cast into the world, washed by the sea among the sand-hills to
share the fate and hardships of the poor.

Here we are reminded again of the song about "The King of
England's Son," for in it mention is made of the custom prevalent at
the time, when knights and squires plundered those who had been
saved from shipwreck. The ship had stranded some distance south of
Nissum Bay, and the cruel, inhuman days, when, as we have just said,
the inhabitants of Jutland treated the shipwrecked people so crudely
were past, long ago. Affectionate sympathy and self-sacrifice for
the unfortunate existed then, just as it does in our own time in
many a bright example. The dying mother and the unfortunate child
would have found kindness and help wherever they had been cast by
the winds, but nowhere would it have been more sincere than in the
cottage of the poor fisherman's wife, who had stood, only the day
before, beside her child's grave, who would have been five years old
that day if God had spared it to her.

No one knew who the dead stranger was, they could not even form
a conjecture; the fragments of wreckage gave no clue to the matter.

No tidings reached Spain of the fate of the daughter and
son-in-law. They did not arrive at their destination, and violent
storms had raged during the past weeks. At last the verdict was given:
"Foundered at sea--all lost." But in the fisherman's cottage among the
sand-hills near Hunsby, there lived a little scion of the rich Spanish
family.

Where Heaven sends food for two, a third can manage to find a
meal, and in the depth of the sea there is many a dish of fish for the
hungry.

They called the boy Jurgen.

"It must certainly be a Jewish child, its skin is so dark," the
people said.

"It might be an Italian or a Spaniard," remarked the clergyman.

But to the fisherman's wife these nations seemed all the same, and
she consoled herself with the thought that the child was baptized as a
Christian.

The boy throve; the noble blood in his veins was warm, and he
became strong on his homely fare. He grew apace in the humble cottage,
and the Danish dialect spoken by the West Jutes became his language.
The pomegranate seed from Spain became a hardy plant on the coast of
West Jutland. Thus may circumstances alter the course of a man's life!
To this home he clung with deep-rooted affection; he was to experience
cold and hunger, and the misfortunes and hardships that surround the
poor; but he also tasted of their joys.

Childhood has bright days for every one, and the memory of them
shines through the whole after-life. The boy had many sources of
pleasure and enjoyment; the coast for miles and miles was full of
playthings, for it was a mosaic of pebbles, some red as coral or
yellow as amber, and others again white and rounded like birds' eggs
and smoothed and prepared by the sea. Even the bleached fishes'
skeletons, the water plants dried by the wind, and seaweed, white
and shining long linen-like bands waving between the stones--all these
seemed made to give pleasure and occupation for the boy's thoughts,
and he had an intelligent mind; many great talents lay dormant in him.
How readily he remembered stories and songs that he heard, and how
dexterous he was with his fingers! With stones and mussel-shells he
could put together pictures and ships with which one could decorate
the room; and he could make wonderful things from a stick, his
foster-mother said, although he was still so young and little. He
had a sweet voice, and every melody seemed to flow naturally from
his lips. And in his heart were hidden chords, which might have
sounded far out into the world if he had been placed anywhere else
than in the fisherman's hut by the North Sea.

One day another ship was wrecked on the coast, and among other
things a chest filled with valuable flower bulbs was washed ashore.
Some were put into saucepans and cooked, for they were thought to be
fit to eat, and others lay and shrivelled in the sand--they did not
accomplish their purpose, or unfold their magnificent colours. Would
Jurgen fare better? The flower bulbs had soon played their part, but
he had years of apprenticeship before him. Neither he nor his
friends noticed in what a monotonous, uniform way one day followed
another, for there was always plenty to do and see. The ocean itself
was a great lesson-book, and it unfolded a new leaf each day of calm
or storm--the crested wave or the smooth surface.

The visits to the church were festive occasions, but among the
fisherman's house one was especially looked forward to; this was, in
fact, the visit of the brother of Jurgen's foster-mother, the
eel-breeder from Fjaltring, near Bovbjerg. He came twice a year in a
cart, painted red with blue and white tulips upon it, and full of
eels; it was covered and locked like a box, two dun oxen drew it,
and Jurgen was allowed to guide them.

The eel-breeder was a witty fellow, a merry guest, and brought a
measure of brandy with him. They all received a small glassful or a
cupful if there were not enough glasses; even Jurgen had about a
thimbleful, that he might digest the fat eel, as the eel-breeder said;
he always told one story over and over again, and if his hearers
laughed he would immediately repeat it to them. Jurgen while still a
boy, and also when he was older, used phrases from the eel-breeder's
story on various occasions, so it will be as well for us to listen
to it. It runs thus:

"The eels went into the bay, and the young ones begged leave to go
a little farther out. 'Don't go too far,' said their mother; 'the ugly
eel-spearer might come and snap you all up.' But they went too far,
and of eight daughters only three came back to the mother, and these
wept and said, 'We only went a little way out, and the ugly
eel-spearer came immediately and stabbed five of our sisters to
death.' 'They'll come back again,' said the mother eel. 'Oh, no,'
exclaimed the daughters, 'for he skinned them, cut them in two, and
fried them.' 'Oh, they'll come back again,' the mother eel
persisted. 'No,' replied the daughters, 'for he ate them up.' 'They'll
come back again,' repeated the mother eel. 'But he drank brandy
after them,' said the daughters. 'Ah, then they'll never come back,'
said the mother, and she burst out crying, 'it's the brandy that
buries the eels.'"

"And therefore," said the eel-breeder in conclusion, "it is always
the proper thing to drink brandy after eating eels."

This story was the tinsel thread, the most humorous recollection
of Jurgen's life. He also wanted to go a little way farther out and up
the bay--that is to say, out into the world in a ship--but his
mother said, like the eel-breeder, "There are so many bad people--eel
spearers!" He wished to go a little way past the sand-hills, out
into the dunes, and at last he did: four happy days, the brightest
of his childhood, fell to his lot, and the whole beauty and
splendour of Jutland, all the happiness and sunshine of his home, were
concentrated in these. He went to a festival, but it was a burial
feast.

A rich relation of the fisherman's family had died; the farm was
situated far eastward in the country and a little towards the north.
Jurgen's foster parents went there, and he also went with them from
the dunes, over heath and moor, where the Skjaerumaa takes its
course through green meadows and contains many eels; mother eels
live there with their daughters, who are caught and eaten up by wicked
people. But do not men sometimes act quite as cruelly towards their
own fellow-men? Was not the knight Sir Bugge murdered by wicked
people? And though he was well spoken of, did he not also wish to kill
the architect who built the castle for him, with its thick walls and
tower, at the point where the Skjaerumaa falls into the bay? Jurgen
and his parents now stood there; the wall and the ramparts still
remained, and red crumbling fragments lay scattered around. Here it
was that Sir Bugge, after the architect had left him, said to one of
his men, "Go after him and say, 'Master, the tower shakes.' If he
turns round, kill him and take away the money I paid him, but if he
does not turn round let him go in peace." The man did as he was
told; the architect did not turn round, but called back "The tower
does not shake in the least, but one day a man will come from the west
in a blue cloak--he will cause it to shake!" And so indeed it happened
a hundred years later, for the North Sea broke in and cast down the
tower; but Predbjorn Gyldenstjerne, the man who then possessed the
castle, built a new castle higher up at the end of the meadow, and
that one is standing to this day, and is called Norre-Vosborg.

Jurgen and his foster parents went past this castle. They had told
him its story during the long winter evenings, and now he saw the
stately edifice, with its double moat, and trees and bushes; the wall,
covered with ferns, rose within the moat, but the lofty lime-trees
were the most beautiful of all; they grew up to the highest windows,
and the air was full of their sweet fragrance. In a north-west
corner of the garden stood a great bush full of blossom, like winter
snow amid the summer's green; it was a juniper bush, the first that
Jurgen had ever seen in bloom. He never forgot it, nor the lime-trees;
the child's soul treasured up these memories of beauty and fragrance
to gladden the old man.

From Norre-Vosborg, where the juniper blossomed, the journey
became more pleasant, for they met some other people who were also
going to the funeral and were riding in waggons. Our travellers had to
sit all together on a little box at the back of the waggon, but even
this, they thought, was better than walking. So they continued their
journey across the rugged heath. The oxen which drew the waggon
stopped every now and then, where a patch of fresh grass appeared amid
the heather. The sun shone with considerable heat, and it was
wonderful to behold how in the far distance something like smoke
seemed to be rising; yet this smoke was clearer than the air; it was
transparent, and looked like rays of light rolling and dancing afar
over the heath.

"That is Lokeman driving his sheep," said some one.

And this was enough to excite Jurgen's imagination. He felt as
if they were now about to enter fairyland, though everything was still
real. How quiet it was! The heath stretched far and wide around them
like a beautiful carpet. The heather was in blossom, and the
juniper-bushes and fresh oak saplings rose like bouquets from the
earth. An inviting place for a frolic, if it had not been for the
number of poisonous adders of which the travellers spoke; they also
mentioned that the place had formerly been infested with wolves, and
that the district was still called Wolfsborg for this reason. The
old man who was driving the oxen told them that in the lifetime of his
father the horses had many a hard battle with the wild beasts that
were now exterminated. One morning, when he himself had gone out to
bring in the horses, he found one of them standing with its forefeet
on a wolf it had killed, but the savage animal had torn and
lacerated the brave horse's legs.

The journey over the heath and the deep sand was only too
quickly at an end. They stopped before the house of mourning, where
they found plenty of guests within and without. Waggon after waggon
stood side by side, while the horses and oxen had been turned out to
graze on the scanty pasture. Great sand-hills like those at home by
the North Sea rose behind the house and extended far and wide. How had
they come here, so many miles inland? They were as large and high as
those on the coast, and the wind had carried them there; there was
also a legend attached to them.

Psalms were sung, and a few of the old people shed tears; with
this exception, the guests were cheerful enough, it seemed to
Jurgen, and there was plenty to eat and drink. There were eels of
the fattest, requiring brandy to bury them, as the eel-breeder said;
and certainly they did not forget to carry out his maxim here.

Jurgen went in and out the house; and on the third day he felt
as much at home as he did in the fisherman's cottage among the
sand-hills, where he had passed his early days. Here on the heath were
riches unknown to him until now; for flowers, blackberries, and
bilberries were to be found in profusion, so large and sweet that when
they were crushed beneath the tread of passers-by the heather was
stained with their red juice. Here was a barrow and yonder another.
Then columns of smoke rose into the still air; it was a heath fire,
they told him--how brightly it blazed in the dark evening!

The fourth day came, and the funeral festivities were at an end;
they were to go back from the land-dunes to the sand-dunes.

"Ours are better," said the old fisherman, Jurgen's foster-father;
"these have no strength."

And they spoke of the way in which the sand-dunes had come inland,
and it seemed very easy to understand. This is how they explained it:

A dead body had been found on the coast, and the peasants buried
it in the churchyard. From that time the sand began to fly about and
the sea broke in with violence. A wise man in the district advised
them to open the grave and see if the buried man was not lying sucking
his thumb, for if so he must be a sailor, and the sea would not rest
until it had got him back. The grave was opened, and he really was
found with his thumb in his mouth. So they laid him upon a cart, and
harnessed two oxen to it; and the oxen ran off with the sailor over
heath and moor to the ocean, as if they had been stung by an adder.
Then the sand ceased to fly inland, but the hills that had been
piled up still remained.

All this Jurgen listened to and treasured up in his memory of
the happiest days of his childhood--the days of the burial feast.

How delightful it was to see fresh places and to mix with
strangers! And he was to go still farther, for he was not yet fourteen
years old when he went out in a ship to see the world. He
encountered bad weather, heavy seas, unkindness, and hard men--such
were his experiences, for he became ship-boy. Cold nights, bad living,
and blows had to be endured; then he felt his noble Spanish blood boil
within him, and bitter, angry, words rose to his lips, but he gulped
them down; it was better, although he felt as the eel must feel when
it is skinned, cut up, and put into the frying-pan.

"I shall get over it," said a voice within him.

He saw the Spanish coast, the native land of his parents. He
even saw the town where they had lived in joy and prosperity, but he
knew nothing of his home or his relations, and his relations knew just
as little about him.

The poor ship boy was not permitted to land, but on the last day
of their stay he managed to get ashore. There were several purchases
to be made, and he was sent to carry them on board.

Jurgen stood there in his shabby clothes which looked as if they
had been washed in the ditch and dried in the chimney; he, who had
always dwelt among the sand-hills, now saw a great city for the
first time. How lofty the houses seemed, and what a number of people
there were in the streets! some pushing this way, some that--a perfect
maelstrom of citizens and peasants, monks and soldiers--the jingling
of bells on the trappings of asses and mules, the chiming of church
bells, calling, shouting, hammering and knocking--all going on at
once. Every trade was located in the basement of the houses or in
the side thoroughfares; and the sun shone with such heat, and the
air was so close, that one seemed to be in an oven full of beetles,
cockchafers, bees and flies, all humming and buzzing together.
Jurgen scarcely knew where he was or which way he went. Then he saw
just in front of him the great doorway of a cathedral; the lights were
gleaming in the dark aisles, and the fragrance of incense was wafted
towards him. Even the poorest beggar ventured up the steps into the
sanctuary. Jurgen followed the sailor he was with into the church, and
stood in the sacred edifice. Coloured pictures gleamed from their
golden background, and on the altar stood the figure of the Virgin
with the child Jesus, surrounded by lights and flowers; priests in
festive robes were chanting, and choir boys in dazzling attire swung
silver censers. What splendour and magnificence he saw there! It
streamed in upon his soul and overpowered him: the church and the
faith of his parents surrounded him, and touched a chord in his
heart that caused his eyes to overflow with tears.

They went from the church to the market-place. Here a quantity
of provisions were given him to carry. The way to the harbour was
long; and weary and overcome with various emotions, he rested for a
few moments before a splendid house, with marble pillars, statues, and
broad steps. Here he rested his burden against the wall. Then a porter
in livery came out, lifted up a silver-headed cane, and drove him
away--him, the grandson of that house. But no one knew that, and he
just as little as any one. Then he went on board again, and once
more encountered rough words and blows, much work and little
sleep--such was his experience of life. They say it is good to suffer
in one's young days, if age brings something to make up for it.

His period of service on board the ship came to an end, and the
vessel lay once more at Ringkjobing in Jutland. He came ashore, and
went home to the sand-dunes near Hunsby; but his foster-mother had
died during his absence.

A hard winter followed this summer. Snow-storms swept over land
and sea, and there was difficulty in getting from one place to
another. How unequally things are distributed in this world! Here
there was bitter cold and snow-storms, while in Spain there was
burning sunshine and oppressive heat. Yet, when a clear frosty day
came, and Jurgen saw the swans flying in numbers from the sea
towards the land, across to Norre-Vosborg, it seemed to him that
people could breathe more freely here; the summer also in this part of
the world was splendid. In imagination he saw the heath blossom and
become purple with rich juicy berries, and the elder-bushes and
lime-trees at Norre Vosborg in flower. He made up his mind to go there
again.

Spring came, and the fishing began. Jurgen was now an active
helper in this, for he had grown during the last year, and was quick
at work. He was full of life, and knew how to swim, to tread water,
and to turn over and tumble in the strong tide. They often warned
him to beware of the sharks, which seize the best swimmer, draw him
down, and devour him; but such was not to be Jurgen's fate.

At a neighbour's house in the dunes there was a boy named
Martin, with whom Jurgen was on very friendly terms, and they both
took service in the same ship to Norway, and also went together to
Holland. They never had a quarrel, but a person can be easily
excited to quarrel when he is naturally hot tempered, for he often
shows it in many ways; and this is just what Jurgen did one day when
they fell out about the merest trifle. They were sitting behind the
cabin door, eating from a delft plate, which they had placed between
them. Jurgen held his pocket-knife in his hand and raised it towards
Martin, and at the same time became ashy pale, and his eyes had an
ugly look. Martin only said, "Ah! ah! you are one of that sort, are
you? Fond of using the knife!"

The words were scarcely spoken, when Jurgen's hand sank down. He
did not answer a syllable, but went on eating, and afterwards returned
to his work. When they were resting again he walked up to Martin and
said:

"Hit me in the face! I deserve it. But sometimes I feel as if I
had a pot in me that boils over."

"There, let the thing rest," replied Martin.

And after that they were almost better friends than ever; when
afterwards they returned to the dunes and began telling their
adventures, this was told among the rest. Martin said that Jurgen
was certainly passionate, but a good fellow after all.

They were both young and healthy, well-grown and strong; but
Jurgen was the cleverer of the two.

In Norway the peasants go into the mountains and take the cattle
there to find pasture. On the west coast of Jutland huts have been
erected among the sand-hills; they are built of pieces of wreck, and
thatched with turf and heather; there are sleeping places round the
walls, and here the fishermen live and sleep during the early
spring. Every fisherman has a female helper, or manager as she is
called, who baits his hooks, prepares warm beer for him when he
comes ashore, and gets the dinner cooked and ready for him by the time
he comes back to the hut tired and hungry. Besides this the managers
bring up the fish from the boats, cut them open, prepare them, and
have generally a great deal to do.

Jurgen, his father, and several other fishermen and their managers
inhabited the same hut; Martin lived in the next one.

One of the girls, whose name was Else, had known Jurgen from
childhood; they were glad to see each other, and were of the same
opinion on many points, but in appearance they were entirely opposite;
for he was dark, and she was pale, and fair, and had flaxen hair,
and eyes as blue as the sea in sunshine.

As they were walking together one day, Jurgen held her hand very
firmly in his, and she said to him:

"Jurgen, I have something I want to say to you; let me be your
manager, for you are like a brother to me; but Martin, whose
housekeeper I am--he is my lover--but you need not tell this to the
others."

It seemed to Jurgen as if the loose sand was giving way under
his feet. He did not speak a word, but nodded his head, and that meant
"yes." It was all that was necessary; but he suddenly felt in his
heart that he hated Martin, and the more he thought the more he felt
convinced that Martin had stolen away from him the only being he
ever loved, and that this was Else: he had never thought of Else in
this way before, but now it all became plain to him.

When the sea is rather rough, and the fishermen are coming home in
their great boats, it is wonderful to see how they cross the reefs.
One of them stands upright in the bow of the boat, and the others
watch him sitting with the oars in their hands. Outside the reef it
looks as if the boat was not approaching land but going back to sea;
then the man who is standing up gives them the signal that the great
wave is coming which is to float them across the reef. The boat is
lifted high into the air, so that the keel is seen from the shore; the
next moment nothing can be seen, mast, keel, and people are all
hidden--it seems as though the sea had devoured them; but in a few
moments they emerge like a great sea animal climbing up the waves, and
the oars move as if the creature had legs. The second and third reef
are passed in the same manner; then the fishermen jump into the
water and push the boat towards the shore--every wave helps them--and
at length they have it drawn up, beyond the reach of the breakers.

A wrong order given in front of the reef--the slightest
hesitation--and the boat would be lost.

"Then it would be all over with me and Martin too!"

This thought passed through Jurgen's mind one day while they
were out at sea, where his foster-father had been taken suddenly
ill. The fever had seized him. They were only a few oars' strokes from
the reef, and Jurgen sprang from his seat and stood up in the bow.

"Father-let me come!" he said, and he glanced at Martin and across
the waves; every oar bent with the exertions of the rowers as the
great wave came towards them, and he saw his father's pale face, and
dared not obey the evil impulse that had shot through his brain. The
boat came safely across the reef to land; but the evil thought
remained in his heart, and roused up every little fibre of
bitterness which he remembered between himself and Martin since they
had known each other. But he could not weave the fibres together,
nor did he endeavour to do so. He felt that Martin had robbed him, and
this was enough to make him hate his former friend. Several of the
fishermen saw this, but Martin did not--he remained as obliging and
talkative as ever, in fact he talked rather too much.

Jurgen's foster-father took to his bed, and it became his
death-bed, for he died a week afterwards; and now Jurgen was heir to
the little house behind the sand-hills. It was small, certainly, but
still it was something, and Martin had nothing of the kind.

"You will not go to sea again, Jurgen, I suppose," observed one of
the old fishermen. "You will always stay with us now."

But this was not Jurgen's intention; he wanted to see something of
the world. The eel-breeder of Fjaltring had an uncle at Old Skjagen,
who was a fisherman, but also a prosperous merchant with ships upon
the sea; he was said to be a good old man, and it would not be a bad
thing to enter his service. Old Skjagen lies in the extreme north of
Jutland, as far away from the Hunsby dunes as one can travel in that
country; and this is just what pleased Jurgen, for he did not want
to remain till the wedding of Martin and Else, which would take
place in a week or two.

The old fisherman said it was foolish to go away, for now that
Jurgen had a home Else would very likely be inclined to take him
instead of Martin.

Jurgen gave such a vague answer that it was not easy to make out
what he meant--the old man brought Else to him, and she said:

"You have a home now; you ought to think of that."

And Jurgen thought of many things.

The sea has heavy waves, but there are heavier waves in the
human heart. Many thoughts, strong and weak, rushed through Jurgen's
brain, and he said to Else:

"If Martin had a house like mine, which of us would you rather
have?"

"But Martin has no house and cannot get one."

"Suppose he had one?"

"Well, then I would certainly take Martin, for that is what my
heart tells me; but one cannot live upon love."

Jurgen turned these things over in his mind all night. Something
was working within him, he hardly knew what it was, but it was even
stronger than his love for Else; and so he went to Martin's, and
what he said and did there was well considered. He let the house to
Martin on most liberal terms, saying that he wished to go to sea
again, because he loved it. And Else kissed him when she heard of
it, for she loved Martin best.

Jurgen proposed to start early in the morning, and on the
evening before his departure, when it was already getting rather late,
he felt a wish to visit Martin once more. He started, and among the
dunes met the old fisherman, who was angry at his leaving the place.
The old man made jokes about Martin, and declared there must be some
magic about that fellow, of whom the girls were so fond.

Jurgen did not pay any attention to his remarks, but said good-bye
to the old man and went on towards the house where Martin dwelt. He
heard loud talking inside; Martin was not alone, and this made
Jurgen waver in his determination, for he did not wish to see Else
again. On second thoughts, he decided that it was better not to hear
any more thanks from Martin, and so he turned back.

On the following morning, before the sun rose, he fastened his
knapsack on his back, took his wooden provision box in his hand, and
went away among the sand-hills towards the coast path. This way was
more pleasant than the heavy sand road, and besides it was shorter;
and he intended to go first to Fjaltring, near Bovbjerg, where the
eel-breeder lived, to whom he had promised a visit.

The sea lay before him, clear and blue, and the mussel shells
and pebbles, the playthings of his childhood, crunched over his
feet. While he thus walked on his nose suddenly began to bleed; it was
a trifling occurrence, but trifles sometimes are of great
importance. A few large drops of blood fell upon one of his sleeves.
He wiped them off and stopped the bleeding, and it seemed to him as if
this had cleared and lightened his brain. The sea-cale bloomed here
and there in the sand as he passed. He broke off a spray and stuck
it in his hat; he determined to be merry and light-hearted, for he was
going out into the wide world--"a little way out, beyond the bay,"
as the young eels had said. "Beware of bad people who will catch
you, and skin you, and put you in the frying-pan!" he repeated in
his mind, and smiled, for he thought he should find his way through
the world--good courage is a strong weapon!

The sun was high in the heavens when he approached the narrow
entrance to Nissum Bay. He looked back and saw a couple of horsemen
galloping a long distance behind him, and there were other people with
them. But this did not concern him.

The ferry-boat was on the opposite side of the bay. Jurgen
called to the ferry-man, and the latter came over with his boat.
Jurgen stepped in; but before he had got half-way across, the men whom
he had seen riding so hastily, came up, hailed the ferry-man, and
commanded him to return in the name of the law. Jurgen did not
understand the reason of this, but he thought it would be best to turn
back, and therefore he himself took an oar and returned. As soon as
the boat touched the shore, the men sprang on board, and before he was
aware of it, they had bound his hands with a rope.

"This wicked deed will cost you your life," they said. "It is a
good thing we have caught you."

He was accused of nothing less than murder. Martin had been
found dead, with his throat cut. One of the fishermen, late on the
previous evening, had met Jurgen going towards Martin's house; this
was not the first time Jurgen had raised his knife against Martin,
so they felt sure that he was the murderer. The prison was in a town
at a great distance, and the wind was contrary for going there by sea;
but it would not take half an hour to get across the bay, and
another quarter of an hour would bring them to Norre-Vosborg, the
great castle with ramparts and moat. One of Jurgen's captors was a
fisherman, a brother of the keeper of the castle, and he said it might
be managed that Jurgen should be placed for the present in the dungeon
at Vosborg, where Long Martha the gipsy had been shut up till her
execution. They paid no attention to Jurgen's defence; the few drops
of blood on his shirt-sleeve bore heavy witness against him. But he
was conscious of his innocence, and as there was no chance of clearing
himself at present he submitted to his fate.

The party landed just at the place where Sir Bugge's castle had
stood, and where Jurgen had walked with his foster-parents after the
burial feast, during the four happiest days of his childhood. He
was led by the well-known path, over the meadow to Vosborg; once
more the elders were in bloom and the lofty lime-trees gave forth
sweet fragrance, and it seemed as if it were but yesterday that he had
last seen the spot. In each of the two wings of the castle there was a
staircase which led to a place below the entrance, from whence there
is access to a low, vaulted cellar. In this dungeon Long Martha had
been imprisoned, and from here she was led away to the scaffold. She
had eaten the hearts of five children, and had imagined that if she
could obtain two more she would be able to fly and make herself
invisible. In the middle of the roof of the cellar there was a
little narrow air-hole, but no window. The flowering lime trees
could not breathe refreshing fragrance into that abode, where
everything was dark and mouldy. There was only a rough bench in the
cell; but a good conscience is a soft pillow, and therefore Jurgen
could sleep well.

The thick oaken door was locked, and secured on the outside by
an iron bar; but the goblin of superstition can creep through a
keyhole into a baron's castle just as easily as it can into a
fisherman's cottage, and why should he not creep in here, where Jurgen
sat thinking of Long Martha and her wicked deeds? Her last thoughts on
the night before her execution had filled this place, and the magic
that tradition asserted to have been practised here, in Sir
Svanwedel's time, came into Jurgen's mind, and made him shudder; but a
sunbeam, a refreshing thought from without, penetrated his heart
even here--it was the remembrance of the flowering elder and the sweet
smelling lime-trees.

He was not left there long. They took him away to the town of
Ringkjobing, where he was imprisoned with equal severity.

Those times were not like ours. The common people were treated
harshly; and it was just after the days when farms were converted into
knights' estates, when coachmen and servants were often made
magistrates, and had power to sentence a poor man, for a small
offence, to lose his property and to corporeal punishment. Judges of
this kind were still to be found; and in Jutland, so far from the
capital, and from the enlightened, well-meaning, head of the
Government, the law was still very loosely administered sometimes--the
smallest grievance Jurgen could expect was that his case should be
delayed.

His dwelling was cold and comfortless; and how long would he be
obliged to bear all this? It seemed his fate to suffer misfortune
and sorrow innocently. He now had plenty of time to reflect on the
difference of fortune on earth, and to wonder why this fate had been
allotted to him; yet he felt sure that all would be made clear in
the next life, the existence that awaits us when this life is over.
His faith had grown strong in the poor fisherman's cottage; the
light which had never shone into his father's mind, in all the
richness and sunshine of Spain, was sent to him to be his comfort in
poverty and distress, a sign of that mercy of God which never fails.

The spring storms began to blow. The rolling and moaning of the
North Sea could be heard for miles inland when the wind was blowing,
and then it sounded like the rushing of a thousand waggons over a hard
road with a mine underneath. Jurgen heard these sounds in his
prison, and it was a relief to him. No music could have touched his
heart as did these sounds of the sea--the rolling sea, the boundless
sea, on which a man can be borne across the world before the wind,
carrying his own house with him wherever he goes, just as the snail
carries its home even into a strange country.

He listened eagerly to its deep murmur and then the thought
arose--"Free! free! How happy to be free, even barefooted and in ragged
clothes!" Sometimes, when such thoughts crossed his mind, the fiery
nature rose within him, and he beat the wall with his clenched fists.

Weeks, months, a whole year had gone by, when Niels the thief,
called also a horse-dealer, was arrested; and now better times came,
and it was seen that Jurgen had been wrongly accused.

On the afternoon before Jurgen's departure from home, and before
the murder, Niels the thief, had met Martin at a beer-house in the
neighbourhood of Ringkjobing. A few glasses were drank, not enough
to cloud the brain, but enough to loosen Martin's tongue. He began
to boast and to say that he had obtained a house and intended to
marry, and when Niels asked him where he was going to get the money,
he slapped his pocket proudly and said:

"The money is here, where it ought to be."

This boast cost him his life; for when he went home Niels followed
him, and cut his throat, intending to rob the murdered man of the
gold, which did not exist.

All this was circumstantially explained; but it is enough for us
to know that Jurgen was set free. But what compensation did he get for
having been imprisoned a whole year, and shut out from all
communication with his fellow creatures? They told him he was
fortunate in being proved innocent, and that he might go. The
burgomaster gave him two dollars for travelling expenses, and many
citizens offered him provisions and beer--there were still good
people; they were not all hard and pitiless. But the best thing of all
was that the merchant Bronne, of Skjagen, into whose service Jurgen
had proposed entering the year before, was just at that time on
business in the town of Ringkjobing. Bronne heard the whole story;
he was kind-hearted, and understood what Jurgen must have felt and
suffered. Therefore he made up his mind to make it up to the poor lad,
and convince him that there were still kind folks in the world.

So Jurgen went forth from prison as if to paradise, to find
freedom, affection, and trust. He was to travel this path now, for
no goblet of life is all bitterness; no good man would pour out such a
draught for his fellow-man, and how should He do it, Who is love
personified?

"Let everything be buried and forgotten," said Bronne, the
merchant. "Let us draw a thick line through last year: we will even
burn the almanack. In two days we will start for dear, friendly,
peaceful Skjagen. People call it an out-of-the-way corner; but it is a
good warm chimney-corner, and its windows open toward every part of
the world."

What a journey that was: It was like taking fresh breath out of
the cold dungeon air into the warm sunshine. The heather bloomed in
pride and beauty, and the shepherd-boy sat on a barrow and blew his
pipe, which he had carved for himself out of a sheep bone. Fata
Morgana, the beautiful aerial phenomenon of the wilderness, appeared
with hanging gardens and waving forests, and the wonderful cloud
called "Lokeman driving his sheep" also was seen.

Up towards Skjagen they went, through the land of the Wendels,
whence the men with long beards (the Longobardi or Lombards) had
emigrated in the reign of King Snio, when all the children and old
people were to have been killed, till the noble Dame Gambaruk proposed
that the young people should emigrate. Jurgen knew all this, he had
some little knowledge; and although he did not know the land of the
Lombards beyond the lofty Alps, he had an idea that it must be
there, for in his boyhood he had been in the south, in Spain. He
thought of the plenteousness of the southern fruit, of the red
pomegranate flowers, of the humming, buzzing, and toiling in the great
beehive of a city he had seen; but home is the best place after all,
and Jurgen's home was Denmark.

At last they arrived at "Vendilskaga," as Skjagen is called in old
Norwegian and Icelandic writings. At that time Old Skjagen, with the
eastern and western town, extended for miles, with sand hills and
arable land as far as the lighthouse near "Grenen." Then, as now,
the houses were strewn among the wind-raised sand-hills--a
wilderness in which the wind sports with the sand, and where the voice
of the sea-gull and wild swan strikes harshly on the ear.

In the south-west, a mile from "Grenen," lies Old Skjagen;
merchant Bronne dwelt here, and this was also to be Jurgen's home
for the future. The dwelling-house was tarred, and all the small
out-buildings had been put together from pieces of wreck. There was no
fence, for indeed there was nothing to fence in except the long rows
of fishes which were hung upon lines, one above the other, to dry in
the wind. The entire coast was strewn with spoiled herrings, for there
were so many of these fish that a net was scarcely thrown into the sea
before it was filled. They were caught by carloads, and many of them
were either thrown back into the sea or left to lie on the beach.

The old man's wife and daughter and his servants also came to meet
him with great rejoicing. There was a great squeezing of hands, and
talking and questioning. And the daughter, what a sweet face and
bright eyes she had!

The inside of the house was comfortable and roomy. Fritters,
that a king would have looked upon as a dainty dish, were placed on
the table, and there was wine from the Skjagen vineyard--that is,
the sea; for there the grapes come ashore ready pressed and prepared
in barrels and in bottles.

When the mother and daughter heard who Jurgen was, and how
innocently he had suffered, they looked at him in a still more
friendly way; and pretty Clara's eyes had a look of especial
interest as she listened to his story. Jurgen found a happy home in
Old Skjagen. It did his heart good, for it had been sorely tried. He
had drunk the bitter goblet of love which softens or hardens the
heart, according to circumstances. Jurgen's heart was still soft--it
was young, and therefore it was a good thing that Miss Clara was going
in three weeks' time to Christiansand in Norway, in her father's ship,
to visit an aunt and to stay there the whole winter.

On the Sunday before she went away they all went to church, to the
Holy Communion. The church was large and handsome, and had been
built centuries before by Scotchmen and Dutchmen; it stood some little
way out of the town. It was rather ruinous certainly, and the road
to it was heavy, through deep sand, but the people gladly surmounted
these difficulties to get to the house of God, to sing psalms and to
hear the sermon. The sand had heaped itself up round the walls of
the church, but the graves were kept free from it.

It was the largest church north of the Limfjorden. The Virgin
Mary, with a golden crown on her head and the child Jesus in her arms,
stood lifelike on the altar; the holy Apostles had been carved in
the choir, and on the walls there were portraits of the old
burgomasters and councillors of Skjagen; the pulpit was of carved
work. The sun shone brightly into the church, and its radiance fell on
the polished brass chandelier and on the little ship that hung from
the vaulted roof.

Jurgen felt overcome by a holy, childlike feeling, like that which
possessed him, when, as a boy, he stood in the splendid Spanish
cathedral. But here the feeling was different, for he felt conscious
of being one of the congregation.

After the sermon followed Holy Communion. He partook of the
bread and wine, and it so happened that he knelt by the side of Miss
Clara; but his thoughts were so fixed upon heaven and the Holy
Sacrament that he did not notice his neighbour until he rose from
his knees, and then he saw tears rolling down her cheeks.

She left Skjagen and went to Norway two days later. He remained
behind, and made himself useful on the farm and at the fishery. He
went out fishing, and in those days fish were more plentiful and
larger than they are now. The shoals of the mackerel glittered in
the dark nights, and indicated where they were swimming; the
gurnards snarled, and the crabs gave forth pitiful yells when they
were chased, for fish are not so mute as people say.

Every Sunday Jurgen went to church; and when his eyes rested on
the picture of the Virgin Mary over the altar as he sat there, they
often glided away to the spot where they had knelt side by side.

Autumn came, and brought rain and snow with it; the water rose
up right into the town of Skjagen, the sand could not suck it all
in, one had to wade through it or go by boat. The storms threw
vessel after vessel on the fatal reefs; there were snow-storm and
sand-storms; the sand flew up to the houses, blocking the entrances,
so that people had to creep up through the chimneys; that was
nothing at all remarkable here. It was pleasant and cheerful
indoors, where peat fuel and fragments of wood from the wrecks
blazed and crackled upon the hearth. Merchant Bronne read aloud,
from an old chronicle, about Prince Hamlet of Denmark, who had come
over from England, landed near Bovbjerg, and fought a battle; close by
Ramme was his grave, only a few miles from the place where the
eel-breeder lived; hundreds of barrow rose there from the heath,
forming as it were an enormous churchyard. Merchant Bronne had
himself been at Hamlet's grave; they spoke about old times, and about
their neighbours, the English and the Scotch, and Jurgen sang the air
of "The King of England's Son," and of his splendid ship and its
outfit.

  "In the hour of peril when most men fear,
  He clasped the bride that he held so dear,
  And proved himself the son of a King;
  Of his courage and valour let us sing."


This verse Jurgen sang with so much feeling that his eyes
beamed, and they were black and sparkling since his infancy.

There was wealth, comfort, and happiness even among the domestic
animals, for they were all well cared for, and well kept. The
kitchen looked bright with its copper and tin utensils, and white
plates, and from the rafters hung hams, beef, and winter stores in
plenty. This can still be seen in many rich farms on the west coast of
Jutland: plenty to eat and drink, clean, prettily decorated rooms,
active minds, cheerful tempers, and hospitality can be found there, as
in an Arab's tent.

Jurgen had never spent such a happy time since the famous burial
feast, and yet Miss Clara was absent, except in the thoughts and
memory of all.

In April a ship was to start for Norway, and Jurgen was to sail in
it. He was full of life and spirits, and looked so sturdy and well
that Dame Bronne said it did her good to see him.

"And it does one good to look at you also, old wife," said the
merchant. "Jurgen has brought fresh life into our winter evenings, and
into you too, mother. You look younger than ever this year, and seem
well and cheerful. But then you were once the prettiest girl in
Viborg, and that is saying a great deal, for I have always found the
Viborg girls the prettiest of any."

Jurgen said nothing, but he thought of a certain maiden of
Skjagen, whom he was soon to visit. The ship set sail for
Christiansand in Norway, and as the wind was favourable it soon
arrived there.

One morning merchant Bronne went out to the lighthouse, which
stands a little way out of Old Skjagen, not far from "Grenen." The
light was out, and the sun was already high in the heavens, when he
mounted the tower. The sand-banks extend a whole mile from the
shore, beneath the water, outside these banks; many ships could be
seen that day, and with the aid of his telescope the old man thought
he descried his own ship, the Karen Bronne. Yes! certainly, there
she was, sailing homewards with Clara and Jurgen on board.

Clara sat on deck, and saw the sand-hills gradually appearing in
the distance; the church and lighthouse looked like a heron and a swan
rising from the blue waters. If the wind held good they might reach
home in about an hour. So near they were to home and all its joys--so
near to death and all its terrors! A plank in the ship gave way,
and the water rushed in; the crew flew to the pumps, and did their
best to stop the leak. A signal of distress was hoisted, but they were
still fully a mile from the shore. Some fishing boats were in sight,
but they were too far off to be of any use. The wind blew towards
the land, the tide was in their favour, but it was all useless; the
ship could not be saved.

Jurgen threw his right arm round Clara, and pressed her to him.
With what a look she gazed up into his face, as with a prayer to God
for help he breasted the waves, which rushed over the sinking ship!
She uttered a cry, but she felt safe and certain that he would not
leave her to sink. And in this hour of terror and danger Jurgen felt
as the king's son did, as told in the old song:

  "In the hour of peril when most men fear,
  He clasped the bride that he held so dear."


How glad he felt that he was a good swimmer! He worked his way
onward with his feet and one arm, while he held the young girl up
firmly with the other. He rested on the waves, he trod the water--in
fact, did everything he could think of, in order not to fatigue
himself, and to reserve strength enough to reach land. He heard
Clara sigh, and felt her shudder convulsively, and he pressed her more
closely to him. Now and then a wave rolled over them, the current
lifted them; the water, although deep, was so clear that for a
moment he imagined he saw the shoals of mackerel glittering, or
Leviathan himself ready to swallow them. Now the clouds cast a
shadow over the water, then again came the playing sunbeams; flocks of
loudly screaming birds passed over him, and the plump and lazy wild
ducks which allow themselves to be drifted by the waves rose up
terrified at the sight of the swimmer. He began to feel his strength
decreasing, but he was only a few cable lengths' distance from the
shore, and help was coming, for a boat was approaching him. At this
moment he distinctly saw a white staring figure under the water--a
wave lifted him up, and he came nearer to the figure--he felt a
violent shock, and everything became dark around him.

On the sand reef lay the wreck of a ship, which was covered with
water at high tide; the white figure head rested against the anchor,
the sharp iron edge of which rose just above the surface. Jurgen had
come in contact with this; the tide had driven him against it with
great force. He sank down stunned with the blow, but the next wave
lifted him and the young girl up again. Some fishermen, coming with
a boat, seized them and dragged them into it. The blood streamed
down over Jurgen's face; he seemed dead, but still held the young girl
so tightly that they were obliged to take her from him by force. She
was pale and lifeless; they laid her in the boat, and rowed as quickly
as possible to the shore. They tried every means to restore Clara to
life, but it was all of no avail. Jurgen had been swimming for some
distance with a corpse in his arms, and had exhausted his strength for
one who was dead.

Jurgen still breathed, so the fishermen carried him to the nearest
house upon the sand-hills, where a smith and general dealer lived
who knew something of surgery, and bound up Jurgen's wounds in a
temporary way until a surgeon could be obtained from the nearest
town the next day. The injured man's brain was affected, and in his
delirium he uttered wild cries; but on the third day he lay quiet
and weak upon his bed; his life seemed to hang by a thread, and the
physician said it would be better for him if this thread broke. "Let
us pray that God may take him," he said, "for he will never be the
same man again."

But life did not depart from him--the thread would not break,
but the thread of memory was severed; the thread of his mind had
been cut through, and what was still more grievous, a body remained--a
living healthy body that wandered about like a troubled spirit.

Jurgen remained in merchant Bronne's house. "He was hurt while
endeavouring to save our child," said the old man, "and now he is
our son." People called Jurgen insane, but that was not exactly the
correct term. He was like an instrument in which the strings are loose
and will give no sound; only occasionally they regained their power
for a few minutes, and then they sounded as they used to do. He
would sing snatches of songs or old melodies, pictures of the past
would rise before him, and then disappear in the mist, as it were, but
as a general rule he sat staring into vacancy, without a thought. We
may conjecture that he did not suffer, but his dark eyes lost their
brightness, and looked like clouded glass.

"Poor mad Jurgen," said the people. And this was the end of a life
whose infancy was to have been surrounded with wealth and splendour
had his parents lived! All his great mental abilities had been lost,
nothing but hardship, sorrow, and disappointment had been his fate. He
was like a rare plant, torn from its native soil, and tossed upon
the beach to wither there. And was this one of God's creatures,
fashioned in His own likeness, to have no better fate? Was he to be
only the plaything of fortune? No! the all-loving Creator would
certainly repay him in the life to come for what he had suffered and
lost here. "The Lord is good to all; and His mercy is over all His
works." The pious old wife of the merchant repeated these words from
the Psalms of David in patience and hope, and the prayer of her
heart was that Jurgen might soon be called away to enter into
eternal life.

In the churchyard where the walls were surrounded with sand
Clara lay buried. Jurgen did not seem to know this; it did not enter
his mind, which could only retain fragments of the past. Every
Sunday he went to church with the old people, and sat there
silently, staring vacantly before him. One day, when the Psalms were
being sung, he sighed deeply, and his eyes became bright; they were
fixed upon a place near the altar where he had knelt with his friend
who was dead. He murmured her name, and became deadly pale, and
tears rolled down his cheeks. They led him out of church; he told
those standing round him that he was well, and had never been ill; he,
who had been so grievously afflicted, the outcast, thrown upon the
world, could not remember his sufferings. The Lord our Creator is wise
and full of loving kindness--who can doubt it?

In Spain, where balmy breezes blow over the Moorish cupolas and
gently stir the orange and myrtle groves, where singing and the
sound of the castanets are always heard, the richest merchant in the
place, a childless old man, sat in a luxurious house, while children
marched in procession through the streets with waving flags and
lighted tapers. If he had been able to press his children to his
heart, his daughter, or her child, that had, perhaps never seen the
light of day, far less the kingdom of heaven, how much of his wealth
would he not have given! "Poor child!" Yes, poor child--a child still,
yet more than thirty years old, for Jurgen had arrived at this age
in Old Skjagen.

The shifting sands had covered the graves in the courtyard,
quite up to the church walls, but still, the dead must be buried among
their relatives and the dear ones who had gone before them. Merchant
Bronne and his wife now rested with their children under the white
sand.

It was in the spring--the season of storms. The sand from the
dunes was whirled up in clouds; the sea was rough, and flocks of birds
flew like clouds in the storm, screaming across the sand-hills.
Shipwreck followed upon shipwreck on the reefs between Old Skagen
and the Hunsby dunes.

One evening Jurgen sat in his room alone: all at once his mind
seemed to become clearer, and a restless feeling came over him, such
as had often, in his younger days, driven him out to wander over the
sand-hills or on the heath. "Home, home!" he cried. No one heard
him. He went out and walked towards the dunes. Sand and stones blew
into his face, and whirled round him; he went in the direction of
the church. The sand was banked up the walls, half covering the
windows, but it had been cleared away in front of the door, and the
entrance was free and easy to open, so Jurgen went into the church.

The storm raged over the town of Skjagen; there had not been
such a terrible tempest within the memory of the inhabitants, nor such
a rough sea. But Jurgen was in the temple of God, and while the
darkness of night reigned outside, a light arose in his soul that
was never to depart from it; the heavy weight that pressed on his
brain burst asunder. He fancied he heard the organ, but it was only
the storm and the moaning of the sea. He sat down on one of the seats,
and lo! the candies were lighted one by one, and there was
brightness and grandeur such as he had only seen in the Spanish
cathedral. The portraits of the old citizens became alive, stepped
down from the walls against which they had hung for centuries, and
took seats near the church door. The gates flew open, and all the dead
people from the churchyard came in, and filled the church, while
beautiful music sounded. Then the melody of the psalm burst forth,
like the sound of the waters, and Jurgen saw that his foster parents
from the Hunsby dunes were there, also old merchant Bronne with his
wife and their daughter Clara, who gave him her hand. They both went
up to the altar where they had knelt before, and the priest joined
their hands and united them for life. Then music was heard again; it
was wonderfully sweet, like a child's voice, full of joy and
expectation, swelling to the powerful tones of a full organ, sometimes
soft and sweet, then like the sounds of a tempest, delightful and
elevating to hear, yet strong enough to burst the stone tombs of the
dead. Then the little ship that hung from the roof of the choir was
let down and looked wonderfully large and beautiful with its silken
sails and rigging:

  "The ropes were of silk, the anchor of gold,
  And everywhere riches and pomp untold,"

as the old song says.

The young couple went on board, accompanied by the whole
congregation, for there was room and enjoyment for them all. Then
the walls and arches of the church were covered with flowering
junipers and lime trees breathing forth fragrance; the branches waved,
creating a pleasant coolness; they bent and parted, and the ship
sailed between them through the air and over the sea. Every candle
in the church became a star, and the wind sang a hymn in which they
all joined. "Through love to glory, no life is lost, the future is
full of blessings and happiness. Hallelujah!" These were the last
words Jurgen uttered in this world, for the thread that bound his
immortal soul was severed, and nothing but the dead body lay in the
dark church, while the storm raged outside, covering it with loose
sand.

The next day was Sunday, and the congregation and their pastor
went to the church. The road had always been heavy, but now it was
almost unfit for use, and when they at last arrived at the church, a
great heap of sand lay piled up in front of them. The whole church was
completely buried in sand. The clergyman offered a short prayer, and
said that God had closed the door of His house here, and that the
congregation must go and build a new one for Him somewhere else. So
they sung a hymn in the open air, and went home again.

Jurgen could not be found anywhere in the town of Skjagen, nor
on the dunes, though they searched for him everywhere. They came to
the conclusion that one of the great waves, which had rolled far up
on the beach, had carried him away; but his body lay buried in a
great sepulchre--the church itself. The Lord had thrown down a
covering for his grave during the storm, and the heavy mound of sand
lies upon it to this day. The drifting sand had covered the vaulted
roof of the church, the arched cloisters, and the stone aisles. The
white thorn and the dog rose now blossom above the place where the
church lies buried, but the spire, like an enormous monument over a
grave, can be seen for miles round. No king has a more splendid
memorial. Nothing disturbs the peaceful sleep of the dead. I was the
first to hear this story, for the storm sung it to me among the
sand-hills.




THE SAUCY BOY

Once upon a time there was an old poet, one of those right good
old poets.

One evening, as he was sitting at home, there was a terrible storm
going on outside; the rain was pouring down, but the old poet sat
comfortably in his chimney-corner, where the fire was burning and
the apples were roasting.

"There will not be a dry thread left on the poor people who are
out in this weather," he said.

"Oh, open the door! I am so cold and wet through," called a little
child outside. It was crying and knocking at the door, whilst the rain
was pouring down and the wind was rattling all the windows.

"Poor creature!" said the poet, and got up and opened the door.
Before him stood a little boy; he was naked, and the water flowed from
his long fair locks. He was shivering with cold; if he had not been
let in, he would certainly have perished in the storm.

"Poor little thing!" said the poet, and took him by the hand.
"Come to me; I will soon warm you. You shall have some wine and an
apple, for you are such a pretty boy."

And he was, too. His eyes sparkled like two bright stars, and
although the water flowed down from his fair locks, they still
curled quite beautifully.

He looked like a little angel, but was pale with cold, and
trembling all over. In his hand he held a splendid bow, but it had
been entirely spoilt by the rain, and the colours of the pretty arrows
had run into one another by getting wet.

The old man sat down by the fire, and taking the little boy on his
knee, wrung the water out of his locks and warmed his hands in his
own.

He then made him some hot spiced wine, which quickly revived
him; so that with reddening cheeks, he sprang upon the floor and
danced around the old man.

"You are a merry boy," said the latter. "What is your name?"

"My name is Cupid," he answered. "Don't you know me? There lies my
bow. I shoot with that, you know. Look, the weather is getting fine
again--the moon is shining."

"But your bow is spoilt," said the old poet.

"That would be unfortunate," said the little boy, taking it up and
looking at it. "Oh, it's quite dry and isn't damaged at all. The
string is quite tight; I'll try it." So, drawing it back, he took an
arrow, aimed, and shot the good old poet right in the heart. "Do you
see now that my bow was not spoilt?" he said, and, loudly laughing,
ran away. What a naughty boy to shoot the old poet like that, who
had taken him into his warm room, had been so good to him, and had
given him the nicest wine and the best apple!

The good old man lay upon the floor crying; he was really shot
in the heart. "Oh!" he cried, "what a naughty boy this Cupid is! I
shall tell all the good children about this, so that they take care
never to play with him, lest he hurt them."

And all good children, both girls and boys, whom he told about
this, were on their guard against wicked Cupid; but he deceives them
all the same, for he is very deep. When the students come out of
class, he walks beside them with a book under his arm, and wearing a
black coat. They cannot recognize him. And then, if they take him by
the arm, believing him to be a student too, he sticks an arrow into
their chest. And when the girls go to church to be confirmed, he is
amongst them too. In fact, he is always after people. He sits in the
large chandelier in the theatre and blazes away, so that people
think it is a lamp; but they soon find out their mistake. He walks
about in the castle garden and on the promenades. Yes, once he shot
your father and your mother in the heart too. Just ask them, and you
will hear what they say. Oh! he is a bad boy, this Cupid, and you must
never have anything to do with him, for he is after every one. Just
think, he even shot an arrow at old grandmother; but that was a long
time ago. The wound has long been healed, but such things are never
forgotten.

Now you know what a bad boy this wicked Cupid is.




THE SHADOW

In very hot climates, where the heat of the sun has great power,
people are usually as brown as mahogany; and in the hottest
countries they are negroes, with black skins. A learned man once
travelled into one of these warm climates, from the cold regions of
the north, and thought he would roam about as he did at home; but he
soon had to change his opinion. He found that, like all sensible
people, he must remain in the house during the whole day, with every
window and door closed, so that it looked as if all in the house
were asleep or absent. The houses of the narrow street in which he
lived were so lofty that the sun shone upon them from morning till
evening, and it became quite unbearable. This learned man from the
cold regions was young as well as clever; but it seemed to him as if
he were sitting in an oven, and he became quite exhausted and weak,
and grew so thin that his shadow shrivelled up, and became much
smaller than it had been at home. The sun took away even what was left
of it, and he saw nothing of it till the evening, after sunset. It was
really a pleasure, as soon as the lights were brought into the room,
to see the shadow stretch itself against the wall, even to the
ceiling, so tall was it; and it really wanted a good stretch to
recover its strength. The learned man would sometimes go out into
the balcony to stretch himself also; and as soon as the stars came
forth in the clear, beautiful sky, he felt revived. People at this
hour began to make their appearance in all the balconies in the
street; for in warm climates every window has a balcony, in which they
can breathe the fresh evening air, which is very necessary, even to
those who are used to a heat that makes them as brown as mahogany;
so that the street presented a very lively appearance. Here were
shoemakers, and tailors, and all sorts of people sitting. In the
street beneath, they brought out tables and chairs, lighted candles by
hundreds, talked and sang, and were very merry. There were people
walking, carriages driving, and mules trotting along, with their bells
on the harness, "tingle, tingle," as they went. Then the dead were
carried to the grave with the sound of solemn music, and the tolling
of the church bells. It was indeed a scene of varied life in the
street. One house only, which was just opposite to the one in which
the foreign learned man lived, formed a contrast to all this, for it
was quite still; and yet somebody dwelt there, for flowers stood in
the balcony, blooming beautifully in the hot sun; and this could not
have been unless they had been watered carefully. Therefore some one
must be in the house to do this. The doors leading to the balcony were
half opened in the evening; and although in the front room all was
dark, music could be heard from the interior of the house. The foreign
learned man considered this music very delightful; but perhaps he
fancied it; for everything in these warm countries pleased him,
excepting the heat of the sun. The foreign landlord said he did not
know who had taken the opposite house--nobody was to be seen there;
and as to the music, he thought it seemed very tedious, to him most
uncommonly so.

"It is just as if some one was practising a piece that he could
not manage; it is always the same piece. He thinks, I suppose, that he
will be able to manage it at last; but I do not think so, however long
he may play it."

Once the foreigner woke in the night. He slept with the door
open which led to the balcony; the wind had raised the curtain
before it, and there appeared a wonderful brightness over all in the
balcony of the opposite house. The flowers seemed like flames of the
most gorgeous colors, and among the flowers stood a beautiful
slender maiden. It was to him as if light streamed from her, and
dazzled his eyes; but then he had only just opened them, as he awoke
from his sleep. With one spring he was out of bed, and crept softly
behind the curtain. But she was gone--the brightness had
disappeared; the flowers no longer appeared like flames, although
still as beautiful as ever. The door stood ajar, and from an inner
room sounded music so sweet and so lovely, that it produced the most
enchanting thoughts, and acted on the senses with magic power. Who
could live there? Where was the real entrance? for, both in the street
and in the lane at the side, the whole ground floor was a continuation
of shops; and people could not always be passing through them.

One evening the foreigner sat in the balcony. A light was
burning in his own room, just behind him. It was quite natural,
therefore, that his shadow should fall on the wall of the opposite
house; so that, as he sat amongst the flowers on his balcony, when
he moved, his shadow moved also.

"I think my shadow is the only living thing to be seen
opposite," said the learned man; "see how pleasantly it sits among the
flowers. The door is only ajar; the shadow ought to be clever enough
to step in and look about him, and then to come back and tell me
what he has seen. You could make yourself useful in this way," said
he, jokingly; "be so good as to step in now, will you?" and then he
nodded to the shadow, and the shadow nodded in return. "Now go, but
don't stay away altogether."

Then the foreigner stood up, and the shadow on the opposite
balcony stood up also; the foreigner turned round, the shadow
turned; and if any one had observed, they might have seen it go
straight into the half-opened door of the opposite balcony, as the
learned man re-entered his own room, and let the curtain fall. The
next morning he went out to take his coffee and read the newspapers.

"How is this?" he exclaimed, as he stood in the sunshine. "I
have lost my shadow. So it really did go away yesterday evening, and
it has not returned. This is very annoying."

And it certainly did vex him, not so much because the shadow was
gone, but because he knew there was a story of a man without a shadow.
All the people at home, in his country, knew this story; and when he
returned, and related his own adventures, they would say it was only
an imitation; and he had no desire for such things to be said of
him. So he decided not to speak of it at all, which was a very
sensible determination.

In the evening he went out again on his balcony, taking care to
place the light behind him; for he knew that a shadow always wants his
master for a screen; but he could not entice him out. He made
himself little, and he made himself tall; but there was no shadow, and
no shadow came. He said, "Hem, a-hem;" but it was all useless. That
was very vexatious; but in warm countries everything grows very
quickly; and, after a week had passed, he saw, to his great joy,
that a new shadow was growing from his feet, when he walked in the
sunshine; so that the root must have remained. After three weeks, he
had quite a respectable shadow, which, during his return journey to
northern lands, continued to grow, and became at last so large that he
might very well have spared half of it. When this learned man
arrived at home, he wrote books about the true, the good, and the
beautiful, which are to be found in this world; and so days and
years passed--many, many years.

One evening, as he sat in his study, a very gentle tap was heard
at the door. "Come in," said he; but no one came. He opened the
door, and there stood before him a man so remarkably thin that he felt
seriously troubled at his appearance. He was, however, very well
dressed, and looked like a gentleman. "To whom have I the honor of
speaking?" said he.

"Ah, I hoped you would recognize me," said the elegant stranger;
"I have gained so much that I have a body of flesh, and clothes to
wear. You never expected to see me in such a condition. Do you not
recognize your old shadow? Ah, you never expected that I should return
to you again. All has been prosperous with me since I was with you
last; I have become rich in every way, and, were I inclined to
purchase my freedom from service, I could easily do so." And as he
spoke he rattled between his fingers a number of costly trinkets which
hung to a thick gold watch-chain he wore round his neck. Diamond rings
sparkled on his fingers, and it was all real.

"I cannot recover from my astonishment," said the learned man.
"What does all this mean?"

"Something rather unusual," said the shadow; "but you are yourself
an uncommon man, and you know very well that I have followed in your
footsteps ever since your childhood. As soon as you found that I
have travelled enough to be trusted alone, I went my own way, and I am
now in the most brilliant circumstances. But I felt a kind of
longing to see you once more before you die, and I wanted to see
this place again, for there is always a clinging to the land of
one's birth. I know that you have now another shadow; do I owe you
anything? If so, have the goodness to say what it is."

"No! Is it really you?" said the learned man. "Well, this is
most remarkable; I never supposed it possible that a man's old
shadow could become a human being."

"Just tell me what I owe you," said the shadow, "for I do not like
to be in debt to any man."

"How can you talk in that manner?" said the learned man. "What
question of debt can there be between us? You are as free as any
one. I rejoice exceedingly to hear of your good fortune. Sit down, old
friend, and tell me a little of how it happened, and what you saw in
the house opposite to me while we were in those hot climates."

"Yes, I will tell you all about it," said the shadow, sitting
down; "but then you must promise me never to tell in this city,
wherever you may meet me, that I have been your shadow. I am
thinking of being married, for I have more than sufficient to
support a family."

"Make yourself quite easy," said the learned man; "I will tell
no one who you really are. Here is my hand,--I promise, and a word
is sufficient between man and man."

"Between man and a shadow," said the shadow; for he could not help
saying so.

It was really most remarkable how very much he had become a man in
appearance. He was dressed in a suit of the very finest black cloth,
polished boots, and an opera crush hat, which could be folded together
so that nothing could be seen but the crown and the rim, besides the
trinkets, the gold chain, and the diamond rings already spoken of. The
shadow was, in fact, very well dressed, and this made a man of him.
"Now I will relate to you what you wish to know," said the shadow,
placing his foot with the polished leather boot as firmly as
possible on the arm of the new shadow of the learned man, which lay at
his feet like a poodle dog. This was done, it might be from pride,
or perhaps that the new shadow might cling to him, but the prostrate
shadow remained quite quiet and at rest, in order that it might
listen, for it wanted to know how a shadow could be sent away by its
master, and become a man itself. "Do you know," said the shadow, "that
in the house opposite to you lived the most glorious creature in the
world? It was poetry. I remained there three weeks, and it was more
like three thousand years, for I read all that has ever been written
in poetry or prose; and I may say, in truth, that I saw and learnt
everything."

"Poetry!" exclaimed the learned man. "Yes, she lives as a hermit
in great cities. Poetry! Well, I saw her once for a very short moment,
while sleep weighed down my eyelids. She flashed upon me from the
balcony like the radiant aurora borealis, surrounded with flowers like
flames of fire. Tell me, you were on the balcony that evening; you
went through the door, and what did you see?"

"I found myself in an ante-room," said the shadow. "You still
sat opposite to me, looking into the room. There was no light, or at
least it seemed in partial darkness, for the door of a whole suite
of rooms stood open, and they were brilliantly lighted. The blaze of
light would have killed me, had I approached too near the maiden
myself, but I was cautious, and took time, which is what every one
ought to do."

"And what didst thou see?" asked the learned man.

"I saw everything, as you shall hear. But--it really is not
pride on my part, as a free man and possessing the knowledge that I
do, besides my position, not to speak of my wealth--I wish you would
say you to me instead of thou."

"I beg your pardon," said the learned man; "it is an old habit,
which it is difficult to break. You are quite right; I will try to
think of it. But now tell me everything that you saw."

"Everything," said the shadow; "for I saw and know everything."

"What was the appearance of the inner rooms?" asked the scholar.
"Was it there like a cool grove, or like a holy temple? Were the
chambers like a starry sky seen from the top of a high mountain?"

"It was all that you describe," said the shadow; "but I did not go
quite in--I remained in the twilight of the ante-room--but I was in
a very good position,--I could see and hear all that was going on in
the court of poetry."

"But what did you see? Did the gods of ancient times pass
through the rooms? Did old heroes fight their battles over again? Were
there lovely children at play, who related their dreams?"

"I tell you I have been there, and therefore you may be sure
that I saw everything that was to be seen. If you had gone there,
you would not have remained a human being, whereas I became one; and
at the same moment I became aware of my inner being, my inborn
affinity to the nature of poetry. It is true I did not think much
about it while I was with you, but you will remember that I was always
much larger at sunrise and sunset, and in the moonlight even more
visible than yourself, but I did not then understand my inner
existence. In the ante-room it was revealed to me. I became a man; I
came out in full maturity. But you had left the warm countries. As a
man, I felt ashamed to go about without boots or clothes, and that
exterior finish by which man is known. So I went my own way; I can
tell you, for you will not put it in a book. I hid myself under the
cloak of a cake woman, but she little thought who she concealed. It
was not till evening that I ventured out. I ran about the streets in
the moonlight. I drew myself up to my full height upon the walls,
which tickled my back very pleasantly. I ran here and there, looked
through the highest windows into the rooms, and over the roofs. I
looked in, and saw what nobody else could see, or indeed ought to see;
in fact, it is a bad world, and I would not care to be a man, but that
men are of some importance. I saw the most miserable things going on
between husbands and wives, parents and children,--sweet, incomparable
children. I have seen what no human being has the power of knowing,
although they would all be very glad to know--the evil conduct of
their neighbors. Had I written a newspaper, how eagerly it would
have been read! Instead of which, I wrote directly to the persons
themselves, and great alarm arose in all the town I visited. They
had so much fear of me, and yet how dearly they loved me. The
professor made me a professor. The tailor gave me new clothes; I am
well provided for in that way. The overseer of the mint struck coins
for me. The women declared that I was handsome, and so I became the
man you now see me. And now I must say adieu. Here is my card. I
live on the sunny side of the street, and always stay at home in rainy
weather." And the shadow departed.

"This is all very remarkable," said the learned man.

Years passed, days and years went by, and the shadow came again.
"How are you going on now?" he asked.

"Ah!" said the learned man; "I am writing about the true, the
beautiful, and the good; but no one cares to hear anything about it. I
am quite in despair, for I take it to heart very much."

"That is what I never do," said the shadow; "I am growing quite
fat and stout, which every one ought to be. You do not understand
the world; you will make yourself ill about it; you ought to travel; I
am going on a journey in the summer, will you go with me? I should
like a travelling companion; will you travel with me as my shadow?
It would give me great pleasure, and I will pay all expenses."

"Are you going to travel far?" asked the learned man.

"That is a matter of opinion," replied the shadow. "At all events,
a journey will do you good, and if you will be my shadow, then all
your journey shall be paid."

"It appears to me very absurd," said the learned man.

"But it is the way of the world," replied the shadow, "and
always will be." Then he went away.

Everything went wrong with the learned man. Sorrow and trouble
pursued him, and what he said about the good, the beautiful, and the
true, was of as much value to most people as a nutmeg would be to a
cow. At length he fell ill. "You really look like a shadow," people
said to him, and then a cold shudder would pass over him, for he had
his own thoughts on the subject.

"You really ought to go to some watering-place," said the shadow
on his next visit. "There is no other chance for you. I will take
you with me, for the sake of old acquaintance. I will pay the expenses
of your journey, and you shall write a description of it to amuse us
by the way. I should like to go to a watering-place; my beard does not
grow as it ought, which is from weakness, and I must have a beard. Now
do be sensible and accept my proposal; we shall travel as intimate
friends."

And at last they started together. The shadow was master now,
and the master became the shadow. They drove together, and rode and
walked in company with each other, side by side, or one in front and
the other behind, according to the position of the sun. The shadow
always knew when to take the place of honor, but the learned man
took no notice of it, for he had a good heart, and was exceedingly
mild and friendly.

One day the master said to the shadow, "We have grown up
together from our childhood, and now that we have become travelling
companions, shall we not drink to our good fellowship, and say thee
and thou to each other?"

"What you say is very straightforward and kindly meant," said
the shadow, who was now really master. "I will be equally kind and
straightforward. You are a learned man, and know how wonderful human
nature is. There are some men who cannot endure the smell of brown
paper; it makes them ill. Others will feel a shuddering sensation to
their very marrow, if a nail is scratched on a pane of glass. I myself
have a similar kind of feeling when I hear any one say thou to me. I
feel crushed by it, as I used to feel in my former position with
you. You will perceive that this is a matter of feeling, not pride.
I cannot allow you to say thou to me; I will gladly say it to you, and
therefore your wish will be half fulfilled." Then the shadow addressed
his former master as thou.

"It is going rather too far," said the latter, "that I am to say
you when I speak to him, and he is to say thou to me." However, he was
obliged to submit.

They arrived at length at the baths, where there were many
strangers, and among them a beautiful princess, whose real disease
consisted in being too sharp-sighted, which made every one very
uneasy. She saw at once that the new comer was very different to every
one else. "They say he is here to make his beard grow," she thought;
"but I know the real cause, he is unable to cast a shadow." Then she
became very curious on the matter, and one day, while on the
promenade, she entered into conversation with the strange gentleman.
Being a princess, she was not obliged to stand upon much ceremony,
so she said to him without hesitation, "Your illness consists in not
being able to cast a shadow."

"Your royal highness must be on the high road to recovery from
your illness," said he. "I know your complaint arose from being too
sharp-sighted, and in this case it has entirely failed. I happen to
have a most unusual shadow. Have you not seen a person who is always
at my side? Persons often give their servants finer cloth for their
liveries than for their own clothes, and so I have dressed out my
shadow like a man; nay, you may observe that I have even given him a
shadow of his own; it is rather expensive, but I like to have things
about me that are peculiar."

"How is this?" thought the princess; "am I really cured? This must
be the best watering-place in existence. Water in our times has
certainly wonderful power. But I will not leave this place yet, just
as it begins to be amusing. This foreign prince--for he must be a
prince--pleases me above all things. I only hope his beard won't grow,
or he will leave at once."

In the evening, the princess and the shadow danced together in the
large assembly rooms. She was light, but he was lighter still; she had
never seen such a dancer before. She told him from what country she
had come, and found he knew it and had been there, but not while she
was at home. He had looked into the windows of her father's palace,
both the upper and the lower windows; he had seen many things, and
could therefore answer the princess, and make allusions which quite
astonished her. She thought he must be the cleverest man in all the
world, and felt the greatest respect for his knowledge. When she
danced with him again she fell in love with him, which the shadow
quickly discovered, for she had with her eyes looked him through and
through. They danced once more, and she was nearly telling him, but
she had some discretion; she thought of her country, her kingdom,
and the number of people over whom she would one day have to rule. "He
is a clever man," she thought to herself, "which is a good thing,
and he dances admirably, which is also good. But has he
well-grounded knowledge? that is an important question, and I must try
him." Then she asked him a most difficult question, she herself
could not have answered it, and the shadow made a most unaccountable
grimace.

"You cannot answer that," said the princess.

"I learnt something about it in my childhood," he replied; "and
believe that even my very shadow, standing over there by the door,
could answer it."

"Your shadow," said the princess; "indeed that would be very
remarkable."

"I do not say so positively," observed the shadow; "but I am
inclined to believe that he can do so. He has followed me for so
many years, and has heard so much from me, that I think it is very
likely. But your royal highness must allow me to observe, that he is
very proud of being considered a man, and to put him in a good
humor, so that he may answer correctly, he must be treated as a man."

"I shall be very pleased to do so," said the princess. So she
walked up to the learned man, who stood in the doorway, and spoke to
him of the sun, and the moon, of the green forests, and of people near
home and far off; and the learned man conversed with her pleasantly
and sensibly.

"What a wonderful man he must be, to have such a clever shadow!"
thought she. "If I were to choose him it would be a real blessing to
my country and my subjects, and I will do it." So the princess and the
shadow were soon engaged to each other, but no one was to be told a
word about it, till she returned to her kingdom.

"No one shall know," said the shadow; "not even my own shadow;"
and he had very particular reasons for saying so.

After a time, the princess returned to the land over which she
reigned, and the shadow accompanied her.

"Listen my friend," said the shadow to the learned man; "now
that I am as fortunate and as powerful as any man can be, I will do
something unusually good for you. You shall live in my palace, drive
with me in the royal carriage, and have a hundred thousand dollars a
year; but you must allow every one to call you a shadow, and never
venture to say that you have been a man. And once a year, when I sit
in my balcony in the sunshine, you must lie at my feet as becomes a
shadow to do; for I must tell you I am going to marry the princess,
and our wedding will take place this evening."

"Now, really, this is too ridiculous," said the learned man. "I
cannot, and will not, submit to such folly. It would be cheating the
whole country, and the princess also. I will disclose everything,
and say that I am the man, and that you are only a shadow dressed up
in men's clothes."

"No one would believe you," said the shadow; "be reasonable,
now, or I will call the guards."

"I will go straight to the princess," said the learned man.

"But I shall be there first," replied the shadow, "and you will be
sent to prison." And so it turned out, for the guards readily obeyed
him, as they knew he was going to marry the king's daughter.

"You tremble," said the princess, when the shadow appeared
before her. "Has anything happened? You must not be ill to-day, for
this evening our wedding will take place."

"I have gone through the most terrible affair that could
possibly happen," said the shadow; "only imagine, my shadow has gone
mad; I suppose such a poor, shallow brain, could not bear much; he
fancies that he has become a real man, and that I am his shadow."

"How very terrible," cried the princess; "is he locked up?"

"Oh yes, certainly; for I fear he will never recover."

"Poor shadow!" said the princess; "it is very unfortunate for him;
it would really be a good deed to free him from his frail existence;
and, indeed, when I think how often people take the part of the
lower class against the higher, in these days, it would be policy to
put him out of the way quietly."

"It is certainly rather hard upon him, for he was a faithful
servant," said the shadow; and he pretended to sigh.

"Yours is a noble character," said the princess, and bowed herself
before him.

In the evening the whole town was illuminated, and cannons fired
"boom," and the soldiers presented arms. It was indeed a grand
wedding. The princess and the shadow stepped out on the balcony to
show themselves, and to receive one cheer more. But the learned man
heard nothing of all these festivities, for he had already been
executed.




THE SHEPHERDESS AND THE SHEEP

Have you ever seen an old wooden cupboard quite black with age,
and ornamented with carved foliage and curious figures? Well, just
such a cupboard stood in a parlor, and had been left to the family
as a legacy by the great-grandmother. It was covered from top to
bottom with carved roses and tulips; the most curious scrolls were
drawn upon it, and out of them peeped little stags' heads, with
antlers. In the middle of the cupboard door was the carved figure of a
man most ridiculous to look at. He grinned at you, for no one could
call it laughing. He had goat's legs, little horns on his head, and
a long beard; the children in the room always called him, "Major
general-field-sergeant-commander Billy-goat's-legs." It was
certainly a very difficult name to pronounce, and there are very few
who ever receive such a title, but then it seemed wonderful how he
came to be carved at all; yet there he was, always looking at the
table under the looking-glass, where stood a very pretty little
shepherdess made of china. Her shoes were gilt, and her dress had a
red rose or an ornament. She wore a hat, and carried a crook, that
were both gilded, and looked very bright and pretty. Close by her side
stood a little chimney-sweep, as black as coal, and also made of
china. He was, however, quite as clean and neat as any other china
figure; he only represented a black chimney-sweep, and the china
workers might just as well have made him a prince, had they felt
inclined to do so. He stood holding his ladder quite handily, and
his face was as fair and rosy as a girl's; indeed, that was rather a
mistake, it should have had some black marks on it. He and the
shepherdess had been placed close together, side by side; and, being
so placed, they became engaged to each other, for they were very
well suited, being both made of the same sort of china, and being
equally fragile. Close to them stood another figure, three times as
large as they were, and also made of china. He was an old Chinaman,
who could nod his head, and used to pretend that he was the
grandfather of the shepherdess, although he could not prove it. He
however assumed authority over her, and therefore when
"Major-general-field-sergeant-commander Billy-goat's-legs" asked for
the little shepherdess to be his wife, he nodded his head to show that
he consented. "You will have a husband," said the old Chinaman to her,
"who I really believe is made of mahogany. He will make you a lady
of Major-general-field-sergeant-commander Billy-goat's-legs. He has
the whole cupboard full of silver plate, which he keeps locked up in
secret drawers."

"I won't go into the dark cupboard," said the little
shepherdess. "I have heard that he has eleven china wives there
already."

"Then you shall be the twelfth," said the old Chinaman.
"To-night as soon as you hear a rattling in the old cupboard, you
shall be married, as true as I am a Chinaman;" and then he nodded
his head and fell asleep.

Then the little shepherdess cried, and looked at her sweetheart,
the china chimney-sweep. "I must entreat you," said she, "to go out
with me into the wide world, for we cannot stay here."

"I will do whatever you wish," said the little chimney-sweep; "let
us go immediately: I think I shall be able to maintain you with my
profession."

"If we were but safely down from the table!" said she; "I shall
not be happy till we are really out in the world."

Then he comforted her, and showed her how to place her little foot
on the carved edge and gilt-leaf ornaments of the table. He brought
his little ladder to help her, and so they contrived to reach the
floor. But when they looked at the old cupboard, they saw it was all
in an uproar. The carved stags pushed out their heads, raised their
antlers, and twisted their necks. The major-general sprung up in the
air; and cried out to the old Chinaman, "They are running away! they
are running away!" The two were rather frightened at this, so they
jumped into the drawer of the window-seat. Here were three or four
packs of cards not quite complete, and a doll's theatre, which had
been built up very neatly. A comedy was being performed in it, and all
the queens of diamonds, clubs, and hearts, and spades, sat in the
first row fanning themselves with tulips, and behind them stood all
the knaves, showing that they had heads above and below as playing
cards generally have. The play was about two lovers, who were not
allowed to marry, and the shepherdess wept because it was so like
her own story. "I cannot bear it," said she, "I must get out of the
drawer;" but when they reached the floor, and cast their eyes on the
table, there was the old Chinaman awake and shaking his whole body,
till all at once down he came on the floor, "plump." "The old Chinaman
is coming," cried the little shepherdess in a fright, and down she
fell on one knee.

"I have thought of something," said the chimney-sweep; "let us get
into the great pot-pourri jar which stands in the corner; there we can
lie on rose-leaves and lavender, and throw salt in his eyes if he
comes near us."

"No, that will never do," said she, "because I know that the
Chinaman and the pot-pourri jar were lovers once, and there always
remains behind a feeling of good-will between those who have been so
intimate as that. No, there is nothing left for us but to go out
into the wide world."

"Have you really courage enough to go out into the wide world with
me?" said the chimney-sweep; "have you thought how large it is, and
that we can never come back here again?"

"Yes, I have," she replied.

When the chimney-sweep saw that she was quite firm, he said, "My
way is through the stove and up the chimney. Have you courage to creep
with me through the fire-box, and the iron pipe? When we get to the
chimney I shall know how to manage very well. We shall soon climb
too high for any one to reach us, and we shall come through a hole
in the top out into the wide world." So he led her to the door of
the stove.

"It looks very dark," said she; still she went in with him through
the stove and through the pipe, where it was as dark as pitch.

"Now we are in the chimney," said he; "and look, there is a
beautiful star shining above it." It was a real star shining down upon
them as if it would show them the way. So they clambered, and crept
on, and a frightful steep place it was; but the chimney-sweep helped
her and supported her, till they got higher and higher. He showed
her the best places on which to set her little china foot, so at
last they reached the top of the chimney, and sat themselves down, for
they were very tired, as may be supposed. The sky, with all its stars,
was over their heads, and below were the roofs of the town. They could
see for a very long distance out into the wide world, and the poor
little shepherdess leaned her head on her chimney-sweep's shoulder,
and wept till she washed the gilt off her sash; the world was so
different to what she expected. "This is too much," she said; "I
cannot bear it, the world is too large. Oh, I wish I were safe back on
the table again, under the looking glass; I shall never be happy till
I am safe back again. Now I have followed you out into the wide world,
you will take me back, if you love me."

Then the chimney-sweep tried to reason with her, and spoke of
the old Chinaman, and of the Major-general-field-sergeant-commander
Billy-goat's legs; but she sobbed so bitterly, and kissed her little
chimney-sweep till he was obliged to do all she asked, foolish as it
was. And so, with a great deal of trouble, they climbed down the
chimney, and then crept through the pipe and stove, which were
certainly not very pleasant places. Then they stood in the dark
fire-box, and listened behind the door, to hear what was going on in
the room. As it was all quiet, they peeped out. Alas! there lay the
old Chinaman on the floor; he had fallen down from the table as he
attempted to run after them, and was broken into three pieces; his
back had separated entirely, and his head had rolled into a corner
of the room. The major-general stood in his old place, and appeared
lost in thought.

"This is terrible," said the little shepherdess. "My poor old
grandfather is broken to pieces, and it is our fault. I shall never
live after this;" and she wrung her little hands.

"He can be riveted," said the chimney-sweep; "he can be riveted.
Do not be so hasty. If they cement his back, and put a good rivet in
it, he will be as good as new, and be able to say as many disagreeable
things to us as ever."

"Do you think so?" said she; and then they climbed up to the
table, and stood in their old places.

"As we have done no good," said the chimney-sweep, "we might as
well have remained here, instead of taking so much trouble."

"I wish grandfather was riveted," said the shepherdess. "Will it
cost much, I wonder?"

And she had her wish. The family had the Chinaman's back mended,
and a strong rivet put through his neck; he looked as good as new, but
he could no longer nod his head.

"You have become proud since your fall broke you to pieces,"
said Major-general-field-sergeant-commander Billy-goat's-legs. "You
have no reason to give yourself such airs. Am I to have her or not?"

The chimney-sweep and the little shepherdess looked piteously at
the old Chinaman, for they were afraid he might nod; but he was not
able: besides, it was so tiresome to be always telling strangers he
had a rivet in the back of his neck.

And so the little china people remained together, and were glad of
the grandfather's rivet, and continued to love each other till they
were broken to pieces.




THE SILVER SHILLING

There was once a shilling, which came forth from the mint
springing and shouting, "Hurrah! now I am going out into the wide
world." And truly it did go out into the wide world. The children held
it with warm hands, the miser with a cold and convulsive grasp, and
the old people turned it about, goodness knows how many times, while
the young people soon allowed it to roll away from them. The
shilling was made of silver, it contained very little copper, and
considered itself quite out in the world when it had been circulated
for a year in the country in which it had been coined. One day, it
really did go out into the world, for it belonged to a gentleman who
was about to travel in foreign lands. This gentleman was not aware
that the shilling lay at the bottom of his purse when he started, till
he one day found it between his fingers. "Why," cried he, "here is a
shilling from home; well, it must go on its travels with me now!"
and the shilling jumped and rattled for joy, when it was put back
again into the purse.

Here it lay among a number of foreign companions, who were
always coming and going, one taking the place of another, but the
shilling from home was always put back, and had to remain in the
purse, which was certainly a mark of distinction. Many weeks passed,
during which the shilling had travelled a long distance in the
purse, without in the least knowing where he was. He had found out
that the other coins were French and Italian; and one coin said they
were in this town, and another said they were in that, but the
shilling was unable to make out or imagine what they meant. A man
certainly cannot see much of the world if he is tied up in a bag,
and this was really the shilling's fate. But one day, as he was
lying in the purse, he noticed that it was not quite closed, and so he
slipped near to the opening to have a little peep into society. He
certainly had not the least idea of what would follow, but he was
curious, and curiosity often brings its own punishment. In his
eagerness, he came so near the edge of the purse that he slipped out
into the pocket of the trousers; and when, in the evening, the purse
was taken out, the shilling was left behind in the corner to which
it had fallen. As the clothes were being carried into the hall, the
shilling fell out on the floor, unheard and unnoticed by any one.
The next morning the clothes were taken back to the room, the
gentleman put them on, and started on his journey again; but the
shilling remained behind on the floor. After a time it was found,
and being considered a good coin, was placed with three other coins.
"Ah," thought the shilling, "this is pleasant; I shall now see the
world, become acquainted with other people, and learn other customs."

"Do you call that a shilling?" said some one the next moment.
"That is not a genuine coin of the country,--it is false; it is good
for nothing."

Now begins the story as it was afterwards related by the
shilling himself.

"'False! good for nothing!' said he. That remark went through
and through me like a dagger. I knew that I had a true ring, and
that mine was a genuine stamp. These people must at all events be
wrong, or they could not mean me. But yes, I was the one they called
'false, and good for nothing.'

"'Then I must pay it away in the dark,' said the man who had
received me. So I was to be got rid of in the darkness, and be again
insulted in broad daylight.

"'False! good for nothing!' Oh, I must contrive to get lost,
thought I. And I trembled between the fingers of the people every time
they tried to pass me off slyly as a coin of the country. Ah!
unhappy shilling that I was! Of what use were my silver, my stamp, and
my real value here, where all these qualities were worthless. In the
eyes of the world, a man is valued just according to the opinion
formed of him. It must be a shocking thing to have a guilty
conscience, and to be sneaking about on account of wicked deeds. As
for me, innocent as I was, I could not help shuddering before their
eyes whenever they brought me out, for I knew I should be thrown
back again up the table as a false pretender. At length I was paid
away to a poor old woman, who received me as wages for a hard day's
work. But she could not again get rid of me; no one would take me. I
was to the woman a most unlucky shilling. 'I am positively obliged
to pass this shilling to somebody,' said she; 'I cannot, with the best
intentions, lay by a bad shilling. The rich baker shall have it,--he
can bear the loss better than I can. But, after all, it is not a right
thing to do.'

"'Ah!' sighed I to myself, 'am I also to be a burden on the
conscience of this poor woman? Am I then in my old days so
completely changed?' The woman offered me to the rich baker, but he
knew the current money too well, and as soon as he received me he
threw me almost in the woman's face. She could get no bread for me,
and I felt quite grieved to the heart that I should be cause of so
much trouble to another, and be treated as a cast-off coin. I who,
in my young days, felt so joyful in the certainty of my own value, and
knew so well that I bore a genuine stamp. I was as sorrowful now as
a poor shilling can be when nobody will have him. The woman took me
home again with her, and looking at me very earnestly, she said,
'No, I will not try to deceive any one with thee again. I will bore
a hole through thee, that everyone may know that thou art a false
and worthless thing; and yet, why should I do that? Very likely thou
art a lucky shilling. A thought has just struck me that it is so,
and I believe it. Yes, I will make a hole in the shilling,' said
she, 'and run a string through it, and then give it to my neighbor's
little one to hang round her neck, as a lucky shilling.' So she
drilled a hole through me.

"It is really not at all pleasant to have a hole bored through
one, but we can submit to a great deal when it is done with a good
intention. A string was drawn through the hole, and I became a kind of
medal. They hung me round the neck of a little child, and the child
laughed at me and kissed me, and I rested for one whole night on the
warm, innocent breast of a child.

"In the morning the child's mother took me between her fingers,
and had certain thoughts about me, which I very soon found out. First,
she looked for a pair of scissors, and cut the string.

"'Lucky shilling!' said she, 'certainly this is what I mean to
try.' Then she laid me in vinegar till I became quite green, and after
that she filled up the hole with cement, rubbed me a little to
brighten me up, and went out in the twilight hour to the lottery
collector, to buy herself a ticket, with a shilling that should
bring luck. How everything seemed to cause me trouble. The lottery
collector pressed me so hard that I thought I should crack. I had been
called false, I had been thrown away,--that I knew; and there were
many shillings and coins with inscriptions and stamps of all kinds
lying about. I well knew how proud they were, so I avoided them from
very shame. With the collector were several men who seemed to have a
great deal to do, so I fell unnoticed into a chest, among several
other coins.

"Whether the lottery ticket gained a prize, I know not; but this I
know, that in a very few days after, I was recognized as a bad
shilling, and laid aside. Everything that happened seemed always to
add to my sorrow. Even if a man has a good character, it is of no
use for him to deny what is said of him, for he is not considered an
impartial judge of himself.

"A year passed, and in this way I had been changed from hand to
hand; always abused, always looked at with displeasure, and trusted by
no one; but I trusted in myself, and had no confidence in the world.
Yes, that was a very dark time.

"At length one day I was passed to a traveller, a foreigner, the
very same who had brought me away from home; and he was simple and
true-hearted enough to take me for current coin. But would he also
attempt to pass me? and should I again hear the outcry, 'False!
good-for-nothing!' The traveller examined me attentively, 'I took thee
for good coin,' said he; then suddenly a smile spread all over his
face. I have never seen such a smile on any other face as on his. 'Now
this is singular,' said he, 'it is a coin from my own country; a good,
true, shilling from home. Some one has bored a hole through it, and
people have no doubt called it false. How curious that it should
come into my hands. I will take it home with me to my own house.'

"Joy thrilled through me when I heard this. I had been once more
called a good, honest shilling, and I was to go back to my own home,
where each and all would recognize me, and know that I was made of
good silver, and bore a true, genuine stamp. I should have been glad
in my joy to throw out sparks of fire, but it has never at any time
been my nature to sparkle. Steel can do so, but not silver. I was
wrapped up in fine, white paper, that I might not mix with the other
coins and be lost; and on special occasions, when people from my own
country happened to be present, I was brought forward and spoken of
very kindly. They said I was very interesting, and it was really quite
worth while to notice that those who are interesting have often not
a single word to say for themselves.

"At length I reached home. All my cares were at an end. Joy
again overwhelmed me; for was I not good silver, and had I not a
genuine stamp? I had no more insults or disappointments to endure;
although, indeed, there was a hole through me, as if I were false; but
suspicions are nothing when a man is really true, and every one should
persevere in acting honestly, for an will be made right in time.
That is my firm belief," said the shilling.




THE SHIRT-COLLAR

There was once a fine gentleman who possessed among other things a
boot-jack and a hair-brush; but he had also the finest shirt-collar in
the world, and of this collar we are about to hear a story. The collar
had become so old that he began to think about getting married; and
one day he happened to find himself in the same washing-tub as a
garter. "Upon my word," said the shirt-collar, "I have never seen
anything so slim and delicate, so neat and soft before. May I
venture to ask your name?"

"I shall not tell you," replied the garter.

"Where do you reside when you are at home?" asked the
shirt-collar. But the garter was naturally shy, and did not know how
to answer such a question.

"I presume you are a girdle," said the shirt-collar, "a sort of
under girdle. I see that you are useful, as well as ornamental, my
little lady."

"You must not speak to me," said the garter; "I do not think I
have given you any encouragement to do so."

"Oh, when any one is as beautiful as you are," said the
shirt-collar, "is not that encouragement enough?"

"Get away; don't come so near me," said the garter, "you appear to
me quite like a man."

"I am a fine gentleman certainly," said the shirt-collar, "I
possess a boot-jack and a hair-brush." This was not true, for these
things belonged to his master; but he was a boaster.

"Don't come so near me," said the garter; "I am not accustomed
to it."

"Affectation!" said the shirt-collar.

Then they were taken out of the wash-tub, starched, and hung
over a chair in the sunshine, and then laid on the ironing-board.
And now came the glowing iron. "Mistress widow," said the
shirt-collar, "little mistress widow, I feel quite warm. I am
changing, I am losing all my creases. You are burning a hole in me.
Ugh! I propose to you."

"You old rag," said the flat-iron, driving proudly over the
collar, for she fancied herself a steam-engine, which rolls over the
railway and draws carriages. "You old rag!" said she.

The edges of the shirt-collar were a little frayed, so the
scissors were brought to cut them smooth. "Oh!" exclaimed the
shirt-collar, "what a first-rate dancer you would make; you can
stretch out your leg so well. I never saw anything so charming; I am
sure no human being could do the same."

"I should think not," replied the scissors.

"You ought to be a countess," said the shirt collar; "but all I
possess consists of a fine gentleman, a boot-jack, and a comb. I
wish I had an estate for your sake."

"What! is he going to propose to me?" said the scissors, and she
became so angry that she cut too sharply into the shirt collar, and it
was obliged to be thrown by as useless.

"I shall be obliged to propose to the hair-brush," thought the
shirt collar; so he remarked one day, "It is wonderful what
beautiful hair you have, my little lady. Have you never thought of
being engaged?"

"You might know I should think of it," answered the hair brush; "I
am engaged to the boot-jack."

"Engaged!" cried the shirt collar, "now there is no one left to
propose to;" and then he pretended to despise all love-making.

A long time passed, and the shirt collar was taken in a bag to the
paper-mill. Here was a large company of rags, the fine ones lying by
themselves, separated from the coarser, as it ought to be. They had
all many things to relate, especially the shirt collar, who was a
terrible boaster. "I have had an immense number of love affairs," said
the shirt collar, "no one left me any peace. It is true I was a very
fine gentleman; quite stuck up. I had a boot-jack and a brush that I
never used. You should have seen me then, when I was turned down. I
shall never forget my first love; she was a girdle, so charming, and
fine, and soft, and she threw herself into a washing tub for my
sake. There was a widow too, who was warmly in love with me, but I
left her alone, and she became quite black. The next was a
first-rate dancer; she gave me the wound from which I still suffer,
she was so passionate. Even my own hair-brush was in love with me, and
lost all her hair through neglected love. Yes, I have had great
experience of this kind, but my greatest grief was for the garter--the
girdle I meant to say--that jumped into the wash-tub. I have a great
deal on my conscience, and it is really time I should be turned into
white paper."

And the shirt collar came to this at last. All the rags were
made into white paper, and the shirt collar became the very
identical piece of paper which we now see, and on which this story
is printed. It happened as a punishment to him, for having boasted
so shockingly of things which were not true. And this is a warning
to us, to be careful how we act, for we may some day find ourselves in
the rag-bag, to be turned into white paper, on which our whole history
may be written, even its most secret actions. And it would not be
pleasant to have to run about the world in the form of a piece of
paper, telling everything we have done, like the boasting shirt
collar.




THE SNOW MAN

"It is so delightfully cold," said the Snow Man, "that it makes my
whole body crackle. This is just the kind of wind to blow life into
one. How that great red thing up there is staring at me!" He meant the
sun, who was just setting. "It shall not make me wink. I shall
manage to keep the pieces."

He had two triangular pieces of tile in his head, instead of eyes;
his mouth was made of an old broken rake, and was, of course,
furnished with teeth. He had been brought into existence amidst the
joyous shouts of boys, the jingling of sleigh-bells, and the
slashing of whips. The sun went down, and the full moon rose, large,
round, and clear, shining in the deep blue.

"There it comes again, from the other side," said the Snow Man,
who supposed the sun was showing himself once more. "Ah, I have
cured him of staring, though; now he may hang up there, and shine,
that I may see myself. If I only knew how to manage to move away
from this place,--I should so like to move. If I could, I would
slide along yonder on the ice, as I have seen the boys do; but I don't
understand how; I don't even know how to run."

"Away, away," barked the old yard-dog. He was quite hoarse, and
could not pronounce "Bow wow" properly. He had once been an indoor
dog, and lay by the fire, and he had been hoarse ever since. "The
sun will make you run some day. I saw him, last winter, make your
predecessor run, and his predecessor before him. Away, away, they
all have to go."

"I don't understand you, comrade," said the Snow Man. "Is that
thing up yonder to teach me to run? I saw it running itself a little
while ago, and now it has come creeping up from the other side.

"You know nothing at all," replied the yard-dog; "but then, you've
only lately been patched up. What you see yonder is the moon, and
the one before it was the sun. It will come again to-morrow, and
most likely teach you to run down into the ditch by the well; for I
think the weather is going to change. I can feel such pricks and stabs
in my left leg; I am sure there is going to be a change."

"I don't understand him," said the Snow Man to himself; "but I
have a feeling that he is talking of something very disagreeable.
The one who stared so just now, and whom he calls the sun, is not my
friend; I can feel that too."

"Away, away," barked the yard-dog, and then he turned round
three times, and crept into his kennel to sleep.

There was really a change in the weather. Towards morning, a thick
fog covered the whole country round, and a keen wind arose, so that
the cold seemed to freeze one's bones; but when the sun rose, the
sight was splendid. Trees and bushes were covered with hoar frost, and
looked like a forest of white coral; while on every twig glittered
frozen dew-drops. The many delicate forms concealed in summer by
luxuriant foliage, were now clearly defined, and looked like
glittering lace-work. From every twig glistened a white radiance.
The birch, waving in the wind, looked full of life, like trees in
summer; and its appearance was wondrously beautiful. And where the sun
shone, how everything glittered and sparkled, as if diamond dust had
been strewn about; while the snowy carpet of the earth appeared as
if covered with diamonds, from which countless lights gleamed,
whiter than even the snow itself.

"This is really beautiful," said a young girl, who had come into
the garden with a young man; and they both stood still near the Snow
Man, and contemplated the glittering scene. "Summer cannot show a more
beautiful sight," she exclaimed, while her eyes sparkled.

"And we can't have such a fellow as this in the summer time,"
replied the young man, pointing to the Snow Man; "he is capital."

The girl laughed, and nodded at the Snow Man, and then tripped
away over the snow with her friend. The snow creaked and crackled
beneath her feet, as if she had been treading on starch.

"Who are these two?" asked the Snow Man of the yard-dog. "You have
been here longer than I have; do you know them?"

"Of course I know them," replied the yard-dog; "she has stroked my
back many times, and he has given me a bone of meat. I never bite
those two."

"But what are they?" asked the Snow Man.

"They are lovers," he replied; "they will go and live in the
same kennel by-and-by, and gnaw at the same bone. Away, away!"

"Are they the same kind of beings as you and I?" asked the Snow
Man.

"Well, they belong to the same master," retorted the yard-dog.
"Certainly people who were only born yesterday know very little. I can
see that in you. I have age and experience. I know every one here in
the house, and I know there was once a time when I did not lie out
here in the cold, fastened to a chain. Away, away!"

"The cold is delightful," said the Snow Man; "but do tell me
tell me; only you must not clank your chain so; for it jars all
through me when you do that."

"Away, away!" barked the yard-dog; "I'll tell you; they said I was
a pretty little fellow once; then I used to lie in a velvet-covered
chair, up at the master's house, and sit in the mistress's lap. They
used to kiss my nose, and wipe my paws with an embroidered
handkerchief, and I was called 'Ami, dear Ami, sweet Ami.' But after a
while I grew too big for them, and they sent me away to the
housekeeper's room; so I came to live on the lower story. You can look
into the room from where you stand, and see where I was master once;
for I was indeed master to the housekeeper. It was certainly a smaller
room than those up stairs; but I was more comfortable; for I was not
being continually taken hold of and pulled about by the children as
I had been. I received quite as good food, or even better. I had my
own cushion, and there was a stove--it is the finest thing in the
world at this season of the year. I used to go under the stove, and
lie down quite beneath it. Ah, I still dream of that stove. Away,
away!"

"Does a stove look beautiful?" asked the Snow Man, "is it at all
like me?"

"It is just the reverse of you," said the dog; "it's as black as a
crow, and has a long neck and a brass knob; it eats firewood, so
that fire spurts out of its mouth. We should keep on one side, or
under it, to be comfortable. You can see it through the window, from
where you stand."

Then the Snow Man looked, and saw a bright polished thing with a
brazen knob, and fire gleaming from the lower part of it. The Snow Man
felt quite a strange sensation come over him; it was very odd, he knew
not what it meant, and he could not account for it. But there are
people who are not men of snow, who understand what it is. "'And why
did you leave her?" asked the Snow Man, for it seemed to him that
the stove must be of the female sex. "How could you give up such a
comfortable place?"

"I was obliged," replied the yard-dog. "They turned me out of
doors, and chained me up here. I had bitten the youngest of my
master's sons in the leg, because he kicked away the bone I was
gnawing. 'Bone for bone,' I thought; but they were so angry, and
from that time I have been fastened with a chain, and lost my bone.
Don't you hear how hoarse I am. Away, away! I can't talk any more like
other dogs. Away, away, that is the end of it all."

But the Snow Man was no longer listening. He was looking into
the housekeeper's room on the lower storey; where the stove stood on
its four iron legs, looking about the same size as the Snow Man
himself. "What a strange crackling I feel within me," he said.
"Shall I ever get in there? It is an innocent wish, and innocent
wishes are sure to be fulfilled. I must go in there and lean against
her, even if I have to break the window."

"You must never go in there," said the yard-dog, "for if you
approach the stove, you'll melt away, away."

"I might as well go," said the Snow Man, "for I think I am
breaking up as it is."

During the whole day the Snow Man stood looking in through the
window, and in the twilight hour the room became still more
inviting, for from the stove came a gentle glow, not like the sun or
the moon; no, only the bright light which gleams from a stove when
it has been well fed. When the door of the stove was opened, the
flames darted out of its mouth; this is customary with all stoves. The
light of the flames fell directly on the face and breast of the Snow
Man with a ruddy gleam. "I can endure it no longer," said he; "how
beautiful it looks when it stretches out its tongue?"

The night was long, but did not appear so to the Snow Man, who
stood there enjoying his own reflections, and crackling with the cold.
In the morning, the window-panes of the housekeeper's room were
covered with ice. They were the most beautiful ice-flowers any Snow
Man could desire, but they concealed the stove. These window-panes
would not thaw, and he could see nothing of the stove, which he
pictured to himself, as if it had been a lovely human being. The
snow crackled and the wind whistled around him; it was just the kind
of frosty weather a Snow Man might thoroughly enjoy. But he did not
enjoy it; how, indeed, could he enjoy anything when he was "stove
sick?"

"That is terrible disease for a Snow Man," said the yard-dog; "I
have suffered from it myself, but I got over it. Away, away," he
barked and then he added, "the weather is going to change." And the
weather did change; it began to thaw. As the warmth increased, the
Snow Man decreased. He said nothing and made no complaint, which is
a sure sign. One morning he broke, and sunk down altogether; and,
behold, where he had stood, something like a broomstick remained
sticking up in the ground. It was the pole round which the boys had
built him up. "Ah, now I understand why he had such a great longing
for the stove," said the yard-dog. "Why, there's the shovel that is
used for cleaning out the stove, fastened to the pole." The Snow Man
had a stove scraper in his body; that was what moved him so. "But it's
all over now. Away, away." And soon the winter passed. "Away, away,"
barked the hoarse yard-dog. But the girls in the house sang,

  "Come from your fragrant home, green thyme;
    Stretch your soft branches, willow-tree;
  The months are bringing the sweet spring-time,
    When the lark in the sky sings joyfully.
  Come gentle sun, while the cuckoo sings,
  And I'll mock his note in my wanderings."


And nobody thought any more of the Snow Man.




THE SNOW QUEEN

IN SEVEN STORIES


STORY THE FIRST

Which describes a looking-glass and the broken fragments.

You must attend to the commencement of this story, for when we get
to the end we shall know more than we do now about a very wicked
hobgoblin; he was one of the very worst, for he was a real demon.
One day, when he was in a merry mood, he made a looking-glass which
had the power of making everything good or beautiful that was
reflected in it almost shrink to nothing, while everything that was
worthless and bad looked increased in size and worse than ever. The
most lovely landscapes appeared like boiled spinach, and the people
became hideous, and looked as if they stood on their heads and had
no bodies. Their countenances were so distorted that no one could
recognize them, and even one freckle on the face appeared to spread
over the whole of the nose and mouth. The demon said this was very
amusing. When a good or pious thought passed through the mind of any
one it was misrepresented in the glass; and then how the demon laughed
at his cunning invention. All who went to the demon's school--for he
kept a school--talked everywhere of the wonders they had seen, and
declared that people could now, for the first time, see what the world
and mankind were really like. They carried the glass about everywhere,
till at last there was not a land nor a people who had not been looked
at through this distorted mirror. They wanted even to fly with it up
to heaven to see the angels, but the higher they flew the more
slippery the glass became, and they could scarcely hold it, till at
last it slipped from their hands, fell to the earth, and was broken
into millions of pieces. But now the looking-glass caused more
unhappiness than ever, for some of the fragments were not so large
as a grain of sand, and they flew about the world into every
country. When one of these tiny atoms flew into a person's eye, it
stuck there unknown to him, and from that moment he saw everything
through a distorted medium, or could see only the worst side of what
he looked at, for even the smallest fragment retained the same power
which had belonged to the whole mirror. Some few persons even got a
fragment of the looking-glass in their hearts, and this was very
terrible, for their hearts became cold like a lump of ice. A few of
the pieces were so large that they could be used as window-panes; it
would have been a sad thing to look at our friends through them. Other
pieces were made into spectacles; this was dreadful for those who wore
them, for they could see nothing either rightly or justly. At all this
the wicked demon laughed till his sides shook--it tickled him so to
see the mischief he had done. There were still a number of these
little fragments of glass floating about in the air, and now you shall
hear what happened with one of them.


SECOND STORY

A LITTLE BOY AND A LITTLE GIRL


In a large town, full of houses and people, there is not room
for everybody to have even a little garden, therefore they are obliged
to be satisfied with a few flowers in flower-pots. In one of these
large towns lived two poor children who had a garden something
larger and better than a few flower-pots. They were not brother and
sister, but they loved each other almost as much as if they had
been. Their parents lived opposite to each other in two garrets, where
the roofs of neighboring houses projected out towards each other and
the water-pipe ran between them. In each house was a little window, so
that any one could step across the gutter from one window to the
other. The parents of these children had each a large wooden box in
which they cultivated kitchen herbs for their own use, and a little
rose-bush in each box, which grew splendidly. Now after a while the
parents decided to place these two boxes across the water-pipe, so
that they reached from one window to the other and looked like two
banks of flowers. Sweet-peas drooped over the boxes, and the
rose-bushes shot forth long branches, which were trained round the
windows and clustered together almost like a triumphal arch of
leaves and flowers. The boxes were very high, and the children knew
they must not climb upon them, without permission, but they were
often, however, allowed to step out together and sit upon their little
stools under the rose-bushes, or play quietly. In winter all this
pleasure came to an end, for the windows were sometimes quite frozen
over. But then they would warm copper pennies on the stove, and hold
the warm pennies against the frozen pane; there would be very soon a
little round hole through which they could peep, and the soft bright
eyes of the little boy and girl would beam through the hole at each
window as they looked at each other. Their names were Kay and Gerda.
In summer they could be together with one jump from the window, but in
winter they had to go up and down the long staircase, and out
through the snow before they could meet.

"See there are the white bees swarming," said Kay's old
grandmother one day when it was snowing.

"Have they a queen bee?" asked the little boy, for he knew that
the real bees had a queen.

"To be sure they have," said the grandmother. "She is flying there
where the swarm is thickest. She is the largest of them all, and never
remains on the earth, but flies up to the dark clouds. Often at
midnight she flies through the streets of the town, and looks in at
the windows, then the ice freezes on the panes into wonderful
shapes, that look like flowers and castles."

"Yes, I have seen them," said both the children, and they knew
it must be true.

"Can the Snow Queen come in here?" asked the little girl.

"Only let her come," said the boy, "I'll set her on the stove
and then she'll melt."

Then the grandmother smoothed his hair and told him some more
tales. One evening, when little Kay was at home, half undressed, he
climbed on a chair by the window and peeped out through the little
hole. A few flakes of snow were falling, and one of them, rather
larger than the rest, alighted on the edge of one of the flower boxes.
This snow-flake grew larger and larger, till at last it became the
figure of a woman, dressed in garments of white gauze, which looked
like millions of starry snow-flakes linked together. She was fair
and beautiful, but made of ice--shining and glittering ice. Still
she was alive and her eyes sparkled like bright stars, but there was
neither peace nor rest in their glance. She nodded towards the
window and waved her hand. The little boy was frightened and sprang
from the chair; at the same moment it seemed as if a large bird flew
by the window. On the following day there was a clear frost, and
very soon came the spring. The sun shone; the young green leaves burst
forth; the swallows built their nests; windows were opened, and the
children sat once more in the garden on the roof, high above all the
other rooms. How beautiful the roses blossomed this summer. The little
girl had learnt a hymn in which roses were spoken of, and then she
thought of their own roses, and she sang the hymn to the little boy,
and he sang too:--

  "Roses bloom and cease to be,
  But we shall the Christ-child see."

Then the little ones held each other by the hand, and kissed the
roses, and looked at the bright sunshine, and spoke to it as if the
Christ-child were there. Those were splendid summer days. How
beautiful and fresh it was out among the rose-bushes, which seemed
as if they would never leave off blooming. One day Kay and Gerda sat
looking at a book full of pictures of animals and birds, and then just
as the clock in the church tower struck twelve, Kay said, "Oh,
something has struck my heart!" and soon after, "There is something in
my eye."

The little girl put her arm round his neck, and looked into his
eye, but she could see nothing.

"I think it is gone," he said. But it was not gone; it was one
of those bits of the looking-glass--that magic mirror, of which we
have spoken--the ugly glass which made everything great and good
appear small and ugly, while all that was wicked and bad became more
visible, and every little fault could be plainly seen. Poor little Kay
had also received a small grain in his heart, which very quickly
turned to a lump of ice. He felt no more pain, but the glass was there
still. "Why do you cry?" said he at last; "it makes you look ugly.
There is nothing the matter with me now. Oh, see!" he cried
suddenly, "that rose is worm-eaten, and this one is quite crooked.
After all they are ugly roses, just like the box in which they stand,"
and then he kicked the boxes with his foot, and pulled off the two
roses.

"Kay, what are you doing?" cried the little girl; and then, when
he saw how frightened she was, he tore off another rose, and jumped
through his own window away from little Gerda.

When she afterwards brought out the picture book, he said, "It was
only fit for babies in long clothes," and when grandmother told any
stories, he would interrupt her with "but;" or, when he could manage
it, he would get behind her chair, put on a pair of spectacles, and
imitate her very cleverly, to make people laugh. By-and-by he began to
mimic the speech and gait of persons in the street. All that was
peculiar or disagreeable in a person he would imitate directly, and
people said, "That boy will be very clever; he has a remarkable
genius." But it was the piece of glass in his eye, and the coldness in
his heart, that made him act like this. He would even tease little
Gerda, who loved him with all her heart. His games, too, were quite
different; they were not so childish. One winter's day, when it
snowed, he brought out a burning-glass, then he held out the tail of
his blue coat, and let the snow-flakes fall upon it. "Look in this
glass, Gerda," said he; and she saw how every flake of snow was
magnified, and looked like a beautiful flower or a glittering star.
"Is it not clever?" said Kay, "and much more interesting than
looking at real flowers. There is not a single fault in it, and the
snow-flakes are quite perfect till they begin to melt."

Soon after Kay made his appearance in large thick gloves, and with
his sledge at his back. He called up stairs to Gerda, "I've got to
leave to go into the great square, where the other boys play and
ride." And away he went.

In the great square, the boldest among the boys would often tie
their sledges to the country people's carts, and go with them a good
way. This was capital. But while they were all amusing themselves, and
Kay with them, a great sledge came by; it was painted white, and in it
sat some one wrapped in a rough white fur, and wearing a white cap.
The sledge drove twice round the square, and Kay fastened his own
little sledge to it, so that when it went away, he followed with it.
It went faster and faster right through the next street, and then
the person who drove turned round and nodded pleasantly to Kay, just
as if they were acquainted with each other, but whenever Kay wished to
loosen his little sledge the driver nodded again, so Kay sat still,
and they drove out through the town gate. Then the snow began to
fall so heavily that the little boy could not see a hand's breadth
before him, but still they drove on; then he suddenly loosened the
cord so that the large sled might go on without him, but it was of
no use, his little carriage held fast, and away they went like the
wind. Then he called out loudly, but nobody heard him, while the
snow beat upon him, and the sledge flew onwards. Every now and then it
gave a jump as if it were going over hedges and ditches. The boy was
frightened, and tried to say a prayer, but he could remember nothing
but the multiplication table.

The snow-flakes became larger and larger, till they appeared
like great white chickens. All at once they sprang on one side, the
great sledge stopped, and the person who had driven it rose up. The
fur and the cap, which were made entirely of snow, fell off, and he
saw a lady, tall and white, it was the Snow Queen.

"We have driven well," said she, "but why do you tremble? here,
creep into my warm fur." Then she seated him beside her in the sledge,
and as she wrapped the fur round him he felt as if he were sinking
into a snow drift.

"Are you still cold," she asked, as she kissed him on the
forehead. The kiss was colder than ice; it went quite through to his
heart, which was already almost a lump of ice; he felt as if he were
going to die, but only for a moment; he soon seemed quite well
again, and did not notice the cold around him.

"My sledge! don't forget my sledge," was his first thought, and
then he looked and saw that it was bound fast to one of the white
chickens, which flew behind him with the sledge at its back. The
Snow Queen kissed little Kay again, and by this time he had
forgotten little Gerda, his grandmother, and all at home.

"Now you must have no more kisses," she said, "or I should kiss
you to death."

Kay looked at her, and saw that she was so beautiful, he could not
imagine a more lovely and intelligent face; she did not now seem to be
made of ice, as when he had seen her through his window, and she had
nodded to him. In his eyes she was perfect, and she did not feel at
all afraid. He told her he could do mental arithmetic, as far as
fractions, and that he knew the number of square miles and the
number of inhabitants in the country. And she always smiled so that he
thought he did not know enough yet, and she looked round the vast
expanse as she flew higher and higher with him upon a black cloud,
while the storm blew and howled as if it were singing old songs.
They flew over woods and lakes, over sea and land; below them roared
the wild wind; the wolves howled and the snow crackled; over them flew
the black screaming crows, and above all shone the moon, clear and
bright,--and so Kay passed through the long winter's night, and by day
he slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.


THIRD STORY

THE FLOWER GARDEN OF THE WOMAN WHO COULD CONJURE


But how fared little Gerda during Kay's absence? What had become
of him, no one knew, nor could any one give the slightest information,
excepting the boys, who said that he had tied his sledge to another
very large one, which had driven through the street, and out at the
town gate. Nobody knew where it went; many tears were shed for him,
and little Gerda wept bitterly for a long time. She said she knew he
must be dead; that he was drowned in the river which flowed close by
the school. Oh, indeed those long winter days were very dreary. But at
last spring came, with warm sunshine. "Kay is dead and gone," said
little Gerda.

"I don't believe it," said the sunshine.

"He is dead and gone," she said to the sparrows.

"We don't believe it," they replied; and at last little Gerda
began to doubt it herself. "I will put on my new red shoes," she
said one morning, "those that Kay has never seen, and then I will go
down to the river, and ask for him." It was quite early when she
kissed her old grandmother, who was still asleep; then she put on
her red shoes, and went quite alone out of the town gates toward the
river. "Is it true that you have taken my little playmate away from
me?" said she to the river. "I will give you my red shoes if you
will give him back to me." And it seemed as if the waves nodded to her
in a strange manner. Then she took off her red shoes, which she
liked better than anything else, and threw them both into the river,
but they fell near the bank, and the little waves carried them back to
the land, just as if the river would not take from her what she
loved best, because they could not give her back little Kay. But she
thought the shoes had not been thrown out far enough. Then she crept
into a boat that lay among the reeds, and threw the shoes again from
the farther end of the boat into the water, but it was not fastened.
And her movement sent it gliding away from the land. When she saw this
she hastened to reach the end of the boat, but before she could so
it was more than a yard from the bank, and drifting away faster than
ever. Then little Gerda was very much frightened, and began to cry,
but no one heard her except the sparrows, and they could not carry her
to land, but they flew along by the shore, and sang, as if to
comfort her, "Here we are! Here we are!" The boat floated with the
stream; little Gerda sat quite still with only her stockings on her
feet; the red shoes floated after her, but she could not reach them
because the boat kept so much in advance. The banks on each side of
the river were very pretty. There were beautiful flowers, old trees,
sloping fields, in which cows and sheep were grazing, but not a man to
be seen. Perhaps the river will carry me to little Kay, thought Gerda,
and then she became more cheerful, and raised her head, and looked
at the beautiful green banks; and so the boat sailed on for hours.
At length she came to a large cherry orchard, in which stood a small
red house with strange red and blue windows. It had also a thatched
roof, and outside were two wooden soldiers, that presented arms to her
as she sailed past. Gerda called out to them, for she thought they
were alive, but of course they did not answer; and as the boat drifted
nearer to the shore, she saw what they really were. Then Gerda
called still louder, and there came a very old woman out of the house,
leaning on a crutch. She wore a large hat to shade her from the sun,
and on it were painted all sorts of pretty flowers. "You poor little
child," said the old woman, "how did you manage to come all this
distance into the wide world on such a rapid rolling stream?" And then
the old woman walked in the water, seized the boat with her crutch,
drew it to land, and lifted Gerda out. And Gerda was glad to feel
herself on dry ground, although she was rather afraid of the strange
old woman. "Come and tell me who you are," said she, "and how came you
here."

Then Gerda told her everything, while the old woman shook her
head, and said, "Hem-hem;" and when she had finished, Gerda asked if
she had not seen little Kay, and the old woman told her he had not
passed by that way, but he very likely would come. So she told Gerda
not to be sorrowful, but to taste the cherries and look at the
flowers; they were better than any picture-book, for each of them
could tell a story. Then she took Gerda by the hand and led her into
the little house, and the old woman closed the door. The windows
were very high, and as the panes were red, blue, and yellow, the
daylight shone through them in all sorts of singular colors. On the
table stood beautiful cherries, and Gerda had permission to eat as
many as she would. While she was eating them the old woman combed
out her long flaxen ringlets with a golden comb, and the glossy
curls hung down on each side of the little round pleasant face,
which looked fresh and blooming as a rose. "I have long been wishing
for a dear little maiden like you," said the old woman, "and now you
must stay with me, and see how happily we shall live together." And
while she went on combing little Gerda's hair, she thought less and
less about her adopted brother Kay, for the old woman could conjure,
although she was not a wicked witch; she conjured only a little for
her own amusement, and now, because she wanted to keep Gerda.
Therefore she went into the garden, and stretched out her crutch
towards all the rose-trees, beautiful though they were; and they
immediately sunk into the dark earth, so that no one could tell
where they had once stood. The old woman was afraid that if little
Gerda saw roses she would think of those at home, and then remember
little Kay, and run away. Then she took Gerda into the flower-garden.
How fragrant and beautiful it was! Every flower that could be
thought of for every season of the year was here in full bloom;
no picture-book could have more beautiful colors. Gerda jumped
for joy, and played till the sun went down behind the tall
cherry-trees; then she slept in an elegant bed with red silk
pillows, embroidered with colored violets; and then she dreamed as
pleasantly as a queen on her wedding day. The next day, and for many
days after, Gerda played with the flowers in the warm sunshine. She
knew every flower, and yet, although there were so many of them, it
seemed as if one were missing, but which it was she could not tell.
One day, however, as she sat looking at the old woman's hat with the
painted flowers on it, she saw that the prettiest of them all was a
rose. The old woman had forgotten to take it from her hat when she
made all the roses sink into the earth. But it is difficult to keep
the thoughts together in everything; one little mistake upsets all our
arrangements.

"What, are there no roses here?" cried Gerda; and she ran out into
the garden, and examined all the beds, and searched and searched.
There was not one to be found. Then she sat down and wept, and her
tears fell just on the place where one of the rose-trees had sunk
down. The warm tears moistened the earth, and the rose-tree sprouted
up at once, as blooming as when it had sunk; and Gerda embraced it and
kissed the roses, and thought of the beautiful roses at home, and,
with them, of little Kay.

"Oh, how I have been detained!" said the little maiden, "I
wanted to seek for little Kay. Do you know where he is?" she asked the
roses; "do you think he is dead?"

And the roses answered, "No, he is not dead. We have been in the
ground where all the dead lie; but Kay is not there."

"Thank you," said little Gerda, and then she went to the other
flowers, and looked into their little cups, and asked, "Do you know
where little Kay is?" But each flower, as it stood in the sunshine,
dreamed only of its own little fairy tale of history. Not one knew
anything of Kay. Gerda heard many stories from the flowers, as she
asked them one after another about him.

And what, said the tiger-lily? "Hark, do you hear the drum?--'turn,
turn,'--there are only two notes, always, 'turn, turn.' Listen
to the women's song of mourning! Hear the cry of the priest! In
her long red robe stands the Hindoo widow by the funeral pile. The
flames rise around her as she places herself on the dead body of her
husband; but the Hindoo woman is thinking of the living one in that
circle; of him, her son, who lighted those flames. Those shining
eyes trouble her heart more painfully than the flames which will
soon consume her body to ashes. Can the fire of the heart be
extinguished in the flames of the funeral pile?"

"I don't understand that at all," said little Gerda.

"That is my story," said the tiger-lily.

What, says the convolvulus? "Near yonder narrow road stands an old
knight's castle; thick ivy creeps over the old ruined walls, leaf over
leaf, even to the balcony, in which stands a beautiful maiden. She
bends over the balustrades, and looks up the road. No rose on its stem
is fresher than she; no apple-blossom, wafted by the wind, floats more
lightly than she moves. Her rich silk rustles as she bends over and
exclaims, 'Will he not come?'

"Is it Kay you mean?" asked Gerda.

"I am only speaking of a story of my dream," replied the flower.

What, said the little snow-drop? "Between two trees a rope is
hanging; there is a piece of board upon it; it is a swing. Two
pretty little girls, in dresses white as snow, and with long green
ribbons fluttering from their hats, are sitting upon it swinging.
Their brother who is taller than they are, stands in the swing; he has
one arm round the rope, to steady himself; in one hand he holds a
little bowl, and in the other a clay pipe; he is blowing bubbles. As
the swing goes on, the bubbles fly upward, reflecting the most
beautiful varying colors. The last still hangs from the bowl of the
pipe, and sways in the wind. On goes the swing; and then a little
black dog comes running up. He is almost as light as the bubble, and
he raises himself on his hind legs, and wants to be taken into the
swing; but it does not stop, and the dog falls; then he barks and gets
angry. The children stoop towards him, and the bubble bursts. A
swinging plank, a light sparkling foam picture,--that is my story."

"It may be all very pretty what you are telling me," said little
Gerda, "but you speak so mournfully, and you do not mention little Kay
at all."

What do the hyacinths say? "There were three beautiful sisters,
fair and delicate. The dress of one was red, of the second blue, and
of the third pure white. Hand in hand they danced in the bright
moonlight, by the calm lake; but they were human beings, not fairy
elves. The sweet fragrance attracted them, and they disappeared in the
wood; here the fragrance became stronger. Three coffins, in which
lay the three beautiful maidens, glided from the thickest part of
the forest across the lake. The fire-flies flew lightly over them,
like little floating torches. Do the dancing maidens sleep, or are
they dead? The scent of the flower says that they are corpses. The
evening bell tolls their knell."

"You make me quite sorrowful," said little Gerda; "your perfume is
so strong, you make me think of the dead maidens. Ah! is little Kay
really dead then? The roses have been in the earth, and they say no."

"Cling, clang," tolled the hyacinth bells. "We are not tolling for
little Kay; we do not know him. We sing our song, the only one we
know."

Then Gerda went to the buttercups that were glittering amongst the
bright green leaves.

"You are little bright suns," said Gerda; "tell me if you know
where I can find my play-fellow."

And the buttercups sparkled gayly, and looked again at Gerda. What
song could the buttercups sing? It was not about Kay.

"The bright warm sun shone on a little court, on the first warm
day of spring. His bright beams rested on the white walls of the
neighboring house; and close by bloomed the first yellow flower of the
season, glittering like gold in the sun's warm ray. An old woman sat
in her arm chair at the house door, and her granddaughter, a poor
and pretty servant-maid came to see her for a short visit. When she
kissed her grandmother there was gold everywhere: the gold of the
heart in that holy kiss; it was a golden morning; there was gold in
the beaming sunlight, gold in the leaves of the lowly flower, and on
the lips of the maiden. There, that is my story," said the buttercup.

"My poor old grandmother!" sighed Gerda; "she is longing to see
me, and grieving for me as she did for little Kay; but I shall soon go
home now, and take little Kay with me. It is no use asking the
flowers; they know only their own songs, and can give me no
information."

And then she tucked up her little dress, that she might run
faster, but the narcissus caught her by the leg as she was jumping
over it; so she stopped and looked at the tall yellow flower, and
said, "Perhaps you may know something."

Then she stooped down quite close to the flower, and listened; and
what did he say?

"I can see myself, I can see myself," said the narcissus. "Oh, how
sweet is my perfume! Up in a little room with a bow window, stands a
little dancing girl, half undressed; she stands sometimes on one
leg, and sometimes on both, and looks as if she would tread the
whole world under her feet. She is nothing but a delusion. She is
pouring water out of a tea-pot on a piece of stuff which she holds
in her hand; it is her bodice. 'Cleanliness is a good thing,' she
says. Her white dress hangs on a peg; it has also been washed in the
tea-pot, and dried on the roof. She puts it on, and ties a
saffron-colored handkerchief round her neck, which makes the dress
look whiter. See how she stretches out her legs, as if she were
showing off on a stem. I can see myself, I can see myself."

"What do I care for all that," said Gerda, "you need not tell me
such stuff." And then she ran to the other end of the garden. The door
was fastened, but she pressed against the rusty latch, and it gave
way. The door sprang open, and little Gerda ran out with bare feet
into the wide world. She looked back three times, but no one seemed to
be following her. At last she could run no longer, so she sat down
to rest on a great stone, and when she looked round she saw that the
summer was over, and autumn very far advanced. She had known nothing
of this in the beautiful garden, where the sun shone and the flowers
grew all the year round.

"Oh, how I have wasted my time?" said little Gerda; "it is autumn.
I must not rest any longer," and she rose up to go on. But her
little feet were wounded and sore, and everything around her looked so
cold and bleak. The long willow-leaves were quite yellow. The
dew-drops fell like water, leaf after leaf dropped from the trees, the
sloe-thorn alone still bore fruit, but the sloes were sour, and set
the teeth on edge. Oh, how dark and weary the whole world appeared!


FOURTH STORY

THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS


Gerda was obliged to rest again, and just opposite the place where
she sat, she saw a great crow come hopping across the snow toward her.
He stood looking at her for some time, and then he wagged his head and
said, "Caw, caw; good-day, good-day." He pronounced the words as
plainly as he could, because he meant to be kind to the little girl;
and then he asked her where she was going all alone in the wide world.

The word alone Gerda understood very well, and knew how much it
expressed. So then she told the crow the whole story of her life and
adventures, and asked him if he had seen little Kay.

The crow nodded his head very gravely, and said, "Perhaps I
have--it may be."

"No! Do you think you have?" cried little Gerda, and she kissed
the crow, and hugged him almost to death with joy.

"Gently, gently," said the crow. "I believe I know. I think it may
be little Kay; but he has certainly forgotten you by this time for the
princess."

"Does he live with a princess?" asked Gerda.

"Yes, listen," replied the crow, "but it is so difficult to
speak your language. If you understand the crows' language then I
can explain it better. Do you?"

"No, I have never learnt it," said Gerda, "but my grandmother
understands it, and used to speak it to me. I wish I had learnt it."

"It does not matter," answered the crow; "I will explain as well
as I can, although it will be very badly done;" and he told her what
he had heard. "In this kingdom where we now are," said he, "there
lives a princess, who is so wonderfully clever that she has read all
the newspapers in the world, and forgotten them too, although she is
so clever. A short time ago, as she was sitting on her throne, which
people say is not such an agreeable seat as is often supposed, she
began to sing a song which commences in these words:

  'Why should I not be married?'

'Why not indeed?' said she, and so she determined to marry if she
could find a husband who knew what to say when he was spoken to, and
not one who could only look grand, for that was so tiresome. Then
she assembled all her court ladies together at the beat of the drum,
and when they heard of her intentions they were very much pleased. 'We
are so glad to hear it,' said they, we were talking about it ourselves
the other day.' You may believe that every word I tell you is true,"
said the crow, "for I have a tame sweetheart who goes freely about the
palace, and she told me all this."

Of course his sweetheart was a crow, for "birds of a feather flock
together," and one crow always chooses another crow.

"Newspapers were published immediately, with a border of hearts,
and the initials of the princess among them. They gave notice that
every young man who was handsome was free to visit the castle and
speak with the princess; and those who could reply loud enough to be
heard when spoken to, were to make themselves quite at home at the
palace; but the one who spoke best would be chosen as a husband for
the princess. Yes, yes, you may believe me, it is all as true as I sit
here," said the crow. "The people came in crowds. There was a great
deal of crushing and running about, but no one succeeded either on the
first or second day. They could all speak very well while they were
outside in the streets, but when they entered the palace gates, and
saw the guards in silver uniforms, and the footmen in their golden
livery on the staircase, and the great halls lighted up, they became
quite confused. And when they stood before the throne on which the
princess sat, they could do nothing but repeat the last words she
had said; and she had no particular wish to hear her own words over
again. It was just as if they had all taken something to make them
sleepy while they were in the palace, for they did not recover
themselves nor speak till they got back again into the street. There
was quite a long line of them reaching from the town-gate to the
palace. I went myself to see them," said the crow. "They were hungry
and thirsty, for at the palace they did not get even a glass of water.
Some of the wisest had taken a few slices of bread and butter with
them, but they did not share it with their neighbors; they thought
if they went in to the princess looking hungry, there would be a
better chance for themselves."

"But Kay! tell me about little Kay!" said Gerda, "was he amongst
the crowd?"

"Stop a bit, we are just coming to him. It was on the third day,
there came marching cheerfully along to the palace a little personage,
without horses or carriage, his eyes sparkling like yours; he had
beautiful long hair, but his clothes were very poor."

"That was Kay!" said Gerda joyfully. "Oh, then I have found
him;" and she clapped her hands.

"He had a little knapsack on his back," added the crow.

"No, it must have been his sledge," said Gerda; "for he went
away with it."

"It may have been so," said the crow; "I did not look at it very
closely. But I know from my tame sweetheart that he passed through the
palace gates, saw the guards in their silver uniform, and the servants
in their liveries of gold on the stairs, but he was not in the least
embarrassed. 'It must be very tiresome to stand on the stairs,' he
said. 'I prefer to go in.' The rooms were blazing with light.
Councillors and ambassadors walked about with bare feet, carrying
golden vessels; it was enough to make any one feel serious. His
boots creaked loudly as he walked, and yet he was not at all uneasy."

"It must be Kay," said Gerda, "I know he had new boots on, I
have heard them creak in grandmother's room."

"They really did creak," said the crow, "yet he went boldly up
to the princess herself, who was sitting on a pearl as large as a
spinning wheel, and all the ladies of the court were present with
their maids, and all the cavaliers with their servants; and each of
the maids had another maid to wait upon her, and the cavaliers'
servants had their own servants, as well as a page each. They all
stood in circles round the princess, and the nearer they stood to
the door, the prouder they looked. The servants' pages, who always
wore slippers, could hardly be looked at, they held themselves up so
proudly by the door."

"It must be quite awful," said little Gerda, "but did Kay win
the princess?"

"If I had not been a crow," said he, "I would have married her
myself, although I am engaged. He spoke just as well as I do, when I
speak the crows' language, so I heard from my tame sweetheart. He
was quite free and agreeable and said he had not come to woo the
princess, but to hear her wisdom; and he was as pleased with her as
she was with him."

"Oh, certainly that was Kay," said Gerda, "he was so clever; he
could work mental arithmetic and fractions. Oh, will you take me to
the palace?"

"It is very easy to ask that," replied the crow, "but how are we
to manage it? However, I will speak about it to my tame sweetheart,
and ask her advice; for I must tell you it will be very difficult to
gain permission for a little girl like you to enter the palace."

"Oh, yes; but I shall gain permission easily," said Gerda, "for
when Kay hears that I am here, he will come out and fetch me in
immediately."

"Wait for me here by the palings," said the crow, wagging his head
as he flew away.

It was late in the evening before the crow returned. "Caw, caw,"
he said, "she sends you greeting, and here is a little roll which she
took from the kitchen for you; there is plenty of bread there, and she
thinks you must be hungry. It is not possible for you to enter the
palace by the front entrance. The guards in silver uniform and the
servants in gold livery would not allow it. But do not cry, we will
manage to get you in; my sweetheart knows a little back-staircase that
leads to the sleeping apartments, and she knows where to find the
key."

Then they went into the garden through the great avenue, where the
leaves were falling one after another, and they could see the light in
the palace being put out in the same manner. And the crow led little
Gerda to the back door, which stood ajar. Oh! how little Gerda's heart
beat with anxiety and longing; it was just as if she were going to
do something wrong, and yet she only wanted to know where little Kay
was. "It must be he," she thought, "with those clear eyes, and that
long hair." She could fancy she saw him smiling at her, as he used
to at home, when they sat among the roses. He would certainly be
glad to see her, and to hear what a long distance she had come for his
sake, and to know how sorry they had been at home because he did not
come back. Oh what joy and yet fear she felt! They were now on the
stairs, and in a small closet at the top a lamp was burning. In the
middle of the floor stood the tame crow, turning her head from side to
side, and gazing at Gerda, who curtseyed as her grandmother had taught
her to do.

"My betrothed has spoken so very highly of you, my little lady,"
said the tame crow, "your life-history, Vita, as it may be called,
is very touching. If you will take the lamp I will walk before you. We
will go straight along this way, then we shall meet no one."

"It seems to me as if somebody were behind us," said Gerda, as
something rushed by her like a shadow on the wall, and then horses
with flying manes and thin legs, hunters, ladies and gentlemen on
horseback, glided by her, like shadows on the wall.

"They are only dreams," said the crow, "they are coming to fetch
the thoughts of the great people out hunting."

"All the better, for we shall be able to look at them in their
beds more safely. I hope that when you rise to honor and favor, you
will show a grateful heart."

"You may be quite sure of that," said the crow from the forest.

They now came into the first hall, the walls of which were hung
with rose-colored satin, embroidered with artificial flowers. Here the
dreams again flitted by them but so quickly that Gerda could not
distinguish the royal persons. Each hall appeared more splendid than
the last, it was enought to bewilder any one. At length they reached a
bedroom. The ceiling was like a great palm-tree, with glass leaves
of the most costly crystal, and over the centre of the floor two beds,
each resembling a lily, hung from a stem of gold. One, in which the
princess lay, was white, the other was red; and in this Gerda had to
seek for little Kay. She pushed one of the red leaves aside, and saw a
little brown neck. Oh, that must be Kay! She called his name out quite
loud, and held the lamp over him. The dreams rushed back into the room
on horseback. He woke, and turned his head round, it was not little
Kay! The prince was only like him in the neck, still he was young
and pretty. Then the princess peeped out of her white-lily bed, and
asked what was the matter. Then little Gerda wept and told her
story, and all that the crows had done to help her.

"You poor child," said the prince and princess; then they
praised the crows, and said they were not angry for what they had
done, but that it must not happen again, and this time they should
be rewarded.

"Would you like to have your freedom?" asked the princess, "or
would you prefer to be raised to the position of court crows, with all
that is left in the kitchen for yourselves?"

Then both the crows bowed, and begged to have a fixed appointment,
for they thought of their old age, and said it would be so comfortable
to feel that they had provision for their old days, as they called it.
And then the prince got out of his bed, and gave it up to Gerda,--he
could do no more; and she lay down. She folded her little hands, and
thought, "How good everyone is to me, men and animals too;" then she
closed her eyes and fell into a sweet sleep. All the dreams came
flying back again to her, and they looked like angels, and one of them
drew a little sledge, on which sat Kay, and nodded to her. But all
this was only a dream, and vanished as soon as she awoke.

The following day she was dressed from head to foot in silk and
velvet, and they invited her to stay at the palace for a few days, and
enjoy herself, but she only begged for a pair of boots, and a little
carriage, and a horse to draw it, so that she might go into the wide
world to seek for Kay. And she obtained, not only boots, but also a
muff, and she was neatly dressed; and when she was ready to go, there,
at the door, she found a coach made of pure gold, with the
coat-of-arms of the prince and princess shining upon it like a star,
and the coachman, footman, and outriders all wearing golden crowns
on their heads. The prince and princess themselves helped her into the
coach, and wished her success. The forest crow, who was now married,
accompanied her for the first three miles; he sat by Gerda's side,
as he could not bear riding backwards. The tame crow stood in the
door-way flapping her wings. She could not go with them, because she
had been suffering from headache ever since the new appointment, no
doubt from eating too much. The coach was well stored with sweet
cakes, and under the seat were fruit and gingerbread nuts.
"Farewell, farewell," cried the prince and princess, and little
Gerda wept, and the crow wept; and then, after a few miles, the crow
also said "Farewell," and this was the saddest parting. However, he
flew to a tree, and stood flapping his black wings as long as he could
see the coach, which glittered in the bright sunshine.


FIFTH STORY

LITTLE ROBBER-GIRL


The coach drove on through a thick forest, where it lighted up the
way like a torch, and dazzled the eyes of some robbers, who could
not bear to let it pass them unmolested.

"It is gold! it is gold!" cried they, rushing forward, and seizing
the horses. Then they struck the little jockeys, the coachman, and the
footman dead, and pulled little Gerda out of the carriage.

"She is fat and pretty, and she has been fed with the kernels of
nuts," said the old robber-woman, who had a long beard and eyebrows
that hung over her eyes. "She is as good as a little lamb; how nice
she will taste!" and as she said this, she drew forth a shining knife,
that glittered horribly. "Oh!" screamed the old woman the same moment;
for her own daughter, who held her back, had bitten her in the ear.
She was a wild and naughty girl, and the mother called her an ugly
thing, and had not time to kill Gerda.

"She shall play with me," said the little robber-girl; "she
shall give me her muff and her pretty dress, and sleep with me in my
bed." And then she bit her mother again, and made her spring in the
air, and jump about; and all the robbers laughed, and said, "See how
she is dancing with her young cub."

"I will have a ride in the coach," said the little robber-girl;
and she would have her own way; for she was so self-willed and
obstinate.

She and Gerda seated themselves in the coach, and drove away, over
stumps and stones, into the depths of the forest. The little
robber-girl was about the same size as Gerda, but stronger; she had
broader shoulders and a darker skin; her eyes were quite black, and
she had a mournful look. She clasped little Gerda round the waist, and
said,--

"They shall not kill you as long as you don't make us vexed with
you. I suppose you are a princess."

"No," said Gerda; and then she told her all her history, and how
fond she was of little Kay.

The robber-girl looked earnestly at her, nodded her head slightly,
and said, "They sha'nt kill you, even if I do get angry with you;
for I will do it myself." And then she wiped Gerda's eyes, and stuck
her own hands in the beautiful muff which was so soft and warm.

The coach stopped in the courtyard of a robber's castle, the walls
of which were cracked from top to bottom. Ravens and crows flew in and
out of the holes and crevices, while great bulldogs, either of which
looked as if it could swallow a man, were jumping about; but they were
not allowed to bark. In the large and smoky hall a bright fire was
burning on the stone floor. There was no chimney; so the smoke went up
to the ceiling, and found a way out for itself. Soup was boiling in
a large cauldron, and hares and rabbits were roasting on the spit.

"You shall sleep with me and all my little animals to-night," said
the robber-girl, after they had had something to eat and drink. So she
took Gerda to a corner of the hall, where some straw and carpets
were laid down. Above them, on laths and perches, were more than a
hundred pigeons, who all seemed to be asleep, although they moved
slightly when the two little girls came near them. "These all belong
to me," said the robber-girl; and she seized the nearest to her,
held it by the feet, and shook it till it flapped its wings. "Kiss
it," cried she, flapping it in Gerda's face. "There sit the
wood-pigeons," continued she, pointing to a number of laths and a cage
which had been fixed into the walls, near one of the openings. "Both
rascals would fly away directly, if they were not closely locked up.
And here is my old sweetheart 'Ba;'" and she dragged out a reindeer
by the horn; he wore a bright copper ring round his neck, and was tied
up. "We are obliged to hold him tight too, or else he would run away
from us also. I tickle his neck every evening with my sharp knife,
which frightens him very much." And then the robber-girl drew a long
knife from a chink in the wall, and let it slide gently over the
reindeer's neck. The poor animal began to kick, and the little
robber-girl laughed, and pulled down Gerda into bed with her.

"Will you have that knife with you while you are asleep?" asked
Gerda, looking at it in great fright.

"I always sleep with the knife by me," said the robber-girl. "No
one knows what may happen. But now tell me again all about little Kay,
and why you went out into the world."

Then Gerda repeated her story over again, while the wood-pigeons
in the cage over her cooed, and the other pigeons slept. The little
robber-girl put one arm across Gerda's neck, and held the knife in the
other, and was soon fast asleep and snoring. But Gerda could not close
her eyes at all; she knew not whether she was to live or die. The
robbers sat round the fire, singing and drinking, and the old woman
stumbled about. It was a terrible sight for a little girl to witness.

Then the wood-pigeons said, "Coo, coo; we have seen little Kay.
A white fowl carried his sledge, and he sat in the carriage of the
Snow Queen, which drove through the wood while we were lying in our
nest. She blew upon us, and all the young ones died excepting us
two. Coo, coo."

"What are you saying up there?" cried Gerda. "Where was the Snow
Queen going? Do you know anything about it?"

"She was most likely travelling to Lapland, where there is
always snow and ice. Ask the reindeer that is fastened up there with a
rope."

"Yes, there is always snow and ice," said the reindeer; "and it is
a glorious place; you can leap and run about freely on the sparkling
ice plains. The Snow Queen has her summer tent there, but her strong
castle is at the North Pole, on an island called Spitzbergen."

"Oh, Kay, little Kay!" sighed Gerda.

"Lie still," said the robber-girl, "or I shall run my knife into
your body."

In the morning Gerda told her all that the wood-pigeons had
said; and the little robber-girl looked quite serious, and nodded
her head, and said, "That is all talk, that is all talk. Do you know
where Lapland is?" she asked the reindeer.

"Who should know better than I do?" said the animal, while his
eyes sparkled. "I was born and brought up there, and used to run about
the snow-covered plains."

"Now listen," said the robber-girl; "all our men are gone away,--only
mother is here, and here she will stay; but at noon she always
drinks out of a great bottle, and afterwards sleeps for a little
while; and then, I'll do something for you." Then she jumped out of
bed, clasped her mother round the neck, and pulled her by the beard,
crying, "My own little nanny goat, good morning." Then her mother
filliped her nose till it was quite red; yet she did it all for love.

When the mother had drunk out of the bottle, and was gone to
sleep, the little robber-maiden went to the reindeer, and said, "I
should like very much to tickle your neck a few times more with my
knife, for it makes you look so funny; but never mind,--I will untie
your cord, and set you free, so that you may run away to Lapland;
but you must make good use of your legs, and carry this little
maiden to the castle of the Snow Queen, where her play-fellow is.
You have heard what she told me, for she spoke loud enough, and you
were listening."

Then the reindeer jumped for joy; and the little robber-girl
lifted Gerda on his back, and had the forethought to tie her on, and
even to give her her own little cushion to sit on.

"Here are your fur boots for you," said she; "for it will be
very cold; but I must keep the muff; it is so pretty. However, you
shall not be frozen for the want of it; here are my mother's large
warm mittens; they will reach up to your elbows. Let me put them on.
There, now your hands look just like my mother's."

But Gerda wept for joy.

"I don't like to see you fret," said the little robber-girl;
"you ought to look quite happy now; and here are two loaves and a ham,
so that you need not starve." These were fastened on the reindeer, and
then the little robber-maiden opened the door, coaxed in all the great
dogs, and then cut the string with which the reindeer was fastened,
with her sharp knife, and said, "Now run, but mind you take good
care of the little girl." And then Gerda stretched out her hand,
with the great mitten on it, towards the little robber-girl, and said,
"Farewell," and away flew the reindeer, over stumps and stones,
through the great forest, over marshes and plains, as quickly as he
could. The wolves howled, and the ravens screamed; while up in the sky
quivered red lights like flames of fire. "There are my old northern
lights," said the reindeer; "see how they flash." And he ran on day
and night still faster and faster, but the loaves and the ham were all
eaten by the time they reached Lapland.


SIXTH STORY

THE LAPLAND WOMAN AND THE FINLAND WOMAN


They stopped at a little hut; it was very mean looking; the roof
sloped nearly down to the ground, and the door was so low that the
family had to creep in on their hands and knees, when they went in and
out. There was no one at home but an old Lapland woman, who was
cooking fish by the light of a train-oil lamp. The reindeer told her
all about Gerda's story, after having first told his own, which seemed
to him the most important, but Gerda was so pinched with the cold that
she could not speak. "Oh, you poor things," said the Lapland woman,
"you have a long way to go yet. You must travel more than a hundred
miles farther, to Finland. The Snow Queen lives there now, and she
burns Bengal lights every evening. I will write a few words on a dried
stock-fish, for I have no paper, and you can take it from me to the
Finland woman who lives there; she can give you better information
than I can." So when Gerda was warmed, and had taken something to
eat and drink, the woman wrote a few words on the dried fish, and told
Gerda to take great care of it. Then she tied her again on the
reindeer, and he set off at full speed. Flash, flash, went the
beautiful blue northern lights in the air the whole night long. And at
length they reached Finland, and knocked at the chimney of the Finland
woman's hut, for it had no door above the ground. They crept in, but
it was so terribly hot inside that that woman wore scarcely any
clothes; she was small and very dirty looking. She loosened little
Gerda's dress, and took off the fur boots and the mittens, or Gerda
would have been unable to bear the heat; and then she placed a piece
of ice on the reindeer's head, and read what was written on the
dried fish. After she had read it three times, she knew it by heart,
so she popped the fish into the soup saucepan, as she knew it was good
to eat, and she never wasted anything. The reindeer told his own story
first, and then little Gerda's, and the Finlander twinkled with her
clever eyes, but she said nothing. "You are so clever," said the
reindeer; "I know you can tie all the winds of the world with a
piece of twine. If a sailor unties one knot, he has a fair wind;
when he unties the second, it blows hard; but if the third and
fourth are loosened, then comes a storm, which will root up whole
forests. Cannot you give this little maiden something which will
make her as strong as twelve men, to overcome the Snow Queen?"

"The Power of twelve men!" said the Finland woman; "that would
be of very little use." But she went to a shelf and took down and
unrolled a large skin, on which were inscribed wonderful characters,
and she read till the perspiration ran down from her forehead. But the
reindeer begged so hard for little Gerda, and Gerda looked at the
Finland woman with such beseeching tearful eyes, that her own eyes
began to twinkle again; so she drew the reindeer into a corner, and
whispered to him while she laid a fresh piece of ice on his head,
"Little Kay is really with the Snow Queen, but he finds everything
there so much to his taste and his liking, that he believes it is
the finest place in the world; but this is because he has a piece of
broken glass in his heart, and a little piece of glass in his eye.
These must be taken out, or he will never be a human being again,
and the Snow Queen will retain her power over him."

"But can you not give little Gerda something to help her to
conquer this power?"

"I can give her no greater power than she has already," said the
woman; "don't you see how strong that is? How men and animals are
obliged to serve her, and how well she has got through the world,
barefooted as she is. She cannot receive any power from me greater
than she now has, which consists in her own purity and innocence of
heart. If she cannot herself obtain access to the Snow Queen, and
remove the glass fragments from little Kay, we can do nothing to
help her. Two miles from here the Snow Queen's garden begins; you
can carry the little girl so far, and set her down by the large bush
which stands in the snow, covered with red berries. Do not stay
gossiping, but come back here as quickly as you can." Then the Finland
woman lifted little Gerda upon the reindeer, and he ran away with
her as quickly as he could.

"Oh, I have forgotten my boots and my mittens," cried little
Gerda, as soon as she felt the cutting cold, but the reindeer dared
not stop, so he ran on till he reached the bush with the red
berries; here he set Gerda down, and he kissed her, and the great
bright tears trickled over the animal's cheeks; then he left her and
ran back as fast as he could.

There stood poor Gerda, without shoes, without gloves, in the
midst of cold, dreary, ice-bound Finland. She ran forwards as
quickly as she could, when a whole regiment of snow-flakes came
round her; they did not, however, fall from the sky, which was quite
clear and glittering with the northern lights. The snow-flakes ran
along the ground, and the nearer they came to her, the larger they
appeared. Gerda remembered how large and beautiful they looked through
the burning-glass. But these were really larger, and much more
terrible, for they were alive, and were the guards of the Snow
Queen, and had the strangest shapes. Some were like great
porcupines, others like twisted serpents with their heads stretching
out, and some few were like little fat bears with their hair bristled;
but all were dazzlingly white, and all were living snow-flakes. Then
little Gerda repeated the Lord's Prayer, and the cold was so great
that she could see her own breath come out of her mouth like steam
as she uttered the words. The steam appeared to increase, as she
continued her prayer, till it took the shape of little angels who grew
larger the moment they touched the earth. They all wore helmets on
their heads, and carried spears and shields. Their number continued to
increase more and more; and by the time Gerda had finished her
prayers, a whole legion stood round her. They thrust their spears into
the terrible snow-flakes, so that they shivered into a hundred pieces,
and little Gerda could go forward with courage and safety. The
angels stroked her hands and feet, so that she felt the cold less, and
she hastened on to the Snow Queen's castle.

But now we must see what Kay is doing. In truth he thought not
of little Gerda, and never supposed she could be standing in the front
of the palace.


SEVENTH STORY

OF THE PALACE OF THE SNOW QUEEN AND WHAT HAPPENED THERE AT LAST


The walls of the palace were formed of drifted snow, and the
windows and doors of the cutting winds. There were more than a hundred
rooms in it, all as if they had been formed with snow blown
together. The largest of them extended for several miles; they were
all lighted up by the vivid light of the aurora, and they were so
large and empty, so icy cold and glittering! There were no
amusements here, not even a little bear's ball, when the storm might
have been the music, and the bears could have danced on their hind
legs, and shown their good manners. There were no pleasant games of
snap-dragon, or touch, or even a gossip over the tea-table, for the
young-lady foxes. Empty, vast, and cold were the halls of the Snow
Queen. The flickering flame of the northern lights could be plainly
seen, whether they rose high or low in the heavens, from every part of
the castle. In the midst of its empty, endless hall of snow was a
frozen lake, broken on its surface into a thousand forms; each piece
resembled another, from being in itself perfect as a work of art,
and in the centre of this lake sat the Snow Queen, when she was at
home. She called the lake "The Mirror of Reason," and said that it was
the best, and indeed the only one in the world.

Little Kay was quite blue with cold, indeed almost black, but he
did not feel it; for the Snow Queen had kissed away the icy
shiverings, and his heart was already a lump of ice. He dragged some
sharp, flat pieces of ice to and fro, and placed them together in
all kinds of positions, as if he wished to make something out of them;
just as we try to form various figures with little tablets of wood
which we call "a Chinese puzzle." Kay's fingers were very artistic; it
was the icy game of reason at which he played, and in his eyes the
figures were very remarkable, and of the highest importance; this
opinion was owing to the piece of glass still sticking in his eye.
He composed many complete figures, forming different words, but
there was one word he never could manage to form, although he wished
it very much. It was the word "Eternity." The Snow Queen had said to
him, "When you can find out this, you shall be your own master, and
I will give you the whole world and a new pair of skates." But he
could not accomplish it.

"Now I must hasten away to warmer countries," said the Snow Queen.
"I will go and look into the black craters of the tops of the
burning mountains, Etna and Vesuvius, as they are called,--I shall
make them look white, which will be good for them, and for the
lemons and the grapes." And away flew the Snow Queen, leaving little
Kay quite alone in the great hall which was so many miles in length;
so he sat and looked at his pieces of ice, and was thinking so deeply,
and sat so still, that any one might have supposed he was frozen.

Just at this moment it happened that little Gerda came through the
great door of the castle. Cutting winds were raging around her, but
she offered up a prayer and the winds sank down as if they were
going to sleep; and she went on till she came to the large empty hall,
and caught sight of Kay; she knew him directly; she flew to him and
threw her arms round his neck, and held him fast, while she exclaimed,
"Kay, dear little Kay, I have found you at last."

But he sat quite still, stiff and cold.

Then little Gerda wept hot tears, which fell on his breast, and
penetrated into his heart, and thawed the lump of ice, and washed away
the little piece of glass which had stuck there. Then he looked at
her, and she sang--

  "Roses bloom and cease to be,
  But we shall the Christ-child see."


Then Kay burst into tears, and he wept so that the splinter of
glass swam out of his eye. Then he recognized Gerda, and said,
joyfully, "Gerda, dear little Gerda, where have you been all this
time, and where have I been?" And he looked all around him, and
said, "How cold it is, and how large and empty it all looks," and he
clung to Gerda, and she laughed and wept for joy. It was so pleasing
to see them that the pieces of ice even danced about; and when they
were tired and went to lie down, they formed themselves into the
letters of the word which the Snow Queen had said he must find out
before he could be his own master, and have the whole world and a pair
of new skates. Then Gerda kissed his cheeks, and they became blooming;
and she kissed his eyes, and they shone like her own; she kissed his
hands and his feet, and then he became quite healthy and cheerful. The
Snow Queen might come home now when she pleased, for there stood his
certainty of freedom, in the word she wanted, written in shining
letters of ice.

Then they took each other by the hand, and went forth from the
great palace of ice. They spoke of the grandmother, and of the roses
on the roof, and as they went on the winds were at rest, and the sun
burst forth. When they arrived at the bush with red berries, there
stood the reindeer waiting for them, and he had brought another
young reindeer with him, whose udders were full, and the children
drank her warm milk and kissed her on the mouth. Then they carried Kay
and Gerda first to the Finland woman, where they warmed themselves
thoroughly in the hot room, and she gave them directions about their
journey home. Next they went to the Lapland woman, who had made some
new clothes for them, and put their sleighs in order. Both the
reindeer ran by their side, and followed them as far as the boundaries
of the country, where the first green leaves were budding. And here
they took leave of the two reindeer and the Lapland woman, and all
said--Farewell. Then the birds began to twitter, and the forest too
was full of green young leaves; and out of it came a beautiful
horse, which Gerda remembered, for it was one which had drawn the
golden coach. A young girl was riding upon it, with a shining red
cap on her head, and pistols in her belt. It was the little
robber-maiden, who had got tired of staying at home; she was going
first to the north, and if that did not suit her, she meant to try
some other part of the world. She knew Gerda directly, and Gerda
remembered her: it was a joyful meeting.

"You are a fine fellow to go gadding about in this way," said
she to little Kay, "I should like to know whether you deserve that any
one should go to the end of the world to find you."

But Gerda patted her cheeks, and asked after the prince and
princess.

"They are gone to foreign countries," said the robber-girl.

"And the crow?" asked Gerda.

"Oh, the crow is dead," she replied; "his tame sweetheart is now a
widow, and wears a bit of black worsted round her leg. She mourns very
pitifully, but it is all stuff. But now tell me how you managed to get
him back."

Then Gerda and Kay told her all about it.

"Snip, snap, snare! it's all right at last," said the robber-girl.

Then she took both their hands, and promised that if ever she
should pass through the town, she would call and pay them a visit. And
then she rode away into the wide world. But Gerda and Kay went
hand-in-hand towards home; and as they advanced, spring appeared
more lovely with its green verdure and its beautiful flowers. Very
soon they recognized the large town where they lived, and the tall
steeples of the churches, in which the sweet bells were ringing a
merry peal as they entered it, and found their way to their
grandmother's door. They went upstairs into the little room, where all
looked just as it used to do. The old clock was going "tick, tick,"
and the hands pointed to the time of day, but as they passed through
the door into the room they perceived that they were both grown up,
and become a man and woman. The roses out on the roof were in full
bloom, and peeped in at the window; and there stood the little chairs,
on which they had sat when children; and Kay and Gerda seated
themselves each on their own chair, and held each other by the hand,
while the cold empty grandeur of the Snow Queen's palace vanished from
their memories like a painful dream. The grandmother sat in God's
bright sunshine, and she read aloud from the Bible, "Except ye
become as little children, ye shall in no wise enter into the
kingdom of God." And Kay and Gerda looked into each other's eyes,
and all at once understood the words of the old song,

  "Roses bloom and cease to be,
  But we shall the Christ-child see."

And they both sat there, grown up, yet children at heart; and it was
summer,--warm, beautiful summer.




THE SNOWDROP

It was winter-time; the air was cold, the wind was sharp, but
within the closed doors it was warm and comfortable, and within the
closed door lay the flower; it lay in the bulb under the
snow-covered earth.

One day rain fell. The drops penetrated through the snowy covering
down into the earth, and touched the flower-bulb, and talked of the
bright world above. Soon the Sunbeam pierced its way through the
snow to the root, and within the root there was a stirring.

"Come in," said the flower.

"I cannot," said the Sunbeam. "I am not strong enough to unlock
the door! When the summer comes I shall be strong!"

"When will it be summer?" asked the Flower, and she repeated
this question each time a new sunbeam made its way down to her. But
the summer was yet far distant. The snow still lay upon the ground,
and there was a coat of ice on the water every night.

"What a long time it takes! what a long time it takes!" said the
Flower. "I feel a stirring and striving within me; I must stretch
myself, I must unlock the door, I must get out, and must nod a good
morning to the summer, and what a happy time that will be!"

And the Flower stirred and stretched itself within the thin rind
which the water had softened from without, and the snow and the
earth had warmed, and the Sunbeam had knocked at; and it shot forth
under the snow with a greenish-white blossom on a green stalk, with
narrow thick leaves, which seemed to want to protect it. The snow
was cold, but was pierced by the Sunbeam, therefore it was easy to get
through it, and now the Sunbeam came with greater strength than
before.

"Welcome, welcome!" sang and sounded every ray, and the Flower
lifted itself up over the snow into the brighter world. The Sunbeams
caressed and kissed it, so that it opened altogether, white as snow,
and ornamented with green stripes. It bent its head in joy and
humility.

"Beautiful Flower!" said the Sunbeams, "how graceful and
delicate you are! You are the first, you are the only one! You are our
love! You are the bell that rings out for summer, beautiful summer,
over country and town. All the snow will melt; the cold winds will
be driven away; we shall rule; all will become green, and then you
will have companions, syringas, laburnums, and roses; but you are
the first, so graceful, so delicate!"

That was a great pleasure. It seemed as if the air were singing
and sounding, as if rays of light were piercing through the leaves and
the stalks of the Flower. There it stood, so delicate and so easily
broken, and yet so strong in its young beauty; it stood there in its
white dress with the green stripes, and made a summer. But there was a
long time yet to the summer-time. Clouds hid the sun, and bleak
winds were blowing.

"You have come too early," said Wind and Weather. "We have still
the power, and you shall feel it, and give it up to us. You should
have stayed quietly at home and not have run out to make a display
of yourself. Your time is not come yet!"

It was a cutting cold! The days which now come brought not a
single sunbeam. It was weather that might break such a little Flower
in two with cold. But the Flower had more strength than she herself
knew of. She was strong in joy and in faith in the summer, which would
be sure to come, which had been announced by her deep longing and
confirmed by the warm sunlight; and so she remained standing in
confidence in the snow in her white garment, bending her head even
while the snow-flakes fell thick and heavy, and the icy winds swept
over her.

"You'll break!" they said, "and fade, and fade! What did you
want out here? Why did you let yourself be tempted? The Sunbeam only
made game of you. Now you have what you deserve, you summer gauk."

"Summer gauk!" she repeated in the cold morning hour.

"O summer gauk!" cried some children rejoicingly; "yonder stands
one--how beautiful, how beautiful! The first one, the only one!"

These words did the Flower so much good, they seemed to her like
warm sunbeams. In her joy the Flower did not even feel when it was
broken off. It lay in a child's hand, and was kissed by a child's
mouth, and carried into a warm room, and looked on by gentle eyes, and
put into water. How strengthening, how invigorating! The Flower
thought she had suddenly come upon the summer.

The daughter of the house, a beautiful little girl, was confirmed,
and she had a friend who was confirmed, too. He was studying for an
examination for an appointment. "He shall be my summer gauk," she
said; and she took the delicate Flower and laid it in a piece of
scented paper, on which verses were written, beginning with summer
gauk and ending with summer gauk. "My friend, be a winter gauk." She
had twitted him with the summer. Yes, all this was in the verses,
and the paper was folded up like a letter, and the Flower was folded
in the letter, too. It was dark around her, dark as in those days when
she lay hidden in the bulb. The Flower went forth on her journey,
and lay in the post-bag, and was pressed and crushed, which was not at
all pleasant; but that soon came to an end.

The journey was over; the letter was opened, and read by the
dear friend. How pleased he was! He kissed the letter, and it was
laid, with its enclosure of verses, in a box, in which there were many
beautiful verses, but all of them without flowers; she was the
first, the only one, as the Sunbeams had called her; and it was a
pleasant thing to think of that.

She had time enough, moreover, to think about it; she thought of
it while the summer passed away, and the long winter went by, and
the summer came again, before she appeared once more. But now the
young man was not pleased at all. He took hold of the letter very
roughly, and threw the verses away, so that the Flower fell on the
ground. Flat and faded she certainly was, but why should she be thrown
on the ground? Still, it was better to be here than in the fire, where
the verses and the paper were being burnt to ashes. What had happened?
What happens so often:--the Flower had made a gauk of him, that was
a jest; the girl had made a fool of him, that was no jest, she had,
during the summer, chosen another friend.

Next morning the sun shone in upon the little flattened
Snowdrop, that looked as if it had been painted upon the floor. The
servant girl, who was sweeping out the room, picked it up, and laid it
in one of the books which were upon the table, in the belief that it
must have fallen out while the room was being arranged. Again the
flower lay among verses--printed verses--and they are better than
written ones--at least, more money has been spent upon them.

And after this years went by. The book stood upon the
book-shelf, and then it was taken up and somebody read out of it. It
was a good book; verses and songs by the old Danish poet, Ambrosius
Stub, which are well worth reading. The man who was now reading the
book turned over a page.

"Why, there's a flower!" he said; "a snowdrop, a summer gauk, a
poet gauk! That flower must have been put in there with a meaning!
Poor Ambrosius Stub! he was a summer fool too, a poet fool; he came
too early, before his time, and therefore he had to taste the sharp
winds, and wander about as a guest from one noble landed proprietor to
another, like a flower in a glass of water, a flower in rhymed verses!
Summer fool, winter fool, fun and folly--but the first, the only,
the fresh young Danish poet of those days. Yes, thou shalt remain as a
token in the book, thou little snowdrop: thou hast been put there with
a meaning."

And so the Snowdrop was put back into the book, and felt equally
honored and pleased to know that it was a token in the glorious book
of songs, and that he who was the first to sing and to write had
been also a snowdrop, had been a summer gauk, and had been looked upon
in the winter-time as a fool. The Flower understood this, in her
way, as we interpret everything in our way.

That is the story of the Snowdrop.




SOMETHING

"I mean to be somebody, and do something useful in the world,"
said the eldest of five brothers. "I don't care how humble my position
is, so that I can only do some good, which will be something. I intend
to be a brickmaker; bricks are always wanted, and I shall be really
doing something."

"Your 'something' is not enough for me," said the second
brother; "what you talk of doing is nothing at all, it is journeyman's
work, or might even be done by a machine. No! I should prefer to be
a builder at once, there is something real in that. A man gains a
position, he becomes a citizen, has his own sign, his own house of
call for his workmen: so I shall be a builder. If all goes well, in
time I shall become a master, and have my own journeymen, and my
wife will be treated as a master's wife. This is what I call
something."

"I call it all nothing," said the third; "not in reality any
position. There are many in a town far above a master builder in
position. You may be an upright man, but even as a master you will
only be ranked among common men. I know better what to do than that. I
will be an architect, which will place me among those who possess
riches and intellect, and who speculate in art. I shall certainly have
to rise by my own endeavors from a bricklayer's laborer, or as a
carpenter's apprentice--a lad wearing a paper cap, although I now wear
a silk hat. I shall have to fetch beer and spirits for the journeymen,
and they will call me 'thou,' which will be an insult. I shall
endure it, however, for I shall look upon it all as a mere
representation, a masquerade, a mummery, which to-morrow, that is,
when I myself as a journeyman, shall have served my time, will vanish,
and I shall go my way, and all that has passed will be nothing to
me. Then I shall enter the academy, and get instructed in drawing, and
be called an architect. I may even attain to rank, and have
something placed before or after my name, and I shall build as
others have done before me. By this there will be always 'something'
to make me remembered, and is not that worth living for?"

"Not in my opinion," said the fourth; "I will never follow the
lead of others, and only imitate what they have done. I will be a
genius, and become greater than all of you together. I will create a
new style of building, and introduce a plan for erecting houses
suitable to the climate, with material easily obtained in the country,
and thus suit national feeling and the developments of the age,
besides building a storey for my own genius."

"But supposing the climate and the material are not good for
much," said the fifth brother, "that would be very unfortunate for
you, and have an influence over your experiments. Nationality may
assert itself until it becomes affectation, and the developments of
a century may run wild, as youth often does. I see clearly that none
of you will ever really be anything worth notice, however you may
now fancy it. But do as you like, I shall not imitate you. I mean to
keep clear of all these things, and criticize what you do. In every
action something imperfect may be discovered, something not right,
which I shall make it my business to find out and expose; that will be
something, I fancy." And he kept his word, and became a critic.

People said of this fifth brother, "There is something very
precise about him; he has a good head-piece, but he does nothing." And
on that very account they thought he must be something.

Now, you see, this is a little history which will never end; as
long as the world exists, there will always be men like these five
brothers. And what became of them? Were they each nothing or
something? You shall hear; it is quite a history.

The eldest brother, he who fabricated bricks, soon discovered that
each brick, when finished, brought him in a small coin, if only a
copper one; and many copper pieces, if placed one upon another, can be
changed into a shining shilling; and at whatever door a person knocks,
who has a number of these in his hands, whether it be the baker's, the
butcher's, or the tailor's, the door flies open, and he can get all he
wants. So you see the value of bricks. Some of the bricks, however,
crumbled to pieces, or were broken, but the elder brother found a
use for even these.

On the high bank of earth, which formed a dyke on the sea-coast, a
poor woman named Margaret wished to build herself a house, so all
the imperfect bricks were given to her, and a few whole ones with
them; for the eldest brother was a kind-hearted man, although he never
achieved anything higher than making bricks. The poor woman built
herself a little house--it was small and narrow, and the window was
quite crooked, the door too low, and the straw roof might have been
better thatched. But still it was a shelter, and from within you could
look far over the sea, which dashed wildly against the sea-wall on
which the little house was built. The salt waves sprinkled their white
foam over it, but it stood firm, and remained long after he who had
given the bricks to build it was dead and buried.

The second brother of course knew better how to build than poor
Margaret, for he served an apprenticeship to learn it. When his time
was up, he packed up his knapsack, and went on his travels, singing
the journeyman's song,--

  "While young, I can wander without a care,
  And build new houses everywhere;
  Fair and bright are my dreams of home,
  Always thought of wherever I roam.

  Hurrah for a workman's life of glee!
  There's a loved one at home who thinks of me;
  Home and friends I can ne'er forget,
  And I mean to be a master yet."

And that is what he did. On his return home, he became a master
builder,--built one house after another in the town, till they
formed quite a street, which, when finished, became really an ornament
to the town. These houses built a house for him in return, which was
to be his own. But how can houses build a house? If the houses were
asked, they could not answer; but the people would understand, and
say, "Certainly the street built his house for him." It was not very
large, and the floor was of lime; but when he danced with his bride on
the lime-covered floor, it was to him white and shining, and from
every stone in the wall flowers seemed to spring forth and decorate
the room as with the richest tapestry. It was really a pretty house,
and in it were a happy pair. The flag of the corporation fluttered
before it, and the journeymen and apprentices shouted "Hurrah." He had
gained his position, he had made himself something, and at last he
died, which was "something" too.

Now we come to the architect, the third brother, who had been
first a carpenter's apprentice, had worn a cap, and served as an
errand boy, but afterwards went to the academy, and risen to be an
architect, a high and noble gentleman. Ah yes, the houses of the new
street, which the brother who was a master builder erected, may have
built his house for him, but the street received its name from the
architect, and the handsomest house in the street became his property.
That was something, and he was "something," for he had a list of
titles before and after his name. His children were called "wellborn,"
and when he died, his widow was treated as a lady of position, and
that was "something." His name remained always written at the corner
of the street, and lived in every one's mouth as its name. Yes, this
also was "something."

And what about the genius of the family--the fourth brother--who
wanted to invent something new and original? He tried to build a lofty
storey himself, but it fell to pieces, and he fell with it and broke
his neck. However, he had a splendid funeral, with the city flags
and music in the procession; flowers were strewn on the pavement,
and three orations were spoken over his grave, each one longer than
the other. He would have liked this very much during his life, as well
as the poems about him in the papers, for he liked nothing so well
as to be talked of. A monument was also erected over his grave. It was
only another storey over him, but that was "something," Now he was
dead, like the three other brothers.

The youngest--the critic--outlived them all, which was quite right
for him. It gave him the opportunity of having the last word, which to
him was of great importance. People always said he had a good
head-piece. At last his hour came, and he died, and arrived at the
gates of heaven. Souls always enter these gates in pairs; so he
found himself standing and waiting for admission with another; and who
should it be but old dame Margaret, from the house on the dyke! "It is
evidently for the sake of contrast that I and this wretched soul
should arrive here exactly at the same time," said the critic. "Pray
who are you, my good woman?" said he; "do you want to get in here
too?"

And the old woman curtsied as well as she could; she thought it
must be St. Peter himself who spoke to her. "I am a poor old woman,"
she said, "without my family. I am old Margaret, that lived in the
house on the dyke."

"Well, and what have you done--what great deed have you
performed down below?"

"I have done nothing at all in the world that could give me a
claim to have these doors open for me," she said. "It would be only
through mercy that I can be allowed to slip in through the gate."

"In what manner did you leave the world?" he asked, just for the
sake of saying something; for it made him feel very weary to stand
there and wait.

"How I left the world?" she replied; "why, I can scarcely tell
you. During the last years of my life I was sick and miserable, and
I was unable to bear creeping out of bed suddenly into the frost and
cold. Last winter was a hard winter, but I have got over it all now.
There were a few mild days, as your honor, no doubt, knows. The ice
lay thickly on the lake, as far one could see. The people came from
the town, and walked upon it, and they say there were dancing and
skating upon it, I believe, and a great feasting. The sound of
beautiful music came into my poor little room where I lay. Towards
evening, when the moon rose beautifully, though not yet in her full
splendor, I glanced from my bed over the wide sea; and there, just
where the sea and sky met, rose a curious white cloud. I lay looking
at the cloud till I observed a little black spot in the middle of
it, which gradually grew larger and larger, and then I knew what it
meant--I am old and experienced; and although this token is not
often seen, I knew it, and a shuddering seized me. Twice in my life
had I seen this same thing, and I knew that there would be an awful
storm, with a spring tide, which would overwhelm the poor people who
were now out on the ice, drinking, dancing, and making merry. Young
and old, the whole city, were there; who was to warn them, if no one
noticed the sign, or knew what it meant as I did? I was so alarmed,
that I felt more strength and life than I had done for some time. I
got out of bed, and reached the window; I could not crawl any
farther from weakness and exhaustion; but I managed to open the
window. I saw the people outside running and jumping about on the ice;
I saw the beautiful flags waving in the wind; I heard the boys
shouting, 'Hurrah!' and the lads and lasses singing, and everything
full of merriment and joy. But there was the white cloud with the
black spot hanging over them. I cried out as loudly as I could, but no
one heard me; I was too far off from the people. Soon would the
storm burst, the ice break, and all who were on it be irretrievably
lost. They could not hear me, and to go to them was quite out of my
power. Oh, if I could only get them safe on land! Then came the
thought, as if from heaven, that I would rather set fire to my bed,
and let the house be burnt down, than that so many people should
perish miserably. I got a light, and in a few moments the red flames
leaped up as a beacon to them. I escaped fortunately as far as the
threshold of the door; but there I fell down and remained: I could
go no farther. The flames rushed out towards me, flickered on the
window, and rose high above the roof. The people on the ice became
aware of the fire, and ran as fast as possible to help a poor sick
woman, who, as they thought, was being burnt to death. There was not
one who did not run. I heard them coming, and I also at the same
time was conscious of a rush of air and a sound like the roar of heavy
artillery. The spring flood was lifting the ice covering, which
brake into a thousand pieces. But the people had reached the sea-wall,
where the sparks were flying round. I had saved them all; but I
suppose I could not survive the cold and fright; so I came up here
to the gates of paradise. I am told they are open to poor creatures
such as I am, and I have now no house left on earth; but I do not
think that will give me a claim to be admitted here."

Then the gates were opened, and an angel led the old woman in. She
had dropped one little straw out of her straw bed, when she set it
on fire to save the lives of so many. It had been changed into the
purest gold--into gold that constantly grew and expanded into
flowers and fruit of immortal beauty.

"See," said the angel, pointing to the wonderful straw, "this is
what the poor woman has brought. What dost thou bring? I know thou
hast accomplished nothing, not even made a single brick. Even if
thou couldst return, and at least produce so much, very likely, when
made, the brick would be useless, unless done with a good will,
which is always something. But thou canst not return to earth, and I
can do nothing for thee."

Then the poor soul, the old mother who had lived in the house on
the dyke, pleaded for him. She said, "His brother made all the stone
and bricks, and sent them to me to build my poor little dwelling,
which was a great deal to do for a poor woman like me. Could not all
these bricks and pieces be as a wall of stone to prevail for him? It
is an act of mercy; he is wanting it now; and here is the very
fountain of mercy."

"Then," said the angel, "thy brother, he who has been looked
upon as the meanest of you all, he whose honest deeds to thee appeared
so humble,--it is he who has sent you this heavenly gift. Thou shalt
not be turned away. Thou shalt have permission to stand without the
gate and reflect, and repent of thy life on earth; but thou shalt
not be admitted here until thou hast performed one good deed of
repentance, which will indeed for thee be something."

"I could have expressed that better," thought the critic; but he
did not say it aloud, which for him was SOMETHING, after all.




SOUP FROM A SAUSAGE SKEWER

"We had such an excellent dinner yesterday," said an old mouse
of the female sex to another who had not been present at the feast. "I
sat number twenty-one below the mouse-king, which was not a bad place.
Shall I tell you what we had? Everything was first rate. Mouldy bread,
tallow candle, and sausage. And then, when we had finished that
course, the same came on all over again; it was as good as two feasts.
We were very sociable, and there was as much joking and fun as if we
had been all of one family circle. Nothing was left but the sausage
skewers, and this formed a subject of conversation, till at last it
turned to the proverb, 'Soup from sausage skins;' or, as the people in
the neighboring country call it, 'Soup from a sausage skewer.' Every
one had heard the proverb, but no one had ever tasted the soup, much
less prepared it. A capital toast was drunk to the inventor of the
soup, and some one said he ought to be made a relieving officer to the
poor. Was not that witty? Then the old mouse-king rose and promised
that the young lady-mouse who should learn how best to prepare this
much-admired and savory soup should be his queen, and a year and a day
should be allowed for the purpose."

"That was not at all a bad proposal," said the other mouse; "but
how is the soup made?"

"Ah, that is more than I can tell you. All the young lady mice
were asking the same question. They wished very much to be queen,
but they did not want to take the trouble of going out into the
world to learn how to make soup, which was absolutely necessary to
be done first. But it is not every one who would care to leave her
family, or her happy corner by the fire-side at home, even to be
made queen. It is not always easy to find bacon and cheese-rind in
foreign lands every day, and it is not pleasant to have to endure
hunger, and be perhaps, after all, eaten up alive by the cat."

Most probably some such thoughts as these discouraged the
majority from going out into the world to collect the required
information. Only four mice gave notice that they were ready to set
out on the journey. They were young and lively, but poor. Each of them
wished to visit one of the four divisions of the world, so that it
might be seen which was the most favored by fortune. Every one took
a sausage skewer as a traveller's staff, and to remind them of the
object of their journey. They left home early in May, and none of them
returned till the first of May in the following year, and then only
three of them. Nothing was seen or heard of the fourth, although the
day of decision was close at hand. "Ah, yes, there is always some
trouble mixed up with the greatest pleasure," said the mouse-king; but
he gave orders that all the mice within a circle of many miles
should be invited at once. They were to assemble in the kitchen, and
the three travelled mice were to stand in a row before them, while a
sausage skewer, covered with crape, was to be stuck up instead of
the missing mouse. No one dared to express an opinion until the king
spoke, and desired one of them to go on with her story. And now we
shall hear what she said.


WHAT THE FIRST LITTLE MOUSE SAW AND HEARD ON HER TRAVELS

"When I first went out into the world," said the little mouse,
"I fancied, as so many of my age do, that I already knew everything,
but it was not so. It takes years to acquire great knowledge. I went
at once to sea in a ship bound for the north. I had been told that the
ship's cook must know how to prepare every dish at sea, and it is easy
enough to do that with plenty of sides of bacon, and large tubs of
salt meat and mouldy flour. There I found plenty of delicate food, but
no opportunity for learning how to make soup from a sausage skewer. We
sailed on for many days and nights; the ship rocked fearfully, and
we did not escape without a wetting. As soon as we arrived at the port
to which the ship was bound, I left it, and went on shore at a place
far towards the north. It is a wonderful thing to leave your own
little corner at home, to hide yourself in a ship where there are sure
to be some nice snug corners for shelter, then suddenly to find
yourself thousands of miles away in a foreign land. I saw large
pathless forests of pine and birch trees, which smelt so strong that I
sneezed and thought of sausage. There were great lakes also which
looked as black as ink at a distance, but were quite clear when I came
close to them. Large swans were floating upon them, and I thought at
first they were only foam, they lay so still; but when I saw them walk
and fly, I knew what they were directly. They belong to the goose
species, one can see that by their walk. No one can attempt to
disguise family descent. I kept with my own kind, and associated
with the forest and field mice, who, however, knew very little,
especially about what I wanted to know, and which had actually made me
travel abroad. The idea that soup could be made from a sausage
skewer was to them such an out-of-the-way, unlikely thought, that it
was repeated from one to another through the whole forest. They
declared that the problem would never be solved, that the thing was an
impossibility. How little I thought that in this place, on the very
first night, I should be initiated into the manner of its preparation.

"It was the height of summer, which the mice told me was the
reason that the forest smelt so strong, and that the herbs were so
fragrant, and the lakes with the white swimming swans so dark, and yet
so clear. On the margin of the wood, near to three or four houses, a
pole, as large as the mainmast of a ship, had been erected, and from
the summit hung wreaths of flowers and fluttering ribbons; it was
the Maypole. Lads and lasses danced round the pole, and tried to outdo
the violins of the musicians with their singing. They were as merry as
ever at sunset and in the moonlight, but I took no part in the
merry-making. What has a little mouse to do with a Maypole dance? I
sat in the soft moss, and held my sausage skewer tight. The moon threw
its beams particularly on one spot where stood a tree covered with
exceedingly fine moss. I may almost venture to say that it was as fine
and soft as the fur of the mouse-king, but it was green, which is a
color very agreeable to the eye. All at once I saw the most charming
little people marching towards me. They did not reach higher than my
knee; they looked like human beings, but were better proportioned, and
they called themselves elves. Their clothes were very delicate and
fine, for they were made of the leaves of flowers, trimmed with the
wings of flies and gnats, which had not a bad effect. By their manner,
it appeared as if they were seeking for something. I knew not what,
till at last one of them espied me and came towards me, and the
foremost pointed to my sausage skewer, and said, 'There, that is
just what we want; see, it is pointed at the top; is it not
capital?' and the longer he looked at my pilgrim's staff, the more
delighted he became. 'I will lend it to you,' said I, 'but not to
keep.'

"'Oh no, we won't keep it!' they all cried; and then they seized
the skewer, which I gave up to them, and danced with it to the spot
where the delicate moss grew, and set it up in the middle of the
green. They wanted a maypole, and the one they now had seemed cut
out on purpose for them. Then they decorated it so beautifully that it
was quite dazzling to look at. Little spiders spun golden threads
around it, and then it was hung with fluttering veils and flags so
delicately white that they glittered like snow in the moonshine. After
that they took colors from the butterfly's wing, and sprinkled them
over the white drapery which gleamed as if covered with flowers and
diamonds, so that I could not recognize my sausage skewer at all. Such
a maypole had never been seen in all the world as this. Then came a
great company of real elves. Nothing could be finer than their
clothes, and they invited me to be present at the feast; but I was
to keep at a certain distance, because I was too large for them.
Then commenced such music that it sounded like a thousand glass bells,
and was so full and strong that I thought it must be the song of the
swans. I fancied also that I heard the voices of the cuckoo and the
black-bird, and it seemed at last as if the whole forest sent forth
glorious melodies--the voices of children, the tinkling of bells,
and the songs of the birds; and all this wonderful melody came from
the elfin maypole. My sausage peg was a complete peal of bells. I
could scarcely believe that so much could have been produced from
it, till I remembered into what hands it had fallen. I was so much
affected that I wept tears such as a little mouse can weep, but they
were tears of joy. The night was far too short for me; there are no
long nights there in summer, as we often have in this part of the
world. When the morning dawned, and the gentle breeze rippled the
glassy mirror of the forest lake, all the delicate veils and flags
fluttered away into thin air; the waving garlands of the spider's web,
the hanging bridges and galleries, or whatever else they may be
called, vanished away as if they had never been. Six elves brought
me back my sausage skewer, and at the same time asked me to make any
request, which they would grant if in their power; so I begged them,
if they could, to tell me how to make soup from a sausage skewer.

"'How do we make it?' said the chief of the elves with a smile.
'Why you have just seen it; you scarcely knew your sausage skewer
again, I am sure.'

"They think themselves very wise, thought I to myself. Then I told
them all about it, and why I had travelled so far, and also what
promise had been made at home to the one who should discover the
method of preparing this soup. 'What use will it be,' I asked, 'to the
mouse-king or to our whole mighty kingdom that I have seen all these
beautiful things? I cannot shake the sausage peg and say, Look, here
is the skewer, and now the soup will come. That would only produce a
dish to be served when people were keeping a fast.'

"Then the elf dipped his finger into the cup of a violet, and said
to me, 'Look here, I will anoint your pilgrim's staff, so that when
you return to your own home and enter the king's castle, you have only
to touch the king with your staff, and violets will spring forth and
cover the whole of it, even in the coldest winter time; so I think I
have given you really something to carry home, and a little more
than something.'"

But before the little mouse explained what this something more
was, she stretched her staff out to the king, and as it touched him
the most beautiful bunch of violets sprang forth and filled the
place with perfume. The smell was so powerful that the mouse-king
ordered the mice who stood nearest the chimney to thrust their tails
into the fire, that there might be a smell of burning, for the perfume
of the violets was overpowering, and not the sort of scent that
every one liked.

"But what was the something more of which you spoke just now?"
asked the mouse-king.

"Why," answered the little mouse, "I think it is what they call
'effect;'" and thereupon she turned the staff round, and behold not
a single flower was to be seen upon it! She now only held the naked
skewer, and lifted it up as a conductor lifts his baton at a
concert. "Violets, the elf told me," continued the mouse, "are for the
sight, the smell, and the touch; so we have only now to produce the
effect of hearing and tasting;" and then, as the little mouse beat
time with her staff, there came sounds of music, not such music as was
heard in the forest, at the elfin feast, but such as is often heard in
the kitchen--the sounds of boiling and roasting. It came quite
suddenly, like wind rushing through the chimneys, and seemed as if
every pot and kettle were boiling over. The fire-shovel clattered down
on the brass fender; and then, quite as suddenly, all was still,--nothing
could be heard but the light, vapory song of the tea-kettle,
which was quite wonderful to hear, for no one could rightly
distinguish whether the kettle was just beginning to boil or going
to stop. And the little pot steamed, and the great pot simmered, but
without any regard for each; indeed there seemed no sense in the
pots at all. And as the little mouse waved her baton still more
wildly, the pots foamed and threw up bubbles, and boiled over; while
again the wind roared and whistled through the chimney, and at last
there was such a terrible hubbub, that the little mouse let her
stick fall.

"That is a strange sort of soup," said the mouse-king; "shall we
not now hear about the preparation?"

"That is all," answered the little mouse, with a bow.

"That all!" said the mouse-king; "then we shall be glad to hear
what information the next may have to give us."


WHAT THE SECOND MOUSE HAD TO TELL

"I was born in the library, at a castle," said the second mouse.
"Very few members of our family ever had the good fortune to get
into the dining-room, much less the store-room. On my journey, and
here to-day, are the only times I have ever seen a kitchen. We were
often obliged to suffer hunger in the library, but then we gained a
great deal of knowledge. The rumor reached us of the royal prize
offered to those who should be able to make soup from a sausage
skewer. Then my old grandmother sought out a manuscript which,
however, she could not read, but had heard it read, and in it was
written, 'Those who are poets can make soup of sausage skewers.' She
then asked me if I was a poet. I felt myself quite innocent of any
such pretensions. Then she said I must go out and make myself a
poet. I asked again what I should be required to do, for it seemed
to me quite as difficult as to find out how to make soup of a
sausage skewer. My grandmother had heard a great deal of reading in
her day, and she told me three principal qualifications were
necessary--understanding, imagination, and feeling. 'If you can manage
to acquire these three, you will be a poet, and the sausage-skewer
soup will be quite easy to you.'

"So I went forth into the world, and turned my steps towards the
west, that I might become a poet. Understanding is the most
important matter in everything. I knew that, for the two other
qualifications are not thought much of; so I went first to seek for
understanding. Where was I to find it? 'Go to the ant and learn
wisdom,' said the great Jewish king. I knew that from living in a
library. So I went straight on till I came to the first great
ant-hill, and then I set myself to watch, that I might become wise.
The ants are a very respectable people, they are wisdom itself. All
they do is like the working of a sum in arithmetic, which comes right.
'To work and to lay eggs,' say they, and to provide for posterity,
is to live out your time properly;' and that they truly do. They are
divided into the clean and the dirty ants, their rank is pointed out
by a number, and the ant-queen is number ONE; and her opinion is the
only correct one on everything; she seems to have the whole wisdom
of the world in her, which was just the important matter I wished to
acquire. She said a great deal which was no doubt very clever; yet
to me it sounded like nonsense. She said the ant-hill was the loftiest
thing in the world, and yet close to the mound stood a tall tree,
which no one could deny was loftier, much loftier, but no mention
was made of the tree. One evening an ant lost herself on this tree;
she had crept up the stem, not nearly to the top, but higher than
any ant had ever ventured; and when at last she returned home she said
that she had found something in her travels much higher than the
ant-hill. The rest of the ants considered this an insult to the
whole community; so she was condemned to wear a muzzle and to live
in perpetual solitude. A short time afterwards another ant got on
the tree, and made the same journey and the same discovery, but she
spoke of it cautiously and indefinitely, and as she was one of the
superior ants and very much respected, they believed her, and when she
died they erected an eggshell as a monument to her memory, for they
cultivated a great respect for science. I saw," said the little mouse,
"that the ants were always running to and fro with her burdens on
their backs. Once I saw one of them drop her load; she gave herself
a great deal of trouble in trying to raise it again, but she could not
succeed. Then two others came up and tried with all their strength
to help her, till they nearly dropped their own burdens in doing so;
then they were obliged to stop for a moment in their help, for every
one must think of himself first. And the ant-queen remarked that their
conduct that day showed that they possessed kind hearts and good
understanding. 'These two qualities,' she continued, 'place us ants in
the highest degree above all other reasonable beings. Understanding
must therefore be seen among us in the most prominent manner, and my
wisdom is greater than all.' And so saying she raised herself on her
two hind legs, that no one else might be mistaken for her. I could not
therefore make an error, so I ate her up. We are to go to the ants
to learn wisdom, and I had got the queen.

"I now turned and went nearer to the lofty tree already mentioned,
which was an oak. It had a tall trunk with a wide-spreading top, and
was very old. I knew that a living being dwelt here, a dryad as she is
called, who is born with the tree and dies with it. I had heard this
in the library, and here was just such a tree, and in it an
oak-maiden. She uttered a terrible scream when she caught sight of
me so near to her; like many women, she was very much afraid of
mice. And she had more real cause for fear than they have, for I might
have gnawed through the tree on which her life depended. I spoke to
her in a kind and friendly manner, and begged her to take courage.
At last she took me up in her delicate hand, and then I told her
what had brought me out into the world, and she promised me that
perhaps on that very evening she should be able to obtain for me one
of the two treasures for which I was seeking. She told me that
Phantaesus was her very dear friend, that he was as beautiful as the
god of love, that he remained often for many hours with her under
the leafy boughs of the tree which then rustled and waved more than
ever over them both. He called her his dryad, she said, and the tree
his tree; for the grand old oak, with its gnarled trunk, was just to
his taste. The root, spreading deep into the earth, the top rising
high in the fresh air, knew the value of the drifted snow, the keen
wind, and the warm sunshine, as it ought to be known. 'Yes,' continued
the dryad, 'the birds sing up above in the branches, and talk to
each other about the beautiful fields they have visited in foreign
lands; and on one of the withered boughs a stork has built his
nest,--it is beautifully arranged, and besides it is pleasant to
hear a little about the land of the pyramids. All this pleases
Phantaesus, but it is not enough for him; I am obliged to relate to
him of my life in the woods; and to go back to my childhood, when I
was little, and the tree so small and delicate that a stinging-nettle
could overshadow it, and I have to tell everything that has happened
since then till now that the tree is so large and strong. Sit you
down now under the green bindwood and pay attention, when Phantaesus
comes I will find an opportunity to lay hold of his wing and to pull
out one of the little feathers. That feather you shall have; a
better was never given to any poet, it will be quite enough for you.'

"And when Phantaesus came the feather was plucked, and," said
the little mouse, "I seized and put it in water, and kept it there
till it was quite soft. It was very heavy and indigestible, but I
managed to nibble it up at last. It is not so easy to nibble one's
self into a poet, there are so many things to get through. Now,
however, I had two of them, understanding and imagination; and through
these I knew that the third was to be found in the library. A great
man has said and written that there are novels whose sole and only use
appeared to be that they might relieve mankind of overflowing tears--a
kind of sponge, in fact, for sucking up feelings and emotions. I
remembered a few of these books, they had always appeared tempting
to the appetite; they had been much read, and were so greasy, that
they must have absorbed no end of emotions in themselves. I retraced
my steps to the library, and literally devoured a whole novel, that
is, properly speaking, the interior or soft part of it; the crust,
or binding, I left. When I had digested not only this, but a second, I
felt a stirring within me; then I ate a small piece of a third
romance, and felt myself a poet. I said it to myself, and told
others the same. I had head-ache and back-ache, and I cannot tell what
aches besides. I thought over all the stories that may be said to be
connected with sausage pegs, and all that has ever been written
about skewers, and sticks, and staves, and splinters came to my
thoughts; the ant-queen must have had a wonderfully clear
understanding. I remembered the man who placed a white stick in his
mouth by which he could make himself and the stick invisible. I
thought of sticks as hobby-horses, staves of music or rhyme, of
breaking a stick over a man's back, and heaven knows how many more
phrases of the same sort relating to sticks, staves, and skewers.
All my thoughts rein on skewers, sticks of wood, and staves; and as
I am, at last, a poet, and I have worked terribly hard to make
myself one, I can of course make poetry on anything. I shall therefore
be able to wait upon you every day in the week with a poetical history
of a skewer. And that is my soup."

"In that case," said the mouse-king, "we will hear what the
third mouse has to say."

"Squeak, squeak," cried a little mouse at the kitchen door; it was
the fourth, and not the third, of the four who were contending for the
prize, one whom the rest supposed to be dead. She shot in like an
arrow, and overturned the sausage peg that had been covered with
crape. She had been running day and night. She had watched an
opportunity to get into a goods train, and had travelled by the
railway; and yet she had arrived almost too late. She pressed forward,
looking very much ruffled. She had lost her sausage skewer, but not
her voice; for she began to speak at once as if they only waited for
her, and would hear her only, and as if nothing else in the world
was of the least consequence. She spoke out so clearly and plainly,
and she had come in so suddenly, that no one had time to stop her or
to say a word while she was speaking. And now let us hear what she
said.


WHAT THE FOURTH MOUSE, WHO SPOKE BEFORE THE THIRD, HAD TO TELL

"I started off at once to the largest town," said she, "but the
name of it has escaped me. I have a very bad memory for names. I was
carried from the railway, with some forfeited goods, to the jail,
and on arriving I made my escape, and ran into the house of the
turnkey. The turnkey was speaking of his prisoners, especially of
one who had uttered thoughtless words. These words had given rise to
other words, and at length they were written down and registered: 'The
whole affair is like making soup of sausage skewers,' said he, 'but
the soup may cost him his neck.'

"Now this raised in me an interest for the prisoner," continued
the little mouse, "and I watched my opportunity, and slipped into
his apartment, for there is a mouse-hole to be found behind every
closed door. The prisoner looked pale; he had a great beard and large,
sparkling eyes. There was a lamp burning, but the walls were so
black that they only looked the blacker for it. The prisoner scratched
pictures and verses with white chalk on the black walls, but I did not
read the verses. I think he found his confinement wearisome, so that I
was a welcome guest. He enticed me with bread-crumbs, with
whistling, and with gentle words, and seemed so friendly towards me,
that by degrees I gained confidence in him, and we became friends;
he divided his bread and water with me, gave me cheese and sausage,
and I really began to love him. Altogether, I must own that it was a
very pleasant intimacy. He let me run about on his hand, and on his
arm, and into his sleeve; and I even crept into his beard, and he
called me his little friend. I forgot what I had come out into the
world for; forgot my sausage skewer which I had laid in a crack in the
floor--it is lying there still. I wished to stay with him always where
I was, for I knew that if I went away the poor prisoner would have
no one to be his friend, which is a sad thing. I stayed, but he did
not. He spoke to me so mournfully for the last time, gave me double as
much bread and cheese as usual, and kissed his hand to me. Then he
went away, and never came back. I know nothing more of his history.

"The jailer took possession of me now. He said something about
soup from a sausage skewer, but I could not trust him. He took me in
his hand certainly, but it was to place me in a cage like a
tread-mill. Oh how dreadful it was! I had to run round and round
without getting any farther in advance, and only to make everybody
laugh. The jailer's grand-daughter was a charming little thing. She
had curly hair like the brightest gold, merry eyes, and such a smiling
mouth.

"'You poor little mouse,' said she, one day as she peeped into
my cage, 'I will set you free.' She then drew forth the iron
fastening, and I sprang out on the window-sill, and from thence to the
roof. Free! free! that was all I could think of; not of the object
of my journey. It grew dark, and as night was coming on I found a
lodging in an old tower, where dwelt a watchman and an owl. I had no
confidence in either of them, least of all in the owl, which is like a
cat, and has a great failing, for she eats mice. One may however be
mistaken sometimes; and so was I, for this was a respectable and
well-educated old owl, who knew more than the watchman, and even as
much as I did myself. The young owls made a great fuss about
everything, but the only rough words she would say to them were,
'You had better go and make some soup from sausage skewers.' She was
very indulgent and loving to her children. Her conduct gave me such
confidence in her, that from the crack where I sat I called out
'squeak.' This confidence of mine pleased her so much that she assured
me she would take me under her own protection, and that not a creature
should do me harm. The fact was, she wickedly meant to keep me in
reserve for her own eating in winter, when food would be scarce. Yet
she was a very clever lady-owl; she explained to me that the
watchman could only hoot with the horn that hung loose at his side;
and then she said he is so terribly proud of it, that he imagines
himself an owl in the tower;--wants to do great things, but only
succeeds in small; all soup on a sausage skewer. Then I begged the owl
to give me the recipe for this soup. 'Soup from a sausage skewer,'
said she, 'is only a proverb amongst mankind, and may be understood in
many ways. Each believes his own way the best, and after all, the
proverb signifies nothing.' 'Nothing!' I exclaimed. I was quite
struck. Truth is not always agreeable, but truth is above everything
else, as the old owl said. I thought over all this, and saw quite
plainly that if truth was really so far above everything else, it must
be much more valuable than soup from a sausage skewer. So I hastened
to get away, that I might be home in time, and bring what was
highest and best, and above everything--namely, the truth. The mice
are an enlightened people, and the mouse-king is above them all. He is
therefore capable of making me queen for the sake of truth."

"Your truth is a falsehood," said the mouse who had not yet
spoken; "I can prepare the soup, and I mean to do so."


HOW IT WAS PREPARED

"I did not travel," said the third mouse; "I stayed in this country:
that was the right way. One gains nothing by travelling--everything
can be acquired here quite as easily; so I stayed at home. I
have not obtained what I know from supernatural beings. I have
neither swallowed it, nor learnt it from conversing with owls. I
have got it all from my reflections and thoughts. Will you now set the
kettle on the fire--so? Now pour the water in--quite full--up to the
brim; place it on the fire; make up a good blaze; keep it burning,
that the water may boil; it must boil over and over. There, now I
throw in the skewer. Will the mouse-king be pleased now to dip his
tail into the boiling water, and stir it round with the tail. The
longer the king stirs it, the stronger the soup will become. Nothing
more is necessary, only to stir it."

"Can no one else do this?" asked the king.

"No," said the mouse; "only in the tail of the mouse-king is
this power contained."

And the water boiled and bubbled, as the mouse-king stood close
beside the kettle. It seemed rather a dangerous performance; but he
turned round, and put out his tail, as mice do in a dairy, when they
wish to skim the cream from a pan of milk with their tails and
afterwards lick it off. But the mouse-king's tail had only just
touched the hot steam, when he sprang away from the chimney in a great
hurry, exclaiming, "Oh, certainly, by all means, you must be my queen;
and we will let the soup question rest till our golden wedding,
fifty years hence; so that the poor in my kingdom, who are then to
have plenty of food, will have something to look forward to for a long
time, with great joy."

And very soon the wedding took place. But many of the mice, as
they were returning home, said that the soup could not be properly
called "soup from a sausage skewer," but "soup from a mouse's tail."
They acknowledged also that some of the stories were very well told;
but that the whole could have been managed differently. "I should have
told it so--and so--and so." These were the critics who are always
so clever afterwards.

When this story was circulated all over the world, the opinions
upon it were divided; but the story remained the same. And, after all,
the best way in everything you undertake, great as well as small, is
to expect no thanks for anything you may do, even when it refers to
"soup from a sausage skewer."




THE STORKS

On the last house in a little village the storks had built a nest,
and the mother stork sat in it with her four young ones, who stretched
out their necks and pointed their black beaks, which had not yet
turned red like those of the parent birds. A little way off, on the
edge of the roof, stood the father stork, quite upright and stiff; not
liking to be quite idle, he drew up one leg, and stood on the other,
so still that it seemed almost as if he were carved in wood. "It
must look very grand," thought he, "for my wife to have a sentry
guarding her nest. They do not know that I am her husband; they will
think I have been commanded to stand here, which is quite
aristocratic;" and so he continued standing on one leg.

In the street below were a number of children at play, and when
they caught sight of the storks, one of the boldest amongst the boys
began to sing a song about them, and very soon he was joined by the
rest. These are the words of the song, but each only sang what he
could remember of them in his own way.

  "Stork, stork, fly away,
  Stand not on one leg, I pray,
  See your wife is in her nest,
  With her little ones at rest.
  They will hang one,
  And fry another;
  They will shoot a third,
  And roast his brother."


"Just hear what those boys are singing," said the young storks;
"they say we shall be hanged and roasted."

"Never mind what they say; you need not listen," said the
mother. "They can do no harm."

But the boys went on singing and pointing at the storks, and
mocking at them, excepting one of the boys whose name was Peter; he
said it was a shame to make fun of animals, and would not join with
them at all. The mother stork comforted her young ones, and told
them not to mind. "See," she said, "How quiet your father stands,
although he is only on one leg."

"But we are very much frightened," said the young storks, and they
drew back their heads into the nests.

The next day when the children were playing together, and saw
the storks, they sang the song again--

  "They will hang one,
  And roast another."


"Shall we be hanged and roasted?" asked the young storks.

"No, certainly not," said the mother. "I will teach you to fly,
and when you have learnt, we will fly into the meadows, and pay a
visit to the frogs, who will bow themselves to us in the water, and
cry 'Croak, croak,' and then we shall eat them up; that will be fun."

"And what next?" asked the young storks.

"Then," replied the mother, "all the storks in the country will
assemble together, and go through their autumn manoeuvres, so that
it is very important for every one to know how to fly properly. If
they do not, the general will thrust them through with his beak, and
kill them. Therefore you must take pains and learn, so as to be
ready when the drilling begins."

"Then we may be killed after all, as the boys say; and hark!
they are singing again."

"Listen to me, and not to them," said the mother stork. "After the
great review is over, we shall fly away to warm countries far from
hence, where there are mountains and forests. To Egypt, where we shall
see three-cornered houses built of stone, with pointed tops that reach
nearly to the clouds. They are called Pyramids, and are older than a
stork could imagine; and in that country, there is a river that
overflows its banks, and then goes back, leaving nothing but mire;
there we can walk about, and eat frogs in abundance."

"Oh, o--h!" cried the young storks.

"Yes, it is a delightful place; there is nothing to do all day
long but eat, and while we are so well off out there, in this
country there will not be a single green leaf on the trees, and the
weather will be so cold that the clouds will freeze, and fall on the
earth in little white rags." The stork meant snow, but she could not
explain it in any other way.

"Will the naughty boys freeze and fall in pieces?" asked the young
storks.

"No, they will not freeze and fall into pieces," said the
mother, "but they will be very cold, and be obliged to sit all day
in a dark, gloomy room, while we shall be flying about in foreign
lands, where there are blooming flowers and warm sunshine."

Time passed on, and the young storks grew so large that they could
stand upright in the nest and look about them. The father brought
them, every day, beautiful frogs, little snakes, and all kinds of
stork-dainties that he could find. And then, how funny it was to see
the tricks he would perform to amuse them. He would lay his head quite
round over his tail, and clatter with his beak, as if it had been a
rattle; and then he would tell them stories all about the marshes
and fens.

"Come," said the mother one day, "Now you must learn to fly."
And all the four young ones were obliged to come out on the top of the
roof. Oh, how they tottered at first, and were obliged to balance
themselves with their wings, or they would have fallen to the ground
below.

"Look at me," said the mother, "you must hold your heads in this
way, and place your feet so. Once, twice, once, twice--that is it. Now
you will be able to take care of yourselves in the world."

Then she flew a little distance from them, and the young ones made
a spring to follow her; but down they fell plump, for their bodies
were still too heavy.

"I don't want to fly," said one of the young storks, creeping back
into the nest. "I don't care about going to warm countries."

"Would you like to stay here and freeze when the winter comes?"
said the mother, "or till the boys comes to hang you, or to roast
you?--Well then, I'll call them."

"Oh no, no," said the young stork, jumping out on the roof with
the others; and now they were all attentive, and by the third day
could fly a little. Then they began to fancy they could soar, so
they tried to do so, resting on their wings, but they soon found
themselves falling, and had to flap their wings as quickly as
possible. The boys came again in the street singing their song:--

  "Stork, stork, fly away."


"Shall we fly down, and pick their eyes out?" asked the young
storks.

"No; leave them alone," said the mother. "Listen to me; that is
much more important. Now then. One-two-three. Now to the right.
One-two-three. Now to the left, round the chimney. There now, that was
very good. That last flap of the wings was so easy and graceful,
that I shall give you permission to fly with me to-morrow to the
marshes. There will be a number of very superior storks there with
their families, and I expect you to show them that my children are the
best brought up of any who may be present. You must strut about
proudly--it will look well and make you respected."

"But may we not punish those naughty boys?" asked the young
storks.

"No; let them scream away as much as they like. You can fly from
them now up high amid the clouds, and will be in the land of the
pyramids when they are freezing, and have not a green leaf on the
trees or an apple to eat."

"We will revenge ourselves," whispered the young storks to each
other, as they again joined the exercising.

Of all the boys in the street who sang the mocking song about
the storks, not one was so determined to go on with it as he who first
began it. Yet he was a little fellow not more than six years old. To
the young storks he appeared at least a hundred, for he was so much
bigger than their father and mother. To be sure, storks cannot be
expected to know how old children and grown-up people are. So they
determined to have their revenge on this boy, because he began the
song first and would keep on with it. The young storks were very
angry, and grew worse as they grew older; so at last their mother
was obliged to promise that they should be revenged, but not until the
day of their departure.

"We must see first, how you acquit yourselves at the grand
review," said she. "If you get on badly there, the general will thrust
his beak through you, and you will be killed, as the boys said, though
not exactly in the same manner. So we must wait and see."

"You shall see," said the young birds, and then they took such
pains and practised so well every day, that at last it was quite a
pleasure to see them fly so lightly and prettily. As soon as the
autumn arrived, all the storks began to assemble together before
taking their departure for warm countries during the winter. Then
the review commenced. They flew over forests and villages to show what
they could do, for they had a long journey before them. The young
storks performed their part so well that they received a mark of
honor, with frogs and snakes as a present. These presents were the
best part of the affair, for they could eat the frogs and snakes,
which they very quickly did.

"Now let us have our revenge," they cried.

"Yes, certainly," cried the mother stork. "I have thought upon the
best way to be revenged. I know the pond in which all the little
children lie, waiting till the storks come to take them to their
parents. The prettiest little babies lie there dreaming more sweetly
than they will ever dream in the time to come. All parents are glad to
have a little child, and children are so pleased with a little brother
or sister. Now we will fly to the pond and fetch a little baby for
each of the children who did not sing that naughty song to make game
of the storks."

"But the naughty boy, who began the song first, what shall we do
to him?" cried the young storks.

"There lies in the pond a little dead baby who has dreamed
itself to death," said the mother. "We will take it to the naughty
boy, and he will cry because we have brought him a little dead
brother. But you have not forgotten the good boy who said it was a
shame to laugh at animals: we will take him a little brother and
sister too, because he was good. He is called Peter, and you shall all
be called Peter in future."

So they all did what their mother had arranged, and from that day,
even till now, all the storks have been called Peter.




THE STORM SHAKES THE SHIELD

In the old days, when grandpapa was quite a little boy, and ran
about in little red breeches and a red coat, and a feather in his
cap--for that's the costume the little boys wore in his time when they were
dressed in their best--many things were very different from what
they are now. There was often a good deal of show in the streets--show
that we don't see nowadays, because it has been abolished as too
old-fashioned. Still, it is very interesting to hear grandfather
tell about it.

It must really have been a gorgeous sight to behold, in those
days, when the shoemaker brought over the shield, when the court-house
was changed. The silken flag waved to and fro, on the shield itself
a double eagle was displayed, and a big boot; the youngest lads
carried the "welcome," and the chest of the workmen's guild, and their
shirt-sleeves were adorned with red and white ribbons; the elder
ones carried drawn swords, each with a lemon stuck on its point. There
was a full band of music, and the most splendid of all the instruments
was the "bird," as grandfather called the big stick with the
crescent on the top, and all manner of dingle-dangles hanging to it--a
perfect Turkish clatter of music. The stick was lifted high in the
air, and swung up and down till it jingled again, and quite dazzled
one's eyes when the sun shone on all its glory of gold, and silver,
and brass.

In front of the procession ran the Harlequin, dressed in clothes
made of all kinds of colored patches artfully sewn together, with a
black face, and bells on his head like a sledge horse. He beat the
people with his bat, which made a great clattering without hurting
them, and the people would crowd together and fall back, only to
advance again the next moment. Little boys and girls fell over their
own toes into the gutter, old women dispensed digs with their
elbows, and looked sour, and took snuff. One laughed, another chatted;
the people thronged the windows and door-steps, and even all the
roofs. The sun shone; and although they had a little rain too, that
was good for the farmer; and when they got wetted thoroughly, they
only thought what a blessing it was for the country.

And what stories grandpapa could tell! As a little boy he had seen
all these fine doings in their greatest pomp. The oldest of the
policemen used to make a speech from the platform on which the
shield was hung up, and the speech was in verse, as if it had been
made by a poet, as, indeed it had; for three people had concocted it
together, and they had first drunk a good bowl of punch, so that the
speech might turn out well.

And the people gave a cheer for the speech, but they shouted
much louder for the Harlequin, when he appeared in front of the
platform, and made a grimace at them.

The fools played the fool most admirably, and drank mead out of
spirit-glasses, which they then flung among the crowd, by whom they
were caught up. Grandfather was the possessor of one of these glasses,
which had been given him by a working mason, who had managed to
catch it. Such a scene was really very pleasant; and the shield on the
new court-house was hung with flowers and green wreaths.

"One never forgets a feast like that, however old one may grow,"
said grandfather. Nor did he forget it, though he saw many other grand
spectacles in his time, and could tell about them too; but it was most
pleasant of all to hear him tell about the shield that was brought
in the town from the old to the new court-house.

Once, when he was a little boy, grandpapa had gone with his
parents to see this festivity. He had never yet been in the metropolis
of the country. There were so many people in the streets, that he
thought that the shield was being carried. There were many shields
to be seen; a hundred rooms might have been filled with pictures, if
they had been hung up inside and outside. At the tailor's were
pictures of all kinds of clothing, to show that he could stitch up
people from the coarsest to the finest; at the tobacco manufacturer's
were pictures of the most charming little boys, smoking cigars,
just as they do in reality; there were signs with painted butter,
and herring, clerical collars, and coffins, and inscriptions
and announcements into the bargain. A person could walk up and down
for a whole day through the streets, and tire himself out with looking
at the pictures; and then he would know all about what people lived in
the houses, for they had hung out their shields or signs; and, as
grandfather said, it was a very instructive thing, in a great town, to
know at once who the inhabitants were.

And this is what happened with these shields, when grandpapa
came to the town. He told it me himself, and he hadn't "a rogue on his
back," as mother used to tell me he had when he wanted to make me
believe something outrageous, for now he looked quite trustworthy.

The first night after he came to the town had been signalized by
the most terrible gale ever recorded in the newspapers--a gale such as
none of the inhabitants had ever before experienced. The air was
dark with flying tiles; old wood-work crashed and fell; and a
wheelbarrow ran up the streets all alone, only to get out of the
way. There was a groaning in the air, and a howling and a shrieking,
and altogether it was a terrible storm. The water in the canal rose
over the banks, for it did not know where to run. The storm swept over
the town, carrying plenty of chimneys with it, and more than one proud
weathercock on a church tower had to bow, and has never got over it
from that time.

There was a kind of sentry-house, where dwelt the venerable old
superintendent of the fire brigade, who always arrived with the last
engine. The storm would not leave this little sentry-house alone,
but must needs tear it from its fastenings, and roll it down the
street; and, wonderfully enough, it stopped opposite to the door of
the dirty journeyman plasterer, who had saved three lives at the
last fire, but the sentry-house thought nothing of that.

The barber's shield, the great brazen dish, was carried away,
and hurled straight into the embrasure of the councillor of justice;
and the whole neighborhood said this looked almost like malice,
inasmuch as they, and nearly all the friends of the councillor's wife,
used to call that lady "the Razor" for she was so sharp that she
knew more about other people's business than they knew about it
themselves.

A shield with a dried salt fish painted on it flew exactly in
front of the door of a house where dwelt a man who wrote a
newspaper. That was a very poor joke perpetrated by the gale, which
seemed to have forgotten that a man who writes in a paper is not the
kind of person to understand any liberty taken with him; for he is a
king in his own newspaper, and likewise in his own opinion.

The weathercock flew to the opposite house, where he perched,
looking the picture of malice--so the neighbors said.

The cooper's tub stuck itself up under the head of "ladies'
costumes."

The eating-house keeper's bill of fare, which had hung at his door
in a heavy frame, was posted by the storm over the entrance to the
theatre, where nobody went. "It was a ridiculous list--horse-radish,
soup, and stuffed cabbage." And now people came in plenty.

The fox's skin, the honorable sign of the furrier, was found
fastened to the bell-pull of a young man who always went to early
lecture, and looked like a furled umbrella. He said he was striving
after truth, and was considered by his aunt "a model and an example."

The inscription "Institution for Superior Education" was found
near the billiard club, which place of resort was further adorned with
the words, "Children brought up by hand." Now, this was not at all
witty; but, you see, the storm had done it, and no one has any control
over that.

It was a terrible night, and in the morning--only think!--nearly
all the shields had changed places. In some places the inscriptions
were so malicious, that grandfather would not speak of them at all;
but I saw that he was chuckling secretly, and there may have been some
inaccuracy in his description, after all.

The poor people in the town, and still more the strangers, were
continually making mistakes in the people they wanted to see; nor
was this to be avoided, when they went according to the shields that
were hung up. Thus, for instance, some who wanted to go to a very
grave assembly of elderly men, where important affairs were to be
discussed, found themselves in a noisy boys' school, where all the
company were leaping over the chairs and tables.

There were also people who made a mistake between the church and
the theatre, and that was terrible indeed!

Such a storm we have never witnessed in our day; for that only
happened in grandpapa's time, when he was quite a little boy.
Perhaps we shall never experience a storm of the kind, but our
grandchildren may; and we can only hope and pray that all may stay
at home while the storm is moving the shields.




THE STORY OF A MOTHER

A mother sat by her little child; she was very sad, for she feared
it would die. It was quite pale, and its little eyes were closed,
and sometimes it drew a heavy deep breath, almost like a sigh; and
then the mother gazed more sadly than ever on the poor little
creature. Some one knocked at the door, and a poor old man walked
in. He was wrapped in something that looked like a great
horse-cloth; and he required it truly to keep him warm, for it was
cold winter; the country everywhere lay covered with snow and ice, and
the wind blew so sharply that it cut one's face. The little child
had dozed off to sleep for a moment, and the mother, seeing that the
old man shivered with the cold, rose and placed a small mug of beer on
the stove to warm for him. The old man sat and rocked the cradle;
and the mother seated herself on a chair near him, and looked at her
sick child who still breathed heavily, and took hold of its little
hand.

"You think I shall keep him, do you not?" she said. "Our all-merciful
God will surely not take him away from me."

The old man, who was indeed Death himself, nodded his head in a
peculiar manner, which might have signified either Yes, or No; and the
mother cast down her eyes, while the tears rolled down her cheeks.
Then her head became heavy, for she had not closed her eyes for
three days and nights, and she slept, but only for a moment. Shivering
with cold, she started up and looked round the room. The old man was
gone, and her child--it was gone too!--the old man had taken it with
him. In the corner of the room the old clock began to strike;
"whirr" went the chains, the heavy weight sank to the ground, and
the clock stopped; and the poor mother rushed out of the house calling
for her child. Out in the snow sat a woman in long black garments, and
she said to the mother, "Death has been with you in your room. I saw
him hastening away with your little child; he strides faster than
the wind, and never brings back what he has taken away."

"Only tell me which way he has gone," said the mother; "tell me the
way, I will find him."

"I know the way," said the woman in the black garments; "but
before I tell you, you must sing to me all the songs that you have
sung to your child; I love these songs, I have heard them before. I am
Night, and I saw your tears flow as you sang."

"I will sing them all to you," said the mother; "but do not detain
me now. I must overtake him, and find my child."

But Night sat silent and still. Then the mother wept and sang, and
wrung her hands. And there were many songs, and yet even more tears;
till at length Night said, "Go to the right, into the dark forest of
fir-trees; for I saw Death take that road with your little child."

Within the wood the mother came to cross roads, and she knew not
which to take. Just by stood a thorn-bush; it had neither leaf nor
flower, for it was the cold winter time, and icicles hung on the
branches. "Have you not seen Death go by, with my little child?" she
asked.

"Yes," replied the thorn-bush; "but I will not tell you which
way he has taken until you have warmed me in your bosom. I am freezing
to death here, and turning to ice."

Then she pressed the bramble to her bosom quite close, so that
it might be thawed, and the thorns pierced her flesh, and great
drops of blood flowed; but the bramble shot forth fresh green
leaves, and they became flowers on the cold winter's night, so warm is
the heart of a sorrowing mother. Then the bramble-bush told her the
path she must take. She came at length to a great lake, on which there
was neither ship nor boat to be seen. The lake was not frozen
sufficiently for her to pass over on the ice, nor was it open enough
for her to wade through; and yet she must cross it, if she wished to
find her child. Then she laid herself down to drink up the water of
the lake, which was of course impossible for any human being to do;
but the bereaved mother thought that perhaps a miracle might take
place to help her. "You will never succeed in this," said the lake;
"let us make an agreement together which will be better. I love to
collect pearls, and your eyes are the purest I have ever seen. If
you will weep those eyes away in tears into my waters, then I will
take you to the large hothouse where Death dwells and rears flowers
and trees, every one of which is a human life."

"Oh, what would I not give to reach my child!" said the weeping
mother; and as she still continued to weep, her eyes fell into the
depths of the lake, and became two costly pearls.

Then the lake lifted her up, and wafted her across to the opposite
shore as if she were on a swing, where stood a wonderful building many
miles in length. No one could tell whether it was a mountain covered
with forests and full of caves, or whether it had been built. But
the poor mother could not see, for she had wept her eyes into the
lake. "Where shall I find Death, who went away with my little
child?" she asked.

"He has not arrived here yet," said an old gray-haired woman,
who was walking about, and watering Death's hothouse. "How have you
found your way here? and who helped you?"

"God has helped me," she replied. "He is merciful; will you not be
merciful too? Where shall I find my little child?"

"I did not know the child," said the old woman; "and you are
blind. Many flowers and trees have faded to-night, and Death will soon
come to transplant them. You know already that every human being has a
life-tree or a life-flower, just as may be ordained for him. They look
like other plants; but they have hearts that beat. Children's hearts
also beat: from that you may perhaps be able to recognize your
child. But what will you give me, if I tell you what more you will
have to do?

"I have nothing to give," said the afflicted mother; "but I
would go to the ends of the earth for you."

"I can give you nothing to do for me there," said the old woman;
"but you can give me your long black hair. You know yourself that it
is beautiful, and it pleases me. You can take my white hair in
exchange, which will be something in return."

"Do you ask nothing more than that?" said she. "I will give it
to you with pleasure."

And she gave up her beautiful hair, and received in return the
white locks of the old woman. Then they went into Death's vast
hothouse, where flowers and trees grew together in wonderful
profusion. Blooming hyacinths, under glass bells, and peonies, like
strong trees. There grew water-plants, some quite fresh, and others
looking sickly, which had water-snakes twining round them, and black
crabs clinging to their stems. There stood noble palm-trees, oaks, and
plantains, and beneath them bloomed thyme and parsley. Each tree and
flower had a name; each represented a human life, and belonged to
men still living, some in China, others in Greenland, and in all parts
of the world. Some large trees had been planted in little pots, so
that they were cramped for room, and seemed about to burst the pot
to pieces; while many weak little flowers were growing in rich soil,
with moss all around them, carefully tended and cared for. The
sorrowing mother bent over the little plants, and heard the human
heart beating in each, and recognized the beatings of her child's
heart among millions of others.

"That is it," she cried, stretching out her hand towards a
little crocus-flower which hung down its sickly head.

"Do not touch the flower," exclaimed the old woman; "but place
yourself here; and when Death comes--I expect him every minute--do not
let him pull up that plant, but threaten him that if he does you
will serve the other flowers in the same manner. This will make him
afraid; for he must account to God for each of them. None can be
uprooted, unless he receives permission to do so."

There rushed through the hothouse a chill of icy coldness, and the
blind mother felt that Death had arrived.

"How did you find your way hither?" asked he; "how could you
come here faster than I have?"

"I am a mother," she answered.

And Death stretched out his hand towards the delicate little
flower; but she held her hands tightly round it, and held it fast at
same time, with the most anxious care, lest she should touch one of
the leaves. Then Death breathed upon her hands, and she felt his
breath colder than the icy wind, and her hands sank down powerless.

"You cannot prevail against me," said Death.

"But a God of mercy can," said she.

"I only do His will," replied Death. "I am his gardener. I take
all His flowers and trees, and transplant them into the gardens of
Paradise in an unknown land. How they flourish there, and what that
garden resembles, I may not tell you."

"Give me back my child," said the mother, weeping and imploring;
and she seized two beautiful flowers in her hands, and cried to Death,
"I will tear up all your flowers, for I am in despair."

"Do not touch them," said Death. "You say you are unhappy; and
would you make another mother as unhappy as yourself?"

"Another mother!" cried the poor woman, setting the flowers free
from her hands.

"There are your eyes," said Death. "I fished them up out of the
lake for you. They were shining brightly; but I knew not they were
yours. Take them back--they are clearer now than before--and then look
into the deep well which is close by here. I will tell you the names
of the two flowers which you wished to pull up; and you will see the
whole future of the human beings they represent, and what you were
about to frustrate and destroy."

Then she looked into the well; and it was a glorious sight to
behold how one of them became a blessing to the world, and how much
happiness and joy it spread around. But she saw that the life of the
other was full of care and poverty, misery and woe.

"Both are the will of God," said Death.

"Which is the unhappy flower, and which is the blessed one?" she
said.

"That I may not tell you," said Death; "but thus far you may
learn, that one of the two flowers represents your own child. It was
the fate of your child that you saw,--the future of your own child."

Then the mother screamed aloud with terror, "Which of them belongs
to my child? Tell me that. Deliver the unhappy child. Release it
from so much misery. Rather take it away. Take it to the kingdom of
God. Forget my tears and my entreaties; forget all that I have said or
done."

"I do not understand you," said Death. "Will you have your child
back? or shall I carry him away to a place that you do not know?"

Then the mother wrung her hands, fell on her knees, and prayed
to God, "Grant not my prayers, when they are contrary to Thy will,
which at all times must be the best. Oh, hear them not;" and her
head sank on her bosom.

Then Death carried away her child to the unknown land.




THE SUNBEAM AND THE CAPTIVE

It is autumn. We stand on the ramparts, and look out over the sea.
We look at the numerous ships, and at the Swedish coast on the
opposite side of the sound, rising far above the surface of the waters
which mirror the glow of the evening sky. Behind us the wood is
sharply defined; mighty trees surround us, and the yellow leaves
flutter down from the branches. Below, at the foot of the wall, stands
a gloomy looking building enclosed in palisades. The space between
is dark and narrow, but still more dismal must it be behind the iron
gratings in the wall which cover the narrow loopholes or windows,
for in these dungeons the most depraved of the criminals are confined.
A ray of the setting sun shoots into the bare cells of one of the
captives, for God's sun shines upon the evil and the good. The
hardened criminal casts an impatient look at the bright ray. Then a
little bird flies towards the grating, for birds twitter to the just
as well as to the unjust. He only cries, "Tweet, tweet," and then
perches himself near the grating, flutters his wings, pecks a
feather from one of them, puffs himself out, and sets his feathers
on end round his breast and throat. The bad, chained man looks at him,
and a more gentle expression comes into his hard face. In his breast
there rises a thought which he himself cannot rightly analyze, but the
thought has some connection with the sunbeam, with the bird, and
with the scent of violets, which grow luxuriantly in spring at the
foot of the wall. Then there comes the sound of the hunter's horn,
merry and full. The little bird starts, and flies away, the sunbeam
gradually vanishes, and again there is darkness in the room and in the
heart of that bad man. Still the sun has shone into that heart, and
the twittering of the bird has touched it.

Sound on, ye glorious strains of the hunter's horn; continue
your stirring tones, for the evening is mild, and the surface of the
sea, heaving slowly and calmly, is smooth as a mirror.




THE SWAN'S NEST

Between the Baltic and the North Sea there lies an old swan's
nest, wherein swans are born and have been born that shall never die.

In olden times a flock of swans flew over the Alps to the green
plains around Milan, where it was delightful to dwell. This flight
of swans men called the Lombards.

Another flock, with shining plumage and honest eyes, soared
southward to Byzantium; the swans established themselves there close
by the Emperor's throne, and spread their wings over him as shields to
protect him. They received the name of Varangians.

On the coast of France there sounded a cry of fear, for the
blood-stained swans that came from the North with fire under their
wings; and the people prayed, "Heaven deliver us from the wild
Northmen."

On the fresh sward of England stood the Danish swan by the open
seashore, with the crown of three kingdoms on his head; and he
stretched out his golden sceptre over the land. The heathens on the
Pomerian coast bent the knee, and the Danish swans came with the
banner of the Cross and with the drawn sword.

"That was in the very old times," you say.

In later days two mighty swans have been seen to fly from the
nest. A light shone far through the air, far over the lands of the
earth; the swan, with the strong beating of his wings, scattered the
twilight mists, and the starry sky was seen, and it was as if it
came nearer to the earth. That was the swan Tycho Brahe.

"Yes, then," you say; "but in our own days?"

We have seen swan after swan soar by in glorious flight. One let
his pinions glide over the strings of the golden harp, and it
resounded through the North. Norway's mountains seemed to rise
higher in the sunlight of former days; there was a rustling among
the pine trees and the birches; the gods of the North, the heroes, and
the noble women, showed themselves in the dark forest depths.

We have seen a swan beat with his wings upon the marble crag, so
that it burst, and the forms of beauty imprisoned in the stone stepped
out to the sunny day, and men in the lands round about lifted up their
heads to behold these mighty forms.

We have seen a third swan spinning the thread of thought that is
fastened from country to country round the world, so that the word may
fly with lightning speed from land to land.

And our Lord loves the old swan's nest between the Baltic and
the North Sea. And when the mighty birds come soaring through the
air to destroy it, even the callow young stand round in a circle on
the margin of the nest, and though their breasts may be struck so that
their blood flows, they bear it, and strike with their wings and their
claws.

Centuries will pass by, swans will fly forth from the nest, men
will see them and hear them in the world, before it shall be said in
spirit and in truth, "This is the last swan--the last song from the
swan's nest."




THE SWINEHERD

Once upon a time lived a poor prince; his kingdom was very
small, but it was large enough to enable him to marry, and marry he
would. It was rather bold of him that he went and asked the
emperor's daughter: "Will you marry me?" but he ventured to do so, for
his name was known far and wide, and there were hundreds of princesses
who would have gladly accepted him, but would she do so? Now we
shall see.

On the grave of the prince's father grew a rose-tree, the most
beautiful of its kind. It bloomed only once in five years, and then it
had only one single rose upon it, but what a rose! It had such a sweet
scent that one instantly forgot all sorrow and grief when one smelt
it. He had also a nightingale, which could sing as if every sweet
melody was in its throat. This rose and the nightingale he wished to
give to the princess; and therefore both were put into big silver
cases and sent to her.

The emperor ordered them to be carried into the great hall where
the princess was just playing "Visitors are coming" with her
ladies-in-waiting; when she saw the large cases with the presents
therein, she clapped her hands for joy.

"I wish it were a little pussy cat," she said. But then the
rose-tree with the beautiful rose was unpacked.

"Oh, how nicely it is made," exclaimed the ladies.

"It is more than nice," said the emperor, "it is charming."

The princess touched it and nearly began to cry.

"For shame, pa," she said, "it is not artificial, it is natural!"

"For shame, it is natural," repeated all her ladies.

"Let us first see what the other case contains before we are
angry," said the emperor; then the nightingale was taken out, and it
sang so beautifully that no one could possibly say anything unkind
about it.

"Superbe, charmant," said the ladies of the court, for they all
prattled French, one worse than the other.

"How much the bird reminds me of the musical box of the late
lamented empress," said an old courtier, "it has exactly the same
tone, the same execution."

"You are right," said the emperor, and began to cry like a
little child.

"I hope it is not natural," said the princess.

"Yes, certainly it is natural," replied those who had brought
the presents.

"Then let it fly," said the princess, and refused to see the
prince.

But the prince was not discouraged. He painted his face, put on
common clothes, pulled his cap over his forehead, and came back.

"Good day, emperor," he said, "could you not give me some
employment at the court?"

"There are so many," replied the emperor, "who apply for places,
that for the present I have no vacancy, but I will remember you. But
wait a moment; it just comes into my mind, I require somebody to
look after my pigs, for I have a great many."

Thus the prince was appointed imperial swineherd, and as such he
lived in a wretchedly small room near the pigsty; there he worked
all day long, and when it was night he had made a pretty little pot.
There were little bells round the rim, and when the water began to
boil in it, the bells began to play the old tune:

  "A jolly old sow once lived in a sty,
  Three little piggies had she," &c.

But what was more wonderful was that, when one put a finger into the
steam rising from the pot, one could at once smell what meals they
were preparing on every fire in the whole town. That was indeed much
more remarkable than the rose. When the princess with her ladies
passed by and heard the tune, she stopped and looked quite pleased,
for she also could play it--in fact, it was the only tune she could
play, and she played it with one finger.

"That is the tune I know," she exclaimed. "He must be a
well-educated swineherd. Go and ask him how much the instrument is."

One of the ladies had to go and ask; but she put on pattens.

"What will you take for your pot?" asked the lady.

"I will have ten kisses from the princess," said the swineherd.

"God forbid," said the lady.

"Well, I cannot sell it for less," replied the swineherd.

"What did he say?" said the princess.

"I really cannot tell you," replied the lady.

"You can whisper it into my ear."

"It is very naughty," said the princess, and walked off.

But when she had gone a little distance, the bells rang again so
sweetly:

  "A jolly old sow once lived in a sty,
  Three little piggies had she," &c.


"Ask him," said the princess, "if he will be satisfied with ten
kisses from one of my ladies."

"No, thank you," said the swineherd: "ten kisses from the
princess, or I keep my pot."

"That is tiresome," said the princess. "But you must stand
before me, so that nobody can see it."

The ladies placed themselves in front of her and spread out
their dresses, and she gave the swineherd ten kisses and received
the pot.

That was a pleasure! Day and night the water in the pot was
boiling; there was not a single fire in the whole town of which they
did not know what was preparing on it, the chamberlain's as well as
the shoemaker's. The ladies danced and clapped their hands for joy.

"We know who will eat soup and pancakes; we know who will eat
porridge and cutlets; oh, how interesting!"

"Very interesting, indeed," said the mistress of the household.
"But you must not betray me, for I am the emperor's daughter."

"Of course not," they all said.

The swineherd--that is to say, the prince--but they did not know
otherwise than that he was a real swineherd--did not waste a single
day without doing something; he made a rattle, which, when turned
quickly round, played all the waltzes, galops, and polkas known
since the creation of the world.

"But that is superbe," said the princess passing by. "I have never
heard a more beautiful composition. Go down and ask him what the
instrument costs; but I shall not kiss him again."

"He will have a hundred kisses from the princess," said the
lady, who had gone down to ask him.

"I believe he is mad," said the princess, and walked off, but soon
she stopped. "One must encourage art," she said. "I am the emperor's
daughter! Tell him I will give him ten kisses, as I did the other day;
the remainder one of my ladies can give him.

"But we do not like to kiss him," said the ladies.

"That is nonsense," said the princess; "if I can kiss him, you can
also do it. Remember that I give you food and employment." And the
lady had to go down once more.

"A hundred kisses from the princess," said the swineherd, "or
everybody keeps his own."

"Place yourselves before me," said the princess then. They did
as they were bidden, and the princess kissed him.

"I wonder what that crowd near the pigsty means!" said the
emperor, who had just come out on his balcony. He rubbed his eyes
and put his spectacles on.

"The ladies of the court are up to some mischief, I think. I shall
have to go down and see." He pulled up his shoes, for they were down
at the heels, and he was very quick about it. When he had come down
into the courtyard he walked quite softly, and the ladies were so
busily engaged in counting the kisses, that all should be fair, that
they did not notice the emperor. He raised himself on tiptoe.

"What does this mean?" he said, when he saw that his daughter
was kissing the swineherd, and then hit their heads with his shoe just
as the swineherd received the sixty-eighth kiss.

"Go out of my sight," said the emperor, for he was very angry; and
both the princess and the swineherd were banished from the empire.
There she stood and cried, the swineherd scolded her, and the rain
came down in torrents.

"Alas, unfortunate creature that I am!" said the princess, "I wish
I had accepted the prince. Oh, how wretched I am!"

The swineherd went behind a tree, wiped his face, threw off his
poor attire and stepped forth in his princely garments; he looked so
beautiful that the princess could not help bowing to him.

"I have now learnt to despise you," he said. "You refused an
honest prince; you did not appreciate the rose and the nightingale;
but you did not mind kissing a swineherd for his toys; you have no one
but yourself to blame!"

And then he returned into his kingdom and left her behind. She
could now sing at her leisure:

  "A jolly old sow once lived in a sty,
  Three little piggies has she," &c.




THE THISTLE'S EXPERIENCES

Belonging to the lordly manor-house was beautiful, well-kept
garden, with rare trees and flowers; the guests of the proprietor
declared their admiration of it; the people of the neighborhood,
from town and country, came on Sundays and holidays, and asked
permission to see the garden; indeed, whole schools used to pay visits
to it.

Outside the garden, by the palings at the road-side, stood a great
mighty Thistle, which spread out in many directions from the root,
so that it might have been called a thistle bush. Nobody looked at it,
except the old Ass which drew the milk-maid's cart. This Ass used to
stretch out his neck towards the Thistle, and say, "You are beautiful;
I should like to eat you!" But his halter was not long enough to let
him reach it and eat it.

There was great company at the manor-house--some very noble people
from the capital; young pretty girls, and among them a young lady
who came from a long distance. She had come from Scotland, and was
of high birth, and was rich in land and in gold--a bride worth
winning, said more than one of the young gentlemen; and their lady
mothers said the same thing.

The young people amused themselves on the lawn, and played at
ball; they wandered among the flowers, and each of the young girls
broke off a flower, and fastened it in a young gentleman's buttonhole.
But the young Scotch lady looked round, for a long time, in an
undecided way. None of the flowers seemed to suit her taste. Then
her eye glanced across the paling--outside stood the great thistle
bush, with the reddish-blue, sturdy flowers; she saw them, she smiled,
and asked the son of the house to pluck one for her.

"It is the flower of Scotland," she said. "It blooms in the
scutcheon of my country. Give me yonder flower."

And he brought the fairest blossom, and pricked his fingers as
completely as if it had grown on the sharpest rose bush.

She placed the thistle-flower in the buttonhole of the young
man, and he felt himself highly honored. Each of the other young
gentlemen would willingly have given his own beautiful flower to
have worn this one, presented by the fair hand of the Scottish maiden.
And if the son of the house felt himself honored, what were the
feelings of the Thistle bush? It seemed to him as if dew and
sunshine were streaming through him.

"I am something more than I knew of," said the Thistle to
itself. "I suppose my right place is really inside the palings, and
not outside. One is often strangely placed in this world; but now I
have at least managed to get one of my people within the pale, and
indeed into a buttonhole!"

The Thistle told this event to every blossom that unfolded itself,
and not many days had gone by before the Thistle heard, not from
men, not from the twittering of the birds, but from the air itself,
which stores up the sounds, and carries them far around--out of the
most retired walks of the garden, and out of the rooms of the house,
in which doors and windows stood open, that the young gentleman who
had received the thistle-flower from the hand of the fair Scottish
maiden had also now received the heart and hand of the lady in
question. They were a handsome pair--it was a good match.

"That match I made up!" said the Thistle; and he thought of the
flower he had given for the buttonhole. Every flower that opened heard
of this occurrence.

"I shall certainly be transplanted into the garden," thought the
Thistle, "and perhaps put into a pot, which crowds one in. That is said
to be the greatest of all honors."

And the Thistle pictured this to himself in such a lively
manner, that at last he said, with full conviction, "I am to be
transplanted into a pot."

Then he promised every little thistle flower which unfolded itself
that it also should be put into a pot, and perhaps into a
buttonhole, the highest honor that could be attained. But not one of
them was put into a pot, much less into a buttonhole. They drank in
the sunlight and the air; lived on the sunlight by day, and on the dew
by night; bloomed--were visited by bees and hornets, who looked
after the honey, the dowry of the flower, and they took the honey, and
left the flower where it was.

"The thievish rabble!" said the Thistle. "If I could only stab
every one of them! But I cannot."

The flowers hung their heads and faded; but after a time new
ones came.

"You come in good time," said the Thistle. "I am expecting every
moment to get across the fence."

A few innocent daisies, and a long thin dandelion, stood and
listened in deep admiration, and believed everything they heard.

The old Ass of the milk-cart stood at the edge of the
field-road, and glanced across at the blooming thistle bush; but his
halter was too short, and he could not reach it.

And the Thistle thought so long of the thistle of Scotland, to
whose family he said he belonged, that he fancied at last that he
had come from Scotland, and that his parents had been put into the
national escutcheon. That was a great thought; but, you see, a great
thistle has a right to a great thought.

"One is often of so grand a family, that one may not know it,"
said the Nettle, who grew close by. He had a kind of idea that he
might be made into cambric if he were rightly treated.

And the summer went by, and the autumn went by. The leaves fell
from the trees, and the few flowers left had deeper colors and less
scent. The gardener's boy sang in the garden, across the palings:

  "Up the hill, down the dale we wend,
  That is life, from beginning to end."


The young fir trees in the forest began to long for Christmas, but
it was a long time to Christmas yet.

"Here I am standing yet!" said the Thistle. "It is as if nobody
thought of me, and yet I managed the match. They were betrothed, and
they have had their wedding; it is now a week ago. I won't take a
single step-because I can't."

A few more weeks went by. The Thistle stood there with his last
single flower large and full. This flower had shot up from near the
roots; the wind blew cold over it, and the colors vanished, and the
flower grew in size, and looked like a silvered sunflower.

One day the young pair, now man and wife, came into the garden.
They went along by the paling, and the young wife looked across it.

"There's the great thistle still growing," she said. "It has no
flowers now."

"Oh, yes, the ghost of the last one is there still," said he.
And he pointed to the silvery remains of the flower, which looked like
a flower themselves.

"It is pretty, certainly," she said. "Such an one must be carved
on the frame of our picture."

And the young man had to climb across the palings again, and to
break off the calyx of the thistle. It pricked his fingers, but then
he had called it a ghost. And this thistle-calyx came into the garden,
and into the house, and into the drawing-room. There stood a
picture--"Young Couple." A thistle-flower was painted in the
buttonhole of the bridegroom. They spoke about this, and also about
the thistle-flower they brought, the last thistle-flower, now gleaming
like silver, whose picture was carved on the frame.

And the breeze carried what was spoken away, far away.

"What one can experience!" said the Thistle Bush. "My first born
was put into a buttonhole, and my youngest has been put in a frame.
Where shall I go?"

And the Ass stood by the road-side, and looked across at the
Thistle.

"Come to me, my nibble darling!" said he. "I can't get across to
you."

But the Thistle did not answer. He became more and more
thoughtful--kept on thinking and thinking till near Christmas, and
then a flower of thought came forth.

"If the children are only good, the parents do not mind standing
outside the garden pale."

"That's an honorable thought," said the Sunbeam. "You shall also
have a good place."

"In a pot or in a frame?" asked the Thistle.

"In a story," replied the Sunbeam.




THE THORNY ROAD OF HONOR

An old story yet lives of the "Thorny Road of Honor," of a
marksman, who indeed attained to rank and office, but only after a
lifelong and weary strife against difficulties. Who has not, in
reading this story, thought of his own strife, and of his own numerous
"difficulties?" The story is very closely akin to reality; but still
it has its harmonious explanation here on earth, while reality often
points beyond the confines of life to the regions of eternity. The
history of the world is like a magic lantern that displays to us, in
light pictures upon the dark ground of the present, how the
benefactors of mankind, the martyrs of genius, wandered along the
thorny road of honor.

From all periods, and from every country, these shining pictures
display themselves to us. Each only appears for a few moments, but
each represents a whole life, sometimes a whole age, with its
conflicts and victories. Let us contemplate here and there one of
the company of martyrs--the company which will receive new members
until the world itself shall pass away.

We look down upon a crowded amphitheatre. Out of the "Clouds" of
Aristophanes, satire and humor are pouring down in streams upon the
audience; on the stage Socrates, the most remarkable man in Athens, he
who had been the shield and defence of the people against the thirty
tyrants, is held up mentally and bodily to ridicule--Socrates, who
saved Alcibiades and Xenophon in the turmoil of battle, and whose
genius soared far above the gods of the ancients. He himself is
present; he has risen from the spectator's bench, and has stepped
forward, that the laughing Athenians may well appreciate the
likeness between himself and the caricature on the stage. There he
stands before them, towering high above them all.

Thou juicy, green, poisonous hemlock, throw thy shadow over
Athens--not thou, olive tree of fame!

Seven cities contended for the honor of giving birth to Homer--that
is to say, they contended after his death! Let us look at him
as he was in his lifetime. He wanders on foot through the cities,
and recites his verses for a livelihood; the thought for the morrow
turns his hair gray! He, the great seer, is blind, and painfully
pursues his way--the sharp thorn tears the mantle of the king of
poets. His song yet lives, and through that alone live all the
heroes and gods of antiquity.

One picture after another springs up from the east, from the west,
far removed from each other in time and place, and yet each one
forming a portion of the thorny road of honor, on which the thistle
indeed displays a flower, but only to adorn the grave.

The camels pass along under the palm trees; they are richly
laden with indigo and other treasures of value, sent by the ruler of
the land to him whose songs are the delight of the people, the fame of
the country. He whom envy and falsehood have driven into exile has
been found, and the caravan approaches the little town in which he has
taken refuge. A poor corpse is carried out of the town gate, and the
funeral procession causes the caravan to halt. The dead man is he whom
they have been sent to seek--Firdusi--who has wandered the Thorny road
of honor even to the end.

The African, with blunt features, thick lips, and woolly hair,
sits on the marble steps of the palace in the capital of Portugal, and
begs. He is the submissive slave of Camoens, and but for him, and
for the copper coins thrown to him by the passers-by, his master,
the poet of the "Lusiad," would die of hunger. Now, a costly
monument marks the grave of Camoens.

There is a new picture.

Behind the iron grating a man appears, pale as death, with long
unkempt beard.

"I have made a discovery," he says, "the greatest that has been
made for centuries; and they have kept me locked up here for more than
twenty years!"

Who is the man?

"A madman," replies the keeper of the madhouse. "What whimsical
ideas these lunatics have! He imagines that one can propel things by
means of steam."

It is Solomon de Cares, the discoverer of the power of steam,
whose theory, expressed in dark words, is not understood by Richelieu;
and he dies in the madhouse.

Here stands Columbus, whom the street boys used once to follow and
jeer, because he wanted to discover a new world; and he has discovered
it. Shouts of joy greet him from the breasts of all, and the clash
of bells sounds to celebrate his triumphant return; but the clash of
the bells of envy soon drowns the others. The discoverer of a world--he
who lifted the American gold land from the sea, and gave it to
his king--he is rewarded with iron chains. He wishes that these chains
may be placed in his coffin, for they witness to the world of the
way in which a man's contemporaries reward good service.

One picture after another comes crowding on; the thorny path of
honor and of fame is over-filled.

Here in dark night sits the man who measured the mountains in
the moon; he who forced his way out into the endless space, among
stars and planets; he, the mighty man who understood the spirit of
nature, and felt the earth moving beneath his feet--Galileo. Blind and
deaf he sits--an old man thrust through with the spear of suffering,
and amid the torments of neglect, scarcely able to lift his foot--that
foot with which, in the anguish of his soul, when men denied the
truth, he stamped upon the ground, with the exclamation, "Yet it
moves!"

Here stands a woman of childlike mind, yet full of faith and
inspiration. She carries the banner in front of the combating army,
and brings victory and salvation to her fatherland. The sound of
shouting arises, and the pile flames up. They are burning the witch,
Joan of Arc. Yes, and a future century jeers at the White Lily.
Voltaire, the satyr of human intellect, writes "La Pucelle."

At the Thing or Assembly at Viborg, the Danish nobles burn the
laws of the king. They flame up high, illuminating the period and
the lawgiver, and throw a glory into the dark prison tower, where an
old man is growing gray and bent. With his finger he marks out a
groove in the stone table. It is the popular king who sits there, once
the ruler of three kingdoms, the friend of the citizen and the
peasant. It is Christian the Second. Enemies wrote his history. Let us
remember his improvements of seven and twenty years, if we cannot
forget his crime.

A ship sails away, quitting the Danish shores. A man leans against
the mast, casting a last glance towards the Island Hueen. It is
Tycho Brahe. He raised the name of Denmark to the stars, and was
rewarded with injury, loss and sorrow. He is going to a strange
country.

"The vault of heaven is above me everywhere," he says, "and what
do I want more?"

And away sails the famous Dane, the astronomer, to live honored
and free in a strange land.

"Ay, free, if only from the unbearable sufferings of the body!"
comes in a sigh through time, and strikes upon our ear. What a
picture! Griffenfeldt, a Danish Prometheus, bound to the rocky
island of Munkholm.

We are in America, on the margin of one of the largest rivers;
an innumerable crowd has gathered, for it is said that a ship is to
sail against the wind and weather, bidding defiance to the elements.
The man who thinks he can solve the problem is named Robert Fulton.
The ship begins its passage, but suddenly it stops. The crowd begins
to laugh and whistle and hiss--the very father of the man whistles
with the rest.

"Conceit! Foolery!" is the cry. "It has happened just as he
deserved. Put the crack-brain under lock and key!"

Then suddenly a little nail breaks, which had stopped the
machine for a few moments; and now the wheels turn again, the floats
break the force of the waters, and the ship continues its course;
and the beam of the steam engine shortens the distance between far
lands from hours into minutes.

O human race, canst thou grasp the happiness of such a minute of
consciousness, this penetration of the soul by its mission, the moment
in which all dejection, and every wound--even those caused by one's
own fault--is changed into health and strength and clearness--when
discord is converted to harmony--the minute in which men seem to
recognize the manifestation of the heavenly grace in one man, and feel
how this one imparts it to all?

Thus the thorny path of honor shows itself as a glory, surrounding
the earth with its beams. Thrice happy he who is chosen to be a
wanderer there, and, without merit of his own, to be placed between
the builder of the bridge and the earth--between Providence and the
human race.

On mighty wings the spirit of history floats through the ages, and
shows--giving courage and comfort, and awakening gentle thoughts--on
the dark nightly background, but in gleaming pictures, the thorny path
of honor, which does not, like a fairy tale, end in brilliancy and joy
here on earth, but stretches out beyond all time, even into eternity!




IN A THOUSAND YEARS

Yes, in a thousand years people will fly on the wings of steam
through the air, over the ocean! The young inhabitants of America will
become visitors of old Europe. They will come over to see the
monuments and the great cities, which will then be in ruins, just as
we in our time make pilgrimages to the tottering splendors of Southern
Asia. In a thousand years they will come!

The Thames, the Danube, and the Rhine still roll their course,
Mont Blanc stands firm with its snow-capped summit, and the Northern
Lights gleam over the land of the North; but generation after
generation has become dust, whole rows of the mighty of the moment are
forgotten, like those who already slumber under the hill on which
the rich trader, whose ground it is, has built a bench, on which he
can sit and look out across his waving corn fields.

"To Europe!" cry the young sons of America; "to the land of our
ancestors, the glorious land of monuments and fancy--to Europe!"

The ship of the air comes. It is crowded with passengers, for
the transit is quicker than by sea. The electro-magnetic wire under
the ocean has already telegraphed the number of the aerial caravan.
Europe is in sight. It is the coast of Ireland that they see, but
the passengers are still asleep; they will not be called till they are
exactly over England. There they will first step on European shore, in
the land of Shakespeare, as the educated call it; in the land of
politics, the land of machines, as it is called by others.

Here they stay a whole day. That is all the time the busy race can
devote to the whole of England and Scotland. Then the journey is
continued through the tunnel under the English Channel, to France, the
land of Charlemagne and Napoleon. Moliere is named, the learned men
talk of the classic school of remote antiquity. There is rejoicing and
shouting for the names of heroes, poets, and men of science, whom
our time does not know, but who will be born after our time in
Paris, the centre of Europe, and elsewhere.

The air steamboat flies over the country whence Columbus went
forth, where Cortez was born, and where Calderon sang dramas in
sounding verse. Beautiful black-eyed women live still in the
blooming valleys, and the oldest songs speak of the Cid and the
Alhambra.

Then through the air, over the sea, to Italy, where once lay
old, everlasting Rome. It has vanished! The Campagna lies desert. A
single ruined wall is shown as the remains of St. Peter's, but there
is a doubt if this ruin be genuine.

Next to Greece, to sleep a night in the grand hotel at the top
of Mount Olympus, to say that they have been there; and the journey is
continued to the Bosphorus, to rest there a few hours, and see the
place where Byzantium lay; and where the legend tells that the harem
stood in the time of the Turks, poor fishermen are now spreading their
nets.

Over the remains of mighty cities on the broad Danube, cities
which we in our time know not, the travellers pass; but here and
there, on the rich sites of those that time shall bring forth, the
caravan sometimes descends, and departs thence again.

Down below lies Germany, that was once covered with a close net of
railway and canals, the region where Luther spoke, where Goethe
sang, and Mozart once held the sceptre of harmony. Great names shine
there, in science and in art, names that are unknown to us. One day
devoted to seeing Germany, and one for the North, the country of
Oersted and Linnaeus, and for Norway, the land of the old heroes and
the young Normans. Iceland is visited on the journey home. The geysers
burn no more, Hecla is an extinct volcano, but the rocky island is
still fixed in the midst of the foaming sea, a continual monument of
legend and poetry.

"There is really a great deal to be seen in Europe," says the
young American, "and we have seen it in a week, according to the
directions of the great traveller" (and here he mentions the name of
one of his contemporaries) "in his celebrated work, 'How to See All
Europe in a Week.'"




THE BRAVE TIN SOLDIER

There were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers, who were all
brothers, for they had been made out of the same old tin spoon. They
shouldered arms and looked straight before them, and wore a splendid
uniform, red and blue. The first thing in the world they ever heard
were the words, "Tin soldiers!" uttered by a little boy, who clapped
his hands with delight when the lid of the box, in which they lay, was
taken off. They were given him for a birthday present, and he stood at
the table to set them up. The soldiers were all exactly alike,
excepting one, who had only one leg; he had been left to the last, and
then there was not enough of the melted tin to finish him, so they
made him to stand firmly on one leg, and this caused him to be very
remarkable.

The table on which the tin soldiers stood, was covered with
other playthings, but the most attractive to the eye was a pretty
little paper castle. Through the small windows the rooms could be
seen. In front of the castle a number of little trees surrounded a
piece of looking-glass, which was intended to represent a
transparent lake. Swans, made of wax, swam on the lake, and were
reflected in it. All this was very pretty, but the prettiest of all
was a tiny little lady, who stood at the open door of the castle; she,
also, was made of paper, and she wore a dress of clear muslin, with
a narrow blue ribbon over her shoulders just like a scarf. In front of
these was fixed a glittering tinsel rose, as large as her whole
face. The little lady was a dancer, and she stretched out both her
arms, and raised one of her legs so high, that the tin soldier could
not see it at all, and he thought that she, like himself, had only one
leg. "That is the wife for me," he thought; "but she is too grand, and
lives in a castle, while I have only a box to live in, five-and-twenty
of us altogether, that is no place for her. Still I must try and
make her acquaintance." Then he laid himself at full length on the
table behind a snuff-box that stood upon it, so that he could peep
at the little delicate lady, who continued to stand on one leg without
losing her balance. When evening came, the other tin soldiers were all
placed in the box, and the people of the house went to bed. Then the
playthings began to have their own games together, to pay visits, to
have sham fights, and to give balls. The tin soldiers rattled in their
box; they wanted to get out and join the amusements, but they could
not open the lid. The nut-crackers played at leap-frog, and the pencil
jumped about the table. There was such a noise that the canary woke up
and began to talk, and in poetry too. Only the tin soldier and the
dancer remained in their places. She stood on tiptoe, with her legs
stretched out, as firmly as he did on his one leg. He never took his
eyes from her for even a moment. The clock struck twelve, and, with
a bounce, up sprang the lid of the snuff-box; but, instead of snuff,
there jumped up a little black goblin; for the snuff-box was a toy
puzzle.

"Tin soldier," said the goblin, "don't wish for what does not
belong to you."

But the tin soldier pretended not to hear.

"Very well; wait till to-morrow, then," said the goblin.

When the children came in the next morning, they placed the tin
soldier in the window. Now, whether it was the goblin who did it, or
the draught, is not known, but the window flew open, and out fell
the tin soldier, heels over head, from the third story, into the
street beneath. It was a terrible fall; for he came head downwards,
his helmet and his bayonet stuck in between the flagstones, and his
one leg up in the air. The servant maid and the little boy went down
stairs directly to look for him; but he was nowhere to be seen,
although once they nearly trod upon him. If he had called out, "Here I
am," it would have been all right, but he was too proud to cry out for
help while he wore a uniform.

Presently it began to rain, and the drops fell faster and
faster, till there was a heavy shower. When it was over, two boys
happened to pass by, and one of them said, "Look, there is a tin
soldier. He ought to have a boat to sail in."

So they made a boat out of a newspaper, and placed the tin soldier
in it, and sent him sailing down the gutter, while the two boys ran by
the side of it, and clapped their hands. Good gracious, what large
waves arose in that gutter! and how fast the stream rolled on! for the
rain had been very heavy. The paper boat rocked up and down, and
turned itself round sometimes so quickly that the tin soldier
trembled; yet he remained firm; his countenance did not change; he
looked straight before him, and shouldered his musket. Suddenly the
boat shot under a bridge which formed a part of a drain, and then it
was as dark as the tin soldier's box.

"Where am I going now?" thought he. "This is the black goblin's
fault, I am sure. Ah, well, if the little lady were only here with
me in the boat, I should not care for any darkness."

Suddenly there appeared a great water-rat, who lived in the drain.

"Have you a passport?" asked the rat, "give it to me at once." But
the tin soldier remained silent and held his musket tighter than ever.
The boat sailed on and the rat followed it. How he did gnash his teeth
and cry out to the bits of wood and straw, "Stop him, stop him; he has
not paid toll, and has not shown his pass." But the stream rushed on
stronger and stronger. The tin soldier could already see daylight
shining where the arch ended. Then he heard a roaring sound quite
terrible enough to frighten the bravest man. At the end of the
tunnel the drain fell into a large canal over a steep place, which
made it as dangerous for him as a waterfall would be to us. He was too
close to it to stop, so the boat rushed on, and the poor tin soldier
could only hold himself as stiffly as possible, without moving an
eyelid, to show that he was not afraid. The boat whirled round three
or four times, and then filled with water to the very edge; nothing
could save it from sinking. He now stood up to his neck in water,
while deeper and deeper sank the boat, and the paper became soft and
loose with the wet, till at last the water closed over the soldier's
head. He thought of the elegant little dancer whom he should never see
again, and the words of the song sounded in his ears--

  "Farewell, warrior! ever brave,
  Drifting onward to thy grave."


Then the paper boat fell to pieces, and the soldier sank into
the water and immediately afterwards was swallowed up by a great fish.
Oh how dark it was inside the fish! A great deal darker than in the
tunnel, and narrower too, but the tin soldier continued firm, and
lay at full length shouldering his musket. The fish swam to and fro,
making the most wonderful movements, but at last he became quite
still. After a while, a flash of lightning seemed to pass through him,
and then the daylight approached, and a voice cried out, "I declare
here is the tin soldier." The fish had been caught, taken to the
market and sold to the cook, who took him into the kitchen and cut him
open with a large knife. She picked up the soldier and held him by the
waist between her finger and thumb, and carried him into the room.
They were all anxious to see this wonderful soldier who had
travelled about inside a fish; but he was not at all proud. They
placed him on the table, and--how many curious things do happen in the
world!--there he was in the very same room from the window of which he
had fallen, there were the same children, the same playthings,
standing on the table, and the pretty castle with the elegant little
dancer at the door; she still balanced herself on one leg, and held up
the other, so she was as firm as himself. It touched the tin soldier
so much to see her that he almost wept tin tears, but he kept them
back. He only looked at her and they both remained silent. Presently
one of the little boys took up the tin soldier, and threw him into the
stove. He had no reason for doing so, therefore it must have been
the fault of the black goblin who lived in the snuff-box. The flames
lighted up the tin soldier, as he stood, the heat was very terrible,
but whether it proceeded from the real fire or from the fire of love
he could not tell. Then he could see that the bright colors were faded
from his uniform, but whether they had been washed off during his
journey or from the effects of his sorrow, no one could say. He looked
at the little lady, and she looked at him. He felt himself melting
away, but he still remained firm with his gun on his shoulder.
Suddenly the door of the room flew open and the draught of air
caught up the little dancer, she fluttered like a sylph right into the
stove by the side of the tin soldier, and was instantly in flames
and was gone. The tin soldier melted down into a lump, and the next
morning, when the maid servant took the ashes out of the stove, she
found him in the shape of a little tin heart. But of the little dancer
nothing remained but the tinsel rose, which was burnt black as a
cinder.




THE TINDER-BOX

A soldier came marching along the high road: "Left, right--left,
right." He had his knapsack on his back, and a sword at his side; he
had been to the wars, and was now returning home.

As he walked on, he met a very frightful-looking old witch in
the road. Her under-lip hung quite down on her breast, and she stopped
and said, "Good evening, soldier; you have a very fine sword, and a
large knapsack, and you are a real soldier; so you shall have as
much money as ever you like."

"Thank you, old witch," said the soldier.

"Do you see that large tree," said the witch, pointing to a tree
which stood beside them. "Well, it is quite hollow inside, and you
must climb to the top, when you will see a hole, through which you can
let yourself down into the tree to a great depth. I will tie a rope
round your body, so that I can pull you up again when you call out
to me."

"But what am I to do, down there in the tree?" asked the soldier.

"Get money," she replied; "for you must know that when you reach
the ground under the tree, you will find yourself in a large hall,
lighted up by three hundred lamps; you will then see three doors,
which can be easily opened, for the keys are in all the locks. On
entering the first of the chambers, to which these doors lead, you
will see a large chest, standing in the middle of the floor, and
upon it a dog seated, with a pair of eyes as large as teacups. But you
need not be at all afraid of him; I will give you my blue checked
apron, which you must spread upon the floor, and then boldly seize
hold of the dog, and place him upon it. You can then open the chest,
and take from it as many pence as you please, they are only copper
pence; but if you would rather have silver money, you must go into the
second chamber. Here you will find another dog, with eyes as big as
mill-wheels; but do not let that trouble you. Place him upon my apron,
and then take what money you please. If, however, you like gold
best, enter the third chamber, where there is another chest full of
it. The dog who sits on this chest is very dreadful; his eyes are as
big as a tower, but do not mind him. If he also is placed upon my
apron, he cannot hurt you, and you may take from the chest what gold
you will."

"This is not a bad story," said the soldier; "but what am I to
give you, you old witch? for, of course, you do not mean to tell me
all this for nothing."

"No," said the witch; "but I do not ask for a single penny. Only
promise to bring me an old tinder-box, which my grandmother left
behind the last time she went down there."

"Very well; I promise. Now tie the rope round my body."

"Here it is," replied the witch; "and here is my blue checked
apron."

As soon as the rope was tied, the soldier climbed up the tree, and
let himself down through the hollow to the ground beneath; and here he
found, as the witch had told him, a large hall, in which many
hundred lamps were all burning. Then he opened the first door. "Ah!"
there sat the dog, with the eyes as large as teacups, staring at him.

"You're a pretty fellow," said the soldier, seizing him, and
placing him on the witch's apron, while he filled his pockets from the
chest with as many pieces as they would hold. Then he closed the
lid, seated the dog upon it again, and walked into another chamber,
And, sure enough, there sat the dog with eyes as big as mill-wheels.

"You had better not look at me in that way," said the soldier;
"you will make your eyes water;" and then he seated him also upon
the apron, and opened the chest. But when he saw what a quantity of
silver money it contained, he very quickly threw away all the
coppers he had taken, and filled his pockets and his knapsack with
nothing but silver.

Then he went into the third room, and there the dog was really
hideous; his eyes were, truly, as big as towers, and they turned round
and round in his head like wheels.

"Good morning," said the soldier, touching his cap, for he had
never seen such a dog in his life. But after looking at him more
closely, he thought he had been civil enough, so he placed him on
the floor, and opened the chest. Good gracious, what a quantity of
gold there was! enough to buy all the sugar-sticks of the
sweet-stuff women; all the tin soldiers, whips, and rocking-horses
in the world, or even the whole town itself There was, indeed, an
immense quantity. So the soldier now threw away all the silver money
he had taken, and filled his pockets and his knapsack with gold
instead; and not only his pockets and his knapsack, but even his cap
and boots, so that he could scarcely walk.

He was really rich now; so he replaced the dog on the chest,
closed the door, and called up through the tree, "Now pull me out, you
old witch."

"Have you got the tinder-box?" asked the witch.

"No; I declare I quite forgot it." So he went back and fetched the
tinderbox, and then the witch drew him up out of the tree, and he
stood again in the high road, with his pockets, his knapsack, his cap,
and his boots full of gold.

"What are you going to do with the tinder-box?" asked the soldier.

"That is nothing to you," replied the witch; "you have the
money, now give me the tinder-box."

"I tell you what," said the soldier, "if you don't tell me what
you are going to do with it, I will draw my sword and cut off your
head."

"No," said the witch.

The soldier immediately cut off her head, and there she lay on the
ground. Then he tied up all his money in her apron, and slung it on
his back like a bundle, put the tinderbox in his pocket, and walked
off to the nearest town. It was a very nice town, and he put up at the
best inn, and ordered a dinner of all his favorite dishes, for now
he was rich and had plenty of money.

The servant, who cleaned his boots, thought they certainly were
a shabby pair to be worn by such a rich gentleman, for he had not
yet bought any new ones. The next day, however, he procured some
good clothes and proper boots, so that our soldier soon became known
as a fine gentleman, and the people visited him, and told him all
the wonders that were to be seen in the town, and of the king's
beautiful daughter, the princess.

"Where can I see her?" asked the soldier.

"She is not to be seen at all," they said; "she lives in a large
copper castle, surrounded by walls and towers. No one but the king
himself can pass in or out, for there has been a prophecy that she
will marry a common soldier, and the king cannot bear to think of such
a marriage."

"I should like very much to see her," thought the soldier; but
he could not obtain permission to do so. However, he passed a very
pleasant time; went to the theatre, drove in the king's garden, and
gave a great deal of money to the poor, which was very good of him; he
remembered what it had been in olden times to be without a shilling.
Now he was rich, had fine clothes, and many friends, who all
declared he was a fine fellow and a real gentleman, and all this
gratified him exceedingly. But his money would not last forever; and
as he spent and gave away a great deal daily, and received none, he
found himself at last with only two shillings left. So he was
obliged to leave his elegant rooms, and live in a little garret
under the roof, where he had to clean his own boots, and even mend
them with a large needle. None of his friends came to see him, there
were too many stairs to mount up. One dark evening, he had not even
a penny to buy a candle; then all at once he remembered that there was
a piece of candle stuck in the tinder-box, which he had brought from
the old tree, into which the witch had helped him.

He found the tinder-box, but no sooner had he struck a few
sparks from the flint and steel, than the door flew open and the dog
with eyes as big as teacups, whom he had seen while down in the
tree, stood before him, and said, "What orders, master?"

"Hallo," said the soldier; "well this is a pleasant tinderbox,
if it brings me all I wish for."

"Bring me some money," said he to the dog.

He was gone in a moment, and presently returned, carrying a
large bag of coppers in his month. The soldier very soon discovered
after this the value of the tinder-box. If he struck the flint once,
the dog who sat on the chest of copper money made his appearance; if
twice, the dog came from the chest of silver; and if three times,
the dog with eyes like towers, who watched over the gold. The
soldier had now plenty of money; he returned to his elegant rooms, and
reappeared in his fine clothes, so that his friends knew him again
directly, and made as much of him as before.

After a while he began to think it was very strange that no one
could get a look at the princess. "Every one says she is very
beautiful," thought he to himself; "but what is the use of that if she
is to be shut up in a copper castle surrounded by so many towers.
Can I by any means get to see her. Stop! where is my tinder-box?" Then
he struck a light, and in a moment the dog, with eyes as big as
teacups, stood before him.

"It is midnight," said the soldier, "yet I should very much like
to see the princess, if only for a moment."

The dog disappeared instantly, and before the soldier could even
look round, he returned with the princess. She was lying on the
dog's back asleep, and looked so lovely, that every one who saw her
would know she was a real princess. The soldier could not help kissing
her, true soldier as he was. Then the dog ran back with the
princess; but in the morning, while at breakfast with the king and
queen, she told them what a singular dream she had had during the
night, of a dog and a soldier, that she had ridden on the dog's
back, and been kissed by the soldier.

"That is a very pretty story, indeed," said the queen. So the next
night one of the old ladies of the court was set to watch by the
princess's bed, to discover whether it really was a dream, or what
else it might be.

The soldier longed very much to see the princess once more, so
he sent for the dog again in the night to fetch her, and to run with
her as fast as ever he could. But the old lady put on water boots, and
ran after him as quickly as he did, and found that he carried the
princess into a large house. She thought it would help her to remember
the place if she made a large cross on the door with a piece of chalk.
Then she went home to bed, and the dog presently returned with the
princess. But when he saw that a cross had been made on the door of
the house, where the soldier lived, he took another piece of chalk and
made crosses on all the doors in the town, so that the lady-in-waiting
might not be able to find out the right door.

Early the next morning the king and queen accompanied the lady and
all the officers of the household, to see where the princess had been.

"Here it is," said the king, when they came to the first door with
a cross on it.

"No, my dear husband, it must be that one," said the queen, pointing
to a second door having a cross also.

"And here is one, and there is another!" they all exclaimed; for
there were crosses on all the doors in every direction.

So they felt it would be useless to search any farther. But the
queen was a very clever woman; she could do a great deal more than
merely ride in a carriage. She took her large gold scissors, cut a
piece of silk into squares, and made a neat little bag. This bag she
filled with buckwheat flour, and tied it round the princess's neck;
and then she cut a small hole in the bag, so that the flour might be
scattered on the ground as the princess went along. During the
night, the dog came again and carried the princess on his back, and
ran with her to the soldier, who loved her very much, and wished
that he had been a prince, so that he might have her for a wife. The
dog did not observe how the flour ran out of the bag all the way
from the castle wall to the soldier's house, and even up to the
window, where he had climbed with the princess. Therefore in the
morning the king and queen found out where their daughter had been,
and the soldier was taken up and put in prison. Oh, how dark and
disagreeable it was as he sat there, and the people said to him,
"To-morrow you will be hanged." It was not very pleasant news, and
besides, he had left the tinder-box at the inn. In the morning he
could see through the iron grating of the little window how the people
were hastening out of the town to see him hanged; he heard the drums
beating, and saw the soldiers marching. Every one ran out to look at
them, and a shoemaker's boy, with a leather apron and slippers on,
galloped by so fast, that one of his slippers flew off and struck
against the wall where the soldier sat looking through the iron
grating. "Hallo, you shoemaker's boy, you need not be in such a
hurry," cried the soldier to him. "There will be nothing to see till I
come; but if you will run to the house where I have been living, and
bring me my tinder-box, you shall have four shillings, but you must
put your best foot foremost."

The shoemaker's boy liked the idea of getting the four
shillings, so he ran very fast and fetched the tinder-box, and gave it
to the soldier. And now we shall see what happened. Outside the town a
large gibbet had been erected, round which stood the soldiers and
several thousands of people. The king and the queen sat on splendid
thrones opposite to the judges and the whole council. The soldier
already stood on the ladder; but as they were about to place the
rope around his neck, he said that an innocent request was often
granted to a poor criminal before he suffered death. He wished very
much to smoke a pipe, as it would be the last pipe he should ever
smoke in the world. The king could not refuse this request, so the
soldier took his tinder-box, and struck fire, once, twice, thrice,--and
there in a moment stood all the dogs;--the one with eyes as big as
teacups, the one with eyes as large as mill-wheels, and the third,
whose eyes were like towers. "Help me now, that I may not be
hanged," cried the soldier.

And the dogs fell upon the judges and all the councillors;
seized one by the legs, and another by the nose, and tossed them
many feet high in the air, so that they fell down and were dashed to
pieces.

"I will not be touched," said the king. But the largest dog seized
him, as well as the queen, and threw them after the others. Then the
soldiers and all the people were afraid, and cried, "Good soldier, you
shall be our king, and you shall marry the beautiful princess."

So they placed the soldier in the king's carriage, and the three
dogs ran on in front and cried "Hurrah!" and the little boys
whistled through their fingers, and the soldiers presented arms. The
princess came out of the copper castle, and became queen, which was
very pleasing to her. The wedding festivities lasted a whole week, and
the dogs sat at the table, and stared with all their eyes.




THE TOAD

The well was deep, and therefore the rope had to be a long one; it
was heavy work turning the handle when any one had to raise a
bucketful of water over the edge of the well. Though the water was
clear, the sun never looked down far enough into the well to mirror
itself in the waters; but as far as its beams could reach, green
things grew forth between the stones in the sides of the well.

Down below dwelt a family of the Toad race. They had, in fact,
come head-over-heels down the well, in the person of the old
Mother-Toad, who was still alive. The green Frogs, who had been
established there a long time, and swam about in the water, called
them "well-guests." But the new-comers seemed determined to stay where
they were, for they found it very agreeable living "in a dry place,"
as they called the wet stones.

The Mother-Frog had once been a traveller. She happened to be in
the water-bucket when it was drawn up, but the light became too strong
for her, and she got a pain in her eyes. Fortunately she scrambled out
of the bucket; but she fell into the water with a terrible flop, and
had to lie sick for three days with pains in her back. She certainly
had not much to tell of the things up above, but she knew this, and
all the Frogs knew it, that the well was not all the world. The
Mother-Toad might have told this and that, if she had chosen, but
she never answered when they asked her anything, and so they left
off asking.

"She's thick, and fat and ugly," said the young green Frogs;
"and her children will be just as ugly as she is."

"That may be," retorted the mother-Toad, "but one of them has a
jewel in his head, or else I have the jewel."

The young frogs listened and stared; and as these words did not
please them, they made grimaces and dived down under the water. But
the little Toads kicked up their hind legs from mere pride, for each
of them thought that he must have the jewel; and then they sat and
held their heads quite still. But at length they asked what it was
that made them so proud, and what kind of a thing a jewel might be.

"Oh, it is such a splendid and precious thing, that I cannot
describe it," said the Mother-Toad. "It's something which one
carries about for one's own pleasure, and that makes other people
angry. But don't ask me any questions, for I shan't answer you."

"Well, I haven't got the jewel," said the smallest of the Toads;
she was as ugly as a toad can be. "Why should I have such a precious
thing? And if it makes others angry, it can't give me any pleasure.
No, I only wish I could get to the edge of the well, and look out;
it must be beautiful up there."

"You'd better stay where you are," said the old Mother-Toad,
"for you know everything here, and you can tell what you have. Take
care of the bucket, for it will crush you to death; and even if you
get into it safely, you may fall out. And it's not every one who falls
so cleverly as I did, and gets away with whole legs and whole bones.

"Quack!" said the little Toad; and that's just as if one of us
were to say, "Aha!"

She had an immense desire to get to the edge of the well, and to
look over; she felt such a longing for the green, up there; and the
next morning, when it chanced that the bucket was being drawn up,
filled with water, and stopped for a moment just in front of the stone
on which the Toad sat, the little creature's heart moved within it,
and our Toad jumped into the filled bucket, which presently was
drawn to the top, and emptied out.

"Ugh, you beast!" said the farm laborer who emptied the bucket,
when he saw the toad. "You're the ugliest thing I've seen for one
while." And he made a kick with his wooden shoe at the toad, which
just escaped being crushed by managing to scramble into the nettles
which grew high by the well's brink. Here she saw stem by stem, but
she looked up also; the sun shone through the leaves, which were quite
transparent; and she felt as a person would feel who steps suddenly
into a great forest, where the sun looks in between the branches and
leaves.

"It's much nicer here than down in the well! I should like to stay
here my whole life long!" said the little Toad. So she lay there for
an hour, yes, for two hours. "I wonder what is to be found up here? As
I have come so far, I must try to go still farther." And so she
crawled on as fast as she could crawl, and got out upon the highway,
where the sun shone upon her, and the dust powdered her all over as
she marched across the way.

"I've got to a dry place now, and no mistake," said the Toad.
"It's almost too much of a good thing here; it tickles one so."

She came to the ditch; and forget-me-nots were growing there,
and meadow-sweet; and a very little way off was a hedge of whitethorn,
and elder bushes grew there, too, and bindweed with white flowers. Gay
colors were to be seen here, and a butterfly, too, was flitting by.
The Toad thought it was a flower which had broken loose that it
might look about better in the world, which was quite a natural
thing to do.

"If one could only make such a journey as that!" said the Toad.
"Croak! how capital that would be."

Eight days and eight nights she stayed by the well, and
experienced no want of provisions. On the ninth day she thought,
"Forward! onward!" But what could she find more charming and
beautiful? Perhaps a little toad or a few green frogs. During the last
night there had been a sound borne on the breeze, as if there were
cousins in the neighborhood.

"It's a glorious thing to live! glorious to get out of the well,
and to lie among the stinging-nettles, and to crawl along the dusty
road. But onward, onward! that we may find frogs or a little toad.
We can't do without that; nature alone is not enough for one." And
so she went forward on her journey.

She came out into the open field, to a great pond, round about
which grew reeds; and she walked into it.

"It will be too damp for you here," said the Frogs; "but you are
very welcome! Are you a he or a she? But it doesn't matter; you are
equally welcome."

And she was invited to the concert in the evening--the family
concert; great enthusiasm and thin voices; we know the sort of
thing. No refreshments were given, only there was plenty to drink, for
the whole pond was free.

"Now I shall resume my journey," said the little Toad; for she
always felt a longing for something better.

She saw the stars shining, so large and so bright, and she saw the
moon gleaming; and then she saw the sun rise, and mount higher and
higher.

"Perhaps after all, I am still in a well, only in a larger well. I
must get higher yet; I feel a great restlessness and longing." And
when the moon became round and full, the poor creature thought, "I
wonder if that is the bucket which will be let down, and into which
I must step to get higher up? Or is the sun the great bucket? How
great it is! how bright it is! It can take up all. I must look out,
that I may not miss the opportunity. Oh, how it seems to shine in my
head! I don't think the jewel can shine brighter. But I haven't the
jewel; not that I cry about that--no, I must go higher up, into
splendor and joy! I feel so confident, and yet I am afraid. It's a
difficult step to take, and yet it must be taken. Onward, therefore,
straight onward!"

She took a few steps, such as a crawling animal may take, and soon
found herself on a road beside which people dwelt; but there were
flower gardens as well as kitchen gardens. And she sat down to rest by
a kitchen garden.

"What a number of different creatures there are that I never knew!
and how beautiful and great the world is! But one must look round in
it, and not stay in one spot." And then she hopped into the kitchen
garden. "How green it is here! how beautiful it is here!"

"I know that," said the Caterpillar, on the leaf, "my leaf is
the largest here. It hides half the world from me, but I don't care
for the world."

"Cluck, cluck!" And some fowls came. They tripped about in the
cabbage garden. The Fowl who marched at the head of them had a long
sight, and she spied the Caterpillar on the green leaf, and pecked
at it, so that the Caterpillar fell on the ground, where it twisted
and writhed.

The Fowl looked at it first with one eye and then with the
other, for she did not know what the end of this writhing would be.

"It doesn't do that with a good will," thought the Fowl, and
lifted up her head to peck at the Caterpillar.

The Toad was so horrified at this, that she came crawling straight
up towards the Fowl.

"Aha, it has allies," quoth the Fowl. "Just look at the crawling
thing!" And then the Fowl turned away. "I don't care for the little
green morsel; it would only tickle my throat." The other fowls took
the same view of it, and they all turned away together.

"I writhed myself free," said the Caterpillar. "What a good
thing it is when one has presence of mind! But the hardest thing
remains to be done, and that is to get on my leaf again. Where is it?"

And the little Toad came up and expressed her sympathy. She was
glad that in her ugliness she had frightened the fowls.

"What do you mean by that?" cried the Caterpillar. "I wriggled
myself free from the Fowl. You are very disagreeable to look at.
Cannot I be left in peace on my own property? Now I smell cabbage; now
I am near my leaf. Nothing is so beautiful as property. But I must
go higher up."

"Yes, higher up," said the little Toad; "higher-up! She feels just
as I do; but she's not in a good humor to-day. That's because of the
fright. We all want to go higher up." And she looked up as high as
ever she could.

The stork sat in his nest on the roof of the farm-house. He
clapped with his beak, and the Mother-stork clapped with hers.

"How high up they live!" thought the Toad. "If one could only
get as high as that!"

In the farm-house lived two young students; the one was a poet and
the other a scientific searcher into the secrets of nature. The one
sang and wrote joyously of everything that God had created, and how it
was mirrored in his heart. He sang it out clearly, sweetly, richly, in
well-sounding verses; while the other investigated created matter
itself, and even cut it open where need was. He looked upon God's
creation as a great sum in arithmetic--subtracted, multiplied, and
tried to know it within and without, and to talk with understanding
concerning it; and that was a very sensible thing; and he spoke
joyously and cleverly of it. They were good, joyful men, those two.

"There sits a good specimen of a toad," said the naturalist. "I
must have that fellow in a bottle of spirits."

"You have two of them already," replied the poet. "Let the thing
sit there and enjoy its life."

"But it's so wonderfully ugly," persisted the first.

"Yes, if we could find the jewel in its head," said the poet, "I
too should be for cutting it open.'

"A jewel!" cried the naturalist. "You seem to know a great deal
about natural history."

"But is there not something beautiful in the popular belief that
just as the toad is the ugliest of animals, it should often carry
the most precious jewel in its head? Is it not just the same thing
with men? What a jewel that was that Aesop had, and still more,
Socrates!"

The Toad did not hear any more, nor did she understand half of
what she had heard. The two friends walked on, and thus she escaped
the fate of being bottled up in spirits.

"Those two also were speaking of the jewel," said the Toad to
herself. "What a good thing that I have not got it! I might have
been in a very disagreeable position."

Now there was a clapping on the roof of the farm-house.
Father-Stork was making a speech to his family, and his family was
glancing down at the two young men in the kitchen garden.

"Man is the most conceited creature!" said the Stork. "Listen
how their jaws are wagging; and for all that they can't clap properly.
They boast of their gifts of eloquence and their language! Yes, a fine
language truly! Why, it changes in every day's journey we make. One of
them doesn't understand another. Now, we can speak our language over
the whole earth--up in the North and in Egypt. And then men are not
able to fly, moreover. They rush along by means of an invention they
call 'railway;' but they often break their necks over it. It makes
my beak turn cold when I think of it. The world could get on without
men. We could do without them very well, so long as we only keep frogs
and earth-worms."

"That was a powerful speech," thought the little Toad. "What a
great man that is yonder! and how high he sits! Higher than ever I saw
any one sit yet; and how he can swim!" she cried, as the Stork
soared away through the air with outspread pinions.

And the Mother-Stork began talking in the nest, and told about
Egypt and the waters of the Nile, and the incomparable mud that was to
be found in that strange land; and all this sounded new and very
charming to the little Toad.

"I must go to Egypt!" said she. "If the Stork or one of his
young ones would only take me! I would oblige him in return. Yes, I
shall get to Egypt, for I feel so happy! All the longing and all the
pleasure that I feel is much better than having a jewel in one's
head."

And it was just she who had the jewel. That jewel was the
continual striving and desire to go upward--ever upward. It gleamed in
her head, gleamed in joy, beamed brightly in her longing.

Then, suddenly, up came the Stork. He had seen the Toad in the
grass, and stooped down and seized the little creature anything but
gently. The Stork's beak pinched her, and the wind whistled; it was
not exactly agreeable, but she was going upward--upward towards
Egypt--and she knew it; and that was why her eyes gleamed, and a spark
seemed to fly out of them.

"Quunk!--ah!"

The body was dead--the Toad was killed! But the spark that had
shot forth from her eyes; what became of that?

The sunbeam took it up; the sunbeam carried the jewel from the
head of the toad. Whither?

Ask not the naturalist; rather ask the poet. He will tell it
thee under the guise of a fairy tale; and the Caterpillar on the
cabbage, and the Stork family belong to the story. Think! the
Caterpillar is changed, and turns into a beautiful butterfly; the
Stork family flies over mountains and seas, to the distant Africa, and
yet finds the shortest way home to the same country--to the same roof.
Nay, that is almost too improbable; and yet it is true. You may ask
the naturalist, he will confess it is so; and you know it yourself,
for you have seen it.

But the jewel in the head of the toad?

Seek it in the sun; see it there if you can.

The brightness is too dazzling there. We have not yet such eyes as
can see into the glories which God has created, but we shall receive
them by-and-by; and that will be the most beautiful story of all,
and we shall all have our share in it.




THE TOP AND BALL

A whipping top and a little ball lay together in a box, among
other toys, and the top said to the ball, "Shall we be married, as
we live in the same box?"

But the ball, which wore a dress of morocco leather, and thought
as much of herself as any other young lady, would not even
condescend to reply.

The next day came the little boy to whom the playthings
belonged, and he painted the top red and yellow, and drove a
brass-headed nail into the middle, so that while the top was
spinning round it looked splendid.

"Look at me," said the top to the ball. "What do you say now?
Shall we be engaged to each other? We should suit so well; you spring,
and I dance. No one could be happier than we should be."

"Indeed! do you think so? Perhaps you do not know that my father
and mother were morocco slippers, and that I have a Spanish cork in my
body."

"Yes; but I am made of mahogany," said the top. "The major himself
turned me. He has a turning lathe of his own, and it is a great
amusement to him."

"Can I believe it?" asked the ball.

"May I never be whipped again," said the top, "if I am not telling
you the truth."

"You certainly know how to speak for yourself very well," said the
ball; "but I cannot accept your proposal. I am almost engaged to a
swallow. Every time I fly up in the air, he puts his head out of the
nest, and says, 'Will you?' and I have said, 'Yes,' to myself
silently, and that is as good as being half engaged; but I will
promise never to forget you."

"Much good that will be to me," said the top; and they spoke to
each other no more.

Next day the ball was taken out by the boy. The top saw it
flying high in the air, like a bird, till it would go quite out of
sight. Each time it came back, as it touched the earth, it gave a
higher leap than before, either because it longed to fly upwards, or
from having a Spanish cork in its body. But the ninth time it rose
in the air, it remained away, and did not return. The boy searched
everywhere for it, but he searched in vain, for it could not be found;
it was gone.

"I know very well where she is," sighed the top; "she is in the
swallow's nest, and has married the swallow."

The more the top thought of this, the more he longed for the ball.
His love increased the more, just because he could not get her; and
that she should have been won by another, was the worst of all. The
top still twirled about and hummed, but he continued to think of the
ball; and the more he thought of her, the more beautiful she seemed to
his fancy.

Thus several years passed by, and his love became quite old. The
top, also, was no longer young; but there came a day when he looked
handsomer than ever; for he was gilded all over. He was now a golden
top, and whirled and danced about till he hummed quite loud, and was
something worth looking at; but one day he leaped too high, and then
he, also, was gone. They searched everywhere, even in the cellar,
but he was nowhere to be found. Where could he be? He had jumped
into the dust-bin, where all sorts of rubbish were lying:
cabbage-stalks, dust, and rain-droppings that had fallen down from the
gutter under the roof.

"Now I am in a nice place," said he; "my gilding will soon be
washed off here. Oh dear, what a set of rabble I have got amongst!"
And then he glanced at a curious round thing like an old apple,
which lay near a long, leafless cabbage-stalk. It was, however, not an
apple, but an old ball, which had lain for years in the gutter, and
was soaked through with water.

"Thank goodness, here comes one of my own class, with whom I can
talk," said the ball, examining the gilded top. "I am made of
morocco," she said. "I was sewn together by a young lady, and I have a
Spanish cork in my body; but no one would think it, to look at me now.
I was once engaged to a swallow; but I fell in here from the gutter
under the roof, and I have lain here more than five years, and have
been thoroughly drenched. Believe me, it is a long time for a young
maiden."

The top said nothing, but he thought of his old love; and the more
she said, the more clear it became to him that this was the same ball.

The servant then came to clean out the dust-bin.

"Ah," she exclaimed, "here is a gilt top." So the top was
brought again to notice and honor, but nothing more was heard of the
little ball. He spoke not a word about his old love; for that soon
died away. When the beloved object has lain for five years in a
gutter, and has been drenched through, no one cares to know her
again on meeting her in a dust-bin.




THE TRAVELLING COMPANION

Poor John was very sad; for his father was so ill, he had no
hope of his recovery. John sat alone with the sick man in the little
room, and the lamp had nearly burnt out; for it was late in the night.

"You have been a good son, John," said the sick father, "and God
will help you on in the world." He looked at him, as he spoke, with
mild, earnest eyes, drew a deep sigh, and died; yet it appeared as
if he still slept.

John wept bitterly. He had no one in the wide world now; neither
father, mother, brother, nor sister. Poor John! he knelt down by the
bed, kissed his dead father's hand, and wept many, many bitter
tears. But at last his eyes closed, and he fell asleep with his head
resting against the hard bedpost. Then he dreamed a strange dream;
he thought he saw the sun shining upon him, and his father alive and
well, and even heard him laughing as he used to do when he was very
happy. A beautiful girl, with a golden crown on her head, and long,
shining hair, gave him her hand; and his father said, "See what a
bride you have won. She is the loveliest maiden on the whole earth."
Then he awoke, and all the beautiful things vanished before his
eyes, his father lay dead on the bed, and he was all alone. Poor John!

During the following week the dead man was buried. The son
walked behind the coffin which contained his father, whom he so dearly
loved, and would never again behold. He heard the earth fall on the
coffin-lid, and watched it till only a corner remained in sight, and
at last that also disappeared. He felt as if his heart would break
with its weight of sorrow, till those who stood round the grave sang a
psalm, and the sweet, holy tones brought tears into his eyes, which
relieved him. The sun shone brightly down on the green trees, as if it
would say, "You must not be so sorrowful, John. Do you see the
beautiful blue sky above you? Your father is up there, and he prays to
the loving Father of all, that you may do well in the future."

"I will always be good," said John, "and then I shall go to be
with my father in heaven. What joy it will be when we see each other
again! How much I shall have to relate to him, and how many things
he will be able to explain to me of the delights of heaven, and
teach me as he once did on earth. Oh, what joy it will be!"

He pictured it all so plainly to himself, that he smiled even
while the tears ran down his cheeks.

The little birds in the chestnut-trees twittered, "Tweet,
tweet;" they were so happy, although they had seen the funeral; but
they seemed as if they knew that the dead man was now in heaven, and
that he had wings much larger and more beautiful than their own; and
he was happy now, because he had been good here on earth, and they
were glad of it. John saw them fly away out of the green trees into
the wide world, and he longed to fly with them; but first he cut out a
large wooden cross, to place on his father's grave; and when he
brought it there in the evening, he found the grave decked out with
gravel and flowers. Strangers had done this; they who had known the
good old father who was now dead, and who had loved him very much.

Early the next morning, John packed up his little bundle of
clothes, and placed all his money, which consisted of fifty dollars
and a few shillings, in his girdle; with this he determined to try his
fortune in the world. But first he went into the churchyard; and, by
his father's grave, he offered up a prayer, and said, "Farewell."

As he passed through the fields, all the flowers looked fresh
and beautiful in the warm sunshine, and nodded in the wind, as if they
wished to say, "Welcome to the green wood, where all is fresh and
bright."

Then John turned to have one more look at the old church, in which
he had been christened in his infancy, and where his father had
taken him every Sunday to hear the service and join in singing the
psalms. As he looked at the old tower, he espied the ringer standing
at one of the narrow openings, with his little pointed red cap on
his head, and shading his eyes from the sun with his bent arm. John
nodded farewell to him, and the little ringer waved his red cap,
laid his hand on his heart, and kissed his hand to him a great many
times, to show that he felt kindly towards him, and wished him a
prosperous journey.

John continued his journey, and thought of all the wonderful
things he should see in the large, beautiful world, till he found
himself farther away from home than ever he had been before. He did
not even know the names of the places he passed through, and could
scarcely understand the language of the people he met, for he was
far away, in a strange land. The first night he slept on a haystack,
out in the fields, for there was no other bed for him; but it seemed
to him so nice and comfortable that even a king need not wish for a
better. The field, the brook, the haystack, with the blue sky above,
formed a beautiful sleeping-room. The green grass, with the little red
and white flowers, was the carpet; the elder-bushes and the hedges
of wild roses looked like garlands on the walls; and for a bath he
could have the clear, fresh water of the brook; while the rushes bowed
their heads to him, to wish him good morning and good evening. The
moon, like a large lamp, hung high up in the blue ceiling, and he
had no fear of its setting fire to his curtains. John slept here quite
safely all night; and when he awoke, the sun was up, and all the
little birds were singing round him, "Good morning, good morning.
Are you not up yet?"

It was Sunday, and the bells were ringing for church. As the
people went in, John followed them; he heard God's word, joined in
singing the psalms, and listened to the preacher. It seemed to him
just as if he were in his own church, where he had been christened,
and had sung the psalms with his father. Out in the churchyard were
several graves, and on some of them the grass had grown very high.
John thought of his father's grave, which he knew at last would look
like these, as he was not there to weed and attend to it. Then he
set to work, pulled up the high grass, raised the wooden crosses which
had fallen down, and replaced the wreaths which had been blown away
from their places by the wind, thinking all the time, "Perhaps some
one is doing the same for my father's grave, as I am not there to do
it."

Outside the church door stood an old beggar, leaning on his
crutch. John gave him his silver shillings, and then he continued
his journey, feeling lighter and happier than ever. Towards evening,
the weather became very stormy, and he hastened on as quickly as he
could, to get shelter; but it was quite dark by the time he reached
a little lonely church which stood on a hill. "I will go in here,"
he said, "and sit down in a corner; for I am quite tired, and want
rest."

So he went in, and seated himself; then he folded his hands, and
offered up his evening prayer, and was soon fast asleep and
dreaming, while the thunder rolled and the lightning flashed
without. When he awoke, it was still night; but the storm had
ceased, and the moon shone in upon him through the windows. Then he
saw an open coffin standing in the centre of the church, which
contained a dead man, waiting for burial. John was not at all timid;
he had a good conscience, and he knew also that the dead can never
injure any one. It is living wicked men who do harm to others. Two
such wicked persons stood now by the dead man, who had been brought to
the church to be buried. Their evil intentions were to throw the
poor dead body outside the church door, and not leave him to rest in
his coffin.

"Why do you do this?" asked John, when he saw what they were going
to do; "it is very wicked. Leave him to rest in peace, in Christ's
name."

"Nonsense," replied the two dreadful men. "He has cheated us; he
owed us money which he could not pay, and now he is dead we shall
not get a penny; so we mean to have our revenge, and let him lie
like a dog outside the church door."

"I have only fifty dollars," said John, "it is all I possess in
the world, but I will give it to you if you will promise me faithfully
to leave the dead man in peace. I shall be able to get on without
the money; I have strong and healthy limbs, and God will always help
me."

"Why, of course," said the horrid men, "if you will pay his debt
we will both promise not to touch him. You may depend upon that;"
and then they took the money he offered them, laughed at him for his
good nature, and went their way.

Then he laid the dead body back in the coffin, folded the hands,
and took leave of it; and went away contentedly through the great
forest. All around him he could see the prettiest little elves dancing
in the moonlight, which shone through the trees. They were not
disturbed by his appearance, for they knew he was good and harmless
among men. They are wicked people only who can never obtain a
glimpse of fairies. Some of them were not taller than the breadth of a
finger, and they wore golden combs in their long, yellow hair. They
were rocking themselves two together on the large dew-drops with which
the leaves and the high grass were sprinkled. Sometimes the
dew-drops would roll away, and then they fell down between the stems
of the long grass, and caused a great deal of laughing and noise among
the other little people. It was quite charming to watch them at
play. Then they sang songs, and John remembered that he had learnt
those pretty songs when he was a little boy. Large speckled spiders,
with silver crowns on their heads, were employed to spin suspension
bridges and palaces from one hedge to another, and when the tiny drops
fell upon them, they glittered in the moonlight like shining glass.
This continued till sunrise. Then the little elves crept into the
flower-buds, and the wind seized the bridges and palaces, and
fluttered them in the air like cobwebs.

As John left the wood, a strong man's voice called after him,
"Hallo, comrade, where are you travelling?"

"Into the wide world," he replied; "I am only a poor lad, I have
neither father nor mother, but God will help me."

"I am going into the wide world also," replied the stranger;
"shall we keep each other company?"

"With all my heart," he said, and so they went on together. Soon
they began to like each other very much, for they were both good;
but John found out that the stranger was much more clever than
himself. He had travelled all over the world, and could describe
almost everything. The sun was high in the heavens when they seated
themselves under a large tree to eat their breakfast, and at the
same moment an old woman came towards them. She was very old and
almost bent double. She leaned upon a stick and carried on her back
a bundle of firewood, which she had collected in the forest; her apron
was tied round it, and John saw three great stems of fern and some
willow twigs peeping out. Just as she came close up to them, her
foot slipped and she fell to the ground screaming loudly; poor old
woman, she had broken her leg! John proposed directly that they should
carry the old woman home to her cottage; but the stranger opened his
knapsack and took out a box, in which he said he had a salve that
would quickly make her leg well and strong again, so that she would be
able to walk home herself, as if her leg had never been broken. And
all that he would ask in return was the three fern stems which she
carried in her apron.

"That is rather too high a price," said the old woman, nodding her
head quite strangely. She did not seem at all inclined to part with
the fern stems. However, it was not very agreeable to lie there with a
broken leg, so she gave them to him; and such was the power of the
ointment, that no sooner had he rubbed her leg with it than the old
mother rose up and walked even better than she had done before. But
then this wonderful ointment could not be bought at a chemist's.

"What can you want with those three fern rods?" asked John of
his fellow-traveller.

"Oh, they will make capital brooms," said he; "and I like them
because I have strange whims sometimes." Then they walked on
together for a long distance.

"How dark the sky is becoming," said John; "and look at those
thick, heavy clouds."

"Those are not clouds," replied his fellow-traveller; "they are
mountains--large lofty mountains--on the tops of which we should be
above the clouds, in the pure, free air. Believe me, it is
delightful to ascend so high, tomorrow we shall be there." But the
mountains were not so near as they appeared; they had to travel a
whole day before they reached them, and pass through black forests and
piles of rock as large as a town. The journey had been so fatiguing
that John and his fellow-traveller stopped to rest at a roadside
inn, so that they might gain strength for their journey on the morrow.
In the large public room of the inn a great many persons were
assembled to see a comedy performed by dolls. The showman had just
erected his little theatre, and the people were sitting round the room
to witness the performance. Right in front, in the very best place,
sat a stout butcher, with a great bull-dog by his side who seemed very
much inclined to bite. He sat staring with all his eyes, and so indeed
did every one else in the room. And then the play began. It was a
pretty piece, with a king and a queen in it, who sat on a beautiful
throne, and had gold crowns on their heads. The trains to their
dresses were very long, according to the fashion; while the
prettiest of wooden dolls, with glass eyes and large mustaches,
stood at the doors, and opened and shut them, that the fresh air might
come into the room. It was a very pleasant play, not at all
mournful; but just as the queen stood up and walked across the
stage, the great bull-dog, who should have been held back by his
master, made a spring forward, and caught the queen in the teeth by
the slender wrist, so that it snapped in two. This was a very dreadful
disaster. The poor man, who was exhibiting the dolls, was much
annoyed, and quite sad about his queen; she was the prettiest doll
he had, and the bull-dog had broken her head and shoulders off. But
after all the people were gone away, the stranger, who came with John,
said that he could soon set her to rights. And then he brought out his
box and rubbed the doll with some of the salve with which he had cured
the old woman when she broke her leg. As soon as this was done the
doll's back became quite right again; her head and shoulders were
fixed on, and she could even move her limbs herself: there was now
no occasion to pull the wires, for the doll acted just like a living
creature, excepting that she could not speak. The man to whom the show
belonged was quite delighted at having a doll who could dance of
herself without being pulled by the wires; none of the other dolls
could do this.

During the night, when all the people at the inn were gone to bed,
some one was heard to sigh so deeply and painfully, and the sighing
continued for so long a time, that every one got up to see what
could be the matter. The showman went at once to his little theatre
and found that it proceeded from the dolls, who all lay on the floor
sighing piteously, and staring with their glass eyes; they all
wanted to be rubbed with the ointment, so that, like the queen, they
might be able to move of themselves. The queen threw herself on her
knees, took off her beautiful crown, and, holding it in her hand,
cried, "Take this from me, but do rub my husband and his courtiers."

The poor man who owned the theatre could scarcely refrain from
weeping; he was so sorry that he could not help them. Then he
immediately spoke to John's comrade, and promised him all the money he
might receive at the next evening's performance, if he would only
rub the ointment on four or five of his dolls. But the fellow-traveller
said he did not require anything in return, excepting the sword
which the showman wore by his side. As soon as he received the
sword he anointed six of the dolls with the ointment, and they
were able immediately to dance so gracefully that all the living girls
in the room could not help joining in the dance. The coachman danced
with the cook, and the waiters with the chambermaids, and all the
strangers joined; even the tongs and the fire-shovel made an
attempt, but they fell down after the first jump. So after all it
was a very merry night. The next morning John and his companion left
the inn to continue their journey through the great pine-forests and
over the high mountains. They arrived at last at such a great height
that towns and villages lay beneath them, and the church steeples
looked like little specks between the green trees. They could see
for miles round, far away to places they had never visited, and John
saw more of the beautiful world than he had ever known before. The sun
shone brightly in the blue firmament above, and through the clear
mountain air came the sound of the huntsman's horn, and the soft,
sweet notes brought tears into his eyes, and he could not help
exclaiming, "How good and loving God is to give us all this beauty and
loveliness in the world to make us happy!"

His fellow-traveller stood by with folded hands, gazing on the
dark wood and the towns bathed in the warm sunshine. At this moment
there sounded over their heads sweet music. They looked up, and
discovered a large white swan hovering in the air, and singing as
never bird sang before. But the song soon became weaker and weaker,
the bird's head drooped, and he sunk slowly down, and lay dead at
their feet.

"It is a beautiful bird," said the traveller, "and these large
white wings are worth a great deal of money. I will take them with me.
You see now that a sword will be very useful."

So he cut off the wings of the dead swan with one blow, and
carried them away with him.

They now continued their journey over the mountains for many
miles, till they at length reached a large city, containing hundreds
of towers, that shone in the sunshine like silver. In the midst of the
city stood a splendid marble palace, roofed with pure red gold, in
which dwelt the king. John and his companion would not go into the
town immediately; so they stopped at an inn outside the town, to
change their clothes; for they wished to appear respectable as they
walked through the streets. The landlord told them that the king was a
very good man, who never injured any one: but as to his daughter,
"Heaven defend us!"

She was indeed a wicked princess. She possessed beauty enough--nobody
could be more elegant or prettier than she was; but what of
that? for she was a wicked witch; and in consequence of her conduct
many noble young princes had lost their lives. Any one was at
liberty to make her an offer; were he a prince or a beggar, it
mattered not to her. She would ask him to guess three things which she
had just thought of, and if he succeed, he was to marry her, and be
king over all the land when her father died; but if he could not guess
these three things, then she ordered him to be hanged or to have his
head cut off. The old king, her father, was very much grieved at her
conduct, but he could not prevent her from being so wicked, because he
once said he would have nothing more to do with her lovers; she
might do as she pleased. Each prince who came and tried the three
guesses, so that he might marry the princess, had been unable to
find them out, and had been hanged or beheaded. They had all been
warned in time, and might have left her alone, if they would. The
old king became at last so distressed at all these dreadful
circumstances, that for a whole day every year he and his soldiers
knelt and prayed that the princess might become good; but she
continued as wicked as ever. The old women who drank brandy would
color it quite black before they drank it, to show how they mourned;
and what more could they do?

"What a horrible princess!" said John; "she ought to be well
flogged. If I were the old king, I would have her punished in some
way."

Just then they heard the people outside shouting, "Hurrah!" and,
looking out, they saw the princess passing by; and she was really so
beautiful that everybody forgot her wickedness, and shouted
"Hurrah!" Twelve lovely maidens in white silk dresses, holding
golden tulips in their hands, rode by her side on coal-black horses.
The princess herself had a snow-white steed, decked with diamonds
and rubies. Her dress was of cloth of gold, and the whip she held in
her hand looked like a sunbeam. The golden crown on her head glittered
like the stars of heaven, and her mantle was formed of thousands of
butterflies' wings sewn together. Yet she herself was more beautiful
than all.

When John saw her, his face became as red as a drop of blood,
and he could scarcely utter a word. The princess looked exactly like
the beautiful lady with the golden crown, of whom he had dreamed on
the night his father died. She appeared to him so lovely that he could
not help loving her.

"It could not be true," he thought, "that she was really a
wicked witch, who ordered people to be hanged or beheaded, if they
could not guess her thoughts. Every one has permission to go and ask
her hand, even the poorest beggar. I shall pay a visit to the palace,"
he said; "I must go, for I cannot help myself."

Then they all advised him not to attempt it; for he would be
sure to share the same fate as the rest. His fellow-traveller also
tried to persuade him against it; but John seemed quite sure of
success. He brushed his shoes and his coat, washed his face and his
hands, combed his soft flaxen hair, and then went out alone into the
town, and walked to the palace.

"Come in," said the king, as John knocked at the door. John opened
it, and the old king, in a dressing gown and embroidered slippers,
came towards him. He had the crown on his head, carried his sceptre in
one hand, and the orb in the other. "Wait a bit," said he, and he
placed the orb under his arm, so that he could offer the other hand to
John; but when he found that John was another suitor, he began to weep
so violently, that both the sceptre and the orb fell to the floor, and
he was obliged to wipe his eyes with his dressing gown. Poor old king!
"Let her alone," he said; "you will fare as badly as all the others.
Come, I will show you." Then he led him out into the princess's
pleasure gardens, and there he saw a frightful sight. On every tree
hung three or four king's sons who had wooed the princess, but had not
been able to guess the riddles she gave them. Their skeletons
rattled in every breeze, so that the terrified birds never dared to
venture into the garden. All the flowers were supported by human bones
instead of sticks, and human skulls in the flower-pots grinned
horribly. It was really a doleful garden for a princess. "Do you see
all this?" said the old king; "your fate will be the same as those who
are here, therefore do not attempt it. You really make me very
unhappy,--I take these things to heart so very much."

John kissed the good old king's hand, and said he was sure it
would be all right, for he was quite enchanted with the beautiful
princess. Then the princess herself came riding into the palace yard
with all her ladies, and he wished her "Good morning." She looked
wonderfully fair and lovely when she offered her hand to John, and
he loved her more than ever. How could she be a wicked witch, as all
the people asserted? He accompanied her into the hall, and the
little pages offered them gingerbread nuts and sweetmeats, but the old
king was so unhappy he could eat nothing, and besides, gingerbread
nuts were too hard for him. It was decided that John should come to
the palace the next day, when the judges and the whole of the
counsellors would be present, to try if he could guess the first
riddle. If he succeeded, he would have to come a second time; but if
not, he would lose his life,--and no one had ever been able to guess
even one. However, John was not at all anxious about the result of his
trial; on the contrary, he was very merry. He thought only of the
beautiful princess, and believed that in some way he should have help,
but how he knew not, and did not like to think about it; so he
danced along the high-road as he went back to the inn, where he had
left his fellow-traveller waiting for him. John could not refrain from
telling him how gracious the princess had been, and how beautiful
she looked. He longed for the next day so much, that he might go to
the palace and try his luck at guessing the riddles. But his comrade
shook his head, and looked very mournful. "I do so wish you to do
well," said he; "we might have continued together much longer, and now
I am likely to lose you; you poor dear John! I could shed tears, but I
will not make you unhappy on the last night we may be together. We
will be merry, really merry this evening; to-morrow, after you are
gone, shall be able to weep undisturbed."

It was very quickly known among the inhabitants of the town that
another suitor had arrived for the princess, and there was great
sorrow in consequence. The theatre remained closed, the women who sold
sweetmeats tied crape round the sugar-sticks, and the king and the
priests were on their knees in the church. There was a great
lamentation, for no one expected John to succeed better than those who
had been suitors before.

In the evening John's comrade prepared a large bowl of punch,
and said, "Now let us be merry, and drink to the health of the
princess." But after drinking two glasses, John became so sleepy, that
he could not keep his eyes open, and fell fast asleep. Then his
fellow-traveller lifted him gently out of his chair, and laid him on
the bed; and as soon as it was quite dark, he took the two large wings
which he had cut from the dead swan, and tied them firmly to his own
shoulders. Then he put into his pocket the largest of the three rods
which he had obtained from the old woman who had fallen and broken her
leg. After this he opened the window, and flew away over the town,
straight towards the palace, and seated himself in a corner, under the
window which looked into the bedroom of the princess.

The town was perfectly still when the clocks struck a quarter to
twelve. Presently the window opened, and the princess, who had large
black wings to her shoulders, and a long white mantle, flew away
over the city towards a high mountain. The fellow-traveller, who had
made himself invisible, so that she could not possibly see him, flew
after her through the air, and whipped the princess with his rod, so
that the blood came whenever he struck her. Ah, it was a strange
flight through the air! The wind caught her mantle, so that it
spread out on all sides, like the large sail of a ship, and the moon
shone through it. "How it hails, to be sure!" said the princess, at
each blow she received from the rod; and it served her right to be
whipped.

At last she reached the side of the mountain, and knocked. The
mountain opened with a noise like the roll of thunder, and the
princess went in. The traveller followed her; no one could see him, as
he had made himself invisible. They went through a long, wide passage.
A thousand gleaming spiders ran here and there on the walls, causing
them to glitter as if they were illuminated with fire. They next
entered a large hall built of silver and gold. Large red and blue
flowers shone on the walls, looking like sunflowers in size, but no
one could dare to pluck them, for the stems were hideous poisonous
snakes, and the flowers were flames of fire, darting out of their
jaws. Shining glow-worms covered the ceiling, and sky-blue bats
flapped their transparent wings. Altogether the place had a
frightful appearance. In the middle of the floor stood a throne
supported by four skeleton horses, whose harness had been made by
fiery-red spiders. The throne itself was made of milk-white glass, and
the cushions were little black mice, each biting the other's tail.
Over it hung a canopy of rose-colored spider's webs, spotted with
the prettiest little green flies, which sparkled like precious stones.
On the throne sat an old magician with a crown on his ugly head, and a
sceptre in his hand. He kissed the princess on the forehead, seated
her by his side on the splendid throne, and then the music
commenced. Great black grasshoppers played the mouth organ, and the
owl struck herself on the body instead of a drum. It was altogether
a ridiculous concert. Little black goblins with false lights in
their caps danced about the hall; but no one could see the
traveller, and he had placed himself just behind the throne where he
could see and hear everything. The courtiers who came in afterwards
looked noble and grand; but any one with common sense could see what
they really were, only broomsticks, with cabbages for heads. The
magician had given them life, and dressed them in embroidered robes.
It answered very well, as they were only wanted for show. After
there had been a little dancing, the princess told the magician that
she had a new suitor, and asked him what she could think of for the
suitor to guess when he came to the castle the next morning.

"Listen to what I say," said the magician, "you must choose
something very easy, he is less likely to guess it then. Think of
one of your shoes, he will never imagine it is that. Then cut his head
off; and mind you do not forget to bring his eyes with you to-morrow
night, that I may eat them."

The princess curtsied low, and said she would not forget the eyes.

The magician then opened the mountain and she flew home again, but
the traveller followed and flogged her so much with the rod, that
she sighed quite deeply about the heavy hail-storm, and made as much
haste as she could to get back to her bedroom through the window.
The traveller then returned to the inn where John still slept, took
off his wings and laid down on the bed, for he was very tired. Early
in the morning John awoke, and when his fellow-traveller got up, he
said that he had a very wonderful dream about the princess and her
shoe, he therefore advised John to ask her if she had not thought of
her shoe. Of course the traveller knew this from what the magician
in the mountain had said.

"I may as well say that as anything," said John. "Perhaps your
dream may come true; still I will say farewell, for if I guess wrong I
shall never see you again."

Then they embraced each other, and John went into the town and
walked to the palace. The great hall was full of people, and the
judges sat in arm-chairs, with eider-down cushions to rest their heads
upon, because they had so much to think of. The old king stood near,
wiping his eyes with his white pocket-handkerchief. When the
princess entered, she looked even more beautiful than she had appeared
the day before, and greeted every one present most gracefully; but
to John she gave her hand, and said, "Good morning to you."

Now came the time for John to guess what she was thinking of;
and oh, how kindly she looked at him as she spoke. But when he uttered
the single word shoe, she turned as pale as a ghost; all her wisdom
could not help her, for he had guessed rightly. Oh, how pleased the
old king was! It was quite amusing to see how he capered about. All
the people clapped their hands, both on his account and John's, who
had guessed rightly the first time. His fellow-traveller was glad
also, when he heard how successful John had been. But John folded
his hands, and thanked God, who, he felt quite sure, would help him
again; and he knew he had to guess twice more. The evening passed
pleasantly like the one preceding. While John slept, his companion
flew behind the princess to the mountain, and flogged her even
harder than before; this time he had taken two rods with him. No one
saw him go in with her, and he heard all that was said. The princess
this time was to think of a glove, and he told John as if he had again
heard it in a dream. The next day, therefore, he was able to guess
correctly the second time, and it caused great rejoicing at the
palace. The whole court jumped about as they had seen the king do
the day before, but the princess lay on the sofa, and would not say
a single word. All now depended upon John. If he only guessed
rightly the third time, he would marry the princess, and reign over
the kingdom after the death of the old king: but if he failed, he
would lose his life, and the magician would have his beautiful blue
eyes. That evening John said his prayers and went to bed very early,
and soon fell asleep calmly. But his companion tied on his wings to
his shoulders, took three rods, and, with his sword at his side,
flew to the palace. It was a very dark night, and so stormy that the
tiles flew from the roofs of the houses, and the trees in the garden
upon which the skeletons hung bent themselves like reeds before the
wind. The lightning flashed, and the thunder rolled in one
long-continued peal all night. The window of the castle opened, and
the princess flew out. She was pale as death, but she laughed at the
storm as if it were not bad enough. Her white mantle fluttered in
the wind like a large sail, and the traveller flogged her with the
three rods till the blood trickled down, and at last she could
scarcely fly; she contrived, however, to reach the mountain. "What a
hail-storm!" she said, as she entered; "I have never been out in
such weather as this."

"Yes, there may be too much of a good thing sometimes," said the
magician.

Then the princess told him that John had guessed rightly the
second time, and if he succeeded the next morning, he would win, and
she could never come to the mountain again, or practice magic as she
had done, and therefore she was quite unhappy. "I will find out
something for you to think of which he will never guess, unless he
is a greater conjuror than myself. But now let us be merry."

Then he took the princess by both hands, and they danced with
all the little goblins and Jack-o'-lanterns in the room. The red
spiders sprang here and there on the walls quite as merrily, and the
flowers of fire appeared as if they were throwing out sparks. The
owl beat the drum, the crickets whistled and the grasshoppers played
the mouth-organ. It was a very ridiculous ball. After they had
danced enough, the princess was obliged to go home, for fear she
should be missed at the palace. The magician offered to go with her,
that they might be company to each other on the way. Then they flew
away through the bad weather, and the traveller followed them, and
broke his three rods across their shoulders. The magician had never
been out in such a hail-storm as this. Just by the palace the magician
stopped to wish the princess farewell, and to whisper in her ear,
"To-morrow think of my head."

But the traveller heard it, and just as the princess slipped
through the window into her bedroom, and the magician turned round
to fly back to the mountain, he seized him by the long black beard,
and with his sabre cut off the wicked conjuror's head just behind
the shoulders, so that he could not even see who it was. He threw
the body into the sea to the fishes, and after dipping the head into
the water, he tied it up in a silk handkerchief, took it with him to
the inn, and then went to bed. The next morning he gave John the
handkerchief, and told him not to untie it till the princess asked him
what she was thinking of. There were so many people in the great
hall of the palace that they stood as thick as radishes tied
together in a bundle. The council sat in their arm-chairs with the
white cushions. The old king wore new robes, and the golden crown
and sceptre had been polished up so that he looked quite smart. But
the princess was very pale, and wore a black dress as if she were
going to a funeral.

"What have I thought of?" asked the princess, of John. He
immediately untied the handkerchief, and was himself quite
frightened when he saw the head of the ugly magician. Every one
shuddered, for it was terrible to look at; but the princess sat like a
statue, and could not utter a single word. At length she rose and gave
John her hand, for he had guessed rightly.

She looked at no one, but sighed deeply, and said, "You are my
master now; this evening our marriage must take place."

"I am very pleased to hear it," said the old king. "It is just
what I wish."

Then all the people shouted "Hurrah." The band played music in the
streets, the bells rang, and the cake-women took the black crape off
the sugar-sticks. There was universal joy. Three oxen, stuffed with
ducks and chickens, were roasted whole in the market-place, where
every one might help himself to a slice. The fountains spouted forth
the most delicious wine, and whoever bought a penny loaf at the
baker's received six large buns, full of raisins, as a present. In the
evening the whole town was illuminated. The soldiers fired off
cannons, and the boys let off crackers. There was eating and drinking,
dancing and jumping everywhere. In the palace, the high-born gentlemen
and beautiful ladies danced with each other, and they could be heard
at a great distance singing the following song:--

  "Here are maidens, young and fair,
  Dancing in the summer air;
  Like two spinning-wheels at play,
  Pretty maidens dance away--
  Dance the spring and summer through
  Till the sole falls from your shoe."


But the princess was still a witch, and she could not love John.
His fellow-traveller had thought of that, so he gave John three
feathers out of the swan's wings, and a little bottle with a few drops
in it. He told him to place a large bath full of water by the
princess's bed, and put the feathers and the drops into it. Then, at
the moment she was about to get into bed, he must give her a little
push, so that she might fall into the water, and then dip her three
times. This would destroy the power of the magician, and she would
love him very much. John did all that his companion told him to do.
The princess shrieked aloud when he dipped her under the water the
first time, and struggled under his hands in the form of a great black
swan with fiery eyes. As she rose the second time from the water,
the swan had become white, with a black ring round its neck. John
allowed the water to close once more over the bird, and at the same
time it changed into a most beautiful princess. She was more lovely
even than before, and thanked him, while her eyes sparkled with tears,
for having broken the spell of the magician. The next day, the king
came with the whole court to offer their congratulations, and stayed
till quite late. Last of all came the travelling companion; he had his
staff in his hand and his knapsack on his back. John kissed him many
times and told him he must not go, he must remain with him, for he was
the cause of all his good fortune. But the traveller shook his head,
and said gently and kindly, "No: my time is up now; I have only paid
my debt to you. Do you remember the dead man whom the bad people
wished to throw out of his coffin? You gave all you possessed that
he might rest in his grave; I am that man." As he said this, he
vanished.

The wedding festivities lasted a whole month. John and his
princess loved each other dearly, and the old king lived to see many a
happy day, when he took their little children on his knees and let
them play with his sceptre. And John became king over the whole
country.




TWO BROTHERS

On one of the Danish islands, where old Thingstones, the seats
of justice of our forefathers, still stand in the cornfields, and huge
trees rise in the forests of beech, there lies a little town whose low
houses are covered with red tiles. In one of these houses strange
things were brewing over the glowing coals on the open hearth; there
was a boiling going on in glasses, and a mixing and distilling,
while herbs were being cut up and pounded in mortars. An elderly man
looked after it all.

"One must only do the right thing," he said; "yes, the right--the
correct thing. One must find out the truth concerning every
created particle, and keep to that."

In the room with the good housewife sat her two sons; they were
still small, but had great thoughts. Their mother, too, had always
spoken to them of right and justice, and exhorted them to keep to
the truth, which she said was the countenance of the Lord in this
world.

The elder of the boys looked roguish and enterprising. He took a
delight in reading of the forces of nature, of the sun and the moon;
no fairy tale pleased him so much. Oh, how beautiful it must be, he
thought, to go on voyages of discovery, or to find out how to
imitate the wings of birds and then to be able to fly! Yes, to find
that out was the right thing. Father was right, and mother was
right--truth holds the world together.

The younger brother was quieter, and buried himself entirely in
his books. When he read about Jacob dressing himself in sheep-skins to
personify Esau, and so to usurp his brother's birthright, he would
clench his little fist in anger against the deceiver; when he read
of tyrants and of the injustice and wickedness of the world, tears
would come into his eyes, and he was quite filled with the thought
of the justice and truth which must and would triumph.

One evening he was lying in bed, but the curtains were not yet
drawn close, and the light streamed in upon him; he had taken his book
into bed with him, for he wanted to finish reading the story of Solon.
His thoughts lifted and carried him away a wonderful distance; it
seemed to him as if the bed had become a ship flying along under
full sail. Was he dreaming, or what was happening? It glided over
the rolling waves and across the ocean of time, and to him came the
voice of Solon; spoken in a strange tongue, yet intelligible to him,
he heard the Danish motto: "By law the land is ruled."

The genius of the human race stood in the humble room, bent down
over the bed and imprinted a kiss on the boy's forehead: "Be thou
strong in fame and strong in the battle of life! With truth in thy
heart fly toward the land of truth!"

The elder brother was not yet in bed; he was standing at the
window looking out at the mist which rose from the meadows. They
were not elves dancing out there, as their old nurse had told him;
he knew better--they were vapours which were warmer than the air,
and that is why they rose. A shooting star lit up the sky, and the
boy's thoughts passed in a second from the vapours of the earth up
to the shining meteor. The stars gleamed in the heavens, and it seemed
as if long golden threads hung down from them to the earth.

"Fly with me," sang a voice, which the boy heard in his heart. And
the mighty genius of mankind, swifter than a bird and than an
arrow--swifter than anything of earthly origin--carried him out into
space, where the heavenly bodies are bound together by the rays that
pass from star to star. Our earth revolved in the thin air, and the
cities upon it seemed to lie close to each other. Through the
spheres echoed the words:

"What is near, what is far, when thou art lifted by the mighty
genius of mind?"

And again the boy stood by the window, gazing out, whilst his
younger brother lay in bed. Their mother called them by their names:
"Anders Sandoe" and "Hans Christian."

Denmark and the whole world knows them--the two brothers Oersted.




TWO MAIDENS

Have you ever seen a maiden? I mean what our pavers call a maiden,
a thing with which they ram down the paving-stones in the roads. A
maiden of this kind is made altogether of wood, broad below, and
girt round with iron rings. At the top she is narrow, and has a
stick passed across through her waist, and this stick forms the arms
of the maiden.

In the shed stood two Maidens of this kind. They had their place
among shovels, hand-carts, wheelbarrows, and measuring-tapes; and to
all this company the news had come that the Maidens were no longer
to be called "maidens," but "hand-rammers," which word was the
newest and the only correct designation among the pavers for the thing
we all know from the old times by the name of "the maiden."

Now, there are among us human creatures certain individuals who
are known as "emancipated women," as, for instance, principals of
institutions, dancers who stand professionally on one leg,
milliners, and sick-nurses; and with this class of emancipated women
the two Maidens in the shed associated themselves. They were "maidens"
among the paver folk, and determined not to give up this honorable
appellation, and let themselves be miscalled "rammers.

"Maiden is a human name, but hand-rammer is a thing, and we
won't be called things--that's insulting us."

"My lover would be ready to give up his engagement," said the
youngest, who was betrothed to a paver's hammer; and the hammer is the
thing which drives great piles into the earth, like a machine, and
therefore does on a large scale what ten maidens effect in a similar
way. "He wants to marry me as a maiden, but whether he would have me
were I a hand-rammer is a question, so I won't have my name changed."

"And I," said the elder one, "would rather have both my arms
broken off."

But the Wheelbarrow was of a different opinion; and the
Wheelbarrow was looked upon as of some consequence, for he
considered himself a quarter of a coach, because he went about upon
one wheel.

"I must submit to your notice," he said, "that the name 'maiden'
is common enough, and not nearly so refined as 'hand-rammer,' or
'stamper,' which latter has also been proposed, and through which
you would be introduced into the category of seals; and only think
of the great stamp of state, which impresses the royal seal that gives
effect to the laws! No, in your case I would surrender my maiden
name."

"No, certainly not!" exclaimed the elder. "I am too old for that."

"I presume you have never heard of what is called 'European
necessity?'" observed the honest Measuring Tape. "One must be able
to adapt one's self to time and circumstances, and if there is a law
that the 'maiden' is to be called 'hand-rammer,' why, she must be
called 'hand-rammer,' and no pouting will avail, for everything has
its measure."

"No; if there must be a change," said the younger, "I should
prefer to be called 'Missy,' for that reminds one a little of
maidens."

"But I would rather be chopped to chips," said the elder.

At last they all went to work. The Maidens rode--that is, they
were put in a wheelbarrow, and that was a distinction; but still
they were called "hand-rammers."

"Mai--!" they said, as they were bumped upon the pavement.
"Mai--!" and they were very nearly pronouncing the whole word "maiden;"
but they broke off short, and swallowed the last syllable; for after
mature deliberation they considered it beneath their dignity to
protest. But they always called each other "maiden," and praised the
good old days in which everything had been called by its right name,
and those who were maidens were called maidens. And they remained as
they were; for the hammer really broke off his engagement with the
younger one, for nothing would suit him but he must have a maiden
for his bride.




THE UGLY DUCKLING

It was lovely summer weather in the country, and the golden
corn, the green oats, and the haystacks piled up in the meadows looked
beautiful. The stork walking about on his long red legs chattered in
the Egyptian language, which he had learnt from his mother. The
corn-fields and meadows were surrounded by large forests, in the midst
of which were deep pools. It was, indeed, delightful to walk about
in the country. In a sunny spot stood a pleasant old farm-house
close by a deep river, and from the house down to the water side
grew great burdock leaves, so high, that under the tallest of them a
little child could stand upright. The spot was as wild as the centre
of a thick wood. In this snug retreat sat a duck on her nest, watching
for her young brood to hatch; she was beginning to get tired of her
task, for the little ones were a long time coming out of their shells,
and she seldom had any visitors. The other ducks liked much better
to swim about in the river than to climb the slippery banks, and sit
under a burdock leaf, to have a gossip with her. At length one shell
cracked, and then another, and from each egg came a living creature
that lifted its head and cried, "Peep, peep." "Quack, quack," said the
mother, and then they all quacked as well as they could, and looked
about them on every side at the large green leaves. Their mother
allowed them to look as much as they liked, because green is good
for the eyes. "How large the world is," said the young ducks, when
they found how much more room they now had than while they were inside
the egg-shell. "Do you imagine this is the whole world?" asked the
mother; "Wait till you have seen the garden; it stretches far beyond
that to the parson's field, but I have never ventured to such a
distance. Are you all out?" she continued, rising; "No, I declare, the
largest egg lies there still. I wonder how long this is to last, I
am quite tired of it;" and she seated herself again on the nest.

"Well, how are you getting on?" asked an old duck, who paid her
a visit.

"One egg is not hatched yet," said the duck, "it will not break.
But just look at all the others, are they not the prettiest little
ducklings you ever saw? They are the image of their father, who is
so unkind, he never comes to see."

"Let me see the egg that will not break," said the duck; "I have
no doubt it is a turkey's egg. I was persuaded to hatch some once, and
after all my care and trouble with the young ones, they were afraid of
the water. I quacked and clucked, but all to no purpose. I could not
get them to venture in. Let me look at the egg. Yes, that is a
turkey's egg; take my advice, leave it where it is and teach the other
children to swim."

"I think I will sit on it a little while longer," said the duck;
"as I have sat so long already, a few days will be nothing."

"Please yourself," said the old duck, and she went away.

At last the large egg broke, and a young one crept forth crying,
"Peep, peep." It was very large and ugly. The duck stared at it and
exclaimed, "It is very large and not at all like the others. I
wonder if it really is a turkey. We shall soon find it out, however
when we go to the water. It must go in, if I have to push it myself."

On the next day the weather was delightful, and the sun shone
brightly on the green burdock leaves, so the mother duck took her
young brood down to the water, and jumped in with a splash. "Quack,
quack," cried she, and one after another the little ducklings jumped
in. The water closed over their heads, but they came up again in an
instant, and swam about quite prettily with their legs paddling
under them as easily as possible, and the ugly duckling was also in
the water swimming with them.

"Oh," said the mother, "that is not a turkey; how well he uses his
legs, and how upright he holds himself! He is my own child, and he
is not so very ugly after all if you look at him properly. Quack,
quack! come with me now, I will take you into grand society, and
introduce you to the farmyard, but you must keep close to me or you
may be trodden upon; and, above all, beware of the cat."

When they reached the farmyard, there was a great disturbance, two
families were fighting for an eel's head, which, after all, was
carried off by the cat. "See, children, that is the way of the world,"
said the mother duck, whetting her beak, for she would have liked
the eel's head herself. "Come, now, use your legs, and let me see
how well you can behave. You must bow your heads prettily to that
old duck yonder; she is the highest born of them all, and has
Spanish blood, therefore, she is well off. Don't you see she has a red
flag tied to her leg, which is something very grand, and a great honor
for a duck; it shows that every one is anxious not to lose her, as she
can be recognized both by man and beast. Come, now, don't turn your
toes, a well-bred duckling spreads his feet wide apart, just like
his father and mother, in this way; now bend your neck, and say
'quack.'"

The ducklings did as they were bid, but the other duck stared, and
said, "Look, here comes another brood, as if there were not enough
of us already! and what a queer looking object one of them is; we
don't want him here," and then one flew out and bit him in the neck.

"Let him alone," said the mother; "he is not doing any harm."

"Yes, but he is so big and ugly," said the spiteful duck "and
therefore he must be turned out."

"The others are very pretty children," said the old duck, with the
rag on her leg, "all but that one; I wish his mother could improve him
a little."

"That is impossible, your grace," replied the mother; "he is not
pretty; but he has a very good disposition, and swims as well or
even better than the others. I think he will grow up pretty, and
perhaps be smaller; he has remained too long in the egg, and therefore
his figure is not properly formed;" and then she stroked his neck
and smoothed the feathers, saying, "It is a drake, and therefore not
of so much consequence. I think he will grow up strong, and able to
take care of himself."

"The other ducklings are graceful enough," said the old duck. "Now
make yourself at home, and if you can find an eel's head, you can
bring it to me."

And so they made themselves comfortable; but the poor duckling,
who had crept out of his shell last of all, and looked so ugly, was
bitten and pushed and made fun of, not only by the ducks, but by all
the poultry. "He is too big," they all said, and the turkey cock,
who had been born into the world with spurs, and fancied himself
really an emperor, puffed himself out like a vessel in full sail,
and flew at the duckling, and became quite red in the head with
passion, so that the poor little thing did not know where to go, and
was quite miserable because he was so ugly and laughed at by the whole
farmyard. So it went on from day to day till it got worse and worse.
The poor duckling was driven about by every one; even his brothers and
sisters were unkind to him, and would say, "Ah, you ugly creature, I
wish the cat would get you," and his mother said she wished he had
never been born. The ducks pecked him, the chickens beat him, and
the girl who fed the poultry kicked him with her feet. So at last he
ran away, frightening the little birds in the hedge as he flew over
the palings.

"They are afraid of me because I am ugly," he said. So he closed
his eyes, and flew still farther, until he came out on a large moor,
inhabited by wild ducks. Here he remained the whole night, feeling
very tired and sorrowful.

In the morning, when the wild ducks rose in the air, they stared
at their new comrade. "What sort of a duck are you?" they all said,
coming round him.

He bowed to them, and was as polite as he could be, but he did not
reply to their question. "You are exceedingly ugly," said the wild
ducks, "but that will not matter if you do not want to marry one of
our family."

Poor thing! he had no thoughts of marriage; all he wanted was
permission to lie among the rushes, and drink some of the water on the
moor. After he had been on the moor two days, there came two wild
geese, or rather goslings, for they had not been out of the egg
long, and were very saucy. "Listen, friend," said one of them to the
duckling, "you are so ugly, that we like you very well. Will you go
with us, and become a bird of passage? Not far from here is another
moor, in which there are some pretty wild geese, all unmarried. It
is a chance for you to get a wife; you may be lucky, ugly as you are."

"Pop, pop," sounded in the air, and the two wild geese fell dead
among the rushes, and the water was tinged with blood. "Pop, pop,"
echoed far and wide in the distance, and whole flocks of wild geese
rose up from the rushes. The sound continued from every direction, for
the sportsmen surrounded the moor, and some were even seated on
branches of trees, overlooking the rushes. The blue smoke from the
guns rose like clouds over the dark trees, and as it floated away
across the water, a number of sporting dogs bounded in among the
rushes, which bent beneath them wherever they went. How they terrified
the poor duckling! He turned away his head to hide it under his
wing, and at the same moment a large terrible dog passed quite near
him. His jaws were open, his tongue hung from his mouth, and his
eyes glared fearfully. He thrust his nose close to the duckling,
showing his sharp teeth, and then, "splash, splash," he went into
the water without touching him, "Oh," sighed the duckling, "how
thankful I am for being so ugly; even a dog will not bite me." And
so he lay quite still, while the shot rattled through the rushes,
and gun after gun was fired over him. It was late in the day before
all became quiet, but even then the poor young thing did not dare to
move. He waited quietly for several hours, and then, after looking
carefully around him, hastened away from the moor as fast as he could.
He ran over field and meadow till a storm arose, and he could hardly
struggle against it. Towards evening, he reached a poor little cottage
that seemed ready to fall, and only remained standing because it could
not decide on which side to fall first. The storm continued so
violent, that the duckling could go no farther; he sat down by the
cottage, and then he noticed that the door was not quite closed in
consequence of one of the hinges having given way. There was therefore
a narrow opening near the bottom large enough for him to slip through,
which he did very quietly, and got a shelter for the night. A woman, a
tom cat, and a hen lived in this cottage. The tom cat, whom the
mistress called, "My little son," was a great favorite; he could raise
his back, and purr, and could even throw out sparks from his fur if it
were stroked the wrong way. The hen had very short legs, so she was
called "Chickie short legs." She laid good eggs, and her mistress
loved her as if she had been her own child. In the morning, the
strange visitor was discovered, and the tom cat began to purr, and the
hen to cluck.

"What is that noise about?" said the old woman, looking round
the room, but her sight was not very good; therefore, when she saw the
duckling she thought it must be a fat duck, that had strayed from
home. "Oh what a prize!" she exclaimed, "I hope it is not a drake, for
then I shall have some duck's eggs. I must wait and see." So the
duckling was allowed to remain on trial for three weeks, but there
were no eggs. Now the tom cat was the master of the house, and the hen
was mistress, and they always said, "We and the world," for they
believed themselves to be half the world, and the better half too. The
duckling thought that others might hold a different opinion on the
subject, but the hen would not listen to such doubts. "Can you lay
eggs?" she asked. "No." "Then have the goodness to hold your
tongue." "Can you raise your back, or purr, or throw out sparks?" said
the tom cat. "No." "Then you have no right to express an opinion
when sensible people are speaking." So the duckling sat in a corner,
feeling very low spirited, till the sunshine and the fresh air came
into the room through the open door, and then he began to feel such
a great longing for a swim on the water, that he could not help
telling the hen.

"What an absurd idea," said the hen. "You have nothing else to do,
therefore you have foolish fancies. If you could purr or lay eggs,
they would pass away."

"But it is so delightful to swim about on the water," said the
duckling, "and so refreshing to feel it close over your head, while
you dive down to the bottom."

"Delightful, indeed!" said the hen, "why you must be crazy! Ask
the cat, he is the cleverest animal I know, ask him how he would
like to swim about on the water, or to dive under it, for I will not
speak of my own opinion; ask our mistress, the old woman--there is
no one in the world more clever than she is. Do you think she would
like to swim, or to let the water close over her head?"

"You don't understand me," said the duckling.

"We don't understand you? Who can understand you, I wonder? Do you
consider yourself more clever than the cat, or the old woman? I will
say nothing of myself. Don't imagine such nonsense, child, and thank
your good fortune that you have been received here. Are you not in a
warm room, and in society from which you may learn something. But
you are a chatterer, and your company is not very agreeable. Believe
me, I speak only for your own good. I may tell you unpleasant
truths, but that is a proof of my friendship. I advise you, therefore,
to lay eggs, and learn to purr as quickly as possible."

"I believe I must go out into the world again," said the duckling.

"Yes, do," said the hen. So the duckling left the cottage, and
soon found water on which it could swim and dive, but was avoided by
all other animals, because of its ugly appearance. Autumn came, and
the leaves in the forest turned to orange and gold. Then, as winter
approached, the wind caught them as they fell and whirled them in
the cold air. The clouds, heavy with hail and snow-flakes, hung low in
the sky, and the raven stood on the ferns crying, "Croak, croak." It
made one shiver with cold to look at him. All this was very sad for
the poor little duckling. One evening, just as the sun set amid
radiant clouds, there came a large flock of beautiful birds out of the
bushes. The duckling had never seen any like them before. They were
swans, and they curved their graceful necks, while their soft
plumage shown with dazzling whiteness. They uttered a singular cry, as
they spread their glorious wings and flew away from those cold regions
to warmer countries across the sea. As they mounted higher and
higher in the air, the ugly little duckling felt quite a strange
sensation as he watched them. He whirled himself in the water like a
wheel, stretched out his neck towards them, and uttered a cry so
strange that it frightened himself. Could he ever forget those
beautiful, happy birds; and when at last they were out of his sight,
he dived under the water, and rose again almost beside himself with
excitement. He knew not the names of these birds, nor where they had
flown, but he felt towards them as he had never felt for any other
bird in the world. He was not envious of these beautiful creatures,
but wished to be as lovely as they. Poor ugly creature, how gladly
he would have lived even with the ducks had they only given him
encouragement. The winter grew colder and colder; he was obliged to
swim about on the water to keep it from freezing, but every night
the space on which he swam became smaller and smaller. At length it
froze so hard that the ice in the water crackled as he moved, and
the duckling had to paddle with his legs as well as he could, to
keep the space from closing up. He became exhausted at last, and lay
still and helpless, frozen fast in the ice.

Early in the morning, a peasant, who was passing by, saw what
had happened. He broke the ice in pieces with his wooden shoe, and
carried the duckling home to his wife. The warmth revived the poor
little creature; but when the children wanted to play with him, the
duckling thought they would do him some harm; so he started up in
terror, fluttered into the milk-pan, and splashed the milk about the
room. Then the woman clapped her hands, which frightened him still
more. He flew first into the butter-cask, then into the meal-tub,
and out again. What a condition he was in! The woman screamed, and
struck at him with the tongs; the children laughed and screamed, and
tumbled over each other, in their efforts to catch him; but luckily he
escaped. The door stood open; the poor creature could just manage to
slip out among the bushes, and lie down quite exhausted in the newly
fallen snow.

It would be very sad, were I to relate all the misery and
privations which the poor little duckling endured during the hard
winter; but when it had passed, he found himself lying one morning
in a moor, amongst the rushes. He felt the warm sun shining, and heard
the lark singing, and saw that all around was beautiful spring. Then
the young bird felt that his wings were strong, as he flapped them
against his sides, and rose high into the air. They bore him
onwards, until he found himself in a large garden, before he well knew
how it had happened. The apple-trees were in full blossom, and the
fragrant elders bent their long green branches down to the stream
which wound round a smooth lawn. Everything looked beautiful, in the
freshness of early spring. From a thicket close by came three
beautiful white swans, rustling their feathers, and swimming lightly
over the smooth water. The duckling remembered the lovely birds, and
felt more strangely unhappy than ever.

"I will fly to those royal birds," he exclaimed, "and they will
kill me, because I am so ugly, and dare to approach them; but it
does not matter: better be killed by them than pecked by the ducks,
beaten by the hens, pushed about by the maiden who feeds the
poultry, or starved with hunger in the winter."

Then he flew to the water, and swam towards the beautiful swans.
The moment they espied the stranger, they rushed to meet him with
outstretched wings.

"Kill me," said the poor bird; and he bent his head down to the
surface of the water, and awaited death.

But what did he see in the clear stream below? His own image; no
longer a dark, gray bird, ugly and disagreeable to look at, but a
graceful and beautiful swan. To be born in a duck's nest, in a
farmyard, is of no consequence to a bird, if it is hatched from a
swan's egg. He now felt glad at having suffered sorrow and trouble,
because it enabled him to enjoy so much better all the pleasure and
happiness around him; for the great swans swam round the new-comer,
and stroked his neck with their beaks, as a welcome.

Into the garden presently came some little children, and threw
bread and cake into the water.

"See," cried the youngest, "there is a new one;" and the rest were
delighted, and ran to their father and mother, dancing and clapping
their hands, and shouting joyously, "There is another swan come; a new
one has arrived."

Then they threw more bread and cake into the water, and said, "The
new one is the most beautiful of all; he is so young and pretty."
And the old swans bowed their heads before him.

Then he felt quite ashamed, and hid his head under his wing; for
he did not know what to do, he was so happy, and yet not at all proud.
He had been persecuted and despised for his ugliness, and now he heard
them say he was the most beautiful of all the birds. Even the
elder-tree bent down its bows into the water before him, and the sun
shone warm and bright. Then he rustled his feathers, curved his
slender neck, and cried joyfully, from the depths of his heart, "I
never dreamed of such happiness as this, while I was an ugly
duckling."




UNDER THE WILLOW-TREE

The region round the little town of Kjoge is very bleak and
cold. The town lies on the sea shore, which is always beautiful; but
here it might be more beautiful than it is, for on every side the
fields are flat, and it is a long way to the forest. But when
persons reside in a place and get used to it, they can always find
something beautiful in it,--something for which they long, even in the
most charming spot in the world which is not home. It must be owned
that there are in the outskirts of the town some humble gardens on the
banks of a little stream that runs on towards the sea, and in summer
these gardens look very pretty. Such indeed was the opinion of two
little children, whose parents were neighbors, and who played in these
gardens, and forced their way from one garden to the other through the
gooseberry-bushes that divided them. In one of the gardens grew an
elder-tree, and in the other an old willow, under which the children
were very fond of playing. They had permission to do so, although
the tree stood close by the stream, and they might easily have
fallen into the water; but the eye of God watches over the little
ones, otherwise they would never be safe. At the same time, these
children were very careful not to go too near the water; indeed, the
boy was so afraid of it, that in the summer, while the other
children were splashing about in the sea, nothing could entice him
to join them. They jeered and laughed at him, and he was obliged to
bear it all as patiently as he could. Once the neighbor's little girl,
Joanna, dreamed that she was sailing in a boat, and the boy--Knud
was his name--waded out in the water to join her, and the water came
up to his neck, and at last closed over his head, and in a moment he
had disappeared. When little Knud heard this dream, it seemed as if he
could not bear the mocking and jeering again; how could he dare to
go into the water now, after Joanna's dream! He never would do it, for
this dream always satisfied him. The parents of these children, who
were poor, often sat together while Knud and Joanna played in the
gardens or in the road. Along this road--a row of willow-trees had
been planted to separate it from a ditch on one side of it. They
were not very handsome trees, for the tops had been cut off;
however, they were intended for use, and not for show. The old
willow-tree in the garden was much handsomer, and therefore the
children were very fond of sitting under it. The town had a large
market-place; and at the fair-time there would be whole rows, like
streets, of tents and booths containing silks and ribbons, and toys
and cakes, and everything that could be wished for. There were
crowds of people, and sometimes the weather would be rainy, and splash
with moisture the woollen jackets of the peasants; but it did not
destroy the beautiful fragrance of the honey-cakes and gingerbread
with which one booth was filled; and the best of it was, that the
man who sold these cakes always lodged during the fair-time with
little Knud's parents. So every now and then he had a present of
gingerbread, and of course Joanna always had a share. And, more
delightful still, the gingerbread seller knew all sorts of things to
tell and could even relate stories about his own gingerbread. So one
evening he told them a story that made such a deep impression on the
children that they never forgot it; and therefore I think we may as
well hear it too, for it is not very long.

"Once upon a time," said he, "there lay on my counter two
gingerbread cakes, one in the shape of a man wearing a hat, the
other of a maiden without a bonnet. Their faces were on the side
that was uppermost, for on the other side they looked very
different. Most people have a best side to their characters, which
they take care to show to the world. On the left, just where the heart
is, the gingerbread man had an almond stuck in to represent it, but
the maiden was honey cake all over. They were placed on the counter as
samples, and after lying there a long time they at last fell in love
with each other; but neither of them spoke of it to the other, as they
should have done if they expected anything to follow. 'He is a man, he
ought to speak the first word,' thought the gingerbread maiden; but
she felt quite happy--she was sure that her love was returned. But his
thoughts were far more ambitious, as the thoughts of a man often
are. He dreamed that he was a real street boy, that he possessed
four real pennies, and that he had bought the gingerbread lady, and
ate her up. And so they lay on the counter for days and weeks, till
they grew hard and dry; but the thoughts of the maiden became ever
more tender and womanly. 'Ah well, it is enough for me that I have
been able to live on the same counter with him,' said she one day;
when suddenly, 'crack,' and she broke in two. 'Ah,' said the
gingerbread man to himself, 'if she had only known of my love, she
would have kept together a little longer.' And here they both are, and
that is their history," said the cake man. "You think the history of
their lives and their silent love, which never came to anything,
very remarkable; and there they are for you." So saying, he gave
Joanna the gingerbread man, who was still quite whole--and to Knud the
broken maiden; but the children had been so much impressed by the
story, that they had not the heart to eat the lovers up.

The next day they went into the churchyard, and took the two
cake figures with them, and sat down under the church wall, which
was covered with luxuriant ivy in summer and winter, and looked as
if hung with rich tapestry. They stuck up the two gingerbread
figures in the sunshine among the green leaves, and then told the
story, and all about the silent love which came to nothing, to a group
of children. They called it, "love," because the story was so
lovely, and the other children had the same opinion. But when they
turned to look at the gingerbread pair, the broken maiden was gone!
A great boy, out of wickedness, had eaten her up. At first the
children cried about it; but afterwards, thinking very probably that
the poor lover ought not to be left alone in the world, they ate him
up too: but they never forgot the story.

The two children still continued to play together by the
elder-tree, and under the willow; and the little maiden sang beautiful
songs, with a voice that was as clear as a bell. Knud, on the
contrary, had not a note of music in him, but knew the words of the
songs, and that of course is something. The people of Kjoge, and
even the rich wife of the man who kept the fancy shop, would stand and
listen while Joanna was singing, and say, "She has really a very sweet
voice."

Those were happy days; but they could not last forever. The
neighbors were separated, the mother of the little girl was dead,
and her father had thoughts of marrying again and of residing in the
capital, where he had been promised a very lucrative appointment as
messenger. The neighbors parted with tears, the children wept sadly;
but their parents promised that they should write to each other at
least once a year.

After this, Knud was bound apprentice to a shoemaker; he was
growing a great boy, and could not be allowed to run wild any
longer. Besides, he was going to be confirmed. Ah, how happy he
would have been on that festal day in Copenhagen with little Joanna;
but he still remained at Kjoge, and had never seen the great city,
though the town is not five miles from it. But far across the bay,
when the sky was clear, the towers of Copenhagen could be seen; and on
the day of his confirmation he saw distinctly the golden cross on
the principal church glittering in the sun. How often his thoughts
were with Joanna! but did she think of him? Yes. About Christmas
came a letter from her father to Knud's parents, which stated that
they were going on very well in Copenhagen, and mentioning
particularly that Joanna's beautiful voice was likely to bring her a
brilliant fortune in the future. She was engaged to sing at a concert,
and she had already earned money by singing, out of which she sent her
dear neighbors at Kjoge a whole dollar, for them to make merry on
Christmas eve, and they were to drink her health. She had herself
added this in a postscript, and in the same postscript she wrote,
"Kind regards to Knud."

The good neighbors wept, although the news was so pleasant; but
they wept tears of joy. Knud's thoughts had been daily with Joanna,
and now he knew that she also had thought of him; and the nearer the
time came for his apprenticeship to end, the clearer did it appear
to him that he loved Joanna, and that she must be his wife; and a
smile came on his lips at the thought, and at one time he drew the
thread so fast as he worked, and pressed his foot so hard against
the knee strap, that he ran the awl into his finger; but what did he
care for that? He was determined not to play the dumb lover as both
the gingerbread cakes had done; the story was a good lesson to him.

At length he become a journeyman; and then, for the first time, he
prepared for a journey to Copenhagen, with his knapsack packed and
ready. A master was expecting him there, and he thought of Joanna, and
how glad she would be to see him. She was now seventeen, and he
nineteen years old. He wanted to buy a gold ring for her in Kjoge, but
then he recollected how far more beautiful such things would be in
Copenhagen. So he took leave of his parents, and on a rainy day,
late in the autumn, wandered forth on foot from the town of his birth.
The leaves were falling from the trees; and, by the time he arrived at
his new master's in the great metropolis, he was wet through. On the
following Sunday he intended to pay his first visit to Joanna's
father. When the day came, the new journeyman's clothes were brought
out, and a new hat, which he had brought in Kjoge. The hat became
him very well, for hitherto he had only worn a cap. He found the house
that he sought easily, but had to mount so many stairs that he
became quite giddy; it surprised him to find how people lived over one
another in this dreadful town.

On entering a room in which everything denoted prosperity,
Joanna's father received him very kindly. The new wife was a
stranger to him, but she shook hands with him, and offered him coffee.

"Joanna will be very glad to see you," said her father. "You
have grown quite a nice young man, you shall see her presently; she is
a good child, and is the joy of my heart, and, please God, she will
continue to be so; she has her own room now, and pays us rent for it."
And the father knocked quite politely at a door, as if he were a
stranger, and then they both went in. How pretty everything was in
that room! a more beautiful apartment could not be found in the
whole town of Kjoge; the queen herself could scarcely be better
accommodated. There were carpets, and rugs, and window curtains
hanging to the ground. Pictures and flowers were scattered about.
There was a velvet chair, and a looking-glass against the wall, into
which a person might be in danger of stepping, for it was as large
as a door. All this Knud saw at a glance, and yet, in truth, he saw
nothing but Joanna. She was quite grown up, and very different from
what Knud had fancied her, and a great deal more beautiful. In all
Kjoge there was not a girl like her; and how graceful she looked,
although her glance at first was odd, and not familiar; but for a
moment only, then she rushed towards him as if she would have kissed
him; she did not, however, although she was very near it. Yes, she
really was joyful at seeing the friend of her childhood once more, and
the tears even stood in her eyes. Then she asked so many questions
about Knud's parents, and everything, even to the elder-tree and the
willow, which she called "elder-mother and willow-father," as if
they had been human beings; and so, indeed, they might be, quite as
much as the gingerbread cakes. Then she talked about them, and the
story of their silent love, and how they lay on the counter together
and split in two; and then she laughed heartily; but the blood
rushed into Knud's cheeks, and his heart beat quickly. Joanna was
not proud at all; he noticed that through her he was invited by her
parents to remain the whole evening with them, and she poured out
the tea and gave him a cup herself; and afterwards she took a book and
read aloud to them, and it seemed to Knud as if the story was all
about himself and his love, for it agreed so well with his own
thoughts. And then she sang a simple song, which, through her singing,
became a true story, and as if she poured forth the feelings of her
own heart.

"Oh," he thought, "she knows I am fond of her." The tears he could
not restrain rolled down his cheeks, and he was unable to utter a
single word; it seemed as if he had been struck dumb.

When he left, she pressed his hand, and said, "You have a kind
heart, Knud: remain always as you are now." What an evening of
happiness this had been; to sleep after it was impossible, and Knud
did not sleep.

At parting, Joanna's father had said, "Now, you won't quite forget
us; you must not let the whole winter go by without paying us
another visit;" so that Knud felt himself free to go again the
following Sunday evening, and so he did. But every evening after
working hours--and they worked by candle-light then--he walked out
into the town, and through the street in which Joanna lived, to look
up at her window. It was almost always lighted up; and one evening
he saw the shadow of her face quite plainly on the window blind;
that was a glorious evening for him. His master's wife did not like
his always going out in the evening, idling, wasting time, as she
called it, and she shook her head.

But his master only smiled, and said, "He is a young man, my dear,
you know."

"On Sunday I shall see her," said Knud to himself, "and I will
tell her that I love her with my whole heart and soul, and that she
must be my little wife. I know I am now only a poor journeyman
shoemaker, but I will work and strive, and become a master in time.
Yes, I will speak to her; nothing comes from silent love. I learnt
that from the gingerbread-cake story."

Sunday came, but when Knud arrived, they were all unfortunately
invited out to spend the evening, and were obliged to tell him so.

Joanna pressed his hand, and said, "Have you ever been to the
theatre? you must go once; I sing there on Wednesday, and if you
have time on that day, I will send you a ticket; my father knows where
your master lives." How kind this was of her! And on Wednesday,
about noon, Knud received a sealed packet with no address, but the
ticket was inside; and in the evening Knud went, for the first time in
his life, to a theatre. And what did he see? He saw Joanna, and how
beautiful and charming she looked! He certainly saw her being
married to a stranger, but that was all in the play, and only a
pretence; Knud well knew that. She could never have the heart, he
thought, to send him a ticket to go and see it, if it had been real.
So he looked on, and when all the people applauded and clapped their
hands, he shouted "hurrah." He could see that even the king smiled
at Joanna, and seemed delighted with her singing. How small Knud felt;
but then he loved her so dearly, and thought she loved him, and the
man must speak the first word, as the gingerbread maiden had
thought. Ah, how much there was for him in that childish story. As
soon as Sunday arrived, he went again, and felt as if he were about to
enter on holy ground. Joanna was alone to welcome him, nothing could
be more fortunate.

"I am so glad you are come," she said. "I was thinking of sending
my father for you, but I had a presentiment that you would be here
this evening. The fact is, I wanted to tell you that I am going to
France. I shall start on Friday. It is necessary for me to go there,
if I wish to become a first-rate performer."

Poor Knud! it seemed to him as if the whole room was whirling
round with him. His courage failed, and he felt as if his heart
would burst. He kept down the tears, but it was easy to see how
sorrowful he was.

"You honest, faithful soul," she exclaimed; and the words loosened
Knud's tongue, and he told her how truly he had loved her, and that
she must be his wife; and as he said this, he saw Joanna change color,
and turn pale. She let his hand fall, and said, earnestly and
mournfully, "Knud, do not make yourself and me unhappy. I will
always be a good sister to you, one in whom you can trust; but I can
never be anything more." And she drew her white hand over his
burning forehead, and said, "God gives strength to bear a great
deal, if we only strive ourselves to endure."

At this moment her stepmother came into the room, and Joanna
said quickly, "Knud is so unhappy, because I am going away;" and it
appeared as if they had only been talking of her journey. "Come, be
a man," she added, placing her hand on his shoulder; "you are still a
child, and you must be good and reasonable, as you were when we were
both children, and played together under the willow-tree."

Knud listened, but he felt as if the world had slid out of its
course. His thoughts were like a loose thread fluttering to and fro in
the wind. He stayed, although he could not tell whether she had
asked him to do so. But she was kind and gentle to him; she poured out
his tea, and sang to him; but the song had not the old tone in it,
although it was wonderfully beautiful, and made his heart feel ready
to burst. And then he rose to go. He did not offer his hand, but she
seized it, and said--

"Will you not shake hands with your sister at parting, my old
playfellow?" and she smiled through the tears that were rolling down
her cheeks. Again she repeated the word "brother," which was a great
consolation certainly; and thus they parted.

She sailed to France, and Knud wandered about the muddy streets of
Copenhagen. The other journeymen in the shop asked him why he looked
so gloomy, and wanted him to go and amuse himself with them, as he was
still a young man. So he went with them to a dancing-room. He saw many
handsome girls there, but none like Joanna; and here, where he thought
to forget her, she was more life-like before his mind than ever.
"God gives us strength to bear much, if we try to do our best," she
had said; and as he thought of this, a devout feeling came into his
mind, and he folded his hands. Then, as the violins played and the
girls danced round the room, he started; for it seemed to him as if he
were in a place where he ought not to have brought Joanna, for she was
here with him in his heart; and so he went out at once. As he went
through the streets at a quick pace, he passed the house where she
used to live; it was all dark, empty, and lonely. But the world went
on its course, and Knud was obliged to go on too.

Winter came; the water was frozen, and everything seemed buried in
a cold grave. But when spring returned, and the first steamer prepared
to sail, Knud was seized with a longing to wander forth into the
world, but not to France. So he packed his knapsack, and travelled
through Germany, going from town to town, but finding neither rest
or peace. It was not till he arrived at the glorious old town of
Nuremberg that he gained the mastery over himself, and rested his
weary feet; and here he remained.

Nuremberg is a wonderful old city, and looks as if it had been cut
out of an old picture-book. The streets seem to have arranged
themselves according to their own fancy, and as if the houses objected
to stand in rows or rank and file. Gables, with little towers,
ornamented columns, and statues, can be seen even to the city gate;
and from the singular-shaped roofs, waterspouts, formed like
dragons, or long lean dogs, extend far across to the middle of the
street. Here, in the market-place, stood Knud, with his knapsack on
his back, close to one of the old fountains which are so beautifully
adorned with figures, scriptural and historical, and which spring up
between the sparkling jets of water. A pretty servant-maid was just
filling her pails, and she gave Knud a refreshing draught; she had a
handful of roses, and she gave him one, which appeared to him like a
good omen for the future. From a neighboring church came the sounds of
music, and the familiar tones reminded him of the organ at home at
Kjoge; so he passed into the great cathedral. The sunshine streamed
through the painted glass windows, and between two lofty slender
pillars. His thoughts became prayerful, and calm peace rested on his
soul. He next sought and found a good master in Nuremberg, with whom
he stayed and learnt the German language.

The old moat round the town had been converted into a number of
little kitchen gardens; but the high walls, with their heavy-looking
towers, are still standing. Inside these walls the ropemaker twisted
his ropes along a walk built like a gallery, and in the cracks and
crevices of the walls elderbushes grow and stretch their green
boughs over the small houses which stand below. In one of these houses
lived the master for whom Knud worked; and over the little garret
window where he sat, the elder-tree waved its branches. Here he
dwelt through one summer and winter, but when spring came again, he
could endure it no longer. The elder was in blossom, and its fragrance
was so homelike, that he fancied himself back again in the gardens
of Kjoge. So Knud left his master, and went to work for another who
lived farther in the town, where no elder grew. His workshop was quite
close to one of the old stone bridges, near to a water-mill, round
which the roaring stream rushed and foamed always, yet restrained by
the neighboring houses, whose old, decayed balconies hung over, and
seemed ready to fall into the water. Here grew no elder; here was
not even a flower-pot, with its little green plant; but just
opposite the workshop stood a great willow-tree, which seemed to
hold fast to the house for fear of being carried away by the water. It
stretched its branches over the stream just as those of the
willow-tree in the garden at Kjoge had spread over the river. Yes,
he had indeed gone from elder-mother to willow-father. There was a
something about the tree here, especially in the moonlight nights,
that went direct to his heart; yet it was not in reality the
moonlight, but the old tree itself. However, he could not endure it:
and why? Ask the willow, ask the blossoming elder! At all events, he
bade farewell to Nuremberg and journeyed onwards. He never spoke of
Joanna to any one; his sorrow was hidden in his heart. The old
childish story of the two cakes had a deep meaning for him. He
understood now why the gingerbread man had a bitter almond in his left
side; his was the feeling of bitterness, and Joanna, so mild and
friendly, was represented by the honeycake maiden. As he thought
upon all this, the strap of his knapsack pressed across his chest so
that he could hardly breathe; he loosened it, but gained no relief. He
saw but half the world around him; the other half he carried with
him in his inward thoughts; and this is the condition in which he left
Nuremberg. Not till he caught sight of the lofty mountains did the
world appear more free to him; his thoughts were attracted to outer
objects, and tears came into his eyes. The Alps appeared to him like
the wings of earth folded together; unfolded, they would display the
variegated pictures of dark woods, foaming waters, spreading clouds,
and masses of snow. "At the last day," thought he, "the earth will
unfold its great wings, and soar upwards to the skies, there to
burst like a soap-bubble in the radiant glance of the Deity. Oh,"
sighed he, "that the last day were come!"

Silently he wandered on through the country of the Alps, which
seemed to him like a fruit garden, covered with soft turf. From the
wooden balconies of the houses the young lacemakers nodded as he
passed. The summits of the mountains glowed in the red evening sunset,
and the green lakes beneath the dark trees reflected the glow. Then he
thought of the sea coast by the bay Kjoge, with a longing in his heart
that was, however, without pain. There, where the Rhine rolls onward
like a great billow, and dissolves itself into snowflakes, where
glistening clouds are ever changing as if here was the place of
their creation, while the rainbow flutters about them like a
many-colored ribbon, there did Knud think of the water-mill at
Kjoge, with its rushing, foaming waters. Gladly would he have remained
in the quiet Rhenish town, but there were too many elders and
willow-trees.

So he travelled onwards, over a grand, lofty chain of mountains,
over rugged,--rocky precipices, and along roads that hung on the
mountain's side like a swallow's nest. The waters foamed in the depths
below him. The clouds lay beneath him. He wandered on, treading upon
Alpine roses, thistles, and snow, with the summer sun shining upon
him, till at length he bid farewell to the lands of the north. Then he
passed on under the shade of blooming chestnut-trees, through
vineyards, and fields of Indian corn, till conscious that the
mountains were as a wall between him and his early recollections;
and he wished it to be so.

Before him lay a large and splendid city, called Milan, and here
he found a German master who engaged him as a workman. The master
and his wife, in whose workshop he was employed, were an old, pious
couple; and the two old people became quite fond of the quiet
journeyman, who spoke but little, but worked more, and led a pious,
Christian life; and even to himself it seemed as if God had removed
the heavy burden from his heart. His greatest pleasure was to climb,
now and then, to the roof of the noble church, which was built of
white marble. The pointed towers, the decorated and open cloisters,
the stately columns, the white statues which smiled upon him from
every corner and porch and arch,--all, even the church itself,
seemed to him to have been formed from the snow of his native land.
Above him was the blue sky; below him, the city and the wide-spreading
plains of Lombardy; and towards the north, the lofty mountains,
covered with perpetual snow. And then he thought of the church of
Kjoge, with its red, ivy-clad walls, but he had no longing to go
there; here, beyond the mountains, he would die and be buried.

Three years had passed away since he left his home; one year of
that time he had dwelt at Milan.

One day his master took him into the town; not to the circus in
which riders performed, but to the opera, a large building, itself a
sight well worth seeing. The seven tiers of boxes, which reached
from the ground to a dizzy height, near the ceiling, were hung with
rich, silken curtains; and in them were seated elegantly-dressed
ladies, with bouquets of flowers in their hands. The gentlemen were
also in full dress, and many of them wore decorations of gold and
silver. The place was so brilliantly lighted that it seemed like
sunshine, and glorious music rolled through the building. Everything
looked more beautiful than in the theatre at Copenhagen, but then
Joanna had been there, and--could it be? Yes--it was like magic,--she
was here also: for, when the curtain rose, there stood Joanna,
dressed in silk and gold, and with a golden crown upon her head. She
sang, he thought, as only an angel could sing; and then she stepped
forward to the front and smiled, as only Joanna could smile, and
looked directly at Knud. Poor Knud! he seized his master's hand, and
cried out loud, "Joanna," but no one heard him, excepting his
master, for the music sounded above everything.

"Yes, yes, it is Joanna," said his master; and he drew forth a
printed bill, and pointed to her name, which was there in full. Then
it was not a dream. All the audience applauded her, and threw
wreaths of flowers at her; and every time she went away they called
for her again, so that she was always coming and going. In the
street the people crowded round her carriage, and drew it away
themselves without the horses. Knud was in the foremost row, and
shouted as joyously as the rest; and when the carriage stopped
before a brilliantly lighted house, Knud placed himself close to the
door of her carriage. It flew open, and she stepped out; the light
fell upon her dear face, and he could see that she smiled as she
thanked them, and appeared quite overcome. Knud looked straight in her
face, and she looked at him, but she did not recognize him. A man,
with a glittering star on his breast, gave her his arm, and people
said the two were engaged to be married. Then Knud went home and
packed up his knapsack; he felt he must return to the home of his
childhood, to the elder-tree and the willow. "Ah, under that
willow-tree!" A man may live a whole life in one single hour.

The old couple begged him to remain, but words were useless. In
vain they reminded him that winter was coming, and that the snow had
already fallen on the mountains. He said he could easily follow the
track of the closely-moving carriages, for which a path must be kept
clear, and with nothing but his knapsack on his back, and leaning on
his stick, he could step along briskly. So he turned his steps to
the mountains, ascended one side and descended the other, still
going northward till his strength began to fail, and not a house or
village could be seen. The stars shone in the sky above him, and
down in the valley lights glittered like stars, as if another sky were
beneath him; but his head was dizzy and his feet stumbled, and he felt
ill. The lights in the valley grew brighter and brighter, and more
numerous, and he could see them moving to and fro, and then he
understood that there must be a village in the distance; so he exerted
his failing strength to reach it, and at length obtained shelter in
a humble lodging. He remained there that night and the whole of the
following day, for his body required rest and refreshment, and in
the valley there was rain and a thaw. But early in the morning of
the third day, a man came with an organ and played one of the melodies
of home; and after that Knud could remain there no longer, so he
started again on his journey toward the north. He travelled for many
days with hasty steps, as if he were trying to reach home before all
whom he remembered should die; but he spoke to no one of this longing.
No one would have believed or understood this sorrow of his heart, the
deepest that can be felt by human nature. Such grief is not for the
world; it is not entertaining even to friends, and poor Knud had no
friends; he was a stranger, wandering through strange lands to his
home in the north.

He was walking one evening through the public roads, the country
around him was flatter, with fields and meadows, the air had a
frosty feeling. A willow-tree grew by the roadside, everything
reminded him of home. He felt very tired; so he sat down under the
tree, and very soon began to nod, then his eyes closed in sleep. Yet
still he seemed conscious that the willow-tree was stretching its
branches over him; in his dreaming state the tree appeared like a
strong, old man--the "willow-father" himself, who had taken his
tired son up in his arms to carry him back to the land of home, to the
garden of his childhood, on the bleak open shores of Kjoge. And then
he dreamed that it was really the willow-tree itself from Kjoge, which
had travelled out in the world to seek him, and now had found him
and carried him back into the little garden on the banks of the
streamlet; and there stood Joanna, in all her splendor, with the
golden crown on her head, as he had last seen her, to welcome him
back. And then there appeared before him two remarkable shapes,
which looked much more like human beings than when he had seen them in
his childhood; they were changed, but he remembered that they were the
two gingerbread cakes, the man and the woman, who had shown their best
sides to the world and looked so good.

"We thank you," they said to Knud, "for you have loosened our
tongues; we have learnt from you that thoughts should be spoken
freely, or nothing will come of them; and now something has come of
our thoughts, for we are engaged to be married." Then they walked
away, hand-in-hand, through the streets of Kjoge, looking very
respectable on the best side, which they were quite right to show.
They turned their steps to the church, and Knud and Joanna followed
them, also walking hand-in-hand; there stood the church, as of old,
with its red walls, on which the green ivy grew.

The great church door flew open wide, and as they walked up the
broad aisle, soft tones of music sounded from the organ. "Our master
first," said the gingerbread pair, making room for Knud and Joanna. As
they knelt at the altar, Joanna bent her head over him, and cold,
icy tears fell on his face from her eyes. They were indeed tears of
ice, for her heart was melting towards him through his strong love,
and as her tears fell on his burning cheeks he awoke. He was still
sitting under the willow-tree in a strange land, on a cold winter
evening, with snow and hail falling from the clouds, and beating
upon his face.

"That was the most delightful hour of my life," said he, "although
it was only a dream. Oh, let me dream again." Then he closed his
eyes once more, and slept and dreamed.

Towards morning there was a great fall of snow; the wind drifted
it over him, but he still slept on. The villagers came forth to go
to church; by the roadside they found a workman seated, but he was
dead! frozen to death under a willow-tree.




IN THE UTTERMOST PARTS OF THE SEA

Some years ago, large ships were sent towards the north pole, to
explore the distant coasts, and to try how far men could penetrate
into those unknown regions. For more than a year one of these ships
had been pushing its way northward, amid snow and ice, and the sailors
had endured many hardships; till at length winter set in, and the
sun entirely disappeared; for many weeks there would be constant
night. All around, as far as the eye could reach, nothing could be
seen but fields of ice, in which the ship remained stuck fast. The
snow lay piled up in great heaps, and of these the sailors made
huts, in the form of bee-hives, some of them as large and spacious
as one of the "Huns' graves," and others only containing room enough
to hold three or four men. It was not quite dark; the northern
lights shot forth red and blue flames, like continuous fireworks,
and the snow glittered, and reflected back the light, so that the
night here was one long twilight. When the moon was brightest, the
natives came in crowds to see the sailors. They had a very singular
appearance in their rough, hairy dresses of fur, and riding in sledges
over the ice. They brought with them furs and skins in great
abundance, so that the snow-houses were soon provided with warm
carpets, and the furs also served for the sailors to wrap themselves
in, when they slept under the roofs of snow, while outside it was
freezing with a cold far more severe than in the winter with us. In
our country it was still autumn, though late in the season; and they
thought of that in their distant exile, and often pictured to
themselves the yellow leaves on the trees at home. Their watches
pointed to the hours of evening, and time to go to sleep, although
in these regions it was now always night.

In one of the huts, two of the men laid themselves down to rest.
The younger of these men had brought with him from home his best,
his dearest treasure--a Bible, which his grandmother had given him
on his departure. Every night the sacred volume rested under his head,
and he had known from his childhood what was written in it. Every
day he read in the book, and while stretched on his cold couch, the
holy words he had learnt would come into his mind: "If I take the
wings of the morning, and fly to the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there Thou art with me, and Thy right hand shall uphold me;"
and under the influence of that faith which these holy words inspired,
sleep came upon him, and dreams, which are the manifestations of God
to the spirit. The soul lives and acts, while the body is at rest.
He felt this life in him, and it was as if he heard the sound of dear,
well-known melodies, as if the breezes of summer floated around him;
and over his couch shone a ray of brightness, as if it were shining
through the covering of his snow-roof. He lifted his head, and saw
that the bright gleaming was not the reflection of the glittering
snow, but the dazzling brightness of the pinions of a mighty angel,
into whose beaming face he was gazing. As from the cup of a lily,
the angel rose from amidst the leaves of the Bible; and, stretching
out his arm, the walls of the hut sunk down, as though they had been
formed of a light, airy veil of mist, and the green hills and
meadows of home, with its ruddy woods, lay spread around him in the
quiet sunshine of a lovely autumn day. The nest of the stork was
empty, but ripe fruit still hung on the wild apple-tree, although
the leaves had fallen. The red hips gleamed on the hedges, and the
starling which hung in the green cage outside the window of the
peasant's hut, which was his home, whistled the tune which he had
taught him. His grandmother hung green birds'-food around the cage, as
he, her grandson, had been accustomed to do. The daughter of the
village blacksmith, who was young and fair, stood at the well, drawing
water. She nodded to the grandmother, and the old woman nodded to her,
and pointed to a letter which had come from a long way off. That
very morning the letter had arrived from the cold regions of the
north; there, where the absent one was sweetly sleeping under the
protecting hand of God. They laughed and wept over the letter; and he,
far away, amid ice and snow, under the shadow of the angel's wings,
wept and smiled with them in spirit; for he saw and heard it all in
his dream. From the letter they read aloud the words of Holy Writ: "In
the uttermost parts of the sea, Thy right hand shall uphold me." And
as the angel spread his wings like a veil over the sleeper, there
was the sound of beautiful music and a hymn. Then the vision fled.
It was dark again in the snow-hut: but the Bible still rested
beneath his head, and faith and hope dwelt in his heart. God was
with him, and he carried home in his heart, even "in the uttermost
parts of the sea."




WHAT ONE CAN INVENT

There was once a young man who was studying to be a poet. He
wanted to become one by Easter, and to marry, and to live by poetry.
To write poems, he knew, only consists in being able to invent
something; but he could not invent anything. He had been born too
late--everything had been taken up before he came into the world,
and everything had been written and told about.

"Happy people who were born a thousand years ago!" said he. "It
was an easy matter for them to become immortal. Happy even was he
who was born a hundred years ago, for then there was still something
about which a poem could be written. Now the world is written out, and
what can I write poetry about?"

Then he studied till he became ill and wretched, the wretched man!
No doctor could help him, but perhaps the wise woman could. She
lived in the little house by the wayside, where the gate is that she
opened for those who rode and drove. But she could do more than unlock
the gate. She was wiser than the doctor who drives in his own carriage
and pays tax for his rank.

"I must go to her," said the young man.

The house in which she dwelt was small and neat, but dreary to
behold, for there were no flowers near it--no trees. By the door stood
a bee-hive, which was very useful. There was also a little
potato-field, very useful, and an earth bank, with sloe bushes upon
it, which had done blossoming, and now bore fruit, sloes, that draw
one's mouth together if one tastes them before the frost has touched
them.

"That's a true picture of our poetryless time, that I see before
me now," thought the young man; and that was at least a thought, a
grain of gold that he found by the door of the wise woman.

"Write that down!" said she. "Even crumbs are bread. I know why
you come hither. You cannot invent anything, and yet you want to be
a poet by Easter."

"Everything has been written down," said he. "Our time is not
the old time."

"No," said the woman. "In the old time wise women were burnt,
and poets went about with empty stomachs, and very much out at elbows.
The present time is good, it is the best of times; but you have not
the right way of looking at it. Your ear is not sharpened to hear, and
I fancy you do not say the Lord's Prayer in the evening. There is
plenty here to write poems about, and to tell of, for any one who
knows the way. You can read it in the fruits of the earth, you can
draw it from the flowing and the standing water; but you must
understand how--you must understand how to catch a sunbeam. Now just
you try my spectacles on, and put my ear-trumpet to your ear, and then
pray to God, and leave off thinking of yourself."

The last was a very difficult thing to do--more than a wise
woman ought to ask.

He received the spectacles and the ear-trumpet, and was posted
in the middle of the potato-field. She put a great potato into his
hand. Sounds came from within it; there came a song with words, the
history of the potato, an every-day story in ten parts, an interesting
story. And ten lines were enough to tell it in.

And what did the potato sing?

She sang of herself and of her family, of the arrival of the
potato in Europe, of the misrepresentation to which she had been
exposed before she was acknowledged, as she is now, to be a greater
treasure than a lump of gold.

"We were distributed, by the King's command, from the
council-houses through the various towns, and proclamation was made of
our great value; but no one believed in it, or even understood how
to plant us. One man dug a hole in the earth and threw in his whole
bushel of potatoes; another put one potato here and another there in
the ground, and expected that each was to come up a perfect tree, from
which he might shake down potatoes. And they certainly grew, and
produced flowers and green watery fruit, but it all withered away.
Nobody thought of what was in the ground--the blessing--the potato.
Yes, we have endured and suffered, that is to say, our forefathers
have; they and we, it is all one."

What a story it was!

"Well, and that will do," said the woman. "Now look at the sloe
bush."

"We have also some near relations in the home of the potatoes, but
higher towards the north than they grew," said the Sloes. "There
were Northmen, from Norway, who steered westward through mist and
storm to an unknown land, where, behind ice and snow, they found
plants and green meadows, and bushes with blue-black grapes--sloe
bushes. The grapes were ripened by the frost just as we are. And
they called the land 'wine-land,' that is, 'Groenland,' or
'Sloeland.'"

"That is quite a romantic story," said the young man.

"Yes, certainly. But now come with me," said the wise woman, and
she led him to the bee-hive.

He looked into it. What life and labor! There were bees standing
in all the passages, waving their wings, so that a wholesome draught
of air might blow through the great manufactory; that was their
business. Then there came in bees from without, who had been born with
little baskets on their feet; they brought flower-dust, which was
poured out, sorted, and manufactured into honey and wax. They flew
in and out. The queen-bee wanted to fly out, but then all the other
bees must have gone with her. It was not yet the time for that, but
still she wanted to fly out; so the others bit off her majesty's
wings, and she had to stay where she was.

"Now get upon the earth bank," said the wise woman. "Come and look
out over the highway, where you can see the people."

"What a crowd it is!" said the young man. "One story after
another. It whirls and whirls! It's quite a confusion before my
eyes. I shall go out at the back."

"No, go straight forward," said the woman. "Go straight into the
crowd of people; look at them in the right way. Have an ear to hear
and the right heart to feel, and you will soon invent something.
But, before you go away, you must give me my spectacles and my
ear-trumpet again."

And so saying, she took both from him.

"Now I do not see the smallest thing," said the young man, "and
now I don't hear anything more."

"Why, then, you can't be a poet by Easter," said the wise woman.

"But, by what time can I be one?" asked he.

"Neither by Easter nor by Whitsuntide! You will not learn how to
invent anything."

"What must I do to earn my bread by poetry?"

"You can do that before Shrove Tuesday. Hunt the poets! Kill their
writings and thus you will kill them. Don't be put out of countenance.
Strike at them boldly, and you'll have carnival cake, on which you can
support yourself and your wife too."

"What one can invent!" cried the young man. And so he hit out
boldly at every second poet, because he could not be a poet himself.

We have it from the wise woman. She knows WHAT ONE CAN INVENT.




THE WICKED PRINCE

There lived once upon a time a wicked prince whose heart and
mind were set upon conquering all the countries of the world, and on
frightening the people; he devastated their countries with fire and
sword, and his soldiers trod down the crops in the fields and
destroyed the peasants' huts by fire, so that the flames licked the
green leaves off the branches, and the fruit hung dried up on the
singed black trees. Many a poor mother fled, her naked baby in her
arms, behind the still smoking walls of her cottage; but also there
the soldiers followed her, and when they found her, she served as
new nourishment to their diabolical enjoyments; demons could not
possibly have done worse things than these soldiers! The prince was of
opinion that all this was right, and that it was only the natural
course which things ought to take. His power increased day by day, his
name was feared by all, and fortune favoured his deeds.

He brought enormous wealth home from the conquered towns, and
gradually accumulated in his residence riches which could nowhere be
equalled. He erected magnificent palaces, churches, and halls, and all
who saw these splendid buildings and great treasures exclaimed
admiringly: "What a mighty prince!" But they did not know what endless
misery he had brought upon other countries, nor did they hear the
sighs and lamentations which rose up from the debris of the
destroyed cities.

The prince often looked with delight upon his gold and his
magnificent edifices, and thought, like the crowd: "What a mighty
prince! But I must have more--much more. No power on earth must
equal mine, far less exceed it."

He made war with all his neighbours, and defeated them. The
conquered kings were chained up with golden fetters to his chariot
when he drove through the streets of his city. These kings had to
kneel at his and his courtiers' feet when they sat at table, and
live on the morsels which they left. At last the prince had his own
statue erected on the public places and fixed on the royal palaces;
nay, he even wished it to be placed in the churches, on the altars,
but in this the priests opposed him, saying: "Prince, you are mighty
indeed, but God's power is much greater than yours; we dare not obey
your orders."

"Well," said the prince. "Then I will conquer God too." And in his
haughtiness and foolish presumption he ordered a magnificent ship to
be constructed, with which he could sail through the air; it was
gorgeously fitted out and of many colours; like the tail of a peacock,
it was covered with thousands of eyes, but each eye was the barrel
of a gun. The prince sat in the centre of the ship, and had only to
touch a spring in order to make thousands of bullets fly out in all
directions, while the guns were at once loaded again. Hundreds of
eagles were attached to this ship, and it rose with the swiftness of
an arrow up towards the sun. The earth was soon left far below, and
looked, with its mountains and woods, like a cornfield where the
plough had made furrows which separated green meadows; soon it
looked only like a map with indistinct lines upon it; and at last it
entirely disappeared in mist and clouds. Higher and higher rose the
eagles up into the air; then God sent one of his numberless angels
against the ship. The wicked prince showered thousands of bullets upon
him, but they rebounded from his shining wings and fell down like
ordinary hailstones. One drop of blood, one single drop, came out of
the white feathers of the angel's wings and fell upon the ship in
which the prince sat, burnt into it, and weighed upon it like
thousands of hundredweights, dragging it rapidly down to the earth
again; the strong wings of the eagles gave way, the wind roared
round the prince's head, and the clouds around--were they formed by
the smoke rising up from the burnt cities?--took strange shapes,
like crabs many, many miles long, which stretched their claws out
after him, and rose up like enormous rocks, from which rolling
masses dashed down, and became fire-spitting dragons.

The prince was lying half-dead in his ship, when it sank at last
with a terrible shock into the branches of a large tree in the wood.

"I will conquer God!" said the prince. "I have sworn it: my will
must be done!"

And he spent seven years in the construction of wonderful ships to
sail through the air, and had darts cast from the hardest steel to
break the walls of heaven with. He gathered warriors from all
countries, so many that when they were placed side by side they
covered the space of several miles. They entered the ships and the
prince was approaching his own, when God sent a swarm of gnats--one
swarm of little gnats. They buzzed round the prince and stung his face
and hands; angrily he drew his sword and brandished it, but he only
touched the air and did not hit the gnats. Then he ordered his
servants to bring costly coverings and wrap him in them, that the
gnats might no longer be able to reach him. The servants carried out
his orders, but one single gnat had placed itself inside one of the
coverings, crept into the prince's ear and stung him. The place
burnt like fire, and the poison entered into his blood. Mad with pain,
he tore off the coverings and his clothes too, flinging them far away,
and danced about before the eyes of his ferocious soldiers, who now
mocked at him, the mad prince, who wished to make war with God, and
was overcome by a single little gnat.




THE WILD SWANS

Far away in the land to which the swallows fly when it is
winter, dwelt a king who had eleven sons, and one daughter, named
Eliza. The eleven brothers were princes, and each went to school
with a star on his breast, and a sword by his side. They wrote with
diamond pencils on gold slates, and learnt their lessons so quickly
and read so easily that every one might know they were princes.
Their sister Eliza sat on a little stool of plate-glass, and had a
book full of pictures, which had cost as much as half a kingdom. Oh,
these children were indeed happy, but it was not to remain so
always. Their father, who was king of the country, married a very
wicked queen, who did not love the poor children at all. They knew
this from the very first day after the wedding. In the palace there
were great festivities, and the children played at receiving
company; but instead of having, as usual, all the cakes and apples
that were left, she gave them some sand in a tea-cup, and told them to
pretend it was cake. The week after, she sent little Eliza into the
country to a peasant and his wife, and then she told the king so
many untrue things about the young princes, that he gave himself no
more trouble respecting them.

"Go out into the world and get your own living," said the queen.
"Fly like great birds, who have no voice." But she could not make them
ugly as she wished, for they were turned into eleven beautiful wild
swans. Then, with a strange cry, they flew through the windows of
the palace, over the park, to the forest beyond. It was early
morning when they passed the peasant's cottage, where their sister
Eliza lay asleep in her room. They hovered over the roof, twisted
their long necks and flapped their wings, but no one heard them or saw
them, so they were at last obliged to fly away, high up in the clouds;
and over the wide world they flew till they came to a thick, dark
wood, which stretched far away to the seashore. Poor little Eliza
was alone in her room playing with a green leaf, for she had no
other playthings, and she pierced a hole through the leaf, and
looked through it at the sun, and it was as if she saw her brothers'
clear eyes, and when the warm sun shone on her cheeks, she thought
of all the kisses they had given her. One day passed just like
another; sometimes the winds rustled through the leaves of the
rose-bush, and would whisper to the roses, "Who can be more
beautiful than you!" But the roses would shake their heads, and say,
"Eliza is." And when the old woman sat at the cottage door on
Sunday, and read her hymn-book, the wind would flutter the leaves, and
say to the book, "Who can be more pious than you?" and then the
hymn-book would answer "Eliza." And the roses and the hymn-book told
the real truth. At fifteen she returned home, but when the queen saw
how beautiful she was, she became full of spite and hatred towards
her. Willingly would she have turned her into a swan, like her
brothers, but she did not dare to do so yet, because the king wished
to see his daughter. Early one morning the queen went into the
bath-room; it was built of marble, and had soft cushions, trimmed with
the most beautiful tapestry. She took three toads with her, and kissed
them, and said to one, "When Eliza comes to the bath, seat yourself
upon her head, that she may become as stupid as you are." Then she
said to another, "Place yourself on her forehead, that she may
become as ugly as you are, and that her father may not know her."
"Rest on her heart," she whispered to the third, "then she will have
evil inclinations, and suffer in consequence." So she put the toads
into the clear water, and they turned green immediately. She next
called Eliza, and helped her to undress and get into the bath. As
Eliza dipped her head under the water, one of the toads sat on her
hair, a second on her forehead, and a third on her breast, but she did
not seem to notice them, and when she rose out of the water, there
were three red poppies floating upon it. Had not the creatures been
venomous or been kissed by the witch, they would have been changed
into red roses. At all events they became flowers, because they had
rested on Eliza's head, and on her heart. She was too good and too
innocent for witchcraft to have any power over her. When the wicked
queen saw this, she rubbed her face with walnut-juice, so that she was
quite brown; then she tangled her beautiful hair and smeared it with
disgusting ointment, till it was quite impossible to recognize the
beautiful Eliza.

When her father saw her, he was much shocked, and declared she was
not his daughter. No one but the watch-dog and the swallows knew
her; and they were only poor animals, and could say nothing. Then poor
Eliza wept, and thought of her eleven brothers, who were all away.
Sorrowfully, she stole away from the palace, and walked, the whole
day, over fields and moors, till she came to the great forest. She
knew not in what direction to go; but she was so unhappy, and longed
so for her brothers, who had been, like herself, driven out into the
world, that she was determined to seek them. She had been but a
short time in the wood when night came on, and she quite lost the
path; so she laid herself down on the soft moss, offered up her
evening prayer, and leaned her head against the stump of a tree. All
nature was still, and the soft, mild air fanned her forehead. The
light of hundreds of glow-worms shone amidst the grass and the moss,
like green fire; and if she touched a twig with her hand, ever so
lightly, the brilliant insects fell down around her, like
shooting-stars.

All night long she dreamt of her brothers. She and they were
children again, playing together. She saw them writing with their
diamond pencils on golden slates, while she looked at the beautiful
picture-book which had cost half a kingdom. They were not writing
lines and letters, as they used to do; but descriptions of the noble
deeds they had performed, and of all they had discovered and seen.
In the picture-book, too, everything was living. The birds sang, and
the people came out of the book, and spoke to Eliza and her
brothers; but, as the leaves turned over, they darted back again to
their places, that all might be in order.

When she awoke, the sun was high in the heavens; yet she could not
see him, for the lofty trees spread their branches thickly over her
head; but his beams were glancing through the leaves here and there,
like a golden mist. There was a sweet fragrance from the fresh green
verdure, and the birds almost perched upon her shoulders. She heard
water rippling from a number of springs, all flowing in a lake with
golden sands. Bushes grew thickly round the lake, and at one spot an
opening had been made by a deer, through which Eliza went down to
the water. The lake was so clear that, had not the wind rustled the
branches of the trees and the bushes, so that they moved, they would
have appeared as if painted in the depths of the lake; for every
leaf was reflected in the water, whether it stood in the shade or
the sunshine. As soon as Eliza saw her own face, she was quite
terrified at finding it so brown and ugly; but when she wetted her
little hand, and rubbed her eyes and forehead, the white skin
gleamed forth once more; and, after she had undressed, and dipped
herself in the fresh water, a more beautiful king's daughter could not
be found in the wide world. As soon as she had dressed herself
again, and braided her long hair, she went to the bubbling spring, and
drank some water out of the hollow of her hand. Then she wandered
far into the forest, not knowing whither she went. She thought of
her brothers, and felt sure that God would not forsake her. It is
God who makes the wild apples grow in the wood, to satisfy the hungry,
and He now led her to one of these trees, which was so loaded with
fruit, that the boughs bent beneath the weight. Here she held her
noonday repast, placed props under the boughs, and then went into
the gloomiest depths of the forest. It was so still that she could
hear the sound of her own footsteps, as well as the rustling of
every withered leaf which she crushed under her feet. Not a bird was
to be seen, not a sunbeam could penetrate through the large, dark
boughs of the trees. Their lofty trunks stood so close together, that,
when she looked before her, it seemed as if she were enclosed within
trellis-work. Such solitude she had never known before. The night
was very dark. Not a single glow-worm glittered in the moss.

Sorrowfully she laid herself down to sleep; and, after a while, it
seemed to her as if the branches of the trees parted over her head,
and that the mild eyes of angels looked down upon her from heaven.
When she awoke in the morning, she knew not whether she had dreamt
this, or if it had really been so. Then she continued her wandering;
but she had not gone many steps forward, when she met an old woman
with berries in her basket, and she gave her a few to eat. Then
Eliza asked her if she had not seen eleven princes riding through
the forest.

"No," replied the old woman, "But I saw yesterday eleven swans,
with gold crowns on their heads, swimming on the river close by." Then
she led Eliza a little distance farther to a sloping bank, and at
the foot of it wound a little river. The trees on its banks
stretched their long leafy branches across the water towards each
other, and where the growth prevented them from meeting naturally, the
roots had torn themselves away from the ground, so that the branches
might mingle their foliage as they hung over the water. Eliza bade the
old woman farewell, and walked by the flowing river, till she
reached the shore of the open sea. And there, before the young
maiden's eyes, lay the glorious ocean, but not a sail appeared on
its surface, not even a boat could be seen. How was she to go farther?
She noticed how the countless pebbles on the sea-shore had been
smoothed and rounded by the action of the water. Glass, iron,
stones, everything that lay there mingled together, had taken its
shape from the same power, and felt as smooth, or even smoother than
her own delicate hand. "The water rolls on without weariness," she
said, "till all that is hard becomes smooth; so will I be unwearied
in my task. Thanks for your lessons, bright rolling waves; my heart
tells me you will lead me to my dear brothers." On the foam-covered
sea-weeds, lay eleven white swan feathers, which she gathered up and
placed together. Drops of water lay upon them; whether they were
dew-drops or tears no one could say. Lonely as it was on the
sea-shore, she did not observe it, for the ever-moving sea showed more
changes in a few hours than the most varying lake could produce during
a whole year. If a black heavy cloud arose, it was as if the sea said,
"I can look dark and angry too;" and then the wind blew, and the waves
turned to white foam as they rolled. When the wind slept, and the
clouds glowed with the red sunlight, then the sea looked like a rose
leaf. But however quietly its white glassy surface rested, there was
still a motion on the shore, as its waves rose and fell like the
breast of a sleeping child. When the sun was about to set, Eliza saw
eleven white swans with golden crowns on their heads, flying towards
the land, one behind the other, like a long white ribbon. Then Eliza
went down the slope from the shore, and hid herself behind the bushes.
The swans alighted quite close to her and flapped their great white
wings. As soon as the sun had disappeared under the water, the
feathers of the swans fell off, and eleven beautiful princes,
Eliza's brothers, stood near her. She uttered a loud cry, for,
although they were very much changed, she knew them immediately. She
sprang into their arms, and called them each by name. Then, how
happy the princes were at meeting their little sister again, for
they recognized her, although she had grown so tall and beautiful.
They laughed, and they wept, and very soon understood how wickedly
their mother had acted to them all. "We brothers," said the eldest,
"fly about as wild swans, so long as the sun is in the sky; but as
soon as it sinks behind the hills, we recover our human shape.
Therefore must we always be near a resting place for our feet before
sunset; for if we should be flying towards the clouds at the time we
recovered our natural shape as men, we should sink deep into the
sea. We do not dwell here, but in a land just as fair, that lies
beyond the ocean, which we have to cross for a long distance; there is
no island in our passage upon which we could pass, the night;
nothing but a little rock rising out of the sea, upon which we can
scarcely stand with safety, even closely crowded together. If the
sea is rough, the foam dashes over us, yet we thank God even for
this rock; we have passed whole nights upon it, or we should never
have reached our beloved fatherland, for our flight across the sea
occupies two of the longest days in the year. We have permission to
visit out home once in every year, and to remain eleven days, during
which we fly across the forest to look once more at the palace where
our father dwells, and where we were born, and at the church, where
our mother lies buried. Here it seems as if the very trees and
bushes were related to us. The wild horses leap over the plains as
we have seen them in our childhood. The charcoal burners sing the
old songs, to which we have danced as children. This is our
fatherland, to which we are drawn by loving ties; and here we have
found you, our dear little sister. Two days longer we can remain
here, and then must we fly away to a beautiful land which is not our
home; and how can we take you with us? We have neither ship nor boat."

"How can I break this spell?" said their sister. And then she
talked about it nearly the whole night, only slumbering for a few
hours. Eliza was awakened by the rustling of the swans' wings as
they soared above. Her brothers were again changed to swans, and
they flew in circles wider and wider, till they were far away; but one
of them, the youngest swan, remained behind, and laid his head in
his sister's lap, while she stroked his wings; and they remained
together the whole day. Towards evening, the rest came back, and as
the sun went down they resumed their natural forms. "To-morrow,"
said one, "we shall fly away, not to return again till a whole year
has passed. But we cannot leave you here. Have you courage to go
with us? My arm is strong enough to carry you through the wood; and
will not all our wings be strong enough to fly with you over the sea?"

"Yes, take me with you," said Eliza. Then they spent the whole
night in weaving a net with the pliant willow and rushes. It was
very large and strong. Eliza laid herself down on the net, and when
the sun rose, and her brothers again became wild swans, they took up
the net with their beaks, and flew up to the clouds with their dear
sister, who still slept. The sunbeams fell on her face, therefore
one of the swans soared over her head, so that his broad wings might
shade her. They were far from the land when Eliza woke. She thought
she must still be dreaming, it seemed so strange to her to feel
herself being carried so high in the air over the sea. By her side lay
a branch full of beautiful ripe berries, and a bundle of sweet
roots; the youngest of her brothers had gathered them for her, and
placed them by her side. She smiled her thanks to him; she knew it was
the same who had hovered over her to shade her with his wings. They
were now so high, that a large ship beneath them looked like a white
sea-gull skimming the waves. A great cloud floating behind them
appeared like a vast mountain, and upon it Eliza saw her own shadow
and those of the eleven swans, looking gigantic in size. Altogether it
formed a more beautiful picture than she had ever seen; but as the sun
rose higher, and the clouds were left behind, the shadowy picture
vanished away. Onward the whole day they flew through the air like a
winged arrow, yet more slowly than usual, for they had their sister to
carry. The weather seemed inclined to be stormy, and Eliza watched the
sinking sun with great anxiety, for the little rock in the ocean was
not yet in sight. It appeared to her as if the swans were making great
efforts with their wings. Alas! she was the cause of their not
advancing more quickly. When the sun set, they would change to men,
fall into the sea and be drowned. Then she offered a prayer from her
inmost heart, but still no appearance of the rock. Dark clouds came
nearer, the gusts of wind told of a coming storm, while from a
thick, heavy mass of clouds the lightning burst forth flash after
flash. The sun had reached the edge of the sea, when the swans
darted down so swiftly, that Eliza's head trembled; she believed
they were falling, but they again soared onward. Presently she
caught sight of the rock just below them, and by this time the sun was
half hidden by the waves. The rock did not appear larger than a seal's
head thrust out of the water. They sunk so rapidly, that at the moment
their feet touched the rock, it shone only like a star, and at last
disappeared like the last spark in a piece of burnt paper. Then she
saw her brothers standing closely round her with their arms linked
together. There was but just room enough for them, and not the
smallest space to spare. The sea dashed against the rock, and
covered them with spray. The heavens were lighted up with continual
flashes, and peal after peal of thunder rolled. But the sister and
brothers sat holding each other's hands, and singing hymns, from which
they gained hope and courage. In the early dawn the air became calm
and still, and at sunrise the swans flew away from the rock with
Eliza. The sea was still rough, and from their high position in the
air, the white foam on the dark green waves looked like millions of
swans swimming on the water. As the sun rose higher, Eliza saw
before her, floating on the air, a range of mountains, with shining
masses of ice on their summits. In the centre, rose a castle
apparently a mile long, with rows of columns, rising one above
another, while, around it, palm-trees waved and flowers bloomed as
large as mill wheels. She asked if this was the land to which they
were hastening. The swans shook their heads, for what she beheld
were the beautiful ever-changing cloud palaces of the "Fata
Morgana," into which no mortal can enter. Eliza was still gazing at
the scene, when mountains, forests, and castles melted away, and
twenty stately churches rose in their stead, with high towers and
pointed gothic windows. Eliza even fancied she could hear the tones of
the organ, but it was the music of the murmuring sea which she
heard. As they drew nearer to the churches, they also changed into a
fleet of ships, which seemed to be sailing beneath her; but as she
looked again, she found it was only a sea mist gliding over the ocean.
So there continued to pass before her eyes a constant change of scene,
till at last she saw the real land to which they were bound, with
its blue mountains, its cedar forests, and its cities and palaces.
Long before the sun went down, she sat on a rock, in front of a
large cave, on the floor of which the over-grown yet delicate green
creeping plants looked like an embroidered carpet. "Now we shall
expect to hear what you dream of to-night," said the youngest brother,
as he showed his sister her bedroom.

"Heaven grant that I may dream how to save you," she replied.
And this thought took such hold upon her mind that she prayed
earnestly to God for help, and even in her sleep she continued to
pray. Then it appeared to her as if she were flying high in the air,
towards the cloudy palace of the "Fata Morgana," and a fairy came
out to meet her, radiant and beautiful in appearance, and yet very
much like the old woman who had given her berries in the wood, and who
had told her of the swans with golden crowns on their heads. "Your
brothers can be released," said she, "if you have only courage and
perseverance. True, water is softer than your own delicate hands,
and yet it polishes stones into shapes; it feels no pain as your
fingers would feel, it has no soul, and cannot suffer such agony and
torment as you will have to endure. Do you see the stinging nettle
which I hold in my hand? Quantities of the same sort grow round the
cave in which you sleep, but none will be of any use to you unless
they grow upon the graves in a churchyard. These you must gather
even while they burn blisters on your hands. Break them to pieces with
your hands and feet, and they will become flax, from which you must
spin and weave eleven coats with long sleeves; if these are then
thrown over the eleven swans, the spell will be broken. But
remember, that from the moment you commence your task until it is
finished, even should it occupy years of your life, you must not
speak. The first word you utter will pierce through the hearts of your
brothers like a deadly dagger. Their lives hang upon your tongue.
Remember all I have told you." And as she finished speaking, she
touched her hand lightly with the nettle, and a pain, as of burning
fire, awoke Eliza.

It was broad daylight, and close by where she had been sleeping
lay a nettle like the one she had seen in her dream. She fell on her
knees and offered her thanks to God. Then she went forth from the cave
to begin her work with her delicate hands. She groped in amongst the
ugly nettles, which burnt great blisters on her hands and arms, but
she determined to bear it gladly if she could only release her dear
brothers. So she bruised the nettles with her bare feet and spun the
flax. At sunset her brothers returned and were very much frightened
when they found her dumb. They believed it to be some new sorcery of
their wicked step-mother. But when they saw her hands they
understood what she was doing on their behalf, and the youngest
brother wept, and where his tears fell the pain ceased, and the
burning blisters vanished. She kept to her work all night, for she
could not rest till she had released her dear brothers. During the
whole of the following day, while her brothers were absent, she sat in
solitude, but never before had the time flown so quickly. One coat was
already finished and she had begun the second, when she heard the
huntsman's horn, and was struck with fear. The sound came nearer and
nearer, she heard the dogs barking, and fled with terror into the
cave. She hastily bound together the nettles she had gathered into a
bundle and sat upon them. Immediately a great dog came bounding
towards her out of the ravine, and then another and another; they
barked loudly, ran back, and then came again. In a very few minutes
all the huntsmen stood before the cave, and the handsomest of them was
the king of the country. He advanced towards her, for he had never
seen a more beautiful maiden.

"How did you come here, my sweet child?" he asked. But Eliza shook
her head. She dared not speak, at the cost of her brothers' lives. And
she hid her hands under her apron, so that the king might not see
how she must be suffering.

"Come with me," he said; "here you cannot remain. If you are as
good as you are beautiful, I will dress you in silk and velvet, I will
place a golden crown upon your head, and you shall dwell, and rule,
and make your home in my richest castle." And then he lifted her on
his horse. She wept and wrung her hands, but the king said, "I wish
only for your happiness. A time will come when you will thank me for
this." And then he galloped away over the mountains, holding her
before him on this horse, and the hunters followed behind them. As the
sun went down, they approached a fair royal city, with churches, and
cupolas. On arriving at the castle the king led her into marble halls,
where large fountains played, and where the walls and the ceilings
were covered with rich paintings. But she had no eyes for all these
glorious sights, she could only mourn and weep. Patiently she
allowed the women to array her in royal robes, to weave pearls in
her hair, and draw soft gloves over her blistered fingers. As she
stood before them in all her rich dress, she looked so dazzlingly
beautiful that the court bowed low in her presence. Then the king
declared his intention of making her his bride, but the archbishop
shook his head, and whispered that the fair young maiden was only a
witch who had blinded the king's eyes and bewitched his heart. But the
king would not listen to this; he ordered the music to sound, the
daintiest dishes to be served, and the loveliest maidens to dance.
After-wards he led her through fragrant gardens and lofty halls, but
not a smile appeared on her lips or sparkled in her eyes. She looked
the very picture of grief. Then the king opened the door of a little
chamber in which she was to sleep; it was adorned with rich green
tapestry, and resembled the cave in which he had found her. On the
floor lay the bundle of flax which she had spun from the nettles,
and under the ceiling hung the coat she had made. These things had
been brought away from the cave as curiosities by one of the huntsmen.

"Here you can dream yourself back again in the old home in the
cave," said the king; "here is the work with which you employed
yourself. It will amuse you now in the midst of all this splendor to
think of that time."

When Eliza saw all these things which lay so near her heart, a
smile played around her mouth, and the crimson blood rushed to her
cheeks. She thought of her brothers, and their release made her so
joyful that she kissed the king's hand. Then he pressed her to his
heart. Very soon the joyous church bells announced the marriage feast,
and that the beautiful dumb girl out of the wood was to be made the
queen of the country. Then the archbishop whispered wicked words in
the king's ear, but they did not sink into his heart. The marriage was
still to take place, and the archbishop himself had to place the crown
on the bride's head; in his wicked spite, he pressed the narrow
circlet so tightly on her forehead that it caused her pain. But a
heavier weight encircled her heart--sorrow for her brothers. She
felt not bodily pain. Her mouth was closed; a single word would cost
the lives of her brothers. But she loved the kind, handsome king,
who did everything to make her happy more and more each day; she loved
him with all her heart, and her eyes beamed with the love she dared
not speak. Oh! if she had only been able to confide in him and tell
him of her grief. But dumb she must remain till her task was finished.
Therefore at night she crept away into her little chamber, which had
been decked out to look like the cave, and quickly wove one coat after
another. But when she began the seventh she found she had no more
flax. She knew that the nettles she wanted to use grew in the
churchyard, and that she must pluck them herself. How should she get
out there? "Oh, what is the pain in my fingers to the torment which my
heart endures?" said she. "I must venture, I shall not be denied
help from heaven." Then with a trembling heart, as if she were about
to perform a wicked deed, she crept into the garden in the broad
moonlight, and passed through the narrow walks and the deserted
streets, till she reached the churchyard. Then she saw on one of the
broad tombstones a group of ghouls. These hideous creatures took off
their rags, as if they intended to bathe, and then clawing open the
fresh graves with their long, skinny fingers, pulled out the dead
bodies and ate the flesh! Eliza had to pass close by them, and they
fixed their wicked glances upon her, but she prayed silently, gathered
the burning nettles, and carried them home with her to the castle. One
person only had seen her, and that was the archbishop--he was awake
while everybody was asleep. Now he thought his opinion was evidently
correct. All was not right with the queen. She was a witch, and had
bewitched the king and all the people. Secretly he told the king
what he had seen and what he feared, and as the hard words came from
his tongue, the carved images of the saints shook their heads as if
they would say. "It is not so. Eliza is innocent."

But the archbishop interpreted it in another way; he believed that
they witnessed against her, and were shaking their heads at her
wickedness. Two large tears rolled down the king's cheeks, and he went
home with doubt in his heart, and at night he pretended to sleep,
but there came no real sleep to his eyes, for he saw Eliza get up
every night and disappear in her own chamber. From day to day his brow
became darker, and Eliza saw it and did not understand the reason, but
it alarmed her and made her heart tremble for her brothers. Her hot
tears glittered like pearls on the regal velvet and diamonds, while
all who saw her were wishing they could be queens. In the mean time
she had almost finished her task; only one coat of mail was wanting,
but she had no flax left, and not a single nettle. Once more only, and
for the last time, must she venture to the churchyard and pluck a
few handfuls. She thought with terror of the solitary walk, and of the
horrible ghouls, but her will was firm, as well as her trust in
Providence. Eliza went, and the king and the archbishop followed
her. They saw her vanish through the wicket gate into the
churchyard, and when they came nearer they saw the ghouls sitting on
the tombstone, as Eliza had seen them, and the king turned away his
head, for he thought she was with them--she whose head had rested on
his breast that very evening. "The people must condemn her," said
he, and she was very quickly condemned by every one to suffer death by
fire. Away from the gorgeous regal halls was she led to a dark, dreary
cell, where the wind whistled through the iron bars. Instead of the
velvet and silk dresses, they gave her the coats of mail which she had
woven to cover her, and the bundle of nettles for a pillow; but
nothing they could give her would have pleased her more. She continued
her task with joy, and prayed for help, while the street-boys sang
jeering songs about her, and not a soul comforted her with a kind
word. Towards evening, she heard at the grating the flutter of a
swan's wing, it was her youngest brother--he had found his sister, and
she sobbed for joy, although she knew that very likely this would be
the last night she would have to live. But still she could hope, for
her task was almost finished, and her brothers were come. Then the
archbishop arrived, to be with her during her last hours, as he had
promised the king. But she shook her head, and begged him, by looks
and gestures, not to stay; for in this night she knew she must
finish her task, otherwise all her pain and tears and sleepless nights
would have been suffered in vain. The archbishop withdrew, uttering
bitter words against her; but poor Eliza knew that she was innocent,
and diligently continued her work.

The little mice ran about the floor, they dragged the nettles to
her feet, to help as well as they could; and the thrush sat outside
the grating of the window, and sang to her the whole night long, as
sweetly as possible, to keep up her spirits.

It was still twilight, and at least an hour before sunrise, when
the eleven brothers stood at the castle gate, and demanded to be
brought before the king. They were told it could not be, it was yet
almost night, and as the king slept they dared not disturb him. They
threatened, they entreated. Then the guard appeared, and even the king
himself, inquiring what all the noise meant. At this moment the sun
rose. The eleven brothers were seen no more, but eleven wild swans
flew away over the castle.

And now all the people came streaming forth from the gates of
the city, to see the witch burnt. An old horse drew the cart on
which she sat. They had dressed her in a garment of coarse
sackcloth. Her lovely hair hung loose on her shoulders, her cheeks
were deadly pale, her lips moved silently, while her fingers still
worked at the green flax. Even on the way to death, she would not give
up her task. The ten coats of mail lay at her feet, she was working
hard at the eleventh, while the mob jeered her and said, "See the
witch, how she mutters! She has no hymn-book in her hand. She sits
there with her ugly sorcery. Let us tear it in a thousand pieces."

And then they pressed towards her, and would have destroyed the
coats of mail, but at the same moment eleven wild swans flew over her,
and alighted on the cart. Then they flapped their large wings, and the
crowd drew on one side in alarm.

"It is a sign from heaven that she is innocent," whispered many of
them; but they ventured not to say it aloud.

As the executioner seized her by the hand, to lift her out of
the cart, she hastily threw the eleven coats of mail over the swans,
and they immediately became eleven handsome princes; but the
youngest had a swan's wing, instead of an arm; for she had not been
able to finish the last sleeve of the coat.

"Now I may speak," she exclaimed. "I am innocent."

Then the people, who saw what happened, bowed to her, as before
a saint; but she sank lifeless in her brothers' arms, overcome with
suspense, anguish, and pain.

"Yes, she is innocent," said the eldest brother; and then he
related all that had taken place; and while he spoke there rose in the
air a fragrance as from millions of roses. Every piece of faggot in
the pile had taken root, and threw out branches, and appeared a
thick hedge, large and high, covered with roses; while above all
bloomed a white and shining flower, that glittered like a star. This
flower the king plucked, and placed in Eliza's bosom, when she awoke
from her swoon, with peace and happiness in her heart. And all the
church bells rang of themselves, and the birds came in great troops.
And a marriage procession returned to the castle, such as no king
had ever before seen.




THE WILL-O-THE WISP IS IN THE TOWN, SAYS THE MOOR WOMAN

There was a man who once knew many stories, but they had slipped
away from him--so he said. The Story that used to visit him of its own
accord no longer came and knocked at his door. And why did it come
no longer? It is true enough that for days and years the man had not
thought of it, had not expected it to come and knock; and if he had
expected it, it would certainly not have come; for without there was
war, and within was the care and sorrow that war brings with it.

The stork and the swallows came back from their long journey,
for they thought of no danger; and, behold, when they arrived, the
nest was burnt, the habitations of men were burnt, the hedges were all
in disorder, and everything seemed gone, and the enemy's horses were
stamping in the old graves. Those were hard, gloomy times, but they
came to an end.

And now they were past and gone--so people said; yet no Story came
and knocked at the door, or gave any tidings of its presence.

"I suppose it must be dead, or gone away with many other
things," said the man.

But the story never dies. And more than a whole year went by,
and he longed--oh, so very much!--for the Story.

"I wonder if the Story will ever come back again and knock?"

And he remembered it so well in all the various forms in which
it had come to him, sometimes young and charming, like spring
itself, sometimes as a beautiful maiden, with a wreath of thyme in her
hair, and a beechen branch in her hand, and with eyes that gleamed
like deep woodland lakes in the bright sunshine.

Sometimes it had come to him in the guise of a peddler, and had
opened its box and let silver ribbon come fluttering out, with
verses and inscriptions of old remembrances.

But it was most charming of all when it came as an old
grandmother, with silvery hair, and such large, sensible eyes. She
knew so well how to tell about the oldest times, long before the
princesses spun with the golden spindles, and the dragons lay
outside the castles, guarding them. She told with such an air of
truth, that black spots danced before the eyes of all who heard her,
and the floor became black with human blood; terrible to see and to
hear, and yet so entertaining, because such a long time had passed
since it all happened.

"Will it ever knock at my door again?" said the man, and he
gazed at the door, so that black spots came before his eyes and upon
the floor; he did not know if it was blood, or mourning crape from the
dark heavy days.

And as he sat thus, the thought came upon him whether the Story
might not have hidden itself, like the princess in the old tale. And
he would now go in search of it; if he found it, it would beam in
new splendor, lovelier than ever.

"Who knows? Perhaps it has hidden itself in the straw that
balances on the margin of the well. Carefully, carefully! Perhaps it
lies hidden in a certain flower--that flower in one of the great books
on the book-shelf."

And the man went and opened one of the newest books, to gain
information on this point; but there was no flower to be found.
There he read about Holger Danske; and the man read that the tale
had been invented and put together by a monk in France, that it was
a romance, "translated into Danish and printed in that language;" that
Holger Danske had never really lived, and consequently could never
come again, as we have sung, and have been so glad to believe. And
William Tell was treated just like Holger Danske. These were all
only myths--nothing on which we could depend; and yet it is all
written in a very learned book.

"Well, I shall believe what I believe!" said the man. "There grows
no plantain where no foot has trod."

And he closed the book and put it back in its place, and went to
the fresh flowers at the window. Perhaps the Story might have hidden
itself in the red tulips, with the golden yellow edges, or in the
fresh rose, or in the beaming camellia. The sunshine lay among the
flowers, but no Story.

The flowers which had been here in the dark troublous time had
been much more beautiful; but they had been cut off, one after
another, to be woven into wreaths and placed in coffins, and the
flag had waved over them! Perhaps the Story had been buried with the
flowers; but then the flowers would have known of it, and the coffin
would have heard it, and every little blade of grass that shot forth
would have told of it. The Story never dies.

Perhaps it has been here once, and has knocked; but who had eyes
or ears for it in those times? People looked darkly, gloomily, and
almost angrily at the sunshine of spring, at the twittering birds, and
all the cheerful green; the tongue could not even bear the old
merry, popular songs, and they were laid in the coffin with so much
that our heart held dear. The Story may have knocked without obtaining
a hearing; there was none to bid it welcome, and so it may have gone
away.

"I will go forth and seek it. Out in the country! out in the wood!
and on the open sea beach!"

Out in the country lies an old manor house, with red walls,
pointed gables, and a red flag that floats on the tower. The
nightingale sings among the finely-fringed beech-leaves, looking at
the blooming apple trees of the garden, and thinking that they bear
roses. Here the bees are mightily busy in the summer-time, and hover
round their queen with their humming song. The autumn has much to tell
of the wild chase, of the leaves of the trees, and of the races of men
that are passing away together. The wild swans sing at Christmas-time
on the open water, while in the old hall the guests by the fireside
gladly listen to songs and to old legends.

Down into the old part of the garden, where the great avenue of
wild chestnut trees lures the wanderer to tread its shades, went the
man who was in search of the Story; for here the wind had once
murmured something to him of "Waldemar Daa and his Daughters." The
Dryad in the tree, who was the Story-mother herself, had here told him
the "Dream of the Old Oak Tree." Here, in the time of the ancestral
mother, had stood clipped hedges, but now only ferns and stinging
nettles grew there, hiding the scattered fragments of old sculptured
figures; the moss is growing in their eyes, but they can see as well
as ever, which was more than the man could do who was in search of the
Story, for he could not find that. Where could it be?

The crows flew past him by hundreds across the old trees, and
screamed, "Krah! da!--Krah! da!"

And he went out of the garden and over the grass-plot of the yard,
into the alder grove; there stood a little six-sided house, with a
poultry-yard and a duck-yard. In the middle of the room sat the old
woman who had the management of the whole, and who knew accurately
about every egg that was laid, and about every chicken that could
creep out of an egg. But she was not the Story of which the man was in
search; that she could attest with a Christian certificate of
baptism and of vaccination that lay in her drawer.

Without, not far from the house, is a hill covered with
red-thorn and broom. Here lies an old grave-stone, which was brought
here many years ago from the churchyard of the provincial town, a
remembrance of one of the most honored councillors of the place; his
wife and his five daughters, all with folded hands and stiff ruffs,
stand round him. One could look at them so long, that it had an effect
upon the thoughts, and these reacted upon the stones, as if they
were telling of old times; at least it had been so with the man who
was in search of the Story.

As he came nearer, he noticed a living butterfly sitting on the
forehead of the sculptured councillor. The butterfly flapped its
wings, and flew a little bit farther, and then returned fatigued to
sit upon the grave-stone, as if to point out what grew there.
Four-leaved shamrocks grew there; there were seven specimens close
to each other. When fortune comes, it comes in a heap. He plucked
the shamrocks and put them in his pocket.

"Fortune is as good as red gold, but a new charming story would be
better still," thought the man; but he could not find it here.

And the sun went down, round and large; the meadow was covered
with vapor. The moor-woman was at her brewing.


It was evening. He stood alone in his room, and looked out upon
the sea, over the meadow, over moor and coast. The moon shone
bright, a mist was over the meadow, making it look like a great
lake; and, indeed, it was once so, as the legend tells--and in the
moonlight the eye realizes these myths.

Then the man thought of what he had been reading in the town, that
William Tell and Holger Danske never really lived, but yet live in
popular story, like the lake yonder, a living evidence for such myths.
Yes, Holger Danske will return again!

As he stood thus and thought, something beat quite strongly
against the window. Was it a bird, a bat or an owl? Those are not
let in, even when they knock. The window flew open of itself, and an
old woman looked in at the man.

"What's your pleasure?" said he. "Who are you? You're looking in
at the first floor window. Are you standing on a ladder?"

"You have a four-leaved shamrock in your pocket," she replied.
"Indeed, you have seven, and one of them is a six-leaved one."

"Who are you?" asked the man again.

"The Moor-woman," she replied. "The Moor-woman who brews. I was at
it. The bung was in the cask, but one of the little moor-imps pulled
it out in his mischief, and flung it up into the yard, where it beat
against the window; and now the beer's running out of the cask, and
that won't do good to anybody."

"Pray tell me some more!" said the man.

"Yes, wait a little," answered the Moor-woman. "I've something
else to do just now." And she was gone.

The man was going to shut the window, when the woman already stood
before him again.

"Now it's done," she said; "but I shall have half the beer to brew
over again to-morrow, if the weather is suitable. Well, what have
you to ask me? I've come back, for I always keep my word, and you have
seven four-leaved shamrocks in your pocket, and one of them is a
six-leaved one. That inspires respect, for that's an order that
grows beside the sandy way; but that every one does not find. What
have you to ask me? Don't stand there like a ridiculous oaf, for I
must go back again directly to my bung and my cask."

And the man asked about the Story, and inquired if the
Moor-woman had met it in her journeyings.

"By the big brewing-vat!" exclaimed the woman, "haven't you got
stories enough? I really believe that most people have enough of them.
Here are other things to take notice of, other things to examine. Even
the children have gone beyond that. Give the little boy a cigar, and
the little girl a new crinoline; they like that much better. To listen
to stories! No, indeed, there are more important things to be done
here, and other things to notice!"

"What do you mean by that?" asked the man, "and what do you know
of the world? You don't see anything but frogs and Will-o'-the-Wisps!"

"Yes, beware of the Will-o'-the-Wisps," said the Moor-woman,
"for they're out--they're let loose--that's what we must talk about!
Come to me in the moor, where my presence is necessary, and I will
tell you all about it; but you must make haste, and come while your
seven four-leaved shamrocks, for which one has six leaves, are still
fresh, and the moon stands high!"

And the Moor-woman was gone.

It struck twelve in the town, and before the last stroke had
died away, the man was out in the yard, out in the garden, and stood
in the meadow. The mist had vanished, and the Moor-woman stopped her
brewing.

"You've been a long time coming!" said the Moor-woman. "Witches
get forward faster than men, and I'm glad that I belong to the witch
folk!"

"What have you to say to me now?" asked the man. "Is it anything
about the Story?"

"Can you never get beyond asking about that?" retorted the woman.

"Can you tell me anything about the poetry of the future?" resumed
the man.

"Don't get on your stilts," said the crone, "and I'll answer
you. You think of nothing but poetry, and only ask about that Story,
as if she were the lady of the whole troop. She's the oldest of us
all, but she takes precedence of the youngest. I know her well. I've
been young, too, and she's no chicken now. I was once quite a pretty
elf-maiden, and have danced in my time with the others in the
moonlight, and have heard the nightingale, and have gone into the
forest and met the Story-maiden, who was always to be found out there,
running about. Sometimes she took up her night's lodging in a
half-blown tulip, or in a field flower; sometimes she would slip
into the church, and wrap herself in the mourning crape that hung down
from the candles on the altar."

"You are capitally well-informed," said the man.

"I ought at least to know as much as you," answered the
Moor-woman. "Stories and poetry--yes, they're like two yards of the
same piece of stuff; they can go and lie down where they like, and one
can brew all their prattle, and have it all the better and cheaper.
You shall have it from me for nothing. I have a whole cupboard-full of
poetry in bottles. It makes essences; and that's the best of
it--bitter and sweet herbs. I have everything that people want of
poetry, in bottles, so that I can put a little on my handkerchief,
on holidays, to smell."

"Why, these are wonderful things that you're telling!" said the
man. "You have poetry in bottles?"

"More than you can require," said the woman. "I suppose you know
the history of 'the Girl who Trod on the Loaf, so that she might not
soil her shoes'? That has been written, and printed too."

"I told that story myself," said the man.

"Yes, then you must know it; and you must know also that the
girl sank into the earth directly, to the Moor-woman, just as Old
Bogey's grandmother was paying her morning visit to inspect the
brewery. She saw the girl gliding down, and asked to have her as a
remembrance of her visit, and got her too; while I received a
present that's of no use to me--a travelling druggist's shop--a
whole cupboard-full of poetry in bottles. Grandmother told me where
the cupboard was to be placed, and there it's standing still. Just
look! You've your seven four-leaved shamrocks in your pocket, one of
which is a six-leaved one, and so you will be able to see it."

And really in the midst of the moor lay something like a great
knotted block of alder, and that was the old grandmother's cupboard.
The Moor-woman said that this was always open to her and to every
one in the land, if they only knew where the cupboard stood. It
could be opened either at the front or at the back, and at every
side and corner--a perfect work of art, and yet only an old alder
stump in appearance. The poets of all lands, and especially those of
our own country, had been arranged here; the spirit of them had been
extracted, refined, criticised and renovated, and then stored up in
bottles. With what may be called great aptitude, if it was not
genius the grandmother had taken as it were the flavor of this and
of that poet, and had added a little devilry, and then corked up the
bottles for use during all future times.

"Pray let me see," said the man.

"Yes, but there are more important things to hear," replied the
Moor-woman.

"But now we are at the cupboard!" said the man. And he looked
in. "Here are bottles of all sizes. What is in this one? and what in
that one yonder?"

"Here is what they call may-balm," replied the woman. "I have
not tried it myself. But I have not yet told you the 'more
important' thing you were to hear. THE WILL-O'-THE-WISP'S IN THE TOWN!
That's of much more consequence than poetry and stories. I ought,
indeed, to hold my tongue; but there must be a necessity--a fate--a
something that sticks in my throat, and that wants to come out. Take
care, you mortals!"

"I don't understand a word of all this!" cried the man.

"Be kind enough to seat yourself on that cupboard," she retorted,
"but take care you don't fall through and break the bottles--you know
what's inside of them. I must tell of the great event. It occurred no
longer ago than the day before yesterday. It did not happen earlier.
It has now three hundred and sixty-three days to run about. I suppose
you know how many days there are in a year?"

And this is what the Moor-woman told:

"There was a great commotion yesterday out here in the marsh!
There was a christening feast! A little Will-o'-the-Wisp was born
here--in fact, twelve of them were born all together; and they have
permission, if they choose to use it, to go abroad among men, and to
move about and command among them, just as if they were born
mortals. That was a great event in the marsh, and accordingly all
the Will-o'-the-Wisps, male and female, went dancing like little
lights across the moor. There are some of them of the dog species, but
those are not worth mentioning. I sat there on the cupboard, and had
all the twelve little new-born Will-o'-the-Wisps upon my lap. They
shone like glow-worms; they already began to hop, and increased in
size every moment, so that before a quarter of an hour had elapsed,
each of them looked just as large as his father or his uncle. Now,
it's an old-established regulation and favor, that when the moon
stands just as it did yesterday, and the wind blows just as it blew
then, it is allowed and accorded to all Will-o'-the-Wisps--that is, to
all those who are born at that minute of time--to become mortals,
and individually to exert their power for the space of one year.

"The Will-o'-the-Wisp may run about in the country and through the
world, if it is not afraid of falling into the sea, or of being
blown out by a heavy storm. It can enter into a person and speak for
him, and make all the movements it pleases. The Will-o'-the-Wisp may
take whatever form he likes, of man or woman, and can act in their
spirit and in their disguise in such a way that he can effect whatever
he wishes to do. But he must manage, in the course of the year, to
lead three hundred and sixty-five people into a bad way, and in a
grand style, too. To lead them away from the right and the truth;
and then he reaches the highest point. Such a Will-o'-the-Wisp can
attain to the honor of being a runner before the devil's state
coach; and then he'll wear clothes of fiery yellow, and breathe
forth flames out of his throat. That's enough to make a simple
Will-o'-the-Wisp smack his lips. But there's some danger in this,
and a great deal of work for a Will-o'-the-Wisp who aspires to play so
distinguished a part. If the eyes of the man are opened to what he is,
and if the man can then blow him away, it's all over with him, and
he must come back into the marsh; or if, before the year is up, the
Will-o'-the-Wisp is seized with a longing to see his family, and so
returns to it and gives the matter up, it is over with him likewise,
and he can no longer burn clear, and soon becomes extinguished, and
cannot be lit up again; and when the year has elapsed, and he has
not led three hundred and sixty-five people away from the truth and
from all that is grand and noble, he is condemned to be imprisoned
in decayed wood, and to lie glimmering there, without being able to
move; and that's the most terrible punishment that can be inflicted on
a lively Will-o'-the-Wisp.

"Now, all this I know, and all this I told to the twelve little
Will-o'-the-Wisps whom I had on my lap, and who seemed quite crazy
with joy.

"I told them that the safest and most convenient course was to
give up the honor, and do nothing at all; but the little flames
would not agree to this, and already fancied themselves clad in
fiery yellow clothes, breathing flames from their throats.

"'Stay with us,' said some of the older ones.

"'Carry on your sport with mortals,' said the others.

"'The mortals are drying up our meadows; they've taken to
draining. What will our successors do?'

"'We want to flame; we will flame--flame!' cried the new-born
Will-o'the-Wisps.

"And thus the affair was settled.

"And now a ball was given, a minute long; it could not well be
shorter. The little elf-maidens whirled round three times with the
rest, that they might not appear proud, but they preferred dancing
with one another.

"And now the sponsors' gifts were presented, and presents were
thrown them. These presents flew like pebbles across the sea-water.
Each of the elf-maidens gave a little piece of her veil.

"'Take that,' they said, 'and then you'll know the higher dance,
the most difficult turns and twists--that is to say, if you should
find them necessary. You'll know the proper deportment, and then you
can show yourself in the very pick of society.'

"The night raven taught each of the young Will-o'-the-Wisps to
say, 'Goo-goo-good,' and to say it in the right place; and that's a
great gift which brings its own reward.

"The owl and the stork--but they said it was not worth mentioning,
and so we won't mention it.

"King Waldemar's wild chase was just then rushing over the moor,
and when the great lords heard of the festivities that were going
on, they sent a couple of handsome dogs, which hunt on the spoor of
the wind, as a present; and these might carry two or three of the
Will-o'-the-Wisps. A couple of old Alpas, spirits who occupy
themselves with Alp-pressing, were also at the feast; and from these
the young Will-o'-the-Wisps learned the art of slipping through
every key-hole, as if the door stood open before them. These Alpas
offered to carry the youngsters to the town, with which they were well
acquainted. They usually rode through the atmosphere on their own back
hair, which is fastened into a knot, for they love a hard seat; but
now they sat sideways on the wild hunting dogs, took the young
Will-o'-the-Wisps in their laps, who wanted to go into the town to
mislead and entice mortals, and, whisk! away they were. Now, this is
what happened last night. To-day the Will-o'-the-Wisps are in the
town, and have taken the matter in hand--but where and how? Ah, can
you tell me that? Still, I've a lightning conductor in my great toe,
and that will always tell me something."

"Why, this is a complete story," exclaimed the man.

"Yes, but it is only the beginning," replied the woman. "Can you
tell me how the Will-o'-the-Wisps deport themselves, and how they
behave? and in what shapes they have aforetime appeared and led people
into crooked paths?"

"I believe," replied the man, "that one could tell quite a romance
about the Will-o'-the-Wisps, in twelve parts; or, better still, one
might make quite a popular play of them."

"You might write that," said the woman, "but it's best let alone."

"Yes, that's better and more agreeable," the man replied, "for
then we shall escape from the newspapers, and not be tied up by
them, which is just as uncomfortable as for a Will-o'-the-Wisp to
lie in decaying wood, to have to gleam, and not to be able to stir."

"I don't care about it either way," cried the woman. "Let the rest
write, those who can, and those who cannot likewise. I'll grant you an
old bung from my cask that will open the cupboard where poetry's
kept in bottles, and you may take from that whatever may be wanting.
But you, my good man, seem to have blotted your hands sufficiently
with ink, and to have come to that age of satiety that you need not be
running about every year for stories, especially as there are much
more important things to be done. You must have understood what is
going on?"

"The Will-o'-the-Wisp is in town," said the man. "I've heard it,
and I have understood it. But what do you think I ought to do? I
should be thrashed if I were to go to the people and say, 'Look,
yonder goes a Will-o'-the-Wisp in his best clothes!'

"They also go in undress," replied the woman. "The
Will-o'-the-Wisp can assume all kinds of forms, and appear in every
place. He goes into the church, but not for the sake of the service;
and perhaps he may enter into one or other of the priests. He speaks
in the Parliament, not for the benefit of the country, but only for
himself. He's an artist with the color-pot as well as in the
theatre; but when he gets all the power into his own hands, then the
pot's empty! I chatter and chatter, but it must come out, what's
sticking in my throat, to the disadvantage of my own family. But I
must now be the woman that will save a good many people. It is not
done with my good will, or for the sake of a medal. I do the most
insane things I possibly can, and then I tell a poet about it, and
thus the whole town gets to know of it directly."

"The town will not take that to heart," observed the man; "that
will not disturb a single person; for they will all think I'm only
telling them a story if I say, 'The Will-o'-the-Wisp is in the town,
says the Moor-woman. Take care of yourselves!'"




THE STORY OF THE WIND

"Near the shores of the great Belt, which is one of the straits
that connect the Cattegat with the Baltic, stands an old mansion
with thick red walls. I know every stone of it," says the Wind. "I saw
it when it was part of the castle of Marck Stig on the promontory. But
the castle was obliged to be pulled down, and the stone was used again
for the walls of a new mansion on another spot--the baronial residence
of Borreby, which still stands near the coast. I knew them well, those
noble lords and ladies, the successive generations that dwelt there;
and now I'm going to tell you of Waldemar Daa and his daughters. How
proud was his bearing, for he was of royal blood, and could boast of
more noble deeds than merely hunting the stag and emptying the
wine-cup. His rule was despotic: 'It shall be,' he was accustomed to
say. His wife, in garments embroidered with gold, stepped proudly over
the polished marble floors. The tapestries were gorgeous, and the
furniture of costly and artistic taste. She had brought gold and plate
with her into the house. The cellars were full of wine. Black, fiery
horses, neighed in the stables. There was a look of wealth about the
house of Borreby at that time. They had three children, daughters,
fair and delicate maidens--Ida, Joanna, and Anna Dorothea; I have
never forgotten their names. They were a rich, noble family, born in
affluence and nurtured in luxury.

"Whir-r-r, whir-r-r!" roared the Wind, and went on, "I did not see
in this house, as in other great houses, the high-born lady sitting
among her women, turning the spinning-wheel. She could sweep the
sounding chords of the guitar, and sing to the music, not always
Danish melodies, but the songs of a strange land. It was 'Live and let
live,' here. Stranger guests came from far and near, music sounded,
goblets clashed, and I," said the Wind, "was not able to drown the
noise. Ostentation, pride, splendor, and display ruled, but not the
fear of the Lord.

"It was on the evening of the first day of May," the Wind
continued, "I came from the west, and had seen the ships overpowered
with the waves, when all on board persisted or were cast shipwrecked
on the coast of Jutland. I had hurried across the heath and over
Jutland's wood-girt eastern coast, and over the island of Funen, and
then I drove across the great belt, sighing and moaning. At length I
lay down to rest on the shores of Zeeland, near to the great house
of Borreby, where the splendid forest of oaks still flourished. The
young men of the neighborhood were collecting branches and brushwood
under the oak-trees. The largest and dryest they could find they
carried into the village, and piled them up in a heap and set them
on fire. Then the men and maidens danced, and sung in a circle round
the blazing pile. I lay quite quiet," said the Wind, "but I silently
touched a branch which had been brought by one of the handsomest of
the young men, and the wood blazed up brightly, blazed brighter than
all the rest. Then he was chosen as the chief, and received the name
of the Shepherd; and might choose his lamb from among the maidens.
There was greater mirth and rejoicing than I had ever heard in the
halls of the rich baronial house. Then the noble lady drove by towards
the baron's mansion with her three daughters, in a gilded carriage
drawn by six horses. The daughters were young and beautiful--three
charming blossoms--a rose, a lily, and a white hyacinth. The mother
was a proud tulip, and never acknowledged the salutations of any of
the men or maidens who paused in their sport to do her honor. The
gracious lady seemed like a flower that was rather stiff in the stalk.
Rose, lily, and hyacinth--yes, I saw them all three. Whose little
lambs will they one day become? thought I; their shepherd will be a
gallant knight, perhaps a prince. The carriage rolled on, and the
peasants resumed their dancing. They drove about the summer through
all the villages near. But one night, when I rose again, the high-born
lady lay down to rise again no more; that thing came to her which
comes to us all, in which there is nothing new. Waldemar Daa
remained for a time silent and thoughtful. 'The loftiest tree may be
bowed without being broken,' said a voice within him. His daughters
wept; all the people in the mansion wiped their eyes, but Lady Daa had
driven away, and I drove away too," said the Wind. "Whir-r-r,
whir-r-r-!

"I returned again; I often returned and passed over the island
of Funen and the shores of the Belt. Then I rested by Borreby, near
the glorious wood, where the heron made his nest, the haunt of the
wood-pigeons, the blue-birds, and the black stork. It was yet
spring, some were sitting on their eggs, others had already hatched
their young broods; but how they fluttered about and cried out when
the axe sounded through the forest, blow upon blow! The trees of the
forest were doomed. Waldemar Daa wanted to build a noble ship, a
man-of-war, a three-decker, which the king would be sure to buy; and
these, the trees of the wood, the landmark of the seamen, the refuge
of the birds, must be felled. The hawk started up and flew away, for
its nest was destroyed; the heron and all the birds of the forest
became homeless, and flew about in fear and anger. I could well
understand how they felt. Crows and ravens croaked, as if in scorn,
while the trees were cracking and falling around them. Far in the
interior of the wood, where a noisy swarm of laborers were working,
stood Waldemar Daa and his three daughters, and all were laughing at
the wild cries of the birds, excepting one, the youngest, Anna
Dorothea, who felt grieved to the heart; and when they made
preparations to fell a tree that was almost dead, and on whose naked
branches the black stork had built her nest, she saw the poor little
things stretching out their necks, and she begged for mercy for
them, with the tears in her eyes. So the tree with the black stork's
nest was left standing; the tree itself, however, was not worth much
to speak of. Then there was a great deal of hewing and sawing, and
at last the three-decker was built. The builder was a man of low
origin, but possessing great pride; his eyes and forehead spoke of
large intellect, and Waldemar Daa was fond of listening to him, and so
was Waldemar's daughter Ida, the eldest, now about fifteen years
old; and while he was building the ship for the father, he was
building for himself a castle in the air, in which he and Ida were
to live when they were married. This might have happened, indeed, if
there had been a real castle, with stone walls, ramparts, and a
moat. But in spite of his clever head, the builder was still but a
poor, inferior bird; and how can a sparrow expect to be admitted
into the society of peacocks?

"I passed on in my course," said the Wind, "and he passed away
also. He was not allowed to remain, and little Ida got over it,
because she was obliged to do so. Proud, black horses, worth looking
at, were neighing in the stable. And they were locked up; for the
admiral, who had been sent by the king to inspect the new ship, and
make arrangements for its purchase, was loud in admiration of these
beautiful horses. I heard it all," said the Wind, "for I accompanied
the gentlemen through the open door of the stable, and strewed
stalks of straw, like bars of gold, at their feet. Waldemar Daa wanted
gold, and the admiral wished for the proud black horses; therefore
he praised them so much. But the hint was not taken, and
consequently the ship was not bought. It remained on the shore covered
with boards,--a Noah's ark that never got to the water--Whir-r-r-r--and
that was a pity.

"In the winter, when the fields were covered with snow, and the
water filled with large blocks of ice which I had blown up to the
coast," continued the Wind, "great flocks of crows and ravens, dark
and black as they usually are, came and alighted on the lonely,
deserted ship. Then they croaked in harsh accents of the forest that
now existed no more, of the many pretty birds' nests destroyed and the
little ones left without a home; and all for the sake of that great
bit of lumber, that proud ship, that never sailed forth. I made the
snowflakes whirl till the snow lay like a great lake round the ship,
and drifted over it. I let it hear my voice, that it might know what
the storm has to say. Certainly I did my part towards teaching it
seamanship.

"That winter passed away, and another winter and summer both
passed, as they are still passing away, even as I pass away. The
snow drifts onwards, the apple-blossoms are scattered, the leaves
fall,--everything passes away, and men are passing away too. But the
great man's daughters are still young, and little Ida is a rose as
fair to look upon as on the day when the shipbuilder first saw her.
I often tumbled her long, brown hair, while she stood in the garden by
the apple-tree, musing, and not heeding how I strewed the blossoms
on her hair, and dishevelled it; or sometimes, while she stood
gazing at the red sun and the golden sky through the opening
branches of the dark, thick foliage of the garden trees. Her sister
Joanna was bright and slender as a lily; she had a tall and lofty
carriage and figure, though, like her mother, rather stiff in back.
She was very fond of walking through the great hall, where hung the
portraits of her ancestors. The women were represented in dresses of
velvet and silk, with tiny little hats, embroidered with pearls, on
their braided hair. They were all handsome women. The gentlemen
appeared clad in steel, or in rich cloaks lined with squirrel's fur;
they wore little ruffs, and swords at their sides. Where would
Joanna's place be on that wall some day? and how would he look,--her
noble lord and husband? This is what she thought of, and often spoke
of in a low voice to herself. I heard it as I swept into the long
hall, and turned round to come out again. Anna Dorothea, the pale
hyacinth, a child of fourteen, was quiet and thoughtful; her large,
deep, blue eyes had a dreamy look, but a childlike smile still
played round her mouth. I was not able to blow it away, neither did
I wish to do so. We have met in the garden, in the hollow lane, in the
field and meadow, where she gathered herbs and flowers which she
knew would be useful to her father in preparing the drugs and mixtures
he was always concocting. Waldemar Daa was arrogant and proud, but
he was also a learned man, and knew a great deal. It was no secret,
and many opinions were expressed on what he did. In his fireplace
there was a fire, even in summer time. He would lock himself in his
room, and for days the fire would be kept burning; but he did not talk
much of what he was doing. The secret powers of nature are generally
discovered in solitude, and did he not soon expect to find out the art
of making the greatest of all good things--the art of making gold?
So he fondly hoped; therefore the chimney smoked and the fire crackled
so constantly. Yes, I was there too," said the Wind. "'Leave it
alone,' I sang down the chimney; 'leave it alone, it will all end in
smoke, air, coals, and ashes, and you will burn your fingers.' But
Waldemar Daa did not leave it alone, and all he possessed vanished
like smoke blown by me. The splendid black horses, where are they?
What became of the cows in the field, the old gold and silver
vessels in cupboards and chests, and even the house and home itself?
It was easy to melt all these away in the gold-making crucible, and
yet obtain no gold. And so it was. Empty are the barns and
store-rooms, the cellars and cupboards; the servants decreased in
number, and the mice multiplied. First one window became broken, and
then another, so that I could get in at other places besides the door.
'Where the chimney smokes, the meal is being cooked,' says the
proverb; but here a chimney smoked that devoured all the meals for the
sake of gold. I blew round the courtyard," said the Wind, "like a
watchman blowing his home, but no watchman was there. I twirled the
weather-cock round on the summit of the tower, and it creaked like the
snoring of a warder, but no warder was there; nothing but mice and
rats. Poverty laid the table-cloth; poverty sat in the wardrobe and in
the larder. The door fell off its hinges, cracks and fissures made
their appearance everywhere; so that I could go in and out at
pleasure, and that is how I know all about it. Amid smoke and ashes,
sorrow, and sleepless nights, the hair and beard of the master of
the house turned gray, and deep furrows showed themselves around his
temples; his skin turned pale and yellow, while his eyes still
looked eagerly for gold, the longed-for gold, and the result of his
labor was debt instead of gain. I blew the smoke and ashes into his
face and beard; I moaned through the broken window-panes, and the
yawning clefts in the walls; I blew into the chests and drawers
belonging to his daughters, wherein lay the clothes that had become
faded and threadbare, from being worn over and over again. Such a song
had not been sung, at the children's cradle as I sung now. The
lordly life had changed to a life of penury. I was the only one who
rejoiced aloud in that castle," said the Wind. "At last I snowed
them up, and they say snow keeps people warm. It was good for them,
for they had no wood, and the forest, from which they might have
obtained it, had been cut down. The frost was very bitter, and I
rushed through loop-holes and passages, over gables and roofs with
keen and cutting swiftness. The three high-born daughters were lying
in bed because of the cold, and their father crouching beneath his
leather coverlet. Nothing to eat, nothing to burn, no fire on the
hearth! Here was a life for high-born people! 'Give it up, give it
up!' But my Lord Daa would not do that. 'After winter, spring will
come,' he said, 'after want, good times. We must not lose patience, we
must learn to wait. Now my horses and lands are all mortgaged, it is
indeed high time; but gold will come at last--at Easter.'

"I heard him as he thus spoke; he was looking at a spider's web,
and he continued, 'Thou cunning little weaver, thou dost teach me
perseverance. Let any one tear thy web, and thou wilt begin again
and repair it. Let it be entirely destroyed, thou wilt resolutely
begin to make another till it is completed. So ought we to do, if we
wish to succeed at last.'

"It was the morning of Easter-day. The bells sounded from the
neighboring church, and the sun seemed to rejoice in the sky. The
master of the castle had watched through the night, in feverish
excitement, and had been melting and cooling, distilling and mixing. I
heard him sighing like a soul in despair; I heard him praying, and I
noticed how he held his breath. The lamp burnt out, but he did not
observe it. I blew up the fire in the coals on the hearth, and it
threw a red glow on his ghastly white face, lighting it up with a
glare, while his sunken eyes looked out wildly from their cavernous
depths, and appeared to grow larger and more prominent, as if they
would burst from their sockets. 'Look at the alchymic glass,' he
cried; 'something glows in the crucible, pure and heavy.' He lifted it
with a trembling hand, and exclaimed in a voice of agitation, 'Gold!
gold!' He was quite giddy, I could have blown him down," said the
Wind; "but I only fanned the glowing coals, and accompanied him
through the door to the room where his daughter sat shivering. His
coat was powdered with ashes, and there were ashes in his beard and in
his tangled hair. He stood erect, and held high in the air the brittle
glass that contained his costly treasure. 'Found! found! Gold!
gold!' he shouted, again holding the glass aloft, that it might
flash in the sunshine; but his hand trembled, and the alchymic glass
fell from it, clattering to the ground, and brake in a thousand
pieces. The last bubble of his happiness had burst, with a whiz and
a whir, and I rushed away from the gold-maker's house.

"Late in the autumn, when the days were short, and the mist
sprinkled cold drops on the berries and the leafless branches, I
came back in fresh spirits, rushed through the air, swept the sky
clear, and snapped off the dry twigs, which is certainly no great
labor to do, yet it must be done. There was another kind of sweeping
taking place at Waldemar Daa's, in the castle of Borreby. His enemy,
Owe Ramel, of Basnas, was there, with the mortgage of the house and
everything it contained, in his pocket. I rattled the broken
windows, beat against the old rotten doors, and whistled through
cracks and crevices, so that Mr. Owe Ramel did not much like to remain
there. Ida and Anna Dorothea wept bitterly, Joanna stood, pale and
proud, biting her lips till the blood came; but what could that avail?
Owe Ramel offered Waldemar Daa permission to remain in the house
till the end of his life. No one thanked him for the offer, and I
saw the ruined old gentleman lift his head, and throw it back more
proudly than ever. Then I rushed against the house and the old
lime-trees with such force, that one of the thickest branches, a
decayed one, was broken off, and the branch fell at the entrance,
and remained there. It might have been used as a broom, if any one had
wanted to sweep the place out, and a grand sweeping-out there really
was; I thought it would be so. It was hard for any one to preserve
composure on such a day; but these people had strong wills, as
unbending as their hard fortune. There was nothing they could call
their own, excepting the clothes they wore. Yes, there was one thing
more, an alchymist's glass, a new one, which had been lately bought,
and filled with what could be gathered from the ground of the treasure
which had promised so much but failed in keeping its promise. Waldemar
Daa hid the glass in his bosom, and, taking his stick in his hand, the
once rich gentleman passed with his daughters out of the house of
Borreby. I blew coldly upon his flustered cheeks, I stroked his gray
beard and his long white hair, and I sang as well as I was able,
'Whir-r-r, whir-r-r. Gone away! Gone away!' Ida walked on one side
of the old man, and Anna Dorothea on the other; Joanna turned round,
as they left the entrance. Why? Fortune would not turn because she
turned. She looked at the stone in the walls which had once formed
part of the castle of Marck Stig, and perhaps she thought of his
daughters and of the old song,--

  "The eldest and youngest, hand-in-hand,
  Went forth alone to a distant land."

These were only two; here there were three, and their father with them
also. They walked along the high-road, where once they had driven in
their splendid carriage; they went forth with their father as beggars.
They wandered across an open field to a mud hut, which they rented for
a dollar and a half a year, a new home, with bare walls and empty
cupboards. Crows and magpies fluttered about them, and cried, as if in
contempt, 'Caw, caw, turned out of our nest--caw, caw,' as they had
done in the wood at Borreby, when the trees were felled. Daa and his
daughters could not help hearing it, so I blew about their ears to
drown the noise; what use was it that they should listen? So they went
to live in the mud hut in the open field, and I wandered away, over
moor and meadow, through bare bushes and leafless forests, to the open
sea, to the broad shores in other lands, 'Whir-r-r, whir-r-r! Away,
away!' year after year."

And what became of Waldemar Daa and his daughters? Listen; the
Wind will tell us:

"The last I saw of them was the pale hyacinth, Anna Dorothea. She
was old and bent then; for fifty years had passed and she had outlived
them all. She could relate the history. Yonder, on the heath, near the
town of Wiborg, in Jutland, stood the fine new house of the canon. It
was built of red brick, with projecting gables. It was inhabited, for
the smoke curled up thickly from the chimneys. The canon's gentle lady
and her beautiful daughters sat in the bay-window, and looked over the
hawthorn hedge of the garden towards the brown heath. What were they
looking at? Their glances fell upon a stork's nest, which was built
upon an old tumbledown hut. The roof, as far as one existed at all,
was covered with moss and lichen. The stork's nest covered the greater
part of it, and that alone was in a good condition; for it was kept in
order by the stork himself. That is a house to be looked at, and not
to be touched," said the Wind. "For the sake of the stork's nest it
had been allowed to remain, although it is a blot on the landscape.
They did not like to drive the stork away; therefore the old shed was
left standing, and the poor woman who dwelt in it allowed to stay. She
had the Egyptian bird to thank for that; or was it perchance her
reward for having once interceded for the preservation of the nest of
its black brother in the forest of Borreby? At that time she, the
poor woman, was a young child, a white hyacinth in a rich garden. She
remembered that time well; for it was Anna Dorothea.

"'O-h, o-h,' she sighed; for people can sigh like the moaning of
the wind among the reeds and rushes. 'O-h, o-h,' she would say, 'no
bell sounded at thy burial, Waldemar Daa. The poor school-boys did not
even sing a psalm when the former lord of Borreby was laid in the
earth to rest. O-h, everything has an end, even misery. Sister Ida
became the wife of a peasant; that was the hardest trial which
befell our father, that the husband of his own daughter should be a
miserable serf, whom his owner could place for punishment on the
wooden horse. I suppose he is under the ground now; and Ida--alas!
alas! it is not ended yet; miserable that I am! Kind Heaven, grant
me that I may die.'

"That was Anna Dorothea's prayer in the wretched hut that was left
standing for the sake of the stork. I took pity on the proudest of the
sisters," said the Wind. "Her courage was like that of a man; and in
man's clothes she served as a sailor on board ship. She was of few
words, and of a dark countenance; but she did not know how to climb,
so I blew her overboard before any one found out that she was a woman;
and, in my opinion, that was well done," said the Wind.

On such another Easter morning as that on which Waldemar Daa
imagined he had discovered the art of making gold, I heard the tones
of a psalm under the stork's nest, and within the crumbling walls.
It was Anna Dorothea's last song. There was no window in the hut, only
a hole in the wall; and the sun rose like a globe of burnished gold,
and looked through. With what splendor he filled that dismal dwelling!
Her eyes were glazing, and her heart breaking; but so it would have
been, even had the sun not shone that morning on Anna Dorothea. The
stork's nest had secured her a home till her death. I sung over her
grave; I sung at her father's grave. I know where it lies, and where
her grave is too, but nobody else knows it.

"New times now; all is changed. The old high-road is lost amid
cultivated fields; the new one now winds along over covered graves;
and soon the railway will come, with its train of carriages, and
rush over graves where lie those whose very names are forgoten. All
passed away, passed away!

"This is the story of Waldemar Daa and his daughters. Tell it
better, any of you, if you know how," said the Wind; and he rushed
away, and was gone.




THE WINDMILL

A windmill stood upon the hill, proud to look at, and it was proud
too.

"I am not proud at all," it said, "but I am very much
enlightened without and within. I have sun and moon for my outward
use, and for inward use too; and into the bargain I have stearine
candles, train oil and lamps, and tallow candles. I may well say
that I'm enlightened. I'm a thinking being, and so well constructed
that it's quite delightful. I have a good windpipe in my chest, and
I have four wings that are placed outside my head, just beneath my
hat. The birds have only two wings, and are obliged to carry them on
their backs. I am a Dutchman by birth, that may be seen by my
figure--a flying Dutchman. They are considered supernatural beings,
I know, and yet I am quite natural. I have a gallery round my chest,
and house-room beneath it; that's where my thoughts dwell. My
strongest thought, who rules and reigns, is called by others 'The
Man in the Mill.' He knows what he wants, and is lord over the meal
and the bran; but he has his companion, too, and she calls herself
'Mother.' She is the very heart of me. She does not run about stupidly
and awkwardly, for she knows what she wants, she knows what she can
do, she's as soft as a zephyr and as strong as a storm; she knows
how to begin a thing carefully, and to have her own way. She is my
soft temper, and the father is my hard one. They are two, and yet one;
they each call the other 'My half.' These two have some little boys,
young thoughts, that can grow. The little ones keep everything in
order. When, lately, in my wisdom, I let the father and the boys
examine my throat and the hole in my chest, to see what was going on
there,--for something in me was out of order, and it's well to examine
one's self,--the little ones made a tremendous noise. The youngest
jumped up into my hat, and shouted so there that it tickled me. The
little thoughts may grow--I know that very well; and out in the
world thoughts come too, and not only of my kind, for as far as I
can see, I cannot discern anything like myself; but the wingless
houses, whose throats make no noise, have thoughts too, and these come
to my thoughts, and make love to them, as it is called. It's wonderful
enough--yes, there are many wonderful things. Something has come
over me, or into me,--something has changed in the mill-work. It seems
as if the one half, the father, had altered, and had received a better
temper and a more affectionate helpmate--so young and good, and yet
the same, only more gentle and good through the course of time. What
was bitter has passed away, and the whole is much more comfortable.

"The days go on, and the days come nearer and nearer to
clearness and to joy; and then a day will come when it will be over
with me; but not over altogether. I must be pulled down that I may
be built up again; I shall cease, but yet shall live on. To become
quite a different being, and yet remain the same! That's difficult for
me to understand, however enlightened I may be with sun, moon,
stearine, train oil, and tallow. My old wood-work and my old
brick-work will rise again from the dust!

"I will hope that I may keep my old thoughts, the father in the
mill, and the mother, great ones and little ones--the family; for I
call them all, great and little, the company of thoughts, because I
must, and cannot refrain from it.

"And I must also remain 'myself,' with my throat in my chest, my
wings on my head, the gallery round my body; else I should not know
myself, nor could the others know me, and say, 'There's the mill on
the hill, proud to look at, and yet not proud at all.'"

That is what the mill said. Indeed, it said much more, but that is
the most important part.

And the days came, and the days went, and yesterday was the last
day.

Then the mill caught fire. The flames rose up high, and beat out
and in, and bit at the beams and planks, and ate them up. The mill
fell, and nothing remained of it but a heap of ashes. The smoke
drove across the scene of the conflagration, and the wind carried it
away.

Whatever had been alive in the mill remained, and what had been
gained by it has nothing to do with this story.

The miller's family--one soul, many thoughts, and yet only one--built
a new, a splendid mill, which answered its purpose. It was quite
like the old one, and people said, "Why, yonder is the mill on the
hill, proud to look at!" But this mill was better arranged, more
according to the time than the last, so that progress might be made.
The old beams had become worm-eaten and spongy--they lay in dust and
ashes. The body of the mill did not rise out of the dust as they had
believed it would do. They had taken it literally, and all things
are not to be taken literally.




THE STORY OF THE YEAR

It was near the end of January, and a terrible fall of snow was
pelting down, and whirling through the streets and lanes; the
windows were plastered with snow on the outside, snow fell in masses
from the roofs. Every one seemed in a great hurry; they ran, they
flew, fell into each other's arms, holding fast for a moment as long
as they could stand safely. Coaches and horses looked as if they had
been frosted with sugar. The footmen stood with their backs against
the carriages, so as to turn their faces from the wind. The foot
passengers kept within the shelter of the carriages, which could
only move slowly on in the deep snow. At last the storm abated, and
a narrow path was swept clean in front of the houses; when two persons
met in this path they stood still, for neither liked to take the first
step on one side into the deep snow to let the other pass him. There
they stood silent and motionless, till at last, as if by tacit
consent, they each sacrificed a leg and buried it in the deep snow.
Towards evening, the weather became calm. The sky, cleared from the
snow, looked more lofty and transparent, while the stars shone with
new brightness and purity. The frozen snow crackled under foot, and
was quite firm enough to bear the sparrows, who hopped upon it in
the morning dawn. They searched for food in the path which had been
swept, but there was very little for them, and they were terribly
cold. "Tweet, tweet," said one to another; "they call this a new
year, but I think it is worse than the last. We might just as well
have kept the old year; I'm quite unhappy, and I have a right to be
so."

"Yes, you have; and yet the people ran about and fired off guns,
to usher in the new year," said a little shivering sparrow. "They
threw things against the doors, and were quite beside themselves
with joy, because the old year had disappeared. I was glad too, for
I expected we should have some warm days, but my hopes have come to
nothing. It freezes harder than ever; I think mankind have made a
mistake in reckoning time."

"That they have," said a third, an old sparrow with a white
poll; "they have something they call a calendar; it's an invention
of their own, and everything must be arranged according to it, but
it won't do. When spring comes, then the year begins. It is the
voice of nature, and I reckon by that."

"But when will spring come?" asked the others.

"It will come when the stork returns, but he is very uncertain,
and here in the town no one knows anything about it. In the country
they have more knowledge; shall we fly away there and wait? we shall
be nearer to spring then, certainly."

"That may be all very well," said another sparrow, who had been
hopping about for a long time, chirping, but not saying anything of
consequence, "but I have found a few comforts here in town which,
I'm afraid, I should miss out in the country. Here in this
neighborhood, there lives a family of people who have been so sensible
as to place three or four flower-pots against the wall in the
court-yard, so that the openings are all turned inward, and the bottom
of each points outward. In the latter a hole has been cut large enough
for me to fly in and out. I and my husband have built a nest in one of
these pots, and all our young ones, who have now flown away, were
brought up there. The people who live there of course made the whole
arrangement that they might have the pleasure of seeing us, or they
would not have done it. It pleased them also to strew bread-crumbs for
us, and so we have food, and may consider ourselves provided for. So I
think my husband and I will stay where we are; although we are not
very happy, but we shall stay."

"And we will fly into the country," said the others, "to see if
spring is coming." And away they flew.

In the country it was really winter, a few degrees colder than
in the town. The sharp winds blew over the snow-covered fields. The
farmer, wrapped in warm clothing, sat in his sleigh, and beat his arms
across his chest to keep off the cold. The whip lay on his lap. The
horses ran till they smoked. The snow crackled, the sparrows hopped
about in the wheel-ruts, and shivered, crying, "Tweet, tweet; when
will spring come? It is very long in coming."

"Very long indeed," sounded over the field, from the nearest
snow-covered hill. It might have been the echo which people heard,
or perhaps the words of that wonderful old man, who sat high on a heap
of snow, regardless of wind or weather. He was all in white; he had on
a peasant's coarse white coat of frieze. He had long white hair, a
pale face, and large clear blue eyes. "Who is that old man?" asked the
sparrows.

"I know who he is," said an old raven, who sat on the fence, and
was condescending enough to acknowledge that we are all equal in the
sight of Heaven, even as little birds, and therefore he talked with
the sparrows, and gave them the information they wanted. "I know who
the old man is," he said. "It is Winter, the old man of last year;
he is not dead yet, as the calendar says, but acts as guardian to
little Prince Spring who is coming. Winter rules here still. Ugh!
the cold makes you shiver, little ones, does it not?"

"There! Did I not tell you so?" said the smallest of the sparrows.
"The calendar is only an invention of man, and is not arranged
according to nature. They should leave these things to us; we are
created so much more clever than they are."

One week passed, and then another. The forest looked dark, the
hard-frozen lake lay like a sheet of lead. The mountains had
disappeared, for over the land hung damp, icy mists. Large black crows
flew about in silence; it was as if nature slept. At length a
sunbeam glided over the lake, and it shone like burnished silver.
But the snow on the fields and the hills did not glitter as before.
The white form of Winter sat there still, with his un-wandering gaze
fixed on the south. He did not perceive that the snowy carpet seemed
to sink as it were into the earth; that here and there a little
green patch of grass appeared, and that these patches were covered
with sparrows.

"Tee-wit, tee-wit; is spring coming at last?"

Spring! How the cry resounded over field and meadow, and through
the dark-brown woods, where the fresh green moss still gleamed on
the trunks of the trees, and from the south came the two first
storks flying through the air, and on the back of each sat a lovely
little child, a boy and a girl. They greeted the earth with a kiss,
and wherever they placed their feet white flowers sprung up from
beneath the snow. Hand in hand they approached the old ice-man,
Winter, embraced him and clung to his breast; and as they did so, in a
moment all three were enveloped in a thick, damp mist, dark and heavy,
that closed over them like a veil. The wind arose with mighty rustling
tone, and cleared away the mist. Then the sun shone out warmly. Winter
had vanished away, and the beautiful children of Spring sat on the
throne of the year.

"This is really a new year," cried all the sparrows, "now we shall
get our rights, and have some return for what we suffered in winter."

Wherever the two children wandered, green buds burst forth on bush
and tree, the grass grew higher, and the corn-fields became lovely
in delicate green.

The little maiden strewed flowers in her path. She held her
apron before her: it was full of flowers; it was as if they sprung
into life there, for the more she scattered around her, the more
flowers did her apron contain. Eagerly she showered snowy blossoms
over apple and peach-trees, so that they stood in full beauty before
even their green leaves had burst from the bud. Then the boy and the
girl clapped their hands, and troops of birds came flying by, no one
knew from whence, and they all twittered and chirped, singing
"Spring has come!" How beautiful everything was! Many an old dame came
forth from her door into the sunshine, and shuffled about with great
delight, glancing at the golden flowers which glittered everywhere
in the fields, as they used to do in her young days. The world grew
young again to her, as she said, "It is a blessed time out here
to-day." The forest already wore its dress of dark-green buds. The
thyme blossomed in fresh fragrance. Primroses and anemones sprung
forth, and violets bloomed in the shade, while every blade of grass
was full of strength and sap. Who could resist sitting down on such
a beautiful carpet? and then the young children of Spring seated
themselves, holding each other's hands, and sang, and laughed, and
grew. A gentle rain fell upon them from the sky, but they did not
notice it, for the rain-drops were their own tears of joy. They kissed
each other, and were betrothed; and in the same moment the buds of the
trees unfolded, and when the sun rose, the forest was green. Hand in
hand the two wandered beneath the fresh pendant canopy of foliage,
while the sun's rays gleamed through the opening of the shade, in
changing and varied colors. The delicate young leaves filled the air
with refreshing odor. Merrily rippled the clear brooks and rivulets
between the green, velvety rushes, and over the many-colored pebbles
beneath. All nature spoke of abundance and plenty. The cuckoo sang,
and the lark carolled, for it was now beautiful spring. The careful
willows had, however, covered their blossoms with woolly gloves; and
this carefulness is rather tedious. Days and weeks went by, and the
heat increased. Warm air waved the corn as it grew golden in the
sun. The white northern lily spread its large green leaves over the
glossy mirror of the woodland lake, and the fishes sought the
shadows beneath them. In a sheltered part of the wood, the sun shone
upon the walls of a farm-house, brightening the blooming roses, and
ripening the black juicy berries, which hung on the loaded
cherry-trees, with his hot beams. Here sat the lovely wife of
Summer, the same whom we have seen as a child and a bride; her eyes
were fixed on dark gathering clouds, which in wavy outlines of black
and indigo were piling themselves up like mountains, higher and
higher. They came from every side, always increasing like a rising,
rolling sea. Then they swooped towards the forest, where every sound
had been silenced as if by magic, every breath hushed, every bird
mute. All nature stood still in grave suspense. But in the lanes and
the highways, passengers on foot or in carriages were hurrying to find
a place of shelter. Then came a flash of light, as if the sun had
rushed forth from the sky, flaming, burning, all-devouring, and
darkness returned amid a rolling crash of thunder. The rain poured
down in streams,--now there was darkness, then blinding light,--now
thrilling silence, then deafening din. The young brown reeds on the
moor waved to and fro in feathery billows; the forest boughs were
hidden in a watery mist, and still light and darkness followed each
other, still came the silence after the roar, while the corn and the
blades of grass lay beaten down and swamped, so that it seemed
impossible they could ever raise themselves again. But after a while
the rain began to fall gently, the sun's rays pierced the clouds,
and the water-drops glittered like pearls on leaf and stem. The
birds sang, the fishes leaped up to the surface of the water, the
gnats danced in the sunshine, and yonder, on a rock by the heaving
salt sea, sat Summer himself, a strong man with sturdy limbs and long,
dripping hair. Strengthened by the cool bath, he sat in the warm
sunshine, while all around him renewed nature bloomed strong,
luxuriant, and beautiful: it was summer, warm, lovely summer. Sweet
and pleasant was the fragrance wafted from the clover-field, where the
bees swarmed round the ruined tower, the bramble twined itself over
the old altar, which, washed by the rain, glittered in the sunshine;
and thither flew the queen bee with her swarm, and prepared wax and
honey. But Summer and his bosom-wife saw it with different eyes, to
them the altar-table was covered with the offerings of nature. The
evening sky shone like gold, no church dome could ever gleam so
brightly, and between the golden evening and the blushing morning
there was moonlight. It was indeed summer. And days and weeks
passed, the bright scythes of the reapers glittered in the
corn-fields, the branches of the apple-trees bent low, heavy with
the red and golden fruit. The hop, hanging in clusters, filled the air
with sweet fragrance, and beneath the hazel-bushes, where the nuts
hung in great bunches, rested a man and a woman--Summer and his
grave consort.

"See," she exclaimed, "what wealth, what blessings surround us.
Everything is home-like and good, and yet, I know not why, I long
for rest and peace; I can scarcely express what I feel. They are
already ploughing the fields again; more and more the people wish
for gain. See, the storks are flocking together, and following the
plough at a short distance. They are the birds from Egypt, who carried
us through the air. Do you remember how we came as children to this
land of the north; we brought with us flowers and bright sunshine, and
green to the forests, but the wind has been rough with them, and
they are now become dark and brown, like the trees of the south, but
they do not, like them, bear golden fruit."

"Do you wish to see golden fruit?" said the man, "then rejoice,"
and he lifted his arm. The leaves of the forest put on colors of red
and gold, and bright tints covered the woodlands. The rose-bushes
gleamed with scarlet hips, and the branches of the elder-trees hung
down with the weight of the full, dark berries. The wild chestnuts
fell ripe from their dark, green shells, and in the forests the
violets bloomed for the second time. But the queen of the year
became more and more silent and pale.

"It blows cold," she said, "and night brings the damp mist; I long
for the land of my childhood." Then she saw the storks fly away
every one, and she stretched out her hands towards them. She looked at
the empty nests; in one of them grew a long-stalked corn flower, in
another the yellow mustard seed, as if the nest had been placed
there only for its comfort and protection, and the sparrows were
flying round them all.

"Tweet, where has the master of the nest gone?" cried one, "I
suppose he could not bear it when the wind blew, and therefore he
has left this country. I wish him a pleasant journey."

The forest leaves became more and more yellow, leaf after leaf
fell, and the stormy winds of Autumn howled. The year was now far
advanced, and upon the fallen, yellow leaves, lay the queen of the
year, looking up with mild eyes at a gleaming star, and her husband
stood by her. A gust of wind swept through the foliage, and the leaves
fell in a shower. The summer queen was gone, but a butterfly, the last
of the year, flew through the cold air. Damp fogs came, icy winds
blew, and the long, dark nights of winter approached. The ruler of the
year appeared with hair white as snow, but he knew it not; he
thought snow-flakes falling from the sky covered his head, as they
decked the green fields with a thin, white covering of snow. And
then the church bells rang out for Christmas time.

"The bells are ringing for the new-born year," said the ruler,
"soon will a new ruler and his bride be born, and I shall go to
rest with my wife in yonder light-giving star."

In the fresh, green fir-wood, where the snow lay all around, stood
the angel of Christmas, and consecrated the young trees that were to
adorn his feast.

"May there be joy in the rooms, and under the green boughs,"
said the old ruler of the year. In a few weeks he had become a very
old man, with hair as white as snow. "My resting-time draws near;
the young pair of the year will soon claim my crown and sceptre."

"But the night is still thine," said the angel of Christmas,
"for power, but not for rest. Let the snow lie warmly upon the
tender seed. Learn to endure the thought that another is worshipped
whilst thou art still lord. Learn to endure being forgotten while
yet thou livest. The hour of thy freedom will come when Spring
appears."

"And when will Spring come?" asked Winter.

"It will come when the stork returns."

And with white locks and snowy beard, cold, bent, and hoary, but
strong as the wintry storm, and firm as the ice, old Winter sat on the
snowdrift-covered hill, looking towards the south, where Winter had
sat before, and gazed. The ice glittered, the snow crackled, the
skaters skimmed over the polished surface of the lakes; ravens and
crows formed a pleasing contrast to the white ground, and not a breath
of wind stirred, and in the still air old Winter clenched his fists,
and the ice lay fathoms deep between the lands. Then came the sparrows
again out of the town, and asked, "Who is that old man?" The raven sat
there still, or it might be his son, which is the same thing, and he
said to them,--

"It is Winter, the old man of the former year; he is not dead,
as the calendar says, but he is guardian to the spring, which is
coming."

"When will Spring come?" asked the sparrows, "for we shall have
better times then, and a better rule. The old times are worth
nothing."

And in quiet thought old Winter looked at the leafless forest,
where the graceful form and bends of each tree and branch could be
seen; and while Winter slept, icy mists came from the clouds, and
the ruler dreamt of his youthful days and of his manhood, and in the
morning dawn the whole forest glittered with hoar frost, which the sun
shook from the branches,--and this was the summer dream of Winter.

"When will Spring come?" asked the sparrows. "Spring!" Again the
echo sounded from the hills on which the snow lay. The sunshine became
warmer, the snow melted, and the birds twittered, "Spring is
coming!" And high in the air flew the first stork, and the second
followed; a lovely child sat on the back of each, and they sank down
on the open field, kissed the earth, and kissed the quiet old man;
and, as the mist from the mountain top, he vanished away and
disappeared. And the story of the year was finished.

"This is all very fine, no doubt," said the sparrows, "and it is
very beautiful; but it is not according to the calendar, therefore, it
must be all wrong."



_Little Red Riding-Hood_




Little Red Riding-Hood


Once upon a time, there lived in a certain village, a little country
girl, the prettiest creature was ever seen. Her mother was excessively
fond of her; and her grand-mother doated on her much more. This good
woman got made for her a little red riding-hood; which became the girl
so extremely well, that every body called her Little Red Riding-Hood.

One day, her mother, having made some girdle-cakes, said to her:

"Go, my dear, and see how thy grand-mamma does, for I hear she has
been very ill, carry her a girdle-cake, and this little pot of
butter."

Little Red Riding-Hood set out immediately to go to her grand-mother,
who lived in another village. As she was going thro' the wood, she met
with Gaffer Wolf, who had a very great mind to eat her up, but he
durst not, because of some faggot-makers hard by in the forest.

He asked her whither she was going. The poor child, who did not know
that it was dangerous to stay and hear a Wolf talk, said to him:

"I am going to see my grand-mamma, and carry her a girdle-cake, and a
little pot of butter, from my mamma."

"Does she live far off?" said the Wolf.

"Oh! ay," answered Little Red Riding-Hood, "it is beyond that mill
you see there, at the first house in the village."

"Well," said the Wolf, "and I'll go and see her too: I'll go this way,
and you go that, and we shall see who will be there soonest."

The Wolf began to run as fast as he could, taking the nearest way; and
the little girl went by that farthest about, diverting herself in
gathering nuts, running after butterflies, and making nosegays of such
little flowers as she met with. The Wolf was not long before he got to
the old woman's house: he knocked at the door, _tap, tap_.

"Who's there?"

"Your grand-child, Little Red Riding-Hood," replied the Wolf,
counterfeiting her voice, "who has brought you a girdle-cake, and a
little pot of butter, sent you by mamma."

The good grand-mother, who was in bed, because she found herself
somewhat ill, cry'd out:

"Pull the peg, and the bolt will fall."

The Wolf pull'd the peg, and the door opened, and then presently he
fell upon the good woman, and ate her up in a moment; for it was above
three days that he had not touched a bit. He then shut the door, and
went into the grand-mother's bed, expecting Little Red Riding-Hood,
who came some time afterwards, and knock'd at the door, _tap, tap_.

"Who's there?"



Little Red Riding-Hood, hearing the big voice of the Wolf, was at
first afraid; but believing her grand-mother had got a cold, and was
hoarse, answered:

"'Tis your grand-child, Little Red Riding-Hood, who has brought you a
girdle-cake, and a little pot of butter, mamma sends you."

The Wolf cried out to her, softening his voice as much as he could,
"Pull the peg, and the bolt will fall."

Little Red Riding-Hood pulled the peg, and the door opened. The Wolf
seeing her come in, said to her, hiding himself under the bedclothes:

"Put the cake, and the little pot of butter upon the bread-bin, and
come and lye down with me."

Little Red Riding-Hood undressed herself, and went into bed; where,
being greatly amazed to see how her grand-mother looked in her
night-cloaths, she said to her:

"Grand-mamma, what great arms you have got!"

"That is the better to hug thee, my dear."

"Grand-mamma, what great legs you have got!"

"That is to run the better, my child."

"Grand-mamma, what great ears you have got!"

"That is to hear the better, my child."

"Grand-mamma, what great eyes you have got!"

"It is to see the better, my child."

"Grand-mamma, what great teeth you have got!"

"That is to eat thee up."

And, saying these words, this wicked Wolf fell upon poor Little Red
Riding-Hood, and ate her all up.


_The Moral_

    _From this short story easy we discern
    What conduct all young people ought to learn.
    But above all, young, growing misses fair,
    Whose orient rosy blooms begin t'appear:
    Who, beauties in the fragrant spring of age,
    With pretty airs young hearts are apt t'engage.
    Ill do they listen to all sorts of tongues,
    Since some inchant and lure like Syrens' songs.
    No wonder therefore 'tis, if over-power'd,
    So many of them has the Wolf devour'd.
    The Wolf, I say, for Wolves too sure there are
    Of every sort, and every character.
    Some of them mild and gentle-humour'd be,
    Of noise and gall, and rancour wholly free;
    Who tame, familiar, full of complaisance
    Ogle and leer, languish, cajole and glance;
    With luring tongues, and language wond'rous sweet,
    Follow young ladies as they walk the street,
    Ev'n to their very houses, nay, bedside,
    And, artful, tho' their true designs they hide;
    Yet ah! these simpering Wolves! Who does not see
    Most dangerous of Wolves indeed they be?_




_The Fairy_




[Illustration: "'WHAT IS THIS I SEE?' SAID HER MOTHER"
(_page 30_)]


The Fairy


There was, once upon a time, a widow, who had two daughters. The
eldest was so much like her in the face and humour, that whoever
looked upon the daughter saw the mother. They were both so
disagreeable, and so proud, that there was no living with them. The
youngest, who was the very picture of her father, for courtesy and
sweetness of temper, was withal one of the most beautiful girls ever
seen. As people naturally love their own likeness, this mother even
doated on her eldest daughter, and at the same time had a horrible
aversion for the youngest. She made her eat in the kitchen, and work
continually.

Among other things, this poor child was forced twice a day to draw
water above a mile and a half off the house, and bring home a pitcher
full of it. One day, as she was at this fountain, there came to her a
poor woman, who begged of her to let her drink.

"O ay, with all my heart, Goody," said this pretty maid; and rinsing
immediately the pitcher, she took up some water from the clearest
place of the fountain, and gave it to her, holding up the pitcher all
the while, that she might drink the easier.

The good woman having drank, said to her:

"You are so very pretty, my dear, so good and so mannerly, that I
cannot help giving you a gift" (for this was a Fairy, who had taken
the form of a poor country-woman, to see how far the civility and
good manners of this pretty girl would go). "I will give you for
gift," continued the Fairy, "that at every word you speak, there shall
come out of your mouth either a flower, or a jewel."

When this pretty girl came home, her mother scolded at her for staying
so long at the fountain.

"I beg your pardon, mamma," said the poor girl, "for not making more
haste," and, in speaking these words, there came out of her mouth two
roses, two pearls, and two diamonds.

"What is this I see?" said her mother quite astonished, "I think I see
pearls and diamonds come out of the girl's mouth! How happens this,
child?" (This was the first time she ever called her child.)

The poor creature told her frankly all the matter, not without
dropping out infinite numbers of diamonds.

"In good faith," cried the mother, "I must send my child thither. Come
hither, Fanny, look what comes out of thy sister's mouth when she
speaks! Would'st not thou be glad, my dear, to have the same gift
given to thee? Thou hast nothing else to do but go and draw water out
of the fountain, and when a certain poor woman asks thee to let her
drink, to give it her very civilly."

"It would be a very fine sight indeed," said this ill-bred minx, "to
see me go draw water!"

"You shall go, hussey," said the mother, "and this minute."



So away she went, but grumbling all the way, taking with her the best
silver tankard in the house.

She was no sooner at the fountain, than she saw coming out of the wood
a lady most gloriously dressed, who came up to her, and asked to
drink. This was, you must know, the very Fairy who appeared to her
sister, but had now taken the air and dress of a princess, to see how
far this girl's rudeness would go.

"Am I come hither," said the proud, saucy slut, "to serve you with
water, pray? I suppose the silver tankard was brought purely for your
ladyship, was it? However, you may drink out of it, if you have a
fancy."

"You are not over and above mannerly," answered the Fairy, without
putting herself in a passion. "Well then, since you have so little
breeding, and are so disobliging, I give you for gift, that at every
word you speak there shall come out of your mouth a snake or a toad."

So soon as her mother saw her coming, she cried out: "Well, daughter?"

"Well, mother?" answered the pert hussey, throwing out of her mouth
two vipers and two toads.

"O mercy!" cried the mother, "what is it I see! O, it is that wretch
her sister who has occasioned all this; but she shall pay for it"; and
immediately she ran to beat her. The poor child fled away from her and
went to hide herself in the forest, not far from thence.

The King's son, then on his return from hunting, met her, and seeing
her so very pretty, asked her what she did there alone, and why she
cried.

"Alas! sir, my mamma has turned me out of doors."

The King's son, who saw five or six pearls, and as many diamonds, come
out of her mouth, desired her to tell him how that happened. She
thereupon told him the whole story; and so the King's son fell in love
with her; and, considering with himself that such a gift was worth
more than any marriage-portion whatsoever in another, conducted her to
the palace of the King his father, and there married her.

As for her sister, she made herself so much hated that her own mother
turned her off; and the miserable wretch, having wandered about a good
while without finding anybody to take her in, went to a corner in the
wood and there died.




_The Moral_

    _Money and jewels still, we find,
    Stamp strong impressions on the mind.
    But sweet discourse more potent riches yields;
    Of higher value is the pow'r it wields._


_Another_

      _Civil behaviour costs indeed some pains,
    Requires of complaisance some little share;
      But soon or late its due reward it gains,
    And meets it often when we're not aware._




_Blue Beard_




[Illustration: "'WHAT, IS NOT THE KEY OF MY CLOSET AMONG
THE REST?'" (_page 40_)]


Blue Beard


There was a man who had fine houses, both in town and country, a deal
of silver and gold plate, embroidered furniture, and coaches gilded
all over with gold. But this man had the misfortune to have a blue
beard, which made him so frightfully ugly, that all the women and
girls ran away from him.

One of his neighbours, a lady of quality, had two daughters who were
perfect beauties. He desired of her one of them in marriage, leaving
to her the choice which of the two she would bestow upon him. They
would neither of them have him, and each made the other welcome of
him, being not able to bear the thought of marrying a man who had a
blue beard. And what besides gave them disgust and aversion, was his
having already been married to several wives, and nobody ever knew
what became of them.

Blue Beard, to engage their affection, took them, with the lady their
mother, and three or four ladies of their acquaintance, with other
young people of the neighbourhood, to one of his country seats, where
they stayed a whole week. There was nothing then to be seen but
parties of pleasure, hunting, fishing, dancing, mirth and feasting.
Nobody went to bed, but all passed the night in playing tricks upon
each other. In short, every thing succeeded so well, that the youngest
daughter began to think the master of the house not to have a beard so
very blue, and that he was a mighty civil gentleman. As soon as they
returned home, the marriage was concluded.

About a month afterwards Blue Beard told his wife that he was obliged
to take a country journey for six weeks at least, about affairs of
very great consequence, desiring her to divert herself in his absence,
to send for her friends and acquaintances, to carry them into the
country, if she pleased, and to make good cheer wherever she was.

"Here," said he, "are the keys of the two great wardrobes, wherein I
have my best furniture; these are of my silver and gold plate, which
is not every day in use; these open my strong boxes, which hold my
money, both gold and silver; these my caskets of jewels; and this is
the master-key to all my apartments. But for this little one here, it
is the key of the closet at the end of the great gallery on the ground
floor. Open them all; go into all and every one of them; except that
little closet which I forbid you, and forbid it in such a manner that,
if you happen to open it, there will be no bounds to my just anger and
resentment."

She promised to observe, very exactly, whatever he had ordered; when
he, after having embraced her, got into his coach and proceeded on his
journey.



Her neighbours and good friends did not stay to be sent for by the
newmarried lady, so great was their impatience to see all the rich
furniture of her house, not daring to come while her husband was
there, because of his blue beard which frightened them. They ran thro'
all the rooms, closets, and wardrobes, which were all so rich and
fine, that they seemed to surpass one another.

After that, they went up into the two great rooms, where were the best
and richest furniture; they could not sufficiently admire the number
and beauty of the tapestry, beds, couches, cabinets, stands, tables,
and looking-glasses in which you might see yourself from head to foot;
some of them were framed with glass, others with silver, plain and
gilded, the finest and most magnificent which were ever seen. They
ceased not to extol and envy the happiness of their friend, who in the
mean time no way diverted herself in looking upon all these rich
things, because of the impatience she had to go and open the closet of
the ground floor. She was so much pressed by her curiosity, that,
without considering that it was very uncivil to leave her company, she
went down a little back-stair-case, and with such excessive haste,
that she had twice or thrice like to have broken her neck.

Being come to the closet door, she made a stop for some time, thinking
upon her husband's orders, and considering what unhappiness might
attend her if she was disobedient; but the temptation was so strong
she could not overcome it. She took then the little key, and opened it
trembling; but could not at first see any thing plainly, because the
windows were shut. After some moments she began to perceive that the
floor was all covered over with clotted blood, in which were reflected
the bodies of several dead women ranged against the walls: these were
all the wives whom Blue Beard had married and murdered one after
another. She was like to have died for fear, and the key, which she
pulled out of the lock, fell out of her hand.



After having somewhat recovered her senses, she took up the key,
locked the door, and went up stairs into her chamber to recover
herself; but she could not, so much was she frightened. Having
observed that the key of the closet was stained with blood, she tried
two or three times to wipe it off, but the blood would not come off;
in vain did she wash it, and even rub it with soap and sand, the blood
still remained, for the key was a Fairy, and she could never make it
quite clean; when the blood was gone off from one side, it came again
on the other.

Blue Beard returned from his journey the same evening, and said, he
had received letters upon the road, informing him that the affair he
went about was ended to his advantage. His wife did all she could to
convince him she was extremely glad of his speedy return. Next morning
he asked her for the keys, which she gave him, but with such a
trembling hand, that he easily guessed what had happened.

"What," said he, "is not the key of my closet among the rest?"

"I must certainly," answered she, "have left it above upon the table."

"Fail not," said Blue Beard, "to bring it me presently."

After putting him off several times, she was forced to bring him the
key. Blue Beard, having very attentively considered it, said to his
wife:

"How comes this blood upon the key?"

"I do not know," cried the poor woman, paler than death.

"You do not know," replied Blue Beard; "I very well know, you were
resolved to go into the closet, were you not? Mighty well, Madam; you
shall go in, and take your place among the ladies you saw there."

Upon this she threw herself at her husband's feet, and begged his
pardon with all the signs of a true repentance for her disobedience.
She would have melted a rock, so beautiful and sorrowful was she; but
Blue Beard had a heart harder than any rock.

"You must die, Madam," said he, "and that presently."

"Since I must die," answered she, looking upon him with her eyes all
bathed in tears, "give me some little time to say my prayers."

"I give you," replied Blue Beard, "half a quarter of an hour, but not
one moment more."



When she was alone, she called out to her sister, and said to her:

"Sister Anne" (for that was her name), "go up I beg you, upon the top
of the tower, and look if my brothers are not coming; they promised me
that they would come to-day, and if you see them, give them a sign to
make haste."

Her sister Anne went up upon the top of the tower, and the poor
afflicted wife cried out from time to time, "Anne, sister Anne, do you
see any one coming?"

And sister Anne said:

"I see nothing but the sun, which makes a dust, and the grass growing
green."

In the mean while Blue Beard, holding a great scimitar in his hand,
cried out as loud as he could bawl to his wife:

"Come down instantly, or I shall come up to you."

"One moment longer, if you please," said his wife, and then she cried
out very softly:

"Anne, sister Anne, dost thou see any body coming?"

And sister Anne answered:

"I see nothing but the sun, which makes a dust, and the grass growing
green."

"Come down quickly," cried Blue Beard, "or I will come up to you."

"I am coming," answered his wife; and then she cried:

"Anne, sister Anne, dost thou see any one coming?"

"I see," replied sister Anne, "a great dust that comes this way."

"Are they my brothers?"

"Alas! no, my dear sister, I see a flock of sheep."

"Will you not come down?" cried Blue Beard.

"One moment longer," said his wife, and then she cried out:

"Anne, sister Anne, dost thou see nobody coming?"

"I see," said she, "two horsemen coming, but they are yet a great way
off."

"God be praised," she cried presently, "they are my brothers; I am
beckoning to them, as well as I can, for them to make haste."

Then Blue Beard bawled out so loud, that he made the whole house
tremble. The distressed wife came down, and threw herself at his feet,
all in tears, with her hair about her shoulders.

"Nought will avail," said Blue Beard, "you must die"; then, taking
hold of her hair with one hand, and lifting up his scimitar with the
other, he was going to take off her head.

The poor lady turning about to him, and looking at him with dying
eyes, desired him to afford her one little moment to recollect
herself.

"No, no," said he, "recommend thyself to God," and was just ready to
strike.

At this very instant there was such a loud knocking at the gate, that
Blue Beard made a sudden stop. The gate was opened, and presently
entered two horsemen, who drawing their swords, ran directly to Blue
Beard. He knew them to be his wife's brothers, one a dragoon, the
other a musqueteer; so that he ran away immediately to save himself;
but the two brothers pursued so close, that they overtook him before
he could get to the steps of the porch, when they ran their swords
thro' his body and left him dead. The poor wife was almost as dead as
her husband, and had not strength enough to rise and welcome her
brothers.

Blue Beard had no heirs, and so his wife became mistress of all his
estate. She made use of one part of it to marry her sister Anne to a
young gentleman who had loved her a long while; another part to buy
captains' commissions for her brothers; and the rest to marry herself
to a very worthy gentleman, who made her forget the ill time she had
passed with Blue Beard.




_The Moral_

    _O curiosity, thou mortal bane!
    Spite of thy charms, thou causest often pain
    And sore regret, of which we daily find
    A thousand instances attend mankind:
    For thou--O may it not displease the fair--
    A fleeting pleasure art, but lasting care.
    And always proves, alas! too dear the prize,
    Which, in the moment of possession, dies._


_Another_

    _A very little share of common sense,
    And knowledge of the world, will soon evince
    That this a story is of time long pass'd;
    No husbands now such panic terrors cast;
    Nor weakly, with a vain despotic hand,
    Imperious, what's impossible, command:
    And be they discontented, or the fire
    Of wicked jealousy their hearts inspire,
    They softly sing; and of whatever hue
    Their beards may chance to be, or black, or blue,
    Grizeld, or russet, it is hard to say
    Which of the two, the man or wife, bears sway._




_The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood_



[Illustration: "AT THIS VERY INSTANT THE YOUNG FAIRY CAME OUT FROM
BEHIND THE HANGINGS" (_page 50_)]


The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood


There were formerly a King and a Queen, who were so sorry that they
had no children, so sorry that it cannot be expressed. They went to
all the waters in the world; vows, pilgrimages, all ways were tried
and all to no purpose. At last, however, the Queen proved with child,
and was brought to bed of a daughter. There was a very fine
christening; and the Princess had for her godmothers all the Fairies
they could find in the whole kingdom (they found seven), that every
one of them might give her a gift, as was the custom of Fairies in
those days, and that by this means the Princess might have all the
perfections imaginable.

After the ceremonies of the christening were over, all the company
returned to the King's palace, where was prepared a great feast for
the Fairies. There was placed before every one of them a magnificent
cover with a case of massive gold, wherein were a spoon, knife and
fork, all of pure gold set with diamonds and rubies. But as they were
all sitting down at table, they saw come into the hall a very old
Fairy whom they had not invited, because it was above fifty years
since she had been out of a certain tower, and she was believed to be
either dead or inchanted. The King ordered her a cover, but could not
furnish her with a case of gold as the others, because they had seven
only made for the seven Fairies. The old Fairy fancied she was
slighted, and muttered some threat between her teeth. One of the young
Fairies, who sat by her, overheard how she grumbled; and judging that
she might give the little Princess some unlucky gift, went, as soon as
they rose from the table, and hid herself behind the hangings, that
she might speak last, and repair, as much as possible she could, the
evil which the old Fairy might intend.

In the mean while all the Fairies began to give their gifts to the
Princess. The youngest gave her for gift, that she should be the most
beautiful person in the world; the next, that she should have the wit
of an angel; the third, that she should have a wonderful grace in
every thing she did; the fourth, that she should dance perfectly well;
the fifth, that she should sing like a nightingale; and the sixth,
that she should play upon all kinds of music to the utmost perfection.

The old Fairy's turn coming next, with a head shaking more with spite
than age, she said, that the Princess should have her hand pierced
with a spindle, and die of the wound. This terrible gift made the
whole company tremble, and every body fell a-crying.

At this very instant the young Fairy came out from behind the
hangings, and spake these words aloud:

"Be reassured, O King and Queen; your daughter shall not die of this
disaster: it is true, I have no power to undo intirely what my elder
has done. The Princess shall indeed pierce her hand with a spindle;
but instead of dying, she shall only fall into a profound sleep, which
shall last a hundred years; at the expiration of which a king's son
shall come and awake her."

The King, to avoid the misfortune foretold by the old Fairy, caused
immediately proclamations to be made, whereby every-body was
forbidden, on pain of death, to spin with a distaff and spindle or to
have so much as any spindle in their houses.

About fifteen or sixteen years after, the King and Queen being gone to
one of their houses of pleasure, the young Princess happened one day
to divert herself running up and down the palace; when going up from
one apartment to another, she came into a little room on the top of a
tower, where a good old woman, alone, was spinning with her spindle.
This good woman had never heard of the King's proclamation against
spindles.

"What are you doing there, Goody?" said the Princess.

"I am spinning, my pretty child," said the old woman, who did not know
who she was.

"Ha!" said the Princess, "this is very pretty; how do you do it? Give
it to me, that I may see if I can do so." She had no sooner taken the
spindle into her hand, than, whether being very hasty at it, somewhat
unhandy, or that the decree of the Fairy had so ordained it, it ran
into her hand, and she fell down in a swoon.

The good old woman not knowing very well what to do in this affair,
cried out for help. People came in from every quarter in great
numbers; they threw water upon the Princess's face, unlaced her,
struck her on the palms of her hands, and rubbed her temples with
Hungary-water; but nothing would bring her to herself.

And now the King, who came up at the noise, bethought himself of the
prediction of the Fairies, and judging very well that this must
necessarily come to pass, since the Fairies had said it, caused the
Princess to be carried into the finest apartment in his palace, and to
be laid upon a bed all embroidered with gold and silver. One would
have taken her for an angel, she was so very beautiful; for her
swooning away had not diminished one bit of her complexion; her cheeks
were carnation, and her lips like coral; indeed her eyes were shut,
but she was heard to breathe softly, which satisfied those about her
that she was not dead. The King commanded that they should not disturb
her, but let her sleep quietly till her hour of awakening was come.

The good Fairy, who had saved her life by condemning her to sleep a
hundred years, was in the kingdom of Matakin, twelve thousand leagues
off, when this accident befell the Princess; but she was instantly
informed of it by a little dwarf, who had boots of seven leagues, that
is, boots with which he could tread over seven leagues of ground at
one stride. The Fairy came away immediately, and she arrived, about an
hour after, in a fiery chariot, drawn by dragons. The King handed her
out of the chariot, and she approved every thing he had done; but, as
she had a very great foresight, she thought, when the Princess should
awake, she might not know what to do with herself, being all alone in
this old palace; and this was what she did: She touched with her wand
every thing in the palace (except the King and the Queen),
governesses, maids of honour, ladies of the bedchamber, gentlemen,
officers, stewards, cooks, under-cooks, scullions, guards, with their
beef-eaters, pages, footmen; she likewise touched all the horses which
were in the stables, as well as their grooms, the great dogs in the
outward court, and pretty little Mopsey too, the Princess's little
spaniel-bitch, which lay by her on the bed.

Immediately upon her touching them, they all fell asleep, that they
might not awake before their mistress, and that they might be ready to
wait upon her when she wanted them. The very spits at the fire, as
full as they could hold of partridges and pheasants, did fall asleep,
and the fire likewise. All this was done in a moment. Fairies are not
long in doing their business.

And now the King and the Queen, having kissed their dear child without
waking her, went out of the palace, and put forth a proclamation, that
nobody should dare to come near it. This, however, was not necessary;
for, in a quarter of an hour's time, there grew up, all round about
the park, such a vast number of trees, great and small, bushes and
brambles, twining one within another, that neither man nor beast could
pass thro'; so that nothing could be seen but the very top of the
towers of the palace; and that too, not unless it was a good way off.
Nobody doubted but the Fairy gave herein a sample of her art, that the
Princess, while she continued sleeping, might have nothing to fear
from any curious people.



When a hundred years were gone and past, the son of the King then
reigning, and who was of another family from that of the sleeping
Princess, being gone a-hunting on that side of the country, asked,
what were those towers which he saw in the middle of a great thick
wood? Every one answered according as they had heard; some said that
it was a ruinous old castle, haunted by spirits; others, that all the
sorcerers and witches of the country kept there their sabbath, or
nights meeting. The common opinion was that an Ogre lived there,
and that he carried thither all the little children he could catch,
that he might eat them up at his leisure, without any-body's being
able to follow him, as having himself, only, the power to pass thro'
the wood.

[Footnote 1: OGRE is a giant, with long teeth and claws, with a raw
head and bloody-bones, who runs away with naughty little boys and
girls, and eats them up.

The Prince was at a stand, not knowing what to believe, when a very
aged countryman spake to him thus: "May it please your Royal Highness,
it is now above fifty years since I heard my father, who had heard my
grandfather, say that there then was in this castle, a Princess, the
most beautiful was ever seen; that she must sleep there a hundred
years, and should be awaked by a king's son; for whom she was
reserved." The young Prince was all on fire at these words, believing,
without a moment's doubt, that he could put an end to this rare
adventure; and pushed on by love and honour resolved that moment to
look into it.



Scarce had he advanced towards the wood, when all the great trees, the
bushes and brambles, gave way of themselves to let him pass thro'; he
walked up to the castle which he saw at the end of a large avenue
which he went into; and what a little surprised him was, that he saw
none of his people could follow him, because the trees closed again,
as soon as he had pass'd thro' them. However, he did not cease from
continuing his way; a young and amorous Prince is always valiant. He
came into a spacious outward court, where everything he saw might have
frozen up the most fearless person with horror. There reigned over all
a most frightful silence; the image of death everywhere shewed itself,
and there was nothing to be seen but stretched out bodies of men and
animals, all seeming to be dead. He, however, very well knew, by the
ruby faces and pimpled noses of the beef-eaters, that they were only
asleep; and their goblets, wherein still remained some drops of wine,
shewed plainly, that they fell asleep in their cups.

He then crossed a court paved with marble, went up the stairs, and
came into the guard-chamber, where the guards were standing in their
ranks, with their muskets upon their shoulders, and snoring as loud as
they could. After that he went through several rooms full of gentlemen
and ladies, all asleep, some standing, others sitting. At last he came
into a chamber all gilded with gold, where he saw, upon a bed, the
curtains of which were all open, the finest sight was ever beheld: a
Princess, who appeared to be about fifteen or sixteen years of age,
and whose bright, and in a manner resplendent beauty, had somewhat in
it divine. He approached with trembling and admiration, and fell down
before her upon his knees.

And now, as the inchantment was at an end, the Princess awaked, and
looking on him with eyes more tender than the first view might seem to
admit of: "Is it you, my Prince," said she to him, "you have tarried
long."

The Prince, charmed with these words, and much more with the manner in
which they were spoken, knew not how to shew his joy and gratitude; he
assured her, that he loved her better than he did himself; his
discourse was not well connected, but it pleased her all the more;
little eloquence, a great deal of love. He was more at a loss than
she, and we need not wonder at it; she had time to think on what to
say to him; for it is very probable (though history mentions nothing
of it) that the good Fairy, during so long a sleep, had entertained
her with pleasant dreams. In short, when they talked four hours
together, they said not half what they had to say.



In the mean while, all the palace awaked; every one thought upon their
particular business; and as all of them were not in love, they were
ready to die for hunger; the chief lady of honour, being as sharp set
as other folks, grew very impatient, and told the Princess aloud,
That supper was served up. The Prince helped the Princess to rise, she
was entirely dressed, and very magnificently, but his Royal Highness
took care not to tell her that she was dressed like his great
grand-mother, and had a point-band peeping over a high collar; she
looked not a bit the less beautiful and charming for all that.

They went into the great hall of looking-glasses, where they supped,
and were served by the Princess's officers; the violins and hautboys
played old tunes, but very excellent, tho' it was now above a hundred
years since they had been played; and after supper, without losing any
time, the lord almoner married them in the chapel of the castle, and
the chief lady of honour drew the curtains. They had but very little
sleep; the Princess had no occasion, and the Prince left her next
morning to return into the city, where his father must needs have been
anxious on his account. The Prince told him that he lost his way in
the forest, as he was hunting, and that he had lain at the cottage of
a collier, who gave him cheese and brown bread.

The King his father, who was of an easy disposition, believed him; but
his mother could not be persuaded this was true; and seeing that he
went almost every day a-hunting, and that he always had some excuse
ready when he had laid out three or four nights together, she no
longer doubted he had some little amour, for he lived with the
Princess above two whole years, and had by her two children, the
eldest of which, who was a daughter, was named Aurora, and the
youngest, who was a son, they called Day, because he was even
handsomer and more beautiful than his sister.

The Queen said more than once to her son, in order to bring him to
speak freely to her, that a young man must e'en take his pleasure; but
he never dared to trust her with his secret; he feared her, tho' he
loved her; for she was of the race of the Ogres, and the King would
never have married her, had it not been for her vast riches; it was
even whispered about the court, that she had Ogreish inclinations, and
that, whenever she saw little children passing by, she had all the
difficulty in the world to refrain from falling upon them. And so the
Prince would never tell her one word.

But when the King was dead, which happened about two years afterwards;
and he saw himself lord and master, he openly declared his marriage;
and he went in great ceremony to fetch his Queen from the castle. They
made a magnificent entry into the capital city, she riding between her
two children.

Some time after, the King went to make war with the Emperor
Cantalabutte, his neighbour. He left the government of the kingdom to
the Queen his mother, and earnestly recommended to her care his wife
and children. He was like to be at war all the summer, and as soon as
he departed, the Queen-mother sent her daughter-in-law and her
children to a country-house among the woods, that she might with the
more ease gratify her horrible longing.

[Illustration: "'I WILL HAVE IT SO,' REPLIED THE QUEEN, 'AND WILL EAT
HER WITH A SAUCE ROBERT'"]

Some few days afterwards she went thither herself, and said to her
clerk of the kitchen:

"I have a mind to eat little Aurora for my dinner to morrow."

"Ah! Madam," cried the clerk of the kitchen.

"I will have it so," replied the Queen (and this she spake in the tone
of an Ogress, who had a strong desire to eat fresh meat), "and will
eat her with a Sauce Robert."

[Footnote 2: This is a French sauce, made with onions shredded and
boiled tender in butter, to which is added vinegar, mustard, salt,
pepper, and a little wine.

The poor man knowing very well that he must not play tricks with
Ogresses, took his great knife and went up into little Aurora's
chamber. She was then four years old, and came up to him jumping and
laughing, to take him about the neck, and ask him for some
sugar-candy. Upon which he began to weep, the great knife fell out of
his hand, and he went into the back-yard, and killed a little lamb,
and dressed it with such good sauce, that his mistress assured him she
had never eaten anything so good in her life. He had at the same time
taken up little Aurora, and carried her to his wife, to conceal her in
the lodging he had at the end of the court yard.

About eight days afterwards, the wicked Queen said to the clerk of the
kitchen:

"I will sup upon little Day."

He answered not a word, being resolved to cheat her, as he had done
before. He went to find out little Day, and saw him with a little
foil in his hand, with which he was fencing with a great monkey; the
child being then only three years of age. He took him up in his arms,
and carried him to his wife, that she might conceal him in her chamber
along with his sister, and in the room of little Day cooked up a young
kid very tender, which the Ogress found to be wonderfully good.

This was hitherto all mighty well: but one evening this wicked Queen
said to her clerk of the kitchen:

"I will eat the Queen with the same sauce I had with her children."

It was now that the poor clerk of the kitchen despaired of being able
to deceive her. The young Queen was turned of twenty, not reckoning
the hundred years she had been asleep: her skin was somewhat tough,
tho' very fair and white; and how to find in the yard a beast so firm,
was what puzzled him. He took then a resolution, that he might save
his own life, to cut the Queen's throat; and going up into her
chamber, with intent to do it at once, he put himself into as great a
fury as he could possibly, and came into the young Queen's room with
his dagger in his hand. He would not, however, surprise her, but told
her, with a great deal of respect, the orders he had received from the
Queen-mother.

"Do it, do it," said she stretching out her neck, "execute your
orders, and then I shall go and see my children, my poor children,
whom I so much and so tenderly loved," for she thought them dead ever
since they had been taken away without her knowledge.

"No, no, Madam," cried the poor clerk of the kitchen, all in tears,
"you shall not die, and yet you shall see your children again; but it
must be in my lodgings, where I have concealed them, and I shall
deceive the Queen once more, by giving her in your stead a young
hind."

Upon this he forthwith conducted her to his chamber; where leaving her
to embrace her children, and cry along with them, he went and dressed
a hind, which the Queen had for her supper, and devoured it with the
same appetite, as if it had been the young Queen. Exceedingly was she
delighted with her cruelty, and she had invented a story to tell the
King, at his return, how ravenous wolves had eaten up the Queen his
wife, and her two children.

One evening, as she was, according to her custom, rambling round about
the courts and yards of the palace, to see if she could smell any
fresh meat, she heard, in a ground-room little Day crying, for his
mamma was going to whip him, because he had been naughty; and she
heard, at the same time, little Aurora begging pardon for her brother.

The Ogress presently knew the voice of the Queen and her children, and
being quite mad that she had been thus deceived, she commanded next
morning, by break of day (with a most horrible voice, which made every
body tremble) that they should bring into the middle of the great
court a large tub, which she caused to be filled with toads, vipers,
snakes, and all sorts of serpents, in order to have thrown into it the
Queen and her children, the clerk of the kitchen, his wife and maid;
all whom she had given orders should be brought thither with their
hands tied behind them.

They were brought out accordingly, and the executioners were just
going to throw them into the tub, when the King (who was not so soon
expected) entered the court on horse-back (for he came post) and
asked, with the utmost astonishment, what was the meaning of that
horrible spectacle? No one dared to tell him; when the Ogress, all
inraged to see what had happened, threw herself head-foremost into the
tub, and was instantly devoured by the ugly creatures she had ordered
to be thrown into it for others. The King could not but be very sorry,
for she was his mother; but he soon comforted himself with his
beautiful wife, and his pretty children.




_The Moral_


    _To get as prize a husband rich and gay.
    Of humour sweet, with many years to stay,
    Is natural enough, 'tis true;
    To wait for him a hundred years,
    And all that while asleep, appears
    A thing entirely new.
    Now at this time of day,
    Not one of all the sex we see
    Doth sleep with such profound tranquillity:
    But yet this Fable seems to let us know
    That very often Hymen's blisses sweet,
    Altho' some tedious obstacles they meet,
    Are not less happy for approaching slow.
    'Tis nature's way that ladies fair
    Should yearn conjugal joys to share;
    And so I've not the heart to preach
    A moral that's beyond their reach._




_The Master Cat; or, Puss in Boots_




The Master Cat or Puss in Boots


There was a miller, who left no more estate to the three sons he had,
than his Mill, his Ass, and his Cat. The partition was soon made.
Neither the scrivener nor attorney were sent for. They would soon have
eaten up all the poor patrimony. The eldest had the Mill, the second
the Ass, and the youngest nothing but the Cat.

The poor young fellow was quite comfortless at having so poor a lot.

"My brothers," said he, "may get their living handsomely enough, by
joining their stocks together; but for my part, when I have eaten up
my Cat, and made me a muff of his skin, I must die with hunger."

The Cat, who heard all this, but made as if he did not, said to him
with a grave and serious air:

"Do not thus afflict yourself, my good master; you have only to give
me a bag, and get a pair of boots made for me, that I may scamper
thro' the dirt and the brambles, and you shall see that you have not
so bad a portion of me as you imagine."

Tho' the Cat's master did not build very much upon what he said, he
had however often seen him play a great many cunning tricks to catch
rats and mice; as when he used to hang by the heels, or hide himself
in the meal, and make as if he were dead; so that he did not
altogether despair of his affording him some help in his miserable
condition.

When the Cat had what he asked for, he booted himself very gallantly;
and putting his bag about his neck, he held the strings of it in his
two fore paws, and went into a warren where was great abundance of
rabbits. He put bran and sow-thistle into his bag, and stretching
himself out at length, as if he had been dead, he waited for some
young rabbit, not yet acquainted with the deceits of the world, to
come and rummage his bag for what he had put into it.

Scarce was he lain down, but he had what he wanted; a rash and foolish
young rabbit jumped into his bag, and Monsieur Puss, immediately
drawing close the strings, took and killed him without pity. Proud of
his prey, he went with it to the palace, and asked to speak with his
Majesty. He was shewed up stairs into the King's apartment, and,
making a low reverence, said to him:

"I have brought you, sir, a rabbit of the warren which my noble lord
the Marquis of Carabas" (for that was the title which Puss was pleased
to give his master) "has commanded me to present to your Majesty from
him."

"Tell thy master," said the King, "that I thank him, and that he does
me a great deal of pleasure."

Another time he went and hid himself among some standing corn, holding
still his bag open; and when a brace of partridges ran into it, he
drew the strings, and so caught them both. He went and made a present
of these to the King, as he had done before of the rabbit which he
took in the warren. The King in like manner received the partridges
with great pleasure, and ordered him some money to drink.

The Cat continued for two or three months, thus to carry his Majesty,
from time to time, game of his master's taking. One day in particular,
when he knew for certain that the King was to take the air, along the
river side, with his daughter, the most beautiful Princess in the
world, he said to his master:

"If you will follow my advice, your fortune is made; you have nothing
else to do, but go and wash yourself in the river, in that part I
shall shew you, and leave the rest to me."

The Marquis of Carabas did what the Cat advised him to, without
knowing why or wherefore.

While he was washing, the King passed by, and the Cat began to cry
out, as loud as he could:

"Help, help, my lord Marquis of Carabas is drowning."

At this noise the King put his head out of his coach-window, and
finding it was the Cat who had so often brought him such good game, he
commanded his guards to run immediately to the assistance of his
lordship the Marquis of Carabas.

While they were drawing the poor Marquis out of the river, the Cat
came up to the coach, and told the King that while his master was
washing, there came by some rogues, who went off with his clothes,
tho' he had cried out "Thieves, thieves," several times, as loud as he
could. This cunning Cat had hidden them under a great stone. The King
immediately commanded the officers of his wardrobe to run and fetch
one of his best suits for the lord Marquis of Carabas.

The King received him with great kindness, and as the fine clothes he
had given him extremely set off his good mien (for he was well made,
and very handsome in his person), the King's daughter took a secret
inclination to him, and the Marquis of Carabas had no sooner cast two
or three respectful and somewhat tender glances, but she fell in love
with him to distraction. The King would needs have him come into his
coach, and take part of the airing. The Cat, quite overjoyed to see
his project begin to succeed, marched on before, and meeting with some
countrymen, who were mowing a meadow, he said to them:

"Good people, you who are mowing, if you do not tell the King, that
the meadow you mow belongs to my lord Marquis of Carabas, you shall be
chopped as small as mince-meat."

The King did not fail asking of the mowers, to whom the meadow they
were mowing belonged.

"To my lord Marquis of Carabas," answered they all together; for the
Cat's threats had made them terribly afraid.

"Truly a fine estate," said the King to the Marquis of Carabas.

"You see, sir," said the Marquis, "this is a meadow which never fails
to yield a plentiful harvest every year."

The Master Cat, who still went on before, met with some reapers, and
said to them:

"Good people, you who are reaping, if you do not tell the King that
all this corn belongs to the Marquis of Carabas, you shall be chopped
as small as mince-meat."

The King, who passed by a moment after, would needs know to whom all
that corn, which he then saw, did belong. "To my lord Marquis of
Carabas," replied the reapers; and the King again congratulated the
Marquis.

The Master Cat, who went always before, said the same words to all he
met; and the King was astonished at the vast estates of my lord
Marquis of Carabas.

Monsieur Puss came at last to a stately castle, the master of which
was an Ogre, the richest had ever been known; for all the lands which
the King had then gone over belonged to this castle. The Cat, who had
taken care to inform himself who this Ogre was, and what he could do,
asked to speak with him, saying, he could not pass so near his castle,
without having the honour of paying his respects to him.

The Ogre received him as civilly as an Ogre could do, and made him sit
down.

"I have been assured," said the Cat, "that you have the gift of being
able to change yourself into all sorts of creatures you have a mind
to; you can, for example, transform yourself into a lion, or elephant,
and the like."

"This is true," answered the Ogre very briskly, "and to convince you,
you shall see me now become a lion."

Puss was so sadly terrified at the sight of a lion so near him, that
he immediately got into the gutter, not without abundance of trouble
and danger, because of his boots, which were ill-suited for walking
upon the tiles. A little while after, when Puss saw that the Ogre had
resumed his natural form, he came down, and owned he had been very
much frightened.

"I have been moreover informed," said the Cat, "but I know not how to
believe it, that you have also the power to take on you the shape of
the smallest animals; for example, to change yourself into a rat or a
mouse; but I must own to you, I take this to be impossible."

"Impossible?" cried the Ogre, "you shall see that presently," and at
the same time changed into a mouse, and began to run about the floor.

Puss no sooner perceived this, but he fell upon him, and ate him up.

Meanwhile the King, who saw, as he passed, this fine castle of the
Ogre's, had a mind to go into it. Puss, who heard the noise of his
Majesty's coach running over the drawbridge, ran out and said to the
King:

"Your Majesty is welcome to this castle of my lord Marquis of
Carabas."

"What! my lord Marquis?" cried the King, "and does this castle also
belong to you? There can be nothing finer than this court, and all the
stately buildings which surround it; let us go into it, if you
please."

[Illustration: "THE MARQUIS GAVE HIS HAND TO THE PRINCESS, AND
FOLLOWED THE KING, WHO WENT UP FIRST"]

The Marquis gave his hand to the Princess, and followed the King,
who went up first. They passed into a spacious hall, where they found
a magnificent collation which the Ogre had prepared for his friends,
who were that very day to visit him, but dared not to enter knowing
the King was there. His Majesty was perfectly charmed with the good
qualities of my lord Marquis of Carabas, as was his daughter who was
fallen violently in love with him; and seeing the vast estate he
possessed, said to him, after having drank five or six glasses:

"It will be owing to yourself only, my lord Marquis, if you are not my
son-in-law."

The Marquis making several low bows, accepted the honour which his
Majesty conferred upon him, and forthwith, that very same day, married
the Princess.

Puss became a great lord, and never ran after mice any more, but only
for his diversion.




_The Moral_

    _How advantageous it may be,
    By long descent of pedigree,
              T'enjoy a great estate,
    Yet knowledge how to act, we see,
    Join'd with consummate industry,
              (Nor wonder ye thereat)
    Doth often prove a greater boon,
    As should be to young people known._


_Another_

    _If the son of a miller so soon gains the heart
    Of a beautiful princess, and makes her impart
    Sweet languishing glances, eyes melting for love,
    It must be remark'd of fine clothes how they move,
    And that youth, a good face, a good air, with good mien,
    Are not always indifferent mediums to win
    The love of the fair, and gently inspire
    The flames of sweet passion, and tender desire._




_Cinderilla; or, The Little Glass Slipper_



[Illustration: "AWAY SHE DROVE, SCARCE ABLE TO CONTAIN HERSELF FOR
JOY" (_page_ 84)]


Cinderilla or The Little Glass Slipper


Once there was a gentleman who married, for his second wife, the
proudest and most haughty woman that was ever seen. She had, by a
former husband, two daughters of her own humour and they were indeed
exactly like her in all things. He had likewise, by another wife, a
young daughter, but of unparalleled goodness and sweetness of temper,
which she took from her mother, who was the best creature in the
world.

No sooner were the ceremonies of the wedding over, but the stepmother
began to shew herself in her colours. She could not bear the good
qualities of this pretty girl; and the less, because they made her own
daughters appear the more odious. She employed her in the meanest work
of the house; she scoured the dishes, tables, &c. and rubbed Madam's
chamber, and those of Misses, her daughters; she lay up in a sorry
garret, upon a wretched straw-bed, while her sisters lay in fine
rooms, with floors all inlaid, upon beds of the very newest fashion,
and where they had looking-glasses so large, that they might see
themselves at their full length, from head to foot.

The poor girl bore all patiently, and dared not tell her father, who
would have rattled her off; for his wife governed him intirely. When
she had done her work, she used to go into the chimney-corner, and
sit down among cinders and ashes, which made her commonly be called
Cinder-breech; but the youngest, who was not so rude and uncivil as
the eldest, called her Cinderilla. However, Cinderilla,
notwithstanding her mean apparel, was a hundred times handsomer than
her sisters, tho' they were always dressed very richly.

It happened that the King's son gave a ball, and invited all persons
of fashion to it. Our young misses were also invited; for they cut a
very grand figure among the quality. They were mightily delighted at
this invitation, and wonderfully busy in chusing out such gowns,
petticoats, and head-clothes as might best become them. This was a new
trouble to Cinderilla; for it was she who ironed her sisters' linen,
and plaited their ruffles; they talked all day long of nothing but how
they should be dressed. "For my part," said the eldest, "I will wear
my red velvet suit, with French trimming." "And I," said the youngest,
"shall only have my usual petticoat; but then, to make amends for
that, I will put on my gold-flowered manteau, and my diamond
stomacher, which is far from being the most ordinary one in the
world." They sent for the best tire-woman they could get, to make up
their head-dresses, and adjust their double-pinners, and they had
their red brushes, and patches from the fashionable maker.

[Footnote 3: 'Pinners' were coifs with two long side-flaps pinned on.
'Double-pinners'--with two side-flaps on each side--accurately
translates the French _cornettes a deux rangs_.]

[Illustration: "ANY ONE BUT CINDERILLA WOULD HAVE DRESSED THEIR HEADS
AWRY"]

Cinderilla was likewise called up to them to be consulted in all these
matters, for she had excellent notions, and advised them always for
the best, nay and offered her service to dress their heads, which they
were very willing she should do. As she was doing this, they said to
her:

"Cinderilla, would you not be glad to go to the ball?"

"Ah!" said she, "you only jeer at me; it is not for such as I am to go
thither."

"Thou art in the right of it," replied they, "it would make the people
laugh to see a Cinder-breech at a ball."

Any one but Cinderilla would have dressed their heads awry, but she
was very good, and dressed them perfectly well. They were almost two
days without eating, so much they were transported with joy; they
broke above a dozen of laces in trying to be laced up close, that they
might have a fine slender shape, and they were continually at their
looking-glass. At last the happy day came; they went to Court, and
Cinderilla followed them with her eyes as long as she could, and when
she had lost sight of them she fell a-crying.

Her godmother, who saw her all in tears, asked her what was the
matter.

"I wish I could----, I wish I could--;" she was not able to speak the
rest, being interrupted by her tears and sobbing.

This godmother of hers, who was a Fairy, said to her:

"Thou wishest thou couldest go to the ball, is it not so?"

"Y--es," cried Cinderilla, with a great sigh.

"Well," said her godmother, "be but a good girl, and I will contrive
that thou shalt go." Then she took her into her chamber, and said to
her:

"Run into the garden, and bring me a pumpkin."

Cinderilla went immediately to gather the finest she could get, and
brought it to her godmother, not being able to imagine how this
pumpkin could make her go to the ball. Her godmother scooped out all
the inside of it, leaving nothing but the rind; which done, she struck
it with her wand, and the pumpkin was instantly turned into a fine
coach, gilded all over with gold.

She then went to look into her mouse-trap, where she found six mice
all alive, and ordered Cinderilla to lift up a little the trap-door,
when giving each mouse, as it went out, a little tap with her wand,
the mouse was at that moment turned into a fair horse, which
altogether made a very fine set of six horses of a beautiful
mouse-coloured dapple-grey.

Being at a loss for a coachman, "I will go and see," says Cinderilla,
"if there be never a rat in the rat-trap, that we may make a coachman
of him."

"Thou art in the right," replied her godmother; "go and look."

Cinderilla brought the trap to her, and in it there were three huge
rats. The Fairy made choice of one of the three, which had the largest
beard, and, having touched him with her wand, he was turned into a fat
jolly coachman, who had the smartest whiskers eyes ever beheld.

After that, she said to her:

"Go again into the garden, and you will find six lizards behind the
watering pot; bring them to me."

She had no sooner done so, but her godmother turned them into six
footmen, who skipped up immediately behind the coach, with their
liveries all bedaubed with gold and silver, and clung as close behind
it, as if they had done nothing else their whole lives. The Fairy then
said to Cinderilla:

"Well, you see here an equipage fit to go to the ball with; are you
not pleased with it?"

"O yes," cried she, "but must I go thither as I am, in these poison
nasty rags?"

Her godmother only just touched her with her wand, and, at the same
instant, her clothes were turned into cloth of gold and silver, all
beset with jewels. This done she gave her a pair of glass-slippers,
the prettiest in the whole world.

[Footnote 4: In Perrault's tale: _pantoufles de verre_. There is no
doubt that in the medieval versions of this ancient tale Cinderilla
was given _pantoufles de vair_--_i.e._, of a grey, or grey and white,
fur, the exact nature of which has been a matter of controversy, but
which was probably a grey squirrel. Long before the seventeenth
century the word _vair_ had passed out of use, except as a heraldic
term, and had ceased to convey any meaning to the people. Thus the
_pantoufles de vair_ of the fairy tale became, in the oral tradition,
the homonymous _pantoufles de verre_, or glass slippers, a delightful
improvement on the earlier version.]

Being thus decked out, she got up into her coach; but her godmother,
above all things, commanded her not to stay till after midnight,
telling her, at the same time, that if she stayed at the ball one
moment longer, her coach would be a pumpkin again, her horses mice,
her coachman a rat, her footmen lizards, and her clothes become just
as they were before.

She promised her godmother, she would not fail of leaving the ball
before midnight; and then away she drove, scarce able to contain
herself for joy. The King's son, who was told that a great Princess,
whom nobody knew, was come, ran out to receive her; he gave her his
hand as she alighted out of the coach, and led her into the hall,
among all the company. There was immediately a profound silence, they
left off dancing, and the violins ceased to play, so attentive was
every one to contemplate the singular beauty of this unknown new
comer. Nothing was then heard but a confused noise of,

"Ha! how handsome she is! Ha! how handsome she is!"

The King himself, old as he was, could not help ogling her, and
telling the Queen softly, "that it was a long time since he had seen
so beautiful and lovely a creature." All the ladies were busied in
considering her clothes and head-dress, that they might have some made
next day after the same pattern, provided they could meet with such
fine materials, and as able hands to make them.

The King's son conducted her to the most honourable seat, and
afterwards took her out to dance with him: she danced so very
gracefully, that they all more and more admired her. A fine collation
was served up, whereof the young Prince ate not a morsel, so intently
was he busied in gazing on her. She went and sat down by her sisters,
shewing them a thousand civilities, giving them part of the oranges
and citrons which the Prince had presented her with; which very much
surprised them, for they did not know her.

While Cinderilla was thus amusing her sisters, she heard the clock
strike eleven and three quarters, whereupon she immediately made a
curtesy to the company, and hasted away as fast as she could.

Being got home, she ran to seek out her godmother, and after having
thanked her, she said, "she could not but heartily wish she might go
next day to the ball, because the King's son had desired her." As she
was eagerly telling her godmother whatever had passed at the ball, her
two sisters knocked at the door which Cinderilla ran and opened.

"How long you have stayed," cried she, gaping, rubbing her eyes, and
stretching herself as if she had been just awaked out of her sleep;
she had not, however, any manner of inclination to sleep since they
went from home.

"If thou hadst been at the ball," said one of her sisters, "thou
wouldst not have been tired with it; there came thither the finest
Princess, the most beautiful ever was seen with mortal eyes; she
shewed us a thousand civilities, and gave us oranges and citrons."
Cinderilla was transported with joy; she asked them the name of that
Princess; but they told her they did not know it; and that the King's
son was very anxious to learn it, and would give all the world to know
who she was. At this Cinderilla, smiling, replied:

"She must then be very beautiful indeed; Lord! how happy have you
been; could not I see her? Ah! dear Miss Charlotte, do lend me your
yellow suit of cloaths which you wear every day!"

"Ay, to be sure!" cried Miss Charlotte, "lend my cloaths to such a
dirty Cinder-breech as thou art; who's the fool then?"

Cinderilla, indeed, expected some such answer, and was very glad of
the refusal; for she would have been sadly put to it, if her sister
had lent her what she asked for jestingly.

The next day the two sisters were at the ball, and so was Cinderilla,
but dressed more magnificently than before. The King's son was always
by her, and never ceased his compliments and amorous speeches to her;
to whom all this was so far from being tiresome, that she quite forgot
what her godmother had recommended to her, so that she, at last,
counted the clock striking twelve, when she took it to be no more than
eleven; she then rose up, and fled as nimble as a deer.

The Prince followed, but could not overtake her. She left behind one
of her glass slippers, which the Prince took up most carefully. She
got home, but quite out of breath, without coach or footmen, and in
her nasty old cloaths, having nothing left her of all her finery, but
one of the little slippers, fellow to that she dropped. The guards at
the palace gate were asked if they had not seen a Princess go out; who
said, they had seen nobody go out, but a young girl, very meanly
dressed, and who had more the air of a poor country wench, than a
gentle-woman.

[Illustration: "SHE LEFT BEHIND ONE OF HER GLASS SLIPPERS, WHICH THE
PRINCE TOOK UP MOST CAREFULLY"]

When the two sisters returned from the ball, Cinderilla asked them if
they had been well diverted, and if the fine lady had been there. They
told her, Yes, but that she hurried away immediately when it struck
twelve, and with so much haste, that she dropped one of her little
glass slippers, the prettiest in the world, and which the King's son
had taken up; that he had done nothing but look at it during all the
latter part of the ball, and that most certainly he was very much in
love with the beautiful person who owned the little slipper.

What they said was very true; for a few days after, the King's son
caused it to be proclaimed by sound of trumpet, that he would marry
her whose foot this slipper would just fit. They whom he employed
began to try it on upon the Princesses, then the duchesses, and all
the Court, but in vain. It was brought to the two sisters, who did all
they possibly could to thrust their feet into the slipper, but they
could not effect it.

Cinderilla, who saw all this, and knew her slipper, said to them
laughing:

"Let me see if it will not fit me?"

Her sisters burst out a-laughing, and began to banter her. The
gentleman who was sent to try the slipper, looked earnestly at
Cinderilla, and finding her very handsome, said it was but just that
she should try, and that he had orders to let every one make tryal. He
invited Cinderilla to sit down, and putting the slipper to her foot,
he found it went on very easily, and fitted her, as if it had been
made of wax. The astonishment her two sisters were in was excessively
great, but still abundantly greater, when Cinderilla pulled out of her
pocket the other slipper, and put it on her foot. Thereupon, in came
her godmother, who having touched, with her wand, Cinderilla's
cloaths, made them richer and more magnificent than any of those she
had before.

And now her two sisters found her to be that fine beautiful lady whom
they had seen at the ball. They threw themselves at her feet, to beg
pardon for all the ill treatment they had made her undergo. Cinderilla
took them up, and as she embraced them, cried that she forgave them
with all her heart, and desired them always to love her.

She was conducted to the young Prince, dressed as she was; he thought
her more charming than ever, and, a few days after, married her.

Cinderilla, who was no less good than beautiful, gave her two sisters
lodgings in the palace, and that very same day matched them with two
great lords of the court.




_The Moral_

    _Beauty's to the sex a treasure,
    Still admir'd beyond all measure,
    And never yet was any known,
    By still admiring, weary grown.
    But that rare quality call'd grace,
    Exceeds, by far, a handsome face;
    Its lasting charms surpass the other,
    And this rich gift her kind godmother
    Bestow'd on Cinderilla fair,
    Whom she instructed with such care.
    She gave to her such graceful mien,
    That she, thereby, became a queen.
    For thus (may ever truth prevail)
    We draw our moral from this tale.
    This quality, fair ladies, know
    Prevails much more (you'll find it so)
    T'ingage and captivate a heart,
    Than a fine head dress'd up with art.
    The fairies' gift of greatest worth
    Is grace of bearing, not high birth;
    Without this gift we'll miss the prize;
    Possession gives us wings to rise._


_Another_

    _A great advantage 'tis, no doubt, to man,
    To have wit, courage, birth, good sense, and brain,
    And other such-like qualities, which we
    Receiv'd from heaven's kind hand, and destiny.
    But none of these rich graces from above,
    To your advancement in the world will prove
    If godmothers and sires you disobey,
    Or 'gainst their strict advice too long you stay._






_Riquet with the Tuft_




Riquet with the Tuft


There was, once upon a time, a Queen, who was brought to bed of a son,
so hideously ugly, that it was long disputed, whether he had human
form. A Fairy, who was at his birth, affirmed, he would be very
lovable for all that, since he should be indowed with abundance of
wit. She even added, that it would be in his power, by virtue of a
gift she had just then given him, to bestow on the person he most
loved as much wit as he pleased. All this somewhat comforted the poor
Queen, who was under a grievous affliction for having brought into the
world such an ugly brat. It is true, that this child no sooner began
to prattle, but he said a thousand pretty things, and that in all his
actions there was something so taking, that he charmed every-body. I
forgot to tell you, that he came into the world with a little tuft of
hair upon his head, which made them call him Riquet with the Tuft, for
Riquet was the family name.

Seven or eight years after this, the Queen of a neighbouring kingdom
was delivered of two daughters at a birth. The first-born of these was
beautiful beyond compare, whereat the Queen was so very glad, that
those present were afraid that her excess of joy would do her harm.
The same Fairy, who had assisted at the birth of little Riquet with
the Tuft, was here also; and, to moderate the Queen's gladness, she
declared, that this little Princess should have no wit at all, but be
as stupid as she was pretty. This mortified the Queen extreamly, but
some moments afterwards she had far greater sorrow; for, the second
daughter she was delivered of, was very ugly.

"Do not afflict yourself so much, Madam," said the Fairy; "your
daughter shall have so great a portion of wit, that her want of beauty
will scarcely be perceived."

"God grant it," replied the Queen; "but is there no way to make the
eldest, who is so pretty, have some little wit?"

"I can do nothing for her, Madam, as to wit," answered the Fairy, "but
everything as to beauty; and as there is nothing but what I would do
for your satisfaction, I give her for gift, that she shall have the
power to make handsome the person who shall best please her."

As these Princesses grew up, their perfections grew up with them; all
the public talk was of the beauty of the eldest, and the wit of the
youngest. It is true also that their defects increased considerably
with their age; the youngest visibly grew uglier and uglier, and the
eldest became every day more and more stupid; she either made no
answer at all to what was asked her, or said something very silly; she
was with all this so unhandy, that she could not place four pieces of
china upon the mantlepiece, without breaking one of them, nor drink a
glass of water without spilling half of it upon her cloaths. Tho'
beauty is a very great advantage in young people, yet here the
youngest sister bore away the bell, almost always, in all companies
from the eldest; people would indeed, go first to the Beauty to look
upon, and admire her, but turn aside soon after to the Wit, to hear a
thousand most entertaining and agreeable turns, and it was amazing to
see, in less than a quarter of an hour's time, the eldest with not a
soul with her and the whole company crowding about the youngest. The
eldest, tho' she was unaccountably dull, could not but notice it, and
would have given all her beauty to have half the wit of her sister.
The Queen, prudent as she was, could not help reproaching her several
times, which had like to have made this poor Princess die for grief.

One day, as she retired into the wood to bewail her misfortune, she
saw, coming to her, a little man, very disagreeable, but most
magnificently dressed. This was the young Prince Riquet with the Tuft,
who having fallen in love with her, by seeing her picture, many of
which went all the world over, had left his father's kingdom, to have
the pleasure of seeing and talking with her.

Overjoyed to find her thus all alone, he addressed himself to her with
all imaginable politeness and respect. Having observed, after he had
made her the ordinary compliments, that she was extremely melancholy,
he said to her:

"I cannot comprehend, Madam, how a person so beautiful as you are, can
be so sorrowful as you seem to be; for tho' I can boast of having seen
infinite numbers of ladies exquisitely charming, I can say that I
never beheld any one whose beauty approaches yours."

"You are pleased to say so," answered the Princess, and here she
stopped.

"Beauty," replied Riquet with the Tuft, "is such a great advantage,
that it ought to take the place of all things; and since you possess
this treasure, I see nothing that can possibly very much afflict you."

"I had far rather," cried the Princess, "be as ugly as you are, and
have wit, than have the beauty I possess, and be so stupid as I am."

"There is nothing, Madam," returned he, "shews more that we have wit,
than to believe we have none; and it is the nature of that excellent
quality, that the more people have of it, the more they believe they
want it."

"I do not know that," said the Princess; "but I know, very well, that
I am very senseless, and thence proceeds the vexation which almost
kills me."

"If that be all, Madam, which troubles you, I can very easily put an
end to your affliction."

"And how will you do that?" cried the Princess.

"I have the power, Madam," replied Riquet with the Tuft, "to give to
that person whom I shall love best, as much wit as can be had; and as
you, Madam, are that very person, it will be your fault only, if you
have not as great a share of it as any one living, provided you will
be pleased to marry me."

The Princess remained quite astonished, and answered not a word.

[Illustration: "THE PRINCE BELIEVED HE HAD GIVEN HER MORE WIT THAN HE
HAD RESERVED FOR HIMSELF"]

"I see," replied Riquet with the Tuft, "that this proposal makes you
very uneasy, and I do not wonder at it, but I will give you a whole
year to consider of it."

The Princess had so little wit, and, at the same time, so great a
longing to have some, that she imagined the end of that year would
never be; therefore she accepted the proposal which was made her. She
had no sooner promised Riquet with the Tuft that she would marry him
on that day twelvemonth, than she found herself quite otherwise than
she was before; she had an incredible facility of speaking whatever
she pleased, after a polite, easy, and natural manner; she began that
moment a very gallant conversation with Riquet with the Tuft, wherein
she tattled at such a rate, that Riquet with the Tuft believed he had
given her more wit than he had reserved for himself.

When she returned to the palace, the whole Court knew not what to
think of such a sudden and extraordinary change; for they heard from
her now as much sensible discourse, and as many infinitely witty
turns, as they had stupid and silly impertinences before. The whole
Court was overjoyed at it beyond imagination; it pleased all but her
younger sister; because having no longer the advantage of her in
respect of wit, she appeared, in comparison of her, a very
disagreeable, homely puss. The King governed himself by her advice,
and would even sometimes hold a council in her apartment. The noise of
this change spreading every where, all the young Princes of the
neighbouring kingdoms strove all they could to gain her favour, and
almost all of them asked her in marriage; but she found not one of
them had wit enough for her, and she gave them all a hearing, but
would not engage herself to any.

However, there came one so powerful, rich, witty and handsome, that
she could not help having a good inclination for him. Her father
perceived it, and told her that she was her own mistress as to the
choice of a husband, and that she might declare her intentions. As the
more wit we have, the greater difficulty we find to make a firm
resolution upon such affairs, this made her desire her father, after
having thanked him, to give her time to consider of it.

She went accidentally to walk in the same wood where she met Riquet
with the Tuft, to think, the more conveniently, what she ought to do.
While she was walking in a profound meditation, she heard a confused
noise under her feet, as it were of a great many people who went
backwards and forwards, and were very busy. Having listened more
attentively, she heard one say:

"Bring me that pot"; another "Give me that kettle"; and a third, "Put
some wood upon the fire."

The ground at the same time opened, and she seemingly saw under her
feet, a great kitchen full of cooks, scullions, and all sorts of
servants necessary for a magnificent entertainment. There came out of
it a company of roasters, to the number of twenty, or thirty, who went
to plant themselves in a fine alley of wood, about a very long table,
with their larding pins in their hands, and skewers in their caps,
who began to work, keeping time, to the tune of a very harmonious
song.

The Princess, all astonished at this sight, asked them who they worked
for.

"For Prince Riquet with the Tuft," said the chief of them, "who is to
be married to-morrow."

The Princess was more surprised than ever, and recollecting that it
was now that day twelvemonth on which she had promised to marry Riquet
with the Tuft, she was like to sink into the ground.

What made her forget this was that, when she made this promise, she
was very silly, and having obtained that vast stock of wit which the
Prince had bestowed on her, she had intirely forgot her stupidity. She
continued walking, but had not taken thirty steps before Riquet with
the Tuft presented himself to her, bravely and most magnificently
dressed, like a Prince who was going to be married.

"You see, Madam," said he, "I am very exact in keeping my word, and
doubt not, in the least, but you are come hither to perform yours, and
to make me, by giving me your hand, the happiest of men."

"I shall freely own to you," answered the Princess, "that I have not
yet taken any resolution on this affair, and believe I never shall
take such a one as you desire."

"You astonish me, Madam," said Riquet with the Tuft.

"I believe it," said the Princess, "and surely if I had to do with a
clown, or a man of no wit, I should find myself very much at a loss.
'A Princess always observes her word,' would he say to me, 'and you
must marry me, since you promised to do so.' But as he whom I talk to
is the man of the world who is master of the greatest sense and
judgment, I am sure he will hear reason. You know, that when I was but
a fool, I could, notwithstanding, never come to a resolution to marry
you; why will you have me, now I have so much judgment as you gave me,
and which makes me a more difficult person than I was at that time, to
come to such a resolution, which I could not then determine to agree
to? If you sincerely thought to make me your wife, you have been
greatly in the wrong to deprive me of my dull simplicity, and make me
see things much more clearly than I did."

"If a man of no wit and sense," replied Riquet with the Tuft, "would
be entitled, as you say, to reproach you for breach of your word, why
will you not let me, Madam, do likewise in a matter wherein all the
happiness of my life is concerned? Is it reasonable that persons of
wit and sense should be in a worse condition than those who have none?
Can you pretend this; you who have so great a share, and desired so
earnestly to have it? But let us come to fact, if you please. Setting
aside my ugliness and deformity, is there any thing in me which
displeases you? Are you dissatisfied with my birth, my wit, humour, or
manners?"

[Illustration: "RIQUET WITH THE TUFT APPEARED TO HER THE FINEST PRINCE
UPON EARTH"]

"Not at all," answered the Princess; "I love you and respect you in
all that you mention." "If it be so," said Riquet with the Tuft, "I
am like to be happy, since it is in your power to make me the most
lovable of men."

"How can that be?" said the Princess.

"It will come about," said Riquet with the Tuft; "if you love me
enough to wish it to be so; and that you may no ways doubt, Madam, of
what I say, know that the same Fairy, who, on my birth-day, gave me
for gift the power of making the person who should please me extremely
witty and judicious, has, in like manner, given you for gift the power
of making him, whom you love, and would grant that favour to,
extremely handsome."

"If it be so," said the Princess, "I wish, with all my heart, that you
may be the most lovable Prince in the world, and I bestow it on you,
as much as I am able."

The Princess had no sooner pronounced these words, but Riquet with the
Tuft appeared to her the finest Prince upon earth; the handsomest and
most amiable man she ever saw. Some affirm that it was not the
enchantments of the Fairy which worked this change, but that love
alone caused the metamorphosis. They say, that the Princess, having
made due reflection on the perseverance of her lover, his discretion,
and all the good qualities of his mind, his wit and judgment, saw no
longer the deformity of his body, nor the ugliness of his face; that
his hump seemed to her no more than the homely air of one who has a
broad back; and that whereas till then she saw him limp horribly, she
found it nothing more than a certain sidling air, which charmed her.
They say farther, that his eyes, which were very squinting, seemed to
her all the more bright and sparkling; that their irregularity passed
in her judgment for a mark of a violent excess of love; and, in short,
that his great red nose had, in her opinion, somewhat of the martial
and heroic.

Howsoever it was, the Princess promised immediately to marry him, on
condition he obtained her father's consent. The King being acquainted
that his daughter had abundance of esteem for Riquet with the Tuft,
whom he knew otherwise for a most sage and judicious Prince, received
him for his son-in-law with pleasure; and the next morning their
nuptials were celebrated, as Riquet with the Tuft had foreseen, and
according to the orders he had a long time before given.




_The Moral_

    _What in this little Tale we find,
    Is less a fable than real truth.
    In those we love appear rare gifts of mind,
    And body too: wit, judgment, beauty, youth._


_Another_

    _A countenance whereon, by natures hand,
    Beauty is trac'd, also the lively stain
    Of such complexion art can ne'er attain,
    With all these gifts hath not so much command
    On hearts, as hath one secret charm alone.
    Love finds that out, to all besides unknown._




_Little Thumb_



[Illustration: "LITTLE THUMB WAS AS GOOD AS HIS WORD, AND RETURNED
THAT SAME NIGHT WITH THE NEWS" (_page_ 123)]


Little Thumb


There was, once upon a time, a man and his wife, faggot-makers by
trade, who had seven children, all boys. The eldest was but ten years
old, and the youngest only seven. One might wonder how that the
faggot-maker could have so many children in so little a time; but it
was because his wife went nimbly about her business and never brought
fewer than two at a birth. They were very poor, and their seven
children incommoded them greatly, because not one of them was able to
earn his bread. That which gave them yet more uneasiness was, that the
youngest was of a very puny constitution, and scarce ever spake a
word, which made them take that for stupidity which was a sign of good
sense. He was very little, and, when born, no bigger than one's thumb;
which made him be called Little Thumb.

The poor child bore the blame of whatsoever was done amiss in the
house, and guilty or not was always in the wrong; he was,
notwithstanding, more cunning and had a far greater share of wisdom
than all his brothers put together, and if he spake little he heard
and thought the more.

There happened now to come a very bad year, and the famine was so
great, that these poor people resolved to rid themselves of their
children. One evening, when they were all in bed and the faggot-maker
was sitting with his wife at the fire, he said to her, with his heart
ready to burst with grief:

"Thou see'st plainly that we are not able to keep our children, and I
cannot see them starve to death before my face; I am resolved to lose
them in the wood to-morrow, which may very easily be done; for while
they are busy in tying up the faggots, we may run away, and leave
them, without their taking any notice."

"Ah!" cried out his wife, "and can'st thou thyself have the heart to
take thy children out along with thee on purpose to lose them?"

In vain did her husband represent to her their extreme poverty; she
would not consent to it; she was, indeed poor, but she was their
mother. However, having considered what a grief it would be to her to
see them perish with hunger, she at last consented and went to bed all
in tears.

Little Thumb heard every word that had been spoken; for observing, as
he lay in his bed, that they were talking very busily, he had got up
softly and hid himself under his father's stool, that he might hear
what they said, without being seen. He went to bed again, but did not
sleep a wink all the rest of the night, thinking on what he ought to
do. He got up early in the morning, and went to the river side, where
he filled his pockets full of small white pebbles, and then returned
home. They all went abroad, but Little Thumb never told his brothers
one syllable of what he knew. They went into a very thick forest,
where they could not see one another at ten paces distance. The
faggot-maker began to cut wood, and the children to gather up sticks
to make faggots. Their father and mother seeing them busy at their
work, got from them by degrees, and then ran away from them all at
once, along a by-way, thro' the winding bushes.



When the children saw they were left alone, they began to cry as loud
as they could. Little Thumb let them cry on, knowing very well how to
go home again; for as he came he had taken care to drop all along the
way the little white pebbles he had in his pockets. Then said he to
them:

"Be not afraid, brothers, father and mother have left us here, but I
will lead you home again, only follow me." They did so, and he brought
them home by the very same way they came into the forest. They dared
not to go in, but sat themselves down at the door, listening to what
their father and mother were saying.

The very moment the faggot-maker and his wife were got home, the lord
of the manor sent them ten crowns, which he had owed them a long
while, and which they never expected. This gave them new life; for the
poor people were almost famished. The faggot-maker sent his wife
immediately to the butcher's. As it was a long while since they had
eaten a bit, she bought thrice as much meat as would sup two people.
Having filled their bellies, the woman said:

"Alas! where are now our poor children? They would make a good feast
of what we have left here; but then it was you, William, who had a
mind to lose them; I told you we should repent of it: what are they
now doing in the forest? Alas! dear God, the wolves have, perhaps,
already eaten them up: thou art very inhuman thus to have lost thy
children."

The faggot-maker grew at last quite out of patience, for she repeated
this above twenty times, that they should repent of it, and she was in
the right of it for so saying. He threatened to beat her, if she did
not hold her tongue. It was not that the faggot-maker was not,
perhaps, more vexed than his wife, but that she teized him, and that
he was of the humour of a great many others, who love wives who speak
right, but think those very importunate who are always in the right.
She was half drowned in tears, crying out:

"Alas! where are now my children, my poor children?"

She spake this so very loud, that the children who were at the door,
began to cry out all together:

"Here we are, here we are."

She ran immediately to open the door, and said, hugging them:

"I am glad to see you, my dear children; you are very hungry and
weary; and my poor Peter, thou art horribly bemired; come in and let
me clean thee."

Now, you must know, that Peter was her eldest son, whom she loved
above all the rest, because he was somewhat carrotty, as she herself
was. They sat down to supper, and ate with such a good appetite as
pleased both father and mother, whom they acquainted how frightened
they were in the forest; speaking almost always all together. The good
folks were extremely glad to see their children once more at home,
and this joy continued while the ten crowns lasted; but when the money
was all gone, they fell again into their former uneasiness, and
resolved to lose them again; and, that they might be the surer of
doing it, to carry them at a much greater distance than before. They
could not talk of this so secretly, but they were overheard by Little
Thumb, who made account to get out of this difficulty as well as the
former; but though he got up betimes in the morning, to go and pick up
some little pebbles, he was disappointed; for he found the house-door
double-locked, and was at a stand what to do. When their father had
given each of them a piece of bread for their breakfast, he fancied he
might make use of this bread instead of the pebbles, by throwing it in
little bits all along the way they should pass; and so he put it up
into his pocket.

Their father and mother brought them into the thickest and most
obscure part of the forest; when, stealing away into a by-path, they
there left them. Little Thumb was not very uneasy at it; for he
thought he could easily find the way again, by means of his bread
which he had scattered all along as he came. But he was very much
surprised when he could not find so much as one crumb; the birds had
come and eaten it up every bit. They were now in great affliction, for
the farther they went, the more they were out of their way, and were
more and more bewildered in the forest.

Night now came on, and there arose a terrible high wind, which made
them dreadfully afraid. They fancied they heard on every side of them
the houling of wolves coming to eat them up; they scarce dared to
speak, or turn their heads. After this, it rained very hard, which wet
them to the skin; their feet slipped at every step they took, and they
fell into the mire, whence they got up in a very dirty pickle; their
hands were in a sorry state.

Little Thumb climbed up to the top of a tree, to see if he could
discover any thing; and having turned his head about on every side, he
saw at last a glimmering light, like that of a candle, but a long way
from the forest. He came down, and, when upon the ground, he could see
it no more, which grieved him sadly. However, having walked for some
time with his brothers towards that side on which he had seen the
light, he perceived it again as he came out of the wood.

They came at last to the house where this candle was, not without
abundance of fear; for very often they lost sight of it, which
happened every time they came into a bottom. They knocked at the door,
and a good woman came and open'd it; she asked them what they wished.

Little Thumb told her they were poor children who had been lost in the
forest, and desired to lodge there for God's sake. The woman seeing
them so very pretty, began to weep, and said to them:

"Alas! poor babies, whither are ye come? Do ye know that this house
belongs to a cruel Ogre, who eats up little children?"

"Ah! dear Madam," answered Little Thumb (who trembled every joint of
him, as well as his brothers) "what shall we do? To be sure, the
wolves of the forest will devour us to-night, if you refuse us to lie
here; and so, we would rather the gentleman should eat us. Perhaps he
will take pity on us, especially if you please to beg it of him."

The Ogre's wife, who believed she could conceal them from her husband
till morning, let them come in, and brought them to warm themselves at
a very good fire; for there was a whole sheep upon the spit roasting
for the Ogre's supper.

As they began to be a little warm, they heard three or four great raps
at the door; this was the Ogre, who was come home. Upon this she hid
them under the bed, and went to open the door. The Ogre presently
asked if supper was ready, and the wine drawn; and then he sat himself
down to table. The sheep was as yet all raw and bloody; but he liked
it the better for that. He sniffed about to the right and left,
saying, "I smell fresh meat."

"What you smell so," said his wife, "must be the calf which I have
just now killed and flayed."

"I smell fresh meat, I tell thee once more," replied the Ogre, looking
crossly at his wife, "and there is something here which I do not
understand."

As he spake these words, he got up from the table, and went directly
to the bed.

"Ah!" said he, "I see how thou would'st cheat me, thou cursed woman; I
know not why I do not eat up thee too; but it is well for thee that
thou art a tough old carrion. Here is good game, which comes very
luckily to entertain three Ogres of my acquaintance, who are to pay me
a visit in a day or two."

With that he dragged them out from under the bed one by one. The poor
children fell upon their knees, and begged his pardon; but they had to
do with one of the most cruel Ogres in the world, who, far from having
any pity on them, had already devoured them with his eyes; he told his
wife they would be delicate eating, when tossed up with good savoury
sauce. He then took a great knife, and coming up to these poor
children, whetted it upon a great whet-stone which he held in his left
hand. He had already taken hold of one of them, when his wife said to
him:

"What need you do it now? It is time enough to-morrow?"

"Hold your prattling," said the Ogre, "they will eat the tenderer."

"But you have so much meat already," replied his wife, "you have no
occasion. Here is a calf, two sheep, and half a hog."

"That is true," said the Ogre, "give them their belly-full, that they
may not fall away, and put them to bed."

The good woman was overjoyed at this, and gave them a good supper; but
they were so much afraid, they could not eat a bit. As for the Ogre,
he sat down again to drink, being highly pleased that he had got
wherewithal to treat his friends. He drank a dozen glasses more than
ordinary, which got up into his head, and obliged him to go to bed.

The Ogre had seven daughters, all little children, and these young
Ogresses had all of them very fine complexions, because they used to
eat fresh meat like their father; but they had little grey eyes, quite
round, hooked noses, wide mouths, and very long sharp teeth standing
at a good distance from each other. They were not as yet over and
above mischievous; but they promised very fair for it, for they
already bit little children, that they might suck their blood. They
had been put to bed early, with every one a crown of gold upon her
head. There was in the same chamber another bed of the like bigness,
and it was into this bed the Ogre's wife put the seven little boys;
after which she went to bed to her husband.

Little Thumb, who had observed that the Ogre's daughters had crowns of
gold upon their heads, and was afraid lest the Ogre should repent his
not killing them, got up about midnight; and taking his brothers'
bonnets and his own, went very softly, put them upon the heads of the
seven little Ogresses, after having taken off their crowns of gold,
which he put upon his own head and his brothers', that the Ogre might
take them for his daughters, and his daughters for the little boys
whom he wanted to kill. All this succeeded according to his desire;
for the Ogre waking about midnight, and sorry that he deferred to do
that till morning which he might have done over-night, threw himself
hastily out of bed, and taking his great knife:

"Let us see," said he, "how our little rogues do, and not make two
jobs of the matter."

He then went up, groping all the way, into his daughters' chamber; and
came to the bed where the little boys lay, who were every soul of them
fast asleep; except Little Thumb, who was terribly afraid when he
found the Ogre fumbling about his head, as he had done about his
brothers'. The Ogre, feeling the golden crowns, said:

"I should have made a fine piece of work of it truly; I find I guzzled
too much last night."

Then he went to the bed where the girls lay; and having found the
boys' little bonnets: "Hah!" said he, "my merry lads, are you there?
Let us to work!"

And saying these words, without more ado, he cut the throats of all
his seven daughters.

Well pleased with what he had done, he went to bed again to his wife.
So soon as Little Thumb heard the Ogre snore, he waked his brothers,
and bade them put on their clothes presently, and follow him. They
stole down softly into the garden, and got over the wall. They kept
running almost all night, trembling all the while, without knowing
which way they went.

The Ogre, when he waked, said to his wife:

"Go up stairs and dress those young rascals who came here last night."

The Ogress was very much surprised at this goodness of her husband,
not dreaming after what manner he intended she should dress them; but
thinking that he had ordered her to go and put on their cloaths, went
up, and was strangely astonished when she perceived her seven
daughters killed, and weltering in their blood. She fainted away; for
this is the first expedient almost all women find in such-like cases.
The Ogre, fearing his wife would be too long in doing what he had
ordered, went up himself to help her. He was no less amazed than his
wife, at this frightful spectacle.

"Ah! what have I done?" cried he. "The cursed wretches shall pay for
it, and that instantly."

He threw then a pitcher of water upon his wife's face; and having
brought her to herself:

"Give me quickly," cried he, "my boots of seven leagues, that I may go
and catch them."

He went out; and, having run over a vast deal of ground, both on this
side and that, he came at last into the very road where the poor
children were, and not above a hundred paces from their father's
house. They espied the Ogre, who went at one step from mountain to
mountain, and over rivers as easily as the narrowest kennels.
Little Thumb, seeing a hollow rock near the place where they were,
made his brothers hide themselves in it, and crowded into it himself,
minding always what would become of the Ogre.



The Ogre, who found himself much tired with his long and fruitless
journey (for these boots of seven leagues extremely fatigue the
wearer), had a great mind to rest himself, and, by chance, went to
sit down upon the rock where these little boys had hid themselves. As
he was worn out, he fell asleep: and, after reposing himself some time
he began to snore so frightfully, that the poor children were no less
afraid of him, than when he held up his great knife, and was going to
cut their throats. Little Thumb was not so much frightened as his
brothers, and told them that they should run away immediately towards
home, while the Ogre was asleep so soundly; and that they should not
be anxious about him. They took his advice, and got home presently.
Little Thumb came up to the Ogre, pulled off his boots gently, and put
them on upon his own legs. The boots were very long and large; but as
they were Fairies, they had the gift of becoming big and little,
according to the legs of those who wore them; so that they fitted his
feet and legs as well as if they had been made on purpose for him.

He went immediately to the Ogre's house, where he saw his wife crying
bitterly for the loss of her murdered daughters.

"Your husband," said Little Thumb, "is in very great danger, being
taken by a gang of thieves, who have sworn to kill him, if he does not
give them all his gold and silver. Just when they held their daggers
at his throat, he perceived me, and desired me to come and tell you
the condition he is in, and that you should give me whatsoever he has
of value, without retaining any one thing; for otherwise they will
kill him without mercy; and, as his case is very pressing, he desired
me to make use (you see I have them on) of his boots, that I might
make the more haste, and to shew you that I do not impose upon you."

The good woman, being sadly frightened, gave him all she had: for this
Ogre was a very good husband, tho' he used to eat up little children.
Little Thumb, having thus got all the Ogre's money, came home to his
father's house, where he was received with abundance of joy.

There are many people who do not agree in this circumstance, and
pretend that Little Thumb never robbed the Ogre at all, and that he
only thought he might very justly, and with safe conscience take off
his boots of seven leagues, because he made no other use of them, but
to run after little children. These folks affirm, that they were very
well assured of this, and the more, as having drank and eaten often at
the faggot-maker's house. They aver, that, when Little Thumb had taken
off the Ogre's boots, he went to Court, where he was informed that
they were very anxious about a certain army, which was two hundred
leagues off, and the success of a battle. He went, say they, to the
King, and told him that, if he desired it, he would bring him news
from the army before night. The King promised him a great sum of money
upon that condition. Little Thumb was as good as his word, and
returned that very same night with the news; and this first expedition
causing him to be known, he got whatever he pleased; for the King paid
him very well for carrying his orders to the army, and abundance of
ladies gave him what he would to bring them news from their lovers;
and that this was his greatest gain. There were some married women,
too, who sent letters by him to their husbands, but they paid him so
ill that it was not worth his while, and turned to such small account,
that he scorned ever to reckon what he got that way. After having, for
some time, carried on the business of a messenger, and gained thereby
great wealth, he went home to his father, where it was impossible to
express the joy they were all in at his return. He made the whole
family very well-to-do, bought places for his father and brothers; and
by that means settled them very handsomely in the world, and, in the
mean time, rose high in the King's favour.




_The Moral_

    _At many children parents don't repine,
    If they are handsome; in their judgment shine;
    Polite in carriage are, in body strong,
    Graceful in mien, and elegant in tongue.
    But if perchance an offspring prove but weak,
    Him they revile, laugh at, defraud and cheat.
    Such is the wretched world's curs'd way; and yet
    Sometimes this urchin whom despis'd we see,
    Through unforeseen events doth honour get,
    And fortune bring to all his family._






_The Ridiculous Wishes_



[Illustration: "JUPITER APPEARED BEFORE HIM WIELDING HIS MIGHTY
THUNDERBOLTS"]


The Ridiculous Wishes


In days long past there lived a poor woodcutter who found life very
hard. Indeed, it was his lot to toil for little guerdon, and although
he was young and happily married there were moments when he wished
himself dead and below ground.

One day while at his work he was again lamenting his fate.

"Some men," he said, "have only to make known their desires, and
straightway these are granted, and their every wish fulfilled; but it
has availed me little to wish for ought, for the gods are deaf to the
prayers of such as I."

As he spoke these words there was a great noise of thunder, and
Jupiter appeared before him wielding his mighty thunderbolts. Our poor
man was stricken with fear and threw himself on the ground.

"My lord," he said, "forget my foolish speech; heed not my wishes, but
cease thy thundering!"

"Have no fear," answered Jupiter; "I have heard thy plaint, and have
come hither to show thee how greatly thou dost wrong me. Hark! I, who
am sovereign lord of this world, promise to grant in full the first
three wishes which it will please thee to utter, whatever these may
be. Consider well what things can bring thee joy and prosperity, and
as thy happiness is at stake, be not over-hasty, but revolve the
matter in thy mind."

Having thus spoken Jupiter withdrew himself and made his ascent to
Olympus. As for our woodcutter, he blithely corded his faggot, and
throwing it over his shoulder, made for his home. To one so light of
heart the load also seemed light, and his thoughts were merry as he
strode along. Many a wish came into his mind, but he was resolved to
seek the advice of his wife, who was a young woman of good
understanding.

He had soon reached his cottage, and casting down his faggot:

"Behold me, Fanny," he said. "Make up the fire and spread the board,
and let there be no stint. We are wealthy, Fanny, wealthy for
evermore; we have only to wish for whatsoever we may desire."

Thereupon he told her the story of what had befallen that day. Fanny,
whose mind was quick and active, immediately conceived many plans for
the advancement of their fortune, but she approved her husband's
resolve to act with prudence and circumspection.

"'Twere a pity," she said, "to spoil our chances through impatience.
We had best take counsel of the night, and wish no wishes until
to-morrow."

"That is well spoken," answered Harry. "Meanwhile fetch a bottle of
our best, and we shall drink to our good fortune."

Fanny brought a bottle from the store behind the faggots, and our man
enjoyed his ease, leaning back in his chair with his toes to the fire
and his goblet in his hand.

[Illustration: "A LONG BLACK PUDDING CAME WINDING AND WRIGGLING
TOWARDS HER"]

"What fine glowing embers!" he said, "and what a fine toasting fire! I
wish we had a black pudding at hand."

Hardly had he spoken these words when his wife beheld, to her great
astonishment, a long black pudding which, issuing from a corner of the
hearth, came winding and wriggling towards her. She uttered a cry of
fear, and then again exclaimed in dismay, when she perceived that this
strange occurrence was due to the wish which her husband had so rashly
and foolishly spoken. Turning upon him, in her anger and
disappointment she called the poor man all the abusive names that she
could think of.

"What!" she said to him, "when you can call for a kingdom, for gold,
pearls, rubies, diamonds, for princely garments and wealth untold, is
this the time to set your mind upon black puddings!"

"Nay!" answered the man, "'twas a thoughtless speech, and a sad
mistake; but I shall now be on my guard, and shall do better next
time."

"Who knows that you will?" returned his wife. "Once a witless fool,
always a witless fool!" and giving free rein to her vexation and
ill-temper she continued to upbraid her husband until his anger also
was stirred, and he had wellnigh made a second bid and wished himself
a widower.

"Enough! woman," he cried at last; "put a check upon thy froward
tongue! Who ever heard such impertinence as this! A plague on the
shrew and on her pudding! Would to heaven it hung at the end of her
nose!"

No sooner had the husband given voice to these words than the wish was
straightway granted, and the long coil of black pudding appeared
grafted to the angry dame's nose.

Our man paused when he beheld what he had wrought. Fanny was a comely
young woman, and blest with good looks, and truth to tell, this new
ornament did not set off her beauty. Yet it offered one advantage,
that as it hung right before her mouth, it would thus effectively curb
her speech.

So, having now but one wish left, he had all but resolved to make good
use of it without further delay, and, before any other mischance could
befall, to wish himself a kingdom of his own. He was about to speak
the word, when he was stayed by a sudden thought.

"It is true," he said to himself, "that there is none so great as a
King, but what of the Queen that must share his dignity? With what
grace would she sit beside me on the throne with a yard of black
pudding for a nose?"

In this dilemma he resolved to put the case to Fanny, and to leave her
to decide whether she would rather be a Queen, with this most horrible
appendage marring her good looks, or remain a peasant wife, but with
her shapely nose relieved of this untoward addition.

[Illustration: "TRUTH TO TELL, THIS NEW ORNAMENT DID NOT SET OFF HER
BEAUTY"]

Fanny's mind was soon made up: although she had dreamt of a crown
and sceptre, yet a woman's first wish is always to please. To this
great desire all else must yield, and Fanny would rather be fair in
drugget than be a Queen with an ugly face.

Thus our woodcutter did not change his state, did not become a
potentate, nor fill his purse with golden crowns. He was thankful
enough to use his remaining wish to a more humble purpose, and
forthwith relieved his wife of her encumbrance.




_The Moral_

    _Ah! so it is that miserable man,
    By nature fickle, blind, unwise, and rash,
    Oft fails to reap a harvest from great gifts
    Bestowed upon him by the heav'nly gods._






_Donkey-skin_



[Illustration: "ANOTHER GOWN THE COLOUR OF THE MOON"
(_page_ 145)]


Donkey-skin


Once upon a time there was a King, so great, so beloved by his people,
and so respected by all his neighbours and allies that one might
almost say he was the happiest monarch alive. His good fortune was
made even greater by the choice he had made for wife of a Princess as
beautiful as she was virtuous, with whom he lived in perfect
happiness. Now, of this chaste marriage was born a daughter endowed
with so many gifts that they had no regret because other children were
not given to them.

Magnificence, good taste, and abundance reigned in the palace; there
were wise and clever ministers, virtuous and devoted courtiers,
faithful and diligent servants. The spacious stables were filled with
the most beautiful horses in the world, and coverts of rich caparison;
but what most astonished strangers who came to admire them was to see,
in the finest stall, a master donkey, with great long ears.

Now, it was not for a whim but for a good reason that the King had
given this donkey a particular and distinguished place. The special
qualities of this rare animal deserved the distinction, since nature
had made it in so extraordinary a way that its litter, instead of
being like that of other donkeys, was covered every morning with an
abundance of beautiful golden crowns, and golden louis of every kind,
which were collected daily.

Since the vicissitudes of life wait on Kings as much as on their
subjects, and good is always mingled with ill, it so befell that the
Queen was suddenly attacked by a fatal illness, and, in spite of
science, and the skill of the doctors, no remedy could be found. There
was great mourning throughout the land. The King who, notwithstanding
the famous proverb, that marriage is the tomb of love, was deeply
attached to his wife, was distressed beyond measure and made fervent
vows to all the temples in his kingdom, and offered to give his life
for that of his beloved consort; but he invoked the gods and the
Fairies in vain. The Queen, feeling her last hour approach, said to
her husband, who was dissolved in tears: "It is well that I should
speak to you of a certain matter before I die: if, perchance, you
should desire to marry again...." At these words the King broke into
piteous cries, took his wife's hands in his own, and assured her that
it was useless to speak to him of a second marriage.

"No, my dear spouse," he said at last, "speak to me rather of how I
may follow you."

"The State," continued the Queen with a finality which but increased
the laments of the King, "the State demands successors, and since I
have only given you a daughter, it will urge you to beget sons who
resemble you; but I ask you earnestly not to give way to the
persuasions of your people until you have found a Princess more
beautiful and more perfectly fashioned than I. I beg you to swear this
to me, and then I shall die content."

Perchance, the Queen, who did not lack self-esteem, exacted this oath
firmly believing that there was not her equal in the world, and so
felt assured that the King would never marry again. Be this as it may,
at length she died, and never did husband make so much lamentation;
the King wept and sobbed day and night, and the punctilious fulfilment
of the rites of widower-hood, even the smallest, was his sole
occupation.

But even great griefs do not last for ever. After a time the magnates
of the State assembled and came to the King, urging him to take
another wife. At first this request seemed hard to him and made him
shed fresh tears. He pleaded the vows he had made to the Queen, and
defied his counsellors to find a Princess more beautiful and better
fashioned than was she, thinking this to be impossible. But the
Council treated the promise as a trifle, and said that it mattered
little about beauty if the Queen were but virtuous and fruitful. For
the State needed Princes for its peace and prosperity, and though, in
truth, the Princess, his daughter, had all the qualities requisite for
making a great Queen, yet of necessity she must choose an alien for
her husband, and then the stranger would take her away with him. If,
on the other hand, he remained in her country and shared the throne
with her, their children would not be considered to be of pure native
stock, and so, there being no Prince of his name, neighbouring peoples
would stir up wars, and the kingdom would be ruined.

The King, impressed by these considerations, promised that he would
think over the matter. And so search was made among all the
marriageable Princesses for one that would suit him. Every day
charming portraits were brought him, but none gave promise of the
beauty of his late Queen; instead of coming to a decision he brooded
over his sorrow until in the end his reason left him. In his delusions
he imagined himself once more a young man; he thought the Princess his
daughter, in her youth and beauty, was his Queen as he had known her
in the days of their courtship, and living thus in the past he urged
the unhappy girl to speedily become his bride.

The young Princess, who was virtuous and chaste, threw herself at the
feet of the King her father and conjured him, with all the eloquence
she could command, not to constrain her to consent to his unnatural
desire.

The King, in his madness, could not understand the reason of her
desperate reluctance, and asked an old Druid-priest to set the
conscience of the Princess at rest. Now this Druid, less religious
than ambitious, sacrificed the cause of innocence and virtue to the
favour of so great a monarch, and instead of trying to restore the
King to his right mind, he encouraged him in his delusion.



The young Princess, beside herself with misery, at last bethought her
of the Lilac-fairy, her godmother; determined to consult her, she set
out that same night in a pretty little carriage drawn by a great sheep
who knew all the roads. When she arrived the Fairy, who loved the
Princess, told her that she knew all she had come to say, but that she
need have no fear, for nothing would harm her if only she
faithfully fulfilled the Fairy's injunctions. "For, my dear child,"
she said to her, "it would be a great sin to submit to your father's
wishes, but you can avoid the necessity without displeasing him. Tell
him that to satisfy a whim you have, he must give you a dress the
colour of the weather. Never, in spite of all his love and his power
will he be able to give you that."

The Princess thanked her godmother from her heart, and the next
morning spoke to the King as the Fairy had counselled her, and
protested that no one would win her hand unless he gave her a dress
the colour of the weather. The King, overjoyed and hopeful, called
together the most skilful workmen, and demanded this robe of them;
otherwise they should be hanged. But he was saved from resorting to
this extreme measure, since, on the second day, they brought the much
desired robe. The heavens are not a more beautiful blue, when they are
girdled with clouds of gold, than was that lovely dress when it was
unfolded. The Princess was very sad because of it, and did not know
what to do.

Once more she went to her Fairy-godmother who, astonished that her
plan had been foiled, now told her to ask for another gown the colour
of the moon.

The King again sought out the most clever workmen and expressly
commanded them to make a dress the colour of the moon; and woe betide
them if between the giving of the order and the bringing of the dress
more than twenty-four hours should elapse.

The Princess, though pleased with the dress when it was delivered,
gave way to distress when she was with her women and her nurse. The
Lilac-fairy, who knew all, hastened to comfort her and said: "Either I
am greatly deceived or it is certain that if you ask for a dress the
colour of the sun we shall at last baffle the King your father, for it
would never be possible to make such a gown; in any case we should
gain time."

So the Princess asked for yet another gown as the Fairy bade her. The
infatuated King could refuse his daughter nothing, and he gave without
regret all the diamonds and rubies in his crown to aid this superb
work; nothing was to be spared that could make the dress as beautiful
as the sun. And, indeed, when the dress appeared, all those who
unfolded it were obliged to close their eyes, so much were they
dazzled. And, truth to tell, green spectacles and smoked glasses date
from that time.

What was the Princess to do? Never had so beautiful and so artistic a
robe been seen. She was dumb-founded, and pretending that its
brilliance had hurt her eyes she retired to her chamber, where she
found the Fairy awaiting her.

On seeing the dress like the sun, the Lilac-fairy became red with
rage. "Oh! this time, my child," she said to the Princess, "we will
put the King to terrible proof. In spite of his madness I think he
will be a little astonished by the request that I counsel you to make
of him; it is that he should give you the skin of that ass he loves
so dearly, and which supplies him so profusely with the means of
paying all his expenses. Go, and do not fail to tell him that you want
this skin." The Princess, overjoyed at finding yet another avenue of
escape; for she thought that her father could never bring himself to
sacrifice the ass, went to find him, and unfolded to him her latest
desire.

Although the King was astonished by this whim, he did not hesitate to
satisfy it; the poor ass was sacrificed and the skin brought, with due
ceremony, to the Princess, who, seeing no other way of avoiding her
ill-fortune, was desperate.

At that moment her godmother arrived. "What are you doing, my child?"
she asked, seeing the Princess tearing her hair, her beautiful cheeks
stained with tears. "This is the most happy moment of your life. Wrap
yourself in this skin, leave the palace, and walk so long as you can
find ground to carry you: when one sacrifices everything to virtue the
gods know how to mete out reward. Go, and I will take care that your
possessions follow you; in whatever place you rest, your chest with
your clothes and your jewels will follow your steps, and here is my
wand which I will give you: tap the ground with it when you have need
of the chest, and it will appear before your eyes: but haste to set
forth, and do not delay." The Princess embraced her godmother many
times, and begged her not to forsake her. Then after she had smeared
herself with soot from the chimney, she wrapped herself up in that
ugly skin and went out from the magnificent palace without being
recognised by a single person.

The absence of the Princess caused a great commotion. The King, who
had caused a sumptuous banquet to be prepared, was inconsolable. He
sent out more than a hundred gendarmes, and more than a thousand
musketeers in quest of her; but the Lilac-fairy made her invisible to
the cleverest seekers, and thus she escaped their vigilance.

Meanwhile the Princess walked far, far and even farther away; after a
time she sought for a resting place, but although out of charity
people gave her food, she was so dishevelled and dirty that no one
wanted to keep her. At length she came to a beautiful town, at the
gate of which was a small farm. Now the farmer's wife had need of a
wench to wash the dishes and to attend to the geese and the pigs, and
seeing so dirty a vagrant offered to engage her. The Princess, who was
now much fatigued, accepted joyfully. She was put into a recess in the
kitchen where for the first days she was subjected to the coarse jokes
of the men-servants, so dirty and unpleasant did the donkey-skin make
her appear. At last they tired of their pleasantries; moreover she was
so attentive to her work that the farmer's wife took her under her
protection. She minded the sheep, and penned them up when it was
necessary, and she took the geese out to feed with such intelligence
that it seemed as if she had never done anything else. Everything that
her beautiful hands undertook was done well.

One day she was sitting near a clear fountain where she often repaired
to bemoan her sad condition, when she thought she would look at
herself in the water. The horrible donkey-skin which covered her from
head to toe revolted her. Ashamed, she washed her face and her hands,
which became whiter than ivory, and once again her lovely complexion
took its natural freshness. The joy of finding herself so beautiful
filled her with the desire to bathe in the pool, and this she did. But
she had to don her unworthy skin again before she returned to the
farm.

By good fortune the next day chanced to be a holiday, and so she had
leisure to tap for her chest with the fairy's wand, arrange her
toilet, powder her beautiful hair and put on the lovely gown which was
the colour of the weather; but the room was so small that the train
could not be properly spread out. The beautiful Princess looked at
herself, and with good reason, admired her appearance so much that she
resolved to wear her magnificent dresses in turn on holidays and
Sundays for her own amusement, and this she regularly did. She
entwined flowers and diamonds in her lovely hair with admirable art,
and often she sighed that she had no witness of her beauty save the
sheep and geese, who loved her just as much in the horrible
donkey-skin after which she had been named at the farm.

One holiday when Donkey-skin had put on her sun-hued dress, the son of
the King to whom the farm belonged alighted there to rest on his
return from the hunt. This Prince was young and handsome, beloved of
his father and of the Queen his mother, and adored by the people.
After he had partaken of the simple collation which was offered him he
set out to inspect the farm-yard and all its nooks and corners. In
going thus from place to place, he entered a dark alley at the bottom
of which was a closed door. Curiosity made him put his eye to the
keyhole. Imagine his astonishment at seeing a Princess so beautiful
and so richly dressed, and withal of so noble and dignified a mien,
that he took her to be a divinity. The impetuosity of his feelings at
this moment would have made him force the door, had it not been for
the respect with which that charming figure filled him.

It was with difficulty that he withdrew from this gloomy little alley,
intent on discovering who the inmate of the tiny room might be. He was
told that it was a scullion called Donkey-skin because of the skin
which she always wore, and that she was so dirty and unpleasant that
no one took any notice of her, or even spoke to her; she had just been
taken out of pity to look after the geese.



The Prince, though little satisfied by this information, saw that
these dense people knew no more, and that it was useless to question
them. So he returned to the palace of the King his father, beyond
words in love, having continually before his eyes the beautiful image
of the goddess whom he had seen through the keyhole. He was full of
regret that he had not knocked at the door, and promised himself
that he would not fail to do so next time. But the fervency of his
love caused him such great agitation that the same night he was seized
by a terrible fever, and was soon at death's door. The Queen, who had
no other child, was in despair because all remedies proved useless. In
vain she promised great rewards to the doctors; though they exerted
all their skill, nothing would cure the Prince. At last they decided
that some great sorrow had caused this terrible fever. They told the
Queen, who, full of tenderness for her son, went to him and begged him
to tell her his trouble. She declared that even if it was a matter of
giving him the crown, his father would yield the throne to him without
regret; or if he desired some Princess, even though there should be
war with the King her father and their subjects should, with reason,
complain, all should be sacrificed to obtain what he wished. She
implored him with tears not to die, since their life depended on his.
The Queen did not finish this touching discourse without moving the
Prince to tears.

"Madam," he said at last, in a very feeble voice, "I am not so base
that I desire the crown of my father, rather may Heaven grant him life
for many years, and that I may always be the most faithful and the
most respectful of his subjects! As to the Princesses that you speak
of, I have never yet thought of marriage, and you well know that,
subject as I am to your wishes, I shall obey you always, even though
it be painful to me."

"Ah! my son," replied the Queen, "we will spare nothing to save your
life. But, my dear child, save mine and that of the King your father
by telling me what you desire, and be assured that you shall have it."

"Well, Madam," he said, "since you would have me tell you my thought,
I obey you. It would indeed be a sin to place in danger two lives so
dear to me. Know, my mother, that I wish Donkey-skin to make me a
cake, and to have it brought to me when it is ready."

The Queen, astonished at this strange name, asked who Donkey-skin
might be.

"It is, Madam," replied one of her officers who had by chance seen
this girl, "It is the most ugly creature imaginable after the wolf, a
slut who lodges at your farm, and minds your geese."

"It matters not," said the Queen; "my son, on his way home from the
chase, has perchance eaten of her cakes; it is a whim such as those
who are sick do sometimes have. In a word, I wish that Donkey-skin,
since Donkey-skin it is, make him presently a cake."

A messenger ran to the farm and told Donkey-skin that she was to make
a cake for the Prince as well as she possibly could. Now, some believe
that Donkey-skin had been aware of the Prince in her heart at the
moment when he had put his eye to the keyhole; and then, looking from
her little window, she had seen him, so young, so handsome, and so
shapely, that the remembrance of him had remained, and that often the
thought of him had cost her some sighs. Be that as it may,
Donkey-skin, either having seen him, or having heard him spoken of
with praise, was overjoyed to think that she might become known to
him. She shut herself in her little room, threw off the ugly skin,
bathed her face and hands, arranged her hair, put on a beautiful
corsage of bright silver, and an equally beautiful petticoat, and then
set herself to make the much desired cake. She took the finest flour,
and newest eggs and freshest butter, and while she was working them,
whether by design or no, a ring which she had on her finger fell into
the cake and was mixed in it. When the cooking was done she muffled
herself in her horrible skin and gave the cake to the messenger,
asking him for news of the Prince; but the man would not deign to
reply, and without a word ran quickly back to the palace.

The Prince took the cake greedily from the man's hands, and ate it
with such voracity that the doctors who were present did not fail to
say that this haste was not a good sign. Indeed, the Prince came near
to being choked by the ring, which he nearly swallowed, in one of the
pieces of cake. But he drew it cleverly from his mouth, and his desire
for the cake was forgotten as he examined the fine emerald set in a
gold keeper-ring, a ring so small that he knew it could only be worn
on the prettiest little finger in the world.

He kissed the ring a thousand times, put it under his pillow, and drew
it out every moment that he thought himself unobserved. The torment
that he gave himself, planning how he might see her to whom the ring
belonged, not daring to believe that if he asked for Donkey-skin she
would be allowed to come, and not daring to speak of what he had seen
through the keyhole for fear that he would be laughed at for a
dreamer, brought back the fever with great violence. The doctors, not
knowing what more to do, declared to the Queen that the Prince's
malady was love, whereupon the Queen and the disconsolate King ran to
their son.

"My son, my dear son," cried the affected monarch, "tell us the name
of her whom you desire: we swear that we will give her to you. Even
though she were the vilest of slaves."

The Queen embracing him, agreed with all that the King had said, and
the Prince, moved by their tears and caresses, said to them: "My
father and my mother, I in no way desire to make a marriage which is
displeasing to you." And drawing the emerald from under his pillow he
added: "To prove the truth of this, I desire to marry her to whom this
ring belongs. It is not likely that she who owns so pretty a ring is a
rustic or a peasant."

The King and the Queen took the ring, examined it with great
curiosity, and agreed with the Prince that it could only belong to the
daughter of a good house. Then the King, having embraced his son, and
entreated him to get well, went out. He ordered the drums and fifes
and trumpets to be sounded throughout the town, and the heralds to cry
that she whose finger a certain ring would fit should marry the heir
to the throne.

First the Princesses arrived, then the duchesses, and the marquises,
and the baronesses; but though they did all they could to make their
fingers small, none could put on the ring. So the country girls had to
be tried, but pretty though they all were, they all had fingers that
were too fat. The Prince, who was feeling better, made the trial
himself. At last it was the turn of the chamber-maids; but they
succeeded no better. Then, when everyone else had tried, the Prince
asked for the kitchen-maids, the scullions, and the sheep-girls. They
were all brought to the palace, but their coarse red, short, fingers
would hardly go through the golden hoop as far as the nail.

"You have not brought that Donkey-skin, who made me the cake," said
the Prince.

Everyone laughed and said, "No," so dirty and unpleasant was she.

"Let someone fetch her at once," said the King; "it shall not be said
that I left out the lowliest." And the servants ran laughing and
mocking to find the goose-girl.

The Princess, who had heard the drums and the cries of the heralds,
had no doubt that the ring was the cause of this uproar. Now, she
loved the Prince, and, as true love is timorous and has no vanity, she
was in perpetual fear that some other lady would be found to have a
finger as small as hers. Great, then, was her joy when the messengers
came and knocked at her door. Since she knew that they were seeking
the owner of the right finger on which to set her ring, some impulse
had moved her to arrange her hair with great care, and to put on her
beautiful silver corsage, and the petticoat full of furbelows and
silver lace studded with emeralds. At the first knock she quickly
covered her finery with the donkey-skin and opened the door. The
visitors, in derision, told her that the King had sent for her in
order to marry her to his son. Then with loud peals of laughter they
led her to the Prince, who was astonished at the garb of this girl,
and dared not believe that it was she whom he had seen so majestic and
so beautiful. Sad and confounded, he said, "Is it you who lodge at the
bottom of that dark alley in the third yard of the farm?"

"Yes, your Highness," she replied.

"Show me your hand," said the Prince trembling, and heaving a deep
sigh.

Imagine how astonished everyone was! The King and the Queen, the
chamberlains and all the courtiers were dumb-founded, when from
beneath that black and dirty skin came a delicate little white and
rose-pink hand, and the ring slipped without difficulty on to the
prettiest little finger in the world. Then, by a little movement which
the Princess made, the skin fell from her shoulders and so enchanting
was her guise, that the Prince, weak though he was, fell on his knees
and held her so closely that she blushed. But that was scarcely
noticed, for the King and Queen came to embrace her heartily, and to
ask her if she would marry their son. The Princess, confused by all
these caresses and by the love of the handsome young Prince, was about
to thank them when suddenly the ceiling opened, and the Lilac-fairy
descended in a chariot made of the branches and flowers from which she
took her name, and, with great charm, told the Princess's story. The
King and Queen, overjoyed to know that Donkey-skin was a great
Princess redoubled their caresses, but the Prince was even more
sensible of her virtue, and his love increased as the Fairy unfolded
her tale. His impatience to marry her, indeed, was so great that he
could scarcely allow time for the necessary preparations for the grand
wedding which was their due. The King and Queen, now entirely devoted
to their daughter-in-law, overwhelmed her with affection. She had
declared that she could not marry the Prince without the consent of
the King her father, so, he was the first to whom an invitation to the
wedding was sent; he was not, however, told the name of the bride. The
Lilac-fairy, who, as was right, presided over all, had recommended
this course to prevent trouble. Kings came from all the countries
round, some in sedan-chairs, others in beautiful carriages; those who
came from the most distant countries rode on elephants and tigers and
eagles. But the most magnificent and most glorious of all was the
father of the Princess. He had happily recovered his reason, and had
married a Queen who was a widow and very beautiful, but by whom he
had no child. The Princess ran to him, and he recognised her at once
and embraced her with great tenderness before she had time to throw
herself on her knees. The King and Queen presented their son to him,
and the happiness of all was complete. The nuptials were celebrated
with all imaginable pomp, but the young couple were hardly aware of
the ceremony, so wrapped up were they in one another.

In spite of the protests of the noble-hearted young man, the Prince's
father caused his son to be crowned the same day, and kissing his
hand, placed him on the throne.

The celebrations of this illustrious marriage lasted nearly three
months, but the love of the two young people would have endured for
more than a hundred years, had they out-lived that age, so great was
their affection for one another.




_The Moral_

    _It scarce may be believed,
    This tale of Donkey-skin;
    But laughing children in the home;
    Yea, mothers, and grandmothers too,
    Are little moved by facts!
    By _them_ 'twill be received._










_Uniform with this Volume_

THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING


An Anthology of Recent Poetry.
Selected by L. D'O. WALTERS.
With Twelve Plates in Colour
and Twelve in Black and White
and many Decorations by HARRY CLARKE.


       The Story of the Hero Makoma        From the Senna (Oral
Tradition)



Once upon a time, at the town of Senna on the banks of the Zambesi, was
born a child.  He was not like other children, for he was very tall and
strong; over his shoulder he carried a big sack, and in his hand an
iron hammer.  He could also speak like a grown man, but usually he was
very silent.

One day his mother said to him: 'My child, by what name shall we know
you?'

And he answered: 'Call all the head men of Senna here to the river's
bank.' And his mother called the head men of the town, and when they
had come he led them down to a deep black pool in the river where all
the fierce crocodiles lived.

'O great men!' he said, while they all listened, 'which of you will
leap into the pool and overcome the crocodiles?' But no one would come
forward.  So he turned and sprang into the water and disappeared.

The people held their breath, for they thought: 'Surely the boy is
bewitched and throws away his life, for the crocodiles will eat him!'
Then suddenly the ground trembled, and the pool, heaving and swirling,
became red with blood, and presently the boy rising to the surface swam
on shore.

But he was no longer just a boy!  He was stronger than any man and very
tall and handsome, so that the people shouted with gladness when they
saw him.

'Now, O my people!' he cried, waving his hand, 'you know my name--I am
Makoma, "the Greater"; for have I not slain the crocodiles into the
pool where none would venture?'

Then he said to his mother: 'Rest gently, my mother, for I go to make a
home for myself and become a hero.'  Then, entering his hut he took
Nu-endo, his iron hammer, and throwing the sack over his shoulder, he
went away.

Makoma crossed the Zambesi, and for many moons he wandered towards the
north and west until he came to a very hilly country where, one day, he
met a huge giant making mountains.

'Greeting,' shouted Makoma, 'you are you?'

'I am Chi-eswa-mapiri, who makes the mountains,' answered the giant;
'and who are you?'

'I am Makoma, which signifies "greater,"' answered he.

'Greater than who?' asked the giant.

'Greater than you!' answered Makoma.

The giant gave a roar and rushed upon him.  Makoma said nothing, but
swinging his great hammer, Nu-endo, he struck the giant upon the head.

He struck him so hard a blow that the giant shrank into quite a little
man, who fell upon his knees saying: 'You are indeed greater than I, O
Makoma; take me with you to be your slave!'  So Makoma picked him up
and dropped him into the sack that he carried upon his back.

He was greater than ever now, for all the giant's strength had gone
into him; and he resumed his journey, carrying his burden with as
little difficulty as an eagle might carry a hare.

Before long he came to a country broken up with huge stones and immense
clods of earth.   Looking over one of the heaps he saw a giant wrapped
in dust dragging out the very earth and hurling it in handfuls on
either side of him.

'Who are you,' cried Makoma, 'that pulls up the earth in this way?'

'I am Chi-dubula-taka,' said he, 'and I am making the river-beds.'

'Do you know who I am?' said Makoma.  'I am he that is called
"greater"!'

'Greater than who?' thundered the giant.

'Greater than you!' answered Makoma.

With a shout, Chi-dubula-taka seized a great clod of earth and launched
it at Makoma.  But the hero had his sack held over his left arm and the
stones and earth fell harmlessly upon it, and, tightly gripping his
iron hammer, he rushed in and struck the giant to the ground.
Chi-dubula-taka grovelled before him, all the while growing smaller and
smaller; and when he had become a convenient size Makoma picked him up
and put him into the sack beside Chi- eswa-mapiri.

He went on his way even greater than before, as all the river-maker's
power had become his; and at last he came to a forest of bao- babs and
thorn trees.  He was astonished at their size, for every one was full
grown and larger than any trees he had ever seen, and close by he saw
Chi-gwisa-miti, the giant who was planting the forest.

Chi-gwisa-miti was taller than either of his brothers, but Makoma was
not afraid, and called out to him: 'Who are you, O Big One?'

'I,' said the giant, 'am Chi-gwisa-miti, and I am planting these
bao-babs and thorns as food for my children the elephants.'

'Leave off!' shouted the hero, 'for I am Makoma, and would like to
exchange a blow with thee!'

The giant, plucking up a monster bao-bab by the roots, struck heavily
at Makoma; but the hero sprang aside, and as the weapon sank deep into
the soft earth, whirled Nu-endo the hammer round his head and felled
the giant with one blow.

So terrible was the stroke that Chi-gwisa- miti shrivelled up as the
other giants had done; and when he had got back his breath he begged
Makoma to take him as his servant.  'For,' said he, 'it is honourable
to serve a man so great as thou.'

Makoma, after placing him in his sack, proceeded upon his journey, and
travelling for many days he at last reached a country so barren and
rocky that not a single living thing grew upon it--everywhere reigned
grim desolation.  And in the midst of this dead region he found a man
eating fire.

'What are you doing?' demanded Makoma.

'I am eating fire,' answered the man, laughing; 'and my name is
Chi-idea-moto, for I am the flame-spirit, and can waste and destroy
what I like.'

'You are wrong,' said Makoma; 'for I am Makoma, who is "greater" than
you--and you cannot destroy me!'

The fire-eater laughed again, and blew a flame at Makoma.  But the hero
sprang behind a rock--just in time, for the ground upon which he had
been standing was turned to molten glass, like an overbaked pot, by the
heat of the flame-spirit's breath.

Then the hero flung his iron hammer at Chi- idea-moto, and, striking
him, it knocked him helpless; so Makoma placed him in the sack,
Woro-nowu, with the other great men that he had overcome.

And now, truly, Makoma was a very great hero; for he had the strength
to make hills, the industry to lead rivers over dry wastes, foresight
and wisdom in planting trees, and the power of producing fire when he
wished.

Wandering on he arrived one day at a great plain, well watered and full
of game; and in the very middle of it, close to a large river, was a
grassy spot, very pleasant to make a home upon.

Makoma was so delighted with the little meadow that he sat down under a
large tree and removing the sack from his shoulder, took out all the
giants and set them before him.  'My friends,' said he, 'I have
travelled far and am weary.  Is not this such a place as would suit a
hero for his home?  Let us then go, to-morrow, to bring in timber to
make a kraal.'

So the next day Makoma and the giants set out to get poles to build the
kraal, leaving only Chi-eswa-mapiri to look after the place and cook
some venison which they had killed.  In the evening, when they
returned, they found the giant helpless and tied to a tree by one
enormous hair!

'How is it,' said Makoma, astonished, 'that we find you thus bound and
helpless?'

'O Chief,' answered Chi-eswa-mapiri, 'at mid- day a man came out of the
river; he was of immense statue, and his grey moustaches were of such
length that I could not see where they ended!  He demanded of me "Who
is thy master?" And I answered: "Makoma, the greatest of heroes." Then
the man seized me, and pulling a hair from his moustache, tied me to
this tree--even as you see me.'

Makoma was very wroth, but he said nothing, and drawing his finger-nail
across the hair (which was as thick and strong as palm rope) cut it,
and set free the mountain-maker.

The three following days exactly the same thing happened, only each
time with a different one of the party; and on the fourth day Makoma
stayed in camp when the others went to cut poles, saying that he would
see for himself what sort of man this was that lived in the river and
whose moustaches were so long that they extended beyond men's sight.

So when the giants had gone he swept and tidied the camp and put some
venison on the fire to roast.  At midday, when the sun was right
overhead, he heard a rumbling noise from the river, and looking up he
saw the head and shoulders of an enormous man emerging from it.  And
behold! right down the river-bed and up the river-bed, till they faded
into the blue distance, stretched the giant's grey moustaches!

'Who are you?' bellowed the giant, as soon as he was out of the water.

'I am he that is called Makoma,' answered the hero; 'and, before I slay
thee, tell me also what is thy name and what thou doest in the river?'

'My name is Chin-debou Mau-giri,' said the giant.  'My home is in the
river, for my moustache is the grey fever-mist that hangs above the
water, and with which I bind all those that come unto me so that they
die.'

'You cannot bind me!' shouted Makoma, rushing upon him and striking
with his hammer.  But the river giant was so slimy that the blow slid
harmlessly off his green chest, and as Makoma stumbled and tried to
regain his balance, the giant swung one of his long hairs around him
and tripped him up.

For a moment Makoma was helpless, but remembering the power of the
flame-spirit which had entered into him, he breathed a fiery breath
upon the giant's hair and cut himself free.

As Chin-debou Mau-giri leaned forward to seize him the hero flung his
sack Woronowu over the giant's slippery head, and gripping his iron
hammer, struck him again; this time the blow alighted upon the dry sack
and Chin- debou Mau-giri fell dead.

When the four giants returned at sunset with the poles, they rejoiced
to find that Makoma had overcome the fever-spirit, and they feasted on
the roast venison till far into the night; but in the morning, when
they awoke, Makoma was already warming his hands to the fire, and his
face was gloomy.

'In the darkness of the night, O my friends,' he said presently, 'the
white spirits of my fathers came upon me and spoke, saying: "Get thee
hence, Makoma, for thou shalt have no rest until thou hast found and
fought with Sakatirina, who had five heads, and is very great and
strong; so take leave of thy friends, for thou must go alone."'

Then the giants were very sad, and bewailed the loss of their hero; but
Makoma comforted them, and gave back to each the gifts he had taken
from them.  Then bidding them 'Farewell,' he went on his way.

Makoma travelled far towards the west; over rough mountains and
water-logged morasses, fording deep rivers, and tramping for days
across dry deserts where most men would have died, until at length he
arrived at a hut standing near some large peaks, and inside the hut
were two beautiful women.

'Greeting!' said the hero.  'Is this the country of Sakatirina of five
heads, whom I am seeking?'

'We greet you, O Great One!' answered the women.  'We are the wives of
Sakatirina; your search is at an end, for there stands he whom you
seek!'  And they pointed to what Makoma had thought were two tall
mountain peaks.  'Those are his legs,' they said; 'his body you cannot
see, for it is hidden in the clouds.'

Makoma was astonished when he beheld how tall was the giant; but,
nothing daunted, he went forward until he reached one of Sakatirina's
legs, which he struck heavily with Nu-endo.  Nothing happened, so he
hit again and then again until, presently, he heard a tired, far-away
voice saying: 'Who is it that scratches my feet?'

And Makoma shouted as loud as he could, answering: 'It is I, Makoma,
who is called "Greater"!' And he listened, but there was no answer.

Then Makoma collected all the dead brushwood and trees that he could
find, and making an enormous pile round the giant's legs, set a light
to it.

This time the giant spoke; his voice was very terrible, for it was the
rumble of thunder in the clouds.  'Who is it,' he said, 'making that
fire smoulder around my feet?'

'It is I, Makoma!' shouted the hero.  'And I have come from far away to
see thee, O Sakatirina, for the spirits of my fathers bade me go seek
and fight with thee, lest I should grow fat, and weary of myself.'

There was silence for a while, and then the giant spoke softly: 'It is
good, O Makoma!' he said.  'For I too have grown weary.  There is no
man so great as I, therefore I am all alone.  Guard thyself!' and
bending suddenly he seized the hero in his hands and dashed him upon
the ground.  And lo! instead of death, Makoma had found life, for he
sprang to his feet mightier in strength and stature than before, and
rushing in he gripped the giant by the waist and wrestled with him.

Hour by hour they fought, and mountains rolled beneath their feet like
pebbles in a flood; now Makoma would break away, and summoning up his
strength, strike the giant with Nu-endo his iron hammer, and Sakatirina
would pluck up the mountains and hurl them upon the hero, but neither
one could slay the other.  At last, upon the second day, they grappled
so strongly that they could not break away; but their strength was
failing, and, just as the sun was sinking, they fell together to the
ground, insensible.

In the morning when they awoke, Mulimo the Great Spirit was standing by
them; and he said: 'O Makoma and Sakatirina!  Ye are heroes so great
that no man may come against you.  Therefore ye will leave the world
and take up your home with me in the clouds.'  And as he spake the
heroes became invisible to the people of the Earth, and were no more
seen among them.





               The Magic Mirror                From the Senna



A long, long while ago, before ever the White Men were seen in Senna,
there lived a man called Gopani-Kufa.

One day, as he was out hunting, he came upon a strange sight.  An
enormous python had caught an antelope and coiled itself around it; the
antelope, striking out in despair with its horns, had pinned the
python's neck to a tree, and so deeply had its horns sunk in the soft
wood that neither creature could get away.

'Help!' cried the antelope, 'for I was doing no harm, yet I have been
caught, and would have been eaten, had I not defended myself.'

'Help me,' said the python, 'for I am Insato, King of all the Reptiles,
and will reward you well!'

Gopani-Kufa considered for a moment, then stabbing the antelope with
his assegai, he set the python free.

'I thank you,' said the python; 'come back here with the new moon, when
I shall have eaten the antelope, and I will reward you as I promised.'

'Yes,' said the dying antelope, 'he will reward you, and lo! your
reward shall be your own undoing!'

Gopani-Kufa went back to his kraal, and with the new moon he returned
again to the spot where he had saved the python.

Insato was lying upon the ground, still sleepy from the effects of his
huge meal, and when he saw the man he thanked him again, and said:
'Come with me now to Pita, which is my own country, and I will give you
what you will of all my possessions.'

Gopani-Kufa at first was afraid, thinking of what the antelope had
said, but finally he consented and followed Insato into the forest.

For several days they travelled, and at last they came to a hole
leading deep into the earth.  It was not very wide, but large enough to
admit a man.  'Hold on to my tail,' said Insato, 'and I will go down
first, drawing you after me.'  The man did so, and Insato entered.

Down, down, down they went for days, all the while getting deeper and
deeper into the earth, until at last the darkness ended and they
dropped into a beautiful country; around them grew short green grass,
on which browsed herds of cattle and sheep and goats.  In the distance
Gopani-Kufa saw a great collection of houses all square, built of stone
and very tall, and their roofs were shining with gold and burnished
iron.

Gopani-Kufa turned to Insato, but found, in the place of the python, a
man, strong and handsome, with the great snake's skin wrapped round him
for covering; and on his arms and neck were rings of pure gold.

The man smiled.  'I am Insato,' said he, 'but in my own country I take
man's shape--even as you see me--for this is Pita, the land over which
I am king.'  He then took Gopani-Kufa by the hand and led him towards
the town.

On the way they passed rivers in which men and women were bathing and
fishing and boating; and farther on they came to gardens covered with
heavy crops of rice and maize, and many other grains which Gopani-Kufa
did not even know the name of.  And as they passed, the people who were
singing at their work in the fields, abandoned their labours and
saluted Insato with delight, bringing also palm wine and green
cocoanuts for refreshment, as to one returned from a long journey.

'These are my children!' said Insato, waving his hand towards the
people.  Gopani-Kufa was much astonished at all that he saw, but he
said nothing.  Presently they came to the town; everything here, too,
was beautiful, and everything that a man might desire he could obtain.
Even the grains of dust in the streets were of gold and silver.

Insato conducted Gopani-Kufa to the palace, and showing him his rooms,
and the maidens who would wait upon him, told him that they would have
a great feast that night, and on the morrow he might name his choice of
the riches of Pita and it should be given him.  Then he was away.

Now Gopani-Kufa had a wasp called Zengi-mizi.  Zengi-mizi was not an
ordinary wasp, for the spirit of the father of Gopani-Kufa had entered
it, so that it was exceedingly wise.  In times of doubt Gopani-Kufa
always consulted the wasp as to what had better be done, so on this
occasion he took it out of the little rush basket in which he carried
it, saying: 'Zengi-mizi, what gift shall I ask of Insato to-morrow when
he would know the reward he shall bestow on me for saving his life?'

'Biz-z-z,' hummed Zengi-mizi, 'ask him for Sipao the Mirror.'  And it
flew back into its basket.

Gopani-Kufa was astonished at this answer; but knowing that the words
of Zengi-mizi were true words, he determined to make the request.  So
that night they feasted, and on the morrow Insato came to Gopani-Kufa
and, giving him greeting joyfully, he said:

'Now, O my friend, name your choice amongst my possessions and you
shall have it!'

'O king!' answered Gopani-Kufa, 'out of all your possessions I will
have the Mirror, Sipao.'

The king started.  'O friend, Gopani-Kufa,' he said, 'ask anything but
that!  I did not think that you would request that which is most
precious to me.'

'Let me think over it again then, O king,' said Gopani-Kufa, 'and
to-morrow I will let you know if I change my mind.'

But the king was still much troubled, fearing the loss of Sipao, for
the mirror had magic powers, so that he who owned it had but to ask and
his wish would be fulfilled; to it Insato owed all that he possessed.

As soon as the king left him, Gopani-Kufa again took Zengi-mizi, out of
his basket.  'Zengi-mizi,' he said, 'the king seems loth to grant my
request for the Mirror--is there not some other thing of equal value
for which I might ask?'

And the wasp answered: 'There is nothing in the world, O Gopani-Kufa,
which is of such value as this Mirror, for it is a Wishing Mirror, and
accomplishes the desires of him who owns it.  If the king hesitates, go
to him the next day, and the day after, and in the end he will bestow
the Mirror upon you, for you saved his life.'

And it was even so.  For three days Gopani- Kufa returned the same
answer to the king, and, at last, with tears in his eyes, Insato gave
him the Mirror, which was of polished iron, saying: 'Take Sipao, then,
O Gopani- Kufa, and may thy wishes come true.  Go back now to thine own
country; Sipao will show you the way.'

Gopani-Kufa was greatly rejoiced, and, taking farewell of the king,
said to the Mirror:

'Sipao, Sipao, I wish to be back upon the Earth again!'

Instantly he found himself standing upon the upper earth; but, not
knowing the spot, he said again to the Mirror:

'Sipao, Sipao, I want the path to my own kraal!'

And behold! right before him lay the path!

When he arrived home he found his wife and daughter mourning for him,
for they thought that he had been eaten by lions; but he comforted
them, saying that while following a wounded antelope he had missed his
way and had wandered for a long time before he had found the path again.

That night he asked Zengi-mizi, in whom sat the spirit of his father,
what he had better ask Sipao for next?

'Biz-z-z,' said the wasp, 'would you not like to be as great a chief as
Insato?'

And Gopani-Kufa smiled, and took the Mirror and said to it:

'Sipao, Sipao, I want a town as great as that of Insato, the King of
Pita; and I wish to be chief over it!'

Then all along the banks of the Zambesi river, which flowed near by,
sprang up streets of stone buildings, and their roofs shone with gold
and burnished iron like those in Pita; and in the streets men and women
were walking, and young boys were driving out the sheep and cattle to
pasture; and from the river came shouts and laughter from the young men
and maidens who had launched their canoes and were fishing.  And when
the people of the new town beheld Gopani-Kufa they rejoiced greatly and
hailed him as chief.

Gopani-Kufa was now as powerful as Insato the King of the Reptiles had
been, and he and his family moved into the palace that stood high above
the other buildings right in the middle of the town.  His wife was too
astonished at all these wonders to ask any questions, but his daughter
Shasasa kept begging him to tell her how he had suddenly become so
great; so at last he revealed the whole secret, and even entrusted
Sipao the Mirror to her care, saying:

'It will be safer with you, my daughter, for you dwell apart; whereas
men come to consult me on affairs of state, and the Mirror might be
stolen.'

Then Shasasa took the Magic Mirror and hid it beneath her pillow, and
after that for many years Gopani-Kufa ruled his people both well and
wisely, so that all men loved him, and never once did he need to ask
Sipao to grant him a wish.

Now it happened that, after many years, when the hair of Gopani-Kufa
was turning grey with age, there came white men to that country.  Up
the Zambesi they came, and they fought long and fiercely with
Gopani-Kufa; but, because of the power of the Magic Mirror, he beat
them, and they fled to the sea-coast.  Chief among them was one Rei, a
man of much cunning, who sought to discover whence sprang Gopani-Kufa's
power.  So one day he called to him a trusty servant named Butou, and
said: 'Go you to the town and find out for me what is the secret of its
greatness.'

And Butou, dressing himself in rags, set out, and when he came to
Gopani-Kufa's town he asked for the chief; and the people took him into
the presence of Gopani-Kufa.  When the white man saw him he humbled
himself, and said: 'O Chief! take pity on me, for I have no home!  When
Rei marched against you I alone stood apart, for I knew that all the
strength of the Zambesi lay in your hands, and because I would not
fight against you he turned me forth into the forest to starve!'

And Gopani-Kufa believed the white man's story, and he took him in and
feasted him, and gave him a house.

In this way the end came.  For the heart of Shasasa, the daughter of
Gopani-Kufa, went forth to Butou the traitor, and from her he learnt
the secret of the Magic Mirror.  One night, when all the town slept, he
felt beneath her pillow and, finding the Mirror, he stole it and fled
back with it to Rei, the chief of the white men.

So it befell that, one day, as Gopani-Kufa was gazing up at the river
from a window of the palace he again saw the war-canoes of the white
men; and at the sight his spirit misgave him.

'Shasasa! my daughter!' he cried wildly, 'go fetch me the mirror, for
the white men are at hand.'

'Woe is me, my father!' she sobbed.  'The Mirror is gone!  For I loved
Butou the traitor, and he has stolen Sipao from me!'

Then Gopani-Kufa calmed himself, and drew out Zengi-mizi from its rush
basket.

'O spirit of my father!' he said, 'what now shall I do?'

'O Gopani-Kufa!' hummed the wasp, 'there is nothing now that can be
done, for the words of the antelope which you slew are being fulfilled.'

'Alas!  I am an old man--I had forgotten!' cried the chief.  'The words
of the antelope were true words--my reward shall be my undoing--they
are being fulfilled!'

Then the white men fell upon the people of Gopani-Kufa and slew them
together with the chief and his daughter Shasasa; and since then all
the power of the Earth has rested in the hands of the white men, for
they have in their possession Sipao, the Magic Mirror.



       Story of the King Who Would See                   Paradise



Once upon a time there was king who, one day out hunting, came upon a
fakeer in a lonely place in the mountains.  The fakeer was seated on a
little old bedstead reading the Koran, with his patched cloak thrown
over his shoulders.

The king asked him what he was reading; and he said he was reading
about Paradise, and praying that he might be worthy to enter there.
Then they began to talk, and, by-and- bye, the king asked the fakeer if
he could show him a glimpse of Paradise, for he found it very difficult
to believe in what he could not see.  The fakeer replied that he was
asking a very difficult, and perhaps a very dangerous, thing; but that
he would pray for him, and perhaps he might be able to do it; only he
warned the king both against the dangers of his unbelief, and against
the curiosity which prompted him to ask this thing.  However, the king
was not to be turned from his purpose, and he promised the fakeer
always to provided him with food, if he, in return, would pray for him.
 To this the fakeer agreed, and so they parted.

Time went on, and the king always sent the old fakeer his food
according to his promise; but, whenever he sent to ask him when he was
going to show him Paradise, the fakeer always replied: 'Not yet, not
yet!'

After a year or two had passed by, the king heard one day that the
fakeer was very ill-- indeed, he was believed to be dying.  Instantly
he hurried off himself, and found that it was really true, and that the
fakeer was even then breathing his last.  There and then the king
besought him to remember his promise, and to show him a glimpse of
Paradise.  The dying fakeer replied that if the king would come to his
funeral, and, when the grave was filled in, and everyone else was gone
away, he would come and lay his hand upon the grave, he would keep his
word, and show him a glimpse of Paradise.  At the same time he implored
the king not to do this thing, but to be content to see Paradise when
God called him there.  Still the king's curiosity was so aroused that
he would not give way.

Accordingly, after the fakeer was dead, and had been buried, he stayed
behind when all the rest went away; and then, when he was quite alone,
he stepped forward, and laid his hand upon the grave!  Instantly the
ground opened, and the astonished king, peeping in, saw a flight of
rough steps, and, at the bottom of them, the fakeer sitting, just as he
used to sit, on his rickety bedstead, reading the Koran!

At first the king was so surprised and frightened that he could only
stare; but the fakeer beckoned to him to come down, so, mustering up
his courage, he boldly stepped down into the grave.

The fakeer rose, and, making a sign to the king to follow, walked a few
paces along a dark passage.  Then he stopped, turned solemnly to his
companion, and, with a movement of his hand, drew aside as it were a
heavy curtain, and revealed--what?  No one knows what was there shown
to the king, nor did he ever tell anyone; but, when the fakeer at
length dropped the curtain, and the king turned to leave the place, he
had had his glimpse of Paradise!  Trembling in every limb, he staggered
back along the passage, and stumbled up the steps out of the tomb into
the fresh air again.

The dawn was breaking.  It seemed odd to the king that he had been so
long in the grave.  It appeared but a few minutes ago that he had
descended, passed along a few steps to the place where he had peeped
beyond the veil, and returned again after perhaps five minutes of that
wonderful view!  And what WAS it he had seen?  He racked his brains to
remember, but he could not call to mind a single thing!  How curious
everything looked too!  Why, his own city, which by now he was
entering, seemed changed and strange to him!  The sun was already up
when he turned into the palace gate and entered the public durbar hall.
 It was full; and there upon the throne sat another king!  The poor
king, all bewildered, sat down and stared about him.  Presently a
chamberlain came across and asked him why he sat unbidden in the king's
presence.  'But I am the king!' he cried.

'What king?' said the chamberlain.

'The true king of this country,' said he indignantly.

Then the chamberlain went away, and spoke to the king who sat on the
throne, and the old king heard words like 'mad,' 'age,' 'compassion.'
Then the king on the throne called him to come forward, and, as he
went, he caught sight of himself reflected in the polished steel shield
of the bodyguard, and started back in horror!  He was old, decrepit,
dirty, and ragged!  His long white beard and locks were unkempt, and
straggled all over his chest and shoulders.  Only one sign of royalty
remained to him, and that was the signet ring upon his right hand.  He
dragged it off with shaking fingers and held it up to the king.

'Tell me who I am,' he cried; 'there is my signet, who once sat where
you sit--even yesterday!'

The king looked at him compassionately, and examined the signet with
curiosity.  Then he commanded, and they brought out dusty records and
archives of the kingdom, and old coins of previous reigns, and compared
them faithfully.  At last the king turned to the old man, and said:
'Old man, such a king as this whose signet thou hast, reigned seven
hundred years ago; but he is said to have disappeared, none know
whither; where got you the ring?'

Then the old man smote his breast, and cried out with a loud
lamentation; for he understood that he, who was not content to wait
patiently to see the Paradise of the faithful, had been judged already.
 And he turned and left the hall without a word, and went into the
jungle, where he lived for twenty-five years a life of prayer and
meditations, until at last the Angel of Death came to him, and
mercifully released him, purged and purified through his punishment.





      How Isuro the Rabbit Tricked Gudu



Far away in a hot country, where the forests are very thick and dark,
and the rivers very swift and strong, there once lived a strange pair
of friends.  Now one of the friends was a big white rabbit named Isuro,
and the other was a tall baboon called Gudu, and so fond were they of
each other that they were seldom seen apart.

One day, when the sun was hotter even than usual, the rabbit awoke from
his midday sleep, and saw Gudu the baboon standing beside him.

'Get up,' said Gudu; 'I am going courting, and you must come with me.
So put some food in a bag, and sling it round your neck, for we may not
be able to find anything to eat for a long while.'

Then the rabbit rubbed his eyes, and gathered a store of fresh green
things from under the bushes, and told Gudu that he was ready for the
journey.

They went on quite happily for some distance, and at last they came to
a river with rocks scattered here and there across the stream.

'We can never jump those wide spaces if we are burdened with food,'
said Gudu, 'we must throw it into the river, unless we wish to fall in
ourselves.'  And stooping down, unseen by Isuro, who was in front of
him, Gudu picked up a big stone, and threw it into the water with a
loud splash.

'It is your turn now,' he cried to Isuro.  And with a heavy sigh, the
rabbit unfastened his bag of food, which fell into the river.

The road on the other side led down an avenue of trees, and before they
had gone very far Gudu opened the bag that lay hidden in the thick hair
about his neck, and began to eat some delicious-looking fruit.

'Where did you get that from?' asked Isuro enviously.

'Oh, I found after all that I could get across the rocks quite easily,
so it seemed a pity not to keep my bag,' answered Gudu.

'Well, as you tricked me into throwing away mine, you ought to let me
share with you,' said Isuro.  But Gudu pretended not to hear him, and
strode along the path.

By-and-bye they entered a wood, and right in front of them was a tree
so laden with fruit that its branches swept the ground.  And some of
the fruit was still green, and some yellow.  The rabbit hopped forward
with joy, for he was very hungry; but Gudu said to him: 'Pluck the
green fruit, you will find it much the best.  I will leave it all for
you, as you have had no dinner, and take the yellow for myself.'  So
the rabbit took one of the green oranges and began to bite it, but its
skin was so hard that he could hardly get his teeth through the rind.

'It does not taste at all nice,' he cried, screwing up his face; 'I
would rather have one of the yellow ones.'

'No! no!  I really could not allow that,' answered Gudu.  'They would
only make you ill.  Be content with the green fruit.'  And as they were
all he could get, Isuro was forced to put up with them.

After this had happened two or three times, Isuro at last had his eyes
opened, and made up his mind that, whatever Gudu told him, he would do
exactly the opposite.  However, by this time they had reached the
village where dwelt Gudu's future wife, and as they entered Gudu
pointed to a clump of bushes, and said to Isuro: 'Whenever I am eating,
and you hear me call out that my food has burnt me, run as fast as you
can and gather some of those leaves that they may heal my mouth.'

The rabbit would have liked to ask him why he ate food that he knew
would burn him, only he was afraid, and just nodded in reply; but when
they had gone on a little further, he said to Gudu:

'I have dropped my needle; wait here a moment while I go and fetch it.'

'Be quick then,' answered Gudu, climbing into a tree.  And the rabbit
hastened back to the bushes, and gathered a quantity of the leaves,
which he hid among his fur, 'For,' thought he, 'if I get them now I
shall save myself the trouble of a walk by-and-by.'

When he had plucked as many as he wanted he returned to Gudu, and they
went on together.

 The sun was almost setting by the time they reached their journey's
end and being very tired they gladly sat down by a well.  Then Gudu's
betrothed, who had been watching for him, brought out a pitcher of
water--which she poured over them to wash off the dust of the road--and
two portions of food.  But once again the rabbit's hopes were dashed to
the ground, for Gudu said hastily:

'The custom of the village forbids you to eat till I have finished.'
And Isuro did not know that Gudu was lying, and that he only wanted
more food.  So he saw hungrily looking on, waiting till his friend had
had enough.

In a little while Gudu screamed loudly: 'I am burnt!  I am burnt!'
though he was not burnt at all.  Now, though Isuro had the leaves about
him, he did not dare to produce them at the last moment lest the baboon
should guess why he had stayed behind.  So he just went round a corner
for a short time, and then came hopping back in a great hurry.  But,
quick though he was, Gudu had been quicker still, and nothing remained
but some drops of water.

'How unlucky you are,' said Gudu, snatching the leaves; 'no sooner had
you gone than ever so many people arrived, and washed their hands, as
you see, and ate your portion.'  But, though Isuro knew better than to
believe him, he said nothing, and went to bed hungrier than he had ever
been in his life.

Early next morning they started for another village, and passed on the
way a large garden where people were very busy gathering monkey- nuts.

'You can have a good breakfast at last,' said Gudu, pointing to a heap
of empty shells; never doubting but that Isuro would meekly take the
portion shown him, and leave the real nuts for himself.  But what was
his surprise when Isuro answered:

'Thank you; I think I should prefer these.'  And, turning to the
kernels, never stopped as long as there was one left.  And the worst of
it was that, with so many people about, Gudu could not take the nuts
from him.

It was night when they reached the village where dwelt the mother of
Gudu's betrothed, who laid meat and millet porridge before them.

'I think you told me you were fond of porridge,' said Gudu; but Isuro
answered: 'You are mistaking me for somebody else, as I always eat meat
when I can get it.'  And again Gudu was forced to be content with the
porridge, which he hated.

While he was eating it, however a sudden thought darted into his mind,
and he managed to knock over a great pot of water which was hanging in
front of the fire, and put it quite out.

'Now,' said the cunning creature to himself, 'I shall be able in the
dark to steal his meat!'  But the rabbit had grown as cunning as he,
and standing in a corner hid the meat behind him, so that the baboon
could not find it.

'O Gudu!' he cried, laughing aloud, 'it is you who have taught me to be
clever.'  And calling to the people of the house, he bade them kindle
the fire, for Gudu would sleep by it, but that he would pass the night
with some friends in another hut.

 It was still quite dark when Isuro heard his name called very softly,
and, on opening his eyes, beheld Gudu standing by him.  Laying his
finger on his nose, in token of silence, he signed to Isuro to get up
and follow him, and it was not until they were some distance from the
hut that Gudu spoke.

'I am hungry and want something to eat better than that nasty porridge
that I had for supper.  So I am going to kill one of those goats, and
as you are a good cook you must boil the flesh for me.'  The rabbit
nodded, and Gudu disappeared behind a rock, but soon returned dragging
the dead goat with him.  The two then set about skinning it, after
which they stuffed the skin with dried leaves, so that no one would
have guessed it was not alive, and set it up in the middle of a lump of
bushes, which kept it firm on its feet.  While he was doing this, Isuro
collected sticks for a fire, and when it was kindled, Gudu hastened to
another hut to steal a pot which he filled with water from the river,
and, planting two branches in the ground, they hung the pot with the
meat in it over the fire.

'It will not be fit to eat for two hours at least,' said Gudu, 'so we
can both have a nap.'  And he stretched himself out on the ground, and
pretended to fall fast asleep, but, in reality, he was only waiting
till it was safe to take all the meat for himself.  'Surely I hear him
snore,' he thought; and he stole to the place where Isuro was lying on
a pile of wood, but the rabbit's eyes were wide open.

'How tiresome,' muttered Gudu, as he went back to his place; and after
waiting a little longer he got up, and peeped again, but still the
rabbit's pink eyes stared widely.  If Gudu had only known, Isuro was
asleep all the time; but this he never guessed, and by-and- bye he grew
so tired with watching that he went to sleep himself.  Soon after,
Isuro woke up, and he too felt hungry, so he crept softly to the pot
and ate all the meat, while he tied the bones together and hung them in
Gudu's fur.  After that he went back to the wood-pile and slept again.

In the morning the mother of Gudu's betrothed came out to milk her
goats, and on going to the bushes where the largest one seemed
entangled, she found out the trick.  She made such lament that the
people of the village came running, and Gudu and Isuro jumped up also,
and pretended to be as surprised and interested as the rest.  But they
must have looked guilty after all, for suddenly an old man pointed to
them, and cried:

'Those are thieves.'  And at the sound of his voice the big Gudu
trembled all over.

'How dare you say such things?  I defy you to prove it,' answered Isuro
boldly.  And he danced forward, and turned head over heels, and shook
himself before them all.

'I spoke hastily; you are innocent,' said the old man; 'but now let the
baboon do likewise.'  And when Gudu began to jump the goat's bones
rattled and the people cried: 'It is Gudu who is the goat-slayer!'  But
Gudu answered:

'Nay, I did not kill your goat; it was Isuro, and he ate the meat, and
hung the bones round my neck.  So it is he who should die!'  And the
people looked at each other, for they knew not what to believe.  At
length one man said:

'Let them both die, but they may choose their own deaths.'

Then Isuro answered:

'If we must die, put us in the place where the wood is cut, and heap it
up all round us, so that we cannot escape, and set fire to the wood;
and if one is burned and the other is not, then he that is burned is
the goat- slayer.'

And the people did as Isuro had said.  But Isuro knew of a hole under
the wood-pile, and when the fire was kindled he ran into the hole, but
Gudu died there.

When the fire had burned itself out and only ashes were left where the
wood had been, Isuro came out of his hole, and said to the people:

'Lo! did I not speak well?  He who killed your goat is among those
ashes.'





            Ian, the Soldier's Son



There dwelt a knight in Grianaig of the land of the West, who had three
daughters, and for goodness and beauty they had not their like in all
the isles.  All the people loved them, and loud was the weeping when
one day, as the three maidens sat on the rocks on the edge of the sea,
dipping their feet in the water, there arose a great beast from under
the waves and swept them away beneath the ocean.  And none knew whither
they had gone, or how to seek them.

Now there lived in a town a few miles off a soldier who had three sons,
fine youths and strong, and the best players at shinny in that country.
 At Christmastide that year, when families met together and great
feasts were held, Ian, the youngest of the three brothers, said:

'Let us have a match at shinny on the lawn of the knight of Grianaig,
for his lawn is wider and the grass smoother than ours.'

But the others answered:

'Nay, for he is in sorrow, and he will think of the games that we have
played there when his daughters looked on.'

'Let him be pleased or angry as he will,' said Ian; 'we will drive our
ball on his lawn to-day.'

And so it was done, and Ian won three games from his brothers.  But the
knight looked out of his window, and was wroth; and bade his men bring
the youths before him.  When he stood in his hall and beheld them, his
heart was softened somewhat; but his face was angry as he asked:

'Why did you choose to play shinny in front of my castle when you knew
full well that the remembrance of my daughters would come back to me?
The pain which you have made me suffer you shall suffer also.'

'Since we have done you wrong,' answered Ian, the youngest, 'build us a
ship, and we will go and seek your daughters.  Let them be to windward,
or to leeward, or under the four brown boundaries of the sea, we will
find them before a year and a day goes by, and will carry them back to
Grianaig.'

In seven days the ship was built, and great store of food and wine
placed in her.  And the three brothers put her head to the sea and
sailed away, and in seven days the ship ran herself on to a beach of
white sand, and they all went ashore.  They had none of them ever seen
that land before, and looked about them.  Then they saw that, a short
way from them, a number of men were working on a rock, with one man
standing over them.

'What place is this?' asked the eldest brother.  And the man who was
standing by made answer:

'This is the place where dwell the three daughters of the knight of
Grianaig, who are to be wedded to-morrow to three giants.'

'How can we find them?' asked the young man again.  And the overlooker
answered:

'To reach the daughters of the knight of Grianaig you must get into
this basket, and be drawn by a rope up the face of this rock.'

'Oh, that is easily done,' said the eldest brother, jumping into the
basket, which at once began to move--up, and up, and up--till he had
gone about half-way, when a fat black raven flew at him and pecked him
till he was nearly blind, so that he was forced to go back the way he
had come.

After that the second brother got into the creel; but he fared no
better, for the raven flew upon him, and he returned as his brother had
done.

'Now it is my turn,' said Ian.  But when he was halfway up the raven
set upon him also.

'Quick! quick!' cried Ian to the men who held the rope.  'Quick! quick!
or I shall be blinded!' And the men pulled with all their might, and in
another moment Ian was on top, and the raven behind him.

'Will you give me a piece of tobacco?' asked the raven, who was now
quite quiet.

'You rascal!  Am I to give you tobacco for trying to peck my eyes out?'
answered Ian.

'That was part of my duty,' replied the raven; 'but give it to me, and
I will prove a good friend to you.'  So Ian broke off a piece of
tobacco and gave it to him.  The raven hid it under his wing, and then
went on; 'Now I will take you to the house of the big giant, where the
knight's daughter sits sewing, sewing, till even her thimble is wet
with tears.'  And the raven hopped before him till they reached a large
house, the door of which stood open.  They entered and passed through
one hall after the other, until they found the knight's daughter, as
the bird had said.

'What brought you here?' asked she.  And Ian made answer:

'Why may I not go where you can go?'

'I was brought hither by a giant,' replied she.

'I know that,' said Ian; 'but tell me where the giant is, that I may
find him.'

'He is on the hunting hill,' answered she; 'and nought will bring him
home save a shake of the iron chain which hangs outside the gate.  But,
there, neither to leeward, nor to windward, nor in the four brown
boundaries of the sea, is there any man that can hold battle against
him, save only Ian, the soldier's son, and he is now but sixteen years
old, and how shall he stand against the giant?'

'In the land whence I have come there are many men with the strength of
Ian,' answered he.  And he went outside and pulled at the chain, but he
could not move it, and fell on to his knees.  At that he rose swiftly,
and gathering up his strength, he seized the chain, and this time he
shook it so that the link broke.  And the giant heard it on the hunting
hill, and lifted his head, thinking--

'It sounds like the noise of Ian, the soldier's son,' said he; 'but as
yet he is only sixteen years old.  Still, I had better look to it.'
And home he came.

'Are you Ian, the soldier's son?' he asked, as he entered the castle.

'No, of a surety,' answered the youth, who had no wish that they should
know him.

'Then who are you in the leeward, or in the windward, or in the four
brown boundaries of the sea, who are able to move my battle- chain?'

'That will be plain to you after wrestling with me as I wrestle with my
mother.  And one time she got the better of me, and two times she did
not.'

So they wrestled, and twisted and strove with each other till the giant
forced Ian to his knee.

'You are the stronger,' said Ian; and the giant answered:

'All men know that!' And they took hold of each other once more, and at
last Ian threw the giant, and wished that the raven were there to help
him.  No sooner had he wished his wish than the raven came.

'Put your hand under my right wing and you will find a knife sharp
enough to take off his head,' said the raven.  And the knife was so
sharp that it cut off the giant's head with a blow.

'Now go and tell the daughter of the king of Grianaig; but take heed
lest you listen to her words, and promise to go no further, for she
will seek to help you.  Instead, seek the middle daughter, and when you
have found her, you shall give me a piece of tobacco for reward.'

'Well have you earned the half of all I have,' answered Ian.  But the
raven shook his head.

'You know only what has passed, and nothing of what lies before.  If
you would not fail, wash yourself in clean water, and take balsam from
a vessel on top of the door, and rub it over your body, and to-morrow
you will be as strong as many men, and I will lead you to the dwelling
of the middle one.'

Ian did as the raven bade him, and in spite of the eldest daughter's
entreaties, he set out to seek her next sister.  He found her where she
was seated sewing, her very thimble wet from the tears which she had
shed.

'What brought you here?' asked the second sister.

'Why may I not go where you can go?' answered he; 'and why are you
weeping?'

'Because in one day I shall be married to the giant who is on the
hunting hill.'

'How can I get him home?' asked Ian.

'Nought will bring him but a shake of that iron chain which hangs
outside the gate.  But there is neither to leeward, nor to westward,
nor in the four brown boundaries of the sea, any man that can hold
battle with him, save Ian, the soldier's son, and he is now but sixteen
years of age.'

'In the land whence I have come there are many men with the strength of
Ian,' said he.  And he went outside and pulled at the chain, but he
could not move it, and fell on his knees.  At that he rose to his feet,
and gathering up his strength mightily, he seized the chain, and this
time he shook it so that three links broke.  And the second giant heard
it on the hunting hill, and lifted his head, thinking--

'It sounds like the noise of Ian, the soldier's son,' said he; 'but as
yet he is only sixteen years old.  Still, I had better look to it.'
And home he came.

'Are you Ian, the soldier's son?' he asked, as he entered the castle.

'No, of a surety,' answered the youth, who had no wish that this giant
should know him either; 'but I will wrestle with you as if I were he.'

Then they seized each other by the shoulder, and the giant threw him on
his two knees.  'You are the stronger,' cried Ian; 'but I am not beaten
yet.'  And rising to his feet, he threw his arms round the giant.

Backwards and forwards they swayed, and first one was uppermost and
then the other; but at length Ian worked his leg round the giant's and
threw him to the ground.  Then he called to the raven, and the raven
came flapping towards him, and said: 'Put your hand under my right
wing, and you will find there a knife sharp enough to take off his
head.'  And sharp indeed it was, for with a single blow, the giant's
head rolled from his body.

'Now wash yourself with warm water, and rub yourself over with oil of
balsam, and to- morrow you will be as strong as many men.  But beware
of the words of the knight's daughter, for she is cunning, and will try
to keep you at her side.  So farewell; but first give me a piece of
tobacco.'

'That I will gladly,' answered Ian breaking off a large bit.

He washed and rubbed himself that night, as the raven had told him, and
the next morning he entered the chamber where the knight's daughter was
sitting.

'Abide here with me,' she said, 'and be my husband.  There is silver
and gold in plenty in the castle.'  But he took no heed, and went on
his way till he reached the castle where the knight's youngest daughter
was sewing in the hall.  And tears dropped from her eyes on to her
thimble.

'What brought you here?' asked she.  And Ian made answer:

'Why may I not go where you can go?'

'I was brought hither by a giant.'

'I know full well,' said he.

'Are you Ian, the soldier's son?' asked she again.  And again he
answered:

'Yes, I am; but tell me, why are you weeping?'

'To-morrow the giant will return from the hunting hill, and I must
marry him,' she sobbed.  And Ian took no heed, and only said: 'How can
I bring him home?'

'Shake the iron chain that hangs outside the gate.'

And Ian went out, and gave such a pull to the chain that he fell down
at full length from the force of the shake.  But in a moment he was on
his feet again, and seized the chain with so much strength that four
links came off in his hand.  And the giant heard him in the hunting
hill, as he was putting the game he had killed into a bag.

'In the leeward, or the windward, or in the four brown boundaries of
the sea, there is none who could give my chain a shake save only Ian,
the soldier's son.  And if he has reached me, then he has left my two
brothers dead behind him.'  With that he strode back to the castle, the
earth trembling under him as he went.

'Are you Ian, the soldier's son?' asked he.  And the youth answered:

'No, of a surety.'

'Then who are you in the leeward, or the windward, or in the four brown
boundaries of the sea, who are able to shake my battle chain?  There is
only Ian, the soldier's son, who can do this, and he is but now sixteen
years old.

'I will show you who I am when you have wrestled with me,' said Ian.
And they threw their arms round each other, and the giant forced Ian on
to his knees; but in a moment he was up again, and crooking his leg
round the shoulders of the giant, he threw him heavily to the ground.
'Stumpy black raven, come quick!' cried he; and the raven came, and
beat the giant about the head with his wings, so that he could not get
up.  Then he bade Ian take out a sharp knife from under his feathers,
which he carried with him for cutting berries, and Ian smote off the
giant's head with it.  And so sharp was that knife that, with one blow,
the giant's head rolled on the ground.

'Rest now this night also,' said the raven, 'and to-morrow you shall
take the knight's three daughters to the edge of the rock that leads to
the lower world.  But take heed to go down first yourself, and let them
follow after you.  And before I go you shall give me a piece of
tobacco.'

'Take it all,' answered Ian, 'for well have you earned it.'

'No; give me but a piece.  You know what is behind you, but you have no
knowledge of what is before you.'  And picking up the tobacco in his
beak, the raven flew away.

So the next morning the knight's youngest daughter loaded asses with
all the silver and gold to be found in the castle, and she set out with
Ian the soldier's son for the house where her second sister was waiting
to see what would befall.  She also had asses laden with precious
things to carry away, and so had the eldest sister, when they reached
the castle where she had been kept a prisoner.  Together they all rode
to the edge of the rock, and then Ian lay down and shouted, and the
basket was drawn up, and in it they got one by one, and were let down
to the bottom.  When the last one was gone, Ian should have gone also,
and left the three sisters to come after him; but he had forgotten the
raven's warning, and bade them go first, lest some accident should
happen.  Only, he begged the youngest sister to let him keep the little
gold cap which, like the others, she wore on her head; and then he
helped them, each in her turn, into the basket.

 Long he waited, but wait as he might, the basket never came back, for
in their joy at being free the knight's daughters had forgotten all
about Ian, and had set sail in the ship that had brought him and his
brothers to the land of Grianaig.

At last he began to understand what had happened to him, and while he
was taking counsel with himself what had best be done, the raven came
to him.

'You did not heed my words,' he said gravely.

'No, I did not, and therefore am I here,' answered Ian, bowing his head.

'The past cannot be undone,' went on the raven.  'He that will not take
counsel will take combat.  This night, you will sleep in the giant's
castle.  And now you shall give me a piece of tobacco.'

'I will.  But, I pray you, stay in the castle with me.'

'That I may not do, but on the morrow I will come.'

And on the morrow he did, and he bade Ian go to the giant's stable
where stood a horse to whom it mattered nothing if she journeyed over
land or sea.

'But be careful,' he added, 'how you enter the stable, for the door
swings without ceasing to and fro, and if it touches you, it will cause
you to cry out.  I will go first and show you the way.'

'Go,' said Ian.  And the raven gave a bob and a hop, and thought he was
quite safe, but the door slammed on a feather of his tail, and he
screamed loudly.

Then Ian took a run backwards, and a run forwards, and made a spring;
but the door caught one of his feet, and he fell fainting on the stable
floor.  Quickly the raven pounced on him, and picked him up in his beak
and claws, and carried him back to the castle, where he laid ointments
on his foot till it was as well as ever it was.

'Now come out to walk,' said the raven, 'but take heed that you wonder
not at aught you may behold; neither shall you touch anything.  And,
first, give me a piece of tobacco.'

Many strange things did Ian behold in that island, more than he had
thought for.  In a glen lay three heroes stretched on their backs, done
to death by three spears that still stuck in their breasts.  But he
kept his counsel and spake nothing, only he pulled out the spears, and
the men sat up and said:

'You are Ian the soldier's son, and a spell is laid upon you to travel
in our company, to the cave of the black fisherman.'

So together they went till they reached the cave, and one of the men
entered, to see what should be found there.  And he beheld a hag,
horrible to look upon, seated on a rock, and before he could speak, she
struck him with her club, and changed him into a stone; and in like
manner she dealt with the other three.  At the last Ian entered.

'These men are under spells,' said the witch, 'and alive they can never
be till you have anointed them with the water which you must fetch from
the island of Big Women.  See that you do not tarry.'  And Ian turned
away with a sinking heart, for he would fain have followed the youngest
daughter of the knight of Grianaig.

'You did not obey my counsel,' said the raven, hopping towards him,
'and so trouble has come upon you.  But sleep now, and to- morrow you
shall mount the horse which is in the giant's stable, that can gallop
over sea and land.  When you reach the island of Big Women, sixteen
boys will come to meet you, and will offer the horse food, and wish to
take her saddle and bridle from her.  But see that they touch her not,
and give her food yourself, and yourself lead her into the stable, and
shut the door.  And be sure that for every turn of the lock given by
the sixteen stable lads you give one.  And now you shall break me off a
piece of tobacco.'

The next morning Ian arose, and led the horse from the stable, without
the door hurting him, and he rode across the sea to the island of the
Big Women, where the sixteen stable lads met him, and each one offered
to take his horse, and to feed her, and to put her into the stable.
But Ian only answered:

'I myself will put her in and will see to her.'  And thus he did.  And
while he was rubbing her sides the horse said to him:

'Every kind of drink will they offer you, but see you take none, save
whey and water only.'  And so it fell out; and when the sixteen
stable-boys saw that he would drink nothing, they drank it all
themselves, and one by one lay stretched around the board.

Then Ian felt pleased in his heart that he had withstood their fair
words, and he forgot the counsel that the horse had likewise given him
saying:

'Beware lest you fall asleep, and let slip the chance of getting home
again'; for while the lads were sleeping sweet music reached his ears,
and he slept also.

When this came to pass the steed broke through the stable door, and
kicked him and woke him roughly.

'You did not heed my counsel,' said she; 'and who knows if it is not
too late to win over the sea?  But first take that sword which hangs on
the wall, and cut off the heads of the sixteen grooms.'

Filled with shame at being once more proved heedless, Ian arose and did
as the horse bade him.  Then he ran to the well and poured some of the
water into a leather bottle, and jumping on the horse's back rode over
the sea to the island where the raven was waiting for him.

'Lead the horse into the stable,' said the raven, 'and lie down
yourself to sleep, for to-morrow you must make the heroes to live
again, and must slay the hag.  And have a care not to be so foolish
to-morrow as you were to-day.'

'Stay with me for company,' begged Ian; but the raven shook his head,
and flew away.

In the morning Ian awoke, and hastened to the cave where the old hag
was sitting, and he struck her dead as she was, before she could cast
spells on him.  Next he sprinkled the water over the heroes, who came
to life again, and together they all journeyed to the other side of the
island, and there the raven met them.

'At last you have followed the counsel that was given you,' said the
raven; 'and now, having learned wisdom, you may go home again to
Grianaig.  There you will find that the knight's two eldest daughters
are to be wedded this day to your two brothers, and the youngest to the
chief of the men at the rock.  But her gold cap you shall give to me
and, if you want it, you have only to think of me and I will bring it
to you.  And one more warning I give you.  If anyone asks you whence
you came, answer that you have come from behind you; and if anyone asks
you whither you are going, say that you are going before you.'

So Ian mounted the horse and set her face to the sea and her back to
the shore, and she was off, away and away till she reached the church
of Grianaig, and there, in a field of grass, beside a well of water, he
leaped down from his saddle.

'Now,' the horse said to him, 'draw your sword and cut off my head.'
But Ian answered:

'Poor thanks would that be for all the help I have had from you.'

'It is the only way that I can free myself from the spells that were
laid by the giants on me and the raven; for I was a girl and he was a
youth wooing me!  So have no fears, but do as I have said.'

Then Ian drew his sword as she bade him, and cut off her head, and went
on his way without looking backwards.  As he walked he saw a woman
standing at her house door.  She asked him whence he had come, and he
answered as the raven had told him, that he came from behind.  Next she
inquired whither he was going, and this time he made reply that he was
going on before him, but that he was thirsty and would like a drink.

'You are an impudent fellow,' said the woman; 'but you shall have a
drink.'  And she gave him some milk, which was all she had till her
husband came home.

'Where is your husband?' asked Ian, and the woman answered him:

'He is at the knight's castle trying to fashion gold and silver into a
cap for the youngest daughter, like unto the caps that her sisters
wear, such as are not to be found in all this land.  But, see, he is
returning; and now we shall hear how he has sped.'

At that the man entered the gate, and beholding a strange youth, he
said to him: 'What is your trade, boy?'

'I am a smith,' replied Ian.  And the man answered:

'Good luck has befallen me, then, for you can help me to make a cap for
the knight's daughter.'

'You cannot make that cap, and you know it,' said Ian.

'Well, I must try,' replied the man, 'or I shall be hanged on a tree;
so it were a good deed to help me.'

'I will help you if I can,' said Ian; 'but keep the gold and silver for
yourself, and lock me into the smithy to-night, and I will work my
spells.'  So the man, wondering to himself, locked him in.

As soon as the key was turned in the lock Ian wished for the raven, and
the raven came to him, carrying the cap in his mouth.

'Now take my head off,' said the raven.  But Ian answered:

'Poor thanks were that for all the help you have given me.'

'It is the only thanks you can give me,' said the raven, 'for I was a
youth like yourself before spells were laid on me.'

Then Ian drew his sword and cut off the head of the raven, and shut his
eyes so that he might see nothing.  After that he lay down and slept
till morning dawned, and the man came and unlocked the door and shook
the sleeper.

'Here is the cap,' said Ian drowsily, drawing it from under his pillow.
 And he fell asleep again directly.

The sun was high in the heavens when he woke again, and this time he
beheld a tall, brown- haired youth standing by him.

'I am the raven,' said the youth, 'and the spells are broken.  But now
get up and come with me.'

Then they two went together to the place where Ian had left the dead
horse; but no horse was there now, only a beautiful maiden.

'I am the horse,' she said, 'and the spells are broken'; and she and
the youth went away together.

In the meantime the smith had carried the cap to the castle, and bade a
servant belonging to the knight's youngest daughter bear it to her
mistress.  But when the girl's eyes fell on it, she cried out:

'He speaks false; and if he does not bring me the man who really made
the cap I will hang him on the tree beside my window.'

The servant was filled with fear at her words, and hastened and told
the smith, who ran as fast as he could to seek for Ian.  And when he
found him and brought him into the castle, the girl was first struck
dumb with joy; then she declared that she would marry nobody else.  At
this some one fetched to her the knight of Grianaig, and when Ian had
told his tale, he vowed that the maiden was right, and that his elder
daughters should never wed with men who had not only taken glory to
themselves which did not belong to them, but had left the real doer of
the deeds to his fate.

And the wedding guests said that the knight had spoken well; and the
two elder brothers were fain to leave the country, for no one would
converse with them.





             The Fox and the Wolf



At the foot of some high mountains there was, once upon a time, a small
village, and a little way off two roads met, one of them going to the
east and the other to the west.  The villagers were quiet, hard-working
folk, who toiled in the fields all day, and in the evening set out for
home when the bell began to ring in the little church.  In the summer
mornings they led out their flocks to pasture, and were happy and
contented from sunrise to sunset.

One summer night, when a round full moon shone down upon the white
road, a great wolf came trotting round the corner.

'I positively must get a good meal before I go back to my den,' he said
to himself; 'it is nearly a week since I have tasted anything but
scraps, though perhaps no one would think it to look at my figure!  Of
course there are plenty of rabbits and hares in the mountains; but
indeed one needs to be a greyhound to catch them, and I am not so young
as I was!  If I could only dine off that fox I saw a fortnight ago,
curled up into a delicious hairy ball, I should ask nothing better; I
would have eaten her then, but unluckily her husband was lying beside
her, and one knows that foxes, great and small, run like the wind.
Really it seems as if there was not a living creature left for me to
prey upon but a wolf, and, as the proverb says: "One wolf does not bite
another." However, let us see what this village can produce.  I am as
hungry as a schoolmaster.'

Now, while these thoughts were running through the mind of the wolf,
the very fox he had been thinking of was galloping along the other road.

'The whole of this day I have listened to those village hens clucking
till I could bear it no longer,' murmured she as she bounded along,
hardly seeming to touch the ground.  'When you are fond of fowls and
eggs it is the sweetest of all music.  As sure as there is a sun in
heaven I will have some of them this night, for I have grown so thin
that my very bones rattle, and my poor babies are crying for food.'
And as she spoke she reached a little plot of grass, where the two
roads joined, and flung herself under a tree to take a little rest, and
to settle her plans.  At this moment the wolf came up.

At the sight of the fox lying within his grasp his mouth began to
water, but his joy was somewhat checked when he noticed how thin she
was.  The fox's quick ears heard the sound of his paws, though they
were soft as velvet, and turning her head she said politely:

'Is that you, neighbour?  What a strange place to meet in!  I hope you
are quite well?'

'Quite well as regards my health,' answered the wolf, whose eye
glistened greedily, 'at least, as well as one can be when one is very
hungry.  But what is the matter with you?  A fortnight ago you were as
plump as heart could wish!'

'I have been ill--very ill,' replied the fox, 'and what you say is
quite true.  A worm is fat in comparison with me.'

'He is.  Still, you are good enough for me; for "to the hungry no bread
is hard."'

'Oh, you are always joking!  I'm sure you are not half as hungry as I!'

'That we shall soon see,' cried the wolf, opening his huge mouth and
crouching for a spring.

'What are you doing?' exclaimed the fox, stepping backwards.

'What am I doing?  What I am going to do is to make my supper off you,
in less time than a cock takes to crow.'

'Well, I suppose you must have your joke,' answered the fox lightly,
but never removing her eye from the wolf, who replied with a snarl
which showed all his teeth:

'I don't want to joke, but to eat!'

'But surely a person of your talents must perceive that you might eat
me to the very last morsel and never know that you had swallowed
anything at all!'

'In this world the cleverest people are always the hungriest,' replied
the wolf.

'Ah! how true that is; but--'

'I can't stop to listen to your "buts" and "yets,"' broke in the wolf
rudely; 'let us get to the point, and the point is that I want to eat
you and not talk to you.'

'Have you no pity for a poor mother?' asked the fox, putting her tail
to her eyes, but peeping slily out of them all the same.

'I am dying of hunger,' answered the wolf, doggedly; 'and you know,' he
added with a grin, 'that charity begins at home.'

'Quite so,' replied the fox; 'it would be unreasonable of me to object
to your satisfying your appetite at my expense.  But if the fox resigns
herself to the sacrifice, the mother offers you one last request.'

'Then be quick and don't waste my time, for I can't wait much longer.
What is it you want?'

'You must know,' said the fox, 'that in this village there is a rich
man who makes in the summer enough cheeses to last him for the whole
year, and keeps them in an old well, now dry, in his courtyard.  By the
well hang two buckets on a pole that were used, in former days, to draw
up water.  For many nights I have crept down to the palace, and have
lowered myself in the bucket, bringing home with me enough cheese to
feed the children.  All I beg of you is to come with me, and, instead
of hunting chickens and such things, I will make a good meal off cheese
before I die.'

'But the cheeses may be all finished by now?'

'If you were only to see the quantities of them!' laughed the fox.
'And even if they were finished, there would always be ME to eat.'

'Well, I will come.  Lead the way, but I warn you that if you try to
escape or play any tricks you are reckoning without your host-- that is
to say, without my legs, which are as long as yours!'

All was silent in the village, and not a light was to be seen but that
of the moon, which shone bright and clear in the sky.  The wolf and the
fox crept softly along, when suddenly they stopped and looked at each
other; a savoury smell of frying bacon reached their noses, and reached
the noses of the sleeping dogs, who began to bark greedily.

'Is it safe to go on, think you?' asked the wolf in a whisper.  And the
fox shook her head.

'Not while the dogs are barking,' said she; 'someone might come out to
see if anything was the matter.'  And she signed to the wolf to curl
himself up in the shadow beside her.

In about half an hour the dogs grew tired of barking, or perhaps the
bacon was eaten up and there was no smell to excite them.  Then the
wolf and the fox jumped up, and hastened to the foot of the wall.

'I am lighter than he is,' thought the fox to herself, 'and perhaps if
I make haste I can get a start, and jump over the wall on the other
side before he manages to spring over this one.'  And she quickened her
pace.  But if the wolf could not run he could jump, and with one bound
he was beside his companion.

'What were you going to do, comrade?'

'Oh, nothing,' replied the fox, much vexed at the failure of her plan.

'I think if I were to take a bit out of your haunch you would jump
better,' said the wolf, giving a snap at her as he spoke.  The fox drew
back uneasily.

'Be careful, or I shall scream,' she snarled.  And the wolf,
understanding all that might happen if the fox carried out her threat,
gave a signal to his companion to leap on the wall, where he
immediately followed her.

Once on the top they crouched down and looked about them.  Not a
creature was to be seen in the courtyard, and in the furthest corner
from the house stood the well, with its two buckets suspended from a
pole, just as the fox had described it.  The two thieves dragged
themselves noiselessly along the wall till they were opposite the well,
and by stretching out her neck as far as it would go the fox was able
to make out that there was only very little water in the bottom, but
just enough to reflect the moon, big, and round and yellow.

'How lucky!' cried she to the wolf.  'There is a huge cheese about the
size of a mill wheel.  Look! look! did you ever see anything so
beautiful!'

'Never!' answered the wolf, peering over in his turn, his eyes
glistening greedily, for he imagined that the moon's reflection in the
water was really a cheese.

'And now, unbeliever, what have you to say?' and the fox laughed gently.

'That you are a woman--I mean a fox--of your word,' replied the wolf.

'Well, then, go down in that bucket and eat your fill,' said the fox.

'Oh, is that your game?' asked the wolf, with a grin.  'No! no!  The
person who goes down in the bucket will be you!  And if you don't go
down your head will go without you!'

'Of course I will go down, with the greatest pleasure,' answered the
fox, who had expected the wolf's reply.

'And be sure you don't eat all the cheese, or it will be the worse for
you,' continued the wolf.  But the fox looked up at him with tears in
her eyes.

'Farewell, suspicious one!' she said sadly.  And climbed into the
bucket.

In an instant she had reached the bottom of the well, and found that
the water was not deep enough to cover her legs.

'Why, it is larger and richer than I thought,' cried she, turning
towards the wolf, who was leaning over the wall of the well.

'Then be quick and bring it up,' commanded the wolf.

'How can I, when it weighs more than I do?' asked the fox.

'If it is so heavy bring it in two bits, of course,' said he.

'But I have no knife,' answered the fox.  'You will have to come down
yourself, and we will carry it up between us.'

'And how am I to come down?' inquired the wolf.

'Oh, you are really very stupid!  Get into the other bucket that is
nearly over your head.'

The wolf looked up, and saw the bucket hanging there, and with some
difficulty he climbed into it.  As he weighed at least four times as
much as the fox the bucket went down with a jerk, and the other bucket,
in which the fox was seated, came to the surface.

As soon as he understood what was happening, the wolf began to speak
like an angry wolf, but was a little comforted when he remembered that
the cheese still remained to him.

'But where is the cheese?' he asked of the fox, who in her turn was
leaning over the parapet watching his proceedings with a smile.

'The cheese?' answered the fox; 'why I am taking it home to my babies,
who are too young to get food for themselves.'

'Ah, traitor!' cried the wolf, howling with rage.  But the fox was not
there to hear this insult, for she had gone off to a neighbouring
fowl-house, where she had noticed some fat young chickens the day
before.

'Perhaps I did treat him rather badly,' she said to herself.  'But it
seems getting cloudy, and if there should be heavy rain the other
bucket will fill and sink to the bottom, and his will go up--at least
it may!'





     How Ian Direach Got the Blue Falcon



Long ago a king and queen ruled over the islands of the west, and they
had one son, whom they loved dearly.  The boy grew up to be tall and
strong and handsome, and he could run and shoot, and swim and dive
better than any lad of his own age in the country.  Besides, he knew
how to sail about, and sing songs to the harp, and during the winter
evenings, when everyone was gathered round the huge hall fire shaping
bows or weaving cloth, Ian Direach would tell them tales of the deeds
of his fathers.

So the time slipped by till Ian was almost a man, as they reckoned men
in those days, and then his mother the queen died.  There was great
mourning throughout all the isles, and the boy and his father mourned
her bitterly also; but before the new year came the king had married
another wife, and seemed to have forgotten his old one.  Only Ian
remembered.

On a morning when the leaves were yellow in the trees of the glen, Ian
slung his bow over his shoulder, and filling his quiver with arrows,
went on to the hill in search of game.  But not a bird was to be seen
anywhere, till at length a blue falcon flew past him, and raising his
bow he took aim at her.  His eye was straight and his hand steady, but
the falcon's flight was swift, and he only shot a feather from her
wing.  As the sun was now low over the sea he put the feather in his
game bag, and set out homewards.

'Have you brought me much game to-day?' asked his stepmother as he
entered the hall.

'Nought save this,' he answered, handing her the feather of the blue
falcon, which she held by the tip and gazed at silently.  Then she
turned to Ian and said:

'I am setting it on you as crosses and as spells, and as the fall of
the year!  That you may always be cold, and wet and dirty, and that
your shoes may ever have pools in them, till you bring me hither the
blue falcon on which that feather grew.'

'If it is spells you are laying I can lay them too,' answered Ian
Direach; 'and you shall stand with one foot on the great house and
another on the castle, till I come back again, and your face shall be
to the wind, from wheresoever it shall blow.'  Then he went away to
seek the bird, as his stepmother bade him; and, looking homewards from
the hill, he saw the queen standing with one foot on the great house,
and the other on the castle, and her face turned towards whatever
tempest should blow.

On he journeyed, over hills, and through rivers till he reached a wide
plain, and never a glimpse did he catch of the falcon.  Darker and
darker it grew, and the small birds were seeking their nests, and at
length Ian Direach could see no more, and he lay down under some bushes
and sleep came to him.  And in his dream a soft nose touched him, and a
warm body curled up beside him, and a low voice whispered to him:

'Fortune is against you, Ian Direach; I have but the cheek and the hoof
of a sheep to give you, and with these you must be content.'  With that
Ian Direach awoke, and beheld Gille Mairtean the fox.

Between them they kindled a fire, and ate their supper.  Then Gille
Mairtean the fox bade Ian Direach lie down as before, and sleep till
morning.  And in the morning, when he awoke, Gille Mairtean said:

'The falcon that you seek is in the keeping of the Giant of the Five
Heads, and the Five Necks, and the Five Humps.  I will show you the way
to his house, and I counsel you to do his bidding, nimbly and
cheerfully, and, above all, to treat his birds kindly, for in this
manner he may give you his falcon to feed and care for.  And when this
happens, wait till the giant is out of his house; then throw a cloth
over the falcon and bear her away with you.  Only see that not one of
her feathers touches anything within the house, or evil will befall
you.'

'I thank you for your counsel,' spake Ian Direach, 'and I will be
careful to follow it.'  Then he took the path to the giant's house.

'Who is there?' cried the giant, as someone knocked loudly on the door
of his house.

'One who seeks work as a servant,' answered Ian Direach.

'And what can you do?' asked the giant again.

'I can feed birds and tend pigs; I can feed and milk a cow, and also
goats and sheep, if you have any of these,' replied Ian Direach.

'Then enter, for I have great need of such a one,' said the giant.

So Ian Direach entered, and tended so well and carefully all the birds
and beasts, that the giant was better satisfied than ever he had been,
and at length he thought that he might even be trusted to feed the
falcon.  And the heart of Ian was glad, and he tended the blue falcon
till his fathers shone like the sky, and the giant was well pleased;
and one day he said to him:

'For long my brothers on the other side of the mountain have besought
me to visit them, but never could I go for fear of my falcon.  Now I
think I can leave her with you for one day, and before nightfall I
shall be back again.'

Scarcely was the giant out of sight next morning when Ian Direach
seized the falcon, and throwing a cloth over her head hastened with her
to the door.  But the rays of the sun pierced through the thickness of
the cloth, and as they passed the doorpost she gave a spring, and the
tip of one of her feathers touched the post, which gave a scream, and
brought the giant back in three strides.  Ian Direach trembled as he
saw him; but the giant only said:

'If you wish for my falcon you must first bring me the White Sword of
Light that is in the house of the Big Women of Dhiurradh.'

'And where do they live?' asked Ian.  But the giant answered:

'Ah, that is for you to discover.'  And Ian dared say no more, and
hastened down to the waste.  There, as he hoped, he met his friend
Gille Mairtean the fox, who bade him eat his supper and lie down to
sleep.  And when he had wakened next morning the fox said to him:

'Let us go down to the shore of the sea.'  And to the shore of the sea
they went.  And after they had reached the shore, and beheld the sea
stretching before them, and the isle of Dhiurradh in the midst of it,
the soul of Ian sank, and he turned to Gille Mairtean and asked why he
had brought him thither, for the giant, when he had sent him, had known
full well that without a boat he could never find the Big Women.

'Do not be cast down,' answered the fox, 'it is quite easy!  I will
change myself into a boat, and you shall go on board me, and I will
carry you over the sea to the Seven Big Women of Dhiurradh.  Tell them
that you are skilled in brightening silver and gold, and in the end
they will take you as servant, and if you are careful to please them
they will give you the White Sword of Light to make bright and shining.
 But when you seek to steal it, take heed that its sheath touches
nothing inside the house, or ill will befall you.'

So Ian Direach did all things as the fox had told him, and the Seven
Big Women of Dhiurradh took him for their servant, and for six weeks he
worked so hard that his seven mistresses said to each other: 'Never has
a servant had the skill to make all bright and shining like this one.
Let us give him the White Sword of Light to polish like the rest.'

Then they brought forth the White Sword of Light from the iron closet
where it hung, and bade him rub it till he could see his face in the
shining blade; and he did so.  But one day, when the Seven Big Women
were out of the way, he bethought him that the moment had come for him
to carry off the sword, and, replacing it in its sheath, he hoisted it
on his shoulder.  But just as he was passing through the door the tip
of the sheath touched it, and the door gave a loud shriek.  And the Big
Women heard it, and came running back, and took the sword from him, and
said:

'If it is our sword you want, you must first bring us the bay colt of
the King of Erin.'

Humbled and ashamed, Ian Direach left the house, and sat by the side of
the sea, and soon Gille Mairtean the fox came to him.

'Plainly I see that you have taken no heed to my words, Ian Direach,'
spoke the fox.  'But eat first, and yet once more will I help you.'

At these words the heart returned again to Ian Direach, and he gathered
sticks and made a fire and ate with Gille Mairtean the fox, and slept
on the sand.  At dawn next morning Gille Mairtean said to Ian Direach:

'I will change myself into a ship, and will bear you across the seas to
Erin, to the land where dwells the king.  And you shall offer yourself
to serve in his stable, and to tend his horses, till at length so well
content is he, that he gives you the bay colt to wash and brush.  But
when you run away with her see that nought except the soles of her
hoofs touch anything within the palace gates, or it will go ill with
you.'

After he had thus counselled Ian Direach, the fox changed himself into
a ship, and set sail for Erin.  And the king of that country gave into
Ian Direach's hands the care of his horses, and never before did their
skins shine so brightly or was their pace so swift.  And the king was
well pleased, and at the end of a month he sent for Ian and said to him:

'You have given me faithful service, and now I will entrust you with
the most precious thing that my kingdom holds.'  And when he had
spoken, he led Ian Direach to the stable where stood the bay colt.  And
Ian rubbed her and fed her, and galloped with her all round the
country, till he could leave one wind behind him and catch the other
which was in front.

 'I am going away to hunt,' said the king one morning while he was
watching Ian tend the bay colt in her stable.  'The deer have come down
from the hill, and it is time for me to give them chase.'  Then he went
away; and when he was no longer in sight, Ian Direach led the bay colt
out of the stable, and sprang on her back.  But as they rode through
the gate, which stood between the palace and the outer world, the colt
swished her tail against the post, which shrieked loudly.  In a moment
the king came running up, and he seized the colt's bridle.

'If you want my bay colt, you must first bring me the daughter of the
king of the Franks.'

With slow steps went Ian Direach down to the shore where Gille Mairtean
the fox awaited him.

'Plainly I see that you have not done as I bid you, nor will you ever
do it,' spoke Gille Mairtean the fox; 'but I will help you yet again.
for a third time I will change myself into a ship, and we will sail to
France.'

And to France they sailed, and, as he was the ship, the Gille Mairtean
sailed where he would, and ran himself into the cleft of a rock, high
on to the land.  Then, he commanded Ian Direach to go up to the king's
palace, saying that he had been wrecked, that his ship was made fast in
a rock, and that none had been saved but himself only.

Ian Direach listened to the words of the fox, and he told a tale so
pitiful, that the king and queen, and the princess their daughter, all
came out to hear it.  And when they had heard, nought would please them
except to go down to the shore and visit the ship, which by now was
floating, for the tide was up.  Torn and battered was she, as if she
had passed through many dangers, yet music of a wondrous sweetness
poured forth from within.

'Bring hither a boat,' cried the princess, 'that I may go and see for
myself the harp that gives forth such music.'  And a boat was brought,
and Ian Direach stepped in to row it to the side of the ship.

To the further side he rowed, so that none could see, and when he
helped the princess on board he gave a push to the boat, so that she
could not get back to it again.  And the music sounded always sweeter,
though they could never see whence it came, and sought it from one part
of the vessel to another.  When at last they reached the deck and
looked around them, nought of land could they see, or anything save the
rushing waters.

The princess stood silent, and her face grew grim.  At last she said:

'An ill trick have you played me!  What is this that you have done, and
whither are we going?'

'It is a queen you will be,' answered Ian Direach, 'for the king of
Erin has sent me for you, and in return he will give me his bay colt,
that I may take him to the Seven Big Women of Dhiurradh, in exchange
for the White Sword of Light.  This I must carry to the giant of the
Five Heads and Five Necks and Five Humps, and, in place of it, he will
bestow on me the blue falcon, which I have promised my stepmother, so
that she may free me from the spell which she has laid on me.'

'I would rather be wife to you,' answered the princess.

By-and-by the ship sailed into a harbour on the coast of Erin, and cast
anchor there.  And Gille Mairtean the fox bade Ian Direach tell the
princess that she must bide yet a while in a cave amongst the rocks,
for they had business on land, and after a while they would return to
her.  Then they took a boat and rowed up to some rocks, and as they
touched the land Gille Mairtean changed himself into a fair woman, who
laughed, and said to Ian Direach, 'I will give the king a fine wife.'

Now the king of Erin had been hunting on the hill, and when he saw a
strange ship sailing towards the harbour, he guessed that it might be
Ian Direach, and left his hunting, and ran down to the hill to the
stable.  Hastily he led the bay colt from his stall, and put the golden
saddle on her back, and the silver bridle over his head, and with the
colt's bridle in his hand, he hurried to meet the princess.

'I have brought you the king of France's daughter,' said Ian Direach.
And the king of Erin looked at the maiden, and was well pleased, not
knowing that it was Gille Mairtean the fox.  And he bowed low, and
besought her to do him the honour to enter the palace; and Gille
Mairtean, as he went in, turned to look back at Ian Direach, and
laughed.

In the great hall the king paused and pointed to an iron chest which
stood in a corner.

'In that chest is the crown that has waited for you for many years,' he
said, 'and at last you have come for it.'  And he stooped down to
unlock the box.

In an instant Gille Mairtean the fox had sprung on his back, and gave
him such a bite that he fell down unconscious.  Quickly the fox took
his own shape again, and galloped away to the sea shore, where Ian
Direach and the princess and the bay colt awaited him.

'I will become a ship,' cried Gille Mairtean, 'and you shall go on
board me.'  And so he did, and Ian Direach let the bay colt into the
ship and the princess went after them, and they set sail for Dhiurradh.
 The wind was behind them, and very soon they saw the rocks of
Dhiurradh in front.  Then spoke Gille Mairtean the fox:

'Let the bay colt and the king's daughter hide in these rocks, and I
will change myself into the colt, and go with you to the house of the
Seven Big Women.'

Joy filed the hearts of the Big Women when they beheld the bay colt led
up to their door by Ian Direach.  And the youngest of them fetched the
White Sword of Light, and gave it into the hands of Ian Direach, who
took off the golden saddle and the silver bridle, and went down the
hill with the sword to the place where the princess and the real colt
awaited him.

'Now we shall have the ride that we have longed for!' cried the Seven
Big Women; and they saddled and bridled the colt, and the eldest one
got upon the saddle.  Then the second sister sat on the back of the
first, and the third on the back of the second, and so on for the whole
seven.  And when they were all seated, the eldest struck her side with
a whip and the colt bounded forward.  Over the moors she flew, and
round and round the mountains, and still the Big Women clung to her and
snorted with pleasure.  At last she leapt high in the air, and came
down on top of Monadh the high hill, where the crag is.  And she rested
her fore feet on the crag, and threw up her hind legs, and the Seven
Big Women fell over the crag, and were dead when they reached the
bottom.  And the colt laughed, and became a fox again and galloped away
to the sea shore, where Ian Direach, and the princess and the real colt
and the White Sword of Light were awaiting him.

'I will make myself into a ship,' said Gille Mairtean the fox, 'and
will carry you and the princess, and the bay colt and the White Sword
of Light, back to the land.'  And when the shore was reached, Gille
Mairtean the fox took back his own shape, and spoke to Ian Direach in
this wise:

'Let the princess and the White Sword of Light, and the bay colt,
remain among the rocks, and I will change myself into the likeness of
the White Sword of Light, and you shall bear me to the giant, and,
instead, he will give you the blue falcon.'  And Ian Direach did as the
fox bade him, and set out for the giant's castle.  From afar the giant
beheld the blaze of the White Sword of Light, and his heart rejoiced;
and he took the blue falcon and put it in a basket, and gave it to Ian
Direach, who bore it swiftly away to the place where the princess, and
the bay colt, and the real Sword of Light were awaiting him.

So well content was the giant to possess the sword he had coveted for
many a year, that he began at once to whirl it through the air, and to
cut and slash with it.  For a little while Gille Mairtean let the giant
play with him in this manner; then he turned in the giant's hand, and
cut through the Five Necks, so that the Five Heads rolled on the
ground.  Afterwards he went back to Ian Direach and said to him:

'Saddle the colt with the golden saddle, and bridle her with the silver
bridle, and sling the basket with the falcon over your shoulders, and
hold the White Sword of Light with its back against your nose.  Then
mount the colt, and let the princess mount behind you, and ride thus to
your father's palace.  But see that the back of the sword is ever
against your nose, else when your stepmother beholds you, she will
change you into a dry faggot.  If, however, you do as I bid you, she
will become herself a bundle of sticks.'

Ian Direach hearkened to the words of Gille Mairtean, and his
stepmother fell as a bundle of sticks before him; and he set fire to
her, and was free from her spells for ever.  After that he married the
princess, who was the best wife in all the islands of the West.
Henceforth he was safe from harm, for had he not the bay colt who could
leave one wind behind her and catch the other wind, and the blue falcon
to bring him game to eat, and the White Sword of Light to pierce
through his foes?

And Ian Direach knew that all this he owed to Gille Mairtean the fox,
and he made a compact with him that he might choose any beast out of
his herds, whenever hunger seized him, and that henceforth no arrow
should be let fly at him or at any of his race.  But Gille Mairtean the
fox would take no reward for the help he had given to Ian Direach, only
his friendship.  Thus all things prospered with Ian Direach till he
died.





              The Ugly Duckling



It was summer in the land of Denmark, and though for most of the year
the country looks flat and ugly, it was beautiful now.  The wheat was
yellow, the oats were green, the hay was dry and delicious to roll in,
and from the old ruined house which nobody lived in, down to the edge
of the canal, was a forest of great burdocks, so tall that a whole
family of children might have dwelt in them and never have been found
out.

It was under these burdocks that a duck had built herself a warm nest,
and was not sitting all day on six pretty eggs.  Five of them were
white, but the sixth, which was larger than the others, was of an ugly
grey colour.  The duck was always puzzled about that egg, and how it
came to be so different from the rest.  Other birds might have thought
that when the duck went down in the morning and evening to the water to
stretch her legs in a good swim, some lazy mother might have been on
the watch, and have popped her egg into the nest.  But ducks are not
clever at all, and are not quick at counting, so this duck did not
worry herself about the matter, but just took care that the big egg
should be as warm as the rest.

This was the first set of eggs that the duck had ever laid, and, to
begin with, she was very pleased and proud, and laughed at the other
mothers, who were always neglecting their duties to gossip with each
other or to take little extra swims besides the two in the morning and
evening that were necessary for health.  But at length she grew tired
of sitting there all day.  'Surely eggs take longer hatching than they
did,' she said to herself; and she pined for a little amusement also.
Still, she knew that if she left her eggs and the ducklings in them to
die none of her friends would ever speak to her again; so there she
stayed, only getting off the eggs several times a day to see if the
shells were cracking--which may have been the very reason why they did
not crack sooner.

She had looked at the eggs at least a hundred and fifty times, when, to
her joy, she saw a tiny crack on two of them, and scrambling back to
the nest she drew the eggs closer the one to the other, and never moved
for the whole of that day.  Next morning she was rewarded by noticing
cracks in the whole five eggs, and by midday two little yellow heads
were poking out from the shells.  This encouraged her so much that,
after breaking the shells with her bill, so that the little creatures
could get free of them, she sat steadily for a whole night upon the
nest, and before the sun arose the five white eggs were empty, and ten
pairs of eyes were gazing out upon the green world.

Now the duck had been carefully brought up, and did not like dirt, and,
besides, broken shells are not at all comfortable things to sit or walk
upon; so she pushed the rest out over the side, and felt delighted to
have some company to talk to till the big egg hatched.  But day after
day went on, and the big egg showed no signs of cracking, and the duck
grew more and more impatient, and began to wish to consult her husband,
who never came.

'I can't think what is the matter with it,' the duck grumbled to her
neighbour who had called in to pay her a visit.  'Why I could have
hatched two broods in the time that this one has taken!'

'Let me look at it,' said the old neighbour.  'Ah, I thought so; it is
a turkey's egg.  Once, when I was young, they tricked me to sitting on
a brood of turkey's eggs myself, and when they were hatched the
creatures were so stupid that nothing would make them learn to swim.  I
have no patience when I think of it.'

'Well, I will give it another chance,' sighed the duck, 'and if it does
not come out of its shell in another twenty-four hours, I will just
leave it alone and teach the rest of them to swim properly and to find
their own food.  I really can't be expected to do two things at once.'
And with a fluff of her feathers she pushed the egg into the middle of
the nest.

All through the next day she sat on, giving up even her morning bath
for fear that a blast of cold might strike the big egg.  In the
evening, when she ventured to peep, she thought she saw a tiny crack in
the upper part of the shell.  Filled with hope, she went back to her
duties, though she could hardly sleep all night for excitement.  When
she woke with the first steaks of light she felt something stirring
under her.  Yes, there it was at last; and as she moved, a big awkward
bird tumbled head foremost on the ground.

There was no denying it was ugly, even the mother was forced to admit
that to herself, though she only said it was 'large' and 'strong.'
'You won't need any teaching when you are once in the water,' she told
him, with a glance of surprise at the dull brown which covered his
back, and at his long naked neck.  And indeed he did not, though he was
not half so pretty to look at as the little yellow balls that followed
her.

When they returned they found the old neighbour on the bank waiting for
them to take them into the duckyard.  'No, it is not a young turkey,
certainly,' whispered she in confidence to the mother, 'for though it
is lean and skinny, and has no colour to speak of, yet there is
something rather distinguished about it, and it holds its head up well.'

'It is very kind of you to say so,' answered the mother, who by this
time had some secret doubts of its loveliness.  'Of course, when you
see it by itself it is all right, though it is different, somehow, from
the others.  But one cannot expect all one's children to be beautiful!'

By this time they had reached the centre of the yard, where a very old
duck was sitting, who was treated with great respect by all the fowls
present.

'You must go up and bow low before her,' whispered the mother to her
children, nodding her head in the direction of the old lady, 'and keep
your legs well apart, as you see me do.  No well-bred duckling turns in
its toes.  It is a sign of common parents.'

The little ducks tried hard to make their small fat bodies copy the
movements of their mother, and the old lady was quite pleased with
them; but the rest of the ducks looked on discontentedly, and said to
each other:

'Oh, dear me, here are ever so many more!  The yard is full already;
and did you ever see anything quite as ugly as that great tall
creature?  He is a disgrace to any brood.  I shall go and chase him
out!'  So saying she put up her feathers, and running to the big
duckling bit his neck.

The duckling gave a loud quack; it was the first time he had felt any
pain, and at the sound his mother turned quickly.

'Leave him alone,' she said fiercely, 'or I will send for his father.
He was not troubling you.'

'No; but he is so ugly and awkward no one can put up with him,'
answered the stranger.  And though the duckling did not understand the
meaning of the words, he felt he was being blamed, and became more
uncomfortable still when the old Spanish duck who ruled the fowlyard
struck in:

'It certainly is a great pity he is so different from these beautiful
darlings.  If he could only be hatched over again!'

The poor little fellow drooped his head, and did not know where to
look, but was comforted when his mother answered:

'He may not be quite as handsome as the others, but he swims better,
and is very strong; I am sure he will make his way in the world as well
as anybody.'

'Well, you must feel quite at home here,' said the old duck waddling
off.  And so they did, all except the duckling, who was snapped at by
everyone when they thought his mother was not looking.  Even the
turkey-cock, who was so big, never passed him without mocking words,
and his brothers and sisters, who would not have noticed any difference
unless it had been put into their heads, soon became as rude and unkind
as the rest.

At last he could bear it no longer, and one day he fancied he saw signs
of his mother turning against him too; so that night, when the ducks
and hens were still asleep, he stole away through an open door, and
under cover of the burdock leaves scrambled on by the bank of the
canal, till he reached a wide grassy moor, full of soft marshy places
where the reeds grew.  Here he lay down, but he was too tired and too
frightened to fall asleep, and with the earliest peep of the sun the
reeds began to rustle, and he saw that he had blundered into a colony
of wild ducks.  But as he could not run away again he stood up and
bowed politely.

'You are ugly,' said the wild ducks, when they had looked him well
over; 'but, however, it is no business of ours, unless you wish to
marry one of our daughters, and that we should not allow.'  And the
duckling answered that he had no idea of marrying anybody, and wanted
nothing but to be left alone after his long journey.

So for two whole days he lay quietly among the reeds, eating such food
as he could find, and drinking the water of the moorland pool, till he
felt himself quite strong again.  He wished he might stay were he was
for ever, he was so comfortable and happy, away from everyone, with
nobody to bite him and tell him how ugly he was.

He was thinking these thoughts, when two young ganders caught sight of
him as they were having their evening splash among the reeds, looking
for their supper.

'We are getting tired of this moor,' they said, 'and to-morrow we think
of trying another, where the lakes are larger and the feeding better.
Will you come with us?'

'Is it nicer than this?' asked the duckling doubtfully.  And the words
were hardly out of his mouth, when 'Pif! pah!' and the two new- comers
were stretched dead beside him.

At the sound of the gun the wild ducks in the rushes flew into the air,
and for a few minutes the firing continued.

Luckily for himself the duckling could not fly, and he floundered along
through the water till he could hide himself amidst some tall ferns
which grew in a hollow.  But before he got there he met a huge creature
on four legs, which he afterwards knew to be a dog, who stood and gazed
at him with a long red tongue hanging out of his mouth.  The duckling
grew cold with terror, and tried to hide his head beneath his little
wings; but the dog snuffed at him and passed on, and he was able to
reach his place of shelter.

'I am too ugly even for a dog to eat,' said he to himself.  'Well, that
is a great mercy.'  And he curled himself up in the soft grass till the
shots died away in the distance.

When all had been quiet for a long time, and there were only stars to
see him, he crept out and looked about him.

He would never go near a pool again, never, thought he; and seeing that
the moor stretched far away in the opposite direction from which he had
come, he marched bravely on till he got to a small cottage, which
seemed too tumbledown for the stones to hold together many hours
longer.  Even the door only hung upon one hinge, and as the only light
in the room sprang from a tiny fire, the duckling edged himself
cautiously in, and lay down under a chair close to the broken door,
from which he could get out if necessary.  But no one seemed to see him
or smell him; so he spend the rest of the night in peace.

Now in the cottage dwelt an old woman, her cat, and a hen; and it was
really they, and not she, who were masters of the house.  The old
woman, who passed all her days in spinning yarn, which she sold at the
nearest town, loved both the cat and the hen as her own children, and
never contradicted them in any way; so it was their grace, and not
hers, that the duckling would have to gain.

It was only next morning, when it grew light, that they noticed their
visitor, who stood trembling before them, with his eye on the door
ready to escape at any moment.  They did not, however, appear very
fierce, and the duckling became less afraid as they approached him.

'Can you lay eggs?' asked the hen.  And the duckling answered meekly:

'No; I don't know how.'  Upon which the hen turned her back, and the
cat came forward.

'Can you ruffle your fur when you are angry, or purr when you are
pleased?' said she.  And again the duckling had to admit that he could
do nothing but swim, which did not seem of much use to anybody.

So the cat and the hen went straight off to the old woman, who was
still in bed.

'Such a useless creature has taken refuge here,' they said.  'It calls
itself a duckling; but it can neither lay eggs nor purr!  What had we
better do with it?'

'Keep it, to be sure!' replied the old woman briskly.  'It is all
nonsense about it not laying eggs.  Anyway, we will let it stay here
for a bit, and see what happens.'

So the duckling remained for three weeks, and shared the food of the
cat and the hen; but nothing in the way of eggs happened at all.  Then
the sun came out, and the air grew soft, and the duckling grew tired of
being in a hut, and wanted with all his might to have a swim.  And one
morning he got so restless that even his friends noticed it.

'What is the matter?' asked the hen; and the duckling told her.

'I am so longing for the water again.  You can't think how delicious it
is to put your head under the water and dive straight to the bottom.'

'I don't think I should enjoy it,' replied the hen doubtfully.  'And I
don't think the cat would like it either.'  And the cat, when asked,
agreed there was nothing she would hate so much.

'I can't stay here any longer, I Must get to the water,' repeated the
duck.  And the cat and the hen, who felt hurt and offended, answered
shortly:

'Very well then, go.'

The duckling would have liked to say good- bye, and thank them for
their kindness, as he was polite by nature; but they had both turned
their backs on him, so he went out of the rickety door feeling rather
sad.  But, in spite of himself, he could not help a thrill of joy when
he was out in the air and water once more, and cared little for the
rude glances of the creatures he met.  For a while he was quite happy
and content; but soon the winter came on, and snow began to fall, and
everything to grow very wet and uncomfortable.  And the duckling soon
found that it is one thing to enjoy being in the water, and quite
another to like being damp on land.

The sun was setting one day, like a great scarlet globe, and the river,
to the duckling's vast bewilderment, was getting hard and slippery,
when he heard a sound of whirring wings, and high up in the air a flock
of swans were flying.  They were as white as snow which had fallen
during the night, and their long necks with yellow bills were stretched
southwards, for they were going--they did not quite know whither--but
to a land where the sun shone all day.  Oh, if he only could have gone
with them!  But that was not possible, of course; and besides, what
sort of companion could an ugly thing like him be to those beautiful
beings?  So he walked sadly down to a sheltered pool and dived to the
very bottom, and tried to think it was the greatest happiness he could
dream of.  But, all the same, he knew it wasn't!

And every morning it grew colder and colder, and the duckling had hard
work to keep himself warm.  Indeed, it would be truer to say that he
never was warm at all; and at last, after one bitter night, his legs
moved so slowly that the ice crept closer and closer, and when the
morning light broke he was caught fast, as in a trap; and soon his
senses went from him.

A few hours more and the poor duckling's life had been ended.  But, by
good fortune, a man was crossing the river on his way to his work, and
saw in a moment what had happened.  He had on thick wooden shoes, and
he went and stamped so hard on the ice that it broke, and then he
picked up the duckling and tucked him under his sheepskin coat, where
his frozen bones began to thaw a little.

Instead of going on his work, the man turned back and took the bird to
his children, who gave him a warm mess to eat and put him in a box by
the fire, and when they came back from school he was much more
comfortable than he had been since he had left the old woman's cottage.
 They were kind little children, and wanted to play with him; but,
alas! the poor fellow had never played in his life, and thought they
wanted to tease him, and flew straight into the milk-pan, and then into
the butter-dish, and from that into the meal- barrel, and at last,
terrified at the noise and confusion, right out of the door, and hid
himself in the snow amongst the bushes at the back of the house.

He never could tell afterwards exactly how he had spent the rest of the
winter.  He only knew that he was very miserable and that he never had
enough to eat.  But by-and-by things grew better.  The earth became
softer, the sun hotter, the birds sang, and the flowers once more
appeared in the grass.  When he stood up, he felt different, somehow,
from what he had done before he fell asleep among the reeds to which he
had wandered after he had escaped from the peasant's hut.  His body
seemed larger, and his wings stronger.  Something pink looked at him
from the side of a hill.  He thought he would fly towards it and see
what it was.

Oh, how glorious it felt to be rushing through the air, wheeling first
one way and then the other!  He had never thought that flying could be
like that!  The duckling was almost sorry when he drew near the pink
cloud and found it was made up of apple blossoms growing beside a
cottage whose garden ran down to the banks of the canal.  He fluttered
slowly to the ground and paused for a few minutes under a thicket of
syringas, and while he was gazing about him, there walked slowly past a
flock of the same beautiful birds he had seen so many months ago.
Fascinated, he watched them one by one step into the canal, and float
quietly upon the waters as if they were part of them.

'I will follow them,' said the duckling to himself; 'ugly though I am,
I would rather be killed by them than suffer all I have suffered from
cold and hunger, and from the ducks and fowls who should have treated
me kindly.'  And flying quickly down to the water, he swam after them
as fast as he could.

It did not take him long to reach them, for they had stopped to rest in
a green pool shaded by a tree whose branches swept the water.  And
directly they saw him coming some of the younger ones swam out to meet
him with cries of welcome, which again the duckling hardly understood.
He approached them glad, yet trembling, and turning to one of the older
birds, who by this time had left the shade of the tree, he said:

'If I am to die, I would rather you should kill me.  I don't know why I
was ever hatched, for I am too ugly to live.'  And as he spoke, he
bowed his head and looked down into the water.

Reflected in the still pool he saw many white shapes, with long necks
and golden bills, and, without thinking, he looked for the dull grey
body and the awkward skinny neck.  But no such thing was there.
Instead, he beheld beneath him a beautiful white swan!

'The new one is the best of all,' said the children when they came down
to feed the swans with biscuit and cake before going to bed.  'His
feathers are whiter and his beak more golden than the rest.'  And when
he heard that, the duckling thought that it was worth while having
undergone all the persecution and loneliness that he had passed
through, as otherwise he would never have known what it was to be
really happy.





               The Two Caskets



Far, far away, in the midst of a pine forest, there lived a woman who
had both a daughter and a stepdaughter.  Ever since her own daughter
was born the mother had given her all that she cried for, so she grew
up to be as cross and disagreeable as she was ugly.  Her stepsister, on
the other hand, had spent her childhood in working hard to keep house
for her father, who died soon after his second marriage; and she was as
much beloved by the neighbours for her goodness and industry as she was
for her beauty.

As the years went on, the difference between the two girls grew more
marked, and the old woman treated her stepdaughter worse than ever, and
was always on the watch for some pretext for beating her, or depriving
her of her food.  Anything, however foolish, was good enough for this,
and one day, when she could think of nothing better, she set both the
girls to spin while sitting on the low wall of the well.

'And you had better mind what you do,' said she, 'for the one whose
thread breaks first shall be thrown to the bottom.'

But of course she took good care that her own daughter's flax was fine
and strong, while the stepsister had only some coarse stuff, which no
one would have thought of using.  As might be expected, in a very
little while the poor girl's thread snapped, and the old woman, who had
been watching from behind a door, seized her stepdaughter by her
shoulders, and threw her into the well.

'That is an end of you!' she said.  But she was wrong, for it was only
the beginning.

Down, down, down went the girl--it seemed as if the well must reach to
the very middle of the earth; but at last her feet touched the ground,
and she found herself in a field more beautiful than even the summer
pastures of her native mountains.  Trees waved in the soft breeze, and
flowers of the brightest colours danced in the grass.  And though she
was quite alone, the girl's heart danced too, for she felt happier than
she had since her father died.  So she walked on through the meadow
till she came to an old tumbledown fence--so old that it was a wonder
it managed to stand up at all, and it looked as if it depended for
support on the old man's beard that climbed all over it.

The girl paused for a moment as she came up, and gazed about for a
place where she might safely cross.  But before she could move a voice
cried from the fence:

'Do not hurt me, little maiden; I am so old, so old, I have not much
longer to live.'

And the maiden answered:

'No, I will not hurt you; fear nothing.'  And then seeing a spot where
the clematis grew less thickly than in other places, she jumped lightly
over.

'May all go well with thee,' said the fence, as the girl walked on.

She soon left the meadow and turned into a path which ran between two
flowery hedges.  Right in front of her stood an oven, and through its
open door she could see a pile of white loaves.

'Eat as many loaves as you like, but do me no harm, little maiden,'
cried the oven.  And the maiden told her to fear nothing, for she never
hurt anything, and was very grateful for the oven's kindness in giving
her such a beautiful white loaf.  When she had finished it, down to the
last crumb, she shut the oven door and said: 'Good-morning.'

'May all go well with thee,' said the oven, as the girl walked on.

By-and-by she became very thirsty, and seeing a cow with a milk-pail
hanging on her horn, turned towards her.

'Milk me and drink as much as you will, little maiden,' cried the cow,
'but be sure you spill none on the ground; and do me no harm, for I
have never harmed anyone.'

'Nor I,' answered the girl; 'fear nothing.'  So she sat down and milked
till the pail was nearly full.  Then she drank it all up except a
little drop at the bottom.

'Now throw any that is left over my hoofs, and hang the pail on my
horns again,' said the cow.  And the girl did as she was bid, and
kissed the cow on her forehead and went her way.

Many hours had now passed since the girl had fallen down the well, and
the sun was setting.

'Where shall I spend the night?' thought she.  And suddenly she saw
before her a gate which she had not noticed before, and a very old
woman leaning against it.

'Good evening,' said the girl politely; and the old woman answered:

'Good evening, my child.  Would that everyone was as polite as you.
Are you in search of anything?'

'I am in search of a place,' replied the girl; and the woman smiled and
said:

'Then stop a little while and comb my hair, and you shall tell me all
the things you can do.'

'Willingly, mother,' answered the girl.  And she began combing out the
old woman's hair, which was long and white.

Half an hour passed in this way, and then the old woman said:

'As you did not think yourself too good to comb me, I will show you
where you may take service.  Be prudent and patient and all will go
well.'

So the girl thanked her, and set out for a farm at a little distance,
where she was engaged to milk the cows and sift the corn.

As soon as it was light next morning the girl got up and went into the
cow-house.  'I'm sure you must be hungry,' said she, patting each in
turn.  And then she fetched hay from the barn, and while they were
eating it, she swept out the cow-house, and strewed clean straw upon
the floor.  The cows were so pleased with the care she took of them
that they stood quite still while she milked them, and did not play any
of the tricks on her that they had played on other dairymaids who were
rough and rude.  And when she had done, and was going to get up from
her stool, she found sitting round her a whole circle of cats, black
and white, tabby and tortoise- shell, who all cried with one voice:

'We are very thirsty, please give us some milk!'

'My poor little pussies,' said she, 'of course you shall have some.'
And she went into the dairy, followed by all the cats, and gave each
one a little red saucerful.  But before they drank they all rubbed
themselves against her knees and purred by way of thanks.

The next thing the girl had to do was to go to the storehouse, and to
sift the corn through a sieve.  While she was busy rubbing the corn she
heard a whirr of wings, and a flock of sparrows flew in at the window.

'We are hungry; give us some corn! give us some corn!' cried they; and
the girl answered:

'You poor little birds, of course you shall have some!' and scattered a
fine handful over the floor.  When they had finished they flew on her
shoulders and flapped their wings by way of thanks.

 Time went by, and no cows in the whole country-side were so fat and
well tended as hers, and no dairy had so much milk to show.  The
farmer's wife was so well satisfied that she gave her higher wages, and
treated her like her own daughter.  At length, one day, the girl was
bidden by her mistress to come into the kitchen, and when there, the
old woman said to her: 'I know you can tend cows and keep a diary; now
let me see what you can do besides.  Take this sieve to the well, and
fill it with water, and bring it home to me without spilling one drop
by the way.'

The girl's heart sank at this order; for how was it possible for her to
do her mistress's bidding?  However, she was silent, and taking the
sieve went down to the well with it.  Stopping over the side, she
filled it to the brim, but as soon as she lifted it the water all ran
out of the holes.  Again and again she tried, but not a drop would
remaining in the sieve, and she was just turning away in despair when a
flock of sparrows flew down from the sky.

'Ashes! ashes!' they twittered; and the girl looked at them and said:

'Well, I can't be in a worse plight than I am already, so I will take
your advice.'  And she ran back to the kitchen and filled her sieve
with ashes.  Then once more she dipped the sieve into the well, and,
behold, this time not a drop of water disappeared!

'Here is the sieve, mistress,' cried the girl, going to the room where
the old woman was sitting.

'You are cleverer than I expected,' answered she; 'or else someone
helped you who is skilled in magic.'  But the girl kept silence, and
the old woman asked her no more questions.

Many days passed during which the girl went about her work as usual,
but at length one day the old woman called her and said:

'I have something more for you to do.  There are here two yarns, the
one white, the other black.  What you must do is to wash them in the
river till the black one becomes white and the white black.'  And the
girl took them to the river and washed hard for several hours, but wash
as she would they never changed one whit.

'This is worse than the sieve,' thought she, and was about to give up
in despair when there came a rush of wings through the air, and on
every twig of the birch trees which grew by the bank was perched a
sparrow.

'The black to the east, the white to the west!' they sang, all at once;
and the girl dried her tears and felt brave again.  Picking up the
black yarn, she stood facing the east and dipped it in the river, and
in an instant it grew white as snow, then turning to the west, she held
the white yarn in the water, and it became as black as a crow's wing.
She looked back at the sparrows and smiled and nodded to them, and
flapping their wings in reply they flew swiftly away.

At the sight of the yarn the old woman was struck dumb; but when at
length she found her voice she asked the girl what magician had helped
her to do what no one had done before.  But she got no answer, for the
maiden was afraid of bringing trouble on her little friends.

For many weeks the mistress shut herself up in her room, and the girl
went about her work as usual.  She hoped that there was an end to the
difficult tasks which had been set her; but in this she was mistaken,
for one day the old woman appeared suddenly in the kitchen, and said to
her:

'There is one more trial to which I must put you, and if you do not
fail in that you will be left in peace for evermore.  Here are the
yarns which you washed.  Take them and weave them into a web that is as
smooth as a king's robe, and see that it is spun by the time that the
sun sets.'

'This is the easiest thing I have been set to do,' thought the girl,
who was a good spinner.  But when she began she found that the skein
tangled and broke every moment.

'Oh, I can never do it!' she cried at last, and leaned her head against
the loom and wept; but at that instant the door opened, and there
entered, one behind another, a procession of cats.

'What is the matter, fair maiden?' asked they.  And the girl answered:

'My mistress has given me this yarn to weave into a piece of cloth,
which must be finished by sunset, and I have not even begun yet, for
the yarn breaks whenever I touch it.'

'If that is all, dry your eyes,' said the cats; 'we will manage it for
you.'  And they jumped on the loom, and wove so fast and so skilfully
that in a very short time the cloth was ready and was as fine as any
king ever wore.  The girl was so delighted at the sight of it that she
gave each cat a kiss on his forehead as they left the room behind one
the other as they had come.

'Who has taught you this wisdom?' asked the old woman, after she had
passed her hands twice or thrice over the cloth and could find no
roughness anywhere.  But the girl only smiled and did not answer.  She
had learned early the value of silence.

After a few weeks the old woman sent for her maid and told her that as
her year of service was now up, she was free to return home, but that,
for her part, the girl had served her so well that she hoped she might
stay with her.  But at these words the maid shook her head, and
answered gently:

'I have been happy here, Madam, and I thank you for your goodness to
me; but I have left behind me a stepsister and a stepmother, and I am
fain to be with them once more.'  The old woman looked at her for a
moment, and then she said:

'Well, that must be as you like; but as you have worked faithfully for
me I will give you a reward.  Go now into the loft above the store
house and there you will find many caskets.  Choose the one which
pleases you best, but be careful not to open it till you have set it in
the place where you wish it to remain.'

The girl left the room to go to the loft, and as soon as she got
outside, she found all the cats waiting for her.  Walking in
procession, as was their custom, they followed her into the loft, which
was filled with caskets big and little, plain and splendid.  She lifted
up one and looked at it, and then put it down to examine another yet
more beautiful.  Which should she choose, the yellow or the blue, the
red or the green, the gold or the silver?  She hesitated long, and went
first to one and then to another, when she heard the cats' voices
calling: 'Take the black! take the black!'

The words make her look round--she had seen no black casket, but as the
cats continued their cry she peered into several corners that had
remained unnoticed, and at length discovered a little black box, so
small and so black, that it might easily have been passed over.

'This is the casket that pleases me best, mistress,' said the girl,
carrying it into the house.  And the old woman smiled and nodded, and
bade her go her way.  So the girl set forth, after bidding farewell to
the cows and the cats and the sparrows, who all wept as they said
good-bye.

She walked on and on and on, till she reached the flowery meadow, and
there, suddenly, something happened, she never knew what, but she was
sitting on the wall of the well in her stepmother's yard.  Then she got
up and entered the house.

The woman and her daughter stared as if they had been turned into
stone; but at length the stepmother gasped out:

'So you are alive after all!  Well, luck was ever against me!  And
where have you been this year past?' Then the girl told how she had
taken service in the under-world, and, beside her wages, had brought
home with her a little casket, which she would like to set up in her
room.

'Give me the money, and take the ugly little box off to the outhouse,'
cried the woman, beside herself with rage, and the girl, quite
frightened at her violence, hastened away, with her precious box
clasped to her bosom.

The outhouse was in a very dirty state, as no one had been near it
since the girl had fallen down the well; but she scrubbed and swept
till everything was clean again, and then she placed the little casket
on a small shelf in the corner.

'Now I may open it,' she said to herself; and unlocking it with the key
which hung to its handle, she raised the lid, but started back as she
did so, almost blinded by the light that burst upon her.  No one would
ever have guessed that that little black box could have held such a
quantity of beautiful things!  Rings, crowns, girdles, necklaces--all
made of wonderful stones; and they shone with such brilliance that not
only the stepmother and her daughter but all the people round came
running to see if the house was on fire.  Of course the woman felt
quite ill with greed and envy, and she would have certainly taken all
the jewels for herself had she not feared the wrath of the neighbours,
who loved her stepdaughter as much as they hated her.

But if she could not steal the casket and its contents for herself, at
least she could get another like it, and perhaps a still richer one.
So she bade her own daughter sit on the edge of the well, and threw her
into the water, exactly as she had done to the other girl; and, exactly
as before, the flowery meadow lay at the bottom.

Every inch of the way she trod the path which her stepsister had
trodden, and saw the things which she had seen; but there the likeness
ended.  When the fence prayed her to do it no harm, she laughed rudely,
and tore up some of the stakes so that she might get over the more
easily; when the oven offered her bread, she scattered the loaves onto
the ground and stamped on them; and after she had milked the cow, and
drunk as much as she wanted, she threw the rest on the grass, and
kicked the pail to bits, and never heard them say, as they looked after
her: 'You shall not have done this to me for nothing!'

Towards evening she reached the spot where the old woman was leaning
against the gate- post, but she passed her by without a word.

'Have you no manners in your country?' asked the crone.

'I can't stop and talk; I am in a hurry,' answered the girl.  'It is
getting late, and I have to find a place.'

'Stop and comb my hair for a little,' said the old woman, 'and I will
help you to get a place.'

'Comb your hair, indeed!  I have something better to do than that!' And
slamming the gate in the crone's face she went her way.  And she never
heard the words that followed her: 'You shall not have done this to me
for nothing!'

By-and-by the girl arrived at the farm, and she was engaged to look
after the cows and sift the corn as her stepsister had been.  But it
was only when someone was watching her that she did her work; at other
times the cow-house was dirty, and the cows ill-fed and beaten, so that
they kicked over the pail, and tried to butt her; and everyone said
they had never seen such thin cows or such poor milk.  As for the cats,
she chased them away, and ill-treated them, so that they had not even
the spirit to chase the rats and mice, which nowadays ran about
everywhere.  And when the sparrows came to beg for some corn, they
fared no better than the cows and the cats, for the girl threw her
shoes at them, till they flew in a fright to the woods, and took
shelter amongst the trees.

Months passed in this manner, when, one day, the mistress called the
girl to her.

'All that I have given you to do you have done ill,' said she, 'yet
will I give you another chance.  For though you cannot tend cows, or
divide the grain from the chaff, there may be other things that you can
do better.  Therefore take this sieve to the well, and fill it with
water, and see that you bring it back without spilling a drop.'

The girl took the sieve and carried it to the well as her sister had
done; but no little birds came to help her, and after dipping it in the
well two or three times she brought it back empty.

'I thought as much,' said the old woman angrily; 'she that is useless
in one thing is useless in another.'

Perhaps the mistress may have thought that the girl had learnt a
lesson, but, if she did, she was quite mistaken, as the work was no
better done than before.  By-and-by she sent for her again, and gave
her maid the black and white yarn to wash in the river; but there was
no one to tell her the secret by which the black would turn white, and
the white black; so she brought them back as they were.  This time the
old woman only looked at her grimly but the girl was too well pleased
with herself to care what anyone thought about her.

After some weeks her third trial came, and the yarn was given her to
spin, as it had been given to her stepsister before her.

But no procession of cats entered the room to weave a web of fine
cloth, and at sunset she only brought back to her mistress an armful of
dirty, tangled wool.

'There seems nothing in the world you can do,' said the old woman, and
left her to herself.

Soon after this the year was up, and the girl went to her mistress to
tell her that she wished to go home.

'Little desire have I to keep you,' answered the old woman, 'for no one
thing have you done as you ought.  Still, I will give you some payment,
therefore go up into the loft, and choose for yourself one of the
caskets that lies there.  But see that you do not open it till you
place it where you wish it to stay.'

This was what the girl had been hoping for, and so rejoiced was she,
that, without even stopping to thank the old woman, she ran as fast as
she could to the loft.  There were the caskets, blue and red, green and
yellow, silver and gold; and there in the corner stood a little black
casket just like the one her stepsister had brought home.

'If there are so many jewels in that little black thing, this big red
one will hold twice the number,' she said to herself; and snatching it
up she set off on her road home without even going to bid farewell to
her mistress.

'See, mother, see what I have brought!' cried she, as she entered the
cottage holding the casket in both hands.

'Ah! you have got something very different from that little black box,'
answered the old woman with delight.  But the girl was so busy finding
a place for it to stand that she took little notice of her mother.

'It will look best here--no, here,' she said, setting it first on one
piece of furniture and then on another.  'No, after all it is to fine
to live in a kitchen, let us place it in the guest chamber.'

So mother and daughter carried it proudly upstairs and put it on a
shelf over the fireplace; then, untying the key from the handle, they
opened the box.  As before, a bright light leapt out directly the lid
was raised, but it did not spring from the lustre of jewels, but from
hot flames, which darted along the walls and burnt up the cottage and
all that was in it and the mother and daughter as well.

As they had done when the stepdaughter came home, the neighbours all
hurried to see what was the matter; but they were too late.  Only the
hen-house was left standing; and, in spite of her riches, there the
stepdaughter lived happily to the end of her days.







           The Goldsmith's Fortune



Once upon a time there was a goldsmith who lived in a certain village
where the people were as bad and greedy, and covetous, as they could
possibly be; however, in spite of his surroundings, he was fat and
prosperous.  He had only one friend whom he liked, and that was a
cowherd, who looked after cattle for one of the farmers in the village.
 Every evening the goldsmith would walk across to the cowherd's house
and say: 'Come, let's go out for a walk!'

Now the cowherd didn't like walking in the evening, because, he said,
he had been out grazing the cattle all day, and was glad to sit down
when night came; but the goldsmith always worried him so that the poor
man had to go against his will.  This at last so annoyed him that he
tried to think how he could pick a quarrel with the goldsmith, so that
he should not beg him to walk with him any more.  He asked another
cowherd for advice, and he said the best thing he could do was to go
across and kill the goldsmith's wife, for then the goldsmith would be
sure to regard him as an enemy; so, being a foolish person, and there
being no laws in that country by which a man would be certainly
punished for such a crime, the cowherd one evening took a big stick and
went across to the goldsmith's house when only Mrs. Goldsmith was at
home, and banged her on the head so hard that she died then and there.

When the goldsmith came back and found his wife dead he said nothing,
but just took her outside into the dark lane and propped her up against
the wall of his house, and then went into the courtyard and waited.
Presently a rich stranger came along the lane, and seeing someone
there, as he supposed, he said:

'Good-evening, friend! a fine night to- night!'  But the goldsmith's
wife said nothing.  The man then repeated his words louder; but still
there was no reply.  A third time he shouted:

'Good-evening, friend! are you deaf?' but the figure never replied.
Then the stranger, being angry at what he thought very rude behaviour,
picked up a big stone and threw it at Mrs. Goldsmith, crying:

'Let that teach you manners!'

Instantly poor Mrs.  Goldsmith tumbled over; and the stranger,
horrified at seeing what he had done, was immediately seized by the
goldsmith, who ran out screaming:

'Wretch! you have killed my wife!  Oh, miserable one; we will have
justice done to thee!'

With many protestations and reproaches they wrangled together, the
stranger entreating the goldsmith to say nothing and he would pay him
handsomely to atone for the sad accident.  At last the goldsmith
quieted down, and agreed to accept one thousand gold pieces from the
stranger, who immediately helped him to bury his poor wife, and then
rushed off to the guest house, packed up his things and was off by
daylight, lest the goldsmith should repent and accuse him as the
murderer of his wife.  Now it very soon appeared that the goldsmith had
a lot of extra money, so that people began to ask questions, and
finally demanded of him the reason for his sudden wealth.

'Oh,' said he, 'my wife died, and I sold her.'

'You sold your dead wife?' cried the people.

'Yes,' said the goldsmith.

'For how much?'

'A thousand gold pieces,' replied the goldsmith.

Instantly the villagers went away and each caught hold of his own wife
and throttled her, and the next day they all went off to sell their
dead wives.  Many a weary mile did they tramp, but got nothing but hard
words or laughter, or directions to the nearest cemetery, from people
to whom they offered dead wives for sale.  At last they perceived that
they had been cheated somehow by that goldsmith.  So off they rushed
home, seized the unhappy man, and, without listening to his cries and
entreaties, hurried him down to the river bank and flung
him--plop!--into the deepest, weediest, and nastiest place they could
find.

'That will teach him to play tricks on us,' said they.  'For as he
can't swim he'll drown, and we sha'n't have any more trouble with him!'

Now the goldsmith really could not swim, and as soon as he was thrown
into the deep river he sank below the surface; so his enemies went away
believing that they had seen the last of him.  But, in reality, he was
carried down, half drowned, below the next bend in the river, where he
fortunately came across a 'snag' floating in the water (a snag is, you
know, a part of a tree or bush which floats very nearly under the
surface of the water); and he held on to this snag, and by great good
luck eventually came ashore some two or three miles down the river.  At
the place where he landed he came across a fine fat cow buffalo, and
immediately he jumped on her back and rode home.  When the village
people saw him, they ran out in surprise, and said:

'Where on earth do you come from, and where did you get that buffalo?'

'Ah!' said the goldsmith, 'you little know what delightful adventures I
have had!  Why, down in that place in the river where you threw me in I
found meadows, and trees, and fine pastures, and buffaloes, and all
kinds of cattle.  In fact, I could hardly tear myself away; but I
thought that I must really let you all know about it.'

'Oh, oh!' thought the greedy village people; 'if there are buffaloes to
be had for the taking we'll go after some too.'  Encouraged by the
goldsmith they nearly all ran off the very next morning to the river;
and, in order that they might get down quickly to the beautiful place
the goldsmith told them of, they tied great stones on to their feet and
their necks, and one after another they jumped into the water as fast
as the could, and were drowned.  And whenever any one of them waved his
hands about and struggled the goldsmith would cry out:

'Look! he's beckoning the rest of you to come; he's got a fine
buffalo!' And others who were doubtful would jump in, until not one was
left.  Then the cunning goldsmith went back and took all the village
for himself, and became very rich indeed.  But do you think he was
happy?  Not a bit.  Lies never made a man happy yet.  Truly, he got the
better of a set of wicked and greedy people, but only by being wicked
and greedy himself; and, as it turned out, when he got so rich he got
very fat; and at last was so fat that he couldn't move, and one day he
got the apoplexy and died, and no one in the world cared the least bit.





             The Enchanted Wreath



Once upon a time there lived near a forest a man and his wife and two
girls; one girl was the daughter of the man, and the other the daughter
of his wife; and the man's daughter was good and beautiful, but the
woman's daughter was cross and ugly.  However, her mother did not know
that, but thought her the most bewitching maiden that ever was seen.

One day the man called to his daughter and bade her come with him into
the forest to cut wood.  They worked hard all day, but in spite of the
chopping they were very cold, for it rained heavily, and when they
returned home, they were wet through.  Then, to his vexation, the man
found that he had left his axe behind him, and he knew that if it lay
all night in the mud it would become rusty and useless.  So he said to
his wife:

'I have dropped my axe in the forest, bid your daughter go and fetch
it, for mine has worked hard all day and is both wet and weary.'

But the wife answered:

'If your daughter is wet already, it is all the more reason that she
should go and get the axe.  Besides, she is a great strong girl, and a
little rain will not hurt her, while my daughter would be sure to catch
a bad cold.'

By long experience the man knew there was no good saying any more, and
with a sigh he told the poor girl she must return to the forest for the
axe.

The walk took some time, for it was very dark, and her shoes often
stuck in the mud, but she was brave as well as beautiful and never
thought of turning back merely because the path was both difficult and
unpleasant.  At last, with her dress torn by brambles that she could
not see, and her fact scratched by the twigs on the trees, she reached
the spot where she and her father had been cutting in the morning, and
found the axe in the place he had left it.  To her surprise, three
little doves were sitting on the handle, all of them looking very sad.

'You poor little things,' said the girl, stroking them.  'Why do you
sit there and get wet?  Go and fly home to your nest, it will be much
warmer than this; but first eat this bread, which I saved from my
dinner, and perhaps you will feel happier.  It is my father's axe you
are sitting on, and I must take it back as fast as I can, or I shall
get a terrible scolding from my stepmother.'  She then crumbled the
bread on the ground, and was pleased to see the doves flutter quite
cheerfully towards it.

'Good-bye,' she said, picking up the axe, and went her way homewards.

By the time they had finished all the crumbs the doves felt must
better, and were able to fly back to their nest in the top of a tree.

'That is a good girl,' said one; 'I really was too weak to stretch out
a wing before she came.  I should like to do something to show how
grateful I am.'

'Well, let us give her a wreath of flowers that will never fade as long
as she wears it,' cried another.

'And let the tiniest singing birds in the world sit amongst the
flowers,' rejoined the third.

'Yes, that will do beautifully,' said the first.  And when the girl
stepped into her cottage a wreath of rosebuds was on her head, and a
crowd of little birds were singing unseen.

The father, who was sitting by the fire, thought that, in spite of her
muddy clothes, he had never seen his daughter looking so lovely; but
the stepmother and the other girl grew wild with envy.

'How absurd to walk about on such a pouring night, dressed up like
that,' she remarked crossly, and roughly pulled off the wreath as she
spoke, to place it on her own daughter.  As she did so the roses became
withered and brown, and the birds flew out of the window.

'See what a trumpery thing it is!' cried the stepmother; 'and now take
your supper and go to bed, for it is near upon midnight.'

But though she pretended to despise the wreath, she longed none the
less for her daughter to have one like it.

Now it happened that the next evening the father, who had been alone in
the forest, came back a second time without his axe.  The stepmother's
heart was glad when she saw this, and she said quite mildly:

'Why, you have forgotten your axe again, you careless man!  But now
your daughter shall stay at home, and mine shall go and bring it back';
and throwing a cloak over the girl's shoulders, she bade her hasten to
the forest.

With a very ill grace the damsel set forth, grumbling to herself as she
went; for though she wished for the wreath, she did not at all want the
trouble of getting it.

By the time she reached the spot where her stepfather had been cutting
the wood the girl was in a very bad temper indeed, and when she caught
sight of the axe, there were the three little doves, with drooping
heads and soiled, bedraggled feathers, sitting on the handle.

'You dirty creatures,' cried she, 'get away at once, or I will throw
stones at you!   And the doves spread their wings in a fright and flew
up to the very top of a tree, their bodies shaking with anger.

'What shall we do to revenge ourselves on her?' asked the smallest of
the doves, 'we were never treated like that before.'

'Never,' said the biggest dove.  'We must find some way of paying her
back in her own coin!'

'I know,' answered the middle dove; 'she shall never be able to say
anything but "dirty creatures" to the end of her life.'

'Oh, how clever of you!  That will do beautifully,' exclaimed the other
two.  And they flapped their wings and clucked so loud with delight,
and made such a noise, that they woke up all the birds in the trees
close by.

'What in the world is the matter?' asked the birds sleepily.

'That is our secret,' said the doves.

Meanwhile the girl had reached home crosser than ever; but as soon as
her mother heard her lift the latch of the door she ran out to hear her
adventures.  'Well, did you get the wreath?' cried she.

'Dirty creatures!' answered her daughter.

'Don't speak to me like that!  What do you mean?' asked the mother
again.

'Dirty creatures!' repeated the daughter, and nothing else could she
say.

Then the woman saw that something evil had befallen her, and turned in
her rage to her stepdaughter.

'You are at the bottom of this, I know,' she cried; and as the father
was out of the way she took a stick and beat the girl till she screamed
with pain and went to bed sobbing.

If the poor girl's life had been miserable before, it was ten times
worse now, for the moment her father's back was turned the others
teased and tormented her from morning till night; and their fury was
increased by the sight of her wreath, which the doves had placed again
on her head.

Things went on like this for some weeks, when, one day, as the king's
son was riding through the forest, he heard some strange birds singing
more sweetly than birds had ever sung before.  He tied his horse to a
tree, and followed where the sound led him, and, to his surprise, he
saw before him a beautiful girl chopping wood, with a wreath of pink
rose-buds, out of which the singing came.  Standing in the shelter of a
tree, he watched her a long while, and then, hat in hand, he went up
and spoke to her.

'Fair maiden, who are you, and who gave you that wreath of singing
roses?' asked he, for the birds were so tiny that till you looked
closely you never saw them.

'I live in a hut on the edge of the forest,' she answered, blushing,
for she had never spoken to a prince before.  'As to the wreath, I know
not how it came there, unless it may be the gift of some doves whom I
fed when they were starving!   The prince was delighted with this
answer, which showed the goodness of the girl's heart, and besides he
had fallen in love with her beauty, and would not be content till she
promised to return with him to the palace, and become his bride.  The
old king was naturally disappointed at his son's choice of a wife, as
he wished him to marry a neighbouring princess; but as from his birth
the prince had always done exactly as he like, nothing was said and a
splendid wedding feast was got ready.

The day after her marriage the bride sent a messenger, bearing handsome
presents to her father, and telling him of the good fortune which had
befallen her.  As may be imagined, the stepmother and her daughter were
so filled with envy that they grew quite ill, and had to take to their
beds, and nobody would have been sorry it they had never got up again;
but that did not happen.  At length, however, they began to feel
better, for the mother invented a plan by which she could be revenged
on the girl who had never done her any harm.

Her plan was this.  In the town where she had lived before she was
married there was an old witch, who had more skill in magic that any
other witch she knew.  To this witch she would go and beg her to make
her a mask with the face of her stepdaughter, and when she had the mask
the rest would be easy.  She told her daughter what she meant to do,
and although the daughter could only say 'dirty creatures,' in answer,
she nodded and smiled and looked well pleased.

Everything fell out exactly as the woman had hoped.  By the aid of her
magic mirror the witch beheld the new princess walking in her gardens
in a dress of green silk, and in a few minutes had produced a mask so
like her, that very few people could have told the difference.
However, she counselled the woman that when her daughter first wore
it-- for that, of course, was what she intended her to do--she had
better pretend that she had a toothache, and cover her head with a lace
veil.  The woman thanked her and paid her well, and returned to her
hut, carrying the mask under her cloak.

In a few days she heard that a great hunt was planned, and the prince
would leave the palace very early in the morning, so that his wife
would be alone all day.  This was a chance not to be missed, and taking
her daughter with her she went up to the palace, where she had never
been before.  The princess was too happy in her new home to remember
all that she had suffered in the old one, and she welcomed them both
gladly, and gave them quantities of beautiful things to take back with
them.  At last she took them down to the shore to see a pleasure boat
which her husband had had made for her; and here, the woman seizing her
opportunity, stole softly behind the girl and pushed her off the rock
on which she was standing, into the deep water, where she instantly
sank to the bottom.  Then she fastened the mask on her daughter, flung
over her shoulders a velvet cloak, which the princess had let fall, and
finally arranged a lace veil over her head.

'Rest your cheek on your hand, as if you were in pain, when the prince
returns,' said the mother; 'and be careful not to speak, whatever you
do.  I will go back to the witch and see if she cannot take off the
spell laid on you by those horrible birds.  Ah! why did I not think of
it before!'

No sooner had the prince entered the palace than he hastened to the
princess's apartments, where he found her lying on the sofa apparently
in great pain.

'My dearest wife, what is the matter with you?' he cried, kneeling down
beside her, and trying to take her hand; but she snatched it away, and
pointing to her cheek murmured something he could not catch.

'What is it?  tell me!  Is the pain bad?  When did it begin?  Shall I
send for your ladies to bath the place?' asked the prince, pouring out
these and a dozen other questions, to which the girl only shook her
head.

'But I can't leave you like this,' he continued, starting up, 'I must
summon all the court physicians to apply soothing balsams to the sore
place!   And as he spoke he sprang to his feet to go in search of them.
 This so frightened the pretended wife, who knew that if the physicians
once came near her the trick would at once be discovered, that she
forgot her mother's counsel not to speak, and forgot even the spell
that had been laid upon her, and catching hold of the prince's tunic,
she cried in tones of entreaty: 'Dirty creatures!'

The young man stopped, not able to believe his ears, but supposed that
pain had made the princess cross, as it sometimes does.  However, he
guessed somehow that she wised to be left alone, so he only said:

'Well, I dare say a little sleep will do you good, if you can manage to
get it, and that you will wake up better to-morrow.'

Now, that night happened to be very hot and airless, and the prince,
after vainly trying to rest, at length got up and went to the window.
Suddenly he beheld in the moonlight a form with a wreath of roses on
her head rise out of the sea below him and step on to the sands,
holding out her arms as she did so towards the palace.

'That maiden is strangely like my wife,' thought he; 'I must see her
closer!   And he hastened down to the water.  But when he got there,
the princess, for she indeed it was, had disappeared completely, and he
began to wonder if his eyes had deceived him.

The next morning he went to the false bride's room, but her ladies told
him she would neither speak nor get up, though she ate everything they
set before her.  The prince was sorely perplexed as to what could be
the matter with her, for naturally he could not guess that she was
expecting her mother to return every moment, and to remove the spell
the doves had laid upon her, and meanwhile was afraid to speak lest she
should betray herself.  At length he made up his mind to summon all the
court physicians; he did not tell her what he was going to do, lest it
should make her worse, but he went himself and begged the four learned
leeches attached to the king's person to follow him to the princess's
apartments.  Unfortunately, as they entered, the princess was so
enraged at the sight of them that she forgot all about the doves, and
shrieked out: 'Dirty creatures! dirty creatures!' which so offended the
physicians that they left the room at once, and nothing that the prince
could say would prevail on them to remain.  He then tried to persuade
his wife to send them a message that she was sorry for her rudeness,
but not a word would she say.

Late that evening, when he had performed all the tiresome duties which
fall to the lot of every prince, the young man was leaning out of his
window, refreshing himself with the cool breezes that blew off the sea.
 His thoughts went back to the scene of the morning, and he wondered
if, after all, he had not made a great mistake in marrying a low-born
wife, however beautiful she might be.  How could he have imagined that
the quiet, gentle girl who had been so charming a companion to him
during the first days of their marriage, could have become in a day the
rude, sulky woman, who could not control her temper even to benefit
herself.  One thing was clear, if she did not change her conduct very
shortly he would have to send her away from court.

He was thinking these thoughts, when his eyes fell on the sea beneath
him, and there, as before, was the figure that so closely resembled his
wife, standing with her feet in the water, holding out her arms to him.

'Wait for me!  Wait for me!  Wait for me!' he cried; not even knowing
he was speaking.  But when he reached the shore there was nothing to be
seen but the shadows cast by the moonlight.

A state ceremonial in a city some distance off caused the prince to
ride away at daybreak, and he left without seeing his wife again.

'Perhaps she may have come to her senses by to-morrow,' said he to
himself; 'and, anyhow, if I am going to send her back to her father, it
might be better if we did not meet in the meantime!  Then he put the
matter from his mind, and kept his thoughts on the duty that lay before
him.

It was nearly midnight before he returned to the palace, but, instead
of entering, he went down to the shore and hid behind a rock.  He had
scarcely done so when the girl came out of the sea, and stretched out
her arms towards his window.  In an instant the prince had seized her
hand, and though she made a frightened struggle to reach the water--for
she in her turn had had a spell laid upon her--he held her fast.

'You are my own wife, and I shall never let you go,' he said.  But the
words were hardly out of his mouth when he found that it was a hare
that he was holding by the paw.  Then the hare changed into a fish, and
the fish into a bird, and the bird into a slimy wriggling snake.  This
time the prince's hand nearly opened of itself, but with a strong
effort he kept his fingers shut, and drawing his sword cut off its
head, when the spell was broken, and the girl stood before him as he
had seen her first, the wreath upon her head and the birds singing for
joy.

The very next morning the stepmother arrived at the palace with an
ointment that the old witch had given her to place upon her daughter's
tongue, which would break the dove's spell, if the rightful bride had
really been drowned in the sea; if not, then it would be useless.  The
mother assured her that she had seen her stepdaughter sink, and that
there was no fear that she would ever come up again; but, to make all
quite safe, the old woman might bewitch the girl; and so she did.
After that the wicked stepmother travelled all through the night to get
to the palace as soon as possible, and made her way straight into her
daughter's room.

'I have got it!  I have got it!' she cried triumphantly, and laid the
ointment on her daughter's tongue.

'Now what do you say?' she asked proudly.

'Dirty creatures! dirty creatures!' answered the daughter; and the
mother wrung her hands and wept, as she knew that all her plans had
failed.

At this moment the prince entered with his real wife.  'You both
deserved death,' he said, 'and if it were left to me, you should have
it.  But the princess has begged me to spare your lives, so you will be
put into a ship and carried off to a desert island, where you will stay
till you die.'

Then the ship was made ready and the wicked woman and her daughter were
placed in it, and it sailed away, and no more was heard of them.  But
the prince and his wife lived together long and happily, and ruled
their people well.





              The Foolish Weaver



Once a weaver, who was in want of work, took service with a certain
farmer as a shepherd.

The farmer, knowing that the man was very slow-witted, gave him most
careful instructions as to everything that he was to do.

Finally he said: 'If a wolf or any wild animal attempts to hurt the
flock you should pick up a big stone like this' (suiting the action to
the word) 'and throw a few such at him, and he will be afraid and go
away.'  The weaver said that he understood, and started with the flocks
to the hillsides where they grazed all day.

By chance in the afternoon a leopard appeared, and the weaver instantly
ran home as fast as he could to get the stones which the farmer had
shown him, to throw at the creature.  When he came back all the flock
were scattered or killed, and when the farmer heard the tale he beat
him soundly.  'Were there no stones on the hillside that you should run
back to get them, you senseless one?' he cried; 'you are not fit to
herd sheep.  To-day you shall stay at home and mind my old mother who
is sick, perhaps you will be able to drive flies off her face, if you
can't drive beasts away from sheep!'

So, the next day, the weaver was left at home to take care of the
farmer's old sick mother.  Now as she lay outside on a bed, it turned
out that the flies became very troublesome, and the weaver looked round
for something to drive them away with; and as he had been told to pick
up the nearest stone to drive the beasts away from the flock, he
thought he would this time show how cleverly he could obey orders.
Accordingly he seized the nearest stone, which was a big, heavy one,
and dashed it at the flies; but, unhappily, he slew the poor old woman
also; and then, being afraid of the wrath of the farmer, he fled and
was not seen again in that neighbourhood.

All that day and all the next night he walked, and at length he came to
a village where a great many weavers lived together.

'You are welcome,' said they.  'Eat and sleep, for to-morrow six of us
start in search of fresh wool to weave, and we pray you to give us your
company.'

'Willingly,' answered the weaver.  So the next morning the seven
weavers set out to go to the village where they could buy what they
wanted.  On the way they had to cross a ravine which lately had been
full of water, but now was quite dry.  The weavers, however, were
accustomed to swim over this ravine; therefore, regardless of the fact
that this time it was dry, they stripped, and, tying their clothes on
their heads, they proceeded to swim across the dry sand and rocks that
formed the bed of the ravine.  Thus they got to the other side without
further damage than bruised knees and elbows, and as soon as they were
over, one of them began to count the party to make sure that all were
safe there.  He counted all except himself, and then cried out that
somebody was missing!  This set each of them counting; but each made
the same mistake of counting all except himself, so that they became
certain that one of their party was missing!  They ran up and down the
bank of the ravine wringing their hands in great distress and looking
for signs of their lost comrade.  There a farmer found them and asked
what was the matter.  'Alas!' said one, 'seven of us started from the
other bank and one must have been drowned on the crossing, as we can
only find six remaining!' The farmer eyed them a minute, and then,
picking up his stick, he dealt each a sounding blow, counting, as he
did so, 'One! two! three!' and so on up to the seven.  When the weavers
found that there were seven of them they were overcome with gratitude
to one whom they took for a magician as he could thus make seven out of
an obvious six.







               The Clever Cat



Once upon a time there lived an old man who dwelt with his son in a
small hut on the edge of the plain.  He was very old, and had worked
very hard, and when at last he was struck down by illness he felt that
he should never rise from his bed again.

So, one day, he bade his wife summon their son, when he came back from
his journey to the nearest town, where he had been to buy bread.

'Come hither, my son,' said he; 'I know myself well to be dying, and I
have nothing to leave you but my falcon, my cat and my greyhound; but
if you make good use of them you will never lack food.  Be good to your
mother, as you have been to me.  And now farewell!'

Then he turned his face to the wall and died.

There was great mourning in the hut for many days, but at length the
son rose up, and calling to his greyhound, his cat and his falcon, he
left the house saying that he would bring back something for dinner.
Wandering over the plain, he noticed a troop of gazelles, and pointed
to his greyhound to give chase.  The dog soon brought down a fine fat
beast, and slinging it over his shoulders, the young man turned
homewards.  On the way, however, he passed a pond, and as he approached
a cloud of birds flew into the air.  Shaking his wrist, the falcon
seated on it darted into the air, and swooped down upon the quarry he
had marked, which fell dead to the ground.  The young man picked it up,
and put it in his pouch and then went towards home again.

Near the hut was a small barn in which he kept the produce of the
little patch of corn, which grew close to the garden.  Here a rat ran
out almost under his feet, followed by another and another; but quick
as thought the cat was upon them and not one escaped her.

When all the rats were killed, the young man left the barn.  He took
the path leading to the door of the hut, but stopped on feeling a hand
laid on his shoulder.

'Young man,' said the ogre (for such was the stranger), 'you have been
a good son, and you deserve the piece of luck which has befallen you
this day.  Come with me to that shining lake yonder, and fear nothing.'

Wondering a little at what might be going to happen to him, the youth
did as the ogre bade him, and when they reached the shore of the lake,
the ogre turned and said to him:

'Step into the water and shut your eyes!  You will find yourself
sinking slowly to the bottom; but take courage, all will go well.  Only
bring up as much silver as you can carry, and we will divide it between
us.'

So the young man stepped bravely into the lake, and felt himself
sinking, sinking, till he reached firm ground at last.  In front of him
lay four heaps of silver, and in the midst of them a curious white
shining stone, marked over with strange characters, such as he had
never seen before.  He picked it up in order to examine it more
closely, and as he held it the stone spoke.

'As long as you hold me, all your wishes will come true,' it said.
'But hide me in your turban, and then call to the ogre that you are
ready to come up.'

In a few minutes the young man stood again by the shores of the lake.

'Well, where is the silver?' asked the ogre, who was awaiting him.

'Ah, my father, how can I tell you!  So bewildered was I, and so
dazzled with the splendours of everything I saw, that I stood like a
statue, unable to move.  Then hearing steps approaching I got
frightened, and called to you, as you know.'

'You are no better than the rest,' cried the ogre, and turned away in a
rage.

When he was out of sight the young man took the stone from his turban
and looked at it.  'I want the finest camel that can be found, and the
most splendid garments,' said he.

'Shut your eyes then,' replied the stone.  And he shut them; and when
he opened them again the camel that he had wished for was standing
before him, while the festal robes of a desert prince hung from his
shoulders.  Mounting the camel, he whistled the falcon to his wrist,
and, followed by his greyhound and his cat, he started homewards.

His mother was sewing at her door when this magnificent stranger rode
up, and, filled with surprise, she bowed low before him.

'Don't you know me, mother?' he said with a laugh.  And on hearing his
voice the good woman nearly fell to the ground with astonishment.

'How have you got that camel and those clothes?' asked she.  'Can a son
of mine have committed murder in order to possess them?'

'Do not be afraid; they are quite honestly come by,' answered the
youth.  'I will explain all by-and-by; but now you must go to the
palace and tell the king I wish to marry his daughter.'

At these words the mother thought her son had certainly gone mad, and
stared blankly at him.  The young man guessed what was in her heart,
and replied with a smile:

'Fear nothing.  Promise all that he asks; it will be fulfilled somehow.'

So she went to the palace, where she found the king sitting in the Hall
of Justice listening to the petitions of his people.  The woman waited
until all had been heard and the hall was empty, and then went up and
knelt before the throne.

'My son has sent me to ask for the hand of the princess,' said she.

The king looked at her and thought that she was mad; but, instead of
ordering his guards to turn her out, he answered gravely:

'Before he can marry the princess he must build me a palace of ice,
which can be warmed with fires, and wherein the rarest singing- birds
can live!'

'It shall be done, your Majesty,' said she, and got up and left the
hall.

Her son was anxiously awaiting her outside the palace gates, dressed in
the clothes that he wore every day.

'Well, what have I got to do?' he asked impatiently, drawing his mother
aside so that no one could overhear them.

'Oh, something quite impossible; and I hope you will put the princess
out of your head,' she replied.

'Well, but what is it?' persisted he.

'Nothing but to build a palace of ice wherein fires can burn that shall
keep it so warm that the most delicate singing-birds can live in it!'

'I thought it would be something much harder than that,' exclaimed the
young man.  'I will see about it at once.'  And leaving his mother, he
went into the country and took the stone from his turban.

'I want a palace of ice that can be warmed with fires and filled with
the rarest singing-birds!'

'Shut your eyes, then,' said the stone; and he shut them, and when he
opened them again there was the palace, more beautiful than anything he
could have imagined, the fires throwing a soft pink glow over the ice.

'It is fit even for the princess,' thought he to himself.

As soon as the king awoke next morning he ran to the window, and there
across the plain he beheld the palace.

'That young man must be a great wizard; he may be useful to me.'  And
when the mother came again to tell him that his orders had been
fulfilled he received her with great honour, and bade her tell her son
that the wedding was fixed for the following day.

The princess was delighted with her new home, and with her husband
also; and several days slipped happily by, spent in turning over all
the beautiful things that the palace contained.  But at length the
young man grew tired of always staying inside walls, and he told his
wife that the next day he must leave her for a few hours, and go out
hunting.  'You will not mind?' he asked.  And she answered as became a
good wife:

'Yes, of course I shall mind; but I will spend the day in planning out
some new dresses; and then it will be so delightful when you come back,
you know!'

So the husband went off to hunt, with the falcon on his wrist, and the
greyhound and the cat behind him--for the palace was so warm that even
the cat did not mind living in it.

No sooner had he gone, than the ogre who had been watching his chance
for many days, knocked at the door of the palace.

'I have just returned from a far country,' he said, 'and I have some of
the largest and most brilliant stones in the world with me.  The
princess is known to love beautiful things, perhaps she might like to
buy some?'

Now the princess had been wondering for many days what trimming she
should put on her dresses, so that they should outshine the dresses of
the other ladies at the court balls.  Nothing that she thought of
seemed good enough, so, when the message was brought that the ogre and
his wares were below, she at once ordered that he should be brought to
her chamber.

Oh! what beautiful stones he laid before her; what lovely rubies, and
what rare pearls!  No other lady would have jewels like those--of that
the princess was quite sure; but she cast down her eyes so that the
ogre might not see how much she longed for them.

'I fear they are too costly for me,' she said carelessly; 'and besides,
I have hardly need of any more jewels just now.'

'I have no particular wish to sell them myself,' answered the ogre,
with equal indifference.  'But I have a necklace of shining stones
which was left me by father, and one, the largest engraven with weird
characters, is missing.  I have heard that it is in your husband's
possession, and if you can get me that stone you shall have any of
these jewels that you choose.  But you will have to pretend that you
want it for yourself; and, above all, do not mention me, for he sets
great store by it, and would never part with it to a stranger!
To-morrow I will return with some jewels yet finer than those I have
with me to-day.  So, madam, farewell!'

Left alone, the princess began to think of many things, but chiefly as
to whether she would persuade her husband to give her the stone or not.
 At one moment she felt he had already bestowed so much upon her that
it was a shame to ask for the only object he had kept back.  No, it
would be mean; she could not do it!  But then, those diamonds, and
those string of pearls!  After all, they had only been married a week,
and the pleasure of giving it to her ought to be far greater than the
pleasure of keeping it for himself.  And she was sure it would be!

Well, that evening, when the young man had supped off his favourite
dishes which the princess took care to have specially prepared for him,
she sat down close beside him, and began stroking his head.  For some
time she did not speak, but listened attentively to all the adventures
that had befallen him that day.

'But I was thinking of you all the time,' said he at the end, 'and
wishing that I could bring you back something you would like.  But,
alas! what is there that you do not possess already?'

'How good of you not to forget me when you are in the midst of such
dangers and hardships,' answered she.  'Yes, it is true I have many
beautiful things; but if you want to give me a present--and to-morrow
is my birthday--there IS one thing that I wish for very much.'

'And what is that?  Of course you shall have it directly!' he asked
eagerly.

'It is that bright stone which fell out of the folds of your turban a
few days ago,' she answered, playing with his finger; 'the little stone
with all those funny marks upon it.  I never saw any stone like it
before.'

The young man did not answer at first; then he said, slowly:

'I have promised, and therefore I must perform.  But will you swear
never to part from it, and to keep it safely about you always?  More I
cannot tell you, but I beg you earnestly to take heed to this.'

The princess was a little startled by his manner, and began to be sorry
that she had every listened to the ogre.  But she did not like to draw
back, and pretended to be immensely delighted at her new toy, and
kissed and thanked her husband for it.

'After all I needn't give it to the ogre,' thought she as she dropped
off to sleep.

Unluckily the next morning the young man went hunting again, and the
ogre, who was watching, knew this, and did not come till much later
than before.  At the moment that he knocked at the door of the palace
the princess had tired of all her employments, and her attendants were
at their wits' end how to amuse her, when a tall negro dressed in
scarlet came to announce that the ogre was below, and desired to know
if the princess would speak to him.

'Bring him hither at once!' cried she, springing up from her cushions,
and forgetting all her resolves of the previous night.  In another
moment she was bending with rapture over the glittering gems.

'Have you got it?' asked the ogre in a whisper, for the princess's
ladies were standing as near as they dared to catch a glimpse of the
beautiful jewels.

'Yes, here,' she answered, slipping the stone from her sash and placing
it among the rest.  Then she raised her voice, and began to talk
quickly of the prices of the chains and necklaces, and after some
bargaining, to deceive the attendants, she declared that she liked one
string of pearls better than all the rest, and that the ogre might take
away the other things, which were not half as valuable as he supposed.

'As you please, madam,' said he, bowing himself out of the palace.

Soon after he had gone a curious thing happened.  The princess
carelessly touched the wall of her room, which was wont to reflect the
warm red light of the fire on the hearth, and found her hand quite wet.
 She turned round, and--was it her fancy? or did the fire burn more
dimly than before?  Hurriedly she passed into the picture gallery,
where pools of water showed here and there on the floor, and a cold
chill ran through her whole body.  At that instant her frightened
ladies came running down the stairs, crying:

'Madam! madam! what has happened?  The palace is disappearing under our
eyes!'

'My husband will be home very soon,' answered the princess--who, though
nearly as much frightened as her ladies, felt that she must set them a
good example.  'Wait till then, and he will tell us what to do.'

So they waited, seated on the highest chairs they could find, wrapped
in their warmest garments, and with piles of cushions under their feet,
while the poor birds flew with numbed wings hither and thither, till
they were so lucky as to discover an open window in some forgotten
corner.  Through this they vanished, and were seen no more.

At last, when the princess and her ladies had been forced to leave the
upper rooms, where the walls and floors had melted away, and to take
refuge in the hall, the young man came home.  He had ridden back along
a winding road from which he did not see the palace till he was close
upon it, and stood horrified at the spectacle before him.  He knew in
an instant that his wife must have betrayed his trust, but he would not
reproach her, as she must be suffering enough already.  Hurrying on he
sprang over all that was left of the palace walls, and the princess
gave a cry of relief at the sight of him.

'Come quickly,' he said, 'or you will be frozen to death!'  And a
dreary little procession set out for the king's palace, the greyhound
and the cat bringing up the rear.

At the gates he left them, though his wife besought him to allow her to
enter.

'You have betrayed me and ruined me,' he said sternly; 'I go to seek my
fortune alone.'  And without another word he turned and left her.

With his falcon on his wrist, and his greyhound and cat behind him, the
young man walked a long way, inquiring of everyone he met whether they
had seen his enemy the ogre.  But nobody had.  Then he bade his falcon
fly up into the sky--up, up, and up--and try if his sharp eyes could
discover the old thief.  The bird had to go so high that he did not
return for some hours; but he told his master that the ogre was lying
asleep in a splendid palace in a far country on the shores of the sea.
This was delightful news to the young man, who instantly bought some
meat for the falcon, bidding him make a good meal.

'To-morrow,' said he, 'you will fly to the palace where the ogre lies,
and while he is asleep you will search all about him for a stone on
which is engraved strange signs; this you will bring to me.  In three
days I shall expect you back here.'

'Well, I must take the cat with me,' answered the bird.

The sun had not yet risen before the falcon soared high into the air,
the cat seated on his back, with his paws tightly clasping the bird's
neck.

'You had better shut your eyes or you may get giddy,' said the bird;
and the cat, you had never before been off the ground except to climb a
tree, did as she was bid.

All that day and all that night they flew, and in the morning they saw
the ogre's palace lying beneath them.

'Dear me,' said the cat, opening her eyes for the first time, 'that
looks to me very like a rat city down there, let us go down to it; they
may be able to help us.'  So they alighted in some bushes in the heart
of the rat city.  The falcon remained where he was, but the cat lay
down outside the principal gate, causing terrible excitement among the
rats.

At length, seeing she did not move, one bolder than the rest put its
head out of an upper window of the castle, and said, in a trembling
voice:

'Why have you come here?  What do you want?  If it is anything in our
power, tell us, and we will do it.'

'If you would have let me speak to you before, I would have told you
that I come as a friend,' replied the cat; 'and I shall be greatly
obliged if you would send four of the strongest and cunningest among
you, to do me a service.'

'Oh, we shall be delighted,' answered the rat, much relieved.  'But if
you will inform me what it is you wish them to do I shall be better
able to judge who is most fitted for the post.'

'I thank you,' said the cat.  'Well, what they have to do is this:
To-night they must burrow under the walls of the castle and go up to
the room were an ogre lies asleep.  Somewhere about him he has hidden a
stone, on which are engraved strange signs.  When they have found it
they must take it from him without his waking, and bring it to me.'

'Your orders shall be obeyed,' replied the rat.  And he went out to
give his instructions.

About midnight the cat, who was still sleeping before the gate, was
awakened by some water flung at her by the head rat, who could not make
up his mind to open the doors.

'Here is the stone you wanted,' said he, when the cat started up with a
loud mew; 'if you will hold up your paws I will drop it down.'  And so
he did.  'And now farewell,' continued the rat; 'you have a long way to
go, and will do well to start before daybreak.'

'Your counsel is good,' replied the cat, smiling to itself; and putting
the stone in her mouth she went off to seek the falcon.

Now all this time neither the cat nor the falcon had had any food, and
the falcon soon got tired carrying such a heavy burden.  When night
arrived he declared he could go no further, but would spend it on the
banks of a river.

'And it is my turn to take care of the stone,' said he, 'or it will
seem as if you had done everything and I nothing.'

'No, I got it, and I will keep it,' answered the cat, who was tired and
cross; and they began a fine quarrel.  But, unluckily, in the midst of
it, the cat raised her voice, and the stone fell into the ear of a big
fish which happened to be swimming by, and though both the cat and the
falcon sprang into the water after it, they were too late.

Half drowned, and more than half choked, the two faithful servants
scrambled back to land again.  The falcon flew to a tree and spread his
wings in the sun to dry, but the cat, after giving herself a good
shake, began to scratch up the sandy banks and to throw the bits into
the stream.

'What are you doing that for?' asked a little fish.  'Do you know that
you are making the water quite muddy?'

'That doesn't matter at all to me,' answered the cat.  'I am going to
fill up all the river, so that the fishes may die.'

'That is very unkind, as we have never done you any harm,' replied the
fish.  'Why are you so angry with us?'

'Because one of you has got a stone of mine-- a stone with strange
signs upon it--which dropped into the water.  If you will promise to
get it back for me, why, perhaps I will leave your river alone.'

'I will certainly try,' answered the fish in a great hurry; 'but you
must have a little patience, as it may not be an easy task.'  And in an
instant his scales might be seen flashing quickly along.

The fish swam as fast as he could to the sea, which was not far
distant, and calling together all his relations who lived in the
neighbourhood, he told them of the terrible danger which threatened the
dwellers in the river.

'None of us has got it,' said the fishes, shaking their heads; 'but in
the bay yonder there is a tunny who, although he is so old, always goes
everywhere.  He will be able to tell you about it, if anyone can.'  So
the little fish swam off to the tunny, and again related his story.

'Why I was up that river only a few hours ago!' cried the tunny; 'and
as I was coming back something fell into my ear, and there it is still,
for I went to sleep, when I got home and forgot all about it.  Perhaps
it may be what you want.'  And stretching up his tail he whisked out
the stone.

'Yes, I think that must be it,' said the fish with joy.  And taking the
stone in his mouth he carried it to the place where the cat was waiting
for him.

'I am much obliged to you,' said the cat, as the fish laid the stone on
the sand, 'and to reward you, I will let your river alone.'  And she
mounted the falcon's back, and they flew to their master.

Ah, how glad he was to see them again with the magic stone in their
possession.  In a moment he had wished for a palace, but this time it
was of green marble; and then he wished for the princess and her ladies
to occupy it.  And there they lived for many years, and when the old
king died the princess's husband reigned in his stead.





              The Story of Manus



Far away over the sea of the West there reigned a king who had two
sons; and the name of the one was Oireal, and the name of the other was
Iarlaid.  When the boys were still children, their father and mother
died, and a great council was held, and a man was chosen from among
them who would rule the kingdom till the boys were old enough to rule
it themselves.

The years passed on, and by-and-by another council was held, and it was
agreed that the king's sons were now of an age to take the power which
rightly belonged to them.  So the youths were bidden to appear before
the council, and Oireal the elder was smaller and weaker than his
brother.

'I like not to leave the deer on the hill and the fish in the rivers,
and sit in judgment on my people,' said Oireal, when he had listened to
the words of the chief of the council.  And the chief waxed angry, and
answered quickly:

'Not one clod of earth shall ever be yours if this day you do not take
on yourself the vows that were taken by the king your father.'

Then spake Iarlaid, the younger, and he said: 'Let one half be yours,
and the other give to me; then you will have fewer people to rule over.'

'Yes, I will do that,' answered Oireal.

After this, one half of the men of the land of Lochlann did homage to
Oireal, and the other half to Iarlaid.  And they governed their
kingdoms as they would, and in a few years they became grown men with
beards on their chins; and Iarlaid married the daughter of the king of
Greece, and Oireal the daughter of the king of Orkney.  The next year
sons were born to Oireal and Iarlaid; and the son of Oireal was big and
strong, but the son of Iarlaid was little and weak, and each had six
foster brothers who went everywhere with the princes.

One day Manus, son of Oireal, and his cousin, the son of Iarlaid,
called to their foster brothers, and bade them come and play a game at
shinny in the great field near the school where they were taught all
that princes and nobles should know.  Long they played, and swiftly did
the ball pass from one to another, when Manus drove the ball at his
cousin, the son of Iarlaid.  The boy, who was not used to be roughly
handled, even in jest, cried out that he was sorely hurt, and went home
with his foster brothers and told his tale to his mother.  The wife of
Iarlaid grew white and angry as she listened, and thrusting her son
aside, sought the council hall where Iarlaid was sitting.

'Manus has driven a ball at my son, and fain would have slain him,'
said she.  'Let an end be put to him and his ill deeds.'

But Iarlaid answered:

'Nay, I will not slay the son of my brother.'

'And he shall not slay my son,' said the queen.  And calling to her
chamberlain she ordered him to lead the prince to the four brown
boundaries of the world, and to leave him there with a wise man, who
would care for him, and let no harm befall him.  And the wise man set
the boy on the top of a hill where the sun always shone, and he could
see every man, but no man could see him.

Then she summoned Manus to the castle, and for a whole year she kept
him fast, and his own mother could not get speech of him.  But in the
end, when the wife of Oireal fell sick, Manus fled from the tower which
was his prison, and stole back to his on home.

For a few years he stayed there in peace, and then the wife of Iarlaid
his uncle sent for him.

'It is time that you were married,' she said, when she saw that Manus
had grown tall and strong like unto Iarlaid.  'Tall and strong you are,
and comely of face.  I know a bride that will suit you well, and that
is the daughter of the mighty earl of Finghaidh, that does homage for
his lands to me.  I myself will go with a great following to his house,
and you shall go with me.'

Thus it was done; and though the earl's wife was eager to keep her
daughter with her yet a while, she was fain to yield, as the wife of
Iarlaid vowed that not a rood of land should the earl have, unless he
did her bidding.  But if he would give his daughter to Manus, she would
bestow on him the third part of her own kingdom, with much treasure
beside.  This she did, not from love to Manus, but because she wished
to destroy him.  So they were married, and rode back with the wife of
Iarlaid to her own palace.  And that night, while he was sleeping,
there came a wise man, who was his father's friend, and awoke him
saying: 'Danger lies very close to you, Manus, son of Oireal.  You hold
yourself favoured because you have as a bride the daughter of a mighty
earl; but do you know what bride the wife of Iarlaid sought for her own
son?  It was no worldly wife she found for him, but the swift March
wind, and never can you prevail against her.'

'Is it thus?' answered Manu.  And at the first streak of dawn he went
to the chamber where the queen lay in the midst of her maidens.

'I have come,' he said, 'for the third part of the kingdom, and for the
treasure which you promised me.'  But the wife of Iarlaid laughed as
she heard him.

'Not a clod shall you have here,' spake she.  'You must go to the Old
Bergen for that.  Mayhap under its stones and rough mountains you may
find a treasure!'

'Then give me your son's six foster brothers as well as my own,'
answered he.  And the queen gave them to him, and they set out for Old
Bergen.

A year passed by, and found them still in that wild land, hunting the
reindeer, and digging pits for the mountain sheep to fall into.  For a
time Manus and his companions lived merrily, but at length Manus grew
weary of the strange country, and they all took ship for the land of
Lochlann.  The wind was fierce and cold, and long was the voyage; but,
one spring day, they sailed into the harbour that lay beneath the
castle of Iarlaid.  The queen looked from her window and beheld him
mounting the hill, with the twelve foster brothers behind him.  Then
she said to her husband: 'Manus has returned with his twelve foster
brothers.  Would that I could put an end to him and his murdering and
his slaying.'

'That were a great pity,' answered Iarlaid.  'And it is not I that will
do it.'

'If you will not do it I will,' said she.  And she called the twelve
foster brothers and made them vow fealty to herself.  So Manus was left
with no man, and sorrowful was he when he returned alone to Old Bergen.
 It was late when his foot touched the shore, and took the path towards
the forest.  On his way there met him a man in a red tunic.

'Is it you, Manus, come back again?' asked he.

'It is I,' answered Manus; 'alone have I returned from the land of
Lochlann.'

The man eyed him silently for a moment, and then he said:

'I dreamed that you were girt with a sword and became king of
Lochlann.'  But Manus answered:

'I have no sword and my bow is broken.'

'I will give you a new sword if you will make me a promise,' said the
man once more.

'To be sure I will make it, if ever I am king,' answered Manus.  'But
speak, and tell me what promise I am to make.'

'I was your grandfather's armourer,' replied the man, 'and I wish to be
your armourer also.'

'That I will promise readily,' said Manus; and followed the man into
his house, which was at a little distance.  But the house was not like
other houses, for the walls of every room were hung so thick with arms
that you could not see the boards.

'Choose what you will,' said the man; and Manus unhooked a sword and
tried it across his knee, and it broke, and so did the next, and the
next.

'Leave off breaking the swords,' cried the man, 'and look at this old
sword and helmet and tunic that I wore in the wars of your grandfather.
 Perhaps you may find them of stouter steel.'  And Manus bent the sword
thrice across his knee but he could not break it.  So he girded it to
his side, and put on the old helmet.  As he fastened the strap his eye
fell on a cloth flapping outside the window.

'What cloth is that?' asked he.

'It is a cloth that was woven by the Little People of the forest,' said
the man; 'and when you are hungry it will give you food and drink, and
if you meet a foe, he will not hurt you, but will stoop and kiss the
back of your hand in token of submission.  Take it, and use it well.'
Manus gladly wrapped the shawl round his arm, and was leaving the
house, when he heard the rattling of a chain blown by the wind.

'What chain is that?' asked he.

'The creature who has that chain round his neck, need not fear a
hundred enemies,' answered the armourer.  And Manus wound it round him
and passed on into the forest.

Suddenly there sprang out from the bushes two lions, and a lion cub
with them.  The fierce beasts bounded towards him, roaring loudly, and
would fain have eaten him, but quickly Manus stooped and spread the
cloth upon the ground.  At that the lions stopped, and bowing their
great heads, kissed the back of his wrist and went their ways.  But the
cub rolled itself up in the cloth; so Manus picked them both up, and
carried them with him to Old Bergen.

Another year went by, and then he took the lion cub and set forth to
the land of Lochlann.  And the wife of Iarlaid came to meet him, and a
brown dog, small but full of courage, came with her.  When the dog
beheld the lion cub he rushed towards him, thinking to eat him; but the
cub caught the dog by the neck, and shook him, and he was dead.  And
the wife of Iarlaid mourned him sore, and her wrath was kindled, and
many times she tried to slay Manus and his cub, but she could not.  And
at last they two went back to Old Bergen, and the twelve foster
brothers went also.

'Let them go,' said the wife of Iarlaid, when she heard of it.  'My
brother the Red Gruagach will take the head off Manus as well in Old
Bergen as elsewhere.'

Now these words were carried by a messenger to the wife of Oireal, and
she made haste and sent a ship to Old Bergen to bear away her son
before the Red Gruagach should take the head off him.  And in the ship
was a pilot.  But the wife of Iarlaid made a thick fog to cover the
face of the sea, and the rowers could not row, lest they should drive
the ship on to a rock.  And when night came, the lion cub, whose eyes
were bright and keen, stole up to Manus, and Manus got on his back, and
the lion cub sprang ashore and bade Manus rest on the rock and wait for
him.  So Manus slept, and by-and-by a voice sounded in his ears,
saying: 'Arise!' And he saw a ship in the water beneath him, and in the
ship sat the lion cup in the shape of the pilot.

Then they sailed away through the fog, and none saw them; and they
reached the land of Lochlann, and the lion cub with the chain round his
neck sprang from the ship and Manus followed after.  And the lion cub
killed all the men that guarded the castle, and Iarlaid and his wife
also, so that, in the end, Manus son of Oireal was crowned king of
Lochlann.





               Pinkel the Thief



Long, long ago there lived a widow who had three sons.  The two eldest
were grown up, and though they were known to be idle fellows, some of
the neighbours had given them work to do on account of the respect in
which their mother was held.  But at the time this story begins they
had both been so careless and idle that their masters declared they
would keep them no longer.

So home they went to their mother and youngest brother, of whom they
thought little, because he made himself useful about the house, and
looked after the hens, and milked the cow.  'Pinkel,' they called him
in scorn, and by-and-by 'Pinkel' became his name throughout the village.

The two young men thought it was much nicer to live at home and be idle
than to be obliged to do a quantity of disagreeable things they did not
like, and they would have stayed by the fire till the end of their
lives had not the widow lost patience with them and said that since
they would not look for work at home they must seek it elsewhere, for
she would not have them under her roof any longer.  But she repented
bitterly of her words when Pinkel told her that he too was old enough
to go out into the world, and that when he had made a fortune he would
send for his mother to keep house for him.

The widow wept many tears at parting from her youngest son, but as she
saw that his heart was set upon going with his brothers, she did not
try to keep him.  So the young men started off one morning in high
spirits, never doubting that work such as they might be willing to do
would be had for the asking, as soon as their little store of money was
spent.

But a very few days of wandering opened their eyes.  Nobody seemed to
want them, or, if they did, the young men declared that they were not
able to undertake all that the farmers or millers or woodcutters
required of them.  The youngest brother, who was wiser, would gladly
have done some of the work that the others refused, but he was small
and slight, and no one thought of offering him any.  Therefore they
went from one place to another, living only on the fruit and nuts they
could find in the woods, and getting hungrier every day.

One night, after they had been walking for many hours and were very
tired, they came to a large lake with an island in the middle of it.
From the island streamed a strong light, by which they could see
everything almost as clearly as if the sun had been shining, and they
perceived that, lying half hidden in the rushes, was a boat.

'Let us take it and row over to the island, where there must be a
house,' said the eldest brother; 'and perhaps they will give us food
and shelter.'  And they all got in and rowed across in the direction of
the light.  As they drew near the island they saw that it came from a
golden lantern hanging over the door of a hut, while sweet tinkling
music proceeded from some bells attached to the golden horns of a goat
which was feeding near the cottage.  The young men's hearts rejoiced as
they thought that at last they would be able to rest their weary limbs,
and they entered the hut, but were amazed to see an ugly old woman
inside, wrapped in a cloak of gold which lighted up the whole house.
They looked at each other uneasily as she came forward with her
daughter, as they knew by the cloak that this was a famous witch.

'What do you want?' asked she, at the same time signing to her daughter
to stir the large pot on the fire.

'We are tired and hungry, and would fain have shelter for the night,'
answered the eldest brother.

'You cannot get it here,' said the witch, 'but you will find both food
and shelter in the palace on the other side of the lake.  Take your
boat and go; but leave this boy with me--I can find work for him,
though something tells me he is quick and cunning, and will do me ill.'

'What harm can a poor boy like me do a great Troll like you?' answered
Pinkel.  'Let me go, I pray you, with my brothers.  I will promise
never to hurt you.'  And at last the witch let him go, and he followed
his brothers to the boat.

The way was further than they thought, and it was morning before they
reached the palace.

Now, at last, their luck seemed to have turned, for while the two
eldest were given places in the king's stables, Pinkel was taken as
page to the little prince.  He was a clever and amusing boy, who saw
everything that passed under his eyes, and the king noticed this, and
often employed him in his own service, which made his brothers very
jealous.

Things went on this way for some time, and Pinkel every day rose in the
royal favour.  At length the envy of his brothers became so great that
they could bear it no longer, and consulted together how best they
might ruin his credit with the king.  They did not wish to kill
him--though, perhaps, they would not have been sorry if they had heard
he was dead--but merely wished to remind him that he was after all only
a child, not half so old and wise as they.

Their opportunity soon came.  It happened to be the king's custom to
visit his stables once a week, so that he might see that his horses
were being properly cared for.  The next time he entered the stables
the two brothers managed to be in the way, and when the king praised
the beautiful satin skins of the horses under their charge, and
remarked how different was their condition when his grooms had first
come across the lake, the young men at once began to speak of the
wonderful light which sprang from the lantern over the hut.  The king,
who had a passion for collection all the rarest things he could find,
fell into the trap directly, and inquired where he could get this
marvellous lantern.

'Send Pinkel for it, Sire,' said they.  'It belongs to an old witch,
who no doubt came by it in some evil way.  But Pinkel has a smooth
tongue, and he can get the better of any woman, old or young.'

'Then bid him go this very night,' cried the king; 'and if he brings me
the lantern I will make him one of the chief men about my person.'

Pinkel was much pleased at the thought of his adventure, and without
more ado he borrowed a little boat which lay moored to the shore, and
rowed over to the island at once.  It was late by the time he arrived,
and almost dark, but he knew by the savoury smell that reached him that
the witch was cooking her supper.  So he climbed softly on to the roof,
and, peering, watched till the old woman's back was turned, when he
quickly drew a handful of salt from his pocket and threw it into the
pot.  Scarcely had he done this when the witch called her daughter and
bade her lift the pot off the fire and put the stew into a dish, as it
had been cooking quite long enough and she was hungry.  But no sooner
had she tasted it than she put her spoon down, and declared that her
daughter must have been meddling with it, for it was impossible to eat
anything that was all made of salt.

'Go down to the spring in the valley, and get some fresh water, that I
may prepare a fresh supper,' cried she, 'for I feel half- starved.'

'But, mother,' answered the girl, 'how can I find the well in this
darkness?  For you know that the lantern's rays shed no light down
there.'

'Well, then, take the lantern with you,' answered the witch, 'for
supper I must have, and there is no water that is nearer.'

So the girl took her pail in one hand and the golden lantern in the
other, and hastened away to the well, followed by Pinkel, who took care
to keep out of the way of the rays.  When at last she stooped to fill
her pail at the well Pinkel pushed her into it, and snatching up the
lantern hurried back to his boat and rowed off from the shore.

He was already a long distance from the island when the witch, who
wondered what had become of her daughter, went to the door to look for
her.  Close around the hut was thick darkness, but what was that
bobbing light that streamed across the water?  The witch's heart sank
as all at once it flashed upon her what had happened.

'Is that you, Pinkel?' cried she; and the youth answered:

'Yes, dear mother, it is I!'

'And are you not a knave for robbing me?' said she.

'Truly, dear mother, I am,' replied Pinkel, rowing faster than ever,
for he was half afraid that the witch might come after him.  But she
had no power on the water, and turned angrily into the hut, muttering
to herself all the while:

'Take care! take care!  A second time you will not escape so easily!'

The sun had not yet risen when Pinkel returned to the palace, and,
entering the king's chamber, he held up the lantern so that its rays
might fall upon the bed.  In an instant the king awoke, and seeing the
golden lantern shedding its light upon him, he sprang up, and embraced
Pinkel with joy.

'O cunning one,' cried he, 'what treasure hast thou brought me!' And
calling for his attendants he ordered that rooms next his own should be
prepared for Pinkel, and that the youth might enter his presence at any
hour.  And besides this, he was to have a seat on the council.

It may easily be guessed that all this made the brothers more envious
than they were before; and they cast about in their minds afresh how
best they might destroy him.  At length they remembered the goat with
golden horns and the bells, and they rejoiced; 'For,' said they, 'THIS
time the old woman will be on the watch, and let him be as clever as he
likes, the bells on the horns are sure to warn her.'  So when, as
before, the king came down to the stables and praised the cleverness of
their brother, the young men told him of that other marvel possessed by
the witch, the goat with the golden horns.

From this moment the king never closed his eyes at night for longing
after this wonderful creature.  He understood something of the danger
that there might be in trying to steal it, now that the witch's
suspicions were aroused, and he spent hours in making plans for
outwitting her.  But somehow he never could think of anything that
would do, and at last, as the brothers had foreseen, he sent for Pinkel.

'I hear,' he said, 'that the old witch on the island has a goat with
golden horns from which hang bells that tinkle the sweetest music.
That goat I must have!  But, tell me, how am I to get it?  I would give
the third part of my kingdom to anyone who would bring it to me.'

'I will fetch it myself,' answered Pinkel.

This time it was easier for Pinkel to approach the island unseen, as
there was no golden lantern to thrown its beams over the water.  But,
on the other hand, the goat slept inside the hut, and would therefore
have to be taken from under the very eyes of the old woman.  How was he
to do it?  All the way across the lake he thought and thought, till at
length a plan came into his head which seemed as if it might do, though
he knew it would be very difficult to carry out.

The first thing he did when he reached the shore was to look about for
a piece of wood, and when he had found it he hid himself close to the
hut, till it grew quite dark and near the hour when the witch and her
daughter went to bed.  Then he crept up and fixed the wood under the
door, which opened outwards, in such a manner that the more you tried
to shut it the more firmly it stuck.  And this was what happened when
the girl went as usual to bolt the door and make all fast for the night.

'What are you doing?' asked the witch, as her daughter kept tugging at
the handle.

'There is something the matter with the door; it won't shut,' answered
she.

'Well, leave it alone; there is nobody to hurt us,' said the witch, who
was very sleepy; and the girl did as she was bid, and went to bed.
Very soon they both might have been heard snoring, and Pinkel knew that
his time was come.  Slipping off his shoes he stole into the hut on
tiptoe, and taking from his pocket some food of which the goat was
particularly fond, he laid it under his nose.  Then, while the animal
was eating it, he stuffed each golden bell with wool which he had also
brought with him, stopping every minute to listen, lest the witch
should awaken, and he should find himself changed into some dreadful
bird or beast.  But the snoring still continued, and he went on with
his work as quickly as he could.  When the last bell was done he drew
another handful of food out of his pocket, and held it out to the goat,
which instantly rose to its feet and followed Pinkel, who backed slowly
to the door, and directly he got outside he seized the goat in his arms
and ran down to the place where he had moored his boat.

As soon as he had reached the middle of the lake, Pinkel took the wool
out of the bells, which began to tinkle loudly.  Their sound awoke the
witch, who cried out as before:

'Is that you, Pinkel?'

'Yes, dear mother, it is I,' said Pinkel.

'Have you stolen my golden goat?' asked she.

'Yes, dear mother, I have,' answered Pinkel.

'Are you not a knave, Pinkel?'

'Yes, dear mother, I am,' he replied.  And the old witch shouted in a
rage:

'Ah! beware how you come hither again, for next time you shall not
escape me!'

But Pinkel laughed and rowed on.

The king was so delighted with the goat that he always kept it by his
side, night and day; and, as he had promised, Pinkel was made ruler
over the third part of the kingdom.  As may be supposed, the brothers
were more furious than ever, and grew quite thin with rage.

'How can we get rid of him?' said one to the other.  And at length they
remembered the golden cloak.

'He will need to be clever if he is to steal that!' they cried, with a
chuckle.  And when next the king came to see his horses they began to
speak of Pinkel and his marvellous cunning, and how he had contrived to
steal the lantern and the goat, which nobody else would have been able
to do.

'But as he was there, it is a pity he could not have brought away the
golden cloak,' added they.

'The golden cloak! what is that?' asked the king.  And the young men
described its beauties in such glowing words that the king declared he
should never know a day's happiness till he had wrapped the cloak round
his own shoulders.

'And,' added he, 'the man who brings it to me shall wed my daughter,
and shall inherit my throne.'

'None can get it save Pinkel,' said they; for they did not imagine that
the witch, after two warnings, could allow their brother to escape a
third time.  So Pinkel was sent for, and with a glad heart he set out.

He passed many hours inventing first one plan and then another, till he
had a scheme ready which he thought might prove successful.

Thrusting a large bag inside his coat, he pushed off from the shore,
taking care this time to reach the island in daylight.  Having made his
boat fast to a tree, he walked up to the hut, hanging his head, and
putting on a face that was both sorrowful and ashamed.

'Is that you, Pinkel?' asked the witch when she saw him, her eyes
gleaming savagely.

'Yes, dear mother, it is I,' answered Pinkel.

'So you have dared, after all you have done, to put yourself in my
power!' cried she.  'Well, you sha'n't escape me THIS time!' And she
took down a large knife and began to sharpen it.'

'Oh! dear mother, spare me!' shrieked Pinkel, falling on his knees, and
looking wildly about him.

'Spare you, indeed, you thief!  Where are my lantern and my goat?  No!
not! there is only one fate for robbers!' And she brandished the knife
in the air so that it glittered in the firelight.

'Then, if I must die,' said Pinkel, who, by this time, was getting
really rather frightened, 'let me at least choose the manner of my
death.  I am very hungry, for I have had nothing to eat all day.  Put
some poison, if you like, into the porridge, but at least let me have a
good meal before I die.'

'That is not a bad idea,' answered the woman; 'as long as you do die,
it is all one to me.'  And ladling out a large bowl of porridge, she
stirred some poisonous herbs into it, and set about work that had to be
done.  Then Pinkel hastily poured all the contents of the bowl into his
bag, and make a great noise with his spoon, as if he was scraping up
the last morsel.

'Poisoned or not, the porridge is excellent.  I have eaten it, every
scrap; do give me some more,' said Pinkel, turning towards her.

'Well, you have a fine appetite, young man,' answered the witch;
'however, it is the last time you will ever eat it, so I will give you
another bowlful.'  And rubbing in the poisonous herbs, she poured him
out half of what remained, and then went to the window to call her cat.

In an instant Pinkel again emptied the porridge into the bag, and the
next minute he rolled on the floor, twisting himself about as if in
agony, uttering loud groans the while.  Suddenly he grew silent and lay
still.

'Ah! I thought a second dose of that poison would be too much for you,'
said the witch looking at him.  'I warned you what would happen if you
came back.  I wish that all thieves were as dead as you!  But why does
not my lazy girl bring the wood I sent her for, it will soon be too
dark for her to find her way?  I suppose I must go and search for her.
What a trouble girls are!'  And she went to the door to watch if there
were any signs of her daughter.  But nothing could be seen of her, and
heavy rain was falling.

'It is no night for my cloak,' she muttered; 'it would be covered with
mud by the time I got back.'  So she took it off her shoulders and hung
it carefully up in a cupboard in the room.  After that she put on her
clogs and started to seek her daughter.  Directly the last sound of the
clogs had ceased, Pinkel jumped up and took down the cloak, and rowed
off as fast as he could.

He had not gone far when a puff of wind unfolded the cloak, and its
brightness shed gleams across the water.  The witch, who was just
entering the forest, turned round at that moment and saw the golden
rays.  She forgot all about her daughter, and ran down to the shore,
screaming with rage at being outwitted a third time.

'Is that you, Pinkel?' cried she.

'Yes, dear mother, it is I.'

'Have you taken my gold cloak?'

'Yes, dear mother, I have.'

'Are you not a great knave?'

'Yes, truly dear mother, I am.'

And so indeed he was!

But, all the same, he carried the cloak to the king's palace, and in
return he received the hand of the king's daughter in marriage.  People
said that it was the bride who ought to have worn the cloak at her
wedding feast; but the king was so pleased with it that he would not
part from it; and to the end of his life was never seen without it.
After his death, Pinkel became king; and let up hope that he gave up
his bad and thievish ways, and ruled his subjects well.  As for his
brothers, he did not punish them, but left them in the stables, where
they grumbled all day long.





          The Adventures of a Jackal



In a country which is full of wild beasts of all sorts there once lived
a jackal and a hedgehog, and, unlike though they were, the two animals
made great friends, and were often seen in each other's company.

One afternoon they were walking along a road together, when the jackal,
who was the taller of the two, exclaimed:

'Oh! there is a barn full of corn; let us go and eat some.'

'Yes, do let us!' answered the hedgehog.  So they went to the barn, and
ate till they could eat no more.  Then the jackal put on his shoes,
which he had taken off so as to make no noise, and they returned to the
high road.

After they had gone some way they met a panther, who stopped, and
bowing politely, said:

'Excuse my speaking to you, but I cannot help admiring those shoes of
yours.  Do you mind telling me who made them?'

'Yes, I think they are rather nice,' answered the jackal; 'I made them
myself, though.'

'Could you make me a pair like them?' asked the panther eagerly.

'I would do my best, of course,' replied the jackal; 'but you must kill
me a cow, and when we have eaten the flesh I will take the skin and
make your shoes out of it.'

So the panther prowled about until he saw a fine cow grazing apart from
the rest of the herd.  He killed it instantly, and then gave a cry to
the jackal and hedgehog to come to the place where he was.  They soon
skinned the dead beasts, and spread its skin out to dry, after which
they had a grand feast before they curled themselves up for the night,
and slept soundly.

Next morning the jackal got up early and set to work upon the shoes,
while the panther sat by and looked on with delight.  At last they were
finished, and the jackal arose and stretched himself.

'Now go and lay them in the sun out there,' said he; 'in a couple of
hours they will be ready to put on; but do not attempt to wear them
before, or you will feel them most uncomfortable.  But I see the sun is
high in the heavens, and we must be continuing our journey.'

The panther, who always believed what everybody told him, did exactly
as he was bid, and in two hours' time began to fasten on the shoes.
They certainly set off his paws wonderfully, and he stretched out his
forepaws and looked at them with pride.  But when he tried to walk--ah!
that was another story!  They were so stiff and hard that he nearly
shrieked every step he took, and at last he sank down where he was, and
actually began to cry.

After some time some little partridges who were hopping about heard the
poor panther's groans, and went up to see what was the matter.  He had
never tried to make his dinner off them, and they had always been quite
friendly.

'You seem in pain,' said one of them, fluttering close to him, 'can we
help you?'

'Oh, it is the jackal!  He made me these shoes; they are so hard and
tight that they hurt my feet, and I cannot manage to kick them off.'

'Lie still, and we will soften them,' answered the kind little
partridge.  And calling to his brothers, they all flew to the nearest
spring, and carried water in their beaks, which they poured over the
shoes.  This they did till the hard leather grew soft, and the panther
was able to slip his feet out of them.

'Oh, thank you, thank you,' he cried, skipping round with joy.  'I feel
a different creature.  Now I will go after the jackal and pay him my
debts.'  And he bounded away into the forest.

But the jackal had been very cunning, and had trotted backwards and
forwards and in and out, so that it was very difficult to know which
track he had really followed.  At length, however, the panther caught
sight of his enemy, at the same moment that the jackal had caught sight
of him.  The panther gave a loud roar, and sprang forward, but the
jackal was too quick for him and plunged into a dense thicket, where
the panther could not follow.

Disgusted with his failure, but more angry than ever, the panther lay
down for a while to consider what he should do next, and as he was
thinking, an old man came by.

'Oh! father, tell me how I can repay the jackal for the way he has
served me!' And without more ado he told his story.

'If you take my advice,' answered the old man, 'you will kill a cow,
and invite all the jackals in the forest to the feast.  Watch them
carefully while they are eating, and you will see that most of them
keep their eyes on their food.  But if one of them glances at you, you
will know that is the traitor.'

The panther, whose manners were always good, thanked the old man, and
followed his counsel.  The cow was killed, and the partridges flew
about with invitations to the jackals, who gathered in large numbers to
the feast.  The wicked jackal came amongst them; but as the panther had
only seen him once he could not distinguish him from the rest.
However, they all took their places on wooden seats placed round the
dead cow, which was laid across the boughs of a fallen tree, and began
their dinner, each jackal fixing his eyes greedily on the piece of meat
before him.  Only one of them seemed uneasy, and every now and then
glanced in the direction of his host.  This the panther noticed, and
suddenly made a bound at the culprit and seized his tail; but again the
jackal was too quick for him, and catching up a knife he cut off his
tail and darted into the forest, followed by all the rest of the party.
 And before the panther had recovered from his surprise he found
himself alone.

'What am I to do now?' he asked the old man, who soon came back to see
how things had turned out.

'It is very unfortunate, certainly,' answered he; 'but I think I know
where you can find him.  There is a melon garden about two miles from
here, and as jackals are very fond of melons they are nearly sure to
have gone there to feed.  If you see a tailless jackal you will know
that he is the one you want.'  So the panther thanked him and went his
way.

Now the jackal had guessed what advice the old man would give his
enemy, and so, while his friends were greedily eating the ripest melons
in the sunniest corner of the garden, he stole behind them and tied
their tails together.  He had only just finished when his ears caught
the sound of breaking branches; and he cried: 'Quick! quick! here comes
the master of the garden!' And the jackals sprang up and ran away in
all directions, leaving their tails behind them.  And how was the
panther to know which was his enemy?

'They none of them had any tails,' he said sadly to the old man, 'and I
am tired of hunting them.  I shall leave them alone and go and catch
something for supper.'

Of course the hedgehog had not been able to take part in any of these
adventures; but as soon as all danger was over, the jackal went to look
for his friend, whom he was lucky enough to find at home.

'Ah, there you are,' he said gaily.  'I have lost my tail since I saw
you last.  And other people have lost theirs too; but that is no
matter!  I am hungry, so come with me to the shepherd who is sitting
over there, and we will ask him to sell us one of his sheep.'

'Yes, that is a good plan,' answered the hedgehog.  And he walked as
fast as his little legs would go to keep up with the jackal.  When they
reached the shepherd the jackal pulled out his purse from under his
foreleg, and made his bargain.

'Only wait till to-morrow,' said the shepherd, 'and I will give you the
biggest sheep you ever saw.  But he always feeds at some distance from
the rest of the flock, and it would take me a long time to catch him.'

'Well, it is very tiresome, but I suppose I must wait,' replied the
jackal.  And he and the hedgehog looked about for a nice dry cave in
which to make themselves comfortable for the night.  But, after they
had gone, the shepherd killed one of his sheep, and stripped off his
skin, which he sewed tightly round a greyhound he had with him, and put
a cord round its neck.  Then he lay down and went to sleep.

Very, very early, before the sun was properly up, the jackal and the
hedgehog were pulling at the shepherd's cloak.

'Wake up,' they said, 'and give us that sheep.  We have had nothing to
eat all night, and are very hungry.'

The shepherd yawned and rubbed his eyes.  'He is tied up to that tree;
go and take him.'  So they went to the tree and unfastened the cord,
and turned to go back to the cave where they had slept, dragging the
greyhound after them.  When they reached the cave the jackal said to
the hedgehog.

'Before I kill him let me see whether he is fat or thin.'  And he stood
a little way back, so that he might the better examine the animal.
After looking at him, with his head on one side, for a minute or two,
he nodded gravely.

'He is quite fat enough; he is a good sheep.'

But the hedgehog, who sometimes showed more cunning than anyone would
have guessed, answered:

'My friend, you are talking nonsense.  The wool is indeed a sheep's
wool, but the paws of my uncle the greyhound peep out from underneath.'

'He is a sheep,' repeated the jackal, who did not like to think anyone
cleverer than himself.

'Hold the cord while I look at him,' answered the hedgehog.

Very unwillingly the jackal held the rope, while the hedgehog walked
slowly round the greyhound till he reached the jackal again.  He knew
quite well by the paws and tail that it was a greyhound and not a
sheep, that the shepherd had sold them; and as he could not tell what
turn affairs might take, he resolved to get out of the way.

'Oh! yes, you are right,' he said to the jackal; 'but I never can eat
till I have first drunk.  I will just go and quench my thirst from that
spring at the edge of the wood, and then I shall be ready for
breakfast.'

'Don't be long, then,' called the jackal, as the hedgehog hurried off
at his best pace.  And he lay down under a rock to wait for him.

More than an hour passed by and the hedgehog had had plenty of time to
go to the spring and back, and still there was no sign of him.  And
this was very natural, as he had hidden himself in some long grass
under a tree!

At length the jackal guessed that for some reason his friend had run
away, and determined to wait for his breakfast no longer.  So he went
up to the place where the greyhound had been tethered and untied the
rope.  But just as he was about to spring on his back and give him a
deadly bite, the jackal heard a low growl, which never proceeded from
the throat of any sheep.  Like a flash of lightning the jackal threw
down the cord and was flying across the plain; but though his legs were
long, the greyhound's legs were longer still, and he soon came up with
his prey.  The jackal turned to fight, but he was no match for the
greyhound, and in a few minutes he was lying dead on the ground, while
the greyhound was trotting peacefully back to the shepherd.





    The Adventures of the Jackal's Eldest                     Son



Now, though the jackal was dead, he had left two sons behind him, every
whit as cunning and tricky as their father.  The elder of the two was a
fine handsome creature, who had a pleasant manner and made many
friends.  The animal he saw most of was a hyena; and one day, when they
were taking a walk together, they picked up a beautiful green cloak,
which had evidently been dropped by some one riding across the plain on
a camel.  Of course each wanted to have it, and they almost quarrelled
over the matter; but at length it was settled that the hyena should
wear the cloak by day and the jackal by night.  After a little while,
however, the jackal became discontented with this arrangement,
declaring that none of his friends, who were quite different from those
of the hyena, could see the splendour of the mantle, and that it was
only fair that he should sometimes be allowed to wear it by day.  To
this the hyena would by no means consent, and they were on the eve of a
quarrel when the hyena proposed that they should ask the lion to judge
between them.  The jackal agreed to this, and the hyena wrapped the
cloak about him, and they both trotted off to the lion's den.

The jackal, who was fond of talking, at once told the story; and when
it was finished the lion turned to the hyena and asked if it was true.

'Quite true, your majesty,' answered the hyena.

'Then lay the cloak on the ground at my feet,' said the lion, 'and I
will give my judgment.'  So the mantle was spread upon the red earth,
the hyena and the jackal standing on each side of it.

There was silence for a few moments, and then the lion sat up, looking
very great and wise.

'My judgment is that the garment shall belong wholly to whoever first
rings the bell of the nearest mosque at dawn to-morrow.  Now go; for
much business awaits me!'

All that night the hyena sat up, fearing lest the jackal should reach
the bell before him, for the mosque was close at hand.  With the first
streak of dawn he bounded away to the bell, just as the jackal, who had
slept soundly all night, was rising to his feet.

'Good luck to you,' cried the jackal.  And throwing the cloak over his
back he darted away across the plain, and was seen no more by his
friend the hyena.

After running several miles the jackal thought he was safe from
pursuit, and seeing a lion and another hyena talking together, he
strolled up to join them.

'Good morning,' he said; 'may I ask what is the matter?  You seem very
serious about something.'

'Pray sit down,' answered the lion.  'We were wondering in which
direction we should go to find the best dinner.  The hyena wishes to go
to the forest, and I to the mountains.  What do you say?'

'Well, as I was sauntering over the plain, just now, I noticed a flock
of sheep grazing, and some of them had wandered into a little valley
quite out of sight of the shepherd.  If you keep among the rocks you
will never be observed.  But perhaps you will allow me to go with you
and show you the way?'

'You are really very kind,' answered the lion.  And they crept steadily
along till at length they reached the mouth of the valley where a ram,
a sheep and a lamb were feeding on the rich grass, unconscious of their
danger.

'How shall we divide them?' asked the lion in a whisper to the hyena.

'Oh, it is easily done,' replied the hyena.  'The lamb for me, the
sheep for the jackal, and the ram for the lion.'

'So I am to have that lean creature, which is nothing but horns, am I?'
cried the lion in a rage.  'I will teach you to divide things in that
manner!' And he gave the hyena two great blows, which stretched him
dead in a moment.  Then he turned to the jackal and said: 'How would
you divide them?'

'Quite differently from the hyena,' replied the jackal.  'You will
breakfast off the lamb, you will dine off the sheep, and you will sup
off the ram.'

'Dear me, how clever you are!  Who taught you such wisdom?' exclaimed
the lion, looking at him admiringly.

'The fate of the hyena,' answered the jackal, laughing, and running off
at his best speed; for he saw two men armed with spears coming close
behind the lion!

 The jackal continued to run till at last he could run no longer.  He
flung himself under a tree panting for breath, when he heard a rustle
amongst the grass, and his father's old friend the hedgehog appeared
before him.

'Oh, is it you?' asked the little creature; 'how strange that we should
meet so far from home!'

'I have just had a narrow escape of my life,' gasped the jackal, 'and I
need some sleep.  After that we must think of something to do to amuse
ourselves.'  And he lay down again and slept soundly for a couple of
hours.

'Now I am ready,' said he; 'have you anything to propose?'

'In a valley beyond those trees,' answered the hedgehog, 'there is a
small farmhouse where the best butter in the world is made.  I know
their ways, and in an hour's time the farmer's wife will be off to milk
the cows, which she keeps at some distance.  We could easily get in at
the window of the shed where she keeps the butter, and I will watch,
lest some one should come unexpectedly, while you have a good meal.
Then you shall watch, and I will eat.'

'That sounds a good plan,' replied the jackal; and they set off
together.

But when they reached the farmhouse the jackal said to the hedgehog:
'Go in and fetch the pots of butter and I will hide them in a safe
place.'

'Oh no,' cried the hedgehog, 'I really couldn't.  They would find out
directly!  And, besides, it is so different just eating a little now
and then.'

'Do as I bid you at once,' said the jackal, looking at the hedgehog so
sternly that the little fellow dared say no more, and soon rolled the
jars to the window where the jackal lifted them out one by one.

When they were all in a row before him he gave a sudden start.

'Run for your life,' he whispered to his companion; 'I see the woman
coming over the hill!' And the hedgehog, his heart beating, set off as
fast as he could.  The jackal remained where he was, shaking with
laughter, for the woman was not in sight at all, and he had only sent
the hedgehog away because he did not want him to know where the jars of
butter were buried.  But every day he stole out to their hiding-place
and had a delicious feast.

At length, one morning, the hedgehog suddenly said:

'You never told me what you did with those jars?'

'Oh, I hid them safely till the farm people should have forgotten all
about them,' replied the jackal.  'But as they are still searching for
them we must wait a little longer, and then I'll bring them home, and
we will share them between us.'

So the hedgehog waited and waited; but every time he asked if there was
no chance of getting jars of butter the jackal put him off with some
excuse.  After a while the hedgehog became suspicious, and said:

'I should like to know where you have hidden them.  To-night, when it
is quite dark, you shall show me the place.'

'I really can't tell you,' answered the jackal.  'You talk so much that
you would be sure to confide the secret to somebody, and then we should
have had our trouble for nothing, besides running the risk of our necks
being broken by the farmer.  I can see that he is getting disheartened,
and very soon he will give up the search.  Have patience just a little
longer.'

The hedgehop said no more, and pretended to be satisfied; but when some
days had gone by he woke the jackal, who was sleeping soundly after a
hunt which had lasted several hours.

'I have just had notice,' remarked the hedgehog, shaking him, 'that my
family wish to have a banquet to-morrow, and they have invited you to
it.  Will you come?'

'Certainly,' answered the jackal, 'with pleasure.  But as I have to go
out in the morning you can meet me on the road.'

'That will do very well,' replied the hedgehog.  And the jackal went to
sleep again, for he was obliged to be up early.

Punctual to the moment the hedgehog arrived at the place appointed for
their meeting, and as the jackal was not there he sat down and waited
for him.

'Ah, there you are!' he cried, when the dusky yellow form at last
turned the corner.  'I had nearly given you up!  Indeed, I almost wish
you had not come, for I hardly know where I shall hide you.'

'Why should you hide me anywhere?' asked the jackal.  'What is the
matter with you?'

'Well, so many of the guests have brought their dogs and mules with
them, that I fear it may hardly be safe for you to go amongst them.
No; don't run off that way,' he added quickly, 'because there is
another troop that are coming over the hill.  Lie down here, and I will
throw these sacks over you; and keep still for your life, whatever
happens.'

And what did happen was, that when the jackal was lying covered up,
under a little hill, the hedgehog set a great stone rolling, which
crushed him to death.





     The Adventures of the Younger Son of                  the Jackal



Now that the father and elder brother were both dead, all that was left
of the jackal family was one son, who was no less cunning than the
others had been.  He did not like staying in the same place any better
than they, and nobody ever knew in what part of the country he might be
found next.

One day, when we was wandering about he beheld a nice fat sheep, which
was cropping the grass and seemed quite contented with her lot.

'Good morning,' said the jackal, 'I am so glad to see you.  I have been
looking for you everywhere.'

'For ME?' answered the sheep, in an astonished voice; 'but we have
never met before!'

'No; but I have heard of you.  Oh!  You don't know what fine things I
have heard!  Ah, well, some people have all the luck!'

'You are very kind, I am sure,' answered the sheep, not knowing which
way to look.  'Is there any way in which I can help you?'

'There is something that I had set my heart on, though I hardly like to
propose it on so short an acquaintance; but from what people have told
me, I thought that you and I might keep house together comfortably, if
you would only agree to try.  I have several fields belonging to me,
and if they are kept well watered they bear wonderful crops.'

'Perhaps I might come for a short time,' said the sheep, with a little
hesitation; 'and if we do not get on, we can part company.'

'Oh, thank you, thank you,' cried the jackal; 'do not let us lose a
moment.'  And he held out his paw in such an inviting manner that the
sheep got up and trotted beside him till they reached home.

'Now,' said the jackal, 'you go to the well and fetch the water, and I
will pour it into the trenches that run between the patches of corn.'
And as he did so he sang lustily.  The work was very hard, but the
sheep did not grumble, and by-and-by was rewarded at seeing the little
green heads poking themselves through earth.  After that the hot sun
ripened them quickly, and soon harvest time was come.  Then the grain
was cut and ground and ready for sale.

When everything was complete, the jackal said to the sheep:

'Now let us divide it, so that we can each do what we like with his
share.'

'You do it,' answered the sheep; 'here are the scales.  You must weigh
it carefully.'

So the jackal began to weigh it, and when he had finished, he counted
out loud:

'One, two, three, four, five, six, seven parts for the jackal, and one
part for the sheep.  If she likes it she can take it, if not, she can
leave it.'

The sheep looked at the two heaps in silence- -one so large, the other
so small; and then she answered:

'Wait for a minute, while I fetch some sacks to carry away my share.'

But it was not sacks that the sheep wanted; for as soon as the jackal
could no longer see her she set forth at her best pace to the home of
the greyhound, where she arrived panting with the haste she had made.

'Oh, good uncle, help me, I pray you!' she cried, as soon as she could
speak.

'Why, what is the matter?' asked the greyhound, looking up with
astonishment.

'I beg you to return with me, and frighten the jackal into paying me
what he owes me,' answered the sheep.  'For months we have lived
together, and I have twice every day drawn the water, while he only
poured it into the trenches.  Together we have reaped our harvest; and
now, when the moment to divide our crop has come, he has taken seven
parts for himself, and only left one for me.'

She finished, and giving herself a twist, passed her woolly tail across
her eyes; while the greyhound watched her, but held his peace.  Then he
said:

'Bring me a sack.'  And the sheep hastened away to fetch one.  Very
soon she returned, and laid the sack down before him.

'Open it wide, that I may get in,' cried he; and when he was
comfortably rolled up inside he bade the sheep take him on her back,
and hasten to the place where she had left the jackal.

She found him waiting for her, and pretending to be asleep, though she
clearly saw him wink one of his eyes.  However, she took no notice, but
throwing the sack roughly on the ground, she exclaimed:

'Now measure!'

At this the jackal got up, and going to the heap of grain which lay
close by, he divided it as before into eight portions--seven for
himself and one for the sheep.

'What are you doing that for?' asked she indignantly.  'You know quite
well that it was I who drew the water, and you who only poured it into
the trenches.'

'You are mistaken,' answered the jackal.  'It was I who drew the water,
and you who poured it into the trenches.  Anybody will tell you that!
If you like, I will ask those people who are digging there!'

'Very well,' replied the sheep.  And the jackal called out:

'Ho!  You diggers, tell me: Who was it you heard singing over the work?'

'Why, it was you, of course, jackal!  You sang so loud that the whole
world might have heard you!'

'And who it is that sings--he who draws the water, or he who empties
it?'

'Why, certainly he who draws the water!'

'You hear?' said the jackal, turning to the sheep.  'Now come and carry
away your own portion, or else I shall take it for myself.'

'You have got the better of me,' answered the sheep; 'and I suppose I
must confess myself beaten!  But as I bear no malice, go and eat some
of the dates that I have brought in that sack.'  And the jackal, who
loved dates, ran instantly back, and tore open the mouth of the sack.
But just as he was about to plunge his nose in he saw two brown eyes
calmly looking at him.  In an instant he had let fall the flap of the
sack and bounded back to where the sheep was standing.

'I was only in fun; and you have brought my uncle the greyhound.  Take
away the sack, we will make the division over again.'  And he began
rearranging the heaps.

'One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, for my mother the sheep, and
one for the jackal,' counted he; casting timid glances all the while at
the sack.

'Now you can take your share and go,' said the sheep.  And the jackal
did not need twice telling!  Whenever the sheep looked up, she still
saw him flying, flying across the plain; and, for all I know, he may be
flying across it still.





      The Three Treasures of the Giants



Long, long ago, there lived an old man and his wife who had three sons;
the eldest was called Martin, the second Michael, while the third was
named Jack.

One evening they were all seated round the table, eating their supper
of bread and milk.

'Martin,' said the old man suddenly, 'I feel that I cannot live much
longer.  You, as the eldest, will inherit this hut; but, if you value
my blessing, be good to your mother and brothers.'

'Certainly, father; how can you suppose I should do them wrong?'
replied Martin indignantly, helping himself to all the best bits in the
dish as he spoke.  The old man saw nothing, but Michael looked on in
surprise, and Jack was so astonished that he quite forgot to eat his
own supper.

A little while after, the father fell ill, and sent for his sons, who
were out hunting, to bid him farewell.  After giving good advice to the
two eldest, he turned to Jack.

'My boy,' he said, 'you have not got quite as much sense as other
people, but if Heaven has deprived you of some of your wits, it was
given you a kind heart.  Always listen to what it says, and take heed
to the words of your mother and brothers, as well as you are able!'  So
saying the old man sank back on his pillows and died.

The cries of grief uttered by Martin and Michael sounded through the
house, but Jack remained by the bedside of his father, still and
silent, as if he were dead also.  At length he got up, and going into
the garden, hid himself in some trees, and wept like a child, while his
two brothers made ready for the funeral.

No sooner was the old man buried than Martin and Michael agreed that
they would go into the world together to seek their fortunes, while
Jack stayed at home with their mother.  Jack would have liked nothing
better than to sit and dream by the fire, but the mother, who was very
old herself, declared that there was no work for him to do, and that he
must seek it with his brothers.

So, one fine morning, all three set out; Martin and Michael carried two
great bags full of food, but Jack carried nothing.  This made his
brothers very angry, for the day was hot and the bags were heavy, and
about noon they sat down under a tree and began to eat.  Jack was as
hungry as they were, but he knew that it was no use asking for
anything; and he threw himself under another tree, and wept bitterly.

'Another time perhaps you won't be so lazy, and will bring food for
yourself,' said Martin, but to his surprise Jack answered:

'You are a nice pair!  You talk of seeking your fortunes so as not to
be a burden on our mother, and you begin by carrying off all the food
she has in the house!'

This reply was so unexpected that for some moments neither of the
brothers made any answer.  Then they offered their brother some of
their food, and when he had finished eating they went their way once
more.

Towards evening they reached a small hut, and knocking at the door,
asked if they might spend the night there.  The man, who was a
wood-cutter, invited them him, and begged them to sit down to supper.
Martin thanked him, but being very proud, explained that it was only
shelter they wanted, as they had plenty of food with them; and he and
Michael at once opened their bags and began to eat, while Jack hid
himself in a corner.  The wife, on seeing this, took pity on him, and
called him to come and share their supper, which he gladly did, and
very good he found it.  At this, Martin regretted deeply that he had
been so foolish as to refuse, for his bits of bread and cheese seemed
very hard when he smelt the savoury soup his brother was enjoying.

'He shan't have such a chance again,' thought he; and the next morning
he insisted on plunging into a thick forest where they were likely to
meet nobody.

For a long time they wandered hither and thither, for they had no path
to guide them; but at last they came upon a wide clearing, in the midst
of which stood a castle.  Jack shouted with delight, but Martin, who
was in a bad temper, said sharply:

'We must have taken a wrong turning!  Let us go back.'

'Idiot!' replied Michael, who was hungry too, and, like many people
when they are hungry, very cross also.  'We set out to travel through
the world, and what does it matter if we go to the right or to the
left?' And, without another word, took the path to the castle, closely
followed by Jack, and after a moment by Martin likewise.

The door of the castle stood open, and they entered a great hall, and
looked about them.  Not a creature was to be seen, and suddenly
Martin--he did not know why--felt a little frightened.  He would have
left the castle at once, but stopped when Jack boldly walked up to a
door in the wall and opened it.  He could not for very shame be outdone
by his younger brother, and passed behind him into another splendid
hall, which was filled from floor to ceiling with great pieces of
copper money.

The sight quite dazzled Martin and Michael, who emptied all the
provisions that remained out of their bags, and heaped them up instead
with handfuls of copper.

Scarcely had they done this when Jack threw open another door, and this
time it led to a hall filled with silver.  In an instant his brothers
had turned their bags upside down, so that the copper money tumbled out
on to the floor, and were shovelling in handfuls of the silver instead.
 They had hardly finished, when Jack opened yet a third door, and all
three fell back in amazement, for this room as a mass of gold, so
bright that their eyes grew sore as they looked at it.  However, they
soon recovered from their surprise, and quickly emptied their bags of
silver, and filled them with gold instead.  When they would hold no
more, Martin said:

'We had better hurry off now lest somebody else should come, and we
might not know what to do'; and, followed by Michael, he hastily left
the castle.  Jack lingered behind for a few minutes to put pieces of
gold, silver, and copper into his pocket, and to eat the food that his
brothers had thrown down in the first room.  Then he went after them,
and found them lying down to rest in the midst of a forest.  It was
near sunset, and Martin began to feel hungry, so, when Jack arrived, he
bade him return to the castle and bring the bread and cheese that they
had left there.

'It is hardly worth doing that,' answered Jack; 'for I picked up the
pieces and ate them myself.'

At this reply both brothers were beside themselves with anger, and fell
upon the boy, beating him, and calling him names, till they were quite
tired.

'Go where you like,' cried Martin with a final kick; 'but never come
near us again.'  And poor Jack ran weeping into the woods.

The next morning his brothers went home, and bought a beautiful house,
where they lived with their mother like great lords.

 Jack remained for some hours in hiding, thankful to be safe from his
tormentors; but when no one came to trouble him, and his back did not
ache so much, he began to think what he had better do.  At length he
made up his mind to go to the caste and take away as much money with
him as would enable him to live in comfort for the rest of his life.
This being decided, he sprang up, and set out along the path which led
to the castle.  As before, the door stood open, and he went on till he
had reached the hall of gold, and there he took off his jacket and tied
the sleeves together so that it might make a kind of bag.  He then
began to pour in the gold by handfuls, when, all at once, a noise like
thunder shook the castle.  This was followed by a voice, hoarse as that
of a bull, which cried:

'I smell the smell of a man.'  And two giants entered.

'So, little worm! it is you who steal our treasures!' exclaimed the
biggest.  'Well, we have got you now, and we will cook you for supper!'
 But here the other giant drew him aside, and for a moment or two they
whispered together.  At length the first giant spoke:

'To please my friend I will spare your life on condition that, for the
future, you shall guard our treasures.  If you are hungry take this
little table and rap on it, saying, as you do so: "The dinner of an
emperor!" and you will get as much food as you want.'

With a light heart Jack promised all that was asked of him, and for
some days enjoyed himself mightily.  He had everything he could wish
for, and did nothing from morning till night; but by-and-by he began to
get very tired of it all.

'Let the giants guard their treasures themselves,' he said to himself
at last; 'I am going away.  But I will leave all the gold and silver
behind me, and will take nought but you, my good little table.'

So, tucking the table under his arm, he started off for the forest, but
he did not linger there long, and soon found himself in the fields on
the other side.  There he saw an old man, who begged Jack to give him
something to eat.

'You could not have asked a better person,' answered Jack cheerfully.
And signing to him to sit down with him under a tree, he set the table
in front of them, and struck it three times, crying:

'The dinner of an emperor!' He had hardly uttered the words when fish
and meat of all kinds appeared on it!

'That is a clever trick of yours,' said the old man, when he had eaten
as much as he wanted.  'Give it to me in exchange for a treasure I have
which is still better.  Do you see this cornet?  Well, you have only to
tell it that you wish for an army, and you will have as many soldiers
as you require.'

Now, since he had been left to himself, Jack had grown ambitious, so,
after a moment's hesitation, he took the cornet and gave the table in
exchange.  The old man bade him farewell, and set off down one path,
while Jack chose another, and for a long time he was quite pleased with
his new possession.  Then, as he felt hungry, he wished for his table
back again, as no house was in sight, and he wanted some supper badly.
All at once he remembered his cornet, and a wicked thought entered his
mind.

'Two hundred hussars, forward!' cried he.  And the neighing of horses
and the clanking of swords were heard close at hand.  The officer who
rode at their head approached Jack, and politely inquired what he
wished them to do.

'A mile or two along that road,' answered Jack, 'you will find an old
man carrying a table.  Take the table from him and bring it to me.'

The officer saluted and went back to his men, who started at a gallop
to do Jack's bidding.

In ten minutes they had returned, bearing the table with them.

'That is all, thank you,' said Jack; and the soldiers disappeared
inside the cornet.

Oh, what a good supper Jack had that night, quite forgetting that he
owed it to a mean trick.  The next day he breakfasted early, and then
walked on towards the nearest town.  On the way thither he met another
old man, who begged for something to eat.

'Certainly, you shall have something to eat,' replied Jack.  And,
placing the table on the ground he cried:

'The dinner of an emperor!' when all sorts of food dishes appeared.  At
first the old man ate quite greedily, and said nothing; but, after his
hunger was satisfied, he turned to Jack and said:

'That is a very clever trick of yours.  Give the table to me and you
shall have something still better.'

'I don't believe that there is anything better,' answered Jack.

'Yes, there is.  Here is my bag; it will give you as many castles as
you can possibly want.'

Jack thought for a moment; then he replied: 'Very well, I will exchange
with you.'  And passing the table to the old man, he hung the bag over
his arm.

Five minutes later he summoned five hundred lancers out of the cornet
and bade them go after the old man and fetch back the table.

Now that by his cunning he had obtained possession of the three magic
objects, he resolved to return to his native place.  Smearing his face
with dirt, and tearing his clothes so as to look like a beggar, he
stopped the passers by and, on pretence of seeking money or food, he
questioned them about the village gossip.  In this manner he learned
that his brothers had become great men, much respected in all the
country round.  When he heard that, he lost no time in going to the
door of their fine house and imploring them to give him food and
shelter; but the only thing he got was hard words, and a command to beg
elsewhere.  At length, however, at their mother's entreaty, he was told
that he might pass the night in the stable.  Here he waited until
everybody in the house was sound asleep, when he drew his bag from
under his cloak, and desired that a castle might appear in that place;
and the cornet gave him soldiers to guard the castle, while the table
furnished him with a good supper.  In the morning, he caused it all to
vanish, and when his brothers entered the stable they found him lying
on the straw.

Jack remained here for many days, doing nothing, and--as far as anybody
knew--eating nothing.  This conduct puzzled his brothers greatly, and
they put such constant questions to him, that at length he told them
the secret of the table, and even gave a dinner to them, which far
outdid any they had ever seen or heard of.  But though they had
solemnly promised to reveal nothing, somehow or other the tale leaked
out, and before long reached the ears of the king himself.  That very
evening his chamberlain arrived at Jack's dwelling, with a request from
the king that he might borrow the table for three days.

'Very well,' answered Jack, 'you can take it back with you.  But tell
his majesty that if he does not return it at the end of the three days
I will make war upon him.'

So the chamberlain carried away the table and took it straight to the
king, telling him at the same time of Jack's threat, at which they both
laughed till their sides ached.

Now the king was so delighted with the table, and the dinners it gave
him, that when the three days were over he could not make up his mind
to part with it.  Instead, he sent for his carpenter, and bade him copy
it exactly, and when it was done he told his chamberlain to return it
to Jack with his best thanks.  It happened to be dinner time, and Jack
invited the chamberlain, who knew nothing of the trick, to stay and
dine with him.  The good man, who had eaten several excellent meals
provided by the table in the last three days, accepted the invitation
with pleasure, even though he was to dine in a stable, and sat down on
the straw beside Jack.

'The dinner of an emperor!' cried Jack.  But not even a morsel of
cheese made its appearance.

'The dinner of an emperor!' shouted Jack in a voice of thunder.  Then
the truth dawned on him; and, crushing the table between his hands, he
turned to the chamberlain, who, bewildered and half-frightened, was
wondering how to get away.

'Tell your false king that to-morrow I will destroy his castle as
easily as I have broken this table.'

The chamberlain hastened back to the palace, and gave the king Jack's
message, at which he laughed more than before, and called all his
courtiers to hear the story.  But they were not quite so merry when
they woke next morning and beheld ten thousand horsemen, and as many
archers, surrounding the palace.  The king saw it was useless to hold
out, and he took the white flag of truce in one hand, and the real
table in the other, and set out to look for Jack.

'I committed a crime,' said he; 'but I will do my best to make up for
it.  Here is your table, which I own with shame that I tried to steal,
and you shall have besides, my daughter as your wife!'

 There was no need to delay the marriage when the table was able to
furnish the most splendid banquet that ever was seen, and after
everyone had eaten and drunk as much as they wanted, Jack took his bag
and commanded a castle filled with all sorts of treasures to arise in
the park for himself and his bride.

At this proof of his power the king's heart died within him.

'Your magic is greater than mine,' he said; 'and you are young and
strong, while I am old and tired.  Take, therefore, the sceptre from my
hand, and my crown from my head, and rule my people better than I have
done.'

So at last Jack's ambition was satisfied.  He could not hope to be more
than king, and as long as he had his cornet to provide him with
soldiers he was secure against his enemies.  He never forgave his
brothers for the way they had treated him, though he presented his
mother with a beautiful castle, and everything she could possibly wish
for.  In the centre of his own palace was a treasure chamber, and in
this chamber the table, the cornet, and the bag were kept as the most
prized of all his possessions, and not a week passed without a visit
from king John to make sure they were safe.  He reigned long and well,
and died a very old man, beloved by his people.  But his good example
was not followed by his sons and his grandsons.  They grew so proud
that they were ashamed to think that the founder of their race had once
been a poor boy; and as they and all the world could not fail to
remember it, as long as the table, the cornet, and the bag were shown
in the treasure chamber, one king, more foolish than the rest, thrust
them into a dark and damp cellar.

For some time the kingdom remained, though it became weaker and weaker
every year that passed.  Then, one day, a rumour reached the king that
a large army was marching against him.  Vaguely he recollected some
tales he had heard about a magic cornet which could provide as many
soldiers as would serve to conquer the earth, and which had been
removed by his grandfather to a cellar.  Thither he hastened that he
might renew his power once more, and in that black and slimy spot he
found the treasures indeed.  But the table fell to pieces as he touched
it, in the cornet there remained only a few fragments of leathern belts
which the rats had gnawed, and in the bag nothing but broken bits of
stone.

And the king bowed his head to the doom that awaited him, and in his
heart cursed the ruin wrought by the pride and foolishness of himself
and his forefathers.





            The Rover of the Plain



A long way off, near the sea coast of the east of Africa, there dwelt,
once upon a time, a man and his wife.  They had two children, a son and
a daughter, whom they loved very much, and, like parents in other
countries, they often talked of the fine marriages the young people
would make some day.  Out there both boys and girls marry early, and
very soon, it seemed to the mother, a message was sent by a rich man on
the other side of the great hills offering a fat herd of oxen in
exchange for the girl.  Everyone in the house and in the village
rejoiced, and the maiden was despatched to her new home.  When all was
quiet again the father said to his son:

'Now that we own such a splendid troop of oxen you had better hasten
and get yourself a wife, lest some illness should overtake them.
Already we have seen in the villages round about one or two damsels
whose parents would gladly part with them for less than half the herd.
Therefore tell us which you like best, and we will buy her for you.'

But the son answered:

'Not so; the maidens I have seen do not please me.  If, indeed, I must
marry, let me travel and find a wife for myself.'

'It shall be as you wish,' said the parents; 'but if by-and-by trouble
should come of it, it will be your fault and not ours.'

The youth, however, would not listen; and bidding his father and mother
farewell, set out on his search.  Far, far away he wandered, over
mountains and across rivers, till he reached a village where the people
were quite different from those of his own race.  He glanced about him
and noticed that the girls were fair to look upon, as they pounded
maize or stewed something that smelt very nice in earthen
pots--especially if you were hot and tired; and when one of the maidens
turned round and offered the stranger some dinner, he made up his mind
that he would wed her and nobody else.

So he sent a message to her parents asking their leave to take her for
his wife, and they came next day to bring their answer.

'We will give you our daughter,' said they, 'if you can pay a good
price for her.  Never was there so hardworking a girl; and how we shall
do without her we cannot tell!  Still-- no doubt your father and mother
will come themselves and bring the price?'

'No; I have the price with me,' replied the young man; laying down a
handful of gold pieces.  'Here it is--take it.'

The old couple's eyes glittered greedily; but custom forbade them to
touch the price before all was arranged.

'At least,' said they, after a moment's pause, 'we may expect them to
fetch your wife to her new home?'

'No; they are not used to travelling,' answered the bridegroom.  'Let
the ceremony be performed without delay, and we will set forth at once.
 It is a long journey.'

Then the parents called in the girl, who was lying in the sun outside
the hut, and, in the presence of all the village, a goat was killed,
the sacred dance took place, and a blessing was said over the heads of
the young people.  After that the bride was led aside by her father,
whose duty it was to bestow on her some parting advice as to her
conduct in her married life.

'Be good to your husband's parents,' added he, 'and always do the will
of your husband.'  And the girl nodded her head obediently.  Next it
was the mother's turn; and, as was the custom of the tribe, she spoke
to her daughter:

'Will you choose which of your sisters shall go with you to cut your
wood and carry your water?'

'I do not want any of them,' answered she; 'they are no use.  They will
drop the wood and spill the water.'

'Then will you have any of the other children?  There are enough to
spare,' asked the mother again.  But the bride said quickly:

'I will have none of them!  You must give me our buffalo, the Rover of
the Plain; he alone shall serve me.'

'What folly you talk!' cried the parents.  'Give you our buffalo, the
Rover of the Plain?  Why, you know that our life depends on him.  Here
he is well fed and lies on soft grass; but how can you tell what will
befall him in another country?  The food may be bad, he will die of
hunger; and, if he dies we die also.'

'No, no,' said the bride; 'I can look after him as well as you.  Get
him ready, for the sun is sinking and it is time we set forth.'

So she went away and put together a small pot filled with healing
herms, a horn that she used in tending sick people, a little knife, and
a calabash containing deer fat; and, hiding these about her, she took
leave of her father and mother and started across the mountains by the
side of her husband.

But the young man did not see the buffalo that followed them, which had
left his home to be the servant of his wife.

No one ever knew how the news spread to the kraal that the young man
was coming back, bringing a wife with him; but, somehow or other, when
the two entered the village, every man and woman was standing in the
road uttering shouts of welcome.

'Ah, you are not dead after all,' cried they; 'and have found a wife to
your liking, though you would have none of our girls.  Well, well, you
have chosen your own path; and if ill comes of it beware lest you
grumble.'

Next day the husband took his wife to the fields and showed her which
were his, and which belonged to his mother.  The girl listened
carefully to all he told her, and walked with him back to the hut; but
close to the door she stopped, and said:

'I have dropped my necklace of beads in the field, and I must go and
look for it.'  But in truth she had done nothing of the sort, and it
was only an excuse to go and seek the buffalo.

The beast was crouching under a tree when she came up, and snorted with
pleasure at the sight of her.

'You can roam about this field, and this, and this,' she said, 'for
they belong to my husband; and that is his wood, where you may hide
yourself.  But the other fields are his mother's, so beware lest you
touch them.'

'I will beware,' answered the buffalo; and, patting his head, the girl
left him.

Oh, how much better a servant he was than any of the little girls the
bride had refused to bring with her!  If she wanted water, she had only
to cross the patch of maize behind the hut and seek out the place where
the buffalo lay hidden, and put down her pail beside him.  Then she
would sit at her ease while he went to the lake and brought the bucket
back brimming over.  If she wanted wood, he would break the branches
off the trees and lay them at her feet.  And the villagers watched her
return laden, and said to each other:

'Surely the girls of her country are stronger than our girls, for none
of them could cut so quickly or carry so much!'  But then, nobody knew
that she had a buffalo for a servant.

Only, all this time she never gave the poor buffalo anything to eat,
because she had just one dish, out of which she and her husband ate;
while in her old home there was a dish put aside expressly for the
Rover of the Plain.  The buffalo bore it as long as he could; but, one
day, when his mistress bade him go to the lake and fetch water, his
knees almost gave way from hunger.  He kept silence, however, till the
evening, when he said to his mistress:

'I am nearly starved; I have not touched food since I came here.  I can
work no more.'

'Alas!' answered she, 'what can I do?  I have only one dish in the
house.  You will have to steal some beans from the fields.  Take a few
here and a few there; but be sure not to take too many from one place,
or the owner may notice it.'

Now the buffalo had always lived an honest life, but if his mistress
did not feed him, he must get food for himself.  So that night, when
all the village was asleep, he came out from the wood and ate a few
beans here and a few there, as his mistress had bidden him.  And when
at last his hunger was satisfied, he crept back to his lair.  But a
buffalo is not a fairy, and the next morning, when the women arrived to
work in the fields, they stood still with astonishment, and said to
each other:

'Just look at this; a savage beast has been destroying our crops, and
we can see the traces of his feet!'  And they hurried to their homes to
tell their tale.

In the evening the girl crept out to the buffalo's hiding-place, and
said to him:

'They perceived what happened, of course; so to-night you had better
seek your supper further off.'  And the buffalo nodded his head and
followed her counsel; but in the morning, when these women also went
out to work, the races of hoofs were plainly to be seen, and they
hastened to tell their husbands, and begged them to bring their guns,
and to watch for the robber.

It happened that the stranger girl's husband was the best marksman in
all the village, and he hid himself behind the trunk of a tree and
waited.

The buffalo, thinking that they would probably make a search for him in
the fields he had laid waste the evening before, returned to the bean
patch belonging to his mistress.

The young man saw him coming with amazement.

'Why, it is a buffalo!' cried he; 'I never have beheld one in this
country before!'  And raising his gun, he aimed just behind the ear.

The buffalo gave a leap into the air, and then fell dead.

'It was a good shot,' said the young man.  And he ran to the village to
tell them that the thief was punished.

When he entered his hut he found his wife, who had somehow heard the
news, twisting herself to and fro and shedding tears.

'Are you ill?' asked he.  And she answered: 'Yes; I have pains all over
my body.'  But she was not ill at all, only very unhappy at the death
of the buffalo which had served her so well.  Her husband felt anxious,
and sent for the medicine man; but though she pretended to listen to
him, she threw all his medicine out of the door directly he had gone
away.

With the first rays of light the whole village was awake, and the women
set forth armed with baskets and the men with knives in order to cut up
the buffalo.  Only the girl remained in her hut; and after a while she
too went to join them, groaning and weeping as she walked along.

'What are you doing here?' asked her husband when he saw her.  'If you
are ill you are better at home.'

'Oh!  I could not stay alone in the village,' said she.  And her
mother-in-law left off her work to come and scold her, and to tell her
that she would kill herself if she did such foolish things.  But the
girl would not listen and sat down and looked on.

When they had divided the buffalo's flesh, and each woman had the
family portion in her basket, the stranger wife got up and said:

'Let me have the head.'

'You could never carry anything so heavy,' answered the men, 'and now
you are ill besides.'

'You do not know how strong I am,' answered she.  And at last they gave
it her.

She did not walk to the village with the others, but lingered behind,
and, instead of entering her hut, she slipped into the little shed
where the pots for cooking and storing maize were kept.  Then she laid
down the buffalo's head and sat beside it.  Her husband came to seek
her, and begged her to leave the shed and go to bed, as she must be
tired out; but the girl would not stir, neither would she attend to the
words of her mother-in-law.

'I wish you would leave me alone!' she answered crossly.  'It is
impossible to sleep if somebody is always coming in.'  And she turned
her back on them, and would not even eat the food they had brought.  So
they went away, and the young man soon stretched himself out on his
mat; but his wife's odd conduct made him anxious, and he lay wake all
night, listening.

When all was still the girl made a fire and boiled some water in a pot.
 As soon as it was quite hot she shook in the medicine that she had
brought from home, and then, taking the buffalo's head, she made
incisions with her little knife behind the ear, and close to the temple
where the shot had struck him.  Next she applied the horn to the spot
and blew with all her force till, at length, the blood began to move.
After that she spread some of the deer fat out of the calabash over the
wound, which she held in the steam of the hot water.  Last of all, she
sang in a low voice a dirge over the Rover of the Plain.

As she chanted the final words the head moved, and the limbs came back.
 The buffalo began to feel alive again and shook his horns, and stood
up and stretched himself.  Unluckily it was just at this moment that
the husband said to himself:

'I wonder if she is crying still, and what is the matter with her!
Perhaps I had better go and see.'  And he got up and, calling her by
name, went out to the shed.

'Go away!  I don't want you!' she cried angrily.  But it was too late.
The buffalo had fallen to the ground, dead, and with the wound in his
head as before.

The young man who, unlike most of his tribe, was afraid of his wife,
returned to his bed without having seen anything, but wondering very
much what she could be doing all this time.  After waiting a few
minutes, she began her task over again, and at the end the buffalo
stood on his feet as before.  But just as the girl was rejoicing that
her work was completed, in came the husband once more to see what his
wife was doing; and this time he sat himself down in the hut, and said
that he wished to watch whatever was going on.  Then the girl took up
the pitcher and all her other things and left the shed, trying for the
third time to bring the buffalo back to life.

She was too late; the dawn was already breaking, and the head fell to
the ground, dead and corrupt as it was before.

The girl entered the hut, where her husband and his mother were getting
ready to go out.

'I want to go down to the lake, and bathe,' said she.

'But you could never walk so far,' answered they.  'You are so tired,
as it is, that you can hardly stand!'

However, in spite of their warnings, the girl left the hut in the
direction of the lake.  Very soon she came back weeping, and sobbed out:

'I met some one in the village who lives in my country, and he told me
that my mother is very, very ill, and if I do not go to her at once she
will be dead before I arrive.  I will return as soon as I can, and now
farewell.'  And she set forth in the direction of the mountains.  But
this story was not true; she knew nothing about her mother, only she
wanted an excuse to go home and tell her family that their prophecies
had come true, and that the buffalo was dead.

 Balancing her basket on her head, she walked along, and directly she
had left the village behind her she broke out into the song of the
Rover of the Plain, and at last, at the end of the day, she came to the
group of huts where her parents lived.  Her friends all ran to meet
her, and, weeping, she told them that the buffalo was dead.

This sad news spread like lightning through the country, and the people
flocked from far and near to bewail the loss of the beast who had been
their pride.

'If you had only listened to us,' they cried, 'he would be alive now.
But you refused all the little girls we offered you, and would have
nothing but the buffalo.  And remember what the medicine-man said: "If
the buffalo dies you die also!"'

So they bewailed their fate, one to the other, and for a while they did
not perceive that the girl's husband was sitting in their midst,
leaning his gun against a tree.  Then one man, turning, beheld him, and
bowed mockingly.

'Hail, murderer! hail! you have slain us all!'

The young man stared, not knowing what he meant, and answered,
wonderingly:

'I shot a buffalo; is that why you call me a murderer?'

'A buffalo--yes; but the servant of your wife!  It was he who carried
the wood and drew the water.  Did you not know it?'

'No; I did not know it,' replied the husband in surprise.  'Why did no
one tell me?  Of course I should not have shot him!'

'Well, he is dead,' answered they, 'and we must die too.'

At this the girl took a cup in which some poisonous herbs had been
crushed, and holding it in her hands, she wailed: 'O my father, Rover
of the Plain!'  Then drinking a deep draught from it, fell back dead.
One by one her parents, her brothers and her sisters, drank also and
died, singing a dirge to the memory of the buffalo.

The girl's husband looked on with horror; and returned sadly home
across the mountains, and, entering his hut, threw himself on the
ground.  At first he was too tired to speak; but at length he raised
his head and told all the story to his father and mother, who sat
watching him.  When he had finished they shook their heads and said:

'Now you see that we spoke no idle words when we told you that ill
would come of your marriage!  We offered you a good and hard- working
wife, and you would have none of her.  And it is not only your wife you
have lost, but your fortune also.  For who will give you back your
money if they are all dead?'

'It is true, O my father,' answered the young man.  But in his heart he
thought more of the loss of his wife than of the money he had given for
her.





                The White Doe



Once upon a time there lived a king and queen who loved each other
dearly, and would have been perfectly happy if they had only had a
little son or daughter to play with.  They never talked about it, and
always pretended that there was nothing in the world to wish for; but,
sometimes when they looked at other people's children, their faces grew
sad, and their courtiers and attendants knew the reason why.

One day the queen was sitting alone by the side of a waterfall which
sprung from some rocks in the large park adjoining the castle.  She was
feeling more than usually miserable, and had sent away her ladies so
that no one might witness her grief.  Suddenly she heard a rustling
movement in the pool below the waterfall, and, on glancing up, she saw
a large crab climbing on to a stone beside her.

'Great queen,' said the crab, 'I am here to tell you that the desire of
your heart will soon be granted.  But first you must permit me to lead
you to the palace of the fairies, which, though hard by, has never been
seen by mortal eyes because of the thick clouds that surround it.  When
there you will know more; that is, if you will trust yourself to me.'

The queen had never before heard an animal speak, and was struck dumb
with surprise.  However, she was so enchanted at the words of the crab
that she smiled sweetly and held out her hand; it was taken, not by the
crab, which had stood there only a moment before, but by a little old
woman smartly dressed in white and crimson with green ribbons in her
grey hair.  And, wonderful to say, not a drop of water fell from her
clothes.

The old woman ran lightly down a path along which the queen had been a
hundred times before, but it seemed so different she could hardly
believe it was the same.  Instead of having to push her way through
nettles and brambles, roses and jasmine hung about her head, while
under her feet the ground was sweet with violets.  The orange trees
were so tall and thick that, even at mid-day, the sun was never too
hot, and at the end of the path was a glimmer of something so dazzling
that the queen had to shade her eyes, and peep at it only between her
fingers.

'What can it be?' she asked, turning to her guide; who answered:

'Oh, that is the fairies' palace, and here are some of them coming to
meet us.'

As she spoke the gates swung back and six fairies approached, each
bearing in her hand a flower made of precious stones, but so like a
real one that it was only by touching you could tell the difference.

'Madam,' they said, 'we know not how to thank you for this mark of your
confidence, but have the happiness to tell you that in a short time you
will have a little daughter.'

The queen was so enchanted at this news that she nearly fainted with
joy; but when she was able to speak, she poured out all her gratitude
to the fairies for their promised gift.

'And now,' she said, 'I ought not to stay any longer, for my husband
will think that I have run away, or that some evil beast has devoured
me.'

In a little while it happened just as the fairies had foretold, and a
baby girl was born in the palace.  Of course both the king and queen
were delighted, and the child was called Desiree, which means
'desired,' for she had been 'desired' for five years before her birth.

At first the queen could think of nothing but her new plaything, but
then she remembered the fairies who had sent it to her.  Bidding her
ladies bring her the posy of jewelled flowers which had been given her
at the palace, she took each flower in her hand and called it by name,
and, in turn, each fairy appeared before her.  But, as unluckily often
happens, the one to whom she owed the most, the crab-fairy, was
forgotten, and by this, as in the case of other babies you have read
about, much mischief was wrought.

However, for the moment all was gaiety in the palace, and everybody
inside ran to the windows to watch the fairies' carriages, for no two
were alike.  One had a car of ebony, drawn by white pigeons, another
was lying back in her ivory chariot, driving ten black crows, while the
rest had chosen rare woods or many-coloured sea-shells, with scarlet
and blue macaws, long-tailed peacocks, or green love-birds for horses.
These carriages were only used on occasions of state, for when they
went to war flying dragons, fiery serpents, lions or leopards, took the
place of the beautiful birds.

The fairies entered the queen's chamber followed by little dwarfs who
carried their presents and looked much prouder than their mistresses.
One by one their burdens were spread upon the ground, and no one had
ever seen such lovely things.  Everything that a baby could possibly
wear or play with was there, and besides, they had other and more
precious gifts to give her, which only children who have fairies for
godmothers can ever hope to possess.

They were all gathered round the heap of pink cushions on which the
baby lay asleep, when a shadow seemed to fall between them and the sun,
while a cold wind blew through the room.  Everybody looked up, and
there was the crab- fairy, who had grown as tall as the ceiling in her
anger.

'So I am forgotten!' cried she, in a voice so loud that the queen
trembled as she heard it.  'Who was it soothed you in your trouble?
Who was it led you to the fairies?  Who was it brought you back in
safety to your home again?  Yet I--I--am overlooked, while these who
have done nothing in comparison, are petted and thanked.'

The queen, almost dumb with terror, in vain tried to think of some
explanation or apology; but there was none, and she could only confess
her fault and implore forgiveness.  The fairies also did their best to
soften the wrath of their sister, and knowing that, like many plain
people who are not fairies, she was very vain, they entreated her to
drop her crab's disguise, and to become once more the charming person
they were accustomed to see.

For some time the enraged fairy would listen to nothing; but at length
the flatteries began to take effect.  The crab's shell fell from her,
she shrank into her usual size, and lost some of her fierce expression.

'Well,' she said, 'I will not cause the princess's death, as I had
meant to do, but at the same time she will have to bear the punishment
of her mother's fault, as many other children have done before her.
The sentence I pass upon her is, that if she is allowed to see one ray
of daylight before her fifteenth birthday she will rue it bitterly, and
it may perhaps cost her her life.'  And with these words she vanished
by the window through which she came, while the fairies comforted the
weeping queen and took counsel how best the princess might be kept safe
during her childhood.

At the end of half an hour they had made up their minds what to do, and
at the command of the fairies, a beautiful palace sprang up, close to
that of the king and queen, but different from every palace in the
world in having no windows, and only a door right under the earth.
However, once within, daylight was hardly missed, so brilliant were the
multitudes of tapers that were burning on the walls.

Now up to this time the princess's history has been like the history of
many a princess that you have read about; but, when the period of her
imprisonment was nearly over, her fortunes took another turn.  For
almost fifteen years the fairies had taken care of her, and amused her
and taught her, so that when she came into the world she might be no
whit behind the daughters of other kings in all that makes a princess
charming and accomplished.  They all loved her dearly, but the fairy
Tulip loved her most of all; and as the princess's fifteenth birthday
drew near, the fairy began to tremble lest something terrible should
happen--some accident which had not been foreseen.  'Do not let her out
of your sight,' said Tulip to the queen, 'and meanwhile, let her
portrait be painted and carried to the neighbouring Courts, as is the
custom in order that the kings may see how far her beauty exceeds that
of every other princess, and that they may demand her in marriage for
their sons.'

And so it was done; and as the fairy had prophesied, all the young
princes fell in love with the picture; but the last one to whom it was
shown could think of nothing else, and refused to let it be removed
from his chamber, where he spent whole days gazing at it.

The king his father was much surprised at the change which had come
over his son, who generally passed all his time in hunting or hawking,
and his anxiety was increased by a conversation he overheard between
two of his courtiers that they feared the prince must be going out of
his mind, so moody had he become.  Without losing a moment the king
went to visit his son, and no sooner had he entered the room than the
young man flung himself at his father's feet.

'You have betrothed me already to a bride I can never love!' cried he;
'but if you will not consent to break off the match, and ask for the
hand of the princess Desiree, I shall die of misery, thankful to be
alive no longer.'

These words much displeased the king, who felt that, in breaking off
the marriage already arranged he would almost certainly be bringing on
his subjects a long and bloody war; so, without answering, he turned
away, hoping that a few days might bring his son to reason.  But the
prince's condition grew rapidly so much worse that the king, in
despair, promised to send an embassy at once to Desiree's father.

This news cured the young man in an instant of all his ills; and he
began to plan out every detail of dress and of horses and carriages
which were necessary to make the train of the envoy, whose name was
Becasigue, as splendid as possible.  He longed to form part of the
embassy himself, if only in the disguise of a page; but this the king
would not allow, and so the prince had to content himself with
searching the kingdom for everything that was rare and beautiful to
send to the princess.  Indeed, he arrived, just as the embassy was
starting, with his portrait, which had been painted in secret by the
court painter.

The king and queen wished for nothing better than that their daughter
marry into such a great and powerful family, and received the
ambassador with every sign of welcome.  They even wished him to see the
princess Desiree, but this was prevented by the fairy Tulip, who feared
some ill might come of it.

'And be sure you tell him,' added she, 'that the marriage cannot be
celebrated till she is fifteen years old, or else some terrible
misfortune will happen to the child.'

So when Becasigue, surround by his train, made a formal request that
the princess Desiree might be given in marriage to his master's son,
the king replied that he was much honoured, and would gladly give his
consent; but that no one could even see the princess till her fifteenth
birthday, as the spell laid upon her in her cradle by a spiteful fairy,
would not cease to work till that was past.  The ambassador was greatly
surprised and disappointed, but he knew too much about fairies to
venture to disobey them, therefore he had to content himself with
presenting the prince's portrait to the queen, who lost no time in
carrying it to the princess.  As the girl took it in her hands it
suddenly spoke, as it had been taught to do, and uttered a compliment
of the most delicate and charming sort, which made the princess flush
with pleasure.

'How would you like to have a husband like that?' asked the queen,
laughing.

'As if I knew anything about husbands!' replied Desiree, who had long
ago guessed the business of the ambassador.

'Well, he will be your husband in three months,' answered the queen,
ordering the prince's presents to be brought in.  The princess was very
pleased with them, and admired them greatly, but the queen noticed that
all the while her eyes constantly strayed from the softest silks and
most brilliant jewels to the portrait of the prince.

The ambassador, finding that there was no hope of his being allowed to
see the princess, took his leave, and returned to his own court; but
here a new difficulty appeared.  The prince, though transported with
joy at the thought that Desiree was indeed to be his bride, was
bitterly disappointed that she had not been allowed to return with
Becasigue, as he had foolishly expected; and never having been taught
to deny himself anything or to control his feelings, he fell as ill as
he had done before.  He would eat nothing nor take pleasure in
anything, but lay all day on a heap of cushions, gazing at the picture
of the princess.

'If I have to wait three months before I can marry the princess I shall
die!' was all this spoilt boy would say; and at length the king, in
despair, resolved to send a fresh embassy to Desiree's father to
implore him to permit the marriage to be celebrated at once.  'I would
have presented my prayer in person, he added in his letter, 'but my
great age and infirmities do not suffer me to travel; however my envoy
has orders to agree to any arrangement that you may propose.'

On his arrival at the palace Becasigue pleaded his young master's cause
as fervently as the king his father could have done, and entreated that
the princess might be consulted in the matter.  The queen hastened to
the marble tower, and told her daughter of the sad state of the prince.
 Desiree sank down fainting at the news, but soon came to herself
again, and set about inventing a plan which would enable her to go to
the prince without risking the doom pronounced over her by the wicked
fairy.

'I see!' she exclaimed joyfully at last.  'Let a carriage be built
through which no light can come, and let it be brought into my room.  I
will then get into it, and we can travel swiftly during the night and
arrive before dawn at the palace of the prince.  Once there, I can
remain in some underground chamber, where no light can come.'

'Ah, how clever you are,' cried the queen, clasping her in her arms.
And she hurried away to tell the king.

'What a wife our prince will have!' said Becasigue bowing low; 'but I
must hasten back with the tidings, and to prepare the underground
chamber for the princess.'  And so he took his leave.

In a few days the carriage commanded by the princess was ready.  It was
of green velvet, scattered over with large golden thistles, and lined
inside with silver brocade embroidered with pink roses.  It had no
windows, of course; but the fairy Tulip, whose counsel had been asked,
had managed to light it up with a soft glow that came no one knew
whither.

It was carried straight up into the great hall of the tower, and the
princess stepped into it, followed by her faithful maid of honour,
Eglantine, and by her lady in waiting Cerisette, who also had fallen in
love with the prince's portrait and was bitterly jealous of her
mistress.  The fourth place in the carriage was filled by Cerisette's
mother, who had been sent by the queen to look after the three young
people.

Now the Fairy of the Fountain was the godmother of the princess Nera,
to whom the prince had been betrothed before the picture of Desiree had
made him faithless.  She was very angry at the slight put upon her
godchild, and from that moment kept careful watch on the princess.  In
this journey she saw her chance, and it was she who, invisible, sat by
Cerisette, and put bad thoughts into the minds of both her and her
mother.

The way to the city where the prince lived ran for the most part
through a thick forest, and every night when there was no moon, and not
a single star could be seen through the trees, the guards who travelled
with the princess opened the carriage to give it an airing.  This went
on for several days, till only twelve hours journey lay between them
and the palace.  The Cerisette persuaded her mother to cut a great hole
in the side of the carriage with a sharp knife which she herself had
brought for the purpose.  In the forest the darkness was so intense
that no one perceived what she had done, but when they left the last
trees behind them, and emerged into the open country, the sun was up,
and for the first time since her babyhood, Desiree found herself in the
light of day.

She looked up in surprise at the dazzling brilliance that streamed
through the hole; then gave a sigh which seemed to come from her heart.
 The carriage door swung back, as if by magic, and a white doe sprang
out, and in a moment was lost to sight in the forest.  But, quick as
she was, Eglantine, her maid of honour, had time to see where she went,
and jumped from the carriage in pursuit of her, followed at a distance
by the guards.

Cerisette and her mother looked at each other in surprise and joy.
They could hardly believe in their good fortune, for everything had
happened exactly as they wished.  The first thing to be done was to
conceal the hole which had been cut, and when this was managed (with
the help of the angry fairy, though they did not know it), Cerisette
hastened to take off her own clothes, and put on those of the princess,
placing the crown of diamonds on her head.  She found this heavier than
she expected; but then, she had never been accustomed to wear crowns,
which makes all the difference.

At the gates of the city the carriage was stopped by a guard of honour
sent by the king as an escort to his son's bride.  Though Cerisette and
her mother could of course see nothing of what was going on outside,
they heard plainly the shouts of welcome from the crowds along the
streets.

The carriage stopped at length in the vast hall which Becasigue had
prepared for the reception of the princess.  The grand chamberlain and
the lord high steward were awaiting her, and when the false bride
stepped into the brilliantly lighted room, they bowed low, and said
they had orders to inform his highness the moment she arrived.  The
prince, whom the strict etiquette of the court had prevented from being
present in the underground hall, was burning with impatience in his own
apartments.

'So she had come!' cried he, throwing down the bow he had been
pretending to mend.  'Well, was I not right?  Is she not a miracle of
beauty and grace?  And has she her equal in the whole world?' The
ministers looked at each other, and made no reply; till at length the
chamberlain, who was the bolder of the two, observed:

'My lord, as to her beauty, you can judge of that for yourself.  No
doubt it is as great as you say; but at present it seems to have
suffered, as is natural, from the fatigues of the journey.'

This was certainly not what the prince had expected to hear.  Could the
portrait have flattered her?  He had known of such things before, and a
cold shiver ran through him; but with an effort he kept silent from
further questioning, and only said:

'Has the king been told that the princess is in the palace?'

'Yes, highness; and he has probably already joined her.'

'Then I will go too,' said the prince.

Weak as he was from his long illness, the prince descended the
staircase, supported by the ministers, and entered the room just in
time to hear his father's loud cry of astonishment and disgust at the
sight of Cerisette.

'There was been treachery at work,' he exclaimed, while the prince
leant, dumb with horror, against the doorpost.  But the lady in
waiting, who had been prepared for something of the sort, advanced,
holding in her hand the letters which the king and queen had entrusted
to her.

'This is the princess Desiree,' said she, pretending to have heard
nothing, 'and I have the honour to present to you these letters from my
liege lord and lady, together with the casket containing the princess'
jewels.'

The king did not move or answer her; so the prince, leaning on the arm
of Becasigue, approached a little closer to the false princess, hoping
against hope that his eyes had deceived him.  But the longer he looked
the more he agreed with his father that there was treason somewhere,
for in no single respect did the portrait resemble the woman before
him.  Cerisette was so tall that the dress of the princess did not
reach her ankles, and so thin that her bones showed through the stuff.
Besides that her nose was hooked, and her teeth black and ugly.

In his turn, the prince stood rooted to the spot.  At last he spoke,
and his words were addressed to his father, and not to the bride who
had come so far to marry him.

'We have been deceived,' he said, 'and it will cost me my life.'  And
he leaned so heavily on the envoy that Becasigue feared he was going to
faint, and hastily laid him on the floor.  For some minutes no one
could attend to anybody but the prince; but as soon as he revived the
lady in waiting made herself heard.

'Oh, my lovely princess, why did we ever leave home?' cried she.  'But
the king your father will avenge the insults that have been heaped on
you when we tell him how you have been treated.'

'I will tell him myself,' replied the king in wrath; 'he promised me a
wonder of beauty, he has sent me a skeleton!  I am not surprised that
he has kept her for fifteen years hidden away from the eyes of the
world.  Take them both away,' he continued, turning to his guards, 'and
lodge them in the state prison.  There is something more I have to
learn of this matter.'

His orders were obeyed, and the prince, loudly bewailing his sad fate,
was led back to bed, where for many days he lay in a high fever.  At
length he slowly began to gain strength, but his sorrow was still so
great that he could not bear the sight of a strange face, and shuddered
at the notion of taking his proper part in the court ceremonies.
Unknown to the king, or to anybody but Becasigue, he planned that, as
soon as he was able, he would make his escape and pass the rest of his
life alone in some solitary place.  It was some weeks before he had
regained his health sufficiently to carry out his design; but finally,
one beautiful starlight night, the two friends stole away, and when the
king woke next morning he found a letter lying by his bed, saying that
his son had gone, he knew not whither.  He wept bitter tears at the
news, for he loved the prince dearly; but he felt that perhaps the
young man had done wisely, and he trusted to time and Becasigue's
influence to bring the wanderer home.

And while these things were happening, what had become of the white
doe?  Though when she sprang from the carriage she was aware that some
unkind fate had changed her into an animal, yet, till she saw herself
in a stream, she had no idea what it was.

'Is it really, I, Desiree?' she said to herself, weeping.  'What wicked
fairy can have treated me so; and shall I never, never take my own
shape again?  My only comfort that, in this great forest, full of lions
and serpents, my life will be a short one.'

Now the fairy Tulip was as much grieved at the sad fate of the princess
as Desiree's own mother could have been if she had known of it.  Still,
she could not help feeling that if the king and queen had listened to
her advice the girl would by this time be safely in the walls of her
new home.  However, she loved Desiree too much to let her suffer more
than could be helped, and it was she who guided Eglantine to the place
where the white doe was standing, cropping the grass which was her
dinner.

At the sound of footsteps the pretty creature lifted her head, and when
she saw her faithful companion approaching she bounded towards her, and
rubbed her head on Eglantine's shoulder.  The maid of honour was
surprised; but she was fond of animals, and stroked the white doe
tenderly, speaking gently to her all the while.  Suddenly the beautiful
creature lifted her head, and looked up into Eglantine's face, with
tears streaming from her eyes.  A thought flashed through her mind, and
quick as lightning the girl flung herself on her knees, and lifting the
animal's feet kissed them one by one.  'My princess!  O my dear
princess!' cried she; and again the white doe rubbed her head against
her, for thought the spiteful fairy had taken away her power of speech,
she had not deprived her of her reason!

All day long the two remained together, and when Eglantine grew hungry
she was led by the white doe to a part of the forest where pears and
peaches grew in abundance; but, as night came on, the maid of honour
was filled with the terrors of wild beasts which had beset the princess
during her first night in the forest.

'Is there no hut or cave we could go into?' asked she.  But the doe
only shook her head; and the two sat down and wept with fright.

The fairy Tulip, who, in spite of her anger, was very soft-hearted, was
touched at their distress, and flew quickly to their help.

'I cannot take away the spell altogether,' she said, 'for the Fairy of
the Fountain is stronger than I; but I can shorten the time of your
punishment, and am able to make it less hard, for as soon as darkness
fall you shall resume your own shape.'

To think that by-and-by she would cease to be a white doe--indeed, that
she would at once cease to be one during the night--was for the present
joy enough for Desiree, and she skipped about on the grass in the
prettiest manner.

'Go straight down the path in front of you,' continued the fairy,
smiling as she watched her; 'go straight down the path and you will
soon reach a little hut where you will find shelter.'  And with these
words she vanished, leaving her hearers happier than they ever thought
they could be again.

An old woman was standing at the door of the hut when Eglantine drew
near, with the white doe trotting by her side.

'Good evening!' she said; 'could you give me a night's lodging for
myself and my doe?'

'Certainly I can,' replied the old woman.  And she led them into a room
with two little white beds, so clean and comfortable that it made you
sleepy even to look at them.

The door had hardly closed behind the old woman when the sun sank below
the horizon, and Desiree became a girl again.

'Oh, Eglantine! what should I have done if you had not followed me,'
she cried.  And she flung herself into her friend's arms in a transport
of delight.

Early in the morning Eglantine was awakened by the sound of someone
scratching at the door, and on opening her eyes she saw the white doe
struggling to get out.  The little creature looked up and into her
face, and nodded her head as the maid of honour unfastened the latch,
but bounded away into the woods, and was lost to sight in a moment.

 Meanwhile, the prince and Becasigue were wandering through the wood,
till at last the prince grew so tired, that he lay down under a tree,
and told Becasigue that he had better go in search of food, and of some
place where they could sleep.  Becasigue had not gone very far, when a
turn of the path brought him face to face with the old woman who was
feeding her doves before her cottage.

'Could you give me some milk and fruit?' asked he.  'I am very hungry
myself, and, besides, I have left a friend behind me who is still weak
from illness.'

'Certainly I can,' answered the old woman.  'But come and sit down in
my kitchen while I catch the goat and milk it.'

Becasigue was glad enough to do as he was bid, and in a few minutes the
old woman returned with a basket brimming over with oranges and grapes.

'If your friend has been ill he should not pass the night in the
forest,' said she.  'I have room in my hut--tiny enough, it is true;
but better than nothing, and to that you are both heartily welcome.'

Becasigue thanked her warmly, and as by this time it was almost sunset,
he set out to fetch the prince.  It was while he was absent that
Eglantine and the white doe entered the hut, and having, of course, no
idea that in the very next room was the man whose childish impatience
had been the cause of all their troubles.

In spite of his fatigue, the prince slept badly, and directly it was
light he rose, and bidding Becasigue remain where he was, as he wished
to be alone, he strolled out into the forest.  He walked on slowly,
just as his fancy led him, till, suddenly, he came to a wide open
space, and in the middle was the white doe quietly eating her
breakfast.  She bounded off at the sight of a man, but not before the
prince, who had fastened on his bow without thinking, had let fly
several arrows, which the fairy Tulip took care should do her no harm.
But, quickly as she ran, she soon felt her strength failing her, for
fifteen years of life in a tower had not taught her how to exercise her
limbs.

Luckily, the prince was too weak to follow her far, and a turn of a
path brought her close to the hut, where Eglantine was awaiting her.
Panting for breath, she entered their room, and flung herself down on
the floor.

When it was dark again, and she was once more the princess Desiree, she
told Eglantine what had befallen her.

'I feared the Fairy of the Fountain, and the cruel beasts,' said she;
'but somehow I never thought of the dangers that I ran from men.  I do
not know now what saved me.'

'You must stay quietly here till the time of your punishment is over,'
answered Eglantine.  But when the morning dawned, and the girl turned
into a doe, the longing for the forest came over her, and she sprang
away as before.

As soon as the prince was awake he hastened to the place where, only
the day before, he had found the white doe feeding; but of course she
had taken care to go in the opposite direction.  Much disappointed, he
tried first one green path and then another, and at last, wearied with
walking, he threw himself down and went fast asleep.

Just at this moment the white doe sprang out of a thicket near by, and
started back trembling when she beheld her enemy lying there.  Yet,
instead of turning to fly, something bade her go and look at him
unseen.  As she gazed a thrill ran through her, for she felt that, worn
and wasted though he was by illness, it was the face of her destined
husband.  Gently stooping over him she kissed his forehead, and at her
touch he awoke.

For a minute they looked at each other, and to his amazement he
recognized the white doe which had escaped him the previous day.  But
in an instant the animal was aroused to a sense of her danger, and she
fled with all her strength into the thickest part of the forest.  Quick
as lightning the prince was on her track, but this time it was with no
wish to kill or even wound the beautiful creature.

'Pretty doe! pretty doe! stop!  I won't hurt you,' cried he, but his
words were carried away by the wind.

At length the doe could run no more, and when the prince reached her,
she was lying stretched out on the grass, waiting for her death blow.
But instead the prince knelt at her side, and stroked her, and bade her
fear nothing, as he would take care of her.  So he fetched a little
water from the stream in his horn hunting cup, then, cutting some
branches from the trees, he twisted them into a litter which he covered
with moss, and laid the white doe gently on it.

For a long time they remained thus, but when Desiree saw by the way
that the light struck the trees, that he sun must be near its setting,
she was filled with alarm lest the darkness should fall, and the prince
should behold her in her human shape.

'No, he must not see me for the first time here,' she thought, and
instantly began to plan how to get rid of him.  Then she opened her
mouth and let her tongue hang out, as if she were dying of thirst, and
the prince, as she expected, hastened to the stream to get her some
more water.

When he returned, the white doe was gone.

That night Desiree confessed to Eglantine that her pursuer was no other
than the prince, and that far from flattering him, the portrait had
never done him justice.

'Is it not hard to meet him in this shape,' wept she, 'when we both
love each other so much?' But Eglantine comforted her, and reminded her
that in a short time all would be well.

The prince was very angry at the flight of the white doe, for whom he
had taken so much trouble, and returning to the cottage he poured out
his adventures and his wrath to Becasigue, who could not help smiling.

'She shall not escape me again,' cried the prince.  'If I hunt her
every day for a year, I will have her at last.'  And in this frame of
mind he went to bed.

 When the white doe entered the forest next morning, she had not made
up her mind whether she would go and meet the prince, or whether she
would shun him, and hide in thickets of which he knew nothing.  She
decided that the last plan was the best; and so it would have been if
the prince had not taken the very same direction in search of her.

Quite by accident he caught sight of her white skin shining through the
bushes, and at the same instant she heard a twig snap under his feet.
In a moment she was up and away, but the prince, not knowing how else
to capture her, aimed an arrow at her leg, which brought her to the
ground.

The young man felt like a murderer as he ran hastily up to where the
white doe lay, and did his best to soothe the pain she felt, which, in
reality, was the last part of the punishment sent by the Fairy of the
Fountain.  First he brought her some water, and then he fetched some
healing herbs, and having crushed them in his hand, laid them on the
wound.

'Ah! what a wretch I was to have hurt you,' cried he, resting her head
upon his knees; 'and now you will hate me and fly from me for ever!'

For some time the doe lay quietly where she was, but, as before, she
remembered that the hour of her transformation was near.  She struggled
to her feet, but the prince would not hear of her walking, and thinking
the old woman might be able to dress her wound better than he could, he
took her in his arms to carry her back to the hut.  But, small as she
was, she made herself so heavy that, after staggering a few steps under
her weight, he laid her down, and tied her fast to a tree with some of
the ribbons of his hat.  This done he went away to get help.

Meanwhile Eglantine had grown very uneasy at the long absence of her
mistress, and had come out to look for her.  Just as the prince passed
out of sight the fluttering ribbons dance before her eyes, and she
descried her beautiful princess bound to a tree.  With all her might
she worked at the knots, but not a single one could she undo, though
all appeared so easy.  She was still busy with them when a voice behind
her said:

'Pardon me, fair lady, but it is MY doe you are trying to steal!'

'Excuse me, good knight' answered Eglantine, hardly glancing at him,
'but it is MY doe that is tied up here!  And if you wish for a proof of
it, you can see if she knows me or not.  Touch my heart, my little
one,' she continued, dropping on her knees.  And the doe lifted up its
fore-foot and laid it on her side.  'Now put your arms round my neck,
and sigh.'  And again the doe did as she was bid.

'You are right,' said the prince; 'but it is with sorrow I give her up
to you, for though I have wounded her yet I love her deeply.'

To this Eglantine answered nothing; but carefully raising up the doe,
she led her slowly to the hut.

Now both the prince and Becasigue were quite unaware that the old woman
had any guests besides themselves, and, following afar, were much
surprised to behold Eglantine and her charge enter the cottage.  They
lost no time in questioning the old woman, who replied that she knew
nothing about the lady and her white doe, who slept next the chamber
occupied by the prince and his friend, but that they were very quiet,
and paid her well.  Then she went back to her kitchen.

'Do you know,' said Becasigue, when they were alone, 'I am certain that
the lady we saw is the maid of honour to the Princess Desiree, whom I
met at the palace.  And, as her room is next to this, it will be easy
to make a small hole through which I can satisfy myself whether I am
right or not.'

So, taking a knife out of his pocket, he began to saw away the
woodwork.  The girls heard the grating noise, but fancying it was a
mouse, paid no attention, and Becasigue was left in peace to pursue his
work.  At length the hole was large enough for him to peep through, and
the sight was one to strike him dumb with amazement.  He had guessed
truly: the tall lady was Eglantine herself; but the other--where had he
seen her?  Ah! now he knew--it was the lady of the portrait!

Desiree, in a flowing dress of green silk, was lying stretched out upon
cushions, and as Eglantine bent over her to bathe the wounded leg, she
began to talk:

'Oh! let me die,' cried she, 'rather than go on leading this life.  You
cannot tell the misery of being a beast all the day, and unable to
speak to the man I love, to whose impatience I owe my cruel fate.  Yet,
even so, I cannot bring myself to hate him.'

These words, low though they were spoken, reached Becasigue, who could
hardly believe his ears.  He stood silent for a moment; then, crossing
to the window out of which the prince was gazing, he took his arm and
led him across the room.  A single glance was sufficient to show the
prince that it was indeed Desiree; and how another had come to the
palace bearing her name, at that instant he neither knew nor cared.
Stealing on tip- toe from the room, he knocked at the next door, which
was opened by Eglantine, who thought it was the old woman bearing their
supper.

She started back at the sight of the prince, whom this time she also
recognised.  But he thrust her aside, and flung himself at the feet of
Desiree, to whom he poured out all his heart!

Dawn found them still conversing; and the sun was high in the heavens
before the princess perceived that she retained her human form.  Ah!
how happy she was when she knew that the days of her punishment were
over; and with a glad voice she told the prince the tale of her
enchantment.

So the story ended well after all; and the fairy Tulip, who turned out
to be the old woman of the hut, made the young couple such a wedding
feast as had never been seen since the world began.  And everybody was
delighted, except Cerisette and her mother, who were put in a boat and
carried to a small island, where they had to work hard for their living.





                The Girl-Fish



Once upon a time there lived, on the bank of a stream, a man and a
woman who had a daughter.  As she was an only child, and very pretty
besides, they never could make up their minds to punish her for her
faults or to teach her nice manners; and as for work-- she laughed in
her mother's face if she asked her to help cook the dinner or to wash
the plates.  All the girl would do was to spend her days in dancing and
playing with her friends; and for any use she was to her parents they
might as well have no daughter at all.

However, one morning her mother looked so tired that even the selfish
girl could not help seeing it, and asked if there was anything she was
able to do, so that her mother might rest a little.

The good woman looked so surprised and grateful for this offer that the
girl felt rather ashamed, and at that moment would have scrubbed down
the house if she had been requested; but her mother only begged her to
take the fishing-net out to the bank of the river and mend some holes
in it, as her father intended to go fishing that night.

The girl took the net and worked so hard that soon there was not a hole
to be found.  She felt quite pleased with herself, though she had had
plenty to amuse her, as everybody who passed by had stopped and had a
chat with her.  But by this time the sun was high overhead, and she was
just folding her net to carry it home again, when she heard a splash
behind her, and looking round she saw a big fish jump into the air.
Seizing the net with both hands, she flung it into the water where the
circles were spreading one behind the other, and, more by luck than
skill, drew out the fish.

'Well, you are a beauty!' she cried to herself; but the fish looked up
to her and said:

'You had better not kill me, for, if you do, I will turn you into a
fish yourself!'

The girl laughed contemptuously, and ran straight in to her mother.

'Look what I have caught,' she said gaily; 'but it is almost a pity to
eat it, for it can talk, and it declares that, if I kill it, it will
turn me into a fish too.'

'Oh, put it back, put it back!' implored the mother.  'Perhaps it is
skilled in magic.  And I should die, and so would your father, if
anything should happen to you.'

'Oh, nonsense, mother; what power could a creature like that have over
me?  Besides, I am hungry, and if I don't have my dinner soon, I shall
be cross.'  And off she went to gather some flowers to stick in her
hair.

About an hour later the blowing of a horn told her that dinner was
ready.

'Didn't I say that fish would be delicious?' she cried; and plunging
her spoon into the dish the girl helped herself to a large piece.  But
the instant it touched her mouth a cold shiver ran through her.  Her
head seemed to flatten, and her eyes to look oddly round the corners;
her legs and her arms were stuck to her sides, and she gasped wildly
for breath.  With a mighty bound she sprang through the window and fell
into the river, where she soon felt better, and was able to swim to the
sea, which was close by.

No sooner had she arrived there than the sight of her sad face
attracted the notice of some of the other fishes, and they pressed
round her, begging her to tell them her story.

'I am not a fish at all,' said the new-comer, swallowing a great deal
of salt water as she spoke; for you cannot learn how to be a proper
fish all in a moment.  'I am not a fish at all, but a girl; at least I
was a girl a few minutes ago, only--' And she ducked her head under the
waves so that they should not see her crying.

'Only you did not believe that the fish you caught had power to carry
out its threat,' said an old tunny.  'Well, never mind, that has
happened to all of us, and it really is not a bad life.  Cheer up and
come with us and see our queen, who lives in a palace that is much more
beautiful than any your queens can boast of.'

The new fish felt a little afraid of taking such a journey; but as she
was still more afraid of being left alone, she waved her tail in token
of consent, and off they all set, hundreds of them together.  The
people on the rocks and in the ships that saw them pass said to each
other:

'Look what a splendid shoal!' and had no idea that they were hastening
to the queen's palace; but, then, dwellers on land have so little
notion of what goes on in the bottom of the sea!  Certainly the little
new fish had none.  She had watched jelly-fish and nautilus swimming a
little way below the surface, and beautiful coloured sea-weeds floating
about; but that was all.  Now, when she plunged deeper her eyes fell
upon strange things.

Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, inestimable stones,
unvalued jewels-- all scattered in the bottom of the sea!  Dead men's
bones were there also, and long white creatures who had never seen the
light, for they mostly dwelt in the clefts of rocks where the sun's
rays could not come.  At first our little fish felt as if she were
blind also, but by-and-by she began to make out one object after
another in the green dimness, and by the time she had swum for a few
hours all became clear.

'Here we are at last,' cried a big fish, going down into a deep valley,
for the sea has its mountains and valleys just as much as the land.
'That is the palace of the queen of the fishes, and I think you must
confess that the emperor himself has nothing so fine.'

'It is beautiful indeed,' gasped the little fish, who was very tired
with trying to swim as fast as the rest, and beautiful beyond words the
palace was.  The walls were made of pale pink coral, worn smooth by the
waters, and round the windows were rows of pearls; the great doors were
standing open, and the whole troop floated into the chamber of
audience, where the queen, who was half a woman after all, was seated
on a throne made of a green and blue shell.

'Who are you, and where do you come from?' said she to the little fish,
whom the others had pushed in front.  And in a low, trembling voice,
the visitor told her story.

'I was once a girl too,' answered the queen, when the fish had ended;
'and my father was the king of a great country.  A husband was found
for me, and on my wedding-day my mother placed her crown on my head and
told me that as long as I wore it I should likewise be queen.  For many
months I was as happy as a girl could be, especially when I had a
little son to play with.  But, one morning, when I was walking in my
gardens, there came a giant and snatched the crown from my head.
Holding me fast, he told me that he intended to give the crown to his
daughter, and to enchant my husband the prince, so that he should not
know the difference between us.  Since then she has filled my place and
been queen in my stead.  As for me, I was so miserable that I threw
myself into the sea, and my ladies, who loved me, declared that they
would die too; but, instead of dying, some wizard, who pitied my fate,
turned us all into fishes, though he allowed me to keep the face and
body of a woman.  And fished we must remain till someone brings me back
my crown again!'

'I will bring it back if you tell me what to do!' cried the little
fish, who would have promised anything that was likely to carry her up
to earth again.  And the queen answered:

'Yes, I will tell you what to do.'

She sat silent for a moment, and then went on:

'There is no danger if you will only follow my counsel; and first you
must return to earth, and go up to the top of a high mountain, where
the giant has built his castle.  You will find him sitting on the steps
weeping for his daughter, who has just died while the prince was away
hunting.  At the last she sent her father my crown by a faithful
servant.  But I warn you to be careful, for if he sees you he may kill
you.  Therefore I will give you the power to change yourself into any
creature that may help you best.  You have only to strike your
forehead, and call out its name.'

This time the journey to land seemed much shorter than before, and when
once the fish reached the shore she struck her forehead sharply with
her tail, and cried:

'Deer, come to me!'

In a moment the small, slimy body disappeared, and in its place stood a
beautiful beast with branching horns and slender legs, quivering with
longing to be gone.  Throwing back her head and snuffing the air, she
broke into a run, leaping easily over the rivers and walls that stood
in her way.

It happened that the king's son had been hunting since daybreak, but
had killed nothing, and when the deer crossed his path as he was
resting under a tree he determined to have her.  He flung himself on
his horse, which went like the wind, and as the prince had often hunted
the forest before, and knew all the short cuts, he at last came up with
the panting beast.

'By your favour let me go, and do not kill me,' said the deer, turning
to the prince with tears in her eyes, 'for I have far to run and much
to do.'  And as the prince, struck dumb with surprise, only looked at
her, the deer cleared the next wall and was soon out of sight.

'That can't really be a deer,' thought the prince to himself, reining
in his horse and not attempting to follow her.  'No deer ever had eyes
like that.  It must be an enchanted maiden, and I will marry her and no
other.'  So, turning his horse's head, he rode slowly back to his
palace.

 The deer reached the giant's castle quite out of breath, and her heart
sank as she gazed at the tall, smooth walls which surrounded it.  Then
she plucked up courage and cried:

'Ant, come to me!' And in a moment the branching horns and beautiful
shape had vanished, and a tiny brown ant, invisible to all who did not
look closely, was climbing up the walls.

It was wonderful how fast she went, that little creature!  The wall
must have appeared miles high in comparison with her own body; yet, in
less time than would have seemed possible, she was over the top and
down in the courtyard on the other side.  Here she paused to consider
what had best be done next, and looking about her she saw that one of
the walls had a tall tree growing by it, and in the corner was a window
very nearly on a level with the highest branches of the tree.

'Monkey, come to me!' cried the ant; and before you could turn round a
monkey was swinging herself from the topmost branches into the room
where the giant lay snoring.

'Perhaps he will be so frightened at the sight of me that he may die of
fear, and I shall never get the crown,' thought the monkey.  'I had
better become something else.'  And she called softly: 'Parrot, come to
me!'

Then a pink and grey parrot hopped up to the giant, who by this time
was stretching himself and giving yawns which shook the castle.  The
parrot waited a little, until he was really awake, and then she said
boldly that she had been sent to take away the crown, which was not his
any longer, now his daughter the queen was dead.

On hearing these words the giant leapt out of bed with an angry roar,
and sprang at the parrot in order to wring her neck with his great
hands.  But the bird was too quick for him, and, flying behind his
back, begged the giant to have patience, as her death would be of no
use to him.

'That is true,' answered the giant; 'but I am not so foolish as to give
you that crown for nothing.  Let me think what I will have in
exchange!'  And he scratched his huge head for several minutes, for
giants' minds always move slowly.

'Ah, yes, that will do!' exclaimed the giant at last, his face
brightening.  'You shall have the crown if you will bring me a collar
of blue stones from the Arch of St.  Martin, in the Great City.'

Now when the parrot had been a girl she had often heard of this
wonderful arch and the precious stones and marbles that had been let
into it.  It sounded as if it would be a very hard thing to get them
away from the building of which they formed a part, but all had gone
well with her so far, and at any rate she could but try.  So she bowed
to the giant, and made her way back to the window where the giant could
not see her.  Then she called quickly:

'Eagle, come to me!'

Before she had even reached the tree she felt herself borne up on
strong wings ready to carry her to the clouds if she wished to go
there, and seeming a mere speck in the sky, she was swept along till
she beheld the Arch of St.  Martin far below, with the rays of the sun
shining on it.  Then she swooped down, and, hiding herself behind a
buttress so that she could not be detected from below, she set herself
to dig out the nearest blue stones with her beak.  It was even harder
work than she had expected; but at last it was done, and hope arose in
her heart.  She next drew out a piece of string that she had found
hanging from a tree, and sitting down to rest strung the stones
together.  When the necklace was finished she hung it round her neck,
and called: 'Parrot, come to me!'  And a little later the pink and grey
parrot stood before the giant.

'Here is the necklace you asked for,' said the parrot.  And the eyes of
the giant glistened as he took the heap of blue stones in his hand.
But for all that he was not minded to give up the crown.

'They are hardly as blue as I expected,' he grumbled, though the parrot
knew as well as he did that he was not speaking the truth; 'so you must
bring me something else in exchange for the crown you covet so much.
If you fail it will cost you not only the crown but you life also.'

'What is it you want now?' asked the parrot; and the giant answered:

'If I give you my crown I must have another still more beautiful; and
this time you shall bring me a crown of stars.'

The parrot turned away, and as soon as she was outside she murmured:

'Toad, come to me!'  And sure enough a toad she was, and off she set in
search of the starry crown.

She had not gone far before she came to a clear pool, in which the
stars were reflected so brightly that they looked quite real to touch
and handle.  Stooping down she filled a bag she was carrying with the
shining water and, returning to the castle, wove a crown out of the
reflected stars.  Then she cried as before:

'Parrot, come to me!'  And in the shape of a parrot she entered the
presence of the giant.

'Here is the crown you asked for,' she said; and this time the giant
could not help crying out with admiration.  He knew he was beaten, and
still holding the chaplet of stars, he turned to the girl.

'Your power is greater than mine: take the crown; you have won it
fairly!'

The parrot did not need to be told twice.  Seizing the crown, she
sprang on to the window, crying: 'Monkey, come to me!'  And to a
monkey, the climb down the tree into the courtyard did not take half a
minute.  When she had reached the ground she said again: 'Ant, come to
me!'  And a little ant at once began to crawl over the high wall.  How
glad the ant was to be out of the giant's castle, holding fast the
crown which had shrunk into almost nothing, as she herself had done,
but grew quite big again when the ant exclaimed:

'Deer, come to me!'

Surely no deer ever ran so swiftly as that one!  On and on she went,
bounding over rivers and crashing through tangles till she reached the
sea.  Here she cried for the last time:

'Fish, come to me!'  And, plunging in, she swam along the bottom as far
as the palace, where the queen and all the fishes gathered together
awaiting her.

The hours since she had left had gone very slowly--as they always do to
people that are waiting--and many of them had quite given up hope.

'I am tired of staying here,' grumbled a beautiful little creature,
whose colours changed with every movement of her body, 'I want to see
what is going on in the upper world.  It must be months since that fish
went away.'

'It was a very difficult task, and the giant must certainly have killed
her or she would have been back long ago,' remarked another.

'The young flies will be coming out now,' murmured a third, 'and they
will all be eaten up by the river fish!  It is really too bad!'  When,
suddenly, a voice was heard from behind: 'Look! look! what is that
bright thing that is moving so swiftly towards us?' And the queen
started up, and stood on her tail, so excited was she.

A silence fell on all the crowd, and even the grumblers held their
peace and gazed like the rest.  On and on came the fish, holding the
crown tightly in her mouth, and the others moved back to let her pass.
On she went right up to the queen, who bent and, taking the crown,
placed it on her own head.  Then a wonderful thing happened.  Her tail
dropped away or, rather, it divided and grew into two legs and a pair
of the prettiest feet in the world, while her maidens, who were grouped
around her, shed their scales and became girls again.  They all turned
and looked at each other first, and next at the little fish who had
regained her own shape and was more beautiful than any of them.

'It is you who have given us back our life; you, you!' they cried; and
fell to weeping from very joy.

So they all went back to earth and the queen's palace, and quite forgot
the one that lay under the sea.  But they had been so long away that
they found many changes.  The prince, the queen's husband, had died
some years since, and in his place was her son, who had grown up and
was king!  Even in his joy at seeing his mother again an air of sadness
clung to him, and at last the queen could bear it no longer, and begged
him to walk with her in the garden.  Seated together in a bower of
jessamine--where she had passed long hours as a bride--she took her
son's hand and entreated him to tell her the cause of his sorrow.
'For,' said she, 'if I can give you happiness you shall have it.'

'It is no use,' answered the prince; 'nobody can help me.  I must bear
it alone.'

'But at least let me share your grief,' urged the queen.

'No one can do that,' said he.  'I have fallen in love with what I can
never marry, and I must get on as best I can.'

'It may not be as impossible as you think,' answered the queen.  'At
any rate, tell me.'

There was silence between them for a moment, then, turning away his
head, the prince answered gently:

'I have fallen in love with a beautiful deer!'

'Ah, if that is all,' exclaimed the queen joyfully.  And she told him
in broken words that, as he had guessed, it was no deer but an
enchanted maiden who had won back the crown and brought her home to her
own people.

'She is here, in my palace,' added the queen.  'I will take you to her.'

But when the prince stood before the girl, who was so much more
beautiful than anything he had ever dreamed of, he lost all his
courage, and stood with bent head before her.

Then the maiden drew near, and her eyes, as she looked at him, were the
eyes of the deer that day in the forest.  She whispered softly:

'By your favour let me go, and do not kill me.'

And the prince remembered her words, and his heart was filled with
happiness.  And the queen, his mother, watched them and smiled.

[From Cuentos Populars Catalans, por lo Dr.  D.  Francisco de S.
Maspons y Labros.]



            The Owl and the Eagle



Once upon a time, in a savage country where the snow lies deep for many
months in the year, there lived an owl and an eagle.  Though they were
so different in many ways they became great friends, and at length set
up house together, one passing the day in hunting and the other the
night.  In this manner they did not see very much of each other--and
perhaps agreed all the better for that; but at any rate they were
perfectly happy, and only wanted one thing, or, rather, two things, and
that was a wife for each.

'I really am too tired when I come home in the evening to clean up the
house,' said the eagle.

'And I am much too sleepy at dawn after a long night's hunting to begin
to sweep and dust,' answered the owl.  And they both made up their
minds that wives they must have.

They flew about in their spare moments to the young ladies of their
acquaintance, but the girls all declared they preferred one husband to
two.  The poor birds began to despair, when, one evening, after they
had been for a wonder hunting together, they found two sisters fast
asleep on their two beds.  The eagle looked at the owl and the owl
looked at the eagle.

'They will make capital wives if they will only stay with us,' said
they.  And they flew off to give themselves a wash, and to make
themselves smart before the girls awoke.

For many hours the sisters slept on, for they had come a long way, from
a town where there was scarcely anything to eat, and felt weak and
tired.  But by-and-by they opened their eyes and saw the two birds
watching them.

'I hope you are rested?' asked the owl politely.

'Oh, yes, thank you,' answered the girls.  'Only we are so very hungry.
 Do you think we could have something to eat?'

'Certainly!' replied the eagle.  And he flew away to a farmhouse a mile
or two off, and brought back a nest of eggs in his strong beak; while
the owl, catching up a tin pot, went to a cottage where lived an old
woman and her cow, and entering the shed by the window dipped the pot
into the pail of new milk that stood there.

The girls were so much delighted with the kindness and cleverness of
their hosts that, when the birds inquired if they would marry them and
stay there for ever, they accepted without so much as giving it a
second thought.  So the eagle took the younger sister to wife, and the
owl the elder, and never was a home more peaceful than theirs!

All went well for several months, and then the eagle's wife had a son,
while, on the same day, the owl's wife gave birth to a frog, which she
placed directly on the banks of a stream near by, as he did not seem to
like the house.  The children both grew quickly, and were never tired
of playing together, or wanted any other companions.

One night in the spring, when the ice had melted, and the snow was
gone, the sisters sat spinning in the house, awaiting their husbands'
return.  But long though they watched, neither the owl nor the eagle
ever came; neither that day nor the next, nor the next, nor the next.
At last the wives gave up all hope of their return; but, being sensible
women, they did not sit down and cry, but called their children, and
set out, determined to seek the whole world over till the missing
husbands were found.

Now the women had no idea in which direction the lost birds had gone,
but they knew that some distance off was a thick forest, where good
hunting was to be found.  It seemed a likely place to find them, or, at
any rate, they might hear something of them, and they walked quickly
on, cheered by the thought that they were doing something.  Suddenly
the younger sister, who was a little in front, gave a cry of surprise.

'Oh! look at that lake!' she said, 'we shall never get across it.'

'Yes we shall,' answered the elder; 'I know what to do.'  And taking a
long piece of string from her pocket, fastened it into the frog's
mouth, like a bit.

'You must swim across the lake,' she said, stooping to put him in, 'and
we will walk across on the line behind you.'  And so they did, till
they got to about the middle of the lake, when the frog boy stopped.

'I don't like it, and I won't go any further,' cried he sulkily.  And
his mother had to promise him all sorts of nice things before he would
go on again.

When at last they reached the other side, the owl's wife untied the
line from the frog's mouth and told him he might rest and play by the
lake till they got back from the forest.  Then she and her sister and
the boy walked on, with the great forest looming before them.  But they
had by this time come far and were very tired, and felt glad enough to
see some smoke curling up from a little hut in front of them.

'Let us go in and ask for some water,' said the eagle's wife; and in
they went.

The inside of the hut was so dark that at first they could see nothing
at all; but presently they heard a feeble croak from one corner.  But
sisters turned to look, and there, tied by wings and feet, and their
eyes sunken, were the husbands that they sought.  Quick as lightning
the wives cut the deer- thongs which bound them; but the poor birds
were too weak from pain and starvation to do more than utter soft
sounds of joy.  Hardly, however, were they set free, than a voice of
thunder made the two sisters jump, while the little boy clung tightly
round his mother's neck.

'What are you doing in my house?' cried she.  And the wives answered
boldly that now they had found their husbands they meant to save them
from such a wicked witch.

'Well, I will give you your chance,' answered the ogress, with a
hideous grin; 'we will see if you can slide down this mountain.  If you
can reach the bottom of the cavern, you shall have your husbands back
again.'  And as she spoke she pushed them before her out of the door to
the edge of a precipice, which went straight down several hundreds of
feet.  Unseen by the witch, the frog's mother fastened one end of the
magic line about her, and whispered to the little boy to hold fast the
other.  She had scarcely done so when the witch turned round.

'You don't seem to like your bargain,' said she; but the girl answered:

'Oh, yes, I am quite ready.  I was only waiting for you!'  And sitting
down she began her slide.  On, on, she went, down to such a depth that
even the witch's eyes could not follow her; but she took for granted
that the woman was dead, and told the sister to take her place.  At
that instant, however, the head of the elder appeared above the rock,
brought upwards by the magic line.  The witch gave a howl of disgust,
and hid her face in her hands; thus giving the younger sister time to
fasten the cord to her waist before the ogress looked up.

'You can't expect such luck twice,' she said; and the girl sat down and
slid over the edge.  But in a few minutes she too was back again, and
the witch saw that she had failed, and feared lest her power was going.
 Trembling with rage though she was, she dared not show it, and only
laughed hideously.

'I sha'n't let my prisoners go as easily as all that!' she said.  'Make
my hair grow as thick and as black as yours, or else your husbands
shall never see daylight again.'

'That is quite simple,' replied the elder sister; 'only you must do as
we did--and perhaps you won't like the treatment.'

'If you can bear it, of course I can,' answered the witch.  And so the
girls told her they had first smeared their heads with pitch and then
laid hot stones upon them.

'It is very painful,' said they, 'but there is no other way that we
know of.  And in order to make sure that all will go right, one of us
will hold you down while the other pours on the pitch.'

And so they did; and the elder sister let down her hair till it hung
over the witch's eyes, so that she might believe it was her own hair
growing.  Then the other brought a huge stone, and, in short, there was
an end of the witch.  The sisters were savages who had never seen a
missionary.

So when the sisters saw that she was dead they went to the hut, and
nursed their husbands till they grew strong.  Then they picked up the
frog, and all went to make another home on the other side of the great
lake.





         The Frog and the Lion Fairy



Once upon a time there lived a king who was always at war with his
neighbours, which was very strange, as he was a good and kind man,
quite content with his own country, and not wanting to seize land
belonging to other people.  Perhaps he may have tried too much to
please everybody, and that often ends in pleasing nobody; but, at any
rate, he found himself, at the end of a hard struggle, defeated in
battle, and obliged to fall back behind the walls of his capital city.
Once there, he began to make preparations for a long siege, and the
first thing he did was to plan how best to send his wife to a place of
security.

The queen, who loved her husband dearly, would gladly have remained
with him to share his dangers, but he would not allow it.  So they
parted, with many tears, and the queen set out with a strong guard to a
fortified castle on the outskirts of a great forest, some two hundred
miles distant.  She cried nearly all the way, and when she arrived she
cried still more, for everything in the castle was dusty and old, and
outside there was only a gravelled courtyard, and the king had
forbidden her to go beyond the walls without at least two soldiers to
take care of her.

Now the queen had only been married a few months, and in her own home
she had been used to walk and ride all over the hills without any
attendants at all; so she felt very dull at her being shut up in this
way.  However, she bore it for a long while because it was the king's
wish, but when time passed and there were no signs of the war drifting
in the direction of the castle, she grew bolder, and sometimes strayed
outside the walls, in the direction of the forest.

Then came a dreadful period, when news from the king ceased entirely.

'He must surely be ill or dead,' thought the poor girl, who even now
was only sixteen.  'I can bear it no longer, and if I do not get a
letter from him soon I shall leave this horrible place and go back to
see what is the matter.  Oh!  I do wish I had never come away!'

So, without telling anyone what she intended to do, she ordered a
little low carriage to be built, something like a sledge, only it was
on two wheels--just big enough to hold one person.

'I am tired of being always in the castle,' she said to her attendants;
'and I mean to hunt a little.  Quite close by, of course,' she added,
seeing the anxious look on their faces.  'And there is no reason that
you should not hunt too.'

All the faces brightened at that, for, to tell the truth, they were
nearly as dull as their mistress; so the queen had her way, and two
beautiful horses were brought from the stable to draw the little
chariot.  At first the queen took care to keep near the rest of the
hunt, but gradually she stayed away longer and longer, and at last, one
morning, she took advantage of the appearance of a wild boar, after
which her whole court instantly galloped, to turn into a path in the
opposite direction.

Unluckily, it did not happen to lead towards the king's palace, where
she intended to go, but she was so afraid her flight would be noticed
that she whipped up her horses till they ran away.

When she understood what was happening the poor young queen was
terribly frightened, and, dropping the reins, clung to the side of the
chariot.  The horses, thus left without any control, dashed blindly
against a tree, and the queen was flung out on the ground, where she
lay for some minutes unconscious.

A rustling sound near her at length caused her to open her eyes; before
her stood a huge woman, almost a giantess, without any clothes save a
lion's skin, which was thrown over her shoulders, while a dried snake's
skin was plaited into her hair.  In one hand she held a club on which
she leaned, and in the other a quiver full of arrows.

At the sight of this strange figure the queen thought she must be dead,
and gazing on an inhabitant of another world.  So she murmured softly
to herself:

'I am not surprised that people are so loth to die when they know that
they will see such horrible creatures.'  But, low as she spoke, the
giantess caught the words, and began to laugh.

'Oh, don't be afraid; you are still alive, and perhaps, after all, you
may be sorry for it.  I am the Lion Fairy, and you are going to spend
the rest of your days with me in my palace, which is quite near this.
So come along.'  But the queen shrank back in horror.

'Oh, Madam Lion, take me back, I pray you, to my castle; and fix what
ransom you like, for my husband will pay it, whatever it is.  But the
giantess shook her head.

'I am rich enough already,' she answered, 'but I am often dull, and I
think you may amuse me a little.'  And, so saying, she changed her
shape into that of a lion, and throwing the queen across her back, she
went down the ten thousand steps that led to her palace.  The lion had
reached the centre of the earth before she stopped in front of a house,
lighted with lamps, and built on the edge of a lake of quicksilver.  In
this lake various huge monsters might be seen playing or fighting--the
queen did not know which-- and around flew rooks and ravens, uttering
dismal croaks.  In the distance was a mountain down whose sides waters
slowly coursed--these were the tears of unhappy lovers--and nearer the
gate were trees without either fruit of flowers, while nettles and
brambles covered the ground.  If the castle had been gloomy, what did
the queen feel about this?

For some days the queen was so much shaken by all she had gone through
that she lay with her eyes closed, unable either to move or speak.
When she got better, the Lion Fairy told her that if she liked she
could build herself a cabin, as she would have to spend her life in
that place.  At these words the queen burst into tears, and implored
her gaoler to put her to death rather than condemn her to such a life;
but the Lion Fairy only laughed, and counselled her to try to make
herself pleasant, as many worse things might befall her.

'Is there no way in which I can touch your heart?' asked the poor girl
in despair.

'Well, if you really wish to please me you will make me a pasty out of
the stings of bees, and be sure it is good.'

'But I don't see any bees,' answered the queen, looking round.

'Oh, no, there aren't any,' replied her tormentor; 'but you will have
to find them all the same.'  And, so saying, she went away.

'After all, what does it matter?' thought the queen to herself, 'I have
only one life, and I can but lose it.'  And not caring what she did,
she left the palace and seating herself under a yew tree, poured out
all her grief.

'Oh, my dear husband,' wept she, 'what will you think when you come to
the castle to fetch me and find me gone?  Rather a thousand times that
you should fancy me dead than imagine that I had forgotten you!  Ah,
how fortunate that the broken chariot should be lying in the wood, for
then you may grieve for me as one devoured by wild beasts.  And if
another should take my place in your heart--Well, at least I shall
never know it.'

She might have continued for long in this fashion had not the voice of
a crow directly overhead attracted her attention.  Looking up to see
what was the matter she beheld, in the dim light, a crow holding a fat
frog in his claws, which he evidently intended for his supper.  The
queen rose hastily from the seat, and striking the bird sharply on the
claws with the fan which hung from her side, she forced him to drop the
frog, which fell to the round more dead than alive.  The crow, furious
at his disappointment, flew angrily away.

As soon as the frog had recovered her senses she hopped up to the
queen, who was still sitting under the yew.  Standing on her hind legs,
and bowing low before her, she said gently:

'Beautiful lady, by what mischance do you come here?  You are the only
creature that I have seen do a kind deed since a fatal curiosity lured
me to this place.'

'What sort of a frog can you be that knows the language of mortals?'
asked the queen in her turn.  'But if you do, tell me, I pray, if I
alone am a captive, for hitherto I have beheld no one but the monsters
of the lake.'

'Once upon a time they were men and women like yourself,' answered the
frog, 'but having power in their hands, they used it for their own
pleasure.  Therefore fate has sent them here for a while to bear the
punishment of their misdoings.'

'But you, friend frog, you are not one of these wicked people, I am
sure?' asked the queen.

'I am half a fairy,' replied the frog; 'but, although I have certain
magic gifts, I am not able to do all I wish.  And if the Lion Fairy
were to know of my presence in her kingdom she would hasten to kill me.'

'But if you are a fairy, how was it that you were so nearly slain by
the crow?' said the queen, wrinkling her forehead.

'Because the secret of my power lies in my little cap that is made of
rose leaves; but I had laid it aside for the moment, when that horrible
crow pounced upon me.  Once it is on my head I fear nothing.  But let
me repeat; had it not been for you I could not have escaped death, and
if I can do anything to help you, or soften your hard fate, you have
only to tell me.'

'Alas,' sighed the queen, 'I have been commanded by the Lion Fairy to
make her a pasty out of the stings of bees, and, as far as I can
discover, there are none here; as how should there be, seeing there are
no flowers for them to feed on?  And, even if there were, how could I
catch them?'

'Leave it to me,' said the frog, 'I will manage it for you.'  And,
uttering a strange noise, she struck the ground thrice with her foot.
In an instant six thousand frogs appeared before her, one of them
bearing a little cap.

'Cover yourselves with honey, and hop round by the beehives,' commanded
the frog, putting on the cap which her friend was holding in her mouth.
 And turning to the queen, he added:

'The Lion Fairy keeps a store of bees in a secret place near to the
bottom of the ten thousand steps leading into the upper world.  Not
that she wants them for herself, but they are sometimes useful to her
in punishing her victims.  However, this time we will get the better of
her.'

Just as she had finished speaking the six thousand frogs returned,
looking so strange with bees sticking to every part of them that, sad
as she felt, the poor queen could not help laughing.  The bees were all
so stupefied with what they had eaten that it was possible to draw
their stings without hunting them.  So, with the help of her friend,
the queen soon made ready her pasty and carried it to the Lion Fairy.

'Not enough pepper,' said the giantess, gulping down large morsels, in
order the hide the surprise she felt.  'Well, you have escaped this
time, and I am glad to find I have got a companion a little more
intelligent than the others I have tried.  Now, you had better go and
build yourself a house.'

So the queen wandered away, and picking up a small axe which lay near
the door she began with the help of her friend the frog to cut down
some cypress trees for the purpose.  And not content with that the six
thousand froggy servants were told to help also, and it was not long
before they had built the prettiest little cabin in the world, and made
a bed in one corner of dried ferns which they fetched from the top of
the ten thousand steps.  It looked soft and comfortable, and the queen
was very glad to lie down upon it, so tired was she with all that had
happened since the morning.  Scarcely, however, had she fallen asleep
when the lake monsters began to make the most horrible noises just
outside, while a small dragon crept in and terrified her so that she
ran away, which was just what the dragon wanted!

The poor queen crouched under a rock for the rest of the night, and the
next morning, when she woke from her troubled dreams, she was cheered
at seeing the frog watching by her.

'I hear we shall have to build you another palace,' said she.  'Well,
this time we won't go so near the lake.'  And she smiled with her funny
wide mouth, till the queen took heart, and they went together to find
wood for the new cabin.

The tiny palace was soon ready, and a fresh bed made of wild thyme,
which smelt delicious.  Neither the queen nor the frog said anything
about it, but somehow, as always happens, the story came to the ears of
the Lion Fairy, and she sent a raven to fetch the culprit.

'What gods or men are protecting you?' she asked, with a frown.  'This
earth, dried up by a constant rain of sulphur and fire, produces
nothing, yet I hear that YOUR bed is made of sweet smelling herbs.
However, as you can get flowers for yourself, of course you can get
them for me, and in an hour's time I must have in my room a nosegay of
the rarest flowers.  If not--! Now you can go.'

The poor queen returned to her house looking so sad that the frog, who
was waiting for her, noticed it directly.

'What is the matter?' said she, smiling.

'Oh, how can you laugh!' replied the queen.  'This time I have to bring
her in an hour a posy of the rarest flowers, and where am I to find
them?  If I fail I know she will kill me.'

'Well, I must see if I can't help you,' answered the frog.  'The only
person I have made friends with here is a bat.  She is a good creature,
and always does what I tell her, so I will just lend her my cap, and if
she puts it on, and flies into the world, she will bring back all we
want.  I would go myself, only she will be quicker.'

Then the queen dried her eyes, and waited patiently, and long before
the hour had gone by the bat flew in with all the most beautiful and
sweetest flowers that grew on the earth.  The girl sprang up overjoyed
at the sight, and hurried with them to the Lion Fairy, who was so
astonished that for once she had nothing to say.

Now the smell and touch of the flowers had made the queen sick with
longing for her home, and she told the frog that she would certainly
die if she did not manage to escape somehow.

'Let me consult my cap,' said the frog; and taking it off she laid it
in a box, and threw in after it a few sprigs of juniper, some capers,
and two peas, which she carried under her right leg; she then shut down
the lid of the box, and murmured some words which the queen did not
catch.

In a few moments a voice was heard speaking from the box.

'Fate, who rules us all,' said the voice, 'forbids your leaving this
place till the time shall come when certain things are fulfilled.  But,
instead, a gift shall be given you, which will comfort you in all your
troubles.'

And the voice spoke truly, for, a few days after, when the frog peeped
in at the door she found the most beautiful baby in the world lying by
the side of the queen.

'So the cap has kept its word,' cried the frog with delight.  'How soft
its cheeks are, and what tiny feet it has got!  What shall we call it?'

This was a very important point, and needed much discussion.  A
thousand names were proposed and rejected for a thousand silly reasons.
 One was too long, and one was too short.  One was too harsh, and
another reminded the queen of somebody she did not like; but at length
an idea flashed into the queen's head, and she called out:

'I know!  We will call her Muffette.'

'That is the very thing,' shouted the frog, jumping high into the air;
and so it was settled.

The princess Muffette was about six months old when the frog noticed
that the queen had begun to grow sad again.

'Why do you have that look in your eyes?' she asked one day, when she
had come in to play with the baby, who could now crawl.

The way they played their game was to let Muffette creep close to the
frog, and then for the frog to bound high into the air and alight on
the child's head, or back, or legs, when she always sent up a shout of
pleasure.  There is no play fellow like a frog; but then it must be a
fairy frog, or else you might hurt it, and if you did something
dreadful might happen to you.  Well, as I have said, our frog was
struck with the queen's sad face, and lost no time in asking her what
was the reason.

'I don't see what you have to complain of now; Muffette is quite well
and quite happy, and even the Lion Fairy is kind to her when she sees
her.  What is it?'

'Oh! if her father could only see her!' broke forth the queen, clasping
her hands.  'Or if I could only tell him all that has happened since we
parted.  But they will have brought him tidings of the broken carriage,
and he will have thought me dead, or devoured by wild beasts.  And
though he will mourn for me long--I know that well--yet in time they
will persuade him to take a wife, and she will be young and fair, and
he will forget me.'

And in all this the queen guessed truly, save that nine long years were
to pass before he would consent to put another in her place.

The frog answered nothing at the time, but stopped her game and hopped
away among the cypress trees.  Here she sat and thought and thought,
and the next morning she went back to the queen and said:

'I have come, madam, to make you an offer.  Shall I go to the king
instead of you, and tell him of your sufferings, and that he has the
most charming baby in the world for his daughter?  The way is long, and
I travel slowly; but, sooner or later, I shall be sure to arrive.
Only, are you not afraid to be left without my protection?  Ponder the
matter carefully; it is for you to decide.'

'Oh, it needs no pondering,' cried the queen joyfully, holding up her
clasped hands, and making Muffette do likewise, in token of gratitude.
But in order that he may know that you have come from me I will send
him a letter.'  And pricking her arm, she wrote a few words with her
blood on the corner of her handkerchief.  Then tearing it off, she gave
it to the frog, and they bade each other farewell.

It took the frog a year and four days to mount the ten thousand steps
that led to the upper world, but that was because she was still under
the spell of a wicked fairy.  By the time she reached the top, she was
so tired that she had to remain for another year on the banks of a
stream to rest, and also to arrange the procession with which she was
to present herself before the king.  For she knew far too well what was
due to herself and her relations, to appear at Court as if she was a
mere nobody.  At length, after many consultations with her cap, the
affair was settled, and at the end of the second year after her parting
with the queen they all set out.

First walked her bodyguard of grasshoppers, followed by her maids of
honour, who were those tiny green frogs you see in the fields, each one
mounted on a snail, and seated on a velvet saddle.  Next came the
water-rats, dressed as pages, and lastly the frog herself, in a litter
borne by eight toads, and made of tortoiseshell.  Here she could lie at
her ease, with her cap on her head, for it was quite large and roomy,
and could easily have held two eggs when the frog was not in it.

The journey lasted seven years, and all this time the queen suffered
tortures of hope, though Muffette did her best to comfort her.  Indeed,
she would most likely have died had not the Lion Fairy taken a fancy
that the child and her mother should go hunting with her in the upper
world, and, in spite of her sorrows, it was always a joy to the queen
to see the sun again.  As for little Muffette, by the time she was
seven her arrows seldom missed their mark.  So, after all, the years of
waiting passed more quickly than the queen had dared to hope.

The frog was always careful to maintain her dignity, and nothing would
have persuaded her to show her face in public places, or even along the
high road, where there was a chance of meeting anyone.  But sometimes,
when the procession had to cross a little stream, or go over a piece of
marshy ground, orders would be given for a halt; fine clothes were
thrown off, bridles were flung aside, and grasshoppers, water-rats,
even the frog herself, spent a delightful hour or two playing in the
mud.

But at length the end was in sight, and the hardships were forgotten in
the vision of the towers of the king's palace; and, one bright morning,
the cavalcade entered the gates with all the pomp and circumstance of a
royal embassy.  And surely no ambassador had ever created such a
sensation!  Door and windows, even the roofs of houses, were filled
with people, whose cheers reached the ears of the king.  However, he
had no time to attend to such matters just then, as, after nine years,
he had at last consented to the entreaties of his courtiers, and was on
the eve of celebrating his second marriage.

The frog's heart beat high when her litter drew up before the steps of
the palace, and leaning forward she beckoned to her side one of the
guards who were standing in his doorway.

'I wish to see his Majesty,' said he.

'His Majesty is engaged, and can see no one,' answered the soldier.

'His Majesty will see ME,' returned the frog, fixing her eye upon him;
and somehow the man found himself leading the procession along the
gallery into the Hall of Audience, where the king sat surrounded by his
nobles arranging the dresses which everyone was to wear at his marriage
ceremony.

All stared in surprise as the procession advanced, and still more when
the frog gave one bound from the litter on to the floor, and with
another landed on the arm of the chair of state.

'I am only just in time, sire,' began the frog; 'had I been a day later
you would have broken your faith which you swore to the queen nine
years ago.'

'Her remembrance will always be dear to me,' answered the king gently,
though all present expected him to rebuke the frog severely for her
impertinence.  But know, Lady Frog, that a king can seldom do as he
wishes, but must be bound by the desires of his subjects.  For nine
years I have resisted them; now I can do so no longer, and have made
choice of the fair young maiden playing at ball yonder.'

'You cannot wed her, however fair she may be, for the queen your wife
is still alive, and sends you this letter written in her own blood,'
said the frog, holding out the square of handkerchief as she spoke.
'And, what is more, you have a daughter who is nearly nine years old,
and more beautiful than all the other children in the world put
together.'

The king turned pale when he heard these words, and his hand trembled
so that he could hardly read what the queen had written.  Then he
kissed the handkerchief twice or thrice, and burst into tears, and it
was some minutes before he could speak.  When at length he found his
voice he told his councillors that the writing was indeed that of the
queen, and now that he had the joy of knowing she was alive he could,
of course, proceed no further with his second marriage.  This naturally
displeased the ambassadors who had conducted the bride to court, and
one of them inquired indignantly if he meant to put such an insult on
the princess on the word of a mere frog.

'I am not a "mere frog," and I will give you proof of it,' retorted the
angry little creature.  And putting on her cap, she cried: Fairies that
are my friends, come hither!'  And in a moment a crowd of beautiful
creatures, each one with a crown on her head, stood before her.
Certainly none could have guessed that they were the snails, water-
rats, and grasshoppers from which she had chosen her retinue.

At a sign from the frog the fairies danced a ballet, with which
everyone was so delighted that they begged to have to repeated; but now
it was not youths and maidens who were dancing, but flowers.  Then
these again melted into fountains, whose waters interlaced and, rushing
down the sides of the hall, poured out in a cascade down the steps, and
formed a river found the castle, with the most beautiful little boats
upon it, all painted and gilded.

'Oh, let us go in them for a sail!' cried the princess, who had long
ago left her game of ball for a sight of these marvels, and, as she was
bent upon it, the ambassadors, who had been charged never to lose sight
of her, were obliged to go also, though they never entered a boat if
they could help it.

But the moment they and the princess had seated themselves on the soft
cushions, river and boats vanished, and the princess and the
ambassadors vanished too.  Instead the snails and grasshoppers and
water-rats stood round the frog in their natural shapes.

'Perhaps,' said she, 'your Majesty may now be convinced that I am a
fairy and speak the truth.  Therefore lose no time in setting in order
the affairs of your kingdom and go in search of your wife.  Here is a
ring that will admit you into the presence of the queen, and will
likewise allow you to address unharmed the Lion Fairy, though she is
the most terrible creature that ever existed.'

By this time the king had forgotten all about the princess, whom he had
only chosen to please his people, and was as eager to depart on his
journey as the frog was for him to go.  He made one of his ministers
regent of the kingdom, and gave the frog everything her heart could
desire; and with her ring on his finger he rode away to the outskirts
of the forest.  Here he dismounted, and bidding his horse go home, he
pushed forward on foot.

Having nothing to guide him as to where he was likely to find the
entrance of the under- world, the king wandered hither and thither for
a long while, till, one day, while he was resting under a tree, a voice
spoke to him.

'Why do you give yourself so much trouble for nought, when you might
know what you want to know for the asking?  Alone you will never
discover the path that leads to your wife.'

Much startled, the king looked about him.  He could see nothing, and
somehow, when he thought about it, the voice seemed as if it were part
of himself.  Suddenly his eyes fell on the ring, and he understood.

'Fool that I was!' cried he; 'and how much precious time have I wasted?
 Dear ring, I beseech you, grant me a vision of my wife and my
daughter!'  And even as he spoke there flashed past him a huge lioness,
followed by a lady and a beautiful young maid mounted on fairy horses.

Almost fainting with joy he gazed after them, and then sank back
trembling on the ground.

'Oh, lead me to them, lead me to them!' he exclaimed.  And the ring,
bidding him take courage, conducted him safely to the dismal place
where his wife had lived for ten years.

Now the Lion Fairy knew beforehand of his expected presence in her
dominions, and she ordered a palace of crystal to be built in the
middle of the lake of quicksilver; and in order to make it more
difficult of approach she let it float whither it would.  Immediately
after their return from the chase, where the king had seen them, she
conveyed the queen and Muffette into the palace, and put them under the
guard of the monsters of the lake, who one and all had fallen in love
with the princess.  They were horribly jealous, and ready to eat each
other up for her sake, so they readily accepted the charge.  Some
stationed themselves round the floating palace, some sat by the door,
while the smallest and lightest perched themselves on the roof.

Of course the king was quite ignorant of these arrangements, and boldly
entered the palace of the Lion Fairy, who was waiting for him, with her
tail lashing furiously, for she still kept her lion's shape.  With a
roar that shook the walls she flung herself upon him; but he was on the
watch, and a blow from his sword cut off the paw she had put forth to
strike him dead.  She fell back, and with his helmet still on and his
shield up, he set his foot on her throat.

'Give me back the wife and the child you have stolen from me,' he said,
'or you shall not live another second!'

But the fairy answered:

'Look through the window at that lake and see if it is in my power to
give them to you.'  And the king looked, and through the crystal walls
he beheld his wife and daughter floating on the quicksilver.  At that
sight the Lion Fairy and all her wickedness was forgotten.  Flinging
off his helmet, he shouted to them with all his might.  The queen knew
his voice, and she and Muffette ran to the window and held out their
hands.  Then the king swore a solemn oath that he would never leave the
spot without taking them if it should cost him his life; and he meant
it, though at the moment he did not know what he was undertaking.

Three years passed by, and the king was no nearer to obtaining his
heart's desire.  He had suffered every hardship that could be
imagined--nettles had been his bed, wild fruits more bitter than gall
his food, while his days had been spent in fighting the hideous
monsters which kept him from the palace.  He had not advanced one
single step, nor gained one solitary advantage.  Now he was almost in
despair, and ready to defy everything and throw himself into the lake.

It was at this moment of his blackest misery that, one night, a dragon
who had long watched him from the roof crept to his side.

'You thought that love would conquer all obstacles,' said he; 'well,
you have found it hasn't!  But if you will swear to me by your crown
and sceptre that you will give me a dinner of the food that I never
grow tired of, whenever I choose to ask for it, I will enable you to
reach your wife and daughter.'

Ah, how glad the king was to hear that!  What oath would he not have
taken so as to clasp his wife and child in is arms?  Joyfully he swore
whatever the dragon asked of him; then he jumped on his back, and in
another instant would have been carried by the strong wings into the
castle if the nearest monsters had not happened to awake and hear the
noise of talking and swum to the shore to give battle.  The fight was
long and hard, and when the king at last beat back his foes another
struggle awaited him.  At the entrance gigantic bats, owls, and crows
set upon him from all sides; but the dragon had teeth and claws, while
the queen broke off sharp bits of glass and stabbed and cut in her
anxiety to help her husband.  At length the horrible creatures flew
away; a sound like thunder was heard, the palace and the monsters
vanished, while, at the same moment--no one knew how-- the king found
himself standing with his wife and daughter in the hall of his own home.

The dragon had disappeared with all the rest, and for some years no
more was heard or thought of him.  Muffette grew every day more
beautiful, and when she was fourteen the kings and emperors of the
neighbouring countries sent to ask her in marriage for themselves or
their sons.  For a long time the girl turned a deaf ear to all their
prayers; but at length a young prince of rare gifts touched her heart,
and though the king had left her free to choose what husband she would,
he had secretly hoped that out of all the wooers this one might be his
son-in-law.  So they were betrothed that some day with great pomp, and
then with many tears, the prince set out for his father's court,
bearing with him a portrait of Muffette.

The days passed slowly to Muffette, in spite of her brave efforts to
occupy herself and not to sadden other people by her complaints.  One
morning she was playing on her harp in the queen's chamber when the
king burst into the room and clasped his daughter in his arms with an
energy that almost frightened her.

'Oh, my child! my dear child! why were you ever born?' cried he, as
soon as he could speak.

'Is the prince dead?' faltered Muffette, growing white and cold.

'No, no; but--oh, how can I tell you!'  And he sank down on a pile of
cushions while his wife and daughter knelt beside him.

At length he was able to tell his tale, and a terrible one it was!
There had just arrived at court a huge giant, as ambassador from the
dragon by whose help the king had rescued the queen and Muffette from
the crystal palace.  The dragon had been very busy for many years past,
and had quite forgotten the princess till the news of her betrothal
reached his ears.  Then he remembered the bargain he had made with her
father; and the more he heard of Muffette the more he felt sure she
would make a delicious dish.  So he had ordered the giant who was his
servant to fetch her at once.

No words would paint the horror of both the queen and the princess as
they listened to this dreadful doom.  They rushed instantly to the
hall, where the giant was awaiting them, and flinging themselves at his
feet implored him to take the kingdom if he would, but to have pity on
the princess.  The giant looked at them kindly, for he was not at all
hard- hearted, but said that he had no power to do anything, and that
if the princess did not go with him quietly the dragon would come
himself.

Several days went by, and the king and queen hardly ceased from
entreating the aid of the giant, who by this time was getting weary of
waiting.

'There is only one way of helping you,' he said at last, 'and that is
to marry the princess to my nephew, who, besides being young and
handsome, has been trained in magic, and will know how to keep her safe
from the dragon.'

'Oh, thank you, thank you!' cried the parents, clasping his great hands
to their breasts.  'You have indeed lifted a load from us.  She shall
have half the kingdom for her dowry.'  But Muffette stood up and thrust
them aside.

'I will not buy my life with faithlessness,' she said proudly; 'and I
will go with you this moment to the dragon's abode.'  And all her
father's and mother's tears and prayers availed nothing to move her.

The next morning Muffette was put into a litter, and, guarded by the
giant and followed by the king and queen and the weeping maids of
honour, they started for the foot of the mountain where the dragon had
his castle.  The way, though rough and stony, seemed all too short, and
when they reached the spot appointed by the dragon the giant ordered
the men who bore the litter to stand still.

'It is time for you to bid farewell to your daughter,' said he; 'for I
see the dragon coming to us.'

It was true; a cloud appeared to pass over the sun, for between them
and it they could all discern dimly a huge body half a mile long
approaching nearer and nearer.  At first the king could not believe
that this was the small beast who had seemed so friendly on the shore
of the lake of quicksilver but then he knew very little of necromancy,
and had never studied the art of expanding and contracting his body.
But it was the dragon and nothing else, whose six wings were carrying
him forward as fast as might be, considering his great weight and the
length of his tail, which had fifty twists and a half.

He came quickly, yes; but the frog, mounted on a greyhound, and wearing
her cap on her head, went quicker still.  Entering a room where the
prince was sitting gazing at the portrait of his betrothed, she cried
to him:

'What are you doing lingering here, when the life of the princess is
nearing its last moment?  In the courtyard you will find a green horse
with three heads and twelve feet, and by its side a sword eighteen
yards long.  Hasten, lest you should be too late!'

The fight lasted all day, and the prince's strength was well-nigh
spent, when the dragon, thinking that the victory was won, opened his
jaws to give a roar of triumph.  The prince saw his chance, and before
his foe could shut his mouth again had plunged his sword far down his
adversary's throat.  There was a desperate clutching of the claws to
the earth, a slow flagging of the great wings, then the monster rolled
over on his side and moved no more.  Muffette was delivered.

After this they all went back to the palace.  The marriage took place
the following day, and Muffette and her husband lived happy for ever
after.





      The Adventures of Covan the Brown-                    Haired



On the shores of the west, where the great hills stand with their feet
in the sea, dwelt a goatherd and his wife, together with their three
sons and one daughter.  All day long the young men fished and hunted,
while their sister took out the kids to pasture on the mountain, or
stayed at home helping her mother and mending the nets.

For several years they all lived happily together, when one day, as the
girl was out on the hill with the kids, the sun grew dark and an air
cold as a thick white mist came creeping, creeping up from the sea.
She rose with a shiver, and tried to call to her kids, but the voice
died away in her throat, and strong arms seemed to hold her.

Loud were the wails in the hut by the sea when the hours passed on and
the maiden came not.  Many times the father and brothers jumped up,
thinking they heard her steps, but in the thick darkness they could
scarcely see their own hands, nor could they tell where the river lay,
nor where the mountain.  One by one the kids came home, and at every
bleat someone hurried to open the door, but no sound broke the
stillness.  Through the night no one slept, and when morning broke and
the mist rolled back, they sought the maiden by sea and by land, but
never a trace of her could be found anywhere.

Thus a year and a day slipped by, and at the end of it Gorla of the
Flocks and his wife seemed suddenly to have grown old.  Their sons too
were sadder than before, for they loved their sister well, and had
never ceased to mourn for her.  At length Ardan the eldest spoke and
said:

'It is now a year and a day since our sister was taken from us, and we
have waited in grief and patience for her to return.  Surely some evil
has befallen her, or she would have sent us a token to put our hearts
at rest; and I have vowed to myself that my eyes shall not know sleep
till, living or dead, I have found her.'

'If you have vowed, then must you keep your vow,' answered Gorla.  'But
better had it been if you had first asked your father's leave before
you made it.  Yet, since it is so, your mother will bake you a cake for
you to carry with you on your journey.  Who can tell how long it may
be?'

So the mother arose and baked not one cake but two, a big one and a
little one.

'Choose, my son,' said she.  'Will you have the little cake with your
mother's blessing, or the big one without it, in that you have set
aside your father and taken on yourself to make a vow?'

'I will have the large cake,' answered the youth; 'for what good would
my mother's blessing do for me if I was dying of hunger?'  And taking
the big cake he went his way.

Straight on he strode, letting neither hill nor river hinder him.
Swiftly he walked-- swiftly as the wind that blew down the mountain.
The eagles and the gulls looked on from their nests as he passed,
leaving the deer behind him; but at length he stopped, for hunger had
seized on him, and he could walk no more.  Trembling with fatigue he
sat himself on a rock and broke a piece off his cake.

'Spare me a morsel, Ardan son of Gorla,' asked a raven, fluttering down
towards him.

'Seek food elsewhere, O bearer of ill-news,' answered Ardan son of
Gorla; 'it is but little I have for myself.'  And he stretched himself
out for a few moments, then rose to his feet again.  On and on went he
till the little birds flew to their nests, and the brightness died out
of the sky, and a darkness fell over the earth.  On and on, and on,
till at last he saw a beam of light streaming from a house and hastened
towards it.

The door was opened and he entered, but paused when he beheld an old
man lying on a bench by the fire, while seated opposite him was a
maiden combing out the locks of her golden hair with a comb of silver.

'Welcome, fair youth,' said the old man, turning his head.  'Sit down
and warm yourself, and tell me how fares the outer world.  It is long
since I have seen it.'

'All my news is that I am seeking service,' answered Ardan son of
Gorla; 'I have come from far since sunrise, and glad was I to see the
rays of your lamp stream into the darkness.'

'I need someone to herd my three dun cows, which are hornless,' said
the old man.  'If, for the space of a year, you can bring them back to
me each evening before the sun sets, I will make you payment that will
satisfy your soul.'

But here the girl looked up and answered quickly:

'Ill will come of it if he listens to your offer.'

'Counsel unsought is worth nothing,' replied, rudely, Ardan son of
Gorla.  'It would be little indeed that I am fit for if I cannot drive
three cows out to pasture and keep them safe from the wolves that may
come down from the mountains.  Therefore, good father, I will take
service with you at daybreak, and ask no payment till the new year
dawns.'

Next morning the bell of the deer was not heard amongst the fern before
the maiden with the hair of gold had milked the cows, and led them in
front of the cottage where the old man and Ardan son of Gorla awaited
them.

'Let them wander where they will,' he said to his servant, 'and never
seek to turn them from their way, for well they know the fields of good
pasture.  But take heed to follow always behind them, and suffer
nothing that you see, and nought that you hear, to draw you into
leaving them.  Now go, and may wisdom go with you.'

As he ceased speaking he touched one of the cows on her forehead, and
she stepped along the path, with the two others one on each side.  As
he had been bidden, behind them came Ardan son of Gorla, rejoicing in
his heart that work so easy had fallen to his lot.  At the year's end,
thought he, enough money would lie in his pocket to carry him into far
countries where his sister might be, and, in the meanwhile, someone
might come past who could give him tidings of her.

Thus he spoke to himself, when his eyes fell on a golden cock and a
silver hen running swiftly along the grass in front of him.  In a
moment the words that the old man had uttered vanished from his mind
and he gave chase.  They were so near that he could almost seize their
tails, yet each time he felt sure he could catch them his fingers
closed on the empty air.  At length he could run no more, and stopped
to breathe, while the cock and hen went on as before.  Then he
remembered the cows, and, somewhat frightened, turned back to seek
them.  Luckily they had not strayed far, and were quietly feeding on
the thick green grass.

Ardan son of Gorla was sitting under a tree, when he beheld a staff of
gold and a staff of silver doubling themselves in strange ways on the
meadow in front of him, and starting up he hastened towards them.  He
followed them till he was tired, but he could not catch them, though
they seemed ever within his reach.  When at last he gave up the quest
his knees trembled beneath him for very weariness, and glad was he to
see a tree growing close by lade with fruits of different sorts, of
which he ate greedily.

The sun was by now low in the heavens, and the cows left off feeding,
and turned their faces home again, followed by Ardan son of Gorla.  At
the door of their stable the maiden stood awaiting them, and saying
nought to their herd, she sat down and began to milk.  But it was not
milk that flowed into her pail; instead it was filled with a thin
stream of water, and as she rose up from the last cow the old man
appeared outside.

'Faithless one, you have betrayed your trust!' he said to Ardan son of
Gorla.  'Not even for one day could you keep true!  Well, you shall
have your reward at once, that others may take warning from you.'  And
waving his wand he touched with it the chest of the youth, who became a
pillar of stone.

Now Gorla of the Flocks and his wife were full of grief that they had
lost a son as well as a daughter, for no tidings had come to them of
Ardan their eldest born.  At length, when two years and two days had
passed since the maiden had led her kids to feed on the mountain and
had been seen no more, Ruais, second son of Gorla, rose up one morning,
and said:

'Time is long without my sister and Ardan my brother.  So I have vowed
to seek them wherever they may be.'

And his father answered:

'Better it had been if you had first asked my consent and that of your
mother; but as you have vowed so must you do.'  Then he bade his wife
make a cake, but instead she made two, and offered Ruais his choice, as
she had done to Ardan.  Like Ardan, Ruais chose the large, unblessed
cake, and set forth on his way, doing always, though he knew it not,
that which Ardan had done; so, needless is it to tell what befell him
till he too stood, a pillar of stone, on the hill behind the cottage,
so that all men might see the fate that awaited those who broke their
faith.

Another year and a day passed by, when Covan the Brown-haired, youngest
son of Gorla of the Flocks, one morning spake to his parents, saying:

'It is more than three years since my sister left us.  My brothers have
also gone, no one know whither, and of us four none remains but I.  No,
therefore, I long to seek them, and I pray you and my mother to place
no hindrance in my way.'

And his father answered:

'Go, then, and take our blessing with you.'

So the wife of Gorla of the Flocks baked two cakes, one large and one
small; and Covan took the small one, and started on his quest.  In the
wood he felt hungry, for he had walked far, and he sat down to eat.
Suddenly a voice behind him cried:

'A bit for me! a bit for me!'  And looking round he beheld the black
raven of the wilderness.

'Yes, you shall have a bit,' said Covan the Brown-haired; and breaking
off a piece he stretched it upwards to the raven, who ate it greedily.
Then Covan arose and went forward, till he saw the light from the
cottage streaming before him, and glad was he, for night was at hand.

'Maybe I shall find some work there,' he thought, 'and at least I shall
gain money to help me in my search; for who knows how far my sister and
my brothers may have wandered?'

The door stood open and he entered, and the old man gave him welcome,
and the golden- haired maiden likewise.  As happened before, he was
offered by the old man to herd his cows; and, as she had done to his
brothers, the maiden counselled him to leave such work alone.  But,
instead of answering rudely, like both Ardan and Ruais, he thanked her,
with courtesy, though he had no mind to heed her; and he listened to
the warnings and words of his new master.

Next day he set forth at dawn with the dun cows in front of him, and
followed patiently wherever they might lead him.  On the way he saw the
gold cock and silver hen, which ran even closer to him than they had
done to his brothers.  Sorely tempted, he longed to give them chase;
but, remembering in time that he had been bidden to look neither to the
right nor to the left, with a mighty effort he turned his eyes away.
Then the gold and silver staffs seemed to spring from the earth before
him, but this time also he overcame; and though the fruit from the
magic tree almost touched his mouth, he brushed it aside and went
steadily on.

That day the cows wandered father than ever they had done before, and
never stopped till they had reached a moor where the heather was
burning.  The fire was fierce, but the cows took no heed, and walked
steadily through it, Covan the Brown-haired following them.  Next they
plunged into a foaming river, and Covan plunged in after them, though
the water came high above his waist.  On the other side of the river
lay a wide plain, and here the cows lay down, while Covan looked about
him.  Near him was a house built of yellow stone, and from it came
sweet songs, and Covan listened, and his heart grew light within him.

While he was thus waiting there ran up to him a youth, scarcely able to
speak so swiftly had he sped; and he cried aloud:

'Hasten, hasten, Covan the Brown-haired, for your cows are in the corn,
and you must drive them out!'

'Nay,' said Covan smiling, 'it had been easier for you to have driven
them out than to come here to tell me.'  And he went on listening to
the music.

Very soon the same youth returned and cried with panting breath:

'Out upon you, Covan son of Gorla, that you stand there agape.  For our
dogs are chasing your cows, and you must drive them off!'

'Nay, then,' answered Covan as before, 'it had been easier for you to
call off your dogs than to come here to tell me.'  And he stayed where
he was till the music ceased.

Then he turned to look for the cows, and found them all lying in the
place where he had left them; but when they saw Covan they rose up and
walked homewards, taking a different path to that they had trod in the
morning.  This time they passed over a plain so bare that a pin could
not have lain there unnoticed, yet Covan beheld with surprise a foal
and its mother feeding there, both as fat as if they had pastured on
the richest grass.  Further on they crossed another plain, where the
grass was thick and green, but on it were feeding a foal and its
mother, so lean that you could have counted their ribs.  And further
again the path led them by the shores of a lake whereon were floating
two boats; one full of gay and happy youths, journeying to the land of
the Sun, and another with grim shapes clothed in black, travelling to
the land of Night.

'What can these things mean?' said Covan to himself, as he followed his
cows.

Darkness now fell, the wind howled, and torrents of rain poured upon
them.  Covan knew not how far they might yet have to go, or indeed if
they were on the right road.  He could not even see his cows, and his
heart sank lest, after all, he should have failed to bring them safely
back.  What was he to do?

He waited thus, for he could go neither forwards nor backwards, till he
felt a great friendly paw laid on his shoulder.

'My cave is just here,' said the Dog of Maol- mor, of whom Covan son of
Gorla had heard much.  'Spend the night here, and you shall be fed on
the flesh of lamb, and shall lay aside three-thirds of thy weariness.'

And Covan entered, and supped, and slept, and in the morning rose up a
new man.

'Farewell, Covan,' said the Dog of Maol-mor.  'May success go with you,
for you took what I had to give and did not mock me.  So, when danger
is your companion, wish for me, and I will not fail you.'

At these words the Dog of Maol-mor disappeared into the forest, and
Covan went to seek his cows, which were standing in the hollow where
the darkness had come upon them.

At the sight of Covan the Brown-haired they walked onwards, Covan
following ever behind them, and looking neither to the right nor to the
left.  All that day they walked, and when night fell they were in a
barren plain, with only rocks for shelter.

'We must rest here as best we can,' spoke Covan to the cows.  And they
bowed their heads and lay down in the place where they stood.  Then
came the black raven of Corri- nan-creag, whose eyes never closed, and
whose wings never tired; and he fluttered before the face of Covan and
told him that he knew of a cranny in the rock where there was food in
plenty, and soft moss for a bed.

'Go with me thither,' he said to Covan, 'and you shall lay aside
three-thirds of your weariness, and depart in the morning refreshed,'
and Covan listened thankfully to his words, and at dawn he rose up to
seek his cows.

'Farewell!' cried the black raven.  'You trusted me, and took all I had
to offer in return for the food you once gave me.  So if in time to
come you need a friend, wish for me, and I will not fail you.'

As before, the cows were standing in the spot where he had left them,
ready to set out.  All that day they walked, on and on, and on, Covan
son of Gorla walking behind them, till night fell while they were on
the banks of a river.

'We can go no further,' spake Covan to the cows.  And they began to eat
the grass by the side of the stream, while Covan listened to them and
longed for some supper also, for they had travelled far, and his limbs
were weak under him.  Then there was a swish of water at his feet, and
out peeped the head of the famous otter Doran-donn of the stream.

'Trust to me and I will find you warmth and shelter,' said Doran-donn;
'and for food fish in plenty.'  And Covan went with him thankfully, and
ate and rested, and laid aside three-thirds of his weariness.  At
sunrise he left his bed of dried sea-weed, which had floated up with
the tide, and with a grateful heart bade farewell to Doran-donn.

'Because you trusted me and took what I had to offer, you have made me
your friend, Covan,' said Doran-donn.  'And if you should be in danger,
and need help from one who can swim a river or dive beneath a wave,
call to me and I will come to you.'  Then he plunged into the stream,
and was seen no more.

The cows were standing ready in the place where Covan had left them,
and they journeyed on all that day, till, when night fell, they reached
the cottage.  Joyful indeed was the old man as the cows went into their
stables, and he beheld the rich milk that flowed into the pail of the
golden-haired maiden with the silver comb.

'You have done well indeed,' he said to Covan son of Gorla.  'And now,
what would you have as a reward?'

'I want nothing for myself,' answered Covan the Brown-haired; 'but I
ask you to give me back my brothers and my sister who have been lost to
us for three years past.  You are wise and know the lore of fairies and
of witches; tell me where I can find them, and what I must do to bring
them to life again.'

The old man looked grave at the words of Covan.

'Yes, truly I know where they are,' answered he, 'and I say not that
they may not be brought to life again.  But the perils are great--too
great for you to overcome.'

'Tell me what they are,' said Covan again, 'and I shall know better if
I may overcome them.'

'Listen, then, and judge.  In the mountain yonder there dwells a roe,
white of foot, with horns that branch like the antlers of a deer.  On
the lake that leads to the land of the Sun floats a duck whose body is
green and whose neck is of gold.  In the pool of Corri- Bui swims a
salmon with a skin that shines like silver, and whose gills are
red--bring them all to me, and then you shall know where dwell your
brothers and your sister!'

'To-morrow at cock-crow I will begone!' answered Covan.

The way to the mountain lay straight before him, and when he had
climbed high he caught sight of the roe with the white feet and the
spotted sides, on the peak in front.

Full of hope he set out in pursuit of her, but by the time he had
reached that peak she had left it and was to be seen on another.  And
so it always happened, and Covan's courage had well-nigh failed him,
when the thought of the Dog of Maol-mor darted into his mind.

'Oh, that he was here!' he cried.  And looking up he saw him.

'Why did you summon me?' asked the Dog of Maol-mor.  And when Covan had
told him of his trouble, and how the roe always led him further and
further, the Dog only answered:

'Fear nothing; I will soon catch her for you.'  And in a short while he
laid the roe unhurt at Covan's feet.

'What will you wish me to do with her?' said the Dog.  And Covan
answered:

'The old man bade me bring her, and the duck with the golden neck, and
the salmon with the silver sides, to his cottage; if I shall catch
them, I know not.  But carry you the roe to the back of the cottage,
and tether her so that she cannot escape.'

'It shall be done,' said the Dog of Maol-mor.

Then Covan sped to the lake which led to the land of the Sun, where the
duck with the green body and the golden neck was swimming among the
water-lilies.

'Surely I can catch him, good swimmer as I am,' to himself.  But, if he
could swim well, the duck could swim better, and at length his strength
failed him, and he was forced to seek the land.

'Oh that the black raven were here to help me!' he thought to himself.
And in a moment the black raven was perched on his shoulder.

'How can I help you?' asked the raven.  And Covan answered:

'Catch me the green duck that floats on the water.'  And the raven flew
with his strong wings and picked him up in his strong beak, and in
another moment the bird was laid at the feet of Covan.

This time it was easy for the young man to carry his prize, and after
giving thanks to the raven for his aid, he went on to the river.

In the deep dark pool of which the old man had spoken the silver-sided
salmon was lying under a rock.

'Surely I, good fisher as I am, can catch him,' said Covan son of
Gorla.  And cutting a slender pole from a bush, he fastened a line to
the end of it.  But cast with what skill he might, it availed nothing,
for the salmon would not even look at the bait.

'I am beaten at last, unless the Doran-donn can deliver me,' he cried.
And as he spoke there was a swish of the water, and the face of the
Doran-donn looked up at him.

'O catch me, I pray you, that salmon under the rock!' said Covan son of
Gorla.  And the Doran-donn dived, and laying hold of the salmon by his
tail, bore it back to the place where Covan was standing.

'The roe, and the duck, and the salmon are here,' said Covan to the old
man, when he reached the cottage.  And the old man smiled on him and
bade him eat and drink, and after he hungered no more, he would speak
with him.

And this was what the old man said: 'You began well, my son, so things
have gone well with you.  You set store by your mother's blessing,
therefore you have been blest.  You gave food to the raven when it
hungered, you were true to the promise you had made to me, and did not
suffer yourself to be turned aside by vain shows.  You were skilled to
perceive that the boy who tempted you to leave the temple was a teller
of false tales, and took with a grateful heart what the poor had to
offer you.  Last of all, difficulties gave you courage, instead of
lending you despair.

And now, as to your reward, you shall in truth take your sister home
with you, and your brothers I will restore to life; but idle and
unfaithful as they are their lot is to wander for ever.  And so
farewell, and may wisdom be with you.'

'First tell me your name?' asked Covan softly.

'I am the Spirit of Age,' said the old man.





           The Princess Bella-Flor



Once upon a time there lived a man who had two sons.  When they grew up
the elder went to seek his fortune in a far country, and for many years
no one heard anything about him.  Meanwhile the younger son stayed at
home with his father, who died at last in a good old age, leaving great
riches behind him.

For some time the son who stayed at home spent his father's wealth
freely, believing that he alone remained to enjoy it.  But, one day, as
he was coming down stairs, he was surprised to see a stranger enter the
hall, looking about as if the house belonged to him.

'Have you forgotten me?' asked the man.

'I can't forget a person I have never known,' was the rude answer.

'I am your brother,' replied the stranger, 'and I have returned home
without the money I hoped to have made.  And, what is worse, they tell
me in the village that my father is dead.  I would have counted my lost
gold as nothing if I could have seen him once more.'

'He died six months ago,' said the rich brother, 'and he left you, as
your portion, the old wooden chest that stands in the loft.  You had
better go there and look for it; I have no more time to waste.'  And he
went his way.

So the wanderer turned his steps to the loft, which was at the top of
the storehouse, and there he found the wooden chest, so old that it
looked as if it were dropping to pieces.

'What use is this old thing to me?' he said to himself.  'Oh, well, it
will serve to light a fire at which I can warm myself; so things might
be worse after all.'

Placing the chest on his back, the man, whose name was Jose, set out
for his inn, and, borrowing a hatchet, began to chop up the box.  In
doing so he discovered a secret drawer, and in it lay a paper.  He
opened the paper, not knowing what it might contain, and was astonished
to find that it was the acknowledgment of a large debt that was owing
to his father.  Putting the precious writing in his pocket, he hastily
inquired of the landlord where he could find the man whose name was
written inside, and he ran out at once in search of him.

The debtor proved to be an old miser, who lived at the other end of the
village.  He had hoped for many months that the paper he had written
had been lost or destroyed, and, indeed, when he saw it, was very
unwilling to pay what he owed.  However, the stranger threatened to
drag him before the king, and when the miser saw that there was no help
for it he counted out the coins one by one.  The stranger picked them
up and put them in his pocket, and went back to his inn feeling that he
was now a rich man.

A few weeks after this he was walking through the streets of the
nearest town, when he met a poor woman crying bitterly.  He stopped and
asked her what was the matter, and she answered between her sobs that
her husband was dying, and, to make matters worse, a creditor whom he
could not pay was anxious to have him taken to prison.

'Comfort yourself,' said the stranger kindly; 'they shall neither send
your husband to prison nor sell your goods.  I will not only pay his
debts but, if he dies, the cost of his burial also.  And now go home,
and nurse him as well as you can.'

And so she did; but, in spite of her care, the husband died, and was
buried by the stranger.  But everything cost more than he expected, and
when all was paid he found that only three gold pieces were left.

'What am I to do now?' said he to himself.  'I think I had better go to
court, and enter into the service of the king.'

At first he was only a servant, who carried the king the water for his
bath, and saw that his bed was made in a particular fashion.  But he
did his duties so well that his master soon took notice of him, and in
a short time he rose to be a gentleman of the bedchamber.

Now, when this happened the younger brother had spent all the money he
had inherited, and did not know how to make any for himself.  He then
bethought him of the king's favourite, and went whining to the palace
to beg that his brother, whom he had so ill-used, would give him his
protection, and find him a place.  The elder, who was always ready to
help everyone spoke to the king on his behalf, and the next day the
young man took up is work at court.

Unfortunately, the new-comer was by nature spiteful and envious, and
could not bear anyone to have better luck than himself.  By dint of
spying through keyholes and listening at doors, he learned that the
king, old and ugly though he was, had fallen in love with the Princess
Bella-Flor, who would have nothing to say to him, and had hidden
herself in some mountain castle, no one knew where.

'That will do nicely,' thought the scoundrel, rubbing his hands.  'It
will be quite easy to get the king to send my brother in search of her,
and if he returns without finding her, his head will be the forfeit.
Either way, he will be out of MY path.'

So he went at once to the Lord High Chamberlain and craved an audience
of the king, to whom he declared he wished to tell some news of the
highest importance.  The king admitted him into the presence chamber
without delay, and bade him state what he had to say, and to be quick
about it.

'Oh, sire! the Princess Bella-Flor--' answered the man, and then
stopped as if afraid.

'What of the Princess Bella-Flor?' asked the king impatiently.

'I have heard--it is whispered at court--that your majesty desires to
know where she lies in hiding.'

'I would give half my kingdom to the man who will bring her to me,'
cried the king, eagerly.  'Speak on, knave; has a bird of the air
revealed to you the secret?'

'It is not I, but my brother, who knows,' replied the traitor; 'if your
majesty would ask him--' But before the words were out of his mouth the
king had struck a blow with his sceptre on a golden plate that hung on
the wall.

'Order Jose to appear before me instantly,' he shouted to the servant
who ran to obey his orders, so great was the noise his majesty had
made; and when Jose entered the hall, wondering what in the world could
be the matter, the king was nearly dumb from rage and excitement.

'Bring me the Princess Bella-Flor this moment,' stammered he, 'for if
you return without her I will have you drowned!'  And without another
word he left the hall, leaving Jose staring with surprise and horror.

'How can I find the Princess Bella-Flor when I have never even seen
her?' thought he.  'But it is no use staying here, for I shall only be
put to death.'  And he walked slowly to the stables to choose himself a
horse.

There were rows upon rows of fine beasts with their names written in
gold above their stalls, and Jose was looking uncertainly from one to
the other, wondering which he should choose, when an old white horse
turned its head and signed to him to approach.

'Take me,' it said in a gentle whisper, 'and all will go well.'

Jose still felt so bewildered with the mission that the king had given
him that he forgot to be astonished at hearing a horse talk.
Mechanically he laid his hand on the bridle and led the white horse out
of the stable.  He was about to mount on his back, when the animal
spoke again:

'Pick up those three loaves of bread which you see there, and put them
in your pocket.'

Jose did as he was told, and being in a great hurry to get away, asked
no questions, but swung himself into the saddle.

They rode far without meeting any adventures, but at length they came
to an ant-hill, and the horse stopped.

'Crumble those three loaves for the ants,' he said.  But Jose hesitated.

'Why, we may want them ourselves!' answered he.

'Never mind that; give them to the ants all the same.  Do not lose a
chance of helping others.'  And when the loaves lay in crumbs on the
road, the horse galloped on.

By-and-by they entered a rocky pass between two mountains, and here
they saw an eagle which had been caught in a hunter's net.

'Get down and cut the meshes of the net, and set the poor bird free,'
said the horse.

'But it will take so long,' objected Jose, 'and we may miss the
princess.'

'Never mind that; do not lose a chance of helping others,' answered the
horse.  And when the meshes were cut, and the eagle was free, the horse
galloped on.

The had ridden many miles, and at last they came to a river, where they
beheld a little fish lying gasping on the sand, and the horse said:

'Do you see that little fish?  It will die if you do not put it back in
the water.'

'But, really, we shall never find the Princess Bella-Flor if we waste
our time like this!' cried Jose.

'We never waste time when we are helping others,' answered the horse.
And soon the little fish was swimming happily away.

A little while after they reached a castle, which was built in the
middle of a very thick wood, and right in front was the Princess
Bella-Flor feeding her hens.

'Now listen,' said the horse.  'I am going to give all sorts of little
hops and skips, which will amuse the Princess Bella-Flor.  Then she
will tell you that she would like to ride a little way, and you must
help her to mount.  When she is seated I shall begin to neigh and kick,
and you must say that I have never carried a woman before, and that you
had better get up behind so as to be able to manage me.  Once on my
back we will go like the wind to the king's palace.'

Jose did exactly as the horse told him, and everything fell out as the
animal prophesied; so that it was not until they were galloping
breathlessly towards the palace that the princess knew that she was
taken captive.  She said nothing, however, but quietly opened her apron
which contained the bran for the chickens, and in a moment it lay
scattered on the ground.

'Oh, I have let fall my bran!' cried she; 'please get down and pick it
up for me.'  But Jose only answered:

'We shall find plenty of bran where we are going.'  And the horse
galloped on.

They were now passing through a forest, and the princess took out her
handkerchief and threw it upwards, so that it stuck in one of the
topmost branches of a tree.

'Dear me; how stupid!  I have let my handkerchief blow away,' said she.
 'Will you climb up and get it for me?'  But Jose answered:

'We shall find plenty of handkerchiefs where we are going.'  And the
horse galloped on.

After the wood they reached a river, and the princess slipped a ring
off her finger and let it roll into the water.

'How careless of me,' gasped she, beginning to sob.  'I have lost my
favourite ring; DO stop for a moment and look if you can see it.'  But
Jose answered:

'You will find plenty of rings where you are going.'  And the horse
galloped on.

At last they entered the palace gates, and the king's heart bounded
with joy at beholding his beloved Princess Bella-Flor.  But the
princess brushed him aside as if he had been a fly, and locked herself
into the nearest room, which she would not open for all his entreaties.

'Bring me the three things I lost on the way, and perhaps I may think
about it,' was all she would say.  And, in despair, the king was driven
to take counsel of Jose.

'There is no remedy that I can see,' said his majesty, 'but that you,
who know where they are, should go and bring them back.  And if you
return without them I will have you drowned.'

Poor Jose was much troubled at these words.  He thought that he had
done all that was required of him, and that his life was safe.
However, he bowed low, and went out to consult his friend the horse.

'Do not vex yourself,' said the horse, when he had heard the story;
'jump up, and we will go and look for the things.'  And Jose mounted at
once.

They rode on till they came to the ant-hill, and then the horse asked:

'Would you like to have the bran?'

'What is the use of liking?' answered Jose.

'Well, call the ants, and tell them to fetch it for you; and, if some
of it has been scattered by the wind, to bring in its stead the grains
that were in the cakes you gave them.'  Jose listened in surprise.  He
did not much believe in the horse's plan; but he could not think of
anything better, so he called to the ants, and bade them collect the
bran as fast as they could.

Then he saw under a tree and waited, while his horse cropped the green
turf.

'Look there!' said the animal, suddenly raising its head; and Jose
looked behind him and saw a little mountain of bran, which he put into
a bag that was hung over his saddle.

'Good deeds bear fruit sooner or later,' observed the horse; 'but mount
again, as we have far to go.'

When they arrived at the tree, they saw the handkerchief fluttering
like a flag from the topmost branch, and Jose's spirits sank again.

'How am I to get that handkerchief?' cried he; 'why I should need
Jacob's ladder!'  But the horse answered:

'Do not be frightened; call to the eagle you set free from the net, he
will bring it to you.'

So Jose called to the eagle, and the eagle flew to the top of the tree
and brought back the handkerchief in its beak.  Jose thanked him, and
vaulting on his horse they rode on to the river.

A great deal of rain had fallen in the night, and the river, instead of
being clear as it was before, was dark and troubled.

'How am I to fetch the ring from the bottom of this river when I do not
know exactly where it was dropped, and cannot even see it?' asked Jose.
 But the horse answered: 'Do not be frightened; call the little fish
whose life you saved, and she will bring it to you.'

So he called to the fish, and the fish dived to the bottom and slipped
behind big stones, and moved little ones with its tail till it found
the ring, and brought it to Jose in its mouth.

Well pleased with all he had done, Jose returned to the palace; but
when the king took the precious objects to Bella-Flor, she declared
that she would never open her door till the bandit who had carried her
off had been fried in oil.

'I am very sorry,' said the king to Jose, 'I really would rather not;
but you see I have no choice.'

 While the oil was being heated in the great caldron, Jose went to the
stables to inquire of his friend the horse if there was no way for him
to escape.

'Do not be frightened,' said the horse.  'Get on my back, and I will
gallop till my whole body is wet with perspiration, then rub it all
over your skin, and no matter how hot the oil may be you will never
feel it.'

Jose did not ask any more questions, but did as the horse bade him; and
men wondered at his cheerful face as they lowered him into the caldron
of boiling oil.  He was left there till Bella-Flor cried that he must
be cooked enough.  Then out came a youth so young and handsome, that
everyone fell in love with him, and Bella-Flor most of all.

As for the old king, he saw that he had lost the game; and in despair
he flung himself into the caldron, and was fried instead of Jose.  Then
Jose was proclaimed king, on condition that he married Bella-Flor which
he promised to do the next day.  But first he went to the stables and
sought out the horse, and said to him: 'It is to you that I owe my life
and my crown.  Why have you done all this for me?'

And the horse answered: 'I am the soul of that unhappy man for whom you
spent all your fortune.  And when I saw you in danger of death I begged
that I might help you, as you had helped me.  For, as I told you, Good
deeds bear their own fruit!'





              The Bird of Truth



Once upon a time there lived a poor fisher who built a hut on the banks
of a stream which, shunning the glare of the sun and the noise of the
towns, flowed quietly past trees and under bushes, listening to the
songs of the birds overhead.

One day, when the fisherman had gone out as usual to cast his nets, he
saw borne towards him on the current a cradle of crystal.  Slipping his
net quickly beneath it he drew it out and lifted the silk coverlet.
Inside, lying on a soft bed of cotton, were two babies, a boy and a
girl, who opened their eyes and smiled at him.  The man was filled with
pity at the sight, and throwing down his lines he took the cradle and
the babies home to his wife.

The good woman flung up her hands in despair when she beheld the
contents of the cradle.

'Are not eight children enough,' she cried, 'without bringing us two
more?  How do you think we can feed them?'

'You would not have had me leave them to die of hunger,' answered he,
'or be swallowed up by the waves of the sea?  What is enough for eight
is also enough for ten.'

The wife said no more; and in truth her heart yearned over the little
creatures.  Somehow or other food was never lacking in the hut, and the
children grew up and were so good and gentle that, in time, their
foster-parents loved them as well or better than their own, who were
quarrelsome and envious.  It did not take the orphans long to notice
that the boys did not like them, and were always playing tricks on
them, so they used to go away by themselves and spend whole hours by
the banks of the river.  Here they would take out the bits of bread
they had saved from their breakfasts and crumble them for the birds.
In return, the birds taught them many things: how to get up early in
the morning, how to sing, and how to talk their language, which very
few people know.

But though the little orphans did their best to avoid quarrelling with
their foster- brothers, it was very difficult always to keep the peace.
 Matters got worse and worse till, one morning, the eldest boy said to
the twins:

'It is all very well for you to pretend that you have such good
manners, and are so much better than we, but we have at least a father
and mother, while you have only got the river, like the toads and the
frogs.'

The poor children did not answer the insult; but it made them very
unhappy.  And they told each other in whispers that they could not stay
there any longer, but must go into the world and seek their fortunes.

So next day they arose as early as the birds and stole downstairs
without anybody hearing them.  One window was open, and they crept
softly out and ran to the side of the river.  Then, feeling as if they
had found a friend, they walked along its banks, hoping that by- and-by
they should meet some one to take care of them.

The whole of that day they went steadily on without seeing a living
creature, till, in the evening, weary and footsore, they saw before
them a small hut.  This raised their spirits for a moment; but the door
was shut, and the hut seemed empty, and so great was their
disappointment that they almost cried.  However, the boy fought down
his tears, and said cheerfully:

'Well, at any rate here is a bench where we can sit down, and when we
are rested we will think what is best to do next.'

Then they sat down, and for some time they were too tired even to
notice anything; but by-and-by they saw that under the tiles of the
roof a number of swallows were sitting, chattering merrily to each
other.  Of course the swallows had no idea that the children understood
their language, or they would not have talked so freely; but, as it
was, they said whatever came into their heads.

'Good evening, my fine city madam,' remarked a swallow, whose manners
were rather rough and countryfied to another who looked particularly
distinguished.  'Happy, indeed, are the eyes that behold you!  Only
think of your having returned to your long-forgotten country friends,
after you have lived for years in a palace!'

'I have inherited this nest from my parents,' replied the other, 'and
as they left it to me I certainly shall make it my home.  But,' she
added politely, 'I hope that you and all your family are well?'

'Very well indeed, I am glad to say.  But my poor daughter had, a short
time ago, such bad inflammation in her eyes that she would have gone
blind had I not been able to find the magic herb, which cured her at
once.'

'And how is the nightingale singing?  Does the lark soar as high as
ever?  And does the linnet dress herself as smartly?'  But here the
country swallow drew herself up.

'I never talk gossip,' she said severely.  'Our people, who were once
so innocent and well-behaved, have been corrupted by the bad examples
of men.  It is a thousand pities.'

'What! innocence and good behaviour are not to be met with among birds,
nor in the country!  My dear friend, what are you saying?'

'The truth and nothing more.  Imagine, when we returned here, we met
some linnets who, just as the spring and the flowers and the long days
had come, were setting out for the north and the cold?  Out of pure
compassion we tried to persuade them to give up this folly; but they
only replied with the utmost insolence.'

'How shocking!' exclaimed the city swallow.

'Yes, it was.  And worse than that, the crested lark, that was formerly
so timid and shy, is now no better than a thief, and steals maize and
corn whenever she can find them.'

'I am astonished at what you say.'

'You will be more astonished when I tell you that on my arrival here
for the summer I found my nest occupied by a shameless sparrow!  "This
is my nest," I said.  "Yours?" he answered, with a rude laugh.  "Yes,
mine; my ancestors were born here, and my sons will be born here also."
 And at that my husband set upon him and threw him out of the nest.  I
am sure nothing of this sort ever happens in a town.'

'Not exactly, perhaps.  But I have seen a great deal--if you only knew!'

'Oh! do tell us! do tell us!' cried they all.  And when they had
settled themselves comfortably, the city swallow began:

'You must know, then that our king fell in love with the youngest
daughter of a tailor, who was as good and gentle as she was beautiful.
His nobles hoped that he would have chosen a queen from one of their
daughters, and tried to prevent the marriage; but the king would not
listen to them, and it took place.  Not many months later a war broke
out, and the king rode away at the head of his army, while the queen
remained behind, very unhappy at the separation.  When peace was made,
and the king returned, he was told that his wife had had two babies in
his absence, but that both were dead; that she herself had gone out of
her mind and was obliged to be shut up in a tower in the mountains,
where, in time, the fresh air might cure her.'

'And was this not true?' asked the swallows eagerly.

'Of course not,' answered the city lady, with some contempt for their
stupidity.  'The children were alive at that very moment in the
gardener's cottage; but at night the chamberlain came down and put them
in a cradle of crystal, which he carried to the river.

'For a whole day they floated safely, for though the stream was deep it
was very still, and the children took no harm.  In the morning--so I am
told by my friend the kingfisher--they were rescued by a fisherman who
lived near the river bank.'

 The children had been lying on the bench, listening lazily to the
chatter up to this point; but when they heard the story of the crystal
cradle which their foster-mother had always been fond of telling them,
they sat upright and looked at each other.

'Oh, how glad I am I learnt the birds' language!' said the eyes of one
to the eyes of the other.

Meanwhile the swallows had spoken again.

'That was indeed good fortune!' cried they.

'And when the children are grown up they can return to their father and
set their mother free.'

'It will not be so easy as you think,' answered the city swallow,
shaking her head; 'for they will have to prove that they are the king's
children, and also that their mother never went mad at all.  In fact,
it is so difficult that there is only one way of proving it to the
king.'

'And what is that?' cried all the swallows at once.  'And how do you
know it?'

'I know it,' answered the city swallow, 'because, one day, when I was
passing through the palace garden, I met a cuckoo, who, as I need not
tell you, always pretends to be able to see into the future.  We began
to talk about certain things which were happening in the palace, and of
the events of past years.  "Ah," said he, "the only person who can
expose the wickedness of the ministers and show the king how wrong he
has been, is the Bird of Truth, who can speak the language of men."

'"And where can this bird be found?" I asked.

'"It is shut up in a castle guarded by a fierce giant, who only sleeps
one quarter of an hour out of the whole twenty-four," replied the
cuckoo.

'And where is this castle?' inquired the country swallow, who, like all
the rest, and the children most of all, had been listening with deep
attention.

'That is just what I don't know,' answered her friend.  'All I can tell
you is that not far from here is a tower, where dwells an old witch,
and it is she who knows the way, and she will only teach it to the
person who promises to bring her the water from the fountain of many
colours, which she uses for her enchantments.  But never will she
betray the place where the Bird of Truth is hidden, for she hates him,
and would kill him if she could; knowing well, however, that this bird
cannot die, as he is immortal, she keeps him closely shut up, and
guarded night and day by the Birds of Bad Faith, who seek to gag him so
that his voice should not be heard.'

'And is there no one else who can tell the poor boy where to find the
bird, if he should ever manage to reach the tower?' asked the country
swallow.

'No one,' replied the city swallow, 'except an owl, who lives a
hermit's life in that desert, and he knows only one word of man's
speech, and that is "cross." So that even if the prince did succeed in
getting there, he could never understand what the owl said.  But, look,
the sun is sinking to his nest in the depths of the sea, and I must go
to mine.  Good-night, friends, good-night!'

Then the swallow flew away, and the children, who had forgotten both
hunger and weariness in the joy of this strange news, rose up and
followed in the direction of her flight.  After two hours' walking,
they arrived at a large city, which they felt sure must be the capital
of their father's kingdom.  Seeing a good-natured looking woman
standing at the door of a house, they asked her if she would give them
a night's lodging, and she was so pleased with their pretty faces and
nice manners that she welcomed them warmly.

It was scarcely light the next morning before the girl was sweeping out
the rooms, and the boy watering the garden, so that by the time the
good woman came downstairs there was nothing left for her to do.  This
so delighted her that she begged the children to stay with her
altogether, and the boy answered that he would leave his sisters with
her gladly, but that he himself had serious business on hand and must
not linger in pursuit of it.  So he bade them farewell and set out.

 For three days he wandered by the most out- of-the-way paths, but no
signs of a tower were to be seen anywhere.  On the fourth morning it
was just the same, and, filled with despair, he flung himself on the
ground under a tree and hid his face in his hands.  In a little while
he heard a rustling over his head, and looking up, he saw a turtle dove
watching him with her bright eyes.

'Oh dove!' cried the boy, addressing the bird in her own language, 'Oh
dove! tell me, I pray you, where is the castle of Come-and- never-go?'

'Poor child,' answered the dove, 'who has sent you on such a useless
quest?'

'My good or evil fortune,' replied the boy, 'I know not which.'

'To get there,' said the dove, 'you must follow the wind, which to-day
is blowing towards the castle.'

The boy thanked her, and followed the wind, fearing all the time that
it might change its direction and lead him astray.  But the wind seemed
to feel pity for him and blew steadily on.

With each step the country became more and more dreary, but at
nightfall the child could see behind the dark and bare rocks something
darker still.  This was the tower in which dwelt the witch; and seizing
the knocker he gave three loud knocks, which were echoed in the hollows
of the rocks around.

The door opened slowly, and there appeared on the threshold an old
woman holding up a candle to her face, which was so hideous that the
boy involuntarily stepped backwards, almost as frightened by the troop
of lizards, beetles and such creatures that surrounded her, as by the
woman herself.

'Who are you who dare to knock at my door and wake me?' cried she.  'Be
quick and tell me what you want, or it will be the worse for you.'

'Madam,' answered the child, 'I believe that you alone know the way to
the castle of Come- and-never-go, and I pray you to show it to me.'

'Very good,' replied the witch, with something that she meant for a
smile, 'but to-day it is late.  To-morrow you shall go.  Now enter, and
you shall sleep with my lizards.'

'I cannot stay,' said he.  'I must go back at once, so as to reach the
road from which I started before day dawns.'

'If I tell you, will you promise me that you will bring me this jar
full of the many- coloured water from the spring in the court- yard of
the castle?' asked she.  'If you fail to keep your word I will change
you into a lizard for ever.'

'I promise,' answered the boy.

Then the old woman called to a very thin dog, and said to him:

'Conduct this pig of a child to the castle of Come-and-never-go, and
take care that you warn my friend of his arrival.'  And the dog arose
and shook itself, and set out.

At the end of two hours they stopped in front of a large castle, big
and black and gloomy, whose doors stood wide open, although neither
sound nor light gave sign of any presence within.  The dog, however,
seemed to know what to expect, and, after a wild howl, went on; but the
boy, who was uncertain whether this was the quarter of an hour when the
giant was asleep, hesitated to follow him, and paused for a moment
under a wild olive that grew near by, the only tree which he had beheld
since he had parted from the dove.  'Oh, heaven, help me!' cried he.

'Cross! cross!' answered a voice.

The boy leapt for joy as he recognised the note of the owl of which the
swallow had spoken, and he said softly in the bird's language:

'Oh, wise owl, I pray you to protect and guide me, for I have come in
search of the Bird of Truth.  And first I must fill this far with the
many-coloured water in the courtyard of the castle.'

'Do not do that,' answered the owl, 'but fill the jar from the spring
which bubbles close by the fountain with the many-coloured water.
Afterwards, go into the aviary opposite the great door, but be careful
not to touch any of the bright-plumaged birds contained in it, which
will cry to you, each one, that he is the Bird of Truth.  Choose only a
small white bird that is hidden in a corner, which the others try
incessantly to kill, not knowing that it cannot die.  And, be
quick!--for at this very moment the giant has fallen asleep, and you
have only a quarter of an hour to do everything.'

The boy ran as fast as he could and entered the courtyard, where he saw
the two spring close together.  He passed by the many- coloured water
without casting a glance at it, and filled the jar from the fountain
whose water was clear and pure.  He next hastened to the aviary, and
was almost deafened by the clamour that rose as he shut the door behind
him.  Voices of peacocks, voices of ravens, voices of magpies, each
claiming to be the Bird of Truth.  With steadfast face the boy walked
by them all, to the corner, where, hemmed in by a hand of fierce crows,
was the small white bird he sought.  Putting her safely in his breast,
he passed out, followed by the screams of the birds of Bad Faith which
he left behind him.

Once outside, he ran without stopping to the witch's tower, and handed
to the old woman the jar she had given him.

'Become a parrot!' cried she, flinging the water over him.  But instead
of losing his shape, as so many had done before, he only grew ten times
handsomer; for the water was enchanted for good and not ill.  Then the
creeping multitude around the witch hastened to roll themselves in the
water, and stood up, human beings again.

When the witch saw what was happening, she took a broomstick and flew
away.

Who can guess the delight of the sister at the sight of her brother,
bearing the Bird of Truth?  But although the boy had accomplished much,
something very difficult yet remained, and that was how to carry the
Bird of Truth to the king without her being seized by the wicked
courtiers, who would be ruined by the discovery of their plot.

Soon--no one knew how--the news spread abroad that the Bird of Truth
was hovering round the palace, and the courtiers made all sorts of
preparations to hinder her reaching the king.

They got ready weapons that were sharpened, and weapons that were
poisoned; they sent for eagles and falcons to hunt her down, and
constructed cages and boxes in which to shut her up if they were not
able to kill her.  They declared that her white plumage was really put
on to hide her black feathers--in fact there was nothing they did not
do in order to prevent the king from seeing the bird or from paying
attention to her words if he did.

As often happens in these cases, the courtiers brought about that which
they feared.  They talked so much about the Bird of Truth that at last
the king heard of it, and expressed a wish to see her.  The more
difficulties that were put in his way the stronger grew his desire, and
in the end the king published a proclamation that whoever found the
Bird of Truth should bring her to him without delay.

As soon as he saw this proclamation the boy called his sister, and they
hastened to the palace.  The bird was buttoned inside his tunic, but,
as might have been expected, the courtiers barred the way, and told the
child that he could not enter.  It was in vain that the boy declared
that he was only obeying the king's commands; the courtiers only
replied that his majesty was not yet out of bed, and it was forbidden
to wake him.

They were still talking, when, suddenly, the bird settled the question
by flying upwards through an open window into the king's own room.
Alighting on the pillow, close to the king's head, she bowed
respectfully, and said:

'My lord, I am the Bird of Truth whom you wished to see, and I have
been obliged to approach you in the manner because the boy who brought
me is kept out of the palace by your courtiers.'

'They shall pay for their insolence,' said the king.  And he instantly
ordered one of his attendants to conduct the boy at once to his
apartments; and in a moment more the prince entered, holding his sister
by the hand.

'Who are you?' asked the king; 'and what has the Bird of Truth to do
with you?'

'If it please your majesty, the Bird of Truth will explain that
herself,' answered the boy.

And the bird did explain; and the king heard for the first time of the
wicked plot that had been successful for so many years.  He took his
children in his arms, with tears in his eyes, and hurried off with them
to the tower in the mountains where the queen was shut up.  The poor
woman was as white as marble, for she had been living almost in
darkness; but when she saw her husband and children, the colour came
back to her face, and she was as beautiful as ever.

They all returned in state to the city, where great rejoicings were
held.  The wicked courtiers had their heads cut off, and all their
property was taken away.  As for the good old couple, they were given
riches and honour, and were loved and cherished to the end of their
lives.





            The Mink and the Wolf



In a big forest in the north of America lived a quantity of wild
animals of all sorts.  They were always very polite when they met; but,
in spite of that, they kept a close watch one upon the other, as each
was afraid of being killed and eaten by somebody else.  But their
manners were so good that no one would ever had guessed that.

One day a smart young wolf went out to hunt, promising his grandfather
and grandmother that he would be sure to be back before bedtime.  He
trotted along quite happily through the forest till he came to a
favourite place of his, just where the river runs into the sea.  There,
just as he had hoped, he saw the chief mink fishing in a canoe.

'I want to fish too,' cried the wolf.  But the mink said nothing and
pretended not to hear.

'I wish you would take me into your boat!' shouted the wolf, louder
than before, and he continued to beseech the mink so long that at last
he grew tired of it, and paddled to the shore close enough for the wolf
to jump in.

'Sit down quietly at that end or we shall be upset,' said the mink;
'and if you care about sea-urchins' eggs, you will find plenty in that
basket.  But be sure you eat only the white ones, for the red ones
would kill you.'

So the wolf, who was always hungry, began to eat the eggs greedily; and
when he had finished he told the mink he thought he would have a nap.

'Well, then, stretch yourself out, and rest your head on that piece of
wood,' said the mink.  And the wolf did as he was bid, and was soon
fast asleep.  Then the mink crept up to him and stabbed him to the
heart with his knife, and he died without moving.  After that he landed
on the beach, skinned the wolf, and taking the skin to his cottage, he
hung it up before the fire to dry.

Not many days later the wolf's grandmother, who, with the help of her
relations, had been searching for him everywhere, entered the cottage
to buy some sea-urchins' eggs, and saw the skin, which she at once
guessed to be that of her grandson.

'I knew he was dead--I knew it!  I knew it!' she cried, weeping
bitterly, till the mink told her rudely that if she wanted to make so
much noise she had better do it outside as he liked to be quiet.  So,
half-blinded by her tears, the old woman went home the way she had
come, and running in at the door, she flung herself down in front of
the fire.

'What are you crying for?' asked the old wolf and some friends who had
been spending the afternoon with him.

'I shall never see my grandson any more!' answered she.  'Mink has
killed him, oh! oh!'  And putting her head down, she began to weep as
loudly as ever.

'There! there!' said her husband, laying his paw on her shoulder.  'Be
comforted; if he IS dead, we will avenge him.'  And calling to the
others they proceeded to talk over the best plan.  It took them a long
time to make up their minds, as one wolf proposed one thing and one
another; but at last it was agreed that the old wolf should give a
great feast in his house, and that the mink should be invited to the
party.  And in order that no time should be lost it was further agreed
that each wolf should bear the invitations to the guests that lived
nearest to him.

Now the wolves thought they were very cunning, but the mink was more
cunning still; and though he sent a message by a white hare, that was
going that way, saying he should be delighted to be present, he
determined that he would take his precautions.  So he went to a mouse
who had often done him a good turn, and greeted her with his best bow.

'I have a favour to ask of you, friend mouse,' said he, 'and if you
will grant it I will carry you on my back every night for a week to the
patch of maize right up the hill.'

'The favour is mine,' answered the mouse.  'Tell me what it is that I
can have the honour of doing for you.'

'Oh, something quite easy,' replied the mink.  'I only want
you--between to-day and the next full moon--to gnaw through the bows
and paddles of the wolf people, so that directly they use them they
will break.  But of course you must manage it so that they notice
nothing.'

'Of course,' answered the mouse, 'nothing is easier; but as the full
moon is to-morrow night, and there is not much time, I had better begin
at once.'  Then the mink thanked her, and went his way; but before he
had gone far he came back again.

'Perhaps, while you are about the wolf's house seeing after the bows,
it would do no harm if you were to make that knot-hole in the wall a
little bigger,' said he.  'Not large enough to draw attention, of
course; but it might come in handy.'  And with another nod he left her.

The next evening the mink washed and brushed himself carefully and set
out for the feast.  He smiled to himself as he looked at the dusty
track, and perceived that though the marks of wolves' feet were many,
not a single guest was to be seen anywhere.  He knew very well what
that meant; but he had taken his precautions and was not afraid.

The house door stood open, but through a crack the mink could see the
wolves crowding in the corner behind it.  However, he entered boldly,
and as soon as he was fairly inside the door was shut with a bang, and
the whole herd sprang at him, with their red tongues hanging out of
their mouths.  Quick as they were they were too late, for the mink was
already through the knot-hole and racing for his canoe.

The knot-hole was too small for the wolves, and there were so many of
them in the hut that it was some time before they could get the door
open.  Then they seized the bows and arrows which were hanging on the
walls and, once outside, aimed at the flying mink; but as they pulled
the bows broke in their paws, so they threw them away, and bounded to
the shore, with all their speed, to the place where their canoes were
drawn up on the beach.

Now, although the mink could not run as fast as the wolves, he had a
good start, and was already afloat when the swiftest among them threw
themselves into the nearest canoe.  They pushed off, but as they dipped
the paddles into the water, they snapped as the bows had done, and were
quite useless.

'I know where there are some new ones,' cried a young fellow, leaping
on shore and rushing to a little cave at the back of the beach.  And
the mink's heart smote him when he heard, for he had not known of this
secret store.

After a long chase the wolves managed to surround their prey, and the
mink, seeing it was no good resisting any more, gave himself up.  Some
of the elder wolves brought out some cedar bands, which they always
carried wound round their bodies, but the mink laughed scornfully at
the sight of them.

'Why I could snap those in a moment,' said he; 'if you want to make
sure that I cannot escape, better take a line of kelp and bind me with
that.'

'You are right,' answered the grandfather; 'your wisdom is greater than
ours.'  And he bade his servants gather enough kelp from the rocks to
make a line, as they had brought none with them.

'While the line is being made you might as well let me have one last
dance,' remarked the mink.  And the wolves replied: 'Very good, you may
have your dance; perhaps it may amuse us as well as you.'  So they
brought two canoes and placed them one beside the other.  The mink
stood up on his hind legs and began to dance, first in one canoe and
then in the other; and so graceful was he, that the wolves forgot they
were going to put him to death, and howled with pleasure.

'Pull the canoes a little apart; they are too close for this new
dance,' he said, pausing for a moment.  And the wolves separated them
while he gave a series of little springs, sometime pirouetting while he
stood with one foot on the prow of both.  'Now nearer, now further
apart,' he would cry as the dance went on.  'No! further still.'  And
springing into the air, amidst howls of applause, he came down
head-foremost, and dived to the bottom.  And through the wolves, whose
howls had now changed into those of rage, sought him everywhere, they
never found him, for he hid behind a rock till they were out of sight,
and then made his home in another forest.





        Adventures of an Indian Brave



A long, long way off, right away in the west of America, there once
lived an old man who had one son.  The country round was covered with
forests, in which dwelt all kinds of wild beasts, and the young man and
his companions used to spend whole days in hunting them, and he was the
finest hunter of all the tribe.

One morning, when winter was coming on, the youth and his companions
set off as usual to bring back some of the mountain goats and deer to
be salted down, as he was afraid of a snow-storm; and if the wind blew
and the snow drifted the forest might be impassable for some weeks.
The old man and the wife, however, would not go out, but remained in
the wigwam making bows and arrows.

It soon grew so cold in the forest that at last one of the men declared
they could walk no more, unless they could manage to warm themselves.

'That is easily done,' said the leader, giving a kick to a large tree.
Flames broke out in the trunk, and before it had burnt up they were as
hot as if it had been summer.  Then they started off to the place where
the goats and deer were to be found in the greatest numbers, and soon
had killed as many as they wanted.  But the leader killed most, as he
was the best shot.

'Now we must cut up the game and divide it,' said he; and so they did,
each one taking his own share; and, walking one behind the other, set
out for the village.  But when they reached a great river the young man
did not want the trouble of carrying his pack any further, and left it
on the bank.

'I am going home another way,' he told his companions.  And taking
another road he reached the village long before they did.

'Have you returned with empty hands?' asked the old man, as his son
opened the door.

'Have I ever done that, that you put me such a question?' asked the
youth.  'No; I have slain enough to feast us for many moons, but it was
heavy, and I left the pack on the bank of the great river.  Give me the
arrows, I will finish making them, and you can go to the river and
bring home the pack!'

So the old man rose and went, and strapped the meat on his shoulder;
but as he was crossing the ford the strap broke and the pack fell into
the river.  He stooped to catch it, but it swirled past him.  He
clutched again; but in doing so he over- balanced himself and was
hurried into some rapids, where he was knocked against some rocks, and
he sank and was drowned, and his body was carried down the stream into
smoother water when it rose to the surface again.  But by this time it
had lost all likeness to a man, and was changed into a piece of wood.

The wood floated on, and the river got bigger and bigger and entered a
new country.  There it was borne by the current close to the shore, and
a woman who was down there washing her clothes caught it as it passed,
and drew it out, saying to herself: 'What a nice smooth plank!  I will
use it as a table to put my food upon.'  And gathering up her clothes
she took the plank with her into her hut.

When her supper time came she stretched the board across two strings
which hung from the roof, and set upon it the pot containing a stew
that smelt very good.  The woman had been working hard all day and was
very hungry, so she took her biggest spoon and plunged it into the pot.
 But what was her astonishment and disgust when both pot and food
vanished instantly before her!

'Oh, you horrid plank, you have brought me ill-luck!' she cried.  And
taking it up she flung it away from her.

 The woman had been surprised before at the disappearance of her food,
but she was more astonished still when, instead of the plank, she
beheld a baby.  However, she was fond of children and had none of her
own, so she made up her mind that she would keep it and take care of
it.  The baby grew and throve as no baby in that country had ever done,
and in four days he was a man, and as tall and strong as any brave of
the tribe.

'You have treated me well,' he said, 'and meat shall never fail to your
house.  But now I must go, for I have much work to do.'

Then he set out for his home.

It took him many days to get there, and when he saw his son sitting in
his place his anger was kindled, and his heart was stirred to take
vengeance upon him.  So he went out quickly into the forest and shed
tears, and each tear became a bird.  'Stay there till I want you,' said
he; and he returned to the hut.

'I saw some pretty new birds, high up in a tree yonder,' he remarked.
And the son answered: 'Show me the way and I will get them for dinner.'

The two went out together, and after walking for about half an hour
they old man stopped.  'That is the tree,' he said.  And the son began
to climb it.

Now a strange thing happened.  The higher the young man climbed the
higher the birds seemed to be, and when he looked down the earth below
appeared no bigger than a star.  Sill he tried to go back, but he could
not, and though he could not see the birds any longer he felt as if
something were dragging him up and up.

He thought that he had been climbing that tree for days, and perhaps he
had, for suddenly a beautiful country, yellow with fields of maize,
stretched before him, and he gladly left the top of the tree and
entered it.  He walked through the maize without knowing where he was
going, when he heard a sound of knocking, and saw two old blind women
crushing their food between two stones.  He crept up to them on tiptoe,
and when one old woman passed her dinner to the other he held out his
hand and took it and ate if for himself.

'How slow you are kneading that cake,' cried the other old woman at
last.

'Why, I have given you your dinner, and what more do you want?' replied
the second.

'You didn't; at least I never got it,' said the other.

'I certainly thought you took it from me; but here is some more.'  And
again the young man stretched out his hand; and the two old women fell
to quarrelling afresh.  But when it happened for the third time the old
women suspected some trick, and one of them exclaimed:

'I am sure there is a man here; tell me, are you not my grandson?'

'Yes,' answered the young man, who wished to please her, 'and in return
for your good dinner I will see if I cannot restore your sight; for I
was taught in the art of healing by the best medicine man in the
tribe.'  And with that he left them, and wandered about till he found
the herb which he wanted.  Then he hastened back to the old women, and
begging them to boil him some water, he threw the herb in.  As soon as
the pot began to sing he took off the lid, and sprinkled the eyes of
the women, and sight came back to them once more.

There was no night in that country, so, instead of going to bed very
early, as he would have done in his own hut, the young man took another
walk.  A splashing noise near by drew him down to a valley through
which ran a large river, and up a waterfall some salmon were leaping.
How their silver sides glistened in the light, and how he longed to
catch some of the great fellows!  But how could he do it?  He had
beheld no one except the old women, and it was not very likely that
they would be able to help him.  So with a sigh he turned away and went
back to them, but, as he walked, a thought struck him.  He pulled out
one of his hairs which hung nearly to his waist, and it instantly
became a strong line, nearly a mile in length.

'Weave me a net that I may catch some salmon,' said he.  And they wove
him the net he asked for, and for many weeks he watched by the river,
only going back to the old women when he wanted a fish cooked.

At last, one day, when he was eating his dinner, the old woman who
always spoke first, said to him:

'We have been very glad to see you, grandson, but now it is time that
you went home.'  And pushing aside a rock, he saw a deep hole, so deep
that he could not see to the bottom.  Then they dragged a basket out of
the house, and tied a rope to it.  'Get in, and wrap this blanket round
your head,' said they; 'and, whatever happens, don't uncover it till
you get to the bottom.'  Then they bade him farewell, and he curled
himself up in the basket.

Down, down, down he went; would he ever stop going?  But when the
basket did stop, the young man forgot what he had been told, and put
his head out to see what was the matter.  In an instant the basket
moved, but, to his horror, instead of going down, he felt himself being
drawn upwards, and shortly after he beheld the faces of the old women.

'You will never see your wife and son if you will not do as you are
bid,' said they.  'Now get in, and do not stir till you hear a crow
calling.'

This time the young man was wiser, and though the basket often stopped,
and strange creatures seemed to rest on him and to pluck at his
blanket, he held it tight till he heard the crow calling.  Then he
flung off the blanket and sprang out, while the basket vanished in the
sky.

He walked on quickly down the track that led to the hut, when, before
him, he saw his wife with his little son on her back.

'Oh! there is father at last,' cried the boy; but the mother bade him
cease from idle talking.

'But, mother, it is true; father is coming!' repeated the child.  And,
to satisfy him, the woman turned round and perceived her husband.

Oh, how glad they all were to be together again!  And when the wind
whistled through the forest, and the snow stood in great banks round
the door, the father used to take the little boy on his knee and tell
him how he caught salmon in the Land of the Sun.





         How the Stalos Were Tricked



'Mother, I have seen such a wonderful man,' said a little boy one day,
as he entered a hut in Lapland, bearing in his arms the bundle of
sticks he had been sent out to gather.

'Have you, my son; and what was he like?' asked the mother, as she took
off the child's sheepskin coat and shook it on the doorstep.

'Well, I was tired of stooping for the sticks, and was leaning against
a tree to rest, when I heard a noise of 'sh-'sh, among the dead leaves.
 I thought perhaps it was a wolf, so I stood very still.  But soon
there came past a tall man--oh! twice as tall as father--with a long
red beard and a red tunic fastened with a silver girdle, from which
hung a silver-handled knife.  Behind him followed a great dog, which
looked stronger than any wolf, or even a bear.  But why are you so
pale, mother?'

'It was the Stalo,' replied she, her voice trembling; 'Stalo the
man-eater!  You did well to hide, or you might never had come back.
But, remember that, though he is so tall and strong, he is very stupid,
and many a Lapp has escaped from his clutches by playing him some
clever trick.'

Not long after the mother and son had held this talk, it began to be
whispered in the forest that the children of an old man called Patto
had vanished one by one, no one knew whither.  The unhappy father
searched the country for miles round without being able to find as much
as a shoe or a handkerchief, to show him where they had passed, but at
length a little boy came with news that he had seen the Stalo hiding
behind a well, near which the children used to play.  The boy had
waited behind a clump of bushes to see what would happen, and by-and-by
he noticed that the Stalo had laid a cunning trap in the path to the
well, and that anybody who fell over it would roll into the water and
drown there.

And, as he watched, Patto's youngest daughter ran gaily down the path,
till her foot caught in the strings that were stretched across the
steepest place.  She slipped and fell, and in another instant had
rolled into the water within reach of the Stalo.

As soon as Patto heard this tale his heart was filled with rage, and he
vowed to have his revenge.  So he straightway took an old fur coat from
the hook where it hung, and putting it on went out into the forest.
When he reached the path that led to the well he looked hastily round
to be sure that no one was watching him, then laid himself down as if
he had been caught in the snare and had rolled into the well, though he
took care to keep his head out of the water.

Very soon he heard a 'sh-'sh of the leaves, and there was the Stalo
pushing his way through the undergrowth to see what chance he had of a
dinner.  At the first glimpse of Patto's head in the well he laughed
loudly, crying:

'Ha! ha! This time it is the old ass!  I wonder how he will taste?' And
drawing Patto out of the well, he flung him across his shoulders and
carried him home.  Then he tied a cord round him and hung him over the
fire to roast, while he finished a box that he was making before the
door of the hut, which he meant to hold Patto's flesh when it was
cooked.  In a very short time the box was so nearly done that it only
wanted a little more chipping out with an axe; but this part of the
work was easier accomplished indoors, and he called to one of his sons
who were lounging inside to bring him the tool.

The young man looked everywhere, but he could not find the axe, for the
very good reason that Patto had managed to pick it up and hide it in
his clothes.

'Stupid fellow! what is the use of you?' grumbled his father angrily;
and he bade first one and then another of his sons to fetch him the
tool, but they had no better success than their brother.

'I must come myself, I suppose!' said Stalo, putting aside the box.
But, meanwhile, Patto had slipped from the hook and concealed himself
behind the door, so that, as Stalo stepped in, his prisoner raised the
axe, and with one blow the ogre's head was rolling on the ground.  His
sons were so frightened at the sight that they all ran away.

And in this manner Patto avenged his dead children.

But though Stalo was dead, his three sons were still living, and not
very far off either.  They had gone to their mother, who was tending
some reindeer on the pastures, and told her that by some magic, they
knew not what, their father's head had rolled from his body, and they
had been so afraid that something dreadful would happen to them that
they had come to take refuge with her.  The ogress said nothing.  Long
ago she had found out how stupid her sons were, so she just sent them
out to milk the reindeer, while she returned to the other house to bury
her husband's body.

Now, three days' journey from the hut on the pastures two brothers
Sodno dwelt in a small cottage with their sister Lyma, who tended a
large herd of reindeer while they were out hunting.  Of late it had
been whispered from one to another that the three young Stalos were to
be seen on the pastures, but the Sodno brothers did not disturb
themselves, the danger seemed too far away.

Unluckily, however, one day, when Lyma was left by herself in the hut,
the three Stalos came down and carried her and the reindeer off to
their own cottage.  The country was very lonely, and perhaps no one
would have known in which direction she had gone had not the girl
managed to tie a ball of thread to the handle of a door at the back of
the cottage and let it trail behind her.  Of course the ball was not
long enough to go all the way, but it lay on the edge of a snowy track
which led straight to the Stalos' house.

When the brothers returned from their hunting they found both the hut
and the sheds empty.  Loudly they cried: 'Lyma! Lyma!'  But no voice
answered them; and they fell to searching all about, lest perchance
their sister might have dropped some clue to guide them.  At length
their eyes dropped on the thread which lay on the snow, and they set
out to follow it.

On and on they went, and when at length the thread stopped the brothers
knew that another day's journey would bring them to the Stalos'
dwelling.  Of course they did not dare to approach it openly, for the
Stalos had the strength of giants, and besides, there were three of
them; so the two Sodnos climbed into a big bushy tree which overhung a
well.

'Perhaps our sister may be sent to draw water here,' they said to each
other.

But it was not till the moon had risen that the sister came, and as she
let down her bucket into the well, the leaves seemed to whisper 'Lyma!
Lyma!'

The girl started and looked up, but could see nothing, and in a moment
the voice came again.

'Be careful--take no notice, fill your buckets, but listen carefully
all the while, and we will tell you what to do so that you may escape
yourself and set free the reindeer also.'

So Lyman bent over the well lower than before, and seemed busier than
ever.

'You know,' said her brother, 'that when a Stalo finds that anything
has been dropped into his food he will not eat a morsel, but throws it
to his dogs.  Now, after the pot has been hanging some time over the
fire, and the broth is nearly cooked, just rake up the log of wood so
that some of the ashes fly into the pot.  The Stalo will soon notice
this, and will call you to give all the food to the dogs; but, instead,
you must bring it straight to us, as it is three days since we have
eaten or drunk.  That is all you need do for the present.'

Then Lyma took up her buckets and carried them into the house, and did
as her brothers had told her.  They were so hungry that they ate the
food up greedily without speaking, but when there was nothing left in
the pot, the eldest one said:

'Listen carefully to what I have to tell you.  After the eldest Stalo
has cooked and eaten a fresh supper, he will go to bed and sleep so
soundly that not even a witch could wake him.  You can hear him snoring
a mile off, and then you must go into his room and pull off the iron
mantle that covers him, and put it on the fire till it is almost red
hot.  When that is done, come to us and we will give you further
directions.'

'I will obey you in everything, dear brothers,' answered Lyman; and so
she did.

It had happened that on this very evening the Stalos had driven in some
of the reindeer from the pasture, and had tied them up to the wall of
the house so that they might be handy to kill for next day's dinner.
The two Sodnos had seen what they were doing, and where the beasts were
secured; so, at midnight, when all was still, they crept down from
their tree and seized the reindeer by the horns which were locked
together.  The animals were frightened, and began to neigh and kick, as
if they were fighting together, and the noise became so great that even
the eldest Stalo was awakened by it, and that was a thing which had
never occurred before.  Raising himself in his bed, he called to his
youngest brother to go out and separate the reindeer or they would
certainly kill themselves.

The young Stalo did as he was bid, and left the house; but no sooner
was he out of the door than he was stabbed to the heart by one of the
Sodnos, and fell without a groan.  Then they went back to worry the
reindeer, and the noise became as great as ever, and a second time the
Stalo awoke.

'The boy does not seem to be able to part the beasts,' he cried to his
second brother; 'go and help him, or I shall never get to sleep.'  So
the brother went, and in an instant was struck dead as he left the
house by the sword of the eldest Sodno.  The Stalo waited in bed a
little longer for things to get quiet, but as the clatter of the
reindeer's horns was as bad as ever, he rose angrily from his bed
muttering to himself:

'It is extraordinary that they cannot unlock themselves; but as no one
else seems able to help them I suppose I must go and do it.'

Rubbing his eyes, he stood up on the floor and stretched his great arms
and gave a yawn which shook the walls.  The Sodnos heard it below, and
posted themselves, one at the big door and one at the little door at
the back, for they did not know what their enemy would come out at.

The Stalo put out his hand to take his iron mantle from the bed, where
it always lay, but the mantle was no there.  He wondered where it could
be, and who could have moved it, and after searching through all the
rooms, he found it hanging over the kitchen fire.  But the first touch
burnt him so badly that he let it alone, and went with nothing, except
a stick in his hand, through the back door.

The young Sodno was standing ready for him, and as the Stalo passed the
threshold struck him such a blow on the head that he rolled over with a
crash and never stirred again.  The two Sodnos did not trouble about
him, but quickly stripped the younger Stalos of their clothes, in which
they dressed themselves.  Then they sat still till the dawn should
break and they could find out from the Stalos' mother where the
treasure was hidden.

With the first rays of the sun the young Sodno went upstairs and
entered the old woman's room.  She was already up and dressed, and
sitting by the window knitting, and the young man crept in softly and
crouched down on the floor, laying his head on her lap.  For a while he
kept silence, then he whispered gently:

'Tell me, dear mother, where did my eldest brother conceal his riches?'

'What a strange question!  Surely you must know,' answered she.

'No, I have forgotten; my memory is so bad.'

'He dug a hole under the doorstep and placed it there,' said she.  And
there was another pause.

By-and-by the Sodno asked again:

'And where may my second brother's money be?'

'Don't you know that either?' cried the mother in surprise.

'Oh, yes; I did once.  But since I fell upon my head I can remember
nothing.'

'It is behind the oven,' answered she.  And again was silence.

'Mother, dear mother,' said the young man at last, 'I am almost afraid
to ask you; but I really have grown so stupid of late.  Where did I
hide my own money?'

But at this question the old woman flew into a passion, and vowed that
if she could find a rod she would bring his memory back to him.
Luckily, no rod was within her reach, and the Sodno managed, after a
little, to coax her back into good humour, and at length she told him
that the youngest Stalo had buried his treasure under the very place
where she was sitting.

'Dear mother,' said Lyman, who had come in unseen, and was kneeling in
front of the fire.  'Dear mother, do you know who it is you have been
talking with?'

The old woman started, but answered quietly:

'It is a Sodno, I suppose?'

'You have guessed right,' replied Lyma.

The mother of the Stalos looked round for her iron cane, which she
always used to kill her victims, but it was not there, for Lyma had put
it in the fire.

'Where is my iron cane?' asked the old woman.

'There!' answered Lyma, pointing to the flames.

The old woman sprang forwards and seized it, but her clothes caught
fire, and in a few minutes she was burned to ashes.

So the Sodno brothers found the treasure, and they carried it, and
their sister and the reindeer, to their own home, and were the richest
men in all Lapland.





                 Andras Baive



Once upon a time there lived in Lapland a man who was so very strong
and swift of foot that nobody in his native town of Vadso could come
near him if they were running races in the summer evenings.  The people
of Vadso were very proud of their champion, and thought that there was
no one like him in the world, till, by-and-by, it came to their ears
that there dwelt among the mountains a Lapp, Andras Baive by name, who
was said by his friends to be even stronger and swifter than the
bailiff.  Of course not a creature in Vadso believed that, and declared
that if it made the mountaineers happier to talk such nonsense, why,
let them!

The winter was long and cold, and the thoughts of the villagers were
much busier with wolves than with Andras Baive, when suddenly, on a
frosty day, he made his appearance in the little town of Vadso.  The
bailiff was delighted at this chance of trying his strength, and at
once went out to seek Andras and to coax him into giving proof of his
vigour.  As he walked along his eyes fell upon a big eight-oared boat
that lay upon the shore, and his face shone with pleasure.  'That is
the very thing,' laughed he, 'I will make him jump over that boat.'
Andras was quite ready to accept the challenge, and they soon settled
the terms of the wager.  He who could jump over the boat without so
much as touching it with his heel was to be the winner, and would get a
large sum of money as the prize.  So, followed by many of the
villagers, the two men walked down to the sea.

An old fisherman was chosen to stand near the boat to watch fair play,
and to hold the stakes, and Andras, as the stranger was told to jump
first.  Going back to the flag which had been stuck into the sand to
mark the starting place, he ran forward, with his head well thrown
back, and cleared the boat with a mighty bound.  The lookers- on
cheered him, and indeed he well deserve it; but they waited anxiously
all the same to see what the bailiff would do.  On he came, taller than
Andras by several inches, but heavier of build.  He too sprang high and
well, but as he came down his heel just grazed the edge of the boat.
Dead silence reigned amidst the townsfolk, but Andras only laughed and
said carelessly:

'Just a little too short, bailiff; next time you must do better than
that.'

The bailiff turned red with anger at his rival's scornful words, and
answered quickly: 'Next time you will have something harder to do.'
And turning his back on his friends, he went sulkily home.  Andras,
putting the money he had earned in his pocket, went home also.

The following spring Andras happened to be driving his reindeer along a
great fiord to the west of Vadso.  A boy who had met him hastened to
tell the bailiff that his enemy was only a few miles off; and the
bailiff, disguising himself as a Stalo, or ogre, called his son and his
dog and rowed away across the fiord to the place where the boy had met
Andras.

Now the mountaineer was lazily walking along the sands, thinking of the
new hut that he was building with the money that he had won on the day
of his lucky jump.  He wandered on, his eyes fixed on the sands, so
that he did not see the bailiff drive his boat behind a rock, while he
changed himself into a heap of wreckage which floated in on the waves.
A stumble over a stone recalled Andras to himself, and looking up he
beheld the mass of wreckage.  'Dear me!  I may find some use for that,'
he said; and hastened down to the sea, waiting till he could lay hold
of some stray rope which might float towards him.  Suddenly--he could
not have told why--a nameless fear seized upon him, and he fled away
from the shore as if for his life.  As he ran he heard the sound of a
pipe, such as only ogres of the Stalo kind were wont to use; and there
flashed into his mind what the bailiff had said when they jumped the
boat: 'Next time you will have something harder to do.'  So it was no
wreckage after all that he had seen, but the bailiff himself.

It happened that in the long summer nights up in the mountain, where
the sun never set, and it was very difficult to get to sleep, Andras
had spent many hours in the study of magic, and this stood him in good
stead now.  The instant he heard the Stalo music he wished himself to
become the feet of a reindeer, and in this guise he galloped like the
wind for several miles.  Then he stopped to take breath and find out
what his enemy was doing.  Nothing he could see, but to his ears the
notes of a pipe floated over the plain, and ever, as he listened, it
drew nearer.

A cold shiver shook Andras, and this time he wished himself the feet of
a reindeer calf.  For when a reindeer calf has reached the age at which
he begins first to lose his hair he is so swift that neither beast nor
bird can come near him.  A reindeer calf is the swiftest of all things
living.  Yes; but not so swift as a Stalo, as Andras found out when he
stopped to rest, and heard the pipe playing!

For a moment his heart sank, and he gave himself up for dead, till he
remembered that, not far off, were two little lakes joined together by
a short though very broad river.  In the middle of the river lay a
stone that was always covered by water, except in dry seasons, and as
the winter rains had been very heavy, he felt quite sure that not even
the top of it could be seen.  The next minute, if anyone had been
looking that way, he would have beheld a small reindeer calf speeding
northwards, and by-and-by giving a great spring, which landed him in
the midst of the stream.  But, instead of sinking to the bottom, he
paused a second to steady himself, then gave a second spring which
landed him on the further shore.  He next ran on to a little hill where
he saw down and began to neigh loudly, so that the Stalo might know
exactly where he was.

'Ah!  There you are,' cried the Stalo, appearing on the opposite bank;
'for a moment I really thought I had lost you.'

'No such luck,' answered Andras, shaking his head sorrowfully.  By this
time he had taken his own shape again.

'Well, but I don't see how I am to get to you1' said the Stalo, looking
up and down.

'Jump over, as I did,' answered Andras; 'it is quite easy.'

'But I could not jump this river; and I don't know how you did,'
replied the Stalo.

'I should be ashamed to say such things,' exclaimed Andras.  'Do you
mean to tell me that a jump, which the weakest Lapp boy would make
nothing of, is beyond your strength?'

The Stalo grew red and angry when he heard these words, just as Andras
meant him to do.  He bounded into the air and fell straight into the
river.  Not that that would have mattered, for he was a good swimmer;
but Andras drew out the bow and arrows which every Lapp carries, and
took aim at him.  His aim was good, but the Stalo sprang so high into
the air that the arrow flew between his feet.  A second shot, directed
at his forehead, fared no better, for this time the Stalo jumped so
high to the other side that the arrow passed between his finger and
thumb.  Then Andras aimed his third arrow a little over the Stalo's
head, and when he sprang up, just an instant too soon, it hit him
between the ribs.

Mortally wounded as he was, the Stalo was not yet dead, and managed to
swim to the shore.  Stretching himself on the sand, he said slowly to
Andras:

'Promise that you will give me an honourable burial, and when my body
is laid in the grave go in my boat across the fiord, and take whatever
you find in my house which belongs to me.  My dog you must kill, but
spare my son, Andras.'

Then he died; and Andras sailed in his boat away across the fiord and
found the dog and boy.  The dog, a fierce, wicked-looking creature, he
slew with one blow from his fist, for it is well known that if a
Stalo's dog licks the blood that flows from his dead master's wounds
the Stalo comes to life again.  That is why no REAL Stalo is ever seen
without his dog; but the bailiff, being only half a Stalo, had
forgotten him, when he went to the little lakes in search of Andras.
Next, Andras put all the gold and jewels which he found in the boat
into his pockets, and bidding the boy get in, pushed it off from the
shore, leaving the little craft to drift as it would, while he himself
ran home.  With the treasure he possessed he was able to buy a great
herd of reindeer; and he soon married a rich wife, whose parents would
not have him as a son-in-law when he was poor, and the two lived happy
for ever after.





              The White Slipper



Once upon a time there lived a king who had a daughter just fifteen
years old.  And what a daughter!

Even the mothers who had daughters of their own could not help allowing
that the princess was much more beautiful and graceful than any of
them; and, as for the fathers, if one of them ever beheld her by
accident he could talk of nothing else for a whole day afterwards.

Of course the king, whose name was Balancin, was the complete slave of
his little girl from the moment he lifted her from the arms of her dead
mother; indeed, he did not seem to know that there was anyone else in
the world to love.

Now Diamantina, for that was her name, did not reach her fifteenth
birthday without proposals for marriage from every country under
heaven; but be the suitor who he might, the king always said him nay.

Behind the palace a large garden stretched away to the foot of some
hills, and more than one river flowed through.  Hither the princess
would come each evening towards sunset, attended by her ladies, and
gather herself the flowers that were to adorn her rooms.  She also
brought with her a pair of scissors to cut off the dead blooms, and a
basket to put them in, so that when the sun rose next morning he might
see nothing unsightly.  When she had finished this task she would take
a walk through the town, so that the poor people might have a chance of
speaking with her, and telling her of their troubles; and then she
would seek out her father, and together they would consult over the
best means of giving help to those who needed it.

But what has all this to do with the White Slipper? my readers will ask.

Have patience, and you will see.

Next to his daughter, Balancin loved hunting, and it was his custom to
spend several mornings every week chasing the boars which abounded in
the mountains a few miles from the city.  One day, rushing downhill as
fast as he could go, he put his foot into a hole and fell, rolling into
a rocky pit of brambles.  The king's wounds were not very severe, but
his face and hands were cut and torn, while his feet were in a worse
plight still, for, instead of proper hunting boots, he only wore
sandals, to enable him to run more swiftly.

In a few days the king was as well as ever, and the signs of the
scratches were almost gone; but one foot still remained very sore,
where a thorn had pierced deeply and had festered.  The best doctors in
the kingdom treated it with all their skill; they bathed, and
poulticed, and bandaged, but it was in vain.  The foot only grew worse
and worse, and became daily more swollen and painful.

After everyone had tried his own particular cure, and found it fail,
there came news of a wonderful doctor in some distant land who had
healed the most astonishing diseases.  On inquiring, it was found that
he never left the walls of his own city, and expected his patients to
come to see him; but, by dint of offering a large sum of money, the
king persuaded the famous physician to undertake the journey to his own
court.

On his arrival the doctor was led at once into the king's presence, and
made a careful examination of his foot.

'Alas! your majesty,' he said, when he had finished, 'the wound is
beyond the power of man to heal; but though I cannot cure it, I can at
least deaden the pain, and enable you to walk without so much
suffering.'

'Oh, if you can only do that,' cried the king, 'I shall be grateful to
you for life!  Give your own orders; they shall be obeyed.'

'Then let your majesty bid the royal shoemaker make you a shoe of
goat-skin very loose and comfortable, while I prepare a varnish to
paint over it of which I alone have the secret!'  So saying, the doctor
bowed himself out, leaving the king more cheerful and hopeful than he
had been for long.

The days passed very slowly with him during the making of the shoe and
the preparation of the varnish, but on the eighth morning the physician
appeared, bringing with him the shoe in a case.  He drew it out to slip
on the king's foot, and over the goat-skin he had rubbed a polish so
white that the snow itself was not more dazzling.

'While you wear this shoe you will not feel the slightest pain,' said
the doctor.  'For the balsam with which I have rubbed it inside and out
has, besides its healing balm, the quality of strengthening the
material it touches, so that, even were your majesty to live a thousand
years, you would find the slipper just as fresh at the end of that time
as it is now.'

The king was so eager to put it on that he hardly gave the physician
time to finish.  He snatched it from the case and thrust his foot into
it, nearly weeping for joy when he found he could walk and run as
easily as any beggar boy.

'What can I give you?' he cried, holding out both hands to the man who
had worked this wonder.  'Stay with me, and I will heap on you riches
greater than ever you dreamed of.'  But the doctor said he would accept
nothing more than had been agreed on, and must return at once to his
own country, where many sick people were awaiting him.  So king
Balancin had to content himself with ordering the physician to be
treated with royal honours, and desiring that an escort should attend
him on his journey home.

For two years everything went smoothly at court, and to king Balancin
and his daughter the sun no sooner rose than it seemed time for it to
set.  Now, the king's birthday fell in the month of June, and as the
weather happened to be unusually fine, he told the princess to
celebrate it in any way that pleased her.  Diamantina was very fond of
being on the river, and she was delighted at this chance of delighting
her tastes.  She would have a merry-making such as never had been seen
before, and in the evening, when they were tired of sailing and rowing,
there should be music and dancing, plays and fireworks.  At the very
end, before the people went home, every poor person should be given a
loaf of bread and every girl who was to be married within the year a
new dress.

The great day appeared to Diamantina to be long in coming, but, like
other days, it came at last.  Before the sun was fairly up in the
heavens the princess, too full of excitement to stay in the palace, was
walking about the streets so covered with precious stones that you had
to shade your eyes before you could look at her.  By-and-by a trumpet
sounded, and she hurried home, only to appear again in a few moments
walking by the side of her father down to the river.  Here a splendid
barge was waiting for them, and from it they watched all sorts of races
and feats of swimming and diving.  When these were over the barge
proceeded up the river to the field where the dancing and concerts were
to take place, and after the prizes had been given away to the winners,
and the loaves and the dresses had been distributed by the princess,
they bade farewell to their guests, and turned to step into the barge
which was to carry them back to the palace.

Then a dreadful thing happened.  As the king stepped on board the boat
one of the sandals of the white slipper, which had got loose, caught in
a nail that was sticking out, and caused the king to stumble.  The pain
was great, and unconsciously he turned and shook his foot, so that the
sandals gave way, and in a moment the precious shoe was in the river.

It had all occurred so quickly that nobody had noticed the loss of the
slipper, not even the princess, whom the king's cries speedily brought
to his side.

'What is the matter, dear father?' asked she.  But the king could not
tell her; and only managed to gasp out: 'My shoe! my shoe!'  While the
sailors stood round staring, thinking that his majesty had suddenly
gone mad.

Seeing her father's eyes fixed on the stream, Diamantina looked hastily
in that direction.  There, dancing on the current, was the point of
something white, which became more and more distant the longer they
watched it.  The king could bear the sight no more, and, besides, now
that the healing ointment in the shoe had been removed the pain in his
foot was as bad as ever; he gave a sudden cry, staggered, and fell over
the bulwarks into the water.

In an instant the river was covered with bobbing heads all swimming
their fastest towards the king, who had been carried far down by the
swift current.  At length one swimmer, stronger than the rest, seized
hold of his tunic, and drew him to the bank, where a thousand eager
hands were ready to haul him out.  He was carried, unconscious, to the
side of his daughter, who had fainted with terror on seeing her father
disappear below the surface, and together they were place in a coach
and driven to the palace, where the best doctors in the city were
awaiting their arrival.

In a few hours the princess was as well as ever; but the pain, the
wetting, and the shock of the accident, all told severely on the king,
and for three days he lay in a high fever.  Meanwhile, his daughter,
herself nearly mad with grief, gave orders that the white slipper
should be sought for far and wide; and so it was, but even the
cleverest divers could find no trace of it at the bottom of the river.

When it became clear that the slipper must have been carried out to sea
by the current, Diamantina turned her thoughts elsewhere, and sent
messengers in search of the doctor who had brought relief to her
father, begging him to make another slipper as fast as possible, to
supply the place of the one which was lost.  But the messengers
returned with the sad news that the doctor had died some weeks before,
and, what was worse, his secret had died with him.

In his weakness this intelligence had such an effect on the king that
the physicians feared he would become as ill as before.  He could
hardly be persuaded to touch food, and all night long he lay moaning,
partly with pain, and partly over his own folly in not having begged
the doctor to make him several dozens of white slippers, so that in
case of accidents he might always have one to put on.  However,
by-and-by he saw that it was no use weeping and wailing, and commanded
that they should search for his lost treasure more diligently than ever.

What a sight the river banks presented in those days!  It seemed as if
all the people in the country were gathered on them.  But this second
search was no more fortunate than the first, and at last the king
issued a proclamation that whoever found the missing slipper should be
made heir to the crown, and should marry the princess.

Now many daughters would have rebelled at being disposed of in the
manner; and it must be admitted that Diamantina's heart sank when she
heard what the king had done.  Still, she loved her father so much that
she desired his comfort more than anything else in the world, so she
said nothing, and only bowed her head.

Of course the result of the proclamation was that the river banks
became more crowded than before; for all the princess's suitors from
distant lands flocked to the spot, each hoping that he might be the
lucky finder.  Many times a shining stone at the bottom of the stream
was taken for the slipper itself, and every evening saw a band of
dripping downcast men returning homewards.  But one youth always
lingered longer than the rest, and night would still see him engaged in
the search, though his clothes stuck to his skin and his teeth
chattered.

One day, when the king was lying on his bed racked with pain, he heard
the noise of a scuffle going on in his antechamber, and rang a golden
bell that stood by his side to summon one of his servants.

'Sire,' answered the attendant, when the king inquired what was the
matter, 'the noise you heard was caused by a young man from the town,
who has had the impudence to come here to ask if he may measure your
majesty's foot, so as to make you another slipper in place of the lost
one.'

'And what have you done to the youth?' said the king.

'The servants pushed him out of the palace, and, added a few blows to
teach him not to be insolent,' replied the man.

'Then they did very ill,' answered the king, with a frown.  'He came
here from kindness, and there was no reason to maltreat him.'

'Oh, my lord, he had the audacity to wish to touch your majesty's
sacred person--he, a good-for-nothing boy, a mere shoemaker's
apprentice, perhaps!  And even if he could make shoes to perfection
they would be no use without the soothing balsam.'

The king remained silent for a few moments, then he said:

'Never mind.  Go and fetch the youth and bring him to me.  I would
gladly try any remedy that may relieve my pain.'

So, soon afterwards, the youth, who had not gone far from the palace,
was caught and ushered into the king's presence.

He was tall and handsome and, though he professed to make shoes, his
manners were good and modest, and he bowed low as he begged the king
not only to allow him to take the measure of his foot, but also to
suffer him to place a healing plaster over the wound.

Balancin was pleased with the young man's voice and appearance, and
thought that he looked as if he knew what he was doing.  So he
stretched out his bad foot which the youth examined with great
attention, and then gently laid on the plaster.

Very shortly the ointment began to soothe the sharp pain, and the king,
whose confidence increased every moment, begged the young man to tell
him his name.

'I have no parents; they died when I was six, sire,' replied the youth,
modestly.  'Everyone in the town calls me Gilguerillo, because,
when I was little, I went singing through the world in spite of my
misfortunes.  Luckily for me I was born to be happy.'

'And you really think you can cure me?' asked the king.

'Completely, my lord,' answered Gilguerillo.

'And how long do you think it will take?'

'It is not an easy task; but I will try to finish it in a fortnight,'
replied the youth.

A fortnight seemed to the king a long time to make one slipper.  But he
only said:

'Do you need anything to help you?'

'Only a good horse, if your majesty will be kind enough to give me
one,' answered Gilguerillo.  And the reply was so unexpected that the
courtiers could hardly restrain their smiles, while the king stared
silently.

'You shall have the horse,' he said at last, 'and I shall expect you
back in a fortnight.  If you fulfil your promise you know your reward;
if not, I will have you flogged for your impudence.'

Gilguerillo bowed, and turned to leave the palace, followed by the
jeers and scoffs of everyone he met.  But he paid no heed, for he had
got what he wanted.

He waited in front of the gates till a magnificent horse was led up to
him, and vaulting into the saddle with an ease which rather surprised
the attendant, rode quickly out of the town amidst the jests of the
assembled crowd, who had heard of his audacious proposal.  And while he
is on his way let us pause for a moment and tell who he is.

Both father and mother had died before the boy was six years old; and
he had lived for many years with his uncle, whose life had been passed
in the study of chemistry.  He could leave no money to his nephew, as
he had a son of his own; but he taught him all he knew, and at his dead
Gilguerillo entered an office, where he worked for many hours daily.
In his spare time, instead of playing with the other boys, he passed
hours poring over books, and because he was timid and liked to be alone
he was held by everyone to be a little mad.  Therefore, when it became
known that he had promised to cure the king's foot, and had ridden
away--no one knew where--a roar of laughter and mockery rang through
the town, and jeers and scoffing words were sent after him.

But if they had only known what were Gilguerillo's thoughts they would
have thought him madder than ever.

The real truth was that, on the morning when the princess had walked
through the streets before making holiday on the river Gilguerillo had
seen her from his window, and had straightway fallen in love with her.
Of course he felt quite hopeless.  It was absurd to imagine that the
apothecary's nephew could ever marry the king's daughter; so he did his
best to forget her, and study harder than before, till the royal
proclamation suddenly filled him with hope.  When he was free he no
longer spent the precious moments poring over books, but, like the
rest, he might have been seen wandering along the banks of the river,
or diving into the stream after something that lay glistening in the
clear water, but which turned out to be a white pebble or a bit of
glass.

And at the end he understood that it was not by the river that he would
win the princess; and, turning to his books for comfort, he studied
harder than ever.

There is an old proverb which says: 'Everything comes to him who knows
how to wait.'  It is not all men who know hot to wait, any more than it
is all men who can learn by experience; but Gilguerillo was one of the
few and instead of thinking his life wasted because he could not have
the thing he wanted most, he tried to busy himself in other directions.
 So, one day, when he expected it least, his reward came to him.

He happened to be reading a book many hundreds of years old, which told
of remedies for all kinds of diseases.  Most of them, he knew, were
merely invented by old women, who sought to prove themselves wiser than
other people; but at length he came to something which caused him to
sit up straight in his chair, and made his eyes brighten.  This was the
description of a balsam-- which would cure every kind of sore or
wound--distilled from a plant only to be found in a country so distant
that it would take a man on foot two months to go and come back again.

When I say that the book declared that the balsam could heal every sort
of sore or wound, there were a few against which it was powerless, and
it gave certain signs by which these might be known.  This was the
reason why Gilguerillo demanded to see the king's foot before he would
undertake to cure it; and to obtain admittance he gave out that he was
a shoemaker.  However, the dreaded signs were absent, and his heart
bounded at the thought that the princess was within his reach.

Perhaps she was; but a great deal had to be accomplished yet, and he
had allowed himself a very short time in which to do it.

He spared his horse only so much as was needful, yet it took him six
days to reach the spot where the plant grew.  A thick wood lay in front
of him, and, fastening the bridle tightly to a tree, he flung himself
on his hands and knees and began to hunt for the treasure.  Many time
he fancied it was close to him, and many times it turned out to be
something else; but, at last, when light was fading, and he had almost
given up hope, he came upon a large bed of the plant, right under his
feet!  Trembling with joy, he picked every scrap he could see, and
placed it in his wallet.  Then, mounting his horse, he galloped quickly
back towards the city.

It was night when he entered the gates, and the fifteen days allotted
were not up till the next day.  His eyes were heavy with sleep, and his
body ached with the long strain, but, without pausing to rest, he
kindled a fire on is hearth, and quickly filling a pot with water,
threw in the herbs and left them to boil.  After that he lay down and
slept soundly.

The sun was shining when he awoke, and he jumped up and ran to the pot.
 The plant had disappeared and in its stead was a thick syrup, just as
the book had said there would be.  He lifted the syrup out with a
spoon, and after spreading it in the sun till it was partly dry, poured
it into a small flask of crystal.  He next washed himself thoroughly,
and dressed himself, in his best clothes, and putting the flask in his
pocket, set out for the palace, and begged to see the king without
delay.

Now Balancin, whose foot had been much less painful since Gilguerillo
had wrapped it in the plaster, was counting the days to the young man's
return; and when he was told Gilguerillo was there, ordered him to be
admitted at once.  As he entered, the king raised himself eagerly on
his pillows, but his face fell when he saw no signs of a slipper.

'You have failed, then?' he said, throwing up his hands in despair.

'I hope not, your majesty; I think not,' answered the youth.  And
drawing the flask from his pocket, he poured two or three drops on the
wound.

'Repeat this for three nights, and you will find yourself cured,' said
he.  And before the king had time to thank him he had bowed himself out.

Of course the news soon spread through the city, and men and women
never tired of calling Gilguerillo an impostor, and prophesying that
the end of the three days would see him in prison, if not on the
scaffold.  But Gilguerillo paid no heed to their hard words, and no
more did the king, who took care that no hand but his own should put on
the healing balsam.

On the fourth morning the king awoke and instantly stretched out his
wounded foot that he might prove the truth or falsehood of
Gilguerillo's remedy.  The wound was certainly cured on that side, but
how about the other?  Yes, that was cured also; and not even a scar was
left to show where it had been!

Was ever any king so happy as Balancin when he satisfied himself of
this?

Lightly as a deer he jumped from his bed, and began to turn head over
heels and to perform all sorts of antics, so as to make sure that his
foot was in truth as well as it looked.  And when he was quite tired he
sent for his daughter, and bade the courtiers bring the lucky young man
to his room.

'He is really young and handsome,' said the princess to herself,
heaving a sigh of relief that it was not some dreadful old man who had
healed her father; and while the king was announcing to his courtiers
the wonderful cure that had been made, Diamantina was thinking that if
Gilguerillo looked so well in his common dress, how much improved by
the splendid garments of a king' son.  However, she held her peace, and
only watched with amusement when the courtiers, knowing there was no
help for it, did homage and obeisance to the chemist's boy.

Then they brought to Gilguerillo a magnificent tunic of green velvet
bordered with gold, and a cap with three white plumes stuck in it; and
at the sight of him so arrayed, the princess fell in love with him in a
moment.  The wedding was fixed to take place in eight days, and at the
ball afterwards nobody danced so long or so lightly as king Balancin.



 Linnet.



                The Magic Book



There was once an old couple named Peder and Kirsten who had an only
son called Hans.  From the time he was a little boy he had been told
that on his sixteenth birthday he must go out into the world and serve
his apprenticeship.  So, one fine summer morning, he started off to
seek his fortune with nothing but the clothes he wore on his back.

For many hours he trudged on merrily, now and then stopping to drink
from some clear spring or to pick some ripe fruit from a tree.  The
little wild creatures peeped at him from beneath the bushes, and he
nodded and smiled, and wished them 'Good-morning.'  After he had been
walking for some time he met an old white-bearded man who was coming
along the footpath.  The boy would not step aside, and the man was
determined not to do so either, so they ran against one another with a
bump.

'It seems to me,' said the old fellow, 'that a boy should give way to
an old man.'

'The path is for me as well as for you,' answered young Hans saucily,
for he had never been taught politeness.

'Well, that's true enough,' answered the other mildly.  'And where are
you going?'

'I am going into service,' said Hans.

'Then you can come and serve me,' replied the man.

Well, Hans could do that; but what would his wages be?

'Two pounds a year, and nothing to do but keep some rooms clean,' said
the new-comer.

This seemed to Hans to be easy enough; so he agreed to enter the old
man's service, and they set out together.  On their way they crossed a
deep valley and came to a mountain, where the man opened a trapdoor,
and bidding Hans follow him, he crept in and began to go down a long
flight of steps.  When they got to the bottom Hans saw a large number
of rooms lit by many lamps and full of beautiful things.  While he was
looking round the old man said to him:

'Now you know what you have to do.  You must keep these rooms clean,
and strew sand on the floor every day.  Here is a table where you will
always find food and drink, and there is your bed.  You see there are a
great many suits of clothes hanging on the wall, and you may wear any
you please; but remember that you are never to open this locked door.
If you do ill will befall you.  Farewell, for I am going away again and
cannot tell when I may return.

No sooner had the old man disappeared than Hans sat down to a good
meal, and after that went to bed and slept until the morning.  At first
he could not remember what had happened to him, but by-and-by he jumped
up and went into all the rooms, which he examined carefully.

'How foolish to bid me to put sand on the floors,' he thought, 'when
there is nobody here by myself!  I shall do nothing of the sort.'  And
so he shut the doors quickly, and only cleaned and set in order his own
room.  And after the first few days he felt that that was unnecessary
too, because no one came there to see if the rooms where clean or not.
At last he did no work at all, but just sat and wondered what was
behind the locked door, till he determined to go and look for himself.

The key turned easily in the lock.  Hans entered, half frightened at
what he was doing, and the first thing he beheld was a heap of bones.
That was not very cheerful; and he was just going out again when his
eye fell on a shelf of books.  Here was a good way of passing the time,
he thought, for he was fond of reading, and he took one of the books
from the shelf.  It was all about magic, and told you how you could
change yourself into anything in the world you liked.  Could anything
be more exciting or more useful?  So he put it in his pocket, and ran
quickly away out of the mountain by a little door which had been left
open.

When he got home his parents asked him what he had been doing and where
he had got the fine clothes he wore.

'Oh, I earned them myself,' answered he.

'You never earned them in this short time,' said his father.  'Be off
with you; I won't keep you here.  I will have no thieves in my house!'

'Well I only came to help you,' replied the boy sulkily.  'Now I'll be
off, as you wish; but to-morrow morning when you rise you will see a
great dog at the door.  Do not drive it away, but take it to the castle
and sell it to the duke, and they will give you ten dollars for it;
only you must bring the strap you lead it with, back to the house.'

Sure enough the next day the dog was standing at the door waiting to be
let in.  The old man was rather afraid of getting into trouble, but his
wife urged him to sell the dog as the boy had bidden him, so he took it
up to the castle and sold it to the duke for ten dollars.  But he did
not forget to take off the strap with which he had led the animal, and
to carry it home.  When he got there old Kirsten met him at the door.

'Well, Peder, and have you sold the dog?' asked she.

'Yes, Kirsten; and I have brought back ten dollars, as the boy told
us,' answered Peder.

'Ay! but that's fine!' said his wife.  'Now you see what one gets by
doing as one is bid; if it had not been for me you would have driven
the dog away again, and we should have lost the money.  After all, I
always know what is best.'

'Nonsense!' said her husband; 'women always think they know best.  I
should have sold the dog just the same whatever you had told me.  Put
the money away in a safe place, and don't talk so much.'

The next day Hans came again; but though everything had turned out as
he had foretold, he found that his father was still not quite satisfied.

'Be off with you!' said he, 'you'll get us into trouble.'

'I haven't helped you enough yet,' replied the boy.  'To-morrow there
will come a great fat cow, as big as the house.  Take it to the king's
palace and you'll get as much as a thousand dollars for it.  Only you
must unfasten the halter you lead it with and bring it back, and don't
return by the high road, but through the forest.'

The next day, when the couple rose, they saw an enormous head looking
in at their bedroom window, and behind it was a cow which was nearly as
big as their hut.  Kirsten was wild with joy to think of the money the
cow would bring them.

'But how are you going to put the rope over her head?' asked she.

'Wait and you'll see, mother,' answered her husband.  Then Peder took
the ladder that led up to the hayloft and set it against the cow's
neck, and he climbed up and slipped the rope over her head.  When he
had made sure that the noose was fast they started for the palace, and
met the king himself walking in his grounds.

'I heard that the princess was going to be married,' said Peder, 'so
I've brought your majesty a cow which is bigger than any cow that was
ever seen.  Will your majesty deign to buy it?'

The king had, in truth, never seen so large a beast, and he willingly
paid the thousand dollars, which was the price demanded; but Peder
remembered to take off the halter before he left.  After he was gone
the king sent for the butcher and told him to kill the animal for the
wedding feast.  The butcher got ready his pole-axe; but just as he was
going to strike, the cow changed itself into a dove and flew away, and
the butcher stood staring after it as if he were turned to stone.
However, as the dove could not be found, he was obliged to tell the
king what had happened, and the king in his turn despatched messengers
to capture the old man and bring him back.  But Peder was safe in the
woods, and could not be found.  When at last he felt the danger was
over, and he might go home, Kirsten nearly fainted with joy at the
sight of all the money he brought with him.

'Now that we are rich people we must build a bigger house,' cried she;
and was vexed to find that Peder only shook his head and said: 'No; if
they did that people would talk, and say they had got their wealth by
ill-doing.'

A few mornings later Hans came again.

'Be off before you get us into trouble,' said his father.  'So far the
money has come right enough, but I don't trust it.'

'Don't worry over that, father,' said Hans.  'To-morrow you will find a
horse outside by the gate.  Ride it to market and you will get a
thousand dollars for it.  Only don't forget to loosen the bridle when
you sell it.'

Well, in the morning there was the horse; Kirsten had never seen so
find an animal.  'Take care it doesn't hurt you, Peder,' said she.

'Nonsense, wife,' answered he crossly.  'When I was a lad I lived with
horses, and could ride anything for twenty miles round.'  But that was
not quite the truth, for he had never mounted a horse in his life.

Still, the animal was quiet enough, so Peder got safely to market on
its back.  There he met a man who offered nine hundred and ninety-nine
dollars for it, but Peder would take nothing less than a thousand.  At
last there came an old, grey-bearded man who looked at the horse and
agreed to buy it; but the moment he touched it the horse began to kick
and plunge.  'I must take the bridle off,' said Peder.  'It is not to
be sold with the animal as is usually the case.'

'I'll give you a hundred dollars for the bridle,' said the old man,
taking out his purse.

'No, I can't sell it,' replied Hans's father.

'Five hundred dollars!'

'No.'

'A thousand!'

At this splendid offer Peder's prudence gave way; it was a shame to let
so much money go.  So he agreed to accept it.  But he could hardly hold
the horse, it became so unmanageable.  So he gave the animal in charge
to the old man, and went home with his two thousand dollars.

Kirsten, of course, was delighted at this new piece of good fortune,
and insisted that the new house should be built and land bought.  This
time Peder consented, and soon they had quite a fine farm.

Meanwhile the old man rode off on his new purchase, and when he came to
a smithy he asked the smith to forge shoes for the horse.  The smith
proposed that they should first have a drink together, and the horse
was tied up by the spring whilst they went indoors.  The day was hot,
and both men were thirsty, and, besides, they had much to say; and so
the hours slipped by and found them still talking.  Then the servant
girl came out to fetch a pail of water, and, being a kind- hearted
lass, she gave some to the horse to drink.  What was her surprise when
the animal said to her: 'Take off my bridle and you will save my life.'

'I dare not,' said she; 'your master will be so angry.'

'He cannot hurt you,' answered the horse, 'and you will save my life.'

At that she took off the bridle; but nearly fainted with astonishment
when the horse turned into a dove and flew away just as the old man
came out of the house.  Directly he saw what had happened he changed
himself into a hawk and flew after the dove.  Over the woods and fields
they went, and at length they reached a king's palace surrounded by
beautiful gardens.  The princess was walking with her attendants in the
rose garden when the dove turned itself into a gold ring and fell at
her feet.

'Why, here is a ring!' she cried, 'where could it have come from?'  And
picking it up she put it on her finger.  As she did so the hill-man
lost his power over Hans--for of course you understand that it was he
who had been the dog, the cow, the horse and the dove.

'Well, that is really strange,' said the princess.  'It fits me as
though it had been made for me!'

Just at that moment up came the king.

'Look at what I have found!' cried his daughter.

'Well, that is not worth much, my dear,' said he.  'Besides, you have
rings enough, I should think.'

'Never mind, I like it,' replied the princess.

But as soon as she was alone, to her amazement, the ring suddenly left
her finger and became a man.  You can imagine how frightened she was,
as, indeed, anybody would have been; but in an instant the man became a
ring again, and then turned back to a man, and so it went on for some
time until she began to get used to these sudden changes.

'I am sorry I frightened you,' said Hans, when he thought he could
safely speak to the princess without making her scream.  'I took refuge
with you because the old hill-man, whom I have offended, was trying to
kill me, and here I am safe.'

'You had better stay here then,' said the princess.  So Hans stayed,
and he and she became good friends; though, of course, he only became a
man when no one else was present.

This was all very well; but, one day, as they were talking together,
the king happened to enter the room, and although Hans quickly changed
himself into a ring again it was too late.

The king was terribly angry.

'So this is why you have refused to marry all the kings and princes who
have sought your hand?' he cried.

And, without waiting for her to speak, he commanded that his daughter
should be walled up in the summer-house and starved to death with her
lover.

That evening the poor princess, still wearing her ring, was put into
the summer-house with enough food to last for three days, and the door
was bricked up.  But at the end of a week or two the king thought it
was time to give her a grand funeral, in spite of her bad behaviour,
and he had the summer-house opened.  He could hardly believe his eyes
when he found that the princess was not there, nor Hans either.
Instead, there lay at his feet a large hole, big enough for two people
to pass through.

Now what had happened was this.

When the princess and Hans had given up hope, and cast themselves down
on the ground to die, they fell down this hole, and right through the
earth as well, and at last they tumbled into a castle built of pure
gold at the other side of the world, and there they lived happily.  But
of this, of course, the king knew nothing.

'Will anyone go down and see where the passage leads to?' he asked,
turning to his guards and courtiers.  'I will reward splendidly the man
who is brave enough to explore it.'

For a long time nobody answered.  The hole was dark and deep, and if it
had a bottom no one could see it.  At length a soldier, who was a
careless sort of fellow, offered himself for the service, and
cautiously lowered himself into the darkness.  But in a moment he, too,
fell down, down, down.  Was he going to fall for ever, he wondered!
Oh, how thankful he was in the end to reach the castle, and to meet the
princess and Hans, looking quite well and not at all as if they had
been starved.  They began to talk, and the soldier told them that the
king was very sorry for the way he had treated his daughter, and wished
day and night that he could have her back again.

Then they all took ship and sailed home, and when they came to the
princess's country, Hans disguised himself as the sovereign of a
neighbouring kingdom, and went up to the palace alone.  He was given a
hearty welcome by the king, who prided himself on his hospitality, and
a banquet was commanded in his honour.  That evening, whilst they sat
drinking their wine, Hans said to the king:

'I have heard the fame of your majesty's wisdom, and I have travelled
from far to ask your counsel.  A man in my country has buried his
daughter alive because she loved a youth who was born a peasant.  How
shall I punish this unnatural father, for it is left to me to give
judgment?'

The king, who was still truly grieved for his daughter's loss, answered
quickly:

'Burn him alive, and strew his ashes all over the kingdom.'

Hans looked at him steadily for a moment, and then threw off his
disguise.

'You are the man,' said he; 'and I am he who loved your daughter, and
became a gold ring on her finger.  She is safe, and waiting not far
from here; but you have pronounced judgment on yourself.'

Then the king fell on his knees and begged for mercy; and as he had in
other respects been a good father, they forgave him.  The wedding of
Hans and the princess was celebrated with great festivities which
lasted a month.  As for the hill-man he intended to be present; but
whilst he was walking along a street which led to the palace a loose
stone fell on his head and killed him.  So Hans and the princess lived
in peace and happiness all their days, and when the old king died they
reigned instead of him.

[From AEventyr fra Zylland samlede og optegnede af Tang Kristensen.
Translated from the Danish by Mrs. Skavgaard-Pedersen.]



The Coming of Finn


It was the Eve of Samhain, which we Christians call All Hallows' Eve.

The King of Ireland, Conn, the Hundred-Fighter, sat at supper in his
palace at Tara. All his chiefs and mighty men were with him. On his
right hand was his only son, Art the Solitary, so called because he had
no brothers. The sons of Morna, who kept the boy Finn out of his rights
and were at the time trying to kill him if they could, were here too.
Chief amongst them was Gaul mac Morna, a huge and strong warrior, and
Captain of all the Fians ever since that battle in which Finn's father
had been killed.

And Gaul's men were with him. The great long table was spread for
supper. A thousand wax candles shed their light through the chamber, and
caused the vessels of gold, silver, and bronze to shine. Yet, though it
was a great feast, none of these warriors seemed to care about eating or
drinking; every face was sad, and there was little conversation, and no
music. It seemed as if they were expecting some calamity. Conn's
sceptre, which was a plain staff of silver, lay beside him on the table,
and there was a canopy of bright bronze over his head. Gaul mac Morna,
Captain of the Fians, sat at the other end of the long table. Every
warrior wore a bright banqueting mantle of silk or satin, scarlet or
crimson, blue, green, or purple, fastened on the breast either with a
great brooch or with a pin of gold or silver. Yet, though their raiment
was bright and gay, and though all the usual instruments of festivity
were there, and a thousand tall candles shed their light over the scene,
no one looked happy.

Then was heard a low sound like thunder, and the earth seemed to
tremble, and after that they distinctly heard a footfall like the slow,
deliberate tread of a giant. These footfalls sent a chill into every
heart, and every face, gloomy before, was now pale.

The King leaned past his son Art the Solitary, and said to a certain
Druid who sat beside Art, "Is this the son of Midna come before his
time?" "It is not," said the Druid, "but it is the man who is to conquer
Midna. One is coming to Tara this night before whose glory all other
glory shall wax dim."

Shortly after that they heard the voices of the doorkeepers raised in
contention, as if they would repel from the hall someone who wished to
enter, then a slight scuffle, and after that a strange figure entered
the chamber. He was dressed in the skins of wild beasts, and wore over
his shoulders a huge thick cloak of wild boars' skins, fastened on the
breast with a white tusk of the same animal. He wore a shield and two
spears. Though of huge stature his face was that of a boy, smooth on the
cheeks and lips. It was white and ruddy, and very handsome. His hair was
like refined gold. A light seemed to go out from him, before which the
candles burned dim. It was Finn.

He stood in the doorway, and cried out in a strong and sonorous, but
musical, voice:

"O Conn the Hundred-Fighter, son of Felimy, the righteous son of Tuthal
the legitimate, O King of the Kings of Erin, a wronged and disinherited
youth, possessing nowhere one rood of his patrimony, a wanderer and an
outlaw, a hunter of the wildernesses and mountains, claims hospitality
of thee, illustrious prince, on the eve of the great festival of
Samhain."

"Thou art welcome whoever thou art," answered the King, "and doubly
welcome because thou art unfortunate. I think, such is thy face and
form, that thou art the son of some mighty king on whom disaster has
fallen undeserved. The high gods of Erin grant thee speedy restoration
and strong vengeance of thy many wrongs. Sit here, O noble youth,
between me and my only son, Art, heir to my kingdom."

An attendant took his weapons from the youth and hung them on the wall
with the rest, and Finn sat down between the King of Ireland and his
only son. Choice food was set before him, which he ate, and old ale,
which he drank. From the moment he entered no one thought of anything
but of him. When Finn had made an end of eating and drinking, he said to
the King:

"O illustrious prince, though it is not right for a guest to even seem
to observe aught that may be awry, or not as it should be, in the hall
of his entertainer, yet the sorrow of a kindly host is a sorrow, too, to
his guest, and sometimes unawares the man of the house finds succour and
help in the stranger. There is sorrow in this chamber of festivity. If
anyone who is dear to thee and thy people happens to be dead, I can do
nothing. But I say it, and it is not a vain boast, that even if a person
is at the point of death, I can restore him to life and health, for
there are marvellous powers of life-giving in my two hands."

Conn the Hundred-Fighter answered, "Our grief is not such as you
suppose; and why should I not tell a cause of shame, which is known far
and wide? This, then, is the reason of our being together, and the gloom
which is over us. There is a mighty enchanter whose dwelling is in the
haunted mountains of Slieve Gullion in the north. His name is Allen, son
of Midna, and his enmity to me is as great as his power. Once every
year, at this season, it is his pleasure to burn Tara. Descending out of
his wizard haunts, he standeth over against the city and shoots balls of
fire out of his mouth against it, till it is consumed. Then he goes away
mocking and triumphant. This annual building of Tara, only to be
annually consumed, is a shame to me, and till this enchanter declared
war against me, I have lived without reproach."

"But," said Finn, "how is it that thy young warriors, valiant and swift,
do not repel him, or kill him?"

"Alas!" said Conn, "all our valour is in vain against this man. Our
hosts encompass Tara on all sides, keeping watch and ward when the fatal
night comes. Then the son of Midna plays on his Druidic instrument of
music, on his magic pipe and his magic lyre, and as the fairy music
falls on our ears, our eyelids grow heavy, and soon all subside upon the
grass in deep slumber. So comes this man against the city and shoots his
fire-balls against it, and utterly consumes it. Nine years he has burnt
Tara in that manner, and this is the tenth. At midnight to-night he will
come and do the same. Last year (though it was a shame to me that I, who
am the high King over all Ireland, should not be able myself to defend
Tara) I summoned Gaul mac Morna and all the Fians to my assistance. They
came, but the pipe and lyre of the son of Midna prevailed over them too,
so that Tara was burned as at other times. Nor have we any reason to
believe that the son of Midna will not burn the city again to-night, as
he did last year. All the women and children have been sent out of Tara
this day. We are only men of war here, waiting for the time. That, O
noble youth, is why we are sad. The 'Pillars of Tara' are broken, and
the might of the Fians is as nought before the power of this man."

"What shall be my reward if I kill this man and save Tara?" asked Finn.

"Thy inheritance," answered the King, "be it great or small, and whether
it lies in Ireland or beyond Ireland; and for securities I give you my
son Art and Gaul mac Morna and the Chief of the Fians."

Gaul and the captains of the Fianna consented to that arrangement,
though reluctantly, for their minds misgave them as to who the great
youth might be.

After that all arose and armed themselves and ringed Tara round with
horse and foot, and thrice Conn the Hundred-Fighter raised his awful
regal voice, enjoining vigilance upon his people, and thrice Gaul mac
Morna did the same, addressing the Fians, and after that they filled
their ears with wax and wool, and kept a stern and fierce watch, and
many of them thrust the points of their swords into their flesh.

Now Finn was alone in the banqueting chamber after the rest had gone
out, and he washed his face and his hands in pure water, and he took
from the bag that was at his girdle the instruments of divination and
magic, which had been his father's, and what use he made of them is not
known; but ere long a man stood before him, holding a spear in one hand
and a blue mantle in the other. There were twenty nails of gold of
Arabia in the spear. The nails glittered like stars, and twinkled with
live light as stars do in a frosty night, and the blade of it quivered
like a tongue of white fire. From haft to blade-point that spear was
alive. There were voices in it too, and the war-tunes of the enchanted
races of Erin, whom they called the Tuatha De Danan, sounded from it.
The mantle, too, was a wonder, for innumerable stars twinkled in the
blue, and the likeness of clouds passed through it. The man gave these
things to Finn, and when he had instructed him in their use, he was not
seen.

Then Finn arose and armed himself, and took the magic spear and mantle
and went out. There was a ring of flame round Tara that night, for the
Fians and the warriors of Conn had torches in their hands, and all the
royal buildings of Tara showed clear in the light, and also the dark
serpentine course of the Boyne, which flowed past Tara on the north; and
there, standing silent and alert, were the innumerable warriors of all
Erin, with spear and shield, keeping watch and ward against the son of
Midna, also the Four Pillars of Tara in four dense divisions around the
high King, even Conn the Hundred-Fighter.

Finn stood with his back to the palace, which was called the
House-of-the-going-round-of-Mead, between the palace and Conn, and he
grasped the magic spear strongly with one hand and the mantle with the
other.

As midnight drew nigh, he heard far away in the north, out of the
mountains of Slieve Gullion, a fairy tune played, soft, low, and slow,
as if on a silver flute; and at the same time the roar of Conn the
Hundred-Fighter, and the voice of Gaul like thunder, and the responsive
shouts of the captains, and the clamour of the host, for the host
shouted all together, and clashed their swords against their shields in
fierce defiance, when in spite of all obstructions the fairy music of
the enchanter began to steal into their souls. That shout was heard all
over Ireland, echoing from sea to sea, and the hollow buildings of Tara
reverberated to the uproar. Yet through it all could be heard the low,
slow, delicious music that came from Slieve Gullion. Finn put the point
of the spear to his forehead. It burned him like fire, yet his stout
heart did not fail. Then the roar of the host slowly faded away as in a
dream, though the captains were still shouting, and two-thirds of the
torches fell to the ground. And now, succeeding the flute music,
sounded the music of a stringed instrument exceedingly sweet. Finn
pressed the cruel spear-head closer to his forehead, and saw every torch
fall, save one which wavered as if held by a drunken man, and beneath it
a giant figure that reeled and tottered and strove in vain to keep its
feet. It was Conn the Hundred-Fighter. As he fell there was a roar as of
many waters; it was the ocean mourning for the high King's fall. Finn
passed through the fallen men and stood alone on the dark hill-side. He
heard the feet of the enchanter splashing through the Boyne, and saw his
huge form ascending the slopes of Tara. When the enchanter saw that all
was silent and dark there he laughed and from his mouth blew a red
fire-ball at the Teck-Midcuarta, which he was accustomed first to set in
flames. Finn caught the fire-ball in the magic mantle. The enchanter
blew a second and a third, and Finn caught them both. The man saw that
his power over Tara was at an end, and that his magic arts had been
defeated. On the third occasion he saw Finn's face, and recognised his
conqueror. He turned to flee, and though slow was his coming, swifter
than the wind was his going, that he might recover the protection of his
enchanted palace before the "fair-faced youth clad in skins" should
overtake him. Finn let fall the mantle as he had been instructed, and
pursued him, but in vain. Soon he perceived that he could not possibly
overtake the swift enchanter. Then he was aware that the magic spear
struggled in his hand like a hound in a leash. "Go, then, if thou wilt,"
he said, and, poising, cast the spear from him. It shot through the dark
night hissing and screaming. There was a track of fire behind it. Finn
followed, and on the threshold of the enchanted palace he found the body
of Midna. He was quite dead, with the blood pouring through a wound in
the middle of his back; but the spear was gone. Finn drew his sword and
cut off the enchanter's head, and returned with it to Tara. When he came
to the spot where he had dropped the mantle it was not seen, but smoke
and flame issued there from a hole in the ground. That hole was twenty
feet deep in the earth, and at the bottom of it there was a fire always
from that night, and it was never extinguished. It was called the fire
of the son of Midna. It was in a depression on the north side of the
hill of Tara, called the Glen of the Mantle, Glen-a-Brat.

Finn, bearing the head, passed through the sleepers into the palace and
spiked the head on his own spear, and drove the spear-end into the
ground at Conn's end of the great hall. Then the sickness and faintness
of death came upon Finn, also a great horror and despair overshadowed
him, so that he was about to give himself up for utterly lost. Yet he
recalled one of his marvellous attributes, and approaching a silver
vessel, into which pure water ever flowed and which was always full, he
made a cup with his two hands and, lifting it to his mouth, drank, and
the blood began to circulate in his veins, and strength returned to his
limbs, and the cheerful hue of rosy health to his cheeks.

Having rested himself sufficiently he went forth and shouted to the
sleeping host, and called the captains by their names, beginning with
Conn. They awoke and rose up, though dazed and stupid, for it was
difficult for any man, no matter how he had stopped his ears, to avoid
hearing Finn when he sent forth his voice of power. They were
astonished to find that Tara was still standing, for though the night
was dark, the palaces and temples, all of hewn timber, were brilliantly
coloured and of many hues, for in those days men delighted in splendid
colours.

When the captains came together Finn said, "I have slain Midna." "Where
is his head?" they asked, not because they disbelieved him, but because
the heads of men slain in battle were always brought away for trophies.
"Come and see," answered Finn. Conn and his only son and Gaul mac Morna
followed the young hero into the Teck-Midcuarta, where the spear-long
waxen candles were still burning, and when they saw the head of Midna
impaled there at the end of the hall, the head of the man whom they
believed to be immortal and not to be wounded or conquered, they were
filled with great joy, and praised their deliverer and paid him many
compliments.

"Who art thou, O brave youth?" said Conn. "Surely thou art the son of
some great king or champion, for heroic feats like thine are not
performed by the sons of inconsiderable and unknown men."

Then Finn flung back his cloak of wild boars' skins, and holding his
father's treasure-bag in his hand before them all, cried in a loud
voice:

"I am Finn, the son of Cool, the son of Trenmor, the son of Basna; I am
he whom the sons of Morna have been seeking to destroy from the time
that I was born; and here to-night, O King of the Kings of Erin, I claim
the fulfilment of thy promise, and the restoration of my inheritance,
which is the Fian leadership of Fail." Thereupon Gaul mac Morna put his
right hand into Finn's, and became his man. Then his brothers and his
sons, and the sons of his brothers, did so in succession, and after that
all the chief men of the Fians did the same, and that night Finn was
solemnly and surely installed in the Fian leadership of Erin, and put in
possession of all the woods and forests and waste places, and all the
hills and mountains and promontories, and all the streams and rivers of
Erin, and the harbours and estuaries and the harbour-dues of the
merchants, and all ships and boats and galleys with their mariners, and
all that pertained of old time to the Fian leadership of Fail.

STANDISH JAMES O'GRADY.




The Three Crowns

(_Told in the Wexford Peasant Dialect._)


There was once a king, some place or other, and he had three daughters.
The two eldest were very proud and uncharitable, but the youngest was as
good as they were bad. Well, three princes came to court them, and two
of them were the _moral_ of the two eldest ladies, and one was just as
lovable as the youngest. They were all walking down to a lake one day
that lay at the bottom of the lawn, just like the one at Castleboro',
and they met a poor beggar. The King wouldn't give him anything, and the
eldest princes wouldn't give him anything, nor their sweethearts; but
the youngest daughter and her true love did give him something, and kind
words along with it, and that was better _nor_ all.

When they got to the edge of the lake, what did they find but the
beautifulest boat you ever saw in your life; and says the eldest, "I'll
take a sail in this fine boat;" and says the second eldest, "I'll take a
sail in this fine boat;" and says the youngest, "I won't take a sail in
that fine boat, for I'm afraid it's an enchanted one." But the others
overpersuaded her to go in, and her father was just going in after her,
when up sprung on the deck a little man only seven inches high, and he
ordered him to stand back. Well, all the men put their hands to their
_soords_; and if the same soords were only thraneens they weren't able
to draw them, for all _sthrenth_ was left their arms. _Seven Inches_
loosened the silver chain that fastened the boat and pushed away; and
after grinning at the four men, says he to them: "Bid your daughters and
your brides farewell for awhile. That wouldn't have happened you three,
only for your want of charity. You," says he to the youngest, "needn't
fear; you'll recover your princess all in good time, and you and she
will be as happy as the day is long. Bad people, if they were rolling
stark naked in gold, would not be rich. _Banacht lath!_" Away they
sailed, and the ladies stretched out their hands, but weren't able to
say a word.

Well, they were crossin' the lake while a cat'd be lickin' her ear, and
the poor men couldn't stir hand nor foot to follow them. They saw _Seven
Inches_ handing the three princesses out of the boat, and letting them
down by a nice basket and _winglas_ into a draw-well that was
convenient, but king nor princes never saw an opening before in the same
place. When the last lady was out of sight the men found the strength in
their arms and legs again. Round the lake they ran, and never drew rein
till they came to the well and windlass, and there was the silk rope
rolled on the axle, and the nice white basket hanging to it. "Let me
down," says the youngest prince; "I'll die or recover them again."
"No," says the second daughter's sweetheart, "I'm entitled to my turn
before you." "And," says the other, "I must get first turn, in right of
my bride." So they gave way to him, and in he got into the basket, and
down they let him. First they lost sight of him, and then, after winding
off a hundred perches of the silk rope, it slackened, and they stopped
turning. They waited two hours, and then they went to dinner, because
there was no chuck made at the rope.

Guards were set till morning, and then down went the second prince, and,
sure enough, the youngest of all got himself let down on the third day.
He went down perches and perches, while it was as dark about him as if
he was in a big pot with the cover on. At last he saw a glimmer far
down, and in a short time he felt the ground. Out he came from the big
lime-kiln, and lo and behold you, there was a wood and green fields, and
a castle in a lawn, and a bright sky over all. "It's in Tir-na-n Oge I
am," says he. "Let's see what sort of people are in the castle." On he
walked across fields and lawn, and no one was there to keep him out or
let him into the castle; but the big hall door was wide open. He went
from one fine room to another that was finer, and at last he reached the
handsomest of all, with a table in the middle; and such a dinner as was
laid upon it! The prince was hungry enough, but he was too mannerly to
go eat without being invited. So he sat by the fire, and he did not wait
long till he heard steps, and in came _Seven Inches_ and the youngest
sister by the hand. Well, prince and princess flew into one another's
arms, and says the little man, says he, "Why aren't you eating?" "I
think, sir," says he, "it was only good manners to wait to be asked."
"The other princes didn't think so," says he. "Each of them fell to
without leave nor license, and only gave me the rough side o' his tongue
when I told them they were making more free than welcome. Well, I don't
think they feel much hunger now. There they are, good _marvel_ instead
of flesh and blood," says he, pointing to two statues, one in one corner
and the other in the other corner of the room. The prince was
frightened, but he was afraid to say anything, and _Seven Inches_ made
him sit down to dinner between himself and his bride, and he'd be as
happy as the day is long, only for the sight of the stone men in the
corner. Well, that day went by, and when the next came, says _Seven
Inches_ to him, "Now, you'll have to set out that way," pointing to the
sun, "and you'll find the second princess in a giant's castle this
evening, when you'll be tired and hungry, and the eldest princess
to-morrow evening; and you may as well bring them here with you. You
need not ask leave of their masters; they're only housekeepers with the
big fellows. I suppose, if they ever get home, they'll look on poor
people as if they were flesh and blood like themselves."

Away went the prince, and bedad it's tired and hungry he was when he
reached the first castle at sunset. Oh, wasn't the second princess glad
to see him! And if she didn't give him a good supper it's a wonder. But
she heard the giant at the gate, and she hid the prince in a closet.
Well, when he came in, he snuffed, and he snuffed, an' says he, "_Be_
(by) the life, I smell fresh mate." "Oh," says the princess, "it's only
the calf I got killed to-day." "Ay, ay," says he, "is supper ready?"
"It is," says she; and before he ruz from the table he hid
three-quarters of the calf and a kag of wine. "I think," says he, when
all was done, "I smell fresh mate still." "It's sleepy you are," says
she; "go to bed." "When will you marry me?" says the giant; "you're
puttin' me off too long." "St. Tibb's Eve," says she. "I wish I knew how
far off that is," says he; and he fell asleep with his head in the dish.

Next day he went out after breakfast, and she sent the prince to the
castle where the eldest sister was. The same thing happened there; but
when the giant was snoring, the princess wakened up the prince, and they
saddled two steeds in the stables, and _magh go bragh_ (the field for
ever) with them. But the horses' heels struck the stones outside the
gate, and up got the giant, and after them he made. He roared, and he
shouted, and the more he shouted the faster ran the horses; and just as
the day was breaking he was only twenty perches behind. But the prince
didn't leave the Castle of _Seven Inches_ without being provided with
something good. He reined in his steed, and flung a short, sharp knife
over his shoulder, and up sprung a thick wood between the giant and
themselves. They caught the wind that blew before them, and the wind
that blew behind them did not catch them. At last they were near the
castle where the other sister lived; and there she was, waiting for them
under a high hedge, and a fine steed under her.

But the giant was now in sight, roaring like a hundred lions, and the
other giant was out in a moment, and the chase kept on. For every two
springs the horses gave the giants gave three, and at last they were
only seventy perches off. Then the prince stopped again and flung the
second skian behind him. Down went all the flat field, till there was a
quarry between them a quarter of a mile deep, and the bottom filled with
black water; and before the giants could get round it the prince and
princesses were inside the domain of the great magician, where the high
thorny hedge opened of itself to everyone that he chose to let in.

Well, to be sure, there was joy enough between the three sisters till
the two eldest saw their lovers turned into stone. But while they were
shedding tears for them _Seven Inches_ came in and touched them with his
rod. So they were flesh and blood and life once more, and there was
great hugging and kissing, and all sat down to a nice breakfast, and
_Seven Inches_ sat at the head of the table.

When breakfast was over he took them into another room, where there was
nothing but heaps of gold and silver and diamonds, and silks and satins;
and on a table there was lying three sets of crowns: a gold crown was in
a silver crown, and that was lying in a copper crown. He took up one set
of crowns and gave it to the eldest princess; and another set, and gave
it to the second princess; and another set, and gave it to the youngest
princess of all; and says he, "Now you may all go to the bottom of the
pit, and you have nothing to do but stir the basket, and the people that
are watching above will draw you up, princesses first, princes after.
But remember, ladies, you are to keep your crowns safe, and be married
in them all the same day. If you be married separately, or if you be
married without your crowns, a curse will follow--mind what I say."

So they took leave of him with great respect, and walked arm-in-arm to
the bottom of the draw-well. There was a sky and a sun over them and a
great high wall, and the bottom of the draw-well was inside the arch.
The youngest pair went last, and says the princess to the prince, "I'm
sure the two princes don't mean any good to you. Keep these crowns under
your cloak, and if you are obliged to stay last, don't get into the
basket, but put a big stone, or any heavy thing, inside, and see what
will happen."

So when they were inside the dark cave they put in the eldest princess
first, and she stirred the basket and up she went, but first she gave a
little scream. Then the basket was let down again, and up went the
second princess, and then up went the youngest; but first she put her
arms round her prince's neck and kissed him, and cried a little. At last
it came to the turn of the youngest prince, and well became him--instead
of going into the basket he put in a big stone. He drew on one side and
listened, and after the basket was drawn up about twenty perch down came
itself and the stone like thunder, and the stone was made _brishe_ of on
the flags.

Well, my poor prince had nothing for it but to walk back to the castle;
and through it and round it he walked, and the finest of eating and
drinking he got, and a bed of bog-down to sleep on, and fine walks he
took through gardens and lawns, but not a sight could he get, high or
low, of _Seven Inches_. Well, I don't think any of _us_ would be tired
of this way of living for ever! Maybe we would. Anyhow, the prince got
tired of it before a week, he was so lonesome for his true love; and at
the end of a month he didn't know what to do with himself.

One morning he went into the treasure room and took notice of a
beautiful snuff-box on the table that he didn't remember seeing there
before. He took it in his hands and opened it, and out _Seven Inches_
walked on the table. "I think, prince," says he, "you're getting a
little tired of my castle?" "Ah!" says the other, "if I had my princess
here, and could see you now and then, I'd never see a dismal day."
"Well, you're long enough here now, and you're wanting there above. Keep
your bride's crowns safe, and whenever you want my help open this
snuff-box. Now take a walk down the garden, and come back when you're
tired."

Well, the prince was going down a gravel walk with a quick-set hedge on
each side and his eyes on the ground, and he thinking on one thing and
another. At last he lifted his eyes, and there he was outside of a
smith's bawn gate that he had often passed before, about a mile away
from the palace of his betrothed princess. The clothes he had on him
were as ragged as you please, but he had his crowns safe under his old
cloak.

So the smith came out, and says he, "It's a shame for a strong big
fellow like you to be on the _sthra_, and so much work to be done. Are
you any good with hammer and tongs? Come in and bear a hand, and I'll
give you diet and lodging and a few thirteens when you earn them." "Never
say't twice," says the prince; "I want nothing but to be employed." So
he took the sledge and pounded away at the red-hot bar that the smith
was turning on the anvil to make into a set of horse-shoes.

Well, they weren't long powdhering away, when a _stronshuch_ (idler) of
a tailor came in; and when the smith asked him what news he had, he got
the handle of the bellows and began to blow to let out all he had heard
for the last two days. There were so many questions and answers at first
that, if I told them all, it would be bed-time before I'd be done. So
here is the substance of the discourse; and before he got far into it
the forge was half filled with women knitting stockings and men smoking.

Yous all heard how the two princesses were unwilling to be married till
the youngest would be ready with her crowns and her sweetheart. But
after the windlass loosened _accidentally_ when they were pulling up her
bridegroom that was to be, there was no more sign of a well or a rope or
a windlass than there is on the palm of your hand. So the buckeens that
were coortin' the eldest ladies wouldn't give peace nor ease to their
lovers nor the King till they got consent to the marriage, and it was to
take place this morning. Myself went down out of curiosity; and to be
sure I was delighted with the grand dresses of the two brides and the
three crowns on their heads--gold, silver, and copper--one inside the
other. The youngest was standing by, mournful enough, in white, and all
was ready. The two bridegrooms came walking in as proud and grand as you
please, and up they were walking to the altar rails when, my dear, the
boards opened two yards wide under their feet, and down they went among
the dead men and the coffins in the vaults. Oh, such screeching as the
ladies gave! and such running and racing and peeping down as there was;
but the clerk soon opened the door of the vault, and up came the two
heroes, and their fine clothes covered an inch thick with cobwebs and
mould.

So the King said they should put off the marriage, "For," says he, "I
see there is no use in thinking of it till my youngest gets her three
crowns and is married along with the others. I'll give my youngest
daughter for a wife to whoever brings three crowns to me like the
others; and if he doesn't care to be married, some other one will, and
I'll make his fortune." "I wish," says the smith, "I could do it; but I
was looking at the crowns after the princesses got home, and I don't
think there's a black or a white smith on the face of the earth could
imitate them." "Faint heart never won fair lady," says the prince. "Go
to the palace, and ask for a quarter of a pound of gold, a quarter of a
pound of silver, and a quarter of a pound of copper. Get one crown for a
pattern, and my head for a pledge, and I'll give you out the very things
that are wanted in the morning." "Ubbabow," says the smith, "are you in
earnest?" "Faith, I am so," says he. "Go! Worse than lose you can't."

To make a long story short, the smith got the quarter of a pound of
gold, and the quarter of a pound of silver, and the quarter of a pound
of copper, and gave them and the pattern crown to the prince. He shut
the forge door at nightfall, and the neighbours all gathered in the
bawn, and they heard him hammering, hammering, hammering, from that to
daybreak, and every now and then he'd pitch out through the window bits
of gold, silver, or copper; and the idlers scrambled for them, and
cursed one another, and prayed for the good luck of the workman.

Well, just as the sun was thinking to rise he opened the door and
brought the three crowns he got from his true love, and such shouting
and huzzaing as there was! The smith asked him to go along with him to
the palace, but he refused; so off set the smith, and the whole townland
with him; and wasn't the King rejoiced when he saw the crowns! "Well,"
says he to the smith, "you're a married man, and what's to be done?"
"Faith, your majesty, I didn't make them crowns at all; it was a big
shuler (vagrant) of a fellow that took employment with me yesterday."
"Well, daughter, will you marry the fellow that made these crowns?" "Let
me see them first, father." So when she examined them she knew them
right well, and guessed it was her true love that had sent them. "I will
marry the man that these crowns came from," says she.

"Well," said the King to the eldest of the two princes, "go up to the
smith's forge, take my best coach, and bring home the bridegroom." He
was very unwilling to do this, he was so proud, but he did not wish to
refuse. When he came to the forge he saw the prince standing at the
door, and beckoned him over to the coach. "Are you the fellow," says he,
"that made them crowns?" "Yes," says the other. "Then," says he, "maybe
you'd give yourself a brushing, and get into that coach; the King wants
to see you. I pity the princess." The young prince got into the
carriage, and while they were on the way he opened the snuff-box, and
out walked _Seven Inches_, and stood on his thigh. "Well," says he,
"what trouble is on you now?" "Master," says the other, "please to let
me back in my forge, and let this carriage be filled with
paving-stones." No sooner said than done. The prince was sitting in his
forge, and the horses wondered what was after happening to the carriage.

When they came to the palace yard the King himself opened the carriage
door to pay respect to the new son-in-law. As soon as he turned the
handle a shower of stones fell on his powdered wig and his silk coat,
and down he fell under them. There was great fright, and some tittering,
and the King, after he wiped the blood from his forehead, looked very
cross at the eldest prince. "My liege," says he, "I'm very sorry for
this _accidence_, but I'm not to blame. I saw the young smith get into
the carriage, and we never stopped a minute since." "It's uncivil you
were to him. Go," says he to the other prince, "and bring the young
prince here, and be polite." "Never fear," says he.

But there's some people that couldn't be good-natured if they were to be
made heirs of Damer's estate. Not a bit civiller was the new messenger
than the old, and when the King opened the carriage door a second time
it's a shower of mud that came down on him; and if he didn't fume and
splutter and shake himself it's no matter. "There's no use," says he,
"going on this way. The fox never got a better messenger than himself."

So he changed his clothes and washed himself, and out he set to the
smith's forge. Maybe he wasn't polite to the young prince, and asked him
to sit along with himself. The prince begged to be allowed to sit in the
other carriage, and when they were half-way he opened his snuff-box.
"Master," says he, "I'd wished to be dressed now according to my rank."
"You shall be that," says _Seven Inches_. "And now I'll bid you
farewell. Continue as good and kind as you always were; love your wife,
and that's all the advice I'll give you." So _Seven Inches_ vanished;
and when the carriage door was opened in the yard, out walks the prince,
as fine as hands and pins could make him, and the first thing he did was
to run over to his bride and embrace her very heartily.

Everyone had great joy but the two other princes. There was not much
delay about the marriages that were all celebrated on the same day, and
the youngest prince and princess were the happiest married couple you
ever heard of in a story.

PATRICK KENNEDY.




The Grateful Beasts


There was once a young man on his way to a fair with five shillings in
his pocket. As he went he saw some little boys beating a poor mouse they
had just caught.

"Come, boys," says he, "do not be so cruel. Sell me your mouse for
sixpence, and go off and buy some sweets."

They gave him the mouse, and he let the poor little beast go. He had not
gone far when he met a fresh set of boys teasing the life out of a poor
weasel.

Well, he bought him off for a shilling and let him go. The third
creature he saved, from a crowd of cruel young men, was an ass, but he
had to give a whole half-crown to get him off. "Now," says poor Neddy,
"you may as well take me with you. I'll be of some use, I think, for
when you are tired you can get up on my back." "With all my heart," said
Jack, for that was the young man's name.

The day was very hot, and the boy sat under a tree to enjoy the shade.
As soon as he did he fell asleep, but he was soon awakened by a
wicked-looking giant and his two servants. "How dare you let your ass
trespass in my field," cried he, "and do such mischief." "I had no
notion that he had done anything of the kind." "No notion? I'll notion
you, then. Bring out that chest," said he to one of his servants, and
before you could wink they had tied the poor boy, hand and foot, with a
stout rope, thrown him into the chest, and tossed the chest into the
river. Then they all went away but poor Neddy, till who should come up
but the weasel and the mouse, and they asked him what was the matter. So
the ass told them his story.

"Oh," said the weasel, "he must be the same boy that saved the mouse and
myself. Had he a brown patch in the arm of his coat?" "The very same."
"Come, then," said the weasel, "and let us try and get him out of the
river." "By all means," said the others. So the weasel got on the ass's
back and the mouse got into his ear, and away they went. They had not
gone far when they saw the chest, which had been stopped among the
rushes at the end of a little island.

In they went, and the weasel and the mouse gnawed the rope till they had
set their master free.

Well, they were all very glad, and were having a great talk about the
giant and his men, when what should the weasel spy but an egg, with the
most lovely colours on the shell, lying down in the shallow water. It
was not long before he had fished it out, and Jack kept turning it round
and round and praising it.

"Oh, my dear friends," said he to the ass, the mouse, and the weasel,
"how I wish it was in my power to thank you as I should like. How I wish
I had a fine house and grounds to take you to where you could live in
peace and plenty."

The words were hardly out of his mouth when he and the beasts found
themselves standing on the steps of a grand castle, with the finest lawn
before it that you ever saw. There was no one inside or outside it to
keep it from them, so in they went, and there they lived as happy as
kings.

Jack was standing at his gate one day as three merchants were passing by
with their goods packed on the backs of horses and mules.

"Bless our eyes," cried they, "what does this mean? There was no castle
or lawn here when we went by last time."

"That is true," cried Jack, "but you shall not be the worse for it. Take
your beasts into the yard at the back of the house and give them a good
feed, and if you can spare the time stay and take a bit of dinner with
me."

They were only too glad to do so; but after dinner Jack was so foolish
as to show them his painted egg, and to tell them that you had only to
wish for a thing when you had it in your hand and your wish was granted.
He proved it to be so. Then one of his guests put a powder into Jack's
next glass of wine, and when he awoke he found himself in the island
again, with his patched coat on him, and his three friends in front of
him, all looking very downhearted. "Ah, Master," said the weasel, "you
will never be wise enough for the tricky people that are in the world."

"Where did these thieves say they lived, and what names did they say
they were called by?" Jack scratched his head, and after a while was
able to tell them.

"Come, Neddy," says the weasel, "let us be jogging. It would not be safe
for the master to go with us; but if we have luck we will bring him the
egg back after all."

So the weasel got on the ass's back and the mouse got into his ear, and
away they went till they reached the house of the head rogue. The mouse
went in, and the ass and the weasel hid themselves in a copse outside.

The mouse soon came back to them.

"Well, what news?" said they.

"Dull news enough; he has the egg in a low chest in his bedroom, and the
door is strongly locked and bolted, and a pair of cats with fiery eyes
are chained to the chest watching it night and day."

"Let us go back," said the ass; "we can do nothing." "Wait!" said the
weasel.

When bedtime came, said the weasel to the mouse: "Go in at the keyhole
and get behind the rogue's head, and stay there two or three hours
sucking his hair."

"What good would there be in that?" asked the ass. "Wait, and you'll
know!" said the weasel.

Next morning the merchant was quite mad to find the state his hair was
in.

"But I'll be a match for you to-night, my fine mouse," said he. So he
unchained the cats next night and made them sit by his bedside and
watch.

Just as he was dropping asleep the weasel and the mouse were outside the
door, and gnawing away till they had scooped out a hole in the bottom of
it. In went the mouse, and it was not long before he had the egg quite
safe.

They were soon on the road again; the mouse in the ass's ear, the weasel
on his back, and the egg in the weasel's mouth.

When they came to the river, and were swimming across, the ass began to
bray. "Hee-haw, hee-haw," cried he. "Is there anyone like me in all the
world? I am carrying the mouse and the weasel and the great enchanted
egg that can do anything. Why do you not praise me?"

But the mouse was asleep, and the weasel dared not open his mouth for
fear of dropping the egg. "I'll shake you all off, you thankless pack,
if you won't praise me," cried the ass, and the poor weasel forgot the
egg, and cried out: "Oh, don't, don't!" when down went the egg into the
deepest pool in the river. "Now you have done it," said the weasel, and
you may be sure the ass looked very foolish.

"Oh, what are we to do?" groaned he. "Keep a good heart," said the
weasel. Then looking down into the deep water, he cried: "Hear! all you
frogs and fish. There is a great army of storks and cranes coming to
take you all out and eat you up red-raw. Make haste! Make haste!" "Oh,
and what can we do?" cried they, coming up to the top. "Gather up the
stones from below and hand them to us, and we'll build a big wall on the
bank to defend you." So the fish and frogs fell to work like mad, and
were at it hard and fast, reaching up all the stones and pebbles they
found at the bottom of the pool.

At last a big frog came up with the egg in his mouth, and when the
weasel had hold of it he climbed into a tree and cried out, "That will
do; the army has got a great fright at our walls, and they are all
running away." So the poor things were greatly relieved.

You may be sure that Jack jumped for joy to see his friends and the egg
again. They were soon back in their castle, and when Jack began to feel
lonely he did not find it hard to find a pretty lady to marry him, and
then they two and the three grateful beasts were as happy as the days
were long.

PATRICK KENNEDY.




The Lepracaun or Fairy Shoemaker


I.

  Little Cowboy, what have you heard,
    Up on the lonely rath's green mound?
  Only the plaintive yellow bird
    Sighing in sultry fields around,
  Chary, chary, chary, chee-ee!--
  Only the grasshopper and the bee?--
      "Tip-tap, rip-rap,
      Tick-a-tack-too!
    Scarlet leather, sewn together,
      This will make a shoe.
    Left, right, pull it tight;
      Summer days are warm;
    Underground in winter,
      Laughing at the storm!"
  Lay your ear close to the hill.
  Do you not catch the tiny clamour,
  Busy click of an elfin hammer,
  Voice of the Lepracaun singing shrill
    As he merrily plies his trade?
      He's a span
      And a quarter in height.
  Get him in sight, hold him tight,
      And you're a made
        Man!


II.

  You watch your cattle the summer day,
  Sup on potatoes, sleep in the hay;
    How would you like to roll in your carriage,
    Look for a Duchess's daughter in marriage?
  Seize the Shoemaker--then you may!
      "Big boots a-hunting,
      Sandals in the hall,
    White for a wedding-feast,
      Pink for a ball.
    This way, that way,
      So we make a shoe;
    Getting rich every stitch,
      Tick-tack-too!"
  Nine-and-ninety treasure-crocks
  This keen miser-fairy hath,
  Hid in mountains, woods, and rocks,
  Ruin and round-tow'r, cave and rath,
    And where the cormorants build;
      From times of old
      Guarded by him;
      Each of them fill'd
      Full to the brim
        With gold!


III.

  I caught him at work one day, myself,
    In the castle-ditch, where foxglove grows--
  A wrinkled, wizen'd, and bearded Elf,
    Spectacles stuck on his pointed nose,
    Silver buckles to his hose,
    Leather apron--shoe in his lap--
      "Rip-rap, tip-tap,
      Tick-tack-too!
    (A grasshopper on my cap!
      Away the moth flew!)
    Buskins for a fairy prince,
      Brogues for his son--
    Pay me well, pay me well,
      When the job is done!"
  The rogue was mine, beyond a doubt.
  I stared at him; he stared at me;
  "Servant, Sir!" "Humph!" says he,
    And pulled a snuff-box out.
  He took a long pinch, look'd better pleased,
    The queer little Lepracaun;
  Offer'd the box with a whimsical grace--
  Pouf! he flung the dust in my face,
      And, while I sneezed,
        Was gone!

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.




Daniel O'Rourke


People may have heard of the renowned adventures of Daniel O'Rourke, but
how few are there who know that the cause of all his perils, above and
below, was neither more nor less than his having slept under the walls
of the Pooka's Tower. I knew the man well. He lived at the bottom of
Hungry Hill, just at the right-hand side of the road as you go towards
Bantry. An old man was he at the time he told me the story, with grey
hair and a red nose; and it was on the 25th of June, 1813, that I heard
it from his own lips, as he sat smoking his pipe under the old poplar
tree, on as fine an evening as ever shone from the sky. I was going to
visit the caves in Dursey Island, having spent the morning at
Glengariff.

"I am often axed to tell it, sir," said he, "so that this is not the
first time. The master's son, you see, had come from beyond foreign
parts in France and Spain, as young gentlemen used to go before
Buonaparte or any such was heard of; and, sure enough, there was a
dinner given to all the people on the ground, gentle and simple, high
and low, rich and poor. The _ould_ gentlemen were the gentlemen, after
all, saving your honour's presence. They'd swear at a body a little, to
be sure, and, maybe, give one a cut of a whip now and then, but we were
no losers by it in the end; and they were so easy and civil, and kept
such rattling houses, and thousands of welcomes; and there was no
grinding for rent, and there was hardly a tenant on the estate that did
not taste of his landlord's bounty often and often in a year; but now
it's another thing. No matter for that, sir, for I'd better be telling
you my story.

"Well, we had everything of the best, and plenty of it; and we ate, and
we drank, and we danced, and the young master, by the same token, danced
with Peggy Barry, from the Bohereen--a lovely young couple they were,
though they are both low enough now. To make a long story short, I got,
as a body may say, the same thing as tipsy almost, for I can't remember,
ever at all, no ways, how it was I left the place; only I did leave it,
that's certain. Well, I thought, for all that, in myself, I'd just step
to Molly Cronohan's, the fairy woman, to speak a word about the bracket
heifer that was bewitched; and so, as I was crossing the stepping-stones
of the ford of Ballyashenogh, and was looking up at the stars, and
blessing myself--for why? it was Lady-day--I missed my foot, and souse I
fell into the water. 'Death alive!' thought I, 'I'll be drowned now!'
However, I began swimming, swimming, swimming away for dear life, till
at last I got ashore, somehow or other, but never the one of me can tell
how, upon a _dissolute_ island.

"I wandered and wandered about there, without knowing where I wandered,
until at last I got into a big bog. The moon was shining as bright as
day, or your fair lady's eyes, sir (with your pardon for mentioning
her), and I looked east and west, north and south, and every way, and
nothing did I see but bog, bog, bog. I could never find out how I got
into it; and my heart grew cold with fear, for sure and certain I was
that it would be my _berrin'_ place. So I sat upon a stone, which, as
good luck would have it, was close by me, and I began to scratch my
head, and sing the ULLAGONE--when all of a sudden the moon grew black,
and I looked up and saw something for all the world as if it was moving
down between me and it, and I could not tell what it was. Down it came
with a pounce, and looked at me full in the face; and what was it but an
eagle?--as fine a one as ever flew from the kingdom of Kerry! So he
looked at me in the face, and says he to me, 'Daniel O'Rourke,' says he,
'how do you do?' 'Very well, I thank you, sir,' says I; 'I hope you're
well'; wondering out of my senses all the time how an eagle came to
speak like a Christian. 'What brings you here, Dan?' says he. 'Nothing
at all, sir,' says I, 'only I wish I was safe home again.' 'Is it out of
the island you want to go, Dan?' says he. ''Tis, sir,' says I; so I up
and told him how I had taken a drop too much, and fell into the water;
how I swam to the island; and how I got into the bog and did not know my
way out of it. 'Dan,' says he, after a minute's thought, 'though it is
very improper of you to get drunk on a Lady-day, yet, as you are a
decent sober man, who 'tends mass well, and never fling stones at me or
mine, nor cries out after one in the field, my life for yours,' says he;
'so get up on my back, and grip me well for fear you'd fall off, and
I'll fly you out of the bog.' 'I am afraid,' says I, 'your honour's
making game of me; for whoever heard of riding a-horseback on an eagle
before?' ''Pon the honour of a gentleman,' says he, putting his right
foot on his breast, 'I am quite in earnest; and so now either take my
offer or starve in the bog--besides I see that your weight is sinking
the stone.'

"It was true enough, as he said, for I found the stone every minute
going from under me. I had no choice; so, thinks I to myself, faint
heart never won fair lady, and this is fair persuadance. 'I thank your
honour,' says I, 'for the loan of your civility; and I'll take your kind
offer.' I therefore mounted on the back of the eagle, and held him tight
enough by the throat, and up he flew in the air like a lark. Little I
knew the trick he was going to serve me. Up, up, up--God knows how far
he flew. 'Why, then,' said I to him--thinking he did not know the right
road home--very civilly, because why? I was in his power entirely;
'sir,' says I, 'please your honour's glory, and with humble submission
to your better judgment, if you'd fly down a bit, you're now just over
my cabin, and I could be put down there, and many thanks to your
worship.'

"'_Arrah_, Dan,' says he, 'do you think me a fool? Look down in the next
field, and don't you see two men and a gun? By my word, it would be no
joke to shoot this way, to oblige a drunken blackguard that I picked up
off a _could_ stone in a bog.' 'Bother you,' says I to myself, but I
did not speak out, for where was the use? Well, sir, up he kept flying,
flying, and I asking him every minute to fly down, and all to no use.
'Where in the world are you going, sir?' says I to him. 'Hold your
tongue, Dan,' says he, 'and mind your own business, and don't be
interfering with the business of other people.' 'Faith, this is my
business, I think,' says I. 'Be quiet, Dan!' says he: so I said no more.

"At last, where should we come to but to the moon itself. Now, you can't
see it from this, but there is, or there was in my time, a reaping-hook
sticking out of the side of the moon, this way (drawing the figure thus
on the ground with the end of his stick).

"'Dan,' says the eagle, 'I'm tired with this long fly; I had no notion
'twas so far.' 'And my lord, sir,' says I, 'who in the world _axed_ you
to fly so far--was it I? Did not I beg and pray and beseech you to stop
half an hour ago?' 'There's no use talking, Dan,' said he; 'I'm tired
bad enough, so you must get off, and sit down on the moon until I rest
myself.' 'Is it sit down on the moon?' said I; 'is it upon that little
round thing, then? Why, then, sure, I'd fall off in a minute, and be
_kilt_ and spilt, and smashed all to bits; you are a vile deceiver--so
you are.' 'Not at all, Dan,' says he; 'you can catch fast hold of the
reaping-hook that's sticking out of the side of the moon, and 'twill
keep you up.' 'I won't, then,' said I. 'Maybe not,' said he, quite
quiet. 'If you don't, my man, I shall just give you a shake, and one
slap of my wing, and send you down to the ground, where every bone in
your body will be smashed as small as a drop of dew on a cabbage-leaf
in the morning.' 'Why, then, I'm in a fine way,' said I to myself, 'ever
to have come along with the likes of you'; and so, giving him a hearty
curse in Irish, for fear he'd know what I said, I got off his back with
a heavy heart, took hold of the reaping-hook and sat down upon the moon,
and a mighty cold seat it was, I can tell you that.

"When he had me there fairly landed, he turned about on me, and said,
'Good morning to you, Daniel O'Rourke,' said he; 'I think I've nicked
you fairly now. You robbed my nest last year' ('twas true enough for
him, but how he found it out is hard enough to say), 'and in return you
are freely welcome to cool your heels dangling upon the moon like a
cockthrow.'

"'Is that all, and is this how you leave me, you brute, you,' says I.
'You ugly unnatural _baste_, and is this the way you serve me at last?
Bad luck to yourself, with your hook'd nose, and to all your breed, you
blackguard.' 'Twas all to no manner of use; he spread out his great big
wings, burst out a laughing, and flew away like lightning. I bawled
after him to stop; but I might have called and bawled for ever, without
his minding me. Away he went, and I never saw him from that day to
this--sorrow fly away with him! You may be sure I was in a disconsolate
condition, and kept roaring out for the bare grief, when all at once a
door opened right in the middle of the moon, creaking on its hinges as
if it had not been opened for a month before--I suppose they never
thought of greasing them--and out there walks--who do you think but the
man in the moon himself? I knew him by his bush.

"'Good morrow to you, Daniel O'Rourke,' says he, 'how do you do?' 'Very
well, thank your honour,' says I. 'I hope your honour's well.' 'What
brought you here, Dan?' said he. So I told him how I was a little
overtaken in liquor at the master's, and how I was cast on a _dissolute_
island, and how I lost my way in the bog, and the thief of an eagle
promised to fly me out of it, and how, instead of that, he had fled me
up to the moon.

"'Dan,' said the man in the moon, taking a pinch of snuff, when I was
done, 'you must not stay here.' 'Indeed, sir,' says I, ''tis much
against my will that I'm here at all; but how am I to go back?' 'That's
your business,' said he; 'Dan, mine is to tell you that you must not
stay, so be off in less than no time.' 'I'm doing no harm,' said I,
'only holding on hard by the reaping-hook lest I fall off.' 'That's what
you must not do, Dan,' says he. 'Pray, sir,' says I, 'may I ask how many
you are in family that you would not give a poor traveller lodging? I'm
sure 'tis not often you're troubled with strangers coming to see you,
for 'tis a long way.' 'I'm by myself, Dan,' says he, 'but you'd better
let go the reaping-hook.' 'Faith, and with your leave,' says I, 'I'll
not let go the grip, and the more you bids me the more I won't let
go--so I will.' 'You had better, Dan,' says he again. 'Why, then, my
little fellow,' says I, taking the whole weight of him with my eye from
head to foot, 'there are two words to that bargain; and I'll not
budge--you may, if you like.' 'We'll see how that is to be,' says he;
and back he went, giving the door such a great bang after him (for it
was plain he was huffed), that I thought the moon and all would fall
down with it.

"Well, I was preparing myself to try strength with him, when back he
comes, with the kitchen cleaver in his hand, and without saying a word
he gives two bangs to the handle of the reaping-hook that was holding me
up, and _whap_ it came in two. 'Good morning to you, Dan,' says the
spiteful little blackguard, when he saw me cleanly falling down with a
bit of the handle in my hand; 'I thank you for your visit, and fair
weather after you, Daniel.' I had no time to make any answer to him, for
I was tumbling over and over, and rolling and rolling, at the rate of a
fox-hunt. 'God help me!' says I, 'but this is a pretty pickle for a
decent man to be seen in at this time of the night. I am now sold
fairly.' The word was not out of my mouth, when, whiz! what should fly
by close to my ear but a flock of wild geese, all the way from my own
bog of Ballyasheenagh, else how should they know _me_? The _ould_
gander, who was their general, turning about his head, cried out to me,
'Is that you, Dan?' 'The same,' said I, not a bit daunted now at what he
said, for I was by this time used to all kinds of _bedivilment_, and,
besides, I knew him of _ould_. 'Good morrow to you,' says he, 'Daniel
O'Rourke; how are you in health this morning?' 'Very well, sir,' says I,
'thank you kindly,' drawing my breath, for I was mightily in want of
some, 'I hope your honour's the same.' 'I think 'tis falling you are,
Daniel,' says he. 'You may say that, sir,' says I. 'And where are you
going all the way so fast?' said the gander. So I told him how I had
taken the drop, and how I came on the island, and how I lost my way in
the bog, and how the thief of an eagle flew me up to the moon, and how
the man in the moon turned me out. 'Dan,' said he, 'I'll save you; put
out your hand and catch me by the leg, and I'll fly you home.' 'Sweet is
your hand in a pitcher of honey, my jewel,' says I, though all the time
I thought within myself that I don't much trust you; but there was no
help, so I caught the gander by the leg, and away I and the other geese
flew after him as fast as hops.

"We flew, and we flew, and we flew, until we came right over the wide
ocean. I knew it well, for I saw Cape Clear to my right hand, sticking
up out of the water. 'Ah, my lord,' said I to the goose, for I thought
it best to keep a civil tongue in my head anyway, 'fly to land, if you
please.' 'It is impossible, you see, Dan,' said he, 'for a while,
because, you see, we are going to Arabia.' 'To Arabia!' said I, 'that's
surely some place in foreign parts, far away. Oh! Mr. Goose, why, then,
to be sure, I'm a man to be pitied among you.'

"'Whist, whist, you fool,' said he, 'hold your tongue; I tell you Arabia
is a very decent sort of place, as like West Carbery as one egg is like
another, only there is a little more sand there.'

"Just as we were talking a ship hove in sight, sailing so beautiful
before the wind. 'Ah, then, sir,' said I, 'will you drop me on the ship,
if you please?' 'We are not fair over it,' said he; 'if I dropped you
now you would go splash into the sea.' 'I would not,' says I, 'I know
better than that, for it is just clean under us, so let me drop now at
once.'

"'If you must, you must,' said he; 'there, take your own way'; and he
opened his claw, and, faith, he was right--sure enough, I came down
plump into the very bottom of the salt sea! Down to the very bottom I
went, and I gave myself up, then, for ever, when a whale walked up to
me, scratching himself after his night's sleep, and looked me full in
the face, and never the word did he say, but, lifting up his tail, he
splashed me all over again with the cold salt water till there wasn't a
dry stitch upon my whole carcass! And I heard somebody saying--'twas a
voice I knew too--'Get up, you drunken brute, off o' that'; and with
that I woke up, and there was Judy with a tub full of water, which she
was splashing all over me--for, rest her soul, though she was a good
wife, she could never bear to see me in drink, and had a bitter hand of
her own.

"'Get up,' said she again; 'and of all places in the parish, would no
place _sarve_ your turn to lie down upon but under the _ould_ walls of
Carrigapooka? An uneasy resting I am sure you had of it.' And, sure
enough, I had, for I was fairly bothered out of my senses with eagles,
and men of the moons, and flying ganders, and whales, driving me through
bogs and up to the moon, and down to the bottom of the green ocean. If I
was in drink ten times over, long would it be before I'd lie down in the
same spot again, I know that!"

T. CROFTON CROKER.




Cuchulain of Muirthemne

(The Birth of Cuchulain.)


In the long time ago, Conchubar, son of Ness, was King of Ulster, and he
held his court in the palace of Emain Macha. And this is the way he came
to be King. He was but a young lad, and his father was not living, and
Fergus, son of Rogh, who was at that time King of Ulster, asked his
mother Ness in marriage.

Now Ness, that was at one time the quietest and kindest of the women of
Ireland, had got to be unkind and treacherous because of an unkindness
that had been done to her, and she planned to get the kingdom away from
Fergus for her own son. So she said to Fergus, "Let Conchubar hold the
kingdom for a year, so that his children after him may be called the
children of a king; and that is the marriage portion I will ask of you."

"You may do that," the men of Ulster said to him; "for even though
Conchubar gets the name of being king, it is yourself that will be our
King all the time." So Fergus agreed to it, and he took Ness as his
wife, and her son Conchubar was made King in his place.

But all through the year Ness was working to keep the kingdom for him,
and she gave great presents to the chief men of Ulster to get them on
her side. And though Conchubar was but a young lad at the time, he was
wise in his judgments and brave in battle, and good in shape and in
form, and they liked him well. And at the end of the year, when Fergus
asked to have the kingship back again, they consulted together; and it
is what they agreed, that Conchubar was to keep it. And they said, "It
is little Fergus thinks about us, when he was so ready to give up his
rule over us for a year; and let Conchubar keep the kingship," they
said, "and let Fergus keep the wife he has got."

Now, it happened one day that Conchubar was making a feast at Emain
Macha for the marriage of his sister Dechtire with Sualtim, son of Roig.
And at the feast Dechtire was thirsty, and they gave her a cup of wine,
and as she was drinking it a mayfly flew into the cup, and she drank it
down with the wine. And presently she went into her sunny parlour, and
her fifty maidens along with her, and she fell into a deep sleep. And in
her sleep Lugh of the Long Hand appeared to her, and he said, "It is I
myself was the mayfly that came to you in the cup, and it is with me you
must come away now, and your fifty maidens along with you." And he put
on them the appearance of a flock of birds, and they went with him
southward till they came to Brugh na Boinne, the dwelling-place of the
Sidhe. And no one at Emain Macha could get tale or tidings of them, or
know where they had gone, or what had happened them.

It was about a year after that time there was another feast in Emain,
and Conchubar and his chief men were sitting at the feast. And suddenly
they saw from the window a great flock of birds, that lit on the ground
and began to eat up everything before them, so that not so much as a
blade of grass was left.

The men of Ulster were vexed when they saw the birds destroying all
before them, and they yoked nine of their chariots to follow after them.
Conchubar was in his own chariot, and there were following with him
Fergus, son of Rogh, and Laegaire Buadach the Battle-Winner, and
Celthair, son of Uithecar, and many others, and Bricriu of the bitter
tongue was along with them.

They followed after the birds across the whole country southward, across
Slieve Fuad, by Ath Lethan, by Ath Garach and Magh Gossa, between Fir
Rois and Fir Ardae; and the birds before them always. They were the most
beautiful that had ever been seen; nine flocks of them there were,
linked together two-and-two with a chain of silver, and at the head of
every flock there were two birds of different colours, linked together
with a chain of gold; and there were three birds that flew by
themselves, and they all went before the chariots to the far end of the
country, until the fall of night, and then there was no more seen of
them.

And when the dark night was coming on, Conchubar said to his people, "It
is best for us to unyoke the chariots now, and to look for some place
where we can spend the night."

Then Fergus went forward to look for some place, and what he came to was
a very small poor-looking house. A man and a woman were in it, and when
they saw him they said, "Bring your companions here along with you, and
they will be welcome." Fergus went back to his companions and told them
what he had seen. But Bricriu said: "Where is the use of going into a
house like that, with neither room nor provisions nor coverings in it;
it is not worth our while to be going there."

Then Bricriu went on himself to the place where the house was. But when
he came to it, what he saw was a grand, new, well-lighted house; and at
the door there was a young man wearing armour, very tall and handsome
and shining. And he said, "Come into the house, Bricriu; why are you
looking about you?" And there was a young woman beside him, fine and
noble, and with curled hair, and she said, "Surely there is a welcome
before you from me." "Why does she welcome me?" said Bricriu. "It is on
account of her that I myself welcome you," said the young man. "And is
there no one missing from you at Emain?" he said. "There is, surely,"
said Bricriu. "We are missing fifty young girls for the length of a
year." "Would you know them again if you saw them?" said the young man.
"If I would not know them," said Bricriu, "it is because a year might
make a change in them, so that I would not be sure." "Try and know them
again," said the man, "for the fifty young girls are in this house, and
this woman beside me is their mistress, Dechtire. It was they
themselves, changed into birds, that went to Emain Macha to bring you
here." Then Dechtire gave Bricriu a purple cloak with gold fringes; and
he went back to find his companions. But while he was going he thought
to himself, "Conchubar would give great treasure to find these fifty
young girls again, and his sister along with them. I will not tell him I
have found them. I will only say I have found a house with beautiful
women in it, and no more than that."

When Conchubar saw Bricriu he asked news of him.

"What news do you bring back with you, Bricriu?" he said. "I came to a
fine well-lighted house," said Bricriu; "I saw a queen, noble, kind,
with royal looks, with curled hair; I saw a troop of women, beautiful,
well dressed; I saw the man of the house, tall and open-handed and
shining." "Let us go there for the night," said Conchubar. So they
brought their chariots and their horses and their arms; and they were
hardly in the house when every sort of food and of drink, some they knew
and some they did not know, was put before them, so that they never
spent a better night. And when they had eaten and drunk and began to be
satisfied, Conchubar said to the young man, "Where is the mistress of
the house that she does not come to bid us welcome?" "You cannot see her
to-night," said he, "for she is in the pains of childbirth."

So they rested there that night, and in the morning Conchubar was the
first to rise up; but he saw no more of the man of the house, and what
he heard was the cry of a child. And he went to the room it came from,
and there he saw Dechtire, and her maidens about her, and a young child
beside her. And she bade Conchubar welcome, and she told him all that
had happened her, and that she had called him there to bring herself and
the child back to Emain Macha. And Conchubar said, "It is well you have
done by me, Dechtire; you gave shelter to me and to my chariots; you
kept the cold from my horses; you gave food to me and my people, and now
you have given us this good gift. And let our sister, Finchoem, bring up
the child," he said. "No, it is not for her to bring him up, it is for
me," said Sencha, son of Ailell, chief judge and chief poet of Ulster.
"For I am skilled; I am good in disputes; I am not forgetful; I speak
before anyone at all in the presence of the King; I watch over what he
says; I give judgment in the quarrels of kings; I am judge of the men of
Ulster; no one has a right to dispute my claim, but only Conchubar."

"If the child is given to me to bring up," said Blai, the distributor,
"he will not suffer from want of care or from forgetfulness. It is my
messages that do the will of Conchubar; I call up the fighting men from
all Ireland; I am well able to provide for them for a week, or even for
ten days; I settle their business and their disputes; I support their
honour; I get satisfaction for their insults."

"You think too much of yourself," said Fergus. "It is I that will bring
up the child; I am strong; I have knowledge; I am the King's messenger;
no one can stand up against me in honour or riches; I am hardened to war
and battles; I am a good craftsman; I am worthy to bring up the child. I
am the protector of all the unhappy; the strong are afraid of me; I am
the helper of the weak."

"If you will listen to me at last, now you are quiet," said Amergin, "I
am able to bring up a child like a king. The people praise my honour, my
bravery, my courage, my wisdom; they praise my good luck, my age, my
speaking, my name, my courage, and my race. Though I am a fighter, I am
a poet; I am worthy of the King's favour; I overcome all the men who
fight from their chariots; I owe thanks to no one except Conchubar; I
obey no one but the King."

Then Sencha said, "Let Finchoem keep the child until we come to Emain,
and Morann, the judge, will settle the question when we are there."

So the men of Ulster set out for Emain, Finchoem having the child with
her. And when they came there Morann gave his judgment. "It is for
Conchubar," he said, "to help the child to a good name, for he is next
of kin to him; let Sencha teach him words and speaking; let Fergus hold
him on his knees; let Amergin be his tutor." And he said, "This child
will be praised by all, by chariot drivers and fighters, by kings and by
wise men; he shall be loved by many men; he will avenge all your wrongs;
he will defend your fords; he will fight all your battles."

And so it was settled. And the child was left until he should come to
sensible years with his mother Dechtire and with her husband Sualtim.
And they brought him up upon the plain of Muirthemne, and the name he
was known by was Setanta, son of Sualtim.




The Boyhood of Cuchulain


Dectera, one of the sisters of Conchubar Mac Nessa, married a prince
whose patrimony lay along the shores of the Muirnict, and whose capital
was Dun Dalgan. They had one child, a boy, whom they named Setanta.

As soon as Setanta was able to understand the stories and conversation
of those around him, he evinced a passion for arms and the martial life,
which was so premature and violent as to surprise all who knew him. His
thoughts for ever ran on the wars and achievements of the Red Branch. He
knew all the knights by name, the appearance and bearing of each, and
what deeds of valour they had severally performed. Emain Macha, the
capital of the Clanna Rury, was never out of his mind. He saw for ever
before his mind its moats and ramparts, its gates and bridges, its
streets filled with martial men, its high-raised Duns and Raths, its
branching roads, over which came the tributes of wide Ulla to the High
King. He had seen his father's tribute driven thither, and had even
longed to be one of the four-footed beasts that he beheld wending their
way to the wondrous city. But, above all, he delighted to be told of the
great school where the young nobles of Ulster were taught martial
exercises and the military art, under the superintendence of chosen
knights and of the High King himself. Of the several knights he had his
own opinion, and had already resolved to accept no one as his instructor
save Fergus Mac Roy, tanist of Ulster.

Of his father he saw little. His mind had become impaired, and he was
confined in a secluded part of the Dun. But whenever he spoke to Dectera
of what was nearest his heart, and his desire to enter the military
school at Emain Macha, she laughed, and said that he was not yet old
enough to endure that rough life. But secretly she was alarmed, and
formed plans to detain him at home altogether. Then Setanta concealed
his desire, but enquired narrowly concerning the partings of the roads
on the way to Emania.

At last, when he was ten years old, selecting a favourable night,
Setanta stole away from his father's Dun, and before morning had crossed
the frontier. He then lay down to rest and sleep in a wood. After this
he set out again, travelling quickly, lest he should be met by any of
his father's people. On his back was strapped his little wooden shield,
and by his side hung a sword of lath. He had brought his ball and hurle
of red-bronze with him, and ran swiftly along the road, driving the ball
before him, or throwing up his javelin into the air, and running to meet
it ere it fell.

In the afternoon of that day Fergus Mac Roy and the King sat together in
the part that surrounded the King's palace. A chessboard was between
them, and their attention was fixed on the game.

At a distance the young nobles were at their sports, and the shouts of
the boys and the clash of the metal hurles resounded in the evening air.

Suddenly, the noise ceased, and Fergus and the King looked up. They saw
a strange boy rushing backwards and forwards through the crowd of young
nobles, urging the ball in any direction that he pleased, as if in
mockery, till none but the very best players attempted to stop him,
while the rest stood about the ground in groups. Fergus and the King
looked at each other for a moment in silence.

After this the boys came together into a group and held a council. Then
commenced what seemed to be an attempt to force him out of the ground,
followed by a furious fight. The strange boy seemed to be a very demon
of war; with his little hurle grasped, like a war-mace, in both hands,
he laid about him on every side, and the boys were tumbling fast. He
sprang at tall youths, like a hound at a stag's throat. He rushed
through crowds of his enemies like a hawk through a flock of birds. The
boys, seized with a panic, cried out that it was one of the Tuatha from
the fairy hills of the Boyne, and fled right and left to gain the
shelter of the trees. Some of them, pursued by the stranger, ran round
Conchubar Mac Nessa and his knight. The boy, however, running straight,
sprang over the chess table; but Conchubar seized him deftly by the
wrist and brought him to a stand, but with dilated eyes and panting.

"Why are you so enraged, my boy?" said the King, "and why do you so
maltreat my nobles?"

"Because they have not treated me with the respect due to a stranger,"
replied the boy.

"Who are you yourself?" said Conchubar.

"I am Setanta, the son of Sualtim, and Dectera, your own sister, is my
mother; and it is not before my uncle's palace that I should be insulted
and dishonoured."

This was the debut and first martial exploit of the great Cuculain, type
of Irish chivalry and courage, in the bardic firmament a bright and
particular star of strength, daring, and glory, that will not set nor
suffer aught but transient obscuration till the extinction of the Irish
race; Cuculain, bravest of the brave, whose glory affected even the
temperate-minded Tierna, so that his sober pen has inscribed, in the
annals of ancient Erin, this testimony: "_Cuculain, filius Sualtam
fortissimus heros Scotorum_."

After this Setanta was regularly received into the military school,
where, ere long, he became a favourite both with old and young. He
placed himself under the tuition of Fergus Mac Roy, who, each day, grew
more and more proud of his pupil, for while still a boy his fame was
extending over Ulla.

It was not long after this that Setanta received the name by which he is
more generally known. Culain was chief of the black country of Ulla, and
of a people altogether given up to the making of weapons and armour,
where the sound of the hammer and husky bellows were for ever heard. One
day Conchubar and some of his knights, passing through the park to
partake of an entertainment at the house of the armourer, paused awhile,
looking at the boys at play. Then, as all were praising his little
nephew, Conchubar called to him, and the boy came up, flushed and shy,
for there were with the King the chief warriors of the Red Branch. But
Conchubar bade him come with them to the feast, and the knights around
him laughed, and enumerated the good things which Culain had prepared
for them. But when Setanta's brow fell, Conchubar bade him finish his
game, and after that proceed to Culain's house, which was to the west of
Emain Macha, and more than a mile distant from the city. Then the King
and his knights went on to the feast, and Setanta returned joyfully to
his game.

Now, when they were seen afar upon the plain the smith left his workshop
and put by his implements, and having washed from him the sweat and
smoke, made himself ready to receive his guests; but the evening fell as
they were coming into the liss, and all his people came in also, and sat
at the lower table, and the bridge was drawn up and the door was shut
for the night, and the candles were lit in the high chamber.

Then said Culain, "Have all thy retinue come in, O Conchubar?" And when
the King said that they were all there, Culain bade one of his
apprentices go out and let loose the great mastiff that guarded the
house. Now, this mastiff was as large as a calf and exceedingly fierce,
and he guarded all the smith's property outside the house, and if anyone
approached the house without beating on the gong, which was outside the
foss and in front of the drawbridge, he was accustomed to rend him. Then
the mastiff, having been let loose, careered three times round the liss,
baying dreadfully, and after that remained quiet outside his kennel,
guarding his master's property. But, inside, they devoted themselves to
feasting and merriment, and there were many jests made concerning
Culain, for he was wont to cause laughter to Conchubar Mac Nessa and his
knights, yet he was good to his own people and faithful to the Crave
Rue, and very ardent and skilful in the practice of his art. But as they
were amusing themselves in this manner, eating and drinking, a deep
growl came from without, as it were a note of warning, and after that
one yet more savage; but where he sat in the champion's seat, Fergus Mac
Roy struck the table with his hand and rose straightway, crying out, "It
is Setanta." But ere the door could be opened they heard the boy's voice
raised in anger and the fierce yelling of the dog, and a scuffling in
the bawn of the liss. Then they rushed to the door in great fear, for
they said that the boy was torn in pieces; but when the bolts were drawn
back and they sprang forth, eager to save the boy's life, they found the
dog dead, and Setanta standing over him with his hurle, for he had
sprung over the foss, not fearing the dog. Forthwith, then, his tutor,
Fergus Mac Roy, snatched him up on his shoulder, and returned with great
joy into the banquet hall, where all were well pleased at the
preservation of the boy, except Culain himself, who began to lament over
the death of his dog and to enumerate all the services which he rendered
to him.

"Do not grieve for thy dog, O Culain," said Setanta, from the shoulder
of Fergus, "for I will perform those services for you myself until a dog
equally good is procured to take the place of him I slew."

Then one jesting, said, "Cu-culain!" (Hound of Culain) and thenceforward
he went by this name.

STANDISH O'GRADY.




The Legend of Knockgrafton


There was once a poor man who lived in the fertile glen of Aherlow, at
the foot of the gloomy Galtee mountains, and he had a great hump on his
back; he looked just as if his body had been rolled up and placed upon
his shoulders; and his head was pressed down with the weight so much
that his chin, when he was sitting, used to rest upon his knees for
support. The country people were rather shy of meeting him in any
lonesome place, for though, poor creature, he was as harmless and as
inoffensive as a new-born infant, yet his deformity was so great that he
scarcely appeared to be a human creature, and some ill-minded persons
had set strange stories about him afloat. He was said to have a great
knowledge of herbs and charms; but certain it was that he had a mighty
skilful hand in plaiting straws and rushes into hats and baskets, which
was the way he made his livelihood.

Lusmore, for that was the nickname put upon him, by reason of his
always wearing a sprig of the fairy cap, or lusmore (the foxglove), in
his little straw hat, would ever get a higher penny for his plaited work
than anyone else, and perhaps that was the reason why someone, out of
envy, had circulated the strange stories about him. Be that as it may,
it happened that he was returning one evening from the pretty town of
Cahir towards Cappagh, and as little Lusmore walked very slowly, on
account of the great hump upon his back, it was quite dark when he came
to the old moat of Knockgrafton, which stood on the right-hand side of
the road. Tired and weary was he, and no ways comfortable in his own
mind at thinking how much farther he had to travel, and that he should
be walking all the night; so he sat down under the moat to rest himself,
and began looking mournfully enough upon the moon, which--

  Rising in clouded majesty at length
  Apparent Queen, unveil'd her peerless light,
  And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.

Presently there arose a wild strain of unearthly melody upon the ear of
little Lusmore. He listened, and he thought that he had never heard such
ravishing music before. It was like the sound of many voices, each
mingling and blending with the others so strangely that they seemed to
be one, though all singing different strains, and the words of the songs
were these:

  Da Luan, Da Mort, Da Luan, Da Mort, Da Luan, Da Mort,
                                   Da Luan, Da Mort;

when there would be a moment's pause, and then the round of melody went
on again.

Lusmore listened attentively, scarcely drawing his breath, lest he
might lose the slightest note. He now plainly perceived that the singing
was within the moat; and though at first it had charmed him much, he
began to get tired of hearing the same round sung over and over so often
without any change; so, availing himself of the pause when Da Luan, Da
Mort, had been sung three times, he took up the tune, and raised it with
the words augus Da Dardeen, and then went on singing with the voices
inside of the moat, Da Luan, Da Mort, finishing the melody, when the
pause came again, with augus Da Dardeen.

The fairies within Knockgrafton, for the song was a fairy melody, when
they heard this addition to the tune, were so much delighted that with
instant resolve it was determined to bring the mortal among them whose
musical skill so far exceeded theirs, and little Lusmore was conveyed
into their company with the eddying speed of a whirlwind.

Glorious to behold was the sight that burst upon him as he came down
through the moat, twirling round and round, with the lightness of a
straw, to the sweetest music, that kept time to his motion. The greatest
honour was then paid him, for he was put above all the musicians, and he
had servants tending upon him and everything to his heart's content, and
a hearty welcome to all; and, in short, he was made as much of as if he
had been the first man in the land.

Presently Lusmore saw a great consultation going on among the fairies,
and, notwithstanding all their civility, he felt very much frightened,
until one, stepping out from the rest, came up to him and said:

  Lusmore! Lusmore!
  Doubt not, nor deplore,
  For the hump which you bore
  On your back is no more;
  Look down on the floor,
  And view it, Lusmore!

When these words were said, poor little Lusmore felt himself so light
and so happy that he thought he could have bounded at one jump over the
moon, like the cow in the history of the cat and the fiddle; and he saw,
with inexpressible pleasure, his hump tumble down upon the ground from
his shoulders. He then tried to lift up his head, and did so with
becoming caution, fearing that he might knock it against the ceiling of
the great hall where he was. He looked round and round again with the
greatest wonder and delight upon everything, which appeared more and
more beautiful; and, overpowered at beholding such a resplendent scene,
his head grew dizzy and his eyesight grew dim. At last he fell into a
sound sleep, and when he awoke he found that it was broad daylight, the
sun shining brightly, and the birds singing sweetly, and that he was
lying just at the foot of Knockgrafton, with the cows and sheep grazing
peaceably about him. The first thing Lusmore did, after saying his
prayers, was to put his hand behind to feel for his hump, but no sign of
one was there on his back, and he looked at himself with great pride,
for he had now become a well-shaped, dapper little fellow, and, more
than that, found himself in a full suit of new clothes, which he
concluded the fairies had made for him.

Towards Cappagh he went, stepping out as lightly and springing up at
every step as if he had been all his life a dancing-master. Not a
creature who met Lusmore knew him without his hump, and he had a great
work to persuade everyone that he was the same man--in truth he was not
as far as the outward appearance went.

Of course it was not long before the story of Lusmore's hump got about,
and a great wonder was made of it. Through the country for miles round
it was the talk of everyone, high and low.

One morning, as Lusmore was sitting, contented enough, at his cabin
door, up came an old woman to him, and asked him if he could direct her
to Cappagh.

"I need give you no directions, my good woman," said Lusmore, "for this
is Cappagh. And whom may you want here?"

"I have come," said the woman, "out of Decies country, in the county of
Waterford, looking after one Lusmore, who, I have heard tell, had his
hump taken off by the fairies; for there is a son of a gossip of mine
who has got a hump on him that will be his death; and, maybe, if he
could use the same charm as Lusmore the hump may be taken off him. And
now I have told you the reason of my coming so far; 'tis to find out
about this charm if I can."

Lusmore, who was ever a good-natured little fellow, told the woman all
the particulars, how he had raised the tune for the fairies at
Knockgrafton, how his hump had been removed from his shoulders, and how
he had got a new suit of clothes into the bargain.

The woman thanked him very much and then went away, quite happy and
easy in her own mind. When she came back to her gossip's house, in the
county of Waterford, she told her everything that Lusmore had said, and
they put the little hump-backed man, who was a peevish and cunning
creature from his birth, upon a car, and took him all the way across the
country. It was a long journey, but they did not care for that, so the
hump was taken from off him; so they brought him just at nightfall, and
left him under the old moat of Knockgrafton.

Jack Madden, for that was the humpy man's name, had not been sitting
there long when he heard the tune going on within the moat much sweeter
than before; for the fairies were singing it the way Lusmore had settled
their music for them, and the song was going on, Da Luan, Da Mort, Da
Luan, Da Mort, Da Luan, Da Mort, augus Da Dardeen, without ever
stopping. Jack Madden, who was in a great hurry to get quit of his hump,
never thought of waiting till the fairies had done, or watching for a
fit opportunity to raise the tune higher than Lusmore had; so, having
heard them sing it over seven times without stopping, out he bawls,
never minding the time or the humour of the tune, or how he could bring
his words in properly, augus Da Dardeen, augus Da Hena, thinking that if
one day was good two were better, and that, if Lusmore had one suit of
clothes given him, he should have two.

No sooner had the words passed his lips than he was taken up and whisked
into the moat with prodigious force, and the fairies came crowding round
about him with great anger, screeching and screaming, and roaring out,
"Who spoiled our tune? Who spoiled our tune?" And one stepped up to him
above all the rest and said:

  Jack Madden! Jack Madden!
  Your words came so bad in
  The tune we felt glad in;--
  This castle you're had in,
  That your life we may sadden;
  Here's two humps for Jack Madden!

And twenty of the strongest fairies brought Lusmore's hump and put it
down upon poor Jack's back, over his own, where it became fixed as
firmly as if it was nailed on with twelvepenny nails by the best
carpenter that ever drove one. Out of their castle they then kicked him;
and in the morning, when Jack Madden's mother and her gossip came to
look after their little man, they found him half dead, lying at the foot
of the moat, with the other hump upon his back. Well, to be sure, how
they did look at each other, but they were afraid to say anything lest a
hump might be put upon their shoulders. Home they brought the unlucky
Jack Madden with them, as downcast in their hearts and their looks as
ever two gossips were; and what through the weight of his other hump and
the long journey he died soon after, leaving, they say, his heavy curse
to anyone who would go to listen to fairy tunes again.

T. CROFTON CROKER.




The Stolen Child


  There dips the rocky highland
  Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
  There lies a leafy island,
  Where flapping herons wake
  The drowsy water rats;
  There we've hid our faery vats,
  Full of berries,
  And of reddest stolen cherries.
  Come away, O human child!
  To the waters and the wild
  With a faery, hand in hand,
  For the world's more full of weeping than
      you can understand.

  Where the wave of moonlight glosses
  The dim gray sands with light,
  Far off by furthest Rosses
  We foot it all the night,
  Weaving olden dances,
  Mingling hands and mingling glances,
  Till the moon has taken flight;
  To and fro we leap
  And chase the frothy bubbles,
  While the world is full of troubles
  And is anxious in its sleep.
  Come away, O human child!
  To the waters and the wild
  With a faery, hand in hand,
  For the world's more full of weeping than
      you can understand.

  Where the wandering water gushes
  From the hills above Glen-Car,
  In pools among the rushes
  That scarce could bathe a star,
  We seek for slumbering trout,
  And whispering in their ears
  Give them unquiet dreams;
  Leaning softly out
  From ferns that drop their tears
  Over the young streams.
  Come away, O human child!
  To the waters and the wild
  With a faery, hand in hand,
  For the world's more full of weeping than
      you can understand.

  Away with us he's going,
  The solemn-eyed:
  He'll hear no more the lowing
  Of the calves on the warm hillside;
  Or the kettle on the hob
  Sing peace into his breast,
  Or see the brown mice bob
  Round and round the oatmeal-chest.
  For he comes, the human child!
  To the waters and the wild
  With a faery, hand in hand,
  From a world more full of weeping than
      he can understand.

W. B. YEATS.




Lay of Oisin on the Land of Youth


One day we, the Fianna, were all assembled, generous Fionn and all of us
that lived were there; we were hunting on a misty morning nigh the
bordering shores of Loch Lein, where through fragrant trees of sweetest
blossoms, and the mellow music of birds at all times, we aroused the
hornless deer of the best bounding, course, and agility; our hounds and
all our dogs were close after in full chase.

'Twas not long till we saw, westwards, a fleet rider advancing towards
us, a young maiden of most beautiful appearance, on a slender white
steed of swiftest power. We all ceased from the chase on seeing the form
of the royal maid; 'twas a surprise to Fionn and the Fianns, they never
beheld a woman equal in beauty. A royal crown was on her head, and a
brown mantle of precious silk, spangled with stars of red gold, covering
her shoes down to the grass. A gold ring was hanging down from each
yellow curl of her golden hair; her eyes were blue, clear, and
cloudless, like a dewdrop on the top of the grass. Redder were her
cheeks than the rose, fairer was her visage than the swan upon the wave,
and more sweet was the taste of her balsam lips than honey mingled
through red wine. A garment, wide, long, and smooth, covered the white
steed; there was a comely saddle of red gold, and her right hand held a
bridle with a golden bit. Four shoes, well shaped, were under him, of
the yellow gold of the purest quality; a silver wreath was on the back
of his head, and there was not in the world a steed better.

She came to the presence of Fionn, and spoke with a voice sweet and
gentle, and she said, "O King of the Fianna, long and distant is my
journey now."

"Who art thou thyself, O youthful princess! of fairest form, beauty, and
countenance? Relate to us the cause of thy story, thine own name and thy
country."

"Golden-headed Niamh is my name, O sage Fionn of the great hosts. Beyond
the women of the world I have won esteem; I am the fair daughter of the
King of Youth."

"Relate to us, O amiable princess, what caused thee to come afar across
the sea--is it thy consort has forsaken thee, or what is the affliction
that is on thyself?"

"'Tis not my husband that went from me; and as yet I have not been
spoken of with any man, O King of the Fianna of highest repute; but
affection and love I have given to thy son."

"Which of my children is he, O blooming daughter, to whom thou hast
given love, or yet affection? Do not conceal from us now the cause, and
relate to us thy case, O woman."

"I will tell thee that, O Fionn! Thy noble son of the well-tempered
arms, high-spirited Oisin of the powerful hands, is the champion that I
am now speaking of."

"What is the reason that thou gavest love, O beautiful daughter of the
glossy hair, to my own son beyond all, and multitudes of high lords
under the sun?"

"'Tis not without cause, O King of the Fianna! I came afar for him--but
reports I heard of his prowess, the goodness of his person and his mien.

"Many a son of a king and a high chief gave me affection and perpetual
love; I never consented to any man till I gave love to noble Oisin."

"By that hand on thee, O Patrick, though it is not shameful to me as a
story, there was not a limb of me but was in love with the beautiful
daughter of the glossy hair."

I, Oisin, took her hand in mine, and said in speech of sweetest tone, "A
true, gentle welcome before thee, O young princess, to this country!
'Tis thou art the brightest and the fairest of form, 'tis thee I prefer
as wife, thou art my choice beyond the women of the world, O mild star
of loveliest countenance!"

"Obligations unresisted by true heroes, O generous Oisin, I put upon
thee to come with myself now upon my steed till we arrive at the 'Land
of Youth.' It is the most delightful country to be found, of greatest
repute under the sun, trees drooping with fruit, and blossom and foliage
growing on the tops of boughs. Abundant, there, are honey and wine and
everything that eye has beheld; there will not come decline on thee with
lapse of time; death or decay thou wilt not see. Thou wilt get feasts,
playing, and drink; thou wilt get melodious music on the harp strings;
thou wilt get silver and gold; thou wilt get also many jewels. Thou wilt
get the royal diadem of the 'King of Youth,' which he never yet gave to
any person under the sun; 'twill protect thee both night and day, in
battle, in tumult, and in rough conflict. Thou wilt get a fitting coat
of protecting mail, and a gold-headed sword apt for strokes, from which
no person ever escaped alive who once saw the sharp weapon. Thou wilt
get everything I promised thee, and delights, also, which I may not
mention; thou wilt get beauty, strength, and power, and I myself will be
thy wife."

"No refusal will I give from me," said I, "O charming queen of the
golden curls! Thou art my choice above the women of the world, and I
will go with willingness to the 'Land of Youth.'"

On the back of the steed we went together. Before me sat the virgin; she
said, "Oisin, let us remain quiet till we reach the mouth of the great
sea."

Then arose the steed swiftly; when we arrived on the borders of the
strand he shook himself then to pace forward, and neighed three times
aloud.

When Fionn and the Fianna saw the steed travelling swiftly, facing the
great tide, they raised three shouts of mourning and grief.

"O Oisin!" said Fionn slowly and sorrowfully, "woe it is to me that thou
art going from me; I have not a hope that thou wilt ever again come back
to me victorious."

His form and beauty changed, and showers of tears flowed down, till they
wet his breast and his bright visage, and he said, "My woe art thou, O
Oisin, in going from me!"

O Patrick, 'twas a melancholy story our parting from each other in that
place, the parting of the father from his own son--'tis mournful, weak,
and faint to be relating it! I kissed my father sweetly and gently, and
the same affection I got from him. I bade adieu to all the Fianna, and
the tears flowed down my cheeks. We turned our backs to the land and our
faces directly due west; the smooth sea ebbed before us and filled in
billows after us. We saw wonders in our travels, cities, courts, and
castles, lime-white mansions and fortresses, brilliant summer-houses and
palaces. We also saw, by our sides, a hornless fawn leaping nimbly, and
a red-eared white dog, urging it boldly in the chase. We beheld also,
without fiction, a young maid on a brown steed, a golden apple in her
right hand, and she going on the top of the waves. We saw after her a
young rider on a white steed, under a purple, crimson mantle of satin,
and a gold-headed sword in his right hand.

"Who are yon two whom I see, O gentle princess? Tell me the meaning, of
that woman of most beautiful countenance and the comely rider of the
white steed."

"Heed not what thou wilt see, O gentle Oisin, nor what thou hast yet
seen; there is in them but nothing, till we reach the land of the 'King
of Youth.'"

We saw from us afar a sunny palace of beautiful front; its form and
appearance were the most beauteous that were to be found in the world.

"What exceeding fine royal mansion, and also the best that eye hath
seen, is this that we are travelling near to, or who is high chief of
that place?"

"The daughter of the King of the 'Land of Life' is Queen, yet in that
fortress she was taken by Fomhor Builleach, of Dromloghach, with violent
strength of arms and activity. Obligation she put upon the brave never
to make her a wife till she got a champion or true hero to stand battle
with him hand to hand."

"Take success and blessings, O golden-headed Niamh. I have never heard
better music than the gentle voice of thy sweet mouth; great grief to us
is a woman of her condition. I will go now to visit her to the fortress,
and it may be for us it is fated that that great hero should fall by me,
in feats of activity as is wont to me."

We went then into the fortress. To us came the youthful Queen. Equal in
splendour was she to the sun, and she bade us a hundred welcomes.

There was apparel of yellow silk on the Queen of excellent beauty. Her
chalk-white skin was like the swan on the wave, and her cheeks were of
the colour of the rose. Her hair was of a golden hue, her blue eyes
clear and cloudless; her honey lips of the colour of the berries, and
her slender brows of loveliest form.

Then we there sat down, each of us on a chair of gold. There was laid
out for us abundance of food and drinking-horns filled with beer. When
we had taken a sufficiency of food and much sweet drinking wines, then
spoke the mild young princess, and thus said she, "Hearken to me
awhile." She told us the knowledge and cause of her tale, and the tears
flowed down her cheeks. She said, "My return is not to my own country
whilst the great giant shall be alive."

"Be silent, O young princess! Give o'er thy grief and do not mourn, and
I give to thee my hand that the giant of slaughter shall fall by me!"

"There's not a champion now to be found of greatest repute under the sun
to give battle hand to hand to the bold giant of the hard blows."

"I tell to thee, O gentle queen, I am not daunted at his coming to meet
me. Unless he fall by me, by the strength of my arms, I will fall myself
in thy defence."

'Twas not long till we saw approaching the powerful giant that was most
repulsive. A load was on him of the skins of deer, and an iron bar in
his hand. He did not salute or bow to us, but looked into the
countenance of the young maiden, proclaimed battle and great conflict,
and I myself went to meet him. During three nights and three days we
were in the great contest; though powerful was he, the valiant giant, I
beheaded him without delay.

When the two young maidens saw the great giant lying motionless, weak
and low, they uttered three joyful cries, with great boasting and
merriment.

We then went to the fortress, and I was bruised, weak, and feeble,
shedding blood in great abundance coming closely out of my wounds. The
daughter of the "King of the Living" came in truth to relieve myself.
She put balm and balsam in my wounds, and I was whole after her.

We consumed our feast with pleasure, and then we were merry after. In
the fortress were prepared for us warm beds of the down of birds. We
buried the great man in a deep sod-grave, wide and clear. I raised his
flag and monument, and I wrote his name in Ogham Craobh.

On the morrow, at the appearance of day, we awoke out of our slumbers.
"It is time for us," said the daughter of the King, "to go without delay
to our own land."

We prepared ourselves without a stay, and we took our leave of the
virgin. We were sorrowful and sad after her, and not less after us was
the refulgent maid.

We turned our backs on the fortress, and our horse under us in full
speed, and swifter was the white steed than March wind on the mountain
summit. Ere long the sky darkened and the wind arose in every point, the
great sea lit up strongly, and sight of the sun was not to be found. We
gazed awhile on the clouds and on the stars that were under gloom. The
tempest abated and the wind, and Phoebus brightened o'er our heads.

We beheld by our side a most delightful country, under full bloom, and
plains, beautiful, smooth, and fine, and a royal fortress of surpassing
beauty. Not a colour that eye has beheld of rich blue, green, and white,
or purple, crimson, and of yellow, but was in this royal mansion that I
am describing. There were at the other side of the fortress radiant
summer-houses and palaces made, all of precious stones, by the hands of
skilful men and great artists.

Ere long we saw approaching from the fortress to meet us three fifties
of champions of best agility, appearance, fame, and of highest repute.

"What beauteous country is that, O gentle daughter of the golden locks?
Of best aspect that the eye has seen; or is it the 'Land of Youth'?"

"It is, truly, O generous Oisin! I have not told you a lie concerning
it; there is nothing I promised thyself but is manifest to thee for
ever."

To us came after that a hundred maids of exquisite beauty,
under-garments of silk filled with gold, welcoming me to their own
country. We saw again approaching a multitude of glittering bright
hosts, and a noble, great, and powerful King of matchless grace, form,
and countenance. There was a yellow shirt of silken satin and a bright
golden garment over it; there was a sparkling crown of gold, radiant and
shining, upon his head. We saw coming after him the young Queen of
highest repute, and fifty virgins sweet and mild, of most beautiful
form, in her company. When all arrived in one spot, then courteously
spoke the "King of Youth," and said, "This is Oisin, the son of Fionn,
the gentle consort of 'Golden-headed Niamh'!"

He took me then by the hand and said aloud to the hearing of the host,
"O brave Oisin! O son of the King! A hundred thousand welcomes to you!
This country into which thou comest, I'll not conceal its tidings from
you, in truth, long and durable is your life, and thou thyself shalt be
ever young. There's not a delight on which the heart hath mused but is
in this land awaiting thee. O Oisin! believe me in truth, for I am King
of the 'Land of Youth'! This is the gentle Queen and my own daughter,
the Golden-headed Niamh, who went over the smooth seas for thee to be
her consort for ever."

I gave thanks to the King and I bowed down to the gentle Queen; nor
stayed we there, but proceeded soon, till we reached the royal mansion
of the "King of Youth." There came the nobles of the fine fortress, both
men and women, to meet us; there was a feast and banquet continuously
there for ten nights and ten days.

I espoused "Golden-headed Niamh," O Patrick from Rome of white croziers!
That is how I went to the "Land of Youth," tho' woeful and grievous to
me to relate. I had, by Golden-headed Niamh, of children of surpassing
beauty and bloom, of best form, shape, and countenance, two young sons
and a gentle daughter. I spent a time protracted in length, three
hundred years and more, until I thought 'twould be my desire to see
Fionn and the Fianna alive. I asked leave of the King and of my kind
spouse, Golden-headed Niamh, to go to Erin back again to see Fionn and
his great host.

"Thou wilt get leave from me," said the gentle daughter, "though 'tis a
sorrowful tale to me to hear you mention it, lest thou mayest not come
again in your life to my own land, O victorious Oisin!"

"What do we dread, O blooming Queen? Whilst the white steed is at my
service he will teach me the way with ease, and will return safe back to
thyself."

"Remember, O Oisin! what I am saying. If thou layest foot on level
ground thou shalt not come again for ever to this fine land in which I
am myself. I say to thee again without guile, if thou alightest once off
the white steed thou wilt never more come to the 'Land of Youth,' O
golden Oisin of the warlike arms! I say to thee for the third time, if
thou alightest off the steed thyself thou wilt be an old man, withered
and blind, without activity, without pleasure, without run, without
leap. 'Tis a woe to me, O loving Oisin, that thou ever goest to green
Erin; 'tis not now as it has been; and thou never shalt see Fionn of the
hosts. There is not now in all Erin but a father of orders and hosts of
saints. O loving Oisin, here is my kiss; thou wilt never return to the
'Land of Youth'!"

I looked up into her countenance with compassion, and streams of tears
ran from my eyes. O Patrick! thou wouldst have pitied her tearing the
hair off the golden head. She put me under strict injunctions to go and
come without touching the lea, and said to me, by virtue of their power,
if I broke them that I'd never return safe. I promised her each thing,
without a lie, that I would fulfil what she said to me. I went on the
back of the white steed and bade farewell to the people of the fortress.
I kissed my gentle consort, and sorrowful was I in parting from her; my
two sons and my young daughter were under grief, shedding tears. I
prepared myself for travelling, and I turned my back on the "Land of
Youth." The steed ran swiftly under me, as he had done with me and
"Golden-headed Niamh."

On my coming, then, into the country, I looked closely in every
direction. I thought then, in truth, that the tidings of Fionn were not
to be found. 'Twas not long for me, nor tedious, till I saw from the
west approaching me a great troop of mounted men and women, and they
came into my presence. They saluted me kindly and courteously, and
surprise seized every one of them on seeing the bulk of my own person,
my form, my appearance, and my countenance. I myself asked then of them,
did they hear if Fionn was alive, or did anyone else of the Fianna live,
or what disaster had swept them away?

"We have heard tell of Fionn, for strength, for activity, and for
prowess, that there never was an equal for him in person, in character,
and in mien. There is many a book written down by the melodious sweet
sages of the Gaels which we, in truth, are unable to relate to thee, of
the deeds of Fionn and of the Fianna. We heard that Fionn had a son of
brightest beauty and form; that there came a young maiden for him, and
that he went with her to the 'Land of Youth.'"

When I myself heard that announcement that Fionn did not live, or any of
the Fianna, I was seized with weariness and great sorrow, and I was full
of melancholy after them! I did not stop on my course, quick and smart
without any delay, till I set my face straightforward to Almhuin of
great exploits in broad Leinster. Great was my surprise there that I did
not see the court of Fionn of the hosts; there was not in its place, in
truth, but weeds, chick-weeds, and nettles. Alas, O Patrick! and alas,
my grief! A miserable journey it was to me, without the tidings of Fionn
or the Fianna; it left me through life under pain. After I left Almhuin
of Leinster, there was not a residence where the Fianna had been, but I
searched accurately without any delay. On my passing through the Glen of
the Thrushes I saw a great assembly there, three hundred men and more
were before me in the glen. One of the assembly spoke, and he said with
a loud voice, "Come to our relief, O kingly champion, and deliver us
from difficulty!"

I then came forward, and the host had a large flag of marble; the weight
of the flag was down on them, and to uphold it they were unable! Those
that were under the flag below were being oppressed, weakly; by the
weight of the great load many of them lost their senses. One of the
stewards spoke and said, "O princely young hero, forthwith relieve my
host, or not one of them will be alive!" 'Tis a shameful deed that it
should now be said, and the number of men that is there, that the
strength of the host is unable to lift the flag with great power. If
Oscur, the son of Oisin, lived, he would take this flag in his right
hand; he would fling it in a throw over the host. It is not my custom to
speak falsehood.

I lay upon my right breast and I took the flag in my hand; with the
strength and activity of my limbs I sent it seven perches from its
place! With the force of the very large flag the golden girth broke on
the white steed; I came down full suddenly on the soles of my two feet
on the lea. No sooner did I come down than the white steed took fright.
He went then on his way, and I stood in sorrow, both weak and feeble. I
lost the sight of my eyes, my form, my countenance, and my vigour; I was
an old man, poor and blind, without strength, understanding, or esteem.
Patrick! there is to thee my story, as it occurred to myself, without a
lie, my going and my adventures in certain, and my returning from the
"Land of Youth."

  _From "Ossianic Poems."_
  _Edited by_ JOHN O'DALY.




Adventures of Gilla na Chreck an Gour

_(Told in the Wexford Peasant Dialect.)_


Long ago a poor widow woman lived down by the iron forge near
Enniscorthy, and she was so poor, she had no clothes to put on her son;
so she used to fix him in the ash-hole, near the fire, and pile the warm
ashes about him; and, accordingly, as he grew up, she sunk the pit
deeper. At last, by hook or by crook, she got a goat-skin, and fastened
it round his waist, and he felt quite grand, and took a walk down the
street. So says she to him next morning, "Tom, you thief, you never done
any good yet, and six-foot high, and past nineteen: take that rope and
bring me a _bresna_ from the wood." "Never say't twice, mother," says
Tom; "here goes."

When he had it gathered and tied, what should come up but a big
_joiant_, nine-foot high, and made a lick of a club at him. Well become
Tom, he jumped a-one side and picked up a ram-pike; and the first crack
he gave the big fellow he made him kiss the clod. "If you have e'er a
prayer," says Tom, "now's the time to say it, before I make _brishe_ of
you." "I have no prayers," says the giant, "but if you spare my life
I'll give you that club; and as long as you keep from sin you'll win
every battle you ever fight with it."

Tom made no bones about letting him off; and as soon as he got the club
in his hands he sat down on the bresna and gave it a tap with the
kippeen, and says, "Bresna, I had a great trouble gathering you, and run
the risk of my life for you; the least you can do is to carry me home."
And, sure enough, the wind of the word was all it wanted. It went off
through the wood, groaning and cracking till it came to the widow's
door.

Well, when the sticks were all burned Tom was sent off again to pick
more; and this time he had to fight with a giant with two heads on him.
Tom had a little more trouble with him--that's all; and the prayers _he_
said was to give Tom a fife that nobody could help dancing when he was
playing it. _Begonies_, he made the big faggot dance home, with himself
sitting on it. Well, if you were to count all the steps from this to
Dublin, dickens a bit you'd ever arrive there. The next giant was a
beautiful boy with three heads on him. He had neither prayers nor
catechism no more _nor_ the others; and so he gave Tom a bottle of green
ointment that wouldn't let you be burned, nor scalded, nor wounded. "And
now," says he, "there's no more of us. You may come and gather sticks
here till little _Lunacy Day_ in harvest without giant or fairy man to
disturb you."

Well, now, Tom was prouder nor ten paycocks, and used to take a walk
down street in the heel of the evening; but some of the little boys had
no more manners nor if they were Dublin jackeens, and put out their
tongues at Tom's club and Tom's goat-skin. He didn't like that at all,
and it would be mean to give one of them a clout. At last, what should
come through the town but a kind of bellman, only it's a big bugle he
had, and a huntsman's cap on his head, and a kind of painted shirt. So
this--he wasn't a bellman, and I don't know what to call him--bugleman,
maybe--proclaimed that the King of Dublin's daughter was so melancholy
that she didn't give a laugh for seven years, and that her father would
grant her in marriage to whoever would make her laugh three times.
"That's the very thing for me to try," says Tom; and so, without burning
any more daylight, he kissed his mother, curled his club at the little
boys, and he set off along the yalla highroad to the town of Dublin.

At last Tom came to one of the city gates, and the guards laughed and
cursed at him instead of letting him through. Tom stood it all for a
little time, but at last one of them--out of fun, as he said--drove his
_bagnet_ half an inch or so into his side. Tom did nothing but take the
fellow by the scruff of his neck and the waistband of his corduroys and
fling him into the canal. Some ran to pull the fellow out, and others to
let manners into the vulgarian with their swords and daggers; but a tap
from his club sent them headlong into the moat or down on the stones,
and they were soon begging him to stay his hands.

So at last one of them was glad enough to show Tom the way to the palace
yard; and there was the King and the Queen, and the princess in a
gallery, looking at all sorts of wrestling and sword-playing, and
_rinka-fadhas_ (long dances) and mumming, all to please the princess;
but not a smile came over her handsome face.

Well, they all stopped when they seen the young giant, with his boy's
face and long black hair, and his short curly beard--for his poor mother
couldn't afford to buy _razhurs_--and his great strong arms and bare
legs, and no covering but the goat-skin that reached from his waist to
his knees. But an envious wizened _basthard_ of a fellow, with a red
head, that wished to be married to the princess, and didn't like how she
opened her eyes at Tom, came forward, and asked his business very
snappishly. "My business," says Tom, says he, "is to make the beautiful
princess, God bless her, laugh three times." "Do you see all them merry
fellows and skilful swordsmen," says the other, "that could eat you up
with a grain of salt, and not a mother's soul of 'em ever got a laugh
from her these seven years?" So the fellows gathered round Tom, and the
bad man aggravated him till he told them he didn't care a pinch of snuff
for the whole bilin' of 'em; let 'em come on, six at a time, and try
what they could do. The King, that was too far off to hear what they
were saying, asked what did the stranger want. "He wants," says the
red-headed fellow, "to make hares of your best men." "Oh!" says the
King, "if that's the way, let one of 'em turn out and try his mettle."
So one stood forward, with _soord_ and pot-lid, and made a cut at Tom.
He struck the fellow's elbow with the club, and up over their heads flew
the sword, and down went the owner of it on the gravel from a thump he
got on the helmet. Another took his place, and another, and another, and
then half a dozen at once, and Tom sent swords, helmets, shields, and
bodies rolling over and over, and themselves bawling out that they were
kilt, and disabled, and damaged, and rubbing their poor elbows and hips,
and limping away. Tom contrived not to kill anyone; and the princess was
so amused that she let a great sweet laugh out of her that was heard all
over the yard. "King of Dublin," says Tom, "I've quarter of your
daughter." And the King didn't know whether he was glad or sorry, and
all the blood in the princess's heart run into her cheeks.

So there was no more fighting that day, and Tom was invited to dine with
the royal family. Next day Redhead told Tom of a wolf, the size of a
yearling heifer, that used to be _serenading_ (sauntering) about the
walls, and eating people and cattle; and said what a pleasure it would
give the King to have it killed. "With all my heart," says Tom. "Send a
jackeen to show me where he lives, and we'll see how he behaves to a
stranger." The princess was not well pleased, for Tom looked a different
person with fine clothes and a nice green _birredh_ over his long, curly
hair; and besides, he'd got one laugh out of her. However, the King gave
his consent; and in an hour and a half the horrible wolf was walking in
the palace yard, and Tom a step or two behind, with his club on his
shoulder, just as a shepherd would be walking after a pet lamb. The King
and Queen and princess were safe up in their gallery, but the officers
and people of the court that were _padrowling_ about the great bawn,
when they saw the big baste coming in gave themselves up, and began to
make for doors and gates; and the wolf licked his chops, as if he was
saying, "Wouldn't I enjoy a breakfast off a couple of yez!" The King
shouted out, "O Gilla na Chreck an Gour, take away that terrible wolf,
and you must have all my daughter." But Tom didn't mind him a bit. He
pulled out his flute and began to play like vengeance; and dickens a man
or boy in the yard but began shovelling away heel and toe, and the wolf
himself was obliged to get on his hind legs and dance _Tatther Jack
Walsh_ along with the rest. A good deal of the people got inside and
shut the doors, the way the hairy fellow wouldn't pin them; but Tom kept
playing, and the outsiders kept shouting and dancing, and the wolf kept
dancing and roaring with the pain his legs were giving him: and all the
time he had his eyes on Redhead, who was shut out along with the rest.
Wherever Redhead went the wolf followed, and kept one eye on him and the
other on Tom, to see if he would give him leave to eat him. But Tom
shook his head, and never stopped the tune, and Redhead never stopped
dancing and bawling and the wolf dancing and roaring, one leg up and the
other down, and he ready to drop out of his standing from fair
tiresomeness.

When the princess seen that there was no fear of anyone being kilt she
was so divarted by the stew that Redhead was in that she gave another
great laugh; and well become Tom, out he cried, "King of Dublin, I have
two quarters of your daughter." "Oh, quarters or alls," says the King,
"put away that divel of a wolf and we'll see about it." So Gilla put his
flute in his pocket, and says he to the baste that was sittin' on his
currabingo ready to faint, "Walk off to your mountains, my fine
fellow, and live like a respectable baste; and if ever I find you come
within seven miles of any town----" He said no more, but spit in his
fist, and gave a flourish of his club. It was all the poor divel wanted:
he put his tail between his legs and took to his pumps without looking
at man nor mortial, and neither sun, moon, nor stars ever saw him in
sight of Dublin again.

At dinner everyone laughed but the foxy fellow; and, sure enough, he was
laying out how he'd settle poor Tom next day. "Well, to be sure!" says
he, "King of Dublin, you are in luck. There's the Danes moidhering us to
no end. D---- run to Lusk wid 'em! and if anyone can save us from 'em it
is this gentleman with the goat-skin. There is a flail hangin' on the
collar-beam in Hell, and neither Dane nor Devil can stand before it."
"So," says Tom to the King, "will you let me have the other half of the
princess if I bring you the flail?" "No, no," says the princess, "I'd
rather never be your wife than see you in that danger."

But Redhead whispered and nudged Tom about how shabby it would look to
reneague the adventure. So he asked him which way he was to go, and
Redhead directed him through a street where a great many bad women
lived, and a great many shibbeen houses were open, and away he set.

Well, he travelled and travelled till he came in sight of the walls of
Hell; and, bedad, before he knocked at the gates, he rubbed himself over
with the greenish ointment. When he knocked a hundred little imps popped
their heads out through the bars, and axed him what he wanted. "I want
to speak to the big divel of all," says Tom: "open the gate."

It wasn't long till the gate was _thrune_ open, and the Ould Boy
received Tom with bows and scrapes, and axed his business. "My business
isn't much," says Tom. "I only came for the loan of that flail that I
see hanging on the collar-beam for the King of Dublin to give a
thrashing to the Danes." "Well," says the other, "the Danes is much
better customers to me; but, since you walked so far, I won't refuse.
Hand that flail," says he to a young imp; and he winked the far-off eye
at the same time. So while some were barring the gates, the young devil
climbed up and took down the iron flail that had the handstaff and
booltheen both made out of red-hot iron. The little vagabond was
grinning to think how it would burn the hands off of Tom, but the
dickens a burn it made on him, no more nor if it was a good oak sapling.
"Thankee," says Tom; "now would you open the gate for a body and I'll
give you no more trouble." "Oh, tramp!" says Ould Nick, "is that the way?
It is easier getting inside them gates than getting out again. Take that
tool from him, and give him a dose of the oil of stirrup." So one fellow
put out his claws to seize on the flail, but Tom gave him such a welt of
it on the side of his head that he broke off one of his horns, and made
him roar like a divel as he was. Well, they rushed at Tom, but he gave
them, little and big, such a thrashing as they didn't forget for a
while. At last says the ould thief of all, rubbing his elbows, "Let the
fool out; and woe to whoever lets him in again, great or small."

So out marched Tom and away with him, without minding the shouting and
cursing they kept up at him from the tops of the walls. And when he got
home to the big bawn of the palace, there never was such running and
racing as to see himself and the flail. When he had his story told he
laid down the flail on the stone steps, and bid no one for their lives
to touch it. If the King and Queen and princess made much of him before
they made ten times as much of him now; but Redhead, the mean
scruff-hound, stole over, and thought to catch hold of the flail to make
an end of him. His fingers hardly touched it, when he let a roar out of
him as if heaven and earth were coming together, and kept flinging his
arms about and dancing that it was pitiful to look at him. Tom run at
him as soon as he could rise, caught his hands in his own two, and
rubbed them this way and that, and the burning pain left them before you
could reckon one. Well, the poor fellow, between the pain that was only
just gone, and the comfort he was in, had the comicalest face that ever
you see; it was such a mixerum-gatherum of laughing and crying. Everyone
burst out a laughing--the princess could not stop no more than the
rest--and then says Gilla, or Tom, "Now, ma'am, if there were fifty
halves of you I hope you'll give me them all." Well, the princess had no
mock modesty about her. She looked at her father, and, by my word, she
came over to Gilla and put her two delicate hands into his two rough
ones, and I wish it was myself was in his shoes that day!

Tom would not bring the flail into the palace. You may be sure no other
body went near it; and when the early risers were passing next morning
they found two long clefts in the stone where it was, after burning
itself an opening downwards, nobody could tell how far. But a messenger
came in at noon and said that the Danes were so frightened when they
heard of the flail coming into Dublin that they got into their ships and
sailed away.

Well, I suppose before they were married Gilla got some man like Pat
Mara of Tomenine to larn him the "principles of politeness," fluxions,
gunnery, and fortifications, decimal fractions, practice, and the
rule-of-three direct, the way he'd be able to keep up a conversation
with the royal family. Whether he ever lost his time larning them
sciences, I'm not sure, but it's as sure as fate that his mother never
more saw any want till the end of her days.

PATRICK KENNEDY.




The Hill-man and the House-wife


It is well known that the good people cannot stand mean ways. Now, there
once lived a house-wife who had a sharp eye to her own good in this
world, and gave alms of what she had no use, for the good of her soul.

One day a hill-man knocked at her door. "Can you lend us a saucepan,
good mother?" said he. "There's a wedding in the hill, and all the pots
are in use." "Is he to have one?" asked the servant girl who opened the
door. "Ay, to be sure," said the house-wife.

But when the maid was taking a saucepan from the shelf, she pinched her
arm and whispered sharply, "Not that, you stupid; get the old one out of
the cupboard. It leaks, and the hill-men are so neat and such nimble
workers that they are sure to mend it before they send it home. So one
does a good turn to the good people and saves sixpence from the tinker."

The maid fetched the saucepan, which had been laid by till the tinker's
next visit, and gave it to the dwarf, who thanked her and went away.

The saucepan was soon returned neatly mended and ready for use. At
supper time the maid filled the pan with milk and set it on the fire for
the children's supper, but in a few minutes the milk was so burnt and
smoked that no one could touch it, and even the pigs would not drink the
wash into which it was thrown.

"Ah, you good-for-nothing slut!" cried the house-wife, as she this time
filled the pan herself. "You would ruin the richest, with your careless
ways; there's a whole quart of good milk spoilt at once." "And that's
twopence," cried a voice from the chimney, a queer whining voice like
some old body who was always grumbling over something.

The house-wife had not left the saucepan for two minutes when the milk
boiled over, and it was all burnt and smoked as before. "The pan must be
dirty," cried the house-wife in a rage; "and there are two full quarts
of milk as good as thrown to the dogs." "_And that's fourpence_," said
the voice in the chimney.

After a long scrubbing the saucepan was once more filled and set on the
fire, but it was not the least use, the milk was burnt and smoked again,
and the house-wife burst into tears at the waste, crying out, "Never
before did such a thing happen to me since I kept house! Three quarts of
milk burnt for one meal!" "_And that's sixpence,_" cried the voice from
the chimney. "You didn't save the tinker after all," with which the
hill-man himself came tumbling down the chimney, and went off laughing
through the door. But from that time the saucepan was as good as any
other.

JULIANA HORATIA EWING.




The Giant Walker


  Now, all the night around their echoing camp
  Was heard continuous from the hills a sound as of the tramp
  Of giant footsteps; but, so thick the white mist lay around,
  None saw the Walker, save the King. He, starting at the sound,
  Called to his foot his fierce red hound; athwart his shoulders cast
  A shaggy mantle, grasped his spear, and through the moonlight passed
  Alone up dark Ben-Boli's heights, towards which, above the woods,
  With sound as when at close of eve the noise of falling floods
  Is borne to shepherd's ear remote on stilly upland lawn,
  The steps along the mountain-side with hollow fall came on.
  Fast beat the hero's heart; and close down-crouching by his knee
  Trembled the hound, while, through the haze, huge as through mists at
      sea,
  The week-long sleepless mariner descries some mountain cape,
  Wreck-infamous, rise on his lee, appeared a monstrous Shape,
  Striding impatient, like a man much grieved, who walks alone,
  Considering of a cruel wrong; down from his shoulders thrown
  A mantle, skirted stiff with soil splashed from the miry ground,
  At every stride against his calves struck with as loud rebound
  As makes the main-sail of a ship brought up along the blast,
  When with the coil of all its ropes it beats the sounding mast.
  So, striding vast, the giant passed; the King held fast his breath--
  Motionless, save his throbbing heart; and chill and still as death
  Stood listening while, a second time, the giant took the round
  Of all the camp; but, when at length, for the third time, the sound
  Came up, and through the parting haze a third time huge and dim
  Rose out the Shape, the valiant hound sprang forth and challenged him.
  And forth, disdaining that a dog should put him so to shame,
  Sprang Congal, and essayed to speak: "Dread Shadow, stand! Proclaim
  What wouldst thou that thou thus all night around my camp shouldst keep
  Thy troublous vigil banishing the wholesome gift of sleep
  From all our eyes, who, though inured to dreadful sounds and sights
  By land and sea, have never yet, in all our perilous nights,
  Lain in the ward of such a guard."
                                The Shape made answer none,
  But with stern wafture of its hand went angrier striding on,
  Shaking the earth with heavier steps. Then Congal on his track
  Sprang fearless.
    "Answer me, thou churl!" he cried, "I bid thee back!"
  But while he spoke, the giant's cloak around his shoulders grew
  Like to a black-bulged thunder-cloud, and sudden, out there flew
  From all its angry swelling folds, with uproar unconfined,
  Direct against the King's pursuit, a mighty blast of wind.
  Loud flapped the mantle, tempest-lined, while, fluttering down the gale,
  As leaves in autumn, man and hound were swept into the vale;
  And, heard o'er all the huge uproar, through startled Dalaray
  The giant went, with stamp and clash, departing south away.

SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON.




The Pursuit of the Gilla Dacker


Now, it chanced at one time during the chase, while they were hunting
over the plain of Cliach, that Finn went to rest on the hill of
Collkilla, which is now called Knockainy; and he had his hunting-tents
pitched on a level spot near the summit, and some of his chief heroes
tarried with him.

When the King and his companions had taken their places on the hill, the
Feni unleashed their gracefully shaped, sweet-voiced hounds through the
woods and sloping glens. And it was sweet music to Finn's ear, the cry
of the long-snouted dogs, as they routed the deer from their covers and
the badgers from their dens; the pleasant, emulating shouts of the
youths; the whistling and signalling of the huntsmen; and the
encouraging cheers of the mighty heroes, as they spread themselves
through the glens and woods, and over the broad green plain of Cliach.

Then did Finn ask who of all his companions would go to the highest
point of the hill directly over them to keep watch and ward and to
report how the chase went on. For, he said, the Dedannans were ever on
the watch to work the Feni mischief by their druidical spells, and more
so during the chase than at other times.

Finn Ban Mac Bresal stood forward and offered to go; and, grasping his
broad spears, he went to the top, and sat viewing the plain to the four
points of the sky. And the King and his companions brought forth the
chess-board and chess-men and sat them down to a game.

Finn Ban Mac Bresal had been watching only a little time when he saw on
a plain to the east a Fomor of vast size coming towards the hill,
leading a horse. As he came nearer Finn Ban observed that he was the
ugliest-looking giant his eyes ever lighted on. He had a large, thick
body, bloated and swollen out to a great size; clumsy, crooked legs; and
broad, flat feet turned inwards. His hands and arms and shoulders were
bony and thick and very strong-looking; his neck was long and thin; and
while his head was poked forward, his face was turned up, as he stared
straight at Finn Mac Bresal. He had thick lips, and long, crooked teeth;
and his face was covered all over with bushy hair.

He was fully armed; but all his weapons were rusty and soiled and
slovenly looking. A broad shield of a dirty, sooty colour, rough and
battered, hung over his back; he had a long, heavy, straight sword at
his left hip; and he held in his left hand two thick-handled,
broad-headed spears, old and rusty, and seeming as if they had not been
handled for years. In his right hand he held an iron club, which he
dragged after him with its end on the ground; and, as it trailed along,
it tore up a track as deep as the furrow a farmer ploughs with a team of
oxen.

The horse he led was even larger in proportion than the giant himself,
and quite as ugly. His great carcass was covered all over with tangled
scraggy hair, of a sooty black; you could count his ribs and all the
points of his big bones through his hide; his legs were crooked and
knotty; his neck was twisted; and as for his jaws, they were so long and
heavy that they made his head look twice too large for his body.

The giant held him by a thick halter, and seemed to be dragging him
forward by main force, the animal was so lazy and so hard to move. Every
now and then, when the beast tried to stand still, the giant would give
him a blow on the ribs with his big iron club, which sounded as loud as
the thundering of a great billow against the rough-headed rocks of the
coast. When he gave him a pull forward by the halter, the wonder was
that he did not drag the animal's head away from his body; and, on the
other hand, the horse often gave the halter such a tremendous tug
backwards that it was equally wonderful how the arm of the giant was not
torn away from his shoulder.

When at last he had come up he bowed his head and bended his knee, and
saluted the King with great respect.

Finn addressed him; and after having given him leave to speak he asked
him who he was, and what was his name, and whether he belonged to one of
the noble or ignoble races; also what was his profession or craft, and
why he had no servant to attend to his horse.

The big man made answer and said, "King of the Feni, whether I come of a
noble or of an ignoble race, that, indeed, I cannot tell, for I know not
who my father and mother were. As to where I came from, I am a Fomor of
Lochlann in the north; but I have no particular dwelling-place, for I am
continually travelling about from one country to another, serving the
great lords and nobles of the world, and receiving wages for my service.

"In the course of my wanderings I have often heard of you, O King, and
of your greatness and splendour and royal bounty; and I have come now to
ask you to take me into your service for one year; and at the end of
that time I shall fix my own wages, according to my custom.

"You ask me also why I have no servant for this great horse of mine. The
reason of that is this: at every meal I eat my master must give me as
much food and drink as would be enough for a hundred men; and whosoever
the lord or chief may be that takes me into his service, it is quite
enough for him to have to provide for me, without having also to feed my
servant.

"Moreover, I am so very heavy and lazy that I should never be able to
keep up with a company on march if I had to walk; and this is my reason
for keeping a horse at all.

"My name is the Gilla Dacker, and it is not without good reason that I
am so called. For there never was a lazier or worse servant than I am,
or one that grumbles more at doing a day's work for his master. And I am
the hardest person in the world to deal with; for, no matter how good or
noble I may think my master, or how kindly he may treat me, it is hard
words and foul reproaches I am likely to give him for thanks in the end.

"This, O Finn, is the account I have to give of myself, and these are my
answers to your questions."

"Well," answered Finn, "according to your own account you are not a very
pleasant fellow to have anything to do with; and of a truth there is not
much to praise in your appearance. But things may not be so bad as you
say; and, anyhow, as I have never yet refused any man service and wages,
I will not now refuse you."

Whereupon Finn and the Gilla Dacker made covenants, and the Gilla Dacker
was taken into service for a year.

"And now," said the Gilla Dacker, "as to this same horse of mine, I find
I must attend to him myself, as I see no one here worthy of putting a
hand near him. So I will lead him to the nearest stud, as I am wont to
do, and let him graze among your horses. I value him greatly, however,
and it would grieve me very much if any harm were to befall him; so,"
continued he, turning to the King, "I put him under your protection, O
King, and under the protection of all the Feni that are here present."

At this speech the Feni all burst out laughing to see the Gilla Dacker
showing such concern for his miserable, worthless old skeleton of a
horse.

Howbeit, the big man, giving not the least heed to their merriment, took
the halter off the horse's head and turned him loose among the horses of
the Feni.

But now, this same wretched-looking old animal, instead of beginning to
graze, as everyone thought he would, ran in among the horses of the
Feni, and began straightway to work all sorts of mischief. He cocked his
long, hard, switchy tail straight out like a rod, and, throwing up his
hind legs, he kicked about on this side and on that, maiming and
disabling several of the horses. Sometimes he went tearing through the
thickest of the herd, butting at them with his hard, bony forehead; and
he opened out his lips with a vicious grin and tore all he could lay
hold on with his sharp, crooked teeth, so that none were safe that came
in his way either before or behind.

At last he left them, and was making straight across to a small field
where Conan Mail's horses were grazing by themselves, intending to play
the same tricks among them. But Conan, seeing this, shouted in great
alarm to the Gilla Dacker to bring away his horse, and not let him work
any more mischief; and threatening, if he did not do so at once, to go
himself and knock the brains out of the vicious old brute on the spot.

But the Gilla Dacker told Conan that he saw no way of preventing his
horse from joining the others, except someone put the halter on him.
"And," said he to Conan, "there is the halter; and if you are in any
fear for your own animals, you may go yourself and bring him away from
the field."

Conan was in a mighty rage when he heard this; and as he saw the big
horse just about to cross the fence, he snatched up the halter, and,
running forward with long strides, he threw it over the animal's head
and thought to lead him back. But in a moment the horse stood stock
still, and his body and legs became as stiff as if they were made of
wood; and though Conan pulled and tugged with might and main, he was not
able to stir him an inch from his place.

At last Fergus Finnvel, the poet, spoke to Conan and said, "I never
would have believed, Conan Mail, that you could be brought to do
horse-service for any knight or noble in the whole world; but now,
indeed, I see that you have made yourself a horse-boy to an ugly foreign
giant, so hateful-looking and low-born that not a man of the Feni would
have anything to say to him. As you have, however, to mind this old
horse in order to save your own, would it not be better for you to mount
him and revenge yourself for all the trouble he is giving you, by riding
him across the country, over the hill-tops, and down into the deep glens
and valleys, and through stones and bogs and all sorts of rough places,
till you have broken the heart in his big ugly body?"

Conan, stung by the cutting words of the poet and by the jeers of his
companions, jumped upon the horse's back, and began to beat him mightily
with his heels and with his two big heavy fists to make him go; but the
horse seemed not to take the least notice, and never stirred.

"I know the reason he does not go," said Fergus Finnvel; "he has been
accustomed to carry a horseman far heavier than you--that is to say, the
Gilla Dacker; and he will not move till he has the same weight on his
back."

At this Conan Mail called out to his companions, and asked which of them
would mount with him and help to avenge the damage done to their horses.

"I will go," said Coil Croda the Battle Victor, son of Criffan; and up
he went. But the horse never moved.

Dara Donn Mac Morna next offered to go, and mounted behind the others;
and after him Angus Mac Art Mac Morna. And the end of it was that
fourteen men of the Clann Baskin and Clann Morna got up along with
Conan; and all began to thrash the horse together with might and main.
But they were none the better for it, for he remained standing stiff and
immovable as before. They found, moreover, that their seat was not at
all an easy one--the animal's back was so sharp and bony.

When the Gilla Dacker saw the Feni beating his horse at such a rate he
seemed very angry, and addressed the King in these words:

"King of the Feni, I now see plainly that all the fine accounts I heard
about you and the Feni are false, and I will not stay in your
service--no, not another hour. You can see for yourself the ill usage
these men are giving my horse without cause; and I leave you to judge
whether anyone could put up with it--anyone who had the least regard for
his horse. The time is, indeed, short since I entered your service, but
I now think it a great deal too long; so pay me my wages and let me go
my ways."

But Finn said, "I do not wish you to go; stay on till the end of your
year, and then I will pay you all I promised you."

"I swear," answered the Gilla Dacker, "that if this were the very last
day of my year, I would not wait till morning for my wages after this
insult. So, wages or no wages, I will now seek another master; but from
this time forth I shall know what to think of Finn Mac Cumal and his
Feni!"

With that the Gilla Dacker stood up as straight as a pillar, and,
turning his face towards the south-west, he walked slowly away.

When the horse saw his master leaving the hill he stirred himself at
once and walked quietly after him, bringing the fifteen men away on his
back. And when the Feni saw this they raised a loud shout of laughter,
mocking them.

The Gilla Dacker, after he had walked some little way, looked back, and,
seeing that his horse was following, he stood for a moment to tuck up
his skirts. Then, all at once changing his pace, he set out with long,
active strides; and if you know what the speed of a swallow is flying
across a mountain-side, or the dry fairy wind of a March day sweeping
over the plains, then you can understand the swiftness of the Gilla
Dacker as he ran down the hill-side towards the south-west.

Neither was the horse behindhand in the race; for though he carried a
heavy load, he galloped like the wind after his master, plunging and
bounding forward with as much freedom as if he had nothing at all on his
back.

The men now tried to throw themselves off; but this, indeed, they were
not able to do, for the good reason that they found themselves fastened
firmly, hands and feet and all, to the horse's back.

And now Conan, looking round, raised his big voice and shouted to Finn
and the Feni, asking them were they content to let their friends be
carried off in that manner by such a horrible, foul-looking old spectre
of a horse.

Finn and the others, hearing this, seized their arms and started off in
pursuit. Now, the way the Gilla Dacker and his horse took was first
through Fermore, which is at the present day called Hy Conall Gavra;
next over the wide, heathy summit of Slieve Lougher; from that to Corca
Divna; and they ran along by Slieve Mish till they reached Cloghan
Kincat, near the deep green sea.

And so the great horse continued his course without stop or stay,
bringing the sixteen Feni with him through the sea. Now, this is how
they fared in the sea while the horse was rushing farther and farther to
the west: they had always a dry, firm strand under them, for the waters
retired before the horse; while behind them was a wild, raging sea,
which followed close after and seemed ready every moment to topple over
their heads. But, though the billows were tumbling and roaring all
round, neither horse nor riders were wetted by as much as a drop of
brine or a dash of spray.

Then Finn spoke and asked the chiefs what they thought best to be done;
and they told him they would follow whatsoever counsel he and Fergus
Finnvel, the poet, gave them. Then Finn told Fergus to speak his mind;
and Fergus said:

"My counsel is that we go straightway to Ben Edar, where we shall find a
ship ready to sail. For our forefathers, when they wrested the land from
the gifted, bright-complexioned Dedannans, bound them by covenant to
maintain this ship for ever, fitted with all things needful for a
voyage, even to the smallest article, as one of the privileges of Ben
Edar; so that if at any time one of the noble sons of Gael Glas wished
to sail to distant lands from Erin, he should have a ship lying at hand
in the harbour ready to begin his voyage."

They agreed to this counsel, and turned their steps without delay
northwards towards Ben Edar. They had not gone far when they met two
noble-looking youths, fully armed, and wearing over their armour
beautiful mantles of scarlet silk, fastened by brooches of gold. The
strangers saluted the King with much respect; and the King saluted them
in return. Then, having given them leave to converse, he asked them who
they were, whither they had come, and who the prince or chief was that
they served. And the elder answered:

"My name is Feradach, and my brother's name is Foltlebar; and we are the
two sons of the King of Innia. Each of us professes an art; and it has
long been a point of dispute between us which art is the better, my
brother's or mine. Hearing that there is not in the world a wiser or
more far-seeing man than thou art, O King, we have come to ask thee to
take us into thy service among thy household troops for a year, and at
the end of that time to give judgment between us in this matter."

Finn asked them what were the two arts they professed.

"My art," answered Feradach, "is this. If at any time a company of
warriors need a ship, give me only my joiner's axe and my crann-tavall,
and I am able to provide a ship for them without delay. The only think I
ask them to do is this--to cover their heads close, and keep them
covered, while I give the crann-tavall three blows of my axe. Then I
tell them to uncover their heads; and lo, there lies the ship in harbour
ready to sail!"

Then Foltlebar spoke and said, "This, O King, is the art I profess. On
land I can track the wild duck over nine ridges and nine glens, and
follow her without being once thrown out till I drop upon her in her
nest. And I can follow up a track on sea quite as well as on land if I
have a good ship and crew."

Finn replied, "You are the very men I want; and I now take you both into
my service. At this moment I need a good ship and a skilful pilot more
than any two things in the whole world."

Whereupon Finn told them the whole story of the Gilla Dacker's doings
from beginning to end. "And we are now," said he, "on our way to Ben
Edar to seek a ship that we may follow this giant and his horse and
rescue our companions."

Then Feradach said, "I will get you a ship--a ship that will sail as
swiftly as a swallow can fly!"

And Foltlebar said, "I will guide your ship in the track of the Gilla
Dacker till ye lay hands on him, in whatsoever quarter of the world he
may have hidden himself!"

And so they turned back to Cloghan Kincat. And when they had come to the
beach Feradach told them to cover their heads, and they did so. Then he
struck three blows of his axe on the crann-tavall; after which he made
them look. And lo, they saw a ship fully fitted out with oars and sails
and with all things needed for a long voyage riding before them in the
harbour!

Then they went on board and launched their ship on the cold, bright sea;
and Foltlebar was their pilot and steersman. And they set their sail and
plied their slender oars, and the ship moved swiftly westward till they
lost sight of the shores of Erin; and they saw nothing all round them
but a wide girdle of sea. After some days' sailing a great storm came
from the west, and the black waves rose up against them so that they had
much ado to keep their vessel from sinking. But through all the roaring
of the tempest, through the rain and blinding spray, Foltlebar never
stirred from the helm or changed his course, but still kept close on the
track of the Gilla Dacker.

At length the storm abated and the sea grew calm. And when the darkness
had cleared away they saw to the west, a little way off, a vast rocky
cliff towering over their heads to such a height that its head seemed
hidden among the clouds. It rose up sheer from the very water, and
looked at that distance as smooth as glass, so that at first sight
there seemed no way to reach the top.

Foltlebar, after examining to the four points of the sky, found the
track of the Gilla Dacker as far as the cliff, but no farther. And he
accordingly told the heroes that he thought it was on the top of that
rock the giant lived; and that, anyhow, the horse must have made his way
up the face of the cliff with their companions.

When the heroes heard this they were greatly cast down and puzzled what
to do; for they saw no way of reaching the top of the rock; and they
feared they should have to give up the quest and return without their
companions. And they sat down and looked up at the cliff with sorrow and
vexation in their hearts.

Fergus Finnvel, the poet, then challenged the hero Dermat O'Dyna to
climb the rock in pursuit of the Gilla Dacker, and he did so, and on
reaching the summit found himself in a beautiful fairy plain. He fared
across it and came to a great tree laden with fruit beside a well as
clear as crystal. Hard by, on the brink of the well, stood a tall pillar
stone, and on its top lay a golden-chased drinking horn. He filled the
horn from the well and drank, but had scarcely taken it from his lips
when he saw a fully armed wizard champion advancing to meet him with
looks and gestures of angry menace. The wizard upbraided him for
entering his territory without leave and for drinking out of his well
from his drinking horn, and thereupon challenged him to fight. For four
days long they fought, the wizard escaping from Dermat every even-fall
by leaping into the well and disappearing down through it. But on the
fourth evening Dermat closed with the wizard when about to spring into
the water, and fell with him into the well.

On reaching the bottom the wizard wrested himself away and started
running, and Dermat found himself in a strangely beautiful country with
a royal palace hard by, in front of which armed knights were engaged in
warlike exercises. Through them the wizard ran, but, when Dermat
attempted to follow, his way was barred by their threatening weapons.
Nothing daunted, he fell upon them in all his battle fury, and routed
them so entirely that they fled and shut themselves up in the castle or
took refuge in distant woods.

Overcome with his battle toil (and smarting all over with wounds) Dermat
fell into a dead sleep, from which he was wakened by a friendly blow
from the flat of a sword held by a young, golden-haired hero, who proved
to be the brother of the Knight of Valour, King of that country of
Tir-fa-tonn, whom in the guise of the Knight of the Fountain, Dermat had
fought and chased away.

A part of the kingdom belonging to him had been seized by his wizard
brother, and he now seeks and obtains Dermat's aid to win it back for
him.

When Dermat at last meets Finn and the other Feni who had gone in
pursuit of him into the Kingdom of Sorca, at the summit of the great
rock, he is able to relate how he headed the men of the Knight of Valour
against the Wizard King, and slew him and defeated his army.

"And now," continued he, bringing forth the Knight of Valour from among
the strange host, "this is he who was formerly called the Knight of
Valour, but who is now the King of Tir-fa-tonn. Moreover, this King has
told me, having himself found it out by his druidical art, that it was
Avarta the Dedannan (the son of Illahan of the Many-coloured Raiment)
who took the form of the Gilla Dacker, and who brought the sixteen Feni
away to the Land of Promise, where he now holds them in bondage."

Then Foltlebar at once found the tracks of the Gilla Dacker and his
horse. He traced them from the very edge of the rock across the plain to
the sea at the other side; and they brought round their ship and began
their voyage. But this time Foltlebar found it very hard to keep on the
track; for the Gilla Dacker, knowing that there were not in the world
men more skilled in following up a quest than the Feni, took great pains
to hide all traces of the flight of himself and his horse; so that
Foltlebar was often thrown out; but he always recovered the track after
a little time.

And so they sailed from island to island and from bay to bay, over many
seas and by many shores, ever following the track, till at length they
arrived at the Land of Promise. And when they had made the land, and
knew for a certainty that this was indeed the Land of Promise, they
rejoiced greatly; for in this land Dermat O'Dyna had been nurtured by
Mannanan Mac Lir of the Yellow Hair.

Then they held council as to what was best to be done; and Finn's advice
was that they should burn and spoil the country in revenge of the
outrage that had been done to his people. Dermat, however, would not
hear of this. And he said:

"Not so, O King. The people of this land are of all men the most skilled
in druidic art; and it is not well that they should be at feud with us.
Let us rather send to Avarta a trusty herald to demand that he should
set our companions at liberty. If he does so, then we shall be at peace;
if he refuse, then shall we proclaim war against him and his people, and
waste this land with fire and sword till he be forced, even by his own
people, to give us back our friends."

This advice was approved by all. And then Finn said:

"But how shall heralds reach the dwelling of this enchanter; for the
ways are not open and straight, as in other lands, but crooked and made
for concealment, and the valleys and plains are dim and shadowy and hard
to be traversed?"

But Foltlebar, nothing daunted by the dangers and the obscurity of the
way, offered to go with a single trusty companion; and they took up the
track and followed it without being once thrown out, till they reached
the mansion of Avarta. There they found their friends amusing themselves
on the green outside the palace walls; for, though kept captive in the
island, yet were they in no wise restrained, but were treated by Avarta
with much kindness. When they saw the heralds coming towards them their
joy knew no bounds; they crowded round to embrace them, and asked them
many questions regarding their home and their friends.

At last Avarta himself came forth and asked who these strangers were;
and Foltlebar replied:

"We are of the people of Finn Mac Cumal, who has sent us as heralds to
thee. He and his heroes have landed on this island guided hither by me;
and he bade us tell thee that he has come to wage war and to waste this
land with fire and sword as a punishment for that thou hast brought away
his people by foul spells, and even now keepest them in bondage."

When Avarta heard this he made no reply, but called a council of his
chief men to consider whether they should send back to Finn an answer of
war or of peace. And they, having much fear of the Feni, were minded to
restore Finn's people and to give him his own award in satisfaction for
the injury done to him; and to invite Finn himself and those who had
come with him to a feast of joy and friendship in the house of Avarta.

Avarta himself went with Foltlebar to give this message. And after he
and Finn had exchanged friendly greetings, he told them what the council
had resolved; and Finn and Dermat and the others were glad at heart. And
Finn and Avarta put hand in hand and made a league of friendship.

So they went with Avarta to his house, where they found their lost
friends; and, being full of gladness, they saluted and embraced each
other. Then a feast was prepared; and they were feasted for three days,
and they ate and drank and made merry.

On the fourth day a meeting was called on the green to hear the award.
Now, it was resolved to make amends on the one hand to Finn, as King of
the Feni, and on the other to those who had been brought away by the
Gilla Dacker. And when all were gathered together Finn was first asked
to name his award; and this is what he said:

"I shall not name an award, O Avarta; neither shall I accept an eric
from thee. But the wages I promised thee when we made our covenant at
Knockainy, that I will give thee. For I am thankful for the welcome thou
hast given us here; and I wish that there should be peace and friendship
between us for ever."

But Conan, on his part, was not so easily satisfied; and he said to
Finn:

"Little hast thou endured, O Finn, in this matter; and thou mayst well
waive thy award. But hadst thou, like us, suffered from the sharp bones
and the rough carcass of the Gilla Dacker's monstrous horse in a long
journey from Erin to the Land of Promise, across wide seas, through
tangled woods, and over rough-headed rocks, thou wouldst then, methinks,
name an award."

At this, Avarta and the others who had seen Conan and his companions
carried off on the back of the big horse could scarce keep from
laughing; and Avarta said to Conan:

"Name thy award, and I will fulfil it every jot; for I have heard of
thee, Conan, and I dread to bring the gibes and taunts of thy foul
tongue on myself and my people."

"Well, then," said Conan, "my award is this: that you choose fifteen of
the best and noblest men in the Land of Promise, among whom are to be
your own best beloved friends; and that you cause them to mount on the
back of the big horse, and that you yourself take hold of his tail. In
this manner you shall fare to Erin, back again by the self-same track
the horse took when he brought us hither--through the same surging seas,
through the same thick thorny woods, and over the same islands and
rough rocks and dark glens. And this, Avarta, is my award," said Conan.

Now, Finn and his people were rejoiced exceedingly when they heard
Conan's award--that he asked from Avarta nothing more than like for
like. For they feared much that he might claim treasure of gold and
silver, and thus bring reproach on the Feni.

Avarta promised that everything required by Conan should be done,
binding himself in solemn pledges. Then the heroes took their leave; and
having launched their ship on the broad, green sea, they sailed back by
the same course to Erin. And they marched to their camping-place at
Knockainy, where they rested in their tents.

Avarta then chose his men. And he placed them on the horse's back, and
he himself caught hold of the tail; and it is not told how they fared
till they made harbour and landing-place at Cloghan Kincat. They delayed
not, but straightway journeyed over the self-same track as before till
they reached Knockainy.

Finn and his people saw them afar off coming towards the hill with great
speed; the Gilla Dacker, quite as large and as ugly as ever, running
before the horse; for he had let go the tail at Cloghan Kincat. And the
Feni could not help laughing heartily when they saw the plight of the
fifteen chiefs on the great horse's back; and they said with one voice
that Conan had made a good award that time.

When the horse reached the spot from which he had at first set out the
men began to dismount. Then the Gilla Dacker, suddenly stepping forward,
held up his arm and pointed earnestly over the heads of the Feni
towards the field where the horses were standing; so that the heroes
were startled, and turned round every man to look. But nothing was to be
seen except the horses grazing quietly inside the fence.

Finn and the others now turned round again with intent to speak to the
Gilla Dacker and bring him and his people into the tents; but much did
they marvel to find them all gone. The Gilla Dacker and his great horse
and fifteen nobles of the Land of Promise had disappeared in an instant;
and neither Finn himself nor any of his chiefs ever saw them afterwards.

PATRICK WESTON JOYCE.




Jamie Freel and the Young Lady

(_Ulster Irish._)


Down in Fannet, in times gone by, lived Jamie Freel and his mother.
Jamie was the widow's sole support; his strong arm worked for her
untiringly, and as each Saturday night came round he poured his wages
into her lap, thanking her dutifully for the halfpence which she
returned him for tobacco.

He was extolled by his neighbours as the best son ever known or heard
of. But he had neighbours of whose opinions he was ignorant--neighbours
who lived pretty close to him, whom he had never seen, who are, indeed,
rarely seen by mortals, except on May Eves or Halloweens.

An old ruined castle, about a quarter of a mile from his cabin, was said
to be the abode of the "wee folk." Every Halloween were the ancient
windows lighted up, and passersby saw little figures flitting to and
fro inside the building, while they heard the music of flutes and pipes.

It was well known that fairy revels took place; but nobody had the
courage to intrude on them.

Jamie had often watched the little figures from a distance, and listened
to the charming music, wondering what the inside of the castle was like;
but one Halloween he got up, and took his cap, saying to his mother,
"I'm awa to the castle to seek my fortune."

"What!" cried she. "Would you venture there--you that's the widow's only
son? Dinna be sae venturesome and foolitch, Jamie! They'll kill you, an'
then what'll come o' me?"

"Never fear, mother; nae harm'll happen me, but I maun gae."

He set out, and, as he crossed the potato field, came in sight of the
castle, whose windows were ablaze with light that seemed to turn the
russet leaves, still clinging to the crab-tree branches, into gold.

Halting in the grove at one side of the ruin, he listened to the elfin
revelry, and the laughter and singing made him all the more determined
to proceed.

Numbers of little people, the largest about the size of a child of five
years old, were dancing to the music of flutes and fiddles, while others
drank and feasted.

"Welcome, Jamie Freel! Welcome, welcome, Jamie!" cried the company,
perceiving their visitor. The word "Welcome" was caught up and repeated
by every voice in the castle.

Time flew, and Jamie was enjoying himself very much, when his hosts
said, "We're going to ride to Dublin to-night to steal a young lady.
Will you come, too, Jamie Freel?"

"Ay, that I will," cried the rash youth, thirsting for adventure.

A troop of horses stood at the door. Jamie mounted, and his steed rose
with him into the air. He was presently flying over his mother's
cottage, surrounded by the elfin troop, and on and on they went, over
bold mountains, over little hills, over the deep Lough Swilley, over
towns and cottages, where people were burning nuts and eating apples and
keeping merry Halloween. It seemed to Jamie that they flew all round
Ireland before they got to Dublin.

"This is Derry," said the fairies, flying over the cathedral spire; and
what was said by one voice was repeated by all the rest, till fifty
little voices were crying out, "Derry! Derry! Derry!"

In like manner was Jamie informed as they passed over each town on the
route, and at length he heard the silvery voices cry, "Dublin! Dublin!"

It was no mean dwelling that was to be honoured by the fairy visit, but
one of the finest houses in Stephen's Green.

The troop dismounted near a window, and Jamie saw a beautiful face on a
pillow in a splendid bed. He saw the young lady lifted and carried away,
while the stick which was dropped in her place on the bed took her exact
form.

The lady was placed before one rider and carried a short way, then given
another, and the names of the towns were cried as before.

They were approaching home. Jamie heard "Rathmullan," "Milford,"
"Tamney," and then he knew they were near his own house.

"You've all had your turn at carrying the young lady," said he. "Why
wouldn't I get her for a wee piece?"

"Ay, Jamie," replied they pleasantly, "you may take your turn at
carrying her, to be sure."

Holding his prize very tightly he dropped down near his mother's door.

"Jamie Freel! Jamie Freel! is that the way you treat us?" cried they,
and they, too, dropped down near the door.

Jamie held fast, though he knew not what he was holding, for the little
folk turned the lady into all sorts of strange shapes. At one moment she
was a black dog, barking and trying to bite; at another a glowing bar of
iron, which yet had no heat; then again a sack of wool.

But still Jamie held her, and the baffled elves were turning away when a
tiny woman, the smallest of the party, exclaimed, "Jamie Freel has her
awa frae us, but he sall nae hae gude of her, for I'll mak' her deaf and
dumb," and she threw something over the young girl.

While they rode off, disappointed, Jamie Freel lifted the latch and went
in.

"Jamie man!" cried his mother, "you've been awa all night. What have
they done on you?"

"Naething bad, mother; I hae the very best o' gude luck. Here's a
beautiful young lady I hae brought you for company."

"Bless us and save us!" exclaimed his mother; and for some minutes she
was so astonished she could not think of anything else to say.

Jamie told the story of the night's adventure, ending by saying, "Surely
you wouldna have allowed me to let her gang with them to be lost for
ever?"

"But a _lady_, Jamie! How can a lady eat we'er (our) poor diet and live
in we'er poor way? I ax you that, you foolitch fellow!"

"Well, mother, sure it's better for her to be over here nor yonder," and
he pointed in the direction of the castle.

Meanwhile the deaf and dumb girl shivered in her light clothing,
stepping close to the humble turf fire.

"Poor crathur, she's quare and handsome! Nae wonder they set their
hearts on her," said the old woman, gazing at their guest with pity and
admiration. "We maun dress her first; but what in the name o' fortune
hae I fit for the likes of her to wear?"

She went to her press in "the room" and took out her Sunday gown of
brown drugget. She then opened a drawer and drew forth a pair of white
stockings, a long snowy garment of fine linen, and a cap, her "dead
dress," as she called it.

These articles of attire had long been ready for a certain triste
ceremony, in which she would some day fill the chief part, and only saw
the light occasionally when they were hung out to air; but she was
willing to give even these to the fair trembling visitor, who was
turning in dumb sorrow and wonder from her to Jamie, and from Jamie back
to her.

The poor girl suffered herself to be dressed, and then sat down on a
"creepie" in the chimney corner and buried her face in her hands.

"What'll we do to keep up a lady like thou?" cried the old woman.

"I'll work for you both, mother," replied the son.

"An' how could a lady live on we'er poor diet?" she repeated.

"I'll work for her," was all Jamie's answer.

He kept his word. The young lady was very sad for a long time, and tears
stole down her cheeks many an evening, while the old woman span by the
fire and Jamie made salmon nets, an accomplishment acquired by him in
hopes of adding to the comfort of their guest.

But she was always gentle, and tried to smile when she perceived them
looking at her; and by degrees she adapted herself to their ways and
mode of life. It was not very long before she began to feed the pig,
mash potatoes and meal for the fowls, and knit blue worsted socks.

So a year passed and Halloween came round again. "Mother," said Jamie,
taking down his cap, "I'm off to the ould castle to seek my fortune."

"Are you mad, Jamie?" cried his mother in terror; "sure they'll kill you
this time for what you done on them last year."

Jamie made light of her fears and went his way.

As he reached the crab-tree grove he saw bright lights in the castle
windows as before, and heard loud talking. Creeping under the window he
heard the wee folk say, "That was a poor trick Jamie Freel played us
this night last year, when he stole the young lady from us."

"Ay," said the tiny woman, "an' I punished him for it, for there she
sits a dumb image by the hearth, but he does na' know that three drops
out o' this glass that I hold in my hand wad gie her her hearing and
speech back again."

Jamie's heart beat fast as he entered the hall. Again he was greeted by
a chorus of welcomes from the company--"Here comes Jamie Freel! Welcome,
welcome, Jamie!"

As soon as the tumult subsided the little woman said, "You be to drink
our health, Jamie, out o' this glass in my hand."

Jamie snatched the glass from her and darted to the door. He never knew
how he reached his cabin, but he arrived there breathless and sank on a
stove by the fire.

"You're kilt, surely, this time, my poor boy," said his mother.

"No, indeed, better luck than ever this time!" and he gave the lady
three drops of the liquid that still remained at the bottom of the
glass, notwithstanding his mad race over the potato field.

The lady began to speak, and her first words were words of thanks to
Jamie.

The three inmates of the cabin had so much to say to one another that,
long after cock-crow, when the fairy music had quite ceased, they were
talking round the fire.

"Jamie," said the lady, "be pleased to get me paper and pen and ink
that I may write to my father and tell him what has become of me."

She wrote, but weeks passed and she received no answer. Again and again
she wrote, and still no answer.

At length she said, "You must come with me to Dublin, Jamie, to find my
father."

"I hae no money to hire a car for you," he answered; "an' how can you
travel to Dublin on your foot?"

But she implored him so much that he consented to set out with her and
walk all the way from Fannet to Dublin. It was not as easy as the fairy
journey; but at last they rang the bell at the door of the house in
Stephen's Green.

"Tell my father that his daughter is here," said she to the servant who
opened the door.

"The gentleman that lives here has no daughter, my girl. He had one, but
she died better nor a year ago."

"Do you not know me, Sullivan?"

"No, poor girl, I do not."

"Let me see the gentleman. I only ask to see him."

"Well, that's not much to ax. We'll see what can be done."

In a few moments the lady's father came to the door.

"How dare you call me your father?" cried the old gentleman angrily.
"You are an impostor. I have no daughter."

"Look in my face, father, and surely you'll remember me."

"My daughter is dead and buried. She died a long, long time ago." The
old gentleman's voice changed from anger to sorrow. "You can go," he
concluded.

"Stop, dear father, till you look at this ring on my finger. Look at
your name and mine engraved on it."

"It certainly is my daughter's ring, but I do not know how you came by
it. I fear in no honest way."

"Call my mother--_she_ will be sure to know me," said the poor girl, who
by this time was weeping bitterly.

"My poor wife is beginning to forget her sorrow. She seldom speaks of
her daughter now. Why should I renew her grief by reminding her of her
loss?"

But the young lady persevered till at last the mother was sent for.

"Mother," she began, when the old lady came to the door, "don't _you_
know your daughter?"

"I have no daughter. My daughter died, and was buried a long, long time
ago."

"Only look in my face and surely you'll know me."

The old lady shook her head.

"You have all forgotten me; but look at this mole on my neck. Surely,
mother, you know me now?"

"Yes, yes," said her mother, "my Gracie had a mole on her neck like
that; but then I saw her in the coffin, and saw the lid shut down upon
her."

It became Jamie's turn to speak, and he gave the history of the fairy
journey, of the theft of the young lady, of the figure he had seen laid
in its place, of her life with his mother in Fannet, of last Halloween,
and of the three drops that had released her from her enchantments.

She took up the story when he paused and told how kind the mother and
son had been to her.

The parents could not make enough of Jamie. They treated him with every
distinction, and when he expressed his wish to return to Fannet, said
they did not know what to do to express their gratitude.

But an awkward complication arose. The daughter would not let him go
without her. "If Jamie goes, I'll go, too," she said. "He saved me from
the fairies, and has worked for me ever since. If it had not been for
him, dear father and mother, you would never have seen me again. If he
goes, I'll go, too."

This being her resolution, the old gentleman said that Jamie should
become his son-in-law. The mother was brought from Fannet in a
coach-and-four, and there was a splendid wedding.

They all lived together in the grand Dublin house, and Jamie was heir to
untold wealth at his father-in-law's death.

LETITIA MACLINTOCK.




A Legend of Knockmany


It so happened that Finn and his gigantic relatives were all working at
the Giant's Causeway in order to make a bridge, or, what was still
better, a good stout pad-road across to Scotland, when Finn, who was
very fond of his wife, Oonagh, took it into his head that he would go
home and see how the poor woman got on in his absence. So accordingly he
pulled up a fir-tree, and after lopping off the roots and branches, made
a walking-stick of it and set out on his way to Oonagh.

Finn lived at this time on Knockmany Hill, which faces Cullamore, that
rises up, half hill, half mountain, on the opposite side.

The truth is that honest Finn's affection for his wife was by no manner
of means the whole cause of his journey home. There was at that time
another giant, named Far Rua--some say he was Irish and some say he was
Scotch--but whether Scotch or Irish, sorrow doubt of it but he was a
_targer_. No other giant of the day could stand before him; and such
was his strength that, when well vexed, he could give a stamp that shook
the country about him. The fame and name of him went far and near, and
nothing in the shape of a man, it was said, had any chance with him in a
fight. Whether the story is true or not I cannot say, but the report
went that by one blow of his fist he flattened a thunderbolt, and kept
it in his pocket in the shape of a pancake to show to all his enemies
when they were about to fight him. Undoubtedly he had given every giant
in Ireland a considerable beating, barring Finn M'Coul himself; and he
swore that he would never rest night or day, winter or summer, till he
could serve Finn with the same sauce, if he could catch him. Finn,
however, had a strong disinclination to meet a giant who could make a
young earthquake or flatten a thunderbolt when he was angry, so
accordingly he kept dodging about from place to place--not much to his
credit as a Trojan, to be sure--whenever he happened to get the hard
word that Far Rua was on the scent of him. And the long and the short of
it was that he heard Far Rua was coming to the Causeway to have a trial
of strength with him; and he was, naturally enough, seized in
consequence with a very warm and sudden fit of affection for his wife,
who was delicate in her health, poor woman, and leading, besides, a very
lonely, uncomfortable life of it in his absence.

"God save all here," said Finn good-humouredly, putting his honest face
into his own door.

"Musha, Finn, avick, an' you're welcome to your own Oonagh, you darlin'
bully." Here followed a smack that it is said to have made the waters of
the lake curl, as it were, with kindness and sympathy.

"Faith," said Finn, "beautiful; and how are you, Oonagh--and how did
you sport your figure during my absence, my bilberry?"

"Never a merrier--as bouncing a grass widow as ever there was in sweet
'Tyrone among the bushes.'"

Finn gave a short, good-humoured cough, and laughed most heartily to
show her how much he was delighted that she made herself happy in his
absence.

"An' what brought you home so soon, Finn?" said she.

"Why, avourneen," said Finn, putting in his answer in the proper way,
"never the thing but the purest of love and affection for yourself.
Sure, you know that's truth, anyhow, Oonagh."

Finn spent two or three happy days with Oonagh, and felt himself very
comfortable considering the dread he had of Far Rua. This, however, grew
upon him so much that his wife could not but perceive something lay on
his mind which he kept altogether to himself. Let a woman alone in the
meantime for ferreting or wheedling a secret out of her good man when
she wishes. Finn was a proof of this.

"It's this Far Rua," said he, "that's troublin' me. When the fellow gets
angry and begins to stamp he'll shake you a whole townland, and it's
well known that he can stop a thunderbolt, for he always carries one
about with him in the shape of a pancake to show to anyone that might
misdoubt it."

As he spoke he clapped his thumb in his mouth, as he always did when he
wanted to prophesy or to know anything.

"He's coming," said Finn; "I see him below at Dungannon."

"An' who is it, avick?"

"Far Rua," replied Finn, "and how to manage I don't know. If I run away
I am disgraced, and I know that sooner or later I must meet him, for my
thumb tells me so."

"When will he be here?" says she.

"To-morrow, about two o'clock," replied Finn with a groan.

"Don't be cast down," said Oonagh; "depend on me, and, maybe, I'll bring
you out of this scrape better than ever you could bring yourself."

This quieted Finn's heart very much, for he knew that Oonagh was
hand-and-glove with the fairies; and, indeed, to tell the truth, she was
supposed to be a fairy herself. If she was, however, she must have been
a kind-hearted one, for by all accounts she never did anything but good
in the neighbourhood.

Now, it so happened that Oonagh had a sister named Granua living
opposite to them, on the very top of Cullamore, which I have mentioned
already, and this Granua was quite as powerful as herself. The beautiful
valley that lies between the Granlisses is not more than three or four
miles broad, so that of a summer evening Granua and Oonagh were able to
hold many an agreeable conversation across it, from one hill-top to the
other. Upon this occasion Oonagh resolved to consult her sister as to
what was best to be done in the difficulty that surrounded them.

"Granua," said she, "are you at home?"

"No," said the other, "I'm picking bilberries at Althadhawan" (the
Devil's Glen).

"Well," said Oonagh, "go up to the top of Cullamore, look about you, and
then tell us what you see."

"Very well," replied Granua, after a few minutes; "I am there now."

"What do you see?" asked the other.

"Goodness be about us!" exclaimed Granua, "I see the biggest giant that
ever was known coming up from Dungannon."

"Ay," said Oonagh, "there's our difficulty. That's Far Rua, and he's
comin' up now to leather Finn. What's to be done?"

"I'll call to him," she replied, "to come up to Cullamore and refresh
himself, and maybe that will give you and Finn time to think of some
plan to get yourselves out of the scrape. But," she proceeded, "I'm
short of butter, having in the house only half a dozen firkins, and as
I'm to have a few giants and giantesses to spend the evenin' with me I'd
feel thankful, Oonagh, if you'd throw me up fifteen or sixteen tubs, or
the largest miscaun you've got, and you'll oblige me very much."

"I'll do that with a heart and a half," replied Oonagh; "and, indeed,
Granua, I feel myself under great obligations to you for your kindness
in keeping him off us till we see what can be done; for what would
become of us all if anything happened to Finn, poor man!"

She accordingly got the largest miscaun of butter she had--which might
be about the weight of a couple of dozen millstones, so that you can
easily judge of its size--and calling up her sister, "Granua," says she,
"are you ready? I'm going to throw you up a miscaun, so be prepared to
catch it."

"I will," said the other. "A good throw, now, and take care it does not
fall short."

Oonagh threw it, but in consequence of her anxiety about Finn and Far
Rua she forgot to say the charm that was to send it up, so that instead
of reaching Cullamore, as she expected, it fell about half-way between
the two hills at the edge of the Broad Bog, near Augher.

"My curse upon you!" she exclaimed, "you've disgraced me. I now change
you into a grey stone. Lie there as a testimony of what has happened,
and may evil betide the first living man that will ever attempt to move
or injure you!"

And, sure enough, there it lies to this day, with the mark of the four
fingers and thumb imprinted on it, exactly as it came out of her hand.

"Never mind," said Granua, "I must only do the best I can with Far Rua.
If all fail, I'll give him a cast of heather broth, or a panada of oak
bark. But, above all things, think of some plan to get Finn out of the
scrape he's in, or he's a lost man. You know you used to be sharp and
ready-witted; and my own opinion is, Oonagh, that it will go hard with
you, or you'll outdo Far Rua yet."

She then made a high smoke on the top of the hill, after which she put
her finger in her mouth and gave three whistles, and by that Far Rua
knew that he was invited to the top of Cullamore--for this was the way
that the Irish long ago gave a sign to all strangers and travellers to
let them know they are welcome to come and take share of whatever was
going.

In the meantime Finn was very melancholy, and did not know what to do,
or how to act at all. Far Rua was an ugly customer, no doubt, to meet
with; and, moreover, the idea of the confounded "cake" aforesaid
flattened the very heart within him. What chance could he have, strong
and brave as he was, with a man who could, when put in a passion, walk
the country into earthquakes and knock thunderbolts into pancakes? The
thing was impossible, and Finn knew not on what hand to turn him. Right
or left, backward or forward, where to go he could form no guess
whatever.

"Oonagh," said he, "can you do anything for me? Where's all your
invention? Am I to be skivered like a rabbit before your eyes and to
have my name disgraced for ever in the sight of all my tribe, and me the
best man among them? How am I to fight this man-mountain--this huge
cross between an earthquake and a thunderbolt--with a pancake in his
pocket that was once----?"

"Be aisy, Finn," replied Oonagh. "Troth, I'm ashamed of you. Keep your
toe in your pump, will you? Talking of pancakes, maybe we'll give him as
good as any he brings with him--thunderbolts or otherwise. If I don't
treat him to as smart feeding as he's got this many a day, don't trust
Oonagh again. Leave him to me, and do just as I bid you."

This relieved Finn very much, for, after all, he had great confidence in
his wife, knowing, as he did, that she had got him out of many a
quandary before. The present, however, was the greatest of all; but,
still, he began to get courage and to eat his victuals as usual. Oonagh
then drew the nine woollen threads of different colours, which she
always did to find out the best way of succeeding in anything of
importance she went about. She then plaited them into three plaits, with
three colours in each, putting one on her right arm, one round her
heart, and the third round her right ankle, for then she knew that
nothing could fail her that she undertook.

Having everything now prepared, she sent round to the neighbours and
borrowed one-and-twenty iron griddles, which she took and kneaded into
the hearts of one-and-twenty cakes of bread, and these she baked on the
fire in the usual way, setting them aside in the cupboard according as
they were done. She then put down a large pot of new milk, which she
made into curds and whey, and gave Finn due instructions how to use the
curds when Far Rua should come. Having done all this, she sat down quite
contented waiting for his arrival on the next day about two o'clock,
that being the hour at which he was expected--for Finn knew as much by
the sucking of his thumb. Now, this was a curious property that Finn's
thumb had; but notwithstanding all the wisdom and logic he used to suck
out of it, it could never have stood to him here were it not for the wit
of his wife. In this very thing, moreover, he was very much resembled by
his great foe, Far Rua; for it was well known that the huge strength
that he possessed all lay in the middle finger of his right hand, and
that if he happened by any chance to lose it, he was no more,
notwithstanding his bulk, than a common man.

At length the next day he was seen coming across the valley, and Oonagh
knew that it was time to commence operations. She immediately made the
cradle, and desired Finn to lie down in it and cover himself up with the
clothes.

"You must pass for your own child," said she, "so just lie there snug
and say nothing, but be guided by me." This, to be sure, was wormwood to
Finn--I mean going into the cradle in such a cowardly manner--but he
knew Oonagh very well; and finding that he had nothing else for it, with
a very rueful face he gathered himself into it and lay snug, as she had
desired him.

About two o'clock, as he had been expected, Far Rua came in. "God save
all here!" said he. "Is this where the great Finn M'Coul lives?"

"Indeed it is, honest man," replied Oonagh. "God save you kindly--won't
you be sitting?"

"Thank you, ma'am," says he, sitting down. "You're Mrs. M'Coul, I
suppose?"

"I am," says she, "and I have no reason, I hope, to be ashamed of my
husband."

"No," said the other; "he has the name of being the strongest and
bravest man in Ireland. But, for all that, there's a man not far from
you that's very anxious of taking a shake with him. Is he at home?"

"Why, no, then," she replied; "and if ever a man left in a fury he did.
It appears that someone told him of a big bosthoon of a giant called Far
Rua being down at the Causeway to look for him, and so he set out there
to try if he could catch him. Troth, I hope, for the poor giant's sake,
he won't meet with him, for if he does Finn will make paste of him at
once."

"Well," said the other, "I am Far Rua, and I have been seeking him these
twelve minths, but he always kept clear of me; and I will never rest day
or night till I lay my hands on him."

At this Oonagh set up a loud laugh of great contempt, by the way, and
looked at him as if he were only a mere handful of a man.

"Did you ever see Finn?" said she, changing her manner all at once.

"How could I?" said he. "He always took care to keep his distance."

"I thought so," she replied. "I judged as much; and if you take my
advice, you poor-looking creature, you'll pray night and day that you
may never see him, for I tell you it will be a black day for you when
you do. But, in the meantime, you perceive that the wind's on the door,
and as Finn himself is far from home, maybe you'd be civil enough to
turn the house, for it's always what Finn does when he's here."

This was a startler, even to Far Rua; but he got up, however, and after
pulling the middle finger of his right hand until it cracked three
times, he went outside, and getting his arms about the house, completely
turned it as she had wished. When Finn saw this he felt a certain
description of moisture, which shall be nameless, oozing out through
every pore of his skin; but Oonagh, depending upon her woman's wit, felt
not a whit daunted.

"Arrah, then," said she, "as you're so civil, maybe you'd do another
obliging turn for us, as Finn's not here to do it himself. You see,
after this long stretch of dry weather that we've had, we feel very
badly off for want of water. Now, Finn says there's a fine spring well
somewhere under the rocks behind the hill there below, and it was his
intention to pull them asunder; but having heard of you he left the
place in such a fury that he never thought of it. Now, if you try to
find it, troth, I'd feel it a kindness."

She then brought Far Rua down to see the place, which was then all one
solid rock; and after looking at it for some time, he cracked his right
middle finger nine times, and, stooping down, tore a cleft about four
hundred feet deep and a quarter of a mile in length, which has since
been christened by the name of Lumford's Glen. This feat nearly threw
Oonagh herself off her guard; but what won't a woman's sagacity and
presence of mind accomplish?

"You'll now come in," said she, "and eat a bit of such humble fare as we
can give. Finn, even though you and he were enemies, would scorn not to
treat you kindly in his own house; and, indeed, if I didn't do it even
in his absence, he would not be pleased with me."

She accordingly brought him in, and placing half a dozen of the cakes we
spoke of before him, together with a can or two of butter, a side of
boiled bacon, and a stack of cabbage, she desired him to help
himself--for this, be it known, was long before the invention of
potatoes. Far Rua, who, by the way, was a glutton as well as a hero, put
one of the cakes in his mouth to take a huge whack out of it, when both
Finn and Oonagh were stunned with a noise that resembled something
between a growl and a yell. "Blood and fury!" he shouted out. "How is
this? Here are two of my teeth out! What kind of bread is this you gave
me?"

"What's the matter?" said Oonagh coolly.

"Matter!" shouted the other. "Why, here are two of the best teeth in my
head gone."

"Why," said she, "that's Finn's bread--the only bread he ever eats when
at home; but, indeed, I forgot to tell you that nobody can eat it but
himself and that child in the cradle there. I thought, however, that as
you were reported to be rather a stout little fellow of your size you
might be able to manage it, and I did not wish to affront a man that
thinks himself able to fight Finn. Here's another cake--maybe it's not
so hard as that."

Far Rua, at the moment, was not only hungry, but ravenous, so he
accordingly made a fresh set at the second cake, and immediately another
yell was heard twice as loud as the first. "Thunder and giblets!" he
roared, "take your bread out of this, or I will not have a tooth in my
head; there's another pair of them gone."

"Well, honest man," replied Oonagh, "if you're not able to eat the bread
say so quietly, and don't be awakening the child in the cradle there.
There, now, he's awake upon me!"

Finn now gave a skirl that frightened the giant, as coming from such a
youngster as he was represented to be. "Mother," said he, "I'm
hungry--get me something to eat." Oonagh went over, and putting into
his hand a cake _that had no griddle in it_--Finn, whose appetite in the
meantime was sharpened by what he saw going forward, soon made it
disappear. Far Rua was thunderstruck, and secretly thanked his stars
that he had the good fortune to miss meeting Finn, for, as he said to
himself, I'd have no chance with a man who could eat such bread as that,
which even his son that's in the cradle can munch before my eyes.

"I'd like to take a glimpse at the lad in the cradle," said he to
Oonagh, "for I can tell you that the infant who can manage that
nutriment is no joke to look at or to feed of a scarce summer."

"With all the veins of my heart," replied Oonagh. "Get up, acushla, and
show this decent little man something that won't be unworthy of your
father, Finn M'Coul."

Finn, who was dressed for the occasion as much like a boy as possible,
got up, and bringing Far Rua out, "Are you strong?" said he.

"Thunder and ounze!" exclaimed the other, "what a voice in so small a
chap!"

"Are you strong?" said Finn again. "Are you able to squeeze water out of
that white stone?" he asked, putting one into Far Rua's hand. The latter
squeezed and squeezed the stone, but to no purpose; he might pull the
rocks of Lumford's Glen asunder, and flatten a thunderbolt, but to
squeeze water out of a white stone was beyond his strength. Finn eyed
him with great contempt as he kept straining and squeezing and squeezing
and straining till he got black in the face with the efforts.

"Ah, you're a poor creature," said Finn. "You a giant! Give me the stone
here, and when I'll show what Finn's little son can do you may then
judge of what my daddy himself is."

Finn then took the stone, and then, slyly exchanging it for the curds,
he squeezed the latter until the whey, as clear as water, oozed out in a
little shower from his hand.

"I'll now go in," said he, "to my cradle; for I scorn to lose my time
with anyone that's not able to eat my daddy's bread, or squeeze water
out of a stone. Bedad, you had better be off out of this before he comes
back, for if he catches you, it's in flummery he'd have you in two
minutes."

Far Rua, seeing what he had seen, was of the same opinion himself; his
knees knocked together with the terror of Finn's return, and he
accordingly hastened in to bid Oonagh farewell, and to assure her that,
from that day out, he never wished to hear of, much less to see, her
husband. "I admit fairly that I'm not a match for him," said he, "strong
as I am. Tell him I will avoid him as I would the plague, and that I
will make myself scarce in this part of the country while I live."

Finn, in the meantime, had gone into the cradle, where he lay very
quietly, his heart in his mouth with delight that Far Rua was about to
take his departure without discovering the tricks that been played off
on him.

"It's well for you," said Oonagh, "that he doesn't happen to be here,
for it's nothing but hawk's meat he'd make of you."

"I know that," said Far Rua, "divel a thing else he'd make of me; but,
before I go, will you let me feel what kind of teeth they are that can
eat griddle-cakes like _that_?" and he pointed to it as he spoke.

"With all the pleasure in life," says she; "only as they're far back in
his head you must put your finger a good way in."

Far Rua was surprised to find so powerful a set of grinders in one so
young; but he was still much more so on finding, when he took his hand
from Finn's mouth, that he had left the very finger upon which his whole
strength depended behind him. He gave one loud groan and fell down at
once with terror and weakness. This was all Finn wanted, who now knew
that his most powerful and bitterest enemy was completely at his mercy.
He instantly started out of the cradle, and in a few minutes the great
Far Rua, that was for such a length of time the terror of him and all
his followers, was no more.

WILLIAM CARLETON.




The Ninepenny Fidil


  My father and mother were Irish
    And I am Irish too;
  I bought a wee fidil for ninepence
    And that is Irish too;
  I'm up in the morning early
    To meet the break of day,
  And to the lintwhite's piping
    The many's the tunes I play!

  One pleasant eve in June-time
    I met a lochrie man,
  His face and hands were weazen,
    His height was not a span.
  He boor'd me for my fidil--
    "You know," says he, "like you,
  "My father and mother were Irish,
    "And I am Irish too!"

  He took my wee red fidil,
    And such a tune he turned,
  The Glaise in it whispered
    The Lionan in it m'urned;
  Says he, "My lad, you're lucky,
    "I wisht I was like you,
  "You're lucky in your birth-star,
    "And in your fidil too!"

  He gave me back my fidil,
    My fidil-stick also,
  And stepping like a May-boy,
    He jumped the Lear-gaidh-knowe.
  I never saw him after,
    Nor met his gentle kind,
  But whiles I think I hear him,
    A-wheening in the wind!

JOSEPH CAMPBELL.




The Festivities at the House of Conan of Ceann Sleibhe


"Win victory and blessings, O Fionn," said Conan, "and tell me who was
the man that, having only one leg, one arm, and one eye, escaped from
you in consequence of his swiftness, and outstripped the Fenians of
Eire, and why is this proverb used, 'As Roc came to the house of
Fionn'?"

"I will tell you that," said Fionn. "One day the chief of the Fenians
and I went to Teamhair Luachra, and we took nothing in the chase that
same day but one fawn. When it had been cooked it was fetched to me for
the purpose of dividing it. I gave a portion of it to each of the Fenian
chiefs, and there remained none for my own share but a haunch bone.
Gobha Gaoithe, son of Ronan, presented himself, and requested me to
give him the haunch. I accordingly gave it to him. He then declared that
I gave him that portion on account of his swiftness of foot: and he went
out on the plain, but he had only gone a short distance when Caoilte,
son of Ronan, his own brother, overtook him, and brought the haunch back
again to me, and we had no further dispute about the matter. We had not
been long so when we saw a huge, obnoxious, massy-boned, black,
detestable giant, having only one eye, one arm, and one leg, hop forward
towards us. He saluted us. I returned the salutation, and asked him
whence he came. 'I am come by the powers of the agility of my arm and
leg,' responded he, 'having heard there is not one man in the world more
liberal in bestowing gifts than you, O Fionn; therefore, I am come to
solicit wealth and valuable gifts from you.' I replied that were all the
wealth of the world mine I would give him neither little nor much. He
then declared 'they were all liars who asserted that I never gave a
refusal to any person.' I replied that if he were a man I would not give
him a refusal. 'Well, then,' said the giant, 'let me have that haunch
you have in your hand, and I will say good-bye to the Fenians, provided
that you allow me the length of the haunch as a distance, and that I am
not seized upon until I make my first hop.' Upon hearing this I gave the
haunch into the giant's hand, and he hopped over the lofty stockades of
the town; he then made use of the utmost swiftness of his one leg to
outstrip all the rest of the Fenians. When the Fenian chiefs saw that,
they started in pursuit of the giant, while I and the band of minstrels
of the town went to the top of the dun to watch their proceedings. When
I saw that the giant had outstripped them a considerable distance, I put
on my running habiliments, and, taking no weapon but Mac an Loin in my
hand, I started after the others. I overtook the hindmost division on
Sliabh an Righ, the middle (next) division at Limerick, and the chiefs
of the Fenians at Ath Bo, which is called Ath-Luain (Athlone), and those
first in the pursuit at Rinn-an-Ruaigh, to the right-hand side of
Cruachan of Connacht, where he (the giant) was distant less than a
javelin's cast from me. The giant passed on before me and crossed Eas
Roe (now Ballyshannon), of the son of Modhuirn, without wetting his
foot. I leaped over it after him. He then directed his course towards
the estuary of Binn-Edair, keeping the circuit of Eire to his right
hand. The giant leaped over the estuary, and it was a leap similar to
flight over the sea. I sprang after him, and having caught him by the
small of the back, laid him prostrate on the earth. 'You have dealt
unjustly by me, O Fionn,' cried the giant; 'for it was not with you I
arranged the combat, but with the Fenians.' I replied that the Fenians
were not perfect, except I myself were with them. We had not remained
long thus when Liagan Luaimneach, from Luachar Deaghaidh, came to us. He
was followed by Caoilte Mac Ronan, together with the swiftest of the
Fenians. Each of them couched his javelin, intending to drive it through
the giant and kill him in my arms, but I protected him from their
attacks. Soon after this the main body of the Fenians arrived; they
enquired what was the cause of the delay that the giant had not been
slain. 'That is bad counsel,' said the giant, 'for a better man than I
am would be slain in my eric.' We bound the giant strongly on that
occasion; and soon after Bran Beag O'Buadhchan came to invite me to a
feast, and all the Fenians of Eire, who had been present, accompanied
him to his house. The banqueting hall had been prepared for our
reception at that time, and the giant was dragged into the middle of the
house, and was there placed in the sight of all present. They asked him
who he was. 'Roc, son of Diocan, is my name,' replied he, 'that is, I am
son to the Legislator of Aengus of the Brugh in the south. My betrothed
poured a current of surprising affection and a torrent of deep love upon
Sgiath Breac, son of Dathcaoin yonder, who is your foster son, O Fionn;
it hurt my feelings severely to hear her boast of the swiftness and
bravery of her lover in particular, and of the Fenians in general, and I
declared that I would challenge him and all the Fenians of Eire to run a
race with me; but she sneered at me. I then went to my beloved friend,
Aengus of the Brugh, to bemoan my fate; and he metamorphosed me thus,
and bestowed on me the swiftness of a druidical wind, as you have seen.
This is my history for you; and you ought to be well satisfied with all
the hurt and injury you have inflicted upon me already.'

"Then I repented me of the indignity put upon the giant, and I released
him from his bonds and I bade Liagan Luaimneach companion him to the
presence of his betrothed one and testify to her on my behalf of his
prowess in the race, wherein he had outstripped all the Fenians of Eire,
save only myself. So the two went forth together in friendly amity, and
Roc, for the champion feat reported of him by Liagan Luaimneach,
recovered the affection of his betrothed, and straightway took her to
wife. From that adventure, indeed, arose the proverb, 'As Roc came to
the House of Fionn,' and so that is the answer to your question, O
Conan," said Fionn.

"Win victory and blessings, O Fenian King," said Conan; "it is with
clear memory and sweet words you relate these things. Tell me now the
meaning of the byword, 'The hospitality of Fionn in the house of
Cuanna.'"

"I will tell you the truth concerning that, O Conan," said Fionn.
"Oisin, Caoilte, Mac Lughaidh, Diarmuid O'Duibhne, and myself happened
one day, above all other days, to be on the summit of Cairn Feargall. We
were accompanied by our five hounds, namely, Bran, Sceoluing, Sear Dubh,
Luath Luachar, and Anuaill. We had not long been there when we perceived
a rough, tall, huge giant approaching us. He carried an iron fork upon
his back, and a grunting hog was placed between the prongs of the fork;
a young girl of mature age followed and forced the giant on his way
before her. 'Let someone go forward and accost those people,' said I.
Diarmuid O'Duibhne followed, but did not overtake them. The other three
and I started up, and followed Diarmuid and the giant. We overtook
Diarmuid, but did not come up with the giant or the girl; for a dark,
gloomy, druidical mist showered down between us and them, so that we
could not discern what road they took. When the mist cleared away we
looked around us, and discovered a light-roofed, comfortable-looking
house at the edge of the ford near at hand. We proceeded to the house,
before which spread a lawn upon which were two fountains. At the brink
of one fountain lay a rude iron vessel, and a vessel of bronze at the
brink of the other. Those we met in the house were an aged, hoary-headed
man standing by the door jamb to the right hand, and a beautiful maid
sitting before him; a rough, rude, huge giant before the fire busily
cooking a hog; and an old man at the other side of the fire, having an
iron-grey head of hair and twelve eyes in his head, while the twelve
sons (germs) of discord beamed in each eye. There was also in the house
a ram with a white belly, a jet-black head, dark-green horns, and green
feet; and there was in the end of the house a hag covered with a dark
ash-coloured garment. There were no persons in the house except these.
The man at the door-post welcomed us; and we five, having our five
hounds with us, sat on the floor of the bruighean. 'Let submissive
homage be done to Fionn Mac Cumhaill and his people,' said the man at
the door-post. 'My case is that of a man begging a request, but
obtaining neither the smaller nor the greater part of it,' said the
giant. Nevertheless, he rose up and did respectful homage to us. After a
while I became suddenly thirsty, and no person present perceived it but
Caoilte, who began to complain bitterly on that account. 'You have no
cause to complain, Caoilte,' said the man of the door-post, 'but only to
step outside and fetch a drink for Fionn from whichever of the fountains
you please.' Caoilte did so, and fetched the bronze vessel brimful to me
and gave me to drink. I took a drink from it, and the water tasted like
honey while I was drinking, but bitter as gall when I put the vessel
from my lips; so that darting pains and symptoms of death seized me and
agonising pangs from the poisonous draught. I could be but with
difficulty recognised; and the lamentation of Caoilte on account of my
being in that condition was greater than that he had before given vent
to on account of my thirst. The man at the door-post desired Caoilte to
go out and bring me a drink from the other fountain. Caoilte obeyed,
and brought me the iron vessel brimful. I never underwent so much
hardship in battle or conflict as I then suffered while drinking, in
consequence of the bitterness of the draught; but as soon as I put the
vessel from my lips I recovered my own colour and appearance, and that
gave joy and happiness to my people.

"The man then asked if the hog which was in the boiler was yet cooked.
'It is cooked,' replied the giant, 'and allow me to divide it.' 'How
will you divide it?' said the man of the house. 'I will give one
hindquarter to Fionn and his hounds; the other hindquarter to Fionn's
four men; the forepart to myself; the chine and rump to the old man who
sits at the opposite side of the fire and to the hag in yonder corner;
and the giblets to you and the young woman who is opposite to you.' 'I
pledge my word,' said the man of the house, 'you have divided it very
fairly.' 'I pledge my word,' exclaimed the ram, 'that the division is
very unfair so far as I am concerned, for I have been altogether
forgotten.' And so saying, he immediately snatched the quarter that lay
before my four men, and carried it away into a corner, where he began to
devour it. The four men instantly attacked the ram all at once with
their swords, but though they laid on violently, it did not affect him
in the least, and the blows fell away as from a stone or rock, so that
they were forced to resume their seats. 'Upon my veracity, he is doomed
for evil who owns as companions such four fellows as you are, who tamely
suffer one single sheep to carry away your food and devour it before
your faces,' exclaimed the man with the twelve eyes; and at the same
time going up to the ram, he caught him by the feet and gave him a
violent pitch out of the door, so that he fell on his back on the
ground; and from that time we saw him no more. Soon after this the hag
started up, and having thrown her ashy-grey coverlet over my four men,
metamorphosed them into four withered, drooping-headed old men. When I
saw that I was seized with great fear and alarm; and when the man at the
door-post perceived this, he desired me to come over to him, place my
head on his bosom, and sleep. I did so; and the hag got up and took her
coverlet off my four men; and when I awoke I found them restored to
their own shape, and that was a great happiness to me. 'O Fionn,' asked
the man of the door-post, 'do you feel surprised at the appearance and
arrangements of this house?' I assured him that I never saw anything
which surprised me more. 'Well, then, I will explain the meaning of all
these things to you,' said the man. 'The giant carrying the grunting hog
between the prongs of the iron fork, whom you first saw, is he who is
yonder, and his name is SLOTH. She who is close to me is the young woman
who had been forcing him along, that is ENERGY; and ENERGY compels SLOTH
forward with her; for ENERGY moves, in the twinkling of the eye, a
greater distance than the foot can travel in a year. The old man of the
bright eyes yonder signifies the WORLD; and he is more powerful than
anyone, which has been proved by his rendering the ram powerless. That
ram which you saw signifies the CRIMES of the man. That hag there beyond
is withering OLD AGE, and her clothing has withered your four men. The
two wells from which you drank the two draughts mean FALSEHOOD and
TRUTH; for while telling a lie one finds it sweet, but it becomes bitter
at the last. Cuanna from Innistuil is my own name. I do not reside here,
but having conceived a wonderful love for you, O Fionn, on account of
your superiority in wisdom and general celebrity, I therefore put those
things into the way before you in order that I might see you. And this
story shall be called, to the end of the world, the Hospitality of
Cuanna's House to Fionn. Let you and your men come together, and do ye
five sleep until morning.' Accordingly we did so, and when we awoke in
the morning we found ourselves on the summit of Cairn Feargaill, with
our hounds and arms by us. So there is the meaning of the byword, 'The
hospitality of Fionn in the house of Cuanna,' O Conan," said Fionn.

(_Translated from the Irish by Nicholas O'Kearney._)




The White Trout

(_A Legend of Cong._)


"There was wanst upon a time, long ago, a beautiful young lady that
lived in a castle up by the lake beyant, and they say she was promised
to a king's son, and they wor to be married, when, all of a suddent, he
was murthered, the crathur (Lord help us!) and threwn in the lake abou,
and so, of coorse, he couldn't keep his promise to the fair lady--and
more's the pity.

"Well, the story goes that she went out iv her mind, bekase of loosin'
the king's son--for she was tindher-hearted, God help her! like the rest
iv us--and pined away after him, until at last no one about seen her,
good or bad; and the story wint that the fairies took her away.

"Well, sir, in coorse o' time the white throut, God bless it! was seen
in the sthrame beyant; and sure the people didn't know what to think of
the crathur, seein' as how a _white_ brown throut was never heerd av
afore nor sence; and years upon years the throut was there, just where
you seen it this blessed minit, longer nor I can tell--aye, throth, and
beyant the memory o' th' ouldest in the village.

"At last the people began to think it must be a fairy; for what else
could it be?--and no hurt nor harm was iver put an the throut, until
some wicked sinners of sojers kem to these parts, and laughed at all the
people, and gibed and jeered them for thinkin' o' the likes; and one o'
them in partic'lar (bad luck to him--God forgi' me for sayin' it!) swore
he'd catch the throut and ate it for his dinner--the blackguard!

"Well, what would you think o' the villiany of the sojer?--sure enough
he cotch the throut, and away wid him home, and puts an the fryin' pan,
and into it he pitches the purty little thing. The throut squeeled all
as one as a Christian crathur, and, my dear, you'd think the sojer id
split his sides laughin'--for he was a harden'd villian; and when he
thought one side was done, he turns it over to fry the other; and what
would you think? but the divil a taste of a burn was an it at all at
all; and sure the sojer thought it was a _quare_ throut that couldn't be
briled; 'but,' says he, 'I'll give it another turn by and by'--little
thinkin' what was in store for him, the haythen!

"Well, when he thought that side was done he turns it again--and lo and
behould you, the divil a taste more done that side was nor the other.
'Bad luck to me,' says the sojer, 'but that bates the world,' says he;
'but I'll thry you agin, my darlint,' says he, 'as cunnin' as you think
yourself'--and so with that he turns it over and over, but not a sign av
the fire was an the purty throut. 'Well,' says the desperate
villian--(for sure, sir, only he was a desperate villian _entirely_; he
might know he was doin' a wrong thing, seein' that all his endayvours
was no good)--'well,' says he, 'my jolly little throut, maybe you're
fried enough, though you don't seem over well dress'd; but you may be
better than you look, like a singed cat, and a tit-bit, afther all,'
says he; and with that he ups with his knife and fork to taste a piece
o' the throut--but, my jew'l, the minit he puts his knife into the fish
there was a murtherin' screech, that you'd think the life id lave you if
you heerd it, and away jumps the throut out av the fryin' pan into the
middle o' the flure; and an the spot where it fell up riz a lovely
lady--the beautifullest young crathur that eyes ever seen, dressed in
white, and a band o' goold in her hair, and a sthrame o' blood runnin'
down her arm.

"'Look where you cut me, you villian,' says she, and she held out her
arm to him--and, my dear, he thought the sight id lave his eyes.

"'Couldn't you lave me cool and comfortable in the river where you
snared me, and not disturb me in my duty?' says she.

"Well, he thrimbled like a dog in a wet sack, and at last he stammered
out somethin', and begged for his life, and ax'd her ladyship's pardin,
and said he didn't know she was an duty, or he was too good a sojer not
to know betther nor to meddle with her.

"'I _was_ on duty then,' says the lady; 'I was watchin' for my thrue
love that is comin' by wather to me,' says she; 'an' if he comes while I
am away, an' that I miss iv him, I'll turn you into a pinkeen, and I'll
hunt you up and down for evermore, while grass grows or wather runs.'

"Well, the sojer thought the life id lave him at the thoughts iv his
bein' turned into a pinkeen, and begged for marcy; and, with that, says
the lady:

"'Renounce your evil coorses,' says she, 'you villian, or you'll repint
it too late. Be a good man for the futhur, and go to your duty reg'lar.
And now,' says she, 'take me back and put me into the river agin, where
you found me.'

"'Oh, my lady,' says the sojer, 'how could I have the heart to drownd a
beautiful lady like you?'

"But before he could say another word the lady was vanished, and there
he saw the little throut an the ground. Well, he put it in a clane
plate, and away he run for the bare life, for fear her lover would come
while she was away; and he run, and he run, ever till he came to the
cave agin, and threw the throut into the river. The minit he did, the
wather was as red as blood until the sthrame washed the stain away; and
to this day there's a little red mark an the throut's side where it was
cut.

"Well, sir, from that day out the sojer was an althered man, and
reformed his ways, and wint to his duty reg'lar, and fasted three times
a week--though it was never fish he tuk an fastin' days; for afther the
fright he got fish id never rest an his stomach--savin' your presence.
But, anyhow, he was an althered man, as I said before; and in coorse o'
time he left the army, and turned hermit at last; and they say he _used
to pray evermore for the sowl of the White Throut_."

SAMUEL LOVER.




The Wonderful Cake


A mouse, a rat, and a little red hen once lived together in the same
cottage, and one day the little red hen said, "Let us bake a cake and
have a feast." "Let us," says the mouse, and "let us," says the rat.
"Who'll go and get the wheat ground?" says the hen. "I won't," says the
mouse; "I won't," says the rat. "I will myself," says the little red
hen.

"Who'll make the cake?" "I won't," says the mouse; "I will," says the
rat. "Indeed, you shall not," says the little red hen.

Well, while the hen was stretching her hand out for it--"Hey Presto!"
out rolled the cake from the cottage, and after it ran the mouse, the
rat, and the little red hen.

When it was running away it went by a barn full of threshers, and they
asked it where it was running. "Oh," says it, "I'm running away from the
mouse, the rat, and the little red hen, and from you, too, if I can." So
they rushed away after it with their flails, and it ran, and it ran till
it came to a ditch full of ditchers, and they asked it where it was
running.

"Oh, I am running away from the mouse, the rat, and the little red hen,
and from a barn full of threshers, and from you, too, if I can."

Well, they all ran after it along with the rest, till it came to a well
full of washers, and they asked the same question, and it returned the
same answer, and after it they went.

At last it came to a ford where it met with a fox, and he asked where it
was running. "Oh, I'm running away from the mouse, the rat, and the
little red hen, from a barn full of threshers, a ditch full of ditchers,
a well full of washers, and from you, too, if I can."

"But you can't cross the ford," says the fox. "And can't you carry me
over?" says the cake. "What'll you give me?" says the fox. "A kiss at
Christmas and an egg at Easter," says the cake.

"Very well," says the fox--"up with you." So he sat on his haunches with
his nose in the air, and the cake got up by his tail till it sat on his
crupper.

"Now, over with you," says the cake. "You're not high enough," says the
fox. Then it scrambled up on his shoulder. "Up higher still," says he;
"you wouldn't be safe there." "Am I right now?" says he. "You'll be
safer on the ridge pole of my nose."

"Well," says the cake, "I think I can go no further." "Oh, yes," says
he, and he shot it up in the air, caught it in his mouth, and sent it
down the Red Lane. And that was the end of the cake.




The Legend of the Little Weaver of Duleek Gate

(_A Tale of Chivalry._)


You see, there was a waiver lived wanst upon a time in Duleek here, hard
by the gate, and a very honest, industherous man he was by all accounts.
Well, it was one mornin' that his housekeeper called to him, and he
sitting very busy throwin' the shuttle; and says she, "Your brekquest is
ready!" "Lave me alone," says he; "I'm busy with a patthern here that is
brakin' my heart, and until I complate and masther it intirely I won't
quit."

"Oh, think o' the iligant stirabout that'll be spylte intirely."

"To the divil with the stirabout!" says he.

"God forgive you," says she, "for cursin' your good brekquest."

Well, he left the loom at last and wint over to the stirabout, and what
would you think, but whin he looked at it, it was as black as a crow;
for, you see, it was in the hoighth o' summer, and the flies lit upon it
to that degree that the stirabout was fairly covered with them.

"Why, thin, bad luck to your impidence," says the waiver; "would no
place sarve you but that? And is it spyling my brekquest yiz are, you
dirty bastes?" And with that, bein' altogether cruked tempered at the
time, he lifted his hand, and he made one great slam at the dish o'
stirabout and killed no less than three score and tin flies at the one
blow. It was three score and tin exactly, for he counted the carcasses
one by one, and laid them out on a clane plate for to view them.

Well, he felt a powerful sperit risin' in him when he seen the slaughter
he done at one blow, and with that he got as consaited as the very
dickens, and not a sthroke more work he'd do that day, but out he wint,
and was fractious and impident to everyone he met, and was squarein' up
into their faces and sayin', "Look at that fist! That's the fist that
killed three score and tin at one blow. Whoo! It is throwin' away my
time I have been all my life," says he, "stuck to my loom, nothin' but a
poor waiver, when it is Saint George or the Dhraggin I ought to be,
which is two of the sivin champions o' Christendom. I'm detarmined on
it, and I'll set off immediately and be a knight arriant." Well, sure
enough, he wint about among his neighbours the next day, and he got an
owld kittle from one and a saucepan from another, and he took them to
the tailor, and he sewed him up a shuit o' tin clothes like any knight
arriant, and he borrowed a pot lid, and _that_ he was very partic'lar
about, bekase it was his shield, and he wint to a friend o' his, a
painther and glaizier, and made him paint an his shield in big letthers:

  "I'M THE MAN OF ALL MIN,
  THAT KILL'D THREE SCORE AND TIN
  AT A BLOW."

"When the people sees that," says the waiver to himself, "the sorra one
will dar for to come near me."

And with that he towld the housekeeper to scour out the small iron pot
for him, "for," says he, "it will make an iligant helmet." And when it
was done he put it an his head, and says she, "Is it puttin' a great
heavy iron pot an your head you are by way iv a hat?"

"Sartinly," says he, "for a knight arriant should always have a woight
an his brain."

"But," says she, "there's a hole in it, and it can't keep out the
weather."

"It will be the cooler," says he, puttin' it an him; "besides, if I
don't like it, it is aisy to stop it with a wisp o' sthraw, or the like
o' that."

"The three legs of it looks mighty quare stickin' up," says she.

"Every helmet has a spike stickin' out o' the top of it," says the
waiver, "and if mine has three, it's only the grandher it is."

"Well," says the housekeeper, getting bitther at last, "all I can say
is, it isn't the first sheep's head was dhress'd in it."

"Your sarvint, ma'am," says he; and off he set.

Well, he was in want of a horse, and so he wint to a field hard by where
the miller's horse was grazin' that used to carry the ground corn round
the counthry.

"This is the idintical horse for me," says the waiver. "He is used to
carryin' flour and male; and what am I but the flower o' shovelry in a
coat o' mail; so that the horse won't be put out iv his way in the
laste."

But as he was ridin' him out o' the field, who should see him but the
miller. "Is it stalin' my horse you are, honest man?" says the miller.

"No," says the waiver; "I'm only goin' to axercise him," says he, "in
the cool o' the evenin'; it will be good for his health."

"Thank you kindly," says the miller, "but lave him where he is, and
you'll obleege me."

"I can't afford it," says the waiver, runnin' the horse at the ditch.

"Bad luck to your impidence," says the miller; "you've as much tin about
you as a thravellin' tinker, but you've more brass. Come back here, you
vagabone," says he.

But he was too late--away galloped the waiver, and took the road to
Dublin, for he thought the best thing he could do was to go to the King
o' Dublin (for Dublin was a grate place thin, and had a king iv its
own), and he thought maybe the King o' Dublin would give him work. Well,
he was four days goin' to Dublin, for the baste was not the best, and
the roads worse, not all as one as now; but there was no turnpikes then,
glory be to God! Whin he got to Dublin he wint sthrait to the palace,
and whin he got into the coortyard he let his horse go and graze about
the place, for the grass was growin' out betune the stones; everything
was flourishin' thin in Dublin, you see. Well, the King was lookin' out
of his dhrawin'-room windy for divarshin, whin the waiver kem in; but
the waiver pretended not to see him, and he wint over to a stone sate
undher the windy--for, you see, there was stone sates all around about
the place for the accommodation o' the people--for the King was a
dacent, obleegin' man. Well, as I said, the waiver wint over and lay
down an one o' the sates, just undher the King's windy, and purtended to
go asleep; but he took care to turn out the front of his shield that had
the letthers an it. Well, my dear, with that the King calls out to one
of the lords of his coort that was standin' behind him howldin' up the
skirt of his coat, according to rayson, and says he, "Look here," says
he, "what do you think of a vagabone like that comin' undher my very
nose to go sleep? It is thrue I'm a good King," says he, "and I
'commodate the people by havin' sates for them to sit down and enjoy the
raycreation and contimplation of seein' me here lookin' out o' my
dhrawin'-room windy for divarshin; but that is no rayson they are to
make a hotel o' the place and come and sleep here. Who is it at all?"
says the King.

"Not a one o' me knows, plaze your majesty."

"I think he must be a furriner," says the King, "bekase his dhress is
outlandish."

"And doesn't know manners, more betoken," says the lord.

"I'll go down and circumspect him myself," says the King. "Folly me,"
says he to the lord, wavin' his hand at the same time in the most
dignacious manner.

Down he wint accordingly, followed by the lord; and whin he wint over to
where the waiver was lying, sure, the first thing he seen was his shield
with the big letthers an it, and with that, says he to the lord, "By
dad," says he, "this is the very man I want."

"For what, plaze your majesty?" says the lord.

"To kill that vagabone dhraggin, to be sure," says the King.

"Sure, do you think he could kill him," says the lord, "whin all the
stoutest knights in the land wasn't aiquil to it, but never kem back,
and was ate up alive by the cruel desaiver."

"Sure, don't you see there," says the King, pointin' at the shield,
"that he killed three score and tin at one blow; and the man that done
that, I think, is a match for anything."

So, with that, he wint over to the waiver and shuck him by the shouldher
for to wake him, and the waiver rubbed his eyes as if just wakened, and
the King says to him, "God save you!" said he.

"God save you kindly!" says the waiver, purtendin' he was quite onknowst
who he was spakin' to.

"Do you know who I am," says the King, "that you make so free, good
man?"

"No, indeed," says the waiver; "you have the advantage o' me."

"To be sure I have," says the King, moighty high; "sure, ain't I the
King o' Dublin?" says he.

The waiver dhropped down on his two knees forninst the King, and says
he, "I beg God's pardon and yours for the liberty I tuk; plaze your
holiness, I hope you'll excuse it."

"No offince," says the King; "get up, good man. And what brings you
here?" says he.

"I'm in want o' work, plaze your riverence," says the waiver.

"Well, suppose I give you work?" says the King.

"I'll be proud to sarve you, my lord," says the waiver.

"Very well," says the King. "You killed three score and tin at one blow,
I understan'," says the King.

"Yis," says the waiver; "that was the last thrifle o' work I done, and
I'm afeared my hand 'ill go out o' practice if I don't get some job to
do at wanst."

"You shall have a job immediantly," says the King. "It is not three
score and tin, or any fine thing like that; it is only a blaguard
dhraggin that is disturbin' the counthry and ruinatin' my tinanthry wid
aitin' their powlthry, and I'm lost for want of eggs," says the King.

"Throth, thin, plaze your worship," says the waiver, "you look as yellow
as if you swallowed twelve yolks this minit."

"Well, I want this dhraggin to be killed," says the King. "It will be no
throuble in life to you; and I'm only sorry that it isn't betther worth
your while, for he isn't worth fearin' at all; only I must tell you that
he lives in the county Galway, in the middle of a bog, and he has an
advantage in that."

"Oh, I don't value it in the laste," says the waiver; "for the last
three score and tin I killed was in a soft place."

"When will you undhertake the job then?" says the King.

"Let me at him at wanst," says the waiver.

"That's what I like," says the King; "you're the very man for my money,"
says he.

"Talkin' of money," says the waiver, "by the same token, I'll want a
thrifle o' change from you for my thravellin' charges."

"As much as you plaze," says the King; and with the word he brought him
into his closet, where there was an owld stockin' in an oak chest
burstin' wid goolden guineas.

"Take as many as you plaze," says the King; and sure enough, my dear,
the little waiver stuffed his tin clothes as full as they could howld
with them.

"Now, I'm ready for the road," says the waiver.

"Very well," says the King; "but you must have a fresh horse," says he.

"With all my heart," says the waiver, who thought he might as well
exchange the miller's owld garron for a betther.

And, maybe, it's wondherin' you are that the waiver would think of goin'
to fight the dhraggin afther what he heerd about him when he was
purtendin' to be asleep. But he had no sitch notion: all he intended
was--to fob the goold and ride back again to Duleek with his gains and a
good horse. But, you see, cute as the waiver was, the King was cuter
still; for these high quolity, you see, is great desaivers; and so the
horse the waiver was put an was learned an purpose; and, sure, the
minit he was mounted away powdhered the horse, and the divil a toe he'd
go but right down to Galway. Well, for four days he was goin' evermore,
until at last the waiver seen a crowd o' people runnin' as if Owld Nick
was at their heels, and they shoutin' a thousand murdhers and cryin',
"The dhraggin, the dhraggin!" and he couldn't stop the horse nor make
him turn back, but away he pelted right forinst the terrible baste that
was comin' up to him, and there was the most nefarious smell o' sulphur,
savin' your presence, enough to knock you down; and, faith, the waiver
seen he had no time to lose, and so he threwn himself off the horse and
made to a three that was growin' nigh hand, and away he clambered up
into it as nimble as a cat; and not a minit had he to spare, for the
dhraggin kem up in a powerful rage, and he devoured the horse, body and
bones, in less than no time; and then he began to sniffle and scent
about for the waiver, and at last he clapt his eye an him where he was
up in the three, and says he, "In throth, you might as well come down
out o' that," says he, "for I'll have you as sure as eggs is mate."

"Divil a fut I'll go down," says the waiver.

"Sorra care I care," says the dhraggin, "for you're as good as ready
money in my pocket this minit, for I'll lie undher this three," says he,
"and sooner or later you must fall to my share"; and, sure enough, he
sot down and began to pick his teeth with his tail afther the heavy
brekquest he made that mornin' (for he ate a whole village, let alone
the horse), and he got dhrowsy at last and fell asleep; but before he
wint to sleep he wound himself all round the three, all as one as a lady
windin' ribbon round her finger, so that the waiver could not escape.

Well, as soon as the waiver knew he was dead asleep by the snorin' of
him--and every snore he let out of him was like a clap o' thunder----

The minit, the waiver began to creep down the three as cautious as a
fox; and he was very nigh hand the bottom when, bad cess to it, a
thievin' branch he was dipindin' an bruk, and down he fell right atop o'
the dhraggin. But if he did, good luck was an his side, for where should
he fall but with his two legs right acrass the dhraggin's neck, and, my
jew'l, he laid howlt o' the baste's ears, and there he kept his grip,
for the dhraggin wakened and endayvoured for to bite him; but, you see,
by rayson the waiver was behind his ears he could not come at him, and,
with that, he endayvoured for to shake him off; but the divil of a stir
could he stir the waiver; and though he shuk all the scales an his body
he could not turn the scale again the waiver.

"By the hokey, this is too bad intirely," says the dhraggin; "but if you
won't let go," says he, "by the powers o' wildfire, I'll give you a ride
that 'ill astonish your siven small sinses, my boy"; and with that away
he flew like mad; and where do you think he did fly? By dad, he flew
sthraight for Dublin--divil a less. But the waiver bein' an his neck was
a great disthress to him, and he would rather have made him an inside
_passenger_; but, anyway, he flew and he flew till he kem slap up agin
the palace o' the King; for, bein' blind with the rage, he never seen
it, and he knocked his brains out--that is, the small thrifle he had,
and down he fell spacheless. An', you see, good luck would have it that
the King o' Dublin was lookin' out iv his dhrawin'-room windy for
divarshin that day also, and whin he seen the waiver ridin' and the
fiery dhraggin (for he was blazin' like a tar barrel), he called out to
his coortyers to come and see the show. "By the powdhers o' war, here
comes the knight arriant," says the King, "ridin' the dhraggin that's
all afire, and if he gets into the palace, yiz must be ready wid the
fire ingines," says he, "for to put him out." But when they seen the
dhraggin fall outside they all run downstairs and scampered into the
palace yard for to circumspect the curiosity; and by the time they got
down the waiver had got off o' the dhraggin's neck, and runnin' up to
the King, says he, "Plaze your holiness," says he, "I did not think
myself worthy of killin' this facetious baste, so I brought him to
yourself for to do him the honour of decripitation by your own royal
five fingers. But I tamed him first before I allowed him the liberty for
to dar' to appear in your royal prisince, and you'll oblige me if you
just make your mark with your own hand upon the onruly baste's neck."
And with that the King, sure enough, dhrew out his swoord and took the
head aff the dirty brute as clane as a new pin. Well, there was great
rejoicin' in the coort that the dhraggin was killed; and says the King
to the little waiver, says he, "You are a knight arriant as it is, and
so it would be no use for to knight you over agin; but I will make you a
lord," says he.

"Oh, Lord!" says the waiver, thunderstruck like at his own good luck.

"I will," says the King; "and as you are the first man I ever heerd tell
of that rode a dhraggin, you shall be called Lord Mount Dhraggin," says
he.

"But that is not all I'll do for you," says the King; "I'll give you my
daughter, too, in marriage," says he. Now, you see, that was nothing
more than what he promised the waiver in his first promise; for by all
accounts the King's daughter was the greatest dhraggin ever was seen,
and had the divil's own tongue, and a beard a yard long, which she
purtended was put an her, by way of a penance, by Father Mulcahy, her
confissor; but it was well known it was in the family for ages, and no
wondher it was so long by rayson of that same.

SAMUEL LOVER.




Mor of Cloyne

_Mor of Cloyne, a Munster Princess, is singing at the door of a Fairy
Rath to her sister, a captive within it, the magic tune by which she
once escaped from a like captivity._


  Little Sister, whom the Fay
    Hides away within his doon,
  Deep below yon seeding fern,
    Oh, list and learn my magic tune.

  Long ago, when snared like thee
    By the Shee, my harp and I
  O'er them wove the slumber spell,
    Warbling well its lullaby.

  Till with dreamy smiles they sank,
    Rank on rank, before the strain;
  And I rose from out the rath,
    And found my path to earth again.

  Little Sister, to my woe
    Hid below among the Shee,
  List and learn the magic tune,
    That it full soon may succour thee.

ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES.




Lawn Dyarrig and the Knight of Terrible Valley

(_As told by an Irish Peasant._)


There was a King in his own time in Erin, and he went hunting one day.
The King met a man whose head was out through his cap, whose elbows and
knees were out through his clothing, and whose toes were out through his
shoes.

The man went up to the King, gave him a blow on the face, and drove
three teeth from his mouth. The same blow put the King's head in the
dirt. When he rose from the earth, the King went back to his castle, and
lay down sick and sorrowful.

The King had three sons, and their names were Ur, Arthur, and Lawn
Dyarrig. The three were at school that day, and came home in the
evening. The father sighed when the sons were coming in.

"What is wrong with our father?" asked the eldest.

"Your father is sick on his bed," said the mother.

The three sons went to their father and asked what was on him.

"A strong man that I met to-day gave me a blow in the face, put my head
in the dirt, and knocked three teeth from my mouth. What would you do to
him if you met him?" asked the father of the eldest son.

"If I met that man," replied Ur, "I would make four parts of him between
four horses."

"You are my son," said the King. "What would you do if you met him?"
asked he then as he turned to the second son.

"If I had a grip on that man I would burn him between four fires."

"You, too, are my son. What would you do?" asked the King of Lawn
Dyarrig.

"If I met that man, I would do my best against him, and he might not
stand long before me."

"You are not my son. I would not lose lands or property on you," said
the father. "You must go from me, and leave this to-morrow."

On the following morning the three brothers rose with the dawn; the
order was given Lawn Dyarrig to leave the castle and make his own way
for himself. The other two brothers were going to travel the world to
know could they find the man who had injured their father. Lawn Dyarrig
lingered outside till he saw the two, and they going off by themselves.

"It is a strange thing," said he, "for two men of high degree to go
travelling without a servant."

"We need no one," said Ur.

"Company wouldn't harm us," said Arthur.

The two let Lawn Dyarrig go with them as a serving-boy, and set out to
find the man who had struck down their father. They spent all that day
walking, and came late to a house where one woman was living. She shook
hands with Ur and Arthur, and greeted them. Lawn Dyarrig she kissed and
welcomed; called him son of the King of Erin.

"It is a strange thing to shake hands with the elder, and kiss the
younger," said Ur.

"This is a story to tell," said the woman, "the same as if your death
were in it."

They made three parts of that night. The first part they spent in
conversation, the second in telling tales, the third in eating and
drinking, with sound sleep and sweet slumber. As early as the day dawned
next morning the old woman was up, and had food for the young men. When
the three had eaten, she spoke to Ur, and this is what she asked of him:
"What was it that drove you from home, and what brought you to this
place?"

"A champion met my father, and took three teeth from him and put his
head in the dirt. I am looking for that man, to find him alive or dead."

"That was the Green Knight from Terrible Valley. He is the man who took
the three teeth from your father. I am three hundred years living in
this place, and there is not a year of the three hundred in which three
hundred heroes, fresh, young, and noble, have not passed on the way to
Terrible Valley, and never have I seen one coming back, and each of them
had the look of a man better than you. And now where are you going,
Arthur?"

"I am on the same journey with my brother."

"Where are you going, Lawn Dyarrig?"

"I am going with these as a servant," said Lawn Dyarrig.

"God's help to you, it's bad clothing that's on your body," said the
woman. "And now I will speak to Ur. A day and a year since a champion
passed this way. He wore a suit as good as was ever above ground. I had
a daughter sewing there in the open window. He came outside, put a
finger under her girdle, and took her with him. Her father followed
straightway to save her, but I have never seen daughter nor father from
that day to this. That man was the Green Knight of Terrible Valley. He
is better than all the men that could stand on a field a mile in length
and a mile in breadth. If you take my advice you'll turn back and go
home to your father."

'Tis how she vexed Ur with this talk, and he made a vow to himself to go
on. When Ur did not agree to turn home, the woman said to Lawn Dyarrig,
"Go back to my chamber; you'll find in it the apparel of a hero."

He went back, and there was not a bit of the apparel he did not go into
with a spring.

"You may be able to do something now," said the woman, when Lawn Dyarrig
came to the front. "Go back to my chamber and search through all the old
swords. You will find one at the bottom. Take that."

He found the old sword, and at the first shake that he gave he knocked
seven barrels of rust out of it; after the second shake it was as bright
as when made.

"You may be able to do well with that," said the woman. "Go out, now, to
that stable abroad, and take the slim white steed that is in it. That
one will never stop nor halt in any place till he brings you to the
Eastern World. If you like, take these two men behind you; if not, let
them walk. But I think it is useless for you to have them at all with
you."

Lawn Dyarrig went out to the stable, took the slim white steed, mounted,
rode to the front, and catching the two brothers, planted them on the
horse behind him.

"Now, Lawn Dyarrig," said the woman, "this horse will never stop till he
stands on the little white meadow in the Eastern World. When he stops,
you'll come down, and cut the turf under his beautiful right front
foot."

The horse started from the door, and at every leap he crossed seven
hills and valleys, seven castles with villages, acres, roods, and odd
perches. He could overtake the whirlwind before him seven hundred times
before the whirlwind behind him could overtake him once. Early in the
afternoon of the next day he was in the Eastern World. When he
dismounted, Lawn Dyarrig cut the sod from under the foot of the slim
white steed, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, and
Terrible Valley was down under him there. What he did next was to
tighten the reins on the neck of the steed and let him go home.

"Now," said Lawn Dyarrig to his brothers, "which would you rather be
doing--making a basket or twisting gads (withes)?"

"We would rather be making a basket; our help is among ourselves,"
answered they.

Ur and Arthur went at the basket and Lawn Dyarrig at twisting the gads.
When Lawn Dyarrig came to the opening with the gads all twisted and made
into one, they hadn't the ribs of the basket in the ground yet.

"Oh, then, haven't ye anything done but that?"

"Stop your mouth," said Ur, "or we'll make a mortar of your head on the
next stone."

"To be kind to one another is the best for us," said Lawn Dyarrig. "I'll
make the basket."

While they'd be putting one rod in the basket he had the basket
finished.

"Oh, brother," said they, "you are a quick workman."

They had not called him brother since they left home till that moment.

"Who will go in the basket now?" said Lawn Dyarrig when it was finished
and the gad tied to it.

"Who but me?" said Ur. "I am sure, brothers, if I see anything to
frighten me you'll draw me up."

"We will," said the other two.

He went in, but had not gone far when he cried to pull him up again.

"By my father, and the tooth of my father, and by all that is in Erin,
dead or alive, I would not give one other sight on Terrible Valley!" he
cried, when he stepped out of the basket.

"Who will go now?" said Lawn Dyarrig.

"Who will go but me?" answered Arthur.

Whatever length Ur went, Arthur didn't go the half of it.

"By my father, and the tooth of my father, I wouldn't give another look
at Terrible Valley for all that's in Erin, dead or alive!"

"I will go now," said Lawn Dyarrig, "and as I put no foul play on you, I
hope ye'll not put foul play on me."

"We will not, indeed," said they.

Whatever length the other two went, Lawn Dyarrig didn't go the half of
it, till he stepped out of the basket and went down on his own feet. It
was not far he had travelled in Terrible Valley when he met seven
hundred heroes guarding the country.

"In what place here has the Green King his castle?" asked he of the
seven hundred.

"What sort of a sprisawn goat or sheep from Erin are you?" asked they.

"If we had a hold of you, the two arms of me, that's a question you
would not put a second time; but if we haven't you, we'll not be so
long."

They faced Lawn Dyarrig then and attacked him; but he went through them
like a hawk or a raven through small birds. He made a heap of their
feet, a heap of their heads, and a castle of their arms.

After that he went his way walking, and had not gone far when he came to
a spring. "I'll have a drink before I go further," thought he. With that
he stooped down and took a drink of the water. When he had drunk he lay
on the ground and fell asleep.

Now, there wasn't a morning that the lady in the Green Knight's castle
didn't wash in the water of that spring, and she sent a maid for the
water each time. Whatever part of the day it was when Lawn Dyarrig fell
asleep, he was sleeping in the morning when the girl came. She thought
it was dead the man was, and she was so in dread of him that she would
not come near the spring for a long time. At last she saw he was asleep,
and then she took the water. Her mistress was complaining of her for
being so long.

"Do not blame me," said the maid. "I am sure that if it was yourself
that was in my place you'd not come back so soon."

"How so?" asked the lady.

"The finest hero that ever a woman laid eyes on is sleeping at the
spring."

"That's a thing that cannot be till Lawn Dyarrig comes to the age of a
hero. When that time comes he'll be sleeping at the spring."

"He is in it now," said the girl.

The lady did not stop to get any drop of the water on herself, but ran
quickly from the castle. When she came to the spring she roused Lawn
Dyarrig. If she found him lying, she left him standing. She smothered
him with kisses, drowned him with tears, dried him with garments of fine
silk and with her own hair. Herself and himself locked arms and walked
into the castle of the Green Knight. After that they were inviting each
other with the best food and entertainment till the middle of the
following day. Then the lady said:

"When the Green Knight bore me away from my father and mother he brought
me straight to this castle, but I put him under bonds not to marry me
for seven years and a day, and he cannot; still, I must serve him. When
he goes fowling he spends three days away and the next three days at
home. This is the day for him to come back, and for me to prepare his
dinner. There is no stir that you or I have made here to-day but that
brass head beyond there will tell of it."

"It is equal to you what it tells," said Lawn Dyarrig, "only make ready
a clean long chamber for me."

She did so, and he went back into it. Herself rose up then to prepare
dinner for the Green Knight. When he came, she welcomed him as every
day. She left down his food before him, and he sat to take his dinner.
He was sitting with knife and fork in hand when the brass head spoke.
"I thought when I saw you taking food and drink with your wife that you
had the blood of a man in you. If you could see that sprisawn of a goat
or sheep out of Erin taking meat and drink with her all day, what would
you do?"

"Oh, my suffering and sorrow!" cried the knight. "I'll never take
another bite or sup till I eat some of his liver and heart. Let three
hundred heroes, fresh and young, go back and bring his heart to me, with
the liver and lights, till I eat them."

The three hundred heroes went, and hardly were they behind in the
chamber when Lawn Dyarrig had them all dead in one heap.

"He must have some exercise to delay my men, they are so long away,"
said the knight. "Let three hundred more heroes go for his heart, with
the liver and lights, and bring them here to me."

The second three hundred went, and as they were entering the chamber
Lawn Dyarrig was making a heap of them, till the last one was inside,
where there were two heaps.

"He has some way of coaxing my men to delay," said the knight. "Do you
go now, three hundred of my savage hirelings, and bring him." The three
hundred savage hirelings went, and Lawn Dyarrig let every man of them
enter before he raised a hand, then he caught the bulkiest of them all
by the two ankles, and began to wallop the others with him, and he
walloped them till he drove the life out of the two hundred and
ninety-nine. The bulkiest one was worn to the shin-bones that Lawn
Dyarrig held in his two hands. The Green Knight, who thought Lawn
Dyarrig was coaxing the men, called out then, "Come down, my men, and
take dinner."

"I'll be with you," said Lawn Dyarrig, "and have the best food in the
house, and I'll have the best bed in the house. God not be good to you
for it, either."

He went down to the Green Knight, and took the food from before him and
put it before himself. Then he took the lady, set her on his own knee,
and he and she went on eating. After dinner he put his finger under her
girdle, took her to the best chamber in the castle, and stood on guard
upon it till morning. Before dawn the lady said to Lawn Dyarrig:

"If the Green Knight strikes the pole of combat first, he'll win the
day; if you strike first, you'll win if you do what I tell you. The
Green Knight has so much enchantment that if he sees it is going against
him the battle is, he'll rise like a fog in the air, come down in the
same form, strike you, and make a green stone of you. When yourself and
himself are going out to fight in the morning, cut a sod a perch long,
in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; you'll leave the sod on
the next little hillock you meet. When the Green Knight is coming down
and is ready to strike, give him a blow with the sod. You'll make a
green stone of him."

As early as the dawn Lawn Dyarrig rose and struck the pole of combat.
The blow that he gave did not leave calf, foal, lamb, kid, or child
waiting for birth, without turning them five times to the left and five
times to the right.

"What do you want?" asked the knight.

"All that's in your kingdom to be against me the first quarter of the
day, and yourself the second quarter.

"You have not left in the kingdom now but myself, and it is early enough
for you that I'll be at you."

The knight faced him, and they went at each other, and fought till late
in the day. The battle was strong against Lawn Dyarrig, when the lady
stood in the door of the castle.

"Increase on your blows and increase on your courage," cried she. "There
is no woman here but myself to wail over you, or to stretch you before
burial."

When the knight heard the voice he rose in the air like a lump of fog.
As he was coming down Lawn Dyarrig struck him with the sod on the right
side of his breast, and made a green stone of him.

The lady rushed out then, and whatever welcome she had for Lawn Dyarrig
the first time, she had twice as much now. Herself and himself went into
the castle, and spent that night very comfortably. In the morning they
rose early, and collected all the gold, utensils, and treasures. Lawn
Dyarrig found the three teeth of his father in a pocket of the Green
Knight, and took them. He and the lady brought all the riches to where
the basket was. "If I send up this beautiful lady," thought Lawn
Dyarrig, "she may be taken from me by my brothers; if I remain below
with her, she may be taken from me by people here." He put her in the
basket, and she gave him a ring so that they might know each other if
they met. He shook the gad, and she rose in the basket.

When Ur saw the basket, he thought, "What's above let it be above, and
what's below let it stay where it is."

"I'll have you as wife for ever for myself," said he to the lady.

"I put you under bonds," says she, "not to lay a hand on me for a day
and three years."

"That itself would not be long even if twice the time," said Ur.

The two brothers started home with the lady; on the way Ur found the
head of an old horse with teeth in it, and took them, saying, "These
will be my father's three teeth."

They travelled on, and reached home at last. Ur would not have left a
tooth in his father's mouth, trying to put in the three that he had
brought; but the father stopped him.

Lawn Dyarrig, left in Terrible Valley, began to walk around for himself.
He had been walking but one day when whom should he meet but the lad
Short-clothes, and he saluted him. "By what way can I leave Terrible
Valley?" asked Lawn Dyarrig.

"If I had a grip on you that's what you wouldn't ask me a second time,"
said Short-clothes.

"If you haven't touched me, you will before you are much older."

"If you do, you will not treat me as you did all my people and my
master."

"I'll do worse to you than I did to them," said Lawn Dyarrig.

They caught each other then, one grip under the arm and one on the
shoulder. 'Tis not long they were wrestling when Lawn Dyarrig had
Short-clothes on the earth, and he gave him the five thin tyings dear
and tight.

"You are the best hero I have ever met," said Short-clothes; "give me
quarter for my soul--spare me. When I did not tell you of my own will, I
must tell in spite of myself."

"It is as easy for me to loosen you as to tie you," said Lawn Dyarrig,
and he freed him.

"Since you are not dead now," said Short-clothes, "there is no death
allotted to you. I'll find a way for you to leave Terrible Valley. Go
and take that old bridle hanging there beyond and shake it; whatever
beast comes and puts its head into the bridle will carry you."

Lawn Dyarrig shook the bridle, and a dirty, shaggy little foal came and
put its head in the bridle. Lawn Dyarrig mounted, dropped the reins on
the foal's neck, and let him take his own choice of roads. The foal
brought Lawn Dyarrig out by another way to the upper world, and took him
to Erin. Lawn Dyarrig stopped some distance from his father's castle,
and knocked at the house of an old weaver.

"Who are you?" asked the old man.

"I am a weaver," said Lawn Dyarrig.

"What can you do?"

"I can spin for twelve and twist for twelve."

"This is a very good man," said the old weaver to his sons, "let us try
him."

The work they had been doing for a year he had done in one hour. When
dinner was over the old man began to wash and shave, and his two sons
began to do the same.

"Why is this?" asked Lawn Dyarrig.

"Haven't you heard that Ur, son of the King, is to marry to-night the
woman that he took from the Green Knight of Terrible Valley?"

"I have not," said Lawn Dyarrig; "as all are going to the wedding, I
suppose I may go without offence?"

"Oh, you may," said the weaver; "there will be a hundred thousand
welcomes before you."

"Are there any linen sheets within?"

"There are," said the weaver.

"It is well to have bags ready for yourself and two sons."

The weaver made bags for the three very quickly. They went to the
wedding. Lawn Dyarrig put what dinner was on the first table into the
weaver's bag, and sent the old man home with it. The food of the second
table he put in the eldest son's bag, filled the second son's bag from
the third table, and sent the two home.

The complaint went to Ur that an impudent stranger was taking all the
food.

"It is not right to turn any man away," said the bridegroom, "but if
that stranger does not mind he will be thrown out of the castle."

"Let me look at the face of the disturber," said the bride.

"Go and bring the fellow who is troubling the guests," said Ur to the
servants.

Lawn Dyarrig was brought right away, and stood before the bride, who
filled a glass with wine and gave it to him. Lawn Dyarrig drank half the
wine, and dropped in the ring which the lady had given him in Terrible
Valley.

When the bride took the glass again the ring went of itself with one
leap on to her finger. She knew then who was standing before her.

"This is the man who conquered the Green Knight and saved me from
Terrible Valley," said she to the King of Erin; "this is Lawn Dyarrig,
your son."

Lawn Dyarrig took out the three teeth and put them in his father's
mouth. They fitted there perfectly, and grew into their old place. The
King was satisfied, and as the lady would marry no man but Lawn Dyarrig,
he was the bridegroom.

"I must give you a present," said the bride to the Queen. "Here is a
beautiful scarf which you are to wear as a girdle this evening."

The Queen put the scarf round her waist.

"Tell me now," said the bride to the Queen, "who was Ur's father."

"What father could he have but his own father, the King of Erin?"

"Tighten, scarf," said the bride.

That moment the Queen thought that her head was in the sky and the lower
half of her body down deep in the earth.

"Oh, my grief and my woe!" cried the Queen.

"Answer my question in truth, and the scarf will stop squeezing you. Who
was Ur's father?"

"The gardener," said the Queen.

"Whose son is Arthur?"

"The King's son."

"Tighten, scarf," said the bride.

If the Queen suffered before, she suffered twice as much this time, and
screamed for help.

"Answer me truly, and you'll be without pain; if not, death will be on
you this minute. Whose son is Arthur?"

"The swineherd's."

"Who is the King's son?"

"The King has no son but Lawn Dyarrig."

"Tighten, scarf."

The scarf did not tighten, and if the Queen had been commanding it a day
and a year it would not have tightened, for the Queen told the truth
that time. When the wedding was over, the King gave Lawn Dyarrig half
his kingdom, and made Ur and Arthur his servants.

JEREMIAH CURTIN.




The Horned Women


A rich woman sat up late one night carding and preparing wool while all
the family and servants were asleep. Suddenly a knock was given at the
door, and a voice called out, "Open! Open!"

"Who is there?" said the woman of the house.

"I am the Witch of the One Horn," was answered.

The mistress, supposing that one of her neighbours had called and
required assistance, opened the door, and a woman entered, having in her
hand a pair of wool carders, and bearing a horn on her forehead, as if
growing there. She sat down by the fire in silence, and began to card
the wool with violent haste. Suddenly she paused, and said aloud, "Where
are the women; they delay too long?"

Then a second knock came to the door, and a voice called as before,
"Open! Open!"

The mistress felt herself constrained to rise and open to the call, and
immediately a second witch entered, having two horns on her forehead,
and in her hand a wheel for spinning wool.

"Give me place," she said; "I am the Witch of the Two Horns"; and she
began to spin as quick as lightning.

And so the knocks went on, and the call was heard and the witches
entered, until at last twelve women sat round the fire--the first with
one horn, the last with twelve horns.

And they carded the thread and turned their spinning-wheels, and wound
and wove.

All singing together an ancient rhyme, but no word did they speak to the
mistress of the house. Strange to hear and frightful to look upon were
these twelve women, with their horns and their wheels; and the mistress
felt near to death, and she tried to rise that she might call for help,
but she could not move, nor could she utter a word or a cry, for the
spell of the witches was upon her.

Then one of them called to her in Irish, and said, "Rise, woman, and
make us a cake." Then the mistress searched for a vessel to bring water
from the well that she might mix the meal and make the cake, but she
could find none.

And they said to her, "Take a sieve, and bring water in it." And she
took the sieve, and went to the well; but the water poured from it, and
she could fetch none for the cake, and she sat down by the well and
wept.

Then came a voice by her, and said, "Take yellow clay and moss and bind
them together, and plaster the sieve so that it will hold."

This she did, and the sieve held the water for the cake; and the voice
said again:

"Return, and when thou comest to the north angle of the house cry aloud
three times, and say, 'The mountain of the Fenian women and the sky over
it is all on fire.'"

And she did so.

When the witches inside heard the call, a great and terrible cry broke
from their lips, and they rushed forth with wild lamentations and
shrieks, and fled away to Slievenamon, where was their chief abode. But
the Spirit of the Well bade the mistress of the house to enter and
prepare her home against the enchantments of the witches, if they
returned again.

And first, to break their spells, she sprinkled the water in which she
had washed her child's feet (the feet-water) outside the door on the
threshold; secondly, she took the cake which the witches had made in her
absence, of meal mixed with the blood drawn from the sleeping family,
and she broke the cake in bits, and placed a bit in the mouth of each
sleeper, and they were restored; and she took the cloth they had woven,
and placed it half in and half out of the chest with the padlock; and,
lastly, she secured the door with a great crossbeam fastened in the
jambs, so that they could not enter, and having done these things she
waited.

Not long were the witches in coming, and they raged and called for
vengeance.

"Open! Open!" they screamed. "Open, feet-water!"

"I cannot," said the feet-water; "I am scattered on the ground, and my
path is down to the Lough."

"Open, open, wood and trees and beam!" they cried to the door.

"I cannot," said the door, "for the beam is fixed in the jambs, and I
have no power to move."

"Open, open, cake that we have made and mingled with blood!" they cried
again.

"I cannot," said the cake, "for I am broken and bruised, and my blood is
on the lips of the sleeping children."

Then the witches rushed through the air with great cries, and fled back
to Slievenamon, uttering strange curses on the Spirit of the Well, who
had wished their ruin. But the woman and the house were left in peace,
and a mantle dropped by one of the witches was kept hung up by the
mistress as a sign of the night's awful contest; and this mantle was in
possession of the same family from generation to generation for five
hundred years after.

LADY WILDE.




The Quare Gander


"Terence Mooney was an honest boy and well to do; an' he rinted the
biggest farm on this side iv the Galties; an' bein' mighty cute an' a
sevare worker, it was small wonder he turned a good penny every harvest.
But, unluckily, he was blessed with an ilegant large family iv
daughters, an' iv coorse, his heart was allamost bruck, striving to make
up fortunes for the whole of them. An' there wasn't a conthrivance iv
any soart or description for makin' money out iv the farm but he was up
to.

"Well, among the other ways he had iv gettin' up in the world he always
kep a power iv turkeys, and all soarts iv poultrey; an' he was out iv
all rason partial to geese--an' small blame to him for that same--for
twice't a year you can pluck them as bare as my hand--an' get a fine
price for the feathers, an' plenty of rale sizable eggs--an' when they
are too ould to lay any more, you can kill them, an' sell them to the
gintlemen for goslings, d'ye see, let alone that a goose is the most
manly bird that is out.

"Well, it happened in the coorse iv time that one ould gandher tuck a
wondherful likin' to Terence, an' divil a place he could go serenadin'
about the farm, or lookin' afther the men, but the gandher id be at his
heels, an' rubbin' himself agin his legs, an' lookin' up in his face
jist like any other Christian id do; an', begorra, the likes iv it was
never seen--Terence Mooney an' the gandher wor so great.

"An' at last the bird was so engagin' that Terence would not allow it to
be plucked any more, an' kep it from that time out for love an'
affection--just all as one like one iv his childer.

"But happiness in perfection never lasts long, an' the neighbours
begin'd to suspect the nathur an' intentions iv the gandher, an' some iv
them said it was the divil, an' more iv them that it was a fairy.

"Well, Terence could not but hear something of what was sayin', an' you
may be sure he was not altogether asy in his mind about it, an' from one
day to another he was gettin' more ancomfortable in himself, until he
detarmined to sind for Jer Garvan, the fairy docthor, in Garryowen, an'
it's he was the illigant hand at the business, an' divil a sperit id say
a crass word to him, no more nor a priest. An', moreover, he was very
great wid ould Terence Mooney--this man's father that was.

"So without more about it he was sint for, an', sure enough, the divil a
long he was about it, for he kem back that very evenin' along wid the
boy that was sint for him, an' as soon as he was there, an' tuck his
supper, an' was done talkin' for a while, he begin'd, of coorse, to look
into the gandher.

"Well, he turned it this away an' that away, to the right an' to the
left, an' straight-ways an' upside-down, an' when he was tired handlin'
it, says he to Terence Mooney:

"'Terence,' says he, 'you must remove the bird into the next room,' says
he, 'an' put a petticoat,' says he, 'or anny other convaynience round
his head,' says he.

"'An' why so?' says Terence.

"'Becase,' says Jer, says he.

"'Becase what?' says Terence.

"'Becase,' says Jer, 'if it isn't done you'll never be asy agin,' says
he, 'or pusillanimous in your mind,' says he; 'so ax no more questions,
but do my biddin',' says he.

"'Well,' says Terence, 'have your own way,' says he.

"An' wid that he tuck the ould gandher an' giv' it to one iv the
gossoons.

"'An' take care,' says he, 'don't smother the crathur,' says he.

"Well, as soon as the bird was gone, says Jer Garvan, says he:

"'Do you know what that old gandher _is_, Terence Mooney?'

"'Divil a taste,' says Terence.

"'Well, then,' says Jer, 'the gandher is your own father,' says he.

"'It's jokin' you are,' says Terence, turnin' mighty pale; 'how can an
ould gandher be my father?' says he.

"'I'm not funnin' you at all,' says Jer; 'it's thrue what I tell you,
it's your father's wandhrin' sowl,' says he, 'that's naturally tuck
pissession iv the ould gandher's body,' says he. 'I know him many ways,
and I wondher,' says he, 'you do not know the cock iv his eye yourself,'
says he.

"'Oh, blur an' ages!' says Terence, 'what the divil will I ever do at
all at all,' says he; 'it's all over wid me, for I plucked him twelve
times at the laste,' says he.

"'That can't be helped now,' says Jer; 'it was a sevare act, surely,'
says he, 'but it's too late to lamint for it now,' says he; 'the only
way to prevint what's past,' says he, 'is to put a stop to it before it
happens,' says he.

"'Thrue for you,' says Terence, 'but how the divil did you come to the
knowledge iv my father's sowl,' says he, 'bein' in the ould gandher,'
says he.

"'If I tould you,' says Jer, 'you would not undherstand me,' says he,
'without book-larnin' an' gasthronomy,' says he; 'so ax me no
questions,' says he, 'an' I'll tell you no lies. But b'lieve me in this
much,' says he, 'it's your father that's in it,' says he; 'an' if I
don't make him spake to-morrow mornin',' says he, 'I'll give you lave to
call me a fool,' says he.

"'Say no more,' says Terence; 'that settles the business,' says he; 'an'
oh, blur and ages! is it not a quare thing,' says he, 'for a dacent,
respictable man,' says he, 'to be walkin' about the counthry in the
shape iv an ould gandher,' says he; 'and oh, murdher, murdher! is not
it often I plucked him,' says he, 'an' tundher and ouns! might not I
have ate him?' says he; and wid that he fell into a could parspiration,
savin' your prisince, an' on the pint iv faintin' wid the bare notions
iv it.

"Well, whin he was come to himself agin, says Jerry to him, quite an'
asy:

"'Terence,' says he, 'don't be aggravatin' yourself,' says he; 'for I
have a plan composed that 'ill make him spake out,' says he, 'an' tell
what it is in the world he's wantin',' says he; 'an' mind an' don't be
comin' in wid your gosther, an' to say agin anything I tell you,' says
he, 'but jist purtind, as soon as the bird is brought back,' says he,
'how that we're goin' to sind him to-morrow mornin' to market,' says he.
'An' if he don't spake to-night,' says he, 'or gother himself out iv the
place,' says he, 'put him into the hamper airly, and sind him in the
cart,' says he, 'straight to Tipperary, to be sould for ating,' says he,
'along wid the two gossoons,' says he, 'an' my name isn't Jer Garvan,'
says he, 'if he doesn't spake out before he's half-way,' says he. 'An'
mind,' says he, 'as soon as iver he says the first word,' says he, 'that
very minute bring him aff to Father Crotty,' says he; 'an' if his
raverince doesn't make him ratire,' says he, 'like the rest iv his
parishioners, glory be to God,' says he, 'into the siclusion iv the
flames iv purgathory,' says he, 'there's no vartue in my charums,' says
he.

"Well, wid that the ould gandher was let into the room agin, an' they
all begin'd to talk iv sindin' him the nixt mornin' to be sould for
roastin' in Tipperary, jist as if it was a thing andoubtingly settled.
But divil a notice the gandher tuck, no more nor if they wor spaking iv
the Lord-Liftinant; an' Terence desired the boys to get ready the kish
for the poulthry, an' to 'settle it out wid hay soft an' shnug,' says
he, 'for it's the last jauntin' the poor ould gandher 'ill get in this
world,' says he.

"Well, as the night was gettin' late, Terence was growin' mighty
sorrowful an' down-hearted in himself entirely wid the notions iv what
was goin' to happen. An' as soon as the wife an' the crathurs wor fairly
in bed, he brought out some illigint potteen, an' himself an' Jer Garvan
sot down to it; an', begorra, the more anasy Terence got, the more he
dhrank, and himself and Jer Garvan finished a quart betune them. It
wasn't an imparial, though, an' more's the pity, for them wasn't
anvinted antil short since; but divil a much matther it signifies any
longer if a pint could hould two quarts, let alone what it does, sinst
Father Mathew--the Lord purloin his raverince--begin'd to give the
pledge, an' wid the blessin' iv timperance to deginerate Ireland.

"An', begorra, I have the medle myself; an' it's proud I am iv that
same, for abstamiousness is a fine thing, although it's mighty dhry.

"Well, whin Terence finished his pint, he thought he might as well stop;
'for enough is as good as a faste,' says he; 'an' I pity the vagabond,'
says he, 'that is not able to conthroul his licquor,' says he, 'an' to
keep constantly inside iv a pint measure,' says he; an' wid that he
wished Jer Garvan a good night an' walked out iv the room.

"But he wint out the wrong door, bein' a thrifle hearty in himself an'
not rightly knowin' whether he was standin' on his head or his heels,
or both iv them at the same time, an' in place iv gettin' into bed,
where did he thrun himself but into the poulthry hamper that the boys
had settled out ready for the gandher in the mornin'. An', sure enough,
he sunk down soft an' complate through the hay to the bottom; an' wid
the turnin' and roulin' about in the night, the divil a bit iv him but
was covered up as shnug as a lumper in a pittaty furrow before mornin'.

"So wid the first light, up gets the two boys that wor to take the
sperit, as they consaved, to Tipperary; an' they cotched the ould
gandher an' put him in the hamper, an' clapped a good wisp iv hay an the
top iv him, an' tied it down sthrong wid a bit iv a coard, an' med the
sign iv the crass over him, in dhread iv any harum, an' put the hamper
up an the car, wontherin' all the while what in the world was makin' the
ould bird so surprisin' heavy.

"Well, they wint along quite anasy towards Tipperary, wishin' every
minute that some iv the neighbours bound the same way id happen to fall
in with them, for they didn't half like the notions iv havin' no company
but the bewitched gandher, an' small blame to them for that same.

"But although they wor shaking in their skhins in dhread iv the ould
bird beginnin' to convarse them every minute, they did not let an to one
another, but kep singin' an' whistlin' like mad to keep the dread out iv
their hearts.

"Well, afther they wor on the road betther nor half an hour, they kem to
the bad bit close by Father Crotty's, an' there was one divil of a rut
three feet deep at the laste; an' the car got sich a wondherful chuck
goin' through it that it wakened Terence widin in the basket.

"'Bad luck to ye,' says he, 'my bones is bruck wid yer thricks; what the
divil are ye doin' wid me?'

"'Did ye hear anything quare, Thady?' says the boy that was next to the
car, turnin' as white as the top iv a mushroom; 'did ye hear anything
quare soundin' out iv the hamper?' says he.

"'No, nor you,' says Thady, turnin' as pale as himself. 'It's the ould
gandher that's gruntin' wid the shakin' he's gettin',' says he.

"'Where the divil have ye put me into?' says Terence inside. 'Bad luck
to your sowls,' says he; 'let me out, or I'll be smothered this minute,'
says he.

"'There's no use in purtending,' says the boy; 'the gandher's spakin',
glory be to God,' says he.

"'Let me out, you murdherers,' says Terence.

"'In the name iv the blessed Vargin,' says Thady, 'an' iv all the holy
saints, hould yer tongue, you unnatheral gandher,' says he.

"'Who's that, that dar to call me nicknames?' says Terence inside,
roaring wid the fair passion. 'Let me out, you blasphamious infiddles,'
says he, 'or by this crass I'll stretch ye,' says he.

"'In the name iv all the blessed saints in heaven,' says Thady, 'who the
divil are ye?'

"'Who the divil would I be, but Terence Mooney,' says he. 'It's myself
that's in it, you unmerciful bliggards,' says he. 'Let me out, or, by
the holy, I'll get out in spite iv yes,' says he, 'an', by jaburs, I'll
wallop yes in arnest,' says he.

"'It's ould Terence, sure enough,' says Thady. 'Isn't it cute the fairy
docthor found him out?' says he.

"'I'm an the pint of snuffication,' says Terence. 'Let me out, I tell
you, an' wait till I get at ye,' says he, 'for, begorra, the divil a
bone in your body but I'll powdher,' says he.

"An' wid that he beginned kickin' and flingin' inside in the hamper, and
dhrivin' his legs agin the sides iv it, that it was a wonder he did not
knock it to pieces.

"Well, as soon as the boys seen that they skelped the ould horse into a
gallop as hard as he could peg towards the priest's house, through the
ruts, an' over the stones; an' you'd see the hamper fairly flyin' three
feet up in the air with the joultin'; glory be to God.

"So it was small wondher, by the time they got to his raverince's door,
the breath was fairly knocked out of poor Terence, so that he was lyin'
speechless in the bottom iv the hamper.

"Well, whin his raverince kem down, they up an' they tould him all that
happened, an' how they put the gandher in the hamper, an' how he
beginned to spake, an' how he confissed that he was ould Terence Mooney;
an' they axed his honour to advise them how to get rid iv the sperit for
good an' all.

"So says his raverince, says he:

"'I'll take my booke,' says he, 'an' I'll read some rale sthrong holy
bits out iv it,' says he, 'an' do you get a rope and put it round the
hamper,' says he, 'an' let it swing over the runnin' wather at the
bridge,' says he, 'an' it's no matther if I don't make the sperit come
out iv it,' says he.

"Well, wid that the priest got his horse, and tuck his booke in undher
his arm, an' the boys follied his raverince, ladin' the horse down to
the bridge, an' divil a word out iv Terence all the way, for he seen it
was no use spakin', an' he was afeard if he med any noise they might
thrait him to another gallop an' finish him intirely.

"Well, as soon as they wor all come to the bridge, the boys tuck the
rope they had wid them an' med it fast to the top iv the hamper, an'
swung it fairly over the bridge, lettin' it hang in the air about twelve
feet out iv the wather.

"And his raverince rode down to the bank of the river close by, an'
beginned to read mighty loud and bould intirely.

"An' whin he was goin' on about five minutes, all at onst the bottom iv
the hamper kem out, an' down wint Terence, falling splash into the
wather, an' the ould gandher a-top iv him. Down they both wint to the
bottom, wid a souse you'd hear half a mile off.

"An' before they had time to rise agin, his raverince, wid the fair
astonishment, giv his horse one dig iv the spurs, an' before he knew
where he was, in he wint, horse an' all, a-top iv them, an' down to the
bottom.

"Up they all kem agin together, gaspin' and puffin', an' off down wid
the current wid them, like shot in under the arch iv the bridge till
they kem to the shallow wather.

"The ould gandher was the first out, and the priest and Terence kem
next, pantin' an' blowin' an' more than half dhrounded, an' his
raverince was so freckened wid the dhroundin' he got and wid the sight
iv the sperit, as he consaved, that he wasn't the better of it for a
month.

"An' as soon as Terence could spake he swore he'd have the life of the
two gossoons; but Father Crotty would not give him his will. An' as soon
as he was got quiter they all endivoured to explain it; but Terence
consaved he went raly to bed the night before, an' his wife said the
same to shilter him from the suspision for havin' th' dhrop taken. An'
his raverince said it was a mysthery, an' swore if he cotched anyone
laughin' at the accident he'd lay the horsewhip across their shoulders.

"An' Terence grew fonder an' fonder iv the gandher every day, until at
last he died in a wondherful old age, lavin' the gandher afther him an'
a large family iv childher.

"An' to this day the farm is rinted by one iv Terence Mooney's lenial
and legitimate postariors."

JOSEPH SHERIDAN LE FANN.




The Fairies' Passage


  Tap, tap, rap, rap! "Get up, gaffer Ferryman."
  "Eh! Who is there?" The clock strikes three.
  "Get up, do, gaffer! You are the very man
  We have been long, long, longing to see."
  The ferryman rises, growling and grumbling,
  And goes fum-fumbling, and stumbling, and tumbling
  Over the wares on his way to the door.
  But he sees no more
  Than he saw before,
  Till a voice is heard: "O Ferryman, dear!
  Here we are waiting, all of us, here.
  We are a wee, wee colony, we;
  Some two hundred in all, or three.
  Ferry us over the River Lee
  Ere dawn of day,
  And we will pay
  The most we may
  In our own wee way!"

  "Who are you? Whence came you?
  What place are you going to?"
  "Oh, we have dwelt over-long in this land:
  The people get cross, and are growing so knowing, too!
  Nothing at all but they now understand.
  We are daily vanishing under the thunder
  Of some huge engine or iron wonder;
  That iron--ah! it has entered our souls."
  "Your souls? O gholes!
  You queer little drolls,
  Do you mean ----?" "Good gaffer, do aid us with speed,
  For our time, like our stature, is short indeed!
  And a very long way we have to go:
  Eight or ten thousand miles or so,
  Hither and thither, and to and fro,
  With our pots and pans
  And little gold cans;
  But our light caravans
  Run swifter than man's."

  "Well, well, you may come," said the ferryman affably;
  "Patrick, turn out, and get ready the barge."
  Then again to the little folk: "Tho' you seem laughably
  Small, I don't mind, if your coppers be large."
  Oh, dear! what a rushing, what pushing, what crushing
  (The watermen making vain efforts at hushing
  The hubbub the while), there followed these words!
  What clapping of boards,
  What strapping of cords,
  What stowing away of children and wives,
  And platters, and mugs, and spoons, and knives!
  Till all had safely got into the boat,
  And the ferryman, clad in his tip-top coat,
  And his wee little fairies were safely afloat;
  Then ding, ding, ding,
  And kling, kling, kling,
  How the coppers did ring
  In the tin pitcherling!

  Off, then, went the boat, at first very pleasantly,
  Smoothly, and so forth; but after a while
  It swayed and it swagged this and that way, and presently
  Chest after chest, and pile after pile
  Of the little folk's goods began tossing and rolling,
  And pitching like fun, beyond fairy controlling.
  O Mab! if the hubbub were great before,
  It was now some two or three million times more.
  Crash! went the wee crocks and the clocks; and the locks
  Of each little wee box were stove in by hard knocks;
  And then there were oaths, and prayers, and cries:
  "Take care!"--"See there!"--"Oh, dear, my eyes!"--
  "I am killed!"--"I am drowned!"--with groans and sighs,
  Till to land they drew.
  "Yeo-ho! Pull to!
  Tiller-rope, thro' and thro'!"
  And all's right anew.
  "Now jump upon shore, ye queer little oddities.
  (Eh, what is this?... Where are they, at all?
  Where are they, and where are their tiny commodities?
  Well, as I live!"....) He looks blank as a wall,
  Poor ferryman! Round him and round him he gazes,
  But only gets deeplier lost in the mazes
  Of utter bewilderment. All, all are gone,
  And he stands alone,
  Like a statue of stone,
  In a doldrum of wonder. He turns to steer,
  And a tinkling laugh salutes his ear,
  With other odd sounds: "Ha, ha, ha, ha!
  Fol lol! zidzizzle! quee, quee! bah, bah!
  Fizzigigiggidy! pshee! sha, sha!"
  "O ye thieves, ye thieves, ye rascally thieves!"
  The good man cries. He turns to his pitcher,
  And there, alas, to his horror perceives
  That the little folk's mode of making him richer
  Has been to pay him with withered leaves!

JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN.




The King of the Black Desert

This story was told by one Laurence O'Flynn from near Swinford, in the
County Mayo, to my friend, the late F. O'Conor, of Athlone, from whom I
got it in Irish. It is the eleventh story in the "Sgeuluidhe Gaodhalach,"
and is here for the first time literally translated into English.

AN CHRAOIBHIN AOIBHINN.


When O'Conor was King over Ireland he was living in Rathcroghan, of
Connacht. He had one son, but he, when he grew up, was wild, and the
King could not control him, because he would have his own will in
everything.

One morning he went out--

  His hound at his foot,
  And his hawk on his hand,
  And his fine black horse to bear him--

and he went forward, singing a verse of a song to himself, until he came
as far as a big bush that was growing on the brink of a glen. There was
a grey old man sitting at the foot of the bush, and he said, "King's
son, if you are able to play as well as you are able to sing songs, I
would like to play a game with you." The King's son thought that it was
a silly old man that was in it, and he alighted, threw bridle over
branch, and sat down by the side of the grey old man.

The old man drew out a pack of cards and asked, "Can you play these?"

"I can," said the King's son.

"What shall we play for?" said the grey old man.

"Anything you wish," says the King's son.

"All right; if I win you must do for me anything I shall ask of you, and
if you win I must do for you anything you ask of me," says the grey old
man.

"I'm satisfied," says the King's son.

They played the game, and the King's son beat the grey old man. Then he
said, "What would you like me to do for you, King's son?"

"I won't ask you to do anything for me," says the King's son. "I think
that you are not able to do much."

"Don't mind that," said the old man. "You must ask me to do something. I
never lost a bet yet that I wasn't able to pay it."

As I said, the King's son thought that it was a silly old man that was
in it, and to satisfy him he said to him, "Take the head off my
stepmother and put a goat's head on her for a week."

"I'll do that for you," said the grey old man. The King's son went
a-riding on his horse--

  His hound at his foot,
  His hawk on his hand--

and he faced for another place, and never thought more about the grey
old man until he came home.

He found a cry and great grief in the castle. The servants told him that
an enchanter had come into the room where the Queen was, and had put a
goat's head on her in place of her own head.

"By my hand, but that's a wonderful thing," says the King's son. "If I
had been at home I'd have whipt the head off him with my sword."

There was great grief on the King, and he sent for a wise councillor,
and asked him did he know how the thing happened to the Queen.

"Indeed, I cannot tell you that," said he; "it's a work of enchantment."

The King's son did not let on that he had any knowledge of the matter,
but on the morrow morning he went out--

  His hound at his foot,
  His hawk on his hand,
  And his fine black horse to bear him--

and he never drew rein until he came as far as the big bush on the brink
of the glen. The grey old man was sitting there under the bush, and
said, "King's son, will you have a game to-day?" The King's son got down
and said, "I will." With that he threw bridle over branch and sat down
by the side of the old man. He drew out the cards and asked the King's
son did he get the thing he had won yesterday.

"That's all right," said the King's son.

"We'll play for the same bet to-day," says the grey old man.

"I'm satisfied," said the King's son.

They played--the King's son won. "What would you like me to do for you
this time?" says the grey old man. The King's son thought and said to
himself, "I'll give him a hard job this time." Then he said, "There's a
field of seven acres at the back of my father's castle; let it be filled
to-morrow morning with cows, and no two of them to be of one colour, or
one height, or one age."

"That shall be done," says the grey old man.

The King's son went riding on his horse--

  His hound at his foot,
  His hawk on his hand--

and faced for home. The King was sorrowful about the Queen; there were
doctors out of every place in Ireland, but they could not do her any
good.

On the morning of the next day the King's herd went out early, and he
saw the field at the back of the castle filled with cows, and no two of
them of the same colour, the same age, or the same height. He went in
and told the King the wonderful news. "Go and drive them out," says the
King. The herd got men, and went with them driving out the cows, but no
sooner would he put them out on one side than they would come in on the
other. The herd went to the King again, and told him that all the men
that were in Ireland would not be able to put out these cows that were
in the field. "They're enchanted cows," said the King.

When the King's son saw the cows, he said to himself, "I'll have
another game with the grey old man to-day!" That morning he went out--

  His hound at his foot,
  His hawk on his hand,
  And his fine black horse to bear him--

and he never drew rein till he came as far as the big bush on the brink
of the glen. The grey old man was there before him, and asked him would
he have a game of cards.

"I will," says the King's son; "but you know well that I can beat you
playing cards."

"We'll have another game, then," says the grey old man. "Did you ever
play ball?"

"I did, indeed," said the King's son; "but I think that you are too old
to play ball, and, besides that, we have no place here to play it."

"If you're contented to play, I'll find a place," says the grey old man.

"I'm contented," says the King's son.

"Follow me," says the grey old man.

The King's son followed him through the glen until he came to a fine
green hill. There he drew out a little enchanted rod, spoke some words
which the King's son did not understand, and after a moment the hill
opened and the two went in, and they passed through a number of splendid
halls until they came out into a garden. There was everything finer than
another in that garden, and at the bottom of the garden there was a
place for playing ball. They threw up a piece of silver to see who would
have hand-in, and the grey old man got it.

They began then, and the grey old man never stopped until he won out the
game. The King's son did not know what he would do. At last he asked the
old man what would he desire him to do for him.

"I am King over the Black Desert, and you must find out myself and my
dwelling-place within a year and a day, or I shall find you out and you
shall lose your head."

Then he brought the King's son out the same way by which he went in. The
green hill closed behind them, and the grey old man disappeared out of
sight.

The King's son went home, riding on his horse--

  His hound at his foot,
  His hawk on his hand--

and he sorrowful enough.

That evening the King observed that there was grief and great trouble on
his young son, and when he went to sleep the King and every person that
was in the castle heard heavy sighings and ravings from him. The King
was in grief--a goat's head to be on the Queen--but he was seven times
worse when they told him the (whole) story how it happened from
beginning to end.

He sent for a wise councillor, and asked him did he know where the King
of the Black Desert was living.

"I do not, indeed," said he; "but as sure as there's a tail on the cat,
unless the young heir finds out that enchanter he will lose his head."

There was great grief that day in the castle of the King. There was a
goat's head on the Queen, and the King's son was going searching for an
enchanter, without knowing whether he would ever come back.

After a week the goat's head was taken off the Queen, and her own head
was put upon her. When she heard of how the goat's head was put upon
her, a great hate came upon her against the King's son, and she said
"that he may never come back, alive or dead."

Of a Monday morning he left his blessing with his father and his
kindred; his travelling bag was bound upon his shoulder, and he went--

  His hound at his foot,
  His hawk on his hand,
  And his fine black horse to bear him.

He walked that day until the sun was gone beneath the shadow of the
hills and till the darkness of the night was coming, without knowing
where he could get lodgings. He noticed a large wood on his left-hand
side, and he drew towards it as quickly as he could, hoping to spend the
night under the shelter of the trees. He sat down at the foot of a large
oak tree, and opened his travelling bag to take some food and drink,
when he saw a great eagle coming towards him.

"Do not be afraid of me, King's son; I know you--you are the son of
O'Conor, King of Ireland. I am a friend, and if you give me your horse
to give to eat to four hungry birds that I have, I shall bear you
farther than your horse would bear you, and, perhaps, I would put you on
the track of him you are looking for."

"You can have the horse, and welcome," says the King's son, "although
I'm sorrowful at parting from him."

"All right, I shall be here to-morrow at sunrise." With that she opened
her great gob, caught hold of the horse, struck in his two sides against
one another, took wing, and disappeared out of sight.

The King's son ate and drank his enough, put his travelling bag under
his head, and it was not long till he was asleep, and he never awoke
till the eagle came and said, "It is time for us to be going; there is a
long journey before us. Take hold of your bag and leap up upon my back."

"But to my grief," says he, "I must part from my hound and my hawk."

"Do not be grieved," says she; "they will be here before you when you
come back."

Then he leaped up on her back. She took wing, and off and away with her
through the air. She brought him across hills and hollows, over a great
sea, and over woods, till he thought that he was at the end of the
world. When the sun was going under the shadow of the hills, she came to
earth in the midst of a great desert, and said to him, "Follow the path
on your right-hand side, and it will bring you to the house of a friend.
I must return again to provide for my birds."

He followed the path, and it was not long till he came to the house, and
he went in. There was a grey old man sitting in the corner. He rose and
said, "A hundred thousand welcomes to you, King's son, from Rathcroghan
of Connacht."

"I have no knowledge of you," said the King's son.

"I was acquainted with your grandfather," said the grey old man. "Sit
down; no doubt there is hunger and thirst on you."

"I'm not free from them," said the King's son.

The old man then smote his two palms against one another, and two
servants came and laid a board with beef, mutton, pork, and plenty of
bread before the King's son, and the old man said to him:

"Eat and drink your enough. Perhaps it may be a long time before you get
the like again."

He ate and drank as much as he desired, and thanked him for it.

Then the old man said, "You are going seeking for the King of the Black
Desert. Go to sleep now, and I will go through my books to see if I can
find out the dwelling-place of that King." Then he smote his palms
together, and a servant came, and he told him, "Take the King's son to
his chamber." He took him to a fine chamber, and it was not long till he
fell asleep.

On the morning of the next day the old man came and said:

"Rise up, there is a long journey before you. You must do five hundred
miles before midday."

"I could not do it," said the King's son.

"If you are a good rider I will give you a horse that will bring you
over the journey."

"I will do as you say," said the King's son.

The old man gave him plenty to eat and to drink, and, when he was
satisfied, he gave him a little white garron, and said, "Give the garron
his head, and when he stops look up into the air, and you will see three
swans as white as snow. Those are the three daughters of the King of the
Black Desert. There will be a green napkin in the mouth of one of them:
that is the youngest daughter, and there is not anyone alive except her
who could bring you to the house of the King of the Black Desert. When
the garron stops you will be near a lake. The three swans will come to
land on the brink of that lake, and they will make three young women of
themselves, and they will go into the lake swimming and dancing. Keep
your eye on the green napkin, and when you get the young women in the
lake, go and get the napkin, and do not part with it. Go into hiding
under a tree, and when the young women will come out, two of them will
make swans of themselves, and will go away in the air. Then the youngest
daughter will say, "I will do anything for him who will give me my
napkin." Come forward then and give her the napkin, and say there is
nothing you want but to bring you to her father's house, and tell her
you are a king's son from a powerful country."

The King's son did everything as the old man desired him, and when he
gave the napkin to the daughter of the King of the Black Desert, he
said, "I am the son of O'Conor, King of Connaught. Bring me to your
father. Long am I seeking him."

"Would not it be better for me to do something else for you?" said she.

"I do not want anything else," said he.

"If I show you the house will you not be satisfied?" said she.

"I will be satisfied," said he.

"Now," said she, "upon your life do not tell my father that it was I who
brought you to his house, and I shall be a good friend to you; but let
on," said she, "that you have great powers of enchantment."

"I will do as you say," says he.

Then she made a swan of herself, and said, "Leap up on my back and put
your hands under my neck, and keep a hard hold."

He did so, and she shook her wings, and off and away with her over hills
and over glens, over sea and over mountains, until she came to earth as
the sun was going under. Then she said to him, "Do you see that great
house yonder? That is my father's house. Farewell. Any time that you are
in danger I shall be at your side." Then she went from him.

The King's son went to the house and went in, and who should he see
sitting in a golden chair but the grey old man who had played the cards
and the ball with him.

"King's son," said he, "I see that you have found me out before the day
and the year. How long since you left home?"

"This morning, when I was rising out of my bed, I saw a rainbow. I gave
a leap, spread my two legs on it, and slid as far as this."

"By my hand, it was a great feat you performed," said the old King.

"I could do a more wonderful thing than that if I chose," said the
King's son.

"I have three things for you to do," says the old King, "and if you are
able to do them, you shall have the choice of my three daughters for
wife, and unless you are able to do them, you shall lose your head, as a
good many other young men have lost it before you."

"Then," he said, "there be's neither eating nor drinking in my house
except once in the week, and we had it this morning."

"It's all one to me," said the King's son. "I could fast for a month if
I were on a pinch."

"No doubt you can go without sleep also," says the old King.

"I can, without doubt," said the King's son.

"You shall have a hard bed to-night, then," says the old King. "Come
with me till I show it to you." He brought him out then and showed him a
great tree with a fork in it, and said, "Get up there and sleep in the
fork, and be ready with the rise of the sun."

He went up into the fork, but as soon as the old King was asleep the
young daughter came and brought him into a fine room, and kept him there
until the old King was about to rise. Then she put him out again into
the fork of the tree.

With the rise of the sun the old King came to him, and said, "Come down
now and come with me until I show you the thing that you have to do
to-day."

He brought the King's son to the brink of a lake and showed him an old
castle, and said to him, "Throw every stone in that castle out into the
loch, and let you have it done before the sun goes down in the evening."
He went away from him then.

The King's son began working, but the stones were stuck to one another
so fast that he was not able to raise one of them, and if he were to be
working until this day, there would not be one stone out of the castle.
He sat down then, thinking what he ought to do, and it was not long
until the daughter of the old King came to him and said, "What is the
cause of your grief?" He told her the work which he had to do. "Let that
put no grief on you; I will do it," said she. Then she gave him bread,
meat, and wine, pulled out a little enchanted rod, struck a blow on the
old castle, and in a moment every stone of it was at the bottom of the
lake. "Now," said she, "do not tell my father that it was I who did the
work for you."

When the sun was going down in the evening, the old King came and said,
"I see that you have your day's work done."

"I have," said the King's son; "I can do any work at all."

The old King thought now that the King's son had great powers of
enchantment, and he said to him, "Your day's work for to-morrow is to
lift the stones out of the loch, and to set up the castle again as it
was before."

He brought the King's son home, and said to him, "Go to sleep in the
place where you were last night."

When the old King went to sleep the young daughter came and brought him
into the fine chamber, and kept him there till the old King was about to
rise in the morning. Then she put him out again in the fork of the tree.

At sunrise the old King came and said, "It's time for you to get to
work."

"There's no hurry on me at all," says the King's son, "because I know I
can readily do my day's work."

He then went to the brink of the lake, but he was not able to see a
stone, the water was that black. He sat down on a rock, and it was not
long until Finnuala--that was the name of the old King's daughter--came
to him and said, "What have you to do to-day?" He told her, and she
said, "Let there be no grief on you. I can do that work for you." Then
she gave him bread, beef, mutton, and wine. After that she drew out the
little enchanted rod, smote the water of the lake with it, and in a
moment the old castle was set up as it had been the day before. Then she
said to him, "On your life, don't tell my father that I did this work
for you, or that you have any knowledge of me at all."

On the evening of that day the old King came and said, "I see that you
have the day's work done."

"I have," said the King's son; "that was an easy-done job."

Then the old King thought that the King's son had more power of
enchantment than he had himself, and he said, "You have only one other
thing to do." He brought him home then, and put him to sleep in the fork
of the tree, but Finnuala came and put him into the fine chamber, and in
the morning she sent him out again into the tree. At sunrise the old
King came to him, and said, "Come with me till I show you your day's
work."

He brought the King's son to a great glen, and showed him a well, and
said, "My grandmother lost a ring in that well, and do you get it for me
before the sun goes under this morning."

Now, this well was one hundred feet deep and twenty feet round about,
and it was filled with water, and there was an army out of hell watching
the ring.

When the old King went away Finnuala came and asked, "What have you to
do to-day?" He told her, and she said, "That is a difficult task, but I
shall do my best to save your life." Then she gave him beef, bread, and
wine. Then she made a diver of herself, and went down into the well. It
was not long till he saw smoke and lightning coming up out of the well,
and he heard a sound like thunder, and anyone who would be listening to
that noise, he would think that the army of hell was fighting.

At the end of a while the smoke went away, the lightning and thunder
ceased, and Finnuala came up with the ring. She handed the ring to the
King's son, and said, "I won the battle, and your life is saved. But,
look, the little finger of my right hand is broken. But perhaps it's a
lucky thing that it was broken. When my father comes do not give him
the ring, but threaten him stoutly. He will bring you, then, to choose
your wife, and this is how you shall make your choice. I and my sisters
will be in a room; there will be a hole in the door, and we shall all
put our hands out in a cluster. You will put your hand through the hole,
and the hand that you will keep hold of when my father will open the
door, that is the hand of her you shall have for wife. You can know me
by my broken little finger."

"I can; and the love of my heart you are, Finnuala," says the King's
son.

On the evening of that day the old King came and asked, "Did you get my
grandmother's ring?"

"I did, indeed," says the King's son. "There was an army out of hell
guarding it, but I beat them; and I would beat seven times as many.
Don't you know I'm a Connachtman?"

"Give me the ring," says the old King.

"Indeed, I won't give it," says he. "I fought hard for it. But do you
give me my wife; I want to be going."

The old King brought him in, and said, "My three daughters are in that
room before you. The hand of each of them is stretched out, and she on
whom you will keep your hold until I open the door, that one is your
wife."

The King's son thrust his hand through the hole that was in the door,
and caught hold of the hand with the broken little finger, and kept a
tight hold of it until the old King opened the door of the room.

"This is my wife," said the King's son. "Give me now your daughter's
fortune."

"She has no fortune to get, but the brown slender steed to bring you
home, and that ye may never come back, alive or dead!"

The King's son and Finnuala went riding on the brown slender steed, and
it was not long till they came to the wood where the King's son left his
hound and his hawk. They were there before him, together with his fine
black horse. He sent the brown slender steed back then. He set Finnuala
riding on his horse, and leaped up himself--

  His hound at his heel,
  His hawk on his hand--

and he never stopped till he came to Rathcroghan.

There was great welcome before him there, and it was not long till
himself and Finnuala were married. They spent a long, prosperous life.
But it is scarcely that even the track of this old castle is to be found
to-day in Rathcroghan of Connacht.

DOUGLAS HYDE.




The Piper and the Puca


In the old times there was a half fool living in Dunmore, in the county
Galway, and though he was excessively fond of music, he was unable to
learn more than one tune, and that was the "Black Rogue." He used to get
a good deal of money from the gentlemen, for they used to get sport out
of him. One night the Piper was coming home from a house where there had
been a dance, and he half drunk. When he came up to a little bridge that
was by his mother's house, he squeezed the pipes on, and began playing
the "Black Rogue." The Puca came behind him, and flung him on his own
back. There were long horns on the Puca, and the Piper got a good grip
of them, and then he said:

"Destruction on you, you nasty beast; let me home. I have a
tenpenny-piece in my pocket for my mother, and she wants snuff."

"Never mind your mother," said the Puca, "but keep your hold. If you
fall, you will break your neck and your pipes." Then the Puca said to
him, "Play up for me the 'Shan Van Vocht.'"

"I don't know it," said the Piper.

"Never mind whether you do or you don't," said the Puca. "Play up, and
I'll make you know."

The Piper put wind in his bag, and he played such music as made himself
wonder.

"Upon my word, you're a fine music-master," says the Piper, then; "but
tell me where you're for bringing me."

"There's a great feast in the house of the Banshee, on the top of Croagh
Patric, to-night," says the Puca, "and I'm for bringing you there to
play music, and, take my word, you'll get the price of your trouble."

"By my word, you'll save me a journey, then," says the Piper, "for
Father William put a journey to Croagh Patric on me because I stole the
white gander from him last Martinmas."

The Puca rushed him across hills and bogs and rough places, till he
brought him to the top of Croagh Patric.

Then the Puca struck three blows with his foot, and a great door opened
and they passed in together into a fine room.

The Piper saw a golden table in the middle of the room, and hundreds of
old women sitting round about it.

The old women rose up, and said, "A hundred thousand welcomes to you,
you Puca of November. Who is this you have with you?"

"The best Piper in Ireland," says the Puca.

One of the old women struck a blow on the ground, and a door opened in
the side of the wall, and what should the Piper see coming out but the
white gander which he had stolen from Father William.

"By my conscience, then," says the Piper, "myself and my mother ate
every taste of that gander, only one wing, and I gave that to Red Mary,
and it's she told the priest I stole his gander."

The gander cleaned the table, and carried it away, and the Puca said,
"Play up music for these ladies."

The Piper played up, and the old women began dancing, and they were
dancing till they were tired. Then the Puca said to pay the Piper, and
every old woman drew out a gold piece and gave it to him.

"By the tooth of Patric," says he, "I'm as rich as the son of a lord."

"Come with me," says the Puca, "and I'll bring you home."

They went out then, and just as he was going to ride on the Puca, the
gander came up to him and gave him a new set of pipes.

The Puca was not long until he brought him to Dunmore, and he threw the
Piper off at the little bridge, and then he told him to go home, and
says to him, "You have two things now that you never had before--you
have sense and music." The Piper went home, and he knocked at his
mother's door, saying, "Let me in, I'm as rich as a lord, and I'm the
best Piper in Ireland."

"You're drunk," says the mother.

"No, indeed," says the Piper, "I haven't drunk a drop."

The mother let him in, and he gave her the gold pieces, and, "Wait now,"
says he, "till you hear the music I'll play."

He buckled on the pipes, but instead of music there came a sound as if
all the geese and ganders in Ireland were screeching together. He
wakened the neighbours, and they were all mocking him, until he put on
the old pipes, and then he played melodious music for them; and after
that he told them all he had gone through that night.

The next morning, when his mother went to look at the gold pieces, there
was nothing there but the leaves of a plant.

The piper went to the priest and told him his story, but the priest
would not believe a word from him, until he put the pipes on him, and
then the screeching of the ganders and the geese began.

"Leave my sight, you thief," says the priest.

But nothing would do the Piper till he put the old pipes on him to show
the priest that his story was true.

He buckled on the old pipes, and he played melodious music, and from
that day till the day of his death there was never a Piper in the county
Galway was as good as he was.

DOUGLAS HYDE.




The Fairy Changeling


  Dermod O'Byrne of Omah town
  In his garden strode up and down;
  He pulled his beard, and he beat his breast;
  And this is his trouble and woe confessed:

  "The good-folk came in the night, and they
  Have stolen my bonny wean away;
  Have put in his place a changeling,
  A weashy, weakly, wizen thing!

  "From the speckled hen nine eggs I stole,
  And lighting a fire of a glowing coal,
  I fried the shells, and I spilt the yolk;
  But never a word the stranger spoke.

  "A bar of metal I heated red
  To frighten the fairy from its bed,
  To put in the place of this fretting wean
  My own bright beautiful boy again.

  "But my wife had hidden it in her arms,
  And cried, 'For shame!' on my fairy charms;
  She sobs, with the strange child on her breast,
  'I love the weak, wee babe the best!'"

  To Dermod O'Byrne's, the tale to hear,
  The neighbours came from far and near;
  Outside his gate, in the long boreen,
  They crossed themselves, and said between

  Their muttered prayers, "He has no luck!
  For sure the woman is fairy-struck,
  To leave her child a fairy guest,
  And love the weak, wee wean the best!"


DORA SIGERSON.




The Talking Head of Donn-bo


There is an old tale told in Erin of a lovable and bright and handsome
youth named Donn-bo, who was the best singer of "Songs of Idleness" and
the best teller of "King Stories" in the world. He could tell a tale of
each king who reigned in Erin, from the "Tale of the Destruction of Dind
Righ," when Cova Coelbre was killed, down to the kings who reigned in
his own time.

On a night before a battle, the warriors said, "Make minstrelsy to-night
for us, Donn-bo." But Donn-bo answered, "No word at all will come on my
lips to-night; therefore, for this night let the King-buffoon of Ireland
amuse you. But to-morrow, at this hour, in whatsoever place they and I
shall be, I will make minstrelsy for the fighting men." For the warriors
had said that unless Donn-bo would go with them on that hosting, not one
of them would go.

The battle was past, and on the evening of the morrow at that same hour
Donn-bo lay dead, his fair young body stretched across the body of the
King of Ireland, for he had died in defending his chief. But his head
had rolled away among a wisp of growing rushes by the waterside.

At the feasting of the army on that night a warrior said, "Where is
Donn-bo, that he may make minstrelsy for us, as he promised us at this
hour yesternight, and that he may tell us the 'King Stories of Erin'?"

A valiant champion of the men of Munster answered, "I will go over the
battle-field and seek for him." He enquired among the living for
Donn-bo, but he found him not, and then he searched hither and thither
among the dead.

At last he came where the body of the King of Erin lay, and a young,
fair corpse beside it. In all the air about there was the sound of
minstrelsy, low and very sweet; dead bards and poets reciting in faint
whispers old tales and poems to dead chiefs.

The wild, clear note of the battle-march, the _dord fiansa_, played by
the drooping hands of slain warriors upon the points of broken spears,
low like the echo of an echo, sounded in the clump of rushes hard by;
and, above them all, a voice, faint and very still, that sang a song
that was sweeter than the tunes of the whole world beside.

The voice that sang was the voice of the head of Donn-bo. The warrior
stooped to pick up the head.

"Do not touch me," said the head, "for we are commanded by the King of
the Plains of Heaven to make music to-night for our lord, the King of
Erin, the shining one who lies dead beside us; and though all of us are
lying dead likewise, no faintness or feebleness shall prevent us from
obeying that command. Disturb me not."

"The hosts of Leinster are asking thee to make minstrelsy for them, as
thou didst promise yesternight," said the messenger.

"When my minstrelsy here is done, I will go with thee," saith the head;
"but only if Christ, the Son of God, in whose presence I now am, go with
me, and if thou takest me to my body again." "That shall be done,
indeed," saith the messenger, and when it had ceased chanting for the
King of Erin he carried away the head.

When the messenger came again amongst the warriors they stopped their
feasting and gathered round him. "Hast thou brought anything from the
battle-field?" they cried.

"I have brought the head of Donn-bo," said the man.

"Set it upon a pillar that we may see and hear it," cried they all; and
they said, "It is no luck for thee to be like that, Donn-bo, and thou
the most beautiful minstrel and the best in Erin. Make music, for the
love of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Amuse the Leinster men to-night as
thou didst amuse thy lord a while ago."

Then Donn-bo turned his face to the wall, that the darkness might be
around him, and he raised his melody in the quiet night; and the sound
of that minstrelsy was so piteous and sad that the hosts sat weeping at
the sound of it. Then was the head taken to his body, and the neck
joined itself to the shoulders again, and Donn-bo was at rest.

This is the story of the "Talking Head of Donn-bo."

ELEANOR HULL.




The Bracket Bull

I wrote this story carefully down, word for word, from the telling of
two men--the first, Shawn Cunningham, of Ballinphuil, and the second,
Martin Brennan of Ballinlocha, in the barony of Frenchpark. They each
told the same story, but Martin Brennan repeated the end of it at
greater length than the other. The first half is written down word for
word from the mouth of Cunningham, the second half from that of Brennan.

AN CHRAOIBHIN AOIBHINN.


There was a man in it long ago, and long ago it was, and if he was in it
then he would not be in it now. He was married, and his wife was lost
(i.e., died), and he had only one son by the first wife. Then he married
the second wife. This second wife had not much regard for the son, and
he was obliged to go out on the mountain, far from the house, to take
care of the cattle.

There was a bracket (speckled) bull amongst the cows out on the
mountain, and of a day that there was great hunger on the lad, the
bracket bull heard him complaining and wringing his two hands, and he
moved over to him and said to him, "You are hungry, but take the horn
off me and lay it on the ground; put your hand into the place where the
horn was and you will find food."

When he heard that he went over to the bull, took hold of the horn,
twisted it, and it came away with him in his hand. He laid it on the
ground, put in his hand, and drew out food and drink and a table-cloth.
He spread the table-cloth on the ground, set the food and drink on it,
and then he ate and drank his enough. When he had his enough eaten and
drunk, he put the table-cloth back again, and left the horn back in the
place where it was before.

When he came home that evening he did not eat a bit of his supper, and
his stepmother said to herself that he (must have) got something to eat
out on the mountain since he was not eating any of his supper.

When he went out with his cattle the next day his stepmother sent her
own daughter out after him, and told her to be watching him till she
should see where he was getting the food. The daughter went and put
herself in hiding, and she was watching him until the heat of the day
came: but when the middle of the day was come she heard every music more
excellent than another, and she was put to sleep by that truly melodious
music. The bull came then, and the lad twisted the horn off him and drew
out the table-cloth, the food, and the drink, and ate and drunk his
enough. He put back the horn again then. The music was stopped and the
daughter woke up, and was watching him until the evening came, and he
drove the cows home then. The mother asked her did she see anything in
the field, and she said that she did not. The lad did not eat two bites
of his supper, and there was wonder on the stepmother.

The next day when he drove out the cows the stepmother told the second
daughter to follow him, and to be watching him till she would see where
he was getting things to eat. The daughter followed him and put herself
in hiding, but when the heat of the day came the music began and she
fell asleep. The lad took the horn off the bull, drew out the
table-cloth, the food, and drink, ate and drank his enough, and put back
the horn again. The girl woke then, and was watching him until the
evening. When the evening came he drove the cows home, and he was not
able to eat his supper any more than the two evenings before. The
stepmother asked the daughter did she see anything, and she said she did
not. There was wonder on the stepmother.

The next day, when the lad went out herding the cows, the stepmother
sent the third daughter out after him, and threatened her not to fall
asleep, but to have a good watch. The daughter followed the lad, and
went into hiding. This daughter had three eyes, for she had an eye in
the back of her head. When the bracket bull began playing every music
more excellent than another, he put the other eyes to sleep, but he was
not able to put the third eye to sleep. When the heat of the day came
she saw the bracket bull coming to the boy, and the boy taking the horn
off him and eating.

She ran home then, and said to her mother that there wasn't such a
dinner in the world as was being set before the boy out of the horn of
the bracket bull.

Then the mother let on that she was sick, and she killed a cock, and she
let down its blood into her bed, and she put up a sup of the blood into
her mouth, and she sent for her husband, saying that she was finding
death (dying). Her husband came in, and he saw the blood, and he said,
"Anything that is in the world that would save her that she must get
it." She said that there wasn't a thing in the world that would save her
but a piece of the bracket bull that was on the mountain.

"You must get that," said he.

The bracket bull used to be the first one of the cattle that used to
come in every night, and the stepmother sent for two butchers, and she
set them on each side of the gate to kill the bracket bull when he would
come.

The bracket bull said to the boy, "I'll be swept (done for) to-night,
unless another cow goes before me." He put another cow out before him,
and the two butchers were standing on each side of the gate to kill the
first one that would come in. The bull sent the cow out before him,
going through the gate, and they killed her: and then the stepmother got
a piece of her to eat, and she thought that it was the bracket bull that
she was eating, and she got better then.

The next night, when the lad came home with the cattle, he ate no more
of his supper than any other night, and there was wonder on the
stepmother. She heard after this that the bracket bull was in it (i.e.,
alive) all through, and that he was not killed at that time.

When she heard that she killed a cock, and she let down some of its
blood into her bed, and she put a sup of the blood into her mouth, and
she played the same trick over again, and said that there was nothing
at all to cure her but a piece of the bracket bull.

The butchers were sent for, and they were ready to kill the bracket bull
as soon as he came in. The bracket bull sent another one of the cattle
in before himself, and the butchers killed it. The woman got part of its
flesh, and she thought it was part of the bracket bull she was eating,
and she got better.

She found out afterwards that it was not the bracket bull that was dead,
and she said, "Never mind; I'll kill the bracket bull yet!"

The next day, when the lad was herding the cows on the mountain, the
bracket bull came and said to him, "Take the horn off me and eat your
enough now. That's the last time for you. They are waiting to kill me
to-night, but don't you be afraid. It is not they who shall kill me, but
another bull shall kill me. Get up on my back now."

The lad got up on his back then and they went home. The two butchers
were on each side of the gate waiting for him. The bracket bull struck a
horn on each side of him, and he killed the two butchers. Out with him
then, and the lad on his back.

He went into a wild wood, and he himself and the lad spent the night in
that wood. He was to fight with the other bull on the next day.

When the day came, the bracket bull said, "Take the horn off me and eat
your enough--that's the last luck you have. I am to fight with the other
bull immediately, and I shall escape from him to-day, but he will have
me dead to-morrow by twelve o'clock."

Himself and the other bull fought that day, and the bracket bull came
back in the evening, and he himself and the lad passed that night in the
wood.

When the next day came, the bracket bull said to him, "Twist the horn
off me and eat your enough--that's the last luck you'll have. Listen now
to the thing that I'm telling you. When you'll see me dead, go and cut a
strip of skin of the back and a strip of the stomach off me, and make a
belt of it, and at any time at all there will be any hard pinch on you,
you shall have my power."

The bracket bull went then to fight with the other bull, and the other
bull killed him. The other bull went away then. The lad came to the
bracket bull where he was lying on the ground, and he was not dead,
out-and-out. When he saw the boy coming he said, "Oh," said he, "make
haste as well as you can in the world, and take out your knife and cut
that strip off me, or you will be killed as well as myself."

There was a trembling in the poor creature's hand, and he was not able
to cut a piece at all off the bull, after his feeding him for so long,
and after the kindness he had got from him.

The bracket bull spoke again, and told him to cut the strip off him on
the instant, and that it would assist him as long as he would be alive.
He cut a strip off the back then, and another strip off the belly, and
he went away.

There was plenty of trouble and of grief on him, going of him, and he
ought to have that on him too, and he departing without any knowledge of
where he was making for, or where he would go.

A gentleman met him on the road, and asked him where he was going. The
lad said that he did not himself know where he was going, but that he
was going looking for work.

"What are you able to do?" says the gentleman.

"I'm as good a herd as ever you saw, but I'll not tell you a lie--I can
do nothing but herding; but, indeed, I'll do that as well as any man
that ever you saw."

"It's you I want," says the gentleman. "There are three giants up by my
land, on the one mearing with me, and anything that will go in on their
land they will keep it, and I cannot take it off them again. That's all
they're asking--my cattle to go in across the mearing to them."

"Never mind them. I'll go bail that I'll take good heed of them, and
that I'll not let anything in to them."

The gentleman brought him home then, and he went herding for him. When
the grass was getting scarce, he was driving the cows further out. There
was a big stone wall between the land of the giants and his master's
land. There was fine grass on the other side of the wall. When he saw
that, he threw down a gap in the wall and let in the pigs and the cows.
He went up into a tree then, and was throwing down apples and all sorts
(of fruit) to the pigs.

A giant came out, and when he saw the lad up on the tree throwing down
the apples to the pigs, the head rose on him (i.e., he got furious). He
came to the tree. "Get down out of that," says he. "I think you big for
one bite and small for two bites; come down till I draw you under my
long cold teeth."

"Arrah, take yourself easy," says the boy; "perhaps it's too quick I'd
come down to you."

"I won't be talking to you any longer," says the giant. He got a
leverage on the tree and drew it up out of the roots.

"Go down, black thong, and squeeze that fellow," says the lad, for he
remembered the advice of the bracket bull. On the instant the black
thong leaped out of his hand, and squeezed the giant so hard that the
two eyes were going out on his head, for stronger was the power of the
bull than the power of the giant. The giant was not able to put a stir
out of himself, and he promised anything at all--only to save his life
for him. "Anything at all you want," says he to the lad, "you must get
it from me."

"I'm not asking anything at all except the loan of the sword that's
under your bed," says he.

"I give it to you, and welcome," says the giant. He went in, and brought
out the sword with him.

"Try it on the three biggest trees that are in the wood, and you won't
feel it in your hand going through them," says the giant.

"I don't see any tree in the wood bigger or uglier than yourself," says
he, drawing the sword and whipping the head off him, so that he sent it
seven furrows and seven ridges with that stroke.

"If I were to get on the body again," said the head, and it talking,
"and the men of the world wouldn't get me off the trunk again."

"I'll take good care myself of that," says the lad.

When he drove the cows home in the evening, they had that much milk that
they had not half enough of vessels, and two coopers were obliged to
make new vessels to hold the quantity of milk they had.

"You're the best lad that ever I met," says the gentleman, and he was
thankful to him.

The giants used to put--each man of them--a shout of him every evening.
The people only heard two shouts that evening. "There's some change in
the caher to-night," said the gentleman, when he heard the two
shouts.

"Oh," says the lad, "I saw one of them going away by himself to-day, and
he did not come home yet."

On the next day the lad drove out his cattle until he came to the big
stone wall, and he threw a gap in it, and let the cattle into the same
place. He went up into a tree and began throwing down the apples. The
second giant came running, and said, "What's the meaning of throwing my
wall and letting in your cattle on my estate? Get down out of that at
once. You killed my brother yesterday."

"Go down, black thong, and bind that one," says the lad. The thong
squeezed him so that he was not able to put a stir out of himself, and
he promised the lad anything at all--only to spare his life.

"I am asking nothing of you but the loan of the old sword that is under
your bed."

"I'll give you that, and welcome." He went in, and brought out the sword
with him. Each man of them had a sword, and every sword better than
another.

"Try that sword on the six biggest trees that are in the wood, and it
will go through them without turning the edge."

"I don't see any tree in the wood bigger or uglier than yourself," says
he, drawing the sword and whipping the head off him, so that he sent it
seven furrows and seven ridges from the body.

"Oh," said the head, "if I were to get going on the body again, and the
men of the world wouldn't get me off it again."

"Oh, I'll take care of that myself," says the boy.

When he drove the cows home that night there was wonder on the people
when they saw the quantity of milk they had. The gentleman said that
there was another change in the caher that day again, as he did not hear
but only one shout, but the lad said that he saw another one going away
that day, and that it was likely that he did not come back yet.

On the next day he went out, and drove the pigs and the cows up to the
hall door, and was throwing down the apples to them. The third giant
came out--the eldest man of them--and he was full mad after his two
brothers being dead, and the teeth that were in his head were making a
hand-stick for him. He told the boy to come down; that he did not know
what he would do to him after his having killed his two brothers. "Come
down," says he, "till I draw you under my long, cold teeth"; and it was
on him the long, cold teeth were, and no lie.

"Go down, black thong, and bind that one till the eyes will be going out
on his head with the power of the squeezing that you'll give him."

The black thong leaped from him, and it bound the giant until the two
eyes were going out on his head with the squeezing and with the
tightening it gave him, and the giant promised to give him anything at
all; "but spare my life," says he.

"I'm only asking the loan of the old sword that's under your bed," said
the lad.

"Have it, and welcome," says the giant. He went in, and brought out the
sword with him. "Now," says the giant, "strike the two ugliest stumps in
the wood, and the sword will cut them without getting a bent edge."

"Musha, then, by Mary," says the boy, "I don't see any stump in the wood
uglier than yourself," and he struck him so that he sent his head seven
furrows and seven ridges from the body.

"Ochone for ever!" says the head. "If I were to get going on the body
again, the men of the world--they wouldn't get me off the body again."

"I'll take care of that myself," says the boy.

When he came home that night the coopers were not able to make enough of
vessels for them to hold the quantity of milk that the cows had, and the
pigs were not able to eat with the quantity of apples that they had
eaten before that.

He was a while in that way herding the cows and everything that was in
the castle, he had it. There was no one at all going near the castle,
for there was fear on them.

There was a fiery dragon in that country, and he used to come every
seven years, and unless there would be a young woman ready bound before
him he would drive the sea through the land, and he would destroy the
people. The day came when the dragon was to come, and the lad asked his
master to let him go to the place where the dragon was coming. "What's
the business you have there?" says the master. "There will be horsemen
and coaches and great people there, and the crowds will be gathered
together in it out of every place. The horses would rise up on top of
you, and you would be crushed under their feet; and it's better for you
to stop at home."

"I'll stop," said the lad. But when he got them all gone he went to the
castle of the three giants, and he put a saddle on the best steed they
had, and a fine suit on himself, and he took the first giant's sword in
his hand, and he went to where the dragon was.

It was like a fair there, with the number of riders and coaches and
horses and people that were gathered in it. There was a young lady bound
to a post on the brink of the sea, and she waiting for the dragon to
come to swallow her. It was the King's daughter that was in it, for the
dragon would not take any other woman. When the dragon came out of the
sea the lad went against him, and they fought with one another, and were
fighting till the evening, until the dragon was frothing at the mouth,
and till the sea was red with its blood. He turned the dragon out into
the sea at last. He went away then, and said that he would return the
next day. He left the steed again in the place where he found it, and he
took the fine suit off him, and when the other people returned he was
before them. When the people came home that night they were all talking
and saying that some champion came to fight with the dragon and turned
him out into the sea again. That was the story that every person had,
but they did not know who was the champion who did it.

The next day, when his master and the other people were gone, he went to
the castle of the three giants again, and he took out another steed and
another suit of valour (i.e., armour), and he brought with him the
second giant's sword, and he went to the place where the dragon was to
come.

The King's daughter was bound to a post on the shore, waiting for him,
and the eyes going out on her head looking would she see the champion
coming who fought the dragon the day before. There were twice as many
people in it as there were on the first day, and they were all waiting
till they would see the champion coming. When the dragon came the lad
went in face of him, and the dragon was half confused and sickened after
the fight that he had made the day before. They were beating one another
till the evening, and then he drove away the dragon. The people tried to
keep him, but they were not able. He went from them.

When his master came home that evening the lad was in the house before
him. The master told him that another champion came that day, and that
he had turned the dragon into the sea. But no doubt the lad knew the
story better himself than he did.

On the next day, when the gentleman was gone, he went to the caher of
the giants, and he took with him another steed and another suit and the
sword of the third giant, and when he came to fight with the dragon the
people thought it was another champion who was in it.

He himself and the dragon were beating each other, then, and the sorra
such a fight you ever saw. There were wings on the dragon, and when he
was getting it tight he rose up in the air, and he was thrusting and
beating the boy in his skull till he was nearly destroyed. He remembered
the black thong then, and said, "Black thong, bind that one so hard that
they'll be listening to his screeching in the two divisions of the world
with the squeezing that you'll give him." The black thong leapt away,
and she bound him, and then the lad took the head off him, and the sea
was red with his blood, and the waves of blood were going on the top of
the water.

The lad came to the land, then, and they tried to keep him; but he went
from them, and as he was riding by the lady snatched the shoe off him.

He went away, then, and he left the horse and the sword and the suit of
armour in the place where he found them, and when the gentleman and the
other people came home he was sitting before them at the fire. He asked
them how the fight went, and they told him that the champion killed the
fiery dragon, but that he was gone away, and that no one at all knew who
he was.

When the King's daughter came home she said that she would never marry a
man but the man whom that shoe would fit.

There were sons of kings, and great people among them, and they saying
that it was themselves who killed the dragon; but she said it was not
they, unless the shoe would fit them. Some of them were cutting the toes
off their feet, and some of them taking off a piece of the heel, and
more of them cutting the big toe off themselves, trying would the shoe
fit them. There was no good for them in it. The King's daughter said
that she would not marry one man of them.

She sent out soldiers, then, and the shoe with them, to try would it fit
anyone at all. Every person, poor and rich, no matter where he was from,
must try the shoe on him.

The lad was stretched out lying on the grass when the soldiers came, and
when they saw him they said to him, "Show your foot."

"Oh, don't be humbugging me," says he.

"We have orders," said they, "and we cannot return without trying the
shoe on everyone, poor and rich, so stretch out your foot." He did that,
and the shoe went in on his foot on the moment.

They said to him that he must come with them.

"Oh, listen to me" (i.e., give me time), said he, "till I dress myself."

He went to the caher of the giants, and he got a fine new suit on him,
and he went with them then.

That's where the welcome was for him, and he as dressed up as e'er a
man of them. They had a wedding for three days and three nights.

They got the pond and I the lakelet. They were drowned, and I came
through. And as I have it (i.e., the story) to-night, that ye may not
have it to-morrow night, or if ye have it itself, that ye may only lose
the back teeth by it!

DOUGLAS HYDE.




The Demon Cat


There was a woman in Connemara, the wife of a fisherman; as he had
always good luck, she had plenty of fish at all times stored away in the
house ready for market. But, to her great annoyance, she found that a
great cat used to come in at night and devour all the best and finest
fish. So she kept a big stick by her, and determined to watch.

One day, as she and a woman were spinning together, the house suddenly
became quite dark; and the door was burst open as if by the blast of the
tempest, when in walked a huge black cat, who went straight up to the
fire, then turned round and growled at them.

"Why, surely this is the devil," said a young girl who was by, sorting
fish.

"I'll teach you to call me names," said the cat; and, jumping at her, he
scratched her arm till the blood came. "There, now," he said, "you will
be more civil another time when a gentleman comes to see you." And, with
that, he walked over to the door, and shut it close to prevent any of
them going out, for the poor young girl, while crying loudly from fright
and pain, had made a desperate rush to get away.

Just then a man was going by, and, hearing the cries, he pushed open the
door, and tried to get in; but the cat stood on the threshold and would
let no one pass. On this the man attacked him with a stick, and gave him
a sound blow; the cat, however, was more than a match in the fight, for
it flew at him, and tore his face and hands so badly that the man at
last took to his heels, and ran away as fast as he could.

"Now, it's time for my dinner," said the cat, going up to examine the
fish that was laid out on the tables. "I hope the fish is good to-day.
Now, don't disturb me, or make a fuss; I can help myself." With that, he
jumped up, and began to devour all the best fish, while he growled at
the woman.

"Away out of this, you wicked beast!" she cried, giving it a blow with
the tongs that would have broken its back, only it was a devil; "out of
this; no fish shall you have to-day!"

But the cat only grinned at her, and went on tearing and despoiling and
devouring the fish, evidently not a bit the worse for the blows. On
this both the women attacked it with sticks, and struck hard blows
enough to kill it, on which the cat glared at them and spit fire; then,
making a leap, it tore their heads and arms till the blood came, and the
frightened women rushed shrieking from the house.

But presently the mistress of the house returned, carrying with her a
bottle of holy water; and, looking in, she saw the cat still devouring
the fish, and not minding. So she crept over quietly, and threw holy
water on it without a word. No sooner was this done than a dense, black
smoke filled the place, through which nothing was seen but the two red
eyes of the cat burning like coals of fire. Then the smoke gradually
cleared away, and she saw the body of the creature burning slowly, till
it became shrivelled and black like a cinder, and finally disappeared.
And from that time the fish remained untouched and safe from harm, for
the power of the Evil One was broken, and the Demon Cat was seen no
more.

LADY WILDE.




The Abbot of Inisfalen

(_A Legend of Killarney._)


I.

  The Abbot of Inisfalen awoke ere dawn of day;
  Under the dewy green leaves went he forth to pray,
  The lake around his island lay smooth and dark and deep,
  And wrapt in a misty stillness the mountains were all asleep.
  Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac when the dawn was dim and gray;
  The prayers of his holy office he faithfully 'gan to say.
  Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac while the dawn was waxing red;
  And for his sins' forgiveness a solemn prayer he said;
  Low kneel'd that holy Abbot while the dawn was waxing clear;
  And he pray'd with loving-kindness for his convent-brethren dear.
  Low kneel'd that blessed Abbot while the dawn was waxing bright;
  He pray'd a great prayer for Ireland, he pray'd with all his might.
  Low kneel'd that good old Father while the sun began to dart;
  He pray'd a prayer for all men, he pray'd it from his heart.
  His blissful soul was in Heaven, tho' a breathing man was he;
  He was out of Time's dominion, so far as the living may be.


II.

  The Abbot of Inisfalen arose upon his feet;
  He heard a small bird singing, and O but it sung sweet!
  It sung upon a holly-bush, this little snow-white bird;
  A song so full of gladness he never before had heard.
  It sung upon a hazel, it sung upon a thorn;
  He had never heard such music since the hour that he was born.
  It sung upon a sycamore, it sung upon a briar;
  To follow the song and hearken this Abbot could never tire.
  Till at last he well bethought him; he might no longer stay;
  So he blessed the little white singing-bird, and gladly went his way.


III.

  But, when he came to his Abbey, he found a wondrous change;
  He saw no friendly faces there, for every face was strange.
  The strange men spoke unto him; and he heard from all and each
  The foreign tongue of the Sassenach, not wholesome Irish speech.
  Then the oldest monk came forward, in Irish tongue spake he:
  "Thou wearest the holy Augustine's dress, and who hath given it to thee?"
  "I wear the holy Augustine's dress, and Cormac is my name,
  The Abbot of this good Abbey by grace of God I am.
  I went forth to pray, at the dawn of day; and when my prayers were said,
  I hearken'd awhile to a little bird that sung above my head."
  The monks to him made answer, "Two hundred years have gone o'er,
  Since our Abbot Cormac went through the gate, and never was heard of
    more.
  Matthias now is our Abbot, and twenty have pass'd away.
  The stranger is lord of Ireland; we live in an evil day."
  "Days will come and go," he said, "and the world will pass away,
  In Heaven a day is a thousand years, a thousand years are a day."


IV.

  "Now, give me absolution; for my time is come," said he.
  And they gave him absolution as speedily as might be.
  Then, close outside the window, the sweetest song they heard
  That ever yet since the world began was utter'd by any bird.
  The monks look'd out and saw the bird, its feathers all white and clean;
  And there in a moment, beside it, another white bird was seen.
  Those two they sang together, waved their white wings, and fled;
  Flew aloft, and vanished; but the good old man was dead.
  They buried his blessed body where lake and greensward meet;
  A carven cross above his head, a holly-bush at his feet;
  Where spreads the beautiful water to gay or cloudy skies,
  And the purple peaks of Killarney from ancient woods arise.

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.




Morraha

(_As told by an Irish Peasant._)


Morraha rose in the morning, and washed his hands and face, and said his
prayers, and ate his food; and he asked God to prosper the day for him;
and he went down to the brink of the sea, and he saw a currach, short
and green, coming towards him; and in it there was but one youthful
champion, and he playing hurly from prow to stern of the currach. He had
a hurl of gold and a ball of silver; and he stopped not until the
currach was in on the shore; and he drew her up on the green grass, and
put fastening on her for a day and a year, whether he should be there
all that time, or should only be on land for an hour by the clock. And
Morraha saluted the young man in words intelligent, intelligible, such
as were spoken at that time; and the other saluted him in the same
fashion, and asked him would he play a game of cards with him; and
Morraha said he had not the wherewithal; and the other answered that he
was never without a candle or the making of it; and he put his hand in
his pocket and drew out a table and two chairs and a pack of cards, and
they sat down on the chairs and went to the card-playing. The first game
Morraha won, and the slender red champion bade him make his claim; and
he said that the land above him should be filled with stock of sheep in
the morning. It was well, and he played no second game, but home he
went.

The next day Morraha went to the brink of the sea, and the young man
came in the currach and asked him would he play cards; and they played,
and Morraha won. And the young man bade him make his claim; and he said
that the land above should be filled with cattle in the morning. It was
well, and he played no other game, but went home.

And on the third morning Morraha went to the brink of the sea, and he
saw the young man coming. And he drew up his boat on the shore, and
asked him would he play cards. And they played, and Morraha won the
game; and the young man bade him give his claim. And he said he should
have a castle, and of women the finest and fairest; and they were his.
It was well, and the young man went away.

On the fourth day the woman asked him how he had found himself, and he
told her. "And I am going out," said he, "to play again to-day."

"I cross (forbid) you go again to him. If you have won so much, you
will lose more; and have no more to do with him."

But he went against her will, and he saw the currach coming, and the
young man was driving his balls from end to end of the currach. He had
balls of silver and a hurl of gold, and he stopped not till he drew his
boat on the shore, and made her fast for a year and a day. And Morraha
and he saluted each other; and he asked Morraha if he would play a game
of cards, and they played and he won. And Morraha said to him, "Give
your claim, now."

Said he, "You will hear it too soon. I lay on you the bonds of the art
of the Druid not to sleep two nights in one house, nor finish a second
meal at the one table, till you bring me the sword of light and news of
the death of Anshgayliacht."

He went down to his wife, and sat down in a chair, and gave a groan, and
the chair broke in pieces.

"It is the son of a king under spells you are," said his wife; "and you
had better have taken my counsel than that the spells should be on you."
He said to her to bring news of the death of Anshgayliacht and the sword
of light to the slender red champion.

"Go out," said she, "in the morning of the morrow, and take the bridle
in the window and shake it; and whatever beast, handsome or ugly, puts
the head in it, take that one with you. Do not speak a word to her till
she speaks to you; and take with you three pint bottles of ale and three
sixpenny loaves, and do the thing she tells you; and when she runs to my
father's land, on a height above the court, she will shake herself, and
the bells will ring, and my father will say Brown Allree is in the land.
And if the son of a king or queen is there, bring him to me on your
shoulders; but if it is the son of a poor man, let him come no further."

He rose in the morning, and took the bridle that was in the window and
went out and shook it, and Brown Allree came and put her head in it. And
he took the three loaves and three bottles of ale, and went riding; and
when he was riding, she bent her head down to take hold of her feet with
her mouth, in hopes he would speak in ignorance; but he spoke not a word
during the time, and the mare at last spoke to him, and said to him to
dismount and give her her dinner. He gave her the sixpenny loaf toasted
and a bottle of ale to drink. "Sit up, now, riding and take good heed of
yourself: there are three miles of fire I have to clear at a leap."

She cleared the three miles of fire at a leap, and asked if he were
riding, and he said he was. They went on then, and she told him to
dismount and give her a meal; and he did so, and gave her a sixpenny
loaf and a bottle; and she consumed them, and said to him there were
before them three miles of hill covered with steel thistles, and that
she must clear it. And she cleared the hill with a leap, and she asked
him if he were still riding, and he said he was. They went on, and she
went not far before she told him to give her a meal, and he gave her the
bread and the bottleful. And she went over three miles of sea with a
leap, and she came then to the land of the King of France; and she went
up on a height above the castle, and she shook herself and neighed, and
the bells rang; and the King said that it was Brown Allree was in the
land. "Go out," said he, "and if it is the son of a king or queen, carry
him in on your shoulders; if it is not, leave him there."

They went out, and the stars of the son of a king were on his breast;
and they lifted him high on their shoulders and bore him in to the King.
And they passed the night cheerfully with playing and with drinking,
with sport and with diversion, till the whiteness of the day came upon
the morrow morning.

Then the young King told the cause of his journey, and he asked of the
Queen her counsel and consent, and to give him counsel and good luck,
and the woman told him everything she advised him to do. "Go now," said
she, "and take with you the best mare in the stable, and go to the door
of Rough Niall of the speckled rock, and knock, and call on him to give
you news of the death of Anshgayliacht and the sword of light; and let
the horse's back be to the door, and apply the spurs, and away with
you!"

And in the morning he did so, and he took the best horse from the stable
and rode to the door of Niall, and turned the horse's back to the door,
and demanded news of the death of Anshgayliacht, and the sword of light;
and he applied the spurs, and away with him. And Niall followed him, and
as he was passing the gate cut the horse in two. And the mother was
there with a dish of puddings and flesh, and she threw it in his eyes
and blinded him, and said, "Fool, whatever kind of man it is that's
mocking you, isn't that a fine condition you have got into on your
father's horse?"

On the morning of the next day Morraha rose and took another horse from
the stable, and went again to the door of Niall, and knocked and
demanded news of the death of Anshgayliacht, and the sword of light, and
applied the spurs to the horse, and away with him. And Niall followed,
and as he was passing the gate cut the horse in two, and took half the
saddle with him, and his mother met him, and threw the flesh in his eyes
and blinded him.

And on the third day Morraha went also to the door of Niall; and Niall
followed him, and as he was passing the gate cut away the saddle from
under him and the clothes from his back. Then his mother said to Niall:

"Whatever fool it is that's mocking you, he is out yonder in the little
currach, going home; and take good heed to yourself, and don't sleep one
wink for three days."

And for three days the little currach was there before him, and then his
mother came to him and said:

"Sleep as much as you want now. He is gone."

And he went to sleep, and there was heavy sleep on him, and Morraha went
in and took hold of the sword that was on the bed at his head. And the
sword thought to draw itself out of the hand of Morraha, but it failed.
And then it gave a cry, and it wakened Niall, and Niall said it was a
rude and rough thing to come into his house like that; and Morraha said
to him:

"Leave your much talking, or I will cut the head off you. Tell me the
news of the death of Anshgayliacht."

"Oh, you can have my head."

"But your head is no good to me. Tell me the story."

"Oh," said Niall's wife, "you must get the story."

"Oh," said Morraha, "is the woman your wife?"

"Oh," said the man, "is it not you that have the story?"

"Oh," said she, "you will tell it to us."

"Well," said the man, "let us sit down together till I tell the story. I
thought no one would ever get it, but now it will be heard by all."

When I was growing up my mother taught me the language of the birds, and
when I got married I used to be listening to their conversation; and I
would be laughing; and my wife would be asking me what was the reason of
my laughing, but I did not like to tell her, as women are always asking
questions. We went out walking one fine morning, and the birds were
arguing with one another. One of them said to another:

"Why should you be making comparison with me, when there is not a king
nor knight that does not come to look at my tree?"

"Oh, what advantage has your tree over mine, on which there are three
rods of magic and mastery growing?"

When I heard them arguing, and knew that the rods were there, I began to
laugh.

"Oh," said my wife, "why are you always laughing? I believe it is at
myself you are jesting, and I'll walk with you no more."

"Oh, it is not about you I am laughing. It is because I understand the
language of the birds."

Then I had to tell her what the birds were saying to one another; and
she was greatly delighted, and she asked me to go home, and she gave
orders to the cook to have breakfast ready at six o'clock in the
morning. I did not know why she was going out early, and breakfast was
ready in the morning at the hour she appointed. She asked me to go out
walking. I went with her. She went to the tree, and asked me to cut a
rod for her.

"Oh, I will not cut it. Are we not better without it?"

"I will not leave this till I get the rod, to see if there is any good
in it."

I cut the rod, and gave it to her. She turned from me, and struck a blow
on a stone and changed it; and she struck a second blow on me, and made
of me a black raven, and she went home, and left me after her. I thought
she would come back; she did not come, and I had to go into a tree till
morning. In the morning, at six o'clock, there was a bellman out,
proclaiming that everyone who killed a raven would get a fourpenny bit.
At last you would not find man or boy without a gun, nor, if you were to
walk three miles, a raven that was not killed. I had to make a nest in
the top of the parlour chimney, and hide myself all day till night came,
and go out to pick up a bit to support me, till I spent a month. Here
she is herself (to say) if it is a lie I am telling.

"It is not," said she.

Then I saw her out walking. I went up to her, and I thought she would
turn me back to my own shape, and she struck me with the rod and made of
me an old white horse, and she ordered me to be put to a cart with a man
to draw stones from morning till night. I was worse off then. She
spread abroad a report that I had died suddenly in my bed, and prepared
a coffin, and waked me, and buried me. Then she had no trouble. But when
I got tired, I began to kill everyone who came near me, and I used to go
into the haggard every night and destroy the stacks of corn; and when a
man came near me in the morning, I would follow him till I broke his
bones. Everyone got afraid of me. When she saw I was doing mischief, she
came to meet me, and I thought she would change me. And she did change
me, and made a fox of me. When I saw she was doing me every sort of
damage, I went away from her. I knew there was a badger's hole in the
garden, and I went there till night came, and I made great slaughter
among the ducks and geese. There she is herself to say if I am telling a
lie.

"Oh, you are telling nothing but the truth, only less than the truth."

When she had enough of my killing the fowl, she came out into the
garden, for she knew I was in the badger's hole. She came to me, and
made me a wolf. I had to be off, and go to an island, where no one at
all would see me, and now and then I used to be killing sheep, for there
were not many of them, and I was afraid of being seen and hunted; and so
I passed a year, till a shepherd saw me among the sheep, and a pursuit
was made after me. And when the dogs came near me, there was no place
for me to escape to from them; but I recognised the sign of the King
among the men, and I made for him, and the King cried out to stop the
hounds. I took a leap upon the front of the King's saddle, and the woman
behind cried out, "My King and my lord, kill him, or he will kill you."

"Oh, he will not kill me. He knew me; and must be pardoned."

And the King took me home with him, and gave orders that I should be
well cared for. I was so wise when I got food I would not eat one morsel
until I got a knife and fork. The man told the King, and the King came
to see if it was true, and I got a knife and fork, and I took the knife
in one paw and the fork in the other, and I bowed to the King. The King
gave orders to bring him drink, and it came; and the King filled a glass
of wine, and gave it to me.

I took hold of it in my paw, and drank it, and thanked the King.

"Oh, on my honour, it is some king that has lost him when he came on the
island; and I will keep him, as he is trained; and perhaps he will
serve us yet."

And this is the sort of King he was--a King who had not a child living.
Eight sons were born to him and three daughters, and they were stolen
the same night they were born. No matter what guard was placed over
them, the child would be gone in the morning. The Queen was now carrying
the twelfth child, and when she was lying-in, the King took me with him
to watch the baby. The women were not satisfied with me. "Oh," said the
King, "what was all your watching ever? One that was born to me I have
not; and I will leave this one in the dog's care, and he will not let it
go."

A coupling was put between me and the cradle, and when everyone went to
sleep I was watching till the person woke who attended in the daytime;
but I was there only two nights when, it was near the day, I saw the
hand coming down through the chimney, and the hand was so big that it
took round the child altogether, and thought to take him away. I caught
hold of the hand above the wrist, and, as I was fastened to the cradle,
I did not let go my hold till I cut the hand from the wrist, and there
was a howl from the person without. I laid the hand in the cradle with
the child, and, as I was tired, I fell asleep; and when I awoke I had
neither child nor hand; and I began to howl, and the King heard me, and
he cried out that something was wrong with me, and he sent servants to
see what was the matter with me, and when the messenger came he saw me
covered with blood, and he could not see the child; and he went to the
King, and told him the child was not to be got. The King came, and saw
the cradle coloured with the blood, and he cried out, "Where was the
child gone?" and everyone said it was the dog had eaten it.

The King said, "It is not: loose him, and he will get the pursuit
himself."

When I was loosed, I found the scent of the blood till I came to a door
of the room in which the child was. I went to the King, and took hold of
him, and went back again, and began to tear at the door. The King
followed me, and asked for the key. The servant said it was in the room
of the stranger woman. The King caused search to be made for her, and
she was not to be found. "I will break the door," said the King, "as I
can't get the key." The King broke the door, and I went in, and went to
the trunk, and the King asked for a key to unlock it. He got no key, and
he broke the lock. When he opened the trunk the child and the hand were
stretched side by side, and the child was asleep. The King took the
hand, and ordered a woman to come for the child, and he showed the hand
to everyone in the house. But the stranger woman was gone, and she did
not see the King; and here she is herself to say if I am telling lies of
her.

"Oh, it's nothing but the truth you have."

The King did not allow me to be tied any more. He said there was nothing
so much to wonder at as that I cut the hand off, and I tied.

The child was growing till he was a year old, and he was beginning to
walk, and there was no one caring for him more than I was. He was
growing till he was three, and he was running out every minute; so the
King ordered a silver chain to be put between me and the child, so that
he might not go away from me. I was out with him in the garden every
day, and the King was as proud as the world of the child. He would be
watching him every place we went, till the child grew so wise that he
would loose the chain and get off. But one day that he loosed it I
failed to find him; and I ran into the house and searched the house, but
there was no getting him for me. The King cried to go out and find the
child, that he had got loose from the dog. They went searching for him,
but they could not find him. When they failed altogether to find him,
there remained no more favour with the King towards me, and everyone
disliked me, and I grew weak, for I did not get a morsel to eat half the
time. When summer came I said I would try and go home to my own country.
I went away one fine morning, and I went swimming, and God helped me
till I came home. I went into the garden, for I knew there was a place
in the garden where I could hide myself, for fear she should see me. In
the morning I saw my wife out walking, and my child with her, held by
the hand. I pushed out to see the child, and, as he was looking about
him everywhere, he saw me, and called out, "I see my shaggy papa. Oh,"
said he; "oh, my heart's love, my shaggy papa, come here till I see
you."

I was afraid the woman would see me, as she was asking the child where
he saw me, and he said I was up in a tree; and the more the child called
me, the more I hid myself. The woman took the child home with her, but I
knew he would be up early in the morning.

I went to the parlour window, and the child was within, and he playing.
When he saw me, he cried out, "Oh, my heart's love, come here till I see
you, shaggy papa." I broke the window, and went in, and he began to kiss
me. I saw the rod in front of the chimney, and I jumped up at the rod
and knocked it down. "Oh, my heart's love, no one would give me the
pretty rod." I thought he would strike me with the rod, but he did not.
When I saw the time was short, I raised my paw, and I gave him a scratch
below the knee. "Oh, you naughty, dirty, shaggy papa; you have hurt me
so much--I'll give yourself a blow of the rod." He struck me a light
blow, and as there was no sin on him, I came back to my own shape again.
When he saw a man standing before him he gave a cry, and I took him up
in my arms. The servants heard the child. A maid came in to see what was
the matter with him. When she saw me she gave a cry out of her, and she
said, "Oh, my soul to God, if the master isn't come to life again."

Another came in, and said it was he, really. And when the mistress heard
of it, she came to see with her own eyes, for she would not believe I
was there; and when she saw me she said she'd drown herself. And I said
to her, "If you yourself will keep the secret, no living man will ever
get the story from me until I lose my head."

Many's the man has come asking for the story, and I never let one
return; but now everyone will know it, but she is as much to blame as I.
I gave you my head on the spot, and a thousand welcomes, and she cannot
say I have been telling anything but the truth.

"Oh, surely, nor are you now."

When I saw I was in a man's shape I said I would take the child back to
his father and mother, as I knew the grief they were in after him. I
got a ship, and took the child with me; and when I was journeying I came
to land on an island, and I saw not a living soul on it, only a court,
dark and gloomy. I went in to see was there anyone in it. There was no
one but an old hag, tall and frightful, and she asked me, "What sort of
person are you?" I heard someone groaning in another room, and I said I
was a doctor, and I asked her what ailed the person who was groaning.

"Oh," said she, "it is my son, whose hand has been bitten from his wrist
by a dog."

I knew then it was the boy who was taking the child from me, and I said
I would cure him if I got a good reward.

"I have nothing, but there are eight young lads and three young women,
as handsome as anyone laid eyes on, and if you cure him I will give you
them."

"But tell me in what place his hand was cut from."

"Oh, it was out in another country twelve years ago."

"Show me the way, that I may see him."

She brought me into a room, so that I saw him, and his arm was swelled
up to the shoulder. He asked if I would cure him; and I said I could
cure him if he would give me the reward his mother promised.

"Oh, I will give it, but cure me."

"Well, bring them out to me."

The hag brought them out of the room. I said I would burn the flesh that
was on his arm. When I looked on him he was howling with pain. I said
that I would not leave him in pain long. The thief had only one eye in
his forehead. I took a bar of iron, and put it in the fire till it was
red, and I said to the hag, "He will be howling at first, but will fall
asleep presently, and do not wake him until he has slept as much as he
wants. I will close the door when I am going out." I took the bar with
me, and I stood over him, and I turned it across through his eye as far
as I could. He began to bellow, and tried to catch me, but I was out and
away, having closed the door. The hag asked me, "Why is he bellowing?"

"Oh, he will be quiet presently, and will sleep for a good while, and
I'll come again to have a look at him; but bring me out the young men
and the young women."

I took them with me, and I said to her, "Tell me where you got them."

"Oh, my son brought them with him, and they are the offspring of the one
King."

I was well satisfied, and I had no liking for delay to get myself free
from the hag, and I took them on board the ship, and the child I had
myself. I thought the King might leave me the child I nursed myself; but
when I came to land, and all those young people with me, the King and
Queen were out walking. The King was very aged, and the Queen aged
likewise. When I came to converse with them, and the twelve with me, the
King and Queen began to cry. I asked, "Why are you crying?"

"Oh, it is for good cause I am crying. As many children as these I
should have, and now I am withered, grey, at the end of my life, and I
have not one at all."

"Oh, belike, you will yet have plenty."

I told him all I went through, and I gave him the child in his hand,
and: "These are your other children who were stolen from you, whom I am
giving to you safe. They are gently reared."

When the King heard who they were, he smothered them with kisses and
drowned them with tears, and dried them with fine cloths, silken, and
the hairs of his own head, and so also did their mother, and great was
his welcome for me, as it was I who found them all. And the King said to
me, "I will give you your own child, as it is you who have earned him
best; but you must come to my court every year, and the child with you,
and I will share with you my possessions."

"Oh, I have enough of my own, and after my death I will leave it to the
child."

I spent a time till my visit was over, and I told the King all the
troubles I went through, only I said nothing about my wife. And now you
have the story of the death of Anshgayliacht, the hag's son.

And Morraha thanked Rough Niall for the story, and he struck the ground
with the Sword of Light, and Brown Allree was beside of him and she said
to him, "Sit up, now, riding, and take good heed of yourself," and at
one leap she cleared the sea and at the next the three miles of hill
covered with steel thistles and at the third the three miles of fire,
and then he was home and he told the tale of the death of Anshgayliacht
to the Slender Red Champion and gave him the Sword of Light, and he was
well pleased to get them, and he took the spells of Morraha, and he had
his wife and his castle back again, and by-and-by the five children; but
he never put his hand to card-playing with strangers again.

W. LARMINIE.

(_From "West Irish Folk Tales."_)




The Kildare Pooka


Mr. H---- R----, when he was alive, used to live a good deal in Dublin,
and he was once a great while out of the country on account of the
"ninety-eight" business. But the servants kept on in the big house at
Rath---- all the same as if the family was at home. Well, they used to be
frightened out of their lives, after going to their beds, with the
banging of the kitchen door and the clattering of fire-irons and the
pots and plates and dishes. One evening they sat up ever so long keeping
one another in heart with stories about ghosts and that, when--what
would you have of it?--the little scullery boy that used to be sleeping
over the horses, and could not get room at the fire, crept into the hot
hearth, and when he got tired listening to the stories, sorra fear him,
but he fell dead asleep.

Well and good. After they were all gone, and the kitchen raked up, he
was woke with the noise of the kitchen door opening, and the trampling
of an ass on the kitchen floor. He peeped out, and what should he see
but a big ass, sure enough, sitting on his curabingo and yawning before
the fire. After a little he looked about him, and began scratching his
ears as if he was quite tired, and says he, "I may as well begin first
as last." The poor boy's teeth began to chatter in his head, for, says
he, "Now he's going to ate me"; but the fellow with the long ears and
tail on him had something else to do. He stirred the fire, and then he
brought in a pail of water from the pump, and filled a big pot that he
put on the fire before he went out. He then put in his hand--foot, I
mean--into the hot hearth, and pulled out the little boy. He let a roar
out of him with the fright; but the pooka only looked at him, and thrust
out his lower lip to show how little he valued him, and then he pitched
him into his pew again.

Well, he then lay down before the fire till he heard the boil coming on
the water, and maybe there wasn't a plate, or a dish, or a spoon on the
dresser that he didn't fetch and put in the pot, and wash and dry the
whole bilin' of 'em as well as e'er a kitchen maid from that to Dublin
town. He then put all of them up on their places on the shelves; and if
he didn't give a good sweepin' to the kitchen, leave it till again. Then
he comes and sits fornent the boy, let down one of his ears, and cocked
up the other, and gave a grin. The poor fellow strove to roar out, but
not a dheeg 'ud come out of his throat. The last thing the pooka done
was to rake up the fire and walk out, giving such a slap o' the door
that the boy thought the house couldn't help tumbling down.

Well, to be sure, if there wasn't a hullabuloo next morning when the
poor fellow told his story! They could talk of nothing else the whole
day. One said one thing, another said another, but a fat, lazy scullery
girl said the wittiest thing of all. "Musha!" says she, "if the pooka
does be cleaning up everything that way when we are asleep, what should
we be slaving ourselves for doing his work?" "_Sha gu dheine_," says
another, "them's the wisest words you ever said, Kauth; it's meeself
won't contradict you."

So said, so done. Not a bit of a plate or dish saw a drop of water that
evening, and not a besom was laid on the floor, and everyone went to bed
soon after sundown. Next morning everything was as fine as fine in the
kitchen, and the lord mayor might eat his dinner off the flags. It was
great ease to the lazy servants, you may depend, and everything went on
well till a foolhardy gag of a boy said he would stay up one night and
have a chat with the pooka. He was a little daunted when the door was
thrown open and the ass marched up to the fire.

"And then, sir," says he at last, picking up courage, "if it isn't
taking a liberty, might I ax who you are, and why you are so kind as to
do half of the day's work for the girls every night?" "No liberty at
all," says the pooka, says he: "I'll tell you, and welcome. I was a
servant in the time of Squire R----'s father, and was the laziest rogue
that ever was clothed and fed, and done nothing for it. When my time
came for the other world, this is the punishment was laid on me to come
here and do all this labour every night, and then go out in the cold. It
isn't so bad in the fine weather; but if you only knew what it is to
stand with your head between your legs, facing the storm from midnight
to sunrise, on a bleak winter night." "And could we do anything for
your comfort, my poor fellow?" says the boy. "Musha, I don't know," says
the pooka; "but I think a good quilted frieze coat would help me to keep
the life in me them long nights." "Why, then, in troth, we'd be the
ungratefullest of people if we didn't feel for you."

To make a long story short, the next night the boy was there again; and
if he didn't delight the poor pooka, holding a fine warm coat before
him, it's no mather! Betune the pooka and the man, his legs was got into
the four arms of it, and it was buttoned down the breast and the belly,
and he was so pleased he walked up to the glass to see how it looked.
"Well," says he, "it's a long lane that has no turning. I am much
obliged to you and your fellow-servants. You have made me happy at last.
Good night to you."

So he was walking out, but the other cried, "Och! sure you're going too
soon. What about the washing and sweeping?" "Ah, you may tell the girls
that they must now get their turn. My punishment was to last till I was
thought worthy of a reward for the way I done my duty. You'll see me no
more." And no more they did, and right sorry they were for having been
in such a hurry to reward the ungrateful pooka.

PATRICK KENNEDY.




The King's Son


  Who rideth through the driving rain
    At such a headlong speed?
  Naked and pale he rides amain
    Upon a naked steed.

  Nor hollow nor height his going bars,
    His wet steed shines like silk,
  His head is golden to the stars
    And his limbs are white as milk.

  But, lo, he dwindles as the light
    That lifts from a black mere,
  And, as the fair youth wanes from sight,
    The steed grows mightier.

  What wizard by yon holy tree
    Mutters unto the sky
  Where Macha's flame-tongued horses flee
    On hoofs of thunder by?

  Ah, 'tis not holy so to ban
    The youth of kingly seed:
  Ah! woe, the wasting of a man
    Who changes to a steed.

  Nightly upon the Plain of Kings,
    When Macha's day is nigh,
  He gallops; and the dark wind brings
    His lonely human cry.


THOMAS BOYD.




Murtough and the Witch Woman


In the days when Murtough Mac Erca was in the High Kingship of Ireland,
the country was divided between the old beliefs of paganism and the new
doctrines of the Christian teaching. Part held with the old creed and
part with the new, and the thought of the people was troubled between
them, for they knew not which way to follow and which to forsake. The
faith of their forefathers clung close around them, holding them by many
fine and tender threads of memory and custom and tradition; yet still
the new faith was making its way, and every day it spread wider and
wider through the land.

The family of Murtough had joined itself to the Christian faith, and his
three brothers were bishops and abbots of the Church, but Murtough
himself remained a pagan, for he was a wild and lawless prince, and the
peaceful teachings of the Christian doctrine, with its forgiveness of
enemies, pleased him not at all. Fierce and cruel was his life, filled
with dark deeds and bloody wars, and savage and tragic was his death, as
we shall hear.

Now Murtough was in the sunny summer palace of Cletty, which Cormac, son
of Art, had built for a pleasure house on the brink of the slow-flowing
Boyne, near the Fairy Brugh of Angus the Ever Young, the God of Youth
and Beauty. A day of summer was that day, and the King came forth to
hunt on the borders of the Brugh, with all his boon companions around
him. But when the high-noon came the sun grew hot, and the King sat down
to rest upon the fairy mound, and the hunt passed on beyond him, and he
was left alone.

There was a witch woman in that country whose name was "Sigh, Sough,
Storm, Rough Wind, Winter Night, Cry, Wail, and Groan." Star-bright and
beautiful was she in face and form, but inwardly she was cruel as her
names. And she hated Murtough because he had scattered and destroyed the
Ancient Peoples of the Fairy Tribes of Erin, her country and her
fatherland, and because in the battle which he fought at Cerb on the
Boyne her father and her mother and her sister had been slain. For in
those days women went to battle side by side with men.

She knew, too, that with the coming of the new faith trouble would come
upon the fairy folk, and their power and their great majesty would
depart from them, and men would call them demons, and would drive them
out with psalm-singing and with the saying of prayers, and with the
sound of little tinkling bells. So trouble and anger wrought in the
witch woman, and she waited the day to be revenged on Murtough, for he
being yet a pagan, was still within her power to harm.

So when Sheen (for Sheen or "Storm" was the name men gave to her) saw
the King seated on the fairy mound and all his comrades parted from him,
she arose softly, and combed her hair with her comb of silver adorned
with little ribs of gold, and she washed her hands in a silver basin
wherein were four golden birds sitting on the rim of the bowl, and
little bright gems of carbuncle set round about the rim. And she donned
her fairy mantle of flowing green, and her cloak, wide and hooded, with
silvery fringes, and a brooch of fairest gold. On her head were tresses
yellow like to gold, plaited in four locks, with a golden drop at the
end of each long tress. The hue of her hair was like the flower of the
iris in summer or like red gold after the burnishing thereof. And she
wore on her breasts and at her shoulders marvellous clasps of gold,
finely worked with the tracery of the skilled craftsman, and a golden
twisted torque around her throat. And when she was decked she went
softly and sat down beside Murtough on the turfy hunting mound. And
after a space Murtough perceived her sitting there, and the sun shining
upon her, so that the glittering of the gold and of her golden hair and
the bright shining of the green silk of her garments, was like the
yellow iris-beds upon the lake on a sunny summer's day. Wonder and
terror seized on Murtough at her beauty, and he knew not if he loved
her or if he hated her the most; for at one moment all his nature was
filled with longing and with love of her, so that it seemed to him that
he would give the whole of Ireland for the loan of one hour's space of
dalliance with her; but after that he felt a dread of her, because he
knew his fate was in her hands, and that she had come to work him ill.
But he welcomed her as if she were known to him and he asked her
wherefore she was come. "I am come," she said, "because I am beloved of
Murtough, son of Erc, King of Erin, and I come to seek him here." Then
Murtough was glad, and he said, "Dost thou not know me, maiden?" "I do,"
she answered, "for all secret and mysterious things are known to me and
thou and all the men of Erin are well known."

After he had conversed with her awhile, she appeared to him so fair that
the King was ready to promise her anything in life she wished, so long
as she would go with him to Cletty of the Boyne. "My wish," she said,
"is that you take me to your house, and that you put out from it your
wife and your children because they are of the new faith, and all the
clerics that are in your house, and that neither your wife nor any
cleric be permitted to enter the house while I am there."

"I will give you," said the King, "a hundred head of every herd of
cattle that is within my kingdom, and a hundred drinking horns, and a
hundred cups, and a hundred rings of gold, and a feast every other night
in the summer palace of Cletty. But I pledge thee my word, oh, maiden,
it were easier for me to give thee half of Ireland than to do this
thing that thou hast asked." For Murtough feared that when those that
were of the Christian faith were put out of his house, she would work
her spells upon him, and no power would be left with him to resist those
spells.

"I will not take thy gifts," said the damsel, "but only those things
that I have asked; moreover, it is thus, that my name must never be
uttered by thee, nor must any man or woman learn it."

"What is thy name," said Murtough, "that it may not come upon my lips to
utter it?"

And she said, "Sigh, Sough, Storm, Rough Wind, Winter Night, Cry, Wail,
Groan, this is my name, but men call me Sheen, for 'Storm' or Sheen is
my chief name, and storms are with me where I come."

Nevertheless, Murtough was so fascinated by her that he brought her to
his home, and drove out the clerics that were there, with his wife and
children along with them, and drove out also the nobles of his own clan,
the children of Niall, two great and gallant battalions. And Duivsech,
his wife, went crying along the road with her children around her to
seek Bishop Cairnech, the half-brother of her husband, and her own
soul-friend, that she might obtain help and shelter from him.

But Sheen went gladly and light-heartedly into the House of Cletty, and
when she saw the lovely lightsome house and the goodly nobles of the
clan of Niall, and the feasting and banqueting and the playing of the
minstrels and all the joyous noise of that kingly dwelling, her heart
was lifted within her, and "Fair as a fairy palace is this house of
Cletty," said she.

"Fair, indeed, it is," replied the King; "for neither the Kings of
Leinster nor the Kings of mighty Ulster, nor the lords of the clans of
Owen or of Niall, have such a house as this; nay, in Tara of the Kings
itself, no house to equal this house of mine is found." And that night
the King robed himself in all the splendour of his royal dignity, and on
his right hand he seated Sheen, and a great banquet was made before
them, and men said that never on earth was to be seen a woman more
goodly of appearance than she. And the King was astonished at her, and
he began to ask her questions, for it seemed to him that the power of a
great goddess of the ancient time was in her; and he asked her whence
she came, and what manner was the power that he saw in her. He asked
her, too, did she believe in the God of the clerics, or was she herself
some goddess of the older world? For he feared her, feeling that his
fate was in her hands.

She laughed a careless and a cruel laugh, for she knew that the King was
in their power, now that she was there alone with him, and the clerics
and the Christian teachers gone. "Fear me not, O Murtough," she cried;
"I am, like thee, a daughter of the race of men of the ancient family of
Adam and of Eve; fit and meet my comradeship with thee; therefore, fear
not nor regret. And as to that true God of thine, worker of miracles and
helper of His people, no miracle in all the world is there that I, by
mine own unaided power, cannot work the like. I can create a sun and
moon; the heavens I can sprinkle with radiant stars of night. I can call
up to life men fiercely fighting in conflict, slaughtering one another.
Wine I could make of the cold water of the Boyne, and sheep of lifeless
stones, and swine of ferns. In the presence of the hosts I can make
gold and silver, plenty and to spare; and hosts of famous fighting men I
can produce from naught. Now, tell me, can thy God work the like?"

"Work for us," says the King, "some of these great wonders." Then Sheen
went forth out of the house, and she set herself to work spells on
Murtough, so that he knew not whether he was in his right mind or no.
She took of the water of the Boyne and made a magic wine thereout, and
she took ferns and spiked thistles and light puff-balls of the woods,
and out of them she fashioned magic swine and sheep and goats, and with
these she fed Murtough and the hosts. And when they had eaten, all their
strength went from them, and the magic wine sent them into an uneasy
sleep and restless slumbers. And out of stones and sods of earth she
fashioned three battalions, and one of the battalions she placed at one
side of the house, and the other at the further side beyond it, and one
encircling the rest southward along the hollow windings of the glen. And
thus were these battalions, one of them all made of men stark-naked and
their colour blue, and the second with heads of goats with shaggy beards
and horned; but the third, more terrible than they, for these were
headless men, fighting like human beings, yet finished at the neck; and
the sound of heavy shouting as of hosts and multitudes came from the
first and the second battalion, but from the third no sound save only
that they waved their arms and struck their weapons together, and smote
the ground with their feet impatiently. And though terrible was the
shout of the blue men and the bleating of the goats with human limbs,
more horrible yet was the stamping and the rage of those headless men,
finished at the neck.

And Murtough, in his sleep and in his dreams, heard the battle-shout,
and he rose impetuously from off his bed, but the wine overcame him, and
his strength departed from him, and he fell helplessly upon the floor.
Then he heard the challenge a second time, and the stamping of the feet
without, and he rose again, and madly, fiercely, he set on them,
charging the hosts and scattering them before him, as he thought, as far
as the fairy palace of the Brugh. But all his strength was lost in
fighting phantoms, for they were but stones and sods and withered leaves
of the forest that he took for fighting men.

Now Duivsech, Murtough's wife, knew what was going on. She called upon
Cairnech to arise and to gather together the clans of the children of
his people, the men of Owen and of Niall, and together they went to the
fort; but Sheen guarded it well, so that they could by no means find an
entrance. Then Cairnech was angry, and he cursed the place, and he dug a
grave before the door, and he stood up upon the mound of the grave, and
rang his bells and cursed the King and his house, and prophesied his
downfall. But he blessed the clans of Owen and of Niall, and they
returned to their own country.

Then Cairnech sent messengers to seek Murtough and to draw him away from
the witch woman who sought his destruction, but because she was so
lovely the King would believe no evil of her; and whenever he made any
sign to go to Cairnech, she threw her spell upon the King, so that he
could not break away. When he was so weak and faint that he had no power
left, she cast a sleep upon him, and she went round the house, putting
everything in readiness. She called upon her magic host of warriors, and
set them round the fortress, with their spears and javelins pointed
inwards towards the house, so that the King would not dare to go out
amongst them. And that night was a night of Samhain-tide, the eve of
Wednesday after All Souls' Day.

Then she went everywhere throughout the house, and took lighted brands
and burning torches, and scattered them in every part of the dwelling.
And she returned into the room wherein Murtough slept, and lay down by
his side. And she caused a great wind to spring up, and it came soughing
through the house from the north-west; and the King said, "This is the
sigh of the winter night." And Sheen smiled, because, unwittingly, the
King had spoken her name, for she knew by that that the hour of her
revenge had come. "'Tis I myself that am Sigh and Winter Night," she
said, "and I am Rough Wind and Storm, a daughter of fair nobles; and I
am Cry and Wail, the maid of elfin birth, who brings ill-luck to men."

After that she caused a great snowstorm to come round the house; and
like the noise of troops and the rage of battle was the storm, beating
and pouring in on every side, so that drifts of deep snow were piled
against the walls, blocking the doors and chilling the folk that were
feasting within the house. But the King was lying in a heavy, unresting
sleep, and Sheen was at his side. Suddenly he screamed out of his sleep
and stirred himself, for he heard the crash of falling timbers and the
noise of the magic hosts, and he smelled the strong smell of fire in the
palace.

He sprang up. "It seems to me," he cried, "that hosts of demons are
around the house, and that they are slaughtering my people, and that the
house of Cletty is on fire." "It was but a dream," the witch maiden
said. Then he slept again, and he saw a vision, to wit, that he was
tossing in a ship at sea, and the ship floundered, and above his head a
griffin, with sharp beak and talons, sailed, her wings outspread and
covering all the sun, so that it was dark as middle-night; and lo! as
she rose on high, her plumes quivered for a moment in the air; then down
she swooped and picked him from the waves, carrying him to her eyrie on
the dismal cliff outhanging o'er the ocean; and the griffin began to
pierce him and to prod him with her talons, and to pick out pieces of
his flesh with her beak; and this went on awhile, and then a flame, that
came he knew not whence, rose from the nest, and he and the griffin were
enveloped in the flame. Then in her beak the griffin picked him up, and
together they fell downward over the cliff's edge into the seething
ocean; so that, half by fire and half by water, he died a miserable
death.

When the King saw that vision, he rose screaming from his sleep, and
donned his arms; and he made one plunge forward seeking for the magic
hosts, but he found no man to answer him. The damsel went forth from the
house, and Murtough made to follow her, but as he turned the flames
leaped out, and all between him and the door was one vast sheet of
flame. He saw no way of escape, save the vat of wine that stood in the
banqueting hall, and into that he got; but the burning timbers of the
roof fell upon his head and the hails of fiery sparks rained on him, so
that half of him was burned and half was drowned, as he had seen in his
dream.

The next day, amid the embers, the clerics found his corpse, and they
took it up and washed it in the Boyne, and carried it to Tuilen to bury
it. And they said, "Alas! that Mac Erca, High King of Erin, of the noble
race of Conn and of the descendants of Ugaine the Great, should die
fighting with sods and stones! Alas! that the Cross of Christ was not
signed upon his face that he might have known the witchdoms of the
maiden what they were."

As they went thus, bewailing the death of Murtough and bearing him to
his grave, Duivsech, wife of Murtough, met them, and when she found her
husband dead, she struck her hands together and she made a great and
mournful lamentation; and because weakness came upon her she leaned her
back against the ancient tree that is in Aenech Reil; and a burst of
blood broke from her heart, and there she died, grieving for her
husband. And the grave of Murtough was made wide and deep, and there
they laid the Queen beside him, two in the one grave, near the north
side of the little church that is in Tuilen.

Now, when the burial was finished, and the clerics were reciting over
his grave the deeds of the King, and were making prayers for Murtough's
soul that it might be brought out of hell, for Cairnech showed great
care for this, they saw coming towards them across the sward a lonely
woman, star-bright and beautiful, and a kirtle of priceless silk upon
her, and a green mantle with its fringes of silver thread flowing to the
ground. She reached the place where the clerics were, and saluted them,
and they saluted her. And they marvelled at her beauty, but they
perceived on her an appearance of sadness and of heavy grief. They asked
of her, "Who art thou, maiden, and wherefore art thou come to the house
of mourning? For a king lies buried here." "A king lies buried here,
indeed," said she, "and I it was who slew him, Murtough of the many
deeds, of the race of Conn and Niall, High King of Ireland and of the
West. And though it was I who wrought his death, I myself will die for
grief of him."

And they said, "Tell us, maiden, why you brought him to his death, if so
be that he was dear to thee?" And she said, "Murtough was dear to me,
indeed, dearest of the men of the whole world; for I am Sheen, the
daughter of Sige, the son of Dian, from whom Ath Sigi or the 'Ford of
Sige' is called to-day. But Murtough slew my father, and my mother and
sister were slain along with him, in the battle of Cerb upon the Boyne,
and there was none of my house to avenge their death, save myself alone.
Moreover, in his time the Ancient Peoples of the Fairy Tribes of Erin
were scattered and destroyed, the folk of the underworld and of my
fatherland; and to avenge the wrong and loss he wrought on them I slew
the man I loved. I made poison for him; alas! I made for him magic drink
and food which took his strength away, and out of the sods of earth and
puff-balls that float down the wind, I wrought men and armies of
headless, hideous folk, till all his senses were distraught. And, now,
take me to thee, O Cairnech, in fervent and true repentance, and sign
the Cross of Christ upon my brow, for the time of my death is come."
Then she made penitence for the sin that she had sinned, and she died
there upon the grave of grief and of sorrow after the King. And they
digged a grave lengthways across the foot of the wide grave of Murtough
and his spouse, and there they laid the maiden who had wrought them woe.
And the clerics wondered at those things, and they wrote them and
revised them in a book.

ELEANOR HULL.




The Red Pony

(_As told by an Irish Peasant._)


There was a poor man there. He had a great family of sons. He had no
means to put them forward. He had them at school. One day, when they
were coming from school, he thought that whichever of them was last at
the door he would keep him out. It was the youngest of the family that
was last at the door. The father shut the door. He would not let him in.
The boy went weeping. He would not let him in till night came. The
father said he would never let him in--that he had boys enough.

The lad went away. He was walking till night. He came to a house on the
rugged side of a hill on a height, one feather giving it shelter and
support. He went in. He got a place till morning. When he made his
breakfast in the morning he was going. The man of the house made him a
present of a red pony, a saddle, and bridle. He went riding on the pony.
He went away with himself.

"Now," said the pony, "whatever thing you may see before you, don't
touch it."

They went on with themselves. He saw a light before him on the high
road. When he came as far as the light, there was an open box on the
road, and a light coming out of it. He took up the box. There was a lock
of hair in it.

"Are you going to take up the box?" said the pony.

"I am. I cannot go past it."

"It's better for you to leave it," said the pony.

He took up the box. He put it in his pocket. He was going with himself.
A gentleman met him.

"Pretty is your little beast. Where are you going?"

"I am looking for service."

"I am in want of one like you among the stable-boys."

He hired the lad. The lad said he must get room for the little beast in
the stable. The gentleman said he would get it. They went home then. He
had eleven boys. When they were going out into the stable at ten o'clock
each of them took a light with him but he. He took no candle at all with
him.

Each of them went into his own stable. When he went into his stable, he
opened the box. He left it in a hole in the wall. The light was great.
It was twice as much as in the other stables. There was wonder on the
boys--what was the reason of the light being so great, and he without a
candle with him at all. They told the master they did not know what was
the cause of the light with the last boy. They had given him no candle,
and he had twice as much light as they had.

"Watch to-morrow night what kind of light he has," said the master.

They watched the night of the morrow. They saw the box in the hole that
was in the wall, and the light coming out of the box. They told the
master. When the boys came to the house, the King asked him what was the
reason why he did not take a candle with him to the stable, as well as
the other boys. The lad said he had a candle. The King said he had not.
He asked him how he got the box from which the light came. He said he
had no box. The King said he had, and that he must give it to him; that
he would not keep him, unless he gave him the box. The boy gave it to
him. The King opened it. He drew out the lock of hair, in which was the
light.

"You must go," said the King, "and bring me the woman to whom the hair
belongs."

The lad was troubled. He went out. He told the red pony.

"I told you not to take up the box. You will get more than that on
account of the box. When you have made your breakfast to-morrow, put the
saddle and bridle on me."

When he made his breakfast on the morning of the morrow, he put saddle
and bridle on the pony. He went till they came to three miles of sea.

"Keep a good hold now. I am going to give a jump over the sea. When I
arrive yonder, there is a fair on the strand. Everyone will be coming up
to you to ask for a ride, because I am such a pretty little beast. Give
no one a ride. You will see a beautiful woman drawing near you, her in
whose hair was the wonderful light. She will come up to you. She will
ask you to let her ride for a while. Say you will, and welcome. When she
comes riding, I will be off."

When she came to the sea, she cleared the three miles at a jump. She
came upon the land opposite, and everyone was asking for a ride upon the
beast, she was that pretty. He was giving a ride to no one. He saw that
woman in the midst of the people. She was drawing near. She asked him
would he give her a little riding. He said he would give it, and a
thousand welcomes. She went riding. She went quietly, till she got out
of the crowd. When the pony came to the sea, she made the three-mile
jump again, the beautiful woman along with her. She took her home to the
King. There was great joy on the King to see her. He took her into the
parlour. She said to him she would not marry anyone until he would get
the bottle of healing water that was in the eastern world. The King said
to the lad he must go and bring the bottle of healing water that was in
the eastern world to the lady. The lad was troubled. He went to the
pony. He told the pony he must go to the eastern world for the bottle of
healing water that was in it, and bring it to the lady.

"My advice was good," said the pony, "on the day you took the box up.
Put saddle and bridle on me."

He went riding on her. They were going till they came to the sea. She
stood then.

"You must kill me," said the pony. "That, or I must kill you!"

"It is hard to me to kill you," said the boy. "If I kill you, there will
be no way to myself."

He cut her down. He opened her up. She was not long opened when there
came two black ravens and one small one. The two ravens went into the
body. They drank their fill of the blood. When they came out, the little
raven went in. He closed up the pony. He would not let the little bird
come out till he got the bottle of healing water that was in the eastern
world. The ravens were very troubled. They were begging him to let the
little bird out. He said he would not let it out till they brought him
the bottle. They went to seek the bottle. They came back, and there was
no bottle with them. They were entreating him to let the bird out to
them. He would not let out the bird till he got the bottle. They went
away again for the bottle. They came again at evening. They were tossed
and scorched, and they had the bottle. They came to the place where the
pony was. They gave the bottle to the boy. He rubbed the healing water
to every place where they were burned. Then he let out the little bird.
There was great joy on them to see him. He rubbed some of the healing
water to the place where he cut the pony. He spilt a drop into her ear.
She arose as well as she ever was. He had a little bottle in his pocket.
He put some of the healing water into it. They went home.

When the King perceived the pony coming, he rose out. He took hold of
her with his two hands. He took her in. He smothered her with kisses,
and drowned her with tears; he dried her with finest cloths of silk and
satin.

This is what the lady was doing while they were away. She boiled pitch,
and filled a barrel, and that boiling. Now she went beside it. She
rubbed the healing water to herself. She came out; she went to the
barrel. She gave a jump in and out of the barrel. Three times she went
in and out. She said she would never marry anyone who could not do the
same. The young King came. He went to the barrel. He fell half in, half
out.

He was all boiled and burned. Another gentleman came. He gave a jump
into the barrel. He was burned. He came not out till he died. After that
there was no one going in or out. The barrel was there, and no one at
all was going near it. The lad went up to it. He rubbed the healing
water on himself. He came to the barrel. He jumped in and out three
times. He was watching her. She came out. She said she would never marry
anyone but him.

Came the priest of the pattens, and the clerk of the bells. The pair
were married. The wedding lasted three days and three nights. When it
was over, the lad went to look at the place where the pony was. He never
remembered to go and see the pony during the wedding. He found nothing
but a heap of bones. There were two champions and two girls playing
cards. The lad went crying when he saw the bones of the pony. One of the
girls asked what was the matter with him. He said it was all one to
her--that she cared nothing for his troubles.

"I would like to get knowledge of the cause why you are crying."

"It was my pony who was here. I never remembered to see her during the
wedding. I have nothing now but her bones. I don't know what I shall do
after her. It was she who did all that I accomplished."

The girl went laughing.

"Would you know your pony if you saw her?"

"I would know," said he.

She laid aside the cards. She stood up.

"Isn't that your pony?" said she.

"It is," said he.

"I was the pony," said the girl, "and the two ravens who went in to
drink my blood my two brothers. When the ravens came out, a little bird
went in. You closed the pony. You would not let the little bird out till
they brought the bottle of healing water that was in the eastern world.
They brought the bottle to you. The little bird was my sister. It was my
brothers were the ravens. We were all under enchantments. It is my
sister who is married to you. The enchantments are gone from us since
she was married."

W. LARMINIE.

(_From "West Irish Folk Tales."_)




King O'Toole and St Kevin

(_A Legend of Glendalough._)


There was wanst a king, called King O'Toole, who was a fine ould king in
the ould ancient times, long ago; and it was him that owned the Churches
in the airly days.

"Surely," said I, "the Churches were not in King O'Toole's time?"

"Oh, by no manes, your honor--throth, it's yourself that's right enough
there; but you know the place is called 'The Churches' bekase they wor
built _afther_ by St. Kavin, and wint by the name o' the Churches iver
more; and, therefore, av coorse, the place bein' so called, I say that
the King owned the Churches--and why not, sir, seein' 'twas his
birthright, time out o' mind, beyant the flood? Well, the King (you see)
was the right sort--he was the _rale_ boy, and loved sport as he loved
his life, and huntin' in partic'lar; and from the risin' o' the sun up
he got, and away he wint over the mountains beyant afther the deer: and
the fine times them wor; for the deer was as plinty thin, aye throth,
far plintyer than the sheep is now; and that's the way it was with the
King, from the crow o' the cock to the song o' the redbreast. Well, it
was all mighty good as long as the King had his health; but, you see, in
coorse o' time, the King grewn ould, by raison he was stiff in his
limbs, and when he got sthricken in years, his heart failed him, and he
was lost intirely for want o' divarshin, bekase he couldn't go a huntin'
no longer; and, by dad, the poor King was obleeged at last for to get a
goose to divart him. You see, the goose used for to swim acrass the
lake, and go down divin' for throut (and not finer throut in all Ireland
than the same throut) and cotch fish on a Friday for the King, and flew
every other day round about the lake divartin' the poor King that you'd
think he'd break his sides laughin' at the frolicksome tricks av his
goose; so, in coorse o' time, the goose was the greatest pet in the
counthry, and the biggest rogue, and divarted the King to no end, and
the poor King was as happy as the day was long. So that's the way it
was; and all wint on mighty well antil, by dad, the goose got sthricken
in years, as well as the King, and grew stiff in the limbs, like her
masther, and couldn't divart him no longer; and then it was that the
poor King was lost complate, and didn't know what in the wide world to
do, seein' he was gone out of all divarshin by raison that the goose was
no more in the flower of her blume.

"Well, the King was nigh broken-hearted and melancholy intirely, and was
walkin' one mornin' by the edge of the lake, lamentin' his cruel fate,
an' thinkin' o' drownin' himself, that could get no divarshin in life,
when all of a suddint, turnin' round the corner beyant, who should he
meet but a mighty dacent young man comin' up to him.

"'God save you,' says the King (for the King was a civil-spoken
gintleman, by all accounts), 'God save you,' says he to the young man.

"'God save you kindly,' says the young man to him back again; 'God save
you, King O'Toole.'

"'Thrue for you,' says the King, 'I am King O'Toole,' says he, 'prince
and plennypennytinchery o' these parts,' says he; 'but how kem ye to
know that?' says he.

"'Oh, never mind,' says Saint Kavin (for 'twas he that was in it). 'And
now, may I make bowld to ax, how is your goose, King O'Toole?' says he.

"'Blur-an-agers, how kem you to know about my goose?' says the King.

"'Oh, no matther; I was given to understand it,' says Saint Kavin.

"'Oh, that's a folly to talk,' says the King, 'bekase myself and my
goose is private friends,' says he, 'and no one could tell you,' says
he, 'barrin' the fairies.'

"'Oh, thin, it wasn't the fairies,' says Saint Kavin; 'for I'd have you
know,' says he, 'that I don't keep the likes o' sich company.'

"'You might do worse, then, my gay fellow,' says the King; 'for it's
_they_ could show you a crock o' money as aisy as kiss hand; and that's
not to be sneezed at,' says the King, 'by a poor man,' says he.

"'Maybe I've a betther way of making money myself,' says the saint.

"'By gor,' says the King, 'barrin' you're a coiner,' says he, 'that's
impossible!'

"'I'd scorn to be the like, my lord!' says Saint Kavin, mighty high,
'I'd scorn to be the like,' says he.

"'Then, what are you?' says the King, 'that makes money so aisy, by your
own account.'

"'I'm an honest man,' says Saint Kavin.

"'Well, honest man,' says the King, 'and how is it you make your money
so aisy?'

"'By makin' ould things as good as new,' says Saint Kavin.

"'Is it a tinker you are?' says the King.

"'No,' says the saint; 'I'm no tinker by thrade, King O'Toole; I've a
betther thrade than a tinker,' says he. 'What would you say,' says he,
'if I made your ould goose as good as new?'

"My dear, at the word o' making his goose as good as new, you'd think
the poor ould King's eyes was ready to jump out iv his head, 'and,' says
he--'throth, thin, I'd give you more money nor you could count,' says
he, 'if you did the like, and I'd be behoulden to you in the bargain.'

"'I scorn your dirty money,' says Saint Kavin.

"'Faith, thin, I'm thinkin' a thrifle o' change would do you no harm,'
says the King, lookin' up sly at the ould _caubeen_ that Saint Kavin had
on him.

"'I have a vow agin it,' says the saint; 'and I am book sworn,' says he,
'never to have goold, silver, or brass in my company.'

"'Barrin' the thrifle you can't help,' says the King, mighty cute, and
looking him straight in the face.

"'You just hot it,' says Saint Kavin; 'but though I can't take money,'
says he, 'I could take a few acres o' land, if you'd give them to me.'

"'With all the veins o' my heart,' says the King, 'if you can do what
you say.'

"'Thry me!' says Saint Kavin. 'Call down your goose here,' says he, 'and
I'll see what I can do for her.'

"With that the King whistled, and down kem the poor goose, all as one as
a hound, waddlin' up to the poor ould cripple, her masther, and as like
him as two pays. The minute the saint clapt his eyes on the goose, 'I'll
do the job for you,' says he, 'King O'Toole!'

"'By _Jaminee_,' says King O'Toole, 'if you do, but I'll say you're the
cleverest fellow in the sivin parishes.'

"'Oh, by dad,' says Saint Kavin, 'you must say more nor that--my horn's
not so soft all out,' says he, 'as to repair your ould goose for
nothin'; what'll you gi' me if I do the job for you?--that's the chat,'
says Saint Kavin.

"'I'll give you whatever you ax,' says the King; 'isn't that fair?'

"'Divil a fairer,' says the saint; 'that's the way to do business. Now,'
says he, 'this is the bargain I'll make with you, King O'Toole: will you
gi' me all the ground the goose flies over, the first offer, afther I
make her as good as new?'

"'I will,' says the King.

"'You won't go back o' your word?' says Saint Kavin.

"'Honor bright!' says King O'Toole, howldin' out his fist.

"'Honor bright,' says Saint Kavin back again, 'it's a bargain,' says he.
'Come here!' says he to the poor ould goose--'come here, you
unfort'nate ould cripple,' says he, 'and it's I that'll make you the
sportin' bird.'

"With that, my dear, he tuk up the goose by the two wings--'criss o' my
crass an you,' says he, markin' her to grace with the blessed sign at
the same minute--and throwin' her up in the air, 'whew!' says he, jist
givin' her a blast to help her; and with that, my jewel, she tuk to her
heels, flyin' like one o' the aigles themselves, and cuttin' as many
capers as a swallow before a shower of rain. Away she wint down there,
right forninst you, along the side o' the clift, and flew over Saint
Kavin's bed (that is, where Saint Kavin's bed is _now_, but was not
_thin_, by raison it wasn't made, but was conthrived afther by Saint
Kavin himself, that the women might lave him alone), and on with her
undher Lugduff, and round the ind av the lake there, far beyant where
you see the watherfall--and on with her thin right over the lead mines
o' Luganure (that is, where the lead mines is _now_, but was not _thin_,
by raison they worn't discovered, _but was all goold in Saint Kavin's
time_). Well, over the ind o' Luganure she flew, stout and studdy, and
round the other ind av the _little_ lake, by the Churches (that is, _av
coorse_, where the Churches is _now_, but was not _thin_, by raison they
wor not built, but aftherwards by Saint Kavin), and over the big hill
here over your head, where you see the big clift--(and that clift in the
mountain was made by _Finn Ma Cool_, where he cut it acrass with a big
swoord that he got made a purpose by a blacksmith out o' Rathdrum, a
cousin av his own, for to fight a joyant (giant) that darr'd him an' the
Curragh o' Kildare; and he thried the swoord first an the mountain, and
cut it down into a gap, as is plain to this day; and faith, sure enough,
it's the same sauce he sarv'd the joyant, soon and suddint, and chopped
him in two like a pratie, for the glory of his sowl and ould
Ireland)--well, down she flew over the clift, and fluttherin' over the
wood there at Poulanass. Well--as I said--afther fluttherin' over the
wood a little bit, to _plaze_ herself, the goose flew down, and bit at
the fut o' the King, as fresh as a daisy, afther flyin' roun' his
dominions, jist as if she hadn't flew three perch.

"Well, my dear, it was a beautiful sight to see the King standin' with
his mouth open, lookin' at his poor ould goose flyin' as light as a
lark, and betther nor ever she was; and when she lit at his fut he
patted her an the head, and '_ma vourneen_,' says he, 'but you are the
_darlint_ o' the world.'

"'And what do you say to me,' says Saint Kavin, 'for makin' her the
like?'

"'By gor,' says the King, 'I say nothin' bates the art o' men, 'barrin'
the bees.'

"'And do you say no more nor that?' says Saint Kavin.

"'And that I'm behoulden to you,' says the King.

"'But will you gi' me all the ground the goose flewn over?' says Saint
Kavin.

"'I will,' says King O'Toole, 'and you're welkim to it,' says he,
'though it's the last acre I have to give.'

"'But you'll keep your word thrue?' says the saint.

"'As thrue as the sun,' says the King.

"'It's well for you,' says Saint Kavin, mighty sharp--'it's well for
you, King O'Toole, that you said that word,' says he; 'for if you didn't
say that word, _the divil receave the bit o' your goose id iver fly
agin_,' says Saint Kavin.

"'Oh, you needn't laugh,' said old Joe, 'for it's thruth I'm telling
you.'

"Well, whin the King was as good as his word, Saint Kavin was _plazed_
with him, and thin it was that he made himself known to the King.

"Well, my dear, that's the way that the place kem, all at wanst, into
the hands of Saint Kavin; for the goose flew round every individyial
acre o' King O'Toole's property, you see, _bein' let into the saycret_
by Saint Kavin, who was mighty _cute_; and so, when he _done_ the ould
King out iv his property for the glory of God, he was _plazed_ with him,
and he and the King was the best o' friends iver more afther (for the
poor ould King was _doatin'_, you see), and the King had his goose as
good as new to divart him as long as he lived; and the saint supported
him afther he kem into his property, as I tould you, until the day iv
his death--and that was soon afther; for the poor goose thought he was
ketchin' a throut one Friday; but, my jewel, it was a mistake he
made--and instead of a throut, it was a thievin' horse-eel! and, by gor,
instead iv the goose killin' a throut for the King's supper--by dad, the
eel killed the King's goose--and small blame to him; but he didn't ate
her, bekase he darn't ate what Saint Kavin laid his blessed hands on."

SAMUEL LOVER.




Lament of the Last Leprechaun


  For the red shoon of the Shee,
  For the falling o' the leaf,
  For the wind among the reeds,
      My grief.

  For the sorrow of the sea,
  For the song's unquickened seeds,
  For the sleeping of the Shee,
      My grief.

  For dishonoured whitethorn-tree,
  For the runes that no man reads
  Where the grey stones face the sea,
      My grief.

  Lissakeole, that used to be
  Filled with music night and noon,
  For their ancient revelry,
      My grief.

  For the empty fairy shoon,
  Hollow rath and yellow leaf,
  Hands unkissed to sun or moon,
      My grief--my grief!


NORA HOPPER.




The Corpse Watchers


There was once a poor woman that had three daughters, and one day the
eldest said, "Mother, bake my cake and kill my cock till I go seek my
fortune." So she did, and when all was ready, says her mother to her,
"Which will you have--half of these with my blessing, or the whole with
my curse?" "Curse or no curse," says she, "the whole is little enough."
So away she set, and if the mother didn't give her her curse, she didn't
give her her blessing.

She walked, and she walked, till she was tired and hungry, and then she
sat down to take her dinner. While she was eating it a poor woman came
up, and asked for a bit. "The dickens a bit you'll get from me," says
she; "it's all too little for myself." And the poor woman walked away
very sorrowful. At nightfall she got lodging at a farmer's, and the
woman of the house told her that she'd give her a spadeful of gold and a
shovelful of silver if she'd only sit up and watch her son's corpse that
was waking in the next room. She said she'd do that, and so, when the
family were in their bed, she sat by the fire, and cast an eye from time
to time on the corpse that was lying under the table.

All at once the dead man got up in his shroud, and stood before her, and
said, "All alone, fair maid?" She gave him no answer; when he had said
it the third time he struck her with a switch, and she became a grey
flag.

About a week after, the second daughter went to seek her fortune, and
she didn't care for her mother's blessing no more _nor_ her sister, and
the very same thing happened to her. She was left a grey flag by the
side of the other.

At last the youngest went off in search of the other two, and she took
care to carry her mother's blessing with her. She shared her dinner with
the poor woman on the road, and _she_ told her that she would watch over
her.

Well, she got lodging in the same place as the others, and agreed to
mind the corpse. She sat up by the fire, with the dog and cat, and
amused herself with some apples and nuts the mistress had given her. She
thought it a pity that the man under the table was a corpse, he was so
handsome.

But at last he got up, and, says he, "All alone, fair maid?" and she
wasn't long about an answer:

  All alone I am not,
  I've little dog Douse, and Pussy, my cat;
  I've apples to roast and nuts to crack,
  And all alone I am not.

"Ho, ho!" says he, "you're a girl of courage, though you wouldn't have
enough to follow me. I am now going to cross the quaking bog, and go
through the burning forest. I must then enter the cave of terror and
climb the hill of glass, and drop from the top of it into the Dead Sea."
"I'll follow you," says she, "for I engaged to mind you." He thought to
prevent her, but she was stiff as he was stout.

Out he sprang through the window, and she followed him, till they came
to the "Green Hills," and then says he:

  "Open, open, Green Hills and let the light of the Green Hills through."
  "Aye," says the girl, "and let the fair maid too."

They opened, and the man and woman passed through, and there they were
on the edge of a bog.

He trod lightly over the shaky bits of moss and sod; and while she was
thinking of how she'd get across, the old beggar appeared to her, but
much nicer dressed, touched her shoes with a stick, and the soles spread
a foot on each side. So she easily got over the shaky marsh. The burning
wood was at the edge of the bog, and there the good fairy flung a damp,
thick cloak over her, and through the flames she went, and a hair of her
head was not singed. Then they passed through the dark cavern of
horrors, when she'd have heard the most horrible yells, only that the
fairy stopped her ears with wax. She saw frightful things, with blue
vapours round them, and felt the sharp rocks and the slimy backs of
frogs and snakes.

When they got out of the cavern, they were at the mountain of glass; and
then the fairy made her slippers so sticky with a tap of her rod that
she followed the young corpse quite easily to the top. There was the
deep sea a quarter of a mile under them, and so the corpse said to her,
"Go home to my mother, and tell her how far you came to do her bidding.
Farewell!" He sprung head-foremost down into the sea, and after him she
plunged, without stopping a moment to think about it.

She was stupefied at first, but when they reached the waters she
recovered her thoughts. After piercing down a great depth, they saw a
green light towards the bottom. At last they were below the sea, that
seemed a green sky above them; and, sitting in a beautiful meadow, she
half-asleep, and her head resting against his side. She couldn't keep
her eyes open, and she couldn't tell how long she slept; but when she
woke, she was in bed at his house, and he and his mother sitting by her
bedside, and watching her.

It was a witch that had a spite to the young man because he wouldn't
marry her, and so she got power to keep him in a state between life and
death till a young woman would rescue him by doing what she had done.
So, at her request, her sisters got their own shapes again, and were
sent back to their mother, with their spades of gold and shovels of
silver. Maybe they were better after that, but I doubt it much. The
youngest got the young gentleman for her husband. I'm sure she lived
happy, and, if they didn't live happy--_that we may_!

PATRICK KENNEDY.




The Mad Pudding of Ballyboulteen


"Moll Roe Rafferty, the daughter of ould Jack Rafferty, was a fine young
bouncin' girl, large an' lavish, wid a purty head of hair on her like
scarlet, that bein' one of the raisons why she was called _Roe_ or red;
her arms and cheeks were much the colour of the hair, an' her saddle
nose was the purtiest thing of its kind that ever was on a face.

"Well, anyhow, it was Moll Rafferty that was the _dilsy_. It happened
that there was a nate vagabone in the neighbourhood, just as much
overburdened wid beauty as herself, and he was named Gusty Gillespie.
Gusty was what they call a black-mouth Prosbytarian, and wouldn't keep
Christmas day, except what they call 'ould style.' Gusty was rather
good-lookin', when seen in the dark, as well as Moll herself; anyhow,
they got attached to each other, and in the end everything was arranged
for their marriage.

"Now this was the first marriage that had happened for a long time in
the neighbourhood between a Prodestant and a Catholic, and faix, there
was one of the bride's uncles, ould Harry Connolly, a fairyman, who
could cure all complaints wid a secret he had, and as he didn't wish to
see his niece married on sich a fellow, he fought bittherly against the
match. All Moll's friends, however, stood up for the marriage, barrin'
him, and, of coorse, the Sunday was appointed, as I said, that they were
to be dove-tailed together.

"Well, the day arrived, and Moll, as became her, went to mass, and Gusty
to meeting, afther which they were to join one another in Jack
Rafferty's, where the priest, Father Mc. Sorley, was to slip up afther
mass to take his dinner wid them, and to keep Misther Mc. Shuttle, who
was to marry them, company. Nobody remained at home but ould Jack
Rafferty an' his wife, who stopped to dress the dinner, for, to tell the
truth, it was to be a great let-out entirely. Maybe, if all was known,
too, Father Mc. Sorley was to give them a cast of his office over and
above the ministher, in regard that Moll's friends were not altogether
satisfied at the kind of marriage which Mc. Shuttle could give them. The
sorrow may care about that--splice here, splice there--all I can say is
that when Mrs. Rafferty was goin' to tie up a big bag pudden, in walks
Harry Connolly, the fairyman, in a rage, and shouts out, 'Blood and
blunderbushes, what are yez here for?'

"'Arrah, why, Harry? Why, avick?'

"'Why, the sun's in the suds, and the moon in the high Horricks; there's
a clip-stick comin' on, and there you're both as unconsarned as if it
was about to rain mether. Go out, an' cross yourselves three times in
the name o' the four Mandromarvins, for as prophecy says:--"Fill the
pot, Eddy, supernaculum--a blazing star's a rare spectaculum." Go out,
both of you, an' look at the sun, I say, an' ye'll see the condition
he's in--off!'

"Begad, sure enough, Jack gave a bounce to the door, and his wife leaped
like a two-year-ould, till they were both got on a stile beside the
house to see what was wrong in the sky.

"'Arrah, what is it, Jack?' says she, 'can you see anything?'

"'No,' says he, 'sorra the full of my eye of anything I can spy, barrin'
the sun himself, that's not visible, in regard of the clouds. God guard
us! I doubt there's something to happen.'

"'If there wasn't Jack, what'd put Harry, that knows so much, in the
state he's in?'

"'I doubt it's this marriage,' says Jack. 'Betune ourselves, it's not
over an' above religious of Moll to marry a black-mouth, an' only for--;
but, it can't be helped now, though you see it's not a taste o' the sun
is willin' to show his face upon it.'

"'As to that,' says his wife, winkin' with both her eyes, 'if Gusty's
satisfied wid Moll, it's enough. I know who'll carry the whip hand,
anyhow; but in the manetime let us ax Harry within what ails the sun?'

"Well, they accordianly went in, and put this question to him, 'Harry,
what's wrong, ahagur? What is it now, for if anybody alive knows 'tis
yourself?'

"'Ah,' said Harry, screwin' his mouth wid a kind of a dry smile, 'the
sun has a hard twist o' the colic; but never mind that, I tell you,
you'll have a merrier weddin' than you think, that's all'; and havin'
said this, he put on his hat and left the house.

"Now, Harry's answer relieved them very much, and so, afther callin' to
him to be back for dinner, Jack sat down to take a shough o' the pipe,
and the wife lost no time in tying up the pudden, and puttin' it in the
pot to be boiled.

"In this way things went on well enough for a while, Jack smokin' away,
an' the wife cookin' an' dhressin' at the rate of a hunt. At last, Jack,
while sittin', as I said, contentedly at the fire, thought he could
persave an odd dancin' kind of motion in the pot that puzzled him a good
deal.

"'Katty,' says he, 'what the dickens is in this pot on the fire?'

"'Nerra thing but the big pudden. Why do you ax?' says she.

"'Why,' says he, 'if ever a pot tuck it into its head to dance a jig,
and this did. Thundher and sparbles, look at it!'

"Begad, and it was thrue enough; there was the pot bobbin' up an' down,
and from side to side, jiggin' it away as merry as a grig; an' it was
quite aisy to see that it wasn't the pot itself, but what was inside of
it, that brought about the hornpipe.

"'Be the hole o' my coat,' shouted Jack, 'there's somethin' alive in it,
or it would niver cut sich capers!'

"'Begorra, there is, Jack; somethin' sthrange entirely has got into it.
Wirra, man alive, what's to be done?'

"Jist as she spoke the pot seemed to cut the buckle in prime style, and
afther a spring that'd shame a dancin' masther, off flew the lid, and
out bounced the pudden itself, hoppin' as nimble as a pea on a drum-head
about the floor. Jack blessed himself, and Katty crossed herself. Jack
shouted, and Katty screamed. 'In the name of goodness, keep your
distance; no one here injured you!'

"The pudden, however, made a set at him, and Jack lepped first on a
chair, and then on the kitchen table, to avoid it. It then danced
towards Katty, who was repatin' her prayers at the top of her voice,
while the cunnin' thief of a pudden was hoppin' an' jiggin' it around
her as if it was amused at her distress.

"'If I could get the pitchfork,' says Jack, 'I'd dale wid it--by goxty,
I'd thry its mettle.'

"'No, no,' shouted Katty, thinking there was a fairy in it; 'let us
spake it fair. Who knows what harm it might do? Aisy, now,' says she to
the pudden, 'aisy, dear; don't harm honest people that never meant to
offend you. It wasn't us--no, in troth, it was ould Harry Connolly that
bewitched you; pursue _him_, if you wish, but spare a woman like me!'

"The pudden, bedad, seemed to take her at her word, and danced away from
her towards Jack, who, like the wife, believin' there was a fairy in
it, an' that spakin' it fair was the best plan, thought he would give it
a soft word as well as her.

"'Plase your honour,' said Jack, 'she only spaiks the truth, an' upon my
voracity, we both feels much oblaiged to you for your quietness. Faith,
it's quite clear that if you weren't a gentlemanly pudden, all out,
you'd act otherwise. Ould Harry, the rogue, is your mark; he's jist gone
down the road there, and if you go fast you'll overtake him. Be my song,
your dancin'-masther did his duty, anyway. Thank your honour! God speed
you, and may you niver meet wid a parson or alderman in your thravels.'

"Jist as Jack spoke, the pudden appeared to take the hint, for it
quietly hopped out, and as the house was directly on the roadside,
turned down towards the bridge, the very way that ould Harry went. It
was very natural, of coorse, that Jack and Katty should go out to see
how it intended to thravel, and as the day was Sunday, it was but
natural, too, that a greater number of people than usual were passin'
the road. This was a fact; and when Jack and his wife were seen
followin' the pudden, the whole neighbourhood was soon up and afther it.

"'Jack Rafferty, what is it? Katty, ahagur, will you tell us what it
manes?'

"'Why,' replied Katty, 'it's my big pudden that's bewitched, an' it's
out hot foot pursuin''--here she stopped, not wishin' to mention her
brother's name--'_someone_ or other that surely put _pishrogues_ an
it.'

"This was enough; Jack, now seein' that he had assistance, found his
courage comin' back to him; so says he to Katty, 'Go home,' says he,
'an' lose no time in makin' another pudden as good, an' here's Paddy
Scanlan's wife, Bridget, says she'll let you boil it on her fire, as
you'll want our own to dress the rest of the dinner; and Paddy himself
will lend me a pitchfork for purshuin' to the morsel of that same pudden
will escape, till I let the wind out of it, now that I've the neighbours
to back an' support me,' says Jack.

"This was agreed to, an' Katty went back to prepare a fresh pudden,
while Jack an' half the townland pursued the other wid spades, graips,
pitchforks, scythes, flails, and all possible description of
instruments. On the pudden went, however, at the rate of about six Irish
miles an hour, an' sich a chase was never seen. Catholics, Prodestants,
and Prosbytarians were all afther it, armed, as I said, an' bad end to
the thing, but its own activity could save it. Here it made a hop, there
a prod was made at it; but off it went, and someone, as eager to get a
slice at it on the other side, got the prod instead of the pudden. Big
Frank Farrell, the miller, of Ballyboulteen, got a prod backwards that
brought a hullabulloo out of him that you might hear at the other end of
the parish. One got a slice of a scythe, another a whack of a flail, a
third a rap of a spade, that made him look nine ways at wanst.

"'Where is it goin'?' asked one. 'My life for you, it's on its way to
Meeting. Three cheers for it, if it turns to Carntaul!' 'Prod the sowl
out of it if it's a Prodestan'' shouted the others; 'if it turns to the
left, slice it into pancakes. We'll have no Prodestan' puddens here.'

"Begad, by this time the people were on the point of beginnin' to have a
regular fight about it, when, very fortunately, it took a short turn
down a little by-lane that led towards the Methodist praychin'-house,
an' in an instant all parties were in an uproar against it as a
Methodist pudden. 'It's a Wesleyan,' shouted several voices; 'an' by
this an' by that, into a Methodist chapel it won't put a foot to-day, or
we'll lose a fall. Let the wind out of it. Come, boys, where's your
pitchforks?'

"The divle purshuin' to the one of them, however, ever could touch the
pudden, and jist when they thought they had it up against the gavel of
the Methodist chapel, begad, it gave them the slip, and hops over to the
left, clane into the river, and sails away before their eyes as light as
an egg-shell.

"Now, it so happened that a little below this place the desmesne wall of
Colonel Bragshaw was built up to the very edge of the river on each side
of its banks; and so, findin' there was a stop put to their pursuit of
it, they went home again, every man, woman, and child of them, puzzled
to think what the pudden was at all, what it meant, or where it was
goin'! Had Jack Rafferty an' his wife been willin' to let out the
opinion they held about Henry Connolly bewitchin' it, there is no doubt
of it but poor Harry might be badly trated by the crowd, when their
blood was up. They had sense enough, howaniver, to keep that to
themselves, for Harry bein' an ould bachelor, was a kind friend to the
Raffertys. So, of coorse, there was all kinds of talk about it--some
guessin' this, an' some guessin' that--one party sayin' the pudden was
of their side, and another denyin' it, an' insisting it belonged to
them, an' so on.

"In the meantime, Katty Rafferty, for 'fraid the dinner might come
short, went home and made another pudden much about the same size as the
one that had escaped, an' bringin' it over to their next neighbour,
Paddy Scanlan's, it was put into a pot, and placed on the fire to boil,
hopin' that it might be done in time, espishilly as they were to have
the ministher, who loved a warm slice of a good pudden as well as e'er a
gentleman in Europe.

"Anyhow, the day passed; Moll and Gusty were made man an' wife, an' no
two could be more lovin'. Their friends that had been asked to the
weddin' were saunterin' about in pleasant little groups till
dinner-time, chattin' an' laughin'; but above all things, sthrivin' to
account for the figaries of the pudden; for, to tell the truth, its
adventures had now gone through the whole parish.

"Well, at any rate, dinner-time was drawin' near, and Paddy Scanlan was
sittin' comfortably wid his wife at the fire, the pudden boilin' before
their eyes, when in walks Harry Connolly in a flutter, shoutin', 'Blood
and blunderbushes, what are yez here for?'

"'Arrah, why, Harry--why, avick?' said Mrs. Scanlan.

"'Why,' said Harry, 'the sun's in the suds, an' the moon in the high
Horricks! Here's a clipstick comin' on, an' there you sit as unconsarned
as if it was about to rain mether! Go out, both of you, an' look at the
sun, I say, an' ye'll see the condition he's in--off!'

"'Ay, but, Harry, what's that rowled up in the tail of your cothamore
(big coat)?'

"'Out wid yez,' says Harry, 'an' pray aginst the clipstick--the sky's
fallin'!'

"Begad, it was hard to say whether Paddy or the wife got out first, they
were so much alarmed by Harry's wild, thin face and piercin' eyes; so
out they went to see what was wonderful in the sky, an' kep lookin' an'
lookin' in every direction, but not a thing was to be seen, barrin' the
sun shinin' down wid great good-humour, an' not a single cloud in the
sky.

"Paddy an' the wife now came in laughin' to scould Harry, who no doubt
was a great wag in his way when he wished. 'Musha, bad scran to you,
Harry----' and they had time to say no more, howandiver, for, as they
were goin' into the door, they met him comin' out of it, wid a reek of
smoke out of his tail like a lime-kiln.

"'Harry,' shouted Bridget, 'my sowl to glory, but the tail of your
cothamore's afire--you'll be burned. Don't you see the smoke that's out
of it?'

"'Cross yourselves three times,' said Harry, widout stoppin' or even
lookin' behind him, 'for, as the prophecy says, Fill the pot, Eddy----'
They could hear no more, for Harry appeared to feel like a man that
carried something a great deal hotter than he wished, as anyone might
see by the liveliness of his motions, and the quare faces he was forced
to make as he went along.

"'What the dickens is he carryin' in the skirts of his big coat?' asked
Paddy.

"'My sowl to happiness, but maybe he has stolen the pudden,' said
Bridget, 'for it's known that many a sthrange thing he does.'

"They immediately examined the pot, but found that the pudden was there,
as safe as tuppence, an' this puzzled them the more to think what it was
he could be carryin' about with him in the manner he did. But little
they knew what he had done while they were sky-gazin'!

"Well, anyhow, the day passed, and the dinner was ready, an' no doubt
but a fine gatherin' there was to partake of it. The Prosbytarian
ministher met the Methodist praycher--a divilish stretcher of an
appetite he had, in throth--on their way to Jack Rafferty's, an' as he
knew he could take the liberty, why, he insisted on his dinin' wid him;
for, afther all, in thim days, the clargy of all descriptions lived upon
the best footin' among one another, not all at one as now--but no
matther. Well, they had nearly finished their dinner, when Jack Rafferty
himself axed Katty for the pudden; but, jist as he spoke, in it came, as
big as a mess-pot.

"'Gintlemen,' said he, 'I hope none of you will refuse tastin' a bit of
Katty's pudden; I don't mane the dancin' one that took to its thravels
to-day, but a good solid fellow that she med since.'

"'To be sure we won't,' replied the priest. 'So, Jack, put a thrifle on
them three plates at your right hand, and send them over here to the
clargy, an' maybe,' he said, laughin'--for he was a droll, good-humoured
man--'maybe, Jack, we won't set you a proper example.'

"'Wid a heart an' a half, your riverence an' gintlemen; in throth, it's
not a bad example ever any of you set us at the likes, or ever will set
us, I'll go bail. An' sure, I only wish it was betther fare I had for
you; but we're humble people, gintlemen, an' so you can't expect to meet
here what you would in higher places.'

"'Betther a male of herbs,' said the Methodist praycher, 'where pace
is----' He had time to get no further, however; for much to his
amazement, the priest an' the ministher started up from the table, jist
as he was goin' to swallow the first mouthful of the pudden, and, before
you could say Jack Robinson, started away at a lively jig down the
floor.

"At this moment a neighbour's son came runnin' in, and tould them that
the parson was comin' to see the new-married couple, an' wish them all
happiness; an' the words were scarcely out of his mouth when he made his
appearance. What to think, he knew not, when he saw the ministher
footin' it away at the rate of a weddin'. He had very little time,
however, to think; for, before he could sit down, up starts the
Methodist praycher, an', clappin' his fists in his sides, chimes in in
great style along wid him.

"'Jack Rafferty,' says he, and, by the way, Jack was his tenant, 'what
the dickens does all this mane?' says he; 'I'm amazed!'

"'The not a particle o' me can tell you,' says Jack; 'but will your
reverence jist taste a morsel o' pudden, merely that the young couple
may boast that you ait at their weddin'; for, sure, if _you_ wouldn't,
who _would_?'

"'Well,' says he, 'to gratify them, I will; so, just a morsel. But,
Jack, this bates Bannagher,' says he again, puttin' the spoonful of
pudden into his mouth; 'has there been drink here?'

"'Oh, the divle a spudh,' says Jack, 'for although there's plenty in the
house, faith, it appears the gintlemen wouldn't wait for it. Unless they
tuck it elsewhere, I can make nothin' o' this.'

"He had scarcely spoken when the parson, who was an active man, cut a
caper a yard high, an' before you could bless yourself, the three clargy
were hard at work dancin', as if for a wager. Begad, it would be
unpossible for me to tell you the state the whole meetin' was in when
they see this. Some were hoarse wid laughin'; some turned up their eyes
wid wondher; many thought them mad; and others thought they had turned
up their little fingers a thrifle too often.

"'Be goxty, it's a burnin' shame,' said one, 'to see three black-mouth
clargy in sich a state at this early hour!' 'Thundher an' ounze, what's
over them at all?' says others; 'why, one would think they were
bewitched. Holy Moses, look at the caper the Methodist cuts! An' as for
the Recthor, who would think he could handle his feet at sich a rate! Be
this, an' be that, he cuts the buckle, an' does the threblin' step
aiquil to Paddy Horaghan, the dancin'-masther himself! An' see! Bad cess
to the morsel of the parson that's not too hard at _Peace upon a
trancher_, and it upon a Sunday, too! Whirroo, gintlemen, the fun's in
yez, afther all--whish! more power to yez!'

"The sorra's own fun they had, an' no wondher; but judge of what they
felt when all at once they saw ould Jack Rafferty himself bouncin' in
among them, an' footin' it away like the best of them. Bedad, no play
could come up to it, an' nothin' could be heard but laughin', shouts of
encouragement, an' clappin' of hands like mad. Now, the minute Jack
Rafferty left the chair, where he had been carvin' the pudden, ould
Harry Connolly come over and claps himself down in his place, in ordher
to sent it round, of coorse; an' he was scarcely sated when who should
make his appearance but Barney Hartigan, the piper. Barney, by the way,
had been sent for early in the day, but bein' from home when the message
for him went, he couldn't come any sooner.

"'Begorra,' says Barney, 'you're airly at the work gintlemen! But what
does this mane? But divle may care, yez shan't want the music, while
there's a blast in the pipes, anyhow!' So sayin' he gave them _Jig
Polthogue_, and afther that, _Kiss My Lady_, in his best style.

"In the manetime the fun went on thick and threefold, for it must be
remembered that Harry, the ould knave, was at the pudden; an' maybe, he
didn't sarve it about in double-quick time, too! The first he helped was
the bride, and before you could say chopstick she was at it hard and
fast, before the Methodist praycher, who gave a jolly spring before her
that threw them into convulsions. Harry liked this, and made up his mind
soon to find partners for the rest; so he accordianly sent the pudden
about like lightnin'; an', to make a long story short, barrin' the piper
an' himself, there wasn't a pair of heels in the house but was as busy
at the dancin' as if their lives depended on it.

"'Barney,' says Harry, 'jist taste a morsel o' this pudden; divle the
sich a bully of a pudden ever you ett. Here, your sowl! thry a snig of
it--it's beautiful!'

"'To be sure I will,' says Barney. 'I'm not the boy to refuse a good
thing. But, Harry, be quick, for you know my hands is engaged, an' it
would be a thousand pities not to keep them in music, an' they so well
inclined. Thank you, Harry. Begad, that is a fine pudden. But, blood
an' turnips! what's this for?'

"The word was scarcely out of his mouth when he bounced up, pipes an'
all, and dashed into the middle of the party. 'Hurroo! your sowls, let
us make a night of it! The Ballyboulteen boys for ever! Go it, your
reverence!--turn your partner--heel an' toe, ministher. Good! Well done,
again! Whish! Hurroo! Here's for Ballyboulteen, an' the sky over it!'

"Bad luck to sich a set ever was seen together in this world, or will
again, I suppose. The worst, however, wasn't come yet, for jist as they
were in the very heat an' fury of the dance, what do you think comes
hoppin' in among them but another pudden, as nimble an' merry as the
first! That was enough; they had all heard of it--the ministhers among
the rest--an' most of them had seen the other pudden, an' knew that
there must be a fairy in it, sure enough. Well, as I said, in it comes
to the thick o' them; but the very appearance of it was enough. Off the
three clargy danced, and off the whole weddiners danced afther them,
everyone makin' the best of their way home; but not a sowl of them able
to break out of the step, if they were to be hanged for it. Throth, it
wouldn't lave a laff in you to see the parson dancin' down the road on
his way home, and the ministher and Methodist praycher cuttin' the
buckle as they went along in the opposite direction. To make short work
of it, they all danced home at last wid scarce a puff of wind in them;
the bride an' bridegroom danced away to bed; an' now, boys, come an' let
us dance the _Horo Lheig_ in the barn widout. But, you see, boys, before
we go, and in order to make everything plain, I had as good tell you
that Harry, in crossin' the bridge of Ballyboulteen, a couple o' miles
between Squire Bragshaw's demesne wall, saw the pudden floatin' down the
river--the truth is, he was waitin' for it; but, be this as it may, he
took it out, for the wather had made it as clane as a new pin, an'
tuckin' it up in the tail of his big coat, contrived to bewitch it in
the same manner by gettin' a fairy to get into it, for, indeed, it was
purty well known that the same Harry was hand an' glove wid the _good
people_. Others will tell you that it was half a pound of quicksilver he
put into it, but that doesn't stand to raison. At any rate, boys, I have
tould you the adventures of the Mad Pudden of Ballyboulteen; but I don't
wish to tell you many other things about it that happened--_for 'fraid
I'd tell a lie_!"

WILLIAM CARLETON.




The Voyage of Maeldune


  I was the chief of the race--he had stricken my father dead--
  But I gathered my fellows together; I swore I would strike off his head.
  Each of them looked like a king, and was noble in birth as in worth,
  And each of them boasted he sprang from the oldest race upon earth.
  Each was as brave in the fight as the bravest hero of song,
  And each of them liefer had died than have done one another a wrong.
  _He_ lived on an isle in the ocean--we sail'd on a Friday morn--
  He that had slain my father the day before I was born.

  And we came to the isle in the ocean, and there on the shore was he.
  But a sudden blast blew us out and away through a boundless sea.

  And we came to the Silent Isle that we never had touched before,
  Where a silent ocean always broke on a silent shore,
  And the brooks glittered on in the light without sound, and the long
    waterfalls
  Poured in a thunderless plunge to the base of the mountain walls,
  And the poplar and cypress unshaken by storm flourished up beyond sight
  And the pine shot aloft from the crag to an unbelievable height,
  And high in the heaven above it there flickered a songless lark,
  And the cock couldn't crow, and the bull couldn't low, and the dog
    couldn't bark.
  And round it we went, and thro' it, but never a murmur, a breath,
  It was all of it fair as life, it was all of it quiet as death,
  And we hated the beautiful Isle, for whenever we strove to speak
  Our voices were thinner and fainter than any flittermouse shriek;
  And the men that were mighty of tongue, and could raise such a battle-cry
  That a hundred who heard it would rush on a thousand lances and die--
  Oh, they to be dumb'd by the charm!--so fluster'd with anger were they
  They almost fell on each other; but, after, we sailed away.

  And we came to the Isle of Shouting, we landed, a score of wild birds
  Cried from the topmost summit with human voices and words;
  Once in an hour they cried, and whenever their voices peal'd
  The steer fell down at the plough and the harvest died from the field,
  And the men dropt dead in the valleys and half of the cattle went lame,
  And the roof sank in on the hearth, and the dwelling broke into flame;
  And the shouting of these wild birds ran into the hearts of my crew,
  Till they shouted along with the shouting, and seized one another and
    slew;
  But I drew them the one from the other; I saw that we could not stay,
  And we left the dead to the birds and we sail'd with our wounded away.

  And we came to the Isle of Flowers, their breath met us out on the seas,
  For the Spring and the middle Summer sat each on the lap of the breeze;
  And the red passion-flower to the cliffs, and the dark-blue clematis
    clung
  And starr'd with a myriad blossom, the long convolvulus hung;
  And the topmost spire of the mountain was lilies in lieu of snow,
  And the lilies like glaciers winded down, running out below
  Thro' the fire of the tulip and poppy, the blaze of gorse, and the blush
  Of millions of roses that sprang without leaf or thorn from the bush;
  And the whole isle-side flashing down from the peak without ever a tree
  Swept like a torrent of gems from the sky to the blue of the sea;
  And we roll'd upon capes of crocus and vaunted our kith and kin,
  And we wallowed in beds of lilies, and chanted the triumph of Finn,
  Till each like a golden image was pollen'd from head to feet
  And each was as dry as a cricket, with thirst in the middle-day heat.
  Blossom, and blossom, and promise of blossom, but never a fruit!
  And we hated the Flowering Isle, as we hated the isle that was mute,
  And we tore up the flowers by the million and flung them in bight and
    bay.
  And we left but a naked rock, and in anger we sail'd away.

  And we came to the Isle of Fruits: all round from the cliffs and the
    capes,
  Purple or amber dangled a hundred fathom of grapes,
  And the warm melon lay, like a little sun, on the tawny sand,
  And the fig ran up from the beach, and rioted over the land,
  And the mountain arose, like a jewelled throne thro' the fragrant air,
  Glowing with all-coloured plums, and with golden masses of pear,
  And the crimson and scarlet of berries that flamed upon bine and vine,
  But in every berry and fruit was the poisonous pleasure of wine:
  And the peak of the mountain was apples, the hugest that ever were seen,
  And they prest, as they grew, on each other, with hardly a leaflet
    between.
  And all of them redder than rosiest health, or than utterest shame,
  And setting, when Even descended, the very sunset aflame.
  And we stay'd three days, and we gorged and we madden'd till everyone
    drew
  His sword on his fellow to slay him, and ever they struck and they slew;
  And myself I had eaten but sparsely, and fought till I sunder'd the fray,
  Then I bade them remember my father's death, and we sail'd away.

  And we came to the Isle of Fire: we were lured by the light from afar,
  For the peak sent up one league of fire to the Northern Star;
  Lured by the glare and the blare, but scarcely could stand upright,
  For the whole isle shudder'd and shook, like a man in a mortal affright;
  We were giddy, besides, with the fruits we had gorged, and so crazed that
    at last,
  There were some leap'd into the fire; and away we sail'd, and we past
  Over that undersea isle, where the water is clearer than air:
  Down we look'd: what a garden! Oh, bliss, what a Paradise there!
  Towers of a happier time, low down in a rainbow deep
  Silent palaces, quiet fields of eternal sleep!
  And three of the gentlest and best of my people, whate'er I could say,
  Plunged head down in the sea, and the Paradise trembled away.

  And we came to the Bounteous Isle, where the heavens lean low on the
    land,
  And ever at dawn from the cloud glitter'd o'er us a sun-bright hand,
  Then it opened, and dropped at the side of each man, as he rose from his
    rest,
  Bread enough for his need till the labourless day dipt under the West;
  And we wandered about it, and thro' it. Oh, never was time so good!
  And we sang of the triumphs of Finn, and the boast of our ancient blood,
  And we gazed at the wandering wave, as we sat by the gurgle of springs,
  And we chanted the songs of the Bards and the glories of fairy kings;
  But at length we began to be weary, to sigh, and to stretch and yawn,
  Till we hated the Bounteous Isle, and the sun-bright hand of the dawn,
  For there was not an enemy near, but the whole green isle was our own,
  And we took to playing at ball, and we took to throwing the stone,
  And we took to playing at battle, but that was a perilous play,
  For the passion of battle was in us, we slew and we sail'd away.

  And we passed to the Isle of Witches, and heard their musical cry--
  "Come to us, Oh, come, come," in the stormy red of a sky
  Dashing the fires and the shadows of dawn on the beautiful shapes,
  For a wild witch, naked as heaven, stood on each of the loftiest capes,
  And a hundred ranged on the rocks, like white sea-birds in a row,
  And a hundred gambled and pranced on the wrecks in the sand below,
  And a hundred splashed from the ledges, and bosomed the burst of the
    spray.
  But I knew we should fall on each other, and hastily sail'd away.

  And we came in an evil time to the Isle of the Double Towers,
  One was of smooth-cut stone, one carved all over with flowers,
  But an earthquake always moved in the hollows under the dells,
  And they shock'd on each other and butted each other with clashing of
    bells,
  And the daws flew out of the Towers, and jangled and wrangled in vain,
  And the clash and boom of the bells rang into the heart and brain,
  Till the passion of battle was on us, and all took sides with the Towers,
  There were some for the clean-cut stone, there were more for the carven
    flowers,
  And the wrathful thunder of God peal'd over us all the day,
  For the one half slew the other, and, after, we sail'd away.

  And we came to the Isle of a Saint, who had sail'd with St. Brendan of
    yore,
  He had lived ever since on the isle, and his winters were fifteen score,
  And his voice was low as from other worlds, and his eyes were sweet,
  And his white hair sank to his heels, and his white beard fell to his
    feet,
  And he spake to me, "Oh, Maeldune, let be this purpose of thine!
  Remember the words of the Lord, when He told us 'Vengeance is Mine!'
  His fathers have slain thy fathers, in war or in single strife,
  Thy fathers have slain his fathers, each taken a life for a life,
  Thy father had slain his father, how long shall the murder last?
  Go back to the Isle of Finn and suffer the Past to be Past."
  And we kiss'd the fringe of his beard, and we pray'd as we heard him
    pray,
  And the Holy Man he assoil'd us, and sadly we sail'd away.

  And we came to the Isle we were blown from, and there on the shore was
    he,
  The man that had slain my father. I saw him, and let him be.
  Oh, weary was I of the travel, the trouble, the strife, and the sin,
  When I landed again with a tithe of my men on the Island of Finn.



                        The Book Of The
                  THOUSAND NIGHTS AND A NIGHT

                    (ALF LAYLAH WA LAYLAH.)


                     In the Name of Allah,
            the Compassionating, the Compassionate!

PRAISE BE TO ALLAH  THE BENEFICENT KING  THE CREATOR OF THE
UNIVERSE  LORD OF THE THREE WORLDS  WHO SET UP THE FIRMAMENT
WITHOUT PILLARS IN ITS STEAD  AND WHO STRETCHED OUT THE EARTH
EVEN AS A BED  AND GRACE, AND PRAYER-BLESSING BE UPON OUR LORD
MOHAMMED  LORD OF APOSTOLIC MEN  AND UPON HIS FAMILY AND
COMPANION TRAIN  PRAYER AND BLESSINGS ENDURING AND GRACE WHICH
UNTO THE DAY OF DOOM SHALL REMAIN  AMEN!  O THOU OF THE THREE
WORLDS SOVEREIGN!

And afterwards. Verily the works and words of those gone before
us have become instances and examples to men of our modern day,
that folk may view what admonishing chances befel other folk and
may therefrom take warning; and that they may peruse the annals
of antique peoples and all that hath betided them, and be thereby
ruled and restrained:--Praise, therefore, be to Him who hath made
the histories of the Past an admonition unto the Present! Now of
such instances are the tales called "A Thousand Nights and a
Night," together with their far famed legends and wonders.
Therein it is related (but Allah is All knowing of His hidden
things and All ruling and All honoured and All giving and All
gracious and All merciful ) that, in tide of yore and in
time long gone before, there was a King of the Kings of the Banu
Sasan in the Islands of India and China, a Lord of armies and
guards and servants and dependents. He left only two sons,
one in the prime of manhood and the other yet a youth, while both
were Knights and Braves, albeit the elder was a doughtier
horseman than the younger. So he succeeded to the empire; when he
ruled the land and forded it over his lieges with justice so
exemplary that he was beloved by all the peoples of his capital
and of his kingdom. His name was King Shahryar, and he made
his younger brother, Shah Zaman hight, King of Samarcand in
Barbarian land. These two ceased not to abide in their several
realms and the law was ever carried out in their dominions; and
each ruled his own kingdom, with equity and fair dealing to his
subjects, in extreme solace and enjoyment; and this condition
continually endured for a score of years. But at the end of the
twentieth twelvemonth the elder King yearned for a sight of his
younger brother and felt that he must look upon him once more. So
he took counsel with his Wazir about visiting him, but the
Minister, finding the project unadvisable, recommended that a
letter be written and a present be sent under his charge to the
younger brother with an invitation to visit the elder. Having
accepted this advice the King forthwith bade prepare handsome
gifts, such as horses with saddles of gem encrusted gold;
Mamelukes, or white slaves; beautiful handmaids, high breasted
virgins, and splendid stuffs and costly. He then wrote a letter
to Shah Zaman expressing his warm love and great wish to see
him, ending with these words, "We therefore hope of the favour
and affection of the beloved brother that he will condescend to
bestir himself and turn his face us wards. Furthermore we have
sent our Wazir to make all ordinance for the march, and our one
and only desire is to see thee ere we die; but if thou delay or
disappoint us we shall not survive the blow. Wherewith peace be
upon thee!" Then King Shahryar, having sealed the missive and
given it to the Wazir with the offerings aforementioned,
commanded him to shorten his skirts and strain his strength and
make all expedition in going and returning. "Harkening and
obedience!" quoth the Minister, who fell to making ready without
stay and packed up his loads and prepared all his requisites
without delay. This occupied him three days, and on the dawn of
the fourth he took leave of his King and marched right away, over
desert and hill' way, stony waste and pleasant lea without
halting by night or by day. But whenever he entered a realm whose
ruler was subject to his Suzerain, where he was greeted with
magnificent gifts of gold and silver and all manner of presents
fair and rare, he would tarry there three days, the term
of the guest rite; and, when he left on the fourth, he would be
honourably escorted for a whole day's march. As soon as the
Wazir drew near Shah Zaman's court in Samarcand he despatched to
report his arrival one of his high officials, who presented
himself before the King; and, kissing ground between his hands,
delivered his message. Hereupon the King commanded sundry of his
Grandees and Lords of his realm to fare forth and meet his
brother's Wazir at the distance of a full day's journey; which
they did, greeting him respectfully and wishing him all
prosperity and forming an escort and a procession. When he
entered the city he proceeded straightway to the palace, where
he presented himself in the royal presence; and, after kissing
ground and praying for the King's health and happiness and for
victory over all his enemies, he informed him that his brother
was yearning to see him, and prayed for the pleasure of a visit.
He then delivered the letter which Shah Zaman took from his hand
and read: it contained sundry hints and allusions which required
thought; but, when the King had fully comprehended its import, he
said, "I hear and I obey the commands of the beloved brother!"
adding to the Wazir, "But we will not march till after the third
day's hospitality." He appointed for the Minister fitting
quarters of the palace; and, pitching tents for the troops,
rationed them with whatever they might require of meat and drink
and other necessaries. On the fourth day he made ready for
wayfare and got together sumptuous presents befitting his elder
brother's majesty, and stablished his chief Wazir viceroy of the
land during his absence. Then he caused his tents and camels and
mules to be brought forth and encamped, with their bales and
loads, attend ants and guards, within sight of the city, in
readiness to set out next morning for his brother's capital. But
when the night was half spent he bethought him that he had
forgotten in his palace somewhat which he should have brought
with him, so he re turned privily and entered his apartments,
where he found the Queen, his wife, asleep on his own carpet
bed, embracing with both arms a black cook of loathsome aspect
and foul with kitchen grease and grime. When he saw this the
world waxed black before his sight and he said, "If such case
happen while I am yet within sight of the city what will be the
doings of this damned whore during my long absence at my
brother's court?" So he drew his scymitar and, cutting the two in
four pieces with a single blow, left them on the carpet and
returned presently to his camp without letting anyone know of
what had happened. Then he gave orders for immediate departure
and set out at once and began his travel; but he could not help
thinking over his wife's treason and he kept ever saying to
himself, "How could she do this deed by me? How could she work
her own death?," till excessive grief seized him, his colour
changed to yellow, his body waxed weak and he was threatened
with a dangerous malady, such an one as bringeth men to die. So
the Wazir shortened his stages and tarried long at the watering
stations and did his best to solace the King. Now when Shah Zaman
drew near the capital of his brother he despatched vaunt
couriers and messengers of glad tidings to announce his arrival,
and Shahryar came forth to meet him with his Wazirs and Emirs
and Lords and Grandees of his realm; and saluted him and joyed
with exceeding joy and caused the city to be decorated in his
honour. When, however, the brothers met, the elder could not but
see the change of complexion in the younger and questioned him
of his case whereto he replied, "Tis caused by the travails of
wayfare and my case needs care, for I have suffered from the
change of water and air! but Allah be praised for reuniting me
with a brother so dear and so rare!" On this wise he dissembled
and kept his secret, adding, "O King of the time and Caliph of
the tide, only toil and moil have tinged my face yellow with
bile and hath made my eyes sink deep in my head." Then the two
entered the capital in all honour; and the elder brother lodged
the younger in a palace overhanging the pleasure garden; and,
after a time, seeing his condition still unchanged, he attributed
it to his separation from his country and kingdom. So he let him
wend his own ways and asked no questions of him till one day when
he again said, "O my brother, I see thou art grown weaker of
body and yellower of colour." "O my brother," replied Shah Zaman
"I have an internal wound:" still he would not tell him
what he had witnessed in his wife. Thereupon Shahryar summoned
doctors and surgeons and bade them treat his brother according
to the rules of art, which they did for a whole month; but their
sherbets and potions naught availed, for he would dwell upon the
deed of his wife, and despondency, instead of diminishing,
prevailed, and leach craft treatment utterly failed. One day his
elder brother said to him, "I am going forth to hunt and course
and to take my pleasure and pastime; maybe this would lighten thy
heart." Shah Zaman, however, refused, saying, "O my brother, my
soul yearneth for naught of this sort and I entreat thy favour to
suffer me tarry quietly in this place, being wholly taken up
with my malady." So King Shah Zaman passed his night in the
palace and, next morning, when his brother had fared forth, he
removed from his room and sat him down at one of the lattice
windows overlooking the pleasure grounds; and there he abode
thinking with saddest thought over his wife's betrayal and
burning sighs issued from his tortured breast. And as he
continued in this case lo! a pastern of the palace, which was
carefully kept private, swung open and out of it came twenty
slave girls surrounding his bother's wife who was wondrous fair,
a model of beauty and comeliness and symmetry and perfect
loveliness and who paced with the grace of a gazelle which
panteth for the cooling stream. Thereupon Shah Zaman drew back
from the window, but he kept the bevy in sight espying them from
a place whence he could not be espied. They walked under the very
lattice and advanced a little way into the garden till they came
to a jetting fountain amiddlemost a great basin of water; then
they stripped off their clothes and behold, ten of them were
women, concubines of the King, and the other ten were white
slaves. Then they all paired off, each with each: but the Queen,
who was left alone, presently cried out in a loud voice, "Here to
me, O my lord Saeed!" and then sprang with a drop leap from one
of the trees a big slobbering blackamoor with rolling eyes which
showed the whites, a truly hideous sight. He walked boldly
up to her and threw his arms round her neck while she embraced
him as warmly; then he bussed her and winding his legs round
hers, as a button loop clasps a button, he threw her and enjoyed
her. On like wise did the other slaves with the girls till all
had satisfied their passions, and they ceased not from kissing
and clipping, coupling and carousing till day began to wane; when
the Mamelukes rose from the damsels' bosoms and the blackamoor
slave dismounted from the Queen's breast; the men resumed their
disguises and all, except the negro who swarmed up the tree,
entered the palace and closed the postern door as before. Now,
when Shah Zaman saw this conduct of his sister in law he said in
himself, "By Allah, my calamity is lighter than this! My brother
is a greater King among the kings than I am, yet this infamy
goeth on in his very palace, and his wife is in love with that
filthiest of filthy slaves. But this only showeth that they all
do it and that there is no woman but who cuckoldeth her
husband, then the curse of Allah upon one and all and upon the
fools who lean against them for support or who place the reins of
conduct in their hands." So he put away his melancholy and
despondency, regret and repine, and allayed his sorrow by
constantly repeating those words, adding, " 'Tis my conviction
that no man in this world is safe from their malice!" When supper
time came they brought him the trays and he ate with voracious
appetite, for he had long refrained from meat, feeling unable to
touch any dish however dainty. Then he returned grateful thanks
to Almighty Allah, praising Him and blessing Him, and he spent a
most restful night, it having been long since he had savoured the
sweet food of sleep. Next day he broke his fast heartily and
began to recover health and strength, and presently regained
excellent condition. His brother came back from the chase ten
days after, when he rode out to meet him and they saluted each
other; and when King Shahryar looked at King Shah Zaman he saw
how the hue of health had returned to him, how his face had waxed
ruddy and how he ate with an appetite after his late scanty diet.
He wondered much and said, "O my brother, I was so anxious that
thou wouldst join me in hunting and chasing, and wouldst take thy
pleasure and pastime in my dominion!" He thanked him and excused
himself; then the two took horse and rode into the city and, when
they were seated at their ease in the palace, the food trays were
set before them and they ate their sufficiency. After the meats
were removed and they had washed their hands, King Shahryar
turned to his brother and said, "My mind is overcome with
wonderment at thy condition. I was desirous to carry thee with me
to the chase but I saw thee changed in hue, pale and wan to view,
and in sore trouble of mind too. But now Alham-dolillah--glory be
to God!--I see thy natural colour hath returned to thy face and
that thou art again in the best of case. It was my belief that
thy sickness came of severance from thy family and friends, and
absence from capital and country, so I refrained from troubling
thee with further questions. But now I beseech thee to expound to
me the cause of thy complaint and thy change of colour, and to
explain the reason of thy recovery and the return to the ruddy
hue of health which I am wont to view. So speak out and hide
naught!" When Shah Zaman heard this he bowed groundwards awhile
his head, then raised it and said, "I will tell thee what caused
my complaint and my loss of colour; but excuse my acquainting
thee with the cause of its return to me and the reason of my
complete recovery: indeed I pray thee not to press me for a
reply." Said Shahryar, who was much surprised by these words,
"Let me hear first what produced thy pallor and thy poor
condition." "Know, then, O my brother," rejoined Shah Zaman,
"that when thou sentest thy Wazir with the invitation to place
myself between thy hands, I made ready and marched out of my
city; but presently I minded me having left behind me in the
palace a string of jewels intended as a gift to thee. I returned
for it alone and found my wife on my carpet bed and in the arms
of a hideous black cook. So I slew the twain and came to thee,
yet my thoughts brooded over this business and I lost my bloom
and became weak. But excuse me if I still refuse to tell thee
what was the reason of my complexion returning." Shahryar shook
his head, marvelling with extreme marvel, and with the fire of
wrath flaming up from his heart, he cried, "Indeed, the malice of
woman is mighty!" Then he took refuge from them with Allah and
said, "In very sooth, O my brother, thou hast escaped many an
evil by putting thy wife to death, and right excusable were
thy wrath and grief for such mishap which never yet befel crowned
King like thee. By Allah, had the case been mine, I would not
have been satisfied without slaying a thousand women and that way
madness lies! But now praise be to Allah who hath tempered to
thee thy tribulation, and needs must thou acquaint me with that
which so suddenly restored to thee complexion and health, and
explain to me what causeth this concealment." "O King of the Age,
again I pray thee excuse my so doing!" "Nay, but thou must." "I
fear, O my brother, lest the recital cause thee more anger and
sorrow than afflicted me." "That were but a better reason," quoth
Shahryar, "for telling me the whole history, and I conjure thee
by Allah not to keep back aught from me." Thereupon Shah Zaman
told him all he had seen, from commencement to con elusion,
ending with these words, "When I beheld thy calamity and the
treason of thy wife, O my brother, and I resected that thou art
in years my senior and in sovereignty my superior, mine own
sorrow was belittled by the comparison, and my mind recovered
tone and temper: so throwing off melancholy and despondency, I
was able to eat and drink and sleep, and thus I speedily regained
health and strength. Such is the truth and the whole truth." When
King Shahryar heard this he waxed wroth with exceeding wrath, and
rage was like to strangle him; but presently he recovered himself
and said, "O my brother, I would not give thee the lie in this
matter, but I cannot credit it till I see it with mine own eyes."
"An thou wouldst look upon thy calamity," quoth Shah Zaman, "rise
at once and make ready again for hunting and coursing. and
then hide thyself with me, so shalt thou witness it and thine
eyes shall verify it." "True," quoth the King; whereupon he let
make proclamation of his in tent to travel, and the troops and
tents fared forth without the city, camping within sight, and
Shahryar sallied out with them and took seat amidmost his host,
bidding the slaves admit no man to him. When night came on he
summoned his Wazir and said to him, "Sit thou in my stead and let
none wot of my absence till the term of three days." Then the
brothers disguised themselves and returned by night with all
secrecy to the palace, where they passed the dark hours: and at
dawn they seated themselves at the lattice overlooking the
pleasure grounds, when presently the Queen and her handmaids came
out as before, and passing under the windows made for the
fountain. Here they stripped, ten of them being men to ten women,
and the King's wife cried out, "Where art thou, O Saeed?" The
hideous blackamoor dropped from the tree straightway; and,
rushing into her arms without stay or delay, cried out, "I am
Sa'ad al Din Saood!" The lady laughed heartily, and all
fell to satisfying their lusts, and remained so occupied for a
couple of hours, when the white slaves rose up from the
handmaidens' breasts and the blackamoor dismounted from the
Queen's bosom: then they went into the basin and, after
performing the Ghusl, or complete ablution, donned their dresses
and retired as they had done before. When King Shahryar saw this
infamy of his wife and concubines he became as one distraught and
he cried out, "Only in utter solitude can man be safe from the
doings of this vile world! By Allah, life is naught but one great
wrong." Presently he added, "Do not thwart me, O my brother, in
what I propose;" and the other answered, "I will not." So he
said, "Let us up as we are and depart forthright hence, for we
have no concern with Kingship, and let us overwander Allah's
earth, worshipping the Almighty till we find some one to whom the
like calamity hath happened; and if we find none then will death
be more welcome to us than life." So the two brothers issued from
a second private postern of the palace; and they never stinted
wayfaring by day and by night, until they reached a tree a middle
of a meadow hard by a spring of sweet water on the shore of the
salt sea. Both drank of it and sat down to take their rest; and
when an hour of the day had gone by: lo! they heard a mighty roar
and uproar in the middle of the main as though the heavens were
falling upon the earth; and the sea brake with waves before them,
and from it towered a black pillar, which grew and grew till it
rose skywards and began making for that meadow. Seeing it, they
waxed fearful exceedingly and climbed to the top of the tree,
which was a lofty; whence they gazed to see what might be the
matter. And behold, it was a Jinni, huge of height and
burly of breast and bulk, broad of brow and black of blee,
bearing on his head a coffer of crystal. He strode to land,
wading through the deep, and coming to the tree whereupon were
the two Kings, seated himself beneath it. He then set down the
coffer on its bottom and out it drew a casket, with seven
padlocks of steel, which he unlocked with seven keys of steel he
took from beside his thigh, and out of it a young lady to come
was seen, white-skinned and of winsomest mien, of stature fine
and thin, and bright as though a moon of the fourteenth night she
had been, or the sun raining lively sheen. Even so the poet
Utayyah hath excellently said:--

She rose like the morn as she shone through the night  And she
     gilded the grove with her gracious sight:
From her radiance the sun taketh increase when  She unveileth
     and shameth the moonshine bright.
Bow down all beings between her hands  As she showeth charms
     with her veil undight.
And she foodeth cities with torrent tears  When she
     flasheth her look of levee light.

The Jinni seated her under the tree by his side and looking at
her said, "O choicest love of this heart of mine! O dame of
noblest line, whom I snatched away on thy bride night that none
might prevent me taking thy maidenhead or tumble thee before I
did, and whom none save myself hath loved or hath enjoyed: O my
sweetheart! I would fief sleep a little while." He then laid his
head upon the lady's thighs; and, stretching out his legs which
extended down to the sea, slept and snored and sparked like the
roll of thunder. Presently she raised her head towards the tree
top and saw the two Kings perched near the summit; then she
softly lifted off her lap the Jinni's pate which she was tired of
supporting and placed it upon the ground; then standing upright
under the tree signed to the Kings, "Come ye down, ye two, and
fear naught from this Ifrit." They were in a terrible
fright when they found that she had seen them and answered her in
the same manner, "Allah upon thee and by thy modesty, O
lady, excuse us from coming down!" But she rejoined by saying,
"Allah upon you both, that ye come down forthright, and if ye
come not, I will rouse upon you my husband, this Ifrit, and he
shall do you to die by the illest of deaths;" and she continued
making signals to them. So, being afraid, they came down to her
and she rose be fore them and said, "Stroke me a strong stroke,
without stay or delay, otherwise will I arouse and set upon you
this Ifrit who shall slay you straightway." They said to her, "O
our lady, we conjure thee by Allah, let us off this work, for we
are fugitives from such and in extreme dread and terror of this
thy husband. How then can we do it in such a way as thou
desires"?" "Leave this talk: it needs must be so;" quoth she, and
she swore them by Him who raised the skies on high,
without prop or pillar, that, if they worked not her will, she
would cause them to be slain and cast into the sea. Whereupon out
of fear King Shahryar said to King Shah Zaman, "O my brother, do
thou what she biddeth thee do;" but he replied, "I will not do it
till thou do it before I do." And they began disputing about
futtering her. Then quoth she to the twain, "How is it I see you
disputing and demurring; if ye do not come forward like men and
do the deed of kind ye two, I will arouse upon you the If rit."
At this, by reason of their sore dread of the Jinni, both did by
her what she bade them do; and, when they had dismounted from
her, she said, "Well done!" She then took from her pocket a purse
and drew out a knotted string, whereon were strung five hundred
and seventy seal rings, and asked, "Know ye what be
these?" They answered her saying, "We know not!" Then quoth she;
"These be the signets of five hundred and seventy men who have
all futtered me upon the horns of this foul, this foolish, this
filthy Ifrit; so give me also your two seal rings, ye pair of
brothers." When they had drawn their two rings from their hands
and given them to her, she said to them, "Of a truth this If rit
bore me off on my bride night, and put me into a casket and set
the casket in a coffer and to the coffer he affixed seven strong
padlocks of steel and deposited me on the deep bottom of the sea
that raves, dashing and clashing with waves; and guarded me so
that I might remain chaste and honest, quotha! none save himself
might have connexion with me. But I have lain under as many of my
kind as I please, and this wretched Jinni wotteth not that Des
tiny may not be averted nor hindered by aught, and that whatso
woman willeth the same she fulfilleth however man nilleth. Even
so saith one of them.--

Rely not on women;  Trust not to their hearts,
Whose joys and whose sorrows  Are hung to their parts!
Lying love they will swear thee  Whence guile ne'er departs:
Take Yusuf for sample  'Ware sleights and 'ware smarts!
Iblis ousted Adam  (See ye not?) thro' their arts.

And another saith:--

Stint thy blame, man! 'Twill drive to a passion without bound; 
     My fault is not so heavy as fault in it hast found.
If true lover I become, then to me there cometh not  Save what
     happened unto many in the bygone stound.
For wonderful is he and right worthy of our praise  Who from
     wiles of female wits kept him safe and kept him sound."

Hearing these words they marvelled with exceeding marvel, and she
went from them to the Ifrit and, taking up his head on her thigh
as before, said to them softly, "Now wend your ways and bear
yourselves beyond the bounds of his malice." So they fared forth
saying either to other, "Allah! Allah!" and, "There be no Majesty
and there be no Might save in Allah, the Glorious, the Great; and
with Him we seek refuge from women's malice and sleight, for of a
truth it hath no mate in might. Consider, O my brother, the ways
of this marvellous lady with an Ifrit who is so much more
powerful than we are. Now since there hath hap pened to him a
greater mishap than that which befel us and which should bear us
abundant consolation, so return we to our countries and capitals,
and let us decide never to intermarry with womankind and
presently we will show them what will be our action." Thereupon
they rode back to the tents of King Shahryar, which they reached
on the morning of the third day; and, having mustered the Wazirs
and Emirs, the Chamberlains and high officials, he gave a robe of
honour to his Viceroy and issued orders for an immediate return
to the city. There he sat him upon his throne and sending for the
Chief Minister, the father of the two damsels who (Inshallah!)
will presently be mentioned, he said, "I command thee to take my
wife and smite her to death; for she hath broken her plight and
her faith." So he carried her to the place of execution and did
her die. Then King Shahryar took brand in hand and repairing to
the Serraglio slew all the concubines and their Mamelukes.
He also sware himself by a binding oath that whatever wife he
married he would abate her maidenhead at night and slay her next
morning to make sure of his honour; "For," said he, "there never
was nor is there one chaste woman upon face of earth." Then Shah
Zaman prayed for permission to fare homewards; and he went forth
equipped and escorted and travelled till he reached his own
country. Mean while Shahryar commanded his Wazir to bring him the
bride of the night that he might go in to her; so he produced a
most beautiful girl, the daughter of one of the Emirs and the
King went in unto her at eventide and when morning dawned he bade
his Minister strike off her head; and the Wazir did accordingly
for fear of the Sultan. On this wise he continued for the space
of three years; marrying a maiden every night and killing her the
next morning, till folk raised an outcry against him and cursed
him, praying Allah utterly to destroy him and his rule; and women
made an uproar and mothers wept and parents fled with their
daughters till there remained not in the city a young person fit
for carnal copulation. Presently the King ordered his Chief
Wazir, the same who was charged with the executions, to bring him
a virgin as was his wont; and the Minister went forth and
searched and found none; so he returned home in sorrow and
anxiety fearing for his life from the King. Now he had two
daughters, Shahrazad and Dunyazad hight, of whom the elder
had perused the books, annals and legends of preceding Kings, and
the stories, examples and instances of by gone men and things;
indeed it was said that she had collected a thousand books of
histories relating to antique races and departed rulers. She had
perused the works of the poets and knew them by heart; she had
studied philosophy and the sciences, arts and accomplish meets;
and she was pleasant and polite, wise and witty, well read and
well bred. Now on that day she said to her father, "Why do I see
thee thus changed and laden with cark and care? Concerning this
matter quoth one of the poets.--

     Tell whoso hath sorrow      Grief never shall last:
     E'en as joy hath no morrow  So woe shall go past."

When the Wazir heard from his daughter these words he related to
her, from first to last, all that had happened between him and
the King. Thereupon said she, "By Allah, O my father, how long
shall this slaughter of women endure? Shall I tell thee what is
in my mind in order to save both sides from destruction?" "Say
on, O my daughter," quoth he, and quoth she, "I wish thou wouldst
give me in marriage to this King Shahryar; either I shall live or
I shall be a ransom for the virgin daughters of Moslems and the
cause of their deliverance from his hands and thine."
"Allah upon thee!" cried he in wrath exceeding that lacked no
feeding, "O scanty of wit, expose not thy life to such peril! How
durst thou address me in words so wide from wisdom and un far
from foolishness? Know that one who lacketh experience in worldly
matters readily falleth into misfortune; and whoso considereth
not the end keepeth not the world to friend, and the vulgar say:-
-I was lying at mine ease: nought but my officiousness brought me
unease." "Needs must thou," she broke in, "make me a doer of this
good deed, and let him kill me an he will: I shall only die a
ransom for others." "O my daughter," asked he, "and how shall
that profit thee when thou shalt have thrown away thy life?" and
she answered, "O my father it must be, come of it what will!" The
Wazir was again moved to fury and blamed and reproached her,
ending with, "In very deed--I fear lest the same befal thee which
befel the Bull and the Ass with the Husband man." "And what,"
asked she, "befel them, O my father?" Whereupon the Wazir began
the





              Tale of the Bull and the Ass.


Know, O my daughter, that there was once a merchant who owned
much money and many men, and who was rich in cattle and camels;
he had also a wife and family and he dwelt in the country, being
experienced in husbandry and devoted to agriculture. Now Allah
Most High had endowed him with under standing the tongues of
beasts and birds of every kind, but under pain of death if he
divulged the gift to any. So he kept it secret for very fear. He
had in his cow house a Bull and an Ass each tethered in his own
stall one hard by the other. As the merchant was sitting near
hand one day with his servants and his children were playing
about him, he heard the Bull say to the Ass, "Hail and health to
thee O Father of Waking! for that thou enjoyest rest and
good ministering; all under thee is clean swept and fresh
sprinkled; men wait upon thee and feed thee, and thy provaunt is
sifted barley and thy drink pure spring water, while I (unhappy
creature!) am led forth in the middle of the night, when they set
on my neck the plough and a something called Yoke; and I tire at
cleaving the earth from dawn of day till set of sun. I am forced
to do more than I can and to bear all manner of ill treatment
from night to night; after which they take me back with my sides
torn, my neck flayed, my legs aching and mine eyelids sored with
tears. Then they shut me up in the byre and throw me beans and
crushed straw, mixed with dirt and chaff; and I lie in
dung and filth and foul stinks through the livelong night. But
thou art ever in a place swept and sprinkled and cleansed, and
thou art always lying at ease, save when it happens (and seldom
enough!) that the master hath some business, when he mounts thee
and rides thee to town and returns with thee forthright. So it
happens that I am toiling and distress while thou takest thine
ease and thy rest; thou sleepest while I am sleepless; I hunger
still while thou eatest thy fill, and I win contempt while thou
winnest good will." When the Bull ceased speaking, the Ass turned
to wards him and said, "O Broad o' Brow, 0 thou lost one!
he lied not who dubbed thee Bull head, for thou, O father of a
Bull, hast neither forethought nor contrivance; thou art the
simplest of simpletons, and thou knowest naught of good
advisers. Hast thou not heard the saying of the wise:--

For others these hardships and labours I bear  And theirs is the
     pleasure and mine is the care;
As the bleacher who blacketh his brow in the sun  To whiten the
     raiment which other men wear.

But thou, O fool, art full of zeal and thou toilest and moilest
before the master; and thou tearest and wearest and slayest thy
self for the comfort of another. Hast thou never heard the saw
that saith, None to guide and from the way go wide? Thou wendest
forth at the call to dawn prayer and thou returnest not till
sundown; and through the livelong day thou endurest all manner
hardships; to wit, beating and belabouring and bad language. Now
hearken to me, Sir Bull! when they tie thee to thy stinking
manger, thou pawest the ground with thy forehand and rashest out
with thy hind hoofs and pushest with thy horns and bellowest
aloud, so they deem thee contented. And when they throw thee thy
fodder thou fallest on it with greed and hastenest to line thy
fair fat paunch. But if thou accept my advice it will be better
for thee and thou wilt lead an easier life even than mine. When
thou goest a field and they lay the thing called Yoke on thy
neck, lie down and rise not again though haply they swinge thee;
and, if thou rise, lie down a second time; and when they bring
thee home and offer thee thy beans, fall backwards and only sniff
at thy meat and withdraw thee and taste it not, and be satis fied
with thy crushed straw and chaff; and on this wise feign thou art
sick, and cease not doing thus for a day or two days or even
three days, so shalt thou have rest from toil and moil." When the
Bull heard these words he knew the Ass to be his friend and
thanked him, saying, "Right is thy rede;" and prayed that all
blessings might requite him, and cried, "O Father Wakener!
thou hast made up for my failings." (Now the merchant, O
my daughter, understood all that passed between them.) Next day
the driver took the Bull, and settling the plough on his
neck, made him work as wont; but the Bull began to shirk
his ploughing, according to the advice of the Ass, and the
ploughman drubbed him till he broke the yoke and made off; but
the man caught him up and leathered him till he despaired of his
life. Not the less, however, would he do nothing but stand still
and drop down till the evening. Then the herd led him home and
stabled him in his stall: but he drew back from his manger and
neither stamped nor ramped nor butted nor bellowed as he was wont
to do; whereat the man wondered. He brought him the beans and
husks, but he sniffed at them and left them and lay down as far
from them as he could and passed the whole night fasting. The
peasant came next morning; and, seeing the manger full of beans,
the crushed straw untasted and the ox lying on his back in
sorriest plight, with legs outstretched and swollen belly, he was
concerned for him, and said to himself, "By Allah, he hath
assuredly sickened and this is the cause why he would not plough
yesterday." Then he went to the merchant and reported, "O my
master, the Bull is ailing; he refused his fodder last night; nay
more, he hath not tasted a scrap of it this morning." Now the
merchant farmer understood what all this meant, because he had
overheard the talk between the Bull and the Ass, so quoth he,
"Take that rascal donkey, and set the yoke on his neck, and bind
him to the plough and make him do Bull's work." Thereupon the
ploughman took the Ass, and worked him through the live long day
at the Bull's task; and, when he failed for weakness, he made him
eat stick till his ribs were sore and his sides were sunken and
his neck was hayed by the yoke; and when he came home in the
evening he could hardly drag his limbs along, either fore hand or
hind legs. But as for the Bull, he had passed the day lying at
full length and had eaten his fodder with an excellent appetite,
and he ceased not calling down blessings on the Ass for his good
advice, unknowing what had come to him on his ac count. So when
night set in and the Ass returned to the byte the Bull rose up
before him in honour, and said, "May good tidings gladden thy
heart, O Father Wakener! through thee I have rested all this day
and I have eaten my meat in peace and quiet." But the Ass
returned no reply, for wrath and heart burning and fatigue and
the beating he had gotten; and he repented with the most grievous
of repentance; and quoth he to himself: "This cometh of my folly
in giving good counsel; as the saw saith, I was in joy and
gladness, nought save my officiousness brought me this sadness.
But I will bear in mind my innate worth and the nobility of my
nature; for what saith the poet?

Shall the beautiful hue of the Basil fail  Tho' the
     beetle's foot o'er the Basil crawl?
And though spider and fly be its denizens  Shall disgrace attach
     to the royal hall?
The cowrie, I ken, shall have currency  But the pearl's
     clear drop, shall its value fall?

And now I must take thought and put a trick upon him and return
him to his place, else I die." Then he went aweary to his manger,
while the Bull thanked him and blessed him. And even so, O my
daughter, said the Wazir, thou wilt die for lack of wits;
therefore sit thee still and say naught and expose not thy life
to such stress; for, by Allah, I offer thee the best advice,
which cometh of my affection and kindly solicitude for thee." "O
my father," she answered, "needs must I go up to this King and be
married to him." Quoth he, "Do not this deed;" and quoth she, "Of
a truth I will:" whereat he rejoined, "If thou be not silent and
bide still, I will do with thee even what the merchant did with
his wife." "And what did he?" asked she. "Know then, answered the
Wazir, that after the return of the Ass the merchant came out on
the terrace roof with his wife and family, for it was a moonlit
night and the moon at its full. Now the ter race overlooked the
cowhouse and presently, as he sat there with his children playing
about him, the trader heard the Ass say to the Bull, "Tell me, O
Father Broad o' Brow, what thou purposest to do to morrow?" The
Bull answered, "What but continue to follow thy counsel, O
Aliboron? Indeed it was as good as good could be and it hath
given me rest and repose; nor will I now depart from it one
little: so, when they bring me my meat, I will refuse it and blow
out my belly and counterfeit crank." The Ass shook his head and
said, "Beware of so doing, O Father of a Bull!" The Bull asked,
"Why," and the Ass answered, "Know that I am about to give thee
the best of counsel, for verily I heard our owner say to the
herd, If the Bull rise not from his place to do his work this
morning and if he retire from his fodder this day, make him over
to the butcher that he may slaughter him and give his flesh to
the poor, and fashion a bit of leather from his hide. Now
I fear for thee on account of this. So take my advice ere a
calamity befal thee; and when they bring thee thy fodder eat it
and rise up and bellow and paw the ground, or our master will
assuredly slay thee: and peace be with thee!" Thereupon the Bull
arose and lowed aloud and thanked the Ass, and said, "To morrow I
will readily go forth with them;" and he at once ate up all his
meat and even licked the manger. (All this took place and the
owner was listening to their talk.) Next morning the trader and
his wife went to the Bull's crib and sat down, and the driver
came and led forth the Bull who, seeing his owner, whisked his
tail and brake wind, and frisked about so lustily that the
merchant laughed a loud laugh and kept laughing till he fell on
his back. His wife asked him, "Whereat laughest thou with such
loud laughter as this?"; and he answered her, "I laughed at a
secret something which I have heard and seen but cannot say lest
I die my death." She returned, "Perforce thou must discover it to
me, and disclose the cause of thy laughing even if thou come by
thy death!" But he rejoined, "I cannot re veal what beasts and
birds say in their lingo for fear I die." Then quoth she, "By
Allah, thou liest! this is a mere pretext: thou laughest at none
save me, and now thou wouldest hide somewhat from me. But by the
Lord of the Heavens! an thou disclose not the cause I will no
longer cohabit with thee: I will leave thee at once." And she sat
down and cried. Whereupon quoth the merchant, "Woe betide thee!
what means thy weeping? Bear Allah and leave these words and
query me no more questions." "Needs must thou tell me the cause
of that laugh," said she, and he replied, "Thou wottest that when
I prayed Allah to vouchsafe me understanding of the tongues of
beasts and birds, I made a vow never to disclose the secret to
any under pain of dying on the spot." "No matter," cried she,
"tell me what secret passed between the Bull and the Ass and die
this very hour an thou be so minded;" and she ceased not to
importune him till he was worn out and clean distraught. So at
last he said, "Summon thy father and thy mother and our kith and
kin and sundry of our neighbours," which she did; and he sent for
the Kazi and his assessors, intending to make his will and
reveal to her his secret and die the death; for he loved her with
love exceeding because she was his cousin, the daughter of his
father's brother, and the mother of his children, and he had
lived with her a life of an hundred and twenty years. Then,
having assembled all the family and the folk of his
neighbourhood, he said to them, "By me there hangeth a strange
story, and 'tis such that if I discover the secret to any, I am a
dead man." Therefore quoth every one of those present to the
woman, "Allah upon thee, leave this sinful obstinacy and
recognise the right of this matter, lest haply thy husband and
the father of thy children die." But she rejoined, "I will not
turn from it till he tell me, even though he come by his death."
So they ceased to urge her; and the trader rose from amongst them
and repaired to an out house to per form Wuzu ablution,
and he purposed thereafter to return and to tell them his secret
and to die. Now, daughter Shahrazad, that mer chant had in his
out houses some fifty hens under one cock, and whilst making
ready to farewell his folk he heard one of his many farm dogs
thus address in his own tongue the Cock, who was flapping his
wings and crowing lustily and jumping from one hen's back to
another and treading all in turn, saying "O Chanti clear! how
mean is thy wit and how shameless is thy conduct! Be he
disappointed who brought thee up! Art thou not ashamed of
thy doings on such a day as this!" "And what," asked the Rooster,
"hath occurred this day?" when the Dog answered, "Doss thou not
know that our master is this day making ready for his death? His
wife is resolved that he shall disclose the secret taught to him
by Allah, and the moment he so doeth he shall surely die. We dogs
are all a mourning; but thou clappest thy wings and clarionest
thy loudest and treadest hen after hen. Is this an hour for
pastime and pleasuring? Art thou not ashamed of thyself?"
"Then by Allah," quoth the Cock, "is our master a lack wit and a
man scanty of sense: if he cannot manage matters with a single
wife, his life is not worth prolonging. Now I have some fifty
Dame Partlets; and I please this and provoke that and starve one
and stuff another; and through my good governance they are all
well under my control. This our master pretendeth to wit and
wisdom, and he hath but one wife, and yet knoweth not how to
manage her." Asked the Dog, "What then, O Cock, should the master
do to win clear of his strait?" "He should arise forthright,"
answered the Cock, "and take some twigs from yon mulberry tree
and give her a regular back basting and rib roasting till she
cry:--I repent, O my lord! I will never ask thee a question as
long as I live! Then let him beat her once more and soundly, and
when he shall have done this he shall sleep free from care and
enjoy life. But this master of ours owns neither sense nor
judgment." "Now, daughter Shahrazad," continued the Wazir, "I
will do to thee as did that husband to that wife." Said
Shahrazad, "And what did he do?" He replied, "When the merchant
heard the wise words spoken by his Cock to his Dog, he arose in
haste and sought his wife's chamber, after cutting for her some
mulberry twigs and hiding them there; and then he called to her,
"Come into the closet that I may tell thee the secret while no
one seeth me and then die." She entered with him and he locked
the door and came down upon her with so sound a beating of back
and shoulders, ribs, arms and legs, saying the while, "Wilt thou
ever be asking questions about what concerneth thee not?" that
she was well nigh senseless. Presently she cried out, "I am of
the repentant! By Allah, I will ask thee no more questions, and
indeed I repent sincerely and wholesomely." Then she kissed his
hand and feet and he led her out of the room submissive as a wife
should be. Her parents and all the company rejoiced and sadness
and mourn ing were changed into joy and gladness. Thus the
merchant learnt family discipline from his Cock and he and his
wife lived together the happiest of lives until death. And thou
also, O my daughter!" continued the Wazir, "Unless thou turn from
this matter I will do by thee what that trader did to his wife."
But she answered him with much decision, "I will never desist, O
my father, nor shall this tale change my purpose. Leave such talk
and tattle. I will not listen to thy words and, if thou deny me,
I will marry myself to him despite the nose of thee. And first I
will go up to the King myself and alone and I will say to him:--I
prayed my father to wive me with thee, but he refused being
resolved to disappoint his lord, grudging the like of me to the
like of thee." Her father asked, "Must this needs be?" and she
answered, "Even so." Hereupon the Wazir being weary of lamenting
and contending, persuading and dissuading her, all to no purpose,
went up to King Shahryar and after blessing him and kissing the
ground before him, told him all about his dispute with his
daughter from first to last and how he designed to bring her to
him that night. The King wondered with exceeding wonder; for he
had made an especial exception of the Wazir's daughter, and said
to him, "O most faithful of Counsellors, how is this? Thou
wottest that I have sworn by the Raiser of the Heavens that after
I have gone in to her this night I shall say to thee on the
morrow's morning:--Take her and slay her! and, if thou slay her
not, I will slay thee in her stead without fail." "Allah guide
thee to glory and lengthen thy life, O King of the age," answered
the Wazir, "it is she that hath so determined: all this have I
told her and more; but she will not hearken to me and she
persisteth in passing this coming night with the King's Majesty."
So Shahryar rejoiced greatly and said, "'Tis well; go get her
ready and this night bring her to me." The Wazir returned to his
daughter and reported to her the command saying, "Allah make not
thy father desolate by thy loss!" But Shah razed rejoiced with
exceeding joy and get ready all she required and said to her
younger sister, Dunyazad, "Note well what directions I entrust to
thee! When I have gone in to the King I will send for thee and
when thou comest to me and seest that he hath had his carnal will
of me, do thou say to me:--O my sister, an thou be not sleepy,
relate to me some new story, delectable and delightsome, the
better to speed our waking hours;" and I will tell thee a tale
which shall be our deliverance, if so Allah please, and which
shall turn the King from his blood thirsty custom." Dunyazad
answered "With love and gladness." So when it was night their
father the Wazir carried Shahrazad to the King who was gladdened
at the sight and asked, "Hast thou brought me my need?" and he
answered, "I have." But when the King took her to his bed and
fell to toying with her and wished to go in to her she wept;
which made him ask, "What aileth thee?" She replied, "O King of
the age, I have a younger sister and fief would I take leave of
her this night before I see the dawn." So he sent at once for
Dunyazad and she came and kissed the ground between his hands,
when he permitted her to take her seat near the foot of the
couch. Then the King arose and did away with his bride's
maidenhead and the three fell asleep. But when it was midnight
Shahrazad awoke and signalled to her sister Dunyazad who sat up
and said, "Allah upon thee, O my sister, recite to us some new
story, delightsome and delectable, wherewith to while away the
waking hours of our latter night." "With joy and goodly
gree," answered Shahrazad, "if this pious and auspicious King
permit me." "Tell on," quoth the King who chanced to be sleepless
and restless and therefore was pleased with the prospect of
hearing her story. So Shahrazad rejoiced; and thus, on the first
night of the Thousand Nights and a Night, she began with the





               TALE OF THE TRADER AND THE JINNI.


It is related, O auspicious King, that there was a merchant of
the merchants who had much wealth, and business in various
cities. Now on a day he mounted horse and went forth to re cover
monies in certain towns, and the heat sore oppressed him; so he
sat beneath a tree and, putting his hand into his saddle bags,
took thence some broken bread and dry dates and began to break
his fast. When he had ended eating the dates he threw away the
stones with force and lo! an Ifrit appeared, huge of stature and
brandishing a drawn sword, wherewith he approached the mer chant
and said, "Stand up that I may slay thee, even as thou slewest my
son!" Asked the merchant, "How have I slain thy son?" and he
answered, "When thou atest dates and threwest away the stones
they struck my son full in the breast as he was walking by, so
that he died forthwith." Quoth the merchant, "Verily from
Allah we proceeded and unto Allah are we re turning. There is no
Majesty, and there is no Might save in Allah, the Glorious, the
Great! If I slew thy son, I slew him by chance medley. I pray
thee now pardon me." Rejoined the Jinni, "There is no help but I
must slay thee." Then he seized him and dragged him along and,
casting him to the earth, raised the sword to strike him;
whereupon the merchant wept, and said, "I commit my case to
Allah," and began repeating these couplets:--

Containeth Time a twain of days, this of blessing that of bane 
     And holdeth Life a twain of halves, this of pleasure that of
     pain.
See'st not when blows the hurricane, sweeping stark and striking
     strong  None save the forest giant feels the suffering of
     the strain?
How many trees earth nourisheth of the dry and of the green 
     Yet none but those which bear the fruits for cast of stone
     complain.
See'st not how corpses rise and float on the surface of the tide
      While pearls o'price lie hidden in the deepest of the
     main!
In Heaven are unnumbered the many of the stars  Yet ne'er a star
     but Sun and Moon by eclipse is overta'en.
Well judgedst thou the days that saw thy faring sound and well 
     And countedst not the pangs and pain whereof Fate is ever
     fain.
The nights have kept thee safe and the safety brought thee pride
      But bliss and blessings of the night are 'genderers of
     bane!

When the merchant ceased repeating his verses the Jinni said to
him, "Cut thy words short, by Allah! needs must I slay thee." But
the merchant spake him thus, "Know, O thou Ifrit, that I have
debts due to me and much wealth and children and a wife and many
pledges in hand; so permit me to go home and dis charge to every
claimant his claim; and I will come back to thee at the head of
the new year. Allah be my testimony and surety that I will return
to thee; and then thou mayest do with me as thou wilt and Allah
is witness to what I say." The Jinni took sure promise of him and
let him go; so he returned to his own city and transacted his
business and rendered to all men their dues and after informing
his wife and children of what had betided him, he appointed a
guardian and dwelt with them for a full year. Then he arose, and
made the Wuzu ablution to purify himself before death and took
his shroud under his arm and bade farewell to his people, his
neighbours and all his kith and kin, and went forth despite his
own nose. They then began weeping and wailing and beating
their breasts over him; but he travelled until he arrived at the
same garden, and the day of his arrival was the head of the New
Year. As he sat weeping over what had befallen him, behold, a
Shaykh, a very ancient man, drew near leading a chained
gazelle; and he saluted that merchant and wishing him long life
said, "What is the cause of thy sitting in this place and thou
alone and this be a resort of evil spirits?" The merchant related
to him what had come to pass with the Ifrit, and the old man, the
owner of the gazelle, wondered and said, "By Allah, O brother,
thy faith is none other than exceeding faith and thy story right
strange; were it graven with gravers on the eye corners, it were
a warner to whoso would be warned." Then seating himself near the
merchant he said, "By Allah, O my brother, I will not leave thee
until I see what may come to pass with thee and this Ifrit." And
presently as he sat and the two were at talk the merchant began
to feel fear and terror and exceeding grief and sorrow beyond
relief and ever growing care and extreme despair. And the owner
of the gazelle was hard by his side; when behold, a second Shaykh
approached them, and with him were two dogs both of greyhound
breed and both black. The second old man after saluting them with
the salam, also asked them of their tidings and said "What
causeth you to sit in this place, a dwelling of the Jann?"
So they told him the tale from beginning to end, and their stay
there had not lasted long before there came up a third Shaykh,
and with him a she mule of bright bay coat; and he saluted them
and asked them why they were seated in that place. So they told
him the story from first to last: and of no avail, O my master,
is a twice told tale! There he sat down with them, and lo! a dust
cloud advanced and a mighty send devil appeared amidmost of the
waste. Presently the cloud opened and behold, within it was that
Jinni hending in hand a drawn sword, while his eyes were shooting
fire sparks of rage. He came up to them and, haling away the
merchant from among them, cried to him, "Arise that I may slay
thee, as thou slewest my son, the life stuff of my liver."
The merchant wailed and wept, and the three old men began sighing
and crying and weeping and wailing with their companion.
Presently the first old man (the owner of the gazelle) came out
from among them and kissed the hand of the Ifrit and said, "O
Jinni, thou Crown of the Kings of the Jann! were I to tell thee
the story of me and this gazelle and thou shouldst consider it
wondrous wouldst thou give me a third part of this merchant's
blood?" Then quoth the Jinni "Even so, O Shaykh ! if thou tell me
this tale, and I hold it a marvellous, then will I give thee a
third of his blood." Thereupon the old man began to tell





The First Shaykh's Story.


Know O Jinni! that this gazelle is the daughter of my paternal
uncle, my own flesh and blood, and I married her when she was a
young maid, and I lived with her well nigh thirty years, yet was
I not blessed with issue by her. So I took me a concubine
who brought to me the boon of a male child fair as the full moon,
with eyes of lovely shine and eyebrows which formed one line, and
limbs of perfect design. Little by little he grew in stature and
waxed tall; and when he was a lad fifteen years old, it became
needful I should journey to certain cities and I travelled with
great store of goods. But the daughter of my uncle (this gazelle)
had learned gramarye and egromancy and clerkly craft from
her childhood; so she bewitched that son of mine to a calf, and
my handmaid (his mother) to a heifer, and made them over to the
herdsman's care. Now when I returned after a long time from my
journey and asked for my son and his mother, she answered me,
saying "Thy slave girl is dead, and thy son hath fled and I know
not whither he is sped." So I remained for a whole year with
grieving heart, and streaming eyes until the time came for the
Great Festival of Allah. Then sent I to my herdsman bidding
him choose for me a fat heifer; and he brought me one which
was the damsel, my handmaid, whom this gazelle had ensorcelled. I
tucked up my sleeves and skirt and, taking a knife, proceeded to
cut her throat, but she lowed aloud and wept bitter tears.
Thereat I marvelled and pity seized me and I held my hand, saying
to the herd, "Bring me other than this." Then cried my cousin,
"Slay her, for I have not a fatter nor a fairer!" Once more I
went forward to sacrifice her, but she again lowed aloud upon
which in ruth I refrained and commanded the herdsman to slay her
and flay her. He killed her and skinned her but found in her
neither fat nor flesh, only hide and bone; and I repented when
penitence availed me naught. I gave her to the herdsman and said
to him, "Fetch me a fat calf;" so he brought my son ensorcelled.
When the calf saw me, he brake his tether and ran to me, and
fawned upon me and wailed and shed tears; so that I took pity on
him and said to the herdsman, "Bring me a heifer and let this
calf go!" Thereupon my cousin (this gazelle) called aloud at me,
saying, "Needs must thou kill this calf; this is a holy day and a
blessed, whereon naught is slain save what be perfect pure; and
we have not amongst our calves any fatter or fairer than this!"
Quoth I, "Look thou upon the condition of the heifer which I
slaughtered at thy bidding and how we turn from her in
disappointment and she profited us on no wise; and I repent with
an exceeding repentance of having killed her: so this time I will
not obey thy bidding for the sacrifice of this calf." Quoth she,
"By Allah the Most Great, the Compassionating, the Compassionate!
there is no help for it; thou must kill him on this holy day, and
if thou kill him not to me thou art no man and I to thee am no
wife." Now when I heard those hard words, not knowing her object
I went up to the calf, knife in hand--And Shahrazad perceived the
dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say. Then
quoth her sister to her, "How fair is thy tale, and how grateful,
and how sweet and how tasteful!" And Shahrazad answered her,
"What is this to that I could tell thee on the coming night, were
I to live and the King would spare me?" Then said the King in
himself, "By Allah, I will not slay her, until I shall have heard
the rest of her tale." So they slept the rest of that night in
mutual em brace till day fully brake. Then the King went forth to
his audience hall and the Wazir went up with his
daughter's shroud under his arm. The King issued his orders, and
promoted this and deposed that, until the end of the day; and he
told the Wazir no whit of what had happened. But the Minister
wondered thereat with exceeding wonder; and when the Court broke
up King Shahryar entered his palace.

                 When it was the Second Night,

said Dunyazad to her sister Shahrazad, "O my sister, finish for
us that story of the Merchant and the Jinni;" and she answered
"With joy and goodly gree, if the King permit me." Then quoth the
King, "Tell thy tale;" and Shahrazad began in these words: It
hath reached me, O auspicious King and Heaven directed Ruler!
that when the merchant purposed the sacrifice of the calf but saw
it weeping, his heart relented and he said to the herdsman, "Keep
the calf among my cattle." All this the old Shaykh told the Jinni
who marvelled much at these strange words. Then the owner of the
gazelle continued:--O Lord of the Kings of the Jann, this much
took place and my uncle's daughter, this gazelle, looked on and
saw it, and said, "Butcher me this calf, for surely it is a fat
one;" but I bade the herdsman take it away and he took it and
turned his face homewards. On the next day as I was sitting in my
own house, lo! the herdsman came and, standing before me said, "O
my master, I will tell thee a thing which shall gladden thy soul,
and shall gain me the gift of good tidings." I answered,
"Even so." Then said he, "O merchant, I have a daughter, and she
learned magic in her childhood from an old woman who lived with
us. Yesterday when thou gavest me the calf, I went into the house
to her, and she looked upon it and veiled her face; then she wept
and laughed alternately and at last she said:--O my father, hath
mine honour become so cheap to thee that thou bringest in to me
strange men? I asked her:--Where be these strange men and why
wast thou laughing, and crying?; and she answered, Of a truth
this calf which is with thee is the son of our master, the
merchant; but he is ensorcelled by his stepdame who bewitched
both him and his mother: such is the cause of my laughing; now
the reason of his weeping is his mother, for that his father slew
her unawares. Then I marvelled at this with exceeding marvel and
hardly made sure that day had dawned before I came to tell thee."
When I heard, O Jinni, my herdsman's words, I went out with him,
and I was drunken without wine, from the excess of joy and
gladness which came upon me, until I reached his house. There his
daughter welcomed me and kissed my hand, and forthwith the calf
came and fawned upon me as before. Quoth I to the herdsman's
daughter, "Is this true that thou sayest of this calf?" Quoth
she, "Yea, O my master, he is thy son, the very core of thy
heart." I rejoiced and said to her, "O maiden, if thou wilt
release him thine shall be whatever cattle and property of mine
are under thy father's hand." She smiled and answered, "O my
master, I have no greed for the goods nor will I take them save
on two conditions; the first that thou marry me to thy son and
the second that I may bewitch her who bewitched him and imprison
her, otherwise I cannot be safe from her malice and
malpractices." Now when I heard, O Jinni, these, the words of the
herdsman's daughter, I replied, "Beside what thou askest all the
cattle and the house hold stuff in thy father's charge are thine
and, as for the daughter of my uncle, her blood is lawful to
thee." When I had spoken, she took a cup and filled it with
water: then she recited a spell over it and sprinkled it upon the
calf, saying, "If Almighty Allah created thee a calf, remain so
shaped, and change not; but if thou be enchanted, return to thy
whilom form, by command of Allah Most Highest!" and lo! he
trembled and became a man. Then I fell on his neck and said,
"Allah upon thee, tell me all that the daughter of my uncle did
by thee and by thy mother." And when he told me what had come to
pass between them I said, " O my son, Allah favoured thee with
one to restore thee, and thy right hath returned to thee." Then,
O Jinni, I married the herdsman's daughter to him, and she
transformed my wife into this gazelle, saying:--Her shape is a
comely and by no means loathsome. After this she abode with us
night and day, day and night, till the Almighty took her to
Himself. When she deceased, my son fared forth to the cities of
Hind, even to the city of this man who hath done to thee what
hath been done; and I also took this gazelle (my cousin)
and wandered with her from town to town seeking tidings of my
son, till Destiny drove me to this place where I saw the merchant
sitting in tears. Such is my tale! Quoth the Jinni, "This story
is indeed strange, and therefore I grant thee the third part of
his blood." There upon the second old man, who owned the two
greyhounds, came up and said, " O Jinni, if I recount to thee
what befel me from my brothers, these two hounds, and thou see
that it is a tale even more wondrous and marvellous than what
thou hast heard, wilt thou grant to me also the third of this
man's blood?" Replied the Jinni, "Thou hast my word for it, if
thine adventures be more marvellous and wondrous." Thereupon he
thus began





The Second Shaykh's Story.


Know, O lord of the Kings of the Jann! that these two dogs are my
brothers and I am the third. Now when our father died and left us
a capital of three thousand gold pieces, I opened a shop
with my share, and bought and sold therein, and in like guise did
my two brothers, each setting up a shop. But I had been in
business no long while before the elder sold his stock for a
thousand diners, and after buying outfit and merchandise, went
his ways to foreign parts. He was absent one whole year with the
caravan; but one day as I sat in my shop, behold, a beggar stood
before me asking alms, and I said to him, "Allah open thee
another door!" Whereupon he answered, weeping the while,
"Am I so changed that thou knowest me not?" Then I looked at him
narrowly, and lo! it was my brother, so I rose to him and
welcomed him; then I seated him in my shop and put questions
concerning his case. "Ask me not," answered he; "my wealth is
awaste and my state hath waxed unstated!" So I took him to the
Hammam bath and clad him in a suit of my own and gave him
lodging in my house. Moreover, after looking over the accounts of
my stock in trade and the profits of my business, I found that
industry had gained me one thousand diners, while my principal,
the head of my wealth, amounted to two thousand. So I shared the
whole with him saying, "Assume that thou hast made no journey
abroad but hast remained at home; and be not cast down by thine
ill luck." He took the share in great glee and opened for himself
a shop; and matters went on quietly for a few nights and days.
But presently my second brother (yon other dog), also setting his
heart upon travel, sold off what goods and stock in trade he had,
and albeit we tried to stay him he would not be stayed: he laid
in an outfit for the journey and fared forth with certain
wayfarers. After an absence of a whole year he came back to me,
even as my elder brother had come back; and when I said to him,
"O my brother, did I not dissuade thee from travel?" he shed
tears and cried, "O my brother, this be destiny's decree: here I
am a mere beggar, penniless and without a shirt to my
back." So I led him to the bath, O Jinni, and clothing him in new
clothes of my own wear, I went with him to my shop and served him
with meat and drink. Furthermore I said to him, "O my brother, I
am wont to cast up my shop accounts at the head of every year,
and whatso I shall find of surplusage is between me and
thee." So I proceeded, O Ifrit, to strike a balance and,
finding two thousand diners of profit, I returned praises to the
Creator (be He extolled and exalted!) and made over one half to
my brother, keeping the other to my self. Thereupon he busied
himself with opening a shop and on this wise we abode many days.
After a time my brothers began pressing me to travel with them;
but I refused saying, "What gained ye by travel voyage that I
should gain thereby?" As I would not give ear to them we went
back each to his own shop where we bought and sold as before.
They kept urging me to travel for a whole twelvemonth, but I
refused to do so till full six years were past and gone when I
consented with these words, "O my brothers, here am I, your
companion of travel: now let me see what monies you have by you."
I found, however, that they had not a doit, having squandered
their substance in high diet and drinking and carnal delights.
Yet I spoke not a word of reproach; so far from it I looked over
my shop accounts once more, and sold what goods and stock in
trade were mine; and, finding myself the owner of six thousand
ducats, I gladly proceeded to divide that sum in halves, saying
to my brothers, "These three thousand gold pieces are for me and
for you to trade withal," adding, "Let us bury the other moiety
underground that it may be of service in case any harm befal us,
in which case each shall take a thousand wherewith to open
shops." Both replied, "Right is thy recking;" and I gave to each
one his thousand gold pieces, keeping the same sum for myself, to
wit, a thousand diners. We then got ready suitable goods and
hired a ship and, having embarked our merchandise, proceeded on
our voyage, day following day, a full month, after which we
arrived at a city, where we sold our venture; and for every piece
of gold we gained ten. And as we turned again to our voyage we
found on the shore of the sea a maiden clad in worn and ragged
gear, and she kissed my hand and said, "O master, is there
kindness in thee and charity? I can make thee a fitting return
for them." I answered, "Even so; truly in me are benevolence and
good works, even though thou render me no return." Then she said,
"Take me to wife, O my master, and carry me to thy city, for I
have given myself to thee; so do me a kindness and I am of those
who be meet for good works and charity: I will make thee a
fitting return for these and be thou not shamed by my condition."
When I heard her words, my heart yearned towards her, in such
sort as willed it Allah (be He extolled and exalted!); and took
her and clothed her and made ready for her a fair resting place
in the vessel, and honourably entreated her. So we voyaged on,
and my heart became attached to her with exceeding attachment,
and I was separated from her neither night nor day, and I paid
more regard to her than to my brothers. Then they were estranged
from me, and waxed jealous of my wealth and the quantity of
merchandise I had, and their eyes were opened covetously upon all
my property. So they took counsel to murder me and seize my
wealth, saying, "Let us slay our brother and all his monies will
be ours;" and Satan made this deed seem fair in their sight; so
when they found me in privacy (and I sleeping by my wife's side)
they took us both up and cast us into the sea. My wife awoke
startled from her sleep and, forthright becoming an
Ifritah, she bore me up and carried me to an island and
disappeared for a short time; but she returned in the morning and
said, "Here am I, thy faithful slave, who hath made thee due
recompense; for I bore thee up in the waters and saved thee from
death by command of the Almighty. Know--that I am a Jinniyah, and
as I saw thee my heart loved thee by will of the Lord, for I am a
believer in Allah and in His Apostle (whom Heaven bless and
preserve!). Thereupon I came to thee conditioned as thou sawest
me and thou didst marry me, and see now I have saved thee from
sinking. But I am angered against thy brothers and assuredly I
must slay them." When I heard her story I was surprised and,
thanking her for all she had done, I said, "But as to slaying my
brothers this must not be." Then I told her the tale of what had
come to pass with them from the beginning of our lives to the
end, and on hearing it quoth she, "This night will I fly as a
bird over them and will sink their ship and slay them." Quoth I,
"Allah upon thee, do not thus, for the proverb saith, O thou who
doest good to him that cloth evil, leave the evil doer to his
evil deeds. Moreover they are still my brothers." But she
rejoined, "By Allah, there is no help for it but I slay them." I
humbled myself before her for their pardon, whereupon she bore me
up and flew away with me till at last she set me down on the
terrace roof of my own house. I opened the doors and took up what
I had hidden in the ground; and after I had saluted the folk I
opened my shop and bought me merchandise. Now when night came on
I went home, and there I saw these two hounds tied up; and, when
they sighted me, they arose and whined and fawned upon me; but
ere I knew what happened my wife said, "These two dogs be thy
brothers!" I answered, "And who hath done this thing by them?"
and she rejoined, "I sent a message to my sister and she
entreated them on this wise, nor shall these two be released from
their present shape till ten years shall have passed." And now I
have arrived at this place on my way to my wife's sister that she
may deliver them from this condition, after their having endured
it for half a score of years. As I was wending onwards I saw this
young man, who acquainted me with what had befallen him, and I
determined not to fare hence until I should see what might occur
between thee and him. Such is my tale! Then said the Jinni,
"Surely this is a strange story and therefor I give thee the
third portion of his blood and his crime." Thereupon quoth the
third Shaykh, the master of the mare mule, to the Jinni, "I can
tell thee a tale more wondrous than these two, so thou grant me
the remainder of his blood and of his offense," and the Jinni
answered, "So be it!" Then the old man began





The Third Shaykh's Story.


Know, O Sultan and head of the Jann, that this mule was my wife.
Now it so happened that I went forth and was absent one whole
year; and when I returned from my journey I came to her by night,
and saw a black slave lying with her on the carpet bed and they
were talking, and dallying, and laughing, and kissing and playing
the close buttock game. When she saw me, she rose and came
hurriedly at me with a gugglet of water; and, muttering
spells over it, she besprinkled me and said, "Come forth from
this thy shape into the shape of a dog;" and I became on the
instant a dog. She drove me out of the house, and I ran through
the doorway nor ceased running until I came to a butcher's stall,
where I stopped and began to eat what bones were there. When the
stall owner saw me, he took me and led me into his house, but as
soon as his daughter had sight of me she veiled her face from me,
crying out, "Doss thou bring men to me and dost thou come in with
them to me?" Her father asked, "Where is the man?"; and she
answered, "This dog is a man whom his wife hath ensorcelled and I
am able to release him." When her father heard her words, he
said, "Allah upon thee, O my daughter, release him." So she took
a gugglet of water and, after uttering words over it, sprinkled
upon me a few drops, saying, "Come forth from that form into thy
former form." And I returned to my natural shape. Then I kissed
her hand and said, "I wish thou wouldest transform my wife even
as she bans formed me." Thereupon she gave me some water, saying,
"As soon as thou see her asleep, sprinkle this liquid upon her
and speak what words thou heardest me utter, so shall she become
whatsoever thou desirest." I went to my wife and found her fast
asleep; and, while sprinkling the water upon her, I said, "Come
forth from that form into the form of a mare mule." So she became
on the instant a she mule, and she it is whom thou seest with
thine eyes, O Sultan and head of the Kings of the Jann! Then the
Jinni turned towards her and said, "Is this sooth?" And she
nodded her head and replied by signs, "Indeed, 'tis the truth:
for such is my tale and this is what hath be fallen me." Now when
the old man had ceased speaking the Jinni shook with pleasure and
gave him the third of the merchant's blood. And Shahrazad
perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying her permitted say.
Then quoth Dunyazad, "O. my sister, how pleasant is thy tale, and
how tasteful; how sweet and how grateful!" She replied, "And what
is this compared with that I could tell thee, the night to come,
if I live and the King spare me?" Then thought the King,
"By Allah, I will not slay her until I hear the rest of her tale,
for truly it is wondrous." So they rested that night in mutual
embrace until the dawn. After this the King went forth to his
Hall of Estate, and the Wazir and the troops came in and the
court was crowded, and the King gave orders and judged and
appointed and deposed, bidding and forbidding during the rest of
the day. Then the Divan broke up, and King Shahryar entered his
palace.

                  When it was the Third Night,

And the King had had his will of the Wazir's daughter, Dunyazad,
her sister, said to her, "Finish for us that tale of thine;" and
she replied, "With joy and goodly gree! It hath reached me, O
auspicious King, that when the third old man told a tale to the
Jinni more wondrous than the two preceding, the Jinni marvelled
with exceeding marvel, and, shaking with delight, cried, Lo! I
have given thee the remainder of the merchant's punishment and
for thy sake have I released him." Thereupon the merchant
embraced the old men and thanked them, and these Shaykhs wished
him joy on being saved and fared forth each one for his own city.
Yet this tale is not more wondrous than the fisherman's story."
Asked the King, "What is the fisherman's story?" And she answered
by relating the tale of





                  THE FISHERMAN AND THE JINNI.


It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that there was a Fisher
man well stricken in years who had a wife and three children, and
withal was of poor condition. Now it was his custom to cast his
net every day four times, and no more. On a day he went forth
about noontide to the sea shore, where he laid down his basket;
and, tucking up his shirt and plunging into the water, made a
cast with his net and waited till it settled to the bottom. Then
he gathered the cords together and haled away at it, but found it
weighty; and however much he drew it landwards, he could not pull
it up; so he carried the ends ashore and drove a stake into the
ground and made the net fast to it. Then he stripped and dived
into the water all about the net, and left not off working hard
until he had brought it up. He rejoiced thereat and, donning his
clothes, went to the net, when he found in it a dead jackass
which had torn the meshes. Now when he saw it, he exclaimed in
his grief, "There is no Majesty, and there is no Might save in
Allah the Glorious, the Great!" Then quoth he, "This is a strange
manner of daily bread;" and he began re citing in extempore
verse:--

O toiler through the glooms of night in peril and in pain  Thy
     toiling stint for daily bread comes not by might and main!
Seest thou not the fisher seek afloat upon the sea  His bread,
     while glimmer stars of night as set in tangled skein.
Anon he plungeth in despite the buffet of the waves  The while
     to sight the bellying net his eager glances strain;
Till joying at the night's success, a fish he bringeth home 
     Whose gullet by the hook of Fate was caught and cut in
     twain.
When buys that fish of him a man who spent the hours of night 
     Reckless of cold and wet and gloom in ease and comfort fain,
Laud to the Lord who gives to this, to that denies his wishes 
     And dooms one toil and catch the prey and other eat the
     fishes.

Then quoth he, "Up and to it; I am sure of His beneficence,
Inshallah!" So he continued:--

When thou art seized of Evil Fate, assume  The noble soul's long
     suffering: 'tis thy best:
Complain not to the creature; this be plaint  From one most
     Ruthful to the ruthlessest.

The Fisherman, when he had looked at the dead ass, got it free of
the toils and wrung out and spread his net; then he plunged into
the sea, saying, "In Allah's name!" and made a cast and pulled at
it, but it grew heavy and settled down more firmly than the first
time. Now he thought that there were fish in it, and he made it
fast, and doffing his clothes went into the water, and dived and
haled until he drew it up upon dry land. Then found he in it a
large earthen pitcher which was full of sand and mud; and seeing
this he was greatly troubled and began repeating these
verses:--

Forbear, O troubles of the world,  And pardon an ye nill
     forbear:
I went to seek my daily bread  I find that breadless I must
     fare:
For neither handcraft brings me aught  Nor Fate allots to me a
     share:
How many fools the Pleiads reach  While darkness whelms the
     wise and ware.

So he prayed pardon of Allah and, throwing away the jar, wrung
his net and cleansed it and returned to the sea the third time to
cast his net and waited till it had sunk. Then he pulled at it
and found therein potsherds and broken glass; whereupon he began
to speak these verses:--

He is to thee that daily bread thou canst nor loose nor bind 
     Nor pen nor writ avail thee aught thy daily bread to find:
For joy and daily bread are what Fate deigneth to allow;  This
     soil is sad and sterile ground, while that makes glad the
     hind.
The shafts of Time and Life bear down full many a man of worth 
     While bearing up to high degree wights of ignoble mind.
So come thou, Death! for verily life is not worth a straw  When
      low the falcon falls withal the mallard wings the wind:
No wonder 'tis thou seest how the great of soul and mind  Are
     poor, and many a loser carle to height of luck designed.
This bird shall overfly the world from east to furthest west 
     And that shall win her every wish though ne'er she leave the
     nest.

Then raising his eyes heavenwards he said, "O my God!
verily Thou wottest that I cast not my net each day save four
times; the third is done and as yet Thou hast vouchsafed
me nothing. So this time, O my God, deign give me my daily
bread." Then, having called on Allah's name, he again
threw his net and waited its sinking and settling; whereupon he
haled at it but could not draw it in for that it was entangled at
the bottom. He cried out in his vexation "There is no Majesty and
there is no Might save in Allah!" and he began reciting:--

 Fie on this wretched world, an so it be  I must be whelmed by
      grief and misery:
 Tho' gladsome be man's lot when dawns the morn  He drains the
      cup of woe ere eve he see:
 Yet was I one of whom the world when asked  "Whose lot is
      happiest?" oft would say "'Tis he!"

Thereupon he stripped and, diving down to the net, busied him
self with it till it came to land. Then he opened the meshes and
found therein a cucumber shaped jar of yellow copper,
evidently full of something, whose mouth was made fast with a
leaden cap, stamped with the seal ring of our Lord Sulayman son
of David (Allah accept the twain!). Seeing this the Fisherman
rejoiced and said, "If I sell it in the brass bazar 'tis worth
ten golden diners." He shook it and finding it heavy continued,
"Would to Heaven I knew what is herein. But I must and will open
it and look to its contents and store it in my bag and sell it in
the brass market." And taking out a knife he worked at the lead
till he had loosened it from the jar; then he laid the cup on the
ground and shook the vase to pour out whatever might be inside.
He found nothing in it; whereat he marvelled with an exceeding
marvel. But presently there came forth from the jar a smoke which
spired heavenwards into aether (whereat he again marvelled with
mighty marvel), and which trailed along earth's surface till
presently, having reached its full height, the thick vapour
condensed, and became an Ifrit, huge of bulk, whose crest touched
the clouds while his feet were on the ground. His head was as a
dome, his hands like pitchforks, his legs long as masts and his
mouth big as a cave; his teeth were like large stones, his
nostrils ewers, his eyes two lamps and his look was fierce and
lowering. Now when the Fisherman saw the Ifrit his side muscles
quivered, his teeth chattered, his spittle dried up and he became
blind about what to do. Upon this the Ifrit looked at him and
cried, "There is no god but the God, and Sulayman is the prophet
of God;" presently adding, "O Apostle of Allah, slay me not;
never again will I gainsay thee in word nor sin against thee in
deed." diddest thou
say, Sulayman the Apostle of Allah; and Sulayman is dead some
thou sand and eight hundred years ago, and we are now in
the last days of the world! What is thy story, and what is thy
account of thyself, and what is the cause of thy entering into
this cucur bit?" Now when the Evil Spirit heard the words of the
Fisher man, quoth he; "There is no god but the God: be of good
cheer, O Fisherman!" Quoth the Fisherman, "Why biddest thou me to
be of good cheer?" and he replied, "Because of thy having to die
an ill death in this very hour." Said the Fisherman, "Thou
deservest for thy good tidings the withdrawal of Heaven's
protection, O thou distant one! Wherefore shouldest thou kill
me and what thing have I done to deserve death, I who freed thee
from the jar, and saved thee from the depths of the sea, and
brought thee up on the dry land?" Replied the Ifrit, "Ask of me
only what mode of death thou wilt die, and by what manner of
slaughter shall I slay thee." Rejoined the Fisherman, "What is my
crime and wherefore such retribution?" Quoth the Ifrit, "Hear my
story, O Fisherman!" and he answered, "Say on, and be brief in
thy saying, for of very sooth my life breath is in my
nostrils." Thereupon quoth the Jinni, "Know, that I am one
among the heretical Jann and I sinned against Sulayman, David son
(on the twain be peace!) I together with the famous Sakhr al
Jinni;" whereupon the Prophet sent his minister, Asaf son
of Barkhiya, to seize me; and this Wazir brought me against my
will and led me in bonds to him (I being downcast despite my
nose) and he placed me standing before him like a suppliant. When
Sulayman saw me, he took refuge with Allah and bade me embrace
the True Faith and obey his behests; but I refused, so sending
for this cucurbit he shut me up therein, and stopped it
over with lead whereon he impressed the Most High Name, and gave
his orders to the Jann who carried me off, and cast me into the
midmost of the ocean. There I abode an hundred years, during
which I said in my heart, "Whoso shall release me, him will I
enrich for ever and ever." But the full century went by and, when
no one set me free, I entered upon the second five score saying,
"Whoso shall release me, for him I will open the hoards of the
earth." Still no one set me free and thus four hundred years
passed away. Then quoth I, "Whoso shall release me, for him will
I fulfil three wishes." Yet no one set me free. Thereupon I waxed
wroth with exceeding wrath and said to myself, "Whoso shall
release me from this time forth, him will I slay and I will give
him choice of what death he will die; and now, as thou hast
released me, I give thee full choice of deaths." The Fisherman,
hearing the words of the Ifrit, said, "O Allah! the wonder of it
that I have not come to free thee save in these days!" adding,
"Spare my life, so Allah spare thine; and slay me not, lest Allah
set one to slay thee." Replied the Contumacious One, "There is no
help for it; die thou must; so ask me by way of boon what manner
of death thou wilt die." Albeit thus certified the Fisherman
again addressed the Ifrit saying, "Forgive me this my death as a
generous reward for having freed thee;" and the Ifrit, "Surely I
would not slay thee save on account of that same release." "O
Chief of the Ifrits," said the Fisherman, "I do thee good and
thou requitest me with evil! in very sooth the old saw lieth not
when it saith:--

We wrought them weal, they met our weal with ill;  Such, by my
     life! is every bad man's labour:
To him who benefits unworthy wights  Shall hap what inapt to
     Ummi Amir's neighbor."

Now when the Ifrit heard these words he answered, "No more of
this talk, needs must I kill thee." Upon this the Fisherman said
to himself, "This is a Jinni; and I am a man to whom Allah hath
given a passably cunning wit, so I will now cast about to com
pass his destruction by my contrivance and by mine intelligence;
even as he took counsel only of his malice and his
frowardness." He began by asking the Ifrit, "Hast thou
indeed resolved to kill me?" and, receiving for all answer, "Even
so," he cried, "Now in the Most Great Name, graven on the seal
ring of Sulayman the Son of David (peace be with the holy
twain!), an I question thee on a certain matter wilt thou give me
a true answer?" The Ifrit replied "Yea;" but, hearing mention of
the Most Great Name, his wits were troubled and he said with
trembling, "Ask and be brief." Quoth the Fisherman, "How didst
thou fit into this bottle which would not hold thy hand; no, nor
even thy foot, and how came it to be large enough to contain the
whole of thee?" Replied the Ifrit, "What! cost not believe that I
was all there?" and the Fisherman rejoined, "Nay! I will never
believe it until I see thee inside with my own eyes." And
Shahrazad per ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her
permitted say.

                 When it was the Fourth Night,

Her sister said to her, "Please finish us this tale, an thou be
not sleepy!" so she resumed:--It hath reached me, O auspicious
King, that when the Fisherman said to the Ifrit, "I will never
and nowise believe thee until I see thee inside it with mine own
eyes;" the Evil Spirit on the instant shook and became a
vapour, which condensed, and entered the jar little and little,
till all was well inside when lo! the Fisherman in hot haste took
the leaden cap with the seal and stoppered therewith the mouth of
the jar and called out to the Ifrit, saying, "Ask me by way of
boon what death thou wilt die! By Allah, I will throw thee into
the sea be fore us and here will I build me a lodge; and
whoso cometh hither I will warn him against fishing and will
say:--In these waters abideth an Ifrit who giveth as a last
favour a choice of deaths and fashion of slaughter to the man who
saveth him!" Now when the Ifrit heard this from the Fisherman and
saw him self in limbo, he was minded to escape, but this was
prevented by Solomon's seal; so he knew that the Fisherman had
cozened and outwitted him, and he waxed lowly and submissive and
began humbly to say, "I did but jest with thee." But the other an
swered, "Thou liest, O vilest of the Ifrits, and meanest and
filthiest!" and he set off with the bottle for the sea side; the
Ifrit calling out "Nay! Nay!" and he calling out "Aye! Aye !"
There upon the Evil Spirit softened his voice and smoothed his
speech and abased himself, saying, "What wouldest thou do with
me, O Fisherman?" "I will throw thee back into the sea," he
answered; "where thou hast been housed and homed for a thousand
and eight hundred years; and now I will leave thee therein till
Judgment day: did I not say to thee:--Spare me and Allah shall
spare thee; and slay me not lest Allah slay thee? yet thou spurn
east my supplication and hadst no intention save to deal un
graciously by me, and Allah hath now thrown thee into my hands
and I am cunninger than thou." Quoth the Ifrit, "Open for me and
I may bring thee weal." Quoth the Fisherman, "Thou liest, thou
accursed! my case with thee is that of the Wazir of King Yunan
with the sage Duban." "And who was the Wazir of King Yunan
and who was the sage Duban; and what was the story about them?"
quoth the Ifrit, whereupon the Fisherman began to tell





The Tale of the Wazir and the Sage Duban.


Know, O thou Ifrit, that in days of yore and in ages long gone
before, a King called Yunan reigned over the city of Fars of the
land of the Roum. He was a powerful ruler and a wealthy,
who had armies and guards and allies of all nations of men; but
his body was afflicted with a leprosy which leaches and men of
science failed to heal. He drank potions and he swallowed pow
ders and he used unguents, but naught did him good and none among
the host of physicians availed to procure him a cure. At last
there came to his city a mighty healer of men and one well
stricken in years, the sage Duban highs. This man was a reader of
books, Greek, Persian, Roman, Arabian, and Syrian; and he was
skilled in astronomy and in leechcraft, the theorick as well as
the practick; he was experienced in all that healeth and that
hurteth the body; conversant with the virtues of every plant,
grass and herb, and their benefit and bane; and he understood
philosophy and had compassed the whole range of medical science
and other branches of the knowledge tree. Now this physician
passed but few days in the city, ere he heard of the King's
malady and all his bodily sufferings through the leprosy with
which Allah had smitten him; and how all the doctors and wise men
had failed to heal him. Upon this he sat up through the night in
deep thought and, when broke the dawn and appeared the morn and
light was again born, and the Sun greeted the Good whose beauties
the world adorn, he donned his handsomest dress and going
in to King Yunan, he kissed the ground before him: then he prayed
for the endurance of his honour and prosperity in fairest
language and made himself known saying, "O King, tidings have
reached I me of what befel thee through that which is in thy
person; and how the host of physicians have proved themselves
unavailing to abate it; and lo! I can cure thee, O King; and yet
will I not make thee drink of draught or anoint thee with
ointment." Now when King Yunan heard his words he said in huge
surprise, "How wilt thou do this? By Allah, if thou make me whole
I will enrich thee even to thy son's son and I will give thee
sumptuous gifts; and whatso thou wishest shall be thine and thou
shalt be to me a cup companion and a friend." The King
then robed him with a dress of honour and entreated him
graciously and asked him, "Canst thou indeed cure me of this
complaint without drug and unguent?" and he answered, "Yes! I
will heal I thee without the pains and penalties of medicine."
The King marvelled with exceeding marvel and said, "O physician,
when shall be this whereof thou speakest, and in how many days
shall it take place? Haste thee, O my son!" He replied,"I hear
and I obey; the cure shall begin tomorrow." So saying he went
forth from the presence, and hired himself a house in the city
for the better storage of his books and scrolls, his medicines
and his aromatic roots. Then he set to work at choosing the
fittest drugs and simples and he fashioned a bat hollow within,
and furnished with a handle without, for which he made a ball;
the two being prepared with consummate art. On the next day when
both were ready for use and wanted nothing more, he went up to
the King; and, kissing the ground between his hands bade him ride
forth on the parade ground there to play at pall and mall.
He was accompanied by his suite, Emirs and Chamberlains, Wazirs
and Lords of the realm and, ere he was seated, the sage Duban
came up to him, and handing him the bat said, "Take this mall and
grip it as I do; so! and now push for the plain and leaning well
over thy horse drive the ball with all thy might until thy palm
be moist and thy body perspire: then the medicine will penetrate
through thy palm and will permeate thy person. When thou hast
done with playing and thou feelest the effects of the medicine,
return to thy palace, and make the Ghusl ablation in the
Hammam bath, and lay thee down to sleep; so shalt thou be come
whole; and now peace be with thee!" Thereupon King Yunan took the
bat from the Sage and grasped it firmly; then, mounting steed, he
drove the ball before him and gallopped after it till he reached
it, when he struck it with all his might, his palm gripping the
bat handle the while; and he ceased not malling the ball till his
hand waxed moist and his skin, perspiring, imbibed the medicine
from the wood. Then the sage Duban knew that the drugs had
penetrated his person and bade him return to the palace and enter
the Hammam without stay or delay; so King Yunan forthright
returned and ordered them to clear for him the bath. They did so,
the carpet spreaders making all haste, and the slaves all hurry
and got ready a change of raiment for the King. He entered the
bath and made the total ablution long and thoroughly; then donned
his clothes within the Hammam and rode therefrom to his palace
where he lay him down and slept. Such was the case with King
Yunan, but as regards the sage Duban, he returned home and slept
as usual and when morning dawned he repaired to the palace and
craved audience. The King ordered him to be admitted; then,
having kissed the ground between his hands, in allusion to the
King he recited these couplets with solemn intonation:--

Happy is Eloquence when thou art named her sire  But mourns
     she whenas other man the title claimed.
O Lord of fairest presence, whose illuming rays  Clear off the
     fogs of doubt aye veiling deeds high famed,
Ne'er cease thy face to shine like Dawn and rise of Morn  And
     never show Time's face with heat of ire inflamed!
Thy grace hath favoured us with gifts that worked such wise  As
     rain clouds raining on the hills by words enframed:
Freely thou lavishedst thy wealth to rise on high  Till won from
     Time the heights whereat thy grandeur aimed.

Now when the Sage ceased reciting, the King rose quickly to his
feet and fell on his neck; then, seating him by his side he bade
dress him in a sumptuous dress; for it had so happened that when
the King left the Hammam he looked on his body and saw no trace
of leprosy: the skin was all clean as virgin silver. He joyed
thereat with exceeding joy, his breast broadened with
delight and he felt thoroughly happy. Presently, when it was full
day he entered his audience hall and sat upon the throne of his
kingship whereupon his Chamberlains and Grandees flocked to the
presence and with them the Sage Duban. Seeing the leach the King
rose to him in honour and seated him by his side; then the food
trays furnished with the daintiest viands were brought and the
physician ate with the King, nor did he cease companying him all
that day. Moreover, at nightfall he gave the physician Duban two
thousand gold pieces, besides the usual dress of honour and other
gifts galore, and sent him home on his own steed. After the Sage
had fared forth King Yunan again expressed his amazement at the
leach's art, saying, "This man medicined my body from without nor
anointed me with aught of ointments: by Allah, surely this is
none other than consummate skill! I am bound to honour such a man
with re wards and distinction, and take him to my companion and
my friend during the remainder of my days." So King Yunan passed
the night in joy and gladness for that his body had been made
whole and had thrown off so pernicious a malady. On the morrow
the King went forth from his Serraglio and sat upon his throne,
and the Lords of Estate stood about him, and the Emirs and Wazirs
sat as was their wont on his right hand and on his left. Then he
asked for the Sage Duban, who came in and kissed the ground
before him, when the King rose to greet him and, seating him by
his side, ate with him and wished him long life. Moreover he
robed him and gave him gifts, and ceased not con versing with him
until night approached. Then the King ordered him, by way of
salary, five dresses of honour and a thousand dinars. The
physician returned to his own house full of gratitude to the
King. Now when next morning dawned the King repaired to his
audience hall, and his Lords and Nobles surrounded him and his
Chamberlains and his Ministers, as the white en closeth the black
of the eye. Now the King had a Wazir among his Wazirs,
unsightly to look upon, an ill omened spectacle; sor did,
ungenerous, full of envy and evil will. When this Minister saw
the King place the physician near him and give him all these
gifts, he jaloused him and planned to do him a harm, as in the
saying on such subject, "Envy lurks in every body;" and the say
ing, "Oppression hideth in every heart: power revealeth it and
weakness concealeth it." Then the Minister came before the King
and, kissing the ground between his hands, said, "O King of the
age and of all time, thou in whose benefits I have grown to
manhood, I have weighty advice to offer thee, and if I withhold
it I were a son of adultery and no true born man; wherefore an
thou order me to disclose it I will so do forthwith." Quoth the
King (and he was troubled at the words of the Minister), "And
what is this counsel of thine?" Quoth he, "O glorious monarch,
the wise of old have said:--Whoso regardeth not the end, hath not
Fortune to friend; and indeed I have lately seen the King on far
other than the right way; for he lavisheth largesse on his enemy,
on one whose object is the decline and fall of his king ship: to
this man he hath shown favour, honouring him with over honour and
making of him an intimate. Wherefore I fear for the King's life."
The King, who was much troubled and changed colour, asked, "Whom
cost thou suspect and anent whom doest thou hint?" and the
Minister answered, "O King, an thou be asleep, wake up! I point
to the physician Duban." Rejoined the King, "Fie upon thee! This
is a true friend who is favoured by me above all men, because he
cured me with some thing which I held in my hand, and he healed
my leprosy which had baffled all physicians; indeed he is one
whose like may not be found in these days--no, not in the whole
world from furthest east to utmost west! And it is of such a man
thou sayest such hard sayings. Now from this day forward I allot
him a settled solde and allowances, every month a thousand gold
pieces; and, were I to share with him my realm 'twere but a
little matter. Perforce I must suspect that thou speakest on this
wise from mere envy and jealousy as they relate of the King
Sindibad."--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day, and ceased
saying her permitted say. Then quoth Dunyazad, "O my sister, how
pleasant is thy tale, and how tasteful, how sweet, and how
grateful!" She replied, "And where is this compared with what I
could tell thee on the coming night if the King deign spare my
life?" Then said the King in himself, "By Allah, I will not slay
her until I hear the rest of her tale, for truly it is wondrous."
So they rested that night in mutual embrace until the dawn. Then
the King went forth to his Hall of Rule, and the Wazir and the
troops came in, and the audience chamber was thronged and the
King gave orders and judged and appointed and deposed and bade
and forbade during the rest of that day till the Court broke up,
and King Shahryar returned to his palace.

                  When It Was The Fifth Night,

Her sister said, "Do you finish for us thy story if thou be not
sleepy," and she resumed:--It hath reached me, O auspicious King
and mighty Monarch, that King Yunan said to his Minister, "O
Wazir, thou art one whom the evil spirit of envy hath possessed
because of this physician, and thou plottest for my putting him
to death, after which I should repent me full sorely, even as
repented King Sindibad for killing his falcon." Quoth the Wazir,
Pardon me, O King of the age, how was that?" So the King began
the story of





King Sindibad and his Falcon.


It is said (but Allah is All knowing!) that there was a
King of the Kings of Fars, who was fond of pleasuring and
diversion, especially coursing end hunting. He had reared a
falcon which he carried all night on his fist, and whenever he
went a chasing he took with him this bird; and he bade make for
her a golden cuplet hung around her neck to give her drink
therefrom. One day as the King was sitting quietly in his palace,
behold, the high falcaner of the household suddenly addressed
him, "O King of the age, this is indeed a day fit for birding."
The King gave orders accordingly and set out taking the hawk on
fist; and they fared merrily forwards till they made a
Wady where they planted a circle of nets for the chase;
when lo! a gazelle came within the toils and the King cried,
"Whoso alloweth yon gazelle to spring over his head and loseth
her, that man will I surely slay." They narrowed the nets about
the gazelle when she drew near the King's station; and, planting
herself on her hind quarter, crossed her forehand over her
breast, as if about to kiss the earth before the King. He bowed
his brow low in acknowledgment to the beast; when she bounded
high over his head and took the way of the waste. Thereupon the
King turned towards his troops and seeing them winking and
pointing at him, he asked, "O Wazir, what are my men saying?" and
the Minister answered, "They say thou didst proclaim that whoso
alloweth the gazelle to spring over his head, that man shall be
put to death." Quoth the King, "Now, by the life of my head! I
will follow her up till I bring her back." So he set off
gallopping on the gazelle's trail and gave not over tracking till
he reached the foot hills of a mountain chain where the quarry
made for a cave. Then the King cast off at it the falcon which
presently caught it up and, swooping down, drove her talons into
its eyes, bewildering and blinding it; and the King drew
his mace and struck a blow which rolled the game over. He then
dismounted; and, after cutting the antelope's throat and flaying
the body, hung it to the pommel of his saddle. Now the time was
that of the siesta and the wold was parched and dry, nor
was any water to be found anywhere; and the King thirsted and his
horse also; so he went about searching till he saw a tree
dropping water, as it were melted butter, from its boughs.
Thereupon the King who wore gauntlets of skin to guard him
against poisons took the cup from the hawk's neck, and filling it
with the water set it before the bird, and lo! the falcon struck
it with her pounces and upset the liquid. The King filled it a
second time with the dripping drops, thinking his hawk was
thirsty; but the bird again struck at the cup with her talons and
overturned it. Then the King waxed wroth with the hawk and
filling the cup a third time offered it to his horse: but the
hawk upset it with a flirt of wings. Quoth the King, "Allah
confound thee, thou unluckiest of flying things! thou keepest me
from drinking, and thou deprivest thyself also, and the horse."
So he struck the falcon with his sword and cut off her wing; but
the bird raised her head and said by signs, "Look at that which
hangeth on the tree!" The King lifted up his eyes accordingly and
caught sight of a brood of vipers, whose poison drops he mistook
for water; thereupon he repented him of having struck off his
falcon's wing, and mounting horse, fared on with the dead
gazelle, till he arrived at the camp, his starting place. He
threw the quarry to the cook saying, Take and broil it," and sat
down on his chair, the falcon being still on his fist when
suddenly the bird gasped and died; whereupon the King cried out
in sorrow and remorse for having slain that falcon which had
saved his life. Now this is what occurred in the case of King
Sindibad; and I am assured that were I to do as thou desirest I
should repent even as the man who killed his parrot." Quoth the
Wazir, "And how was that?" And the King began to tell





The Tale of the Husband and the Parrot.


A certain man and a merchant to boot had married a fair wife, a
woman of perfect beauty and grace, symmetry and loveliness, of
whom he was mad-jealous, and who contrived successfully to keep
him from travel. At last an occasion compelling him to leave her,
he went to the bird market and bought him for one hundred gold
pieces a she parrot which he set in his house to act as duenna,
expecting her to acquaint him on his return with what had passed
during the whole time of his absence; for the bird was kenning
and cunning and never forgot what she had seen and heard. Now his
fair wife had fallen in love with a young Turk,  who used
to visit her, and she feasted him by day and lay with him by
night. When the man had made his journey and won his wish he came
home; and, at once causing the Parrot be brought to him,
questioned her concerning the conduct of his consort whilst he
was in foreign parts. Quoth she, "Thy wife hath a man friend who
passed every night with her during thine absence." Thereupon the
husband went to his wife in a violent rage and bashed her with a
bashing severe enough to satisfy any body. The woman, suspecting
that one of the slave girls had been tattling to the master,
called them together and questioned them upon their oaths, when
all swore that they had kept the secret, but that the Parrot had
not, adding, "And we heard her with our own ears." Upon this the
woman bade one of the girls to set a hand mill under the cage and
grind therewith and a second to sprinkle water through the cage
roof and a third to run about, right and left, dashing a mirror
of bright steel through the livelong night. Next morning when the
husband returned home after being entertained by one of his
friends, he bade bring the Parrot before him and asked what had
taken place whilst he was away. "Pardon me, O my master," quoth
the bird, "I could neither hear nor see aught by reason of the
exceeding murk and the thunder and lightning which lasted
throughout the night." As it happened to be the summer tide the
master was astounded and cried, "But we are now in mid
Tammuz, and this is not the time for rains and storms."
"Ay, by Allah," rejoined the bird, "I saw with these eyes what my
tongue hath told thee." Upon this the man, not knowing the case
nor smoking the plot, waxed exceeding wroth; and, holding that
his wife had been wrongously accused, put forth his hand and
pulling the Parrot from her cage dashed her upon the ground with
such force that he killed her on the spot. Some days after wards
one of his slave girls confessed to him the whole truth,
yet would he not believe it till he saw the young Turk, his
wife's lover, coming out of her chamber, when he bared his blade
 and slew him by a blow on the back of the neck; and he
did the same by the adulteress; and thus the twain, laden with
mortal sin, went straightways to Eternal Fire. Then the merchant
knew that the Parrot had told him the truth anent all she had
seen and he mourned grievously for her loss, when mourning
availed him not. The Minister, hearing the words of King Yu nan,
rejoined, 'O Monarch, high in dignity, and what harm have I done
him, or what evil have I seen from him that I should compass his
death? I would not do this thing, save to serve thee, and soon
shalt thou sight that it is right; and if thou accept my advice
thou shalt be saved, otherwise thou shalt be destroyed even as a
certain Wazir who acted treacherously by the young Prince." Asked
the King, "How was that?" and the Minister thus began





The Tale of the Prince and the Ogress.


A certain King, who had a son over much given to hunting and
coursing, ordered one of his Wazirs to be in attendance upon him
whithersoever he might wend. One day the youth set out for the
chase accompanied by his father's Minister; and, as they jogged
on together, a big wild beast came in sight. Cried the Wazir to
the King's son, "Up and at yon noble quarry!" So the Prince
followed it until he was lost to every eye and the chase got away
from him in the waste; whereby he was confused and he knew not
which way to turn, when lo! a damsel appeared ahead and she was
in tears. The King's son asked, "Who art thou?" and she answered,
"I am daughter to a King among the Kings of Hind, and I was
travelling with a caravan in the desert when drowsiness overcame
me, and I fell from my beast unwittingly whereby I am cut off
from my people and sore bewildered." The Prince, hearing these
words, pitied her case and, mounting her on his horse's crupper,
travelled until he passed by an old ruin , when the damsel
said to him, "O my master, I wish to obey a call of nature": he
therefore set her down at the ruin where she delayed so long that
the King's son thought that she was only wasting time; so he
followed her without her knowledge and behold, she was a
Ghulah, a wicked Ogress, who was saying to her brood, "O
my children, this day I bring you a fine fat youth,  for
dinner;" whereto they answered, "Bring him quick to us, O our
mother, that we may browse upon him our bellies full." The Prince
hearing their talk, made sure of death and his side muscles
quivered in fear for his life, so he turned away and was about to
fly. The Ghulah came out and seeing him in sore affright (for he
was trembling in every limb? cried, "Wherefore art thou afraid?"
and he replied, "I have hit upon an enemy whom I greatly fear."
Asked the Ghulah, "Diddest thou not say: - I am a King's son?"
and he answered, "Even so." Then quoth she, "Why cost not give
shine enemy something of money and so satisfy him?" Quoth he, "He
will not be satisfied with my purse but only with my life, and I
mortally fear him and am a man under oppression." She replied,
"If thou be so distressed, as thou deemest, ask aid against him
from Allah, who will surely protect thee from his ill doing and
from the evil whereof thou art afraid." Then the Prince raised
his eyes heavenwards and cried, "O Thou who answerest the
necessitous when he calleth upon Thee and dispellest his
distress; O my God ! grant me victory over my foe and turn him
from me, for Thou over all things art Almighty." The Ghulah,
hearing his prayer, turned away from him, and the Prince returned
to his father, and told him the tale of the Wazir; whereupon the
King summoned the Minister to his presence and then and there
slew him. Thou likewise, O King, if thou continue to trust this
leach, shalt be made to die the worst of deaths. He verily thou
madest much of and whom thou entreatedest as an intimate, will
work thy destruction. Seest thou not how he healed the disease
from outside thy body by something grasped in thy hand? Be not
assured that he will not destroy thee by something held in like
manner! Replied King Yunan, "Thou hast spoken sooth, O Wazir, it
may well be as thou hintest O my well advising Minister; and
belike this Sage hath come as a spy searching to put me to death;
for assuredly if he cured me by a something held in my hand, he
can kill me by a something given me to smell." Then asked King
Yunan, "O Minister, what must be done with him?" and the Wazir
answered, "Send after him this very instant and summon him to thy
presence; and when he shall come strike him across the neck; and
thus shalt thou rid thyself of him and his wickedness, and
deceive him ere he can I deceive thee." 'Thou hast again spoken
sooth, O Wazir," said the King and sent one to call the Sage who
came in joyful mood for he knew not what had appointed for him
the Compassionate; as a certain poet saith by way of
illustration:--

O Thou who fearest Fate, confiding fare  Trust all to Him who
     built the world and wait:
What Fate saith "Be" perforce must be, my lord!  And safe art
     thou from th undecreed of Fate.

As Duban the physician entered he addressed the King in these
lines:--

An fail I of my thanks to thee nor thank thee day by day  For
     whom com posed I prose and verse, for whom my say and lay?
Thou lavishedst thy generous gifts ere they were craved by me 
     Thou lavishedst thy boons unsought sans pretext or delay:
How shall I stint my praise of thee, how shall I cease to laud 
     The grace of thee in secresy and patentest display?
Nay; I will thank thy benefits, for aye thy favours lie  Light
     on my thought and tongue, though heavy on my back they
     weigh.

And he said further on the same theme:--

Turn thee from grief nor care a jot!  Commit thy needs to Fate
     and Lot!
Enjoy the Present passing well  And let the Past be clean forgot
For whatso haply seemeth worse  Shall work thy weal as Allah
     wot
Allah shall do whate'er He wills  And in His will oppose Him
     not.

And further still.--

To th' All wise Subtle One trust worldly things  Rest thee from
     all whereto the worldling clings:
Learn wisely well naught cometh by thy will  But e'en as willeth
     Allah, King of Kings.

And lastly.--

Gladsome and gay forget thine every grief  Full often grief the
     wisest hearts outwore:
Thought is but folly in the feeble slave  Shun it and so be
     saved evermore.

Said the King for sole return, "Knowest thou why I have summoned
thee?" and the Sage replied, "Allah Most Highest alone kenneth
hidden things!" But the King rejoined, "I summoned thee only to
take thy life and utterly to destroy thee." Duban the Wise
wondered at this strange address with exceeding wonder and asked,
"O King, and wherefore wouldest thou slay me, and what ill have I
done thee?" and the King answered, "Men tell me thou art a spy
sent hither with intent to slay me; and lo! I will kill thee ere
I be killed by thee;" then he called to his Sworder, and said,
"Strike me off the head of this traitor and deliver us from his
evil practices." Quoth the Sage, "Spare me and Allah will spare
thee; slay me not or Allah shall slay thee." And he repeated to
him these very words, even as I to thee, O Ifrit, and yet thou
wouldst not let me go, being bent upon my death. King Yunan only
rejoined, "I shall not be safe without slaying thee; for, as thou
healedst me by something held in hand, so am I not secure against
thy killing me by something given me to smell or otherwise." Said
the physician, "This then, O King, is thy requital and reward;
thou returnest only evil for good." The King replied, "There is
no help for it; die thou must and without delay." Now when the
physician was certified that the King would slay him without
waiting, he wept and regretted the good he had done to other than
the good. As one hath said on this subject:--

Of wit and wisdom is Maymunah bare  Whose sire in
     wisdom all the wits outstrippeth:
Man may not tread on mud or dust or clay  Save by good sense,
     else trippeth he and slippeth.

Hereupon the Sworder stepped forward and bound the Sage Duban's
eyes and bared his blade, saying to the King, "By thy leave;"
while the physician wept and cried, "Spare me and Allah will
spare thee, and slay me not or Allah shall slay thee," and began
repeating:--

I was kind and 'scaped not, they were cruel and escaped;  And my
     kindness only led me to Ruination Hall,
If I live I'll ne'er be kind; if I die, then all be damned  Who
     follow me, and curses their kindliness befal.

"Is this," continued Duban, "the return I meet from thee? Thou
givest me, meseems, but crocodile boon." Quoth the King,"What is
the tale of the crocodile?", and quoth the physician, "Impossible
for me to tell it in this my state; Allah upon thee, spare me, as
thou hopest Allah shall spare thee." And he wept with ex ceeding
weeping. Then one of the King's favourites stood up and said, "O
King! grant me the blood of this physician; we have never seen
him sin against thee, or doing aught save healing thee from a
disease which baffled every leach and man of science." Said the
King, "Ye wot not the cause of my putting to death this
physician, and this it is. If I spare him, I doom myself to
certain death; for one who healed me of such a malady by
something held in my hand, surely can slay me by something held
to my nose; and I fear lest he kill me for a price, since haply
he is some spy whose sole purpose in coming hither was to compass
my destruction. So there is no help for it; die he must, and then
only shall I be sure of my own life." Again cried Duban, "Spare
me and Allah shall spare thee; and slay me not or Allah shall
slay thee." But it was in vain. Now when the physician, O Ifrit,
knew for certain that the King would kill him, he said, "O King,
if there be no help but I must die, grant me some little delay
that I may go down to my house and release myself from mine
obligations and direct my folk and my neighbours where to bury me
and distribute my books of medicine. Amongst these I have one,
the rarest of rarities, which I would present to thee as an
offering: keep it as a treasure in thy treasury." "And what is in
the book?" asked the King and the Sage answered, "Things beyond
compt; and the least of secrets is that if, directly after thou
hast cut off my head, thou open three leaves and read three lines
of the page to thy left hand, my head shall speak and answer
every question thou deignest ask of it." The King wondered with
exceeding wonder and shaking with delight at the novelty,
said, "O physician, cost thou really tell me that when I cut off
thy head it will speak to me?" He replied, "Yes, O King!" Quoth
the King, "This is indeed a strange matter!" and forthwith sent
him closely guarded to his house, and Duban then and there
settled all his obligations. Next day he went up to the King's
audience hall, where Emirs and Wazirs, Chamberlains and Nabobs,
Grandees and Lords of Estate were gathered together, making the
presence chamber gay as a garden of flower beds. And lo! the
physician came up and stood before the King, bearing a worn old
volume and a little etui of metal full of powder, like that used
for the eyes. Then he sat down and said, "Give me a
tray." So they brought him one and he poured the powder upon it
and levelled it and lastly spake as follows: "O King, take this
book but do not open it till my head falls; then set it upon this
tray, and bid press it down upon the powder, when forthright the
blood will cease flowing. That is the time to open the book." The
King thereupon took the book and made a sign to the Sworder, who
arose and struck off the physician's head, and placing it on the
middle of the tray, pressed it down upon the powder. The blood
stopped flowing, and the Sage Duban unclosed his eyes and said,
"Now open the book, O King!" The King opened the book, and found
the leaves stuck together; so he put his finger to his mouth and,
by moistening it, he easily turned over the first leaf, and in
like way the second, and the third, each leaf opening with much
trouble; and when he had un stuck six leaves he looked over them
and, finding nothing written thereon, said, "O physician, there
is no writing here!" Duban re plied, "Turn over yet more;" and he
turned over three others in the same way. Now the book was
poisoned; and before long the venom penetrated his system, and he
fell into strong convulsions and he cried out, "The poison hath
done its work!" Whereupon the Sage Duban's head began to
improvise:--

There be rulers who have ruled with a foul tyrannic sway 
     But they soon became as though they had never, never been:
Just, they had won justice: they oppressed and were oppress 
     By Fortune, who requited them with ban and bane and teen:
So they faded like the morn, and the tongue of things repeats 
     "Take this far that, nor vent upon Fortune's ways thy
     spleen."

No sooner had the head ceased speaking than the King rolled over
dead. Now I would have thee know, O Ifrit, that if King Yunan had
spared the Sage Duban, Allah would have spared him, but he
refused so to do and decreed to do him dead, wherefore Allah slew
him; and thou too, O Ifrit, if thou hadst spared me, Allah would
have spared thee. And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and
ceased saying her permitted say: then quoth Dunyazad, "O my
sister, how pleasant is thy tale, and how tasteful; how sweet,
and how grateful!" She replied, "And where is this compared with
what I could tell thee this coming night, if I live and the King
spare me?" Said the King in himself, "By Allah, I will not slay
her until I hear the rest of her story, for truly it is
wondrous." They rested that night in mutual embrace until dawn:
then the King went forth to his Darbar; the Wazirs and troops
came in and the audience hall was crowded; so the King gave
orders and judged and appointed and deposed and bade and forbade
the rest of that day, when the court broke up, and King Shahryar
entered his palace,

                  When it was the Sixth Night,

Her sister, Dunyazad, said to her,"Pray finish for us thy story;"
and she answered, "I will if the King give me leave." "Say on,"
quoth the King. And she continued:--It hath reached me, O
auspicious King, that when the Fisherman said to the Ifrit, "If
thou hadst spared me I would have spared thee, but nothing would
satisfy thee save my death; so now I will do thee die by jailing
thee in this jar and I will hurl thee into this sea." Then the
Marid roared aloud and cried, "Allah upon thee, O Fisher man,
don't! Spare me, and pardon my past doings; and, as I have been
tyrannous, so be thou generous, for it is said among sayings that
go current:--O thou who doest good to him who hath done thee
evil, suffice for the ill doer his ill deeds, and do not deal
with me as did Umamah to 'Atikah." Asked the Fisherman,
"And what was their case?" and the Ifrit answered, "This is not
the time for story telling and I in this prison; but set me free
and I will tell thee the tale." Quoth the Fisherman, "Leave this
language: there is no help but that thou be thrown back into the
sea nor is there any way for thy getting out of it for ever and
ever. Vainly I placed myself under thy protection, and I
humbled my self to thee with weeping, while thou soughtest only
to slay me, who had done thee no injury deserving this at thy
hands; nay, so far from injuring thee by any evil act, I worked
thee nought but weal in releasing thee from that jail of thine.
Now I knew thee to be an evil doer when thou diddest to me what
thou didst, and know, that when I have cast thee back into the
sea, I will warn whomsoever may fish thee up of what hath
befallen me with thee, and I will advise him to toss thee back
again; so shalt thou abide here under these waters till the End
of Time shall make an end of thee." But the Ifrit cried aloud,
"Set me free; this is a noble occasion for generosity and I make
covenant with thee and vow never to do thee hurt and harm; nay, I
will help thee to what shall put thee out of want." The Fisherman
accepted his promises on both conditions, not to trouble him as
before, but on the contrary to do him service; and, after making
firm the plight and swearing him a solemn oath by Allah Most
Highest he opened the cucurbit. Thereupon the pillar of smoke
rose up till all of it was fully out; then it thickened and once
more became an Ifrit of hideous presence, who forthright ad
ministered a kick to the bottle and sent it flying into the sea.
The Fisherman, seeing how the cucurbit was treated and making
sure of his own death, piddled in his clothes and said to
himself, "This promiseth badly;" but he fortified his heart, and
cried, "O Ifrit, Allah hath said: - Perform your
covenant; for the performance of your covenant shall be inquired
into hereafter. Thou hast made a vow to me and hast sworn an oath
not to play me false lest Allah play thee false, for verily he is
a jealous God who respiteth the sinner, but letteth him not
escape. I say to thee as said the Sage Duban to King Yunan,
"Spare me so Allah may spare thee!" The Ifrit burst into laughter
and stalked away, saying to the Fisherman, "Follow me;" and the
man paced after him at a safe distance (for he was not assured of
escape) till they had passed round the suburbs of the city.
Thence they struck into the uncultivated grounds, and crossing
them descended into a broad wilderness, and lo! in the midst of
it stood a mountain tarn. The Ifrit waded in to the middle and
again cried, "Follow me;" and when this was done he took his
stand in the centre and bade the man cast his net and catch his
fish. The Fisherman looked into the water and was much astonished
to see therein vari coloured fishes, white and red, blue and
yellow; however he cast his net and, hauling it in, saw that he
had netted four fishes, one of each colour. Thereat he rejoiced
greatly and more when the Ifrit said to him, "Carry these to the
Sultan and set them in his presence; then he will give thee what
shall make thee a wealthy man; and now accept my excuse, for by
Allah at this time I wot none other way of benefiting thee,
inasmuch I have lain in this sea eighteen hundred years and have
not seen the face of the world save within this hour. But I would
not have thee fish here save once a day." The Ifrit then gave him
God speed, saying, Allah grant we meet again;" and struck
the earth with one foot, whereupon the ground clove asunder and
swallowed him up. The Fisherman, much marvelling at what had
happened to him with the Ifrit, took the fish and made for the
city; and as soon as he reached home he filled an earthen bowl
with water and therein threw the fish which began to struggle and
wriggle about. Then he bore off the bowl upon his head and
repairing to the King's palace (even as the Ifrit had bidden him)
laid the fish before the presence; and the King wondered with
exceeding wonder at the sight, for never in his lifetime had' he
seen fishes like these in quality or in conformation. So he said,
"Give those fish to the stranger slave girl who now cooketh for
us," meaning the bond maiden whom the King of Roum had sent to
him only three days before, so that he had not yet made trial of
her talents in the dressing of meat. Thereupon the Wazir carried
the fish to the cook and bade her fry them saying, "O
damsel, the King sendeth this say to thee:--I have not treasured
thee, O tear o' me! save for stress time of me; approve, then, to
us this day thy delicate handiwork and thy savoury cooking; for
this dish of fish is a present sent to the Sultan and evidently a
rarity." The Wazir, after he had carefully charged her, returned
to the King, who commanded him to give the Fisherman four hundred
diners: he gave them accordingly, and the man took them to his
bosom and ran off home stumbling and falling and rising again and
deeming the whole thing to be a dream. However, he bought for his
family all they wanted and lastly he went to his wife in huge joy
and gladness. So far concerning him; but as regards the cookmaid,
she took the fish and cleansed them and set them in the frying
pan, basting them with oil till one side was dressed. Then she
turned them over and, behold, the kitchen wall crave asunder, and
therefrom came a young lady, fair of form, oval of face, perfect
in grace, with eyelids which Kohl lines enchase. Her
dress was a silken head kerchief fringed and tasseled with blue:
a large ring hung from either ear; a pair of bracelets adorned
her wrists; rings with bezels of priceless gems were on her
fingers; and she hent in hand a long rod of rattan cane which she
thrust into the frying pan, saying, "O fish! O fish! be ye
constant to your covenant?" When the cookmaiden saw this
apparition she swooned away. The young lady repeated her words a
second time and a third time, and at last the fishes raised their
heads from the pan, and saying in articulate speech "Yes! Yes!"
began with one voice to recite:--

Come back and so will I! Keep faith and so will I!  And if ye
      fain forsake, I'll requite till quits we cry!

After this the young lady upset the frying pan and went forth by
the way she came in and the kitchen wall closed upon her. When
the cook maiden recovered from her fainting fit, she saw the four
fishes charred black as charcoal, and crying out, "His staff
brake in his first bout," she again fell swooning to the
ground. Whilst she was in this case the Wazir came for the fish
and looking upon her as insensible she lay, not knowing Sunday
from Thursday, shoved her with his foot and said, "Bring the fish
for the Sultan!" Thereupon recovering from her fainting fit she
wept and in formed him of her case and all that had befallen her.
The Wazir marvelled greatly and exclaiming, "This is none other
than a right strange matter!", he sent after the Fisherman and
said to him, "Thou, O Fisherman, must needs fetch us four fishes
like those thou broughtest before." Thereupon the man repaired to
the tarn and cast his net; and when he landed it, lo! four fishes
were therein exactly like the first. These he at once carried to
the Wazir, who went in with them to the cook maiden and said, "Up
with thee and fry these in my presence, that I may see this
business." The damsel arose and cleansed the fish, and set them
in the frying pan over the fire; however they remained there but
a little while ere the wall crave asunder and the young lady
appeared, clad as before and holding in hand the wand which she
again thrust into the frying pan, saying, "O fish! O fish! be ye
constant to your olden covenant?" And behold, the fish lifted
their heads, and repeated "Yes! Yes!" and recited this couplet:

Come back and so will I! Keep faith and so will I!  But if ye
     fain forsake, I'll requite till quits we cry!

And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying her
permitted say.

                 When it was the Seventh Night,

She continued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when
the fishes spoke, and the young lady upset the frying pan with
her rod, and went forth by the way she came and the wall closed
up, the Wazir cried out, "This is a thing not to be hidden from
the King." So he went and told him what had happened, where upon
quoth the King, "There is no help for it but that I see this with
mine own eyes." Then he sent for the Fisherman and commended him
to bring four other fish like the first and to take with him
three men as witnesses. The Fisherman at once brought the fish:
and the King, after ordering them to give him four hundred gold
pieces, turned to the Wazir and said, "Up and fry me the fishes
here before me!" The Minister, replying "To hear is to obey,"
bade bring the frying pan, threw therein the cleansed fish and
set it over the fire; when lo! the wall crave asunder, and out
burst a black slave like a huge rock or a remnant of the tribe
Ad bearing in hand a branch of a green tree; and he cried
in loud and terrible tones, "O fish! O fish! be ye all constant
to your antique covenant?" whereupon the fishes lifted their
heads from the frying pan and said, "Yes! Yes ! we be true to our
vow;" and they again recited the couplet:

Come back and so will I! Keep faith and so will I!  But if ye
     fain forsake, I'll requite till quits we cry!

Then the huge blackamoor approached the frying pan and upset it
with the branch and went forth by the way he came in. When he
vanished from their sight the King inspected the fish; and
finding them all charred black as charcoal, was utterly
bewildered and said to the Wazir, "Verily this is a matter
whereanent silence cannot be kept, and as for the fishes,
assuredly some marvellous adventure connects with them." So he
bade bring the Fisherman and asked him, saying "Fie on thee,
fellow! whence came these fishes?" and he answered, "From a tarn
between four heights lying behind this mountain which is in sight
of thy city." Quoth the King, "How many days' march?" Quoth he,
"O our lord the Sultan, a walk of half hour." The King wondered
and, straight way ordering his men to march and horsemen to
mount, led off the Fisherman who went before as guide, privily
damning the Ifrit. They fared on till they had climbed the
mountain and descended unto a great desert which they had never
seen during all their lives; and the Sultan and his merry men
marvelled much at the wold set in the midst of four mountains,
and the tarn and its fishes of four colours, red and white,
yellow and blue. The King stood fixed to the spot in wonderment
and asked his troops and all present, "Hath any one among you
ever seen this piece of water before now?" and all made answer,
"O King of the age never did we set eyes upon it during all our
days." They also questioned the oldest inhabitants they met, men
well stricken in years, but they replied, each and every, "A
lakelet this we never saw in this place." Thereupon quoth the
King, "By Allah I will neither return to my capital nor sit upon
the throne of my forbears till I learn the truth about this tarn
and the fish therein." He then ordered his men to dismount and
bivouac all around the mountain; which they did; and summoning
his Wazir, a Minister of much experience, sagacious, of
penetrating wit and well versed in affairs, said to him, "'Tis in
my mind to do a certain thing whereof I will inform thee; my
heart telleth me to fare forth alone this night and root out the
mystery of this tarn and its fishes. Do thou take thy seat at my
tent door, and say to the Emirs and Wazirs, the Nabobs and the
Chamberlains, in fine to all who ask thee:--The Sultan is ill at
ease, and he hath ordered me to refuse all admittance;
and be careful thou let none know my design." And the Wazir could
not oppose him. Then the King changed his dress and ornaments
and, slinging his sword over his shoulder, took a path which led
up one of the mountains and marched for the rest of the night
till morning dawned; nor did he cease wayfaring till the heat was
too much for him. After his long walk he rested for a while, and
then resumed his march and fared on through the second night till
dawn, when suddenly there appeared a black point in the far
distance. Hereat he rejoiced and said to himself, "Haply some one
here shall acquaint me with the mystery of the tarn and its
fishes." Presently drawing near the dark object he found it a
palace built of swart stone plated with iron; and, while one leaf
of the gate stood wide open, the other was shut, The King's
spirits rose high as he stood before the gate and rapped a light
rap; but hearing no answer he knocked a second knock and a third;
yet there came no sign. Then he knocked his loudest but still no
answer, so he said, "Doubtless 'tis empty." Thereupon he mustered
up resolution and boldly walked through the main gate into the
great hall and there cried out aloud, "Holla, ye people of the
palace! I am a stranger and a wayfarer; have you aught here of
victual?" He repeated his cry a second time and a third but still
there came no reply; so strengthening his heart and making up his
mind he stalked through the vestibule into the very middle of the
palace and found no man in it. Yet it was furnished with silken
stuffs gold starred; and the hangings were let down over the door
ways. In the midst was a spacious court off which set four open
saloons each with its raised dais, saloon facing saloon; a canopy
shaded the court and in the centre was a jetting fount with four
figures of lions made of red gold, spouting from their mouths
water clear as pearls and diaphanous gems. Round about the palace
birds were let loose and over it stretched a net of golden wire,
hindering them from flying off; in brief there was everything but
human beings. The King marvelled mightily thereat, yet felt he
sad at heart for that he saw no one to give him account of the
waste and its tarn, the fishes, the mountains and the palace
itself. Presently as he sat between the doors in deep thought
behold, there came a voice of lament, as from a heart grief spent
and he heard the voice chanting these verses:--

I hid what I endured of him and yet it came to light, 
     And nightly sleep mine eyelids fled and changed to sleepless
     night:
Oh world! Oh Fate! withhold thy hand and cease thy hurt and
     harm  Look and behold my hapless sprite in colour and
     affright:
Wilt ne'er show ruth to highborn youth who lost him on the way 
     Of Love, and fell from wealth and fame to lowest basest
     wight.
Jealous of Zephyr's breath was I as on your form he breathed 
     But whenas Destiny descends she blindeth human sight
What shall the hapless archer do who when he fronts his foe  And
     bends his bow to shoot the shaft shall find his string
     undight?
When cark and care so heavy bear on youth of generous
     soul  How shall he 'scape his lot and where from Fate his
     place of flight?

Now when the Sultan heard the mournful voice he sprang to his
feet; and, following the sound, found a curtain let down over a
chamber door. He raised it and saw behind it a young man sitting
upon a couch about a cubit above the ground; and he fair to the
sight, a well shaped wight, with eloquence dight; his forehead
was flower white, his cheek rosy bright, and a mole on his cheek
breadth like an ambergris mite; even as the poet cloth indite:--

A youth slim waisted from whose locks and brow  The world in
     blackness and in light is set.
Throughout Creation's round no fairer show  No rarer sight thine
     eye hath ever met:
A nut brown mole sits throned upon a cheek  Of rosiest red
     beneath an eye of jet.

The King rejoiced and saluted him, but he remained sitting in his
caftan of silken stuff pureed with Egyptian gold and his crown
studded with gems of sorts; but his face was sad with the traces
of sorrow. He returned the royal salute in most courteous wise
adding, "O my lord, thy dignity demandeth my rising to thee; and
my sole excuse is to crave thy pardon." Quoth the King,
"Thou art excused, O youth; so look upon me as thy guest come
hither on an especial object. I would thou acquaint me with the
secrets of this tarn and its fishes and of this palace and thy
loneliness therein and the cause of thy groaning and wailing."
When the young man heard these words he wept with sore
weeping; till his bosom was drenched with tears and began
reciting--

Say him who careless sleeps what while the shaft of Fortune flies
      How many cloth this shifting world lay low and raise to
     rise?
Although thine eye be sealed in sleep, sleep not th' Almighty's
     eyes  And who hath found Time ever fair, or Fate in
     constant guise?

Then he sighed a long fetched sigh and recited:--

Confide thy case to Him, the Lord who made mankind;  Quit cark
     and care and cultivate content of mind;
Ask not the Past or how or why it came to pass:  All human
     things by Fate and Destiny were designed!

The King marvelled and asked him, "What maketh thee weep, O young
man?" and he answered, "How should I not weep, when this is my
case!" Thereupon he put out his hand and raised the skirt of his
garment, when lo! the lower half of him appeared stone down to
his feet while from his navel to the hair of his head he was man.
The King, seeing this his plight, grieved with sore grief and of
his compassion cried, "Alack and well away! in very sooth, O
youth, thou heapest sorrow upon my sorrow. I was minded to ask
thee the mystery of the fishes only: whereas now I am concerned
to learn thy story as well as theirs. But there is no Majesty and
there is no Might save in Allah, the Glorious, the Great!
Lose no time, O youth, but tell me forthright thy whole tale."
Quoth he, "Lend me thine ears, thy sight and thine insight;" and
quoth the King, "All are at thy service!" Thereupon the youth
began, "Right wondrous and marvellous is my case and that of
these fishes; and were it graven with gravers upon the eye
corners it were a warner to whoso would be warned." "How is
that?" asked the King, and the young man began to tell





The Tale of the Ensorcelled Prince.


Know then, O my lord, that whilome my sire was King of this city,
and his name was Mahmud, entitled Lord of the Black Islands, and
owner of what are now these four mountains. He ruled three score
and ten years, after which he went to the mercy of the Lord and I
reigned as Sultan in his stead. I took to wife my cousin, the
daughter of my paternal uncle, and she loved me with such
abounding love that whenever I was absent she ate not and she
drank not until she saw me again. She cohabited with me for five
years till a certain day when she went forth to the Hammam bath;
and I bade the cook hasten to get ready all requisites for our
supper. And I entered this palace and lay down on the bed where I
was wont to sleep and bade two damsels to fan my face, one
sitting by my head and the other at my feet. But I was troubled
and made restless by my wife's absence and could not sleep; for
although my eyes were closed my mind and thoughts were wide
awake. Presently I heard the slave girl at my head say to her at
my feet, "O Mas'udah, how miserable is our master and how wasted
in his youth and oh! the pity of his being so be trayed by our
mistress, the accursed whore!'' The other replied, "Yes
indeed: Allah curse all faithless women and adulterous; but the
like of our master, with his fair gifts, deserveth something
better than this harlot who lieth abroad every night." Then quoth
she who sat by my head, "Is our lord dumb or fit only for
bubbling that he questioneth her not!" and quoth the other, "Fie
on thee! cloth our lord know her ways or cloth she allow him his
choice? Nay, more, cloth she not drug every night the cup she
giveth him to drink before sleep time, and put Bhang into
it? So he sleepeth and wotteth not whither she goeth, nor what
she doeth; but we know that after giving him the drugged wine,
she donneth her richest raiment and perfumeth herself and then
she fareth out from him to be away till break of day; then she
cometh to him, and burneth a pastile under his nose and he
awaketh from his deathlike sleep." When I heard the slave girl's
words, the light became black before my sight and I thought night
would never-fall. Presently the daughter of my uncle came from
the baths; and they set the table for us and we ate and sat
together a fair half hour quaffing our wine as was ever our wont.
Then she called for the particular wine I used to drink before
sleeping and reached me the cup; but, seeming to drink it
according to my wont, I poured the contents into my bosom; and,
lying down, let her hear that I was asleep. Then, behold, she
cried, "Sleep out the night, and never wake again: by Allah, I
loathe thee and I loathe thy whole body, and my soul turneth in
disgust from cohabiting with thee; and I see not the moment when
Allah shall snatch away thy life!" Then she rose and donned her
fairest dress and perfumed her person and slung my sword over her
shoulder; and, opening the gates of the palace, went her ill way.
I rose and followed her as she left the palace and she threaded
the streets until she came to the city gate, where she spoke
words I understood not, and the padlocks dropped of themselves as
if broken and the gate leaves opened. She went forth (and I after
her without her noticing aught) till she came at last to the
outlying mounds and a reed fence built about a round
roofed hut of mud bricks. As she entered the door, I climbed upon
the roof which commanded a view of the interior, and lo! my fair
cousin had gone in to a hideous negro slave with his upper lip
like the cover of a pot, and his lower like an open pot; lips
which might sweep up sand from the gravel-floor of the cot. He
was to boot a leper and a paralytic, lying upon a strew of sugar
cane trash and wrapped in an old blanket and the foulest rags and
tatters. She kissed the earth before him, and he raised his head
so as to see her and said, "Woe to thee! what call hadst thou to
stay away all this time? Here have been with me sundry of the
black brethren, who drank their wine and each had his young lady,
and I was not content to drink because of thine absence." Then
she, "O my lord, my heart's love and coolth of my eyes 
knowest thou not that I am married to my cousin whose very look I
loathe, and hate myself when in his company? And did not I fear
for thy sake, I would not let a single sun arise before making
his city a ruined heap wherein raven should croak and howlet
hoot, and jackal and wolf harbour and loot; nay I had removed its
very stones to the back side of Mount Kaf."  Rejoined the
slave, Thou liest, damn thee! Now I swear an oath by the velour
and honour of blackamoor men (and deem not our manliness to be ;
the poor manliness of white men), from today forth if thou stay
away till this hour, I will not keep company with thee nor will I
glue my body with thy body and strum and belly bump Dost play
fast and loose with us, thou cracked pot, that we may satisfy thy
dirty lusts? stinkard! bitch! vilest of the vile whites!" When I
heard his words, and saw with my own eyes what passed between
these two wretches, the world waxed dark be fore my face and my
soul knew not in what place it was. But , my wife humbly stood up
weeping before and wheedling the slave, and saying, O my beloved,
and very fruit of my heart, there is none left to cheer me but
thy dear self; and, if thou cast me off who shall take me in, O
my beloved, O light of my eyes?" And she ceased not weeping and
abasing herself to him until he deigned be reconciled with her.
Then was she right glad and stood up and doffed her clothes, even
to her petticoat trousers, and said, 0 my master what hast thou
here for thy handmaiden to eat? Uncover the basin," he grumbled,
"and thou shalt find t the bottom the broiled bones of some rats
we dined on, pick at them, and then go to that slop pot where
thou shalt find some leavings of beer  which thou mayest
drink." So she ate and drank and washed her hands, and went and
lay down by the side of the slave, upon the cane trash and,
stripping herself stark naked, she crept in with him under his
foul coverlet and his rags and tatters. When I saw my wife, my
cousin, the daughter of my uncle, do this deed I clean
lost my wits, and climbing down from the roof, I entered and took
the sword which she had with her and drew it, determined to cut
down the twain. I first struck at the slave's neck and thought
that the death decree had fallen on him:"And Shahrazad perceived
the dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.

                 When it was the Eighth Night,

She continued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the
young ensorcelled Prince said to the King, "When I smote the
slave with intent to strike off his head, I thought that I had
slain him; for he groaned a loud hissing groan, but I had cut
only the skin and flesh of the gullet and the two arteries! It
awoke the daughter of my uncle, so I sheathed the sword and fared
forth for the city; and, entering the palace, lay upon my bed and
slept till morning when my wife aroused me and I saw that she had
cut off her hair and had donned mourning garments. Quoth she:--O
son of my uncle, blame me not for what I do; it hath just reached
me that my mother is dead, and my father hath been killed in holy
war, and of my brothers one hath lost his life by a snake sting
and the other by falling down some precipice; and I can and
should do naught save weep and lament. When I heard her words I
refrained from all reproach and said only:--Do as thou list; I
certainly will not thwart thee. She continued sorrowing, weeping
and wailing one whole year from the beginning of its circle to
the end, and when it was finished she said to me.--I wish to
build me in thy palace a tomb with a cupola, which I will set
apart for my mourning and will name the House of
Lamentations. Quoth I again:--Do as thou list! Then she
builded for herself a cenotaph wherein to mourn, and set on its
centre a dome under which showed a tomb like a Santon's
sepulchre. Thither she carried the slave and lodged him; but he
was exceeding weak by reason of his wound, and unable to do her
love service; he could only drink wine and from the day of his
hurt he spake not a word, yet he lived on because his appointed
hour was not come. Every day, morning and evening, my
wife went to him and wept and wailed over him and gave him wine
and strong soups, and left not off doing after this manner a
second year; and I bore with her patiently and paid no heed to
her. One day, however, I went in to her unawares; and I found her
weeping and beating her face and crying:--Why art thou absent
from my sight, O my heart's delight? Speak to me, O my life; talk
with me, O my love? Then she recited these verses:--

For your love my patience fails and albeit you forget  I may
     not, nor to other love my heart can make reply:
Bear my body, bear my soul wheresoever you may fare  And
     where you pitch the camp let my body buried lie:
Cry my name above my grave, and an answer shall return  The
     moaning of my bones responsive to your cry.

Then she recited, weeping bitterly the while:--

The day of my delight is the day when draw you near  And the
     day of mine affright is the day you turn away:
Though I tremble through the night in my bitter dread of death 
     When I hold you in my arms I am free from all affray

Once more she began reciting:--

Though a morn I may awake with all happiness in hand 
     Though the world all be mine and like Kisra-kings I
     reign;
To me they had the worth of the winglet of the gnat  When I fail
     to see thy form, when I look for thee in vain

When she had ended for a time her words and her weeping I said to
her--O my cousin, let this thy mourning suffice, for in pouring
forth tears there is little profit! Thwart me not, answered she,
in aught I do, or I will lay violent hands on myself! So I held
my peace and left her to go her own way; and she ceased not to
cry and keen and indulge her affliction for yet another year. At
the end of the third year I waxed aweary of this lonesome
mourning, and one day I happened to enter the cenotaph when vexed
and angry with some matter which had thwarted me, and suddenly I
heard her say:--O my lord, I never hear thee vouch safe a single
word to me! Why cost thou not answer me, O my master? and she
began reciting:--

O thou tomb! O, thou tomb! be his beauty set in shade?  Hast
     thou darkened that countenance all sheeny as the noon?
O thou tomb! neither earth nor yet heaven art to me  Then how
     cometh it in thee are conjoined my sun and moon?

When I heard such verses as these rage was heaped upon my rage I
cried out:--Well away! how long is this sorrow to last? and I
began repeating:--

O thou tomb! O thou tomb! be his horrors set in blight?  Hast
     thou dark ened his countenance that sickeneth the soul?
O thou tomb! neither cess pool nor pipkin art to me  Then how
     cometh it in thee are conjoined soil and coal?

When she heard my words she sprang to her feet crying.--Fie upon
thee, thou cur! all this is of thy doings; thou hast wounded my
heart s darling and thereby worked me sore woe and thou hast
wasted his youth so that these three years he hath lain abed more
dead than alive! In my wrath I cried:--O thou foulest of harlots
and filthiest of whores ever futtered by negro slaves who are
hired to have at thee! Yes indeed it was I who did this
good deed; and snatching up my sword I drew it and made at her to
cut her down. But she laughed my words and mine intent to scorn
crying: To heel, hound that thou art! Alas for the past
which shall no more come to pass nor shall any one avail the dead
to raise. Allah hath indeed now given into my hand him who did to
me this thing, a deed that hath burned my heart with a fire which
died not and a flame which might not be quenched! Then she stood
up; and, pronouncing some words to me unintelligible, she said:--
By virtue of my egromancy become thou half stone and half man;
whereupon I became what thou seest, unable to rise or to sit, and
neither dead nor alive. Moreover she ensorcelled the city with
all its streets and garths, and she turned by her gramarye the
four islands into four mountains around the tarn whereof thou
questionest me; and the citizens, who were of four different
faiths, Moslem, Nazarene, Jew and Magian, she transformed by her
enchantments into fishes; the Moslems are the white, the Magians
red, the Christians blue and the Jews yellow. And every
day she tortureth me and scourgeth me with an hundred stripes,
each of which draweth floods of blood and cutteth the skin of my
shoulders to strips; and lastly she clotheth my upper half with a
hair cloth and then throweth over them these robes." Hereupon the
young man again shed tears and began reciting:--

In patience, O my God, I endure my lot and fate;  I will bear at
     will of Thee whatsoever be my state:
They oppress me; they torture me; they make my life a woe  Yet
     haply Heaven's happiness shall compensate my strait:
Yea, straitened is my life by the bane and hate o' foes  But
     Mustafa and Murtaza shall ope me Heaven's gate.

After this the Sultan turned towards the young Prince and said,
"O youth, thou hast removed one grief only to add another grief;
but now, O my friend, where is she; and where is the mausoleum
wherein lieth the wounded slave?" "The slave lieth under yon
dome," quoth the young man, "and she sitteth in the chamber
fronting yonder door. And every day at sunrise she cometh forth,
and first strippeth me, and whippeth me with an hundred strokes
of the leathern scourge, and I weep and shriek; but there is no
power of motion in my lower limbs to keep her off me. After
ending her tormenting me she visiteth the slave, bringing him
wine and boiled meats. And to morrow at an early hour she will be
here." Quoth the King, "By Allah, O youth, I will as suredly do
thee a good deed which the world shall not willingly let die, and
an act of derring do which shall be chronicled long after I am
dead and gone by." Then the King sat him by the side of the young
Prince and talked till nightfall, when he lay down and slept;
but, as soon as the false dawn showed, he arose and
doffing his outer garments bared his blade and hastened
to the place wherein lay the slave. Then was he ware of lighted
candles and lamps, and the perfume of incenses and unguents, and
directed by these, he made for the slave and struck him one
stroke killing him on the spot: after which he lifted him on his
back and threw him into a well that was in the palace. Presentry
he returned and, donning the slave's gear, lay down at length
within the mausoleum with the drawn sword laid close to and along
his side. After an hour or so the accursed witch came; and, first
going to her husband, she stripped off his clothes and, taking a
whip, flogged him cruelly while he cried out, "Ah! enough for me
the case I am in! take pity on me, O my cousin!' But she replied,
"Didst thou take pity on me and spare the life of my true love on
whom I coated?" Then she drew the cilice over his raw and
bleeding skin and threw the robe upon all and went down to the
slave with a goblet of wine and a bowl of meat broth in her
hands. She entered under the dome weeping and wailing,
"Well-away!" and crying, "O my lord! speak a word to me! O my
master! talk awhile with me!" and began to recite these
couplets.--

How long this harshness, this unlove, shall bide?  Suffice thee
     not tear floods thou hast espied?
Thou cost prolong our parting purposely  And if wouldst please
     my foe, thou'rt satisfied!

Then she wept again and said, "O my lord! speak to me, talk with
me!" The King lowered his voice and, twisting his tongue, spoke
after the fashion of the blackamoors and said "'lack! 'lack!
there be no Ma'esty and there be no Might save in Allauh, the
Gloriose, the Great!" Now when she heard these words she shouted
for joy, and fell to the ground fainting; and when her senses
returned she asked, "O my lord, can it be true that thou hast
power of speech?" and the King making his voice small and faint
answered, "O my cuss! cost thou deserve that I talk to thee and
speak with thee?" "Why and wherefore?" rejoined she; and he
replied "The why is that all the livelong day thou tormentest thy
hubby; and he keeps calling on 'eaven for aid until sleep is
strange to me even from evenin' till mawnin', and he prays and
damns, cussing us two, me and thee, causing me disquiet and much
bother: were this not so, I should long ago have got my health;
and it is this which prevents my answering thee." Quoth she,
"With thy leave I will release him from what spell is on him;"and
quoth the King, "Release him and let's have some rest!" She
cried, "To hear is to obey;" and, going from the cenotaph to the
palace, she took a metal bowl and filled it with water and spake
over it certain words which made the contents bubble and boil as
a cauldron seetheth over the fire. With this she sprinkled her
husband saying, "By virtue of the dread words I have spoken, if
thou becamest thus by my spells, come forth out of that form into
shine own former form." And lo and behold! the young man shook
and trembled; then he rose to his feet and, rejoicing at his
deliverance, cried aloud, "I testify that there is no god but the
God, and in very truth Mohammed is His Apostle, whom Allah bless
and keep!" Then she said to him, "Go forth and return not hither,
for if thou do I will surely slay thee;" screaming these words in
his face. So he went from between her hands; and she returned to
the dome and, going down to the sepulchre, she said, "O my lord,
come forth to me that I may look upon thee and thy goodliness!"
The King replied in faint low words, "What thing hast
thou done? Thou hast rid me of the branch but not of the root."
She asked, "O my darling! O my negro ring! what is the root?" And
he answered, "Fie on thee, O my cuss! The people of this city and
of the four islands every night when it's half passed lift their
heads from the tank in which thou hast turned them to fishes and
cry to Heaven and call down its anger on me and thee; and this is
the reason why my body's baulked from health. Go at once and set
them free then come to me and take my hand, and raise me up, for
a little strength is already back in me." When she heard the
King's words (and she still supposed him to be the slave) she
cried joyously, O my master, on my head and on my eyes be thy
commend, Bismillah!'' So she sprang to her feet and, full
of joy and gladness, ran down to the tarn and took a little of
its water n the palm of her hand--And Shahrazad perceived the
dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.

                  When it Was the Ninth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when the
young woman, the sorceress, took in hand some of the tarn water
and spake over it words not to be understood, the fishes lifted
their heads and stood up on the instant like men, the spell on
the people of the city having been removed. What was the lake
again became a crowded capital; the bazars were thronged with
folk who bought and sold; each citizen was occupied with his own
calling and the four hills became islands as they were whilome.
Then the young woman, that wicked sorceress, returned to the King
and (still thinking he was the negro) said to him, O my love!
stretch forth thy honoured hand that I may assist thee to rise."
"Nearer to me," quoth the King in a faint and feigned tone. She
came close as to embrace him when he took up the sword lying hid
by his side and smote her across the breast, so that the point
showed gleaming behind her back. Then he smote her a second time
and cut her in twain and cast her to the ground in two halves.
After which he fared forth and found the young man, now freed
from the spell, awaiting him and gave him joy of his happy
release while the Prince kissed his hand with abundant thanks.
Quoth the King, "Wilt thou abide in this city or go with me to my
capital?" Quoth the youth, "O King of the age, wottest thou not
what journey is between thee and thy city?" "Two days and a
half," answered he, whereupon said the other, "An thou be
sleeping, O King, awake! Between thee and thy city is a year's
march for a well girt walker, and thou haddest not come hither in
two days and a half save that the city was under enchantment. And
I, O King, will never part from thee; no, not even for the
twinkling of an eye." The King rejoiced at his words and said,
"Thanks be to Allah who hath bestowed thee upon me! From this
hour thou art my son and my only son, for that in all my life I
have never been blessed with issue." Thereupon they embraced and
joyed with exceeding great joy; and, reaching the palace, the
Prince who had been spell bound informed his lords and his
grandees that he was about to visit the Holy Places as a pilgrim,
and bade them get ready all things necessary for the occasion.
The preparations lasted ten days, after which he set out with the
Sultan, whose heart burned in yearning for his city whence he had
been absent a whole twelvemonth. They journeyed with an escort of
Mamelukes carrying all manners of precious gifts and
rarities, nor stinted they wayfaring day and night for a full
year until they approached the Sultan's capital, and sent on
messengers to announce their coming. Then the Wazir and the whole
army came out to meet him in joy and gladness, for they had given
up all hope of ever seeing their King; and the troops kissed the
ground before him and wished him joy of his safety. He entered
and took seat upon his throne and the Minister came before him
and, when acquainted with all that had be fallen the young
Prince, he congratulated him on his narrow escape. When order was
restored throughout the land the King gave largesse to many of
his people, and said to the Wazir, "Hither the Fisherman who
brought us the fishes!" So he sent for the man who had been the
first cause of the city and the citizens being delivered from
enchantment and, when he came in to the presence, the Sultan
bestowed upon him a dress of honour, and questioned him of his
condition and whether he had children. The Fisherman gave him to
know that he had two daughters and a son, so the King sent for
them and, taking one daughter to wife, gave the other to the
young Prince and made the son his head treasurer. Furthermore he
invested his Wazir with the Sultanate of the City in the Black
Islands whilome belonging to the young Prince, and dispatched
with him the escort of fifty armed slaves together with dresses
of honour for all the Emirs and Grandees. The Wazir kissed hands
and fared forth on his way; while the Sultan and the Prince abode
at home in all the solace and the delight of life; and the
Fisherman became the richest man of his age, and his daughters
wived with Kings, until death came to them. And yet, O King!
this is not more wondrous than the story of





          The Porter and the Three Ladies of Baghdad.


Once upon a time there was a Porter in Baghdad, who was a
bachelor and who would remain unmarried. It came to pass on a
certain day, as he stood about the street leaning idly upon his
crate, behold, there stood before him an honourable woman in a
mantilla of Mosul silk, broidered with gold and bordered
with brocade; her walking shoes were also purfled with gold and
her hair floated in long plaits. She raised her face veil
and, showing two black eyes fringed with jetty lashes, whose
glances were soft and languishing and whose perfect beauty was
ever blandishing, she accosted the Porter and said in the suavest
tones and choicest language, "Take up thy crate and follow me."
The Porter was so dazzled he could hardly believe that he heard
her aright, but he shouldered his basket in hot haste saying in
himself, "O day of good luck! O day of Allah's grace!" and walked
after her till she stopped at the door of a house. There she
rapped, and presently came out to her an old man, a Nazarene, to
whom she gave a gold piece, receiving from him in return what she
required of strained wine clear as olive oil; and she set it
safely in the hamper, saying "Lift and follow." Quoth the Porter,
"This, by Allah, is indeed an auspicious day, a day propitious
for the granting of all a man wisheth." He again hoisted up the
crate and followed her; till she stopped at a fruiterer's shop
and bought from him Shami apples and Osmani quinces and
Omani peaches, and cucumbers of Nile growth, and Egyptian
limes and Sultani oranges and citrons; besides Aleppine jasmine,
scented myrtle berries, Damascene nenuphars, flower of
privet and camomile, blood red anemones, violets, and
pomegranate bloom, eglantine and narcissus, and set the whole in
the Porter's crate, saying, "Up with it." So he lifted and
followed her till she stopped at a butcher's booth and said, "Cut
me off ten pounds of mutton." She paid him his price and he
wrapped it in a banana leaf, whereupon she laid it in the crate
and said "Hoist, O Porter." He hoisted accordingly, and followed
her as she walked on till she stopped at a grocer's, where she
bought dry fruits and pistachio kernels, Tihamah raisins, shelled
almonds and all wanted for dessert, and said to the Porter, "Lift
and follow me." So he up with his hamper and after her till she
stayed at the confectioner's, and she bought an earthen platter,
and piled it with all kinds of sweetmeats in his shop, open
worked tarts and fritters scented with musk and "soap cakes," and
lemon loaves and melon preserves, and "Zaynab's combs,"
and "ladies' fingers," and "Kazi's tit-bits" and goodies of every
description; and placed the platter in the Porter's crate.
Thereupon quoth he (being a merry man), "Thou shouldest have told
me, and I would have brought with me a pony or a she camel to
carry all this market stuff." She smiled and gave him a little
cuff on the nape saying, "Step out and exceed not in words for
(Allah willing!) thy wage will not be wanting." Then she stopped
at a perfumer's and took from him ten sorts of waters, rose
scented with musk, grange Lower, waterlily, willow flower, violet
and five others; and she also bought two loaves of sugar, a
bottle for perfume spraying, a lump of male in cense, aloe wood,
ambergris and musk, with candles of Alex' andria wax; and she put
the whole into the basket, saying, "Up with thy crate and after
me." He did so and followed until she stood before the
greengrocer's, of whom she bought pickled safflower and olives,
in brine and in oil; with tarragon and cream cheese and hard
Syrian cheese; and she stowed them away in the crate saying to
the Porter, "Take up thy basket and follow me." He did so and
went after her till she came to a fair mansion fronted by a
spacious court, a tall, fine place to which columns gave strength
and grace: and the gate thereof had two leaves of ebony inlaid
with plates of red gold. The lady stopped at the door and,
turning her face veil sideways, knocked softly with her knuckles
whilst the Porter stood behind her, thinking of naught save her
beauty and loveliness. Presently the door swung back and both
leaves were opened, whereupon he looked to see who had opened it;
and behold, it was a lady of tall figure, some five feet high; a
model of beauty and loveliness, brilliance and symmetry and
perfect grace. Her forehead was flower white; her cheeks like the
anemone ruddy bright; her eyes were those of the wild heifer or
the gazelle, with eyebrows like the crescent moon which ends
Sha'aban and begins Ramazan; her mouth was the ring of
Sulayman, her lips coral red, and her teeth like a line
of strung pearls or of camomile petals. Her throat recalled the
antelope's, and her breasts, like two pomegranates of even size,
stood at bay as it were, her body rose and fell in waves
below her dress like the rolls of a piece of brocade, and her
navel would hold an ounce of benzoin ointment. In fine
she was like her of whom the poet said:--

On Sun and Moon of palace cast thy sight  Enjoy her flower like
     face, her fragrant light:
Thine eyes shall never see in hair so black  Beauty encase a
     brow so purely white:
The ruddy rosy cheek proclaims her claim  Though fail her name
     whose beauties we indite:
As sways her gait I smile at hips so big  And weep to see the
     waist they bear so slight.

When the Porter looked upon her his wits were waylaid, and his
senses were stormed so that his crate went nigh to fall from his
head, and he said to himself, "Never have I in my life seen a day
more blessed than this day!" Then quoth the lady portress to the
lady cateress, "Come in from the gate and relieve this poor man
of his load." So the provisioner went in followed by the portress
and the Porter and went on till they reached a spacious ground
floor hall, built with admirable skill and beautified
with all manner colours and carvings; with upper balconies and
groined arches and galleries and cupboards and recesses whose
curtains hung before them. In the midst stood a great basin full
of water surrounding a fine fountain, and at the upper end on the
raised dais was a couch of juniper wood set with gems and pearls,
with a canopy like mosquito curtains of red satin silk looped up
with pearls as big as filberts and bigger. Thereupon sat a lady
bright of blee, with brow beaming brilliancy, the dream of
philosophy, whose eyes were fraught with Babel's gramarye
and her eye brows were arched as for archery; her breath breathed
ambergris and perfumery and her lips were sugar to taste and
carnelian to see. Her stature was straight as the letter
I and her face shamed the noon sun's radiancy; and she
was even as a galaxy, or a dome with golden marquetry or a bride
displayed in choicest finery or a noble maid of Araby.
Right well of her sang the bard when he said:--

Her smiles twin rows of pearls display  Chamomile-buds or rimey
     spray
Her tresses stray as night let down  And shames her light the
     dawn o' day.

The third lady rising from the couch stepped forward with
grace ful swaying gait till she reached the middle of the saloon,
when she said to her sisters, "Why stand ye here? take it down
from this poor man's head!" Then the cateress went and stood
before him, and the portress behind him while the third helped
them, and they lifted the load from the Porter's head; and,
emptying it of all that was therein, set everything in its place.
Lastly they gave him two gold pieces, saying, "Wend thy ways, O
Porter." But he went not, for he stood looking at the ladies and
admiring what uncommon beauty was theirs, and their pleasant
manners and kindly dispositions (never had he seen goodlier); and
he gazed wistfully at that good store of wines and sweet scented
flowers and fruits and other matters. Also he marvelled with
exceeding marvel, especially to see no man in the place and
delayed his going; whereupon quoth the eldest lady, "What aileth
thee that goest not; haply thy wage be too little?" And, turning
to her sister the cateress, she said, "Give him another diner!"
But the Porter answered, "By Allah, my lady, it is not for the
wage; my hire is never more than two dirhams; but in very sooth
my heart and my soul are taken up with you and your condition. I
wonder to see you single with ne'er a man about you and not a
soul to bear you company; and well you wot that the minaret
toppleth o'er unless it stand upon four, and you want this same
fourth; and women's pleasure without man is short of measure,
even as the poet said:--

Seest not we want for joy four things all told  The harp and
     lute, the flute and flageolet;
And be they companied with scents four fold  Rose, myrtle,
     anemone and violet
Nor please all eight an four thou wouldst withold  Good wine and
     youth and gold and pretty pet.

You be there and want a fourth who shall be a person of good
sense and prudence; smart witted, and one apt to keep careful
counsel." His words pleased and amused them much; and they
laughed at him and said, "And who is to assure us of that? We are
maidens and we fear to entrust our secret where it may not be
kept, for we have read in a certain chronicle the lines of one
Ibn al-Sumam:-

Hold fast thy secret and to none unfold  Lost is a secret when
     that secret's told
An fail thy breast thy secret to conceal  How canst thou hope
     another's breast shall hold?

And Abu Nowas said well on the same subject:--

Who trusteth secret to another's hand  Upon his brow deserveth
     burn of brand!"

When the Porter heard their words he rejoined, "By your lives! I
am a man of sense and a discreet, who hath read books and perused
chronicles; I reveal the fair and conceal the foul and I act as
the poet adviseth:--

None but the good a secret keep  And good men keep it
     unrevealed:
It is to me a well shut house  With keyless locks and door
     ensealed"

When the maidens heard his verse and its poetical application
addressed to them they said, "Thou knowest that we have laid out
all our monies on this place. Now say, hast thou aught to offer
us in return for entertainment? For surely we will not suf fer
thee to sit in our company and be our cup companion, and gaze
upon our faces so fair and so rare without paying a round
sum. Wottest thou not the saying:--

     Sans hope of gain
     Love's not worth a grain?"

Whereto the lady portress added, "If thou bring anything thou art
a something; if no thing, be off with thee, thou art a nothing;"
but the procuratrix interposed, saying, "Nay, O my sisters, leave
teasing him for by Allah he hath not failed us this day, and had
he been other he never had kept patience with me, so whatever be
his shot and scot I will take it upon myself." The Porter, over
joyed, kissed the ground before her and thanked her saying, "By
Allah, these monies are the first fruits this day hath given me."
Hearing this they said, "Sit thee down and welcome to thee," and
the eldest lady added, "By Allah, we may not suffer thee to join
us save on one condition, and this it is, that no questions be
asked as to what concerneth thee not, and frowardness shall be
soundly flogged." Answered the Porter, "I agree to this, O my
lady, on my head and my eyes be it! Lookye, I am dumb, I have no
tongue. Then arose the provisioneress and tightening her girdle
set the table by the fountain and put the flowers and sweet herbs
in their jars, and strained the wine and ranged the flasks in row
and made ready every requisite. Then sat she down, she and her
sisters, placing amidst them the Porter who kept deeming himself
in a dream; and she took up the wine flagon, and poured out the
first cup and drank it off, and likewise a second and a
third. After this she filled a fourth cup which she
handed to one of her sisters; and, lastly, she crowned a goblet
and passed it to the Porter, saying:--

"Drink the dear draught, drink free and fain  What healeth every
     grief and pain."

He took the cup in his hand and, louting low, returned his best
thanks and improvised:--

Drain not the bowl save with a trusty friend  A man of worth
     whose good old
For wine, like wind, sucks sweetness from the sweet  And stinks
     when over stench it haply blow:"

Adding:--

Drain not the bowl; save from dear hand like thine  The cup
     recall thy gifts; thou, gifts of wine."

After repeating this couplet he kissed their hands and drank and
was drunk and sat swaying from side to side and pursued:--

"All drinks wherein is blood the Law unclean  Doth hold save
     one, the blood shed of the vine:
Fill! fill! take all my wealth bequeathed or won  Thou fawn! a
     willing ransom for those eyne."

Then the cateress crowned a cup and gave it to the portress, who
took it from her hand and thanked her and drank. Thereupon she
poured again and passed to the eldest lady who sat on the couch,
and filled yet another and handed it to the Porter. He kissed the
ground before them; and, after drinking and thanking them, he
again began to recite :

"Here! Here! by Allah, here!  Cups of the sweet, the dear'
 Fill me a brimming bowl  The Fount o' Life I speer

Then the Porter stood up before the mistress of the house and
said, "O lady, I am thy slave, thy Mameluke, thy white thrall, a,
thy very bondsman;" and he began reciting:--

"A slave of slaves there standeth at thy door  Lauding thy
     generous boons and gifts galore
Beauty! may he come in awhile to 'joy  Thy charms? for Love
     and I part nevermore!"

She said to him, "Drink; and health and happiness attend thy
drink." So he took the cup and kissed her hand and recited these
lines in sing song:

"I gave her brave old wine that like her cheeks  Blushed red or
     flame from furnace flaring up:
She bussed the brim and said with many a smile  How durst thou
     deal folk's cheek for folk to sup?
"Drink!" (said I) "these are tears of mine whose tinct  Is heart
     blood sighs have boiled in the cup."

She answered him in the following couplet:--

"An tears of blood for me, friend, thou hast shed  Suffer me sup
     them, by thy head and eyes!"

Then the lady took the cup, and drank it off to her sisters'
health, and they ceased not drinking (the Porter being in the
midst of them), and dancing and laughing and reciting verses and
singing ballads and ritornellos. All this time the Porter was
carrying on with them, kissing, toying, biting, handling,
groping, fingering; whilst one thrust a dainty morsel in his
mouth, and another slapped him; and this cuffed his cheeks, and
that threw sweet flowers at him; and he was in the very paradise
of pleasure, as though he were sitting in the seventh sphere
among the Houris of Heaven. They ceased not doing after
this fashion until the wine played tucks in their heads and
worsted their wits; and, when the drink got the better of them,
the portress stood up and doffed her clothes till she was mother
naked. However, she let down her hair about her body by way of
shift, and throwing herself into the basin disported herself and
dived like a duck and swam up and down, and took water in her
mouth, and spurted it all over the Porter, and washed her limbs,
and between her breasts, and inside her thighs and all around her
navel. Then she came up out of the cistern and throwing herself
on the Porter's lap said, "O my lord, O my love, what callest
thou this article?" pointing to her slit, her solution of
continuity. "I call that thy cleft," quoth the Porter, and she
rejoined, Wah! wah, art thou not ashamed to use such a word?" and
she caught him by the collar and soundly cuffed him. Said he
again, Thy womb, thy vulva;" and she struck him a second slap
crying, "O fie, O fie, this is another ugly word; is here no
shame in thee?" Quoth he, "Thy coynte;" and she cried, O thou!
art wholly destitute of modesty?" and thumped and bashed him.
Then cried the Porter, "Thy clitoris," whereat the eldest
lady came down upon him with a yet sorer beating, and said, "No;"
and he said, " 'Tis so," and the Porter went on calling the same
commodity by sundry other names, but whatever he said they beat
him more and more till his neck ached and swelled with the blows
he had gotten; and on this wise they made him a butt and a
laughing stock. At last he turned upon them asking, And what do
you women call this article?" Whereto the damsel made answer,
"The basil of the bridges." Cried the Porter, "Thank
Allah for my safety: aid me and be thou propitious, O basil of
the bridges!" They passed round the cup and tossed off the bowl
again, when the second lady stood up; and, stripping off all her
clothes, cast herself into the cistern and did as the first had
done; then she came out of the water and throwing her naked form
on the Porter's lap pointed to her machine and said, "O light of
mine eyes, do tell me what is the name of this concern?" He
replied as before, "Thy slit;" and she rejoined, "Hath such term
no shame for thee?" and cuffed him and buffeted him till the
saloon rang with the blows. Then quoth she, "O fie! O fie! how
canst thou say this without blushing?" He suggested, "The basil
of the bridges;" but she would not have it and she said, "No!
no!" and stuck him and slapped him on the back of the neck. Then
he began calling out all the names he knew, "Thy slit, thy womb,
thy coynte, thy clitoris;" and the girls kept on saying, "No!
no!" So he said, "I stick to the basil of the bridges;" and all
the three laughed till they fell on their backs and laid slaps on
his neck and said, "No! no! that's not its proper name."
Thereupon he cried, "O my sisters, what is its name?" and they
replied, "What sayest thou to the husked sesame seed?" Then the
cateress donned her clothes and they fell again to carousing, but
the Porter kept moaning, "Oh! and Oh!" for his neck and
shoulders, and the cup passed merrily round and round again for a
full hour. After that time the eldest and handsomest lady stood
up and stripped off her garments, whereupon the Porter took his
neck in hand, and rubbed and shampoo'd it, saying, "My neck and
shoulders are on the way of Allah!" Then she threw
herself into the basin, and swam and dived, sported and washed;
and the Porter looked at her naked figure as though she had been
a slice of the moon and at her face with the sheen of
Luna when at full, or like the dawn when it brighteneth, and he
noted her noble stature and shape, and those glorious forms that
quivered as she went; for she was naked as the Lord made her.
Then he cried "Alack! Alack!"and began to address her, versifying
in these couplets:--

"If I liken thy shape to the bough when green  My likeness errs
     and I sore mistake it;
For the bough is fairest when clad the most  And thou art
     fairest when mother naked."

When the lady heard his verses she came up out of the basin and,
seating herself upon his lap and knees, pointed to her genitory
and said, "O my lordling, what be the name of this?" Quoth he,
"The basil of the bridges;" but she said, "Bah, bah!" Quoth he,
"The husked sesame;" quoth she, "Pooh, pooh!" Then said he, "Thy
womb;" and she cried, "Fie, Fie! art thou not ashamed of
thyself?" and cuffed him on the nape of the neck. And whatever
name he gave declaring " 'Tis so," she beat him and cried "No!
no!" till at last he said, "O my sisters, and what is its name?"
She replied, "It is entitled the Khan of Abu Mansur;"
whereupon the Porter replied, "Ha! ha! O Allah be praised for
safe deliverance! O Khan of Abu Mansur!" Then she came forth and
dressed and the cup went round a full hour. At last the Porter
rose up, and stripping off all his clothes, jumped into the tank
and swam about and washed under his bearded chin and armpits,
even as they had done. Then he came out and threw himself into
the first lady's lap and rested his arms upon the lap of the
portress, and reposed his legs in the lap of the cateress and
pointed to his prickle and said, "O my mistresses, what
is the name of this article?" All laughed at his words till they
fell on their backs, and one said, "Thy pintle!" But he replied,
"No!" and gave each one of them a bite by way of forfeit. Then
said they, "Thy pizzle!" but he cried "No," and gave each of them
a hug; And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying
her permitted say.

                  When it was the Tenth Night,

Quoth her sister Dunyazad, "Finish for us thy story;" and she
answered, "With joy and goodly greet" It hath reached me, O
auspicious King, that the damsels stinted not saying to the
Porter "Thy prickle, thy pintle, thy pizzle," and he ceased not
kissing and biting and hugging until his heart was satisfied, and
they laughed on till they could no more. At last one said, "O our
brother, what, then, is it called?" Quoth he, "Know ye not?"
Quoth they, "No!" "Its veritable name," said he, "is mule Burst
all, which browseth on the basil of the bridges, and muncheth the
husked sesame, and nighteth in the Khan of Abu Mansur." Then
laughed they till they fell on their backs, and returned to their
carousel, and ceased not to be after this fashion till night
began to fall. Thereupon said they to the Porter,
''Bismillah, O our master, up and on with those sorry old
shoes of thine and turn thy face and show us the breadth of thy
shoulders!" Said he, "By Allah, to part with my soul would be
easier for me than departing from you: come let us join night to
day, and tomorrow morning we will each wend our own way." "My
life on you," said the procuratrix, "suffer him to tarry with us,
that we may laugh at him: we may live out our lives and never
meet with his like, for surely he is a right merry rogue and a
witty." So they said, "Thou must not remain with us this
night save on condition that thou submit to our commands, and
that whatso thou seest, thou ask no questions there anent, nor
enquire of its cause." "All right," rejoined he, and they said,
"Go read the writing over the door." So he rose and went to the
entrance and there found written in letters of gold wash; WHOSO
SPEAKETH OF WHAT CONCERNETH HIM NOT, SHALL HEAR WHAT PLEASETH HIM
NOT!  The Porter said, Be ye witnesses against me that I
will not speak on whatso concerneth me not." Then the cateress
arose, and set food before them and they ate; after which they
changed their drinking place for an other, and she lighted the
lamps and candles and burned amber gris and aloes wood, and set
on fresh fruit and the wine service, when they fell to carousing
and talking of their lovers. And they ceased not to eat and drink
and chat, nibbling dry fruits and laughing and playing tricks for
the space of a full hour when lo! a knock was heard at the gate.
The knocking in no wise dis turbed the seance, but one of them
rose and went to see what it was and presently returned, saying,
"Truly our pleasure for this night is to be perfect." "How is
that?" asked they; and she answered, "At the gate be three
Persian Kalandars with their beards and heads and
eyebrows shaven; and all three blind of the left eye--which is
surely a strange chance. They are foreigners from Roum-land with
the mark of travel plain upon them; they have just entered
Baghdad, this being their first visit to our city; and the cause
of their knocking at our door is simply because they cannot find
a lodging. Indeed one of them said to me:--Haply the owner of
this mansion will let us have the key of his stable or some old
out house wherein we may pass this night; for evening had
surprised them and, being strangers in the land, they knew none
who would give them shelter. And, O my sisters, each of them is a
figure o' fun after his own fashion; and if we let them in we
shall have matter to make sport of." She gave not over persuading
them till they said to her, "Let them in, and make thou the usual
condition with them that they speak not of what concerneth them
not, lest they hear what pleaseth them not." So she rejoiced and
going to the door presently returned with the three monoculars
whose beards and mustachios were clean shaven. They
salam'd and stood afar off by way of respect; but the three
ladies rose up to them and welcomed them and wished them joy of
their safe arrival and made them sit down. The Kalandars looked
at the room and saw that it was a pleasant place, clean swept and
garnished with cowers; and the lamps were burning and the smoke
of perfumes was spireing in air; and beside the dessert and
fruits and wine, there were three fair girls who might be
maidens; so they exclaimed with one voice, "By Allah, 'tis good!"
Then they turned to the Porter and saw that he was a merry faced
wight, albeit he was by no means sober and was sore after his
slappings. So they thought that he was one of themselves and
said, "A mendicant like us! whether Arab or foreigner."
But when the Porter heard these words, he rose up, and fixing his
eyes fiercely upon them, said, "Sit ye here without exceeding in
talk! Have you not read what is writ over the door? surely it
befitteth not fellows who come to us like paupers to wag your
tongues at us." "We crave thy pardon, O Fakir," rejoined
they, "and our heads are between thy hands." The ladies laughed
consumedly at the squabble; and, making peace between the
Kalandars and the Porter, seated the new guests before meat and
they ate. Then they sat together, and the portress served them
with drink; and, as the cup went round merrily, quoth the Porter
to the askers, "And you, O brothers mine, have ye no story or
rare adventure to amuse us withal?" Now the warmth of wine having
mounted to their heads they called for musical instruments; and
the portress brought them a tambourine of Mosul, and a lute of
Irak, and a Persian harp; and each mendicant took one and tuned
it; this the tambourine and those the lute and the harp, and
struck up a merry tune while the ladies sang so lustily that
there was a great noise. And whilst they were carrying
on, behold, some one knocked at the gate, and the portress went
to see what was the matter there. Now the cause of that knocking,
O King (quoth Shahrazad) was this, the Caliph, Harun al-Rashid,
had gone forth from the palace, as was his wont now and then, to
solace himself in the city that night, and to see and hear what
new thing was stirring; he was in merchant's gear, and he was
attended by Ja'afar, his Wazir, and by Masrur his Sworder of
Vengeance. As they walked about the city, their way led
them towards the house of the three ladies; where they heard the
loud noise of musical instruments and singing and merriment; so
quoth the Caliph to Ja'afar, "I long to enter this house and hear
those songs and see who sing them." Quoth Ja'afar, "O Prince of
the Faithful; these folk are surely drunken with wine, and I fear
some mischief betide us if we get amongst them." "There is no
help but that I go in there," replied the Caliph, "and I desire
thee to contrive some pretext for our appearing among them."
Ja'afar replied, "I hear and I obey;" and knocked at the
door, whereupon the portress came out and opened. Then Ja'afar
came forward and kissing the ground before her said, "O my lady,
we be merchants from Tiberias town: we arrived at Baghdad ten
days ago; and, alighting at the merchants' caravanserai, we sold
all our merchandise. Now a certain trader invited us to an
entertainment this night; so we went to his house and he set food
before us and we ate: then we sat at wine and wassail with him
for an hour or so when he gave us leave to depart; and we went
out from him in the shadow of the night and, being strangers, we
could not find our way back to our Khan. So haply of your
kindness and courtesy you will suffer us to tarry with you this
night, and Heaven will reward you!" The portress looked
upon them and seeing them dressed like merchants and men of grave
looks and solid, she returned to her sisters and repeated to them
Ja'afar's story; and they took compassion upon the strangers and
said to her, "Let them enter." She opened the door to them, when
said they to her, "Have we thy leave to come in?" "Come in,"
quoth she; and the Caliph entered followed by Ja'afar and Masrur;
and when the girls saw them they stood up to them in respect and
made them sit down and looked to their wants, saying, "Welcome,
and well come and good cheer to the guests, but with one
condition!" "What is that?" asked they, and one of the ladies
answered, "Speak not of what concerneth you not, lest ye hear
what pleaseth you not." "Even so," said they; and sat down to
their wine and drank deep. Presently the Caliph looked on the
three Kalandars and, seeing them each and every blind of the left
eye, wondered at the sight; then he gazed upon the girls and he
was startled and he marvelled with exceeding marvel at their
beauty and loveliness. They continued to carouse and to converse
and said to the Caliph, "Drink!" but he replied, "I am vowed to
Pilgrimage;" and drew back from the wine. Thereupon the
portress rose and spreading before him a table cloth worked with
gold, set thereon a porcelain bowl into which she poured willow
flower water with a lump of snow and a spoonful of sugar candy.
The Caliph thanked her and said in himself,"By Allah, I will
recompense her to morrow for the kind deed she hath done." The
others again addressed themselves to conversing and carousing;
and, when the wine gat the better of them, the eldest lady who
ruled the house rose and making obeisance to them took the
cateress by the hand, and said, "Rise, O my sister and let us do
what is our devoir." Both answered "Even so!" Then the portress
stood up and proceeded to remove the table service and the
remnants of the banquet; and renewed the pastiles and cleared the
middle of the saloon. Then she made the Kalandars sit upon a sofa
at the side of the estrade, and seated the Caliph and Ja'afar and
Masrur on the other side of the saloon; after which she called
the Porter, and said, "How scanty is thy courtesy! now thou art
no stranger; nay, thou art one of the household." So he stood up
and, tightening his waist cloth, asked, "What would ye I do?" and
she answered, "Stand in thy place." Then the procuratrix rose and
set in the midst of the saloon a low chair and, opening a closet,
cried to the Porter, "Come help me." So he went to help her and
saw two black bitches with chains round their necks; and she said
to him, "Take hold of them;" and he took them and led them into
the middle of the saloon. Then the lady of the house arose and
tucked up her sleeves above her wrists and, seizing a scourge,
said to the Porter, "Bring forward one of the bitches." He
brought her forward, dragging her by the chain, while the bitch
wept, and shook her head at the lady who, however, came down upon
her with blows on the sconce; and the bitch howled and the lady
ceased not beating her till her forearm failed her. Then, casting
the scourge from her hand, she pressed the bitch to her bosom
and, wiping away her tears with her hands, kissed her head. Then
she said to the Porter, "Take her away and bring the second;"
and, when he brought her, she did with her as she had done with
the first. Now the heart of the Caliph, was touched at these
cruel doings; his chest straitened and he lost all patience in
his desire to know why the two bitches were so beaten. He threw a
wink at Ja'afar wishing him to ask, but; the Minister turning
towards him said by signs, "Be silent!" Then quoth the portress
to the mistress of the house, "O my lady, arise and go to thy
place that I in turn may do my devoir." She answered,
"Even so"; and, taking her seat upon the couch of juniper wood,
pargetted with gold and silver, said to the portress and
cateress, "Now do ye what ye have to do." Thereupon the portress
sat upon a low seat by the couch side; but the procuretrix,
entering a closet, brought out of it a bag of satin with green
fringes and two tassels of gold. She stood up before the lady of
the house and shaking the bag drew out from it a lute which she
tuned by tightening its pegs; and when it was in perfect order,
she began to sing these quatrains:--

"Ye are the wish, the aim of me And when, O Love, thy sight I
     see
The heavenly mansion openeth;  But Hell I see when
     lost thy sight.
From thee comes madness; nor the less  Comes highest joy,
     comes ecstasy:
Nor in my love for thee I fear  Or shame and blame, or hate and
     spite.
When Love was throned within my heart  I rent the veil of
     modesty;
And stints not Love to rend that veil  Garring disgrace on grace
     to alight;
The robe of sickness then I donned  But rent to rags was
     secrecy:
Wherefore my love and longing heart  Proclaim your high
     supremest might;
The tear drop railing adown my cheek  Telleth my tale of
     ignomy:
And all the hid was seen by all  And all my riddle ree'd aright.

Heal then my malady, for thou  Art malady and remedy!
But she whose cure is in thy hand  Shall ne'er be free of bane
     and blight;
Burn me those eyne that radiance rain  Slay me the swords of
     phantasy;
How many hath the sword of Love  Laid low, their high degree
     despite?
Yet will I never cease to pine  Nor to oblivion will I flee.
Love is my health, my faith, my joy  Public and private, wrong
     or right.
O happy eyes that sight thy charms  That gaze upon thee at their
     gree!
Yea, of my purest wish and will  The slave of Love I'll aye be
     hight."

When the damsel heard this elegy in quatrains she cried out
"Alas! Alas!" and rent her raiment, and fell to the ground
fainting; and the Caliph saw scars of the palm rod on her
back and welts of the whip; and marvelled with exceeding wonder.
Then the portress arose and sprinkled water on her and brought
her a fresh and very fine dress and put it on her. But when the
company beheld these doings their minds were troubled, for they
had no inkling of the case nor knew the story thereof; so the
Caliph said to Ja'afar, "Didst thou not see the scars upon the
damsel's body? I cannot keep silence or be at rest till I learn
the truth of her condition and the story of this other maiden and
the secret of the two black bitches." But Ja'afar answered, "O
our lord, they made it a condition with us that we speak not of
what concerneth us not, lest we come to hear what pleaseth us
not." Then said the portress "By Allah, O my sister, come to me
and complete this service for me." Replied the procuratrix, "With
joy and goodly gree;" so she took the lute; and leaned it against
her breasts and swept the strings with her finger tips, and began
singing:--

"Give back mine eyes their sleep long ravished  And say me
     whither be my reason fled:
I learnt that lending to thy love a place  Sleep to mine eyelids
     mortal foe was made.
They said, "We held thee righteous, who waylaid  Thy soul?" "Go
     ask his glorious eyes," I said.
I pardon all my blood he pleased to spill  Owning his troubles
     drove him blood to shed.
On my mind's mirror sun like sheen he cast  Whose keen
     reflection fire in vitals bred
Waters of Life let Allah waste at will  Suffice my wage those
     lips of dewy red:
An thou address my love thou'lt find a cause  For plaint and
     tears or ruth or lustihed.
In water pure his form shall greet your eyne  When fails the
     bowl nor need ye drink of wine."

Then she quoted from the same ode:--


"I drank, but the draught of his glance, not wine,  And his
     swaying gait swayed to sleep these eyne:
'Twas not grape juice grips me but grasp of Past  'Twas not bowl
     o'erbowled me but gifts divine:
His coiling curl-lets my soul ennetted  And his cruel will all
     my wits outwitted."

After a pause she resumed:--

"If we 'plain of absence what shall we say?  Or if pain afflict
     us where wend our way?
An I hire a truchman to tell my tale  The lover's plaint
     is not told for pay:
If I put on patience, a lover's life  After loss of love will
     not last a day:
Naught is left me now but regret, repine  And tears flooding
     cheeks for ever and aye:
O thou who the babes of these eyes hast fled  Thou art
     homed in heart that shall never stray
Would heaven I wot hast thou kept our pact  Long as stream shall
     flow, to have firmest fey?
Or hast forgotten the weeping slave  Whom groans afflict and
     whom griefs waylay?
Ah, when severance ends and we side by side  Couch, I'll blame
     thy rigours and chide thy pride!"

Now when the portress heard her second ode she shrieked aloud and
said, "By Allah! 'tis right good!"; and laying hands on her
garments tore them, as she did the first time, and fell to the
ground fainting. Thereupon the procuratrix rose end brought her a
second change of clothes after she had sprinkled water on her.
She recovered and sat upright and said to her sister the
cateress, "Onwards, and help me in my duty, for there remains but
this one song." So the provisioneress again brought out the lute
and began to sing these verses:--

"How long shall last, how long this rigour rife of woe  May not
     suffice thee all these tears thou seest flow?
Our parting thus with purpose fell thou dost prolong  Is't not
     enough to glad the heart of envious foe?
Were but this lying world once true to lover heart  He had not
     watched the weary night in tears of woe:
Oh pity me whom overwhelmed thy cruel will  My lord, my king,
     'tis time some ruth to me thou show:
To whom reveal my wrongs, O thou who murdered me?  Sad,
     who of broken troth the pangs must undergo!
Increase wild love for thee and phrenzy hour by hour  And days
     of exile minute by so long, so slow;
O Moslems, claim vendetta for this slave of Love 
     Whose sleep Love ever wastes, whose patience Love lays low:
Doth law of Love allow thee, O my wish! to lie  Lapt in
     another's arms and unto me cry Go!?
Yet in thy presence, say, what joys shall I enjoy  When he I
     love but works my love to overthrow?"

When the portress heard the third song she cried aloud; and,
laying hands on her garments, rent them down to the very skirt
and fell to the ground fainting a third time, again showing the
scars of the scourge. Then said the three Kalandars, "Would
Heaven we had never entered this house, but had rather righted on
the mounds and heaps outside the city! for verily our visit hath
been troubled by sights which cut to the heart." The Caliph
turned to them and asked, "Why so?" and they made answer, "Our
minds are sore troubled by this matter." Quoth the Caliph, "Are
ye not of the household?" and quoth they, "No; nor indeed did we
ever set eyes on the place till within this hour." Hereat the
Caliph marvelled and rejoined, "This man who sitteth by you,
would he not know the secret of the matter?" and so saying he
winked and made signs at the Porter. So they questioned the man
but he replied, "By the All might of Allah, in love all are
alike! I am the growth of Baghdad, yet never in my born
days did I darken these doors till to day and my companying with
them was a curious matter." "By Allah," they rejoined, "we took
thee for one of them and now we see thou art one like ourselves."
Then said the Caliph, "We be seven men, and they only three women
without even a fourth to help them; so let us question them of
their case; and, if they answer us not, fain we will be answered
by force." All of them agreed to this except Ja'afar who
said, "This is not my recking; let them be; for we are
their guests and, as ye know, they made a compact and condition
with us which we accepted and promised to keep: wherefore it is
better that we be silent concerning this matter; and, as but
little of the night remaineth, let each and every of us gang his
own gait." Then he winked at the Caliph and whispered to him,
"There is but one hour of darkness left and I can bring them
before thee to morrow, when thou canst freely question them all
concerning their story." But the Caliph raised his head haughtily
and cried out at him in wrath, saying, "I have no patience left
for my longing to hear of them: let the Kalandars question them
forthright." Quoth Ja'afar, "This is not my rede." Then words ran
high and talk answered talk, and they disputed as to who should
first put the question, but at last all fixed upon the Porter.
And as the jingle increased the house mistress could not but
notice it and asked them, "O ye folk! on what matter are ye
talking so loudly?" Then the Porter stood up respectfully before
her and said, "O my lady, this company earnestly desire that thou
acquaint them with the story of the two bitches and what maketh
thee punish them so cruelly; and then thou fallest to weeping
over them and kissing them; and lastly they want to hear the tale
of thy sister and why she hath been bastinado'd with palm sticks
like a man. These are the questions they charge me to put, and
peace be with thee." Thereupon quoth she who was the lady
of the house to the guests, "Is this true that he saith on your
part?" and all replied, "Yes!" save Ja'afar who kept silence.
When she heard these words she cried, "By Allah, ye have wronged
us, O our guests. with grievous wronging; for when you came
before us we made compact and condition with you, that whoso
should speak of what concerneth him not should hear what pleaseth
him not. Sufficeth ye not that we took you into our house and fed
you with our best food? But the fault is not so much yours as
hers who let you in." Then she tucked up her sleeves from her
wrists and struck the floor thrice with her hand crying, "Come ye
quickly;" and lo! a closet door opened and out of it came seven
negro slaves with drawn swords in hand to whom she said, "Pinion
me those praters' elbows and bind them each to each." They did
her bidding and asked her, "O veiled and virtuous! is it thy high
command that we strike off their heads?"; but she answered,
"Leave them awhile that I question them of their condition,
before their necks feel the sword." "By Allah, O my lady!" cried
the Porter, "slay me not for other's sin; all these men offended
and deserve the penalty of crime save myself. Now by Allah, our
night had been charming had we escaped the mortification of those
monocular Kalandars whose entrance into a populous city would
convert it into a howling wilderness." Then he repeated these
verses :

"How fair is ruth the strong man deigns not smother!  And
     fairest fair when shown to weakest brother:
By Love's own holy tie between us twain,  Let one not suffer for
     the sin of other."

When the Porter ended his verse the lady laughed. And Shahrazad
perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.

                When It was the Eleventh Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the lady,
after laughing at the Porter despite her wrath, came up to the
party and spake thus, "Tell me who ye be, for ye have but an hour
of life; and were ye not men of rank and, perhaps, notables of
your tribes, you had not been so froward and I had hastened your
doom." Then said the Caliph, "Woe to thee, O Ja'afar, tell her
who we are lest we be slain by mistake; and speak her fair be
fore some horror befal us." "'Tis part of thy deserts,"replied
he; whereupon the Caliph cried out at him saying, "There is a
time for witty words and there is a time for serious work." Then
the lady accosted the three Kalandars and asked them, "Are ye
brothers?"; when they answered, "No, by Allah, we be naught but
Fakirs and foreigners." Then quoth she to one among them, "Wast
thou born blind of one eye?"; and quoth he, "No, by Allah, 'twas
a marvellous matter and a wondrous mischance which caused my eye
to be torn out, and mine is a tale which, if it were written upon
the eye corners with needle gravers, were a warner to whoso would
be warned." She questioned the second and third Kalandar;
but all replied like the first, "By Allah, O our mistress, each
one of us cometh from a different country, and we are all three
the sons of Kings, sovereign Princes ruling over suzerains and
capital cities." Thereupon she turned towards them and said, "Let
each and every of you tell me his tale in due order and explain
the cause of his coming to our place; and if his story please us
let him stroke his head and wend his way." The first to
come forward was the Hammal, the Porter, who said, "O my lady, I
am a man and a porter. This dame, the cateress, hired me to carry
a load and took me first to the shop of a vintner, then to the
booth of a butcher; thence to the stall of a fruiterer; thence to
a grocer who also sold dry fruits; thence to a confectioner and a
perfumer cum druggist and from him to this place where there
happened to me with you what happened. Such is my story and peace
be on us all!" At this the lady laughed and said, "Rub thy head
and wend thy ways!"; but he cried, "By Allah, I will not stump it
till I hear the stories of my companions." Then came forward one
of the Monoculars and began to tell her





The First Kalandar's Tale.


Know, O my lady, that the cause of my beard being shorn and my
eye being out torn was as follows. My father was a King and he
had a brother who was a King over another city; and it came to
pass that I and my cousin, the son of my paternal uncle, were
both born on one and the same day. And years and days rolled on;
and, as we grew up, I used to visit my uncle every now and then
and to spend a certain number of months with him. Now my cousin
and I were sworn friends; for he ever entreated me with exceeding
kindness; he killed for me the fattest sheep and strained the
best of his wines, and we enjoyed long conversing and carousing.
One day when the wine had gotten the better of us, the son of my
uncle said to me, "O my cousin, I have a great service to ask of
thee; and I desire that thou stay me not in whatso I desire to
do!" And I replied, "With joy and goodly will." Then he made me
swear the most binding oaths and left me; but after a little
while he returned leading a lady veiled and richly apparelled
with ornaments worth a large sum of money. Presently he turned to
me (the woman being still behind him) and said, "Take this lady
with thee and go before me to such a burial ground" (describing
it, so that I knew the place), "and enter with her into such a
sepulchre and there await my coming." The oaths I swore
to him made me keep silence and suffered me not to oppose him; so
I led the woman to the cemetery and both I and she took our seats
in the sepulchre; and hardly had we sat down when in came my
uncle's son, with a bowl of water, a bag of mortar and an adze
somewhat like a hoe. He went straight to the tomb in the midst of
the sepulchre and, breaking it open with the adze set the stones
on one side; then he fell to digging into the earth of the tomb
till he came upon a large iron plate, the size of a wicket door;
and on raising it there appeared below it a staircase vaulted and
winding. Then he turned to the lady and said to her, "Come now
and take thy final choice!" She at once went down by the
staircase and disappeared; then quoth he to me, "O son of my
uncle, by way of completing thy kindness, when I shall have
descended into this place, restore the trap door to where it was,
and heap back the earth upon it as it lay before; and then of thy
goodness mix this unslaked lime which is in the bag with this
water which is in the bowl and, after building up the stones,
plaster the outside so that none looking upon it shall say:--This
is a new opening in an old tomb. For a whole year have I worked
at this place whereof none knoweth but Allah, and this is the
need I have of thee;" presently adding, "May Allah never bereave
thy friends of thee nor make them desolate by thine absence, O
son of my uncle, O my dear cousin!" And he went down the stairs
and disappeared for ever. When he was lost to sight I replaced
the iron plate and did all his bidding till the tomb became as it
was before and I worked almost unconsciously for my head was
heated with wine. Returning to the palace of my uncle, I was told
that he had gone forth a-sporting and hunting; so I slept that
night without seeing him; and, when the morning dawned, I
remembered the scenes of the past evening and what happened
between me and my cousin; I repented of having obeyed him when
penitence was of no avail, I still thought, however, that it was
a dream. So I fell to asking for the son of my uncle; but there
was none to answer me concerning him; and I went out to the
grave-yard and the sepulchres, and sought for the tomb under
which he was, but could not find it; and I ceased not wandering
about from sepulchre to sepulchre, and tomb to tomb, all without
success, till night set in. So I returned to the city, yet I
could neither eat nor drink; my thoughts being engrossed with my
cousin, for that I knew not what was become of him; and I grieved
with exceeding grief and passed another sorrowful night, watching
until the morning. Then went I a second time to the cemetery,
pondering over what the son of mine uncle had done; and, sorely
repenting my hearkening to him, went round among all the tombs,
but could not find the tomb I sought. I mourned over the past,
and remained in my mourning seven days, seeking the place and
ever missing the path. Then my torture of scruples grew
upon me till I well nigh went mad, and I found no way to dispel
my grief save travel and return to my father. So I set out and
journeyed homeward; but as I was entering my father's capital a
crowd of rioters sprang upon me and pinioned me. I
wondered thereat with all wonderment, seeing that I was the son
of the Sultan, and these men were my father's subjects and
amongst them were some of my own slaves. A great fear fell upon
me, and I said to my soul, "Would heaven I knew what hath
happened to my father!" I questioned those that bound me of the
cause of their doing, but they returned me no answer. However,
after a while one of them said to me (and he had been a hired
servant of our house), "Fortune hath been false to thy father;
his troops betrayed him and the Wazir who slew him now reigneth
in his stead and we lay in wait to seize thee by the bidding of
him." I was well nigh distraught and felt ready to faint on
hearing of my father's death; when they carried me off and placed
me in presence of the usurper. Now between me and him there was
an olden grudge, the cause of which was this. I was fond of
shooting with the stone bow, and it befel one day as I
was standing on the terrace roof of the palace, that a bird
lighted on the top of the Wazir's house when he happened to be
there. I shot at the bird and missed the mark; but I hit the
Wazir's eye and knocked it out as fate and fortune decreed. Even
so saith the poet:--

We tread the path where Fate hath led  The path Fate writ we
     fain must tread:
And man in one land doomed to die  Death no where else shall do
     him dead.

And on like wise saith another:--

Let Fortune have her wanton way  Take heart and all her words
     obey:
Nor joy nor mourn at anything  For all things pass and no things
     stay.

Now when I knocked out the Wazir's eye he could not say a single
word, for that my father was King of the city; but he hated me
everafter and dire was the grudge thus caused between us twain.
So when I was set before him hand bound and pinioned, he
straightway gave orders for me to be beheaded. I asked, "For what
crime wilt thou put me to death?"; whereupon he answered, "What
crime is greater than this?" pointing the while to the place
where his eye had been Quoth I, "This I did by accident not of
malice prepense;" and quoth he, "If thou didst it by accident, I
will do the like by thee with intention.'' Then cried he,
"Bring him forward," and they brought me up to him, when he
thrust his finger into my left eye and gouged it out; whereupon I
became one eyed as ye see me. Then he bade bind me hand and foot,
and put me into a chest and said to the sworder, "Take charge of
this fellow, and go off with him to the waste lands about the
city; then draw thy scymitar and slay him, and leave him to feed
the beasts and birds." So the headsman fared forth with me and
when he was in the midst of the desert, he took me out of the
chest (and I with both hands pinioned and both feet fettered) and
was about to bandage my eyes before striking off my head. But I
wept with exceeding weeping until I made him weep with me and,
looking at him I began to recite these couplets:--

"I deemed you coat o' mail that should withstand  The foeman's
     shafts, and you proved foeman's brand
I hoped your aidance in mine every chance  Though fail my left
     to aid my dexter hand:
Aloof you stand and hear the railer's gibe  While rain their
     shafts on me the giber-band:
But an ye will not guard me from my foes  Stand clear, and
     succour neither these nor those!"

And I also quoted:--

"I deemed my brethren mail of strongest steel  And so they were--
     from foes I to fend my dart!
I deemed their arrows surest of their aim;  And so they were--
     when aiming at my heart!"

When the headsman heard my lines (he had been sworder to my sire
and he owed me a debt of gratitude) he cried, "O my lord, what
can I do, being but a slave under orders?" presently adding, "Fly
for thy life and nevermore return to this land, or they will slay
thee and slay me with thee, even as the poet said:--

Take thy life and fly whenas evils threat;  Let the ruined house
     tell its owner's fate:
New land for the old thou shalt seek and find  But to find new
     life thou must not await.
Strange that men should sit in the stead of shame,  When Allah's
     world is so wide and great!
And trust not other, in matters grave  Life itself must act for
     a life beset:
Ne'er would prowl the lion with maned neck,  Did he reckon on
     aid or of others reck."

Hardly believing in my escape, I kissed his hand and thought the
loss of my eye a light matter in consideration of my escaping
from being slain. I arrived at my uncle's capital; and, going in
to him, told him of what had befallen my father and myself;
whereat he wept with sore weeping and said, "Verily thou addest
grief to my grief, and woe to my woe; for thy cousin hath been
missing these many days; I wot not what hath happened to him, and
none can give me news of him." And he wept till he fainted. I
sorrowed and condoled with him; and he would have applied certain
medicaments to my eye, but he saw that it was become as a walnut
with the shell empty. Then said he, "O my son, better to lose eye
and keep life!" After that I could no longer remain silent about
my cousin, who was his only son and one dearly loved, so I told
him all that had happened. He rejoiced with extreme joyance to
hear news of his son and said, "Come now and show me the tomb;"
but I replied, "By Allah, O my uncle, I know not its place,
though I sought it carefully full many times, yet could not find
the site." However, I and my uncle went to the grave yard and
looked right and left, till at last I recognised the tomb and we
both rejoiced with exceeding joy. We entered the sepulchre and
loosened the earth about the grave; then, up raising the trap
door, descended some fifty steps till we came to the foot of the
staircase when lo! we were stopped by a blinding smoke. Thereupon
said my uncle that saying whose sayer shall never come to shame,
"There is no Majesty and there is no Might, save in Allah, the
Glorious, the Great!" and we advanced till we suddenly came upon
a saloon, whose floor was strewed with flour and grain and
provisions and all manner necessaries; and in the midst of it
stood a canopy sheltering a couch. Thereupon my uncle went up to
the couch and inspecting it found his son and the lady who had
gone down with him into the tomb, lying in each other's embrace;
but the twain had become black as charred wood; it was as if they
had been cast into a pit of fire. When my uncle saw this
spectacle, he spat in his son's face and said, "Thou hast thy
deserts, O thou hog! this is thy judgment in the
transitory world, and yet remaineth the judgment in the world to
come, a durer and a more enduring "-- And Shahrazad perceived the
dawn of day and ceased saying her permitted say.

                 When it was the Twelfth Night,

She continued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the
Kalandar thus went on with his story before the lady and the
Caliph and Ja'afar:--My uncle struck his son with his
slipper as he lay there a black heap of coal. I marvelled
at his hardness of heart, and grieving for my cousin and the
lady, said, "By Allah, O my uncle, calm thy wrath: dost thou not
see that all my thoughts are occupied with this misfortune, and
how sorrowful I am for what hath befallen thy son, and how
horrible it is that naught of him remaineth but a black heap of
charcoal? And is not that enough, but thou must smite him with
thy slipper?" Answered he,"O son of my brother, this youth from
his boyhood was madly in love with his own sister; and
often and often I forbade him from her, saying to myself:--They
are but little ones. However, when they grew up sin befel between
them; and, although I could hardly believe it, I confined him and
chided him and threatened him with the severest threats; and the
eunuchs and servants said to him:--Beware of so foul a thing
which none before thee ever did, and which none after thee will
ever do; and have a care lest thou be dishonoured and disgraced
among the Kings of the day, even to the end of time. And I
added:--Such a report as this will be spread abroad by caravans,
and take heed not to give them cause to talk or I will assuredly
curse thee and do thee to death. After that I lodged them apart
and shut her up; but the accursed girl loved him with passionate
love, for Satan had got the mastery of her as well as of him and
made their foul sin seem fair in their sight. Now when my son saw
that I separated them, he secretly built this souterrain and
furnished it and transported to it victuals, even as thou seest;
and, when I had gone out a-sporting, came here with his sister
and hid from me. Then His righteous judgment fell upon the twain
and consumed them with fire from Heaven; and verily the last
judgment will deal them durer pains and more enduring!" Then he
wept and I wept with him; and he looked at me and said, "Thou art
my son in his stead." And I bethought me awhile of the world and
of its chances, how the Wazir had slain my father and had taken
his place and had put out my eye; and how my cousin had come to
his death by the strangest chance: and I wept again and my uncle
wept with me. Then we mounted the steps and let down the iron
plate and heaped up the earth over it; and, after restoring the
tomb to its former condition, we returned to the palace. But
hardly had we sat down ere we heard the tomtoming of the kettle
drum and tantara of trumpets and clash of cymbals; and the
rattling of war men's lances; and the clamours of assailants and
the clanking of bits and the neighing of steeds; while the world
was canopied with dense dust and sand clouds raised by the
horses' hoofs. We were amazed at sight and sound, knowing
not what could be the matter; so we asked and were told us that
the Wazir who usurped my father's kingdom had marched his men;
and that after levying his soldiery and taking a host of wild
Arabs into service, he had come down upon us with armies
like the sands of the sea; their number none could tell and
against them none could prevail. They attacked the city unawares;
and the citizens, being powerless to oppose them, surrendered the
place: my uncle was slain and I made for the suburbs saying to
myself, "If thou fall into this villain's hands he will assuredly
kill thee." On this wise all my troubles were renewed; and I
pondered all that had betided my father and my uncle and I knew
not what to do; for if the city people or my father's troops had
recognised me they would have done their best to win favour by
destroying me; and I could think of no way to escape save by
shaving off my beard and my eyebrows. So I shore them off and,
changing my fine clothes for a Kalandar's rags, I fared forth
from my uncle's capital and made for this city; hoping that
peradventure some one would assist me to the presence of the
Prince of the Faithful, and the Caliph who is the
Viceregent of Allah upon earth. Thus have I come hither that I
might tell him my tale and lay my case before him. I arrived here
this very night, and was standing in doubt whither I should go,
when suddenly I saw this second Kalandar; so I salam'd to him
saying--"I am a stranger!" and he answered:--"I too am a
stranger!" And as we were conversing behold, up came our
companion, this third Kalandar, and saluted us saying:--"I am a
stranger!" And we answered:--"We too be strangers!" Then we three
walked on and together till darkness overtook us and Destiny
crave us to your house. Such, then, is the cause of the shaving
of my beard and mustachios and eyebrows; and the manner of my
losing my right eye. They marvelled much at this tale and the
Caliph said to Ja'afar, "By Allah, I have not seen nor have I
heard the like of what hath happened to this Kalandar!" Quoth the
lady of the house, "Rub thy head and wend thy ways;" but he
replied, "I will not go, till I hear the history of the two
others." Thereupon the second Kalandar came forward; and, kissing
the ground, began to tell





The Second Kalandar's Tale.


Know, O my lady, that I was not born one eyed and mine is a
strange story; an it were graven with needle graver on the eye
corners, it were a warner to whoso would be warned. I am a King,
son of a King, and was brought up like a Prince. I learned
intoning the Koran according the seven schools; and I
read all manner books, and held disputations on their contents
with the doctors and men of science; moreover I studied star lore
and the fair sayings of poets and I exercised myself in all
branches of learning until I surpassed the people of my time; my
skill in calligraphy exceeded that of all the scribes; and my
fame was bruited abroad over all climes and cities, and all the
kings learned to know my name. Amongst others the King of Hind
heard of me and sent to my father to invite me to his court, with
offerings and presents and rarities such as befit royalties. So
my father fitted out six ships for me and my people; and we put
to sea and sailed for the space of a full month till we made the
land. Then we brought out the horses that were with us in the
ships; and, after loading the camels with our presents for the
Prince, we set forth inland. But we had marched only a little
way, when behold, a dust cloud up flew, and grew until it
walled the horizon from view. After an hour or so the
veil lifted and discovered beneath it fifty horsemen, ravening
lions to the sight, in steel armour dight. We observed them
straightly and lo! they were cutters off of the highway, wild as
wild Arabs. When they saw that we were only four and had with us
but the ten camels carrying the presents, they dashed down upon
us with lances at rest. We signed to them, with our fingers, as
it were saying, "We be messengers of the great King of Hind, so
harm us not!" but they answered on like wise, "We are not in his
dominions to obey nor are we subject to his sway." Then they set
upon us and slew some of my slaves and put the lave to flight;
and I also fled after I had gotten a wound, a grievous hurt,
whilst the Arabs were taken up with the money and the presents
which were with us. I went forth unknowing whither I went, having
become mean as I was mighty; and I fared on until I came to the
crest of a mountain where I took shelter for the night in a cave.
When day arose I set out again, nor ceased after this fashion
till I arrived at a fair city and a well filled. Now it was the
season when Winter was turning away with his rime and to greet
the world with his flowers came Prime, and the young blooms were
springing and the streams flowed ringing, and the birds were
sweetly singing, as saith the poet concerning a certain city when
describing it:--

A place secure from every thought of fear  Safety and peace for
     ever lord it here:
Its beauties seem to beautify its sons  And as in Heaven its
     happy folk appear.

I was glad of my arrival for I was wearied with the way, and
yellow of face for weakness and want; but my plight was pitiable
and I knew not whither to betake me. So I accosted a Tailor
sitting in his little shop and saluted him; he returned my salam,
and bade me kindly welcome and wished me well and entreated me
gently and asked me of the cause of my strangerhood. I told him
all my past from first to last; and he was concerned on my
account and said, "O youth, disclose not thy secret to any: the
King of this city is the greatest enemy thy father hath, and
there is blood wit between them and thou hast cause to
fear for thy life." Then he set meat and drink before me; and I
ate and drank and he with me; and we conversed freely till night
fall, when he cleared me a place in a corner of his shop and
brought me a carpet and a coverlet. I tarried with him three
days; at the end of which time he said to me, "Knowest thou no
calling whereby to win thy living, O my son?" "I am learned in
the law," I replied, "and a doctor of doctrine; an adept in art
and science, a mathematician and a notable penman." He rejoined,
"Thy calling is of no account in our city, where not a soul under
standeth science or even writing or aught save money making."
Then said I, "By Allah, I know nothing but what I have
mentioned;" and he answered, "Gird thy middle and take thee a
hatchet and a cord, and go and hew wood in the wold for thy daily
bread, till Allah send thee relief; and tell none who thou art
lest they slay thee." Then he bought me an axe and a rope and
gave me in charge to certain wood cutters; and with these
guardians I went forth into the forest, where I cut fuel wood the
whole of my day and came back in the evening bearing my bundle on
my head. I sold it for half a diner, with part of which I bought
provision and laid by the rest. In such work I spent a whole year
and when this was ended I went out one day, as was my wont, into
the wilderness; and, wandering away from my companions, I chanced
on a thickly grown lowland in which there was an
abundance of wood. So I entered and I found the gnarled stump of
a great tree and loosened the ground about it and shovelled away
the earth. Presently my hatchet rang upon a copper ring; so I
cleared away the soil and behold, the ring was attached to a
wooden trap door. This I raised and there appeared beneath it a
staircase. I descended the steps to the bottom and came to a
door, which I opened and found myself in a noble hall strong of
structure and beautifully built, where was a damsel like a pearl
of great price, whose favour banished from my heart all grief and
cark and care; and whose soft speech healed the soul in despair
and captivated the wise and ware. Her figure measured five feet
in height; her breasts were firm and upright; her cheek a very
garden of delight; her colour lively bright; her face gleamed
like dawn through curly tresses which gloomed like night, and
above the snows of her bosom glittered teeth of a pearly
white. As the poet said of one like her:--

Slim waisted loveling jetty hair encrowned  A wand of willow on
     a sandy mound:

And as saith another.--

Four things that meet not, save they here unite  To shed my
     heart blood and to rape my sprite:
Brilliantest forehead; tresses jetty bright;  Cheeks rosy red
     and stature beauty dight.

When I looked upon her I prostrated myself before Him who had
created her, for the beauty and loveliness He had shaped in her,
and she looked at me and said, "Art thou man or Jinni?" "I am a
man," answered I, and she, "Now who brought thee to this place
where I have abided five and twenty years without even yet seeing
man in it?" Quoth I (and indeed I found her words wonder sweet,
and my heart was melted to the core by them), "O my lady, my good
fortune led me hither for the dispelling of my cark and care."
Then I related to her all my mishap from first to last, and my
case appeared to her exceeding grievous; so she wept and said, "I
will tell thee my story in my turn. I am the daughter of the King
Ifitamus, lord of the Islands of Abnus, who married me to
my cousin, the son of my paternal uncle; but on my wedding night
an Ifrit named Jirjis bin Rajmus, first cousin that is,
mother's sister's son, of Iblis, the Foul Fiend, snatched me up
and, flying away with me like a bird, set me down in this place,
whither he conveyed all I needed of fine stuffs, raiment and
jewels and furniture, and meat and drink and other else. Once in
every ten days he comes here and lies a single night with me, and
then wends his way, for he took me without the consent of his
family; and he hath agreed with me that if ever I need him by
night or by day, I have only to pass my hand over yonder two
lines engraved upon the alcove, and he will appear to me before
my fingers cease touching. Four days have now passed since he was
here; and, as there remain six days before he come again, say me,
wilt thou abide with me five days, and go hence the day before
his coming?" I replied "Yes, and yes again! O rare, if all this
be not a dream!" Hereat she was glad and, springing to her feet,
seized my hand and carried me through an arched doorway to a
Hammam bath, a fair hall and richly decorate. I doffed my
clothes, and she doffed hers; then we bathed and she washed me;
and when this was done we left the bath, and she seated me by her
side upon a high divan, and brought me sherbet scented with musk.
When we felt cool after the bath, she set food before me and we
ate and fell to talking; but presently she said to me, "Lay thee
down and take thy rest, for surely thou must be weary." So I
thanked her, my lady, and lay down and slept soundly, forgetting
all that had happened to me. When I awoke I found her rubbing and
shampooing my feet; so I again thanked her and blessed
her and we sat for awhile talking. Said she, "By Allah, I was sad
at heart, for that I have dwelt alone underground for these five
and twenty years; and praise be to Allah, who hath sent me some
one with whom I can converse!" Then she asked, "O youth, what
sayest thou to wine?" and I answered, "Do as thou wilt." Where-
upon she went to a cupboard and took out a sealed flask of right
old wine and set off the table with flowers and scented herbs and
began to sing these lines:--

"Had we known of thy coming we fain had dispread  The cores of
     our hearts or the balls of our eyes;
Our cheeks as a carpet to greet thee had thrown  And our eyelids
     had strown for thy feet to betread."

 Now when she finished her verse I thanked her, for indeed love
of her had gotten hold of my heart and my grief and anguish were
gone. We sat at converse and carousel till nightfall, and with
her I spent the night--such night never spent I in all my life!
On the morrow delight followed delight till midday, by which time
I had drunken wine so freely that I had lost my wits, and stood
up, staggering to the right and to the left, and said "Come, O my
charmer, and I will carry thee up from this underground vault and
deliver thee from the spell of thy Jinni." She laughed and
replied "Content thee and hold thy peace: of every ten days one
is for the Ifrit and the other nine are thine." Quoth I (and in
good sooth drink had got the better of me), "This very instant
will I break down the alcove whereon is graven the talisman and
summon the Ifrit that I may slay him, for it is a practice of
mine to slay Ifrits!" When she heard my words her colour waxed
wan and she said, "By Allah, do not!" and she began repeating:--

"This is a thing wherein destruction lies  I rede thee shun it
     an thy wits be wise."

And these also:--

"O thou who seekest severance, draw the rein  Of thy swift steed
     nor seek o'ermuch t' advance;
Ah stay! for treachery is the rule of life,  And sweets of
     meeting end in severance."

I heard her verse but paid no heed to her words, nay, I raised my
foot and administered to the alcove a mighty kick. And Shahrazad
perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her permisted say.

               When it was the Thirteenth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the second
Kalandar thus continued his tale to the lady:--But when, O my
mistress, I kicked that alcove with a mighty kick, behold, the
air starkened and darkened and thundered and lightened; the earth
trembled and quaked and the world became invisible. At once the
fumes of wine left my head: I cried to her, "What is the matter?"
and she replied, "The Ifrit is upon us! did I not warn thee of
this? By Allah, thou hast brought ruin upon me; but fly for thy
life and go up by the way thou camest down!" So I fled up the
staircase; but, in the excess of my fear, I forgot sandals and
hatchet. And when I had mounted two steps I turned to look for
them, and lo! I saw the earth cleave asunder, and there arose
from it an Ifrit, a monster of hideousness, who said to the
damsel "What trouble and posher be this wherewith thou disturbest
me? What mishap hath betided thee?" "No mishap hath befallen me"
she answered, "save that my breast was straitened and my
heart heavy with sadness! so I drank a little wine to broaden it
and to hearten myself; then I rose to obey a call of Nature, but
the wine had gotten into my head and I fell against the alcove."
"Thou liest, like the whore thou art!" shrieked the Ifrit; and he
looked around the hall right and left till he caught sight of my
axe and sandals and said to her, "What be these but the
belongings of some mortal who hath been in thy society?" She
answered, "I never set eyes upon them till this moment: they must
have been brought by thee hither cleaving to thy garments." Quoth
the Ifrit, "These words are absurd; thou harlot! thou strumpet!"
Then he stripped her stark naked and, stretching her upon the
floor, bound her hands and feet to four stakes, like one
crucified; and set about torturing and trying to make her
confess. I could not bear to stand listening to her cries and
groans; so I climbed the stair on the quake with fear; and when I
reached the top I replaced the trap door and covered it with
earth. Then repented I of what I had done with penitence
exceeding; and thought of the lady and her beauty and loveliness,
and the tortures she was suffering at the hands of the accursed
Ifrit, after her quiet life of five and twenty years; and how all
that had happened to her was for the cause of me. I bethought me
of my father and his kingly estate and how I had become a
woodcutter; and how, after my time had been awhile serene, the
world had again waxed turbid and troubled to me. So I wept
bitterly and repeated this couplet:--

 What time Fate's tyranny shall most oppress thee  Perpend! one
     day shall joy thee, one distress thee!

Then I walked till I reached the home of my friend, the Tailor,
whom I found most anxiously expecting me; indeed he was, as the
saying goes, on coals of fire for my account. And when he saw me
he said, "All night long my heart hath been heavy, fearing for
thee from wild beasts or other mischances. Now praise be to Allah
for thy safety!" I thanked him for his friendly solicitude and,
retiring to my corner, sat pondering and musing on what had
befallen me; and I blamed and chided myself for my meddlesome
folly and my frowardness in kicking the alcove. I was calling
myself to account when behold, my friend, the Tailor, came to me
and said, "O youth, in the shop there is an old man, a
Persian, who seeketh thee: he hath thy hatchet and thy
sandals which he had taken to the woodcutters, saying, "I
was going out at what time the Mu'azzin began the call to dawn
prayer, when I chanced upon these things and know not whose they
are; so direct me to their owner." The woodcutters recognised thy
hatchet and directed him to thee: he is sitting in my shop, so
fare forth to him and thank him and take thine axe and sandals."
When I heard these words I turned yellow with fear and felt
stunned as by a blow; and, before I could recover myself, lo! the
floor of my private room clove asunder, and out of it rose the
Persian who was the Ifrit. He had tortured the lady with
exceeding tortures, natheless she would not confess to him aught;
so he took the hatchet and sandals and said to her, "As surely as
I am Jirjis of the seed of Iblis, I will bring thee back the
owner of this and these!" Then he went to the woodcutters
with the presence aforesaid and, being directed to me, after
waiting a while in the shop till the fact was confirmed, he
suddenly snatched me up as a hawk snatcheth a mouse and dew high
in air; but presently descended and plunged with me under the
earth (I being aswoon the while), and lastly set me down in the
subterranean palace wherein I had passed that blissful night. And
there I saw the lady stripped to the skin, her limbs bound to
four stakes and blood welling from her sides. At the sight my
eyes ran over with tears; but the Ifrit covered her person and
said, "O wanton, is not this man thy lover?" She looked upon me
and replied, "I wot him not nor have I ever seen him before this
hour!" Quoth the Ifrit, "What! this torture and yet no
confessing;" and quoth she,"I never saw this man in my born days,
and it is not lawful in Allah's sight to tell lies on him." "If
thou know him not," said the Ifrit to her, "take this sword and
strike off his head.'' She hent the sword in hand and
came close up to me; and I signalled to her with my eyebrows, my
tears the while flowing adown my cheeks. She understood me and
made answer, also by signs, "How couldest thou bring all this
evil upon me?" and I rejoined after the same fashion, "This is
the time for mercy and forgiveness." And the mute tongue of my
case spake aloud saying:--

Mine eyes were dragomans for my tongue betted  And told full
     clear the love I fain would hide:
When last we met and tears in torrents railed  For tongue struck
     dumb my glances testified:
She signed with eye glance while her lips were mute  I signed
     with fingers and she kenned th' implied:
Our eyebrows did all duty 'twixt us twain;  And we being
     speechless Love spake loud and plain.

Then, O my mistress, the lady threw away the sword and said, "How
shall I strike the neck of one I wot not, and who hath done me no
evil? Such deed were not lawful in my law!" and she held her
hand. Said the Ifrit, "'Tis grievous to thee to slay thy lover;
and, because he hath lain with thee, thou endurest these torments
and obstinately refusest to confess. After this it is clear to me
that only like loveth and pitieth like." Then he turned to me and
asked me, "O man, haply thou also dost not know this woman;"
whereto I answered, "And pray who may she be? assuredly I never
saw her till this instant." "Then take the sword," said he "and
strike off her head and I will believe that thou wottest her not
and will leave thee free to go, and will not deaf 'hardly with
thee." I replied, "That will I do;" and, taking the sword went
forward sharply and raised my hand to smite. But she signed to me
with her eyebrows, "Have I failed thee in aught of love; and is
it thus that thou requirest me?" I understood what her looks
implied and answered her with an eye-glance, "I will sacrifice my
soul for thee." And the tongue of the case wrote in our hearts
these lines:--

How many a lover with his eyebrows speaketh  To his beloved, as
     his passion pleadeth:
With flashing eyne his passion he inspireth  And well she seeth
     what kits pleading needeth.
How sweet the look when each on other gazeth;  And with what
     swiftness and how sure it speedeth:
And this with eyebrows all his passion writeth;  And that with
     eyeballs all his passion readeth.

Then my eyes filled with tears to overflowing and I cast the
sword from my hand saying, "O mighty Ifrit and hero, if a woman
lacking wits and faith deem it unlawful to strike off my head,
how can it be lawful for me, a man, to smite her neck whom I
never saw in my whole life. I cannot do such misdeed though thou
cause me drink the cup of death and perdition." Then said the
Ifrit, "Ye twain show the good understanding between you; but I
will let you see how such doings end." He took the sword, and
struck off the lady's hands first, with four strokes, and then
her feet; whilst I looked on and made sure of death and she
farewelled me with her dying eyes. So the Ifrit cried at her,
"Thou whorest and makest me a wittol with thine eyes;" and struck
her so that her head went flying. Then he turned to me and said,
"O mortal, we have it in our law that, when the wife committeth
advowtry it is lawful for us to slay her. As for this damsel I
snatched her away on her bride-night when she was a girl of
twelve and she knew no one but myself. I used to come to her once
every ten days and lie with her the night, under the semblance of
a man, a Persian; and when I was well assured that she had
cuckolded me, I slew her. But as for thee I am not well satisfied
that thou hast wronged me in her; nevertheless I must not let
thee go unharmed; so ask a boon of me and I will grant it." Then
I rejoiced, O my lady, with ex ceeding joy and said, "What boon
shall I crave of thee?" He replied, "Ask me this boon; into what
shape I shall bewitch thee; wilt thou be a dog, or an ass or an
ape?" I rejoined (and indeed I had hoped that mercy might be
shown me), "By Allah, spare me, that Allah spare thee for sparing
a Moslem and a man who never wronged thee." And I humbled myself
before him with exceeding humility, and remained standing in his
presence, saying, "I am sore oppressed by circumstance." He
replied "Talk me no long talk, it is in my power to slay thee;
but I give thee instead thy choice." Quoth I, "O thou Ifrit, it
would besit thee to pardon me even as the Envied pardoned the
Envier." Quoth he, "And how was that?" and I began to tell him





The Tale of the Envier and the Envied.


They relate, O Ifrit, that in a certain city were two men who
dwelt in adjoining houses, having a common party wall; and one of
them envied the other and looked on him with an evil eye,
and did his utmost endeavour to injure him; and, albeit at all
times he was jealous of his neighbour, his malice at last grew on
him till he could hardly eat or enjoy the sweet pleasures of
sleep. But the Envied did nothing save prosper; and the more the
other strove to injure him, the more he got and gained and
throve. At last the malice of his neighbour and the man's
constant endeavour to work him a harm came to his knowledge; so
he said, "By Allah! God's earth is wide enough for its people;"
and, leaving the neighbourhood, he repaired to another city where
he bought himself a piece of land in which was a dried up draw
well, old and in ruinous condition. Here he built him an
oratory and, furnishing it with a few necessaries, took up his
abode therein, and devoted himself to prayer and worshipping
Allah Almighty; and Fakirs and holy mendicants docked to him from
all quarters; and his fame went abroad through the city and that
country side. Presently the news reached his envious neighbour,
of what good fortune had befallen him and how the city notables
had become his disciples; so he travelled to the place and
presented himself at the holy man's hermitage, and was met by the
Envied with welcome and greeting and all honour. Then quoth the
Envier, "I have a word to say to thee; and this is the cause of
my faring hither, and I wish to give thee a piece of good news;
so come with me to thy cell." Thereupon the Envied arose and took
the Envier by the hand, and they went in to the inmost part of
the hermitage; but the Envier said, "Bid thy Fakirs retire to
their cells, for I will not tell thee what I have to say, save in
secret where none may hear us." Accordingly the Envied said to
his Fakirs, "Retire to your private cells;" and, when all had
done as he bade them, he set out with his visitor and walked a
little way until the twain reached the ruinous old well. And as
they stood upon the brink the Envier gave the Envied a push which
tumbled him headlong into it, unseen of any; whereupon he fared
forth, and went his ways, thinking to have had slain him. Now
this well happened to be haunted by the Jann who, seeing the
case, bore him up and let him down little by little, till he
reached the bottom, when they seated him upon a large stone. Then
one of them asked his fellows, "Wot ye who be this man?" and they
answered, "Nay." "This man," continued the speaker, "is the
Envied hight who, flying from the Envier, came to dwell in our
city, and here founded this holy house, and he hath edified us by
his litanies and his lections of the Koran; but the
Envier set out and journeyed till he rejoined him, and cunningly
contrived to deceive him and cast him into the well where we now
are. But the fame of this good man hath this very night come to
the Sultan of our city who designeth to visit him on the morrow
on account of his daughter." "What aileth his daughter?" asked
one, and another answered "She is possessed of a spirit; for
Maymun, son of Damdam, is madly in love with her; but, if this
pious man knew the remedy, her cure would be as easy as could
be." Hereupon one of them inquired, "And what is the medicine?"
and he replied, "The black tom cat which is with him in the
oratory hath, on the end of his tail, a white spot, the size of a
dirham; let him pluck seven white hairs from the spot, then let
him fumigate her therewith and the Marid will flee from her and
not return; so she shall be sane for the rest of her life." All
this took place, O Ifrit, within earshot of the Envied who
listened readily. When dawn broke and morn arose in sheen and
shone, the Fakirs went to seek the Shaykh and found him climbing
up the wall of the well; whereby he was magnified in their
eyes. Then, knowing that naught save the black tomcat
could supply him with the remedy required, he plucked the seven
tail hairs from the white spot and laid them by him; and hardly
had the sun risen ere the Sultan entered the hermitage, with the
great lords of his estate, bidding the rest of his retinue to
remain standing outside. The Envied gave him a hearty welcome,
and seating him by his side asked him, "Shall I tell thee the
cause of thy coming?" The King answered, "Yes." He continued,
"Thou hast come upon pretext of a visitation; but it is
in thy heart to question me of thy daughter." Replied the King, "
'Tis even so, O thou holy Shaykh;" and the Envied continued,
"Send and fetch her, and I trust to heal her forthright (an such
it be the will of Allah!)" The King in great joy sent for his
daughter, and they brought her pinioned and fettered. The Envied
made her sit down behind a curtain and taking out the hairs
fumigated her therewith; whereupon that which was in her head
cried out and departed from her. The girl was at once restored to
her right mind and veiling her face, said, "What hath happened
and who brought me hither?" The Sultan rejoiced with a joy that
nothing could exceed, and kissed his daughter's eyes, and
the holy man's hand; then, turning to his great lords, he asked,
"How say ye! What fee deserveth he who hath made my daughter
whole?" and all answered, "He deserveth her to wife;" and the
King said, "Ye speak sooth!" So he married him to her and the
Envied thus became son in law to the King. And after a little the
Wazir died and the King said, "Whom can I make Minister in his
stead?" "Thy son in law," replied the courtiers. So the Envied
became a Wazir; and after a while the Sultan also died and the
lieges said, "Whom shall we make King?" and all cried, "The
Wazir." So the Wazir was forthright made Sultan, and he became
King regnant, a true ruler of men. One day as he had mounted his
horse; and, in the eminence of his kinglihood, was riding amidst
his Emirs and Wazirs and the Grandees of his realm his eye fell
upon his old neighbour, the Envier, who stood afoot on his path;
so he turned to one of his Ministers, and said, "Bring hither
that man and cause him no affright." The Wazir brought him and
the King said, "Give him a thousand miskals of gold from
the treasury, and load him ten camels with goods for trade, and
send him under escort to his own town." Then he bade his enemy
farewell and sent him away and forbore to punish him for the many
and great evils he had done. See, O Ifrit, the mercy of the
Envied to the Envier, who had hated him from the beginning and
had borne him such bitter malice and never met him without
causing him trouble; and had driven him from house and home, and
then had journeyed for the sole purpose of taking his life by
throwing him into the well. Yet he did not requite his injurious
dealing, but forgave him and was bountiful to him. Then I
wept before him, O my lady, with sore weeping, never was there
sorer, and I recited:--

"Pardon my fault, for 'tis the wise man's wont  All faults to
     pardon and revenge forgo:
In sooth all manner faults in me contain  Then deign of goodness
     mercy grace to show:
Whoso imploreth pardon from on High  Should hold his hand
     from sinners here below."

Said the Ifrit, "Lengthen not thy words! As to my slaying thee
fear it not, and as to my pardoning thee hope it not; but from my
bewitching thee there is no escape." Then he tore me from the
ground which closed under my feet and hew with me into the
firmament till I saw the earth as a large white cloud or a
saucer in the midst of the waters. Presently he set me
down on a mountain, and taking a little dust, over which he
muttered some magical words, sprinkled me therewith, saying,
"Quit that shape and take thou the shape of an ape!" And on the
instant I became an ape, a tailless baboon, the son of a
century. Now when he had left me and I saw myself in this
ugly and hateful shape, I wept for myself, but resigned my soul
to the tyranny of Time and Circumstance, well weeting that
Fortune is fair and constant to no man. I descended the mountain
and found at the foot a desert plain, long and broad, over which
I travelled for the space of a month till my course brought me to
the brink of the briny sea. After standing there awhile,
I was ware of a ship in the offing which ran before a fair wind
making for the shore. I hid myself behind a rock on the beach and
waited till the ship drew near, when I leaped on board. I found
her full of merchants and passengers and one of them cried, "O
Captain, this ill omened brute will bring us ill luck!" and
another said, "Turn this ill omened beast out from among us;" the
Captain said, "Let us kill it!" another said, "Slay it with the
sword;" a third, "Drown it;" and a fourth, "Shoot it with an
arrow." But I sprang up and laid hold of the Rais's
skirt, and shed tears which poured down my chops. The Captain
took pity on me, and said, "O merchants! this ape hath appealed
to me for protection and I will protect him; henceforth he is
under my charge: so let none do him aught hurt or harm, otherwise
there will be bad blood between us." Then he entreated me kindly
and whatsoever he said I understood and ministered to his every
want and served him as a servant, albeit my tongue would not obey
my wishes; so that he came to love me. The vessel sailed on, the
wind being fair, for the space of fifty days; at the end of which
we cast anchor under the walls of a great city wherein was a
world of people, especially learned men, none could tell their
number save Allah. No sooner had we arrived than we were visited
by certain Mameluke officials from the King of that city; who,
after boarding us, greeted the merchants and giving them joy of
safe arrival said, "Our King welcometh you, and sendeth you this
roll of paper, whereupon each and every of you must write a line.
For ye shall know that the King's Minister, a calligrapher of
renown, is dead, and the King hath sworn a solemn oath that he
will make none Wazir in his stead who cannot write as well as he
could." He then gave us the scroll which measured ten cubits long
by a breadth of one, and each of the merchants who knew how to
write wrote a line thereon, even to the last of them; after which
I stood up (still in the shape of an ape) and snatched the roll
out of their hands. They feared lest I should tear it or throw it
overboard; so they tried to stay me and scare me, but I signed to
them that i could write, whereat all marvelled, saying, "We never
yet saw an, ape write." And the Captain cried, "Let him write;
and if he scribble and scrabble we will kick him out and kill
him; but if he; write fair and scholarly I will adopt him as my
son; for surely I never yet saw a more intelligent and well
mannered monkey than he. Would Heaven my real son were his match
in morals and manners." I took the reed, and stretching out my
paw, dipped it in ink and wrote, in the hand used for
letters, these two couplets:--

Time hath recorded gifts she gave the great;  But none recorded
     thine which be far higher
Allah ne'er orphan men by loss of thee  Who be of Goodness
     mother. Bounty's sire.

And I wrote in Rayhani or larger letters elegantly
curved:--

Thou hast a reed of rede to every land,  Whose driving
     causeth all the world to thrive;
Nil is the Nile of Misraim by thy boons  Who makest misery
     smile with fingers five

Then I wrote in the Suls character:--

There be no writer who from Death shall fleet,  But what his
     hand hath writ men shall repeat:
Write, therefore, naught save what shall serve thee when  Thou
     see's on Judgment-Day an so thou see's!

Then I wrote in the character Naskh:--

When to sore parting Fate our love shall doom,  To distant life
     by Destiny decreed,
We cause the inkhorn's lips to 'plain our pains,  And tongue our
     utterance with the talking reed.

And I wrote in the Tumar character:--

Kingdom with none endures; if thou deny  This truth, where be
     the Kings of earlier earth?
Set trees of goodliness while rule endures,  And when thou art
     fallen they shall tell thy worth.

And I wrote in the character Muhakkak:--

When oped the inkhorn of thy wealth and fame  Take ink of
     generous heart and gracious hand;
Write brave and noble deeds while write thou can  And win thee
     praise from point of pen and brand.

Then I gave the scroll to the officials and, after we all had
written our line, they carried it before the King. When he saw
the paper no writing pleased him save my writing; and he said to
the assembled courtiers, "Go seek the writer of these lines and
dress him in a splendid robe of honour; then mount him on a she
mule, let a band of music precede him and bring him to
the presence." At these words they smiled and the King was wroth
with them and cried, "O accursed! I give you an order and you
laugh at me?" "O King," replied they, "if we laugh 'tis not at
thee and not without a cause." "And what is it?" asked he; and
they answered, "O King, thou orderest us to bring to thy presence
the man who wrote these lines; now the truth is that he who wrote
them is not of the sons of Adam, but an ape, a tail-less
baboon, belonging to the ship captain." Quoth he, "Is this true
that you say?" Quoth they, "Yea! by the rights of thy
munificence!" The King marvelled at their words and shook with
mirth and said, "I am minded to buy this ape of the Captain."
Then he sent messengers to the ship with the mule, the dress, the
guard and the state drums, saying, "Not the less do you clothe
him in the robe of honour and mount him on the mule and let him
be surrounded by the guards and preceded by the band of music."
They came to the ship and took me from the Captain and robed me
in the robe of honour and, mounting me on the she mule, carried
me in state procession through the streets', whilst the people
were amazed and amused. And folk said to one another, "Halloo! is
our Sultan about to make an ape his Minister?"; and came all agog
crowding to gaze at me, and the town was astir and turned topsy
turvy on my account. When they brought me up to the King and set
me in his presence, I kissed the ground before him three times,
and once before the High Chamberlain and great officers, and he
bade me be seated, and I sat respectfully on shins and
knees, and all who were present marvelled at my fine
manners, and the King most of all. Thereupon he ordered the
lieges to retire; and, when none remained save the King's
majesty, the Eunuch on duty and a little white slave, he bade
them set before me the table of food, containing all manner of
birds, whatever hoppeth and flieth and treadeth in nest, such as
quail and sand grouse. Then he signed me to eat with him; so I
rose and kissed ground before him, then sat me down and ate with
him. And when the table was removed I washed my hands in seven
waters and took the reed-case and reed; and wrote instead of
speaking these couplets:--

Wail for the little partridges on porringer and plate;  Cry for
     the ruin of the fries and stews well marinate:
Keen as I keen for loved, lost daughters of the
     Kata-grouse,  And omelette round the fair
     enbrowned fowls agglomerate:
O fire in heart of me for fish, those deux poissons I saw, 
     Bedded on new made scones and cakes in piles to
     laniate.
For thee, O vermicelli! aches my very maw! I hold  Without thee
     every taste and joy are clean annihilate
Those eggs have rolled their yellow eyes in torturing pains of
     fire  Ere served with hash and fritters hot, that
     delicatest cate.
Praised be Allah for His baked and roast and ah! how good  This
     pulse, these pot-herbs steeped in oil with eysill combinate!
When hunger sated was, I elbow-propt fell back upon  Meat
     pudding wherein gleamed the bangles that my wits
     amate.
Then woke I sleeping appetite to eat as though in sport  Sweets
     from broceded trays and kickshaws most elaborate.
Be patient, soul of me! Time is a haughty, jealous wight;  Today
     he seems dark-lowering and tomorrow fair to sight.

Then I rose and seated myself at a respectful distance while the
King read what I had written, and marvelled, exclaiming, "O the
miracle, that an ape should be gifted with this graceful style
and this power of penmanship! By Allah, 'tis a wonder of
wonders!" Presently they set before the King choice wines in
flagons of glass and he drank: then he passed on the cup to me;
and I kissed the ground and drank and wrote on it:--

With fire they boiled me to loose my tongue,  And pain
     and patience gave for fellowship:
Hence comes it hands of men upbear me high  And honey dew
     from lips of maid I sip!

And these also:--

Morn saith to Night, "withdraw and let me shine;"  So drain we
     draughts that dull all pain and pine:
I doubt, so fine the glass, the wine so clear,  If 'tis the wine
     in glass or glass in twine.

The King read my verse and said with a sigh, "Were these
gifts in a man, he would excel all the folk of his time
and age!" Then he called for the chess board, and said, "Say,
wilt thou play with me?"; and I signed with my head, "Yes." Then
I came forward and ordered the pieces and played with him two
games, both of which I won. He was speechless with surprise; so I
took the pen case and, drawing forth a reed, wrote on the board
these two couplets:--

Two hosts fare fighting thro' the livelong day  Nor is their
     battling ever finished,
Until, when darkness girdeth them about,  The twain go sleeping
     in a single bed.

The King read these lines with wonder and delight and said to his
Eunuch, "O Mukbil, go to thy mistress, Sitt al-
Husn, and say her, 'Come, speak the King who biddeth thee
hither to take thy solace in seeing this right wondrous ape!"' So
the Eunuch went out and presently returned with the lady who,
when she saw me veiled her face and said, "O my father! hast thou
lost all sense of honour? How cometh it thou art pleased to send
for me and show me to strange men?" "O Sitt al-Husn," said he,
"no man is here save this little foot page and the Eunuch who
reared thee and I, thy father. From whom, then, cost thou veil
thy face?" She answered, "This whom thou deemest an ape is a
young man, a clever and polite, a wise and learned and the son of
a King; but he is ensorcelled and the Ifrit Jirjaris, who is of
the seed of Iblis, cast a spell upon him, after putting to death
his own wife the daughter of King Ifitamus lord of the Islands of
Abnus." The King marvelled at his daughter's words and, turning
to me, said, "Is this true that she saith of thee?"; and I signed
by a nod of my head the answer, "Yea, verily;" and wept sore.
Then he asked his daughter, "Whence knewest thou that he is
ensorcelled?"; and she answered, "O my dear papa, there was with
me in my childhood an old woman, a wily one and a wise and a
witch to boot, and she taught me the theory of magic and its
practice; and I took notes in writing and therein waxed perfect,
and have committed to memory an hundred and seventy chapters of
egromantic formulas, by the least of which I could transport the
stones of thy city behind the Mountain Kaf and the Circumambient
Main, or make its site an abyss of the sea and its people
fishes swimming in the midst of it." "O my daughter," said her
father, "I conjure thee, by my life, disenchant this young man,
that I may make him my Wazir and marry thee to him, for indeed he
is an ingenious youth and a deeply learned." "With joy and goodly
gree," she replied and, hending in hand an iron knife whereon was
inscribed the name of Allah in Hebrew characters, she described a
wide circle--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased
saying her permitted say.

               When it was the Fourteenth Night,

 She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the
Kalandar continued his tale thus:--O my lady, the King's daughter
hent in hand a knife whereon were inscribed Hebrew characters and
described a wide circle in the midst of the palace hall, and
therein wrote in Cufic letters mysterious names and talismans;
and she uttered words and muttered charms, some of which we
understood and others we understood not. Presently the world waxed
dark before our sight till we thought that the sky was falling
upon our heads, and lo! the Ifrit presented himself in his own
shape and aspect. His hands were like many pronged pitch forks,
his legs like the masts of great ships, and his eyes like
cressets of gleaming fire. We were in terrible fear of him but
the King's daughter cried at him, "No welcome to thee and no
greeting, O dog!" whereupon he changed to the form of a lion and
said, "O traitress, how is it thou hast broken the oath we sware
that neither should contraire other!" "O accursed one," answered
she, "how could there be a compact between me and the like of
thee?" Then said he, "Take what thou has brought on thy self;"
and the lion opened his jaws and rushed upon her; but she was too
quick for him; and, plucking a hair from her head, waved it in
the air muttering over it the while; and the hair straightway
became a trenchant sword blade, wherewith she smote the lion and
cut him in twain. Then the two halves flew away in air and the
head changed to a scorpion and the Princess became a huge serpent
and set upon the accursed scorpion, and the two fought, coiling
and uncoiling, a stiff fight for an hour at least. Then the
scorpion changed to a vulture and the serpent became an eagle
which set upon the vulture, and hunted him for an hour's time,
till he became a black tom cat, which miauled and grinned and
spat. Thereupon the eagle changed into a piebald wolf and these
two battled in the palace for a long time, when the cat, seeing
himself overcome, changed into a worm and crept into a huge red
pomegranate, which lay beside the jetting fountain in the
midst of the palace hall. Whereupon the pomegranate swelled to
the size of a water melon in air; and, falling upon the marble
pavement of the palace, broke to pieces, and all the grains fell
out and were scattered about till they covered the whole floor.
Then the wolf shook himself and became a snow white cock, which
fell to picking up the grains purposing not to leave one; but by
doom of destiny one seed rolled to the fountain edge and there
lay hid. The cock fell to crowing and clapping his wings and
signing to us with his beak as if to ask, ' Are any grains left?"
But we understood not what he meant, and he cried to us with so
loud a cry that we thought the palace would fall upon us. Then he
ran over all the floor till he saw the grain which had rolled to
the fountain edge, and rushed eagerly to pick it up when behold,
it sprang into the midst of the water and became a fish and dived
to the bottom of the basin. Thereupon the cock changed to a big
fish, and plunged in after the other, and the two disappeared for
a while and lo! we heard loud shrieks and cries of pain which
made us tremble. After this the Ifrit rose out of the water, and
he was as a burning flame; casting fire and smoke from his mouth
and eyes and nostrils. And immediately the Princess likewise came
forth from the basin and she was one live coal of flaming lowe;
and these two, she and he, battled for the space of an hour,
until their fires entirely compassed them about and their thick
smoke filled the palace. As for us we panted for breath, being
well nigh suffocated, and we longed to plunge into the water
fearing lest we be burnt up and utterly destroyed; and the King
said, There is no Majesty and there is no Might save in Allah the
Glorious, the Great! Verily we are Allah's and unto Him are we
returning! Would Heaven I had not urged my daughter to attempt
the disenchantment of this ape fellow, whereby I have imposed
upon her the terrible task of fighting yon accursed Ifrit against
whom all the Ifrits in the world could not prevail. And would
Heaven we had never seen this ape, Allah never assain nor bless
the day of his coming! We thought to do a good deed by him before
the face of Allah, and to release him from enchantment,
and now we have brought this trouble and travail upon our heart."
But I, O my lady, was tongue tied and powerless to say a word to
him. Suddenly, ere we were ware of aught, the Ifrit yelled out
from under the flames and, coming up to us as we stood on the
estrade, blew fire in our faces. The damsel overtook him and
breathed blasts of fire at his face and the sparks from her and
from him rained down upon us, and her sparks did us no harm, but
one of his sparks alighted upon my eye and destroyed it making me
a monocular ape; and another fell on the King's face scorching
the lower half, burning off his beard and mustachios and causing
his under teeth to fall out; while a third alighted on the
Castrato's breast, killing him on the spot. So we despaired of
life and made sure of death when lo! a voice repeated the saying,
"Allah is most Highest! Allah is most Highest! Aidance and
victory to all who the Truth believe; and disappointment and
disgrace to all who the religion of Mohammed, the Moon of Faith,
unbelieve." The speaker was the Princess who had burnt the Ifrit,
and he was become a heap of ashes. Then she came up to us and
said, "Reach me a cup of water." They brought it to her and she
spoke over it words we understood not, and sprinkling me with it
cried, "By virtue of the Truth, and by the Most Great name of
Allah, I charge thee return to thy former shape." And behold, I
shook, and became a man as before, save that I had utterly lost
an eye. Then she cried out, "The fire! The fire! O my dear papa
an arrow from the accursed hath wounded me to the death, for I am
not used to fight with the Jann; had he been a man I had slain
him in the beginning. I had no trouble till the time when the
pomegranate burst and the grains scattered, but I overlooked the
seed wherein was the very life of the Jinni. Had I picked it up
he had died on the spot, but as Fate and Fortune decreed, I saw
it not; so he came upon me all unawares and there befel between
him and me a sore struggle under the earth and high in air and in
the water; and, as often as I opened on him a gate, he
opened on me another gate and a stronger, till at last he opened
on me the gate of fire, and few are saved upon whom the door of
fire openeth. But Destiny willed that my cunning prevail over his
cunning; and I burned him to death after I vainly exhorted him to
embrace the religion of al-Islam. As for me I am a dead woman;
Allah supply my place to you!" Then she called upon Heaven for
help and ceased not to implore relief from the fire; when lo! a
black spark shot up from her robed feet to her thighs; then it
flew to her bosom and thence to her face. When it reached her
face she wept and said, "I testify that there is no god but the
God and that Mahommed is the Apostle of God!" And we looked at
her and saw naught but a heap of ashes by the side of the heap
that had been the Ifrit. We mourned for her and I wished I had
been in her place, so had I not seen her lovely face who had
worked me such weal become ashes; but there is no gainsaying the
will of Allah. When the King saw his daughter's terrible death,
he plucked out what was left of his beard and beat his face and
rent his raiment; and I did as he did and we both wept over her.
Then came in the Chamberlains and Grandees and were amazed to
find two heaps of ashes and the Sultan in a fainting fit; so they
stood round him till he revived and told them what had befallen
his daughter from the Ifrit; whereat their grief was right
grievous and the women and the slave girls shrieked and
keened, and they continued their lamentations for the
space of seven days. Moreover the King bade build over his
daughter's ashes a vast vaulted tomb, and burn therein wax tapers
and sepulchral lamps: but as for the Ifrit's ashes they scattered
them on the winds, speeding them to the curse of Allah. Then the
Sultan fell sick of a sickness that well nigh brought him to his
death for a month's space; and, when health returned to him and
his beard grew again and he had been converted by the mercy of
Allah to al-Islam, he sent for me and said, "O youth, Fate had
decreed for us the happiest of lives, safe from all the chances
and changes of Time, till thou camest to us, when troubles fell
upon us. Would to Heaven we had never seen thee and the foul face
of thee! For we took pity on thee and thereby we have lost our
all. I have on thy account first lost my daughter who to me was
well worth an hundred men, secondly I have suffered that which
befel me by reason of the fire and the loss of my teeth, and my
Eunuch also was slain. I blame thee not, for it was out of thy
power to prevent this: the doom of Allah was on thee as well as
on us and thanks be to the Almighty for that my daughter
delivered thee, albeit thereby she lost her own life! Go forth
now, O my son, from this my city, and suffice thee what hath
befallen us through thee, even although 'twas decreed for us. Go
forth in peace; and if I ever see thee again I will surely slay
thee." And he cried out at me. So I went forth from his presence,
O my lady, weeping bitterly and hardly believing in my escape and
knowing not whither I should wend. And I recalled all that had
befallen me, my meeting the tailor, my love for the damsel in the
palace beneath the earth, and my narrow escape from the Ifrit,
even after he had determined to do me die; and how I had entered
the city as an ape and was now leaving it a man once more. Then I
gave thanks to Allah and said, "My eye and not my life!" and
before leaving the place I entered the bath and shaved my poll
and beard and mustachios and eye brows; and cast ashes on my head
and donned the coarse black woollen robe of a Kalandar. Then I
fared forth, O my lady, and every day I pondered all the
calamities which had betided me, and I wept and repeated these
couplets:--

"I am distraught, yet verily His ruth abides with me,  Tho'
     round me gather hosts of ills, whence come I cannot see:
Patient I'll be till Patience self with me impatient wax; 
     Patient for ever till the Lord fulfil my destiny:
Patient I'll bide without complaint, a wronged and vanquish" man;
      Patient as sunparcht wight that spans the desert's sandy
     sea:
Patient I'll be till Aloe's self unwittingly allow  I'm
     patient under bitterer things than bitterest aloe:
No bitterer things than aloes or than patience for mankind,  Yet
     bitterer than the twain to me were Patience' treachery:
My sere and seamed and seared brow would dragoman my sore 
     If soul could search my sprite and there unsecret secrecy:
Were hills to bear the load I bear they'd crumble 'neath the
    weight,  'Twould still the roaring wind, 'twould quench the
    flame-tongue's flagrancy,
And whoso saith the world is sweet certes a day he'll see  With
     more than aloes' bitterness and aloes' pungency."

Then I journeyed through many regions and saw many a city
intending for Baghdad, that I might seek audience, in the House
of Peace, with the Commander of the Faithful and tell him
all that had befallen me. I arrived here this very night and
found my brother in Allah, this first Kalandar, standing about as
one perplexed; so I saluted him with "Peace be upon thee," and
entered into discourse with him. Presently up came our brother,
this third Kalandar, and said to us, "Peace be with you! I am a
stranger;" whereto we replied, "And we too be strangers, who have
come hither this blessed night." So we all three walked on
together, none of us knowing the other's history, till Destiny
crave us to this door and we came in to you. Such then is my
story and my reason for shaving my beard and mustachios, and this
is what caused the loss of my eye. Said the house mistress, "Thy
tale is indeed a rare; so rub thy head and wend thy ways;" but he
replied, "I will not budge till I hear my companions' stories."
Then came forward the third Kalandar, and said, "O illustrious
lady! my history is not like that of these my comrades, but more
wondrous and far more marvellous. In their case Fate and Fortune
came down on them unawares; but I drew down destiny upon my own
head and brought sorrow on mine own soul, and shaved my own beard
and lost my own eye. Hear then





The Third Kalandar's Tale.


Know, O my lady, that I also am a King and the son of a King and
my name is Ajib son of Kazib. When my father died I succeeded
him; and I ruled and did justice and dealt fairly by all my
lieges. I delighted in sea trips, for my capital stood on the
shore, before which the ocean stretched far and wide; and near
hand were many great islands with sconces and garrisons in the
midst of the main. My fleet numbered fifty merchantmen, and as
many yachts for pleasance, and an hundred and fifty sail ready
fitted for holy war with the Unbelievers. It fortuned that I had
a mind to enjoy myself on the islands aforesaid, so I took ship
with my people in ten keel; and, carrying with me a month's
victual, I set out on a twenty days' voyage. But one night a head
wind struck us, and the sea rose against us with huge waves; the
billows sorely buffetted us and a dense darkness settled round
us. We gave ourselves up for lost and I said, "Whoso endangereth
his days, e'en an he 'scape deserveth no praise." Then we prayed
to Allah and besought Him; but the storm blasts ceased not to
blow against us nor the surges to strike us till morning broke
when the gale fell, the seas sank to mirrory stillness and the
sun shone upon us kindly clear. Presently we made an island where
we landed and cooked somewhat of food, and ate heartily and took
our rest for a couple of days. Then we set out again and sailed
other twenty days, the seas broadening and the land shrinking.
Presently the current ran counter to us, and we found ourselves
in strange waters, where the Captain had lost his reckoning, and
was wholly bewildered in this sea; so said we to the look out
man, "Get thee to the mast head and keep thine eyes
open." He swarmed up the mast and looked out and cried aloud, "O
Rais, I espy to starboard something dark, very like a fish
floating on the face of the sea, and to larboard there is a loom
in the midst of the main, now black and now bright." When the
Captain heard the look out's words he dashed his turband on the
deck and plucked out his beard and beat his face saying, "Good
news indeed! we be all dead men; not one of us can be saved." And
he fell to weeping and all of us wept for his weeping and also
for our lives; and I said, "O Captain, tell us what it is the
look out saw." "O my Prince," answered he, "know that we lost our
course on the night of the storm, which was followed on the
morrow by a two days' calm during which we made no way; and we
have gone astray eleven days reckoning from that night, with
ne'er a wind to bring us back to our true course. Tomorrow by
the end of the day we shall come to a mountain of black stone,
highs the Magnet Mountain; for thither the currents carry
us willy-nilly. As soon as we are under its lea, the ship's sides
will open and every nail in plank will fly out and cleave fast to
the mountain; for that Almighty Allah hath gifted the loadstone
with a mysterious virtue and a love for iron, by reason whereof
all which is iron travelleth towards it; and on this mountain is
much iron, how much none knoweth save the Most High, from the
many vessels which have been lost there since the days of yore.
The bright spot upon its summit is a dome of yellow laton from
Andalusia, vaulted upon ten columns; and on its crown is a
horseman who rideth a horse of brass and holdeth in hand a lance
of laton; and there hangeth on his bosom a tablet of lead graven
with names and talismans." And he presently added, "And, O King,
none destroyeth folk save the rider on that steed, nor will the
egromancy be dispelled till he fall from his horse.''
Then, O my lady, the Captain wept with exceeding weeping and we
all made sure of death doom and each and every one of us
farewelled his friend and charged him with his last will and
testament in case he might be saved. We slept not that night and
in the morning we found ourselves much nearer the Loadstone
Mountain, whither the waters crave us with a violent send. When
the ships were close under its lea they opened and the nails flew
out and all the iron in them sought the Magnet Mountain and clove
to it like a network; so that by the end of the day we were all
struggling in the waves round about the mountain. Some of us were
saved, but more were drowned and even those who had escaped knew
not one another, so stupefied were they by the beating of the
billows and the raving of the winds. As for me, O my lady, Allah
(be His name exalted!) preserved my life that I might suffer
whatso He willed to me of hardship, misfortune and calamity; for
I scrambled upon a plank from one of the ships, and the wind and
waters threw it at the feet of the Mountain. There I found a
practicable path leading by steps carven out of the rock to the
summit, and I called on the name of Allah Almighty"--And
Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her
permitted say.

                When it was the Fifteenth Night,

She continued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the
third Kalandar said to the lady (the rest of the party sitting
fast bound and the slaves standing with swords drawn over their
heads):--And after calling on the name of Almighty Allah and
passionately beseeching Him, I breasted the ascent, clinging to
the steps and notches hewn in the stone, and mounted little by
little. And the Lord stilled the wind and aided me in the ascent,
so that I succeeded in reaching the summit. There I found no
resting place save the dome, which I entered, joying with
exceeding joy at my escape; and made the Wuzu-ablution
and prayed a two bow prayer, a thanksgiving to God for my
preservation. Then I fell asleep under the dome, and heard in my
dream a mysterious Voice saying, "O son of Khazib! when
thou wakest from thy sleep dig under thy feet and thou shalt find
a bow of brass and three leaden arrows, inscribed with talismans
and characts. Take the bow and shoot the arrows at the horseman
on the dome top and free mankind from this sore calamity. When
thou hast shot him he shall fall into the sea, and the horse will
also drop at thy feet: then bury it in the place of the bow. This
done, the main will swell and rise till it is level with the
mountain head, and there will appear on it a skiff carrying a man
of laton (other than he thou shalt have shot) holding in his hand
a pair of paddles. He will come to thee and do thou embark with
him but beware of saying Bismillah or of otherwise naming Allah
Almighty. He will row thee for a space of ten days, till he bring
thee to certain Islands called the Islands of Safety, and thence
thou shalt easily reach a port and find those who will convey
thee to thy native land; and all this shall be fulfilled to thee
so thou call not on the name of Allah." Then I started up from my
sleep in joy and gladness and, hastening to do the bidding of the
mysterious Voice, found the bow and arrows and shot at the
horseman and tumbled him into the main, whilst the horse dropped
at my feet; so I took it and buried it. Presently the sea surged
up and rose till it reached the top of the mountain; nor had I
long to wait ere I saw a skiff in the offing coming towards me. I
gave thanks to Allah; and, when the skiff came up to me, I saw
therein a man of brass with a tablet of lead on his breast
inscribed with talismans and characts; and I embarked without
uttering a word. The boatman rowed on with me through the first
day and the second and the third, in all ten whole days, till I
caught sight of the Islands of Safety; whereat I joyed with
exceeding joy and for stress of gladness exclaimed, "Allah!
Allah! In the name of Allah! There is no god but the God and
Allah is Almighty.'' Thereupon the skiff forthwith upset
and cast me upon the sea; then it righted and sank deep into the
depths. Now I am a fair swimmer, so I swam the whole day till
nightfall, when my forearms and shoulders were numbed with
fatigue and I felt like to die; so I testified to my faith,
expecting naught but death. The sea was still surging under the
violence of the winds, and presently there came a billow like a
hillock; and, bearing me up high in air, threw me with a long
cast on dry land, that His will might be fulfilled. I crawled up
the beach and doffing my raiment wrung it out to dry and spread
it in the sunshine: then I lay me down and slept the whole night.
As soon as it was day, I donned my clothes and rose to look
whither I should walk. Presently I came to a thicket of low
trees; and, making a cast round it, found that the spot whereon I
stood was an islet, a mere holm, girt on all sides by the ocean;
whereupon I said to myself, "Whatso freeth me from one great
calamity casteth me into a greater!" But while I was pondering my
case and longing for death behold, I saw afar off a ship making
for the island; so I clomb a tree and hid myself among the
branches. Presently the ship anchored and landed ten slaves,
blackamoors, bearing iron hoes and baskets, who walked on till
they reached the middle of the island. Here they dug deep into
the ground, until they uncovered a plate of metal which they
lifted, thereby opening a trap door. After this they returned to
the ship and thence brought bread and flour, honey and fruits,
clarified butter, leather bottles containing liquors and
many household stuffs; also furniture, table service and mirrors
rugs, carpets and in fact all needed to furnish a dwelling; and
they kept going to and fro, and descending by the trap door, till
they had transported into the dwelling all that was in the ship.
After this the slaves again went on board and brought back with
them garments as rich as may be, and in the midst of them came an
old, old man, of whom very little was left, for Time had dealt
hardly and harshly with him, and all that remained of him was a
bone wrapped in a rag of blue stuff through which the winds
whistled west and east. As saith the poet of him:--

Time gars me tremble Ah, how sore the baulk!  While Time in
     pride of strength cloth ever stalk:
Time was I walked nor ever felt I tired,  Now am I tired albe I
     never walk!

And the Shaykh held by the hand a youth cast in beauty's mould,
all elegance and perfect grace; so fair that his comeliness
deserved to be proverbial; for he was as a green bough or the
tender young of the roe, ravishing every heart with his
loveliness and subduing every soul with his coquetry and amorous
ways. It was of him the poet spake when he said:--

Beauty they brought with him to make compare,  But Beauty
     hung her head in shame and care:
Quoth' they, "O Beauty, hast thou seen his like?"  And Beauty
     cried, "His like? not anywhere!"

They stinted not their going, O my lady, till all went down by
the trap door and did not reappear for an hour, or rather more;
at the end of which time the slaves and the old man came up
without the youth and, replacing the iron plate and carefully
closing the door slab as it was before, they returned to the ship
and made sail and were lost to my sight. When they turned away to
depart, I came down from the tree and, going to the place I had
seen them fill up, scraped off and removed the earth; and in
patience possessed my soul till I had cleared the whole of it
away. Then appeared the trap door which was of wood, in shape and
size like a millstone; and when I lifted it up it disclosed a
winding staircase of stone. At this I marvelled and, descending
the steps till I reached the last, found a fair hall, spread with
various kinds of carpets and silk stuffs, wherein was a youth
sitting upon a raised couch and leaning back on a round cushion
with a fan in his hand and nosegays and posies of sweet scented
herbs and flowers before him; but he was alone and not a
soul near him in the great vault. When he saw me he turned pale;
but I saluted him courteously and said, "Set thy mind at ease and
calm thy fears; no harm shall come near thee; I am a man like
thyself and the son of a King to boot; whom the decrees of
Destiny have sent to bear thee company and cheer thee in thy
loneliness. But now tell me, what is thy story and what causeth
thee to dwell thus in solitude under the ground?" When he was
assured that I was of his kind and no Jinni, he rejoiced and his
fine colour returned; and, making me draw near to him he said, "O
my brother, my story is a strange story and 'tis this. My father
is a merchant-jeweller possessed of great wealth, who hath white
and black slaves travelling and trading on his account in ships
and on camels, and trafficking with the most distant cities; but
he was not blessed with a child, not even one. Now on a certain
night he dreamed a dream that he should be favoured with a son,
who would be short lived; so the morning dawned on my father
bringing him woe and weeping. On the following night my mother
conceived and my father noted down the date of her becoming
pregnant. Her time being fulfilled she bare me; whereat
my father rejoiced and made banquets and called together the
neighbors and fed the Fakirs and the poor, for that he had been
blessed with issue near the end of his days. Then he assembled
the astrologers and astronomers who knew the places of the
planets, and the wizards and wise ones of the time, and men
learned in horoscopes and nativities, and they drew out
my birth scheme and said to my father, "Thy son shall live to
fifteen years, but in his fifteenth there is a sinister aspect;
an he safely tide it over he shall attain a great age. And the
cause that threateneth him with death is this. In the Sea of
Peril standeth the Mountain Magnet hight; on whose summit is a
horseman of yellow laton seated on a horse also of brass and
bearing on his breast a tablet of lead. Fifty days after this
rider shall fall from his steed thy son will die and his slayer
will be he who shoots down the horseman, a Prince named Ajib son
of King Khazib." My father grieved with exceeding grief to hear
these words; but reared me in tenderest fashion and educated me
excellently well until my fifteenth year was told. Ten days ago
news came to him that the horseman had fallen into the sea and he
who shot him down was named Ajib son of King Khazib. My father
thereupon wept bitter tears at the need of parting with me and
became like one possessed of a Jinni. However, being in mortal
fear for me, he built me this place under the earth; and,
stocking it with all required for the few days still remaining,
he brought me hither in a ship and left me here. Ten are already
past and, when the forty shall have gone by without danger to me,
he will come and take me away; for he hath done all this only in
fear of Prince Ajib. Such, then, is my story and the cause of my
loneliness." When I heard his history I marvelled and said in my
mind, "I am the Prince Ajib who hath done all this; but as Allah
is with me I will surely not slay him!" So said I to him, "O my
lord, far from thee be this hurt and harm and then, please Allah,
thou shalt not suffer cark nor care nor aught disquietude, for I
will tarry with thee and serve thee as a servant, and then wend
my ways; and after having borne thee company during the forty
days, I will go with thee to thy home where thou shalt give me an
escort of some of thy Mamelukes with whom I may journey back to
my own city; and the Almighty shall requite thee for me." He was
glad to hear these words, when I rose and lighted a large wax
candle and trimmed the ramps end the three lanterns; and I set on
meat and drink and sweetmeats. We ate and drank and sat talking
over various matters till the greater part of the night was gone;
when he lay down to rest and I covered him up and went to sleep
myself. Next morning I arose and warmed a little water, then
lifted him gently so as to awake him and brought him the warm
water wherewith he washed his face and said to me,
"Heaven requite thee for me with every blessing, O youth! By
Allah, if I get quit of this danger and am saved from him whose
name is Ajib bin Khazib, I will make my father reward thee and
send thee home healthy and wealthy; and, if I die, then my
blessing be upon thee." I answered, "May the day never dawn on
which evil shall betide thee; and may Allah make my last day
before thy last day!" Then I set before him somewhat of food and
we ate; and I got ready perfumes for fumigating the hall,
wherewith he was pleased. Moreover I made him a Mankalah-
cloth; and we played and ate sweetmeats and we played
again and took our pleasure till nightfall, when I rose and
lighted the lamps, and set before him somewhat to eat, and sat
telling him stories till the hours of darkness were far spent.
Then he lay down to rest and I covered him up and rested also.
And thus I continued to do, O my lady, for days and nights and
affection for him took root in my heart and my sorrow was eased,
and I said to myself, "The astrologers lied when they
predicted that he should be slain by Ajib bin Khazib: by Allah, I
will not slay him." I ceased not ministering to him and
conversing and carousing with him and telling him all manner
tales for thirty nine days. On the fortieth night the
youth rejoiced and said, "O my brother, Alhamdo, lillah!--praise
be to Allah--who hath preserved me from death and this is by thy
blessing and the blessing of thy coming to me and I pray God that
He restore thee to thy native land. But now, O my brother, I
would thou warm me some water for the Ghusl ablution and do thou
kindly bathe me and change my clothes." I replied, "With love and
gladness;" and I heated water in plenty and carrying it in to him
washed his body all over the washing of health, with meal
of lupins and rubbed him well and changed his clothes and
spread him a high bed whereon he lay down to rest, being drowsy
after bathing. Then said he, "O my brother, cut me up a water
melon, and sweeten it with a little sugar candy." So I
went to the store room and bringing out a fine water melon I
found there, set it on a platter and laid it before him saying,
"O my master hast thou not a knife?" "Here it is," answered he,
"over my head upon the high shelf." So I got up in haste and
taking the knife drew it from its sheath; but my foot slipped in
stepping down and I fell heavily upon the youth holding in my
hand the knife which hastened to fulfil what had been written on
the Day that decided the destinies of man, and buried itself, as
if planted, in the youth's heart. He died on the instant. When I
saw that he was slain and knew that I had slain him, maugre
myself, I cried out with an exceeding loud and bitter cry and
beat my face and rent my raiment and said, "Verily we be Allah's
and unto Him we be returning, O Moslems! O folk fain of Allah!
there remained for this youth but one day of the forty dangerous
days which the astrologers and the learned had foretold for him;
and the predestined death of this beautiful one was to be at my
hand. Would Heaven I had not tried to cut the watermelon. What
dire misfortune is this I must bear fief or loath? What a
disaster! What an affliction! O Allah mine, I implore thy pardon
and declare to Thee my innocence of his death. But what God
willeth let that come to pass.''--And Shahrazad perceived
the dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.

                When it was the Sixteenth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that Ajib thus
continued his tale to the lady:--When I was certified that I had
slain him, I arose and ascending the stairs replaced the trap-
door and covered it with earth as before. Then I looked out
seawards and saw the ship cleaving the waters and making for the
island, wherefore I was afeard and said, "The moment they come
and see the youth done to death, they will know 'twas I who slew
him and will slay me without respite." So I climbed up into a
high tree and concealed myself among its leaves; and hardly had I
done so when the ship anchored and the slaves landed with the
ancient man, the youth's father, and made direct for the place
and when they removed the earth they were surprised to see it
soft. Then they raised the trap door and went down and
found the youth lying at full length, clothed in fair new
garments, with a face beaming after the bath, and the knife deep
in his heart. At the sight they shrieked and wept and beat their
faces, loudly cursing the murderer; whilst a swoon came over the
Shaykh so that the slaves deemed him dead, unable to survive his
son. At last they wrapped the slain youth in his clothes and
carried him up and laid him on the ground covering him with a
shroud of silk. Whilst they were making for the ship the old man
revived; and, gazing on his son who was stretched out, fell on
the ground and strewed dust over his head and smote his face and
plucked out his beard; and his weeping redoubled as he thought of
his murdered son and he swooned away once more. After awhile a
slave went and fetched a strip of silk whereupon they lay the old
man and sat down at his head. All this took place and I was on
the tree above them watching everything that came to pass; and my
heart became hoary before my head waxed grey, for the hard lot
which was mine, and for the distress and anguish I had undergone,
and I fell to reciting:--

"How many a joy by Allah's will hath fled  With flight escaping
     sight of wisest head!
How many a sadness shall begin the day,  Yet grow right
     gladsome ere the day is sped!
How many a weal trips on the heels of ill,  Causing the
     mourner's heart with joy to thrill!"

But the old man, O my lady, ceased not from his swoon till near
sunset, when he came to himself and, looking upon his dead son,
he recalled what had happened, and how what he had dreaded had
come to pass; and he beat his face and head and recited these
couplets:--

"Racked is my heart by parting fro' my friends  And two rills
     ever fro' my eyelids flow:
With them went forth my hopes, Ah, well away!  What
     shift remaineth me to say or do?
Would I had never looked upon their sight,  What shift, fair
     sirs, when paths e'er strainer grow?
What charm shall calm my pangs when this wise burn  Longings
     of love which in my vitals glow?
Would I had trod with them the road of Death!  Ne'er had befel
     us twain this parting blow:
Allah: I pray the Truthful show me Roth  And mix our lives nor
     part them evermo'e!
How blest were we as 'death one roof we dwelt  Conjoined in
     joys nor recking aught of woe;
Till Fortune shot us pith the severance shaft;  Ah who shall
     patient bear such parting throe?
And dart of Death struck down amid the tribe  The age's pearl
     that Morn saw brightest show:
I cried the while his case took speech and said:-- Would Heaven,
     my son, Death mote his doom foreslow!
Which be the readiest road wi' thee to meet  My Son! for whom I
     would my soul bestow?
If sun I call him no! the sun cloth set;  If moon I call him,
     wane the moons; Ah no!
O sad mischance o' thee, O doom of days,  Thy place none other
     love shall ever know:
Thy sire distracted sees thee, but despairs  By wit or wisdom
     Fate to overthrow:
Some evil eye this day hath cast its spell  And foul befal him
     as it foul befel!"

Then he sobbed a single sob and his soul fled his flesh. The
slaves shrieked aloud, "Alas, our lord!" and showered dust on
their heads and redoubled their weeping and wailing. Presently
they carried their dead master to the ship side by side with his
dead son and, having transported all the stuff from the dwelling
to the vessel, set sail and disappeared from mine eyes. I
descended from the tree and, raising the trap-door, went down
into the underground dwelling where everything reminded me of the
youth; and I looked upon the poor remains of him and began
repeating these verses:--

"Their tracks I see, and pine with pain and pang  And on
     deserted hearths I weep and yearn:
And Him I pray who doomed them depart  Some day vouchsafe
     the boon of safe return.''

Then, O my lady, I went up again by the trap-door, and every day
I used to wander round about the island and every night I
returned to the underground hall. Thus I lived for a month, till
at last, looking at the western side of the island, I observed
that every day the tides ebbed, leaving shallow water for which
the flow did not compensate; and by the end of the month the sea
showed dry land in that direction. At this I rejoiced making
certain of my safety; so I arose and fording what little was left
of the water got me to the mainland, where I fell in with great
heaps of loose sand in which even a camel's hoof would sink up to
the knee. However I emboldened my soul and wading through
the sand behold, a fire shone from afar burning with a brazing
light. So I made for it hoping haply to find succour, and
broke out into these verses:--

"Belike Fortune may her bridle turn  And Time bring weal
     although he's jealous hight;
Forward my hopes, and further all my needs,  And passed ills
     with present weals requite."

And when I drew near the fire aforesaid lo! it was a palace with
gates of copper burnished red which, when the rising sun shone
thereon, gleamed and glistened from afar showing what had seemed
to me a fire. I rejoiced in the sight, and sat down over against
the gate, but I was hardly settled in my seat before there met me
ten young men clothed in sumptuous gear and all were blind of the
left eye which appeared as plucked out. They were accompanied by
a Shaykh, an old, old man, and much I marvelled at their
appearance, and their all being blind of the same eye. When they
saw me, they saluted me with the Salam and asked me of my case
and my history; whereupon I related to them all what had befallen
me, and what full measure of misfortune was mine. Marvelling at
my tale they took me to the mansion, where I saw ranged round the
hall ten couches each with its blue bedding and coverlet of blue
stuff and amiddlemost stood a smaller couch furnished
like them with blue and nothing else. As we entered each of the
youths took his seat on his own couch and the old man seated
himself upon the smaller one in the middle saying to me, "O
youth, sit thee down on the floor and ask not of our case nor of
the loss of our eyes." Presently he rose up and set before each
young man some meat in a charger and drink in a large mazer,
treating me in like manner; and after that they sat questioning
me concerning my adventures and what had betided me: and I kept
telling them my tale till the night was far spent. Then said the
young men, "O our Shaykh, wilt not thou set before us our
ordinary? The time is come." He replied, "With love and
gladness," and rose and entering a closet disappeared, but
presently returned bearing on his head ten trays each covered
with a strip of blue stuff. He set a tray before each youth and,
lighting ten wax candles, he stuck one upon each tray, and drew
off the covers and lo! under them was naught but ashes and
powdered charcoal and kettle soot. Then all the young men tucked
up their sleeves to the elbows and fell a weeping and wailing and
they blackened their faces and smeared their clothes and
buffetted their brows and beat their breasts, continually
exclaiming, "We were sitting at our ease but our frowardness
brought us unease! " They ceased not to do this till dawn drew
nigh, when the old man rose and heated water for them; and they
washed their faces, and donned other and clean clothes. Now when
I saw this, O my lady, for very wonderment my senses left me and
my wits went wild and heart and head were full of thought, till I
forgot what had betided me and I could not keep silence feeling I
fain must speak out and question them of these strangenesses; so
I said to them, "How come ye to do this after we have been so
open hearted and frolicksome? Thanks be to Allah ye be all sound
and sane, yet actions such as these befit none but mad men or
those possessed of an evil spirit. I conjure you by all that is
dearest to you, why stint ye to tell me your history, and the
cause of your losing your eyes and your blackening your faces
with ashes and soot?" Hereupon they turned to me and said, "O
young man, hearken not to thy youthtide's suggestions and
question us no questions." Then they slept and I with them and
when they awoke the old man brought us somewhat of food; and,
after we had eaten and the plates and goblets had been removed,
they sat conversing till night fall when the old man rose and lit
the wax candles and lamps and set meat and drink before us. After
we had eaten and drunken we sat conversing and carousing in
companionage till the noon of night, when they said to the old
man, "Bring us our ordinary, for the hour of sleep is at hand!"
So he rose and brought them the trays of soot and ashes; and they
did as they had done on the preceding night, nor more, nor less.
I abode with them after this fashion for the space of a month
during which time they used to blacken their faces with ashes
every night, and to wash and change their raiment when the morn
was young; and I but marvelled the more and my scruples and
curiosity increased to such a point that I had to forego even
food and drink. At last, I lost command of myself, for my heart
was aflame with fire unquenchable and lowe unconcealable and I
said, "O young men, will ye not relieve my trouble and acquaint
me with the reason of thus blackening your faces and the meaning
of your words:--We were sitting at our ease but our frowardness
brought us unease?" Quoth they "'Twere better to keep these
things secret." Still I was bewildered by their doings to the
point of abstaining from eating and drinking and, at last wholly
losing patience, quoth I to them, There is no help for it: ye
must acquaint me with what is the reason of these doings." They
replied, "We kept our secret only for thy good: to gratify thee
will bring down evil upon thee and thou wilt become a monocular
even as we are." I repeated "There is no help for it and, if ye
will not, let me leave you and return to mine own people and be
at rest from seeing these things, for the proverb saith:--

Better ye 'bide and I take my leave:  For what eye sees not
     heart shall never grieve."

Thereupon they said to me, "Remember, O youth, that should ill
befal thee we will not again harbour thee nor suffer thee to
abide amongst us;" and bringing a ram they slaughtered it and
skinned it. Lastly they gave me a knife saying, "Take this skin
and stretch thyself upon it and we will sew it around thee,
presently there shall come to thee a certain bird, hight
Rukh, that will catch thee up in his pounces and tower
high in air and then set thee down on a mountain. When thou
feelest he is no longer flying, rip open the pelt with this blade
and come out of it; the bird will be scared and will fly away and
leave thee free. After this fare for half a day, and the march
will place thee at a palace wondrous fair to behold, towering
high in air and builded of Khalanj, lign-aloes and
sandal-wood, plated with red gold, and studded with all manner
emeralds and costly gems fit for seal rings. Enter it and thou
shalt win to thy wish for we have all entered that palace; and
such is the cause of our losing our eyes and of our blackening
our faces. Were we now to tell thee our stories it would take too
long a time; for each and every of us lost his left eye by an
adventure of his own." I rejoiced at their words and they did
with me as they said; and the bird Rukh bore me off end set me
down on the mountain. Then I came out of the skin and walked on
till I reached the palace. The door stood open as I entered and
found myself in a spacious and goodly hall, wide exceedingly,
even as a horse-course; and around it were an hundred chambers
with doors of sandal and aloes woods plated with red gold and
furnished with silver rings by way of knockers. At the
head or upper end of the hall I saw forty damsels,
sumptuously dressed and ornamented and one and all bright as
moons; none could ever tire of gazing upon them and all so lovely
that the most ascetic devotee on seeing them would become their
slave and obey their will. When they saw me the whole bevy came
up to me and said "Welcome and well come and good cheer
to thee, O our lord! This whole month have we been expecting
thee. Praised be Allah who hath sent us one who is worthy of us,
even as we are worthy of him!" Then they made me sit down upon a
high divan and said to me, "This day thou art our lord and
master, and we are thy servants and thy hand-maids, so order us
as thou wilt." And I marvelled at their case. Presently one of
them arose and set meat before me and I ate and they ate with me;
whilst others warmed water and washed my hands and feet and
changed my clothes and others made ready sherbets and gave us to
drink; and all gathered around me being full of joy and gladness
at my coming. Then they sat down and conversed with me till
nightfall, when five of them arose and laid the trays and spread
them with flowers and fragrant herbs and fruits, fresh and dried,
and confections in profusion. At last they brought out a fine
wine service with rich old wine; and we sat down to drink and
some sang songs and others played the lute and psaltery and
recorders and other instruments, and the bowl went merrily round.
Hereupon such gladness possessed me that I forgot the sorrows of
the world one and all and said, "This is indeed life; O sad that
'tis fleeting!" I enjoyed their company till the time came for
rest; and our heads were all warm with wine, when they said, "O
our lord, choose from amongst us her who shall be thy bed-fellow
this night and not lie with thee again till forty days be past."
So I chose a girl fair of face and perfect in shape, with eyes
Kohl-edged by nature's hand; hair long and jet black with
slightly parted teeth and joining brows: 'twas as if she
were some limber graceful branchlet or the slender stalk of sweet
basil to amaze and to bewilder man's fancy, even as the poet said
of such an one--

To even her with greeny bough were vain  Fool he who finds her
     beauties in the roe:
When hath the roe those lively lovely limbs  Or honey dews those
     lips alone bestow?
Those eyne, soul piercing eyne, which slay with love,  Which
     bind the victim by their shafts laid low?
My heart to second childhood they beguiled  No wonder: love
     sick-man again is child!

And I repeated to her the maker's words who said:--

"None other charms but thine shall greet mine eyes,  Nor other
     image can my heart surprise:
Thy love, my lady, captives all my thoughts  And on that love
     I'll die and I'll arise.

So I lay with her that night; none fairer I ever knew; and, when
it was morning, the damsels carried me to the Hammam bath and
bathed me and robed me in fairest apparel. Then they served up
food, and we ate and drank and the cup went round till nightfall
when I chose from among them one fair of form and face, soft-
sided and a model of grace, such an one as the poet described
when he said.--

On her fair bosom caskets twain I scanned,  Sealed fast with
     musk seals lovers to withstand
With arrowy glances stand on guard her eyes,  Whose shafts
     would shoot who dares put forth a hand.

With her I spent a most goodly night; and, to be brief, O my
mistress, I remained with them in all solace and delight of life,
eating and drinking, conversing and carousing and every night
lying with one or other of them. But at the head of the new year
they came to me in tears and bade me farewell, weeping and crying
out and clinging about me: whereat I wondered and said, "What may
be the matter? verily you break my heart!" They exclaimed, "Would
Heaven we had never known thee; for, though we have companies
with many, yet never saw we a pleasanter than thou or a more
courteous." And they wept again. "But tell me more clearly,"
asked I, "what causeth this weeping which maketh my
gall-bladder like to burst;" and they answered, "O our
lord and master, it is severance which maketh us weep; and thou,
and thou only, art the cause of our tears. If thou hearken to us
we need never be parted and if thou hearken not we part for ever;
but our hearts tell us that thou wilt not listen to our words and
this is the cause of our tears and cries." "Tell me how the case
standeth?" "Know, O our lord, that we are the daughters of Kings
who have met here and have lived together for years; and once in
every year we are perforce absent for forty days; and afterwards
we return and abide here for the rest of the twelve month eating
and drinking and taking our pleasure and enjoying delights: we
are about to depart according to our custom; and we fear lest
after we be gone thou contraire our charge and disobey our
injunctions. Here now we commit to thee the keys of the palace
which containeth forty chambers and thou mayest open of these
thirty and nine, but beware (and we conjure thee by Allah and by
the lives of us!) lest thou open the fortieth door, for therein
is that which shall separate us for ever." Quoth I,
"Assuredly I will not open it, if it contain the cause of
severance from you." Then one among them came up to me and
falling on my neck wept and recited these verses.--

"If Time unite us after absent while,  The world harsh frowning
     on our lot shall smile
And if thy semblance deign adorn mine eyes,  I'll
     pardon Time past wrongs and by gone guile."

And I recited the following:--

"When drew she near to bid adieu with heart unstrung,  While
     care and longing on that day her bosom wrung
Wet pearls she wept and mine like red carnelians rolled  And,
     joined in sad riviere, around her neck they hung."

When I saw her weeping I said, "By Allah I will never open that
fortieth door, never and no wise!" and I bade her farewell.
Thereupon all departed flying away like birds; signalling with
their hands farewells as they went and leaving me alone in the
palace. When evening drew near I opened the door of the first
chamber and entering it found myself in a place like one of the
pleasaunces of Paradise. It was a garden with trees of freshest
green and ripe fruits of yellow sheen; and its birds were singing
clear and keen and rills ran wimpling through the fair terrene.
The sight and sounds brought solace to my sprite; and I walked
among the trees, and I smelt the breath of the flowers on the
breeze; and heard the birdies sing their melodies hymning the
One, the Almighty in sweetest litanies; and I looked upon the
apple whose hue is parcel red and parcel yellow; as said the
poet:--

Apple whose hue combines in union mellow  My fair's red cheek,
     her hapless lover's yellow.

Then I looked upon the quince, and inhaled its fragrance which to
shame musk and ambergris, even as the poet hath said :

Quince every taste conjoins; in her are found  Gifts which for
     queen of fruits the Quince have crowned
Her taste is wine, her scent the waft of musk;  Pure gold her
     hue, her shape the Moon's fair round.

Then I looked upon the pear whose taste surpasseth sherbet and
sugar; and the apricot whose beauty striketh the eye with
admiration, as if she were a polished ruby. Then I went out of
the place and locked the door as it was before. When it was the
morrow I opened the second door; and entering found myself in a
spacious plain set with tall date palms and watered by a running
stream whose banks were shrubbed with bushes of rose and jasmine,
while privet and eglantine, oxe-eye, violet and lily, narcissus,
origane and the winter gilliflower carpeted the borders; and the
breath of the breeze swept over these sweet smelling growths
diffusing their delicious odours right and left, perfuming the
world and filling my soul with delight. After taking my pleasure
there awhile I went from it and, having closed the door as it was
before, opened the third door wherein I saw a high open hall
pargetted with parti-coloured marbles and pietra dura of price
and other precious stones, and hung with cages of sandal-wood and
eagle-wood; full of birds which made sweet music, such as the
Thousand voiced, and the cushat, the merle, the turtle-
dove and the Nubian ring dove. My heart was filled with pleasure
thereby; my grief was dispelled and I slept in that aviary till
dawn. Then I undocked the door of the fourth chamber and therein
found a grand saloon with forty smaller chambers giving upon it.
All their doors stood open: so I entered and found them full of
pearls and jacinths and beryls and emeralds and corals and car
buncles, and all manner precious gems and jewels, such as tongue
of man may not describe. My thought was stunned at the sight and
I said to myself, "These be things methinks united which could
not be found save in the treasuries of a King of Kings, nor could
the monarchs of the world have collected the like of these!" And
my heart dilated and my sorrows ceased, "For," quoth I, "now
verily am I the monarch of the age, since by Allah's grace this
enormous wealth is mine; and I have forty damsels under my hand
nor is there any to claim them save myself." Then I gave not over
opening place after place until nine and thirty days were passed
and in that time I had entered every chamber except that one
whose door the Princesses had charged me not to open. But my
thoughts, O my mistress, ever ran on that forbidden
fortieth and Satan urged me to open it for my own
undoing; nor had I patience to forbear, albeit there wanted of
the trysting time but a single day. So I stood before the chamber
aforesaid and, after a moment's hesitation, opened the door which
was plated with red gold, and entered. I was met by a perfume
whose like I had never before smelt; and so sharp and subtle was
the odour that it made my senses drunken as with strong wine, and
I fell to the ground in a fainting fit which lasted a full hour.
When I came to myself I strengthened my heart and, entering,
found myself in a chamber whose floor was bespread with saffron
and blazing with light from branched candelabra of gold and lamps
fed with costly oils, which diffused the scent of musk and
ambergris. I saw there also two great censers each big as a
mazer-bowl, flaming with lign-aloes, nadd-
perfume, ambergris and honied scents; and the place was
full of their fragrance. Presently, O my lady, I espied a noble
steed, black as the murks of night when murkiest, standing, ready
saddled and bridled (and his saddle was of red gold) before two
mangers, one of clear crystal wherein was husked sesame, and the
other also of crystal containing water of the rose scented with
musk. When I saw this I marvelled and said to myself, "Doubtless
in this animal must be some wondrous mystery;" and Satan cozened
me, so I led him without the palace end mounted him, but he would
not stir from his place. So I hammered his sides with my heels,
but he moved not, and then I took the rein whip, and
struck him withal. When he felt the blow, he neighed a neigh with
a sound like deafening thunder and, opening a pair of
wings flew up with me in the firmament of heaven far
beyond the eyesight of man. After a full hour of flight he
descended and alighted on a terrace roof and shaking me off his
back lashed me on the face with his tail and gouged out my left
eye causing it roll along my cheek. Then he flew away. I went
down from the terrace and found myself again amongst the ten one
eyed youths sitting upon their ten couches with blue covers; and
they cried out when they saw me, "No welcome to thee, nor aught
of good cheer! We all lived of lives the happiest and we ate and
drank of the best; upon brocades and cloths of gold we took rest
and we slept with our heads on beauty's breast, but we could not
await one day to gain the delights of a year!" Quoth I, "Behold I
have become one like unto you and now I would have you bring me a
tray full of blackness, wherewith to blacken my face, and receive
me into your society." "No, by Allah," quoth they, "thou shalt
not sojourn with us and now get thee hence!" So they drove me
away. Finding them reject me thus I foresaw that matters would go
hard with me, and I remembered the many miseries which Destiny
had written upon my forehead; and I fared forth from among them
heavy hearted and tearful eyed, repeating to myself these words,
"I was sitting at mine ease but my frowardness brought me to
unease." Then I shaved beard and mustachios and eye brows,
renouncing the world, and wandered in Kalandar garb about
Allah's earth; and the Almighty decreed safety for me till I
arrived at Baghdad, which was on the evening of this very night.
Here I met these two other Kalandars standing bewildered; so I
saluted them saying, "I am a stranger!" and they answered, "And
we likewise be strangers!" By the freak of Fortune we were like
to like, three Kalandars and three monoculars all blind of the
left eye. Such, O my lady, is the cause of the shearing of my
beard and the manner of my losing an eye. Said the lady to him,
"Rub thy head and wend thy ways;" but he answered, "By Allah, I
will not go until I hear the stories of these others." Then the
lady, turning towards the Caliph and Ja'afar and Masrur, said to
them, "Do ye also give an account of yourselves, you men!"
Whereupon Ja'afar stood forth and told her what he had told the
portress as they were entering the house; and when she heard his
story of their being merchants and Mosul men who had outrun the
watch, she said, "I grant you your lives each for each sake, and
now away with you all." So they all went out and when they were
in the street, quoth the Caliph to the Kalandars, "O company,
whither go ye now, seeing that the morning hath not yet dawned?"
Quoth they, "By Allah, O our lord, we know not where to go."
"Come and pass the rest of the night with us," said the Caliph
and, turning to Ja'afar, "Take them home with thee and tomorrow
bring them to my presence that we may chronicle their
adventures." Ja'afar did as the Caliph bade him and the Commander
of the Faithful returned to his palace; but sleep gave no sign of
visiting him that night and he lay awake pondering the mishaps of
the three Kalandar princes and impatient to know the history of
the ladies and the two black bitches. No sooner had morning
dawned than he went forth and sat upon the throne of his
sovereignty; and, turning to Ja'afar, after all his Grandees and
Officers of state were gathered together, he said, "Bring me the
three ladies and the two bitches and the three Kalandars." So
Ja'afar fared forth and brought them all before him (and the
ladies were veiled); then the Minister turned to them and said in
the Caliph's name, "We pardon you your maltreatment of us and
your want of courtesy, in consideration of the kindness which
forewent it, and for that ye knew us not: now however I would
have you to know that ye stand in presence of the fifth
of the sons of Abbas, Harun al-Rashid, brother of Caliph Musa al-
Hadi, son of Al-Mansur; son of Mohammed the brother of Al-Saffah
bin Mohammed who was first of the royal house. Speak ye therefore
before him the truth and the whole truth!" When the ladies heard
Ja afar's words touching the Commander of the Faithful, the
eldest came forward and said, "O Prince of True Believers, my
story is one which, were it graven with needle-gravers upon the
eye corners were a warner for whoso would be warned and an
example for whoso can take profit from example."--And Shahrazad
perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.

               When it was the Seventeenth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that she stood
forth before the Commander of the Faithful and began to tell





The Eldest Lady's Tale.


Verily a strange tale is mine and 'tis this:--Yon two black
bitches are my eldest sisters by one mother and father; and these
two others, she who beareth upon her the signs of stripes and the
third our procuratrix are my sisters by another mother. When my
father died, each took her share of the heritage and, after a
while my mother also deceased, leaving me and my sisters german
three thousand diners; so each daughter received her portion of a
thousand diners and I the same, albe the youngest. In due course
of time my sisters married with the usual festivities and lived
with their husbands, who bought merchandise with their wives
monies and set out on their travels together. Thus they threw me
off. My brothers in law were absent with their wives five years,
during which period they spent all the money they had and,
becoming bankrupt, deserted my sisters in foreign parts amid
stranger folk. After five years my eldest sister returned to me
in beggar's gear with her clothes in rags and tatters and
a dirty old mantilla; and truly she was in the foulest
and sorriest plight. At first sight I did not know my own sister;
but presently I recognised her and said "What state is this?" "O
our sister," she replied, "Words cannot undo the done; and the
reed of Destiny hath run through what Allah decreed." Then I sent
her to the bath and dressed her in a suit of mine own, and boiled
for her a bouillon and brought her some good wine and said to
her, "O my sister, thou art the eldest, who still standest to us
in the stead of father and mother; and, as for the inheritance
which came to me as to you twain, Allah hath blessed it and
prospered it to me with increase; and my circumstances are easy,
for I have made much money by spinning and cleaning silk; and I
and you will share my wealth alike." I entreated her with all
kindliness and she abode with me a whole year, during which our
thoughts and fancies were always full of our other sister. Shortly
after she too came home in yet fouler and sorrier plight than
that of my eldest sister; and I dealt by her still more honorably
than I had done by the first, and each of them had a share of my
substance. After a time they said to me, 'O our sister, we desire
to marry again, for indeed we have not patience to drag on our
days without husbands and to lead the lives of widows bewitched;"
and I replied, "O eyes of me! ye have hitherto seen
scanty weal in wedlock, for now-a-days good men and true are
become rarities and curiosities; nor do I deem your projects
advisable, as ye have already made trial of matrimony and have
failed." But they would not accept my advice and married without
my consent: nevertheless I gave them outfit and dowries out of my
money; and they fared forth with their mates. In a mighty little
time their husbands played them false and, taking whatever they
could lay hands upon, levanted and left them in the lurch.
Thereupon they came to me ashamed and in abject case and made
their excuses to me, saying, Pardon our fault and be not wroth
with us; for although thou art younger in years yet art
thou older in wit; henceforth we will never make mention of
marriage; so take us back as thy hand maidens that we may eat our
mouthful." Quoth I, "Welcome to you, O my sisters, there is
naught dearer to me than you." And I took them in and redoubled
my kindness to them. We ceased not to live after this loving
fashion for a full year, when I resolved to sell my wares abroad
and first to fit me a conveyance for Bassorah; so I equipped a
large ship, and loaded her with merchandise and valuable goods
for traffic, and with provaunt and all needful for a voyage, and
said to my sisters, "Will ye abide at home whilst I travel, or
would ye prefer to accompany me on the voyage?" "We will travel
with thee," answered they, "for we cannot bear to be parted from
thee." So I divided my monies into two parts, one to accompany me
and the other to be left in charge of a trusty person, for, as I
said to myself, "Haply some accident may happen to the ship and
yet we remain alive; in which case we shall find on our return
what may stand us in good stead." I took my two sisters and we
went a voyaging some days and nights; but the master was careless
enough to miss his course, and the ship went astray with us and
entered a sea other than the sea we sought. For a time we knew
naught of this; and the wind blew fair for us ten days, after
which the look out man went aloft to see about him and cried,
"Good news!" Then he came down rejoicing and said, "I have seen
what seemeth to be a city as 'twere a pigeon." Hereat we rejoiced
and, ere an hour of the day had passed, the buildings showed
plain in the offing and we asked the Captain, "What is the name
of yonder city?" and he answered By Allah I wot not, for I never
saw it before and never sailed these seas in my life: but, since
our troubles have ended in safety, remains for you only to land
there with your merchandise and, if you find selling profitable,
sell and make your market of what is there; and if not, we will
rest here two days and provision ourselves and fare away." So we
entered the port and the Captain went up town and was absent
awhile, after which he returned to us and said, "Arise; go up
into the city and marvel at the works of Allah with His creatures
and pray to be preserved from His righteous wrath!" So we landed
and going up into the city, saw at the gate men hending staves in
hand; but when we drew near them, behold, they had been
translated by the anger of Allah and had become stones.
Then we entered the city and found all who therein woned into
black stones enstoned: not an inhabited house appeared to the
espier, nor was there a blower of fire. We were awe
struck at the sight and threaded the market streets where we
found the goods and gold and silver left lying in their places;
and we were glad and said, "Doubtless there is some mystery in
all this." Then we dispersed about the thorough-fares and each
busied himself with collecting the wealth and money and rich
stuffs, taking scanty heed of friend or comrade. As for myself I
went up to the castle which was strongly fortified; and, entering
the King's palace by its gate of red gold, found all the vaiselle
of gold and silver, and the King himself seated in the midst of
his Chamberlains and Nabobs and Emirs and Wazirs; all clad in
raiment which confounded man's art. I drew nearer and saw him
sitting on a throne incrusted and inlaid with pearls and gems;
and his robes were of gold-cloth adorned with jewels of every
kind, each one flashing like a star. Around him stood fifty
Mamelukes, white slaves, clothed in silks of divers sorts holding
their drawn swords in their hands; but when I drew near to them
lo! all were black stones. My understanding was confounded at the
sight, but I walked on and entered the great hall of the
Harim, whose walls I found hung with tapestries of gold
striped silk and spread with silken carpets embroidered with
golden cowers. Here I saw the Queen lying at full length arrayed
in robes purfled with fresh young pearls; on her head was
a diadem set with many sorts of gems each fit for a ring
and around her neck hung collars and necklaces. All her raiment
and her ornaments were in natural state but she had been turned
into a black stone by Allah's wrath. Presently I espied an open
door for which I made straight and found leading to it a flight
of seven steps. So I walked up and came upon a place pargetted
with marble and spread and hung with gold-worked carpets and
tapestry, amiddlemostof which stood a throne of juniper wood
inlaid with pearls and precious stones and set with bosses of
emeralds. In the further wall was an alcove whose curtains,
bestrung with pearls, were let down and I saw a light issuing
therefrom; so I drew near and perceived that the light came from
a precious stone as big as an ostrich egg, set at the upper end
of the alcove upon a little chryselephantine couch of ivory and
gold; and this jewel, blazing like the sun, cast its rays wide
and side. The couch also was spread with all manner of silken
stuffs amazing the gazer with their richness and beauty. I
marvelled much at all this, especially when seeing in that place
candles ready lighted; and I said in my mind, "Needs must some
one have lighted these candles." Then I went forth and came to
the kitchen and thence to the buttery and the King's treasure
chambers; and continued to explore the palace and to pace from
place to place; I forgot myself in my awe and marvel at these
matters and I was drowned in thought till the night came on. Then
I would have gone forth, but knowing not the gate I lost my way,
so I returned to the alcove whither the lighted candles directed
me and sat down upon the couch; and wrapping myself in a
coverlet, after I had repeated somewhat from the Koran, I would
have slept but could not, for restlessness possessed me. When
night was at its noon I heard a voice chanting the Koran in
sweetest accents; but the tone thereof was weak; so I rose, glad
to hear the silence broken, and followed the sound until I
reached a closet whose door stood ajar. Then peeping through a
chink I considered the place and lo! it was an oratory wherein
was a prayer niche with two wax candles burning and lamps
hanging from the ceiling. In it too was spread a prayer carpet
whereupon sat a youth fair to see; and before him on its
stand was a copy of the Koran, from which he was reading.
I marvelled to see him alone alive amongst the people of the city
and entering saluted him; whereupon he raised his eyes and
returned my salam. Quoth I, "Now by the Truth of what thou
readest in Allah's Holy Book, I conjure thee to answer my
question." He looked upon me with a smile and said, "O handmaid
of Allah, first tell me the cause of thy coming hither, and I in
turn will tell what hath befallen both me and the people of this
city, and what was the reason of my escaping their doom." So I
told him my story whereat he wondered; and I questioned him of
the people of the city, when he replied, "Have patience with me
for a while, O my sister!" and, reverently closing the Holy Book,
he laid it up in a satin bag. Then he seated me by his side; and
I looked at him and behold, he was as the moon at its full, fair
of face and rare of form, soft sided and slight, of well
proportioned height, and cheek smoothly bright and diffusing
light; in brief a sweet, a sugar stick,. even as saith
the poet of the like of him in these couplets:--

That night th' astrologer a scheme of planets drew,  And lo! a
     graceful shape of youth appeared in view:
Saturn had stained his locks with Saturninest jet,  And spots of
     nut brown musk on rosy side face blew:
Mars tinctured either cheek with tinct of martial red;  Sagittal
     shots from eyelids Sagittarius threw:
Dowered him Mercury with bright mercurial wit;  Bore off the
     Bear what all man's evil glances grew:
Amazed stood Astrophil to sight the marvel birth  When louted
     low the Moon at full to buss the Earth.

And of a truth Allah the Most High had robed him in the raiment
of perfect grace and had purfled and fringed it with a cheek all
beauty and loveliness, even as the poet saith of such an one:--

By his eyelids shedding perfume and his fine slim waist I swear,
      By the shooting of his shafts barbed with sorcery passing
     rare;
By the softness of his sides, and glances' lingering
     light,  And brow of dazzling day-tide ray and night within
     his hair;
By his eyebrows which deny to who look upon them rest,  Now
     bidding now forbidding, ever dealing joy and care;
By the rose that decks his cheek, and the myrtle of its
     moss,  By jacinths bedded in his lips and pearl his
     smile lays bare;
By his graceful bending neck and the curving of his breast, 
     Whose polished surface beareth those granados, lovely pair;
By his heavy hips that quiver as he passeth in his pride,  Or he
     resteth with that waist which is slim beyond compare;
By the satin of his skin, by that fine unsullied sprite;  By the
     beauty that containeth all things bright and debonnair;
By that ever open hand; by the candour of his tongue;  By noble
     blood and high degree whereof he's hope and heir;
Musk from him borrows muskiness she loveth to exhale  And all
     the airs of ambergris through him perfume the air;
The sun, methinks, the broad bright sun, before my love would
     pale  And sans his splendour would appear a paring of his
     nail.

I glanced at him with one glance of eyes which caused me a
thousand sighs; and my heart was at once taken captive wise, so I
asked him, "O my lord and my love, tell me that whereof I
questioned thee;" and he answered, "Hearing is obeying! Know O
handmaid of Allah, that this city was the capital of my father
who is the King thou sawest on the throne transfigured by Allah's
wrath to a black stone, and the Queen thou foundest in the alcove
is my mother. They and all the people of the city were Magians
who fire adored in lieu of the Omnipotent Lord and were
wont to swear by lowe and heat and shade and light and the
spheres revolving day and night. My father had ne'er a son till
he was blest with me near the last of his days; and he reared me
till I grew up and prosperity anticipated me in all things. Now
it so fortuned that there was with us an old woman well stricken
in years, a Moslemah who, inwardly believing in Allah and His
Apostle, conformed outwardly with the religion of my people; and
my father placed thorough confidence in her for that he knew her
to be trustworthy and virtuous; and he treated her with ever
increasing kindness believing her to be of his own belief. So
when I was well nigh grown up my father committed me to her
charge saying:--Take him and educate him and teach him the rules
of our faith; let him have the best in structions and cease not
thy fostering care of him. So she took me and taught me the
tenets of Al-Islam with the divine ordinances of the Wuzu
ablution and the five daily prayers and she made me learn the
Koran by rote, often repeating:--Serve none save Allah Almighty!
When I had mastered this much of knowledge she said to me:--O my
son, keep this matter concealed from thy sire and reveal naught
to him lest he slay thee. So I hid it from him and I abode on
this wise for a term of days when the old woman died, and the
people of the city redoubled in their impiety and
arrogance and the error of their ways. One day, while they were
as wont, behold, they heard a loud and terrible sound and a crier
crying out with a voice like roaring thunder so every ear could
hear, far and near, "O folk of this city, leave ye your fire
worshipping and adore Allah the All-compassionate King!" At this,
fear and terror fell upon the citizens and they crowded to my
father (he being King of the city) and asked him, "What is this
awesome voice we have heard, for it hath confounded us with the
excess of its terror?" and he answered, "Let not a voice fright
you nor shake your steadfast sprite nor turn you back from the
faith which is right." Their hearts inclined to his words and
they ceased not to worship the fire and they persisted in
rebellion for a full year from the time they heard the first
voice; and on the anniversary came a second cry, and a third at
the head of the third year, each year once Still they persisted
in their malpractises till one day at break of dawn, judgment and
the wrath of Heaven descended upon them with all suddenness, and
by the visitation of Allah all were metamorphosed into black
stones, they and their beasts and their cattle; and none
was saved save myself who at the time was engaged in my
devotions. From that day to this I am in the case thou seest,
constant in prayer and fasting and reading and reciting the
Koran; but I am indeed grown weary by reason of my loneliness,
having none to bear me company." Then said I to him (for in very
sooth he had won my heart and was the lord of my life and soul),
"O youth, wilt thou fare with me to Baghdad city and visit the
Olema and men learned in the law and doctors of divinity and get
thee increase of wisdom and understanding and theology? And know
that she who standeth in thy presence will be thy handmaid,
albeit she be head of her family and mistress over men and
eunuchs and servants and slaves Indeed my life was no life before
it fell in with thy youth. I have here a ship laden with
merchandise; and in very truth Destiny drove me to this city that
I might come to the knowledge of these matters, for it was fated
that we should meet." And I ceased not to persuade him and speak
him fair and use every art till he consented.--And Shahrazad
perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.

               When it was the Eighteenth Night,

She continued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the
lady ceased not persuading with soft speech the youth to depart
with her till he consented and said "Yes." She slept that night
lying at his feet and hardly knowing where she was for excess of
joy. As soon as the next morning dawned (she pursued, addressing
the Caliph), I arose and we entered the treasuries and took
thence whatever was light in weight and great in worth; then we
went down side by side from the castle to the city, where we were
met by the Captain and my sisters and slaves who had been seeking
for me. When they saw me they rejoiced and asked what had stayed
me, and I told them all I had seen and related to them the story
of the young Prince and the transformation wherewith the citizens
had been justly visited. Hereat all marvelled, but when my two
sisters (these two bitches, O Commander of the Faithful!) saw me
by the side of my young lover they jaloused me on his account and
were wroth and plotted mischief against me. We awaited a fair
wind and went on board rejoicing and ready to fly for joy by
reason of the goods we had gotten, but my own greatest joyance
was in the youth; and we waited awhile till the wind blew fair for
us and then we set sail and fared forth. Now as we sat talking,
my sisters asked me, "And what wilt thou do with this handsome
young man?"; and I answered, "I purpose to make him my husband!"
Then I turned to him and said, "O my lord, I have that to propose
to thee wherein thou must not cross me; and this it is that, when
we reach Baghdad, my native city, I offer thee my life as thy
handmaiden in holy matrimony, and thou shalt be to me baron and I
will be femme to thee." He answered, "I hear and I obey!; thou
art my lady and my mistress and whatso thou doest I will not
gainsay." Then I turned to my sisters and said, "This is my gain;
I content me with this youth and those who have gotten aught of
my property let them keep it as their gain with my good will."
"Thou sayest and doest well," answered the twain, but they
imagined mischief against me. We ceased not spooning before a
fair wind till we had exchanged the sea of peril for the seas of
safety and, in a few days, we made Bassorah city, whose buildings
loomed clear before us as evening fell. But after we had retired
to rest and were sound alseep, my two sisters arose and took me
up, bed and all, and threw me into the sea: they did the same
with the young Prince who, as he could not swim, sank and was
drowned and Allah enrolled him in the noble army of
Martyrs. As for me would Heaven I had been drowned with
him, but Allah deemed that I should be of the saved; so when I
awoke and found myself in the sea and saw the ship making off
like a dash of lightning, He threw in my way a piece of timber
which I bestrided, and the waves tossed me to and fro till they
cast me upon an island coast, a high land and an uninhabited. I
landed and walked about the island the rest of the night and,
when morning dawned, I saw a rough track barely fit for child of
Adam to tread, leading to what proved a shallow ford connecting
island and mainland. As soon as the sun had risen I spread my
garments to dry in its rays; and ate of the fruits of the island
and drank of its waters; then I set out along the foot track and
ceased not walking till I reached the mainland. Now when there
remained between me and the city but a two hours' journey behold,
a great serpent, the bigness of a date palm, came fleeing towards
me in all haste, gliding along now to the right then to the left
till she was close upon me, whilst her tongue lolled ground wards
a span long and swept the dust as she went. She was pursued by a
Dragon who was not longer than two lances, and of slender
build about the bulk of a spear and, although her terror lent her
speed, and she kept wriggling from side to side, he overtook her
and seized her by the tail, whereat her tears streamed down and
her tongue was thrust out in her agony. I took pity on her and,
picking up a stone and calling upon Allah for aid, threw it at
the Dragon's head with such force that he died then and there;
and the serpent opening a pair of wings flew into the lift and
disappeared from before my eyes. I sat down marvelling over that
adventure, but I was weary and, drowsiness overcoming me, I slept
where I was for a while. When I awoke I found a jet black damsel
sitting at my feet shampooing them; and by her side stood two
black bitches (my sisters, O Commander of the Faithful!). I was
ashamed before her and, sitting up, asked her, "O my
sister, who and what art thou?"; and she answered, "How soon hast
thou forgotten me! I am she for whom thou wroughtest a good deed
and sowedest the seed of gratitude and slewest her foe; for I am
the serpent whom by Allah's aidance thou didst just now deliver
from the Dragon. I am a Jinniyah and he was a Jinn who hated me,
and none saved my life from him save thou. As soon as thou
freedest me from him I flew on the wind to the ship whence thy
sisters threw thee, and removed all that was therein to thy
house. Then I ordered my attendant Marids to sink the ship and I
transformed thy two sisters into these black bitches; for I know
all that hath passed between them and thee; but as for the youth,
of a truth he is drowned." So saying, she flew up with me and the
bitches, and presently set us down on the terrace roof of my
house, wherein I found ready stored the whole of what property
was in my ship, nor was aught of it missing. "Now (continued the
serpent that was), I swear by all engraver on the seal-ring of
Solomon (with whom be peace!) unless thou deal to each of
these bitches three hundred stripes every day I will come and
imprison thee forever under the earth." I answered, "Hearkening
and obedience!"; and away she flew. But before going she again
charged me saying, "I again swear by Him who made the two seas
flow (and this be my second oath) if thou gainsay me I
will come and transform thee like thy sisters." Since then I have
never failed, O Commander of the Faithful, to beat them with that
number of blows till their blood flows with my tears, I pitying
them the while, and well they wot that their being scourged is no
fault of mine and they accept my excuses. And this is my tale and
my history! The Caliph marvelled at her adventures and then
signed to Ja'afar who said to the second lady, the Portress, "And
thou, how camest thou by the welts and wheels upon thy body?" So
she began the





Tale of the Portress.


Know, O Commander of the Faithful, that I had a father who, after
fulfilling his time, deceased and left me great store of wealth.
I remained single for a short time and presently married one of
the richest of his day. I abode with him a year when he also
died, and my share of his property amounted to eighty thousand
diners in gold according to the holy law of inheritance.
Thus I became passing rich an my reputation spread far and wide,
for I had made me ten changes of raiment, each worth a thousand
diners One day as I was sitting at home, behold, there came in to
me an old woman with lantern jaws and cheeks sucked in,
and eyes rucked up, and eyebrows scant and scald, and head bare
and bald; and teeth broken by time and mauled, and back bending
and neck nape nodding, and face blotched, and rheum running, and
hair like a snake black and white speckled, in complexion a very
fright, even as saith the poet of the like of her:--

Ill-omened hag! unshriven be her sins  Nor mercy visit her on
     dying bed:
Thousand head strongest he mules would her guiles,  Despite
     their bolting lead with spider thread.

And as saith another:--

A hag to whom th' unlawful lawfullest  And witchcraft wisdom in
     her sight are grown:
A mischief making brat, a demon maid,  A whorish woman and a
     pimping crone.

When the old woman entered she salamed to me and kissing the
ground before me, said, "I have at home an orphan daughter and
this night are her wedding and her displaying. We be poor
folks and strangers in this city knowing none inhabitant and we
are broken hearted. So do thou earn for thyself a recompense and
a reward in Heaven by being present at her displaying and, when
the ladies of this city shall hear that thou art to make act of
presence, they also will present themselves; so shalt thou
comfort her affliction, for she is sore bruised in spirit and she
hath none to look to save Allah the Most High." Then she wept and
kissed my feet reciting these couplets:--

"Thy presence bringeth us a grace  We own before thy winsome
     face:
And wert thou absent ne'er an one  Could stand in stead or take
     thy place."

So pity get hold on me and compassion and I said, "Hearing is
consenting and, please Allah, I will do somewhat more for her;
nor shall she be shown to her bridegroom save in my raiment and
ornaments and jewelry." At this the old woman rejoiced and bowed
her head to my feet and kissed them, saying, "Allah requite thee
weal, and comfort thy heart even as thou hast comforted mine!
But, O my lady, do not trouble thyself to do me this service at
this hour; be thou ready by supper time, when I will come
and fetch thee." So saying she kissed my hand and went her ways.
I set about stringing my pearls and donning my brocades and
making my toilette. Little recking what Fortune had in womb for
me, when suddenly the old woman stood before me, simpering and
smiling till she showed every tooth stump, and quoth she, "O my
mistress, the city madams have arrived and when I apprized them
that thou promisedst to be present, they were glad and they are
now awaiting thee and looking eagerly for thy coming and for the
honour of meeting thee." So I threw on my mantilla and, making
the old crone walk before me and my handmaidens behind me, I
fared till we came to a street well watered and swept neat, where
the winnowing breeze blew cool and sweet. Here we were stopped by
a gate arched over with a dome of marble stone firmly seated on
solidest foundation, and leading to a Palace whose walls from
earth rose tall and proud, and whose pinnacle was crowned by the
clouds, and over the doorway were writ these couplets:--

I am the wone where Mirth shall ever smile;  The home of
     Joyance through my lasting while:
And 'mid my court a fountain jets and flows,  Nor tears nor
     troubles shall that fount defile:
The merge with royal Nu'uman's bloom is dight, 
     Myrtle, Narcissus-flower and Chamomile.

Arrived at the gate, before which hung a black curtain, the old
woman knocked and it was opened to us; when we entered and found
a vestibule spread with carpets and hung around with lamps all
alight and wax candles in candelabra adorned with pendants of
precious gems and noble ores. We passed on through this passage
till we entered a saloon, whose like for grandeur and beauty is
not to be found in this world. It was hung and carpeted with
silken stuffs, and was illuminated with branches sconces and
tapers ranged in double row, an avenue abutting on the upper or
noble end of the saloon, where stood a couch of juniper wood
encrusted with pearls and gems and surmounted by a baldaquin with
mosquito curtains of satin looped up with margaritas. And hardly
had we taken note of this when there came forth from the
baldaquin a young lady and I looked, O Commander of the Faithful,
upon a face and form more perfect than the moon when fullest,
with a favour brighter than the dawn gleaming with saffron-hued
light, even as the poet sang when he said--

Thou pacest the palace a marvel sight,  A bride for a Kisra's or
     Kaisar's night!
Wantons the rose on thy roseate cheek,  O cheek as the blood of
     the dragon bright!
Slim waisted, languorous, sleepy eyed,  With charms which
     promise all love
And the tire which attires thy tiara'd brow  Is a night of woe
     on a morn's glad light.

The fair young girl came down from the estrade and said to me,
"Welcome and well come and good cheer to my sister, the dearly
beloved, the illustrious, and a thousand greetings!" Then she
recited these couplets:--

"An but the house could know who cometh 'twould rejoice,  And
     kiss the very dust whereon thy foot was placed
And with the tongue of circumstance the walls would say, 
     "Welcome and hail to one with generous gifts engraced!"

Then sat she down and said to me, "O my sister, I have a brother
who hath had sight of thee at sundry wedding feasts and festive
seasons: he is a youth handsomer than I, and he hath fallen
desperately in love with thee, for that bounteous Destiny hath
garnered in thee all beauty and perfection; and he hath given
silver to this old woman that she might visit thee; and she hath
contrived on this wise to foregather us twain. He hath heard that
thou art one of the nobles of thy tribe nor is he aught less in
his; and, being desirous to ally his lot with thy lot, he hath
practiced this device to bring me in company with thee; for he is
fain to marry thee after the ordinance of Allah and his Apostle;
and in what is lawful and right there is no shame." When I heard
these words and saw myself fairly entrapped in the house, I said,
"Hearing is consenting." She was delighted at this and clapped
her hands; whereupon a door opened and out of it came a
young man blooming in the prime of life, exquisitely dressed, a
model of beauty and loveliness and symmetry and perfect grace,
with gentle winning manners and eyebrows like a bended bow and
shaft on cord, and eyes which bewitched all hearts with sorcery
lawful in the sight of the Lord; even as saith some rhymer
describing the like of him:--

His face as the face of the young moon shines  And Fortune
     stamps him with pearls for signs.

And Allah favour him who said:--

Blest be his beauty; blest the Lord's decree  Who cast and
     shaped a thing so bright of blee:
All gifts of beauty he conjoins in one;  Lost in his love is all
     humanity;
For Beauty's self inscribed on his brow  "I testify there be no
     Good but he!"

When I looked at him my heart inclined to him and I loved him;
and he sat by my side and talked with me a while, when the young
lady again clapped her hands and behold, a side door opened and
out of it came the Kazi with his four assessors as witnesses; and
they saluted us and, sitting down, drew up and wrote out the
marriage contract between me and the youth and retired. Then he
turned to me and said, "Be our night blessed," presently adding,
"O my lady, I have a condition to lay on thee." Quoth I, "O my
lord, what is that?" Whereupon he arose and fetching a copy of
the Holy Book presented it to me saying "Swear hereon thou wilt
never look at any other than myself nor incline thy body or thy
heart to him." I swore readily enough to this and he joyed with
exceeding joy and embraced me round the neck while love for him
possessed my whole heart. Then they set the table before
us and we ate and drank till we were satisfied, but I was dying
for the coming of the night. And when night did come he led me to
the bride chamber and slept with me on the bed and continued to
kiss and embrace me till the morning--such a night I had never
seen in my dreams. I lived with him a life of happiness and
delight for a full month, at the end of which I asked his
leave to go on foot to the bazar and buy me certain
especial stuffs and he gave me permission. So I donned my
mantilla and, taking with me the old woman and a
slave-girl, I went to the khan of the silk-mercers, where
I seated myself in the shop front of a young merchant whom the
old woman recommended, saying to me, "This youth's father died
when he was a boy and left him great store of wealth: he hath by
him a mighty fine stock of goods and thou wilt find what
thou seekest with him, for none in the bazar hath better stuffs
than he. Then she said to him, "Show this lady the most costly
stuffs thou hast by thee;" and he replied, "Hearkening and
obedience!" Then she whispered me, "Say a civil word to him!";
but I replied, "I am pledged to address no man save my lord. And
as she began to sound his praise I said sharply to her, We want
nought of thy sweet speeches; our wish is to buy of him
whatsoever we need, and return home." So he brought me all I
sought and I offered him his money, but he refused to take it
saying, "Let it be a gift offered to my guest this day!" Then
quoth I to the old woman, "If he will not take the money, give
him back his stuff." "By Allah," cried he, "not a thing will I
take from thee: I sell it not for gold or for silver, but I give
it all as a gift for a single kiss; a kiss more precious to me
than everything the shop containeth." Asked the old woman, "What
will the kiss profit thee?"; and, turning to me, whispered, "O my
daughter, thou hearest what this young fellow saith? What harm
will it do thee if he get a kiss from thee and thou gettest what
thou seekest at that price?" Replied I, "I take refuge with Allah
from such action! Knowest thou not that I am bound by an
oath?'' But she answered, "Now whist! just let him kiss
thee and neither speak to him nor lean over him, so shalt thou
keep thine oath and thy silver, and no harm whatever shall befal
thee." And she ceased not to persuade me and importune me and
make light of the matter till evil entered into my mind and I put
my head in the poke and, declaring I would ne'er consent,
consented. So I veiled my eyes and held up the edge of my
mantilla between me and the people passing and he put his mouth
to my cheek under the veil. But while kissing me he bit me so
hard a bite that it tore the flesh from my cheek, and
blood flowed fast and faintness came over me. The old woman
caught me in her arms and, when I came to myself, I found the
shop shut up and her sorrowing over me and saying, "Thank Allah
for averting what might have been worse!" Then she said to me,
"Come, take heart and let us go home before the matter become
public and thou be dishonoured. And when thou art safe inside the
house feign sickness and lie down and cover thyself up; and I
will bring thee powders and plasters to cure this bite withal,
and thy wound will be healed at the latest in three days." So
after a while I arose and I was in extreme distress and terror
came full upon me; but I went on little by little till I reached
the house when I pleaded illness and lay me down. When it was
night my husband came in to me and said, "What hath befallen
thee, O my darling, in this excursion of thine?"; and I replied,
"I am not well: my head acheth badly." Then he lighted a candle
and drew near me and looked hard at me and asked, "What is that
wound I see on thy cheek and in the tenderest part too?" And I
answered, When I went out to day with thy leave to buy stuffs, a
camel laden with firewood jostled me and one of the pieces tore
my veil and wounded my cheek as thou seest; for indeed the ways
of this city are strait." "Tomorrow," cried he, "I will go
complain to the Governor, so shall he gibbet every fuel seller in
Baghdad." "Allah upon thee," said I, "burden not thy soul with
such sin against any man. The fact is I was riding on an ass and
it stumbled, throwing me to the ground; and my cheek lighted upon
a stick or a bit of glass and got this wound." "Then," said he,
"tomorrow I will go up to Ja'afar the Barmaki and tell him the
story, so shall he kill every donkey boy in Baghdad." "Wouldst
thou destroy all these men because of my wound," said I, "when
this which befel me was by decree of Allah and His destiny?" But
he answered, "There is no help for it;" and, springing to his
feet, plied me with words and pressed me till I was perplexed and
frightened; and I stuttered and stammered and my speech waxed
thick and I said, "This is a mere accident by decree of Allah."
Then, O Commander of the Faithful, he guessed my case and said,
"Thou hast been false to thine oath." He at once cried out with a
loud cry, whereupon a door opened and in came seven black slaves
whom he commanded to drag me from my bed and throw me down in the
middle of the room. Furthermore, he ordered one of them to pinion
my elbows and squat upon my head; and a second to sit upon my
knees and secure my feet; and drawing his sword he gave it to a
third and said, "Strike her, O Sa'ad, and cut her in twain and
let each one take half and cast it into the Tigris that
the fish may eat her; for such is the retribution due to those
who violate their vows and are unfaithful to their love." And he
redoubled in wrath and recited these couplets:--

"An there be one who shares with me her love,  I'd strangle Love
     tho' life by Love were slain
Saying, O Soul, Death were the nobler choice,  For ill is Love
     when shared 'twixt partners twain."

Then he repeated to the slave, "Smite her, O Sa'ad!" And when the
slave who was sitting upon me made sure of the command he bent
down to me and said, "O my mistress, repeat the profession of
Faith and bethink thee if there be any thing thou wouldst have
done; for verily this is the last hour of thy life." "O good
slave," said I, "wait but a little while and get off my head that
I may charge thee with my last injunctions." Then I raised my
head and saw the state I was in, how I had fallen from high
degree into lowest disgrace; and into death after life (and such
life!) and how I had brought my punishment on myself by my own
sin; where upon the tears streamed from mine eyes and I wept with
exceed ing weeping. But he looked on me with eyes of wrath, and
began repeating:--

"Tell her who turneth from our love to work it injury sore,  And
     taketh her a fine new love the old love tossing o'er:
We cry enough o' thee ere thou enough of us shalt cry!  What
     past between us cloth suffice and haply something
     more."

When I heard this, O Commander of the Faithful, I wept and looked
at him and began repeating these couplets:--

"To severance you doom my love and all unmoved remain;  My
     tear sore lids you sleepless make and sleep while I
     complain:
You make firm friendship reign between mine eyes and
    insomny;  Yet can my heart forget you not, nor tears can I
    restrain:
You made me swear with many an oath my troth to hold for aye; 
     But when you reigned my bosom's lord you wrought me traitor
     bane:
I loved you like a silly child who wots not what is Love;  Then
     spare the learner, let her not be by the master slain!
By Allah's name I pray you write, when I am dead and gone, 
     Upon my tomb, This died of Love whose senses Love had ta'en:
Then haply one shall pass that way who fire of Love hath felt, 
     And treading on a lover's heart with ruth and woe shall
     melt."

When I ended my verses tears came again; but the poetry and the
weeping only added fury to his fury, and he recited:--

"'Twas not satiety bade me leave the dearling of my soul,  But
     that she sinned a mortal sin which clips me in its clip:
She sought to let another share the love between us twain,  But
     my True Faith of Unity refuseth partnership."

When he ceased reciting I wept again and prayed his pardon and
humbled myself before him and spoke him softly, saying to myself,
"I will work on him with words; so haply he will refrain from
slaying me, even though he take all I have." So I complained of
my sufferings and began to repeat these couplets:--

"Now, by thy life and wert thou just my life thou hadst not
     ta'en,  But who can break the severance law which parteth
     lovers twain!
Thou loadest me with heavy weight of longing love, when I  Can
     hardly bear my chemisette for weakness and for pain:
I marvel not to see my life and soul in ruin lain:  I marvel
     much to see my frame such severance pangs sustain."

When I ended my verse I wept again; and he looked at me and
reviled me in abusive language, repeating these
couplets:--

"Thou wast all taken up with love of other man, not me;  'Twas
     thine to show me severance face, ''twas only mine to see:
I'll leave thee for that first thou wert of me to take thy leave
      And patient bear that parting blow thou borest so
     patiently:
E'en as thou soughtest other love, so other love I'll seek,  And
     make the crime of murdering love thine own atrocity."

When he had ended his verses he again cried out to the slave,
"Cut her in half and free us from her, for we have no profit of
her. So the slave drew near me, O Commander of the Faithful and I
ceased bandying verses and made sure of death and, despairing of
life, committed my affairs to Almighty Allah, when behold, the
old woman rushed in and threw herself at my husband's feet and
kissed them and wept and said, "O my son, by the rights of my
fosterage and by my long service to thee, I conjure thee pardon
this young lady, for indeed she hath done nothing deserving such
doom. Thou art a very young man and I fear lest her death be laid
at thy door; for it is said:--Whoso slayeth shall be slain. As
for this wanton (since thou deemest her such) drive her out from
thy doors, from thy love and from thy heart." And she ceased not
to weep and importune him till he relented and said, 'I pardon
her, but needs must I set on her my mark which shall show upon
her all my life." Then he bade the slaves drag me along the
ground and lay me out at full length, after stripping me of all
my clothes; and when the slaves had so sat upon me that I
could not move, he fetched in a rod of quince tree and came down
with it upon my body, and continued beating me on the back and
sides till I lost consciousness from excess of pain, and I
despaired of life. Then he commanded the slaves to take me away
as soon as it was dark, together with the old woman to show them
the way and throw me upon the floor of the house wherein I dwelt
before my marriage. They did their lord's bidding and cast me
down in my old home and went their ways. I did not revive from my
swoon till dawn appeared, when I applied myself to the dressing
of my wounds with ointments and other medicaments; and I
medicined myself, but my sides and ribs still showed signs of the
rod as thou hast seen. I lay in weakly case and confined to my
bed for four months before I was able to rise and health returned
to me. At the end of that time I went to the house where all this
had happened and found it a ruin; the street had been pulled down
endlong and rubbish heaps rose where the building erst was; nor
could I learn how this had come about. Then I betook myself to
this my sister on my father's side and found her with these two
black bitches. I saluted her and told her what had betided me and
the whole of my story and she said, "O my sister, who is safe
from the despite of Time and secure? Thanks be to Allah who has
brought thee off safely;" and she began to say:--

"Such is the World, so bear a patient heart  When riches leave
     thee and when friends depart!"

Then she told me her own story, and what had happened to her with
her two sisters and how matters had ended; so we abode together
and the subject of marriage was never on our tongues for all
these years. After a while we were joined by our other sister,
the procuratrix, who goeth out every morning and buyeth all we
require for the day and night; and we continued in such condition
till this last night. In the morning our sister went out, as
usual, to make her market and then befel us what befel from
bringing the Porter into the house and admitting these three
Kalandar men., We entreated them kindly and honourably and a
quarter of the night had not passed ere three grave and
respectable merchants from Mosul joined us and told us their
adventures. We sat talking with them but on one condition which
they violated, whereupon we treated them as sorted with their
breach of promise, and made them repeat the account they had
given of themselves. They did our bidding and we forgave their
offence; so they departed from us and this morning we were
unexpectedly summoned to thy presence. And such is our story! The
Caliph wondered at her words and bade the tale be recorded and
chronicled and laid up in his muniment-chambers.--And Shahrazad
perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying her permitted say.

               When it was the Nineteenth Night,

She continued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the
Caliph commanded this story and those of the sister and the
Kalandars to be recorded in the archives and be set in the royal
muniment-chambers. Then he asked the eldest lady, the mistress of
the house, "Knowest thou the whereabouts of the Ifritah who
spelled thy sisters?"; and she answered, "O Commander of the
Faithful, she gave me a ringlet of her hair saying: --Whenas thou
wouldest see me, burn a couple of these hairs and I will be with
thee forthright, even though I were beyond Caucasus-mountain."
Quoth the Caliph, "Bring me hither the hair." So she brought it
and he threw the whole lock upon the fire. As soon as the odour of
the burning hair dispread itself, the palace shook and trembled,
and all present heard a rumbling and rolling of thunder and a
noise as of wings and lo! the Jinniyah who had been a serpent
stood in the Caliph's presence. Now she was a Moslemah, so she
saluted him and said, "Peace be with thee O Vicar of
Allah;" whereto he replied, "And with thee also be peace and the
mercy of Allah and His blessing." Then she continued, "Know that
this damsel sowed for me the seed of kindness, wherefor I cannot
enough requite her, in that she delivered me from death and
destroyed mine enemy. Now I had seen how her sisters dealt with
her and felt myself bound to avenge her on them. At first I was
minded to slay them, but I feared it would be grievous to her, so
I transformed them to bitches; but if thou desire their release,
O Commander of the Faithful, I will release them to pleasure thee
and her for I am of the Moslems." Quoth the Caliph, "Release them
and after we will look into the affair of the beaten lady and
consider her case carefully; and if the truth of her story be
evidenced I will exact retaliation from him who wronged
her." Said the Ifritah, "O Commander of the Faithful, I will
forthwith release them and will discover to thee the man who did
that deed by this lady and wronged her and took her property, and
he is the nearest of all men to thee!" So saying she took a cup
of water and muttered a spell over it and uttered words there was
no understanding; then she sprinkled some of the water over the
faces of the two bitches, saying, "Return to your former human
shape!" whereupon they were restored to their natural forms and
fell to praising their Creator. Then said the Ifritah, "O
Commander of the Faithful, of a truth he who scourged this lady
with rods is thy son Al-Amin brother of Al-Maamun ; for
he had heard of her beauty and love liness and he played a
lover's stratagem with her and married her according to the law
and committed the crime (such as it is) of scourging her. Yet
indeed he is not to be blamed for beating her, for he laid a
condition on her and swore her by a solemn oath not to do a
certain thing; however, she was false to her vow and he was
minded to put her to death, but he feared Almighty Allah and
contented himself with scourging her, as thou hast seen, and with
sending her back to her own place. Such is the story of the
second lady and the Lord knoweth all." When the Caliph heard
these words of the Ifritah, and knew who had beaten the damsel,
he marvelled with mighty marvel and said, "Praise be to Allah,
the Most High, the Almighty, who hath shown his exceeding mercy
towards me, enabling me to deliver these two damsels from sorcery
and torture, and vouchsafing to let me know the secret of this
lady's history! And now by Allah, we will do a deed which shall
be recorded of us after we are no more." Then he summoned his son
Al-Amin and questioned him of the story of the second lady, the
portress; and he told it in the face of truth; whereupon the
Caliph bade call into presence the Kazis and their witnesses and
the three Kalandars and the first lady with her sisters german
who had been ensorcelled; and he married the three to the three
Kalandars whom he knew to be princes and sons of Kings and he
appointed them chamberlains about his person, assigning to them
stipends and allowances and all that they required, and lodging
them in his palace at Baghdad. He returned the beaten lady to his
son, Al-Amin, renewing the marriage contract between them and
gave her great wealth and bade rebuild the house fairer than it
was before. As for himself he took to wife the procuratrix and
lay with her that night: and next day he set apart for her an
apartment in his Serraglio, with handmaidens for her service and
a fixed daily allowance. And the people marvelled at their
Caliph's generosity and natural beneficence and princely widsom;
nor did he forget to send all these histories to be recorded in
his annals. When Shahrazad ceased speaking Dunyazad exclaimed, "O
my own sister, by Allah in very sooth this is a right pleasant
tale and a delectable; never was heard the like of it, but
prithee tell me now another story to while away what yet
remaineth of the waking hours of this our night." She replied,
"With love and gladness if the King give me leave;" and he said,
"Tell thy tale and tell it quickly." So she began, in these
words,





                  THE TALE OF THE THREE APPLES


They relate, O King of the age and lord of the time and of these
days, that the Caliph Harun al-Rashid summoned his Wazir Ja'afar
one night and said to him, 'I desire to go down into the city and
question the common folk concerning the conduct of those charged
with its governance; and those of whom they complain we will
depose from office and those whom they commend we will promote."
Quoth Ja'afar, "Hearkening and obedience!" So the Caliph went
down with Ja'afar and Eunuch Masrur to the town and walked about
the streets and markets and, as they were threading a narrow
alley, they came upon a very old man with a fishing-net and crate
to carry small fish on his head, and in his hand a staff; and, as
he walked at a leisurely pace, he repeated these lines:--

"They say me: --Thou shinest a light to mankind  With thy lore
     as the night which the Moon doth uplight!
I answer, "A truce to your jests and your gibes;  Without luck
     what is learning?--a poor-devil wight!
If they take me to pawn with my lore in my pouch,  With my
     volumes to read and my ink-case to write,
For one day's provision they never could pledge me;  As likely
     on Doomsday to draw bill at sight:"
How poorly, indeed, doth it fare wi' the poor,  With his pauper
     existence and beggarly plight:
In summer he faileth provision to find;  In winter the
     fire-pot's his only delight:
The street-dogs with bite and with bark to him rise,  And each
     losel receives him with bark and with bite:
If he lift up his voice and complain of his wrong,  None pities
     or heeds him, however he's right;
And when sorrows and evils like these he must brave  His
     happiest homestead were down in the grave."

When the Caliph heard his verses he said to Ja'afar, "See this
poor man and note his verses, for surely they point to his
necessities." Then he accosted him and asked, "O Shaykh, what be
thine occupation?" and the poor man answered, "O my lord, I am a
fisherman with a family to keep and I have been out between
mid-day and this time; and not a thing hath Allah made my portion
wherewithal to feed my family. I cannot even pawn myself to buy
them a supper and I hate and disgust my life and I hanker after
death." Quoth the Caliph, "Say me, wilt thou return with us to
Tigris' bank and cast thy net on my luck, and whatsoever turneth
up I will buy of thee for an hundred gold pieces?" The man
rejoiced when he heard these words and said, "On my head be it! I
will go back with you;" and, returning with them river-wards,
made a cast and waited a while; then he hauled in the rope and
dragged the net ashore and there appeared in it a chest padlocked
and heavy. The Caliph examined it and lifted it finding it
weighty; so he gave the fisherman two hundred dinars and sent him
about his business; whilst Masrur, aided by the Caliph, carried
the chest to the palace and set it down and lighted the candles.
Ja'afar and Masrur then broke it open and found therein a basket
of palm-leaves corded with red worsted. This they cut open and
saw within it a piece of carpet which they lifted out, and under
it was a woman's mantilla folded in four, which they pulled out;
and at the bottom of the chest they came upon a young lady, fair
as a silver ingot, slain and cut into nineteen pieces. When the
Caliph looked upon her he cried, "Alas!" and tears ran down his
cheeks and turning to Ja'afar he said, "O dog of Wazirs, 
shall folk be murdered in our reign and be cast into the river to
be a burden and a responsibility for us on the Day of Doom? By
Allah, we must avenge this woman on her murderer and he shall be
made die the worst of deaths!" And presently he added, " Now, as
surely as we are descended from the Sons of Abbas,  if
thou bring us not him who slew her, that we do her justice on
him, I will hang thee at the gate of my palace, thee and forty of
thy kith and kin by thy side." And the: Caliph was wroth with
exceeding rage. Quoth Ja'afar, "Grant me three days' delay;" and
quoth the Caliph, "We grant thee this." So Ja'afar went out from
before him and returned to his own house, full of sorrow and
saying to himself, "How shall I find him who murdered this
damsel, that I may bring him before the Caliph? If I bring other
than the murderer, it will be laid to my charge by the Lord: in
very sooth I wot not what to do." He kept his house three days
and on the fourth day the Caliph sent one of the Chamberlains for
him and, as he came into the presence, asked him, "Where is the
murderer of the damsel?" to which answered Ja'afar, "O Commander
of the Faithful, am I inspector of " murdered folk that I should
ken who killed her?" The Caliph was furious at his answer and
bade hang him before the palace-gate and commanded that a crier
cry through the streets of Baghdad, "Whoso would see the hanging
of Ja'afar, the Barmaki, Wazir of the Caliph, with forty of the
Barmecides,  his cousins and kinsmen, before the
palace-gate, let him come and let him look!" The people flocked
out from all the quarters of the city to witness the execution of
Ja'afar and his kinsmen, not knowing the cause. Then they set up
the gallows and made Ja'afar and the others stand underneath in
readiness for execution, but whilst every eye was looking for the
Caliph's signal, and the crowd wept for Ja'afar and his cousins
of the Barmecides, lo and behold! a young man fair of face and
neat of dress and of favour like the moon raining light, with
eyes black and bright, and brow flower-white, and cheeks red as
rose and young down where the beard grows, and a mole like a
grain of ambergris, pushed his way through the people till he
stood immediately before the Wazir and said to him, "Safety to
thee from this strait, O Prince of the Emirs and Asylum of the
poor! I am the man who slew the woman ye found in the chest, so
hang me for her and do her justice on me!" When Ja'afar heard the
youth's confession he rejoiced at his own deliverance. but
grieved and sorrowed for the fair youth; and whilst they were yet
talking behold, another man well stricken in years pressed
forwards through the people and thrust his way amid the populace
till he came to Ja'afar and the youth, whom he saluted saying,
"Ho thou the Wazir and Prince sans-peer! believe not the words of
this youth. Of a surety none murdered the damsel but I; take her
wreak on me this moment; for, an thou do not thus, I will require
it of thee before Almighty Allah." Then quoth the young man, "O
Wazir, this is an old man in his dotage who wotteth not whatso he
saith ever, and I am he who murdered her, so do thou avenge her
on me!" Quoth the old man, "O my son, thou art young and desirest
the joys of the world and I am old and weary and surfeited with
the world: I will offer my life as a ransom for thee and for the
Wazir and his cousins. No one murdered the damsel but I, so Allah
upon thee, make haste to hang me, for no life is left in me now
that hers is gone." The Wazir marvelled much at all this
strangeness and, taking the young man and the old man, carried
them before the Caliph, where, after kissing the ground seven
times between his hands, he said, "O Commander of the Faithful, I
bring thee the murderer of the damsel!" "Where is he?" asked the
Caliph and Ja'afar answered, "This young man saith, I am the
murderer, and this old man giving him the lie saith, I am the
murderer, and behold, here are the twain standing before thee."
The Caliph looked at the old man and the young man and asked,
"Which of you killed the girl?" The young man replied, "No one
slew her save I;" and the old man answered, "Indeed none killed
her but myself." Then said the Caliph to Ja'afar, "Take the twain
and hang them both;" but Ja'afar rejoined, "Since one of them was
the murderer, to hang the other were mere injustice." "By
Him who raised the firmament and dispread the earth like a
carpet," cried the youth, "I am he who slew the damsel;" and he
went on to describe the manner of her murder and the basket, the
mantilla and the bit of carpet, in fact all that the Caliph had
found upon her. So the Caliph was certified that the young man
was the murderer; whereat he wondered and asked him, 'What was
the cause of thy wrongfully doing this damsel to die and what
made thee confess the murder without the bastinado, and what
brought thee here to yield up thy life, and what made thee say Do
her wreak upon me?" The youth answered, "Know, O Commander of the
Faithful, that this woman was my wife and the mother of my
children; also my first cousin and the daughter of my paternal
uncle, this old man who is my father's own brother. When I
married her she was a maid  and Allah blessed me with
three male children by her; she loved me and served me and I saw
no evil in her, for I also loved her with fondest love. Now on
the first day of this month she fell ill with grievous sickness
and I fetched in physicians to her; but recovery came to her
little by little. and, when I wished her to go to the Hammam-bath,
she said, "There is a something I long for before I go to
the bath and I long for it with an exceeding longing." To hear is
to comply," said I. "And what is it?" Quoth she, "I have a queasy
craving for an apple, to smell it and bite a bit of it." I
replied, "Hadst thou a thousand longings I would try to satisfy
them!" So I went on the instant into the city and sought for
apples but could find none; yet, had they cost a gold piece each,
would I have bought them. I was vexed at this and went home and
said, "O daughter of my uncle. by Allah I can find none!" She was
distressed, being yet very weakly, and her weakness in. creased
greatly on her that night and I felt anxious and alarmed on her
account. As soon as morning dawned I went out again and made the
round of the gardens, one by one, but found no apples anywhere.
At last there met me an old gardener. of whom I asked about them
and he answered, "O my son, this fruit is a rarity with us and is
not now to be found save in the garden of the Commander of the
Faithful at Bassorah, where the gardener keepeth it for the
Caliph's eating." I returned to my house troubled by my
ill-success; and my love for my wife and my affection moved me to
undertake the journey. So I gat me ready and set out and
travelled fifteen days and nights, going and coming, and brought
her three apples which I bought from the gardener for three
dinars. But when I went in to my wife and set them before her,
she took no pleasure in them and let them lie by her side; for
her weakness and fever had increased on her and her malady lasted
without abating ten days, after which time she began to recover
health. So I left my house and betaking me to my shop sat there
buying and selling; and about midday behold, a great ugly black
slave, long as a lance and broad as a bench, passed by my shop
holding in hand one of the three apples wherewith he was playing.
Quoth I, "O my good slave, tell me whence thou tookest that
apple, that I may get the like of it?" He laughed and answered,
"I got it from my mistress, for I had been absent and on my
return I found her lying ill with three apples by her side, and
she said to me, 'My horned wittol of a husband made a journey for
them to Bassorah and bought them for three dinars.' So I ate and
drank with her and took this one from her."  When I heard
such words from the slave, O Commander of the Faithful, the world
grew black before my face, and I arose and locked up my shop and
went home beside myself for excess of rage. I looked for the
apples and finding only two of the three asked my wife, "O my
cousin, where is the third apple?"; and raising her head
languidly she answered, "I wet not, O son of my uncle, where 'tis
gone!" This convinced me that the slave had spoken the truth, so
I took a knife and coming behind her got upon her breast without
a word said and cut her throat. Then I hewed off her head and her
limbs in pieces and, wrapping her in her mantilla and a rag of
carpet, hurriedly sewed up the whole which I set in a chest and,
locking it tight, loaded it on my he-mule and threw it into the
Tigris with my own hands. So Allah upon thee, O Commander of the
Faithful, make haste to hang me, as I fear lest she appeal for
vengeance on Resurrection Day. For, when I had thrown her into
the river and none knew aught of it, as I went back home I found
my eldest son crying and yet he knew naught of what I had done
with his mother. I asked him, "What hath made thee weep, my boy?"
and he answered, "I took one of the three apples which were by my
mammy and went down into the lane to play with my brethren when
behold, a big long black slave snatched it from my hand and said.
'Whence hadst thou this?' Quoth I, 'My father travelled far for
it, and brought it from Bassorah for my mother who was ill and
two other apples for which he paid three ducats.' He took no heed
of my words and I asked for the apple a second and a third time,
but he cuffed me and kicked me and went off with it. I was afraid
lest my mother should swinge me on account of the apple, so for
fear of her I went with my brother outside the city and stayed
there till evening closed in upon us; and indeed I am in fear of
her; and now by Allah, O my father, say nothing to her of this or
it may add to her ailment!" When I heard what-my child said I
knew that the slave was he who had foully slandered my wife, the
daughter of my uncle, and was certified that I had slain her
wrong. fully. So I wept with exceeding weeping and presently this
old man, my paternal uncle and her father, came in; and I told
him what had happened and he sat down by my side and wept and we
ceased not weeping till midnight. We have kept up mourning for
her these last five days and we lamented her in the deepest
sorrow for that she was unjustly done to die. This came from the
gratuitous lying of the slave, the blackamoor, and this was the
manner of my killing her; so I conjure thee, by the honour of
thine ancestors, make haste to kill me and do her justice upon
me, as there is no living for me after her!" The Caliph marvelled
at his words and said, "By Allah, the young man is excusable: I
will hang none but the accursed slave and I will do a deed which
shall comfort the ill-at-ease and suffering, and which shall
please the All-glorious King."--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn
of day and ceased saying her permitted say,

                When it was the Twentieth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the Caliph
swore he would hang none but the slave, for the youth was
excusable. Then he turned to Ja'afar and said to him, "Bring
before me this accursed slave who was the sole cause of this
calamity; and, if thou bring him not before me within three days,
thou shalt be slain in his stead." So Ja'afar fared forth weeping
and saying. "Two deaths have already beset me, nor shall the
crock come of safe from every shock.'  In this matter
craft and cunning are of no avail; but He who preserved my life
the first time can preserve it a second time. By Allah, I will
not leave my house during the three days of life which remain to
me and let the Truth (whose perfection be praised!) do e'en as He
will." So he kept his house three days, and on the fourth day he
summoned the Kazis and legal witnesses and made his last will and
testament, and took leave of his children weeping. Presently in
came a messenger from the Caliph and said to him, "The Commander
of the Faithful is in the most violent rage that can be, and he
sendeth to seek thee and he sweareth that the day shall certainly
not pass without thy being hanged unless the slave be forth-coming."
When Ja'afar heard this he wept, and his children and
slaves and all who were in the house wept with him. After he had
bidden adieu to everybody except his youngest daughter, he
proceeded to farewell her; for he loved this wee one, who was a
beautiful child, more than all his other children; and he pressed
her to his breast and kissed her and wept bitterly at parting
from her; when he felt something round inside the bosom of her
dress and asked her, "O my little maid, what is in thy bosom
pocket?"; "O my father," she replied, "it is an apple with the
name of our Lord the Caliph written upon it. Rayhan our slave
brought it to me four days ago and would not let me have it till
I gave him two dinars for it." When Ja'afar heard speak of the
slave and the apple, he was glad and put his hand into his
child's pocket  and drew out the apple and knew it and
rejoiced saying, "O ready Dispeller of trouble "  Then he
bade them bring the slave and said to him, "Fie upon thee,
Rayhan! whence haddest thou this apple?" "By Allah, O my master,"
he replied, "though a lie may get a man once off, yet may truth
get him off, and well off, again and again. I did not steal this
apple from thy palace nor from the gardens of the Commander of
the Faithful. The fact is that five days ago, as I was walking
along one of the alleys of this city, I saw some little ones at
play and this apple in hand of one of them. So I snatched it from
him and beat him and he cried and said, 'O youth this apple is my
mother's and she is ill. She told my father how she longed for an
apple, so he travelled to Bassorah and bought her three apples
for three gold pieces, and I took one of them to play withal.' He
wept again, but I paid no heed to what he said and carried it off
and brought it here, and my little lady bought it of me for two
dinars of gold. And this is the whole story." When Ja'afar heard
his words he marvelled that the murder of the damsel and all this
misery should have been caused by his slave; he grieved for the
relation of the slave to himself, while rejoicing over his own
deliverance, and he repeated these lines: --

"If ill betide thee through thy slave,  Make him forthright thy
     sacrifice:
A many serviles thou shalt find,  But life comes once and never
     twice."

Then he took the slave's hand and, leading him to the Caliph,
related the story from first to last and the Caliph marvelled
with extreme astonishment, and laughed till he fell on his back
and ordered that the story be recorded and be made public amongst
the people. But Ja'afar said, "Marvel not, O Commander of the
Faithful, at this adventure, for it is not more wondrous than the
History of the Wazir Nur al-Din Ali of Egypt and his brother
Shams al-Din Mohammed. -- Quoth the Caliph, "Out with it; but
what can be stranger than this story?" And Ja'afar answered, "O
Commander of the Faithful, I will not tell it thee, save on
condition that thou pardon my slave;" and the Caliph rejoined,
"If it be indeed more wondrous than that of the three apples, I
grant thee his blood, and if not I will surely slay thy slave."
So Ja'afar began in these words the





                TALE OF NUR AL-DIN AND HIS SON.


Know, O Commander of the Faithful, that in times of yore the land
of Egypt was ruled by a Sultan endowed with justice and
generosity, one who loved the pious poor and companied with the
Olema and learned men; and he had a Wazir, a wise and an
experienced, well versed in affairs and in the art of government.
This Minister, who was a very old man, had two sons, as they were
two moons; never man saw the like of them for beauty and grace,
the elder called Shams al-Din Mohammed and the younger Nur al-Din
Ali; but the younger excelled the elder in seemliness and
pleasing semblance, so that folk heard his fame in far countries
and men flocked to Egypt for the purpose of seeing him. In
course of time their father, the Wazir, died and was deeply
regretted and mourned by the Sultan, who sent for his two sons
and, investing them with dresses of honour,  said to
them, "Let not your hearts be troubled, for ye shall stand in
your father's stead and be joint Ministers of Egypt." At this
they rejoiced and kissed the ground before him and performed the
ceremonial mourning  for their father during a full
month; after which time they entered upon the Wazirate, and the
power passed into their hands as it had been in the hands of
their father, each doing duty for a week at a time. They lived
under the same roof and their word was one; and whenever the
Sultan desired to travel they took it by turns to be in
attendance on him. It fortuned one night that the Sultan
purposed setting out on a journey next morning, and the elder,
whose turn it was to accompany him, was sitting conversing with
his brother and said to him, "O my brother, it is my wish that we
both marry, I and thou, two sisters; and go in to our wives on
one and the same night." "Do, O my brother, as thou desirest,"
the younger replied, "for right is thy recking and surely I will
comply with thee in whatso thou sayest." So they agreed upon
this and quoth Shams al-Din, "If Allah decree that we marry two
damsels and go in to them on the same night, and they shall
conceive on their bridenights and bear children to us on the same
day, and by Allah's will they wife bear thee a son and my wife
bear me a daughter, let us wed them either to other, for they
will be cousins." Quoth Nur al-Din, "O my brother, Shams al-Din,
what dower  wilt thou require from my son for thy
daughter?" Quoth Shams al-Din, "I will take three thousand
dinars and three pleasure gardens and three farms; and it would
not be seemly that the youth make contract for less than this."
When Nur al-Din heard such demand he said, "What manner of dower
is this thou wouldst impose upon my son? Wottest thou not that
we are brothers and both by Allah's grace Wazirs and equal in
office? It behoveth thee to offer thy daughter to my son without
marriage settlement; or if one need be, it should represent a
mere nominal value by way of show to the world: for thou knowest
that the masculine is worthier than the feminine, and my son is a
male and our memory will be preserved by him, not by thy
daughter." "But what," said Shams al-Din, "is she to have?"; and
Nur al-Din continued, "Through her we shall not be remembered
among the Emirs of the earth; but I see thou wouldest do with me
according to the saying:--An thou wouldst bluff off a buyer, ask
him high price and higher; or as did a man who, they say, went to
a friend and asked something of him being in necessity and was
answered, 'Bismallah,  in the name of Allah, I will do
all what thou requirest but come to-morrow!' Whereupon the other
replied in this verse:--

'When he who is asked a favour saith "To-morrow,"  The wise man
wots 'tis vain to beg or borrow.'"

Quoth Shams al-Din, "Basta!  I see thee fail in respect
to me by making thy son of more account than my daughter; and
'tis plain that thine understanding is of the meanest and that
thou lackest manners. Thou remindest me of thy partnership in
the Wazirate, when I admitted thee to share with me only in pity
for thee, and not wishing to mortify thee; and that thou mightest
help me as a manner of assistant. But since thou talkest on this
wise, by Allah, I will never marry my daughter to thy son; no,
not for her weight in gold!" When Nur al-Din heard his brother's
words he waxed wroth and said, "And I too, I will never, never
marry my son to thy daughter; no, not to keep from my lips the
cup of death." Shams al-Din replied, "I would not accept him as
a husband for her, and he is not worth a paring of her nail.
Were I not about to travel I would make an example of thee;
however when I return thou shalt see, and I will show thee, how I
can assert my dignity and vindicate my honour. But Allah doeth
whatso He willeth." When Nur al-Din heard this speech
from his brother, he was filled with fury and lost his wits for
rage; but he hid what he felt and held his peace; and each of the
brothers passed the night in a place far apart, wild with wrath
against the other. As soon as morning dawned the Sultan fared
forth in state and crossed over from Cairo  to Jizah
 and made for the pyramids, accompanied by the Wazir
Shams al-Din, whose turn of duty it was, whilst his brother Nur
al-din, who passed the night in sore rage, rose with the light
and prayed the dawn-prayer. Then he betook himself to his
treasury and, taking a small pair of saddle-bags, filled them
with gold; and he called to mind his brother's threats and the
contempt wherewith he had treated him, and he repeated these
couplets:--

"Travel! and thou shalt find new friends for old ones left
     behind;  Toil! for the sweets of human life by toil and
     moil are found:
The stay-at-home no honour wins nor aught attains but want;  So
     leave thy place of birth  and wander all the world
     around!
I've seen, and very oft I've seen, how standing water stinks, 
     And only flowing sweetens it and trotting makes it sound:
And were the moon forever full and ne'er to wax or wane,  Man
     would not strain his watchful eyes to see its gladsome
     round:
Except the lion leave his lair he ne'er would fell his game, 
     Except the arrow leave the bow ne'er had it reached its
     bound:
Gold-dust is dust the while it lies untravelled in the mine, 
     And aloes-wood mere fuel is upon its native ground:
And gold shall win his highest worth when from his goal ungoal'd;
      And aloes sent to foreign parts grows costlier than gold."

When he ended his verse he bade one of his pages saddle him his
Nubian mare-mule with her padded selle. Now she was a dapple-
grey,  with ears like reed-pens and legs like columns and
a back high and strong as a dome builded on pillars; her saddle
was of gold-cloth and her stirrups of Indian steel, and her
housing of Ispahan velvet; she had trappings which would serve
the Chosroes, and she was like a bride adorned for her wedding
night. Moreover he bade lay on her back a piece of silk for a
seat, and a prayer-carpet under which were his saddle-bags. When
this was done he said to his pages and slaves, "I purpose going
forth a-pleasuring outside the city on the road to Kalyub-town,
 and I shall lie three nights abroad; so let none of you
follow me, for there is something straiteneth my breast." Then
he mounted the mule in haste; and, taking with him some provaunt
for the way, set out from Cairo and faced the open and
uncultivated country lying around it.  About noontide he
entered Bilbays-city,  where he dismounted and stayed
awhile to rest himself and his mule and ate some of his victual.
He bought at Bilbays all he wanted for himself and forage for his
mule and then fared on the way of the waste. Towards night-fall
he entered a town called Sa'adiyah  where he alighted and
took out somewhat of his viaticum and ate; then he spread his
strip of silk on the sand and set the saddle-bags under his head
and slept in the open air; for he was still overcome with anger.
When morning dawned he mounted and rode onward till he reached
the Holy City,  Jerusalem, and thence he made Aleppo,
where he dismounted at one of the caravanserais and abode three
days to rest himself and the mule and to smell the air. 
Then, being determined to travel afar and Allah having written
safety in his fate, he set out again, wending without wotting
whither he was going; and, having fallen in with certain
couriers, he stinted not travelling till he had reached Bassorah-
city albeit he knew not what the place was. It was dark night
when he alighted at the Khan, so he spread out his prayer-carpet
and took down the saddle-bags from the back of his mule and gave
her with her furniture in charge of the door-keeper that he might
walk her about. The man took her and did as he was bid. Now it
so happened that the Wazir of Bassorah, a man shot in years, was
sitting at the lattice-window of his palace opposite the Khan and
he saw the porter walking the mule up and down. He was struck by
her trappings of price and thought her a nice beast fit for the
riding of Wazirs or even of royalties; and the more he looked the
more was he perplexed till at last he said to one of his pages,
"Bring hither yon door-keeper," The page went and returned to
the Wazir with the porter who kissed the ground between his
hands, and the Minister asked him, "Who is the owner of yonder
mule and what manner of man is he?"; and he answered, "O my lord,
the owner of this mule is a comely young man of pleasant manners,
withal grave and dignified, and doubtless one of the sons of the
merchants." When the Wazir heard the door-keeper's words he
arose forthright; and, mounting his horse, rode to the Khan
 and went in to Nur al-Din who, seeing the minister
making towards him, rose to his feet and advanced to meet him and
saluted him. The Wazir welcomed him to Bassorah and dis-
mounting, embraced him and made him sit down by his side and
said, "O my son, whence comest thou and what dost thou seek?" "O
my lord," Nur al-Din replied, "I have come from Cairo-city of
which my father was whilome Wazir; but he hath been removed to
the grace of Allah;" and he informed him of all that had befallen
him from beginning to end, adding, "I am resolved never to return
home before I have seen all the cities and countries of the
world." When the Wazir heard this, he said to him, "O my son,
hearken not to the voice of passion lest it cast thee into the
pit; for indeed many regions be waste places and I fear for thee
the turns of Time." Then he let load the saddle-bags and the
silk and prayer-carpets on the mule and carried Nur al-Din to his
own house, where he lodged him in a pleasant place and entreated
him honourably and made much of him, for he inclined to love him
with exceeding love. After a while he said to him, "O my son,
here am I left a man in years and have no male children, but
Allah hath blessed me with a daughter who eventh thee in beauty;
and I have rejected all her many suitors, men of rank and
substance. But affection for thee hath entered into my heart;
say me, then, wilt thou be to her a husband? If thou accept
this, I will go up with thee to the Sultan of Bassorah 
and will tell him that thou art my nephew, the son of my brother,
and bring thee to be appointed Wazir in my place that I may keep
the house for, by Allah, O my son, I am stricken in years and
aweary." When Nur al-Din heard the Wazir's words, he bowed his
head in modesty and said, "To hear is to obey!" At this the
Wazir rejoiced and bade his servants prepare a feast and decorate
the great assembly-hall, wherein they were wont to celebrate the
marriages of Emirs and Grandees. Then he assembled his friends
and the notables of the reign and the merchants of Bassorah and
when all stood before him he said to them, "I had a brother who
was Wazir in the land of Egypt, and Allah Almighty blessed him
with two sons, whilst to me, as well ye wot, He hath given a
daughter. My brother charged me to marry my daughter to one of
his sons, whereto I assented; and, when my daughter was of age to
marry, he sent me one of his sons, the young man now present, to
whom I purpose marrying her, drawing up the contract and
celebrating the night of unveiling with due ceremony; for he is
nearer and dearer to me than a stranger and, after the wedding,
if he please he shall abide with me, or if he desire to travel I
will forward him and his wife to his father's home." Hereat one
and all replied, "Right is thy recking;" and they all looked at
the bridegroom and were pleased with him. So the Wazir sent for
the Kazi and legal witnesses and they wrote out the marriage-
contract, after which the slaves perfumed the guests with
incense,  and served them with sherbet of sugar and
sprinkled rose-water on them and all went their ways. Then the
Wazir bade his servants take Nur al-Din to the Hammam-baths and
sent him a suit of the best of his own especial raiment, and
napkins and towelry and bowls and perfume-burners and all else
that was required. After the bath, when he came out and donned
the dress, he was even as the full moon on the fourteenth night;
and he mounted his mule and stayed not till he reached the
Wazir's palace. There he dismounted and went in to the Minister
and kissed his hands, and the Wazir bade him welcome.--And
Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her
permitted say.

              When it was the Twenty-first Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the Wazir
stood up to him and welcoming him said, "Arise and go in to thy
wife this night, and on the morrow I will carry thee to the
Sultan, and pray Allah bless thee with all manner of weal." So
Nur al-Din left him and went into his wife the Wazir's daughter.
Thus far concerning him, but as regards his eldest brother, Shams
al-Din, he was absent with the Sultan a long time and when he
returned from his journey he found not his brother; and he asked
of his servants and slaves who answered, "On the day of thy
departure with the Sultan, thy brother mounted his mule fully
caparisoned as for state procession saying, 'I am going towards
Kalyub-town and I shall be absent one day or at most two days;
for my breast is straitened, and let none of you follow me.'
Then he fared forth and from that time to this we have heard no
tidings of him." Shams al-Din was greatly troubled at the sudden
disappearance of his brother and grieved with exceeding grief at
the loss and said to himself, "This is only because I chided and
upbraided him the night before my departure with the Sultan;
haply his feelings were hurt and he fared forth a-travelling; but
I must send after him." Then he went in to the Sultan and
acquainted him with what had happened and wrote letters and
dispatches, which he sent by running footmen to his deputies in
every province. But during the twenty days of his brother's
absence Nur al-Din had travelled far and had reached Bassorah; so
after diligent search the messengers failed to come at any news
of him and returned. Thereupon Shams al-Din despaired of finding
his brother and said, "Indeed I went beyond all bounds in what I
said to him with reference to the marriage of our children.
Would that I had not done so! This all cometh of my lack of wit
and want of caution." Soon after this he sought in marriage the
daughter of a Cairene merchant,  and drew up the marriage
contract and went in to her. And it so chanced that, on the very
same night when Shams al-Din went in to his wife, Nur al-Din also
went in to his wife the daughter of the Wazir of Bassorah; this
being in accordance with the will of Almighty Allah, that He
might deal the decrees of Destiny to His creatures. Furthermore,
it was as the two brothers had said; for their two wives became
pregnant by them on the same night and both were brought to bed
on the same day; the wife of Shams al-Din, Wazir of Egypt, of a
daughter, never in Cairo was seen a fairer; and the wife of Nur
al-Din of a son, none more beautiful was ever seen in his time,
as one of the poets said concerning the like of him:--

That jetty hair, that glossy brow,
     My slender-waisted youth, of thine,
Can darkness round creation throw,
     Or make it brightly shine.
The dusky mole that faintly shows
     Upon his cheek, ah! blame it not:
The tulip-flower never blows
     Undarkened by its spot 

And as another also said:--

His scent was musk and his cheek was rose;  His teeth are pearls
     and his lips drop wine;
His form is a brand and his hips a hill;  His hair is night and
     his face moon-shine.

They named the boy Badr al-Din Hasan and his grandfather, the
Wazir of Bassorah, rejoiced in him and, on the seventh day after
his birth, made entertainments and spread banquets which would
befit the birth of Kings' sons and heirs. Then he took Nur al-
Din and went up with him to the Sultan, and his son-in-law, when
he came before the presence of the King, kissed the ground
between his hands and repeated these verses, for he was ready of
speech, firm of sprite and good in heart as he was goodly in
form:--

"The world's best joys long be thy lot, my lord!  And last while
     darkness and the dawn o'erlap:
O thou who makest, when we greet thy gifts,  The world to dance
     and Time his palms to clap." 

Then the Sultan rose up to honour them, and thanking Nur al-Din
for his fine compliment, asked the Wazir, "Who may be this young
man?"; and the Minister answered, "This is my brother's son," and
related his tale from first to last. Quoth the Sultan, "And how
comes he to be thy nephew and we have never heard speak of him?"
Quoth the Minister, "O our lord the Sultan, I had a brother who
was Wazir in the land of Egypt and he died, leaving two sons,
whereof the elder hath taken his father's place and the younger,
whom thou seest, came to me. I had sworn I would not marry my
daughter to any but to him; so when he came I married him to her.
 Now he is young and I am old; my hearing is dulled and
my judgement is easily fooled; wherefore I would solicit our lord
the Sultan  to set him in my stead, for he is my
brother's son and my daughter's husband; and he is fit for the
Wazirate, being a man of good counsel and ready contrivance."
The Sultan looked at Nur al-Din and liked him, so he stablished
him in office as the Wazir had requested and formally appointed
him, presenting him with a splendid dress of honour and a she-
mule from his private stud; and assigning to him solde, stipends
and supplies. Nur al-Din kissed the Sultan's hand and went home,
he and his father-in-law, joying with exceeding joy and saying,
"All this followeth on the heels of the boy Hasan's birth!" Next
day he presented himself before the King and, kissing the ground,
began repeating:--

"Grow thy weal and thy welfare day by day:  And thy luck
     prevail o'er the envier's spite;
And ne'er cease thy days to be white as day,  And thy foeman's
     day to be black as night!"

The Sultan bade him be seated on the Wazir's seat, so he sat down
and applied himself to the business of his office and went into
the cases of the lieges and their suits, as is the wont of
Ministers; while the Sultan watched him and wondered at his wit
and good sense, judgement and insight. Wherefor he loved him and
took him into intimacy. When the Divan was dismissed Nur al-Din
returned to his house and related what had passed to his father-
in-law who rejoiced. And thenceforward Nur al-Din ceased not so
to administer the Wazirate that the Sultan would not be parted
from him night or day; and increased his stipend and supplies
until his means were ample and he became the owner of ships that
made trading voyages at his command, as well as of Mamelukes and
blackamoor slaves; and he laid out many estates and set up
Persian wheels and planted gardens. When his son Hasan was four
years of age, the old Wazir deceased and he made for his father-
in-law a sumptuous funeral ceremony ere he was laid in the dust.
Then he occupied himself with the education of this son and, when
the boy waxed strong and came to the age of seven, he brought him
a Fakih, a doctor of law and religion, to teach him in his own
house and charged him to give him a good education and instruct
him in politeness and manners. So the tutor made the boy read
and retain all varieties of useful knowledge, after he had spent
some years in learning the Koran by heart;  and he ceased
not to grow in beauty and stature and symmetry, even as saith the
poet:--

In his face-sky shines the fullest moon;  In his cheeks' anemone
     glows the sun:
He so conquered Beauty that he hath won  All charms of
     humanity one by one.

The professor brought him up in his father's palace teaching him
reading, writing and cyphering, theology and belles lettres. His
grandfather the old Wazir had bequeathed to him the whole of his
property when he was but four years of age. Now during all the
time of his earliest youth he had never left the house, till on a
certain day his father, the Wazir Nur al-Din, clad him in his
best clothes and, mounting him on a she-mule of the finest, went
up with him to the Sultan. The King gazed at Badr al-Din Hasan
and marvelled at his comeliness and loved him. As for the city-
folk, when he first passed before them with his father, they
marvelled at his exceeding beauty and sat down on the road
expecting his return, that they might look their fill on his
beauty and loveliness and symmetry and perfect grace; even as the
poet said in these verses:--

As the sage watched the stars, the semblance clear
Of a fair youth on 's scroll he saw appear.
Those jetty locks Canopus o'er him threw,
And tinged his temple curls a musky hue;
Mars dyed his ruddy cheek; and from his eyes
The Archer-star his glittering arrow flies;
His wit from Hermes came; and Soha's care,
(The half-seen star that dimly haunts the Bear)
Kept off all evil eyes that threaten and ensnare,
The sage stood mazed to see such fortunes meet,
And Luna kissed the earth beneath his feet. 

And they blessed him aloud as he passed and called upon Almighty
Allah to bless him.  The Sultan entreated the lad with
especial favour and said to his father, "O Wazir, thou must needs
bring him daily to my presence;" whereupon he replied, "I hear
and I obey." Then the Wazir returned home with his son and
ceased not to carry him to court till he reached the age of
twenty. At that time the Minister sickened and, sending for Badr
al-Din Hasan, said to him, "Know, O my son, that the world of the
Present is but a house of mortality, while that of the Future is
a house of eternity. I wish, before I die, to bequeath thee
certain charges and do thou take heed of what I say and incline
thy heart to my words." Then he gave him last instructions as to
the properest way of dealing with his neighbours and the due
management of his affairs; after which he called to mind his
brother and his home and his native land and wept over his
separation from those he had first loved. Then he wiped away his
tears and, turning to his son, said to him, "Before I proceed, O
my son, to my last charges and injunctions, know that I have a
brother, and thou hast an uncle, Shams al-Din hight, the Wazir of
Cairo, which whom I parted, leaving him against his will. Now
take thee a sheet of paper and write upon it whatso I say to
thee." Badr al-Din took a fair leaf and set about doing his
father's bidding and he wrote thereon a full account of what had
happened to his sire first and last; the dates of his arrival at
Bassorah and of his foregathering with the Wazir; of his
marriage, of his going in to the Minister's daughter and of the
birth of his son; brief, his life of forty years from the date of
his dispute with his brother, adding the words, "And this is
written at my dictation and may Almighty Allah be with him when I
am gone!" Then he folded the paper and sealed it and said, "O
Hasan, O my son, keep this paper with all care; for it will
enable thee to stablish thine origin and rank and lineage and, if
anything contrary befal thee, set out for Cairo and ask for thine
uncle and show him this paper and say to him that I died a
stranger far from mine own people and full of yearning to see him
and them." So Badr al-Din Hasan took the document and folded it;
and, wrapping it up in a piece of waxed cloth of his skull-cap
and wound his light turband  round it. And he fell to
weeping over his father and at parting with him, and he but a
boy. Then Nur al-Din lapsed into a swoon, the forerunner of
death; but presently recovering himself he said, "O Hasan, O my
son, I will now bequeath to thee five last behests. The FIRST
BEHEST is, Be over-intimate with none, nor frequent any, nor be
familiar with any; so shalt thou be safe from his mischief;
 for security lieth in seclusion of thought and a certain
retirement from the society of thy fellows; and I have heard it
said by a poet:--

In this world there is none thou mayst count upon  To befriend
     thy case in the nick of need:
So live for thyself nursing hope of none  Such counsel I give
     thee: enow, take heed!

The SECOND BEHEST is, O my son: Deal harshly with none lest
fortune with thee deal hardly; for the fortune of this world is
one day with thee and another day against thee and all worldly
goods are but a loan to be repaid. And I have heard a poet say:-
-

Take thought nor hast to win the thing thou wilt;  Have ruth on
     man for ruth thou may'st require:
No hand is there but Allah's hand is higher;  No tyrant but
     shall rue worse tyrant's ire!

The THIRD BEHEST is, Learn to be silent in society and let thine
own faults distract thine attention from the faults of other men:
for it is said:--In silence dwelleth safety, and thereon I have
heard the lines that tell us:--

Reserve's a jewel, Silence safety is;  Whenas thou speakest many
     a word withhold;
For an of Silence thou repent thee once,  Of speech thou shalt
     repent times manifold.

The FOURTH BEHEST, O my son, is Beware of wine-bibbing, for wine
is the head of all frowardness and a fine solvent of human wits.
So shun, and again I say, shun mixing strong liquor; for I have
heard a poet say :--

From wine  I turn and whoso wine-cups swill; 
     Becoming one of those who deem it ill:
Wine driveth man to miss salvation-way,   And opes the
     gateway wide to sins that kill.

The FIFTH BEHEST, O my son, is Keep thy wealth and it will keep
thee; guard thy money and it will guard thee; and waste not thy
substance lest haply thou come to want and must fare a-begging
from the meanest of mankind. Save thy dirhams and deem them the
sovereignest salve for the wounds of the world. And here again I
have heard that one of the poets said:--

When fails my wealth no friend will deign befriend:  When
     wealth abounds all friends their friendship tender:
How many friends lent aid my wealth to spend;  But friends to
     lack of wealth no friendship render.

On this wise Nur al-Din ceased not to counsel his son Badr al-Din
Hasan till his hour came and, sighing one sobbing sigh, his life
went forth. Then the voice of mourning and keening rose high in
his house and the Sultan and all the grandees grieved for him and
buried him; but his son ceased not lamenting his loss for two
months, during which he never mounted horse, nor attended the
Divan nor presented himself before the Sultan. At last the King,
being wroth with him, stablished in his stead one of the
Chamberlains and made him Wazir, giving orders to seize and set
seals on all Nur al-Din's houses and goods and domains. So the
new Wazir went forth with a mighty posse of Chamberlains and
people of the Divan, and watchmen and a host of idlers to do this
and to seize Badr al-Din Hasan and carry him before the King, who
would deal with him as he deemed fit. Now there was among the
crowd of followers a Mameluke of the deceased Wazir who, when he
heard this order, urged his horse and rode at full speed to the
house of Badr al-Din Hasan; for he cold not endure to see the
ruin of his old master's son. He found him sitting at the gate
with head hung down and sorrowing, as was his wont, for the loss
of his father; so he dismounted and kissing his hand said to him,
"O my lord and son of my lord, haste ere ruin come and lay
waste!" When Hasan heard this he trembled and asked, "What may
be the matter?; and the man answered, "The Sultan is angered with
thee and hath issued a warrant against thee, and evil cometh hard
upon my track; so flee with thy life!" At these words Hasan's
heart flamed with the fire of bale, and his rose-red cheek turned
pale, and he said to the "Mameluke, "O my brother, is there time
for me to go in and get me some worldly gear which may stand me
in stead during my strangerhood?" But the slave replied, "O my
lord, up at once and save thyself and leave this house, while it
is yet time." And he quoted these lines:--

"Escape with thy life, if oppression betide thee,  And let the
     house of its builder's fate!
Country for country thou'lt find, if thou seek it;  Life for
     life never, early or late.
It is strange men should dwell in the house of abjection,  When
     the plain of God's earth is so wide and so great!" 

At these words of the Mameluke, Badr al-Din covered his head with
the skirt of his garment and went forth on foot till he stood
outside of the city, where he heard folk saying, "The Sultan hath
sent his new Wazir to the house of the old Wazir, now no more, to
seal his property and seize his son Badr al-Din Hasan and take
him before the presence, that he may put him to death; " and all
cried, "Alas for his beauty and his loveliness!" When he heard
this he fled forth at hazard, knowing not whither he was going,
and gave not over hurrying onwards till Destiny drove him to his
father's tomb. So he entered the cemetery and, threading his way
through the graves, at last he reached the sepulchre where he sat
down and let fall from his head the skirt of his long robe
 which was made of brocade with a gold-embroidered hem
whereon were worked these couplets:--

O thou whose forehead, like the radiant East,  Tells of the
     stars of Heaven and bounteous dews:
Endure thine honour to the latest day,  And Time thy growth of
     glory ne'er refuse!

While he was sitting by his father's tomb behold, there came to
him a Jew as he were a Shroff,  a money-changer, with a
pair of saddle-bags containing much gold, who accosted him and
kissed his hand, saying, "Whither bound, O my lord; 'tis late in
the day and thou art clad but lightly, and I read signs of
trouble in thy face?" "I was sleeping within this very hour,"
answered Hasan, "when my father appeared to me and chid me for
not having visited his tomb; so I awoke trembling and came hither
forthright lest the day should go by without my visiting him,
which would have been grievous to me." "O my lord," rejoined the
Jew,  "thy father had many merchantmen at sea and, as
some of them are now due, it is my wish to buy of thee the cargo
of the first ship that cometh into port with this thousand dinars
of gold." "I consent," quoth Hasan, whereupon the Jew took out a
bag of gold and counted out a thousand sequins which he gave to
Hasan, the son of the Wazir, saying, "Write me a letter of sale
and seal it." So Hasan took a pen and paper and wrote these
words in duplicate, "The writer, Hasan Badr al-Din, son of Wazir
Nur al-Din, hath to Isaac the Jew all the cargo of the first of
his father's ships which cometh into port, for a thousand dinars,
and he hath received the price in advance." And after he had
taken one copy the Jew put it into his pouch and went away; but
Hasan fell a-weeping as he thought of the dignity and prosperity
which had erst been his and he began reciting:--

"This house, my lady, since you left is now a home no more  For
     me, not neighbours, since you left, prove kind and
     neighbourly:
The friend, whilere I took to heart, alas! no more to me  Is
     friend; and even Luna's self displayeth lunacy:
You left and by your going left the world a waste, a wolf,  And
     lies a gloomy murk upon the face of hill and lea:
O may the raven-bird whose cry our hapless parting croaked 
     Find ne'er a nesty home and eke shed all his plumery!
At length my patience fails me; and this absence wastes my
    flesh;  How many a veil by severance rent our eyes are
    doomed see:
Ah! shall I ever sight again our fair past nights of your;  And
     shall a single house become a home for me once more?"

Then he wept with exceeding weeping and night came upon him; so
he leant his head against his father's grave and sleep overcame
him: Glory to him who sleepeth not! He ceased not slumbering
till the moon rose, when his head slipped from off the tomb and
he lay on his back, with limbs outstretched, his face shining
bright in the moonlight. Now the cemetery was haunted day and
night by Jinns who were of the True Believers, and presently came
out a Jinniyah who, seeing Hasan asleep, marvelled at his beauty
and loveliness and cried, "Glory to God! This youth can be none
other than one of the Wuldan of Paradise. Then she flew
firmament-wards to circle it, as was her custom, and met an Ifrit
on the wing who saluted her and she said to him, "Whence comest
thou?" "From Cairo," he replied. "Wilt thou come with me and
look upon the beauty of a youth who sleepeth in yonder burial
place?" she asked and he answered, "I will." So they flew till
they lighted at the tomb and she showed him the youth and said,
"Now diddest thou ever in thy born days see aught like this?"
The Ifrit looked upon him and exclaimed, "Praise be to Him that
hath no equal! But, O my sister, shall I tell thee what I have
seen this day?" Asked she, "What is that?" and he answered, "I
have seen the counterpart of this youth in the land of Egypt.
She is the daughter of the Wazir Shams al-Din and she is a model
of beauty and loveliness, of fairest favour and formous form, and
dight with symmetry and perfect grace. When she had reached the
age of nineteen,  the Sultan of Egypt heard of her and,
sending for the Wazir her father, said to him, 'Hear me, O Wazir:
it hath reached mine ear that thou hast a daughter and I wish to
demand her of thee in marriage." The Wazir replied, "O our lord
the Sultan, deign accept my excuses and take compassion on my
sorrows, for thou knowest that my brother, who was partner with
me in the Wazirate, disappeared from amongst us many years ago
and we wot not where he is. Now the cause of his departure was
that one night, as we were sitting together and talking of wives
and children to come, we had words on the matter and he went off
in high dudgeon. But I swore that I would marry my daughter to
none save to the son of my brother on the day her mother gave her
birth, which was nigh upon nineteen years ago. I have lately
heard that my brother died at Bassorah, where he married the
daughter of the Wazir and that she bare him a son; and I will not
marry my daughter but to him in honour of my brother's memory. I
recorded the date of my marriage and the conception of my wife
and the birth of my daughter; and from her horoscope I find that
her name is conjoined with that of her cousin;  and there
are damsels in foison for our lord the Sultan.' The King,
hearing his Minister's answer and refusal, waxed wroth with
exceeding wrath and cried, 'When the like of me asketh a girl in
marriage of the like of thee, he conferreth an honour, and thou
rejectest me and puttest me off with cold  excuses! Now,
by the life of my head I will marry her to the meanest of my men
in spite of the nose of thee!  There was in the palace a
horse-groom which was a Gobbo with a bunch to his breast and a
hunch to his back; and the Sultan sent for him and married him to
the daughter of the Wazir, lief or loath, and hath ordered a
pompous marriage procession for him and that he go in to his
bride this very night. I have now just flown hither from Cairo,
where I left the Hunchback at the door of the Hammam-bath amidst
the Sultan's white slaves who were waving lighted flambeaux about
him. As for the Minister's daughter she sitteth among her nurses
and tirewomen, weeping and wailing; for they have forbidden her
father to come near her. Never have I seen, O my sister, more
hideous being than this Hunchback  whilest the young lady
is the likest of all folk to this young man, albeit even fairer
than he,"--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased her
permitted say.

              When it was the Twenty-second Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when the
Jinni narrated to the Jinniyah how the King had caused the
wedding contract to be drawn up between the hunchbacked groom and
the lovely young lady who was heart-broken for sorrow; and how
she was the fairest of created things and even more beautiful
than this youth, the Jinniyah cried at him "Thou liest! this
youth is handsomer than any one of his day." The Ifrit gave her
the lie again, adding, "By Allah, O my sister, the damsel I speak
of is fairer than this; yet none but he deserveth her, for they
resemble each other like brother and sister or at least cousins.
And, well-away! how she is wasted upon that Hunchback!" Then
said she, "O my brother, let us get under him and lift him up and
carry him to Cairo, that we may compare him with the damsel of
whom thou speakest and so determine whether of the twain is the
fairer." "To hear is to obey!" replied he, "thou speakest to the
point; nor is there a righter recking than this of thine, and I
myself will carry him." So he raised him from the ground and
flew with him like a bird soaring in upper air, the Ifritah
keeping close by his side at equal speed, till he alighted with
him in the city of Cairo and set him down on a stone bench and
woke him up. He roused himself and finding that he was no longer
at his father's tomb in Bassorah-city he looked right and left
and saw that he was in a strange place; and he would have cried
out; but the Ifrit gave him a cuff which persuaded him to keep
silence. Then he brought him rich raiment and clothed him
therein and, giving him a lighted flambeau, said, "Know that I
have brought thee hither, meaning to do thee a good turn for the
love of Allah: so take this torch and mingle with the people at
the Hammam-door and walk on with them without stopping till thou
reach the house of the wedding-festival; then go boldly forward
and enter the great saloon; and fear none, but take thy stand at
the right hand of the Hunchback bridegroom; and, as often as any
of the nurses and tirewomen and singing-girls come up to thee,
 put thy hand into thy pocket which thou wilt find filled
with gold. Take it out and throw it to them and spare not; for
as often as thou thrustest fingers in pouch thou shalt find it
full of coin. Give largesse by handsful and fear nothing, but
set thy trust upon Him who created thee, for this is not by thine
own strength but by that of Allah Almighty, that His decrees may
take effect upon his creatures." When Badr al-Din Hasan heard
these words from the Ifrit he said to himself, "Would Heaven I
knew what all this means and what is the cause of such kindness!"
However, he mingled with the people and, lighting his flambeau,
moved on with the bridal procession till he came to the bath
where he found the Hunchback already on horseback. Then he
pushed his way in among the crowd, a veritable beauty of a man in
the finest apparel, wearing tarbush  and turband and a
long-sleeved robe purfled with gold; and, as often as the
singing-women stopped for the people to give them largesse, he
thrust his hand into his pocket and, finding it full of gold,
took out a handful and threw it on the tambourine  till
he had filled it with gold pieces for the music-girls and the
tirewomen. The singers were amazed by his bounty and the people
marvelled at his beauty and loveliness and the splendour of his
dress. He ceased not to do thus till he reached the mansion of
the Wazir (who was his uncle), where the Chamberlains drove back
the people and forbade them to go forward; but the singing-girls
and the tirewomen said, "By Allah we will not enter unless this
young man enter with us, for he hath given us length o' life with
his largesse and we will not display the bride unless he be
present." Therewith they carried him into the bridal hall and
made him sit down defying the evil glances of the hunchbacked
bridegroom. The wives of the Emirs and Wazirs and Chamberlains
and Courtiers all stood in double line, each holding a massy
cierge ready lighted; all wore thin face-veils and the two rows
right and left extended from the bride's throne  to the
head of the hall adjoining the chamber whence she was to come
forth. When the ladies saw Badr al-Din Hasan and noted his
beauty and loveliness and his face that shone like the new moon,
their hearts inclined to him and the singing-girls said to all
that were present, "Know that this beauty crossed our hands with
naught but red gold; so be not chary to do him womanly service
and comply with all he says, no matter what he ask.  So
all the women crowded around Hasan with their torches and gazed
upon his loveliness and envied him his beauty; and one and all
would gladly have lain on his bosom an hour or rather a year.
Their hearts were so troubled that they let fall their veils from
before their faces and said, "Happy she who belongeth to this
youth or to whom he belongeth!"; and they called down curses on
the crooked groom and on him who was the cause of his marriage to
the girl-beauty; and as often as they blessed Badr al-Din Hasan
they damned the Hunchback, saying, "Verily this youth and none
else deserveth our Bride: Ah, well-away for such a lovely one
with this hideous Quasimodo; Allah's curse light on his head and
on the Sultan who commanded the marriage!" Then the singing-
girls beat their tabrets and lulliloo'd with joy, announcing the
appearing of the bride; and the Wazir's daughter came in
surrounded by her tirewomen who had made her goodly to look upon;
for they had perfumed her and incensed her and adorned her hair;
and they had robed her in raiment and ornaments befitting the
mighty Chosroes Kings. The most notable part of her dress was a
loose robe worn over her other garments; it was diapered in red
gold with figures of wild beasts, and birds whose eyes and beaks
were of gems, and claws of red rubies and green beryl; and her
neck was graced with a necklace of Yamani work, worth thousands
of gold pieces, whose bezels were great round jewels of sorts,
the like of which was never owned by Kaysar or by Tobba King.
 And the bride was as the full moon when at fullest on
fourteenth night; and as she paced into the hall she was like one
of the Houris of Heaven--praise be to Him who created her in such
splendour of beauty! The ladies encompassed her as the white
contains the black of the eye, they clustering like stars whilst
she shone amongst them like the moon when it eats up the clouds.
Now Badr al-Din Hasan of Bassorah was sitting in full gaze of the
folk, when the bride came forward with her graceful swaying and
swimming gait, and her hunchbacked groom stood up to meet
 and receive her: she, however, turned away from the
wight and walked forward till she stood before her cousin Hasan,
the son of her uncle. Whereat the people laughed. But when the
wedding-guests saw her thus attracted towards Badr al-Din they
made a mighty clamour and the singing-women shouted their
loudest; whereupon he put his hand into his pocket and, pulling
out a handful of gold, cast it into their tambourines and the
girls rejoiced and said, "Could we win our wish this bride were
thine!" At this he smiled and the folk came round him, flambeaux
in hand like the eyeball round the pupil, while the Gobbo
bridegroom was left sitting alone much like a tail-less baboon;
for every time they lighted a candle for him it went out willy-
nilly, so he was left in darkness and silence and looking at
naught but himself.  When Badr al-Din Hasan saw the
bridegroom sitting lonesome in the dark, and all the wedding-
guests with their flambeaux and wax candles crowding around
himself, he was bewildered and marvelled much; but when he looked
at his cousin, the daughter of his uncle, he rejoiced and felt an
inward delight: he longed to greet her and gazed intently on her
face which was radiant with light and brilliancy. Then the
tirewomen took off her veil and displayed her in the first bridal
dress which was of scarlet satin; and Hasan had a view of her
which dazzled his sight and dazed his wits, as she moved to and
fro, swaying with graceful gait;  and she turned the
heads of all the guests, women as well as men, for she was even
as saith the surpassing poet:--

A sun on wand in knoll of sand she showed  Clad in her
     cramoisy-hued chemisette:
Of her lips honey-dew she gave me drink,  And with her rosy
     cheeks quencht fire she set.

Then they changed that dress and displayed her in a robe of
azure; and she reappeared like the full moon when it riseth over
the horizon, with her coal-black hair and cheeks delicately fair;
and teeth shown in sweet smiling and breasts firm rising and
crowning sides of the softest and waist of the roundest. And in
this second suit she was as a certain master of high conceits
saith of the like of her:--

She came apparrelled in an azure vest,  Ultramarine, as skies
     are deckt and dight;
I view'd th' unparrellel'd sight, which show'd my eyes  A moon
     of Summer on a Winter-night.

Then they changed that suit for another and, veiling her face in
the luxuriance of her hair, loosed her lovelocks, so dark, so
long that their darkness and length outvied the darkest nights,
and she shot through all hearts with the magical shaft of her
eye-babes. They displayed her in the third dress and she was as
said of her the sayer:--

Veiling her cheeks with hair a-morn she comes,  And I her
     mischiefs with the cloud compare:
Saying, "Thou veilest morn with night!" "Ah, no!"  Quoth she,
     "I shroud full moon with darkling air!"

Then they displayed her in the fourth bridal dress and she came
forward shining like the rising sun and swaying to and fro with
lovesome grace and supple ease like a gazelle-fawn. And she
clave all hearts with the arrows of her eyelashes, even as saith
one who described a charmer like her:--

The sun of beauty she to sight appears  And, lovely-coy, she
     mocks all loveliness;
And when he fronts her favour and her smile  A-morn, the Sun of
     day in clouds must dress.

Then she came forth in the fifth dress, a very light of
loveliness like a wand of waving willow or a gazelle of the
thirsty wold. Those locks which stung like scorpions along her
cheeks were bent, and her neck was bowed in blandishment, and her
hips quivered as she went. As saith one of the poets describing
her in verse:--

She comes like fullest moon on happy night;  Taper of waist,
     with shape of magic might:
She hath an eye whose glances quell mankind,  And Ruby on her
     cheeks reflects his light:
Enveils her hips the blackness of her hair; Beware of curls that
     bite with viper-bite!
Her sides are silken-soft, the while the heart  Mere rock behind
     that surface lurks from sight:
From the fringed curtains of her eyne she shoots  Shafts which
     at farthest range on mark alight:
When round her neck or waist I throw my arms  Her breasts repel
     me with their hardened height.
Ah, how her beauty all excels! ah how  That shape transcends the
     graceful waving bough!

Then they adorned her with the sixth toilette, a dress which was
green. And now she shamed her slender straightness the nut-brown
spear; her radiant face dimmed the brightest beams of full moon
and she outdid the bending branches in gentle movement and
flexible grace. Her loveliness exalted the beauties of earth's
four quarters and she broke men's hearts by the significance of
her semblance; for she was even as saith one of the poets in
these lines:--

A damsel 'twas the tirer's art had decked with snares and
     sleight.  And robed in rays as though the sun from
     her had borrowed light:
She came before us wondrous clad in chemisette of green,  As
     veiled by its leafy screen pomegranate hides from sight:
And when he said "How callest thou the manner of thy dress?" 
     She answered us in pleasant way with double meaning dight;
"We call this garment creve-coeur; and rightly is it hight,  For
     many a heart wi' this we broke  and conquered many
     a sprite!"

Then they displayed her in the seventh dress, coloured between
safflower  and saffron, even as one of the poets saith:--

In vest of saffron pale and safflower red  Musk'd, sandal'd
     ambergris'd, she came to front:
"Rise!" cried her youth, "go forth and show thyself!"  "Sit!"
     said her hips, "we cannot bear the brunt!"
And when I craved a bout, her Beauty said  "Do, do!" and said
     her pretty shame, "Don't, don't!"

Thus they displayed the bride in all her seven toilettes before
Hasan al-Basri, wholly neglecting the Gobbo who sat moping alone;
and, when she opened her eyes  she said, "O Allah make
this man my goodman and deliver me from the evil of this
hunchbacked groom." As soon as they had made an end of this part
of the ceremony they dismissed the wedding guests who went forth,
women, children and all, and none remained save Hasan and the
Hunchback, whilst the tirewomen led the bride into an inner room
to change her garb and gear and get her ready for the bridegroom.
Thereupon Quasimodo came up to Badr al-Din Hasan and said, "O my
lord, thou hast cheered us this night with thy good company and
overwhelmed us with thy kindness and courtesy; but now why not
get thee up and go?" "Bismallah," he answered, "In Allah's name
so be it!" and rising, he went forth by the door, where the Ifrit
met him and said, "Stay in thy stead, O Badr al-Din, and when the
Hunchback goes out to the closet of ease go in without losing
time and seat thyself in the alcove; and when the bride comes say
to her, "'Tis I am thy husband, for the King devised this trick
only fearing for thee the evil eye, and he whom thou sawest is
but a Syce, a groom, one of our stablemen.' Then walk boldly up
to her and unveil her face; for jealousy hath taken us of this
matter." While Hasan was still talking with the Ifrit behold,
the groom fared forth from the hall and entering the closet of
ease sat down on the stool. Hardly had he done this when the
Ifrit came out of the tank,  wherein the water was, in
semblance of a mouse and squeaked out "Zeek!" Quoth the
Hunchback, "What ails thee?"; and the mouse grew and grew till it
became a coal-black cat and caterwauled "Meeao! Meeao!"
Then it grew still more and more till it became a dog and barked
out "Owh! Owh!" When the bridegroom saw this he was frightened
and exclaimed "Out with thee, O unlucky one!"  But the
dog grew and swelled till it became an ass-colt that brayed and
snorted in his face "Hauk! Hauk!"  Whereupon the
Hunchback quaked and cried, "Come to my aid, O people of the
house!" But behold, the ass-colt grew and became big as a
buffalo and walled the way before him and spake with the voice of
the sons of Adam, saying, "Woe to thee, O thou Bunch-back, thou
stinkard, O thou filthiest of grooms!" Hearing this the groom
was seized with a colic and he sat down on the jakes in his
clothes with teeth chattering and knocking together. Quoth the
Ifrit, "Is the world so strait to thee thou findest none to marry
save my lady-love?" But as he was silent the Ifrit continued,
"Answer me or I will do thee dwell in the dust!" "By Allah,"
replied the Gobbo, "O King of the Buffaloes, this is no fault of
mine, for they forced me to wed her; and verily I wot not that
she had a lover among the buffaloes; but now I repent, first
before Allah and then before thee." Said the Ifrit to him, "I
swear to thee that if thou fare forth from this place, or thou
utter a word before sunrise, I assuredly will wring thy neck.
When the sun rises wend thy went and never more return to this
house." So saying, the Ifrit took up the Gobbo bridegroom and
set him head downwards and feet upwards in the slit of the privy,
 and said to him, "I will leave thee here but I shall be
on the look-out for thee till sunrise; and, if thou stir before
then, I will seize thee by the feet and dash out thy brains
against the wall: so look out for thy life!" Thus far concerning
the Hunchback, but as regards Badr al-Din Hasan of Bassorah he
left the Gobbo and the Ifrit jangling and wrangling and, going
into the house, sat him down in the very middle of the alcove;
and behold, in came the bride attended by an old woman who stood
at the door and said, "O Father of Uprightness,  arise
and take what God giveth thee." Then the old woman went away and
the bride, Sitt al-Husn or the Lady of Beauty hight, entered the
inner part of the alcove broken-hearted and saying in herself,
"By Allah I will never yield my person to him; no, not even were
he to take my life!" But as she came to the further end she saw
Badr al-Din Hasan and she said, "Dearling! Art thou still sitting
here? By Allah I was wishing that thou wert my bridegroom or, at
least, that thou and the hunchbacked horse-groom were partners in
me." He replied, "O beautiful lady, how should the Syce have
access to thee, and how should he share in thee with me?"
"Then," quoth she, "who is my husband, thou or he?" "Sitt al-
Husn," rejoined Hasan, "we have not done this for mere fun,
 but only as a device to ward off the evil eye from thee;
for when the tirewomen and singers and wedding guests saw they
beauty being displayed to me, they feared fascination and thy
father hired the horse-groom for ten dinars and a porringer of
meat to take the evil eye off us; and now he hath received his
hire and gone his gait." When the Lady of Beauty heard these
words she smiled and rejoiced and laughed a pleasant laugh. Then
she whispered him, "By the Lord thou hast quenched a fire which
tortured me and now, by Allah, O my little dark-haired darling,
take me to thee and press me to thy bosom!" Then she began
singing:--

"By Allah, set thy foot upon my soul;  Since long, long years
     for this alone I long:
And whisper tale of love in ear of me;  To me 'tis sweeter than
     the sweetest song!
No other youth upon my heart shall lie;  So do it often, dear,
     and do it long."

Then she stripped off her outer gear and she threw open her
chemise from the neck downwards and showed her parts genital and
all the rondure of her hips. When Badr al-Din saw the glorious
sight his desires were roused, and he arose and doffed her
clothes, and wrapping up in his bag-trousers  the purse
of gold which he had taken from the Jew and which contained the
thousand dinars, he laid it under the edge of the bedding. Then
he took off his turband and set it upon the settle  atop
of his other clothes, remaining in his skull-cap and fine shirt
of blue silk laced with gold. Whereupon the Lady of Beauty drew
him to her and he did likewise. Then he took her to his embrace
and set her legs round his waist and point-blanked that cannon
 placed where it battereth down the bulwark of maidenhead
and layeth it waste. And he found her a pearl unpierced and
unthridden and a filly by all men save himself unridden; and he
abated her virginity and had joyance of her youth in his virility
and presently he withdrew sword from sheath; and then returned to
the fray right eath; and when the battle and the siege had
finished, some fifteen assaults he had furnished and she
conceived by him that very night. Then he laid his hand under
her head and she did the same and they embraced and fell asleep
in each other's arms, as a certain poet said of such lovers in
these couplets:--

Visit thy lover, spurn what envy told;  No envious churl shall
     smile on love ensoul'd.
Merciful Allah made no fairer sight  Than coupled lovers single
     couch doth hold;
Breast pressing breast and robed in joys their own,  With
     pillowed forearms cast in finest mould:
And when heart speaks to heart with tongue of love,  Folk who
     would part them hammer steel ice-cold:
If a fair friend thou find who cleaves to thee,  Live
     for that friend, that friend in heart enfold.
O ye who blame for love us lover kind  Say, can ye minister to
     diseased mind?

This much concerning Badr al-Hasan and Sitt al-Husn his cousin;
but as regards the Ifrit, as soon as he saw the twain asleep, he
said to the Ifritah, "Arise, slip thee under the youth and let us
carry him back to his place ere dawn overtake us; for the day is
nearhand." Thereupon she came forward and, getting under him as
he lay asleep, took him up clad only in his fine blue shirt,
leaving the rest of his garments; and ceased not flying (and the
Ifrit vying with her in flight) till the dawn advised them that
it had come upon them mid-way, and the Muezzin began his call
from the Minaret, "Haste ye to salvation! Haste ye to
salvation!"  Then Allah suffered his angelic host to
shoot down the Ifrit with a shooting star,  so he was
consumed, but the Ifritah escaped and she descended with Badr al-
Din at the place where the Ifrit was burnt, and did not carry him
back to Bassorah, fearing lest he come to harm. Now by the order
of Him who predestineth all things, they alighted at Damascus of
Syria, and the Ifritah set down her burden at one of the city-
gates and flew away. When day arose and the doors were opened,
the folks who came forth saw a handsome youth, with no other
raiment but his blue shirt of gold-embroidered silk and skull-
cap, lying upon the ground drowned in sleep after the
hard labour of the night which had not suffered him to take his
rest. So the folk looking at him said, "O her luck with whom
this one spent the night! but would he had waited to don his
garments." Quoth another, "A sorry lot are the sons of great
families! Haply he but now came forth of the tavern on some
occasion of his own and his wine flew to his head,
whereby he hath missed the place he was making for and strayed
till he came to the gate of the city; and finding it shut lay him
down and to by-by!" As the people were bandying guesses about
him suddenly the morning breeze blew upon Badr al-Din and raising
his shirt to his middle showed a stomach and navel with something
below it,  and legs and thighs clear as crystal and
smooth as cream. Cried the people, "By Allah he is a pretty
fellow!"; and at the cry Badr al-din awoke and found himself
lying at a city-gate with a crowd gathered around him. At this
he greatly marvelled and asked, "Where am I, O good folk; and
what causeth you thus to gather round me, and what have I had to
do with you?"; and they answered, "We found thee lying here
asleep during the call to dawn-prayer and this is all we know of
the matter, but where diddest thou lie last night?"  "By
Allah, O good people," replied he, "I lay last night in Cairo."
Said somebody, "Thou hast surely been eating Hashish," 
and another, "He is a fool;" and a third, "He is a citrouille;"
and a fourth asked him, "Art thou out of thy mind? thou sleepest
in Cairo and thou wakest in the morning at the gate of Damascus-
city!"  Cried he, "By Allah, my good people, one and
all, I lie not to you: indeed I lay yesternight in the land of
Egypt and yesternoon I was at Bassorah." Quoth one, "Well!
well!"; and quoth another, "Ho! ho!"; and a third, "So! so!"; and
a fourth cried, "This youth is mad, is possessed of the Jinni!"
So they clapped hands at him and said to one another, "Alas, the
pity of it for his youth: by Allah a madman! and madness is no
respecter of persons." Then they said to him, "Collect thy wits
and return to thy reason! How couldest thou be in Bassorah
yesterday and Cairo yesternight and withal awake in Damascus this
morning?" But he persisted, "Indeed I was a bridegroom in Cairo
last night." "Belike thou hast been dreaming," rejoined they,
"and sawest all this in thy sleep." So Hasan took thought for a
while and said to them, "By Allah, this is no dream; nor vision-
like doth it seem! I certainly was in Cairo where they displayed
the bride before me, in presence of a third person, the Hunchback
groom who was sitting hard by. By Allah, O my brother, this be
no dream, and if it were a dream, where is the bag of gold I bore
with me and where are my turband and my robe, and my trousers?"
Then he rose and entered the city, threading its highways and by-
ways and bazar-streets; and the people pressed upon him and
jeered at him, crying out "Madman! madman!" till he, beside
himself with rage, took refuge in a cook's shop. Now that Cook
had been a trifle too clever, that is, a rogue and thief; but
Allah had made him repent and turn from his evil ways and open a
cook-shop; and all the people of Damascus stood in fear of his
boldness and his mischief. So when the crowd saw the youth enter
his shop, they dispersed being afraid of him, and went their
ways. The Cook looked at Badr al-Din and, noting his beauty and
loveliness, fell in love with him forthright and said, "Whence
comest thou, O youth? Tell me at once thy tale, for thou art
become dearer to me than my soul." So Hasan recounted to him all
that had befallen him from beginning to end (but in repetition
there is no fruition) and the Cook said, "O my lord Badr al-Din,
doubtless thou knowest that this case is wondrous and this story
marvellous; therefore, O my son, hide what hath betided thee,
till Allah dispel what ills be thine; and tarry with me here the
meanwhile, for I have no child and I will adopt thee." Badr al-
Din replied, "Be it as thou wilt, O my uncle!" Whereupon the
Cook went to the bazar and bought him a fine suit of clothes and
made him don it; then fared with him to the Kazi, and formally
declared that he was his son. So Badr al-Din Hasan became known
in Damascus-city as the Cook's son and he sat with him in the
shop to take the silver, and on this wise he sojourned there for
a time. Thus far concerning him; but as regards his cousin, the
Lady of Beauty, when morning dawned she awoke and missed Badr al-
Din Hasan from her side; but she thought that he had gone to the
privy and she sat expecting him for an hour or so; when behold,
entered her father Shams al-Din Mohammed, Wazir of Egypt. Now he
was disconsolate by reason of what had befallen him through the
Sultan, who had entreated him harshly and had married his
daughter by force to the lowest of his menials and he too a lump
of a groom bunch-backed withal, and he said to himself, "I will
slay this daughter of mine if of her own free will she have
yielded her person to this acursed carle." So he came to the
door of the bride's private chamber and said, "Ho! Sitt al-
Husn." She answered him, "Here am I! here am I!"  O my
lord," and came out unsteady of gait after the pains and
pleasures of the night; and she kissed his hand, her face showing
redoubled brightness and beauty for having lain in the arms of
that gazelle, her cousin. When her father, the Wazir, saw her in
such case, he asked her, "O thou accursed, art thou rejoicing
because of this horse-groom?", and Sitt al-Husn smiled sweetly
and answered, "By Allah, don't ridicule me: enough of what passed
yesterday when folk laughed at me, and evened me with that groom-
fellow who is not worthy to bring my husband's shoes or slippers;
nay who is not worth the paring of my husband's nails! By the
Lord, never in my life have I nighted a night so sweet as
yesternight!, so don't mock by reminding me of the Gobbo." When
her parent heard her words he was filled with fury, and his eyes
glared and stared, so that little of them showed save the whites
and he cried, "Fie upon thee! What words are these? 'Twas the
hunchbacked horse-groom who passed the night with thee!" "Allah
upon thee," replied the Lady of Beauty, "do not worry me about
the Gobbo, Allah damn his father;  and leave jesting with
me; for this groom was only hired for ten dinars and a porringer
of meat and he took his wage and went his way. As for me I
entered the bridal-chamber, where I found my true bridegroom
sitting, after the singer-women had displayed me to him; the same
who had crossed their hands with red gold, till every pauper that
was present waxed wealthy; and I passed the night on the breast
of my bonny man, a most lively darling, with his black eyes and
joined eyebrows."  When her parent heard these words the
light before his face became night, and he cried out at her
saying, "O thou whore! What is this thou tellest me? Where be
thy wits?" "O my father," she rejoined, "thou breakest my heart;
enough for thee that thou hast been so hard upon me! Indeed my
husband who took my virginity is but just now gone to the
draught-house and I feel that I have conceived by him." 
The Wazir rose in much marvel and entered the privy where he
found the hunchbacked groom with his head in the hole, and his
heels in the air. At this sight he was confounded and said,
"This is none other than he, the rascal Hunchback!" So he called
to him, "Ho Hunchback!" The Gobbo grunted out, "Taghum! Taghum!"
 thinking it was the Ifrit spoke to him; so the Wazir
shouted at him and said, "Speak out, or I'll strike off thy pate
with this sword." Then quoth the Hunchback, "By Allah, O Shaykh
of the Ifrits, ever since thou settest me in this place, I have
not lifted my head; so Allah upon thee, take pity and entreat me
kindly!" When the Wazir heard this he asked, "What is this thou
sayest? I'm bride's father and no Ifrit." "Enough for thee that
thou hast well nigh done me die, " answered Quasimodo; "now go
thy ways before he come upon thee who hath served me thus. Could
ye not marry me to any save the lady-love of buffaloes and the
beloved of Ifrits? Allah curse her and curse him who married me
to her and was the cause of this my case,"--And Shahrazad
perceived the dawn of day, and ceased to say her permitted say.

              When it was the Twenty-third Night,

Said she, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the
hunchbacked groom spake to the bride's father saying, "Allah
curse him who was the cause of this my case!" Then said the
Wazir to him, "Up and out of this place!" "Am I mad," cried the
groom, "that I should go with thee without leave of the Ifrit
whose last words to me were:--"When the sun rises, arise and go
they gait." So hath the sun risen or no?; for I dare not budge
from this place till then." Asked the Wazir, "Who brought thee
hither?"; and he answered "I came here yesternight for a call of
nature and to do what none can do for me, when lo! a mouse came
out of the water, and squeaked at me and swelled and waxed gross
till it was big as a buffalo, and spoke to me words that entered
my ears. Then he left me here and went away, Allah curse the
bride and him who married me to her!" The Wazir walked up to him
and lifted his head out of the cesspool hole; and he fared forth
running for dear life and hardly crediting that the sun had
risen; and repaired to the Sultan to whom he told all that had
befallen him with the Ifrit. But the Wazir returned to the
bride's private chamber, sore troubled in spirit about her, and
said to her, "O my daughter, explain this strange matter to me!"
Quoth she, "Tis simply this. The bridegroom to whom they
displayed me yestereve lay with me all night, and took my
virginity and I am with child by him. He is my husband and if
thou believe me not, there are his turband, twisted as it was,
lying on the settle and his dagger and his trousers beneath the
bed with a something, I wot not what, wrapped up in them." When
her father heard this he entered the private chamber and found
the turband which had been left there by Badr al-Din Hasan, his
brother's son, and he took it in hand and turned it over, saying,
"This is the turband worn by Wazirs, save that it is of Mosul
stuff."  So he opened it and, finding what seemed to be
an amulet sewn up in the Fez, he unsewed the lining and took it
out; then he lifted up the trousers wherein was the purse of the
thousand gold pieces and, opening that also, found in it a
written paper. This he read and it was the sale-receipt of the
Jew in the name of Badr al-Din Hasan, son of Nur al-Din Ali, the
Egyptian; and the thousand dinars were also there. No sooner had
Shams al-Din read this than he cried out with a loud cry and fell
to the ground fainting; and as soon as he revived and understood
the gist of the matter he marvelled and said, "There is no God,
but the God, who All-might is over all things! Knowest thou, O
my daughter, who it was that became the husband of thy
virginity?" "No," answered she, and he said, "Verily he is the
son of my brother, thy cousin, and this thousand dinars is thy
dowry. Praise be to Allah! and would I wot how this matter came
about!" then opened he the amulet which was sewn up and found
therein a paper in the handwriting of his deceased brother, Nur
al-Din the Egyptian, father of Badr al-Din Hasan; and, when he
saw the hand-writing, he kissed it again and again; and he wept
and wailed over his dead brother and improvised this lines:--

"I see their traces and with pain I melt,  And on their whilome
     homes I weep and yearn:
And Him I pray who dealt this parting-blow  Some day he deign
     vouchsafe a safe return." 

When he ceased versifying, he read the scroll and found in it
recorded the dates of his brother's marriage with the daughter of
the Wazir of Bassorah, and of his going in to her, and her
conception, and the birth of Badr al-Din Hasan and all his
brother's history and doings up to his dying day. So he
marvelled much and shook with joy and, comparing the dates with
his own marriage and going in to his wife and the birth of their
daughter, Sitt al-Husn, he found that they perfectly agreed. So
he took the document and, repairing with it to the Sultan,
acquainted him with what had passed, from first to last; whereat
the King marvelled and commanded the case to be at once recorded.
 The Wazir abode that day expecting to see his brother's
son but he came not; and he waited a second day, a third day and
so on to the seventh day, without any tidings of him. So he
said, "By Allah, I will do a deed such as none hath ever done
before me!"; and he took reed-pen and ink and drew upon a sheet
of paper the plan of the whole house, showing whereabouts was the
private chamber with the curtain in such a place and the
furniture in such another and so on with all that was in the
room. Then he folded up the sketch and, causing all the
furniture to be collected, he took Badr al-Din's garments and the
turband and Fez and robe and purse, and carried the whole to his
house and locked them up, against the coming of his nephew, Badr
al-Din Hasan, the son of his lost brother, with an iron padlock
on which he set his seal. As for the Wazir's daughter, when her
tale of months was fulfilled, she bare a son like the full moon,
the image of his father in beauty and loveliness and fair
proportions and perfect grace. They cut his navel-string
 and Kohl'd his eyelids to strengthen his eyes, and gave
him over to the nurses and nursery governesses,  naming
him Ajib, the Wonderful. His day was as a month and his month
was as a year;  and, when seven years had passed over
him, his grandfather sent him to school, enjoining the master to
teach him Koran-reading, and to educate him well. he remained at
the school four years, till he began to bully his schoolfellows
and abuse them and bash them and thrash them and say, "Who among
you is like me? I am the son of Wazir of Egypt!" At last the
boys came in a body to the Monitor  of what hard usage
they were wont to have from Ajib, and he said to them, "I will
tell you somewhat you may do to him so that he shall leave off
coming to the school, and it is this. When he enters to-morrow,
sit ye down about him and say some one of you to some other, 'By
Allah none shall play with us at this game except he tell us the
names of his mamma and his papa; for he who knows not the names
of his mother and his father is a bastard, a son of adultery,
 and he shall not play with us.'" When morning dawned
the boys came to school, Ajib being one of them, and all flocked
around him saying, "We will play a game wherein none can join
save he can tell the name of his mamma and his papa." And they
all cried, "By Allah, good!" Then quoth one of them, "My name is
Majid and my mammy's name is Alawiyah and my daddy's Izz al-Din."
Another spoke in like guise and yet a third, till Ajid's turn
came, and he said, "MY name is Ajib, and my mother's is Sitt al-
Husn, and my father's Shams al-Din, the Wazir of Cairo." "By
Allah," cried they, "the Wazir is not thy true father." Ajib
answered, "The Wazir is my father in very deed." Then the boys
all laughed and clapped their hands at him, saying "He does not
know who is his papa: get out from among us, for none shall play
with us except he know his father's name." Thereupon they
dispersed from around him and laughed him to scorn; so his breast
was straitened and he well nigh choked with tears and hurt
feelings. Then said the Monitor to him, "We know that the Wazir
is thy grandfather, the father of thy mother, Sitt al-Husn, and
not thy father. As for thy father, neither dost thou know him
nor yet do we; for the Sultan married thy mother to the
hunchbacked horse-groom; but the Jinni came and slept with her
and thou hast no known father. Leave, then, comparing thyself
too advantageously with the little ones of the school, till thou
know that thou hast a lawful father; for until then thou wilt
pass for a child of adultery amongst them. Seest thou that not
even a huckster's son knoweth his own sire? Thy grandfather is
the Wazir of Egypt; but as for thy father we wot him not and we
say indeed that thou hast none. So return to thy sound senses!"
When Ajib heard these insulting words from the Monitor and the
school boys and understood the reproach they put upon him, he
went out at once and ran to his mother, Sitt al-Husn, to
complain; but he was crying so bitterly that his tears prevented
his speech for a while. When she heard his sobs and saw his
tears her heart burned as though with fire for him, and she said,
"O my son, why dost thou weep? Allah keep the tears from thine
eyes! Tell me what hath betided thee?" So he told her all that
he heard from the boys and from the Monitor and ended with
asking, "And who, O my mother, is my father?" She answered, "Thy
father is the Wazir of Egypt;" but he said, "Do not lie to me.
The Wazir is thy father, not mine! who then is my father? Except
thou tell me the very truth I will kill myself with this hanger."
 When his mother heard him speak of his father she wept,
remembering her cousin and her bridal night with him and all that
occurred thereon and then, and she repeated these couplets:--

"Love in my heart they lit and went their ways,  And all I
     love to furthest lands withdrew;
And when they left me sufferance also left,  And when we parted
     Patience bade adieu:
They fled and flying with my joys they fled,  In very
     consistency my spirit flew:
They made my eyelids flow with severance tears  And to the
     parting-pang these drops are due:
And when I long to see reunion-day,  My groans prolonging sore
     for ruth I sue:
Then in my heart of hearts their shapes I trace,  And love and
     longing care and cark renew:
O ye, whose names cling round me like a cloak,  Whose love yet
     closer than a shirt I drew,
Beloved ones! how long this hard despite?  How long this
     severance and this coy shy flight?"

Then she wailed and shrieked aloud and her son did the like; and
behold, in came the Wazir whose heart burnt within him at the
sight of their lamentations, and he said, "What makes you weep?"
So the Lady of Beauty acquainted him with what had happened
between her son and the school boys; and he also wept, calling to
mind his brother and what had past between them and what had
betided his daughter and how he had failed to find out what
mystery there was in the matter. Then he rose at once and,
repairing to the audience-hall, went straight to the King and
told his tale and craved his permission  to travel
eastward to the city of Bassorah and ask after his brother's son.
Furthermore, he besought the Sultan to write for him letters
patent, authorising him to seize upon Badr al-Din, his nephew and
son-in-law, wheresoever he might find him. And he wept before
the King, who had pity on him and wrote royal autographs to his
deputies in all climes  and countries and cities; whereat
the Wazir rejoiced and prayed for blessings on him. Then, taking
leave of his Sovereign, he returned to his house, where he
equipped himself and his daughter and his adopted child Ajib,
with all things meet for a long march; and set out and travelled
the first day and the second and the third and so forth till he
arrived at Damascus-city. He found it a fair place abounding in
trees and streams, even as the poet said of it:--

When I nighted and dayed in Damascus town,  Time sware such
     another he ne'er should view:
And careless we slept under wing of night,  Till dappled Morn
     'gan her smiles renew:
And dew-drops on branch in their beauty hung,  Like pearls to be
     dropt when the Zephyr blew:
And the Lake  was the page where birds read and note, 
     And the clouds set points to what breezes wrote.

The Wazir encamped on the open space called Al-Hasa; 
and, after pitching tents, said to his servants, "A halt here for
two days!" So they went into the city upon their several
occasions, this to sell and this to buy; this to go to the Hammam
and that to visit the Cathedral-mosque of the Banu Umayyah, the
Ommiades, whose like is not in this world.  Ajib also
went, with his attendant eunuch, for solace and diversion to the
city and the servant followed with a quarter-staff  of
almond-wood so heavy that if he struck a camel therewith the
beast would never rise again.  When the people of
Damascus saw Ajib's beauty and brilliancy and perfect grace and
symmetry (for he was a marvel of comeliness and winning
loveliness, softer than the cool breeze of the North, sweeter
than limpid waters to a man in drowth, and pleasanter than the
health for which sick man sueth), a mighty many followed him,
whilest others ran on before, and sat down on the road until he
should come up, that they might gaze on him, till, as Destiny had
decreed, the Eunuch stopped opposite the shop of Ajib's father,
Badr al-Din Hasan. Now his beard had grown long and thick and
his wits had ripened during the twelve years which had passed
over him, and the Cook and ex-rogue having died, the so-called
Hasan of Bassorah had succeeded to his goods and shop, for that
he had been formally adopted before the Kazi and witnesses. When
his son and the Eunuch stepped before him he gazed on Ajib and,
seeing how very beautiful he was, his heart fluttered and
throbbed, and blood drew to blood and natural affection spake out
and his bowels yearned over him. He had just dressed a conserve
of pomegranate-grains with sugar, and Heaven-implanted love
wrought within him; so he called to his son Ajib and said, "O my
lord, O thou who hast gotten the mastery of my heart and my very
vitals and to whom my bowels yearn; say me, wilt thou enter my
house and solace my soul by eating of my meat?" Then his eyes
streamed with tears which he could not stay, for he bethought him
of what he had been and what he had become. When Ajib heard his
father's words his heart also yearned himwards and he looked at
the Eunuch and said to him, "Of a truth, O my good guard, my
heart yearns to this cook; he is as one that hath a son far away
from him: so let us enter and gladden his heart by tasting of his
hospitality. Perchance for our so doing Allah may reunite me
with my father." When the Eunuch heard these words he cried, "A
fine thing this, by Allah! Shall the sons of Wazirs be seen
eating in a common cook-shop? Indeed I keep off the folk from
thee with this quarter-staff lest they even look upon thee; and I
dare not suffer thee to enter this shop at all." When Hasan of
Bassorah heard his speech he marvelled and turned to the Eunuch
with the tears pouring down his cheeks; and Ajib said, "Verily my
heart loves him!" But he answered, "Leave this talk, thou shalt
not go in." Thereupon the father turned to the Eunuch and said,
"O worthy sir, why wilt thou not gladden my soul by entering my
shop? O thou who art like a chestnut, dark without but white of
heart within! O thou of the like of whom a certain poet said  
" The Eunuch burst out a-laughing and asked--"Said what? Speak
out by Allah and be quick about it." So Hasan the Bassorite
began reciting these couplets:--

"If not master of manners or aught but discreet  In the
     household of Kings no trust could he take:
And then for the Harem! what Eunuch  is he  Whom
     angels would serve for his service sake."

The Eunuch marvelled and was pleased at these words, so he took
Ajib by the hand and went into the cook's shop: whereupon Hasan
the Bassorite ladled into a saucer some conserve of pomegranate-
grains wonderfully good, dressed with almonds and sugar, saying,
"You have honoured me with your company: eat then and health and
happiness to you!" Thereupon Ajib said to his father, "Sit thee
down and eat with us; so perchance Allah may unite us with him we
long for." Quoth Hasan, "O my son, hast thou then been afflicted
in thy tender years with parting from those thou lovest?" Quoth
Ajib, "Even so, O nuncle mine; my heart burns for the loss of a
beloved one who is non other than my father; and indeed I come
forth, I and my grandfather,  to circle and search the
world for him. Oh, the pity of it, and how I long to meet him!"
Then he wept with exceeding for his own bereavement, which
recalled to him his long separation from dear friends and from
his mother; and the Eunuch was moved to pity for him. Then they
ate together till they were satisfied; and Ajib and the slave
rose and left the shop. Hereat Hasan the Bassorite felt as
though his soul had departed his body and had gone with them; for
he could not lose sight of the boy during the twinkling of an
eye, albeit he knew not that Ajib was his son. So he locked up
his shop and hastened after them; and he walked so fast that he
came up with them before they had gone out of the western gate.
The Eunuch turned and asked him, "What ails the?"; and Badr al-
Din answered, "When ye went from me, meseemed my soul had gone
with you; and, as I had business without the city-gate, I
purposed to bear you company till my matter was ordered and so
return." The Eunuch was angered and said to Ajib, "This is just
what I feared! we ate that unlucky mouthful (which we are bound
to respect), and here is the fellow following us from place to
place; for the vulgar are ever the vulgar." Ajib, turning and
seeing the Cook just behind him, was wroth and his face reddened
with rage and he said to the servant; "Let him walk the highway
of the Moslems; but, when we turn off it to our tents, and find
that he still follows us, we will send him about his business
with a flea in his ear." Then he bowed his head and walked on,
the Eunuch walking behind him. But Hasan of Bassorah followed
them to the plain Al-Hasa; and, as they drew near to the tents,
they turned round and saw him close on their heels; so Ajib was
very angry, fearing that the Eunuch might tell his grandfather
what had happened. His indignation was the hotter for
apprehension lest any say that after he had entered a cook-shop
the cook had followed him. So he turned and looked at Hasan of
Bassorah and found his eyes fixed on his own, for the father had
become a body without a soul; and it seemed to Ajib that his eye
was a treacherous eye or that he was some lewd fellow. So his
rage redoubled and, stooping down, he took up a stone weighing
half a pound and threw it at his father. It struck him on the
forehead, cutting it open from eye-brow to eye-brow and causing
the blood to stream down: and Hasan fell to the ground in a swoon
whilst Ajib and the Eunuch made for the tents. When the father
came to himself he wiped away the blood and tore off a strip from
his turband and bound up his head, blaming himself the while, and
saying, "I wronged the lad by shutting up my shop and following,
so that he thought I was some evil-minded fellow." Then he
returned to his place where he busied himself with the sale of
his sweetmeats; and he yearned after his mother at Bassorah, and
wept over her and broke out repeating:--

"Unjust it were to bid the World  be just  And blame
     her not: She ne'er was made for justice:
Take what she gives thee, leave all grief aside,  For now to
     fair and then to foul her lust is."

So Hasan of Bassorah set himself steadily to sell his sweetmeats;
but the Wazir, his uncle, halted in Damascus three days and then
marched upon Emesa, and passing through that town he made enquiry
there and at every place where he rested. Thence he fared on by
way of Hamah and Aleppo and thence to Diyar Bakr and Maridin and
Mosul, still enquiring, till he arrived at Bassorah-city. Here,
as soon as he had secured a lodging, he presented himself before
the Sultan, who entreated him with high honour and the respect
due to his rank, and asked the cause of his coming. The Wazir
acquainted him with his history and told him that the Minister
Nur al-Din was his brother; whereupon the Sultan exclaimed,
"Allah have mercy upon him!" and added, "My good Sahib!"
; he was my Wazir for fifteen years and I loved him
exceedingly. Then he died leaving a son who abode only a single
month after his father's death; since which time he has
disappeared and we could gain no tidings of him. But his mother,
who is the daughter of my former Minister, is still among us."
When the Wazir Shams al-Din heard that his nephew's mother was
alive and well, he rejoiced and said, "O King I much desire to
meet her." The King on the instant gave him leave to visit her;
so he betook himself to the mansion of his brother, Nur al-Din,
and cast sorrowful glances on all things in and around it and
kissed the threshold. Then he bethought him of his brother, Nur
al-Din Ali, and how he had died in a strange land far from kith
and kin and friends; and he wept and repeated these lines:--

"I wander 'mid these walls, my Layla's walls,  And kissing this
     and other wall I roam:
'Tis not the walls or roof my heart so loves,  But those who in
     this house had made their home."

Then he passed through the gate into a courtyard and found a
vaulted doorway builded of hardest syenite  inlaid with
sundry kinds of multi-coloured marble. Into this he walked and
wandered about the house and, throwing many a glance around, saw
the name of his brother, Nur al-Din, written in gold wash upon
the walls. So he went up to the inscription and kissed it and
wept and thought of how he had been separated from his brother
and had now lost him for ever, and he recited these couplets:--

"I ask of you from every rising sun,  And eke I ask when
     flasheth levenlight:
When I pass my nights in passion-pain,  Yet ne'er I 'plain me
     of my painful plight;
My love! if longer last this parting throe  Little by little
     shall it waste my sprite.
An thou wouldst bless these eyne with sight of thee  One day on
     earth, I crave none other sight:
Think not another could possess my mind  Nor length nor breadth
     for other love I find."

Then he walked on till he came to the apartment of his brother's
widow, the mother of Badr al-Din Hasan, the Egyptian. Now from
the time of her son's disappearance she had never ceased weeping
and wailing through the light hours and the dark; and, when the
years grew longsome with her, she built for him a tomb of marble
in the midst of the saloon and there used to weep for him day and
night, never sleeping save thereby. When the Wazir drew near her
apartment, he heard her voice and stood behind the door while she
addressed the sepulchre in verse and said:--

"Answer, by Allah! Sepulchre, are all his beauties gone?  Hath
     change the power to blight his charms, that Beauty's
     paragon?
Thou art not earth, O Sepulchre! nor art thou sky to me;  How
     comes it, then, in thee I see conjoint the branch and moon?"

While she was bemoaning herself after this fashion, behold, the
Wazir went in to her and saluted her and informed her that he was
her husband's brother; and, telling her all that had passed
between them, laid open before her the whole story, how her son
Badr al-Din Hasan had spent a whole night with his daughter full
ten years ago but had disappeared in the morning. And he ended
with saying, "My daughter conceived by thy son and bare a male
child who is now with me, and he is thy son and thy son's son by
my daughter." When she heard the tidings that her boy, Badr al-
Din, was still alive and saw her brother-in-law, she rose up to
him and threw herself at his feet and kissed them, reciting these
lines:--

"Allah be good to him that gives glad tidings of thy steps;  In
     very sooth for better news mine ears would never sue:
Were he content with worn-out robe, upon his back I'd throw  A
     heart to pieces rent and torn when heard the word Adieu."

Then the Wazir sent for Ajib and his grandmother stood up and
fell on his neck and wept; but Shams al-Din said to her, "This is
no time for weeping; this is the time to get thee ready for
travelling with us to the land of Egypt; haply Allah will reunite
me and thee with thy son and my nephew." Replied she,
"Hearkening and obedience;" and, rising at once, collected her
baggage and treasures and her jewels, and equipped herself and
her slave-girls for the march, whilst the Wazir went to take his
leave of the Sultan of Bassorah, who sent by him presents and
rarities for the Soldan of Egypt. Then he set out at once upon
his homeward march and journeyed till he came to Damascus-city
where he alighted in the usual place and pitched tents, and said
to his suite, "We will halt a se'nnight here to buy presents and
rare things for the Soldan." Now Ajib bethought him of the past
so he said to the Eunuch, "O Laik, I want a little diversion;
come, let us go down to the great bazar of Damascus,  and
see what hath become of the cook whose sweetmeats we ate and
whose head we broke, for indeed he was kind to us and we
entreated him scurvily." The Eunuch answered, "Hearing is
obeying!" So they went forth from the tents; and the tie of
blood drew Ajib towards his father, and forthwith they passed
through the gateway, Bab al-Faradis  hight, and entered
the city and ceased not walking through the streets till they
reached the cookshop, where they found Hasan of Bassorah standing
at the door. It was near the time of mid-afternoon prayer
 and it so fortuned that he had just dressed a confection
of pomegranate-grains. When the twain drew near to him and Ajib
saw him, his heart yearned towards him, and noticing the scar of
the blow, which time had darkened on his brow, he said to him,
"Peace be on thee, O man!"  know that my heart is with
thee." But when Badr al-Din looked upon his son his vitals
yearned and his heart fluttered, and he hung his head earthwards
and sought to make his tongue give utterance to his words, but he
could not. Then he raised his head humbly and suppliant-wise
towards his boy and repeated these couplets:--

"I longed for my beloved but when I saw his face,  Abashed I
     held my tongue and stood with downcast eye;
And hung my head in dread and would have hid my love,  But do
     whatso I would hidden it would not lie;
Volumes of plaints I had prepared, reproach and blame,  But
     when we met, no single word remembered I."

And then said he to them, "Heal my broken heart and eat of my
sweetmeats; for, by Allah, I cannot look at thee but my heart
flutters. Indeed I should not have followed thee the other day,
but that I was beside myself." "By Allah," answered Ajib, "thou
dost indeed love us! We ate in thy house a mouthful when we were
here before and thou madest us repent of it, for that thou
followedst us and wouldst have disgraced us; so now we will not
eat aught with thee save on condition that thou make oath not to
go out after us nor dog us. Otherwise we will not visit thee
again during our present stay; for we shall halt a week here,
whilst my grandfather buys certain presents for the King." Quoth
Hasan of Bassorah, "I promise you this." So Ajib and the Eunuch
entered the shop, and his father set before them a saucer-full of
conserve of pomegranate-grains. Said Ajib, "Sit thee down and
eat with us, so haply shall Allah dispel our sorrows." Hasan the
Bassorite was joyful and sat down and ate with them; but his eyes
kept gazing fixedly on Ajib's face, for his very heart and vitals
clove to him; and at last the boy said to him, "Did I not tell
thee thou art a most noyous dotard?; so do stint thy staring in
my face!" But when Hasan of Bassorah heard his son's words he
repeated these lines:--

"Thou hast some art the hearts of men to clip;  Close-veiled,
     far-hidden mystery dark and deep:
O thou whose beauties sham the lustrous moon,  Wherewith the
     saffron Morn fears rivalship!
Thy beauty is a shrine shall ne'er decay;  Whose signs shall
     grow until they all outstrip; 
Must I be thirst-burnt by that Eden-brow  And die of pine to
     taste that Kausar-lip?" 

Hasan kept putting morsels into Ajib's mouth at one time and at
another time did the same by the Eunuch and they ate till they
were satisfied and could no more. Then all rose up and the cook
poured water on their hands;  and, loosing a silken
waist-shawl, dried them and sprinkled them with rose-water from a
casting-bottle he had by him. Then he went out and presently
returned with a gugglet of sherbet flavoured with rose-water,
scented with musk and cooled with snow; and he set this before
them saying, "Complete your kindness to me!" So Ajib took the
gugglet and drank and passed it to the Eunuch; and it went round
till their stomachs were full and they were surfeited with a meal
larger than their wont. Then they went away and made haste in
walking till they reached the tents, and Ajib went in to his
grandmother, who kissed him and, thinking of her son, Badr al-Din
Hasan, groaned aloud and wept and recited these lines:--

"I still had hoped to see thee and enjoy thy sight,  For in
     thine absence life has lost its kindly light:
I swear my vitals wot none other love but thine  By Allah, who
     can read the secrets of the sprite!"

Then she asked Ajib, "O my son! where hast thou been?"; and he
answered, "In Damascus-city;" Whereupon she rose and set before
him a bit of scone and a saucer of conserve of pomegranate-grains
(which was too little sweetened), and she said to the Eunuch,
"Sit down with thy master!" Said the servant to himself, "By
Allah, we have no mind to eat: I cannot bear the smell of bread;"
but he sat down and so did Ajib, though his stomach was full of
what he had eaten already and drunken. Nevertheless he took a
bit of the bread and dipped it in the pomegranate-conserve and
made shift to eat it, but he found it too little sweetened, for
he was cloyed and surfeited, so he said, "Faugh; what be this
wild-beast  stuff?" "O my son," cried his grandmother,
"dost thou find fault with my cookery? I cooked this myself and
none can cook it as nicely as I can save thy father, Badr al-Din
Hasan." "By Allah, O my lady, Ajib answered, "this dish is nasty
stuff; for we saw but now in the city of Bassorah a cook who so
dresseth pomegranate-grains that the very smell openeth a way to
the heart and the taste would make a full man long to eat; and,
as for this mess compared with his, 'tis not worth either much or
little." When his grandmother heard his words she waxed wroth
with exceeding wrath and looked at the servant--And Shahrazad
perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.

              When it was the Twenty-fourth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when Ajib's
grandmother heard his words, she waxed wroth and looked at the
servant and said, "Woe to thee! dost thou spoil my son, 
and dost take him into common cookshops?" The Eunuch was
frightened and denied, saying, "We did not go into the shop; we
only passed by it." "By Allah," cried Ajib, "but we did go in
and we ate till it came out of our nostrils, and the dish was
better than thy dish!" Then his grandmother rose and went and
told her brother-in-law, who was incensed against the Eunuch, and
sending for him asked him, "Why didst thou take my son into a
cookshop?"; and the Eunuch being frightened answered, "We did not
go in." But Ajib said, "We did go inside and ate conserve of
pomegranate-grains till we were full; and the cook gave us to
drink of iced and sugared sherbet." At this the Wazir's
indignation redoubled and he questioned the Castrato but, as he
still denied, the Wazir said to him, "If thou speak sooth, sit
down and eat before us." So he came forward and tried to eat,
but could not eat and threw away the mouthful crying "O my lord!
I am surfeited since yesterday." By this the Wazir was certified
that he had eaten at the cook's and bade the slaves throw him
 which they did. Then they came down on him with a rib-
basting which burned him till he cried for mercy and help from
Allah, saying, "O my master, beat me no more and I will tell thee
the truth;" whereupon the Wazir stopped the bastinado and said,
"Now speak thou sooth." Quoth the Eunuch, "Know then that we did
enter the shop of a cook while he was dressing conserve of
pomegranate-grains and he set some of it before us: by Allah! I
never ate in my life its like, nor tasted aught nastier than this
stuff which is now before us." Badr al-Din Hasan's
mother was angry at this and said, "Needs thou must go back to
the cook and bring me a saucer of conserved pomegranate-grains
from that which is in his shop and show it to thy master, that he
may say which be the better and the nicer, mine or his." Said the
unsexed, "I will." So on the instant she gave him a saucer and a
half dinar and he returned to the shop and said to the cook, "O
Shaykh of all Cooks,  we have laid a wager concerning thy
cookery in my lord's house, for they have conserve of
pomegranate-grains there also; so give me this half-dinar's worth
and look to it; for I have eaten a full meal of stick on account
of thy cookery, and so do not let me eat aught more thereof."
Hasan of Bassorah laughed and answered, "By Allah, none can dress
this dish as it should be dressed save myself and my mother, and
she at this time is in a far country." Then he ladled out a
saucer-full; and, finishing it off with musk and rose-water, put
it in a cloth which he sealed  and gave it to the Eunuch,
who hastened back with it. No sooner had Badr al-Din Hasan's
mother tasted it and perceived its fine flavour and the
excellence of the cookery, than she knew who had dressed it, and
she screamed and fell down fainting. The Wazir, sorely started,
sprinkled rose-water upon her and after a time she recovered and
said, "If my son be yet of this world, none dressed this conserve
of pomegranate-grains but he; and this Cook is my very son Badr
al-Din Hasan; there is no doubt of it nor can there be any
mistake, for only I and he knew how to prepare it and I taught
him." When the Wazir heard her words he joyed with exceeding joy
and said, "O the longing of me for a sight of my brother's son!
I wonder if the days will ever unite us with him! Yet it is to
Almighty Allah alone that we look for bringing about this
meeting." Then he rose without stay or delay and, going to his
suite said to them, "Be off, some fifty of you with sticks and
staves to the Cook's shop and demolish it; then pinion his arms
behind him with his own turband, saying, 'It was thou madest that
foul mess of pomegranate-grains!' and drag him here perforce but
without doing him a harm." And they replied, "It is well." Then
the Wazir rode off without losing an instant to the Palace and,
foregathering with the Viceroy of Damascus, showed him the
Sultan's orders. After careful perusal he kissed the letter, and
placing it upon his head said to his visitor, "Who is this
offender of thine?" Quoth the Wazir, "A man who is a cook." So
the Viceroy at once sent his apparitors to the shop; which they
found demolished and everything in it broken to pieces; for
whilst the Wazir was riding to the palace his men had done his
bidding. Then they awaited his return from the audience, and
Hasan of Bassorah who was their prisoner kept saying, "I wonder
what they have found in the conserve of pomegranate-grains to
bring things to this pass!"  When the Wazir returned to
them, after his visit to the Viceroy who had given him formal
permission to take up his debtor and depart with him, on entering
the tents he called for the Cook. They brought him forward
pinioned with his turband; and, when Badr al-Din Hasan saw his
uncle, he wept with excessive weeping and said, "O my lord, what
is my offence against thee?" "Art thou the man who dressed that
conserve of pomegranate-grains?"; asked the Wazir, and he
answered "Yes! didst thou find in it aught to call for the
cutting off of my head?" Quoth the Wazir, "That were the least
of thy deserts!" Quoth the cook, "O my lord, wilt thou not tell
me my crime and what aileth the conserve of pomegranate-grains?"
"Presently," replied the Wazir and called aloud to his men,
"Bring hither the camels." So they struck the tents and by the
Wazir's orders the servants took Badr al-Din Hasan, and set him
in a chest which they padlocked and put on a camel. Then they
departed and stinted not journeying till nightfall, when they
halted and ate some victual, and took Badr al-Din Hasan out of
his chest and gave him a meal and locked him up again. They set
out once more and travelled till they reached Kimrah, where they
took him out of the box and brought him before the Wazir who
asked him, "Art thou he who dressed that conserve of pomegranate-
grains?" He answered "Yes, O my lord!"; and the Wazir said
"Fetter him!" So they fettered him and returned him to the chest
and fared on again till they reached Cairo and lighted at the
quarter called Al-Raydaniyah. Then the Wazir gave order
to take Badr al-Din Hasan out of the chest and sent for a
carpenter and said to him, "Make me a cross of wood  for
this fellow!" Cried Badr al-Din Hasan "And what wilt thou do with
it?"; and the Wazir replied, "I mean to crucify thee thereon, and
nail thee thereto and parade thee all about the city." "And why
wilt thou use me after this fashion?" "Because of thy villanous
cookery of conserved pomegranate-grains; how durst thou dress it
and sell it lacking pepper?" "And for that it lacked pepper wilt
thou do all this to me? Is it not enough that thou hast broken
my shop and smashed my gear and boxed me up in a chest and fed me
only once a day?" "Too little pepper! too little pepper! this is
a crime which can be expiated only upon the cross!" Then Badr
al-Din Hasan marvelled and fell a-mourning for his life;
whereupon the Wazir asked him, "Of what thinkest thou?"; and he
answered him, "Of maggoty heads like thine;  for an thou
had one ounce of sense thou hadst not treated me thus." Quoth
the Wazir, "It is our duty to punish thee lest thou do the like
again." Quoth Badr al-Din Hasan, "Of a truth my offense were
over-punished by the least of what thou hast already done to me;
and Allah damn all conserve of pomegranate-grains and curse the
hour when I cooked it and would I had died ere this!" But the
Wazir rejoined, "There is no help for it; I must crucify a man
who sells conserve of pomegranate-grains lacking pepper." All
this time the carpenter was shaping the wood and Badr al-Din
looked on; and thus they did till night, when his uncle took him
and clapped him into the chest, saying, "The thing shall be done
to-morrow!" Then he waited until he knew Badr al-Din "Hasan to
be asleep, when he mounted; and taking the chest up before him,
entered the city and rode on to his own house, where he alighted
and said to his daughter, Sitt al-Husn, "Praised be Allah who
hath reunited thee with thy husband, the son of thine uncle! Up
now, and order the house as it was on thy bridal night." So the
servants arose and lit the candles; and the Wazir took out his
plan of the nuptial chamber, and directed them what to do till
they had set everything in its stead, so that whoever saw it
would have no doubt but it was the very night of the marriage.
Then he bade them put down Badr al-Din Hasan's turband on the
settle, as he had deposited it with his own hand, and in like
manner his bag-trousers and the purse which were under the
mattress: and told daughter to undress herself and go to bed in
the private chamber as on her wedding-night, adding, "When the
son of thine uncle comes in to thee, say to him:--Thou hast
loitered while going to the privy; and call him to lie by thy
side and keep him in converse till daybreak, when we will explain
the whole matter to him." Then he bade take Badr al-Din Hasan
out of the chest, after loosing the fetters from his feet and
stripping off all that was on him save the fine shirt of blue
silk in which he had slept on his wedding-night; so that he was
well-nigh naked and trouserless. All this was done whilst he was
sleeping on utterly unconscious. Then, by doom of Destiny, Badr
al-Din Hasan turned over and awoke; and, finding himself in a
lighted vestibule, said to himself, "Surely I am in the mazes of
some dream." So he rose and went on to a little to an inner door
and looked in and lo! he was in the very chamber wherein the
bride had been displayed to him; and there he saw the bridal
alcove and the settle and his turband and all his clothes. When
he saw this he was confounded and kept advancing with one foot,
and retiring with the other, saying, "Am I sleeping or waking?"
And he began rubbing his forehead and saying (for indeed he was
thoroughly astounded), "By Allah, verily this is the chamber of
the bride who was displayed before me! Where am I then? I was
surely but now in a box!" Whilst he was talking with himself,
Sitt al-Husn suddenly lifted the corner of the chamber-curtain
and said, "O my lord, wilt thou not come in? Indeed thou hast
loitered long in the water-closet." When he heard her words and
saw her face he burst out laughing and said, "Of a truth this is
a very nightmare among dreams!" Then he went in sighing, and
pondered what had come to pass with him and was perplexed about
his case, and his affair became yet more obscure to him when he
saw his turband and bag-trousers and when, feeling the pocket, he
found the purse containing the thousand gold pieces. So he stood
still and muttered, "Allah is all knowing! Assuredly I am
dreaming a wild waking dream!" Then said the Lady of Beauty to
him, "What ails thee to look puzzled and perplexed?"; adding,
"Thou wast a very different man during the first of the night!"
He laughed and asked her, "How long have I been away from thee?";
and she answered him, "Allah preserve thee and His Holy Name be
about thee! Thou didst but go out an hour ago for an occasion
and return. Are thy wits clean gone?" When Badr al-Din Hasan
heard this, he laughed,  and said, "Thou hast spoken
truth; but, when I went out from thee, I forgot myself awhile in
the draught-house and dreamed that I was a cook at Damascus and
abode there ten years; and there came to me a boy who was of the
sons of the great, and with him an Eunuch." Here he passed his
hand over his forehead and, feeling the scar, cried, "By Allah, O
my lady, it must have been true, for he struck my forehead with a
stone and cut it open from eye-brow to eye-brow; and here is the
mark: so it must have been on wake." Then he added, "But perhaps
I dreamt it when we fell asleep, I and thou, in each other's
arms, for meseems it was as though I travelled to Damascus
without tarbush and trousers and set up as a cook there." Then
he was perplexed and considered for awhile, and said, "By Allah,
I also fancied that I dressed a conserve of pomegranate-grains
and put too little pepper in it. By Allah, I must have slept in
the numerocent and have seen the whole thing in a dream; but how
long was that dream!" "Allah upon thee," said Sitt al-Husn, "and
what more sawest thou?" So he related all to her; and presently
said, "By Allah had I not woke up they would have nailed me to a
cross of wood!" "Wherefore?" asked she; and he answered, "For
putting too little pepper in the conserve of pomegranate-grains,
and meseemed they demolished my shop and dashed to pieces my pots
and pans, destroyed all my stuff and put me in a box; they then
sent for the carpenter to fashion a cross for me and would have
crucified me thereon. Now Alham-dolillah! thanks be to Allah, for
that all this happened to me in sleep, and not on wake." Sitt
al-Husn laughed and clasped him to her bosom and he her to his:
then he thought again and said, "By Allah, it could not be save
while I was awake: truly I know not what to think of it." Then
he lay him down and all the night he was bewildered about his
case, now saying, "I was dreaming!" and then saying, "I was
awake!", till morning, when his uncle Shams al-Din, the Wazir,
came to him and saluted him. When Badr al-Din Hasan saw him he
said, "By Allah, art thou not he who bade bind my hands behind me
and smash my shop and nail me to a cross on a matter of conserved
pomegranate-grains because the dish lacked a sufficiency of
pepper?" Whereupon the Wazir said to him, "Know, O my son, that
truth hath shown it soothfast and the concealed hath been
revealed!  Thou art the son of my brother, and I did all
this with thee to certify myself that thou wast indeed he who
went in unto my daughter that night. I could not be sure of
this, till I saw that thou knewest the chamber and thy turband
and thy trousers and thy gold and the papers in thy writing and
in that of thy father, my brother; for I had never seen thee
afore that and knew thee not; and as to thy mother I have
prevailed upon her to come with me from Bassorah." So saying, he
threw himself on his nephew's breast and wept for joy; and Badr
al-Din Hasan, hearing these words from his uncle, marvelled with
exceeding marvel and fell on his neck and also shed tears for
excess of delight. Then said the Wazir to him, "O my son, the
sole cause of all this is what passed between me and thy sire;"
and all that had occurred to part them. Lastly the Wazir sent
for Ajib; and when his father saw him he cried, "And this is he
who struck me with the stone!" Quoth the Wazir, "This is thy
son!" And Badr al-Din Hasan threw himself upon his boy and began
repeating:--

"Long have I wept o'er severance ban and bane,  Long from mine
     eyelids tear-rills rail and rain:
And vowed I if Time re-union bring  My tongue from name of
     "Severance" I'll restrain:
Joy hath o'ercome me to this stress that I  From joy's revulsion
     to shed tears am fain:
Ye are so trained to tears, O eyne of me!  You weep with
     pleasure as you weep with pain." 

When he had ended his verse his mother came in and threw herself
upon him and began reciting:--

"When we met we complained,  Our hearts were sore wrung:
But plaint is not pleasant  Fro' messenger's tongue."

Then she wept and related to him what had befallen her since his
departure, and he told her what he had suffered, and they thanked
Allah Almighty for their reunion. Two days after his arrival the
Wazir Shams al-din went in to the Sultan and, kissing the ground
between his hands, greeted him with the greeting due to Kings.
The Sultan rejoiced at his return and his face brightened and,
placing him hard by his side,  asked him to relate all he
had seen in his wayfaring and whatso had betided him in his going
and coming. So the Wazir told him all that had passed from first
to last and the Sultan said, "Thanks be to Allah for thy victory
 and the winning of thy wish and thy safe return to thy
children and thy people! And now I needs must see the son of thy
brother, Hasan of Bassorah, so bring him to the audience-hall to-
morrow." Shams al-Din replied, "Thy slave shall stand in thy
presence to-morrow, Inshallah, if it be God's will." Then he
saluted him and, returning to his own house, informed his nephew
of the Sultan's desire to see him, whereto replied Hasan, whilome
the Bassorite, "The slave is obedient to the orders of his lord."
And the result was that next day he accompanied his uncle, Shams
al-Din, to the Divan; and, after saluting the Sultan and doing
him reverence in most ceremonious obeisance and with most courtly
obsequiousness, he began improvising these verses:--

"The first in rank to kiss the ground shall deign  Before you,
     and all ends and aims attain:
You are Honour's fount; and all that hope of you,  Shall gain
     more honour than Hope hoped to gain."

The Sultan smiled and signed to him to sit down. So he took a
seat close to his uncle, Shams al-Din, and the King asked him his
name. Quoth Badr al-Din Hasan, "The meanest of thy slaves is
known as Hasan the Bassorite, who is instant in prayer for thee
day and night." The Sultan was pleased at his words and, being
minded to test his learning and prove his good breeding, asked
him, "Dost thou remember any verses in praise of the mole on the
cheek?" He answered, "I do," and began reciting:--

"When I think of my love and our parting-smart,  My groans go
     forth and my tears upstart:
He's a mole that reminds me in colour and charms  O' the black
     o' the eye and the grain  of the heart."

The King admired and praised the two couplets and said to him,
"Quote something else; Allah bless thy sire and may thy tongue
never tire!" So he began:--

"That cheek-mole's spot they evened with a grain  Of musk, nor
     did they here the simile strain:
Nay, marvel at the face comprising all  Beauty, nor falling
     short by single grain."

The King shook with pleasure  and said to him, "Say more:
Allah bless thy days!" So he began:--

"O you whose mole on cheek enthroned recalls  A dot of musk
     upon a stone of ruby,
Grant me your favours! Be not stone at heart!  Core of my heart
     whose only sustenance you be!"

Quoth the King, "Fair comparison, O Hasan!  thou hast
spoken excellently well and hast proved thyself accomplished in
every accomplishment! Now explain to me how many meanings be
there in the Arabic language  for the word Khal or mole."
He replied, "Allah keep the King! Seven and fifty and some by
tradition say fifty." Said the Sultan, "Thou sayest sooth,"
presently adding, "Hast thou knowledge as to the points of
excellence in beauty?" "Yes," answered Badr al-Din Hasan,
"Beauty consisteth in brightness of face, clearness of
complexion, shapeliness of nose, gentleness of eyes, sweetness of
mouth, cleverness of speech, slenderness of shape and seemliness
of all attributes. But the acme of beauty is in the hair and,
indeed, al-Shihab the Hijazi hath brought together all these
items in his doggrel verse of the metre Rajaz,  and it is
this:

Say thou to skin "Be soft," to face "Be fair,"  And gaze, nor
     shall they blame howso thou stare:
Fine nose in Beauty's list is high esteemed;  Nor less an eye
     full, bright and debonnair:
Eke did they well to laud the lovely lips  (Which e'en the sleep
     of me will never spare);
A winning tongue, a stature tall and straight;   A
     seemly union of gifts rarest rare:
But Beauty's acme in the hair one views it;  So hear my strain
     and with some few excuse it!"

The Sultan was captivated by his converse and, regarding him as a
friend, asked, "What meaning is there in the saw 'Shurayh is
foxier than the fox'?" And he answered, "Know, O King (whom
Almighty Allah keep!) that the legist Shurayh  was wont,
during the days of the plague, to make a visitation to Al-Najaf;
and, whenever he stood up to pray, there came a fox which would
plant himself facing him and which, by mimicking his movements,
distracted him from his devotions. Now when this became longsome
to him, one day he doffed his shirt and set it upon a cane and
shook out the sleeves; then placing his turband on the top and
girding its middle with a shawl, he stuck it up in the place
where he used to pray. Presently up trotted the fox according to
his custom and stood over against the figure, whereupon Shurayh
came behind him, and took him. Hence the sayer saith, 'Shurayh
foxier than the fox.'" When the Sultan heard Badr al-Din Hasan's
explanation he said to his uncle, Shams al-Din, "Truly this the
son of thy brother is perfect in courtly breeding and I do not
think that his like can be found in Cairo." At this Hasan arose
and kissed the ground before him and sat down again as a Mameluke
should sit before his master. When the Sultan had thus assured
himself of his courtly breeding and bearing and his knowledge of
the liberal arts and belles-lettres, he joyed with exceeding joy
and invested him with a splendid robe of honour and promoted him
to an office whereby he might better his condition. 
Then Badr al-Din Hasan arose and, kissing the ground before the
King, wished him continuance of glory and asked leave to retire
with his uncle, the Wazir Shams al-Din. The Sultan gave him
leave and he issued forth and the two returned home, where food
was set before them and they ate what Allah had given them.
After finishing his meal Hasan repaired to the sitting-chamber of
his wife, the Lady of Beauty, and told her what had past between
him and the Sultan; whereupon quoth she, "He cannot fail to make
thee a cup-companion and give thee largess in excess and load
thee with favours and bounties; so shalt thou, by Allah's
blessing, dispread, like the greater light, the rays of thy
perfection wherever thou be, on shore or on sea." Said he to
her, "I purpose to recite a Kasidah, an ode, in his praise, that
he may redouble in affection for me." "Thou art right in thine
intent," she answered, "so gather thy wits together and weigh thy
words, and I shall surely see my husband favoured with his
highest favour." Thereupon Hasan shut himself up and composed
these couplets on a solid base and abounding in inner grace and
copies them out in a hand-writing of the nicest taste. They are
as follows:--

Mine is a Chief who reached most haught estate,  Treading the
     pathways of the good and great:
His justice makes all regions safe and sure,  And against
     froward foes bars every gate:
Bold lion, hero, saint, e'en if you call  Seraph or Sovran
      he with all may rate!
The poorest supplicant rich from him returns,  All words to
     praise him were inadequate.
He to the day of peace is saffron Morn,  And murky Night in
     furious warfare's bate.
Bow 'neath his gifts our necks, and by his deeds  As King of
     freeborn  souls he 'joys his state:
Allah increase for us his term of years,  And from his lot avert
     all risks and fears!

When he had finished transcribing the lines, he despatched them,
in charge of one of his uncle's slaves, to the Sultan, who
perused them and his fancy was pleased; so he read them to those
present and all praised them with the highest praise. Thereupon
he sent for the writer to his sitting-chamber and said to him,
"Thou art from this day forth my boon-companion and I appoint to
thee a monthly solde of a thousand dirhams, over and above that I
bestowed on thee aforetime." So Hasan rose and, kissing the
ground before the King several times, prayed for the continuance
of his greatness and glory and length of life and strength. Thus
Badr al-Din Hasan the Bassorite waxed high in honour and his fame
flew forth to many regions and he abode in all comfort and solace
and delight of life with his uncle and his own folk till Death
overtook him. When the Caliph Harun al-Rashid heard this story
from the mouth of his Wazir, Ja'afar the Barmecide, he marvelled
much and said, "It behoves that these stories be written in
letters of liquid gold." Then he set the slave at liberty and
assigned to the youth who had slain his wife such a monthly
stipend as sufficed to make his life easy; he also gave him a
concubine from amongst his own slave-girls and the young man
became one of his cup-companions. "Yet this story," (continued
Shahrazad) "is in no wise stranger than the tale of the Tailor
and the Hunchback and the Jew and the Reeve and the Nazarene, and
what betided them." Quoth the King, "And what may that be?" So
Shahrazad began, in these words,





                     THE HUNCHBACK'S TALE.


It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that there dwelt during
times of yore, and years and ages long gone before, in a certain
city of China, a Tailor who was an open handed man that
loved pleasuring and merry making; and who was wont, he and his
wife, to solace themselves from time to time with public
diversions and amusements. One day they went out with the first
of the light and were returning in the evening when they fell in
with a Hunchback, whose semblance would draw a laugh from care
and dispel the horrors of despair. So they went up to enjoy
looking at him and invited him to go home with them and converse
and carouse with them that night. He consented and accompanied
them afoot to their home; whereupon the Tailor fared forth to the
bazaar (night having just set in) and bought a fried fish and
bread and lemons and dry sweetmeats for dessert; and set the
victuals before the Hunchback and they ate. Presently the
Tailor's wife took a great fid of fish and gave it in a gobbet to
the Gobbo, stopping his mouth with her hand and saying, "By
Allah, thou must down with it at a single gulp; and I will not
give thee time to chew it." So he bolted it; but therein was a
stiff bone which stuck in his gullet and, his hour being come, he
died.--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying
her permitted say.

              When it was the Twenty-fifth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when the
Tailor's wife gave the Hunchback that mouthful of fish which
ended his term of days he died on the instant. Seeing this the
Tailor cried aloud, "There is no Majesty and there is no Might
save in Allah! Alas, that this poor wretch should have died in so
foolish fashion at our hands!" and the woman rejoined, "Why this
idle talk? Hast thou not heard his saying who said:--

Why then waste I my time in grief, until I  find no friend to
     bear my weight of woe
How sleep upon a fire that flames unquenched?  Upon the flames
     to rest were hard enow!"

Asked her husband, "And what shall I do with him?"; and she
answered, "Rise and take him in thine arms and spread a silken
kerchief over him; then I will fare forth, with thee following me
this very night and if thou meet any one say, 'This is my son,
and his mother and I are carrying him to the doctor that he may
look at him.'" So he rose and taking the Hunchback in his arms
bore him along the streets, preceded by his wife who kept crying,
"O my son, Allah keep thee! what part paineth thee and where hath
this small-pox attacked thee?" So all who saw them said
"'Tis a child sick of small-pox."  They went along asking
for the physician's house till folk directed them to that of a
leach which was a Jew. They knocked at the door, and there came
down to them a black slave girl who opened and, seeing a man
bearing a babe, and a woman with him, said to them, "What is the
matter?" "We have a little one with us," answered the Tailor's
wife, "and we wish to show him to the physician: so take this
quarter dinar and give it to thy master and let him come down and
see my son who is sore sick." The girl went up to tell her
master, whereupon the Tailor's wife walked into the vestibule and
said to her husband, "Leave the Hunchback here and let us fly for
our lives." So the Tailor carried the dead man to the top of the
stairs and propped him upright against the wall and ran away, he
and his wife. Meanwhile the girl went in to the Jew and said to
him, "At the door are a man and a woman with a sick child and
they have given me a quarter dinar for thee, that thou mayest go
down and look at the little one and prescribe for it." As soon as
the Jew saw the quarter dinar he rejoiced and rose quickly in his
greed of gain and went forth hurriedly in the dark; but hardly
had he made a step when he stumbled on the corpse and threw it
over, when it rolled to the bottom of the staircase. So he cried
out to the girl to hurry up with the light, and she brought it,
whereupon he went down and examining the Hunchback found that he
was stone dead. So he cried out, "O for Esdras! O for
Moses! O for Aaron! O for Joshua, son of Nun! O the Ten
Commandments! I have stumbled against the sick one and he hath
fallen downstairs and he is dead! How shall I get this man I have
killed out of my house? O by the hoofs of the ass of Esdras!"
Then he took up the body and, carrying it into the house, told
his wife what had happened and she said to him, "Why dost thou
sit still? If thou keep him here till day break we shall both
lose our lives. Let us two carry him to the terrace roof and
throw him over into the house of our neighbour, the Moslem, for
if he abide there a night the dogs will come down on him from the
adjoining terraces and eat him up." Now his neighbour was a
Reeve, the controller of the Sultan's kitchen, and was wont to
bring back great store of oil and fat and broken meats; but the
cats and rats used to eat it, or, if the dogs scented a fat
sheep's tail they would come down from the nearest roofs and tear
at it; and on this wise the beasts had already damaged much of
what he brought home. So the Jew and his wife carried the
Hunchback up to the roof; and, letting him down by his hands and
feet through the wind-shaft into the Reeve's house,
propped him up against the wall and went their ways. Hardly had
they done this when the Reeve, who had been passing an evening
with his friends hearing a recitation of the Koran, came home and
opened the door and, going up with a lighted candle, found a son
of Adam standing in the corner under the ventilator. When he saw
this, he said, "Wah! by Allah, very good forsooth! He who robbeth
my stuff is none other than a man." Then he turned to the
Hunchback and said, "So 'tis thou that stealest the meat and the
fat! I thought it was the cats and dogs, and I kill the dogs and
cats of the quarter and sin against them by killing them. And all
the while 'tis thou comest down from the house terrace through
the wind shaft. But I will avenge myself upon thee with my own
hand!" So he snatched up a heavy hammer and set upon him and
smote him full on the breast and he fell down. Then he examined
him and, finding that he was dead, cried out in horror, thinking
that he had killed him, and said, "There is no Majesty and there
is no Might save in Allah, the Glorious, the Great!" And he
feared for his life, and added "Allah curse the oil and the meat
and the grease and the sheep's tails to boot! How hath fate given
this man his quietus at my hand!" Then he looked at the body and
seeing it was that of a Gobbo, said, "Was it not enough for thee
to be a hunchback, but thou must likewise be a thief and
prig flesh and fat! O thou Veiler, deign to veil me with
Thy curtain of concealment!" So he took him up on his shoulders
and, going forth with him from his house about the latter end of
the night, carried him to the nearest end of the bazaar, where he
set him up on his feet against the wall of a shop at the head of
a dark lane, and left him and went away. After a while up came a
Nazarene, the Sultan's broker who, much bemused with
liquor, was purposing for the Hammam bath as his drunkenness
whispered in his ear, "Verily the call to matins is
nigh." He came plodding along and staggering about till he drew
near the Hunchback and squatted down to make water over
against him; when he happened to glance around and saw a man
standing against the wall. Now some person had snatched off the
Christian's turband in the first of the night; so when he
saw the Hunchback hard by he fancied that he also meant to steal
his headdress. Thereupon he clenched his fist and struck him on
the neck, felling him to the ground, and called aloud to the
watchman of the bazaar, and came down on the body in his drunken
fury and kept on belabouring and throttling the corpse. Presently
the Charley came up and, finding a Nazarene kneeling on a Moslem
and frapping him, asked, "What harm hath this one done?"; and the
Broker answered, "The fellow meant to snatch off my turband."
"Get up from him," quoth the watch man. So he arose and the
Charley went up to the Hunchback and finding him dead, exclaimed,
"By Allah, good indeed! A Christian killing a Mahometan!" Then he
seized the Broker and, tying his hands behind his back, carried
him to the Governor's house, and all the while the
Nazarene kept saying to himself, "O Messiah! O Virgin! how came I
to kill this fellow? And in what a hurry he must have been to
depart this life when he died of a single blow!" Presently, as
his drunkenness fled, came dolour in its stead. So the Broker and
the body were kept in the Governor's place till morning morrowed,
when the Wali came out and gave order to hang the supposed
murderer and commanded the executioner make proclamation
of the sentence. Forthwith they set up a gallows under which they
made the Nazarene stand and the torch bearer, who was hangman,
threw the rope round his neck and passed one end through the
pulley, and was about to hoist him up when lo! the Reeve,
who was passing by, saw the Broker about to be hanged; and,
making his way through the people, cried out to the executioner,
"Hold! Hold! I am he who killed the Hunchback!" Asked the
Governor, "What made thee kill him?"; and he answered, "I went
home last night and there found this man who had come down the
ventilator to steal my property; so I smote him with a hammer on
the breast and he died forthright. Then I took him up and carried
him to the bazaar and set him up against the wall in such a place
near such a lane;" adding, "Is it not enough for me to have
killed a Moslem without also killing a Christian? So hang none
other but me." When the Governor heard these words he released
the Broker and said to the torch bearer, "Hang up this man on his
own confession." So he loosed the cord from the Nazarene's neck
and threw it round that of the Reeve and, making him stand under
the gallows tree, was about to string him up when behold, the
Jewish physician pushed through the people and shouted to the
executioner, "Hold! Hold! It was I and none else killed the
Hunchback! Last night I was sitting at home when a man and a
woman knocked at the door carrying this Gobbo who was sick, and
gave my handmaid a quarter dinar, bidding her hand me the fee and
tell me to come down and see him. Whilst she was gone the man and
the woman brought him into the house and, setting him on the
stairs, went away; and presently I came down and not seeing him,
for I was in the dark, stumbled over him and he fell to the foot
of the staircase and died on the moment. Then we took him up, I
and my wife, and carried him on to the top terrace; and, the
house of this Reeve being next door to mine, we let the body down
through the ventilator. When he came home and found the Hunchback
in his house, he fancied he was a thief and struck him with a
hammer, so that he fell to the ground, and our neighbour made
certain that he had slain him. Now is it not enough for me to
have killed one Moslem unwittingly, without burdening myself with
taking the life of another Moslem wittingly?" When the Governor
heard this he said to the hangman, "Set free the Reeve and hang
the Jew." Thereupon the torch bearer took him and slung the cord
round his neck when behold, the Tailor pushed through the people,
and shouted to the executioner, "Hold! Hold! It was I and none
else killed the Hunchback; and this was the fashion thereof. I
had been out a pleasuring yesterday and, coming back to supper,
fell in with this Gobbo, who was drunk and drumming away and
singing lustily to his tambourine. So I accosted him and carried
him to my house and bought a fish, and we sat down to eat.
Presently my wife took a fid of fish and, making a gobbet of
it, crammed it into his mouth; but some of it went down
the wrong way or stuck in his gullet and he died on the instant.
So we lifted him up, I and my wife, and carried him to the Jew's
house where the slave girl came down and opened the door to us
and I said to her, 'Tell thy master that there are a man and a
woman and a sick person for thee to see!' I gave her a quarter
dinar and she went up to tell her master; and, whilst she was
gone, I carried the Hunchback to the head of the staircase and
propped him up against the wall, and went off with my wife. When
the Jew came down he stumbled over him and thought that he had
killed him." Then he asked the Jew, "Is this the truth?"; and the
Jew answered, "Yes." Thereupon the Tailor turned to the Governor,
and said, "Leave go the Jew and hang me." When the Governor heard
the Tailor's tale he marvelled at the matter of this Hunchback
and exclaimed. "Verily this is an adventure which should be
recorded in books!" Then he said to the hangman, "Let the Jew go
and hang the Tailor on his own confession." The executioner took
the Tailor and put the rope around his neck and said, "I am tired
of such slow work: we bring out this one and change him for that
other, and no one is hanged after all!" Now the Hunchback in
question was, they relate, jester to the Sultan of China who
could not bear him out of his sight; so when the fellow got drunk
and did not make his appearance that night or the next day till
noon, the Sultan asked some of his courtiers about him and they
answered, "O our lord, the Governor hath come upon him dead and
hath ordered his murderer to be hanged; but, as the hangman was
about to hoist him up there came a second and a third and a
fourth and each one said, 'It is I, and none else killed the
Hunchback!' and each gave a full and circumstantial account of
the manner of the jester being killed." When the King heard this
he cried aloud to the Chamberlain in waiting, "Go down to the
Governor and bring me all four of them." So the Chamberlain went
down at once to the place of execution, where he found the torch
bearer on the point of hanging the Tailor and shouted to him,
"Hold! Hold!" Then he gave the King's command to the Governor who
took the Tailor, the Jew, the Nazarene and the Reeve (the
Hunchback's body being borne on men's shoulders) and went up with
one and all of them to the King. When he came into the presence,
he kissed the ground and acquainted the ruler with the whole
story which it is needless to relate for, as they say, There is
no avail in a thrice told tale. The Sultan hearing it marvelled
and was moved to mirth and commanded the story to be written in
letters of liquid gold, saying to those present, "Did ye ever
hear a more wondrous tale than that of my Hunchback?" Thereupon
the Nazarene broker came forward and said, "O King of the age,
with thy leave I will tell thee a thing which happened to myself
and which is still more wondrous and marvellous and pleasurable
and delectable than the tale of the Hunchback." Quoth the King
"Tell us what thou hast to say!" So he began in these words





The Nazarene Broker's Story.


O King of the age, I came to this thy country with merchandise
and Destiny stayed me here with you: but my place of birth was
Cairo, in Egypt, where I also was brought up, for I am one of the
Copts and my father was a broker before me. When I came to man's
estate he departed this life and I succeeded to his business. One
day, as I was sitting in my shop, behold, there came up to me a
youth as handsome as could be, wearing sumptuous raiment and
riding a fine ass. When he saw me he saluted me, and I
stood up to do him honour: then he took out a kerchief containing
a sample of sesame and asked, "How much is this worth per
Ardabb?"; whereto I answered, "An hundred dirhams." Quoth
he, "Take porters and gaugers and metesmen and come tomorrow to
the Khan al-Jawali, by the Gate of Victory quarter where
thou wilt find me." Then he fared forth leaving with me the
sample of sesame in his kerchief; and I went the round of my
customers and ascertained that every Ardabb would fetch an
hundred and twenty dirhams. Next day I took four metesmen and
walked with them to the Khan, where I found him awaiting me. As
soon as he saw me he rose and opened his magazine, when we
measured the grain till the store was empty; and we found the
contents fifty Ardabbs, making five thousand pieces of silver.
Then said he, "Let ten dirhams on every Ardabb be thy brokerage;
so take the price and keep in deposit four thousand and five
hundred dirhams for me; and, when I have made an end of selling
the other wares in my warehouses, I will come to thee and receive
the amount." "I will well," replied I and kissing his hand went
away, having made that day a profit of a thousand dirhams. He was
absent a month, at the end of which he came to me and asked,
"Where be the dirhams?" I rose and saluted him and answered to
him, "Wilt thou not eat somewhat in my house?" But he refused
with the remark, "Get the monies ready and I will presently
return and take them." Then he rode away. So I brought out the
dirhams and sat down to await him, but he stayed away for another
month, when he came back and said to me, "Where be the dirhams?"
I rose and saluting him asked, "Wilt thou not eat some thing in
my house?" But he again refused adding, "Get me the monies ready
and I will presently return and take them." Then he rode off. So
I brought out the dirhams and sat down to await his return; but
he stayed away from me a third month, and I said, "Verily this
young man is liberality in incarnate form." At the end of the
month he came up, riding a mare mule and wearing a suit of
sumptuous raiment; he was as the moon on the night of fullness,
and he seemed as if fresh from the baths, with his cheeks rosy
bright, and his brow flower white, and a mole spot like a grain
of ambergris delighting the sight; even as was said of such an
one by the poet:--

Full moon with sun in single mansion  In brightest sheen and
     fortune rose and shone,
With happy splendour changing every sprite:  Hail to what
     guerdons prayer with blissful! boon!
Their charms and grace have gained perfection's height,  All
     hearts have conquered and all wits have won.
Laud to the Lord for works so wonder strange,  And what th'
     Almighty wills His hand hath done!

When I saw him I rose to him and invoking blessings on him asked,
O my lord, wilt thou not take thy monies?" "Whence the
hurry?" quoth he, "Wait till I have made an end of my
business and then I will come and take them." Again he rode away
and I said to myself, "By Allah, when he comes next time needs
must I make him my guest; for I have traded with his dirhams and
have gotten large gains thereby." At the end of the year he came
again, habited in a suit of clothes more sumptuous than the
former; and, when I conjured him by the Evangel to alight at my
house and eat of my guest food, he said, "I consent, on condition
that what thou expendest on me shall be of my monies still in thy
hands. I answered, "So be it," and made him sit down whilst I got
ready what was needful of meat and drink and else besides; and
set the tray before him, with the invitation "Bismillah"!
Then he drew near the tray and put out his left hand and
ate with me; and I marvelled at his not using the right hand.
When we had done eating, I poured water on his hand and gave him
wherewith to wipe it. Upon this we sat down to converse after I
had set before him some sweetmeats; and I said to him, "O my
master, prithee relieve me by telling me why thou eatest with thy
left hand? Perchance something aileth thy other hand?" When he
heard my words, he repeated these verses:--

"Dear friend, ask not what burneth in my breast,  Lest thou see
     fiery pangs eye never saw:
Wills not my heart to harbour Salma in stead  Of
     Layla's love, but need hath ne'er a law!"

And he put out his right arm from his sleeve and behold, the hand
was cut off, a wrist without a fist. I was astounded at this but
he said, "Marvel not, and think not that I ate with my left hand
for conceit and insolence, but from necessity; and the cutting
off my right hand was caused by an adventure of the strangest."
Asked I, "And what caused it?"; and he answered:--"Know that I am
of the sons of Baghdad and my father was of notables of that
city. When I came to man's estate I heard the pilgrims and
wayfarers, travellers and merchants talk of the land of Egypt and
their words sank deep into my mind till my parent died, when I
took a large sum of money and furnished myself for trade with
stuffs of Baghdad and Mosul and, packing them up in bales, set
out on my wanderings; and Allah decreed me safety till I entered
this your city. Then he wept and began repeating:--

 The blear eyed 'scapes the pits     Wherein the lynx eyed fall:
 A word the wise man slays           And saves the natural:
 The Moslem fails of food            The Kafir feasts in hall:
 What art or act is man's?           God's will obligeth all!

Now when he had ended his verse he said, So I entered Cairo and
took off my loads and stored my stuffs in the Khan "Al-
Masrur." Then I gave the servant a few silvers wherewith
to buy me some food and lay down to sleep awhile. When I awoke I
went to the street called "Bayn al-Kasrayn"--Between the two
Palaces--and presently returned and rested my night in the Khan.
When it was morning I opened a bale and took out some stuff
saying to myself, "I will be off and go through some of the
bazaars and see the state of the market." So I loaded the stuff
on some of my slaves and fared forth till I reached the
Kaysariyah or Exchange of Jaharkas; where the brokers who
knew of my coming came to meet me. They took the stuffs and cried
them for sale, but could not get the prime cost of them. I was
vexed at this, however the Shaykh of the brokers said to me, "O
my lord, I will tell thee how thou mayest make a profit of thy
goods. Thou shouldest do as the merchants do and sell thy
merchandise at credit for a fixed period, on a contract drawn up
by a notary and duly witnessed; and employ a Shroff to take thy
dues every Monday and Thursday. So shalt thou gain two dirhams
and more, for every one; and thou shalt solace and divert thyself
by seeing Cairo and the Nile." Quoth I, "This is sound advice,"
and carried the brokers to the Khan. They took my stuffs and went
with them on 'Change where I sold them well taking bonds for the
value. These bonds I deposited with a Shroff, a banker, who gave
me a receipt with which I returned to the Khan. Here I stayed a
whole month, every morning breaking my fast with a cup of wine
and making my meals on pigeon's meat, mutton and sweetmeats, till
the time came when my receipts began to fall due. So, every
Monday and Thursday I used to go on 'Change and sit in the shop
of one or other of the merchants, whilst the notary and money
changer went round to recover the monies from the traders, till
after the time of mid afternoon prayer, when they brought me the
amount, and I counted it and, sealing the bags, returned with
them to the Khan. On a certain day which happened to be a
Monday, I went to the Hammam and thence back to my Khan,
and sitting in my own room broke my fast with a cup of
wine, after which I slept a little. When I awoke I ate a chicken
and, perfuming my person, repaired to the shop of a merchant
hight Badr al-Din al-Bostani, or the Gardener, who
welcomed me; and we sat talking awhile till the bazaar should
open. Presently, behold, up came a lady of stately figure wearing
a head-dress of the most magnificent, perfumed with the sweetest
of scents and walking with graceful swaying gait; and seeing me
she raised her mantilla allowing me a glimpse of her beautiful
black eyes. She saluted Badr al-Din who returned her salutation
and stood up, and talked with her; and the moment I heard her
speak, the love of her got hold of my heart. Presently she said
to Badr al-Din, "Hast thou by thee a cut piece of stuff woven
with thread of pure gold?" So he brought out to her a piece from
those he had bought of me and sold it to her for one thousand two
hundred dirhams; when she said, "I will take the piece home with
me and send thee its price." "That is impossible, O my lady," the
merchant replied, "for here is the owner of the stuff and I owe
him a share of profit." "Fie upon thee!" she cried, "Do I not use
to take from thee entire rolls of costly stuff, and give thee a
greater profit than thou expectest, and send thee the money?"
"Yes," rejoined he; "but I stand in pressing need of the price
this very day." Hereupon she took up the piece and threw it back
upon his lap, saying "Out on thee! Allah confound the tribe of
you which estimates none at the right value;" and she turned to
go. I felt my very soul going with her; so I stood up and stayed
her, saying, "I conjure thee by the Lord, O my lady, favour me by
retracing thy gracious steps." She turned back with a smile and
said, "For thy sake I return," and took a seat opposite me in the
shop. Then quoth I to Badr al-Din, "What is the price they asked
thee for this piece?"; and quoth he, "Eleven hundred dirhams." I
rejoined, "The odd hundred shall be thy profit: bring me a sheet
of paper and I will write thee a discharge for it." Then I wrote
him a receipt in my own handwriting and gave the piece to the
lady, saying, "Take it away with thee and, if thou wilt, bring me
its price next bazaar day; or better still, accept it as my guest
gift to thee." "Allah requite thee with good," answered she, "and
make thee my husband and lord and master of all I have!"
And Allah favoured her prayer. I saw the Gates of Paradise swing
open before me and said, "O my lady, let this piece of stuff be
now thine and another like it is ready for thee, only let me have
one look at thy face." So she raised her veil and I saw a face
the sight of which bequeathed to me a thousand sighs, and my
heart was so captivated by her love that I was no longer ruler of
my reason. Then she let fall her face veil and taking up the
piece of stuff said, "O my lord make me not desolate by thine
absence!" and turned away and disappeared from my sight. I
remained sitting on 'Change till past the hour of after noon
prayer, lost to the world by the love which had mastered me, and
the violence of my passion compelled me to make enquiries
concerning her of the merchant, who answered me, "This is a lady
and a rich: she is the daughter of a certain Emir who lately died
and left her a large fortune." Then I took leave of him and
returned home to the Khan where they set supper before me; but I
could not eat for thinking of her and when I lay down to sleep,
sleep came not near me. So I watched till morning, when I arose
and donned a change of raiment and drank a cup of wine and, after
breaking my fast on some slight matter, I went to the merchant's
shop where I saluted him and sat down by him. Presently up came
the lady as usual, followed by a slave girl and wearing a dress
more sumptuous than before; and she saluted me without noticing
Badr al-Din and said in fluent graceful speech (never heard I
voice softer or sweeter), "Send one with me to take the thousand
and two hundred dirhams, the price of the piece." "Why this
hurry?" asked I and she answered, "May we never lose
thee!" and handed me the money. Then I sat talking with
her and presently I signed to her in dumb show, whereby she
understood that I longed to enjoy her person, and she
rose up in haste with a show of displeasure. My heart clung to
her and I went forth from the bazaar and followed on her track.
As I was walking suddenly a black slave girl stopped me and said,
"O my master, come speak with my mistress." At this I was
surprised and replied, "There is none who knows me here;" but she
rejoined, "0 my lord, how soon hast thou forgotten her! My lady
is the same who was this day at the shop of such a merchant."
Then I went with her to the Shroff's, where I found the lady who
drew me to her side and said, "O my beloved, thine image is
firmly stamped upon my fancy, and love of thee hath gotten hold
of my heart: from the hour I first saw thee nor sleep nor food
nor drink hath given me aught of pleasure." I replied, "The
double of that suffering is mine and my state dispenseth me from
complaint." Then said she, "O my beloved, at thy house, or at
mine?" "I am a stranger here and have no place of reception save
the Khan, so by thy favour it shall be at thy house." "So be it;
but this is Friday night and nothing can be done till
tomorrow after public prayers; go to the Mosque and pray; then
mount thine ass, and ask for the Habbaniyah quarter; and,
when there, look out for the mansion of Al-Nakib Barakat,
popularly known as Abu Shamah the Syndic; for I live there: so do
not delay as I shall be expecting thee." I rejoiced with still
greater joy at this; and took leave of her and returned to my
Khan, where I passed a sleepless night. Hardly was I assured that
morning had dawned when I rose, changed my dress, perfumed myself
with essences and sweet scents and, taking fifty dinars in a
kerchief, went from the Khan Masrur to the Zuwaylah gate,
where I mounted an ass and said to its owner, "Take me to the
Habbaniyah." So he set off with me and brought up in the
twinkling of an eye at a street known as Darb al-Munkari, where I
said to him, "Go in and ask for the Syndic's mansion." He was
absent a while and then returned and said, "Alight." "Go thou
before me to the house," quoth I, adding, "Come back with the
earliest light and bring me home;" and he answered, "In Allah's
name;" whereupon I gave him a quarter dinar of gold, and he took
it and went his ways. Then I knocked at the door and out came two
white slave girls, both young; high-bosomed virgins, as they were
moons, and said to me, "Enter, for our mistress is expecting thee
and she hath not slept the night long for her delight in thee." I
passed through the vestibule into a saloon with seven doors,
floored with parti-coloured marbles and furnished with curtains
and hangings of coloured silks: the ceiling was cloisonne with
gold and corniced with inscriptions emblazoned in lapis
lazuli; and the walls were stuccoed with Sultani gypsum
which mirrored the beholder's face. Around the saloon were
latticed windows overlooking a garden full of all manner of
fruits; whose streams were railing and riffling and whose birds
were trilling and shrilling; and in the heart of the hall was a
jetting fountain at whose corners stood birds fashioned in red
gold crusted with pearls and gems and spouting water crystal
clear. When I entered and took a seat.--And Shahrazad perceived
the dawn of day and ceased saying her permitted say.

              When it was the Twenty-sixth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the young
merchant continued, When I entered and took a seat, the lady at
once came in crowned with a diadem of pearls and jewels;
her face dotted with artificial moles in indigo, her
eyebrows pencilled with Kohl and her hands and feet reddened with
Henna. When she saw me she smiled in my face and took me to her
embrace and clasped me to her breast; then she put her mouth to
my mouth and sucked my tongue (and I did likewise) and
said, "Can it be true, O my little darkling, thou art come to
me?" adding, "Welcome and good cheer to thee! By Allah, from the
day I saw thee sleep hath not been sweet to me nor hath food been
pleasant." Quoth I, "Such hath also been my case: and I am thy
slave, thy negro slave." Then we sat down to converse and I hung
my head earthwards in bashfulness, but she delayed not long ere
she set before me a tray of the most exquisite viands, marinated
meats, fritters soaked in bee's honeys and chickens
stuffed with sugar and pistachio nuts, whereof we ate till we
were satisfied. Then they brought basin and ewer and I washed my
hands and we scented ourselves with rose water musk'd and sat
down again to converse. So she began repeating these
couplets:

"Had we wist of thy coming, thy way had been strewn
       With the blood of our heart and the balls of our sight:
Our cheek as a foot cloth to greet thee been thrown,
       That thy step on our eyelids should softly alight."

And she kept plaining of what had befallen her and I of what had
betided me; and love of her got so firm hold of my heart that all
my wealth seemed a thing of naught in comparison with her. Then
we fell to toying and groping and kissing till night fall, when
the handmaidens set before us meats and a complete wine service,
and we sat carousing till the noon of night, when we lay down and
I lay with her; never in my life saw I a night like that night.
When morning morrowed I arose and took leave of her, throwing
under the carpet bed the kerchief wherein were the dinars
and as I went out she wept and said, "O my lord, when shall I
look upon that lovely face again?" "I will be with thee at
sunset," answered I, and going out found the donkey boy, who had
brought me the day before, awaiting at the door. So I mounted ass
and rode to the Khan of Masrur where I alighted and gave the man
a half dinar, saying, "Return at sunset;" and he said "I will."
Then I breakfasted and went out to seek the price of my stuffs;
after which I returned, and taking a roast lamb and some
sweetmeats, called a porter and put the provision in his crate,
and sent it to the lady paying the man his hire. I went
back to my business till sunset, when the ass driver came to me
and I took fifty dinars in a kerchief and rode to her house where
I found the marble floor swept, the brasses burnisht, the branch
lights burning, the wax candles ready lighted, the meat served up
and the wine strained. When my lady saw me she threw her
arms about my neck, and cried, "Thou hast desolated me by thine
absence." Then she set the tables before me and we ate till we
were satisfied, when the slave girls carried off the trays and
served up wine. We gave not over drinking till half the night was
past; and, being well warmed with drink, we went to the sleeping
chamber and lay there till morning. I then arose and fared forth
from her leaving the fifty dinars with her as before; and,
finding the donkey boy at the door, rode to the Khan and slept
awhile. After that I went out to make ready the evening meal and
took a brace of geese with gravy on two platters of dressed and
peppered rice, and got ready colocasia-roots fried and
soaked in honey, and wax candles and fruits and conserves and
nuts and almonds and sweet scented cowers; and I sent them all to
her. As soon as it was night I again tied up fifty dinars in a
kerchief and, mounting the ass as usual, rode to the mansion
where we ate and drank and lay together till morning when I threw
the kerchief and dinars to her and rode back to the Khan.
I ceased not doing after that fashion till, after a sweet night,
I woke one fine morning and found myself beggared, dinar-less and
dirhamless. So said I to myself "All this be Satan's work;" and
began to recite these couplets:--

"Poverty dims the sheen of man whate'er his wealth has been, 
     E'en as the sun about to set shines with a yellowing light
Absent he falls from memory, forgotten by his friends;  Present
     he shareth not their joys for none in him delight
He walks the market shunned of all, too glad to hide his head, 
     In desert places tears he sheds and moans his bitter plight
By Allah, 'mid his kith and kin a man, however good,  Waylaid
     by want and penury is but a stranger wight!"

I fared forth from the Khan and walked down "Between the Palaces"
street till I came to the Zuwaylah Porte, where I found the
people crowding and the gateway blocked for the much folk. And by
the decree of Destiny I saw there a trooper against whom I
pressed unintentionally, so that my hand came upon his bosom
pocket and I felt a purse inside it. I looked and seeing a string
of green silk hanging from the pocket knew it for a purse; and
the crush grew greater every minute and just then, a camel laden
with a load of fuel happened to jostle the trooper on the
opposite side, and he turned round to fend it off from him, lest
it tear his clothes; and Satan tempted me, so I pulled the string
and drew out a little bag of blue silk, containing something
which chinked like coin. But the soldier, feeling his pocket
suddenly lightened, put his hand to it and found it empty;
whereupon he turned to me and, snatching up his mace from his
saddle bow, struck me with it on the head. I fell to the ground,
whilst the people came round us and seizing the trooper's mare by
the bridle said to him, "Strikest thou this youth such a blow as
this for a mere push!" But the trooper cried out at them, "This
fellow is an accursed thief!" Whereupon I came to myself and
stood up, and the people looked at me and said, "Nay, he is a
comely youth: he would not steal anything;" and some of them took
my part and others were against me and question and answer waxed
loud and warm. The people pulled at me and would have rescued me
from his clutches; but as fate decreed behold, the Governor, the
Chief of Police, and the watch entered the Zuwaylah Gate
at this moment and, seeing the people gathered together around me
and the soldier, the Governor asked, "What is the matter?" "By
Allah! O Emir," answered the trooper, "this is a thief! I had in
my pocket a purse of blue silk lined with twenty good gold pieces
and he took it, whilst I was in the crush." Quoth the Governor,
"Was any one by thee at the time?"; and quoth the soldier, "No."
Thereupon the Governor cried out to the Chief of Police who
seized me, and on this wise the curtain of the Lord's. protection
was withdrawn from me. Then he said "Strip him;" and, when they
stripped me, they found the purse in my clothes. The Wali took
it, opened it and counted it; and, finding in it twenty dinars as
the soldier had said, waxed exceeding wroth and bade his guard
bring me before him. Then said he to me, "Now, O youth, speak
truly: didst thou steal this purse?" At this I hung my
head to the ground and said to myself, "If I deny having stolen
it, I shall get myself into terrible trouble." So I raised my
head and said, "Yes, I took it." When the Governor heard these
words he wondered and summoned witnesses who came forward and
attested my confession. All this happened at the Zuwaylah Gate.
Then the Governor ordered the link bearer to cut off my right
hand, and he did so; after which he would have struck off my left
foot also; but the heart of the soldier softened and he took pity
on me and interceded for me with the Governor that I should not
be slain. Thereupon the Wali left me, and went away and
the folk remained round me and gave me a cup of wine to drink. As
for the trooper he pressed the purse upon me, and said, "Thou art
a comely youth and it befitteth not thou be a thief." So I
repeated these verses:--

"I swear by Allah's name, fair sir! no thief was I,  Nor, O thou
     best of men! was I a bandit bred:
But Fortune's change and chance o'erthrew me suddenly,  And
     cark and care and penury my course misled:
I shot it not, indeed, 'twas Allah shot the shaft  That rolled
     in dust the Kingly diadem from my head."

The soldier turned away after giving me the purse; and I also
went my ways having wrapped my hand in a piece of rag and thrust
it into my bosom. My whole semblance had changed, and my colour
had waxed yellow from the shame and pain which had befallen me.
Yet I went on to my mistress's house where, in extreme
perturbation of spirit I threw myself down on the carpet bed. She
saw me in this state and asked me, "What aileth thee and why do I
see thee so changed in looks?"; and I answered, "My head paineth
me and I am far from well." Whereupon she was vexed and was
concerned on my account and said, "Burn not my heart, O my lord,
but sit up and raise thy head and recount to me what hath
happened to thee today, for thy face tells me a tale." "Leave
this talk," replied I. But she wept and said, "Me seems thou art
tired of me, for I see thee contrary to thy wont." But I was
silent; and she kept on talking to me albeit I gave her no
answer, till night came on. Then she set food before me, but I
refused it fearing lest she see me eating with my left hand and
said to her, "I have no stomach to eat at present." Quoth she,
"Tell me what hath befallen thee to day, and why art thou so
sorrowful and broken in spirit and heart?" Quoth I, "Wait awhile;
I will tell thee all at my leisure." Then she brought me wine,
saying, "Down with it, this will dispel thy grief: thou must
indeed drink and tell me of thy tidings." I asked her, "Perforce
must I tell thee?"; and she answered, "Yes." Then said I, "If it
needs must be so, then give me to drink with thine own hand." She
filled and drank, and filled again and gave me the cup
which I took from her with my left hand and wiped the tears from
my eyelids and began repeating:

"When Allah willeth aught befall a man  Who hath of ears and
     eyes and wits full share:
His ears He deafens and his eyes He blinds  And draws his wits
     e'en as we draw a hair
Till, having wrought His purpose, He restores  Man's wits, that
     warned more circumspect he fare."

When I ended my verses I wept, and she cried out with an
exceeding loud cry, "What is the cause of thy tears? Thou burnest
my heart! What makes thee take the cup with thy left hand?" Quoth
I, "Truly I have on my right hand a boil;" and quoth she, "Put it
out and I will open it for thee." "It is not yet time to
open it," I replied, "so worry me not with thy words, for I will
not take it out of the bandage at this hour." Then I drank off
the cup, and she gave not over plying me with drink until
drunkenness overcame me and I fell asleep in the place where I
was sitting; whereupon she looked at my right hand and saw a
wrist without a fist. So she searched me closely and found with
me the purse of gold and my severed hand wrapped up in the bit of
rag. With this such sorrow came upon her as never
overcame any and she ceased not lamenting on my account till the
morning. When I awoke I found that she had dressed me a dish of
broth of four boiled chickens, which she brought to me together
with a cup of wine. I ate and drank and laying down the purse,
would have gone out; but she said to me, "Whither away?"; and I
answered, "Where my business calleth me;" and said she, "Thou
shalt not go: sit thee down." So I sat down and she resumed,
"Hath thy love for me so overpowered thee that thou hast wasted
all thy wealth and hast lost thine hand on my account? I take
thee to witness against me and also Allah be my witness that I
will never part with thee, but will die under thy feet; and soon
thou shalt see that my words are true." Then she sent for the
Kazi and witnesses and said to them, "Write my contract of
marriage with this young man, and bear ye witness that I have
received the marriage settlement." When they had drawn up
the document she said, "Be witness that all my monies which are
in this chest and all I have in slaves and handmaidens and other
property is given in free gift to this young man." So they took
act of this statement enabling me to assume possession in right
of marriage; and then withdrew, after receiving their fees.
Thereupon she took me by the hand and, leading me to a closet,
opened a large chest and said to me, "See what is herein;" and I
looked and behold, it was full of kerchiefs. Quoth she, "This is
the money I had from thee and every kerchief thou gavest me,
containing fifty dinars, I wrapped up and cast into this chest;
so now take thine own, for it returns to thee, and this day thou
art become of high estate. Fortune and Fate afflicted thee so
that thou didst lose thy right hand for my sake; and I can never
requite thee; nay, although I gave my life 'twere but little and
I should still remain thy debtor." Then she added, "Take charge
of thy property."; so I transferred the contents of her chest to
my chest, and added my wealth to her wealth which I had given
her, and my heart was eased and my sorrow ceased. I stood up and
kissed her and thanked her; and she said, "Thou hast given thy
hand for love of me and how am I able to give thee an equivalent?
By Allah, if I offered my life for thy love, it were indeed but
little and would not do justice to thy claim upon me." Then she
made over to me by deed all that she possessed in clothes and
ornaments of gold and pearls, and goods and farms and chattels,
and lay not down to sleep that night, being sorely grieved for my
grief, till I told her the whole of what had befallen me. I
passed the night with her. But before we had lived together a
month's time she fell sorely sick and illness increased upon her,
by reason of her grief for the loss of my hand, and she endured
but fifty days before she was numbered among the folk of futurity
and heirs of immortality. So I laid her out and buried her body
in mother earth and let make a pious perfection of the
Koran for the health of her soul, and gave much money in
alms for her; after which I turned me from the grave and returned
to the house. There I found that she had left much substance in
ready money and slaves, mansions, lands and domains, and among
her store houses was a granary of sesame seed, whereof I sold
part to thee; and I had neither time nor inclination to take
count with thee till I had sold the rest of the stock in store;
nor, indeed, even now have I made an end of receiving the price.
So I desire thou baulk me not in what I am about to say to thee:
twice have I eaten of thy food and I wish to give thee as a
present the monies for the sesame which are by thee. Such is the
cause of the cutting off my right hand and my eating with my
left." "Indeed," said I, "thou hast shown me the utmost kindness
and liberality." Then he asked me, "Why shouldst thou not travel
with me to my native country whither I am about to return with
Cairene and Alexandrian stuffs? Say me, wilt thou accompany me?";
and I answered "I will." So I agreed to go with him at the head
of the month, and I sold all I had and bought other merchandise;
then we set out and travelled, I and the young man, to this
country of yours, where he sold his venture and bought other
investment of country stuffs and continued his journey to Egypt
But it was my lot to abide here, so that these things befell me
in my strangerhood which befell last night, and is not this tale,
O King of the age, more wondrous and marvellous than the story of
the Hunchback? "Not so," quoth the King, "I cannot accept it:
there is no help for it but that you be hanged, every one of
you."--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day, and ceased saying
her permitted say.

             When it was the Twenty-seventh Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when the
King of China declared "There is no help for it but that you be
hanged," the Reeve of the Sultan's Kitchen came forward and said,
"If thou permit me I will tell thee a tale of what befell me just
before I found this Gobbo, and, if it be more wondrous than his
story, do thou grant us our lives." And when the King answered
"Yes" he began to recount





The Reeve's Tale.


Know, O King, that last night I was at a party where they made a
perfection of the Koran and got together doctors of law and
religion skilled in recitation and intoning; and, when the
readers ended, the table was spread and amongst other things they
set before us was a marinated ragout flavoured with cumin
seed. So we sat down, but one of our number held back and refused
to touch it. We conjured him to eat of it but he swore he would
not; and, when we again pressed him, he said, "Be not instant
with me; sufficeth me that which hath already befallen me through
eating it", and he began reciting:

"Shoulder thy tray and go straight to thy goal;  And, if suit
     thee this Kohl why,-use this Kohl!"

When he ended his verse we said to him, "Allah upon thee, tell us
thy reason for refusing to eat of the cumin ragout?" `'If so it
be," he replied, "and needs must I eat of it, I will not do so
except I wash my hand forty times with soap, forty times with
potash and forty times with galangale, the total being
one hundred and twenty washings." Thereupon the hospitable host
bade his slaves bring water and whatso he required; and the young
man washed his hand as afore mentioned. Then he sat down, as if
disgusted and frightened withal, and dipping his hand in the
ragout, began eating and at the same time showing signs of anger.
And we wondered at him with extreme wonderment, for his hand
trembled and the morsel in it shook and we saw that his thumb had
been cut off and he ate with his four fingers only. So we said to
him, "Allah upon thee, what happened to thy thumb? Is thy hand
thus by the creation of God or hath some accident befallen it?"
"O my brothers," he answered, "it is not only thus with this
thumb, but also with my other thumb and with both my great toes,
as you shall see." So saying he uncovered his left hand and his
feet, and we saw that the left hand was even as the right and in
like manner that each of his feet lacked its great toe. When we
saw him after this fashion, our amazement waxed still greater and
we said to him, "We have hardly patience enough to await thy
history and to hear the manner of the cutting off of thy thumbs,
and the reason of thy washing both hands one hundred and twenty
times." Know then, said he, that my father was chief of the
merchants and the wealthiest of them all in Baghdad city during
the reign of the Caliph Harun al Rashid; and he was much given to
wine drinking and listening to the lute and the other instruments
of pleasaunce; so that when he died he left nothing. I buried him
and had perlections of the Koran made for him, and mourned for
him days and nights: then I opened his shop and found that he had
left in it few goods, while his debts were many. However I
compounded with his creditors for time to settle their demands
and betook myself to buying and selling, paying them something
from week to week on account; and I gave not over doing this till
I had cleared off his obligations in full and began adding to my
principal. One day, as I sat in my shop, suddenly and
unexpectedly there appeared before me a young lady, than whom I
never saw a fairer, wearing the richest raiment and ornaments and
riding a she mule, with one negro slave walking before her and
another behind her. She drew rein at the head of the exchange
bazaar and entered followed by an eunuch who said to her, "O my
lady come out and away without telling anyone, lest thou light a
fire which will burn us all up." Moreover he stood before her
guarding her from view whilst she looked at the merchants' shops.
She found none open but mine; so she came up with the eunuch
behind her and sitting down in my shop saluted me; never heard I
aught fairer than her speech or sweeter than her voice. Then she
unveiled her face, and I saw that she was like the moon and I
stole a glance at her whose sight caused me a thousand sighs, and
my heart was captivated with love of her, and I kept looking
again and again upon her face repeating these verses:--

"Say to the charmer in the dove hued veil,  Death would be
     welcome to abate thy bale!
Favour me with thy favours that I live:  See, I stretch forth my
     palm to take thy vail!

When she heard my verse she answered me saying:--

"I've lost all patience by despite of you;  My heart knows
     nothing save love plight to you!
If aught I sight save charms so bright of you;  My parting end
     not in the sight of you!
I swear I'll ne'er forget the right of you;  And fain this
     breast would soar to height of you:
You made me drain the love cup, and I lief  A love cup tender
     for delight of you:
Take this my form where'er you go, and when  You die, entomb
     me in the site of you:
Call on me in my grave, and hear my bones  Sigh their responses
     to the shright of you:
And were I asked 'Of God what wouldst thou see?'  I answer,
     'first His will then Thy decree!'

When she ended her verse she asked me, "O youth, hast thou any
fair stuffs by thee?"; and I answered, "O my lady, thy slave is
poor; but have patience till the merchants open their shops, and
I will suit thee with what thou wilt." Then we sat talking, I and
she (and I was drowned in the sea of her love, dazed in the
desert of my passion for her), till the merchants opened
their shops; when I rose and fetched her all she sought to the
tune of five thousand dirhams. She gave the stuff to the eunuch
and, going forth by the door of the Exchange, she mounted mule
and went away, without telling me whence she came, and I was
ashamed to speak of such trifle. When the merchants dunned me for
the price, I made myself answerable for five thousand dirhams and
went home, drunken with the love of her. They set supper before
me and I ate a mouthful, thinking only of her beauty and
loveliness, and sought to sleep, but sleep came not to me. And
such was my condition for a whole week, when the merchants
required their monies of me, but I persuaded them to have
patience for another week, at the end of which time she again
appeared mounted on a she mule and attended by her eunuch and two
slaves. She saluted me and said, "O my master, we have been long
in bringing thee the price of the stuffs; but now fetch the
Shroff and take thy monies." So I sent for the money changer and
the eunuch counted out the coin before him and made it over to
me. Then we sat talking, I and she, till the market opened, when
she said to me, "Get me this and that." So I got her from the
merchants whatso she wanted, and she took it and went away
without saying a word to me about the price. As soon as she was
out of sight, I repented me of what I had done; for the worth of
the stuffs bought for her amounted to a thousand dinars, and I
said in my soul, "What manner of love is this? She hath brought
me five thousand dirhams, and hath taken goods for a thousand
dinars." I feared lest I should be beggared through
having to pay the merchants their money, and I said, "They know
none other but me; this lovely lady is naught but a cheat and a
swindler, who hath diddled me with her beauty and grace; for she
saw that I was a mere youth and laughed at me for not asking her
address." I ceased not to be troubled by these doubts and fears,
as she was absent more than a month, till the merchants pestered
me for their money and were so hard upon me that I put up my
property for sale and stood on the very brink of ruin. However,
as I was sitting in my shop one day, drowned in melancholy
musings, she suddenly rode up and, dismounting at the bazaar
gate, came straight towards me. When I saw her all my cares fell
from me and I forgot every trouble. She came close up to me and
greeted me with her sweet voice and pleasant speech and presently
said, "Fetch me the Shroff and weigh thy money." So she
gave me the price of what goods I had gotten for her and more,
and fell to talking freely with me, till I was like to die of joy
and delight. Presently she asked me, "Hast thou a wife?"; and I
answered "No, indeed: I have never known woman"; and began to
shed tears. Quoth she "Why weepest thou?" Quoth I "It is
nothing!" Then giving the eunuch some of the gold pieces, I
begged him to be go between in the matter; but he laughed
and said, "She is more in love with thee than thou with her: she
hath no occasion for the stuffs she hath bought of thee and did
all this only for the love of thee; so ask of her what thou wilt
and she will deny thee nothing." When she saw me giving the
dinars to the eunuch, she returned and sat down again; and I said
to her, "Be charitable to thy slave and pardon him what he is
about to say." Then I told her what was in my mind and she
assented and said to the eunuch, "Thou shalt carry my message to
him," adding to me, "And do thou whatso the eunuch biddeth thee."
Then she got up and went away, and I paid the merchants their
monies and they all profited; but as for me, regret at the
breaking off of our intercourse was all my gain; and I slept not
the whole of that night. However, before many days passed her
eunuch came to me, and I entreated him honourably and asked him
after his mistress. "Truly she is sick with love of thee," he
replied and I rejoined, "Tell me who and what she is." Quoth he,
"The Lady Zubaydah, queen consort of Harun al-Rashid, brought her
up as a rearling and hath advanced her to be stewardess
of the Harim, and gave her the right of going in and out of her
own sweet will. She spoke to her lady of thee and begged her to
marry her to thee; but she said, 'I will not do this, till I see
the young man; and, if he be worthy of thee, I will marry thee to
him.' So now we look for the moment to smuggle thee into the
Palace and if thou succeed in entering privily thou wilt win thy
wish to wed her; but if the affair get wind, the Lady Zubaydah
will strike off thy head. What sayest thou to this?" I
answered, "I will go with thee and abide the risk whereof thou
speakest." Then said he, "As soon as it is night, go to the
Mosque built by the Lady Zubaydah on the Tigris and pray the
night prayers and sleep there." "With love and gladness," cried
I. So at nightfall I repaired to the Mosque, where I prayed and
passed the night. With earliest dawn, behold, came sundry eunuchs
in a skiff with a number of empty chests which they deposited in
the Mosque; then all of them went their ways but one, and looking
curiously at him, I saw he was our go between. Presently in came
the handmaiden, my mistress, walking straight up to us; and I
rose to her and embraced her while she kissed me and shed
tears. We talked awhile; after which she made me get into
one of the chests which she locked upon me. Presently the other
eunuchs came back with a quantity of packages and she fell to
stowing them in the chests, which she locked down, one by one,
till all were shut. When all was done the eunuchs embarked the
chests in the boat and made for the Lady Zubaydah's palace. With
this, thought began to beset me and I said to myself, "Verily thy
lust and wantonness will be the death of thee; and the question
is after all shalt thou win to thy wish or not?" And I began to
weep, boxed up as I was in the box and suffering from cramp; and
I prayed Allah that He deliver me from the dangerous strait I was
in, whilst the boat gave not over going on till it reached the
Palace gate where they lifted out the chests and amongst them
that in which I was. Then they carried them in, passing through a
troop of eunuchs, guardians of the Harim and of the ladies behind
the curtain, till they came to the post of the Eunuch in
Chief who started up from his slumbers and shouted to the
damsel "What is in those chests?" "They are full of wares for the
Lady Zubaydah!" "Open them, one by one, that I may see what is in
them." "And wherefore wouldst thou open them?" "Give me no words
and exceed not in talk! These chests must and shall be opened."
So saying, he sprang to his feet, and the first which they
brought to him to open was that wherein I was; and, when I felt
his hands upon it, my senses failed me and I bepissed myself in
my funk, the water running out of the box. Then said she to the
Eunuch in Chief, "O steward! thou wilt cause me to be killed and
thyself too, for thou hast damaged goods worth ten thousand
dinars. This chest contains coloured dresses, and four gallon
flasks of Zemzem water; and now one of them hath got
unstoppered and the water is running out over the clothes and it
will spoil their colours." The eunuch answered, "Take up thy
boxes and get thee gone to the curse of God!" So the slaves
carried off all the chests, including mine; and hastened on with
them till suddenly I heard the voice of one saying, "Alack, and
alack! the Caliph! the Caliph !" When that cry struck mine ears I
died in my skin and said a saying which never yet shamed the
sayer, "There is no Majesty and there is no Might save in Allah,
the Glorious, the Great! I and only I have brought this calamity
upon myself." Presently I heard the Caliph say to my mistress, "A
plague on thee, what is in those boxes?"; and she answered,
"Dresses for the Lady Zubaydah"; whereupon he, "Open them
before me!" When I heard this I died my death outright and said
to myself, "By Allah, today is the very last of my days in this
world: if I come safe out of this I am to marry her and no more
words, but detection stares me in the face and my head is as good
as stricken off." Then I repeated the profession of Faith,
saying, "There is no god but the God, and Mohammed is the Apostle
of God!"--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased to
say her permitted say.

              When it was the Twenty-eighth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the young
merchant continued as follows: Now when I testified, "I bear
witness that there is no god save the God," I heard my mistress
the handmaid declare to the Caliph, "These chests, O Commander of
the Faithful, have been committed to my charge by the Lady
Zubaydah, and she doth not wish their contents to be seen by any
one." "No matter!" quoth the Caliph, "needs must they be opened,
I will see what is in them"; and he cried aloud to the eunuchs,
"Bring the chests here before me." At this I made sure of death
(without benefit of a doubt) and swooned away. Then the eunuchs
brought the chests up to him one after another and he fell to
inspecting the contents, but he saw in them only otters and
stuffs and fine dresses; and they ceased not opening the chests
and he ceased not looking to see what was in them, finding only
clothes and such matters, till none remained unopened but the box
in which I was boxed. They put forth their hands to open it, but
my mistress the handmaid made haste and said to the Caliph, "This
one thou shalt see only in the presence of the Lady Zubaydah, for
that which is in it is her secret." When he heard this he gave
orders to carry in the chests; so they took up that wherein I was
and bore it with the rest into the Harim and set it down in the
midst of the saloon; and indeed my spittle was dried up for very
fear. Then my mistress opened the box and took me out,
saying, "Fear not: no harm shall betide thee now nor dread; but
broaden thy breast and strengthen thy heart and sit thee down
till the Lady Zubaydah come, and surely thou shalt win thy wish
of me." So I sat down and, after a while, in came ten hand
maidens, virgins like moons, and ranged themselves in two rows,
five facing five; and after them twenty other damsels, high
bosomed virginity, surrounding the Lady Zubaydah who could hardly
walk for the weight of her raiment and ornaments. As she drew
near, the slave girls dispersed from around her, and I advanced
and kissed the ground between her hands. She signed to me to sit
and, when I sat down before her chair, she began questioning me
of my forbears and family and condition, to which I made such
answers that pleased her, and she said to my mistress, "Our
nurturing of thee, O damsel, hath not disappointed us." Then she
said to me, "Know that this handmaiden is to us even as our own
child and she is a trust committed to thee by Allah." I again
kissed the ground before her, well pleased that I should marry my
mistress, and she bade me abide ten days in the palace. So I
abode there ten days, during which time I saw not my mistress nor
anybody save one of the concubines, who brought me the morning
and evening meals. After this the Lady Zubaydah took counsel with
the Caliph on the marriage of her favourite handmaid, and he gave
leave and assigned to her a wedding portion of ten thousand gold
pieces. So the Lady Zubaydah sent for the Kazi and witnesses who
wrote our marriage contract, after which the women made ready
sweetmeats and rich viands and distributed them among all the
Odahs of the Harim. Thus they did other ten days, at the
end of which time my mistress went to the baths.
Meanwhile, they set before me a tray of food where on were
various meats and among those dishes, which were enough to daze
the wits, was a bowl of cumin ragout containing chickens breasts,
fricandoed and flavoured with sugar, pistachios, musk and
rose water. Then, by Allah, fair sirs, I did not long hesitate;
but took my seat before the ragout and fell to and ate of it till
I could no more. After this I wiped my hands, but forgot to wash
them; and sat till it grew dark, when the wax candles were
lighted and the singing women came in with their tambourines and
proceeded to display the bride in various dresses and to carry
her in procession from room to room all round the palace, getting
their palms crossed with gold. Then they brought her to me and
disrobed her. When I found myself alone with her on the bed I
embraced her, hardly believing in our union; but she smelt the
strong odours of the ragout upon my hands and forth with cried
out with an exceeding loud cry, at which the slave girls came
running to her from all sides. I trembled with alarm, unknowing
what was the matter, and the girls asked her, "What aileth thee,
O our sister?" She answered them, "Take this mad man away from
me: I had thought he was a man of sense!" Quoth I to her, "What
makes thee think me mad?" Quoth she, "Thou madman' what made thee
eat of cumin ragout and forget to wash thy hand? By Allah, I will
requite thee for thy misconduct. Shall the like of thee come to
bed with the like of me with unclean hands?" Then she
took from her side a plaited scourge and came down with it on my
back and the place where I sit till her forearms were benumbed
and I fainted away from the much beating; when she said to the
handmaids, "Take him and carry him to the Chief of Police, that
he may strike off the hand wherewith he ate of the cumin ragout,
and which he did not wash." When I heard this I said, "There is
no Majesty and there is no Might save in Allah! Wilt thou cut off
my hand, because I ate of a cumin ragout and did not wash?" The
handmaidens also interceded with her and kissed her hand saying,
"O our sister, this man is a simpleton, punish him not for what
he hath done this nonce;" but she answered, "By Allah, there is
no help but that I dock him of somewhat, especially the offending
member." Then she went away and I saw no more of her for ten
days, during which time she sent me meat and drink by a slave
girl who told me that she had fallen sick from the smell of the
cumin ragout. After that time she came to me and said, "O black
of face! I will teach thee how to eat cumin ragout
without washing thy hands!" Then she cried out to the handmaids,
who pinioned me; and she took a sharp razor and cut off my thumbs
and great toes; even as you see, O fair assembly! Thereupon I
swooned away, and she sprinkled some powder of healing herbs upon
the stumps and when the blood was stanched, I said, "Never again
will I eat of cumin ragout without washing my hands forty times
with potash and forty times with galangale and forty times with
soap!" And she took of me an oath and bound me by a covenant to
that effect. When, therefore, you brought me the cumin ragout my
colour changed and I said to myself, "It was this very dish that
caused the cutting off of my thumbs and great toes;" and, when
you forced me, I said, "Needs must I fulfil the oath I have
sworn." "And what befell thee after this?" asked those present;
and he answered, "When I swore to her, her anger was appeased and
I slept with her that night. We abode thus awhile till she said
to me one day, "Verily the Palace of the Caliph is not a pleasant
place for us to live in, and none ever entered it save thyself;
and thou only by grace of the Lady Zubaydah. Now she hath given
me fifty thousand dinars," adding, "Take this money and go out
and buy us a fair dwelling house." So I fared forth and bought a
fine and spacious mansion, whither she removed all the wealth she
owned and what riches I had gained in stuffs and costly rarities.
Such is the cause of the cutting off of my thumbs and great toes.
We ate (continued the Reeve), and were returning to our homes
when there befell me with the Hunchback that thou wottest of.
This then is my story, and peace be with thee! Quoth the King;
"This story is on no wise more delectable than the story of the
Hunchback; nay, it is even less so, and there is no help for the
hanging of the whole of you." Then came forward the Jewish
physician and kissing the ground said, "O King of the age, I will
tell thee an history more wonderful than that of the Hunchback."
"Tell on," said the King of China; so he began the





Tale of the Jewish Doctor.


Right marvellous was a matter which came to pass to me in my
youth. I lived in Damascus of Syria studying my art and, one day,
as I was sitting at home behold, there came to me a Mameluke from
the household of the Sahib and said to me, "Speak with my lord!"
So I followed him to the Viceroy's house and, entering the great
hall, saw at its head a couch of cedar plated with gold whereon
lay a sickly youth beautiful withal; fairer than he one could not
see. I sat down by his head and prayed to Heaven for a cure; and
he made me a sign with his eyes, so I said to him, "O my lord!
favour me with thy hand, and safety be with thee!" Then
he put forth his left hand and I marvelled thereat and said, "By
Allah, strange that this handsome youth, the son of a great
house, should so lack good manners. This can be nothing but pride
and conceit!" However I felt his pulse and wrote him a
prescription and continued to visit him for ten days, at the end
of which time he recovered and went to the Hammam,
whereupon the Viceroy gave me a handsome dress of honour and
appointed me superintendent of the hospital which is in
Damascus. I accompanied him to the baths, the whole of
which they had kept private for his accommodation; and the
servants came in with him and took off his clothes within the
bath, and when he was stripped I saw that his right hand had been
newly cut off, and this was the cause of his weakliness. At this I
was amazed and grieved for him: then, looking at his body, I saw
on it the scars of scourge stripes whereto he had applied
unguents. I was troubled at the sight and my concern appeared in
my face. The young man looked at me and, comprehending the
matter, said, "O Physician of the age, marvel not at my case; I
will tell thee my story as soon as we quit the baths." Then we
washed and, returning to his house, ate somewhat of food and took
rest awhile; after which he asked me, "What sayest thou to
solacing thee by inspecting the supper hall?"; and I answered "So
let it be." Thereupon he ordered the slaves to carry out the
carpets and cushions required and roast a lamb and bring us some
fruit. They did his bidding and we ate together, he using the
left hand for the purpose. After a while I said to him, "Now tell
me thy tale." "O Physician of the age," replied he, "hear what
befell me. Know that I am of the sons of Mosul, where my
grandfather died leaving nine children of whom my father was the
eldest. All grew up and took to them wives, but none of them was
blessed with offspring except my father, to whom Providence
vouchsafed me. So I grew up amongst my uncles who rejoiced in me
with exceeding joy, till I came to man's estate. One day which
happened to be a Friday, I went to the Cathedral mosque of Mosul
with my father and my uncles, and we prayed the congregational
prayers, after which the folk went forth, except my father and
uncles, who sat talking of wondrous things in foreign parts and
the marvellous sights of strange cities. At last they mentioned
Egypt, and one of my uncles said, "Travellers tell us that there
is not on earth's face aught fairer than Cairo and her Nile;" and
these words made me long to see Cairo. Quoth my father, "Whoso
hath not seen Cairo hath not seen the world. Her dust is golden
and her Nile a miracle holden; and her women are as Houris fair;
puppets, beautiful pictures; her houses are palaces rare; her
water is sweet and light and her mud a commodity and a
medicine beyond compare, even as said the poet in this his
poetry:--

The Nile flood this day is the gain you own;  You alone
     in such gain and bounties wone:
The Nile is my tear flood of severance,  And here none is
     forlorn but I alone.

Moreover temperate is her air, and with fragrance blent, Which
surpasseth aloes wood in scent; and how should it be otherwise,
she being the Mother of the World? And Allah favour him who wrote
these lines:--

An I quit Cairo and her pleasaunces,  Where can I wend to find
     so gladsome ways?
Shall I desert that site, whose grateful scents  Joy every soul
     and call for loudest praise?
Where every palace, as another Eden,  Carpets and cushions
     richly wrought displays;
A city wooing sight and sprite to glee,  Where Saint meets
     Sinner and each 'joys his craze;
Where friend meets friend, by Providence united  In greeny
     garden and in palmy maze:
People of Cairo, and by Allah's doom  I fare, with you in
     thoughts I wone always!
Whisper not Cairo in the ear of Zephyr,  Lest for her like of
     garden scents he reave her,

And if your eyes saw her earth, and the adornment thereof with
bloom, and the purfling of it with all manner blossoms, and the
islands of the Nile and how much is therein of wide spread and
goodly prospect, and if you bent your sight upon the Abyssinian
Pond, your glance would not revert from the scene quit of
wonder; for nowhere would you behold the fellow of that lovely
view; and, indeed, the two arms of the Nile embrace most
luxuriant verdure, as the white of the eye encompasseth
its black or like filigreed silver surrounding chrysolites. And
divinely gifted was the poet who there anent said these
couplets:--

By th' Abyssinian Pond, O day divine! In morning twilight and
     in sunny shine:
The water prisoned in its verdurous walls,  Like sabre flashes
     before shrinking eyne:
And in The Garden sat we while it drains  Slow draught, with
     purfled sides dyed finest fine:
The stream is rippled by the hands of clouds;  We too,
     a-rippling, on our rugs recline,
Passing pure wine, and whoso leaves us there  Shall ne'er arise
     from fall his woes design:
Draining long draughts from large and brimming bowls, 
     Administ'ring thirst's only medicine--wine.

And what is there to compare with the Rasad, the Observatory, and
its charms whereof every viewer as he approacheth saith, 'Verily
this spot is specialised with all manner of excellence!' And if
thou speak of the Night of Nile full, give the rainbow
and distribute it! And if thou behold The Garden at
eventide, with the cool shades sloping far and wide, a marvel
thou wouldst see and wouldst incline to Egypt in ecstasy. And
wert thou by Cairo's river side, when the sun is sinking
and the stream dons mail coat and habergeon over its
other vestments, thou wouldst be quickened to new life by its
gentle zephyrs and by its all sufficient shade." So spake he and
the rest fell to describing Egypt and her Nile. As I heard their
accounts, my thoughts dwelt upon the subject and when, after
talking their fill, all arose and went their ways, I lay down to
sleep that night, but sleep came not because of my violent
longing for Egypt; and neither meat pleased me nor drink. After a
few days my uncles equipped themselves for a trade journey to
Egypt; and I wept before my father till he made ready for me
fitting merchandise, and he consented to my going with them,
saying however, "Let him not enter Cairo, but leave him to sell
his wares at Damascus." So I took leave of my father and we fared
forth from Mosul and gave not over travelling till we reached
Aleppo where we halted certain days. Then we marched
onwards till we made Damascus and we found her a city as though
she were a Paradise, abounding in trees and streams and birds and
fruits of all kinds. We alighted at one of the Khans, where my
uncles tarried awhile selling and buying; and they bought and
sold also on my account, each dirham turning a profit of five on
prime cost, which pleased me mightily. After this they left me
alone and set their faces Egyptwards; whilst I abode at Damascus,
where I had hired from a jeweller, for two dinars a month, a
mansion whose beauties would beggar the tongue. Here I
remained, eating and drinking and spending what monies I had in
hand till, one day, as I was sitting at the door of my house be
hold, there came up a young lady clad in costliest raiment never
saw my eyes richer. I winked[FN5886 at her and she stepped
inside without hesitation and stood within. I entered with her
and shut the door upon myself and her; whereupon she raised her
face veil and threw off her mantilla, when I found her like a
pictured moon of rare and marvellous loveliness; and love of her
gat hold of my heart. So I rose and brought a tray of the most
delicate eatables and fruits and whatso befitted the occasion,
and we ate and played and after that we drank till the wine
turned our heads. Then I lay with her the sweetest of nights and
in the morning I offered her ten gold pieces; when her face
lowered and her eye brows wrinkled and shaking with wrath she
cried, "Fie upon thee, O my sweet companion! dost thou deem that
I covet thy money?" Then she took out from the bosom of her
shift fifteen dinars and, laying them before me, said,
"By Allah! unless thou take them I will never come back to thee."
So I accepted them and she said to me, "O my beloved! expect me
again in three days' time, when I will be with thee between
sunset and supper tide; and do thou prepare for us with these
dinars the same entertainment as yesternight." So saying, she
took leave of me and went away and all my senses went with her.
On the third day she came again, clad in stuff weft with gold
wire, and wearing raiment and ornaments finer than before. I had
prepared the place for her ere she arrived and the repast was
ready; so we ate and drank and lay together, as we had done, till
the morning, when she gave me other fifteen gold pieces and
promised to come again after three days. Accordingly, I made
ready for her and, at the appointed time, she presented herself
more richly dressed than on the first and second occasions, and
said to me, "O my lord, am I not beautiful?" "Yea, by Allah thou
art!" answered I, and she went on, "Wilt thou allow me to bring
with me a young lady fairer than I, and younger in years, that
she may play with us and thou and she may laugh and make merry
and rejoice her heart, for she hath been very sad this long time
past, and hath asked me to take her out and let her spend the
night abroad with me?" "Yea, by Allah!" I replied; and we drank
till the wine turned our heads and slept till the morning, when
she gave me other fifteen dinars, saying, "Add something to thy
usual provision on account of the young lady who will come with
me." Then she went away, and on the fourth day I made ready the
house as usual, and soon after sunset behold, she came,
accompanied by another damsel carefully wrapped in her mantilla.
They entered and sat down; and when I saw them I repeated these
verses:--

"How dear is our day and how lucky our lot,  When the cynic's
     away with his tongue malign!
When love and delight and the swimming of head  Send
     cleverness trotting, the best boon of wine.
When the full moon shines from the cloudy veil,  And the
     branchlet sways in her greens that shine:
When the red rose mantles in freshest cheek,  And
     Narcissus opeth his love sick eyne:
When pleasure with those I love is so sweet,  When friendship
     with those I love is complete!"

I rejoiced to see them, and lighted the candles after receiving
them with gladness and delight. They doffed their heavy outer
dresses and the new damsel uncovered her face when I saw that she
was like the moon at its full never beheld I aught more
beautiful. Then I rose and set meat and drink before them, and we
ate and drank; and I kept giving mouthfuls to the new comer,
crowning her cup and drinking with her till the first damsel,
waxing inwardly jealous, asked me, "By Allah, is she not more
delicious than I?"; whereto I answered, "Ay, by the Lord!" "It is
my wish that thou lie with her this night; for I am thy mistress
but she is our visitor. Upon my head be it, and my eyes." Then
she rose and spread the carpets for our bed and I took
the young lady and lay with her that night till morning, when I
awoke and found myself wet, as I thought, with sweat. I sat up
and tried to arouse the damsel; but when I shook her by the
shoulders my hand became crimson with blood and her head rolled
off the pillow. Thereupon my senses fled and I cried aloud,
saying, "O All powerful Protector, grant me Thy protection!" Then
finding her neck had been severed, I sprung up and the world
waxed black before my eyes, and I looked for the lady, my former
love, but could not find her. So I knew that it was she who had
murdered the damsel in her jealousy, and said, "There is
no Majesty and there is no Might save in Allah, the Glorious, the
Great! What is to be done now?" I considered awhile then, doffing
my clothes, dug a hole in the middle of the court yard, wherein I
laid the murdered girl with her jewellery and golden ornaments;
and, throwing back the earth on her, replaced the slabs of the
marble pavement. After this I made the Ghusl or total
ablution, and put on pure clothes; then, taking what
money I had left, locked up the house and summoned courage and
went to its owner to whom I paid a year's rent, saying, "I am
about to join my uncles in Cairo." Presently I set out and,
journeying to Egypt, foregathered with my uncles who rejoiced in
me, and I found that they had made an end of selling their
merchandise. They asked me, "What is the cause of thy coming?";
and I answered "I longed for a sight of you;" but did not let
them know that I had any money with me. I abode with them a year,
enjoying the pleasures of Cairo and her Nile, and
squandering the rest of my money in feasting and carousing till
the time drew near for the departure of my uncles, when I fled
from them and hid myself. They made enquiries and sought for me,
but hearing no tidings they said, "He will have gone back to
Damascus." When they departed I came forth from my hiding place
and abode in Cairo three years, until naught remained of my
money. Now every year I used to send the rent of the Damascus
house to its owner, until at last I had nothing left but enough
to pay him for one year's rent and my breast was straitened. So I
travelled to Damascus and alighted at the house whose owner, the
jeweller, was glad to see me and I found everything locked up as
I had left it. I opened the closets and took out my clothes and
necessaries and came upon, beneath the carpet bed whereon I had
lain that night with the girl who had been beheaded, a golden
necklace set with ten gems of passing beauty. I took it up and,
cleansing it of the blood, sat gazing upon it and wept awhile.
Then I abode in the house two days and on the third I entered the
Hammam and changed my clothes. I had no money by me now; so Satan
whispered temptation to me that the Decree of Destiny be carried
out. Next day I took the jewelled necklace to the bazaar and
handed it to a broker who made me sit down in the shop of the
jeweller, my landlord, and bade me have patience till the market
was full, when he carried off the ornament and proclaimed
it for sale, privily and without my knowledge. The necklet was
priced as worth two thousand dinars, but the broker returned to
me and said, "This collar is of copper, a mere counterfeit after
the fashion of the Franks and a thousand dirhams have
been bidden for it." "Yes," I answered, "I knew it to be copper,
as we had it made for a certain person that we might mock her:
now my wife hath inherited it and we wish to sell it; so go and
take over the thousand dirhams."--And Shahrazad perceived the
dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.

              When it was the Twenty-ninth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the
beautiful youth said to the broker, "Take over the thousand
dirhams;" and when the broker heard this, he knew that the case
was suspicious. So he carried the collar to the Syndic of the
bazaar, and the Syndic took it to the Governor who was also
prefect of police, and said to him falsely enough, "This necklet
was stolen from my house, and we have found the thief in traders'
dress." So before I was aware of it the watch got round me and,
making me their prisoner, carried me before the Governor who
questioned me of the collar. I told him the tale I had told to
the broker; but he laughed and said, "These words are not true."
Then, before I knew what was doing, the guard stripped off my
clothes and came down with palm rods upon my ribs, till for the
smart of the stick I confessed, "It was I who stole it;" saying
to myself, "'Tis better for thee to say, I stole it, than to let
them know that its owner was murdered in thy house, for then
would they slay thee to avenge her." So they wrote down that I
had stolen it and they cut off my hand and scalded the stump in
oil, when I swooned away for pain; but they gave me wine
to drink and I recovered and, taking up my hand, was going to my
fine house, when my landlord said to me, "Inasmuch, O my son, as
this hath befallen thee, thou must leave my house and look out
for another lodging for thee, since thou art convicted of theft.
Thou art a handsome youth, but who will pity thee after this?" "O
my master" said I, "bear with me but two days or three, till I
find me another place." He answered, "So be it." and went away
and left me. I returned to the house where I sat weeping and
saying, How shall I go back to my own people with my hand lopped
off and they know not that I am innocent? Perchance even after
this Allah may order some matter for me." And I wept with
exceeding weeping, grief beset me and I remained in sore trouble
for two days; but on the third day my landlord came suddenly in
to me, and with him some of the guard and the Syndic of the
bazaar, who had falsely charged me with stealing the necklet. I
went up to them and asked, "What is the matter?" however, they
pinioned me with out further parley and threw a chain about my
neck, saying, "The necklet which was with thee hath proved to be
the property of the Wazir of Damascus who is also her Viceroy;"
and they added, "It was missing from his house three years ago at
the same time as his younger daughter." When I heard these words,
my heart sank within me and I said to myself, "Thy life is gone
beyond a doubt! By Allah, needs must I tell the Chief my story;
and, if he will, let him kill me, and if he please, let him
pardon me." So they carried me to the Wazir's house and made me
stand between his hands. When he saw me, he glanced at me out of
the corner of his eye and said to those present, "Why did ye lop
off his hand? This man is unfortunate, and there is no fault in
him; indeed ye have wronged him in cutting off his hand." When I
heard this, I took heart and, my soul presaging good, I said to
him, "By Allah, O my lord, I am no thief; but they calumniated me
with a vile calumny, and they scourged me midmost the market,
bidding me confess till, for the pain of the rods, I lied against
myself and confessed the theft, albeit I am altogether innocent
of it." "Fear not," quoth the Viceroy, "no harm shall come to
thee." Then he ordered the Syndic of the bazaar to be imprisoned
and said to him, "Give this man the blood money for his hand;
and, if thou delay I will hang thee and seize all thy property."
Moreover he called to his guards who took him and dragged him
away, leaving me with the Chief. Then they loosed by his command
the chain from my neck and unbound my arms; and he looked at me,
and said, "O my son, be true with me, and tell me how this
necklace came to thee." And he repeated these verses:--

"Truth best befits thee, albeit truth  Shall bring thee to burn
     on the threatened fire."

"By Allah, O my lord," answered I, "I will tell thee nothing but
the truth." Then I related to him all that had passed between me
and the first lady, and how she had brought me the second and had
slain her out of jealousy, and I detailed for him the tale to its
full. When he heard my story, he shook his head and struck his
right hand upon the left, and putting his kerchief over
his face wept awhile and then repeated:--

"I see the woes of the world abound,  And worldings sick with
     spleen and teen;
There's One who the meeting of two shall part,  And who part not
     are few and far between!"

Then he turned to me and said, "Know, O my son, that the elder
damsel who first came to thee was my daughter whom I used to keep
closely guarded. When she grew up, I sent her to Cairo and
married her to her cousin, my brother's son. After a while he
died and she came back: but she had learnt wantonness and
ungraciousness from the people of Cairo; so she visited
thee four times and at last brought her younger sister. Now they
were sisters-german and much attached to each other; and, when
that adventure happened to the elder, she disclosed her secret to
her sister who desired to go out with her. So she asked thy leave
and carried her to thee; after which she returned alone and,
finding her weeping, I questioned her of her sister, but she
said, 'I know nothing of her.' However, she presently told her
mother privily of what had happened and how she had cut off her
sister's head and her mother told me. Then she ceased not to weep
and say, 'By Allah! I shall cry for her till I die.' Nor did she
give over mourning till her heart broke and she died; and things
fell out after that fashion. See then, O my son, what hath come
to pass; and now I desire thee not to thwart me in what I am
about to offer thee, and it is that I purpose to marry thee to my
youngest daughter; for she is a virgin and born of another
mother; and I will take no dower of thee but, on the
contrary, will appoint thee an allowance, and thou shalt abide
with me in my house in the stead of my son." "So be it," I
answered, "and how could I hope for such good fortune?" Then he
sent at once for the Kazi and witnesses, and let write my
marriage contract with his daughter and I went in to her.
Moreover, he got me from the Syndic of the bazaar a large sum of
money and I became in high favour with him. During this year news
came to me that my father was dead and the Wazir despatched a
courier, with letters bearing the royal sign manual, to fetch me
the money which my father had left behind him, and now I am
living in all the solace of life. Such was the manner of the
cutting off my right hand." I marvelled at his story (continued
the Jew), and I abode with him three days after which he gave me
much wealth, and I set out and travelled Eastward till I reached
this your city and the sojourn suited me right well; so I took up
my abode here and there befell me what thou knowest with the
Hunchback. There upon the King of China shook his head
and said, "This story of thine is not stranger and more wondrous
and marvellous and delectable than the tale of the Hunchback; and
so needs must I hang the whole number of you. However there yet
remains the Tailor who is the head of all the offence;" and he
added, "O Tailor, if thou canst tell me any thing more wonderful
than the story of the Hunchback, I will pardon you all your
offences." Thereupon the man came forward and began to tell the





Tale of the Tailor.


Know, O King of the age, that most marvellous was that which
befell me but yesterday, before I foregathered with the Hunch
back. It so chanced that in the early day I was at the marriage
feast of one of my companions, who had gotten together in his
house some twenty of the handicraftsmen of this city, amongst
them tailors and silk spinners and carpenters and others of the
same kidney. As soon as the sun had risen, they set food
before us that we might eat when behold, the master of the house
entered, and with him a foreign youth and a well favoured of the
people of Baghdad, wearing clothes as handsome as handsome could
be; and he was of right comely presence save that he was lame of
one leg. He came and saluted us and we stood up to receive him;
but when he was about to sit down he espied amongst us a certain
man which was a Barber; whereupon he refused to be seated and
would have gone away. But we stopped him and our host also stayed
him, making oath that he should not leave us and asked him, "What
is the reason of thy coming in and going out again at once?";
whereto he answered, "By Allah, O my lord, do not hinder me; for
the cause of my turning back is yon Barber of bad omen,
yon black o'face, yon ne'er do well!" When the housemaster heard
these words he marvelled with extreme marvel and said, "How
cometh this young man, who haileth from Baghdad, to be so
troubled and perplexed about this Barber?" Then we looked at the
stranger and said, "Explain the cause of thine anger against the
Barber." "O fair company," quoth the youth, "there befell me a
strange adventure with this Barber in Baghdad (which is my native
city); he was the cause of the breaking of my leg and of my
lameness, and I have sworn never to sit in the same place with
him, nor even tarry in any town where he happens to abide; and I
have bidden adieu to Baghdad and travelled far from it and came
to stay in this your city; yet I have hardly passed one night
before I meet him again. But not another day shall go by ere I
fare forth from here." Said we to him, "Allah upon thee, tell us
the tale;" and the youth replied (the Barber changing colour from
brown to yellow as he spoke): Know, O fair company, that my
father was one of the chief merchants of Baghdad, and Almighty
Allah had blessed him with no son but myself. When I grew up and
reached man's estate, my father was received into the mercy of
Allah (whose Name be exalted!) and left me money and eunuchs,
servants and slaves; and I used to dress well and diet well. Now
Allah had made me a hater of women kind and one day, as I was
walking along a street in Baghdad, a party of females met me face
to face in the footway; so I fled from them and, entering an
alley which was no thoroughfare, sat down upon a stone bench at
its other end. I had not sat there long before the latticed
window of one of the houses opposite was thrown open, and there
appeared at it a young lady, as she were the full moon at its
fullest; never in my life saw I her like; and she began to water
some flowers on the window sill. She turned right and
left and, seeing me watching her, shut the window and went away.
Thereupon fire was suddenly enkindled in my heart; my mind was
possessed with her and my woman hate turned to woman love. I
continued sitting there, lost to the world, till sunset when lo!
the Kazi of the city came riding by with his slaves before him
and his eunuchs behind him, and dismounting entered the house in
which the damsel had appeared. By this I knew that he was her
father; so I went home sorrowful and cast myself upon my carpet
bed in grief. Then my handmaids flocked in and sat about me,
unknowing what ailed me; but I addressed no speech to them, and
they wept and wailed over me. Presently in came an old woman who
looked at me and saw with a glance what was the matter with me:
so she by my head spoke me fair, saying, "O my son, tell me all
about it and I will be the means of thy union with her."
So I related to her what had happened and she answered, "O my
son, this one is the daughter of the Kazi of Baghdad who keepeth
her in the closest seclusion; and the window where thou sawest
her is her floor, whilst her father occupies the large saloon in
the lower story. She is often there alone and I am wont to visit
at the house; so thou shalt not win to her save through me. Now
set thy wits to work and be of good cheer." With these words she
went away and I took heart at what she said and my people
rejoiced that day, seeing me rise in the morning safe and sound.
By and by the old woman returned looking chopfallen, and
said, "O my son, do not ask me how I fared with her! When I told
her that, she cried at me, 'If thou hold not thy peace, O hag of
ill omen, and leave not such talk, I will entreat thee as thou
deservest and do thee die by the foulest of deaths.' But needs
must I have at her a second time." When I heard this it
added ailment to my ailment and the neighbours visited me and
judged that I was not long for this world; but after some days,
the old woman came to me and, putting her mouth close to my ear,
whispered, "O my son; I claim from thee the gift of good news."
With this my soul returned to me and I said, "Whatever thou wilt
shall be thine." Thereupon she began, "Yesterday I went to the
young lady who, seeing me broken in spirit and shedding tears
from reddened eyes, asked me, 'O naunty mine, what ails
thee, that I see thy breast so straitened?'; and I answered her,
weeping bitterly, 'O my lady, I am just come from the house of a
youth who loves thee and who is about to die for sake of thee!'
Quoth she (and her heart was softened), 'And who is this youth of
whom thou speakest?'; and quoth I, 'He is to me as a son and the
fruit of my vitals. He saw thee, some days ago, at the window
watering thy flowers and espying thy face and wrists he fell in
love at first sight. I let him know what happened to me the last
time I was with thee, whereupon his ailment increased, he took to
the pillow and he is naught now but a dead man, and no doubt what
ever of it.' At this she turned pale and asked, 'All this for my
sake?'; and I answered, 'Ay, by Allah! what wouldst thou
have me do?' Said she, 'Go back to him and greet him for me and
tell him that I am twice more heartsick than he is. And on
Friday, before the hour of public prayer, bid him here to the
house, and I will come down and open the door for him. Then I
will carry him up to my chamber and foregather with him for a
while, and let him depart before my father return from the
Mosque.'" When I heard the old woman's words, all my sickness
suddenly fell from me, my anguish ceased and my heart was
comforted; I took off what clothes were on me and gave them to
her and, as she turned to go, she said, "Keep a good heart!" "I
have not a jot of sorrow left." I replied. My household and
intimates rejoiced in my recovery and I abode thus till Friday,
when behold, the old woman came in and asked me how I did, to
which I answered that I was well and in good case. Then I donned
my clothes and perfumed myself and sat down to await the
congregation going in to prayers, that I might betake myself to
her. But the old woman said to me, "Thou hast time and to spare:
so thou wouldst do well to go to the Hammam and have thy hair
shaven off (especially after thy ailment), so as not to show
traces of sickness." "This were the best way," answered I, "I
have just now bathed in hot water, but I will have my head
shaved." Then I said to my page, "Go to the bazaar and bring me a
barber, a discreet fellow and one not inclined to meddling or
impertinent curiosity or likely to split my head with his
excessive talk." The boy went out at once and brought
back with him this wretched old man, this Shaykh of ill omen.
When he came in he saluted me and I returned his salutation; then
quoth he, "Of a truth I see thee thin of body;" and quoth I, "I
have been ailing." He continued, "Allah drive far away from thee
thy woe and thy sorrow and thy trouble and thy distress." "Allah
grant thy prayer!" said I. He pursued, "All gladness to thee, O
my master, for indeed recovery is come to thee. Dost thou wish to
be polled or to be blooded? Indeed it was a tradition of Ibn
Abbas (Allah accept of him!) that the Apostle said,
'Whoso cutteth his hair on a Friday, the Lord shall avert from
him threescore and ten calamities;' and again is related of him
also that he said, 'Cupping on a Friday keepeth from loss of
sight and a host of diseases.'" "Leave this talk," I cried;
"come, shave me my head at once for I can't stand it." So he rose
and put forth his hand in most leisurely way and took out a
kerchief and unfolded it, and lo! it contained an
astrolabe with seven parallel plates mounted in silver.
Then he went to the middle of the court and raised head and
instrument towards the sun's rays and looked for a long while.
When this was over, he came back and said to me, "Know that there
have elapsed of this our day, which be Friday, and this Friday be
the tenth of the month Safar in the six hundred and fifty- third
year since the Hegira or Flight of the Apostle (on whom be the
bestest of blessings and peace!) and the seven thousand three
hundred and twentieth year of the era of Alexander, eight degrees
and six minutes. Furthermore the ascendant of this our day is,
according to the exactest science of computation, the planet
Mars; and it so happeneth that Mercury is in conjunction with
him, denoting an auspicious moment for hair cutting; and this
also maketh manifest to me that thou desires union with a certain
person and that your intercourse will not be propitious. But
after this there occurreth a sign respecting a matter which will
befall thee and whereof I will not speak." "O thou," cried I, "by
Allah, thou weariest me and scatterest my wits and thy forecast
is other than good; I sent for thee to poll my head and naught
else: so up and shave me and prolong not thy speech." "By Allah,"
replied he, "if thou but knew what is about to befall thee, thou
wouldst do nothing this day, and I counsel thee to act as I tell
thee by computation of the constellations." "By Allah," said I,
"never did I see a barber who excelled in judicial astrology save
thyself: but I think and I know that thou art most prodigal of
frivolous talk. I sent for thee only to shave my head, but thou
comest and pesterest me with this sorry prattle." "What more
wouldst thou have?" replied he. "Allah hath bounteously bestowed
on thee a Barber who is an astrologer, one learned in alchemy and
white magic; syntax, grammar, and lexicology; the arts of
logic, rhetoric and elocution; mathematics, arithmetic and
algebra; astronomy, astromancy and geometry; theology, the
Traditions of the Apostle and the Commentaries on the Koran.
Furthermore, I have read books galore and digested them and have
had experience of affairs and comprehended them. In short I have
learned the theorick and the practick of all the arts and
sciences; I know everything of them by rote and I am a past
master in tota re scibili. Thy father loved me for my lack of
officiousness, argal, to serve thee is a religious duty incumbent
on me. I am no busy body as thou seemest to suppose, and on this
account I am known as The Silent Man, also, The Modest Man.
Wherefore it behoveth thee to render thanks to Allah Almighty and
not cross me, for I am a true counsellor to thee and benevolently
minded towards thee. Would that I were in thy service a whole
year that thou mightest do me justice; and I would ask thee no
wage for all this." When I heard his flow of words, I said to
him, "Doubtless thou wilt be my death this day!"--And Shahrazad
perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying her permitted say.

                When it was the Thirtieth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the young
man said to the Barber, "Thou certainly will be the death of me
this very day!" "O master mine," replied he, "I am he, The Silent
Man hight, by reason of the fewness of my words, to distinguish
me from my six brothers. For the eldest is called Al-Bakbuk, the
prattler; the second Al-Haddar, the babbler; the third Al-Fakik,
the gabbler; the fourth, his name is Al-Kuz al-aswani, the long
necked Gugglet, from his eternal chattering; the fifth is Al-
Nashshar, the tattler and tale teller; the sixth Shakashik, or
many clamours; and the seventh is famous as Al-Samit, The Silent
Man, and this is my noble self!" Whilst he redoubled his talk, I
thought my gall bladder would have burst; so I said to the
servant, "Give him a quarter dinar and dismiss him and let him go
from me in the name of God who made him. I won't have my head
shaved to day." "What words be these, O my lord?" cried he. "By
Allah! I will accept no hire of thee till I have served thee and
have ministered to thy wants; and I care not if I never take
money of thee. If thou know not my quality, I know thine; and I
owe thy father, an honest man, on whom Allah Almighty have mercy!
many a kindness, for he was a liberal soul and a generous. By
Allah, he sent for me one day, as it were this blessed day, and I
went in to him and found a party of his intimates about him.
Quoth he to me, 'Let me blood;' so I pulled out my astrolabe and,
taking the sun's altitude for him, I ascertained that the
ascendant was inauspicious and the hour unfavourable for
brooding. I told him of this, and he did according to my bidding
and awaited a better opportunity. So I made these lines in honour
of him:--

I went to my patron some blood to let him,  But found that the
     moment was far from good:
So I sat and I talked of all strangenesses,  And with jests and
     jokes his good will I wooed:
They pleased him and cried he, 'O man of wit,  Thou hast proved
     thee perfect in merry mood!'
Quoth I, 'O thou Lord of men, save thou  Lend me art and
     wisdom I'm fou and wood
In thee gather grace, boon, bounty, suavity,  And I guerdon the
     world with lore, science and gravity.'

Thy father was delighted and cried out to the servant, 'Give him
an hundred and three gold pieces with a robe of honour!' The man
obeyed his orders, and I awaited an auspicious moment, when I
blooded him; and he did not baulk me; nay he thanked me and I was
also thanked and praised by all present. When the blood-letting
was over I had no power to keep silence and asked him, 'By Allah,
O my lord, what made thee say to the servant, Give him an hundred
and three dinars?'; and he answered, 'One dinar was for the
astrological observation, another for thy pleasant conversation,
the third for the phlebotomisation, and the remaining hundred and
the dress were for thy verses in my commendation.'" "May Allah
show small mercy to my father," exclaimed I, "for knowing the
like of thee." He laughed and ejaculated, "There is no god but
the God and Mohammed is the Apostle of God! Glory to Him that
changeth and is changed not! I took thee for a man of sense, but
I see thou babblest and dotest for illness. Allah hath said in
the Blessed Book, 'Paradise is prepared for the goodly
who bridle their anger and forgive men.' and so forth; and in any
case thou art excused. Yet I cannot conceive the cause of thy
hurry and flurry; and thou must know that thy father and thy
grandfather did nothing without consulting me, and indeed it hath
been said truly enough, 'Let the adviser be prized'; and, 'There
is no vice in advice'; and it is also said in certain saws,
'Whoso hath no counsellor elder than he, will never himself an
elder be'; and the poet says:--

Whatever needful thing thou undertake,  Consult th' experienced
     and contraire him not!

And indeed thou shalt never find a man better versed in affairs
than I, and I am here standing on my feet to serve thee. I am not
vexed with thee: why shouldest thou be vexed with me? But
whatever happen I will bear patiently with thee in memory of the
much kindness thy father shewed me." "By Allah," cried I, "O thou
with tongue long as the tail of a jackass, thou persistest in
pestering me with thy prate and thou becomest more longsome in
thy long speeches, when all I want of thee is to shave my head
and wend thy way!" Then he lathered my head saying, "I perceive
thou art vexed with me, but I will not take it ill of thee, for
thy wit is weak and thou art but a laddy: it was only yesterday I
used to take thee on my shoulder and carry thee to
school.' "O my brother," said I, "for Allah's sake do what I want
and go thy gait!" And I rent my garments. When he saw me
do this he took the razor and fell to sharpening it and gave not
over stropping it until my senses were well nigh leaving me. Then
he came up to me and shaved part of my head; then he held his
hand and then he said, "O my lord, haste is Satan's gait whilst
patience is of Allah the Compassionate. But thou, O my master, I
ken thou knowest not my rank; for verily this hand alighteth upon
the heads of Kings and Emirs and Wazirs, and sages and doctors
learned in the law, and the poet said of one like me:--

All crafts are like necklaces strung on a string,  But this
     Barber's the union pear of the band:
High over all craftsmen he ranketh, and why?  The heads of the
     Kings are under his hand!"

Then said I, "Do leave off talking about what concerneth thee
not: indeed thou hast straitened my breast and distracted my
mind." Quoth he, "Meseems thou art a hasty man;" and quoth I,
"Yes ! yes! yes!" and he, "I rede thee practice restraint of
self, for haste is Satan's pelf which bequeatheth only repentance
and ban and bane, and He (upon whom be blessings and peace!) hath
said, 'The best of works is that wherein deliberation lurks;' but
I, by Allah! have some doubt about thine affair; and so I should
like thee to let me know what it is thou art in such haste to do,
for I fear me it is other than good." Then he continued, "It
wanteth three hours yet to prayer time; but I do not wish to be
in doubt upon this matter; nay, I must know the moment exactly,
for truly, 'A guess shot in times of doubt, oft brings harm
about;' especially in the like of me, a superior person whose
merits are famous amongst mankind at large; and it doth not befit
me to talk at random, as do the common sort of astrologers." So
saying, he threw down the razor and taking up the astrolabe, went
forth under the sun and stood there a long time; after which he
returned and counting on his fingers said to me, "There remain
still to prayer time three full hours and complete, neither more
nor yet less, according to the most learned astronomicals and the
wisest makers of almanacks." "Allah upon thee," cried I, "hold
thy tongue with me, for thou breakest my liver in pieces." So he
took the razor and, after sharpening it as before and shaving
other two hairs of my head, he again held his hand and said, "I
am concerned about thy hastiness and indeed thou wouldst do well
to let me into the cause of it; 't were the better for thee, as
thou knowest that neither thy father nor thy grandfather ever did
a single thing save by my advice." When I saw that there was no
escape from him I said to myself, "The time for prayer draws near
and I wish to go to her before the folk come out of the mosque.
If I am delayed much longer, I know not how to come at her." Then
said I aloud, "Be quick and stint this talk and impertinence, for
I have to go to a party at the house of some of my intimates."
When he heard me speak of the party, he said, "This thy day is a
blessed day for me! In very sooth it was but yesterday I invited
a company of my friends and I have forgotten to provide anything
for them to eat. This very moment I was thinking of it: Alas, how
I shall be disgraced in their eyes!" "Be not distressed about
this matter," answered I; "have I not told thee that I am bidden
to an entertainment this day? So every thing in my house, eatable
and drinkable, shall be thine, if thou wilt only get through thy
work and make haste to shave my head." He replied, "Allah requite
thee with good! Specify to me what is in thy house for my guests
that I may be ware of it." Quoth I, "Five dishes of meat and ten
chickens with reddened breasts and a roasted lamb." "Set
them before me," quoth he "that I may see them." So I told my
people to buy, borrow or steal them and bring them in anywise,
And had all this set before him. When he saw it he cried, "The
wine is wanting," and I replied, "I have a flagon or two of good
old grape- juice in the house," and he said, "Have it brought
out!" So I sent for it and he exclaimed, "Allah bless thee for a
generous disposition! But there are still the essences and
perfumes." So I bade them set before him a box containing
Nadd, the best of compound perfumes, together with fine
lign-aloes, ambergris and musk unmixed, the whole worth fifty
dinars. Now the time waxed strait and my heart straitened with
it; so I said to him, "Take it all and finish shaving my head by
the life of Mohammed (whom Allah bless and keep!)." "By Allah,"
said he, "I will not take it till I see all that is in it." So I
bade the page open the box and the Barber laid down the
astrolabe, leaving the greater part of my head unpolled; and,
sitting on the ground, turned over the scents and incense and
aloes wood and essences till I was well nigh distraught. Then he
took the razor and coming up to me shaved off some few hairs and
repeated these lines:--

"The boy like his father shall surely show,  As the tree from
     its parent root shall grow."

Then said he, "By Allah, O my son, I know not whether to thank
thee or thy father; for my entertainment this day is all due to
thy bounty and beneficence; and, although none of my company be
worthy of it, yet I have a set of honourable men, to wit Zantut
the bath-keeper and Sali'a the corn-chandler; and Silat the bean-
seller; and Akrashah the greengrocer; and Humayd the scavenger;
and Sa'id the camel-man; and Suwayd the porter; and Abu Makarish
the bathman; and Kasim the watchman; and Karim the groom.
There is not among the whole of them a bore or a bully in his
cups; nor a meddler nor a miser of his money, and each and every
hath some dance which he danceth and some of his own couplets
which he caroleth; and the best of them is that, like thy
servant, thy slave here, they know not what much talking is nor
what forwardness means. The bath keeper sings to the tom-
tom a song which enchants; and he stands up and dances
and chants,

    'I am going, O mammy, to fill up my pot.'

As for the corn-chandler he brings more skill to it than any; he
dances and sings,

    'O Keener, 0 sweetheart, thou fallest not short'

and he leaves no one's vitals sound for laughing at him. But the
scavenger sings so that the birds stop to listen to him and
dances and sings,

    'News my wife wots is not locked in a box!'

And he hath privilege, for 'tis a shrewd rogue and a
witty; and speaking of his excellence I am wont to say,

My life for the scavenger! right well I love him,  Like a waving
     bough he is sweet to my sight:
Fate joined us one night, when to him quoth I  (The while I grew
     weak and love gained more might)
'Thy love burns my heart!' 'And no wonder,' quoth he  'When the
     drawer of dung turns a stoker wight.'

And indeed each is perfect in whatso can charm the wit with joy
and jollity;" adding presently, "But hearing is not seeing; and
indeed if thou make up thy mind to join us and put off going to
thy friends, 'twill be better for us and for thee. The traces of
illness are yet upon thee and haply thou art going among folk who
be mighty talkers, men who commune together of what concerneth
them not; or there may be amongst them some forward fellow who
will split thy head, and thou half thy size from sickness." "This
shall be for some other day," answered I, and laughed with heart
angered: "finish thy work and go, in Allah Almighty's guard, to
thy friends, for they will be expecting thy coming." "O my lord,"
replied he, "I seek only to introduce thee to these fellows of
infinite mirth, the sons of men of worth, amongst whom there is
neither procacity nor dicacity nor loquacity; for never, since I
grew to years of discretion, could I endure to consort with one
who asketh questions concerning what concerneth him not, nor have
I ever frequented any save those who are, like myself, men of few
words. In sooth if thou were to company with them or even to see
them once, thou wouldst forsake all thy intimates." "Allah fulfil
thy joyance with them," said I, "needs must I come amongst them
some day or other." But he said, "Would it were this very day,
for I had set my heart upon thy making one of us; yet if thou
must go to thy friends to day, I will take these good things,
wherewith thou hast honoured and favoured me, to my guests and
leave them to eat and drink and not wait for me; whilst I will
return to thee in haste and accompany thee to thy little party;
for there is no ceremony between me and my intimates to prevent
my leaving them. Fear not, I will soon be back with thee and wend
with thee whithersoever thou wendest. There is no Majesty and
there is no Might save in Allah, the Glorious, the Great!" I
shouted, "Go thou to thy friends and make merry with them; and do
let me go to mine and be with them this day, for they expect me."
But the Barber cried, "I will not let thee go alone;" and I
replied, "The truth is none can enter where I am going save
myself." He rejoined, "I suspect that to day thou art for an
assignation with some woman, else thou hadst taken me with thee;
yet am I the right man to take, one who could aid thee to the end
thou wishest. But I fear me thou art running after strange women
and thou wilt lose thy life; for in this our city of Baghdad one
cannot do any thing in this line, especially on a day like
Friday: our Governor is an angry man and a mighty sharp blade."
"Shame on thee, thou wicked, bad, old man!" cried I, "Be off!
what words are these thou givest me?" "O cold of wit,"
cried he, "thou sayest to me what is not true and thou hidest thy
mind from me, but I know the whole business for certain and I
seek only to help thee this day with my best endeavour." I was
fearful lest my people or my neighbours should hear the Barber's
talk, so I kept silence for a long time whilst he finished
shaving my head; by which time the hour of prayer was come and
the Khutbah, or sermon, was about to follow. When he had done, I
said to him, "Go to thy friends with their meat and drink, and I
will await thy return. Then we will fare together." In this way I
hoped to pour oil on troubled waters and to trick the accursed
loon, so haply I might get quit of him; but he said, "Thou art
cozening me and thou wouldst go alone to thy appointment and cast
thyself into jeopardy, whence there will be no escape for thee.
Now by Allah! and again by Allah! do not go till I return, that I
may accompany thee and watch the issue of thine affair." "So be
it," I replied, "do not be long absent." Then he took all the
meat and drink I had given him and the rest of it and went out of
my house; but the accursed carle gave it in charge of a porter to
carry to his home but hid himself in one of the alleys. As for me
I rose on the instant, for the Muezzins had already called the
Salam of Friday, the salute to the Apostle; and I dressed
in haste and went out alone and, hurrying to the street, took my
stand by the house wherein I had seen the young lady. I found the
old woman on guard at the door awaiting me, and went up with her
to the upper story, the damsel's apartment. Hardly had I reached
it when behold, the master of the house returned from prayers and
entering the great saloon, closed the door. I looked down from
the window and saw this Barber (Allah's curse upon him!) sitting
over against the door and said, "How did this devil find me out?"
At this very moment, as Allah had decreed it for rending my veil
of secrecy, it so happened that a handmaid of the house master
committed some offence for which he beat her. She shrieked out
and his slave ran in to intercede for her, whereupon the Kazi
beat him to boot, and he also roared out. The damned Barber
fancied that it was I who was being beaten; so he also fell to
shouting and tore his garments and scattered dust on his head and
kept on shrieking and crying "Help ! Help !" So the people came
round about him and he went on yelling, "My master is being
murdered in the Kazi's house!" Then he ran clamouring to my place
with the folk after him, and told my people and servants and
slaves; and, before I knew what was doing, up they came tearing
their clothes and letting loose their hair and shouting,
"Alas, our master!"; and this Barber leading the rout with his
clothes rent and in sorriest plight; and he also shouting like a
madman and saying, "Alas for our murdered master!" And they all
made an assault upon the house in which I was. The Kazi, hearing
the yells and the uproar at his door, said to one of his
servants, "See what is the matter"; and the man went forth and
returned and said, "O my master, at the gate there are more than
ten thousand souls what with men and women, and all crying out,
'Alas for our murdered master!'; and they keep pointing to our
house." When the Kazi heard this, the matter seemed serious and
he waxed wroth; so he rose and opening the door saw a great crowd
of people; whereat he was astounded and said, "O folk! what is
there to do?" "O accursed! O dog! O hog!" my servants replied;
"'Tis thou who hast killed our master!" Quoth he, "O good folk,
and what hath your master done to me that I should kill him?"--
And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying her
permitted say.

              When it was the Thirty-first Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the Kazi
said to the servants, "What hath your master done to me that I
should kill him? This is my house and it is open to you all."
Then quoth the Barber, "Thou didst beat him and I heard him cry
out;" and quoth the Kazi, "But what was he doing that I should
beat him, and what brought him in to my house; and whence came he
and whither went he?" "Be not a wicked, perverse old man!" cried
the Barber, "for I know the whole story; and the long and short
of it is that thy daughter is in love with him and he loves her;
and when thou knewest that he had entered the house, thou badest
thy servants beat him and they did so: by Allah, none shall judge
between us and thee but the Caliph; or else do thou bring out our
master that his folk may take him, before they go in and save him
perforce from thy house, and thou be put to shame." Then said the
Kazi (and his tongue was bridled and his mouth was stopped by
confusion before the people), "An thou say sooth, do thou come in
and fetch him out." Whereupon the Barber pushed forward and
entered the house. When I saw this I looked about for a means of
escape and flight, but saw no hiding place except a great chest
in the upper chamber where I was. So I got into it and pulled the
lid down upon myself and held my breath. The Barber was hardly in
the room before he began to look about for me, then turned him
right and left and came straight to the place where I was, and
stepped up to the chest and, lifting it on his head, made off as
fast as he could. At this, my reason forsook me, for I knew that
he would not let me be; so I took courage and opening the chest
threw myself to the ground. My leg was broken in the fall, and
the door being open I saw a great concourse of people looking in.
Now I carried in my sleeve much gold and some silver, which I had
provided for an ill day like this and the like of such occasion;
so I kept scattering it amongst the folk to divert their
attention from me and, whilst they were busy scrambling for it, I
set off, hopping as fast as I could, through the by streets of
Baghdad, shifting and turning right and left. But whithersoever I
went this damned Barber would go in after me, crying aloud, "They
would have bereft me of my master! They would have slain him who
was a benefactor to me and my family and my friends! Praised be
Allah who made me prevail against them and delivered my lord from
their hands!" Then to me, "Where wilt thou go now? Thou wouldst
persist in following thine own evil devices, till thou broughtest
thyself to this ill pass; and, had not Allah vouchsafed me to
thee, ne'er hadst thou escaped this strait into which thou hast
fallen, for they would have cast thee into a calamity whence thou
never couldest have won free. But I will not call thee to account
for thine ignorance, as thou art so little of wit and
inconsequential and addicted to hastiness!" Said I to him, "Doth
not what thou hast brought upon me suffice thee, but thou must
run after me and talk me such talk in the bazaar streets?" And I
well nigh gave up the ghost for excess of rage against him. Then
I took refuge in the shop of a weaver amiddlemost of the market
and sought protection of the owner who drove the Barber away;
and, sitting in the back room, I said to myself, "If I
return home I shall never be able to get rid of this curse of a
Barber, who will be with me night and day; and I cannot endure
the sight of him even for a breathing space." So I sent out at
once for witnesses and made a will, dividing the greater part of
my property among my people, and appointed a guardian over them,
to whom I committed the charge of great and small, directing him
to sell my houses and domains. Then I set out on my travels that
I might be free of this pimp; and I came to settle in
your town where I have lived some time. When you invited me and I
came hither, the first thing I saw was this accursed pander
seated in the place of honour. How then can my heart be glad and
my stay be pleasant in company with this fellow who brought all
this upon me, and who was the cause of the breaking of my leg and
of my exile from home and native land. And the youth refused to
sit down and went away. When we heard his story (continued the
Tailor) we were amazed beyond measure and amused and said to the
Barber, "By Allah, is it true what this young man saith of thee?"
"By Allah," replied he, "I dealt thus by him of my courtesy and
sound sense and generosity. Had it not been for me he had
perished and none but I was the cause of his escape. Well it was
for him that he suffered in his leg and not in his life! Had I
been a man of many words, a meddler, a busy body, I had not acted
thus kindly by him; but now I will tell you a tale which befell
me, that you may be well assured I am a man sparing of speech in
whom is no forwardness and a very different person from those six
Brothers of mine; and this it is."





The Barber's Tale of Himself.


I was living in Baghdad during the times of Al-Mustansir
bi'llah, Son of Al-Mustazi bi'llah the then Caliph, a
prince who loved the poor and needy and companied with the
learned and pious. One day it happened to him that he was wroth
with ten persons, highwaymen who robbed on the Caliph's highway,
and he ordered the Prefect of Baghdad to bring them into the
presence on the anniversary of the Great Festival. So the
Prefect sallied out and, making them His prisoners, embarked with
them in a boat. I caught sight of them as they were embarking and
said to myself, "These are surely assembled for a marriage feast;
methinks they are spending their day in that boat eating and
drinking, and none shall be companion of their cups but I
myself." So I rose, O fair assembly; and, of the excess of my
courtesy and the gravity of my understanding, I embarked with
them and entered into conversation with them. They rowed across
to the opposite bank, where they landed and there came up the
watch and guardians of the peace with chains, which they put
round the robbers' necks. They chained me among the rest of them;
and, O people, is it not a proof of my courtesy and spareness of
speech, that I held my peace and did not please to speak? Then
they took us away in bilbos and next morning carried us all
before Al- Mustansir bi'llah, Commander of the Faithful, who bade
smite the necks of the ten robbers. So the Sworder came forward
after they were seated on the leather of blood; then
drawing his blade, struck off one head after another until he had
smitten the neck of the tenth; and I alone remained. The Caliph
looked at me and asked the Heads man, saying, "What ails thee
that thou hast struck off only nine heads?"; and he answered,
"Allah forbid that I should behead only nine, when thou biddest
me behead ten!" Quoth the Caliph, "Meseems thou hast smitten the
necks of only nine, and this man before thee is the tenth." "By
thy beneficence!" replied the Headsman, "I have beheaded ten."
"Count them!" cried the Caliph and whenas they counted heads, lo!
there were ten. The Caliph looked at me and said, "What made thee
keep silence at a time like this and how camest thou to company
with these men of blood? Tell me the cause of all this, for
albeit thou art a very old man, assuredly thy wits are weak." Now
when I heard these words from the Caliph I sprang to my feet and
replied, "Know, O Prince of the Faithful, that I am the Silent
Shaykh and am thus called to distinguish me from my six brothers.
I am a man of immense learning whilst, as for the gravity of my
understanding, the wiliness of my wits and the spareness of my
speech, there is no end of them; and my calling is that of a
barber. I went out early on yesterday morning and saw these men
making for a skiff; and, fancying they were bound for a marriage
feast, I joined them and mixed with them. After a while up came
the watch and guardians of the peace, who put chains round their
necks and round mine with the rest; but, in the excess of my
courtesy, I held my peace and spake not a word; nor was this
other but generosity on my part. They brought us into thy
presence, and thou gavest an order to smite the necks of the ten;
yet did I not make myself known to thee and remained silent
before the Sworder, purely of my great generosity and courtesy
which led me to share with them in their death. But all my life
long have I dealt thus nobly with mankind, and they requite me
the foulest and evillest requital!" When the Caliph heard my
words and knew that I was a man of exceeding generosity and of
very few words, one in whom is no forwardness (as this youth
would have it whom I rescued from mortal risk and who hath so
scurvily repaid me), he laughed with excessive laughter till he
fell upon his back. Then said he to me, "O Silent Man, do thy six
brothers favour thee in wisdom and knowledge and spareness of
speech?" I replied, "Never were they like me! Thou puttest
reproach upon me, O Commander of the Faithful, and it becomes
thee not to even my brothers with me; for, of the abundance of
their speech and their deficiency of courtesy and gravity, each
one of them hath gotten some maim or other. One is a monocular,
another palsied, a third stone blind, a fourth cropped of ears
and nose and a fifth shorn of both lips, while the sixth is a
hunchback and a cripple. And conceive not, O Commander of the
Faithful, that I am prodigal of speech; but I must perforce
explain to thee that I am a man of greater worth and fewer words
than any of them. From each one of my brothers hangs a tale of
how he came by his bodily defect and these I will relate to
thee." So the Caliph gave ear to





The Barber's Tale of his First Brother.


Know then, O Commander of the Faithful, that my first brother, Al
Bakbuk, the Prattler, is a Hunchback who took to tailoring in
Baghdad, and he used to sew in a shop hired from a man of much
wealth, who dwelt over the shop, and there was also a
flour-mill in the basement. One day as my brother, the Hunchback,
was sitting in his shop a tailoring, he chanced to raise his head
and saw a lady like the rising full moon at a balconied window of
his landlord's house, engaged in looking out at the passers
by. When my brother beheld her, his heart was taken with
love of her and he passed his whole day gazing at her and
neglected his tailoring till eventide. Next morning he opened his
shop and sat him down to sew; but, as often as he stitched a
stitch, he looked to the window and saw her as before; and his
passion and infatuation for her increased. On the third day as he
was sitting in his usual place gazing on her, she caught sight of
him and, perceiving that he had been captivated with love of her,
laughed in his face and he smiled back at her. Then she
disappeared and presently sent her slave girl to him with a
bundle containing a piece of red cowered silk. The handmaid
accosted him and said, "My lady salameth to thee and desireth
thee, of thy skill and good will, to fashion for her a shift of
this piece and to sew it handsomely with thy best sewing. He
replied, "Hearkening and obedience"; and shaped for her a chemise
and finished sewing it the same day. When the morning morrowed
the girl came back and said to him, "My lady salameth to thee and
asks how thou hast passed yesternight; for she hath not tasted
sleep by reason of her heart being taken up with thee. Then she
laid before him a piece of yellow satin and said, My lady biddeth
thee cut her two pair of petticoat trousers out of this piece and
sew them this very day." "Hearkening and obedience!' replied he,
"greet her for me with many greetings and say to her, Thy slave
is obedient to thine order; so command him as thou wilt." Then he
applied himself to cutting out and worked hard at sewing the
trousers; and after an hour the lady appeared at the lattice and
saluted him by signs, now casting down her eyes, then smiling in
his face, and he began to assure himself that he would soon make
a conquest. She did not let him stir till he had finished the two
pair of trousers, when she with drew and sent the handmaid to
whom he delivered them; and she took them and went her ways. When
it was night, he threw himself on his carpet bed, and lay tossing
about from side to side till morning, when he rose and sat down
in his place. Presently the damsel came to him and said, "My
master calleth for thee." Hearing these words he feared with
exceeding fear; but the slave girl, seeing his affright, said to
him, "No evil is meant to thee: naught but good awaiteth thee. My
lady would have thee make acquaintance with my lord." So my
brother the tailor, rejoicing with great joy, went with her; and
when he came into the presence of his landlord, the lady's
husband, he kissed the ground before him, and the master of the
house returned his greeting and gave him a great piece of linen
saying, "Shape me shirts out of this stuff and sew them well;"
and my brother answered, "To hear is to obey." Thereupon he fell
to work at once, snipping, shaping and sewing till he had
finished twenty shirts by supper time, without stopping to taste
food. The house master asked him, "How much the wage for this?";
and he answered, "Twenty dirhams." So the gentleman cried out to
the slave girl, "Bring me twenty dirhams," and my brother spake
not a word; but the lady signed, "Take nothing from him;'
whereupon my brother said, "By Allah I will take naught from thy
hand. And he carried off his tailor's gear and returned to his
shop, although he was destitute even to a red cent. Then
he applied himself to do their work; eating, in his zeal and
diligence, but a bit of bread and drinking only a little water
for three days. At the end of this time came the handmaid and
said to him, "What hast thou done?" Quoth he, "They are
finished," and carried the shirts to the lady's husband, who
would have paid him his hire: but he said, "I will take nothing,"
for fear of her and, returning to his shop, passed the night
without sleep because of his hunger. Now the dame had informed
her husband how the case stood (my brother knowing naught of
this); and the two had agreed to make him tailor for nothing, the
better to mock and laugh at him. Next morning he went to his
shop, and, as he sat there, the handmaid came to him and said,
"Speak with my master." So he accompanied her to the husband who
said to him, "I wish thee to cut out for me five long sleeved
robes." and took the stuff and
went away. Then he sewed them and carried them to the gentleman,
who praised his sewing and offered him a purse of silver. He put
out his hand to take it, but the lady signed to him from behind
her husband not to do so, and he replied, "O my lord, there is no
hurry, we have time enough for this." Then he went forth from the
house meaner and meeker than a donkey, for verily five things
were gathered together in him viz.: love, beggary, hunger,
nakedness and hard labour. Nevertheless he heartened himself with
the hope of gaining the lady's favours. When he had made an end
of all their jobs, they played him another trick and married him
to their slave girl; but, on the night when he thought to go in
to her, they said to him, "Lie this night in the mill; and to
morrow all will go well." My brother concluded that there was
some good cause for this and nighted alone in the mill. Now the
husband had set on the miller to make the tailor turn the mill:
so when night was half spent the man came in to him and began to
say, "This bull of ours hath be come useless and standeth still
instead of going round: he will not turn the mill this night, and
yet we have great store of corn to be ground. However, I'll yoke
him perforce and make him finish grinding it before morning, as
the folk are impatient for their flour." So he filled the hoppers
with grain and, going up to my brother with a rope in his hand,
tied it round his neck and said to him, "Gee up! Round with the
mill! thou, O bull, wouldst do nothing but grub and stale and
dung!" Then he took a whip and laid it on the shoulders and
calves of my brother, who began to howl and bellow; but none came
to help him; and he was forced to grind the wheat till hard upon
dawn, when the house master came in and, seeing my brother still
tethered to the yoke and the man flogging him, went away. At day
break the miller returned home and left him still yoked and half
dead; and soon after in came the slave girl who unbound him, and
said to him, "I and my lady are right sorry for what hath
happened and we have borne thy grief with thee." But he had no
tongue wherewith to answer her from excess of beating and mill
turning. Then he retired to his lodging and behold, the clerk who
had drawn up the marriage deed came to him and saluted
him, saying, "Allah give thee long life! May thy espousal be
blessed! This face telleth of pleasant doings and dalliance and
kissing and clipping from dusk to dawn." "Allah grant the liar no
peace, O thou thousandfold cuckold!", my brother replied, "by
Allah, I did nothing but turn the mill in the place of the bull
all night till morning!" "Tell me thy tale," quoth he; and my
brother recounted what had befallen him and he said, "Thy star
agrees not with her star; but an thou wilt I can alter the
contract for thee," adding, "'Ware lest another cheat be not in
store for thee." And my brother answered him, "See if thou have
not another contrivance." Then the clerk left him and he sat in
his shop, looking for some one to bring him a job whereby he
might earn his day's bread. Presently the handmaid came to him
and said, "Speak with my lady." "Begone, O my good girl," replied
he, "there shall be no more dealings between me and thy lady."
The handmaid returned to her mistress and told her what my
brother had said and presently she put her head out of the
window, weeping and saying, "Why, O my beloved, are there to be
no more dealings 'twixt me and thee?" But he made her no answer.
Then she wept and conjured him, swearing that all which had
befallen him in the mill was not sanctioned by her and that she
was innocent of the whole matter. When he looked upon her beauty
and loveliness and heard the sweetness of her speech, the sorrow
which had possessed him passed from his heart; he accepted her
excuse and he rejoiced in her sight. So he saluted her and talked
with her and sat tailoring awhile, after which the handmaid came
to him and said, "My mistress greeteth thee and informeth thee
that her husband purposeth to lie abroad this night in the house
of some intimate friends of his; so, when he is gone, do thou
come to us and spend the night with my lady in delightsomest
joyance till the morning." Now her husband had asked her, "How
shall we manage to turn him away from thee?"; and she answered,
"Leave me to play him another trick and make him a laughing stock
for all the town." But my brother knew naught of the malice of
women. As soon as it was dusk, the slave girl came to him and
carried him to the house, and when the lady saw him she said to
him, "By Allah, O my lord, I have been longing exceedingly for
thee." "By Allah," cried he, "kiss me quick before thou give me
aught else." Hardly had he spoken, when the lady's
husband came in from the next room and seized him,
saying, "By Allah, I will not let thee go, till I deliver thee to
the chief of the town watch." My brother humbled himself to him;
but he would not listen to him and carried him before the Prefect
who gave him an hundred lashes with a whip and, mounting him on a
camel, promenaded him round about the city, whilst the guards
proclaimed aloud, "This is his reward who violateth the Harims of
honourable men!" Moreover, he fell off the camel and broke his
leg and so became lame. Then the Prefect banished him from the
city; and he went forth unknowing whither he should wend; but I
heard of him and fearing for him went out after him and brought
him back secretly to the city and restored him to health and took
him into my house where he still liveth. The Caliph laughed at my
story and said, "Thou hast done well, O Samit, O Silent Man, O
spare of speech!"; and he bade me take a present and go away. But
I said, "I will accept naught of thee except I tell thee what
befell all my other brothers; and do not think me a man of many
words." So the Caliph gave ear to





The Barber's Tale of his Second Brother.


Know, O Commander of the Faithful, that my second brother's name
was Al-Haddar, that is the Babbler, and he was the paralytic. Now
it happened to him one day, as he was going about his business,
that an old woman accosted him and said, "Stop a little, my good
man, that I may tell thee of somewhat which, if it be to thy
liking, thou shalt do for me and I will pray Allah to give thee
good of it!" My brother stopped and she went on, "I will put thee
in the way of a certain thing, so thou not be prodigal of
speech." "On with thy talk," quoth he; and she, "What sayest thou
to handsome quarters and a fair garden with flowing waters,
flowers blooming, and fruit growing, and old wine going and a
pretty young face whose owner thou mayest embrace from dark till
dawn? If thou do whatso I bid thee thou shalt see something
greatly to thy advantage." "And is all this in the world?" asked
my brother; and she answered, "Yes, and it shall be thine, so
thou be reasonable and leave idle curiosity and many words, and
do my bidding." "I will indeed, O my lady," said he, "how is it
thou hast preferred me in this matter before all men and what is
it that so much pleaseth thee in me?" Quoth she, "Did I not bid
thee be spare of speech? Hold thy peace and follow me. Know, that
the young lady, to whom I shall carry thee, loveth to have her
own way and hateth being thwarted and all who gainsay; so, if
thou humour her, thou shalt come to thy desire of her." And my
brother said, "I will not cross her in anything." Then she went
on and my brother followed her, an hungering after what she
described to him till they entered a fine large house, handsome
and choicely furnished, full of eunuchs and servants and showing
signs of prosperity from top to bottom. And she was carrying him
to the upper story when the people of the house said to him,
"What dost thou here?" But the old woman answered them, "Hold
your peace and trouble him not: he is a workman and we have
occasion for him." Then she brought him into a fine great
pavilion, with a garden in its midst, never eyes saw a fairer;
and made him sit upon a handsome couch. He had not sat long, be
fore he heard a loud noise and in came a troop of slave girls
surrounding a lady like the moon on the night of its fullest.
When he saw her, he rose up and made an obeisance to her,
whereupon she welcomed him and bade him be seated. So he sat down
and she said to him, "Allah advance thee to honour! Is all well
with thee?" "O my lady," he answered, "all with me is right
well." Then she bade bring in food, and they set before her
delicate viands; so she sat down to eat, making a show of
affection to my brother and jesting with him, though all the
while she could not refrain from laughing; but as often as he
looked at her, she signed towards her handmaidens as though she
were laughing at them. My brother (the ass!) understood nothing;
but, in the excess of his ridiculous passion, he fancied that the
lady was in love with him and that she would soon grant him his
desire. When they had done eating, they set on the wine and there
came in ten maidens like moons, with lutes ready strung in their
hands, and fell to singing with full voices, sweet and sad,
whereupon delight gat hold upon him and he took the cup from the
lady's hands and drank it standing. Then she drank a cup of wine
and my brother (still standing) said to her "Health," and bowed
to her. She handed him another cup and he drank it off, when she
slapped him hard on the nape of his neck. Upon this my
brother would have gone out of the house in anger; but the old
woman followed him and winked to him to return. So he came back
and the lady bade him sit and he sat down without a word. Then
she again slapped him on the nape of his neck; and the second
slapping did not suffice her, she must needs make all her
handmaidens also slap and cuff him, while he kept saying to the
old woman, "I never saw aught nicer than this." She on her side
ceased not exclaiming, "Enough, enough, I conjure thee, O my
mistress!"; but the women slapped him till he well nigh swooned
away. Presently my brother rose and went out to obey a call of
nature, but the old woman overtook him, and said, "Be patient a
little and thou shalt win to thy wish." "How much longer have I
to wait," my brother replied, "this slapping hath made me feel
faint." "As soon as she is warm with wine," answered she, "thou
shalt have thy desire." So he returned to his place and sat down,
where upon all the handmaidens stood up and the lady bade them
perfume him with pastiles and besprinkle his face with rose-
water. Then said she to him, "Allah advance thee to honour! Thou
hast entered my house and hast borne with my conditions, for
whoso thwarteth me I turn him away, and whoso is patient hath his
desire." "O mistress mine," said he, "I am thy slave and in the
hollow of thine hand!" "Know, then," continued she, "that Allah
hath made me passionately fond of frolic; and whoso falleth in
with my humour cometh by whatso he wisheth." Then she ordered her
maidens to sing with loud voices till the whole company was
delighted; after which she said to one of them, "Take thy lord,
and do what is needful for him and bring him back to me
forthright." So the damsel took my brother (and he not knowing
what she would do with him); but the old woman overtook him and
said, "Be patient; there remaineth but little to do." At this his
face brightened and he stood up before the lady while the old
woman kept saying, "Be patient; thou wilt now at once win to thy
wish!"; till he said, "Tell me what she would have the maiden do
with me?" "Nothing but good," replied she, "as I am thy
sacrifice! She wisheth only to dye thy eyebrows and pluck out thy
mustachios." Quoth he, "As for the dyeing of my eye brows, that
will come off with washing, but for the plucking out of
my mustachios, that indeed is a somewhat painful process." "Be
cautious how thou cross her," cried the old woman; "for she hath
set her heart on thee." So my brother patiently suffered her to
dye his eyebrows and pluck out his mustachios, after which the
maiden returned to her mistress and told her. Quoth she
"Remaineth now only one other thing to be done; thou must shave
his beard and make him a smooth o' face." So the maiden
went back and told him what her mistress had bidden her do; and
my brother (the blockhead!) said to her, "How shall I do what
will disgrace me before the folk?" But the old woman said, "She
would do on this wise only that thou mayst be as a beardless
youth and that no hair be left on thy face to scratch and prick
her delicate cheeks; for indeed she is passionately in love with
thee. So be patient and thou shalt attain thine object." My
brother was patient and did her bidding and let shave off his
beard and, when he was brought back to the lady, lo! he appeared
dyed red as to his eyebrows, plucked of both mustachios, shorn of
his beard, rouged on both cheeks. At first she was affrighted at
him; then she made mockery of him and, laughing till she fell
upon her back, said, "O my lord, thou hast indeed won my heart by
thy good nature!" Then she conjured him, by her life, to stand up
and dance, and he arose, and capered about, and there was not a
cushion in the house but she threw it at his head, and in like
manner did all her women who also kept pelting him with oranges
and lemons and citrons till he fell down senseless from the
cuffing on the nape of the neck, the pillowing and the fruit
pelting. "Now thou hast attained thy wish," said the old woman
when he came round; "there are no more blows in store for thee
and there remaineth but one little thing to do. It is her wont,
when she is in her cups, to let no one have her until she put off
her dress and trousers and remain stark naked. Then she
will bid thee doff thy clothes and run; and she will run before
thee as if she were flying from thee; and do thou follow her from
place to place till thy prickle stands at fullest point, when she
will yield to thee;" adding, "Strip off thy clothes at
once." So he rose, well nigh lost in ecstasy and, doffing his
raiment, showed himself mother naked.--And Shahrazad perceived
the dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.

              When it was the Thirty-second Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when the
old woman said to the Barber's second brother, "Doff thy
clothes," he rose, well nigh lost in ecstasy; and, stripping off
his raiment, showed himself mother naked. Whereupon the lady
stripped also and said to my brother, "If thou want anything run
after me till thou catch me." Then she set out at a run and he
ran after her while she rushed into room after room and rushed
out of room after room, my brother scampering after her in a rage
of desire like a veritable madman, with yard standing terribly
tall. After much of this kind she dashed into a darkened place,
and he dashed after her; but suddenly he trod upon a yielding
spot, which gave way under his weight; and, before he was aware
where he was, he found himself in the midst of a crowded market,
part of the bazaar of the leather sellers who were crying the
prices of skins and hides and buying and selling. When they saw
him in his plight, naked, with standing yard, shorn of beard and
mustachios, with eyebrows dyed red, and cheeks ruddied with
rouge, they shouted and clapped their hands at him, and set to
flogging him with skins upon his bare body till a swoon came over
him. Then they threw him on the back of an ass and carried him to
the Chief of Police. Quoth the Chief, "What is this?" Quoth they,
"This fellow fell suddenly upon us out of the Wazir's
house in this state." So the Prefect gave him an hundred
lashes and then banished him from Baghdad. However I went out
after him and brought him back secretly into the city and made
him a daily allowance for his living: although, were it not for
my generous humour, I could not have put up with the like of him.
Then the Caliph gave ear to





The Barber's Tale of his Third Brother.


My third brother's name was Al-Fakik, the Gabbler, who was blind.
One day Fate and Fortune drove him to a fine large house, and he
knocked at the door, desiring speech of its owner that he might
beg somewhat of him. Quoth the master of the house, "Who is at
the door?" But my brother spake not a word and presently he heard
him repeat with a loud voice, "Who is this?" Still he made no
answer and immediately heard the master walk to the door and open
it and say, "What dost thou want?" My brother answered "Something
for Allah Almighty's sake." "Art thou blind?" asked the
man, and my brother answered "Yes." Quoth the other, "Stretch me
out thy hand." So my brother put out his hand thinking that he
would give him something; but he took it and, drawing him into
the house, carried him up from stair to stair till they reached
the terrace on the house top, my brother thinking the while that
he would surely give him something of food or money. Then he
asked my brother, "What dost thou want, O blind man?" and he
answered, "Something for the Almighty's sake." "Allah open for
thee some other door!" "O thou! why not say so when I was below
stairs?" "O cadger, why not answer me when I first called to
thee?" "And what meanest thou to do for me now?" "There is
nothing in the house to give thee." "Then take me down the
stair." "The path is before thee." So my brother rose and made
his way downstairs, till he came within twenty steps of the door,
when his foot slipped and he rolled to the bottom and broke his
head. Then he went out, unknowing whither to turn, and presently
fell in with two other blind men, companions of his, who said to
him, "What didst thou gain to day?" He told them what had
befallen him and added, "O my brothers, I wish to take some of
the money in my hands and provide myself with it." Now the master
of the house had followed him and was listening to what they
said; but neither my brother nor his comrades knew of this. So my
brother went to his lodging and sat down to await his companions,
and the house owner entered after him without being perceived.
When the other blind men arrived, my brother said to them, "Bolt
the door and search the house lest any stranger have followed
us." The man, hearing this, caught hold of a cord that hung from
the ceiling and clung to it, whilst they went round about the
house and searched but found no one. So they came back, and,
sitting beside my brother, brought out their money which they
counted and lo! it was twelve thousand dirhams. Each took what he
wanted and they buried the rest in a corner of the room. Then
they set on food and sat down, to eat. Presently my brother,
hearing a strange pair of jaws munching by his side, said
to his friends, "There is a stranger amongst us;" and, putting
forth his hand, caught hold of that of the house master.
Thereupon all fell on him and beat him; and when tired of
belabouring him they shouted, "O ye Moslems! a thief is come in
to us, seeking to take our money!" A crowd gathered around them,
whereupon the intruder hung on to them; and complained with them
as they complained, and, shutting his eyes like them, so that
none might doubt his blindness, cried out, "O Moslems, I take
refuge with Allah and the Governor, for I have a matter to make
known to him!" Suddenly up came the watch and, laying hands on
the whole lot (my brother being amongst them), drove them
to the Governor's who set them before him and asked, "What news
with you?" Quoth the intruder, "Look and find out for thyself,
not a word shall be wrung from us save by torture, so begin by
beating me and after me beat this man our leader." And he
pointed to my brother. So they threw the man at full length and
gave him four hundred sticks on his backside. The beating pained
him, whereupon he opened one eye and, as they redoubled their
blows, he opened the other eye. When the Governor saw this he
said to him, "What have we here, O accursed?"; whereto he
replied, "Give me the seal-ring of pardon! We four have shammed
blind, and we impose upon people that we may enter houses and
look upon the unveiled faces of the women and contrive for their
corruption. In this way we have gotten great gain and our store
amounts to twelve thousand dirhams. Said I to my company, 'Give
me my share, three thousand;' but they rose and beat me and took
away my money, and I seek refuge with Allah and with thee; better
thou have my share than they. So, if thou wouldst know the truth
of my words, beat one and every of the others more than thou hast
beaten me, and he will surely open his eyes." The Governor gave
orders for the question to begin with my brother, and they bound
him to the whipping post, and the Governor said, "O scum
of the earth, do ye abuse the gracious gifts of Allah and make as
if ye were blind!" "Allah! Allah!" cried my brother, "by Allah,
there is none among us who can see." Then they beat him till he
swooned away and the Governor cried, "Leave him till he come to
and then beat him again." After this he caused each of the
companions to receive more than three hundred sticks, whilst the
sham Abraham kept saying to them "Open your eyes or you will be
beaten afresh." At last the man said to the Governor, "Dispatch
some one with me to bring thee the money; for these fellows will
not open their eyes, lest they incur disgrace before the folk."
So the Governor sent to fetch the money and gave the man his
pretended share, three thousand dirhams; and, keeping the rest
for himself, banished the three blind men from the city. But I, O
Commander of the Faithful, went out and overtaking my brother
questioned him of his case; whereupon he told me of what I have
told thee; so I brought him secretly into the city, and appointed
him (in the strictest privacy) an allowance for meat and drink!
The Caliph laughed at my story and said, "Give him a gift and let
him go;" but I said, "By Allah! I will take naught till I have
made known to the Commander of the Faithful what came to pass
with the rest of my brothers; for truly I am a man of few words
and spare of speech." Then the Caliph gave ear to





The Barber's Tale of his Fourth Brother.


Now as for my fourth brother, O Commander of the Faithful, Al-Kuz
al-aswani, or the long necked Gugglet hight, from his brimming
over with words, the same who was blind of one eye, he became a
butcher in Baghdad and he sold flesh and fattened rams; and great
men and rich bought their meat of him, so that he amassed much
wealth and got him cattle and houses. He fared thus a long while,
till one day, as he was sitting in his shop, there came up an old
man and long o' the beard, who laid down some silver and said,
"Give me meat for this." He gave him his money s worth of flesh
and the oldster went his ways. My brother examined the Shaykh's
silver, and, seeing that the dirhams were white and bright, he
set them in a place apart. The greybeard continued to return to
the shop regularly for five months, and my brother ceased not to
lay up all the coin he received from him in its own box. At last
he thought to take out the money to buy sheep; so he opened the
box and found in it nothing, save bits of white paper cut round
to look like coin; so he buffeted his face and cried
aloud till the folk gathered about him, whereupon he told them
his tale which made them marvel exceedingly. Then he rose as was
his wont, and slaughtering a ram hung it up inside his shop;
after which he cut off some of the flesh, and hanging it outside
kept saying to himself, "O Allah, would the ill omened old fellow
but come!" And an hour had not passed before the Shaykh came with
his silver in hand; where upon my brother rose and caught hold of
him calling out, "Come aid me, O Moslems, and learn my story with
this villain!" When the old man heard this, he quietly said to
him, "Which will be the better for thee, to let go of me or to be
disgraced by me amidst the folk?" "In what wilt thou disgrace
me?" "In that thou sellest man's flesh for mutton!" "Thou liest,
thou accursed!" "Nay, he is the accursed who hath a man hanging
up by way of meat in his shop. If the matter be as thou sayest, I
give thee lawful leave to take my money and my life." Then the
old man cried out aloud, "Ho, ye people! if you would prove the
truth of my words, enter this man's shop." The folk rushed in and
found that the ram was become a dead man hung up for
sale. So they set upon my brother crying out, "O Infidel! O
villain!"; and his best friends fell to cuffing and kicking him
and kept saying, "Dost thou make us eat flesh of the sons of
Adam?" Furthermore, the old man struck him on the eye and put it
out. Then they carried the carcass, with the throat cut, before
the Chief of the city watch, to whom the old man said, "O Emir,
this fellow butchers men and sells their flesh for mutton and we
have brought him to thee; so arise and execute the judgments of
Allah (to whom be honour and glory!)." My brother would have
defended himself, but the Chief refused to hear him and sentenced
him to receive five hundred sticks and to forfeit the whole of
his property. And, indeed, had it not been for that same property
which he expended in bribes, they would have surely slain him.
Then the Chief banished him from Baghdad; and my brother fared
forth at a venture, till he came to a great town, where he
thought it best to set up as a cobbler; so he opened a shop and
sat there doing what he could for his livelihood. One day, as he
went forth on his business, he heard the distant tramp of horses
and, asking the cause, was told that the King was going out to
hunt and course; so my brother stopped to look at the fine suite.
It so fortuned that the King's eye met my brother's; whereupon
the King hung down his head and said, "I seek refuge with Allah
from the evil of this day!"; and turned the reins of his
steed and returned home with all his retinue. Then he gave orders
to his guards, who seized my brother and beat him with a beating
so painful that he was well nigh dead; and my brother knew not
what could be the cause of his maltreatment, after which he
returned to his place in sorriest plight. Soon afterwards he went
to one of the King's household and related what had happened to
him; and the man laughed till he fell upon his back and cried, "O
brother mine, know that the King cannot bear to look at a
monocular, especially if he be blind of the right eye, in which
case he doth not let him go without killing him." When my brother
heard this, he resolved to fly from that city; so he went forth
from it to another wherein none knew him and there he abode a
long while. One day, being full of sorrowful thought for what had
befallen him, he sallied out to solace himself; and, as he was
walking along, he heard the distant tramp of horses behind him
and said, "The judgement of Allah is upon me!" and looked about
for a hiding place but found none. At last he saw a closed door
which he pushed hard: it yielded. and he entered a long gallery
in which he took refuge, but hardly had he done so, when two men
set upon him crying out, "Allah be thanked for having delivered
thee into our hands, O enemy of God! These three nights thou hast
robbed us of our rest and sleep, and verily thou hast made us
taste of the death cup." My brother asked, "O folk, what ails
you?"; and they answered, "Thou givest us the change and goest
about to disgrace us and plannest some plot to cut the throat of
the house master! Is it not enough that thou hast brought him to
beggary, thou and thy fellows? But now give us up the knife
wherewith thou threatenest us every night." Then they searched
him and found in his waist belt the knife used for his shoe
leather; and he said, "O people, have the fear of Allah before
your eyes and maltreat me not, for know that my story is a right
strange!" "And what is thy story?" said they: so he told them
what had befallen him, hoping they would let him go; however they
paid no heed to what he said and, instead of showing some regard,
beat him grievously and tore off his clothes: then, finding on
his sides the scars of beating with rods, they said, "O accursed!
these marks are the manifest signs of thy guilt!" They carried
him before the Governor, whilst he said to himself, "I am now
punished for my sins and none can deliver me save Allah
Almighty!" The Governor addressing my brother asked him, "O
villain, what led thee to enter their house with intention to
murther?"; and my brother answered, "I conjure thee by Allah, O
Emir, hear my words and be not hasty in condemning me!" But the
Governor cried, "Shall we listen to the words of a robber who
hath beggared these people, and who beareth on his back the scar
of his stripes?" adding, "They surely had not done this to thee,
save for some great crime." So he sentenced him to receive an
hundred cuts with the scourge, after which they set him on a
camel and paraded him about the city, proclaiming, "This is the
requital and only too little to requite him who breaketh into
people's houses." Then they thrust him out of the city, and my
brother wandered at random, till I heard what had befallen him;
and, going in search of him, questioned him of his case; so he
acquainted me with his story and all his mischances, and I
carried him secretly to the city where I made him an allowance
for his meat and drink. Then the Caliph gave ear to





The Barber's Tale of his Fifth Brother.


My fifth brother, Al-Nashshar, the Babbler, the same who
was cropped of both ears, O Commander of the Faithful, was an
asker wont to beg of folk by night and live on their alms by day.
Now when our father, who was an old man well stricken in years
sickened and died, he left us seven hundred dirhams whereof each
son took his hundred; but, as my fifth brother received his
portion, he was perplexed and knew not what to do with it. While
in this uncertainty he bethought him to lay it out on glass ware
of all sorts and turn an honest penny on its price. So he bought
an hundred dirhams worth of verroterie and, putting it into a big
tray, sat down to sell it on a bench at the foot of a wall
against which he leant back. As he sat with the tray before him
he fell to musing and said to himself, "Know, O my good Self,
that the head of my wealth, my principal invested in this glass
ware, is an hundred dirhams. I will assuredly sell it for two
hundred with which I will forthright buy other glass and make by
it four hundred; nor will I cease to sell and buy on this wise,
till I have gotten four thousand and soon find myself the master
of much money. With these coins I will buy merchandise and jewels
and ottars and gain great profit on them; till, Allah
willing, I will make my capital an hundred thousand dirhams. Then
I will purchase a fine house with white slaves and eunuchs and
horses; and I will eat and drink and disport myself; nor will I
leave a singing man or a singing woman in the city, but I will
summon them to my palace and make them perform before me." All
this he counted over in his mind, while the tray of glass ware,:
worth an hundred dirhams, stood on the bench before him, and,
after looking at it, he continued, "And when, Inshallah! my
capital shall have become one hundred thousand dinars, I
will send out marriage brokeresses to require for me in wedlock
the daughters of Kings and Wazirs; and I will demand to wife the
eldest daughter of the Prime Minister; for it hath reached me
that she is perfect in beauty and prime in loveliness and rare in
accomplishments. I will give a marriage settlement of one
thousand dinars; and, if her father consent, well: but if not I
will take her by force from under his very nose. When she is
safely homed in my house, I will buy ten little eunuchs
and for myself a robe of the robes of Kings and Sultans; and get
me a saddle of gold and a bridle set thick with gems of price.
Then I will mount with the Mamelukes preceding me and surrounding
me, and I will make the round of the city whilst the folk salute
me and bless me; after which I will repair to the Wazir (he that
is father of the girl) with armed white slaves before and behind
me and on my right and on my left. When he sees me, the Wazir
stands up, and seating me in his own place sits down much below
me; for that I am to be his son in law. Now I have with me two
eunuchs carrying purses, each containing a thousand dinars; and
of these I deliver to him the thousand, his daughter's marriage
settlement, and make him a free gift of the other thousand, that
he may have reason to know my generosity and liberality and my
greatness of spirit and the littleness of the world in my eyes.
And for ten words he addresses to me I answer him two. Then back
I go to my house, and if one come to me on the bride's part, I
make him a present of money and throw on him a dress of honour;
but if he bring me a gift, I give it back to him and refuse to
accept it, that they may learn what a proud spirit is
mine which never condescends to derogate. Thus I establish my
rank and status. When this is done I appoint her wedding night
and adorn my house showily! gloriously! And as the time for
parading the bride is come, I don my finest attire and sit down
on a mattress of gold brocade, propping up my elbow with a
pillow, and turning neither to the right nor to the left; but
looking only straight in front for the haughtiness of my mind and
the gravity of my understanding. And there before me stands my
wife in her raiment and ornaments, lovely as the full moon; and
I, in my loftiness and dread lordliness, will not glance
at her till those present say to me, 'O our lord and our master,
thy wife, thy handmaid, standeth before thee; vouchsafe her one
look, for standing wearieth her.' Then they kiss the ground
before me many times; whereupon I raise my eyes and cast at her
one single glance and turn my face earthwards again. Then they
bear her off to the bride chamber, and I arise and change
my clothes for a far finer suit; and, when they bring in the
bride a second time, I deign not to throw her a look till they
have begged me many times; after which I glance at her out of the
corner of one eye, and then bend down my head. I continue acting
after this fashion till the parading and displaying are
completed"--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and
ceased saying her per misted say.

              When It was the Thirty-third Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the
Barber's fifth brother proceeded: - "Then I bend down my head and
continue acting after this fashion till her parading and
displaying are completed. Thereupon I order one of my eunuchs to
bring me a bag of five hundred dinars which I give as largesse to
the tire women present and bid them one and all lead me to the
bride chamber. When they leave me alone with her I neither look
at her nor speak to her, but lie by her side with my face
to the wall showing my contempt, that each and every may again
remark how high and haughty I am. Presently her mother comes in
to me, and kissing my head and hand, says to me, 'O my
lord, look upon thine handmaid who longs for thy favour; so heal
her broken spirit!' I give her no answer; and when she sees this
she rises and busses my feet many times and says, 'O my lord, in
very sooth my daughter is a beautiful maid, who hath never known
man; and if thou show her this backwardness and aversion, her
heart will break; so do thou incline to her and speak to her and
soothe her mind and spirit.' Then she rises and fetches a cup of
wine; and says to her daughter, 'Take it and hand it to thy
lord.' But as e approaches me I leave her standing between my
hands and sit, propping my elbow on a round cushion purfled with
gold thread, leaning lazily back, and without looking at her in
the majesty of my spirit, so that she may deem me indeed a Sultan
and a mighty man. Then she says to me, 'O my lord, Allah upon
thee, do not refuse to take the cup from the hand of thine hand
maid, for verily I am thy bondswoman.' But I do not speak to her
and she presses me, saying, 'There is no help but that thou drink
it;' and she puts it to my lips. Then I shake my fist in her face
and kick her with my foot thus." So he let out with his toe an
knocked over the tray of glass ware which fell to the ground and,
falling from the bench, all that was on it was broken to bits. 'O
foulest of pimps, this comes from the pride of my
spirit'" cried my brother; and then, O Commander of the Faithful,
he buffeted his face and rent his garments and kept on weeping
and beating himself. The folk who were flocking to their Friday
prayers saw him; and some of them looked at him and pitied him,
whilst others paid no heed to him, and in this way my bother lost
both capital and profit. He remained weeping a long while, and at
last up came a beautiful lady, the scent of musk exhaling from
her, who was going to Friday prayers riding a mule with a gold
saddle and followed by several eunuchs. When she saw the broken
glass and my brother weeping, her kind heart was moved to pity
for him, and she asked what ailed him and was told that he had a
tray full of glass ware by the sale of which he hoped to gain his
living, but it was broken, and (said they), "there befell him
what thou seest." Thereupon she called up one of her eunuchs and
said to him, Give what thou hast with thee to this poor fellow!".
And he gave my brother a purse in which he found five hundred
dinars; and when it touched his hand he was well nigh dying for
excess of joy and he offered up blessings for her. Then he
returned to his abode a substantial man; and, as he sat
considering, some one rapped at the door. So he rose and opened
and saw an old woman whom he had never seen. "O my son," said
she, "know that prayer tide is near and I have not yet made my
Wuzu-ablution; so kindly allow me the use of thy lodging
for the purpose." My brother answered, "To hear is to comply;"
and going in bade her follow him. So she entered and he brought
her an ewer wherewith to wash, and sat down like to fly with joy
because of the dinars which he had tied up in his belt for a
purse. When the old woman had made an end of her ablution, she
came up to where he sat, and prayed a two bow prayer; after which
she blessed my brother with a godly benediction, and he while
thanking her put his hand to the dinars and gave her two, saying
to himself "These are my voluntaries." When she saw the
gold she cried, "Praise be to Allah! why dost thou look on one
who loveth thee as if she were a beggar? Take back thy money: I
have no need of it; or, if thou want it not, return it to her who
gave it thee when thy glass ware was broken. Moreover, if thou
wish to be united with her, I can manage the matter, for she is
my mistress." "O my mother," asked my brother, "by what manner of
means can I get at her?"; and she answered, "O my son! she hath
an inclination for thee, but she is the wife of a wealthy man; so
take the whole of thy money with thee and follow me, that I may
guide thee to thy desire: and when thou art in her company spare
neither persuasion nor fair words, but bring them all to bear
upon her; so shalt thou enjoy her beauty and wealth to thy
heart's content." My brother took all his gold and rose and
followed the old woman, hardly believing in his luck. She ceased
not faring on, and my brother following her, till they came to a
tall gate at which she knocked and a Roumi slave-girl
came out and opened to them. Then the old woman led my brother
into a great sitting room spread with wondrous fine carpets and
hung with curtains, where he sat down with his gold before him,
and his turband on his knee. He had scarcely taken seat
before there came to him a young lady (never eye saw fairer) clad
in garments of the most sumptuous; whereupon my brother rose to
his feet, and she smiled in his face and welcomed him, signing to
him to be seated. Then she bade shut the door and, when it was
shut, she turned to my brother, and taking his hand conducted him
to a private chamber furnished with various kinds of brocades and
gold cloths. Here he sat down and she sat by his side and toyed
with him awhile; after which she rose and saying, "Stir not from
thy seat till I come back to thee;" disappeared. Meanwhile as he
was on this wise, lo! there came in to him a black slave big of
body and bulk and holding a drawn sword in hand, who said to him,
"Woe to thee! Who brought thee hither and what dost thou want
here?" My brother could not return him a reply, being tongue tied
for terror; so the blackamoor seized him and stripped him of his
clothes and bashed him with the flat of his sword blade till he
fell to the ground, swooning from excess of belabouring. The ill
omened nigger fancied that there was an end of him and my brother
heard him cry, "Where is the salt wench?" Where upon in
came a handmaid holding in hand a large tray of salt, and the
slave kept rubbing it into my brother's wounds; but he
did not stir fearing lest the slave might find out that he was
not dead and kill him outright. Then the salt girl went away, and
the slave cried Where is the souterrain guardianess?"
Hereupon in came the old woman and dragged my brother by his feet
to a souterrain and threw him down upon a heap of dead bodies. In
this place he lay two full days, but Allah made the salt the
means of preserving his life by staunching the blood and staying
its flow Presently, feeling himself able to move, Al-Nashshar
rose and opened the trap door in fear and trembling and crept out
into the open; and Allah protected him, so that he went on in the
darkness and hid himself in the vestibule till dawn, when he saw
the accursed beldam sally forth in quest of other quarry. He
followed in her wake without her knowing it, and made for his own
lodging where he dressed his wounds and medicined himself till he
was whole. Meanwhile he used to watch the old woman, tracking her
at all times and seasons, and saw her accost one man after
another and carry them to the house. However he uttered not a
word; but, as soon as he waxed hale and hearty, he took a piece
of stuff and made it into a bag which he filled with broken glass
and bound about his middle. He also disguised himself as a
Persian that none might know him, and hid a sword under his
clothes of foreign cut. Then he went out and presently, falling
in with the old woman, said to her, speaking Arabic with a
Persian accent, "Venerable lady, I am a stranger arrived
but this day here where I know no one. Hast thou a pair of scales
wherein I may weigh eleven hundred dinars? I will give thee
somewhat of them for thy pains." "I have a son, a money changer,
who keepeth all kinds of scales," she answered, "so come with me
to him before he goeth out and he will weigh thy gold." My
brother answered "Lead the way!" She led him to the house and the
young lady herself came out and opened it, whereupon the old
woman smiled in her face and said, "I bring thee fat meat
today." Then the damsel took my brother by the hand, and
led him to the same chamber as before; where she sat with him
awhile then rose and went forth saying, "Stir not from thy seat
till I come back to thee." Presently in came the accursed slave
with the drawn sword and cried to my brother, "Up and be damned
to thee." So he rose, and as the slave walked on before him he
drew the sword from under his clothes and smote him with it,
making head fly from body. Then he dragged the corpse by the feet
to the souterrain and called out, "Where is the salt wench?" Up
came the girl carrying the tray of salt and, seeing my brother
sword in hand, turned to fly; but he followed her and struck off
her head. Then he called out, "Where is the souterrain
guardianess? , and in came the old woman to whom he said, "Dost
know me again, ill omened hag?" "No my lord," she replied, and he
said, "I am the owner of the five hundred gold pieces, whose
house thou enteredst to make the ablution and to pray, and whom
thou didst snare hither and betray." "Fear Allah and spare me,"
cried she; but he regarded her not and struck her with the sword
till he had cut her in four. Then he went to look for the young
lady; and when she saw him her reason fled and she cried out
piteously "Aman! Mercy!" So he spared her and asked,
"What made thee consort with this blackamoor?", and she answered,
"I was slave to a certain merchant, and the old woman used to
visit me till I took a liking to her. One day she said to me, 'We
have a marriage festival at our house the like of which was never
seen and I wish thee to enjoy the sight.' 'To hear is to obey,'
answered I, and rising arrayed myself in my finest raiment and
ornaments, and took with me a purse containing an hundred gold
pieces. Then she brought me hither and hardly had I entered the
house when the black seized on me, and I have remained in this
case three whole years through the perfidy of the accursed
beldam." Then my brother asked her, "Is there anything of his in
the house?"; whereto she answered, "Great store of wealth, and if
thou art able to carry it away, do so and Allah give thee good of
it" My brother went with her and she opened to him sundry chests
wherein were money bags, at which he was astounded; then she said
to him, "Go now and leave me here, and fetch men to remove the
money.", He went out and hired ten men, but when he returned he
found the door wide open, the damsel gone and nothing left but
some small matter of coin and the household stuffs. By
this he knew that the girl had overreached him; so he opened the
store rooms and seized what was in them, together with the rest
of the money, leaving nothing in the house. He passed the night
rejoicing, but when morning dawned he found at the door some
twenty troopers who laid hands on him saying, "The Governor wants
thee!" My brother implored them hard to let him return to his
house; and even offered them a large sum of money; but they
refused and, binding him fast with cords, carried him off. On the
way they met a friend of my brother who clung to his skirt and
implored his protection, begging him to stand by him and help to
deliver him out of their hands. The man stopped, and asked them
what was the matter, and they answered, "The Governor hath
ordered us to bring this fellow before him and, look ye, we are
doing so." My brother's friend urged them to release him, and
offered them five hundred dinars to let him go, saying, "When ye
return to the Governor tell him that you were unable to find
him." But they would not listen to his words and took my brother,
dragging him along on his face, and set him before the Governor
who asked him, "Whence gottest thou these stuffs and monies?";
and he answered, "I pray for mercy!" So the Governor gave him the
kerchief of mercy; and he told him all that had befallen
him from first to last with the old woman and the flight of the
damsel; ending with, "Whatso I have taken, take of it what thou
wilt, so thou leave me sufficient to support life." But
the Governor took the whole of the stuffs and all the money for
himself; and, fearing lest the affair come to the Sultan's ears,
he summoned my brother and said, "Depart from this city, else I
will hang thee." "Hearing and obedience" quoth my brother and set
out for another town. On the way thieves fell foul of him and
stripped and beat him and docked his ears; but I heard tidings of
his misfortunes and went out after him taking him clothes; and
brought him secretly into the city where I assigned to him an
allowance for meat and drink. And presently the Caliph gave ear
to





The Barber's Tale of his Sixth Brother.


My sixth brother, O Commander of the Faithful, Shakashik,
or Many clamours, the shorn of both lips, was once rich and
became poor, so one day he went out to beg somewhat to keep life
in him. As he was on the road he suddenly caught sight of a large
and handsome mansion, with a detached building wide and lofty at
the entrance, where sat sundry eunuchs bidding and
forbidding. My brother enquired of one of those idling
there and he replied "The palace belongs to a scion of the
Barmaki house;" so he stepped up to the door keepers and asked an
alms of them "Enter," said they, "by the great gate and thou
shalt get what thou seekest from the Wazir our master."
Accordingly he went in and, passing through the outer entrance,
walked on a while and presently came to a mansion of the utmost
beauty and elegance, paved with marble, hung with curtains and
having in the midst of it a flower garden whose like he had never
seen. My brother stood awhile as one bewildered not
knowing whither to turn his steps; then, seeing the farther end
of the sitting chamber tenanted, he walked up to it and there
found a man of handsome presence and comely beard. When this
personage saw my brother he stood up to him and welcomed him and
asked him of his case; whereto he replied that he was in want and
needed charity. Hearing these words the grandee showed great
concern and, putting his hand to his fine robe, rent it
exclaiming, "What! am I in a City, and thou here an hungered? I
have not patience to bear such disgrace!" Then he promised him
all manner of good cheer and said, "There is no help but that
thou stay with me and eat of my salt." "O my lord,"
answered my brother, "I can wait no longer; for I am indeed dying
of hunger." So he cried, "Ho boy! bring basin and ewer;" and,
turning to my brother, said, "O my guest come forward and wash
thy hands." My brother rose to do so but he saw neither ewer nor
basin; yet his host kept washing his hands with invisible soap in
imperceptible water and cried, "Bring the table!" But my brother
again saw nothing. Then said the host, "Honour me by eating of
this meat and be not ashamed." And he kept moving his hand to and
fro as if he ate and saying to my brother, "I wonder to see thee
eating thus sparely: do not stint thyself for I am sure thou art
famished." So my brother began to make as though he were eating
whilst his host kept saying to him, "Fall to, and note especially
the excellence of this bread and its whiteness!" But still my
brother saw nothing. Then said he to himself, "This man is fond
of poking fun at people;" and replied, "O my lord, in all my days
I never knew aught more winsome than its whiteness or sweeter
than its savour." The Barmecide said, "This bread was baked by a
hand maid of mine whom I bought for five hundred dinars." Then he
called out, "Ho boy, bring in the meat pudding for our
first dish, and let there be plenty of fat in it;" and, turning
to my brother said, "O my guest, Allah upon thee, hast ever seen
anything better than this meat pudding? Now by my life, eat and
be not abashed." Presently he cried out again, "Ho boy, serve up
the marinated stew with the fatted sand grouse in it;"
and he said to my brother, "Up and eat, O my guest, for truly
thou art hungry and needest food." So my brother began wagging
his jaws and made as if champing and chewing, whilst the
host continued calling for one dish after another and yet
produced nothing save orders to eat. Presently he cried out, "Ho
boy, bring us the chickens stuffed with pistachio nuts;" and said
to my brother, "By thy life, O my guest, I have fattened these
chickens upon pistachios; eat, for thou hast never eaten their
like." "O my lord," replied my brother, "they are indeed first
rate." Then the host began motioning with his hand as though he
were giving my brother a mouthful; and ceased not to enumerate
and expatiate upon the various dishes to the hungry man whose
hunger waxt still more violent, so that his soul lusted after a
bit of bread, even a barley scone. Quoth the Barmecide,
"Didst thou ever taste anything more delicious than the seasoning
of these dishes?"; and quoth my brother, "Never, O my lord!" "Eat
heartily and be not ashamed," said the host, and the guest, "I
have eaten my fill of meat;" So the entertainer cried, "Take away
and bring in the sweets;" and turning to my brother said, "Eat of
this almond conserve for it is prime and of these honey fritters;
take this one, by my life, the syrup runs out of it." "May I
never be bereaved of thee, O my lord," replied the hungry one and
began to ask him about the abundance of musk in the fritters.
"Such is my custom," he answered: "they put me a dinar weight of
musk in every honey fritter and half that quantity of ambergris."
All this time my brother kept wagging head and jaws till the
master cried, "Enough of this. Bring us the dessert!" Then said
he to him,' "Eat of these almonds and walnuts and raisins; and of
this and that (naming divers kinds of dried fruits), and be not
abashed." But my brother replied, "O my lord, indeed I am full: I
can eat no more." "O my guest," repeated the host, "if thou have
a mind to these good things eat: Allah! Allah! do not
remain hungry;" but my brother rejoined, "O my lord, he who hath
eaten of all these dishes how can he be hungry?" Then he
considered and said to himself, "I will do that shall make him
repent of these pranks." Presently the entertainer called out
"Bring me the wine;" and, moving his hands in the air, as though
they had set it before them, he gave my brother a cup and said,
"Take this cup and, if it please thee, let me know." "O my lord,"
he replied, "it is notable good as to nose but I am wont to drink
wine some twenty years old." "Knock then at this door,"
quoth the host "for thou canst not drink of aught better." "By
thy kindness," said my brother, motioning with his hand as though
he were drinking. "Health and joy to thee," exclaimed the house
master and feigned to fill a cup and drink it off; then he handed
another to my brother who quaffed it and made as if he were
drunken. Presently he took the host unawares; and, raising his
arm till the white of his armpit appeared, dealt him such a cuff
on the nape of his neck that the palace echoed to it. Then he
came down upon him with a second cuff and the entertainer cried
aloud "What is this, O thou scum of the earth?" "O my lord,"
replied my brother, "thou hast shown much kindness to thy slave,
and admitted him into thine abode and given him to eat of thy
victual; then thou madest him drink of thine old wine till he
became drunken and boisterous; but thou art too noble not to bear
with his ignorance and pardon his offence." When the Barmaki
heard my brother's words he laughed his loudest and said, "Long
have I been wont to make mock of men and play the madcap among my
intimates, but never yet have I come across a single one who had
the patience and the wit to enter into all my humours save
thyself: so I forgive thee, and thou shalt be my boon companion
in very sooth and never leave me." Then he ordered the servants
to lay the table in earnest and they set on all the dishes of
which he had spoken in sport; and he and my brother ate till they
were satisfied; after which they removed to the drinking chamber,
where they found damsels like moons who sang all manner songs and
played on all manner instruments. There they remained drinking
till their wine got the better of them and the host treated my
brother like a familiar friend, so that he became as it were his
brother, and bestowed on him a robe of honour and loved him with
exceeding love. Next morning the two fell again to feasting and
carousing, and ceased not to lead this life for a term of twenty
years; at the end of which the Barmecide died and the Sultan took
possession of all his wealth and squeezed my brother of his
savings, till he was left a pauper without a penny to handle. So
he quitted the city and fled forth following his face;
but, when he was half way between two towns, the wild Arabs fell
on him and bound him and carried him to their camp, where his
captor proceeded to torture him, saying, "Buy thy life of me with
thy money, else I will slay thee!" My brother began to weep and
replied, "By Allah, I have nothing, neither gold nor silver; but
I am thy prisoner; so do with me what thou wilt." Then the Badawi
drew a knife, broad bladed and so sharp grinded that if plunged
into a camel's throat it would sever it clean across from one
jugular to the other, and cut off my brother's lips and
waxed more instant in requiring money. Now this Badawi had a fair
wife who in her husband's absence used to make advances to my
brother and offer him her favours, but he held off from her. One
day she began to tempt him as usual and he played with her and
made her sit on his lap, when behold, in came the Badawi who,
seeing this, cried out, "Woe to thee, O accursed villain,
wouldest thou debauch my wife for me?" Then he took out a knife
and cut off my brother's yard, after which he bound him on the
back of a camel and, carrying him to a mountain, left him there.
He was at last found by some who recognised him and gave him meat
and drink and acquainted me with his condition; whereupon I went
forth to him and brought him back to Baghdad where I made him an
allowance sufficient to live on. This, then, O Commander of the
Faithful, is the history of my six brothers, and I feared to go
away without relating it all to thee and leave thee in the error
of judging me to be like them. And now thou knowest that I have
six brothers upon my hands and, being more upright than they, I
support the whole family. When the Caliph heard my story and all
I told him concerning my brothers, he laughed and said, "Thou
sayest sooth, O Silent Man! thou art indeed spare of speech nor
is there aught of forwardness in thee; but now go forth out of
this city and settle in some other." And he banished me under
edict. I left Baghdad and travelled in foreign parts till I heard
of his death and the accession of another to the Caliphate. Then
I returned to Baghdad where I found all my brothers dead and
chanced upon this young man, to whom I rendered the kindliest
service, for without me he had surely been killed. Indeed he
slanders me and accuses me of a fault which is not in my nature;
and what he reports concerning impudence and meddling and
forwardness is idle and false; for verily on his account I left
Baghdad and travelled about full many a country till I came to
this city and met him here in your company. And was not this, O
worthy assemblage, of the generosity of my nature?





The End of the Tailor's Tale.


Then quoth the Tailor to the King of China: When we heard the
Barber's tale and saw the excess of his loquacity and the way in
which he had wronged this young man, we laid hands on him and
shut him up, after which we sat down in peace, and ate and drank
and enjoyed the good things of the marriage feast till the time
of the call to mid afternoon prayer, when I left the party and
returned home. My wife received me with sour looks and said,
"Thou goest a pleasuring among thy friends and thou leavest me to
sit sorrowing here alone. So now, unless thou take me abroad and
let me have some amusement for the rest of the day, I will cut
the rope and it will be the cause of my separation from
thee." So I took her out and we amused ourselves till supper
time, when we returned home and fell in with this Hunchback who
was brimful of drink and trolling out these rhymes:

"Clear's the wine, the cup's fine;    Like to like they combine:
It is wine and not cup!               'Tis a cup and not wine!"

So I invited him to sup with us and went out to buy fried fish;
after which we sat down to eat; and presently my wife took a
piece of bread and a fid of fish and stuffed them into his mouth
and he choked; and, though I slapped him long and hard between
the shoulders, he died. Then I carried him off and contrived to
throw him into the house of this leach, the Jew; and the leach
contrived to throw him into the house of the Reeve; and the Reeve
contrived to throw him on the way of the Nazarene broker. This,
then, is my adventure which befell me but yesterday. Is not it
more wondrous than the story of the Hunchback? When the King of
China heard the Tailor's tale he shook his head for pleasure;
and, showing great surprise, said, "This that passed between the
young man and the busy-body of a Barber is indeed more pleasant
and wonderful than the story of my lying knave of a Hunchback."
Then he bade one of his Chamberlains go with the Tailor and bring
the Barber out of jail, saying, "I wish to hear the talk of this
Silent Man and it shall be the cause of your deliverance one and
all: then we will bury the Hunchback, for that he is dead since
yesterday, and set up a tomb over him."--And Shahrazad perceived
the dawn of day and ceased to say her per misted say.

              When it was the Thirty-fourth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the King of
China bade, "Bring me the Barber who shall be the cause of your
deliverance; then we will bury this Hunchback, for that he is
dead since yesterday and set up a tomb over him." So the
Chamberlain and the Tailor went to the jail and, releasing the
Barber, presently returned with him to the King. The Sultan of
China looked at him and considered him carefully and lo and
behold! he was an ancient man, past his ninetieth year; swart of
face, white of beard, and hoar of eyebrows; lop eared and
proboscis-nosed, with a vacant, silly and conceited
expression of countenance. The King laughed at this figure o' fun
and said to him, "O Silent Man, I desire thee to tell me somewhat
of thy history." Quoth the Barber, "O King of the age, allow me
first to ask thee what is the tale of this Nazarene and this Jew
and this Moslem and this Hunchback (the corpse) I see among you?
And prithee what may be the object of this assemblage?" Quoth the
King of China, "And why dost thou ask?" "I ask," he replied, "in
order that the King's majesty may know that I am no forward
fellow or busy body or impertinent meddler; and that I am
innocent of their calumnious charges of overmuch talk; for I am
he whose name is the Silent Man, and indeed peculiarly happy is
my sobriquet, as saith the poet:

When a nickname or little name men design,  Know that nature
     with name shall full oft combine."

Then said the King, "Explain to the Barber the case of this
Hunchback and what befell him at supper time; also repeat to him
the stories told by the Nazarene, the Jew, the Reeve, and the
Tailor; and of no avail to me is a twice told tale." They did his
bidding, and the Barber shook his head and said, "By Allah, this
is a marvel of marvels! Now uncover me the corpse of yonder
Hunchback. They undid the winding sheet and he sat down and,
taking the Hunchback's head in his lap, looked at his face and
laughed and guffaw'd till he fell upon his back and said,
"There is wonder in every death, but the death of this
Hunchback is worthy to be written and recorded in letters of
liquid gold!" The bystanders were astounded at his words and the
King marvelled and said to him, "What ails thee, O Silent Man?
Explain to us thy words !" "O King of the age," said the Barber,
"I swear by thy beneficence that there is still life in this
Gobbo Golightly!" Thereupon he pulled out of his waist belt a
barber's budget, whence he took a pot of ointment and anointed
therewith the neck of the Hunchback and its arteries. Then he
took a pair of iron tweezers and, inserting them into the
Hunchback's throat, drew out the fid of fish with its bone; and,
when it came to sight, behold, it was soaked in blood. Thereupon
the Hunchback sneezed a hearty sneeze and jumped up as if nothing
had happened and passing his hand over his face said, "I testify
that there is no god, but the God, and I testify that Mohammed is
the Apostle of God." At this sight all present wondered; the King
of China laughed till he fainted and in like manner did the
others. Then said the Sultan, "By Allah, of a truth this is the
most marvellous thing I ever saw! O Moslems, O soldiers all, did
you ever in the lives of you see a man die and be quickened
again? Verily had not Allah vouchsafed to him this Barber, he had
been a dead man!" Quoth they, "By Allah, 'tis a marvel of
marvels." Then the King of China bade record this tale, so they
recorded it and placed it in the royal muniment-rooms; after
which he bestowed costly robes of honour upon the Jew, the
Nazarene and the Reeve, and bade them depart in all esteem. Then
he gave the Tailor a sumptuous dress and appointed him his own
tailor, with suitable pay and allowances; and made peace between
him and the Hunchback, to whom also he presented a splendid and
expensive suit with a suitable stipend. He did as generously with
the Barber, giving him a gift and a dress of honour; moreover he
settled on him a handsome solde and created him Barber
surgeon of state and made him one of his cup companions.
So they ceased not to live the most pleasurable life and the most
delectable, till there came to them the Destroyer of all delights
and the Sunderer of all societies, the Depopulator of palaces and
the Garnerer for graves. Yet, O most auspicious King! (continued
Shahrazad) this tale is by no means more wonderful than that of
the two Wazirs and Anis al-Jalis. Quoth her sister Dunyazad, "And
what may that be?", whereupon she began to relate the following
tale of

End of Vol. 1.



                    Arabian Nights, Volume 1
                           Footnotes


 Allaho A'alam, a deprecatory formula, used because the
writer is going to indulge in a series of what may possibly be
untruths.

 The "Sons of Sasan" are the famous Sassanides whose
dynasty ended with the Arabian Conquest (A.D. 641). "Island"
Jazirah) in Arabic also means "Peninsula," and causes much
confusion in geographical matters.

 Shahryar not Shahriyar (Persian)  "City-friend." The
Bulak edition corrupts it to Shahrbaz (City-hawk), and the
Breslau to Shahrban or "Defender of the City," like
Marz-banWarden of the Marshes. Shah Zaman (Persian)"King of the
Age:" Galland prefers Shah Zenan, or "King of women," and the
Bull edit. changes it to Shah Rumman, "Pomegranate King." Al-Ajam
denotes all regions not Arab (Gentiles opposed to Jews,
Mlechchhas to Hindus, Tajiks to Turks, etc., etc.), and
especially Persia; Ajami (a man of Ajam) being an equivalent of
the Gr. {Greek Letters}. See Vol.. ii., p. 1.

 Galland writes "Vizier," a wretched frenchification of a
mincing Turkish mispronunciation; Torrens, "Wuzeer" (Anglo-
Indian and Gilchristian); Lane, "Wezeer"; (Egyptian or rather
Cairene); Payne, "Vizier," according to his system; Burckhardt
(Proverbs), "Vizir;" and Mr. Keith-Falconer, "Vizir." The root is
popularly supposed to be "wizr" (burden) and the meaning
"Minister;" Wazir al-Wuzara being "Premier." In the Koran (chaps.
xx., 30) Moses says, "Give me a Wazir of my family, Harun (Aaron)
my brother." Sale, followed by the excellent version of the Rev.
J. M. Rodwell, translates a "Counsellor," and explains by "One
who has the chief administration of affairs under a prince." But
both learned Koranists learnt their Orientalism in London, and,
like such students generally, fail only upon the easiest points,
familiar to all old dwellers in the East.

 This three-days term (rest-day, drest-day and departure
day) seems to be an instinct-made rule in hospitality. Among
Moslems it is a Sunnat or practice of the Prophet.)

 i.e., I am sick at heart.

 Debauched women prefer negroes on account of the size of
their parts. I measured one man in Somali-land who, when
quiescent, numbered nearly six inches. This is a characteristic
of the negro race and of African animals; e.g. the horse; whereas
the pure Arab, man and beast, is below the average of Europe; one
of the best proofs by the by, that the Egyptian is not an
Asiatic, but a negro partially white-washed. Moreover, these
imposing parts do not increase proportionally during erection;
consequently, the "deed of kind" takes a much longer time and
adds greatly to the woman's enjoyment. In my time no honest Hindi
Moslem would take his women-folk to Zanzibar on account of the
huge attractions and enormous temptations there and thereby
offered to them. Upon the subject of Imsak  retention of semen
and "prolongation of pleasure," I shall find it necessary to say
more.

 The very same words were lately spoken in England proving
the eternal truth of The Nights which the ignorant call
"downright lies."

 The Arab's Tue la!

 Arab. "Sayd wa kanas": the former usually applied to
fishing; hence Sayda (Sidon)  fish-town. But noble Arabs (except
the Caliph Al-Amin) do not fish; so here it means simply "sport,"
chasing, coursing, birding (oiseler), and so forth.

 In the Mac. Edit. the negro is called "Mas'ud"; here he
utters a kind of war-cry and plays upon the name, "Sa'ad, Sa'id,
Sa'ud," and "Mas'ud", all being derived from one root, "Sa'ad" 
auspiciousness, prosperity.

 The Arab. singular (whence the French "genie"), fem.
Jinniyah; the Div and Rakshah of old Guebre-land and the
"Rakshasa," or "Yaksha," of Hinduism. It would be interesting to
trace the evident connection, by no means "accidental," of "Jinn"
with the "Genius" who came to the Romans through the Asiatic
Etruscans, and whose name I cannot derive from "gignomai" or
"genitus." He was unknown to the Greeks, who had the Daimon
{Greek Letters}, a family which separated, like the Jinn and the
Genius, into two categories, the good (Agatho-demons) and the bad
(Kako-demons). We know nothing concerning the status of the Jinn
amongst the pre-Moslemitic or pagan Arabs: the Moslems made him a
supernatural anthropoid being, created of subtile fire (Koran
chapts. xv. 27; lv. 14), not of earth like man, propagating his
kind, ruled by mighty kings, the last being Jan bin Jan,
missionarised by Prophets and subject to death and Judgment. From
the same root are "Junun"  madness (i.e., possession or
obsession by the Jinn) and "Majnun"a madman. According to R.
Jeremiah bin Eliazar in Psalm xii. 5, Adam was excommunicated for
one hundred and thirty years, during which he begat children in
his own image (Gen. v. 3) and these were Mazikeen or Shedeem-
Jinns. Further details anent the Jinn will presently occur.

 Arab. "Amsar" (cities): in Bull Edit. "Amtar" (rains), as
in Mac. Edit. So Mr. Payne (I., 5) translates: And when she
flashes forth the lightning of her glance, She maketh eyes to
rain, like showers, with many a tear. I would render it, "She
makes whole cities shed tears," and prefer it for a reason which
will generally influence merits superior exaggeration and
impossibility.

 Not "A-frit," pronounced Aye-frit, as our poets have it.
This variety of the Jinn, who, as will be shown, are divided into
two races like mankind, is generally, but not always, a malignant
being, hostile and injurious to mankind (Koran xxvii. 39).

 i.e., "I conjure thee by Allah;" the formula is
technically called "Inshad."

 This introducing the name of Allah into an indecent tale
is essentially Egyptian and Cairene. But see Boccaccio ii. 6, and
vii. 9.

 So in the Mac. Edit.; in others "ninety." I prefer the
greater number as exaggeration is a part of the humour. In the
Hindu "Katha Sarit Sagara" (Sea of the Streams of Story), the
rings are one hundred and the catastrophe is more moral, the good
youth Yashodhara rejects the wicked one's advances; she awakes
the water-sprite, who is about to slay him, but the rings are
brought as testimony and the improper young person's nose is duly
cut off. (Chap. Ixiii.; p. 80, of the excellent translation by
Prof. C. H. Tawney: for the Bibliotheca Indica: Calcutta, 1881.)
The Katha, etc., by Somadeva (century xi), is a poetical version
of the prose compendium, the "Vrihat Katha" (Great Story) by
Gunadhya (cent. vi).

 The Joseph of the Koran, very different from him of
Genesis. We shall meet him often enough in The Nights.

 "Iblis," vulgarly written "Eblis," from a root meaning
The Despairer, with a suspicious likeness to Diabolos; possibly
from "Bales," a profligate. Some translate it The Calumniator, as
Satan is the Hater. Iblis (who appears in the Arab. version of
the N. Testament) succeeded another revolting angel Al-Haris; and
his story of pride refusing to worship Adam, is told four times
in the Koran from the Talmud (Sanhedrim 29). He caused Adam and
Eve to lose Paradise (ii. 34); he still betrays mankind (xxv.
31), and at the end of time he, with the other devils, will be
"gathered together on their knees round Hell" (xix. 69). He has
evidently had the worst of the game, and we wonder, with Origen,
Tillotson, Burns and many others, that he does not throw up the
cards.

 A similar tale is still told at Akka (St. John d'Acre)
concerning the terrible "butcher"--Jazzar (Djezzar) Pasha. One
can hardly pity women who are fools enough to run such risks.
According to Frizzi, Niccolo, Marquis of Este, after beheading
Parisina, ordered all the faithless wives of Ferrara to be
treated in like manner.

 "Shahrazad" (Persian)  City-freer, in the older version
Scheherazade (probably both from Shirzadlion-born).
"Dunyazad"World-freer. The Bres. Edit. corrupts former to
Shahrzad or Shahrazad, and the Mac. and Calc. to Shahrzad or
Shehrzad. I have ventured to restore the name as it should be.
Galland for the second prefers Dinarzade (?) and Richardson
Dinazade (Dinazad  Religion-freer): here I have followed Lane
and Payne; though in "First Footsteps" I was misled by Galland.
See Vol. ii. p. 1.

 Probably she proposed to "Judith" the King. These learned
and clever young ladies are very dangerous in the East.

 In Egypt, etc., the bull takes the place of the Western
ox. The Arab. word is "Taur" (Thaur, Saur); in old Persian "Tore"
and Lat. "Taurus," a venerable remnant of the days before the
"Semitic" and "Aryan" families of speech had split into two
distinct growths. "Taur" ends in the Saxon "Steor" and the
English "Steer "

 Arab. "Abu Yakzan"  the Wakener, because the ass brays
at dawn.

 Arab. "Tibn"; straw crushed under the sledge: the hay of
Egypt, Arabia, Syria, etc. The old country custom is to pull up
the corn by handfuls from the roots, leaving the land perfectly
bare: hence the "plucking up" of Hebrew Holy Writ. The object is
to preserve every atom of "Tibn."

 Arab. "Ya Aftah": Al-Aftah is an epithet of the bull,
also of the chameleon.

 Arab. "Balid," a favourite Egyptianism often pleasantly
confounded with "Wali" (a Santon), hence the latter comes to mean
"an innocent," a "ninny."

 From the Calc. Edit., Vol. 1., p. 29.

 Arab. "Abu Yakzan" is hardly equivalent with "Pere
l'Eveille."

 In Arab. the wa (x) is the sign of parenthesis.

 In the nearer East the light little plough is carried
afield by the bull or ass.

 Ocymum basilicum, the "royal herb," so much prized all
over the East, especially in India, where, under the name of
"Tulsi," it is a shrub sacred to the merry god Krishna. I found
the verses in a MS. copy of The Nights.

 Arab. "Sadaf," the Kauri, or cowrie, brought from the
Maldive and Lakdive Archipelago. The Kamus describes this "Wada'"
or Concha Veneris as "a white shell (whence to "shell out") which
is taken out of the sea, the fissure of which is white like that
of the date-stone. It is hung about the neck to avert the evil
eye." The pearl in Arab. is "Murwarid," hence evidently
"Margarita" and Margaris (woman's name).

 Arab. "Kat'a" (bit of leather): some read "Nat'a;" a
leather used by way of table-cloth, and forming a bag for
victuals; but it is never made of bull's hide.

 The older "Cadi," a judge in religious matters. The
Shuhud, or Assessors, are officers of the Mahkamah or Kazi's
Court.

 Of which more in a future page. He thus purified himself
ceremonially before death.

 This is Christian rather than Moslem: a favourite Maltese
curse is "Yahrak Kiddisak man rabba-k!"  burn the Saint who
brought thee up!

 A popular Egyptian phrase: the dog and the cock speak
like Fellahs.

 i. e. between the last sleep and dawn when they would
rise to wash and pray.

 Travellers tell of a peculiar knack of jerking the
date-stone, which makes it strike with great force: I never saw
this "Inwa" practised, but it reminds me of the water splashing
with one hand in the German baths.

 i.e., sorely against his will.

 Arab. "Shaykh"an old man (primarily), an elder, a chief
(of the tribe, guild, etc.), and honourably addressed to any man.
Comp. among the neo Latins "Sieur," "Signora," "Senor," "Senhor,"
etc. from Lat. "Senior," which gave our "Sire" and "Sir." Like
many in Arabic the word has a host of different meanings and most
of them will occur in the course of The Nights. Ibrahim (Abraham)
was the first Shaykh or man who became grey. Seeing his hairs
whiten he cried, "O Allah what is this?" and the answer came that
it was a sign of dignified gravity. Hereupon he exclaimed, "O
Lord increase this to me!" and so it happened till his locks
waxed snowy white at the age of one hundred and fifty. He was the
first who parted his hair, trimmed his mustachios, cleaned his
teeth with the Miswak (tooth-stick), pared his nails, shaved his
pecten, snuffed up water, used ablution after stool and wore a
shirt (Tabari).

 The word is mostly plural  Jinnis: it is also singular 
a demon; and Jan bin Jan has been noticed.

 With us moderns "liver" suggests nothing but malady: in
Arabic and Persian as in the classic literature of Europe it is
the seat of passion, the heart being that of affection. Of this
more presently.

 Originally in Al-Islam the concubine (Surriyat, etc.) was
a captive taken in war and the Koran says nothing about buying
slave-girls. But if the captives were true believers the Moslem
was ordered to marry not to keep them. In modern days concubinage
has become an extensive subject. Practically the disadvantage is
that the slave-girls, knowing themselves to be the master's
property, consider him bound to sleep with them; which is by no
means the mistress's view. Some wives, however, when old and
childless, insist, after the fashion of Sarah, upon the husband
taking a young concubine and treating her like a daughter--which
is rare. The Nights abound in tales of concubines, but these are
chiefly owned by the Caliphs and high officials who did much as
they pleased. The only redeeming point in the system is that it
obviated the necessity of prostitution which is, perhaps, the
greatest evil known to modern society.

 Arab. "Al-Kahanah"the craft of a "Kahin" (Heb. Cohen) a
diviner, soothsayer, etc.

 Arab. "Id al-kabir  The Great Festival; the Turkish
Bayram and Indian Bakar-eed (Kine-fete), the pilgrimage-time,
also termed "Festival of the Kurban" (sacrifice) because victims
are slain, Al-Zuha (of Undurn or forenoon), Al-Azha (of serene
night) and Al-Nahr (of throat-cutting). For full details I must
refer readers to my "Personal Narrative of a Pilgrimage to
El-Medinah and Meccah" (3 vols. 8vo, London, Longmans, 1855). I
shall have often to refer to it.

 Arab. "Kalam al-mubah," i.e., that allowed or permitted
to her by the King, her husband.

 Moslem Kings are expected, like the old Gabble Monarchs,
to hold "Darbar" (i.e., give public audience) at least twice a
day, morning and evening. Neglect of this practice caused the
ruin of the Caliphate and of the Persian and Moghul Empires: the
great lords were left uncontrolled and the lieges revolted to
obtain justice. The Guebre Kings had two levee places, the
Rozistan (day station) and the Shabistan (night-station - istan
or stan being a nominal form of istadan, to stand, as
Hindo-stan). Moreover one day in the week the sovereign acted as
"Mufti" or Supreme Judge.

 Arab. "Al-Basharah," the gift everywhere claimed in the
East and in Boccaccio's Italy by one who brings good news. Those
who do the reverse expose themselves to a sound strappado.

 A euphemistic formula, to avoid mentioning unpleasant
matters. I shall note these for the benefit of students who would
honestly prepare for the public service in Moslem lands.

 Arab. "Dinar," from the Latin denarius (a silver coin
worth ten ounces of brass) through the Greek {Greek Letters}: it
is a Koranic word (chaps. iii.) though its Arab equivalent is
"Miskal." It also occurs in the Katha before quoted, clearly
showing the derivation. In the "Book of Kalilah and Dimnah" it is
represented by the Daric or Persian Dinar, {Greek Letters}, from
Dara a King (whence Darius). The Dinar, sequin or ducat,
contained at different times from 10 and 12 (Abu Hanifah's day)
to 20 and even 25 dirhams or drachmas, and, as a weight,
represented a drachma and a half. Its value greatly varied, but
we may assume it here at nine shillings or ten francs to half a
sovereign. For an elaborate article on the Dinar see Yule's
"Cathay and the Way Thither" (ii., pp. 439-443).

 The formula used in refusing alms to an "asker" or in
rejecting an insufficient offer: "Allah will open to thee!" (some
door of gain - not mine)! Another favourite ejaculation is "Allah
Karim" (which Turks pronounce "Kyereem")  Allah is
All-beneficent! meaning Ask Him, not me.

 The public bath. London knows the word through "The
Hummums."

 Arab. "Dirham" (Plur. dirahim, also used in the sense of
money, "siller"), the drachuma of Plautus (Trin. 2, 4, 23). The
word occurs in the Panchatantra also showing the derivation; and
in the Syriac Kalilah wa Dimnah it is "Zuz." This silver piece
was  6 obols (9 3/4d.) and as a weight  66 1/2 grains. The
Dirham of The Nights was worth six "Danik," each of these being a
fraction over a penny. The modern Greek Drachma isone franc.

 In Arabic the speaker always puts himself first, even if
he address the King, without intending incivility.

 A she-Ifrit, not necessarily an evil spirit.

 Arab. "Kullah" (in Egypt pron. "gulleh"), the wide
mouthed jug, called in the Hijaz "baradlyah," "daurak" being the
narrow. They are used either for water or sherbet and, being made
of porous clay, "sweat," and keep the contents cool; hence all
old Anglo Egyptians drink from them, not from bottles. Sometimes
they are perfumed with smoke of incense, mastich or Kafal (Amyris
Kafal). For their graceful shapes see Lane's "Account of the
Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians" (chaps. v) I quote,
here and elsewhere, from the fifth edition, London, Murray, 1860.

 "And what is?" etc. A popular way of expressing great
difference. So in India: - "Where is Rajah Bhoj (the great King)
and where is Ganga the oilman?"

 Here, as in other places, I have not preserved the
monorhyme, but have ended like the English sonnet with a couplet;
as a rule the last two lines contain a "Husn makta'" or climax.

 Lit. "he began to say (or speak) poetry," such
improvising being still common amongst the Badawin as I shall
afterwards note. And although Mohammed severely censured profane
poets, who "rove as bereft of their senses through every valley"
and were directly inspired by devils (Koran xxvi.), it is not a
little curious to note that he himself spoke in "Rajaz" (which
see) and that the four first Caliphs all "spoke poetry." In early
ages the verse would not be written, if written at all, till
after the maker's death. I translate "inshad" by "versifying" or
"repeating" or "reciting," leaving it doubtful if the composition
be or be not original. In places, however, it is clearly
improvised and then as a rule it is model doggrel.

 Arab. "Allahumma"Ya Allah (O Allah) but with emphasis
the Fath being a substitute for the voc. part. Some connect it
with the Heb. "Alihim," but that fancy is not Arab. In Al-Hariri
and the rhetoricians it sometimes means to be sure; of course;
unless indeed; unless possibly.

 Probably in consequence of a vow. These superstitious
practices, which have many a parallel amongst ourselves, are not
confined to the lower orders in the East.

 i.e., saying "Bismillah!" the pious ejaculation which
should precede every act. In Boccaccio (viii., 9) it is
"remembering Iddio e' Santi."

 Arab. Nahas asfar  brass, opposed to "Nahas" and "Nahas
ahmar,"  copper.

 This alludes to the legend of Sakhr al-Jinn), a famous
fiend cast by Solomon David son into Lake Tiberias whose storms
make it a suitable place. Hence the "Bottle imp," a world-wide
fiction of folk-lore: we shall find it in the "Book of Sindibad,"
and I need hardly remind the reader of Le Sage's "Diable
Boiteux," borrowed from "El Diablo Cojuelo," the Spanish novel by
Luiz Velez de Guevara.

 Marid (lit. "contumacious" from the Heb. root Marad to
rebel, whence "Nimrod" in late Semitic) is one of the tribes of
the Jinn, generally but not always hostile to man. His female is
"Maridah."

 As Solomon began to reign (according to vulgar
chronometry) in B.C. 1015, the text would place the tale circ.
A.D. 785,  A.H. 169. But we can lay no stress on this date which
may be merely fanciful. Professor Tawney very justly compares
this Moslem Solomon with the Hindu King, Vikramaditya, who ruled
over the seven divisions of the world and who had as many devils
to serve him as he wanted.

 Arab. "Ya Ba'id:" a euphemism here adopted to prevent
using grossly abusive language. Others will occur in the course
of these pages.

 i. e. about to fly out; "My heart is in my mouth." The
Fisherman speaks with the dry humour of a Fellah.

 "Sulayman," when going out to ease himself, entrusted his
seal-ring upon which his kingdom depended to a concubine "Aminah"
(the "Faithful"), when Sakhr, transformed to the King's likeness,
came in and took it. The prophet was reduced to beggary, but
after forty days the demon fled throwing into the sea the ring
which was swallowed by a fish and eventually returned to
Sulayman. This Talmudic fable is hinted at in the Koran (chaps.
xxxviii.), and commentators have extensively embroidered it.
Asaf, son of Barkhiya, was Wazir to Sulayman and is supposed to
be the "one with whom was the knowledge of the Scriptures"
(Koran, chaps. xxxvii.), i.e. who knew the Ineffable Name of
Allah. See the manifest descendant of the Talmudic Koranic
fiction in the "Tale of the Emperor Jovinian" (No. lix.) of the
Gesta Romanorum, the most popular book of medieval Europe
composed in England (or Germany) about the end of the thirteenth
century.

 Arab. "Kumkam," a gourd-shaped bottle of metal, china or
glass, still used for sprinkling scents. Lane gives an
illustration (chaps. viii., Mod. Egypt.).

 Arab. meaning "the Mother of Amir," a nickname for the
hyena, which bites the hand that feeds it.

 The intellect of man is stronger than that of the Jinni;
the Ifrit, however, enters the jar because he has been adjured by
the Most Great Name and not from mere stupidity. The seal-ring of
Solomon according to the Rabbis contained a chased stone which
told him everything he wanted to know.

 The Mesmerist will notice this shudder which is familiar
to him as preceding the "magnetic" trance.

 Arab. "Bahr" which means a sea, a large river, a sheet of
water, etc., lit. water cut or trenched in the earth. Bahri in
Egypt means Northern; so Yamm (Sea, Mediterranean) in Hebrew is
West.

 In the Bull Edit. "Ruyan," evidently a clerical error.
The name is fanciful not significant.

 The geography is ultra-Shakespearean. "Fars" (whence
"Persia") is the central Province of the grand old Empire now a
mere wreck, "Rum" (which I write Roum, in order to avoid Jamaica)
is the neo-Roman or Byzantine Empire, while "Yunan" is the
classical Arab term for Greece (Ionia) which unlearned Moslems
believe to be now under water.

 The Sun greets Mohammed every morning even as it dances
on Easter Day for Christendom. Risum teneatis?

 Arab. "Nadim," a term often occurring. It denotes one who
was intimate enough to drink with the Caliph, a very high honour
and a dangerous. The last who sat with "Nudama" was Al-Razi
bi'llah A.H. 329  940. See Al-Siyuti's famous "History of the
Caliphs" translated and admirably annotated by Major H. S.
Jarrett, for the Bibliotheca Indica, Calcutta, 1880.

Arab. Maydan (from Persian); Lane generally translates it
"horse course ' and Payne "tilting yard." It is both and
something more; an open space, in or near the city, used for
reviewing troops, races, playing the Jerid (cane-spear) and other
sports and exercises: thus Al-MaydanGr. hippodrome. The game
here alluded to is our -'polo," or hockey on horseback, a
favourite with the Persian Kings, as all old illustrations of the
Shahnamah show. Maydan is also a natural plain for which copious
Arabic has many terms, Fayhah or Sath (a plain generally), Khabt
(a low-lying plain), Bat'ha (a low sandy flat), Mahattah (a plain
fit for halting) and so forth. (Pilgrimage iii., 11.)

 For details concerning the "Ghusl" see Night xliv.

 A popular idiom and highly expressive, contrasting the
upright bearing of the self-satisfied man with the slouch of the
miserable and the skirt-trailing of the woman in grief. I do not
see the necessity of such Latinisms as "dilated" or "expanded."

 All these highest signs of favour foreshow, in Eastern
tales and in Eastern life, an approaching downfall of the
heaviest; they are so great that they arouse general jealousy.
Many of us have seen this at native courts.

 This phrase is contained in the word "ihdak"
encompassing, as the conjunctive does the pupil.

 I have noted this formula, which is used even in
conversation when about to relate some great unfact.

 We are obliged to English the word by "valley," which is
about as correct as the "brook Kedron," applied to the grisliest
of ravines. The Wady (in old Coptic wah, oah, whence "Oasis") is
the bed of a watercourse which flows only after rains. I have
rendered it by "Fiumara" (Pilgrimage i., 5, and ii., 196, etc.),
an Italian or rather a Sicilian word which exactly describes the
"wady."

 I have described this scene which Mr. T. Wolf illustrated
by an excellent lithograph in "Falconry, etc." (London, Van
Voorst, MDCCCLII.)

 Arab. "Kaylulah," mid-day sleep; called siesta from the
sixth canonical hour.

 This parrot-story is world-wide in folk-lore and the
belief in metempsychosis, which prevails more or less over all
the East, there lends it probability. The "Book of Sindibad" (see
Night dlxxix. and "The Academy," Sept. 20, 1884, No. 646)
converts it into the "Story of the Confectioner, his Wife and the
Parrot," and it is the base of the Hindostani text- book,
"Tota-Kahani" (Parrot-chat), an abridgement of the Tutinamah
(Parrot-book) of Nakhshabi (circ. A.D. 1300), a congener of the
Sanskrit "Suka Saptati," or Seventy Parrot-stories. The tale is
not in the Bull. or Mac. Edits. but occurs in the Bresl. (i., pp.
90, 91) much mutilated; and better in the Calc. Edit I cannot
here refrain from noticing how vilely the twelve vols. of the
Breslau Edit have been edited; even a table of contents being
absent from the first four volumes.

 The young "Turk" is probably a late addition, as it does
not appear in many of the MSS., e. g. the Bresl. Edit. The wife
usually spreads a cloth over the cage; this in the Turkish
translation becomes a piece of leather.

 The Hebrew-Syrian month July used to express the height
of summer. As Herodotus tells us (ii. 4) the Egyptians claimed to
be the discoverers of the solar year and the portioners of its
course into twelve parts.

 This proceeding is thoroughly characteristic of the
servile class; they conscientiously conceal everything from the
master till he finds a clew; after which they tell him everything
and something more.

 Until late years, merchants and shopkeepers in the nearer
East all carried and held it a disgrace to leave the house
unarmed.

 The Bresl. Edit. absurdly has Jazirah (an island).

 The Ghulah (fem. of Ghul) is the Heb. Lilith or Lilis;
the classical Lamia; the Hindu Yogini and Dakini, the Chaldean
Utug and Gigim (desert-demons) as opposed to the Mas (hill-demon)
and Telal (who steal into towns); the Ogress of our tales and the
Bala yaga (Granny-witch) of Russian folk-lore. Etymologically
"Ghul" is a calamity, a panic fear; and the monster is evidently
the embodied horror of the grave and the graveyard.

 Arab. "Shabb" (Lat. juvenis) between puberty and forty or
according to some fifty; when the patient becomes a "Rajul
ikhtiyar" (man of free will) politely termed, and then a Shaykh
or Shaybah (gray-beard, oldster).

 Some proverbial name now forgotten. Torrens (p. 48)
translates it "the giglot" (Fortune?) but "cannot discover the
drift."

 Arab. "Ihtizaz," that natural and instinctive movement
caused by good news suddenly given, etc.

 Arab. "Kohl," in India, Surmah, not a "collyrium," but
powdered antimony for the eyelids. That sold in the bazars is not
the real grey ore of antimony but a galena or sulphuret of lead.
Its use arose as follows. When Allah showed Himself to Moses on
Sinai through an opening the size of a needle, the Prophet
fainted and the Mount took fire: thereupon Allah said,
"Henceforth shalt thou and thy seed grind the earth of this
mountain and apply it to your eyes!" The powder is kept in an
etui called Makhalah and applied with a thick blunt needle to the
inside of the eyelid, drawing it along the rim; hence etui and
probe denote the sexual rem in re and in cases of adultery the
question will be asked, "Didst thou see the needle in the
Kohl-pot ?" Women mostly use a preparation of soot or lamp-black
(Hind. Kajala, Kajjal) whose colour is easily distinguished from
that of Kohl. The latter word, with the article (Al-Kohl) is the
origin of our "alcohol;" though even M. Littre fails to show how
"fine powder" became "spirits of wine." I found this powder
(wherewith Jezebel "painted" her eyes) a great preservative from
ophthalmia in desert-travelling: the use in India was universal,
but now European example is gradually abolishing it.

 The tale of these two women is now forgotten.

 Arab. "Atadakhkhal." When danger threatens it is
customary to seize a man's skirt and cry "Dakhil-ak!" (  under
thy protection). Among noble tribes the Badawi thus invoked will
defend the stranger with his life. Foreigners have brought
themselves into contempt by thus applying to women or to mere
youths.

 The formula of quoting from the Koran.

 Lit. "Allah not desolate me" (by thine absence). This is
still a popular phrase - La tawahishna  Do not make me desolate,
i.e. by staying away too long, and friends meeting after a term
of days exclaim "Auhashtani!"thou hast made me desolate, Je suis
desole.

 Charming simplicity of manners when the Prime Minister
carries the fish (shade of Vattel!)!) to the cookmaid. The "Gesta
Romanorum" is nowhere more naive.

 Arab. "Kahilat al-taraf"  lit. eyelids lined with Kohl;
and figuratively "with black lashes and languorous look." This is
a phrase which frequently occurs in The Nights and which, as will
appear, applies to the "lower animals" as well as to men. Moslems
in Central Africa apply Kohl not to the thickness of the eyelid
but upon both outer lids, fixing it with some greasy substance.
The peculiar Egyptian (and Syrian) eye with its thick fringes of
jet-black lashes, looking like lines of black drawn with soot,
easily suggests the simile. In England I have seen the same
appearance amongst miners fresh from the colliery.

 Of course applying to her own case.

 Prehistoric Arabs who measured from 60 to 100 cubits
high: Koran, chaps. xxvi., etc. They will often be mentioned in
The Nights.

 I Arab. "Dastur" (from Persian)  leave, permission. The
word has two meanings (see Burckhardt, Arab. Prov. No. 609) and
is much used, ea. before walking up stairs or entering a room
where strange women might be met. So "Tarik"  Clear the way
(Pilgrimage, iii., 319). The old Persian occupation of Egypt, not
to speak of the Persian speaking Circassians and other rulers has
left many such traces in popular language. One of them is that
horror of travelers - "Bakhshish" pron. bakh-sheesh and shortened
to shish from the Pers. "bakhshish." Our "Christmas box" has been
most unnecessarily derived from the same, despite our reading:--

     Gladly the boy, with Christmas box in hand.

And, as will be seen, Persians have bequeathed to the outer world
worse things than bad language, e.g. heresy and sodomy.

 He speaks of his wife but euphemistically in the
masculine.

 A popular saying throughout Al-Islam.

 Arab. "Fata": lit.a youth; a generous man, one of noble
mind (as youth-tide should be). It corresponds with the Lat.
"vir," and has much the meaning of the Ital. "Giovane," the Germ.
"Junker" and our "gentleman."

 From the Bul. Edit.

 The vagueness of his statement is euphemistic.

 This readiness of shedding tears contrasts strongly with
the external stoicism of modern civilization; but it is true to
Arab character, and Easterns, like the heroes of Homer and
Italians of Boccacio, are not ashamed of what we look upon as the
result of feminine hysteria - "a good cry."

 The formula (constantly used by Moslems) here denotes
displeasure, doubt how to act and so forth. Pronounce, "La haula
wa la kuwwata illa bi 'llahi 'I-Aliyyi 'I-Azim." As a rule
mistakes are marvellous: Mandeville (chaps. xii.) for "La ilaha
illa 'llahu wa Muhammadun Rasulu 'llah" writes "La ellec sila,
Machomete rores alla." The former (la haula, etc.), on account of
the four peculiar Arabic letters, is everywhere pronounced
differently. and the exclamation is called "Haulak" or "Haukal."

 An Arab holds that he has a right to marry his first
cousin, the daughter of his father's brother, and if any win her
from him a death and a blood-feud may result. It was the same in
a modified form amongst the Jews and in both races the
consanguineous marriage was not attended by the evil results
(idiotcy, congenital deafness, etc.) observed in mixed races like
the English and the Anglo-American. When a Badawi speaks of "the
daughter of my uncle" he means wife; and the former is the dearer
title, as a wife can be divorced, but blood is thicker than
water.

 Arab. "Kahbah;" the coarsest possible term. Hence the
unhappy "Cave" of Don Roderick the Goth, which simply means The
Whore.

 The Arab "Banj" and Hindu "Bhang" (which I use as most
familiar) both derive from the old Coptic "Nibanj" meaning a
preparation of hemp (Cannabis sativa seu Indica); and here it is
easy to recognise the Homeric "Nepenthe." Al- Kazwini explains
the term by "garden hemp (Kinnab bostani or Shahdanaj). On the
other hand not a few apply the word to the henbane (hyoscyamus
niger) so much used in medieval Europe. The Kamus evidently means
henbane distinguishing it from Hashish al harafish"  rascals'
grass, i.e. the herb Pantagruelion. The "Alfaz Adwiya" (French
translation) explains "Tabannuj" by "Endormir quelqu'un en lui
faisant avaler de la jusquiame." In modern parlance Tabannuj is 
our anesthetic administered before an operation, a deadener of
pain like myrrh and a number of other drugs. For this purpose
hemp is always used (at least I never heard of henbane); and
various preparations of the drug are sold at an especial bazar in
Cairo. See the "powder of marvellous virtue" in Boccaccio, iii.,
8; and iv., 10. Of these intoxicants, properly so termed, I shall
have something to say in a future page.

The use of Bhang doubtless dates from the dawn of civilisation,
whose earliest social pleasures would be inebriants. Herodotus
(iv. c. 75) shows the Scythians burning the seeds (leaves and
capsules) in worship and becoming drunken with the fumes, as do
the S. African Bushmen of the present day. This would be the
earliest form of smoking: it is still doubtful whether the pipe
was used or not. Galen also mentions intoxication by hemp.
Amongst Moslems, the Persians adopted the drink as an ecstatic,
and about our thirteenth century Egypt, which began the practice,
introduced a number of preparations to be noticed in the course
of The Nights.

 The rubbish heaps which outlie Eastern cities, some
(near Cairo) are over a hundred feet high.

 Arab. "Kurrat al-aye;" coolness of eyes as opposed to a
hot eye ("sakhin") one red with tears. The term is true and
picturesque so I translate it literally. All coolness is pleasant
to dwellers in burning lands: thus in Al-Hariri Abu Z yd says of
Bassorah, "I found there whatever could fill the eye with
coolness." And a "cool booty" (or prize) is one which has been
secured without plunging into the flames of war, or imply a
pleasant prize.

 Popularly rendered Caucasus (see Night cdxcvi): it
corresponds so far with the Hindu "Udaya" that the sun rises
behind it; and the "false dawn" is caused by a hole or gap. It is
also the Persian Alborz, the Indian Meru (Sumeru), the Greek
Olympus and the Rhiphean Range (Veliki Camenypoys) or great
starry girdle of the world, etc.

 Arab. "Mizr" or "Mizar;" vulg. Buzah; hence the medical
Lat. Buza, the Russian Buza (millet beer), our booze, the O.
Dutch "buyzen" and the German "busen." This is the old
of negro and negroid Africa, the beer of Osiris, of which dried
remains have been found in jars amongst Egyptian tombs. In
Equatorial Africa it known as Pombe; on the Upper Nile "Merissa"
or "Mirisi" and amongst the Kafirs (Caffers) "Tshuala," "Oala" or
"Boyala:" I have also heard of "Buswa"in Central Africa which may
be the origin of "Buzah." In the West it became      , (Romaic
     ), Xythum and cerevisia or cervisia, the humor ex hordeo,
long before the days of King Gambrinus. Central Africans drink it
in immense quantities: in Unyamwezi the standing bedsteads,
covered with bark-slabs, are all made sloping so as to drain off
the liquor. A chief lives wholly on beef and Pombe which is thick
as gruel below. Hops are unknown: the grain, mostly Holcus, is
made to germinate, then pounded, boiled and left to ferment. In
Egypt the drink is affected chiefly by Berbers, Nubians and
slaves from the Upper Nile, but it is a superior article and more
like that of Europe than the "Pombe." I have given an account of
the manufacture in The Lake Regions of Central Africa, vol. ii.,
p. 286. There are other preparations, Umm-bulbul (mother nightie
gale), Dinzayah and Subiyah, for which I must refer to the Shaykh
El-Tounsy.

 There is a terrible truth in this satire, which reminds
us of the noble dame who preferred to her handsome husband the
palefrenier laid, ord et infame of Queen Margaret of Navarre
(Heptameron No. xx.). We have all known women who sacrificed
everything despite themselves, as it were, for the most worthless
of men. The world stares and scoffs and blames and understands
nothing. There is for every woman one man and one only in whose
slavery she is "ready to sweep the floor." Fate is mostly opposed
to her meeting him but, when she does, adieu husband and
children, honour and religion, life and "soul." Moreover Nature
(human) commands the union of contrasts, such as fair and foul,
dark and light, tall and short; otherwise mankind would be like
the canines, a race of extremes, dwarf as toy-terriers, giants
like mastiffs, bald as Chinese "remedy dogs," or hairy as
Newfoundlands. The famous Wilkes said only a half truth when he
backed himself, with an hour s start, against the handsomest man
in England; his uncommon and remarkable ugliness (he was, as the
Italians say, un bel brutto) was the highest recommendation in
the eyes of very beautiful women.

 Every Moslem burial-ground has a place of the kind where
honourable women may sit and weep unseen by the multitude. These
visits are enjoined by the Apostle:--Frequent the cemetery,
'twill make you think of futurity! Also:--Whoever visiteth the
graves of his parents (or one of them) every Friday, he shall be
written a pious son, even though he might have been in the world,
before that, a disobedient. (Pilgrimage, ii., 71.) The buildings
resemble our European "mortuary chapels." Said, Pasha of Egypt,
was kind enough to erect one on the island off Suez, for the "use
of English ladies who would like shelter whilst weeping and
wailing for their dead." But I never heard that any of the ladles
went there.

 Arab. "Ajal"the period of life, the appointed time of
death: the word is of constant recurrence and is also applied to
sudden death. See Lane's Dictionary, s.v.

 "The dying Badawi to his tribe" (and lover) appears to
me highly pathetic. The wild people love to be buried upon hill
slopes whence they can look down upon the camp; and they still
call out the names of kinsmen and friends as they pass by the
grave-yards. A similar piece occurs in Wetzstein (p. 27,
"Reisebericht ueber Hauran," etc.):--

     O bear with you my bones where the camel bears his load
       And bury me before you, if buried I must be;
     And let me not be burled 'neath the burden of the vine
       But high upon the hill whence your sight I ever see!
     As you pass along my grave cry aloud and name your names
       The crying of your names shall revive the bones of me:
     I have fasted through my life with my friends, and in my
       death, I will feast when we meet, on that day of joy and
       glee.

 The Akasirah (plur. of KasraChosroes) is here a title
of the four great dynasties of Persian Kings. 1. The Peshdadian
or Assyrian race, proto-historics for whom dates fail, 2. The
Kayanian (Medes and Persians) who ended with the Alexandrian
invasion in B. C. 331. 3. The Ashkanian (Parthenians or
Arsacides) who ruled till A. D. 202; and 4. The Sassanides which
have already been mentioned. But strictly speaking "Kisri" and
"Kasra" are titles applied only to the latter dynasty and
especially to the great King Anushirwan. They must not be
confounded with "Khusrau" (P. N. Cyrus, Ahasuerus? Chosroes?),
and yet the three seem to have combined in "Cesar," Kaysar and
Czar. For details especially connected with Zoroaster see vol. I,
p. 380 of the Dabistan or School of Manners, translated by David
Shea and Anthony Troyer, Paris, 1843. The book is most valuable,
but the proper names are so carelessly and incorrectly printed
that the student is led into perpetual error.

 The words are the very lowest and coarsest; but the
scene is true to Arab life.

 Arab."Hayhat:" the word, written in a variety of ways is
onomatopoetic, like our "heigh-ho!" it sometimes means "far from
me (or you) be it!" but in popular usage it is simply "Alas."

 Lane (i., 134) finds a date for the book in this
passage. The Soldan of Egypt, Mohammed ibn Kala'un, in the early
eighth century (Hijrah  our fourteenth), issued a sumptuary law
compelling Christians and Jews to wear indigo-blue and
saffron-yellow turbans, the white being reserved for Moslems. But
the custom was much older and Mandeville (chaps. ix.) describes
it in A. D. 1322 when it had become the rule. And it still
endures; although abolished in the cities it is the rule for
Christians, at least in the country parts of Egypt and Syria. I
may here remark that such detached passages as these are
absolutely useless for chronology: they may be simply the
additions of editors or mere copyists.

 The ancient "Mustapha"  the Chosen (prophet, i. e.
Mohammed), also titled Al-Mujtaba, the Accepted (Pilgrimage, ii.,
309). "Murtaza"the Elect, i.e. the Caliph Ali is the older
"Mortada" or "Mortadi" of Ockley and his day, meaning "one
pleasing to (or acceptable to) Allah." Still older writers
corrupted it to "Mortis Ali" and readers supposed this to be the
Caliph's name.

 The gleam (zodiacal light) preceding the true dawn; the
Persians call the former Subh-i-kazib (false or lying dawn)
opposed to Subh-i-sadik (true dawn) and suppose that it is caused
by the sun shining through a hole in the world- encircling Mount
Kaf.

 So the Heb. "Arun"  naked, means wearing the lower robe
only;  our "in his shirt."

 Here we have the vulgar Egyptian colloquialism "Aysh"
(--Ayyu shayyin) for the classical "Ma"  what.

 "In the name of Allah!" here said before taking action.

 Arab. "Mamluk" (plur. Mamalik) lit. a chattel; and in
The Nights a white slave trained to arms. The "Mameluke Beys" of
Egypt were locally called the "Ghuzz," I use the convenient word
in its old popular sense;

     'Tis sung, there's a valiant Mameluke
     In foreign lands ycleped (Sir Luke)-
                      HUDIBRAS.

And hence, probably, Moliere's "Mamamouchi"; and the modern
French use "Mamalue." See Savary's Letters, No. xl.

 The name of this celebrated succesor of Nineveh, where
some suppose The Nights were written, is orig.           (middle-
gates) because it stood on the way where four great highways
meet. The Arab. form "Mausil" (the vulgar "Mosul") is also
significant, alluding to the "junction" of Assyria and Babylonis.
Hence our "muslin."

 This is Mr. Thackeray's "nose-bag." I translate by
"walking-shoes" the Arab "Khuff" which are a manner of loose boot
covering the ankle; they are not usually embroidered, the
ornament being reserved for the inner shoe.

 i.e. Syria (says Abulfeda) the "land on the left" (of
one facing the east) as opposed to Al-Yaman the "land on the
right." Osmani would mean Turkish, Ottoman. When Bernard the Wise
(Bohn, p. 24) speaks of "Bagada and Axiam" (Mabillon's text) or
"Axinarri" (still worse), he means Baghdad and Ash-Sham (Syria,
Damascus), the latter word puzzling his Editor. Richardson
(Dissert, lxxii.) seems to support a hideous attempt to derive
Sham from Shamat, a mole or wart, because the country is studded
with hillocks! Al-Sham is often applied to Damascus-city whose
proper name Dimishk belongs to books: this term is generally
derived from Damashik b. Kali b. Malik b. Sham (Shem). Lee (Ibn
Batutah, 29) denies that ha-Dimishki means "Eliezer of Damascus."

 From Oman  Eastern Arabia.

 Arab. "Tamar Hanna" lit. date of Henna, but applied to
the flower of the eastern privet (Lawsonia inermis) which has the
sweet scent of freshly mown hay. The use of Henna as a dye is
known even in Enland. The "myrtle" alluded to may either have
been for a perfume (as it is held an anti-intoxicant) or for
eating, the bitter aromatic berries of the "As" being supposed to
flavour wine and especially Raki (raw brandy).

 Lane. (i. 211) pleasantly remarks, "A list of these
sweets is given in my original, but I have thought it better to
omit the names" (!) Dozy does not shirk his duty, but he is not
much more satisfactory in explaining words interesting to
students because they are unfound in dictionaries and forgotten
by the people. "Akras (cakes) Laymuniyah (of limes) wa
Maymuniyah" appears in the Bresl. Edit. as "Ma'amuniyah" which
may mean "Ma'amun's cakes" or "delectable cakes." "Amshat" 
(combs) perhaps refers to a fine kind of Kunafah (vermicelli)
known in Egypt and Syria as "Ghazl al-banat"  girl's spinning.

 The new moon carefully looked for by all Moslems because
it begins the Ramazan-fast.

 Solomon's signet ring has before been noticed.

 The "high-bosomed" damsel, with breasts firm as a cube,
is a favourite with Arab tale tellers. Fanno baruffa is the
Italian term for hard breasts pointing outwards.

 A large hollow navel is looked upon not only as a
beauty, but in children it is held a promise of good growth.

 Arab. "Ka'ah," a high hall opening upon the central
court: we shall find the word used for a mansion, barrack, men's
quarters, etc.

 Babel  Gate of God (El), or Gate of Ilu (P. N. of God),
which the Jews ironically interpreted "Confusion." The tradition
of Babylonia being the very centre of witchcraft and enchantment
by means of its Seven Deadly Spirits, has survived in Al-Islam;
the two fallen angels (whose names will occur) being confined in
a well; Nimrod attempting to reach Heaven from the Tower in a
magical car drawn by monstrous birds and so forth. See p. 114,
Francois Fenormant's "Chaldean Magic," London, Bagsters.

 Arab. "Kamat Alfiyyah"  like the letter Alif, a
straight perpendicular stroke. In the Egyptian hieroglyphs, the
origin of every alphabet (not syllabarium) known to man, one form
was a flag or leaf of water-plant standing upright. Hence
probably the Arabic Alif-shape; while other nations preferred
other modifications of the letter (ox's head, etc), which in
Egyptian number some thirty-six varieties, simple and compound.

 I have not attempted to order this marvellous confusion of
metaphors so characteristic of The Nights and the exigencies of Al-
Saj'a  rhymed prose.

 Here and elsewhere I omit the "kala (dice Turpino)" of the
original: Torrens preserves "Thus goes the tale" (which it only
interrupts). This is simply letter-wise and sense-foolish.

 Of this worthy more at a future time.

 i.e., sealed with the Kazi or legal authority's seal of
office.

 "Nothing for nothing" is a fixed idea with the Eastern
woman: not so much for greed as for a sexual point d' honneur when
dealing with the adversary--man.

 She drinks first, the custom of the universal East, to
show that the wine she had bought was unpoisoned. Easterns, who
utterly ignore the "social glass" of Western civilisation drink
honestly to get drunk; and, when far gone are addicted to horse-
play (in Pers. "Badmasti"  le vin mauvais) which leads to quarrels
and bloodshed. Hence it is held highly irreverent to assert of
patriarchs, prophets and saints that they "drank wine;" and Moslems
agree with our "Teatotallers" in denying that, except in the case
of Noah, inebriatives are anywhere mentioned in Holy Writ.

 Arab. "Hur al-Ayn," lit. (maids) with eyes of lively white
and black, applied to the virgins of Paradise who will wive with
the happy Faithful. I retain our vulgar "Houri," warning the reader
that it is a masc. for a fem. ("Huriyah") in Arab, although
accepted in Persian, a genderless speach.

 Arab. "Zambur," whose head is amputated in female
circumcision. See Night cccclxxiv.

 Ocymum basilicum noticed in Introduction, the bassilico of
Boccaccio iv. 5. The Book of Kalilah and Dimnah represents it as
"sprouting with something also whose smell is foul and disgusting
and the sower at once sets to gather it and burn it with fire."
(The Fables of Bidpai translated from the later Syriac version by
I. G. N. Keith-Falconer, etc., etc., etc., Cambridge University
Press, 1885). Here, however, Habk is a pennyroyal (mentha
puligium), and probably alludes to the pecten.

 i. e. common property for all to beat.

 "A digit of the moon" is the Hindu equivalent.

 Better known to us as Caravanserai, the "Travellers'
Bungalow" of India: in the Khan, however, shelter is to be had, but
neither bed nor board.

 Arab. "Zubb." I would again note that this and its
synonyms are the equivalents of the Arabic, which is of the lowest.
The tale-teller's evident object is to accentuate the contrast with
the tragical stories to follow.

 "ln the name of Allah," is here a civil form of
dismissal.

 Lane (i. 124) is scandalised and naturally enough by this
scene, which is the only blot in an admirable tale admirably told.
Yet even here the grossness is but little more pronounced than what
we find in our old drama (e. g., Shakespeare's King Henry V.)
written for the stage, whereas tales like The Nights are not read
or recited before both sexes. Lastly "nothing follows all this
palming work:" in Europe the orgie would end very differently.
These "nuns of Theleme" are physically pure: their debauchery is of
the mind, not the body. Galland makes them five, including the two
doggesses.

 So Sir Francis Walsingham's "They which do that they
should not, should hear that they would not."

 The old "Calendar," pleasantly associated with that form
of almanac. The Mac. Edit. has Karandaliyah," a vile corruption,
like Ibn Batutah's "Karandar" and Torrens' "Kurundul:" so in
English we have the accepted vulgarism of "Kernel" for Colonel. The
Bull Edit. uses for synonym "Su'uluk"an asker, a beggar. Of these
mendicant monks, for such they are, much like the Sarabaites of
medieval Europe, I have treated and of their institutions and its
founder, Shaykh Sharif Bu Ali Kalandar (ob. A. H. 724 1323-24), at
some length in my "History of Sindh," chaps. viii. See also the
Dabistan (i. 136) where the good Kalandar exclaims:--

     If the thorn break in my body, how trifling the pain!
     But how sorely I feel for the poor broken thorn!

D'Herbelot is right when he says that the Kalandar is not generally
approved by Moslems: he labours to win free from every form and
observance and he approaches the Malamati who conceals all his
good
deeds and boasts of his evil doings--our "Devil's hypocrite."

 The "Kalandar" disfigures himself in this manner to show
"mortification."

 Arab. "Gharib:" the porter is offended because the word
implies "poor devil;" esp. one out of his own country.

 A religious mendicant generally.

 Very scandalous to Moslem "respectability" Mohammed said
the house was accursed when the voices of women could be heard out
of doors. Moreover the neighbours have a right to interfere and
abate the scandal.

 I need hardly say that these are both historical
personages; they will often be mentioned, and Ja'afar will be
noticed in the Terminal Essay.

 Arab. "Same 'an wa ta'atan"; a popular phrase of assent
generally translated "to hear is to obey;" but this formula may be
and must be greatly varied. In places it means "Hearing (the word
of Allah) and obeying" (His prophet, viceregent, etc.)

 Arab. "Sawab"reward in Heaven. This word for which we
have no equivalent has been naturalized in all tongues (e. g.
Hindostani) spoken by Moslems.

 Wine-drinking, at all times forbidden to Moslems, vitiates
the Pilgrimage rite: the Pilgrim is vowed to a strict observance of
the ceremonial law and many men date their "reformation" from the
"Hajj." Pilgrimage, iii., 126.

 Here some change has been necessary; as the original text
confuses the three "ladies."

 In Arab. the plural masc. is used by way of modesty when
a girl addresses her lover and for the same reason she speaks of
herself as a man.

 Arab. "Al-Na'im", in ful "Jannat-al-Na'im"  the Garden of
Delights, i.e. the fifth Heaven made of white silver. The generic
name of Heaven (the place of reward) is "Jannat," lit. a garden;
"Firdaus" being evidently derived from the Persian through the
Greek {Greek Letters}, and meaning a chase, a hunting park. Writers
on this subject should bear in mind Mandeville's modesty, "Of
Paradise I cannot speak properly, for I was not there."

 Arab. "Mikra'ah," the dried mid-rib of a date-frond used
for many purposes, especially the bastinado.

 According to Lane (i., 229) these and the immediately
following verses are from an ode by Ibn Sahl al-Ishbili. They are
in the Bull Edit. not the Mac. Edit.

 The original is full of conceits and plays on words which
are not easily rendered in English.

 Arab. "Tarjuman," same root as Chald. Targum (  a
translation), the old "Truchman," and through the Ital. "tergomano"
our "Dragoman," here a messenger.

 Lit. the "person of the eyes," our "babe of the eyes," a
favourite poetical conceit in all tongues; much used by the
Elizabethans, but now neglected as a silly kind of conceit. See
Night ccix.

 Arab. "Sar" (Thar) the revenge-right recognised by law and
custom (Pilgrimage, iii., 69).

 That is "We all swim in the same boat."

 Ja'afar ever acts, on such occasions, the part of a wise
and sensible man compelled to join in a foolish frolic. He
contrasts strongly with the Caliph, a headstrong despot who will
not be gainsaid, whatever be the whim of the moment. But Easterns
would look upon this as a proof of his "kingliness."

 Arab. "Wa'l- Salam" (pronounced Was-Salam); meaning "and
here ends the matter." In our slang we say "All right, and the
child's name is Antony."

 This is a favourite jingle, the play being upon "ibrat" (a
needle-graver) and " 'ibrat" (an example, a warning).

 That is "make his bow," as the English peasant pulls his
forelock. Lane (i., 249) suggests, as an afterthought, that it
means:--"Recover thy senses; in allusion to a person's drawing his
hand over his head after sleep or a fit." But it occurs elsewhere
in the sense of "cut thy stick."

 This would be a separate building like our family tomb and
probably domed, resembling that mentioned in "The King of the Black
Islands." Europeans usually call it "a little Wali;" or, as they
write it, "Wely," the contained for the container; the "Santon" for
the "Santon's tomb." I have noticed this curious confusion (which
begins with Robinson, i. 322) in "Unexplored Syria," i. 161.

 Arab. "Wiswas,"  diabolical temptation or suggestion. The
"Wiswasi" is a man with scruples (scrupulus, a pebble in the shoe),
e.g. one who fears that his ablutions were deficient, etc.

 Arab. "Katf"  pinioning by tying the arms behind the back
and shoulders (Kitf) a dire disgrace to free-born men.

 Arab. "Nafs."Hebr. Nephesh (Nafash) soul, life as
opposed to "Ruach" spirit and breath. In these places it is
equivalent to "I said to myself." Another form of the root is
"Nafas," breath, with an idea of inspiration: so 'Sahib Nafas"
(master of breath) is a minor saint who heals by expiration, a
matter familiar to mesmerists (Pilgrimage, i., 86).

 Arab. "Kaus al-Banduk;" the "pellet bow" of modern India;
with two strings joined by a bit of cloth which supports a ball of
dry clay or stone. It is chiefly used for birding.

 In the East blinding was a common practice, especially in
the case of junior princes not required as heirs. A deep
perpendicular incision was made down each corner of the eyes; the
lids were lifted and the balls removed by cutting the optic nerve
and the muscles. The later Caliphs blinded their victims by passing
a red-hot sword blade close to the orbit or a needle over the
eye-ball. About the same time in Europe the operation was performed
with a heated metal basin--the well known bacinare (used by
Ariosto), as happened to Pier delle Vigne (Petrus de Vinea), the
"godfather of modern Italian."

 Arab. "Khinzir" (by Europeans pronounced "Hanzir"), prop.
a wild-boar, but popularly used like our "you pig!"

 Striking with the shoe, the pipe-stick and similar
articles is highly insulting, because they are not made, like whips
and scourges, for such purpose. Here the East and the West differ
diametrically. "Wounds which are given by instruments which are in
one's hands by chance do not disgrace a man," says Cervantes (D. Q.
i., chaps. 15), and goes on to prove that if a Zapatero (cobbler)
cudgel another with his form or last, the latter must not consider
himself cudgelled. The reverse in the East where a blow of a pipe
stick cost Mahommed Ali Pasha's son his life: Ishmail Pasha was
burned to death by Malik Nimr, chief of Shendy (Pilgrimage, i.,
203). Moreover, the actual wound is less considered in Moslem law
than the instrument which caused it: so sticks and stones are
venial weapons, whilst sword and dagger, gun and pistol are
felonious. See ibid. (i., 336) for a note upon the weapons with
which nations are policed.

 Incest is now abominable everywhere except amongst the
overcrowded poor of great and civilised cities. Yet such unions
were common and lawful amongst ancient and highly cultivated
peoples, as the Egyptians (Isis and Osiris), Assyrians and ancient
Persians. Physiologically they are injurious only when the parents
have constitutional defects: if both are sound, the issue, as
amongst the so-called "lower animals " is viable and healthy.

 Dwellers in the Northern Temperates can hardly imagine
what a dust-storm is in sun parched tropical lands. In Sind we were
often obliged to use candles at mid-day, while above the dust was
a sun that would roast an egg.

 Arab. " 'Urban," now always used of the wild people, whom
the French have taught us to call les Bedouins; "Badw" being a
waste or desert, and Badawi (fem. Badawiyah, plur. Badawi and
Bidwan), a man of the waste. Europeans have also learnt to miscall
the Egyptians "Arabs": the difference is as great as between an
Englishman and a Spaniard. Arabs proper divide their race into
sundry successive families. "The Arab al-Araba" (or al- Aribah, or
al-Urubiyat) are the autochthones, prehistoric, proto-historic and
extinct tribes; for instance, a few of the Adites who being at
Meccah escaped the destruction of their wicked nation, but mingled
with other classes. The "Arab al-Muta'arribah," (Arabised Arabs)
are the first advene represented by such noble strains as the
Koraysh (Koreish), some still surviving. The "Arab al-Musta'aribah"
(insititious, naturalized or instituted Arabs, men who claim to be
Arabs) are Arabs like the Sinaites, the Egyptians and the Maroccans
descended by intermarriage with other races. Hence our
"Mosarabians" and the "Marrabais" of Rabelais (not, "a word
compounded of Maurus and Arabs"). Some genealogists, however, make
the Muta'arribah descendants of Kahtan (possibly the Joktan of
Genesis x., a comparatively modern document, B.C. 700?); and the
Musta'aribah those descended from Adnan the origin of Arab
genealogy. And, lastly, are the "Arab al-Musta'ajimah," barbarised
Arabs, like the present population of Meccah and Al-Medinah.
Besides these there are other tribes whose origin is still unknown,
such as the Mahrah tribes of Hazramaut, the "Akhdam" (serviles) of
Oman (Maskat); and the "Ebna" of Al-Yaman: Ibn Ishak supposes the
latter to be descended from the Persian soldiers of Anushirwan who
expelled the Abyssinian invader from Southern Arabia.
(Pilgrimage, m., 31, etc.)

 Arab. "Amir al-Muuminin." The title was assumed by the
Caliph Omar to obviate the inconvenience of calling himself
"Khalifah" (successor) of the Khalifah of the Apostle of Allah
(i.e. Abu Bakr); which after a few generations would become
impossible. It means "Emir (chief or prince) of the Muumins," men
who hold to the (true Moslem) Faith, the "Iman" (theory,
fundamental articles) as opposed to the "Din," ordinance or
practice of the religion. It once became a Wazirial time conferred
by Sultan Malikshah (King King- king) on his Nizam al-Murk.
(Richardson's Dissert. [viii.)

 This may also mean "according to the seven editions of the
Koran " the old revisions and so forth (Sale, Sect. iii. and
D'Herbelot "Alcoran.") The schools of the "Mukri," who teach the
right pronunciation wherein a mistake might be sinful, are seven,
Harnzah, Ibn Katir, Ya'akub, Ibn Amir, Kisai, Asim and Hafs, the
latter being the favourite with the Hanafis and the only one now
generally known in Al-Islam.

 Arab. "Sadd"wall, dyke, etc. the "bund" or "band" of
Anglo-India. Hence the "Sadd" on the Nile, the banks of grass and
floating islands which "wall" the stream. There are few sights more
appalling than a sandstorm in the desert, the "Zauba'ah" as the
Arabs call it. Devils, or pillars of sand, vertical and inclined,
measuring a thousand feet high, rush over the plain lashing the
sand at their base like a sea surging under a furious whirlwind;
shearing the grass clean away from the roots, tearing up trees,
which are whirled like leaves and sticks in air and sweeping away
tents and houses as if they were bits of paper. At last the columns
join at the top and form, perhaps three thousand feet above the
earth, a gigantic cloud of yellow sand which obliterates not only
the horizon but even the mid-day sun. These sand-spouts are the
terror of travellers. In Sind and the Punjab we have the dust-
storm which for darkness, I have said, beats the blackest London
fog.

 Arab. Sar  the vendetta, before mentioned, as dreaded in
Arabia as in Corsica.

 Arab. "Ghutah," usually a place where irrigation is
abundant. It especially applies (in books) to the Damascus-plain
because "it abounds with water and fruit trees." The Ghutah is one
of the four earthly paradises, the others being Basrah (Bassorah),
Shiraz and Samarcand. Its peculiarity is the likeness to a seaport
the Desert which rolls up almost to its doors being the sea and its
ships being the camels. The first Arab to whom we owe this
admirable term for the "Companion of Job" is "Tarafah" one of the
poets of the Suspended Poems: he likens (v. v. 3, 4) the camels
which bore away his beloved to ships sailing from Aduli. But "ships
of the desert" is doubtless a term of the highest antiquity.

 The exigencies of the "Saj'a," or rhymed prose, disjoint
this and many similar pas. sages.

 The "Ebony" Islands; Scott's "Isle of Ebene," i., 217.

 "Jarjaris" in the Bul. Edit.

 Arab. "Takbis." Many Easterns can hardly sleep without
this kneading of the muscles, this "rubbing" whose hygienic
properties England is now learning.

 The converse of the breast being broadened, the drooping,
"draggle-tail" gait compared with the head held high and the
chest inflated.

 This penalty is mentioned in the Koran (chaps. v.) as fit
for those who fight against Allah and his Apostle, but commentators
are not agreed if the sinners are first to be put to death or to
hang on the cross till they die. Pharaoh (chaps. xx.) threatens to
crucify his magicians on palm-trees, and is held to be the first
crucifier.

 Arab. "'Ajami"foreigner, esp. a Persian: the latter in
The Nights is mostly a villain. I must here remark that the
contemptible condition of Persians in Al-Hijaz (which I noted in
1852, Pilgrimage, i., 327) has completely changed. They are no
longer, "The slippers of All and hounds of Omar:" they have learned
the force of union and now, instead of being bullied, they bully.

 The Calc. Edit. turns into Tailors (Khayyatin) and
Torrens
does not see the misprint.

 i.e. Axe and sandals.

 Lit. "Strike his neck."

 A phrase which will frequently recur; meaning the
situation suggested such words a these.

 The smiter with the evil eye is called "A'in" and the
person smitten "Ma'im" or "Ma'un."

 Arab. "Sakiyah," the well-known Persian wheel with pots
and buckets attached to the tire. It is of many kinds, the boxed,
etc., etc., and it is possibly alluded to in the "pitcher broken at
the fountain" (Eccleslastes xii. 6) an accident often occurring to
the modern "Noria." Travellers mostly abuse its "dismal creaking"
and "mournful monotony": I have defended the music of the
water-wheel in Pilgrimage ii. 198.

 Arab. "Zikr" lit. remembering, mentioning (i. c. the names
of Allah), here refers to the meetings of religious for devotional
exercises; the "Zikkirs," as they are called, mostly standing or
sitting in a circle while they ejaculate the Holy Name. These
"rogations" are much affected by Darwayshes, or begging friars,
whom Europe politely divides Unto "dancing" and "howling"; and, on
one occasion, greatly to the scandal of certain Englanderinns to
whom I was showing the Ezbekiyah I joined the ring of "howlers."
Lane (Mod. Egypt, see index) is profuse upon the subject of "Zikrs"
and Zikkits. It must not be supposed that they are uneducated men:
the better class, however, prefers more privacy.

 As they thought he had been there for prayer or penance.

 Arab. "Ziyarat," a visit to a pious person or place.

 This is a paternal salute in the East where they are
particular about the part kissed. A witty and not unusually gross
Persian book, called the "Al-Namah" because all questions begin
with "Al" (the Arab article) contains one "Al-Wajib al-busidan?"
(what best deserves bussing?) and the answer is "Kus-i-nau-pashm,"
(a bobadilla with a young bush).

 A weight of 71-72 English grains in gold; here equivalent
to the diner.

 Compare the tale of The Three Crows in Gammer Grethel,
Evening ix.

 The comparison is peculiarly apposite; the earth seen from
above appears hollow with a raised rim.

 A hundred years old.

 "Bahr" in Arab. means sea, river, piece of water; hence
the adjective is needed.

 The Captain or Master of the ship (not the owner). In
Al-Yaman the word also means a "barber," in virtue of the root,
Rass, a head.

 The text has "in the character Ruka'i,"," or Rika'i,, the
correspondence-hand.

 A curved character supposed to be like the basil-leaf
(rayhan). Richardson calls it "Rohani."

 I need hardly say that Easterns use a reed, a Calamus
(Kalam applied only to the cut reed) for our quills and steel
pens.

 Famous for being inscribed on the Kiswah (cover) of
Mohammed's tomb; a large and more formal hand still used for
engrossing and for mural inscriptions. Only seventy two varieties
of it are known (Pilgrimage, ii., 82).

 The copying and transcribing hand which is either Arabi or
Ajami. A great discovery has been lately made which upsets all our
old ideas of Cufic, etc. Mr. Loytved of Bayrut has found, amongst
the Hauranic inscriptions, one in pure Naskhi, dating A. D. 568, or
fifty years before the Hijrah; and it is accepted as authentic by
my learned friend M. Ch. Clermont-Ganneau (p. 193, Pal. Explor.
Fund. July 1884). In D'Herbelot and Sale's day the Koran was
supposed to have been written in rude characters, like those
subsequently called "Cufic," invented shortly before Mohammed's
birth by Muramir ibn Murrah of Anbar in Irak, introduced into
Meccah by Bashar the Kindian, and perfected by Ibn Muklah
(Al-Wazir, ob. A. H. 328940). We must now change all that. See
Catalogue of Oriental Caligraphs, etc., by G. P, Badger, London,
Whiteley, 1885.

 Capital and uncial letters; the hand in which the Ka'abah
veil is inscribed (Pilgrimage iii. 299, 300).

 A "Court hand" says Mr. Payne (i. 112): I know nothing of
it. Other hands are: the Ta'alik; hanging or oblique, used for
finer MSS. and having, according to Richardson, "the same analogy
to the Naskhi as our Italic has to the Roman." The Nasta' lik (not
Naskh-Ta'alik) much used in India, is, as the name suggests, a
mixture of the Naskhi (writing of transactions) and the Ta'alik.
The Shikastah (broken hand) everywhere represents our running hand
and becomes a hard task to the reader. The Kirma is another cursive
character, mostly confined to the receipts and disbursements of the
Turkish treasury. The Divani, or Court (of Justice) is the official
hand, bold and round. a business character, the lines often rising
with a sweep or curve towards the (left) end. The Jali or polished
has a variety, the Jali-Ta'alik: the Sulsi (known in many books) is
adopted for titles of volumes, royal edicts, diplomas and so forth;
"answering much the same purpose as capitals with us, or the
flourished letters in illuminated manuscripts" (Richardson) The
Tughrai is that of the Tughra, the Prince's cypher or flourishing
signature in ceremonial writings, and containing some such sentence
as: Let this be executed. There are others e. g. Yakuti and
Sirenkil known only by name. Finally the Maghribi (Moorish) hand
differs in form and diacritical points from the characters used
further east almost as much as German running hand does from
English. It is curious that Richardson omits the Jali (intricate
and convoluted) and the divisions of the Sulusi, Sulsi or Sulus
(Thuluth) character, the Sulus al-Khafif, etc.

 Arab. "Baghlah"; the male (Bagful) is used only for loads.
This is everywhere the rule: nothing is more unmanageable than a
restive "Macho", and he knows that he can always get you off his
back when so minded. From "Baghlah" is derived the name of the
native craft Anglo-Indice a "Buggalow."

 In Heb. ""Ben-Adam" is any man opp. to "Beni ish"
(Psalm iv. 3) filii viri, not homines.

 This posture is terribly trying to European legs; and few
white men (unless brought up to it) can squat for any time on their
heels. The ``tailor-fashion," with crossed legs, is held to be free
and easy.

 Arab. "Kata"Pterocles Alchata, the well-known sand-grouse
of the desert. It is very poor white flesh.

 Arab. "Khubz" which I do not translate "cake" or
``bread,'' as thee would suggest the idea of our loaf. The staff of
life in the East is a thin flat circle of dough baked in the oven
or on the griddle, and corresponding with the Scotch "scone," the
Spanish tortilla and the Australian "flap-jack."

 Arab. "Harisah," a favourite dish of wheat (or rice)
boiled and reduced to a paste with shredded meat, spices and
condiments. The "bangles" is a pretty girl eating with him.

 These lines are repeated with a difference in Night
cccxxx. They affect Rims cars, out of the way, heavy rhymes: e. g.
here Sakarij (plur. of Sakruj, platters, porringers); Tayahij
(plur. of Tayhuj, the smaller caccabis-partridge); Tabahij (Persian
Tabahjah, an me et or a stew of meat, onions, eggs, etc.) Ma'arij
("in stepped piles" like the pyramids Lane ii 495, renders "on the
stairs"); Makarij (plur. of Makraj, a small pot); Damalij (plur. of
dumluj, a bracelet, a bangle); Dayabij (brocades) and Tafarij
(openings, enjoyments). In Night cccxxx. we find also Sikabij
(plur. of Sikbaj, marinated meat elsewhere explained); Fararij
(plur. of farruj, a chicken, vulg. farkh) and Dakakij (plur. of Gr.
dakujah,, a small Jar). In the first line we have also (though not
a rhyme) Gharanik Gr.        , a crane, preserved in Romaic. The
weeping and wailing are caused by the remembrance that all these
delicacies have been demolished like a Badawi camp.

 This is the vinum coctum, the boiled wine, still a
favourite in Southern Italy and Greece.

 Eastern topers delight in drinking at dawn: upon this
subject I shall have more to say in other Nights.

 Arab. "Adab," a crux to translators, meaning anything
between good education and good manners. In mod. Turk. "Edibiyyet"
(Adabiyat)  belles lettres and "Edebi' or "Edib"  a litterateur.

 The Caliph Al-Maamun, who was a bad player, used to say,
"I have the administration of the world and am equal to it, whereas
I am straitened in the ordering of a space of two spans by two
spans." The "board" was then "a square field of well-dressed
leather."

 The Rabbis (after Matth. xix. 12) count three kinds of
Eunuchs; (1) Seris chammahof the sun, i.e. natural, (2) Seris
Adammanufactured per homines; and (3) Seris Chammayim--of God
(i.e.. religious abstainer). Seris (castrated) or Abd (slave) is
the general Hebrew name.

 The "Lady of Beauty."

 "Kaf" has been noticed as the mountain which surrounds
earth as a ring does the finger:: it is popularly used like our Alp
and Alpine. The "circumambient Ocean" (Bahr al-muhit) is the
Homeric Ocean-stream.

 The pomegranate is probably chosen here because each fruit
is supposed to contain one seed from Eden-garden. Hence a host of
superstitions (Pilgrimage iii., 104) possibly connected with the
Chaldaic-Babylonian god Rimmon or Ramanu. Hence Persephone or
Ishtar tasted the "rich pomegranate's seed." Lenormant, loc. cit.
pp. 166, 182.

 i.e. for the love of God--a favourite Moslem phrase.

 Arab. "Bab," also meaning a chapter (of magic, of war,
etc.), corresponding with the Persian "Dar" as in Sad-dar, the
Hundred Doors. Here, however, it is figurative "I tried a new
mode." This scene is in the Mabinogion.

 I use this Irish term  crying for the dead, as English
wants the word for the prefica, or myrialogist. The practice is not
encouraged in Al-Islam; and Caliph Abu Bakr said, ; "Verily a
corpse is sprinkled with boiling water by reason of the
lamentations of the living, i.e. punished for not having taken
measures to prevent their profitless lamentations. But the practice
is from Negroland whence it reached Egypt, and the people have
there developed a curious system in the "weeping-song" I have noted
this in "The Lake Regions of Central Africa." In Zoroastrianism
(Dabistan, chaps. xcvii.) tears shed for the dead form a river in
hell, black and frigid.

 These lines are hardly translatable. Arab. "Sabr" means
"patience" as well as "aloes," hereby lending itself to a host of
puns and double entendres more or less vile. The aloe, according to
Burckhardt, is planted in graveyards as a lesson of patience: it is
also slung, like the dried crocodile, over house doors to prevent
evil spirits entering: "thus hung without earth and water," says
Lane (M.E., chaps. xi.), "it will live for several years and even
blossom. Hence (?) it is called Sabr, which signifies patience. But
Sibr as well as Sabr (a root) means "long sufferance." I hold the
practice to be one of the many Inner African superstitions. The
wild Gallas to the present day plant aloes on graves, and suppose
that when the plant sprouts the deceased has been admitted to the
gardens of Wak, the Creator. (Pilgrimage iii. 350.)

 Every city in the East has its specific title: this was
given to Baghdad either on account of its superior police or simply
because it was the Capital of the Caliphate. The Tigris was also
called the "River of Peace (or Security)."

 This is very characteristic: the passengers finding
themselves in difficulties at once take command. See in my
Pilgrimage (I. chaps. xi.) how we beat and otherwise maltreated the
Captain of the "Golden Wire."

 The fable is probably based on the currents which, as in
Eastern Africa, will carry a ship fifty miles a day out of her
course. We first find it in Ptolemy (vii. 2) whose Maniolai
Islands, of India extra Gangem, cause iron nails to fly out of
ships, the effect of the Lapis Herculeus (Loadstone). Rabelais (v.
c. 37) alludes to it and to the vulgar idea of magnetism being
counteracted by Skordon (Scordon or garlic). Hence too the Adamant
(Loadstone) Mountains of Mandeville (chaps. xxvii.) and the
"Magnetic Rock" in Mr Puttock's clever "Peter Wilkins." I presume
that the myth also arose from seeing craft built, as on the East
African Coast, without iron nails. We shall meet with the legend
again. The word Jabal ("Jebel" in Egypt) often occurs in these
pages. The Arabs apply it to any rising ground or heap of rocks; so
it is not always  our mountain. It has found its way to Europe
e. g. Gibraltar and Monte Gibello (or Mongibel in poetry) "Mt. Ethne
that men clepen Mounte Gybelle." Other special senses of Jabal
will occur.

 As we learn from the Nubian Geographer the Arabs in early
ages explored the Fortunate Islands (Jazirat al-KhalidatEternal
Isles), or Canaries, on one of which were reported a horse and
horseman in bronze with his spear pointing west. Ibn al-Ward) notes
two images of hard stone, each an hundred cubits high, and upon the
top of each a figure of copper pointing with its hand backwards, as
though it would say:--Return for there is nothing behind me!" But
this legend attaches to older doings. The 23rd Tobba (who succeeded
Bilkis), Malik bin Sharhabil, (or Sharabil or Sharahil) surnamed
Nashir al-Ni'amscatterer of blessings, lost an army in attempting
the Western sands and set up a statue of copper upon whose breast
was inscribed in antique characters:--

     There is no access behind me,
     Nothing beyond,
     (Saith) The Son of Sharabil.

 i.e. I exclaimed "Bismillah!"

 The lesser ablution of hands, face and feet; a kind of
"washing the points." More in Night ccccxl.

 Arab. "Ruka'tayn"; the number of these bows which are
followed by the prostrations distinguishes the five daily
prayers.

 The "Beth Kol" of the Hebrews; also called by the Moslems
"Hatif"; for which ask the Spiritualists. It is the Hindu "voice
divine" or "voice from heaven."

 These formulae are technically called Tasmiyah, Tahlil
(before noted) and Takbir: i.e. "testifying" is Tashhid.

 Arab. "Samn," (Pers. "Raughan" Hind. "Ghi") the "single
sauce" of the East; fresh butter set upon the fire, skimmed and
kept (for a century if required) in leather bottles and demijohns.
Then it becomes a hard black mass, considered a panacea for wounds
and diseases. It is very "filling": you say jocosely to an Eastern
threatened with a sudden inroad of guests, "Go, swamp thy rice with
Raughan." I once tried training, like a Hindu Pahlawan or athlete,
on Gur (raw sugar), milk and Ghi; and the result was being blinded
by bile before the week ended.

 These handsome youths are always described in the terms we
should apply to women.

 The Bull Edit. (i. 43) reads otherwise:--I found a garden
and a second and a third and so on till they numbered thirty and
nine; and, in each garden, I saw what praise will not express, of
trees and rills and fruits and treasures. At the end of the last I
sighted a door and said to myself, "What may be in this place?;
needs must I open it and look in!" I did so accordingly and saw a
courser ready saddled and bridled and picketed; so I loosed and
mounted him, and he flew with me like a bird till he set me down on
a terrace-roof; and, having landed me, he struck me a whisk with
his tail and put out mine eye and fled from me. Thereupon I
descended from the roof and found ten youths all blind of one eye
who, when they saw me exclaimed, "No welcome to thee, and no good
cheer!" I asked them, "Do ye admit me to your home and society?"
and they answered, "No, by Allah' thou shalt not live amongst us."
So I went forth with weeping eyes and grieving heart, but Allah had
written my safety on the Guarded Tablet so I reached Baghdad in
safety, etc. This is a fair specimen of how the work has been
curtailed in that issue.

 Arabs date pregnancy from the stopping of the menses, upon
which the foetus is supposed to feed. Kalilah wa Dimnah says, "The
child's navel adheres to that of his mother and thereby he sucks"
(i. 263).

 This is contrary to the commands of Al-Islam, Mohammed
expressly said "The Astrologers are liars, by the Lord of the
Ka'abah!"; and his saying is known to almost all Moslems, lettered
or unlettered. Yet, the further we go East (Indiawards) the more we
find these practices held in honour. Turning westwards we have:

     Iuridicis, Erebo, Fisco, fas vivere rapto:
     Militibus, Medicis, Tortori occidere ludo est;
     Mentiri Astronomis, Pictoribus atque Poetis.

 He does not perform the Wuzu or lesser ablution because he
neglects his dawn prayers.

 For this game see Lane (M. E. Chapt. xvii.) It is usually
played on a checked cloth not on a board like our draughts; and
Easterns are fond of eating, drinking and smoking between and even
during the games. Torrens (p. 142) translates "I made up some
dessert," confounding "Mankalah" with "Nukl" (dried fruit,
quatre-mendiants).

 Quoted from Mohammed whose saying has been given.

 We should say "the night of the thirty-ninth."

 The bath first taken after sickness.

 Arab. "Dikak" used by way of soap or rather to soften the
skin: the meal is usually of lupins, "Adas""Revalenta Arabica,"
which costs a penny in Egypt and half-a-crown in England.

 Arab. "Sukkar-nabat." During my day (1842-49) we had no
other sugar in the Bombay Presidency.

 This is one of the myriad Arab instances that the decrees
of "Anagke," Fate, Destiny, Weird, are inevitable. The situation is
highly dramatic; and indeed The Nights, as will appear in the
Terminal Essay, have already suggested a national drama.

 Having lately been moved by Ajib.

 Mr. Payne (i. 131) omits these lines which appear out of
place; but this mode of inappropriate quotation is a characteristic
of Eastern tales.

 Anglice "him."

 This march of the tribe is a lieu commun of Arab verse
e.g. the poet Labid's noble elegy on the "Deserted Camp." We shall
find scores of instances in The Nights.

 I have heard of such sands in the Desert east of Damascus
which can be crossed only on boards or camel furniture; and the
same is reported of the infamous Region "Al-Ahklaf" ("Unexplored
Syria").

 Hence the Arab. saying "The bark of a dog and not the
gleam of a fire;" the tired traveller knows from the former that
the camp is near, whereas the latter shows from great distances.

 Dark blue is the colour of mourning in Egypt as it was of
the Roman Republic. The Persians hold that this tint was introduced
by Kay Kawus (B. C. 600) when mourning for his son Siyawush. It was
continued till the death of Husayn on the 10th of Muharram (the
first month, then representing the vernal equinox) when it was
changed for black. As a rule Moslems do not adopt this symbol of
sorrow (called "Hidad") looking upon the practice as somewhat
idolatrous and foreign to Arab manners. In Egypt and especially on
the Upper Nile women dye their hands with indigo and stair. their
faces black or blacker.

 The older Roc, of which more in the Tale of Sindbad.
Meanwhile the reader curious about the Persian Simurgh (thirty
bird) will consult the Dabistan, i., 55,191 and iii., 237, and
Richardson's Diss. p. xlviii. For the Anka (Enka or Unka--long
necked bird) see Dab. iii., 249 and for the Huma (bird of Paradise)
Richardson lxix. We still lack details concerning the Ben or Bennu
(nycticorax) of Egypt which with the Article pi gave rise to the
Greek "phoenix."

 Probably the Haledj of Forskal (p. xcvi. Flor. Egypt.
Arab.), "lignum tenax, durum, obscuri generic." The Bres. Edit. has
"akul"teak wood, vulg. "Saj."

 The knocker ring is an invention well known to the
Romans.

 Arab. "Sadr"; the place of honour; hence the "Sudder
Adawlut" (Supreme Court) in the Anglo-Indian jargon.

 Arab. "Ahlan wa sahlan wa marhaba," the words still
popularly addressed to a guest.

 This may mean "liquid black eyes"; but also, as I have
noticed, that the lashes were long and thick enough to make the
eyelids appear as if Kohl-powder had been applied to the inner
rims.

 A slight parting between the two front incisors, the upper
only, is considered a beauty by Arabs; why it as hard to say except
for the racial love of variety. "Sugar" (Thug) in the text means,
primarily, the opening of the mouth, the gape: hence the front
teeth.

 i.e. makes me taste the bitterness of death, "bursting the
gall-bladder" (Mararah) being our "breaking the heart."

 Almost needless to say that forbidden doors and rooms form
a lieu-commun in Fairie: they are found in the Hindu Katha Sarit
Sagara and became familiar to our childhood by "Bluebeard."

 Lit. "apply Kohl to my eyes," even as Jezebel "painted her
face," in Heb. put her eyes in painting (2 Kings ix. 30).

 Arab. "Al-Barkuk," whence our older "Apricock."
Classically it is "Burkuk" and Pers. for Arab. "Mishrnish," and it
also denotes a small plum or damson. In Syria the side next the
sun" shows a glowing red flush.

 Arab. "Hazar" (in Persian, a thousand)  a kind of
mocking bird.

 Some Edits. make the doors number a hundred, but the
Princesses were forty and these coincidences, which seem to have
significance and have none save for Arab symmetromania, are
common in Arab stories.

 Arab. "Majur": hence possibly our "mazer," which is
popularly derived from Masarn, a maple.

 A compound scent of ambergris, musk and aloes.

 The ends of the bridle-reins forming the whip.

 The flying horse is Pegasus which is a Greek travesty of
an Egyptian myth developed India.

 The Bres. Edit. wrongly says "the seventh."

 Arab. "Sharmutah" (plur. Sharamit) from the root Sharmat,
to shred, a favourite Egyptian word also applied in vulgar speech
to a strumpet, a punk, a piece. It is also the popular term for
strips of jerked or boucaned meat hung up m the sun to dry, and
classically called "Kadid."

 Arab. "Izar," the man's waistcloth opposed to the Rida or
shoulder-cloth, is also the sheet of white calico worn by the
poorer Egyptian women out of doors and covering head and hands. See
Lane (M. E., chaps. i.). The rich prefer a "Habarah" of black silk,
and the poor, when they have nothing else, use a bed-sheet.

 i.e. "My clears."

 Arab. "La tawakhizna:" lit. "do not chastise (or blame)
us;" the pop. expression for, "excuse (or pardon) us."

 Arab. "Maskhut," mostly applied to change of shape as man
enchanted to monkey, and in vulgar parlance applied to a statue (of
stone, etc.). The list of metamorphoses in Al-Islam is longer than
that known to Ovid. Those who have seen Petra, the Greek town of
the Hauran and the Roman ruins in Northern Africa will readily
detect the bests upon which these stories are built. I shall return
to this subject in The City of Iram (Night cclxxvi.) and The City
of Brass (dlxvii.).

 A picturesque phrase enough to express a deserted site, a
spectacle familiar to the Nomades and always abounding in pathos to
the citizens.

 The olden "Harem" (or gyneceum, Pers. Zenanah, Serraglio):
Harim is also used by synecdoche for the inmates; especially the
wife.

 The pearl is supposed in the East to lose 1 per ann. of
its splendour and value.

 Arab. "Fass," properly the bezel of a ring; also a gem cut
en cabochon and generally the contenant for the contenu.

 Arab. "Mihrab"  the arch-headed niche in the Mosque-wall
facing Meccah-wards. Here, with his back to the people and fronting
the Ka'abah or Square House of Meccah (hence called the "Kiblah" 
direction of prayer), stations himself the Imam, artistes or
fugleman, lit. "one who stands before others;" and his bows and
prostrations give the time to the congregation. I have derived the
Mihrab from the niche in which the Egyptian God was shrined: the
Jews ignored it, but the Christians preserved it for their statues
and altars. Maundrell suggests that the empty niche denotes an
invisible God. As the niche (symbol of Venus) and the minaret
(symbol of Priapus) date only from the days of the tenth Caliph,
Al-Walid (A.H. 86-96105-115), the Hindus charge the Moslems with
having borrowed the two from their favourite idols--The Linga-Yoni
or Cunnus phallus (Pilgrimage ii. 140), and plainly call the Mihrab
a Bhaga Cunnus (Dabistan ii. 152). The Guebres further term Meccah
"Mah-gah," locus Lune, and Al-Medinah, "Mahdinah,"  Moon of
religion. See Dabistan i., 49, etc.


 Arab "Kursi," a stool of palm-fronds, etc., X-shaped (see
Lane's illustration, Nights i., 197), before which the reader sits.
Good Moslems will not hold the Holy Volume below the waist nor open
it except when ceremonially pure. Englishmen in the East should
remember this, for to neglect the "Adab al-Kuran" (respect due to
Holy Writ) gives great scandal.

 Mr. Payne (i. 148) quotes the German Zuckerpuppchen.

 The Persian poets have a thousand conceits in praise of
the "mole," (Khal or Shamah) for which Hafiz offered "Samarkand and
Bokhara" (they not being his, as his friends remarked). Another
"topic" is the flight of arrows shot by eyelashes.

 Arab. "Suha" a star in the Great Bear introduced only to
balance "wushat"  spies, enviers, enemies, whose "evil eye" it
will ward off.

 In Arab tales beauty is always "soft-sided," and a smooth
skin is valued in proportion to its rarity.

 The myrtle is the young hair upon the side face

 In other copies of these verses the fourth couplet swears
"by the scorpions of his brow" i.e. the accroche-ceurs, the
beau-catchers, bell-ropes or aggravators," as the B.P. calls them.
In couplet eight the poet alludes to his love's "Unsur," or element
his nature made up of the four classicals, and in the last couplet
he makes the nail paring refer to the moon not the sun.

 This is regular formula when speaking of Guebres.

 Arab. "Faraiz"; the orders expressly given in the Koran
which the reader will remember, is Uncreate and Eternal. In India
"Farz" is applied to injunctions thrice repeated; and "Wajib" to
those given twice over. Elsewhere scanty difference is made between
them.

 Arab. "Kufr"  rejecting the True Religion, i.e. Al-Islam,
such rejection being "Tughyan" or rebellion against the Lord. The
"terrible sound" is taken from the legend of the prophet Salih and
the proto-historic tribe of Thamud which for its impiety was struck
dead by an earthquake and a noise from heaven. The latter,
according to some commentators, was the voice of the Archangel
Gabriel crying "Die all of you" (Koran, chapts. vii., xviii.,
etc.). We shall hear more of it in the "City of many-columned
Iram." According to some, Salih, a mysterious Badawi prophet, is
buried in the Wady al-Shaykh of the so-called Sinaitic Peninsula.

 Yet they kept the semblance of man, showing that the idea
arose from the basaltic statues found in Hauranic ruins. Mohammed
in his various marches to Syria must have seen remnants of Greek
and Roman settlements; and as has been noticed "Sesostris"

 Arab. "Shuhada"; highly respected by Moslems as by other
religionists; although their principal if not only merit seems as
a rule to have been intense obstinacy and devotion to one idea for
which they were ready to sacrifice even life. The Martyrs-category
is extensive including those killed by falling walls; victims to
the plague, pleurisy and pregnancy, travellers drowned or otherwise
lost when journeying honestly, and chaste lovers who die of "broken
hearts" i.e. impaired digestion. Their souls are at once stowed
away in the crops of green birds where they remain till
Resurrection Day, "eating of the fruits and drinking of the streams
of Paradise," a place however, whose topography is wholly
uncertain. Thus the young Prince was rewarded with a manner of
anti-Purgatory, a preparatory heaven.

 Arab. "Su'uban:" the Badawin give the name to a variety of
serpents all held to be venomous; but m tales the word, like
"Tannin," expresses our "dragon" or "cockatrice."

 She was ashamed to see the lady doing servile duty by
rubbing her feet. This massage, which B. de la Brocquiere describes
in 1452 as "kneading and pinching," has already been noticed. The
French term is apparently derived from the Arab. "Mas-h."

 Alluding to the Most High Name, the hundredth name of God,
the Heb. Shem hamphorash, unknown save to a favoured few who by
using it perform all manner of miracles.

 i e. the Mediterranean and the Indian Ocean.

 i.e. Settled by the Koran.

 The uglier the old woman the better procuress she is
supposed to make. See the Santa Verdiana in Boccaccio v., 10. In
Arab. "Ajuz" (old woman) is highly insulting and if addressed to an
Egyptian, whatever be her age she will turn fiercely and resent it.
The polite term is Shaybah (Pilgrimage hi., 200).

 The four ages of woman, considered after Demosthenes in
her three-fold character, prostitute for pleasure, concubine for
service and wife for breeding.

 Arab. "Jila" (the Hindostani Julwa)  the displaying of
the bride before the bridegroom for the first time, in different
dresses, to the number of seven which are often borrowed for the
occasion. The happy man must pay a fee called "the tax of
face-unveiling" before he can see her features. Amongst Syrian
Christians he sometimes tries to lift the veil by a sharp movement
of the sword which is parried by the women present, and the blade
remains entangled in the cloth. At last he succeeds, the bride
sinks to the ground covering her face with her hands and the robes
of her friends: presently she is raised up, her veil is readjusted
and her face is left bare.

 Arab. "Isha" the first watch of the night, twilight,
supper-time, supper. Moslems have borrowed the four watches of the
Romans from 6 (a.m. or p.m.) to 6, and ignore the three original
watches of the Jews, even, midnight and cockcrow (Sam. ii. 19,
Judges vii. 19, and Exodus xiv. 24).

 A popular Arab hyperbole.

 Arab. "Shakaik al-Nu'uman," lit. the fissures of Nu'uman,
the beautiful anemone, which a tyrannical King of Hirah, Nu'uman
Al-Munzir, a contemporary of Mohammed, attempted to monopolize.

 Arab. "Andam"here the gum called dragon's blood; in other
places the dye-wood known as brazil.

 I need hardly say that in the East, where bells are
unused, clapping the hands summons the servants. In India men cry
"Quy hye" (Koi hai?) and in Brazil whistle "Pst!" after the fashion
of Spain and Portugal.

 The moles are here compared with pearls; a simile by no
means common or appropriate.

 A parody on the testification of Allah's Unity.

 Arab. "Simat" (prop. "Sumat"); the "dinner-table,"
composed of a round wooden stool supporting a large metal tray, the
two being called "Sufrah" (or "Simat"): thus "Sufrah hazirah!"
means dinner is on the table. After the meal they are at once
removed.

 In the text "Dastur," the Persian word before noticed;
"Izn" would be the proper Arabic equivalent.

 In the Moslem East a young woman, single or married, is
not allowed to appear alone in the streets; and the police have a
right to arrest delinquents. As a preventive of intrigues the
precaution is excellent. During the Crimean war hundreds of
officers, English, French and Italian, became familiar with
Constantinople; and not a few flattered themselves on their success
with Turkish women. I do not believe that a single bona fide case
occurred: the "conquests" were all Greeks, Wallachians, Armenians
or Jewesses.

 Arab. "Azim": translators do not seem to know that this
word in The Nights often bears its Egyptian and slang sense,
somewhat equivalent to our "deuced" or "mighty" or "awfully
fine."

 This is a very serious thing amongst Moslems and
scrupulous men often make great sacrifices to avoid taking an
oath.

 We should say "into the noose."

 The man had fallen in love with her and determined to mark
her so that she might be his.

 Arab. "Dajlah," in which we find the Heb. Hid-dekel.

 Such an execution would be contrary to Moslem law: but
people would look leniently upon the peccadillo of beheading or
sacking a faithless wife. Moreover the youth was of the blood royal
and A quoi bon etre prince? as was said by a boy of viceroyal
family in Egypt to his tutor who reproached him for unnecessarily
shooting down a poor old man.

 Arab. "Shirk," partnership, evening or associating gods
with God; polytheism: especially levelled at the Hindu triadism,
Guebre dualism and Christian Trinitarianism.

 Arab. "Shatm"--abuse, generally couched in foulest
language with especial reference to the privy parts of female
relatives.

 When a woman is bastinadoed in the East they leave her
some portion of dress and pour over her sundry buckets of water for
a delicate consideration. When the hands are beaten they are passed
through holes in the curtain separating the sufferer from mankind,
and made fast to a "falakah" or pole.

 Arab. "Khalifah," Caliph. The word is also used for the
successor of a Santon or holy man.

 Arab. "Sar," here the Koranic word for carrying out the
venerable and undying lex talionis the original basis of all
criminal jurisprudence. Its main fault is that justice repeats the
offence.

 Both these sons of Harun became Caliphs, as we shall see
in The Nights.

 "Dog" and "hog" are still highly popular terms of abuse.
The Rabbis will not defile their lips with "pig;" but say "Dabhar
akhir""another thing."

 The "hero eponymus" of the Abbaside dynasty, Abbas having
been the brother of Abdullah the father of Mohammed. He is a famous
personage in AI-Islam (D'Herbelot).

 Europe translates the word "Barmecides. It is Persian from
bar (up) and makidan (to suck). The vulgar legend is that Ja'afar,
the first of the name, appeared before the Caliph Abd al-Malik with
a ring poisoned for his own need; and that the Caliph, warned of it
by the clapping of two stones which he wore ad hoc, charged the
visitor with intention to murder him. He excused himself and in his
speech occurred the Persian word "Barmakam," which may mean "I
shall sup it up," or "I am a Barmak," that is, a high priest among
the Guebres. See D'Herbelot s.v.

 Arab."Zulm," the deadliest of monarch's sins. One of the
sayings of Mohammed, popularly quoted, is, "Kingdom endureth with
Kufr or infidelity (i. e. without accepting AI-Islam) but endureth
not with Zulm or injustice." Hence the good Moslem will not
complain of the rule of Kafirs or Unbelievers, like the English, so
long as they rule him righteously and according to his own law.]

 All this aggravates his crime: had she been a widow she
would not have had upon him "the claims of maidenhead," the premio
della verginita of Boccaccio, x. 10.

 It is supposed that slaves cannot help telling these fatal
lies. Arab story-books are full of ancient and modern instances and
some have become "Joe Millers." Moreover it is held unworthy of a
free-born man to take over-notice of these servile villanies; hence
the scoundrel in the story escapes unpunished. I have already
noticed the predilection of debauched women for these "skunks of
the human race;" and the young man in the text evidently suspected
that his wife had passed herself this "little caprice." The excuse
which the Caliph would find for him is the pundonor shown in
killing one he loved so fondly.

 The Arab equivalent of our pitcher and well.

 i.e. Where the dress sits loosely about the bust.

 He had trusted in Allah and his trust was justified.

 Arab. "Khila'ah" prop. What a man strips from his
person: gen. An honorary gift. It is something more than the
"robe of honour" of our chivalrous romances, as it includes a
horse, a sword (often gold-hilted), a black turban (amongst the
Abbasides) embroidered with gold, a violet-mantle, a waist-shawl
and a gold neck-chain and shoe-buckles.

 Arab. "Iza," i.e. the visits of condolence and so forth
which are long and terribly wearisome in the Moslem East.

 Arab. "Mahr," the money settled by the man before
marriage on the woman and without which the contract is not
valid. Usually half of it is paid down on the marriage-day and
the other half when the husband dies or divorces his wife. But if
she take a divorce she forfeits her right to it, and obscene
fellows, especially Persians, often compel her to demand divorce
by unnatural and preposterous use of her person.

 Bismillah here means "Thou art welcome to it."

 Arab. "Bassak," half Pers. (bas  enough) and--ak 
thou; for thee. "Bas" sounds like our "buss" (to kiss) and there
are sundry good old Anglo-Indian jokes of feminine mistakes on
the subject.

 This saving clause makes the threat worse. The scene
between the two brothers is written with characteristic Arab
humour; and it is true to nature. In England we have heard of a
man who separated from his wife because he wished to dine at six
and she preferred half-past six.

 Arab. "Misr." (vulg. Masr). The word, which comes of a
very ancient house, was applied to the present capital about the
time of its conquest by the Osmanli Turks A.H. 923  1517.

 The Arab. "Jizah,"  skirt, edge; the modern village is
the site of an ancient Egyptian city, as the "Ghizah inscription"
proves (Brugsch, History of Egypt, ii. 415)

 Arab. "Watan" literally meaning "birth-place" but also
used for "patria, native country"; thus "Hubb al-Watan" 
patriotism. The Turks pronounce it "Vatan," which the French have
turned it into Va-t'en!

 Arab. "Zarzariyah"  the colour of a stare or starling
(Zurzur).

 Now a Railway Station on the Alexandria-Cairo line.

 Even as late as 1852, when I first saw Cairo, the city
was girt by waste lands and the climate was excellent. Now
cultivation comes up to the house walls; while the Mahmudiyah
Canal, the planting the streets with avenues and over-watering
have seriously injured it; those who want the air of former Cairo
must go to Thebes. Gout, rheumatism and hydrophobia (before
unknown) have become common of late years.

 This is the popular pronunciation: Yakut calls it
"Bilbis."

 An outlying village on the "Long Desert," between Cairo
and Palestine.

 Arab. "Al-Kuds"  holiness. There are few cities which
in our day have less claim to this title than Jerusalem; and,
curious to say, the "Holy Land" shows Jews, Christians and
Moslems all in their worst form. The only religion (if it can be
called one) which produces men in Syria is the Druse. "Heiligen-
landes Juden" are proverbial and nothing can be meaner than the
Christians while the Moslems are famed for treachery.

 Arab. "Shamm al-hawa." In vulgar parlance to "smell the
air" is to take a walk, especially out of town. There is a
peculiar Egyptian festival called "Shamm al-Nasim" (smelling the
Zephyr) which begins on Easter-Monday (O.S.), thus corresponding
with the Persian Nau-roz, vernal equinox and introducing the
fifty days of "Khammasin" or "Mirisi" (hot desert winds). On
awakening, the people smell and bathe their temples with vinegar
in which an onion has been soaked and break their fast with a
"fisikh" or dried "buri"  mullet from Lake Menzalah: the late
Hekekiyan Bey had the fish-heads counted in one public garden and
found 70,000. The rest of the day is spent out of doors
"Gypsying," and families greatly enjoy themselves on these
occasions. For a longer description, see a paper by my excellent
friend Yacoub Artin Pasha, in the Bulletin de l'Institut
Egyptien, 2nd series, No. 4, Cairo, 1884. I have noticed the
Mirisi (south-wester) and other winds in the Land of Midian, i.,
23.

 So in the days of the "Mameluke Beys" in Egypt a man of
rank would not cross the street on foot.

 Arab. Basrah. The city is now in decay and not to
flourish again till the advent of the Euphrates Valley R.R., is a
modern place, founded in A.H. 15, by the Caliph Omar upon the
Aylah, a feeder of the Tigris. Here, according to Al-Hariri, the
"whales and the lizards meet," and, as the tide affects the
river,

     Its stream shows prodigy, ebbing and flowing.

In its far-famed market-place, Al-Marbad, poems used to be
recited; and the city was famous for its mosques and Saint-
shrines, fair women and school of Grammar which rivalled that of
Kufah. But already in Al-Hariri's day (nat. A.H. 446  A.D. 1030)
Baghdad had drawn off much of its population.

 This fumigation (Bukhur) is still used. A little incense
or perfumed wood is burnt upon an open censor (Mibkharah) of
earthenware or metal, and passed round, each guest holding it for
a few moments under his beard. In the Somali County, the very
home of incense, both sexes fumigate the whole person after
carnal intercourse. Lane (Mod. Egypt, chapt. viii) gives an
illustration of the Mibkharah).

 The reader of The Nights will remark that the merchant
is often a merchant-prince, consorting and mating with the
highest dignitaries. Even amongst the Romans, a race of soldiers,
statesmen and lawyers, "mercatura" on a large scale was "not to
be vituperated." In Boccacio (x. 19) they are netti e delicati
uomini. England is perhaps the only country which has made her
fortune by trade, and much of it illicit trade, like that in
slaves which built Liverpool and Bristol, and which yet disdains
or affects to disdain the trader. But the unworthy prejudice is
disappearing with the last generation, and men who formerly would
have half starved as curates and ensigns, barristers and carabins
are now only too glad to become merchants.

 These lines in the Calc. And Bul. Edits. Have already
occurred (Night vii.) but such carelessness is characteristic
despite the proverb, "In repetition is no fruition." I quote
Torrens (p. 60) by way of variety. As regards the anemone (here
called a tulip) being named "Shakik"  fissure, I would
conjecture that it derives from the flower often forming long
lines of red like stripes of blood in the landscape. Travellers
in Syria always observe this.

 Such an address to a royalty (Eastern) even in the
present day, would be a passport to future favours.

 In England the man marries and the woman is married:
there is no such distinction in Arabia.

 "Sultan" (and its corruption "Soldan") etymologically
means lord, victorious, ruler, ruling over. In Arabia it is a not
uncommon proper name; and as a title it is taken by a host of
petty kinglets. The Abbaside Caliphs (as Al-Wasik who has been
noticed) formally created these Sultans as their regents. Al-Ta'i
bi'llah (regn. A.H. 363  974), invested the famous Sabuktagin
with the office; and as Alexander-Sikander was wont to do,
fashioned for him two flags, one of silver, after the fashion of
nobles, and the other of gold, as Viceroy-designate. Sabuktagin's
son, the famous Mahmud of the Ghaznavite dynasty in A.H. 393 
1002, was the first to adopt "Sultan" as an independent title
some two hundred years after the death of Harun al-Rashid. In old
writers we have the Soldan of Egypt, the Soudan of Persia, and
the Sowdan of Babylon; three modifications of one word.

 i.e. he was a "Hafiz," one who commits to memory the
whole of the Koran. It is a serious task and must be begun early.
I learnt by rote the last "Juzw" (or thirtieth part) and found
that quite enough. This is the vulgar use of "Hafiz": technically
and theologically it means the third order of Traditionists (the
total being five) who know by heart 300,000 traditions of the
Prophet with their ascriptions. A curious "spiritualist" book
calls itself "Hafed, Prince of Persia," proving by the very title
that the Spirits are equally ignorant of Arabic and Persian.

 Here again the Cairo Edit. repeats the six couplets
already given in Night xvii. I take them from Torrens (p. 163).

 This naive admiration of beauty in either sex
characterised our chivalrous times. Now it is mostly confined to
"professional beauties" or what is conventionally called the
"fair sex"; as if there could be any comparison between the
beauty of man and the beauty of woman, the Apollo Belvidere with
the Venus de Medici.

 Arab. "Shash" (in Pers. urine) a light turband generally
of muslin.

 This is a lieu commun of Eastern worldly wisdom. Quite
true! Very unadvisable to dive below the surface of one's
acquaintances, but such intimacy is like marriage of which
Johnson said, "Without it there is no pleasure in life."

 The lines are attributed to the famous Al-Mutanabbi 
the claimant to "Prophecy," of whom I have given a few details in
my Pilgrimage iii. 60, 62. He led the life of a true poet,
somewhat Chauvinistic withal; and, rather than run away, was
killed in A.H. 354  965.

 Arab. "Nabiz"  wine of raisins or dates; any fermented
liquor; from a root to "press out" in Syriac, like the word
"Talmiz" (or Tilmiz says the Kashf al-Ghurrah) a pupil, student.
Date-wine (ferment from the fruit, not the Tadi, or juice of the
stem, our "toddy") is called Fazikh. Hence the Masjid al-Fazikh
at Al-Medinah where the Ansar or Auxiliaries of that city were
sitting cup in hand when they heard of the revelation forbidding
inebriants and poured the liquor upon the ground (Pilgrimage ii.
322).

 Arab. "Huda"  direction (to the right way), salvation,
a word occurring in the Opening Chapter of the Koran. Hence to a
Kafir who offers the Salam-salutation many Moslems reply "Allah-
yahdik"  Allah direct thee! (i.e. make thee a Moslem), instead
of Allah yusallimak  Allah lead thee to salvation. It is the
root word of the Mahdi and Mohdi.

 These lines have already occurred in The First
Kalandar's Story (Night xi.) I quote by way of change and with
permission Mr. Payne's version (i. 93).

 Arab. "Farajiyah," a long-sleeved robe worn by the
learned (Lane, M.E., chapt. i.).

 Arab. "Sarraf" (vulg. Sayrafi), whence the Anglo-Indian
"Shroff," a familiar corruption.

 Arab. "Yahudi" which is less polite than "Banu Israil" 
Children of Israel. So in Christendom "Israelite" when in favour
and "Jew" (with an adjective or a participle) when nothing is
wanted of him.

 Also called "Ghilman"  the beautiful youths appointed
to serve the True Believers in Paradise. The Koran says (chapt.
lvi. 9 etc.) "Youths, which shall continue in their bloom for
ever, shall go round about to attend them, with goblets, and
beakers, and a cup of flowing wine," etc. Mohammed was an Arab
(not a Persian, a born pederast) and he was too fond of women to
be charged with love of boys: even Tristam Shandy (vol. vii.
chapt. 7; "No, quoth a third; the gentleman has been committing--
--") knew that the two tastes are incompatibles. But this and
other passages in the Koran have given the Chevaliers de la
Pallie a hint that the use of boys, like that of wine, here
forbidden, will be permitted in Paradise.

 Which, by the by, is the age of an oldish old maid in
Egypt. I much doubt puberty being there earlier than in England
where our grandmothers married at fourteen. But Orientals are
aware that the period of especial feminine devilry is between the
first menstruation and twenty when, according to some, every girl
is a "possible murderess." So they wisely marry her and get rid
of what is called the "lump of grief," the "domestic calamity"--a
daughter. Amongst them we never hear of the abominable egotism
and cruelty of the English mother, who disappoints her daughter's
womanly cravings in order to keep her at home for her own
comfort; and an "old maid" in the house, especially a stout,
plump old maid, is considered not "respectable." The ancient
virgin is known by being lean and scraggy; and perhaps this
diagnosis is correct.

 This prognostication of destiny by the stars and a host
of follies that end in -mancy is an intricate and extensive
subject. Those who would study it are referred to chapt. xiv. of
the "Qanoon-e-Islam, or the Customs of the Mussulmans of India;
etc., etc., by Jaffur Shurreeff and translated by G. A. Herklots,
M. D. of Madras." This excellent work first appeared in 1832
(Allen and Co., London) and thus it showed the way to Lane's
"Modern Egyptians" (1833-35). The name was unfortunate as
"Kuzzilbash" (which rhymed to guzzle and hash), and kept the book
back till a second edition appeared in 1863 (Madras: J.
Higginbotham).

 Arab. "Barid," lit. cold: metaph. vain, foolish,
insipid.

 Not to "spite thee" but "in spite of thee." The phrase
is still used by high and low.

 Arab. "Ahdab," the common hunchback; in classical
language the Gobbo in the text would be termed "Ak'as" from
"Ka'as," one with protruding back and breast; sometimes used for
hollow back and protruding breast.

 This is the custom with such gentry, who, when they see
a likely man sitting, are allowed by custom to ride astraddle
upon his knees with most suggestive movements, till he buys them
off. These Ghawazi are mostly Gypsies who pretend to be Moslems;
and they have been confused with the Almahs or Moslem dancing-
girls proper (Awalim, plur. of Alimah, a learned feminine) by a
host of travellers. They call themselves Baramikah or Barmecides
only to affect Persian origin. Under native rule they were
perpetually being banished from and returning to Cairo
(Pilgrimage i., 202). Lane (M.E., chapts. xviii. and xix.)
discusses the subject, and would derive Al'mah, often so
pronounced, from Heb. Almah, girl, virgin, singing-girl, hence he
would translate Al-Alamoth shir (Psalm xlvi.) and Nebalim al-
alamoth (I. Chron., xv. 20) by a "song for singing-girls" and
"harps for singing-girls." He quotes also St. Jerome as authority
that Alma in Punic (Phoenician) signified a virgin, not a common
article, I may observe, amongst singing-girls. I shall notice in
a future page Burckhardt's description of the Ghawazi, p. 173,
"Arabic Proverbs;" etc., etc. Second Edition. London: Quaritch,
1875.

 I need hardly describe the tarbush, a corruption of the
Per. "Sar-push" (headcover) also called "Fez" from its old home;
and "tarbrush" by the travelling Briton. In old days it was a
calotte worn under the turban; and it was protected by scalp-
perspiration by an "Arakiyah" (Pers. Arak-chin) a white skull-
cap. Now it is worn without either and as a head-dress nothing
can be worse (Pilgrimage ii. 275).

 Arab. "Tar.": the custom still prevails. Lane (M.E.,
chapt. xviii.) describes and figures this hoop-drum.

 The couch on which she sits while being displayed. It is
her throne, for she is the Queen of the occasion, with all the
Majesty of Virginity.

 This is a solemn "chaff;" such liberties being permitted
at weddings and festive occasions.

 The pre-Islamitic dynasty of Al-Yaman in Arabia Felix, a
region formerly famed for wealth and luxury. Hence the mention of
Yamani work. The caravans from Sana'a, the capital, used to carry
patterns of vases to be made in China and bring back the
porcelains at the end of the third year: these are the Arabic
inscriptions which have puzzled so many collectors. The Tobba, or
Successors, were the old Himyarite Kings, a dynastic name like
Pharaoh, Kisra (Persia), Negush (Abyssinia), Khakan or Khan
(Tartary), etc., who claimed to have extended their conquests to
Samarcand and made war on China. Any history of Arabia (as
Crichton I., chapt. iv.) may be consulted for their names and
annals. I have been told by Arabs that "Tobba" (or Tubba) is
still used in the old Himvarland  the Great or the Chief.

 Lane and Payne (as well as the Bres. Edit.) both render
the word "to kiss her," but this would be clean contrary to
Moslem usage.

 i.e. he was full of rage which he concealed.

 The Hindus (as the Katha shows) compare this swimming
gait with an elephant's roll.

 Arab. "Fitnah," a word almost as troublesome as "Adab."
Primarily, revolt, seduction, mischief: then a beautiful girl (or
boy), and lastly a certain aphrodisiac perfume extracted from
mimosa-flowers (Pilgrimage i., 118).

 Lit. burst the "gall-bladder:" In this and in the
"liver" allusions I dare not be baldly literal.

 Arab. "Usfur" the seeds of Carthamus tinctorius 
Safflower (Forskal, Flora, etc. lv.). The seeds are crushed for
oil and the flowers, which must be gathered by virgins or the
colour will fail, are extensively used for dying in Southern
Arabia and Eastern Africa.

 On such occasions Miss Modesty shuts her eye and looks
as if about to faint.

 After either evacuation the Moslem is bound to wash or
sand the part; first however he should apply three pebbles, or
potsherds or clods of earth. Hence the allusion in the Koran
(chapt. ix), "men who love to be purified." When the Prophet was
questioning the men of Kuba, where he founded a mosque
(Pilgrimage ii., 215), he asked them about their legal ablutions,
especially after evacuation; and they told him that they used
three stones before washing. Moslems and Hindus (who prefer water
mixed with earth) abhor the unclean and unhealthy use of paper
without ablution; and the people of India call European draught-
houses, by way of opprobrium, "Kaghaz-khanah"  paper closets.
Most old Anglo-Indians, however, learn to use water.

 "Miao" or "Mau" is the generic name of the cat in the
Egyptian of the hieroglyphs.

 Arab. "Ya Mah'um" addressed to an evil spirit.

 "Heehaw!" as we should say. The Bresl. Edit. makes the
cat cry "Nauh! Nauh!" and the ass-colt "Manu! Manu!" I leave
these onomatopoeics as they are in Arabic; they are curious,
showing the unity in variety of hearing inarticulate sounds. The
bird which is called "Whip poor Will" in the U.S. is known to the
Brazilians as "Joam corta pao" (John cut wood); so differently do
they hear the same notes.

 It is usually a slab of marble with a long slit in front
and a round hole behind. The text speaks of a Kursi ( stool);
but this is now unknown to native houses which have not adopted
European fashions.

 This again is chaff as she addresses the Hunchback. The
Bul. Edit. has "O Abu Shihab" (Father of the shooting-star  evil
spirit); the Bresl. Edit. "O son of a heap! O son of a
Something!" (al-afsh, a vulgarism).

 As the reader will see, Arab ideas of "fun" and
practical jokes are of the largest, putting the Hibernian to
utter rout, and comparing favourably with those recorded in Don
Quixote.

 Arab. "Sarawil" a corruption of the Pers. "Sharwal";
popularly called "libas" which, however, may also mean clothing
in general and especially outer-clothing. I translate "bag-
trousers" and "petticoat-trousers," the latter being the divided
skirt of our future. In the East, where Common Sense, not
Fashion, rules dress, men, who have a protuberance to be
concealed, wear petticoats and women wear trousers. The feminine
article is mostly baggy but sometimes, as in India, collant-
tight. A quasi-sacred part of it is the inkle, tape or string,
often a most magnificent affair, with tassels of pearl and
precious stones; and "laxity in the trouser-string" is equivalent
to the loosest conduct. Upon the subject of "libas," "sarwal" and
its variants the curious reader will consult Dr. Dozy's
"Dictionnaire Detaille des Noms des Vetements chez les Arabes," a
most valuable work.

 The turban out of respect is not put upon the ground
(Lane, M. E., chapt. i.).

 Arab. "Madfa" showing the modern date or the
modernization of the tale. In Lebid "Madafi" (plur. of Madfa')
means water-courses or leats.

 In Arab. the "he" is a "she;" and Habib ("friend") is
the Attic {Greek Letters}, a euphemism for lover. This will occur
throughout The Nights. So the Arabs use a phrase corresponding
with the Stoic {Greek Letters}, i.e. is wont, is fain.

 Part of the Azan, or call to prayer.

 Arab. "Shihab," these mentors being the flying shafts
shot at evil spirits who approach too near heaven. The idea
doubtless arose from the showers of August and November meteors
(The Perseides and Taurides) which suggest a battle raging in
upper air. Christendom also has its superstition concerning these
and called those of August the "fiery tears of Saint Lawrence,"
whose festival was on August 10.

 Arab. "Takiyah"  Pers. Arak-chin; the calotte worn
under the Fez. It is, I have said, now obsolete and the red
woollen cap (mostly made in Europe) is worn over the hair; an
unclean practice.

 Often the effect of cold air after a heated room.

 i.e. He was not a Eunuch, as the people guessed.

 In Arab. "this night" for the reason before given.

 Meaning especially the drink prepared of the young
leaves and florets of Cannabis Sativa. The word literally means
"day grass" or "herbage." This intoxicant was much used by
magicians to produce ecstasy and thus to "deify themselves and
receive the homage of the genii and spirits of nature."

 Torrens, being an Irishman, translates "and woke in the
morning sleeping at Damascus."

 Arab. "Labbayka," the cry technically called "Talbiyah"
and used by those entering Meccah (Pilgrimage iii. 125-232). I
shall also translate it by "Adsum." The full cry is:--

     Here am I, O Allah, here am I!
     No partner hast Thou, here am I:
     Verily the praise and the grace and the kingdom are thine:
     No partner hast Thou: here am I!

A single Talbiyah is a "Shart" or positive condition: and its
repetition is a Sunnat or Custom of the Prophet. See Night xci.

 The staple abuse of the vulgar is curing parents and
relatives, especially feminine, with specific allusions to their
"shame." And when dames of high degree are angry, Nature, in the
East as in the West, sometimes speaks out clearly enough, despite
Mistress Chapone and all artificial restrictions.

 A great beauty in Arabia and the reverse in Denmark,
Germany and Slav-land, where it is a sign of being a were-wolf or
a vampire. In Greece also it denotes a "Brukolak" or vampire.

 This is not physiologically true: a bride rarely
conceives the first night, and certainly would not know that she
had conceived. Moreover the number of courses furnished by the
bridegroom would be against conception. It is popularly said that
a young couple often undoes in the morning what it has done
during the night.

 Torrens (Notes, xxiv.) quotes "Fleisher" upon the word
"Ghamghama" (Diss. Crit. De Glossis Habichtionis), which he
compares with "Dumbuma" and Humbuma," determining them to be
onomatopoeics, "an incomplete and an obscure murmur of a sentence
as it were lingering between the teeth and lips and therefore
difficult to be understood." Of this family is "Taghum"; not used
in modern days. In my Pilgrimage (i. 313) I have noticed another,
"Khyas', Khyas'!" occurring in a Hizb al-Bahr (Spell of the Sea).
Herklots gives a host of them; and their sole characteristics are
harshness and strangeness of sound, uniting consonants which are
not joined in Arabic. The old Egyptians and Chaldeans had many
such words composed at will for theurgic operations.

 This may mean either "it is of Mosul fashion" or, it is
of muslin.

 To the English reader these lines would appear the
reverse of apposite; but Orientals have their own ways of
application, and all allusions to Badawi partings are effective
and affecting. The civilised poets of Arab cities throw the charm
of the Desert over their verse by images borrowed from its
scenery, the dromedary, the mirage and the well as naturally as
certain of our bards who hated the country, babbled of purling
rills, etc. thoroughly to feel Arabic poetry one must know the
Desert (Pilgrimage iii., 63).

 In those days the Arabs and the Portuguese recorded
everything which struck them, as the Chinese and Japanese in our
times. And yet we complain of the amount of our modern writing!

 This is mentioned because it is the act preliminary to
naming the babe.

 Arab. "Kahramanat" from Kahraman, an old Persian hero
who conversed with the Simurgh-Griffon. Usually the word is
applied to women-at-arms who defend the Harem, like the Urdu-
begani of India, whose services were lately offered to England
(1885), or the "Amazons" of Dahome.

 Meaning he grew as fast in one day as other children in
a month.

 Arab. Al-Arif; the tutor, the assistant-master.

 Arab. "Ibn haram," a common term of abuse; and not a
factual reflection on the parent. I have heard a mother apply the
term to her own son.

 Arab. "Khanjar" from the Persian, a syn. with the Arab.
"Jambiyah." It is noted in my Pilgrimage iii., pp. 72,75. To
"silver the dagger" means to become a rich man. From "Khanjar,"
not from its fringed loop or strap, I derive our silly word
"hanger." Dr. Steingass would connect it with Germ. Fanger, e.g.
Hirschfanger.

 Again we have "Dastur" for Izn."

 Arab. "Iklim"; the seven climates of Ptolemy.

 Arab. "Al-Ghadir," lit. a place where water sinks, a
lowland: here the drainage-lakes east of Damascus into which the
Baradah (Abana?) discharges. The higher eastern plain is "Al-
Ghutah" before noticed.

 The "Plain of Pebbles" still so termed at Damascus; an
open space west of the city.

 Every Guide-book, even the Reverend Porter's "Murray,"
gives a long account of this Christian Church 'verted to a
Mosque.

 Arab. "Nabut"; Pilgrimage i. 336.

 The Bres. Edit. says, "would have knocked him into Al-
Yaman," (Southern Arabia), something like our slang phrase "into
the middle of next week."

 Arab. "Khadim": lit. a servant, politely applied (like
Agha  master) to a castrato. These gentry wax furious if baldly
called "Tawashi"  Eunuch. A mauvais plaisant in Egypt used to
call me The Agha because a friend had placed his wife under my
charge.

 This sounds absurd enough in English, but Easterns
always put themselves first for respect.

 In Arabic the World is feminine.

 Arab. "Sahib"  lit. a companion; also a friend and
especially applied to the Companions of Mohammed. Hence the
Sunnis claim for them the honour of "friendship" with the
Apostle; but the Shia'hs reply that the Arab says "Sahaba-hu'l-
himar" (the Ass was his Sahib or companion). In the text it is a
Wazirial title, in modern India it is  gentleman, e.g. "Sahib
log" (the Sahib people) means their white conquerors, who, by the
by, mostly mispronounce the word "Sab."

 Arab. "Suwan," prop. Syenite, from Syene (Al-Suwan) but
applied to flint and any hard stone.

 It was famous in the middle ages, and even now it is,
perhaps, the most interesting to travellers after that "Sentina
Gentium," the "Bhendi Bazar" of unromantic Bombay.

 "The Gate of the Gardens," in the northern wall, a Roman
archway of the usual solid construction shaming not only our
modern shams, but our finest masonry.

 Arab. "Al-Asr," which may mean either the hour or the
prayer. It is also the moment at which the Guardian Angels
relieve each other (Sale's Koran, chapt. v.).

 Arab. "Ya haza"  O this (one)! a somewhat slighting
address equivalent to "Heus tu! O thou, whoever thou art."
Another form is "Ya hu"  O he! Can this have originated Swift's
"Yahoo"?

 Alluding to the {Greek Letters} ("minor miracles which
cause surprise") performed by Saints' tombs, the mildest form of
thaumaturgy. One of them gravely recorded in the Dabistan (ii.
226) is that of the holy Jamen, who opened the Samran or bead-
bracelet from the arm of the beautiful Chistapa with member
erect, "thus evincing his manly strength and his command over
himself"(!)

 The River of Paradise, a lieu commun of poets (Koran,
chapt. cviii.): the water is whiter than milk or silver, sweeter
than honey, smoother than cream, more odorous than musk; its
banks are of chrysolite and it is drunk out of silver cups set
around it thick as stars. Two pipes conduct it to the Prophet's
Pond which is an exact square, one month's journey in compass.
Kausar is spirituous like wine; Salsabil sweet like clarified
honey; the Fount of Mildness is like milk and the Fount of Mercy
like liquid crystal.

 The Moslem does not use the European basin because water
which has touched an impure skin becomes impure. Hence it is
poured out from a ewer ("ibrik" Pers. Abriz) upon the hands and
falls into a basin ("tisht") with an open-worked cover.

 Arab. "Wahsh," a word of many meanings; nasty, insipid,
savage, etc. The offside of a horse is called Wahshi opposed to
Insi, the near side. The Amir Taymur ("Lord Iron") whom Europeans
unwittingly call after his Persian enemies' nickname,
"Tamerlane," i.e. Taymur-I-lang, or limping Taymur, is still
known as "Al-Wahsh" (the wild beast) at Damascus, where his
Tartars used to bury men up to their necks and play at bowls with
their heads for ninepins.

 For "grandson" as being more affectionate. Easterns have
not yet learned that clever Western saying:--The enemies of our
enemies are our friends.

 This was a simple bastinado on the back, not the more
ceremonious affair of beating the feet-soles. But it is
surprising what the Egyptians can bear; some of the rods used in
the time of the Mameluke Beys are nearly as thick as a man's
wrist.

 The woman-like spite of the eunuch intended to hurt the
grandmother's feelings.

 The usual Cairene "chaff."

 A necessary precaution against poison (Pilgrimage i. 84,
and iii. 43).

 The Bresl. Edit. (ii. 108) describes the scene at
greater length.

 The Bul. Edit. gives by mistake of diacritical points,
"Zabdaniyah:" Raydaniyah is or rather was a camping ground to the
North of Cairo.

 Arab. "La'abat"  a plaything, a puppet, a lay figure.
Lane (i. 326) conjectures that the cross is so called because it
resembles a man with arms extended. But Moslems never heard of
the fanciful ideas of medieval Christian divines who saw the
cross everywhere and in everything. The former hold that Pharaoh
invented the painful and ignominious punishment. (Koran, chapt.
vii.).

 Here good blood, driven to bay, speaks out boldly. But,
as a rule, the humblest and mildest Eastern when in despair turns
round upon his oppressors like a wild cat. Some of the criminals
whom Fath Ali Shah of Persia put to death by chopping down the
fork, beginning at the scrotum, abused his mother till the knife
reached their vitals and they could no longer speak.

 These repeated "laughs" prove the trouble of his spirit.
Noble Arabs "show their back-teeth" so rarely that their laughter
is held worthy of being recorded by their biographers.

 A popular phrase, derived from the Koranic "Truth is
come, and falsehood is vanished: for falsehood is of short
continuance" (chapt. xvii.). It is an equivalent of our
adaptation from 1 Esdras iv. 41, "Magna est veritas et
prevalebit." But the great question still remains, What is Truth?

 In Night lxxv. these lines will occur with variants.

 This is always mentioned: the nearer seat the higher the
honour.

 Alluding to the phrase "Al-safar zafar"  voyaging is
victory (Pilgrimage i., 127).

 Arab. "Habb;" alluding to the black drop in the human
heart which the Archangel Gabriel removed from Mohammed by
opening his breast.

 This phrase, I have said, often occurs: it alludes to
the horripilation (Arab. Kush'arirah), horror or gooseflesh
which, in Arab as in Hindu fables, is a symptom of great joy. So
Boccaccio's "pelo arriciato" v., 8: Germ. Gansehaut.

 Arab. "Hasanta ya Hasan"  Bene detto, Benedetto! the
usual word-play vulgarly called "pun": Hasan (not Hassan, as we
will write it) meaning "beautiful."

 Arab. "Loghah" also  a vocabulary, a dictionary; the
Arabs had them by camel-loads.

 The seventh of the sixteen "Bahr" (metres) in Arabic
prosody; the easiest because allowing the most license and,
consequently, a favourite for didactic, homiletic and gnomic
themes. It means literally "agitated" and was originally applied
to the rude song of the Cameleer. De Sacy calls this doggrel "the
poet's ass" (Torrens, Notes xxvi.). It was the only metre in
which Mohammed the Apostle ever spoke: he was no poet (Koran
xxxvi., 69) but he occasionally recited a verse and recited it
wrongly (Dabistan iii., 212). In Persian prosody Rajaz is the
seventh of nineteen and has six distinct varieties (pp. 79-81),
"Gladwin's Dissertations on Rhetoric," etc. Calcutta, 1801). I
shall have more to say about it in the Terminal Essay.

 "Her stature tall--I hate a dumpy woman" (Don Juan).

 A worthy who was Kazi of Kufah (Cufa) in the seventh
century. Al-Najaf, generally entitled "Najaf al-Ashraf" (the
Venerand) is the place where Ali, the son-in-law of Mohammed,
lies or is supposed to lie buried, and has ever been a holy place
to the Shi'ahs. I am not certain whether to translate "Sa'alab"
by fox or jackal; the Arabs make scant distinction between them.
"Abu Hosayn" (Father of the Fortlet) is certainly the fox, and as
certainly "Sha'arhar" is the jackal from the Pehlevi Shagal or
Shaghal.

 Usually by all manner of extortions and robbery,
corruption and bribery, the ruler's motto being

                  Fiat injustitia ruat Coelum.

There is no more honest man than the Turkish peasant or the
private soldier; but the process of deterioration begins when he
is made a corporal and culminates in the Pasha. Moreover official
dishonesty is permitted by public opinion, because it belongs to
the condition of society. A man buys a place (as in England two
centuries ago) and retains it by presents to the heads of
offices. Consequently he must recoup himself in some way, and he
mostly does so by grinding the faces of the poor and by spoiling
the widow and the orphan. The radical cure is high pay; but that
phase of society refuses to afford it.

 Arab. "Malik" (King) and "Malak" (angel) the words being
written the same when lacking vowels and justifying the jingle.

 Arab. "Hurr"; the Latin "ingenuus," lit. freeborn;
metaph. noble as opp. to a slave who is not expected to do great
or good deeds. In pop. use it corresponds, like "Fata," with our
"gentleman."

 This is one of the best tales for humour and movement,
and Douce and Madden show what a rich crop of fabliaux, whose
leading incident was the disposal of a dead body, it produced.

 Other editions read, "at Bassorah" and the Bresl. (ii.
123) "at Bassorah and Kajkar" (Kashghar): somewhat like in Dover
and Sebastopol. I prefer China because further off and making the
improbabilities more notable.

 Arab. "Judri," lit. "small stones" from the hard
gravelly feeling of the pustules (Rodwell, p. 20). The disease is
generally supposed to be the growth of Central Africa where it is
still a plague and passed over to Arabia about the birth-time of
Mohammed. Thus is usually explained the "war of the elephant"
(Koran, chaps. cv.) when the Abyssinian army of Abrahah, the
Christian, was destroyed by swallows (Ababil which Major Price
makes the plural of Abilah  a vesicle) which dropped upon them
"stones of baked clay," like vetches (Pilgrimage ii. 175). See
for details Sale (in loco) who seems to accept the miraculous
defence of the Ka'abah. For the horrors of small-pox in Central
Intertropical Africa the inoculation, known also to the Badawin
of Al-Hijaz and other details, readers will consult "The Lake
Regions of Central Africa" (ii. 318). The Hindus "take the bull
by the horns" and boldly make "Sitla" (small-pox) a goddess, an
incarnation of Bhawani, deess of destruction-reproduction. In
China small-pox is believed to date from B.C. 1200; but the
chronology of the Middle Kingdom still awaits the sceptic.

 In Europe we should add "and all fled, especially the
women." But the fatalism inherent in the Eastern mind makes the
great difference.

 Arab. "Uzayr." Esdras was a manner of Ripp van Winkle.
He was riding over the ruins of Jerusalem when it had been
destroyed by the Chaldeans and he doubted by what means Allah
would restore it; whereupon he died and at the end of a hundred
years he revived. He found his basket of figs and cruse of wine
as they were; but of his ass only the bones remained. These were
raised to life as Ezra looked on and the ass began at once to
bray. Which was a lesson to Esdras. (Koran, chaps. ii.) The oath
by the ass's hoofs is to ridicule the Jew. Mohammed seems to have
had an idee fixe that "the Jews say, Ezra is the son of God"
(Koran ix.); it may have arisen from the heterodox Jewish belief
that Ezra, when the Law was utterly lost, dictated the whole anew
to the scribes of his own memory. His tomb with the huge green
dome is still visited by the Jews of Baghdad.

 Arab. "Badhanj," the Pers. Bad. (wind) -gir (catcher): a
wooden pent-house on the terrace-roof universal in the nearer
East.

 The hunchback, in Arabia as in Southern Europe, is
looked upon by the vulgar with fear and aversion. The reason is
that he is usually sharper-witted than his neighbours.

Arab. "Ya Sattar"  Thou who veilest the discreditable
secrets of Thy creatures.

 Arab. "Nasrani," a follower of Him of Nazareth and an
older name than "Christian" which (Acts xi., 26) was first given
at Antioch about A.D. 43. The cry in Alexandria used to be "Ya
Nasrani, Kalb awani!"O Nazarene! O dog obscene! (Pilgrimage i.,
160).). "Christian" in Arabic can be expressed only by "Masihi" 
follower of the Messiah.

 Arab. "Tasbih,"  Saluting in the Subh (morning).

 In the East women stand on minor occasions while men
squat on their hunkers in a way hardly possible to an untrained
European. The custom is old. Herodotus (ii., 35) says, "The women
stand up when they make water, but the men sit down." Will it be
believed that Canon Rawlinson was too modest to leave this
passage in his translation? The custom was perpetuated by
Al-Islam because the position prevents the ejection touching the
clothes and making them ceremonially impure; possibly they
borrowed it from the Guebres. Dabistan, Gate xvi. says, "It is
improper, whilst in an erect posture, to make water, it is
therefore necessary to sit at squat and force it to some
distance, repeating the Avesta mentally."

 This is still a popular form of the "Kinchin lay," and
as the turbands are often of fine stuff, the petite industrie
pays well.

Arab. "Wali" Governor; the term still in use for the
Governor General of a Province as opposed to the "Muhafiz," or
district-governor. In Eastern Arabia the Wali is the Civil
Governor opposed to the Amir or Military Commandant. Under the
Caliphate the Wali acted also as Prefect of Police (the Indian
Fanjdar), who is now called "Zabit." The older name for the
latter was "Sahib al-Shartah" (chief of the watch) or
"Mutawalli"; and it was his duty to go the rounds in person. The
old "Charley," with his lantern and cudgel, still guards the
bazaars in Damascus.

 Arab. "Al-Masha ili"  the bearer of a cresses (Mash'al)
who was also Jack Ketch. In Anglo-India the name is given to a
lower body-servant. The "Mash'al" which Lane (M. E., chaps. vi.)
calls "Mesh'al" and illustrates, must not be confounded with its
congener the "Sha'ilah" or link (also lamp, wick, etc.).

 I need hardly say that the civilised "drop" is unknown
to the East where men are strung up as to a yardarm. This greatly
prolongs the suffering.

 Arab. "Lukmah";  a mouthful. It is still the fashion
amongst Easterns of primitive manners to take up a handful of
rice, etc., ball it and put it into a friend's mouth honoris
causa. When the friend is a European the expression of his face
is generally a study.

 I need hardly note that this is an old Biblical
practice. The ass is used for city-work as the horse for fighting
and travelling, the mule for burdens and the dromedary for the
desert. But the Badawi, like the Indian, despises the monture and
sings:--

     The back of the steed is a noble place
     But the mule's dishonour, the ass disgrace!

The fine white asses, often thirteen hands high, sold by the Banu
Salib and other Badawi tribes, will fetch 100, and more. I rode
a little brute from Meccah to Jedda (42 miles) in one night and
it came in with me cantering.

 A dry measure of about five bushels (Cairo). The
classical pronunciation is Irdabb and it measured 24 sa'a
(gallons) each filling four outstretched hands.

 "Al-Jawali" should be Al-Jawali (Al-Makrizi) and the Bab
al-Nasr (Gate of Victory) is that leading to Suez. I lived in
that quarter as shown by my Pilgrimage (i. 62).

 Arab. "Al-'ajalah," referring to a saying in every
Moslem mouth, "Patience is from the Protector (Allah): Hurry is
from Hell." That and "Inshallah bukra!" (Please God tomorrow.)
are the traveller's betes noires.

 Here it is a polite equivalent for "fall to!"

 The left hand is used throughout the East for purposes
of ablution and is considered unclean. To offer the left hand
would be most insulting and no man ever strokes his beard with it
or eats with it: hence, probably, one never sees a left handed
man throughout the Moslem east. In the Brazil for the same reason
old-fashioned people will not take snuff with the right hand. And
it is related of the Khataians that they prefer the left hand,
"Because the heart, which is the Sultan of the city of the Body,
hath his mansion on that side" (Rauzat al-Safa).

 Two feminine names as we might say Mary and Martha.

 It was near the Caliph's two Palaces (Al Kasrayn); and
was famous in the 15th century A. D. The Kazi's Mahkamah (Court
house) now occupies the place of the Two Palaces

 A Kaysariah is a superior kind of bazaar, a "bezestein."
That in the text stood to the east of the principal street in
Cairo and was built in A. H. 502 (1108-9) by a Circassian Emir,
known as Fakhr al-Din Jaharkas, a corruption of the Persian
"Cheharkas"  four persons (Lane, i. 422, from Al-Makrizi and Ibn
Khallikan). For Jaharkas the Mac. Edit. has Jirjis (George) a
common Christian name. I once lodged in a 'Wakalah (the modern
Khan) Jirjis." Pilgrimage, i. 255.

Arab. "Second Day," i.e. after Saturday, the true
Sabbath, so marvellously ignored by Christendom.

 Readers who wish to know how a traveller is lodged in a
Wakalah, Khan, or Caravanserai, will consult my Pilgrimage, i.
60.

 The original occupation of the family had given it a
name, as amongst us.

 The usual "chaff" or banter allowed even to modest women
when shopping, and--many a true word is spoken in jest.

 "La adamnak"  Heaven deprive us not of thee, i.e. grant
I see thee often!

 This is a somewhat cavalier style of advance; but
Easterns under such circumstances go straight to the point,
hating to filer the parfait amour.

 The peremptory formula of a slave delivering such a
message.

 This would be our Thursday night, preceding the day of
public prayers which can be performed only when in a state of
ceremonial purity. Hence many Moslems go to the Hammam on
Thursday and have no connection with their wives.

 Lane (i. 423) gives ample details concerning the
Habbaniyah, or grain-sellers' quarter in the southern part of
Cairo; and shows that when this tale was written (or
transcribed?) the city was almost as extensive as it is now.

 Nakib is a caravan-leader, a chief, a syndic; and "Abu
Shamah" Father of a cheek mole, while "Abu Shammah"  Father of
a smeller, a nose, a snout. The "Kuniyah," bye-name, patronymic
or matronymic, is necessary amongst Moslems whose list of names,
all connected more or less with religion, is so scanty. Hence
Buckingham the traveller was known as Abu Kidr, the Father of a
Cooking-pot and Haj Abdullah as Abu Shawarib, Father of
Mustachios (Pilgrimage, iii., 263).

 More correctly Bab Zawilah from the name of a tribe in
Northern Africa. This gate dates from the same age as the Eastern
or Desert gate, Bab al-Nasr (A.D. 1087) and is still much
admired. M. Jomard describes it (Description, etc., ii. 670) and
lately my good friend Yacoub Artin Pasha has drawn attention to
it in the Bulletin de l'Inst. Egypt., Deuxieme Serie, No. 4,
1883.

 This ornament is still seen in the older saloons of
Damascus: the inscriptions are usually religious sentences,
extracts from the Koran, etc., in uncial characters. They take
the place of our frescos; and, as a work of art, are generally
far superior.

 Arab. "Bayaz al-Sultani," the best kind of gypsum which
shines like polished marble. The stucco on the walls of
Alexandria, built by Alexander of the two Horns, was so
exquisitely tempered and beautifully polished that men had to
wear masks for fear of blindness.

 This Iklil, a complicated affair, is now obsolete, its
place having been taken by the "Kurs," a gold plate, some five
inches in diameter, set with jewels, etc. Lane (M. E. Appendix A)
figures it.

 The woman-artist who applies the dye is called
"Munakkishah."

 "Kissing with th' inner lip," as Shakespeare calls it;
the French langue fourree: and Sanskrit "Samputa." The subject of
kissing is extensive in the East. Ten different varieties are
duly enumerated in the "Ananga-Ranga;" or, The Hindu Art of Love
(Ars Amoris Indica) translated from the Sanskrit, and annotated
by A. F. F. and B. F. R It is also connected with unguiculation,
or impressing the nails, of which there are seven kinds;
morsication (seven kinds); handling the hair and lappings or
pattings with the fingers and palm (eight kinds).

 Arab. "asal-nahl," to distinguish it from "honey" i.e.
syrup of sugar-cane and fruits

 The lines have occurred in Night xii. By way of variety
I give Torrens' version p. 273.

 The way of carrying money in the corner of a
pocket-handkerchief is still common.

 He sent the provisions not to be under an obligation to
her in this matter. And she received them to judge thereby of his
liberality

 Those who have seen the process of wine-making in the
Libanus will readily understand why it is always strained.

 Arab. "Kulkasa," a kind of arum or yam, eaten boiled
like our potatoes.

At first he slipped the money into the bed-clothes: now
he gives it openly and she accepts it for a reason.

 Arab. Al-Zalamah lit.  tyrants, oppressors, applied to
the police and generally to employes of Government. It is a word
which tells a history.

 Moslem law is never completely satisfied till the
criminal confess. It also utterly ignores circumstantial evidence
and for the best of reasons: amongst so sharp-witted a people the
admission would lead to endless abuses. I greatly surprised a
certain Governor-General of India by giving him this simple
information

 Cutting off the right hand is the Koranic punishment
(chaps. v.) for one who robs an article worth four dinars, about
forty francs to shillings. The left foot is to be cut off at the
ankle for a second offence and so on; but death is reserved for a
hardened criminal. The practice is now obsolete and theft is
punished by the bastinado, fine or imprisonment. The old Guebres
were as severe. For stealing one dirham's worth they took a fine
of two, cut off the ear-lobes, gave ten stick-blows and dismissed
the criminal who had been subjected to an hour's imprisonment. A
second theft caused the penalties to be doubled; and after that
the right hand was cut off or death was inflicted according to
the proportion stolen.

 Koran viii. 17.

 A universal custom in the East, the object being
originally to show that the draught was not poisoned.

 Out of paste or pudding.

 Boils and pimples are supposed to be caused by broken
hair-roots and in Hindostani are called Bal-tor.

 He intended to bury it decently, a respect which Moslems
always show even to the exuvie of the body, as hair and nail
parings. Amongst Guebres the latter were collected and carried to
some mountain. The practice was intensified by fear of demons or
wizards getting possession of the spoils.

 Without which the marriage was not valid. The minimum is
ten dirhams (drachmas) now valued at about five francs to
shillings; and if a man marry without naming the sum, the woman,
after consummation, can compel him to pay this minimum.

 Arab. "Khatmah"  reading or reciting the whole Koran,
by one or more persons, usually in the house, not over the tomb.
Like the "Zikr," Litany or Rogation, it is a pious act confined
to certain occasions.

 Arab. "Zirbajah"  meat dressed with vinegar, cumin-seed
(Pers. Zir) and hot spices. More of it in the sequel of the tale.

 A saying not uncommon meaning, let each man do as he
seems fit; also  "age quad agis": and at times corresponding
with our saw about the cap fitting.

  Arab. "Su'ud," an Alpinia with pungent rhizome like
ginger; here used as a counter-odour.

 Arab. "Ta'ih"  lost in the "Tih," a desert wherein man
may lose himself, translated in our maps 'The Desert of the
Wanderings," scil. of the children of Israel. "Credat Judeus."

 ie. 125 and 500.

 A large sum was weighed by a professional instead of
being counted, the reason being that the coin is mostly old and
worn: hence our words "pound" and "pension" (or what is weighed
out).

 The eunuch is the best possible go-between on account of
his almost unlimited power over the Harem.

 i.e., a slave-girl brought up in the house and never
sold except for some especial reason, as habitual drunkenness,
etc.

 Smuggling men into the Harem is a stock "topic" of
eastern tales. "By means of their female attendants, the ladies
of the royal harem generally get men into their apartments in the
disguise of women," says Vatsyayana in The Kama Sutra, Part V.
London: Printed for the Hindoo Kamashastra Society. 1883. For
private circulation.

 These tears are shed over past separation. So the
"Indians" of the New World never meet after long parting without
beweeping mutual friends they have lost.

 A most important Jack in office whom one can see with
his smooth chin and blubber lips, starting up from his lazy
snooze in the shade and delivering his orders more peremptorily
than any Dogberry. These epicenes are as curious and exceptional
in character as in external conformation. Disconnected, after a
fashion, with humanity, they are brave, fierce and capable of any
villainy or barbarity (as Agha Mohammed Khan in Persia 1795-98).
The frame is unnaturally long and lean, especially the arms and
legs; with high, flat, thin shoulders, big protruding joints and
a face by contrast extraordinarily large, a veritable mask; the
Castrato is expert in the use of weapons and sits his horse
admirably, riding well "home" in the saddle for the best of
reasons; and his hoarse, thick voice, which apparently does not
break, as in the European "Cappone," invests him with all the
circumstance of command.

 From the Meccan well used by Moslems much like Eau de
Lourdes by Christians: the water is saltish, hence the touch of
Arab humour (Pilgrimage iii., 201-202).

 Such articles would be sacred from Moslem eyes.

 Physiologically true, but not generally mentioned in
describing the emotions.

 Properly "Uta," the different rooms, each "Odalisque,"
or concubine, having her own.

 Showing that her monthly ailment was over.

 Arab "Muhammarah"  either browned before the fire or
artificially reddened.

 The insolence and licence of these palace-girls was (and
is) unlimited, especially when, as in the present case, they have
to deal with a "lofty." On this subject numberless stories are
current throughout the East.

 i.e., blackened by the fires of Jehannam.

 Arab. "Bi'l-Salamah"  in safety (to avert the evil
eye). When visiting the sick it is usual to say something civil;
"The Lord heal thee! No evil befall thee!" etc.

 Washing during sickness is held dangerous by Arabs; and
"going to the Hammam" is, I have said, equivalent to
convalescence.

 Arab. "Maristan" (pronounced Muristan) a corruption of
the Pers. "Bimaristan"  place of sickness, a hospital much
affected by the old Guebres (Dabistan, i., 165, 166). That of
Damascus was the first Moslem hospital, founded by Al-Walid Son
of Abd al-Malik the Ommiade in A. H. 88  706-7. Benjamin of
Tudela (A. D. 1164) calls it "Dar-al Maraphtan" which his latest
Editor explains by "Dar-al-Morabittan" (abode of those who
require being chained). Al-Makrizi (Khitat) ascribes the
invention of "Spitals" to Hippocrates; another historian to an
early Pharaoh "Manakiyush;" thus ignoring the Persian Kings,
Saint Ephrem (or Ephraim), Syru, etc. In modern parlance
"Maristan" is a madhouse where the maniacs are treated with all
the horrors which were universal in Europe till within a few
years and of which occasional traces occur to this day. In A.D.
1399 Katherine de la Court held a "hospital in the Court called
Robert de Paris," but the first madhouse in Christendom was built
by the legate Ortiz in Toledo A. D. 1483, and was therefore
called Casa del Nuncio. The Damascus "Maristan" was described by
every traveller of the last century: and it showed a curious
contrast between the treatment of the maniac and the idiot or
omadhaun, who is humanely allowed to wander about unharmed, if
not held a Saint. When I saw it last (1870) it was all but empty
and mostly in ruins. As far as my experience goes, the United
States is the only country where the insane are rationally
treated by the sane.

 Hence the trite saying "Whoso drinks the water of the
Nile will ever long to drink it again." "Light" means easily
digested water; and the great test is being able to drink it at
night between the sleeps, without indigestion

 "Nil" in popular parlance is the Nile in flood; although
also used for the River as a proper name. Egyptians (modern as
well as ancient) have three seasons, Al-Shita (winter), Al-Sayf
(summer) and Al-Nil (the Nile i.e. flood season' our mid-summer);
corresponding with the Growth months; Housing (or granary)-months
and Flood-months of the older race.

 These lines are in the Mac. Edit.

 Arab. "Birkat al-Habash," a tank formerly existing in
Southern Cairo: Galland (Night 128) says "en remontant vers
l'Ethiopie."

 The Bres. Edit. (ii., 190), from which I borrow this
description, here alludes to the well-known Island, Al-Rauzah
(Rodah)  The Garden.

 Arab. "Laylat al-Wafa," the night of the completion or
abundance of the Nile (-flood), usually between August 6th and
16th, when the government proclaims that the Nilometer shows a
rise of 16 cubits. Of course it is a great festival and a high
ceremony, for Egypt is still the gift of the Nile (Lane M. E.
chaps. xxvi--a work which would be much improved by a better
index).

 i.e., admiration will be complete.

 Arab. "Sahil Masr" (Misr): hence I suppose Galland's
villes maritimes.

 A favourite simile, suggested by the broken glitter and
shimmer of the stream under the level rays and the breeze of
eventide.

 Arab. "Halab," derived by Moslems from "He (Abraham)
milked (halaba) the white and dun cow." But the name of the city
occurs in the Cuneiforms as Halbun or Khalbun, and the classics
knew it as {Greek Letters}, Beroca, written with variants.

 Arab. "Ka'ah," usually a saloon; but also applied to a
fine house here and elsewhere in The Nights.

 Arab. "Ghamz"  winking, signing with the eye which,
amongst Moslems, is not held "vulgar."

 Arab. "Kamis" from low Lat. "Camicia," first found in
St. Jerome:-- "Solent militantes habere lineas, quas Camicias
vocant." Our shirt, chemise, chemisette, etc., was unknown to the
Ancients of Europe.

 Arab. "Narjis." The Arabs borrowed nothing, but the
Persians much, from Greek Mythology. Hence the eye of Narcissus,
an idea hardly suggested by the look of the daffodil (or
asphodel)-flower, is at times the glance of a spy and at times
the die-away look of a mistress. Some scholars explain it by the
form of the flower, the internal calyx resembling the iris, and
the stalk being bent just below the petals suggesting drooping
eyelids and languid eyes. Hence a poet addresses the Narcissus:--

O Narjis, look away! Before those eyes        I may not kiss her
as
     a-breast she lies.
What! Shall the lover close his eyes in sleep  While thine watch
     all things between earth and skies?

The fashionable lover in the East must affect a frantic jealousy
if he does not feel it.

 In Egypt there are neither bedsteads nor bedrooms: the
carpets and mattresses, pillows and cushions (sheets being
unknown), are spread out when wanted, and during the day are put
into chests or cupboards, or only rolled up in a corner of the
room (Pilgrimage i. 53).

 The women of Damascus have always been famed for the
sanguinary jealousy with which European story-books and novels
credit the "Spanish lady." The men were as celebrated for
intolerance and fanaticism, which we first read of in the days of
Bertrandon de la Brocquiere and which culminated in the massacre
of 1860. Yet they are a notoriously timid race and make,
physically and morally, the worst of soldiers: we proved that
under my late friend Fred. Walpole in the Bashi-Buzuks during the
old Crimean war. The men looked very fine fellows and after a
month in camp fell off to the condition of old women.

 Arab. "Rukham," properly  alabaster and "Marmar" 
marble; but the two are often confounded.

 He was ceremonially impure after touching a corpse.

 The phrase is perfectly appropriate: Cairo without "her
Nile" would be nothing.

 "The market was hot" say the Hindustanis. This would
begin between 7 and 8 a.m.

 Arab. Al-Faranj, Europeans generally. It is derived from
"Gens Francorum," and dates from Crusading days when the French
played the leading part. Hence the Lingua Franca, the Levantine
jargon, of which Moliere has left such a witty specimen.

 A process familiar to European surgery of the same date.

 In sign of disappointment, regret, vexation; a gesture
still common amongst Moslems and corresponding in significance to
a certain extent with our stamping, wringing the hands and so
forth. It is not mentioned in the Koran where, however, we find
"biting fingers' ends out of wrath" against a man (chaps. iii.).

 This is no unmerited scandal. The Cairenes, especially
the feminine half (for reasons elsewhere given), have always been
held exceedingly debauched. Even the modest Lane gives a
"shocking" story of a woman enjoying her lover under the nose of
her husband and confining the latter in a madhouse (chaps.
xiii.). With civilisation, which objects to the good old remedy,
the sword, they become worse: and the Kazi's court is crowded
with would-be divorcees. Under English rule the evil has reached
its acme because it goes unpunished: in the avenues of the new
Isma'iliyah Quarter, inhabited by Europeans, women, even young
women, will threaten to expose their persons unless they receive
"bakhshish." It was the same in Sind when husbands were assured
that they would be hanged for cutting down adulterous wives: at
once after its conquest the women broke loose; and in 1843-50, if
a young officer sent to the bazaar for a girl, half-a-dozen would
troop to his quarters. Indeed more than once the professional
prostitutes threatened to memorialise Sir Charles Napier because
the "modest women," the "ladies" were taking the bread out of
their mouths. The same was the case at Kabul (Caboul) of
Afghanistan in the old war of 1840; and here the women had more
excuse, the husbands being notable sodomites as the song has it.

     The worth of slit the Afghan knows;
     The worth of hole the Kabul-man.

 So that he might not have to do with three
sisters-german. Moreover amongst Moslems a girl's conduct is
presaged by that of her mother; and if one sister go wrong, the
other is expected to follow suit. Practically the rule applies
everywhere, "like mother like daughter."

 In sign of dissent; as opposed to nodding the head which
signifies assent. These are two items, apparently instinctive and
universal, of man's gesture-language which has been so highly
cultivated by sundry North American tribes and by the surdo-mute
establishments of Europe.

 This "Futur" is the real "breakfast" of the East, the
"Chhoti hazri" (petit dejeuner) of India, a bit of bread, a cup
of coffee or tea and a pipe on rising. In the text, however, it
is a ceremonious affair.

 Arab. "Nahs," a word of many meanings; a sinister aspect
of the stars (as in Hebr. end Aram.) or, adjectivally, sinister,
of ill-omen. Vulgarly it is used as the reverse of nice and
corresponds, after a fashion, with our "nasty."

 "Window-gardening," new in England, is an old practice
in the East.

 Her pimping instinct at once revealed the case to her.

 The usual "pander-dodge" to get more money.

 The writer means that the old woman's account was all
false, to increase apparent difficulties and pour se faire
valoir.

 Arab. "Ya Khalati" mother's sister; a familiar address
to the old, as uncle or nuncle (father's brother) to a man. The
Arabs also hold that as a girl resembles her mother so a boy
follows his uncle (mother's brother): hence the address "Ya
tayyib al-Khal!"  0 thou nephew of a good uncle. I have noted
that physically this is often fact.

 "Ay w' Allahi," contracted popularly to Aywa, a word in
every Moslem mouth and shunned by Christians because against
orders Hebrew and Christian. The better educated Turks now eschew
that eternal reference to Allah which appears in The Nights and
which is still the custom of the vulgar throughout the world of
Al-Islam.

 The "Muzayyin" or barber in the East brings his basin
and budget under his arm: he is not content only to shave, he
must scrape the forehead, trim the eyebrows, pass the blade
lightly over the nose and correct the upper and lower lines of
the mustachios, opening the central parting and so forth. He is
not a whit less a tattler and a scandal monger than the old Roman
tonsor or Figaro, his confrere in Southern Europe. The whole
scene of the Barber is admirable, an excellent specimen of Arab
humour and not over-caricatured. We all have met him.

 Abdullah ibn Abbas was a cousin and a companion of the
Apostle, also a well known Commentator on the Koran and conserver
of the traditions of Mohammed.

 I have noticed the antiquity of this father of our
sextant, a fragment of which was found in the Palace of
Sennacherib. More concerning the "Arstable" (as Chaucer calls it)
is given in my "Camoens: his Life and his Lusiads," p. 381.

 Arab. "Simiya" to rhyme with Kimiya (alchemy proper). It
is a subordinate branch of the Ilm al-Ruhani which I would
translate "Spiritualism," and which is divided into two great
branches, "Ilwi or Rahmani" (the high or related to the Deity)
and Sifli or Shaytani (low, Satanic). To the latter belongs
Al-Sahr, magic or the black art proper, gramarye, egromancy,
while Al- Simiya is white magic, electro-biology, a kind of
natural and deceptive magic, in which drugs and perfumes exercise
an important action. One of its principal branches is the Darb
al-Mandal or magic mirror, of which more in a future page. See
Boccaccio's Day x. Novel 5.

 Chap. iii., 128. See Sale (in loco) for the noble
application of this text by the Imam Hasan, son of the Caliph
Ali.

 These proverbs at once remind us of our old friend
Sancho Panza and are equally true to nature in the mouth of the
Arab and of the Spaniard.

 Our nurses always carry in the arms: Arabs place the
children astraddle upon the hip and when older on the shoulder.

 Eastern clothes allow this biblical display of sorrow
and vexation, which with our European garb would look absurd: we
must satisfy ourselves with maltreating our hats

 Koran xlviii., 8. It may be observed that according to
the Ahadis (sayings of the Prophet) and the Sunnat (sayings and
doings of Mahommed), all the hair should be allowed to grow or
the whole head be clean shaven. Hence the "Shushah," or topknot,
supposed to be left as a handle for drawing the wearer into
Paradise, and the Zulf, or side-locks, somewhat like the ringlets
of the Polish Jews, are both vain "Bida'at," or innovations, and
therefore technically termed "Makruh," a practice not laudable,
neither "Halal" (perfectly lawful) nor "Haram" (forbidden by the
law). When boys are first shaved generally in the second or third
year, a tuft is left on the crown and another over the forehead;
but this is not the fashion amongst adults. Abu Hanifah, if I am
rightly informed, wrote a treatise on the Shushah or long lock
growing from the Nasiyah (head-poll) which is also a precaution
lest the decapitated Moslem's mouth be defiled by an impure hand;
and thus it would resemble the chivalry lock by which the Redskin
brave (and even the "cowboy" of better times) facilitated the
removal of his own scalp. Possibly the Turks had learned the
practice from the Chinese and introduced it into Baghdad
(Pilgrimage i., 240). The Badawi plait their locks in Kurun
(horns) or Jadail (ringlets) which are undone only to be washed
with the water of the she-camel. The wild Sherifs wear Haffah,
long elf-locks hanging down both sides of the throat, and shaved
away about a finger's breadth round the forehead and behind the
neck (Pilgrimage iii., 35-36). I have elsewhere noted the
accroche-coeurs, the "idiot fringe," etc.

 Meats are rarely coloured in modern days; but Persian
cooks are great adepts in staining rice for the "Pulao (which we
call after its Turkish corruption "pilaff"): it sometimes appears
in rainbow-colours, red, yellow and blue; and in India is covered
with gold and silver leaf. Europe retains the practice in tinting
Pasch (Easter) eggs, the survival of the mundane ovum which was
hatched at Easter-tide; and they are dyed red in allusion to the
Blood of Redemption.

 As I have noticed, this is a mixture.

 We say:--

     Tis rare the father in the son we see:
     He sometimes rises in the third degree.

 Arab. "Ballan" i.e. the body-servant: "Ballanah" is a
tire-woman.

 Arab. "Darabukkah" a drum made of wood or earthen-ware
(Lane, M. E., xviii.), and used by all in Egypt.

 Arab. "Naihah" more generally "Naddabah" Lat. prefica or
carina, a hired mourner, the Irish "Keener" at the conclamatio or
coronach, where the Hullabaloo, Hulululu or Ululoo showed the
survivors' sorrow.

 These doggerels, which are like our street melodies, are
now forgotten and others have taken their place. A few years ago
one often heard, "Dus ya lalli" (Tread, O my joy) and "Nazil
il'al-Ganinah" (Down into the garden) and these in due turn
became obsolete. Lane (M. E. chaps. xviii.) gives the former e.g.

     Tread, O my joy! Tread, O my joy!
     Love of my love brings sore annoy,

A chorus to such stanzas as:--

Alexandrian damsels rare!  Daintily o'er the floor ye fare:
Your lips are sweet, are sugar-sweet,  And purfled Cashmere
     shawls ye wear!

It may be noted that "humming" is not a favourite practice with
Moslems; if one of the company begin, another will say, "Go to
the Kahwah" (the coffee-house, the proper music-hall) "and sing
there!" I have elsewhere observed their dislike to Al-sifr or
whistling.

 Arab. Khali'a  worn out, crafty, an outlaw; used like
Span. "Perdido."

 "Zabbal" is the scavenger, lit. a dung-drawer,
especially for the use of the Hammam which is heated with the
droppings of animals. "Wakkad" (stoker) is the servant who turns
the fire. The verses are mere nonsense to suit the Barber's
humour.

 Arab. "Ya barid"  O fool.

 This form of blessing is chanted from the Minaret about
half-an-hour before midday, when the worshippers take their
places in the mosque. At noon there is the usual Azan or
prayer-call, and each man performs a two-bow, in honour of the
mosque and its gathering, as it were. The Prophet is then blessed
and a second Salam is called from the raised ambo or platform
(dikkah) by the divines who repeat the midday-call. Then an Imam
recites the first Khutbah, or sermon "of praise"; and the
congregation worships in silence. This is followed by the second
exhortation "of Wa'az," dispensing the words of wisdom. The Imam
now stands up before the Mihrab (prayer niche) and recites the
Ikamah which is the common Azan with one only difference: after
"Hie ye to salvation" it adds "Come is the time of supplication;"
whence the name, "causing" (prayer) "to stand" (i.e., to begin).
Hereupon the worshippers recite the Farz or Koran commanded
noon-prayer of Friday; and the unco' guid add a host of
superogatories Those who would study the subject may consult Lane
(M. E. chaps. iii. and its abstract in his "Arabian Nights," I,
p. 430, or note 69 to chaps. v.).

 i.e., the women loosed their hair; an immodesty
sanctioned only by a great calamity.

 These small shops are composed of a "but" and a "ben."
(Pilgrimage i., 99.)

 Arab. "Kawwad," a popular term of abuse; hence the Span.
and Port. "Alco-viteiro." The Italian "Galeotto" is from
Galahalt, not Galahad.

 i.e., "one seeking assistance in Allah." He was the son
of Al-Zahir bi'llah (one pre-eminent by the decree of Allah).
Lane says (i. 430), "great- grandson of Harun al-Rashid,"
alluding to the first Mustansir son of Al-Mutawakkil (regn. A.H.
247-248 861-862). But this is the 56th Abbaside and regn. A. H.
623-640 ( 1226-1242).

 Arab. "Yaum al-Id," the Kurban Bairam of the Turks, the
Pilgrimage festival. The story is historical. In the "Akd," a
miscellany compiled by Ibn Abd Rabbuh (vulg. Rabbi-hi) of
Cordova, who ob. A. H. 328  940 we read:--A sponger found ten
criminals and followed them, imagining they were going to a
feast; but lo, they were going to their deaths! And when they
were slain and he remained, he was brought before the Khalifah
(Al Maamun) and Ibrahim son of Al- Mahdi related a tale to
procure pardon for the man, whereupon the Khalifah pardoned him.
(Lane ii., 506.)

 Arab. "Nate' al-Dam"; the former word was noticed in the
Tale of the Bull and the Ass. The leather of blood was not unlike
the Sufrah and could be folded into a bag by a string running
through rings round the edges. Moslem executioners were very
expert and seldom failed to strike off the head with a single
blow of the thin narrow blade with razor-edge, hard as diamond
withal, which contrasted so strongly with the great coarse
chopper of the European headsman.

 The ground floor, which in all hot countries is held,
and rightly so, unwholesome during sleep, is usually let for
shops. This is also the case throughout Southern Europe, and
extends to the Canary Islands and the Brazil.

 This serious contemplation of street-scenery is one of
the pleasures of the Harems.

 We should say "smiled at him": the laugh was not
intended as an affront.

 Arab. "Fals ahmar." Fals is a fish-scale, also the
smaller coin and the plural "Fulus" is the vulgar term for money
( Ital. quattrini ) without specifying the coin. It must not be
confounded with the "Fazzah," alias "Nuss," alias "Parah"
(Turk.); the latter being made, not of "red copper" but of a vile
alloy containing, like the Greek "Asper," some silver; and
representing, when at par, the fortieth of a piastre, the
latter2d. 2/5ths.

 Arab "Farajiyah " a long-sleeved robe; Lane's
"Farageeyeh," (M. E., chaps. i)

 The tailor in the East, as in Southern Europe, is made
to cut out the cloth in presence of its owner, to prevent
"cabbaging."

 Expecting a present.

 Alluding to the saying, "Kiss is the key to Kitty."

 The "panel-dodge" is fatally common throughout the East,
where a man found in the house of another is helpless.

 This was the beginning of horseplay which often ends in
a bastinado.

 Hair-dyes, in the East, are all of vegetable matter,
henna, indigo-leaves, galls, etc.: our mineral dyes are, happily
for them, unknown. Herklots will supply a host of recipes The
Egyptian mixture which I quoted in Pilgrimage (ii., 274) is
sulphate of iron and ammoniure of iron one part and gall nuts two
parts, infused in eight parts of distilled water. It is innocuous
but very poor as a dye.

 Arab. Amrad, etymologically "beardless and handsome,"
but often used in a bad sense, to denote an effeminate, a
catamite.

 The Hindus prefer "having the cardinal points as her
sole garment." "Vetu de climat," says Madame de Stael. In Paris
nude statues are "draped in cerulean blue." Rabelais (iv.,29)
robes King Shrovetide in grey and gold of a comical cut, nothing
before, nothing behind, with sleeves of the same.

 This scene used to be enacted a few years ago in Paris
for the benefit of concealed spectators, a young American being
the victim. It was put down when one of the lookers-on lost his
eye by a pen-knife thrust into the "crevice."

 Meaning that the trick had been played by the Wazir's
wife or daughter. I could mention sundry names at Cairo whose
charming owners have done worse things than this unseemly frolic.

 Arab. "Shayyun li'llahi," a beggar's formula  per amor
di Dio.

 Noting how sharp-eared the blind become.

 The blind in Egypt are notorious for insolence and
violence, fanaticism and rapacity. Not a few foreigners have
suffered from them (Pilgrimage i., 148). In former times many
were blinded in infancy by their mothers, and others blinded
themselves to escape conscription or honest hard work. They could
always obtain food, especially as Mu'ezzins and were preferred
because they could not take advantage of the minaret by spying
into their neighbours' households. The Egyptian race is
chronically weak-eyed, the effect of the damp hot climate of the
valley, where ophthalmia prevailed even during the pre-Pharaohnic
days. The great Sesostris died stone-blind and his successor lost
his sight for ten years (Pilgrimage ii., 176). That the Fellahs
are now congenitally weak-eyed, may be seen by comparing them
with negroes imported from Central Africa. Ophthalmia rages,
especially during the damp season, in the lower Nile-valley; and
the best cure for it is a fortnight's trip to the Desert where,
despite glare, sand and wind, the eye readily recovers tone.

 i.e., with kicks and cuffs and blows, as is the custom.
(Pilgrimage i., 174.)

 Arab. Kaid (whence "Alcayde") a word still much used in
North Western Africa.

 Arab. "Sullam"  lit. a ladder; a frame-work of sticks,
used by way of our triangles or whipping-posts.

 This is one of the feats of Al-Simiya  white magic;
fascinating the eyes. In Europe it has lately taken the name of
"Electro-biology."

 again by means of the "Simiya" or power of fascination
possessed by the old scoundrel.

 A formula for averting "Al-Ayn," the evil eye. It is
always unlucky to meet a one-eyed man, especially the first thing
in the morning and when setting out on any errand. The idea is
that the fascinated one will suffer from some action of the
physical eye. Monoculars also are held to be rogues: so the
Sanskrit saying "Few one-eyed men be honest men."

 Al-Nashshar from Nashr  sawing: so the fiddler in
Italian is called the "village-saw" (Sega del villaggio). He is
the Alnaschar of the Englished Galland and Richardson. The tale
is very old. It appears as the Brahman and the Pot of Rice in the
Panchatantra; and Professor Benfey believes (as usual with him)
that this, with many others, derives from a Buddhist source. But
I would distinctly derive it from Esop's market-woman who kicked
over her eggs, whence the Lat. prov. Ante victoriam canere
triumphum  to sell the skin before you have caught the bear. In
the "Kalilah and Dimnah" and its numerous offspring it is the
"Ascetic with his Jar of oil and honey;" in Rabelais (i., 33)
Echephron's shoemaker spills his milk, and so La Perette in La
Fontaine. See M. Max Muller's "Chips," (vol. iii., appendix) The
curious reader will compare my version with that which appears at
the end of Richardson's Arabic Grammar (Edit. Of 1811): he had a
better, or rather a fuller MS. (p. 199) than any yet printed.

 Arab. "Atr"  any perfume, especially oil of roses;
whence our word "Otter,' through the Turkish corruption.

 The texts give "dirhams" (100,000  5,000 dinars) for
"dinars," a clerical error as the sequel shows.

 "Young slaves," says Richardson, losing "colour."

 Nothing more calculated to give affront than such a
refusal. Richardson (p. 204) who, however, doubts his own version
(p. 208), here translates, "and I will not give liberty to my
soul (spouse) but in her apartments." The Arabic, or rather
Cairene, is, "wa la akhalli ruhi" I will not let myself go, i.e.,
be my everyday self, etc.

 "Whilst she is in astonishment and terror."
(Richardson.)

 "Chamber of robes," Richardson, whose text has "Nam" for
"Manam."

 "Till I compleat her distress," Richardson, whose text
is corrupt.

 "Sleep by her side," R. the word "Name" bearing both
senses.

 "Will take my hand," R. "takabbal" being also ambiguous.

 Arab. "Mu'arras" one who brings about "'Ars," marriages,
etc. So the Germ.  "Kupplerinn" a Coupleress. It is one of the
many synonyms for a pimp, and a word in general use (Pilgrimage
i., 276).The most insulting term, like Dayyus, insinuates that
the man panders for his own wife.

 Of hands and face, etc. See Night cccclxiv.

 Arab. "Sadakah" (sincerity), voluntary or superogatory
alms, opposed to "Zakat" (purification), legal alms which are
indispensable. "Prayer carries us half way to Allah, fasting
brings us to the door of His palace and alms deeds (Sadakah)
cause us to enter." For "Zakat" no especial rate is fixed, but it
should not be less than one-fortieth of property or two and a
half per cent. Thus Al-lslam is, as far as I know, the only faith
which makes a poor-rate (Zakat) obligatory and which has invented
a property-tax, as opposed the unjust and unfair income-tax upon
which England prides herself.

 A Greek girl.

 This was making himself very easy; and the idea is the
gold in the pouch caused him to be so bold. Lane's explanation
(in loco) is all wrong. The pride engendered by sudden possession
of money is a lieu commun amongst Eastern story tellers; even in
the beast-fables the mouse which has stolen a few gold pieces
becomes confident and stout-hearted.

 Arab. "al-Malihah" also means the beautiful (fem.) from
Milhsalt, splendour, etc., the Mac edit. has "Mumallihah"  a
salt-vessel.

 i.e., to see if he felt the smart.

 Arab. "Sardabeh" (Persian)an underground room used for
coolness in the hot season. It is unknown in Cairo but every
house in Baghdad, in fact throughout the Mesopotamian cities, has
one. It is on the principle of the underground cellar without
which wine will not keep: Lane (i., 406) calls it a "vault".

 In the orig. "O old woman!" which is insulting.

 So the Italians say "a quail to skin."

 "Amen" is the word used for quarter on the battle-field;
and there are Joe Millers about our soldiers in India mistaking
it for "a man" or (Scottice) "a mon."

 Illustrating the Persian saying "Allah himself cannot
help a fool."

 Any article taken from the person and given to a
criminal is a promise of pardon, of course on the implied
condition of plenary confession and of becoming "King's
evidence."

 A naive proposal to share the plunder.

 In popular literature "Schacabac.", And from this tale
comes our saying "A Barmecide's Feast," i.e., an illusion.

 The Castrato at the door is still (I have said) the
fashion of Cairo and he acts "Suisse" with a witness.

 As usual in the East, the mansion was a hollow square
surrounding what in Spain is called Patio: the outer entrance was
far from the inner, showing the extent of the grounds.

 "Nahnu malihin"  we are on terms of salt, said and say
the Arabs. But the traveller must not trust in these days to the
once sacred tie; there are tribes which will give bread with one
hand and stab with the other. The Eastern use of salt is a
curious contrast with that of Westerns, who made it an invidious
and inhospitable distinction, e.g., to sit above the salt-cellar
and below the salt. Amongst the ancients, however, "he took bread
and salt" means he swore, the food being eaten when an oath was
taken. Hence the "Bride cake" of salt, water and flour.

 Arab. "Harisah," the meat-pudding before explained.

 Arab. "Sikbaj," before explained; it is held to be a
lordly dish, invented by Khusraw Parwiz. "Fatted duck" says the
Bresl. Edit. ii., 308, with more reason.

 I was reproved in Southern Abyssinia for eating without
this champing, "Thou feedest like a beggar who muncheth silently
in his corner;" and presently found that it was a sign of good
breeding to eat as noisily as possible.

 Barley in Arabia is, like our oats, food for horses: it
fattens at the same time that it cools them. Had this been known
to our cavalry when we first occupied Egypt in 1883-4 our losses
in horse-flesh would have been far less; but official ignorance
persisted in feeding the cattle upon heating oats and the riders
upon beef, which is indigestible, instead of mutton, which is
wholesome.

 i.e. "I conjure thee by God."

 i.e. "This is the very thing for thee."

 i.e., at random.

 This is the way of slaughtering the camel, whose throat
is never cut on account of the thickness of the muscles. "Egorger
un chameau" is a mistake often made in French books.

 i.e. I will break bounds.

 The Arabs have a saying corresponding with the dictum of
the Salernitan school:--

     Noscitur a labiis quantum sit virginis antrum:
     Noscitur a naso quanta sit haste viro;
     (A maiden's mouth shows what's the make of her chose;
     And man's mentule one knows by the length of his nose.)

Whereto I would add:--

     And the eyebrows disclose how the lower wig grows.

The observations are purely empirical but, as far as my
experience extends, correct.

 Arab. "Kahkahah," a very low proceeding.

 Or "for every death there is a cause;" but the older
Arabs had a saying corresponding with "Deus non fecit mortem."

 The King's barber is usually a man of rank for the best
of reasons, that he holds his Sovereign's life between his
fingers. One of these noble Figaros in India married an English
lady who was, they say, unpleasantly surprised to find out what
were her husband's official duties.









JAPANESE FAIRY TALES.




MY LORD BAG OF RICE.


Long, long ago there lived, in Japan a brave warrior known to all as
Tawara Toda, or "My Lord Bag of Rice." His true name was Fujiwara
Hidesato, and there is a very interesting story of how he came to
change his name.

One day he sallied forth in search of adventures, for he had the nature
of a warrior and could not bear to be idle. So he buckled on his two
swords, took his huge bow, much taller than himself, in his hand, and
slinging his quiver on his back started out. He had not gone far when
he came to the bridge of Seta-no-Karashi spanning one end of the
beautiful Lake Biwa. No sooner had he set foot on the bridge than he
saw lying right across his path a huge serpent-dragon. Its body was so
big that it looked like the trunk of a large pine tree and it took up
the whole width of the bridge. One of its huge claws rested on the
parapet of one side of the bridge, while its tail lay right against the
other. The monster seemed to be asleep, and as it breathed, fire and
smoke came out of its nostrils.

At first Hidesato could not help feeling alarmed at the sight of this
horrible reptile lying in his path, for he must either turn back or
walk right over its body. He was a brave man, however, and putting
aside all fear went forward dauntlessly. Crunch, crunch! he stepped now
on the dragon's body, now between its coils, and without even one
glance backward he went on his way.

He had only gone a few steps when he heard some one calling him from
behind. On turning back he was much surprised to see that the monster
dragon had entirely disappeared and in its place was a strange-looking
man, who was bowing most ceremoniously to the ground. His red hair
streamed over his shoulders and was surmounted by a crown in the shape
of a dragon's head, and his sea-green dress was patterned with shells.
Hidesato knew at once that this was no ordinary mortal and he wondered
much at the strange occurrence. Where had the dragon gone in such a
short space of time? Or had it transformed itself into this man, and
what did the whole thing mean? While these thoughts passed through his
mind he had come up to the man on the bridge and now addressed him:

"Was it you that called me just now?"

"Yes, it was I," answered the man: "I have an earnest request to make
to you. Do you think you can grant it to me?"

"If it is in my power to do so I will," answered Hidesato, "but first
tell me who you are?"

"I am the Dragon King of the Lake, and my home is in these waters just
under this bridge."

"And what is it you have to ask of me?" said Hidesato.

"I want you to kill my mortal enemy the centipede, who lives on the
mountain beyond," and the Dragon King pointed to a high peak on the
opposite shore of the lake.

"I have lived now for many years in this lake and I have a large family
of children and grand-children. For some time past we have lived in
terror, for a monster centipede has discovered our home, and night
after night it comes and carries off one of my family. I am powerless
to save them. If it goes on much longer like this, not only shall I
lose all my children, but I myself must fall a victim to the monster. I
am, therefore, very unhappy, and in my extremity I determined to ask
the help of a human being. For many days with this intention I have
waited on the bridge in the shape of the horrible serpent-dragon that
you saw, in the hope that some strong brave man would come along. But
all who came this way, as soon as they saw me were terrified and ran
away as fast as they could. You are the first man I have found able to
look at me without fear, so I knew at once that you were a man of great
courage. I beg you to have pity upon me. Will you not help me and kill
my enemy the centipede?"

Hidesato felt very sorry for the Dragon King on hearing his story, and
readily promised to do what he could to help him. The warrior asked
where the centipede lived, so that he might attack the creature at
once. The Dragon King replied that its home was on the mountain Mikami,
but that as it came every night at a certain hour to the palace of the
lake, it would be better to wait till then. So Hidesato was conducted
to the palace of the Dragon King, under the bridge. Strange to say, as
he followed his host downwards the waters parted to let them pass, and
his clothes did not even feel damp as he passed through the flood.
Never had Hidesato seen anything so beautiful as this palace built of
white marble beneath the lake. He had often heard of the Sea King's
palace at the bottom of the sea, where all the servants and retainers
were salt-water fishes, but here was a magnificent building in the
heart of Lake Biwa. The dainty goldfishes, red carp, and silvery trout,
waited upon the Dragon King and his guest.

Hidesato was astonished at the feast that was spread for him. The
dishes were crystallized lotus leaves and flowers, and the chopsticks
were of the rarest ebony. As soon as they sat down, the sliding doors
opened and ten lovely goldfish dancers came out, and behind them
followed ten red-carp musicians with the koto and the samisen. Thus the
hours flew by till midnight, and the beautiful music and dancing had
banished all thoughts of the centipede. The Dragon King was about to
pledge the warrior in a fresh cup of wine when the palace was suddenly
shaken by a tramp, tramp! as if a mighty army had begun to march not
far away.

Hidesato and his host both rose to their feet and rushed to the
balcony, and the warrior saw on the opposite mountain two great balls
of glowing fire coming nearer and nearer. The Dragon King stood by the
warrior's side trembling with fear.

"The centipede! The centipede! Those two balls of fire are its eyes. It
is coming for its prey! Now is the time to kill it."

Hidesato looked where his host pointed, and, in the dim light of the
starlit evening, behind the two balls of fire he saw the long body of
an enormous centipede winding round the mountains, and the light in its
hundred feet glowed like so many distant lanterns moving slowly towards
the shore.

Hidesato showed not the least sign of fear. He tried to calm the Dragon
King.

"Don't be afraid. I shall surely kill the centipede. Just bring me my
bow and arrows."

The Dragon King did as he was bid, and the warrior noticed that he had
only three arrows left in his quiver. He took the bow, and fitting an
arrow to the notch, took careful aim and let fly.

The arrow hit the centipede right in the middle of its head, but
instead of penetrating, it glanced off harmless and fell to the ground.

Nothing daunted, Hidesato took another arrow, fitted it to the notch of
the bow and let fly. Again the arrow hit the mark, it struck the
centipede right in the middle of its head, only to glance off and fall
to the ground. The centipede was invulnerable to weapons! When the
Dragon King saw that even this brave warrior's arrows were powerless to
kill the centipede, he lost heart and began to tremble with fear.

The warrior saw that he had now only one arrow left in his quiver, and
if this one failed he could not kill the centipede. He looked across
the waters. The huge reptile had wound its horrid body seven times
round the mountain and would soon come down to the lake. Nearer and
nearer gleamed fireballs of eyes, and the light of its hundred feet
began to throw reflections in the still waters of the lake.

Then suddenly the warrior remembered that he had heard that human
saliva was deadly to centipedes. But this was no ordinary centipede.
This was so monstrous that even to think of such a creature made one
creep with horror. Hidesato determined to try his last chance. So
taking his last arrow and first putting the end of it in his mouth, he
fitted the notch to his bow, took careful aim once more and let fly.

This time the arrow again hit the centipede right in the middle of its
head, but instead of glancing off harmlessly as before, it struck home
to the creature's brain. Then with a convulsive shudder the serpentine
body stopped moving, and the fiery light of its great eyes and hundred
feet darkened to a dull glare like the sunset of a stormy day, and then
went out in blackness. A great darkness now overspread the heavens, the
thunder rolled and the lightning flashed, and the wind roared in fury,
and it seemed as if the world were coming to an end. The Dragon King
and his children and retainers all crouched in different parts of the
palace, frightened to death, for the building was shaken to its
foundation. At last the dreadful night was over. Day dawned beautiful
and clear. The centipede was gone from the mountain.

Then Hidesato called to the Dragon King to come out with him on the
balcony, for the centipede was dead and he had nothing more to fear.

Then all the inhabitants of the palace came out with joy, and Hidesato
pointed to the lake. There lay the body of the dead centipede floating
on the water, which was dyed red with its blood.

The gratitude of the Dragon King knew no bounds. The whole family came
and bowed down before the warrior, calling him their preserver and the
bravest warrior in all Japan.

Another feast was prepared, more sumptuous than the first. All kinds of
fish, prepared in every imaginable way, raw, stewed, boiled and
roasted, served on coral trays and crystal dishes, were put before him,
and the wine was the best that Hidesato had ever tasted in his life. To
add to the beauty of everything the sun shone brightly, the lake
glittered like a liquid diamond, and the palace was a thousand times
more beautiful by day than by night.

His host tried to persuade the warrior to stay a few days, but Hidesato
insisted on going home, saying that he had now finished what he had
come to do, and must return. The Dragon King and his family were all
very sorry to have him leave so soon, but since he would go they begged
him to accept a few small presents (so they said) in token of their
gratitude to him for delivering them forever from their horrible enemy
the centipede.

As the warrior stood in the porch taking leave, a train of fish was
suddenly transformed into a retinue of men, all wearing ceremonial
robes and dragon's crowns on their heads to show that they were
servants of the great Dragon King. The presents that they carried were
as follows:

   First, a large bronze bell.
   Second, a bag of rice.
   Third, a roll of silk.
   Fourth, a cooking pot.
   Fifth, a bell.

Hidesato did not want to accept all these presents, but as the Dragon
King insisted, he could not well refuse.

The Dragon King himself accompanied the warrior as far as the bridge,
and then took leave of him with many bows and good wishes, leaving the
procession of servants to accompany Hidesato to his house with the
presents.

The warrior's household and servants had been very much concerned when
they found that he did not return the night before, but they finally
concluded that he had been kept by the violent storm and had taken
shelter somewhere. When the servants on the watch for his return caught
sight of him they called to every one that he was approaching, and the
whole household turned out to meet him, wondering much what the retinue
of men, bearing presents and banners, that followed him, could mean.

As soon as the Dragon King's retainers had put down the presents they
vanished, and Hidesato told all that had happened to him.

The presents which he had received from the grateful Dragon King were
found to be of magic power. The bell only was ordinary, and as Hidesato
had no use for it he presented it to the temple near by, where it was
hung up, to boom out the hour of day over the surrounding neighborhood.

The single bag of rice, however much was taken from it day after day
for the meals of the knight and his whole family, never grew less--the
supply in the bag was inexhaustible.

The roll of silk, too, never grew shorter, though time after time long
pieces were cut off to make the warrior a new suit of clothes to go to
Court in at the New Year.

The cooking pot was wonderful, too. No matter what was put into it, it
cooked deliciously whatever was wanted without any firing--truly a very
economical saucepan.

The fame of Hidesato's fortune spread far and wide, and as there was no
need for him to spend money on rice or silk or firing, he became very
rich and prosperous, and was henceforth known as My Lord Bag of Rice.




THE TONGUE-CUT SPARROW.


Long, long ago in Japan there lived an old man and his wife. The old
man was a good, kind-hearted, hard-working old fellow, but his wife was
a regular cross-patch, who spoiled the happiness of her home by her
scolding tongue. She was always grumbling about something from morning
to night. The old man had for a long time ceased to take any notice of
her crossness. He was out most of the day at work in the fields, and as
he had no child, for his amusement when he came home, he kept a tame
sparrow. He loved the little bird just as much as if she had been his
child.

When he came back at night after his hard day's work in the open air it
was his only pleasure to pet the sparrow, to talk to her and to teach
her little tricks, which she learned very quickly. The old man would
open her cage and let her fly about the room, and they would play
together. Then when supper-time came, he always saved some tit-bits
from his meal with which to feed his little bird.

Now one day the old man went out to chop wood in the forest, and the
old woman stopped at home to wash clothes. The day before, she had made
some starch, and now when she came to look for it, it was all gone; the
bowl which she had filled full yesterday was quite empty.

While she was wondering who could have used or stolen the starch, down
flew the pet sparrow, and bowing her little feathered head--a trick
which she had been taught by her master--the pretty bird chirped and
said:

"It is I who have taken the starch. I thought it was some food put out
for me in that basin, and I ate it all. If I have made a mistake I beg
you to forgive me! tweet, tweet, tweet!"

You see from this that the sparrow was a truthful bird, and the old
woman ought to have been willing to forgive her at once when she asked
her pardon so nicely. But not so.

The old woman had never loved the sparrow, and had often quarreled with
her husband for keeping what she called a dirty bird about the house,
saying that it only made extra work for her. Now she was only too
delighted to have some cause of complaint against the pet. She scolded
and even cursed the poor little bird for her bad behavior, and not
content with using these harsh, unfeeling words, in a fit of rage she
seized the sparrow--who all this time had spread out her wings and
bowed her head before the old woman, to show how sorry she was--and
fetched the scissors and cut off the poor little bird's tongue.

"I suppose you took my starch with that tongue! Now you may see what it
is like to go without it!" And with these dreadful words she drove the
bird away, not caring in the least what might happen to it and without
the smallest pity for its suffering, so unkind was she!

The old woman, after she had driven the sparrow away, made some more
rice-paste, grumbling all the time at the trouble, and after starching
all her clothes, spread the things on boards to dry in the sun, instead
of ironing them as they do in England.

In the evening the old man came home. As usual, on the way back he
looked forward to the time when he should reach his gate and see his
pet come flying and chirping to meet him, ruffling out her feathers to
show her joy, and at last coming to rest on his shoulder. But to-night
the old man was very disappointed, for not even the shadow of his dear
sparrow was to be seen.

He quickened his steps, hastily drew off his straw sandals, and stepped
on to the veranda. Still no sparrow was to be seen. He now felt sure
that his wife, in one of her cross tempers, had shut the sparrow up in
its cage. So he called her and said anxiously:

"Where is Suzume San (Miss Sparrow) today?"

The old woman pretended not to know at first, and answered:

"Your sparrow? I am sure I don't know. Now I come to think of it, I
haven't seen her all the afternoon. I shouldn't wonder if the
ungrateful bird had flown away and left you after all your petting!"

But at last, when the old man gave her no peace, but asked her again
and again, insisting that she must know what had happened to his pet,
she confessed all. She told him crossly how the sparrow had eaten the
rice-paste she had specially made for starching her clothes, and how
when the sparrow had confessed to what she had done, in great anger she
had taken her scissors and cut out her tongue, and how finally she had
driven the bird away and forbidden her to return to the house again.

Then the old woman showed her husband the sparrow's tongue, saying:

"Here is the tongue I cut off! Horrid little bird, why did it eat all
my starch?"

"How could you be so cruel? Oh! how could you so cruel?" was all that
the old man could answer. He was too kind-hearted to punish his be
shrew of a wife, but he was terribly distressed at what had happened to
his poor little sparrow.

"What a dreadful misfortune for my poor Suzume San to lose her tongue!"
he said to himself. "She won't be able to chirp any more, and surely
the pain of the cutting of it out in that rough way must have made her
ill! Is there nothing to be done?"

The old man shed many tears after his cross wife had gone to sleep.
While he wiped away the tears with the sleeve of his cotton robe, a
bright thought comforted him: he would go and look for the sparrow on
the morrow. Having decided this he was able to go to sleep at last.

The next morning he rose early, as soon as ever the day broke, and
snatching a hasty breakfast, started out over the hills and through the
woods, stopping at every clump of bamboos to cry:

"Where, oh where does my tongue-cut sparrow stay? Where, oh where, does
my tongue-cut sparrow stay!"

He never stopped to rest for his noonday meal, and it was far on in the
afternoon when he found himself near a large bamboo wood. Bamboo groves
are the favorite haunts of sparrows, and there sure enough at the edge
of the wood he saw his own dear sparrow waiting to welcome him. He
could hardly believe his eyes for joy, and ran forward quickly to greet
her. She bowed her little head and went through a number of the tricks
her master had taught her, to show her pleasure at seeing her old
friend again, and, wonderful to relate, she could talk as of old. The
old man told her how sorry he was for all that had happened, and
inquired after her tongue, wondering how she could speak so well
without it. Then the sparrow opened her beak and showed him that a new
tongue had grown in place of the old one, and begged him not to think
any more about the past, for she was quite well now. Then the old man
knew that his sparrow was a fairy, and no common bird. It would be
difficult to exaggerate the old man's rejoicing now. He forgot all his
troubles, he forgot even how tired he was, for he had found his lost
sparrow, and instead of being ill and without a tongue as he had feared
and expected to find her, she was well and happy and with a new tongue,
and without a sign of the ill-treatment she had received from his wife.
And above all she was a fairy.

The sparrow asked him to follow her, and flying before him she led him
to a beautiful house in the heart of the bamboo grove. The old man was
utterly astonished when he entered the house to find what a beautiful
place it was. It was built of the whitest wood, the soft cream-colored
mats which took the place of carpets were the finest he had ever seen,
and the cushions that the sparrow brought out for him to sit on were
made of the finest silk and crape. Beautiful vases and lacquer boxes
adorned the tokonoma of every room.


 An alcove where precious objects are displayed.


The sparrow led the old man to the place of honor, and then, taking her
place at a humble distance, she thanked him with many polite bows for
all the kindness he had shown her for many long years.

Then the Lady Sparrow, as we will now call her, introduced all her
family to the old man. This done, her daughters, robed in dainty crape
gowns, brought in on beautiful old-fashioned trays a feast of all kinds
of delicious foods, till the old man began to think he must be
dreaming. In the middle of the dinner some of the sparrow's daughters
performed a wonderful dance, called the "suzume-odori" or the
"Sparrow's dance," to amuse the guest.

Never had the old man enjoyed himself so much. The hours flew by too
quickly in this lovely spot, with all these fairy sparrows to wait upon
him and to feast him and to dance before him.

But the night came on and the darkness reminded him that he had a long
way to go and must think about taking his leave and return home. He
thanked his kind hostess for her splendid entertainment, and begged her
for his sake to forget all she had suffered at the hands of his cross
old wife. He told the Lady Sparrow that it was a great comfort and
happiness to him to find her in such a beautiful home and to know that
she wanted for nothing. It was his anxiety to know how she fared and
what had really happened to her that had led him to seek her. Now he
knew that all was well he could return home with a light heart. If ever
she wanted him for anything she had only to send for him and he would
come at once.

The Lady Sparrow begged him to stay and rest several days and enjoy the
change, but the old man said he must return to his old wife--who would
probably be cross at his not coming home at the usual time--and to his
work, and there-fore, much as he wished to do so, he could not accept
her kind invitation. But now that he knew where the Lady Sparrow lived
he would come to see her whenever he had the time.

When the Lady Sparrow saw that she could not persuade the old man to
stay longer, she gave an order to some of her servants, and they at
once brought in two boxes, one large and the other small. These were
placed before the old man, and the Lady Sparrow asked him to choose
whichever he liked for a present, which she wished to give him.

The old man could not refuse this kind proposal, and he chose the
smaller box, saying:

"I am now too old and feeble to carry the big and heavy box. As you are
so kind as to say that I may take whichever I like, I will choose the
small one, which will be easier for me to carry."

Then the sparrows all helped him put it on his back and went to the
gate to see him off, bidding him good-by with many bows and entreating
him to come again whenever he had the time. Thus the old man and his
pet sparrow separated quite happily, the sparrow showing not the least
ill-will for all the unkindness she had suffered at the hands of the
old wife. Indeed, she only felt sorrow for the old man who had to put
up with it all his life.

When the old man reached home he found his wife even crosser than
usual, for it was late on in the night and she had been waiting up for
him for a long time.

"Where have you been all this time?" she asked in a big voice. "Why do
you come back so late?"

The old man tried to pacify her by showing her the box of presents he
had brought back with him, and then he told her of all that had
happened to him, and how wonderfully he had been entertained at the
sparrow's house.

"Now let us see what is in the box," said the old man, not giving her
time to grumble again. "You must help me open it." And they both sat
down before the box and opened it.

To their utter astonishment they found the box filled to the brim with
gold and silver coins and many other precious things. The mats of their
little cottage fairly glittered as they took out the things one by one
and put them down and handled them over and over again. The old man was
overjoyed at the sight of the riches that were now his. Beyond his
brightest expectations was the sparrow's gift, which would enable him
to give up work and live in ease and comfort the rest of his days.

He said: "Thanks to my good little sparrow! Thanks to my good little
sparrow!" many times.

But the old woman, after the first moments of surprise and satisfaction
at the sight of the gold and silver were over, could not suppress the
greed of her wicked nature. She now began to reproach the old man for
not having brought home the big box of presents, for in the innocence
of his heart he had told her how he had refused the large box of
presents which the sparrows had offered him, preferring the smaller one
because it was light and easy to carry home.

"You silly old man," said she, "Why did you not bring the large box?
Just think what we have lost. We might have had twice as much silver
and gold as this. You are certainly an old fool!" she screamed, and
then went to bed as angry as she could be.

The old man now wished that he had said nothing about the big box, but
it was too late; the greedy old woman, not contented with the good luck
which had so unexpectedly befallen them and which she so little
deserved, made up her mind, if possible, to get more.

Early the next morning she got up and made the old man describe the way
to the sparrow's house. When he saw what was in her mind he tried to
keep her from going, but it was useless. She would not listen to one
word he said. It is strange that the old woman did not feel ashamed of
going to see the sparrow after the cruel way she had treated her in
cutting off her tongue in a fit of rage. But her greed to get the big
box made her forget everything else. It did not even enter her thoughts
that the sparrows might be angry with her--as, indeed, they were--and
might punish her for what she had done.

Ever since the Lady Sparrow had returned home in the sad plight in
which they had first found her, weeping and bleeding from the mouth,
her whole family and relations had done little else but speak of the
cruelty of the old woman. "How could she," they asked each other,
"inflict such a heavy punishment for such a trifling offense as that of
eating some rice-paste by mistake?" They all loved the old man who was
so kind and good and patient under all his troubles, but the old woman
they hated, and they determined, if ever they had the chance, to punish
her as she deserved. They had not long to wait.

After walking for some hours the old woman had at last found the bamboo
grove which she had made her husband carefully describe, and now she
stood before it crying out:

"Where is the tongue-cut sparrow's house? Where is the tongue-cut
sparrow's house?"

At last she saw the eaves of the house peeping out from amongst the
bamboo foliage. She hastened to the door and knocked loudly.

When the servants told the Lady Sparrow that her old mistress was at
the door asking to see her, she was somewhat surprised at the
unexpected visit, after all that had taken place, and she wondered not
a little at the boldness of the old woman in venturing to come to the
house. The Lady Sparrow, however, was a polite bird, and so she went
out to greet the old woman, remembering that she had once been her
mistress.

The old woman intended, however, to waste no time in words, she went
right to the point, without the least shame, and said:

"You need not trouble to entertain me as you did my old man. I have
come myself to get the box which he so stupidly left behind. I shall
soon take my leave if you will give me the big box--that is all I want!"

The Lady Sparrow at once consented, and told her servants to bring out
the big box. The old woman eagerly seized it and hoisted it on her
back, and without even stopping to thank the Lady Sparrow began to
hurry homewards.

The box was so heavy that she could not walk fast, much less run, as
she would have liked to do, so anxious was she to get home and see what
was inside the box, but she had often to sit down and rest herself by
the way.

While she was staggering along under the heavy load, her desire to open
the box became too great to be resisted. She could wait no longer, for
she supposed this big box to be full of gold and silver and precious
jewels like the small one her husband had received.

At last this greedy and selfish old woman put down the box by the
wayside and opened it carefully, expecting to gloat her eyes on a mine
of wealth. What she saw, however, so terrified her that she nearly lost
her senses. As soon as she lifted the lid, a number of horrible and
frightful looking demons bounced out of the box and surrounded her as
if they intended to kill her. Not even in nightmares had she ever seen
such horrible creatures as her much-coveted box contained. A demon with
one huge eye right in the middle of its forehead came and glared at
her, monsters with gaping mouths looked as if they would devour her, a
huge snake coiled and hissed about her, and a big frog hopped and
croaked towards her.

The old woman had never been so frightened in her life, and ran from
the spot as fast as her quaking legs would carry her, glad to escape
alive. When she reached home she fell to the floor and told her husband
with tears all that had happened to her, and how she had been nearly
killed by the demons in the box.

Then she began to blame the sparrow, but the old man stopped her at
once, saying:

"Don't blame the sparrow, it is your wickedness which has at last met
with its reward. I only hope this may be a lesson to you in the future!"

The old woman said nothing more, and from that day she repented of her
cross, unkind ways, and by degrees became a good old woman, so that her
husband hardly knew her to be the same person, and they spent their
last days together happily, free from want or care, spending carefully
the treasure the old man had received from his pet, the tongue-cut
sparrow.




THE STORY OF URASHIMA TARO, THE FISHER LAD.


Long, long ago in the province of Tango there lived on the shore of
Japan in the little fishing village of Mizu-no-ye a young fisherman
named Urashima Taro. His father had been a fisherman before him, and
his skill had more than doubly descended to his son, for Urashima was
the most skillful fisher in all that country side, and could catch more
Bonito and Tai in a day than his comrades could in a week.

But in the little fishing village, more than for being a clever fisher
of the sea was he known for his kind heart. In his whole life he had
never hurt anything, either great or small, and when a boy, his
companions had always laughed at him, for he would never join with them
in teasing animals, but always tried to keep them from this cruel sport.

One soft summer twilight he was going home at the end of a day's
fishing when he came upon a group of children. They were all screaming
and talking at the tops of their voices, and seemed to be in a state of
great excitement about something, and on his going up to them to see
what was the matter he saw that they were tormenting a tortoise. First
one boy pulled it this way, then another boy pulled it that way, while
a third child beat it with a stick, and the fourth hammered its shell
with a stone.

Now Urashima felt very sorry for the poor tortoise and made up his mind
to rescue it. He spoke to the boys:

"Look here, boys, you are treating that poor tortoise so badly that it
will soon die!"

The boys, who were all of an age when children seem to delight in being
cruel to animals, took no notice of Urashima's gentle reproof, but went
on teasing it as before. One of the older boys answered:

"Who cares whether it lives or dies? We do not. Here, boys, go on, go
on!"

And they began to treat the poor tortoise more cruelly than ever.
Urashima waited a moment, turning over in his mind what would be the
best way to deal with the boys. He would try to persuade them to give
the tortoise up to him, so he smiled at them and said:

"I am sure you are all good, kind boys! Now won't you give me the
tortoise? I should like to have it so much!"

"No, we won't give you the tortoise," said one of the boys. "Why should
we? We caught it ourselves."

"What you say is true," said Urashima, "but I do not ask you to give it
to me for nothing. I will give you some money for it--in other words,
the Ojisan (Uncle) will buy it of you. Won't that do for you, my boys?"
He held up the money to them, strung on a piece of string through a
hole in the center of each coin. "Look, boys, you can buy anything you
like with this money. You can do much more with this money than you can
with that poor tortoise. See what good boys you are to listen to me."

The boys were not bad boys at all, they were only mischievous, and as
Urashima spoke they were won by his kind smile and gentle words and
began "to be of his spirit," as they say in Japan. Gradually they all
came up to him, the ringleader of the little band holding out the
tortoise to him.

"Very well, Ojisan, we will give you the tortoise if you will give us
the money!" And Urashima took the tortoise and gave the money to the
boys, who, calling to each other, scampered away and were soon out of
sight.

Then Urashima stroked the tortoise's back, saying as he did so:

"Oh, you poor thing! Poor thing!--there, there! you are safe now! They
say that a stork lives for a thousand years, but the tortoise for ten
thousand years. You have the longest life of any creature in this
world, and you were in great danger of having that precious life cut
short by those cruel boys. Luckily I was passing by and saved you, and
so life is still yours. Now I am going to take you back to your home,
the sea, at once. Do not let yourself be caught again, for there might
be no one to save you next time!"

All the time that the kind fisherman was speaking he was walking
quickly to the shore and out upon the rocks; then putting the tortoise
into the water he watched the animal disappear, and turned homewards
himself, for he was tired and the sun had set.

The next morning Urashima went out as usual in his boat. The weather
was fine and the sea and sky were both blue and soft in the tender haze
of the summer morning. Urashima got into his boat and dreamily pushed
out to sea, throwing his line as he did so. He soon passed the other
fishing boats and left them behind him till they were lost to sight in
the distance, and his boat drifted further and further out upon the
blue waters. Somehow, he knew not why, he felt unusually happy that
morning; and he could not help wishing that, like the tortoise he set
free the day before, he had thousands of years to live instead of his
own short span of human life.

He was suddenly startled from his reverie by hearing his own name
called:

"Urashima, Urashima!"

Clear as a bell and soft as the summer wind the name floated over the
sea.

He stood up and looked in every direction, thinking that one of the
other boats had overtaken him, but gaze as he might over the wide
expanse of water, near or far there was no sign of a boat, so the voice
could not have come from any human being.

Startled, and wondering who or what it was that had called him so
clearly, he looked in all directions round about him and saw that
without his knowing it a tortoise had come to the side of the boat.
Urashima saw with surprise that it was the very tortoise he had rescued
the day before.

"Well, Mr. Tortoise," said Urashima, "was it you who called my name
just now?"

The tortoise nodded its head several times and said:

"Yes, it was I. Yesterday in your honorable shadow (o kage sama de) my
life was saved, and I have come to offer you my thanks and to tell you
how grateful I am for your kindness to me."

"Indeed," said Urashima, "that is very polite of you. Come up into the
boat. I would offer you a smoke, but as you are a tortoise doubtless
you do not smoke," and the fisherman laughed at the joke.

"He-he-he-he!" laughed the tortoise; "sake (rice wine) is my favorite
refreshment, but I do not care for tobacco."

"Indeed," said Urashima, "I regret very much that I have no "sake" in
my boat to offer you, but come up and dry your back in the
sun--tortoises always love to do that."

So the tortoise climbed into the boat, the fisherman helping him, and
after an exchange of complimentary speeches the tortoise said:

"Have you ever seen Rin Gin, the Palace of the Dragon King of the Sea,
Urashima?"

The fisherman shook his head and replied; "No; year after year the sea
has been my home, but though I have often heard of the Dragon King's
realm under the sea I have never yet set eyes on that wonderful place.
It must be very far away, if it exists at all!"

"Is that really so? You have never seen the Sea King's Palace? Then you
have missed seeing one of the most wonderful sights in the whole
universe. It is far away at the bottom of the sea, but if I take you
there we shall soon reach the place. If you would like to see the Sea
King's land I will be your guide."

"I should like to go there, certainly, and you are very kind to think
of taking me, but you must remember that I am only a poor mortal and
have not the power of swimming like a sea creature such as you are--"

Before the fisherman could say more the tortoise stopped him, saying:

"What? You need not swim yourself. If you will ride on my back I will
take you without any trouble on your part."

"But," said Urashima, "how is it possible for me to ride on your small
back?"

"It may seem absurd to you, but I assure you that you can do so. Try at
once! Just come and get on my back, and see if it is as impossible as
you think!"

As the tortoise finished speaking, Urashima looked at its shell, and
strange to say he saw that the creature had suddenly grown so big that
a man could easily sit on its back.

"This is strange indeed!" said Urashima; "then. Mr. Tortoise, with your
kind permission I will get on your back. Dokoisho!" he exclaimed as
he jumped on.


 "All right" (only used by lower classes).


The tortoise, with an unmoved face, as if this strange proceeding were
quite an ordinary event, said:

"Now we will set out at our leisure," and with these words he leapt
into the sea with Urashima on his back. Down through the water the
tortoise dived. For a long time these two strange companions rode
through the sea. Urashima never grew tired, nor his clothes moist with
the water. At last, far away in the distance a magnificent gate
appeared, and behind the gate, the long, sloping roofs of a palace on
the horizon.

"Ya," exclaimed Urashima. "That looks like the gate of some large
palace just appearing! Mr. Tortoise, can you tell what that place is we
can now see?"

"That is the great gate of the Rin Gin Palace, the large roof that you
see behind the gate is the Sea King's Palace itself."

"Then we have at last come to the realm of the Sea King and to his
Palace," said Urashima.

"Yes, indeed," answered the tortoise, "and don't you think we have come
very quickly?" And while he was speaking the tortoise reached the side
of the gate. "And here we are, and you must please walk from here."

The tortoise now went in front, and speaking to the gatekeeper, said:

"This is Urashima Taro, from the country of Japan. I have had the honor
of bringing him as a visitor to this kingdom. Please show him the way."

Then the gatekeeper, who was a fish, at once led the way through the
gate before them.

The red bream, the flounder, the sole, the cuttlefish, and all the
chief vassals of the Dragon King of the Sea now came out with courtly
bows to welcome the stranger.

"Urashima Sama, Urashima Sama! welcome to the Sea Palace, the home of
the Dragon King of the Sea. Thrice welcome are you, having come from
such a distant country. And you, Mr. Tortoise, we are greatly indebted
to you for all your trouble in bringing Urashima here." Then, turning
again to Urashima, they said, "Please follow us this way," and from
here the whole band of fishes became his guides.

Urashima, being only a poor fisher lad, did not know how to behave in a
palace; but, strange though it was all to him, he did not feel ashamed
or embarrassed, but followed his kind guides quite calmly where they
led to the inner palace. When he reached the portals a beautiful
Princess with her attendant maidens came out to welcome him. She was
more beautiful than any human being, and was robed in flowing garments
of red and soft green like the under side of a wave, and golden threads
glimmered through the folds of her gown. Her lovely black hair streamed
over her shoulders in the fashion of a king's daughter many hundreds of
years ago, and when she spoke her voice sounded like music over the
water. Urashima was lost in wonder while he looked upon her, and he
could not speak. Then he remembered that he ought to bow, but before he
could make a low obeisance the Princess took him by the hand and led
him to a beautiful hall, and to the seat of honor at the upper end, and
bade him be seated.

"Urashima Taro, it gives me the highest pleasure to welcome you to my
father's kingdom," said the Princess. "Yesterday you set free a
tortoise, and I have sent for you to thank you for saving my life, for
I was that tortoise. Now if you like you shall live here forever in the
land of eternal youth, where summer never dies and where sorrow never
comes, and I will be your bride if you will, and we will live together
happily forever afterwards!"

And as Urashima listened to her sweet words and gazed upon her lovely
face his heart was filled with a great wonder and joy, and he answered
her, wondering if it was not all a dream:

"Thank you a thousand times for your kind speech. There is nothing I
could wish for more than to be permitted to stay here with you in this
beautiful land, of which I have often heard, but have never seen to
this day. Beyond all words, this is the most wonderful place I have
ever seen."

While he was speaking a train of fishes appeared, all dressed in
ceremonial, trailing garments. One by one, silently and with stately
steps, they entered the hall, bearing on coral trays delicacies of fish
and seaweed, such as no one can dream of, and this wondrous feast was
set before the bride and bridegroom. The bridal was celebrated with
dazzling splendor, and in the Sea King's realm there was great
rejoicing. As soon as the young pair had pledged themselves in the
wedding cup of wine, three times three, music was played, and songs
were sung, and fishes with silver scales and golden tails stepped in
from the waves and danced. Urashima enjoyed himself with all his heart.
Never in his whole life had he sat down to such a marvelous feast.

When the feast was over the Princes asked the bridegroom if he would
like to walk through the palace and see all there was to be seen. Then
the happy fisherman, following his bride, the Sea King's daughter, was
shown all the wonders of that enchanted land where youth and joy go
hand in hand and neither time nor age can touch them. The palace was
built of coral and adorned with pearls, and the beauties and wonders of
the place were so great that the tongue fails to describe them.

But, to Urashima, more wonderful than the palace was the garden that
surrounded it. Here was to be seen at one time the scenery of the four
different seasons; the beauties of summer and winter, spring and
autumn, were displayed to the wondering visitor at once.

First, when he looked to the east, the plum and cherry trees were seen
in full bloom, the nightingales sang in the pink avenues, and
butterflies flitted from flower to flower.

Looking to the south all the trees were green in the fullness of
summer, and the day cicala and the night cricket chirruped loudly.

Looking to the west the autumn maples were ablaze like a sunset sky,
and the chrysanthemums were in perfection.

Looking to the north the change made Urashima start, for the ground was
silver white with snow, and trees and bamboos were also covered with
snow and the pond was thick with ice.

And each day there were new joys and new wonders for Urashima, and so
great was his happiness that he forgot everything, even the home he had
left behind and his parents and his own country, and three days passed
without his even thinking of all he had left behind. Then his mind came
back to him and he remembered who he was, and that he did not belong to
this wonderful land or the Sea King's palace, and he said to himself:

"O dear! I must not stay on here, for I have an old father and mother
at home. What can have happened to them all this time? How anxious they
must have been these days when I did not return as usual. I must go
back at once without letting one more day pass." And he began to
prepare for the journey in great haste.

Then he went to his beautiful wife, the Princess, and bowing low before
her he said:

"Indeed, I have been very happy with you for a long time, Otohime Sama"
(for that was her name), "and you have been kinder to me than any words
can tell. But now I must say good-by. I must go back to my old parents."

Then Otohime Sama began to weep, and said softly and sadly:

"Is it not well with you here, Urashima, that you wish to leave me so
soon? Where is the haste? Stay with me yet another day only!"

But Urashima had remembered his old parents, and in Japan the duty to
parents is stronger than everything else, stronger even than pleasure
or love, and he would not be persuaded, but answered:

"Indeed, I must go. Do not think that I wish to leave you. It is not
that. I must go and see my old parents. Let me go for one day and I
will come back to you."

"Then," said the Princess sorrowfully, "there is nothing to be done. I
will send you back to-day to your father and mother, and instead of
trying to keep you with me one more day, I shall give you this as a
token of our love--please take it back with you;" and she brought him a
beautiful lacquer box tied about with a silken cord and tassels of red
silk.

Urashima had received so much from the Princess already that he felt
some compunction in taking the gift, and said:

"It does not seem right for me to take yet another gift from you after
all the many favors I have received at your hands, but because it is
your wish I will do so," and then he added:

"Tell me what is this box?"

"That," answered the Princess "is the tamate-bako (Box of the Jewel
Hand), and it contains something very precious. You must not open this
box, whatever happens! If you open it something dreadful will happen to
you! Now promise me that you will never open this box!"

And Urashima promised that he would never, never open the box whatever
happened.

Then bidding good-by to Otohime Sama he went down to the seashore, the
Princess and her attendants following him, and there he found a large
tortoise waiting for him.

He quickly mounted the creature's back and was carried away over the
shining sea into the East. He looked back to wave his hand to Otohime
Sama till at last he could see her no more, and the land of the Sea
King and the roofs of the wonderful palace were lost in the far, far
distance. Then, with his face turned eagerly towards his own land, he
looked for the rising of the blue hills on the horizon before him.

At last the tortoise carried him into the bay he knew so well, and to
the shore from whence he had set out. He stepped on to the shore and
looked about him while the tortoise rode away back to the Sea King's
realm.

But what is the strange fear that seizes Urashima as he stands and
looks about him? Why does he gaze so fixedly at the people that pass
him by, and why do they in turn stand and look at him? The shore is the
same and the hills are the same, but the people that he sees walking
past him have very different faces to those he had known so well before.

Wondering what it can mean he walks quickly towards his old home. Even
that looks different, but a house stands on the spot, and he calls out:

"Father, I have just returned!" and he was about to enter, when he saw
a strange man coming out.

"Perhaps my parents have moved while I have been away, and have gone
somewhere else," was the fisherman's thought. Somehow he began to feel
strangely anxious, he could not tell why.

"Excuse me," said he to the man who was staring at him, "but till
within the last few days I have lived in this house. My name is
Urashima Taro. Where have my parents gone whom I left here?"

A very bewildered expression came over the face of the man, and, still
gazing intently on Urashima's face, he said:

"What? Are you Urashima Taro?"

"Yes," said the fisherman, "I am Urashima Taro!"

"Ha, ha!" laughed the man, "you must not make such jokes. It is true
that once upon a time a man called Urashima Taro did live in this
village, but that is a story three hundred years old. He could not
possibly be alive now!"

When Urashima heard these strange words he was frightened, and said:

"Please, please, you must not joke with me, I am greatly perplexed. I
am really Urashima Taro, and I certainly have not lived three hundred
years. Till four or five days ago I lived on this spot. Tell me what I
want to know without more joking, please."

But the man's face grew more and more grave, and he answered:

"You may or may not be Urashima Taro, I don't know. But the Urashima
Taro of whom I have heard is a man who lived three hundred years ago.
Perhaps you are his spirit come to revisit your old home?"

"Why do you mock me?" said Urashima. "I am no spirit! I am a living
man--do you not see my feet;" and "don-don," he stamped on the ground,
first with one foot and then with the other to show the man. (Japanese
ghosts have no feet.)

"But Urashima Taro lived three hundred years ago, that is all I know;
it is written in the village chronicles," persisted the man, who could
not believe what the fisherman said.

Urashima was lost in bewilderment and trouble. He stood looking all
around him, terribly puzzled, and, indeed, something in the appearance
of everything was different to what he remembered before he went away,
and the awful feeling came over him that what the man said was perhaps
true. He seemed to be in a strange dream. The few days he had spent in
the Sea King's palace beyond the sea had not been days at all: they had
been hundreds of years, and in that time his parents had died and all
the people he had ever known, and the village had written down his
story. There was no use in staying here any longer. He must get back to
his beautiful wife beyond the sea.

He made his way back to the beach, carrying in his hand the box which
the Princess had given him. But which was the way? He could not find it
alone! Suddenly he remembered the box, the tamate-bako.

"The Princess told me when she gave me the box never to open it--that
it contained a very precious thing. But now that I have no home, now
that I have lost everything that was dear to me here, and my heart
grows thin with sadness, at such a time, if I open the box, surely I
shall find something that will help me, something that will show me the
way back to my beautiful Princess over the sea. There is nothing else
for me to do now. Yes, yes, I will open the box and look in!"

And so his heart consented to this act of disobedience, and he tried to
persuade himself that he was doing the right thing in breaking his
promise.

Slowly, very slowly, he untied the red silk cord, slowly and
wonderingly he lifted the lid of the precious box. And what did he
find? Strange to say only a beautiful little purple cloud rose out of
the box in three soft wisps. For an instant it covered his face and
wavered over him as if loath to go, and then it floated away like vapor
over the sea.

Urashima, who had been till that moment like a strong and handsome
youth of twenty-four, suddenly became very, very old. His back doubled
up with age, his hair turned snowy white, his face wrinkled and he fell
down dead on the beach.

Poor Urashima! because of his disobedience he could never return to the
Sea King's realm or the lovely Princess beyond the sea.

Little children, never be disobedient to those who are wiser than you
for disobedience was the beginning of all the miseries and sorrows of
life.




THE FARMER AND THE BADGER


Long, long ago, there lived an old farmer and his wife who had made
their home in the mountains, far from any town. Their only neighbor was
a bad and malicious badger. This badger used to come out every night
and run across to the farmer's field and spoil the vegetables and the
rice which the farmer spent his time in carefully cultivating. The
badger at last grew so ruthless in his mischievous work, and did so
much harm everywhere on the farm, that the good-natured farmer could
not stand it any longer, and determined to put a stop to it. So he lay
in wait day after day and night after night, with a big club, hoping to
catch the badger, but all in vain. Then he laid traps for the wicked
animal.

The farmer's trouble and patience was rewarded, for one fine day on
going his rounds he found the badger caught in a hole he had dug for
that purpose. The farmer was delighted at having caught his enemy, and
carried him home securely bound with rope. When he reached the house
the farmer said to his wife:

"I have at last caught the bad badger. You must keep an eye on him
while I am out at work and not let him escape, because I want to make
him into soup to-night."

Saying this, he hung the badger up to the rafters of his storehouse and
went out to his work in the fields. The badger was in great distress,
for he did not at all like the idea of being made into soup that night,
and he thought and thought for a long time, trying to hit upon some
plan by which he might escape. It was hard to think clearly in his
uncomfortable position, for he had been hung upside down. Very near
him, at the entrance to the storehouse, looking out towards the green
fields and the trees and the pleasant sunshine, stood the farmer's old
wife pounding barley. She looked tired and old. Her face was seamed
with many wrinkles, and was as brown as leather, and every now and then
she stopped to wipe the perspiration which rolled down her face.

"Dear lady," said the wily badger, "you must be very weary doing such
heavy work in your old age. Won't you let me do that for you? My arms
are very strong, and I could relieve you for a little while!"

"Thank you for your kindness," said the old woman, "but I cannot let
you do this work for me because I must not untie you, for you might
escape if I did, and my husband would be very angry if he came home and
found you gone."

Now, the badger is one of the most cunning of animals, and he said
again in a very sad, gentle, voice:

"You are very unkind. You might untie me, for I promise not to try to
escape. If you are afraid of your husband, I will let you bind me again
before his return when I have finished pounding the barley. I am so
tired and sore tied up like this. If you would only let me down for a
few minutes I would indeed be thankful!"

The old woman had a good and simple nature, and could not think badly
of any one. Much less did she think that the badger was only deceiving
her in order to get away. She felt sorry, too, for the animal as she
turned to look at him. He looked in such a sad plight hanging downwards
from the ceiling by his legs, which were all tied together so tightly
that the rope and the knots were cutting into the skin. So in the
kindness of her heart, and believing the creature's promise that he
would not run away, she untied the cord and let him down.

The old woman then gave him the wooden pestle and told him to do the
work for a short time while she rested. He took the pestle, but instead
of doing the work as he was told, the badger at once sprang upon the
old woman and knocked her down with the heavy piece of wood. He then
killed her and cut her up and made soup of her, and waited for the
return of the old farmer. The old man worked hard in his fields all
day, and as he worked he thought with pleasure that no more now would
his labor be spoiled by the destructive badger.

Towards sunset he left his work and turned to go home. He was very
tired, but the thought of the nice supper of hot badger soup awaiting
his return cheered him. The thought that the badger might get free and
take revenge on the poor old woman never once came into his mind.

The badger meanwhile assumed the old woman's form, and as soon as he
saw the old farmer approaching came out to greet him on the veranda of
the little house, saying:

"So you have come back at last. I have made the badger soup and have
been waiting for you for a long time."

The old farmer quickly took off his straw sandals and sat down before
his tiny dinner-tray. The innocent man never even dreamed that it was
not his wife but the badger who was waiting upon him, and asked at once
for the soup. Then the badger suddenly transformed himself back to his
natural form and cried out:

"You wife-eating old man! Look out for the bones in the kitchen!"

Laughing loudly and derisively he escaped out of the house and ran away
to his den in the hills. The old man was left behind alone. He could
hardly believe what he had seen and heard. Then when he understood the
whole truth he was so scared and horrified that he fainted right away.
After a while he came round and burst into tears. He cried loudly and
bitterly. He rocked himself to and fro in his hopeless grief. It seemed
too terrible to be real that his faithful old wife had been killed and
cooked by the badger while he was working quietly in the fields,
knowing nothing of what was going on at home, and congratulating
himself on having once for all got rid of the wicked animal who had so
often spoiled his fields. And oh! the horrible thought; he had very
nearly drunk the soup which the creature had made of his poor old
woman. "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!" he wailed aloud. Now, not far away
there lived in the same mountain a kind, good-natured old rabbit. He
heard the old man crying and sobbing and at once set out to see what
was the matter, and if there was anything he could do to help his
neighbor. The old man told him all that had happened. When the rabbit
heard the story he was very angry at the wicked and deceitful badger,
and told the old man to leave everything to him and he would avenge his
wife's death. The farmer was at last comforted, and, wiping away his
tears, thanked the rabbit for his goodness in coming to him in his
distress.

The rabbit, seeing that the farmer was growing calmer, went back to his
home to lay his plans for the punishment of the badger.

The next day the weather was fine, and the rabbit went out to find the
badger. He was not to be seen in the woods or on the hillside or in the
fields anywhere, so the rabbit went to his den and found the badger
hiding there, for the animal had been afraid to show himself ever since
he had escaped from the farmer's house, for fear of the old man's wrath.

The rabbit called out:

"Why are you not out on such a beautiful day? Come out with me, and we
will go and cut grass on the hills together."

The badger, never doubting but that the rabbit was his friend,
willingly consented to go out with him, only too glad to get away from
the neighborhood of the farmer and the fear of meeting him. The rabbit
led the way miles away from their homes, out on the hills where the
grass grew tall and thick and sweet. They both set to work to cut down
as much as they could carry home, to store it up for their winter's
food. When they had each cut down all they wanted they tied it in
bundles and then started homewards, each carrying his bundle of grass
on his back. This time the rabbit made the badger go first.

When they had gone a little way the rabbit took out a flint and steel,
and, striking it over the badger's back as he stepped along in front,
set his bundle of grass on fire. The badger heard the flint striking,
and asked:

"What is that noise. 'Crack, crack'?"

"Oh, that is nothing." replied the rabbit; "I only said 'Crack, crack'
because this mountain is called Crackling Mountain."

The fire soon spread in the bundle of dry grass on the badger's back.
The badger, hearing the crackle of the burning grass, asked, "What is
that?"

"Now we have come to the 'Burning Mountain,'" answered the rabbit.

By this time the bundle was nearly burned out and all the hair had been
burned off the badger's back. He now knew what had happened by the
smell of the smoke of the burning grass. Screaming with pain the badger
ran as fast as he could to his hole. The rabbit followed and found him
lying on his bed groaning with pain.

"What an unlucky fellow you are!" said the rabbit. "I can't imagine how
this happened! I will bring you some medicine which will heal your back
quickly!"

The rabbit went away glad and smiling to think that the punishment upon
the badger had already begun. He hoped that the badger would die of his
burns, for he felt that nothing could be too bad for the animal, who
was guilty of murdering a poor helpless old woman who had trusted him.
He went home and made an ointment by mixing some sauce and red pepper
together.

He carried this to the badger, but before putting it on he told him
that it would cause him great pain, but that he must bear it patiently,
because it was a very wonderful medicine for burns and scalds and such
wounds. The badger thanked him and begged him to apply it at once. But
no language can describe the agony of the badger as soon as the red
pepper had been pasted all over his sore back. He rolled over and over
and howled loudly. The rabbit, looking on, felt that the farmer's wife
was beginning to be avenged.

The badger was in bed for about a month; but at last, in spite of the
red pepper application, his burns healed and he got well. When the
rabbit saw that the badger was getting well, he thought of another plan
by which he could compass the creature's death. So he went one day to
pay the badger a visit and to congratulate him on his recovery.

During the conversation the rabbit mentioned that he was going fishing,
and described how pleasant fishing was when the weather was fine and
the sea smooth.

The badger listened with pleasure to the rabbit's account of the way he
passed his time now, and forgot all his pains and his month's illness,
and thought what fun it would be if he could go fishing too; so he
asked the rabbit if he would take him the next time he went out to
fish. This was just what the rabbit wanted, so he agreed.

Then he went home and built two boats, one of wood and the other of
clay. At last they were both finished, and as the rabbit stood and
looked at his work he felt that all his trouble would be well rewarded
if his plan succeeded, and he could manage to kill the wicked badger
now.

The day came when the rabbit had arranged to take the badger fishing.
He kept the wooden boat himself and gave the badger the clay boat. The
badger, who knew nothing about boats, was delighted with his new boat
and thought how kind it was of the rabbit to give it to him. They both
got into their boats and set out. After going some distance from the
shore the rabbit proposed that they should try their boats and see
which one could go the quickest. The badger fell in with the proposal,
and they both set to work to row as fast as they could for some time.
In the middle of the race the badger found his boat going to pieces,
for the water now began to soften the clay. He cried out in great fear
to the rabbit to help him. But the rabbit answered that he was avenging
the old woman's murder, and that this had been his intention all along,
and that he was happy to think that the badger had at last met his
deserts for all his evil crimes, and was to drown with no one to help
him. Then he raised his oar and struck at the badger with all his
strength till he fell with the sinking clay boat and was seen no more.

Thus at last he kept his promise to the old farmer. The rabbit now
turned and rowed shorewards, and having landed and pulled his boat upon
the beach, hurried back to tell the old farmer everything, and how the
badger, his enemy, had been killed.

The old farmer thanked him with tears in his eyes. He said that till
now he could never sleep at night or be at peace in the daytime,
thinking of how his wife's death was unavenged, but from this time he
would be able to sleep and eat as of old. He begged the rabbit to stay
with him and share his home, so from this day the rabbit went to stay
with the old farmer and they both lived together as good friends to the
end of their days.




THE shinansha, OR THE SOUTH POINTING CARRIAGE.


The compass, with its needle always pointing to the North, is quite a
common thing, and no one thinks that it is remarkable now, though when
it was first invented it must have been a wonder.

Now long ago in China, there was a still more wonderful invention
called the shinansha. This was a kind of chariot with the figure of a
man on it always pointing to the South. No matter how the chariot was
placed the figure always wheeled about and pointed to the South.

This curious instrument was invented by Kotei, one of the three Chinese
Emperors of the Mythological age. Kotei was the son of the Emperor
Yuhi. Before he was born his mother had a vision which foretold that
her son would be a great man.

One summer evening she went out to walk in the meadows to seek the cool
breezes which blow at the end of the day and to gaze with pleasure at
the star-lit heavens above her. As she looked at the North Star,
strange to relate, it shot forth vivid flashes of lightning in every
direction. Soon after this her son Kotei came into the world.

Kotei in time grew to manhood and succeeded his father the Emperor
Yuhi. His early reign was greatly troubled by the rebel Shiyu. This
rebel wanted to make himself King, and many were the battles which he
fought to this end. Shiyu was a wicked magician, his head was made of
iron, and there was no man that could conquer him.

At last Kotei declared war against the rebel and led his army to
battle, and the two armies met on a plain called Takuroku. The Emperor
boldly attacked the enemy, but the magician brought down a dense fog
upon the battlefield, and while the royal army were wandering about in
confusion, trying to find their way, Shiyu retreated with his troops,
laughing at having fooled the royal army.

No matter however strong and brave the Emperor's soldiers were, the
rebel with his magic could always escape in the end.

Kotei returned to his Palace, and thought and pondered deeply as to how
he should conquer the magician, for he was determined not to give up
yet. After a long time he invented the shinansha with the figure of a
man always pointing South, for there were no compasses in those days.
With this instrument to show him the way he need not fear the dense
fogs raised up by the magician to confound his men.

Kotei again declared war against Shiyu. He placed the shinansha in
front of his army and led the way to the battlefield.

The battle began in earnest. The rebel was being driven backward by the
royal troops when he again resorted to magic, and upon his saying some
strange words in a loud voice, immediately a dense fog came down upon
the battlefield.

But this time no soldier minded the fog, not one was confused. Kotei by
pointing to the shinansha could find his way and directed the army
without a single mistake. He closely pursued the rebel army and drove
them backward till they came to a big river. This river Kotei and his
men found was swollen by the floods and impossible to cross.

Shiyu by using his magic art quickly passed over with his army and shut
himself up in a fortress on the opposite bank.

When Kotei found his march checked he was wild with disappointment, for
he had very nearly overtaken the rebel when the river stopped him.

He could do nothing, for there were no boats in those days, so the
Emperor ordered his tent to be pitched in the pleasantest spot that the
place afforded.

One day he stepped forth from his tent and after walking about for a
short time he came to a pond. Here he sat down on the bank and was lost
in thought.

It was autumn. The trees growing along the edge of the water were
shedding their leaves, which floated hither and thither on the surface
of the pond. By and by, Kotei's attention was attracted to a spider on
the brink of the water. The little insect was trying to get on to one
of the floating leaves near by. It did so at last, and was soon
floating over the water to the other side of the pond.

This little incident made the clever Emperor think that he might try to
make something that could carry himself and his men over the river in
the same way that the leaf had carried over the spider. He set to work
and persevered till he invented the first boat. When he found that it
was a success he set all his men to make more, and in time there were
enough boats for the whole army.

Kotei now took his army across the river, and attacked Shiyu's
headquarters. He gained a complete victory, and so put an end to the
war which had troubled his country for so long.

This wise and good Emperor did not rest till he had secured peace and
prosperity throughout his whole land. He was beloved by his subjects,
who now enjoyed their happiness of peace for many long years under him.
He spent a great deal of time in making inventions which would benefit
his people, and he succeeded in many besides the boat and the South
Pointing shinansha.

He had reigned about a hundred years when one day, as Kotei was looking
upwards, the sky became suddenly red, and something came glittering
like gold towards the earth. As it came nearer Kotei saw that it was a
great Dragon. The Dragon approached and bowed down its head before the
Emperor. The Empress and the courtiers were so frightened that they ran
away screaming.

But the Emperor only smiled and called to them to stop, and said:

"Do not be afraid. This is a messenger from Heaven. My time here is
finished!" He then mounted the Dragon, which began to ascend towards
the sky.

When the Empress and the courtiers saw this they all cried out together:

"Wait a moment! We wish to come too." And they all ran and caught hold
of the Dragon's beard and tried to mount him.

But it was impossible for so many people to ride on the Dragon. Several
of them hung on to the creature's beard so that when it tried to mount
the hair was pulled out and they fell to the ground.

Meanwhile the Empress and a few of the courtiers were safely seated on
the Dragon's back. The Dragon flew up so high in the heavens that in a
short time the inmates of the Palace, who had been left behind
disappointed, could see them no more.

After some time a bow and an arrow dropped to the earth in the
courtyard of the Palace. They were recognized as having belonged to the
Emperor Kotei. The courtiers took them up carefully and preserved them
as sacred relics in the Palace.




THE ADVENTURES OF KINTARO, THE GOLDEN BOY.


Long, long ago there lived in Kyoto a brave soldier named Kintoki. Now
he fell in love with a beautiful lady and married her. Not long after
this, through the malice of some of his friends, he fell into disgrace
at Court and was dismissed. This misfortune so preyed upon his mind
that he did not long survive his dismissal--he died, leaving behind him
his beautiful young wife to face the world alone. Fearing her husband's
enemies, she fled to the Ashigara Mountains as soon as her husband was
dead, and there in the lonely forests where no one ever came except
woodcutters, a little boy was born to her. She called him Kintaro or
the Golden Boy. Now the remarkable thing about this child was his great
strength, and as he grew older he grew stronger and stronger, so that
by the time he was eight years of age he was able to cut down trees as
quickly as the woodcutters. Then his mother gave him a large ax, and he
used to go out in the forest and help the woodcutters, who called him
"Wonder-child," and his mother the "Old Nurse of the Mountains," for
they did not know her high rank. Another favorite pastime of Kintaro's
was to smash up rocks and stones. You can imagine how strong he was!

Quite unlike other boys, Kintaro, grew up all alone in the mountain
wilds, and as he had no companions he made friends with all the animals
and learned to understand them and to speak their strange talk. By
degrees they all grew quite tame and looked upon Kintaro as their
master, and he used them as his servants and messengers. But his
special retainers were the bear, the deer, the monkey and the hare.

The bear often brought her cubs for Kintaro to romp with, and when she
came to take them home Kintaro would get on her back and have a ride to
her cave. He was very fond of the deer too, and would often put his
arms round the creature's neck to show that its long horns did not
frighten him. Great was the fun they all had together.

One day, as usual, Kintaro went up into the mountains, followed by the
bear, the deer, the monkey, and the hare. After walking for some time
up hill and down dale and over rough roads, they suddenly came out upon
a wide and grassy plain covered with pretty wild flowers.

Here, indeed, was a nice place where they could all have a good romp
together. The deer rubbed his horns against a tree for pleasure, the
monkey scratched his back, the hare smoothed his long ears, and the
bear gave a grunt of satisfaction.

Kintaro said, "Here is a place for a good game. What do you all say to
a wrestling match?"

The bear being the biggest and the oldest, answered for the others:

"That will be great fun," said she. "I am the strongest animal, so I
will make the platform for the wrestlers;" and she set to work with a
will to dig up the earth and to pat it into shape.

"All right," said Kintaro, "I will look on while you all wrestle with
each other. I shall give a prize to the one who wins in each round."

"What fun! we shall all try to get the prize," said the bear.

The deer, the monkey and the hare set to work to help the bear raise
the platform on which they were all to wrestle. When this was finished,
Kintaro cried out:

"Now begin! the monkey and the hare shall open the sports and the deer
shall be umpire. Now, Mr. Deer, you are to be umpire!"

"He, he!" answered the deer. "I will be umpire. Now, Mr. Monkey and Mr.
Hare, if you are both ready, please walk out and take your places on
the platform."

Then the monkey and the hare both hopped out, quickly and nimbly, to
the wrestling platform. The deer, as umpire, stood between the two and
called out:

"Red-back! Red-back!" (this to the monkey, who has a red back in
Japan). "Are you ready?"

Then he turned to the hare:

"Long-ears! Long-ears! are you ready?"

Both the little wrestlers faced each other while the deer raised a leaf
on high as signal. When he dropped the leaf the monkey and the hare
rushed upon each other, crying "Yoisho, yoisho!"

While the monkey and the hare wrestled, the deer called out
encouragingly or shouted warnings to each of them as the hare or the
monkey pushed each other near the edge of the platform and were in
danger of falling over.

"Red-back! Red-back! stand your ground!" called out the deer.

"Long-ears! Long-ears! be strong, be strong--don't let the monkey beat
you!" grunted the bear.

So the monkey and the hare, encouraged by their friends, tried their
very hardest to beat each other. The hare at last gained on the monkey.
The monkey seemed to trip up, and the hare giving him a good push sent
him flying off the platform with a bound.

The poor monkey sat up rubbing his back, and his face was very long as
he screamed angrily. "Oh, oh! how my back hurts--my back hurts me!"

Seeing the monkey in this plight on the ground, the deer holding his
leaf on high said:

"This round is finished--the hare has won."

Kintaro then opened his luncheon box and taking out a rice-dumpling,
gave it to the hare saying:

"Here is your prize, and you have earned, it well!"

Now the monkey got up looking very cross, and as they say in Japan "his
stomach stood up," for he felt that he had not been fairly beaten. So
he said to Kintaro and the others who were standing by:

"I have not been fairly beaten. My foot slipped and I tumbled. Please
give me another chance and let the hare wrestle with me for another
round."

Then Kintaro consenting, the hare and the monkey began to wrestle
again. Now, as every one knows, the monkey is a cunning animal by
nature, and he made up his mind to get the best of the hare this time
if it were possible. To do this, he thought that the best and surest
way would be to get hold of the hare's long ear. This he soon managed
to do. The hare was quite thrown off his guard by the pain of having
his long ear pulled so hard, and the monkey seizing his opportunity at
last, caught hold of one of the hare's legs and sent him sprawling in
the middle of the dais. The monkey was now the victor and received, a
rice-dumpling from Kintaro, which pleased him so much that he quite
forgot his sore back.

The deer now came up and asked the hare if he felt ready for another
round, and if so whether he would try a round with him, and the hare
consenting, they both stood up to wrestle. The bear came forward as
umpire.

The deer with long horns and the hare with long ears, it must have been
an amusing sight to those who watched this queer match. Suddenly the
deer went down on one of his knees, and the bear with the leaf on high
declared him beaten. In this way, sometimes the one, sometimes the
other, conquering, the little party amused themselves till they were
tired.

At last Kintaro got up and said:

"This is enough for to-day. What a nice place we have found for
wrestling; let us come again to-morrow. Now, we will all go home. Come
along!" So saying, Kintaro led the way while the animals followed.

After walking some little distance they came out on the banks of a
river flowing through a valley. Kintaro and his four furry friends
stood and looked about for some means of crossing. Bridge there was
none. The river rushed "don, don" on its way. All the animals looked
serious, wondering how they could cross the stream and get home that
evening.

Kintaro, however, said:

"Wait a moment. I will make a good bridge for you all in a few minutes."

The bear, the deer, the monkey and the hare looked at him to see what
he would do now.

Kintaro went from one tree to another that grew along the river bank.
At last he stopped in front of a very large tree that was growing at
the water's edge. He took hold of the trunk and pulled it with all his
might, once, twice, thrice! At the third pull, so great was Kintaro's
strength that the roots gave way, and "meri, meri" (crash, crash), over
fell the tree, forming an excellent bridge across the stream.

"There," said Kintaro, "what do you think of my bridge? It is quite
safe, so follow me," and he stepped across first. The four animals
followed. Never had they seen any one so strong before, and they all
exclaimed:

"How strong he is! how strong he is!"

While all this was going on by the river a woodcutter, who happened to
be standing on a rock overlooking the stream, had seen all that passed
beneath him. He watched with great surprise Kintaro and his animal
companions. He rubbed his eyes to be sure that he was not dreaming when
he saw this boy pull over a tree by the roots and throw it across the
stream to form a bridge.

The woodcutter, for such he seemed to be by his dress, marveled at all
he saw, and said to himself:

"This is no ordinary child. Whose son can he be? I will find out before
this day is done."

He hastened after the strange party and crossed the bridge behind them.
Kintaro knew nothing of all this, and little guessed that he was being
followed. On reaching the other side of the river he and the animals
separated, they to their lairs in the woods and he to his mother, who
was waiting for him.

As soon as he entered the cottage, which stood like a matchbox in the
heart of the pine-woods, he went to greet his mother, saying:

"Okkasan (mother), here I am!"

"O, Kimbo!" said his mother with a bright smile, glad to see her boy
home safe after the long day. "How late you are to-day. I feared that
something had happened to you. Where have you been all the time?"

"I took my four friends, the bear, the deer, the monkey, and the hare,
up into the hills, and there I made them try a wrestling match, to see
which was the strongest. We all enjoyed the sport, and are going to the
same place to-morrow to have another match."

"Now tell me who is the strongest of all?" asked his mother, pretending
not to know.

"Oh, mother," said Kintaro, "don't you know that I am the strongest?
There was no need for me to wrestle with any of them."

"But next to you then, who is the strongest?"

"The bear comes next to me in strength," answered Kintaro.

"And after the bear?" asked his mother again.

"Next to the bear it is not easy to say which is the strongest, for the
deer, the monkey, and the hare all seem to be as strong as each other,"
said Kintaro.

Suddenly Kintaro and his mother were startled by a voice from outside.

"Listen to me, little boy! Next time you go, take this old man with you
to the wrestling match. He would like to join the sport too!"

It was the old woodcutter who had followed Kintaro from the river. He
slipped off his clogs and entered the cottage. Yama-uba and her son
were both taken by surprise. They looked at the intruder wonderingly
and saw that he was some one they had never seen before.

"Who are you?" they both exclaimed.

Then the woodcutter laughed and said:

"It does not matter who I am yet, but let us see who has the strongest
arm--this boy or myself?"

Then Kintaro, who had lived all his life in the forest, answered the
old man without any ceremony, saying:

"We will have a try if you wish it, but you must not be angry whoever
is beaten."

Then Kintaro and the woodcutter both put out their right arms and
grasped each other's hands. For a long time Kintaro and the old man
wrestled together in this way, each trying to bend the other's arm, but
the old man was very strong, and the strange pair were evenly matched.
At last the old man desisted, declaring it a drawn game.

"You are, indeed, a very strong child. There are few men who can boast
of the strength of my right arm!" said the woodcutter. "I saw you first
on the banks of the river a few hours ago, when you pulled up that
large tree to make a bridge across the torrent. Hardly able to believe
what I saw I followed you home. Your strength of arm, which I have just
tried, proves what I saw this afternoon. When you are full-grown you
will surely be the strongest man in all Japan. It is a pity that you
are hidden away in these wild mountains."

Then he turned to Kintaro's mother:

"And you, mother, have you no thought of taking your child to the
Capital, and of teaching him to carry a sword as befits a samurai (a
Japanese knight)?"

"You are very kind to take so much interest in my son." replied the
mother; "but he is as you see, wild and uneducated, and I fear it would
be very difficult to do as you say. Because of his great strength as an
infant I hid him away in this unknown part of the country, for he hurt
every one that came near him. I have often wished that I could, one
day, see my boy a knight wearing two swords, but as we have no
influential friend to introduce us at the Capital, I fear my hope will
never come true."

"You need not trouble yourself about that. To tell you the truth I am
no woodcutter! I am one of the great generals of Japan. My name is
Sadamitsu, and I am a vassal of the powerful Lord Minamoto-no-Raiko. He
ordered me to go round the country and look for boys who give promise
of remarkable strength, so that they may be trained as soldiers for his
army. I thought that I could best do this by assuming the disguise of a
woodcutter. By good fortune, I have thus unexpectedly come across your
son. Now if you really wish him to be a SAMURAI (a knight), I will take
him and present him to the Lord Raiko as a candidate for his service.
What do you say to this?"

As the kind general gradually unfolded his plan the mother's heart was
filled with a great joy. She saw that here was a wonderful chance of
the one wish of her life being fulfilled--that of seeing Kintaro a
SAMURAI before she died.

Bowing her head to the ground, she replied:

"I will then intrust my son to you if you really mean what you say."

Kintaro had all this time been sitting by his mother's side listening
to what they said. When his mother finished speaking, he exclaimed:

"Oh, joy! joy! I am to go with the general and one day I shall be a
SAMURAI!"

Thus Kintaro's fate was settled, and the general decided to start for
the Capital at once, taking Kintaro with him. It need hardly be said
that Yama-uba was sad at parting with her boy, for he was all that was
left to her. But she hid her grief with a strong face, as they say in
Japan. She knew that it was for her boy's good that he should leave her
now, and she must not discourage him just as he was setting out.
Kintaro promised never to forget her, and said that as soon as he was a
knight wearing two swords he would build her a home and take care of
her in her old age.

All the animals, those he had tamed to serve him, the bear, the deer,
the monkey, and the hare, as soon as they found out that he was going
away, came to ask if they might attend him as usual. When they learned
that he was going away for good they followed him to the foot of the
mountain to see him off.

"Kimbo," said his mother, "mind and be a good boy."

"Mr. Kintaro," said the faithful animals, "we wish you good health on
your travels."

Then they all climbed a tree to see the last of him, and from that
height they watched him and his shadow gradually grow smaller and
smaller, till he was lost to sight.

The general Sadamitsu went on his way rejoicing at having so
unexpectedly found such a prodigy as Kintaro.

Having arrived at their destination the general took Kintaro at once to
his Lord, Minamoto-no-Raiko, and told him all about Kintaro and how he
had found the child. Lord Raiko was delighted with the story, and
having commanded Kintaro to be brought to him, made him one of his
vassals at once.

Lord Raiko's army was famous for its band called "The Four Braves."
These warriors were chosen by himself from amongst the bravest and
strongest of his soldiers, and the small and well-picked band was
distinguished throughout the whole of Japan for the dauntless courage
of its men.

When Kintaro grew up to be a man his master made him the Chief of the
Four Braves. He was by far the strongest of them all. Soon after this
event, news was brought to the city that a cannibal monster had taken
up his abode not far away and that people were stricken with fear. Lord
Raiko ordered Kintaro to the rescue. He immediately started off,
delighted at the prospect of trying his sword.

Surprising the monster in its den, he made short work of cutting off
its great head, which he carried back in triumph to his master.

Kintaro now rose to be the greatest hero of his country, and great was
the power and honor and wealth that came to him. He now kept his
promise and built a comfortable home for his old mother, who lived
happily with him in the Capital to the end of her days.

Is not this the story of a great hero?




THE STORY OF PRINCESS HASE.

A STORY OF OLD JAPAN.


Many, many years ago there lived in Nara, the ancient Capital of Japan,
a wise State minister, by name Prince Toyonari Fujiwara. His wife was a
noble, good, and beautiful woman called Princess Murasaki (Violet).
They had been married by their respective families according to
Japanese custom when very young, and had lived together happily ever
since. They had, however, one cause for great sorrow, for as the years
went by no child was born to them. This made them very unhappy, for
they both longed to see a child of their own who would grow up to
gladden their old age, carry on the family name, and keep up the
ancestral rites when they were dead. The Prince and his lovely wife,
after long consultation and much thought, determined to make a
pilgrimage to the temple of Hase-no-Kwannon (Goddess of Mercy at Hase),
for they believed, according to the beautiful tradition of their
religion, that the Mother of Mercy, Kwannon, comes to answer the
prayers of mortals in the form that they need the most. Surely after
all these years of prayer she would come to them in the form of a
beloved child in answer to their special pilgrimage, for that was the
greatest need of their two lives. Everything else they had that this
life could give them, but it was all as nothing because the cry of
their hearts was unsatisfied.

So the Prince Toyonari and his wife went to the temple of Kwannon at
Hase and stayed there for a long time, both daily offering incense and
praying to Kwannon, the Heavenly Mother, to grant them the desire of
their whole lives. And their prayer was answered.

A daughter was born at last to the Princess Murasaki, and great was the
joy of her heart. On presenting the child to her husband, they both
decided to call her Hase-Hime, or the Princess of Hase, because she was
the gift of the Kwannon at that place. They both reared her with great
care and tenderness, and the child grew in strength and beauty.

When the little girl was five years old her mother fell dangerously ill
and all the doctors and their medicines could not save her. A little
before she breathed her last she called her daughter to her, and gently
stroking her head, said:

"Hase-Hime, do you know that your mother cannot live any longer? Though
I die, you must grow up a good girl. Do your best not to give trouble
to your nurse or any other of your family. Perhaps your father will
marry again and some one will fill my place as your mother. If so do
not grieve for me, but look upon your father's second wife as your true
mother, and be obedient and filial to both her and your father.
Remember when you are grown up to be submissive to those who are your
superiors, and to be kind to all those who are under you. Don't forget
this. I die with the hope that you will grow up a model woman."

Hase-Hime listened in an attitude of respect while her mother spoke,
and promised to do all that she was told. There is a proverb which says
"As the soul is at three so it is at one hundred," and so Hase-Hime
grew up as her mother had wished, a good and obedient little Princess,
though she was now too young to understand how great was the loss of
her mother.

Not long after the death of his first wife, Prince Toyonari married
again, a lady of noble birth named Princess Terute. Very different in
character, alas! to the good and wise Princess Murasaki, this woman had
a cruel, bad heart. She did not love her step-daughter at all, and was
often very unkind to the little motherless girl, saving to herself:

"This is not my child! this is not my child!"

But Hase-Hime bore every unkindness with patience, and even waited upon
her step-mother kindly and obeyed her in every way and never gave any
trouble, just as she had been trained by her own good mother, so that
the Lady Terute had no cause for complaint against her.

The little Princess was very diligent, and her favorite studies were
music and poetry. She would spend several hours practicing every day,
and her father had the most proficient of masters he could find to
teach her the koto (Japanese harp), the art of writing letters and
verse. When she was twelve years of age she could play so beautifully
that she and her step-mother were summoned to the Palace to perform
before the Emperor.

It was the Festival of the Cherry Flowers, and there were great
festivities at the Court. The Emperor threw himself into the enjoyment
of the season, and commanded that Princess Hase should perform before
him on the koto, and that her mother Princess Terute should accompany
her on the flute.

The Emperor sat on a raised dais, before which was hung a curtain of
finely-sliced bamboo and purple tassels, so that His Majesty might see
all and not be seen, for no ordinary subject was allowed to look upon
his sacred face.

Hase-Hime was a skilled musician though so young, and often astonished
her masters by her wonderful memory and talent. On this momentous
occasion she played well. But Princess Terute, her step-mother, who was
a lazy woman and never took the trouble to practice daily, broke down
in her accompaniment and had to request one of the Court ladies to take
her place. This was a great disgrace, and she was furiously jealous to
think that she had failed where her step-daughter succeeded; and to
make matters worse the Emperor sent many beautiful gifts to the little
Princess to reward her for playing so well at the Palace.

There was also now another reason why Princess Terute hated her
step-daughter, for she had had the good fortune to have a son born to
her, and in her inmost heart she kept saying:

"If only Hase-Hime were not here, my son would have all the love of his
father."

And never having learned to control herself, she allowed this wicked
thought to grow into the awful desire of taking her step-daughter's
life.

So one day she secretly ordered some poison and poisoned some sweet
wine. This poisoned wine she put into a bottle. Into another similar
bottle she poured some good wine. It was the occasion of the Boys'
Festival on the fifth of May, and Hase-Hime was playing with her little
brother. All his toys of warriors and heroes were spread out and she
was telling him wonderful stories about each of them. They were both
enjoying themselves and laughing merrily with their attendants when his
mother entered with the two bottles of wine and some delicious cakes.

"You are both so good and happy." said the wicked Princess Terute with
a smile, "that I have brought you some sweet wine as a reward--and here
are some nice cakes for my good children."

And she filled two cups from the different bottles.

Hase-Hime, never dreaming of the dreadful part her step-mother was
acting, took one of the cups of wine and gave to her little step
brother the other that had been poured out for him.

The wicked woman had carefully marked the poisoned bottle, but on
coming into the room she had grown nervous, and pouring out the wine
hurriedly had unconsciously given the poisoned cup to her own child.
All this time she was anxiously watching the little Princess, but to
her amazement no change whatever took place in the young girl's face.
Suddenly the little boy screamed and threw himself on the floor,
doubled up with pain. His mother flew to him, taking the precaution to
upset the two tiny jars of wine which she had brought into the room,
and lifted him up. The attendants rushed for the doctor, but nothing
could save the child--he died within the hour in his mother's arms.
Doctors did not know much in those ancient times, and it was thought
that the wine had disagreed with the boy, causing convulsions of which
he died.

Thus was the wicked woman punished in losing her own child when she had
tried to do away with her step-daughter; but instead of blaming herself
she began to hate Hase-Hime more than ever in the bitterness and
wretchedness of her own heart, and she eagerly watched for an
opportunity to do her harm, which was, however, long in coming.

When Hase-Hime was thirteen years of age, she had already become
mentioned as a poetess of some merit. This was an accomplishment very
much cultivated by the women of old Japan and one held in high esteem.

It was the rainy season at Nara, and floods were reported every day as
doing damage in the neighborhood. The river Tatsuta, which flowed
through the Imperial Palace grounds, was swollen to the top of its
banks, and the roaring of the torrents of water rushing along a narrow
bed so disturbed the Emperor's rest day and night, that a serious
nervous disorder was the result. An Imperial Edict was sent forth to
all the Buddhist temples commanding the priests to offer up continuous
prayers to Heaven to stop the noise of the flood. But this was of no
avail.

Then it was whispered in Court circles that the Princess Hase, the
daughter of Prince Toyonari Fujiwara, second minister at Court, was the
most gifted poetess of the day, though still so young, and her masters
confirmed the report. Long ago, a beautiful and gifted maiden-poetess
had moved Heaven by praying in verse, had brought down rain upon a land
famished with drought--so said the ancient biographers of the poetess
Ono-no-Komachi. If the Princess Hase were to write a poem and offer it
in prayer, might it not stop the noise of the rushing river and remove
the cause of the Imperial illness? What the Court said at last reached
the ears of the Emperor himself, and he sent an order to the minister
Prince Toyonari to this effect.

Great indeed was Hase-Hime's fear and astonishment when her father sent
for her and told her what was required of her. Heavy, indeed, was the
duty that was laid on her young shoulders--that of saving the Emperor's
life by the merit of her verse.

At last the day came and her poem was finished. It was written on a
leaflet of paper heavily flecked with gold-dust. With her father and
attendants and some of the Court officials, she proceeded to the bank
of the roaring torrent and raising up her heart to Heaven, she read the
poem she had composed, aloud, lifting it heavenwards in her two hands.

Strange indeed it seemed to all those standing round. The waters ceased
their roaring, and the river was quiet in direct answer to her prayer.
After this the Emperor soon recovered his health.

His Majesty was highly pleased, and sent for her to the Palace and
rewarded her with the rank of Chinjo--that of Lieutenant-General--to
distinguish her. From that time she was called Chinjo-hime, or the
Lieutenant-General Princess, and respected and loved by all.

There was only one person who was not pleased at Hase-Hime's success.
That one was her stepmother. Forever brooding over the death of her own
child whom she had killed when trying to poison her step-daughter, she
had the mortification of seeing her rise to power and honor, marked by
Imperial favor and the admiration of the whole Court. Her envy and
jealousy burned in her heart like fire. Many were the lies she carried
to her husband about Hase-Hime, but all to no purpose. He would listen
to none of her tales, telling her sharply that she was quite mistaken.

At last the step-mother, seizing the opportunity of her husband's
absence, ordered one of her old servants to take the innocent girl to
the Hibari Mountains, the wildest part of the country, and to kill her
there. She invented a dreadful story about the little Princess, saying
that this was the only way to prevent disgrace falling upon the
family--by killing her.

Katoda, her vassal, was bound to obey his mistress. Anyhow, he saw that
it would be the wisest plan to pretend obedience in the absence of the
girl's father, so he placed Hase-Hime in a palanquin and accompanied
her to the most solitary place he could find in the wild district. The
poor child knew there was no good in protesting to her unkind
step-mother at being sent away in this strange manner, so she went as
she was told.

But the old servant knew that the young Princess was quite innocent of
all the things her step-mother had invented to him as reasons for her
outrageous orders, and he determined to save her life. Unless he killed
her, however, he could not return to his cruel task-mistress, so he
decided to stay out in the wilderness. With the help of some peasants
he soon built a little cottage, and having sent secretly for his wife
to come, these two good old people did all in their power to take care
of the now unfortunate Princess. She all the time trusted in her
father, knowing that as soon as he returned home and found her absent,
he would search for her.

Prince Toyonari, after some weeks, came home, and was told by his wife
that his daughter Hime had done something wrong and had run away for
fear of being punished. He was nearly ill with anxiety. Every one in
the house told the same story--that Hase-Hime had suddenly disappeared,
none of them knew why or whither. For fear of scandal he kept the
matter quiet and searched everywhere he could think of, but all to no
purpose.

One day, trying to forget his terrible worry, he called all his men
together and told them to make ready for a several days' hunt in the
mountains. They were soon ready and mounted, waiting at the gate for
their lord. He rode hard and fast to the district of the Hibari
Mountains, a great company following him. He was soon far ahead of
every one, and at last found himself in a narrow picturesque valley.

Looking round and admiring the scenery, he noticed a tiny house on one
of the hills quite near, and then he distinctly heard a beautiful clear
voice reading aloud. Seized with curiosity as to who could be studying
so diligently in such a lonely spot, he dismounted, and leaving his
horse to his groom, he walked up the hillside and approached the
cottage. As he drew nearer his surprise increased, for he could see
that the reader was a beautiful girl. The cottage was wide open and she
was sitting facing the view. Listening attentively, he heard her
reading the Buddhist scriptures with great devotion. More and more
curious, he hurried on to the tiny gate and entered the little garden,
and looking up beheld his lost daughter Hase-Hime. She was so intent on
what she was saying that she neither heard nor saw her father till he
spoke.

"Hase-Hime!" he cried, "it is you, my Hase-Hime!"

Taken by surprise, she could hardly realize that it was her own dear
father who was calling her, and for a moment she was utterly bereft of
the power to speak or move.

"My father, my father! It is indeed you--oh, my father!" was all she
could say, and running to him she caught hold of his thick sleeve, and
burying her face burst into a passion of tears.

Her father stroked her dark hair, asking her gently to tell him all
that had happened, but she only wept on, and he wondered if he were not
really dreaming.

Then the faithful old servant Katoda came out, and bowing himself to
the ground before his master, poured out the long tale of wrong,
telling him all that had happened, and how it was that he found his
daughter in such a wild and desolate spot with only two old servants to
take care of her.

The Prince's astonishment and indignation knew no bounds. He gave up
the hunt at once and hurried home with his daughter. One of the company
galloped ahead to inform the household of the glad news, and the
step-mother hearing what had happened, and fearful of meeting her
husband now that her wickedness was discovered, fled from the house and
returned in disgrace to her father's roof, and nothing more was heard
of her.

The old servant Katoda was rewarded with the highest promotion in his
master's service, and lived happily to the end of his days, devoted to
the little Princess, who never forgot that she owed her life to this
faithful retainer. She was no longer troubled by an unkind step-mother,
and her days passed happily and quietly with her father.

As Prince Toyonari had no son, he adopted a younger son of one of the
Court nobles to be his heir, and to marry his daughter Hase-Hime, and
in a few years the marriage took place. Hase-Hime lived to a good old
age, and all said that she was the wisest, most devout, and most
beautiful mistress that had ever reigned in Prince Toyonari's ancient
house. She had the joy of presenting her son, the future lord of the
family, to her father just before he retired from active life.

To this day there is preserved a piece of needle-work in one of the
Buddhist temples of Kioto. It is a beautiful piece of tapestry, with
the figure of Buddha embroidered in the silky threads drawn from the
stem of the lotus. This is said to have been the work of the hands of
the good Princess Hase.




THE STORY OF THE MAN WHO DID NOT WISH TO DIE.


Long, long ago there lived a man called Sentaro. His surname meant
"Millionaire," but although he was not so rich as all that, he was
still very far removed from being poor. He had inherited a small
fortune from his father and lived on this, spending his time
carelessly, without any serious thoughts of work, till he was about
thirty-two years of age.

One day, without any reason whatsoever, the thought of death and
sickness came to him. The idea of falling ill or dying made him very
wretched.

"I should like to live," he said to himself, "till I am five or six
hundred years old at least, free from all sickness. The ordinary span
of a man's life is very short."

He wondered whether it were possible, by living simply and frugally
henceforth, to prolong his life as long as he wished.

He knew there were many stories in ancient history of emperors who had
lived a thousand years, and there was a Princess of Yamato, who, it was
said, lived to the age of five hundred. This was the latest story of a
very long life record.

Sentaro had often heard the tale of the Chinese King named
Shin-no-Shiko. He was one of the most able and powerful rulers in
Chinese history. He built all the large palaces, and also the famous
great wall of China. He had everything in the world he could wish for,
but in spite of all his happiness and the luxury and the splendor of
his Court, the wisdom of his councilors and the glory of his reign, he
was miserable because he knew that one day he must die and leave it all.

When Shin-no-Shiko went to bed at night, when he rose in the morning,
as he went through his day, the thought of death was always with him.
He could not get away from it. Ah--if only he could find the "Elixir of
Life," he would be happy.

The Emperor at last called a meeting of his courtiers and asked them
all if they could not find for him the "Elixir of Life" of which he had
so often read and heard.

One old courtier, Jofuku by name, said that far away across the seas
there was a country called Horaizan, and that certain hermits lived
there who possessed the secret of the "Elixir of Life." Whoever drank
of this wonderful draught lived forever.

The Emperor ordered Jofuku to set out for the land of Horaizan, to find
the hermits, and to bring him back a phial of the magic elixir. He gave
Jofuku one of his best junks, fitted it out for him, and loaded it with
great quantities of treasures and precious stones for Jofuku to take as
presents to the hermits.

Jofuku sailed for the land of Horaizan, but he never returned to the
waiting Emperor; but ever since that time Mount Fuji has been said to
be the fabled Horaizan and the home of hermits who had the secret of
the elixir, and Jofuku has been worshiped as their patron god.

Now Sentaro determined to set out to find the hermits, and if he could,
to become one, so that he might obtain the water of perpetual life. He
remembered that as a child he had been told that not only did these
hermits live on Mount Fuji, but that they were said to inhabit all the
very high peaks.

So he left his old home to the care of his relatives, and started out
on his quest. He traveled through all the mountainous regions of the
land, climbing to the tops of the highest peaks, but never a hermit did
he find.

At last, after wandering in an unknown region for many days, he met a
hunter.

"Can you tell me," asked Sentaro, "where the hermits live who have the
Elixir of Life?"

"No." said the hunter; "I can't tell you where such hermits live, but
there is a notorious robber living in these parts. It is said that he
is chief of a band of two hundred followers."

This odd answer irritated Sentaro very much, and he thought how foolish
it was to waste more time in looking for the hermits in this way, so he
decided to go at once to the shrine of Jofuku, who is worshiped as the
patron god of the hermits in the south of Japan.

Sentaro reached the shrine and prayed for seven days, entreating Jofuku
to show him the way to a hermit who could give him what he wanted so
much to find.

At midnight of the seventh day, as Sentaro knelt in the temple, the
door of the innermost shrine flew open, and Jofuku appeared in a
luminous cloud, and calling to Sentaro to come nearer, spoke thus:

"Your desire is a very selfish one and cannot be easily granted. You
think that you would like to become a hermit so as to find the Elixir
of Life. Do you know how hard a hermit's life is? A hermit is only
allowed to eat fruit and berries and the bark of pine trees; a hermit
must cut himself off from the world so that his heart may become as
pure as gold and free from every earthly desire. Gradually after
following these strict rules, the hermit ceases to feel hunger or cold
or heat, and his body becomes so light that he can ride on a crane or a
carp, and can walk on water without getting his feet wet."

"You, Sentaro, are fond of good living and of every comfort. You are
not even like an ordinary man, for you are exceptionally idle, and more
sensitive to heat and cold than most people. You would never be able to
go barefoot or to wear only one thin dress in the winter time! Do you
think that you would ever have the patience or the endurance to live a
hermit's life?"

"In answer to your prayer, however, I will help you in another way. I
will send you to the country of Perpetual Life, where death never
comes--where the people live forever!"

Saying this, Jofuku put into Sentaro's hand a little crane made of
paper, telling him to sit on its back and it would carry him there.

Sentaro obeyed wonderingly. The crane grew large enough for him to ride
on it with comfort. It then spread its wings, rose high in the air, and
flew away over the mountains right out to sea.

Sentaro was at first quite frightened; but by degrees he grew
accustomed to the swift flight through the air. On and on they went for
thousands of miles. The bird never stopped for rest or food, but as it
was a paper bird it doubtless did not require any nourishment, and
strange to say, neither did Sentaro.

After several days they reached an island. The crane flew some distance
inland and then alighted.

As soon as Sentaro got down from the bird's back, the crane folded up
of its own accord and flew into his pocket.

Now Sentaro began to look about him wonderingly, curious to see what
the country of Perpetual Life was like. He walked first round about the
country and then through the town. Everything was, of course, quite
strange, and different from his own land. But both the land and the
people seemed prosperous, so he decided that it would be good for him
to stay there and took up lodgings at one of the hotels.

The proprietor was a kind man, and when Sentaro told him that he was a
stranger and had come to live there, he promised to arrange everything
that was necessary with the governor of the city concerning Sentaro's
sojourn there. He even found a house for his guest, and in this way
Sentaro obtained his great wish and became a resident in the country of
Perpetual Life.

Within the memory of all the islanders no man had ever died there, and
sickness was a thing unknown. Priests had come over from India and
China and told them of a beautiful country called Paradise, where
happiness and bliss and contentment fill all men's hearts, but its
gates could only be reached by dying. This tradition was handed down
for ages from generation to generation--but none knew exactly what
death was except that it led to Paradise.

Quite unlike Sentaro and other ordinary people, instead of having a
great dread of death, they all, both rich and poor, longed for it as
something good and desirable. They were all tired of their long, long
lives, and longed to go to the happy land of contentment called
Paradise of which the priests had told them centuries ago.

All this Sentaro soon found out by talking to the islanders. He found
himself, according to his ideas, in the land of Topsyturvydom.
Everything was upside down. He had wished to escape from dying. He had
come to the land of Perpetual Life with great relief and joy, only to
find that the inhabitants themselves, doomed never to die, would
consider it bliss to find death.

What he had hitherto considered poison these people ate as good food,
and all the things to which he had been accustomed as food they
rejected. Whenever any merchants from other countries arrived, the rich
people rushed to them eager to buy poisons. These they swallowed
eagerly, hoping for death to come so that they might go to Paradise.

But what were deadly poisons in other lands were without effect in this
strange place, and people who swallowed them with the hope of dying,
only found that in a short time they felt better in health instead of
worse.

Vainly they tried to imagine what death could be like. The wealthy
would have given all their money and all their goods if they could but
shorten their lives to two or three hundred years even. Without any
change to live on forever seemed to this people wearisome and sad.

In the chemist shops there was a drug which was in constant demand,
because after using it for a hundred years, it was supposed to turn the
hair slightly gray and to bring about disorders of the stomach.

Sentaro was astonished to find that the poisonous globe-fish was served
up in restaurants as a delectable dish, and hawkers in the streets went
about selling sauces made of Spanish flies. He never saw any one ill
after eating these horrible things, nor did he ever see any one with as
much as a cold.

Sentaro was delighted. He said to himself that he would never grow
tired of living, and that he considered it profane to wish for death.
He was the only happy man on the island. For his part he wished to live
thousands of years and to enjoy life. He set himself up in business,
and for the present never even dreamed of going back to his native land.

As years went by, however, things did not go as smoothly as at first.
He had heavy losses in business, and several times some affairs went
wrong with his neighbors. This caused him great annoyance.

Time passed like the flight of an arrow for him, for he was busy from
morning till night. Three hundred years went by in this monotonous way,
and then at last he began to grow tired of life in this country, and he
longed to see his own land and his old home. However long he lived
here, life would always be the same, so was it not foolish and
wearisome to stay on here forever?

Sentaro, in his wish to escape from the country of Perpetual Life,
recollected Jofuku, who had helped him before when he was wishing to
escape from death--and he prayed to the saint to bring him back to his
own land again.

No sooner did he pray than the paper crane popped out of his pocket.
Sentaro was amazed to see that it had remained undamaged after all
these years. Once more the bird grew and grew till it was large enough
for him to mount it. As he did so, the bird spread its wings and flew,
swiftly out across the sea in the direction of Japan.

Such was the willfulness of the man's nature that he looked back and
regretted all he had left behind. He tried to stop the bird in vain.
The crane held on its way for thousands of miles across the ocean.

Then a storm came on, and the wonderful paper crane got damp, crumpled
up, and fell into the sea. Sentaro fell with it. Very much frightened
at the thought of being drowned, he cried out loudly to Jofuku to save
him. He looked round, but there was no ship in sight. He swallowed a
quantity of sea-water, which only increased his miserable plight. While
he was thus struggling to keep himself afloat, he saw a monstrous shark
swimming towards him. As it came nearer it opened its huge mouth ready
to devour him. Sentaro was all but paralyzed with fear now that he felt
his end so near, and screamed out as loudly as ever he could to Jofuku
to come and rescue him.

Lo, and behold, Sentaro was awakened by his own screams, to find that
during his long prayer he had fallen asleep before the shrine, and that
all his extraordinary and frightful adventures had been only a wild
dream. He was in a cold perspiration with fright, and utterly
bewildered.

Suddenly a bright light came towards him, and in the light stood a
messenger. The messenger held a book in his hand, and spoke to Sentaro:

"I am sent to you by Jofuku, who in answer to your prayer, has
permitted you in a dream to see the land of Perpetual Life. But you
grew weary of living there, and begged to be allowed to return to your
native land so that you might die. Jofuku, so that he might try you,
allowed you to drop into the sea, and then sent a shark to swallow you
up. Your desire for death was not real, for even at that moment you
cried out loudly and shouted for help."

"It is also vain for you to wish to become a hermit, or to find the
Elixir of Life. These things are not for such as you--your life is not
austere enough. It is best for you to go back to your paternal home,
and to live a good and industrious life. Never neglect to keep the
anniversaries of your ancestors, and make it your duty to provide for
your children's future. Thus will you live to a good old age and be
happy, but give up the vain desire to escape death, for no man can do
that, and by this time you have surely found out that even when selfish
desires are granted they do not bring happiness."

"In this book I give you there are many precepts good for you to
know--if you study them, you will be guided in the way I have pointed
out to you."

The angel disappeared as soon as he had finished speaking, and Sentaro
took the lesson to heart. With the book in his hand he returned to his
old home, and giving up all his old vain wishes, tried to live a good
and useful life and to observe the lessons taught him in the book, and
he and his house prospered henceforth.




THE BAMBOO-CUTTER AND THE MOON-CHILD.


Long, long ago, there lived an old bamboo wood-cutter. He was very poor
and sad also, for no child had Heaven sent to cheer his old age, and in
his heart there was no hope of rest from work till he died and was laid
in the quiet grave. Every morning he went forth into the woods and
hills wherever the bamboo reared its lithe green plumes against the
sky. When he had made his choice, he would cut down these feathers of
the forest, and splitting them lengthwise, or cutting them into joints,
would carry the bamboo wood home and make it into various articles for
the household, and he and his old wife gained a small livelihood by
selling them.

One morning as usual he had gone out to his work, and having found a
nice clump of bamboos, had set to work to cut some of them down.
Suddenly the green grove of bamboos was flooded with a bright soft
light, as if the full moon had risen over the spot. Looking round in
astonishment, he saw that the brilliance was streaming from one bamboo.
The old man, full of wonder, dropped his ax and went towards the light.
On nearer approach he saw that this soft splendor came from a hollow in
the green bamboo stem, and still more wonderful to behold, in the midst
of the brilliance stood a tiny human being, only three inches in
height, and exquisitely beautiful in appearance.

"You must be sent to be my child, for I find you here among the bamboos
where lies my daily work," said the old man, and taking the little
creature in his hand he took it home to his wife to bring up. The tiny
girl was so exceedingly beautiful and so small, that the old woman put
her into a basket to safeguard her from the least possibility of being
hurt in any way.

The old couple were now very happy, for it had been a lifelong regret
that they had no children of their own, and with joy they now expended
all the love of their old age on the little child who had come to them
in so marvelous a manner.

From this time on, the old man often found gold in the notches of the
bamboos when he hewed them down and cut them up; not only gold, but
precious stones also, so that by degrees he became rich. He built
himself a fine house, and was no longer known as the poor bamboo
woodcutter, but as a wealthy man.

Three months passed quickly away, and in that time the bamboo child
had, wonderful to say, become a full-grown girl, so her foster-parents
did up her hair and dressed her in beautiful kimonos. She was of such
wondrous beauty that they placed her behind the screens like a
princess, and allowed no one to see her, waiting upon her themselves.
It seemed as if she were made of light, for the house was filled with a
soft shining, so that even in the dark of night it was like daytime.
Her presence seemed to have a benign influence on those there. Whenever
the old man felt sad, he had only to look upon his foster-daughter and
his sorrow vanished, and he became as happy as when he was a youth.

At last the day came for the naming of their new-found child, so the
old couple called in a celebrated name-giver, and he gave her the name
of Princess Moonlight, because her body gave forth so much soft bright
light that she might have been a daughter of the Moon God.

For three days the festival was kept up with song and dance and music.
All the friends and relations of the old couple were present, and great
was their enjoyment of the festivities held to celebrate the naming of
Princess Moonlight. Everyone who saw her declared that there never had
been seen any one so lovely; all the beauties throughout the length and
breadth of the land would grow pale beside her, so they said. The fame
of the Princess's loveliness spread far and wide, and many were the
suitors who desired to win her hand, or even so much as to see her.

Suitors from far and near posted themselves outside the house, and made
little holes in the fence, in the hope of catching a glimpse of the
Princess as she went from one room to the other along the veranda. They
stayed there day and night, sacrificing even their sleep for a chance
of seeing her, but all in vain. Then they approached the house, and
tried to speak to the old man and his wife or some of the servants, but
not even this was granted them.

Still, in spite of all this disappointment they stayed on day after
day, and night after night, and counted it as nothing, so great was
their desire to see the Princess.

At last, however, most of the men, seeing how hopeless their quest was,
lost heart and hope both, and returned to their homes. All except five
Knights, whose ardor and determination, instead of waning, seemed to
wax greater with obstacles. These five men even went without their
meals, and took snatches of whatever they could get brought to them, so
that they might always stand outside the dwelling. They stood there in
all weathers, in sunshine and in rain.

Sometimes they wrote letters to the Princess, but no answer was
vouchsafed to them. Then when letters failed to draw any reply, they
wrote poems to her telling her of the hopeless love which kept them
from sleep, from food, from rest, and even from their homes. Still
Princes Moonlight gave no sign of having received their verses.

In this hopeless state the winter passed. The snow and frost and the
cold winds gradually gave place to the gentle warmth of spring. Then
the summer came, and the sun burned white and scorching in the heavens
above and on the earth beneath, and still these faithful Knights kept
watch and waited. At the end of these long months they called out to
the old bamboo-cutter and entreated him to have some mercy upon them
and to show them the Princess, but he answered only that as he was not
her real father he could not insist on her obeying him against her
wishes.

The five Knights on receiving this stern answer returned to their
several homes, and pondered over the best means of touching the proud
Princess's heart, even so much as to grant them a hearing. They took
their rosaries in hand and knelt before their household shrines, and
burned precious incense, praying to Buddha to give them their heart's
desire. Thus several days passed, but even so they could not rest in
their homes.

So again they set out for the bamboo-cutter's house. This time the old
man came out to see them, and they asked him to let them know if it was
the Princess's resolution never to see any man whatsoever, and they
implored him to speak for them and to tell her the greatness of their
love, and how long they had waited through the cold of winter and the
heat of summer, sleepless and roofless through all weathers, without
food and without rest, in the ardent hope of winning her, and they were
willing to consider this long vigil as pleasure if she would but give
them one chance of pleading their cause with her.

The old man lent a willing ear to their tale of love, for in his inmost
heart he felt sorry for these faithful suitors and would have liked to
see his lovely foster-daughter married to one of them. So he went in to
Princess Moonlight and said reverently:

"Although you have always seemed to me to be a heavenly being, yet I
have had the trouble of bringing you up as my own child and you have
been glad of the protection of my roof. Will you refuse to do as I
wish?"

Then Princess Moonlight replied that there was nothing she would not do
for him, that she honored and loved him as her own father, and that as
for herself she could not remember the time before she came to earth.

The old man listened with great joy as she spoke these dutiful words.
Then he told her how anxious he was to see her safely and happily
married before he died.

"I am an old man, over seventy years of age, and my end may come any
time now. It is necessary and right that you should see these five
suitors and choose one of them."

"Oh, why," said the Princess in distress, "must I do this? I have no
wish to marry now."

"I found you," answered the old man, "many years ago, when you were a
little creature three inches high, in the midst of a great white light.
The light streamed from the bamboo in which you were hid and led me to
you. So I have always thought that you were more than mortal woman.
While I am alive it is right for you to remain as you are if you wish
to do so, but some day I shall cease to be and who will take care of
you then? Therefore I pray you to meet these five brave men one at a
time and make up your mind to marry one of them!"

Then the Princess answered that she felt sure that she was not as
beautiful as perhaps report made her out to be, and that even if she
consented to marry any one of them, not really knowing her before, his
heart might change afterwards. So as she did not feel sure of them,
even though her father told her they were worthy Knights, she did not
feel it wise to see them.

"All you say is very reasonable," said the old man, "but what kind of
men will you consent to see? I do not call these five men who have
waited on you for months, light-hearted. They have stood outside this
house through the winter and the summer, often denying themselves food
and sleep so that they may win you. What more can you demand?"

Then Princess Moonlight said she must make further trial of their love
before she would grant their request to interview her. The five
warriors were to prove their love by each bringing her from distant
countries something that she desired to possess.

That same evening the suitors arrived and began to play their flutes in
turn, and to sing their self-composed songs telling of their great and
tireless love. The bamboo-cutter went out to them and offered them his
sympathy for all they had endured and all the patience they had shown
in their desire to win his foster-daughter. Then he gave them her
message, that she would consent to marry whosoever was successful in
bringing her what she wanted. This was to test them.

The five all accepted the trial, and thought it an excellent plan, for
it would prevent jealousy between them.

Princess Moonlight then sent word to the First Knight that she
requested him to bring her the stone bowl which had belonged to Buddha
in India.

The Second Knight was asked to go to the Mountain of Horai, said to be
situated in the Eastern Sea, and to bring her a branch of the wonderful
tree that grew on its summit. The roots of this tree were of silver,
the trunk of gold, and the branches bore as fruit white jewels.

The Third Knight was told to go to China and search for the fire-rat
and to bring her its skin.

The Fourth Knight was told to search for the dragon that carried on its
head the stone radiating five colors and to bring the stone to her.

The Fifth Knight was to find the swallow which carried a shell in its
stomach and to bring the shell to her.

The old man thought these very hard tasks and hesitated to carry the
messages, but the Princess would make no other conditions. So her
commands were issued word for word to the five men who, when they heard
what was required of them, were all disheartened and disgusted at what
seemed to them the impossibility of the tasks given them and returned
to their own homes in despair.

But after a time, when they thought of the Princess, the love in their
hearts revived for her, and they resolved to make an attempt to get
what she desired of them.

The First Knight sent word to the Princess that he was starting out
that day on the quest of Buddha's bowl, and he hoped soon to bring it
to her. But he had not the courage to go all the way to India, for in
those days traveling was very difficult and full of danger, so he went
to one of the temples in Kyoto and took a stone bowl from the altar
there, paying the priest a large sum of money for it. He then wrapped
it in a cloth of gold and, waiting quietly for three years, returned
and carried it to the old man.

Princess Moonlight wondered that the Knight should have returned so
soon. She took the bowl from its gold wrapping, expecting it to make
the room full of light, but it did not shine at all, so she knew that
it was a sham thing and not the true bowl of Buddha. She returned it at
once and refused to see him. The Knight threw the bowl away and
returned to his home in despair. He gave up now all hopes of ever
winning the Princess.

The Second Knight told his parents that he needed change of air for his
health, for he was ashamed to tell them that love for the Princess
Moonlight was the real cause of his leaving them. He then left his
home, at the same time sending word to the Princess that he was setting
out for Mount Horai in the hope of getting her a branch of the gold and
silver tree which she so much wished to have. He only allowed his
servants to accompany him half-way, and then sent them back. He reached
the seashore and embarked on a small ship, and after sailing away for
three days he landed and employed several carpenters to build him a
house contrived in such a way that no one could get access to it. He
then shut himself up with six skilled jewelers, and endeavored to make
such a gold and silver branch as he thought would satisfy the Princess
as having come from the wonderful tree growing on Mount Horai. Every
one whom he had asked declared that Mount Horai belonged to the land of
fable and not to fact.

When the branch was finished, he took his journey home and tried to
make himself look as if he were wearied and worn out with travel. He
put the jeweled branch into a lacquer box and carried it to the
bamboo-cutter, begging him to present it to the Princess.

The old man was quite deceived by the travel-stained appearance of the
Knight, and thought that he had only just returned from his long
journey with the branch. So he tried to persuade the Princess to
consent to see the man. But she remained silent and looked very sad.
The old man began to take out the branch and praised it as a wonderful
treasure to be found nowhere in the whole land. Then he spoke of the
Knight, how handsome and how brave he was to have undertaken a journey
to so remote a place as the Mount of Horai.

Princess Moonlight took the branch in her hand and looked at it
carefully. She then told her foster-parent that she knew it was
impossible for the man to have obtained a branch from the gold and
silver tree growing on Mount Horai so quickly or so easily, and she was
sorry to say she believed it artificial.

The old man then went out to the expectant Knight, who had now
approached the house, and asked where he had found the branch. Then the
man did not scruple to make up a long story.

"Two years ago I took a ship and started in search of Mount Horai.
After going before the wind for some time I reached the far Eastern
Sea. Then a great storm arose and I was tossed about for many days,
losing all count of the points of the compass, and finally we were
blown ashore on an unknown island. Here I found the place inhabited by
demons who at one time threatened to kill and eat me. However, I
managed to make friends with these horrible creatures, and they helped
me and my sailors to repair the boat, and I set sail again. Our food
gave out, and we suffered much from sickness on board. At last, on the
five-hundredth day from the day of starting, I saw far off on the
horizon what looked like the peak of a mountain. On nearer approach,
this proved to be an island, in the center of which rose a high
mountain. I landed, and after wandering about for two or three days, I
saw a shining being coming towards me on the beach, holding in his
hands a golden bowl. I went up to him and asked him if I had, by good
chance, found the island of Mount Horai, and he answered:"

"'Yes, this is Mount Horai!'"

"With much difficulty I climbed to the summit, here stood the golden
tree growing with silver roots in the ground. The wonders of that
strange land are many, and if I began to tell you about them I could
never stop. In spite of my wish to stay there long, on breaking off the
branch I hurried back. With utmost speed it has taken me four hundred
days to get back, and, as you see, my clothes are still damp from
exposure on the long sea voyage. I have not even waited to change my
raiment, so anxious was I to bring the branch to the Princess quickly."

Just at this moment the six jewelers, who had been employed on the
making of the branch, but not yet paid by the Knight, arrived at the
house and sent in a petition to the Princess to be paid for their
labor. They said that they had worked for over a thousand days making
the branch of gold, with its silver twigs and its jeweled fruit, that
was now presented to her by the Knight, but as yet they had received
nothing in payment. So this Knight's deception was thus found out, and
the Princess, glad of an escape from one more importunate suitor, was
only too pleased to send back the branch. She called in the workmen and
had them paid liberally, and they went away happy. But on the way home
they were overtaken by the disappointed man, who beat them till they
were nearly dead, for letting out the secret, and they barely escaped
with their lives. The Knight then returned home, raging in his heart;
and in despair of ever winning the Princess gave up society and retired
to a solitary life among the mountains.

Now the Third Knight had a friend in China, so he wrote to him to get
the skin of the fire-rat. The virtue of any part of this animal was
that no fire could harm it. He promised his friend any amount of money
he liked to ask if only he could get him the desired article. As soon
as the news came that the ship on which his friend had sailed home had
come into port, he rode seven days on horseback to meet him. He handed
his friend a large sum of money, and received the fire-rat's skin. When
he reached home he put it carefully in a box and sent it in to the
Princess while he waited outside for her answer.

The bamboo-cutter took the box from the Knight and, as usual, carried
it in to her and tried to coax her to see the Knight at once, but
Princess Moonlight refused, saying that she must first put the skin to
test by putting it into the fire. If it were the real thing it would
not burn. So she took off the crape wrapper and opened the box, and
then threw the skin into the fire. The skin crackled and burnt up at
once, and the Princess knew that this man also had not fulfilled his
word. So the Third Knight failed also.

Now the Fourth Knight was no more enterprising than the rest. Instead
of starting out on the quest of the dragon bearing on its head the
five-color-radiating jewel, he called all his servants together and
gave them the order to seek for it far and wide in Japan and in China,
and he strictly forbade any of them to return till they had found it.

His numerous retainers and servants started out in different
directions, with no intention, however, of obeying what they considered
an impossible order. They simply took a holiday, went to pleasant
country places together, and grumbled at their master's
unreasonableness.

The Knight meanwhile, thinking that his retainers could not fail to
find the jewel, repaired to his house, and fitted it up beautifully for
the reception of the Princess, he felt so sure of winning her.

One year passed away in weary waiting, and still his men did not return
with the dragon-jewel. The Knight became desperate. He could wait no
longer, so taking with him only two men he hired a ship and commanded
the captain to go in search of the dragon; the captain and the sailors
refused to undertake what they said was an absurd search, but the
Knight compelled them at last to put out to sea.

When they had been but a few days out they encountered a great storm
which lasted so long that, by the time its fury abated, the Knight had
determined to give up the hunt of the dragon. They were at last blown
on shore, for navigation was primitive in those days. Worn out with his
travels and anxiety, the fourth suitor gave himself up to rest. He had
caught a very heavy cold, and had to go to bed with a swollen face.

The governor of the place, hearing of his plight, sent messengers with
a letter inviting him to his house. While he was there thinking over
all his troubles, his love for the Princess turned to anger, and he
blamed her for all the hardships he had undergone. He thought that it
was quite probable she had wished to kill him so that she might be rid
of him, and in order to carry out her wish had sent him upon his
impossible quest.

At this point all the servants he had sent out to find the jewel came
to see him, and were surprised to find praise instead of displeasure
awaiting them. Their master told them that he was heartily sick of
adventure, and said that he never intended to go near the Princess's
house again in the future.

Like all the rest, the Fifth Knight failed in his quest--he could not
find the swallow's shell.

By this time the fame of Princess Moonlight's beauty had reached the
ears of the Emperor, and he sent one of the Court ladies to see if she
were really as lovely as report said; if so he would summon her to the
Palace and make her one of the ladies-in-waiting.

When the Court lady arrived, in spite of her father's entreaties,
Princess Moonlight refused to see her. The Imperial messenger insisted,
saying it was the Emperor's order. Then Princess Moonlight told the old
man that if she was forced to go to the Palace in obedience to the
Emperor's order, she would vanish from the earth.

When the Emperor was told of her persistence in refusing to obey his
summons, and that if pressed to obey she would disappear altogether
from sight, he determined to go and see her. So he planned to go on a
hunting excursion in the neighborhood of the bamboo-cutter's house, and
see the Princess himself. He sent word to the old man of his intention,
and he received consent to the scheme. The next day the Emperor set out
with his retinue, which he soon managed to outride. He found the
bamboo-cutter's house and dismounted. He then entered the house and
went straight to where the Princess was sitting with her attendant
maidens.

Never had he seen any one so wonderfully beautiful, and he could not
but look at her, for she was more lovely than any human being as she
shone in her own soft radiance. When Princess Moonlight became aware
that a stranger was looking at her she tried to escape from the room,
but the Emperor caught her and begged her to listen to what he had to
say. Her only answer was to hide her face in her sleeves.

The Emperor fell deeply in love with her, and begged her to come to the
Court, where he would give her a position of honor and everything she
could wish for. He was about to send for one of the Imperial palanquins
to take her back with him at once, saying that her grace and beauty
should adorn a Court, and not be hidden in a bamboo-cutter's cottage.

But the Princess stopped him. She said that if she were forced to go to
the Palace she would turn at once into a shadow, and even as she spoke
she began to lose her form. Her figure faded from his sight while he
looked.

The Emperor then promised to leave her free if only she would resume
her former shape, which she did.

It was now time for him to return, for his retinue would be wondering
what had happened to their Royal master when they missed him for so
long. So he bade her good-by, and left the house with a sad heart.
Princess Moonlight was for him the most beautiful woman in the world;
all others were dark beside her, and he thought of her night and day.
His Majesty now spent much of his time in writing poems, telling her of
his love and devotion, and sent them to her, and though she refused to
see him again she answered with many verses of her own composing, which
told him gently and kindly that she could never marry any one on this
earth. These little songs always gave him pleasure.

At this time her foster-parents noticed that night after night the
Princess would sit on her balcony and gaze for hours at the moon, in a
spirit of the deepest dejection, ending always in a burst of tears. One
night the old man found her thus weeping as if her heart were broken,
and he besought her to tell him the reason of her sorrow.

With many tears she told him that he had guessed rightly when he
supposed her not to belong to this world--that she had in truth come
from the moon, and that her time on earth would soon be over. On the
fifteenth day of that very month of August her friends from the moon
would come to fetch her, and she would have to return. Her parents were
both there, but having spent a lifetime on the earth she had forgotten
them, and also the moon-world to which she belonged. It made her weep,
she said, to think of leaving her kind foster-parents, and the home
where she had been happy for so long.

When her attendants heard this they were very sad, and could not eat or
drink for sadness at the thought that the Princess was so soon to leave
them.

The Emperor, as soon as the news was carried to him, sent messengers to
the house to find out if the report were true or not.

The old bamboo-cutter went out to meet the Imperial messengers. The
last few days of sorrow had told upon the old man; he had aged greatly,
and looked much more than his seventy years. Weeping bitterly, he told
them that the report was only too true, but he intended, however, to
make prisoners of the envoys from the moon, and to do all he could to
prevent the Princess from being carried back.

The men returned and told His Majesty all that had passed. On the
fifteenth day of that month the Emperor sent a guard of two thousand
warriors to watch the house. One thousand stationed themselves on the
roof, another thousand kept watch round all the entrances of the house.
All were well trained archers, with bows and arrows. The bamboo-cutter
and his wife hid Princess Moonlight in an inner room.

The old man gave orders that no one was to sleep that night, all in the
house were to keep a strict watch, and be ready to protect the
Princess. With these precautions, and the help of the Emperor's
men-at-arms, he hoped to withstand the moon-messengers, but the
Princess told him that all these measures to keep her would be useless,
and that when her people came for her nothing whatever could prevent
them from carrying out their purpose. Even the Emperors men would be
powerless. Then she added with tears that she was very, very sorry to
leave him and his wife, whom she had learned to love as her parents,
that if she could do as she liked she would stay with them in their old
age, and try to make some return for all the love and kindness they had
showered upon her during all her earthly life.

The night wore on! The yellow harvest moon rose high in the heavens,
flooding the world asleep with her golden light. Silence reigned over
the pine and the bamboo forests, and on the roof where the thousand
men-at-arms waited.

Then the night grew gray towards the dawn and all hoped that the danger
was over--that Princess Moonlight would not have to leave them after
all. Then suddenly the watchers saw a cloud form round the moon--and
while they looked this cloud began to roll earthwards. Nearer and
nearer it came, and every one saw with dismay that its course lay
towards the house.

In a short time the sky was entirely obscured, till at last the cloud
lay over the dwelling only ten feet off the ground. In the midst of the
cloud there stood a flying chariot, and in the chariot a band of
luminous beings. One amongst them who looked like a king and appeared
to be the chief stepped out of the chariot, and, poised in air, called
to the old man to come out.

"The time has come," he said, "for Princess Moonlight to return to the
moon from whence she came. She committed a grave fault, and as a
punishment was sent to live down here for a time. We know what good
care you have taken of the Princess, and we have rewarded you for this
and have sent you wealth and prosperity. We put the gold in the bamboos
for you to find."

"I have brought up this Princess for twenty years and never once has
she done a wrong thing, therefore the lady you are seeking cannot be
this one," said the old man. "I pray you to look elsewhere."

Then the messenger called aloud, saying:

"Princess Moonlight, come out from this lowly dwelling. Rest not here
another moment."

At these words the screens of the Princess's room slid open of their
own accord, revealing the Princess shining in her own radiance, bright
and wonderful and full of beauty.

The messenger led her forth and placed her in the chariot. She looked
back, and saw with pity the deep sorrow of the old man. She spoke to
him many comforting words, and told him that it was not her will to
leave him and that he must always think of her when looking at the moon.

The bamboo-cutter implored to be allowed to accompany her, but this was
not allowed. The Princess took off her embroidered outer garment and
gave it to him as a keepsake.

One of the moon beings in the chariot held a wonderful coat of wings,
another had a phial full of the Elixir of Life which was given the
Princess to drink. She swallowed a little and was about to give the
rest to the old man, but she was prevented from doing so.

The robe of wings was about to be put upon her shoulders, but she said:

"Wait a little. I must not forget my good friend the Emperor. I must
write him once more to say good-by while still in this human form."

In spite of the impatience of the messengers and charioteers she kept
them waiting while she wrote. She placed the phial of the Elixir of
Life with the letter, and, giving them to the old man, she asked him to
deliver them to the Emperor.

Then the chariot began to roll heavenwards towards the moon, and as
they all gazed with tearful eyes at the receding Princess, the dawn
broke, and in the rosy light of day the moon-chariot and all in it were
lost amongst the fleecy clouds that were now wafted across the sky on
the wings of the morning wind.

Princess Moonlight's letter was carried to the Palace. His Majesty was
afraid to touch the Elixir of Life, so he sent it with the letter to
the top of the most sacred mountain in the land. Mount Fuji, and there
the Royal emissaries burnt it on the summit at sunrise. So to this day
people say there is smoke to be seen rising from the top of Mount Fuji
to the clouds.




THE MIRROR OF MATSUYAMA

A STORY OF OLD JAPAN.


Long years ago in old Japan there lived in the Province of Echigo, a
very remote part of Japan even in these days, a man and his wife. When
this story begins they had been married for some years and were blessed
with one little daughter. She was the joy and pride of both their
lives, and in her they stored an endless source of happiness for their
old age.

What golden letter days in their memory were these that had marked her
growing up from babyhood; the visit to the temple when she was just
thirty days old, her proud mother carrying her, robed in ceremonial
kimono, to be put under the patronage of the family's household god;
then her first dolls festival, when her parents gave her a set of
dolls and their miniature belongings, to be added to as year succeeded
year; and perhaps the most important occasion of all, on her third
birthday, when her first OBI (broad brocade sash) of scarlet and gold
was tied round her small waist, a sign that she had crossed the
threshold of girlhood and left infancy behind. Now that she was seven
years of age, and had learned to talk and to wait upon her parents in
those several little ways so dear to the hearts of fond parents, their
cup of happiness seemed full. There could not be found in the whole of
the Island Empire a happier little family.

One day there was much excitement in the home, for the father had been
suddenly summoned to the capital on business. In these days of railways
and jinrickshas and other rapid modes of traveling, it is difficult to
realize what such a journey as that from Matsuyama to Kyoto meant. The
roads were rough and bad, and ordinary people had to walk every step of
the way, whether the distance were one hundred or several hundred
miles. Indeed, in those days it was as great an undertaking to go up to
the capital as it is for a Japanese to make a voyage to Europe now.

So the wife was very anxious while she helped her husband get ready for
the long journey, knowing what an arduous task lay before him. Vainly
she wished that she could accompany him, but the distance was too great
for the mother and child to go, and besides that, it was the wife's
duty to take care of the home.

All was ready at last, and the husband stood in the porch with his
little family round him.

"Do not be anxious, I will come back soon," said the man. "While I am
away take care of everything, and especially of our little daughter."

"Yes, we shall be all right--but you--you must take care of yourself
and delay not a day in coming back to us," said the wife, while the
tears fell like rain from her eyes.

The little girl was the only one to smile, for she was ignorant of the
sorrow of parting, and did not know that going to the capital was at
all different from walking to the next village, which her father did
very often. She ran to his side, and caught hold of his long sleeve to
keep him a moment.

"Father, I will be very good while I am waiting for you to come back,
so please bring me a present."

As the father turned to take a last look at his weeping wife and
smiling, eager child, he felt as if some one were pulling him back by
the hair, so hard was it for him to leave them behind, for they had
never been separated before. But he knew that he must go, for the call
was imperative. With a great effort he ceased to think, and resolutely
turning away he went quickly down the little garden and out through the
gate. His wife, catching up the child in her arms, ran as far as the
gate, and watched him as he went down the road between the pines till
he was lost in the haze of the distance and all she could see was his
quaint peaked hat, and at last that vanished too.

"Now father has gone, you and I must take care of everything till he
comes back," said the mother, as she made her way back to the house.

"Yes, I will be very good," said the child, nodding her head, "and when
father comes home please tell him how good I have been, and then
perhaps he will give me a present."

"Father is sure to bring you something that you want very much. I know,
for I asked him to bring you a doll. You must think of father every
day, and pray for a safe journey till he comes back."

"O, yes, when he comes home again how happy I shall be," said the
child, clapping her hands, and her face growing bright with joy at the
glad thought. It seemed to the mother as she looked at the child's face
that her love for her grew deeper and deeper.

Then she set to work to make the winter clothes for the three of them.
She set up her simple wooden spinning-wheel and spun the thread before
she began to weave the stuffs. In the intervals of her work she
directed the little girl's games and taught her to read the old stories
of her country. Thus did the wife find consolation in work during the
lonely days of her husband's absence. While the time was thus slipping
quickly by in the quiet home, the husband finished his business and
returned.

It would have been difficult for any one who did not know the man well
to recognize him. He had traveled day after day, exposed to all
weathers, for about a month altogether, and was sunburnt to bronze, but
his fond wife and child knew him at a glance, and flew to meet him from
either side, each catching hold of one of his sleeves in their eager
greeting. Both the man and his wife rejoiced to find each other well.
It seemed a very long time to all till--the mother and child
helping--his straw sandals were untied, his large umbrella hat taken
off, and he was again in their midst in the old familiar sitting-room
that had been so empty while he was away.

As soon as they had sat down on the white mats, the father opened a
bamboo basket that he had brought in with him, and took out a beautiful
doll and a lacquer box full of cakes.

"Here," he said to the little girl, "is a present for you. It is a
prize for taking care of mother and the house so well while I was away."

"Thank you," said the child, as she bowed her head to the ground, and
then put out her hand just like a little maple leaf with its eager
wide-spread fingers to take the doll and the box, both of which, coming
from the capital, were prettier than anything she had ever seen. No
words can tell how delighted the little girl was--her face seemed as if
it would melt with joy, and she had no eyes and no thought for anything
else.

Again the husband dived into the basket, and brought out this time a
square wooden box, carefully tied up with red and white string, and
handing it to his wife, said:

"And this is for you."

The wife took the box, and opening it carefully took out a metal disk
with a handle attached. One side was bright and shining like a crystal,
and the other was covered with raised figures of pine-trees and storks,
which had been carved out of its smooth surface in lifelike reality.
Never had she seen such a thing in her life, for she had been born and
bred in the rural province of Echigo. She gazed into the shining disk,
and looking up with surprise and wonder pictured on her face, she said:

"I see somebody looking at me in this round thing! What is it that you
have given me?"

The husband laughed and said:

"Why, it is your own face that you see. What I have brought you is
called a mirror, and whoever looks into its clear surface can see their
own form reflected there. Although there are none to be found in this
out of the way place, yet they have been in use in the capital from the
most ancient times. There the mirror is considered a very necessary
requisite for a woman to possess. There is an old proverb that 'As the
sword is the soul of a samurai, so is the mirror the soul of a woman,'
and according to popular tradition, a woman's mirror is an index to her
own heart--if she keeps it bright and clear, so is her heart pure and
good. It is also one of the treasures that form the insignia of the
Emperor. So you must lay great store by your mirror, and use it
carefully."

The wife listened to all her husband told her, and was pleased at
learning so much that was new to her. She was still more pleased at the
precious gift--his token of remembrance while he had been away.

"If the mirror represents my soul, I shall certainly treasure it as a
valuable possession, and never will I use it carelessly." Saying so,
she lifted it as high as her forehead, in grateful acknowledgment of
the gift, and then shut it up in its box and put it away.

The wife saw that her husband was very tired, and set about serving the
evening meal and making everything as comfortable as she could for him.
It seemed to the little family as if they had not known what true
happiness was before, so glad were they to be together again, and this
evening the father had much to tell of his journey and of all he had
seen at the great capital.

Time passed away in the peaceful home, and the parents saw their
fondest hopes realized as their daughter grew from childhood into a
beautiful girl of sixteen. As a gem of priceless value is held in its
proud owner's hand, so had they reared her with unceasing love and
care: and now their pains were more than doubly rewarded. What a
comfort she was to her mother as she went about the house taking her
part in the housekeeping, and how proud her father was of her, for she
daily reminded him of her mother when he had first married her.

But, alas! in this world nothing lasts forever. Even the moon is not
always perfect in shape, but loses its roundness with time, and flowers
bloom and then fade. So at last the happiness of this family was broken
up by a great sorrow. The good and gentle wife and mother was one day
taken ill.

In the first days of her illness the father and daughter thought that
it was only a cold, and were not particularly anxious. But the days
went by and still the mother did not get better; she only grew worse,
and the doctor was puzzled, for in spite of all he did the poor woman
grew weaker day by day. The father and daughter were stricken with
grief, and day or night the girl never left her mother's side. But in
spite of all their efforts the woman's life was not to be saved.

One day as the girl sat near her mother's bed, trying to hide with a
cheery smile the gnawing trouble at her heart, the mother roused
herself and taking her daughter's hand, gazed earnestly and lovingly
into her eyes. Her breath was labored and she spoke with difficulty:

"My daughter. I am sure that nothing can save me now. When I am dead,
promise me to take care of your dear father and to try to be a good and
dutiful woman."

"Oh, mother," said the girl as the tears rushed to her eyes, "you must
not say such things. All you have to do is to make haste and get
well--that will bring the greatest happiness to father and myself."

"Yes, I know, and it is a comfort to me in my last days to know how
greatly you long for me to get better, but it is not to be. Do not look
so sorrowful, for it was so ordained in my previous state of existence
that I should die in this life just at this time; knowing this, I am
quite resigned to my fate. And now I have something to give you whereby
to remember me when I am gone."

Putting her hand out, she took from the side of the pillow a square
wooden box tied up with a silken cord and tassels. Undoing this very
carefully, she took out of the box the mirror that her husband had
given her years ago.

"When you were still a little child your father went up to the capital
and brought me back as a present this treasure; it is called a mirror.
This I give you before I die. If, after I have ceased to be in this
life, you are lonely and long to see me sometimes, then take out this
mirror and in the clear and shining surface you will always see me--so
will you be able to meet with me often and tell me all your heart; and
though I shall not be able to speak, I shall understand and sympathize
with you, whatever may happen to you in the future." With these words
the dying woman handed the mirror to her daughter.

The mind of the good mother seemed to be now at rest, and sinking back
without another word her spirit passed quietly away that day.

The bereaved father and daughter were wild with grief, and they
abandoned themselves to their bitter sorrow. They felt it to be
impossible to take leave of the loved woman who till now had filled
their whole lives and to commit her body to the earth. But this frantic
burst of grief passed, and then they took possession of their own
hearts again, crushed though they were in resignation. In spite of this
the daughter's life seemed to her desolate. Her love for her dead
mother did not grow less with time, and so keen was her remembrance,
that everything in daily life, even the falling of the rain and the
blowing of the wind, reminded her of her mother's death and of all that
they had loved and shared together. One day when her father was out,
and she was fulfilling her household duties alone, her loneliness and
sorrow seemed more than she could bear. She threw herself down in her
mother's room and wept as if her heart would break. Poor child, she
longed just for one glimpse of the loved face, one sound of the voice
calling her pet name, or for one moment's forgetfulness of the aching
void in her heart. Suddenly she sat up. Her mother's last words had
rung through her memory hitherto dulled by grief.

"Oh! my mother told me when she gave me the mirror as a parting gift,
that whenever I looked into it I should be able to meet her--to see
her. I had nearly forgotten her last words--how stupid I am; I will get
the mirror now and see if it can possibly be true!"

She dried her eyes quickly, and going to the cupboard took out the box
that contained the mirror, her heart beating with expectation as she
lifted the mirror out and gazed into its smooth face. Behold, her
mother's words were true! In the round mirror before her she saw her
mother's face; but, oh, the joyful surprise! It was not her mother thin
and wasted by illness, but the young and beautiful woman as she
remembered her far back in the days of her own earliest childhood. It
seemed to the girl that the face in the mirror must soon speak, almost
that she heard the voice of her mother telling her again to grow up a
good woman and a dutiful daughter, so earnestly did the eyes in the
mirror look back into her own.

"It is certainly my mother's soul that I see. She knows how miserable I
am without her and she has come to comfort me. Whenever I long to see
her she will meet me here; how grateful I ought to be!"

And from this time the weight of sorrow was greatly lightened for her
young heart. Every morning, to gather strength for the day's duties
before her, and every evening, for consolation before she lay down to
rest, did the young girl take out the mirror and gaze at the reflection
which in the simplicity of her innocent heart she believed to be her
mother's soul. Daily she grew in the likeness of her dead mother's
character, and was gentle and kind to all, and a dutiful daughter to
her father.

A year spent in mourning had thus passed away in the little household,
when, by the advice of his relations, the man married again, and the
daughter now found herself under the authority of a step-mother. It was
a trying position; but her days spent in the recollection of her own
beloved mother, and of trying to be what that mother would wish her to
be, had made the young girl docile and patient, and she now determined
to be filial and dutiful to her father's wife, in all respects.
Everything went on apparently smoothly in the family for some time
under the new regime; there were no winds or waves of discord to ruffle
the surface of every-day life, and the father was content.

But it is a woman's danger to be petty and mean, and step-mothers are
proverbial all the world over, and this one's heart was not as her
first smiles were. As the days and weeks grew into months, the
step-mother began to treat the motherless girl unkindly and to try and
come between the father and child.

Sometimes she went to her husband and complained of her step-daughter's
behavior, but the father knowing that this was to be expected, took no
notice of her ill-natured complaints. Instead of lessening his
affection for his daughter, as the woman desired, her grumblings only
made him think of her the more. The woman soon saw that he began to
show more concern for his lonely child than before. This did not please
her at all, and she began to turn over in her mind how she could, by
some means or other, drive her step-child out of the house. So crooked
did the woman's heart become.

She watched the girl carefully, and one day peeping into her room in
the early morning, she thought she discovered a grave enough sin of
which to accuse the child to her father. The woman herself was a little
frightened too at what she had seen.

So she went at once to her husband, and wiping away some false tears
she said in a sad voice:

"Please give me permission to leave you today."

The man was completely taken by surprise at the suddenness of her
request, and wondered whatever was the matter.

"Do you find it so disagreeable," he asked, "in my house, that you can
stay no longer?"

"No! no! it has nothing to do with you--even in my dreams I have never
thought that I wished to leave your side; but if I go on living here I
am in danger of losing my life, so I think it best for all concerned
that you should allow me to go home!"

And the woman began to weep afresh. Her husband, distressed to see her
so unhappy, and thinking that he could not have heard aright, said:

"Tell me what you mean! How is your life in danger here?"

"I will tell you since you ask me. Your daughter dislikes me as her
step-mother. For some time past she has shut herself up in her room
morning and evening, and looking in as I pass by, I am convinced that
she has made an image of me and is trying to kill me by magic art,
cursing me daily. It is not safe for me to stay here, such being the
case; indeed, indeed, I must go away, we cannot live under the same
roof any more."

The husband listened to the dreadful tale, but he could not believe his
gentle daughter guilty of such an evil act. He knew that by popular
superstition people believed that one person could cause the gradual
death of another by making an image of the hated one and cursing it
daily; but where had his young daughter learned such knowledge?--the
thing was impossible. Yet he remembered having noticed that his
daughter stayed much in her room of late and kept herself away from
every one, even when visitors came to the house. Putting this fact
together with his wife's alarm, he thought that there might be
something to account for the strange story.

His heart was torn between doubting his wife and trusting his child,
and he knew not what to do. He decided to go at once to his daughter
and try to find out the truth. Comforting his wife and assuring her
that her fears were groundless, he glided quietly to his daughter's
room.

The girl had for a long time past been very unhappy. She had tried by
amiability and obedience to show her goodwill and to mollify the new
wife, and to break down that wall of prejudice and misunderstanding
that she knew generally stood between step-parents and their
step-children. But she soon found that her efforts were in vain. The
step-mother never trusted her, and seemed to misinterpret all her
actions, and the poor child knew very well that she often carried
unkind and untrue tales to her father. She could not help comparing her
present unhappy condition with the time when her own mother was alive
only a little more than a year ago--so great a change in this short
time! Morning and evening she wept over the remembrance. Whenever she
could she went to her room, and sliding the screens to, took out the
mirror and gazed, as she thought, at her mother's face. It was the only
comfort that she had in these wretched days.

Her father found her occupied in this way. Pushing aside the fusama, he
saw her bending over something or other very intently. Looking over her
shoulder, to see who was entering her room, the girl was surprised to
see her father, for he generally sent for her when he wished to speak
to her. She was also confused at being found looking at the mirror, for
she had never told any one of her mother's last promise, but had kept
it as the sacred secret of her heart. So before turning to her father
she slipped the mirror into her long sleeve. Her father noting her
confusion, and her act of hiding something, said in a severe manner:

"Daughter, what are you doing here? And what is that that you have
hidden in your sleeve?"

The girl was frightened by her father's severity. Never had he spoken
to her in such a tone. Her confusion changed to apprehension, her color
from scarlet to white. She sat dumb and shamefaced, unable to reply.

Appearances were certainly against her; the young girl looked guilty,
and the father thinking that perhaps after all what his wife had told
him was true, spoke angrily:

"Then, is it really true that you are daily cursing your step-mother
and praying for her death? Have you forgotten what I told you, that
although she is your step-mother you must be obedient and loyal to her?
What evil spirit has taken possession of your heart that you should be
so wicked? You have certainly changed, my daughter! What has made you
so disobedient and unfaithful?"

And the father's eyes filled with sudden tears to think that he should
have to upbraid his daughter in this way.

She on her part did not know what he meant, for she had never heard of
the superstition that by praying over an image it is possible to cause
the death of a hated person. But she saw that she must speak and clear
herself somehow. She loved her father dearly, and could not bear the
idea of his anger. She put out her hand on his knee deprecatingly:

"Father! father! do not say such dreadful things to me. I am still your
obedient child. Indeed, I am. However stupid I may be, I should never
be able to curse any one who belonged to you, much less pray for the
death of one you love. Surely some one has been telling you lies, and
you are dazed, and you know not what you say--or some evil spirit has
taken possession of YOUR heart. As for me I do not know--no, not so
much as a dew-drop, of the evil thing of which you accuse me."

But the father remembered that she had hidden something away when he
first entered the room, and even this earnest protest did not satisfy
him. He wished to clear up his doubts once for all.

"Then why are you always alone in your room these days? And tell me
what is that that you have hidden in your sleeve--show it to me at
once."

Then the daughter, though shy of confessing how she had cherished her
mother's memory, saw that she must tell her father all in order to
clear herself. So she slipped the mirror out from her long sleeve and
laid it before him.

"This," she said, "is what you saw me looking at just now."

"Why," he said in great surprise, "this is the mirror that I brought as
a gift to your mother when I went up to the capital many years ago! And
so you have kept it all this time? Now, why do you spend so much of
your time before this mirror?"

Then she told him of her mother's last words, and of how she had
promised to meet her child whenever she looked into the glass. But
still the father could not understand the simplicity of his daughter's
character in not knowing that what she saw reflected in the mirror was
in reality her own face, and not that of her mother.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "I do not understand how you can meet the
soul of your lost mother by looking in this mirror?"

"It is indeed true," said the girl: "and if you don't believe what I
say, look for yourself," and she placed the mirror before her. There,
looking back from the smooth metal disk, was her own sweet face. She
pointed to the reflection seriously:

"Do you doubt me still?" she asked earnestly, looking up into his face.

With an exclamation of sudden understanding the father smote his two
hands together.

"How stupid I am! At last I understand. Your face is as like your
mother's as the two sides of a melon--thus you have looked at the
reflection of your face all this time, thinking that you were brought
face to face with your lost mother! You are truly a faithful child. It
seems at first a stupid thing to have done, but it is not really so, It
shows how deep has been your filial piety, and how innocent your heart.
Living in constant remembrance of your lost mother has helped you to
grow like her in character. How clever it was of her to tell you to do
this. I admire and respect you, my daughter, and I am ashamed to think
that for one instant I believed your suspicious step-mother's story and
suspected you of evil, and came with the intention of scolding you
severely, while all this time you have been so true and good. Before
you I have no countenance left, and I beg you to forgive me."

And here the father wept. He thought of how lonely the poor girl must
have been, and of all that she must have suffered under her
step-mother's treatment. His daughter steadfastly keeping her faith and
simplicity in the midst of such adverse circumstances--bearing all her
troubles with so much patience and amiability--made him compare her to
the lotus which rears its blossom of dazzling beauty out of the slime
and mud of the moats and ponds, fitting emblem of a heart which keeps
itself unsullied while passing through the world.

The step-mother, anxious to know what would happen, had all this while
been standing outside the room. She had grown interested, and had
gradually pushed the sliding screen back till she could see all that
went on. At this moment she suddenly entered the room, and dropping to
the mats, she bowed her head over her outspread hands before her
step-daughter.

"I am ashamed! I am ashamed!" she exclaimed in broken tones. "I did not
know what a filial child you were. Through no fault of yours, but with
a step-mother's jealous heart, I have disliked you all the time. Hating
you so much myself, it was but natural that I should think you
reciprocated the feeling, and thus when I saw you retire so often to
your room I followed you, and when I saw you gaze daily into the mirror
for long intervals, I concluded that you had found out how I disliked
you, and that you were out of revenge trying to take my life by magic
art. As long as I live I shall never forget the wrong I have done you
in so misjudging you, and in causing your father to suspect you. From
this day I throw away my old and wicked heart, and in its place I put a
new one, clean and full of repentance. I shall think of you as a child
that I have borne myself. I shall love and cherish you with all my
heart, and thus try to make up for all the unhappiness I have caused
you. Therefore, please throw into the water all that has gone before,
and give me, I beg of you, some of the filial love that you have
hitherto given to your own lost mother."

Thus did the unkind step-mother humble herself and ask forgiveness of
the girl she had so wronged.

Such was the sweetness of the girl's disposition that she willingly
forgave her step-mother, and never bore a moment's resentment or malice
towards her afterwards. The father saw by his wife's face that she was
truly sorry for the past, and was greatly relieved to see the terrible
misunderstanding wiped out of remembrance by both the wrong-doer and
the wronged.

From this time on, the three lived together as happily as fish in
water. No such trouble ever darkened the home again, and the young girl
gradually forgot that year of unhappiness in the tender love and care
that her step-mother now bestowed on her. Her patience and goodness
were rewarded at last.




THE GOBLIN OF ADACHIGAHARA.


Long, long ago there was a large plain called Adachigahara, in the
province of Mutsu in Japan. This place was said to be haunted by a
cannibal goblin who took the form of an old woman. From time to time
many travelers disappeared and were never heard of more, and the old
women round the charcoal braziers in the evenings, and the girls
washing the household rice at the wells in the mornings, whispered
dreadful stories of how the missing folk had been lured to the goblin's
cottage and devoured, for the goblin lived only on human flesh. No one
dared to venture near the haunted spot after sunset, and all those who
could, avoided it in the daytime, and travelers were warned of the
dreaded place.

One day as the sun was setting, a priest came to the plain. He was a
belated traveler, and his robe showed that he was a Buddhist pilgrim
walking from shrine to shrine to pray for some blessing or to crave for
forgiveness of sins. He had apparently lost his way, and as it was late
he met no one who could show him the road or warn him of the haunted
spot.

He had walked the whole day and was now tired and hungry, and the
evenings were chilly, for it was late autumn, and he began to be very
anxious to find some house where he could obtain a night's lodging. He
found himself lost in the midst of the large plain, and looked about in
vain for some sign of human habitation.

At last, after wandering about for some hours, he saw a clump of trees
in the distance, and through the trees he caught sight of the glimmer
of a single ray of light. He exclaimed with joy:

"Oh. surely that is some cottage where I can get a night's lodging!"

Keeping the light before his eyes he dragged his weary, aching feet as
quickly as he could towards the spot, and soon came to a
miserable-looking little cottage. As he drew near he saw that it was in
a tumble-down condition, the bamboo fence was broken and weeds and
grass pushed their way through the gaps. The paper screens which serve
as windows and doors in Japan were full of holes, and the posts of the
house were bent with age and seemed scarcely able to support the old
thatched roof. The hut was open, and by the light of an old lantern an
old woman sat industriously spinning.

The pilgrim called to her across the bamboo fence and said:

"O Baa San (old woman), good evening! I am a traveler! Please excuse
me, but I have lost my way and do not know what to do, for I have
nowhere to rest to-night. I beg you to be good enough to let me spend
the night under your roof."

The old woman as soon as she heard herself spoken to stopped spinning,
rose from her seat and approached the intruder.

"I am very sorry for you. You must indeed be distressed to have lost
your way in such a lonely spot so late at night. Unfortunately I cannot
put you up, for I have no bed to offer you, and no accommodation
whatsoever for a guest in this poor place!"

"Oh, that does not matter," said the priest; "all I want is a shelter
under some roof for the night, and if you will be good enough just to
let me lie on the kitchen floor I shall be grateful. I am too tired to
walk further to-night, so I hope you will not refuse me, otherwise I
shall have to sleep out on the cold plain." And in this way he pressed
the old woman to let him stay.

She seemed very reluctant, but at last she said:

"Very well, I will let you stay here. I can offer you a very poor
welcome only, but come in now and I will make a fire, for the night is
cold."

The pilgrim was only too glad to do as he was told. He took off his
sandals and entered the hut. The old woman then brought some sticks of
wood and lit the fire, and bade her guest draw near and warm himself.

"You must be hungry after your long tramp," said the old woman. "I will
go and cook some supper for you." She then went to the kitchen to cook
some rice.

After the priest had finished his supper the old woman sat down by the
fire-place, and they talked together for a long time. The pilgrim
thought to himself that he had been very lucky to come across such a
kind, hospitable old woman. At last the wood gave out, and as the fire
died slowly down he began to shiver with cold just as he had done when
he arrived.

"I see you are cold," said the old woman; "I will go out and gather
some wood, for we have used it all. You must stay and take care of the
house while I am gone."

"No, no," said the pilgrim, "let me go instead, for you are old, and I
cannot think of letting you go out to get wood for me this cold night!"

The old woman shook her head and said:

"You must stay quietly here, for you are my guest." Then she left him
and went out.

In a minute she came back and said:

"You must sit where you are and not move, and whatever happens don't go
near or look into the inner room. Now mind what I tell you!"

"If you tell me not to go near the back room, of course I won't," said
the priest, rather bewildered.

The old woman then went out again, and the priest was left alone. The
fire had died out, and the only light in the hut was that of a dim
lantern. For the first time that night he began to feel that he was in
a weird place, and the old woman's words, "Whatever you do don't peep
into the back room," aroused his curiosity and his fear.

What hidden thing could be in that room that she did not wish him to
see? For some time the remembrance of his promise to the old woman kept
him still, but at last he could no longer resist his curiosity to peep
into the forbidden place.

He got up and began to move slowly towards the back room. Then the
thought that the old woman would be very angry with him if he disobeyed
her made him come back to his place by the fireside.

As the minutes went slowly by and the old woman did not return, he
began to feel more and more frightened, and to wonder what dreadful
secret was in the room behind him. He must find out.

"She will not know that I have looked unless I tell her. I will just
have a peep before she comes back," said the man to himself.

With these words he got up on his feet (for he had been sitting all
this time in Japanese fashion with his feet under him) and stealthily
crept towards the forbidden spot. With trembling hands he pushed back
the sliding door and looked in. What he saw froze the blood in his
veins. The room was full of dead men's bones and the walls were
splashed and the floor was covered with human blood. In one corner
skull upon skull rose to the ceiling, in another was a heap of arm
bones, in another a heap of leg bones. The sickening smell made him
faint. He fell backwards with horror, and for some time lay in a heap
with fright on the floor, a pitiful sight. He trembled all over and his
teeth chattered, and he could hardly crawl away from the dreadful spot.

"How horrible!" he cried out. "What awful den have I come to in my
travels? May Buddha help me or I am lost. Is it possible that that kind
old woman is really the cannibal goblin? When she comes back she will
show herself in her true character and eat me up at one mouthful!"

With these words his strength came back to him and, snatching up his
hat and staff, he rushed out of the house as fast as his legs could
carry him. Out into the night he ran, his one thought to get as far as
he could from the goblin's haunt. He had not gone far when he heard
steps behind him and a voice crying: "Stop! stop!"

He ran on, redoubling his speed, pretending not to hear. As he ran he
heard the steps behind him come nearer and nearer, and at last he
recognized the old woman's voice which grew louder and louder as she
came nearer.

"Stop! stop, you wicked man, why did you look into the forbidden room?"

The priest quite forgot how tired he was and his feet flew over the
ground faster than ever. Fear gave him strength, for he knew that if
the goblin caught him he would soon be one of her victims. With all his
heart he repeated the prayer to Buddha:

"Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu."

And after him rushed the dreadful old hag, her hair flying in the wind,
and her face changing with rage into the demon that she was. In her
hand she carried a large blood-stained knife, and she still shrieked
after him, "Stop! stop!"

At last, when the priest felt he could run no more, the dawn broke, and
with the darkness of night the goblin vanished and he was safe. The
priest now knew that he had met the Goblin of Adachigahara, the story
of whom he had often heard but never believed to be true. He felt that
he owed his wonderful escape to the protection of Buddha to whom he had
prayed for help, so he took out his rosary and bowing his head as the
sun rose he said his prayers and made his thanksgiving earnestly. He
then set forward for another part of the country, only too glad to
leave the haunted plain behind him.




THE SAGACIOUS MONKEY AND THE BOAR.


Long, long ago, there lived in the province of Shinshin in Japan, a
traveling monkey-man, who earned his living by taking round a monkey
and showing off the animal's tricks.

One evening the man came home in a very bad temper and told his wife to
send for the butcher the next morning.

The wife was very bewildered and asked her husband:

"Why do you wish me to send for the butcher?"

"It's no use taking that monkey round any longer, he's too old and
forgets his tricks. I beat him with my stick all I know how, but he
won't dance properly. I must now sell him to the butcher and make what
money out of him I can. There is nothing else to be done."

The woman felt very sorry for the poor little animal, and pleaded for
her husband to spare the monkey, but her pleading was all in vain, the
man was determined to sell him to the butcher.

Now the monkey was in the next room and overheard every word of the
conversation. He soon understood that he was to be killed, and he said
to himself:

"Barbarous, indeed, is my master! Here I have served him faithfully for
years, and instead of allowing me to end my days comfortably and in
peace, he is going to let me be cut up by the butcher, and my poor body
is to be roasted and stewed and eaten? Woe is me! What am I to do. Ah!
a bright thought has struck me! There is, I know, a wild bear living in
the forest near by. I have often heard tell of his wisdom. Perhaps if I
go to him and tell him the strait I am in he will give me his counsel.
I will go and try."

There was no time to lose. The monkey slipped out of the house and ran
as quickly as he could to the forest to find the boar. The boar was at
home, and the monkey began his tale of woe at once.

"Good Mr. Boar, I have heard of your excellent wisdom. I am in great
trouble, you alone can help me. I have grown old in the service of my
master, and because I cannot dance properly now he intends to sell me
to the butcher. What do you advise me to do? I know how clever you are!"

The boar was pleased at the flattery and determined to help the monkey.
He thought for a little while and then said:

"Hasn't your master a baby?"

"Oh, yes," said the monkey, "he has one infant son."

"Doesn't it lie by the door in the morning when your mistress begins
the work of the day? Well, I will come round early and when I see my
opportunity I will seize the child and run off with it."

"What then?" said the monkey.

"Why the mother will be in a tremendous scare, and before your master
and mistress know what to do, you must run after me and rescue the
child and take it home safely to its parents, and you will see that
when the butcher comes they won't have the heart to sell you."

The monkey thanked the boar many times and then went home. He did not
sleep much that night, as you may imagine, for thinking of the morrow.
His life depended on whether the boar's plan succeeded or not. He was
the first up, waiting anxiously for what was to happen. It seemed to
him a very long time before his master's wife began to move about and
open the shutters to let in the light of day. Then all happened as the
boar had planned. The mother placed her child near the porch as usual
while she tidied up the house and got her breakfast ready.

The child was crooning happily in the morning sunlight, dabbing on the
mats at the play of light and shadow. Suddenly there was a noise in the
porch and a loud cry from the child. The mother ran out from the
kitchen to the spot, only just in time to see the boar disappearing
through the gate with her child in its clutch. She flung out her hands
with a loud cry of despair and rushed into the inner room where her
husband was still sleeping soundly.

He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes, and crossly demanded what his
wife was making all that noise about. By the time that the man was
alive to what had happened, and they both got outside the gate, the
boar had got well away, but they saw the monkey running after the thief
as hard as his legs would carry him.

Both the man and wife were moved to admiration at the plucky conduct of
the sagacious monkey, and their gratitude knew no bounds when the
faithful monkey brought the child safely back to their arms.

"There!" said the wife. "This is the animal you want to kill--if the
monkey hadn't been here we should have lost our child forever."

"You are right, wife, for once," said the man as he carried the child
into the house. "You may send the butcher back when he comes, and now
give us all a good breakfast and the monkey too."

When the butcher arrived he was sent away with an order for some boar's
meat for the evening dinner, and the monkey was petted and lived the
rest of his days in peace, nor did his master ever strike him again.




THE HAPPY HUNTER AND THE SKILLFUL FISHER.


Long, long ago Japan was governed by Hohodemi, the fourth Mikoto (or
Augustness) in descent from the illustrious Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess.
He was not only as handsome as his ancestress was beautiful, but he was
also very strong and brave, and was famous for being the greatest
hunter in the land. Because of his matchless skill as a hunter, he was
called "Yama-sachi-hiko" or "The Happy Hunter of the Mountains."

His elder brother was a very skillful fisher, and as he far surpassed
all rivals in fishing, he was named "Umi-sachi-hiko" or the "Skillful
Fisher of the Sea." The brothers thus led happy lives, thoroughly
enjoying their respective occupations, and the days passed quickly and
pleasantly while each pursued his own way, the one hunting and the
other fishing.

One day the Happy Hunter came to his brother, the Skillful Fisher, and
said:

"Well, my brother, I see you go to the sea every day with your fishing
rod in your hand, and when you return you come laden with fish. And as
for me, it is my pleasure to take my bow and arrow and to hunt the wild
animals up the mountains and down in the valleys. For a long time we
have each followed our favorite occupation, so that now we must both be
tired, you of your fishing and I of my hunting. Would it not be wise
for us to make a change? Will you try hunting in the mountains and I
will go and fish in the sea?"

The Skillful Fisher listened in silence to his brother, and for a
moment was thoughtful, but at last he answered:

"O yes, why not? Your idea is not a bad one at all. Give me your bow
and arrow and I will set out at once for the mountains and hunt for
game."

So the matter was settled by this talk, and the two brothers each
started out to try the other's occupation, little dreaming of all that
would happen. It was very unwise of them, for the Happy Hunter knew
nothing of fishing, and the Skillful Fisher, who was bad tempered, knew
as much about hunting.

The Happy Hunter took his brother's much-prized fishing hook and rod
and went down to the seashore and sat down on the rocks. He baited his
hook and then threw it into the sea clumsily. He sat and gazed at the
little float bobbing up and down in the water, and longed for a good
fish to come and be caught. Every time the buoy moved a little he
pulled up his rod, but there was never a fish at the end of it, only
the hook and the bait. If he had known how to fish properly, he would
have been able to catch plenty of fish, but although he was the
greatest hunter in the land he could not help being the most bungling
fisher.

The whole day passed in this way, while he sat on the rocks holding the
fishing rod and waiting in vain for his luck to turn. At last the day
began to darken, and the evening came; still he had caught not a single
fish. Drawing up his line for the last time before going home, he found
that he had lost his hook without even knowing when he had dropped it.

He now began to feel extremely anxious, for he knew that his brother
would be angry at his having lost his hook, for, it being his only one,
he valued it above all other things. The Happy Hunter now set to work
to look among the rocks and on the sand for the lost hook, and while he
was searching to and fro, his brother, the Skillful Fisher, arrived on
the scene. He had failed to find any game while hunting that day, and
was not only in a bad temper, but looked fearfully cross. When he saw
the Happy Hunter searching about on the shore he knew that something
must have gone wrong, so he said at once:

"What are you doing, my brother?"

The Happy Hunter went forward timidly, for he feared his brother's
anger, and said:

"Oh, my brother, I have indeed done badly."

"What is the matter?--what have you done?" asked the elder brother
impatiently.

"I have lost your precious fishing hook--"

While he was still speaking his brother stopped him, and cried out
fiercely:

"Lost my hook! It is just what I expected. For this reason, when you
first proposed your plan of changing over our occupations I was really
against it, but you seemed to wish it so much that I gave in and
allowed you to do as you wished. The mistake of our trying unfamiliar
tasks is soon seen! And you have done badly. I will not return you your
bow and arrow till you have found my hook. Look to it that you find it
and return it to me quickly."

The Happy Hunter felt that he was to blame for all that had come to
pass, and bore his brother's scornful scolding with humility and
patience. He hunted everywhere for the hook most diligently, but it was
nowhere to be found. He was at last obliged to give up all hope of
finding it. He then went home, and in desperation broke his beloved
sword into pieces and made five hundred hooks out of it.

He took these to his angry brother and offered them to him, asking his
forgiveness, and begging him to accept them in the place of the one he
had lost for him. It was useless; his brother would not listen to him,
much less grant his request.

The Happy Hunter then made another five hundred hooks, and again took
them to his brother, beseeching him to pardon him.

"Though you make a million hooks," said the Skillful Fisher, shaking
his head, "they are of no use to me. I cannot forgive you unless you
bring me back my own hook."

Nothing would appease the anger of the Skillful Fisher, for he had a
bad disposition, and had always hated his brother because of his
virtues, and now with the excuse of the lost fishing hook he planned to
kill him and to usurp his place as ruler of Japan. The Happy Hunter
knew all this full well, but he could say nothing, for being the
younger he owed his elder brother obedience; so he returned to the
seashore and once more began to look for the missing hook. He was much
cast down, for he had lost all hope of ever finding his brother's hook
now. While he stood on the beach, lost in perplexity and wondering what
he had best do next, an old man suddenly appeared carrying a stick in
his hand. The Happy Hunter afterwards remembered that he did not see
from whence the old man came, neither did he know how he was there--he
happened to look up and saw the old man coming towards him.

"You are Hohodemi, the Augustness, sometimes called the Happy Hunter,
are you not?" asked the old man. "What are you doing alone in such a
place?"

"Yes, I am he," answered the unhappy young man. "Unfortunately, while
fishing I lost my brother's precious fishing hook. I have hunted this
shore all over, but alas! I cannot find it, and I am very troubled, for
my brother won't forgive me till I restore it to him. But who are you?"

"My name is Shiwozuchino Okina, and I live near by on this shore. I am
sorry to hear what misfortune has befallen you. You must indeed be
anxious. But if I tell you what I think, the hook is nowhere here--it
is either at the bottom of the sea or in the body of some fish who has
swallowed it, and for this reason, though you spend your whole life in
looking for it here, you will never find it."

"Then what can I do?" asked the distressed man.

"You had better go down to Ryn Gu and tell Ryn Jin, the Dragon King of
the Sea, what your trouble is and ask him to find the hook for you. I
think that would be the best way."

"Your idea is a splendid one," said the Happy Hunter, "but I fear I
cannot get to the Sea King's realm, for I have always heard that it is
situated at the bottom of the sea."

"Oh, there will be no difficulty about your getting there," said the
old man; "I can soon make something for you to ride on through the sea."

"Thank you," said the Happy Hunter, "I shall be very grateful to you if
you will be so kind."

The old man at once set to work, and soon made a basket and offered it
to the Happy Hunter. He received it with joy, and taking it to the
water, mounted it, and prepared to start. He bade good by to the kind
old man who had helped him so much, and told him that he would
certainly reward him as soon as he found his hook and could return to
Japan without fear of his brother's anger. The old man pointed out the
direction he must take, and told him how to reach the realm of Ryn Gu,
and watched him ride out to sea on the basket, which resembled a small
boat.

The Happy Hunter made all the haste he could, riding on the basket
which had been given him by his friend. His queer boat seemed to go
through the water of its own accord, and the distance was much shorter
than he had expected, for in a few hours he caught sight of the gate
and the roof of the Sea King's Palace. And what a large place it was,
with its numberless sloping roofs and gables, its huge gateways, and
its gray stone walls! He soon landed, and leaving his basket on the
beach, he walked up to the large gateway. The pillars of the gate were
made of beautiful red coral, and the gate itself was adorned with
glittering gems of all kinds. Large katsura trees overshadowed it. Our
hero had often heard of the wonders of the Sea King's Palace beneath
the sea, but all the stories he had ever heard fell short of the
reality which he now saw for the first time.

The Happy Hunter would have liked to enter the gate there and then, but
he saw that it was fast closed, and also that there was no one about
whom he could ask to open it for him, so he stopped to think what he
should do. In the shade of the trees before the gate he noticed a well
full of fresh spring water. Surely some one would come out to draw
water from the well some time, he thought. Then he climbed into the
tree overhanging the well, and seated himself to rest on one of the
branches, and waited for what might happen. Ere long he saw the huge
gate swing open, and two beautiful women came out. Now the Mikoto
(Augustness) had always heard that Ryn Gu was the realm of the Dragon
King under the Sea, and had naturally supposed that the place was
inhabited by dragons and similar terrible creatures, so that when he
saw these two lovely princesses, whose beauty would be rare even in the
world from which he had just come, he was exceedingly surprised, and
wondered what it could mean.

He said not a word, however, but silently gazed at them through the
foliage of the trees, waiting to see what they would do. He saw that in
their hands they carried golden buckets. Slowly and gracefully in their
trailing garments they approached the well, standing in the shade of
the katsura trees, and were about to draw water, all unknowing of the
stranger who was watching them, for the Happy Hunter was quite hidden
among the branches of the tree where he had posted himself.

As the two ladies leaned over the side of the well to let down their
golden buckets, which they did every day in the year, they saw
reflected in the deep still water the face of a handsome youth gazing
at them from amidst the branches of the tree in whose shade they stood.
Never before had they seen the face of mortal man; they were
frightened, and drew back quickly with their golden buckets in their
hands. Their curiosity, however, soon gave them courage, and they
glanced timidly upwards to see the cause of the unusual reflection, and
then they beheld the Happy Hunter sitting in the tree looking down at
them with surprise and admiration. They gazed at him face to face, but
their tongues were still with wonder and could not find a word to say
to him.

When the Mikoto saw that he was discovered, he sprang down lightly from
the tree and said:

"I am a traveler, and as I was very thirsty I came to the well in the
hopes of quenching my thirst, but I could find no bucket with which to
draw the water. So I climbed into the tree, much vexed, and waited for
some one to come. Just at that moment, while I was thirstily and
impatiently waiting, you noble ladies appeared, as if in answer to my
great need. Therefore I pray you of your mercy give me some water to
drink, for I am a thirsty traveler in a strange land."

His dignity and graciousness overruled their timidity, and bowing in
silence they both once more approached the well, and letting down their
golden buckets drew up some water and poured it into a jeweled cup and
offered it to the stranger.

He received it from them with both hands, raising it to the height of
his forehead in token of high respect and pleasure, and then drank the
water quickly, for his thirst was great. When he had finished his long
draught he set the cup down on the edge of the well, and drawing his
short sword he cut off one of the strange curved jewels (magatama), a
necklace of which hung round his neck and fell over his breast. He
placed the jewel in the cup and returned it to them, and said, bowing
deeply:

"This is a token of my thanks!"

The two ladies took the cup, and looking into it to see what he had put
inside--for they did not yet know what it was--they gave a start of
surprise, for there lay a beautiful gem at the bottom of the cup.

"No ordinary mortal would give away a jewel so freely. Will you not
honor us by telling us who you are?" said the elder damsel.

"Certainly," said the Happy Hunter, "I am Hohodemi, the fourth Mikoto,
also called in Japan, the Happy Hunter."

"Are you indeed Hohodemi, the grandson of Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess?"
asked the damsel who had spoken first. "I am the eldest daughter of Ryn
Jin, the King of the Sea, and my name is Princess Tayotama."

"And," said the younger maiden, who at last found her tongue, "I am her
sister, the Princess Tamayori."

"Are you indeed the daughters of Ryn Jin, the King of the Sea? I cannot
tell you how glad I am to meet you," said the Happy Hunter. And without
waiting for them to reply he went on:

"The other day I went fishing with my brother's hook and dropped it,
how, I am sure I can't tell. As my brother prizes his fishing hook
above all his other possessions, this is the greatest calamity that
could have befallen me. Unless I find it again I can never hope to win
my brother's forgiveness, for he is very angry at what I have done. I
have searched for it many, many times, but I cannot find it, therefore
I am much troubled. While I was hunting for the hook, in great
distress, I met a wise old man, and he told me that the best thing I
could do was to come to Ryn Gu, and to Ryn Jin, the Dragon King of the
Sea, and ask him to help me. This kind old man also showed me how to
come. Now you know how it is I am here and why. I want to ask Ryn Jin,
if he knows where the lost hook is. Will you be so kind as to take me
to your father? And do you think he will see me?" asked the Happy
Hunter anxiously.

Princess Tayotama listened to this long story, and then said:

"Not only is it easy for you to see my father, but he will be much
pleased to meet you. I am sure he will say that good fortune has
befallen him, that so great and noble a man as you, the grandson of
Amaterasu, should come down to the bottom of the sea." And then turning
to her younger sister, she said:

"Do you not think so, Tamayori?"

"Yes, indeed," answered the Princess Tamayori, in her sweet voice. "As
you say, we can know no greater honor than to welcome the Mikoto to our
home."

"Then I ask you to be so kind as to lead the way," said the Happy
Hunter.

"Condescend to enter, Mikoto (Augustness)," said both the sisters, and
bowing low, they led him through the gate.

The younger Princess left her sister to take charge of the Happy
Hunter, and going faster than they, she reached the Sea King's Palace
first, and running quickly to her father's room, she told him of all
that had happened to them at the gate, and that her sister was even now
bringing the Augustness to him. The Dragon King of the Sea was much
surprised at the news, for it was but seldom, perhaps only once in
several hundred years, that the Sea King's Palace was visited by
mortals.

Ryn Jin at once clapped his hands and summoned all his courtiers and
the servants of the Palace, and the chief fish of the sea together, and
solemnly told them that the grandson of the Sun Goddess, Amaterasu, was
coming to the Palace, and that they must be very ceremonious and polite
in serving the august visitor. He then ordered them all to the entrance
of the Palace to welcome the Happy Hunter.

Ryn Jin then dressed himself in his robes of ceremony, and went out to
welcome him. In a few moments the Princess Tayotama and the Happy
Hunter reached the entrance, and the Sea King and his wife bowed to the
ground and thanked him for the honor he did them in coming to see them.
The Sea King then led the Happy Hunter to the guest room, and placing
him in the uppermost seat, he bowed respectfully before him, and said:

"I am Ryn Jin, the Dragon King of the Sea, and this is my wife.
Condescend to remember us forever!"

"Are you indeed Ryn Jin, the King of the Sea, of whom I have so often
heard?" answered the Happy Hunter, saluting his host most
ceremoniously. "I must apologize for all the trouble I am giving you by
my unexpected visit." And he bowed again, and thanked the Sea King.

"You need not thank me," said Ryn Jin. "It is I who must thank you for
coming. Although the Sea Palace is a poor place, as you see, I shall be
highly honored if you will make us a long visit."

There was much gladness between the Sea King and the Happy Hunter, and
they sat and talked for a long time. At last the Sea King clapped his
hands, and then a huge retinue of fishes appeared, all robed in
ceremonial garments, and bearing in their fins various trays on which
all kinds of sea delicacies were served. A great feast was now spread
before the King and his Royal guest. All the fishes-in-waiting were
chosen from amongst the finest fish in the sea, so you can imagine what
a wonderful array of sea creatures it was that waited upon the Happy
Hunter that day. All in the Palace tried to do their best to please him
and to show him that he was a much honored guest. During the long
repast, which lasted for hours, Ryn Jin commanded his daughters to play
some music, and the two Princesses came in and performed on the KOTO
(the Japanese harp), and sang and danced in turns. The time passed so
pleasantly that the Happy Hunter seemed to forget his trouble and why
he had come at all to the Sea King's Realm, and he gave himself up to
the enjoyment of this wonderful place, the land of fairy fishes! Who
has ever heard of such a marvelous place? But the Mikoto soon
remembered what had brought him to Ryn Gu, and said to his host:

"Perhaps your daughters have told you, King Ryn Jin, that I have come
here to try and recover my brother's fishing hook, which I lost while
fishing the other day. May I ask you to be so kind as to inquire of all
your subjects if any of them have seen a fishing hook lost in the sea?"

"Certainly," said the obliging Sea King, "I will immediately summon
them all here and ask them."

As soon as he had issued his command, the octopus, the cuttlefish, the
bonito, the oxtail fish, the eel, the jelly fish, the shrimp, and the
plaice, and many other fishes of all kinds came in and sat down before
Ryn Jin their King, and arranged themselves and their fins in order.
Then the Sea King said solemnly:

"Our visitor who is sitting before you all is the august grandson of
Amaterasu. His name is Hohodemi, the fourth Augustness, and he is also
called the Happy Hunter of the Mountains. While he was fishing the
other day upon the shore of Japan, some one robbed him of his brother's
fishing hook. He has come all this way down to the bottom of the sea to
our Kingdom because he thought that one of you fishes may have taken
the hook from him in mischievous play. If any of you have done so you
must immediately return it, or if any of you know who the thief is you
must at once tell us his name and where he is now."

All the fishes were taken by surprise when they heard these words, and
could say nothing for some time. They sat looking at each other and at
the Dragon King. At last the cuttlefish came forward and said:

"I think the TAI (the red bream) must be the thief who has stolen the
hook!"

"Where is your proof?" asked the King.

"Since yesterday evening the TAI has not been able to eat anything, and
he seems to be suffering from a bad throat! For this reason I think the
hook may be in his throat. You had better send for him at once!"

All the fish agreed to this, and said:

"It is certainly strange that the TAI is the only fish who has not
obeyed your summons. Will you send for him and inquire into the matter.
Then our innocence will be proved."

"Yes," said the Sea King, "it is strange that the TAI has not come, for
he ought to be the first to be here. Send for him at once!"

Without waiting for the King's order the cuttlefish had already started
for the TAI'S dwelling, and he now returned, bringing the TAI with him.
He led him before the King.

The TAI sat there looking frightened and ill. He certainly was in pain,
for his usually red face was pale, and his eyes were nearly closed and
looked but half their usual size.

"Answer, O TAI!" cried the Sea King, "why did you not come in answer to
my summons today?"

"I have been ill since yesterday," answered the TAI; "that is why I
could not come."

"Don't say another word!" cried out Ryn Jin angrily. "Your illness is
the punishment of the gods for stealing the Mikoto's hook."

"It is only too true!" said the TAI; "the hook is still in my throat,
and all my efforts to get it out have been useless. I can't eat, and I
can scarcely breathe, and each moment I feel that it will choke me, and
sometimes it gives me great pain. I had no intention of stealing the
Mikoto's hook. I heedlessly snapped at the bait which I saw in the
water, and the hook came off and stuck in my throat. So I hope you will
pardon me."

The cuttlefish now came forward, and said to the King:

"What I said was right. You see the hook still sticks in the TAI'S
throat. I hope to be able to pull it out in the presence of the Mikoto,
and then we can return it to him safely!"

"O please make haste and pull it out!" cried the TAI, pitifully, for he
felt the pains in his throat coming on again; "I do so want to return
the hook to the Mikoto."

"All right, TAI SAN," said his friend the cuttlefish, and then opening
the TAI'S mouth as wide as he could and putting one of his feelers down
the TAI'S throat, he quickly and easily drew the hook out of the
sufferer's large mouth. He then washed it and brought it to the King.

Ryn Jin took the hook from his subject, and then respectfully returned
it to the Happy Hunter (the Mikoto or Augustness, the fishes called
him), who was overjoyed at getting back his hook. He thanked Ryn Jin
many times, his face beaming with gratitude, and said that he owed the
happy ending of his quest to the Sea King's wise authority and kindness.

Ryn Jin now desired to punish the TAI, but the Happy Hunter begged him
not to do so; since his lost hook was thus happily recovered he did not
wish to make more trouble for the poor TAI. It was indeed the TAI who
had taken the hook, but he had already suffered enough for his fault,
if fault it could be called. What had been done was done in
heedlessness and not by intention. The Happy Hunter said he blamed
himself; if he had understood how to fish properly he would never have
lost his hook, and therefore all this trouble had been caused in the
first place by his trying to do something which he did not know how to
do. So he begged the Sea King to forgive his subject.

Who could resist the pleading of so wise and compassionate a judge? Ryn
Jin forgave his subject at once at the request of his august guest. The
TAI was so glad that he shook his fins for joy, and he and all the
other fish went out from the presence of their King, praising the
virtues of the Happy Hunter.

Now that the hook was found the Happy Hunter had nothing to keep him in
Ryn Gu, and he was anxious to get back to his own kingdom and to make
peace with his angry brother, the Skillful Fisher; but the Sea King,
who had learnt to love him and would fain have kept him as a son,
begged him not to go so soon, but to make the Sea Palace his home as
long as ever he liked. While the Happy Hunter was still hesitating, the
two lovely Princesses, Tayotama and Tamayori, came, and with the
sweetest of bows and voices joined with their father in pressing him to
stay, so that without seeming ungracious he could not say them "Nay,"
and was obliged to stay on for some time.

Between the Sea Realm and the Earth there was no difference in the
night of time, and the Happy Hunter found that three years went
fleeting quickly by in this delightful land. The years pass swiftly
when any one is truly happy. But though the wonders of that enchanted
land seemed to be new every day, and though the Sea King's kindness
seemed rather to increase than to grow less with time, the Happy Hunter
grew more and more homesick as the days passed, and he could not
repress a great anxiety to know what had happened to his home and his
country and his brother while he had been away.

So at last he went to the Sea King and said:

"My stay with you here has been most happy and I am very grateful to
you for all your kindness to me, but I govern Japan, and, delightful as
this place is, I cannot absent myself forever from my country. I must
also return the fishing hook to my brother and ask his forgiveness for
having deprived him of it for so long. I am indeed very sorry to part
from you, but this time it cannot be helped. With your gracious
permission, I will take my leave to-day. I hope to make you another
visit some day. Please give up the idea of my staying longer now."

King Ryn Jin was overcome with sorrow at the thought that he must lose
his friend who had made a great diversion in the Palace of the Sea, and
his tears fell fast as he answered:

"We are indeed very sorry to part with you, Mikoto, for we have enjoyed
your stay with us very much. You have been a noble and honored guest
and we have heartily made you welcome. I quite understand that as you
govern Japan you ought to be there and not here, and that it is vain
for us to try and keep you longer with us, much as we would like to
have you stay. I hope you will not forget us. Strange circumstances
have brought us together and I trust the friendship thus begun between
the Land and the Sea will last and grow stronger than it has ever been
before."

When the Sea King had finished speaking he turned to his two daughters
and bade them bring him the two Tide-Jewels of the Sea. The two
Princesses bowed low, rose and glided out of the hall. In a few minutes
they returned, each one carrying in her hands a flashing gem which
filled the room with light. As the Happy Hunter looked at them he
wondered what they could be. The Sea King took them from his daughters
and said to his guest:

"These two valuable talismans we have inherited from our ancestors from
time immemorial. We now give them to you as a parting gift in token of
our great affection for you. These two gems are called the nanjiu and
the kanjiu."

The Happy Hunter bowed low to the ground and said:

"I can never thank you enough for all your kindness to me. And now will
you add one more favor to the rest and tell me what these jewels are
and what I am to do with them?"

"The nanjiu," answered the Sea King, "is also called the Jewel of the
Flood Tide, and whoever holds it in his possession can command the sea
to roll in and to flood the land at any time that he wills. The kanjiu
is also called the Jewel of the Ebbing Tide, and this gem controls the
sea and the waves thereof, and will cause even a tidal wave to recede."

Then Ryn Jin showed his friend how to use the talismans one by one and
handed them to him. The Happy Hunter was very glad to have these two
wonderful gems, the Jewel of the Flood Tide and the Jewel of the Ebbing
Tide, to take back with him, for he felt that they would preserve him
in case of danger from enemies at any time. After thanking his kind
host again and again, he prepared to depart. The Sea King and the two
Princesses, Tayotama and Tamayori, and all the inmates of the Palace,
came out to say "Good-by," and before the sound of the last farewell
had died away the Happy Hunter passed out from under the gateway, past
the well of happy memory standing in the shade of the great KATSURA
trees on his way to the beach.

Here he found, instead of the queer basket on which he had come to the
Realm of Ryn Gu, a large crocodile waiting for him. Never had he seen
such a huge creature. It measured eight fathoms in length from the tip
of its tail to the end of its long mouth. The Sea King had ordered the
monster to carry the Happy Hunter back to Japan. Like the wonderful
basket which Shiwozuchino Okina had made, it could travel faster than
any steamboat, and in this strange way, riding on the back of a
crocodile, the Happy Hunter returned to his own land.

As soon as the crocodile landed him, the Happy Hunter hastened to tell
the Skillful Fisher of his safe return. He then gave him back the
fishing hook which had been found in the mouth of the TAI and which had
been the cause of so much trouble between them. He earnestly begged his
brother's forgiveness, telling him all that had happened to him in the
Sea King's Palace and what wonderful adventures had led to the finding
of the hook.

Now the Skillful Fisher had used the lost hook as an excuse for driving
his brother out of the country. When his brother had left him that day
three years ago, and had not returned, he had been very glad in his
evil heart and had at once usurped his brother's place as ruler of the
land, and had become powerful and rich. Now in the midst of enjoying
what did not belong to him, and hoping that his brother might never
return to claim his rights, quite unexpectedly there stood the Happy
Hunter before him.

The Skillful Fisher feigned forgiveness, for he could make no more
excuses for sending his brother away again, but in his heart he was
very angry and hated his brother more and more, till at last he could
no longer bear the sight of him day after day, and planned and watched
for an opportunity to kill him.

One day when the Happy Hunter was walking in the rice fields his
brother followed him with a dagger. The Happy Hunter knew that his
brother was following him to kill him, and he felt that now, in this
hour of great danger, was the time to use the Jewels of the Flow and
Ebb of the Tide and prove whether what the Sea King had told him was
true or not.

So he took out the Jewel of the Flood Tide from the bosom of his dress
and raised it to his forehead. Instantly over the fields and over the
farms the sea came rolling in wave upon wave till it reached the spot
where his brother was standing. The Skillful Fisher stood amazed and
terrified to see what was happening. In another minute he was
struggling in the water and calling on his brother to save him from
drowning.

The Happy Hunter had a kind heart and could not bear the sight of his
brother's distress. He at once put back the Jewel of the Flood Tide and
took out the Jewel of the Ebb Tide. No sooner did he hold it up as high
as his forehead than the sea ran back and back, and ere long the
tossing rolling floods had vanished, and the farms and fields and dry
land appeared as before.

The Skillful Fisher was very frightened at the peril of death in which
he had stood, and was greatly impressed by the wonderful things he had
seen his brother do. He learned now that he was making a fatal mistake
to set himself against his brother, younger than he thought he was, for
he now had become so powerful that the sea would flow in and the tide
ebb at his word of command. So he humbled himself before the Happy
Hunter and asked him to forgive him all the wrong he had done him. The
Skillful Fisher promised to restore his brother to his rights and also
swore that though the Happy Hunter was the younger brother and owed him
allegiance by right of birth, that he, the Skillful Fisher, would exalt
him as his superior and bow before him as Lord of all Japan.

Then the Happy Hunter said that he would forgive his brother if he
would throw into the receding tide all his evil ways. The Skillful
Fisher promised and there was peace between the two brothers. From this
time he kept his word and became a good man and a kind brother.

The Happy Hunter now ruled his Kingdom without being disturbed by
family strife, and there was peace in Japan for a long, long time.
Above all the treasures in his house he prized the wonderful Jewels of
the Flow and Ebb of the Tide which had been given him by Ryn Jin, the
Dragon King of the Sea.

This is the congratulatory ending of the Happy Hunter and the Skillful
Fisher.




THE STORY OF THE OLD MAN WHO MADE WITHERED TREES TO FLOWER.


Long, long ago there lived an old man and his wife who supported
themselves by cultivating a small plot of land. Their life had been a
very happy and peaceful one save for one great sorrow, and this was
they had no child. Their only pet was a dog named Shiro, and on him
they lavished all the affection of their old age. Indeed, they loved
him so much that whenever they had anything nice to eat they denied
themselves to give it to Shiro. Now Shiro means "white," and he was so
called because of his color. He was a real Japanese dog, and very like
a small wolf in appearance.

The happiest hour of the day both for the old man and his dog was when
the man returned from his work in the field, and having finished his
frugal supper of rice and vegetables, would take what he had saved from
the meal out to the little veranda that ran round the cottage. Sure
enough, Shiro was waiting for his master and the evening tit-bit. Then
the old man said "Chin, chin!" and Shiro sat up and begged, and his
master gave him the food. Next door to this good old couple there lived
another old man and his wife who were both wicked and cruel, and who
hated their good neighbors and the dog Shiro with all their might.
Whenever Shiro happened to look into their kitchen they at once kicked
him or threw something at him, sometimes even wounding him.

One day Shiro was heard barking for a long time in the field at the
back of his master's house. The old man, thinking that perhaps some
birds were attacking the corn, hurried out to see what was the matter.
As soon as Shiro saw his master he ran to meet him, wagging his tail,
and, seizing the end of his kimono, dragged him under a large yenoki
tree. Here he began to dig very industriously with his paws, yelping
with joy all the time. The old man, unable to understand what it all
meant, stood looking on in bewilderment. But Shiro went on barking and
digging with all his might.

The thought that something might be hidden beneath the tree, and that
the dog had scented it, at last struck the old man. He ran back to the
house, fetched his spade and began to dig the ground at that spot. What
was his astonishment when, after digging for some time, he came upon a
heap of old and valuable coins, and the deeper he dug the more gold
coins did he find. So intent was the old man on his work that he never
saw the cross face of his neighbor peering at him through the bamboo
hedge. At last all the gold coins lay shining on the ground. Shiro sat
by erect with pride and looking fondly at his master as if to say, "You
see, though only a dog, I can make some return for all the kindness you
show me."

The old man ran in to call his wife, and together they carried home the
treasure. Thus in one day the poor old man became rich. His gratitude
to the faithful dog knew no bounds, and he loved and petted him more
than ever, if that were possible.

The cross old neighbor, attracted by Shiro's barking, had been an
unseen and envious witness of the finding of the treasure. He began to
think that he, too, would like to find a fortune. So a few days later
he called at the old man's house and very ceremoniously asked
permission to borrow Shiro for a short time.

Shiro's master thought this a strange request, because he knew quite
well that not only did his neighbor not love his pet dog, but that he
never lost an opportunity of striking and tormenting him whenever the
dog crossed his path. But the good old man was too kind-hearted to
refuse his neighbor, so he consented to lend the dog on condition that
he should be taken great care of.

The wicked old man returned to his home with an evil smile on his face,
and told his wife how he had succeeded in his crafty intentions. He
then took his spade and hastened to his own field, forcing the
unwilling Shiro to follow him. As soon as he reached a yenoki tree, he
said to the dog, threateningly:

"If there were gold coins under your master's tree, there must also be
gold coins under my tree. You must find them for me! Where are they?
Where? Where?"

And catching hold of Shiro's neck he held the dog's head to the ground,
so that Shiro began to scratch and dig in order to free himself from
the horrid old man's grasp.

The old man was very pleased when he saw the dog begin to scratch and
dig, for he at once supposed that some gold coins lay buried under his
tree as well as under his neighbor's, and that the dog had scented them
as before; so pushing Shiro away he began to dig himself, but there was
nothing to be found. As he went on digging a foul smell was noticeable,
and he at last came upon a refuse heap.

The old man's disgust can be imagined. This soon gave way to anger. He
had seen his neighbor's good fortune, and hoping for the same luck
himself, he had borrowed the dog Shiro; and now, just as he seemed on
the point of finding what he sought, only a horrid smelling refuse heap
had rewarded him for a morning's digging. Instead of blaming his own
greed for his disappointment, he blamed the poor dog. He seized his
spade, and with all his strength struck Shiro and killed him on the
spot. He then threw the dog's body into the hole which he had dug in
the hope of finding a treasure of gold coins, and covered it over with
the earth. Then he returned to the house, telling no one, not even his
wife, what he had done.

After waiting several days, as the dog Shiro did not return, his master
began to grow anxious. Day after day went by and the good old man
waited in vain. Then he went to his neighbor and asked him to give him
back his dog. Without any shame or hesitation, the wicked neighbor
answered that he had killed Shiro because of his bad behavior. At this
dreadful news Shiro's master wept many sad and bitter tears. Great
indeed, was his woful surprise, but he was too good and gentle to
reproach his bad neighbor. Learning that Shiro was buried under the
yenoki tree in the field, he asked the old man to give him the tree, in
remembrance of his poor dog Shiro.

Even the cross old neighbor could not refuse such a simple request, so
he consented to give the old man the tree under which Shiro lay buried.
Shiro's master then cut the tree down and carried it home. Out of the
trunk he made a mortar. In this his wife put some rice, and he began to
pound it with the intention of making a festival to the memory of his
dog Shiro.

A strange thing happened! His wife put the rice into the mortar, and no
sooner had he begun to pound it to make the cakes, than it began to
increase in quantity gradually till it was about five times the
original amount, and the cakes were turned out of the mortar as if an
invisible hand were at work.

When the old man and his wife saw this, they understood that it was a
reward to them from Shiro for their faithful love to him. They tasted
the cakes and found them nicer than any other food. So from this time
they never troubled about food, for they lived upon the cakes with
which the mortar never ceased to supply them.

The greedy neighbor, hearing of this new piece of good luck, was filled
with envy as before, and called on the old man and asked leave to
borrow the wonderful mortar for a short time, pretending that he, too,
sorrowed for the death of Shiro, and wished to make cakes for a
festival to the dog's memory.

The old man did not in the least wish to lend it to his cruel neighbor,
but he was too kind to refuse. So the envious man carried home the
mortar, but he never brought it back.

Several days passed, and Shiro's master waited in vain for the mortar,
so he went to call on the borrower, and asked him to be good enough to
return the mortar if he had finished with it. He found him sitting by a
big fire made of pieces of wood. On the ground lay what looked very
much like pieces of a broken mortar. In answer to the old man's
inquiry, the wicked neighbor answered haughtily:

"Have you come to ask me for your mortar? I broke it to pieces, and now
I am making a fire of the wood, for when I tried to pound cakes in it
only some horrid smelling stuff came out."

The good old man said:

"I am very sorry for that. It is a great pity you did not ask me for
the cakes if you wanted them. I would have given you as many as ever
you wanted. Now please give me the ashes of the mortar, as I wish to
keep them in remembrance of my dog."

The neighbor consented at once, and the old man carried home a basket
full of ashes.

Not long after this the old man accidentally scattered some of the
ashes made by the burning of the mortar on the trees of his garden. A
wonderful thing happened!

It was late in autumn and all the trees had shed their leaves, but no
sooner did the ashes touch their branches than the cherry trees, the
plum trees, and all other blossoming shrubs burst into bloom, so that
the old man's garden was suddenly transformed into a beautiful picture
of spring. The old man's delight knew no bounds, and he carefully
preserved the remaining ashes.

The story of the old man's garden spread far and wide, and people from
far and near came to see the wonderful sight.

One day, soon after this, the old man heard some one knocking at his
door, and going to the porch to see who it was he was surprised to see
a Knight standing there. This Knight told him that he was a retainer of
a great Daimio (Earl); that one of the favorite cherry trees in this
nobleman's garden had withered, and that though every one in his
service had tried all manner of means to revive it, none took effect.
The Knight was sore perplexed when he saw what great displeasure the
loss of his favorite cherry tree caused the Daimio. At this point,
fortunately, they had heard that there was a wonderful old man who
could make withered trees to blossom, and that his Lord had sent him to
ask the old man to come to him.

"And," added the Knight, "I shall be very much obliged if you will come
at once."

The good old man was greatly surprised at what he heard, but
respectfully followed the Knight to the nobleman's Palace.

The Daimio, who had been impatiently awaiting the old man's coming, as
soon as he saw him asked him at once:

"Are you the old man who can make withered trees flower even out of
season?"

The old man made an obeisance, and replied:

"I am that old man!"

Then the Daimio said:

"You must make that dead cherry tree in my garden blossom again by
means of your famous ashes. I shall look on."

Then they all went into the garden--the Daimio and his retainers and
the ladies-in waiting, who carried the Daimio's sword.

The old man now tucked up his kimono and made ready to climb the tree.
Saying "Excuse me," he took the pot of ashes which he had brought with
him, and began to climb the tree, every one watching his movements with
great interest.

At last he climbed to the spot where the tree divided into two great
branches, and taking up his position here, the old man sat down and
scattered the ashes right and left all over the branches and twigs.

Wonderful, indeed, was the result! The withered tree at once burst into
full bloom! The Daimio was so transported with joy that he looked as if
he would go mad. He rose to his feet and spread out his fan, calling
the old man down from the tree. He himself gave the old man a wine cup
filled with the best SAKE, and rewarded him with much silver and gold
and many other precious things. The Daimio ordered that henceforth the
old man should call himself by the name of Hana-Saka-Jijii, or "The Old
Man who makes the Trees to Blossom," and that henceforth all were to
recognize him by this name, and he sent him home with great honor.

The wicked neighbor, as before, heard of the good old man's fortune,
and of all that had so auspiciously befallen him, and he could not
suppress all the envy and jealousy that filled his heart. He called to
mind how he had failed in his attempt to find the gold coins, and then
in making the magic cakes; this time surely he must succeed if he
imitated the old man, who made withered trees to flower simply by
sprinkling ashes on them. This would be the simplest task of all.

So he set to work and gathered together all the ashes which remained in
the fire-place from the burning of the wonderful mortar. Then he set
out in the hope of finding some great man to employ him, calling out
loudly as he went along:

"Here comes the wonderful man who can make withered trees blossom! Here
comes the old man who can make dead trees blossom!"

The Daimio in his Palace heard this cry, and said:

"That must be the Hana-Saka-Jijii passing. I have nothing to do to-day.
Let him try his art again; it will amuse me to look on."

So the retainers went out and brought in the impostor before their
Lord. The satisfaction of false old man can now be imagined.

But the Daimio looking at him, thought it strange that he was not at
all like the old man he had seen before, so he asked him:

"Are you the man whom I named Hana-Saka-Jijii?"

And the envious neighbor answered with a lie:

"Yes, my Lord!"

"That is strange!" said the Daimio. "I thought there was only one
Hana-Saka-Jijii in the world! Has he now some disciples?"

"I am the true Hana-Saka-Jijii. The one who came to you before was only
my disciple!" replied the old man again.

"Then you must be more skillful than the other. Try what you can do and
let me see!"

The envious neighbor, with the Daimio and his Court following, then
went into the garden, and approaching a dead tree, took out a handful
of the ashes which he carried with him, and scattered them over the
tree.

But not only did the tree not burst into flower, but not even a bud
came forth. Thinking that he had not used enough ashes, the old man
took handfuls and again sprinkled them over the withered tree. But all
to no effect. After trying several times, the ashes were blown into the
Daimio's eyes. This made him very angry, and he ordered his retainers
to arrest the false Hana-Saka-Jijii at once and put him in prison for
an impostor. From this imprisonment the wicked old man was never freed.
Thus did he meet with punishment at last for all his evil doings.

The good old man, however, with the treasure of gold coins which Shiro
had found for him, and with all the gold and the silver which the
Daimio had showered on him, became a rich and prosperous man in his old
age, and lived a long and happy life, beloved and respected by all.




THE JELLY FISH AND THE MONKEY.


Long, long ago, in old Japan, the Kingdom of the Sea was governed by a
wonderful King. He was called Rin Jin, or the Dragon King of the Sea.
His power was immense, for he was the ruler of all sea creatures both
great and small, and in his keeping were the Jewels of the Ebb and Flow
of the Tide. The Jewel of the Ebbing Tide when thrown into the ocean
caused the sea to recede from the land, and the Jewel of the Flowing
Tide made the waves to rise mountains high and to flow in upon the
shore like a tidal wave.

The Palace of Rin Jin was at the bottom of the sea, and was so
beautiful that no one has ever seen anything like it even in dreams.
The walls were of coral, the roof of jadestone and chrysoprase, and the
floors were of the finest mother-of-pearl. But the Dragon King, in
spite of his wide-spreading Kingdom, his beautiful Palace and all its
wonders, and his power which none disputed throughout the whole sea,
was not at all happy, for he reigned alone. At last he thought that if
he married he would not only be happier, but also more powerful. So he
decided to take a wife. Calling all his fish retainers together, he
chose several of them as ambassadors to go through the sea and seek for
a young Dragon Princess who would be his bride.

At last they returned to the Palace bringing with them a lovely young
dragon. Her scales were of glittering green like the wings of summer
beetles, her eyes threw out glances of fire, and she was dressed in
gorgeous robes. All the jewels of the sea worked in with embroidery
adorned them.

The King fell in love with her at once, and the wedding ceremony was
celebrated with great splendor. Every living thing in the sea, from the
great whales down to the little shrimps, came in shoals to offer their
congratulations to the bride and bridegroom and to wish them a long and
prosperous life. Never had there been such an assemblage or such gay
festivities in the Fish-World before. The train of bearers who carried
the bride's possessions to her new home seemed to reach across the
waves from one end of the sea to the other. Each fish carried a
phosphorescent lantern and was dressed in ceremonial robes, gleaming
blue and pink and silver; and the waves as they rose and fell and broke
that night seemed to be rolling masses of white and green fire, for the
phosphorus shone with double brilliancy in honor of the event.

Now for a time the Dragon King and his bride lived very happily. They
loved each other dearly, and the bridegroom day after day took delight
in showing his bride all the wonders and treasures of his coral Palace,
and she was never tired of wandering with him through its vast halls
and gardens. Life seemed to them both like a long summer's day.

Two months passed in this happy way, and then the Dragon Queen fell ill
and was obliged to stay in bed. The King was sorely troubled when he
saw his precious bride so ill, and at once sent for the fish doctor to
come and give her some medicine. He gave special orders to the servants
to nurse her carefully and to wait upon her with diligence, but in
spite of all the nurses' assiduous care and the medicine that the
doctor prescribed, the young Queen showed no signs of recovery, but
grew daily worse.

Then the Dragon King interviewed the doctor and blamed him for not
curing the Queen. The doctor was alarmed at Rin Jin's evident
displeasure, and excused his want of skill by saying that although he
knew the right kind of medicine to give the invalid, it was impossible
to find it in the sea.

"Do you mean to tell me that you can't get the medicine here?" asked
the Dragon King.

"It is just as you say!" said the doctor.

"Tell me what it is you want for the Queen?" demanded Rin Jin.

"I want the liver of a live monkey!" answered the doctor.

"The liver of a live monkey! Of course that will be most difficult to
get," said the King.

"If we could only get that for the Queen, Her Majesty would soon
recover," said the doctor.

"Very well, that decides it; we MUST get it somehow or other. But where
are we most likely to find a monkey?" asked the King.

Then the doctor told the Dragon King that some distance to the south
there was a Monkey Island where a great many monkeys lived.

"If only you could capture one of these monkeys?" said the doctor.

"How can any of my people capture a monkey?" said the Dragon King,
greatly puzzled. "The monkeys live on dry land, while we live in the
water; and out of our element we are quite powerless! I don't see what
we can do!"

"That has been my difficulty too," said the doctor. "But amongst your
innumerable servants you surely can find one who can go on shore for
that express purpose!"

"Something must be done," said the King, and calling his chief steward
he consulted him on the matter.

The chief steward thought for some time, and then, as if struck by a
sudden thought, said joyfully:

"I know what we must do! There is the kurage (jelly fish). He is
certainly ugly to look at, but he is proud of being able to walk on
land with his four legs like a tortoise. Let us send him to the Island
of Monkeys to catch one."

The jelly fish was then summoned to the King's presence, and was told
by His Majesty what was required of him.

The jelly fish, on being told of the unexpected mission which was to be
intrusted to him, looked very troubled, and said that he had never been
to the island in question, and as he had never had any experience in
catching monkeys he was afraid that he would not be able to get one.

"Well," said the chief steward, "if you depend on your strength or
dexterity you will never catch a monkey. The only way is to play a
trick on one!"

"How can I play a trick on a monkey? I don't know how to do it," said
the perplexed jelly fish.

"This is what you must do," said the wily chief steward. "When you
approach the Island of Monkeys and meet some of them, you must try to
get very friendly with one. Tell him that you are a servant of the
Dragon King, and invite him to come and visit you and see the Dragon
King's Palace. Try and describe to him as vividly as you can the
grandeur of the Palace and the wonders of the sea so as to arouse his
curiosity and make him long to see it all!"

"But how am I to get the monkey here? You know monkeys don't swim?"
said the reluctant jelly fish.

"You must carry him on your back. What is the use of your shell if you
can't do that!" said the chief steward.

"Won't he be very heavy?" queried kurage again.

"You mustn't mind that, for you are working for the Dragon King,"
replied the chief steward.

"I will do my best then," said the jelly fish, and he swam away from
the Palace and started off towards the Monkey Island. Swimming swiftly
he reached his destination in a few hours, and landed by a convenient
wave upon the shore. On looking round he saw not far away a big
pine-tree with drooping branches and on one of those branches was just
what he was looking for--a live monkey.

"I'm in luck!" thought the jelly fish. "Now I must flatter the creature
and try to entice him to come back with me to the Palace, and my part
will be done!"

So the jelly fish slowly walked towards the pine-tree. In those ancient
days the jelly fish had four legs and a hard shell like a tortoise.
When he got to the pine-tree he raised his voice and said:

"How do you do, Mr. Monkey? Isn't it a lovely day?"

"A very fine day," answered the monkey from the tree. "I have never
seen you in this part of the world before. Where have you come from and
what is your name?"

"My name is kurage or jelly fish. I am one of the servants of the
Dragon King. I have heard so much of your beautiful island that I have
come on purpose to see it," answered the jelly fish.

"I am very glad to see you," said the monkey.

"By the bye," said the jelly fish, "have you ever seen the Palace of
the Dragon King of the Sea where I live?"

"I have often heard of it, but I have never seen it!" answered the
monkey.

"Then you ought most surely to come. It is a great pity for you to go
through life without seeing it. The beauty of the Palace is beyond all
description--it is certainly to my mind the most lovely place in the
world," said the jelly fish.

"Is it so beautiful as all that?" asked the monkey in astonishment.

Then the jelly fish saw his chance, and went on describing to the best
of his ability the beauty and grandeur of the Sea King's Palace, and
the wonders of the garden with its curious trees of white, pink and red
coral, and the still more curious fruits like great jewels hanging on
the branches. The monkey grew more and more interested, and as he
listened he came down the tree step by step so as not to lose a word of
the wonderful story.

"I have got him at last!" thought the jelly fish, but aloud he said:

"Mr. Monkey. I must now go back. As you have never seen the Palace of
the Dragon King, won't you avail yourself of this splendid opportunity
by coming with me? I shall then be able to act as guide and show you
all the sights of the sea, which will be even more wonderful to you--a
land-lubber."

"I should love to go," said the monkey, "but how am I to cross the
water! I can't swim, as you surely know!"

"There is no difficulty about that. I can carry you on my back."

"That will be troubling you too much," said the monkey.

"I can do it quite easily. I am stronger than I look, so you needn't
hesitate," said the jelly fish, and taking the monkey on his back he
stepped into the sea.

"Keep very still, Mr. monkey," said the jelly fish. "You mustn't fall
into the sea; I am responsible for your safe arrival at the King's
Palace."

"Please don't go so fast, or I am sure I shall fall off," said the
monkey.

Thus they went along, the jelly fish skimming through the waves with
the monkey sitting on his back. When they were about half-way, the
jelly fish, who knew very little of anatomy, began to wonder if the
monkey had his liver with him or not!

"Mr. Monkey, tell me, have you such a thing as a liver with you?"

The monkey was very much surprised at this queer question, and asked
what the jelly fish wanted with a liver.

"That is the most important thing of all," said the stupid jelly fish,
"so as soon as I recollected it, I asked you if you had yours with you?"

"Why is my liver so important to you?" asked the monkey.

"Oh! you will learn the reason later," said the jelly fish.

The monkey grew more and more curious and suspicious, and urged the
jelly fish to tell him for what his liver was wanted, and ended up by
appealing to his hearer's feelings by saying that he was very troubled
at what he had been told.

Then the jelly fish, seeing how anxious the monkey looked, was sorry
for him, and told him everything. How the Dragon Queen had fallen ill,
and how the doctor had said that only the liver of a live monkey would
cure her, and how the Dragon King had sent him to find one.

"Now I have done as I was told, and as soon as we arrive at the Palace
the doctor will want your liver, so I feel sorry for you!" said the
silly jelly fish.

The poor monkey was horrified when he learnt all this, and very angry
at the trick played upon him. He trembled with fear at the thought of
what was in store for him.

But the monkey was a clever animal, and he thought it the wisest plan
not to show any sign of the fear he felt, so he tried to calm himself
and to think of some way by which he might escape.

"The doctor means to cut me open and then take my liver out! Why I
shall die!" thought the monkey. At last a bright thought struck him, so
he said quite cheerfully to the jelly fish:

"What a pity it was, Mr. Jelly Fish, that you did not speak of this
before we left the island!"

"If I had told why I wanted you to accompany me you would certainly
have refused to come," answered the jelly fish.

"You are quite mistaken," said the monkey. "Monkeys can very well spare
a liver or two, especially when it is wanted for the Dragon Queen of
the Sea. If I had only guessed of what you were in need. I should have
presented you with one without waiting to be asked. I have several
livers. But the greatest pity is, that as you did not speak in time, I
have left all my livers hanging on the pine-tree."

"Have you left your liver behind you?" asked the jelly fish.

"Yes," said the cunning monkey, "during the daytime I usually leave my
liver hanging up on the branch of a tree, as it is very much in the way
when I am climbing about from tree to tree. To-day, listening to your
interesting conversation, I quite forgot it, and left it behind when I
came off with you. If only you had spoken in time I should have
remembered it, and should have brought it along with me!"

The jelly fish was very disappointed when he heard this, for he
believed every word the monkey said. The monkey was of no good without
a liver. Finally the jelly fish stopped and told the monkey so.

"Well," said the monkey, "that is soon remedied. I am really sorry to
think of all your trouble; but if you will only take me back to the
place where you found me, I shall soon be able to get my liver."

The jelly fish did not at all like the idea of going all the way back
to the island again; but the monkey assured him that if he would be so
kind as to take him back he would get his very best liver, and bring it
with him the next time. Thus persuaded, the jelly fish turned his
course towards the Monkey Island once more.

No sooner had the jelly fish reached the shore than the sly monkey
landed, and getting up into the pine-tree where the jelly fish had
first seen him, he cut several capers amongst the branches with joy at
being safe home again, and then looking down at the jelly fish said:

"So many thanks for all the trouble you have taken! Please present my
compliments to the Dragon King on your return!"

The jelly fish wondered at this speech and the mocking tone in which it
was uttered. Then he asked the monkey if it wasn't his intention to
come with him at once after getting his liver.

The monkey replied laughingly that he couldn't afford to lose his
liver: it was too precious.

"But remember your promise!" pleaded the jelly fish, now very
discouraged.

"That promise was false, and anyhow it is now broken!" answered the
monkey. Then he began to jeer at the jelly fish and told him that he
had been deceiving him the whole time; that he had no wish to lose his
life, which he certainly would have done had he gone on to the Sea
King's Palace to the old doctor waiting for him, instead of persuading
the jelly fish to return under false pretenses.

"Of course, I won't GIVE you my liver, but come and get it if you can!"
added the monkey mockingly from the tree.

There was nothing for the jelly fish to do now but to repent of his
stupidity, and to return to the Dragon King of the Sea and to confess
his failure, so he started sadly and slowly to swim back. The last
thing he heard as he glided away, leaving the island behind him, was
the monkey laughing at him.

Meanwhile the Dragon King, the doctor, the chief steward, and all the
servants were waiting impatiently for the return of the jelly fish.
When they caught sight of him approaching the Palace, they hailed him
with delight. They began to thank him profusely for all the trouble he
had taken in going to Monkey Island, and then they asked him where the
monkey was.

Now the day of reckoning had come for the jelly fish. He quaked all
over as he told his story. How he had brought the monkey halfway over
the sea, and then had stupidly let out the secret of his commission;
how the monkey had deceived him by making him believe that he had left
his liver behind him.

The Dragon King's wrath was great, and he at once gave orders that the
jelly fish was to be severely punished. The punishment was a horrible
one. All the bones were to be drawn out from his living body, and he
was to be beaten with sticks.

The poor jelly fish, humiliated and horrified beyond all words, cried
out for pardon. But the Dragon King's order had to be obeyed. The
servants of the Palace forthwith each brought out a stick and
surrounded the jelly fish, and after pulling out his bones they beat
him to a flat pulp, and then took him out beyond the Palace gates and
threw him into the water. Here he was left to suffer and repent his
foolish chattering, and to grow accustomed to his new state of
bonelessness.

From this story it is evident that in former times the jelly fish once
had a shell and bones something like a tortoise, but, ever since the
Dragon King's sentence was carried out on the ancestor of the jelly
fishes, his descendants have all been soft and boneless just as you see
them to-day thrown up by the waves high upon the shores of Japan.




THE QUARREL OF THE MONKEY AND THE CRAB.


Long, long ago, one bright autumn day in Japan, it happened, that a
pink-faced monkey and a yellow crab were playing together along the
bank of a river. As they were running about, the crab found a
rice-dumpling and the monkey a persimmon-seed.

The crab picked up the rice-dumpling and showed it to the monkey,
saying:

"Look what a nice thing I have found!"

Then the monkey held up his persimmon-seed and said:

"I also have found something good! Look!"

Now though the monkey is always very fond of persimmon fruit, he had no
use for the seed he had just found. The persimmon-seed is as hard and
uneatable as a stone. He, therefore, in his greedy nature, felt very
envious of the crab's nice dumpling, and he proposed an exchange. The
crab naturally did not see why he should give up his prize for a hard
stone-like seed, and would not consent to the monkey's proposition.

Then the cunning monkey began to persuade the crab, saying:

"How unwise you are not to think of the future! Your rice-dumpling can
be eaten now, and is certainly much bigger than my seed; but if you sow
this seed in the ground it will soon grow and become a great tree in a
few years, and bear an abundance of fine ripe persimmons year after
year. If only I could show it to you then with the yellow fruit hanging
on its branches! Of course, if you don't believe me I shall sow it
myself; though I am sure, later on, you will be very sorry that you did
not take my advice."

The simple-minded crab could not resist the monkey's clever persuasion.
He at last gave in and consented to the monkey's proposal, and the
exchange was made. The greedy monkey soon gobbled up the dumpling, and
with great reluctance gave up the persimmon-seed to the crab. He would
have liked to keep that too, but he was afraid of making the crab angry
and of being pinched by his sharp scissor-like claws. They then
separated, the monkey going home to his forest trees and the crab to
his stones along the river-side. As soon as the crab reached home he
put the persimmon-seed in the ground as the monkey had told him.

In the following spring the crab was delighted to see the shoot of a
young tree push its way up through the ground. Each year it grew
bigger, till at last it blossomed one spring, and in the following
autumn bore some fine large persimmons. Among the broad smooth green
leaves the fruit hung like golden balls, and as they ripened they
mellowed to a deep orange. It was the little crab's pleasure to go out
day by day and sit in the sun and put out his long eyes in the same way
as a snail puts out its horn, and watch the persimmons ripening to
perfection.

"How delicious they will be to eat!" he said to himself.

At last, one day, he knew the persimmons must be quite ripe and he
wanted very much to taste one. He made several attempts to climb the
tree, in the vain hope of reaching one of the beautiful persimmons
hanging above him; but he failed each time, for a crab's legs are not
made for climbing trees but only for running along the ground and over
stones, both of which he can do most cleverly. In his dilemma he
thought of his old playmate the monkey, who, he knew, could climb trees
better than any one else in the world. He determined to ask the monkey
to help him, and set out to find him.

Running crab-fashion up the stony river bank, over the pathways into
the shadowy forest, the crab at last found the monkey taking an
afternoon nap in his favorite pine-tree, with his tail curled tight
around a branch to prevent him from falling off in his dreams. He was
soon wide awake, however, when he heard himself called, and eagerly
listening to what the crab told him. When he heard that the seed which
he had long ago exchanged for a rice-dumpling had grown into a tree and
was now bearing good fruit, he was delighted, for he at once devised a
cunning plan which would give him all the persimmons for himself.

He consented to go with the crab to pick the fruit for him. When they
both reached the spot, the monkey was astonished to see what a fine
tree had sprung from the seed, and with what a number of ripe
persimmons the branches were loaded.

He quickly climbed the tree and began to pluck and eat, as fast as he
could, one persimmon after another. Each time he chose the best and
ripest he could find, and went on eating till he could eat no more. Not
one would he give to the poor hungry crab waiting below, and when he
had finished there was little but the hard, unripe fruit left.

You can imagine the feelings of the poor crab after waiting patiently,
for so long as he had done, for the tree to grow and the fruit to
ripen, when he saw the monkey devouring all the good persimmons. He was
so disappointed that he ran round and round the tree calling to the
monkey to remember his promise. The monkey at first took no notice of
the crab's complaints, but at last he picked out the hardest, greenest
persimmon he could find and aimed it at the crab's head. The persimmon
is as hard as stone when it is unripe. The monkey's missile struck home
and the crab was sorely hurt by the blow. Again and again, as fast as
he could pick them, the monkey pulled off the hard persimmons and threw
them at the defenseless crab till he dropped dead, covered with wounds
all over his body. There he lay a pitiful sight at the foot of the tree
he had himself planted.

When the wicked monkey saw that he had killed the crab he ran away from
the spot as fast as he could, in fear and trembling, like a coward as
he was.

Now the crab had a son who had been playing with a friend not far from
the spot where this sad work had taken place. On the way home he came
across his father dead, in a most dreadful condition--his head was
smashed and his shell broken in several places, and around his body lay
the unripe persimmons which had done their deadly work. At this
dreadful sight the poor young crab sat down and wept.

But when he had wept for some time he told himself that this crying
would do no good; it was his duty to avenge his father's murder, and
this he determined to do. He looked about for some clue which would
lead him to discover the murderer. Looking up at the tree he noticed
that the best fruit had gone, and that all around lay bits of peel and
numerous seeds strewn on the ground as well as the unripe persimmons
which had evidently been thrown at his father. Then he understood that
the monkey was the murderer, for he now remembered that his father had
once told him the story of the rice-dumpling and the persimmon-seed.
The young crab knew that monkeys liked persimmons above all other
fruit, and he felt sure that his greed for the coveted fruit had been
the cause of the old crab's death. Alas!

He at first thought of going to attack the monkey at once, for he
burned with rage. Second thoughts, however, told him that this was
useless, for the monkey was an old and cunning animal and would be hard
to overcome. He must meet cunning with cunning and ask some of his
friends to help him, for he knew it would be quite out of his power to
kill him alone.

The young crab set out at once to call on the mortar, his father's old
friend, and told him of all that had happened. He besought the mortar
with tears to help him avenge his father's death. The mortar was very
sorry when he heard the woful tale and promised at once to help the
young crab punish the monkey to death. He warned him that he must be
very careful in what he did, for the monkey was a strong and cunning
enemy. The mortar now sent to fetch the bee and the chestnut (also the
crab's old friends) to consult them about the matter. In a short time
the bee and the chestnut arrived. When they were told all the details
of the old crab's death and of the monkey's wickedness and greed, they
both gladly consented to help the young crab in his revenge.

After talking for a long time as to the ways and means of carrying out
their plans they separated, and Mr. Mortar went home with the young
crab to help him bury his poor father.

While all this was taking place the monkey was congratulating himself
(as the wicked often do before their punishment comes upon them) on all
he had done so neatly. He thought it quite a fine thing that he had
robbed his friend of all his ripe persimmons and then that he had
killed him. Still, smile as hard as he might, he could not banish
altogether the fear of the consequences should his evil deeds be
discovered. IF he were found out (and he told himself that this could
not be for he had escaped unseen) the crab's family would be sure to
bear him hatred and seek to take revenge on him. So he would not go
out, and kept himself at home for several days. He found this kind of
life, however, extremely dull, accustomed as he was to the free life of
the woods, and at last he said:

"No one knows that it was I who killed the crab! I am sure that the old
thing breathed his last before I left him. Dead crabs have no mouths!
Who is there to tell that I am the murderer? Since no one knows, what
is the use of shutting myself up and brooding over the matter? What is
done cannot be undone!"

With this he wandered out into the crab settlement and crept about as
slyly as possible near the crab's house and tried to hear the
neighbors' gossip round about. He wanted to find out what the crabs
were saving about their chief's death, for the old crab had been the
chief of the tribe. But he heard nothing and said to himself:

"They are all such fools that they don't know and don't care who
murdered their chief!"

Little did he know in his so-called "monkey's wisdom" that this seeming
unconcern was part of the young crab's plan. He purposely pretended not
to know who killed his father, and also to believe that he had met his
death through his own fault. By this means he could the better keep
secret the revenge on the monkey, which he was meditating.

So the monkey returned home from his walk quite content. He told
himself he had nothing now to fear.

One fine day, when the monkey was sitting at home, he was surprised by
the appearance of a messenger from the young crab. While he was
wondering what this might mean, the messenger bowed before him and said:

"I have been sent by my master to inform you that his father died the
other day in falling from a persimmon tree while trying to climb the
tree after fruit. This, being the seventh day, is the first anniversary
after his death, and my master has prepared a little festival in his
father's honor, and bids you come to participate in it as you were one
of his best friends. My master hopes you will honor his house with your
kind visit."

When the monkey heard these words he rejoiced in his inmost heart, for
all his fears of being suspected were now at rest. He could not guess
that a plot had just been set in motion against him. He pretended to be
very surprised at the news of the crab's death, and said:

"I am, indeed, very sorry to hear of your chief's death. We were great
friends as you know. I remember that we once exchanged a rice-dumpling
for a persimmon-seed. It grieves me much to think that that seed was in
the end the cause of his death. I accept your kind invitation with many
thanks. I shall be delighted to do honor to my poor old friend!" And he
screwed some false tears from his eyes.

The messenger laughed inwardly and thought, "The wicked monkey is now
dropping false tears, but within a short time he shall shed real ones."
But aloud he thanked the monkey politely and went home.

When he had gone, the wicked monkey laughed aloud at what he thought
was the young crab's innocence, and without the least feeling began to
look forward to the feast to be held that day in honor of the dead
crab, to which he had been invited. He changed his dress and set out
solemnly to visit the young crab.

He found all the members of the crab's family and his relatives waiting
to receive and welcome him. As soon as the bows of meeting were over
they led him to a hall. Here the young chief mourner came to receive
him. Expressions of condolence and thanks were exchanged between them,
and then they all sat down to a luxurious feast and entertained the
monkey as the guest of honor.

The feast over, he was next invited to the tea-ceremony room to drink a
cup of tea. When the young crab had conducted the monkey to the tearoom
he left him and retired. Time passed and still he did not return. At
last the monkey became impatient. He said to himself:

"This tea ceremony is always a very slow affair. I am tired of waiting
so long. I am very thirsty after drinking so much sake at the dinner!"

He then approached the charcoal fire-place and began to pour out some
hot water from the kettle boiling there, when something burst out from
the ashes with a great pop and hit the monkey right in the neck. It was
the chestnut, one of the crab's friends, who had hidden himself in the
fireplace. The monkey, taken by surprise, jumped backward, and then
started to run out of the room.

The bee, who was hiding outside the screens, now flew out and stung him
on the cheek. The monkey was in great pain, his neck was burned by the
chestnut and his face badly stung by the bee, but he ran on screaming
and chattering with rage.

Now the stone mortar had hidden himself with several other stones on
the top of the crab's gate, and as the monkey ran underneath, the
mortar and all fell down on the top of the monkey's head. Was it
possible for the monkey to bear the weight of the mortar falling on him
from the top of the gate? He lay crushed and in great pain, quite
unable to get up. As he lay there helpless the young crab came up, and,
holding his great claw scissors over the monkey, he said:

"Do you now remember that you murdered my father?"

"Then you--are--my--enemy?" gasped the monkey brokenly.

"Of course," said the young crab.

"It--was--your--father's--fault--not--mine!" gasped the unrepentant
monkey.

"Can you still lie? I will soon put an end to your breath!" and with
that he cut off the monkey's head with his pitcher claws. Thus the
wicked monkey met his well-merited punishment, and the young crab
avenged his father's death.

This is the end of the story of the monkey, the crab, and the
persimmon-seed.




THE WHITE HARE AND THE CROCODILES


Long, long ago, when all the animals could talk, there lived in the
province of Inaba in Japan, a little white hare. His home was on the
island of Oki, and just across the sea was the mainland of Inaba.

Now the hare wanted very much to cross over to Inaba. Day after day he
would go out and sit on the shore and look longingly over the water in
the direction of Inaba, and day after day he hoped to find some way of
getting across.

One day as usual, the hare was standing on the beach, looking towards
the mainland across the water, when he saw a great crocodile swimming
near the island.

"This is very lucky!" thought the hare. "Now I shall be able to get my
wish. I will ask the crocodile to carry me across the sea!"

But he was doubtful whether the crocodile would consent to do what
wanted. So he thought instead of asking a favor he would try to get
what he wanted by a trick.

So with a loud voice he called to the crocodile, and said:

"Oh, Mr. Crocodile, isn't it a lovely day?"

The crocodile, who had come out all by itself that day to enjoy the
bright sunshine, was just beginning to feel a bit lonely when the
hare's cheerful greeting broke the silence. The crocodile swam nearer
the shore, very pleased to hear some one speak.

"I wonder who it was that spoke to me just now! Was it you, Mr. Hare?
You must be very lonely all by yourself!"

"Oh, no, I am not at all lonely," said the hare, "but as it was such a
fine day I came out here to enjoy myself. Won't you stop and play with
me a little while?"

The crocodile came out of the sea and sat on the shore, and the two
played together for some time. Then the hare said:

"Mr. Crocodile, you live in the sea and I live on this island, and we
do not often meet, so I know very little about you. Tell me, do you
think the number of your company is greater than mine?"

"Of course, there are more crocodiles than hares," answered the
crocodile. "Can you not see that for yourself? You live on this small
island, while I live in the sea, which spreads through all parts of the
world, so if I call together all the crocodiles who dwell in the sea
you hares will be as nothing compared to us!" The crocodile was very
conceited.

The hare, who meant to play a trick on the crocodile, said:

"Do you think it possible for you to call up enough crocodiles to form
a line from this island across the sea to Inaba?"

The crocodile thought for a moment and then answered:

"Of course, it is possible."

"Then do try," said the artful hare, "and I will count the number from
here!"

The crocodile, who was very simple-minded, and who hadn't the least
idea that the hare intended to play a trick on him, agreed to do what
the hare asked, and said:

"Wait a little while I go back into the sea and call my company
together!"

The crocodile plunged into the sea and was gone for some time. The
hare, meanwhile, waited patiently on the shore. At last the crocodile
appeared, bringing with him a large number of other crocodiles.

"Look, Mr. Hare!" said the crocodile, "it is nothing for my friends to
form a line between here and Inaba. There are enough crocodiles to
stretch from here even as far as China or India. Did you ever see so
many crocodiles?"

Then the whole company of crocodiles arranged themselves in the water
so as to form a bridge between the Island of Oki and the mainland of
Inaba. When the hare saw the bridge of crocodiles, he said:

"How splendid! I did not believe this was possible. Now let me count
you all! To do this, however, with your permission, I must walk over on
your backs to the other side, so please be so good as not to move, or
else I shall fall into the sea and be drowned!"

So the hare hopped off the island on to the strange bridge of
crocodiles, counting as he jumped from one crocodile's back to the
other:

"Please keep quite still, or I shall not be able to count. One, two,
three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine--"

Thus the cunning hare walked right across to the mainland of Inaba. Not
content with getting his wish, he began to jeer at the crocodiles
instead of thanking them, and said, as he leapt off the last one's back:

"Oh! you stupid crocodiles, now I have done with you!"

And he was just about to run away as fast as he could. But he did not
escape so easily, for so soon as the crocodiles understood that this
was a trick played upon them by the hare so as to enable him to cross
the sea, and that the hare was now laughing at them for their
stupidity, they became furiously angry and made up their minds to take
revenge. So some of them ran after the hare and caught him. Then they
all surrounded the poor little animal and pulled out all his fur. He
cried out loudly and entreated them to spare him, but with each tuft of
fur they pulled out they said:

"Serve you right!"

When the crocodiles had pulled out the last bit of fur, they threw the
poor hare on the beach, and all swam away laughing at what they had
done.

The hare was now in a pitiful plight, all his beautiful white fur had
been pulled out, and his bare little body was quivering with pain and
bleeding all over. He could hardly move, and all he could do was to lie
on the beach quite helpless and weep over the misfortune that had
befallen him. Notwithstanding that it was his own fault that had
brought all this misery and suffering upon the white hare of Inaba, any
one seeing the poor little creature could not help feeling sorry for
him in his sad condition, for the crocodiles had been very cruel in
their revenge.

Just at this time a number of men, who looked like King's sons,
happened to pass by, and seeing the hare lying on the beach crying,
stopped and asked what was the matter.

The hare lifted up his head from between his paws, and answered them,
saying:

"I had a fight with some crocodiles, but I was beaten, and they pulled
out all my fur and left me to suffer here--that is why I am crying."

Now one of these young men had a bad and spiteful disposition. But he
feigned kindness, and said to the hare:

"I feel very sorry for you. If you will only try it, I know of a remedy
which will cure your sore body. Go and bathe yourself in the sea, and
then come and sit in the wind. This will make your fur grow again, and
you will be just as you were before."

Then all the young men passed on. The hare was very pleased, thinking
that he had found a cure. He went and bathed in the sea and then came
out and sat where the wind could blow upon him.

But as the wind blew and dried him, his skin became drawn and hardened,
and the salt increased the pain so much that he rolled on the sand in
his agony and cried aloud.

Just then another King's son passed by, carrying a great bag on his
back. He saw the hare, and stopped and asked why he was crying so
loudly.

But the poor hare, remembering that he had been deceived by one very
like the man who now spoke to him, did not answer, but continued to cry.

But this man had a kind heart, and looked at the hare very pityingly,
and said:

"You poor thing! I see that your fur is all pulled out and that your
skin is quite bare. Who can have treated you so cruelly?"

When the hare heard these kind words he felt very grateful to the man,
and encouraged by his gentle manner the hare told him all that had
befallen him. The little animal hid nothing from his friend, but told
him frankly how he had played a trick on the crocodiles and how he had
come across the bridge they had made, thinking that he wished to count
their number: how he had jeered at them for their stupidity, and then
how the crocodiles had revenged themselves on him. Then he went on to
say how he had been deceived by a party of men who looked very like his
kind friend: and the hare ended his long tale of woe by begging the man
to give him some medicine that would cure him and make his fur grow
again.

When the hare had finished his story, the man was full of pity towards
him, and said:

"I am very sorry for all you have suffered, but remember, it was only
the consequence of the deceit you practiced on the crocodiles."

"I know," answered the sorrowful hare, "but I have repented and made up
my mind never to use deceit again, so I beg you to show me how I may
cure my sore body and make the fur grow again."

"Then I will tell you of a good remedy," said the man. "First go and
bathe well in that pond over there and try to wash all the salt from
your body. Then pick some of those kaba flowers that are growing near
the edge of the water, spread them on the ground and roll yourself on
them. If you do this the pollen will cause your fur to grow again, and
you will be quite well in a little while."

The hare was very glad to be told what to do, so kindly. He crawled to
the pond pointed out to him, bathed well in it, and then picked the
kaba flowers growing near the water, and rolled himself on them.

To his amazement, even while he was doing this, he saw his nice white
fur growing again, the pain ceased, and he felt just as he had done
before all his misfortunes.

The hare was overjoyed at his quick recovery, and went hopping joyfully
towards the young man who had so helped him, and kneeling down at his
feet, said:

"I cannot express my thanks for all you have done for me! It is my
earnest wish to do something for you in return. Please tell me who you
are?"

"I am no King's son as you think me. I am a fairy, and my name is
Okuni-nushi-no-Mikoto," answered the man, "and those beings who passed
here before me are my brothers. They have heard of a beautiful Princess
called Yakami who lives in this province of Inaba, and they are on
their way to find her and to ask her to marry one of them. But on this
expedition I am only an attendant, so I am walking behind them with
this great big bag on my back."

The hare humbled himself before this great fairy Okuni-nushi-no-Mikoto,
whom many in that part of the land worshiped as a god.

"Oh, I did not know that you were Okuni-nushi-no-Mikoto. How kind you
have been to me! It is impossible to believe that that unkind fellow
who sent me to bathe in the sea is one of your brothers. I am quite
sure that the Princess, whom your brothers have gone to seek, will
refuse to be the bride of any of them, and will prefer you for your
goodness of heart. I am quite sure that you will win her heart without
intending to do so, and she will ask to be your bride."

Okuni-nushi-no-Mikoto took no notice of what the hare said, but bidding
the little animal goodby, went on his way quickly and soon overtook his
brothers. He found them just entering the Princess's gate.

Just as the hare had said, the Princess could not be persuaded to
become the bride of any of the brothers, but when she looked at the
kind brother's face she went straight up to him and said:

"To you I give myself," and so they were married.

This is the end of the story. Okuni-nushi-no-Mikoto is worshiped by the
people in some parts of Japan, as a god, and the hare has become famous
as "The White Hare of Inaba." But what became of the crocodiles nobody
knows.




THE STORY OF PRINCE YAMATO TAKE.


The insignia of the great Japanese Empire is composed of three
treasures which have been considered sacred, and guarded with jealous
care from time immemorial. These are the Yatano-no-Kagami or the Mirror
of Yata, the Yasakami-no-Magatama or the Jewel of Yasakami, and the
Murakumo-no-Tsurugi or the Sword of Murakumo.

Of these three treasures of the Empire, the sword of Murakumo,
afterwards known as Kusanagi-no-Tsrugugi, or the grass-cleaving sword,
is considered the most precious and most highly to be honored, for it
is the symbol of strength to this nation of warriors and the talisman
of invincibility for the Emperor, while he holds it sacred in the
shrine of his ancestors.

Nearly two thousand years ago this sword was kept at the shrines of
Ite, the temples dedicated to the worship of Amaterasu, the great and
beautiful Sun Goddess from whom the Japanese Emperors are said to be
descended.

There is a story of knightly adventure and daring which explains why
the name of the sword was changed from that of Murakumo to Kasanagi,
which means grass clearing.

Once, many, many years ago, there was born a son to the Emperor Keiko,
the twelfth in descent from the great Jimmu, the founder of the
Japanese dynasty. This Prince was the second son of the Emperor Keiko,
and he was named Yamato. From his childhood he proved himself to be of
remarkable strength, wisdom and courage, and his father noticed with
pride that he gave promise of great things, and he loved him even more
than he did his elder son.

Now when Prince Yamato had grown to manhood (in the olden days of
Japanese history, a boy was considered to have reached man's estate at
the early age of sixteen) the realm was much troubled by a band of
outlaws whose chiefs were two brothers, Kumaso and Takeru. These rebels
seemed to delight in rebelling against the King, in breaking the laws
and defying all authority.

At last King Keiko ordered his younger son Prince Yamato to subdue the
brigands and, if possible, to rid the land of their evil lives. Prince
Yamato was only sixteen years of age, he had but reached his manhood
according to the law, yet though he was such a youth in years he
possessed the dauntless spirit of a warrior of fuller age and knew not
what fear was. Even then there was no man who could rival him for
courage and bold deeds, and he received his father's command with great
joy.

He at once made ready to start, and great was the stir in the precincts
of the Palace as he and his trusty followers gathered together and
prepared for the expedition, and polished up their armor and donned it.
Before he left his father's Court he went to pray at the shrine of Ise
and to take leave of his aunt the Princess Yamato, for his heart was
somewhat heavy at the thought of the dangers he had to face, and he
felt that he needed the protection of his ancestress, Amaterasu, the
Sun Goddess. The Princess his aunt came out to give him glad welcome,
and congratulated him on being trusted with so great a mission by his
father the King. She then gave him one of her gorgeous robes as a
keepsake to go with him and to bring him good luck, saying that it
would surely be of service to him on this adventure. She then wished
him all success in his undertaking and bade him good speed.

The young Prince bowed low before his aunt, and received her gracious
gift with much pleasure and many respectful bows.

"I will now set out," said the Prince, and returning to the Palace he
put himself at the head of his troops. Thus cheered by his aunt's
blessing, he felt ready for all that might befall, and marching through
the land he went down to the Southern Island of Kiushiu, the home of
the brigands.

Before many days had passed he reached the Southern Island, and then
slowly but surely made his way to the head-quarters of the chiefs
Kumaso and Takeru. He now met with great difficulties, for he found the
country exceedingly wild and rough. The mountains were high and steep,
the valleys dark and deep, and huge trees and bowlders of rock blocked
up the road and stopped the progress of his army. It was all but
impossible to go on.

Though the Prince was but a youth he had the wisdom of years, and,
seeing that it was vain to try and lead his men further, he said to
himself:

"To attempt to fight a battle in this impassable country unknown to my
men only makes my task harder. We cannot clear the roads and fight as
well. It is wiser for me to resort to stratagem and come upon my
enemies unawares. In that way I may be able to kill them without much
exertion."

So he now bade his army halt by the way. His wife, the Princess
Ototachibana, had accompanied him, and he bade her bring him the robe
his aunt the priestess of Ise had given him, and to help him attire
himself as a woman. With her help he put on the robe, and let his hair
down till it flowed over his shoulders. Ototachibana then brought him
her comb, which he put in his black tresses, and then adorned himself
with strings of strange jewels just as you see in the picture. When he
had finished his unusual toilet, Ototachibana brought him her mirror.
He smiled as he gazed at himself--the disguise was so perfect.

He hardly knew himself, so changed was he. All traces of the warrior
had disappeared, and in the shining surface only a beautiful lady
looked back at him.

Thus completely disguised, he set out for the enemy's camp alone. In
the folds of his silk gown, next his strong heart, was hidden a sharp
dagger.

The two chiefs Kumaso and Takeru wore sitting in their tent, resting in
the cool of the evening, when the Prince approached. They were talking
of the news which had recently been carried to them, that the King's
son had entered their country with a large army determined to
exterminate their band. They had both heard of the young warrior's
renown, and for the first time in their wicked lives they felt afraid.
In a pause in their talk they happened to look up, and saw through the
door of the tent a beautiful woman robed in sumptuous garments coming
towards them. Like an apparition of loveliness she appeared in the soft
twilight. Little did they dream that it was their enemy whose coming
they so dreaded who now stood before them in this disguise.

"What a beautiful woman! Where has she come from?" said the astonished
Kumaso, forgetting war and council and everything as he looked at the
gentle intruder.

He beckoned to the disguised Prince and bade him sit down and serve
them with wine. Yamato Take felt his heart swell with a fierce glee for
he now knew that his plan would succeed. However, he dissembled
cleverly, and putting on a sweet air of shyness he approached the rebel
chief with slow steps and eyes glancing like a frightened deer. Charmed
to distraction by the girl's loveliness Kumaso drank cup after cup of
wine for the pleasure of seeing her pour it out for him, till at last
he was quite overcome with the quantity he had drunk.

This was the moment for which the brave Prince had been waiting.
Flinging down the wine jar, he seized the tipsy and astonished Kumaso
and quickly stabbed him to death with the dagger which he had secretly
carried hidden in his breast.

Takeru, the brigand's brother, was terror-struck as soon as he saw what
was happening and tried to escape, but Prince Yamato was too quick for
him. Ere he could reach the tent door the Prince was at his heel, his
garments were clutched by a hand of iron, and a dagger flashed before
his eyes and he lay stabbed to the earth, dying but not yet dead.

"Wait one moment!" gasped the brigand painfully, and he seized the
Prince's hand.

Yamato relaxed his hold somewhat and said.

"Why should I pause, thou villain?"

The brigand raised himself fearfully and said:

"Tell me from whence you come, and whom I have the honor of addressing?
Hitherto I believed that my dead brother and I were the strongest men
in the land, and that there was no one who could overcome us. Alone you
have ventured into our stronghold, alone you have attacked and killed
us! Surely you are more than mortal?"

Then the young Prince answered with a proud smile:--"I am the son of
the King and my name is Yamato, and I have been sent by my father as
the avenger of evil to bring death to all rebels! No longer shall
robbery and murder hold my people in terror!" and he held the dagger
dripping red above the rebel's head.

"Ah," gasped the dying man with a great effort, "I have often heard of
you. You are indeed a strong man to have so easily overcome us. Allow
me to give you a new name. From henceforth you shall be known as Yamato
Take. Our title I bequeath to you as the bravest man in Yamato."

And with these noble words, Takeru fell back and died.

The Prince having thus successfully put an end to his father's enemies
in the world, was prepared to return to the capital. On the way back he
passed through the province of Idum. Here he met with another outlaw
named Idzumo Takeru who he knew had done much harm in the land. He
again resorted to stratagem, and feigned friendship with the rebel
under an assumed name. Having done this he made a sword of wood and
jammed it tightly in the shaft of his own strong sword. This he
purposedly buckled to his side and wore on every occasion when he
expected to meet the third robber Takeru.

He now invited Takeru to the bank of the River Hinokawa, and persuaded
him to try a swim with him in the cool refreshing waters of the river.

As it was a hot summer's day, the rebel was nothing loath to take a
plunge in the river, while his enemy was still swimming down the stream
the Prince turned back and landed with all possible haste. Unperceived,
he managed to change swords, putting his wooden one in place of the
keen steel sword of Takeru.

Knowing nothing of this, the brigand came up to the bank shortly. As
soon as he had landed and donned his clothes, the Prince came forward
and asked him to cross swords with him to prove his skill, saying:

"Let us two prove which is the better swordsman of the two!"

The robber agreed with delight, feeling certain of victory, for he was
famous as a fencer in his province and he did not know who his
adversary was. He seized quickly what he thought was his sword and
stood on guard to defend himself. Alas! for the rebel the sword was the
wooden one of the young Prince and in vain Takeru tried to unsheathe
it--it was jammed fast, not all his exerted strength could move it.
Even if his efforts had been successful the sword would have been of no
use to him for it was of wood. Yamato Take saw that his enemy was in
his power, and swinging high the sword he had taken from Takeru he
brought it down with great might and dexterity and cut off the robber's
head.

In this way, sometimes by using his wisdom and sometimes by using his
bodily strength, and at other times by resorting to craftiness, which
was as much esteemed in those days as it is despised in these, he
prevailed against all the King's foes one by one, and brought peace and
rest to the land and the people.

When he returned to the capital the King praised him for his brave
deeds, and held a feast in the Palace in honor of his safe coming home
and presented him with many rare gifts. From this time forth the King
loved him more than ever and would not let Yamato Take go from his
side, for he said that his son was now as precious to him as one of his
arms.

But the Prince was not allowed to live an idle life long. When he was
about thirty years old, news was brought that the Ainu race, the
aborigines of the islands of Japan, who had been conquered and pushed
northwards by the Japanese, had rebelled in the Eastern provinces, and
leaving the vicinity which had been allotted to them were causing great
trouble in the land. The King decided that it was necessary to send an
army to do battle with them and bring them to reason. But who was to
lead the men?

Prince Yamato Take at once offered to go and bring the newly arisen
rebels into subjection. Now as the King loved the Prince dearly, and
could not bear to have him go out of his sight even for the length of
one day, he was of course very loath to send him on his dangerous
expedition. But in the whole army there was no warrior so strong or so
brave as the Prince his son, so that His Majesty, unable to do
otherwise, reluctantly complied with Yamato's wish.

When the time came for the Prince to start, the King gave him a spear
called the Eight-Arms-Length-Spear of the Holly Tree (the handle was
probably made from the wood of the holly tree), and ordered him to set
out to subjugate the Eastern Barbarians as the Ainu were then called.

The Eight-Arms-Length-Spear of the Holly Tree of those old days, was
prized by warriors just as much as the Standard or Banner is valued by
a regiment in these modern days, when given by the King to his soldiers
on the occasion of setting out for war.

The Prince respectfully and with great reverence received the King's
spear, and leaving the capital, marched with his army to the East. On
his way he visited first of all the temples of Ise for worship, and his
aunt the Princess of Yamato and High Priestess came out to greet him.
She it was who had given him her robe which had proved such a boon to
him before in helping him to overcome and slay the brigands of the West.

He told her all that had happened to him, and of the great part her
keepsake had played in the success of his previous undertaking, and
thanked her very heartily. When she heard that he was starting out once
again to do battle with his father's enemies, she went into the temple,
and reappeared bearing a sword and a beautiful bag which she had made
herself, and which was full of flints, which in those times people used
instead of matches for making fire. These she presented to him as a
parting gift.

The sword was the sword of Murakumo, one of the three sacred treasures
which comprise the insignia of the Imperial House of Japan. No more
auspicious talisman of luck and success could she have given her
nephew, and she bade him use it in the hour of his greatest need.

Yamato Take now bade farewell to his aunt, and once more placing
himself at the head of his men he marched to the farthest East through
the province of Owari, and then he reached the province of Suruga. Here
the governor welcomed the Prince right heartily and entertained him
royally with many feasts. When these were over, the governor told his
guest that his country was famous for its fine deer, and proposed a
deer hunt for the Prince's amusement. The Prince was utterly deceived
by the cordiality of his host, which was all feigned, and gladly
consented to join in the hunt.

The governor then led the Prince to a wild and extensive plain where
the grass grew high and in great abundance. Quite ignorant that the
governor had laid a trap for him with the desire to compass his death,
the Prince began to ride hard and hunt down the deer, when all of a
sudden to his amazement he saw flames and smoke bursting out from the
bush in front of him. Realizing his danger he tried to retreat, but no
sooner did he turn his horse in the opposite direction than he saw that
even there the prairie was on fire. At the same time the grass on his
left and right burst into flames, and these began to spread swiftly
towards him on all sides. He looked round for a chance of escape. There
was none. He was surrounded by fire.

"This deer hunt was then only a cunning trick of the enemy!" said the
Prince, looking round on the flames and the smoke that crackled and
rolled in towards him on every side. "What a fool I was to be lured
into this trap like a wild beast!" and he ground his teeth with rage as
he thought of the governor's smiling treachery.

Dangerous as was his situation now, the Prince was not in the least
confounded. In his dire extremity he remembered the gifts his aunt had
given him when they parted, and it seemed to him as if she must, with
prophetic foresight, have divined this hour of need. He coolly opened
the flint-bag that his aunt had given him and set fire to the grass
near him. Then drawing the sword of Murakumo from its sheath he set to
work to cut down the grass on either side of him with all speed. He
determined to die, if that were necessary, fighting for his life and
not standing still waiting for death to come to him.

Strange to say the wind began to change and to blow from the opposite
direction, and the fiercest portion of the burning bush which had
hitherto threatened to come upon him was now blown right away from him,
and the Prince, without even a scratch on his body or a single hair
burned, lived to tell the tale of his wonderful escape, while the wind
rising to a gale overtook the governor, and he was burned to death in
the flames he had set alight to kill Yamato Take.

Now the Prince ascribed his escape entirely to the virtue of the sword
of Murakumo, and to the protection of Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess of
Ise, who controls the wind and all the elements and insures the safety
of all who pray to her in the hour of danger. Lifting the precious
sword he raised it above his head many times in token of his great
respect, and as he did this he re-named it Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi or the
Grass-Cleaving Sword, and the place where he set fire to the grass
round him and escaped from death in the burning prairie, he called
Yaidzu. To this day there is a spot along the great Tokaido railway
named Yaidzu, which is said to be the very place where this thrilling
event took place.

Thus did the brave Prince Yamato Take escape out of the snare laid for
him by his enemy. He was full of resource and courage, and finally
outwitted and subdued all his foes. Leaving Yaidzu he marched eastward,
and came to the shore at Idzu from whence he wished to cross to Kadzusa.

In these dangers and adventures he had been followed by his faithful
loving wife the Princess Ototachibana. For his sake she counted the
weariness of the long journeys and the dangers of war as nothing, and
her love for her warrior husband was so great that she felt well repaid
for all her wanderings if she could but hand him his sword when he
sallied forth to battle, or minister to his wants when he returned
weary to the camp.

But the heart of the Prince was full of war and conquest and he cared
little for the faithful Ototachibana. From long exposure in traveling,
and from care and grief at her lord's coldness to her, her beauty had
faded, and her ivory skin was burnt brown by the sun, and the Prince
told her one day that her place was in the Palace behind the screens at
home and not with him upon the warpath. But in spite of rebuffs and
indifference on her husband's part, Ototachibana could not find it in
her heart to leave him. But perhaps it would have been better for her
if she had done so, for on the way to Idzu, when they came to Owari,
her heart was well-nigh broken.

Here dwelt in a Palace shaded by pine-trees and approached by imposing
gates, the Princess Miyadzu, beautiful as the cherry blossom in the
blushing dawn of a spring morning. Her garments were dainty and bright,
and her skin was white as snow, for she had never known what it was to
be weary along the path of duty or to walk in the heat of a summer's
sun. And the Prince was ashamed of his sunburnt wife in her
travel-stained garments, and bade her remain behind while he went to
visit the Princess Miyadzu. Day after day he spent hours in the gardens
and the Palace of his new friend, thinking only of his pleasure, and
caring little for his poor wife who remained behind to weep in the tent
at the misery which had come into her life. Yet she was so faithful a
wife, and her character so patient, that she never allowed a reproach
to escape her lips, or a frown to mar the sweet sadness of her face,
and she was ever ready with a smile to welcome her husband back or
usher him forth wherever he went.

At last the day came when the Prince Yamato Take must depart for Idzu
and cross over the sea to Kadzusa, and he bade his wife follow in his
retinue as an attendant while he went to take a ceremonious farewell of
the Princess Miyadzu. She came out to greet him dressed in gorgeous
robes, and she seemed more beautiful than ever, and when Yamato Take
saw her he forgot his wife, his duty, and everything except the joy of
the idle present, and swore that he would return to Owari and marry her
when the war was over. And as he looked up when he had said these words
he met the large almond eyes of Ototachibana fixed full upon him in
unspeakable sadness and wonder, and he knew that he had done wrong, but
he hardened his heart and rode on, caring little for the pain he had
caused her.

When they reached the seashore at Idzu his men sought for boats in
which to cross the straits to Kadzusa, but it was difficult to find
boats enough to allow all the soldiers to embark. Then the Prince stood
on the beach, and in the pride of his strength he scoffed and said:

"This is not the sea! This is only a brook! Why do you men want so many
boats? I could jump this if I would."

When at last they had all embarked and were fairly on their way across
the straits, the sky suddenly clouded and a great storm arose. The
waves rose mountains high, the wind howled, the lightning flashed and
the thunder rolled, and the boat which held Ototachibana and the Prince
and his men was tossed from crest to crest of the rolling waves, till
it seemed that every moment must be their last and that they must all
be swallowed up in the angry sea. For Kin Jin, the Dragon King of the
Sea, had heard Yamato Take jeer, and had raised this terrible storm in
anger, to show the scoffing Prince how awful the sea could be though it
did but look like a brook.

The terrified crew lowered the sails and looked after the rudder, and
worked for their dear lives' sake, but all in vain--the storm only
seemed to increase in violence, and all gave themselves up for lost.
Then the faithful Ototachibana rose, and forgetting all the grief that
her husband had caused her, forgetting even that he had wearied of her,
in the one great desire of her love to save him, she determined to
sacrifice her life to rescue him from death if it were possible.

While the waves dashed over the ship and the wind whirled round them in
fury she stood up and said:

"Surely all this has come because the Prince has angered Rin Jin, the
God of the Sea, by his jesting. If so, I, Ototachibana, will appease
the wrath of the Sea God who desires nothing less than my husband's
life!"

Then addressing the sea she said:

"I will take the place of His Augustness, Yamato Take. I will now cast
myself into your outraged depths, giving my life for his. Therefore
hear me and bring him safely to the shore of Kadzusa."

With these words she leaped quickly into the boisterous sea, and the
waves soon whirled her away and she was lost to sight. Strange to say,
the storm ceased at once, and the sea became as calm and smooth as the
matting on which the astonished onlookers were sitting. The gods of the
sea were now appeased, and the weather cleared and the sun shone as on
a summer's day.

Yamato Take soon reached the opposite shore and landed safely, even as
his wife Ototachibana had prayed. His prowess in war was marvelous, and
he succeeded after some time in conquering the Eastern Barbarians, the
Ainu.

He ascribed his safe landing wholly to the faithfulness of his wife,
who had so willingly and lovingly sacrificed herself in the hour of his
utmost peril. His heart was softened at the remembrance of her, and he
never allowed her to pass from his thoughts even for a moment. Too late
had he learned to esteem the goodness of her heart and the greatness of
her love for him.

As he was returning on his homeward way he came to the high pass of the
Usui Toge, and here he stood and gazed at the wonderful prospect
beneath him. The country, from this great elevation, all lay open to
his sight, a vast panorama of mountain and plain and forest, with
rivers winding like silver ribbons through the land; then far off he
saw the distant sea, which shimmered like a luminous mist in the great
distance, where Ototachibana had given her life for him, and as he
turned towards it he stretched out his arms, and thinking of her love
which he had scorned and his faithlessness to her, his heart burst out
into a sorrowful and bitter cry:

"Azuma, Azuma, Ya!" (Oh! my wife, my wife!) And to this day there is a
district in Tokio called Azuma, which commemorates the words of Prince
Yamato Take, and the place where his faithful wife leapt into the sea
to save him is still pointed out. So, though in life the Princess
Ototachibana was unhappy, history keeps her memory green, and the story
of her unselfishness and heroic death will never pass away.

Yamato Take had now fulfilled all his father's orders, he had subdued
all rebels, and rid the land of all robbers and enemies to the peace,
and his renown was great, for in the whole land there was no one who
could stand up against him, he was so strong in battle and wise in
council.

He was about to return straight for home by the way he had come, when
the thought struck him that he would find it more interesting to take
another route, so he passed through the province of Owari and came to
the province of Omi.

When the Prince reached Omi he found the people in a state of great
excitement and fear. In many houses as he passed along he saw the signs
of mourning and heard loud lamentations. On inquiring the cause of this
he was told that a terrible monster had appeared in the mountains, who
daily came down from thence and made raids on the villages, devouring
whoever he could seize. Many homes had been made desolate and the men
were afraid to go out to their daily work in the fields, or the women
to go to the rivers to wash their rice.

When Yamato Take heard this his wrath was kindled, and he said fiercely:

"From the western end of Kiushiu to the eastern corner of Yezo I have
subdued all the King's enemies--there is no one who dares to break the
laws or to rebel against the King. It is indeed a matter for wonder
that here in this place, so near the capital, a wicked monster has
dared to take up his abode and be the terror of the King's subjects.
Not long shall it find pleasure in devouring innocent folk. I will
start out and kill it at once."

With these words he set out for the Ibuki Mountain, where the monster
was said to live. He climbed up a good distance, when all of a sudden,
at a winding in the path, a monster serpent appeared before him and
stopped the way.

"This must be the monster," said the Prince; "I do not need my sword
for a serpent. I can kill him with my hands."

He thereupon sprang upon the serpent and tried to strangle it to death
with his bare arms. It was not long before his prodigious strength
gained the mastery and the serpent lay dead at his feet. Now a sudden
darkness came over the mountain and rain began to fall, so that for the
gloom and the rain the Prince could hardly see which way to take. In a
short time, however, while he was groping his way down the pass, the
weather cleared, and our brave hero was able to make his way quickly
down the mountain.

When he got back he began to feel ill and to have burning pains in his
feet, so he knew that the serpent had poisoned him. So great was his
suffering that he could hardly move, much less walk, so he had himself
carried to a place in the mountains famous for its hot mineral springs,
which rose bubbling out of the earth, and almost boiling from the
volcanic fires beneath.

Yamato Take bathed daily in these waters, and gradually he felt his
strength come again, and the pains left him, till at last one day he
found with great joy that he was quite recovered. He now hastened to
the temples of Ise, where you will remember that he prayed before
undertaking this long expedition. His aunt, priestess of the shrine,
who had blessed him on his setting out, now came to welcome him back.
He told her of the many dangers he had encountered and of how
marvelously his life had been preserved through all--and she praised
his courage and his warrior's prowess, and then putting on her most
magnificent robes she returned thanks to their ancestress the Sun
Goddess Amaterasu, to whose protection they both ascribed the Prince's
wonderful preservation.

Here ends the story of Prince Yamato Take of Japan.




MOMOTARO, OR THE STORY OF THE SON OF A PEACH.


Long, long ago there lived, an old man and an old woman; they were
peasants, and had to work hard to earn their daily rice. The old man
used to go and cut grass for the farmers around, and while he was gone
the old woman, his wife, did the work of the house and worked in their
own little rice field.

One day the old man went to the hills as usual to cut grass and the old
woman took some clothes to the river to wash.

It was nearly summer, and the country was very beautiful to see in its
fresh greenness as the two old people went on their way to work. The
grass on the banks of the river looked like emerald velvet, and the
pussy willows along the edge of the water were shaking out their soft
tassels.

The breezes blew and ruffled the smooth surface of the water into
wavelets, and passing on touched the cheeks of the old couple who, for
some reason they could not explain, felt very happy that morning.

The old woman at last found a nice spot by the river bank and put her
basket down. Then she set to work to wash the clothes; she took them
one by one out of the basket and washed them in the river and rubbed
them on the stones. The water was as clear as crystal, and she could
see the tiny fish swimming to and fro, and the pebbles at the bottom.

As she was busy washing her clothes a great peach came bumping down the
stream. The old woman looked up from her work and saw this large peach.
She was sixty years of age, yet in all her life she had never seen such
a big peach as this.

"How delicious that peach must be!" she said to herself. "I must
certainly get it and take it home to my old man."

She stretched out her arm to try and get it, but it was quite out of
her reach. She looked about for a stick, but there was not one to be
seen, and if she went to look for one she would lose the peach.

Stopping a moment to think what she would do, she remembered an old
charm-verse. Now she began to clap her hands to keep time to the
rolling of the peach down stream, and while she clapped she sang this
song:

  "Distant water is bitter,
   The near water is sweet;
   Pass by the distant water
   And come into the sweet."

Strange to say, as soon as she began to repeat this little song the
peach began to come nearer and nearer the bank where the old woman was
standing, till at last it stopped just in front of her so that she was
able to take it up in her hands. The old woman was delighted. She could
not go on with her work, so happy and excited was she, so she put all
the clothes back in her bamboo basket, and with the basket on her back
and the peach in her hand she hurried homewards.

It seemed a very long time to her to wait till her husband returned.
The old man at last came back as the sun was setting, with a big bundle
of grass on his back--so big that he was almost hidden and she could
hardly see him. He seemed very tired and used the scythe for a walking
stick, leaning on it as he walked along.

As soon as the old woman saw him she called out:

"O Fii San! (old man) I have been waiting for you to come home for such
a long time to-day!"

"What is the matter? Why are you so impatient?" asked the old man,
wondering at her unusual eagerness. "Has anything happened while I have
been away?"

"Oh, no!" answered the old woman, "nothing has happened, only I have
found a nice present for you!"

"That is good," said the old man. He then washed his feet in a basin of
water and stepped up to the veranda.

The old woman now ran into the little room and brought out from the
cupboard the big peach. It felt even heavier than before. She held it
up to him, saying:

"Just look at this! Did you ever see such a large peach in all your
life?"

When the old man looked at the peach he was greatly astonished and said:

"This is indeed the largest peach I have ever seen! Wherever did you
buy it?"

"I did not buy it," answered the old woman. "I found it in the river
where I was washing." And she told him the whole story.

"I am very glad that you have found it. Let us eat it now, for I am
hungry," said the O Fii San.

He brought out the kitchen knife, and, placing the peach on a board,
was about to cut it when, wonderful to tell, the peach split in two of
itself and a clear voice said:

"Wait a bit, old man!" and out stepped a beautiful little child.

The old man and his wife were both so astonished at what they saw that
they fell to the ground. The child spoke again:

"Don't be afraid. I am no demon or fairy. I will tell you the truth.
Heaven has had compassion on you. Every day and every night you have
lamented that you had no child. Your cry has been heard and I am sent
to be the son of your old age!"

On hearing this the old man and his wife were very happy. They had
cried night and day for sorrow at having no child to help them in their
lonely old age, and now that their prayer was answered they were so
lost with joy that they did not know where to put their hands or their
feet. First the old man took the child up in his arms, and then the old
woman did the same; and they named him MOMOTARO, OR SON OF A PEACH,
because he had come out of a peach.

The years passed quickly by and the child grew to be fifteen years of
age. He was taller and far stronger than any other boys of his own age,
he had a handsome face and a heart full of courage, and he was very
wise for his years. The old couple's pleasure was very great when they
looked at him, for he was just what they thought a hero ought to be
like.

One day Momotaro came to his foster-father and said solemnly:

"Father, by a strange chance we have become father and son. Your
goodness to me has been higher than the mountain grasses which it was
your daily work to cut, and deeper than the river where my mother
washes the clothes. I do not know how to thank you enough."

"Why," answered the old man, "it is a matter of course that a father
should bring up his son. When you are older it will be your turn to
take care of us, so after all there will be no profit or loss between
us--all will be equal. Indeed, I am rather surprised that you should
thank me in this way!" and the old man looked bothered.

"I hope you will be patient with me," said Momotaro; "but before I
begin to pay back your goodness to me I have a request to make which I
hope you will grant me above everything else."

"I will let you do whatever you wish, for you are quite different to
all other boys!"

"Then let me go away at once!"

"What do you say? Do you wish to leave your old father and mother and
go away from your old home?"

"I will surely come back again, if you let me go now!"

"Where are you going?"

"You must think it strange that I want to go away," said Momotaro,
"because I have not yet told you my reason. Far away from here to the
northeast of Japan there is an island in the sea. This island is the
stronghold of a band of devils. I have often heard how they invade this
land, kill and rob the people, and carry off all they can find. They
are not only very wicked but they are disloyal to our Emperor and
disobey his laws. They are also cannibals, for they kill and eat some
of the poor people who are so unfortunate as to fall into their hands.
These devils are very hateful beings. I must go and conquer them and
bring back all the plunder of which they have robbed this land. It is
for this reason that I want to go away for a short time!"

The old man was much surprised at hearing all this from a mere boy of
fifteen. He thought it best to let the boy go. He was strong and
fearless, and besides all this, the old man knew he was no common
child, for he had been sent to them as a gift from Heaven, and he felt
quite sure that the devils would be powerless to harm him.

"All you say is very interesting, Momotaro," said the old man. "I will
not hinder you in your determination. You may go if you wish. Go to the
island as soon as ever you like and destroy the demons and bring peace
to the land."

"Thank you, for all your kindness," said Momotaro, who began to get
ready to go that very day. He was full of courage and did not know what
fear was.

The old man and woman at once set to work to pound rice in the kitchen
mortar to make cakes for Momotaro to take with him on his journey.

At last the cakes were made and Momotaro was ready to start on his long
journey.

Parting is always sad. So it was now. The eyes of the two old people
were filled with tears and their voices trembled as they said:

"Go with all care and speed. We expect you back victorious!"

Momotaro was very sorry to leave his old parents (though he knew he was
coming back as soon as he could), for he thought of how lonely they
would be while he was away. But he said "Good-by!" quite bravely.

"I am going now. Take good care of yourselves while I am away.
Good-by!" And he stepped quickly out of the house. In silence the eyes
of Momotaro and his parents met in farewell.

Momotaro now hurried on his way till it was midday. He began to feel
hungry, so he opened his bag and took out one of the rice-cakes and sat
down under a tree by the side of the road to eat it. While he was thus
having his lunch a dog almost as large as a colt came running out from
the high grass. He made straight for Momotaro, and showing his teeth,
said in a fierce way:

"You are a rude man to pass my field without asking permission first.
If you leave me all the cakes you have in your bag you may go;
otherwise I will bite you till I kill you!"

Momotaro only laughed scornfully:

"What is that you are saying? Do you know who I am? I am Momotaro, and
I am on my way to subdue the devils in their island stronghold in the
northeast of Japan. If you try to stop me on my way there I will cut
you in two from the head downwards!"

The dog's manner at once changed. His tail dropped between his legs,
and coming near he bowed so low that his forehead touched the ground.

"What do I hear? The name of Momotaro? Are you indeed Momotaro? I have
often heard of your great strength. Not knowing who you were I have
behaved in a very stupid way. Will you please pardon my rudeness? Are
you indeed on your way to invade the Island of Devils? If you will take
such a rude fellow with you as one of your followers, I shall be very
grateful to you."

"I think I can take you with me if you wish to go," said Momotaro.

"Thank you!" said the dog. "By the way, I am very very hungry. Will you
give me one of the cakes you are carrying?"

"This is the best kind of cake there is in Japan," said Momotaro. "I
cannot spare you a whole one; I will give you half of one."

"Thank you very much," said the dog, taking the piece thrown to him.

Then Momotaro got up and the dog followed. For a long time they walked
over the hills and through the valleys. As they were going along an
animal came down from a tree a little ahead of them. The creature soon
came up to Momotaro and said:

"Good morning, Momotaro! You are welcome in this part of the country.
Will you allow me to go with you?"

The dog answered jealously:

"Momotaro already has a dog to accompany him. Of what use is a monkey
like you in battle? We are on our way to fight the devils! Get away!"

The dog and the monkey began to quarrel and bite, for these two animals
always hate each other.

"Now, don't quarrel!" said Momotaro, putting himself between them.
"Wait a moment, dog!"

"It is not at all dignified for you to have such a creature as that
following you!" said the dog.

"What do you know about it?" asked Momotaro; and pushing aside the dog,
he spoke to the monkey:

"Who are you?"

"I am a monkey living in these hills," replied the monkey. "I heard of
your expedition to the Island of Devils, and I have come to go with
you. Nothing will please me more than to follow you!"

"Do you really wish to go to the Island of Devils and fight with me?"

"Yes, sir," replied the monkey.

"I admire your courage," said Momotaro. "Here is a piece of one of my
fine rice-cakes. Come along!"

So the monkey joined Momotaro. The dog and the monkey did not get on
well together. They were always snapping at each other as they went
along, and always wanting to have a fight. This made Momotaro very
cross, and at last he sent the dog on ahead with a flag and put the
monkey behind with a sword, and he placed himself between them with a
war-fan, which is made of iron.

By and by they came to a large field. Here a bird flew down and
alighted on the ground just in front of the little party. It was the
most beautiful bird Momotaro had ever seen. On its body were five
different robes of feathers and its head was covered with a scarlet cap.

The dog at once ran at the bird and tried to seize and kill it. But the
bird struck out its spurs and flew at the dog's tail, and the fight
went hard with both.

Momotaro, as he looked on, could not help admiring the bird; it showed
so much spirit in the fight. It would certainly make a good fighter.

Momotaro went up to the two combatants, and holding the dog back, said
to the bird:

"You rascal! you are hindering my journey. Surrender at once, and I
will take you with me. If you don't I will set this dog to bite your
head off!"

Then the bird surrendered at once, and begged to be taken into
Momotaro's company.

"I do not know what excuse to offer for quarreling with the dog, your
servant, but I did not see you. I am a miserable bird called a
pheasant. It is very generous of you to pardon my rudeness and to take
me with you. Please allow me to follow you behind the dog and the
monkey!"

"I congratulate you on surrendering so soon," said Momotaro, smiling.
"Come and join us in our raid on the devils."

"Are you going to take this bird with you also?" asked the dog,
interrupting.

"Why do you ask such an unnecessary question? Didn't you hear what I
said? I take the bird with me because I wish to!"

"Humph!" said the dog.

Then Momotaro stood and gave this order:

"Now all of you must listen to me. The first thing necessary in an army
is harmony. It is a wise saying which says that 'Advantage on earth is
better than advantage in Heaven!' Union amongst ourselves is better
than any earthly gain. When we are not at peace amongst ourselves it is
no easy thing to subdue an enemy. From now, you three, the dog, the
monkey and the pheasant, must be friends with one mind. The one who
first begins a quarrel will be discharged on the spot!"

All the three promised not to quarrel. The pheasant was now made a
member of Momotaro's suite, and received half a cake.

Momotaro's influence was so great that the three became good friends,
and hurried onwards with him as their leader.

Hurrying on day after day they at last came out upon the shore of the
North-Eastern Sea. There was nothing to be seen as far as the
horizon--not a sign of any island. All that broke the stillness was the
rolling of the waves upon the shore.

Now, the dog and the monkey and the pheasant had come very bravely all
the way through the long valleys and over the hills, but they had never
seen the sea before, and for the first time since they set out they
were bewildered and gazed at each other in silence. How were they to
cross the water and get to the Island of Devils?

Momotaro soon saw that they were daunted by the sight of the sea, and
to try them he spoke loudly and roughly:

"Why do you hesitate? Are you afraid of the sea? Oh! what cowards you
are! It is impossible to take such weak creatures as you with me to
fight the demons. It will be far better for me to go alone. I discharge
you all at once!"

The three animals were taken aback at this sharp reproof, and clung to
Momotaro's sleeve, begging him not to send them away.

"Please, Momotaro!" said the dog.

"We have come thus far!" said the monkey.

"It is inhuman to leave us here!" said the pheasant.

"We are not at all afraid of the sea," said the monkey again.

"Please do take us with you," said the pheasant.

"Do please," said the dog.

They had now gained a little courage, so Momotaro said:

"Well, then, I will take you with me, but be careful!"

Momotaro now got a small ship, and they all got on board. The wind and
weather were fair, and the ship went like an arrow over the sea. It was
the first time they had ever been on the water, and so at first the
dog, the monkey and the pheasant were frightened at the waves and the
rolling of the vessel, but by degrees they grew accustomed to the water
and were quite happy again. Every day they paced the deck of their
little ship, eagerly looking out for the demons' island.

When they grew tired of this, they told each other stories of all their
exploits of which they were proud, and then played games together; and
Momotaro found much to amuse him in listening to the three animals and
watching their antics, and in this way he forgot that the way was long
and that he was tired of the voyage and of doing nothing. He longed to
be at work killing the monsters who had done so much harm in his
country.

As the wind blew in their favor and they met no storms the ship made a
quick voyage, and one day when the sun was shining brightly a sight of
land rewarded the four watchers at the bow.

Momotaro knew at once that what they saw was the devils' stronghold. On
the top of the precipitous shore, looking out to sea, was a large
castle. Now that his enterprise was close at hand, he was deep in
thought with his head leaning on his hands, wondering how he should
begin the attack. His three followers watched him, waiting for orders.
At last he called to the pheasant:

"It is a great advantage for us to have you with us." said Momotaro to
the bird, "for you have good wings. Fly at once to the castle and
engage the demons to fight. We will follow you."

The pheasant at once obeyed. He flew off from the ship beating the air
gladly with his wings. The bird soon reached the island and took up his
position on the roof in the middle of the castle, calling out loudly:

"All you devils listen to me! The great Japanese general Momotaro has
come to fight you and to take your stronghold from you. If you wish to
save your lives surrender at once, and in token of your submission you
must break off the horns that grow on your forehead. If you do not
surrender at once, but make up your mind to fight, we, the pheasant,
the dog and the monkey, will kill you all by biting and tearing you to
death!"

The horned demons looking up and only seeing a pheasant, laughed and
said:

"A wild pheasant, indeed! It is ridiculous to hear such words from a
mean thing like you. Wait till you get a blow from one of our iron
bars!"

Very angry, indeed, were the devils. They shook their horns and their
shocks of red hair fiercely, and rushed to put on tiger skin trousers
to make themselves look more terrible. They then brought out great iron
bars and ran to where the pheasant perched over their heads, and tried
to knock him down. The pheasant flew to one side to escape the blow,
and then attacked the head of first one and then another demon. He flew
round and round them, beating the air with his wings so fiercely and
ceaselessly, that the devils began to wonder whether they had to fight
one or many more birds.

In the meantime, Momotaro had brought his ship to land. As they had
approached, he saw that the shore was like a precipice, and that the
large castle was surrounded by high walls and large iron gates and was
strongly fortified.

Momotaro landed, and with the hope of finding some way of entrance,
walked up the path towards the top, followed by the monkey and the dog.
They soon came upon two beautiful damsels washing clothes in a stream.
Momotaro saw that the clothes were blood-stained, and that as the two
maidens washed, the tears were falling fast down their cheeks. He
stopped and spoke to them:

"Who are you, and why do you weep?"

"We are captives of the Demon King. We were carried away from our homes
to this island, and though we are the daughters of Daimios (Lords), we
are obliged to be his servants, and one day he will kill us"--and the
maidens held up the blood-stained clothes--"and eat us, and there is no
one to help us!"

And their tears burst out afresh at this horrible thought.

"I will rescue you," said Momotaro. "Do not weep any more, only show me
how I may get into the castle."

Then the two ladies led the way and showed Momotaro a little back door
in the lowest part of the castle wall--so small that Momotaro could
hardly crawl in.

The pheasant, who was all this time fighting hard, saw Momotaro and his
little band rush in at the back.

Momotaro's onslaught was so furious that the devils could not stand
against him. At first their foe had been a single bird, the pheasant,
but now that Momotaro and the dog and the monkey had arrived they were
bewildered, for the four enemies fought like a hundred, so strong were
they. Some of the devils fell off the parapet of the castle and were
dashed to pieces on the rocks beneath; others fell into the sea and
were drowned; many were beaten to death by the three animals.

The chief of the devils at last was the only one left. He made up his
mind to surrender, for he knew that his enemy was stronger than mortal
man.

He came up humbly to Momotaro and threw down his iron bar, and kneeling
down at the victor's feet he broke off the horns on his head in token
of submission, for they were the sign of his strength and power.

"I am afraid of you," he said meekly. "I cannot stand against you. I
will give you all the treasure hidden in this castle if you will spare
my life!"

Momotaro laughed.

"It is not like you, big devil, to beg for mercy, is it? I cannot spare
your wicked life, however much you beg, for you have killed and
tortured many people and robbed our country for many years."

Then Momotaro tied the devil chief up and gave him into the monkey's
charge. Having done this, he went into all the rooms of the castle and
set the prisoners free and gathered together all the treasure he found.

The dog and the pheasant carried home the plunder, and thus Momotaro
returned triumphantly to his home, taking with him the devil chief as a
captive.

The two poor damsels, daughters of Daimios, and others whom the wicked
demon had carried off to be his slaves, were taken safely to their own
homes and delivered to their parents.

The whole country made a hero of Momotaro on his triumphant return, and
rejoiced that the country was now freed from the robber devils who had
been a terror of the land for a long time.

The old couple's joy was greater than ever, and the treasure Momotaro
had brought home with him enabled them to live in peace and plenty to
the end of their days.




THE OGRE OF RASHOMON.


Long, long ago in Kyoto, the people of the city were terrified by
accounts of a dreadful ogre, who, it was said, haunted the Gate of
Rashomon at twilight and seized whoever passed by. The missing victims
were never seen again, so it was whispered that the ogre was a horrible
cannibal, who not only killed the unhappy victims but ate them also.
Now everybody in the town and neighborhood was in great fear, and no
one durst venture out after sunset near the Gate of Rashomon.

Now at this time there lived in Kyoto a general named Raiko, who had
made himself famous for his brave deeds. Some time before this he made
the country ring with his name, for he had attacked Oeyama, where a
band of ogres lived with their chief, who instead of wine drank the
blood of human beings. He had routed them all and cut off the head of
the chief monster.

This brave warrior was always followed by a band of faithful knights.
In this band there were five knights of great valor. One evening as the
five knights sat at a feast quaffing SAKE in their rice bowls and
eating all kinds of fish, raw, and stewed, and broiled, and toasting
each other's healths and exploits, the first knight, Hojo, said to the
others:

"Have you all heard the rumor that every evening after sunset there
comes an ogre to the Gate of Rashomon, and that he seizes all who pass
by?"

The second knight, Watanabe, answered him, saying:

"Do not talk such nonsense! All the ogres were killed by our chief
Raiko at Oeyama! It cannot be true, because even if any ogres did
escape from that great killing they would not dare to show themselves
in this city, for they know that our brave master would at once attack
them if he knew that any of them were still alive!"

"Then do you disbelieve what I say, and think that I am telling you a
falsehood?"

"No, I do not think that you are telling a lie," said Watanabe; "but
you have heard some old woman's story which is not worth believing."

"Then the best plan is to prove what I say, by going there yourself and
finding out yourself whether it is true or not," said Hojo.

Watanabe, the second knight, could not bear the thought that his
companion should believe he was afraid, so he answered quickly:

"Of course, I will go at once and find out for myself!"

So Watanabe at once got ready to go--he buckled on his long sword and
put on a coat of armor, and tied on his large helmet. When he was ready
to start he said to the others:

"Give me something so that I can prove I have been there!"

Then one of the men got a roll of writing paper and his box of Indian
ink and brushes, and the four comrades wrote their names on a piece of
paper.

"I will take this," said Watanabe, "and put it on the Gate of Rashomon,
so to-morrow morning will you all go and look at it? I may be able to
catch an ogre or two by then!" and he mounted his horse and rode off
gallantly.

It was a very dark night, and there was neither moon nor star to light
Watanabe on his way. To make the darkness worse a storm came on, the
rain fell heavily and the wind howled like wolves in the mountains. Any
ordinary man would have trembled at the thought of going out of doors,
but Watanabe was a brave warrior and dauntless, and his honor and word
were at stake, so he sped on into the night, while his companions
listened to the sound of his horse's hoofs dying away in the distance,
then shut the sliding shutters close and gathered round the charcoal
fire and wondered what would happen--and whether their comrade would
encounter one of those horrible Oni.

At last Watanabe reached the Gate of Rashomon, but peer as he might
through the darkness he could see no sign of an ogre.

"It is just as I thought," said Watanabe to himself; "there are
certainly no ogres here; it is only an old woman's story. I will stick
this paper on the gate so that the others can see I have been here when
they come to-morrow, and then I will take my way home and laugh at them
all."

He fastened the piece of paper, signed by all his four companions, on
the gate, and then turned his horse's head towards home.

As he did so he became aware that some one was behind him, and at the
same time a voice called out to him to wait. Then his helmet was seized
from the back. "Who are you?" said Watanabe fearlessly. He then put out
his hand and groped around to find out who or what it was that held him
by the helmet. As he did so he touched something that felt like an
arm--it was covered with hair and as big round as the trunk of a tree!

Watanabe knew at once that this was the arm of an ogre, so he drew his
sword and cut at it fiercely.

There was a loud yell of pain, and then the ogre dashed in front of the
warrior.

Watanabe's eyes grew large with wonder, for he saw that the ogre was
taller than the great gate, his eyes were flashing like mirrors in the
sunlight, and his huge mouth was wide open, and as the monster
breathed, flames of fire shot out of his mouth.

The ogre thought to terrify his foe, but Watanabe never flinched. He
attacked the ogre with all his strength, and thus they fought face to
face for a long time. At last the ogre, finding that he could neither
frighten nor beat Watanabe and that he might himself be beaten, took to
flight. But Watanabe, determined not to let the monster escape, put
spurs to his horse and gave chase.

But though the knight rode very fast the ogre ran faster, and to his
disappointment he found himself unable to overtake the monster, who was
gradually lost to sight.

Watanabe returned to the gate where the fierce fight had taken place,
and got down from his horse. As he did so he stumbled upon something
lying on the ground.

Stooping to pick it up he found that it was one of the ogre's huge arms
which he must have slashed off in the fight. His joy was great at
having secured such a prize, for this was the best of all proofs of his
adventure with the ogre. So he took it up carefully and carried it home
as a trophy of his victory.

When he got back, he showed the arm to his comrades, who one and all
called him the hero of their band and gave him a great feast. His
wonderful deed was soon noised abroad in Kyoto, and people from far and
near came to see the ogre's arm.

Watanabe now began to grow uneasy as to how he should keep the arm in
safety, for he knew that the ogre to whom it belonged was still alive.
He felt sure that one day or other, as soon as the ogre got over his
scare, he would come to try to get his arm back again. Watanabe
therefore had a box made of the strongest wood and banded with iron. In
this he placed the arm, and then he sealed down the heavy lid, refusing
to open it for anyone. He kept the box in his own room and took charge
of it himself, never allowing it out of his sight.

Now one night he heard some one knocking at the porch, asking for
admittance.

When the servant went to the door to see who it was, there was only an
old woman, very respectable in appearance. On being asked who she was
and what was her business, the old woman replied with a smile that she
had been nurse to the master of the house when he was a little baby. If
the lord of the house were at home she begged to be allowed to see him.

The servant left the old woman at the door and went to tell his master
that his old nurse had come to see him. Watanabe thought it strange
that she should come at that time of night, but at the thought of his
old nurse, who had been like a foster-mother to him and whom he had not
seen for a long time, a very tender feeling sprang up for her in his
heart. He ordered the servant to show her in.

The old woman was ushered into the room, and after the customary bows
and greetings were over, she said:

"Master, the report of your brave fight with the ogre at the Gate of
Rashomon is so widely known that even your poor old nurse has heard of
it. Is it really true, what every one says, that you cut off one of the
ogre's arms? If you did, your deed is highly to be praised!"

"I was very disappointed," said Watanabe, "that I was not able take the
monster captive, which was what I wished to do, instead of only cutting
off an arm!"

"I am very proud to think," answered the old woman, "that my master was
so brave as to dare to cut off an ogre's arm. There is nothing that can
be compared to your courage. Before I die it is the great wish of my
life to see this arm," she added pleadingly.

"No," said Watanabe, "I am sorry, but I cannot grant your request."

"But why?" asked the old woman.

"Because," replied Watanabe, "ogres are very revengeful creatures, and
if I open the box there is no telling but that the ogre may suddenly
appear and carry off his arm. I have had a box made on purpose with a
very strong lid, and in this box I keep the ogre's arm secure; and I
never show it to any one, whatever happens."

"Your precaution is very reasonable," said the old woman. "But I am
your old nurse, so surely you will not refuse to show ME the arm. I
have only just heard of your brave act, and not being able to wait till
the morning I came at once to ask you to show it to me."

Watanabe was very troubled at the old woman's pleading, but he still
persisted in refusing. Then the old woman said:

"Do you suspect me of being a spy sent by the ogre?"

"No, of course I do not suspect you of being the ogre's spy, for you
are my old nurse," answered Watanabe.

"Then you cannot surely refuse to show me the arm any longer."
entreated the old woman; "for it is the great wish of my heart to see
for once in my life the arm of an ogre!"

Watanabe could not hold out in his refusal any longer, so he gave in at
last, saying:

"Then I will show you the ogre's arm, since you so earnestly wish to
see it. Come, follow me!" and he led the way to his own room, the old
woman following.

When they were both in the room Watanabe shut the door carefully, and
then going towards a big box which stood in a corner of the room, he
took off the heavy lid. He then called to the old woman to come near
and look in, for he never took the arm out of the box.

"What is it like? Let me have a good look at it," said the old nurse,
with a joyful face.

She came nearer and nearer, as if she were afraid, till she stood right
against the box. Suddenly she plunged her hand into the box and seized
the arm, crying with a fearful voice which made the room shake:

"Oh, joy! I have got my arm back again!"

And from an old woman she was suddenly transformed into the towering
figure of the frightful ogre!

Watanabe sprang back and was unable to move for a moment, so great was
his astonishment; but recognizing the ogre who had attacked him at the
Gate of Rashomon, he determined with his usual courage to put an end to
him this time. He seized his sword, drew it out of its sheath in a
flash, and tried to cut the ogre down.

So quick was Watanabe that the creature had a narrow escape. But the
ogre sprang up to the ceiling, and bursting through the roof,
disappeared in the mist and clouds.

In this way the ogre escaped with his arm. The knight gnashed his teeth
with disappointment, but that was all he could do. He waited in
patience for another opportunity to dispatch the ogre. But the latter
was afraid of Watanabe's great strength and daring, and never troubled
Kyoto again. So once more the people of the city were able to go out
without fear even at night time, and the brave deeds of Watanabe have
never been forgotten!




HOW AN OLD MAN LOST HIS WEN.


Many, many years ago there lived a good old man who had a wen like a
tennis-ball growing out of his right cheek. This lump was a great
disfigurement to the old man, and so annoyed him that for many years he
spent all his time and money in trying to get rid of it. He tried
everything he could think of. He consulted many doctors far and near,
and took all kinds of medicines both internally and externally. But it
was all of no use. The lump only grew bigger and bigger till it was
nearly as big as his face, and in despair he gave up all hopes of ever
losing it, and resigned himself to the thought of having to carry the
lump on his face all his life.

One day the firewood gave out in his kitchen, so, as his wife wanted
some at once, the old man took his ax and set out for the woods up
among the hills not very far from his home. It was a fine day in the
early autumn, and the old man enjoyed the fresh air and was in no hurry
to get home. So the whole afternoon passed quickly while he was
chopping wood, and he had collected a goodly pile to take back to his
wife. When the day began to draw to a close, he turned his face
homewards.

The old man had not gone far on his way down the mountain pass when the
sky clouded and rain began to fall heavily. He looked about for some
shelter, but there was not even a charcoal-burner's hut near. At last
he espied a large hole in the hollow trunk of a tree. The hole was near
the ground, so he crept in easily, and sat down in hopes that he had
only been overtaken by a mountain shower, and that the weather would
soon clear.

But much to the old man's disappointment, instead of clearing the rain
fell more and more heavily, and finally a heavy thunderstorm broke over
the mountain. The thunder roared so terrifically, and the heavens
seemed to be so ablaze with lightning, that the old man could hardly
believe himself to be alive. He thought that he must die of fright. At
last, however, the sky cleared, and the whole country was aglow in the
rays of the setting sun. The old man's spirits revived when he looked
out at the beautiful twilight, and he was about to step out from his
strange hiding-place in the hollow tree when the sound of what seemed
like the approaching steps of several people caught his ear. He at once
thought that his friends had come to look for him, and he was delighted
at the idea of having some jolly companions with whom to walk home. But
on looking out from the tree, what was his amazement to see, not his
friends, but hundreds of demons coming towards the spot. The more he
looked, the greater was his astonishment. Some of these demons were as
large as giants, others had great big eyes out of all proportion to the
rest of their bodies, others again had absurdly long noses, and some
had such big mouths that they seemed to open from ear to ear. All had
horns growing on their foreheads. The old man was so surprised at what
he saw that he lost his balance and fell out of the hollow tree.
Fortunately for him the demons did not see him, as the tree was in the
background. So he picked himself up and crept back into the tree.

While he was sitting there and wondering impatiently when he would be
able to get home, he heard the sounds of gay music, and then some of
the demons began to sing.

"What are these creatures doing?" said the old man to himself. "I will
look out, it sounds very amusing."

On peeping out, the old man saw that the demon chief himself was
actually sitting with his back against the tree in which he had taken
refuge, and all the other demons were sitting round, some drinking and
some dancing. Food and wine was spread before them on the ground, and
the demons were evidently having a great entertainment and enjoying
themselves immensely.

It made the old man laugh to see their strange antics.

"How amusing this is!" laughed the old man to himself "I am now quite
old, but I have never seen anything so strange in all my life."

He was so interested and excited in watching all that the demons were
doing, that he forgot himself and stepped out of the tree and stood
looking on.

The demon chief was just taking a big cup of SAKE and watching one of
the demons dancing. In a little while he said with a bored air:

"Your dance is rather monotonous. I am tired of watching it. Isn't
there any one amongst you all who can dance better than this fellow?"

Now the old man had been fond of dancing all his life, and was quite an
expert in the art, and he knew that he could do much better than the
demon.

"Shall I go and dance before these demons and let them see what a human
being can do? It may be dangerous, for if I don't please them they may
kill me!" said the old fellow to himself.

His fears, however, were soon overcome by his love of dancing. In a few
minutes he could restrain himself no longer, and came out before the
whole party of demons and began to dance at once. The old man,
realizing that his life probably depended on whether he pleased these
strange creatures or not, exerted his skill and wit to the utmost.

The demons were at first very surprised to see a man so fearlessly
taking part in their entertainment, and then their surprise soon gave
place to admiration.

"How strange!" exclaimed the horned chief. "I never saw such a skillful
dancer before! He dances admirably!"

When the old man had finished his dance, the big demon said:

"Thank you very much for your amusing dance. Now give us the pleasure
of drinking a cup of wine with us," and with these words he handed him
his largest wine-cup.

The old man thanked him very humbly:

"I did not expect such kindness from your lordship. I fear I have only
disturbed your pleasant party by my unskillful dancing."

"No, no," answered the big demon. "You must come often and dance for
us. Your skill has given us much pleasure."

The old man thanked him again and promised to do so.

"Then will you come again to-morrow, old man?" asked the demon.

"Certainly, I will," answered the old man.

"Then you must leave some pledge of your word with us," said the demon.

"Whatever you like," said the old man.

"Now what is the best thing he can leave with us as a pledge?" asked
the demon, looking round.

Then said one of the demon's attendants kneeling behind the chief:

"The token he leaves with us must be the most important thing to him in
his possession. I see the old man has a wen on his right cheek. Now
mortal men consider such a wen very fortunate. Let my lord take the
lump from the old man's right cheek, and he will surely come to-morrow,
if only to get that back."

"You are very clever," said the demon chief, giving his horns an
approving nod. Then he stretched out a hairy arm and claw-like hand,
and took the great lump from the old man's right cheek. Strange to say,
it came off as easily as a ripe plum from the tree at the demon's
touch, and then the merry troop of demons suddenly vanished.

The old man was lost in bewilderment by all that had happened. He
hardly knew for some time where he was. When he came to understand what
had happened to him, he was delighted to find that the lump on his
face, which had for so many years disfigured him, had really been taken
away without any pain to himself. He put up his hand to feel if any
scar remained, but found that his right cheek was as smooth as his left.

The sun had long set, and the young moon had risen like a silver
crescent in the sky. The old man suddenly realized how late it was and
began to hurry home. He patted his right cheek all the time, as if to
make sure of his good fortune in having lost the wen. He was so happy
that he found it impossible to walk quietly--he ran and danced the
whole way home.

He found his wife very anxious, wondering what had happened to make him
so late. He soon told her all that had passed since he left home that
afternoon. She was quite as happy as her husband when he showed her
that the ugly lump had disappeared from his face, for in her youth she
had prided herself on his good looks, and it had been a daily grief to
her to see the horrid growth.

Now next door to this good old couple there lived a wicked and
disagreeable old man. He, too, had for many years been troubled with
the growth of a wen on his left cheek, and he, too, had tried all
manner of things to get rid of it, but in vain.

He heard at once, through the servant, of his neighbor's good luck in
losing the lump on his face, so he called that very evening and asked
his friend to tell him everything that concerned the loss of it. The
good old man told his disagreeable neighbor all that had happened to
him. He described the place where he would find the hollow tree in
which to hide, and advised him to be on the spot in the late afternoon
towards the time of sunset.

The old neighbor started out the very next afternoon, and after hunting
about for some time, came to the hollow tree just as his friend had
described. Here he hid himself and waited for the twilight.

Just as he had been told, the band of demons came at that hour and held
a feast with dance and song. When this had gone on for some time the
chief of the demons looked around and said:

"It is now time for the old man to come as he promised us. Why doesn't
he come?"

When the second old man heard these words he ran out of his
hiding-place in the tree and, kneeling down before the Oni, said:

"I have been waiting for a long time for you to speak!"

"Ah, you are the old man of yesterday," said the demon chief. "Thank
you for coming, you must dance for us soon."

The old man now stood up and opened his fan and began to dance. But he
had never learned to dance, and knew nothing about the necessary
gestures and different positions. He thought that anything would please
the demons, so he just hopped about, waving his arms and stamping his
feet, imitating as well as he could any dancing he had ever seen.

The Oni were very dissatisfied at this exhibition, and said amongst
themselves:

"How badly he dances to-day!"

Then to the old man the demon chief said:

"Your performance to-day is quite different from the dance of
yesterday. We don't wish to see any more of such dancing. We will give
you back the pledge you left with us. You must go away at once."

With these words he took out from a fold of his dress the lump which he
had taken from the face of the old man who had danced so well the day
before, and threw it at the right cheek of the old man who stood before
him. The lump immediately attached itself to his cheek as firmly as if
it had grown there always, and all attempts to pull it off were
useless. The wicked old man, instead of losing the lump on his left
cheek as he had hoped, found to his dismay that he had but added
another to his right cheek in his attempt to get rid of the first.

He put up first one hand and then the other to each side of his face to
make sure if he were not dreaming a horrible nightmare. No, sure enough
there was now a great wen on the right side of his face as on the left.
The demons had all disappeared, and there was nothing for him to do but
to return home. He was a pitiful sight, for his face, with the two
large lumps, one on each side, looked just like a Japanese gourd.




THE STONES OF FIVE COLORS AND THE EMPRESS JOKWA.

AN OLD CHINESE STORY.


Long, long ago there lived a great Chinese Empress who succeeded her
brother the Emperor Fuki. It was the age of giants, and the Empress
Jokwa, for that was her name, was twenty-five feet high, nearly as tall
as her brother. She was a wonderful woman, and an able ruler. There is
an interesting story of how she mended a part of the broken heavens and
one of the terrestrial pillars which upheld the sky, both of which were
damaged during a rebellion raised by one of King Fuki's subjects.

The rebel's name was Kokai. He was twenty-six feet high. His body was
entirely covered with hair, and his face was as black as iron. He was a
wizard and a very terrible character indeed. When the Emperor Fuki
died, Kokai was bitten with the ambition to be Emperor of China, but
his plan failed, and Jokwa, the dead Emperor's sister, mounted the
throne. Kokai was so angry at being thwarted in his desire that he
raised a revolt. His first act was to employ the Water Devil, who
caused a great flood to rush over the country. This swamped the poor
people out of their homes, and when the Empress Jokwa saw the plight of
her subjects, and knew it was Kokai's fault, she declared war against
him.

Now Jokwa, the Empress, had two young warriors called Hako and Eiko,
and the former she made General of the front forces. Hako was delighted
that the Empress's choice should fall on him, and he prepared himself
for battle. He took up the longest lance he could find and mounted a
red horse, and was just about to set out when he heard some one
galloping hard behind him and shouting:

"Hako! Stop! The general of the front forces must be I!"

He looked back and saw Eiko his comrade, riding on a white horse, in
the act of unsheathing a large sword to draw upon him. Hako's anger was
kindled, and as he turned to face his rival he cried:

"Insolent wretch! I have been appointed by the Empress to lead the
front forces to battle. Do you dare to stop me?"

"Yes," answered Eiko. "I ought to lead the army. It is you who should
follow me."

At this bold reply Hako's anger burst from a spark into a flame.

"Dare you answer me thus? Take that," and he lunged at him with his
lance.

But Eiko moved quickly aside, and at the same time, raising his sword,
he wounded the head of the General's horse. Obliged to dismount, Hako
was about to rush at his antagonist, when Eiko, as quick as lightning,
tore from his breast the badge of commandership and galloped away. The
action was so quick that Hako stood dazed, not knowing what to do.

The Empress had been a spectator of the scene, and she could not but
admire the quickness of the ambitious Eiko, and in order to pacify the
rivals she determined to appoint them both to the Generalship of the
front army.

So Hako was made commander of the left wing of the front army, and Eiko
of the right. One hundred thousand soldiers followed them and marched
to put down the rebel Kokai.

Within a short time the two Generals reached the castle where Kokai had
fortified himself. When aware of their approach, the wizard said:

"I will blow these two poor children away with one breath." (He little
thought how hard he would find the fight.)

With these words Kokai seized an iron rod and mounted a black horse,
and rushed forth like an angry tiger to meet his two foes.

As the two young warriors saw him tearing down upon them, they said to
each other: "We must not let him escape alive," and they attacked him
from the right and from the left with sword and with lance. But the
all-powerful Kokai was not to be easily beaten--he whirled his iron rod
round like a great water-wheel, and for a long time they fought thus,
neither side gaining nor losing. At last, to avoid the wizard's iron
rod, Hako turned his horse too quickly; the animal's hoofs struck
against a large stone, and in a fright the horse reared as straight on
end as a screen, throwing his master to the ground.

Thereupon Kokai drew his three-edged sword and was about to kill the
prostrate Hako, but before the wizard could work his wicked will the
brave Eiko had wheeled his horse in front of Kokai and dared him to try
his strength with him, and not to kill a fallen man. But Kokai was
tired, and he did not feel inclined to face this fresh and dauntless
young soldier, so suddenly wheeling his horse round, he fled from the
fray.

Hako, who had been only slightly stunned, had by this time got upon his
feet, and he and his comrade rushed after the retreating enemy, the one
on foot and the other on horseback.

Kokai, seeing that he was pursued, turned upon his nearest assailant,
who was, of course, the mounted Eiko, and drawing forth an arrow from
the quiver at his back, fitted it to his bow and drew upon Eiko.

As quick as lightning the wary Eiko avoided the shaft, which only
touched his helmet strings, and glancing off, fell harmless against
Hako's coat of armor.

The wizard saw that both his enemies remained unscathed. He also knew
that there was no time to pull a second arrow before they would be upon
him, so to save himself he resorted to magic. He stretched forth his
wand, and immediately a great flood arose, and Jokwa's army and her
brave young Generals were swept away like a falling of autumn leaves on
a stream.

Hako and Eiko found themselves struggling neck deep in water, and
looking round they saw the ferocious Kokai making towards them through
the water with his iron rod on high. They thought every moment that
they would be cut down, but they bravely struck out to swim as far as
they could from Kokai's reach. All of a sudden they found themselves in
front of what seemed to be an island rising straight out of the water.
They looked up, and there stood an old man with hair as white as snow,
smiling at them. They cried to him to help them. The old man nodded his
head and came down to the edge of the water. As soon as his feet
touched the flood it divided, and a good road appeared, to the
amazement of the drowning men, who now found themselves safe.

Kokai had by this time reached the island which had risen as if by a
miracle out of the water, and seeing his enemies thus saved he was
furious. He rushed through the water upon the old man, and it seemed as
if he would surely be killed. But the old man appeared not in the least
dismayed, and calmly awaited the wizard's onslaught.

As Kokai drew near, the old man laughed aloud merrily, and turning into
a large and beautiful white crane, flapped his wings and flew upwards
into the heavens.

When Hako and Eiko saw this, they knew that their deliverer was no mere
human being--was perhaps a god in disguise--and they hoped later on to
find out who the venerable old man was.

In the meantime they had retreated, and it being now the close of day,
for the sun was setting, both Kokai and the young warriors gave up the
idea of fighting more that day.

That night Hako and Eiko decided that it was useless to fight against
the wizard Kokai, for he had supernatural powers, while they were only
human. So they presented themselves before the Empress Jokwa. After a
long consultation, the Empress decided to ask the Fire King, Shikuyu,
to help her against the rebel wizard and to lead her army against him.

Now Shikuyu, the Fire King, lived at the South Pole. It was the only
safe place for him to be in, for he burnt up everything around him
anywhere else, but it was impossible to burn up ice and snow. To look
at he was a giant, and stood thirty feet high. His face was just like
marble, and his hair and beard long and as white as snow. His strength
was stupendous, and he was master of all fire just as Kokai was of
water.

"Surely," thought the Empress, "Shikuyu can conquer Kokai." So she sent
Eiko to the South Pole to beg Shikuyu to take the war against Kokai
into his own hands and conquer him once for all.

The Fire King, on hearing the Empress's request, smiled and said:

"That is an easy matter, to be sure! It was none other than I who came
to your rescue when you and your companion were drowning in the flood
raised by Kokai!"

Eiko was surprised at learning this. He thanked the Fire King for
coming to the rescue in their dire need, and then besought him to
return with him and lead the war and defeat the wicked Kokai.

Shikuyu did as he was asked, and returned with Eiko to the Empress. She
welcomed the Fire King cordially, and at once told him why she had sent
for him--to ask him to be the Generalissimo of her army. His reply was
very reassuring:

"Do not have any anxiety. I will certainly kill Kokai."

Shikuyu then placed himself at the head of thirty thousand soldiers,
and with Hako and Eiko showing him the way, marched to the enemy's
castle. The Fire King knew the secret of Kokai's power, and he now told
all the soldiers to gather a certain kind of shrub. This they burned in
large quantities, and each soldier was then ordered to fill a bag full
of the ashes thus obtained.

Kokai, on the other hand, in his own conceit, thought that Shikuyu was
of inferior power to himself, and he murmured angrily:

"Even though you are the Fire King, I can soon extinguish you."

Then he repeated an incantation, and the water-floods rose and welled
as high as mountains. Shikuyu, not in the least frightened, ordered his
soldiers to scatter the ashes which he had caused them to make. Every
man did as he was bid, and such was the power of the plant that they
had burned, that as soon as the ashes mingled with the water a stiff
mud was formed, and they were all safe from drowning.

Now Kokai the wizard was dismayed when he saw that the Fire King was
superior in wisdom to himself, and his anger was so great that he
rushed headlong towards the enemy.

Eiko rode to meet him, and the two fought together for some time. They
were well matched in a hand-to-hand combat. Hako, who was carefully
watching the fray, saw that Eiko began to tire, and fearing that his
companion would be killed, he took his place.

But Kokai had tired as well, and feeling him self unable to hold out
against Hako, he said artfully:

"You are too magnanimous, thus to fight for your friend and run the
risk of being killed. I will not hurt such a good man."

And he pretended to retreat, turning away the head of his horse. His
intention was to throw Hako off his guard and then to wheel round and
take him by surprise.

But Shikuyu understood the wily wizard, and he spoke at once:

"You are a coward! You cannot deceive me!"

Saying this, the Fire King made a sign to the unwary Hako to attack
him. Kokai now turned upon Shikuyu furiously, but he was tired and
unable to fight well, and he soon received a wound in his shoulder. He
now broke from the fray and tried to escape in earnest.

While the fight between their leaders had been going on the two armies
had stood waiting for the issue. Shikuyu now turned and bade Jokwa's
soldiers charge the enemy's forces. This they did, and routed them with
great slaughter, and the wizard barely escaped with his life.

It was in vain that Kokai called upon the Water Devil to help him, for
Shikuyu knew the counter-charm. The wizard found that the battle was
against him. Mad with pain, for his wound began to trouble him, and
frenzied with disappointment and fear, he dashed his head against the
rocks of Mount Shu and died on the spot.

There was an end of the wicked Kokai, but not of trouble in the Empress
Jokwa's Kingdom, as you shall see. The force with which the wizard fell
against the rocks was so great that the mountain burst, and fire rushed
out from the earth, and one of the pillars upholding the Heavens was
broken so that one corner of the sky dropped till it touched the earth.

Shikuyu, the Fire King, took up the body of the wizard and carried it
to the Empress Jokwa, who rejoiced greatly that her enemy was
vanquished, and her generals victorious. She showered all manner of
gifts and honors upon Shikuyu.

But all this time fire was bursting from the mountain broken by the
fall of Kokai. Whole villages were destroyed, rice-fields burnt up,
river beds filled with the burning lava, and the homeless people were
in great distress. So the Empress left the capital as soon as she had
rewarded the victor Shikuyu, and journeyed with all speed to the scene
of disaster. She found that both Heaven and earth had sustained damage,
and the place was so dark that she had to light her lamp to find out
the extent of the havoc that had been wrought.

Having ascertained this, she set to work at repairs. To this end she
ordered her subjects to collect stones of five colors--blue, yellow,
red, white and black. When she had obtained these, she boiled them with
a kind of porcelain in a large caldron, and the mixture became a
beautiful paste, and with this she knew that she could mend the sky.
Now all was ready.

Summoning the clouds that were sailing ever so high above her head, she
mounted them, and rode heavenwards, carrying in her hands the vase
containing the paste made from the stones of five colors. She soon
reached the corner of the sky that was broken, and applied the paste
and mended it. Having done this, she turned her attention to the broken
pillar, and with the legs of a very large tortoise she mended it. When
this was finished she mounted the clouds and descended to the earth,
hoping to find that all was now right, but to her dismay she found that
it was still quite dark. Neither the sun shone by day nor the moon by
night.

Greatly perplexed, she at last called a meeting of all the wise men of
the Kingdom, and asked their advice as to what she should do in this
dilemma.

Two of the wisest said:

"The roads of Heaven have been damaged by the late accident, and the
Sun and Moon have been obliged to stay at home. Neither the Sun could
make his daily journey nor the Moon her nightly one because of the bad
roads. The Sun and Moon do not yet know that your Majesty has mended
all that was damaged, so we will go and inform them that since you have
repaired them the roads are safe."

The Empress approved of what the wise men suggested, and ordered them
to set out on their mission. But this was not easy, for the Palace of
the Sun and Moon was many, many hundreds of thousands of miles distant
into the East. If they traveled on foot they might never reach the
place, they would die of old age on the road. But Jokwa had recourse to
magic. She gave her two ambassadors wonderful chariots which could
whirl through the air by magic power a thousand miles per minute. They
set out in good spirits, riding above the clouds, and after many days
they reached the country where the Sun and the Moon were living happily
together.

The two ambassadors were granted an interview with their Majesties of
Light and asked them why they had for so many days secluded themselves
from the Universe? Did they not know that by doing so they plunged the
world and all its people into uttermost darkness both day and night?

Replied the Sun and the Moon:

"Surely you know that Mount Shu has suddenly burst forth with fire, and
the roads of Heaven have been greatly damaged! I, the Sun, found it
impossible to make my daily journey along such rough roads--and
certainly the Moon could not issue forth at night! so we both retired
into private life for a time."

Then the two wise men bowed themselves to the ground and said:

"Our Empress Jokwa has already repaired the roads with the wonderful
stones of five colors, so we beg to assure your Majesties that the
roads are just as they were before the eruption took place."

But the Sun and the Moon still hesitated, saying that they had heard
that one of the pillars of Heaven had been broken as well, and they
feared that, even if the roads had been remade, it would still be
dangerous for them to sally forth on their usual journeys.

"You need have no anxiety about the broken pillar," said the two
ambassadors. "Our Empress restored it with the legs of a great
tortoise, and it is as firm as ever it was."

Then the Sun and Moon appeared satisfied, and they both set out to try
the roads. They found that what the Empress's deputies had told them
was correct.

After the examination of the heavenly roads, the Sun and Moon again
gave light to the earth. All the people rejoiced greatly, and peace and
prosperity were secured in China for a long time under the reign of the
wise Empress Jokwa.



THE END.






THE BOX OF ROBBERS


No one intended to leave Martha alone that afternoon, but it
happened that everyone was called away, for one reason or another.
Mrs. McFarland was attending the weekly card party held by the
Women's Anti-Gambling League. Sister Nell's young man had called
quite unexpectedly to take her for a long drive. Papa was at the
office, as usual. It was Mary Ann's day out. As for Emeline, she
certainly should have stayed in the house and looked after the
little girl; but Emeline had a restless nature.

"Would you mind, miss, if I just crossed the alley to speak a word
to Mrs. Carleton's girl?" she asked Martha.

"'Course not," replied the child. "You'd better lock the back door,
though, and take the key, for I shall be upstairs."

"Oh, I'll do that, of course, miss," said the delighted maid, and
ran away to spend the afternoon with her friend, leaving Martha
quite alone in the big house, and locked in, into the bargain.

The little girl read a few pages in her new book, sewed a few
stitches in her embroidery and started to "play visiting" with her
four favorite dolls. Then she remembered that in the attic was a
doll's playhouse that hadn't been used for months, so she decided
she would dust it and put it in order.

Filled with this idea, the girl climbed the winding stairs to the
big room under the roof. It was well lighted by three dormer windows
and was warm and pleasant. Around the walls were rows of boxes and
trunks, piles of old carpeting, pieces of damaged furniture, bundles
of discarded clothing and other odds and ends of more or less value.
Every well-regulated house has an attic of this sort, so I need not
describe it.

The doll's house had been moved, but after a search Martha found it
away over in a corner near the big chimney.

She drew it out and noticed that behind it was a black wooden chest
which Uncle Walter had sent over from Italy years and years
ago--before Martha was born, in fact. Mamma had told her about it
one day; how there was no key to it, because Uncle Walter wished it
to remain unopened until he returned home; and how this wandering
uncle, who was a mighty hunter, had gone into Africa to hunt
elephants and had never been heard from afterwards.

The little girl looked at the chest curiously, now that it had by
accident attracted her attention.

It was quite big--bigger even than mamma's traveling trunk--and was
studded all over with tarnished brassheaded nails. It was heavy,
too, for when Martha tried to lift one end of it she found she could
not stir it a bit. But there was a place in the side of the cover
for a key. She stooped to examine the lock, and saw that it would
take a rather big key to open it.

Then, as you may suspect, the little girl longed to open Uncle
Walter's big box and see what was in it. For we are all curious, and
little girls are just as curious as the rest of us.

"I don't b'lieve Uncle Walter'll ever come back," she thought. "Papa
said once that some elephant must have killed him. If I only had a
key--" She stopped and clapped her little hands together gayly as
she remembered a big basket of keys on the shelf in the linen
closet. They were of all sorts and sizes; perhaps one of them would
unlock the mysterious chest!

She flew down the stairs, found the basket and returned with it to
the attic. Then she sat down before the brass-studded box and began
trying one key after another in the curious old lock. Some were too
large, but most were too small. One would go into the lock but would
not turn; another stuck so fast that she feared for a time that she
would never get it out again. But at last, when the basket was
almost empty, an oddly-shaped, ancient brass key slipped easily into
the lock. With a cry of joy Martha turned the key with both hands;
then she heard a sharp "click," and the next moment the heavy lid
flew up of its own accord!

The little girl leaned over the edge of the chest an instant, and
the sight that met her eyes caused her to start back in amazement.

Slowly and carefully a man unpacked himself from the chest, stepped
out upon the floor, stretched his limbs and then took off his hat
and bowed politely to the astonished child.

He was tall and thin and his face seemed badly tanned or sunburnt.

Then another man emerged from the chest, yawning and rubbing his
eyes like a sleepy schoolboy. He was of middle size and his skin
seemed as badly tanned as that of the first.

While Martha stared open-mouthed at the remarkable sight a third man
crawled from the chest. He had the same complexion as his fellows,
but was short and fat.

All three were dressed in a curious manner. They wore short jackets
of red velvet braided with gold, and knee breeches of sky-blue satin
with silver buttons. Over their stockings were laced wide ribbons of
red and yellow and blue, while their hats had broad brims with high,
peaked crowns, from which fluttered yards of bright-colored ribbons.

They had big gold rings in their ears and rows of knives and pistols
in their belts. Their eyes were black and glittering and they wore
long, fierce mustaches, curling at the ends like a pig's tail.

"My! but you were heavy," exclaimed the fat one, when he had pulled
down his velvet jacket and brushed the dust from his sky-blue
breeches. "And you squeezed me all out of shape."

"It was unavoidable, Luigi," responded the thin man, lightly; "the
lid of the chest pressed me down upon you. Yet I tender you my
regrets."

"As for me," said the middle-sized man, carelessly rolling a
cigarette and lighting it, "you must acknowledge I have been your
nearest friend for years; so do not be disagreeable."

"You mustn't smoke in the attic," said Martha, recovering herself at
sight of the cigarette. "You might set the house on fire."

The middle-sized man, who had not noticed her before, at this speech
turned to the girl and bowed.

"Since a lady requests it," said he, "I shall abandon my cigarette,"
and he threw it on the floor and extinguished it with his foot.

"Who are you?" asked Martha, who until now had been too astonished
to be frightened.

"Permit us to introduce ourselves," said the thin man, flourishing
his hat gracefully. "This is Lugui," the fat man nodded; "and this
is Beni," the middle-sized man bowed; "and I am Victor. We are three
bandits--Italian bandits."

"Bandits!" cried Martha, with a look of horror.

"Exactly. Perhaps in all the world there are not three other bandits
so terrible and fierce as ourselves," said Victor, proudly.

"'Tis so," said the fat man, nodding gravely.

"But it's wicked!" exclaimed Martha.

"Yes, indeed," replied Victor. "We are extremely and tremendously
wicked. Perhaps in all the world you could not find three men more
wicked than those who now stand before you."

"'Tis so," said the fat man, approvingly.

"But you shouldn't be so wicked," said the girl;
"it's--it's--naughty!"

Victor cast down his eyes and blushed.

"Naughty!" gasped Beni, with a horrified look.

"'Tis a hard word," said Luigi, sadly, and buried his face in his
hands.

"I little thought," murmured Victor, in a voice broken by emotion,
"ever to be so reviled--and by a lady! Yet, perhaps you spoke
thoughtlessly. You must consider, miss, that our wickedness has an
excuse. For how are we to be bandits, let me ask, unless we are
wicked?"

Martha was puzzled and shook her head, thoughtfully. Then she
remembered something.

"You can't remain bandits any longer," said she, "because you are
now in America."

"America!" cried the three, together.

"Certainly. You are on Prairie avenue, in Chicago. Uncle Walter sent
you here from Italy in this chest."

The bandits seemed greatly bewildered by this announcement. Lugui
sat down on an old chair with a broken rocker and wiped his forehead
with a yellow silk handkerchief. Beni and Victor fell back upon the
chest and looked at her with pale faces and staring eyes.

When he had somewhat recovered himself Victor spoke.

"Your Uncle Walter has greatly wronged us," he said, reproachfully.
"He has taken us from our beloved Italy, where bandits are highly
respected, and brought us to a strange country where we shall not
know whom to rob or how much to ask for a ransom."

"'Tis so!" said the fat man, slapping his leg sharply.

"And we had won such fine reputations in Italy!" said Beni,
regretfully.

"Perhaps Uncle Walter wanted to reform you," suggested Martha.

"Are there, then, no bandits in Chicago?" asked Victor.

"Well," replied the girl, blushing in her turn, "we do not call them
bandits."

"Then what shall we do for a living?" inquired Beni, despairingly.

"A great deal can be done in a big American city," said the child.
"My father is a lawyer" (the bandits shuddered), "and my mother's
cousin is a police inspector."

"Ah," said Victor, "that is a good employment. The police need to be
inspected, especially in Italy."

"Everywhere!" added Beni.

"Then you could do other things," continued Martha, encouragingly.
"You could be motor men on trolley cars, or clerks in a department
store. Some people even become aldermen to earn a living."

The bandits shook their heads sadly.

"We are not fitted for such work," said Victor. "Our business is to
rob."

Martha tried to think.

"It is rather hard to get positions in the gas office," she said,
"but you might become politicians."

"No!" cried Beni, with sudden fierceness; "we must not abandon our
high calling. Bandits we have always been, and bandits we must
remain!"

"'Tis so!" agreed the fat man.

"Even in Chicago there must be people to rob," remarked Victor, with
cheerfulness.

Martha was distressed.

"I think they have all been robbed," she objected.

"Then we can rob the robbers, for we have experience and talent
beyond the ordinary," said Beni.

"Oh, dear; oh, dear!" moaned the girl; "why did Uncle Walter ever
send you here in this chest?"

The bandits became interested.

"That is what we should like to know," declared Victor, eagerly.

"But no one will ever know, for Uncle Walter was lost while hunting
elephants in Africa," she continued, with conviction.

"Then we must accept our fate and rob to the best of our ability,"
said Victor. "So long as we are faithful to our beloved profession
we need not be ashamed."

"'Tis so!" cried the fat man.

"Brothers! we will begin now. Let us rob the house we are in."

"Good!" shouted the others and sprang to their feet.

Beni turned threateningly upon the child.

"Remain here!" he commanded. "If you stir one step your blood will
be on your own head!" Then he added, in a gentler voice: "Don't be
afraid; that's the way all bandits talk to their captives. But of
course we wouldn't hurt a young lady under any circumstances."

"Of course not," said Victor.

The fat man drew a big knife from his belt and flourished it about
his head.

"S'blood!" he ejaculated, fiercely.

"S'bananas!" cried Beni, in a terrible voice.

"Confusion to our foes!" hissed Victor.

And then the three bent themselves nearly double and crept
stealthily down the stairway with cocked pistols in their hands and
glittering knives between their teeth, leaving Martha trembling with
fear and too horrified to even cry for help.

How long she remained alone in the attic she never knew, but finally
she heard the catlike tread of the returning bandits and saw them
coming up the stairs in single file.

All bore heavy loads of plunder in their arms, and Lugui was
balancing a mince pie on the top of a pile of her mother's best
evening dresses. Victor came next with an armful of bric-a-brac, a
brass candelabra and the parlor clock. Beni had the family Bible,
the basket of silverware from the sideboard, a copper kettle and
papa's fur overcoat.

"Oh, joy!" said Victor, putting down his load; "it is pleasant to
rob once more."

"Oh, ecstacy!" said Beni; but he let the kettle drop on his toe and
immediately began dancing around in anguish, while he muttered queer
words in the Italian language.

"We have much wealth," continued Victor, holding the mince pie while
Lugui added his spoils to the heap; "and all from one house! This
America must be a rich place."

With a dagger he then cut himself a piece of the pie and handed the
remainder to his comrades. Whereupon all three sat upon the floor
and consumed the pie while Martha looked on sadly.

"We should have a cave," remarked Beni; "for we must store our
plunder in a safe place. Can you tell us of a secret cave?" he asked
Martha.

"There's a Mammoth cave," she answered, "but it's in Kentucky. You
would be obliged to ride on the cars a long time to get there."

The three bandits looked thoughtful and munched their pie silently,
but the next moment they were startled by the ringing of the
electric doorbell, which was heard plainly even in the remote attic.

"What's that?" demanded Victor, in a hoarse voice, as the three
scrambled to their feet with drawn daggers.

Martha ran to the window and saw it was only the postman, who had
dropped a letter in the box and gone away again. But the incident
gave her an idea of how to get rid of her troublesome bandits, so
she began wringing her hands as if in great distress and cried out:

"It's the police!"

The robbers looked at one another with genuine alarm, and Lugui
asked, tremblingly:

"Are there many of them?"

"A hundred and twelve!" exclaimed Martha, after pretending to count
them.

"Then we are lost!" declared Beni; "for we could never fight so many
and live."

"Are they armed?" inquired Victor, who was shivering as if cold.

"Oh, yes," said she. "They have guns and swords and pistols and axes
and--and--"

"And what?" demanded Lugui.

"And cannons!"

The three wicked ones groaned aloud and Beni said, in a hollow
voice:

"I hope they will kill us quickly and not put us to the torture. I
have been told these Americans are painted Indians, who are
bloodthirsty and terrible."

"'Tis so!" gasped the fat man, with a shudder.

Suddenly Martha turned from the window.

"You are my friends, are you not?" she asked.

"We are devoted!" answered Victor.

"We adore you!" cried Beni.

"We would die for you!" added Lugui, thinking he was about to die
anyway.

"Then I will save you," said the girl.

"How?" asked the three, with one voice.

"Get back into the chest," she said. "I will then close the lid, so
they will be unable to find you."

They looked around the room in a dazed and irresolute way, but she
exclaimed:

"You must be quick! They will soon be here to arrest you."

Then Lugui sprang into the chest and lay fat upon the bottom. Beni
tumbled in next and packed himself in the back side. Victor followed
after pausing to kiss her hand to the girl in a graceful manner.

Then Martha ran up to press down the lid, but could not make it
catch.

"You must squeeze down," she said to them.

Lugui groaned.

"I am doing my best, miss," said Victor, who was nearest the top;
"but although we fitted in very nicely before, the chest now seems
rather small for us."

"'Tis so!" came the muffled voice of the fat man from the bottom.

"I know what takes up the room," said Beni.

"What?" inquired Victor, anxiously.

"The pie," returned Beni.

"'Tis so!" came from the bottom, in faint accents.

Then Martha sat upon the lid and pressed it down with all her
weight. To her great delight the lock caught, and, springing down,
she exerted all her strength and turned the key.

    

This story should teach us not to interfere in matters that do not
concern us. For had Martha refrained from opening Uncle Walter's
mysterious chest she would not have been obliged to carry downstairs
all the plunder the robbers had brought into the attic.




THE GLASS DOG


An accomplished wizard once lived on the top floor of a tenement
house and passed his time in thoughtful study and studious thought.
What he didn't know about wizardry was hardly worth knowing, for he
possessed all the books and recipes of all the wizards who had lived
before him; and, moreover, he had invented several wizardments
himself.

This admirable person would have been completely happy but for the
numerous interruptions to his studies caused by folk who came to
consult him about their troubles (in which he was not interested),
and by the loud knocks of the iceman, the milkman, the baker's boy,
the laundryman and the peanut woman. He never dealt with any of
these people; but they rapped at his door every day to see him about
this or that or to try to sell him their wares. Just when he was
most deeply interested in his books or engaged in watching the
bubbling of a cauldron there would come a knock at his door. And
after sending the intruder away he always found he had lost his
train of thought or ruined his compound.

At length these interruptions aroused his anger, and he decided he
must have a dog to keep people away from his door. He didn't know
where to find a dog, but in the next room lived a poor glass-blower
with whom he had a slight acquaintance; so he went into the man's
apartment and asked:

"Where can I find a dog?"

"What sort of a dog?" inquired the glass-blower.

"A good dog. One that will bark at people and drive them away. One
that will be no trouble to keep and won't expect to be fed. One that
has no fleas and is neat in his habits. One that will obey me when I
speak to him. In short, a good dog," said the wizard.

"Such a dog is hard to find," returned the glass-blower, who was
busy making a blue glass flower pot with a pink glass rosebush in
it, having green glass leaves and yellow glass roses.

The wizard watched him thoughtfully.

"Why cannot you blow me a dog out of glass?" he asked, presently.

"I can," declared the glass-blower; "but it would not bark at
people, you know."

"Oh, I'll fix that easily enough," replied the other. "If I could
not make a glass dog bark I would be a mighty poor wizard."

"Very well; if you can use a glass dog I'll be pleased to blow one
for you. Only, you must pay for my work."

"Certainly," agreed the wizard. "But I have none of that horrid
stuff you call money. You must take some of my wares in exchange."

The glass-blower considered the matter for a moment.

"Could you give me something to cure my rheumatism?" he asked.

"Oh, yes; easily."

"Then it's a bargain. I'll start the dog at once. What color of
glass shall I use?"

"Pink is a pretty color," said the wizard, "and it's unusual for a
dog, isn't it?"

"Very," answered the glass-blower; "but it shall be pink."

So the wizard went back to his studies and the glass-blower began to
make the dog.

Next morning he entered the wizard's room with the glass dog under
his arm and set it carefully upon the table. It was a beautiful pink
in color, with a fine coat of spun glass, and about its neck was
twisted a blue glass ribbon. Its eyes were specks of black glass and
sparkled intelligently, as do many of the glass eyes worn by men.

The wizard expressed himself pleased with the glass-blower's skill
and at once handed him a small vial.

"This will cure your rheumatism," he said.

"But the vial is empty!" protested the glass-blower.

"Oh, no; there is one drop of liquid in it," was the wizard's reply.

"Will one drop cure my rheumatism?" inquired the glass-blower, in
wonder.

"Most certainly. That is a marvelous remedy. The one drop contained
in the vial will cure instantly any kind of disease ever known to
humanity. Therefore it is especially good for rheumatism. But guard
it well, for it is the only drop of its kind in the world, and I've
forgotten the recipe."

"Thank you," said the glass-blower, and went back to his room.

Then the wizard cast a wizzy spell and mumbled several very learned
words in the wizardese language over the glass dog. Whereupon the
little animal first wagged its tail from side to side, then winked
his left eye knowingly, and at last began barking in a most
frightful manner--that is, when you stop to consider the noise came
from a pink glass dog. There is something almost astonishing in the
magic arts of wizards; unless, of course, you know how to do the
things yourself, when you are not expected to be surprised at them.

The wizard was as delighted as a school teacher at the success of
his spell, although he was not astonished. Immediately he placed the
dog outside his door, where it would bark at anyone who dared knock
and so disturb the studies of its master.

The glass-blower, on returning to his room, decided not to use the
one drop of wizard cure-all just then.

"My rheumatism is better to-day," he reflected, "and I will be wise
to save the medicine for a time when I am very ill, when it will be
of more service to me."

So he placed the vial in his cupboard and went to work blowing more
roses out of glass. Presently he happened to think the medicine
might not keep, so he started to ask the wizard about it. But when
he reached the door the glass dog barked so fiercely that he dared
not knock, and returned in great haste to his own room. Indeed, the
poor man was quite upset at so unfriendly a reception from the dog
he had himself so carefully and skillfully made.

The next morning, as he read his newspaper, he noticed an article
stating that the beautiful Miss Mydas, the richest young lady in
town, was very ill, and the doctors had given up hope of her
recovery.

The glass-blower, although miserably poor, hard-working and homely
of feature, was a man of ideas. He suddenly recollected his precious
medicine, and determined to use it to better advantage than
relieving his own ills. He dressed himself in his best clothes,
brushed his hair and combed his whiskers, washed his hands and tied
his necktie, blackened his hoes and sponged his vest, and then put
the vial of magic cure-all in his pocket. Next he locked his door,
went downstairs and walked through the streets to the grand mansion
where the wealthy Miss Mydas resided.

The butler opened the door and said:

"No soap, no chromos, no vegetables, no hair oil, no books, no
baking powder. My young lady is dying and we're well supplied for
the funeral."

The glass-blower was grieved at being taken for a peddler.

"My friend," he began, proudly; but the butler interrupted him,
saying:

"No tombstones, either; there's a family graveyard and the
monument's built."

"The graveyard won't be needed if you will permit me to speak," said
the glass-blower.

"No doctors, sir; they've given up my young lady, and she's given up
the doctors," continued the butler, calmly.

"I'm no doctor," returned the glass-blower.

"Nor are the others. But what is your errand?"

"I called to cure your young lady by means of a magical compound."

"Step in, please, and take a seat in the hall. I'll speak to the
housekeeper," said the butler, more politely.

So he spoke to the housekeeper and the housekeeper mentioned the
matter to the steward and the steward consulted the chef and the
chef kissed the lady's maid and sent her to see the stranger. Thus
are the very wealthy hedged around with ceremony, even when dying.

When the lady's maid heard from the glass-blower that he had a
medicine which would cure her mistress, she said:

"I'm glad you came."

"But," said he, "if I restore your mistress to health she must marry
me."

"I'll make inquiries and see if she's willing," answered the maid,
and went at once to consult Miss Mydas.

The young lady did not hesitate an instant.

"I'd marry any old thing rather than die!" she cried. "Bring him
here at once!"

So the glass-blower came, poured the magic drop into a little water,
gave it to the patient, and the next minute Miss Mydas was as well
as she had ever been in her life.

"Dear me!" she exclaimed; "I've an engagement at the Fritters'
reception to-night. Bring my pearl-colored silk, Marie, and I will
begin my toilet at once. And don't forget to cancel the order for
the funeral flowers and your mourning gown."

"But, Miss Mydas," remonstrated the glass-blower, who stood by, "you
promised to marry me if I cured you."

"I know," said the young lady, "but we must have time to make proper
announcement in the society papers and have the wedding cards
engraved. Call to-morrow and we'll talk it over."

The glass-blower had not impressed her favorably as a husband, and
she was glad to find an excuse for getting rid of him for a time.
And she did not want to miss the Fritters' reception.

Yet the man went home filled with joy; for he thought his stratagem
had succeeded and he was about to marry a rich wife who would keep
him in luxury forever afterward.

The first thing he did on reaching his room was to smash his
glass-blowing tools and throw them out of the window.

He then sat down to figure out ways of spending his wife's money.

The following day he called upon Miss Mydas, who was reading a novel
and eating chocolate creams as happily as if she had never been ill
in her life.

"Where did you get the magic compound that cured me?" she asked.

"From a learned wizard," said he; and then, thinking it would
interest her, he told how he had made the glass dog for the wizard,
and how it barked and kept everybody from bothering him.

"How delightful!" she said. "I've always wanted a glass dog that
could bark."

"But there is only one in the world," he answered, "and it belongs
to the wizard."

"You must buy it for me," said the lady.

"The wizard cares nothing for money," replied the glass-blower.

"Then you must steal it for me," she retorted. "I can never live
happily another day unless I have a glass dog that can bark."

The glass-blower was much distressed at this, but said he would see
what he could do. For a man should always try to please his wife,
and Miss Mydas has promised to marry him within a week.

On his way home he purchased a heavy sack, and when he passed the
wizard's door and the pink glass dog ran out to bark at him he threw
the sack over the dog, tied the opening with a piece of twine, and
carried him away to his own room.

The next day he sent the sack by a messenger boy to Miss Mydas, with
his compliments, and later in the afternoon he called upon her in
person, feeling quite sure he would be received with gratitude for
stealing the dog she so greatly desired.

But when he came to the door and the butler opened it, what was his
amazement to see the glass dog rush out and begin barking at him
furiously.

"Call off your dog," he shouted, in terror.

"I can't, sir," answered the butler. "My young lady has ordered the
glass dog to bark whenever you call here. You'd better look out,
sir," he added, "for if it bites you, you may have glassophobia!"

This so frightened the poor glass-blower that he went away
hurriedly. But he stopped at a drug store and put his last dime in
the telephone box so he could talk to Miss Mydas without being
bitten by the dog.

"Give me Pelf 6742!" he called.

"Hello! What is it?" said a voice.

"I want to speak with Miss Mydas," said the glass-blower.

Presently a sweet voice said: "This is Miss Mydas. What is it?"

"Why have you treated me so cruelly and set the glass dog on me?"
asked the poor fellow.

"Well, to tell the truth," said the lady, "I don't like your looks.
Your cheeks are pale and baggy, your hair is coarse and long, your
eyes are small and red, your hands are big and rough, and you are
bow-legged."

"But I can't help my looks!" pleaded the glass-blower; "and you
really promised to marry me."

"If you were better looking I'd keep my promise," she returned. "But
under the circumstances you are no fit mate for me, and unless you
keep away from my mansion I shall set my glass dog on you!" Then she
dropped the 'phone and would have nothing more to say.

The miserable glass-blower went home with a heart bursting with
disappointment and began tying a rope to the bedpost by which to
hang himself.

Some one knocked at the door, and, upon opening it, he saw the
wizard.

"I've lost my dog," he announced.

"Have you, indeed?" replied the glass-blower tying a knot in the
rope.

"Yes; some one has stolen him."

"That's too bad," declared the glass-blower, indifferently.

"You must make me another," said the wizard.

"But I cannot; I've thrown away my tools."

"Then what shall I do?" asked the wizard.

"I do not know, unless you offer a reward for the dog."

"But I have no money," said the wizard.

"Offer some of your compounds, then," suggested the glass-blower,
who was making a noose in the rope for his head to go through.

"The only thing I can spare," replied the wizard, thoughtfully, "is
a Beauty Powder."

"What!" cried the glass-blower, throwing down the rope, "have you
really such a thing?"

"Yes, indeed. Whoever takes the powder will become the most
beautiful person in the world."

"If you will offer that as a reward," said the glass-blower,
eagerly, "I'll try to find the dog for you, for above everything
else I long to be beautiful."

"But I warn you the beauty will only be skin deep," said the wizard.

"That's all right," replied the happy glass-blower; "when I lose my
skin I shan't care to remain beautiful."

"Then tell me where to find my dog and you shall have the powder,"
promised the wizard.

So the glass-blower went out and pretended to search, and by-and-by
he returned and said:

"I've discovered the dog. You will find him in the mansion of Miss
Mydas."

The wizard went at once to see if this were true, and, sure enough,
the glass dog ran out and began barking at him. Then the wizard
spread out his hands and chanted a magic spell which sent the dog
fast asleep, when he picked him up and carried him to his own room
on the top floor of the tenement house.

Afterward he carried the Beauty Powder to the glass-blower as a
reward, and the fellow immediately swallowed it and became the most
beautiful man in the world.

The next time he called upon Miss Mydas there was no dog to bark at
him, and when the young lady saw him she fell in love with his
beauty at once.

"If only you were a count or a prince," she sighed, "I'd willingly
marry you."

"But I am a prince," he answered; "the Prince of Dogblowers."

"Ah!" said she; "then if you are willing to accept an allowance of
four dollars a week I'll order the wedding cards engraved."

The man hesitated, but when he thought of the rope hanging from his
bedpost he consented to the terms.

So they were married, and the bride was very jealous of her
husband's beauty and led him a dog's life. So he managed to get into
debt and made her miserable in turn.

    

As for the glass dog, the wizard set him barking again by means of
his wizardness and put him outside his door. I suppose he is there
yet, and am rather sorry, for I should like to consult the wizard
about the moral to this story.




THE QUEEN OF QUOK


A king once died, as kings are apt to do, being as liable to
shortness of breath as other mortals.

It was high time this king abandoned his earth life, for he had
lived in a sadly extravagant manner, and his subjects could spare
him without the slightest inconvenience.

His father had left him a full treasury, both money and jewels being
in abundance. But the foolish king just deceased had squandered
every penny in riotous living. He had then taxed his subjects until
most of them became paupers, and this money vanished in more riotous
living. Next he sold all the grand old furniture in the palace; all
the silver and gold plate and bric-a-brac; all the rich carpets and
furnishings and even his own kingly wardrobe, reserving only a
soiled and moth-eaten ermine robe to fold over his threadbare
raiment. And he spent the money in further riotous living.

Don't ask me to explain what riotous living is. I only know, from
hearsay, that it is an excellent way to get rid of money. And so
this spendthrift king found it.

He now picked all the magnificent jewels from this kingly crown and
from the round ball on the top of his scepter, and sold them and
spent the money. Riotous living, of course. But at last he was at
the end of his resources. He couldn't sell the crown itself, because
no one but the king had the right to wear it. Neither could he sell
the royal palace, because only the king had the right to live there.

So, finally, he found himself reduced to a bare palace, containing
only a big mahogany bedstead that he slept in, a small stool on
which he sat to pull off his shoes and the moth-eaten ermine robe.

In this straight he was reduced to the necessity of borrowing an
occasional dime from his chief counselor, with which to buy a ham
sandwich. And the chief counselor hadn't many dimes. One who
counseled his king so foolishly was likely to ruin his own prospects
as well.

So the king, having nothing more to live for, died suddenly and left
a ten-year-old son to inherit the dismantled kingdom, the moth-eaten
robe and the jewel-stripped crown.

No one envied the child, who had scarcely been thought of until he
became king himself. Then he was recognized as a personage of some
importance, and the politicians and hangers-on, headed by the chief
counselor of the kingdom, held a meeting to determine what could be
done for him.

These folk had helped the old king to live riotously while his money
lasted, and now they were poor and too proud to work. So they tried
to think of a plan that would bring more money into the little
king's treasury, where it would be handy for them to help
themselves.

After the meeting was over the chief counselor came to the young
king, who was playing peg-top in the courtyard, and said:

"Your majesty, we have thought of a way to restore your kingdom to
its former power and magnificence."

"All right," replied his majesty, carelessly. "How will you do it?"

"By marrying you to a lady of great wealth," replied the counselor.

"Marrying me!" cried the king. "Why, I am only ten years old!"

"I know; it is to be regretted. But your majesty will grow older,
and the affairs of the kingdom demand that you marry a wife."

"Can't I marry a mother, instead?" asked the poor little king, who
had lost his mother when a baby.

"Certainly not," declared the counselor. "To marry a mother would be
illegal; to marry a wife is right and proper."

"Can't you marry her yourself?" inquired his majesty, aiming his
peg-top at the chief counselor's toe, and laughing to see how he
jumped to escape it.

"Let me explain," said the other. "You haven't a penny in the world,
but you have a kingdom. There are many rich women who would be glad
to give their wealth in exchange for a queen's coronet--even if the
king is but a child. So we have decided to advertise that the one
who bids the highest shall become the queen of Quok."

"If I must marry at all," said the king, after a moment's thought,
"I prefer to marry Nyana, the armorer's daughter."

"She is too poor," replied the counselor.

"Her teeth are pearls, her eyes are amethysts, and her hair is
gold," declared the little king.

"True, your majesty. But consider that your wife's wealth must be
used. How would Nyana look after you have pulled her teeth of
pearls, plucked out her amethyst eyes and shaved her golden head?"

The boy shuddered.

"Have your own way," he said, despairingly. "Only let the lady be as
dainty as possible and a good playfellow."

"We shall do our best," returned the chief counselor, and went away
to advertise throughout the neighboring kingdoms for a wife for the
boy king of Quok.

There were so many applicants for the privilege of marrying the
little king that it was decided to put him up at auction, in order
that the largest possible sum of money should be brought into the
kingdom. So, on the day appointed, the ladies gathered at the palace
from all the surrounding kingdoms--from Bilkon, Mulgravia, Junkum
and even as far away as the republic of Macvelt.

The chief counselor came to the palace early in the morning and had
the king's face washed and his hair combed; and then he padded the
inside of the crown with old newspapers to make it small enough to
fit his majesty's head. It was a sorry looking crown, having many
big and little holes in it where the jewels had once been; and it
had been neglected and knocked around until it was quite battered
and tarnished. Yet, as the counselor said, it was the king's crown,
and it was quite proper he should wear it on the solemn occasion of
his auction.

Like all boys, be they kings or paupers, his majesty had torn and
soiled his one suit of clothes, so that they were hardly
presentable; and there was no money to buy new ones. Therefore the
counselor wound the old ermine robe around the king and sat him upon
the stool in the middle of the otherwise empty audience chamber.

And around him stood all the courtiers and politicians and
hangers-on of the kingdom, consisting of such people as were too
proud or lazy to work for a living. There was a great number of
them, you may be sure, and they made an imposing appearance.

Then the doors of the audience chamber were thrown open, and the
wealthy ladies who aspired to being queen of Quok came trooping in.
The king looked them over with much anxiety, and decided they were
each and all old enough to be his grandmother, and ugly enough to
scare away the crows from the royal cornfields. After which he lost
interest in them.

But the rich ladies never looked at the poor little king squatting
upon his stool. They gathered at once about the chief counselor, who
acted as auctioneer.

"How much am I offered for the coronet of the queen of Quok?" asked
the counselor, in a loud voice.

"Where is the coronet?" inquired a fussy old lady who had just
buried her ninth husband and was worth several millions.

"There isn't any coronet at present," explained the chief counselor,
"but whoever bids highest will have the right to wear one, and she
can then buy it."

"Oh," said the fussy old lady, "I see." Then she added: "I'll bid
fourteen dollars."

"Fourteen thousand dollars!" cried a sour-looking woman who was thin
and tall and had wrinkles all over her skin--"like a frosted apple,"
the king thought.

The bidding now became fast and furious, and the poverty-stricken
courtiers brightened up as the sum began to mount into the millions.

"He'll bring us a very pretty fortune, after all," whispered one to
his comrade, "and then we shall have the pleasure of helping him
spend it."

The king began to be anxious. All the women who looked at all
kind-hearted or pleasant had stopped bidding for lack of money, and
the slender old dame with the wrinkles seemed determined to get the
coronet at any price, and with it the boy husband. This ancient
creature finally became so excited that her wig got crosswise of her
head and her false teeth kept slipping out, which horrified the
little king greatly; but she would not give up.

At last the chief counselor ended the auction by crying out:

"Sold to Mary Ann Brodjinsky de la Porkus for three million, nine
hundred thousand, six hundred and twenty-four dollars and sixteen
cents!" And the sour-looking old woman paid the money in cash and on
the spot, which proves this is a fairy story.

The king was so disturbed at the thought that he must marry this
hideous creature that he began to wail and weep; whereupon the woman
boxed his ears soundly. But the counselor reproved her for punishing
her future husband in public, saying:

"You are not married yet. Wait until to-morrow, after the wedding
takes place. Then you can abuse him as much as you wish. But at
present we prefer to have people think this is a love match."

The poor king slept but little that night, so filled was he with
terror of his future wife. Nor could he get the idea out of his head
that he preferred to marry the armorer's daughter, who was about his
own age. He tossed and tumbled around upon his hard bed until the
moonlight came in at the window and lay like a great white sheet
upon the bare floor. Finally, in turning over for the hundredth
time, his hand struck against a secret spring in the headboard of
the big mahogany bedstead, and at once, with a sharp click, a panel
flew open.

The noise caused the king to look up, and, seeing the open panel, he
stood upon tiptoe, and, reaching within, drew out a folded paper. It
had several leaves fastened together like a book, and upon the first
page was written:

  "When the king is in trouble
  This leaf he must double
  And set it on fire
  To obtain his desire."

This was not very good poetry, but when the king had spelled it out
in the moonlight he was filled with joy.

"There's no doubt about my being in trouble," he exclaimed; "so I'll
burn it at once, and see what happens."

He tore off the leaf and put the rest of the book in its secret
hiding place. Then, folding the paper double, he placed it on the
top of his stool, lighted a match and set fire to it.

It made a horrid smudge for so small a paper, and the king sat on
the edge of the bed and watched it eagerly.

When the smoke cleared away he was surprised to see, sitting upon
the stool, a round little man, who, with folded arms and crossed
legs, sat calmly facing the king and smoking a black briarwood pipe.

"Well, here I am," said he.

"So I see," replied the little king. "But how did you get here?"

"Didn't you burn the paper?" demanded the round man, by way of
answer.

"Yes, I did," acknowledged the king.

"Then you are in trouble, and I've come to help you out of it. I'm
the Slave of the Royal Bedstead."

"Oh!" said the king. "I didn't know there was one."

"Neither did your father, or he would not have been so foolish as to
sell everything he had for money. By the way, it's lucky for you he
did not sell this bedstead. Now, then, what do you want?"

"I'm not sure what I want," replied the king; "but I know what I
don't want, and that is the old woman who is going to marry me."

"That's easy enough," said the Slave of the Royal Bedstead. "All you
need do is to return her the money she paid the chief counselor and
declare the match off. Don't be afraid. You are the king, and your
word is law."

"To be sure," said the majesty. "But I am in great need of money.
How am I going to live if the chief counselor returns to Mary Ann
Brodjinski her millions?"

"Phoo! that's easy enough," again answered the man, and, putting his
hand in his pocket, he drew out and tossed to the king an
old-fashioned leather purse. "Keep that with you," said he, "and you
will always be rich, for you can take out of the purse as many
twenty-five-cent silver pieces as you wish, one at a time. No matter
how often you take one out, another will instantly appear in its
place within the purse."

"Thank you," said the king, gratefully. "You have rendered me a rare
favor; for now I shall have money for all my needs and will not be
obliged to marry anyone. Thank you a thousand times!"

"Don't mention it," answered the other, puffing his pipe slowly and
watching the smoke curl into the moonlight. "Such things are easy to
me. Is that all you want?"

"All I can think of just now," returned the king.

"Then, please close that secret panel in the bedstead," said the
man; "the other leaves of the book may be of use to you some time."

The boy stood upon the bed as before and, reaching up, closed the
opening so that no one else could discover it. Then he turned to
face his visitor, but the Slave of the Royal Bedstead had
disappeared.

"I expected that," said his majesty; "yet I am sorry he did not wait
to say good-by."

With a lightened heart and a sense of great relief the boy king
placed the leathern purse underneath his pillow, and climbing into
bed again slept soundly until morning.

When the sun rose his majesty rose also, refreshed and comforted,
and the first thing he did was to send for the chief counselor.

That mighty personage arrived looking glum and unhappy, but the boy
was too full of his own good fortune to notice it. Said he:

"I have decided not to marry anyone, for I have just come into a
fortune of my own. Therefore I command you return to that old woman
the money she has paid you for the right to wear the coronet of the
queen of Quok. And make public declaration that the wedding will not
take place."

Hearing this the counselor began to tremble, for he saw the young
king had decided to reign in earnest; and he looked so guilty that
his majesty inquired:

"Well! what is the matter now?"

"Sire," replied the wretch, in a shaking voice, "I cannot return the
woman her money, for I have lost it!"

"Lost it!" cried the king, in mingled astonishment and anger.

"Even so, your majesty. On my way home from the auction last night I
stopped at the drug store to get some potash lozenges for my throat,
which was dry and hoarse with so much loud talking; and your majesty
will admit it was through my efforts the woman was induced to pay so
great a price. Well, going into the drug store I carelessly left the
package of money lying on the seat of my carriage, and when I came
out again it was gone. Nor was the thief anywhere to be seen."

"Did you call the police?" asked the king.

"Yes, I called; but they were all on the next block, and although
they have promised to search for the robber I have little hope they
will ever find him."

The king sighed.

"What shall we do now?" he asked.

"I fear you must marry Mary Ann Brodjinski," answered the chief
counselor; "unless, indeed, you order the executioner to cut her
head off."

"That would be wrong," declared the king. "The woman must not be
harmed. And it is just that we return her money, for I will not
marry her under any circumstances."

"Is that private fortune you mentioned large enough to repay her?"
asked the counselor.

"Why, yes," said the king, thoughtfully, "but it will take some time
to do it, and that shall be your task. Call the woman here."

The counselor went in search of Mary Ann, who, when she heard she
was not to become a queen, but would receive her money back, flew
into a violent passion and boxed the chief counselor's ears so
viciously that they stung for nearly an hour. But she followed him
into the king's audience chamber, where she demanded her money in a
loud voice, claiming as well the interest due upon it over night.

"The counselor has lost your money," said the boy king, "but he
shall pay you every penny out of my own private purse. I fear,
however, you will be obliged to take it in small change."

"That will not matter," she said, scowling upon the counselor as if
she longed to reach his ears again; "I don't care how small the
change is so long as I get every penny that belongs to me, and the
interest. Where is it?"

"Here," answered the king, handing the counselor the leathern purse.
"It is all in silver quarters, and they must be taken from the purse
one at a time; but there will be plenty to pay your demands, and to
spare."

So, there being no chairs, the counselor sat down upon the floor in
one corner and began counting out silver twenty-five-cent pieces
from the purse, one by one. And the old woman sat upon the floor
opposite him and took each piece of money from his hand.

It was a large sum: three million, nine hundred thousand, six
hundred and twenty-four dollars and sixteen cents. And it takes four
times as many twenty-five-cent pieces as it would dollars to make up
the amount.

The king left them sitting there and went to school, and often
thereafter he came to the counselor and interrupted him long enough
to get from the purse what money he needed to reign in a proper and
dignified manner. This somewhat delayed the counting, but as it was
a long job, anyway, that did not matter much.

The king grew to manhood and married the pretty daughter of the
armorer, and they now have two lovely children of their own. Once in
awhile they go into the big audience chamber of the palace and let
the little ones watch the aged, hoary-headed counselor count out
silver twenty-five-cent pieces to a withered old woman, who watched
his every movement to see that he does not cheat her.

It is a big sum, three million, nine hundred thousand, six hundred
and twenty-four dollars and sixteen cents in twenty-five-cent
pieces.

But this is how the counselor was punished for being so careless
with the woman's money. And this is how Mary Ann Brodjinski de la
Porkus was also punished for wishing to marry a ten-year-old king in
order that she might wear the coronet of the queen of Quok.




THE GIRL WHO OWNED A BEAR


Mamma had gone down-town to shop. She had asked Nora to look after
Jane Gladys, and Nora promised she would. But it was her afternoon
for polishing the silver, so she stayed in the pantry and left Jane
Gladys to amuse herself alone in the big sitting-room upstairs.

The little girl did not mind being alone, for she was working on her
first piece of embroidery--a sofa pillow for papa's birthday
present. So she crept into the big bay window and curled herself up
on the broad sill while she bent her brown head over her work.

Soon the door opened and closed again, quietly. Jane Gladys thought
it was Nora, so she didn't look up until she had taken a couple more
stitches on a forget-me-not. Then she raised her eyes and was
astonished to find a strange man in the middle of the room, who
regarded her earnestly.

He was short and fat, and seemed to be breathing heavily from his
climb up the stairs. He held a work silk hat in one hand and
underneath his other elbow was tucked a good-sized book. He was
dressed in a black suit that looked old and rather shabby, and his
head was bald upon the top.

"Excuse me," he said, while the child gazed at him in solemn
surprise. "Are you Jane Gladys Brown?"

"Yes, sir," she answered.

"Very good; very good, indeed!" he remarked, with a queer sort of
smile. "I've had quite a hunt to find you, but I've succeeded at
last."

"How did you get in?" inquired Jane Gladys, with a growing distrust
of her visitor.

"That is a secret," he said, mysteriously.

This was enough to put the girl on her guard. She looked at the man
and the man looked at her, and both looks were grave and somewhat
anxious.

"What do you want?" she asked, straightening herself up with a
dignified air.

"Ah!--now we are coming to business," said the man, briskly. "I'm
going to be quite frank with you. To begin with, your father has
abused me in a most ungentlemanly manner."

Jane Gladys got off the window sill and pointed her small finger at
the door.

"Leave this room 'meejitly!" she cried, her voice trembling with
indignation. "My papa is the best man in the world. He never 'bused
anybody!"

"Allow me to explain, please," said the visitor, without paying any
attention to her request to go away. "Your father may be very kind
to you, for you are his little girl, you know. But when he's
down-town in his office he's inclined to be rather severe,
especially on book agents. Now, I called on him the other day and
asked him to buy the 'Complete Works of Peter Smith,' and what do
you suppose he did?"

She said nothing.

"Why," continued the man, with growing excitement, "he ordered me
from his office, and had me put out of the building by the janitor!
What do you think of such treatment as that from the 'best papa in
the world,' eh?"

"I think he was quite right," said Jane Gladys.

"Oh, you do? Well," said the man, "I resolved to be revenged for the
insult. So, as your father is big and strong and a dangerous man, I
have decided to be revenged upon his little girl."

Jane Gladys shivered.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I'm going to present you with this book," he answered, taking it
from under his arm. Then he sat down on the edge of a chair, placed
his hat on the rug and drew a fountain pen from his vest pocket.

"I'll write your name in it," said he. "How do you spell Gladys?"

"G-l-a-d-y-s," she replied.

"Thank you. Now this," he continued, rising and handing her the book
with a bow, "is my revenge for your father's treatment of me.
Perhaps he'll be sorry he didn't buy the 'Complete Works of Peter
Smith.' Good-by, my dear."

He walked to the door, gave her another bow, and left the room, and
Jane Gladys could see that he was laughing to himself as if very
much amused.

When the door had closed behind the queer little man the child sat
down in the window again and glanced at the book. It had a red and
yellow cover and the word "Thingamajigs" was across the front in big
letters.

Then she opened it, curiously, and saw her name written in black
letters upon the first white leaf.

"He was a funny little man," she said to herself, thoughtfully.

She turned the next leaf, and saw a big picture of a clown, dressed
in green and red and yellow, and having a very white face with
three-cornered spots of red on each cheek and over the eyes. While
she looked at this the book trembled in her hands, the leaf crackled
and creaked and suddenly the clown jumped out of it and stood upon
the floor beside her, becoming instantly as big as any ordinary
clown.

After stretching his arms and legs and yawning in a rather impolite
manner, he gave a silly chuckle and said:

"This is better! You don't know how cramped one gets, standing so
long upon a page of flat paper."

Perhaps you can imagine how startled Jane Gladys was, and how she
stared at the clown who had just leaped out of the book.

"You didn't expect anything of this sort, did you?" he asked,
leering at her in clown fashion. Then he turned around to take a
look at the room and Jane Gladys laughed in spite of her
astonishment.

"What amuses you?" demanded the clown.

"Why, the back of you is all white!" cried the girl. "You're only a
clown in front of you."

"Quite likely," he returned, in an annoyed tone. "The artist made a
front view of me. He wasn't expected to make the back of me, for
that was against the page of the book."

"But it makes you look so funny!" said Jane Gladys, laughing until
her eyes were moist with tears.

The clown looked sulky and sat down upon a chair so she couldn't see
his back.

"I'm not the only thing in the book," he remarked, crossly.

This reminded her to turn another page, and she had scarcely noted
that it contained the picture of a monkey when the animal sprang
from the book with a great crumpling of paper and landed upon the
window seat beside her.

"He-he-he-he-he!" chattered the creature, springing to the girl's
shoulder and then to the center table. "This is great fun! Now I can
be a real monkey instead of a picture of one."

"Real monkeys can't talk," said Jane Gladys, reprovingly.

"How do you know? Have you ever been one yourself?" inquired the
animal; and then he laughed loudly, and the clown laughed, too, as
if he enjoyed the remark.

The girl was quite bewildered by this time. She thoughtlessly turned
another leaf, and before she had time to look twice a gray donkey
leaped from the book and stumbled from the window seat to the floor
with a great clatter.

"You're clumsy enough, I'm sure!" said the child, indignantly, for
the beast had nearly upset her.

"Clumsy! And why not?" demanded the donkey, with angry voice. "If
the fool artist had drawn you out of perspective, as he did me, I
guess you'd be clumsy yourself."

"What's wrong with you?" asked Jane Gladys.

"My front and rear legs on the left side are nearly six inches too
short, that's what's the matter! If that artist didn't know how to
draw properly why did he try to make a donkey at all?"

"I don't know," replied the child, seeing an answer was expected.

"I can hardly stand up," grumbled the donkey; "and the least little
thing will topple me over."

"Don't mind that," said the monkey, making a spring at the
chandelier and swinging from it by his tail until Jane Gladys feared
he would knock all the globes off; "the same artist has made my ears
as big as that clown's and everyone knows a monkey hasn't any ears
to speak of--much less to draw."

"He should be prosecuted," remarked the clown, gloomily. "I haven't
any back."

Jane Gladys looked from one to the other with a puzzled expression
upon her sweet face, and turned another page of the book.

Swift as a flash there sprang over her shoulder a tawney, spotted
leopard, which landed upon the back of a big leather armchair and
turned upon the others with a fierce movement.

The monkey climbed to the top of the chandelier and chattered with
fright. The donkey tried to run and straightway tipped over on his
left side. The clown grew paler than ever, but he sat still in his
chair and gave a low whistle of surprise.

The leopard crouched upon the back of the chair, lashed his tail
from side to side and glared at all of them, by turns, including
Jane Gladys.

"Which of us are you going to attack first?" asked the donkey,
trying hard to get upon his feet again.

"I can't attack any of you," snarled the leopard. "The artist made
my mouth shut, so I haven't any teeth; and he forgot to make my
claws. But I'm a frightful looking creature, nevertheless; am I
not?"

"Oh, yes;" said the clown, indifferently. "I suppose you're
frightful looking enough. But if you have no teeth nor claws we
don't mind your looks at all."

This so annoyed the leopard that he growled horribly, and the monkey
laughed at him.

Just then the book slipped from the girl's lap, and as she made a
movement to catch it one of the pages near the back opened wide. She
caught a glimpse of a fierce grizzly bear looking at her from the
page, and quickly threw the book from her. It fell with a crash in
the middle of the room, but beside it stood the great grizzly, who
had wrenched himself from the page before the book closed.

"Now," cried the leopard from his perch, "you'd better look out for
yourselves! You can't laugh at him as you did at me. The bear has
both claws and teeth."

"Indeed I have," said the bear, in a low, deep, growling voice. "And
I know how to use them, too. If you read in that book you'll find
I'm described as a horrible, cruel and remorseless grizzly, whose
only business in life is to eat up little girls--shoes, dresses,
ribbons and all! And then, the author says, I smack my lips and
glory in my wickedness."

"That's awful!" said the donkey, sitting upon his haunches and
shaking his head sadly. "What do you suppose possessed the author to
make you so hungry for girls? Do you eat animals, also?"

"The author does not mention my eating anything but little girls,"
replied the bear.

"Very good," remarked the clown, drawing a long breath of relief.
"you may begin eating Jane Gladys as soon as you wish. She laughed
because I had no back."

"And she laughed because my legs are out of perspective," brayed the
donkey.

"But you also deserve to be eaten," screamed the leopard from the
back of the leather chair; "for you laughed and poked fun at me
because I had no claws nor teeth! Don't you suppose Mr. Grizzly, you
could manage to eat a clown, a donkey and a monkey after you finish
the girl?"

"Perhaps so, and a leopard into the bargain," growled the bear. "It
will depend on how hungry I am. But I must begin on the little girl
first, because the author says I prefer girls to anything."

Jane Gladys was much frightened on hearing this conversation, and
she began to realize what the man meant when he said he gave her the
book to be revenged. Surely papa would be sorry he hadn't bought the
"Complete Works of Peter Smith" when he came home and found his
little girl eaten up by a grizzly bear--shoes, dress, ribbons and
all!

The bear stood up and balanced himself on his rear legs.

"This is the way I look in the book," he said. "Now watch me eat the
little girl."

He advanced slowly toward Jane Gladys, and the monkey, the leopard,
the donkey and the clown all stood around in a circle and watched
the bear with much interest.

But before the grizzly reached her the child had a sudden thought,
and cried out:

"Stop! You mustn't eat me. It would be wrong."

"Why?" asked the bear, in surprise.

"Because I own you. You're my private property," she answered.

"I don't see how you make that out," said the bear, in a
disappointed tone.

"Why, the book was given to me; my name's on the front leaf. And you
belong, by rights, in the book. So you mustn't dare to eat your
owner!"

The Grizzly hesitated.

"Can any of you read?" he asked.

"I can," said the clown.

"Then see if she speaks the truth. Is her name really in the book?"

The clown picked it up and looked at the name.

"It is," said he. "'Jane Gladys Brown;' and written quite plainly in
big letters."

The bear sighed.

"Then, of course, I can't eat her," he decided. "That author is as
disappointing as most authors are."

"But he's not as bad as the artist," exclaimed the donkey, who was
still trying to stand up straight.

"The fault lies with yourselves," said Jane Gladys, severely. "Why
didn't you stay in the book, where you were put?"

The animals looked at each other in a foolish way, and the clown
blushed under his white paint.

"Really--" began the bear, and then he stopped short.

The door bell rang loudly.

"It's mamma!" cried Jane Gladys, springing to her feet. "She's come
home at last. Now, you stupid creatures--"

But she was interrupted by them all making a rush for the book.
There was a swish and a whirr and a rustling of leaves, and an
instant later the book lay upon the floor looking just like any
other book, while Jane Gladys' strange companions had all
disappeared.

    

This story should teach us to think quickly and clearly upon all
occasions; for had Jane Gladys not remembered that she owned the
bear he probably would have eaten her before the bell rang.




THE ENCHANTED TYPES


One time a knook became tired of his beautiful life and longed for
something new to do. The knooks have more wonderful powers than any
other immortal folk--except, perhaps, the fairies and ryls. So one
would suppose that a knook who might gain anything he desired by a
simple wish could not be otherwise than happy and contented. But
such was not the case with Popopo, the knook we are speaking of. He
had lived thousands of years, and had enjoyed all the wonders he
could think of. Yet life had become as tedious to him now as it
might be to one who was unable to gratify a single wish.

Finally, by chance, Popopo thought of the earth people who dwell in
cities, and so he resolved to visit them and see how they lived.
This would surely be fine amusement, and serve to pass away many
wearisome hours.

Therefore one morning, after a breakfast so dainty that you could
scarcely imagine it, Popopo set out for the earth and at once was in
the midst of a big city.

His own dwelling was so quiet and peaceful that the roaring noise of
the town startled him. His nerves were so shocked that before he had
looked around three minutes he decided to give up the adventure, and
instantly returned home.

This satisfied for a time his desire to visit the earth cities, but
soon the monotony of his existence again made him restless and gave
him another thought. At night the people slept and the cities would
be quiet. He would visit them at night.

So at the proper time Popopo transported himself in a jiffy to a
great city, where he began wandering about the streets. Everyone was
in bed. No wagons rattled along the pavements; no throngs of busy
men shouted and halloaed. Even the policemen slumbered slyly and
there happened to be no prowling thieves abroad.

His nerves being soothed by the stillness, Popopo began to enjoy
himself. He entered many of the houses and examined their rooms with
much curiosity. Locks and bolts made no difference to a knook, and
he saw as well in darkness as in daylight.

After a time he strolled into the business portion of the city.
Stores are unknown among the immortals, who have no need of money or
of barter and exchange; so Popopo was greatly interested by the
novel sight of so many collections of goods and merchandise.

During his wanderings he entered a millinery shop, and was surprised
to see within a large glass case a great number of women's hats,
each bearing in one position or another a stuffed bird. Indeed, some
of the most elaborate hats had two or three birds upon them.

Now knooks are the especial guardians of birds, and love them
dearly. To see so many of his little friends shut up in a glass case
annoyed and grieved Popopo, who had no idea they had purposely been
placed upon the hats by the milliner. So he slid back one of the
doors of the case, gave the little chirruping whistle of the knooks
that all birds know well, and called:

"Come, friends; the door is open--fly out!"

Popopo did not know the birds were stuffed; but, stuffed or not,
every bird is bound to obey a knook's whistle and a knook's call. So
they left the hats, flew out of the case and began fluttering about
the room.

"Poor dears!" said the kind-hearted knook, "you long to be in the
fields and forests again."

Then he opened the outer door for them and cried: "Off with you! Fly
away, my beauties, and be happy again."

The astonished birds at once obeyed, and when they had soared away
into the night air the knook closed the door and continued his
wandering through the streets.

By dawn he saw many interesting sights, but day broke before he had
finished the city, and he resolved to come the next evening a few
hours earlier.

As soon as it was dark the following day he came again to the city
and on passing the millinery shop noticed a light within. Entering
he found two women, one of whom leaned her head upon the table and
sobbed bitterly, while the other strove to comfort her.

Of course Popopo was invisible to mortal eyes, so he stood by and
listened to their conversation.

"Cheer up, sister," said one. "Even though your pretty birds have
all been stolen the hats themselves remain."

"Alas!" cried the other, who was the milliner, "no one will buy my
hats partly trimmed, for the fashion is to wear birds upon them. And
if I cannot sell my goods I shall be utterly ruined."

Then she renewed her sobbing and the knook stole away, feeling a
little ashamed to realized that in his love for the birds he had
unconsciously wronged one of the earth people and made her unhappy.

This thought brought him back to the millinery shop later in the
night, when the two women had gone home. He wanted, in some way, to
replace the birds upon the hats, that the poor woman might be happy
again. So he searched until he came upon a nearby cellar full of
little gray mice, who lived quite undisturbed and gained a
livelihood by gnawing through the walls into neighboring houses and
stealing food from the pantries.

"Here are just the creatures," thought Popopo, "to place upon the
woman's hats. Their fur is almost as soft as the plumage of the
birds, and it strikes me the mice are remarkably pretty and graceful
animals. Moreover, they now pass their lives in stealing, and were
they obliged to remain always upon women's hats their morals would
be much improved."

So he exercised a charm that drew all the mice from the cellar and
placed them upon the hats in the glass case, where they occupied the
places the birds had vacated and looked very becoming--at least, in
the eyes of the unworldly knook. To prevent their running about and
leaving the hats Popopo rendered them motionless, and then he was so
pleased with his work that he decided to remain in the shop and
witness the delight of the milliner when she saw how daintily her
hats were now trimmed.

She came in the early morning, accompanied by her sister, and her
face wore a sad and resigned expression. After sweeping and dusting
the shop and drawing the blinds she opened the glass case and took
out a hat.

But when she saw a tiny gray mouse nestling among the ribbons and
laces she gave a loud shriek, and, dropping the hat, sprang with one
bound to the top of the table. The sister, knowing the shriek to be
one of fear, leaped upon a chair and exclaimed:

"What is it? Oh! what is it?"

"A mouse!" gasped the milliner, trembling with terror.

Popopo, seeing this commotion, now realized that mice are especially
disagreeable to human beings, and that he had made a grave mistake
in placing them upon the hats; so he gave a low whistle of command
that was heard only by the mice.

Instantly they all jumped from the hats, dashed out the open door
of the glass case and scampered away to their cellar. But this
action so frightened the milliner and her sister that after giving
several loud screams they fell upon their backs on the floor and
fainted away.

Popopo was a kind-hearted knook, but on witnessing all this misery,
caused by his own ignorance of the ways of humans, he straightway
wished himself at home, and so left the poor women to recover as
best they could.

Yet he could not escape a sad feeling of responsibility, and after
thinking upon the matter he decided that since he had caused the
milliner's unhappiness by freeing the birds, he could set the matter
right by restoring them to the glass case. He loved the birds, and
disliked to condemn them to slavery again; but that seemed the only
way to end the trouble.

So he set off to find the birds. They had flown a long distance, but
it was nothing to Popopo to reach them in a second, and he
discovered them sitting upon the branches of a big chestnut tree and
singing gayly.

When they saw the knook the birds cried:

"Thank you, Popopo. Thank you for setting us free."

"Do not thank me," returned the knook, "for I have come to send you
back to the millinery shop."

"Why?" demanded a blue jay, angrily, while the others stopped their
songs.

"Because I find the woman considers you her property, and your loss
has caused her much unhappiness," answered Popopo.

"But remember how unhappy we were in her glass case," said a robin
redbreast, gravely. "And as for being her property, you are a knook,
and the natural guardian of all birds; so you know that Nature
created us free. To be sure, wicked men shot and stuffed us, and
sold us to the milliner; but the idea of our being her property is
nonsense!"

Popopo was puzzled.

"If I leave you free," he said, "wicked men will shoot you again,
and you will be no better off than before."

"Pooh!" exclaimed the blue jay, "we cannot be shot now, for we are
stuffed. Indeed, two men fired several shots at us this morning, but
the bullets only ruffled our feathers and buried themselves in our
stuffing. We do not fear men now."

"Listen!" said Popopo, sternly, for he felt the birds were getting
the best of the argument; "the poor milliner's business will be
ruined if I do not return you to her shop. It seems you are
necessary to trim the hats properly. It is the fashion for women to
wear birds upon their headgear. So the poor milliner's wares,
although beautified by lace and ribbons, are worthless unless you
are perched upon them."

"Fashions," said a black bird, solemnly, "are made by men. What law
is there, among birds or knooks, that requires us to be the slaves
of fashion?"

"What have we to do with fashions, anyway?" screamed a linnet. "If
it were the fashion to wear knooks perched upon women's hats would
you be contented to stay there? Answer me, Popopo!"

But Popopo was in despair. He could not wrong the birds by sending
them back to the milliner, nor did he wish the milliner to suffer by
their loss. So he went home to think what could be done.

After much meditation he decided to consult the king of the knooks,
and going at once to his majesty he told him the whole story.

The king frowned.

"This should teach you the folly of interfering with earth people,"
he said. "But since you have caused all this trouble, it is your
duty to remedy it. Our birds cannot be enslaved, that is certain;
therefore you must have the fashions changed, so it will no longer
be stylish for women to wear birds upon their hats."

"How shall I do that?" asked Popopo.

"Easily enough. Fashions often change among the earth people, who
tire quickly of any one thing. When they read in their newspapers
and magazines that the style is so-and-so, they never question the
matter, but at once obey the mandate of fashion. So you must visit
the newspapers and magazines and enchant the types."

"Enchant the types!" echoed Popopo, in wonder.

"Just so. Make them read that it is no longer the fashion to wear
birds upon hats. That will afford relief to your poor milliner and
at the same time set free thousands of our darling birds who have
been so cruelly used."

Popopo thanked the wise king and followed his advice.

The office of every newspaper and magazine in the city was visited by
the knook, and then he went to other cities, until there was not a
publication in the land that had not a "new fashion note" in its
pages. Sometimes Popopo enchanted the types, so that whoever read
the print would see only what the knook wished them to. Sometimes he
called upon the busy editors and befuddled their brains until they
wrote exactly what he wanted them to. Mortals seldom know how
greatly they are influenced by fairies, knooks and ryls, who often
put thoughts into their heads that only the wise little immortals
could have conceived.

The following morning when the poor milliner looked over her
newspaper she was overjoyed to read that "no woman could now wear a
bird upon her hat and be in style, for the newest fashion required
only ribbons and laces."

Popopo after this found much enjoyment in visiting every millinery
shop he could find and giving new life to the stuffed birds which
were carelessly tossed aside as useless. And they flew to the fields
and forests with songs of thanks to the good knook who had rescued
them.

Sometimes a hunter fires his gun at a bird and then wonders why he
did not hit it. But, having read this story, you will understand
that the bird must have been a stuffed one from some millinery shop,
which cannot, of course, be killed by a gun.




THE LAUGHING HIPPOPOTAMUS


On one of the upper branches of the Congo river lived an ancient and
aristocratic family of hippopotamuses, which boasted a pedigree
dating back beyond the days of Noah--beyond the existence of
mankind--far into the dim ages when the world was new.

They had always lived upon the banks of this same river, so that
every curve and sweep of its waters, every pit and shallow of its
bed, every rock and stump and wallow upon its bank was as familiar
to them as their own mothers. And they are living there yet, I
suppose.

Not long ago the queen of this tribe of hippopotamuses had a child
which she named Keo, because it was so fat and round. Still, that
you may not be misled, I will say that in the hippopotamus language
"Keo," properly translated, means "fat and lazy" instead of fat and
round. However, no one called the queen's attention to this error,
because her tusks were monstrous long and sharp, and she thought Keo
the sweetest baby in the world.

He was, indeed, all right for a hippopotamus. He rolled and played
in the soft mud of the river bank, and waddled inland to nibble the
leaves of the wild cabbage that grew there, and was happy and
contented from morning till night. And he was the jolliest
hippopotamus that ancient family had ever known. His little red eyes
were forever twinkling with fun, and he laughed his merry laugh on
all occasions, whether there was anything to laugh at or not.

Therefore the black people who dwelt in that region called him
"Ippi"--the jolly one, although they dared not come anigh him on
account of his fierce mother, and his equally fierce uncles and
aunts and cousins, who lived in a vast colony upon the river bank.

And while these black people, who lived in little villages scattered
among the trees, dared not openly attack the royal family of
hippopotamuses, they were amazingly fond of eating hippopotamus meat
whenever they could get it. This was no secret to the hippopotamuses.
And, again, when the blacks managed to catch these animals alive,
they had a trick of riding them through the jungles as if they were
horses, thus reducing them to a condition of slavery.

Therefore, having these things in mind, whenever the tribe of
hippopotamuses smelled the oily odor of black people they were
accustomed to charge upon them furiously, and if by chance they
overtook one of the enemy they would rip him with their sharp tusks
or stamp him into the earth with their huge feet.

It was continual warfare between the hippopotamuses and the black
people.

Gouie lived in one of the little villages of the blacks. He was the
son of the chief's brother and grandson of the village sorcerer, the
latter being an aged man known as the "the boneless wonder," because
he could twist himself into as many coils as a serpent and had no
bones to hinder his bending his flesh into any position. This made
him walk in a wabbly fashion, but the black people had great respect
for him.

Gouie's hut was made of branches of trees stuck together with mud,
and his clothing consisted of a grass mat tied around his middle.
But his relationship to the chief and the sorcerer gave him a
certain dignity, and he was much addicted to solitary thought.
Perhaps it was natural that these thoughts frequently turned upon
his enemies, the hippopotamuses, and that he should consider many
ways of capturing them.

Finally he completed his plans, and set about digging a great pit in
the ground, midway between two sharp curves of the river. When the
pit was finished he covered it over with small branches of trees,
and strewed earth upon them, smoothing the surface so artfully that
no one would suspect there was a big hole underneath. Then Gouie
laughed softly to himself and went home to supper.

That evening the queen said to Keo, who was growing to be a fine
child for his age:

"I wish you'd run across the bend and ask your Uncle Nikki to come
here. I have found a strange plant, and want him to tell me if it is
good to eat."

The jolly one laughed heartily as he started upon his errand, for he
felt as important as a boy does when he is sent for the first time
to the corner grocery to buy a yeast cake.

"Guk-uk-uk-uk! guk-uk-uk-uk!" was the way he laughed; and if you
think a hippopotamus does not laugh this way you have but to listen
to one and you will find I am right.

He crawled out of the mud where he was wallowing and tramped away
through the bushes, and the last his mother heard as she lay half in
and half out of the water was his musical "guk-uk-uk-uk!" dying away
in the distance.

Keo was in such a happy mood that he scarcely noticed where he
stepped, so he was much surprised when, in the middle of a laugh,
the ground gave way beneath him, and he fell to the bottom of
Gouie's deep pit. He was not badly hurt, but had bumped his nose
severely as he went down; so he stopped laughing and began to think
how he should get out again. Then he found the walls were higher
than his head, and that he was a prisoner.

So he laughed a little at his own misfortune, and the laughter
soothed him to sleep, so that he snored all through the night until
daylight came.

When Gouie peered over the edge of the pit next morning he
exclaimed:

"Why, 'tis Ippi--the Jolly One!"

Keo recognized the scent of a black man and tried to raise his head
high enough to bite him. Seeing which Gouie spoke in the
hippopotamus language, which he had learned from his grandfather,
the sorcerer.

"Have peace, little one; you are my captive."

"Yes; I will have a piece of your leg, if I can reach it," retorted
Keo; and then he laughed at his own joke: "Guk-uk-uk-uk!"

But Gouie, being a thoughtful black man, went away without further
talk, and did not return until the following morning. When he again
leaned over the pit Keo was so weak from hunger that he could hardly
laugh at all.

"Do you give up?" asked Gouie, "or do you still wish to fight?"

"What will happen if I give up?" inquired Keo.

The black man scratched his woolly head in perplexity.

"It is hard to say, Ippi. You are too young to work, and if I kill
you for food I shall lose your tusks, which are not yet grown. Why,
O Jolly One, did you fall into my hole? I wanted to catch your
mother or one of your uncles."

"Guk-uk-uk-uk!" laughed Keo. "You must let me go, after all, black
man; for I am of no use to you!"

"That I will not do," declared Gouie; "unless," he added, as an
afterthought, "you will make a bargain with me."

"Let me hear about the bargain, black one, for I am hungry," said
Keo.

"I will let your go if you swear by the tusks of your grandfather
that you will return to me in a year and a day and become my
prisoner again."

The youthful hippopotamus paused to think, for he knew it was a
solemn thing to swear by the tusks of his grandfather; but he was
exceedingly hungry, and a year and a day seemed a long time off; so
he said, with another careless laugh:

"Very well; if you will now let me go I swear by the tusks of my
grandfather to return to you in a year and a day and become your
prisoner."

Gouie was much pleased, for he knew that in a year and a day Keo
would be almost full grown. So he began digging away one end of the
pit and filling it up with the earth until he had made an incline
which would allow the hippopotamus to climb out.

Keo was so pleased when he found himself upon the surface of the
earth again that he indulged in a merry fit of laughter, after which
he said:

"Good-by, Gouie; in a year and a day you will see me again."

Then he waddled away toward the river to see his mother and get his
breakfast, and Gouie returned to his village.

During the months that followed, as the black man lay in his hut or
hunted in the forest, he heard at times the faraway "Guk-uk-uk-uk!"
of the laughing hippopotamus. But he only smiled to himself and
thought: "A year and a day will soon pass away!"

Now when Keo returned to his mother safe and well every member of
his tribe was filled with joy, for the Jolly One was a general
favorite. But when he told them that in a year and a day he must
again become the slave of the black man, they began to wail and
weep, and so many were their tears that the river rose several
inches.

Of course Keo only laughed at their sorrow; but a great meeting of
the tribe was called and the matter discussed seriously.

"Having sworn by the tusks of his grandfather," said Uncle Nikki,
"he must keep his promise. But it is our duty to try in some way to
rescue him from death or a life of slavery."

To this all agreed, but no one could think of any method of saving
Keo from his fate. So months passed away, during which all the royal
hippopotamuses were sad and gloomy except the Jolly One himself.

Finally but a week of freedom remained to Keo, and his mother, the
queen, became so nervous and worried that another meeting of the
tribe was called. By this time the laughing hippopotamus had grown
to enormous size, and measured nearly fifteen feet long and six feet
high, while his sharp tusks were whiter and harder than those of an
elephant.

"Unless something is done to save my child," said the mother, "I
shall die of grief."

Then some of her relations began to make foolish suggestions; but
presently Uncle Nep, a wise and very big hippopotamus, said:

"We must go to Glinkomok and implore his aid."

Then all were silent, for it was a bold thing to face the mighty
Glinkomok. But the mother's love was equal to any heroism.

"I will myself go to him, if Uncle Nep will accompany me," she said,
quickly.

Uncle Nep thoughtfully patted the soft mud with his fore foot and
wagged his short tail leisurely from side to side.

"We have always been obedient to Glinkomok, and shown him great
respect," said he. "Therefore I fear no danger in facing him. I will
go with you."

All the others snorted approval, being very glad they were not
called upon to go themselves.

So the queen and Uncle Nep, with Keo swimming between them, set out
upon their journey. They swam up the river all that day and all the
next, until they came at sundown to a high, rocky wall, beneath
which was the cave where the might Glinkomok dwelt.

This fearful creature was part beast, part man, part fowl and part
fish. It had lived since the world began. Through years of wisdom it
had become part sorcerer, part wizard, part magician and part fairy.
Mankind knew it not, but the ancient beasts knew and feared it.

The three hippopotamuses paused before the cave, with their front
feet upon the bank and their bodies in the water, and called in
chorus a greeting to Glinkomok. Instantly thereafter the mouth of
the cave darkened and the creature glided silently toward them.

The hippopotamuses were afraid to look upon it, and bowed their
heads between their legs.

"We come, O Glinkomok, to implore your mercy and friendly
assistance!" began Uncle Nep; and then he told the story of Keo's
capture, and how he had promised to return to the black man.

"He must keep his promise," said the creature, in a voice that
sounded like a sigh.

The mother hippopotamus groaned aloud.

"But I will prepare him to overcome the black man, and to regain his
liberty," continued Glinkomok.

Keo laughed.

"Lift your right paw," commanded Glinkomok. Keo obeyed, and the
creature touched it with its long, hairy tongue. Then it held four
skinny hands over Keo's bowed head and mumbled some words in a
language unknown to man or beast or fowl or fish. After this it
spoke again in hippopotamese:

"Your skin has now become so tough that no man can hurt you. Your
strength is greater than that of ten elephants. Your foot is so
swift that you can distance the wind. Your wit is sharper than the
bulthorn. Let the man fear, but drive fear from your own breast
forever; for of all your race you are the mightiest!"

Then the terrible Glinkomok leaned over, and Keo felt its fiery
breath scorch him as it whispered some further instructions in his
ear. The next moment it glided back into its cave, followed by the
loud thanks of the three hippopotamuses, who slid into the water and
immediately began their journey home.

The mother's heart was full of joy; Uncle Nep shivered once or twice
as he remembered a glimpse he had caught of Glinkomok; but Keo was
as jolly as possible, and, not content to swim with his dignified
elders, he dived under their bodies, raced all around them and
laughed merrily every inch of the way home.

Then all the tribe held high jinks and praised the mighty Glinkomok
for befriending their queen's son. And when the day came for the
Jolly One to give himself up to the black man they all kissed him
good-by without a single fear for his safety.

Keo went away in good spirits, and they could hear his laughing
"guk-uk-uk-uk!" long after he was lost in sight in the jungle.

Gouie had counted the days and knew when to expect Keo; but he was
astonished at the monstrous size to which his captive had grown, and
congratulated himself on the wise bargain he had made. And Keo was
so fat that Gouie determined to eat him--that is, all of him he
possibly could, and the remainder of the carcass he would trade off
to his fellow villagers.

So he took a knife and tried to stick it into the hippopotamus, but
the skin was so tough the knife was blunted against it. Then he
tried other means; but Keo remained unhurt.

And now indeed the Jolly One laughed his most gleeful laugh, till
all the forest echoed the "guk-uk-uk-uk-uk!" And Gouie decided not
to kill him, since that was impossible, but to use him for a beast
of burden. He mounted upon Keo's back and commanded him to march. So
Keo trotted briskly through the village, his little eyes twinkling
with merriment.

The other blacks were delighted with Gouie's captive, and begged
permission to ride upon the Jolly One's back. So Gouie bargained
with them for bracelets and shell necklaces and little gold
ornaments, until he had acquired quite a heap of trinkets. Then a
dozen black men climbed upon Keo's back to enjoy a ride, and the one
nearest his nose cried out:

"Run, Mud-dog--run!"

And Keo ran. Swift as the wind he strode, away from the village,
through the forest and straight up the river bank. The black men
howled with fear; the Jolly One roared with laughter; and on, on, on
they rushed!

Then before them, on the opposite side of the river, appeared the
black mouth of Glinkomok's cave. Keo dashed into the water, dived to
the bottom and left the black people struggling to swim out. But
Glinkomok had heard the laughter of Keo and knew what to do. When
the Jolly One rose to the surface and blew the water from his throat
there was no black man to be seen.

Keo returned alone to the village, and Gouie asked, with surprise:

"Where are my brothers:"

"I do not know," answered Keo. "I took them far away, and they
remained where I left them."

Gouie would have asked more questions then, but another crowd of
black men impatiently waited to ride on the back of the laughing
hippopotamus. So they paid the price and climbed to their seats,
after which the foremost said:

"Run, mud-wallower--run!"

And Keo ran as before and carried them to the mouth of Glinkomok's
cave, and returned alone.

But now Gouie became anxious to know the fate of his fellows, for he
was the only black man left in his village. So he mounted the
hippopotamus and cried:

"Run, river-hog--run!"

Keo laughed his jolly "guk-uk-uk-uk!" and ran with the speed of the
wind. But this time he made straight for the river bank where his
own tribe lived, and when he reached it he waded into the river,
dived to the bottom and left Gouie floating in the middle of the
stream.

The black man began swimming toward the right bank, but there he saw
Uncle Nep and half the royal tribe waiting to stamp him into the
soft mud. So he turned toward the left bank, and there stood the
queen mother and Uncle Nikki, red-eyed and angry, waiting to tear
him with their tusks.

Then Gouie uttered loud screams of terror, and, spying the Jolly
One, who swam near him, he cried:

"Save me, Keo! Save me, and I will release you from slavery!"

"That is not enough," laughed Keo.

"I will serve you all my life!" screamed Gouie; "I will do
everything you bid me!"

"Will you return to me in a year and a day and become my captive, if
I allow you to escape?" asked Keo.

"I will! I will! I will!" cried Gouie.

"Swear it by the bones of your grandfather!" commanded Keo,
remembering that black men have no tusks to swear by.

And Gouie swore it by the bones of his grandfather.

Then Keo swam to the black one, who clambered upon his back again.
In this fashion they came to the bank, where Keo told his mother and
all the tribe of the bargain he had made with Gouie, who was to
return in a year and a day and become his slave.

Therefore the black man was permitted to depart in peace, and once
more the Jolly One lived with his own people and was happy.

When a year and a day had passed Keo began watching for the return
of Gouie; but he did not come, then or ever afterwards.

For the black man had made a bundle of his bracelets and shell
necklaces and little gold ornaments and had traveled many miles into
another country, where the ancient and royal tribe of hippopotamuses
was unknown. And he set up for a great chief, because of his riches,
and people bowed down before him.

By day he was proud and swaggering. But at night he tumbled and
tossed upon his bed and could not sleep. His conscience troubled
him.

For he had sworn by the bones of his grandfather; and his
grandfather had no bones.




THE MAGIC BON BONS


There lived in Boston a wise and ancient chemist by the name of Dr.
Daws, who dabbled somewhat in magic. There also lived in Boston a
young lady by the name of Claribel Sudds, who was possessed of much
money, little wit and an intense desire to go upon the stage.

So Claribel went to Dr. Daws and said:

"I can neither sing nor dance; I cannot recite verse nor play upon
the piano; I am no acrobat nor leaper nor high kicker; yet I wish to
go upon the stage. What shall I do?"

"Are you willing to pay for such accomplishments?" asked the wise
chemist.

"Certainly," answered Claribel, jingling her purse.

"Then come to me to-morrow at two o'clock," said he.

All that night he practiced what is known as chemical sorcery; so
that when Claribel Sudds came next day at two o'clock he showed her
a small box filled with compounds that closely resembled French
bonbons.

"This is a progressive age," said the old man, "and I flatter myself
your Uncle Daws keeps right along with the procession. Now, one of
your old-fashioned sorcerers would have made you some nasty, bitter
pills to swallow; but I have consulted your taste and convenience.
Here are some magic bonbons. If you eat this one with the lavender
color you can dance thereafter as lightly and gracefully as if you
had been trained a lifetime. After you consume the pink confection
you will sing like a nightingale. Eating the white one will enable
you to become the finest elocutionist in the land. The chocolate
piece will charm you into playing the piano better than Rubenstein,
while after eating you lemon-yellow bonbon you can easily kick six
feet above your head."

"How delightful!" exclaimed Claribel, who was truly enraptured. "You
are certainly a most clever sorcerer as well as a considerate
compounder," and she held out her hand for the box.

"Ahem!" said the wise one; "a check, please."

"Oh, yes; to be sure! How stupid of me to forget it," she returned.

He considerately retained the box in his own hand while she signed a
check for a large amount of money, after which he allowed her to
hold the box herself.

"Are you sure you have made them strong enough?" she inquired,
anxiously; "it usually takes a great deal to affect me."

"My only fear," replied Dr. Daws, "is that I have made them too
strong. For this is the first time I have ever been called upon to
prepare these wonderful confections."

"Don't worry," said Claribel; "the stronger they act the better I
shall act myself."

She went away, after saying this, but stopping in at a dry goods
store to shop, she forgot the precious box in her new interest and
left it lying on the ribbon counter.

Then little Bessie Bostwick came to the counter to buy a hair ribbon
and laid her parcels beside the box. When she went away she gathered
up the box with her other bundles and trotted off home with it.

Bessie never knew, until after she had hung her coat in the hall
closet and counted up her parcels, that she had one too many. Then
she opened it and exclaimed:

"Why, it's a box of candy! Someone must have mislaid it. But it is
too small a matter to worry about; there are only a few pieces." So
she dumped the contents of the box into a bonbon dish that stood
upon the hall table and picking out the chocolate piece--she was
fond of chocolates--ate it daintily while she examined her purchases.

These were not many, for Bessie was only twelve years old and was
not yet trusted by her parents to expend much money at the stores.
But while she tried on the hair ribbon she suddenly felt a great
desire to play upon the piano, and the desire at last became so
overpowering that she went into the parlor and opened the
instrument.

The little girl had, with infinite pains, contrived to learn two
"pieces" which she usually executed with a jerky movement of her
right hand and a left hand that forgot to keep up and so made
dreadful discords. But under the influence of the chocolate bonbon
she sat down and ran her fingers lightly over the keys producing
such exquisite harmony that she was filled with amazement at her own
performance.

That was the prelude, however. The next moment she dashed into
Beethoven's seventh sonata and played it magnificently.

Her mother, hearing the unusual burst of melody, came downstairs to
see what musical guest had arrived; but when she discovered it was
her own little daughter who was playing so divinely she had an
attack of palpitation of the heart (to which she was subject) and
sat down upon a sofa until it should pass away.

Meanwhile Bessie played one piece after another with untiring
energy. She loved music, and now found that all she need do was to
sit at the piano and listen and watch her hands twinkle over the
keyboard.

Twilight deepened in the room and Bessie's father came home and hung
up his hat and overcoat and placed his umbrella in the rack. Then he
peeped into the parlor to see who was playing.

"Great Caesar!" he exclaimed. But the mother came to him softly with
her finger on her lips and whispered: "Don't interrupt her, John.
Our child seems to be in a trance. Did you ever hear such superb
music?"

"Why, she's an infant prodigy!" gasped the astounded father. "Beats
Blind Tom all hollow! It's--it's wonderful!"

As they stood listening the senator arrived, having been invited to
dine with them that evening. And before he had taken off his coat
the Yale professor--a man of deep learning and scholarly
attainments--joined the party.

Bessie played on; and the four elders stood in a huddled but silent
and amazed group, listening to the music and waiting for the sound
of the dinner gong.

Mr. Bostwick, who was hungry, picked up the bonbon dish that lay on
the table beside him and ate the pink confection. The professor was
watching him, so Mr. Bostwick courteously held the dish toward him.
The professor ate the lemon-yellow piece and the senator reached out
his hand and took the lavender piece. He did not eat it, however,
for, chancing to remember that it might spoil his dinner, he put it
in his vest pocket. Mrs. Bostwick, still intently listening to her
precocious daughter, without thinking what she did, took the
remaining piece, which was the white one, and slowly devoured it.

The dish was now empty, and Claribel Sudds' precious bonbons had
passed from her possession forever!

Suddenly Mr. Bostwick, who was a big man, began to sing in a shrill,
tremolo soprano voice. It was not the same song Bessie was playing,
and the discord was shocking that the professor smiled, the senator
put his hands to his ears and Mrs. Bostwick cried in a horrified
voice:

"William!"

Her husband continued to sing as if endeavoring to emulate the
famous Christine Nillson, and paid no attention whatever to his wife
or his guests.

Fortunately the dinner gong now sounded, and Mrs. Bostwick dragged
Bessie from the piano and ushered her guests into the dining-room.
Mr. Bostwick followed, singing "The Last Rose of Summer" as if it
had been an encore demanded by a thousand delighted hearers.

The poor woman was in despair at witnessing her husband's
undignified actions and wondered what she might do to control him.
The professor seemed more grave than usual; the senator's face wore
an offended expression, and Bessie kept moving her fingers as if she
still wanted to play the piano.

Mrs. Bostwick managed to get them all seated, although her husband
had broken into another aria; and then the maid brought in the soup.

When she carried a plate to the professor, he cried, in an excited
voice:

"Hold it higher! Higher--I say!" And springing up he gave it a
sudden kick that sent it nearly to the ceiling, from whence the dish
descended to scatter soup over Bessie and the maid and to smash in
pieces upon the crown of the professor's bald head.

At this atrocious act the senator rose from his seat with an
exclamation of horror and glanced at his hostess.

For some time Mrs. Bostwick had been staring straight ahead, with a
dazed expression; but now, catching the senator's eye, she bowed
gracefully and began reciting "The Charge of the Light Brigade" in
forceful tones.

The senator shuddered. Such disgraceful rioting he had never seen
nor heard before in a decent private family. He felt that his
reputation was at stake, and, being the only sane person,
apparently, in the room, there was no one to whom he might appeal.

The maid had run away to cry hysterically in the kitchen; Mr.
Bostwick was singing "O Promise Me;" the professor was trying to
kick the globes off the chandelier; Mrs. Bostwick had switched her
recitation to "The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck," and Bessie had
stolen into the parlor and was pounding out the overture from the
"Flying Dutchman."

The senator was not at all sure he would not go crazy himself,
presently; so he slipped away from the turmoil, and, catching up his
had and coat in the hall, hurried from the house.

That night he sat up late writing a political speech he was to
deliver the next afternoon at Faneuil hall, but his experiences at
the Bostwicks' had so unnerved him that he could scarcely collect
his thoughts, and often he would pause and shake his head pityingly
as he remembered the strange things he had seen in that usually
respectable home.

The next day he met Mr. Bostwick in the street, but passed him by
with a stony glare of oblivion. He felt he really could not afford
to know this gentleman in the future. Mr. Bostwick was naturally
indignant at the direct snub; yet in his mind lingered a faint
memory of some quite unusual occurrences at his dinner party the
evening before, and he hardly knew whether he dared resent the
senator's treatment or not.

The political meeting was the feature of the day, for the senator's
eloquence was well known in Boston. So the big hall was crowded with
people, and in one of the front rows sat the Bostwick family, with
the learned Yale professor beside them. They all looked tired and
pale, as if they had passed a rather dissipated evening, and the
senator was rendered so nervous by seeing them that he refused to
look in their direction a second time.

While the mayor was introducing him the great man sat fidgeting in
his chair; and, happening to put his thumb and finger into his vest
pocket, he found the lavender-colored bonbon he had placed there the
evening before.

"This may clear my throat," thought the senator, and slipped the
bonbon into his mouth.

A few minutes afterwards he arose before the vast audience, which
greeted him with enthusiastic plaudits.

"My friends," began the senator, in a grave voice, "this is a most
impressive and important occasion."

Then he paused, balanced himself upon his left foot, and kicked his
right leg into the air in the way favored by ballet-dancers!

There was a hum of amazement and horror from the spectators, but the
senator appeared not to notice it. He whirled around upon the tips
of his toes, kicked right and left in a graceful manner, and
startled a bald-headed man in the front row by casting a languishing
glance in his direction.

Suddenly Claribel Sudds, who happened to be present, uttered a scream
and sprang to her feet. Pointing an accusing finger at the dancing
senator, she cried in a loud voice:

"That's the man who stole my bonbons! Seize him! Arrest him! Don't
let him escape!"

But the ushers rushed her out of the hall, thinking she had gone
suddenly insane; and the senator's friends seized him firmly and
carried him out the stage entrance to the street, where they put him
into an open carriage and instructed the driver to take him home.

The effect of the magic bonbon was still powerful enough to control
the poor senator, who stood upon the rear seat of the carriage and
danced energetically all the way home, to the delight of the crowd
of small boys who followed the carriage and the grief of the
sober-minded citizens, who shook their heads sadly and whispered
that "another good man had gone wrong."

It took the senator several months to recover from the shame and
humiliation of this escapade; and, curiously enough, he never had
the slightest idea what had induced him to act in so extraordinary a
manner. Perhaps it was fortunate the last bonbon had now been eaten,
for they might easily have caused considerably more trouble than
they did.

Of course Claribel went again to the wise chemist and signed a check
for another box of magic bonbons; but she must have taken better
care of these, for she is now a famous vaudeville actress.

    

This story should teach us the folly of condemning others for
actions that we do not understand, for we never know what may happen
to ourselves. It may also serve as a hint to be careful about
leaving parcels in public places, and, incidentally, to let other
people's packages severely alone.




THE CAPTURE OF FATHER TIME


Jim was the son of a cowboy, and lived on the broad plains of
Arizona. His father had trained him to lasso a bronco or a young
bull with perfect accuracy, and had Jim possessed the strength to
back up his skill he would have been as good a cowboy as any in all
Arizona.

When he was twelve years old he made his first visit to the east,
where Uncle Charles, his father's brother, lived. Of course Jim took
his lasso with him, for he was proud of his skill in casting it, and
wanted to show his cousins what a cowboy could do.

At first the city boys and girls were much interested in watching
Jim lasso posts and fence pickets, but they soon tired of it, and
even Jim decided it was not the right sort of sport for cities.

But one day the butcher asked Jim to ride one of his horses into the
country, to a pasture that had been engaged, and Jim eagerly
consented. He had been longing for a horseback ride, and to make it
seem like old times he took his lasso with him.

He rode through the streets demurely enough, but on reaching the
open country roads his spirits broke forth into wild jubilation,
and, urging the butcher's horse to full gallop, he dashed away in
true cowboy fashion.

Then he wanted still more liberty, and letting down the bars that
led into a big field he began riding over the meadow and throwing
his lasso at imaginary cattle, while he yelled and whooped to his
heart's content.

Suddenly, on making a long cast with his lasso, the loop caught upon
something and rested about three feet from the ground, while the
rope drew taut and nearly pulled Jim from his horse.

This was unexpected. More than that, it was wonderful; for the field
seemed bare of even a stump. Jim's eyes grew big with amazement, but
he knew he had caught something when a voice cried out:

"Here, let go! Let go, I say! Can't you see what you've done?"

No, Jim couldn't see, nor did he intend to let go until he found out
what was holding the loop of the lasso. So he resorted to an old
trick his father had taught him and, putting the butcher's horse to
a run, began riding in a circle around the spot where his lasso had
caught.

As he thus drew nearer and nearer his quarry he saw the rope coil
up, yet it looked to be coiling over nothing but air. One end of the
lasso was made fast to a ring in the saddle, and when the rope was
almost wound up and the horse began to pull away and snort with
fear, Jim dismounted. Holding the reins of the bridle in one hand,
he followed the rope, and an instant later saw an old man caught
fast in the coils of the lasso.

His head was bald and uncovered, but long white whiskers grew down
to his waist. About his body was thrown a loose robe of fine white
linen. In one hand he bore a great scythe, and beneath the other arm
he carried an hourglass.

While Jim gazed wonderingly upon him, this venerable old man spoke
in an angry voice:

"Now, then--get that rope off as fast as you can! You've brought
everything on earth to a standstill by your foolishness! Well--what
are you staring at? Don't you know who I am?"

"No," said Jim, stupidly.

"Well, I'm Time--Father Time! Now, make haste and set me free--if
you want the world to run properly."

"How did I happen to catch you?" asked Jim, without making a move to
release his captive.

"I don't know. I've never been caught before," growled Father Time.
"But I suppose it was because you were foolishly throwing your lasso
at nothing."

"I didn't see you," said Jim.

"Of course you didn't. I'm invisible to the eyes of human beings
unless they get within three feet of me, and I take care to keep
more than that distance away from them. That's why I was crossing
this field, where I supposed no one would be. And I should have been
perfectly safe had it not been for your beastly lasso. Now, then,"
he added, crossly, "are you going to get that rope off?"

"Why should I?" asked Jim.

"Because everything in the world stopped moving the moment you
caught me. I don't suppose you want to make an end of all business
and pleasure, and war and love, and misery and ambition and
everything else, do you? Not a watch has ticked since you tied me up
here like a mummy!"

Jim laughed. It really was funny to see the old man wound round and
round with coils of rope from his knees up to his chin.

"It'll do you good to rest," said the boy. "From all I've heard you
lead a rather busy life."

"Indeed I do," replied Father Time, with a sigh. "I'm due in
Kamchatka this very minute. And to think one small boy is upsetting
all my regular habits!"

"Too bad!" said Jim, with a grin. "But since the world has stopped
anyhow, it won't matter if it takes a little longer recess. As soon
as I let you go Time will fly again. Where are your wings?"

"I haven't any," answered the old man. "That is a story cooked up by
some one who never saw me. As a matter of fact, I move rather
slowly."

"I see, you take your time," remarked the boy. "What do you use that
scythe for?"

"To mow down the people," said the ancient one. "Every time I swing
my scythe some one dies."

"Then I ought to win a life-saving medal by keeping you tied up,"
said Jim. "Some folks will live this much longer."

"But they won't know it," said Father Time, with a sad smile; "so it
will do them no good. You may as well untie me at once."

"No," said Jim, with a determined air. "I may never capture you
again; so I'll hold you for awhile and see how the world wags
without you."

Then he swung the old man, bound as he was, upon the back of the
butcher's horse, and, getting into the saddle himself, started back
toward town, one hand holding his prisoner and the other guiding the
reins.

When he reached the road his eye fell on a strange tableau. A horse
and buggy stood in the middle of the road, the horse in the act of
trotting, with his head held high and two legs in the air, but
perfectly motionless. In the buggy a man and a woman were seated;
but had they been turned into stone they could not have been more
still and stiff.

"There's no Time for them!" sighed the old man. "Won't you let me go
now?"

"Not yet," replied the boy.

He rode on until he reached the city, where all the people stood in
exactly the same positions they were in when Jim lassoed Father
Time. Stopping in front of a big dry goods store, the boy hitched
his horse and went in. The clerks were measuring out goods and
showing patterns to the rows of customers in front of them, but
everyone seemed suddenly to have become a statue.

There was something very unpleasant in this scene, and a cold shiver
began to run up and down Jim's back; so he hurried out again.

On the edge of the sidewalk sat a poor, crippled beggar, holding out
his hat, and beside him stood a prosperous-looking gentleman who was
about to drop a penny into the beggar's hat. Jim knew this gentleman
to be very rich but rather stingy, so he ventured to run his hand
into the man's pocket and take out his purse, in which was a 20
gold piece. This glittering coin he put in the gentleman's fingers
instead of the penny and then restored the purse to the rich man's
pocket.

"That donation will surprise him when he comes to life," thought the
boy.

He mounted the horse again and rode up the street. As he passed the
shop of his friend, the butcher, he noticed several pieces of meat
hanging outside.

"I'm afraid that meat'll spoil," he remarked.

"It takes Time to spoil meat," answered the old man.

This struck Jim as being queer, but true.

"It seems Time meddles with everything," said he.

"Yes; you've made a prisoner of the most important personage in the
world," groaned the old man; "and you haven't enough sense to let
him go again."

Jim did not reply, and soon they came to his uncle's house, where he
again dismounted. The street was filled with teams and people, but
all were motionless. His two little cousins were just coming out the
gate on their way to school, with their books and slates underneath
their arms; so Jim had to jump over the fence to avoid knocking them
down.

In the front room sat his aunt, reading her Bible. She was just
turning a page when Time stopped. In the dining-room was his uncle,
finishing his luncheon. His mouth was open and his fork poised just
before it, while his eyes were fixed upon the newspaper folded
beside him. Jim helped himself to his uncle's pie, and while he ate
it he walked out to his prisoner.

"There's one thing I don't understand," said he.

"What's that?" asked Father Time.

"Why is it that I'm able to move around while everyone else
is--is--froze up?"

"That is because I'm your prisoner," answered the other. "You can do
anything you wish with Time now. But unless you are careful you'll
do something you will be sorry for."

Jim threw the crust of his pie at a bird that was suspended in the
air, where it had been flying when Time stopped.

"Anyway," he laughed, "I'm living longer than anyone else. No one
will ever be able to catch up with me again."

"Each life has its allotted span," said the old man. "When you have
lived your proper time my scythe will mow you down."

"I forgot your scythe," said Jim, thoughtfully.

Then a spirit of mischief came into the boy's head, for he happened
to think that the present opportunity to have fun would never occur
again. He tied Father Time to his uncle's hitching post, that he
might not escape, and then crossed the road to the corner grocery.

The grocer had scolded Jim that very morning for stepping into a
basket of turnips by accident. So the boy went to the back end of
the grocery and turned on the faucet of the molasses barrel.

"That'll make a nice mess when Time starts the molasses running all
over the floor," said Jim, with a laugh.

A little further down the street was a barber shop, and sitting in
the barber's chair Jim saw the man that all the boys declared was
the "meanest man in town." He certainly did not like the boys and
the boys knew it. The barber was in the act of shampooing this
person when Time was captured. Jim ran to the drug store, and,
getting a bottle of mucilage, he returned and poured it over the
ruffled hair of the unpopular citizen.

"That'll probably surprise him when he wakes up," thought Jim.

Near by was the schoolhouse. Jim entered it and found that only a
few of the pupils were assembled. But the teacher sat at his desk,
stern and frowning as usual.

Taking a piece of chalk, Jim marked upon the blackboard in big
letters the following words:

"Every scholar is requested to yell the minute he enters the room.
He will also please throw his books at the teacher's head. Signed,
Prof. Sharpe."

"That ought to raise a nice rumpus," murmured the mischiefmaker, as
he walked away.

On the corner stood Policeman Mulligan, talking with old Miss
Scrapple, the worst gossip in town, who always delighted in saying
something disagreeable about her neighbors. Jim thought this
opportunity was too good to lose. So he took off the policeman's cap
and brass-buttoned coat and put them on Miss Scrapple, while the
lady's feathered and ribboned hat he placed jauntily upon the
policeman's head.

The effect was so comical that the boy laughed aloud, and as a good
many people were standing near the corner Jim decided that Miss
Scrapple and Officer Mulligan would create a sensation when Time
started upon his travels.

Then the young cowboy remembered his prisoner, and, walking back to
the hitching post, he came within three feet of it and saw Father
Time still standing patiently within the toils of the lasso. He
looked angry and annoyed, however, and growled out:

"Well, when do you intend to release me?"

"I've been thinking about that ugly scythe of yours," said Jim.

"What about it?" asked Father Time.

"Perhaps if I let you go you'll swing it at me the first thing, to
be revenged," replied the boy.

Father Time gave him a severe look, but said:

"I've known boys for thousands of years, and of course I know
they're mischievous and reckless. But I like boys, because they grow
up to be men and people my world. Now, if a man had caught me by
accident, as you did, I could have scared him into letting me go
instantly; but boys are harder to scare. I don't know as I blame
you. I was a boy myself, long ago, when the world was new. But
surely you've had enough fun with me by this time, and now I hope
you'll show the respect that is due to old age. Let me go, and in
return I will promise to forget all about my capture. The incident
won't do much harm, anyway, for no one will ever know that Time has
halted the last three hours or so."

"All right," said Jim, cheerfully, "since you've promised not to mow
me down, I'll let you go." But he had a notion some people in the
town would suspect Time had stopped when they returned to life.

He carefully unwound the rope from the old man, who, when he was
free, at once shouldered his scythe, rearranged his white robe and
nodded farewell.

The next moment he had disappeared, and with a rustle and rumble and
roar of activity the world came to life again and jogged along as it
always had before.

Jim wound up his lasso, mounted the butcher's horse and rode slowly
down the street.

Loud screams came from the corner, where a great crowd of people
quickly assembled. From his seat on the horse Jim saw Miss Scrapple,
attired in the policeman's uniform, angrily shaking her fists in
Mulligan's face, while the officer was furiously stamping upon the
lady's hat, which he had torn from his own head amidst the jeers of
the crowd.

As he rode past the schoolhouse he heard a tremendous chorus of
yells, and knew Prof. Sharpe was having a hard time to quell the
riot caused by the sign on the blackboard.

Through the window of the barber shop he saw the "mean man"
frantically belaboring the barber with a hair brush, while his hair
stood up stiff as bayonets in all directions. And the grocer ran out
of his door and yelled "Fire!" while his shoes left a track of
molasses wherever he stepped.

Jim's heart was filled with joy. He was fairly reveling in the
excitement he had caused when some one caught his leg and pulled him
from the horse.

"What're ye doin' hear, ye rascal?" cried the butcher, angrily;
"didn't ye promise to put that beast inter Plympton's pasture? An'
now I find ye ridin' the poor nag around like a gentleman o'
leisure!"

"That's a fact," said Jim, with surprise; "I clean forgot about the
horse!"

    

This story should teach us the supreme importance of Time and the
folly of trying to stop it. For should you succeed, as Jim did, in
bringing Time to a standstill, the world would soon become a dreary
place and life decidedly unpleasant.




THE WONDERFUL PUMP


Not many years ago there lived on a stony, barren New England farm a
man and his wife. They were sober, honest people, working hard from
early morning until dark to enable them to secure a scanty living
from their poor land.

Their house, a small, one-storied building, stood upon the side of a
steep hill, and the stones lay so thickly about it that scarce
anything green could grow from the ground. At the foot of the hill,
a quarter of a mile from the house by the winding path, was a small
brook, and the woman was obliged to go there for water and to carry
it up the hill to the house. This was a tedious task, and with the
other hard work that fell to her share had made her gaunt and bent
and lean.

Yet she never complained, but meekly and faithfully performed her
duties, doing the housework, carrying the water and helping her
husband hoe the scanty crop that grew upon the best part of their
land.

One day, as she walked down the path to the brook, her big shoes
scattering the pebbles right and left, she noticed a large beetle
lying upon its back and struggling hard with its little legs to turn
over, that its feet might again touch the ground. But this it could
not accomplish; so the woman, who had a kind heart, reached down and
gently turned the beetle with her finger. At once it scampered from
the path and she went on to the brook.

The next day, as she came for water, she was surprised to see the
beetle again lying upon its back and struggling helplessly to turn.
Once more the woman stopped and set him upon his feet; and then, as
she stooped over the tiny creature, she heard a small voice say:

"Oh, thank you! Thank you so much for saving me!"

Half frightened at hearing a beetle speak in her own language, the
woman started back and exclaimed:

"La sakes! Surely you can't talk like humans!" Then, recovering from
her alarm, she again bent over the beetle, who answered her:

"Why shouldn't I talk, if I have anything to say?

"'Cause you're a bug," replied the woman.

"That is true; and you saved my life--saved me from my enemies, the
sparrows. And this is the second time you have come to my
assistance, so I owe you a debt of gratitude. Bugs value their lives
as much as human beings, and I am a more important creature than
you, in your ignorance, may suppose. But, tell me, why do you come
each day to the brook?"

"For water," she answered, staring stupidly down at the talking
beetle.

"Isn't it hard work?" the creature inquired.

"Yes; but there's no water on the hill," said she.

"Then dig a well and put a pump in it," replied the beetle.

She shook her head.

"My man tried it once; but there was no water," she said, sadly.

"Try it again," commanded the beetle; "and in return for your
kindness to me I will make this promise: if you do not get water
from the well you will get that which is more precious to you. I
must go now. Do not forget. Dig a well."

And then, without pausing to say good-by, it ran swiftly away and
was lost among the stones.

The woman returned to the house much perplexed by what the beetle
had said, and when her husband came in from his work she told him
the whole story.

The poor man thought deeply for a time, and then declared:

"Wife, there may be truth in what the bug told you. There must be
magic in the world yet, if a beetle can speak; and if there is such
a thing as magic we may get water from the well. The pump I bought
to use in the well which proved to be dry is now lying in the barn,
and the only expense in following the talking bug's advice will be
the labor of digging the hole. Labor I am used to; so I will dig the
well."

Next day he set about it, and dug so far down in the ground that he
could hardly reach the top to climb out again; but not a drop of
water was found.

"Perhaps you did not dig deep enough," his wife said, when he told
her of his failure.

So the following day he made a long ladder, which he put into the
hole; and then he dug, and dug, and dug, until the top of the ladder
barely reached the top of the hole. But still there was no water.

When the woman next went to the brook with her pail she saw the
beetle sitting upon a stone beside her path. So she stopped and
said:

"My husband has dug the well; but there is no water."

"Did he put the pump in the well?" asked the beetle.

"No," she answered.

"Then do as I commanded; put in the pump, and if you do not get
water I promise you something still more precious."

Saying which, the beetle swiftly slid from the stone and
disappeared. The woman went back to the house and told her husband
what the bug had said.

"Well," replied the simple fellow, "there can be no harm in trying."

So he got the pump from the barn and placed it in the well, and then
he took hold of the handle and began to pump, while his wife stood
by to watch what would happen.

No water came, but after a few moments a gold piece dropped from the
spout of the pump, and then another, and another, until several
handfuls of gold lay in a little heap upon the ground.

The man stopped pumping then and ran to help his wife gather the
gold pieces into her apron; but their hands trembled so greatly
through excitement and joy that they could scarcely pick up the
sparkling coins.

At last she gathered them close to her bosom and together they ran
to the house, where they emptied the precious gold upon the table
and counted the pieces.

All were stamped with the design of the United States mint and were
worth five dollars each. Some were worn and somewhat discolored from
use, while others seemed bright and new, as if they had not been
much handled. When the value of the pieces was added together they
were found to be worth three hundred dollars.

Suddenly the woman spoke.

"Husband, the beetle said truly when he declared we should get
something more precious than water from the well. But run at once
and take away the handle from the pump, lest anyone should pass this
way and discover our secret."

So the man ran to the pump and removed the handle, which he carried
to the house and hid underneath the bed.

They hardly slept a wink that night, lying awake to think of their
good fortune and what they should do with their store of yellow
gold. In all their former lives they had never possessed more than a
few dollars at a time, and now the cracked teapot was nearly full of
gold coins.

The following day was Sunday, and they arose early and ran to see if
their treasure was safe. There it lay, heaped snugly within the
teapot, and they were so willing to feast their eyes upon it that it
was long before the man could leave it to build the fire or the
woman to cook the breakfast.

While they ate their simple meal the woman said:

"We will go to church to-day and return thanks for the riches that
have come to us so suddenly. And I will give the pastor one of the
gold pieces."

"It is well enough to go to church," replied her husband, "and also
to return thanks. But in the night I decided how we will spend all
our money; so there will be none left for the pastor."

"We can pump more," said the woman.

"Perhaps; and perhaps not," he answered, cautiously. "What we have
we can depend upon, but whether or not there be more in the well I
cannot say."

"Then go and find out," she returned, "for I am anxious to give
something to the pastor, who is a poor man and deserving."

So the man got the pump handle from beneath the bed, and, going to
the pump, fitted it in place. Then he set a large wooden bucket
under the spout and began to pump. To their joy the gold pieces soon
began flowing into the pail, and, seeing it about to run over the
brim, the woman brought another pail. But now the stream suddenly
stopped, and the man said, cheerfully:

"That is enough for to-day, good wife! We have added greatly to our
treasure, and the parson shall have his gold piece. Indeed, I think
I shall also put a coin into the contribution box."

Then, because the teapot would hold no more gold, the farmer emptied
the pail into the wood-box, covering the money with dried leaves and
twigs, that no one might suspect what lay underneath.

Afterward they dressed themselves in their best clothing and started
for the church, each taking a bright gold piece from the teapot as a
gift to the pastor.

Over the hill and down into the valley beyond they walked, feeling
so gay and light-hearted that they did not mind the distance at all.
At last they came to the little country church and entered just as
the services began.

Being proud of their wealth and of the gifts they had brought for
the pastor, they could scarcely wait for the moment when the deacon
passed the contribution box. But at last the time came, and the
farmer held his hand high over the box and dropped the gold piece so
that all the congregation could see what he had given. The woman did
likewise, feeling important and happy at being able to give the good
parson so much.

The parson, watching from the pulpit, saw the gold drop into the
box, and could hardly believe that his eyes did not deceive him.
However, when the box was laid upon his desk there were the two gold
pieces, and he was so surprised that he nearly forgot his sermon.

When the people were leaving the church at the close of the services
the good man stopped the farmer and his wife and asked:

"Where did you get so much gold?"

The woman gladly told him how she had rescued the beetle, and how,
in return, they had been rewarded with the wonderful pump. The
pastor listened to it all gravely, and when the story was finished
he said:

"According to tradition strange things happened in this world ages
ago, and now I find that strange things may also happen to-day. For
by your tale you have found a beetle that can speak and also has
power to bestow upon you great wealth." Then he looked carefully at
the gold pieces and continued: "Either this money is fairy gold or
it is genuine metal, stamped at the mint of the United States
government. If it is fairy gold it will disappear within 24 hours,
and will therefore do no one any good. If it is real money, then
your beetle must have robbed some one of the gold and placed it in
your well. For all money belongs to some one, and if you have not
earned it honestly, but have come by it in the mysterious way you
mention, it was surely taken from the persons who owned it, without
their consent. Where else could real money come from?"

The farmer and his wife were confused by this statement and looked
guiltily at each other, for they were honest people and wished to
wrong no one.

"Then you think the beetle stole the money?" asked the woman.

"By his magic powers he probably took it from its rightful owners.
Even bugs which can speak have no consciences and cannot tell the
difference between right and wrong. With a desire to reward you for
your kindness the beetle took from its lawful possessors the money
you pumped from the well."

"Perhaps it really is fairy gold," suggested the man. "If so, we
must go to the town and spend the money before it disappears."

"That would be wrong," answered the pastor; "for then the merchants
would have neither money nor goods. To give them fairy gold would be
to rob them."

"What, then, shall we do?" asked the poor woman, wringing her hands
with grief and disappointment.

"Go home and wait until to-morrow. If the gold is then in your
possession it is real money and not fairy gold. But if it is real
money you must try to restore it to its rightful owners. Take, also,
these pieces which you have given me, for I cannot accept gold that
is not honestly come by."

Sadly the poor people returned to their home, being greatly
disturbed by what they had heard. Another sleepless night was
passed, and on Monday morning they arose at daylight and ran to see
if the gold was still visible.

"It is real money, after all!" cried the man; "for not a single
piece has disappeared."

When the woman went to the brook that day she looked for the beetle,
and, sure enough, there he sat upon the flat stone.

"Are you happy now?" asked the beetle, as the woman paused before
him.

"We are very unhappy," she answered; "for, although you have given
us much gold, our good parson says it surely belongs to some one
else, and was stolen by you to reward us."

"Your parson may be a good man," returned the beetle, with some
indignation, "but he certainly is not overwise. Nevertheless, if you
do not want the gold I can take it from you as easily as I gave it."

"But we do want it!" cried the woman, fearfully. "That is," she
added, "if it is honestly come by."

"It is not stolen," replied the beetle, sulkily, "and now belongs to
no one but yourselves. When you saved my life I thought how I might
reward you; and, knowing you to be poor, I decided gold would make
you happier than anything else.

"You must know," he continued, "that although I appear so small and
insignificant, I am really king of all the insects, and my people
obey my slightest wish. Living, as they do, close to the ground, the
insects often come across gold and other pieces of money which have
been lost by men and have fallen into cracks or crevasses or become
covered with earth or hidden by grass or weeds. Whenever my people
find money in this way they report the fact to me; but I have always
let it lie, because it could be of no possible use to an insect.

"However, when I decided to give you gold I knew just where to
obtain it without robbing any of your fellow creatures. Thousands of
insects were at once sent by me in every direction to bring the
pieces of lost gold to his hill. It cost my people several days of
hard labor, as you may suppose; but by the time your husband had
finished the well the gold began to arrive from all parts of the
country, and during the night my subjects dumped it all into the
well. So you may use it with a clear conscience, knowing that you
wrong no one."

This explanation delighted the woman, and when she returned to the
house and reported to her husband what the beetle had said he also
was overjoyed.

So they at once took a number of the gold pieces and went to the
town to purchase provisions and clothing and many things of which
they had long stood in need; but so proud were they of their newly
acquired wealth that they took no pains to conceal it. They wanted
everyone to know they had money, and so it was no wonder that when
some of the wicked men in the village saw the gold they longed to
possess it themselves.

"If they spend this money so freely," whispered one to another,
"there must be a great store of gold at their home."

"That is true," was the answer. "Let us hasten there before they
return and ransack the house."

So they left the village and hurried away to the farm on the hill,
where they broke down the door and turned everything topsy turvy
until they had discovered the gold in the wood-box and the teapot.
It did not take them long to make this into bundles, which they
slung upon their backs and carried off, and it was probably because
they were in a great hurry that they did not stop to put the house
in order again.

Presently the good woman and her husband came up the hill from the
village with their arms full of bundles and followed by a crowd of
small boys who had been hired to help carry the purchases. Then
followed others, youngsters and country louts, attracted by the
wealth and prodigality of the pair, who, from simple curiosity,
trailed along behind like the tail of a comet and helped swell the
concourse into a triumphal procession. Last of all came Guggins, the
shopkeeper, carrying with much tenderness a new silk dress which was
to be paid for when they reached the house, all the money they had
taken to the village having been lavishly expended.

The farmer, who had formerly been a modest man, was now so swelled
with pride that he tipped the rim of his hat over his left ear and
smoked a big cigar that was fast making him ill. His wife strutted
along beside him like a peacock, enjoying to the full the homage and
respect her wealth had won from those who formerly deigned not to
notice her, and glancing from time to time at the admiring
procession in the rear.

But, alas for their new-born pride! when they reached the farmhouse
they found the door broken in, the furniture strewn in all
directions and their treasure stolen to the very last gold piece.

The crowd grinned and made slighting remarks of a personal nature,
and Guggins, the shopkeeper, demanded in a loud voice the money for
the silk dress he had brought.

Then the woman whispered to her husband to run and pump some more
gold while she kept the crowd quiet, and he obeyed quickly. But
after a few moments he returned with a white face to tell her the
pump was dry, and not a gold piece could now be coaxed from the
spout.

The procession marched back to the village laughing and jeering at
the farmer and his wife, who had pretended to be so rich; and some
of the boys were naughty enough to throw stones at the house from
the top of the hill. Mr. Guggins carried away his dress after
severely scolding the woman for deceiving him, and when the couple
at last found themselves alone their pride had turned to humiliation
and their joy to bitter grief.

Just before sundown the woman dried her eyes and, having resumed her
ordinary attire, went to the brook for water. When she came to the
flat stone she saw the King Beetle sitting upon it.

"The well is dry!" she cried out, angrily.

"Yes," answered the beetle, calmly, "you have pumped from it all the
gold my people could find."

"But we are now ruined," said the woman, sitting down in the path
beginning to weep; "for robbers have stolen from us every penny we
possessed."

"I'm sorry," returned the beetle; "but it is your own fault. Had you
not made so great a show of your wealth no one would have suspected
you possessed a treasure, or thought to rob you. As it is, you have
merely lost the gold which others have lost before you. It will
probably be lost many times more before the world comes to an end."

"But what are we to do now?" she asked.

"What did you do before I gave you the money?"

"We worked from morning 'til night," said she.

"Then work still remains for you," remarked the beetle, composedly;
"no one will ever try to rob you of that, you may be sure!" And he
slid from the stone and disappeared for the last time.

    

This story should teach us to accept good fortune with humble hearts
and to use it with moderation. For, had the farmer and his wife
resisted the temptation to display their wealth ostentatiously, they
might have retained it to this very day.




THE DUMMY THAT LIVED


In all Fairyland there is no more mischievous a person than
Tanko-Mankie the Yellow Ryl. He flew through the city one
afternoon--quite invisible to moral eyes, but seeing everything
himself--and noticed a figure of a wax lady standing behind the big
plate glass window of Mr. Floman's department store.

The wax lady was beautifully dressed, and extended in her stiff left
hand was a card bearing the words:

    "RARE BARGIN!
    This Stylish Costume
    (Imported from Paris)
    Former Price, 20,
    REDUCED TO ONLY 19.98."

This impressive announcement had drawn before the window a crowd of
women shoppers, who stood looking at the wax lady with critical
eyes.

Tanko-Mankie laughed to himself the low, gurgling little laugh that
always means mischief. Then he flew close to the wax figure and
breathed twice upon its forehead.

From that instant the dummy began to live, but so dazed and
astonished was she at the unexpected sensation that she continued to
stand stupidly staring at the women outside and holding out the
placard as before.

The ryl laughed again and flew away. Anyone but Tanko-Mankie would
have remained to help the wax lady out of the troubles that were
sure to overtake her; but this naughty elf thought it rare fun to
turn the inexperienced lady loose in a cold and heartless world and
leave her to shift for herself.

Fortunately it was almost six o'clock when the dummy first realized
that she was alive, and before she had collected her new thoughts
and decided what to do a man came around and drew down all the
window shades, shutting off the view from the curious shoppers.

Then the clerks and cashiers and floorwalkers and cash girls went
home and the store was closed for the night, although the sweepers
and scrubbers remained to clean the floors for the following day.

The window inhabited by the wax lady was boxed in, like a little
room, one small door being left at the side for the window-trimmer
to creep in and out of. So the scrubbers never noticed that the
dummy, when left to herself, dropped the placard to the floor and
sat down upon a pile of silks to wonder who she was, where she was,
and how she happened to be alive.

For you must consider, dear reader, that in spite of her size and
her rich costume, in spite of her pink cheeks and fluffy yellow
hair, this lady was very young--no older, in reality, than a baby
born but half an hour. All she knew of the world was contained in
the glimpse she had secured of the busy street facing her window;
all she knew of people lay in the actions of the group of women
which had stood before her on the other side of the window pane and
criticised the fit of her dress or remarked upon its stylish
appearance.

So she had little enough to think about, and her thoughts moved
somewhat slowly; yet one thing she really decided upon, and that was
not to remain in the window and be insolently stared at by a lot of
women who were not nearly so handsome or well dressed as herself.

By the time she reached this important conclusion, it was after
midnight; but dim lights were burning in the big, deserted store, so
she crept through the door of her window and walked down the long
aisles, pausing now and then to look with much curiosity at the
wealth of finery confronting her on every side.

When she came to the glass cases filled with trimmed hats she
remembered having seen upon the heads of the women in the street
similar creations. So she selected one that suited her fancy and
placed it carefully upon her yellow locks. I won't attempt to
explain what instinct it was that made her glance into a near-by
mirror to see if the hat was straight, but this she certainly did.
It didn't correspond with her dress very well, but the poor thing
was too young to have much taste in matching colors.

When she reached the glove counter she remembered that gloves were
also worn by the women she had seen. She took a pair from the case
and tried to fit them upon her stiff, wax-coated fingers; but the
gloves were too small and ripped in the seams. Then she tried
another pair, and several others, as well; but hours passed before
she finally succeeded in getting her hands covered with a pair of
pea-green kids.

Next she selected a parasol from a large and varied assortment in
the rear of the store. Not that she had any idea what it was used
for; but other ladies carried such things, so she also would have
one.

When she again examined herself critically in the mirror she decided
her outfit was now complete, and to her inexperienced eyes there was
no perceptible difference between her and the women who had stood
outside the window. Whereupon she tried to leave the store, but
found every door fast locked.

The wax lady was in no hurry. She inherited patience from her
previous existence. Just to be alive and to wear beautiful clothes
was sufficient enjoyment for her at present. So she sat down upon a
stool and waited quietly until daylight.

When the janitor unlocked the door in the morning the wax lady swept
past him and walked with stiff but stately strides down the street.
The poor fellow was so completely whuckered at seeing the well-known
wax lady leave her window and march away from the store that he fell
over in a heap and only saved himself from fainting by striking his
funny bone against the doorstep. When he recovered his wits she had
turned the corner and disappeared.

The wax lady's immature mind had reasoned that, since she had come
to life, her evident duty was to mix with the world and do whatever
other folks did. She could not realize how different she was from
people of flesh and blood; nor did she know she was the first dummy
that had ever lived, or that she owed her unique experience to
Tanko-Mankie's love of mischief. So ignorance gave her a confidence
in herself that she was not justly entitled to.

It was yet early in the day, and the few people she met were
hurrying along the streets. Many of them turned into restaurants and
eating houses, and following their example the wax lady also entered
one and sat upon a stool before a lunch counter.

"Coffee 'n' rolls!" said a shop girl on the next stool.

"Coffee 'n' rolls!" repeated the dummy, and soon the waiter placed
them before her. Of course she had no appetite, as her constitution,
being mostly wood, did not require food; but she watched the shop
girl, and saw her put the coffee to her mouth and drink it.
Therefore the wax lady did the same, and the next instant was
surprised to feel the hot liquid trickling out between her wooden
ribs. The coffee also blistered her wax lips, and so disagreeable
was the experience that she arose and left the restaurant, paying no
attention to the demands of the waiter for "20 cents, mum." Not that
she intended to defraud him, but the poor creature had no idea what
he meant by "20 cents, mum."

As she came out she met the window trimmer at Floman's store. The
man was rather near-sighted, but seeing something familiar in the
lady's features he politely raised his hat. The wax lady also raised
her hat, thinking it the proper thing to do, and the man hurried
away with a horrified face.

Then a woman touched her arm and said:

"Beg pardon, ma'am; but there's a price-mark hanging on your dress
behind."

"Yes, I know," replied the wax lady, stiffly; "it was originally
20, but it's been reduced to 19.98."

The woman looked surprised at such indifference and walked on. Some
carriages were standing at the edge of the sidewalk, and seeing the
dummy hesitate a driver approached her and touched his cap.

"Cab, ma'am?" he asked.

"No," said she, misunderstanding him; "I'm wax."

"Oh!" he exclaimed, and looked after her wonderingly.

"Here's yer mornin' paper!" yelled a newsboy.

"Mine, did you say?" she asked.

"Sure! Chronicle, 'Quirer, R'public 'n' 'Spatch! Wot'll ye 'ave?"

"What are they for?" inquired the wax lady, simply.

"W'y, ter read, o' course. All the news, you know."

She shook her head and glanced at a paper.

"It looks all speckled and mixed up," she said. "I'm afraid I can't
read."

"Ever ben to school?" asked the boy, becoming interested.

"No; what's school?" she inquired.

The boy gave her an indignant look.

"Say!" he cried, "ye'r just a dummy, that's wot ye are!" and ran
away to seek a more promising customer.

"I wonder that he means," thought the poor lady. "Am I really
different in some way from all the others? I look like them,
certainly; and I try to act like them; yet that boy called me a
dummy and seemed to think I acted queerly."

This idea worried her a little, but she walked on to the corner,
where she noticed a street car stop to let some people on. The wax
lady, still determined to do as others did, also boarded the car and
sat down quietly in a corner.

After riding a few blocks the conductor approached her and said:

"Fare, please!"

"What's that?" she inquired, innocently.

"Your fare!" said the man, impatiently.

She stared at him stupidly, trying to think what he meant.

"Come, come!" growled the conductor, "either pay up or get off!"

Still she did not understand, and he grabbed her rudely by the arm
and lifted her to her feet. But when his hand came in contact with
the hard wood of which her arm was made the fellow was filled with
surprise. He stooped down and peered into her face, and, seeing it
was wax instead of flesh, he gave a yell of fear and jumped from the
car, running as if he had seen a ghost.

At this the other passengers also yelled and sprang from the car,
fearing a collision; and the motorman, knowing something was wrong,
followed suit. The wax lady, seeing the others run, jumped from the
car last of all, and stepped in front of another car coming at full
speed from the opposite direction.

She heard cries of fear and of warning on all sides, but before she
understood her danger she was knocked down and dragged for half a
block.

When the car was brought to a stop a policeman reached down and
pulled her from under the wheels. Her dress was badly torn and
soiled. Her left ear was entirely gone, and the left side of her
head was caved in; but she quickly scrambled to her feet and asked
for her hat. This a gentleman had already picked up, and when the
policeman handed it to her and noticed the great hole in her head
and the hollow place it disclosed, the poor fellow trembled so
frightfully that his knees actually knocked together.

"Why--why, ma'am, you're killed!" he gasped.

"What does it mean to be killed?" asked the wax lady.

The policeman shuddered and wiped the perspiration from his
forehead.

"You're it!" he answered, with a groan.

The crowd that had collected were looking upon the lady wonderingly,
and a middle-aged gentleman now exclaimed:

"Why, she's wax!"

"Wax!" echoed the policeman.

"Certainly. She's one of those dummies they put in the windows,"
declared the middle-aged man.

The people who had collected shouted: "You're right!" "That's what
she is!" "She's a dummy!"

"Are you?" inquired the policeman, sternly.

The wax lady did not reply. She began to fear she was getting into
trouble, and the staring crowd seemed to embarrass her.

Suddenly a bootblack attempted to solve the problem by saying: "You
guys is all wrong! Can a dummy talk? Can a dummy walk? Can a dummy
live?"

"Hush!" murmured the policeman. "Look here!" and he pointed to the
hold in the lady's head. The newsboy looked, turned pale and
whistled to keep himself from shivering.

A second policeman now arrived, and after a brief conference it was
decided to take the strange creature to headquarters. So they called
a hurry-up wagon, and the damaged wax lady was helped inside and
driven to the police station. There the policeman locked her in a
cell and hastened to tell Inspector Mugg their wonderful story.

Inspector Mugg had just eaten a poor breakfast, and was not in a
pleasant mood; so he roared and stormed at the unlucky policemen,
saying they were themselves dummies to bring such a fairy tale to a
man of sense. He also hinted that they had been guilty of
intemperance.

The policemen tried to explain, but Inspector Mugg would not listen;
and while they were still disputing in rushed Mr. Floman, the owner
of the department store.

"I want a dozen detectives, at once, inspector!" he cried.

"What for?" demanded Mugg.

"One of the wax ladies has escaped from my store and eloped with a
19.98 costume, a 4.23 hat, a 2.19 parasol and a 76-cent pair of
gloves, and I want her arrested!"

While he paused for breath the inspector glared at him in amazement.

"Is everybody going crazy at the same time?" he inquired,
sarcastically. "How could a wax dummy run away?"

"I don't know; but she did. When my janitor opened the door this
morning he saw her run out."

"Why didn't he stop her?" asked Mugg.

"He was too frightened. But she's stolen my property, your honor,
and I want her arrested!" declared the storekeeper.

The inspector thought for a moment.

"You wouldn't be able to prosecute her," he said, "for there's no
law against dummies stealing."

Mr. Floman sighed bitterly.

"Am I to lose that 19.98 costume and the 4.25 hat and--"

"By no means," interrupted Inspector Mugg. "The police of this city
are ever prompt to act in defense of our worthy citizens. We have
already arrested the wax lady, and she is locked up in cell No. 16.
You may go there and recover your property, if you wish, but before
you prosecute her for stealing you'd better hunt up a law that
applies to dummies."

"All I want," said Mr. Floman, "is that 19.98 costume and--"

"Come along!" interrupted the policeman. "I'll take you to the
cell."

But when they entered No. 16 they found only a lifeless dummy lying
prone upon the floor. Its wax was cracked and blistered, its head
was badly damaged, and the bargain costume was dusty, soiled and
much bedraggled. For the mischief-loving Tanko-Mankie had flown by
and breathed once more upon the poor wax lady, and in that instant
her brief life ended.

"It's just as I thought," said Inspector Mugg, leaning back in his
chair contentedly. "I knew all the time the thing was a fake. It
seems sometimes as though the whole world would go crazy if there
wasn't some level-headed man around to bring 'em to their senses.
Dummies are wood an' wax, an' that's all there is of 'em."

"That may be the rule," whispered the policeman to himself, "but
this one were a dummy as lived!"




THE KING OF THE POLAR BEARS


The King of the Polar Bears lived among the icebergs in the far
north country. He was old and monstrous big; he was wise and
friendly to all who knew him. His body was thickly covered with
long, white hair that glistened like silver under the rays of the
midnight sun. His claws were strong and sharp, that he might walk
safely over the smooth ice or grasp and tear the fishes and seals
upon which he fed.

The seals were afraid when he drew near, and tried to avoid him; but
the gulls, both white and gray, loved him because he left the
remnants of his feasts for them to devour.

Often his subjects, the polar bears, came to him for advice when ill
or in trouble; but they wisely kept away from his hunting grounds,
lest they might interfere with his sport and arouse his anger.

The wolves, who sometimes came as far north as the icebergs,
whispered among themselves that the King of the Polar Bears was
either a magician or under the protection of a powerful fairy. For
no earthly thing seemed able to harm him; he never failed to secure
plenty of food, and he grew bigger and stronger day by day and year
by year.

Yet the time came when this monarch of the north met man, and his
wisdom failed him.

He came out of his cave among the icebergs one day and saw a boat
moving through the strip of water which had been uncovered by the
shifting of the summer ice. In the boat were men.

The great bear had never seen such creatures before, and therefore
advanced toward the boat, sniffing the strange scent with aroused
curiosity and wondering whether he might take them for friends or
foes, food or carrion.

When the king came near the water's edge a man stood up in the boat
and with a queer instrument made a loud "bang!" The polar bear felt
a shock; his brain became numb; his thoughts deserted him; his great
limbs shook and gave way beneath him and his body fell heavily upon
the hard ice.

That was all he remembered for a time.

When he awoke he was smarting with pain on every inch of his huge
bulk, for the men had cut away his hide with its glorious white hair
and carried it with them to a distant ship.

Above him circled thousands of his friends the gulls, wondering if
their benefactor were really dead and it was proper to eat him. But
when they saw him raise his head and groan and tremble they knew he
still lived, and one of them said to his comrades:

"The wolves were right. The king is a great magician, for even men
cannot kill him. But he suffers for lack of covering. Let us repay
his kindness to us by each giving him as many feathers as we can
spare."

This idea pleased the gulls. One after another they plucked with
their beaks the softest feathers from under their wings, and, flying
down, dropped then gently upon the body of the King of the Polar
Bears.

Then they called to him in a chorus:

"Courage, friend! Our feathers are as soft and beautiful as your own
shaggy hair. They will guard you from the cold winds and warm you
while you sleep. Have courage, then, and live!"

And the King of the Polar Bears had courage to bear his pain and
lived and was strong again.

The feathers grew as they had grown upon the bodies of the birds and
covered him as his own hair had done. Mostly they were pure white in
color, but some from the gray gulls gave his majesty a slight
mottled appearance.

The rest of that summer and all through the six months of night the
king left his icy cavern only to fish or catch seals for food. He
felt no shame at his feathery covering, but it was still strange to
him, and he avoided meeting any of his brother bears.

During this period of retirement he thought much of the men who had
harmed him, and remembered the way they had made the great "bang!"
And he decided it was best to keep away from such fierce creatures.
Thus he added to his store of wisdom.

When the moon fell away from the sky and the sun came to make the
icebergs glitter with the gorgeous tintings of the rainbow, two of
the polar bears arrived at the king's cavern to ask his advice about
the hunting season. But when they saw his great body covered with
feathers instead of hair they began to laugh, and one said:

"Our mighty king has become a bird! Who ever before heard of a
feathered polar bear?"

Then the king gave way to wrath. He advanced upon them with deep
growls and stately tread and with one blow of his monstrous paw
stretched the mocker lifeless at his feet.

The other ran away to his fellows and carried the news of the king's
strange appearance. The result was a meeting of all the polar bears
upon a broad field of ice, where they talked gravely of the
remarkable change that had come upon their monarch.

"He is, in reality, no longer a bear," said one; "nor can he justly
be called a bird. But he is half bird and half bear, and so unfitted
to remain our king."

"Then who shall take his place?" asked another.

"He who can fight the bird-bear and overcome him," answered an aged
member of the group. "Only the strongest is fit to rule our race."

There was silence for a time, but at length a great bear moved to
the front and said:

"I will fight him; I--Woof--the strongest of our race! And I will be
King of the Polar Bears."

The others nodded assent, and dispatched a messenger to the king to
say he must fight the great Woof and master him or resign his
sovereignty.

"For a bear with feathers," added the messenger, "is no bear at all,
and the king we obey must resemble the rest of us."

"I wear feathers because it pleases me," growled the king. "Am I not
a great magician? But I will fight, nevertheless, and if Woof
masters me he shall be king in my stead."

Then he visited his friends, the gulls, who were even then feasting
upon the dead bear, and told them of the coming battle.

"I shall conquer," he said, proudly. "Yet my people are in the
right, for only a hairy one like themselves can hope to command
their obedience."

The queen gull said:

"I met an eagle yesterday, which had made its escape from a big city
of men. And the eagle told me he had seen a monstrous polar bear
skin thrown over the back of a carriage that rolled along the
street. That skin must have been yours, oh king, and if you wish I
will sent an hundred of my gulls to the city to bring it back to
you."

"Let them go!" said the king, gruffly. And the hundred gulls were
soon flying rapidly southward.

For three days they flew straight as an arrow, until they came to
scattered houses, to villages, and to cities. Then their search
began.

The gulls were brave, and cunning, and wise. Upon the fourth day
they reached the great metropolis, and hovered over the streets
until a carriage rolled along with a great white bear robe thrown
over the back seat. Then the birds swooped down--the whole hundred
of them--and seizing the skin in their beaks flew quickly away.

They were late. The king's great battle was upon the seventh day,
and they must fly swiftly to reach the Polar regions by that time.

Meanwhile the bird-bear was preparing for his fight. He sharpened
his claws in the small crevasses of the ice. He caught a seal and
tested his big yellow teeth by crunching its bones between them. And
the queen gull set her band to pluming the king bear's feathers
until they lay smoothly upon his body.

But every day they cast anxious glances into the southern sky,
watching for the hundred gulls to bring back the king's own skin.

The seventh day came, and all the Polar bears in that region
gathered around the king's cavern. Among them was Woof, strong and
confident of his success.

"The bird-bear's feathers will fly fast enough when I get my claws
upon him!" he boasted; and the others laughed and encouraged him.

The king was disappointed at not having recovered his skin, but he
resolved to fight bravely without it. He advanced from the opening
of his cavern with a proud and kingly bearing, and when he faced his
enemy he gave so terrible a growl that Woof's heart stopped beating
for a moment, and he began to realize that a fight with the wise and
mighty king of his race was no laughing matter.

After exchanging one or two heavy blows with his foe Woof's courage
returned, and he determined to dishearten his adversary by bluster.

"Come nearer, bird-bear!" he cried. "Come nearer, that I may pluck
your plumage!"

The defiance filled the king with rage. He ruffled his feathers as a
bird does, till he appeared to be twice his actual size, and then he
strode forward and struck Woof so powerful a blow that his skull
crackled like an egg-shell and he fell prone upon the ground.

While the assembled bears stood looking with fear and wonder at
their fallen champion the sky became darkened.

An hundred gulls flew down from above and dripped upon the king's
body a skin covered with pure white hair that glittered in the sun
like silver.

And behold! the bears saw before them the well-known form of their
wise and respected master, and with one accord they bowed their
shaggy heads in homage to the mighty King of the Polar Bears.

    

This story teaches us that true dignity and courage depend not upon
outward appearance, but come rather from within; also that brag and
bluster are poor weapons to carry into battle.




THE MANDARIN AND THE BUTTERFLY


A mandarin once lived in Kiang-ho who was so exceedingly cross and
disagreeable that everyone hated him. He snarled and stormed at
every person he met and was never known to laugh or be merry under
any circumstances. Especially he hated boys and girls; for the boys
jeered at him, which aroused his wrath, and the girls made fun of
him, which hurt his pride.

When he had become so unpopular that no one would speak to him, the
emperor heard about it and commanded him to emigrate to America.
This suited the mandarin very well; but before he left China he
stole the Great Book of Magic that belonged to the wise magician
Haot-sai. Then, gathering up his little store of money, he took ship
for America.

He settled in a city of the middle west and of course started a
laundry, since that seems to be the natural vocation of every
Chinaman, be he coolie or mandarin.

He made no acquaintances with the other Chinamen of the town, who,
when they met him and saw the red button in his hat, knew him for a
real mandarin and bowed low before him. He put up a red and white
sign and people brought their laundry to him and got paper checks,
with Chinese characters upon them, in exchange, this being the only
sort of character the mandarin had left.

One day as the ugly one was ironing in his shop in the basement of
263 1/2 Main street, he looked up and saw a crowd of childish faces
pressed against the window. Most Chinamen make friends with
children; this one hated them and tried to drive them away. But as
soon as he returned to his work they were back at the window again,
mischievously smiling down upon him.

The naughty mandarin uttered horrid words in the Manchu language and
made fierce gestures; but this did no good at all. The children
stayed as long as they pleased, and they came again the very next
day as soon as school was over, and likewise the next day, and the
next. For they saw their presence at the window bothered the
Chinaman and were delighted accordingly.

The following day being Sunday the children did not appear, but as
the mandarin, being a heathen, worked in his little shop a big
butterfly flew in at the open door and fluttered about the room.

The mandarin closed the door and chased the butterfly until he
caught it, when he pinned it against the wall by sticking two pins
through its beautiful wings. This did not hurt the butterfly, there
being no feeling in its wings; but it made him a safe prisoner.

This butterfly was of large size and its wings were exquisitely
marked by gorgeous colors laid out in regular designs like the
stained glass windows of a cathedral.

The mandarin now opened his wooden chest and drew forth the Great
Book of Magic he had stolen from Haot-sai. Turning the pages slowly
he came to a passage describing "How to understand the language of
butterflies." This he read carefully and then mixed a magic formula
in a tin cup and drank it down with a wry face. Immediately
thereafter he spoke to the butterfly in its own language, saying:

"Why did you enter this room?"

"I smelled bees-wax," answered the butterfly; "therefore I thought
I might find honey here."

"But you are my prisoner," said the mandarin. "If I please I can kill
you, or leave you on the wall to starve to death."

"I expect that," replied the butterfly, with a sigh. "But my race is
shortlived, anyway; it doesn't matter whether death comes sooner or
later."

"Yet you like to live, do you not?" asked the mandarin.

"Yet; life is pleasant and the world is beautiful. I do not seek
death."

"Then," said the mandarin, "I will give you life--a long and
pleasant life--if you will promise to obey me for a time and carry
out my instructions."

"How can a butterfly serve a man?" asked the creature, in surprise.

"Usually they cannot," was the reply. "But I have a book of magic
which teaches me strange things. Do you promise?"

"Oh, yes; I promise," answered the butterfly; "for even as your
slave I will get some enjoyment out of life, while should you kill
me--that is the end of everything!"

"Truly," said the mandarin, "butterflies have no souls, and
therefore cannot live again."

"But I have enjoyed three lives already," returned the butterfly,
with some pride. "I have been a caterpillar and a chrysalis before I
became a butterfly. You were never anything but a Chinaman, although
I admit your life is longer than mine."

"I will extend your life for many days, if you will obey me,"
declared the Chinaman. "I can easily do so by means of my magic."

"Of course I will obey you," said the butterfly, carelessly.

"Then, listen! You know children, do you not?--boys and girls?"

"Yes, I know them. They chase me, and try to catch me, as you have
done," replied the butterfly.

"And they mock me, and jeer at me through the window," continued the
mandarin, bitterly. "Therefore, they are your enemies and mine! But
with your aid and the help of the magic book we shall have a fine
revenge for their insults."

"I don't care much for revenge," said the butterfly. "They are but
children, and 'tis natural they should wish to catch such a
beautiful creature as I am."

"Nevertheless, I care! and you must obey me," retorted the mandarin,
harshly. "I, at least, will have my revenge."

Then he stuck a drop of molasses upon the wall beside the
butterfly's head and said:

"Eat that, while I read my book and prepare my magic formula."

So the butterfly feasted upon the molasses and the mandarin studied
his book, after which he began to mix a magic compound in the tin
cup.

When the mixture was ready he released the butterfly from the wall
and said to it:

"I command you to dip your two front feet into this magic compound
and then fly away until you meet a child. Fly close, whether it be a
boy or a girl, and touch the child upon its forehead with your feet.
Whosoever is thus touched, the book declares, will at once become a
pig, and will remain such forever after. Then return to me and dip
you legs afresh in the contents of this cup. So shall all my
enemies, the children, become miserable swine, while no one will
think of accusing me of the sorcery."

"Very well; since such is your command, I obey," said the butterfly.
Then it dipped its front legs, which were the shortest of the six,
into the contents of the tin cup, and flew out of the door and away
over the houses to the edge of the town. There it alighted in a
flower garden and soon forgot all about its mission to turn children
into swine.

In going from flower to flower it soon brushed the magic compound
from its legs, so that when the sun began to set and the butterfly
finally remembered its master, the mandarin, it could not have
injured a child had it tried.

But it did not intend to try.

"That horrid old Chinaman," it thought, "hates children and wishes
to destroy them. But I rather like children myself and shall not
harm them. Of course I must return to my master, for he is a
magician, and would seek me out and kill me; but I can deceive him
about this matter easily enough."

When the butterfly flew in at the door of the mandarin's laundry he
asked, eagerly:

"Well, did you meet a child?"

"I did," replied the butterfly, calmly. "It was a pretty,
golden-haired girl--but now 'tis a grunting pig!"

"Good! Good! Good!" cried the mandarin, dancing joyfully about the
room. "You shall have molasses for your supper, and to-morrow you
must change two children into pigs."

The butterfly did not reply, but ate the molasses in silence. Having
no soul it had no conscience, and having no conscience it was able
to lie to the mandarin with great readiness and a certain amount of
enjoyment.

Next morning, by the mandarin's command, the butterfly dipped its
legs in the mixture and flew away in search of children.

When it came to the edge of the town it noticed a pig in a sty, and
alighting upon the rail of the sty it looked down at the creature
and thought.

"If I could change a child into a pig by touching it with the magic
compound, what could I change a pig into, I wonder?"

Being curious to determine this fine point in sorcery the butterfly
fluttered down and touched its front feet to the pig's nose.
Instantly the animal disappeared, and in its place was a
shock-headed, dirty looking boy, which sprang from the sty and ran
down the road uttering load whoops.

"That's funny," said the butterfly to itself. "The mandarin would be
very angry with me if he knew of this, for I have liberated one more
of the creatures that bother him."

It fluttered along after the boy, who had paused to throw stones at
a cat. But pussy escaped by running up a tree, where thick branches
protected her from the stones. Then the boy discovered a
newly-planted garden, and trampled upon the beds until the seeds
were scattered far and wide, and the garden was ruined. Next he
caught up a switch and struck with it a young calf that stood
quietly grazing in a field. The poor creature ran away with piteous
bleats, and the boy laughed and followed after it, striking the
frightened animal again and again.

"Really," thought the butterfly, "I do not wonder the mandarin hates
children, if they are all so cruel and wicked as this one."

The calf having escaped him the boy came back to the road, where he
met two little girls on their way to school. One of them had a red
apple in her hand, and the boy snatched it away and began eating it.
The little girl commenced to cry, but her companion, more brave and
sturdy, cried out:

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you nasty boy!"

At this the boy reached out and slapped her pretty face, whereupon
she also began to sob.

Although possessed of neither soul nor conscience, the butterfly had
a very tender heart, and now decided it could endure this boy no
longer.

"If I permitted him to exist," it reflected, "I should never forgive
myself, for the monster would do nothing but evil from morning 'til
night."

So it flew directly into his face and touched his forehead with its
sticky front feet.

The next instant the boy had disappeared, but a grunting pig ran
swiftly up the road in the direction of its sty.

The butterfly gave a sigh of relief.

"This time I have indeed used the mandarin's magic upon a child," it
whispered, as it floated lazily upon the light breeze; "but since
the child was originally a pig I do not think I have any cause to
reproach myself. The little girls were sweet and gentle, and I would
not injure them to save my life, but were all boys like this
transformed pig, I should not hesitate to carry out the mandarin's
orders."

Then it flew into a rose bush, where it remained comfortably until
evening. At sundown it returned to its master.

"Have you changed two of them into pigs?" he asked, at once.

"I have," replied the butterfly. "One was a pretty, black-eyed baby,
and the other a freckle-faced, red-haired, barefooted newboy."

"Good! Good! Good!" screamed the mandarin, in an ecstasy of delight.
"Those are the ones who torment me the most! Change every newboy you
meet into a pig!"

"Very well," answered the butterfly, quietly, and ate its supper of
molasses.

Several days were passed by the butterfly in the same manner. It
fluttered aimlessly about the flower gardens while the sun shone,
and returned at night to the mandarin with false tales of turning
children into swine. Sometimes it would be one child which was
transformed, sometimes two, and occasionally three; but the mandarin
always greeted the butterfly's report with intense delight and gave
him molasses for supper.

One evening, however, the butterfly thought it might be well to vary
the report, so that the mandarin might not grow suspicious; and when
its master asked what child had been had been changed into a pig
that day the lying creature answered:

"It was a Chinese boy, and when I touched him he became a black
pig."

This angered the mandarin, who was in an especially cross mood. He
spitefully snapped the butterfly with his finger, and nearly broke
its beautiful wing; for he forgot that Chinese boys had once mocked
him and only remembered his hatred for American boys.

The butterfly became very indignant at this abuse from the mandarin.
It refused to eat its molasses and sulked all the evening, for it
had grown to hate the mandarin almost as much as the mandarin hated
children.

When morning came it was still trembling with indignation; but the
mandarin cried out:

"Make haste, miserable slave; for to-day you must change four
children into pigs, to make up for yesterday."

The butterfly did not reply. His little black eyes were sparkling
wickedly, and no sooner had he dipped his feet into the magic
compound than he flew full in the mandarin's face, and touched him
upon his ugly, flat forehead.

Soon after a gentleman came into the room for his laundry. The
mandarin was not there, but running around the place was a
repulsive, scrawny pig, which squealed most miserably.

The butterfly flew away to a brook and washed from its feet all
traces of the magic compound. When night came it slept in a rose
bush.








BEAUTY

AND

THE BEAST.



There was once a very rich merchant, who had six children, three sons,
and three daughters; being a man of sense, he spared no cost for their
education, but gave them all kinds of masters.  His daughters were
extremely handsome, especially the youngest; when she was little, every
body admired her, and called her _The little Beauty_; so that, as
she grew up, she still went by the name of _Beauty_, which made her
sisters very jealous.  The youngest, as she was handsome, was also
better than her sisters.  The two eldest had a great deal of pride,
because they were rich.  They gave themselves ridiculous airs, and would
not visit other merchants' daughters, nor keep company with any but
persons of quality.  They went out every day upon parties of pleasure,
balls, plays, concerts, etc. and laughed at their youngest sister,
because she spent the greatest part of her time in reading good books.
As it was known that they were to have great fortunes, several eminent
merchants made their addresses to them; but the two eldest said they
would never marry, unless they could meet with a Duke, or an Earl at
least.  Beauty very civilly thanked them that courted her, and told them
she was too young yet to marry, but chose to stay with her father a few
years longer.

All at once the merchant lost his whole fortune, excepting a small
country-house at a great distance from town, and told his children, with
tears in his eyes, they most go there and work for their living.  The
two eldest answered, that they would not leave the town, for they had
several lovers, who they were sure would be glad to have them, though
they had no fortune; but in this they were mistaken, for their lovers
slighted and forsook them in their poverty.  As they were not beloved on
account of their pride, every body said, "they do not deserve to be
pitied, we are glad to see their pride humbled, let them go and give
themselves quality airs in milking the cows and minding their dairy.
But, (added they,) we are extremely concerned for Beauty, she was such a
charming, sweet-tempered creature, spoke so kindly to poor people, and
was of such an affable, obliging disposition." Nay, several gentlemen
would have married her, though they knew she had not a penny; but she
told them she could not think of leaving her poor father in his
misfortunes, but was determined to go along with him into the country to
comfort and attend him.  Poor Beauty at first was sadly grieved at the
loss of her fortune; "but, (she said to herself,) were I to cry ever so
much, that would not make things better, I must try to make myself happy
without a fortune." When they came to their country-house, the merchant
and his three sons applied themselves to husbandry and tillage; and
Beauty rose at four in the morning, and made haste to have the house
clean, and breakfast ready for the family.  In the beginning she found
it very difficult, for she had not been used to work as a servant; but
in less than two months she grew stronger and healthier than ever.
After she had done her work, she read, played on the harpsichord, or
else sung whilst she spun.  On the contrary, her two sisters did not
know how to spend their time; they got up at ten, and did nothing but
saunter about the whole day, lamenting the loss of their fine clothes
and acquaintance.  "Do but see our youngest sister, (said they one to
the other,) what a poor, stupid mean-spirited creature she is, to be
contented with such an unhappy situation." The good merchant was of a
quite different opinion; he knew very well that Beauty out-shone her
sisters, in her person as well as her mind, and admired her humility,
industry, and patience; for her sisters not only left her all the work
of the house to do, but insulted her every moment.



The family had lived about a year in this retirement, when the merchant
received a letter, with an account that a vessel, on board of which he
had effects, was safely arrived.  This news had liked to have turned the
heads of the two eldest daughters, who immediately flattered themselves
with the hopes of returning to town; for they were quite weary of a
country life; and when they saw their father ready to set out, they
begged of him to buy them new gowns, caps, rings, and all manner of
trifles; but Beauty asked for nothing, for she thought to herself, that
all the money her father was going to receive would scarce be sufficient
to purchase every thing her sisters wanted.  "What will you have,
Beauty?" said her father.  "Since you are so kind as to think of me,
(answered she,) be so kind as to bring me a rose, for as none grow
hereabouts, they are a kind of rarity."  Not that Beauty cared for a
rose, but she asked for something, lest she should seem by her example
to condemn her sisters' conduct, who would have said she did it only to
look particular.  The good man went on his journey; but when he came
there, they went to law with him about the merchandize, and after a
great deal of trouble and pains to no purpose, he came back as poor as
before.

He was within thirty miles of his own house, thinking on the pleasure he
should have in seeing his children again, when going through a large
forest he lost himself.  It rained and snowed terribly, besides, the
wind was so high, that it threw him twice off his horse; and night
coming on, he began to apprehend being either starved to death with cold
and hunger, or else devoured by the wolves, whom he heard howling all
around him, when, on a sudden, looking through a long walk of trees, he
saw a light at some distance, and going on a little farther, perceived
it came from a palace illuminated from top to bottom.  The merchant
returned God thanks for this happy discovery, and hasted to the palace;
but was greatly surprised at not meeting with anyone in the out-courts.
His horse followed him, and seeing a large stable open, went in, and
finding both hay and oats, the poor beast, who was almost famished, fell
to eating very heartily.  The merchant tied him up to the manger, and
walked towards the house, where he saw no one, but entering into a large
hall, he found a good fire, and a table plentifully set out, with but
one cover laid.  As he was wet quite through with the rain and snow, he
drew near the fire to dry himself.  "I hope, (said he,) the master of
the house, or his servants, will excuse the liberty I take; I suppose it
will not be long before some of them appear."

He waited a considerable time, till it struck eleven, and still nobody
came: at last he was so hungry that he could stay no longer, but took a
chicken and ate it in two mouthfuls, trembling all the while.  After
this, he drank a few glasses of wine, and growing more courageous, he
went out of the hall, and crossed through several grand apartments with
magnificent furniture, till he came into a chamber, which had an
exceeding good bed in it, and as he was very much fatigued, and it was
past midnight, he concluded it was best to shut the door, and go to bed.

It was ten the next morning before the merchant waked, and as he was
going to rise, he was astonished to see a good suit of clothes in the
room of his own, which were quite spoiled. "Certainly, (said he,) this
palace belongs to some kind fairy, who has seen and pitied my distress."
He looked through a window, but instead of snow saw the most delightful
arbours, interwoven with the most beautiful flowers that ever were
beheld.  He then returned to the great hall, where he had supped the
night before, and found some chocolate ready made on a little table.
"Thank you, good Madam Fairy, (said he aloud,) for being so careful as
to provide me a breakfast; I am extremely obliged to you for all your
favours."

The good man drank his chocolate, and then went to look for his horse;
but passing through an arbour of roses, he remembered Beauty's request
to him, and gathered a branch on which were several; immediately he
heard a great noise, and saw such a frightful beast coming towards him,
that he was ready to faint away.  "You are very ungrateful, (said the
beast to him, in a terrible voice) I have saved your life by receiving
you into my castle, and, in return, you steal my roses, which I value
beyond any thing in the universe; but you shall die for it; I give you
but a quarter of an hour to prepare yourself, to say your prayers." The
merchant fell on his knees, and lifted up both his hands: "My Lord (said
he,) I beseech you to forgive me, indeed I had no intention to offend in
gathering a rose for one of my daughters, who desired me to bring her
one."  "My name is not My Lord, (replied the monster,) but Beast; I
don't love compliments, not I; I like people should speak as they think;
and so do not imagine I am to be moved by any of your flattering
speeches; but you say you have got daughters; I will forgive you, on
condition that one of them come willingly, and suffer for you.  Let me
have no words, but go about your business, and swear that if your
daughter refuse to die in your stead, you will return within three
months."  The merchant had no mind to sacrifice his daughters to the
ugly monster, but he thought, in obtaining this respite, he should have
the satisfaction of seeing them once more; so he promised upon oath, he
would return, and the Beast told him he might set out when he pleased;
"but, (added he,) you shall not depart empty handed; go back to the room
where you lay, and you will see a great empty chest; fill it with
whatever you like best, and I will send it to your home," and at the
same time Beast withdrew.  "Well (said the good man to himself) if I
must die, I shall have the comfort, at least, of leaving something to my
poor children."

He returned to the bed-chamber, and finding a great quantity of broad
pieces of gold, he filled the great chest the Beast had mentioned,
locked it, and afterwards took his horse out of the stable, leaving the
palace with as much grief as he had entered it with joy.  The horse, of
his own accord, took one of the roads of the forest; and in a few hours
the good man was at home.  His children came around him, but, instead of
receiving their embraces with pleasure, he looked on them, and, holding
up the branch he had in his hands, he burst into tears. "Here, Beauty,
(said he,) take these roses; but little do you think how dear they are
like to cost your unhappy father;" and then related his fatal adventure:
immediately the two eldest set up lamentable outcries, and said all
manner of ill-natured things to Beauty, who did not cry at all. "Do but
see the pride of that little wretch, (said they); she would not ask for
fine clothes, as we did; but no, truly, Miss wanted to distinguish
herself; so now she will be the death of our poor father, and yet she
does not so much as shed a tear."  "Why should I, (answered Beauty,) it
would be very needless, for my father shall not suffer upon my account,
since the monster will accept of one of his daughters, I will deliver
myself up to all his fury, and I am very happy in thinking that my death
will save my father's life, and be a proof of my tender love for him."
"No, sister, (said her three brothers,) that shall not be, we will go
find the monster, and either kill him, or perish in the attempt." "Do
not imagine any such thing, my sons, (said the merchant,) Beast's power
is so great, that I have no hopes of your overcoming him; I am charmed
with Beauty's kind and generous offer, but I cannot yield to it; I am
old, and have not long to live, so can only lose a few years, which I
regret for your sakes alone, my dear children."  "Indeed, father (said
Beauty), you shall not go to the palace without me, you cannot hinder me
from following you."  It was to no purpose all they could say, Beauty
still insisted on setting out for the fine palace; and her sisters were
delighted at it, for her virtue and amiable qualities made them envious
and jealous.



The merchant was so afflicted at the thoughts of losing his daughter,
that he had quite forgot the chest full of gold; but at night, when he
retired to rest, no sooner had he shut his chamber-door, than, to his
great astonishment, he found it by his bedside; he was determined,
however, not to tell his children that he was grown rich, because they
would have wanted to return to town, and he was resolved not to leave
the country; but he trusted Beauty with the secret: who informed him,
that two gentlemen came in his absence, and courted her sisters; she
begged her father to consent to their marriage, and give them fortunes;
for she was so good, that she loved them, and forgave them heartily all
their ill-usage.  These wicked creatures rubbed their eyes with an
onion, to force some tears when they parted with their sister; but her
brothers were really concerned. Beauty was the only one who did not shed
tears at parting, because she would not increase their uneasiness.

The horse took the direct road to the palace; and towards evening they
perceived it illuminated as at first: the horse went of himself into the
stable, and the good man and his daughter came into the great hall,
where they found a table splendidly served up, and two covers.  The
merchant had no heart to eat; but Beauty endeavoured to appear cheerful,
sat down to table, and helped him.  Afterwards, thought she to herself,
"Beast surely has a mind to fatten me before he eats me, since he
provides such a plentiful entertainment."  When they had supped, they
heard a great noise, and the merchant, all in tears, bid his poor child
farewell, for he thought Beast was coming.  Beauty was sadly terrified
at his horrid form, but she took courage as well as she could, and the
monster having asked her if she came willingly; "y--e--s," said she,
trembling. "You are very good, and I am greatly obliged to you; honest
man, go your ways tomorrow morning, but never think of returning here
again.  Farewell, Beauty."  "Farewell, Beast," answered she; and
immediately the monster withdrew.  "Oh, daughter, (said the merchant,
embracing Beauty,) I am almost frightened to death; believe me, you had
better go back, and let me stay here."  "No, father, (said Beauty, in a
resolute tone,) you shall set out tomorrow morning, and leave me to the
care and protection of Providence."  They went to bed, and thought they
should not close their eyes all night; but scarce were they laid down,
than they fell fast asleep; and Beauty dreamed, a fine lady came, and
said to her, "I am content, Beauty, with your good will; this good
action of yours, in giving up your own life to save your father's, shall
not go unrewarded."  Beauty waked, and told her father her dream, and
though it helped to comfort him a little, yet he could not help crying
bitterly, when he took leave of his dear child.

As soon as he was gone, Beauty sat down in the great hall, and fell a
crying likewise; but as she was mistress of a great deal of resolution,
she recommended herself to God, and resolved not to be uneasy the little
time she had to live; for she firmly believed Beast would eat her up
that night.

However, she thought she might as well walk about till then, and view
this fine castle, which she could not help admiring; it was a delightful
pleasant place, and she was extremely surprised at seeing a door, over
which was wrote, "BEAUTY'S APARTMENT." She opened it hastily, and was
quite dazzled with the magnificence that reigned throughout; but what
chiefly took up her attention, was a large library, a harpsichord, and
several music books.  "Well, (said she to herself,) I see they will not
let my time hang heavy on my hands for want of amusement."  Then she
reflected, "Were I but to stay here a day, there would not have been all
these preparations." This consideration inspired her with fresh courage;
and opening the library, she took a book, and read these words in
letters of gold:--

  "Welcome, Beauty, banish fear,
  You are queen and mistress here;
  Speak your wishes, speak your will,
  Swift obedience meets them still."

"Alas, (said she, with a sigh,) there is nothing I desire so much as to
see my poor father, and to know what he is doing."  She had no sooner
said this, when casting her eyes on a great looking-glass, to her great
amazement she saw her own home, where her father arrived with a very
dejected countenance; her sisters went to meet him, and, notwithstanding
their endeavours to appear sorrowful, their joy, felt for having got rid
of their sister, was visible in every feature: a moment after, every
thing disappeared, and Beauty's apprehensions at this proof of Beast's
complaisance.



At noon she found dinner ready, and while at table, was entertained with
an excellent concert of music, though without seeing any body: but at
night, as she was going to sit down to supper, she heard the noise Beast
made; and could not help being sadly terrified.  "Beauty, (said the
monster,) will you give me leave to see you sup?"  "That is as you
please," answered Beauty, trembling.  "No, (replied the Beast,) you
alone are mistress here; you need only bid me be gone, if my presence is
troublesome, and I will immediately withdraw: but tell me, do not you
think me very ugly?"  "That is true, (said Beauty,) for I cannot tell a
lie; but I believe you are very good-natured."  "So I am, (said the
monster,) but then, besides my ugliness, I have no sense; I know very
well that I am a poor, silly, stupid creature."  "'Tis no sign of folly
to think so, (replied Beauty,) for never did fool know this, or had so
humble a conceit of his own understanding." "Eat then, Beauty, (said the
monster,) and endeavour to amuse yourself in your palace; for every
thing here is yours, and I should be very uneasy if you were not happy."
"You are very obliging, (answered Beauty;) I own I am pleased with your
kindness, and when I consider that, your deformity scarce appears."
"Yes, yes, (said the Beast,) my heart is good, but still I am a
monster." "Among mankind, (says Beauty,) there are many that deserve
that name more than you, and I prefer you, just as your are, to those,
who, under a human form, hide a treacherous, corrupt, and ungrateful
heart."  "If I had sense enough, (replied the Beast,) I would make a
fine compliment to thank you, but I am so dull, that I can only say, I
am greatly obliged to you."  Beauty ate a hearty supper, and had almost
conquered her dread of the monster; but she had liked to have fainted
away, when he said to her, "Beauty, will you be my wife?"  She was some
time before she durst answer; for she was afraid of making him angry, if
she refused.  At last, however, she said, trembling, "No, Beast."
Immediately the poor monster began to sigh, and hissed so frightfully,
that the whole palace echoed.  But Beauty soon recovered her fright, for
Beast having said, in a mournful voice, "then farewell, Beauty," left
the room; and only turned back, now and then, to look at her as he went
out.

When Beauty was alone, she felt a great deal of compassion for poor
Beast.  "Alas, (said she,) 'tis a thousand pities any thing so
good-natured should be so ugly."

Beauty spent three months very contentedly in the palace: every evening
Beast paid her a visit, and talked to her during supper, very
rationally, with plain good common sense, but never with what the world
calls wit; and Beauty daily discovered some valuable qualifications in
the monster; and seeing him often, had so accustomed her to his
deformity, that, far from dreading the time of his visit, she would
often look on her watch to see when it would be nine; for the Beast
never missed coming at that hour. There was but one thing that gave
Beauty any concern, which was, that every night, before she went to bed,
the monster always asked her, if she would be his wife.  One day she
said to him, "Beast, you make me very uneasy, I wish I could consent to
marry you, but I am too sincere to make you believe that will ever
happen: I shall always esteem you as a friend; endeavour to be satisfied
with this." "I must, said the Beast, for, alas! I know too well my own
misfortune; but then I love you with the tenderest affection: however, I
ought to think myself happy that you will stay here; promise me never to
leave me."  Beauty blushed at these words; she had seen in her glass,
that her father had pined himself sick for the loss of her, and she
longed to see him again.  "I could, (answered she), indeed promise never
to leave you entirely, but I have so great a desire to see my father,
that I shall fret to death, if you refuse me that satisfaction."  "I had
rather die myself, (said the monster,) than give you the least
uneasiness: I will send you to your father, you shall remain with him,
and poor Beast will die with grief."  "No, (said Beauty, weeping,) I
love you too well to be the cause of your death: I give you my promise
to return in a week: you have shewn me that my sisters are married, and
my brothers gone to the army; only let me stay a week with my father, as
he is alone."  "You shall be there tomorrow morning, (said the Beast,)
but remember your promise: you need only lay your ring on the table
before you go to bed, when you have a mind to come back: farewell,
Beauty."  Beast sighed as usual, bidding her good night; and Beauty went
to bed very sad at seeing him so afflicted.  When she waked the next
morning, she found herself at her father's, and having rang a little
bell, that was by her bed-side, she saw the maid come; who, the moment
she saw her, gave a loud shriek; at which the good man ran up stairs,
and thought he should have died with joy to see his dear daughter again.
He held her fast locked in his arms above a quarter of an hour.  As soon
as the first transports were over, Beauty began to think of rising, and
was afraid she had no clothes to put on; but the maid told her, that she
had just found, in the next room, a large trunk full of gowns, covered
with gold and diamonds.  Beauty thanked good Beast for his kind care,
and taking one of the plainest of them, she intended to make a present
of the others to her sisters.  She scarce had said so, when the trunk
disappeared. Her father told her, that Beast insisted on her keeping
them herself; and immediately both gowns and trunk came back again.



Beauty dressed herself; and in the mean time they sent to her sisters,
who hasted thither with their husbands. They were both of them very
unhappy. The eldest had married a gentleman, extremely handsome indeed,
but so fond of his own person, that he was full of nothing but his own
dear self, and neglected his wife.  The second had married a man of wit,
but he only made use of it to plague and torment every body, and his
wife most of all. Beauty's sisters sickened with envy, when they saw her
dressed like a Princess, and more beautiful than ever; nor could all her
obliging affectionate behaviour stifle their jealousy, which was ready
to burst when she told them how happy she was.  They went down into the
garden to vent it in tears; and said one to the other, "In what is this
little creature better than us, that she should be so much happier?"
"Sister, said the eldest, a thought just strikes my mind; let us
endeavour to detain her above a week, and perhaps the silly monster will
be so enraged at her for breaking her word, that he will devour her."
"Right, sister, answered the other, therefore we must shew her as much
kindness as possible." After they had taken this resolution, they went
up, and behaved so affectionately to their sister, that poor Beauty wept
for joy.  When the week was expired, they cried and tore their hair, and
seemed so sorry to part with her, that she promised to stay a week
longer.

In the mean time, Beauty could not help reflecting on herself for the
uneasiness she was likely to cause poor Beast, whom she sincerely loved,
and really longed to see again.  The tenth night she spent at her
father's, she dreamed she was in the palace garden, and that she saw
Beast extended on the grass-plot, who seemed just expiring, and, in a
dying voice, reproached her with her ingratitude.  Beauty started out of
her sleep and bursting into tears, "Am not I very wicked, (said she) to
act so unkindly to Beast, that has studied so much to please me in every
thing?  Is it his fault that he is so ugly, and has so little sense?  He
is kind and good, and that is sufficient. Why did I refuse to marry him?
I should be happier with the monster than my sisters are with their
husbands; it is neither wit nor a fine person in a husband, that makes a
woman happy; but virtue, sweetness of temper, and complaisance: and
Beast has all these valuable qualifications.  It is true, I do not feel
the tenderness of affection for him, but I find I have the highest
gratitude, esteem, and friendship; and I will not make him miserable;
were I to be so ungrateful, I should never forgive myself."  Beauty
having said this, rose, put her ring on the table, and then laid down
again; scarce was she in bed before she fell asleep; and when she waked
the next morning, she was overjoyed to find herself in the Beast's
palace.  She put on one of her richest suits to please him, and waited
for evening with the utmost impatience; at last the wished-for hour
came, the clock struck nine, yet no Beast appeared.  Beauty then feared
she had been the cause of his death; she ran crying and wringing her
hands all about the palace, like one in despair; after having sought for
him every where, she recollected her dream, and flew to the canal in the
garden, where she dreamed she saw him.  There she found poor Beast
stretched out, quite senseless, and, as she imagined, dead.  She threw
herself upon him without any dread, and finding his heart beat still,
she fetched some water from the canal, and poured it on his head.  Beast
opened his eyes, and said to Beauty, "You forgot your promise, and I was
so afflicted for having lost you, that I resolved to starve myself; but
since I have the happiness of seeing you once more, I die satisfied."
"No, dear Beast, (said Beauty,) you must not die; live to be my husband;
from this moment I give you my hand, and swear to be none but yours.
Alas!  I thought I had only a friendship for you, but, the grief I now
feel convinces me, that I cannot live without you."  Beauty scarcely had
pronounced these words, when she saw the palace sparkle with light; and
fireworks, instruments of music, every thing, seemed to give notice of
some great event: but nothing could fix her attention; she turned to her
dear Beast, for whom she trembled with fear; but how great was her
surprise! Beast had disappeared, and she saw, at her feet, one of the
loveliest Princes that eye ever beheld, who returned her thanks for
having put an end to the charm, under which he had so long resembled a
Beast.  Though this Prince was worthy of all her attention, she could
not forbear asking where Beast was.  "You see him at your feet, (said
the Prince): a wicked fairy had condemned me to remain under that shape
till a beautiful virgin should consent to marry me: the fairy likewise
enjoined me to conceal my understanding; there was only you in the world
generous enough to be won by the goodness of my temper; and in offering
you my crown, I can't discharge the obligations I have to you." Beauty,
agreeably surprised, gave the charming Prince her hand to rise; they
went together into the castle, and Beauty was overjoyed to find, in the
great hall, her father and his whole family, whom the beautiful lady,
that appeared to her in her dream, had conveyed thither.

"Beauty, (said this lady,) come and receive the reward of your judicious
choice; you have preferred virtue before either wit or beauty, and
deserve to find a person in whom all these qualifications are united:
you are going to be a great Queen; I hope the throne will not lessen
your virtue, or make you forget yourself.  As to you, ladies, (said the
Fairy to Beauty's two sisters,) I know your hearts, and all the malice
they contain: become two statues; but, under this transformation, still
retain your reason.  You shall stand before your sister's palace gate,
and be it your punishment to behold her happiness; and it will not be in
your power to return to your former state till you own your faults; but
I am very much afraid that you will always remain statues.  Pride,
anger, gluttony, and idleness, are sometimes conquered, but the
conversion of a malicious and envious mind is a kind of miracle."
Immediately the fairy gave a stroke with her wand, and in a moment all
that were in the hall were transported into the Prince's palace.  His
subjects received him with joy; he married Beauty, and lived with her
many years; and their happiness, as it was founded on virtue, was
complete.


FINIS

Why the Princess Has a Story About Her

There was once a little princess whose father was king over a great
country full of mountains and valleys.  His palace was built upon one
of the mountains, and was very grand and beautiful.  The princess,
whose name was Irene, was born there, but she was sent soon after her
birth, because her mother was not very strong, to be brought up by
country people in a large house, half castle, half farmhouse, on the
side of another mountain, about half-way between its base and its peak.

The princess was a sweet little creature, and at the time my story
begins was about eight years old, I think, but she got older very fast.
Her face was fair and pretty, with eyes like two bits of night sky,
each with a star dissolved in the blue.  Those eyes you would have
thought must have known they came from there, so often were they turned
up in that direction.  The ceiling of her nursery was blue, with stars
in it, as like the sky as they could make it. But I doubt if ever she
saw the real sky with the stars in it, for a reason which I had better
mention at once.

These mountains were full of hollow places underneath; huge caverns,
and winding ways, some with water running through them, and some
shining with all colours of the rainbow when a light was taken in.
There would not have been much known about them, had there not been
mines there, great deep pits, with long galleries and passages running
off from them, which had been dug to get at the ore of which the
mountains were full.  In the course of digging, the miners came upon
many of these natural caverns.  A few of them had far-off openings out
on the side of a mountain, or into a ravine.

Now in these subterranean caverns lived a strange race of beings,
called by some gnomes, by some kobolds, by some goblins.  There was a
legend current in the country that at one time they lived above ground,
and were very like other people.  But for some reason or other,
concerning which there were different legendary theories, the king had
laid what they thought too severe taxes upon them, or had required
observances of them they did not like, or had begun to treat them with
more severity, in some way or other, and impose stricter laws; and the
consequence was that they had all disappeared from the face of the
country.  According to the legend, however, instead of going to some
other country, they had all taken refuge in the subterranean caverns,
whence they never came out but at night, and then seldom showed
themselves in any numbers, and never to many people at once.  It was
only in the least frequented and most difficult parts of the mountains
that they were said to gather even at night in the open air.  Those who
had caught sight of any of them said that they had greatly altered in
the course of generations; and no wonder, seeing they lived away from
the sun, in cold and wet and dark places.  They were now, not
ordinarily ugly, but either absolutely hideous, or ludicrously
grotesque both in face and form.  There was no invention, they said, of
the most lawless imagination expressed by pen or pencil, that could
surpass the extravagance of their appearance.  But I suspect those who
said so had mistaken some of their animal companions for the goblins
themselves--of which more by and by.  The goblins themselves were not
so far removed from the human as such a description would imply.  And
as they grew misshapen in body they had grown in knowledge and
cleverness, and now were able to do things no mortal could see the
possibility of.  But as they grew in cunning, they grew in mischief,
and their great delight was in every way they could think of to annoy
the people who lived in the open-air storey above them.  They had
enough of affection left for each other to preserve them from being
absolutely cruel for cruelty's sake to those that came in their way;
but still they so heartily cherished the ancestral grudge against those
who occupied their former possessions and especially against the
descendants of the king who had caused their expulsion, that they
sought every opportunity of tormenting them in ways that were as odd as
their inventors; and although dwarfed and misshapen, they had strength
equal to their cunning.  In the process of time they had got a king and
a government of their own, whose chief business, beyond their own
simple affairs, was to devise trouble for their neighbours.  It will
now be pretty evident why the little princess had never seen the sky at
night.  They were much too afraid of the goblins to let her out of the
house then, even in company with ever so many attendants; and they had
good reason, as we shall see by and by.




The Princess Loses Herself

I have said the Princess Irene was about eight years old when my story
begins.  And this is how it begins.

One very wet day, when the mountain was covered with mist which was
constantly gathering itself together into raindrops, and pouring down
on the roofs of the great old house, whence it fell in a fringe of
water from the eaves all round about it, the princess could not of
course go out.  She got very tired, so tired that even her toys could
no longer amuse her.  You would wonder at that if I had time to
describe to you one half of the toys she had.  But then, you wouldn't
have the toys themselves, and that makes all the difference: you can't
get tired of a thing before you have it.  It was a picture, though,
worth seeing--the princess sitting in the nursery with the sky ceiling
over her head, at a great table covered with her toys.  If the artist
would like to draw this, I should advise him not to meddle with the
toys.  I am afraid of attempting to describe them, and I think he had
better not try to draw them.  He had better not.  He can do a thousand
things I can't, but I don't think he could draw those toys.  No man
could better make the princess herself than he could, though--leaning
with her back bowed into the back of the chair, her head hanging down,
and her hands in her lap, very miserable as she would say herself, not
even knowing what she would like, except it were to go out and get
thoroughly wet, and catch a particularly nice cold, and have to go to
bed and take gruel.  The next moment after you see her sitting there,
her nurse goes out of the room.

Even that is a change, and the princess wakes up a little, and looks
about her.  Then she tumbles off her chair and runs out of the door,
not the same door the nurse went out of, but one which opened at the
foot of a curious old stair of worm-eaten oak, which looked as if never
anyone had set foot upon it.  She had once before been up six steps,
and that was sufficient reason, in such a day, for trying to find out
what was at the top of it.

Up and up she ran--such a long way it seemed to her!--until she came to
the top of the third flight.  There she found the landing was the end
of a long passage.  Into this she ran.  It was full of doors on each
side.  There were so many that she did not care to open any, but ran on
to the end, where she turned into another passage, also full of doors.
When she had turned twice more, and still saw doors and only doors
about her, she began to get frightened.  It was so silent!  And all
those doors must hide rooms with nobody in them!  That was dreadful.
Also the rain made a great trampling noise on the roof.  She turned and
started at full speed, her little footsteps echoing through the sounds
of the rain--back for the stairs and her safe nursery.  So she thought,
but she had lost herself long ago.  It doesn't follow that she was
lost, because she had lost herself, though.

She ran for some distance, turned several times, and then began to be
afraid.  Very soon she was sure that she had lost the way back. Rooms
everywhere, and no stair!  Her little heart beat as fast as her little
feet ran, and a lump of tears was growing in her throat. But she was
too eager and perhaps too frightened to cry for some time.  At last her
hope failed her.  Nothing but passages and doors everywhere!  She threw
herself on the floor, and burst into a wailing cry broken by sobs.

She did not cry long, however, for she was as brave as could be
expected of a princess of her age.  After a good cry, she got up, and
brushed the dust from her frock.  Oh, what old dust it was! Then she
wiped her eyes with her hands, for princesses don't always have their
handkerchiefs in their pockets, any more than some other little girls I
know of.  Next, like a true princess, she resolved on going wisely to
work to find her way back: she would walk through the passages, and
look in every direction for the stair. This she did, but without
success.  She went over the same ground again an again without knowing
it, for the passages and doors were all alike.  At last, in a corner,
through a half-open door, she did see a stair.  But alas! it went the
wrong way: instead of going down, it went up.  Frightened as she was,
however, she could not help wishing to see where yet further the stair
could lead.  It was very narrow, and so steep that she went on like a
four-legged creature on her hands and feet.




The Princess and--We Shall See Who

When she came to the top, she found herself in a little square place,
with three doors, two opposite each other, and one opposite the top of
the stair.  She stood for a moment, without an idea in her little head
what to do next.  But as she stood, she began to hear a curious humming
sound.  Could it be the rain?  No.  It was much more gentle, and even
monotonous than the sound of the rain, which now she scarcely heard.
The low sweet humming sound went on, sometimes stopping for a little
while and then beginning again.  It was more like the hum of a very
happy bee that had found a rich well of honey in some globular flower,
than anything else I can think of at this moment.  Where could it come
from?  She laid her ear first to one of the doors to hearken if it was
there--then to another.  When she laid her ear against the third door,
there could be no doubt where it came from: it must be from something
in that room.  What could it be?  She was rather afraid, but her
curiosity was stronger than her fear, and she opened the door very
gently and peeped in.  What do you think she saw?  A very old lady who
sat spinning.

Perhaps you will wonder how the princess could tell that the old lady
was an old lady, when I inform you that not only was she beautiful, but
her skin was smooth and white.  I will tell you more.  Her hair was
combed back from her forehead and face, and hung loose far down and all
over her back.  That is not much like an old lady--is it?  Ah! but it
was white almost as snow.  And although her face was so smooth, her
eyes looked so wise that you could not have helped seeing she must be
old.  The princess, though she could not have told you why, did think
her very old indeed--quite fifty, she said to herself.  But she was
rather older than that, as you shall hear.

While the princess stared bewildered, with her head just inside the
door, the old lady lifted hers, and said, in a sweet, but old and
rather shaky voice, which mingled very pleasantly with the continued
hum of her wheel:

'Come in, my dear; come in.  I am glad to see you.'

That the princess was a real princess you might see now quite plainly;
for she didn't hang on to the handle of the door, and stare without
moving, as I have known some do who ought to have been princesses but
were only rather vulgar little girls.  She did as she was told, stepped
inside the door at once, and shut it gently behind her.

'Come to me, my dear,' said the old lady.

And again the princess did as she was told.  She approached the old
lady--rather slowly, I confess--but did not stop until she stood by her
side, and looked up in her face with her blue eyes and the two melted
stars in them.

'Why, what have you been doing with your eyes, child?' asked the old
lady.

'Crying,' answered the princess.

'Why, child?'

'Because I couldn't find my way down again.'

'But you could find your way up.'

'Not at first--not for a long time.'

'But your face is streaked like the back of a zebra.  Hadn't you a
handkerchief to wipe your eyes with?'

'No.'

'Then why didn't you come to me to wipe them for you?'

'Please, I didn't know you were here.  I will next time.'

'There's a good child!' said the old lady.

Then she stopped her wheel, and rose, and, going out of the room,
returned with a little silver basin and a soft white towel, with which
she washed and wiped the bright little face.  And the princess thought
her hands were so smooth and nice!

When she carried away the basin and towel, the little princess wondered
to see how straight and tall she was, for, although she was so old, she
didn't stoop a bit.  She was dressed in black velvet with thick white
heavy-looking lace about it; and on the black dress her hair shone like
silver.  There was hardly any more furniture in the room than there
might have been in that of the poorest old woman who made her bread by
her spinning.  There was no carpet on the floor--no table
anywhere--nothing but the spinning-wheel and the chair beside it.  When
she came back, she sat down and without a word began her spinning once
more, while Irene, who had never seen a spinning-wheel, stood by her
side and looked on.  When the old lady had got her thread fairly going
again, she said to the princess, but without looking at her:

'Do you know my name, child?'

'No, I don't know it,' answered the princess.

'My name is Irene.'

'That's my name!' cried the princess.

'I know that.  I let you have mine.  I haven't got your name. You've
got mine.'

'How can that be?' asked the princess, bewildered.  'I've always had my
name.'

'Your papa, the king, asked me if I had any objection to your having
it; and, of course, I hadn't.  I let you have it with pleasure.'

'It was very kind of you to give me your name--and such a pretty one,'
said the princess.

'Oh, not so very kind!' said the old lady.  'A name is one of those
things one can give away and keep all the same.  I have a good many
such things.  Wouldn't you like to know who I am, child?'

'Yes, that I should--very much.'

'I'm your great-great-grandmother,' said the lady.

'What's that?' asked the princess.

'I'm your father's mother's father's mother.'

'Oh, dear! I can't understand that,' said the princess.

'I dare say not.  I didn't expect you would.  But that's no reason why
I shouldn't say it.'

'Oh, no!' answered the princess.

'I will explain it all to you when you are older,' the lady went on.
'But you will be able to understand this much now: I came here to take
care of you.'

'Is it long since you came?  Was it yesterday?  Or was it today,
because it was so wet that I couldn't get out?'

'I've been here ever since you came yourself.'

'What a long time!' said the princess.  'I don't remember it at all.'

'No.  I suppose not.'

'But I never saw you before.'

'No.  But you shall see me again.'

'Do you live in this room always?'

'I don't sleep in it.  I sleep on the opposite side of the landing. I
sit here most of the day.'

'I shouldn't like it.  My nursery is much prettier.  You must be a
queen too, if you are my great big grand-mother.'

'Yes, I am a queen.'

'Where is your crown, then?' 'In my bedroom.'

'I should like to see it.'

'You shall some day--not today.'

'I wonder why nursie never told me.'

'Nursie doesn't know.  She never saw me.'

'But somebody knows that you are in the house?'

'No; nobody.'

'How do you get your dinner, then?'

'I keep poultry--of a sort.'

'Where do you keep them?'

'I will show you.'

'And who makes the chicken broth for you?'

'I never kill any of MY chickens.'

'Then I can't understand.'

'What did you have for breakfast this morning?' asked the lady.

'Oh! I had bread and milk, and an egg--I dare say you eat their eggs.'

'Yes, that's it.  I eat their eggs.'

'Is that what makes your hair so white?'

'No, my dear.  It's old age.  I am very old.'

'I thought so.  Are you fifty?'

'Yes--more than that.'

'Are you a hundred?'

'Yes--more than that.  I am too old for you to guess.  Come and see my
chickens.'

Again she stopped her spinning.  She rose, took the princess by the
hand, led her out of the room, and opened the door opposite the stair.
The princess expected to see a lot of hens and chickens, but instead of
that, she saw the blue sky first, and then the roofs of the house, with
a multitude of the loveliest pigeons, mostly white, but of all colours,
walking about, making bows to each other, and talking a language she
could not understand.  She clapped her hands with delight, and up rose
such a flapping of wings that she in her turn was startled.

'You've frightened my poultry,' said the old lady, smiling.

'And they've frightened me,' said the princess, smiling too.  'But what
very nice poultry!  Are the eggs nice?'

'Yes, very nice.' 'What a small egg-spoon you must have!  Wouldn't it
be better to keep hens, and get bigger eggs?'

'How should I feed them, though?'

'I see,' said the princess.  'The pigeons feed themselves.  They've got
wings.'

'Just so.  If they couldn't fly, I couldn't eat their eggs.'

'But how do you get at the eggs?  Where are their nests?'

The lady took hold of a little loop of string in the wall at the side
of the door and, lifting a shutter, showed a great many pigeon-holes
with nests, some with young ones and some with eggs in them.  The birds
came in at the other side, and she took out the eggs on this side.  She
closed it again quickly, lest the young ones should be frightened.

'Oh, what a nice way!' cried the princess.  'Will you give me an egg to
eat?  I'm rather hungry.'

'I will some day, but now you must go back, or nursie will be miserable
about you.  I dare say she's looking for you everywhere.'

'Except here,' answered the princess.  'Oh, how surprised she will be
when I tell her about my great big grand-grand-mother!'

'Yes, that she will!' said the old lady with a curious smile. 'Mind you
tell her all about it exactly.'

'That I will.  Please will you take me back to her?'

'I can't go all the way, but I will take you to the top of the stair,
and then you must run down quite fast into your own room.'

The little princess put her hand in the old lady's, who, looking this
way and that, brought her to the top of the first stair, and thence to
the bottom of the second, and did not leave her till she saw her
half-way down the third.  When she heard the cry of her nurse's
pleasure at finding her, she turned and walked up the stairs again,
very fast indeed for such a very great grandmother, and sat down to her
spinning with another strange smile on her sweet old face.

About this spinning of hers I will tell you more another time.

Guess what she was spinning.




What the Nurse Thought of It

'Why, where can you have been, princess?' asked the nurse, taking her
in her arms.  'It's very unkind of you to hide away so long. I began to
be afraid--'  Here she checked herself.

'What were you afraid of, nursie?' asked the princess.

'Never mind,' she answered.  'Perhaps I will tell you another day. Now
tell me where you have been.'

'I've been up a long way to see my very great, huge, old grandmother,'
said the princess.

'What do you mean by that?' asked the nurse, who thought she was making
fun.

'I mean that I've been a long way up and up to see My GREAT
grandmother.  Ah, nursie, you don't know what a beautiful mother of
grandmothers I've got upstairs.  She is such an old lady, with such
lovely white hair--as white as my silver cup.  Now, when I think of it,
I think her hair must be silver.'

'What nonsense you are talking, princess!' said the nurse.

'I'm not talking nonsense,' returned Irene, rather offended.  'I will
tell you all about her.  She's much taller than you, and much prettier.'

'Oh, I dare say!' remarked the nurse.

'And she lives upon pigeons' eggs.'

'Most likely,' said the nurse.

'And she sits in an empty room, spin-spinning all day long.'

'Not a doubt of it,' said the nurse.

'And she keeps her crown in her bedroom.'

'Of course--quite the proper place to keep her crown in.  She wears it
in bed, I'll be bound.'

'She didn't say that.  And I don't think she does.  That wouldn't be
comfortable--would it?  I don't think my papa wears his crown for a
night-cap.  Does he, nursie?'

'I never asked him.  I dare say he does.'

'And she's been there ever since I came here--ever so many years.'

'Anybody could have told you that,' said the nurse, who did not believe
a word Irene was saying.

'Why didn't you tell me, then?'

'There was no necessity.  You could make it all up for yourself.'

'You don't believe me, then!' exclaimed the princess, astonished and
angry, as she well might be.

'Did you expect me to believe you, princess?' asked the nurse coldly.
'I know princesses are in the habit of telling make-believes, but you
are the first I ever heard of who expected to have them believed,' she
added, seeing that the child was strangely in earnest.

The princess burst into tears.

'Well, I must say,' remarked the nurse, now thoroughly vexed with her
for crying, 'it is not at all becoming in a princess to tell stories
and expect to be believed just because she is a princess.'

'But it's quite true, I tell you.'

'You've dreamt it, then, child.'

'No, I didn't dream it.  I went upstairs, and I lost myself, and if I
hadn't found the beautiful lady, I should never have found myself.'

'Oh, I dare say!'

'Well, you just come up with me, and see if I'm not telling the truth.'

'Indeed I have other work to do.  It's your dinnertime, and I won't
have any more such nonsense.'

The princess wiped her eyes, and her face grew so hot that they were
soon quite dry.  She sat down to her dinner, but ate next to nothing.
Not to be believed does not at all agree with princesses: for a real
princess cannot tell a lie.  So all the afternoon she did not speak a
word.  Only when the nurse spoke to her, she answered her, for a real
princess is never rude--even when she does well to be offended.

Of course the nurse was not comfortable in her mind--not that she
suspected the least truth in Irene's story, but that she loved her
dearly, and was vexed with herself for having been cross to her. She
thought her crossness was the cause of the princess's unhappiness, and
had no idea that she was really and deeply hurt at not being believed.
But, as it became more and more plain during the evening in her every
motion and look, that, although she tried to amuse herself with her
toys, her heart was too vexed and troubled to enjoy them, her nurse's
discomfort grew and grew.  When bedtime came, she undressed and laid
her down, but the child, instead of holding up her little mouth to be
kissed, turned away from her and lay still.  Then nursie's heart gave
way altogether, and she began to cry.  At the sound of her first sob
the princess turned again, and held her face to kiss her as usual.  But
the nurse had her handkerchief to her eyes, and did not see the
movement.

'Nursie,' said the princess, 'why won't you believe me?'

'Because I can't believe you,' said the nurse, getting angry again.

'Ah! then, you can't help it,' said Irene, 'and I will not be vexed
with you any more.  I will give you a kiss and go to sleep.'

'You little angel!' cried the nurse, and caught her out of bed, and
walked about the room with her in her arms, kissing and hugging her.

'You will let me take you to see my dear old great big grandmother,
won't you?' said the princess, as she laid her down again.

'And you won't say I'm ugly, any more--will you, princess?' 'Nursie, I
never said you were ugly.  What can you mean?'

'Well, if you didn't say it, you meant it.'

'Indeed, I never did.'

'You said I wasn't so pretty as that--'

'As my beautiful grandmother--yes, I did say that; and I say it again,
for it's quite true.'

'Then I do think you are unkind!' said the nurse, and put her
handkerchief to her eyes again.

'Nursie, dear, everybody can't be as beautiful as every other body, you
know.  You are very nice-looking, but if you had been as beautiful as
my grandmother--'

'Bother your grandmother!' said the nurse.

'Nurse, that's very rude.  You are not fit to be spoken to till you can
behave better.'

The princess turned away once more, and again the nurse was ashamed of
herself.

'I'm sure I beg your pardon, princess,' she said, though still in an
offended tone.  But the princess let the tone pass, and heeded only the
words.

'You won't say it again, I am sure,' she answered, once more turning
towards her nurse.  'I was only going to say that if you had been twice
as nice-looking as you are, some king or other would have married you,
and then what would have become of me?'

'You are an angel!' repeated the nurse, again embracing her. 'Now,'
insisted Irene, 'you will come and see my grandmother--won't you?'

'I will go with you anywhere you like, my cherub,' she answered; and in
two minutes the weary little princess was fast asleep.




The Princess Lets Well Alone

When she woke the next morning, the first thing she heard was the rain
still falling.  Indeed, this day was so like the last that it would
have been difficult to tell where was the use of It.  The first thing
she thought of, however, was not the rain, but the lady in the tower;
and the first question that occupied her thoughts was whether she
should not ask the nurse to fulfil her promise this very morning, and
go with her to find her grandmother as soon as she had had her
breakfast.  But she came to the conclusion that perhaps the lady would
not be pleased if she took anyone to see her without first asking
leave; especially as it was pretty evident, seeing she lived on
pigeons' eggs, and cooked them herself, that she did not want the
household to know she was there.  So the princess resolved to take the
first opportunity of running up alone and asking whether she might
bring her nurse.  She believed the fact that she could not otherwise
convince her she was telling the truth would have much weight with her
grandmother.

The princess and her nurse were the best of friends all dressing-time,
and the princess in consequence ate an enormous little breakfast.

'I wonder, Lootie'--that was her pet name for her nurse--'what pigeons'
eggs taste like?' she said, as she was eating her egg--not quite a
common one, for they always picked out the pinky ones for her.

'We'll get you a pigeon's egg, and you shall judge for yourself,' said
the nurse.

'Oh, no, no!' returned Irene, suddenly reflecting they might disturb
the old lady in getting it, and that even if they did not, she would
have one less in consequence.

'What a strange creature you are,' said the nurse--'first to want a
thing and then to refuse it!'

But she did not say it crossly, and the princess never minded any
remarks that were not unfriendly.

'Well, you see, Lootie, there are reasons,' she returned, and said no
more, for she did not want to bring up the subject of their former
strife, lest her nurse should offer to go before she had had her
grandmother's permission to bring her.  Of course she could refuse to
take her, but then she would believe her less than ever.

Now the nurse, as she said herself afterwards, could not be every
moment in the room; and as never before yesterday had the princess
given her the smallest reason for anxiety, it had not yet come into her
head to watch her more closely.  So she soon gave her a chance, and,
the very first that offered, Irene was off and up the stairs again.

This day's adventure, however, did not turn out like yesterday's,
although it began like it; and indeed to-day is very seldom like
yesterday, if people would note the differences--even when it rains.
The princess ran through passage after passage, and could not find the
stair of the tower.  My own suspicion is that she had not gone up high
enough, and was searching on the second instead of the third floor.
When she turned to go back, she failed equally in her search after the
stair.  She was lost once more.

Something made it even worse to bear this time, and it was no wonder
that she cried again.  Suddenly it occurred to her that it was after
having cried before that she had found her grandmother's stair.  She
got up at once, wiped her eyes, and started upon a fresh quest.

This time, although she did not find what she hoped, she found what was
next best: she did not come on a stair that went up, but she came upon
one that went down.  It was evidently not the stair she had come up,
yet it was a good deal better than none; so down she went, and was
singing merrily before she reached the bottom. There, to her surprise,
she found herself in the kitchen.  Although she was not allowed to go
there alone, her nurse had often taken her, and she was a great
favourite with the servants.  So there was a general rush at her the
moment she appeared, for every one wanted to have her; and the report
of where she was soon reached the nurse's ears.  She came at once to
fetch her; but she never suspected how she had got there, and the
princess kept her own counsel.

Her failure to find the old lady not only disappointed her, but made
her very thoughtful.  Sometimes she came almost to the nurse's opinion
that she had dreamed all about her; but that fancy never lasted very
long.  She wondered much whether she should ever see her again, and
thought it very sad not to have been able to find her when she
particularly wanted her.  She resolved to say nothing more to her nurse
on the subject, seeing it was so little in her power to prove her words.




The Little Miner

The next day the great cloud still hung over the mountain, and the rain
poured like water from a full sponge.  The princess was very fond of
being out of doors, and she nearly cried when she saw that the weather
was no better.  But the mist was not of such a dark dingy grey; there
was light in it; and as the hours went on it grew brighter and
brighter, until it was almost too brilliant to look at; and late in the
afternoon the sun broke out so gloriously that Irene clapped her hands,
crying:

'See, see, Lootie!  The sun has had his face washed.  Look how bright
he is!  Do get my hat, and let us go out for a walk.  Oh, dear! oh,
dear! how happy I am!'

Lootie was very glad to please the princess.  She got her hat and
cloak, and they set out together for a walk up the mountain; for the
road was so hard and steep that the water could not rest upon it, and
it was always dry enough for walking a few minutes after the rain
ceased.  The clouds were rolling away in broken pieces, like great,
overwoolly sheep, whose wool the sun had bleached till it was almost
too white for the eyes to bear.  Between them the sky shone with a
deeper and purer blue, because of the rain.  The trees on the roadside
were hung all over with drops, which sparkled in the sun like jewels.
The only things that were no brighter for the rain were the brooks that
ran down the mountain; they had changed from the clearness of crystal
to a muddy brown; but what they lost in colour they gained in sound--or
at least in noise, for a brook when it is swollen is not so musical as
before.  But Irene was in raptures with the great brown streams
tumbling down everywhere; and Lootie shared in her delight, for she too
had been confined to the house for three days.

At length she observed that the sun was getting low, and said it was
time to be going back.  She made the remark again and again, but, every
time, the princess begged her to go on just a little farther and a
little farther; reminding her that it was much easier to go downhill,
and saying that when they did turn they would be at home in a moment.
So on and on they did go, now to look at a group of ferns over whose
tops a stream was pouring in a watery arch, now to pick a shining stone
from a rock by the wayside, now to watch the flight of some bird.
Suddenly the shadow of a great mountain peak came up from behind, and
shot in front of them.  When the nurse saw it, she started and shook,
and catching hold of the princess's hand turned and began to run down
the hill.

'What's all the haste, nursie?' asked Irene, running alongside of her.

'We must not be out a moment longer.'

'But we can't help being out a good many moments longer.'

It was too true.  The nurse almost cried.  They were much too far from
home.  It was against express orders to be out with the princess one
moment after the sun was down; and they were nearly a mile up the
mountain!  If His Majesty, Irene's papa, were to hear of it, Lootie
would certainly be dismissed; and to leave the princess would break her
heart.  It was no wonder she ran.  But Irene was not in the least
frightened, not knowing anything to be frightened at.  She kept on
chattering as well as she could, but it was not easy.

'Lootie! Lootie! why do you run so fast?  It shakes my teeth when I
talk.'

'Then don't talk,' said Lootie.

'But the princess went on talking.  She was always saying: 'Look, look,
Lootie!' but Lootie paid no more heed to anything she said, only ran on.

'Look, look, Lootie!  Don't you see that funny man peeping over the
rock?'

Lootie only ran the faster.  They had to pass the rock, and when they
came nearer, the princess saw it was only a lump of the rock itself
that she had taken for a man.

'Look, look, Lootie!  There's such a curious creature at the foot of
that old tree.  Look at it, Lootie!  It's making faces at us, I do
think.'

Lootie gave a stifled cry, and ran faster still--so fast that Irene's
little legs could not keep up with her, and she fell with a crash.  It
was a hard downhill road, and she had been running very fast--so it was
no wonder she began to cry.  This put the nurse nearly beside herself;
but all she could do was to run on, the moment she got the princess on
her feet again.

'Who's that laughing at me?' said the princess, trying to keep in her
sobs, and running too fast for her grazed knees.

'Nobody, child,' said the nurse, almost angrily.

But that instant there came a burst of coarse tittering from somewhere
near, and a hoarse indistinct voice that seemed to say: 'Lies! lies!
lies!'

'Oh!' cried the nurse with a sigh that was almost a scream, and ran on
faster than ever.

'Nursie! Lootie! I can't run any more.  Do let us walk a bit.'

'What am I to do?' said the nurse.  'Here, I will carry you.'

She caught her up; but found her much too heavy to run with, and had to
set her down again.  Then she looked wildly about her, gave a great
cry, and said:

'We've taken the wrong turning somewhere, and I don't know where we
are.  We are lost, lost!'

The terror she was in had quite bewildered her.  It was true enough
they had lost the way.  They had been running down into a little valley
in which there was no house to be seen.

Now Irene did not know what good reason there was for her nurse's
terror, for the servants had all strict orders never to mention the
goblins to her, but it was very discomposing to see her nurse in such a
fright.  Before, however, she had time to grow thoroughly alarmed like
her, she heard the sound of whistling, and that revived her.  Presently
she saw a boy coming up the road from the valley to meet them.  He was
the whistler; but before they met his whistling changed to singing.
And this is something like what he sang:

  'Ring! dod! bang!
  Go the hammers' clang!
  Hit and turn and bore!
  Whizz and puff and roar!
  Thus we rive the rocks,
  Force the goblin locks.--
  See the shining ore!
  One, two, three--
  Bright as gold can be!
  Four, five, six--
  Shovels, mattocks, picks!
  Seven, eight, nine--
  Light your lamp at mine.
  Ten, eleven, twelve--
  Loosely hold the helve.
  We're the merry miner-boys,
  Make the goblins hold their noise.'


'I wish YOU would hold your noise,' said the nurse rudely, for the very
word GOBLIN at such a time and in such a place made her tremble.  It
would bring the goblins upon them to a certainty, she thought, to defy
them in that way.  But whether the boy heard her or not, he did not
stop his singing.


  'Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen--
  This is worth the siftin';
  Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen--
  There's the match, and lay't in.
  Nineteen, twenty--
  Goblins in a plenty.'


'Do be quiet,' cried the nurse, in a whispered shriek.  But the boy,
who was now close at hand, still went on.

  'Hush! scush! scurry!
  There you go in a hurry!
  Gobble! gobble! goblin!
  There you go a wobblin';
  Hobble, hobble, hobblin'--
  Cobble! cobble! cobblin'!
  Hob-bob-goblin!--
  Huuuuuh!'


'There!' said the boy, as he stood still opposite them.  'There!
that'll do for them.  They can't bear singing, and they can't stand
that song.  They can't sing themselves, for they have no more voice
than a crow; and they don't like other people to sing.'

The boy was dressed in a miner's dress, with a curious cap on his head.
He was a very nice-looking boy, with eyes as dark as the mines in which
he worked and as sparkling as the crystals in their rocks.  He was
about twelve years old.  His face was almost too pale for beauty, which
came of his being so little in the open air and the sunlight--for even
vegetables grown in the dark are white; but he looked happy, merry
indeed--perhaps at the thought of having routed the goblins; and his
bearing as he stood before them had nothing clownish or rude about it.

'I saw them,' he went on, 'as I came up; and I'm very glad I did. I
knew they were after somebody, but I couldn't see who it was. They
won't touch you so long as I'm with you.'

'Why, who are you?' asked the nurse, offended at the freedom with which
he spoke to them.

'I'm Peter's son.'

'Who's Peter?'

'Peter the miner.'

'I don't know him.' 'I'm his son, though.'

'And why should the goblins mind you, pray?'

'Because I don't mind them.  I'm used to them.'

'What difference does that make?'

'If you're not afraid of them, they're afraid of you.  I'm not afraid
of them.  That's all.  But it's all that's wanted--up here, that is.
It's a different thing down there.  They won't always mind that song
even, down there.  And if anyone sings it, they stand grinning at him
awfully; and if he gets frightened, and misses a word, or says a wrong
one, they--oh! don't they give it him!'

'What do they do to him?' asked Irene, with a trembling voice.

'Don't go frightening the princess,' said the nurse.

'The princess!' repeated the little miner, taking off his curious cap.
'I beg your pardon; but you oughtn't to be out so late. Everybody knows
that's against the law.'

'Yes, indeed it is!' said the nurse, beginning to cry again.  'And I
shall have to suffer for it.'

'What does that matter?' said the boy.  'It must be your fault.  It is
the princess who will suffer for it.  I hope they didn't hear you call
her the princess.  If they did, they're sure to know her again: they're
awfully sharp.'

'Lootie! Lootie!' cried the princess.  'Take me home.'

'Don't go on like that,' said the nurse to the boy, almost fiercely.
'How could I help it?  I lost my way.'

'You shouldn't have been out so late.  You wouldn't have lost your way
if you hadn't been frightened,' said the boy.  'Come along. I'll soon
set you right again.  Shall I carry your little Highness?'

'Impertinence!' murmured the nurse, but she did not say it aloud, for
she thought if she made him angry he might take his revenge by telling
someone belonging to the house, and then it would be sure to come to
the king's ears.  'No, thank you,' said Irene.  'I can walk very well,
though I can't run so fast as nursie.  If you will give me one hand,
Lootie will give me another, and then I shall get on famously.'

They soon had her between them, holding a hand of each.

'Now let's run,' said the nurse.

'No, no!' said the little miner.  'That's the worst thing you can do.
If you hadn't run before, you would not have lost your way. And if you
run now, they will be after you in a moment.'

'I don't want to run,' said Irene.

'You don't think of me,' said the nurse.

'Yes, I do, Lootie.  The boy says they won't touch us if we don't run.'

'Yes, but if they know at the house that I've kept you out so late I
shall be turned away, and that would break my heart.'

'Turned away, Lootie!  Who would turn you away?'

'Your papa, child.'

'But I'll tell him it was all my fault.  And you know it was, Lootie.'

'He won't mind that.  I'm sure he won't.'

'Then I'll cry, and go down on my knees to him, and beg him not to take
away my own dear Lootie.'

The nurse was comforted at hearing this, and said no more.  They went
on, walking pretty fast, but taking care not to run a step.

'I want to talk to you,' said Irene to the little miner; 'but it's so
awkward!  I don't know your name.'

'My name's Curdie, little princess.'

'What a funny name! Curdie!  What more?'

'Curdie Peterson.  What's your name, please?'

'Irene.'

'What more?'

'I don't know what more.  What more is my name, Lootie?'

'Princesses haven't got more than one name.  They don't want it.'

'Oh, then, Curdie, you must call me just Irene and no more.'

'No, indeed,' said the nurse indignantly.  'He shall do no such thing.'

'What shall he call me, then, Lootie?'

'Your Royal Highness.' 'My Royal Highness!  What's that?  No, no,
Lootie.  I won't be called names.  I don't like them.  You told me once
yourself it's only rude children that call names; and I'm sure Curdie
wouldn't be rude.  Curdie, my name's Irene.'

'Well, Irene,' said Curdie, with a glance at the nurse which showed he
enjoyed teasing her; 'it is very kind of you to let me call you
anything.  I like your name very much.'

He expected the nurse to interfere again; but he soon saw that she was
too frightened to speak.  She was staring at something a few yards
before them in the middle of the path, where it narrowed between rocks
so that only one could pass at a time.

'It is very much kinder of you to go out of your way to take us home,'
said Irene.

'I'm not going out of my way yet,' said Curdie.  'It's on the other
side of those rocks the path turns off to my father's.'

'You wouldn't think of leaving us till we're safe home, I'm sure,'
gasped the nurse.

'Of course not,' said Curdie.

'You dear, good, kind Curdie!  I'll give you a kiss when we get home,'
said the princess.

The nurse gave her a great pull by the hand she held.  But at that
instant the something in the middle of the way, which had looked like a
great lump of earth brought down by the rain, began to move. One after
another it shot out four long things, like two arms and two legs, but
it was now too dark to tell what they were.  The nurse began to tremble
from head to foot.  Irene clasped Curdie's hand yet faster, and Curdie
began to sing again:

  'One, two--
  Hit and hew!
  Three, four--
  Blast and bore!
  Five, six--
  There's a fix!
  Seven, eight--
  Hold it straight!
  Nine, ten--
  Hit again!
  Hurry! scurry!
  Bother! smother!
  There's a toad
  In the road!
  Smash it!
  Squash it!
  Fry it!
  Dry it!
  You're another!
  Up and off!
  There's enough!--
  Huuuuuh!'


As he uttered the last words, Curdie let go his hold of his companion,
and rushed at the thing in the road as if he would trample it under his
feet.  It gave a great spring, and ran straight up one of the rocks
like a huge spider.  Curdie turned back laughing, and took Irene's hand
again.  She grasped his very tight, but said nothing till they had
passed the rocks.  A few yards more and she found herself on a part of
the road she knew, and was able to speak again.

'Do you know, Curdie, I don't quite like your song: it sounds to me
rather rude,' she said.

'Well, perhaps it is,' answered Curdie.  'I never thought of that; it's
a way we have.  We do it because they don't like it.'

'Who don't like it?'

'The cobs, as we call them.'

'Don't!' said the nurse.

'Why not?' said Curdie.

'I beg you won't.  Please don't.'

'Oh! if you ask me that way, of course, I won't; though I don't a bit
know why.  Look! there are the lights of your great house down below.
You'll be at home in five minutes now.'

Nothing more happened.  They reached home in safety.  Nobody had missed
them, or even known they had gone out; and they arrived at the door
belonging to their part of the house without anyone seeing them.  The
nurse was rushing in with a hurried and not over-gracious good night to
Curdie; but the princess pulled her hand from hers, and was just
throwing her arms round Curdie's neck, when she caught her again and
dragged her away.

'Lootie! Lootie! I promised a kiss,' cried Irene.

'A princess mustn't give kisses.  It's not at all proper,' said Lootie.

'But I promised,' said the princess.

'There's no occasion; he's only a miner-boy.'

'He's a good boy, and a brave boy, and he has been very kind to us.
Lootie! Lootie! I promised.'

'Then you shouldn't have promised.'

'Lootie, I promised him a kiss.'

'Your Royal Highness,' said Lootie, suddenly grown very respectful,
'must come in directly.'

'Nurse, a princess must not break her word,' said Irene, drawing
herself up and standing stock-still.

Lootie did not know which the king might count the worst--to let the
princess be out after sunset, or to let her kiss a miner-boy. She did
not know that, being a gentleman, as many kings have been, he would
have counted neither of them the worse.  However much he might have
disliked his daughter to kiss the miner-boy, he would not have had her
break her word for all the goblins in creation. But, as I say, the
nurse was not lady enough to understand this, and so she was in a great
difficulty, for, if she insisted, someone might hear the princess cry
and run to see, and then all would come out.  But here Curdie came
again to the rescue.

'Never mind, Princess Irene,' he said.  'You mustn't kiss me tonight.
But you shan't break your word.  I will come another time.  You may be
sure I will.'

'Oh, thank you, Curdie!' said the princess, and stopped crying.

'Good night, Irene; good night, Lootie,' said Curdie, and turned and
was out of sight in a moment.

'I should like to see him!' muttered the nurse, as she carried the
princess to the nursery.

'You will see him,' said Irene.  'You may be sure Curdie will keep his
word.  He's sure to come again.'

'I should like to see him!' repeated the nurse, and said no more. She
did not want to open a new cause of strife with the princess by saying
more plainly what she meant.  Glad enough that she had succeeded both
in getting home unseen, and in keeping the princess from kissing the
miner's boy, she resolved to watch her far better in future.  Her
carelessness had already doubled the danger she was in.  Formerly the
goblins were her only fear; now she had to protect her charge from
Curdie as well.




The Mines

Curdie went home whistling.  He resolved to say nothing about the
princess for fear of getting the nurse into trouble, for while he
enjoyed teasing her because of her absurdity, he was careful not to do
her any harm.  He saw no more of the goblins, and was soon fast asleep
in his bed.

He woke in the middle of the night, and thought he heard curious noises
outside.  He sat up and listened; then got up, and, opening the door
very quietly, went out.  When he peeped round the corner, he saw, under
his own window, a group of stumpy creatures, whom he at once recognized
by their shape.  Hardly, however, had he begun his 'One, two, three!'
when they broke asunder, scurried away, and were out of sight.  He
returned laughing, got into bed again, and was fast asleep in a moment.

Reflecting a little over the matter in the morning, he came to the
conclusion that, as nothing of the kind had ever happened before, they
must be annoyed with him for interfering to protect the princess.  By
the time he was dressed, however, he was thinking of something quite
different, for he did not value the enmity of the goblins in the least.
As soon as they had had breakfast, he set off with his father for the
mine.

They entered the hill by a natural opening under a huge rock, where a
little stream rushed out.  They followed its course for a few yards,
when the passage took a turn, and sloped steeply into the heart of the
hill.  With many angles and windings and branchings-off, and sometimes
with steps where it came upon a natural gulf, it led them deep into the
hill before they arrived at the place where they were at present
digging out the precious ore. This was of various kinds, for the
mountain was very rich in the better sorts of metals.  With flint and
steel, and tinder-box, they lighted their lamps, then fixed them on
their heads, and were soon hard at work with their pickaxes and shovels
and hammers.  Father and son were at work near each other, but not in
the same gang--the passages out of which the ore was dug, they called
gangs--for when the lode, or vein of ore, was small, one miner would
have to dig away alone in a passage no bigger than gave him just room
to work--sometimes in uncomfortable cramped positions.  If they stopped
for a moment they could hear everywhere around them, some nearer, some
farther off, the sounds of their companions burrowing away in all
directions in the inside of the great mountain--some boring holes in
the rock in order to blow it up with gunpowder, others shovelling the
broken ore into baskets to be carried to the mouth of the mine, others
hitting away with their pickaxes. Sometimes, if the miner was in a very
lonely part, he would hear only a tap-tapping, no louder than that of a
woodpecker, for the sound would come from a great distance off through
the solid mountain rock.

The work was hard at best, for it is very warm underground; but it was
not particularly unpleasant, and some of the miners, when they wanted
to earn a little more money for a particular purpose, would stop behind
the rest and work all night.  But you could not tell night from day
down there, except from feeling tired and sleepy; for no light of the
sun ever came into those gloomy regions.  Some who had thus remained
behind during the night, although certain there were none of their
companions at work, would declare the next morning that they heard,
every time they halted for a moment to take breath, a tap-tapping all
about them, as if the mountain were then more full of miners than ever
it was during the day; and some in consequence would never stay
overnight, for all knew those were the sounds of the goblins.  They
worked only at night, for the miners' night was the goblins' day.
Indeed, the greater number of the miners were afraid of the goblins;
for there were strange stories well known amongst them of the treatment
some had received whom the goblins had surprised at their work during
the night.  The more courageous of them, however, amongst them Peter
Peterson and Curdie, who in this took after his father, had stayed in
the mine all night again and again, and although they had several times
encountered a few stray goblins, had never yet failed in driving them
away.  As I have indicated already, the chief defence against them was
verse, for they hated verse of every kind, and some kinds they could
not endure at all.  I suspect they could not make any themselves, and
that was why they disliked it so much.  At all events, those who were
most afraid of them were those who could neither make verses themselves
nor remember the verses that other people made for them; while those
who were never afraid were those who could make verses for themselves;
for although there were certain old rhymes which were very effectual,
yet it was well known that a new rhyme, if of the right sort, was even
more distasteful to them, and therefore more effectual in putting them
to flight.

Perhaps my readers may be wondering what the goblins could be about,
working all night long, seeing they never carried up the ore and sold
it; but when I have informed them concerning what Curdie learned the
very next night, they will be able to understand.

For Curdie had determined, if his father would permit him, to remain
there alone this night--and that for two reasons: first, he wanted to
get extra wages that he might buy a very warm red petticoat for his
mother, who had begun to complain of the cold of the mountain air
sooner than usual this autumn; and second, he had just a faint hope of
finding out what the goblins were about under his window the night
before.

When he told his father, he made no objection, for he had great
confidence in his boy's courage and resources.

'I'm sorry I can't stay with you,' said Peter; 'but I want to go and
pay the parson a visit this evening, and besides I've had a bit of a
headache all day.'

'I'm sorry for that, father,' said Curdie.

'Oh, it's not much.  You'll be sure to take care of yourself, won't
you?'

'Yes, father; I will.  I'll keep a sharp look-out, I promise you.'
Curdie was the only one who remained in the mine.  About six o'clock
the rest went away, everyone bidding him good night, and telling him to
take care of himself; for he was a great favourite with them all.

'Don't forget your rhymes,' said one.

'No, no,'answered Curdie.

'It's no matter if he does,' said another, 'for he'll only have to make
a new one.'

'Yes: but he mightn't be able to make it fast enough,' said another;
'and while it was cooking in his head, they might take a mean advantage
and set upon him.'

'I'll do my best,' said Curdie.  'I'm not afraid.' 'We all know that,'
they returned, and left him.




The Goblins

For some time Curdie worked away briskly, throwing all the ore he had
disengaged on one side behind him, to be ready for carrying out in the
morning.  He heard a good deal of goblin-tapping, but it all sounded
far away in the hill, and he paid it little heed.  Towards midnight he
began to feel rather hungry; so he dropped his pickaxe, got out a lump
of bread which in the morning he had laid in a damp hole in the rock,
sat down on a heap of ore, and ate his supper. Then he leaned back for
five minutes' rest before beginning his work again, and laid his head
against the rock.  He had not kept the position for one minute before
he heard something which made him sharpen his ears.  It sounded like a
voice inside the rock. After a while he heard it again.  It was a
goblin voice--there could be no doubt about that--and this time he
could make out the words.

'Hadn't we better be moving?'it said.

A rougher and deeper voice replied:

'There's no hurry.  That wretched little mole won't be through tonight,
if he work ever so hard.  He's not by any means at the thinnest place.'

'But you still think the lode does come through into our house?' said
the first voice.

'Yes, but a good bit farther on than he has got to yet.  If he had
struck a stroke more to the side just here,' said the goblin, tapping
the very stone, as it seemed to Curdie, against which his head lay, 'he
would have been through; but he's a couple of yards past it now, and if
he follow the lode it will be a week before it leads him in.  You see
it back there--a long way.  Still, perhaps, in case of accident it
would be as well to be getting out of this. Helfer, you'll take the
great chest.  That's your business, you know.'

'Yes, dad,' said a third voice.  'But you must help me to get it on my
back.  It's awfully heavy, you know.'

'Well, it isn't just a bag of smoke, I admit.  But you're as strong as
a mountain, Helfer.'

'You say so, dad.  I think myself I'm all right.  But I could carry ten
times as much if it wasn't for my feet.'

'That is your weak point, I confess, my boy.' 'Ain't it yours too,
father?'

'Well, to be honest, it's a goblin weakness.  Why they come so soft, I
declare I haven't an idea.'

'Specially when your head's so hard, you know, father.'

'Yes my boy.  The goblin's glory is his head.  To think how the fellows
up above there have to put on helmets and things when they go fighting!
Ha! ha!'

'But why don't we wear shoes like them, father?  I should like
it--especially when I've got a chest like that on my head.'

'Well, you see, it's not the fashion.  The king never wears shoes.'

'The queen does.'

'Yes; but that's for distinction.  The first queen, you see--I mean the
king's first wife--wore shoes, of course, because she came from
upstairs; and so, when she died, the next queen would not be inferior
to her as she called it, and would wear shoes too.  It was all pride.
She is the hardest in forbidding them to the rest of the women.'

'I'm sure I wouldn't wear them--no, not for--that I wouldn't!' said the
first voice, which was evidently that of the mother of the family.  'I
can't think why either of them should.'

'Didn't I tell you the first was from upstairs?' said the other. 'That
was the only silly thing I ever knew His Majesty guilty of. Why should
he marry an outlandish woman like that-one of our natural enemies too?'

'I suppose he fell in love with her.' 'Pooh! pooh!  He's just as happy
now with one of his own people.'

'Did she die very soon?  They didn't tease her to death, did they?'

'Oh, dear, no!  The king worshipped her very footmarks.'

'What made her die, then?  Didn't the air agree with her?'

'She died when the young prince was born.'

'How silly of her!  We never do that.  It must have been because she
wore shoes.'

'I don't know that.'

'Why do they wear shoes up there?'

'Ah, now that's a sensible question, and I will answer it.  But in
order to do so, I must first tell you a secret.  I once saw the queen's
feet.'

'Without her shoes?'

'Yes--without her shoes.'

'No!  Did you?  How was it?'

'Never you mind how it was.  She didn't know I saw them.  And what do
you think!--they had toes!'

'Toes!  What's that?'

'You may well ask!  I should never have known if I had not seen the
queen's feet.  Just imagine! the ends of her feet were split up into
five or six thin pieces!'

'Oh, horrid!  How could the king have fallen in love with her?'

'You forget that she wore shoes.  That is just why she wore them. That
is why all the men, and women too, upstairs wear shoes.  They can't
bear the sight of their own feet without them.'

'Ah! now I understand.  If ever you wish for shoes again, Helfer, I'll
hit your feet--I will.'

'No, no, mother; pray don't.'

'Then don't you.'

'But with such a big box on my head--'

A horrid scream followed, which Curdie interpreted as in reply to a
blow from his mother upon the feet of her eldest goblin.

'Well, I never knew so much before!' remarked a fourth voice.

'Your knowledge is not universal quite yet,' said the father.  'You
were only fifty last month.  Mind you see to the bed and bedding. As
soon as we've finished our supper, we'll be up and going.  Ha! ha! ha!'

'What are you laughing at, husband?'

'I'm laughing to think what a mess the miners will find themselves
in--somewhere before this day ten years.'

'Why, what do you mean?'

'Oh, nothing.'

'Oh, yes, you do mean something.  You always do mean something.'

'It's more than you do, then, wife.' 'That may be; but it's not more
than I find out, you know.'

'Ha! ha!  You're a sharp one.  What a mother you've got, Helfer!'

'Yes, father.'

'Well, I suppose I must tell you.  They're all at the palace consulting
about it tonight; and as soon as we've got away from this thin place
I'm going there to hear what night they fix upon. I should like to see
that young ruffian there on the other side, struggling in the agonies
of--'

He dropped his voice so low that Curdie could hear only a growl. The
growl went on in the low bass for a good while, as inarticulate as if
the goblin's tongue had been a sausage; and it was not until his wife
spoke again that it rose to its former pitch.

'But what shall we do when you are at the palace?' she asked.

'I will see you safe in the new house I've been digging for you for the
last two months.  Podge, you mind the table and chairs.  I commit them
to your care.  The table has seven legs--each chair three.  I shall
require them all at your hands.'

After this arose a confused conversation about the various household
goods and their transport; and Curdie heard nothing more that was of
any importance.

He now knew at least one of the reasons for the constant sound of the
goblin hammers and pickaxes at night.  They were making new houses for
themselves, to which they might retreat when the miners should threaten
to break into their dwellings.  But he had learned two things of far
greater importance.  The first was, that some grievous calamity was
preparing, and almost ready to fall upon the heads of the miners; the
second was--the one weak point of a goblin's body; he had not known
that their feet were so tender as he had now reason to suspect.  He had
heard it said that they had no toes: he had never had opportunity of
inspecting them closely enough, in the dusk in which they always
appeared, to satisfy himself whether it was a correct report.  Indeed,
he had not been able even to satisfy himself as to whether they had no
fingers, although that also was commonly said to be the fact.  One of
the miners, indeed, who had had more schooling than the rest, was wont
to argue that such must have been the primordial condition of humanity,
and that education and handicraft had developed both toes and
fingers--with which proposition Curdie had once heard his father
sarcastically agree, alleging in support of it the probability that
babies' gloves were a traditional remnant of the old state of things;
while the stockings of all ages, no regard being paid in them to the
toes, pointed in the same direction.  But what was of importance was
the fact concerning the softness of the goblin feet, which he foresaw
might be useful to all miners.  What he had to do in the meantime,
however, was to discover, if possible, the special evil design the
goblins had now in their heads.

Although he knew all the gangs and all the natural galleries with which
they communicated in the mined part of the mountain, he had not the
least idea where the palace of the king of the gnomes was; otherwise he
would have set out at once on the enterprise of discovering what the
said design was.  He judged, and rightly, that it must lie in a farther
part of the mountain, between which and the mine there was as yet no
communication.  There must be one nearly completed, however; for it
could be but a thin partition which now separated them.  If only he
could get through in time to follow the goblins as they retreated!  A
few blows would doubtless be sufficient--just where his ear now lay;
but if he attempted to strike there with his pickaxe, he would only
hasten the departure of the family, put them on their guard, and
perhaps lose their involuntary guidance.  He therefore began to feel
the wall With his hands, and soon found that some of the stones were
loose enough to be drawn out with little noise.

Laying hold of a large one with both his hands, he drew it gently out,
and let it down softly.

'What was that noise?' said the goblin father.

Curdie blew out his light, lest it should shine through.

'It must be that one miner that stayed behind the rest,' said the
mother.

'No; he's been gone a good while.  I haven't heard a blow for an hour.
Besides, it wasn't like that.'

'Then I suppose it must have been a stone carried down the brook
inside.'

'Perhaps.  It will have more room by and by.'

Curdie kept quite still.  After a little while, hearing nothing but the
sounds of their preparations for departure, mingled with an occasional
word of direction, and anxious to know whether the removal of the stone
had made an opening into the goblins' house, he put in his hand to
feel.  It went in a good way, and then came in contact with something
soft.  He had but a moment to feel it over, it was so quickly
withdrawn: it was one of the toeless goblin feet.  The owner of it gave
a cry of fright.

'What's the matter, Helfer?' asked his mother.

'A beast came out of the wall and licked my foot.'

'Nonsense!  There are no wild beasts in our country,' said his father.

'But it was, father.  I felt it.'

'Nonsense, I say.  Will you malign your native realms and reduce them
to a level with the country upstairs?  That is swarming with wild
beasts of every description.'

'But I did feel it, father.'

'I tell you to hold your tongue.  You are no patriot.'

Curdie suppressed his laughter, and lay still as a mouse--but no
stiller, for every moment he kept nibbling away with his fingers at the
edges of the hole.  He was slowly making it bigger, for here the rock
had been very much shattered with the blasting.

There seemed to be a good many in the family, to judge from the mass of
confused talk which now and then came through the hole; but when all
were speaking together, and just as if they had bottle-brushes--each at
least one--in their throats, it was not easy to make out much that was
said.  At length he heard once more what the father goblin was saying.

'Now, then,' he said, 'get your bundles on your backs.  Here, Helfer,
I'll help you up with your chest.'

'I wish it was my chest, father.'

'Your turn will come in good time enough!  Make haste.  I must go to
the meeting at the palace tonight.  When that's over, we can come back
and clear out the last of the things before our enemies return in the
morning.  Now light your torches, and come along. What a distinction it
is, to provide our own light, instead of being dependent on a thing
hung up in the air--a most disagreeable contrivance--intended no doubt
to blind us when we venture out under its baleful influence!  Quite
glaring and vulgar, I call it, though no doubt useful to poor creatures
who haven't the wit to make light for themselves.'

Curdie could hardly keep himself from calling through to know whether
they made the fire to light their torches by.  But a moment's
reflection showed him that they would have said they did, inasmuch as
they struck two stones together, and the fire came.




The Hall of the Goblin Palace

A sound of many soft feet followed, but soon ceased.  Then Curdie flew
at the hole like a tiger, and tore and pulled.  The sides gave way, and
it was soon large enough for him to crawl through.  He would not betray
himself by rekindling his lamp, but the torches of the retreating
company, which he found departing in a straight line up a long avenue
from the door of their cave, threw back light enough to afford him a
glance round the deserted home of the goblins.  To his surprise, he
could discover nothing to distinguish it from an ordinary natural cave
in the rock, upon many of which he had come with the rest of the miners
in the progress of their excavations.  The goblins had talked of coming
back for the rest of their household gear: he saw nothing that would
have made him suspect a family had taken shelter there for a single
night.  The floor was rough and stony; the walls full of projecting
corners; the roof in one place twenty feet high, in another endangering
his forehead; while on one side a stream, no thicker than a needle, it
is true, but still sufficient to spread a wide dampness over the wall,
flowed down the face of the rock.  But the troop in front of him was
toiling under heavy burdens.  He could distinguish Helfer now and then,
in the flickering light and shade, with his heavy chest on his bending
shoulders; while the second brother was almost buried in what looked
like a great feather bed.  'Where do they get the feathers?' thought
Curdie; but in a moment the troop disappeared at a turn of the way, and
it was now both safe and necessary for Curdie to follow them, lest they
should be round the next turning before he saw them again, for so he
might lose them altogether.  He darted after them like a greyhound.
When he reached the corner and looked cautiously round, he saw them
again at some distance down another long passage.  None of the
galleries he saw that night bore signs of the work of man--or of goblin
either.  Stalactites, far older than the mines, hung from their roofs;
and their floors were rough with boulders and large round stones,
showing that there water must have once run.  He waited again at this
corner till they had disappeared round the next, and so followed them a
long way through one passage after another.  The passages grew more and
more lofty, and were more and more covered in the roof with shining
stalactites.

It was a strange enough procession which he followed.  But the
strangest part of it was the household animals which crowded amongst
the feet of the goblins.  It was true they had no wild animals down
there--at least they did not know of any; but they had a wonderful
number of tame ones.  I must, however, reserve any contributions
towards the natural history of these for a later position in my story.

At length, turning a corner too abruptly, he had almost rushed into the
middle of the goblin family; for there they had already set down all
their burdens on the floor of a cave considerably larger than that
which they had left.  They were as yet too breathless to speak, else he
would have had warning of their arrest.  He started back, however,
before anyone saw him, and retreating a good way, stood watching till
the father should come out to go to the palace.

Before very long, both he and his son Helfer appeared and kept on in
the same direction as before, while Curdie followed them again with
renewed precaution.  For a long time he heard no sound except something
like the rush of a river inside the rock; but at length what seemed the
far-off noise of a great shouting reached his ears, which, however,
presently ceased.  After advancing a good way farther, he thought he
heard a single voice.  It sounded clearer and clearer as he went on,
until at last he could almost distinguish the words.  In a moment or
two, keeping after the goblins round another corner, he once more
started back--this time in amazement.

He was at the entrance of a magnificent cavern, of an oval shape, once
probably a huge natural reservoir of water, now the great palace hall
of the goblins.  It rose to a tremendous height, but the roof was
composed of such shining materials, and the multitude of torches
carried by the goblins who crowded the floor lighted up the place so
brilliantly, that Curdie could see to the top quite well.  But he had
no idea how immense the place was until his eyes had got accustomed to
it, which was not for a good many minutes. The rough projections on the
walls, and the shadows thrown upwards from them by the torches, made
the sides of the chamber look as if they were crowded with statues upon
brackets and pedestals, reaching in irregular tiers from floor to roof.
The walls themselves were, in many parts, of gloriously shining
substances, some of them gorgeously coloured besides, which powerfully
contrasted with the shadows.  Curdie could not help wondering whether
his rhymes would be of any use against such a multitude of goblins as
filled the floor of the hall, and indeed felt considerably tempted to
begin his shout of 'One, two, three!', but as there was no reason for
routing them and much for endeavouring to discover their designs, he
kept himself perfectly quiet, and peering round the edge of the
doorway, listened with both his sharp ears.

At the other end of the hall, high above the heads of the multitude,
was a terrace-like ledge of considerable height, caused by the receding
of the upper part of the cavern-wall.  Upon this sat the king and his
court: the king on a throne hollowed out of a huge block of green
copper ore, and his court upon lower seats around it.  The king had
been making them a speech, and the applause which followed it was what
Curdie had heard.  One of the court was now addressing the multitude.
What he heard him say was to the following effect: 'Hence it appears
that two plans have been for some time together working in the strong
head of His Majesty for the deliverance of his people.  Regardless of
the fact that we were the first possessors of the regions they now
inhabit; regardless equally of the fact that we abandoned that region
from the loftiest motives; regardless also of the self-evident fact
that we excel them so far in mental ability as they excel us in
stature, they look upon us as a degraded race and make a mockery of all
our finer feelings.  But, the time has almost arrived when--thanks to
His Majesty's inventive genius--it will be in our power to take a
thorough revenge upon them once for all, in respect of their unfriendly
behaviour.'

'May it please Your Majesty--' cried a voice close by the door, which
Curdie recognized as that of the goblin he had followed.

'Who is he that interrupts the Chancellor?' cried another from near the
throne.

'Glump,' answered several voices.

'He is our trusty subject,' said the king himself, in a slow and
stately voice: 'let him come forward and speak.'

A lane was parted through the crowd, and Glump, having ascended the
platform and bowed to the king, spoke as follows:

'Sire, I would have held my peace, had I not known that I only knew how
near was the moment, to which the Chancellor had just referred.

In all probability, before another day is past, the enemy will have
broken through into my house--the partition between being even now not
more than a foot in thickness.'

'Not quite so much,' thought Curdie to himself.

'This very evening I have had to remove my household effects; therefore
the sooner we are ready to carry out the plan, for the execution of
which His Majesty has been making such magnificent preparations, the
better.  I may just add, that within the last few days I have perceived
a small outbreak in my dining-room, which, combined with observations
upon the course of the river escaping where the evil men enter, has
convinced me that close to the spot must be a deep gulf in its channel.
This discovery will, I trust, add considerably to the otherwise immense
forces at His Majesty's disposal.'

He ceased, and the king graciously acknowledged his speech with a bend
of his head; whereupon Glump, after a bow to His Majesty, slid down
amongst the rest of the undistinguished multitude.  Then the Chancellor
rose and resumed.

'The information which the worthy Glump has given us,' he said, 'might
have been of considerable import at the present moment, but for that
other design already referred to, which naturally takes precedence.
His Majesty, unwilling to proceed to extremities, and well aware that
such measures sooner or later result in violent reactions, has
excogitated a more fundamental and comprehensive measure, of which I
need say no more.  Should His Majesty be successful--as who dares to
doubt?--then a peace, all to the advantage of the goblin kingdom, will
be established for a generation at least, rendered absolutely secure by
the pledge which His Royal Highness the prince will have and hold for
the good behaviour of her relatives.  Should His Majesty fail--which
who shall dare even to imagine in his most secret thoughts?--then will
be the time for carrying out with rigour the design to which Glump
referred, and for which our preparations are even now all but
completed.  The failure of the former will render the latter
imperative.'

Curdie, perceiving that the assembly was drawing to a close and that
there was little chance of either plan being more fully discovered, now
thought it prudent to make his escape before the goblins began to
disperse, and slipped quietly away.

There was not much danger of meeting any goblins, for all the men at
least were left behind him in the palace; but there was considerable
danger of his taking a wrong turning, for he had now no light, and had
therefore to depend upon his memory and his hands.  After he had left
behind him the glow that issued from the door of Glump's new abode, he
was utterly without guide, so far as his eyes were concerned.

He was most anxious to get back through the hole before the goblins
should return to fetch the remains of their furniture.  It was not that
he was in the least afraid of them, but, as it was of the utmost
importance that he should thoroughly discover what the plans they were
cherishing were, he must not occasion the slightest suspicion that they
were watched by a miner.

He hurried on, feeling his way along the walls of rock.  Had he not
been very courageous, he must have been very anxious, for he could not
but know that if he lost his way it would be the most difficult thing
in the world to find it again.  Morning would bring no light into these
regions; and towards him least of all, who was known as a special
rhymester and persecutor, could goblins be expected to exercise
courtesy.  Well might he wish that he had brought his lamp and
tinder-box with him, of which he had not thought when he crept so
eagerly after the goblins!  He wished it all the more when, after a
while, he found his way blocked up, and could get no farther.  It was
of no use to turn back, for he had not the least idea where he had
begun to go wrong.  Mechanically, however, he kept feeling about the
walls that hemmed him in.  His hand came upon a place where a tiny
stream of water was running down the face of the rock.  'What a stupid
I am!' he said to himself.  'I am actually at the end of my journey!
And there are the goblins coming back to fetch their things!' he added,
as the red glimmer of their torches appeared at the end of the long
avenue that led up to the cave.  In a moment he had thrown himself on
the floor, and wriggled backwards through the hole.  The floor on the
other side was several feet lower, which made it easier to get back.
It was all he could do to lift the largest stone he had taken out of
the hole, but he did manage to shove it in again.  He sat down on the
ore-heap and thought.

He was pretty sure that the latter plan of the goblins was to inundate
the mine by breaking outlets for the water accumulated in the natural
reservoirs of the mountain, as well as running through portions of it.
While the part hollowed by the miners remained shut off from that
inhabited by the goblins, they had had no opportunity of injuring them
thus; but now that a passage was broken through, and the goblins' part
proved the higher in the mountain, it was clear to Curdie that the mine
could be destroyed in an hour.  Water was always the chief danger to
which the miners were exposed.  They met with a little choke-damp
sometimes, but never with the explosive firedamp so common in
coal-mines.  Hence they were careful as soon as they saw any appearance
of water. As the result of his reflections while the goblins were busy
in their old home, it seemed to Curdie that it would be best to build
up the whole of this gang, filling it with stone, and clay or lie, so
that there should be no smallest channel for the water to get into.
There was not, however, any immediate danger, for the execution of the
goblins' plan was contingent upon the failure of that unknown design
which was to take precedence of it; and he was most anxious to keep the
door of communication open, that he might if possible discover what the
former plan was.  At the same time they could not resume their
intermitted labours for the inundation without his finding it out; when
by putting all hands to the work, the one existing outlet might in a
single night be rendered impenetrable to any weight of water; for by
filling the gang entirely up, their embankment would be buttressed by
the sides of the mountain itself.

As soon as he found that the goblins had again retired, he lighted his
lamp, and proceeded to fill the hole he had made with such stones as he
could withdraw when he pleased.  He then thought it better, as he might
have occasion to be up a good many nights after this, to go home and
have some sleep.

How pleasant the night air felt upon the outside of the mountain after
what he had gone through in the inside of it!  He hurried up the hill
without meeting a single goblin on the way, and called and tapped at
the window until he woke his father, who soon rose and let him in.  He
told him the whole story; and, just as he had expected, his father
thought it best to work that lode no farther, but at the same time to
pretend occasionally to be at work there still in order that the
goblins might have no suspicions.  Both father and son then went to bed
and slept soundly until the morning.




The Princess's King-Papa

The weather continued fine for weeks, and the little princess went out
every day.  So long a period of fine weather had indeed never been
known upon that mountain.  The only uncomfortable thing was that her
nurse was so nervous and particular about being in before the sun was
down that often she would take to her heels when nothing worse than a
fleecy cloud crossing the sun threw a shadow on the hillside; and many
an evening they were home a full hour before the sunlight had left the
weather-cock on the stables.  If it had not been for such odd behaviour
Irene would by this time have almost forgotten the goblins.  She never
forgot Curdie, but him she remembered for his own sake, and indeed
would have remembered him if only because a princess never forgets her
debts until they are paid.

One splendid sunshiny day, about an hour after noon, Irene, who was
playing on a lawn in the garden, heard the distant blast of a bugle.
She jumped up with a cry of joy, for she knew by that particular blast
that her father was on his way to see her.  This part of the garden lay
on the slope of the hill and allowed a full view of the country below.
So she shaded her eyes with her hand and looked far away to catch the
first glimpse of shining armour. In a few moments a little troop came
glittering round the shoulder of a hill.  Spears and helmets were
sparkling and gleaming, banners were flying, horses prancing, and again
came the bugle-blast which was to her like the voice of her father
calling across the distance: 'Irene, I'm coming.'

On and on they came until she could clearly distinguish the king. He
rode a white horse and was taller than any of the men with him. He wore
a narrow circle of gold set with jewels around his helmet, and as he
came still nearer Irene could discern the flashing of the stones in the
sun.  It was a long time since he had been to see her, and her little
heart beat faster and faster as the shining troop approached, for she
loved her king-papa very dearly and was nowhere so happy as in his
arms.  When they reached a certain point, after which she could see
them no more from the garden, she ran to the gate, and there stood till
up they came, clanging and stamping, with one more bright bugle-blast
which said: 'Irene, I am come.'

By this time the people of the house were all gathered at the gate, but
Irene stood alone in front of them.  When the horsemen pulled up she
ran to the side of the white horse and held up her arms. The king
stopped and took her hands.  In an instant she was on the saddle and
clasped in his great strong arms.

I wish I could describe the king so that you could see him in your
mind.  He had gentle, blue eyes, but a nose that made him look like an
eagle.  A long dark beard, streaked with silvery lines, flowed from his
mouth almost to his waist, and as Irene sat on the saddle and hid her
glad face upon his bosom it mingled with the golden hair which her
mother had given her, and the two together were like a cloud with
streaks of the sun woven through it.  After he had held her to his
heart for a minute he spoke to his white horse, and the great beautiful
creature, which had been prancing so proudly a little while before,
walked as gently as a lady--for he knew he had a little lady on his
back--through the gate and up to the door of the house.  Then the king
set her on the ground and, dismounting, took her hand and walked with
her into the great hall, which was hardly ever entered except when he
came to see his little princess.  There he sat down, with two of his
counsellors who had accompanied him, to have some refreshment, and
Irene sat on his right hand and drank her milk out of a wooden bowl
curiously carved.

After the king had eaten and drunk he turned to the princess and said,
stroking her hair:

'Now, my child, what shall we do next?'

This was the question he almost always put to her first after their
meal together; and Irene had been waiting for it with some impatience,
for now, she thought, she should be able to settle a question which
constantly perplexed her.

'I should like you to take me to see my great old grandmother.'

The king looked grave And said:

'What does my little daughter mean?'

'I mean the Queen Irene that lives up in the tower--the very old lady,
you know, with the long hair of silver.'

The king only gazed at his little princess with a look which she could
not understand.

'She's got her crown in her bedroom,' she went on; 'but I've not been
in there yet.  You know she's there, don't you?'

'No,' said the king, very quietly.

'Then it must all be a dream,' said Irene.  'I half thought it was; but
I couldn't be sure.  Now I am sure of it.  Besides, I couldn't find her
the next time I went up.'

At that moment a snow-white pigeon flew in at an open window and
settled upon Irene's head.  She broke into a merry laugh, cowered a
little, and put up her hands to her head, saying:

'Dear dovey, don't peck me.  You'll pull out my hair with your long
claws if you don't mind.'

The king stretched out his hand to take the pigeon, but it spread its
wings and flew again through the open window, when its Whiteness made
one flash in the sun and vanished.  The king laid his hand on his
princess's head, held it back a little, gazed in her face, smiled half
a smile, and sighed half a sigh.

'Come, my child; we'll have a walk in the garden together,' he said.

'You won't come up and see my huge, great, beautiful grandmother, then,
king-papa?' said the princess.

'Not this time,' said the king very gently.  'She has not invited me,
you know, and great old ladies like her do not choose to be visited
without leave asked and given.'

The garden was a very lovely place.  Being upon a Mountainside there
were parts in it where the rocks came through in great masses, and all
immediately about them remained quite wild.  Tufts of heather grew upon
them, and other hardy mountain plants and flowers, while near them
would be lovely roses and lilies and all pleasant garden flowers.  This
mingling of the wild mountain with the civilized garden was very
quaint, and it was impossible for any number of gardeners to make such
a garden look formal and stiff.

Against one of these rocks was a garden seat, shadowed from the
afternoon sun by the overhanging of the rock itself.  There was a
little winding path up to the top of the rock, and on top another seat;
but they sat on the seat at its foot because the sun was hot; and there
they talked together of many things.  At length the king said:

'You were out late one evening, Irene.'

'Yes, papa.  It was my fault; and Lootie was very sorry.'

'I must talk to Lootie about it,' said the king.

'Don't speak loud to her, please, papa,' said Irene.  'She's been so
afraid of being late ever since!  Indeed she has not been naughty.  It
was only a mistake for once.'

'Once might be too often,' murmured the king to himself, as he stroked
his child's head.

I can't tell you how he had come to know.  I am sure Curdie had not
told him.  Someone about the palace must have seen them, after all.

He sat for a good while thinking.  There was no sound to be heard
except that of a little stream which ran merrily out of an opening in
the rock by where they sat, and sped away down the hill through the
garden.  Then he rose and, leaving Irene where she was, went into the
house and sent for Lootie, with whom he had a talk that made her cry.

When in the evening he rode away upon his great white horse, he left
six of his attendants behind him, with orders that three of them should
watch outside the house every night, walking round and round it from
sunset to sunrise.  It was clear he was not quite comfortable about the
princess.




The Old Lady's Bedroom

Nothing more happened worth telling for some time.  The autumn came and
went by.  There were no more flowers in the garden.  The wind blew
strong, and howled among the rocks.  The rain fell, and drenched the
few yellow and red leaves that could not get off the bare branches.
Again and again there would be a glorious morning followed by a pouring
afternoon, and sometimes, for a week together, there would be rain,
nothing but rain, all day, and then the most lovely cloudless night,
with the sky all out in full-blown stars--not one missing.  But the
princess could not see much of them, for she went to bed early.  The
winter drew on, and she found things growing dreary.  When it was too
stormy to go out, and she had got tired of her toys, Lootie would take
her about the house, sometimes to the housekeeper's room, where the
housekeeper, who was a good, kind old woman, made much of
her--sometimes to the servants' hall or the kitchen, where she was not
princess merely, but absolute queen, and ran a great risk of being
spoiled. Sometimes she would run off herself to the room where the
men-at-arms whom the king had left sat, and they showed her their arms
and accoutrements and did what they could to amuse her.  Still at times
she found it very dreary, and often and often wished that her huge
great grandmother had not been a dream.

One morning the nurse left her with the housekeeper for a while. To
amuse her she turned out the contents of an old cabinet upon the table.
The little princess found her treasures, queer ancient ornaments, and
many things the use of which she could not imagine, far more
interesting than her own toys, and sat playing with them for two hours
or more.  But, at length, in handling a curious old-fashioned brooch,
she ran the pin of it into her thumb, and gave a little scream with the
sharpness of the pain, but would have thought little more of it had not
the pain increased and her thumb begun to swell.  This alarmed the
housekeeper greatly.  The nurse was fetched; the doctor was sent for;
her hand was poulticed, and long before her usual time she was put to
bed.  The pain still continued, and although she fell asleep and
dreamed a good many dreams, there was the pain always in every dream.
At last it woke her UP.

The moon was shining brightly into the room.  The poultice had fallen
off her hand and it was burning hot.  She fancied if she could hold it
into the moonlight that would cool it.  So she got out of bed, without
waking the nurse who lay at the other end of the room, and went to the
window.  When she looked out she saw one of the men-at-arms walking in
the garden with the moonlight glancing on his armour.  She was just
going to tap on the window and call him, for she wanted to tell him all
about it, when she bethought herself that that might wake Lootie, and
she would put her into her bed again.  So she resolved to go to the
window of another room, and call him from there.  It was so much nicer
to have somebody to talk to than to lie awake in bed with the burning
pain in her hand.  She opened the door very gently and went through the
nursery, which did not look into the garden, to go to the other window.
But when she came to the foot of the old staircase there was the moon
shining down from some window high up, and making the worm-eaten oak
look very strange and delicate and lovely.  In a moment she was putting
her little feet one after the other in the silvery path up the stair,
looking behind as she went, to see the shadow they made in the middle
of the silver.  Some little girls would have been afraid to find
themselves thus alone in the middle of the night, but Irene was a
princess.

As she went slowly up the stair, not quite sure that she was not
dreaming, suddenly a great longing woke up in her heart to try once
more whether she could not find the old lady with the silvery hair. 'If
she is a dream,' she said to herself, 'then I am the likelier to find
her, if I am dreaming.'

So up and up she went, stair after stair, until she Came to the many
rooms--all just as she had seen them before.  Through passage after
passage she softly sped, comforting herself that if she should lose her
way it would not matter much, because when she woke she would find
herself in her own bed with Lootie not far off. But, as if she had
known every step of the way, she walked straight to the door at the
foot of the narrow stair that led to the tower.

'What if I should realreality-really find my beautiful old grandmother
up there!' she said to herself as she crept up the steep steps.

When she reached the top she stood a moment listening in the dark, for
there was no moon there.  Yes! it was! it was the hum of the
spinning-wheel!  What a diligent grandmother to work both day and
night!  She tapped gently at the door.

'Come in, Irene,'said the sweet voice.

The princess opened the door and entered.  There was the moonlight
streaming in at the window, and in the middle of the moonlight sat the
old lady in her black dress with the white lace, and her silvery hair
mingling with the moonlight, so that you could not have told which was
which.  'Come in, Irene,' she said again.  'Can you tell me what I am
spinning?'

'She speaks,' thought Irene, 'just as if she had seen me five minutes
ago, or yesterday at the farthest. --No,' she answered; 'I don't know
what you are spinning.  Please, I thought you were a dream.  Why
couldn't I find you before, great-great-grandmother?'

'That you are hardly old enough to understand.  But you would have
found me sooner if you hadn't come to think I was a dream.  I will give
you one reason though why you couldn't find me.  I didn't want you to
find me.'

'Why, please?'

'Because I did not want Lootie to know I was here.'

'But you told me to tell Lootie.'

'Yes.  But I knew Lootie would not believe you.  If she were to see me
sitting spinning here, she wouldn't believe me, either.'

'Why?'

'Because she couldn't.  She would rub her eyes, and go away and say she
felt queer, and forget half of it and more, and then say it had been
all a dream.'

'Just like me,' said Irene, feeling very much ashamed of herself.

'Yes, a good deal like you, but not just like you; for you've come
again; and Lootie wouldn't have come again.  She would have said, No,
no--she had had enough of such nonsense.'

'Is it naughty of Lootie, then?'

'It would be naughty of you.  I've never done anything for Lootie.'

'And you did wash my face and hands for me,' said Irene, beginning to
cry.

The old lady smiled a sweet smile and said:

'I'm not vexed with you, my child--nor with Lootie either.  But I don't
want you to say anything more to Lootie about me.  If she should ask
you, you must just be silent.  But I do not think she will ask you.'

All the time they talked the old lady kept on spinning.

'You haven't told me yet what I am spinning,' she said.

'Because I don't know.  It's very pretty stuff.'

It was indeed very pretty stuff.  There was a good bunch of it on the
distaff attached to the spinning-wheel, and in the moonlight it shone
like--what shall I say it was like?  It was not white enough for
silver--yes, it was like silver, but shone grey rather than white, and
glittered only a little.  And the thread the old lady drew out from it
was so fine that Irene could hardly see it. 'I am spinning this for
you, my child.'

'For me!  What am I to do with it, please?'

'I will tell you by and by.  But first I will tell you what it is. It
is spider-web--of a particular kind.  My pigeons bring it me from over
the great sea.  There is only one forest where the spiders live who
make this particular kind--the finest and strongest of any.  I have
nearly finished my present job.  What is on the rock now will be
enough.  I have a week's work there yet, though,' she added, looking at
the bunch.

'Do you work all day and all night, too,
great-great-great-great-grandmother?' said the princess, thinking to be
very polite with so many greats.

'I am not quite so great as all that,' she answered, smiling almost
merrily.  'If you call me grandmother, that will do.  No, I don't work
every night--only moonlit nights, and then no longer than the moon
shines upon my wheel.  I shan't work much longer tonight.'

'And what will you do next, grandmother?' 'Go to bed.  Would you like
to see my bedroom?'

'Yes, that I should.'

'Then I think I won't work any longer tonight.  I shall be in good
time.'

The old lady rose, and left her wheel standing just as it was.  You see
there was no good in putting it away, for where there was not any
furniture there was no danger of being untidy.

Then she took Irene by the hand, but it was her bad hand and Irene gave
a little cry of pain.  'My child!' said her grandmother, 'what is the
matter?'

Irene held her hand into the moonlight, that the old lady might see it,
and told her all about it, at which she looked grave.  But she only
said: 'Give me your other hand'; and, having led her out upon the
little dark landing, opened the door on the opposite side of it.  What
was Irene's surprise to see the loveliest room she had ever seen in her
life!  It was large and lofty, and dome-shaped. From the centre hung a
lamp as round as a ball, shining as if with the brightest moonlight,
which made everything visible in the room, though not so clearly that
the princess could tell what many of the things were.  A large oval bed
stood in the middle, with a coverlid of rose colour, and velvet
curtains all round it of a lovely pale blue.  The walls were also
blue--spangled all over with what looked like stars of silver.

The old lady left her and, going to a strange-looking cabinet, opened
it and took out a curious silver casket.  Then she sat down on a low
chair and, calling Irene, made her kneel before her while she looked at
her hand.  Having examined it, she opened the casket, and took from it
a little ointment.  The sweetest odour filled the room--like that of
roses and lilies--as she rubbed the ointment gently all over the hot
swollen hand.  Her touch was so pleasant and cool that it seemed to
drive away the pain and heat wherever it came.

'Oh, grandmother! it is so nice!' said Irene.  'Thank you; thank you.'

Then the old lady went to a chest of drawers, and took out a large
handkerchief of gossamer-like cambric, which she tied round her hand.

'I don't think I can let you go away tonight,' she said.  'Would you
like to sleep with me?'

'Oh, yes, yes, dear grandmother,' said Irene, and would have clapped
her hands, forgetting that she could not.

'You won't be afraid, then, to go to bed with such an old woman?'

'No.  You are so beautiful, grandmother.'

'But I am very old.'

'And I suppose I am very young.  You won't mind sleeping with such a
very young woman, grandmother?'

'You sweet little pertness!' said the old lady, and drew her towards
her, and kissed her on the forehead and the cheek and the mouth.  Then
she got a large silver basin, and having poured some water into it made
Irene sit on the chair, and washed her feet. This done, she was ready
for bed.  And oh, what a delicious bed it was into which her
grandmother laid her!  She hardly could have told she was lying upon
anything: she felt nothing but the softness.

The old lady having undressed herself lay down beside her.

'Why don't you put out your moon?' asked the princess.

'That never goes out, night or day,' she answered.  'In the darkest
night, if any of my pigeons are out on a message, they always see my
moon and know where to fly to.'

'But if somebody besides the pigeons were to see it--somebody about the
house, I mean--they would come to look what it was and find you.'

'The better for them, then,' said the old lady.  'But it does not
happen above five times in a hundred years that anyone does see it.

The greater part of those who do take it for a meteor, wink their eyes,
and forget it again.  Besides, nobody could find the room except I
pleased.  Besides, again--I will tell you a secret--if that light were
to go out you would fancy yourself lying in a bare garret, on a heap of
old straw, and would not see one of the pleasant things round about you
all the time.'

'I hope it will never go out,' said the princess.

'I hope not.  But it is time we both went to sleep.  Shall I take you
in my arms?'

The little princess nestled close up to the old lady, who took her in
both her arms and held her close to her bosom.

'Oh, dear! this is so nice!' said the princess.  'I didn't know
anything in the world could be so comfortable.  I should like to lie
here for ever.'

'You may if you will,' said the old lady.  'But I must put you to one
trial-not a very hard one, I hope.  This night week you must come back
to me.  If you don't, I do not know when you may find me again, and you
will soon want me very much.'

'Oh! please, don't let me forget.'

'You shall not forget.  The only question is whether you will believe I
am anywhere--whether you will believe I am anything but a dream.  You
may be sure I will do all I can to help you to come. But it will rest
with yourself, after all.  On the night of next Friday, you must come
to me.  Mind now.'

'I will try,' said the princess.

'Then good night,' said the old lady, and kissed the forehead which lay
in her bosom.

In a moment more the little princess was dreaming in the midst of the
loveliest dreams--of summer seas and moonlight and mossy springs and
great murmuring trees, and beds of wild flowers with such odours as she
had never smelled before.  But, after all, no dream could be more
lovely than what she had left behind when she fell asleep.

In the morning she found herself in her own bed.  There was no
handkerchief or anything else on her hand, only a sweet odour lingered
about it.  The swelling had all gone down; the prick of the brooch had
vanished--in fact, her hand was perfectly well.




A Short Chapter About Curdie

Curdie spent many nights in the mine.  His father and he had taken Mrs.
Peterson into the secret, for they knew mother could hold her tongue,
which was more than could be said of all the miners' wives.

But Curdie did not tell her that every night he spent in the mine, part
of it went in earning a new red petticoat for her.

Mrs. Peterson was such a nice good mother!  All mothers are nice and
good more or less, but Mrs. Peterson was nice and good all more and no
less.  She made and kept a little heaven in that poor cottage on the
high hillside for her husband and son to go home to out of the low and
rather dreary earth in which they worked.  I doubt if the princess was
very much happier even in the arms of her huge great-grandmother than
Peter and Curdie were in the arms of Mrs. Peterson.  True, her hands
were hard and chapped and large, but it was with work for them; and
therefore, in the sight of the angels, her hands were so much the more
beautiful.  And if Curdie worked hard to get her a petticoat, she
worked hard every day to get him comforts which he would have missed
much more than she would a new petticoat even in winter.  Not that she
and Curdie ever thought of how much they worked for each other: that
would have spoiled everything.

When left alone in the mine Curdie always worked on for an hour or two
at first, following the lode which, according to Glump, would lead at
last into the deserted habitation.  After that, he would set out on a
reconnoitring expedition.  In order to manage this, or rather the
return from it, better than the first time, he had bought a huge ball
of fine string, having learned the trick from Hop-o'-my-Thumb, whose
history his mother had often told him.  Not that Hop-o'-my-Thumb had
ever used a ball of string--I should be sorry to be supposed so far out
in my classics--but the principle was the same as that of the pebbles.
The end of this string he fastened to his pickaxe, which figured no bad
anchor, and then, with the ball in his hand, unrolling it as he went,
set out in the dark through the natural gangs of the goblins'
territory.  The first night or two he came upon nothing worth
remembering; saw only a little of the home-life of the cobs in the
various caves they called houses; failed in coming upon anything to
cast light upon the foregoing design which kept the inundation for the
present in the background.  But at length, I think on the third or
fourth night, he found, partly guided by the noise of their implements,
a company of evidently the best sappers and miners amongst them, hard
at work.  What were they about?  It could not well be the inundation,
seeing that had in the meantime been postponed to something else.  Then
what was it?  He lurked and watched, every now and then in the greatest
risk of being detected, but without success.  He had again and again to
retreat in haste, a proceeding rendered the more difficult that he had
to gather up his string as he returned upon its course.  It was not
that he was afraid of the goblins, but that he was afraid of their
finding out that they were watched, which might have prevented the
discovery at which he aimed.  Sometimes his haste had to be such that,
when he reached home towards morning, his string, for lack of time to
wind it up as he 'dodged the cobs', would be in what seemed most
hopeless entanglement; but after a good sleep, though a short one, he
always found his mother had got it right again.  There it was, wound in
a most respectable ball, ready for use the moment he should want it!

'I can't think how you do it, mother,' he would say.

'I follow the thread,' she would answer--'just as you do in the mine.'
She never had more to say about it; but the less clever she was with
her words, the more clever she was with her hands; and the less his
mother said, the more Curdie believed she had to say.  But still he had
made no discovery as to what the goblin miners were about.




The Cobs' Creatures

About this time the gentlemen whom the king had left behind him to
watch over the princess had each occasion to doubt the testimony of his
own eyes, for more than strange were the objects to which they would
bear witness.  They were of one sort--creatures--but so grotesque and
misshapen as to be more like a child's drawings upon his slate than
anything natural.  They saw them only at night, while on guard about
the house.  The testimony of the man who first reported having seen one
of them was that, as he was walking slowly round the house, while yet
in the shadow, he caught sight of a creature standing on its hind legs
in the moonlight, with its forefeet upon a window-ledge, staring in at
the window.  Its body might have been that of a dog or wolf, he
thought, but he declared on his honour that its head was twice the size
it ought to have been for the size of its body, and as round as a ball,
while the face, which it turned upon him as it fled, was more like one
carved by a boy upon the turnip inside which he is going to put a
candle than anything else he could think of.  It rushed into the
garden. He sent an arrow after it, and thought he must have struck it;
for it gave an unearthly howl, and he could not find his arrow any more
than the beast, although he searched all about the place where it
vanished.  They laughed at him until he was driven to hold his tongue,
and said he must have taken too long a pull at the ale-jug.

But before two nights were over he had one to side with him, for he,
too, had seen something strange, only quite different from that
reported by the other.  The description the second man gave of the
creature he had seen was yet more grotesque and unlikely.  They were
both laughed at by the rest; but night after night another came over to
their side, until at last there was only one left to laugh at all his
companions.  Two nights more passed, and he saw nothing; but on the
third he came rushing from the garden to the other two before the
house, in such an agitation that they declared--for it was their turn
now--that the band of his helmet was cracking under his chin with the
rising of his hair inside it. Running with him into that part of the
garden which I have already described, they saw a score of creatures,
to not one of which they could give a name, and not one of which was
like another, hideous and ludicrous at once, gambolling on the lawn in
the moonlight. The supernatural or rather subnatural ugliness of their
faces, the length of legs and necks in some, the apparent absence of
both or either in others, made the spectators, although in one consent
as to what they saw, yet doubtful, as I have said, of the evidence of
their own eyes--and ears as well; for the noises they made, although
not loud, were as uncouth and varied as their forms, and could be
described neither as grunts nor squeaks nor roars nor howls nor barks
nor yells nor screams nor croaks nor hisses nor mews nor shrieks, but
only as something like all of them mingled in one horrible dissonance.
Keeping in the shade, the watchers had a few moments to recover
themselves before the hideous assembly suspected their presence; but
all at once, as if by common consent, they scampered off in the
direction of a great rock, and vanished before the men had come to
themselves sufficiently to think of following them.

My readers will suspect what these were; but I will now give them full
information concerning them.  They were, of course, household animals
belonging to the goblins, whose ancestors had taken their ancestors
many centuries before from the upper regions of light into the lower
regions of darkness.  The original stocks of these horrible creatures
were very much the same as the animals now seen about farms and homes
in the country, with the exception of a few of them, which had been
wild creatures, such as foxes, and indeed wolves and small bears, which
the goblins, from their proclivity towards the animal creation, had
caught when cubs and tamed.  But in the course of time all had
undergone even greater changes than had passed upon their owners.  They
had altered--that is, their descendants had altered--into such
creatures as I have not attempted to describe except in the vaguest
manner--the various parts of their bodies assuming, in an apparently
arbitrary and self-willed manner, the most abnormal developments.
Indeed, so little did any distinct type predominate in some of the
bewildering results, that you could only have guessed at any known
animal as the original, and even then, what likeness remained would be
more one of general expression than of definable conformation.  But
what increased the gruesomeness tenfold was that, from constant
domestic, or indeed rather family association with the goblins, their
countenances had grown in grotesque resemblance to the human.

No one understands animals who does not see that every one of them,
even amongst the fishes, it may be with a dimness and vagueness
infinitely remote, yet shadows the human: in the case of these the
human resemblance had greatly increased: while their owners had sunk
towards them, they had risen towards their owners.  But the conditions
of subterranean life being equally unnatural for both, while the
goblins were worse, the creatures had not improved by the
approximation, and its result would have appeared far more ludicrous
than consoling to the warmest lover of animal nature.  I shall now
explain how it was that just then these animals began to show
themselves about the king's country house.

The goblins, as Curdie had discovered, were mining on--at work both day
and night, in divisions, urging the scheme after which he lay in wait.
In the course of their tunnelling they had broken into the channel of a
small stream, but the break being in the top of it, no water had
escaped to interfere with their work.  Some of the creatures, hovering
as they often did about their masters, had found the hole, and had,
with the curiosity which had grown to a passion from the restraints of
their unnatural circumstances, proceeded to explore the channel.  The
stream was the same which ran out by the seat on which Irene and her
king-papa had sat as I have told, and the goblin creatures found it
jolly fun to get out for a romp on a smooth lawn such as they had never
seen in all their poor miserable lives.  But although they had partaken
enough of the nature of their owners to delight in annoying and
alarming any of the people whom they met on the mountain, they were, of
course, incapable of designs of their own, or of intentionally
furthering those of their masters.

For several nights after the men-at-arms were at length of one mind as
to the fact of the visits of some horrible creatures, whether bodily or
spectral they could not yet say, they watched with special attention
that part of the garden where they had last seen them.  Perhaps indeed
they gave in consequence too little attention to the house.  But the
creatures were too cunning to be easily caught; nor were the watchers
quick-eyed enough to descry the head, or the keen eyes in it, which,
from the opening whence the stream issued, would watch them in turn,
ready, the moment they should leave the lawn, to report the place clear.




That Night Week

During the whole of the week Irene had been thinking every other moment
of her promise to the old lady, although even now she could not feel
quite sure that she had not been dreaming.  Could it really be that an
old lady lived up in the top of the house, with pigeons and a
spinning-wheel, and a lamp that never went out?  She was, however, none
the less determined, on the coming Friday, to ascend the three stairs,
walk through the passages with the many doors, and try to find the
tower in which she had either seen or dreamed her grandmother.

Her nurse could not help wondering what had come to the child--she
would sit so thoughtfully silent, and even in the midst of a game with
her would so suddenly fall into a dreamy mood.  But Irene took care to
betray nothing, whatever efforts Lootie might make to get at her
thoughts.  And Lootie had to say to herself: 'What an odd child she
is!' and give it up.

At length the longed-for Friday arrived, and lest Lootie should be
moved to watch her, Irene endeavoured to keep herself as quiet as
possible.  In the afternoon she asked for her doll's house, and went on
arranging and rearranging the various rooms and their inhabitants for a
whole hour.  Then she gave a sigh and threw herself back in her chair.
One of the dolls would not sit, and another would not stand, and they
were all very tiresome.  Indeed, there was one would not even lie down,
which was too bad.  But it was now getting dark, and the darker it got
the more excited Irene became, and the more she felt it necessary to be
composed.

'I see you want your tea, princess,' said the nurse: 'I will go and get
it.  The room feels close: I will open the window a little. The evening
is mild: it won't hurt you.'

'There's no fear of that, Lootie,' said Irene, wishing she had put off
going for the tea till it was darker, when she might have made her
attempt with every advantage.

I fancy Lootie was longer in returning than she had intended; for when
Irene, who had been lost in thought, looked up, she saw it was nearly
dark, and at the same moment caught sight of a pair of eyes, bright
with a green light, glowering at her through the open window.  The next
instant something leaped into the room.  It was like a cat, with legs
as long as a horse's, Irene said, but its body no bigger and its legs
no thicker than those of a cat.  She was too frightened to cry out, but
not too frightened to jump from her chair and run from the room.

It is plain enough to every one of my readers what she ought to have
done--and indeed, Irene thought of it herself; but when she came to the
foot of the old stair, just outside the nursery door, she imagined the
creature running up those long ascents after her, and pursuing her
through the dark passages--which, after all, might lead to no tower!
That thought was too much.  Her heart failed her, and, turning from the
stair, she rushed along to the hall, whence, finding the front door
open, she darted into the court pursued--at least she thought so--by
the creature.  No one happening to see her, on she ran, unable to think
for fear, and ready to run anywhere to elude the awful creature with
the stilt-legs.  Not daring to look behind her, she rushed straight out
of the gate and up the mountain.  It was foolish indeed--thus to run
farther and farther from all who could help her, as if she had been
seeking a fit spot for the goblin creature to eat her in his leisure;
but that is the way fear serves us: it always sides with the thing we
are afraid of.

The princess was soon out of breath with running uphill; but she ran
on, for she fancied the horrible creature just behind her, forgetting
that, had it been after her such long legs as those must have overtaken
her long ago.  At last she could run no longer, and fell, unable even
to scream, by the roadside, where she lay for some time half dead with
terror.  But finding nothing lay hold of her, and her breath beginning
to come back, she ventured at length to get half up and peer anxiously
about her.  It was now so dark she could see nothing.  Not a single
star was out.  She could not even tell in what direction the house lay,
and between her and home she fancied the dreadful creature lying ready
to pounce upon her. She saw now that she ought to have run up the
stairs at once.  It was well she did not scream; for, although very few
of the goblins had come out for weeks, a stray idler or two might have
heard her. She sat down upon a stone, and nobody but one who had done
something wrong could have been more miserable.  She had quite
forgotten her promise to visit her grandmother.  A raindrop fell on her
face.  She looked up, and for a moment her terror was lost in
astonishment.  At first she thought the rising moon had left her place,
and drawn nigh to see what could be the matter with the little girl,
sitting alone, without hat or cloak, on the dark bare mountain; but she
soon saw she was mistaken, for there was no light on the ground at her
feet, and no shadow anywhere.  But a great silver globe was hanging in
the air; and as she gazed at the lovely thing, her courage revived.  If
she were but indoors again, she would fear nothing, not even the
terrible creature with the long legs!  But how was she to find her way
back?  What could that light be?  Could it be--? No, it couldn't.  But
what if it should be--yes--it must be--her great-great-grandmother's
lamp, which guided her pigeons home through the darkest night!  She
jumped up: she had but to keep that light in view and she must find the
house.  Her heart grew strong.  Speedily, yet softly, she walked down
the hill, hoping to pass the watching creature unseen.  Dark as it was,
there was little danger now of choosing the wrong road.  And--which was
most strange--the light that filled her eyes from the lamp, instead of
blinding them for a moment to the object upon which they next fell,
enabled her for a moment to see it, despite the darkness.  By looking
at the lamp and then dropping her eyes, she could see the road for a
yard or two in front of her, and this saved her from several falls, for
the road was very rough.  But all at once, to her dismay, it vanished,
and the terror of the beast, which had left her the moment she began to
return, again laid hold of her heart.  The same instant, however, she
caught the light of the windows, and knew exactly where she was.  It
was too dark to run, but she made what haste she could, and reached the
gate in safety.  She found the house door still open, ran through the
hall, and, without even looking into the nursery, bounded straight up
the stair, and the next, and the next; then turning to the right, ran
through the long avenue of silent rooms, and found her way at once to
the door at the foot of the tower stair.

When first the nurse missed her, she fancied she was playing her a
trick, and for some time took no trouble about her; but at last,
getting frightened, she had begun to search; and when the princess
entered, the whole household was hither and thither over the house,
hunting for her.  A few seconds after she reached the stair of the
tower they had even begun to search the neglected rooms, in which they
would never have thought of looking had they not already searched every
other place they could think of in vain.  But by this time she was
knocking at the old lady's door.




Woven and Then Spun

'Come in, Irene,' said the silvery voice of her grandmother.

The princess opened the door and peeped in.  But the room was quite
dark and there was no sound of the spinning-wheel.  She grew frightened
once more, thinking that, although the room was there, the old lady
might be a dream after all.  Every little girl knows how dreadful it is
to find a room empty where she thought somebody was; but Irene had to
fancy for a moment that the person she came to find was nowhere at all.
She remembered, however, that at night she spun only in the moonlight,
and concluded that must be why there was no sweet, bee-like humming:
the old lady might be somewhere in the darkness.  Before she had time
to think another thought, she heard her voice again, saying as before:
'Come in, Irene.'  From the sound, she understood at once that she was
not in the room beside her.  Perhaps she was in her bedroom.  She
turned across the passage, feeling her way to the other door.  When her
hand fell on the lock, again the old lady spoke:

'Shut the other door behind you, Irene.  I always close the door of my
workroom when I go to my chamber.'

Irene wondered to hear her voice so plainly through the door: having
shut the other, she opened it and went in.  Oh, what a lovely haven to
reach from the darkness and fear through which she had come!  The soft
light made her feel as if she were going into the heart of the milkiest
pearl; while the blue walls and their silver stars for a moment
perplexed her with the fancy that they were in reality the sky which
she had left outside a minute ago covered with rainclouds.

'I've lighted a fire for you, Irene: you're cold and wet,' said her
grandmother.

Then Irene looked again, and saw that what she had taken for a huge
bouquet of red roses on a low stand against the wall was in fact a fire
which burned in the shapes of the loveliest and reddest roses, glowing
gorgeously between the heads and wings of two cherubs of shining
silver.  And when she came nearer, she found that the smell of roses
with which the room was filled came from the fire-roses on the hearth.
Her grandmother was dressed in the loveliest pale blue velvet, over
which her hair, no longer white, but of a rich golden colour, streamed
like a cataract, here falling in dull gathered heaps, there rushing
away in smooth shining falls.  And ever as she looked, the hair seemed
pouring down from her head and vanishing in a golden mist ere it
reached the floor.  It flowed from under the edge of a circle of
shining silver, set with alternated pearls and opals.  On her dress was
no ornament whatever, neither was there a ring on her hand, or a
necklace or carcanet about her neck.  But her slippers glimmered with
the light of the Milky Way, for they were covered with seed-pearls and
opals in one mass.  Her face was that of a woman of three-and-twenty.

The princess was so bewildered with astonishment and admiration that
she could hardly thank her, and drew nigh with timidity, feeling dirty
and uncomfortable.  The lady was seated on a low chair by the side of
the fire, with hands outstretched to take her, but the princess hung
back with a troubled smile.

'Why, what's the matter?' asked her grandmother.  'You haven't been
doing anything wrong--I know that by your face, though it is rather
miserable.  What's the matter, my dear?'

And she still held out her arms.

'Dear grandmother,' said Irene, 'I'm not so sure that I haven't done
something wrong.  I ought to have run up to you at once when the
long-legged cat came in at the window, instead of running out on the
mountain and making myself such a fright.'

'You were taken by surprise, my child, and you are not so likely to do
it again.  It is when people do wrong things wilfully that they are the
more likely to do them again.  Come.'

And still she held out her arms.

'But, grandmother, you're so beautiful and grand with your crown on;
and I am so dirty with mud and rain!  I should quite spoil your
beautiful blue dress.'

With a merry little laugh the lady sprung from her chair, more lightly
far than Irene herself could, caught the child to her bosom, and,
kissing the tear-stained face over and over, sat down with her in her
lap.

'Oh, grandmother!  You'll make yourself such a mess!' cried Irene,
clinging to her.

'You darling! do you think I care more for my dress than for my little
girl?  Besides--look here.'

As she spoke she set her down, and Irene saw to her dismay that the
lovely dress was covered with the mud of her fall on the mountain road.
But the lady stooped to the fire, and taking from it, by the stalk in
her fingers, one of the burning roses, passed it once and again and a
third time over the front of her dress; and when Irene looked, not a
single stain was to be discovered.

'There!' said her grandmother, 'you won't mind coming to me now?'

But Irene again hung back, eying the flaming rose which the lady held
in her hand.

'You're not afraid of the rose--are you?' she said, about to throw it
on the hearth again.

'Oh! don't, please!' cried Irene.  'Won't you hold it to my frock and
my hands and my face?  And I'm afraid my feet and my knees want it too.'

'No, answered her grandmother, smiling a little sadly, as she threw the
rose from her; 'it is too hot for you yet.  It would set your frock in
a flame.  Besides, I don't want to make you clean tonight.

I want your nurse and the rest of the people to see you as you are, for
you will have to tell them how you ran away for fear of the long-legged
cat.  I should like to wash you, but they would not believe you then.
Do you see that bath behind you?'

The princess looked, and saw a large oval tub of silver, shining
brilliantly in the light of the wonderful lamp.

'Go and look into it,' said the lady.

Irene went, and came back very silent with her eyes shining.

'What did you see?' asked her grandmother.

'The sky, and the moon and the stars,' she answered.  'It looked as if
there was no bottom to it.'

The lady smiled a pleased satisfied smile, and was silent also for a
few moments.  Then she said:

'Any time you want a bath, come to me.  I know YOU have a bath every
morning, but sometimes you want one at night, too.'

'Thank you, grandmother; I will--I will indeed,' answered Irene, and
was again silent for some moments thinking.  Then she said: 'How was
it, grandmother, that I saw your beautiful lamp--not the light of it
only--but the great round silvery lamp itself, hanging alone in the
great open air, high up?  It was your lamp I saw--wasn't it?'

'Yes, my child--it was my lamp.'

'Then how was it?  I don't see a window all round.'

'When I please I can make the lamp shine through the walls--shine so
strong that it melts them away from before the sight, and shows itself
as you saw it.  But, as I told you, it is not everybody can see it.'

'How is it that I can, then?  I'm sure I don't know.'

'It is a gift born with you.  And one day I hope everybody will have
it.'

'But how do you make it shine through the walls?'

'Ah! that you would not understand if I were to try ever so much to
make you--not yet--not yet.  But,' added the lady, rising, 'you must
sit in my chair while I get you the present I have been preparing for
you.  I told you my spinning was for you.  It is finished now, and I am
going to fetch it.  I have been keeping it warm under one of my
brooding pigeons.'

Irene sat down in the low chair, and her grandmother left her, shutting
the door behind her.  The child sat gazing, now at the rose fire, now
at the starry walls, now at the silver light; and a great quietness
grew in her heart.  If all the long-legged cats in the world had come
rushing at her then she would not have been afraid of them for a
moment.  How this was she could not tell--she only knew there was no
fear in her, and everything was so right and safe that it could not get
in.

She had been gazing at the lovely lamp for some minutes fixedly:
turning her eyes, she found the wall had vanished, for she was looking
out on the dark cloudy night.  But though she heard the wind blowing,
none of it blew upon her.  In a moment more the clouds themselves
parted, or rather vanished like the wall, and she looked straight into
the starry herds, flashing gloriously in the dark blue.  It was but for
a moment.  The clouds gathered again and shut out the stars; the wall
gathered again and shut out the clouds; and there stood the lady beside
her with the loveliest smile on her face, and a shimmering ball in her
hand, about the size of a pigeon's egg.

'There, Irene; there is my work for you!' she said, holding out the
ball to the princess.

She took it in her hand, and looked at it all over.  It sparkled a
little, and shone here and there, but not much.  It was of a sort of
grey-whiteness, something like spun glass.

'Is this all your spinning, grandmother?' she asked.

'All since you came to the house.  There is more there than you think.'

'How pretty it is!  What am I to do with it, please?'

'That I will now explain to you,' answered the lady, turning from her
and going to her cabinet.  She came back with a small ring in her hand.
Then she took the ball from Irene's, and did something with the
ring--Irene could not tell what.

'Give me your hand,' she said.  Irene held up her right hand.

'Yes, that is the hand I want,' said the lady, and put the ring on the
forefinger of it.

'What a beautiful ring!' said Irene.  'What is the stone called?'

'It is a fire-opal.' 'Please, am I to keep it?'

'Always.' 'Oh, thank you, grandmother!  It's prettier than anything I
ever saw, except those--of all colours-in your--Please, is that your
crown?'

'Yes, it is my crown.  The stone in your ring is of the same sort--only
not so good.  It has only red, but mine have all colours, you see.'

'Yes, grandmother.  I will take such care of it!  But--' she added,
hesitating.

'But what?' asked her grandmother.

'What am I to say when Lootie asks me where I got it?'

'You will ask her where you got it,' answered the lady smiling.

'I don't see how I can do that.'

'You will, though.'

'Of course I will, if you say so.  But, you know, I can't pretend not
to know.'

'Of course not.  But don't trouble yourself about it.  You will see
when the time comes.'

So saying, the lady turned, and threw the little ball into the rose
fire.

'Oh, grandmother!' exclaimed Irene; 'I thought you had spun it for me.'

'So I did, my child.  And you've got it.'

'No; it's burnt in the fire!'

The lady put her hand in the fire, brought out the ball, glimmering as
before, and held it towards her.  Irene stretched out her hand to take
it, but the lady turned and, going to her cabinet, opened a drawer, and
laid the ball in it.

'Have I done anything to vex you, grandmother?' said Irene pitifully.

'No, my darling.  But you must understand that no one ever gives
anything to another properly and really without keeping it.  That ball
is yours.'

'Oh! I'm not to take it with me!  You are going to keep it for me!'

'You are to take it with you.  I've fastened the end of it to the ring
on your finger.'

Irene looked at the ring.

'I can't see it there, grandmother,' she said.

'Feel--a little way from the ring--towards the cabinet,' said the lady.

'Oh! I do feel it!' exclaimed the princess.  'But I can't see it,' she
added, looking close to her outstretched hand.

'No.  The thread is too fine for you to see it.  You can only feel it.
Now you can fancy how much spinning that took, although it does seem
such a little ball.'

'But what use can I make of it, if it lies in your cabinet?'

'That is what I will explain to you.  It would be of no use to you--it
wouldn't be yours at all if it did not lie in my cabinet.  Now listen.
If ever you find yourself in any danger--such, for example, as you were
in this same evening--you must take off your ring and put it under the
pillow of your bed.  Then you must lay your finger, the same that wore
the ring, upon the thread, and follow the thread wherever it leads you.'

'Oh, how delightful!  It will lead me to you, grandmother, I know!'

'Yes.  But, remember, it may seem to you a very roundabout way indeed,
and you must not doubt the thread.  Of one thing you may be sure, that
while you hold it, I hold it too.'

'It is very wonderful!' said Irene thoughtfully.  Then suddenly
becoming aware, she jumped up, crying:

'Oh, grandmother! here have I been sitting all this time in your chair,
and you standing!  I beg your pardon.'

The lady laid her hand on her shoulder, and said:

'Sit down again, Irene.  Nothing pleases me better than to see anyone
sit in my chair.  I am only too glad to stand so long as anyone will
sit in it.'

'How kind of you!' said the princess, and sat down again.

'It makes me happy,' said the lady.

'But,' said Irene, still puzzled, 'won't the thread get in somebody's
way and be broken, if the one end is fast to my ring, and the other
laid in your cabinet?'

'You will find all that arrange itself.  I am afraid it is time for you
to go.'

'Mightn't I stay and sleep with you tonight, grandmother?' 'No, not
tonight.  If I had meant you to stay tonight, I should have given you a
bath; but you know everybody in the house is miserable about you, and
it would be cruel to keep them so all night.  You must go downstairs.'

'I'm so glad, grandmother, you didn't say "Go home," for this is my
home.  Mayn't I call this my home?'

'You may, my child.  And I trust you will always think it your home.
Now come.  I must take you back without anyone seeing you.'

'Please, I want to ask you one question more,' said Irene.  'Is it
because you have your crown on that you look so young?'

'No, child,' answered her grandmother; 'it is because I felt so young
this evening that I put my crown on.  And I thought you would like to
see your old grandmother in her best.'

'Why do you call yourself old?  You're not old, grandmother.'

'I am very old indeed.  It is so silly of people--I don't mean you, for
you are such a tiny, and couldn't know better--but it is so silly of
people to fancy that old age means crookedness and witheredness and
feebleness and sticks and spectacles and rheumatism and forgetfulness!
It is so silly! Old age has nothing whatever to do with all that.  The
right old age means strength and beauty and mirth and courage and clear
eyes and strong painless limbs.  I am older than you are able to think,
and--'

'And look at you, grandmother!' cried Irene, jumping up and flinging
her arms about her neck.  'I won't be so silly again, I promise you.
At least--I'm rather afraid to promise--but if I am, I promise to be
sorry for it--I do.  I wish I were as old as you, grandmother.  I don't
think you are ever afraid of anything.'

'Not for long, at least, my child.  Perhaps by the time I am two
thousand years of age, I shall, indeed, never be afraid of anything.
But I confess I have sometimes been afraid about my children--sometimes
about you, Irene.'

'Oh, I'm so sorry, grandmother!  Tonight, I suppose, you mean.'

'Yes--a little tonight; but a good deal when you had all but made up
your mind that I was a dream, and no real great-great-grandmother.  You
must not suppose I am blaming you for that.  I dare say you could not
help it.'

'I don't know, grandmother,' said the princess, beginning to cry. 'I
can't always do myself as I should like.  And I don't always try.  I'm
very sorry anyhow.'

The lady stooped, lifted her in her arms, and sat down with her in her
chair, holding her close to her bosom.  In a few minutes the princess
had sobbed herself to sleep.  How long she slept I do not know.  When
she came to herself she was sitting in her own high chair at the
nursery table, with her doll's house before her.




The Ring

The same moment her nurse came into the room, sobbing.  When she saw
her sitting there she started back with a loud cry of amazement and
joy.  Then running to her, she caught her in her arms and covered her
with kisses.

'My precious darling princess! where have you been?  What has happened
to you?  We've all been crying our eyes out, and searching the house
from top to bottom for you.'

'Not quite from the top,' thought Irene to herself; and she might have
added, 'not quite to the bottom', perhaps, if she had known all.  But
the one she would not, and the other she could not say. 'Oh, Lootie!
I've had such a dreadful adventure!' she replied, and told her all
about the cat with the long legs, and how she ran out upon the
mountain, and came back again.  But she said nothing of her grandmother
or her lamp.

'And there we've been searching for you all over the house for more
than an hour and a half!' exclaimed the nurse.  'But that's no matter,
now we've got you!  Only, princess, I must say,' she added, her mood
changing, 'what you ought to have done was to call for your own Lootie
to come and help you, instead of running out of the house, and up the
mountain, in that wild, I must say, foolish fashion.'

'Well, Lootie,' said Irene quietly, 'perhaps if you had a big cat, all
legs, running at you, you might not exactly know what was the wisest
thing to do at the moment.'

'I wouldn't run up the mountain, anyhow,' returned Lootie.

'Not if you had time to think about it.  But when those creatures came
at you that night on the mountain, you were so frightened yourself that
you lost your way home.'

This put a stop to Lootie's reproaches.  She had been on the point of
saying that the long-legged cat must have been a twilight fancy of the
princess's, but the memory of the horrors of that night, and of the
talking-to which the king had given her in consequence, prevented her
from saying what after all she did not half believe--having a strong
suspicion that the cat was a goblin; for she knew nothing of the
difference between the goblins and their creatures: she counted them
all just goblins.

Without another word she went and got some fresh tea and bread and
butter for the princess.  Before she returned, the whole household,
headed by the housekeeper, burst into the nursery to exult over their
darling.  The gentlemen-at-arms followed, and were ready enough to
believe all she told them about the long-legged cat. Indeed, though
wise enough to say nothing about it, they remembered, with no little
horror, just such a creature amongst those they had surprised at their
gambols upon the princess's lawn.

In their own hearts they blamed themselves for not having kept better
watch.  And their captain gave orders that from this night the front
door and all the windows on the ground floor should be locked
immediately the sun set, and opened after upon no pretence whatever.
The men-at-arms redoubled their vigilance, and for some time there was
no further cause of alarm.

When the princess woke the next morning, her nurse was bending over
her.  'How your ring does glow this morning, princess!--just like a
fiery rose!' she said.

'Does it, Lootie?' returned Irene.  'Who gave me the ring, Lootie? I
know I've had it a long time, but where did I get it?  I don't
remember.'

'I think it must have been your mother gave it you, princess; but
really, for as long as you have worn it, I don't remember that ever I
heard,' answered her nurse.

'I will ask my king-papa the next time he comes,' said Irene.




Springtime

The spring so dear to all creatures, young and old, came at last, and
before the first few days of it had gone, the king rode through its
budding valleys to see his little daughter.  He had been in a distant
part of his dominions all the winter, for he was not in the habit of
stopping in one great city, or of visiting only his favourite country
houses, but he moved from place to place, that all his people might
know him.  Wherever he journeyed, he kept a constant look-out for the
ablest and best men to put into office; and wherever he found himself
mistaken, and those he had appointed incapable or unjust, he removed
them at once.  Hence you see it was his care of the people that kept
him from seeing his princess so often as he would have liked.  You may
wonder why he did not take her about with him; but there were several
reasons against his doing so, and I suspect her great-great-grandmother
had had a principal hand in preventing it.  Once more Irene heard the
bugle-blast, and once more she was at the gate to meet her father as he
rode up on his great white horse.

After they had been alone for a little while, she thought of what she
had resolved to ask him.

'Please, king-papa,' she said, 'Will you tell me where I got this
pretty ring?  I can't remember.'

The king looked at it.  A strange beautiful smile spread like sunshine
over his face, and an answering smile, but at the same time a
questioning one, spread like moonlight over Irene's.  'It was your
queen-mamma's once,' he said.

'And why isn't it hers now?' asked Irene.

'She does not want it now,' said the king, looking grave.

'Why doesn't she want it now?'

'Because she's gone where all those rings are made.'

'And when shall I see her?' asked the princess.

'Not for some time yet,' answered the king, and the tears came into his
eyes.

Irene did not remember her mother and did not know why her father
looked so, and why the tears came in his eyes; but she put her arms
round his neck and kissed him, and asked no more questions.

The king was much disturbed on hearing the report of the
gentlemen-at-arms concerning the creatures they had seen; and I presume
would have taken Irene with him that very day, but for what the
presence of the ring on her finger assured him of.  About an hour
before he left, Irene saw him go up the old stair; and he did not come
down again till they were just ready to start; and she thought with
herself that he had been up to see the old lady.  When he went away he
left other six gentlemen behind him, that there might be six of them
always on guard.

And now, in the lovely spring weather, Irene was out on the mountain
the greater part of the day.  In the warmer hollows there were lovely
primroses, and not so many that she ever got tired of them.  As often
as she saw a new one opening an eye of light in the blind earth, she
would clap her hands with gladness, and unlike some children I know,
instead of pulling it, would touch it as tenderly as if it had been a
new baby, and, having made its acquaintance, would leave it as happy as
she found it.  She treated the plants on which they grew like birds'
nests; every fresh flower was like a new little bird to her.  She would
pay visits to all the flower-nests she knew, remembering each by
itself.  She would go down on her hands and knees beside one and say:
'Good morning!  Are you all smelling very sweet this morning?
Good-bye!' and then she would go to another nest, and say the same.  It
was a favourite amusement with her.  There were many flowers up and
down, and she loved them all, but the primroses were her favourites.

'They're not too shy, and they're not a bit forward,' she would say to
Lootie.

There were goats too about, over the mountain, and when the little kids
came she was as pleased with them as with the flowers.  The goats
belonged to the miners mostly-a few of them to Curdie's mother; but
there were a good many wild ones that seemed to belong to nobody.
These the goblins counted theirs, and it was upon them partly that they
lived.  They set snares and dug pits for them; and did not scruple to
take what tame ones happened to be caught; but they did not try to
steal them in any other manner, because they were afraid of the dogs
the hill-people kept to watch them, for the knowing dogs always tried
to bite their feet.  But the goblins had a kind of sheep of their
own--very queer creatures, which they drove out to feed at night, and
the other goblin creatures were wise enough to keep good watch over
them, for they knew they should have their bones by and by.




Curdie's Clue

Curdie was as watchful as ever, but was almost getting tired of his ill
success.  Every other night or so he followed the goblins about, as
they went on digging and boring, and getting as near them as he could,
watched them from behind stones and rocks; but as yet he seemed no
nearer finding out what they had in view.  As at first, he always kept
hold of the end of his string, while his pickaxe, left just outside the
hole by which he entered the goblins' country from the mine, continued
to serve as an anchor and hold fast the other end.  The goblins,
hearing no more noise in that quarter, had ceased to apprehend an
immediate invasion, and kept no watch.

One night, after dodging about and listening till he was nearly falling
asleep with weariness, he began to roll up his ball, for he had
resolved to go home to bed.  It was not long, however, before he began
to feel bewildered.  One after another he passed goblin houses, caves,
that is, occupied by goblin families, and at length was sure they were
many more than he had passed as he came.  He had to use great caution
to pass unseen--they lay so close together. Could his string have led
him wrong?  He still followed winding it, and still it led him into
more thickly populated quarters, until he became quite uneasy, and
indeed apprehensive; for although he was not afraid of the cobs, he was
afraid of not finding his way out. But what could he do?  It was of no
use to sit down and wait for the morning--the morning made no
difference here.  It was dark, and always dark; and if his string
failed him he was helpless.  He might even arrive within a yard of the
mine and never know it. Seeing he could do nothing better he would at
least find where the end of his string was, and, if possible, how it
had come to play him such a trick.  He knew by the size of the ball
that he was getting pretty near the last of it, when he began to feel a
tugging and pulling at it.  What could it mean?  Turning a sharp
corner, he thought he heard strange sounds.  These grew, as he went on,
to a scuffling and growling and squeaking; and the noise increased,
until, turning a second sharp corner, he found himself in the midst of
it, and the same moment tumbled over a wallowing mass, which he knew
must be a knot of the cobs' creatures.  Before he could recover his
feet, he had caught some great scratches on his face and several severe
bites on his legs and arms.  But as he scrambled to get up, his hand
fell upon his pickaxe, and before the horrid beasts could do him any
serious harm, he was laying about with it right and left in the dark.
The hideous cries which followed gave him the satisfaction of knowing
that he had punished some of them pretty smartly for their rudeness,
and by their scampering and their retreating howls, he perceived that
he had routed them.  He stood for a little, weighing his battle-axe in
his hand as if it had been the most precious lump of metal--but indeed
no lump of gold itself could have been so precious at the time as that
common tool--then untied the end of the string from it, put the ball in
his pocket, and still stood thinking.  It was clear that the cobs'
creatures had found his axe, had between them carried it off, and had
so led him he knew not where.  But for all his thinking he could not
tell what he ought to do, until suddenly he became aware of a glimmer
of light in the distance.  Without a moment's hesitation he set out for
it, as fast as the unknown and rugged way would permit.  Yet again
turning a corner, led by the dim light, he spied something quite new in
his experience of the underground regions--a small irregular shape of
something shining.  Going up to it, he found it was a piece of mica, or
Muscovy glass, called sheep-silver in Scotland, and the light flickered
as if from a fire behind it.  After trying in vain for some time to
discover an entrance to the place where it was burning, he came at
length to a small chamber in which an opening, high in the wall,
revealed a glow beyond.  To this opening he managed to scramble up, and
then he saw a strange sight.

Below sat a little group of goblins around a fire, the smoke of which
vanished in the darkness far aloft.  The sides of the cave were full of
shining minerals like those of the palace hall; and the company was
evidently of a superior order, for every one wore stones about head, or
arms, or waist, shining dull gorgeous colours in the light of the fire.
Nor had Curdie looked long before he recognized the king himself, and
found that he had made his way into the inner apartment of the royal
family.  He had never had such a good chance of hearing something.  He
crept through the hole as softly as he could, scrambled a good way down
the wall towards them without attracting attention, and then sat down
and listened. The king, evidently the queen, and probably the crown
prince and the Prime Minister were talking together.  He was sure of
the queen by her shoes, for as she warmed her feet at the fire, he saw
them quite plainly.

'That will be fun!' said the one he took for the crown prince. It was
the first whole sentence he heard.

'I don't see why you should think it such a grand affair!' said his
stepmother, tossing her head backward.

'You must remember, my spouse,' interposed His Majesty, as if making
excuse for his son, 'he has got the same blood in him.  His mother--'

'Don't talk to me of his mother!  You positively encourage his
unnatural fancies.  Whatever belongs to that mother ought to be cut out
of him.'

'You forget yourself, my dear!' said the king.

'I don't,' said the queen, 'nor you either.  If you expect me to
approve of such coarse tastes, you will find yourself mistaken.  I
don't wear shoes for nothing.'

'You must acknowledge, however,' the king said, with a little groan,
'that this at least is no whim of Harelip's, but a matter of State
policy.  You are well aware that his gratification comes purely from
the pleasure of sacrificing himself to the public good.

Does it not, Harelip?'

'Yes, father; of course it does.  Only it will be nice to make her cry.
I'll have the skin taken off between her toes, and tie them up till
they grow together.  Then her feet will be like other people's, and
there will be no occasion for her to wear shoes.'

'Do you mean to insinuate I've got toes, you unnatural wretch?' cried
the queen; and she moved angrily towards Harelip.  The councillor,
however, who was betwixt them, leaned forward so as to prevent her
touching him, but only as if to address the prince.

'Your Royal Highness,' he said, 'possibly requires to be reminded that
you have got three toes yourself--one on one foot, two on the other.'

'Ha! ha! ha!' shouted the queen triumphantly.

The councillor, encouraged by this mark of favour, went on.

'It seems to me, Your Royal Highness, it would greatly endear you to
your future people, proving to them that you are not the less one of
themselves that you had the misfortune to be born of a sun-mother, if
you were to command upon yourself the comparatively slight operation
which, in a more extended form, you so wisely meditate with regard to
your future princess.'

'Ha! ha! ha!' laughed the queen louder than before, and the king and
the minister joined in the laugh.  Harelip growled, and for a few
moments the others continued to express their enjoyment of his
discomfiture.

The queen was the only one Curdie could see with any distinctness. She
sat sideways to him, and the light of the fire shone full upon her
face.  He could not consider her handsome.  Her nose was certainly
broader at the end than its extreme length, and her eyes, instead of
being horizontal, were set up like two perpendicular eggs, one on the
broad, the other on the small end.  Her mouth was no bigger than a
small buttonhole until she laughed, when it stretched from ear to
ear--only, to be sure, her ears were very nearly in the middle of her
cheeks.

Anxious to hear everything they might say, Curdie ventured to slide
down a smooth part of the rock just under him, to a projection below,
upon which he thought to rest.  But whether he was not careful enough,
or the projection gave way, down he came with a rush on the floor of
the cavern, bringing with him a great rumbling shower of stones.

The goblins jumped from their seats in more anger than consternation,
for they had never yet seen anything to be afraid of in the palace.
But when they saw Curdie with his pick in his hand their rage was
mingled with fear, for they took him for the first of an invasion of
miners.  The king notwithstanding drew himself up to his full height of
four feet, spread himself to his full breadth of three and a half, for
he was the handsomest and squarest of all the goblins, and strutting up
to Curdie, planted himself with outspread feet before him, and said
with dignity:

'Pray what right have you in my palace?'

'The right of necessity, Your Majesty,' answered Curdie.  'I lost my
way and did not know where I was wandering to.'

'How did you get in?'

'By a hole in the mountain.'

'But you are a miner!  Look at your pickaxe!'

Curdie did look at it, answering:

'I came upon it lying on the ground a little way from here.  I tumbled
over some wild beasts who were playing with it.  Look, Your Majesty.'
And Curdie showed him how he was scratched and bitten.

The king was pleased to find him behave more politely than he had
expected from what his people had told him concerning the miners, for
he attributed it to the power of his own presence; but he did not
therefore feel friendly to the intruder.

'You will oblige me by walking out of my dominions at once,' he said,
well knowing what a mockery lay in the words.

'With pleasure, if Your Majesty will give me a guide,' said Curdie.

'I will give you a thousand,' said the king with a scoffing air of
magnificent liberality.

'One will be quite sufficient,' said Curdie.

But the king uttered a strange shout, half halloo, half roar, and in
rushed goblins till the cave was swarming.  He said something to the
first of them which Curdie could not hear, and it was passed from one
to another till in a moment the farthest in the crowd had evidently
heard and understood it.  They began to gather about him in a way he
did not relish, and he retreated towards the wall. They pressed upon
him.

'Stand back,' said Curdie, grasping his pickaxe tighter by his knee.

They only grinned and pressed closer.  Curdie bethought himself and
began to rhyme.


  'Ten, twenty, thirty--
  You're all so very dirty!
  Twenty, thirty, forty--
  You're all so thick and snorty!
  'Thirty, forty, fifty--
  You're all so puff-and-snifty!
  Forty, fifty, sixty--
  Beast and man so mixty!

  'Fifty, sixty, seventy--
  Mixty, maxty, leaventy!
  Sixty, seventy, eighty--
  All your cheeks so slaty!

  'Seventy, eighty, ninety,
  All your hands so flinty!
  Eighty, ninety, hundred,
  Altogether dundred!'


The goblins fell back a little when he began, and made horrible
grimaces all through the rhyme, as if eating something so disagreeable
that it set their teeth on edge and gave them the creeps; but whether
it was that the rhyming words were most of them no words at all, for, a
new rhyme being considered the more efficacious, Curdie had made it on
the spur of the moment, or whether it was that the presence of the king
and queen gave them courage, I cannot tell; but the moment the rhyme
was over they crowded on him again, and out shot a hundred long arms,
with a multitude of thick nailless fingers at the ends of them, to lay
hold upon him.  Then Curdie heaved up his axe.  But being as gentle as
courageous and not wishing to kill any of them, he turned the end which
was square and blunt like a hammer, and with that came down a great
blow on the head of the goblin nearest him.  Hard as the heads of all
goblins are, he thought he must feel that.  And so he did, no doubt;
but he only gave a horrible cry, and sprung at Curdie's throat.
Curdie, however, drew back in time, and just at that critical moment
remembered the vulnerable part of the goblin body.  He made a sudden
rush at the king and stamped with all his might on His Majesty's feet.
The king gave a most unkingly howl and almost fell into the fire.
Curdie then rushed into the crowd, stamping right and left.  The
goblins drew back, howling on every side as he approached, but they
were so crowded that few of those he attacked could escape his tread;
and the shrieking and roaring that filled the cave would have appalled
Curdie but for the good hope it gave him.  They were tumbling over each
other in heaps in their eagerness to rush from the cave, when a new
assailant suddenly faced him--the queen, with flaming eyes and expanded
nostrils, her hair standing half up from her head, rushed at him. She
trusted in her shoes: they were of granite--hollowed like French
sabots.  Curdie would have endured much rather than hurt a woman, even
if she was a goblin; but here was an affair of life and death:
forgetting her shoes, he made a great stamp on one of her feet.  But
she instantly returned it with very different effect, causing him
frightful pain, and almost disabling him.  His only chance with her
would have been to attack the granite shoes with his pickaxe, but
before he could think of that she had caught him up in her arms and was
rushing with him across the cave.  She dashed him into a hole in the
wall, with a force that almost stunned him.  But although he could not
move, he was not too far gone to hear her great cry, and the rush of
multitudes of soft feet, followed by the sounds of something heaved up
against the rock; after which came a multitudinous patter of stones
falling near him.  The last had not ceased when he grew very faint, for
his head had been badly cut, and at last insensible.

When he came to himself there was perfect silence about him, and utter
darkness, but for the merest glimmer in one tiny spot.  He crawled to
it, and found that they had heaved a slab against the mouth of the
hole, past the edge of which a poor little gleam found its way from the
fire.  He could not move it a hairbreadth, for they had piled a great
heap of stones against it.  He crawled back to where he had been lying,
in the faint hope of finding his pickaxe, But after a vain search he
was at last compelled to acknowledge himself in an evil plight.  He sat
down and tried to think, but soon fell fast asleep.




Goblin Counsels

He must have slept a long time, for when he awoke he felt wonderfully
restored--indeed almost well--and very hungry.  There were voices in
the outer cave.

Once more, then, it was night; for the goblins slept during the day and
went about their affairs during the night.

In the universal and constant darkness of their dwelling they had no
reason to prefer the one arrangement to the other; but from aversion to
the sun-people they chose to be busy when there was least chance of
their being met either by the miners below, when they were burrowing,
or by the people of the mountain above, when they were feeding their
sheep or catching their goats.  And indeed it was only when the sun was
away that the outside of the mountain was sufficiently like their own
dismal regions to be endurable to their mole eyes, so thoroughly had
they become unaccustomed to any light beyond that of their own fires
and torches.

Curdie listened, and soon found that they were talking of himself.

'How long will it take?' asked Harelip.

'Not many days, I should think,' answered the king.  'They are poor
feeble creatures, those sun-people, and want to be always eating. We
can go a week at a time without food, and be all the better for it; but
I've been told they eat two or three times every day!  Can you believe
it?  They must be quite hollow inside--not at all like us, nine-tenths
of whose bulk is solid flesh and bone.  Yes--I judge a week of
starvation will do for him.'

'If I may be allowed a word,' interposed the queen,--'and I think I
ought to have some voice in the matter--'

'The wretch is entirely at your disposal, my spouse,' interrupted the
king.  'He is your property.  You caught him yourself.  We should never
have done it.'

The queen laughed.  She seemed in far better humour than the night
before.

'I was about to say,' she resumed, 'that it does seem a pity to waste
so much fresh meat.'

'What are you thinking of, my love?' said the king.  'The very notion
of starving him implies that we are not going to give him any meat,
either salt or fresh.'

'I'm not such a stupid as that comes to,' returned Her Majesty. 'What I
mean is that by the time he is starved there will hardly be a picking
upon his bones.'

The king gave a great laugh.

'Well, my spouse, you may have him when you like,' he said.  'I don't
fancy him for my part.  I am pretty sure he is tough eating.'

'That would be to honour instead of punish his insolence,' returned the
queen.  'But why should our poor creatures be deprived of so much
nourishment?  Our little dogs and cats and pigs and small bears would
enjoy him very much.'

'You are the best of housekeepers, my lovely queen!' said her husband.
'Let it be so by all means.  Let us have our people in, and get him out
and kill him at once.  He deserves it.  The mischief he might have
brought upon us, now that he had penetrated so far as our most retired
citadel, is incalculable.  Or rather let us tie him hand and foot, and
have the pleasure of seeing him torn to pieces by full torchlight in
the great hall.'

'Better and better!' cried the queen and the prince together, both of
them clapping their hands.  And the prince made an ugly noise with his
hare-lip, just as if he had intended to be one at the feast.

'But,' added the queen, bethinking herself, 'he is so troublesome. For
poor creatures as they are, there is something about those sun-people
that is very troublesome.  I cannot imagine how it is that with such
superior strength and skill and understanding as ours, we permit them
to exist at all.  Why do we not destroy them entirely, and use their
cattle and grazing lands at our pleasure? Of course we don't want to
live in their horrid country!  It is far too glaring for our quieter
and more refined tastes.  But we might use it as a sort of outhouse,
you know.  Even our creatures' eyes might get used to it, and if they
did grow blind that would be of no consequence, provided they grew fat
as well.  But we might even keep their great cows and other creatures,
and then we should have a few more luxuries, such as cream and cheese,
which at present we only taste occasionally, when our brave men have
succeeded in carrying some off from their farms.'

'It is worth thinking of,' said the king; 'and I don't know why you
should be the first to suggest it, except that you have a positive
genius for conquest.  But still, as you say, there is something very
troublesome about them; and it would be better, as I understand you to
suggest, that we should starve him for a day or two first, so that he
may be a little less frisky when we take him out.'


  'Once there was a goblin
  Living in a hole;
  Busy he was cobblin'
  A shoe without a sole.

  'By came a birdie:
  "Goblin, what do you do?"
  "Cobble at a sturdie
  Upper leather shoe."

  '"What's the good o' that, Sir?"
  Said the little bird.
  "Why it's very Pat, Sir--
  Plain without a word.

  '"Where 'tis all a hole, Sir,
  Never can be holes:
  Why should their shoes have soles, Sir,
  When they've got no souls?"'


'What's that horrible noise?' cried the queen, shuddering from
pot-metal head to granite shoes.

'I declare,' said the king with solemn indignation, 'it's the
sun-creature in the hole!'

'Stop that disgusting noise!' cried the crown prince valiantly, getting
up and standing in front of the heap of stones, with his face towards
Curdie's prison.  'Do now, or I'll break your head.'

'Break away,' shouted Curdie, and began singing again:


  'Once there was a goblin,
  Living in a hole--'


'I really cannot bear it,' said the queen.  'If I could only get at his
horrid toes with my slippers again!'

'I think we had better go to bed,' said the king.

'It's not time to go to bed,' said the queen.

'I would if I was you,' said Curdie.

'Impertinent wretch!' said the queen, with the utmost scorn in her
voice.

'An impossible if,' said His Majesty with dignity.

'Quite,' returned Curdie, and began singing again:


  'Go to bed,
  Goblin, do.
  Help the queen
  Take off her shoe.

  'If you do,
  It will disclose
  A horrid set
  Of sprouting toes.'


'What a lie!' roared the queen in a rage.

'By the way, that reminds me,' said the king, 'that for as long as we
have been married, I have never seen your feet, queen.  I think you
might take off your shoes when you go to bed!  They positively hurt me
sometimes.'

'I will do as I like,' retorted the queen sulkily.

'You ought to do as your own hubby wishes you,' said the king.

'I will not,' said the queen.

'Then I insist upon it,' said the king.

Apparently His Majesty approached the queen for the purpose of
following the advice given by Curdie, for the latter heard a scuffle,
and then a great roar from the king.

'Will you be quiet, then?' said the queen wickedly.

'Yes, yes, queen.  I only meant to coax you.'

'Hands off!' cried the queen triumphantly.  'I'm going to bed.  You may
come when you like.  But as long as I am queen I will sleep in my
shoes.  It is my royal privilege.  Harelip, go to bed.'

'I'm going,' said Harelip sleepily.

'So am I,' said the king.

'Come along, then,' said the queen; 'and mind you are good, or I'll--'

'Oh, no, no, no!' screamed the king in the most supplicating of tones.

Curdie heard only a muttered reply in the distance; and then the cave
was quite still.

They had left the fire burning, and the light came through brighter
than before.  Curdie thought it was time to try again if anything could
be done.  But he found he could not get even a finger through the chink
between the slab and the rock.  He gave a great rush with his shoulder
against the slab, but it yielded no more than if it had been part of
the rock.  All he could do was to sit down and think again.

By and by he came to the resolution to pretend to be dying, in the hope
they might take him out before his strength was too much exhausted to
let him have a chance.  Then, for the creatures, if he could but find
his axe again, he would have no fear of them; and if it were not for
the queen's horrid shoes, he would have no fear at all.

Meantime, until they should come again at night, there was nothing for
him to do but forge new rhymes, now his only weapons.  He had no
intention of using them at present, of course; but it was well to have
a stock, for he might live to want them, and the manufacture of them
would help to while away the time.




Irene's Clue

That same morning early, the princess woke in a terrible fright. There
was a hideous noise in her room--creatures snarling and hissing and
rocketing about as if they were fighting.  The moment she came to
herself, she remembered something she had never thought of again--what
her grandmother told her to do when she was frightened.  She
immediately took off her ring and put it under her pillow.  As she did
so she fancied she felt a finger and thumb take it gently from under
her palm.  'It must be my grandmother!' she said to herself, and the
thought gave her such courage that she stopped to put on her dainty
little slippers before running from the room.  While doing this she
caught sight of a long cloak of sky-blue, thrown over the back of a
chair by the bedside.  She had never seen it before but it was
evidently waiting for her.  She put it on, and then, feeling with the
forefinger of her right hand, soon found her grandmother's thread,
which she proceeded at once to follow, expecting it would lead her
straight up the old stair. When she reached the door she found it went
down and ran along the floor, so that she had almost to crawl in order
to keep a hold of it.  Then, to her surprise, and somewhat to her
dismay, she found that instead of leading her towards the stair it
turned in quite the opposite direction.  It led her through certain
narrow passages towards the kitchen, turning aside ere she reached it,
and guiding her to a door which communicated with a small back yard.
Some of the maids were already up, and this door was standing open.
Across the yard the thread still ran along the ground, until it brought
her to a door in the wall which opened upon the Mountainside.  When she
had passed through, the thread rose to about half her height, and she
could hold it with ease as she walked.  It led her straight up the
mountain.

The cause of her alarm was less frightful than she supposed.  The
cook's great black cat, pursued by the housekeeper's terrier, had
bounced against her bedroom door, which had not been properly fastened,
and the two had burst into the room together and commenced a battle
royal.  How the nurse came to sleep through it was a mystery, but I
suspect the old lady had something to do with it.

It was a clear warm morning.  The wind blew deliciously over the
Mountainside.  Here and there she saw a late primrose but she did not
stop to call upon them.  The sky was mottled with small clouds.

The sun was not yet up, but some of their fluffy edges had caught his
light, and hung out orange and gold-coloured fringes upon the air.  The
dew lay in round drops upon the leaves, and hung like tiny diamond
ear-rings from the blades of grass about her path.

'How lovely that bit of gossamer is!' thought the princess, looking at
a long undulating line that shone at some distance from her up the
hill.  It was not the time for gossamers though; and Irene soon
discovered that it was her own thread she saw shining on before her in
the light of the morning.  It was leading her she knew not whither; but
she had never in her life been out before sunrise, and everything was
so fresh and cool and lively and full of something coming, that she
felt too happy to be afraid of anything.

After leading her up a good distance, the thread turned to the left,
and down the path upon which she and Lootie had met Curdie. But she
never thought of that, for now in the morning light, with its far
outlook over the country, no path could have been more open and airy
and cheerful.  She could see the road almost to the horizon, along
which she had so often watched her king-papa and his troop come
shining, with the bugle-blast cleaving the air before them; and it was
like a companion to her.  Down and down the path went, then up, and
then down and then up again, getting rugged and more rugged as it went;
and still along the path went the silvery thread, and still along the
thread went Irene's little rosy-tipped forefinger.  By and by she came
to a little stream that jabbered and prattled down the hill, and up the
side of the stream went both path and thread.  And still the path grew
rougher and steeper, and the mountain grew wilder, till Irene began to
think she was going a very long way from home; and when she turned to
look back she saw that the level country had vanished and the rough
bare mountain had closed in about her.  But still on went the thread,
and on went the princess.  Everything around her was getting brighter
and brighter as the sun came nearer; till at length his first rays all
at once alighted on the top of a rock before her, like some golden
creature fresh from the sky.  Then she saw that the little stream ran
out of a hole in that rock, that the path did not go past the rock, and
that the thread was leading her straight up to it.  A shudder ran
through her from head to foot when she found that the thread was
actually taking her into the hole out of which the stream ran.  It ran
out babbling joyously, but she had to go in.

She did not hesitate.  Right into the hole she went, which was high
enough to let her walk without stooping.  For a little way there was a
brown glimmer, but at the first turn it all but ceased, and before she
had gone many paces she was in total darkness.  Then she began to be
frightened indeed.  Every moment she kept feeling the thread backwards
and forwards, and as she went farther and farther into the darkness of
the great hollow mountain, she kept thinking more and more about her
grandmother, and all that she had said to her, and how kind she had
been, and how beautiful she was, and all about her lovely room, and the
fire of roses, and the great lamp that sent its light through stone
walls.  And she became more and more sure that the thread could not
have gone there of itself, and that her grandmother must have sent it.
But it tried her dreadfully when the path went down very steep, and
especially When she came to places where she had to go down rough
stairs, and even sometimes a ladder.  Through one narrow passage after
another, over lumps of rock and sand and clay, the thread guided her,
until she came to a small hole through which she had to creep.  Finding
no change on the other side, 'Shall I ever get back?' she thought, over
and over again, wondering at herself that she was not ten times more
frightened, and often feeling as if she were only walking in the story
of a dream.  Sometimes she heard the noise of water, a dull gurgling
inside the rock.  By and by she heard the sounds of blows, which came
nearer and nearer; but again they grew duller, and almost died away.
In a hundred directions she turned, obedient to the guiding thread.

At last she spied a dull red shine, and came up to the mica window, and
thence away and round about, and right, into a cavern, where glowed the
red embers of a fire.  Here the thread began to rise. It rose as high
as her head and higher still.  What should she do if she lost her hold?
She was pulling it down: She might break it! She could see it far up,
glowing as red as her fire-opal in the light of the embers.

But presently she came to a huge heap of stones, piled in a slope
against the wall of the cavern.  On these she climbed, and soon
recovered the level of the thread only however to find, the next
moment, that it vanished through the heap of stones, and left her
standing on it, with her face to the solid rock.  For one terrible
moment she felt as if her grandmother had forsaken her.  The thread
which the spiders had spun far over the seas, which her grandmother had
sat in the moonlight and spun again for her, which she had tempered in
the rose-fire and tied to her opal ring, had left her--had gone where
she could no longer follow it--had brought her into a horrible cavern,
and there left her!  She was forsaken indeed!

'When shall I wake?' she said to herself in an agony, but the same
moment knew that it was no dream.  She threw herself upon the heap, and
began to cry.  It was well she did not know what creatures, one of them
with stone shoes on her feet, were lying in the next cave. But neither
did she know who was on the other side of the slab.

At length the thought struck her that at least she could follow the
thread backwards, and thus get out of the mountain, and home.  She rose
at once, and found the thread.  But the instant she tried to feel it
backwards, it vanished from her touch.  Forwards, it led her hand up to
the heap of stones--backwards it seemed nowhere. Neither could she see
it as before in the light of the fire.  She burst into a wailing cry,
and again threw herself down on the stones.




The Escape

As the princess lay and sobbed she kept feeling the thread
mechanically, following it with her finger many times up to the stones
in which it disappeared.  By and by she began, still mechanically, to
poke her finger in after it between the stones as far as she could.
All at once it came into her head that she might remove some of the
stones and see where the thread went next. Almost laughing at herself
for never having thought of this before, she jumped to her feet.  Her
fear vanished; once more she was certain her grandmother's thread could
not have brought her there just to leave her there; and she began to
throw away the stones from the top as fast as she could, sometimes two
or three at a handful, sometimes taking both hands to lift one.  After
clearing them away a little, she found that the thread turned and went
straight downwards.  Hence, as the heap sloped a good deal, growing of
course wider towards its base, she had to throw away a multitude of
stones to follow the thread.  But this was not all, for she soon found
that the thread, after going straight down for a little way, turned
first sideways in one direction, then sideways in another, and then
shot, at various angles, hither and thither inside the heap, so that
she began to be afraid that to clear the thread she must remove the
whole huge gathering.  She was dismayed at the very idea, but, losing
no time, set to work with a will; and with aching back, and bleeding
fingers and hands, she worked on, sustained by the pleasure of seeing
the heap slowly diminish and begin to show itself on the opposite side
of the fire.  Another thing which helped to keep up her courage was
that, as often as she uncovered a turn of the thread, instead of lying
loose upon the stone, it tightened up; this made her sure that her
grandmother was at the end of it somewhere.

She had got about half-way down when she started, and nearly fell with
fright.  Close to her ears as it seemed, a voice broke out singing:

  'Jabber, bother, smash!
  You'll have it all in a crash.
  Jabber, smash, bother!
  You'll have the worst of the pother.
  Smash, bother, jabber!--'


Here Curdie stopped, either because he could not find a rhyme to
'jabber', or because he remembered what he had forgotten when he woke
up at the sound of Irene's labours, that his plan was to make the
goblins think he was getting weak.  But he had uttered enough to let
Irene know who he was.

'It's Curdie!' she cried joyfully.

'Hush! hush!' came Curdie's voice again from somewhere.  'Speak softly.'

'Why, you were singing loud!' said Irene.

'Yes.  But they know I am here, and they don't know you are.  Who are
you?'

'I'm Irene,' answered the princess.  'I know who you are quite well.
You're Curdie.'

'Why, how ever did you come here, Irene?'

'My great-great-grandmother sent me; and I think I've found out why.
You can't get out, I suppose?'

'No, I can't.  What are you doing?'

'Clearing away a huge heap of stones.'

'There's a princess!' exclaimed Curdie, in a tone of delight, but still
speaking in little more than a whisper.  'I can't think how you got
here, though.'

'My grandmother sent me after her thread.'

'I don't know what you mean,' said Curdie; 'but so you're there, it
doesn't much matter.'

'Oh, yes, it does!' returned Irene.  'I should never have been here but
for her.'

'You can tell me all about it when we get out, then.  There's no time
to lose now,'said Curdie.

And Irene went to work, as fresh as when she began.

'There's such a lot of stones!' she said.  'It will take me a long time
to get them all away.'

'How far on have you got?' asked Curdie.

'I've got about the half away, but the other half is ever so much
bigger.'

'I don't think you will have to move the lower half.  Do you see a slab
laid up against the wall?'

Irene looked, and felt about with her hands, and soon perceived the
outlines of the slab.

'Yes,' she answered, 'I do.'

'Then, I think,' rejoined Curdie, 'when you have cleared the slab about
half-way down, or a bit more, I shall be able to push it over.'

'I must follow my thread,' returned Irene, 'whatever I do.'

'What do you mean?' exclaimed Curdie. 'You will see when you get out,'
answered the princess, and went on harder than ever.

But she was soon satisfied that what Curdie wanted done and what the
thread wanted done were one and the same thing.  For she not only saw
that by following the turns of the thread she had been clearing the
face of the slab, but that, a little more than half-way down, the
thread went through the chink between the slab and the wall into the
place where Curdie was confined, so that she could not follow it any
farther until the slab was out of her way. As soon as she found this,
she said in a right joyous whisper:

'Now, Curdie, I think if you were to give a great push, the slab would
tumble over.'

'Stand quite clear of it, then,' said Curdie, 'and let me know when you
are ready.'

Irene got off the heap, and stood on one side of it.  'Now, Curdie!'
she cried.

Curdie gave a great rush with his shoulder against it.  Out tumbled the
slab on the heap, and out crept Curdie over the top of it.

'You've saved my life, Irene!' he whispered.

'Oh, Curdie! I'm so glad!  Let's get out of this horrid place as fast
as we can.'

'That's easier said than done,' returned he.

'Oh, no, it's quite easy,' said Irene.  'We have only to follow my
thread.  I am sure that it's going to take us out now.'

She had already begun to follow it over the fallen slab into the hole,
while Curdie was searching the floor of the cavern for his pickaxe.

'Here it is!' he cried.  'No, it is not,' he added, in a disappointed
tone.  'What can it be, then?  I declare it's a torch. That is jolly!
It's better almost than my pickaxe.  Much better if it weren't for
those stone shoes!' he went on, as he lighted the torch by blowing the
last embers of the expiring fire.

When he looked up, with the lighted torch casting a glare into the
great darkness of the huge cavern, he caught sight of Irene
disappearing in the hole out of which he had himself just come.

'Where are you going there?' he cried.  'That's not the way out. That's
where I couldn't get out.'

'I know that,' whispered Irene.  'But this is the way my thread goes,
and I must follow it.'

'What nonsense the child talks!' said Curdie to himself.  'I must
follow her, though, and see that she comes to no harm.  She will soon
find she can't get out that way, and then she will come with me.'

So he crept over the slab once more into the hole with his torch in his
hand.  But when he looked about in it, he could see her nowhere.  And
now he discovered that although the hole was narrow, it was much longer
than he had supposed; for in one direction the roof came down very low,
and the hole went off in a narrow passage, of which he could not see
the end.  The princess must have crept in there.  He got on his knees
and one hand, holding the torch with the other, and crept after her.
The hole twisted about, in some parts so low that he could hardly get
through, in others so high that he could not see the roof, but
everywhere it was narrow--far too narrow for a goblin to get through,
and so I presume they never thought that Curdie might.  He was
beginning to feel very uncomfortable lest something should have
befallen the princess, when he heard her voice almost close to his ear,
whispering:

'Aren't you coming, Curdie?'

And when he turned the next corner there she stood waiting for him.

'I knew you couldn't go wrong in that narrow hole, but now you must
keep by me, for here is a great wide place,' she said.

'I can't understand it,' said Curdie, half to himself, half to Irene.

'Never mind,' she returned.  'Wait till we get out.'

Curdie, utterly astonished that she had already got so far, and by a
path he had known nothing of, thought it better to let her do as she
pleased.  'At all events,' he said again to himself, 'I know nothing
about the way, miner as I am; and she seems to think she does know
something about it, though how she should passes my comprehension.  So
she's just as likely to find her way as I am, and as she insists on
taking the lead, I must follow.  We can't be much worse off than we
are, anyhow.'  Reasoning thus, he followed her a few steps, and came
out in another great cavern, across which Irene walked in a straight
line, as confidently as if she knew every step of the way.  Curdie went
on after her, flashing his torch about, and trying to see something of
what lay around them. Suddenly he started back a pace as the light fell
upon something close by which Irene was passing.  It was a platform of
rock raised a few feet from the floor and covered with sheepskins, upon
which lay two horrible figures asleep, at once recognized by Curdie as
the king and queen of the goblins.  He lowered his torch instantly lest
the light should awake them.  As he did so it flashed upon his pickaxe,
lying by the side of the queen, whose hand lay close by the handle of
it.

'Stop one moment,' he whispered.  'Hold my torch, and don't let the
light on their faces.'

Irene shuddered when she saw the frightful creatures, whom she had
passed without observing them, but she did as he requested, and turning
her back, held the torch low in front of her.  Curdie drew his pickaxe
carefully away, and as he did so spied one of her feet, projecting from
under the skins.  The great clumsy granite shoe, exposed thus to his
hand, was a temptation not to be resisted.  He laid hold of it, and,
with cautious efforts, drew it off.  The moment he succeeded, he saw to
his astonishment that what he had sung in ignorance, to annoy the
queen, was actually true: she had six horrible toes.  Overjoyed at his
success, and seeing by the huge bump in the sheepskins where the other
foot was, he proceeded to lift them gently, for, if he could only
succeed in carrying away the other shoe as well, he would be no more
afraid of the goblins than of so many flies.  But as he pulled at the
second shoe the queen gave a growl and sat up in bed.  The same instant
the king awoke also and sat up beside her.

'Run, Irene!' cried Curdie, for though he was not now in the least
afraid for himself, he was for the princess.

Irene looked once round, saw the fearful creatures awake, and like the
wise princess she was, dashed the torch on the ground and extinguished
it, crying out:

'Here, Curdie, take my hand.'

He darted to her side, forgetting neither the queen's shoe nor his
pickaxe, and caught hold of her hand, as she sped fearlessly where her
thread guided her.  They heard the queen give a great bellow; but they
had a good start, for it would be some time before they could get
torches lighted to pursue them.  Just as they thought they saw a gleam
behind them, the thread brought them to a very narrow opening, through
which Irene crept easily, and Curdie with difficulty.

'Now,'said Curdie; 'I think we shall be safe.'

'Of course we shall,' returned Irene.  'Why do you think so?'asked
Curdie.

'Because my grandmother is taking care of us.'

'That's all nonsense,' said Curdie.  'I don't know what you mean.'

'Then if you don't know what I mean, what right have you to call it
nonsense?' asked the princess, a little offended.

'I beg your pardon, Irene,' said Curdie; 'I did not mean to vex you.'

'Of course not,' returned the princess.  'But why do you think we shall
be safe?'

'Because the king and queen are far too stout to get through that hole.'

'There might be ways round,' said the princess.

'To be sure there might: we are not out of it yet,' acknowledged Curdie.

'But what do you mean by the king and queen?' asked the princess. 'I
should never call such creatures as those a king and a queen.'

'Their own people do, though,' answered Curdie.

The princess asked more questions, and Curdie, as they walked leisurely
along, gave her a full account, not only of the character and habits of
the goblins, so far as he knew them, but of his own adventures with
them, beginning from the very night after that in which he had met her
and Lootie upon the mountain.  When he had finished, he begged Irene to
tell him how it was that she had come to his rescue.  So Irene too had
to tell a long story, which she did in rather a roundabout manner,
interrupted by many questions concerning things she had not explained.
But her tale, as he did not believe more than half of it, left
everything as unaccountable to him as before, and he was nearly as much
perplexed as to what he must think of the princess.  He could not
believe that she was deliberately telling stories, and the only
conclusion he could come to was that Lootie had been playing the child
tricks, inventing no end of lies to frighten her for her own purposes.

'But how ever did Lootie come to let you go into the mountains
alone?'he asked.

'Lootie knows nothing about it.  I left her fast asleep--at least I
think so.  I hope my grandmother won't let her get into trouble, for it
wasn't her fault at all, as my grandmother very well knows.'

'But how did you find your way to me?' persisted Curdie.

'I told you already,' answered Irene; 'by keeping my finger upon my
grandmother's thread, as I am doing now.'

'You don't mean you've got the thread there?'

'Of course I do.  I have told you so ten times already.  I have
hardly--except when I was removing the stones--taken my finger off it.
There!' she added, guiding Curdie's hand to the thread, 'you feel it
yourself--don't you?'

'I feel nothing at all,' replied Curdie. 'Then what can be the matter
with your finger?  I feel it perfectly.  To be sure it is very thin,
and in the sunlight looks just like the thread of a spider, though
there are many of them twisted together to make it--but for all that I
can't think why you shouldn't feel it as well as I do.'

Curdie was too polite to say he did not believe there was any thread
there at all.  What he did say was:

'Well, I can make nothing of it.'

'I can, though, and you must be glad of that, for it will do for both
of us.'

'We're not out yet,' said Curdie.

'We soon shall be,' returned Irene confidently.  And now the thread
went downwards, and led Irene's hand to a hole in the floor of the
cavern, whence came a sound of running water which they had been
hearing for some time.

'It goes into the ground now, Curdie,' she said, stopping.

He had been listening to another sound, which his practised ear had
caught long ago, and which also had been growing louder.  It was the
noise the goblin-miners made at their work, and they seemed to be at no
great distance now.  Irene heard it the moment she stopped.

'What is that noise?' she asked.  'Do you know, Curdie?'

'Yes.  It is the goblins digging and burrowing,' he answered.

'And you don't know what they do it for?'

'No; I haven't the least idea.  Would you like to see them?' he asked,
wishing to have another try after their secret.

'If my thread took me there, I shouldn't much mind; but I don't want to
see them, and I can't leave my thread.  It leads me down into the hole,
and we had better go at once.'

'Very well.  Shall I go in first?' said Curdie.

'No; better not.  You can't feel the thread,' she answered, stepping
down through a narrow break in the floor of the cavern. 'Oh!' she
cried, 'I am in the water.  It is running strong--but it is not deep,
and there is just room to walk.  Make haste, Curdie.'

He tried, but the hole was too small for him to get in.

'Go on a little bit he said, shouldering his pickaxe.  In a few moments
he had cleared a larger opening and followed her.  They went on, down
and down with the running water, Curdie getting more and more afraid it
was leading them to some terrible gulf in the heart of the mountain.
In one or two places he had to break away the rock to make room before
even Irene could get through--at least without hurting herself.  But at
length they spied a glimmer of light, and in a minute more they were
almost blinded by the full sunlight, into which they emerged.  It was
some little time before the princess could see well enough to discover
that they stood in her own garden, close by the seat on which she and
her king-papa had sat that afternoon.  They had come out by the channel
of the little stream.  She danced and clapped her hands with delight.

'Now, Curdie!' she cried, 'won't you believe what I told you about my
grandmother and her thread?'

For she had felt all the time that Curdie was not believing what she
told him.

'There!--don't you see it shining on before us?' she added.

'I don't see anything,' persisted Curdie.

'Then you must believe without seeing,' said the princess; 'for you
can't deny it has brought us out of the mountain.'

'I can't deny we are out of the mountain, and I should be very
ungrateful indeed to deny that you had brought me out of it.'

'I couldn't have done it but for the thread,' persisted Irene.

'That's the part I don't understand.'

'Well, come along, and Lootie will get you something to eat.  I am sure
you must want it very much.'

'Indeed I do.  But my father and mother will be so anxious about me, I
must make haste--first up the mountain to tell my mother, and then down
into the mine again to let my father know.'

'Very well, Curdie; but you can't get out without coming this way, and
I will take you through the house, for that is nearest.'

They met no one by the way, for, indeed, as before, the people were
here and there and everywhere searching for the princess.  When they
got in Irene found that the thread, as she had half expected, went up
the old staircase, and a new thought struck her.  She turned to Curdie
and said:

'My grandmother wants me.  Do come up with me and see her.  Then you
will know that I have been telling you the truth.  Do come--to please
me, Curdie.  I can't bear you should think what I say is not true.'

'I never doubted you believed what you said,' returned Curdie.  'I only
thought you had some fancy in your head that was not correct.' 'But do
come, dear Curdie.'

The little miner could not withstand this appeal, and though he felt
shy in what seemed to him a huge grand house, he yielded, and followed
her up the stair.




The Old Lady and Curdie

Up the stair then they went, and the next and the next, and through the
long rows of empty rooms, and up the little tower stair, Irene growing
happier and happier as she ascended.  There was no answer when she
knocked at length at the door of the workroom, nor could she hear any
sound of the spinning-wheel, and once more her heart sank within her,
but only for one moment, as she turned and knocked at the other door.

'Come in,' answered the sweet voice of her grandmother, and Irene
opened the door and entered, followed by Curdie.

'You darling!' cried the lady, who was seated by a fire of red roses
mingled with white.  'I've been waiting for you, and indeed getting a
little anxious about you, and beginning to think whether I had not
better go and fetch you myself.'

As she spoke she took the little princess in her arms and placed her
upon her lap.  She was dressed in white now, and looking if possible
more lovely than ever.

'I've brought Curdie, grandmother.  He wouldn't believe what I told him
and so I've brought him.'

'Yes--I see him.  He is a good boy, Curdie, and a brave boy. Aren't you
glad you've got him out?'

'Yes, grandmother.  But it wasn't very good of him not to believe me
when I was telling him the truth.'

'People must believe what they can, and those who believe more must not
be hard upon those who believe less.  I doubt if you would have
believed it all yourself if you hadn't seen some of it.'

'Ah! yes, grandmother, I dare say.  I'm sure you are right.  But he'll
believe now.'

'I don't know that,' replied her grandmother.

'Won't you, Curdie?' said Irene, looking round at him as she asked the
question.  He was standing in the middle of the floor, staring, and
looking strangely bewildered.  This she thought came of his
astonishment at the beauty of the lady.

'Make a bow to my grandmother, Curdie,' she said.

'I don't see any grandmother,' answered Curdie rather gruffly.

'Don't see my grandmother, when I'm sitting in her lap?' exclaimed the
princess.

'No, I don't,' reiterated Curdie, in an offended tone.

'Don't you see the lovely fire of roses--white ones amongst them this
time?' asked Irene, almost as bewildered as he.

'No, I don't,' answered Curdie, almost sulkily.

'Nor the blue bed?  Nor the rose-coloured counterpane?--Nor the
beautiful light, like the moon, hanging from the roof?'

'You're making game of me, Your Royal Highness; and after what we have
come through together this day, I don't think it is kind of you,' said
Curdie, feeling very much hurt.

'Then what do you see?' asked Irene, who perceived at once that for her
not to believe him was at least as bad as for him not to believe her.

'I see a big, bare, garret-room--like the one in mother's cottage, only
big enough to take the cottage itself in, and leave a good margin all
round,' answered Curdie.

'And what more do you see?'

'I see a tub, and a heap of musty straw, and a withered apple, and a
ray of sunlight coming through a hole in the middle of the roof and
shining on your head, and making all the place look a curious dusky
brown.  I think you had better drop it, princess, and go down to the
nursery, like a good girl.'

'But don't you hear my grandmother talking to me?' asked Irene, almost
crying.

'No.  I hear the cooing of a lot of pigeons.  If you won't come down, I
will go without you.  I think that will be better anyhow, for I'm sure
nobody who met us would believe a word we said to them.  They would
think we made it all up.  I don't expect anybody but my own father and
mother to believe me.  They know I wouldn't tell a story.'

'And yet you won't believe me, Curdie?' expostulated the princess, now
fairly crying with vexation and sorrow at the gulf between her and
Curdie.

'No.  I can't, and I can't help it,' said Curdie, turning to leave the
room.

'What SHALL I do, grandmother?' sobbed the princess, turning her face
round upon the lady's bosom, and shaking with suppressed sobs.

'You must give him time,' said her grandmother; 'and you must be
content not to be believed for a while.  It is very hard to bear; but I
have had to bear it, and shall have to bear it many a time yet.  I will
take care of what Curdie thinks of you in the end. You must let him go
now.'

'You're not coming, are you?' asked Curdie.

'No, Curdie; my grandmother says I must let you go.  Turn to the right
when you get to the bottom of all the stairs, and that will take you to
the hall where the great door is.'

'Oh! I don't doubt I can find my way--without you, princess, or your
old grannie's thread either,' said Curdie quite rudely.

'Oh, Curdie!  Curdie!'

'I wish I had gone home at once.  I'm very much obliged to you, Irene,
for getting me out of that hole, but I wish you hadn't made a fool of
me afterwards.'

He said this as he opened the door, which he left open, and, without
another word, went down the stair.  Irene listened with dismay to his
departing footsteps.  Then turning again to the lady:

'What does it all mean, grandmother?' she sobbed, and burst into fresh
tears.

'It means, my love, that I did not mean to show myself.  Curdie is not
yet able to believe some things.  Seeing is not believing--it is only
seeing.  You remember I told you that if Lootie were to see me, she
would rub her eyes, forget the half she saw, and call the other half
nonsense.'

'Yes; but I should have thought Curdie--'

'You are right.  Curdie is much farther on than Lootie, and you will
see what will come of it.  But in the meantime you must be content, I
say, to be misunderstood for a while.  We are all very anxious to be
understood, and it is very hard not to be.  But there is one thing much
more necessary.'

'What is that, grandmother?'

'To understand other people.'

'Yes, grandmother.  I must be fair--for if I'm not fair to other
people, I'm not worth being understood myself.  I see.  So as Curdie
can't help it, I will not be vexed with him, but just wait.'

'There's my own dear child,' said her grandmother, and pressed her
close to her bosom.

'Why weren't you in your workroom when we came up, grandmother?' asked
Irene, after a few moments' silence.

'If I had been there, Curdie would have seen me well enough.  But why
should I be there rather than in this beautiful room?'

'I thought you would be spinning.'

'I've nobody to spin for just at present.  I never spin without knowing
for whom I am spinning.'

'That reminds me--there is one thing that puzzles me,' said the
princess: 'how are you to get the thread out of the mountain again?
Surely you won't have to make another for me?  That would be such a
trouble!'

The lady set her down and rose and went to the fire.  Putting in her
hand, she drew it out again and held up the shining ball between her
finger and thumb.

'I've got it now, you see,' she said, coming back to the princess, 'all
ready for you when you want it.'

Going to her cabinet, she laid it in the same drawer as before.

'And here is your ring,' she added, taking it from the little finger of
her left hand and putting it on the forefinger of Irene's right hand.

'Oh, thank you, grandmother! I feel so safe now!'

'You are very tired, my child,' the lady went on.  'Your hands are hurt
with the stones, and I have counted nine bruises on you.  Just look
what you are like.'

And she held up to her a little mirror which she had brought from the
cabinet.  The princess burst into a merry laugh at the sight. She was
so draggled with the stream and dirty with creeping through narrow
places, that if she had seen the reflection without knowing it was a
reflection, she would have taken herself for some gipsy child whose
face was washed and hair combed about once in a month. The lady laughed
too, and lifting her again upon her knee, took off her cloak and
night-gown.  Then she carried her to the side of the room.  Irene
wondered what she was going to do with her, but asked no
questions--only starting a little when she found that she was going to
lay her in the large silver bath; for as she looked into it, again she
saw no bottom, but the stars shining miles away, as it seemed, in a
great blue gulf.  Her hands closed involuntarily on the beautiful arms
that held her, and that was all.

The lady pressed her once more to her bosom, saying:

'Do not be afraid, my child.'

'No, grandmother,' answered the princess, with a little gasp; and the
next instant she sank in the clear cool water.

When she opened her eyes, she saw nothing but a strange lovely blue
over and beneath and all about her.  The lady, and the beautiful room,
had vanished from her sight, and she seemed utterly alone. But instead
of being afraid, she felt more than happy--perfectly blissful.  And
from somewhere came the voice of the lady, singing a strange sweet
song, of which she could distinguish every word; but of the sense she
had only a feeling--no understanding.  Nor could she remember a single
line after it was gone.  It vanished, like the poetry in a dream, as
fast as it came.  In after years, however, she would sometimes fancy
that snatches of melody suddenly rising in her brain must be little
phrases and fragments of the air of that song; and the very fancy would
make her happier, and abler to do her duty.

How long she lay in the water she did not know.  It seemed a long
time--not from weariness but from pleasure.  But at last she felt the
beautiful hands lay hold of her, and through the gurgling water she was
lifted out into the lovely room.  The lady carried her to the fire, and
sat down with her in her lap, and dried her tenderly with the softest
towel.  It was so different from Lootie's drying. When the lady had
done, she stooped to the fire, and drew from it her night-gown, as
white as snow.

'How delicious!' exclaimed the princess.  'It smells of all the roses
in the world, I think.'

When she stood up on the floor she felt as if she had been made over
again.  Every bruise and all weariness were gone, and her hands were
soft and whole as ever.

'Now I am going to put you to bed for a good sleep,' said her
grandmother.

'But what will Lootie be thinking?  And what am I to say to her when
she asks me where I have been?'

'Don't trouble yourself about it.  You will find it all come right,'
said her grandmother, and laid her into the blue bed, under the rosy
counterpane.

'There is just one thing more,' said Irene.  'I am a little anxious
about Curdie.  As I brought him into the house, I ought to have seen
him safe on his way home.'

'I took care of all that,' answered the lady.  'I told you to let him
go, and therefore I was bound to look after him.  Nobody saw him, and
he is now eating a good dinner in his mother's cottage far up in the
mountain.'

'Then I will go to sleep,' said Irene, and in a few minutes she was
fast asleep.




Curdie and His Mother

Curdie went up the mountain neither whistling nor singing, for he was
vexed with Irene for taking him in, as he called it; and he was vexed
with himself for having spoken to her so angrily.  His mother gave a
cry of joy when she saw him, and at once set about getting him
something to eat, asking him questions all the time, which he did not
answer so cheerfully as usual.  When his meal was ready, she left him
to eat it, and hurried to the mine to let his father know he was safe.
When she came back, she found him fast asleep upon her bed; nor did he
wake until his father came home in the evening.

'Now, Curdie,' his mother said, as they sat at supper, 'tell us the
whole story from beginning to end, just as it all happened.'

Curdie obeyed, and told everything to the point where they came out
upon the lawn in the garden of the king's house.

'And what happened after that?' asked his mother.  'You haven't told us
all.  You ought to be very happy at having got away from those demons,
and instead of that I never saw you so gloomy.  There must be something
more.  Besides, you do not speak of that lovely child as I should like
to hear you.  She saved your life at the risk of her own, and yet
somehow you don't seem to think much of it.'

'She talked such nonsense' answered Curdie, 'and told me a pack of
things that weren't a bit true; and I can't get over it.'

'What were they?' asked his father.  'Your mother may be able to throw
some light upon them.'

Then Curdie made a clean breast of it, and told them everything.

They all sat silent for some time, pondering the strange tale.  At last
Curdie's mother spoke.

'You confess, my boy,' she said, 'there is something about the whole
affair you do not understand?'

'Yes, of course, mother,' he answered.  'I cannot understand how a
child knowing nothing about the mountain, or even that I was shut up in
it, should come all that way alone, straight to where I was; and then,
after getting me out of the hole, lead me out of the mountain too,
where I should not have known a step of the way if it had been as light
as in the open air.'

'Then you have no right to say what she told you was not true.  She did
take you out, and she must have had something to guide her: why not a
thread as well as a rope, or anything else?  There is something you
cannot explain, and her explanation may be the right one.'

'It's no explanation at all, mother; and I can't believe it.'

'That may be only because you do not understand it.  If you did, you
would probably find it was an explanation, and believe it thoroughly.
I don't blame you for not being able to believe it, but I do blame you
for fancying such a child would try to deceive you.  Why should she?
Depend upon it, she told you all she knew. Until you had found a better
way of accounting for it all, you might at least have been more sparing
of your judgement.'

'That is what something inside me has been saying all the time,' said
Curdie, hanging down his head.  'But what do you make of the
grandmother?  That is what I can't get over.  To take me up to an old
garret, and try to persuade me against the sight of my own eyes that it
was a beautiful room, with blue walls and silver stars, and no end of
things in it, when there was nothing there but an old tub and a
withered apple and a heap of straw and a sunbeam!  It was too bad!  She
might have had some old woman there at least to pass for her precious
grandmother!'

'Didn't she speak as if she saw those other things herself, Curdie?'

'Yes.  That's what bothers me.  You would have thought she really meant
and believed that she saw every one of the things she talked about.
And not one of them there!  It was too bad, I say.'

'Perhaps some people can see things other people can't see, Curdie,'
said his mother very gravely.  'I think I will tell you something I saw
myself once--only Perhaps You won't believe me either!'

'Oh, mother, mother!' cried Curdie, bursting into tears; 'I don't
deserve that, surely!'

'But what I am going to tell you is very strange,' persisted his
mother; 'and if having heard it you were to say I must have been
dreaming, I don't know that I should have any right to be vexed with
you, though I know at least that I was not asleep.'

'Do tell me, mother.  Perhaps it will help me to think better of the
princess.'

'That's why I am tempted to tell you,' replied his mother.  'But first,
I may as well mention that, according to old whispers, there is
something more than common about the king's family; and the queen was
of the same blood, for they were cousins of some degree. There were
strange stories told concerning them--all good stories--but strange,
very strange.  What they were I cannot tell, for I only remember the
faces of my grandmother and my mother as they talked together about
them.  There was wonder and awe--not fear--in their eyes, and they
whispered, and never spoke aloud.  But what I saw myself was this: Your
father was going to work in the mine one night, and I had been down
with his supper.  It was soon after we were married, and not very long
before you were born.  He came with me to the mouth of the mine, and
left me to go home alone, for I knew the way almost as well as the
floor of our own cottage.  It was pretty dark, and in some parts of the
road where the rocks overhung nearly quite dark.  But I got along
perfectly well, never thinking of being afraid, until I reached a spot
you know well enough, Curdie, where the path has to make a sharp turn
out of the way of a great rock on the left-hand side.  When I got
there, I was suddenly surrounded by about half a dozen of the cobs, the
first I had ever seen, although I had heard tell of them often enough.
One of them blocked up the path, and they all began tormenting and
teasing me in a way it makes me shudder to think of even now.'

'If I had only been with you!' cried father and son in a breath.

The mother gave a funny little smile, and went on.

'They had some of their horrible creatures with them too, and I must
confess I was dreadfully frightened.  They had torn my clothes very
much, and I was afraid they were going to tear myself to pieces, when
suddenly a great white soft light shone upon me.  I looked up.  A broad
ray, like a shining road, came down from a large globe of silvery
light, not very high up, indeed not quite so high as the horizon--so it
could not have been a new star or another moon or anything of that
sort.  The cobs dropped persecuting me, and looked dazed, and I thought
they were going to run away, but presently they began again.  The same
moment, however, down the path from the globe of light came a bird,
shining like silver in the sun.  It gave a few rapid flaps first, and
then, with its wings straight out, shot, sliding down the slope of the
light.  It looked to me just like a white pigeon.  But whatever it was,
when the cobs caught sight of it coming straight down upon them, they
took to their heels and scampered away across the mountain, leaving me
safe, only much frightened.  As soon as it had sent them off, the bird
went gliding again up the light, and the moment it reached the globe
the light disappeared, just as if a shutter had been closed over a
window, and I saw it no More.  But I had no more trouble with the cobs
that night or ever after.'

'How strange!' exclaimed Curdie.

'Yes, it was strange; but I can't help believing it, whether you do or
not,' said his mother.

'It's exactly as your mother told it to me the very next morning,' said
his father.

'You don't think I'm doubting my own mother?' cried Curdie. 'There are
other people in the world quite as well worth believing as your own
mother,' said his mother.  'I don't know that she's so much the fitter
to be believed that she happens to be your mother, Mr. Curdie.  There
are mothers far more likely to tell lies than the little girl I saw
talking to the primroses a few weeks ago.  If she were to lie I should
begin to doubt my own word.'

'But princesses have told lies as well as other people,' said Curdie.

'Yes, but not princesses like that child.  She's a good girl, I am
certain, and that's more than being a princess.  Depend upon it you
will have to be sorry for behaving so to her, Curdie.  You ought at
least to have held your tongue.'

'I am sorry now,' answered Curdie.

'You ought to go and tell her so, then.'

'I don't see how I could manage that.  They wouldn't let a miner boy
like me have a word with her alone; and I couldn't tell her before that
nurse of hers.  She'd be asking ever so many questions, and I don't
know how many the little princess would like me to answer.  She told me
that Lootie didn't know anything about her coming to get me out of the
mountain.  I am certain she would have prevented her somehow if she had
known it.  But I may have a chance before long, and meantime I must try
to do something for her.  I think, father, I have got on the track at
last.'

'Have you, indeed, my boy?' said Peter.  'I am sure you deserve some
success; you have worked very hard for it.  What have you found out?'

'It's difficult, you know, father, inside the mountain, especially in
the dark, and not knowing what turns you have taken, to tell the lie of
things outside.'

'Impossible, my boy, without a chart, or at least a compass,' returned
his father.

'Well, I think I have nearly discovered in what direction the cobs are
mining.  If I am right, I know something else that I can put to it, and
then one and one will make three.'

'They very often do, Curdie, as we miners ought to be very well aware.
Now tell us, my boy, what the two things are, and see whether we can
guess at the same third as you.'

'I don't see what that has to do with the princess,' interposed his
mother.

'I will soon let you see that, mother.  Perhaps you may think me
foolish, but until I am sure there, is nothing in my present fancy, I
am more determined than ever to go on with my observations.  Just as we
came to the channel by which we got out, I heard the miners at work
somewhere near--I think down below us.  Now since I began to watch
them, they have mined a good half-mile, in a straight line; and so far
as I am aware, they are working in no other part of the mountain.  But
I never could tell in what direction they were going.  When we came out
in the king's garden, however, I thought at once whether it was
possible they were working towards the king's house; and what I want to
do tonight is to make sure whether they are or not.  I will take a
light with me--'

'Oh, Curdie,' cried his mother, 'then they will see you.'

'I'm no more afraid of them now than I was before,' rejoined Curdie,
'now that I've got this precious shoe.  They can't make another such in
a hurry, and one bare foot will do for my purpose. Woman as she may be,
I won't spare her next time.  But I shall be careful with my light, for
I don't want them to see me.  I won't stick it in my hat.'

'Go on, then, and tell us what you mean to do.'

'I mean to take a bit of paper with me and a pencil, and go in at the
mouth of the stream by which we came out.  I shall mark on the paper as
near as I can the angle of every turning I take until I find the cobs
at work, and so get a good idea in what direction they are going.  If
it should prove to be nearly parallel with the stream, I shall know it
is towards the king's house they are working.'

'And what if you should?  How much wiser will you be then?'

'Wait a minute, mother dear.  I told you that when I came upon the
royal family in the cave, they were talking of their prince--Harelip,
they called him--marrying a sun-woman--that means one of us--one with
toes to her feet.  Now in the speech one of them made that night at
their great gathering, of which I heard only a part, he said that peace
would be secured for a generation at least by the pledge the prince
would hold for the good behaviour of her relatives: that's what he
said, and he must have meant the sun-woman the prince was to marry.  I
am quite sure the king is much too proud to wish his son to marry any
but a princess, and much too knowing to fancy that his having a peasant
woman for a wife would be of any great advantage to them.'

'I see what you are driving at now,' said his mother.

'But,' said his father, 'our king would dig the mountain to the plain
before he would have his princess the wife of a cob, if he were ten
times a prince.'

'Yes; but they think so much of themselves!' said his mother. 'Small
creatures always do.  The bantam is the proudest cock in my little
yard.'

'And I fancy,' said Curdie, 'if they once got her, they would tell the
king they would kill her except he consented to the marriage.'

'They might say so,' said his father, 'but they wouldn't kill her; they
would keep her alive for the sake of the hold it gave them over our
king.  Whatever he did to them, they would threaten to do the same to
the princess.'

'And they are bad enough to torment her just for their own amusement--I
know that,' said his mother.

'Anyhow, I will keep a watch on them, and see what they are up to,'
said Curdie.  'It's too horrible to think of.  I daren't let myself do
it.  But they shan't have her--at least if I can help it.  So, mother
dear--my clue is all right--will you get me a bit of paper and a pencil
and a lump of pease pudding, and I will set out at once.  I saw a place
where I can climb over the wall of the garden quite easily.'

'You must mind and keep out of the way of the men on the watch,' said
his mother.

'That I will.  I don't want them to know anything about it.  They would
spoil it all.  The cobs would only try some other plan--they are such
obstinate creatures!  I shall take good care, mother. They won't kill
and eat me either, if they should come upon me.  So you needn't mind
them.'

His mother got him what he had asked for, and Curdie set out. Close
beside the door by which the princess left the garden for the mountain
stood a great rock, and by climbing it Curdie got over the wall.  He
tied his clue to a stone just inside the channel of the stream, and
took his pickaxe with him.  He had not gone far before he encountered a
horrid creature coming towards the mouth.  The spot was too narrow for
two of almost any size or shape, and besides Curdie had no wish to let
the creature pass.  Not being able to use his pickaxe, however, he had
a severe struggle with him, and it was only after receiving many bites,
some of them bad, that he succeeded in killing him with his
pocket-knife.  Having dragged him out, he made haste to get in again
before another should stop up the way.

I need not follow him farther in this night's adventures.  He returned
to his breakfast, satisfied that the goblins were mining in the
direction of the palace--on so low a level that their intention must,
he thought, be to burrow under the walls of the king's house, and rise
up inside it--in order, he fully believed, to lay hands on the little
princess, and carry her off for a wife to their horrid Harelip.




Irene Behaves Like a Princess

When the princess awoke from the sweetest of sleeps, she found her
nurse bending over her, the housekeeper looking over the nurse's
shoulder, and the laundry-maid looking over the housekeeper's. The room
was full of women-servants; and the gentlemen-at-arms, with a long
column of servants behind them, were peeping, or trying to peep in at
the door of the nursery.

'Are those horrid creatures gone?' asked the princess, remembering
first what had terrified her in the morning.

'You naughty, naughty little princess!' cried Lootie.

Her face was very pale, with red streaks in it, and she looked as if
she were going to shake her; but Irene said nothing--only waited to
hear what should come next.

'How could you get under the clothes like that, and make us all fancy
you were lost!  And keep it up all day too!  You are the most obstinate
child!  It's anything but fun to us, I can tell you!'

It was the only way the nurse could account for her disappearance.

'I didn't do that, Lootie,' said Irene, very quietly.

'Don't tell stories!' cried her nurse quite rudely.

'I shall tell you nothing at all,' said Irene.

'That's just as bad,' said the nurse.

'Just as bad to say nothing at all as to tell stories?' exclaimed the
princess.  'I will ask my papa about that.  He won't say so. And I
don't think he will like you to say so.'

'Tell me directly what you mean by it!' screamed the nurse, half wild
with anger at the princess and fright at the possible consequences to
herself.

'When I tell you the truth, Lootie,' said the princess, who somehow did
not feel at all angry, 'you say to me "Don't tell stories": it seems I
must tell stories before you will believe me.'

'You are very rude, princess,' said the nurse.

'You are so rude, Lootie, that I will not speak to you again till you
are sorry.  Why should I, when I know you will not believe me?'
returned the princess.  For she did know perfectly well that if she
were to tell Lootie what she had been about, the more she went on to
tell her, the less would she believe her.

'You are the most provoking child!' cried her nurse.  'You deserve to
be well punished for your wicked behaviour.'

'Please, Mrs Housekeeper,' said the princess, 'will you take me to your
room, and keep me till my king-papa comes?  I will ask him to come as
soon as he can.'

Every one stared at these words.  Up to this moment they had all
regarded her as little more than a baby.

But the housekeeper was afraid of the nurse, and sought to patch
matters up, saying:

'I am sure, princess, nursie did not mean to be rude to you.'

'I do not think my papa would wish me to have a nurse who spoke to me
as Lootie does.  If she thinks I tell lies, she had better either say
so to my papa, or go away.  Sir Walter, will you take charge of me?'

'With the greatest of pleasure, princess,' answered the captain of the
gentlemen-at-arms, walking with his great stride into the room.

The crowd of servants made eager way for him, and he bowed low before
the little princess's bed.  'I shall send my servant at once, on the
fastest horse in the stable, to tell your king-papa that Your Royal
Highness desires his presence.  When you have chosen one of these
under-servants to wait upon you, I shall order the room to be cleared.'

'Thank you very much, Sir Walter,' said the princess, and her eye
glanced towards a rosy-cheeked girl who had lately come to the house as
a scullery-maid.

But when Lootie saw the eyes of her dear princess going in search of
another instead of her, she fell upon her knees by the bedside, and
burst into a great cry of distress.

'I think, Sir Walter,' said the princess, 'I will keep Lootie.  But I
put myself under your care; and you need not trouble my king-papa until
I speak to you again.  Will you all please to go away?  I am quite safe
and well, and I did not hide myself for the sake either of amusing
myself, or of troubling my people.  Lootie, will you please to dress
me.'




Curdie Comes to Grief

Everything was for some time quiet above ground.  The king was still
away in a distant part of his dominions.  The men-at-arms kept watching
about the house.  They had been considerably astonished by finding at
the foot of the rock in the garden the hideous body of the goblin
creature killed by Curdie; but they came to the conclusion that it had
been slain in the mines, and had crept out there to die; and except an
occasional glimpse of a live one they saw nothing to cause alarm.
Curdie kept watching in the mountain, and the goblins kept burrowing
deeper into the earth.  As long as they went deeper there was, Curdie
judged, no immediate danger.

To Irene the summer was as full of pleasure as ever, and for a long
time, although she often thought of her grandmother during the day, and
often dreamed about her at night, she did not see her.  The kids and
the flowers were as much her delight as ever, and she made as much
friendship with the miners' children she met on the mountain as Lootie
would permit; but Lootie had very foolish notions concerning the
dignity of a princess, not understanding that the truest princess is
just the one who loves all her brothers and sisters best, and who is
most able to do them good by being humble towards them.  At the same
time she was considerably altered for the better in her behaviour to
the princess.  She could not help seeing that she was no longer a mere
child, but wiser than her age would account for.  She kept foolishly
whispering to the servants, however--sometimes that the princess was
not right in her mind, sometimes that she was too good to live, and
other nonsense of the same sort.

All this time Curdie had to be sorry, without a chance of confessing,
that he had behaved so unkindly to the princess.  This perhaps made him
the more diligent in his endeavours to serve her. His mother and he
often talked on the subject, and she comforted him, and told him she
was sure he would some day have the opportunity he so much desired.

Here I should like to remark, for the sake of princes and princesses in
general, that it is a low and contemptible thing to refuse to confess a
fault, or even an error.  If a true princess has done wrong, she is
always uneasy until she has had an opportunity of throwing the
wrongness away from her by saying: 'I did it; and I wish I had not; and
I am sorry for having done it.' So you see there is some ground for
supposing that Curdie was not a miner only, but a prince as well.  Many
such instances have been known in the world's history.

At length, however, he began to see signs of a change in the
proceedings of the goblin excavators: they were going no deeper, but
had commenced running on a level; and he watched them, therefore, more
closely than ever.  All at once, one night, coming to a slope of very
hard rock, they began to ascend along the inclined plane of its
surface.  Having reached its top, they went again on a level for a
night or two, after which they began to ascend once more, and kept on
at a pretty steep angle.  At length Curdie judged it time to transfer
his observation to another quarter, and the next night he did not go to
the mine at all; but, leaving his pickaxe and clue at home, and taking
only his usual lumps of bread and pease pudding, went down the mountain
to the king's house.  He climbed over the wall, and remained in the
garden the whole night, creeping on hands and knees from one spot to
the other, and lying at full length with his ear to the ground,
listening.  But he heard nothing except the tread of the men-at-arms as
they marched about, whose observation, as the night was cloudy and
there was no moon, he had little difficulty in avoiding.  For several
following nights he continued to haunt the garden and listen, but with
no success.

At length, early one evening, whether it was that he had got careless
of his own safety, or that the growing moon had become strong enough to
expose him, his watching came to a sudden end.  He was creeping from
behind the rock where the stream ran out, for he had been listening all
round it in the hope it might convey to his ear some indication of the
whereabouts of the goblin miners, when just as he came into the
moonlight on the lawn, a whizz in his ear and a blow upon his leg
startled him.  He instantly squatted in the hope of eluding further
notice.  But when he heard the sound of running feet, he jumped up to
take the chance of escape by flight. He fell, however, with a keen
shoot of pain, for the bolt of a crossbow had wounded his leg, and the
blood was now streaming from it.  He was instantly laid Hold of by two
or three of the men-at-arms.  It was useless to struggle, and he
submitted in silence.

'It's a boy!' cried several of them together, in a tone of amazement.
'I thought it was one of those demons.  What are you about here?'

'Going to have a little rough usage, apparently,' said Curdie,
laughing, as the men shook him.

'Impertinence will do you no good.  You have no business here in the
king's grounds, and if you don't give a true account of yourself, you
shall fare as a thief.'

'Why, what else could he be?' said one.

'He might have been after a lost kid, you know,' suggested another.

'I see no good in trying to excuse him.  He has no business here,
anyhow.'

'Let me go away, then, if you please,' said Curdie.

'But we don't please--not except you give a good account of yourself.'

'I don't feel quite sure whether I can trust you,' said Curdie.

'We are the king's own men-at-arms,' said the captain courteously, for
he was taken with Curdie's appearance and courage.

'Well, I will tell you all about it--if you will promise to listen to
me and not do anything rash.'

'I call that cool!' said one of the party, laughing.  'He will tell us
what mischief he was about, if we promise to do as pleases him.'

'I was about no mischief,' said Curdie.

But ere he could say more he turned faint, and fell senseless on the
grass.  Then first they discovered that the bolt they had shot, taking
him for one of the goblin creatures, had wounded him.

They carried him into the house and laid him down in the hall.  The
report spread that they had caught a robber, and the servants crowded
in to see the villain.  Amongst the rest came the nurse. The moment she
saw him she exclaimed with indignation:

'I declare it's the same young rascal of a miner that was rude to me
and the princess on the mountain.  He actually wanted to kiss the
princess.  I took good care of that--the wretch!  And he was prowling
about, was he?  Just like his impudence!' The princess being fast
asleep, she could misrepresent at her pleasure.

When he heard this, the captain, although he had considerable doubt of
its truth, resolved to keep Curdie a prisoner until they could search
into the affair.  So, after they had brought him round a little, and
attended to his wound, which was rather a bad one, they laid him, still
exhausted from the loss of blood, upon a mattress in a disused
room--one of those already so often mentioned--and locked the door, and
left him.  He passed a troubled night, and in the morning they found
him talking wildly.  In the evening he came to himself, but felt very
weak, and his leg was exceedingly painful.  Wondering where he was, and
seeing one of the men-at-arms in the room, he began to question him and
soon recalled the events of the preceding night.  As he was himself
unable to watch any more, he told the soldier all he knew about the
goblins, and begged him to tell his companions, and stir them up to
watch with tenfold vigilance; but whether it was that he did not talk
quite coherently, or that the whole thing appeared incredible,
certainly the man concluded that Curdie was only raving still, and
tried to coax him into holding his tongue.  This, of course, annoyed
Curdie dreadfully, who now felt in his turn what it was not to be
believed, and the consequence was that his fever returned, and by the
time when, at his persistent entreaties, the captain was called, there
could be no doubt that he was raving.  They did for him what they
could, and promised everything he wanted, but with no intention of
fulfilment.  At last he went to sleep, and when at length his sleep
grew profound and peaceful, they left him, locked the door again, and
withdrew, intending to revisit him early in the morning.




The Goblin-Miners

That same night several of the servants were having a chat together
before going to bed.

'What can that noise be?' said one of the housemaids, who had been
listening for a moment or two.

'I've heard it the last two nights,' said the cook.  'If there were any
about the place, I should have taken it for rats, but my Tom keeps them
far enough.'

'I've heard, though,' said the scullery-maid, 'that rats move about in
great companies sometimes.  There may be an army of them invading us.
I've heard the noises yesterday and today too.'

'It'll be grand fun, then, for my Tom and Mrs Housekeeper's Bob,' said
the cook.  'They'll be friends for once in their lives, and fight on
the same side.  I'll engage Tom and Bob together will put to flight any
number of rats.'

'It seems to me,' said the nurse, 'that the noises are much too loud
for that.  I have heard them all day, and my princess has asked me
several times what they could be.  Sometimes they sound like distant
thunder, and sometimes like the noises you hear in the mountain from
those horrid miners underneath.'

'I shouldn't wonder,' said the cook, 'if it was the miners after all.
They may have come on some hole in the mountain through which the
noises reach to us.  They are always boring and blasting and breaking,
you know.'

As he spoke, there came a great rolling rumble beneath them, and the
house quivered.  They all started up in affright, and rushing to the
hall found the gentlemen-at-arms in consternation also. They had sent
to wake their captain, who said from their description that it must
have been an earthquake, an occurrence which, although very rare in
that country, had taken place almost within the century; and then went
to bed again, strange to say, and fell fast asleep without once
thinking of Curdie, or associating the noises they had heard with what
he had told them.  He had not believed Curdie.  If he had, he would at
once have thought of what he had said, and would have taken
precautions.  As they heard nothing more, they concluded that Sir
Walter was right, and that the danger was over for perhaps another
hundred years.  The fact, as discovered afterwards, was that the
goblins had, in working up a second sloping face of stone, arrived at a
huge block which lay under the cellars of the house, within the line of
the foundations.

It was so round that when they succeeded, after hard work, in
dislodging it without blasting, it rolled thundering down the slope
with a bounding, jarring roll, which shook the foundations of the
house.  The goblins were themselves dismayed at the noise, for they
knew, by careful spying and measuring, that they must now be very near,
if not under the king's house, and they feared giving an alarm.  They,
therefore, remained quiet for a while, and when they began to work
again, they no doubt thought themselves very fortunate in coming upon a
vein of sand which filled a winding fissure in the rock on which the
house was built.  By scooping this away they came out in the king's
wine cellar.

No sooner did they find where they were, than they scurried back again,
like rats into their holes, and running at full speed to the goblin
palace, announced their success to the king and queen with shouts of
triumph.

In a moment the goblin royal family and the whole goblin people were on
their way in hot haste to the king's house, each eager to have a share
in the glory of carrying off that same night the Princess Irene.

The queen went stumping along in one shoe of stone and one of skin.

This could not have been pleasant, and my readers may wonder that, with
such skilful workmen about her, she had not yet replaced the shoe
carried off by Curdie.  As the king, however, had more than one ground
of objection to her stone shoes, he no doubt took advantage of the
discovery of her toes, and threatened to expose her deformity if she
had another made.  I presume he insisted on her being content with skin
shoes, and allowed her to wear the remaining granite one on the present
occasion only because she was going out to war.

They soon arrived in the king's wine cellar, and regardless of its huge
vessels, of which they did not know the use, proceeded at once, but as
quietly as they could, to force the door that led upwards.




The Goblins in the King's House

When Curdie fell asleep he began at once to dream.  He thought he was
ascending the Mountainside from the mouth of the mine, whistling and
singing 'Ring, dod, bang!' when he came upon a woman and child who had
lost their way; and from that point he went on dreaming everything that
had happened to him since he thus met the princess and Lootie; how he
had watched the goblins, how he had been taken by them, how he had been
rescued by the princess; everything, indeed, until he was wounded,
captured, and imprisoned by the men-at-arms.  And now he thought he was
lying wide awake where they had laid him, when suddenly he heard a
great thundering sound.

'The cobs are coming!' he said.  'They didn't believe a word I told
them!  The cobs'll be carrying off the princess from under their stupid
noses!  But they shan't! that they shan't!'

He jumped up, as he thought, and began to dress, but, to his dismay,
found that he was still lying in bed.

'Now then, I will!' he said.  'Here goes!  I am up now!'

But yet again he found himself snug in bed.  Twenty times he tried, and
twenty times he failed; for in fact he was not awake, only dreaming
that he was.  At length in an agony of despair, fancying he heard the
goblins all over the house, he gave a great cry.  Then there came, as
he thought, a hand upon the lock of his door.  It opened, and, looking
up, he saw a lady with white hair, carrying a silver box in her hand,
enter the room.  She came to his bed, he thought, stroked his head and
face with cool, soft hands, took the dressing from his leg, rubbed it
with something that smelt like roses, and then waved her hands over him
three times.  At the last wave of her hands everything vanished, he
felt himself sinking into the profoundest slumber, and remembered
nothing more until he awoke in earnest.

The setting moon was throwing a feeble light through the casement, and
the house was full of uproar.  There was soft heavy multitudinous
stamping, a clashing and clanging of weapons, the voices of men and the
cries of women, mixed with a hideous bellowing, which sounded
victorious.  The cobs were in the house! He sprang from his bed,
hurried on some of his clothes, not forgetting his shoes, which were
armed with nails; then spying an old hunting-knife, or short sword,
hanging on the wall, he caught it, and rushed down the stairs, guided
by the sounds of strife, which grew louder and louder.

When he reached the ground floor he found the whole place swarming.

All the goblins of the mountain seemed gathered there.  He rushed
amongst them, shouting:

  'One, two,
  Hit and hew!
  Three, four,
  Blast and bore!'

and with every rhyme he came down a great stamp upon a foot, cutting at
the same time their faces--executing, indeed, a sword dance of the
wildest description.  Away scattered the goblins in every
direction--into closets, up stairs, into chimneys, up on rafters, and
down to the cellars.  Curdie went on stamping and slashing and singing,
but saw nothing of the people of the house until he came to the great
hall, in which, the moment he entered it, arose a great goblin shout.
The last of the men-at-arms, the captain himself, was on the floor,
buried beneath a wallowing crowd of goblins.  For, while each knight
was busy defending himself as well as he could, by stabs in the thick
bodies of the goblins, for he had soon found their heads all but
invulnerable, the queen had attacked his legs and feet with her
horrible granite shoe, and he was soon down; but the captain had got
his back to the wall and stood out longer.  The goblins would have torn
them all to pieces, but the king had given orders to carry them away
alive, and over each of them, in twelve groups, was standing a knot of
goblins, while as many as could find room were sitting upon their
prostrate bodies.

Curdie burst in dancing and gyrating and stamping and singing like a
small incarnate whirlwind.

  'Where 'tis all a hole, sir,
  Never can be holes:
  Why should their shoes have soles, sir,
  When they've got no souls?

  'But she upon her foot, sir,
  Has a granite shoe:
  The strongest leather boot, sir,
  Six would soon be through.'


The queen gave a howl of rage and dismay; and before she recovered her
presence of mind, Curdie, having begun with the group nearest him, had
eleven of the knights on their legs again.

'Stamp on their feet!' he cried as each man rose, and in a few minutes
the hall was nearly empty, the goblins running from it as fast as they
could, howling and shrieking and limping, and cowering every now and
then as they ran to cuddle their wounded feet in their hard hands, or
to protect them from the frightful stamp-stamp of the armed men.

And now Curdie approached the group which, in trusting in the queen and
her shoe, kept their guard over the prostrate captain.  The king sat on
the captain's head, but the queen stood in front, like an infuriated
cat, with her perpendicular eyes gleaming green, and her hair standing
half up from her horrid head.  Her heart was quaking, however, and she
kept moving about her skin-shod foot with nervous apprehension.  When
Curdie was within a few paces, she rushed at him, made one tremendous
stamp at his opposing foot, which happily he withdrew in time, and
caught him round the waist, to dash him on the marble floor.  But just
as she caught him, he came down with all the weight of his iron-shod
shoe upon her skin-shod foot, and with a hideous howl she dropped him,
squatted on the floor, and took her foot in both her hands.  Meanwhile
the rest rushed on the king and the bodyguard, sent them flying, and
lifted the prostrate captain, who was all but pressed to death.  It was
some moments before he recovered breath and consciousness.

'Where's the princess?' cried Curdie, again and again.

No one knew, and off they all rushed in search of her.

Through every room in the house they went, but nowhere was she to be
found.  Neither was one of the servants to be seen.  But Curdie, who
had kept to the lower part of the house, which was now quiet enough,
began to hear a confused sound as of a distant hubbub, and set out to
find where it came from.  The noise grew as his sharp ears guided him
to a stair and so to the wine cellar.  It was full of goblins, whom the
butler was supplying with wine as fast as he could draw it.

While the queen and her party had encountered the men-at-arms, Harelip
with another company had gone off to search the house. They captured
every one they met, and when they could find no more, they hurried away
to carry them safe to the caverns below.  But when the butler, who was
amongst them, found that their path lay through the wine cellar, he
bethought himself of persuading them to taste the wine, and, as he had
hoped, they no sooner tasted than they wanted more.  The routed
goblins, on their way below, joined them, and when Curdie entered they
were all, with outstretched hands, in which were vessels of every
description from sauce pan to silver cup, pressing around the butler,
who sat at the tap of a huge cask, filling and filling.  Curdie cast
one glance around the place before commencing his attack, and saw in
the farthest corner a terrified group of the domestics unwatched, but
cowering without courage to attempt their escape.  Amongst them was the
terror-stricken face of Lootie; but nowhere could he see the princess.
Seized with the horrible conviction that Harelip had already carried
her off, he rushed amongst them, unable for wrath to sing any more, but
stamping and cutting with greater fury than ever.

'Stamp on their feet; stamp on their feet!' he shouted, and in a moment
the goblins were disappearing through the hole in the floor like rats
and mice.

They could not vanish so fast, however, but that many more goblin feet
had to go limping back over the underground ways of the mountain that
morning.

Presently, however, they were reinforced from above by the king and his
party, with the redoubtable queen at their head.  Finding Curdie again
busy amongst her unfortunate subjects, she rushed at him once more with
the rage of despair, and this time gave him a bad bruise on the foot.
Then a regular stamping fight got up between them, Curdie, with the
point of his hunting-knife, keeping her from clasping her mighty arms
about him, as he watched his opportunity of getting once more a good
stamp at her skin-shod foot.  But the queen was more wary as well as
more agile than hitherto.

The rest meantime, finding their adversary thus matched for the moment,
paused in their headlong hurry, and turned to the shivering group of
women in the corner.  As if determined to emulate his father and have a
sun-woman of some sort to share his future throne, Harelip rushed at
them, caught up Lootie, and sped with her to the hole.  She gave a
great shriek, and Curdie heard her, and saw the plight she was in.
Gathering all his strength, he gave the queen a sudden cut across the
face with his weapon, came down, as she started back, with all his
weight on the proper foot, and sprung to Lootie's rescue.  The prince
had two defenceless feet, and on both of them Curdie stamped just as he
reached the hole.  He dropped his burden and rolled shrieking into the
earth.  Curdie made one stab at him as he disappeared, caught hold of
the senseless Lootie, and having dragged her back to the corner, there
mounted guard over her, preparing once more to encounter the queen.

Her face streaming with blood, and her eyes flashing green lightning
through it, she came on with her mouth open and her teeth grinning like
a tiger's, followed by the king and her bodyguard of the thickest
goblins.  But the same moment in rushed the captain and his men, and
ran at them stamping furiously.  They dared not encounter such an
onset.  Away they scurried, the queen foremost. Of course, the right
thing would have been to take the king and queen prisoners, and hold
them hostages for the princess, but they were so anxious to find her
that no one thought of detaining them until it was too late.

Having thus rescued the servants, they set about searching the house
once more.  None of them could give the least information concerning
the princess.  Lootie was almost silly with terror, and, although
scarcely able to walk would not leave Curdie's side for a single
moment.  Again he allowed the others to search the rest of the
house--where, except a dismayed goblin lurking here and there, they
found no one--while he requested Lootie to take him to the princess's
room.  She was as submissive and obedient as if he had been the king.

He found the bedclothes tossed about, and most of them on the floor,
while the princess's garments were scattered all over the room, which
was in the greatest confusion.  It was only too evident that the
goblins had been there, and Curdie had no longer any doubt that she had
been carried off at the very first of the inroad. With a pang of
despair he saw how wrong they had been in not securing the king and
queen and prince; but he determined to find and rescue the princess as
she had found and rescued him, or meet the worst fate to which the
goblins could doom him.




Curdie's Guide

Just as the consolation of this resolve dawned upon his mind and he was
turning away for the cellar to follow the goblins into their hole,
something touched his hand.  It was the slightest touch, and when he
looked he could see nothing.  Feeling and peering about in the grey of
the dawn, his fingers came upon a tight thread.  He looked again, and
narrowly, but still could see nothing.  It flashed upon him that this
must be the princess's thread.  Without saying a word, for he knew no
one would believe him any more than he had believed the princess, he
followed the thread with his finger, contrived to give Lootie the slip,
and was soon out of the house and on the mountainside--surprised that,
if the thread were indeed the grandmother's messenger, it should have
led the princess, as he supposed it must, into the mountain, where she
would be certain to meet the goblins rushing back enraged from their
defeat.  But he hurried on in the hope of overtaking her first.  When
he arrived, however, at the place where the path turned off for the
mine, he found that the thread did not turn with it, but went straight
up the mountain.  Could it be that the thread was leading him home to
his mother's cottage?  Could the princess be there?  He bounded up the
mountain like one of its own goats, and before the sun was up the
thread had brought him indeed to his mother's door.  There it vanished
from his fingers, and he could not find it, search as he might.

The door was on the latch, and he entered.  There sat his mother by the
fire, and in her arms lay the princess, fast asleep.

'Hush, Curdie!' said his mother.  'Do not wake her.  I'm so glad you're
come!  I thought the cobs must have got you again!'

With a heart full of delight, Curdie sat down at a corner of the
hearth, on a stool opposite his mother's chair, and gazed at the
princess, who slept as peacefully as if she had been in her own bed.
All at once she opened her eyes and fixed them on him.

'Oh, Curdie! you're come!' she said quietly.  'I thought you would!'

Curdie rose and stood before her with downcast eyes.

'Irene,' he said, 'I am very sorry I did not believe you.'

'Oh, never mind, Curdie!' answered the princess.  'You couldn't, you
know.  You do believe me now, don't you?'

'I can't help it now.  I ought to have helped it before.'

'Why can't you help it now?'

'Because, just as I was going into the mountain to look for you, I got
hold of your thread, and it brought me here.'

'Then you've come from my house, have you?'

'Yes, I have.'

'I didn't know you were there.'

'I've been there two or three days, I believe.'

'And I never knew it!  Then perhaps you can tell me why my grandmother
has brought me here?  I can't think.  Something woke me--I didn't know
what, but I was frightened, and I felt for the thread, and there it
was!  I was more frightened still when it brought me out on the
mountain, for I thought it was going to take me into it again, and I
like the outside of it best.  I supposed you were in trouble again, and
I had to get you out.  But it brought me here instead; and, oh, Curdie!
your mother has been so kind to me--just like my own grandmother!'

Here Curdie's mother gave the princess a hug, and the princess turned
and gave her a sweet smile, and held up her mouth to kiss her.

'Then you didn't see the cobs?'asked Curdie.

'No; I haven't been into the mountain, I told you, Curdie.'

'But the cobs have been into your house--all over it--and into your
bedroom, making such a row!'

'What did they want there?  It was very rude of them.'

'They wanted you--to carry you off into the mountain with them, for a
wife to their prince Harelip.'

'Oh, how dreadful' cried the princess, shuddering.

'But you needn't be afraid, you know.  Your grandmother takes care of
you.'

'Ah! you do believe in my grandmother, then?  I'm so glad!  She made me
think you would some day.'

All at once Curdie remembered his dream, and was silent, thinking.

'But how did you come to be in my house, and me not know it?' asked the
princess.

Then Curdie had to explain everything--how he had watched for her sake,
how he had been wounded and shut up by the soldiers, how he heard the
noises and could not rise, and how the beautiful old lady had come to
him, and all that followed.

'Poor Curdie! to lie there hurt and ill, and me never to know it!'
exclaimed the princess, stroking his rough hand.  'I would have come
and nursed you, if they had told me.'

'I didn't see you were lame,' said his mother.

'Am I, mother?  Oh--yes--I suppose I ought to be! I declare I've never
thought of it since I got up to go down amongst the cobs!'

'Let me see the wound,' said his mother.

He pulled down his stocking--when behold, except a great scar, his leg
was perfectly sound!

Curdie and his mother gazed in each other's eyes, full of wonder, but
Irene called out:

'I thought so, Curdie!  I was sure it wasn't a dream.  I was sure my
grandmother had been to see you.  Don't you smell the roses?  It was my
grandmother healed your leg, and sent you to help me.'

'No, Princess Irene,' said Curdie; 'I wasn't good enough to be allowed
to help you: I didn't believe you.  Your grandmother took care of you
without me.'

'She sent you to help my people, anyhow.  I wish my king-papa would
come.  I do want so to tell him how good you have been!'

'But,' said the mother, 'we are forgetting how frightened your people
must be.  You must take the princess home at once, Curdie--or at least
go and tell them where she is.'

'Yes, mother.  Only I'm dreadfully hungry.  Do let me have some
breakfast first.  They ought to have listened to me, and then they
wouldn't have been taken by surprise as they were.'

'That is true, Curdie; but it is not for you to blame them much. You
remember?'

'Yes, mother, I do.  Only I must really have something to eat.'

'You shall, my boy--as fast as I can get it,' said his mother, rising
and setting the princess on her chair.

But before his breakfast was ready, Curdie jumped up so suddenly as to
startle both his companions.

'Mother, mother!' he cried, 'I was forgetting.  You must take the
princess home yourself.  I must go and wake my father.'

Without a word of explanation, he rushed to the place where his father
was sleeping.  Having thoroughly roused him with what he told him he
darted out of the cottage.




Masonwork

He had all at once remembered the resolution of the goblins to carry
out their second plan upon the failure of the first.  No doubt they
were already busy, and the mine was therefore in the greatest danger of
being flooded and rendered useless--not to speak of the lives of the
miners.

When he reached the mouth of the mine, after rousing all the miners
within reach, he found his father and a good many more just entering.
They all hurried to the gang by which he had found a way into the
goblin country.  There the foresight of Peter had already collected a
great many blocks of stone, with cement, ready for building up the weak
place--well enough known to the goblins. Although there was not room
for more than two to be actually building at once, they managed, by
setting all the rest to work in preparing the cement and passing the
stones, to finish in the course of the day a huge buttress filling the
whole gang, and supported everywhere by the live rock.  Before the hour
when they usually dropped work, they were satisfied the mine was secure.

They had heard goblin hammers and pickaxes busy all the time, and at
length fancied they heard sounds of water they had never heard before.
But that was otherwise accounted for when they left the mine, for they
stepped out into a tremendous storm which was raging all over the
mountain.  The thunder was bellowing, and the lightning lancing out of
a huge black cloud which lay above it and hung down  its edges of thick
mist over its sides.  The lightning was breaking out of the mountain,
too, and flashing up into the cloud.  From the state of the brooks, now
swollen into raging torrents, it was evident that the storm had been
storming all day.

The wind was blowing as if it would blow him off the mountain, but,
anxious about his mother and the princess, Curdie darted up through the
thick of the tempest.  Even if they had not set out before the storm
came on, he did not judge them safe, for in such a storm even their
poor little house was in danger.  Indeed he soon found that but for a
huge rock against which it was built, and which protected it both from
the blasts and the waters, it must have been swept if it was not blown
away; for the two torrents into which this rock parted the rush of
water behind it united again in front of the cottage--two roaring and
dangerous streams, which his mother and the princess could not possibly
have passed.  It was with great difficulty that he forced his way
through one of them, and up to the door.

The moment his hand fell on the latch, through all the uproar of winds
and Waters came the joyous cry of the princess:

'There's Curdie!  Curdie!  Curdie!'

She was sitting wrapped in blankets on the bed, his mother trying for
the hundredth time to light the fire which had been drowned by the rain
that came down the chimney.  The clay floor was one mass of mud, and
the whole place looked wretched.  But the faces of the mother and the
princess shone as if their troubles only made them the merrier.  Curdie
burst out laughing at the sight of them.

'I never had such fun!' said the princess, her eyes twinkling and her
pretty teeth shining.  'How nice it must be to live in a cottage on the
mountain!'

'It all depends on what kind your inside house is,' said the mother.

'I know what you mean,' said Irene.  'That's the kind of thing my
grandmother says.'

By the time Peter returned the storm was nearly over, but the streams
were so fierce and so swollen that it was not only out of the question
for the princess to go down the mountain, but most dangerous for Peter
even or Curdie to make the attempt in the gathering darkness.

'They will be dreadfully frightened about you,' said Peter to the
princess, 'but we cannot help it.  We must wait till the morning.'

With Curdie's help, the fire was lighted at last, and the mother set
about making their supper; and after supper they all told the princess
stories till she grew sleepy.  Then Curdie's mother laid her in
Curdie's bed, which was in a tiny little garret-room.  As soon as she
was in bed, through a little window low down in the roof she caught
sight of her grandmother's lamp shining far away beneath, and she gazed
at the beautiful silvery globe until she fell asleep.




The King and the Kiss

The next morning the sun rose so bright that Irene said the rain had
washed his face and let the light out clean.  The torrents were still
roaring down the side of the mountain, but they were so much smaller as
not to be dangerous in the daylight.  After an early breakfast, Peter
went to his work and Curdie and his mother set out to take the princess
home.  They had difficulty in getting her dry across the streams, and
Curdie had again and again to carry her, but at last they got safe on
the broader part of the road, and walked gently down towards the king's
house.  And what should they see as they turned the last corner but the
last of the king's troop riding through the gate!

'Oh, Curdie!' cried Irene, clapping her hands right joyfully,'my
king-papa is come.'

The moment Curdie heard that, he caught her up in his arms, and set off
at full speed, crying:

'Come on, mother dear!  The king may break his heart before he knows
that she is safe.'

Irene clung round his neck and he ran with her like a deer.  When he
entered the gate into the court, there sat the king on his horse, with
all the people of the house about him, weeping and hanging their heads.
The king was not weeping, but his face was white as a dead man's, and
he looked as if the life had gone out of him.  The men-at-arms he had
brought with him sat with horror-stricken faces, but eyes flashing with
rage, waiting only for the word of the king to do something--they did
not know what, and nobody knew what.

The day before, the men-at-arms belonging to the house, as soon as they
were satisfied the princess had been carried away, rushed after the
goblins into the hole, but found that they had already so skilfully
blockaded the narrowest part, not many feet below the cellar, that
without miners and their tools they could do nothing. Not one of them
knew where the mouth of the mine lay, and some of those who had set out
to find it had been overtaken by the storm and had not even yet
returned.  Poor Sir Walter was especially filled with shame, and almost
hoped the king would order his head to be cut off, for to think of that
sweet little face down amongst the goblins was unendurable.

When Curdie ran in at the gate with the princess in his arms, they were
all so absorbed in their own misery and awed by the king's presence and
grief, that no one observed his arrival.  He went straight up to the
king, where he sat on his horse.

'Papa! papa!' the princess cried, stretching out her arms to him; 'here
I am!'

The king started.  The colour rushed to his face.  He gave an
inarticulate cry.  Curdie held up the princess, and the king bent down
and took her from his arms.  As he clasped her to his bosom, the big
tears went dropping down his cheeks and his beard.  And such a shout
arose from all the bystanders that the startled horses pranced and
capered, and the armour rang and clattered, and the rocks of the
mountain echoed back the noises.  The princess greeted them all as she
nestled in her father's bosom, and the king did not set her down until
she had told them all the story.  But she had more to tell about Curdie
than about herself, and what she did tell about herself none of them
could understand--except the king and Curdie, who stood by the king's
knee stroking the neck of the great white horse.  And still as she told
what Curdie had done, Sir Walter and others added to what she told,
even Lootie joining in the praises of his courage and energy.

Curdie held his peace, looking quietly up in the king's face.  And his
mother stood on the outskirts of the crowd listening with delight, for
her son's deeds were pleasant in her ears, until the princess caught
sight of her.

'And there is his mother, king-papa!' she said.  'See--there.  She is
such a nice mother, and has been so kind to me!'

They all parted asunder as the king made a sign to her to come forward.
She obeyed, and he gave her his hand, but could not speak.

'And now, king-papa,' the princess went on, 'I must tell you another
thing.  One night long ago Curdie drove the goblins away and brought
Lootie and me safe from the mountain.  And I promised him a kiss when
we got home, but Lootie wouldn't let me give it him.  I don't want you
to scold Lootie, but I want you to tell her that a princess must do as
she promises.'

'Indeed she must, my child--except it be wrong,' said the king. 'There,
give Curdie a kiss.'

And as he spoke he held her towards him.

The princess reached down, threw her arms round Curdie's neck, and
kissed him on the mouth, saying: 'There, Curdie!  There's the kiss I
promised you!'

Then they all went into the house, and the cook rushed to the kitchen
and the servants to their work.  Lootie dressed Irene in her shiningest
clothes, and the king put off his armour, and put on purple and gold;
and a messenger was sent for Peter and all the miners, and there was a
great and a grand feast, which continued long after the princess was
put to bed.




The Subterranean Waters

The king's harper, who always formed a part of his escort, was chanting
a ballad which he made as he went on playing on his instrument--about
the princess and the goblins, and the prowess of Curdie, when all at
once he ceased, with his eyes on one of the doors of the hall.
Thereupon the eyes of the king and his guests turned thitherward also.
The next moment, through the open doorway came the princess Irene.  She
went straight up to her father, with her right hand stretched out a
little sideways, and her forefinger, as her father and Curdie
understood, feeling its way along the invisible thread.  The king took
her on his knee, and she said in his ear:

'King-papa, do you hear that noise?'

'I hear nothing,' said the king.

'Listen,' she said, holding up her forefinger.

The king listened, and a great stillness fell upon the company. Each
man, seeing that the king listened, listened also, and the harper sat
with his harp between his arms, and his finger silent upon the strings.

'I do hear a noise,' said the king at length--'a noise as of distant
thunder.  It is coming nearer and nearer.  What can it be?'

They all heard it now, and each seemed ready to start to his feet as he
listened.  Yet all sat perfectly still.  The noise came rapidly nearer.

'What can it be?' said the king again.

'I think it must be another storm coming over the mountain,' said Sir
Walter.

Then Curdie, who at the first word of the king had slipped from his
seat, and laid his ear to the ground, rose up quickly, and approaching
the king said, speaking very fast:

'Please, Your Majesty, I think I know what it is.  I have no time to
explain, for that might make it too late for some of us.  Will Your
Majesty give orders that everybody leave the house as quickly as
possible and get up the mountain?'

The king, who was the wisest man in the kingdom, knew well there was a
time when things must be done and questions left till afterwards.  He
had faith in Curdie, and rose instantly, with Irene in his arms.
'Every man and woman follow me,' he said, and strode out into the
darkness.

Before he had reached the gate, the noise had grown to a great
thundering roar, and the ground trembled beneath their feet, and before
the last of them had crossed the court, out after them from the great
hall door came a huge rush of turbid water, and almost swept them away.
But they got safe out of the gate and up the mountain, while the
torrent went roaring down the road into the valley beneath.

Curdie had left the king and the princess to look after his mother,
whom he and his father, one on each side, caught up when the stream
overtook them and carried safe and dry.

When the king had got out of the way of the water, a little up the
mountain, he stood with the princess in his arms, looking back with
amazement on the issuing torrent, which glimmered fierce and foamy
through the night.  There Curdie rejoined them.

'Now, Curdie,' said the king, 'what does it mean?  Is this what you
expected?'

'It is, Your Majesty,' said Curdie; and proceeded to tell him about the
second scheme of the goblins, who, fancying the miners of more
importance to the upper world than they were, had resolved, if they
should fail in carrying off the king's daughter, to flood the mine and
drown the miners.  Then he explained what the miners had done to
prevent it.  The goblins had, in pursuance of their design, let loose
all the underground reservoirs and streams, expecting the water to run
down into the mine, which was lower than their part of the mountain,
for they had, as they supposed, not knowing of the solid wall close
behind, broken a passage through into it.  But the readiest outlet the
water could find had turned out to be the tunnel they had made to the
king's house, the possibility of which catastrophe had not occurred to
the young miner until he had laid his ear to the floor of the hall.

What was then to be done?  The house appeared in danger of falling, and
every moment the torrent was increasing.

'We must set out at once,' said the king.  'But how to get at the
horses!'

'Shall I see if we can manage that?' said Curdie.

'Do,' said the king.

Curdie gathered the men-at-arms, and took them over the garden wall,
and so to the stables.  They found their horses in terror; the water
was rising fast around them, and it was quite time they were got out.
But there was no way to get them out, except by riding them through the
stream, which was now pouring from the lower windows as well as the
door.  As one horse was quite enough for any man to manage through such
a torrent, Curdie got on the king's white charger and, leading the way,
brought them all in safety to the rising ground.

'Look, look, Curdie!' cried Irene, the moment that, having dismounted,
he led the horse up to the king.

Curdie did look, and saw, high in the air, somewhere about the top of
the king's house, a great globe of light shining like the purest silver.

'Oh!' he cried in some consternation, 'that is your grandmother's lamp!
We must get her out.  I will go an find her.  The house may fall, you
know.'

'My grandmother is in no danger,' said Irene, smiling.

'Here, Curdie, take the princess while I get on my horse,' said the
king.

Curdie took the princess again, and both turned their eyes to the globe
of light.  The same moment there shot from it a white bird, which,
descending with outstretched wings, made one circle round the king an
Curdie and the princess, and then glided up again.  The light and the
pigeon vanished together.

'Now, Curdie!' said the princess, as he lifted her to her father's
arms, 'you see my grandmother knows all about it, and isn't frightened.
I believe she could walk through that water and it wouldn't wet her a
bit.'

'But, my child,' said the king, 'you will be cold if you haven't
Something more on.  Run, Curdie, my boy, and fetch anything you can lay
your hands on, to keep the princess warm.  We have a long ride before
us.'

Curdie was gone in a moment, and soon returned with a great rich fur,
and the news that dead goblins were tossing about in the current
through the house.  They had been caught in their own snare; instead of
the mine they had flooded their own country, whence they were now swept
up drowned.  Irene shuddered, but the king held her close to his bosom.
Then he turned to Sir Walter, and said:

'Bring Curdie's father and mother here.'

'I wish,' said the king, when they stood before him, 'to take your son
with me.  He shall enter my bodyguard at once, and wait further
promotion.'

Peter and his wife, overcome, only murmured almost inaudible thanks.
But Curdie spoke aloud.

'Please, Your Majesty,' he said, 'I cannot leave my father and mother.'

'That's right, Curdie!' cried the princess.  'I wouldn't if I was you.'

The king looked at the princess and then at Curdie with a glow of
satisfaction on his countenance.

'I too think you are right, Curdie,' he said, 'and I will not ask you
again.  But I shall have a chance of doing something for you some time.'

'Your Majesty has already allowed me to serve you,' said Curdie.

'But, Curdie,' said his mother, 'why shouldn't you go with the king?
We can get on very well without you.'

'But I can't get on very well without you,' said Curdie.  'The king is
very kind, but I could not be half the use to him that I am to you.
Please, Your Majesty, if you wouldn't mind giving my mother a red
petticoat!  I should have got her one long ago, but for the goblins.'

'As soon as we get home,' said the king, 'Irene and I will search out
the warmest one to be found, and send it by one of the gentlemen.'

'Yes, that we will, Curdie!' said the princess.  'And next summer we'll
come back and see you wear it, Curdie's mother,' she added. 'Shan't we,
king-papa?'

'Yes, my love; I hope so,' said the king.

Then turning to the miners, he said:

'Will you do the best you can for my servants tonight?  I hope they
will be able to return to the house tomorrow.'

The miners with one voice promised their hospitality. Then the king
commanded his servants to mind whatever Curdie should say to them, and
after shaking hands with him and his father and mother, the king and
the princess and all their company rode away down the side of the new
stream, which had already devoured half the road, into the starry night.




The Last Chapter

All the rest went up the mountain, and separated in groups to the homes
of the miners.  Curdie and his father and mother took Lootie with them.
And the whole way a light, of which all but Lootie understood the
origin, shone upon their path.  But when they looked round they could
see nothing of the silvery globe.

For days and days the water continued to rush from the doors and
windows of the king's house, and a few goblin bodies were swept out
into the road.

Curdie saw that something must be done.  He spoke to his father and the
rest of the miners, and they at once proceeded to make another outlet
for the waters.  By setting all hands to the work, tunnelling here and
building there, they soon succeeded; and having also made a little
tunnel to drain the water away from under the king's house, they were
soon able to get into the wine cellar, where they found a multitude of
dead goblins--among the rest the queen, with the skin-shoe gone, and
the stone one fast to her ankle--for the water had swept away the
barricade, which prevented the men-at-arms from following the goblins,
and had greatly widened the passage.  They built it securely up, and
then went back to their labours in the mine.

A good many of the goblins with their creatures escaped from the
inundation out upon the mountain.  But most of them soon left that part
of the country, and most of those who remained grew milder in
character, and indeed became very much like the Scotch brownies. Their
skulls became softer as well as their hearts, and their feet grew
harder, and by degrees they became friendly with the inhabitants of the
mountain and even with the miners.  But the latter were merciless to
any of the cobs' creatures that came in their way, until at length they
all but disappeared.

The rest of the history of The Princess and Curdie must be kept for
another volume.











CONNLA AND THE FAIRY MAIDEN

Connla of the Fiery Hair was son of Conn of the Hundred Fights. One day
as he stood by the side of his father on the height of Usna, he saw a
maiden clad in strange attire coming towards him.

"Whence comest thou, maiden?" said Connla.

"I come from the Plains of the Ever Living," she said, "there where
there is neither death nor sin. There we keep holiday alway, nor need
we help from any in our joy. And in all our pleasure we have no strife.
And because we have our homes in the round green hills, men call us the
Hill Folk."

The king and all with him wondered much to hear a voice when they saw
no one. For save Connla alone, none saw the Fairy Maiden.

"To whom art thou talking, my son?" said Conn the king.

Then the maiden answered, "Connla speaks to a young, fair maid, whom
neither death nor old age awaits. I love Connla, and now I call him
away to the Plain of Pleasure, Moy Mell, where Boadag is king for aye,
nor has there been complaint or sorrow in that land since he has held
the kingship. Oh, come with me, Connla of the Fiery Hair, ruddy as the
dawn with thy tawny skin. A fairy crown awaits thee to grace thy comely
face and royal form. Come, and never shall thy comeliness fade, nor thy
youth, till the last awful day of judgment."

The king in fear at what the maiden said, which he heard though he
could not see her, called aloud to his Druid, Coran by name.

"Oh, Coran of the many spells," he said, "and of the cunning magic, I
call upon thy aid. A task is upon me too great for all my skill and
wit, greater than any laid upon me since I seized the kingship. A
maiden unseen has met us, and by her power would take from me my dear,
my comely son. If thou help not, he will be taken from thy king by
woman's wiles and witchery."

Then Coran the Druid stood forth and chanted his spells towards the
spot where the maiden's voice had been heard. And none heard her voice
again, nor could Connla see her longer. Only as she vanished before the
Druid's mighty spell, she threw an apple to Connla.

For a whole month from that day Connla would take nothing, either to
eat or to drink, save only from that apple. But as he ate it grew again
and always kept whole. And all the while there grew within him a mighty
yearning and longing after the maiden he had seen.

But when the last day of the month of waiting came, Connla stood by the
side of the king his father on the Plain of Arcomin, and again he saw
the maiden come towards him, and again she spoke to him.

"'Tis a glorious place, forsooth, that Connla holds among short-lived
mortals awaiting the day of death. But now the folk of life, the
ever-living ones, beg and bid thee come to Moy Mell, the Plain of
Pleasure, for they have learnt to know thee, seeing thee in thy home
among thy dear ones."

When Conn the king heard the maiden's voice he called to his men aloud
and said:

"Summon swift my Druid Coran, for I see she has again this day the
power of speech."

Then the maiden said: "Oh, mighty Conn, fighter of a hundred fights,
the Druid's power is little loved; it has little honour in the mighty
land, peopled with so many of the upright. When the Law will come, it
will do away with the Druid's magic spells that come from the lips of
the false black demon."

Then Conn the king observed that since the maiden came, Connla his son
spoke to none that spake to him. So Conn of the hundred fights said to
him, "Is it to thy mind what the woman says, my son?"

"'Tis hard upon me," then said Connla; "I love my own folk above all
things; but yet, but yet a longing seizes me for the maiden."

When the maiden heard this, she answered and said "The ocean is not so
strong as the waves of thy longing. Come with me in my curragh, the
gleaming, straight-gliding crystal canoe. Soon we can reach Boadag's
realm. I see the bright sun sink, yet far as it is, we can reach it
before dark. There is, too, another land worthy of thy journey, a land
joyous to all that seek it. Only wives and maidens dwell there. If thou
wilt, we can seek it and live there alone together in joy."

When the maiden ceased to speak, Connla of the Fiery Hair rushed away
from them and sprang into the curragh, the gleaming, straight-gliding
crystal canoe. And then they all, king and court, saw it glide away
over the bright sea towards the setting sun. Away and away, till eye
could see it no longer, and Connla and the Fairy Maiden went their way
on the sea, and were no more seen, nor did any know where they came.




GULEESH

There was once a boy in the County Mayo; Guleesh was his name. There
was the finest rath a little way off from the gable of the house, and
he was often in the habit of seating himself on the fine grass bank
that was running round it. One night he stood, half leaning against the
gable of the house, and looking up into the sky, and watching the
beautiful white moon over his head. After he had been standing that way
for a couple of hours, he said to himself: "My bitter grief that I am
not gone away out of this place altogether. I'd sooner be any place in
the world than here. Och, it's well for you, white moon," says he,
"that's turning round, turning round, as you please yourself, and no
man can put you back. I wish I was the same as you."

Hardly was the word out of his mouth when he heard a great noise coming
like the sound of many people running together, and talking, and
laughing, and making sport, and the sound went by him like a whirl of
wind, and he was listening to it going into the rath. "Musha, by my
soul," says he, "but ye're merry enough, and I'll follow ye."

What was in it but the fairy host, though he did not know at first that
it was they who were in it, but he followed them into the rath. It's
there he heard the _fulparnee_, and the _folpornee_, the
_rap-lay-hoota_, and the _roolya-boolya_, that they had there, and
every man of them crying out as loud as he could: "My horse, and
bridle, and saddle! My horse, and bridle, and saddle!"

"By my hand," said Guleesh, "my boy, that's not bad. I'll imitate ye,"
and he cried out as well as they: "My horse, and bridle, and saddle! My
horse, and bridle, and saddle!" And on the moment there was a fine
horse with a bridle of gold, and a saddle of silver, standing before
him. He leaped up on it, and the moment he was on its back he saw
clearly that the rath was full of horses, and of little people going
riding on them.

Said a man of them to him: "Are you coming with us to-night, Guleesh?"

"I am surely," said Guleesh.

"If you are, come along," said the little man, and out they went all
together, riding like the wind, faster than the fastest horse ever you
saw a-hunting, and faster than the fox and the hounds at his tail.

The cold winter's wind that was before them, they overtook her, and the
cold winter's wind that was behind them, she did not overtake them. And
stop nor stay of that full race, did they make none, until they came to
the brink of the sea.

Then every one of them said: "Hie over cap! Hie over cap!" and that
moment they were up in the air, and before Guleesh had time to remember
where he was, they were down on dry land again, and were going like the
wind.

At last they stood still, and a man of them said to Guleesh: "Guleesh,
do you know where you are now?"

"Not a know," says Guleesh.

"You're in France, Guleesh," said he. "The daughter of the king of
France is to be married to-night, the handsomest woman that the sun
ever saw, and we must do our best to bring her with us; if we're only
able to carry her off; and you must come with us that we may be able to
put the young girl up behind you on the horse, when we'll be bringing
her away, for it's not lawful for us to put her sitting behind
ourselves. But you're flesh and blood, and she can take a good grip of
you, so that she won't fall off the horse. Are you satisfied, Guleesh,
and will you do what we're telling you?"

"Why shouldn't I be satisfied?" said Guleesh. "I'm satisfied, surely,
and anything that ye will tell me to do I'll do it without doubt."

They got off their horses there, and a man of them said a word that
Guleesh did not understand, and on the moment they were lifted up, and
Guleesh found himself and his companions in the palace. There was a
great feast going on there, and there was not a nobleman or a gentleman
in the kingdom but was gathered there, dressed in silk and satin, and
gold and silver, and the night was as bright as the day with all the
lamps and candles that were lit, and Guleesh had to shut his two eyes
at the brightness. When he opened them again and looked from him, he
thought he never saw anything as fine as all he saw there. There were a
hundred tables spread out, and their full of meat and drink on each
table of them, flesh-meat, and cakes and sweetmeats, and wine and ale,
and every drink that ever a man saw. The musicians were at the two ends
of the hall, and they were playing the sweetest music that ever a man's
ear heard, and there were young women and fine youths in the middle of
the hall, dancing and turning, and going round so quickly and so
lightly, that it put a _soorawn_ in Guleesh's head to be looking at
them. There were more there playing tricks, and more making fun and
laughing, for such a feast as there was that day had not been in France
for twenty years, because the old king had no children alive but only
the one daughter, and she was to be married to the son of another king
that night. Three days the feast was going on, and the third night she
was to be married, and that was the night that Guleesh and the
sheehogues came, hoping, if they could, to carry off with them the
king's young daughter.

Guleesh and his companions were standing together at the head of the
hall, where there was a fine altar dressed up, and two bishops behind
it waiting to marry the girl, as soon as the right time should come.
Now nobody could see the sheehogues, for they said a word as they came
in, that made them all invisible, as if they had not been in it at all.

"Tell me which of them is the king's daughter," said Guleesh, when he
was becoming a little used to the noise and the light.

"Don't you see her there away from you?" said the little man that he
was talking to.

Guleesh looked where the little man was pointing with his finger, and
there he saw the loveliest woman that was, he thought, upon the ridge
of the world. The rose and the lily were fighting together in her face,
and one could not tell which of them got the victory. Her arms and
hands were like the lime, her mouth as red as a strawberry when it is
ripe, her foot was as small and as light as another one's hand, her
form was smooth and slender, and her hair was falling down from her
head in buckles of gold. Her garments and dress were woven with gold
and silver, and the bright stone that was in the ring on her hand was
as shining as the sun.

Guleesh was nearly blinded with all the loveliness and beauty that was
in her; but when he looked again, he saw that she was crying, and that
there was the trace of tears in her eyes. "It can't be," said Guleesh,
"that there's grief on her, when everybody round her is so full of
sport and merriment."

"Musha, then, she is grieved," said the little man; "for it's against
her own will she's marrying, and she has no love for the husband she is
to marry. The king was going to give her to him three years ago, when
she was only fifteen, but she said she was too young, and requested him
to leave her as she was yet. The king gave her a year's grace, and when
that year was up he gave her another year's grace, and then another;
but a week or a day he would not give her longer, and she is eighteen
years old to-night, and it's time for her to marry; but, indeed," says
he, and he crooked his mouth in an ugly way--"indeed, it's no king's
son she'll marry, if I can help it."

Guleesh pitied the handsome young lady greatly when he heard that, and
he was heart-broken to think that it would be necessary for her to
marry a man she did not like, or, what was worse, to take a nasty
sheehogue for a husband. However, he did not say a word, though he
could not help giving many a curse to the ill-luck that was laid out
for himself, to be helping the people that were to snatch her away from
her home and from her father.

He began thinking, then, what it was he ought to do to save her, but he
could think of nothing. "Oh! if I could only give her some help and
relief," said he, "I wouldn't care whether I were alive or dead; but I
see nothing that I can do for her."

He was looking on when the king's son came up to her and asked her for
a kiss, but she turned her head away from him. Guleesh had double pity
for her then, when he saw the lad taking her by the soft white hand,
and drawing her out to dance. They went round in the dance near where
Guleesh was, and he could plainly see that there were tears in her eyes.

When the dancing was over, the old king, her father, and her mother the
queen, came up and said that this was the right time to marry her, that
the bishop was ready, and it was time to put the wedding-ring on her
and give her to her husband.

The king took the youth by the hand, and the queen took her daughter,
and they went up together to the altar, with the lords and great people
following them.

When they came near the altar, and were no more than about four yards
from it, the little sheehogue stretched out his foot before the girl,
and she fell. Before she was able to rise again he threw something that
was in his hand upon her, said a couple of words, and upon the moment
the maiden was gone from amongst them. Nobody could see her, for that
word made her invisible. The little man_een_ seized her and raised her
up behind Guleesh, and the king nor no one else saw them, but out with
them through the hall till they came to the door.

Oro! dear Mary! it's there the pity was, and the trouble, and the
crying, and the wonder, and the searching, and the _rookawn_, when that
lady disappeared from their eyes, and without their seeing what did it.
Out of the door of the palace they went, without being stopped or
hindered, for nobody saw them, and, "My horse, my bridle, and saddle!"
says every man of them. "My horse, my bridle, and saddle!" says
Guleesh; and on the moment the horse was standing ready caparisoned
before him. "Now, jump up, Guleesh," said the little man, "and put the
lady behind you, and we will be going; the morning is not far off from
us now."

Guleesh raised her up on the horse's back, and leaped up himself before
her, and, "Rise, horse," said he; and his horse, and the other horses
with him, went in a full race until they came to the sea.

"Hie over cap!" said every man of them.

"Hie over cap!" said Guleesh; and on the moment the horse rose under
him, and cut a leap in the clouds, and came down in Erin.

They did not stop there, but went of a race to the place where was
Guleesh's house and the rath. And when they came as far as that,
Guleesh turned and caught the young girl in his two arms, and leaped
off the horse.

"I call and cross you to myself, in the name of God!" said he; and on
the spot, before the word was out of his mouth, the horse fell down,
and what was in it but the beam of a plough, of which they had made a
horse; and every other horse they had, it was that way they made it.
Some of them were riding on an old besom, and some on a broken stick,
and more on a bohalawn or a hemlock-stalk.

The good people called out together when they heard what Guleesh said:

"Oh! Guleesh, you clown, you thief, that no good may happen you, why
did you play that trick on us?"

But they had no power at all to carry off the girl, after Guleesh had
consecrated her to himself.

"Oh! Guleesh, isn't that a nice turn you did us, and we so kind to you?
What good have we now out of our journey to France. Never mind yet, you
clown, but you'll pay us another time for this. Believe us, you'll
repent it."

"He'll have no good to get out of the young girl," said the little man
that was talking to him in the palace before that, and as he said the
word he moved over to her and struck her a slap on the side of the
head. "Now," says he, "she'll be without talk any more; now, Guleesh,
what good will she be to you when she'll be dumb? It's time for us to
go--but you'll remember us, Guleesh!"

When he said that he stretched out his two hands, and before Guleesh
was able to give an answer, he and the rest of them were gone into the
rath out of his sight, and he saw them no more.

He turned to the young woman and said to her: "Thanks be to God,
they're gone. Would you not sooner stay with me than with them?" She
gave him no answer. "There's trouble and grief on her yet," said
Guleesh in his own mind, and he spoke to her again: "I am afraid that
you must spend this night in my father's house, lady, and if there is
anything that I can do for you, tell me, and I'll be your servant."

The beautiful girl remained silent, but there were tears in her eyes,
and her face was white and red after each other.

"Lady," said Guleesh, "tell me what you would like me to do now. I
never belonged at all to that lot of sheehogues who carried you away
with them. I am the son of an honest farmer, and I went with them
without knowing it. If I'll be able to send you back to your father
I'll do it, and I pray you make any use of me now that you may wish."

He looked into her face, and he saw the mouth moving as if she was
going to speak, but there came no word from it.

"It cannot be," said Guleesh, "that you are dumb. Did I not hear you
speaking to the king's son in the palace to-night? Or has that devil
made you really dumb, when he struck his nasty hand on your jaw?"

The girl raised her white smooth hand, and laid her finger on her
tongue, to show him that she had lost her voice and power of speech,
and the tears ran out of her two eyes like streams, and Guleesh's own
eyes were not dry, for as rough as he was on the outside he had a soft
heart, and could not stand the sight of the young girl, and she in that
unhappy plight.

He began thinking with himself what he ought to do, and he did not like
to bring her home with himself to his father's house, for he knew well
that they would not believe him, that he had been in France and brought
back with him the king of France's daughter, and he was afraid they
might make a mock of the young lady or insult her.

As he was doubting what he ought to do, and hesitating, he chanced to
remember the priest. "Glory be to God," said he, "I know now what I'll
do; I'll bring her to the priest's house, and he won't refuse me to
keep the lady and care for her." He turned to the lady again and told
her that he was loth to take her to his father's house, but that there
was an excellent priest very friendly to himself, who would take good
care of her, if she wished to remain in his house; but that if there
was any other place she would rather go, he said he would bring her to
it.

She bent her head, to show him she was obliged, and gave him to
understand that she was ready to follow him any place he was going. "We
will go to the priest's house, then," said he; "he is under an
obligation to me, and will do anything I ask him."

They went together accordingly to the priest's house, and the sun was
just rising when they came to the door. Guleesh beat it hard, and as
early as it was the priest was up, and opened the door himself. He
wondered when he saw Guleesh and the girl, for he was certain that it
was coming wanting to be married they were.

"Guleesh, Guleesh, isn't it the nice boy you are that you can't wait
till ten o'clock or till twelve, but that you must be coming to me at
this hour, looking for marriage, you and your sweetheart? You ought to
know that I can't marry you at such a time, or, at all events, can't
marry you lawfully. But ubbubboo!" said he, suddenly, as he looked
again at the young girl, "in the name of God, who have you here? Who is
she, or how did you get her?"

"Father," said Guleesh, "you can marry me, or anybody else, if you
wish; but it's not looking for marriage I came to you now, but to ask
you, if you please, to give a lodging in your house to this young lady."

The priest looked at him as though he had ten heads on him; but without
putting any other question to him, he desired him to come in, himself
and the maiden, and when they came in, he shut the door, brought them
into the parlour, and put them sitting.

"Now, Guleesh," said he, "tell me truly who is this young lady, and
whether you're out of your senses really, or are only making a joke of
me."

"I'm not telling a word of lie, nor making a joke of you," said
Guleesh; "but it was from the palace of the king of France I carried
off this lady, and she is the daughter of the king of France."

He began his story then, and told the whole to the priest, and the
priest was so much surprised that he could not help calling out at
times, or clapping his hands together.

When Guleesh said from what he saw he thought the girl was not
satisfied with the marriage that was going to take place in the palace
before he and the sheehogues broke it up, there came a red blush into
the girl's cheek, and he was more certain than ever that she had sooner
be as she was--badly as she was--than be the married wife of the man
she hated. When Guleesh said that he would be very thankful to the
priest if he would keep her in his own house, the kind man said he
would do that as long as Guleesh pleased, but that he did not know what
they ought to do with her, because they had no means of sending her
back to her father again.

Guleesh answered that he was uneasy about the same thing, and that he
saw nothing to do but to keep quiet until they should find some
opportunity of doing something better. They made it up then between
themselves that the priest should let on that it was his brother's
daughter he had, who was come on a visit to him from another county,
and that he should tell everybody that she was dumb, and do his best to
keep every one away from her. They told the young girl what it was they
intended to do, and she showed by her eyes that she was obliged to them.

Guleesh went home then, and when his people asked him where he had
been, he said that he had been asleep at the foot of the ditch, and had
passed the night there.

There was great wonderment on the priest's neighbours at the girl who
came so suddenly to his house without any one knowing where she was
from, or what business she had there. Some of the people said that
everything was not as it ought to be, and others, that Guleesh was not
like the same man that was in it before, and that it was a great story,
how he was drawing every day to the priest's house, and that the priest
had a wish and a respect for him, a thing they could not clear up at
all.

That was true for them, indeed, for it was seldom the day went by but
Guleesh would go to the priest's house, and have a talk with him, and
as often as he would come he used to hope to find the young lady well
again, and with leave to speak; but, alas! she remained dumb and
silent, without relief or cure. Since she had no other means of
talking, she carried on a sort of conversation between herself and
himself, by moving her hand and fingers, winking her eyes, opening and
shutting her mouth, laughing or smiling, and a thousand other signs, so
that it was not long until they understood each other very well.
Guleesh was always thinking how he should send her back to her father;
but there was no one to go with her, and he himself did not know what
road to go, for he had never been out of his own country before the
night he brought her away with him. Nor had the priest any better
knowledge than he; but when Guleesh asked him, he wrote three or four
letters to the king of France, and gave them to buyers and sellers of
wares, who used to be going from place to place across the sea; but
they all went astray, and never a one came to the king's hand.

This was the way they were for many months, and Guleesh was falling
deeper and deeper in love with her every day, and it was plain to
himself and the priest that she liked him. The boy feared greatly at
last, lest the king should really hear where his daughter was, and take
her back from himself, and he besought the priest to write no more, but
to leave the matter to God.

So they passed the time for a year, until there came a day when Guleesh
was lying by himself, on the grass, on the last day of the last month
in autumn, and he was thinking over again in his own mind of everything
that happened to him from the day that he went with the sheehogues
across the sea. He remembered then, suddenly, that it was one November
night that he was standing at the gable of the house, when the
whirlwind came, and the sheehogues in it, and he said to himself: "We
have November night again to-day, and I'll stand in the same place I
was last year, until I see if the good people come again. Perhaps I
might see or hear something that would be useful to me, and might bring
back her talk again to Mary"--that was the name himself and the priest
called the king's daughter, for neither of them knew her right name. He
told his intention to the priest, and the priest gave him his blessing.

Guleesh accordingly went to the old rath when the night was darkening,
and he stood with his bent elbow leaning on a grey old flag, waiting
till the middle of the night should come. The moon rose slowly; and it
was like a knob of fire behind him; and there was a white fog which was
raised up over the fields of grass and all damp places, through the
coolness of the night after a great heat in the day. The night was calm
as is a lake when there is not a breath of wind to move a wave on it,
and there was no sound to be heard but the _cronawn_ of the insects
that would go by from time to time, or the hoarse sudden scream of the
wild-geese, as they passed from lake to lake, half a mile up in the air
over his head; or the sharp whistle of the golden and green plover,
rising and lying, lying and rising, as they do on a calm night. There
were a thousand thousand bright stars shining over his head, and there
was a little frost out, which left the grass under his foot white and
crisp.

He stood there for an hour, for two hours, for three hours, and the
frost increased greatly, so that he heard the breaking of the
_traneens_ under his foot as often as he moved. He was thinking, in his
own mind, at last, that the sheehogues would not come that night, and
that it was as good for him to return back again, when he heard a sound
far away from him, coming towards him, and he recognised what it was at
the first moment. The sound increased, and at first it was like the
beating of waves on a stony shore, and then it was like the falling of
a great waterfall, and at last it was like a loud storm in the tops of
the trees, and then the whirlwind burst into the rath of one rout, and
the sheehogues were in it.

It all went by him so suddenly that he lost his breath with it, but he
came to himself on the spot, and put an ear on himself, listening to
what they would say.

Scarcely had they gathered into the rath till they all began shouting,
and screaming, and talking amongst themselves; and then each one of
them cried out: "My horse, and bridle, and saddle! My horse, and
bridle, and saddle!" and Guleesh took courage, and called out as loudly
as any of them: "My horse, and bridle, and saddle! My horse, and
bridle, and saddle!" But before the word was well out of his mouth,
another man cried out: "Ora! Guleesh, my boy, are you here with us
again? How are you getting on with your woman? There's no use in your
calling for your horse to-night. I'll go bail you won't play such a
trick on us again. It was a good trick you played on us last year?"

"It was," said another man; "he won't do it again."

"Isn't he a prime lad, the same lad! to take a woman with him that
never said as much to him as, 'How do you do?' since this time last
year!" says the third man.

"Perhaps be likes to be looking at her," said another voice.

"And if the _omadawn_ only knew that there's an herb growing up by his
own door, and if he were to boil it and give it to her, she'd be well,"
said another voice.

"That's true for you."

"He is an omadawn."

"Don't bother your head with him; we'll be going."

"We'll leave the _bodach_ as he is."

And with that they rose up into the air, and out with them with one
_roolya-boolya_ the way they came; and they left poor Guleesh standing
where they found him, and the two eyes going out of his head, looking
after them and wondering.

He did not stand long till he returned back, and he thinking in his own
mind on all he saw and heard, and wondering whether there was really an
herb at his own door that would bring back the talk to the king's
daughter. "It can't be," says he to himself, "that they would tell it
to me, if there was any virtue in it; but perhaps the sheehogue didn't
observe himself when he let the word slip out of his mouth. I'll search
well as soon as the sun rises, whether there's any plant growing beside
the house except thistles and dockings."

He went home, and as tired as he was he did not sleep a wink until the
sun rose on the morrow. He got up then, and it was the first thing he
did to go out and search well through the grass round about the house,
trying could he get any herb that he did not recognise. And, indeed, he
was not long searching till he observed a large strange herb that was
growing up just by the gable of the house.

He went over to it, and observed it closely, and saw that there were
seven little branches coming out of the stalk, and seven leaves growing
on every branch_een_ of them; and that there was a white sap in the
leaves. "It's very wonderful," said he to himself, "that I never
noticed this herb before. If there's any virtue in an herb at all, it
ought to be in such a strange one as this."

He drew out his knife, cut the plant, and carried it into his own
house; stripped the leaves off it and cut up the stalk; and there came
a thick, white juice out of it, as there comes out of the sow-thistle
when it is bruised, except that the juice was more like oil.

He put it in a little pot and a little water in it, and laid it on the
fire until the water was boiling, and then he took a cup, filled it
half up with the juice, and put it to his own mouth. It came into his
head then that perhaps it was poison that was in it, and that the good
people were only tempting him that he might kill himself with that
trick, or put the girl to death without meaning it. He put down the cup
again, raised a couple of drops on the top of his finger, and put it to
his mouth. It was not bitter, and, indeed, had a sweet, agreeable
taste. He grew bolder then, and drank the full of a thimble of it, and
then as much again, and he never stopped till he had half the cup
drunk. He fell asleep after that, and did not wake till it was night,
and there was great hunger and great thirst on him.

He had to wait, then, till the day rose; but he determined, as soon as
he should wake in the morning, that he would go to the king's daughter
and give her a drink of the juice of the herb.

As soon as he got up in the morning, he went over to the priest's house
with the drink in his hand, and he never felt himself so bold and
valiant, and spirited and light, as he was that day, and he was quite
certain that it was the drink he drank which made him so hearty.

When he came to the house, he found the priest and the young lady
within, and they were wondering greatly why he had not visited them for
two days.

He told them all his news, and said that he was certain that there was
great power in that herb, and that it would do the lady no hurt, for he
tried it himself and got good from it, and then he made her taste it,
for he vowed and swore that there was no harm in it.

Guleesh handed her the cup, and she drank half of it, and then fell
back on her bed and a heavy sleep came on her, and she never woke out
of that sleep till the day on the morrow.

Guleesh and the priest sat up the entire night with her, waiting till
she should awake, and they between hope and unhope, between expectation
of saving her and fear of hurting her.

She awoke at last when the sun had gone half its way through the
heavens. She rubbed her eyes and looked like a person who did not know
where she was. She was like one astonished when she saw Guleesh and the
priest in the same room with her, and she sat up doing her best to
collect her thoughts.

The two men were in great anxiety waiting to see would she speak, or
would she not speak, and when they remained silent for a couple of
minutes, the priest said to her: "Did you sleep well, Mary?"

And she answered him: "I slept, thank you."

No sooner did Guleesh hear her talking than he put a shout of joy out
of him, and ran over to her and fell on his two knees, and said: "A
thousand thanks to God, who has given you back the talk; lady of my
heart, speak again to me."

The lady answered him that she understood it was he who boiled that
drink for her, and gave it to her; that she was obliged to him from her
heart for all the kindness he showed her since the day she first came
to Ireland, and that he might be certain that she never would forget it.

Guleesh was ready to die with satisfaction and delight. Then they
brought her food, and she ate with a good appetite, and was merry and
joyous, and never left off talking with the priest while she was eating.

After that Guleesh went home to his house, and stretched himself on the
bed and fell asleep again, for the force of the herb was not all spent,
and he passed another day and a night sleeping. When he woke up he went
back to the priest's house, and found that the young lady was in the
same state, and that she was asleep almost since the time that he left
the house.

He went into her chamber with the priest, and they remained watching
beside her till she awoke the second time, and she had her talk as well
as ever, and Guleesh was greatly rejoiced. The priest put food on the
table again, and they ate together, and Guleesh used after that to come
to the house from day to day, and the friendship that was between him
and the king's daughter increased, because she had no one to speak to
except Guleesh and the priest, and she liked Guleesh best.

So they married one another, and that was the fine wedding they had,
and if I were to be there then, I would not be here now; but I heard it
from a birdeen that there was neither cark nor care, sickness nor
sorrow, mishap nor misfortune on them till the hour of their death, and
may the same be with me, and with us all!




THE FIELD OF BOLIAUNS

One fine day in harvest--it was indeed Lady-day in harvest, that
everybody knows to be one of the greatest holidays in the year--Tom
Fitzpatrick was taking a ramble through the ground, and went along the
sunny side of a hedge; when all of a sudden he heard a clacking sort of
noise a little before him in the hedge. "Dear me," said Tom, "but isn't
it surprising to hear the stonechatters singing so late in the season?"
So Tom stole on, going on the tops of his toes to try if he could get a
sight of what was making the noise, to see if he was right in his
guess. The noise stopped; but as Tom looked sharply through the bushes,
what should he see in a nook of the hedge but a brown pitcher, that
might hold about a gallon and a half of liquor; and by-and-by a little
wee teeny tiny bit of an old man, with a little _motty_ of a cocked hat
stuck upon the top of his head, a deeshy daushy leather apron hanging
before him, pulled out a little wooden stool, and stood up upon it, and
dipped a little piggin into the pitcher, and took out the full of it,
and put it beside the stool, and then sat down under the pitcher, and
began to work at putting a heel-piece on a bit of a brogue just fit for
himself. "Well, by the powers," said Tom to himself, "I often heard
tell of the Lepracauns, and, to tell God's truth, I never rightly
believed in them--but here's one of them in real earnest. If I go
knowingly to work, I'm a made man. They say a body must never take
their eyes off them, or they'll escape."

Tom now stole on a little further, with his eye fixed on the little man
just as a cat does with a mouse. So when he got up quite close to him,
"God bless your work, neighbour," said Tom.

The little man raised up his head, and "Thank you kindly," said he.

"I wonder you'd be working on the holiday!" said Tom.

"That's my own business, not yours," was the reply.

"Well, may be you'd be civil enough to tell _us_ what you've got in the
pitcher there?" said Tom.

"That I will, with pleasure," said he; "it's good beer."

"Beer!" said Tom. "Thunder and fire! where did you get it?"

"Where did I get it, is it?  Why, I made it. And what do you think I
made it of?"

"Devil a one of me knows," said Tom; "but of malt, I suppose, what
else?"

"There you're out. I made it of heath."

"Of heath!" said Tom, bursting out laughing; "sure you don't think me
to be such a fool as to believe that?"

"Do as you please," said he, "but what I tell you is the truth. Did you
never hear tell of the Danes?"

"Well, what about _them_?" said Tom.

"Why, all the about them there is, is that when they were here they
taught us to make beer out of the heath, and the secret's in my family
ever since."

"Will you give a body a taste of your beer?" said Tom.

"I'll tell you what it is, young man, it would be fitter for you to be
looking after your father's property than to be bothering decent quiet
people with your foolish questions. There now, while you're idling away
your time here, there's the cows have broke into the oats, and are
knocking the corn all about."

Tom was taken so by surprise with this that he was just on the very
point of turning round when he recollected himself; so, afraid that the
like might happen again, he made a grab at the Lepracaun, and caught
him up in his hand; but in his hurry he overset the pitcher, and spilt
all the beer, so that he could not get a taste of it to tell what sort
it was. He then swore that he would kill him if he did not show him
where his money was. Tom looked so wicked and so bloody-minded that the
little man was quite frightened; so says he, "Come along with me a
couple of fields off, and I'll show you a crock of gold."

So they went, and Tom held the Lepracaun fast in his hand, and never
took his eyes from off him, though they had to cross hedges and
ditches, and a crooked bit of bog, till at last they came to a great
field all full of boliauns, and the Lepracaun pointed to a big boliaun,
and says he, "Dig under that boliaun, and you'll get the great crock
all full of guineas."

Tom in his hurry had never thought of bringing a spade with him, so he
made up his mind to run home and fetch one; and that he might know the
place again he took off one of his red garters, and tied it round the
boliaun.

Then he said to the Lepracaun, "Swear ye'll not take that garter away
from that boliaun." And the Lepracaun swore right away not to touch it.

"I suppose," said the Lepracaun, very civilly, "you have no further
occasion for me?"

"No," says Tom; "you may go away now, if you please, and God speed you,
and may good luck attend you wherever you go."

"Well, good-bye to you, Tom Fitzpatrick," said the Lepracaun; "and much
good may it do you when you get it."

So Tom ran for dear life, till he came home and got a spade, and then
away with him, as hard as he could go, back to the field of boliauns;
but when he got there, lo and behold! not a boliaun in the field but
had a red garter, the very model of his own, tied about it; and as to
digging up the whole field, that was all nonsense, for there were more
than forty good Irish acres in it. So Tom came home again with his
spade on his shoulder, a little cooler than he went, and many's the
hearty curse he gave the Lepracaun every time he thought of the neat
turn he had served him.



THE HORNED WOMEN

A rich woman sat up late one night carding and preparing wool, while
all the family and servants were asleep. Suddenly a knock was given at
the door, and a voice called, "Open! open!"

"Who is there?" said the woman of the house.

"I am the Witch of one Horn," was answered.

The mistress, supposing that one of her neighbours had called and
required assistance, opened the door, and a woman entered, having in
her hand a pair of wool-carders, and bearing a horn on her forehead, as
if growing there. She sat down by the fire in silence, and began to
card the wool with violent haste. Suddenly she paused, and said aloud:
"Where are the women? they delay too long."

Then a second knock came to the door, and a voice called as before,
"Open! open!"

The mistress felt herself obliged to rise and open to the call, and
immediately a second witch entered, having two horns on her forehead,
and in her hand a wheel for spinning wool.

"Give me place," she said; "I am the Witch of the two Horns," and she
began to spin as quick as lightning.

And so the knocks went on, and the call was heard, and the witches
entered, until at last twelve women sat round the fire--the first with
one horn, the last with twelve horns.

And they carded the thread, and turned their spinning-wheels, and wound
and wove, all singing together an ancient rhyme, but no word did they
speak to the mistress of the house. Strange to hear, and frightful to
look upon, were these twelve women, with their horns and their wheels;
and the mistress felt near to death, and she tried to rise that she
might call for help, but she could not move, nor could she utter a word
or a cry, for the spell of the witches was upon her.

Then one of them called to her in Irish, and said, "Rise, woman, and
make us a cake."

Then the mistress searched for a vessel to bring water from the well
that she might mix the meal and make the cake, but she could find none.

And they said to her, "Take a sieve and bring water in it."

And she took the sieve and went to the well; but the water poured from
it, and she could fetch none for the cake, and she sat down by the well
and wept.

Then a voice came by her and said, "Take yellow clay and moss, and bind
them together, and plaster the sieve so that it will hold."

This she did, and the sieve held the water for the cake; and the voice
said again:

"Return, and when thou comest to the north angle of the house, cry
aloud three times and say, 'The mountain of the Fenian women and the
sky over it is all on fire.'"

And she did so.

When the witches inside heard the call, a great and terrible cry broke
from their lips, and they rushed forth with wild lamentations and
shrieks, and fled away to Slievenamon, where was their chief abode. But
the Spirit of the Well bade the mistress of the house to enter and
prepare her home against the enchantments of the witches if they
returned again.

And first, to break their spells, she sprinkled the water in which she
had washed her child's feet, the feet-water, outside the door on the
threshold; secondly, she took the cake which in her absence the witches
had made of meal mixed with the blood drawn from the sleeping family,
and she broke the cake in bits, and placed a bit in the mouth of each
sleeper, and they were restored; and she took the cloth they had woven,
and placed it half in and half out of the chest with the padlock; and
lastly, she secured the door with a great crossbeam fastened in the
jambs, so that the witches could not enter, and having done these
things she waited.

Not long were the witches in coming back, and they raged and called for
vengeance.

"Open! open!" they screamed; "open, feet-water!"

"I cannot," said the feet-water; "I am scattered on the ground, and my
path is down to the Lough."

"Open, open, wood and trees and beam!" they cried to the door.

"I cannot," said the door, "for the beam is fixed in the jambs and I
have no power to move."

"Open, open, cake that we have made and mingled with blood!" they cried
again.

"I cannot," said the cake, "for I am broken and bruised, and my blood
is on the lips of the sleeping children."

Then the witches rushed through the air with great cries, and fled back
to Slievenamon, uttering strange curses on the Spirit of the Well, who
had wished their ruin; but the woman and the house were left in peace,
and a mantle dropped by one of the witches in her flight was kept hung
up by the mistress in memory of that night; and this mantle was kept by
the same family from generation to generation for five hundred years
after.



CONALL YELLOWCLAW

Conall Yellowclaw was a sturdy tenant in Erin: he had three sons. There
was at that time a king over every fifth of Erin. It fell out for the
children of the king that was near Conall, that they themselves and the
children of Conall came to blows. The children of Conall got the upper
hand, and they killed the king's big son. The king sent a message for
Conall, and he said to him--"Oh, Conall! what made your sons go to
spring on my sons till my big son was killed by your children? but I
see that though I follow you revengefully, I shall not be much better
for it, and I will now set a thing before you, and if you will do it, I
will not follow you with revenge. If you and your sons will get me the
brown horse of the king of Lochlann, you shall get the souls of your
sons."

"Why," said Conall, "should not I do the pleasure of the king, though
there should be no souls of my sons in dread at all. Hard is the matter
you require of me, but I will lose my own life, and the life of my
sons, or else I will do the pleasure of the king."

After these words Conall left the king, and he went home: when he got
home he was under much trouble and perplexity. When he went to lie down
he told his wife the thing the king had set before him. His wife took
much sorrow that he was obliged to part from herself, while she knew
not if she should see him more.

"Oh, Conall," said she, "why didst not thou let the king do his own
pleasure to thy sons, rather than be going now, while I know not if
ever I shall see thee more?"

When he rose on the morrow, he set himself and his three sons in order,
and they took their journey towards Lochlann, and they made no stop but
tore through ocean till they reached it. When they reached Lochlann
they did not know what they should do. Said the old man to his sons,
"Stop ye, and we will seek out the house of the king's miller."

When they went into the house of the king's miller, the man asked them
to stop there for the night. Conall told the miller that his own
children and the children of his king had fallen out, and that his
children had killed the king's son, and there was nothing that would
please the king but that he should get the brown horse of the king of
Lochlann.

"If you will do me a kindness, and will put me in a way to get him, for
certain I will pay ye for it."

"The thing is silly that you are come to seek," said the miller; "for
the king has laid his mind on him so greatly that you will not get him
in any way unless you steal him; but if you can make out a way, I will
keep it secret."

"This is what I am thinking," said Conall, "since you are working every
day for the king, you and your gillies could put myself and my sons
into five sacks of bran."

"The plan that has come into your head is not bad," said the miller.

The miller spoke to his gillies, and he said to them to do this, and
they put them in five sacks. The king's gillies came to seek the bran,
and they took the five sacks with them, and they emptied them before
the horses. The servants locked the door, and they went away.

When they rose to lay hand on the brown horse, said Conall, "You shall
not do that. It is hard to get out of this; let us make for ourselves
five hiding holes, so that if they hear us we may go and hide." They
made the holes, then they laid hands on the horse. The horse was pretty
well unbroken, and he set to making a terrible noise through the
stable. The king heard the noise. "It must be my brown horse," said he
to his gillies; "find out what is wrong with him."

The servants went out, and when Conall and his sons saw them coming
they went into the hiding holes. The servants looked amongst the
horses, and they did not find anything wrong; and they returned and
they told this to the king, and the king said to them that if nothing
was wrong they should go to their places of rest. When the gillies had
time to be gone, Conall and his sons laid their hands again on the
horse. If the noise was great that he made before, the noise he made
now was seven times greater. The king sent a message for his gillies
again, and said for certain there was something troubling the brown
horse. "Go and look well about him." The servants went out, and they
went to their hiding holes. The servants rummaged well, and did not
find a thing. They returned and they told this.

"That is marvellous for me," said the king: "go you to lie down again,
and if I notice it again I will go out myself."

When Conall and his sons perceived that the gillies were gone, they
laid hands again on the horse, and one of them caught him, and if the
noise that the horse made on the two former times was great, he made
more this time.

"Be this from me," said the king; "it must be that some one is
troubling my brown horse." He sounded the bell hastily, and when his
waiting-man came to him, he said to him to let the stable gillies know
that something was wrong with the horse. The gillies came, and the king
went with them. When Conall and his sons perceived the company coming
they went to the hiding holes.

The king was a wary man, and he saw where the horses were making a
noise.

"Be wary," said the king, "there are men within the stable, let us get
at them somehow."

The king followed the tracks of the men, and he found them. Every one
knew Conall, for he was a valued tenant of the king of Erin, and when
the king brought them up out of the holes he said, "Oh, Conall, is it
you that are here?"

"I am, O king, without question, and necessity made me come. I am under
thy pardon, and under thine honour, and under thy grace." He told how
it happened to him, and that he had to get the brown horse for the king
of Erin, or that his sons were to be put to death. "I knew that I
should not get him by asking, and I was going to steal him."

"Yes, Conall, it is well enough, but come in," said the king. He
desired his look-out men to set a watch on the sons of Conall, and to
give them meat. And a double watch was set that night on the sons of
Conall.

"Now, O Conall," said the king, "were you ever in a harder place than
to be seeing your lot of sons hanged tomorrow? But you set it to my
goodness and to my grace, and say that it was necessity brought it on
you, so I must not hang you. Tell me any case in which you were as hard
as this, and if you tell that, you shall get the soul of your youngest
son."

"I will tell a case as hard in which I was," said Conall. "I was once a
young lad, and my father had much land, and he had parks of year-old
cows, and one of them had just calved, and my father told me to bring
her home. I found the cow, and took her with us. There fell a shower of
snow. We went into the herd's bothy, and we took the cow and the calf
in with us, and we were letting the shower pass from us. Who should
come in but one cat and ten, and one great one-eyed fox-coloured cat as
head bard over them. When they came in, in very deed I myself had no
liking for their company. 'Strike up with you,' said the head bard,
'why should we be still? and sing a cronan to Conall Yellowclaw.' I was
amazed that my name was known to the cats themselves. When they had
sung the cronan, said the head bard, 'Now, O Conall, pay the reward of
the cronan that the cats have sung to thee.' 'Well then,' said I
myself, 'I have no reward whatsoever for you, unless you should go down
and take that calf.' No sooner said I the word than the two cats and
ten went down to attack the calf, and in very deed, he did not last
them long. 'Play up with you, why should you be silent? Make a cronan
to Conall Yellowclaw,' said the head bard. Certainly I had no liking at
all for the cronan, but up came the one cat and ten, and if they did
not sing me a cronan then and there! 'Pay them now their reward,' said
the great fox-coloured cat. 'I am tired myself of yourselves and your
rewards,' said I. 'I have no reward for you unless you take that cow
down there.' They betook themselves to the cow, and indeed she did not
last them long.

"'Why will you be silent? Go up and sing a cronan to Conall
Yellowclaw,' said the head bard. And surely, oh king, I had no care for
them or for their cronan, for I began to see that they were not good
comrades. When they had sung me the cronan they betook themselves down
where the head bard was. 'Pay now their reward, said the head bard; and
for sure, oh king, I had no reward for them; and I said to them, 'I
have no reward for you.' And surely, oh king, there was catterwauling
between them. So I leapt out at a turf window that was at the back of
the house. I took myself off as hard as I might into the wood. I was
swift enough and strong at that time; and when I felt the rustling
toirm of the cats after me I climbed into as high a tree as I saw in
the place, and one that was close in the top; and I hid myself as well
as I might. The cats began to search for me through the wood, and they
could not find me; and when they were tired, each one said to the other
that they would turn back. 'But,' said the one-eyed fox-coloured cat
that was commander-in-chief over them, 'you saw him not with your two
eyes, and though I have but one eye, there's the rascal up in the
tree.' When he had said that, one of them went up in the tree, and as
he was coming where I was, I drew a weapon that I had and I killed him.
'Be this from me!' said the one-eyed one--'I must not be losing my
company thus; gather round the root of the tree and dig about it, and
let down that villain to earth.' On this they gathered about the tree,
and they dug about the root, and the first branching root that they
cut, she gave a shiver to fall, and I myself gave a shout, and it was
not to be wondered at.

"There was in the neighbourhood of the wood a priest, and he had ten
men with him delving, and he said, 'There is a shout of a man in
extremity and I must not be without replying to it.' And the wisest of
the men said, 'Let it alone till we hear it again.' The cats began
again digging wildly, and they broke the next root; and I myself gave
the next shout, and in very deed it was not a weak one. 'Certainly,'
said the priest, 'it is a man in extremity--let us move.' They set
themselves in order for moving. And the cats arose on the tree, and
they broke the third root, and the tree fell on her elbow. Then I gave
the third shout. The stalwart men hastened, and when they saw how the
cats served the tree, they began at them with the spades; and they
themselves and the cats began at each other, till the cats ran away.
And surely, oh king, I did not move till I saw the last one of them
off. And then I came home. And there's the hardest case in which I ever
was; and it seems to me that tearing by the cats were harder than
hanging to-morrow by the king of Lochlann."

"Och! Conall," said the king, "you are full of words. You have freed
the soul of your son with your tale; and if you tell me a harder case
than that you will get your second youngest son, and then you will have
two sons."

"Well then," said Conall, "on condition that thou dost that, I will
tell thee how I was once in a harder case than to be in thy power in
prison to-night."

"Let's hear," said the king.

"I was then," said Conall, "quite a young lad, and I went out hunting,
and my father's land was beside the sea, and it was rough with rocks,
caves, and rifts. When I was going on the top of the shore, I saw as if
there were a smoke coming up between two rocks, and I began to look
what might be the meaning of the smoke coming up there. When I was
looking, what should I do but fall; and the place was so full of
heather, that neither bone nor skin was broken. I knew not how I should
get out of this. I was not looking before me, but I kept looking
overhead the way I came--and thinking that the day would never come
that I could get up there. It was terrible for me to be there till I
should die. I heard a great clattering coming, and what was there but a
great giant and two dozen of goats with him, and a buck at their head.
And when the giant had tied the goats, he came up and he said to me,
'Hao O! Conall, it's long since my knife has been rusting in my pouch
waiting for thy tender flesh.' 'Och!' said I, 'it's not much you will
be bettered by me, though you should tear me asunder; I will make but
one meal for you. But I see that you are one-eyed. I am a good leech,
and I will give you the sight of the other eye.' The giant went and he
drew the great caldron on the site of the fire. I myself was telling
him how he should heat the water, so that I should give its sight to
the other eye. I got heather and I made a rubber of it, and I set him
upright in the caldron. I began at the eye that was well, pretending to
him that I would give its sight to the other one, till I left them as
bad as each other; and surely it was easier to spoil the one that was
well than to give sight to the other.

"When he saw that he could not see a glimpse, and when I myself said to
him that I would get out in spite of him, he gave a spring out of the
water, and he stood in the mouth of the cave, and he said that he would
have revenge for the sight of his eye. I had but to stay there crouched
the length of the night, holding in my breath in such a way that he
might not find out where I was.

"When he felt the birds calling in the morning, and knew that the day
was, he said--'Art thou sleeping? Awake and let out my lot of goats.' I
killed the buck. He cried, 'I do believe that thou art killing my buck.'

"'I am not,' said I, 'but the ropes are so tight that I take long to
loose them.' I let out one of the goats, and there he was caressing
her, and he said to her, 'There thou art thou shaggy, hairy white goat;
and thou seest me, but I see thee not.' I kept letting them out by the
way of one and one, as I flayed the buck, and before the last one was
out I had him flayed bag-wise. Then I went and I put my legs in place
of his legs, and my hands in place of his forelegs, and my head in
place of his head, and the horns on top of my head, so that the brute
might think that it was the buck. I went out. When I was going out the
giant laid his hand on me, and he said, 'There thou art, thou pretty
buck; thou seest me, but I see thee not.' When I myself got out, and I
saw the world about me, surely, oh, king! joy was on me. When I was out
and had shaken the skin off me, I said to the brute, 'I am out now in
spite of you.'

"'Aha!' said he, 'hast thou done this to me. Since thou wert so
stalwart that thou hast got out, I will give thee a ring that I have
here; keep the ring, and it will do thee good.'

"'I will not take the ring from you,' said I, 'but throw it, and I will
take it with me.' He threw the ring on the flat ground, I went myself
and I lifted the ring, and I put it on my finger. When he said me then,
'Is the ring fitting thee?' I said to him, 'It is.' Then he said,
'Where art thou, ring?' And the ring said, 'I am here.' The brute went
and went towards where the ring was speaking, and now I saw that I was
in a harder case than ever I was. I drew a dirk. I cut the finger from
off me, and I threw it from me as far as I could out on the loch, and
there was a great depth in the place. He shouted, 'Where art thou,
ring?' And the ring said, 'I am here,' though it was on the bed of
ocean. He gave a spring after the ring, and out he went in the sea. And
I was as pleased then when I saw him drowning, as though you should
grant my own life and the life of my two sons with me, and not lay any
more trouble on me.

"When the giant was drowned I went in, and I took with me all he had of
gold and silver, and I went home, and surely great joy was on my people
when I arrived. And as a sign now look, the finger is off me."

"Yes, indeed, Conall, you are wordy and wise," said the king. "I see
the finger is off you. You have freed your two sons, but tell me a case
in which you ever were that is harder than to be looking on your son
being hanged tomorrow, and you shall get the soul of your eldest son."

"Then went my father," said Conall, "and he got me a wife, and I was
married. I went to hunt. I was going beside the sea, and I saw an
island over in the midst of the loch, and I came there where a boat was
with a rope before her, and a rope behind her, and many precious things
within her. I looked myself on the boat to see how I might get part of
them. I put in the one foot, and the other foot was on the ground, and
when I raised my head what was it but the boat over in the middle of
the loch, and she never stopped till she reached the island. When I
went out of the boat the boat returned where she was before. I did not
know now what I should do. The place was without meat or clothing,
without the appearance of a house on it. I came out on the top of a
hill. Then I came to a glen; I saw in it, at the bottom of a hollow, a
woman with a child, and the child was naked on her knee, and she had a
knife in her hand. She tried to put the knife to the throat of the
babe, and the babe began to laugh in her face, and she began to cry,
and she threw the knife behind her. I thought to myself that I was near
my foe and far from my friends, and I called to the woman, 'What are
you doing here?' And she said to me, 'What brought you here?' I told
her myself word upon word how I came. 'Well then,' said she, 'it was so
I came also.' She showed me to the place where I should come in where
she was. I went in, and I said to her, 'What was the matter that you
were putting the knife on the neck of the child?' 'It is that he must
be cooked for the giant who is here, or else no more of my world will
be before me.' Just then we could be hearing the footsteps of the
giant, 'What shall I do? what shall I do?' cried the woman. I went to
the caldron, and by luck it was not hot, so in it I got just as the
brute came in. 'Hast thou boiled that youngster for me?' he cried.
'He's not done yet,' said she, and I cried out from the caldron,
'Mammy, mammy, it's boiling I am.' Then the giant laughed out HAI, HAW,
HOGARAICH, and heaped on wood under the caldron.

"And now I was sure I would scald before I could get out of that. As
fortune favoured me, the brute slept beside the caldron. There I was
scalded by the bottom of the caldron. When she perceived that he was
asleep, she set her mouth quietly to the hole that was in the lid, and
she said to me 'was I alive?' I said I was. I put up my head, and the
hole in the lid was so large, that my head went through easily.
Everything was coming easily with me till I began to bring up my hips.
I left the skin of my hips behind me, but I came out. When I got out of
the caldron I knew not what to do; and she said to me that there was no
weapon that would kill him but his own weapon. I began to draw his
spear and every breath that he drew I thought I would be down his
throat, and when his breath came out I was back again just as far. But
with every ill that befell me I got the spear loosed from him. Then I
was as one under a bundle of straw in a great wind for I could not
manage the spear. And it was fearful to look on the brute, who had but
one eye in the midst of his face; and it was not agreeable for the like
of me to attack him. I drew the dart as best I could, and I set it in
his eye. When he felt this he gave his head a lift, and he struck the
other end of the dart on the top of the cave, and it went through to
the back of his head. And he fell cold dead where he was; and you may
be sure, oh king, that joy was on me. I myself and the woman went out
on clear ground, and we passed the night there. I went and got the boat
with which I came, and she was no way lightened, and took the woman and
the child over on dry land; and I returned home."

The king of Lochlann's mother was putting on a fire at this time, and
listening to Conall telling the tale about the child.

"Is it you," said she, "that were there?"

"Well then," said he, "'twas I."

"Och! och!" said she, "'twas I that was there, and the king is the
child whose life you saved; and it is to you that life thanks should be
given." Then they took great joy.

The king said, "Oh, Conall, you came through great hardships. And now
the brown horse is yours, and his sack full of the most precious things
that are in my treasury."

They lay down that night, and if it was early that Conall rose, it was
earlier than that that the queen was on foot making ready. He got the
brown horse and his sack full of gold and silver and stones of great
price, and then Conall and his three sons went away, and they returned
home to the Erin realm of gladness. He left the gold and silver in his
house, and he went with the horse to the king. They were good friends
evermore. He returned home to his wife, and they set in order a feast;
and that was a feast if ever there was one, oh son and brother.



HUDDEN AND DUDDEN AND DONALD O'NEARY

There was once upon a time two farmers, and their names were Hudden and
Dudden. They had poultry in their yards, sheep on the uplands, and
scores of cattle in the meadow-land alongside the river. But for all
that they weren't happy. For just between their two farms there lived a
poor man by the name of Donald O'Neary. He had a hovel over his head
and a strip of grass that was barely enough to keep his one cow, Daisy,
from starving, and, though she did her best, it was but seldom that
Donald got a drink of milk or a roll of butter from Daisy. You would
think there was little here to make Hudden and Dudden jealous, but so
it is, the more one has the more one wants, and Donald's neighbours lay
awake of nights scheming how they might get hold of his little strip of
grass-land. Daisy, poor thing, they never thought of; she was just a
bag of bones.

One day Hudden met Dudden, and they were soon grumbling as usual, and
all to the tune of "If only we could get that vagabond Donald O'Neary
out of the country."

"Let's kill Daisy," said Hudden at last; "if that doesn't make him
clear out, nothing will."

No sooner said than agreed, and it wasn't dark before Hudden and Dudden
crept up to the little shed where lay poor Daisy trying her best to
chew the cud, though she hadn't had as much grass in the day as would
cover your hand. And when Donald came to see if Daisy was all snug for
the night, the poor beast had only time to lick his hand once before
she died.

Well, Donald was a shrewd fellow, and downhearted though he was, began
to think if he could get any good out of Daisy's death. He thought and
he thought, and the next day you could have seen him trudging off early
to the fair, Daisy's hide over his shoulder, every penny he had
jingling in his pockets. Just before he got to the fair, he made
several slits in the hide, put a penny in each slit, walked into the
best inn of the town as bold as if it belonged to him, and, hanging the
hide up to a nail in the wall, sat down.

"Some of your best whisky," says he to the landlord.

But the landlord didn't like his looks. "Is it fearing I won't pay you,
you are?" says Donald; "why I have a hide here that gives me all the
money I want." And with that he hit it a whack with his stick and out
hopped a penny. The landlord opened his eyes, as you may fancy.

"What'll you take for that hide?"

"It's not for sale, my good man."

"Will you take a gold piece?"

"It's not for sale, I tell you. Hasn't it kept me and mine for years?"
and with that Donald hit the hide another whack and out jumped a second
penny.

Well, the long and the short of it was that Donald let the hide go,
and, that very evening, who but he should walk up to Hudden's door?

"Good-evening, Hudden. Will you lend me your best pair of scales?"

Hudden stared and Hudden scratched his head, but he lent the scales.

When Donald was safe at home, he pulled out his pocketful of bright
gold and began to weigh each piece in the scales. But Hudden had put a
lump of butter at the bottom, and so the last piece of gold stuck fast
to the scales when he took them back to Hudden.

If Hudden had stared before, he stared ten times more now, and no
sooner was Donald's back turned, than he was of as hard as he could
pelt to Dudden's.

"Good-evening, Dudden. That vagabond, bad luck to him--"

"You mean Donald O'Neary?"

"And who else should I mean? He's back here weighing out sackfuls of
gold."

"How do you know that?"

"Here are my scales that he borrowed, and here's a gold piece still
sticking to them."

Off they went together, and they came to Donald's door. Donald had
finished making the last pile of ten gold pieces. And he couldn't
finish because a piece had stuck to the scales.

In they walked without an "If you please" or "By your leave."

"Well, _I_ never!" that was all _they_ could say.

"Good-evening, Hudden; good-evening, Dudden. Ah! you thought you had
played me a fine trick, but you never did me a better turn in all your
lives. When I found poor Daisy dead, I thought to myself, 'Well, her
hide may fetch something;' and it did. Hides are worth their weight in
gold in the market just now."

Hudden nudged Dudden, and Dudden winked at Hudden.

"Good-evening, Donald O'Neary."

"Good-evening, kind friends."

The next day there wasn't a cow or a calf that belonged to Hudden or
Dudden but her hide was going to the fair in Hudden's biggest cart
drawn by Dudden's strongest pair of horses.

When they came to the fair, each one took a hide over his arm, and
there they were walking through the fair, bawling out at the top of
their voices: "Hides to sell! hides to sell!"

Out came the tanner:

"How much for your hides, my good men?"

"Their weight in gold."

"It's early in the day to come out of the tavern."

That was all the tanner said, and back he went to his yard.

"Hides to sell! Fine fresh hides to sell!"

Out came the cobbler.

"How much for your hides, my men?"

"Their weight in gold."

"Is it making game of me you are! Take that for your pains," and the
cobbler dealt Hudden a blow that made him stagger.

Up the people came running from one end of the fair to the other.
"What's the matter? What's the matter?" cried they.

"Here are a couple of vagabonds selling hides at their weight in gold,"
said the cobbler.

"Hold 'em fast; hold 'em fast!" bawled the innkeeper, who was the last
to come up, he was so fat. "I'll wager it's one of the rogues who
tricked me out of thirty gold pieces yesterday for a wretched hide."

It was more kicks than halfpence that Hudden and Dudden got before they
were well on their way home again, and they didn't run the slower
because all the dogs of the town were at their heels.

Well, as you may fancy, if they loved Donald little before, they loved
him less now.

"What's the matter, friends?" said he, as he saw them tearing along,
their hats knocked in, and their coats torn off, and their faces black
and blue. "Is it fighting you've been? or mayhap you met the police,
ill luck to them?"

"We'll police you, you vagabond. It's mighty smart you thought
yourself, deluding us with your lying tales."

"Who deluded you? Didn't you see the gold with your own two eyes?"

But it was no use talking. Pay for it he must, and should. There was a
meal-sack handy, and into it Hudden and Dudden popped Donald O'Neary,
tied him up tight, ran a pole through the knot, and off they started
for the Brown Lake of the Bog, each with a pole-end on his shoulder,
and Donald O'Neary between.

But the Brown Lake was far, the road was dusty, Hudden and Dudden were
sore and weary, and parched with thirst. There was an inn by the
roadside.

"Let's go in," said Hudden; "I'm dead beat. It's heavy he is for the
little he had to eat."

If Hudden was willing, so was Dudden. As for Donald, you may be sure
his leave wasn't asked, but he was lumped down at the inn door for all
the world as if he had been a sack of potatoes.

"Sit still, you vagabond," said Dudden; "if we don't mind waiting, you
needn't."

Donald held his peace, but after a while he heard the glasses clink,
and Hudden singing away at the top of his voice.

"I won't have her, I tell you; I won't have her!" said Donald. But
nobody heeded what he said.

"I won't have her, I tell you; I won't have her!" said Donald, and this
time he said it louder; but nobody heeded what he said.

"I won't have her, I tell you; I won't have her!" said Donald; and this
time he said it as loud as he could.

"And who won't you have, may I be so bold as to ask?" said a farmer,
who had just come up with a drove of cattle, and was turning in for a
glass.

"It's the king's daughter. They are bothering the life out of me to
marry her."

"You're the lucky fellow. I'd give something to be in your shoes."

"Do you see that now! Wouldn't it be a fine thing for a farmer to be
marrying a princess, all dressed in gold and jewels?"

"Jewels, do you say? Ah, now, couldn't you take me with you?"

"Well, you're an honest fellow, and as I don't care for the king's
daughter, though she's as beautiful as the day, and is covered with
jewels from top to toe, you shall have her. Just undo the cord, and let
me out; they tied me up tight, as they knew I'd run away from her."

Out crawled Donald; in crept the farmer.

"Now lie still, and don't mind the shaking; it's only rumbling over the
palace steps you'll be. And maybe they'll abuse you for a vagabond, who
won't have the king's daughter; but you needn't mind that. Ah! it's a
deal I'm giving up for you, sure as it is that I don't care for the
princess."

"Take my cattle in exchange," said the farmer; and you may guess it
wasn't long before Donald was at their tails driving them homewards.

Out came Hudden and Dudden, and the one took one end of the pole, and
the other the other.

"I'm thinking he's heavier," said Hudden.

"Ah, never mind," said Dudden; "it's only a step now to the Brown Lake."

"I'll have her now! I'll have her now!" bawled the farmer, from inside
the sack.

"By my faith, and you shall though," said Hudden, and he laid his stick
across the sack.

"I'll have her! I'll have her!" bawled the farmer, louder than ever.

"Well, here you are," said Dudden, for they were now come to the Brown
Lake, and, unslinging the sack, they pitched it plump into the lake.

"You'll not be playing your tricks on us any longer," said Hudden.

"True for you," said Dudden. "Ah, Donald, my boy, it was an ill day
when you borrowed my scales."

Off they went, with a light step and an easy heart, but when they were
near home, who should they see but Donald O'Neary, and all around him
the cows were grazing, and the calves were kicking up their heels and
butting their heads together.

"Is it you, Donald?" said Dudden. "Faith, you've been quicker than we
have."

"True for you, Dudden, and let me thank you kindly; the turn was good,
if the will was ill. You'll have heard, like me, that the Brown Lake
leads to the Land of Promise. I always put it down as lies, but it is
just as true as my word. Look at the cattle."

Hudden stared, and Dudden gaped; but they couldn't get over the cattle;
fine fat cattle they were too.

"It's only the worst I could bring up with me," said Donald O'Neary;
"the others were so fat, there was no driving them. Faith, too, it's
little wonder they didn't care to leave, with grass as far as you could
see, and as sweet and juicy as fresh butter."

"Ah, now, Donald, we haven't always been friends," said Dudden, "but,
as I was just saying, you were ever a decent lad, and you'll show us
the way, won't you?"

"I don't see that I'm called upon to do that; there is a power more
cattle down there. Why shouldn't I have them all to myself?"

"Faith, they may well say, the richer you get, the harder the heart.
You always were a neighbourly lad, Donald. You wouldn't wish to keep
the luck all to yourself?"

"True for you, Hudden, though 'tis a bad example you set me. But I'll
not be thinking of old times. There is plenty for all there, so come
along with me."

Off they trudged, with a light heart and an eager step. When they came
to the Brown Lake, the sky was full of little white clouds, and, if the
sky was full, the lake was as full.

"Ah! now, look, there they are," cried Donald, as he pointed to the
clouds in the lake.

"Where? where?" cried Hudden, and "Don't be greedy!" cried Dudden, as
he jumped his hardest to be up first with the fat cattle. But if he
jumped first, Hudden wasn't long behind.

They never came back. Maybe they got too fat, like the cattle. As for
Donald O'Neary, he had cattle and sheep all his days to his heart's
content.



THE SHEPHERD OF MYDDVAI

Up in the Black Mountains in Caermarthenshire lies the lake known as
Lyn y Van Vach. To the margin of this lake the shepherd of Myddvai once
led his lambs, and lay there whilst they sought pasture. Suddenly, from
the dark waters of the lake, he saw three maidens rise. Shaking the
bright drops from their hair and gliding to the shore, they wandered
about amongst his flock. They had more than mortal beauty, and he was
filled with love for her that came nearest to him. He offered her the
bread he had with him, and she took it and tried it, but then sang to
him:

  Hard-baked is thy bread,
  'Tis not easy to catch me,

and then ran off laughing to the lake.

Next day he took with him bread not so well done, and watched for the
maidens. When they came ashore he offered his bread as before, and the
maiden tasted it and sang:

  Unbaked is thy bread,
  I will not have thee,

and again disappeared in the waves.

A third time did the shepherd of Myddvai try to attract the maiden, and
this time he offered her bread that he had found floating about near
the shore. This pleased her, and she promised to become his wife if he
were able to pick her out from among her sisters on the following day.
When the time came the shepherd knew his love by the strap of her
sandal. Then she told him she would be as good a wife to him as any
earthly maiden could be unless he should strike her three times without
cause. Of course he deemed that this could never be; and she, summoning
from the lake three cows, two oxen, and a bull, as her marriage
portion, was led homeward by him as his bride.

The years passed happily, and three children were born to the shepherd
and the lake-maiden. But one day here were going to a christening, and
she said to her husband it was far to walk, so he told her to go for
the horses.

"I will," said she, "if you bring me my gloves which I've left in the
house."

But when he came back with the gloves, he found she had not gone for
the horses; so he tapped her lightly on the shoulder with the gloves,
and said, "Go, go."

"That's one," said she.

Another time they were at a wedding, when suddenly the lake-maiden fell
a-sobbing and a-weeping, amid the joy and mirth of all around her.

Her husband tapped her on the shoulder, and asked her, "Why do you
weep?"

"Because they are entering into trouble; and trouble is upon you; for
that is the second causeless blow you have given me. Be careful; the
third is the last."

The husband was careful never to strike her again. But one day at a
funeral she suddenly burst out into fits of laughter. Her husband
forgot, and touched her rather roughly on the shoulder, saying, "Is
this a time for laughter?"

"I laugh," she said, "because those that die go out of trouble, but
your trouble has come. The last blow has been struck; our marriage is
at an end, and so farewell." And with that she rose up and left the
house and went to their home.

Then she, looking round upon her home, called to the cattle she had
brought with her:

  Brindle cow, white speckled,
  Spotted cow, bold freckled,
  Old white face, and gray Geringer,
  And the white bull from the king's coast,
  Grey ox, and black calf,
  All, all, follow me home,

Now the black calf had just been slaughtered, and was hanging on the
hook; but it got off the hook alive and well and followed her; and the
oxen, though they were ploughing, trailed the plough with them and did
her bidding. So she fled to the lake again, they following her, and
with them plunged into the dark waters.

And to this day is the furrow seen which the plough left as it was
dragged across the mountains to the tarn.

Only once did she come again, when her sons were grown to manhood, and
then she gave them gifts of healing by which they won the name of
Meddygon Myddvai, the physicians of Myddvai.



THE SPRIGHTLY TAILOR

A sprightly tailor was employed by the great Macdonald, in his castle
at Saddell, in order to make the laird a pair of trews, used in olden
time. And trews being the vest and breeches united in one piece, and
ornamented with fringes, were very comfortable, and suitable to be worn
in walking or dancing. And Macdonald had said to the tailor, that if he
would make the trews by night in the church, he would get a handsome
reward. For it was thought that the old ruined church was haunted, and
that fearsome things were to be seen there at night.

The tailor was well aware of this; but he was a sprightly man, and when
the laird dared him to make the trews by night in the church, the
tailor was not to be daunted, but took it in hand to gain the prize.
So, when night came, away he went up the glen, about half a mile
distance from the castle, till he came to the old church. Then he chose
him a nice gravestone for a seat and he lighted his candle, and put on
his thimble, and set to work at the trews; plying his needle nimbly,
and thinking about the hire that the laird would have to give him.

For some time he got on pretty well, until he felt the floor all of a
tremble under his feet; and looking about him, but keeping his fingers
at work, he saw the appearance of a great human head rising up through
the stone pavement of the church. And when the head had risen above the
surface, there came from it a great, great voice. And the voice said:
"Do you see this great head of mine?"

"I see that, but I'll sew this!" replied the sprightly tailor; and he
stitched away at the trews.

Then the head rose higher up through the pavement, until its neck
appeared. And when its neck was shown, the thundering voice came again
and said: "Do you see this great neck of mine?"

"I see that, but I'll sew this!" said the sprightly tailor; and he
stitched away at his trews.

Then the head and neck rose higher still, until the great shoulders and
chest were shown above the ground. And again the mighty voice
thundered: "Do you see this great chest of mine?"

And again the sprightly tailor replied: "I see that, but I'll sew
this!" and stitched away at his trews.

And still it kept rising through the pavement, until it shook a great
pair of arms in the tailor's face, and said: "Do you see these great
arms of mine?"

"I see those, but I'll sew this!" answered the tailor; and he stitched
hard at his trews, for he knew that he had no time to lose.

The sprightly tailor was taking the long stitches, when he saw it
gradually rising and rising through the floor, until it lifted out a
great leg, and stamping with it upon the pavement, said in a roaring
voice: "Do you see this great leg of mine?"

"Aye, aye: I see that, but I'll sew this!" cried the tailor; and his
fingers flew with the needle, and he took such long stitches, that he
was just come to the end of the trews, when it was taking up its other
leg. But before it could pull it out of the pavement, the sprightly
tailor had finished his task; and, blowing out his candle, and
springing from off his gravestone, he buckled up, and ran out of the
church with the trews under his arm. Then the fearsome thing gave a
loud roar, and stamped with both his feet upon the pavement, and out of
the church he went after the sprightly tailor.

Down the glen they ran, faster than the stream when the flood rides it;
but the tailor had got the start and a nimble pair of legs, and he did
not choose to lose the laird's reward. And though the thing roared to
him to stop, yet the sprightly tailor was not the man to be beholden to
a monster. So he held his trews tight, and let no darkness grow under
his feet, until he had reached Saddell Castle. He had no sooner got
inside the gate, and shut it, than the apparition came up to it; and,
enraged at losing his prize, struck the wall above the gate, and left
there the mark of his five great fingers. Ye may see them plainly to
this day, if ye'll only peer close enough.

But the sprightly tailor gained his reward: for Macdonald paid him
handsomely for the trews, and never discovered that a few of the
stitches were somewhat long.



THE STORY OF DEIRDRE

There was a man in Ireland once who was called Malcolm Harper. The man
was a right good man, and he had a goodly share of this world's goods.
He had a wife, but no family. What did Malcolm hear but that a
soothsayer had come home to the place, and as the man was a right good
man, he wished that the soothsayer might come near them. Whether it was
that he was invited or that he came of himself, the soothsayer came to
the house of Malcolm.

"Are you doing any soothsaying?" says Malcolm.

"Yes, I am doing a little. Are you in need of soothsaying?"

"Well, I do not mind taking soothsaying from you, if you had
soothsaying for me, and you would be willing to do it."

"Well, I will do soothsaying for you. What kind of soothsaying do you
want?"

"Well, the soothsaying I wanted was that you would tell me my lot or
what will happen to me, if you can give me knowledge of it."

"Well, I am going out, and when I return, I will tell you."

And the soothsayer went forth out of the house and he was not long
outside when he returned.

"Well," said the soothsayer, "I saw in my second sight that it is on
account of a daughter of yours that the greatest amount of blood shall
be shed that has ever been shed in Erin since time and race began. And
the three most famous heroes that ever were found will lose their heads
on her account."

After a time a daughter was born to Malcolm, he did not allow a living
being to come to his house, only himself and the nurse. He asked this
woman, "Will you yourself bring up the child to keep her in hiding far
away where eye will not see a sight of her nor ear hear a word about
her?"

The woman said she would, so Malcolm got three men, and he took them
away to a large mountain, distant and far from reach, without the
knowledge or notice of any one. He caused there a hillock, round and
green, to be dug out of the middle, and the hole thus made to be
covered carefully over so that a little company could dwell there
together. This was done.

Deirdre and her foster-mother dwelt in the bothy mid the hills without
the knowledge or the suspicion of any living person about them and
without anything occurring, until Deirdre was sixteen years of age.
Deirdre grew like the white sapling, straight and trim as the rash on
the moss. She was the creature of fairest form, of loveliest aspect,
and of gentlest nature that existed between earth and heaven in all
Ireland--whatever colour of hue she had before, there was nobody that
looked into her face but she would blush fiery red over it.

The woman that had charge of her, gave Deirdre every information and
skill of which she herself had knowledge and skill. There was not a
blade of grass growing from root, nor a bird singing in the wood, nor a
star shining from heaven but Deirdre had a name for it. But one thing,
she did not wish her to have either part or parley with any single
living man of the rest of the world. But on a gloomy winter night, with
black, scowling clouds, a hunter of game was wearily travelling the
hills, and what happened but that he missed the trail of the hunt, and
lost his course and companions. A drowsiness came upon the man as he
wearily wandered over the hills, and he lay down by the side of the
beautiful green knoll in which Deirdre lived, and he slept. The man was
faint from hunger and wandering, and benumbed with cold, and a deep
sleep fell upon him. When he lay down beside the green hill where
Deirdre was, a troubled dream came to the man, and he thought that he
enjoyed the warmth of a fairy broch, the fairies being inside playing
music. The hunter shouted out in his dream, if there was any one in the
broch, to let him in for the Holy One's sake. Deirdre heard the voice
and said to her foster-mother: "O foster-mother, what cry is that?" "It
is nothing at all, Deirdre--merely the birds of the air astray and
seeking each other. But let them go past to the bosky glade. There is
no shelter or house for them here." "Oh, foster-mother, the bird asked
to get inside for the sake of the God of the Elements, and you yourself
tell me that anything that is asked in His name we ought to do. If you
will not allow the bird that is being benumbed with cold, and done to
death with hunger, to be let in, I do not think much of your language
or your faith. But since I give credence to your language and to your
faith, which you taught me, I will myself let in the bird." And Deirdre
arose and drew the bolt from the leaf of the door, and she let in the
hunter. She placed a seat in the place for sitting, food in the place
for eating, and drink in the place for drinking for the man who came to
the house. "Oh, for this life and raiment, you man that came in, keep
restraint on your tongue!" said the old woman. "It is not a great thing
for you to keep your mouth shut and your tongue quiet when you get a
home and shelter of a hearth on a gloomy winter's night."

"Well," said the hunter, "I may do that--keep my mouth shut and my
tongue quiet, since I came to the house and received hospitality from
you; but by the hand of thy father and grandfather, and by your own two
hands, if some other of the people of the world saw this beauteous
creature you have here hid away, they would not long leave her with
you, I swear."

"What men are these you refer to?" said Deirdre.

"Well, I will tell you, young woman," said the hunter.

"They are Naois, son of Uisnech, and Allen and Arden his two brothers."

"What like are these men when seen, if we were to see them?" said
Deirdre.

"Why, the aspect and form of the men when seen are these," said the
hunter: "they have the colour of the raven on their hair, their skin
like swan on the wave in whiteness, and their cheeks as the blood of
the brindled red calf, and their speed and their leap are those of the
salmon of the torrent and the deer of the grey mountain side. And Naois
is head and shoulders over the rest of the people of Erin."

"However they are," said the nurse, "be you off from here and take
another road. And, King of Light and Sun! in good sooth and certainty,
little are my thanks for yourself or for her that let you in!"

The hunter went away, and went straight to the palace of King
Connachar. He sent word in to the king that he wished to speak to him
if he pleased. The king answered the message and came out to speak to
the man. "What is the reason of your journey?" said the king to the
hunter.

"I have only to tell you, O king," said the hunter, "that I saw the
fairest creature that ever was born in Erin, and I came to tell you of
it."

"Who is this beauty and where is she to be seen, when she was not seen
before till you saw her, if you did see her?"

"Well, I did see her," said the hunter. "But, if I did, no man else can
see her unless he get directions from me as to where she is dwelling."

"And will you direct me to where she dwells? and the reward of your
directing me will be as good as the reward of your message," said the
king.

"Well, I will direct you, O king, although it is likely that this will
not be what they want," said the hunter.

Connachar, King of Ulster, sent for his nearest kinsmen, and he told
them of his intent. Though early rose the song of the birds mid the
rocky caves and the music of the birds in the grove, earlier than that
did Connachar, King of Ulster, arise, with his little troop of dear
friends, in the delightful twilight of the fresh and gentle May; the
dew was heavy on each bush and flower and stem, as they went to bring
Deirdre forth from the green knoll where she stayed. Many a youth was
there who had a lithe leaping and lissom step when they started whose
step was faint, failing, and faltering when they reached the bothy on
account of the length of the way and roughness of the road.

"Yonder, now, down in the bottom of the glen is the bothy where the
woman dwells, but I will not go nearer than this to the old woman,"
said the hunter.

Connachar with his band of kinsfolk went down to the green knoll where
Deirdre dwelt and he knocked at the door of the bothy. The nurse
replied, "No less than a king's command and a king's army could put me
out of my bothy to-night. And I should be obliged to you, were you to
tell who it is that wants me to open my bothy door."

"It is I, Connachar, King of Ulster." When the poor woman heard who was
at the door, she rose with haste and let in the king and all that could
get in of his retinue.

When the king saw the woman that was before him that he had been in
quest of, he thought he never saw in the course of the day nor in the
dream of night a creature so fair as Deirdre and he gave his full
heart's weight of love to her. Deirdre was raised on the topmost of the
heroes' shoulders and she and her foster-mother were brought to the
Court of King Connachar of Ulster.

With the love that Connachar had for her, he wanted to marry Deirdre
right off there and then, will she nill she marry him. But she said to
him, "I would be obliged to you if you will give me the respite of a
year and a day." He said "I will grant you that, hard though it is, if
you will give me your unfailing promise that you will marry me at the
year's end." And she gave the promise. Connachar got for her a
woman-teacher and merry modest maidens fair that would lie down and
rise with her, that would play and speak with her. Deirdre was clever
in maidenly duties and wifely understanding, and Connachar thought he
never saw with bodily eye a creature that pleased him more.

Deirdre and her women companions were one day out on the hillock behind
the house enjoying the scene, and drinking in the sun's heat. What did
they see coming but three men a-journeying. Deirdre was looking at the
men that were coming, and wondering at them. When the men neared them,
Deirdre remembered the language of the huntsman, and she said to
herself that these were the three sons of Uisnech, and that this was
Naois, he having what was above the bend of the two shoulders above the
men of Erin all. The three brothers went past without taking any notice
of them, without even glancing at the young girls on the hillock. What
happened but that love for Naois struck the heart of Deirdre, so that
she could not but follow after him. She girded up her raiment and went
after the men that went past the base of the knoll, leaving her women
attendants there. Allen and Arden had heard of the woman that
Connachar, King of Ulster, had with him, and they thought that, if
Naois, their brother, saw her, he would have her himself, more
especially as she was not married to the King. They perceived the woman
coming, and called on one another to hasten their step as they had a
long distance to travel, and the dusk of night was coming on. They did
so. She cried: "Naois, son of Uisnech, will you leave me?" "What
piercing, shrill cry is that--the most melodious my ear ever heard, and
the shrillest that ever struck my heart of all the cries I ever heard?"
"It is anything else but the wail of the wave-swans of Connachar," said
his brothers. "No! yonder is a woman's cry of distress," said Naois,
and he swore he would not go further until he saw from whom the cry
came, and Naois turned back. Naois and Deirdre met, and Deirdre kissed
Naois three times, and a kiss each to his brothers. With the confusion
that she was in, Deirdre went into a crimson blaze of fire, and her
colour came and went as rapidly as the movement of the aspen by the
stream side. Naois thought he never saw a fairer creature, and Naois
gave Deirdre the love that he never gave to thing, to vision, or to
creature but to herself.

Then Naois placed Deirdre on the topmost height of his shoulder, and
told his brothers to keep up their pace, and they kept up their pace.
Naois thought that it would not be well for him to remain in Erin on
account of the way in which Connachar, King of Ulster, his uncle's son,
had gone against him because of the woman, though he had not married
her; and he turned back to Alba, that is, Scotland. He reached the side
of Loch-Ness and made his habitation there. He could kill the salmon of
the torrent from out his own door, and the deer of the grey gorge from
out his window. Naois and Deirdre and Allen and Arden dwelt in a tower,
and they were happy so long a time as they were there.

By this time the end of the period came at which Deirdre had to marry
Connachar, King of Ulster. Connachar made up his mind to take Deirdre
away by the sword whether she was married to Naois or not. So he
prepared a great and gleeful feast. He sent word far and wide through
Erin all to his kinspeople to come to the feast. Connachar thought to
himself that Naois would not come though he should bid him; and the
scheme that arose in his mind was to send for his father's brother,
Ferchar Mac Ro, and to send him on an embassy to Naois. He did so; and
Connachar said to Ferchar, "Tell Naois, son of Uisnech, that I am
setting forth a great and gleeful feast to my friends and kinspeople
throughout the wide extent of Erin all, and that I shall not have rest
by day nor sleep by night if he and Allen and Arden be not partakers of
the feast."

Ferchar Mac Ro and his three sons went on their journey, and reached
the tower where Naois was dwelling by the side of Loch Etive. The sons
of Uisnech gave a cordial kindly welcome to Ferchar Mac Ro and his
three sons, and asked of him the news of Erin. "The best news that I
have for you," said the hardy hero, "is that Connachar, King of Ulster,
is setting forth a great sumptuous feast to his friends and kinspeople
throughout the wide extent of Erin all, and he has vowed by the earth
beneath him, by the high heaven above him, and by the sun that wends to
the west, that he will have no rest by day nor sleep by night if the
sons of Uisnech, the sons of his own father's brother, will not come
back to the land of their home and the soil of their nativity, and to
the feast likewise, and he has sent us on embassy to invite you."

"We will go with you," said Naois.

"We will," said his brothers.

But Deirdre did not wish to go with Ferchar Mac Ro, and she tried every
prayer to turn Naois from going with him--she said:

"I saw a vision, Naois, and do you interpret it to me," said
Deirdre--then she sang:

  O Naois, son of Uisnech, hear
  What was shown in a dream to me.

  There came three white doves out of the South
    Flying over the sea,
  And drops of honey were in their mouth
    From the hive of the honey-bee.

  O Naois, son of Uisnech, hear,
  What was shown in a dream to me.

  I saw three grey hawks out of the south
    Come flying over the sea,
  And the red red drops they bare in their mouth
    They were dearer than life to me.

Said Naois:--

  It is nought but the fear of woman's heart,
  And a dream of the night, Deirdre.

"The day that Connachar sent the invitation to his feast will be
unlucky for us if we don't go, O Deirdre."

"You will go there," said Ferchar Mac Ro; "and if Connachar show
kindness to you, show ye kindness to him; and if he will display wrath
towards you display ye wrath towards him, and I and my three sons will
be with you."

"We will," said Daring Drop. "We will," said Hardy Holly. "We will,"
said Fiallan the Fair.

"I have three sons, and they are three heroes, and in any harm or
danger that may befall you, they will be with you, and I myself will be
along with them." And Ferchar Mac Ro gave his vow and his word in
presence of his arms that, in any harm or danger that came in the way
of the sons of Uisnech, he and his three sons would not leave head on
live body in Erin, despite sword or helmet, spear or shield, blade or
mail, be they ever so good.

Deirdre was unwilling to leave Alba, but she went with Naois. Deirdre
wept tears in showers and she sang:

  Dear is the land, the land over there,
    Alba full of woods and lakes;
  Bitter to my heart is leaving thee,
    But I go away with Naois.

Ferchar Mac Ro did not stop till he got the sons of Uisnech away with
him, despite the suspicion of Deirdre.

  The coracle was put to sea,
    The sail was hoisted to it;
  And the second morrow they arrived
    On the white shores of Erin.

As soon as the sons of Uisnech landed in Erin, Ferchar Mac Ro sent word
to Connachar, king of Ulster, that the men whom he wanted were come,
and let him now show kindness to them. "Well," said Connachar, "I did
not expect that the sons of Uisnech would come, though I sent for them,
and I am not quite ready to receive them. But there is a house down
yonder where I keep strangers, and let them go down to it today, and my
house will be ready before them tomorrow."

But he that was up in the palace felt it long that he was not getting
word as to how matters were going on for those down in the house of the
strangers. "Go you, Gelban Grednach, son of Lochlin's King, go you down
and bring me information as to whether her former hue and complexion
are on Deirdre. If they be, I will take her out with edge of blade and
point of sword, and if not, let Naois, son of Uisnech, have her for
himself," said Connachar.

Gelban, the cheering and charming son of Lochlin's King, went down to
the place of the strangers, where the sons of Uisnech and Deirdre were
staying. He looked in through the bicker-hole on the door-leaf. Now she
that he gazed upon used to go into a crimson blaze of blushes when any
one looked at her. Naois looked at Deirdre and knew that some one was
looking at her from the back of the door-leaf. He seized one of the
dice on the table before him and fired it through the bicker-hole, and
knocked the eye out of Gelban Grednach the Cheerful and Charming, right
through the back of his head. Gelban returned back to the palace of
King Connachar.

"You were cheerful, charming, going away, but you are cheerless,
charmless, returning. What has happened to you, Gelban? But have you
seen her, and are Deirdre's hue and complexion as before?" said
Connachar.

"Well, I have seen Deirdre, and I saw her also truly, and while I was
looking at her through the bicker-hole on the door, Naois, son of
Uisnech, knocked out my eye with one of the dice in his hand. But of a
truth and verity, although he put out even my eye, it were my desire
still to remain looking at her with the other eye, were it not for the
hurry you told me to be in," said Gelban.

"That is true," said Connachar; "let three hundred bravo heroes go down
to the abode of the strangers, and let them bring hither to me Deirdre,
and kill the rest."

Connachar ordered three hundred active heroes to go down to the abode
of the strangers and to take Deirdre up with them and kill the rest.
"The pursuit is coming," said Deirdre.

"Yes, but I will myself go out and stop the pursuit," said Naois.

"It is not you, but we that will go," said Daring Drop, and Hardy
Holly, and Fiallan the Fair; "it is to us that our father entrusted
your defence from harm and danger when he himself left for home." And
the gallant youths, full noble, full manly, full handsome, with
beauteous brown locks, went forth girt with battle arms fit for fierce
fight and clothed with combat dress for fierce contest fit, which was
burnished, bright, brilliant, bladed, blazing, on which were many
pictures of beasts and birds and creeping things, lions and
lithe-limbed tigers, brown eagle and harrying hawk and adder fierce;
and the young heroes laid low three-thirds of the company.

Connachar came out in haste and cried with wrath: "Who is there on the
floor of fight, slaughtering my men?"

"We, the three sons of Ferchar Mac Ro."

"Well," said the king, "I will give a free bridge to your grandfather,
a free bridge to your father, and a free bridge each to you three
brothers, if you come over to my side tonight."

"Well, Connachar, we will not accept that offer from you nor thank you
for it. Greater by far do we prefer to go home to our father and tell
the deeds of heroism we have done, than accept anything on these terms
from you. Naois, son of Uisnech, and Allen and Arden are as nearly
related to yourself as they are to us, though you are so keen to shed
their blood, and you would shed our blood also, Connachar." And the
noble, manly, handsome youths with beauteous, brown locks returned
inside. "We are now," said they, "going home to tell our father that
you are now safe from the hands of the king." And the youths all fresh
and tall and lithe and beautiful, went home to their father to tell
that the sons of Uisnech were safe. This happened at the parting of the
day and night in the morning twilight time, and Naois said they must go
away, leave that house, and return to Alba.

Naois and Deirdre, Allan and Arden started to return to Alba. Word came
to the king that the company he was in pursuit of were gone. The king
then sent for Duanan Gacha Druid, the best magician he had, and he
spoke to him as follows:--"Much wealth have I expended on you, Duanan
Gacha Druid, to give schooling and learning and magic mystery to you,
if these people get away from me today without care, without
consideration or regard for me, without chance of overtaking them, and
without power to stop them."

"Well, I will stop them," said the magician, "until the company you
send in pursuit return." And the magician placed a wood before them
through which no man could go, but the sons of Uisnech marched through
the wood without halt or hesitation, and Deirdre held on to Naois's
hand.

"What is the good of that? that will not do yet," said Connachar. "They
are off without bending of their feet or stopping of their step,
without heed or respect to me, and I am without power to keep up to
them or opportunity to turn them back this night."

"I will try another plan on them," said the druid; and he placed before
them a grey sea instead of a green plain. The three heroes stripped and
tied their clothes behind their heads, and Naois placed Deirdre on the
top of his shoulder.

  They stretched their sides to the stream,
    And sea and land were to them the same,
  The rough grey ocean was the same
    As meadow-land green and plain.

"Though that be good, O Duanan, it will not make the heroes return,"
said Connachar; "they are gone without regard for me, and without
honour to me, and without power on my part to pursue them or to force
them to return this night."

"We shall try another method on them, since yon one did not stop them,"
said the druid. And the druid froze the grey ridged sea into hard rocky
knobs, the sharpness of sword being on the one edge and the poison
power of adders on the other. Then Arden cried that he was getting
tired, and nearly giving over. "Come you, Arden, and sit on my right
shoulder," said Naois. Arden came and sat, on Naois's shoulder. Arden
was long in this posture when he died; but though he was dead Naois
would not let him go. Allen then cried out that he was getting faint
and nigh-well giving up. When Naois heard his prayer, he gave forth the
piercing sigh of death, and asked Allen to lay hold of him and he would
bring him to land.

Allen was not long when the weakness of death came on him and his hold
failed. Naois looked around, and when he saw his two well-beloved
brothers dead, he cared not whether he lived or died, and he gave forth
the bitter sigh of death, and his heart burst.

"They are gone," said Duanan Gacha Druid to the king, "and I have done
what you desired me. The sons of Uisnech are dead and they will trouble
you no more; and you have your wife hale and whole to yourself."

"Blessings for that upon you and may the good results accrue to me,
Duanan. I count it no loss what I spent in the schooling and teaching
of you. Now dry up the flood, and let me see if I can behold Deirdre,"
said Connachar. And Duanan Gacha Druid dried up the flood from the
plain and the three sons of Uisnech were lying together dead, without
breath of life, side by side on the green meadow plain and Deirdre
bending above showering down her tears.

Then Deirdre said this lament: "Fair one, loved one, flower of beauty;
beloved upright and strong; beloved noble and modest warrior. Fair one,
blue-eyed, beloved of thy wife; lovely to me at the trysting-place came
thy clear voice through the woods of Ireland. I cannot eat or smile
henceforth. Break not to-day, my heart: soon enough shall I lie within
my grave. Strong are the waves of sorrow, but stronger is sorrow's
self, Connachar."

The people then gathered round the heroes' bodies and asked Connachar
what was to be done with the bodies. The order that he gave was that
they should dig a pit and put the three brothers in it side by side.

Deirdre kept sitting on the brink of the grave, constantly asking the
gravediggers to dig the pit wide and free. When the bodies of the
brothers were put in the grave, Deirdre said:--

  Come over hither, Naois, my love,
  Let Arden close to Allen lie;
  If the dead had any sense to feel,
  Ye would have made a place for Deirdre.

The men did as she told them. She jumped into the grave and lay down by
Naois, and she was dead by his side.

The king ordered the body to be raised from out the grave and to be
buried on the other side of the loch. It was done as the king bade, and
the pit closed. Thereupon a fir shoot grew out of the grave of Deirdre
and a fir shoot from the grave of Naois, and the two shoots united in a
knot above the loch. The king ordered the shoots to be cut down, and
this was done twice, until, at the third time, the wife whom the king
had married caused him to stop this work of evil and his vengeance on
the remains of the dead.




MUNACHAR AND MANACHAR

There once lived a Munachar and a Manachar, a long time ago, and it is
a long time since it was, and if they were alive now they would not be
alive then. They went out together to pick raspberries, and as many as
Munachar used to pick Manachar used to eat. Munachar said he must go
look for a rod to make a gad to hang Manachar, who ate his raspberries
every one; and he came to the rod. "What news the day?" said the rod.
"It is my own news that I'm seeking. Going looking for a rod, a rod to
make a gad, a gad to hang Manachar, who ate my raspberries every one."

"You will not get me," said the rod, "until you get an axe to cut me."
He came to the axe. "What news to-day?" said the axe. "It's my own news
I'm seeking. Going looking for an axe, an axe to cut a rod, a rod to
make a gad, a gad to hang Manachar, who ate my raspberries every one."

"You will not get me," said the axe, "until you get a flag to edge me."
He came to the flag. "What news today?" says the flag. "It's my own
news I'm seeking. Going looking for a flag, flag to edge axe, axe to
cut a rod, a rod to make a gad, a gad to hang Manachar, who ate my
raspberries every one."

"You will not get me," says the flag, "till you get water to wet me."
He came to the water. "What news to-day?" says the water. "It's my own
news that I'm seeking. Going looking for water, water to wet flag, flag
to edge axe, axe to cut a rod, a rod to make a gad, a gad to hang
Manachar, who ate my raspberries every one."

"You will not get me," said the water, "until you get a deer who will
swim me." He came to the deer. "What news to-day?" says the deer. "It's
my own news I'm seeking. Going looking for a deer, deer to swim water,
water to wet flag, flag to edge axe, axe to cut a rod, a rod to make a
gad, a gad to hang Manachar, who ate my raspberries every one."

"You will not get me," said the deer, "until you get a hound who will
hunt me." He came to the hound. "What news to-day?" says the hound.
"It's my own news I'm seeking. Going looking for a hound, hound to hunt
deer, deer to swim water, water to wet flag, flag to edge axe, axe to
cut a rod, a rod to make a gad, a gad to hang Manachar, who ate my
raspberries every one."

"You will not get me," said the hound, "until you get a bit of butter
to put in my claw." He came to the butter. "What news to-day?" says the
butter. "It's my own news I'm seeking. Going looking for butter, butter
to go in claw of hound, hound to hunt deer, deer to swim water, water
to wet flag, flag to edge axe, axe to cut a rod, a rod to make a gad, a
gad to hang Manachar, who ate my raspberries every one."

"You will not get me," said the butter, "until you get a cat who shall
scrape me." He came to the cat. "What news to-day?" said the cat. "It's
my own news I'm seeking. Going looking for a cat, cat to scrape butter,
butter to go in claw of hound, hound to hunt deer, deer to swim water,
water to wet flag, flag to edge axe, axe to cut a rod, a rod to make a
gad, gad to hang Manachar, who ate my raspberries every one."

"You will not get me," said the cat, "until you will get milk which you
will give me." He came to the cow. "What news to-day?" said the cow.
"It's my own news I'm seeking. Going looking for a cow, cow to give me
milk, milk I will give to the cat, cat to scrape butter, butter to go
in claw of hound, hound to hunt deer, deer to swim water, water to wet
flag, flag to edge axe, axe to cut a rod, a rod to make a gad, a gad to
hang Manachar, who ate my raspberries every one."

"You will not get any milk from me," said the cow, "until you bring me
a whisp of straw from those threshers yonder." He came to the
threshers. "What news to-day?" said the threshers. "It's my own news
I'm seeking. Going looking for a whisp of straw from ye to give to the
cow, the cow to give me milk, milk I will give to the cat, cat to
scrape butter, butter to go in claw of hound, hound to hunt deer, deer
to swim water, water to wet flag, flag to edge axe, axe to cut a rod, a
rod to make a gad, a gad to hang Manachar, who ate my raspberries every
one."

"You will not get any whisp of straw from us," said the threshers,
"until you bring us the makings of a cake from the miller over yonder."
He came to the miller. "What news to-day?" said the miller. "It's my
own news I'm seeking. Going looking for the makings of a cake which I
will give to the threshers, the threshers to give me a whisp of straw,
the whisp of straw I will give to the cow, the cow to give me milk,
milk I will give to the cat, cat to scrape butter, butter to go in claw
of hound, hound to hunt deer, deer to swim water, water to wet flag,
flag to edge axe, axe to cut a rod, a rod to make a gad, a gad to hang
Manachar, who ate my raspberries every one."

"You will not get any makings of a cake from me," said the miller,
"till you bring me the full of that sieve of water from the river over
there."

He took the sieve in his hand and went over to the river, but as often
as ever he would stoop and fill it with water, the moment he raised it
the water would run out of it again, and sure, if he had been there
from that day till this, he never could have filled it. A crow went
flying by him, over his head. "Daub! daub!" said the crow.

"My blessings on ye, then," said Munachar, "but it's the good advice
you have," and he took the red clay and the daub that was by the brink,
and he rubbed it to the bottom of the sieve, until all the holes were
filled, and then the sieve held the water, and he brought the water to
the miller, and the miller gave him the makings of a cake, and he gave
the makings of the cake to the threshers, and the threshers gave him a
whisp of straw, and he gave the whisp of straw to the cow, and the cow
gave him milk, the milk he gave to the cat, the cat scraped the butter,
the butter went into the claw of the hound, the hound hunted the deer,
the deer swam the water, the water wet the flag, the flag sharpened the
axe, the axe cut the rod, and the rod made a gad, and when he had it
ready to hang Manachar he found that Manachar had BURST.




GOLD-TREE AND SILVER-TREE

Once upon a time there was a king who had a wife, whose name was
Silver-tree, and a daughter, whose name was Gold-tree. On a certain day
of the days, Gold-tree and Silver-tree went to a glen, where there was
a well, and in it there was a trout.

Said Silver-tree, "Troutie, bonny little fellow, am not I the most
beautiful queen in the world?"

"Oh! indeed you are not."

"Who then?"

"Why, Gold-tree, your daughter."

Silver-tree went home, blind with rage. She lay down on the bed, and
vowed she would never be well until she could get the heart and the
liver of Gold-tree, her daughter, to eat.

At nightfall the king came home, and it was told him that Silver-tree,
his wife, was very ill. He went where she was, and asked her what was
wrong with her.

"Oh! only a thing--which you may heal if you like."

"Oh! indeed there is nothing at all which I could do for you that I
would not do."

"If I get the heart and the liver of Gold-tree, my daughter, to eat, I
shall be well."

Now it happened about this time that the son of a great king had come
from abroad to ask Gold-tree for marrying. The king now agreed to this,
and they went abroad.

The king then went and sent his lads to the hunting-hill for a he-goat,
and he gave its heart and its liver to his wife to eat; and she rose
well and healthy.

A year after this Silver-tree went to the glen, where there was the
well in which there was the trout.

"Troutie, bonny little fellow," said she, "am not I the most beautiful
queen in the world?"

"Oh! indeed you are not."

"Who then?"

"Why, Gold-tree, your daughter."

"Oh! well, it is long since she was living. It is a year since I ate
her heart and liver."

"Oh! indeed she is not dead. She is married to a great prince abroad."

Silver-tree went home, and begged the king to put the long-ship in
order, and said, "I am going to see my dear Gold-tree, for it is so
long since I saw her." The long-ship was put in order, and they went
away.

It was Silver-tree herself that was at the helm, and she steered the
ship so well that they were not long at all before they arrived.

The prince was out hunting on the hills. Gold-tree knew the long-ship
of her father coming.

"Oh!" said she to the servants, "my mother is coming, and she will kill
me."

"She shall not kill you at all; we will lock you in a room where she
cannot get near you."

This is how it was done; and when Silver-tree came ashore, she began to
cry out:

"Come to meet your own mother, when she comes to see you," Gold-tree
said that she could not, that she was locked in the room, and that she
could not get out of it.

"Will you not put out," said Silver-tree, "your little finger through
the key-hole, so that your own mother may give a kiss to it?"

She put out her little finger, and Silver-tree went and put a poisoned
stab in it, and Gold-tree fell dead.

When the prince came home, and found Gold-tree dead, he was in great
sorrow, and when he saw how beautiful she was, he did not bury her at
all, but he locked her in a room where nobody would get near her.

In the course of time he married again, and the whole house was under
the hand of this wife but one room, and he himself always kept the key
of that room. On a certain day of the days he forgot to take the key
with him, and the second wife got into the room. What did she see there
but the most beautiful woman that she ever saw.

She began to turn and try to wake her, and she noticed the poisoned
stab in her finger. She took the stab out, and Gold-tree rose alive, as
beautiful as she was ever.

At the fall of night the prince came home from the hunting-hill,
looking very downcast.

"What gift," said his wife, "would you give me that I could make you
laugh?"

"Oh! indeed, nothing could make me laugh, except Gold-tree were to come
alive again."

"Well, you'll find her alive down there in the room."

When the prince saw Gold-tree alive he made great rejoicings, and he
began to kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her. Said the second wife,
"Since she is the first one you had it is better for you to stick to
her, and I will go away."

"Oh! indeed you shall not go away, but I shall have both of you."

At the end of the year, Silver-tree went to the glen, where there was
the well, in which there was the trout.

"Troutie, bonny little fellow," said she, "am not I the most beautiful
queen in the world?"

"Oh! indeed you are not."

"Who then?"

"Why, Gold-tree, your daughter."

"Oh! well, she is not alive. It is a year since I put the poisoned stab
into her finger."

"Oh! indeed she is not dead at all, at all."

Silver-tree, went home, and begged the king to put the long-ship in
order, for that she was going to see her dear Gold-tree, as it was so
long since she saw her. The long-ship was put in order, and they went
away. It was Silver-tree herself that was at the helm, and she steered
the ship so well that they were not long at all before they arrived.

The prince was out hunting on the hills. Gold-tree knew her father's
ship coming.

"Oh!" said she, "my mother is coming, and she will kill me."

"Not at all," said the second wife; "we will go down to meet her."

Silver-tree came ashore. "Come down, Gold-tree, love," said she, "for
your own mother has come to you with a precious drink."

"It is a custom in this country," said the second wife, "that the
person who offers a drink takes a draught out of it first."

Silver-tree put her mouth to it, and the second wife went and struck it
so that some of it went down her throat, and she fell dead. They had
only to carry her home a dead corpse and bury her.

The prince and his two wives were long alive after this, pleased and
peaceful.

I left them there.




KING O'TOOLE AND HIS GOOSE

Och, I thought all the world, far and near, had heerd o' King
O'Toole--well, well, but the darkness of mankind is untellible! Well,
sir, you must know, as you didn't hear it afore, that there was a king,
called King O'Toole, who was a fine old king in the old ancient times,
long ago; and it was he that owned the churches in the early days. The
king, you see, was the right sort; he was the real boy, and loved sport
as he loved his life, and hunting in particular; and from the rising o'
the sun, up he got, and away he went over the mountains after the deer;
and fine times they were.

Well, it was all mighty good, as long as the king had his health; but,
you see, in course of time the king grew old, by raison he was stiff in
his limbs, and when he got stricken in years, his heart failed him, and
he was lost entirely for want o' diversion, because he couldn't go
a-hunting no longer; and, by dad, the poor king was obliged at last to
get a goose to divert him. Oh, you may laugh, if you like, but it's
truth I'm telling you; and the way the goose diverted him was
this-a-way: You see, the goose used to swim across the lake, and go
diving for trout, and catch fish on a Friday for the king, and flew
every other day round about the lake, diverting the poor king. All went
on mighty well until, by dad, the goose got stricken in years like her
master, and couldn't divert him no longer, and then it was that the
poor king was lost entirely. The king was walkin' one mornin' by the
edge of the lake, lamentin' his cruel fate, and thinking of drowning
himself, that could get no diversion in life, when all of a sudden,
turning round the corner, who should he meet but a mighty decent young
man coming up to him.

"God save you," says the king to the young man.

"God save you kindly, King O'Toole," says the young man.

"True for you," says the king. "I am King O'Toole," says he, "prince
and plennypennytinchery of these parts," says he; "but how came ye to
know that?" says he.

"Oh, never mind," says St. Kavin.

You see it was Saint Kavin, sure enough--the saint himself in disguise,
and nobody else. "Oh, never mind," says he, "I know more than that. May
I make bold to ask how is your goose, King O'Toole?" says he.

"Blur-an-agers, how came ye to know about my goose?" says the king.

"Oh, no matter; I was given to understand it," says Saint Kavin.

After some more talk the king says, "What are you?"

"I'm an honest man," says Saint Kavin.

"Well, honest man," says the king, "and how is it you make your money
so aisy?"

"By makin' old things as good as new," says Saint Kavin.

"Is it a tinker you are?" says the king.

"No," says the saint; "I'm no tinker by trade, King O'Toole; I've a
better trade than a tinker," says he--"what would you say," says he,
"if I made your old goose as good as new?"

My dear, at the word of making his goose as good as new, you'd think
the poor old king's eyes were ready to jump out of his head. With that
the king whistled, and down came the poor goose, just like a hound,
waddling up to the poor cripple, her master, and as like him as two
peas. The minute the saint clapt his eyes on the goose, "I'll do the
job for you," says he, "King O'Toole."

"By _Jaminee_!" says King O'Toole, "if you do, I'll say you're the
cleverest fellow in the seven parishes."

"Oh, by dad," says St. Kavin, "you must say more nor that--my horn's
not so soft all out," says he, "as to repair your old goose for
nothing; what'll you gi' me if I do the job for you?--that's the chat,"
says St. Kavin.

"I'll give you whatever you ask," says the king; "isn't that fair?"

"Divil a fairer," says the saint; "that's the way to do business. Now,"
says he, "this is the bargain I'll make with you, King O'Toole: will
you gi' me all the ground the goose flies over, the first offer, after
I make her as good as new?"

"I will," says the king.

"You won't go back o' your word?" says St. Kavin.

"Honour bright!" says King O'Toole, holding out his fist.

"Honour bright!" says St. Kavin, back agin, "it's a bargain. Come
here!" says he to the poor old goose--"come here, you unfortunate ould
cripple, and it's I that'll make you the sporting bird." With that, my
dear, he took up the goose by the two wings--"Criss o' my cross an
you," says he, markin' her to grace with the blessed sign at the same
minute--and throwing her up in the air, "whew," says he, jist givin'
her a blast to help her; and with that, my jewel, she took to her
heels, flyin' like one o' the eagles themselves, and cutting as many
capers as a swallow before a shower of rain.

Well, my dear, it was a beautiful sight to see the king standing with
his mouth open, looking at his poor old goose flying as light as a
lark, and better than ever she was: and when she lit at his feet,
patted her on the head, and "_Ma vourneen_," says he, "but you are the
_darlint_ o' the world."

"And what do you say to me," says 'Saint Kavin, "for making her the
like?"

"By Jabers," says the king, "I say nothing beats the art o' man,
barring the bees."

"And do you say no more nor that?" says Saint Kavin.

"And that I'm beholden to you," says the king.

"But will you gi'e me all the ground the goose flew over?" says Saint
Kavin.

"I will," says King O'Toole, "and you're welcome to it," says he,
"though it's the last acre I have to give."

"But you'll keep your word true?" says the saint.

"As true as the sun," says the king.

"It's well for you, King O'Toole, that you said that word," says he;
"for if you didn't say that word, the devil the bit o' your goose would
ever fly agin."

When the king was as good as his word, Saint Kavin was pleased with
him, and then it was that he made himself known to the king. "And,"
says he, "King O'Toole, you're a decent man, for I only came here to
try you. You don't know me," says he, "because I'm disguised."

"Musha! then," says the king, "who are you?"

"I'm Saint Kavin," said the saint, blessing himself.

"Oh, queen of heaven!" says the king, making the sign of the cross
between his eyes, and falling down on his knees before the saint; "is
it the great Saint Kavin," says he, "that I've been discoursing all
this time without knowing it," says he, "all as one as if he was a lump
of a _gossoon_?--and so you're a saint?" says the king.

"I am," says Saint Kavin.

"By Jabers, I thought I was only talking to a dacent boy," says the
king.

"Well, you know the difference now," says the saint. "I'm Saint Kavin,"
says he, "the greatest of all the saints."

And so the king had his goose as good as new, to divert him as long as
he lived: and the saint supported him after he came into his property,
as I told you, until the day of his death--and that was soon after; for
the poor goose thought he was catching a trout one Friday; but, my
jewel, it was a mistake he made--and instead of a trout, it was a
thieving horse-eel; and instead of the goose killing a trout for the
king's supper--by dad, the eel killed the king's goose--and small blame
to him; but he didn't ate her, because he darn't ate what Saint Kavin
had laid his blessed hands on.




THE WOOING OF OLWEN

Shortly after the birth of Kilhuch, the son of King Kilyth, his mother
died. Before her death she charged the king that he should not take a
wife again until he saw a briar with two blossoms upon her grave, and
the king sent every morning to see if anything were growing thereon.
After many years the briar appeared, and he took to wife the widow of
King Doged. She foretold to her stepson, Kilhuch, that it was his
destiny to marry a maiden named Olwen, or none other, and he, at his
father's bidding, went to the court of his cousin, King Arthur, to ask
as a boon the hand of the maiden. He rode upon a grey steed with
shell-formed hoofs, having a bridle of linked gold, and a saddle also
of gold. In his hand were two spears of silver, well-tempered, headed
with steel, of an edge to wound the wind and cause blood to flow, and
swifter than the fall of the dew-drop from the blade of reed grass upon
the earth when the dew of June is at its heaviest. A gold-hilted sword
was on his thigh, and the blade was of gold, having inlaid upon it a
cross of the hue of the lightning of heaven. Two brindled,
white-breasted greyhounds, with strong collars of rubies, sported round
him, and his courser cast up four sods with its four hoofs like four
swallows about his head. Upon the steed was a four-cornered cloth of
purple, and an apple of gold was at each corner. Precious gold was upon
the stirrups and shoes, and the blade of grass bent not beneath them,
so light was the courser's tread as he went towards the gate of King
Arthur's palace.

Arthur received him with great ceremony, and asked him to remain at the
palace; but the youth replied that he came not to consume meat and
drink, but to ask a boon of the king.

Then said Arthur, "Since thou wilt not remain here, chieftain, thou
shalt receive the boon, whatsoever thy tongue may name, as far as the
wind dries and the rain moistens, and the sun revolves, and the sea
encircles, and the earth extends, save only my ships and my mantle, my
sword, my lance, my shield, my dagger, and Guinevere my wife."

So Kilhuch craved of him the hand of Olwen, the daughter of Yspathaden
Penkawr, and also asked the favour and aid of all Arthur's court.

Then said Arthur, "O chieftain, I have never heard of the maiden of
whom thou speakest, nor of her kindred, but I will gladly send
messengers in search of her."

And the youth said, "I will willingly grant from this night to that at
the end of the year to do so."

Then Arthur sent messengers to every land within his dominions to seek
for the maiden; and at the end of the year Arthur's messengers returned
without having gained any knowledge or information concerning Olwen
more than on the first day.

Then said Kilhuch, "Every one has received his boon, and I yet lack
mine. I will depart and bear away thy honour with me."

Then said Kay, "Rash chieftain! dost thou reproach Arthur? Go with us,
and we will not part until thou dost either confess that the maiden
exists not in the world, or until we obtain her."

Thereupon Kay rose up.

Kay had this peculiarity, that his breath lasted nine nights and nine
days under water, and he could exist nine nights and nine days without
sleep. A wound from Kay's sword no physician could heal. Very subtle
was Kay. When it pleased him he could render himself as tall as the
highest tree in the forest. And he had another peculiarity--so great
was the heat of his nature, that, when it rained hardest, whatever he
carried remained dry for a handbreadth above and a handbreadth below
his hand; and when his companions were coldest, it was to them as fuel
with which to light their fire.

And Arthur called Bedwyr, who never shrank from any enterprise upon
which Kay was bound. None was equal to him in swiftness throughout this
island except Arthur and Drych Ail Kibthar. And although he was
one-handed, three warriors could not shed blood faster than he on the
field of battle. Another property he had; his lance would produce a
wound equal to those of nine opposing lances.

And Arthur called to Kynthelig the guide. "Go thou upon this expedition
with the Chieftain." For as good a guide was he in a land which he had
never seen as he was in his own.

He called Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd, because he knew all tongues.

He called Gwalchmai, the son of Gwyar, because he never returned home
without achieving the adventure of which he went in quest. He was the
best of footmen and the best of knights. He was nephew to Arthur, the
son of his sister, and his cousin.

And Arthur called Menw, the son of Teirgwaeth, in order that if they
went into a savage country, he might cast a charm and an illusion over
them, so that none might see them whilst they could see every one.

They journeyed on till they came to a vast open plain, wherein they saw
a great castle, which was the fairest in the world. But so far away was
it that at night it seemed no nearer, and they scarcely reached it on
the third day. When they came before the castle they beheld a vast
flock of sheep, boundless and without end. They told their errand to
the herdsman, who endeavoured to dissuade them, since none who had come
thither on that quest had returned alive. They gave to him a gold ring,
which he conveyed to his wife, telling her who the visitors were.

On the approach of the latter, she ran out with joy to greet them, and
sought to throw her arms about their necks. But Kay, snatching a billet
out of the pile, placed the log between her two hands, and she squeezed
it so that it became a twisted coil.

"O woman," said Kay, "if thou hadst squeezed me thus, none could ever
again have set their affections on me. Evil love were this."

They entered the house, and after meat she told them that the maiden
Olwen came there every Saturday to wash. They pledged their faith that
they would not harm her, and a message was sent to her. So Olwen came,
clothed in a robe of flame-coloured silk, and with a collar of ruddy
gold, in which were emeralds and rubies, about her neck. More golden
was her hair than the flower of the broom, and her skin was whiter than
the foam of the wave, and fairer were her hands and her fingers than
the blossoms of the wood anemone amidst the spray of the meadow
fountain. Brighter were her glances than those of a falcon; her bosom
was more snowy than the breast of the white swan, her cheek redder than
the reddest roses. Whoso beheld was filled with her love. Four white
trefoils sprang up wherever she trod, and therefore was she called
Olwen.

Then Kilhuch, sitting beside her on a bench, told her his love, and she
said that he would win her as his bride if he granted whatever her
father asked.

Accordingly they went up to the castle and laid their request before
him.

"Raise up the forks beneath my two eyebrows which have fallen over my
eyes," said Yspathaden Penkawr, "that I may see the fashion of my
son-in-law."

They did so, and he promised, them an answer on the morrow. But as they
were going forth, Yspathaden seized one of the three poisoned darts
that lay beside him and threw it back after them.

And Bedwyr caught it and flung it back, wounding Yspathaden in the knee.

Then said he, "A cursed ungentle son-in-law, truly. I shall ever walk
the worse for his rudeness. This poisoned iron pains me like the bite
of a gad-fly. Cursed be the smith who forged it, and the anvil whereon
it was wrought."

The knights rested in the house of Custennin the herdsman, but the next
day at dawn they returned to the castle and renewed their request.

Yspathaden said it was necessary that he should consult Olwen's four
great-grandmothers and her four great-grand-sires.

The knights again withdrew, and as they were going he took the second
dart and cast it after them.

But Menw caught it and flung it back, piercing Yspathaden's breast with
it, so that it came out at the small of his back.

"A cursed ungentle son-in-law, truly," says he, "the hard iron pains me
like the bite of a horse-leech. Cursed be the hearth whereon it was
heated! Henceforth whenever I go up a hill, I shall have a scant in my
breath and a pain in my chest."

On the third day the knights returned once more to the palace, and
Yspathaden took the third dart and cast it at them.

But Kilhuch caught it and threw it vigorously, and wounded him through
the eyeball, so that the dart came out at the back of his head.

"A cursed ungentle son-in-law, truly. As long as I remain alive my
eyesight will be the worse. Whenever I go against the wind my eyes will
water, and peradventure my head will burn, and I shall have a giddiness
every new moon. Cursed be the fire in which it was forged. Like the
bite of a mad dog is the stroke of this poisoned iron."

And they went to meat.

Said Yspathaden Penkawr, "Is it thou that seekest my daughter?"

"It is I," answered Kilhuch.

"I must have thy pledge that thou wilt not do towards me otherwise than
is just, and when I have gotten that which I shall name, my daughter
thou shalt have."

"I promise thee that willingly," said Kilhuch, "name what thou wilt."

"I will do so," said he.

"Throughout the world there is not a comb or scissors with which I can
arrange my hair, on, account of its rankness, except the comb and
scissors that are between the two ears of Turch Truith, the son of
Prince Tared. He will not give them of his own free will, and thou wilt
not be able to compel him."

"It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think
that it will not be easy."

"Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. It
will not be possible to hunt Turch Truith without Drudwyn the whelp of
Greid, the son of Eri, and know that throughout the world there is not
a huntsman who can hunt with this dog, except Mabon the son of Modron.
He was taken from his mother when three nights old, and it is not known
where he now is, nor whether he is living or dead."

"It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think
that it will not be easy."

"Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Thou
wilt not get Mabon, for it is not known where he is, unless thou find
Eidoel, his kinsman in blood, the son of Aer. For it would be useless
to seek for him. He is his cousin."

"It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think
that it will not be easy. Horses shall I have, and chivalry; and my
lord and kinsman Arthur will obtain for me all these things. And I
shall gain thy daughter, and thou shalt lose thy life."

"Go forward. And thou shalt not be chargeable for food or raiment for
my daughter while thou art seeking these things; and when thou hast
compassed all these marvels, thou shalt have my daughter for wife."

Now, when they told Arthur how they had sped, Arthur said, "Which of
these marvels will it be best for us to seek first?"

"It will be best," said they, "to seek Mabon the son of Modron; and he
will not be found unless we first find Eidoel, the son of Aer, his
kinsman."

Then Arthur rose up, and the warriors of the Islands of Britain with
him, to seek for Eidoel; and they proceeded until they came before the
castle of Glivi, where Eidoel was imprisoned.

Glivi stood on the summit of his castle, and said, "Arthur, what
requirest thou of me, since nothing remains to me in this fortress, and
I have neither joy nor pleasure in it; neither wheat nor oats?"

Said Arthur, "Not to injure thee came I hither, but to seek for the
prisoner that is with thee."

"I will give thee my prisoner, though I had not thought to give him up
to any one; and therewith shalt thou have my support and my aid."

His followers then said unto Arthur, "Lord, go thou home, thou canst
not proceed with thy host in quest of such small adventures as these."

Then said Arthur, "It were well for thee, Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd,
to go upon this quest, for thou knowest all languages, and art familiar
with those of the birds and the beasts. Go, Eidoel, likewise with my
men in search of thy cousin. And as for you, Kay and Bedwyr, I have
hope of whatever adventure ye are in quest of, that ye will achieve it.
Achieve ye this adventure for me."

These went forward until they came to the Ousel of Cilgwri, and Gwrhyr
adjured her for the sake of Heaven, saying, "Tell me if thou knowest
aught of Mabon, the son of Modron, who was taken when three nights old
from between his mother and the wall."

And the Ousel answered, "When I first came here there was a smith's
anvil in this place, and I was then a young bird, and from that time no
work has been done upon it, save the pecking of my beak every evening,
and now there is not so much as the size of a nut remaining thereof;
yet the vengeance of Heaven be upon me if during all that time I have
ever heard of the man for whom you inquire. Nevertheless, there is a
race of animals who were formed before me, and I will be your guide to
them."

So they proceeded to the place where was the Stag of Redynvre.

"Stag of Redynvre, behold we are come to thee, an embassy from Arthur,
for we have not heard of any animal older than thou. Say, knowest thou
aught of Mabon?"

The stag said, "When first I came hither there was a plain all around
me, without any trees save one oak sapling, which grew up to be an oak
with an hundred branches. And that oak has since perished, so that now
nothing remains of it but the withered stump; and from that day to this
I have been here, yet have I never heard of the man for whom you
inquire. Nevertheless, I will be your guide to the place where there is
an animal which was formed before I was."

So they proceeded to the place where was the Owl of Cwm Cawlwyd, to
inquire of him concerning Mabon.

And the owl said, "If I knew I would tell you. When first I came
hither, the wide valley you see was a wooded glen. And a race of men
came and rooted it up. And there grew there a second wood, and this
wood is the third. My wings, are they not withered stumps? Yet all this
time, even until to-day, I have never heard of the man for whom you
inquire. Nevertheless, I will be the guide of Arthur's embassy until
you come to the place where is the oldest animal in this world, and the
one who has travelled most, the eagle of Gwern Abwy."

When they came to the eagle, Gwrhyr asked it the same question; but it
replied, "I have been here for a great space of time, and when I first
came hither there was a rock here, from the top of which I pecked at
the stars every evening, and now it is not so much as a span high. From
that day to this I have been here, and I have never heard of the man
for whom you inquire, except once when I went in search of food as far
as Llyn Llyw.  And when I came there, I struck my talons into a salmon,
thinking he would serve me as food for a long time. But he drew me into
the deep, and I was scarcely able to escape from him. After that I went
with my whole kindred to attack him and to try to destroy him, but he
sent messengers and made peace with me, and came and besought me to
take fifty fish-spears out of his back. Unless he know something of him
whom you seek, I cannot tell you who may. However, I will guide you to
the place where he is."

So they went thither, and the eagle said, "Salmon of Llyn Llyw, I have
come to thee with an embassy from Arthur to ask thee if thou knowest
aught concerning Mabon, the son of Modron, who was taken away at three
nights old from between his mother and the wall."

And the salmon answered, "As much as I know I will tell thee. With
every tide I go along the river upwards, until I come near to the walls
of Gloucester, and there have I found such wrong as I never found
elsewhere; and to the end that ye may give credence thereto, let one of
you go thither upon each of my two shoulders."

So Kay and Gwrhyr went upon his shoulders, and they proceeded till they
came to the wall of the prison, and they heard a great wailing and
lamenting from the dungeon. Said Gwrhyr, "Who is it that laments in
this house of stone?"

And the voice replied, "Alas, it is Mabon, the son of Modron, who is
here imprisoned!"

Then they returned and told Arthur, who, summoning his warriors,
attacked the castle.

And whilst the fight was going on, Kay and Bedwyr, mounting on the
shoulders of the fish, broke into the dungeon, and brought away with
them Mabon, the son of Modron.

Then Arthur summoned unto him all the warriors that were in the three
islands of Britain and in the three islands adjacent; and he went as
far as Esgeir Ocrvel in Ireland where the Boar Truith was with his
seven young pigs. And the dogs were let loose upon him from all sides.
But he wasted the fifth part of Ireland, and then set forth through the
sea to Wales. Arthur and his hosts, and his horses, and his dogs
followed hard after him. But ever and awhile the boar made a stand, and
many a champion of Arthur's did he slay. Throughout all Wales did
Arthur follow him, and one by one the young pigs were killed. At
length, when he would fain have crossed the Severn and escaped into
Cornwall, Mabon the son of Modron came up with him, and Arthur fell
upon him together with the champions of Britain. On the one side Mabon
the son of Modron spurred his steed and snatched his razor from him,
whilst Kay came up with him on the other side and took from him the
scissors. But before they could obtain the comb he had regained the
ground with his feet, and from the moment that he reached the shore,
neither dog nor man nor horse could overtake him until he came to
Cornwall. There Arthur and his hosts followed in his track until they
overtook him in Cornwall. Hard had been their trouble before, but it
was child's play to what they met in seeking the comb. Win it they did,
and the Boar Truith they hunted into the deep sea, and it was never
known whither he went.

Then Kilhuch set forward, and as many as wished ill to Yspathaden
Penkawr. And they took the marvels with them to his court. And Kaw of
North Britain came and shaved his beard, skin and flesh clean off to
the very bone from ear to ear.

"Art thou shaved, man?" said Kilhuch.

"I am shaved," answered he.

"Is thy daughter mine now?"

"She is thine, but therefore needst thou not thank me, but Arthur who
hath accomplished this for thee. By my free will thou shouldst never
have had her, for with her I lose my life."

Then Goreu the son of Custennin seized him by the hair of his head and
dragged him after him to the keep, and cut off his head and placed it
on a stake on the citadel.

Thereafter the hosts of Arthur dispersed themselves each man to his own
country.

Thus did Kilhuch son of Kelython win to wife Olwen, the daughter of
Yspathaden Penkawr.




JACK AND HIS COMRADES

Once there was a poor widow, as often there has been, and she had one
son. A very scarce summer came, and they didn't know how they'd live
till the new potatoes would be fit for eating. So Jack said to his
mother one evening, "Mother, bake my cake, and kill my hen, till I go
seek my fortune; and if I meet it, never fear but I'll soon be back to
share it with you."

So she did as he asked her, and he set out at break of day on his
journey. His mother came along with him to the yard gate, and says she,
"Jack, which would you rather have, half the cake and half the hen with
my blessing, or the whole of 'em with my curse?"

"O musha, mother," says Jack, "why do you ax me that question? sure you
know I wouldn't have your curse and Damer's estate along with it."

"Well, then, Jack," says she, "here's the whole lot of 'em with my
thousand blessings along with them." So she stood on the yard fence and
blessed him as far as her eyes could see him.

Well, he went along and along till he was tired, and ne'er a farmer's
house he went into wanted a boy. At last his road led by the side of a
bog, and there was a poor ass up to his shoulders near a big bunch of
grass he was striving to come at.

"Ah, then, Jack asthore," says he, "help me out or I'll be drowned."

"Never say't twice," says Jack, and he pitched in big stones and sods
into the slob, till the ass got good ground under him.

"Thank you, Jack," says he, when he was out on the hard road; "I'll do
as much for you another time. Where are you going?"

"Faith, I'm going to seek my fortune till harvest comes in, God bless
it!"

"And if you like," says the ass, "I'll go along with you; who knows
what luck we may have!"

"With all my heart, it's getting late, let us be jogging."

Well, they were going through a village, and a whole army of gossoons
were hunting a poor dog with a kettle tied to his tail. He ran up to
Jack for protection, and the ass let such a roar out of him, that the
little thieves took to their heels as if the ould boy was after them.

"More power to you, Jack," says the dog.

"I'm much obleeged to you: where is the baste and yourself going?"

"We're going to seek our fortune till harvest comes in."

"And wouldn't I be proud to go with you!" says the dog, "and get rid of
them ill conducted boys; purshuin' to 'em."

"Well, well, throw your tail over your arm, and come along."

They got outside the town, and sat down under an old wall, and Jack
pulled out his bread and meat, and shared with the dog; and the ass
made his dinner on a bunch of thistles. While they were eating and
chatting, what should come by but a poor half-starved cat, and the
moll-row he gave out of him would make your heart ache.

"You look as if you saw the tops of nine houses since breakfast," says
Jack; "here's a bone and something on it."

"May your child never know a hungry belly!" says Tom; "it's myself
that's in need of your kindness. May I be so bold as to ask where yez
are all going?"

"We're going to seek our fortune till the harvest comes in, and you may
join us if you like."

"And that I'll do with a heart and a half," says the cat, "and thank'ee
for asking me."'

Off they set again, and just as the shadows of the trees were three
times as long as themselves, they heard a great cackling in a field
inside the road, and out over the ditch jumped a fox with a fine black
cock in his mouth.

"Oh, you anointed villain!" says the ass, roaring like thunder.

"At him, good dog!" says Jack, and the word wasn't out of his mouth
when Coley was in full sweep after the Red Dog. Reynard dropped his
prize like a hot potato, and was off like shot, and the poor cock came
back fluttering and trembling to Jack and his comrades.

"O musha, naybours!" says he, "wasn't it the height o' luck that threw
you in my way! Maybe I won't remember your kindness if ever I find you
in hardship; and where in the world are you all going?"

"We're going to seek our fortune till the harvest comes in; you may
join our party if you like, and sit on Neddy's crupper when your legs
and wings are tired."

Well, the march began again, and just as the sun was gone down they
looked around, and there was neither cabin nor farm house in sight.

"Well, well," says Jack, "the worse luck now the better another time,
and it's only a summer night after all. We'll go into the wood, and
make our bed on the long grass."

No sooner said than done. Jack stretched himself on a bunch of dry
grass, the ass lay near him, the dog and cat lay in the ass's warm lap,
and the cock went to roost in the next tree.

Well, the soundness of deep sleep was over them all, when the cock took
a notion of crowing.

"Bother you, Black Cock!" says the ass: "you disturbed me from as nice
a wisp of hay as ever I tasted. What's the matter?"

"It's daybreak that's the matter: don't you see light yonder?"

"I see a light indeed," says Jack, "but it's from a candle it's coming,
and not from the sun. As you've roused us we may as well go over, and
ask for lodging."

So they all shook themselves, and went on through grass, and rocks, and
briars, till they got down into a hollow, and there was the light
coming through the shadow, and along with it came singing, and
laughing, and cursing.

"Easy, boys!" says Jack: "walk on your tippy toes till we see what sort
of people we have to deal with."

So they crept near the window, and there they saw six robbers inside,
with pistols, and blunderbushes, and cutlashes, sitting at a table,
eating roast beef and pork, and drinking mulled beer, and wine, and
whisky punch.

"Wasn't that a fine haul we made at the Lord of Dunlavin's!" says one
ugly-looking thief with his mouth full, "and it's little we'd get only
for the honest porter! here's his purty health!"

"The porter's purty health!" cried out every one of them, and Jack bent
his finger at his comrades.

"Close your ranks, my men," says he in a whisper, "and let every one
mind the word of command."

So the ass put his fore-hoofs on the sill of the window, the dog got on
the ass's head, the cat on the dog's head, and the cock on the cat's
head. Then Jack made a sign, and they all sung out like mad.

"Hee-haw, hee-haw!" roared the ass; "bow-wow!" barked the dog;
"meaw-meaw!" cried the cat; "cock-a-doodle-doo!" crowed the cock.

"Level your pistols!" cried Jack, "and make smithereens of 'em. Don't
leave a mother's son of 'em alive; present, fire!"  With that they gave
another halloo, and smashed every pane in the window. The robbers were
frightened out of their lives. They blew out the candles, threw down
the table, and skelped out at the back door as if they were in earnest,
and never drew rein till they were in the very heart of the wood.

Jack and his party got into the room, closed the shutters, lighted the
candles, and ate and drank till hunger and thirst were gone. Then they
lay down to rest;--Jack in the bed, the ass in the stable, the dog on
the door-mat, the cat by the fire, and the cock on the perch.

At first the robbers were very glad to find themselves safe in the
thick wood, but they soon began to get vexed.

"This damp grass is very different from our warm room," says one.

"I was obliged to drop a fine pig's foot," says another.

"I didn't get a tayspoonful of my last tumbler," says another.

"And all the Lord of Dunlavin's gold and silver that we left behind!"
says the last.

"I think I'll venture back," says the captain, "and see if we can
recover anything."

"That's a good boy!" said they all, and away he went.

The lights were all out, and so he groped his way to the fire, and
there the cat flew in his face, and tore him with teeth and claws. He
let a roar out of him, and made for the room door, to look for a candle
inside. He trod on the dog's tail, and if he did, he got the marks of
his teeth in his arms, and legs, and thighs.

"Thousand murders!" cried he; "I wish I was out of this unlucky house."

When he got to the street door, the cock dropped down upon him with his
claws and bill, and what the cat and dog done to him was only a
flay-bite to what he got from the cock.

"Oh, tattheration to you all, you unfeeling vagabones!" says he, when
he recovered his breath; and he staggered and spun round and round till
he reeled into the stable, back foremost, but the ass received him with
a kick on the broadest part of his small clothes, and laid him
comfortably on the dunghill.

When he came to himself, he scratched his head, and began to think what
happened him; and as soon as he found that his legs were able to carry
him, he crawled away, dragging one foot after another, till he reached
the wood.

"Well, well," cried them all, when he came within hearing, "any chance
of our property?"

"You may say chance," says he, "and it's itself is the poor chance all
out. Ah, will any of you pull a bed of dry grass for me? All the
sticking-plaster in Enniscorthy will be too little for the cuts and
bruises I have on me. Ah, if you only knew what I have gone through for
you! When I got to the kitchen fire, looking for a sod of lighted turf,
what should be there but an old woman carding flax, and you may see the
marks she left on my face with the cards. I made to the room door as
fast as I could, and who should I stumble over but a cobbler and his
seat, and if he did not work at me with his awls and his pinchers you
may call me a rogue. Well, I got away from him somehow, but when I was
passing through the door, it must be the divel himself that pounced
down on me with his claws, and his teeth, that were equal to sixpenny
nails, and his wings--ill luck be in his road! Well, at last I reached
the stable, and there, by way of salute, I got a pelt from a
sledge-hammer that sent me half a mile off. If you don't believe me,
I'll give you leave to go and judge for yourselves."

"Oh, my poor captain," says they, "we believe you to the nines. Catch
us, indeed, going within a hen's race of that unlucky cabin!"

Well, before the sun shook his doublet next morning, Jack and his
comrades were up and about. They made a hearty breakfast on what was
left the night before, and then they all agreed to set off to the
castle of the Lord of Dunlavin, and give him back all his gold and
silver. Jack put it all in the two ends of a sack and laid it across
Neddy's back, and all took the road in their hands. Away they went,
through bogs, up hills, down dales, and sometimes along the yellow high
road, till they came to the hall-door of the Lord of Dunlavin, and who
should be there, airing his powdered head, his white stockings, and his
red breeches, but the thief of a porter.

He gave a cross look to the visitors, and says he to Jack, "What do you
want here, my fine fellow? there isn't room for you all."

"We want," says Jack, "what I'm sure you haven't to give us--and that
is, common civility."

"Come, be off, you lazy strollers!" says he, "while a cat 'ud be
licking her ear, or I'll let the dogs at you."

"Would you tell a body," says the cock that was perched on the ass's
head, "who was it that opened the door for the robbers the other night?"

Ah! maybe the porter's red face didn't turn the colour of his frill,
and the Lord of Dunlavin and his pretty daughter, that were standing at
the parlour window unknownst to the porter, put out their heads.

"I'd be glad, Barney," says the master, "to hear your answer to the
gentleman with the red comb on him."

"Ah, my lord, don't believe the rascal; sure I didn't open the door to
the six robbers."

"And how did you know there were six, you poor innocent?" said the lord.

"Never mind, sir," says Jack, "all your gold and silver is there in
that sack, and I don't think you will begrudge us our supper and bed
after our long march from the wood of Athsalach."

"Begrudge, indeed! Not one of you will ever see a poor day if I can
help it."

So all were welcomed to their heart's content, and the ass and the dog
and the cock got the best posts in the farmyard, and the cat took
possession of the kitchen. The lord took Jack in hands, dressed him
from top to toe in broadcloth, and frills as white as snow, and
turnpumps, and put a watch in his fob. When they sat down to dinner,
the lady of the house said Jack had the air of a born gentleman about
him, and the lord said he'd make him his steward. Jack brought his
mother, and settled her comfortably near the castle, and all were as
happy as you please.




THE SHEE AN GANNON AND THE GRUAGACH GAIRE

The Shee an Gannon was born in the morning, named at noon, and went in
the evening to ask his daughter of the king of Erin.

"I will give you my daughter in marriage," said the king of Erin; "you
won't get her, though, unless you go and bring me back the tidings that
I want, and tell me what it is that put a stop to the laughing of the
Gruagach Gaire, who before this laughed always, and laughed so loud
that the whole world heard him. There are twelve iron spikes out here
in the garden behind my castle. On eleven of the spikes are the heads
of kings' sons who came seeking my daughter in marriage, and all of
them went away to get the knowledge I wanted. Not one was able to get
it and tell me what stopped the Gruagach Gaire from laughing. I took
the heads off them all when they came back without the tidings for
which they went, and I'm greatly in dread that your head'll be on the
twelfth spike, for I'll do the same to you that I did to the eleven
kings' sons unless you tell what put a stop to the laughing of the
Gruagach."

The Shee an Gannon made no answer, but left the king and pushed away to
know could he find why the Gruagach was silent.

He took a glen at a step, a hill at a leap, and travelled all day till
evening. Then he came to a house. The master of the house asked him
what sort was he, and he said: "A young man looking for hire."

"Well," said the master of the house, "I was going tomorrow to look for
a man to mind my cows. If you'll work for me, you'll have a good place,
the best food a man could have to eat in this world, and a soft bed to
lie on."

The Shee an Gannon took service, and ate his supper. Then the master of
the house said: "I am the Gruagach Gaire; now that you are my man and
have eaten your supper, you'll have a bed of silk to sleep on."

Next morning after breakfast the Gruagach said to the Shee an Gannon:
"Go out now and loosen my five golden cows and my bull without horns,
and drive them to pasture; but when you have them out on the grass, be
careful you don't let them go near the land of the giant."

The new cowboy drove the cattle to pasture, and when near the land of
the giant, he saw it was covered with woods and surrounded by a high
wall. He went up, put his back against the wall, and threw in a great
stretch of it; then he went inside and threw out another great stretch
of the wall, and put the five golden cows and the bull without horns on
the land of the giant.

Then he climbed a tree, ate the sweet apples himself, and threw the
sour ones down to the cattle of the Gruagach Gaire.

Soon a great crashing was heard in the woods,--the noise of young trees
bending, and old trees breaking. The cowboy looked around and saw a
five-headed giant pushing through the trees; and soon he was before him.

"Poor miserable creature!" said the giant; "but weren't you impudent to
come to my land and trouble me in this way? You're too big for one
bite, and too small for two. I don't know what to do but tear you to
pieces."

"You nasty brute," said the cowboy, coming down to him from the tree,
"'tis little I care for you;" and then they went at each other. So
great was the noise between them that there was nothing in the world
but what was looking on and listening to the combat.

They fought till late in the afternoon, when the giant was getting the
upper hand; and then the cowboy thought that if the giant should kill
him, his father and mother would never find him or set eyes on him
again, and he would never get the daughter of the king of Erin. The
heart in his body grew strong at this thought. He sprang on the giant,
and with the first squeeze and thrust he put him to his knees in the
hard ground, with the second thrust to his waist, and with the third to
his shoulders.

"I have you at last; you're done for now!", said the cowboy. Then he
took out his knife, cut the five heads off the giant, and when he had
them off he cut out the tongues and threw the heads over the wall.

Then he put the tongues in his pocket and drove home the cattle. That
evening the Gruagach couldn't find vessels enough in all his place to
hold the milk of the five golden cows.

But when the cowboy was on the way home with the cattle, the son of the
king of Tisean came and took the giant's heads and claimed the princess
in marriage when the Gruagach Gaire should laugh.

After supper the cowboy would give no talk to his master, but kept his
mind to himself, and went to the bed of silk to sleep.

On the morning the cowboy rose before his master, and the first words
he said to the Gruagach were:

"What keeps you from laughing, you who used to laugh so loud that the
whole world heard you?"

"I'm sorry," said the Gruagach, "that the daughter of the king of Erin
sent you here."

"If you don't tell me of your own will, I'll make you tell me," said
the cowboy; and he put a face on himself that was terrible to look at,
and running through the house like a madman, could find nothing that
would give pain enough to the Gruagach but some ropes made of untanned
sheepskin hanging on the wall.

He took these down, caught the Gruagach, fastened him by the three
smalls, and tied him so that his little toes were whispering to his
ears. When he was in this state the Gruagach said: "I'll tell you what
stopped my laughing if you set me free."

So the cowboy unbound him, the two sat down together, and the Gruagach
said:--

"I lived in this castle here with my twelve sons. We ate, drank, played
cards, and enjoyed ourselves, till one day when my sons and I were
playing, a slender brown hare came rushing in, jumped on to the hearth,
tossed up the ashes to the rafters and ran away.

"On another day he came again; but if he did, we were ready for him, my
twelve sons and myself. As soon as he tossed up the ashes and ran off,
we made after him, and followed him till nightfall, when he went into a
glen. We saw a light before us. I ran on, and came to a house with a
great apartment, where there was a man named Yellow Face with twelve
daughters, and the hare was tied to the side of the room near the women.

"There was a large pot over the fire in the room, and a great stork
boiling in the pot. The man of the house said to me: 'There are bundles
of rushes at the end of the room, go there and sit down with your men!'

"He went into the next room and brought out two pikes, one of wood, the
other of iron, and asked me which of the pikes would I take. I said,
'I'll take the iron one;' for I thought in my heart that if an attack
should come on me, I could defend myself better with the iron than the
wooden pike.

"Yellow Face gave me the iron pike, and the first chance of taking what
I could out of the pot on the point of the pike. I got but a small
piece of the stork, and the man of the house took all the rest on his
wooden pike. We had to fast that night; and when the man and his twelve
daughters ate the flesh of the stork, they hurled the bare bones in the
faces of my sons and myself. We had to stop all night that way, beaten
on the faces by the bones of the stork.

"Next morning, when we were going away, the man of the house asked me
to stay a while; and going into the next room, he brought out twelve
loops of iron and one of wood, and said to me: 'Put the heads of your
twelve sons into the iron loops, or your own head into the wooden one;'
and I said: 'I'll put the twelve heads of my sons in the iron loops,
and keep my own out of the wooden one.'

"He put the iron loops on the necks of my twelve sons, and put the
wooden one on his own neck. Then he snapped the loops one after
another, till he took the heads off my twelve sons and threw the heads
and bodies out of the house; but he did nothing to hurt his own neck.

"When he had killed my sons he took hold of me and stripped the skin
and flesh from the small of my back down, and when he had done that he
took the skin of a black sheep that had been hanging on the wall for
seven years and clapped it on my body in place of my own flesh and
skin; and the sheepskin grew on me, and every year since then I shear
myself, and every bit of wool I use for the stockings that I wear I
clip off my own back."

When he had said this, the Gruagach showed the cowboy his back covered
with thick black wool.

After what he had seen and heard, the cowboy said: "I know now why you
don't laugh, and small blame to you. But does that hare come here
still?"

"He does indeed," said the Gruagach.

Both went to the table to play, and they were not long playing cards
when the hare ran in; and before they could stop him he was out again.

But the cowboy made after the hare, and the Gruagach after the cowboy,
and they ran as fast as ever their legs could carry them till
nightfall; and when the hare was entering the castle where the twelve
sons of the Gruagach were killed, the cowboy caught him by the two hind
legs and dashed out his brains against the wall; and the skull of the
hare was knocked into the chief room of the castle, and fell at the
feet of the master of the place.

"Who has dared to interfere with my fighting pet?" screamed Yellow Face.

"I," said the cowboy; "and if your pet had had manners, he might be
alive now."

The cowboy and the Gruagach stood by the fire. A stork was boiling in
the pot, as when the Gruagach came the first time. The master of the
house went into the next room and brought out an iron and a wooden
pike, and asked the cowboy which would he choose.

"I'll take the wooden one," said the cowboy; "and you may keep the iron
one for yourself."

So he took the wooden one; and going to the pot, brought out on the
pike all the stork except a small bite, and he and the Gruagach fell to
eating, and they were eating the flesh of the stork all night. The
cowboy and the Gruagach were at home in the place that time.

In the morning the master of the house went into the next room, took
down the twelve iron loops with a wooden one, brought them out, and
asked the cowboy which would he take, the twelve iron or the one wooden
loop.

"What could I do with the twelve iron ones for myself or my master?
I'll take the wooden one."

He put it on, and taking the twelve iron loops, put them on the necks
of the twelve daughters of the house, then snapped the twelve heads off
them, and turning to their father, said: "I'll do the same thing to you
unless you bring the twelve sons of my master to life, and make them as
well and strong as when you took their heads."

The master of the house went out and brought the twelve to life again;
and when the Gruagach saw all his sons alive and as well as ever, he
let a laugh out of himself, and all the Eastern world heard the laugh.

Then the cowboy said to the Gruagach: "It's a bad thing you have done
to me, for the daughter of the king of Erin will be married the day
after your laugh is heard."

"Oh! then we must be there in time," said the Gruagach; and they all
made away from the place as fast as ever they could, the cowboy, the
Gruagach, and his twelve sons.

They hurried on; and when within three miles of the king's castle there
was such a throng of people that no one could go a step ahead. "We must
clear a road through this," said the cowboy.

"We must indeed," said the Gruagach; and at it they went, threw the
people some on one side and some on the other, and soon they had an
opening for themselves to the king's castle.

As they went in, the daughter of the king of Erin and the son of the
king of Tisean were on their knees just going to be married. The cowboy
drew his hand on the bride-groom, and gave a blow that sent him
spinning till he stopped under a table at the other side of the room.

"What scoundrel struck that blow?" asked the king of Erin.

"It was I," said the cowboy.

"What reason had you to strike the man who won my daughter?"

"It was I who won your daughter, not he; and if you don't believe me,
the Gruagach Gaire is here himself. He'll tell you the whole story from
beginning to end, and show you the tongues of the giant."

So the Gruagach came up and told the king the whole story, how the Shee
an Gannon had become his cowboy, had guarded the five golden cows and
the bull without horns, cut off the heads of the five-headed giant,
killed the wizard hare, and brought his own twelve sons to life. "And
then," said the Gruagach, "he is the only man in the whole world I have
ever told why I stopped laughing, and the only one who has ever seen my
fleece of wool."

When the king of Erin heard what the Gruagach said, and saw the tongues
of the giant fitted in the head, he made the Shee an Gannon kneel down
by his daughter, and they were married on the spot.

Then the son of the king of Tisean was thrown into prison, and the next
day they put down a great fire, and the deceiver was burned to ashes.

The wedding lasted nine days, and the last day was better than the
first.




THE STORY-TELLER AT FAULT

At the time when the Tuatha De Dannan held the sovereignty of Ireland,
there reigned in Leinster a king, who was remarkably fond of hearing
stories. Like the other princes and chieftains of the island, he had a
favourite story-teller, who held a large estate from his Majesty, on
condition of telling him a new story every night of his life, before he
went to sleep. Many indeed were the stories he knew, so that he had
already reached a good old age without failing even for a single night
in his task; and such was the skill he displayed that whatever cares of
state or other annoyances might prey upon the monarch's mind, his
story-teller was sure to send him to sleep.

One morning the story-teller arose early, and as his custom was,
strolled out into his garden turning over in his mind incidents which
he might weave into a story for the king at night. But this morning he
found himself quite at fault; after pacing his whole demesne, he
returned to his house without being able to think of anything new or
strange. He found no difficulty in "there was once a king who had three
sons" or "one day the king of all Ireland," but further than that he
could not get. At length he went in to breakfast, and found his wife
much perplexed at his delay.

"Why don't you come to breakfast, my dear?" said she.

"I have no mind to eat anything," replied the story-teller; "long as I
have been in the service of the king of Leinster, I never sat down to
breakfast without having a new story ready for the evening, but this
morning my mind is quite shut up, and I don't know what to do. I might
as well lie down and die at once. I'll be disgraced for ever this
evening, when the king calls for his story-teller."

Just at this moment the lady looked out of the window.

"Do you see that black thing at the end of the field?" said she.

"I do," replied her husband.

They drew nigh, and saw a miserable looking old man lying on the ground
with a wooden leg placed beside him.

"Who are you, my good man?" asked the story-teller.

"Oh, then, 'tis little matter who I am. I'm a poor, old, lame,
decrepit, miserable creature, sitting down here to rest awhile."

"An' what are you doing with that box and dice I see in your hand?"

"I am waiting here to see if any one will play a game with me," replied
the beggar man.

"Play with you! Why what has a poor old man like you to play for?"

"I have one hundred pieces of gold in this leathern purse," replied the
old man.

"You may as well play with him," said the story-teller's wife; "and
perhaps you'll have something to tell the king in the evening."

A smooth stone was placed between them, and upon it they cast their
throws.

It was but a little while and the story-teller lost every penny of his
money.

"Much good may it do you, friend," said he. "What better hap could I
look for, fool that I am!"

"Will you play again?" asked the old man.

"Don't be talking, man: you have all my money."

"Haven't you chariot and horses and hounds?"

"Well, what of them!"

"I'll stake all the money I have against thine."

"Nonsense, man! Do you think for all the money in Ireland, I'd run the
risk of seeing my lady tramp home on foot?"

"Maybe you'd win," said the bocough.

"Maybe I wouldn't," said the story-teller.

"Play with him, husband," said his wife. "I don't mind walking, if you
do, love."

"I never refused you before," said the story-teller, "and I won't do so
now."

Down he sat again, and in one throw lost houses, hounds, and chariot.

"Will you play again?" asked the beggar.

"Are you making game of me, man; what else have I to stake?"

"I'll stake all my winnings against your wife," said the old man.

The story-teller turned away in silence, but his wife stopped him.

"Accept his offer," said she. "This is the third time, and who knows
what luck you may have? You'll surely win now."

They played again, and the story-teller lost. No sooner had he done so,
than to his sorrow and surprise, his wife went and sat down near the
ugly old beggar.

"Is that the way you're leaving me?" said the story-teller.

"Sure I was won," said she. "You would not cheat the poor man, would
you?"

"Have you any more to stake?" asked the old man.

"You know very well I have not," replied the story-teller.

"I'll stake the whole now, wife and all, against your own self," said
the old man.

Again they played, and again the story-teller lost.

"Well! here I am, and what do you want with me?"

"I'll soon let you know," said the old man, and he took from his pocket
a long cord and a wand.

"Now," said he to the story-teller, "what kind of animal would you
rather be, a deer, a fox, or a hare? You have your choice now, but you
may not have it later."

To make a long story short, the story-teller made his choice of a hare;
the old man threw the cord round him, struck him with the wand, and lo!
a long-eared, frisking hare was skipping and jumping on the green.

But it wasn't for long; who but his wife called the hounds, and set
them on him. The hare fled, the dogs followed. Round the field ran a
high wall, so that run as he might, he couldn't get out, and mightily
diverted were beggar and lady to see him twist and double.

In vain did he take refuge with his wife, she kicked him back again to
the hounds, until at length the beggar stopped the hounds, and with a
stroke of the wand, panting and breathless, the story-teller stood
before them again.

"And how did you like the sport?" said the beggar.

"It might be sport to others," replied the story-teller looking at his
wife, "for my part I could well put up with the loss of it."

"Would it be asking too much," he went on to the beggar, "to know who
you are at all, or where you come from, or why you take a pleasure in
plaguing a poor old man like me?"

"Oh!" replied the stranger, "I'm an odd kind of good-for-little fellow,
one day poor, another day rich, but if you wish to know more about me
or my habits, come with me and perhaps I may show you more than you
would make out if you went alone."

"I'm not my own master to go or stay," said the story-teller, with a
sigh.

The stranger put one hand into his wallet and drew out of it before
their eyes a well-looking middle-aged man, to whom he spoke as follows:

"By all you heard and saw since I put you into my wallet, take charge
of this lady and of the carriage and horses, and have them ready for me
whenever I want them."

Scarcely had he said these words when all vanished, and the
story-teller found himself at the Foxes' Ford, near the castle of Red
Hugh O'Donnell. He could see all but none could see him.

O'Donnell was in his hall, and heaviness of flesh and weariness of
spirit were upon him.

"Go out," said he to his doorkeeper, "and see who or what may be
coming."

The doorkeeper went, and what he saw was a lank, grey beggarman; half
his sword bared behind his haunch, his two shoes full of cold
road-a-wayish water sousing about him, the tips of his two ears out
through his old hat, his two shoulders out through his scant tattered
cloak, and in his hand a green wand of holly.

"Save you, O'Donnell," said the lank grey beggarman.

"And you likewise," said O'Donnell. "Whence come you, and what is your
craft?"

  "I come from the outmost stream of earth,
  From the glens where the white swans glide,
  A night in Islay, a night in Man,
  A night on the cold hillside."

"It's the great traveller you are," said O'Donnell.

"Maybe you've learnt something on the road."

"I am a juggler," said the lank grey beggarman, "and for five pieces of
silver you shall see a trick of mine."

"You shall have them," said O'Donnell; and the lank grey beggarman took
three small straws and placed them in his hand.

"The middle one," said he, "I'll blow away; the other two I'll leave."

"Thou canst not do it," said one and all.

But the lank grey beggarman put a finger on either outside straw and,
whiff, away he blew the middle one.

"'Tis a good trick," said O'Donnell; and he paid him his five pieces of
silver.

"For half the money," said one of the chief's lads, "I'll do the same
trick."

"Take him at his word, O'Donnell."

The lad put the three straws on his hand, and a finger on either
outside straw and he blew; and what happened but that the fist was
blown away with the straw.

"Thou art sore, and thou wilt be sorer," said O'Donnell.

"Six more pieces, O'Donnell, and I'll do another trick for thee," said
the lank grey beggarman.

"Six shalt thou have."

"Seest thou my two ears! One I'll move but not t'other."

"'Tis easy to see them, they're big enough, but thou canst never move
one ear and not the two together."

The lank grey beggarman put his hand to his ear, and he gave it a pull.

O'Donnell laughed and paid him the six pieces.

"Call that a trick," said the fistless lad, "any one can do that," and
so saying, he put up his hand, pulled his ear, and what happened was
that he pulled away ear and head.

"Sore thou art; and sorer thou'lt be," said O'Donnell.

"Well, O'Donnell," said the lank grey beggarman, "strange are the
tricks I've shown thee, but I'll show thee a stranger one yet for the
same money."

"Thou hast my word for it," said O'Donnell.

With that the lank grey beggarman took a bag from under his armpit, and
from out the bag a ball of silk, and he unwound the ball and he flung
it slantwise up into the clear blue heavens, and it became a ladder;
then he took a hare and placed it upon the thread, and up it ran; again
he took out a red-eared hound, and it swiftly ran up after the hare.

"Now," said the lank grey beggarman; "has any one a mind to run after
the dog and on the course?"

"I will," said a lad of O'Donnell's.

"Up with you then," said the juggler; "but I warn you if you let my
hare be killed I'll cut off your head when you come down."

The lad ran up the thread and all three soon disappeared. After looking
up for a long time, the lank grey beggarman said: "I'm afraid the hound
is eating the hare, and that our friend has fallen asleep."

Saying this he began to wind the thread, and down came the lad fast
asleep; and down came the red-eared hound and in his mouth the last
morsel of the hare.

He struck the lad a stroke with the edge of his sword, and so cast his
head off. As for the hound, if he used it no worse, he used it no
better.

"It's little I'm pleased, and sore I'm angered," said O'Donnell, "that
a hound and a lad should be killed at my court."

"Five pieces of silver twice over for each of them," said the juggler,
"and their heads shall be on them as before."

"Thou shalt get that," said O'Donnell.

Five pieces, and again five were paid him, and lo! the lad had his head
and the hound his. And though they lived to the uttermost end of time,
the hound would never touch a hare again, and the lad took good care to
keep his eyes open.

Scarcely had the lank grey beggarman done this when he vanished from
out their sight, and no one present could say if he had flown through
the air or if the earth had swallowed him up.

  He moved as wave tumbling o'er wave
  As whirlwind following whirlwind,
  As a furious wintry blast,
  So swiftly, sprucely, cheerily,
  Right proudly,
  And no stop made
  Until he came
  To the court of Leinster's King,
  He gave a cheery light leap
  O'er top of turret,
  Of court and city
  Of Leinster's King.

Heavy was the flesh and weary the spirit of Leinster's king. 'Twas the
hour he was wont to hear a story, but send he might right and left, not
a jot of tidings about the story-teller could he get.

"Go to the door," said he to his doorkeeper, "and see if a soul is in
sight who may tell me something about my story-teller."

The doorkeeper went, and what he saw was a lank grey beggarman, half
his sword bared behind his haunch, his two old shoes full of cold
road-a-wayish water sousing about him, the tips of his two ears out
through his old hat, his two shoulders out through his scant tattered
cloak, and in his hand a three-stringed harp.

"What canst thou do?" said the doorkeeper.

"I can play," said the lank grey beggarman.

"Never fear," added he to the story-teller, "thou shalt see all, and
not a man shall see thee."

When the king heard a harper was outside, he bade him in.

"It is I that have the best harpers in the five-fifths of Ireland,"
said he, and he signed them to play. They did so, and if they played,
the lank grey beggarman listened.

"Heardst thou ever the like?" said the king.

"Did you ever, O king, hear a cat purring over a bowl of broth, or the
buzzing of beetles in the twilight, or a shrill tongued old woman
scolding your head off?"

"That I have often," said the king.

"More melodious to me," said the lank grey beggarman, "were the worst
of these sounds than the sweetest harping of thy harpers."

When the harpers heard this, they drew their swords and rushed at him,
but instead of striking him, their blows fell on each other, and soon
not a man but was cracking his neighbour's skull and getting his own
cracked in turn.

When the king saw this, he thought it hard the harpers weren't content
with murdering their music, but must needs murder each other.

"Hang the fellow who began it all," said he; "and if I can't have a
story, let me have peace."

Up came the guards, seized the lank grey beggarman, marched him to the
gallows and hanged him high and dry. Back they marched to the hall, and
who should they see but the lank grey beggarman seated on a bench with
his mouth to a flagon of ale.

"Never welcome you in," cried the captain of the guard, "didn't we hang
you this minute, and what brings you here?"

"Is it me myself, you mean?"

"Who else?" said the captain.

"May your hand turn into a pig's foot with you when you think of tying
the rope; why should you speak of hanging me?"

Back they scurried to the gallows, and there hung the king's favourite
brother.

Back they hurried to the king who had fallen fast asleep.

"Please your Majesty," said the captain, "we hanged that strolling
vagabond, but here he is back again as well as ever."

"Hang him again," said the king, and off he went to sleep once more.

They did as they were told, but what happened was that they found the
king's chief harper hanging where the lank grey beggarman should have
been.

The captain of the guard was sorely puzzled.

"Are you wishful to hang me a third time?" said the lank grey beggarman.

"Go where you will," said the captain, "and as fast as you please if
you'll only go far enough. It's trouble enough you've given us already."

"Now you're reasonable," said the beggarman; "and since you've given up
trying to hang a stranger because he finds fault with your music, I
don't mind telling you that if you go back to the gallows you'll find
your friends sitting on the sward none the worse for what has happened."

As he said these words he vanished; and the story-teller found himself
on the spot where they first met, and where his wife still was with the
carriage and horses.

"Now," said the lank grey beggarman, "I'll torment you no longer.
There's your carriage and your horses, and your money and your wife; do
what you please with them."

"For my carriage and my houses and my hounds," said the story-teller,
"I thank you; but my wife and my money you may keep."

"No," said the other. "I want neither, and as for your wife, don't
think ill of her for what she did, she couldn't help it."

"Not help it! Not help kicking me into the mouth of my own hounds! Not
help casting me off for the sake of a beggarly old--"

"I'm not as beggarly or as old as ye think. I am Angus of the Bruff;
many a good turn you've done me with the King of Leinster. This morning
my magic told me the difficulty you were in, and I made up my mind to
get you out of it. As for your wife there, the power that changed your
body changed her mind. Forget and forgive as man and wife should do,
and now you have a story for the King of Leinster when he calls for
one;" and with that he disappeared.

It's true enough he now had a story fit for a king. From first to last
he told all that had befallen him; so long and loud laughed the king
that he couldn't go to sleep at all. And he told the story-teller never
to trouble for fresh stories, but every night as long as he lived he
listened again and he laughed afresh at the tale of the lank grey
beggarman.




THE SEA-MAIDEN

There was once a poor old fisherman, and one year he was not getting
much fish. On a day of days, while he was fishing, there rose a
sea-maiden at the side of his boat, and she asked him, "Are you getting
much fish?" The old man answered and said, "Not I." "What reward would
you give me for sending plenty of fish to you?" "Ach!" said the old
man, "I have not much to spare." "Will you give me the first son you
have?" said she. "I would give ye that, were I to have a son," said he.
"Then go home, and remember me when your son is twenty years of age,
and you yourself will get plenty of fish after this." Everything
happened as the sea-maiden said, and he himself got plenty of fish; but
when the end of the twenty years was nearing, the old man was growing
more and more sorrowful and heavy hearted, while he counted each day as
it came.

He had rest neither day nor night. The son asked his father one day,
"Is any one troubling you?" The old man said, "Some one is, but that's
nought to do with you nor any one else." The lad said, "I must know
what it is." His father told him at last how the matter was with him
and the sea-maiden. "Let not that put you in any trouble," said the
son; "I will not oppose you." "You shall not; you shall not go, my son,
though I never get fish any more." "If you will not let me go with you,
go to the smithy, and let the smith make me a great strong sword, and I
will go seek my fortune."

His father went to the smithy, and the smith made a doughty sword for
him. His father came home with the sword. The lad grasped it and gave
it a shake or two, and it flew into a hundred splinters. He asked his
father to go to the smithy and get him another sword in which there
should be twice as much weight; and so his father did, and so likewise
it happened to the next sword--it broke in two halves. Back went the
old man to the smithy; and the smith made a great sword, its like he
never made before. "There's thy sword for thee," said the smith, "and
the fist must be good that plays this blade." The old man gave the
sword to his son; he gave it a shake or two. "This will do," said he;
"it's high time now to travel on my way."

On the next morning he put a saddle on a black horse that his father
had, and he took the world for his pillow. When he went on a bit, he
fell in with the carcass of a sheep beside the road. And there were a
great black dog, a falcon, and an otter, and they were quarrelling over
the spoil. So they asked him to divide it for them. He came down off
the horse, and he divided the carcass amongst the three. Three shares
to the dog, two shares to the otter, and a share to the falcon. "For
this," said the dog, "if swiftness of foot or sharpness of tooth will
give thee aid, mind me, and I will be at thy side." Said the otter, "If
the swimming of foot on the ground of a pool will loose thee, mind me,
and I will be at thy side." Said the falcon, "If hardship comes on
thee, where swiftness of wing or crook of a claw will do good, mind me,
and I will be at thy side."

On this he went onward till he reached a king's house, and he took
service to be a herd, and his wages were to be according to the milk of
the cattle. He went away with the cattle, and the grazing was but bare.
In the evening when he took them home they had not much milk, the place
was so bare, and his meat and drink was but spare that night.

On the next day he went on further with them; and at last he came to a
place exceedingly grassy, in a green glen, of which he never saw the
like.

But about the time when he should drive the cattle homewards, who
should he see coming but a great giant with his sword in his hand? "HI!
HO!! HOGARACH!!!" says the giant. "Those cattle are mine; they are on
my land, and a dead man art thou." "I say not that," says the herd;
"there is no knowing, but that may be easier to say than to do."

He drew the great clean-sweeping sword, and he neared the giant. The
herd drew back his sword, and the head was off the giant in a
twinkling. He leaped on the black horse, and he went to look for the
giant's house. In went the herd, and that's the place where there was
money in plenty, and dresses of each kind in the wardrobe with gold and
silver, and each thing finer than the other. At the mouth of night he
took himself to the king's house, but he took not a thing from the
giant's house. And when the cattle were milked this night there _was_
milk. He got good feeding this night, meat and drink without stint, and
the king was hugely pleased that he had caught such a herd. He went on
for a time in this way, but at last the glen grew bare of grass, and
the grazing was not so good.

So he thought he would go a little further forward in on the giant's
land; and he sees a great park of grass. He returned for the cattle,
and he put them into the park.

They were but a short time grazing in the park when a great wild giant
came full of rage and madness. "HI! HAW!! HOGARAICH!!!" said the giant.
"It is a drink of thy blood that will quench my thirst this night."
"There is no knowing," said the herd, "but that's easier to say than to
do." And at each other went the men. _There_ was shaking of blades! At
length and at last it seemed as if the giant would get the victory over
the herd. Then he called on the dog, and with one spring the black dog
caught the giant by the neck, and swiftly the herd struck off his head.

He went home very tired this night, but it's a wonder if the king's
cattle had not milk. The whole family was delighted that they had got
such a herd.

Next day he betakes himself to the castle. When he reached the door, a
little flattering carlin met him standing in the door. "All hail and
good luck to thee, fisher's son; 'tis I myself am pleased to see thee;
great is the honour for this kingdom, for thy like to be come into
it--thy coming in is fame for this little bothy; go in first; honour to
the gentles; go on, and take breath."

"In before me, thou crone; I like not flattery out of doors; go in and
let's hear thy speech." In went the crone, and when her back was to him
he drew his sword and whips her head off; but the sword flew out of his
hand. And swift the crone gripped her head with both hands, and puts it
on her neck as it was before. The dog sprung on the crone, and she
struck the generous dog with the club of magic; and there he lay. But
the herd struggled for a hold of the club of magic, and with one blow
on the top of the head she was on earth in the twinkling of an eye. He
went forward, up a little, and there was spoil! Gold and silver, and
each thing more precious than another, in the crone's castle. He went
back to the king's house, and then there was rejoicing.

He followed herding in this way for a time; but one night after he came
home, instead of getting "All hail" and "Good luck" from the dairymaid,
all were at crying and woe.

He asked what cause of woe there was that night. The dairymaid said
"There is a great beast with three heads in the loch, and it must get
some one every year, and the lot had come this year on the king's
daughter, and at midday to-morrow she is to meet the Laidly Beast at
the upper end of the loch, but there is a great suitor yonder who is
going to rescue her."

"What suitor is that?" said the herd. "Oh, he is a great General of
arms," said the dairymaid, "and when he kills the beast, he will marry
the king's daughter, for the king has said that he who could save his
daughter should get her to marry."

But on the morrow, when the time grew near, the king's daughter and
this hero of arms went to give a meeting to the beast, and they reached
the black rock, at the upper end of the loch. They were but a short
time there when the beast stirred in the midst of the loch; but when
the General saw this terror of a beast with three heads, he took
fright, and he slunk away, and he hid himself. And the king's daughter
was under fear and under trembling, with no one at all to save her.
Suddenly she sees a doughty handsome youth, riding a black horse, and
coming where she was. He was marvellously arrayed and full armed, and
his black dog moved after him. "There is gloom on your face, girl,"
said the youth; "what do you here?"

"Oh! that's no matter," said the king's daughter. "It's not long I'll
be here, at all events."

"I say not that," said he.

"A champion fled as likely as you, and not long since," said she.

"He is a champion who stands the war," said the youth. And to meet the
beast he went with his sword and his dog. But there was a spluttering
and a splashing between himself and the beast! The dog kept doing all
he might, and the king's daughter was palsied by fear of the noise of
the beast! One of them would now be under, and now above. But at last
he cut one of the heads off it. It gave one roar, and the son of earth,
echo of the rocks, called to its screech, and it drove the loch in
spindrift from end to end, and in a twinkling it went out of sight.

"Good luck and victory follow you, lad!" said the king's daughter. "I
am safe for one night, but the beast will come again and again, until
the other two heads come off it." He caught the beast's head, and he
drew a knot through it, and he told her to bring it with her there
to-morrow. She gave him a gold ring, and went home with the head on her
shoulder, and the herd betook himself to the cows. But she had not gone
far when this great General saw her, and he said to her, "I will kill
you if you do not say that 'twas I took the head off the beast." "Oh!"
says she, "'tis I will say it; who else took the head off the beast but
you!" They reached the king's house, and the head was on the General's
shoulder. But here was rejoicing, that she should come home alive and
whole, and this great captain with the beast's head full of blood in
his hand. On the morrow they went away, and there was no question at
all but that this hero would save the king's daughter.

They reached the same place, and they were not long there when the
fearful Laidly Beast stirred in the midst of the loch, and the hero
slunk away as he did on yesterday, but it was not long after this when
the man of the black horse came, with another dress on. No matter; she
knew that it was the very same lad. "It is I am pleased to see you,"
said she. "I am in hopes you will handle your great sword to-day as you
did yesterday. Come up and take breath." But they were not long there
when they saw the beast steaming in the midst of the loch.

At once he went to meet the beast, but _there_ was Cloopersteich and
Claperstich, spluttering, splashing, raving, and roaring on the beast!
They kept at it thus for a long time, and about the mouth of night he
cut another head off the beast. He put it on the knot and gave it to
her. She gave him one of her earrings, and he leaped on the black
horse, and he betook himself to the herding. The king's daughter went
home with the heads. The General met her, and took the heads from her,
and he said to her, that she must tell that it was he who took the head
off the beast this time also. "Who else took the head off the beast but
you?" said she. They reached the king's house with the heads. Then
there was joy and gladness.

About the same time on the morrow, the two went away. The officer hid
himself as he usually did. The king's daughter betook herself to the
bank of the loch. The hero of the black horse came, and if roaring and
raving were on the beast on the days that were passed, this day it was
horrible. But no matter, he took the third head off the beast, and drew
it through the knot, and gave it to her. She gave him her other
earring, and then she went home with the heads. When they reached the
king's house, all were full of smiles, and the General was to marry the
king's daughter the next day. The wedding was going on, and every one
about the castle longing till the priest should come. But when the
priest came, she would marry only the one who could take the heads off
the knot without cutting it. "Who should take the heads off the knot
but the man that put the heads on?" said the king.

The General tried them; but he could not loose them; and at last there
was no one about the house but had tried to take the heads off the
knot, but they could not. The king asked if there were any one else
about the house that would try to take the heads off the knot. They
said that the herd had not tried them yet. Word went for the herd; and
he was not long throwing them hither and thither. "But stop a bit, my
lad," said the king's daughter; "the man that took the heads off the
beast, he has my ring and my two earrings." The herd put his hand in
his pocket, and he threw them on the board. "Thou art my man," said the
king's daughter. The king was not so pleased when he saw that it was a
herd who was to marry his daughter, but he ordered that he should be
put in a better dress; but his daughter spoke, and she said that he had
a dress as fine as any that ever was in his castle; and thus it
happened. The herd put on the giant's golden dress, and they married
that same day.

They were now married, and everything went on well. But one day, and it
was the namesake of the day when his father had promised him to the
sea-maiden, they were sauntering by the side of the loch, and lo and
behold! she came and took him away to the loch without leave or asking.
The king's daughter was now mournful, tearful, blind-sorrowful for her
married man; she was always with her eye on the loch. An old soothsayer
met her, and she told how it had befallen her married mate. Then he
told her the thing to do to save her mate, and that she did.

She took her harp to the sea-shore, and sat and played; and the
sea-maiden came up to listen, for sea-maidens are fonder of music than
all other creatures. But when the wife saw the sea-maiden she stopped.
The sea-maiden said, "Play on!" but the princess said, "No, not till I
see my man again." So the sea-maiden put up his head out of the loch.
Then the princess played again, and stopped till the sea-maiden put him
up to the waist. Then the princess played and stopped again, and this
time the sea-maiden put him all out of the loch, and he called on the
falcon and became one and flew on shore. But the sea-maiden took the
princess, his wife.

Sorrowful was each one that was in the town on this night. Her man was
mournful, tearful, wandering down and up about the banks of the loch,
by day and night. The old soothsayer met him. The soothsayer told him
that there was no way of killing the sea-maiden but the one way, and
this is it--"In the island that is in the midst of the loch is the
white-footed hind of the slenderest legs and the swiftest step, and
though she be caught, there will spring a hoodie out of her, and though
the hoodie should be caught, there will spring a trout out of her, but
there is an egg in the mouth of the trout, and the soul of the
sea-maiden is in the egg, and if the egg breaks, she is dead."

Now, there was no way of getting to this island, for the sea-maiden
would sink each boat and raft that would go on the loch. He thought he
would try to leap the strait with the black horse, and even so he did.
The black horse leaped the strait. He saw the hind, and he let the
black dog after her, but when he was on one side of the island, the
hind would be on the other side. "Oh! would the black dog of the
carcass of flesh were here!" No sooner spoke he the word than the
grateful dog was at his side; and after the hind he went, and they were
not long in bringing her to earth. But he no sooner caught her than a
hoodie sprang out of her. "Would that the falcon grey, of sharpest eye
and swiftest wing, were here!" No sooner said he this than the falcon
was after the hoodie, and she was not long putting her to earth; and as
the hoodie fell on the bank of the loch, out of her jumps the trout.
"Oh! that thou wert by me now, oh otter!" No sooner said than the otter
was at his side, and out on the loch she leaped, and brings the trout
from the midst of the loch; but no sooner was the otter on shore with
the trout than the egg came from his mouth. He sprang and he put his
foot on it. 'Twas then the sea-maiden appeared, and she said, "Break
not the egg, and you shall get all you ask." "Deliver to me my wife!"
In the wink of an eye she was by his side. When he got hold of her hand
in both his hands, he let his foot down on the egg, and the sea-maiden
died.




A LEGEND OF KNOCKMANY

What Irish man, woman, or child has not heard of our renowned Hibernian
Hercules, the great and glorious Fin M'Coul? Not one, from Cape Clear
to the Giant's Causeway, nor from that back again to Cape Clear. And,
by-the-way, speaking of the Giant's Causeway brings me at once to the
beginning of my story. Well, it so happened that Fin and his men were
all working at the Causeway, in order to make a bridge across to
Scotland; when Fin, who was very fond of his wife Oonagh, took it into
his head that he would go home and see how the poor woman got on in his
absence. So, accordingly, he pulled up a fir-tree, and, after lopping
off the roots and branches, made a walking-stick of it, and set out on
his way to Oonagh.

Oonagh, or rather Fin, lived at this time on the very tip-top of
Knockmany Hill, which faces a cousin of its own called Cullamore, that
rises up, half-hill, half-mountain, on the opposite side.

There was at that time another giant, named Cucullin--some say he was
Irish, and some say he was Scotch--but whether Scotch or Irish, sorrow
doubt of it but he was a targer. No other giant of the day could stand
before him; and such was his strength, that, when well vexed, he could
give a stamp that shook the country about him. The fame and name of him
went far and near; and nothing in the shape of a man, it was said, had
any chance with him in a fight. By one blow of his fists he flattened a
thunderbolt and kept it in his pocket, in the shape of a pancake, to
show to all his enemies, when they were about to fight him. Undoubtedly
he had given every giant in Ireland a considerable beating, barring Fin
M'Coul himself; and he swore that he would never rest, night or day,
winter or summer, till he would serve Fin with the same sauce, if he
could catch him. However, the short and long of it was, with reverence
be it spoken, that Fin heard Cucullin was coming to the Causeway to
have a trial of strength with him; and he was seized with a very warm
and sudden fit of affection for his wife, poor woman, leading a very
lonely, uncomfortable life of it in his absence. He accordingly pulled
up the fir-tree, as I said before, and having snedded it into a
walking-stick, set out on his travels to see his darling Oonagh on the
top of Knockmany, by the way.

In truth, the people wondered very much why it was that Fin selected
such a windy spot for his dwelling-house, and they even went so far as
to tell him as much.

"What can you mane, Mr. M'Coul," said they, "by pitching your tent upon
the top of Knockmany, where you never are without a breeze, day or
night, winter or summer, and where you're often forced to take your
nightcap without either going to bed or turning up your little finger;
ay, an' where, besides this, there's the sorrow's own want of water?"

"Why," said Fin, "ever since I was the height of a round tower, I was
known to be fond of having a good prospect of my own; and where the
dickens, neighbours, could I find a better spot for a good prospect
than the top of Knockmany? As for water, I am sinking a pump, and,
plase goodness, as soon as the Causeway's made, I intend to finish it."

Now, this was more of Fin's philosophy; for the real state of the case
was, that he pitched upon the top of Knockmany in order that he might
be able to see Cucullin coming towards the house. All we have to say
is, that if he wanted a spot from which to keep a sharp look-out--and,
between ourselves, he did want it grievously--barring Slieve Croob, or
Slieve Donard, or its own cousin, Cullamore, he could not find a neater
or more convenient situation for it in the sweet and sagacious province
of Ulster.

"God save all here!" said Fin, good-humouredly, on putting his honest
face into his own door.

"Musha, Fin, avick, an' you're welcome home to your own Oonagh, you
darlin' bully." Here followed a smack that is said to have made the
waters of the lake at the bottom of the hill curl, as it were, with
kindness and sympathy.

Fin spent two or three happy days with Oonagh, and felt himself very
comfortable, considering the dread he had of Cucullin. This, however,
grew upon him so much that his wife could not but perceive something
lay on his mind which he kept altogether to himself. Let a woman alone,
in the meantime, for ferreting or wheedling a secret out of her good
man, when she wishes. Fin was a proof of this.

"It's this Cucullin," said he, "that's troubling me. When the fellow
gets angry, and begins to stamp, he'll shake you a whole townland; and
it's well known that he can stop a thunderbolt, for he always carries
one about him in the shape of a pancake, to show to any one that might
misdoubt it."

As he spoke, he clapped his thumb in his mouth, which he always did
when he wanted to prophesy, or to know anything that happened in his
absence; and the wife asked him what he did it for.

"He's coming," said Fin; "I see him below Dungannon."

"Thank goodness, dear! an' who is it, avick? Glory be to God!"

"That baste, Cucullin," replied Fin; "and how to manage I don't know.
If I run away, I am disgraced; and I know that sooner or later I must
meet him, for my thumb tells me so."

"When will he be here?" said she.

"To-morrow, about two o'clock," replied Fin, with a groan.

"Well, my bully, don't be cast down," said Oonagh; "depend on me, and
maybe I'll bring you better out of this scrape than ever you could
bring yourself, by your rule o' thumb."

She then made a high smoke on the top of the hill, after which she put
her finger in her mouth, and gave three whistles, and by that Cucullin
knew he was invited to Cullamore--for this was the way that the Irish
long ago gave a sign to all strangers and travellers, to let them know
they were welcome to come and take share of whatever was going.

In the meantime, Fin was very melancholy, and did not know what to do,
or how to act at all. Cucullin was an ugly customer to meet with; and,
the idea of the "cake" aforesaid flattened the very heart within him.
What chance could he have, strong and brave though he was, with a man
who could, when put in a passion, walk the country into earthquakes and
knock thunderbolts into pancakes? Fin knew not on what hand to turn
him. Right or left--backward or forward--where to go he could form no
guess whatsoever.

"Oonagh," said he, "can you do nothing for me? Where's all your
invention? Am I to be skivered like a rabbit before your eyes, and to
have my name disgraced for ever in the sight of all my tribe, and me
the best man among them? How am I to fight this man-mountain--this huge
cross between an earthquake and a thunderbolt?--with a pancake in his
pocket that was once--"

"Be easy, Fin," replied Oonagh; "troth, I'm ashamed of you. Keep your
toe in your pump, will you? Talking of pancakes, maybe, we'll give him
as good as any he brings with him--thunderbolt or otherwise. If I don't
treat him to as smart feeding as he's got this many a day, never trust
Oonagh again. Leave him to me, and do just as I bid you."

This relieved Fin very much; for, after all, he had great confidence in
his wife, knowing, as he did, that she had got him out of many a
quandary before. Oonagh then drew the nine woollen threads of different
colours, which she always did to find out the best way of succeeding in
anything of importance she went about. She then platted them into three
plats with three colours in each, putting one on her right arm, one
round her heart, and the third round her right ankle, for then she knew
that nothing could fail with her that she undertook.

Having everything now prepared, she sent round to the neighbours and
borrowed one-and-twenty iron griddles, which she took and kneaded into
the hearts of one-and-twenty cakes of bread, and these she baked on the
fire in the usual way, setting them aside in the cupboard according as
they were done. She then put down a large pot of new milk, which she
made into curds and whey. Having done all this, she sat down quite
contented, waiting for his arrival on the next day about two o'clock,
that being the hour at which he was expected--for Fin knew as much by
the sucking of his thumb. Now this was a curious property that Fin's
thumb had. In this very thing, moreover, he was very much resembled by
his great foe, Cucullin; for it was well known that the huge strength
he possessed all lay in the middle finger of his right hand, and that,
if he happened by any mischance to lose it, he was no more, for all his
bulk, than a common man.

At length, the next day, Cucullin was seen coming across the valley,
and Oonagh knew that it was time to commence operations. She
immediately brought the cradle, and made Fin to lie down in it, and
cover himself up with the clothes.

"You must pass for your own child," said she; "so just lie there snug,
and say nothing, but be guided by me."

About two o'clock, as he had been expected, Cucullin came in. "God save
all here!" said he; "is this where the great Fin M'Coul lives?"

"Indeed it is, honest man," replied Oonagh; "God save you kindly--won't
you be sitting?"

"Thank you, ma'am," says he, sitting down; "you're Mrs. M'Coul, I
suppose?"

"I am," said she; "and I have no reason, I hope, to be ashamed of my
husband."

"No," said the other, "he has the name of being the strongest and
bravest man in Ireland; but for all that, there's a man not far from
you that's very desirous of taking a shake with him. Is he at home?"

"Why, then, no," she replied; "and if ever a man left his house in a
fury, he did. It appears that some one told him of a big basthoon of
a--giant called Cucullin being down at the Causeway to look for him,
and so he set out there to try if he could catch him. Troth, I hope,
for the poor giant's sake, he won't meet with him, for if he does, Fin
will make paste of him at once."

"Well," said the other, "I am Cucullin, and I have been seeking him
these twelve months, but he always kept clear of me; and I will never
rest night or day till I lay my hands on him."

At this Oonagh set up a loud laugh, of great contempt, by-the-way, and
looked at him as if he was only a mere handful of a man.

"Did you ever see Fin?" said she, changing her manner all at once.

"How could I?" said he; "he always took care to keep his distance."

"I thought so," she replied; "I judged as much; and if you take my
advice, you poor-looking creature, you'll pray night and day that you
may never see him, for I tell you it will be a black day for you when
you do. But, in the meantime, you perceive that the wind's on the door,
and as Fin himself is from home, maybe you'd be civil enough to turn
the house, for it's always what Fin does when he's here."

This was a startler even to Cucullin; but he got up, however, and after
pulling the middle finger of his right hand until it cracked three
times, he went outside, and getting his arms about the house, turned it
as she had wished. When Fin saw this, he felt the sweat of fear oozing
out through every pore of his skin; but Oonagh, depending upon her
woman's wit, felt not a whit daunted.

"Arrah, then," said she, "as you are so civil, maybe you'd do another
obliging turn for us, as Fin's not here to do it himself. You see,
after this long stretch of dry weather we've had, we feel very badly
off for want of water. Now, Fin says there's a fine spring-well
somewhere under the rocks behind the hill here below, and it was his
intention to pull them asunder; but having heard of you, he left the
place in such a fury, that he never thought of it. Now, if you try to
find it, troth I'd feel it a kindness."

She then brought Cucullin down to see the place, which was then all one
solid rock; and, after looking at it for some time, he cracked his
right middle finger nine times, and, stooping down, tore a cleft about
four hundred feet deep, and a quarter of a mile in length, which has
since been christened by the name of Lumford's Glen.

"You'll now come in," said she, "and eat a bit of such humble fare as
we can give you. Fin, even although he and you are enemies, would scorn
not to treat you kindly in his own house; and, indeed, if I didn't do
it even in his absence, he would not be pleased with me."

She accordingly brought him in, and placing half-a-dozen of the cakes
we spoke of before him, together with a can or two of butter, a side of
boiled bacon, and a stack of cabbage, she desired him to help
himself--for this, be it known, was long before the invention of
potatoes. Cucullin put one of the cakes in his mouth to take a huge
whack out of it, when he made a thundering noise, something between a
growl and a yell. "Blood and fury!" he shouted; "how is this? Here are
two of my teeth out! What kind of bread this is you gave me."

"What's the matter?" said Oonagh coolly.

"Matter!" shouted the other again; "why, here are the two best teeth in
my head gone."

"Why," said she, "that's Fin's bread--the only bread he ever eats when
at home; but, indeed, I forgot to tell you that nobody can eat it but
himself, and that child in the cradle there. I thought, however, that,
as you were reported to be rather a stout little fellow of your size,
you might be able to manage it, and I did not wish to affront a man
that thinks himself able to fight Fin. Here's another cake--maybe it's
not so hard as that."

Cucullin at the moment was not only hungry, but ravenous, so he
accordingly made a fresh set at the second cake, and immediately
another yell was heard twice as loud as the first. "Thunder and
gibbets!" he roared, "take your bread out of this, or I will not have a
tooth in my head; there's another pair of them gone!"

"Well, honest man," replied Oonagh, "if you're not able to eat the
bread, say so quietly, and don't be wakening the child in the cradle
there. There, now, he's awake upon me."

Fin now gave a skirl that startled the giant, as coming from such a
youngster as he was supposed to be.

"Mother," said he, "I'm hungry--get me something to eat." Oonagh went
over, and putting into his hand a cake that had no griddle in it, Fin,
whose appetite in the meantime had been sharpened by seeing eating
going forward, soon swallowed it. Cucullin was thunderstruck, and
secretly thanked his stars that he had the good fortune to miss meeting
Fin, for, as he said to himself, "I'd have no chance with a man who
could eat such bread as that, which even his son that's but in his
cradle can munch before my eyes."

"I'd like to take a glimpse at the lad in the cradle," said he to
Oonagh; "for I can tell you that the infant who can manage that
nutriment is no joke to look at, or to feed of a scarce summer."

"With all the veins of my heart," replied Oonagh; "get up, acushla, and
show this decent little man something that won't be unworthy of your
father, Fin M'Coul."

Fin, who was dressed for the occasion as much like a boy as possible,
got up, and bringing Cucullin out, "Are you strong?" said he.

"Thunder an' ounds!" exclaimed the other, "what a voice in so small a
chap!"

"Are you strong?" said Fin again; "are you able to squeeze water out of
that white stone?" he asked, putting one into Cucullin's hand. The
latter squeezed and squeezed the stone, but in vain.

"Ah, you're a poor creature!" said Fin. "You a giant! Give me the stone
here, and when I'll show what Fin's little son can do, you may then
judge of what my daddy himself is."

Fin then took the stone, and exchanging it for the curds, he squeezed
the latter until the whey, as clear as water, oozed out in a little
shower from his hand.

"I'll now go in," said he, "to my cradle; for I scorn to lose my time
with any one that's not able to eat my daddy's bread, or squeeze water
out of a stone. Bedad, you had better be off out of this before he
comes back; for if he catches you, it's in flummery he'd have you in
two minutes."

Cucullin, seeing what he had seen, was of the same opinion himself; his
knees knocked together with the terror of Fin's return, and he
accordingly hastened to bid Oonagh farewell, and to assure her, that
from that day out, he never wished to hear of, much less to see, her
husband. "I admit fairly that I'm not a match for him," said he,
"strong as I am; tell him I will avoid him as I would the plague, and
that I will make myself scarce in this part of the country while I
live."

Fin, in the meantime, had gone into the cradle, where he lay very
quietly, his heart at his mouth with delight that Cucullin was about to
take his departure, without discovering the tricks that had been played
off on him.

"It's well for you," said Oonagh, "that he doesn't happen to be here,
for it's nothing but hawk's meat he'd make of you."

"I know that," says Cucullin; "divil a thing else he'd make of me; but
before I go, will you let me feel what kind of teeth Fin's lad has got
that can eat griddle-bread like that?"

"With all pleasure in life," said she; "only, as they're far back in
his head, you must put your finger a good way in."

Cucullin was surprised to find such a powerful set of grinders in one
so young; but he was still much more so on finding, when he took his
hand from Fin's mouth, that he had left the very finger upon which his
whole strength depended, behind him. He gave one loud groan, and fell
down at once with terror and weakness. This was all Fin wanted, who now
knew that his most powerful and bitterest enemy was at his mercy. He
started out of the cradle, and in a few minutes the great Cucullin,
that was for such a length of time the terror of him and all his
followers, lay a corpse before him. Thus did Fin, through the wit and
invention of Oonagh, his wife, succeed in overcoming his enemy by
cunning, which he never could have done by force.




FAIR, BROWN, AND TREMBLING

King Hugh Curucha lived in Tir Conal, and he had three daughters, whose
names were Fair, Brown, and Trembling. Fair and Brown had new dresses,
and went to church every Sunday. Trembling was kept at home to do the
cooking and work. They would not let her go out of the house at all;
for she was more beautiful than the other two, and they were in dread
she might marry before themselves.

They carried on in this way for seven years. At the end of seven years
the son of the king of Emania fell in love with the eldest sister.

One Sunday morning, after the other two had gone to church, the old
henwife came into the kitchen to Trembling, and said: "It's at church
you ought to be this day, instead of working here at home."

"How could I go?" said Trembling. "I have no clothes good enough to
wear at church; and if my sisters were to see me there, they'd kill me
for going out of the house."

"I'll give you," said the henwife, "a finer dress than either of them
has ever seen. And now tell me what dress will you have?"

"I'll have," said Trembling, "a dress as white as snow, and green shoes
for my feet."

Then the henwife put on the cloak of darkness, clipped a piece from the
old clothes the young woman had on, and asked for the whitest robes in
the world and the most beautiful that could be found, and a pair of
green shoes.

That moment she had the robe and the shoes, and she brought them to
Trembling, who put them on. When Trembling was dressed and ready, the
henwife said: "I have a honey-bird here to sit on your right shoulder,
and a honey-finger to put on your left. At the door stands a milk-white
mare, with a golden saddle for you to sit on, and a golden bridle to
hold in your hand."

Trembling sat on the golden saddle; and when she was ready to start,
the henwife said: "You must not go inside the door of the church, and
the minute the people rise up at the end of Mass, do you make off, and
ride home as fast as the mare will carry you."

When Trembling came to the door of the church there was no one inside
who could get a glimpse of her but was striving to know who she was;
and when they saw her hurrying away at the end of Mass, they ran out to
overtake her. But no use in their running; she was away before any man
could come near her. From the minute she left the church till she got
home, she overtook the wind before her, and outstripped the wind behind.

She came down at the door, went in, and found the henwife had dinner
ready. She put off the white robes, and had on her old dress in a
twinkling.

When the two sisters came home the henwife asked: "Have you any news
to-day from the church?"

"We have great news," said they. "We saw a wonderful grand lady at the
church-door. The like of the robes she had we have never seen on woman
before. It's little that was thought of our dresses beside what she had
on; and there wasn't a man at the church, from the king to the beggar,
but was trying to look at her and know who she was."

The sisters would give no peace till they had two dresses like the
robes of the strange lady; but honey-birds and honey-fingers were not
to be found.

Next Sunday the two sisters went to church again, and left the youngest
at home to cook the dinner.

After they had gone, the henwife came in and asked: "Will you go to
church to-day?"

"I would go," said Trembling, "if I could get the going."

"What robe will you wear?" asked the henwife.

"The finest black satin that can be found, and red shoes for my feet."

"What colour do you want the mare to be?"

"I want her to be so black and so glossy that I can see myself in her
body."

The henwife put on the cloak of darkness, and asked for the robes and
the mare. That moment she had them. When Trembling was dressed, the
henwife put the honey-bird on her right shoulder and the honey-finger
on her left. The saddle on the mare was silver, and so was the bridle.

When Trembling sat in the saddle and was going away, the henwife
ordered her strictly not to go inside the door of the church, but to
rush away as soon as the people rose at the end of Mass, and hurry home
on the mare before any man could stop her.

That Sunday, the people were more astonished than ever, and gazed at
her more than the first time; and all they were thinking of was to know
who she was. But they had no chance; for the moment the people rose at
the end of Mass she slipped from the church, was in the silver saddle,
and home before a man could stop her or talk to her.

The henwife had the dinner ready. Trembling took off her satin robe,
and had on her old clothes before her sisters got home.

"What news have you to-day?" asked the henwife of the sisters when they
came from the church.

"Oh, we saw the grand strange lady again! And it's little that any man
could think of our dresses after looking at the robes of satin that she
had on! And all at church, from high to low, had their mouths open,
gazing at her, and no man was looking at us."

The two sisters gave neither rest nor peace till they got dresses as
nearly like the strange lady's robes as they could find. Of course they
were not so good; for the like of those robes could not be found in
Erin.

When the third Sunday came, Fair and Brown went to church dressed in
black satin. They left Trembling at home to work in the kitchen, and
told her to be sure and have dinner ready when they came back.

After they had gone and were out of sight, the henwife came to the
kitchen and said: "Well, my dear, are you for church to-day?"

"I would go if I had a new dress to wear."

"I'll get you any dress you ask for. What dress would you like?" asked
the henwife.

"A dress red as a rose from the waist down, and white as snow from the
waist up; a cape of green on my shoulders; and a hat on my head with a
red, a white, and a green feather in it; and shoes for my feet with the
toes red, the middle white, and the backs and heels green."

The henwife put on the cloak of darkness, wished for all these things,
and had them. When Trembling was dressed, the henwife put the
honey-bird on her right shoulder and the honey-finger on her left, and,
placing the hat on her head, clipped a few hairs from one lock and a
few from another with her scissors, and that moment the most beautiful
golden hair was flowing down over the girl's shoulders. Then the
henwife asked what kind of a mare she would ride. She said white, with
blue and gold-coloured diamond-shaped spots all over her body, on her
back a saddle of gold, and on her head a golden bridle.

The mare stood there before the door, and a bird sitting between her
ears, which began to sing as soon as Trembling was in the saddle, and
never stopped till she came home from the church.

The fame of the beautiful strange lady had gone out through the world,
and all the princes and great men that were in it came to church that
Sunday, each one hoping that it was himself would have her home with
him after Mass.

The son of the king of Emania forgot all about the eldest sister, and
remained outside the church, so as to catch the strange lady before she
could hurry away.

The church was more crowded than ever before, and there were three
times as many outside. There was such a throng before the church that
Trembling could only come inside the gate.

As soon as the people were rising at the end of Mass, the lady slipped
out through the gate, was in the golden saddle in an instant, and
sweeping away ahead of the wind. But if she was, the prince of Emania
was at her side, and, seizing her by the foot, he ran with the mare for
thirty perches, and never let go of the beautiful lady till the shoe
was pulled from her foot, and he was left behind with it in his hand.
She came home as fast as the mare could carry her, and was thinking all
the time that the henwife would kill her for losing the shoe.

Seeing her so vexed and so changed in the face, the old woman asked:
"What's the trouble that's on you now?" "Oh! I've lost one of the shoes
off my feet," said Trembling.

"Don't mind that; don't be vexed," said the henwife; "maybe it's the
best thing that ever happened to you."

Then Trembling gave up all the things she had to the henwife, put on
her old clothes, and went to work in the kitchen. When the sisters came
home, the henwife asked: "Have you any news from the church?"

"We have indeed," said they, "for we saw the grandest sight to-day. The
strange lady came again, in grander array than before. On herself and
the horse she rode were the finest colours of the world, and between
the ears of the horse was a bird which never stopped singing from the
time she came till she went away. The lady herself is the most
beautiful woman ever seen by man in Erin."

After Trembling had disappeared from the church, the son of the king of
Emania said to the other kings' sons: "I will have that lady for my
own."

They all said: "You didn't win her just by taking the shoe off her
foot; you'll have to win her by the point of the sword; you'll have to
fight for her with us before you can call her your own."

"Well," said the son of the king of Emania, "when I find the lady that
shoe will fit, I'll fight for her, never fear, before I leave her to
any of you."

Then all the kings' sons were uneasy, and anxious to know who was she
that lost the shoe; and they began to travel all over Erin to know
could they find her. The prince of Emania and all the others went in a
great company together, and made the round of Erin; they went
everywhere,--north, south, east, and west. They visited every place
where a woman was to be found, and left not a house in the kingdom they
did not search, to know could they find the woman the shoe would fit,
not caring whether she was rich or poor, of high or low degree.

The prince of Emania always kept the shoe; and when the young women saw
it, they had great hopes, for it was of proper size, neither large nor
small, and it would beat any man to know of what material it was made.
One thought it would fit her if she cut a little from her great toe;
and another, with too short a foot, put something in the tip of her
stocking. But no use; they only spoiled their feet, and were curing
them for months afterwards.

The two sisters, Fair and Brown, heard that the princes of the world
were looking all over Erin for the woman that could wear the shoe, and
every day they were talking of trying it on; and one day Trembling
spoke up and said: "Maybe it's my foot that the shoe will fit."

"Oh, the breaking of the dog's foot on you! Why say so when you were at
home every Sunday?"

They were that way waiting, and scolding the younger sister, till the
princes were near the place. The day they were to come, the sisters put
Trembling in a closet, and locked the door on her. When the company
came to the house, the prince of Emania gave the shoe to the sisters.
But though they tried and tried, it would fit neither of them.

"Is there any other young woman in the house?" asked the prince.

"There is," said Trembling, speaking up in the closet; "I'm here."

"Oh! we have her for nothing but to put out the ashes," said the
sisters.

But the prince and the others wouldn't leave the house till they had
seen her; so the two sisters had to open the door. When Trembling came
out, the shoe was given to her, and it fitted exactly.

The prince of Emania looked at her and said: "You are the woman the
shoe fits, and you are the woman I took the shoe from."

Then Trembling spoke up, and said: "Do you stay here till I return."

Then she went to the henwife's house. The old woman put on the cloak of
darkness, got everything for her she had the first Sunday at church,
and put her on the white mare in the same fashion. Then Trembling rode
along the highway to the front of the house. All who saw her the first
time said: "This is the lady we saw at church."

Then she went away a second time, and a second time came back on the
black mare in the second dress which the henwife gave her. All who saw
her the second Sunday said: "That is the lady we saw at church."

A third time she asked for a short absence, and soon came back on the
third mare and in the third dress. All who saw her the third time said:
"That is the lady we saw at church." Every man was satisfied, and knew
that she was the woman.

Then all the princes and great men spoke up, and said to the son of the
king of Emania: "You'll have to fight now for her before we let her go
with you."

"I'm here before you, ready for combat," answered the prince.

Then the son of the king of Lochlin stepped forth. The struggle began,
and a terrible struggle it was. They fought for nine hours; and then
the son of the king of Lochlin stopped, gave up his claim, and left the
field. Next day the son of the king of Spain fought six hours, and
yielded his claim. On the third day the son of the king of Nyerfoi
fought eight hours, and stopped. The fourth day the son of the king of
Greece fought six hours, and stopped. On the fifth day no more strange
princes wanted to fight; and all the sons of kings in Erin said they
would not fight with a man of their own land, that the strangers had
had their chance, and, as no others came to claim the woman, she
belonged of right to the son of the king of Emania.

The marriage-day was fixed, and the invitations were sent out. The
wedding lasted for a year and a day. When the wedding was over, the
king's son brought home the bride, and when the time came a son was
born. The young woman sent for her eldest sister, Fair, to be with her
and care for her. One day, when Trembling was well, and when her
husband was away hunting, the two sisters went out to walk; and when
they came to the seaside, the eldest pushed the youngest sister in. A
great whale came and swallowed her.

The eldest sister came home alone, and the husband asked, "Where is
your sister?"

"She has gone home to her father in Ballyshannon; now that I am well, I
don't need her."

"Well," said the husband, looking at her, "I'm in dread it's my wife
that has gone."

"Oh! no," said she; "it's my sister Fair that's gone."

Since the sisters were very much alike, the prince was in doubt. That
night he put his sword between them, and said: "If you are my wife,
this sword will get warm; if not, it will stay cold."

In the morning when he rose up, the sword was as cold as when he put it
there.

It happened, when the two sisters were walking by the seashore, that a
little cowboy was down by the water minding cattle, and saw Fair push
Trembling into the sea; and next day, when the tide came in, he saw the
whale swim up and throw her out on the sand. When she was on the sand
she said to the cowboy: "When you go home in the evening with the cows,
tell the master that my sister Fair pushed me into the sea yesterday;
that a whale swallowed me, and then threw me out, but will come again
and swallow me with the coming of the next tide; then he'll go out with
the tide, and come again with to-morrow's tide, and throw me again on
the strand. The whale will cast me out three times. I'm under the
enchantment of this whale, and cannot leave the beach or escape myself.
Unless my husband saves me before I'm swallowed the fourth time, I
shall be lost. He must come and shoot the whale with a silver bullet
when he turns on the broad of his back. Under the breast-fin of the
whale is a reddish-brown spot. My husband must hit him in that spot,
for it is the only place in which he can be killed."

When the cowboy got home, the eldest sister gave him a draught of
oblivion, and he did not tell.

Next day he went again to the sea. The whale came and cast Trembling on
shore again. She asked the boy "Did you tell the master what I told you
to tell him?"

"I did not," said he; "I forgot."

"How did you forget?" asked she.

"The woman of the house gave me a drink that made me forget."

"Well, don't forget telling him this night; and if she gives you a
drink, don't take it from her."

As soon as the cowboy came home, the eldest sister offered him a drink.
He refused to take it till he had delivered his message and told all to
the master. The third day the prince went down with his gun and a
silver bullet in it. He was not long down when the whale came and threw
Trembling upon the beach as the two days before. She had no power to
speak to her husband till he had killed the whale. Then the whale went
out, turned over once on the broad of his back, and showed the spot for
a moment only. That moment the prince fired. He had but the one chance,
and a short one at that; but he took it, and hit the spot, and the
whale, mad with pain, made the sea all around red with blood, and died.

That minute Trembling was able to speak, and went home with her
husband, who sent word to her father what the eldest sister had done.
The father came, and told him any death he chose to give her to give
it. The prince told the father he would leave her life and death with
himself. The father had her put out then on the sea in a barrel, with
provisions in it for seven years.

In time Trembling had a second child, a daughter. The prince and she
sent the cowboy to school, and trained him up as one of their own
children, and said: "If the little girl that is born to us now lives,
no other man in the world will get her but him."

The cowboy and the prince's daughter lived on till they were married.
The mother said to her husband "You could not have saved me from the
whale but for the little cowboy; on that account I don't grudge him my
daughter."

The son of the king of Emania and Trembling had fourteen children, and
they lived happily till the two died of old age.




JACK AND HIS MASTER

A poor woman had three sons. The eldest and second eldest were cunning
clever fellows, but they called the youngest Jack the Fool, because
they thought he was no better than a simpleton. The eldest got tired of
staying at home, and said he'd go look for service. He stayed away a
whole year, and then came back one day, dragging one foot after the
other, and a poor wizened face on him, and he as cross as two sticks.
When he was rested and got something to eat, he told them how he got
service with the Gray Churl of the Townland of Mischance, and that the
agreement was, whoever would first say he was sorry for his bargain,
should get an inch wide of the skin of his back, from shoulder to hips,
taken off. If it was the master, he should also pay double wages; if it
was the servant, he should get no wages at all. "But the thief," says
he, "gave me so little to eat, and kept me so hard at work, that flesh
and blood couldn't stand it; and when he asked me once, when I was in a
passion, if I was sorry for my bargain, I was mad enough to say I was,
and here I am disabled for life."

Vexed enough were the poor mother and brothers; and the second eldest
said on the spot he'd go and take service with the Gray Churl, and
punish him by all the annoyance he'd give him till he'd make him say he
was sorry for his agreement. "Oh, won't I be glad to see the skin
coming off the old villain's back!" said he. All they could say had no
effect: he started off for the Townland of Mischance, and in a
twelvemonth he was back just as miserable and helpless as his brother.

All the poor mother could say didn't prevent Jack the Fool from
starting to see if he was able to regulate the Gray Churl. He agreed
with him for a year for twenty pounds, and the terms were the same.

"Now, Jack," said the Gray Churl, "if you refuse to do anything you are
able to do, you must lose a month's wages."

"I'm satisfied," said Jack; "and if you stop me from doing a thing
after telling me to do it, you are to give me an additional month's
wages."

"I am satisfied," says the master.

"Or if you blame me for obeying your orders, you must give the same."

"I am satisfied," said the master again.

The first day that Jack served he was fed very poorly, and was worked
to the saddleskirts. Next day he came in just before the dinner was
sent up to the parlour. They were taking the goose off the spit, but
well becomes Jack he whips a knife off the dresser, and cuts off one
side of the breast, one leg and thigh, and one wing, and fell to. In
came the master, and began to abuse him for his assurance. "Oh, you
know, master, you're to feed me, and wherever the goose goes won't have
to be filled again till supper. Are you sorry for our agreement?"

The master was going to cry out he was, but he bethought himself in
time. "Oh no, not at all," said he.

"That's well," said Jack.

Next day Jack was to go clamp turf on the bog. They weren't sorry to
have him away from the kitchen at dinner time. He didn't find his
breakfast very heavy on his stomach; so he said to the mistress, "I
think, ma'am, it will be better for me to get my dinner now, and not
lose time coming home from the bog."

"That's true, Jack," said she. So she brought out a good cake, and a
print of butter, and a bottle of milk, thinking he'd take them away to
the bog. But Jack kept his seat, and never drew rein till bread,
butter, and milk went down the red lane.

"Now, mistress," said he, "I'll be earlier at my work to-morrow if I
sleep comfortably on the sheltery side of a pile of dry peat on dry
grass, and not be coming here and going back. So you may as well give
me my supper, and be done with the day's trouble." She gave him that,
thinking he'd take it to the bog; but he fell to on the spot, and did
not leave a scrap to tell tales on him; and the mistress was a little
astonished.

He called to speak to the master in the haggard, and said he, "What are
servants asked to do in this country after aten their supper?"

"Nothing at all, but to go to bed."

"Oh, very well, sir." He went up on the stable-loft, stripped, and lay
down, and some one that saw him told the master. He came up.

"Jack, you anointed scoundrel, what do you mean?" "To go to sleep,
master. The mistress, God bless her, is after giving me my breakfast,
dinner, and supper, and yourself told me that bed was the next thing.
Do you blame me, sir?"

"Yes, you rascal, I do."

"Hand me out one pound thirteen and fourpence, if you please, sir."

"One divel and thirteen imps, you tinker! what for?"

"Oh, I see, you've forgot your bargain. Are you sorry for it?"

"Oh, ya--no, I mean. I'll give you the money after your nap."

Next morning early, Jack asked how he'd be employed that day. "You are
to be holding the plough in that fallow, outside the paddock." The
master went over about nine o'clock to see what kind of a ploughman was
Jack, and what did he see but the little boy driving the bastes, and
the sock and coulter of the plough skimming along the sod, and Jack
pulling ding-dong again' the horses.

"What are you doing, you contrary thief?" said the master.

"An' ain't I strivin' to hold this divel of a plough, as you told me;
but that ounkrawn of a boy keeps whipping on the bastes in spite of all
I say; will you speak to him?"

"No, but I'll speak to you. Didn't you know, you bosthoon, that when I
said 'holding the plough,' I meant reddening the ground."

"Faith, an' if you did, I wish you had said so. Do you blame me for
what I have done?"

The master caught himself in time, but he was so stomached, he said
nothing.

"Go on and redden the ground now, you knave, as other ploughmen do."

"An' are you sorry for our agreement?"

"Oh, not at all, not at all!"

Jack, ploughed away like a good workman all the rest of the day.

In a day or two the master bade him go and mind the cows in a field
that had half of it under young corn. "Be sure, particularly," said he,
"to keep Browney from the wheat; while she's out of mischief there's no
fear of the rest."

About noon, he went to see how Jack was doing his duty, and what did he
find but Jack asleep with his face to the sod, Browney grazing near a
thorn-tree, one end of a long rope round her horns, and the other end
round the tree, and the rest of the beasts all trampling and eating the
green wheat. Down came the switch on Jack.

"Jack, you vagabone, do you see what the cows are at?"

"And do you blame, master?"

"To be sure, you lazy sluggard, I do?"

"Hand me out one pound thirteen and fourpence, master. You said if I
only kept Browney out of mischief, the rest would do no harm. There she
is as harmless as a lamb. Are you sorry for hiring me, master?"

"To be--that is, not at all. I'll give you your money when you go to
dinner. Now, understand me; don't let a cow go out of the field nor
into the wheat the rest of the day."

"Never fear, master!" and neither did he. But the churl would rather
than a great deal he had not hired him.

The next day three heifers were missing, and the master bade Jack go in
search of them.

"Where will I look for them?" said Jack.

"Oh, every place likely and unlikely for them all to be in."

The churl was getting very exact in his words. When he was coming into
the bawn at dinner-time, what work did he find Jack at but pulling
armfuls of the thatch off the roof, and peeping into the holes he was
making?

"What are you doing there, you rascal?"

"Sure, I'm looking for the heifers, poor things!"

"What would bring them there?"

"I don't think anything could bring them in it; but I looked first into
the likely places, that is, the cow-houses, and the pastures, and the
fields next 'em, and now I'm looking in the unlikeliest place I can
think of. Maybe it's not pleasing to you it is."

"And to be sure it isn't pleasing to me, you aggravating goose-cap!"

"Please, sir, hand me one pound thirteen and four pence before you sit
down to your dinner. I'm afraid it's sorrow that's on you for hiring me
at all."

"May the div--oh no; I'm not sorry. Will you begin, if you please, and
put in the thatch again, just as if you were doing it for your mother's
cabin?"

"Oh, faith I will, sir, with a heart and a half;" and by the time the
farmer came out from his dinner, Jack had the roof better than it was
before, for he made the boy give him new straw.

Says the master when he came out, "Go, Jack, and look for the heifers,
and bring them home."

"And where will I look for 'em?"

"Go and search for them as if they were your own." The heifers were all
in the paddock before sunset.

Next morning, says the master, "Jack, the path across the bog to the
pasture is very bad; the sheep does be sinking in it every step; go and
make the sheep's feet a good path." About an hour after he came to the
edge of the bog, and what did he find Jack at but sharpening a carving
knife, and the sheep standing or grazing round.

"Is this the way you are mending the path, Jack?" said he.

"Everything must have a beginning, master," said Jack, "and a thing
well begun is half done. I am sharpening the knife, and I'll have the
feet off every sheep in the flock while you'd be blessing yourself."

"Feet off my sheep, you anointed rogue! and what would you be taking
their feet off for?"

"An' sure to mend the path as you told me. Says you, 'Jack, make a path
with the foot of the sheep.'"

"Oh, you fool, I meant make good the path for the sheep's feet."

"It's a pity you didn't say so, master. Hand me out one pound thirteen
and fourpence if you don't like me to finish my job."

"Divel do you good with your one pound thirteen and fourpence!"

"It's better pray than curse, master. Maybe you're sorry for your
bargain?"

"And to be sure I am--not yet, any way."

The next night the master was going to a wedding; and says he to Jack,
before he set out: "I'll leave at midnight, and I wish you, to come and
be with me home, for fear I might be overtaken with the drink. If
you're there before, you may throw a sheep's eye at me, and I'll be
sure to see that they'll give you something for yourself."

About eleven o'clock, while the master was in great spirits, he felt
something clammy hit him on the cheek. It fell beside his tumbler, and
when he looked at it what was it but the eye of a sheep. Well, he
couldn't imagine who threw it at him, or why it was thrown at him.
After a little he got a blow on the other cheek, and still it was by
another sheep's eye. Well, he was very vexed, but he thought better to
say nothing. In two minutes more, when he was opening his mouth to take
a sup, another sheep's eye was slapped into it. He sputtered it out,
and cried, "Man o' the house, isn't it a great shame for you to have
any one in the room that would do such a nasty thing?"

"Master," says Jack, "don't blame the honest man. Sure it's only myself
that was thrown' them sheep's eyes at you, to remind you I was here,
and that I wanted to drink the bride and bridegroom's health. You know
yourself bade me."

"I know that you are a great rascal; and where did you get the eyes?"

"An' where would I get em' but in the heads of your own sheep? Would
you have me meddle with the bastes of any neighbour, who might put me
in the Stone Jug for it?"

"Sorrow on me that ever I had the bad luck to meet with you."

"You're all witness," said Jack, "that my master says he is sorry for
having met with me. My time is up. Master, hand me over double wages,
and come into the next room, and lay yourself out like a man that has
some decency in him, till I take a strip of skin an inch broad from
your shoulder to your hip."

Every one shouted out against that; but, says Jack, "You didn't hinder
him when he took the same strips from the backs of my two brothers, and
sent them home in that state, and penniless, to their poor mother."

When the company heard the rights of the business, they were only too
eager to see the job done. The master bawled and roared, but there was
no help at hand. He was stripped to his hips, and laid on the floor in
the next room, and Jack had the carving knife in his hand ready to
begin.

"Now you cruel old villain," said he, giving the knife a couple of
scrapes along the floor, "I'll make you an offer. Give me, along with
my double wages, two hundred guineas to support my poor brothers, and
I'll do without the strap."

"No!" said he, "I'd let you skin me from head to foot first."

"Here goes then," said Jack with a grin, but the first little scar he
gave, Churl roared out, "Stop your hand; I'll give the money."

"Now, neighbours," said Jack, "you mustn't think worse of me than I
deserve. I wouldn't have the heart to take an eye out of a rat itself;
I got half a dozen of them from the butcher, and only used three of
them."

So all came again into the other room, and Jack was made sit down, and
everybody drank his health, and he drank everybody's health at one
offer. And six stout fellows saw himself and the master home, and
waited in the parlour while he went up and brought down the two hundred
guineas, and double wages for Jack himself. When he got home, he
brought the summer along with him to the poor mother and the disabled
brothers; and he was no more Jack the Fool in the people's mouths, but
"Skin Churl Jack."




BETH GELLERT

Print Llewelyn had a favourite greyhound named Gellert that had been
given to him by his father-in-law, King John. He was as gentle as a
lamb at home but a lion in the chase. One day Llewelyn went to the
chase and blew his horn in front of his castle. All his other dogs came
to the call but Gellert never answered it. So he blew a louder blast on
his horn and called Gellert by name, but still the greyhound did not
come. At last Prince Llewelyn could wait no longer and went off to the
hunt without Gellert. He had little sport that day because Gellert was
not there, the swiftest and boldest of his hounds.

He turned back in a rage to  his castle, and as he came to the gate,
who should he see but Gellert come bounding out to meet him. But when
the hound came near him, the Prince was startled to see that his lips
and fangs were dripping with blood. Llewelyn started back and the
greyhound crouched down at his feet as if surprised or afraid at the
way his master greeted him.

Now Prince Llewelyn had a little son a year old with whom Gellert used
to play, and a terrible thought crossed the Prince's mind that made him
rush towards the child's nursery. And the nearer he came the more blood
and disorder he found about the rooms. He rushed into it and found the
child's cradle overturned and daubed with blood.

Prince Llewelyn grew more and more terrified, and sought for his little
son everywhere. He could find him nowhere but only signs of some
terrible conflict in which much blood had been shed. At last he felt
sure the dog had destroyed his child, and shouting to Gellert,
"Monster, thou hast devoured my child," he drew out his sword and
plunged it in the greyhound's side, who fell with a deep yell and still
gazing in his master's eyes.

As Gellert raised his dying yell, a little child's cry answered it from
beneath the cradle, and there Llewelyn found his child unharmed and
just awakened from sleep. But just beside him lay the body of a great
gaunt wolf all torn to pieces and covered with blood. Too late,
Llewelyn learned what had happened while he was away. Gellert had
stayed behind to guard the child and had fought and slain the wolf that
had tried to destroy Llewelyn's heir.

In vain was all Llewelyn's grief; he could not bring his faithful dog
to life again. So he buried him outside the castle walls within sight
of the great mountain of Snowdon, where every passer-by might see his
grave, and raised over it a great cairn of stones. And to this day the
place is called Beth Gellert, or the Grave of Gellert.




THE TALE OF IVAN

There were formerly a man and a woman living in the parish of
Llanlavan, in the place which is called Hwrdh. And work became scarce,
so the man said to his wife, "I will go search for work, and you may
live here." So he took fair leave, and travelled far toward the East,
and at last came to the house of a farmer and asked for work.

"What work can ye do?" said the farmer. "I can do all kinds of work,"
said Ivan. Then they agreed upon three pounds for the year's wages.

When the end of the year came his master showed him the three pounds.
"See, Ivan," said he, "here's your wage; but if you will give it me
back I'll give you a piece of advice instead."

"Give me my wage," said Ivan.

"No, I'll not," said the master; "I'll explain my advice."

"Tell it me, then," said Ivan.

Then said the master, "Never leave the old road for the sake of a new
one."

After that they agreed for another year at the old wages, and at the
end of it Ivan took instead a piece of advice, and this was it: "Never
lodge where an old man is married to a young woman."

The same thing happened at the end of the third year, when the piece of
advice was: "Honesty is the best policy."

But Ivan would not stay longer, but wanted to go back to his wife.

"Don't go to-day," said his master; "my wife bakes to-morrow, and she
shall make thee a cake to take home to thy good woman."

And when Ivan was going to leave, "Here," said his master, "here is a
cake for thee to take home to thy wife, and, when ye are most joyous
together, then break the cake, and not sooner."

So he took fair leave of them and travelled towards home, and at last
he came to Wayn Her, and there he met three merchants from Tre Rhyn, of
his own parish, coming home from Exeter Fair. "Oho! Ivan," said they,
"come with us; glad are we to see you. Where have you been so long?"

"I have been in service," said Ivan, "and now I'm going home to my
wife."

"Oh, come with us! you'll be right welcome." But when they took the new
road Ivan kept to the old one. And robbers fell upon them before they
had gone far from Ivan as they were going by the fields of the houses
in the meadow. They began to cry out, "Thieves!" and Ivan shouted out
"Thieves!" too. And when the robbers heard Ivan's shout they ran away,
and the merchants went by the new road and Ivan by the old one till
they met again at Market-Jew.

"Oh, Ivan," said the merchants, "we are beholding to you; but for you
we would have been lost men. Come lodge with us at our cost, and
welcome."

When they came to the place where they used to lodge, Ivan said, "I
must see the host."

"The host," they cried; "what do you want with the host? Here is the
hostess, and she's young and pretty. If you want to see the host you'll
find him in the kitchen."

So he went into the kitchen to see the host; he found him a weak old
man turning the spit.

"Oh! oh!" quoth Ivan, "I'll not lodge here, but will go next door."

"Not yet," said the merchants, "sup with us, and welcome."

Now it happened that the hostess had plotted with a certain monk in
Market-Jew to murder the old man in his bed that night while the rest
were asleep, and they agreed to lay it on the lodgers.

So while Ivan was in bed next door, there was a hole in the pine-end of
the house, and he saw a light through it. So he got up and looked, and
heard the monk speaking. "I had better cover this hole," said he, "or
people in the next house may see our deeds." So he stood with his back
against it while the hostess killed the old man.

But meanwhile Ivan out with his knife, and putting it through the hole,
cut a round piece off the monk's robe. The very next morning the
hostess raised the cry that her husband was murdered, and as there was
neither man nor child in the house but the merchants, she declared they
ought to be hanged for it.

So they were taken and carried to prison, till a last Ivan came to
them. "Alas! alas! Ivan," cried they, "bad luck sticks to us; our host
was killed last night, and we shall be hanged for it."

"Ah, tell the justices," said Ivan, "to summon the real murderers."

"Who knows," they replied, "who committed the crime?"

"Who committed the crime!" said Ivan. "If I cannot prove who committed
the crime, hang me in your stead."

So he told all he knew, and brought out the piece of cloth from the
monk's robe, and with that the merchants were set at liberty, and the
hostess and the monk were seized and hanged.

Then they came all together out of Market-Jew, and they said to him:
"Come as far as Coed Carrn y Wylfa, the Wood of the Heap of Stones of
Watching, in the parish of Burman." Then their two roads separated, and
though the merchants wished Ivan to go with them, he would not go with
them, but went straight home to his wife.

And when his wife saw him she said: "Home in the nick of time. Here's a
purse of gold that I've found; it has no name, but sure it belongs to
the great lord yonder. I was just thinking what to do when you came."

Then Ivan thought of the third counsel, and he said "Let us go and give
it to the great lord."

So they went up to the castle, but the great lord was not in it, so
they left the purse with the servant that minded the gate, and then
they went home again and lived in quiet for a time.

But one day the great lord stopped at their house for a drink of water,
and Ivan's wife said to him: "I hope your lordship found your
lordship's purse quite safe with all its money in it."

"What purse is that you are talking about?" said the lord.

"Sure, it's your lordship's purse that I left at the castle," said Ivan.

"Come with me and we will see into the matter," said the lord.

So Ivan and his wife went up to the castle, and there they pointed out
the man to whom they had given the purse, and he had to give it up and
was sent away from the castle. And the lord was so pleased with Ivan
that he made him his servant in the stead of the thief.

"Honesty's the best policy!" quoth Ivan, as he skipped about in his new
quarters. "How joyful I am!"

Then he thought of his old master's cake that he was to eat when he was
most joyful, and when he broke it, to and behold, inside it was his
wages for the three years he had been with him.




ANDREW COFFEY

My grandfather, Andrew Coffey, was known to the whole barony as a
quiet, decent man. And if the whole barony knew him, he knew the whole
barony, every inch, hill and dale, bog and pasture, field and covert.
Fancy his surprise one evening, when he found himself in a part of the
demesne he couldn't recognise a bit. He and his good horse were always
stumbling up against some tree or stumbling down into some bog-hole
that by rights didn't ought to be there. On the top of all this the
rain came pelting down wherever there was a clearing, and the cold
March wind tore through the trees. Glad he was then when he saw a light
in the distance, and drawing near found a cabin, though for the life of
him he couldn't think how it came there. However, in he walked, after
tying up his horse, and right welcome was the brushwood fire blazing on
the hearth. And there stood a chair right and tight, that seemed to
say, "Come, sit down in me." There wasn't a soul else in the room.
Well, he did sit, and got a little warm and cheered after his
drenching. But all the while he was wondering and wondering.

"Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey!"

Good heavens! who was calling him, and not a soul in sight? Look around
as he might, indoors and out, he could find no creature with two legs
or four, for his horse was gone.

"ANDREW COFFEY! ANDREW COFFEY! tell me a story."

It was louder this time, and it was nearer. And then what a thing to
ask for! It was bad enough not to be let sit by the fire and dry
oneself, without being bothered for a story.

"ANDREW COFFEY! ANDREW COFFEY!! Tell me a story, or it'll be the worse
for you."

My poor grandfather was so dumbfounded that he could only stand and
stare.

"ANDREW COFFEY! ANDREW COFFEY! I told you it'd be the worse for you."

And with that, out there bounced, from a cupboard that Andrew Coffey
had never noticed before, _a man_. And the man was in a towering rage.
But it wasn't that. And he carried as fine a blackthorn as you'd wish
to crack a man's head with. But it wasn't that either. But when my
grandfather clapped eyes on him, he knew him for Patrick Rooney, and
all the world knew _he'd_ gone overboard, fishing one night long years
before.

Andrew Coffey would neither stop nor stay, but he took to his heels and
was out of the house as hard as he could. He ran and he ran taking
little thought of what was before till at last he ran up against a big
tree. And then he sat down to rest.

He hadn't sat for a moment when he heard voices.

"It's heavy he is, the vagabond." "Steady now, we'll rest when we get
under the big tree yonder." Now that happened to be the tree under
which Andrew Coffey was sitting. At least he thought so, for seeing a
branch handy he swung himself up by it and was soon snugly hidden away.
Better see than be seen, thought he.

The rain had stopped and the wind fallen. The night was blacker than
ever, but Andrew Coffey could see four men, and they were carrying
between them a long box. Under the tree they came, set the box down,
opened it, and who should they bring out but--Patrick Rooney. Never a
word did he say, and he looked as pale as old snow.

Well, one gathered brushwood, and another took out tinder and flint,
and soon they had a big fire roaring, and my grandfather could see
Patrick plainly enough. If he had kept still before, he kept stiller
now. Soon they had four poles up and a pole across, right over the
fire, for all the world like a spit, and on to the pole they slung
Patrick Rooney.

"He'll do well enough," said one; "but who's to mind him whilst we're
away, who'll turn the fire, who'll see that he doesn't burn?"

With that Patrick opened his lips: "Andrew Coffey," said he.

"Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey!"

"I'm much obliged to you, gentlemen," said Andrew Coffey, "but indeed I
know nothing about the business."

"You'd better come down, Andrew Coffey," said Patrick.

It was the second time he spoke, and Andrew Coffey decided he would
come down. The four men went off and he was left all alone with Patrick.

Then he sat and he kept the fire even, and he kept the spit turning,
and all the while Patrick looked at him.

Poor Andrew Coffey couldn't make it all out at all, at all, and he
stared at Patrick and at the fire, and he thought of the little house
in the wood, till he felt quite dazed.

"Ah, but it's burning me ye are!" says Patrick, very short and sharp.

"I'm sure I beg your pardon," said my grandfather "but might I ask you
a question?"

"If you want a crooked answer," said Patrick; "turn away or it'll be
the worse for you."

But my grandfather couldn't get it out of his head; hadn't everybody,
far and near, said Patrick had fallen overboard. There was enough to
think about, and my grandfather did think.

"ANDREW COFFEY! ANDREW COFFEY! IT'S BURNING ME YE ARE."

Sorry enough my grandfather was, and he vowed he wouldn't do so again.

"You'd better not," said Patrick, and he gave him a cock of his eye,
and a grin of his teeth, that just sent a shiver down Andrew Coffey's
back. Well it was odd, that here he should be in a thick wood he had
never set eyes upon, turning Patrick Rooney upon a spit. You can't
wonder at my grandfather thinking and thinking and not minding the fire.

"ANDREW COFFEY, ANDREW COFFEY, IT'S THE DEATH OF YOU I'LL BE."

And with that what did my grandfather see, but Patrick unslinging
himself from the spit and his eyes glared and his teeth glistened.

It was neither stop nor stay my grandfather made, but out he ran into
the night of the wood. It seemed to him there wasn't a stone but was
for his stumbling, not a branch but beat his face, not a bramble but
tore his skin. And wherever it was clear the rain pelted down and the
cold March wind howled along.

Glad he was to see a light, and a minute after he was kneeling, dazed,
drenched, and bedraggled by the hearth side. The brushwood flamed, and
the brushwood crackled, and soon my grandfather began to feel a little
warm and dry and easy in his mind.

"ANDREW COFFEY! ANDREW COFFEY!"

It's hard for a man to jump when he has been through all my grandfather
had, but jump he did. And when he looked around, where should he find
himself but in the very cabin he had first met Patrick in.

"Andrew Coffey, Andrew Coffey, tell me a story."

"Is it a story you want?" said my grandfather as bold as may be, for he
was just tired of being frightened. "Well if you can tell me the rights
of this one, I'll be thankful."

And he told the tale of what had befallen him from first to last that
night. The tale was long, and may be Andrew Coffey was weary. It's
asleep he must have fallen, for when he awoke he lay on the hill-side
under the open heavens, and his horse grazed at his side.




THE BATTLE OF THE BIRDS

I will tell you a story about the wren. There was once a farmer who was
seeking a servant, and the wren met him and said: "What are you
seeking?"

"I am seeking a servant," said the farmer to the wren.

"Will you take me?" said the wren.

"You, you poor creature, what good would you do?"

"Try me," said the wren.

So he engaged him, and the first work he set him to do was threshing in
the barn. The wren threshed (what did he thresh with? Why a flail to be
sure), and he knocked off one grain. A mouse came out and she eats that.

"I'll trouble you not to do that again," said the wren.

He struck again, and he struck off two grains. Out came the mouse and
she eats them. So they arranged a contest to see who was strongest, and
the wren brings his twelve birds, and the mouse her tribe.

"You have your tribe with you," said the wren.

"As well as yourself," said the mouse, and she struck out her leg
proudly. But the wren broke it with his flail, and there was a pitched
battle on a set day.

When every creature and bird was gathering to battle, the son of the
king of Tethertown said that he would go to see the battle, and that he
would bring sure word home to his father the king, who would be king of
the creatures this year. The battle was over before he arrived all but
one fight, between a great black raven and a snake. The snake was
twined about the raven's neck, and the raven held the snake's throat in
his beak, and it seemed as if the snake would get the victory over the
raven. When the king's son saw this he helped the raven, and with one
blow takes the head off the snake. When the raven had taken breath, and
saw that the snake was dead, he said, "For thy kindness to me this day,
I will give thee a sight. Come up now on the root of my two wings." The
king's son put his hands about the raven before his wings, and, before
he stopped, he took him over nine Bens, and nine Glens, and nine
Mountain Moors.

"Now," said the raven, "see you that house yonder? Go now to it. It is
a sister of mine that makes her dwelling in it; and I will go bail that
you are welcome. And if she asks you, Were you at the battle of the
birds? say you were. And if she asks, 'Did you see any one like me,'
say you did, but be sure that you meet me to-morrow morning here, in
this place." The king's son got good and right good treatment that
night. Meat of each meat, drink of each drink, warm water to his feet,
and a soft bed for his limbs.

On the next day the raven gave him the same sight over six Bens, and
six Glens, and six Mountain Moors. They saw a bothy far off, but,
though far off, they were soon there. He got good treatment this night,
as before--plenty of meat and drink, and warm water to his feet, and a
soft bed to his limbs--and on the next day it was the same thing, over
three Bens and three Glens, and three Mountain Moors.

On the third morning, instead of seeing the raven as at the other
times, who should meet him but the handsomest lad he ever saw, with
gold rings in his hair, with a bundle in his hand. The king's son asked
this lad if he had seen a big black raven.

Said the lad to him, "You will never see the raven again, for I am that
raven. I was put under spells by a bad druid; it was meeting you that
loosed me, and for that you shall get this bundle. Now," said the lad,
"you must turn back on the self-same steps, and lie a night in each
house as before; but you must not loose the bundle which I gave ye,
till in the place where you would most wish to dwell."

The king's son turned his back to the lad, and his face to his father's
house; and he got lodging from the raven's sisters, just as he got it
when going forward. When he was nearing his father's house he was going
through a close wood. It seemed to him that the bundle was growing
heavy, and he thought he would look what was in it.

When he loosed the bundle he was astonished. In a twinkling he sees the
very grandest place he ever saw. A great castle, and an orchard about
the castle, in which was every kind of fruit and herb. He stood full of
wonder and regret for having loosed the bundle--for it was not in his
power to put it back again--and he would have wished this pretty place
to be in the pretty little green hollow that was opposite his father's
house; but he looked up and saw a great giant coming towards him.

"Bad's the place where you have built the house, king's son," says the
giant.

"Yes, but it is not here I would wish it to be, though it happens to be
here by mishap," says the king's son.

"What's the reward for putting it back in the bundle as it was before?"

"What's the reward you would ask?" says the king's son.

"That you will give me the first son you have when he is seven years of
age," says the giant.

"If I have a son you shall have him," said the king's son.

In a twinkling the giant put each garden, and orchard, and castle in
the bundle as they were before.

"Now," says the giant, "take your own road, and I will take mine; but
mind your promise, and if you forget I will remember."

The king's son took to the road, and at the end of a few days he
reached the place he was fondest of. He loosed the bundle, and the
castle was just as it was before. And when he opened the castle door he
sees the handsomest maiden he ever cast eye upon.

"Advance, king's son," said the pretty maid; "everything is in order
for you, if you will marry me this very day."

"It's I that am willing," said the king's son. And on the same day they
married.

But at the end of a day and seven years, who should be seen coming to
the castle but the giant. The king's son was reminded of his promise to
the giant, and till now he had not told his promise to the queen.

"Leave the matter between me and the giant," says the queen.

"Turn out your son," says the giant; "mind your promise."

"You shall have him," says the king, "when his mother puts him in order
for his journey."

The queen dressed up the cook's son, and she gave him to the giant by
the hand. The giant went away with him; but he had not gone far when he
put a rod in the hand of the little laddie. The giant asked him--

"If thy father had that rod what would he do with it?"

"If my father had that rod he would beat the dogs and the cats, so that
they shouldn't be going near the king's meat," said the little laddie.

"Thou'rt the cook's son," said the giant. He catches him by the two
small ankles and knocks him against the stone that was beside him. The
giant turned back to the castle in rage and madness, and he said that
if they did not send out the king's son to him, the highest stone of
the castle would be the lowest.

Said the queen to the king, "We'll try it yet; the butler's son is of
the same age as our son."

She dressed up the butler's son, and she gives him to the giant by the
hand. The giant had not gone far when he put the rod in his hand.

"If thy father had that rod," says the giant, "what would he do with
it?"

"He would beat the dogs and the cats when they would be coming near the
king's bottles and glasses."

"Thou art the son of the butler," says the giant and dashed his brains
out too. The giant returned in a very great rage and anger. The earth
shook under the sole of his feet, and the castle shook and all that was
in it.

"OUT HERE WITH THY SON," says the giant, "or in a twinkling the stone
that is highest in the dwelling will be the lowest." So they had to
give the king's son to the giant.

When they were gone a little bit from the earth, the giant showed him
the rod that was in his hand and said: "What would thy father do with
this rod if he had it?"

The king's son said: "My father has a braver rod than that."

And the giant asked him, "Where is thy father when he has that brave
rod?"

And the king's son said: "He will be sitting in his kingly chair."

Then the giant understood that he had the right one.

The giant took him to his own house, and he reared him as his own son.
On a day of days when the giant was from home, the lad heard the
sweetest music he ever heard in a room at the top of the giant's house.
At a glance he saw the finest face he had ever seen. She beckoned to
him to come a bit nearer to her, and she said her name was Auburn Mary
but she told him to go this time, but to be sure to be at the same
place about that dead midnight.

And as he promised he did. The giant's daughter was at his side in a
twinkling, and she said, "To-morrow you will get the choice of my two
sisters to marry; but say that you will not take either, but me. My
father wants me to marry the son of the king of the Green City, but I
don't like him." On the morrow the giant took out his three daughters,
and he said:

"Now, son of the king of Tethertown, thou hast not lost by living with
me so long. Thou wilt get to wife one of the two eldest of my
daughters, and with her leave to go home with her the day after the
wedding."

"If you will give me this pretty little one," says the king's son, "I
will take you at your word."

The giant's wrath kindled, and he said: "Before thou gett'st her thou
must do the three things that I ask thee to do."

"Say on," says the king's son.

The giant took him to the byre.

"Now," says the giant, "a hundred cattle are stabled here, and it has
not been cleansed for seven years. I am going from home to-day, and if
this byre is not cleaned before night comes, so clean that a golden
apple will run from end to end of it, not only thou shalt not get my
daughter, but 'tis only a drink of thy fresh, goodly, beautiful blood
that will quench my thirst this night."

He begins cleaning the byre, but he might just as well to keep baling
the great ocean. After midday when sweat was blinding him, the giant's
youngest daughter came where he was, and she said to him:

"You are being punished, king's son."

"I am that," says the king's son.

"Come over," says Auburn Mary, "and lay down your weariness."

"I will do that," says he, "there is but death awaiting me, at any
rate." He sat down near her. He was so tired that he fell asleep beside
her. When he awoke, the giant's daughter was not to be seen, but the
byre was so well cleaned that a golden apple would run from end to end
of it and raise no stain. In comes the giant, and he said:

"Hast thou cleaned the byre, king's son?"

"I have cleaned it," says he.

"Somebody cleaned it," says the giant.

"You did not clean it, at all events," said the king's son.

"Well, well!" says the giant, "since thou wert so active to-day, thou
wilt get to this time to-morrow to thatch this byre with birds' down,
from birds with no two feathers of one colour."

The king's son was on foot before the sun; he caught up his bow and his
quiver of arrows to kill the birds. He took to the moors, but if he
did, the birds were not so easy to take. He was running after them till
the sweat was blinding him. About mid-day who should come but Auburn
Mary.

"You are exhausting yourself, king's son," says she.

"I am," said he.

"There fell but these two blackbirds, and both of one colour."

"Come over and lay down your weariness on this pretty hillock," says
the giant's daughter.

"It's I am willing," said he.

He thought she would aid him this time, too, and he sat down near her,
and he was not long there till he fell asleep.

When he awoke, Auburn Mary was gone. He thought he would go back to the
house, and he sees the byre thatched with feathers. When the giant came
home, he said:

"Hast thou thatched the byre, king's son?"

"I thatched it," says he.

"Somebody thatched it," says the giant.

"You did not thatch it," says the king's son.

"Yes, yes!" says the giant. "Now," says the giant, "there is a fir tree
beside that loch down there, and there is a magpie's nest in its top.
The eggs thou wilt find in the nest. I must have them for my first
meal. Not one must be burst or broken, and there are five in the nest."

Early in the morning the king's son went where the tree was, and that
tree was not hard to hit upon. Its match was not in the whole wood.
From the foot to the first branch was five hundred feet. The king's son
was going all round the tree. She came who was always bringing help to
him.

"You are losing the skin of your hands and feet."

"Ach! I am," says he. "I am no sooner up than down."

"This is no time for stopping," says the giant's daughter. "Now you
must kill me, strip the flesh from my bones, take all those bones
apart, and use them as steps for climbing the tree. When you are
climbing the tree, they will stick to the glass as if they had grown
out of it; but when you are coming down, and have put your foot on each
one, they will drop into your hand when you touch them. Be sure and
stand on each bone, leave none untouched; if you do, it will stay
behind. Put all my flesh into this clean cloth by the side of the
spring at the roots of the tree. When you come to the earth, arrange my
bones together, put the flesh over them, sprinkle it with water from
the spring, and I shall be alive before you. But don't forget a bone of
me on the tree."

"How could I kill you," asked the king's son, "after what you have done
for me?"

"If you won't obey, you and I are done for," said Auburn Mary. "You
must climb the tree, or we are lost; and to climb the tree you must do
as I say."  The king's son obeyed. He killed Auburn Mary, cut the flesh
from her body, and unjointed the bones, as she had told him.

As he went up, the king's son put the bones of Auburn Mary's body
against the side of the tree, using them as steps, till he came under
the nest and stood on the last bone.

Then he took the eggs, and coming down, put his foot on every bone,
then took it with him, till he came to the last bone, which was so near
the ground that he failed to touch it with his foot.

He now placed all the bones of Auburn Mary in order again at the side
of the spring, put the flesh on them, sprinkled it with water from the
spring. She rose up before him, and said: "Didn't I tell you not to
leave a bone of my body without stepping on it? Now I am lame for life!
You left my little finger on the tree without touching it, and I have
but nine fingers."

"Now," says she, "go home with the eggs quickly, and you will get me to
marry to-night if you can know me. I and my two sisters will be arrayed
in the same garments, and made like each other, but look at me when my
father says, 'Go to thy wife, king's son;' and you will see a hand
without a little finger."

He gave the eggs to the giant.

"Yes, yes!" says the giant, "be making ready for your marriage."

Then, indeed, there was a wedding, and it _was_ a wedding! Giants and
gentlemen, and the son of the king of the Green City was in the midst
of them. They were married, and the dancing began, that was a dance!
The giant's house was shaking from top to bottom.

But bed time came, and the giant said, "It is time for thee to go to
rest, son of the king of Tethertown; choose thy bride to take with thee
from amidst those."

She put out the hand off which the little finger was, and he caught her
by the hand.

"Thou hast aimed well this time too; but there is no knowing but we may
meet thee another way," said the giant.

But to rest they went. "Now," says she, "sleep not, or else you are a
dead man. We must fly quick, quick, or for certain my father will kill
you."

Out they went, and on the blue grey filly in the stable they mounted.
"Stop a while," says she, "and I will play a trick to the old hero."
She jumped in, and cut an apple into nine shares, and she put two
shares at the head of the bed, and two shares at the foot of the bed,
and two shares at the door of the kitchen, and two shares at the big
door, and one outside the house.

The giant awoke and called, "Are you asleep?"

"Not yet," said the apple that was at the head of the bed.

At the end of a while he called again.

"Not yet," said the apple that was at the foot of the bed.

A while after this he called again: "Are your asleep?"

"Not yet," said the apple at the kitchen door.

The giant called again.

The apple that was at the big door answered.

"You are now going far from me," says the giant.

"Not yet," says the apple that was outside the house.

"You are flying," says the giant. The giant jumped on his feet, and to
the bed he went, but it was cold--empty.

"My own daughter's tricks are trying me," said the giant. "Here's after
them," says he.

At the mouth of day, the giant's daughter said that her father's breath
was burning her back.

"Put your hand, quick," said she, "in the ear of the grey filly, and
whatever you find in it, throw it behind us."

"There is a twig of sloe tree," said he.

"Throw it behind us," said she.

No sooner did he that, than there were twenty miles of blackthorn wood,
so thick that scarce a weasel could go through it.

The giant came headlong, and there he is fleecing his head and neck in
the thorns.

"My own daughter's tricks are here as before," said the giant; "but if
I had my own big axe and wood knife here, I would not be long making a
way through this."

He went home for the big axe and the wood knife, and sure he was not
long on his journey, and he was the boy behind the big axe. He was not
long making a way through the blackthorn.

"I will leave the axe and the wood knife here till I return," says he.

"If you leave 'em, leave 'em," said a hoodie that was in a tree, "we'll
steal 'em, steal 'em."

"If you will do that," says the giant, "I must take them home." He
returned home and left them at the house.

At the heat of day the giant's daughter felt her father's breath
burning her back.

"Put your finger in the filly's ear, and throw behind whatever you find
in it."

He got a splinter of grey stone, and in a twinkling there were twenty
miles, by breadth and height, of great grey rock behind them.

The giant came full pelt, but past the rock he could not go.

"The tricks of my own daughter are the hardest things that ever met
me," says the giant; "but if I had my lever and my mighty mattock, I
would not be long in making my way through this rock also."

There was no help for it, but to turn the chase for them; and he was
the boy to split the stones. He was not long in making a road through
the rock.

"I will leave the tools here, and I will return no more."

"If you leave 'em, leave 'em," says the hoodie, "we will steal 'em,
steal 'em."

"Do that if you will; there is no time to go back."

At the time of breaking the watch, the giant's daughter said that she
felt her father's breath burning her back.

"Look in the filly's ear, king's son, or else we are lost."

He did so, and it was a bladder of water that was in her ear this time.
He threw it behind him and there was a fresh-water loch, twenty miles
in length and breadth, behind them.

The giant came on, but with the speed he had on him, he was in the
middle of the loch, and he went under, and he rose no more.

On the next day the young companions were come in sight of his father's
house. "Now," says she, "my father is drowned, and he won't trouble us
any more; but before we go further," says she, "go you to your father's
house, and tell that you have the likes of me; but let neither man nor
creature kiss you, for if you do, you will not remember that you have
ever seen me."

Every one he met gave him welcome and luck, and he charged his father
and mother not to kiss him; but as mishap was to be, an old greyhound
was indoors, and she knew him, and jumped up to his mouth, and after
that he did not remember the giant's daughter.

She was sitting at the well's side as he left her, but the king's son
was not coming. In the mouth of night she climbed up into a tree of oak
that was beside the well, and she lay in the fork of that tree all
night. A shoemaker had a house near the well, and about mid-day on the
morrow, the shoemaker asked his wife to go for a drink for him out of
the well. When the shoemaker's wife reached the well, and when she saw
the shadow of her that was in the tree, thinking it was her own
shadow--and she never thought till now that she was so handsome--she
gave a cast to the dish that was in her hand, and it was broken on the
ground, and she took herself to the house without vessel or water.

"Where is the water, wife?" said the shoemaker.

"You shambling, contemptible old carle, without grace, I have stayed
too long your water and wood thrall."

"I think, wife, that you have turned crazy. Go you, daughter, quickly,
and fetch a drink for your father."

His daughter went, and in the same way so it happened to her. She never
thought till now that she was so lovable, and she took herself home.

"Up with the drink," said her father.

"You home-spun shoe carle, do you think I am fit to be your thrall?"

The poor shoemaker thought that they had taken a turn in their
understandings, and he went himself to the well. He saw the shadow of
the maiden in the well, and he looked up to the tree, and he sees the
finest woman he ever saw.

"Your seat is wavering, but your face is fair," said the shoemaker.
"Come down, for there is need of you for a short while at my house."

The shoemaker understood that this was the shadow that had driven his
people mad. The shoemaker took her to his house, and he said that he
had but a poor bothy, but that she should get a share of all that was
in it.

One day, the shoemaker had shoes ready, for on that very day the king's
son was to be married. The shoemaker was going to the castle with the
shoes of the young people, and the girl said to the shoemaker, "I would
like to get a sight of the king's son before he marries."

"Come with me," says the shoemaker, "I am well acquainted with the
servants at the castle, and you shall get a sight of the king's son and
all the company."

And when the gentles saw the pretty woman that was here they took her
to the wedding-room, and they filled for her a glass of wine. When she
was going to drink what is in it, a flame went up out of the glass, and
a golden pigeon and a silver pigeon sprang out of it. They were flying
about when three grains of barley fell on the floor. The silver pigeon
sprung, and ate that up.

Said the golden pigeon to him, "If you remembered when I cleared the
byre, you would not eat that without giving me a share."

Again there fell three other grains of barley, and the silver pigeon
sprung, and ate that up as before.

"If you remembered when I thatched the byre, you would not eat that
without giving me my share," says the golden pigeon.

Three other grains fall, and the silver pigeon sprung, and ate that up.

"If you remembered when I harried the magpie's nest, you would not eat
that without giving me my share," says the golden pigeon; "I lost my
little finger bringing it down, and I want it still."

The king's son minded, and he knew who it was that was before him.

"Well," said the king's son to the guests at the feast, "when I was a
little younger than I am now, I lost the key of a casket that I had. I
had a new key made, but after it was brought to me I found the old one.
Now, I'll leave it to any one here to tell me what I am to do. Which of
the keys should I keep?"

"My advice to you," said one of the guests, "is to keep the old key,
for it fits the lock better and you're more used to it."

Then the king's son stood up and said: "I thank you for a wise advice
and an honest word. This is my bride the daughter of the giant who
saved my life at the risk of her own. I'll have her and no other woman."

So the king's son married Auburn Mary and the wedding lasted long and
all were happy. But all I got was butter on a live coal, porridge in a
basket, and they sent me for water to the stream, and the paper shoes
came to an end.




BREWERY OF EGGSHELLS

In Treneglwys there is a certain shepherd's cot known by the name of
Twt y Cymrws because of the strange strife that occurred there. There
once lived there a man and his wife, and they had twins whom the woman
nursed tenderly. One day she was called away to the house of a
neighbour at some distance. She did not much like going and leaving her
little ones all alone in a solitary house, especially as she had heard
tell of the good folk haunting the neighbourhood.

Well, she went and came back as soon as she could, but on her way back
she was frightened to see some old elves of the blue petticoat crossing
her path though it was midday. She rushed home, but found her two
little ones in the cradle and everything seemed as it was before.

But after a time the good people began to suspect that something was
wrong, for the twins didn't grow at all.

The man said: "They're not ours."

The woman said: "Whose else should they be?"

And so arose the great strife so that the neighbours named the cottage
after it. It made the woman very sad, so one evening she made up her
mind to go and see the Wise Man of Llanidloes, for he knew everything
and would advise her what to do.

So she went to Llanidloes and told the case to the Wise Man. Now there
was soon to be a harvest of rye and oats, so the Wise Man said to her,
"When you are getting dinner for the reapers, clear out the shell of a
hen's egg and boil some potage in it, and then take it to the door as
if you meant it as a dinner for the reapers. Then listen if the twins
say anything. If you hear them speaking of things beyond the
understanding of children, go back and take them up and throw them into
the waters of Lake Elvyn. But if you don't hear anything remarkable, do
them no injury."

So when the day of the reap came the woman did all that the Wise Man
ordered, and put the eggshell on the fire and took it off and carried
it to the door, and there she stood and listened. Then she heard one of
the children say to the other:

  Acorn before oak I knew,
    An egg before a hen,
  But I never heard of an eggshell brew
    A dinner for harvest men.

So she went back into the house, seized the children and threw them
into the Llyn, and the goblins in their blue trousers came and saved
their dwarfs and the mother had her own children back and so the great
strife ended.




THE LAD WITH THE GOAT-SKIN

Long ago, a poor widow woman lived down near the iron forge, by
Enniscorth, and she was so poor she had no clothes to put on her son;
so she used to fix him in the ash-hole, near the fire, and pile the
warm ashes about him; and according as he grew up, she sunk the pit
deeper. At last, by hook or by crook, she got a goat-skin, and fastened
it round his waist, and he felt quite grand, and took a walk down the
street. So says she to him next morning, "Tom, you thief, you never
done any good yet, and you six foot high, and past nineteen;--take that
rope and bring me a faggot from the wood."

"Never say't twice, mother," says Tom--"here goes."

When he had it gathered and tied, what should come up but a big giant,
nine foot high, and made a lick of a club at him. Well become Tom, he
jumped a-one side, and picked up a ram-pike; and the first crack he
gave the big fellow, he made him kiss the clod.

"If you have e'er a prayer," says Tom, "now's the time to say it,
before I make fragments of you."

"I have no prayers," says the giant; "but if you spare my life I'll
give you that club; and as long as you keep from sin, you'll win every
battle you ever fight with it."

Tom made no bones about letting him off; and as soon as he got the club
in his hands, he sat down on the bresna, and gave it a tap with the
kippeen, and says, "Faggot, I had great trouble gathering you, and run
the risk of my life for you, the least you can do is to carry me home."
And sure enough, the wind o' the word was all it wanted. It went off
through the wood, groaning and crackling, till it came to the widow's
door.

Well, when the sticks were all burned, Tom was sent off again to pick
more; and this time he had to fight with a giant that had two heads on
him. Tom had a little more trouble with him--that's all; and the
prayers he said, was to give Tom a fife; that nobody could help dancing
when he was playing it. Begonies, he made the big faggot dance home,
with himself sitting on it. The next giant was a beautiful boy with
three heads on him. He had neither prayers nor catechism no more nor
the others; and so he gave Tom a bottle of green ointment, that
wouldn't let you be burned, nor scalded, nor wounded. "And now," says
he, "there's no more of us. You may come and gather sticks here till
little Lunacy Day in Harvest, without giant or fairy-man to disturb
you."

Well, now, Tom was prouder nor ten paycocks, and used to take a walk
down street in the heel of the evening; but some o' the little boys had
no more manners than if they were Dublin jackeens, and put out their
tongues at Tom's club and Tom's goat-skin. He didn't like that at all,
and it would be mean to give one of them a clout. At last, what should
come through the town but a kind of a bellman, only it's a big bugle he
had, and a huntsman's cap on his head, and a kind of a painted shirt.
So this--he wasn't a bellman, and I don't know what to call
him--bugleman, maybe, proclaimed that the King of Dublin's daughter was
so melancholy that she didn't give a laugh for seven years, and that
her father would grant her in marriage to whoever could make her laugh
three times.

"That's the very thing for me to try," says Tom; and so, without
burning any more daylight, he kissed his mother, curled his club at the
little boys, and off he set along the yalla highroad to the town of
Dublin.

At last Tom came to one of the city gates, and the guards laughed and
cursed at him instead of letting him in. Tom stood it all for a little
time, but at last one of them--out of fun, as he said--drove his
bayonet half an inch or so into his side. Tom done nothing but take the
fellow by the scruff o' the neck and the waistband of his corduroys,
and fling him into the canal. Some run to pull the fellow out, and
others to let manners into the vulgarian with their swords and daggers;
but a tap from his club sent them headlong into the moat or down on the
stones, and they were soon begging him to stay his hands.

So at last one of them was glad enough to show Tom the way to the
palace-yard; and there was the king, and the queen, and the princess,
in a gallery, looking at all sorts of wrestling, and sword-playing, and
long-dances, and mumming, all to please the princess; but not a smile
came over her handsome face.

Well, they all stopped when they seen the young giant, with his boy's
face, and long black hair, and his short curly beard--for his poor
mother couldn't afford to buy razors--and his great strong arms, and
bare legs, and no covering but the goat-skin that reached from his
waist to his knees. But an envious wizened bit of a fellow, with a red
head, that wished to be married to the princess, and didn't like how
she opened her eyes at Tom, came forward, and asked his business very
snappishly.

"My business," says Tom, says he, "is to make the beautiful princess,
God bless her, laugh three times."

"Do you see all them merry fellows and skilful swordsmen," says the
other, "that could eat you up with a grain of salt, and not a mother's
soul of 'em ever got a laugh from her these seven years?"

So the fellows gathered round Tom, and the bad man aggravated him till
he told them he didn't care a pinch o' snuff for the whole bilin' of
'em; let 'em come on, six at a time, and try what they could do.

The king, who was too far off to hear what they were saying, asked what
did the stranger want.

"He wants," says the red-headed fellow, "to make hares of your best
men."

"Oh!" says the king, "if that's the way, let one of 'em turn out and
try his mettle."

So one stood forward, with sword and pot-lid, and made a cut at Tom. He
struck the fellow's elbow with the club, and up over their heads flew
the sword, and down went the owner of it on the gravel from a thump he
got on the helmet. Another took his place, and another, and another,
and then half a dozen at once, and Tom sent swords, helmets, shields,
and bodies, rolling over and over, and themselves bawling out that they
were kilt, and disabled, and damaged, and rubbing their poor elbows and
hips, and limping away. Tom contrived not to kill any one; and the
princess was so amused, that she let a great sweet laugh out of her
that was heard over all the yard.

"King of Dublin," says Tom, "I've quarter your daughter."

And the king didn't know whether he was glad or sorry, and all the
blood in the princess's heart run into her cheeks.

So there was no more fighting that day, and Tom was invited to dine
with the royal family. Next day, Redhead told Tom of a wolf, the size
of a yearling heifer, that used to be serenading about the walls, and
eating people and cattle; and said what a pleasure it would give the
king to have it killed.

"With all my heart," says Tom; "send a jackeen to show me where he
lives, and we'll see how he behaves to a stranger."

The princess was not well pleased, for Tom looked a different person
with fine clothes and a nice green birredh over his long curly hair;
and besides, he'd got one laugh out of her. However, the king gave his
consent; and in an hour and a half the horrible wolf was walking into
the palace-yard, and Tom a step or two behind, with his club on his
shoulder, just as a shepherd would be walking after a pet lamb.

The king and queen and princess were safe up in their gallery, but the
officers and people of the court that wor padrowling about the great
bawn, when they saw the big baste coming in, gave themselves up, and
began to make for doors and gates; and the wolf licked his chops, as if
he was saying, "Wouldn't I enjoy a breakfast off a couple of yez!"

The king shouted out, "O Tom with the Goat-skin, take away that
terrible wolf, and you must have all my daughter."

But Tom didn't mind him a bit. He pulled out his flute and began to
play like vengeance; and dickens a man or boy in the yard but began
shovelling away heel and toe, and the wolf himself was obliged to get
on his hind legs and dance "Tatther Jack Walsh," along with the rest. A
good deal of the people got inside, and shut the doors, the way the
hairy fellow wouldn't pin them; but Tom kept playing, and the outsiders
kept dancing and shouting, and the wolf kept dancing and roaring with
the pain his legs were giving him; and all the time he had his eyes on
Redhead, who was shut out along with the rest. Wherever Redhead went,
the wolf followed, and kept one eye on him and the other on Tom, to see
if he would give him leave to eat him. But Tom shook his head, and
never stopped the tune, and Redhead never stopped dancing and bawling,
and the wolf dancing and roaring, one leg up and the other down, and he
ready to drop out of his standing from fair tiresomeness.

When the princess seen that there was no fear of any one being kilt,
she was so divarted by the stew that Redhead was in, that she gave
another great laugh; and well become Tom, out he cried, "King of
Dublin, I have two halves of your daughter."

"Oh, halves or alls," says the king, "put away that divel of a wolf,
and we'll see about it."

So Tom put his flute in his pocket, and says he to the baste that was
sittin' on his currabingo ready to faint, "Walk off to your mountain,
my fine fellow, and live like a respectable baste; and if ever I find
you come within seven miles of any town, I'll--"

He said no more, but spit in his fist, and gave a flourish of his club.
It was all the poor divel of a wolf wanted: he put his tail between his
legs, and took to his pumps without looking at man or mortal, and
neither sun, moon, or stars ever saw him in sight of Dublin again.

At dinner every one laughed but the foxy fellow; and sure enough he was
laying out how he'd settle poor Tom next day.

"Well, to be sure!" says he, "King of Dublin, you are in luck. There's
the Danes moidhering us to no end. Deuce run to Lusk wid 'em! and if
any one can save us from 'em, it is this gentleman with the goat-skin.
There is a flail hangin' on the collar-beam, in hell, and neither Dane
nor devil can stand before it."

"So," says Tom to the king, "will you let me have the other half of the
princess if I bring you the flail?"

"No, no," says the princess; "I'd rather never be your wife than see
you in that danger."

But Redhead whispered and nudged Tom about how shabby it would look to
reneague the adventure. So he asked which way he was to go, and Redhead
directed him.

Well, he travelled and travelled, till he came in sight of the walls of
hell; and, bedad, before he knocked at the gates, he rubbed himself
over with the greenish ointment. When he knocked, a hundred little imps
popped their heads out through the bars, and axed him what he wanted.

"I want to speak to the big divel of all," says Tom: "open the gate."

It wasn't long till the gate was thrune open, and the Ould Boy received
Tom with bows and scrapes, and axed his business.

"My business isn't much," says Tom. "I only came for the loan of that
flail that I see hanging on the collar-beam, for the king of Dublin to
give a thrashing to the Danes."

"Well," says the other, "the Danes is much better customers to me; but
since you walked so far I won't refuse. Hand that flail," says he to a
young imp; and he winked the far-off eye at the same time. So, while
some were barring the gates, the young devil climbed up, and took down
the flail that had the handstaff and booltheen both made out of red-hot
iron. The little vagabond was grinning to think how it would burn the
hands o' Tom, but the dickens a burn it made on him, no more nor if it
was a good oak sapling.

"Thankee," says Tom. "Now would you open the gate for a body, and I'll
give you no more trouble."

"Oh, tramp!" says Ould Nick; "is that the way? It is easier getting
inside them gates than getting out again. Take that tool from him, and
give him a dose of the oil of stirrup."

So one fellow put out his claws to seize on the flail, but Tom gave him
such a welt of it on the side of the head that he broke off one of his
horns, and made him roar like a devil as he was. Well, they rushed at
Tom, but he gave them, little and big, such a thrashing as they didn't
forget for a while. At last says the ould thief of all, rubbing his
elbow, "Let the fool out; and woe to whoever lets him in again, great
or small."

So out marched Tom, and away with him, without minding the shouting and
cursing they kept up at him from the tops of the walls; and when he got
home to the big bawn of the palace, there never was such running and
racing as to see himself and the flail. When he had his story told, he
laid down the flail on the stone steps, and bid no one for their lives
to touch it. If the king, and queen, and princess, made much of him
before, they made ten times more of him now; but Redhead, the mean
scruff-hound, stole over, and thought to catch hold of the flail to
make an end of him. His fingers hardly touched it, when he let a roar
out of him as if heaven and earth were coming together, and kept
flinging his arms about and dancing, that it was pitiful to look at
him. Tom run at him as soon as he could rise, caught his hands in his
own two, and rubbed them this way and that, and the burning pain left
them before you could reckon one. Well the poor fellow, between the
pain that was only just gone, and the comfort he was in, had the
comicalest face that you ever see, it was such a mixtherum-gatherum of
laughing and crying. Everybody burst out a laughing--the princess could
not stop no more than the rest; and then says Tom, "Now, ma'am, if
there were fifty halves of you, I hope you'll give me them all."

Well, the princess looked at her father, and by my word, she came over
to Tom, and put her two delicate hands into his two rough ones, and I
wish it was myself was in his shoes that day!

Tom would not bring the flail into the palace. You may be sure no other
body went near it; and when the early risers were passing next morning,
they found two long clefts in the stone, where it was after burning
itself an opening downwards, nobody could tell how far. But a messenger
came in at noon, and said that the Danes were so frightened when they
heard of the flail coming into Dublin, that they got into their ships,
and sailed away.

Well, I suppose, before they were married, Tom got some man, like Pat
Mara of Tomenine, to learn him the "principles of politeness,"
fluxions, gunnery, and fortification, decimal fractions, practice, and
the rule of three direct, the way he'd be able to keep up a
conversation with the royal family. Whether he ever lost his time
learning them sciences, I'm not sure, but it's as sure as fate that his
mother never more saw any want till the end of her days.

MAN OR WOMAN BOY OR GIRL THAT READS WHAT FOLLOWS 3 TIMES SHALL FALL
ASLEEP AN HUNDRED YEARS

JOHN D. BATTEN DREW THIS AUG. 20TH, 1801 GOOD-NIGHT